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Chapter Text

Though he would rather die that admit it, Dean quite enjoyed watching history documentaries with his angel. Not least because nothing put stuck-up know-it-all presenters in their place faster than someone who had actually been there when King X had had Queen Y beheaded, or whatever. Another and possibly more important reason that Dean enjoyed such programs was that holding his angel in a manly embrace usually led to sexy times, and Cas then taking the history lesson to their bedroom where he tried to pound his lesson into his mate.

Dean was a bit of a slow learner.

Unfortunately that particular learning method was currently off limits to him.

“I feel fine”, he grumbled.

“The doctor said six months, and you still have two months to go”, Cas said firmly. “No matter how much you pout.”

Dean sighed.

“I think the spontaneity has gone out of our relationship”, he groused. “Man cannot subsist on blow-jobs alone.”

It took approximately 7.834 seconds for the silence that that remark elicited to register in Dean's brain, which it did with an 'oh but you're so gonna regret saying that'. He burst into frantic speech.

“Not that I'm ungrateful....”

“No!" Cas said with a terrible finality. “I can see that you are quite correct over this, Dean. Clearly our couplings have become mundane and predictable. I need to introduce an element of, as you said...... spontaneity.”

Row back! Row back! Row back!

“No, Cas, really, I, uh....”

“My mind is made up”, Cas said with a smile. “Be seeing you!”

He vanished, leaving a husband who tried not to think of what terrible things he might be lining up for him. Tried unsuccessfully.

+~+~+

Well, Cas had said it would be unexpected.

“A what?” Dean asked, surprised.

“We have arranged a treasure hunt for you”, Cas smiled. “Fifty crystals on fifty consecutive days. All you have to do is find them before I do.”

“But you're smar.... you've got more knowledge than me”, Dean pointed out.”

“You will get a three minute head start on the first crystal”, Cas said, “and it increases by three minutes for each day that you are unsuccessful, which will of course be most days.....”

“Hey!”

“However, if by some lucky chance you do find a crystal before me, your head start will be halved, with odds rounded down.”

Dean grinned as a thought crossed his mind. This would be so.....

“And the crystals will be warded to prevent either of us using our mojo to find them”, Cas added.

“That's not fair!" Dean not-whined. “'Sides, if you set it up then you'll know where they are anyway.”

“I will not be setting it up”, Cas said primly. “I will merely be planning for my eventual victory.”

And Dean was instantly hard. Goddam angel using the Sex Voice™ without warning like that!

“Course I'll be successful”, he scoffed. “Best hunter in the whole US of A!”

“Certainly not the most modest”, Cas quipped. “We will also set your phone to ring a warning so you know just when I am coming after you. I spoke to Shamsiel, and he and your brother have been using the Net over the last week to arrange everything.”

That seemed okay, Dean thought. Shamsiel was one of his sons from three clutches back, a tall blond white-winged angel who had fallen for an exchange student and gone to live with him in.....

A horrible suspicion sauntered brazenly across Dean's mind, pulled up a mental chair, then sat down and started on the popcorn as it waited for his brain to catch up.

“Shammy who lives in England?” he said warily.

“Yes”, Cas grinned. “He has placed one crystal in each of the fifty traditional English counties. We will drive to the place or town where each one is, then we will get a clue that should tell us where to look.”

Ugh. Traveling in a metal death-tube, or using his mojo and not being able to poop for a week. And his bastard of a husband would be sure to want to start immediately.

“So what do I get overall when I win?” Dean asked.

“I rather doubt that”, Cas said, “but if you can find one in five before me – twenty per cent, or ten crystals in all - I thought.... maybe that thing with the waistcoat and glasses again.”

It would have been un-angelic to gloat, of course, so Cas allowed himself only a slight smile as he he left a whimpering mate who was staring out across the table. Ten minutes later, Sam came into the kitchen to fix himself a sandwich and found his brother still sat there, staring in shocked silence apart from the occasional whimper.

“Waistcoat?” the younger Winchester hazarded, wincing as he said it.

“Waistcoat..... and glasses!” Dean muttered. “Save me, Sammy!”

“You two are impossible!” Sam grumbled, grabbing a pre-made salad from the fridge and making for his room.

+~+~+

Dean didn't know what to be more terrified of – success and Cas doing that thing that had caused a major power failure across eastern Kansas the last time they had done it (and resulted in the clutch before last), or failure and the risk/reward of some forfeit that would be both cruel and inventive. Cas had always been creative when it came to sex with Dean after a pregnancy, but Dean knew from experience that the angel was a horny bastard, and the sex they always finally had when the ban was over – well, the standard recovery time for the human-turning-angel was about a week, during which he would just sit there with the sort of loopy grin on his face that freaked his little brother out. And occasionally mutter something like 'he used a loofah', which would have Sammy storming from the room yelling about brain bleach. That meant a hornier than usual Cas, unable to fully consummate their marriage......

The hunter had already packed the inflatable rubber ring and air-pump that he kept in Baby, for when Cas had been more, ahem, enthusiastic than usual the night before. He might need the spare as well.

Dean was so pre-occupied over what lay in store for him that he barely noticed the short flight to the Big Apple. Once there, Cas led him to the American Airlines desk where a fearsome looking woman sat behind a desk, looking like she would destroy the world for fun (Dean silently cursed the fact that, to save a few bucks, they had used different airlines for different legs of the trip). The woman – Dean had to strive to keep a straight face when he saw 'Petal' on her name-tag, plus she had enough make-up on to keep Maybelline in business for a decade – looked up at them and scowled mightily.

Then she simpered at Cas! Honestly, Dean couldn't take the guy anywhere!

Still, at least they got an upgrade to Business Class, for the cost of 'Petal' slipping Cas her number. Which he very ostentatiously binned as soon as they were safely out of sight, the look on his face saying he knew full well that Dean was jealous, and would be not-smirking very loudly for the next few hours. Bastard!

+~+~+

Cas had offered to put Dean to sleep on the plane, but after some thought he had declined. He still worried about what lay ahead, though.

It was when they were over Iceland that Dean finally looked at the figure that showed how many feet the aircraft was off the ground. He would have wondered why he hadn't noticed it before, except that Cas chose that moment to speak.

“Care to join the Mile High Club?”

“Hell yeah!”

+~+~+

Half an hour later an exhausted but happy Dean was slumbering contentedly in his comfortable chair, whilst his angel watched over him. Sex was always great at making his mate catatonic, which was probably just as well. Dean would need all his energy for what lay ahead.....

Chapter Text

Destination: Sipson
Dean's Head Start: 3 minutes

Dean would like it put on the record that a) he did not scream like a banshee in a way that had stewardesses come running from both ends of the plane when it started its final descent, b) he did not whine in terror and cling onto his husband like a life-raft, and c) if anyone with black wings pointed out that he actually had done both a) and b), then that someone wasn't getting laid any time soon!

Well, he might make him wait several.... minutes, once he'd escaped this metal death-tube. The only upside of the whole terrible experience was that the stewardesses were damn keen to get them off the plane first, and Dean would have sprinted down the long metal gangway if he had not been leaving someone behind. Someone who had damn well better not snigger. Or smirk. Or do that judgmental silence thing.

Cas had explained that they would feel the worst of the jet lag on the way over, despite Dean's prolonged nap after joining the Mile High Club over Iceland (Cas had even gotten him a souvenir Iceland flag tie-pin from somewhere, which Dean would take great pleasure telling Sammy the story behind when he got back). The scheming angel had checked them into an airport hotel which, Dean had to admit, was several cuts above the standard Winchester pay scale. So much that he graciously consented to Cas being the big spoon again.

He was good like that.

+~+~+

Dean had to hand it to Cas; the angel had surprised him with his choice of vehicle for their holiday. The hunter had expected some horrible environmentally friendly tin can, but Cas had secured a big black Tahoe which, while not Baby, was pretty cool.

As it turned out, the Tahoe didn't exactly get a chance to show her paces, as the satnav took them to a village that was almost right next to the airport. They pulled up outside a school.

“Remember, your phone will ring when your time is up”, Cas grinned, “and you'll see me soon after!”

“And you'll see me with a crystal”, Dean retorted. “Ready?”

Cas looked at his watch.

“Your time starts now”, he said, handing Dean a piece of paper which the hunter read:
'Where old King Bill is round about,
A flasher bare, there is no doubt'

Dean could see that this was a small place, and set off up the street at a run. The center of the place turned out to be a mini-roundabout where three roads met, and Dean grinned when he saw the pub next to it. It was the King William.

Too easy, he thought.

Of course his phone chose that moment to bleep a warning, and he instinctively looked around for the angel, before remembering Cas had promised not to use his mojo. Still, he was a faster runner than Dean, and would soon be here.

There was a set of roadworks up the road to his left, with some men working and protected by red and white cones – two of which had flashing lights on the top! Dean ran over to them, but there seemed nothing unusual about the lights at all, and he raced back to the roundabout. Although it was mid-morning, there were only a few locals around. A crossing patrol guard in a white coat manned the zebra crossing by the pub, presumably waiting for the lunchtime rush of kids. No sign of the scruffy angel; Dean didn't underestimate the sneaky bastard, though.

A flasher bare, he thought, looking around himself. The zebra crossing had four black and white poles topped with yellow ball lights, except one of the covers was missing and....

And there it was. The first crystal. Dean grinned and made himself invisible – Cas hadn't said he couldn't use his mojo once he'd found the thing – then made his way over to the pole in the middle of the road. He shinned up it effortlessly and reached out to touch it.

He was halfway up the pole and close to grabbing the thing when he heard it. A rush of air, and then a piece of rope flashed by him. The next moment, a lasso coiled itself neatly around the crystal and pulled it off, flying past Dean to fall into the arms of the crossing-guard below. Except that this was no ordinary crossing-guard, unless they now came complete with huge black wings.

Goddamit!

Cas moved easily up to position himself behind Dean, and began to rub himself lazily up and down his husband's trapped body. Dean moaned.

“What about..... the kids?” he managed. “Don't you... need to help them cross?”

“No kids”, Cas grinned. “Did you forget that it's summer break in England?”

Dean moaned, then moaned again as the friction increased. Then Cas did that thing where he ran his grace the length of Dean's cock in under a second before pressing into the slit. Dean yelped and erupted, somehow managing to hold onto the pole.

“Score one to me”, Cas smirked. “Better luck next time.”

Yeah, Dean hadn't underestimated the sneaky bastard. Much!

Chapter Text

Destination: Windsor
Dean's Head Start: 6 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 10 from 49

After his humiliation yesterday (a hot humiliation, and Cas had done it again last night on request, but not the point here), Dean woke up determined to do better. After a delicious breakfast – not Waffle House standards but still pretty damn good – the two of them set off in the Tahoe. It was a drive of about ten miles before they approached their destination, a town called Windsor over which a huge castle towered. As if Dean didn't spend his life in old buildings as it was!

Cas had tickets to the castle, and they went inside.

“I want to see round it properly”, the angel said as they sat down on a bench in front of some large church or chapel, “but I thought we should get your abject humiliation out of the way first.”

“We'll see about that”, Dean grunted, accepting his clue for the day:
'The keystone is the key, I'd say,
Above where Norman finds his way.'

“Your six minutes have started”, Cas grinned. “See you soon!”

Dean raced off towards the main castle building, though he hadn't a clue where he was going. As soon as he was out of sight he checked the guide to the place, and it took rather longer than he would have liked before he spotted it. Right in the centre of the place was a 'Norman Gateway'. Score!

Dean didn't run, as that would have drawn attention to himself, but he walked at a smart pace, which became smarter when his phone chirped the warning signal. Round a corner and there, shining in the summer sun, was a crystal, placed against the keystone directly above the old gateway at the end of a stone path. He'd as good as won!

The path to the gateway was crowded, partly because of two sentry boxes, one either side. The one on the left had a tall soldier outside who was showing considerable patience with the foreigners who wanted to snap themselves with him. They were all clustered around the poor guy, so Dean walked round past the empty box, keeping an eye on the crystal.

A strong arm reached out and grabbed him. He would have struggled, but he was dragged effortlessly back into the small sentry-box, the folding doors shutting behind him. Dean was about to say something when the guard spun him round and he found himself looking into a familiar set of blue eyes.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean let out a manly squawk. Cas grinned.

“I thought I would surprise you with a little role-play”, the angel grinned. Damn but he looked gorgeous in that tight-fitting soldier's uniform.

Dean nodded frantically, not trusting himself to move inside the tiny box, which was not really designed for two grown men. And Cas had just mojo'ed all his clothes away! He blinked in shock.

“Cas, dammit!”

Cas began to turn him round so he was facing the door. A narrow slit between the two halves let in just enough light to see by, and Dean could hear the sound of tourists walking by outside, unaware that one of their number was about to be very thoroughly debauched. Well, he hoped.

“Cas”, Dean muttered, “your gun thing is sticking in my back.”

“Bayonet”, came the soft reply, “and anyway, that is not what is sticking in you, Dean.”

Before he could answer, Cas had somehow slipped between Dean's legs and was eyeing Dean's cock in much the same way that a starving dog would look at a juicy steak. The ridiculous tall furry black hat bobbed on Cas' head.

“Bearskin.”

“Huh?” Dean was quite proud he got a whole word out there, bearing in mind most of his blood was now being triaged through his lower brain.

“The black hat is called a bearskin”, Cas said. “And bare skin is what I see before me. Delicious!”

And with that he began to lick his way around Dean's balls before slowly working his way up the leaking cock, whilst Dean braced both his hands against the opposite walls of the small sentry-box and tried not to come immediately. But when Cas did that thing with his tongue the battle was lost, and Dean's last thought before he blew was to pray that Cas had remembered to soundproof the place. Otherwise Her Majesty might be letting them spend the rest of the holiday in the castle dungeon!

The good news was that yes, Cas had remembered to soundproof the place. The bad news was that when Dean's vision returned, he found that the sneaky angel had had time to go outside and get the crystal. Dammit!

+~+~+

There were three more sentry houses before the exit.....

+~+~+

Dean slept like a log in a little bed and breakfast place in town that night. And as always, his angel watched over him. Possibly, just possibly, with the merest traces of a smirk on his cherubic face.

Chapter Text

Destination: Westminster
Dean's Head Start: 9 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 10 from 48

It did briefly cross what remained of Dean's mind, as he woke that morning to Cas giving him one hell of a blow-job, that the sneaky angel might actually be trying to reduce him to such a state that he would be unable to find his way to the Tahoe, let alone that day's crystal.

Meh, there'd be other crystals.

Undoubtedly the best part of their London trip was that, for some reason, Cas had booked them into the Ritz Hotel.

“I thought you deserved the best”, he said, “bearing in mind how often you had cheap motels that you said 'weren't the Ritz'. And now, every time you think of that name, you'll remember me blowing you in the Deluxe Suite.”

Damn horny angel, Dean thought with what was left of his brain. Thank God he was wearing the loose pants again!

+~+~+

London, Dean quickly decided, would have been a great city had it not been for all the tourists, who gawped and chattered their way around and seemed bent on competing as to who could shame their home nation the most. And all that crap he'd read somewhere about his own countrymen being loud when abroad – fuck it, but it was true. The woman who screeched across Wendy's that she needed the bathroom – yeah, there was sharing and not sharing!

Another great thing was he got to see Cas in shorts and aviators, which was undoubtedly the best sight of the day. Dean may or may not have drooled. And there may have been some heavy breathing as well.

In the afternoon they made their way down a road called Whitehall to the Houses of Parliament, where Cas had booked them a tour. It was actually not bad, and once it was over the two of them rested as Cas drew out the envelope for the day's quest. Dean opened and read it:
'To the Queen's Tow'r you're bound to go,
Look north, and set your sights real low.
Note: Because of the security in the challenge area building, you are allowed to use your mojo to become invisible for the duration of this challenge.'

“Nine minutes and counting”, his bastard of a husband reminded him.” Dean quickly headed off, even though he again had no idea where he was going.

+~+~+

The disadvantage of being invisible was that Dean had to dodge past people who, naturally, did not try to avoid him. Worse, he couldn't seem to find the Queen's Tower – until he chanced to overhear a guide telling their tourists that the Elizabeth Tower, commonly called Big Ben, had been named officially after the current queen as Ben was only the name of the great bell. Cursing the English and their wacky ways, he raced to the tower.

He supposed that the crystal was hidden somewhere in the great clock's works or near the bell. This turned out to be a huge series of cog wheels, clicking round loudly as he looked around at the four clock faces.

'North', he remembered. He hadn't heard his phone bleep, though he was sure it was more than nine minutes now.

There was a walkway that provided access to the mechanism, protected by some iron railings. And halfway along, sat right in the middle of one of the largest cogs on the north side, was the crystal, slowly being spun round as the giant thing revolved on its way. Dean placed one hand on the railing for balance and reached over for the crystal.

He never even saw him coming. He was seconds away from grabbing the crystal when there was a blur to his right, and Cas swung into view at the end of a rope.

“Nooooo!”

It was too late. The angel had grabbed the crystal on his way across, landed nearly on a ledge on the other side, and jumped down to walk up behind his mate.

“That's three to me”, he grinned. “Both hands on the rail, Dean.”

(Dean Winchester would like it placed on record that what came out of his mouth at that particular moment was a manly expression of surprise, and definitely not, as some smug black-winged bastard of a husband implied later, a girly squeak. Unfortunately some smug black-winged bastard of a husband not only somehow recorded it but threatened to play it back to some moose of a brother, so that hope was well and truly shot.)

“That was just mean!” Dean protested. “Where the hell did you come from?”

Cas grinned. He indicated some sort of small side area off the safe side of the walkway, where there was a metal 'hut'. Dean groaned.

“Where they keep the old pennies to balance the clock, and keep it to time”, Cas said. “Hands.”

Dean suddenly found himself staring right at one of the four clock faces – nearly six o' clock, he remembered. His calculations were slowed a bit by the fact that a) his hands were very securely bound to the railings, and b) Cas had just yanked down his pants and was squatting in front of him eying Little Dean in a way that said this encounter was only going to end one way. Dean whimpered.

The clock mechanism whirred, and the bells began to ring the hour. It dawned on what little remained of Dean's upper brain that Cas must be protecting him from most of the noise, otherwise he would have been deafened. Then he realized the angel had mojo'ed all his own clothes away, and was completely naked in front of him.

He was only surprised he didn't burst a blood vessel!

As the chimes slowly rang out, Dean felt his mate's grace beginning to fondle his cock towards an orgasm. Then there was a prolonged pause when the regular chiming stopped, ended when Dean heard the huge minute hand just a few feet in front of him inch onto the 12.

“Bong!”

Dean erupted. Or would have done but he only got out one spurt before Cas, the bastard, locked his cock in a vice-like grip and prevented him from coming any more. Dean was about to whi.... object when....

“Bong!”

A second eruption, and again only one pulse before the grip came back on. And Dean could feel a definite tingling in his middle reaches, which meant the horny bastard was refilling him with....

Oh fuck, it was six o' freaking clock.

“Bong!”

+~+~+

Cas flew him back to the room he had booked at the Ritz, as what was left of his husband after six successive orgasms was in no fit state to.... well, do anything much.

“Sex maniac!” Dean muttered as Cas deposited on the comfortable mattress.

“Have a nap!, Cas advised. “It will be seven o' clock soon.”

Dean's eyes widened in terror. He wouldn't – would he?

+~+~+

Fortunately for Dean's poor broken body, he didn't. Not that he noticed, because within sixty seconds of hitting the super-comfortable mattress Dean was dead to the world.

Chapter Text

Destination: Sandwich
Dean's Head Start: 12 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 10 from 47

Dean had thought breakfast the day before at the Ritz had been great, but having it served on a golden tray to their room – wow! Even if some bastard of an angel snaffled most of the bacon before he got there (yeah, Dean would have given it to him anyway when faced with those puppy dog eyes, but not the point).

They had quite a drive to their destination today. Fortunately Cas had somehow managed to get a Tahoe with a cassette deck in it, and had brought over Dean's tape collection from the States. Although he had also brought over his ghastly whale music, which Dean absolutely loa.....

Cas looked across at him sharply, and Dean stopped that train of thought right there!

+~+~+

A few hours later they were in a small coastal town called Sandwich, which looked out across the English Channel to France. Cas had explained that centuries back, the earl of the place had created the modern sandwich by having meat between two slices of bread brought to him, so he could carry on gambling uninterrupted. The bad angel had then suggested some other meat that Dean might like to get past his lips quite soon.....

The Tahoe may have swerved briefly across the road at that point.

Dean was not impressed when, after a decent lunch, Cas directed him to the Royal St. George's Golf Course. He had always hated the game. The angel signed them both up and rented them some clubs, then handed him the envelope which Dean opened:
'The shortest four, first reach the green,
Don't be a tool 'cos that's just mean.'

He thought fast. There was a chart up just inside the entrance and, scanning down it, he could see that just over half the holes were par 4s. The shortest one was 12, and he double-checked before rushing away. He had this one in the bag!

+~+~+

Dean sent up a silent prayer of hatred towards his son. How on earth could Shammy have thought that this was a good idea? Dean had taken three swipes to edge the ball forward just a few yards, and his first real hit had shanked it right off the fairway. The hole itself was rated an 'easy' par 4, which given his current form meant a bloody tough whatever the phrase for sixteen(ish) over par was. He would need every second of his twelve-minute head start

His phone bleeped while he was looking for his ball for the second time, and in his haste his next shot found a small but vicious little bunker, from which he took three goes to escape. He then pulled off what seemed a great shot into the green only to wander up and find he'd dropped into another sand-trap just short. Three more swipes – the only upside was that there was no-one around to see his humiliation – and he was out and on the green. Aha!

“Fore!”

Dean looked up, and there was the unmistakable figure of his angel on the fairway, his ball flying straight and true into the heart of the green. Dean uttered a curse and began to frantically look around for the crystal. What on earth had Shammy meant by not being a tool?

The hole was close to the sea, and Dean noticed a small metal hut set close to a road that ran along the edge of the course. Of course, a tool-storage shed! On the top was a small weathercock, and on its back – the crystal. Dean had won!

Except he still had to reach the thing. Looked like those golf clubs were finally gonna come in useful after all. There was a slight mound to one side of the shed, so he stood on that and used the longest club he could find to reach up for the thing.

“Fore!”

What?

The next moment, a perfectly-aimed golf-ball clattered against the weathercock and knocked the crystal off. It tottered, and to Dean's annoyance tolled off down the opposite side of the roof. He ran round to get it..... and nearly ran straight into a smug angel holding it!

“I can't believe you did that!” Dean yelled. “That's so not fair!”

Cas' eyes narrowed, and Dean briefly considered the advantages of emigrating to Alpha Centauri. Then the angel smiled the Smile of Doom™.

“I had decided to blow you off while letting you eat pie”, he grinned. “But seeing as you are taking that attitude....”

Dean stared at him in horror.

“You can complete the remaining six holes before I let you”, Cas grinned. “Without using your mojo.”

“Goddamit!”

+~+~+

One hundred and seventeen shots (and eight broken clubs) later, Dean finally got off the golf course. At least he got his pie.

And his angel.

Chapter Text

Destination: Bodiam
Dean's Head Start: 15 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 10 from 46

These bed and breakfast places were small, Dean thought, but they more than made up for it with the sizes of their breakfasts. And one day he would work out a) how the angel always got extra bacon from the owners, and b) how despite that, he ate it so damn quickly then looked so mournfully in Dean's direction that the taller man handed over half his own as well. He was so whipped!

+~+~+

Cas' directions took them through some not bad countryside to a small village called Bodiam, outside which there was a castle to which they had tickets. Unusually it was made of brick – a bit impractical Dean had thought, but the guidebook explained that it had never been a 'real' castle, just a country house designed to look like one. It even had a moat with a drawbridge, and those bits at the top from which the defenders might have hid and fired arrows at any attackers. He could just imagine himself as king of the castle.....

“Or a handmaiden”, Cas coughed into his hand.

“One time!” Dean protested. “One freakin' time, and Charlie had to go and tell everyone!”

“She also mentioned something about a set of blonde twins and a Star Wars figurine that you wanted....”

“Let'sgetstartedrightnow!” Dean yelled, not at all hastily.

Cas handed him the envelope for the day, not-smirking far too loudly for Dean's liking, and the hunter pouted as he read the day's couplet:
'What's next to Great, south of the yard?
To get the point, be on your guard.'

He scowled at that. He was on his guard alright. He just had to deal with one damn sneaky angel! He got out of the Tahoe and raced into the castle.

+~+~+

The yard, Dean saw, was the big center area of the castle, which presumably he had to cross as his target was somewhere to the south of it. He was briefly distracted by a guy in medieval uniform showing people the various weapons used in those times; the guy was tall, blond and handsome, but Dean wasn't really interested. Besides, he knew from experience that a long look or an ill-judged comment usually (always) led to Repercussions.

It was cold in the yard. That was why he was shivering. Yes it was!

He stopped and asked one of the guides, and she told him that the rooms south of the yard were the hall and the kitchen. He decided to try the hall first, and was some way through searching around the bare walls when his phone sounded the alarm. He searched faster.

Typically it was only along the last wall that he came to a sign telling him that this had been the Great Hall. And that meant that since the crystal was 'next to Great', he was looking in the wrong place. Cursing, he ran through into the kitchen.

He jumped a bit as he emerged, because there was one of the guards in medieval uniform standing between two of the doors. There was a harassed-looking cook guy setting out various foodstuffs and.... hallelujah, there was pie! Not only that, it was cherry pie. Dean's mouth watered.

“Try a slice?” the cook offered, forking off a generous piece. Dean did not whine, and accepted the offering, biting into the most delicious pie he had had in ages.

“And I have something to make it taste better”, the cook offered.

“Cream?” Dean said hopefully.

The cook shook his head, and walked round from behind the table. Dean watched him as he walked over to the guard – and too late did he spot that the point of the guard's spear was the crystal he was looking for. He didn't even have time to react before the cook reached out and took the crystal, then turned and doffed his hat.....

“You bastard!” Dean yelled. “You distracted me with pie!”

“Is not the human saying, 'all is fair in love and war'?” Cas asked cheerily. “Finish your pie, Dean.”

“Humph!”

“And then we can go to where they let you try on medieval costumes, and see if they have one for a handmaiden....”

“Hell, no!”

+~+~+

Hell, yeah.

Chapter Text

Destination: Bignor
Dean's Head Start: 18 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 10 from 45

Cas had booked them into The Ostrich Hotel in Robertsbridge, and Dean spent much of the morning mulling over his less than stellar success rate thus far. And if someone held up five fingers across the table like that, he would.... well, he'd pout, for one thing.

“I love it when you pout”, Cas grinned.

Dammit! And Cas had somehow wangled it so he had kept the handmaiden costume. Dean was never wearing that again. He had standards!

Unfortunately, Cas had puppy-dog eyes.

+~+~+

The had a pleasant drive across country today, stopping at one point in a small village called Washington. And Cas did not tease Dean at all about the fact he was nought for five, although he did seem to have to stretch out one hand or the other with an amazingly high frequency. And when they 'chanced' to see a waistcoat in a small clothes shop in a place called Storrington, Cas did not smirk.

Much.

After what seemed like an interminably long day they rolled into a small car park high on the downs. A sign near a fugly modern building proclaimed it 'Bignor Roman Villa'.

“Those Romans didn't have much taste”, Dean snarked. Cas sighed in a put upon manner.

“That is the modern museum”, he said. “There are only remains of the Roman building, mostly under cover.”

