Code Duello (Part 3 of 14)
Apr. 4th, 2013 05:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: Code Duello (Part 3 of 14)
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikific
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Sam/Jess, Bobby, Gabriel, Victor, Charlie, Pamela, Benny, Ash, Jo/Gordon, Ellen, Uriel, Zachariah, Joshua, Balthazar, Chuck/Becky
Warnings: Cursing, mild sexual situations, no beta. I've tried to flag all the major romantic pairings, but this is a college AU, so there are a lot more flirtations and suchlike going on among the characters. But if you can't tolerate this, you probably wouldn't be reading one of my fics anyway.
Word Count: 75,000 total
Summary: The duel of honor is still the law of the land: grievances large and small are settled by means of electrified swords that can be honed to incredible sharpness. When Dean Winchester, captain of the University of Kansas fencing team, finds himself one player short at the beginning of the season, he recruits Castiel, a mysterious boy trained from birth to compete in high stakes illegal sword fighting competitions.
Notes: The formal dueling in this one is a mish-mosh of modern fencing and kendo. Street fighting is an unholy blend of mixed martial arts and samurai movies I watched as a kid.
It was a somber group that ended up at Harvelle’s Roadhouse later that evening following the academic duel. Sam had taken a very shaken Jess home, so it was Jo, Ash, Benny and Gordon up at the bar with Ellen, and Dean huddled in a booth along with Castiel and Gabriel. Castiel had answered Dean's question about his familiarity with alcohol by ordering a beer. Oddly, Gabriel didn't seem to share his brother's ignorance of normal food, nor was he visibly much shaken by the evening's events as he was quite greedily digging into the basket of Ellen's deep friend mushrooms.
“Try some, Cas,” said Dean, pushing the basket towards the moping brother. “It's sort of like French fries. Only not.”
Castiel was digging at the label on his beer bottle with a thumbnail. “He planned this, Gabriel. Jaunoeil might just as well have murdered that other professor.”
“Not our responsibility, Cassie,” said Gabriel, popping another mushroom into his mouth, chasing it with a glug of beer, and signaling for the waitress.
“It's immoral.”
“My baby bro the ethics major,” grinned Gabriel, tugging at Castiel's topknot. Cas irritably batted at his brother's hand.
Jo came flouncing up to the table. “Hey, why are you guys hiding back here in the dark? We're doing shots!”
Castiel shrugged, but Gabriel suddenly sprang up. “That sounds like a challenge, Joanna Beth.”
“It's Jo,” she told him, but nevertheless led him up to the bar.
“You wanna go, Cas?” Dean urged. “If you're worried, they're pretty cool here. I mean, people are not gonna look at you funny. It's not like on campus.”
Castiel peered up from where he had made a mess of his beer bottle label. “Is it possible we could talk, Dean?”
Dean stole a glance at the bar, where everyone was now pretty engrossed in imbibing the maximum quantity of alcohol in the shortest possible time. He nodded towards the back door, and Castiel followed him outside. Dean immediately wished he had brought his jacket as the blast of cold air hit him. He was going to run back inside for his coat, but noticed Cas's pained expression. Cas leaned his back against the wall and breathed out, exhaling a fine spray of condensation. Dean butted a shoulder up against the wall beside him. Cas turned slightly, to face him.
“Dean. My last match before I met you.... Someone … died.” The very last word came out as barely a breath.
“What happened?”
“I partnered with Gabriel. For years. As you know, we're not really brothers. It's a term of respect for comrades in your dojo. But, we were like brothers. I think. Then a new man came in to take over, Zachariah, and they started pressuring me to go up a weight class.” He paused, staring intently at the ground. “I refused.”
“And? What happened?”
Cas seemed to be dragging out the words from a place deep inside. “Gabriel … was hurt. They partnered me with Uriel instead. We still won. But I don't trust him. I'm certain he dopes. Like they want me to do.”
Dean nodded silently to himself. So his instincts about Castiel were correct. “Go on.”
“Our matches.... I don't know what you know about us. It's not as bad as some people think. They're not supposed to be lethal. But there are some who will pay a lot of money to see blood. Just like all those people in the stadium tonight. In my last fight, Uriel … killed someone. They say it was bad shielding. But I think Uriel – or someone – changed the settings on his blade.”
Dean didn't know what to say. It was a point of strict honor, both in formal dueling and street fighting, that you keep your sword to the agreed setting. If this were true, it would be a terrible scandal. “Have you told anyone?”
“Gabriel. He's the only one I really trust anymore.”
“So, you don't know what's going on?”
“Uriel is my teammate, Dean!” said Cas, looking utterly wretched. “But, it seems like something changed in him. After Zachariah took over, something changed. The look in his eyes. It’s was like the look I saw in Professor Forest. Like he’d do anything to win. Anything.”
Dean suddenly understood why Castiel had agreed to try out for the team. “But you think it's all on you?” he asked, more to himself than to Cas. He steeled himself. “Look, let me tell you something. You know Pamela? She's on the team, but she doesn't play anymore.”
“She is visually impaired, Dean?”
“Yeah. So, Coach Henricksen is pretty new. He came on the end of last season, when we were down several games. I wasn't team captain at that time, but he demoted a couple of other guys – he later kicked them off for doping – and put me in charge. So, it was our last regular season game, and we had no prayer of getting into the post-season, too many losses. And we're playing our big rivals, the Wildcats. That's Coach Crowley's team. You'll meet them soon enough. You know what you said about someone doing anything to win? That's them. Meg actually used to play for that team, and that's the reason she transferred. It was too much, even for her.
“Anyway, they're up to their normal tricks. I got paired with a guy and he made a late hit. The ref called him on it, but he ended up cracking a couple of my ribs. I'm hurting too bad to take my final match, so instead for the final bout they pitted Pamela against this girl, Ruby, on the other side. And I don't know what the hell she did, but Pam gets it in the head, goes down and ends up with a detached retina.”
“She was blinded?” asked Cas, eyes gone wide.
“She could have been! They got her to the hospital in time, so they got it back, but she's still got problems. She sees double. It's tough for her to even do schoolwork now. And she's off the team. She still comes to practice and to matches, God love her. But I don't think she's ever gonna be able to play again. And I feel like it's on me, you know? She went in for me.”
Cas had shifted around so he was mirroring Dean, leaning one shoulder against the wall. He was standing too damn close, up in Dean's face, like he did when he was trying to fuck with an opponent, but it all seemed right when he did it here, like he was Dean's shadow, just here to listen. “That's a lot to take on yourself,” Cas muttered.
Dean shrugged. “You think you're responsible for killing a guy. Dude, what you do? It's fucking dangerous.”
“I know.”
Dean searched Cas’s eyes. “You want out, don't you? I mean, that's the reason for the college classes....”
“It's not easy – getting out. Most of us, we end up like Gabriel. Or worse.”
“You think you'd be a coach? You'd be a good one. I saw you with Jo. She's good, but she's not easy to work with. Overconfident, like crazy. Drives Henricksen up the wall.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, you got a talent. Or,” added Dean, cracking a grin, “you could be a food critic.”
Cas stared for a long moment, and then actually broke into a full on smile before shyly dropping his eyes. A killer, but he liked French fries with ranch dressing and laughed at Dean's dumb jokes. Dean suddenly really wanted to see that smile again.
“Are you guys still out here? You must be freezing your asses!” Dean literally jumped at the sound of Gabriel's voice. Cas was blinking like someone had just awoken him from a dream.
“C'mon, Meathead, the car's here,” said Gabriel, handing Cas his coat and inclining his head towards the town car now looming in the parking lot. Dean gawped at the car: he had been so engrossed in his conversation with Castiel, he hadn't even heard it approach.
“We'll see you again, right?” Dean asked Castiel.
“Just kiss him goodnight so we can get outta here,” Gabriel snarked as he headed off to the car.
You could see Castiel's blush even in the dim light. “Good night, Dean,” he said, and then he was off following his brother before Dean could think of a reply.
The Impala pulled up just as the town car rolled off. Sam popped out and nodded. Dean ran inside, grabbed his coat and said his goodbyes, and then he and Sam were heading home.
“So, how's Jess?” asked Dean from the passenger seat. He hadn't had a whole lot to drink, but for some reason wasn't in the mood for driving right now.
“I left her gabbing on the phone with Pamela, so I think she'll make it. I don't think she's coming to another academic duel in the near future. And neither am I for that matter.”
