Code Duello (Part 9 of 14)
Apr. 25th, 2013 04:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: Code Duello (Part 9 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. This chapter contains violence some may find upsetting.
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, some unexpected guests arrive at Bobby's place, and there are happenings with the fencing team.
So many guns.
They're playing K-State. Crowley and Ruby and Alastair and all of them. But then they all dropped their swords and pulled out guns and started firing. The KU team dove for the empty stands.
And the band was playing. First slow, then fast. “Rock. Chalk. Jayhawk. KUUUUUU!”
Henricksen is there.
“It's not fair, Coach,” Dean tells him.
“Rock. Chalk. Jayhawk. KUUUUUU!”
But Henricksen turns around and it's not Henricksen.
“Dad?”
He points down to the court. Dean turns, face contorted in horror.
“Rock. Chalk. Jayhawk. KUUUUUU!”
“Cas! No!”
Castiel seems unaware of the bullets whizzing by. He's striding across the court, sword drawn, wearing an expression of terrible vengeance.
And Dean is leaping out of the stands after him.
But he's not Cas. Not any more.
He's grown bigger.
So much bigger.
And he glows.
And....
And....
“Rock. Chalk. Jayhawk. KUUUUUU!”
A mighty pair of wings sprout from his shoulders. His sword is aflame. He has become the soul of wrath. His anger is great.
His vengeance … terrible.
Dean awoke to the cacophony of a great pounding on Bobby’s front door, the weird dream fading in the mist. He and Cas, still in pajamas, hurried down the stairs to see Bobby already standing in the entryway, sword poised. Sam, yawning mightily, was right behind them.
“You kids, keep back,” Bobby warned.
“I should go out there!” said Cas.
“You stay back like I told you,” barked Bobby, who was peering through the peep hole on the front door. “Oh for the love of- Quit pounding! I got the door!” he shouted to whoever was outside. To Dean’s shock, Bobby unlocked the door and threw it open.
“Where’s my brother?” bellowed Gabriel, flourishing a sword in a threatening manner.
“How the hell did you get inside here, boy?” asked Bobby.
“Hello, Gabriel,” Cas deadpanned.
Gabriel lowered the sword. “Cassie? Wait, weren't you kidnapped?”
“No. I ran away.”
“What? Why would you do something as bone-headed as that, you dick brain?”
Bobby had walked out to the front porch, and now turned and confronted Gabriel. “What the fuck did you do to my gate, ya idjit!”
Dean hopped out on the front porch as well, although he wasn't wearing shoes, and it was cold as hell on his bare feet. He looked at the gate: the chain link fence had been utterly shredded by something: could it have been Gabriel's sword? Were they really that sharp? And the inevitable town car was parked nearby in the driveway. Dean assumed this was how Gabriel had gotten all the way out her so late at night.
“Uh, sorry,” said Gabriel, who was suddenly occupied with scratching the back of his neck. “I may have gotten … overwrought.”
“Overwrought? I'm trying to keep my kids safe from some crazy ass street fighter thugs and you tear down my damned fence?”
Gabriel grinned sheepishly. “I take it you're Bobby?”
“And you’re Gabe. The Trickster. I recognized your ugly mug from your fights.”
“None other!” Gabriel stuck out a cheerful hand, and Bobby took it. “I got back to the dojo and Cassie was gone. They told me you kidnapped my brother.”
“And you believed 'em?” grumbled Bobby.
“They locked me in a room Gabriel,” Cas told him. “They told me they would take me out of school.”
Gabriel threw up his hands impatiently. “I go away for a couple days, and all hell breaks loose?”
Bobby snorted. “They sent you away, ya idjit. Isn't that obvious?”
Gabriel absently twirled his sword. “What the hell? I didn't think even Zachariah would stoop that low. So what do we do now?”
At that point the town car's door opened, and the driver emerged. He was a tall man. He doffed his cap. He had very long blond hair, caught in a ponytail fastened at the nape of his neck.
Cas let out a cry and ran over to him, engulfing him in a hug. “Balthazar!”
“Balthie?” said Gabriel. “What the hell?”