He handed Dean the envelope, which the hunter opened and read:
'Where villains on the downs once met,
Stone me, the picture you should get!'
Damn rhymes were getting worse, Dean decided.

“Seventeen fifty-one, fifty, forty-nine.....” came the voice from beside him.

Dean was already running.

+~+~+

This history crap was more Cas' thing, Dean thought as he hurried around the place. He only watched history when cudd.... sitting on the couch holding his angel, because it made the little guy more comfortable. Still, the way they'd preserved this place from a couple of thousand years ago.... not bad, really. And this place had a whole set of old mosaics, so the crystal had to be hidden in one of those. He set to work.

Villains, he thought. Criminals?

He was checking a mosaic beneath him when his phone buzzed, making him jump. Cas was coming, dammit! He stared round frantically, hoping for inspiration.

“Hey, madam?” he said, turning to a guide lady. “Any idea where I might find villains here?”

“Which sort?” she asked.

“Huh?”

“Well”, she said, “villains can mean criminals in the modern sense, or people who worked in a villa. The latter became villeins, with an 'e', in English. There are some of them over there.”

Dean turned to look, and there, directly across from him, was a 3-D frieze on the wall of villains hauling a cart. Not that remarkable – except that in the cart was a crystal!

“Yes!” Dean almost shouted. He quickly kissed the startled woman, and ran over to the frieze to obtain the crystal. He'd won!

+~+~+

“I still think that you got lucky”, Cas said later that day. They had proceeded to a small town called Arundel, and Dean had not spent the whole journey crowing about his first success. There was that time he had been briefly distracted by a passing classic car, and.... yeah..

“Sheer ability on my part, of course”, he said, not at all boastfully. “I say we order pizza to celebrate.”

“Actually I was thinking of putting you on a diet......”

It said something for an angel's grace that Cas was able to keep a straight face for nearly twenty seconds, despite the fact that his mate looked like he'd just heard the apocalypse called. Then he creased up, just knowing that Dean was sat there pouting and looking gloriously sexy. He'd make it up to Dean by letting his husband fuck him later.

Though he might just insist on Dean wearing That Dress.....

+~+~+

Might = Did.

Chapter Text

Destination: Runnymede
Dean's Head Start: 9 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 9 from 44

Dean lay there, panting in the large bed. His eyes watered. Trust him to end up with the angel who could quite literally pull orgasms out of what remained of his body. Three times last night and twice this morning.

“And that's your reward for your first crystal”, Cas grinned.

“Mwah?”

+~+~+

First tune out of the cassette player was the theme from 'Shaft'. Dean glared at Cas, who feigned an innocence that would have been unbelievable even without the fact that certain parts of Dean Winchester's anatomy were no longer on speaking terms with him. At least he had the rubber ring to sit on whilst Cas drove.

They had a journey of a few hours today, and Dean noticed that they seemed to be headed back towards London, as they passed the orbital motorway at one point.

“Shamsiel chose the route”, Cas explained. “He said you would enjoy being in another muscle car, so he didn't always choose the quickest way round.”

“I'm not that predictable!” Dean huffed.

The ensuing silence was far too loud. And far too judgmental.

+~+~+

They arrived in a small town called Egham, which turned out to be on the same river that flowed through London and Windsor. Cas directed Dean to the Runnymede Hotel – five stars, Dean noted – and explained that he had arranged to have dinner there before they began the challenge that afternoon. Or Dean could always skip lunch and.....

The angel managed to avoid laughing at his husband's retreating back.

+~+~+

“This place is a marsh!” Dean complained.

“That's why it was chosen as the meeting-place between King John, with his castle that way at Windsor, and the barons who controlled London in the other direction”, Cas explained. “It's kinda hard to start a battle when you're sinking into the ground. They presented their list of demands to him, what they called the Charter, and he had to agree to it.”

Cas handed him the envelope, and Dean opened it:
Where Bad King John, he did not sign,
The lawyers' gift on high doth shine.'

“And your reduced time of nine minutes has just started”, Cas grinned.

They were on the very edge of the place, so Dean sprinted away down the path that led – well, somewhere. After some little time he hadn't found anything, and was preparing for a rest when his phone bleeped. Dammit!

There was a small ice-cream stand nearby, and he asked the vendor if she knew anything about a lawyer connection to the place.

“That would be what we call the Greek Temple”, she said. “Straight down that path for about half a mile, and you'll see it on your left. My husband is a guide here, and he told me some lawyers from your country gifted it to us years back.”

“Thanks”, Dean beamed.

It was not the direct path he had been on so Cas, if he was sharp, might be there before him, but there was no sign of the little scruff. After a while he reached the temple, a neat little circular thing. Unfortunately there was a party of tourists being shown round, to the evident annoyance of one of the park officials who was on cleaning duty. One of the tourists dropped a food wrapper, and the official snapped it up with one of those metal grabbing-rods, glaring at the offender.

Fortunately the party quickly moved off in one direction and the suited official drifted off in the other, jabbing viciously at items which he deposited in his black bag. Dean walked up to the temple, looking around carefully. This close, the building was more definitely modern, but fitted in well to the place. There was a memorial stone in the center, but nothing around it that looked remotely like a crystal, so Dean went back outside and started to walk round the outside of the place. And almost at once he saw it; a crystal shining on the edge of the roof. There was no sign of Cas.

Dean noticed that the grumpy official had put down his grab-stick and decided to have a bit of fun. He made himself invisible before walking across, then took the stick and made it dance a jig as it crossed back to the temple. Annoyingly the official was re-tying his lace so so he didn't notice – until he reached for his stick and found it gone. He looked around, perplexed.

Still invisible, Dean twirled the stick round a few times, enjoying the look of shock on the old guy's face, before using it to reach up and knock down the crystal. Or that was his intention, but the crystal seemed stuck.

Annoyingly, stick guy then came across and grabbed his stick, staring at it suspiciously. Dean groaned inwardly as the guy looked around him..... and suddenly used his stick to reach up and grab the crystal. Dean stared in horror as the old man – who was suddenly not that old – took off his hat.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Nooooooo!”

“Look on the bright side”, Cas said cheerfully. “You're still on one in seven. That would get you the waistcoat – and glasses – if you can keep it up. Talking of keeping things up, I have a long, hard evening to go and plan for....”

He walked away, not bothering to hide his glee. Dean glared after him. Goddam sneaky angel!

Chapter Text

Destination: Stonehenge
Dean's Head Start: 12 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 9 from 43

Dean was not sulking. He was not, dammit! But just one measly crystal? How had that feather-ass outwitted him, the great Dean Winchester, every damn time? Sammy would have a field-day when he found out.

Still, on the bright side he had his muscle hire car and his tunes, even if Cas insisted on listening to that goddam whale music as they headed west. At least the guy hadn't brought his cassette of Tibetan throat-singing this time.

“I can go back and get it”, the angel muttered.

“You bloody dare!”

+~+~+

They stopped for lunch in a city called Salisbury, where there was a small bakery that did pie. Dean did not drool, nor did he let out a happy yip when Cas purchased an extra slice for him for later that evening. Though judging from the slight smirk on the angel's face, it was just possible that he may have done one (both) of those things.

Cas wanted to spend the afternoon looking round the cathedral here which, Dean had to admit, was kinda impressive. Though the scaffolding up the outside didn't do much for it.

“It's the spire”, Cas explained. “While it was being built, the then bishop realized that the rival one at the cathedral next city over was taller, so he increased the size without bothering to add any extra foundations. They've been having problems ever since.”

“You probably knew the guy”, Dean teased. “Dark Ages Angel.”

“Actually it was the Middle Ages”, Cas corrected him. “And yeah. One of those self-confident guys who always know they're never gonna get anything wrong.”

Dean stared at him suspiciously. That smile was far too innocent.

+~+~+

Dean was surprised that they didn't seem to be in any hurry, and it was late afternoon before they left the place. Their stop for the night was a town called Amesbury about ten miles north, and Cas said the day's challenge lay about two miles further on than that.

They checked in at their hotel, then Cas directed Dean onto another main road. Over a hill, and Dean saw something strange on the next hill over.

“Stonehenge”, Cas said. “A stone circle some five thousand years old. In fact....”

“You were then when they built it”, Dean sighed. “Show off.”

There was a loud silence from the passenger seat.

“And stop with that damn inner smirking!”

+~+~+

They pulled into the car park at the visitor centre, where there were bus-things that evidently transported people to the stones. Cas handed Dean the envelope, which he duly opened:
'You cannot altar what will be,
Under, not over, is the key.'

“And counting”, Cas chirped. Dean shot out of the car and raced down the track to the stones. No way was he waiting for one of those buses.

He reached the stones and found a display-board, and as he came up to it his phone bleeped. Damn! He looked again at the clue, then at the board.....

Score! In the very centre of the circle was 'the altar stone'. Using his mojo to make sure no-one noticed him running up to it, he started frantically checking it. Cas would be here any minute.

'Under, not over', he thought to himself. Hell, if the crystal was under that thing, even his mojo would be hard put to lift it. Then he spotted a small stone which, it seemed, was supporting the much larger one. Except the two were not quite touching. He reached out to check, and pulled the smaller stone clear.

Behind it was a crystal!

He jumped violently when his phone chose that moment to go off, but he had the crystal now. Two down, only five to go, and then.....

+~+~+

The Stonehenge staff never quite worked out how those strange marks got to appear on the Altar Stone. It was almost as if two people had somehow snuck into the place, avoided all the security cameras and had sex on the damn thing. Which was, of course, ridiculous.....

Chapter Text

Destination: Winchester
Dean's Head Start: 6 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 8 from 42

Dean stared piteously at his husband. The coffee machine was so far away – he would actually have to sit upright to reach it – and after last night on a damn hard surface he just didn't have it in him. Mainly because some bastard of a horny angel had had it in him. Four times!

“You're just trying to tire me out so I won't be able to take advantage of my head start”, he said.

“Which is back down to six minutes”, Cas pointed out. “But if you are still in the sort of form when you can object.....”

Dean realized where he was headed, and groaned. It was going to be a long, hard day. In both senses.

But that was okay. Dean had a Plan.....

+~+~+

It was, Dean supposed, good of his son and brother to fit in the town one of their ancestors had been named after. And this was a historic place, the leaflet told him, going back over two thousand years to before the Romans re-sited the place and renamed it Venta, and then the Anglo-Saxons came along and stuck 'caster', their word for fort, on the end to make it (eventually) Winchester. Not that he'd read the leaflet much.

Some black-winged bastard's not-smirk was damn annoying!

Cas wanted to see round the ancient cathedral before they started, which Dean found pretty decent (although the mixed-up bones of some dead kings made him feel a bit off, which bearing in mind his past profession was perhaps strange). Once outside, Cas handed him the envelope:
'Where Alfred stands, he is the boss
Up to the hilt? Then 'tis your loss!'

Dean realized his reduced head start was already vanishing, and raced away towards... well, somewhere or other.

There was a town hall building to one side of the main street, and Dean ran in there to see if they could provide a clue. Irritatingly the one woman who was giving out guidance was talking to one of his fellow countrymen, who seemed intent on going on for hours. Until Dean used his mojo to give Badly-Dressed Guy a desire to go to the bathroom. In the next fifteen seconds.

Luckily the woman knew exactly what he wanted.

“Alfred the Great was King of Wessex, and saved the county from being overrun by the Viking Great Army”, she explained. “This was his capital, and capital of England too for a time. His statue is at the end of the High Street; turn right when you leave here and it's in the middle of the road, at the end of a car park.”

Dean thanked her and raced out of the building. He'd got this one.

In his distraction, he hadn't heard his phone sound the warning.

+~+~+

Dean found the statue easily enough, and wandered around it as if examining it, whilst covertly drawing angelic wards on the ground by each of its four sides. Finally he was done, and he made himself invisible. He then clambered up onto the statue, balancing precariously next to the bronze figure.

The old king had been done with his sword raised to the skies, and in the hilt of the sword Dean could see a large stone, probably the crystal in disguise. He reached up for it – but something was stopping him. Huh?

He tried again, but there was some sort of field around the sword that repelled him every time he tried to reach for it. Frustrated, he reached into his pocket for one of the small sachets of dust he kept for times like this, and scattered it around the base of the sword where the statue's arm gripped it. Sure enough, an angelic rune briefly lit up before fading away. Dammit!

He eased down to stand in front of the statue, holding onto the shield's top edge. There had to be a way round this. He thought back to the couplet, and that line about the king being the boss. Using his phone, he checked – and yup, it had a sneaky second meaning. 'Boss' was also the word used to describe the center of the shield. And in the center of the shield he was holding onto he had earlier noticed a dull stone. He reached down to grab it – but it was gone.

“Huh?”

“Hello, Dean.”

Oh fuck. Right there, large as life and twice as annoying, was a certain trench-coated angel, grinning at him from inside the barrier. And holding the crystal.

“You tricked me!” Dean complained. “I thought it was the stone in the bloody hilt. No fair!”

“Using warding runes to keep me out?” Cas inquired archly.

Ah.

“Never mind”, Cas grinned as he played with the crystal. “I suppose I had better start on my nice, tasty reward!”

And the bastard whipped out a pie and began to devour it. Dean hurried to rejoin his mate, but apparently the runes he had done worked both ways.....

He hated his life!

Chapter Text

Destination: Alum Bay
Dean's Head Start: 9 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 8 from 41

A Winchester in Winchester, Dean thought as he woke that morning and stretched in his comfortable bed (seriously, his family had done good in their choice of resting places, even if he was a teasing bastard of the first order). And unusually they'd be spending two nights in this county; they had to cross to some island today, then return to spend a night back on the mainland before trundling on. With his third crystal.

Okay, so the feather-brain had gotten lucky yesterday in anticipating Dean's perfectly justifiable and fair-minded tactics, but that had just been a fluke. The hunter had refined his plan for today, and there was no way his husband would outwit him this time.

They had to drive to a place called Lymington, then take a ferry across to the Isle of Wight. Dean's plan was a simple one, and he was sure it would work. By using his mojo to increase the protective wards Cas had long ago carved into his ribs, he could make himself pretty much angel-proof. If Cas tried to get within half a mile of him, he'd just bounce off. And by the time he'd worked that out, Dean would be another crystal up. He was a genius.

+~+~+

Incidentally, pride does not always come before a fall.....

+~+~+

The road to Lymington passed through something called the New Forest, which Dean thought was a bit short of trees. But Cas explained that when it had been created over nine centuries ago, the word 'forest' meant 'royal hunting area', and therefore included all sorts of lands. Unfortunately he then went on to describe exactly what had happened to people caught poaching from the royal lands. In detail.

Suddenly Dean was not looking forward to lunch.

+~+~+

Cas directed Dean to pull up outside a small bed and breakfast place. Dean was surprised; it was barely even noon.

“That is the ferry over there”, Cas said pointing, “and Shammy's directions include a bus ride the other side. They are okay with us coming early as we won't need the actual room till later.”

“Oh, Cool.”

“When I'll be celebrating my latest victory....”

“Hey!”

+~+~+

They had a light lunch on the ferry, which took half an hour to reach the island. Once there Cas led them into the nearby small town of Yarmouth and easily found the bus stop. Dean grinned to himself. His angel was in for quite a surprise.

So was he, a few miles further on. The journey ended at some sort of grotto place, and on the front were words that made the hunter's heart sink. This had to be the Moose's doing:
'CHAIR LIFT'.

“What fun!” Cas beamed. Dean scowled at him. The angel handed him the envelope, and he opened it:
A lift to where the Needles stand,
With gold and white and.... Purple sand?'

It was cold that day, which was why Dean Winchester was trembling. No other reason. He noted that there was an alternative in steps leading down to the beach, but that would surely be slower, and he had less than ten minutes' head start. He stood there waiting for a chair to come round. Ye Gods, it was the flimsiest thing he'd ever seen, a metal death-trap that was.....

No. He was gonna do this. His third crystal. It could not be that bad.

It turned out that it could. Before even reaching the cliff edge the lift crossed a small wood, the tops of the trees visible below Dean despite the fact he had his eyes screwed tight shut. Then he felt a change in the breeze, and knew that he had breasted the cliff edge. He felt the thing drop steadily, wishing fervently that it was all over and....

“Sir?”

The kid on duty at the bottom was looking at him anxiously, and Dean suddenly realized that unless he got himself out of this contraption pretty damn quick, he might have to go all the way back up and then back down again. He nearly fell over in his efforts to extricate himself, but it was worth the kid's slight smirk to be away from that awful thing. He hurried off the platform and onto the beach, ignoring the warning bleep from his phone.

Alum Bay Beach was actually quite cool, with a small boat waiting to take people out to see some towering stacks a little distance out to sea. Dean bought two small globes containing colored sand, and decided to mojo them back to the Tahoe for safety, then set about looking for the crystal.

As well as ready-made gifts, one stall had a selection of colored sand buckets where you could fill a bottle with your own choice of the weird colors he could see some of in the cliffs – no, not looking up. He suddenly remembered that of the three colors mentioned in the rhyme, one had had a capital. He covertly inspected the purple box – and sure enough, just sticking out above the sand was the point of a crystal. Score!

“Hello, Dean.”

This was the precise moment when Dean Winchester learned a very sudden, very painful and (seconds later) very wet lesson about science. Namely that if the wards in your body are set to repel an angel, but the angel is very firmly planted right next to you, then the immovable object (angel) is gonna create an irresistible force to repel the movable object (human).

Dean's wail fortunately went unheard by anyone on the beach, as he was propelled backwards by the force of his own runes. The shock was such – hell, he had been seconds from grabbing that damn crystal – that he kinda forgot that as an almost-angel he could fly.....

+~+~+

Cas (once he'd stopped laughing) got him out and mojo'ed him dry. He even held Dean's hand as they took the chairlift back to the bus-stop. And he didn't snigger once.

Well, okay, once.

Alright, twice.

Before they reached the top of the chair-lift.

Chapter Text

Destination: Lyme Regis
Dean's Head Start: 12 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 8 from 40

Cas was in the shower when Dean awoke, and the hunter opened his eyes blearily and stared across the room. Her yawned and stretched, wondering what was for breakfast this morning. Seriously, these little bed and breakfast places certainly lived up to the second half of their name. And despite yesterday's minor setback, he was still ahead of schedule for the waistcoat and glasses. Yup, life was pretty good right now.

He should have known. Cas came out of the little en suite, looking stern. Dean gulped.

“After your attempts of late to skirt round the rules of the challenge”, the angel said as he sat on the bed, “you are now going to have to pay a forfeit.”

“I thought that was no sex last night?” Dean didn't pout. He looked pleadingly at the angel, but no dice. Then he gulped as Cas produced something from nowhere.

“Cas! Please?”

The angel shook his head, and flourished the purple vibrator.

“I have set it to randomly go off throughout the next three days”, he told his husband. “I believe the apposite human saying is, 'this will hurt you more than it hurts me?'”

Dean pouted again, but rolled over to take it like a man.

+~+~+

It was a two-hour drive to their next stop, which was okay. Except some bastard of a teasing angel wanted to take the scenic route. And after they had passed a small town called Wareham, Cas directed him off the main road towards some place called Swanage. They only went a few miles however before Dean was directed to turn off again, this time into some car park. Not grumbling or pouting, he followed the angel, walking very gingerly until they came out on some railroad platform where there was an old-fashioned steam train.

“Six miles to Swanage, and six miles back”, Cas grinned evilly. “And the journey back will be on one of the old diesel rail-cars, which shake even more.”

“I hate you!”

+~+~+

Okay, there was pie to follow a rather good fish and chip meal in Swanage, but it was agony walking round the town with.... well, with. Dean was never gonna try to put one over on the angel again. And he had two more days of this after today?

The rail-car journey back was awful - why did they have to have three stops in just six measly miles? - and Cas had to drive when they finally got back to the Tahoe. Dean wasn't in much shape to.....

Holy crap, that was part of his punishment. A twelve minute head start wouldn't be much use if he could barely walk. Fuck!

+~+~+

It was late afternoon when they rolled into their destination, the town of Lyme Regis. Cas had booked them a room at the Crown Inn, where mercifully he allowed Dean to extract the vibrator before the actual challenge began. Small mercies, Dean thought. Outside the pub, Cas handed him the familiar envelope:
'French kissing? May your aim be true,
The answer's clear out of the blue.'

Once he was out of sight Dean called up his phone and tried 'French Lyme Regis' in the search engine. The first couple of links were useless, and when he found the third one he groaned aloud. It turned out that this was the place where that god-awful chick-flick that Cas loved, 'The French Lieutenant's Woman', had been filmed, and in particular the dramatic scene of the characters kissing on the breakwater. The crystal had to be out there somewhere.

He had been walking slowly into the town center as he had been searching, and had to double back to the seafront. Checking his phone again, he found that he had missed the alarm going off, and that Cas was already on his way. Dammit!

The breakwater was a low defensive sea-wall that protected the harbour, and was singularly uninteresting except for some small posts at regular distances along it with lights set in them, presumably for anyone dumb enough to wander out onto the thing at night....

Out of the blue, Dean thought. The posts were blue. And right by one of them was a fisherman with his back to Dean, sitting there repairing a lobster pot. Scruffy black hair, those awful loafers that Cas loved – he was just waiting to nip in at the last minute and grab the crystal from under Dean's nose again. Right!

Dean grinned. He had Cas' number this time. He walked casually along the breakwater, checking each light in turn, and sure enough, none of them had a crystal. That meant that it had to be in the very last one, just beyond the fisherman. Time for some payback!

He moved silently up to the man, using his mojo to avoid any noise, then suddenly leaped forward and shoved him hard. The man immediately fell forward into the harbour with a cry and a loud splash, before rising to the surface and looking around in shock.

Dean gulped. There was nothing about the guy at all. He was exactly what he had seemed, a harmless fisherman to whom Dean had given an early bath.

“Hey!”

Oh it just had to be the Standard Dean Winchester Luck™, didn't it? A local policemen was hurrying along the breakwater, blowing his whistle and looking rather red in the face with all the effort. And Dean had nowhere to go. He blinked himself invisible, smirking at the shock on the approaching constable's face. Hah!

The policeman walked warily up to where the fisherman was climbing up the ladder, dripping wet, and looked around incredulously. Dean grinned – until the bastard suddenly reached across, opened the blue light, and extracted a crystal.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean Winchester, manly man extraordinaire, cried.

+~+~+

Cas insisted on looking round the town with him afterwards, buying the usual crap ton of tourist tat which he then mojo'ed back to the Bunker. Dean bore his not-gloating with fortitude and the minimum of complaining.

Well, not that much complaining. And it stopped once Cas had purchased him that second slice of pie. Life was not so bad.

And then Cas re-inserted the damn vibrator!

Chapter Text

Destination: Plymouth
Dean's Head Start: 15 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 8 from 39

Dean Winchester was not exactly used to waking to a feeling of being gloriously filled, save those morning when the horny angel was even hornier and decided that Dean needed to be up in both senses. But being woken by a vibrator that suddenly went off at what (Dean hoped was) its top setting? Now that was just cruel. And not at all hot.

Cas had to bring him breakfast in bed.

+~+~+

It had been a long, slow and (for Dean) bumpy ride from Lyme Regis, some bastard of an angel wanting to stop and walk around every damn tourist-trap of a town they came through. And Dean had not whined whenm during a brief moment of forgetfulness, he saw down suddenly on a hard pew in Exeter Cathedral. Though it was just possible that his lip may have quivered. A bit.

Cas didn't need to laugh like that, either way.

They left the coast and crossed some pretty empty countryside before rolling into their destination, the town of Plymouth, a little after five. Cas explained that this particular challenge had to be undertaken after dark, which meant after nine at this time of year, so they had time for a meal and a walk along the sea-front. Which thankfully for Dean was a vibrator-less walk along the sea-front.

Back at their hotel there was a number of leaflets to read which, Cas told him, might be relevant for their challenge. Dean was interested to read about Francis Drake, a sixteenth century privateer who had been second-in-command when the Spanish Armada tried to invade England back in 1588. The dude, on being told the enemy was approaching Plymouth, had simply said that they had time to finish his game of bowls and defeat the Spanish too. Show-off! There was also a whole set of stuff on a nearby bowls club, which claimed to date back to those times.

Just after nine, Cas handed his husband the envelope, which Dean opened:
'Drake's game? The silver's your best bet,
Avoid the traps, and don't be wet!'

“A full quarter of an hour”, Cas reminded him. “It's already started....”

Dean was racing out the door.

+~+~+

The bowls club was in the next street, and Dean reached it quickly enough. He stared warily at the alarm as he disabled it, but there was no reaction. He jumped and let out a manly expression of surprise – definitely not a squeak – when the phone went off to warn him his lead time was up, but he was cool. He'd got this one in the bag.

The place was dark, and he walked carefully across the bar, keeping a wary eye out for any traps. Sure enough, there was a full bottle of his favorite bourbon on the counter, clearly waiting to refill an almost empty upturned one which had only a couple of shots left. There was even a glass next to the bottle.

“No you don't”, Dean said quietly to himself. He pocketed the full bottle and took the last two shots from the upturned one instead. There was a plan of the place's layout on the wall, and he checked it. The most likely place for anything silver had to be the Trophy Room on the upper floor, so he headed for the dark stairs.

Yup, there it was. A few tiny black marbles, just where the stairs turned and were at their darkest, waiting to trip him up.

“Have to do better than that, Shammy”, Dean muttered, yawning and wishing he was in his comfortable hotel bed. Soon.

The corridor seemed empty, but Dean didn't believe it. He advanced cautiously, sprinkling a little dust ahead of his every couple of steps. Sure enough, right outside the Trophy Room was a ward designed to entrap anyone dumb enough to step across it. He edged round instead, and stepped carefully into the room beyond.

If he'd had been a bit less confident, he might have wondered why the door had been slightly ajar. He found out when he pushed the door open and walked through – and was immediately soused as well as brained by the bucket of water that fell on top of him. Goddamit!

Thankful for his mojo, Dean was quickly dry, though still annoyed at being caught out. He placed the bucket to one side and went over to the glass cabinets. There were four small ones around a central plinth, and he checked each one but could find nothing. His phone bleeped with a text.

*I am outside the window.*

Dean crossed to the tall balcony window and carefully pulled back the curtains, but could see nothing. He frowned as his phone buzzed again.

*Sorry, I meant the door.*

Dean looked across the room – and there was Cas at the door, holding the bucket that had soused and brained him.

“I can still find it before you”, Dean said confidently.

Cas grinned – and reached inside the bucket. A swift turn, and he extracted a crystal. Dean stared in horror.

“I had it so close!” he wailed. “That's not fair!”

“Another one to me”, Cas grinned. “And as we're doing an Elizabethan theme, I think it's time I took you back to the hotel and swashed your buckle, eh?”

Dean glared at him. That was just bad.

+~+~+

Bad, but accurate.

Chapter Text

Destination: Tintagel
Dean's Head Start: 18 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 8 from 38

Last day with the vibrator, Dean thought as he and Cas showered that morning, and the angel carefully worked him open to receive it. It was frankly undignified, demeaning, and... damned hot. He really shouldn't stand for this.....

Then his oh so flexible angel set about blowing him while working the vibrator inside him, and Dean thought no more.

+~+~+

They left Plymouth and crossed a wide river into their county for the day, Cornwall. There were two flags with crosses on them on the other side; Dean recognized the English red-on-white one, but the white-on-black one was foreign to him.

“The flag of Saint Petroc, patron saint of Cornwall”, Cas explained. “They even have their own language down here, although few speak it.”