Dean looked out the window, watching the world pass by. “I think the whole school is gonna be fucked up over this.”
“Oh, and by the way, those magazines you wanted?” Sam gestured towards a stack of magazines at Dean's feet.
Dean grabbed a handful and leafed through them. There were titles like Sword Fighting Monthly and Blades Illustrated. “Oh! The street fighting stuff. Yeah!”
“Turns out they're not strictly legal, but you know Bobby’s buddy, Rufus? He's a big, big buff.”
Dean nodded, half-listening as he leafed through a couple of issues. The fighters weren't identified by name, only their handles, weird colorful appellations like “Striking Cobra” and “Manhandler.” He flipped through a couple magazines until finally he spotted a very familiar cloud of dark hair. “Wow,” he breathed.
“You find him already?” asked Sam.
“This is definitely him,” said Dean, clicking on the dome light to get a better look. It was images of Cas fighting, and it was incredible. He didn't seem like he obeyed the laws of gravity, as just about every image had him walking up walls or even, once or twice, bouncing off the damned ceiling of the cage. He couldn't stop staring at the one image, so cool it had been splashed across two pages like the centerfold in a girlie magazine. Cas was launching himself off the top of the plexi cage, every muscle taut, sword poised. It was so beautiful and perfect.
“So what's his handle? Gravelly Voice Dude?” laughed Sam.
Dean squinted down at the captions. He turned to Sam. “He's the Avenging Angel.”
Many years ago….
Three am.
If Joshua had one rule, it was that it's never good news at three am.
“Gabriel, what are you doing out of bed?”
“I was going to answer the door,” the boy replied, looking up, golden brown eyes all innocent mischief.
Joshua smiled and ruffed Gabriel's hair fondly, grateful for the distraction. “And where did you get that candy?”
Gabriel abruptly stuffed an entire licorice whip into his mouth. “Wha- c'ndy?” he asked through massively swollen chipmunk cheeks.
Cinching the belt on his robe a little tighter, Joshua turned and answered the door.
It was not good news.
Joshua's first instinct was to slam the door shut again, but after some hesitation, he said, “Come in,” though shaking his head all the time. Balthazar led his small charge into the entryway, where he stood, blinking up at Joshua.
“I've told you, Balthazar, we're full up.”
The young man nodded grimly, a crop of golden hair wafting gently as he did so. “Joshua. I've tried everywhere else,” he said.
“You know we already have too many mouths to feed.”
“I dunno, he's pretty scrawny!” piped up Gabriel, pointing rudely at the new boy. “I bet he doesn't eat much.” The boy, for his part, turned his attention towards Gabriel, staring with laser-like intensity and focus.
Joshua felt his resolve wavering, so he steeled himself. “Balthazar, you know I'd like to help-”
“Joshua, look at that face. If you don't take him here,” Balthazar said, “you know what's going to happen to him.” Joshua shuddered. No, there was no question, not with the wide-set blue eyes, perfect mouth and porcelain skin. Balthazar's next stop would be one of the brothels. “Someone needs to teach this one to fight.”
Joshua addressed the child. “Come this way.” He flicked on a light in the main training area and led the child over to one of the mats. Joshua picked up a wooden training sword and hunkered down so he was eye to eye with the child. Neither spoke for a moment. “So, what's your name?”
“Castiel.”
Such gravity for one so young. Joshua let his mind drift to what the child must have experienced so far in his short life.
“Cassie-elle? His name is too long!” Gabriel protested. “He’s not that big!”
“Maybe he’ll grow into it?” said Balthazar.
Joshua put his focus on the boy. “All right, Castiel, do you know where you are, and what we do here?”
“You fight.”
“That's right. I teach boys like Gabriel here how to fight.” Gabriel, evidently pleased at being worthy of mention, stood up straighter. “If you come here, he will be your brother.”
The wide eyes seemed to grow three sizes at this. Castiel stared at Joshua, and then looked over to Gabriel.
Quick as a striking cobra, Joshua took the training sword and slapped Castiel, knocking him down. Gabriel jumped. Balthazar smiled. Castiel, now sitting on his bottom on the mat, stared, surprised and hurt, and then, jumped to his feet, glaring at Joshua.
Joshua and Castiel locked eyes for a long moment. Joshua smiled at Castiel.
And then smacked him over again.
Castiel leapt to his feet, more quickly this time, his eyes blazing at Joshua, who was nodding. Gabriel stared in confusion, and then crowded closer.
Joshua turned and smacked Gabriel to the floor. “What!” shouted Gabriel. “Ow!”
But Joshua was staring again at Castiel, who had leapt in front of Gabriel.
“Interesting,” said Joshua, slowly standing. “Gabriel?”
“What?” grumbled Gabriel, who stood up, rubbing his bottom where he had fallen. “That's gonna leave a bruise, Joshua!”
“Take your brother to the dormitory and find a bed for him. We’ll start him on kitchen prep in the morning.”
“Okay. C'mon Cassie!” said Gabriel, whose mood suddenly brightened. He stuck out a hand. Castiel took it with his own and, with a last long look at Joshua, followed Gabriel out of the room.
Balthazar let out a breath. “Thank you, Joshua. I owe you one,” he said, clasping the other man's shoulder as they walked towards the door.
“I may yet owe you one, my friend,” said Joshua.
“That sword is bigger than him.”
“I know, Gabriel. He'll grow into it.” Joshua's attention was not fixed on the weapon, but on the child, who was now standing on the balance beam, staring intently, patiently awaiting his next opponent.
Although street fighting was not confined to a narrow piste like formal dueling, it was Joshua's contention that balance was a skill of utmost importance. So he had his students perform drills on the ten centimeter wide, leather-covered beam. And, occasionally, they would hold sparring matches up there.
It had been a few years since the night Balthazar had brought Castiel to Joshua's dojo. The boy was still small for his age, but more than made up for it by a kind of fierce intensity Joshua had rarely witnessed in a student. Unlike other pupils who had to be constantly cuffed for daydreaming or malingering, Joshua on more than one occasion had needed to urge Castiel to stop drilling and eat. It probably didn't help that Gabriel, who had sort of adopted the boy as his own personal little brother, would very happily finish off Cassie's dinner for him. The boy would eventually make a good fly weight fighter, probably, Joshua thought. Soon he would try pairing him with Gabriel to see how the two worked together. Though Gabriel has a mischievous side, he was a remarkably good student as well, with lightning-quick reflexes.
But today Joshua had learned something new about Castiel: and that was, once up on the balance beam, it was impossible to knock him off again. Having already bested everyone in his age group, Joshua was letting him spar with the slightly bigger boys now, which had necessitated granting him a slightly longer sword. With his characteristic gravity, Castiel had accepted the new blade, and then put it through its paces, dancing along the beam as if he had been born up there.
“All right. Samael. Go ahead,” said Joshua. A blond boy eagerly hopped up on the beam, goaded on by some of his friends. He appeared unsure of his footing, but then took up a position, and nodded confidently to Joshua.
“En garde. Pret. Allez.”
It wasn't much of a contest. Samael attacked first, but his strike nearly overbalanced him. Castiel cleverly exploited this with his parry, and, with a small cry, Samael was on his ass down on the floor to much hooting and hollering.
“All right, settle down everyone. Settle down!”
“Oh, let me do it,” huffed Uriel. He was only a year or so older than Castiel, but already a good thirty pounds heavier.
“Uriel, I'm not sure-” Joshua began, but he felt a tug on his arm.
“Let him try,” whispered Gabriel, who was grinning.
Uriel hopped up on the beam, causing it to vibrate like crazy. “You're set to three, Uriel,” Joshua chastened. The boy had a bad habit of screwing around with his sword settings. Uriel rolled his eyes and clicked on his hilt. The blade hummed in response. Joshua scowled. This was not a good idea.
Despite his bulk, Uriel looked all around a lot more sure-footed than Samael. He glared at Castiel, who, steadfast as the little tin soldier, took his position.
“En garde. Pret. Allez.” Joshua cringed as Uriel charged Castiel. Castiel suddenly crouched down and Uriel's swing caught air. Castiel head-butted Uriel in the stomach, sending him back a pace. Uriel recovered, and then, with a roar, crouched down to strike at Castiel, who had retreated to the very edge of the beam. Castiel hopped and suddenly sprang up like a crazy jack-in-the-box all the way over Uriel's head, tucking and rolling over Uriel's back. His feet caught the very end of the beam. Castiel turned on a dime and struck Uriel, who could not turn around in time, square in the back, sending him sprawling. He ended up face-planted on the mat.
