Code Duello (Part 6 of 14)
Apr. 14th, 2013 09:09 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: Code Duello (Part 6 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, Crowley
Warnings: Cursing, mild sexual situations, no beta.
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: In this chapter, we check in on Dick Roman, and Crowley makes an appearance.
It was a meeting of the board of Niveus Pharmaceuticals. Dr. Gaines, the current Chief Technical Officer, was busily flipping through his Blackberry device, scrolling through anime porn.
Well, it was a bit more exciting than the board meeting.
He did glance up as the meeting room doors burst open. Protestors? In here? It could be diverting.
They were all armed, which wasn’t surprising. One of them – the leader, presumably – strode confidently through the room as his men spread themselves out along the perimeter. When he had reached the end of the table, across from the CEO, he announced, “I’m Dick Roman. You may have heard of me. I have a New York Times bestseller!”
Several of the board members raised their cell phones to capture the moment.
“Yes. What are you doing here, Mr. Roman?” inquired Mr. Brady, the current Chairman of the Board.
“Why, I have come to challenge you to a duel of honor for the chairmanship of Niveus.” For emphasis, Roman drew and flourished his blade. It looked brand new and rarely used.
“Oh, not again,” sighed Mr. Brady. Mr. Brady was grey-haired, but as he rose and an aide helped him doff his jacket, it was quite clear that Mr. Brady spent quit a lot of his time at the gym, working on his dueling technique. “Bring on your second so we can get this over with.”
“Oh, you’re not dueling me,” grinned Roman. “You’re dueling my honorably appointed surrogate, as specified in your by-laws.”
“Who?” asked Brady.
Another figure moved through the door. A large man with sandy blond hair and cruel eyes. “Please meet my associate, Mr. Samyaza.”
“A recruiting trip?” asked Cas. He and Gabriel rode in back of the town car on the way back to the dojo. As usual, the driver remained silent in the front seat.
“Yeah. It's just gonna be a couple weeks. No problemo.”
“But … who are you going to be recruiting?”
“Fighters,” said Gabriel, who focused out the window.
“Not apprentices?”
“It's a new era, Cas.”
Castiel regarded his brother. “Gabriel. They are going to leave their homes? Their families?”
Gabriel sighed and finally looked at Castiel. “Yes. The old bonds, they're falling away. We've got to keep up.”
“Is that what you think, or what Zachariah thinks?”
“Cassie, look kid, it doesn't matter how good or how bad we are at sticking to some arbitrary standards of what's traditional and what's not. If we can't wrangle the big money matches, we're fucked. They want some big guys making a big noise.”
“And if they want more injuries? More deaths?”
“Oh, now come on! Is that fair? Look, be logical! If you kill off all the guys, you won't have a sport.”
“And these men, the ones demanding drugged up fighters, do you think they'll care? If skill and tradition are no longer involved, just juice up some football players and let them go. No one cares about their ridiculous sport anyway.”
“Cassie....”
“It's no longer my sport, Gabriel! This wasn't what Joshua raised me for.”
“Well, Joshua's out of the picture now.”
Castiel thumped back against the seat, quietly seething. “Gabriel, when I graduate-”
“Castiel!” Cas actually jumped. Gabriel was slow to anger, but when his ire was raised, he could be ferocious. He glared over to his brother fighter. “Listen to me. I'll be gone two weeks. Two weeks. I get back, we'll talk. I promise. But until then, cut the crap. You hear me, baby bro?”
Castiel nodded, but didn't reply, and they finished the ride back in silence, Cas quietly returning to his dorm room and sliding into bed.
“What's gotten into you?”
Cas glared at Dean, and then went back to hacking at the training dummy. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you come into practice looking like you wanna kill, you don't talk to anybody, and then you ruin two training dummies.” There was a crash as the padded opponent fell to the ground. “Three training dummies. We need to go for French fries.”
“No, Dean. We do not need to go for French fries.”
“CASTIEL!” Coach Henricksen stood and glowered. He looked at the ruined training dummy, and then at Cas.
Cas blinked, as if he were coming out of a daze. “Um. I'm sorry Coach. I-”
“WINCHESTER.”
Dean's smile was slow and wide. “Yeah, Coach?”
“Take you buddy for a walk. NOW.” And with that the coach turned on his heel and stalked off towards his office and his awaiting pack of Marlboros.
“Come on,” urged Dean, grabbing Cas's arm. “Don't wanna give the coach lung cancer.” Castiel allowed himself to be dragged along, with absolutely everyone on the floor stopping to stare at them while they departed. They ended up making a circle of the campus, Cas charging along fuming, Dean imagining steam rising up out of his ears.
After a couple of circuits, Dean asked, “All right, you gonna tell me what's going on or you gonna let me wear out my goddam boots?” They were near a fountain. Dean sat down on a bench and indicated Cas should do the same.
“There's nothing wrong.”
“Yeah, I got that. So what's wrong?”
Cas sat down on the bench next to Dean, every muscle tensed.
“You're gonna give yourself a stroke.”
“Gabriel is gone. He's recruiting new people to join our dojo.”
Dean studied Cas for a while. “You miss Gabriel?”
“Dean! People don't come and go in my sport! It's a violation of every tradition! Everything that makes us what we are! You are raised with certain values. Your house is your family. Part of what you are.”
“You don't want new blood coming into your dojo? You mean, like I brought you in to the fencing team?”
Cas stopped and glared. “That is completely and totally different.”
“How? And you know, you're not exactly a traditional fencer. But with some of my crack training and a decent haircut,” Dean reach over and, to Cas's intense irritation, put a hand through Cas's hair, “you've come along okay.”
“This is different, Dean. Don't you see?”
“Well, let me put it this way. So, when you were a tiny kid, some people who might not have even been blood relatives sold you to a guy, and now you're stuck there? For the rest of your life?”
Cas opened his mouth, intending to go off on a rant again, but instead paused. Leaving. It hadn't occurred to him before now.
“Why the heck you going to college anyway?” Dean continued. “I mean, you're gonna graduate right? And then just go back to fighting like before?”
“I can't continue to fight. Not forever,” Cas told him.
But Dean was off on a rant of his own. “I mean, you're not just super-talented. You're really smart! I've never had that problem. But you could be anything, you know?”
“Joshua wouldn't have approved.”
“But you've said Joshua isn't around any more?”
“No.”
“Well, then, isn't it about time you started thinking for yourself?”
“I think for myself.”
Dean leaned towards Cas. “I know you do, pal. Just think about this. If you don't get out, if you stay around, you might end up like Gabriel. Or worse. Like that last guy you fought.”
Dean immediately regretted his words. Cas went pale, the words choked out. “That fight shouldn't have ended that way.”
“We don't want that to happen to you. Right?”
Castiel was listening closely now, his eyes searching Dean. “You don't?”
“No, I don't want that to happen,” Dean admitted.
Cas exhaled and sat back on the bench. There was silence for a moment, nothing but the sound of water trickling through the fountain. “I'm sorry about all the training dummies, Dean. Do you think Henricksen will be … pissed?”
Dean leaned over and affectionately gripped Cas's shoulder. “He'll be just fine as long as we kick Crowley's ass.”
The campus was bedecked in crimson and blue.
“We're going to have spectators tonight I think,” grinned Dean over a plate of French fries. The three boys sat hunched over a picnic table in the quad, Dean and Cas's weapons stashed politely at their feet.
“Shouldn't you have, like, a main course with those fries?” worried Sam, who hadn't even deigned to taste a salad today.
Castiel looked up from where he was stuffing his face. “I like French fries, Sam. They're very tasty with ranch dressing.”
“Cas, if you keep eating like Dean, your arteries are going to explode.”