“Not much use, then”, Dean scoffed.

“It is cultural”, Cas said. “Use does not come into it.”

Dean would have said something, but the vibrator chose that moment to suddenly move up to its medium setting. He gripped the steering-wheel and tried to ignore the smug look from the scruff next to him.

+~+~+

Their destination was a hotel by a beach, a weird place that was clearly trying (and failing) to look medieval. 'The Camelot Hotel'.

“Named for the legendary capital of King Arthur, some fifteen centuries ago”, Cas said. “The old castle here is believed by some to be the original Camelot.”

“Was it?” Dean asked. Cas grinned.

“Maybe.”

Dean's answer was again curtailed, this time by the vibrator suddenly hitting full speed and the hunter hitting the roof of the Tahoe.

+~+~+

The rhyme today was weird:
To Camelot both old and new,
So take a tilt, and don't feel blue.'

They were standing behind the hotel, and Dean guessed that this meant something to do with the old castle, which he could see a little way along the coast. There was also something happening on the field between him and it, so he set off at a run to investigate.

The 'something' turned out, of all things, to be a LARPing event, and there were a whole host of things that would have made Charlie feel right at home (well, in between teasing her favorite handmaiden). Dean quickly mojo'ed himself into a swordsman's costume and made his way in. There were all the usual things, and he didn't have to go far until he came to a long stretch of grass with 'Ye Tilting Yarde' on the sign outside. This had to be it.

“What do I have to do?” he asked a guy who seemed to be in charge.

“Ride your horse at the quintain and loop it”, the guy said.

“The what?”

The guy pointed to about two-thirds of the way down the grassy run where there was a large pole set up to one side. A cross-beam along the top supported two ropes, one on each side. From the one over the grassy run there was a small white ring, and from the other there was a large heavy sack.

“Quintain”, the guy said. “You pays your fee – it all goes to the local hospice – and get a horse, then have to get your lance right through the hoop.”

Dean squinted at the distant object.

“What's the prize?” he asked warily.

“They give commemorative crystals to people who can do it”, the guy said. “But if you don't get it exactly right, then the sack swings round and knocks you off.”

Dean thought quickly. Cas had said he could not use his mojo to get a crystal, but technically he was only going to use it to win a contest for which a crystal happened to be the prize, so that didn't count. He nodded, and went off to pay the entrance fee. Annoyingly his phone rang the warning on the way, and his walk became a bit faster.

“Remember, you have to still be on the horse to win”, one of the squires smirked. “Pride comes before a fall, you know.”

“I'll be fine”, Dean grunted, though the length of the lance was a bit disconcerting. “Let me get this thing balanced and we'll be off.”

He leveled the lance and took the horse out onto the run, lining it up with the quintain. Using his mojo, he made the lance wobble a bit but kept it on line for the ring, and moved his horse into a canter. The up and down motion jarred him (although thankfully the vibrator was silent), but his aim held true, and soon enough he was at the quintain....

And he had it! The point of the lance went through the ring, piercing it perfectly, and he used his free hand to punch the air in triumph.

When he came to, he was lying on he ground looking stunned. A blond squire was bent over him with a plastic cup of water.

“Wha'ppen?” Dean asked, dazed.

“You got clobbered by the sack”, the squire grinned.

Dean stared up at the man in confusion, and a horrible feeling began to manifest itself inside him.

“Cas?”

The squire lifted his blond wig slightly to reveal dark locks underneath, and grinned.

“What happened to not using your mojo, Dean?” he smirked.

“I didn't use it directly”, Dean said defensively, feeling despite those words that he was the one in the wrong. “I stopped the second before I got the ring.”

“What an amazing coincidence!” Cas smirked. “There must have been a freak gust of air that knocked you off balance at that exact moment!”

“You suck!” Dean scowled. “My day cannot get any worse!”

“You forget”, Cas grinned, holding up a camera. “Live video feed to Charlie and Sam back at the Bunker. They'll have copies out to everyone by now. Oh and by the way” - he held up a crystal - “ while you were out, I managed to win this without using my mojo.”

Dean pouted.

+~+~+

Later, Cas introduced Dean to the Cornish pasty, which he was delighted to discover came in fruit versions. At least, delighted until he got calls from Sam. And Charlie. And seven other soon to be ex-friends.

Chapter Text

Destination: Weston-Super-Mare
Dean's Head Start: 21 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 8 from 37

Dean woke up in a sour mood. Even a full English breakfast (with pie) could not snap him out of the depression that, so far, the angel had outwitted him at almost every turn.

He still ate the pie, though. It would have been rude not to.

+~+~+

They had their longest journey of the whole trip today, having to go back through half of Cornwall and right back across Devonshire, plus most of their destination county, Somerset. Even so there was no real rush; Dean could have done the trip in a few hours if some scruffy bastard had not insisted on him sticking to the speed limits. And even if there was no vibrator up his ass today, he knew better than to annoy his angel. Cas would find some way to make him regret it, and worse, he might actually do so in a way Dean would not enjoy.

They stopped for much at a place called Taunton, where Dean wanted pizza but Cas insisted that he could have some in the evening instead. Dean, who was not totally whipped despite what certain red-heads and mooses (meece?) so often claimed, yielded gracefully because he loved his husband.

There may have been the most infinitesimal pout, though.

It was mid-afternoon when they rolled into Weston-Super-Mare, and Cas directed Dean to a frankly horrible multi-story car-park. The town itself was okay, and the sea-front was definitely the best part. They stopped in front of a small shop selling tourist tat, and Cas handed Dean the envelope:
'First find the train upon the sea,
Then look you for the skeleton key.'

Dean had a full twenty-one minutes head start today, and Cas was already looking at his watch so the hunter looked around frantically. There was one of those road-trains giving tourists rides around the town and along the sea front, but the rhyme had said 'upon the sea'. That couldn't go on the sea.

There was a pier almost directly across the road, and a large board at the entrance listed all the attractions. Dean ran across to read it, then grinned. One of the attractions was a ghost train!

The pier seemed interminably long, but finally he saw the train. Unfortunately that same moment his phone sounded the warning, and his run became a sprint. The guy in charge looked surly enough, so Dean made himself invisible and slipped inside. It was the usual collection of cheap scares and thrills, and he had not found anything of interest before he heard a train coming.

“Aw, you scared of a few bits of plastic, Penny?”

The speaker was a leering man who had his arm wrapped around someone Dean knew was his wife. He grinned, and used his mojo to create a small flare on her side that only the wife could see. Then he stepped close to the tracks, drew out his wings, and appeared for just a few seconds less than an inch away from the man.

“Boo!” he yelled.

The sound of the man screaming as his train rumbled on was very pleasant.

Dean was close to the end when he finally got lucky. Another train rumbled by him, and it must have triggered some mechanism for a coffin nearby opened with a creak to reveal an awakened skeleton. And at his feet, a crystal! Dean swooped in and grabbed it before the door could shut again, then walked casually outside and around the back of the place before making himself visible again. And to cap off a truly great day, Cas was just running up.

“Three”, Dean grinned, “is the magic number.”

“Still need seven more for the waistcoat and glasses”, Cas reminded him. “Let's go round the thing together, eh?”

+~+~+

Dean's day was capped off when he texted his brother to say that he and Cas had ridden the ghost train and, when he got the text back asking if that had been a euphemism (yeah Dean knew what one of those was, even if only because Cas had told him), the hunter had texted back to say that he was sore..... he meant sure.

Who knew they now did a bitchface emoji?

Chapter Text

Destination: Parkend, Forest of Dean
Dean's Head Start: 10 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 7 from 36

Dean was not gloating after his triumph yesterday, because he was not that type of husband. And not because Cas had threatened to switch him to salad breakfasts if he gloated too much. Dean could not be got at like that.

All right, Cas had pretty much curtailed the gloating bit by using his grace to give Dean's wings an impromptu massage some five minutes before breakfast. Sat in a room with several dozen people, and with a hard-on that could break through a brick? Not cool!

They had a middling length drive today which could have take three hours if done non-stop, but Cas wanted to take in some old castle in a place called Berkeley.

“Tradition says that in 1327, King Edward II was murdered here”, he told Dean.

Dean was getting hungry for lunch (hey, it was past ten), so he distractedly asked how. Cas told him.

Some little time later, Dean was sitting down rather more carefully in the Tahoe, still wincing at the image. 'Anal impalement by a red-hot iron'. Hell, those medievals were damn inventive!

+~+~+

They stopped for lunch in a a small city called Gloucester, where Cas wanted to take in the cathedral. They did not spend long there however, as apparently their instructions required them to be at the search site, which was about an hour further on, by a set time in early afternoon.

Dean grinned as he saw a sign shortly after leaving the city.

“Hey”, he grinned, “my place. The Forest of Dean!'

“Dean is an old word for a small valley”, Cas reminded him, “and this is a hilly area. Sadly it is not named for a famous hunter, much as your reputation deserves such a thing.”

Dean did not puff out his chest at that. Much.

+~+~+

Their destination was a small village called Parkend, which was spectacularly unremarkable. Dean parked in what presumably passed for the main street, and Cas handed him the envelope:
'Amid the wood of Dean, no doubt,
You'll be steamed up, but level out.'
“Only ten minutes today”, Cas reminded him.

Dean hurriedly got out of the car and looked around him. Where in this dump was he gonna get 'steamed up'?

They had pulled up by a post office, and there was a pub a little way down on the right. He ran up to it, but it was called 'The Fountain'. Water, but not steam, he thought crossly; why couldn't it be called 'The Geyser' or some crap?.

A little further on the village road crossed a main road and continued across a railroad crossing. Dean looked around, but nothing – until he saw a wisp of steam in the distance that, as he watched, seemed to be getting nearer. And pulling around the corner into the little station was another of those damn steam trains.

Steamed up, Dean thought. Got it.

He raced over to the station, and hurried into the ticket office. Apparently the train ran from here as far as some placed called 'Lydney', but he could just buy a platform ticket for a few pennies. Hurrying onto the platform, he looked around. There were people getting off the arrived train, but nothing to do with 'level'. Dammit!

To add to his woes, his phone chose that moment to go off, warning that his Olympic runner of a husband would be there in a couple of minutes. There seemed nothing on the platform he was on, so he raced over the footbridge to the opposite one. There was the sound of a bell ringing somewhere, and looking along the tracks he could see that the crossing gates had been opened so the train could run round and start the return journey.

The crossing gates.

The level-crossing gates! On the bloody level!

Dean raced across the platform and along to where the end opened onto the road. The old steam locomotive was chuffing over the crossing, and Dean checked the crossing-gate on his side for anything. There was a lantern on the white gate, but it was just a lantern. He had to check the other side.....

The locomotive cleared the crossing, and after a few seconds the steam left in its wake cleared too. Cleared to reveal the horrible figure of some bastard angel opening the lantern on the far side of the crossing and extracting.....

“Nooooooooo!”

+~+~+

The journey to their next bed and breakfast, which it turned out was in the train's destination of Lydney, was only a few miles long. To Dean however it seemed interminable, with Cas making repeated references to how chuffed he was to have won the day's crystal, reminding Dean to slow down for the pedestrian crossing, telling him not to get all steamed up because he had lost, he just needed more training and humming 'Come on Baby, Light My Fire' from the tape deck. Dean suppressed his murderous thoughts, and reminded himself that he was still on target for the waistcoat and glasses (just), and Cas couldn't outwit him all the time like that.

Probably.

Chapter Text

Destination: Caerleon-on-Usk
Dean's Head Start: 13 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 7 from 35

Great as angel mojo was, it was only partly effective when it came to making Dean a functional human (well, almost-angel) the following day. It was all very well removing all the aches and pains – and boy, were there some aches and pains! - but Dean's muscles apparently had a memory system all of their own, and kept reminding him of the gymnastics he had been doing the night before. And Cas putting a rubber ring on the driving seat was pushing it though, even if Dean's huff hid more than a shred of gratitude.

Alright, a whole shit-ton of gratitude!

+~+~+

Dean was surprised when the angel directed him over a high bridge across an estuary, and shortly after reaching the other side he saw a sign reading 'Croeso I Gymru – Welcome To Wales'.

“I thought you said we were staying in England?” he asked.

“We are visiting the old counties of England as they were around a century ago”, Cas said. “At that time the county we are now in, Monmouthshire, was in England for some things and Wales for others, hence its motto 'Usque Fidelis' – Faithful To Both. But in 1974 the government, knowing the Welsh were about to vote on independence, made it formally in Wales to weaken that vote.”

“Did it work?” Dean asked.

“Yes, though it did not prove decisive”, Cas said. “And don't worry; we have over a month of you not finding crystals – I mean counties – still to go.”

Dean shot him a wary look, but no-one could do innocent like his angel.

+~+~+

They continued some little way until Cas directed Dean off the motorway and eventually into a small car park. A sign on one side read 'Caerleon Roman Fort'.

“You back to looking at old ruins again?” Dean grinned.

“There is a coarse joke I could make there about having married one”, Cas snarked back, “but I will not make it.”

Dean glared at him.

“Especially as tonight, I intend to ruin you even more!”

The way he said that, it was as if he were reading a damn weather report!Once they were both out of the Tahoe (and Dean's breathing had returned to normal), Cas handed his husband the envelope:
'Twixt hot and cold, you will get wet,
An early bath is your best bet.'

Dean hurried away into the museum.

+~+~+

Inside it was of course just ruins, but there was a layout showing what had been were. Even better, although the rooms all had Roman names, the English translations were provided beneath. Dean noticed that two of them – caldarium and frigidarium – translated as hot room and cold room, and noted that there was a small, narrow chamber between them. Aha!

He entered the chamber, which had apparently been both a store room and used to insulate between the different temperatures of the rooms either side of it. But it was spectacularly unremarkable. His phone bleeped its warning at one point, and he glared at it before hurrying on, but he found nothing. He went back outside to see if he had missed anything, and only then noticed the room to the left.

'Tepidarium (Warm Room). The first room visited by most bathers.'

The early bath, Dean groaned. Dammit!

He hurried into the room, which had a raised pathway around the outside of what had presumably once been the bath. And there, on the opposite walkway to where he had emerged, a crystal was positioned on one of the wooden posts of the safety fence. Dean grinned and hurried towards it.

It happened so fast that he had no time to react. He had seen the tourist standing a few feet from the crystal, the guy staring at the mosaics on the wall. Dean was just yards from his target when the guy suddenly stepped forward, leaned over the railing and grabbed the crystal.

“Hullo Dean!”

Dean Winchester, manly man extraordinaire, cried.

+~+~+

They had pizza in the nearby town of Newport, which Dean found depressing (the town, not of course the pizza, and what the hell had the guy who had designed the train station been taking?). Still, at least Dean was happy and fed, and he even graciously consented to Cas holding him close on the bench seat of the Impala afterwards, in a way which bore no resemblance in any shape or form to you-know-what.

Shut up.

Cas had found a nice hotel for them in the town, and very fairly had not said anything about his triumph that day. At least until Dean had flung himself onto the bed in a not-sulk and turned on the TV.

“So”, the angel said innocently, “I thought we could share a bath tonight?”

Dean scowled. He was married to one mean angel!

Chapter Text

Destination: Clifford
Dean's Head Start: 16 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 7 from 34

Well, there went the theory that baths were more relaxing. Not when you're in the tub with a horny angel who is using his Grace for things it was almost certainly never meant for. How Dean had made it to the bed last night when he could hardly stand, God alone knew.

They had a pleasant drive that day, mostly on back roads. Lunch, to Dean's surprise, was at a Mickey Dee's near a place called Merthyr Tydfil. Cas explained that he didn't want to fill Dean up too much. At least not with food.

Why the hell did he have to wait until Dean was in the middle of a soda to say something like that?

+~+~+

They carried on in no particular hurry, and it was not long before they pulled into a small town which proclaimed itself to be Hay-on-Wye. Cas wanted to stop here and the minute he saw the little High Street, Dean understood why. This place was bookshop heaven!

“I'm gonna pull up some car stuff on my tablet whilst you browse”, Dean told him. He knew he wasn't good at shopping (although the little trophy Sam had gotten him for Christmas with Worst Shopping Companion In The World had been pushing it just a bit), and he didn't want to distract the little scruff with any perfectly justifiable complaints on his part. Cas just gave him his patented Dean Winchester You Are So Full Of Shit But I Love You Anyway Look™, and sauntered off into the nearest bookshop.

Dean actually got lucky as there was a bakery near a bench in the shade, so he was able to purchase a pastry and sit down in comfort. Indeed, he did not even notice that three hours had passed until Cas appeared next to him, bearing two bags bulging with books.

“They were on sale”, he said defensively.

Dean responded with his own Cas You Are So Full Of Shit But I Love You Anyway Look™, and the angel rolled his eyes at him.

+~+~+

Cas explained that their destination for the day was just a couple of miles further on and that luckily there was a pizza place in Hay that delivered that far out. Dean drove them back across the border (into 'England proper', as he called it) and at the first village, a place called Clifford, Cas directed him down a couple of narrow side-roads, the second of which ended outside a ruined castle. Cas called these roads 'unclassifieds' whilst Dean privately called them 'death-traps'. The angel handed his husband the envelope, and Dean opened it:
'Keep your eyes peeled, and know the score,
To find the key without a door.'

“Need to keep my eyes peeled anyway”, Dean muttered as he hurried towards the ruined building. “Damn thing looks set to fall down any minute!”

The caste was set on a hill above the river, and once through a gate Dean looked around for any clues. What sort of key didn't open a door? And there wasn't even a handy sign showing what was where in the place.

Time must have been passing rather faster than he had thought, for his phone suddenly rang the warning. He looked around, and his attention was caught by the tower. It looked very unsafe, but he could always mojo his way out of trouble if it chose to collapse under him. And he could see a lot more from higher up.

From the top of the tower the view was indeed great. He could see a certain scruffy angel approaching the castle, and Cas waved to him. Oddly the little guy wasn't hurrying, which was concerning. Dean stared down and watched him.

Cas walked up to the first gateway, and Dean could barely see him. But he did see the angel reach up to above the door and take down....

Language like that had not been used in the medieval castle for many a year. Dean shot out his wings and glided down to stand next to his smirking husband, glaring at him.

“How the hell did you know that was there?” he demanded.

“The clue told me”, Cas said simply. “Keep your eyes peeled'. This is the gateway to the keep, and the key therefore had to be the central stone above it, which is the key stone.”

“And I walked right underneath it!” Dean wailed. “Not fair!”

“Never mind”, Cas said soothingly. “I shall order our pizza soon. In the meantime.... I think it is about time I started asserting my rights of droit de seigneur.”

“Didn't you tell me once that that was just a Hollywood invention?” Dean asked, trying not to back away. Cas chuckled darkly.

“Never let a good imaginary story go to waste, handmaiden.”

Dean gulped.

+~+~+

Cas had to carry what was left of his husband back to the Tahoe. And to hand-feed him his pizza later.

Chapter Text

Destination: Dudley
Dean's Head Start: 19 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 7 from 33

The roads of England, Dean had long decided, were very different from those back home. He supposed it was being an older country and a lot more crowded, but whilst the main roads were okay, some of these 'unclassifieds' really merited the name. Thank Chuck for angel mojo which warned you when some dick was trying to get a caravan round a hairpin bend in the middle of fucking nowhere (and if it allowed you to mojo the guy five miles back on his journey, so much the better).

The countryside was pleasant enough at least, and after about an hour they reached another border.

“'Worcestershire;”, Dean read. “Is that where we're stopping tonight?”

“Yes”, Cas smiled. “The name means 'county of the wicker people'. We are not far from the geographic centre of England, much as Lebanon is the geographic centre of the continental United States.”

“Nerd!” Dean said fondly.

“I'd be nicer to the person who is going to be blowing you immediately after lunch”, Castiel said primly.

And Dean was almost instantly hard. Goddam sexy angel!

+~+~+

They stopped for lunch in a small tea-shop in a place called Tenbury Wells, which normally Dean would have supposed was cute in an Olde Worlde sort of way. Now he was just buzzing with anticipation, and even the pie on the menu did not distract him for very long. It might have done, but the frankly pornographic noises Cas made as he ate his own slice – that was just unfair!

“You look like you need a stiff drink, honey”, the waitress remarked as she brought them what Cas insisted was 'the bill'.

The angel waited for her to go before whispering, “something is going to be stiff alright!”, before taking the bill and sauntering off to pay it. Dean very pointedly held his coat in front of him on his way out.

+~+~+

Thirty minutes later, Dean was dozing in the back seat, a dopey grin on his face. He woke up only moments before the Tahoe came to a stop, and Castiel waved an envelope at him.

“You've not left me in good shape when it comes to running after crystals”, he grumbled.

“Yes.”

Dean glared at him, but opened the envelope anyway:
'A castle? No, the crystal's spot,
A white horse that will never trot.'

“Where are we?” Dean asked.

“A place called Dudley”, Cas told him. “And your time is already ticking....”

Dean was gone.

+~+~+

Some distance down the road he could see a brown sign which read 'Dudley Castle And Zoo'. Maybe the zoo had horses, or possibly a zebra. He ran across the road and entered the gate.

The road led around the base of the hill that the castle was perched on, before entering the zoo. Dean paid and entered, and asked one of the guides if there were any horses. As he had suspected, the nearest thing they had was some zebras, and he rushed over to them. They looked at him with the sort of mild animal smugness that said he could expect zero help from them. He glared back at them.

There was another guide by the enclosure, and Dean asked her the same question. She smiled at him.

“Sorry, dearie”, she said. “The only actual horses we have were the ones you passed on the way in.”

“I didn't see any”, Dean objected. She chuckled.

“I meant the children's merry-go-round”, she explained.

Oh fuck!

+~+~+

Dean fairly sprinted back down the path he had not long come up. He rounded a corner – and the good news was that there was the merry-go-round, with five or six white horses spaces around it.

The marginally less good news was that a scruffy angel was standing next to it, holding up a crystal. Goddamit!

+~+~+

Because he was not a cruel husband, Cas did not gloat all the way back to the Tahoe, or all the way to their bed and breakfast some ten miles out into the country. He did not mention it every time they passed a horse in a field, nor did he make any equine references.

Yeah right! Dean rode his husband hard that night to make up for all that crap. So how come he ended up being the one who collapsed into sleep first again?

Chapter Text

Destination: Buildwas
Dean's Head Start: 22 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 7 from 32

Dean was beginning to get a bit anxious at his success rate (or lack thereof) in all these tasks. Even someone with his math knew that he had to average about one crystal every five days, which meant he needed a crystal today or tomorrow to keep (get back) on track. And Cas was so damn good at that insufferable smug silence thing.

Definitely one of the best parts of the trip, from Dean's point of view, was seeing his nerdy husband in aviators, which made him look even sexier. As they walked around a small and rather hilly town called Bridgnorth he was more interested in the living beauty beside him than his surroundings, though he was briefly distracted by the ruined castle.

“Is it meant to be leaning over like that?” he asked.

“The tilt is approximately fifteen degrees, which is four times that of the Leaning Tower of Pisa”, Cas informed him. “The castle was mostly destroyed at the end of the First Civil War in 1646.”

“First?” Dean asked, surprised. “How many of the things did they have?”

“Three. It was a dangerous time. But it also saw the first beginnings of science, and some philosophers thinking than man might actually have Free Will rather than constantly having to obey people who called themselves 'his betters'.”

Dean thought about that for a few moments.

“You're picturing me in a tight-fitting medieval costume, aren't you?” Cas grinned.

Damn mind-reading angel! And he was not completely right; Dean had been thinking of Cas mostly out of a tight-fitting medieval costume.

+~+~+

On the upside, Cas' mind-reading abilities meant that their next stop yielded a pleasant surprise for his mate. They pulled into a car park by a bridge over the river, which Cas explained was the world's first ever cast iron bridge, built back in 1781. Dean teased him as to whether he had known any of the constructors personally, and Cas did that thing with his grace that – well, Dean needed to mojo himself clean before he could leave the car.

That, incidentally, was not the surprise, for over the bridge there was another old-time sweet shop. Dean didn't even have to bat his eyelashes at Cas to get some bags for himself. He was a bit irked that Cas would not let him start on the sweets at once, but his husband explained that they were dining here and then moving onto their bed and breakfast place for the night, which was within walking distance of the day's challenge. And it would not be fair if Dean was totally stuffed with sweets.

Stuffed with something else, however.....

+~+~+

Their destination was a small village called Buildwas, and they drew up in front of a rather nice cottage that was their bed and breakfast for the night. They deposited their bags, then walked down past some ruined building to the bridge, where Cas gave his husband the envelope:
'By Severn's side, dial S to win,
An 'abbey' ending, guv, no spin.'

Honestly the rhymes were getting worse! Fortunately Cas had told him that the valley they were in was the Severn, and Dean had spotted a turning to the abbey they had just passed some way back. And with a head start of over twenty minutes, there was no way the little scruff would beat him today.

The turning was further back down the road then he remembered, and Dean jumped when his phone rang out the warning just as he was coming up to the ruined abbey. Luckily the access road he had just run up was long and open, and he would easily see the angel coming.

'Dial S', he thought. Something on the south side? There was a map of what the place had once looked like on a display board, and it showed that the side he had come in on was indeed the south side. A dial, he knew, could refer to a measuring device – and the kitchens of the old place were on the south side. Hah!

He raced inside, thankful that there were no other visitors, and checked around what had been the kitchen. Nothing. He checked again. Still nothing. He went back outside, but no sign of the angel.

He went back out and studied the plan of the place again. Then his eyes widened. In tiny print, in the middle of the gardens on the east side, was 'Sundial'. Dammit! He raced round.....

….Just in time to see someone very familiar holding up a crystal by the sundial, slap bang in the middle of the gardens.

“Where did you come from?” Dean demanded. “I was right by the main road into this place?”

“I know”, Cas grinned. “Did you not see the private path, halfway to the start of the road you took?”

He tossed the crystal triumphantly in the air, and Dean groaned.

+~+~+

Even the fact that the dinner at their bed and breakfast place, which Cas had arranged, came with pie did not cheer Dean up. Alright, Cas letting him have his piece was good of the guy, but Dean was getting riled by the fact that he was falling behind schedule. So when Cas suggested a walk back to see the abbey in the evening light, Dean mulishly declined.

Memo to Dean; do not say no to an angel who can give you a Grace-fueled remote control blow job even when he is out for a walk on his own. Five times.

Chapter Text

Destination: Middlewich
Dean's Head Start: 25 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 7 from 31

Forty per cent of the way through their journey, and Dean had only thirty per cent of the crystals he needed . And Cas wearing another tight shirt today was Really Not Helping!

They left the bed and breakfast and headed north, soon passing through a decidedly insipid town called Telford.

“Named for one of the great Victorian engineers”, Cas said as Dean drove them around yet another roundabout, “and I doubt he would be impressed by it. One of the New Towns that tell us why architects and planners should be periodically rounded up and culled.”

Dean smiled. The little nerd had a thing about architecture – he supposed he'd seen so much of it in his time – and frankly hated some of the modern creations that he'd seen being erected around Kansas City back home. And Dean had to agree; this place was pretty featureless.

A thought arrived in his head that the buildings were not the only things that were about to get 'erected', and Dean's breathing increased notably.

+~+~+

Dean was a bit surprised at the next town.

“Newport?” he questioned. “We're nowhere near the sea, are we?”

“No”, Cas said. “The word port means entry point, and this town is close to the border with the next county. Plus it is on a river that feeds into a major waterway. I thought we might stop here for lunch and have lunch by the river.”

“Oh. Okay.”

