April 30th, Year of Our Lord 1798

My dearest love,

We have been graced with fair weather these past few weeks. Alas, we are no closer to a large port than we ever were —Sam is one of those captains who seems to know every nook and cranny in the world where he might resupply a ship without having to seek refuge in a harbour. We resupplied last off the coast of a lush little island, so small that I don't believe it even has a name, where brown-skinned girls dressed in brightly-coloured wraps came out with their men in long boats and handed up baskets of fresh fruit and vegetables, and others brimming with freshly-caught fish that we then salted for the voyage. Dean in particular was pleased with the fresh produce, indeed he insists upon resupplying the ship with them more often than occurs on board most vessels, and since the Impala's crew appear to be healthier than most, it seems there is something to be said for his theory that they cleanse the body's humours. Certainly I am entirely recovered from my own bout with scurvy thanks to his ministrations, and none of my injuries have troubled me at all these past two weeks, save for the occasional twinge.

Of all the men on board, I have found Dean to be the most perplexing and the most fascinating. He is almost as unapproachable as the Admiral —though the men afford him enormous amounts of respect which they do not where Castiel is concerned— but perhaps due to the unorthodox way in which we were introduced, he seems to have warmed to me somewhat, at least enough to speak to me in more than a professional capacity. At least, that's the only reason I have come up with to explain his perplexing willingness to speak with me at all, when otherwise he reserves his conversation for his brother alone.

I am not normally given to falling into brown studies, yet that is precisely how Dean found me just the other day, staring into the crystal clear water as the prow of the ship stirred it up into foam. I heard him approach, and knew it was him by the tell-tale tapping of his cane upon the deck. He leaned beside me upon the railing and looked over the side of the ship, following my own gaze.

"You'll not find what you're looking for down there."

I allowed myself a small snort. "No, I daresay not."

He sighed, and I looked up, surprised to hear such a sound coming from him. He seems rather indomitable, most days. "For what it's worth, Sam has every intention of honouring his word."

"I don't doubt it. But if none of this had happened, I would be with them by now," I said softly, thinking of you and Claire.

Dean nodded. "I understand."

"Do you?" It was unfair of me, and churlish, but I was properly sunk into my melancholy and had no plans to let anyone pull me from those depths just yet.

"Better than you might think." He gave a short, mirthless laugh, and immediately I felt guilty.

"I apologize. I was so wrapped up in my own misery, I forgot that I am not the only man who is away from those he loves."

"No need to apologize. It's an old wound, and I should know better than to go poking at it like a small boy with a scab. Those wounds heal cleanest when left alone."

I expected him to leave, perhaps, or to lapse into one of those long silences for which he is known, but instead he reached into a pocket and produced a silver locket upon a delicate chain, and a small smile softened his features as he opened it, revealing the miniature portrait of a dark-haired, fair-skinned woman. "Beautiful, isn't she?"

I nodded. "Your wife?"

"Yes. Dead now, along with our son. He would be about your Claire's age now, if he'd lived. I have no likeness of him."

"I am sorry," I felt my throat tighten. Even the thought of losing our daughter is enough to unman me, and I could only begin to imagine the heartbreak this man must have suffered. He dismissed my words with a shake of his head.

"Sam's betrothed died as well, years ago," he said, staring at the locket in his hands. "Sometimes it seems to me as though he and I are beleaguered beyond what any one man should be asked to bear. We're alone in the world, now, he and I."

"Your parents?" I found myself almost afraid to ask.

"Dead. Our mother when Sam was a babe in arms, our father only a few years ago. There's no one left but us, and some distant cousins who've been only too happy to take on the stewardship of our small estate while Sam carries out his dream of taking to sea."

I pondered this for a few moments. "And what of you? Surely you must have had something in mind other than this?"

He shrugged. "At one time, perhaps. It all seems rather far away, now. I've always looked after Sam, even when we were no longer children. I can't imagine a life in which we'd be apart for very long, and I daresay he thinks the same."

I am not a man given to much introspection, as you must know, my darling. Most of the time I am content to simply go about my life upon the sea, without giving too much thought to what life is beyond the scope of my family and the deep blue ocean that I have always loved. That day, though, I was brought face to face with the knowledge that, on the whole, I have been blessed in my life: whatever hardships I have had to face, they pale in comparison to losing everyone I hold dear. I understand, now, the strange relationship I have witnessed between the two brothers. If they are all they have left in the world, it is no wonder that they cling to each other, finding their strength in each other when they are buffeted by the storms winds life chooses to throw at them.