Dean spread his hands in a sincere plea for the virtues of junk food. “Aw, c'mon, Sammy! They keep him on a diet of organic rabbit food at his home. He needs real food.”
“French fries dipped in...” said Sam, picking up one of the ranch dressing packets that had scattered over the picnic table. “There's like 100 ingredients in this stuff!”
“See? Full of nutrition,” said Dean, slapping Cas on the back.
“So, Crowley will be here tonight?” asked Cas as Sam rolled his eyes and tossed the packet aside.
“And his team of mutant horrors,” sighed Sam. “Boy, I wish we could send some of those documents from Crowley's office to the Kansas State admissions office. I don't think there's a single member of that team who's passing their classes.”
“It's like Bobby said,” Dean told him. “They already know. And they don't care. They just want a winning team. So, we concentrate on the stuff that's personally embarrassing for Crowley.”
“Personally embarrassing? With that portrait in his office?” Dean had snapped a couple of photos of the image in question before he and Cas had left. Sam had been impressed enough to now utilize the portrait as the background on his computer desktop.
“Like Bobby also said, what's significant is what we didn't find. Like, how did he go from being Coach Lilith's gofer to head coach of a major Big 12 team?”
“And where did he hide Coach Lilith's body?” grumbled Sam.
“You think there was foul play involved, Dean?” asked Cas.
“Wait 'til you see him tonight, Cas. That guy wouldn't know a sword if you ran him through with one.”
Sam nodded his head. “It's like Jess says, he just stands on the sideline and snarks. Alastair is the one doing the coaching.”
“I will fight Alastair, Dean,” stated Cas.
“Watch out for that guy, Cas,” said Sam, tapping his forehead. “He gets into your head.”
“He will not get into mine,” said Cas.
Dean shot a worried glance at his brother. “No, Sammy's right. Don't underestimate him.”
“So,” said Cas, grabbing the last French fry, “will Meg be able to play?”
Sam smiled. “The anonymous notes suddenly and mysteriously ceased after we started sending our own unsigned notes to Crowley.”
“Yeah, ain't that a kick in the head,” said Dean. It had been fun choosing among the treasure trove for tidbits with which to annoy the opposing coach. The set of photos of Crowley and Lilith partying in a place that was evidently Las Vegas was especially amusing, especially the series of Crowley dressed up in a costume that may have been titled, “The NIght Hitler Forgot His Pants.”
“Just keep it together tonight, okay Cas? If we make it to the post-season, we'll be seeing them again for sure. So use this time to figure them out.”
“I will use this time to beat the pants off them,” said Cas.
“In Crowley's case, that might not be so hard,” laughed Sam.
The stands were as bustling as Cas had ever seen it. As he had told Dean, he rarely attended to the crowds at his own street fighting matches. There was simply too much going on during the fight to pay much attention, and the fighters were usually whisked off as soon as the bout had ended. The leader of the dojo was the one who took center stage if prizes were awarded. Cas had never put much thought into this: he didn't fight for a prize, he fought to maintain the honor and beauty of the sport.
But he had begun to notice the crowds now. There were the regulars, friends like Sam and Jess, and Chuck and Becky, although she had, oddly enough, begun avoiding him since he had gotten his hair cut. It puzzled Cas. He had thought she was unhappy with him due to his appearance. It seemed instead there was something more fundamentally wrong.
The crowd had let out a yell when they had assembled court-side. He wondered if the team might become too distracted by the attention: Gordon, for one, was making a big point at waving towards some attractive girls sitting down near the front, much to Jo's apparent displeasure. Cas made a mental note to bring this up with Dean and the coach. Coach Henricksen paced by, smelling of his favorite brand of cigarettes. Cas had gleaned that he was often more pent up than his athletes during the early stages of the match. Castiel had once suggested he might try some yoga positions which were known to be calming, but this had been dismissed quite out of hand, Castiel thought. On Dean's advice, he had let the matter drop.
He cast a practiced eye over to the opposing bench. Based on the portraiture in his office, Crowley was many inches shorter and around the same number of inches portlier than he had been led to expect. As Dean and other team members often repeated, he did not appear to care for the actual practice of coaching, but instead sat on the sidelines, often tippling a silver flask, and bellowing instructions.
Ruby, the one who had caused Pamela's eye injury, was the next member of the team to attract his attention. She was an comely woman, small, slim and dark-haired. As an experienced fighter, there was something about her body language that set off Cas's alarms. Although he would not fight her, she made him wary. Oddly enough, she didn't seem to be paying much attention to the Jayhawks bench, but rather directed her attention up into the crowd. Curious, Cas turned to look, surprised at what he saw.
Dean sat down beside Cas and followed his glance, to where Sam was evidently trying to conceal his six-foot-plus frame into the seat. Dean checked out the K-state bench and then sighed. “Yeah, he gets like that around Ruby.”
“They know each other? Outside?”
“Long story. He and Jess have been together since high school, but they were taking a break. Mostly because my brother is an idiot. And, yeah, before Ruby clobbered Pam, they had kind of a … thing?”
“A thing?” said Cas. His eyes widened. “Oh, like Gordon and Jo?”
“Yeah. Unfortunately. My idiot little brother really needs to stick to one girl.”
“And you?” asked Cas, who immediately regretted saying it.
Dean smiled. “You know me. I'm trying to keep it down to a few. Dozen.”
Cas cringed and looked back at the Wildcat bench. “And that one is Alastair.” As if he had heard his name, a tall, craggy-faced boy suddenly looked over towards them, his look like that of a panther sizing up a potential dinner. Cas could feel Dean stiffen as Alastair flashed a smile.
Meg had drawn the first duel, against Ruby. They were quite evenly matched, and also quite obviously despised one another. Meg won on points, and then leaned over to whisper something in Ruby's ear that got the other girl fuming.
“You girls wanna mud wrestle after this is over?” cracked Dean.
A furious Gordon ended up getting beaten by a steely-eyed boy named Samhain and the score was tied.
Cas, stretching, wandered over to where Alastair was getting set up on the piste. “Oh, new haircut. How nice. A dishonored street fighter.”
“Thank you,” replied Cas.
Alastair motioned for Castiel to lean closer, and so he did. “And what else did they cut off, pretty boy, to make you play for this sad little team.”
Cas remained close, staring at Alastair for a long moment. “As the performance enhancing drugs you are currently taking have a very well known side effect, I don't believe you will want to compare genital size. Now, can we fight?”
Alastair scowled, but then quickly recovered. “You might be fun to play with, little man.”
Cas stepped back to his starting mark. “I do not consider this to be play.”
They glared at one another, and then the official counted them off.
Alastair lunged. Cas feinted a parry, but then at the last moment, did a quick side-step, clinging to the edge of the mat, leaving Alastair swinging at air. Cas lined up and deftly touched Alastair on the back of the neck with his sword.
“KO, Jayhawks,” said the official.
Alastair cried out, turned and checked Cas – hard – in the mid-chest. Cas crumpled to the mat, while the ref, who had been watching, yelled, “Penalty, K-State.” Dean and Coach Henricksen flew to Cas's side. Meanwhile, Crowley rushed off the bench, as did half his team, to protest, as the penalty for late hits was getting removed from the game. Unfortunately for the Wildcats, the hit had been too blatant to possibly argue, so a fuming Alastair was ushered off where, with a last glower at Cas, he disappeared into his locker room.
Cas, watching Alastair from the mat, now took Dean's hand and hopped up, apparently unhurt. “Are you hurt?” asked Dean, who was now rubbing Cas's ribs.
“Not particularly,” whispered Cas.