+~+~+

Lunch was a delicious meal of fish and chips, which Dean had decided was one of the best things about this country. He felt relaxed and happy, and soon he would have that fourth crystal in his possession.

It was Cas who drove them on the final leg of their journey, and Dean only woke from a short nap on the back seat when the Tahoe had stopped. He sat up, blinking at the afternoon light.

“Where are we?” he asked. Cas smiled at him.

“Our destination”, he said, “the Kinderton House in Middlewich.”

Dean looked out onto what what was very obviously a modern building with some of that weird black-and-white cladding that was trying to make it look old.

“Hopefully better inside that out”, he snarked.

+~+~+

It was. Once they had dropped their bags off, Cas took Dean back outside and gave him the envelope.

“Twenty-five minute head start today”, he reminded him. “That's nearly half an hour!”

Dean pouted, and opened the envelope:
'Choose not the fair Bear-sotted Fool,
Sit on the Angels' bench, stay cool.'

Dean guessed that the answer had to be in the town he could see just the other side of the bridge, and raced off. He passed an old church on his left after which the modern road ran round the old town to his right. Dean could see that the old road through the town center had been closed off to traffic, and hurried down it.

In the High Street there was the strangest sight, a group of about eight to ten men, all dressed in white costumes, dancing around and, occasionally, hitting each other. Dean stared in wonderment. One of them had a horse's head on, and one was dressed up as a medieval jester.

The Fool, Dean grinned. And better still, directly behind the guy was a pub called 'The White Bear'. There had to be a bench inside it, and he was done. He hurried in.

About twenty minutes later, Dean was both bench-less and crystal-less, and worse, his phone had just chirped its warning of scruffy angel approaching. In desperation he asked the woman behind the bar if she knew anything about angels in the area.

“Not unless you mean the church”, she said.

“Huh?”

“It's dedicated to St. Michael and All Angels”, she said. “You may have passed it if you just came into town.”

Dean felt suddenly sick.

“There isn't any sort of special bench there, is there?” he asked tremulously. She looked a little puzzled by the question, but answered.

“Yes”, she said. “Dedicated to.....”

Dean was gone.

+~+~+

The church seemed a lot further back than he remembered, although he was able to cut through an access road to reach it. There, by the path, was a bench. He rushed up to it and checked it all over, but there was no sign of a crystal.

“Looking for something?”

Dammit, he just knew. Slowly he turned round – and there was one hellishly smug angel holding the crystal. Seriously, this was his life?

“I cannot believe you won again!” he almost yelled. “You didn't play fair!”

It took approximately 2.713 seconds for Dean to realize that the narrowing of Cas' eyes was Not A Good Thing.....

+~+~+

The rest of that day had pluses and minuses. The minus – a big one – was that Cas somehow persuaded the local Morris Dancers (for that was what he called them) to allow Dean to dance with them as a Fool. And he would not let Dean change out of it until they were back at the hotel.

The plus was that there was a bakery in the town that sold pies.

The even bigger plus was that, once they were back to the hotel, Cas then enjoyed getting Dean out of his Fool's costume. Very, very slowly.

The other minus, which Dean only discovered when he checked his messages the following morning, was that Cas had videoed him dancing and sent copies to all their friends and family. Bastard!

Chapter Text

Destination: Bakewell
Dean's Head Start: 28 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 7 from 30

Despite his depression at his ongoing lack of success as regards crystals, a delicious breakfast left Dean in better spirits. The angel told him that they only had one place to stop before they reached their destination, but that Dean would be expending a lot of energy once there, and that he should wear comfortable clothing. It was a bit unfair that the hunter had to spend the first few miles willing down the resultant hard-on, but he was sure Cas would make it up to him in the end.

A thought arrived in Dean's mind that it would most definitely be his end.

+~+~+

About an hour and a half later, Dean was seriously reconsidering his life options. The countryside they were driving through was pretty attractive; some sort of National Park, Cas had said, though Dean still thought the sight of his husband in aviators and an open-necked top won any scenery contest hands down – and he had been beginning to wonder when they would get down (and preferably horizontal) to some action.

They were now driving through a fair-sized city called Stoke-on-Trent, which seemed to go in forever. Cas explained that it was in fact an amalgamation of six smaller towns, and Dean was still processing that when he saw a large factory coming up on their left. A sign outside claimed 'Emma Bridgewater – Come and get a couple of lovely new jugs in here now'. He snickered.

“Predictable”, Cas muttered, shaking his head as he directed Dean into the factory car park.

To Dean's immense disappointment Cas did indeed acquire a couple of lovely new jugs – from the porcelain factory. He muttered about misleading advertising, but was ignored. He wondered if Cas was going to insist on taking his purchases round with them, but the angel told him that the factory would send them anywhere in the world.

“Why not just use your mojo?” Dean asked.

“Because receiving something through the post is always special”, Cas explained, “and besides, I know that both Dorothy and Sheriff Mills collect this pattern.”

God, but his husband was so considerate. Dean wondered if that consideration might extend to.....

“Later!”

Dean had to hold his coat in front of him all the way out of the factory.

+~+~+

Their starting point for the challenge was a pub, the Red Lion, in a town called Bakewell. Dean had nearly half an hour's head start today. There was no way he could fail!

Probably no way.

Cas handed him the envelope, and he opened it. Dean was annoyed (and a little jealous) that the angel already had a drink in his hand:
'Where Daniel sits 'neath Tudor flair,
'Not Tart, one's fave dessert is there.'

Dean walked quickly away while checking on his phone. This town was the home of the Bakewell Pudding, which had evolved into the Bakewell Tart. But as the clue had said it was not a tart but his favorite dessert, he had to find somewhere that did pie.

Of course, it was not that easy. The home of a famous pastry seemed to abound in damn bakery shops, and Dean worked his way up the main street getting more frustrated as he went. None of these places had any link with a Daniel, and only a few of them had the black and white beams which he knew were Tudor, or at least fake Tudor. He'd just settle for a crystal.

He was seriously running out of shops when he finally hit pay dirt – 'The Original Bakewell Pudding Shop'. He ran in, to the surprise of several customers, and looked desperately around, not helped when his phone bleeped the warning – seriously, that fast? There had to be something in here.

There was a courtyard seating area out the back, and joy of joys, the guy serving the table had a name-tag with 'Dan' on it. Dean would have hugged him, but that would have looked a bit odd (and Cas might have been Displeased), so he settled for waiting until the guy was done with his current customers and then asking if the place served pie.

“Sorry, sir, but no.”

Dean's heart sank.

“But there is a place round in Bath Street that does”, the young man said. “It's called PieDaniel's; if you go out our shop you'll see a fork in the road. Go left, take the next left after that and it's on your right.”

Dean felt his heart sinking.

“It's not a Tudor building, is it?” he asked, almost fearfully.

“No, but they have mock Tudor beams....”

Dean was gone.

+~+~+

He was oh so tempted to use his mojo to reach the place in seconds, but Cas would know, dammit. Fortunately the roads were shorter than he had feared, and he ran up to a small shop that, sure enough, was called 'PieDaniel's'. Stopping for breath, he pushed open the door.

There, on the table furthest from the door, was a crystal sticking out from among the sauces and condiments. Dean grinned and walked boldly towards it, not noticing the figure reading a newspaper on the adjoining table. But when the figure suddenly reached across and took the crystal - then he noticed.

It was fortunate that Cas had the foresight to use his mojo to create a soundproof barrier around his husband, otherwise the customers of PieDaniel's would have had even their vocabulary considerably enhanced.

+~+~+

All the pie in the world could not make Dean feel better. Unfortunately much of the pie in the shop – and some bastard of a husband did not insist he stop eating at any point – gave him a stomach-ache that lasted all evening.

Chapter Text

Destination: Burton-upon-Trent
Dean's Head Start: 31 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 7 from 29

Dean stared incredulously at his angel.

“You told me that I couldn't use my mojo on illnesses”, he said accusingly. His stomach still hurt from the day before, and he was definitely not whining about it.

“Yes”, Cas said. “Stomach-ache from too much pie is not an illness, Dean.”

“So I suffered all last night for nothing?”

“Of course not”, Cas said primly. “You learned a valuable lesson about greed. Well, you should have done. I doubt that it will stick.”

Dean pouted.

+~+~+

They could have done their drive to their destination in under an hour, but Cas wanted to call in on a couple of places first. Dean was surprised when the first of these proved to be an attractive but seemingly uninteresting village called Ilam.

“Famous not for its buildings, but its people”, Cas explained. “During the time of the bubonic plague, they totally shut themselves off from other villages in order to stop the disease from spreading. They took the suffering of others unto themselves.”

Dean wrapped his arms around his angel, and they stood there in silence.

+~+~+

Their second port of call was another castle ruin, in a place called Tutbury.

“Mary Queen of Scots was held under house-arrest here”, the angel said. “A beset but foolish woman; she plotted against her hostess and jailer, her cousin Queen Elizabeth, and paid for it with her life.”

“Today is not a fun day”, Dean observed. Cas grinned.

“Well, I think you find the place that Shamsiel chose for your challenge is 'fun'”, he said.

“Where is it?” Dean asked at once.

“You will find out once I have seen my castle”, Cas said.

Dean pouted. It still didn't work, dammit!

+~+~+

Dean's opinion of his Anglicized son had just taken a large leap upwards. Arriving in a town called Burton-upon-Trent, Cas had directed him to....

“They have a 'National Beer Centre'?” Dean asked incredulously.

“And somewhere inside is the crystal”, Cas grinned. “Bet you won't be able to focus on it with all that beer around.”

“We'll see”, Dean said confidently.

+~+~+

Cas bought them tickets for the place, then gave Dean the envelope. Apparently the tickets included three free beer samples, and the angel was having his first one right now. Dean's mouth watered, but business first:
'A lot of bottle, you might think,
Let 'IPA' drive you to drink.'

There was a huge list some way in of all the beers made by the brewery company in the past, and Dean hurried over to it. Luckily it was in alphabetical order, which meant he quickly found that IPA stood for India Pale Ale. There had to be a place that offered samples of the stuff some way round, and he would find it in his half hour lead easily enough.

+~+~+

One of the most damnable things about this whole shebang, Dean had decided, was that he never noticed his start slipping away until his phone rang, which it did just as he was within sight of the sampling area. He had three tokens along with his ticket, and went to the bar to request an IPA. It was a heavy brown drink, and looked a bit disgusting, but he tried it.

Nope, it was disgusting. And there was no sign of a crystal anywhere around.

The barman was bringing new crates in, and Dean paled when he saw that the forty-eight bottles in the current one were identical to the IPA bottle on his table. Carefully making himself invisible, he slipped over and did a quick check of each one. Nada. Waiting until he was sure it was safe, he re-appeared again next to the bar.

“Not sure this could drive me to drink”, he told the barman.

To his surprise the guy laughed.

“What's so funny?” Dean asked. The guy pointed.

“Look out there”, he said, pointing to the big window.

At first Dean didn't see it – but then the odd-looking vehicle crossing the yard turned, and he realized that it was in fact a truck with the back part a huge IPA bottle. Hell, so that was it - driving him to drink! He fairly flew out of the drinking area and into the yard, just as the lorry was pulling into a parking area. The window was down, and he called to the driver.

“Hey, have you seen.....”

And that was when, once more, the bottom fell out of Dean Winchester's world. The driver took off his cap to reveal a familiar crop of scruffy black hair......

“Hell, not again!”

+~+~+

All the drink in the brewery wasn't enough. And his bastard of a husband would not even let him get drunk anyway – though he did make them both invisible and then blow Dean on top of the giant beer-bottle truck, so the day wasn't a total write-off. And Dean got a commemorative mini-truck as a souvenir which, back home, a moose of a brother would make the mistake of asking him about....

Chapter Text

Destination: Edwinstowe
Dean's Head Start: 34 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 7 from 28

Three damn crystals, and he should have been close to getting five. Honestly, how had Dean been outwitted by such a scruffy little....

Cas looked sharply across the Tahoe at him, and Dean gulped. His husband had promised not to read his mind without permission, but so close was their bond that he could usually pick up on what Dean was thinking just by looking at him. Whereas when Dean looked at Cas, all he thought of was....

“Later!” the angel growled.

Hot damn!

+~+~+

Dean hadn't reckoned on England being such a small country, and once more they could have reached their destination today in little more than an hour. But they had no reason to hurry, and Cas had planned several interesting stops for each day. None more so that today's, which was a small market town called Ashby de la Zouch, where they were having a market. And one stall was selling original vinyls with the sort of real music that Dean loved and Cas... well, he was able to switch off his angel hearing when necessary.

For their first Christmas together, Sam, Charlie and their wives had clubbed together to buy Dean a hi-tech record-player that could transfer Dean's old LP collection, which he had only on cassette, into modern formats so he could listen to them while on the computer or on the iPod that Cas had given him at the same time (and yes, he had appreciated that the angel had chosen one that was incredibly easy to operate, though he hadn't said as much). And now he would have even more tunes to play around the Bunker. God, he loved his angel!

Well, for now.

+~+~+

After lunch at a Mickey Dee's they drove into the county of Nottinghamshire, and after some little time passed through a small town called Edwinstowe. A couple of miles on, Cas directed Dean into a car park near some sort of visitor centre.

“Hey, Sherwood Forest!” Dean grinned. “Always fancied myself as Robin Hood!”

“Handmaiden!” a certain scruffy bastard who wasn't getting laid any time soon coughed into his hand. Dean scowled.

They went inside, and Cas led the way through to the archery area. He then handed Dean the envelope, which his husband opened:
'No rhyme today, as archery – which is your task – is dangerous without added pressure. Dean is to get one arrow, plus one for each FULL ten minutes head start he has. Cas is allowed only one arrow.'

Dean scowled. He was sure his angel would turn out to be an excellent shot, as he was pretty good at just about everything. Still, he had four arrows to Cas' one. That should do it.

He kitted up as the guy at the target area said, then took aim. There was a large TV by each firing-spot, so he could see which bit of the target he had hit, and how close he was to the gold but in the middle. He let fire.

Nothing. He hadn't even hit the target.

The guy in charge offered him some advice, and Dean let fly with his second arrow. That actually felt better, and there was a satisfying distant thud as it impacted the target. It caught the large black outer ring, and a '3' flashed up in the bottom screen.

Two more. He corrected slightly towards what he hoped was the center, and let fly. Another thud, but he had overcompensated. The arrow hit the black ring on the other side of the target, and the '3' became a '4'. Dammit!

He concentrated hard, and tried to will his final arrow into the bull's-eye. No such luck but it was a definite improvement; he was in the red ring this time and the '4' became an '8'.

“My turn”, Cas said, stepping forward. Dean reluctantly handed him the bow, and Cas prepared to fire.

It would of course have been totally wrong of Dean to use his mojo to either improve his own aim or put off that of his husband. And he did neither of those things. But just before Cas let fly, Dean suddenly thought very hard of himself naked except for his favorite black and blue lace panties. There was a thud as Cas' arrow hit the target, and landed in the red ring. The number in the bottom corner seemed to take an age to flash up, but finally it appeared. '7'.

“Yee-hie!” Dean shouted. “I win!”

Cas narrowed his eyes at him. Uh oh....

+~+~+

Well, the good news was that Cas accepted his 'defeat'. The bad news was that he would only do it if they went to the costume area and he dressed as Robin Hood with Dean as Maid Marian. The photographer, the bastard, could hardly take the picture for laughing, and Dean thanked God that there was no-one around to see his humiliation.

It was only after dinner in Edwinstowe that evening that Cas casually mentioned that he had texted that damn picture to everyone. Dean officially hated modern technology!

Chapter Text

Destination: Melton Mowbray
Dean's Head Start: 17 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 6 from 27

Dean woke to a text from Charlie, saying that she thought his Maid Marian dress was perfect for his next stint as her handmaiden in Moondor. Honestly, he was gonna have to hand in his man card if this kept up. At least he had his fourth crystal.

“But tomorrow is the halfway mark”, Cas reminded him. “If you really can't manage to get one in five crystals, then maybe I should be thinking of some suitable punishment.....”

Dean immediately set about kissing any such foolish notions out of his angel's mind. It took some work.

+~+~+

They had a couple of stops on what would again otherwise have been barely an hour's journey. The first was in a small town called Southwell, which had a surprisingly large church. Inside it was much as expected, except for a large white statue of an angel which drew Dean's attention.

“Modern art that works”, he grunted. “Not as good as the real thing, though.”

Cas blushed.

“This town was where King Charles the First surrendered to the Scots at the end of the First Civil War”, he said. “He hoped to win them over to his side, but when they couldn't agree the Scots ransomed him to Parliament. Next year they changed their minds and invaded for him, but they had lost their chance.”

“Idiots”, Dean said, still looking at the angel. “They sell postcards of this thing?”

+~+~+

Less than ten miles further on they stopped for lunch at a place called Newark-on-Trent. Dean was expecting more great historical sites, but Cas insisted on seeing the Pizza Express first. He was a good husband!

After dinner they explored the ruins of the castle, and it was mid-afternoon by the time they set off for the day's destination and challenge. Barely half an hour later they had arrived at their hotel in a town called Melton Mowbray. Once they had deposited their bags, they went out to the car park and Cas handed Dean the envelope, which he opened:
'Above the Eye, she was not fair,
Poor lass was called the Flanders Mare.'

“Only seventeen minutes today”, Cas reminded him with a smile. “And counting.”

Dean sprinted away.

+~+~+

Dean guessed that the mention of the eye referred to an opticians, and that would put him on the right track. Unfortunately a quick scan of his phone showed that there were five of the damn things in the town. In a place this size, really? Scowling, he raced to the first.

He was leaving the fourth shop, a Specsavers, when the phone bleeped a warning. He would still reach the fifth before Cas could – he trusted his husband not to cheat, even if his own actions the day before had been, well, questionable – and he raced round to a small shop called 'Graham Coe Opticians'. It was opposite a large church, but there was so sign of any horses or horse-related stuff. Dammit.

“Are you looking for something?” the receptionist asked, twirling her blond curly hair. Years back Dean would have tapped that without thinking, but now he belonged to an angel who, somehow, knew if Dean so much as looked at anyone else. He put on a winning smile.

“I'm on a sorta treasure hunt”, he said, ignoring the eye-roll from the elderly assistant next to the bimbo. “Looking for a Flanders Mare.”

The girl looked as vacant as before, but the elderly woman laughed.

“What's so funny?” Dean asked.

“Only you're so close to it”, she grinned. “I suppose being American you wouldn't know.”

“Wouldn't know what?” Dean asked, trying not to get annoyed.

“There's a pub down the road, on the opposite side”, the woman said. “The 'Anne of Cleves'. A Flanders Mare was how her husband Henry the Eighth described her when....”

Next moment she was reeling back from being kissed, and a second after that Dean was gone. The blonde scowled at her.

+~+~+

The pub was closer than Dean had feared, right next to the church. He hurried inside and walked swiftly up to the bar, but did not order a drink. He did not need to.

Some smug dark-winged bastard was sat at a nearby table, a crystal in front of him. Goddamit!

+~+~+

“That was mean”, Dean complained over a pretty decent beer. “The clue said above the eye, and this is further down.”

Cas smirked.

“Down towards the river”, he said. “Eye had a capital; as in the River Eye, so this pub is indeed 'above the Eye'.”

“Goddamit!”

“You really have to take losing more gracefully”, Cas said calmly. “I think that when we get back, I may get you to wear that Maid Marian costume again.”

Dean paled. He would not, surely?

+~+~+

He did. And the bastard took more photos, damn him!

Chapter Text

Destination: Naseby
Dean's Head Start: 20 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 6 from 26

Dean Winchester liked to think that he knew his husband, and that there were few things that he could do that would surprise the hunter. It was a nice delusion that Cas, because he loved him so much, mostly let him maintain.

Mostly.

Dean knew that they had a short drive that day, little more than an hour if they had done it non-stop, but he was surprised when Cas directed him to pull over before they were even out of the town.

“A little surprise for you”, Cas grinned. Dean looked at him warily.

Fortunately the 'surprise' turned out to be a massage parlor. A real one, not the sort of skeevy places that he occasionally had had to go and investigate as part of his job, but with professionals. And Cas had booked him a deep massage, which would take the best part of two hours.

+~+~+

It was only when he got back to the car and found that Cas had fetched him pizza, that Dean suddenly began to wonder if his angel had had rather more nefarious motives. His muscles were a happy pile of goo, and if he had to do any serious running later on that day, he would be toast. He opened his mouth to challenge his angel, but just in time remembered his own marginally less than honorable actions at the archery a couple of days back.

Cas smirked at him. Uh oh.

+~+~+

To be far Cas allowed him a nap in the back of the Tahoe before starting off, and Dean was still snoozing as they left the town. He woke with a start when he realized that the vehicle had stopped, and that they were at their destination.

“Naseby”, Cas said. “This is where the decisive battle of the First Civil War was fought, the year before the king surrendered at Southwell. His troops were outnumbered two to one, and many were massacred after the battle.”

They were on a long, featureless road, what was presumably a monument to the battle next to them. There was a village in the distance, and Dean noted from the sign by them that it was exactly one mile to Naseby, which presumably it was. Cas pulled the envelope out and handed it to him:
'So to the village you must fly,
This blessed table set with pie.'

Dean gulped. The village was a mile away, and his limbs were still only semi-functional after the massage.

“That's mean!” he objected.

“Nineteen minutes, fifty seconds and counting!" Cas smirked.

Dean limped off. Every step was agony!

+~+~+

Dammit, but Dean hurt all over! The masseuse had warned him not to do anything excessively physical as his muscles adjusted to their new loosened state, and that bastard of a husband of his must have known from their starting-place in the middle of bloody nowhere that Dean would have to do just that.

The phone went as he reached a turning in the village, and looked around him. It was a small place, and as the road to his left was marked 'High Street' he set off down it in the hopes of at least a shop or something. No such luck; Naseby seemed deserted.

He eventually reached a school by a T-junction, and saw a woman riding a horse in from the edge of the village ahead of him. He hurried up to her and asked her if there were any dining places in the village.

“The pub, but they're shut just now”, she said. “Unless you're looking for our famous table.”

“Huh?”

“If you go to the church, they have it on display”, she explained. “Before the battle here, the Cavaliers were dining at that same table in the tavern we had back then when the Roundheads swept in and caught them. Perhaps that's what you want?”

“I didn't see a church”, Dean said.

“You must have come in from the north, then”, she said. “Go left here, right by the lion statue and you'll see it right in front of you, just before the pub.”

Dean thanked her and hurried – staggered – off.

+~+~+

He was seriously gonna kill Cas for making him do all this running after a massage. Or at least withhold sex. He was sure he could manage seven, fifteen – maybe even a whole minute. Perhaps even two....

The church was a tall, elegant building, and Dean slowed his pace once he was inside. The old table was very obvious, a battered-looking thing in dark wood. No sign of an evil angel anywhere nearby, and even better, there was a crystal placed right on the edge of the table. Dean grinned and stepped forward.

That was the precise moment that Cas stopped making himself invisible and reached up to grab the crystal.

It was unlikely that All Saints Church ever heard such a despairing cry within its walls.

+~+~+

Dean did not sulk after his defeat, mainly because Cas threatened to loosen all his muscles even further and then use his superior mojo to strand Dean in the church and make him walk all the way back to the friggin' Tahoe. No, Dean took his defeat with calm and dignity.

And a whole lot of internal swearing every time he saw the angel not-smirking. If the bastard sniggered, well.... Dean would pout, that was what he'd do!

Chapter Text

Destination: Leamington
Dean's Head Start: 23 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 6 from 25

Okay. Halfway through, and only four crystals. No need to panic, especially as after some dark-winged bastard's massage trick yesterday Dean had regained full function of all his limbs. Although to be on the safe side he had settled for some manly holding in bed this morning. Just for Cas.

He was sure that that map of the Nile hadn't been on the wall yesterday.

+~+~+

They had a good breakfast and did not hurry, reaching their only stopover for the day just before noon. Cas insisted on seeing some site or other, and Dean forbore from commenting how much he wanted lunch. His stomach did not, and the angel grinned.

“Soon”, he said. “There is one site I particularly wanted to see, and one I did not.”

“Huh?”

They had come up to a statue, and it took some time for it to register in Dean's brain. His eyes opened wide.

“That chick's naked!”

Cas grinned.

“'That chick' was Lady Godiva, from nearly a thousand years ago”, he said. “When the king of the time demanded more taxes, she knew the people of Coventry could not pay, so pleaded with her husband Leofric to spare them. He, reportedly 'in his cups' at the time, joked that the day he lowered the people's taxes would be the day she rode around the streets of Coventry stark naked.”

Dean looked again at the statue.

“Oops”, he muttered. “Bet he didn't drink much after that! Did he keep his word?”

“To his credit, he did”, Cas said. “Although I suspect that was partly from fear that she might do it again!”

They walked back down the short road they had come up and turned left. After a short distance they came to a ruined cathedral.

“What happened to that?” Dean asked. Cas' lip curled.

“It was bombed by the Germans in the Second World War”, he said. “The city was a major arms manufacturing center, but they bombed the whole city, not just the factories. After the war, they decided to build a modern new cathedral next door to it.”

They rounded a corner of the ruined building.

“That's it?” Dean asked incredulously. Had it not been for the statue of the angel on the front, he would have thought it a badly-placed office block, Cas sighed.

“That is it”, he said heavily. “The architects of this country did more damage after the war than the Germans had done during it!”

+~+~+

After that depressing sight Dean found a fast food restaurant that was infinitely more appealing (even that building looked better than whatever the hell that 'cathedral' had been meant to look like). And the burgers were great.

They left Coventry and headed south, and were soon at their destination, a small town called Royal Leamington Spa. They had a very nice old-fashioned hotel for the night, and after dropping their bags Cas said they had a short drive to just out of town for the challenge. Dean's spirits perked up; surely that meant a smaller area to search in. And he had a bigger head start today as well.

They had just left the town when Cas directed him to turn left into a soccer club, Leamington FC. All was silent as they got out of the car, and Cas handed Dean the envelope:
'So hasten on, where eagles rise,
First come, first served, to win this prize.'

“Twenty-three minutes”, Cas reminded him. Dean ran off.

There was a small presumably training pitch to one side, and the bigger pitch behind the clubhouse they had parked in front of. Dean guessed that the 'eagles' was a club nickname, but that was scotched when he saw a sign stating 'Leamington FC – 'The Brakes''.

Perhaps one of the goals, he thought, and ran to the one nearest him to check it. But both it and the one a hundred yards away were just that, goal posts. He checked the corner flags as well, but nothing. And Cas was close this time; when the phone went Dean would be toast.

He raced back to the clubhouse, and looked around for any eagles or anything being served. Still nothing. That meant the only place he had not tried was the changing rooms, but how could there be anything there?

He was just through the door of the players' area when his phone sounded the warning, making him jump. But aha – there was a painting on the way in, of two eagles soaring high. Unfortunately it was just that, a painting.

He looked again at the clue. 'First' appeared twice, so maybe it was important. Perhaps if he took the first letters.....

“Shower!” he yelled, before realizing a moment too late that any nearby angel might hear him. He raced through to the showers and ran down the first line of them, hoping against hope that somehow there would be a giant crystal perched on top of one of them.

There was. On the very last shower. Dean jumped forward and grabbed it.

“Mine!” he yelled.

The next moment, the shower came on. With ice-cold water. Dean shrieked in shock and jumped out of the way, but not before he was totally soused.

