AN: Kay so this is my Trojan War AU fic thing. I basically got the idea when me and my friend were joking about how the Ancient Greeks used Olive Oil for lube, because we're immature. So yeah, Cain if you're reading this, THIS IS WHAT I WAS TELLING YOU ABOUT. Named 'One in One Thousand' after the Christopher Marlowe quote about Helen of Troy: 'The face that launched a thousand ships'. Hope you like! It's pretty weird.

One in One Thousand

FIVE YEARS AGO

Ships entering the harbour, disturbing the peaceful ocean that surrounded the island kingdom. Two young men, aged 17 and 18, clad in soft tunics, running through the orchards in the palace gardens and laughing as they battled one another, wooden sword against blunted spear.

The taller boy, a handsome, muscular young man with emerald eyes and ash blonde hair, suddenly loses his balance, tripping over backwards into soft grass that matched the shade of his eyes. He pulled on the arm of his companion as he fell, a shorter boy with messy dark hair and eyes that matched the colour of the sea that was about to disturb their tranquillity. With a huff of surprise, the 17 year old landed on his friend, and they were nose to nose. Time stood still as the sunlight – muted by the blooming trees that surrounded them – skittered its way across their faces, and each was suddenly struck with just how right it felt to lie like that, staring into the other's eyes. The world faded away, and neither boy moved.

Just as it seemed they were about to draw closer, horns sounded in the distance, and they were shocked back into reality.

It was the horns that signified that they were at war.

NOW

Dean grunted as he rolled over in his sleep, the movement causing him to fall out of his (for lack of a better word) bed and land on the hardened ground.

What time is it?

He looked outside, and noted that the sun hadn't even dared to show its face over the cloudless ocean horizon, and groaned.

There was a soft laugh to his left, and he looked over to see Castiel sitting by the smouldering remains of the campfire from last night, smiling at him warmly.

"You're up unusually early, Dean. I remember a time when you would sleep until Apollo was at his highest point in the sky at the earliest."

"Shut up, Cas," Dean mumbled, ignoring the familiar swoop in his stomach that happened every time he met Castiel's stupidly blue eyes. He spoke without any malice, however, and his gaze softened into a smile as he awkwardly clambered out of his tent and sat next to his best friend. They both disregarded the goosebumps that erupted at the proximity, and stared across the water of the Hellespont in silence. The once pristine bay the Greek army was camped in was now covered in dirty tents and the remains of campfires, huge ships that they were thankfully able to see over due to the location of their cluster of tents, and of course the dead, blackened wood in the part of the beach where they had mass funeral pyres for the dead soldiers.

"Strange, isn't it?" Castiel murmured, not taking his eyes off the peaceful carnage that lay before them.

Dean turned to look at him, not at all noticing how the rising sun bounced off Castiel's face and made him appear...

Godlike.

Dean cast aside the blasphemous thought quickly and realised that Castiel was waiting for him to speak. He still hadn't looked at him, but Dean just knew, with the knowledge that comes when you've known someone your entire life.

"What's strange, Cas?"

"Strange that you and I….would come so far from home. We used to pretend to fight, mock battles, do you remember? And now, we are fighting for our lives in a war over a woman whom we have never seen, and never will. It's just strange that we have come so far from what we once were, and yet we still are friends, and we have not died yet."

With these words, Castiel turned to Dean, smiling, skin glowing from the rising sun. Dean was struck speechless at the sight and had to clear his throat several times before responding, "Of course I remember, Cas. You're my best friend. Known you since your mother came in to be my nurse, and she brought you along. Feel kinda bad for ditching Sammy for you sometimes, though," here he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, "and dude, of course I'm still your friend. I'll always be here for you, man, and even if I die I'm coming back from Hades just so you won't be alone."

He smiled and looked back across the harbour so he wouldn't blush, completely missing the way Castiel looked at him with his eyes shining in wonder.

"Thank you, Dean."