“And the Oscar goes to...” grinned the coach. “Head back towards the bench and at least pretend to have a bruise, okay?”
Cas nodded and slung an arm over Dean's shoulders and proceeded slowly back towards their bench. “You scared the shit outta me,” Dean told him.
“I told you, Dean, this game is mental,” said Cas, pointing to his own head.
Alastair's unexpected retirement was a blow to the Wildcats: he was not only their strongest player, but the team captain and their coach in all but name. Crowley bellowed abuse from the sideline, but ultimately, as the stands erupted, the Jayhawks pulled out a very big upset victory. The team marched back to their locker room to the sound of stamping and cheering, stamp stamp stamp-stamp stamp.....
Cas opened his locker and turned to watch Dean, on the other side of the room, greet Sam and Jess. “Good game, brother!” enthused Benny, pounding Cas on the shoulder. “Alastair is probably back there pooping his pants about now.”
“Thank you, Benny,” said Cas. “You are consistently our most reliable player.”
Benny chuckled. “I'll take that as praise.”
“It was meant as praise,” said Cas, who was slightly baffled. He glanced back over at Dean, who was now being tackled and kissed by a redheaded girl.
“Well, looks like Dean's got a fan,” laughed Benny.
“Uh, I think I left my water bottle out there under the seat.” Cas turned and awkwardly made his way out of the locker rooms and back onto the court.
They had already turned off the main lights, so the court was darkened. It was fine, it fit Cas's mood. He dug around under his seat and, finding his bottle, sat down heavily in a chair and remained there, silent, for a moment.
“So tell me,” came a voice. “What does Zachariah think of your brand new hobby?”
“Coach Crowley,” stated Cas, not bothering to rise. He took a swig from his water bottle, and replaced the cap. He looked up to see a silver flask extended in his direction. He waved it away.
“No drink for the victor?” said Crowley. Cas frowned, but, after a few seconds consideration, shrugged and took the flask, drinking what he thought was an acceptable sip, and then trying very hard not to choke.
“Don't spit it out. Craig is the good stuff,” smiled Crowley, retrieving the flask. He invited himself to sit down next to Cas. Castiel noticed that he seemed very different from the bellowing clown who haunted the sidelines during the game. This Crowley appeared much more calculating.
“May I ask what you want, Mr. Crowley?”
“Why should I want anything, dear boy?” asked Crowley, taking a sip and slapping Cas on the knee. “Just a little conversation. Want to look out for the Jayhawks's new star player. And of course pondering why the Avenging Angel himself chose to play for … well, quite frankly, a losing team.”
“We seem to have won tonight.”
“A team of losers is ever a team of losers, darling.” Crowley passed the flask back, and Cas noticed it had strange symbols carved in the side. It was a number of hexagonal shapes, like he remembered from Crowley's office.
Cas took another sip from the flask. This one went down somewhat more easily. “We'll see what you have to say when we make the post-game.”
“Are you completely certain you will make the post-game?”
“We have a three-oh record so far, so, yes, I am certain.”
Crowley tutted, pulling back the flask. “No, dear, not the Chickenhawks. Haven't you learned to think selfishly? Even a little? I'm talking about you. How much longer do you think your coach – your real coach – is going to put up with you intimidating college students when you should be doping! Oh, I'm sorry, I meant practicing.”
“Zachariah is … aware. How is it you know him?”
“You might say we travel in the same circles. You might say I would be a good ally. If this is what you want to do, go straight, win a few duels. Make your mark here in the world.” Crowley’s fingers strayed to his lapel pin. Cas squinted at it in the darkness. It was the same design as his flask.
“Ally? How would you be my ally?”
“Well, right now, as things stand, I would obviously be your foe, wouldn't I? Playing for my cross-town rival. As Meg Masters chose to do. Transferred right under my nose.” Crowley’s mien suddenly shifted from affable to somewhat darker. But then the shadow fled. “Well, more power to her, I say. She obviously found the right environment.”
“You supported Meg's move?”
“Well of course. Don't you think students should be free to join any team they fancy. Say, you were worried about Zachariah's reaction, who do you think could protect you? I have a great deal of admiration for Coach Henricksen of course. But you know, he's strictly by the book. I've heard he banished some players just because he suspected them of using performance enhancements. Suspected! No evidence, no lawyer, no trial, just booted them right off, ruined their reputations and careers. Now, I know you're teacher's pet at the moment, but imagine, what if you were ever to run afoul of the coach and his narrow idea of right and wrong?”
Cas's head was starting to swim, and he suspected it wasn't the whiskey. “Crowley. What exactly are you suggesting?”
“I can do so little for you now, playing halfway across the state like that. When I could do so much for your career. So much.”
“Crowley-”
“Hey! Cas!”
Castiel jumped at the sound of Dean's voice. Dean spotted Crowley and came tearing across the court towards them. Crowley smirked but didn't budge. Dean glared at him.
“Just having a drink and a little tête-à-tête,” said Crowley, slowly rising to his feet. “No reason to get so ... possessive.” He nodded to Cas. “Hope to speak to you again. And think about what I said.” He winked and then sauntered off.
“What the hell did he have to talk about?” asked Dean.
“Nothing of import,” sighed Cas.
“Hey, we missed you. We're all going to celebrate. You wanna ride?”
“Um.” Cas looked around, but they were now alone on the court. “What about the girl?”
“Girl? What girl? Oh, you mean Rhonda? Uh, yeah. We dated. Briefly. She's got some … interesting ideas. I was gonna take the side exit.” He hiked a thumb towards the side door.
“Well, I'm not sure I'm in the mood-”
“Cas!” said Dean, now wrapping his left arm snugly around Cas's shoulders. “Come on, man. We can't celebrate without you. I can't celebrate without you.”
“No?”
“No. So let's get going before the drink all the beer.” As they began to walk towards the door, Dean's other hand found Cas's side, rubbing up and down. “Hey, are you sure you're okay? Alastair didn't crack any ribs, did he?”
“Alastair hit me on the other side Dean.”
“Oh. Uh, I knew that,” said Dean, rapidly withdrawing his hand.
Cas wasn't exactly certain what had happened to Rhonda, but she never made it to the Roadhouse that night.
And as for Dean, he had barely left Cas's side for the entire evening. It was a little bit intoxicating, definitely worse than the beer or whatever infernal liquid Crowley kept in his flask. Cas found his dark mood faded rapidly in Dean's sunny presence. He sat close, drinking in the broad smile.
After being challenged to a game he found with some bemusement that he was completely inept at darts, perhaps partially because he greatly disliked the Coach Henricksen dartboard. (The coach, for his part, seemed to adore the thing.)
He literally growled after yet another throw barely made the edge of the board, feeling confounded. And it didn't help that Dean was sitting, sipping a beer and hooting at him.
“Lucky that dart didn't end up in Oklahoma,” laughed Benny. “You'd hit Ash's mama right on the head.”
Ash laughed. “Oh, your mama said hi, Benny, from when I saw her last night.”
“Come on, Cas, let me show you,” said Dean. He got up and crossed over the room, and then Cas felt a hand around his waist as Dean pressed up in back of him. “Okay, first thing? Dude, you're too tense!” Cas desperately tried to remember how to breathe as Dean slipped his right hand up over Cas's. “I swear, you’ll snap like a rubber band. Relax the wrist.”
“Think you need to stand closer there, Dean. There's still a good quarter inch between you two,” hooted Benny.
“Shaddap,” snapped Dean, who only held Cas closer. “Now, here we go. On three.” He clasped his hand over Cas's smaller hand. “One, two, three!” To Cas's utter astonishment, the dart did not end up anywhere near Kansas's bordering state, but rather sailed straight and true, and into the very center section of Henricksen's frowning mug.