“Oops”, came a familiar and very evidently insincere voice. “Sorry.”

Dean glared at his husband.

“That was mean!” he complained. “I would never have done that to you.”

Cas just looked at him.

“Probably never?” Dean offered.

The angel grinned – and a split second later Dean was naked, as was the angel kneeling in front of him. The blood rush to Dean's lower brain nearly made him collapse, but angel mojo held him in place while Cas gave him a blow-job in short order. Then he pulled his husband into a hug, and dean was so bewildered that he barely noticed the warm water now engulfing them.

He did notice Cas' hand working down his arm towards the crystal, though.

“Hey! Bad angel!”

Cas sniggered.

“Later!” he promised.

+~+~+

He was.

Chapter Text

Destination: Woodstock
Dean's Head Start: 11 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 5 from 24

Okay, so he was (nearly) back on track again. Though when Cas has stopped at that clothes shop in Coventry the day before and Dean had caught him looking at a waistcoat on display.... God, the prize was one worth having. It had taken Dean three days to recover the last time they had done it, and he had enjoyed the gentle coast down from Cloud Nine all the damn way.

They had a good breakfast at their hotel, then Dean took the road to the south-west. After about half an hour they reached a small town called Stratford-upon-Avon. The name rang a distant bell in Dean's memory, and he thought for a moment before groaning.

“Hell no!” he not-whined.

“Hell yes!” Cas said firmly. “William Shakespeare is one of my favorite writers, and we are going to see some of the sites associated with him.

Dean didn't pout. But he wanted to.

+~+~+

Seriously, Dean hated Shakespeare with a passion, having been forced to study his plays at school. The comedies were unfunny, the histories boring, and the tragedies were just depressing. But his nerd of a husband loved them, so he resigned himself to his fate.

Shakey's old cottage was nice to look at, although rather like back at Coventry the modern monstrosity next to it – well, he hoped the architect had stopped taking whatever it had been that had made him do that. It was as bad as America, what some of these people thought of as 'modern'. And as for his fellow countrymen who he could hear up and down the High Street – God, they were so loud compared to the natives. Volume, guys!

+~+~+

The road heading south was kinda pleasant, passing through small villages and towns and, apparently, headed towards London.

“This used to be the main road to Oxford and London”, Cas explained. “Not any more; there is a much faster road to the east, which is why this is so quiet.”

They pulled off the road for a delicious lunch at a restaurant in a town called Chipping Norton, then resumed their road southwards. Eventually they reached a familiar sounding place.

“Woodstock”, Dean observed. “No hippie festival, I hope.”

“The New York town that inspired that festival took its name from this place”, Cas informed him. “And this is where I win my next crystal.”

“Yeah right!”

+~+~+

Dean laughed when he saw their starting point. It was a pub called 'The Feathers'.

“Named for the fourteenth century Edward Prince of Wales, who was born here”, Cas said. “He is the one who started the tradition of three ostrich feathers as a sign for the heir to the English throne.”

While Dean was marveling at what a nerd he had married, Cas passed him the envelope. His husband opened it:
'A knockout and a vessel sound,
Like old King Art, a table round.'

“Only eleven minutes today”, Cas reminded him. “And counting.”

The Feathers was at a turning off the High Street, and Dean could see lots of shops down the side-road. Taking a chance, he hurried away in that direction, wondering what 'knockout' and 'vessel' had to do with things. There was another pub on his left, the Woodstock Arms, but although he supposed arms could knock you out, where did the vessel come in?

After a short distance the road joined with what had to be another road leading back to the High Street. In the fork was the Town Hall, which was open for some sort of antiques sale. Dean was about to walk on by when he noticed a list of things that could be purchased inside. One was 'punch bowl'. Of course!

He hurried in and quickly walked around. There was only one stand that sold the things and one item on sale, a huge ugly plum-colored thing. There was no sign of a crystal anywhere near it. The vendor, a cheerful looking elderly woman, smiled at him.

“Fitting for the town, eh?” she said.

“Pardon?”

“Well, the pub on the High Street”, she explained. “That's called The Punch Bowl too.”

She was more than a little surprised when the phone of the young man before her went off, and he turned deathly pale. She was even more surprised when he turned tail and sprinted away.

+~+~+

Thinking fast, Dean reckoned that the pub had to be up the far end of the town, otherwise he would have seen it already. So if he took the right-hand fork back to the High Street, he should come out not far from it. He raced along the pavement, swerving in and out of people as best he could until he reached the main road again, and crossed to an island festooned with flowers. And there, directly across from him, was 'The Punch Bowl'. Not only that, there were four green round tables set out in front of it, and in the middle of the one on the far left there it was. His crystal.

That was the precise moment that Cas walked around the corner of the pub from the side-road next to it, sat down and grinned at him.

+~+~+

They spent the night in a hotel on the northern edge of the nearby city of Oxford which, as Cas explained, was famous for its teaching. Dean certainly learned a lesson about being more gracious in accepting defeat, especially towards an angel who could use his mojo to fetch their largest paddle from home so he could play Disciplinarian Professor And Unruly Student with his husband. Dean had to sleep face down on top of Cas that night, as there was no way what remained of his butt could be allowed to touch any sheets.

Meh, there were worse fates.

Chapter Text

Destination: Bletchley
Dean's Head Start: 14 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 5 from 23

That damn inflatable rubber ring was waiting on Dean's chair when he arrived at the breakfast table that morning. He glared at his angel who smiled innocently, then he very gently lowered himself down onto it.

It still Hurt Like Fuck! No was was he driving today. Hell, if the challenge involved any running......

No. Cas would not be that much of a bastard. Would he?

The angel slowly nodded. Hot damn!

+~+~+

They had two stops on their run to where they were taking the day's challenge. The first was a tiny place called Hampton Gay (yup, Dean sniggered), which was just a few houses and a ruined manor house. A ruined manor house that was a bloody long walk from where they could park the damn car. And then Cas insisted on going to see the church which was even further on. Dean groaned, then yelped when the angel slapped his still smarting butt. His husband was one mean angel!

The second stop was in a small town called Buckingham, once (Cas explained) home to the duke who had been a previous owner of Buckingham Palace in London. Cas wanted to walk all the way around the town and look at every damn shop. And Dean was damn sure that the angel deliberately went and chose a restaurant with hard seats, although he did not stop Dean from mojo'ing the rubber ring from the car.

He just smirked. That, if anything, was worse.

+~+~+

Dean slumbered on the back seat for the whole journey, wincing every time his pants rubbed against his still aching butt. If his husband had been any more smug, Dean would have..... well, pouted.

They reached their destination, which turned out to be a country house called Bletchley Park.

“A very important place in history”, Cas said, “although people have only come to realize that recently. This was where the British based their code-breakers, who played an important part in winning the war.”

Dean began to have a bad feeling, and not just the one in his butt. The Tahoe came to a rest by a sign that read 'Adventure Area'. Cas turned to him.

“Part of today's clue involves completing at least part of a treasure hunt course”, he explained. “Each find increases your chances of success – but remember, I shall be just fourteen minutes 'behind' you.”

Sexy bastard even did the air-quotes around the 'behind'. Dean grumbled under his breath, but accepted the envelope;
''Uif dsztubm uibu zpv tffl tp ibse,
Nbslfs tjyuffo, xftu pg uif zbse.'

What the fuck?

He realized that his time was already ebbing away, and hurried onto the course. There was a map of some twenty or so clues each hidden somewhere on the forest course, and he raced off as fast as he could. He found the first clue easily enough, and there was a piece of paper with a single word attached to it:

'Replace'

Dean stared at it, then took it with him and raced off for the second clue. That too had a word attached to it:

'Each'

Nope, still in a fog. He hurried onward.

The next three clues yielded 'Letter', 'With' and 'The'. The fifth was more revealing; 'Previous'. His phone disobligingly chose that moment to go off, and he stared again at the first clue.

Dammit, that was it! Replace each letter with the previous one in the alphabet. He worked slowly through the clue:
'The crystal that you seek so hard,
Marker sixteen, west of the yard.'

Cas, the nerd, would probably have gotten that at once. Dean checked his map, and realized that he was not that far from Marker Sixteen, which was on his side of a large open area about a couple of hundred yards away. He raced towards it as fast as he could.

The previous markers had been partly concealed either in trees or under bushes, and he expected this one would be the same. He burst into the yard and turned to look at the trees along the side of it.

Dean did not cry at the sight of a black-winged nerd standing there smirking on a low branch of one of the trees, toying with a crystal. He did not.

Look, he did not!

+~+~+

Back in the Tahoe, Cas handed him a tissue with which to blow his nose.

+~+~+

The rest of the Park was quite interesting, especially the rebuilt code-breaking machine which, Cas explained, had been pretty much the first real computer. And these brave men and women would surely have been so proud that their efforts would enable on Dean Winchester, many decades later, to have a folder on his computer marked 'car manual'.

Dean scowled. Dammit, was nothing sacred?

Slowly, Cas shook his head.

Chapter Text

Destination: Whipsnade
Dean's Head Start: 17 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 5 from 22

Dean knew Cas was irked with him over his not-sulking after yesterday's defeat (the Tibetan throat-singing only ever came out during Dean's not-sulking periods). Worse, Cas insisted on having the windows down, which earned Dean some odd looks from other drivers as they went through a small town called Dunstable which was depressing enough to start with. About the only thing to recommend it was the Mickey Dee's that they stopped at for lunch.

“If I got you a pie from that store across the road, would that make you feel better?” Cas offered. Dean sniffed.

“Maybe”, he muttered, thinking that perhaps it would give him a chance to switch off that damn music.

A pie promptly materialized on Cas' lap. The 'music' droned on. Dean scowled. Dammit!

+~+~+

Because he knew it would have disappointed Cas, Dean finished off the whole pie, even if it was a shop-brought one. It wasn't that bad, and when Cas offered him a second one, he didn't hesitate. By the third one he was feeling a bit full, and had to put half of it by for later. And sleep on the back seat.

Had he seen his husband's smirk, he would have been really annoyed.

+~+~+

Dean woke to realize that the Tahoe had stopped.

“Are we there yet?” he yawned, sitting up and groaning at the sudden movement. God he felt so stuffed!

“Yes”, Cas smiled. “We arrived a couple of hours ago and I sorted out all the tickets. I just thought I would let you sleep.”

Dean was about to thank him for that when it dawned on him. He was totally bloated, and wasn't running any great distance anywhere soon. Cas was one mean angel!

“Okay”, he sighed. “I promise to play it fair from now on.”

“Good”, Cas smiled. “Here's today's clue, and you have seventeen minutes head start.”

Dean took the envelope and opened it:
'Tis not an end, this type of lair,
As you strive for the greatest share.'

He hurried out of the car, wincing at his full stomach, and looked around them. A huge sign nearby proclaimed them to be at a place called 'Whipsnade Zoo', which meant that the crystal.... oh fuck!

Not an end, Dean thought. Did that mean the crystal was somewhere in the middle of this huge place? Surely that was too vague? And where would he find 'the greatest share'? Which animal could that be?

He ran past several enclosures, checking each one, but found nothing. He was sure it hadn't been seventeen minutes, but he trusted Cas to play fair on that – well, as fair as he played, he now knew as his stomach groaned again at all this movement. He was gonna have to have a long sit down once he had gotten his crystal.

He ran past a sign that said 'Bears' Den, then paused. The rhyme. Not an end – but end rearranged could make den. What animals lived in a den?

A zoo truck trundled by with a picture of a lion on the outside of it, and Dean looked after it. Then it hit him. How could he have been that stupid? The lion's share! He raced over to the enclosure as fast as he feet would carry him.

The lions' enclosure was really quite something, and Dean had to spend some little time examining it before he spotted the gleam of a crystal in one of the trees overhanging the man-made 'river'. Making himself invisible, he vaulted over the high fence and made his way across the bridge to reach it. Disgustingly the remains of the animals' most recent meal was strewn around the base of the tree and.... was that a feather?

“Hello Dean.”

The lions all looked round as one as a surprised squawk came out of nowhere. They were even more surprised when something splashed into their river, even though they could see nothing. They began to make their way over to investigate.....

+~+~+

“That was just mean... atishoo!”

Cas grinned, and handed a hot lemon drink to his husband. Dean was encased in two blankets and had his feet in a bowl of hot water, but he was still shivering.

“You were so certain that you had that one”, he grinned. “The look on your face was priceless. So glad that I took a picture.”

You did wha..... atishoo atishoo!”

Cas allowed himself a snigger. He would make it up to Dean later.

+~+~+

He did. And Dean was really pleased – until he found Cas had sent the picture of him mid-fall to all his soon to be ex-friends!

Chapter Text

Destination: St. Albans
Dean's Head Start: 20 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 5 from 21

Dean really needed a crystal today, he thought as he finished off in the bathroom and came back into their bedroom, otherwise he was gonna start falling even further behind. And that meant outwitting his angel without bending or breaking any rules.

He was toast!

They were working their way through what Cas called 'the Home Counties' the area around London, before swinging out east and then heading north to finish. They had only one stop today, but Cas had said that he wanted to do a bit of sight-seeing before the challenge, so Dean would be on the lookout for any devious or underhand tactics being used against him. Such things were completely unfair.

Dammit, Cas was giving him a Look again. Dean sighed, and started taking off his clothes again.

+~+~+

A short drive took them to a small and seemingly unremarkable town called Redbourn. Dean noticed that one of the pubs in the place had been closed down.

“They brought in a ban on smoking in public some years back”, Cas explained. “It decimated the number of pubs across the country, but as usual that had not been foreseen.”

“Is this place special for some reason?” Dean asked. Cas grinned.

“Remember that chick-flick film that we saw a few months ago, that you didn't like so much that we had to watch it again?

Dean reddened.

“Maybe”, he hedged. “The pride film?”

“Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen”, Cas said. “One of the greatest stories of all time. This town was her inspiration for Longbourn, where Elizabeth Bennet lived, and near where she first met the insufferable Fitzwilliam D'Arcy.”

Dean blushed even more. Yeah, he had liked that film a lot, especially when the guy got a complete put-down from the girl. And thankfully Cas had not told anyone about his re-watching it.

The smirk had been annoying enough, though.

+~+~+

Their destination for the day was a small town called St. Albans, although Dean noted that it proclaimed itself to be a city.

“The rules are different over here”, Cas explained. “Some places have historical entitlements to the title, and others get granted it because of size. Remember Stratford-upon-Avon, Shakespeare's town? That was actually a city too, despite being about the same size as Hastings back home.”

They parked and went first to have some lunch, which showed that someone had their priorities right. After a delicious burger and fries, Cas took his husband to a small museum.

“This shows what the town the Romans built here was like”, Cas said as he showed his husband around. “Verulamium they called it; the river is still called the Ver. It got destroyed in Boadicea's Revolt in 61 AD, but was rebuilt and later named after a Christian martyr, Alban.”

Dean found it quite interesting, although he was grateful that Cas let him have a sit down with his full stomach. Afterwards they drove into the town itself, and Cas spent some time looking at the cathedral, which was also impressive. Dean enjoyed sitting in the pews (there may have been a quiet prayer for success later that day), until they left. Cas then drove them to just outside a Catholic church down a side-street, and once he had parked handed him the envelope:
'Where Eddy sought his own safe space,
The Castle gone, that is the place.'

“Twenty minutes”, Cas reminded him. “Or at least it was.”

Dean raced off back towards the main road. Once he was out of sight of Cas he checked his phone and.... yes! There was an Edward Close only a couple of streets away, on the road out of town. Funny place to pick, but perhaps that was aimed at putting him off. He ran as quickly as he could, and was there in a few minutes.

Except Edward Close turned out to be a totally unremarkable collection of oldish-looking houses, with not a castle in sight. Dean ran up and down its length, but nothing. He looked anxiously at his phone, but he was still a few minutes ahead of when Cas could start.

There was a Registry Office across the road at the bottom of the Close, so he went in there and asked if the town – city – had a castle. The old man behind the counter seemed to find the question amusing.

“You've been had”, he grinned. “The Duke of Somerset, he chose to fight a battle here because he had been told he would die before a castle, and at that time our castle had been pulled down. But he still got killed.”

“How?” Dean asked.

“Killed by the Castle Inn”, the man said. “That's gone too now, but there's a blue plaque in the High Street. If you take this road over the railway bridge you'll be in Victoria Street, and the plaque is at the far end.”

Dean felt a sinking feeling. He had come that very way on a wild goose chase.

“This duke”, he said. “He wouldn't have been called Edward by any chance?”

The man smiled.

“No.”

Phew.

“Edmund.”

Dammit!

+~+~+

To make matters worse (as if that was possible), Dean's phone bleeped its warning before he was out the door. He knew that Cas was nearer the damn plaque, so his only hope was that the angel didn't figure it out. Fat chance; he'd probably known the duke in person!

There was no sign of the angel when he passed the turning to the Catholic church, and Dean's hopes rose. He hurried long as best he could, but Victoria Street was damnably long, and he had to slow to a walk to recover his breath. He didn't dare use his mojo because... well, Cas. Dean's body might be 99.5% angel now, but Cas could be damn inventive when it came to doing things that made the remaining 0.5% pay for it.

He passed a Salvation Army place and was relieved to see that he was nearly at the end of the road. The plaque had to be somewhere here.....

That was when a horribly familiar scruffy angel jogged around the corner from the right-turn ahead and stopped at a small blue plaque on the wall. And proceeded to open a box pinned to the wall above it from which he extracted.....

Dean cried.

+~+~+

Just to make up for it, Cas brought Dean pie and let him watch as much Pride and Prejudice as he could before he fell asleep in his angel's arms.

Chapter Text

Destination: Brentwood
Dean's Head Start: 23 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 5 from 20

Twenty days to go. Dean was not panicking. Dean was not panicking!

“Stop smirking”, he grumbled as they got in the Tahoe that morning. Cas looked at him innocently.

“I was not”, he said with an easy smile.

“Well, stop not-smirking then!”

Cas just looked at him. Dean harrumphed.

+~+~+

They were heading into the first of the eastern counties today, and it was not long before they crossed the border into the day's county, Essex. Dean, being Dean, sniggered at the name.

“The 'sex' in question refers to the Saxons, who settled the county some fifteen hundred years back”, Cas said. “Essex for the East Saxons, Sussex for the South, Wessex for the West and Middlesex for the central ones.”

“What about the North Saxons?” Dean asked.

“They got defeated in a Celtic resurgence, and were wiped out”, Cas said. “Those were dangerous times. It was the kings of Wessex who eventually united them all to form England.”

“Nerd!” Dean said affectionately.

“I'd be nicer to the guy who's gonna blow you after we stop for lunch”, Cas said casually.

Yet again, the angel's mojo prevented the Tahoe from suddenly swerving into another lane.

+~+~+

Lunch was at a Mickey Dee's in a fugly town called Harlow, and Dean was damn sure that that bastard tease of an angel was deliberately doing that thing with his tongue and the straw in his banana shake. The hunter was hard throughout the meal, and barely noticed the slice of pie that he had for dessert. And Cas could not take that long over a burger, surely?

A couple of weeks later, a bill for overstaying at a fast food restaurant car park in Essex was delivered to 10 Downing Street. It was put down to a computer error.

+~+~+

It was about an hour from the restaurant to their destination for the day, a town called Brentwood. Cas explained that their bed and breakfast was in a village two miles on called Shenfield, but they would be doing the challenge first. Still feeling the after-effects of his dinner (and what had followed!), Dean suggested a coffee before they started, and was relieved when Cas said yes.

Outside the Starbucks, Cas handed Dean the envelope which he opened:
'Comedic genius, that I Love,
De sign is clear, fits like a glove.'

“Getting on for half an hour's head start today”, Cas reminded him. “Of course that's because you haven't exactly been....”

Dean was gone, running off anywhere to escape that smugness.

+~+~+

He was opposite a big chain store called Marks and Spencer when he stopped, and pulled out his phone to look for clues. It would be just his luck to have to go back in the opposite direction and pass that grinning angel.

Comedy, he thought, looking at a map of the town. There was a theater, and even better, it was in the direction he was heading. He hurried onwards.

Beyond the crossroads there was a sign pointing down a narrow pathway marked 'Brentwood Theatre'. He hurried up to an uninspiring building, and started examining the posters outside for what was on show. Nothing with 'love' in the title, he noticed, and frowned.

He looked again at the clue, then jumped as his phone went off with the warning. Seriously, already? He re-read the clue. What was with that 'De'? Maybe he had to look for something with 'design' in it, because the only show he and Cas had ever agreed was comedic genius had been.....

Oh fuck! I Love Lucy! And that second line wasn't design, it was Desi.

He looked around the posters again but no luck. He checked his phone – and yes, there was a place called 'Lucy's Boutique' nearby. He raced away back the way he'd just come.

As the name had suggested, Lucy's Boutique did not cater for men, so Dean felt a scintilla of awkwardness as he walked into the place. Not that he and Cas never.... well, not the point here; that was between him and his Special Drawer back home. If the rhyme was right, he had to go over and ask for.....

“Yes, these gloves will do fine.”

And yet again the bottom fell out of Dean Winchester's world at that inimitable growl. Cas was standing at one of the side counters holding a pair of gloves and a.......

Dean went outside and didn't cry. But it was close.

+~+~+

It turned out that Cas had had time to make a few other purchases at Lucy's Boutique, which as he had won that day's challenge he decided to try out that evening. As what remained of his husband lay in a semi-comatose state of bliss, his complete bastard of an angel leaned over and whispered:

“Since Sam planned this thing, do you think that maybe, he went into our room back home and.....”

It was a rare occasion, but Dean Winchester prayed. Fervently!

Chapter Text

Destination: Flatford
Dean's Head Start: 26 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 5 from 19

Dean stood there in the en suite shower, quietly muttering to himself.

“Not worried. Not worried. Not worried. Not worried. Not....”

“Not worried about what?” came a familiar gruff voice.

It was fortunate that Cas had had the foresight to soundproof the room before entering, as otherwise the other people in the house might have heard something that could have been described as vaguely resembling a girly shriek. If one was feeling uncharitable, that was. Dean jumped and went to turn to face his husband, but Cas easily held him in place.

“Clearly I need to take away your worries”, he growled, using his amazing flexibility to somehow slip between Dean's legs and grab.....

Now that noise would have definitely had people come running. Thank the angel for heavenly soundproofing!

+~+~+

Cas drove for the first leg of the trip. Dean sat next to him, a happy if dazed look on his face. When they stopped at a light, two policemen pulled up in a car next to them, and one gave them a concerned look across the gap between them. Fortunately they were distracted by a call that a local doughnut shop was being burgled, and shot off under blue lights.

The two stopped for lunch at a town called Colchester. Cas explained that this had been the first real town in the whole island and had been modeled on Roman cities even before the Romans finally conquered part of the island.

“Camulodunum”, he said.

“Bless you!” Dean muttered, more interested in the fact that the small restaurant they were at did not have pie on the menu. People these days!

They finished their meal and went to look at a museum set around the Roman remains.

“I do love an old ruin”, Cas said innocently.

It took Dean far too long to get that, and to stare suspiciously at his angel. Who was doing that damnable not-smirking thing again!

+~+~+

They crossed the border into a new county, East Suffolk, and soon after Cas directed Dean (who had finally felt fit enough to drive) through what seemed like a myriad of tiny back roads until they approached what the hunter recognized as a dead-end road sign. Just before it was a tea-room, which turned out to be their destination.

“The challenge starts here?” Dean asked.

“Yeah”, Cas said, “but I think you might want to visit the tea-room first.”

“You're the dead leaf drinker, Cas”, Dean laughed.

“This place serves pie, several different.....”

Dean was gone.

+~+~+

This time Dean was ready. He had only had two slices of pie, and had promised his stomach they he would return for more after the challenge. Once outside, Cas gave him the envelope which he opened:
'For Will, it's on the post of course,
Don't put the cart before the horse.'

The dead-end road continued past the tea-room, but annoyingly there was a farm track that branched off by the building and crossed a small stream before itself splitting. Taking a chance, Dean hared off down the road.

The road ended at a large inlet off the same stream he had seen earlier, with a building either side of it. Dean looked around the area. It was impossible, but he felt that somehow he should know this place.

His phone chirped a warning and he jumped violently. Time did pass quicker when you didn't want it to, apparently. He checked the two buildings. The larger one was 'Flatford Mill', and there was a display board up one side.

And there it was. The picture of this place on one of the posters was the same picture Cas had hanging on their wall back home, a painting done looking towards that cottage, with a horse and cart in the water. And Cas would be here any minute!

The hunter ran over to the cottage and looked at the sign outside. His spirits rose as he read 'Willy Lott's Cottage'. There was set of railings leading around the back of the place, and he hurried to look closer at them until....

Hallelujah! There, on the very corner where there was a small gate, a crystal perched incongruously on a post. He raced over and grabbed it.

“Yes!”

+~+~+

“You're still behind schedule”, Cas reminded him at their bed and breakfast which (and Dean owed Sam and Shammy for this) was in a separate part of the mill called The Granary. Cas had been so chuffed.

Okay, he had been so chuffed that he had done that thing with the handcuffs and the police baton that his husband loved. So Dean had been chuffed too, among other things. He just hoped that he'd be able to walk again tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Destination: Newmarket
Dean's Head Start: 13 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 4 from 18

Dean was still pleased with his success the day before, although as Cas reminded him – several times, the bastard! – that meant that his head start today would be cut to just thirteen minutes.

“And you'll need it”, he grinned. Dean frowned.

“I thought you didn't know anything about the challenges?” he asked.

“I don't”, Cas grinned. “But I know our destination, I know the way your brother's mind works, and I can make a good guess.”

Dean pouted.

+~+~+

They were mostly on quiet minor roads today, as they headed inland for a bit. After a while they came to a small town called Lavenham, which Cas wanted to see. Dean stared in surprise at the huge church.

“This was one of the wealthiest towns in England in the Middle Ages”, Cas explained, “so it had a church that befitted that. Wool made them rich, but when fashions changed the town declined. The population has barely changed in the past two centuries, so it has lost a lot of ground.”

“Baa, humbug!” Dean chortled. Cas just rolled his eyes.

+~+~+

They had lunch in a town called Bury St. Edmunds, which also had a fancy church. Cas explained that it was named for an ancient king of East Anglia who, when he refused to give the Vikings what they wanted, was tied to a tree and filled with arrows until he died.

If the angel honestly thought that that would put Dean off his burger and fries, he was sorely mistaken.

Of course the bastard feather-brain followed it up with the story of another King Edmund a century or so later, who had been assassinated when someone hid below his privy and then, as he sat down, thrust an arrow right up.....

Dean glared at his evil husband!

+~+~+

A few hours later, he was thinking similarly uncharitable thoughts about his brother and his son, both of whom were almost as bad as Cas. They knew damn well that he hated this sort of thing!

After a tour of the church at Bury they had continued inland, and eventually reached a small town called Newmarket. The name did not mean anything to Dean, so Cas explained that it was the horse-racing capital of England and arguably the world. That meant horses. Big horses. Ugh!

Sure enough, the challenge was starting from the car park at the race-course. There were no races that day, but clearly something had been set up for them, and Dean had a certain feeling that it could involve a leg at each corner and an inbred hatred of Dean Winchester.

“I thought you quite enjoyed being ridden”, Cas quipped.

Dean glared at him. Again.

+~+~+

They got out of the Tahoe and Cas handed Dean the envelope.
'So that you may of success boast,
Grab victory off the winning post.'

Dammit!