It's a passing strange thing, Amelia, when I choose to think about it—

Continued May 30th, Year of Our Lord 1798

My darling, so much has happened since I was last able to write you that I scarce know where to begin. Indeed, I am astonished that this letter, abandoned in haste, has managed to survive at all. I can only take this as an auspicious sign.

As I sat composing my thoughts to you, I was interrupted by the alarm bell, sounding all hands on deck. I hastily put away my writing implements and raced up the ladder leading to the deck, expecting perhaps to sight enemy ships in the distance. Instead I found the crew gathered under stormy grey skies, looking up and around anxiously. The unease was palpable and contagious —only a few hours before the sky had been a clear, piercing blue so bright it was almost painful to look upon, and now it was almost as though night had fallen prematurely. I caught sight of Castiel standing up near the prow, his coat billowing about his legs, head thrown back, eyes closed as the salt spray crashed against the hull of the ship and sent up hundreds of thousands of droplets to land like rain upon the seasoned wood.

I opened my mouth to ask what was happening, when someone pointed into the distance. "There! Over there!"

I felt my heart plummet: a veritable wall of water was coming at us from the starboard side, a wave the likes of which I have never seen before and hope never to see again, dwarfing our tiny vessel with its size. A cry of terror arose from the crew, and I think that, in another moment, we might have broken in panic, were it not for the voice of Sam Winchester, breaking through the rising gale.

"To your stations! We cannot let that wave strike us direct. To your stations!"

It was like being pulled from a dream, except that the nightmare did not end there. We scrambled to obey his orders, most of us hurrying to batten down the hatches, to secure whatever was loose and might be hurled about in the gale-strength winds. While a few of the crew furled the sails and lashed down what they could, the rest of us sorted ourselves into two smaller crews whose sole job it would be to make sure the ship did not take on too much water. I was only vaguely aware of Dean, who took the cabin boys under his charge to help him secure his surgery, which would doubtless be needed before the night was over. Dimly I could still hear the captain shouting orders, and occasionally I fancied I heard him shouting directly at Castiel, imploring him to move, to take shelter inside his cabin, anything at all, but I cannot swear to it. We braced ourselves for impact, praying that the Impala would stay steady on her course.

Amelia, never have I known such terror. I have weathered storms at sea before, but never such as this. The Captain kept a death-grip upon the steering wheel, performing feats of navigation I don't think I have ever seen rivalled. He kept the Impala afloat, kept her as close-hauled as I have ever seen done, then just as abruptly jibed in order to bring her up to crest the wave. We hung there for what seemed an eternity, and truly the whole world seemed to hold its breath as we did so. I was certain that the wave would simply crush us under its vast weight, but a moment later we were away again, and in the clear, all of us heaving a sigh of relief.

We were far from safe, however. The typhoon continued to howl and rage about us, and carried on for days. We hunkered down, soaked to the skin by the pelting rain. Even below decks everything was wet. Water dripped from every surface and pooled at our feet, and we were unable to keep so much as a candle alight. Staying above decks was impossible for more than a couple of hours at a time before the cold made us too numb to so much as hold onto the rigging, let alone be effective as crew. Even the Captain himself was forced to relinquish the helm to the first and second mates every three hours or so. We huddled together for warmth, officers and crew alike, listening to the shrieking of the gale and the groaning and creaking of the ship's great timbers all around us, like souls in agony, and waited for the worst to blow over.

We waited in vain for days. The storm tossed us about like a shell dancing upon the water, and with every passing moment I was amazed that the ship was not simply ripped asunder by the violence of the waves, or struck by lightning. By the time the fifth day had passed, by our reckoning, we all knew there could be nothing natural about this sudden and terrible squall that has us in its clutches, and some of the crew began muttering amongst themselves about ill luck and madness running rampant. Castiel remained on deck throughout, and though he allowed Sam to coax him to shelter a few times, by the end he refused to come in from the storm at all. How he did not perish of exposure, or was not washed out to sea a dozen times, is anyone's guess: I would say that God favours the mad, but in light of what transpired afterward I am loath to invoke the name of the Almighty in the same breath as that man's name.

The storm raged for six nights, and on the dawn of the seventh day Castiel came to fetch me in my hammock, pulling me roughly by the arm, half-dragging me to the ladder. "You must come with me," he insisted, "it is almost here!"