It was another long, bloody day of fighting, screaming and dying for the Greek army, as the arrows from the walls of Troy rained down upon them. From where he grappled with a faceless warrior, Dean could see the golden armour of Achilles as he tore down every man that dared opposed him, radiating a divine heat from within.

Dean and Castiel knew all about being more than regular mortals. Dean and Sam's mother was never spoken of, having left their father Ioannes to raise them alone. All they really knew was that she had been an immortal, powerful goddess, who Ioannes had fallen desperately in love with before she abruptly disappeared the night of Sam's 6-month birthday. Sam had no memories of his mother, but Dean did. He could recall an immeasurably beautiful face, ethereal blonde hair, and shimmering green eyes – features so like his own it was small wonder Ioannes preferred Sam (though he tried to hide it) – smiling at him. A voice softly whispering in his ear "the gods are watching over you, Dean," and the lightest of kisses caressing his forehead.

That memory was often the only thing that helped Dean get to sleep at night. In fact, it was all that got him to sleep now, otherwise he was kept up at night, haunted by the faces of all the men he had killed, or friends who had died before him, screaming for him to save them.

Which he couldn't do.

And no matter how much he and Sam had pestered their father, the true identity of their mother, the brief queen of their island kingdom, remained unknown.

Castiel could relate. His father was some god, and his mother the caregiver of the princes after their mother had left. He had been raised with the boys, and he and Dean knew each other like the backs of their hands – like the backs of each other's hands, in fact. Castiel's father, however, hadn't bothered to stay with his mother for longer than a night. Castiel had no memories of his father, and he didn't care to find out anything else. Neither of the two older boys had had any powers manifest due to godly parentage, but Sam…..Sam could influence the emotions of those around him. At first, he didn't even realise he was doing it, and when he discovered it, he was horrified. He did it as little as possible, only using it to soften his father's anger towards Dean, or beg a snack off the cook. Little, harmless things that only worked in their favour.

Still scared the crap out of Dean, though.

He did his best to raise Sam, keeping him and Ioannes as distant as possible to protect Sam, but sometimes he just needed to escape. Get away from the duties he had as a prince, the responsibility he felt for Sam, and the festering pain that still lingered from the abandonment of his mother.

So he and Castiel grew closer. His one true friend, and the only one who could relate to both Dean and Sam. Dean's best friend, and the person whom Dean knew he could count on to have his back in a fight.

Shit.

At that thought, Dean finished off the guy he was fighting with a pang of remorse, adding his face to the list of the damned in his mind, and looked round for Castiel. There he was, disposing of some huge dark-skinned guy who Dean vaguely knew from when they had been trading partners with Troy. Gordon or something.

Dick.

"CAS! FINISH HIM!" he yelled, completely oblivious to the ongoing battle surrounding him and focusing purely on whether or not Cas would be okay. Gordon, distracted, looked up, and Castiel sliced his head off cleanly.

Dean opened his mouth, but before he could get any words out, there was loud thunk and the world went black. As he hurtled into unconsciousness, he thought he heard a gravelly voice scream "DEAN!"

A dull, throbbing pain at the base of his skull. That was the only thing that was real, right now. Dean's lips were dry and cracked, and his throat was so parched he half thought he'd become a beach, but he spoke anyway.

"Cas?"

A snort answered him.

"Real focused on that lover of yours, aren't we Prince?"

Female. Annoying. Greek?

"Water," he croaked. "Please"

Cool, refreshing water was poured down his throat mercilessly, practically choking him, but he gladly gulped it down anyway.

"Thank you. Where am I?"

"You're in Troy, Dean-O. You're a prisoner, and they're going to use you to win this war even if it bleeds you dry"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Dean demanded harshly, finally sitting up and taking stock of where he was.

Gods of Olympus….

A small, poorly lit room greeted him, the damp stone walls reflecting the flickering candle light. Eyes watched him from the gloom, taking in his destroyed appearance.

He turned to the closest figure, who had been the one speaking to him.

"What do you mean, they're gonna use me? And where in Hades is Cas?"

AN: I'm uploading this all at once, but reviews would be, you know, awesome.