Dean hurried in to where there were two horses waiting, and a man stood between them. There were two sets of kit, and the guy told him that he would not be allowed out on the course until he was safely kitted up. Dean thought about asking which horse was the fastest, but decided to go for the bay rather than the black one.

“Once clockwise around the course, and there are five hurdles between you and the line”, the man grinned. “Good luck.”

“I'll need it”, Dean grumbled as he was lifted onto the beast. “Where's the start lever on this thing?”

His phone rang at that moment, and the horse jerked forward in response, nearly ending his ride there and then. Dean cursed and prayed at the same time.

+~+~+

The mobile Dean Winchester-hating death machine jumped the third hurdle and landed heavily, as did Dean's stomach seconds later. At least they were approaching the final bend. Dean was torn, part of him wanting to go faster and part afraid that the ground suddenly seemed a lot further away. The horse seemed content with its pace – but when Dean heard hoof beats behind him, he decided that he was not.

“Giddyup!” he called. “Come on, horsey. I'll share a pie with you if I win.”

He was sure that the horse huffed at him, but the pace increased as he rounded the corner and approached fence four. Now he could see Cas, riding perfectly the bastard, starting into the long corner. Dean stared ahead towards the winning post and guessed it and his pursuer were the same distance away.

“Come on, Neddy!” he yelled.

The horse, whatever its name was, apparently took exception to that, because his trot suddenly became a gallop. Dean was nearly thrown off by the landing after the fourth hurdle, but the fifth was not far after it, and he braced for impact. The breath was knocked out of him, but he was home free now. He could see the winning post ahead on his right – and a crystal glowing in the afternoon sun atop it.

“Yes!”

The horse shot past the winning post. Dean cheered again, then yelled 'Whoa!”

The horse whoa'd. Unfortunately, Dean did not whoa.

+~+~+

Trust him to end up married to the one angel who could not-smirk for America.

“Ow!”

“I told you that the healing balm would sting a little”, Cas said unsympathetically. “At least the man at the race-course enjoyed it. He said he's never seen someone travel so far through the air minus any horse.”

“Thank God he was the only one who saw it”, Dean muttered. “Ow again!”

Cas hid a smile.

“Actually”, he said casually, “he said he was putting it out on Youtube. And on a possibly related subject, you have six messages on your phone.”

Dean wanted to die!

Chapter Text

Destination: Sandringham
Dean's Head Start: 16 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 4 from 17

Seventeen days to go, and he had to scrape out four crystals from them. Meh, Dean could do that. He was sure he could do that.

Fairly sure.

They left their hotel and headed north. After a while Dean noticed how flat the land seemed.

“Much of this area was reclaimed from the sea”, Cas told him, “and is near sea level . Those big ditches you can see by the side of the road are drains, that keep the fens dry.”

“That place ahead is on a hill, though”, Dean said, gesturing to a small town in the distance.”

“Ely, the place of eels”, Cas said, “and we're stopping to look at the church there. I find all the big religious places in this country impressive, but when they build something in a place like this, even more so.”

The church had to be big, Dean reckoned, because he could see it towering above the town even at this distance. Hey, he could endure any number of churches for his angel. He reached across and ruffled the impossible hair, earning himself a fond smile.

+~+~+

Ely turned out to have something even better that a great church – a bakery that sold whole pies! But some mean angel would only let Dean have one slice now, and made him keep the rest for later. Hmph!

They passed a small town called Downham Market, which Cas told him was where King Charles the First considered fleeing abroad before deciding instead to surrender himself to the Scots – a decision that had eventually cost him his life. They didn't stop however, continuing until they reached a much larger place called King's Lynn. Cas suggested a riverside warehouse place that served modern European food, then promptly creased up with laughter when his husband batted his eyelashes at him and did not whine at all.

They went to a McDonald's.

+~+~+

Dean could smell the sea air and knew they were near the coast, and eventually they ran into a small village called Dersingham, where their bed and breakfast for the night was a small place called, rather appropriately, 'The Corner House'. Cas explained that the challenge would take place in the next village, so they dropped their bags off and headed off again.

Sandringham, Dean quickly realized, was dominated by one very large house, and they pulled into a tea-rooms opposite one of its entrances. Dean did not normally hold with such things, but once again Cas told him that yes, this one did pie, so he gracefully decided to let his husband have his dead leaf drink. He just wished that Cas hadn't perfected his You Are So Full Of Shit Dean Winchester Look™!

Once they had finished they went outside, and Cas handed Dean the envelope. The instructions today were a bit longer:
'Where lovers met, the second floor,
The horse has bolted, shut that door!
Important Note: Because the crystal is where it is, you are allowed to be invisible for the duration of this challenge'

Dean guessed at once that this meant that the crystal was somewhere on the big estate across the road. He raced away, but not before he heard Cas call out, “only sixteen minutes”. And damn, if Cas was invisible too Dean couldn't see him coming. He had to get a move on.

The short road opposite led only to the estate wall and a small church. Making sure that no-one was watching, Dean made himself invisible and vaulted the wall easily enough, then set out walking across the estate while looking at the clue. Where lovers met.... was there one of those Japanese buildings in the garden or something? No, it said 'met', not 'meet'. But then where had lovers met in the past?

He continued along the path, which kept west of the big house, and was nearing a corner when it got him. Him and Cas were always being called lovers by Sammy, and the two of them had met in a barn. Was there a barn on the estate somewhere? He pulled up a map of the estate on his phone and examined it.

Dammit. There was a farm, but it was due east of where he was. He'd have to work round past the house to get there, whereas Cas....

His phone chose that moment to go off, to the confusion of a nearby estate worker who looked around in confusion at the noise coming from the nearby fountain. Dean ignored her and set off running almost straight at the big house, so that he would just pass its northern edge. That should bring him out near the road and the buildings that, he hoped, were barns.

Luckily there seemed to be no-one about, and even better, the first building on the edge of the complex was a barn. He went straight inside. The second floor – there was one of those raised areas that covered half the floor space, accessible by a ladder. He scooted up it, then groaned. The floor was covered in hay, so presumably somewhere in there was his crystal. Things could not be worse.

The door creaked ominously. Dean stared at it in terror, but it didn't open. Just the wind. He frantically began searching.

He didn't notice when the door did actually open. Fortunately the reason he didn't notice was that his foot had just bumped against something hard. He reached down and.....

“Got you!”

“Well done!”

Dena squealed and nearly dropped his prize. Cas was on the ground floor, looking up at him. Dean floated down, trying not to look smug (and failing dismally). He opened his mouth to gloat, but at that moment they both heard something outside.

“Just whose place is this, Cas?” Dean asked as the angel joined him.

“Her Majesty The Queen”, Cas said calmly. “You know, ruler of England, keeps corgis, owns racehorses.....”

Dean stared at him in horror, but further conversation was prevented by a scratching at the door.

“Whiskey?” came a distinctly posh feminine voice.

The door opened and a small corgi ran inside, snuffling happily about. The feminine voice called again, and it obediently ran off. Dean let out a breath he hadn't even known he had been holding.

“Back to the Tahoe so you can go and finish what's left of your pie” Cas grinned.

“Sure”, Dean grinned. They both concentrated, and a split second later were sitting in the car. Then it hit him.

“Wait, 'what's left of'?”

Cas sniggered.

Chapter Text

Destination: March
Dean's Head Start: 8 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 3 from 16

After their royal encounter the day before, Dean had gone to bed feeling tired but happy. He needed only three more crystals from sixteen days. Easy.

Okay, so his reward for his latest success had been for Cas to use his grace on Dean's wings, which meant that the hunter was still coming down from Cloud Nine. But whatever.

They left Dersingham and returned down the road to King's Lynn, where once again Cas asked if Dean wanted to try the fancy European waterfront diner, and once again Dean opted for fast food. Honestly, at times it was as if his husband didn't even know him!

Leaving the town they headed south-west, and after only a short journey reached their destination, a small town called March. Cas directed Dean to a small hotel called the Hippodrome next to a theatre of the same name, explaining that their challenge had to be a bit earlier than usual for some reason. Once they had deposited their bags they went outside, and Cas handed his husband the envelope:
'Wheels on fire, the station's got,
The cleaners make you go all hot,'

“Only eight minutes today”, Cas smirked at him.

“Still enough”, Dean said. They had passed the train station on the way into town, so he knew which direction he had to go in. He raced off.

+~+~+

The station was nearer than he had thought, and his phone had not sounded a warning by the time he got there. It was a small place, and there did not immediately seem to be any cleaners about. Then he saw an elderly woman wandering up the other platform with a rubbish bag, jabbing halfheartedly at litter with a grabber.

That, he thought, is not hot.

He checked the timetable, but there were no trains due for another thirty minutes at least. That had to be wrong. Maybe a freight train would come through, and a wheel would be on fire.

His phone bleeped a warning, and Dean stared up and down the platform at the signal lights at either end. Both were still stubbornly red. Frowning, he used his mojo to check up and down the line. No train anywhere near.

He went into the ticket office and asked the guy behind the counter if there were any other stations in town.

“No railway stations”, he said.

“Huh?”

“Well, there is the fire station”, the man said. “On the Wisbech road. Go down to the junction by the bridge, but keep straight on. It's set some way back, opposite an Indian place.”

Dean groaned. That was exactly the way he had come. He was toast!

“Thanks”, he managed, before turning and racing off.

+~+~+

There was no sign of Cas as he passed the hotel or anywhere up the road, and Dean's hopes rose that the angel too had gone off on a wild goose chase. As he neared the fire station it was easier to spot than he had feared, as the firemen were apparently doing a charity fund-raising event in which they washed people's cars for a fee. Bare-chested (Dean would have ogled some of them, but he quite liked his body parts in their current arrangement, thank you very much). He walked up to the guys.

One of the firemen was manning a stall in which various fire department stuff was on sale, and Dean felt his heart leap as he saw that amongst the stuff there was a crystal, right at the back. He hurried up to the stall.

“Can I have that?” he asked.

The fireman took it up, then looked full at him. A part of Dean died.

“Not a chance!” grinned Cas.

+~+~+

It was a bumper year for the local fire department's fund-raising efforts, and the children's hospital benefited like never before. The only slight mystery was as to how a complete uniform had vanished from the building only to reappear the following day, washed and ironed, hanging off the back of one of the trucks.

Dean would never view fire-engines in quite the same way again. And as for those long hoses......

Chapter Text

Destination: Grantchester
Dean's Head Start: 11 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 3 from 15

What was left of Dean Winchester staggered into the shower that morning, wishing that the water didn't have to hit him quite so forcefully.

Cas. Firefighter Cas. And the bastard had used his mojo to create an exact copy of that costume which he had mojo'ed back home. And the look on his face when he had talked about what he had planned for it.....

Thankfully his husband was all care and attention that morning, and even forbore from stealing Dean's bacon at breakfast (although Dean gave it to him anyway). And the angel was definitely driving; Dean only hoped their challenge that day was a) late on, and b) involved very little running.

One out of two.

+~+~+

Dean had decided that he didn't like this part of England much. Yeah, Kansas was pretty flat too – but this unending evenness was getting on his nerves.

“We shall be in and out of the flatlands for some days”, Cas said. Dean sighed, and gazed out onto the featureless landscape.

“Oh wow!” he trilled. “A tree!”

Cas just looked at him.

+~+~+

It was just before lunch when they rolled into Cambridge, which Dean remembered was where one of the big English universities was. At least it would be a change from all that flat land. And there would be food!

By the time they left, Dean had decided that he liked Cambridge marginally less than the lands around it. The town had an incredible number of bicycle riders, none of whom seemed to have any awareness of other road users. And the snooty looks that he got from a couple of shopkeepers when they heard his accent – well, if they didn't want his money, that was fine by him. Cas had actually growled at the second guy, and Dean had enjoyed the look of fear on the man's face as they had left. Only their choice of restaurant, a small independent place in the town, was decent.

They drove only a short distance to reach their hotel for the night, in a small place called Trumpington.

“Our challenge is a mile further on”, Cas said airily. “Shall we walk?”

Dean scowled at him. They drove, to a small village called Grantchester, where they stopped outside a pub called the Blue Ball. Dean looked up at the sign, and winced.

“Thinking of Aaron?” Cas said quietly.

Of course. During their first year of marriage Dean had received a letter from an old boyfriend, Aaron Bass, asking to meet. In a moment of absolute complete and utter stupidity he had decided not to tell his husband – but he had reckoned without his terrible luck. He'd met Aaron while the guy was changing planes at the airport, having seen Cas off to a summit two hours away. Cas' plane had been first delayed and then canceled, and he had decided to seek out his husband.

The angel had been Displeased.

There had been no sex for a whole. Freakin' Month! Thirty-one days when Dean wasn't even allowed to jerk off, and Cas would hold him but nothing more. The Dark Time. At least Dean had learned his lesson.

“But we had fun making up for it afterwards”, he grinned.

“Incorrigible!” Cas muttered with a smile, as he handed Dean the envelope which the hunter opened:
“Beyond the Brooke, above the gate,
Two fifty? It is not that late.'

Dean knew that they were on the northern side of the village and that he had seen no waterway on his way in. He walked quickly down towards the village while looking at his phone, then cursed. There was a brook, but it lay in the other direction. He raced back the way he had come, ignoring the angel's wave.

There were two gates where the road turned sharply east to run parallel to the brook for some little distance before crossing it and Dean checked them both, but they yielded nothing. He had hoped that one of them would be number 250, but no such luck. There was a third gate where the road crossed the brook, but again nothing. He checked his phone and tried 'Grantchester Brook'.

'Did you mean Grantchester Brooke?'

Huh?

He read down quickly. Brooke was not a river but a damn person, who had written a poem about this place during the First World War, saying how homesick he was for England. One line of the poem had been 'stands still the clock at ten to three', which explained the two fifty. And there was a pub in the village – damn, he had to have been almost up to it when he had charged back up this way – called 'The Rupert Brooke'. So somewhere beyond it there had to be a clock.

Just to add to his misery, his phone sounded the warning at that exact moment. He raced back the way he had come – of course there was no sign of Cas at the car park – and into the village. Past the pub, and he could see a church ahead of him which presumably had a clock somewhere on it. It had a gate, and that was good enough for Dean.

He rushed into the gateway and started looking frantically around. There was no sign of a crystal, but there was a folded piece of paper wedged into a crack in one of the posts. He pulled it out and read it:

'Look behind you.'

Dean didn't have to. He could already feel the not-smirk.

+~+~+

How many pubs does this place have?” he asked later, once he had stopped pou... scowling.

“More than average”, Cas said. “Grantchester also has the highest proportion of Nobel Prize winners of anywhere in England. That's because it is so close to Cambridge and the university.”

“All those pompous stiffs”, Dean snorted disdainfully. “Glad I never went to college. I hate education!”

“I seem to recall you were perfectly fine about it when I fucked the living daylights out of you while I was wearing only a mortar-board”, Cas grinned.

Dean frowned. Surely his memory wasn't going?

“When did that happen?” he demanded. Cas looked at his watch.

“Half an hour from now”, he said. “Coming?”

“Soon will be”, Dean said, finishing his drink in a hurry.

+~+~+

He was.

Chapter Text

Destination: Ramsey
Dean's Head Start: 14 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 3 from 14

Still plenty of time, Dean told himself in the shower that morning. Three crystals in fourteen days, Piece of pie.

Then Cas joined him in the spacious shower, and Dean thought no more.

+~+~+

They had another short journey today, one which could have been done in little under an hour, but Dean didn't want to go back to Cambridge (snooty bastards), and Cas agreed. Instead they took a leisurely walk around the village and left not long before lunch. Their only other stop along the route was a small town called St. Ives, which they reached soon enough.

'As I was going to St. Ives,
I met a man with seven wives,
Each wife had seven sacks,
Each sack had seven cats,
Each cat had seven kits.
Kits, cats, sacks and wives,
How many were going to St. Ives?'

Dean smirked at his husband. Almost-angel mojo was useful at times.

“Two thousand, eight hundred and one”, he grinned.

“Nope.”

“Huh?” Dean stared at his husband on consternation.

“One”, Cas said. “I was going to St. Ives. I met all the others – yes, two thousand, eight hundred and one of them – coming from St. Ives.”

“You're just mean!” Dean complained.

“Of course we could just have lunch here and not call in at that nice bakery that.....”

“Such a kind, loving, generous angel!”

He mentally added, 'who could really learn to stop not-sniggering like that'.

Cas just looked at him.

“Hey! Cut the mind-reading!”

+~+~+

They were, it seemed, back in the flat lands again. The hunter was almost relieved when he saw a hill rising from the town ahead.

“Ramsey”, Cas told him. “Our destination. And that small hill brought death and destruction in its time.”

“What? How?”

“It was the site of the old abbey”, Cas explained, built on the only high ground for miles around, like Ely. In the twelfth century a bad baron called Geoffrey de Mandeville seized it and used it as a base to terrorize the country for miles around.”

“Bastard!” Dean said feelingly.

“Oh, he met a bad end soon enough”, Cas grinned. “The king threw up a ring of fortresses to contain him, and he was attacking the one at Burwell when he decided to put aside his protective neck-armor because of the heat. He took a small flesh wound from an arrow, which slowly killed him.”

“Hah!”

+~+~+

Their stop for the night was the George Hotel in the town's High Street. Cas said he wanted to see the old church, which was also their starting point for the challenge, and they spent a pleasant hour looking around it. Once they were back in the High Street the angel handed Dean the envelope, which he opened:
'The 'H' is west, where muggles go,
From fennel, mint and cilantro.'

A Harry Potter reference, Dean groaned. Charlie would be so proud of her godson.

He thought that the abbey site might be it, as the church was on part of it, so hurried up the High Street. And bingo! There, almost right in front of him, was a 'Walled Kitchen Garden'. Just the place to grow herbs. He hurried inside.

There was an elderly chap who seemed to know what he was doing, so Dean asked him where the herbs were.

“The what?” the guy asked, clearly confused. One of his younger colleagues chuckled.

“He's American”, he said. “We sound the 'h' in this country; herbs, not 'erbs'. What did you want them for?”

“I'm on a sort of treasure hunt”, Dean explained. “I'm also looking for muggles. You know, like Harry Potter?”

The younger guy scratched his head.

“The only thing we have like that round these parts is Muggleston Lane”, he said. “Down the High Street on the left, opposite the school. That's where the air ambulance lands sometimes.”

Great, Dean thought. That was back the way he had come. Then it hit him.

“Like.... a heliport?” he asked. The younger guy nodded.

“There's a big 'H' painted on the.....”

Dean yelled his thanks as he departed, not missing the “Americans!” exchanged between the two men. Dammit!

+~+~+

He raced back past the church, trying not to dwell on the fact that his phone had gone and bleeped just as he had left the garden. There was no angel standing there, and he immediately feared the worst. He raced down the High Street hoping for a short-cut on his left, but nothing. In fact he nearly ran right past Muggleston Lane, and had to pivot sharply to get down a ridiculously narrow private road. At the end a path ran through a hedge into a field, and Dean could see a large 'H' painted on the ground. And there, in the very center, was a crystal!

Before he could move however, there was the unmistakable sound of rotor blades. Dean looked up, but there was no sign of the approaching helicopter. Then, to his horror, Cas suddenly appeared directly above the crystal, and he realized that his bastard of a husband – who had just nabbed another crystal – had been making the noise.

Dean hated his life!

+~+~+

Later Cas showed his husband how the term 'helicoptering' could be used in a sexual context. Coincidentally there was a short and inexplicable power outage across the Fen Country that same evening.....

Chapter Text

Destination: Castor
Dean's Head Start: 17 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 3 from 13

It was the first day of the trip when the weather was less than brilliant which, given what Dean had read about English summers, was (he supposed) not that bad. A steady drizzle continued through virtually the whole day, although fortunately Cas insisted on wearing his aviators, a decision of which his husband (and his husband's lower brain) fully approved.

“The next two days we will be in the two contenders for England's smallest traditional county”, Cas told him as they left Ramsey behind them.”

“How can they be unsure?” Dean asked. “I mean, it's not as if someone's gonna find a few extra hundred acres out the back, is it?”

Cas chuckled.

“Tomorrow we are in Rutlandshire”, he said, “which is the smallest county that is both administrative and geographical. The Isle of Wight – I am sure you remember that wonderful chair lift – is a bit smaller, but was partly administered from Hampshire on the mainland.”

Yeah, Dean remembered the chairlift. And his subsequent 'flight' out to sea. So did someone else, judging by that annoying not-smirk.

“Today we are headed into the Soke of Peterborough”, Cas continued. “Like the Isle of Wight, not a full county in its time; it was administered first from Northampton and then from Huntingdon. But the chief town is huge today; it is on one of the main rail lines down to London, and many people live here and commute to the capital every day.”

“Corporate drones”, Dean scoffed.

“I seem to recall that someone rather liked the Businessman Fantasy”, Cas said dryly. “Especially the Businessman And Secretary version. Where the Secretary wears.....”

“Cas!”

Ye Gods, how had he ever though the scruffy little guy innocent?

+~+~+

They stopped in Peterborough for lunch, and as Dean had thought it was a mostly modern town. At least it didn't have anything as goddam awful as that monstrosity he had seen back in Coventry.

They continued west to a small place called Water Newton. It was barely big enough to be called a village, Dean thought, though the church was again large for such a place.

“Durobrivae”, Cas said.

“What?”

“This was once one of the Roman provincial capitals on the island, and a major pottery production center”, Cas said, looking around them. “Now Peterborough is a major town, and this... well, it has all but gone.”

They took a look around the old church, and when they came out Cas pointed towards a river in the distance.

“Our challenge is in that village on the far side of the river”, he said. “Fancy a nice walk?”

Dean just looked at him.

+~+~+

A short drive later and they were in Castor, which although also a village was rather larger. Cas wanted to explore the church here too – St. Kyneburga's – but soon after they were stood in front of the Royal Oak pub and Dean was opening another envelope:
'Where Love to Medhamstead leads out,
Go High And Over, round about.'

“Over a quarter of an hour today”, Cas said cheerfully. “If you can use it.”

He walked back inside the pub to get out of the rain. Dean used his phone to call up a map of the village and pored over it. He was near the eastern end, but there was no place called Medhamstead anywhere nearby. He tried Wikipedia, and after a false start found that it was the old name for Peterborough, which lay to the east. So he had to head that way. He hurried off.

The Peterborough Road (original name) continued some way until he reached a corner, at which point he was evidently leaving the village. But when he rounded the corner, he saw a road sign that made him grin. Love Hill. So that was the Love in the rhyme.

His phone annoyingly chirped a warning at that precise moment, and he raced off.

He passed a Mill Lane on his right but that was a dead end, and since he apparently had to aim High and the road he was on went up a hill, he stuck to it. An unfriendly and unmarked brown gate further on to his right yielded nothing, but at the next house he struck gold. It was called High And Over. And looking down the long drive towards it, he could see the owners had created a turning circle for their cars, in the middle of which was a tree. Bingo!

He glanced back down the road, and paled. In the distance but getting steadily closer was a familiar figure. He hurried through the open gate – and stopped dead.

Apparently the owners had pets. Two Alsatian pets.

Checking that the house was empty first, Dean shot out his wings, arched high above him. The dogs froze in their attack, then tumbled over each other in their fight to get round the back of the house, yelping in terror. Dean would have gloated but he didn't have the time; somewhere in that damn tree was a crystal. He ran up to it and began his search.

There was the sound of running feet, and Cas rounded the entrance to the drive. At that exact moment, Dean found the crystal and grabbed it. But being a good winner, he did not crow with triumph, or gloat unduly all the way back to the Tahoe.

Bwahahahaha! Yeah right!

+~+~+

That night, Dean got to be the Businessman for once.

Chapter Text

Destination: Tickencote
Dean's Head Start: 8 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 2 from 12

Dean Winchester's memo to self; learn when to shut cakehole. He'd suggested to Cas that as the next stop was, apparently, barely twenty minutes away by car, they should spend a lazy morning just having sex and leave as late as possible. Cas had immediately countered by suggesting that as it was so close, they could walk all the way to the challenge, do it, and walk back before it got dark again. Honestly, where did his husband get these strange, terrifying ideas?

Fortunately Dean managed to talk Cas out of that particular dumb plan, although it took two blow-jobs and his husband being allowed to do that thing with his grace and Dean's wings that totally blew his husband's mind.

It was only as they set off that Dean suddenly wondered..... no. Cas wouldn't be so sneaky as to dupe him like that. Would he?

The angel side-eyed him, and he took back that thought.

+~+~+

Because the actual destination was so near, Cas took advantage by taking in a couple of other sights he wanted to see. The first was the town of Stamford, which was small and, Dean thought, pretty decent.

“This is sort of famous in its own way”, Cas told him. “They have many old houses, and more than one period drama has been filmed here.”

“Costume dramas”, Dean scoffed. “I mean, that 'Pride and Prejudice' thing was okay, but really, who goes in for that crap?”

“Indeed”, Cas nodded. “What sort of person dresses up in costumes from long ago to act out strange, historical fantasies. Any ideas, handmaiden?”

Dean blushed.

+~+~+

They had lunch in the town at a fast food place, as Cas said they would be having a good meal that evening. Dean pouted a bit at that, but some pie from a nearby bakery soon cheered him up. Then it was off to their next stop, which was a largish village called Empingham.

“We are staying the night at a bed and breakfast here”, Cas said, “but I wanted to explore the Water first.”

“The what?” Dean asked, puzzled.

Rutland Water turned out to be a large reservoir, and Cas wanted to go on a ferry boat that took people around it. Dean would have done a lot more than brave an unstable boat for his husband, and besides, he got to hold Cas in a manly manner as they went round the reservoir.

The only bad moment came when a couple of youths at one of the stops saw them and started sniggering. But that was quite okay. Someone threw them each a ring when the fence they were leaning on suddenly collapsed, and they were dragged out considerably wetter but, in all probability, not considerably wiser.

Safely back at Empingham, they went to check into their bed and breakfast for the night. Cas showed his husband the pub which, he said, served excellent meals of an evening, but first – the challenge.

+~+~+

Quite what Dean had been expecting, he did not know, but he was sure that this was not it. They had driven to where a major freeway (or A-road as they called them over here) cut across the land, then Cas had pulled off near a small side-road leading to some farm or other. He handed Dean the envelope, and a puzzled husband opened it:
'Green on yellow, isle be bound,
They lost their coats, but yours is found.'

Well, it had to be the farm, as there was nothing else except the road stretching miles north and south. And because of his success yesterday, today Dean had only eight minutes head start. He hurried off along the farm track.

The farm was pretty much as he might have expected a farm to be; lots of buildings, but annoyingly nothing with green on yellow. The oddest thing was a small marked square, barely a yard across, with a sign next to it saying 'Flying Allowed In This Zone'. Some good that was, he thought, and went to inspect another barn, cursing as his phone bleeped the warning.

He was coming out of the barn when he saw Cas who, presumably from the fact his wings were out, had decided to fly in the massive zone. Lot of good that would do him, Dean thought – except his husband landed and immediately ran towards the back of the farm and a humongous field. Dean stared after him in curiosity, and decided to check it out.

He walked to the zone, centered himself in it and soared upwards on his great wings. He could see Cas crossing the hay field behind the farm, running across to a small green island that, for some reason, had been left uncultivated. There was a single tree on it and.....

Oh fuck!

Realization hit Dean at the same moment that Cas reached the island. A green 'isle' on a yellow field – and with his near-angelic vision Dean could see quite clearly that there was a coat hanging from one of the branches of the tree. Cas reached into it and pulled out.....

“Oh fuck!”