I swayed where I stood, uncomprehending. "What? What's here? You're not making any sense, man!"

He turned to face me, though I could not see his face in the gloom. "Come, and I will show you!"

A thrill ran up my spine at that, though I cannot tell you precisely why, and without another moment's pause I followed him up the ladder. Immediately I fell to my knees upon the deck, buffeted by the winds, but Castiel appeared unaffected. He seemed entirely at ease in the storm, exhilarated, even. He had long since shucked his coat, and his clothing was soaking wet and clinging to him, his hair tousled and lank about his ears, free of all its bindings. I staggered after him as he strode purposefully to the prow of the ship, rising up against the stormy sky like the pinnacle of a church. To my astonishment, he sprang up from the deck to climb onto the bowsprit, where he clung, an absurd figurehead, before raising defiant fist toward the sky, silhouetted by a flash of unexpected lightning.

"It is the end!" he cried, his words all but snatched away by the howling winds. "I know you are there, that you have been waiting. I am here, now. Come forth, if you dare!"

The ship lurched, then, and he was sent tumbling backward. I barely had time to throw myself forward to catch him, and we reeled, clinging together in a strange, drunken embrace. The sea surged under our feet, and as I looked down at the churning water, I saw it begin to bubble and froth, as though the ship sailed upon a huge cauldron that had begun to boil. My heart skipped a beat, and I felt a tremor run through me that had nothing to do with the numbing cold of the wind and rain. Castiel threw his head back in a fit of wild laughter.

"That's it!" he crowed, and then fixed me with a crazed stare. "I knew it would be you," he said, voice rising incredibly above the shrieking storm. "The moment I laid eyes on you, I knew, and your story only proved me right. We are blood, you and I, and the sea cares not which blood gets sacrificed!"

He pulled free, and I fell to my hands and knees, even as the ship rose and fell on an impossible wave. My feet slid upon the rain-slicked wood and I could not so much as raise my head without being half-blinded by the driving rain. All around me, all but drowned out by the sounds of the squall, I could hear panicked shouting, the Captain's calm voice rising above the rest, booming across the deck at his men to stay at their posts, and the sound reassured me like nothing else could. Then I raised my head again, and all thoughts were replaced by sheer, mind-numbing terror.

With a booming of thunder all around, a huge form arose out of the water, and as I frantically clutched at the rail to keep myself from being washed overboard, I found myself staring into a huge, unblinking eye, larger across than the span of two hands. Whether or not it could see me, I cannot say, but I was consumed with the need to get away, to flee from that flat, intractable gaze. I fell back, clawing at the deck in a futile attempt to escape, even as a monstrous tentacle snaked up over the prow, splintering the wood in its way as a child might snap matchsticks for amusement. Hands grasped at my arms, pulling me to my feet, and I found myself face to face with Castiel, his countenance alight as he stared at the enormous creature that rose above the water, towering over our small vessel. Up until that very moment, Amelia, in spite of everything, I had persisted in believing the Kraken to be a myth, a figment of Castiel's fevered imagination, and even with it right before my eyes I found myself praying that I was caught in some terrible delirium.

Castiel did not give me time to adjust to the horrific reality of the Kraken. He hauled me to my feet with a strength that surprised me, as though he was possessed by a demon. Indeed, Amelia, I am still not certain that was not the case. Even as the ship danced and lurched across the surface of the water, tossed about in the tempest created by the Kraken's mighty thrashing, Castiel attempted to drag me closer to the railing, where I caught sight of a huge beak, opening and closing as though in invitation.

"You shall not have me, you fiend!" Castiel shrieked, even as I struggled to free myself from his grasp, and the thunder crashed overhead once more, as though lending force to his words. "I shall live to see the end of days!"

There was no time for me to grasp what his motives might be. All I knew was that he meant to feed me to this creature, this leviathan that had lain dormant for years beneath the murky depths of the ocean. He held me in a vice-like grip, dragging me inexorably closer to that snapping beak, that baleful eye. The creature seemed to blot out the entire sky with its huge bulk, looming grotesquely in the eerie light of the storm. Dimly I could make out the shapes of my crewmates —of the captain and his brother and every available ship's hand— fighting desperately from various positions about the decks, both to fend off the Kraken's enormous tentacles and to keep the ship afloat in spite of the onslaught. There was no salvation for me there: even if they had been aware of my plight, they were all but overwhelmed themselves.