“There you go!” said Dean, slapping Cas on the back. “Next you'll beat Sammy.”
“NOBODY beats Sammy!” declared Sam, who showed evidence of having downed many beers this night. The Winchester brothers began to bicker, which, to Cas's relief, meant he could somehow stumble silently back to their empty booth and gulp down a great gulp of his beer.
“You were talking to the coach.” Meg had wriggled into the booth opposite of him. Cas didn't need to ask who she was talking about. “What did he want?” Her eyes glinted, dark and suspicious.
“He wanted me to carefully consider options for my future,” sighed Cas, his mood suddenly darkening again.
Meg pulled a knee to her chest and sat back. “Look, take it from me, pretty boy, if Crowley says something, anything, believe the opposite.”
“You're concerned for my career as well, Meg?” asked Cas, smiling faintly.
“Look, I know no one here likes me. I get it.”
“I don't dislike you.” Meg looked genuinely surprised. “You obviously carry an enormous chip on your shoulder. But perhaps if you want the team to like you, you could, well, allow them to befriend you?”
Meg snorted. “What? I don't care if anybody likes me.”
“Yet you mention this situation. Constantly.” Meg narrowed her eyes, looking chided.
“Meg. What a nice surprise,” said Dean sarcastically, sliding into the booth next to Cas and slinging his arm around his friend. Cas found he wanted nothing more than to relax into Dean's arms. But he didn't want to do so in front of Meg.
“Meg doesn't think you like her, Dean.”
“That's not true!” said Dean. “I mean, I don't dislike you.”
Meg rolled he eyes at the faint praise. “Anyway,” she said, gazing down at the table. “Thanks for helping me out.”
“Thanks for kicking the shit out of Ruby,” said Dean. He nodded over to where Pamela was sitting chatting with Jess and Sam. “I've heard Pamela wants back on the team. You know, instead of Charlie.”
“Won't Charlie be pissed off?” asked Meg.
“I think she'll be nothing but grateful to have more time to write erotic fan fiction. But Pamela needs practice time. Probably with someone a little more, let's say, steady than Jo.”
Meg studied Dean carefully. “I'll talk to her,” she finally said. “Thanks. Dean.” And then she slid out of the booth and wandered over towards Pamela.
“I think that is the first time in my life she's called me Dean and not Sword Boy or Man Slut or something,” mused Dean. He looked at Cas. “You doin' all right?”
“Today has been filled with ups and downs. I think I might call it a night?”
“Hey, yeah, sure Cas. We'll get you to your car, okay?” Even though Dean was clearly the worse for wear of the two, he insisted on escorting Castiel to the parking lot where the inevitable black town car awaited him.
“I sometimes wish I didn't need to go back there every night.” Cas hadn't meant to say it, it just somehow slipped out.
“You should come stay at Uncle Bobby's some evening!” said Dean. “Sam can have Jess over. We're pretty boring, but we could eat pizza and play cards or something.”
Cas thought he would never stop smiling. “That sounds … nice,” he put in lamely. They stood together silently, face to face, in the parking lot for a moment.
“So, see you tomorrow?” Dean finally asked. It was cold enough you could see his breath ghosting in the darkness.
“Yes, I'll see you tomorrow!” Cas finally managed to tear himself away, throwing open the car door and getting in. He waved as it pulled off, even though the windows were tinted, and Dean couldn't possibly see.
And Dean stood alone in the cold parking lot, watching him go, for as long as Cas looked back.
Castiel emerged from the town car, still feeling slightly giddy, and walked towards the back entrance of his dojo. His mood deflated before he even reached the door. It was the only home he had ever really known, but it had begun to seem less and less like home these past few months. It certainly didn't feel much like his family now with Gabriel off somewhere else. He had friends growing up, of course, guys like Samandriel and Inias, but they had ended up in different weight classes, or sorted into fighting on different circuits.
Less elite circuits, if he wanted to be honest. His talent and dedication to the art had ended up leaving him in isolation.
In the beginning, attending college, his attempt to reach out to the world, had seems a terrible mistake, only emphasizing that he was even more of an outcast in the outside world than inside his dojo. Until Dean found him. Dean and the fencing team. Now sometimes students outside the team would come and talk to him, even despite knowing about his past.
Not his past, Cas reminded himself. His current life. Although it kept seeming more and more distant.
He was not at all pleased to run into Zachariah in the hallway on the way to his dorm. He was surrounded by two of the bigger guys, Uriel and Virgil, one of the biggest, stupidest guys. “Well well well, such a fancy haircut. Isn't that fancy, Uriel?”
“It's quite fancy,” Uriel chuckled.
Castiel kept very quiet. It was the only way to deal with these guys, especially when Gabriel wasn't around to extricate him.
“You don't seem pleased to see us, Cassie. Does he, Uriel?”
“Not pleased at all,” said Uriel. Castiel felt a shiver go down his spine. What was going on?
Cas kept his voice low. “I need to get to my dorm, Zachariah. I need to study.”
“Oh, no you don't,” mocked Uriel.
Cas glowered at Uriel. “I need to study. I have an exam.” Uriel smirked.
Zachariah tutted. “It's come to our attention, Castiel, that attending college at this point is taking too much out of you. I mean, look how stressed and strained you are.”
Cas bit his lip. Oh no.
“Well, we're putting an end to it,” Zachariah continued. “So you can concentrate on preparing for your next match.”
“I don't have another match scheduled,” Cas said evenly.
“Oh, yes, that. Well, we'll get to that after we make some tweaks in your training regimen. Uriel tells me you haven't been holding up your end.”
Castiel glared at Uriel. “I haven't been keeping up? Uriel-” But then he forced himself to stop, choking off his words.
Zachariah indulgently held out his hands. “Now, now, no need to worry! We'll get you fixed up. Our team doctor has some special vitamins for you to start taking. And then we can get to some more intense training.”
Cas forced his words to come out calmly. “I will not juice, Zachariah. I have already made that abundantly clear.” Uriel chuckled, and Virgil, who didn't even pretend to be amused, crowded closer.
“Did we ask?” said Uriel. “Little punk.”
“I need to get back to my dorm,” said Castiel.
Zachariah clucked his tongue. “Oh, you're not staying in the main dormitory any more. You're much too important! You'll have your own room now, just part of our star treatment for you, Castiel.”
“I would prefer to stay in the dorm.”
“Just take a look. You'll thank me!” gushed Zachariah, giving a signal to the other guys.
Cas went for his sword.
So did they.
He stood for a time, the only sound he could hear was his own breathing, the sound of his heartbeat echoing in his ears. He wouldn't make it out. He would take out one or two, the aisle was narrow enough he could hitch some wall. But they would just call some more guys, and someone would get him.
And worse, they could permanently take him down, the way they did Gabriel.
He thought of Dean's words. We don't want that to happen to you.
He lowered his sword. Zachariah smiled, the cat playing with the mouse, and then Uriel and Virgil grabbed him roughly by the arms and led him off. He was escorted to a tiny, dark room containing a small bunk and pretty much nothing else. They disarmed him, and Virgil turned out Cas’s pockets and grabbed his cell phone. Uriel chuckled one last time. “Enjoy the VIP suite, Cassie!” And with that they slammed the door. Cas checked the knob: it was locked.
He sat down, hard, on the narrow bed. Patience – that's what he needed. That's what Joshua would have said. But he needed to fix this. He needed to do something before they started drugging him.
He looked up towards the one, barred window. He climbed up on the bunk to take a closer look. The bars had a quick release device in case of fire. But it it was currently padlocked.