+~+~+

The farm was the site of the Battle of Losecoat Field in 1470”, Cas explained. “King Edward IV's enemies put together a fake rebel army which was aimed at decoying him away from the capital, but when he surprised and defeated them there, they fled so fast that many abandoned their false coats, hence the name.”

“I'm still ahead of schedule, you know”, Dean pointed out crossly, jabbing at a foot-long sausage. “I'll still win.”

“I win either way”, Cas smirked.

New rule: Cas was not allowed to use his grace on any part of Dean's anatomy in an English pub when he had food in front of him. At least not without prior warning. Only the angel's lightning-fast reactions saved both food and drink from being knocked all over the place. Poor Dean insisted on two slices of pie to make up for his ordeal.

That smirk was still annoying as well.

Chapter Text

Destination: Little Bytham
Dean's Head Start: 11 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 2 from 11

“Our destination today is less than ten miles away”, Cas said as he sat in bed that morning. “How would you feel about walking there and back?”

Dean gave him a short and concise gesture that indicated exactly how he felt about that idea. It would have been bad enough at the best of times, but after last night and finding that Cas had packed their supersized vibrator as well as the regular one that he had endure earlier (he only hoped the angel had remembered to block the scanners of whatever dumbfucks the Brits employed for their own TSA) – well. Dean was still at least partly human, and the partly human bit ached all over!

To give his husband credit he had somehow persuaded the hotel to provide them breakfast in bed, which Dean appreciated even if it meant sitting upright, while pointedly ignoring Mr. Smirkopolis right next to him. And if Dean burrowed back into the bed once the food was gone and allowed his angel to hold him in a manly embrace, well, that was his right, dammit!

+~+~+

They left the hotel just before lunch, and headed west to a small town called Oakham.

“I like this county”, Cas said happily, as they browsed the shops for tourist tat. “Forty years ago they tried to merge it with a larger county next door, but the locals spent the next twenty years resisting, and eventually they got their county back.”

“Big government”, Dean snorted. “As dumb over here as back home.”

“Some universal forces are constant”, Cas agreed. “I knew you would like this town in particular, though.”

“Why?”

“There is a pie shop right next to a fast food place.”

Dean really loved Oakham!

+~+~+

They left after a hearty lunch, and took a small back-road that ran through a few small villages before crossing the major freeway that yesterday.....

“The farm is a few miles south of here”, Cas said innocently. Dean glared at him.

They crossed into a new county, Lincolnshire.

“From Lindum, the old word for the Roman town of Lincoln”, Cas explained. “Historically it was divided into three Parts; Kesteven, Holland and Lindsey. Kesteven means meeting place in the wood, Holland means low-lying land, and Lindsey comes from the ancient British kingdom that ruled there.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wikipedia”, Dean teased.

They continued on until they reached a small village called Little Bytham, which Cas said was where the challenge would take place. They stopped outside an ancient-looking church, and Dean stared at the board in front of it.

“Saints Medard and Gildard”, he said. “Unusual.”

“One of only two left in the world”, Cas said. “Godardus, as he was back then, was little noted at the time, but later annalists claimed that he was the twin brother of the more famous Medardus, and that they were made bishops on the same day. It was untrue, but it made them both briefly famous. Parts of the church are over a thousand years old.”

“Wow!”

They explored the old building, then went back to the Tahoe where Cas handed Dean the envelope:
'Beneath the third bridge? Try your luck,
But not one with the speedy duck.'

Okay, that was weird. But he had heard the sound of a train in the distance, so there had to be a rail line at the other end of the village. Dean hurried away down the road, fully conscious that he had only eleven minutes before his scruff of a husband would be giving chase.

Sure enough, the road ran downhill until it passed under an large and ugly rail bridge which, he guessed, might be the third one to be built there. He checked around the dark bricks, but there was nothing. Annoyed, he called up his phone and checked to see if there were any 'duck' connections with this place.

There were. Apparently back in 1936 the world speed record for a steam engine had been set in this place, and the locomotive had been called 'Mallard'. The speedy duck, then. But the clue said that this was not the bridge the engine must have gone across, yet how many bridges were there in a place like this? He checked his phone again.

Dammit! There had been a second east-west rail line years back, which had crossed this north-south one just south of the village. That meant another bridge and....

His phone bleeped. Dean swore, then quickly called up his map of the village. That road just a few yards back was the main one leading south to the old line.

+~+~+

Station Road was incredibly long, and it itself passed under the main line. Dean heard a passenger train thunder by, but hurried on. Cas was a faster runner, but surely his lead was still enough? He kept looking back, but there was no sign of the scruffy angel.

On the far side of the second bridge the road turned sharply, and after some distance Dean could see the third bridge ahead, which had to carry the old line. He had to pause for breath, and to try not to laugh at a jogger wearing fluorescent pink and yellow who was also clearly laboring as he went along the same route.....

Too late did the hunter realize. That was no ordinary jogger. Still panting Dean gave chase – but Cas was some distance ahead of him and no longer in any apparent distress, as he easily pulled clear. But that didn't annoy Dean.

What did annoy him was Cas reaching the bridge and easily finding the crystal in an alcove, then flourishing it before his idiot of a husband. Yup, that annoyed him alright.

+~+~+

Cas made up for his triumph by fetching the Tahoe while Dean was still recovering, then driving his shattered husband to the next pub down the road for a beer. Even better, the pub turned out to be the hotel they were staying at for the night. And best of all, Dean got to have a long, hot bath, and to avoid someone whose not-smirking was really damn annoying!

Chapter Text

Destination: Boston
Dean's Head Start: 14 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 2 from 10

“We are going where?” Dean asked.

“Boston”, Cas said. “The original one.”

They left the pub and drove back to the village where they had had the challenge the day before, and Cas did that even more annoying not-smirking thing of his as they passed under the scene of his triumph. Dean just pouted.

A short drive east took them to a small town called Bourne, which Cas wanted to explore. The little nerd was so organized, Dean thought with a soft smile, that he had a long list of friends and family back home, annotated with what he was going to buy each one and where he was going to get it. In this place he got a book for Sammy, which was typical of both of the nerds.

They didn't spend long in the town, as Cas said that they would be having lunch in the same place that the challenge was set. Less than an hour's driving took them to a familiar name.

“Boston!” Dean called as they passed the town sign. “Tea Party!”

“Appropriate”, Cas agreed. “In the referendum on the European Union, this area was percentage wise the one most against, in favor of what was termed the rebel side.”

He directed Dean into the town, the hunter wondering if Cas was using his mojo to secure a space right in front of a KFC. Not that he was complaining.

“Challenge first”, Cas said, much to his husband's disappointment. “You would not want to be running on a full stomach.

Dean supposed that he could see the logic in that, and opened the envelope:
'So by the Stump you'd be prepared,
Don't run around to find R squared.'

He raced off, heading for a large sign that displayed a map of the town that he could see in the distance. This country was, he knew, mad for cricket, a game he rated as marginally less enjoyable than watching paint dry, but he knew that it involved things called stumps. There had to be some sort of sports ground nearby, hopefully starting with an 'R'.

The nearest place was called Central Park, a short distance to the north. Dean raced there as fast as he could, and was relieved that his phone hadn't sounded yet. He had nearly a quarter of an hour today. Plenty of time.

The park was a small one, but there seemed no sign of any cricket field. A woman watching her two children on the adventure playground looked at him in surprise as he hurried up, but shook her head to his question.

“There is a cricket field on the western side of town”, she said. “Over half an hour away if you are walking.”

That was way too far, Dean thought.

“I'm actually looking for stumps”, he said. “It's part of a treasure hunt thing.”

Her face cleared.

“Stumps?” she asked. “Or 'The Stump'?”

Dean thought of the clue.

“Just one”, he said.

She pointed back the way he had come, towards the town center.

“See that big tower on the church?” she asked.

Dean's stomach fell. That damn church had been right next to him when he had set off.

“Yeah?” he asked, praying that her next words would not be what he feared they would be.

They were.

“We call that the Boston Stump”, she explained. “Sorry, but I think you should be there.”

He thanked her and raced away. Unfortunately at the first turning, the phone went off, and a group of people across the street had their vocabulary somewhat expanded.

+~+~+

Dean raced back to where he had started, fully expecting to find one hellishly smug angel sat waiting for him. He was half right. Cas was sitting outside a small restaurant next to the church, with a coffee and a slice of pie in front of him. The third thing on the table glistened in the afternoon sun, seeming to mock the panting hunter.

“And you said that math was never useful”, Cas grinned. “Around referred to a circle, and to find the area of a circle you square the radius and multiply by the number known as.....”

He gestured to the dessert opposite, which was the only good thing in Dean Winchester's life right now.

“Pi.”

+~+~+

Dean hated math. But at least his angel let him have the pi(e).

Chapter Text

Destination: Skegness
Dean's Head Start: 17 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 2 from 9

Two crystals in nine days. He could do this. Easily.

“You could do what?”

Dean let out a noise that an uncharitable person may have just possibly felt inclined to misreport as a girly shriek, and turned to reprimand his husband for making him jump like that. Then he remembered that a) they were both in the shower, b) they were both naked, and c) Cas was evidently very pleased to see him.

Meh, whatever. He could worry about the future later.

They were actually late leaving the hotel, mainly because the shower was one of those which had jets that came at you from all angles, and some bastard of an angel used that and his ability to control the water temperature to give Dean a prolonged blow job that lasted for the best part of an hour.

Cas drove that day. Dean lay on the back seat, thinking Happy Thoughts with what remained of his brain.

+~+~+

Their only stop before their final destination turned out to be a small village pretty much in the middle of nowhere.

“Bolingbroke”, Dean said. “Funny name.”

“Originally Bolinborough”, Cas said. “The town of Bolin, a Saxon who settled in the area. The castle was slighted in 1652.”

“Slight what?”

“Slighted. Deliberately ruined so it could not be used by the other side. It was in poor repair anyway, and on the front line during the First Civil War. Most of the stone was taken away to be used elsewhere, so not much is left.”

“Seems it was a small place”, Dean said.

“But an important one”, Cas said. “John of Gaunt's wife gave birth to their son, Henry, here in 1367. That son grew up to become King Henry the Fourth, a direct ancestor of the current Queen of England. Not a happy monarch, poor Henry, but then he did seize the throne from his cousin and have him murdered.”

“Family did end in blood, then!”

+~+~+

Cas spent some time walking around the ruins, which Dean spent admiring Cas' aviators and shorts, before they left for the second part of their journey. Just before one they reached their destination, a seaside resort called Skegness.

“Can we have lunch first?” Dean not-whined. Cas smiled.

“Sam's notes assure me that there is relatively little physical effort needed for the task today”, he said, “so yes.”

“Wonderful. Now where do they serve pie?”

Cas just laughed.

+~+~+

Lunch was a delicious fish and chips meal, definitely in Dean's not so humble opinion one of the great foods in this country. The only time he had tried something similar back home was on a trip to Pennsylvania, where presumably the so-called 'pub' he had dined at had had a deal with the local pepper company. It had been disgusting!

After the obligatory slice of pie, they walked to the start of the pier and Cas gave Dean the envelope which he opened:
'Out of the eight, just one will do,
The Angel Falls, for pennies two.'

“There is also this”, Cas said, handing him one of two small bags that he had extracted from his holdall. Dean opened it and found that the leather bag contained several small plastic ones, each filled with two pence pieces. Okay, so that suggested that the gambling machines were involved – but this place was full of them!

He walked quickly up the pier, checking each joint, but most of the machines seemed set up to accept larger coins. Then he spotted it and groaned, a back entrance to the same place he had ruled out, but whose bastard owners apparently kept the smaller coin machines to the back of the place. He hurried inside – and there in front of him was an eight-sided machine with those horrible sliding shelves, full of two pence pieces.

It was called The Angel Falls. And on the top of each level was a crystal!

Dean rushed up to the machine and dug out his coins, then quickly scouted around the eight sides. One of the crystals was slightly sticking out over the edge of the top level, so he chose that one. He opened his first bag – and promptly dropped it on the floor as his phone bleeped. Seriously, already?

Dean had managed to shove a handful of coins in before a certain angel walked quickly up, and like him assessed each side. He chose the one two sides round from Dean, and was a lot slower in putting his coins in. So much for that; Dean just shoved as many coins in as he could get, and sure enough, after a couple of minutes the crystal on his side toppled down onto the bottom level. He fed the coins even faster.

The crystal was less than an inch away from the edge of the lower level when Dean reached into his cloth bag for more coins – and found it was empty. He stared at it in horror. The change box was right on the other side of the gaming area, and if he left his side, Cas could step in and claim it.

“My crystal just rolled onto the bottom level”, Cas grinned. “Problems?”

Dean thought a mild curse, grabbed his wallet and raced over to the change booth. Of course some old lady was there before him, fumbling in her purse for a note that had seemingly popped off to Narnia, and it was an age before he got five more bags of coins and was able to race back to the machine. Cas was still chunking coins periodically into his own side, and Dean felt relieved that the guy hadn't stepped across. Of course Dean would have done the same for him had the situations been reversed.

Cas just gave him a Look. Sometimes his husband knew him too well.

Dean glared at his own crystal, which seemed perfectly happy where it was, and banged the machine in frustration. His crystal jumped – and there was a sudden tinkling noise. Cas leaned down.

Oh no!

Sure enough, his fit of temper had jarred loose one of the other crystals. The one in Cas' section.

+~+~+

Dean never wanted to see another slot machine as long as he lived!

Chapter Text

Destination: Easington
Dean's Head Start: 20 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 2 from 8

Some bastard of a husband who wasn't getting laid any time soon (shut up, last night was Dean needing, not the other way around) had insisted on going back to the pier of an evening and playing various slot machines. He had even had the brass neck to look disapprovingly at a certain husband who may, just possibly, have used his mojo to ensure half the coins on a certain machine all fell out at the same time.

Dean was still not-pouting as they left Skegness and drove inland. At least the countryside was starting to show things that almost bordered on hilly. Ish.

“The Lincolnshire Wolds”, Cas said. “A rare high area in these parts, but we are leaving the flatlands behind, you'll be pleased to hear. Are you going to sulk all day?”

“Not sulking”, Dean sulked.

That earned him an Official Disapproving Silence™. Still, he had twenty minutes head start today. And only two crystals to get.

Except once he got one, his advantage would be halved. So the sooner he did, the sooner he could start building it up again. Yeah. He had this in the bag.

He missed the Official Knowing Look™.

+~+~+

They stopped to look around a small town called Louth, then drove a few miles north before Cas directed Dean down a narrow side-road. After a short distance they came to an old railway station, where a steam train was waiting at the platform.

“You still supporting these old-timers and their old ways of transport?” Dean grinned.

“I'd be nicer to the person with whom you're about to have sex on a train with”, Cas replied calmly.

Dean gulped.

The line turned out to be barely a mile long, but that was long enough.

+~+~+

Dean woke up from his impromptu nap in the back seat to find the Tahoe had stopped again.

“Where are we?” he yawned.

“Beverley.”

“Beverley who?”

“The town of Beverley”, Cas said. “Ancient capital of the East Riding of Yorkshire, today's county.”

“Challenge here?” Dean asked, hoping it was not. His legs still felt slightly unsteady after their short train 'ride'.

“No, that is further on”, Cas grinned. “I thought I would give you time to recover before I, as you put it, 'whop your ass good' yet again.”

Dean scowled. There had damn well better be pie in this Beverley!

+~+~+

There was, although a certain mean husband only allowed him one slice.

“You would only whine that I was trying to handicap you by over-feeding you before a challenge again”, Cas pointed out.

“You did it before”, Dean snarked.

“And who started it with the arrows?” Cas shot back. “Or the runes? Or the wards?”

Damn angel with the long... memory!

He didn't miss that the Official Knowing Look™.

+~+~+

They stopped in a small town called Patrington where their hotel for the night was, and checked in. They then drove down to the coast at a small place called Easington. Cas had been unusually quiet as they came in, and Dean asked him why.

“This is one of the places that the government is thinking of abandoning to the sea”, he explained. “The coastline is crumbling, and rather than defend it they want to just give up.”

“I suppose they can't defend everywhere”, Dean admitted.

“One of their last reports was that everywhere along another stretch of coast would be left to the sea, except for around one farm”, Cas said. “Which just happened to be owned by the father of the minister making the decision.”

“They're as bad as our lot!” Dean scoffed.

Their starting place for the challenge was a T-junction on the northern side of the village. Cas handed Dean the envelope, which he opened:
'Twixt ale and aisle, a shelter bright,
The buck stops here? That's almost right.

It had to be in the village, Dean reasoned, and ran off down the road into the village. Mr. Smug stayed put, although Dean knew that he was counting the seconds until he could give pursuit.

“Not today, angel boy”, he muttered under his breath.

He rounded a corner and passed a pub called The Marquis Of Granby. Dean had been confused (and hopeful) at the 'Free House' signs in England, until Cas had explained that it just meant free to serve more than one producer's beer. It did not, however much Dean had wished it, mean free beer. And some mean husband had added that he was not allowed to use his mojo to change the meaning to what he thought it should be, either!

He ran on some little way and was passing the church to his right when he suddenly thought. The aisle was part of the church, and he had just passed a place that served ale.

The buck stops here, he thought. Buck. Deer of some sort? Or rabbit? Not money, surely?

He scouted back and forth between the pub and the church, but none of the buildings seemed to have any buck connections. His phone chirped a warning and, annoyingly soon, Cas rounded the corner and grinned at him.

“I thought that too at first”, he called as he raced past.

Dean glared after him, but followed him. Cas ran round the church – and in the distance ahead of them both Dean could see a second pub, The White Horse. A place this size with two pubs? Come on!

He was racing towards the other pub when he noticed that Cas was not. The angel ran instead to a small, nondescript building that was only a few yards across in both directions, and tore inside. Dean stared in confusion – until his husband emerged bearing a crystal!

+~+~+

“How?” Dean demanded. “I mean, how?”

“The clue said that 'buck' was almost right”, Cas smirked. “Not buck, but bus. The bus stops here. And when I checked the map, the bus stop was right between the church and the pub. Just, not your pub.”

Dean scowled. There had better he some hot sex that evening to make up for his latest very minor setback, and for someone's damn annoying smirk.

+~+~+

There was.

Chapter Text

Destination: Whitby
Dean's Head Start: 23 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 2 from 7

Dean supposed that he could relate to Cas' quietness as they drove along the doomed coast. Not many years from now this could very well be all under the sea that he could see to his right.

“It may of course retreat again in the future”, Cas said, guessing his thoughts as per usual. “Down the coast there was a port called Ravenspur which was founded on new land thrown up when the sea receded. William Shakespeare mentioned it in a play, but it's gone now.”

The angel sidled closer to his husband, who reached across and ruffled the ever impossible hair.

+~+~+

They passed through a place called Hornsea and continued north along the coast road, eventually reaching a town called Bridlington. Cas wanted to stop here and do some more shopping, but Dean made a point of coming round and kissing him before they set off into the town.

“Just because”, he muttered, a little embarrassed at his show of emotions.

“That's why I love you”, Cas smiled. “Because you love me enough to do something so totally chick-flick as....”

His laughter followed the retreating back of his husband, huffing as he went.

+~+~+

Dean considered suggesting a stop in the town for lunch, but Cas said that there was a highly recommended fish and chips shop in Scarborough, the next town along the coast, so Dean allowed himself to be persuaded. (that not-smirk was still damn annoying, by the way). Fortunately for Dean's stomach Scarborough turned out to be only half an hour away, and even better, Cas said they should go to the shop straight away. Dean had a good husband!

Scarborough was a bright and breezy town, and Dean found himself liking it, even if Cas bought him a 'Kiss Me Hardy' hat and insisted that he wear it.

“Who was Hardy anyway?” he asked.

“Admiral Lord Nelson's second-in-command at the Battle of Trafalgar, 1805”, his nerd of a husband answered. “Nelson's dying words were actually 'kismet, Hardy', meaning fate, but that is history for you.”

“I look ridiculous wearing this”, Dean grumbled.

“If you win today's crystal, I'll let you fuck me tonight wearing just the hat”, Cas said calmly.

Dean shoved the hat on more firmly. And tried to control his suddenly rapid breathing.

+~+~+

Just under an hour's driving took them to a town called Whitby, which was where their challenge would be for that day. Their hotel was in the town across the river but, apparently, their challenge was this side of it. Cas drove them into a car park, then got out and handed Dean the envelope which he opened:
'Where Hilda ruled, so good and bright,
Step down, and let the jet take flight!'

Since they were on the edge of town Dean raced off down the road, keeping an eye out for 'Hilda'. Whoever she was. If she was still around.

He was nearing a sharp curve in the road when he saw a narrow alleyway leading away to his right. It was signposted 'Abbey ruins and St. Mary's Church' – but underneath it was an obvious temporary sign that someone had added with 'Abbess Hilda Exhibition'. Yes!

Of course the abbey ruins turned out to be slap bang on the top of a bloody steep hill, and Dean was panting by the time he finally reached it. The exhibition was, it turned out, inside the church, so he made his way over to it – though not before his phone rang the warning before he was there. Dammit!

He didn't see where a jet fitted into this, and quickly went round the exhibition hoping for inspiration. There was none – until he saw a stall selling small black stone animals. That wouldn't have caught his attention except for the sign above it.

'Jet carvings'. Jet. The stone.

“Is there somewhere in town that sells these?” he asked the man behind the stall. He supposed it was a bit rude to ask about possible competition, but the man's knowing grin at his question made him uncomfortable.

“There's the Jet Heritage Centre”, the man said. “Go down the steps behind the church and into Church Street, and it's to the right of the Board Inn. It's set well back, mind.”

“Thanks”, Dean said fervently.

“By the way”, the man grinned, “we call them the 199 Steps.”

Dammit!

+~+~+

Dean didn't stop to count them, but they felt a lot more than one hundred and ninety-nine. He was as it turned out grateful for the directions; the Jet Centre had a huge sign but was set back, and he might have missed it as he careered round a tight corner. The entrance was a low door down some dark steps, and he narrowly avoided bumping his head on the way in.

“The angel, please.”

Dean froze. He knew that voice, Please God no.

Apparently, God did not please. Cas turned round holding a carved jet angel in one and and in the other, a.....

Dean did not cry. He just went back outside for a Moment.

+~+~+

But because Dean did indeed have the best husband in the world ever, Cas let him top that night.

Yes, Dean got to wear the hat!

Chapter Text

Destination: Marston Moor
Dean's Head Start: 26 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 2 from 6

“Why ridings?” Dean asked as they lay in bed that morning. Cas quirked an eyebrow at him.

“After last night, I seem to recall you quite liked ridings”, he grinned.

“Down, boy!” Dean said, blushing fiercely. “No, you said we've done the East Riding, and today we're leaving the North Riding today for the West.”

“Oh, that's from the old word 'thirding'”, Cas explained. “Yorkshire, apart from the capital York, is divided into three ridings.”

Dean sniggered. Then Cas gave him his own third riding, and Dean sniggered no more.

+~+~+

They were leaving early as Cas said they actually had a longer drive today, and he wanted to spend some time at their one stopover. After a good breakfast at their hotel they left Whitby, and Dean (plus his padded cushion) drove them across some mostly empty moorland before they passed a couple of small towns. After a little more than an hour, they reached a small city.

“York”, Cas said. “The Roman Eboracum, and Viking Jorvik. Nearly two thousand years old.”

“Wow!”

Cas had booked them in at the City Guest House, close to the city walls, but even so Dean quickly found that this was the sort of place that called for a lot of walking around. Cas took them first to the cathedral, which was absolutely massive.

“You have to remember”, the angel said, “that this was built when all around would have been at most two-story houses, usually less. It would have dominated the area. And a church has been on this site for nearly fourteen hundred years.”

“Nerd!” Dean said affectionately. Cas smiled at him.

Dean was hard put not to laugh at their next stop, a shop that sold nothing but Christmas decorations. In high summer, dammit! Cas had a thing for collecting these back home, and he purchased several that he had carefully wrapped, then mojo'ed back home once they were outside the shop.

(The observant reader may be wondering at this point why Dean was not troubling to buy presents for his own family and friends. This was because they all knew him far too well, and had told him that all such decisions should be left to his husband. Bastards!).

Cas insisted on a fast food place for lunch, as he said that they would be having pizza that evening. Dean was pleased at that; Cas was letting him have pizza much more often....

Ye gods, he really was whipped! Oh well.

After lunch Cas directed Dean to Betty's Tea Rooms, an old-time diner where they actually had a guy playing the piano as people ate. Dean was pleased that the place served pie, though when he saw the prices his eyebrows shot up.

“That for just a slice of pie?” he demanded incredulously.

“It's the ambience”, Cas said with a smile.

Dean just shook his head at him. The pie was delicious though, even if the guy in the sexy aviators across the table was drinking his dead leaf drink.

+~+~+

It was late afternoon when they returned to the guest house, Cas explaining that their challenge was to take place some little distance from the city. After a short drive they came to a small village called Tockwith, and Cas parked just outside the Boot And Shoe Inn. Once out of the car he handed his husband the envelope, which Dean opened:
'Where Prince Rupert his chances blew,
A monumental error? True.'

“Getting on for half an hour's head start”, Cas yawned, taking out a book. “But only six chances left, and you're still two crystals short.”

Damn smug angel!

+~+~+

Cas had gotten back into the Tahoe, so Dean took his phone out and checked the map of the village. Yes! There was a Prince Rupert Drive running for some distance down the western side of the place, and he could cut through an estate to reach it more quickly. It was a damnably long road, but somewhere along it there would be a monument or something. Or maybe one of the dead-ends coming off it, none of which were labeled on Dean's map, was a Monument Close?

They weren't. Worse, the road was a pretty featureless piece of suburbia, house after house much the same. And the dead-ends were nearly all numbered as part of the drive. To cap it all, his phone went off as he was working his way into the top half of the road. Dammit!

An elderly lady was walking two poodles nearby, and Dean stopped and asked her if she knew whether there was a monument in the road. She looked confused.

“Do you mean the battle monument?” she asked.

“Uh, maybe.”

“That's out on the Long Marston road, the other side of the village”, she said. “Where Prince Rupert made his charge in 1644. This modern road is just named after him. I think you are in the wrong place, dearie.”

Dean groaned. He just knew what was coming.

+~+~+

He hurried back through the cut-off and past the Tahoe. Of course there was no sign of Cas, although his hopes rose when he spotted a small sign stating that the battle monument was a mile away down the road. Then he remembered that the angel was undeniably the faster runner, and he... well, it was a windy day, so there was water in his eyes. Not tears.

The road snaked about a bit and eventually started to curve around to the south. Dean could see the monument on his left, a small stone obelisk – and no angel. He raced up to it and frantically began searching, but he didn't have to look hard. There was a note stuck to the small plinth behind the monument:
'Saw you coming, so have mojo'ed myself back to fetch the Tahoe.'
P.S: I got the crystal.'

Dean hated his life!

+~+~+

“It was Prince Rupert's rashness, and his failure to win over his supposed fellow commanders, that cost the king victory”, Cas explained that evening. “Marston Moor was one of the decisive battles in the First Civil War; by losing it the king lost virtually the whole North of England.”

Dean bit sulkily into his pizza. At least it loved him. And it wasn't not-smirking, like someone in the immediate vicinity.

Chapter Text

Destination: Carnforth
Dean's Head Start: 29 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 2 from 5

Dean was getting anxious. Only five days to go now, and he was still two crystals shy of the waistcoat and glasses. Not that he thought of nothing but sex with Cas, but.....