In a burst of strength I never knew I possessed I gathered my legs beneath me and shoved as hard as I could, hurling the both of us hard against the railing of the ship. We grappled and fought for purchase, his hands at my neck and mine at his shoulders, desperately trying to break each other's grips, in a grotesque parody of one of those highly improper dances that are only beginning to come into fashion. There was no love in Castiel's gaze, though, only murderous intent, and he was stronger and fitter than I, especially in light of my previous ordeals. I felt myself slip, then teeter backward over the railing, the only thing keeping me from plunging into the creature's maw my grip on Castiel's arms. I chanced a glance downward, and my heart leapt into my throat as I saw the gigantic beak opening and closing voraciously, the tentacles coiling and writhing as they reached out to engulf our tiny vessel.

I was going to die.

I am not ashamed to say that I was utterly terrified, Amelia. In that moment, though, as the madman dangled me above the Kraken's maw like a worm on a fishing hook, all I could think of was you and Claire, and how I would never see you again. The thought lent strength to my arms, and with one last, desperate wrench I managed to unbalance Castiel enough that I sent us both toppling head over heels toward the monster's gaping mouth. The fall cannot have lasted for more than a few seconds, but it felt an eternity. Lightning flashed overhead, and I twisted upon myself as I fell, and at the last moment my grasping fingers caught hold of a strand of rope come loose from its moorings. I don't know what lent me the strength to hold on, but hold on I did, even as Castiel plunged past me with a blood curdling shriek, and disappeared from view.

I clung desperately to the side of the ship, battered by the winds and rain, my hands numb from the cold. Lightning crackled all around and thunder crashed about the ship like the noise of a thousand cannons. I felt rather than saw the Kraken's tentacles draw back from where they had been attempting to crush the Impala, and the ocean surged up all around us, frothing and boiling. I could hear Sam still shouting orders as, against all odds, the great monster pulled away and began to sink back under the waves, creating a maelstrom the likes of which I have never seen before and likely will never see again.

Amelia, I was certain that I was lost. If the ship was not pulled into that terrible vortex, then I felt certain that my already-numb hands would lose their tenuous grip upon the rope, and that I would be sent plummeting to the bottom of the ocean. As it was, my vision was swimming, and I could already feel myself slipping, inch by inexorable inch, toward the raging waters. Once again, it was the thought of you and Claire, still waiting for me to return, that prevented me from giving in altogether. The world narrowed to a single point on the hull of the ship upon which I gazed as though my life depended on it —indeed, in a way I suppose it did— and I clung there like a barnacle, freezing and almost blinded, half out of my mind from the fear that the next wave would prove my undoing. All around, the ocean grew quiet, and just as suddenly as it had blown in, the gale was gone. A hoarse cheer went up from the crew, but I couldn't muster the strength even to call out for rescue; it took all that I had simply to hold onto that end of rope.

I have no notion how long I hung there, but eventually I heard someone cry out. "Here, Captain! I've found him!"

There was a flurry of activity above me. I heard Sam call my name, but I couldn't call back to acknowledge him, could not so much as raise my head to look at the sky. I think I must have lost my senses for a while, because I don't at all remember how I came to be back on board the ship. All I know is that when I next opened my eyes I was in the now-familiar surroundings of Dean's infirmary, with the good doctor himself sitting not too far from my bedside. He glanced up as he heard me stir, and graced me with a rather grim-looking smile.

"You are beginning to make a habit of this, Jimmy," he said, not unkindly. "I'm beginning to think it's because you covet the more comfortable beds in here. Or perhaps you are simply overly fond of having my brother rescue you from drowning, though I wouldn't go around trumpeting that too loudly, if I were you. Goodness knows what people might think."

I managed a half-hearted laugh which quickly turned into a full-fledged coughing fit, and he limped over to my bed and patted me awkwardly on the back until the fit passed. Then he coaxed some rather foul-tasting medicine into me, dropped another blanket on me, and asked if I felt up to a visitor.

"My brother has been scratching at the door like an anxious dog ever since we carried you inside. I think he has something he's been meaning to ask you."

Sam, it turned out, was more intent on apologizing for Castiel's actions than anything. "I cannot begin to fathom what prompted him to do such a thing," was one of the first things he said to me. "I am so sorry I didn't see his intent before it was too late."