Cas gripped the lock in his hands, running a thumb over the smooth surface. A very small smiled traced his lips.
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, Crowley
Warnings: Cursing, mild sexual situations, no beta.
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: In this chapter, we check in on Dick Roman, and Crowley makes an appearance.
It was a meeting of the board of Niveus Pharmaceuticals. Dr. Gaines, the current Chief Technical Officer, was busily flipping through his Blackberry device, scrolling through anime porn.
Well, it was a bit more exciting than the board meeting.
He did glance up as the meeting room doors burst open. Protestors? In here? It could be diverting.
They were all armed, which wasn’t surprising. One of them – the leader, presumably – strode confidently through the room as his men spread themselves out along the perimeter. When he had reached the end of the table, across from the CEO, he announced, “I’m Dick Roman. You may have heard of me. I have a New York Times bestseller!”
Several of the board members raised their cell phones to capture the moment.
“Yes. What are you doing here, Mr. Roman?” inquired Mr. Brady, the current Chairman of the Board.
“Why, I have come to challenge you to a duel of honor for the chairmanship of Niveus.” For emphasis, Roman drew and flourished his blade. It looked brand new and rarely used.
“Oh, not again,” sighed Mr. Brady. Mr. Brady was grey-haired, but as he rose and an aide helped him doff his jacket, it was quite clear that Mr. Brady spent quit a lot of his time at the gym, working on his dueling technique. “Bring on your second so we can get this over with.”
“Oh, you’re not dueling me,” grinned Roman. “You’re dueling my honorably appointed surrogate, as specified in your by-laws.”
“Who?” asked Brady.
Another figure moved through the door. A large man with sandy blond hair and cruel eyes. “Please meet my associate, Mr. Samyaza.”
“A recruiting trip?” asked Cas. He and Gabriel rode in back of the town car on the way back to the dojo. As usual, the driver remained silent in the front seat.
“Yeah. It's just gonna be a couple weeks. No problemo.”
“But … who are you going to be recruiting?”
“Fighters,” said Gabriel, who focused out the window.
“Not apprentices?”
“It's a new era, Cas.”
Castiel regarded his brother. “Gabriel. They are going to leave their homes? Their families?”
Gabriel sighed and finally looked at Castiel. “Yes. The old bonds, they're falling away. We've got to keep up.”
“Is that what you think, or what Zachariah thinks?”
“Cassie, look kid, it doesn't matter how good or how bad we are at sticking to some arbitrary standards of what's traditional and what's not. If we can't wrangle the big money matches, we're fucked. They want some big guys making a big noise.”
“And if they want more injuries? More deaths?”
“Oh, now come on! Is that fair? Look, be logical! If you kill off all the guys, you won't have a sport.”
“And these men, the ones demanding drugged up fighters, do you think they'll care? If skill and tradition are no longer involved, just juice up some football players and let them go. No one cares about their ridiculous sport anyway.”
“Cassie....”
“It's no longer my sport, Gabriel! This wasn't what Joshua raised me for.”
“Well, Joshua's out of the picture now.”
Castiel thumped back against the seat, quietly seething. “Gabriel, when I graduate-”
“Castiel!” Cas actually jumped. Gabriel was slow to anger, but when his ire was raised, he could be ferocious. He glared over to his brother fighter. “Listen to me. I'll be gone two weeks. Two weeks. I get back, we'll talk. I promise. But until then, cut the crap. You hear me, baby bro?”
Castiel nodded, but didn't reply, and they finished the ride back in silence, Cas quietly returning to his dorm room and sliding into bed.
“What's gotten into you?”
Cas glared at Dean, and then went back to hacking at the training dummy. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you come into practice looking like you wanna kill, you don't talk to anybody, and then you ruin two training dummies.” There was a crash as the padded opponent fell to the ground. “Three training dummies. We need to go for French fries.”
“No, Dean. We do not need to go for French fries.”
“CASTIEL!” Coach Henricksen stood and glowered. He looked at the ruined training dummy, and then at Cas.
Cas blinked, as if he were coming out of a daze. “Um. I'm sorry Coach. I-”
“WINCHESTER.”
Dean's smile was slow and wide. “Yeah, Coach?”
“Take you buddy for a walk. NOW.” And with that the coach turned on his heel and stalked off towards his office and his awaiting pack of Marlboros.
“Come on,” urged Dean, grabbing Cas's arm. “Don't wanna give the coach lung cancer.” Castiel allowed himself to be dragged along, with absolutely everyone on the floor stopping to stare at them while they departed. They ended up making a circle of the campus, Cas charging along fuming, Dean imagining steam rising up out of his ears.
After a couple of circuits, Dean asked, “All right, you gonna tell me what's going on or you gonna let me wear out my goddam boots?” They were near a fountain. Dean sat down on a bench and indicated Cas should do the same.
“There's nothing wrong.”
“Yeah, I got that. So what's wrong?”
Cas sat down on the bench next to Dean, every muscle tensed.
“You're gonna give yourself a stroke.”
“Gabriel is gone. He's recruiting new people to join our dojo.”
Dean studied Cas for a while. “You miss Gabriel?”
“Dean! People don't come and go in my sport! It's a violation of every tradition! Everything that makes us what we are! You are raised with certain values. Your house is your family. Part of what you are.”
“You don't want new blood coming into your dojo? You mean, like I brought you in to the fencing team?”
Cas stopped and glared. “That is completely and totally different.”
“How? And you know, you're not exactly a traditional fencer. But with some of my crack training and a decent haircut,” Dean reach over and, to Cas's intense irritation, put a hand through Cas's hair, “you've come along okay.”
“This is different, Dean. Don't you see?”
“Well, let me put it this way. So, when you were a tiny kid, some people who might not have even been blood relatives sold you to a guy, and now you're stuck there? For the rest of your life?”
Cas opened his mouth, intending to go off on a rant again, but instead paused. Leaving. It hadn't occurred to him before now.
“Why the heck you going to college anyway?” Dean continued. “I mean, you're gonna graduate right? And then just go back to fighting like before?”
“I can't continue to fight. Not forever,” Cas told him.
But Dean was off on a rant of his own. “I mean, you're not just super-talented. You're really smart! I've never had that problem. But you could be anything, you know?”
“Joshua wouldn't have approved.”
“But you've said Joshua isn't around any more?”
“No.”
“Well, then, isn't it about time you started thinking for yourself?”
“I think for myself.”
Dean leaned towards Cas. “I know you do, pal. Just think about this. If you don't get out, if you stay around, you might end up like Gabriel. Or worse. Like that last guy you fought.”
Dean immediately regretted his words. Cas went pale, the words choked out. “That fight shouldn't have ended that way.”
“We don't want that to happen to you. Right?”
Castiel was listening closely now, his eyes searching Dean. “You don't?”
“No, I don't want that to happen,” Dean admitted.
Cas exhaled and sat back on the bench. There was silence for a moment, nothing but the sound of water trickling through the fountain. “I'm sorry about all the training dummies, Dean. Do you think Henricksen will be … pissed?”
Dean leaned over and affectionately gripped Cas's shoulder. “He'll be just fine as long as we kick Crowley's ass.”
The campus was bedecked in crimson and blue.
“We're going to have spectators tonight I think,” grinned Dean over a plate of French fries. The three boys sat hunched over a picnic table in the quad, Dean and Cas's weapons stashed politely at their feet.
“Shouldn't you have, like, a main course with those fries?” worried Sam, who hadn't even deigned to taste a salad today.
Castiel looked up from where he was stuffing his face. “I like French fries, Sam. They're very tasty with ranch dressing.”
“Cas, if you keep eating like Dean, your arteries are going to explode.”