“You didn't even notice he was driving?” Cas asked Gabriel.
“Who notices the driver?” Gabriel scoffed.
“And who the hell is this?” asked Bobby.
Cas smiled. Dean thought he had never seen him smile quite that way before: his whole face lit up. “Bobby, this is Balthazar. He was Joshua's assistant. For many, many years.”
“You know Joshua?” asked Bobby. “I have an interest in talking with that individual.”
Balthazar smiled serenely. “I've come here to talk. Your warding was keeping me away, until Gabriel managed to punch such a lovely hole in your perimeter.” Balthazar indicated the mangled fence, and Bobby heaved a deep, disappointed sigh. “But may I make a suggestion? The night is cold, and you are all weary. Perhaps we should wait until the morning?”
“I'll need to stand guard,” said Bobby. “I’ll need to brew me some coffee.”
“I can take care of the fence,” Balthazar assured him.
Bobby gave him a skeptical glance. “You brought your welding equipment, Balthy?”
Balthazar grinned and strode over to the fence. Everyone crowded along behind him, even though Dean could feel his toes getting numb. Balthazar stood near the fence and held up one hand, palm facing outward, and repeated some words in a strangely accented language.
There was a barely audible hum, and then to Dean's astonishment, the cut ends of the chain link began to glow softly, and then knit themselves back together.
“There you are!” said Balthazar, pleased at a job well done.
Bobby padded over and tugged at the fence. He turned to Baltahazar. “Balthazar, answer me truly. Are you a demon?”
“He's no demon!” said Gabriel. “He’s…. Uh…. I dunno.”
Balthazar laughed. “No, I’m not a demon, Bobby. But once, very long ago, I was an angel.”
“Holy crap!” said Dean. “Uh, sorry,” he added, covering his mouth.
“Wait. What?” said Gabriel.
Balthazar put one arm around Gabriel's shoulders, and another around Castiel. “We will talk in the morning. You all need rest. As I don't require sleep, I will stand watch.”
Bobby stared at Balthazar, and then at Cas. “You vouch for him, Cas?”
Castiel nodded enthusiastically. “Balthazar will protect us.”
To Dean’s surprise, given the somewhat outlandish story, Bobby agreed, and everyone but Balthazar made their way inside, Dean hopping on half-frostbitten feet. Gabriel casually handed his sword over to Bobby when they crossed the threshold, and Bobby had Sam and Dean grab some blankets so he could crash on the living room couch for the rest of the night. The rest of them headed upstairs. Cas started to head over to his cot, but Dean grabbed him by the back of his T shirt and tugged him back onto his bed. “You can't go over there. My feet are cold as ice!”
Cas looked uncertainly at Dean. “It's now my job to keep you warm, Dean?”
“Yes!” One thing Dean had learned for certain, once he had stopped trembling earlier that night, was that Cas was like a small furnace. “You can't let all that body heat go to waste. Come on.”
Cas smiled skeptically, but then good-naturedly slipped in beside Dean. “Darn!” he shouted as he encountered one of the icy appendages. “I think you have circulation issues.” He squirmed back into his old position, on his side, holding Dean close, but kept his own feet well away from Dean's.
“So, you don't seem too freaked out about Balthazar?” Dean asked after they were comfortable.
“Why should I be … freaked out?”
“After he did the weird shit with the fence?”
Castiel was quiet for so long Dean wondered if he had dozed off. Finally he said, “I wish you had known Joshua. I knew he was different. He and Balthazar both. I don't know how I knew. But I knew.”
“Okay,” said Dean. To his own surprise, after all the excitement that day, he had started feeling very sleepy.
“Just go to sleep now,” Cas whispered.
Dean awoke to the smell of cinnamon and spices. He thought at first it was Cas, but noticed with a twinge of disappointment that he was alone in the bed.
He heard noises downstairs, so he washed his face and headed down to find Uncle Bobby's kitchen filled with street fighters. Balthazar and Cas were busy cooking, while Gabriel was sitting up on the counter (lucky for him Bobby wasn't around) snatching at things to nibble on.
