Chapter Text
The transfer station floated in low orbit above Velorum-7, its metallic rings turning in perfect synchronicity. From the main viewing deck, the planet’s surface shimmered below—a swirl of pale clouds streaked with electrical storms. In the main hangar, one of the tactical ships had just docked.
Dean was the first to step off the ramp. His combat jacket hung open, the collar slightly lifted by the artificial breeze sweeping through the port. Dark glasses shielded his eyes, but the smirk on his lips said everything that needed saying.
"This place smells like politics," he muttered, tightening his gloves without urgency.
Benny and Jo followed close behind, carrying technical gear and anti-magnetic packs. A sharp voice came through a speaker above.
"Here come the space cowboys. Let’s see how long it takes them to break something this time."
Charlie leaned over the upper railing, elbows resting casually as she grinned down at them.
Dean looked up, pulled off his glasses, and threw her a sideways glance.
"Hi, Charlie. I missed you too."
She responded with a sarcastic smile and motioned for them to hurry up. There was a meeting in five minutes.
The conference room was circular, with reinforced glass walls offering a panoramic view of open space. Holographic screens hovered above the center, surrounded by a table already half-filled.
As always, Crowley commanded the spotlight. His black uniform perfectly pressed, he lounged in his seat with performative grace. Sam sat to his right, focused and methodical, flipping through data on his tablet. Kevin typed nervously at a side console, while Gabriel toyed with a glowing cube, visibly bored.
The door slid open again, and Castiel walked in.
He wore the soft gray-blue uniform of the scientific division—no flashy insignias, no unnecessary movements. A sleek case hung from his left hand, and his gaze swept the room with surgical precision. He paused briefly on Crowley, then on Sam, before continuing toward his assigned seat across the room.
The second door opened a moment later.
Dean entered at his own pace, sunglasses now hanging from his collar, hair slightly tousled. He didn’t apologize for being late. He just raised an eyebrow at the full table and dropped into the nearest seat—directly across from Castiel.
Their eyes met for a second. Almost by accident. But something shifted. Castiel looked away with a blank expression, though his grip on the case tightened slightly.
"You guys started without me?" Dean asked, stretching lazily.
"Now that our charming protector has arrived," Crowley said, raising his hand without looking at him, "by all means."
The meeting unfolded with measured tension. Sam outlined the mission: Aegiria Prime, a planet long hidden under an interference shield of unknown origin, had broadcast a signal for the first time in recorded history.
Castiel spoke with composure, explaining that the message was encoded in pre-mnemonic language—older than any system in the Confederation. Kevin and Gabriel had partially decrypted it: a cry for help, accompanied by an unprecedented offer.
"They’re granting us access to their archives on biological quantum technology," Castiel said. "In exchange for urgent scientific assistance to stabilize their atmosphere. Their main energy source is collapsing."
Dean leaned forward, narrowing his eyes.
"And it didn’t occur to anyone this might be a trap?"
Castiel looked directly at him for the first time. His face remained unreadable, but the tension was undeniable.
"Every scientific exploration carries risk, Commander Winchester. The difference is, some of us face it with rigor. Not sarcasm."
A beat of silence. Charlie glanced away, hiding a grin. Gabriel clicked his tongue, amused. Crowley observed the exchange like it was a piece of theater he'd seen before.
"Alright, alright," Sam interjected, firm and diplomatic. "The mission was approved by majority vote. We leave in twenty hours. Tonight there’ll be a final meeting between both teams. Think of it as a sendoff… or a welcome, depending on how you look at it."
As the meeting ended, Castiel rose first. He crossed the corridor at an even pace. As he passed Dean, the latter spoke quietly, just loud enough to be heard.
"Nice tie, Professor."
Castiel didn’t answer. But he paused for a fraction of a second before walking on.
Dean watched him go, the smirk still on his lips—but his eyes didn’t smile.
○□•■○
The common deck of Velorum-7 had been transformed into something loosely resembling a celebration. The lights were dimmed to an amber glow, filtered through translucent panels that pulsed faintly with music. Tables floated slightly off the ground in perfect balance. Soft laughter echoed from all corners of the room, along with the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of interspecies slang.
It was the kind of gathering where no one truly relaxed, but everyone pretended to.
Dean stood by the bar, halfway through a drink that smelled too sweet to be dangerous and probably wasn’t legal outside the station. He was laughing at something Jo had said, one arm slung casually over Benny’s shoulder.
"You’re a menace," Jo was saying, eyes narrowing as Dean tried to charm the bartender into giving them a second round for free.
"A charming menace," Benny added with a grin, raising his glass. He clapped Dean on the back and turned away.