Dean spread his hands in a sincere plea for the virtues of junk food. “Aw, c'mon, Sammy! They keep him on a diet of organic rabbit food at his home. He needs real food.”
“French fries dipped in...” said Sam, picking up one of the ranch dressing packets that had scattered over the picnic table. “There's like 100 ingredients in this stuff!”
“See? Full of nutrition,” said Dean, slapping Cas on the back.
“So, Crowley will be here tonight?” asked Cas as Sam rolled his eyes and tossed the packet aside.
“And his team of mutant horrors,” sighed Sam. “Boy, I wish we could send some of those documents from Crowley's office to the Kansas State admissions office. I don't think there's a single member of that team who's passing their classes.”
“It's like Bobby said,” Dean told him. “They already know. And they don't care. They just want a winning team. So, we concentrate on the stuff that's personally embarrassing for Crowley.”
“Personally embarrassing? With that portrait in his office?” Dean had snapped a couple of photos of the image in question before he and Cas had left. Sam had been impressed enough to now utilize the portrait as the background on his computer desktop.
“Like Bobby also said, what's significant is what we didn't find. Like, how did he go from being Coach Lilith's gofer to head coach of a major Big 12 team?”
“And where did he hide Coach Lilith's body?” grumbled Sam.
“You think there was foul play involved, Dean?” asked Cas.
“Wait 'til you see him tonight, Cas. That guy wouldn't know a sword if you ran him through with one.”
Sam nodded his head. “It's like Jess says, he just stands on the sideline and snarks. Alastair is the one doing the coaching.”
“I will fight Alastair, Dean,” stated Cas.
“Watch out for that guy, Cas,” said Sam, tapping his forehead. “He gets into your head.”
“He will not get into mine,” said Cas.
Dean shot a worried glance at his brother. “No, Sammy's right. Don't underestimate him.”
“So,” said Cas, grabbing the last French fry, “will Meg be able to play?”
Sam smiled. “The anonymous notes suddenly and mysteriously ceased after we started sending our own unsigned notes to Crowley.”
“Yeah, ain't that a kick in the head,” said Dean. It had been fun choosing among the treasure trove for tidbits with which to annoy the opposing coach. The set of photos of Crowley and Lilith partying in a place that was evidently Las Vegas was especially amusing, especially the series of Crowley dressed up in a costume that may have been titled, “The NIght Hitler Forgot His Pants.”
“Just keep it together tonight, okay Cas? If we make it to the post-season, we'll be seeing them again for sure. So use this time to figure them out.”
“I will use this time to beat the pants off them,” said Cas.
“In Crowley's case, that might not be so hard,” laughed Sam.
The stands were as bustling as Cas had ever seen it. As he had told Dean, he rarely attended to the crowds at his own street fighting matches. There was simply too much going on during the fight to pay much attention, and the fighters were usually whisked off as soon as the bout had ended. The leader of the dojo was the one who took center stage if prizes were awarded. Cas had never put much thought into this: he didn't fight for a prize, he fought to maintain the honor and beauty of the sport.
But he had begun to notice the crowds now. There were the regulars, friends like Sam and Jess, and Chuck and Becky, although she had, oddly enough, begun avoiding him since he had gotten his hair cut. It puzzled Cas. He had thought she was unhappy with him due to his appearance. It seemed instead there was something more fundamentally wrong.
The crowd had let out a yell when they had assembled court-side. He wondered if the team might become too distracted by the attention: Gordon, for one, was making a big point at waving towards some attractive girls sitting down near the front, much to Jo's apparent displeasure. Cas made a mental note to bring this up with Dean and the coach. Coach Henricksen paced by, smelling of his favorite brand of cigarettes. Cas had gleaned that he was often more pent up than his athletes during the early stages of the match. Castiel had once suggested he might try some yoga positions which were known to be calming, but this had been dismissed quite out of hand, Castiel thought. On Dean's advice, he had let the matter drop.
He cast a practiced eye over to the opposing bench. Based on the portraiture in his office, Crowley was many inches shorter and around the same number of inches portlier than he had been led to expect. As Dean and other team members often repeated, he did not appear to care for the actual practice of coaching, but instead sat on the sidelines, often tippling a silver flask, and bellowing instructions.
Ruby, the one who had caused Pamela's eye injury, was the next member of the team to attract his attention. She was an comely woman, small, slim and dark-haired. As an experienced fighter, there was something about her body language that set off Cas's alarms. Although he would not fight her, she made him wary. Oddly enough, she didn't seem to be paying much attention to the Jayhawks bench, but rather directed her attention up into the crowd. Curious, Cas turned to look, surprised at what he saw.
Dean sat down beside Cas and followed his glance, to where Sam was evidently trying to conceal his six-foot-plus frame into the seat. Dean checked out the K-state bench and then sighed. “Yeah, he gets like that around Ruby.”
“They know each other? Outside?”
“Long story. He and Jess have been together since high school, but they were taking a break. Mostly because my brother is an idiot. And, yeah, before Ruby clobbered Pam, they had kind of a … thing?”
“A thing?” said Cas. His eyes widened. “Oh, like Gordon and Jo?”
“Yeah. Unfortunately. My idiot little brother really needs to stick to one girl.”
“And you?” asked Cas, who immediately regretted saying it.
Dean smiled. “You know me. I'm trying to keep it down to a few. Dozen.”
Cas cringed and looked back at the Wildcat bench. “And that one is Alastair.” As if he had heard his name, a tall, craggy-faced boy suddenly looked over towards them, his look like that of a panther sizing up a potential dinner. Cas could feel Dean stiffen as Alastair flashed a smile.
Meg had drawn the first duel, against Ruby. They were quite evenly matched, and also quite obviously despised one another. Meg won on points, and then leaned over to whisper something in Ruby's ear that got the other girl fuming.
“You girls wanna mud wrestle after this is over?” cracked Dean.
A furious Gordon ended up getting beaten by a steely-eyed boy named Samhain and the score was tied.
Cas, stretching, wandered over to where Alastair was getting set up on the piste. “Oh, new haircut. How nice. A dishonored street fighter.”
“Thank you,” replied Cas.
Alastair motioned for Castiel to lean closer, and so he did. “And what else did they cut off, pretty boy, to make you play for this sad little team.”
Cas remained close, staring at Alastair for a long moment. “As the performance enhancing drugs you are currently taking have a very well known side effect, I don't believe you will want to compare genital size. Now, can we fight?”
Alastair scowled, but then quickly recovered. “You might be fun to play with, little man.”
Cas stepped back to his starting mark. “I do not consider this to be play.”
They glared at one another, and then the official counted them off.
Alastair lunged. Cas feinted a parry, but then at the last moment, did a quick side-step, clinging to the edge of the mat, leaving Alastair swinging at air. Cas lined up and deftly touched Alastair on the back of the neck with his sword.
“KO, Jayhawks,” said the official.
Alastair cried out, turned and checked Cas – hard – in the mid-chest. Cas crumpled to the mat, while the ref, who had been watching, yelled, “Penalty, K-State.” Dean and Coach Henricksen flew to Cas's side. Meanwhile, Crowley rushed off the bench, as did half his team, to protest, as the penalty for late hits was getting removed from the game. Unfortunately for the Wildcats, the hit had been too blatant to possibly argue, so a fuming Alastair was ushered off where, with a last glower at Cas, he disappeared into his locker room.
Cas, watching Alastair from the mat, now took Dean's hand and hopped up, apparently unhurt. “Are you hurt?” asked Dean, who was now rubbing Cas's ribs.
“Not particularly,” whispered Cas.
“And the Oscar goes to...” grinned the coach. “Head back towards the bench and at least pretend to have a bruise, okay?”