Dean was most surprised to see Cas acting like a chatterbox, at least relative to his usual taciturn attitude. While he efficiently chopped tomatoes into neat little bits Balthazar affectionately ruffed his hair while Gabriel used the opportunity to lean over and filch a slice of chopped vegetables. Dean paused in the doorway. It looked as if they had been passing mornings like this all their lives.
“Dean!” said Balthazar. “I’ve been hearing some very good things about you.”
“Really?” said Dean as Cas shyly ducked his head.
“It's good you're here!” Balthazar told him as he came over and ushered Dean into the kitchen. “We need to make coffee, and I don't know how strong your Uncle Bobby likes it.”
Dean laughed. “Strong enough to stand up a spoon!” he answered, going for the filters. “I dunno what he's gonna think about so many vegetables for breakfast though,” he added pointing to the rather large bowl of chopped victuals Cas had prepared.
“It will all be thrown into a Spanish omelet,” Balthazar assured him. “Believe me, he'll never notice.”
Cas grabbed something out of the oven. It smelled heavenly. “Holy shit, are those actual cinnamon rolls?” asked Dean.
“Would you like to help me frost them?” asked Cas, waving the tray under Dean's nose.
“I wanna help frost!” said Gabriel.
“You'll just eat all the frosting,” said Cas, keeping the tray away from him in a manner that looked very practiced. “Like you always do.”
“Gabriel, please go out and find Bobby,” said Balthazar. “Tell him breakfast is almost ready.”
Gabriel grunted, but, after snatching some chopped melon from a bowl, grabbed his cane from where he’d hung it on the kitchen counter and sauntered out the door.
Cas handed Dean a knife, and they both dipped into the buttery frosting. “We need to do this before they cool so it will make a glaze,” Cas told him as Dean greedily ran a finger over his knife and licked his finger.
“So good,” sighed Dean, who was never quite as happy as when he was eating.
“Gabriel will end up eating ninety percent of them anyway,” sighed Cas.
“So you're a street fighter too, Balthazar?”
Balthazar had cracked a number of eggs into a bowl and had started heating a fry pan. “Many years ago, my function was something like that. In recent years, I worked more along the lines of a scout.”
“Balthazar found me!” said Cas. “He picked me!”
“It was a little bit of a job convincing Joshua to take in another hungry mouth,” said Balthazar, who was fiddling with the burner. “But I was quite convinced he wouldn't be able to resist once he'd seen you.”
“He knocked me down,” said Cas, who still stung with the memory. “Twice! He was a real jerk.”
“And then he gave Gabriel a little smack, and I thought you were going to take his head off.”
“I wonder what he would have done if I had punched him right in the nose?”
“To give you some context, Dean, Cas was about yea high when this took place.” Balthazar's hand hovered down quite near the floor, and Dean laughed, imagining a very tiny, very cross Castiel, his little hands balled into fists.
“What?” asked Cas, to which, in way of reply, Dean tapped a dab of frosting on his nose. Cas went cross-eyed looking at his own nose, and then drew back into his full en garde stance, holding the frosting-coated butter knife. Dean hooted with laughter and held up his own knife in an elaborate two-handed grip.
“Coffee?” came a small moan. Dean turned to his sleepy-eyed brother, who nearly filled the kitchen doorway.
“Dean, pour your brother some coffee, and then you two boys set the table,” Balthazar told him. Dean set down his “weaponry” and poured a little of Bobby's spoon-stander coffee into a mug for Sam, and then the boys went about grabbing dishes as Bobby arrived with Gabriel in tow. Dean realized as he was setting up that everyone seemed to be in a good mood this morning, and he wondered if Balthazar's presence had to do with it. Balthazar was just as good at ordering around people as Bobby, but for some reason, it felt more like suggestions when Balthazar did it.
They all settled into breakfast, and Balthazar was right, Bobby had no objection at all to a Spanish omelet. Gabriel ended up grabbing half of the cinnamon rolls, and even Cas was eating heartily for once and not just picking at his food.
“So tell me, Balthazar,” started Bobby, putting down his coffee mug. “Is everybody in your dojo some kind of gourmet chef?”