There was no sound, not even a breath.
“You go, Cassie!” yelled Gabriel, who ran up to the beam and pulled his brother off to ride on his back. And suddenly, Castiel, always so grave, broke into a great smile as the rest of the kids began to chatter and some boys helped a still dazed Uriel to his feet. Uriel flashed a glare at an oblivious Castiel and stormed out of the room.
Joshua felt a hand on his shoulder. Balthazar had silently slipped into the gym at some point. “That boy,” he whispered to Joshua. “He's going to be a champion.”
“Either that, or he's going to end up dead,” sighed Joshua.
The cucumber disappeared under the flash of the knife. And then the slices were flicked off the cutting board, into the bowl.
“How do you do that without getting some fingers mixed up in there, Cassie?” asked Gabriel, sitting himself down on the cabinet and grabbing a slice of fresh cut vegetable to nibble on.
Castiel waved the knife at him. “I'll get some of your fingers in the pot, Gabriel.” Adolescence, though it had not dimmed the bright blue eyes, had wrought Castiel into a fighter, tall and lean, although he still had to be urged to eat to keep up his weight class. Perhaps most striking of all, his voice had ripened to a perpetually surly-sounding growl. Gabriel had suggested his brother seek employment on a phone sex line, which had gotten Gabriel knocked down but good in a practice spar.
And after the fashion of street fighters, Castiel had stopped cutting his hair on the occasion of his first professional bout. The custom was not to cut it unless and until one had suffered a defeat, but the technicalities of what constituted a “defeat” had become fluid enough to negate anyone from actually going under the scissors. Whereas Gabriel, who was similarly “undefeated” kept his long brown hair neatly clasped at his neck between fights, Castiel twisted his own unruly dark hair into a topknot at nearly all times. Gabriel remarked that Castiel's hair seemed to have a presence of its own, a strange dark cloud hovering over his head.
“I'm hungry!” protested Gabriel, stealing another slice of vegetable.
“You're always hungry. That's for dinner.” A carrot now yielded to the flash of Castiel's knife.
“I'm doing you a favor, baby bro,” Gabriel munched. “Saving you cooking time. See? Direct from your bowl to my gut.”
Castiel smiled and grabbed another vegetable. “Is that so?” The greenery was diced in a flash, and added to the bowl.
“Yep!” laughed Gabriel, grabbing another slice and popping it into his mouth. He paused, and then, choking, “HOT PEPPER,” hopped off the counter and spat into the sink. He cranked the faucet on full and stood frantically pushing water into his mouth.
“Water doesn't solubilize, you know,” Cas told him, popping some carrot into this own mouth.
“You little fucker,” rasped Gabriel. “What?”
“I haven't been shorter than you for years, Gabriel. And water is a polar liquid, so it doesn't solubilize capsaicins.” Gabriel looked baffled, as he often did when talking to Castiel. “You need to imbibe something like whole milk. Or alcohol.”
“Beer!” said Gabriel, flinging himself towards the refrigerator. He popped open a cold one and guzzled a good half of it down, finishing by emitting a rather loud burp. “Ah. Better.” He happily patted his stomach.
“What are you two idiots doing?” growled Uriel, the only man in the dojo with a voice that could rival Castiel's for sheer rumbling timbre. He was almost as tall as Castiel, but a good deal broader. Rumor had it he had started juicing. As had a lot of people. Since the sport itself was technically illegal, not much attention was paid, although Joshua was known to look down on the practice.
“He's cooking and I'm solubilizing!' said Gabriel, who hopped back up on the counter.
This earned a glare. “Have you seen the brackets?” asked Uriel.
“Weeks ago, dude,” snapped Gabriel, although both he and Castiel looked nervous.
“They've updated.”
“And?” asked Gabriel, rolling his eyes. “You gonna make me go out there?”
Uriel's smile was predatory. “Michael's shoulder is still bad. He's out, so his dojo is a by. It's going to be you two against Samyaza and Raphael.”
Castiel stopped slicing.
“Eh. We'll kick their asses,” said Gabriel, who was now fiddling with the label on his beer bottle.
“I'll talk to Joshua about this,” said Castiel, wiping his hands on his apron, while a smirking Uriel took his leave.
Gabriel was down off the counter and standing in front of Castiel, sputtering mad. “What? Wait! Why would you do that?”
“Gabriel. We are no match for those two.” Castiel had removed his apron and calmly set it on a hook.
“Sure we are. It's- It's on the brackets.”
“I'm going to see Joshua,” Castiel told him, striding out of the kitchen, Gabriel now hastening along behind.
“What are you gonna say to him?”
“I will tell him we're not an appropriate match for Samyaza, and he will change the bracketing,” Castiel told him simply.
“Cassie, how the hell have you lived in the real world this long?”
“I was not aware that street fighting was the real world,” Castiel mused. He stopped short. “Who is that?” Joshua was in his office, a dingy glass box pushed casually to the corner of the main training area. He sat there now along with a large pig-faced, balding man. Balthazar, who was in the office as well, leaned against the wall, looking concerned.
“No fucking idea. Cassie, let's go back to the kitchen,” said Gabriel. But Castiel was already charging forward. He knocked twice, two sword-sharp raps, and then burst inside.
“Joshua.”
“Oh, so here are my little superstars,” gushed the bald man, training beady eyes between Castiel and Gabriel.
Castiel forced down a shudder and continued. “Joshua, we need to talk to you. In private.”
“Castiel. Gabriel. This is Zachariah,” said Joshua, indicating the piggy man, who, extracting himself from the chair, slowly got to his feet. He was utterly huge, filling the small office, and towering over the two boys, to whom he extended a limp hand.
“So very pleased to meet you,” Zachariah said, after nearly crushing Gabriel's sword hand and reaching for Castiel's to do the same. “We're going to work so well together.”
Castiel flicked his eyes towards Balthazar, who shook his head and then stared at the ground. He stared at Zachariah's extended hand, not moving.
“Uh, what's going on?” asked Gabriel, irritably shaking out his sore hand.
“I think we're going to talk to Castiel now, isn't that right, Joshua?” said Zachariah.
Balthazar frowned, and then walked over to Gabriel. “Come on,” he said, quietly laying a hand on Gabriel's shoulder. Gabriel sputtered, but allowed Balthazar to lead him out of the office.
“What did you want to talk to me about, Castiel?” Joshua offered as Zachariah somehow origami'd himself back into a human-sized office chair.
“The match with Samyaza.”
“Well, isn't that strange?” said Zachariah, who really didn't appear to find it at all strange. “That was just what we wanted to talk to you about!”
Castiel, doing his best to ignore Zachariah, asked Joshua, “What about the match?”
“Zachariah thinks it would be best if you considered pairing with Uriel. Just for this bout, you understand?”
“Gabriel is my partner.”
Zachariah settled his bulk. “We just wanna shake things up a little. Keep things interesting. And fun!”
“Gabriel … is … my partner,” Castiel repeated.
“Is this one slightly dim?” asked Zachariah.
Joshua steepled his hands. “The boys have a long history. They know and trust each other, Zachariah.”
“I will not partner with Uriel,” stated Castiel.
Zachariah clasped his hands together over his ample belly. “Joshua says he thinks you could go up a weight class.”
“I don't dope,” Cas intoned with bitter finality.
“It makes you stronger,” said Zachariah. “And more receptive to … some more sophisticated training methods. Uriel has proved very cooperative!”
“It makes you slow,” said Castiel. “Physically and mentally.”
“Castiel-” said Joshua, holding up a hand.
Cas narrowed his eyes. “Is that what happened to you?” he asked Zachariah.
“Oh, sassy Cassie,” grinned Zachariah. “What a merry brood you've raised here, Joshua. A merry brood. So much different from Samyaza's lot.”
Joshua was gazing at something on his cluttered desk. “Castiel. Just promise me you'll consider this? For the future?”
Gabriel heard Joshua's office door slam and went to catch up with Castiel, who was stalking back towards the kitchen.
“Balthy tells me this Zach dude is gonna be co-manager from now on,” Gabriel told Castiel. “We're stuck with his creepy ass.”