Cas nodded and slung an arm over Dean's shoulders and proceeded slowly back towards their bench. “You scared the shit outta me,” Dean told him.
“I told you, Dean, this game is mental,” said Cas, pointing to his own head.
Alastair's unexpected retirement was a blow to the Wildcats: he was not only their strongest player, but the team captain and their coach in all but name. Crowley bellowed abuse from the sideline, but ultimately, as the stands erupted, the Jayhawks pulled out a very big upset victory. The team marched back to their locker room to the sound of stamping and cheering, stamp stamp stamp-stamp stamp.....
Cas opened his locker and turned to watch Dean, on the other side of the room, greet Sam and Jess. “Good game, brother!” enthused Benny, pounding Cas on the shoulder. “Alastair is probably back there pooping his pants about now.”
“Thank you, Benny,” said Cas. “You are consistently our most reliable player.”
Benny chuckled. “I'll take that as praise.”
“It was meant as praise,” said Cas, who was slightly baffled. He glanced back over at Dean, who was now being tackled and kissed by a redheaded girl.
“Well, looks like Dean's got a fan,” laughed Benny.
“Uh, I think I left my water bottle out there under the seat.” Cas turned and awkwardly made his way out of the locker rooms and back onto the court.
They had already turned off the main lights, so the court was darkened. It was fine, it fit Cas's mood. He dug around under his seat and, finding his bottle, sat down heavily in a chair and remained there, silent, for a moment.
“So tell me,” came a voice. “What does Zachariah think of your brand new hobby?”
“Coach Crowley,” stated Cas, not bothering to rise. He took a swig from his water bottle, and replaced the cap. He looked up to see a silver flask extended in his direction. He waved it away.
“No drink for the victor?” said Crowley. Cas frowned, but, after a few seconds consideration, shrugged and took the flask, drinking what he thought was an acceptable sip, and then trying very hard not to choke.
“Don't spit it out. Craig is the good stuff,” smiled Crowley, retrieving the flask. He invited himself to sit down next to Cas. Castiel noticed that he seemed very different from the bellowing clown who haunted the sidelines during the game. This Crowley appeared much more calculating.
“May I ask what you want, Mr. Crowley?”
“Why should I want anything, dear boy?” asked Crowley, taking a sip and slapping Cas on the knee. “Just a little conversation. Want to look out for the Jayhawks's new star player. And of course pondering why the Avenging Angel himself chose to play for … well, quite frankly, a losing team.”
“We seem to have won tonight.”
“A team of losers is ever a team of losers, darling.” Crowley passed the flask back, and Cas noticed it had strange symbols carved in the side. It was a number of hexagonal shapes, like he remembered from Crowley's office.
Cas took another sip from the flask. This one went down somewhat more easily. “We'll see what you have to say when we make the post-game.”
“Are you completely certain you will make the post-game?”
“We have a three-oh record so far, so, yes, I am certain.”
Crowley tutted, pulling back the flask. “No, dear, not the Chickenhawks. Haven't you learned to think selfishly? Even a little? I'm talking about you. How much longer do you think your coach – your real coach – is going to put up with you intimidating college students when you should be doping! Oh, I'm sorry, I meant practicing.”
“Zachariah is … aware. How is it you know him?”
“You might say we travel in the same circles. You might say I would be a good ally. If this is what you want to do, go straight, win a few duels. Make your mark here in the world.” Crowley’s fingers strayed to his lapel pin. Cas squinted at it in the darkness. It was the same design as his flask.
“Ally? How would you be my ally?”
“Well, right now, as things stand, I would obviously be your foe, wouldn't I? Playing for my cross-town rival. As Meg Masters chose to do. Transferred right under my nose.” Crowley’s mien suddenly shifted from affable to somewhat darker. But then the shadow fled. “Well, more power to her, I say. She obviously found the right environment.”
“You supported Meg's move?”
“Well of course. Don't you think students should be free to join any team they fancy. Say, you were worried about Zachariah's reaction, who do you think could protect you? I have a great deal of admiration for Coach Henricksen of course. But you know, he's strictly by the book. I've heard he banished some players just because he suspected them of using performance enhancements. Suspected! No evidence, no lawyer, no trial, just booted them right off, ruined their reputations and careers. Now, I know you're teacher's pet at the moment, but imagine, what if you were ever to run afoul of the coach and his narrow idea of right and wrong?”
Cas's head was starting to swim, and he suspected it wasn't the whiskey. “Crowley. What exactly are you suggesting?”
“I can do so little for you now, playing halfway across the state like that. When I could do so much for your career. So much.”
“Crowley-”
“Hey! Cas!”
Castiel jumped at the sound of Dean's voice. Dean spotted Crowley and came tearing across the court towards them. Crowley smirked but didn't budge. Dean glared at him.
“Just having a drink and a little tête-à-tête,” said Crowley, slowly rising to his feet. “No reason to get so ... possessive.” He nodded to Cas. “Hope to speak to you again. And think about what I said.” He winked and then sauntered off.
“What the hell did he have to talk about?” asked Dean.
“Nothing of import,” sighed Cas.
“Hey, we missed you. We're all going to celebrate. You wanna ride?”
“Um.” Cas looked around, but they were now alone on the court. “What about the girl?”
“Girl? What girl? Oh, you mean Rhonda? Uh, yeah. We dated. Briefly. She's got some … interesting ideas. I was gonna take the side exit.” He hiked a thumb towards the side door.
“Well, I'm not sure I'm in the mood-”
“Cas!” said Dean, now wrapping his left arm snugly around Cas's shoulders. “Come on, man. We can't celebrate without you. I can't celebrate without you.”
“No?”
“No. So let's get going before the drink all the beer.” As they began to walk towards the door, Dean's other hand found Cas's side, rubbing up and down. “Hey, are you sure you're okay? Alastair didn't crack any ribs, did he?”
“Alastair hit me on the other side Dean.”
“Oh. Uh, I knew that,” said Dean, rapidly withdrawing his hand.
Cas wasn't exactly certain what had happened to Rhonda, but she never made it to the Roadhouse that night.
And as for Dean, he had barely left Cas's side for the entire evening. It was a little bit intoxicating, definitely worse than the beer or whatever infernal liquid Crowley kept in his flask. Cas found his dark mood faded rapidly in Dean's sunny presence. He sat close, drinking in the broad smile.
After being challenged to a game he found with some bemusement that he was completely inept at darts, perhaps partially because he greatly disliked the Coach Henricksen dartboard. (The coach, for his part, seemed to adore the thing.)
He literally growled after yet another throw barely made the edge of the board, feeling confounded. And it didn't help that Dean was sitting, sipping a beer and hooting at him.
“Lucky that dart didn't end up in Oklahoma,” laughed Benny. “You'd hit Ash's mama right on the head.”
Ash laughed. “Oh, your mama said hi, Benny, from when I saw her last night.”
“Come on, Cas, let me show you,” said Dean. He got up and crossed over the room, and then Cas felt a hand around his waist as Dean pressed up in back of him. “Okay, first thing? Dude, you're too tense!” Cas desperately tried to remember how to breathe as Dean slipped his right hand up over Cas's. “I swear, you’ll snap like a rubber band. Relax the wrist.”
“Think you need to stand closer there, Dean. There's still a good quarter inch between you two,” hooted Benny.
“Shaddap,” snapped Dean, who only held Cas closer. “Now, here we go. On three.” He clasped his hand over Cas's smaller hand. “One, two, three!” To Cas's utter astonishment, the dart did not end up anywhere near Kansas's bordering state, but rather sailed straight and true, and into the very center section of Henricksen's frowning mug.