“Not Gabriel!” both Cas and Balthazar answered, laughing.
“It's an environment with many hungry, growing boys, who are also active athletes, so we put as much effort into food as we do training,” said Balthazar.
“Food and pornography,” Gabriel piped up, to a roar of laughter from Bobby. Cas pretended to be utterly fascinated with his omelet.
Balthazar was laughing too. “Yes, and the local brothels get more than their share of patronage.” Dean grinned, but Sam was looking slightly aghast. Hadn't Balthazar claimed he was some kind of ex-angel?
“Remember when I took you for your first visit?” Gabriel asked Cas.
Castiel hung his head. “Of course I remember. I threw up.”
“He was a little young, Gabriel,” scolded Balthazar.
“I took him after his first match!” said Gabriel.
“You were only 13?” asked Dean. Cas, whose face was now beet-red, nodded. “Geez, dude, I would have thrown up too!”
“They were nice, though,” said Cas. “They gave me a cold towel for my forehead. And then we stayed up all night just talking. And she told me to come back. In a couple more years.”
“So … did you?” asked Sam, though Dean tried so shush him.
“Um. Yeah.” And it was Dean's turn to be shocked.
“So, Balthazar, you wanna tell us what was so danged important it caused you fellows to tear up my fence?” asked Bobby, who, despite the delicious breakfast, still carried a modicum of bitterness.
“It's a long story, so I had hoped you would be rested and well fed first,” said Balthazar. “But first, how much do you know about Zachariah?”
“Not much. I just recently heard tell that Zachariah was a nineteenth century plantation owner from down south, which would make him pretty damned old.”
Balthazar pushed his plate away slightly and inclined his head. “That's correct, for as far as it goes. More accurately, Zachariah's human vessel was a plantation owner. If you'll remember, back then, your country was still quite young, and at that time, the original leaders – Washington, Jefferson, Adams – were still a living memory to a lot of people. As they died off, however, a group of Southern men with similar sympathies began to assemble. They were convinced that the country was headed in the wrong direction.”
“There's still folks who would say that,” said Dean, munching on a crispy slice of bacon.
“There's always folks would say that,” said Bobby.
“This group foresaw that the south would steadily lose power to the most industrial north. So they began seeking other solutions, and one dark avenue they ventured down was the occult. From what we can tell, they only dabbled for many years, but then Abraham Lincoln was elected president.”
“And he wanted to do away with slavery. And dueling,” said Dean.
“Correct! So the men of this group decided that serious measures were called for. They grew bolder, and this resulted in their biggest triumph, which was also their biggest mistake.”
“What happened?” asked Sam, who, like Cas and Bobby, had stopped eating to hang on every word. Dean was still happily eating while he listened, and Gabriel was unwinding another cinnamon bun.
“They somehow got access to a forbidden book. We are still not certain how this happened. It was a very dangerous book, and we who were watching over earth at that time had thought all copies had been destroyed. The trouble for this group of was that, in the interim while the book was no longer known, some knowledge had also been lost. These men cast a spell thinking to summon a demon. But what they summoned was much worse.”
“Worse than demons?” asked Dean, who was trying to imagine. Maybe it was dragons with mounted laser beams?
“They summoned a group of fallen angels. Who proceeded to possess – or try to possess – the bodies of the men. Zachariah survived, or rather his vessel survived to contain him. But several of the men perished in the process. It's not easy containing an angel, even a fallen one.”
“Did they blow up or something?” asked Dean, who was always eager for the gory details.
“Yes, something like that,” said Balthazar.
“Ewwww!” chimed in Gabriel through a mouth full of roll.
“Don't talk with your mouth full, kid. It ain't polite,” Bobby chided. “So, Balthy, can I assume that another of these men was John Wilkes Booth?”
“The Lincoln … assassination?” asked Dean.