Castiel nodded but did not slow his pace nor reply. He stormed back into the kitchen, grabbed up a knife and began to massacre some vegetables.
“Cassie. What did Zach tell you?”
“He wanted me to partner with Uriel,” Castiel grunted.
“And, what did you tell him?”
Castiel dumped a ragged assemblage of sliced vegetables into a bowl. He looked at Gabriel, his eyes blazing.
“I told him to fuck himself. Sideways. With an egg beater.”
Gabriel stood and stared dumbly for a long moment. And then he laughed, hopping up on the counter, and grabbing some sliced carrot from the bowl. “That's my bro,” he smiled.
“Gabriel?”
“Close the door.” Castiel quietly shut the door and went to sit at Gabriel's bedside.
“I'm so sorry-”
“Stop! Just, don't.”
Castiel looked at the cast enclosing his brother's leg, tears welling in his eyes. “If only I had-”
“Cassie! I told you to shut it,” Gabriel snapped. Castiel exhaled, a slow, sad sound, and seemed to wilt. He remembered the crowd roaring, and Gabriel lying broken on the mat as Samyaza raised his sword in triumph. “Look, you gotta listen to me, bro,” said Gabriel, reaching over and grabbing Castiel by the lapel. “I'm not gonna fight any more.”
“No, you-”
“No, I'm not gonna get better. The docs say I'll probably be able to walk. Probably. I'll take it. Better to be crippled up than dead. And that's what happened to the last couple of idiots who fought Samyaza.”
Castiel held his sides, straining not to cry. “I'll quit too. That's what I'll do.”
“Don't be an idiot. Even if you are.” Gabriel huffed in frustration. “Then we'll both be out on our asses. Look, I talked to Joshua. He's been looking for someone to do more management stuff since Balthy took off.”
“Zachariah fired him,” Castiel muttered.
“Well, whatever. But you need someone around to watch your back, due to being an idiot.”
Castiel nestled into the chair, hugging his knees. “Yes, I'm an idiot.”
“So, good, we're on the same page. Cassie, they're gonna partner you with Uriel now.”
“I won't fight with Uriel!”
“No, listen to me, and quit being an idiot. You train with Uriel, you fight with Uriel. You do not trust that motherfucker, you hear me?”
“How can I fight with a partner I can't even trust?”
“You'll have to be different. I'll help. It may be better. Remember, Uriel can knock a guy over with his breath.”
Castiel managed a chuckle. He stared at Gabriel. “This was the agreement, wasn't it? Convince me to partner with Uriel?”
Gabriel tried to shift positions and winced as he moved his leg. “Zach was in here the minute I was awake. You can't avoid that slimy bastard.”
“Well, at least I know.”
“We'll figure it out, you and me,” said Gabriel. “Look, things are gonna be different now regardless. There are new people in charge.”
“You mean Zachariah?” sighed Cas.
“I mean the guys behind Zach. The money guys. At any rate, Joshua is on his way out. They're broadcasting now, to people who wouldn't usually go to a match. The trend now is for matches with bigger guys, more smoke and noise. Bigger booms. Joshua's way … that's old-fashioned.”
“Joshua's way is the right way,” said Cas.
“Listen, baby bro. Just keep your head down for now. Go along. And we'll figure this out. I promise.”
Cas stared miserably out the window.
The present day….
Dean waved up to the stands. Sam and Jess happily waved back. Castiel also spotted Chuck and his girlfriend, but few others. The seats were dotted with blue and crimson as the sparse assembly of fans – mostly family, boyfriends, girlfriends and roommates of the team members – found their seats. “There are more people in the opponent's section,” said Castiel, pointing across the court to where the away team's fans were arrayed.
“Yeah, we don't have a lot of spectators just now,” Dean admitted as the team assembled along the courtside.
“After last season, I'm surprised anyone would show their faces,” Benny huffed.
“It'll pick up,” Dean assured Cas. “Fans are fickle. We just gotta win a couple matches, and they'll be packed to the rafters.”
Castiel found a seat and discovered that, as usual, attention was being paid to him. Several people across the court were openly pointing, and he saw the opposing team, the Sooners, whispering to each other.
“You remember what we talked about?” Dean asked him, leaning close. There wasn't a whole lot of crowd noise, so Castiel could hear him just fine. It was quite a contrast to the roiling, rowdy crowd that had come to see the bloody academic duel just a few weeks ago. Since that time the team had practiced diligently for their first match. He and Dean, along with Coach Henricksen, had pored over tapes of last year's games, and then drilled everyone to play to their strengths and improve their weaknesses. Castiel had been very surprised that, after an initial awkwardness, most everyone appeared to heed his coaching advice. Gordon remained chary, although Cas had done his best to keep Jo at arm's length. Well, as distant he could keep the effusive little blonde. He frowned. In their way, women terrified him more than Samyaza.
Henricksen made a last pass, nervously mouthing platitudes before taking his seat at the end of the bench. Castiel supposed what he really wanted right now more than anything was a cigarette. Castiel had helpfully supplied their coach with articles showing the health risks of smoking, but the coach didn't seem inclined to heed them.
“Cas-ti-el! KU player Cas-ti-el?”
An official made the announcement for the first duel, stumbling over Cas’s name. As parties on the field all stared over at the KU team, Castiel was still sitting doggedly on the bench. He cast his eyes on his opponent, who had scurried out the second his name was called. He looked at Dean beside him, who nodded.
“Go kick his Okie ass,” whispered Benny, seated to his other side.
Castiel rose, looking every inch the displaced street fighter. Head held regally erect, he strode onto the field and, as the crowd murmured, marched relentlessly towards his bemused opponent. He walked rapidly, relentless as a stalking tiger up the mat, right to his mark, where he abruptly arrested his movement and swept into en garde, sword posed high and lethal.
His opponent gulped.
“That Sooner guy's gonna pee his pants,” Benny whispered to Dean. They had taken a calculated risk putting Castiel up first, but Dean thought, and Henricksen agreed, it would be good to get them all good and rattled first thing.
The court had grown silent, everyone collectively holding their breath. Cas's opponent somehow managed to dredge up enough composure to get himself more or less into his own ready position.
“En garde. Pret. Allez!”
In typical Cas fashion, he had a point practically before his opponent could move.
“Point, Jayhawks!”
The Sooner stands started to mutter, and Dean heard a raggedy cheer go up behind him. “You are up next, Benny,” said Castiel crisply as he returned. “Your opponent is weak on his left side.” Henricksen, who had darted up to stand at Castiel's side, nodded in agreement. Dean grinned. The coach had been totally thrown by the swift win.
The evening seemed to fly by, with duels punctuated by small court-side huddles as Dean, Cas and the coach (when he regained some of his composure) chatting strategy with the next duelist. Benny and Gordon both got some good licks in, with Jo practically dancing off the court after a win. Even Charlie managed not to drop her sword during her one duel, which marked considerable progress. In the last match, Meg dispatched her opponent nearly as neatly as Castiel had done, giving a clear win to the Jayhawks.
Dean rushed over to shake the hand of the Sooner's team captain. It was the guy Castiel had fought right out of the gate and he still seemed a little shaken up. “That guy, is he really a student?” the dude asked.
“He's on the Dean's List,” grinned Dean. In truth, Henricksen had been happy to have Castiel partly as he pulled up the team's GPA up. Ash and Charlie were big brains, but Jo and Gordon tended to screw off, especially if they were currently dating. Which they apparently were now, Dean realized as he marched back across the court and stepped between Jo and Cas. He wasn't completely sure if Jo was intentionally trying to make Gordon jealous about Cas, but that was the upshot, and Cas seemed baffled by how to deal with it.
He grabbed Cas by the shoulder and pretended he had something vitally important to tell him, but he was interrupted by a noise from the stands. The spectators were standing up and gathering their stuff, but a couple of guys had started pounding their feet. Stamp, stamp, stamp-stamp, stamp! It was sort of a tradition: all the schools had their rhythm. Stamp, stamp, stamp-stamp, stamp! A couple more people stopped and imitated them. Sam and Jess had stopped and were enthusiastically joining in.
Dean squeezed Cas's shoulder. “Da-amn! I forgot how that sounded,” said Ash, as they all looked up to the stands.
“Get used to it!” said Coach Henricksen, waving at the stands as he strode out.
“Shit,” said Dean, as he led Cas towards the exit. “We won.” He realized he was tearing up.