“There you go!” said Dean, slapping Cas on the back. “Next you'll beat Sammy.”
“NOBODY beats Sammy!” declared Sam, who showed evidence of having downed many beers this night. The Winchester brothers began to bicker, which, to Cas's relief, meant he could somehow stumble silently back to their empty booth and gulp down a great gulp of his beer.
“You were talking to the coach.” Meg had wriggled into the booth opposite of him. Cas didn't need to ask who she was talking about. “What did he want?” Her eyes glinted, dark and suspicious.
“He wanted me to carefully consider options for my future,” sighed Cas, his mood suddenly darkening again.
Meg pulled a knee to her chest and sat back. “Look, take it from me, pretty boy, if Crowley says something, anything, believe the opposite.”
“You're concerned for my career as well, Meg?” asked Cas, smiling faintly.
“Look, I know no one here likes me. I get it.”
“I don't dislike you.” Meg looked genuinely surprised. “You obviously carry an enormous chip on your shoulder. But perhaps if you want the team to like you, you could, well, allow them to befriend you?”
Meg snorted. “What? I don't care if anybody likes me.”
“Yet you mention this situation. Constantly.” Meg narrowed her eyes, looking chided.
“Meg. What a nice surprise,” said Dean sarcastically, sliding into the booth next to Cas and slinging his arm around his friend. Cas found he wanted nothing more than to relax into Dean's arms. But he didn't want to do so in front of Meg.
“Meg doesn't think you like her, Dean.”
“That's not true!” said Dean. “I mean, I don't dislike you.”
Meg rolled he eyes at the faint praise. “Anyway,” she said, gazing down at the table. “Thanks for helping me out.”
“Thanks for kicking the shit out of Ruby,” said Dean. He nodded over to where Pamela was sitting chatting with Jess and Sam. “I've heard Pamela wants back on the team. You know, instead of Charlie.”
“Won't Charlie be pissed off?” asked Meg.
“I think she'll be nothing but grateful to have more time to write erotic fan fiction. But Pamela needs practice time. Probably with someone a little more, let's say, steady than Jo.”
Meg studied Dean carefully. “I'll talk to her,” she finally said. “Thanks. Dean.” And then she slid out of the booth and wandered over towards Pamela.
“I think that is the first time in my life she's called me Dean and not Sword Boy or Man Slut or something,” mused Dean. He looked at Cas. “You doin' all right?”
“Today has been filled with ups and downs. I think I might call it a night?”
“Hey, yeah, sure Cas. We'll get you to your car, okay?” Even though Dean was clearly the worse for wear of the two, he insisted on escorting Castiel to the parking lot where the inevitable black town car awaited him.
“I sometimes wish I didn't need to go back there every night.” Cas hadn't meant to say it, it just somehow slipped out.
“You should come stay at Uncle Bobby's some evening!” said Dean. “Sam can have Jess over. We're pretty boring, but we could eat pizza and play cards or something.”
Cas thought he would never stop smiling. “That sounds … nice,” he put in lamely. They stood together silently, face to face, in the parking lot for a moment.
“So, see you tomorrow?” Dean finally asked. It was cold enough you could see his breath ghosting in the darkness.
“Yes, I'll see you tomorrow!” Cas finally managed to tear himself away, throwing open the car door and getting in. He waved as it pulled off, even though the windows were tinted, and Dean couldn't possibly see.
And Dean stood alone in the cold parking lot, watching him go, for as long as Cas looked back.
Castiel emerged from the town car, still feeling slightly giddy, and walked towards the back entrance of his dojo. His mood deflated before he even reached the door. It was the only home he had ever really known, but it had begun to seem less and less like home these past few months. It certainly didn't feel much like his family now with Gabriel off somewhere else. He had friends growing up, of course, guys like Samandriel and Inias, but they had ended up in different weight classes, or sorted into fighting on different circuits.
Less elite circuits, if he wanted to be honest. His talent and dedication to the art had ended up leaving him in isolation.
In the beginning, attending college, his attempt to reach out to the world, had seems a terrible mistake, only emphasizing that he was even more of an outcast in the outside world than inside his dojo. Until Dean found him. Dean and the fencing team. Now sometimes students outside the team would come and talk to him, even despite knowing about his past.
Not his past, Cas reminded himself. His current life. Although it kept seeming more and more distant.
He was not at all pleased to run into Zachariah in the hallway on the way to his dorm. He was surrounded by two of the bigger guys, Uriel and Virgil, one of the biggest, stupidest guys. “Well well well, such a fancy haircut. Isn't that fancy, Uriel?”
“It's quite fancy,” Uriel chuckled.
Castiel kept very quiet. It was the only way to deal with these guys, especially when Gabriel wasn't around to extricate him.
“You don't seem pleased to see us, Cassie. Does he, Uriel?”
“Not pleased at all,” said Uriel. Castiel felt a shiver go down his spine. What was going on?
Cas kept his voice low. “I need to get to my dorm, Zachariah. I need to study.”
“Oh, no you don't,” mocked Uriel.
Cas glowered at Uriel. “I need to study. I have an exam.” Uriel smirked.
Zachariah tutted. “It's come to our attention, Castiel, that attending college at this point is taking too much out of you. I mean, look how stressed and strained you are.”
Cas bit his lip. Oh no.
“Well, we're putting an end to it,” Zachariah continued. “So you can concentrate on preparing for your next match.”
“I don't have another match scheduled,” Cas said evenly.
“Oh, yes, that. Well, we'll get to that after we make some tweaks in your training regimen. Uriel tells me you haven't been holding up your end.”
Castiel glared at Uriel. “I haven't been keeping up? Uriel-” But then he forced himself to stop, choking off his words.
Zachariah indulgently held out his hands. “Now, now, no need to worry! We'll get you fixed up. Our team doctor has some special vitamins for you to start taking. And then we can get to some more intense training.”
Cas forced his words to come out calmly. “I will not juice, Zachariah. I have already made that abundantly clear.” Uriel chuckled, and Virgil, who didn't even pretend to be amused, crowded closer.
“Did we ask?” said Uriel. “Little punk.”
“I need to get back to my dorm,” said Castiel.
Zachariah clucked his tongue. “Oh, you're not staying in the main dormitory any more. You're much too important! You'll have your own room now, just part of our star treatment for you, Castiel.”
“I would prefer to stay in the dorm.”
“Just take a look. You'll thank me!” gushed Zachariah, giving a signal to the other guys.
Cas went for his sword.
So did they.
He stood for a time, the only sound he could hear was his own breathing, the sound of his heartbeat echoing in his ears. He wouldn't make it out. He would take out one or two, the aisle was narrow enough he could hitch some wall. But they would just call some more guys, and someone would get him.
And worse, they could permanently take him down, the way they did Gabriel.
He thought of Dean's words. We don't want that to happen to you.
He lowered his sword. Zachariah smiled, the cat playing with the mouse, and then Uriel and Virgil grabbed him roughly by the arms and led him off. He was escorted to a tiny, dark room containing a small bunk and pretty much nothing else. They disarmed him, and Virgil turned out Cas’s pockets and grabbed his cell phone. Uriel chuckled one last time. “Enjoy the VIP suite, Cassie!” And with that they slammed the door. Cas checked the knob: it was locked.
He sat down, hard, on the narrow bed. Patience – that's what he needed. That's what Joshua would have said. But he needed to fix this. He needed to do something before they started drugging him.
He looked up towards the one, barred window. He climbed up on the bunk to take a closer look. The bars had a quick release device in case of fire. But it it was currently padlocked.
Cas gripped the lock in his hands, running a thumb over the smooth surface. A very small smiled traced his lips.