“That's what it amounted to,” Balthazar told them. “Lincoln was goaded into the duel. His secretary of state, Seward, tried to talk him out of it, but Lincoln was convinced it would be a failure of honor to refuse. But Seward was not a stupid man. He realized something unnatural had occurred. After the duel, he sought out occult practices as well, and managed to summon Joshua down to earth. Joshua in turn summoned me. I am a sacred warrior of the Lord, and I was able to slay Booth. It was his just punishment for taking the life of a human.”
“Oh, so that’s why Booth mysteriously disappeared,” said Bobby.
“I thought Booth committed suicide,” said Sam, who had obviously been paying attention in history class.
“That’s what they claim,” Bobby told him, “but word is he was stabbed twenty-three times.”
Balthazar smiled with a rather obvious false modestly. “I may have had a hand in that. But after that, Zachariah and his associates grew more cunning. We are bound by strict laws here on earth. We can only take blood for blood. Zachariah instead began to train men in fighting, and to use unnatural methods to help them grow strong. So Joshua chose to remain behind on earth and became a sensei as well. For my part, I became a sort of talent scout. I walked the earth, looking for young ones with a certain spark.” At this, Cas puffed up proudly and Gabriel shoved more omelet into his mouth.
“Or a certain gut,” said Bobby. “Where the hell do you put all that food, kid?”
Gabriel grinned a grin laced with spinach from the Balthazar's omelet.
“But you need to understand the greater purpose of the dojo, at least when Joshua was running it and I was assisting him. We trained a few great fighters, like Castiel and Gabriel here, who would go out and fight for money and fame. But that was never our main mission. The vast majority of the boys would never fight professionally. They will go back into the community, where some will teach, and some will fight. But they will fight for what's right and just.”
“The folks as take the fight against the bounty hunters,” said Bobby. “That makes sense.”
“Some of your old friends, Castiel, like Samandriel, and Inias, are out there even now.”
“I should have been doing that, instead wasting my time of prize fighting,” said Cas.
“No,” said Balthazar. “Your place was on the circuit. Your fights brought in prize money. And it brought us honor.”
“So, why are you telling us all this?” asked Bobby.
Balthazar suddenly looked very far away. “Matters between ourselves and Zachariah stood like that for many years. A stalemate, you might say. But that changed recently. As you know, there has been a lot of money coming into the sport recently, now that fights are broadcast remotely. As you also know, some men have developed much more sophisticated performance enhancing drugs. One of the drugs had a most unexpected side effect. As it turns out, fighters treated with this drug are now more suitable as vessels.”
“Uriel!' said Cas. “That's what happened to him. It's what they did to Uriel.”
“Now, calm down, kiddo,” said Gabriel. “You don't know that. Maybe Uriel is just a big asshole.”
Castiel glared at his brother. “I know it, Gabriel. And so do you.”
Dean scratched his head. “You think Uriel, the guy you fought with, is now possessed by demons?”
“Angels,” said Bobby.
“I think so,” said Cas. “Gabriel, Uriel was a jerk. Even I noticed that. But I just don't think he would have taken a life so capriciously before. He liked to cheat, not to kill.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” said Sam, who had finally ingested enough coffee to get his brain started. “You said this Zachariah dude was running your dojo?”
“Hey, that's true. If Joshua was an angel, why didn't he just smite Zachariah’s pansy ass?” asked Dean.
Balthazar sighed. “As I've said, as Heaven's servants, we are bound some … unfortunate but nevertheless very strict laws. Joshua and I cannot intervene where blood has not been spilled. And this incident with Uriel did not happen until Joshua was forced out of the dojo.”
“It ain't strictly Josh's dojo, I take it?” asked Bobby.
“No. As with anything, it takes money to run a training facility. The institution has always been run by a board of directors, although, as you will understand, their names are not widely known. They all consider themselves legitimate businessmen, and pillars of the community.”
“Well why doesn't someone go tell the pillars of the community what's happening?” asked Dean.
“Sure, kid, you're gonna go stomp in and tell 'em their dojo's been invaded by a bunch of fallen angels?” asked Bobby.
“We gotta do something, Bobby,” said Dean.
“So, you think they're after Cas to convert him, Balthazar?” asked Sam.
“That would be my guess,” said Balthazar.