Two engineers from the medical bay stood nearby, visibly entertained. One of them leaned in when Dean said something under his breath, her laughter ringing a bit too loud.
Across the room, Castiel observed in silence.
He had arrived only a few minutes earlier, having debated for too long whether to come at all. He stood now near one of the walls, a glass of water in his hand, eyes tracking the scene with quiet precision.
"Trying to blend in?" Gabriel appeared at his side, holding a sparkling blue drink. "You're doing a terrible job, by the way."
"I'm observing," Castiel replied, tone flat.
"Ah. Science mode. Sexy." Gabriel took a sip and bumped his shoulder gently. "You should at least pretend to enjoy yourself. Might be the last good music we hear for a while."
Castiel didn’t answer. His gaze had flicked back to Dean, who now had a hand at the small of one woman’s back as she leaned in to whisper something into his ear.
Of course.
"Well," Gabriel added, following his line of sight, "he’s subtle as a plasma grenade, but effective."
Castiel blinked slowly and turned away.
"I don’t care what he does."
Gabriel smiled into his drink. "Sure you don’t.”
Meanwhile, at a table near the back, Charlie had taken over the conversation.
"So let me get this straight," she said, pointing at Benny, "you survived a ship implosion and a pirate skirmish in the same month?"
Benny shrugged modestly. "Bad month."
Kevin, seated between her and Garth, looked horrified. "I get nauseous in low gravity. How are you even alive?"
"Luck and whiskey," Benny offered, raising his glass.
Garth leaned over. "Also, didn’t you bite that one guy?"
Benny gave him a look. "We don’t talk about that."
Charlie laughed and clapped him on the back, nearly knocking over Kevin’s drink.
"That," she said, "is exactly why I don’t date soldiers."
Ellen passed by with a drink of her own, pausing to ruffle Charlie’s hair. "That’s because you’ve got standards. Not like these degenerates."
Jo held up her glass. "Cheers to degeneracy."
Dean slid into the empty seat across from them with the ease of someone who belonged everywhere. He stole a grape from Charlie’s plate and leaned back.
"You people are way too sober," he declared, eyeing Kevin’s untouched glass. "Come on, Tran. Live a little."
Kevin frowned. "We leave in less than twenty hours."
Dean grinned. "That’s plenty of time for one hangover.”
"You know, not everyone here thrives on chaos, Winchester," Charlie shot back with a teasing grin.
Dean smirked. "Chaos loves me. I’m just returning the favor."
He leaned back further, half-turning toward the crowd—and froze for a beat.
Castiel had moved, just slightly, enough to come into full view. He stood near a holographic sculpture meant to represent the Aegirian atmospheric field. The light played along the sharp lines of his face, catching the edge of his collar.
Their eyes met.
Just for a second.
Castiel didn’t look away this time. But he didn’t smile either.
Dean’s smirk faded into something unreadable. Then he looked down at his drink and muttered, "Great."
Elsewhere in the room, Abel was in a quiet conversation with Balthazar, the technician in charge of interstellar navigation. He glanced up just in time to see Castiel and Dean exchanging that brief look. His fingers tightened slightly around his glass, jaw tense, though his expression didn’t change.
"Don’t do it," Balthazar muttered with a smirk, nudging him. "It’s your own fault for loving a tragic genius."
Abel didn’t answer. He just kept watching Castiel.
Sam arrived late, dressed still in his diplomatic uniform, holding a tablet tucked under one arm. He nodded at the table where Dean and the others sat, catching Jo’s eye.
"You’re missing the fun part," she said.
"I’m here for damage control," Sam replied, already scanning the room.
He caught sight of Castiel across the crowd. His expression softened for a second.
"I thought he wouldn’t come," Sam murmured.
Dean shrugged, uncharacteristically quiet.
Sam raised an eyebrow. "You okay?"
"Peachy."
Half-hour later Castiel was making his way toward the exit when someone stepped into his path. It was Dean, holding two drinks.
"Thought you could use something stronger than water."
Castiel hesitated, not taking the glass. "I don’t drink during missions."
"This isn’t a mission yet."
Castiel didn’t smile. "Why are you talking to me?"
Dean tilted his head. "Because we’re gonna be stuck together on a dead planet and you don’t seem like the social type. Figured I’d make the first move."
Castiel’s jaw tensed. The light caught a small pulse at the base of his throat.
"You already made quite an impression."
Dean gave a lazy half-smile. "Yeah, I get that a lot."
For a moment, they just stood there—two opposing currents in a room full of static.
Then Castiel stepped to the side.
"Good night, Commander."
Dean didn’t stop him. But his eyes followed him all the way to the exit.
Gabriel wandered by moments later, sipping a drink with some kind of smoke coming out of it.