Was that a smirk?

+~+~+

Breakfast was absolutely delicious, and they left the guest house a little after nine. Cas told him that although they had a longer run today – over two hours if done non-stop – he wanted to avoid the rush-hour traffic, which was awful in York. Dean suggested that Cas could just mojo them clear of any trouble, and promptly earned himself an Official Disapproving Look™.

They drove past a sign pointing to the battlefield that had been the scene of Dean's latest setback, and he watched Cas warily. That blank expression didn't fool him one bit; he knew an inward smirk when he didn't see one.

They passed through a town called Harrogate and after many miles of mostly empty road, Cas directed Dean down a small side-road. They stopped at a church, part of which seemed to be in ruins.

“Bolton Abbey”, Cas said. “Destroyed by King Henry the Eighth, like nearly every other abbey in England.”

“Bastard”, Dean said feelingly. “Why'd he do it?”

“Money and politics”, Cas said. “The abbeys supported the pope, who he had just broken away from, but he really wanted their lands and money. Most of the monks were pensioned off, but people lost all the services, such as education and healthcare, that they had provided.”

“Where did they get the money in the first place?” Dean asked,

“Mostly from the rich and powerful, who gave it to them to buy less time in Purgatory”, Cas said. “Those people often behaved so badly to the lower orders that they had to then set aside some money to make up for it, or risk eternal damnation in Hell.”

“But this one is still standing”, Dean pointed out. “Well, part of it.”

“In some cases like this, parts of the old abbey became used for the local parish church”, Cas said. “Here as elsewhere it was a form of revenge; the abbey had never allowed the common people into its main parts.”

“People were bastards back then”, Dean observed.

“Many still are.”

+~+~+

The countryside got hillier as they drove into a small town called Skipton, where Cas said they would be stopping for lunch.

“Makes a change from all those flat lands”, Dean said.

“We are crossing the Pennine Chain”, Cas told him, “a set of hills that stretch down the center of northern England. They are an important factor in the country's geopolitical history.”

Dean just shook his head at his husband. Such a nerd!

“Waistcoat”, Cas muttered, not-smirking as his husband tried to control his suddenly rapid breathing.

The countryside became even emptier as they continued heading westwards, Cas diverting them off to see a huge railroad viaduct ('a massively impressive engineering feat') at a place called Ribblehead before they resumed their journey. Passing into a valley, they took another minor road and before long Dean could see the sea ahead of them once more. Then they descended into a small town called Carnforth.

“The scene of my next triumph”, Cas grinned.

“I've got nearly half an hour's start today”, Dean reminded him.

“That didn't help you yesterday, did it?”

Damn smart arse angel!

+~+~+

They checked into a hotel called (unoriginally, Dean thought) 'The Carnforth Hotel'. Fortunately it made up for that lack of imagination inside, and the owners were clearly people of discerning taste as there was a pie option on the dinner menu.

That was a smirk, dammit!

Cas took them outside and handed Dean the envelope:
'So this Encounter may be Brief,
Ask for a drink of green mint leaf.'

Easy, Dean thought. There couldn't be that many tea-rooms in a place this size. The only annoying thing was that the hotel was slap bang in the middle of the town, and he could see shops along all four roads.

“Eeny, meeny, miny, mo”, came an annoying voice from nearby. Dean scowled and headed south.

Rather too long later, he was on the fourth and final road, the west one, and still with no sign of a crystal. Worse, just as he entered the Station Hotel, his phone bleeped the warning. Oh come on!

Of course Dean was behind the dithery foreign tourist who needed half an hour to make up his mind as to which drink he wanted. Finally however the guy left, and he stepped forward and asked if they served green mint tea. The guy behind the counter shook his head.

“Not much call for that round here”, he said. “The station might sell it.”

“The train station?” Dean asked, surprised. He wouldn't have thought that a railroad place would do anything fancy. The man grinned.

“You're not old enough, I suppose”, he said. “Brief Encounter.”

Dean suddenly felt distinctly uneasy.

“What about it?” he asked.

“The film that was set at the station”, the guy explained. “War film; man and woman, both married, meet, fall in love, but part when their train comes. Very moving and romantic, or so my wife says. Give me an action movie any day, but she's all into chick flicks.....”

He was talking to an empty room.

+~+~+

Dean didn't feel (that) guilty about using his mojo to avoid having to stop and buy a platform ticket, and hurried out onto the station platform. The restaurant was all very old-style, but he didn't have the time to appreciate all that crap. He hurried inside, absurdly grateful that there was no-one at the counter. Behind it was a whole range of teas and.... hallelujah! Right next to the mint one was a shiny crystal!

“Mint tea, please.”

“Of course, Dean.”

He stared in horror as a familiar hand reached towards the crystal. In desperation he tried to vault the bar and grab it first, only to bounce off a ward that some bastard who wasn't getting laid any time soon must have placed there.

“Sugar and milk?” Cas offered sweetly.

“I hate you!”

+~+~+

Dean's penance was to have to drink a full mug of that bloody mint tea before Cas would let him have his pie. Honestly, his life!

Chapter Text

Destination: Keswick
Dean's Head Start: 32 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 2 from 4

One of these days, Dean Winchester would learn that even thinking about his husband as a smart ass was a bad idea. Because after their pizza last night, Cas had made sure that he, Dean Winchester, was the one with the smarting ass. Dean had had to lie on his front all night and had been grateful that the room was warm; no way could he have had anything touching a butt that was glowing enough to be seen from the friggin' International Space Station!

Okay, he could've just said no. But then Cas would just be giving him that Official Disappointed Look™ for the whole of the next day, and no man could be expected to put up with more than a few minutes of that before begging for mercy. And although Cas had healed him that morning, damn muscle memory kept reminding him of the pain.

Oh, and those two old ladies at the breakfast room who had sniggered knowingly as he had sat down just a bit more slowly than usual this morning, coughing in a way that an uncharitable person might have misinterpreted as a whimper? They were bastards, too!

+~+~+

They crossed some river or other and passed through a small place called Grange-over-Sands. Dean noticed how wide the beach seemed here.

“Morecambe Bay”, Cas said. “The tide comes in and goes out a long distance, often catching the unwary. And there will always be people who think they know best.”

Dean was about to agree when it suddenly occurred to him. Cas had that irritating innocent smile which said that he'd just very successfully upped his husband. Dean huffed and shifted in his seat, then yelped at the sudden pain.

The smile bordered dangerously on a smirk.

+~+~+

They pulled into a small town called Bowness-on-Windermere, which fronted out onto a long lake. Although there were ferries that sailed to various points around the lake, Cas didn't seem to want to go on any of them, preferring to enjoy a walk round the town followed by lunch at a pub overlooking the lake. Dean sighed in relief; he had feared that Cas might want to go out in a row-boat or some crap.

Ah.

+~+~+

Their destination was the next town along the road, which they reached in a little under an hour. Keswick too bordered onto a lake, but Cas wanted to see around the town before they did their challenge. Dean stopped in front of a butcher's shop.

“A Cumberland Sausage?” he read, looking at something that had to be over a foot long.

“Probably a little too spicy for your taste buds”, Cas said. “Besides, once this whole trip is over you'll be getting something that long and thick anyway.”

Oh come on! How the hell did someone with such an innocent, cherubic face get to come out with statements like that slap bang in the middle of an English High Street? And that dirty laugh that said he knew full well what effect he was having on his husband was just mean!

Dean was glad he'd worn the looser pants that day.

+~+~+

All things considered Dean quite liked Keswick, especially their hotel where the room had an en suite shower that offered all sorts of possibilities for later. He was still mulling over some of them when Cas drove them to their challenge start, a car park by the lake. Dean looked ahead to the jetty – and his heart sank.

“Envelope”, Cas grinned, offering it to him.

Dean wasn't sure he even needed the thing today, seeing as how his chances had just dropped to zilch, but he opened it anyway:
'Upon the Scarf, a crystal true,
So paddle out your own canoe.'

Ahead of him were two canoes, each with a set of safety gear next to it. He so owed Sammy for this!

Over half an hour head start, he told himself as he hurried off. I can do this. I can even afford to... no, do not think of ice-cold water. Do not.

He'd thought of it.

The girl in charge of the canoes seemed to sense his fears, and insisted that he put on his equipment before he was allowed into the canoe. The fact that Cas was leaning on the front of the Tahoe watching did not help.

“Um, the Scarf?” Dean asked the girl. She pointed down the massively long lake.

“Go round that headland, pass two islands on your left, then between the next two islands”, she said. “The Scarf Stones will be directly in front of you.”

“Thanks”, he said. He knew she could detect his uneasiness, but mercifully she said nothing. He could feel a smirk coming from behind him, though.

He noticed that there were several other people out in canoes, and that they were all positioned along his route, presumably in case he got into difficulties. He paddled warily forwards, the damn canoe barely seeming to move and swaying far more than was necessary, and it seemed an age before he finally rounded the first headland. He could see an island with a house on it ahead of him, and he steered to the left of it.

Once he got into a rhythm it wasn't too bad, although the water seemed horribly near him. He could see the second island coming up to his left, and in the distance the two islands he had to steer between. Almost there.

His phone went off, and he nearly tipped into the water as he missed a stroke. The canoe wobbled dangerously, and started to veer towards the left-hand of the two islands. Very carefully, he started to try to steer it back to the middle of the channel.

“Deeeeean!”

Oh fuck, he knew that voice. It sounded distant, but he didn't dare look back in case he somehow upended the damn canoe. And he could see not only the stones ahead of him, but a small post on them atop which something was glistening in the late afternoon sun.

The sound of someone paddling very fast could be heard directly behind him, and Dean took a chance and tried to paddle faster himself. The canoe rocked violently – but stayed upright. There was no landing-place at the stones, which barely cleared the water line, but he steered round across the northern edge of them and reached out....

“Got you!”

“Well done”, Cas called from not far away. “You okay to race back?”

Dean turned to glare at him. And that was when the canoe tipped over.

+~+~+

Thankfully the shower at the hotel - once some bastard had righted him and forced him to row all the way back - had instant hot water, and Dean soon recovered from his dunking. Although when Cas offered him pizza and pie for dinner, he said that yeah, that might just help him feel a little bit better. And if Cas had that look that said he knew full well his husband was bullshitting, well, he was such a good husband that he didn't say anything.

He just not-smirked, damn him!

Chapter Text

Destination: Kirkby Stephen
Dean's Head Start: 16 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 1 from 3

Almost there, Dean told himself. So close. So close.....

Cas did that thing with his grace on Dean's balls, and the hunter erupted, painting the shower walls and even finding time for a quick prayer that his husband had had the foresight to soundproof the room.

He was also quite close to getting that last crystal which meant.... yup, the waistcoat. And glasses.

+~+~+

Dean still felt comfortably dazed as they had breakfast, which was delicious except for something strange on his plate. It was black, hard and unappetizing. He prodded warily at it.

“Black pudding”, Cas said calmly. “A mixture of pork fat, beet suet and oatmeal.”

Dean moved the thing to one side. He may have had a good appetite this morning, but he wasn't that hungry.

+~+~+

They left their hotel and headed west. Three more counties left, and the last of them was where Shammy lived. Dean would get to see his English grandchildren for the first time.

Cas passed him a tissue. The pollen was bad this time of year.

They rolled into a small town called Penrith, which Cas wanted to explore a bit. Not a tourist trap like Keswick, Dean noted, though his angel still managed to come out of one shop with a teapot with bees on it. Nerd!

Just after they had left the town, Cas directed Dean into a small and rather nondescript village called Eamont. They pulled off just before a stone bridge, and got out.

“What's special about this place?” Dean asked curiously.

“This”, Cas said, “is where, arguably, England was created.”

Dean looked around. 'Unimpressive' may have been a bit of a cruel way to describe the place, but it would have been pretty close.

“Here?” he asked dubiously.

“The county we were in yesterday – right up to this river – is Cumberland”, Cas explained. “Land of the Cymry, or native Britons. This side of the river is Westmorland, which was English for several hundred years longer. When King Athelstan conquered the Kingdom of York he forced the other leaders to acknowledge his new kingdom here, at Eamont Bridge. Cumberland would remain outside England for over a century and a half.”

Dean thought, not for the first time, that the English didn't do enough with their history. Possibly because they had so damn much of the stuff.

“And I guess Westmorland means lands west of the moors?” he guessed. Cas shook his head.

“It actually derives from to ancient British words, wazt and muri”, he said. “The nearest modern translation would be 'sex maniacs'.”

Dean looked at him in shock, Cas stared back unblinkingly – them a slow smile creased his face.

“Bastard!” Dean muttered.

+~+~+

The next town, Appleby, was set on a steep hill (which Dean disliked) but was also where they had lunch at a restaurant that served pie (which Dean could put up with at a pinch). Cas found the usual tat shop and then a bookshop that he emerged from with...

“The Gay Kama Sutra?” Dean asked, mortified. “Thank God we are never coming back here again.”

“Just to give me even more inspiration”, Cas grinned.

Dean had to sit on the bench for a few moments before he could walk. Well, walk without having to hold his coat in front of him.

+~+~+

They seemed to be take a very odd route to their next stop, which was pretty much the side of a road in the middle of nowhere. A town was signposted a mile away in one direction, and Dean could see what looked like a railroad line and a few houses where a low bridge crossed the road in the other, the black and yellow warning flashes standing out in the afternoon sun. Cas handed him the envelope and he opened it:
'On Platform One, a totem green,
Look East young man, that's what we mean.'

That, Dean thought, was odd. There was the town about a mile to the east, but the rail station was west. He hurried towards it while checking his phone, and yup, that was Kirkby Stephen Station he could see. Not exactly well placed, he thought, but if he got the final crystal he might feel inclined to forgive them.

Untimely thoughts of the waistcoat and glasses made running a bit more difficult, dammit.

The entrance to the station was on his side of the bridge but Platform One was the opposite side, which meant that he had to cross the footbridge. He only had sixteen minutes' head start today, and Cas would be after him soon enough. Once across he checked the timetable, but there was no train due for another thirty-five minutes. The answer had to be here – but where was the totem thingy?

He tried railroad totems in his phone and found that the name referred to the colored metal signposts that were on both platforms. Which was great – except the ones on the station were red, not green. And as he was searching further, his phone bleeped a warning that his head start was up. Dammit!

A Google search about totem colors showed that, in England, different parts of the network had used different colors, which he supposed meant another station owned by a another company. His heart sank, but he hurried back over the footbridge to look at a map of the area. Sure enough, on the edge of the town that was now over a mile and a half away, there was 'Stanmore Railway Company Station'.

Dean did not cry, but it was close.

+~+~+

The Tahoe was still where he had left it, and there was no sign of Cas which almost certainly meant that he had guessed right. Dean swore, but chased down the road. Where there was life there was hope.

After what seemed like an eternity the road crossed a rail bridge and Dean saw a sign stating 'Stanmore Railway Company'. Apparently this was another of those preserved joints, but he didn't have time for the past just now. He hurried onto the single platform and looked along it.

No totems. Odd.

The station was completely enclosed, and there was a large door leading out onto, presumably, the rest of the platform. Dean opened it and stepped out – and groaned. Cas was stood there beneath a green totem stating 'Kirkby Stephen East' – and he was casually tossing a crystal into the air.

Dean officially hated trains!

+~+~+

At least until Cas purchased a stationmaster's hat from the railway society and, that night, made use of both it and the red and green flags that he had also acquired. All aboard!

Chapter Text

Destination: Washington
Dean's Head Start: 19 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 1 from 2

Two days. Two days. Two days. Two days. Two days. Two days.

TWO FREAKIN' DAYS!!!!!!

Of course Dean wasn't panicking. He was indulging in calm and reasoned calculation, and anyone who said otherwise could shut the fuck up, Cas!

After the Station Debacle the day before - this morning he'd found that Cas had purchased a copy of the very totem he'd been standing under and mojo'ed it home before anyone (Dean) could object – a certain hunter was determined to succeed today and avoid having to go to the last day still needing a crystal. Nineteen minutes head start would be enough time to check every damn thing before he rushed off in the wrong direction.

No, Cas, not 'rushed off in the wrong direction again'!

+~+~+

They were recrossing those hills again today to the last two counties in the North-East, starting with County Durham. The road was even more desolate than the one going west, and Dean was almost glad to see signs of civilization again even if it was some scraggy houses.

They passed through several fairly uninspiring towns and villages before reaching the city of Durham itself, where Cas wanted to see the great cathedral. It was not as big as the one back in York, but not far short.

“Some years ago they elected a bishop here who said that he didn't believe in the virgin birth”, Cas observed as they walked around the great building.

“That's dumb for a bishop”, Dean observed. Cas nodded.

“It is traditional for bishops here to be actually enthroned at York”, he said. “Three days after that, York Minster got hit by a lightning bolt. Mary was Most Displeased.”

“Surprised she waited three days”, Dean said. Cas smiled knowingly.

“You should see where she gave him the rash”, he grinned. “Forty chafing days and forty burning nights!”

Dean winced.

+~+~+

They had lunch in the town and explored some of the shops, then Cas wanted to look around an old battlefield just to the south which, to Dean, seemed just fields. Then it was off again, and after a short drive they passed a sign that Dean recognized.

“Washington?” he asked. “That looked like the flag for DC back home.”

“The DC flag comes from the Washington family”, Cas said, “and one of our first president's ancestors, a William de Hertburn, purchased the Wessyngton lands, took their name and ruled here for a time.”

“Never cared much for all those historical facts”, Dean said.

Cas just grinned. Dean started to get a bad feeling.

“History's gonna play a part in the challenge, isn't it?” he asked warily.

“Considering where it is, I think that likely”, Cas said with a smile.

Dean could feel his prospects of success diminishing by the second.

+~+~+

They pulled into a car park behind an old building, which had the Stars and Stripes flying proudly outside. The sign said 'Washington Old Hall'. Cas was very clearly (and very annoyingly!) not suppressing a smile as he handed Dean the envelope, which his husband opened:
'Old Grandfather, he knows the score,
Beneath his face, behind the door.'

Well... that wasn't so bad, he thought. All he had to do was find a picture of good old George's granddaddy and....

Damn. Which granddaddy – his mom's dad or his dad's dad?

He hurried into the old house and scoured the place for a family tree, before suddenly having an idea. There was a small gift shop in the place and – yup, they sold postcards with the family tree on. He was so pleased at his success that he nearly walked out without paying, and only a pointed cough from the elderly lady behind the till stopped him. Blushing, he paid up and left – just in time for his phone to ring. Oh come on!

It was, Dean reckoned, more likely to be the grandfather with the Washington name, and that was a guy called Larry. He asked one of the guide ladies if they had a picture of the dude, and sure enough, there was one on the stairs. Dean raced up them and looked hard at it, wondering why people had always looked so constipated back in those days.

'Beneath his face'. That didn't seem to make any sense. He checked up and down and all around the picture, but nothing, and definitely no door in the picture. And to cap it all, Cas chose that moment to appear next to guide lady at the bottom of the stairs. He too asked her a question – but instead of coming up to join Dean at the picture, he walked quickly away down a corridor.

Dean began to have a very bad feeling. He left the picture and went after his husband, and entered the corridor just in time to see Cas turning into a room at the end of it. He walked as quickly as he could and reached the door, then entered.

Oh no. Please God, no!

Cas was standing in a corner of the room doing something with a clock. Too late did Dean get it – a grandfather clock! Cas opened the door in the front, reached in and pulled out....

Dean did not cry. He just went outside for some air. And some screaming.

+~+~+

“So”, Cas not-smirked as they sat in their hotel that night. “All down to the last day.”

Dean scowled. They had driven to Gateshead, on the northern border of the county, because Cas had said they had better hotels there. And yeah, the en suite was good and the food was great. But the free not-smirking angel that came with the room was damn annoying!

“Now if I was a really bad sport”, Cas grinned, “I would have sex with you for so long that you would not be capable of standing upright tomorrow. The question you have to ask is, what sort of sick, evil and twisted ange.... person would do something like that?”

For possibly the first time in his life, Dean Winchester begged not to have sex. Well......

Chapter Text

Destination: Alnwick
Dean's Head Start: 22 minutes
Dean's Crystals: Needs 1 from 1

This was it. One day, one crystal to get. Dean could do this. He was sure he could do this.

He was fairly sure he could do this.

Cas told him over breakfast that their challenge was in a town less than an hour's drive away, but that first he wanted to see a place further along the coast. Dean acquiesced because – well, because Cas.

They left the hotel and began to work their way long the coast, mostly by minor roads. Northumberland, Dean soon decided, was a very mixed county. The River Tyne, which they had crossed within a minute of leaving their hotel, marked the southern border, and the first bit was all the city of Newcastle and its suburbs, which were pretty depressing. Then came a mixture of villages and small semi-industrial towns which was marginally better, before they hit the open countryside. From then on the views were good, and parts of the coast were downright spectacular.

Eventually they turned onto a road that clearly led out towards the sea. Dean noticed his husband looking at his watch.

“We running late?” he asked.

“No”, Cas said. “Slightly ahead, if anything. This road we are on is tidal, and floods every high tide. I wanted to make sure that we had plenty of time to make it onto and off the island.”

“Oh.”

“Because otherwise, if we could not do the challenge today then we would have to abandon it.”

Dean did not whine at this point, nor did his lower lip quiver in horror. Then he realized that, once again, he had been punked. He scowled.

“You're getting as bad as Sammy”, he muttered.

“Thank you!” Cas beamed.

“That wasn't a compliment, dammit!”

+~+~+

The island they were on was called Lindisfarne or Holy Island, and Cas wanted to see the ruins of the great abbey that had once stood here.

“Why here?” Dean wondered. “Hardly a center of activity, is it?”

“The monks in these places usually wanted sites well away from others, so they could live their lives in peace and devote themselves entirely to prayer”, Cas explained. “Unfortunately this was one of several abbeys to be situated rather poorly when the Vikings crossed the North Sea and destroyed it on more than one occasion.”

“Ouch!”

+~+~+

Despite everything Dean was still nervous that they get off the island before the ride came in, and was relieved when Cas decided to leave just before lunch. Once back on the mainland they crossed to a main road and headed back south, eventually pulling off at a small town called Alnwick. A huge castle overlooked the town, and Dean had the weirdest feeling that he'd seen it before somewhere.

Shammy and his mate lived in a small town called Rothbury a little further inland, so they would be staying the night with them. Cas directed Dean to the end of the small town and they parked within sight of the huge castle's main entrance. Dean accepted the final envelope, took a deep breath and opened it:
'Black for Cas and red for Dean,
The banners high at school are seen.
Note: You may use your mojo to obtain tickets if necessary.'

Why would he need tickets, Dean wondered. There were a couple of schools close by, and he raced away towards the first one. He passed from Pottergate (weird name, he thought) into Howling Lane (weirder) and quickly found the entrance to the school – but there was a sign diverting pedestrians all the way round to a side-entrance. He swore, then blushed as an elderly lady chose that moment to come round the corner.

“Excuse me”. Dean said, trying to be as charming as he knew he could be (and Sammy could shut up about that). “I'm looking for a school.”

“A real one?” she asked. Dean looked at her in confusion.

“Uh, do you have any unreal ones?” he asked.

“Of course”, she smiled. “The castle.”

“The castle is a school?” Dean was now totally confused. She smiled sympathetically at him.

“Didn't you notice the name of the road?” she asked. “The castle was where they filmed 'Harry Potter'. It's the real Hogwarts.”

Oh f.... bother!

Dean thanked her and turned to run back. This time he did pray.

+~+~+

Incredibly he passed the car and Cas was still there, looking at his watch. Dean raced as fast as he could for the front entrance of the castle and he mojo'ed himself an entry ticket. Once inside he raced up to one of the guides – but not before his phone went off. Fuck!

“Excuse me”, Dean gasped. “Do you have any flagpoles here?”

“Sixteen”, the guide answered promptly.

Dean didn't cry, but it was close.

“Oh, you mean the public ones?” the guide asked. “That's the two at the very front of the castle, up those stairs over there. People can pay to raise their own flag there if they have one, or we have the old Northumbria flag, the town flag, the school flag, the four Hogwarts ones....”

“Thanks!” Dean yelled over his shoulder as he raced away towards the stairs. He was sure he could hear the sound of running feet behind him, and he prayed it was just his overactive imagination. Even if he knew damn well it wasn't.

The stairs were long and steep, but finally Dean emerged out onto the tower top, trying not to think that the more athletic angel would doubtless have gained on him. The flagpole was right at the back, and a camera was set up opposite it. Dean quickly mojo'ed himself another ticket and handed it over. Red for him the clue had said, so that meant Gryffindor.

“How do I tie this thing on?” he asked despairingly. The camera guy smiled at him.

“These clips fasten onto the marks on the rope”, he pointed out. “Clip one to each, then turn the handle to raise your flag. We're busy today.”

“Really?” Dean asked, struggling with a recalcitrant clip.

“Yeah”, the guy said, fiddling with the camera which was on some stand just over the side of the tower. “Mark's got someone with him right now.”

Dean didn't even need to look across to know that there was a scruffy haired angel on the other tower. Hoping against all hope, he managed to secure the second clip and began to frantically wind the handle. The flag rose agonizingly slowly into the sky and, glancing across, he could see Cas' black and yellow Hufflepuff flag was also rising. This was it!

“Smile!” the photographer called out.

He did – mainly because his flag hit the top at that moment, and the golden ball on top of his flagpole suddenly toppled off and fell to the floor, shattering into pieces. Amid the shards was a crystal.

Dean stared at it incredulously, then across at the other tower. Cas' flag was almost at the top but not quite.

Dean had won.

He'd only gone and bloody won!

+~+~+

The author would like to report that Dean and Castiel ended their great adventure by reaching their son's house safely and securely. But then, this is a Destiel story - and there was a very small, minutely microscopic, infinitesimally tiny little hitch.....

Chapter Text

Destination: Home - eventually
Dean's Crystals: 10 - SUCCESS!

Sam grinned as his nephew's face came onto the Skype screen.

“Hullo Shammy”, he said. “So, how's the conquering hero? I read the reports of that minor earthquake.”

His nephew seemed to hesitate.

“My papa is quite well”, he said carefully. “That is.... he is not sick. Or at least, not unwell.”

Sam stared at him in confusion.

“I suppose they're staying with you”, he said. “Is there a problem?”

Shamsiel sighed and stepped to one side. Behind him, Sam could see Cas helping a very wobbly Dean to a couch, and Alan placing a bucket next to him. Sam went pale.

“Really?” he said, grumbling silently at the twenty dollars he now owed Ariel. “Again?”

“Waistcoat and glasses”, Shamsiel sighed. “In the back of the Tahoe on the way here; we had to help poor papa to his room. Father says that we will have to wait until the latter part of Stage Two before they risk flying home, so it will be a few more days yet. Doing it while papa is nauseous would be, well, difficult.”

“Dean is difficult”, Sam sighed.

“I heard that!” his brother called from across the room. “Caaaaas!”

“Do not worry, Dean”, Cas said calmly. “I can assure Sam that you are far from difficult. In fact, you could not be easier.”

Sam stifled a laugh as the look on his brother's face told him that he could clearly detect something was wrong with that statement, but not what. Fortunately the bucket claimed his attentions before he could think much on it.

“Just keep him safe, Cas”, Sam smiled, shaking his head at his sibling.

“I always do”, his brother-in-law assured him, wrapping a huge black wing around his mate who gave him such a loving look that Sam felt his eyes watering from several thousand miles away. “And I always will.”

THE END