“Isn't that usually what happens when you score more points?” Cas asked him.
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikific
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Sam/Jess, Bobby, Gabriel, Victor, Charlie, Pamela, Benny, Ash, Jo/Gordon, Ellen, Uriel, Zachariah, Joshua, Balthazar, Chuck/Becky
Warnings: Cursing, mild sexual situations, no beta. I've tried to flag all the major romantic pairings, but this is a college AU, so there are a lot more flirtations and suchlike going on among the characters. But if you can't tolerate this, you probably wouldn't be reading one of my fics anyway.
Word Count: 75,000 total
Summary: The duel of honor is still the law of the land: grievances large and small are settled by means of electrified swords that can be honed to incredible sharpness. When Dean Winchester, captain of the University of Kansas fencing team, finds himself one player short at the beginning of the season, he recruits Castiel, a mysterious boy trained from birth to compete in high stakes illegal sword fighting competitions.
Notes: The formal dueling in this one is a mish-mosh of modern fencing and kendo. Street fighting is an unholy blend of mixed martial arts and samurai movies I watched as a kid.
It was a somber group that ended up at Harvelle’s Roadhouse later that evening following the academic duel. Sam had taken a very shaken Jess home, so it was Jo, Ash, Benny and Gordon up at the bar with Ellen, and Dean huddled in a booth along with Castiel and Gabriel. Castiel had answered Dean's question about his familiarity with alcohol by ordering a beer. Oddly, Gabriel didn't seem to share his brother's ignorance of normal food, nor was he visibly much shaken by the evening's events as he was quite greedily digging into the basket of Ellen's deep friend mushrooms.
“Try some, Cas,” said Dean, pushing the basket towards the moping brother. “It's sort of like French fries. Only not.”
Castiel was digging at the label on his beer bottle with a thumbnail. “He planned this, Gabriel. Jaunoeil might just as well have murdered that other professor.”
“Not our responsibility, Cassie,” said Gabriel, popping another mushroom into his mouth, chasing it with a glug of beer, and signaling for the waitress.
“It's immoral.”
“My baby bro the ethics major,” grinned Gabriel, tugging at Castiel's topknot. Cas irritably batted at his brother's hand.
Jo came flouncing up to the table. “Hey, why are you guys hiding back here in the dark? We're doing shots!”
Castiel shrugged, but Gabriel suddenly sprang up. “That sounds like a challenge, Joanna Beth.”
“It's Jo,” she told him, but nevertheless led him up to the bar.
“You wanna go, Cas?” Dean urged. “If you're worried, they're pretty cool here. I mean, people are not gonna look at you funny. It's not like on campus.”
Castiel peered up from where he had made a mess of his beer bottle label. “Is it possible we could talk, Dean?”
Dean stole a glance at the bar, where everyone was now pretty engrossed in imbibing the maximum quantity of alcohol in the shortest possible time. He nodded towards the back door, and Castiel followed him outside. Dean immediately wished he had brought his jacket as the blast of cold air hit him. He was going to run back inside for his coat, but noticed Cas's pained expression. Cas leaned his back against the wall and breathed out, exhaling a fine spray of condensation. Dean butted a shoulder up against the wall beside him. Cas turned slightly, to face him.
“Dean. My last match before I met you.... Someone … died.” The very last word came out as barely a breath.
“What happened?”
“I partnered with Gabriel. For years. As you know, we're not really brothers. It's a term of respect for comrades in your dojo. But, we were like brothers. I think. Then a new man came in to take over, Zachariah, and they started pressuring me to go up a weight class.” He paused, staring intently at the ground. “I refused.”
“And? What happened?”
Cas seemed to be dragging out the words from a place deep inside. “Gabriel … was hurt. They partnered me with Uriel instead. We still won. But I don't trust him. I'm certain he dopes. Like they want me to do.”
Dean nodded silently to himself. So his instincts about Castiel were correct. “Go on.”
“Our matches.... I don't know what you know about us. It's not as bad as some people think. They're not supposed to be lethal. But there are some who will pay a lot of money to see blood. Just like all those people in the stadium tonight. In my last fight, Uriel … killed someone. They say it was bad shielding. But I think Uriel – or someone – changed the settings on his blade.”
Dean didn't know what to say. It was a point of strict honor, both in formal dueling and street fighting, that you keep your sword to the agreed setting. If this were true, it would be a terrible scandal. “Have you told anyone?”
“Gabriel. He's the only one I really trust anymore.”
“So, you don't know what's going on?”
“Uriel is my teammate, Dean!” said Cas, looking utterly wretched. “But, it seems like something changed in him. After Zachariah took over, something changed. The look in his eyes. It’s was like the look I saw in Professor Forest. Like he’d do anything to win. Anything.”
Dean suddenly understood why Castiel had agreed to try out for the team. “But you think it's all on you?” he asked, more to himself than to Cas. He steeled himself. “Look, let me tell you something. You know Pamela? She's on the team, but she doesn't play anymore.”
“She is visually impaired, Dean?”
“Yeah. So, Coach Henricksen is pretty new. He came on the end of last season, when we were down several games. I wasn't team captain at that time, but he demoted a couple of other guys – he later kicked them off for doping – and put me in charge. So, it was our last regular season game, and we had no prayer of getting into the post-season, too many losses. And we're playing our big rivals, the Wildcats. That's Coach Crowley's team. You'll meet them soon enough. You know what you said about someone doing anything to win? That's them. Meg actually used to play for that team, and that's the reason she transferred. It was too much, even for her.
“Anyway, they're up to their normal tricks. I got paired with a guy and he made a late hit. The ref called him on it, but he ended up cracking a couple of my ribs. I'm hurting too bad to take my final match, so instead for the final bout they pitted Pamela against this girl, Ruby, on the other side. And I don't know what the hell she did, but Pam gets it in the head, goes down and ends up with a detached retina.”
“She was blinded?” asked Cas, eyes gone wide.
“She could have been! They got her to the hospital in time, so they got it back, but she's still got problems. She sees double. It's tough for her to even do schoolwork now. And she's off the team. She still comes to practice and to matches, God love her. But I don't think she's ever gonna be able to play again. And I feel like it's on me, you know? She went in for me.”
Cas had shifted around so he was mirroring Dean, leaning one shoulder against the wall. He was standing too damn close, up in Dean's face, like he did when he was trying to fuck with an opponent, but it all seemed right when he did it here, like he was Dean's shadow, just here to listen. “That's a lot to take on yourself,” Cas muttered.
Dean shrugged. “You think you're responsible for killing a guy. Dude, what you do? It's fucking dangerous.”
“I know.”
Dean searched Cas’s eyes. “You want out, don't you? I mean, that's the reason for the college classes....”
“It's not easy – getting out. Most of us, we end up like Gabriel. Or worse.”
“You think you'd be a coach? You'd be a good one. I saw you with Jo. She's good, but she's not easy to work with. Overconfident, like crazy. Drives Henricksen up the wall.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, you got a talent. Or,” added Dean, cracking a grin, “you could be a food critic.”
Cas stared for a long moment, and then actually broke into a full on smile before shyly dropping his eyes. A killer, but he liked French fries with ranch dressing and laughed at Dean's dumb jokes. Dean suddenly really wanted to see that smile again.
“Are you guys still out here? You must be freezing your asses!” Dean literally jumped at the sound of Gabriel's voice. Cas was blinking like someone had just awoken him from a dream.
“C'mon, Meathead, the car's here,” said Gabriel, handing Cas his coat and inclining his head towards the town car now looming in the parking lot. Dean gawped at the car: he had been so engrossed in his conversation with Castiel, he hadn't even heard it approach.
“We'll see you again, right?” Dean asked Castiel.
“Just kiss him goodnight so we can get outta here,” Gabriel snarked as he headed off to the car.
You could see Castiel's blush even in the dim light. “Good night, Dean,” he said, and then he was off following his brother before Dean could think of a reply.
The Impala pulled up just as the town car rolled off. Sam popped out and nodded. Dean ran inside, grabbed his coat and said his goodbyes, and then he and Sam were heading home.
“So, how's Jess?” asked Dean from the passenger seat. He hadn't had a whole lot to drink, but for some reason wasn't in the mood for driving right now.
“I left her gabbing on the phone with Pamela, so I think she'll make it. I don't think she's coming to another academic duel in the near future. And neither am I for that matter.”