"So," he said casually, "how’s our chief scientist?"
Dean didn’t answer right away. Then, low and almost to himself, he muttered:
"Harder to read than I thought."
Gabriel grinned. "You have no idea."
○□•■○
The room was colder than before.
Literally—someone had dialed down the environmental controls—and metaphorically, now that the last chance to back out had passed. The mission was locked in. At the center of the round briefing room, the 3D model of Aegiria Prime hovered midair, slowly rotating. Layers of atmospheric readings blinked softly, accompanied by a faint pulse like a distant heartbeat.
Crowley sat in the highest chair, legs crossed, expression unreadable. He hadn’t touched the drink in front of him.
To his right, Castiel stood in front of a console, fingers clasped behind his back. His uniform was immaculate. The room was silent as his voice carried.
"As it was explained before, Aegiria Prime is not on any recorded star map. It was hidden by a shield of interference strong enough to deflect Confederation-grade scanners. We still don’t know who placed it. Or how."
A beat.
"Until a week ago, no one even knew the planet was inhabited."
Jo leaned forward, elbows on the table. "And now it’s sending out help requests in languages older than the Confederation itself?"
"Precisely," Castiel replied.
Kevin tapped a few keys, and a string of symbols appeared on the holographic screen. Old. Complex. Unnerving in a way none of them could quite place.
"It’s pre-mnemonic language," he said. "Something closer to neural architecture than syntax. It took Gabriel and me days to translate even a basic phrase."
Gabriel smirked. "I told you we should’ve asked Rowena."
Charlie looked up. "Wait—Rowena’s involved in this?"
"She’s read texts older than some stars," Gabriel said. "You want ancient weird? She’s your lady."
At the back of the room, Abel remained silent, arms crossed. His eyes never left Castiel.
Dean was leaning against the wall, arms folded. He hadn’t said a word since entering. Sam sat beside him, watching him with subtle concern.
Castiel continued. "The message was simple. Aegiria is dying. They claim their primary energy core—a crystalline matrix embedded within the planet—has begun to collapse. They’re asking for scientific support. In return, they’re offering access to their archives."
"Quantum biological tech," Garth said, wide-eyed. "That’s like… legendary level stuff. No one has that anymore."
Crowley spoke then, his voice smooth. "Which is exactly why the Confederation approved this mission. If the planet dies, so does everything inside it. But if it lives… we might unlock advances that redefine biology, transport, even lifespan."
Dean scoffed under his breath. Just loud enough.
Crowley turned to him, unbothered. "Something amusing, Commander?"
Dean pushed off the wall. "Just wondering how many miracles it takes before someone calls bullshit."
A silence followed.
Castiel’s voice didn’t rise. "You’re suggesting the message is fake?"
"I’m suggesting," Dean said, stepping into the center space, "that when something sounds too good to be true, it usually is. A dead planet sending ancient messages with tech that could rewrite the universe? That’s not just convenient. That’s bait."
Abel’s gaze shifted toward Dean. Sharp.
Charlie let out a low whistle. "Well. Someone woke up suspicious today."
Sam leaned in. "Dean’s job is to prepare for the worst-case scenario. That’s why he’s here."
Crowley smirked. "Indeed. Our very own canary in the mine."
Dean didn’t bite. But his jaw tightened.
Castiel turned to face him fully. Their eyes locked.
"We have reviewed all available data. The transmission source is traceable to a planetary core region. There’s no evidence of manipulation."
"No evidence," Dean repeated. "Not the same as no risk."
Abel stood abruptly. "Then don’t come."
The room fell into sudden quiet.
Castiel blinked, surprised.
Abel didn’t look at him—his eyes were on Dean.
"You’re clearly not interested in this mission. No one forced you. So if you're just here to pick fights—"
"Abel," Castiel cut in, sharp but controlled.
Abel froze.
There was a beat of tension that didn’t break—it just stretched thinner.
Crowley clapped his hands once. "Gentlemen, please. Save the territorial posturing for the surface. We launch in twelve hours."
He stood, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeve. "Teams will be split upon arrival. Tactical perimeter handled by Winchester’s squad. Scientific exploration under Doctor Novak’s command."
He turned to Castiel and smiled. "Try not to get eaten."
Then he left.
As the others began to disperse, murmuring and gathering their things, Dean crossed paths with Castiel at the doorway.
Neither of them said anything.
But Dean’s gaze flicked, just for a moment, to the side of Castiel’s neck—where a faint pulse throbbed a little too fast.
Castiel noticed. Straightened.
"Be ready," he said quietly.
Dean nodded once. "Always am."
From the shadows, Abel watched the exchange. His hands were clenched behind his back.