“Well they can't fucking have him!” said Dean, who emphasized the sentiment by leaping to his feet. “We're gonna keep him here, and we'll slice any bastard who comes near!”
“You won’t have to,” said Gabriel, “because I’ll slice them first.”
“Balthazar, is there a way to keep angels off your back same way as you do demons and other little petty stuff?” Bobby asked him.
“That's right, we're all gonna get badass demon tattoos,” said Dean.
“We are?” asked Sam.
“Sammy, try and keep up.”
“Can I get a demon tattoo too?” asked Gabriel.
“Not if you eat the last damn cinnamon roll,” said Bobby.
“I can give you a warding mark, if you like, Castiel,” said Balthazar. “I believe I am recharged after last night. It will have limited effectiveness. You can still be taken over, but the entity will need to be granted your permission first.”
“I think you should do it, Cas,” Dean told him.
Cas looked over at Gabriel, who nodded. “All right,” said Cas, and Balthazar motioned to him to pull up his shirt.
“This might sting a little,” Balthazar warned. He laid a hand over Cas's shoulder blade and concentrated for a moment.
“Ouch,” said Cas. Balthazar took his hand away, and Cas stretched his shoulders. There was now a red mark, like a brand, just over his shoulder blade.
“That looks familiar,” said Dean.
Cas craned his neck, but was unable to see. Balthazar placed his hand on the table, and the mark appeared there as well.
“I hope that comes off,” said Bobby.
“Sorry,” said Balthazar as Bobby fumed at wanton property destruction.
“Dean, isn't that the mark from Crowley's office?”
“Hey, yeah, he's got one of these on his floor.”
“He also has similar marks on his flask. And he wears another on his lapel.”
“Paranoid bastard,” said Dean.
“Who the fuck is this Crowley?” asked Gabriel swinging his feet up to rest on the table. He was immediately slapped down by Bobby.
“He's the coach of the Kansas State fencing team,” Cas told him.
“We'll I've never heard of him!” said Gabriel.
“The big question is, why would Crowley need anti-angel warding?” said Bobby.
“That is what you must needs find out,” said Balthazar. “Castiel, if you can prove that Uriel and others in Joshua's dojo are now possessed by angels, then I can move against them, especially if Uriel has taken blood.”
“Balthazar. Have you heard from Joshua?” asked Cas.
“No. Not for years. Not since I left in fact.”
“So … you don't know whether he's all right?”
“I'm afraid not.”
“You can't use your heavenly cell phone and text him or something?” asked Dean.
Balthazar smiled. “That unfortunately is not how it works. Joshua called me down. He contacts me. It doesn't work the other way around.”
Cas looked disappointed. “And what will you do now, Gabriel?” Balthazar asked.
“Sounds like I need to go back to the dojo and spy!” said Gabriel.
Cas was up out of his seat. “No. Gabriel. It's too dangerous!'
Gabriel waved a cinnamon roll derisively. “Tsk. I'm smarter than those guys. Which isn't saying much.”
“I don't like it,” Cas declared. “You're too smart for your own good.”
“Look, think of it this way, Cassie. They sent me away so they could pull their shit. That says to me they're scared of me, and not the other way around.”
“You'll call us if you need anything?” asked Bobby.
“Yeah, sure. And I'll still get to all your games, Shorty.”
“I haven't been shorter than you in years,” Cas crisply informed him. Gabriel tousled Cas's hair, and Cas would have smacked him over the head with a dinner plate had Bobby not barked at them both to quit fighting at his breakfast table.
But despite his earlier high spirits, Cas seemed to sag as Gabriel and Balthazar departed. He waved sadly as the town car vanished, and Dean put a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Don't tell me you're homesick, Cas?”
“What?” Castiel turned around towards Dean and appeared to think deeply on the subject for a moment. “I hadn't considered that possibility. But, it was my home. For as long as I remember.”
“Well, you got us now! And we're not bad.”
“No. You're not bad at all.”
“All right you boys,” said Bobby, who was shutting his cell phone with a decisive click. “We got a kitchen we gotta get clean.”