Dean looked out the window, watching the world pass by. “I think the whole school is gonna be fucked up over this.”
“Oh, and by the way, those magazines you wanted?” Sam gestured towards a stack of magazines at Dean's feet.
Dean grabbed a handful and leafed through them. There were titles like Sword Fighting Monthly and Blades Illustrated. “Oh! The street fighting stuff. Yeah!”
“Turns out they're not strictly legal, but you know Bobby’s buddy, Rufus? He's a big, big buff.”
Dean nodded, half-listening as he leafed through a couple of issues. The fighters weren't identified by name, only their handles, weird colorful appellations like “Striking Cobra” and “Manhandler.” He flipped through a couple magazines until finally he spotted a very familiar cloud of dark hair. “Wow,” he breathed.
“You find him already?” asked Sam.
“This is definitely him,” said Dean, clicking on the dome light to get a better look. It was images of Cas fighting, and it was incredible. He didn't seem like he obeyed the laws of gravity, as just about every image had him walking up walls or even, once or twice, bouncing off the damned ceiling of the cage. He couldn't stop staring at the one image, so cool it had been splashed across two pages like the centerfold in a girlie magazine. Cas was launching himself off the top of the plexi cage, every muscle taut, sword poised. It was so beautiful and perfect.
“So what's his handle? Gravelly Voice Dude?” laughed Sam.
Dean squinted down at the captions. He turned to Sam. “He's the Avenging Angel.”
Many years ago….
Three am.
If Joshua had one rule, it was that it's never good news at three am.
“Gabriel, what are you doing out of bed?”
“I was going to answer the door,” the boy replied, looking up, golden brown eyes all innocent mischief.
Joshua smiled and ruffed Gabriel's hair fondly, grateful for the distraction. “And where did you get that candy?”
Gabriel abruptly stuffed an entire licorice whip into his mouth. “Wha- c'ndy?” he asked through massively swollen chipmunk cheeks.
Cinching the belt on his robe a little tighter, Joshua turned and answered the door.
It was not good news.
Joshua's first instinct was to slam the door shut again, but after some hesitation, he said, “Come in,” though shaking his head all the time. Balthazar led his small charge into the entryway, where he stood, blinking up at Joshua.
“I've told you, Balthazar, we're full up.”
The young man nodded grimly, a crop of golden hair wafting gently as he did so. “Joshua. I've tried everywhere else,” he said.
“You know we already have too many mouths to feed.”
“I dunno, he's pretty scrawny!” piped up Gabriel, pointing rudely at the new boy. “I bet he doesn't eat much.” The boy, for his part, turned his attention towards Gabriel, staring with laser-like intensity and focus.
Joshua felt his resolve wavering, so he steeled himself. “Balthazar, you know I'd like to help-”
“Joshua, look at that face. If you don't take him here,” Balthazar said, “you know what's going to happen to him.” Joshua shuddered. No, there was no question, not with the wide-set blue eyes, perfect mouth and porcelain skin. Balthazar's next stop would be one of the brothels. “Someone needs to teach this one to fight.”
Joshua addressed the child. “Come this way.” He flicked on a light in the main training area and led the child over to one of the mats. Joshua picked up a wooden training sword and hunkered down so he was eye to eye with the child. Neither spoke for a moment. “So, what's your name?”
“Castiel.”
Such gravity for one so young. Joshua let his mind drift to what the child must have experienced so far in his short life.
“Cassie-elle? His name is too long!” Gabriel protested. “He’s not that big!”
“Maybe he’ll grow into it?” said Balthazar.
Joshua put his focus on the boy. “All right, Castiel, do you know where you are, and what we do here?”
“You fight.”
“That's right. I teach boys like Gabriel here how to fight.” Gabriel, evidently pleased at being worthy of mention, stood up straighter. “If you come here, he will be your brother.”
The wide eyes seemed to grow three sizes at this. Castiel stared at Joshua, and then looked over to Gabriel.
Quick as a striking cobra, Joshua took the training sword and slapped Castiel, knocking him down. Gabriel jumped. Balthazar smiled. Castiel, now sitting on his bottom on the mat, stared, surprised and hurt, and then, jumped to his feet, glaring at Joshua.
Joshua and Castiel locked eyes for a long moment. Joshua smiled at Castiel.
And then smacked him over again.
Castiel leapt to his feet, more quickly this time, his eyes blazing at Joshua, who was nodding. Gabriel stared in confusion, and then crowded closer.
Joshua turned and smacked Gabriel to the floor. “What!” shouted Gabriel. “Ow!”
But Joshua was staring again at Castiel, who had leapt in front of Gabriel.
“Interesting,” said Joshua, slowly standing. “Gabriel?”
“What?” grumbled Gabriel, who stood up, rubbing his bottom where he had fallen. “That's gonna leave a bruise, Joshua!”
“Take your brother to the dormitory and find a bed for him. We’ll start him on kitchen prep in the morning.”
“Okay. C'mon Cassie!” said Gabriel, whose mood suddenly brightened. He stuck out a hand. Castiel took it with his own and, with a last long look at Joshua, followed Gabriel out of the room.
Balthazar let out a breath. “Thank you, Joshua. I owe you one,” he said, clasping the other man's shoulder as they walked towards the door.
“I may yet owe you one, my friend,” said Joshua.
“That sword is bigger than him.”
“I know, Gabriel. He'll grow into it.” Joshua's attention was not fixed on the weapon, but on the child, who was now standing on the balance beam, staring intently, patiently awaiting his next opponent.
Although street fighting was not confined to a narrow piste like formal dueling, it was Joshua's contention that balance was a skill of utmost importance. So he had his students perform drills on the ten centimeter wide, leather-covered beam. And, occasionally, they would hold sparring matches up there.
It had been a few years since the night Balthazar had brought Castiel to Joshua's dojo. The boy was still small for his age, but more than made up for it by a kind of fierce intensity Joshua had rarely witnessed in a student. Unlike other pupils who had to be constantly cuffed for daydreaming or malingering, Joshua on more than one occasion had needed to urge Castiel to stop drilling and eat. It probably didn't help that Gabriel, who had sort of adopted the boy as his own personal little brother, would very happily finish off Cassie's dinner for him. The boy would eventually make a good fly weight fighter, probably, Joshua thought. Soon he would try pairing him with Gabriel to see how the two worked together. Though Gabriel has a mischievous side, he was a remarkably good student as well, with lightning-quick reflexes.
But today Joshua had learned something new about Castiel: and that was, once up on the balance beam, it was impossible to knock him off again. Having already bested everyone in his age group, Joshua was letting him spar with the slightly bigger boys now, which had necessitated granting him a slightly longer sword. With his characteristic gravity, Castiel had accepted the new blade, and then put it through its paces, dancing along the beam as if he had been born up there.
“All right. Samael. Go ahead,” said Joshua. A blond boy eagerly hopped up on the beam, goaded on by some of his friends. He appeared unsure of his footing, but then took up a position, and nodded confidently to Joshua.
“En garde. Pret. Allez.”
It wasn't much of a contest. Samael attacked first, but his strike nearly overbalanced him. Castiel cleverly exploited this with his parry, and, with a small cry, Samael was on his ass down on the floor to much hooting and hollering.
“All right, settle down everyone. Settle down!”
“Oh, let me do it,” huffed Uriel. He was only a year or so older than Castiel, but already a good thirty pounds heavier.
“Uriel, I'm not sure-” Joshua began, but he felt a tug on his arm.
“Let him try,” whispered Gabriel, who was grinning.
Uriel hopped up on the beam, causing it to vibrate like crazy. “You're set to three, Uriel,” Joshua chastened. The boy had a bad habit of screwing around with his sword settings. Uriel rolled his eyes and clicked on his hilt. The blade hummed in response. Joshua scowled. This was not a good idea.
Despite his bulk, Uriel looked all around a lot more sure-footed than Samael. He glared at Castiel, who, steadfast as the little tin soldier, took his position.
“En garde. Pret. Allez.” Joshua cringed as Uriel charged Castiel. Castiel suddenly crouched down and Uriel's swing caught air. Castiel head-butted Uriel in the stomach, sending him back a pace. Uriel recovered, and then, with a roar, crouched down to strike at Castiel, who had retreated to the very edge of the beam. Castiel hopped and suddenly sprang up like a crazy jack-in-the-box all the way over Uriel's head, tucking and rolling over Uriel's back. His feet caught the very end of the beam. Castiel turned on a dime and struck Uriel, who could not turn around in time, square in the back, sending him sprawling. He ended up face-planted on the mat.