I struggled to a sitting position, and shook my head. "You have nothing to be sorry for. As much as I am loath to speak ill of the dead, and of a superior officer, I believe he was no longer responsible for his actions, in the end."

"But I am responsible for all my crew," he shook his head, face pinched with guilt. "I should have seen that he was out of his mind. And that unhealthy fascination with you... granted, you two are so alike that you might be brothers, but—"

His brother interrupted him. "As it happens, Sam, I think they may have been. Do you remember all his questions about where Jimmy was born? About his parentage?" he threw me an apologetic look. "I hope you will forgive me for being so blunt, Jimmy, but am I wrong in thinking that your mother and father were married in America?"

I blushed, and did not meet his gaze. "You are not wrong," I confirmed.

"Then the man who took you in as his was not, in fact, your true father."

My face grew even hotter then, and both men were kind enough not to stare at me. "He was not my father by blood, no, though he was so in every other respect. I have no idea who my blood kin might be."

"Yet you were born less than two miles from Castiel's family's estate. Combined with your uncanny resemblance, it doesn't seem at all far-fetched that one might conclude you and he were related, even if the relationship was never legitimized."

Everything began to be clearer in my mind then, Amelia. At least, in a twisted way. "He said the end times were upon us," I said. "I have no idea what he meant, save that he appeared convinced that —that monster lusted for his blood."

Sam nodded, as though what I said made perfect sense. "The Kraken is meant to be a herald of the end of times, or so hold some of the superstitions I have heard. If he thought it wanted a blood sacrifice..." he gave me a hard look, though I guessed it wasn't truly aimed at me. "God, how monstrous."

"Well," Dean interrupted briskly, "he's gone now, and Jimmy here is safe and sound, and presumably has a decent claim on the Admiral's estate, if you want to pursue it, that is," he looked at me.

"Good God, no," I shook my head. "I have no interest in it whatsoever. That family wanted nothing to do with me before, and I am happy to return the sentiment. Let them keep their blood money."

To my astonishment, Dean grinned at me. "Just as well. Like as not their family is crippled with debt. It happens all too often, these days. What will you do, then?"

I stared at my hands, folded in my lap. This was the moment I had been waiting for, and yet I was almost afraid to open my mouth and ask for that which I desired most, afraid that, under that congenial facade, Sam would turn out to be no different than any other captain in the Royal Navy and force me to stay and serve my term aboard the Impala. He would have been well within his rights to insist, and I found myself reluctant to test his goodwill. He surprised me by placing a hand on my arm.

"I've been thinking," he said, staring at me with those big, earnest eyes of his. "You've been with us for long enough now that you've proven your worth as a purser. You're an honest man, which is difficult to come by in men of that profession, and I would hate to lose you. Hear me out," he raised a hand before I could interrupt. "I know you're away from your wife and your family and have been for a long time, but I daresay the Impala is due to sail in different waters for a while. I must return to London to report what has happened to Whitehall, and from there it's not nearly as far to America as it is from here. If you come with us, the trip will be almost the same length as if you were to disembark at the next large port and try to make your way back on your own, and it would be costly. This way, at least, you would earn your keep, and I'd like to think that the crew has earned your trust —the Admiral aside, of course," he added wryly.

I was too astonished to reply at first. "I don't know what to say."

"You needn't think of it as a permanent position," Sam added hastily. "Just until we reach Boston —I am sure something can be arranged. If you wish to keep on with us after that, well, I for one would be more than happy to retain your services. So long as you work with us, too, you will never have to fear impressment upon another ship, which is something you should consider strongly as being in our favour, too."

Dean clapped me on the shoulder. "You may as well accept now, Jimmy my lad. I have never known Sam to take 'no' for an answer, whenever he set his mind on something."

Sam grinned, first at his brother, and then at me, and I knew then my fate was sealed.

So much of this seems like an impossible dream now, Amelia. We are sailing back to England, with a few stops planned along the way to resupply, but otherwise the course plotted is as direct as can be managed. Sam appears confident that he will be allowed to pursue whatever course he deems fit once he has reported to Whitehall, and his optimism has infected the entire crew, who are visibly relieved at no longer being burdened with Lord Castiel's folly. On the whole, it is a brighter and happier ship that has set sail away from the South Pacific.

It may take some time, my love, but at long last, I am coming home to you.

Be well until my return,

Your loving Jimmy