There was no sound, not even a breath.
“You go, Cassie!” yelled Gabriel, who ran up to the beam and pulled his brother off to ride on his back. And suddenly, Castiel, always so grave, broke into a great smile as the rest of the kids began to chatter and some boys helped a still dazed Uriel to his feet. Uriel flashed a glare at an oblivious Castiel and stormed out of the room.
Joshua felt a hand on his shoulder. Balthazar had silently slipped into the gym at some point. “That boy,” he whispered to Joshua. “He's going to be a champion.”
“Either that, or he's going to end up dead,” sighed Joshua.
The cucumber disappeared under the flash of the knife. And then the slices were flicked off the cutting board, into the bowl.
“How do you do that without getting some fingers mixed up in there, Cassie?” asked Gabriel, sitting himself down on the cabinet and grabbing a slice of fresh cut vegetable to nibble on.
Castiel waved the knife at him. “I'll get some of your fingers in the pot, Gabriel.” Adolescence, though it had not dimmed the bright blue eyes, had wrought Castiel into a fighter, tall and lean, although he still had to be urged to eat to keep up his weight class. Perhaps most striking of all, his voice had ripened to a perpetually surly-sounding growl. Gabriel had suggested his brother seek employment on a phone sex line, which had gotten Gabriel knocked down but good in a practice spar.
And after the fashion of street fighters, Castiel had stopped cutting his hair on the occasion of his first professional bout. The custom was not to cut it unless and until one had suffered a defeat, but the technicalities of what constituted a “defeat” had become fluid enough to negate anyone from actually going under the scissors. Whereas Gabriel, who was similarly “undefeated” kept his long brown hair neatly clasped at his neck between fights, Castiel twisted his own unruly dark hair into a topknot at nearly all times. Gabriel remarked that Castiel's hair seemed to have a presence of its own, a strange dark cloud hovering over his head.
“I'm hungry!” protested Gabriel, stealing another slice of vegetable.
“You're always hungry. That's for dinner.” A carrot now yielded to the flash of Castiel's knife.
“I'm doing you a favor, baby bro,” Gabriel munched. “Saving you cooking time. See? Direct from your bowl to my gut.”
Castiel smiled and grabbed another vegetable. “Is that so?” The greenery was diced in a flash, and added to the bowl.
“Yep!” laughed Gabriel, grabbing another slice and popping it into his mouth. He paused, and then, choking, “HOT PEPPER,” hopped off the counter and spat into the sink. He cranked the faucet on full and stood frantically pushing water into his mouth.
“Water doesn't solubilize, you know,” Cas told him, popping some carrot into this own mouth.
“You little fucker,” rasped Gabriel. “What?”
“I haven't been shorter than you for years, Gabriel. And water is a polar liquid, so it doesn't solubilize capsaicins.” Gabriel looked baffled, as he often did when talking to Castiel. “You need to imbibe something like whole milk. Or alcohol.”
“Beer!” said Gabriel, flinging himself towards the refrigerator. He popped open a cold one and guzzled a good half of it down, finishing by emitting a rather loud burp. “Ah. Better.” He happily patted his stomach.
“What are you two idiots doing?” growled Uriel, the only man in the dojo with a voice that could rival Castiel's for sheer rumbling timbre. He was almost as tall as Castiel, but a good deal broader. Rumor had it he had started juicing. As had a lot of people. Since the sport itself was technically illegal, not much attention was paid, although Joshua was known to look down on the practice.
“He's cooking and I'm solubilizing!' said Gabriel, who hopped back up on the counter.
This earned a glare. “Have you seen the brackets?” asked Uriel.
“Weeks ago, dude,” snapped Gabriel, although both he and Castiel looked nervous.
“They've updated.”
“And?” asked Gabriel, rolling his eyes. “You gonna make me go out there?”
Uriel's smile was predatory. “Michael's shoulder is still bad. He's out, so his dojo is a by. It's going to be you two against Samyaza and Raphael.”
Castiel stopped slicing.
“Eh. We'll kick their asses,” said Gabriel, who was now fiddling with the label on his beer bottle.
“I'll talk to Joshua about this,” said Castiel, wiping his hands on his apron, while a smirking Uriel took his leave.
Gabriel was down off the counter and standing in front of Castiel, sputtering mad. “What? Wait! Why would you do that?”
“Gabriel. We are no match for those two.” Castiel had removed his apron and calmly set it on a hook.
“Sure we are. It's- It's on the brackets.”
“I'm going to see Joshua,” Castiel told him, striding out of the kitchen, Gabriel now hastening along behind.
“What are you gonna say to him?”
“I will tell him we're not an appropriate match for Samyaza, and he will change the bracketing,” Castiel told him simply.
“Cassie, how the hell have you lived in the real world this long?”
“I was not aware that street fighting was the real world,” Castiel mused. He stopped short. “Who is that?” Joshua was in his office, a dingy glass box pushed casually to the corner of the main training area. He sat there now along with a large pig-faced, balding man. Balthazar, who was in the office as well, leaned against the wall, looking concerned.
“No fucking idea. Cassie, let's go back to the kitchen,” said Gabriel. But Castiel was already charging forward. He knocked twice, two sword-sharp raps, and then burst inside.
“Joshua.”
“Oh, so here are my little superstars,” gushed the bald man, training beady eyes between Castiel and Gabriel.
Castiel forced down a shudder and continued. “Joshua, we need to talk to you. In private.”
“Castiel. Gabriel. This is Zachariah,” said Joshua, indicating the piggy man, who, extracting himself from the chair, slowly got to his feet. He was utterly huge, filling the small office, and towering over the two boys, to whom he extended a limp hand.
“So very pleased to meet you,” Zachariah said, after nearly crushing Gabriel's sword hand and reaching for Castiel's to do the same. “We're going to work so well together.”
Castiel flicked his eyes towards Balthazar, who shook his head and then stared at the ground. He stared at Zachariah's extended hand, not moving.
“Uh, what's going on?” asked Gabriel, irritably shaking out his sore hand.
“I think we're going to talk to Castiel now, isn't that right, Joshua?” said Zachariah.
Balthazar frowned, and then walked over to Gabriel. “Come on,” he said, quietly laying a hand on Gabriel's shoulder. Gabriel sputtered, but allowed Balthazar to lead him out of the office.
“What did you want to talk to me about, Castiel?” Joshua offered as Zachariah somehow origami'd himself back into a human-sized office chair.
“The match with Samyaza.”
“Well, isn't that strange?” said Zachariah, who really didn't appear to find it at all strange. “That was just what we wanted to talk to you about!”
Castiel, doing his best to ignore Zachariah, asked Joshua, “What about the match?”
“Zachariah thinks it would be best if you considered pairing with Uriel. Just for this bout, you understand?”
“Gabriel is my partner.”
Zachariah settled his bulk. “We just wanna shake things up a little. Keep things interesting. And fun!”
“Gabriel … is … my partner,” Castiel repeated.
“Is this one slightly dim?” asked Zachariah.
Joshua steepled his hands. “The boys have a long history. They know and trust each other, Zachariah.”
“I will not partner with Uriel,” stated Castiel.
Zachariah clasped his hands together over his ample belly. “Joshua says he thinks you could go up a weight class.”
“I don't dope,” Cas intoned with bitter finality.
“It makes you stronger,” said Zachariah. “And more receptive to … some more sophisticated training methods. Uriel has proved very cooperative!”
“It makes you slow,” said Castiel. “Physically and mentally.”
“Castiel-” said Joshua, holding up a hand.
Cas narrowed his eyes. “Is that what happened to you?” he asked Zachariah.
“Oh, sassy Cassie,” grinned Zachariah. “What a merry brood you've raised here, Joshua. A merry brood. So much different from Samyaza's lot.”
Joshua was gazing at something on his cluttered desk. “Castiel. Just promise me you'll consider this? For the future?”
Gabriel heard Joshua's office door slam and went to catch up with Castiel, who was stalking back towards the kitchen.
“Balthy tells me this Zach dude is gonna be co-manager from now on,” Gabriel told Castiel. “We're stuck with his creepy ass.”
Castiel nodded but did not slow his pace nor reply. He stormed back into the kitchen, grabbed up a knife and began to massacre some vegetables.
“Cassie. What did Zach tell you?”
“He wanted me to partner with Uriel,” Castiel grunted.
“And, what did you tell him?”
Castiel dumped a ragged assemblage of sliced vegetables into a bowl. He looked at Gabriel, his eyes blazing.
“I told him to fuck himself. Sideways. With an egg beater.”
Gabriel stood and stared dumbly for a long moment. And then he laughed, hopping up on the counter, and grabbing some sliced carrot from the bowl. “That's my bro,” he smiled.
“Gabriel?”
“Close the door.” Castiel quietly shut the door and went to sit at Gabriel's bedside.
“I'm so sorry-”
“Stop! Just, don't.”
Castiel looked at the cast enclosing his brother's leg, tears welling in his eyes. “If only I had-”
“Cassie! I told you to shut it,” Gabriel snapped. Castiel exhaled, a slow, sad sound, and seemed to wilt. He remembered the crowd roaring, and Gabriel lying broken on the mat as Samyaza raised his sword in triumph. “Look, you gotta listen to me, bro,” said Gabriel, reaching over and grabbing Castiel by the lapel. “I'm not gonna fight any more.”
“No, you-”
“No, I'm not gonna get better. The docs say I'll probably be able to walk. Probably. I'll take it. Better to be crippled up than dead. And that's what happened to the last couple of idiots who fought Samyaza.”
Castiel held his sides, straining not to cry. “I'll quit too. That's what I'll do.”
“Don't be an idiot. Even if you are.” Gabriel huffed in frustration. “Then we'll both be out on our asses. Look, I talked to Joshua. He's been looking for someone to do more management stuff since Balthy took off.”
“Zachariah fired him,” Castiel muttered.
“Well, whatever. But you need someone around to watch your back, due to being an idiot.”
Castiel nestled into the chair, hugging his knees. “Yes, I'm an idiot.”
“So, good, we're on the same page. Cassie, they're gonna partner you with Uriel now.”
“I won't fight with Uriel!”
“No, listen to me, and quit being an idiot. You train with Uriel, you fight with Uriel. You do not trust that motherfucker, you hear me?”
“How can I fight with a partner I can't even trust?”
“You'll have to be different. I'll help. It may be better. Remember, Uriel can knock a guy over with his breath.”
Castiel managed a chuckle. He stared at Gabriel. “This was the agreement, wasn't it? Convince me to partner with Uriel?”
Gabriel tried to shift positions and winced as he moved his leg. “Zach was in here the minute I was awake. You can't avoid that slimy bastard.”
“Well, at least I know.”
“We'll figure it out, you and me,” said Gabriel. “Look, things are gonna be different now regardless. There are new people in charge.”
“You mean Zachariah?” sighed Cas.
“I mean the guys behind Zach. The money guys. At any rate, Joshua is on his way out. They're broadcasting now, to people who wouldn't usually go to a match. The trend now is for matches with bigger guys, more smoke and noise. Bigger booms. Joshua's way … that's old-fashioned.”
“Joshua's way is the right way,” said Cas.
“Listen, baby bro. Just keep your head down for now. Go along. And we'll figure this out. I promise.”
Cas stared miserably out the window.
The present day….
Dean waved up to the stands. Sam and Jess happily waved back. Castiel also spotted Chuck and his girlfriend, but few others. The seats were dotted with blue and crimson as the sparse assembly of fans – mostly family, boyfriends, girlfriends and roommates of the team members – found their seats. “There are more people in the opponent's section,” said Castiel, pointing across the court to where the away team's fans were arrayed.
“Yeah, we don't have a lot of spectators just now,” Dean admitted as the team assembled along the courtside.
“After last season, I'm surprised anyone would show their faces,” Benny huffed.
“It'll pick up,” Dean assured Cas. “Fans are fickle. We just gotta win a couple matches, and they'll be packed to the rafters.”
Castiel found a seat and discovered that, as usual, attention was being paid to him. Several people across the court were openly pointing, and he saw the opposing team, the Sooners, whispering to each other.
“You remember what we talked about?” Dean asked him, leaning close. There wasn't a whole lot of crowd noise, so Castiel could hear him just fine. It was quite a contrast to the roiling, rowdy crowd that had come to see the bloody academic duel just a few weeks ago. Since that time the team had practiced diligently for their first match. He and Dean, along with Coach Henricksen, had pored over tapes of last year's games, and then drilled everyone to play to their strengths and improve their weaknesses. Castiel had been very surprised that, after an initial awkwardness, most everyone appeared to heed his coaching advice. Gordon remained chary, although Cas had done his best to keep Jo at arm's length. Well, as distant he could keep the effusive little blonde. He frowned. In their way, women terrified him more than Samyaza.
Henricksen made a last pass, nervously mouthing platitudes before taking his seat at the end of the bench. Castiel supposed what he really wanted right now more than anything was a cigarette. Castiel had helpfully supplied their coach with articles showing the health risks of smoking, but the coach didn't seem inclined to heed them.
“Cas-ti-el! KU player Cas-ti-el?”
An official made the announcement for the first duel, stumbling over Cas’s name. As parties on the field all stared over at the KU team, Castiel was still sitting doggedly on the bench. He cast his eyes on his opponent, who had scurried out the second his name was called. He looked at Dean beside him, who nodded.
“Go kick his Okie ass,” whispered Benny, seated to his other side.
Castiel rose, looking every inch the displaced street fighter. Head held regally erect, he strode onto the field and, as the crowd murmured, marched relentlessly towards his bemused opponent. He walked rapidly, relentless as a stalking tiger up the mat, right to his mark, where he abruptly arrested his movement and swept into en garde, sword posed high and lethal.
His opponent gulped.
“That Sooner guy's gonna pee his pants,” Benny whispered to Dean. They had taken a calculated risk putting Castiel up first, but Dean thought, and Henricksen agreed, it would be good to get them all good and rattled first thing.
The court had grown silent, everyone collectively holding their breath. Cas's opponent somehow managed to dredge up enough composure to get himself more or less into his own ready position.
“En garde. Pret. Allez!”
In typical Cas fashion, he had a point practically before his opponent could move.
“Point, Jayhawks!”
The Sooner stands started to mutter, and Dean heard a raggedy cheer go up behind him. “You are up next, Benny,” said Castiel crisply as he returned. “Your opponent is weak on his left side.” Henricksen, who had darted up to stand at Castiel's side, nodded in agreement. Dean grinned. The coach had been totally thrown by the swift win.
The evening seemed to fly by, with duels punctuated by small court-side huddles as Dean, Cas and the coach (when he regained some of his composure) chatting strategy with the next duelist. Benny and Gordon both got some good licks in, with Jo practically dancing off the court after a win. Even Charlie managed not to drop her sword during her one duel, which marked considerable progress. In the last match, Meg dispatched her opponent nearly as neatly as Castiel had done, giving a clear win to the Jayhawks.
Dean rushed over to shake the hand of the Sooner's team captain. It was the guy Castiel had fought right out of the gate and he still seemed a little shaken up. “That guy, is he really a student?” the dude asked.
“He's on the Dean's List,” grinned Dean. In truth, Henricksen had been happy to have Castiel partly as he pulled up the team's GPA up. Ash and Charlie were big brains, but Jo and Gordon tended to screw off, especially if they were currently dating. Which they apparently were now, Dean realized as he marched back across the court and stepped between Jo and Cas. He wasn't completely sure if Jo was intentionally trying to make Gordon jealous about Cas, but that was the upshot, and Cas seemed baffled by how to deal with it.
He grabbed Cas by the shoulder and pretended he had something vitally important to tell him, but he was interrupted by a noise from the stands. The spectators were standing up and gathering their stuff, but a couple of guys had started pounding their feet. Stamp, stamp, stamp-stamp, stamp! It was sort of a tradition: all the schools had their rhythm. Stamp, stamp, stamp-stamp, stamp! A couple more people stopped and imitated them. Sam and Jess had stopped and were enthusiastically joining in.
Dean squeezed Cas's shoulder. “Da-amn! I forgot how that sounded,” said Ash, as they all looked up to the stands.
“Get used to it!” said Coach Henricksen, waving at the stands as he strode out.
“Shit,” said Dean, as he led Cas towards the exit. “We won.” He realized he was tearing up.
“Isn't that usually what happens when you score more points?” Cas asked him.