Dean sighed. “Aw, Bobby, it's Saturday! Can't we lie around and wallow for a while?”
“No sir. We're gonna have us another visitor.”
“Who?” grumbled Dean, who thought it couldn't be much of a visitor if they required clean up.
“You're old friend, Rufus Turner,” Bobby explained.
“Oh, Rufus,” said Cas, who smiled.
“That's right, boy,” said Bobby, smiling warmly at Cas. “That man has barely been out of his own house in twenty years! This is an occasion.”
Sometime later, Dean was nursing painful case of dishpan hands, and Bobby and Rufus were hunched over the case of exotic-looking metal parts Rufus had brought over, snapping them together and pulling them apart and buffing with a soft cloth. Dean wandered over to where Cas was sitting hovering over them, apparently enthralled.
“These don't look like the guns the guys were using the other night,” Dean opined, picking up a bit with a barrel-shaped piece that spun around.
“You be careful with that, boy!” Bobby ordered, grabbing it back.
“You ever actually fired off any of these, Rufus?” Dean asked.
“Good question!” Rufus told him brightly. “I've never had a reason to. But when your uncle told me what happened the other night … I couldn't resist the chance to experiment.”
“Nobody uses them anymore?” asked Dean, who couldn't resist picking up another gun bit, though he was careful to stand around on the other side of Bobby.
“There was thought at one time that guns would overtake swords! They were getting pretty common in the late nineteenth century.”
“Gun fighters!” gushed Dean. “I heard there were guys in the Old West who only used guns!”
Bobby snorted. “Oh hogwash. It's just legends.”
“It was true! They wrote songs!”
“Anyhow, Tesla made 'em all obsolete. And you're gonna see why.”
“I'm thinking this one,” said Rufus, laying an assembled firearm out on the table. “But we should take them out and test them first. None of these have been fired in a decade.” He picked up a small wooden box and slid down the lid. He plucked out a small, shiny slug and handed it to Dean.
Dean stared in fascination at the smooth, oblong metal object. “This is a bullet?”
“Yeah, before your friend Cas has had his way with it,” laughed Bobby. Castiel, who had been listening silently, smiled broadly.
“You wanna head outside?” asked Rufus.
“Yeah, just lemme grab one more thing. I think it's in the upstairs cabinet.” Bobby heaved himself up and made his way upstairs just as Sam came stampeding down the staircase.
“Hey, check this out!” he told Dean and Cas. “I just got off the phone with Jess, and Becky says-”
“Wait,” said Dean, waving his hands. “Wait. Jess and Becky are now BFFs?”
Sam shrugged and his cheeks flushed pink. “She never bugged Jess the way she bugs me. Anyway, we're gonna have the band at the next game!”
“What?” asked Dean. “That's awesome!”
“A … band?” asked Cas. “A musical band?”
“Yeah, Cas. The marching band comes to the game and then they play. They used to come all the time but they kind of gave up on us, like everybody else.”
“Why is there music at a fencing match?” Castiel looked so sweetly baffled, Dean couldn't resist putting an arm around his shoulders.
“They play get everybody pumped. We do the chant, only to music.”
“I thought you didn't like the chant?” Cas asked suspiciously.
Dean was bouncing up and down on his toes. “I fucking love the chant! Rock – chalk – Jayhawk – KUUUUUUUUU!” He paused, abruptly half-remembering a strange dream.
Rufus sat back and sipped his coffee. “I need to get to one of you boys's games.”
“Hey, we could get you in, no problem,” Dean told him.
Rufus turned to Dean’s brother. “I heard you’re a pretty fair duelist too, Sam.”
Sam shook his head and waved his hands. “I played in high school. I leave the sharp objects stuff Dean now. Well, Dean and Cas.”
Rufus arched an eyebrow. “Once you pick up the sword, you never really lay it down.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “You sound like John.”
Rufus peered up at Sam curiously. “You mean your father?”
“You know our dad?” Dean asked eagerly.
“Dean, everybody knows John Winchester.”
“All right, all right,” said Bobby, “let's get out there.” He came clattering down the stairs holding something that looked like a life vest, but Dean had no idea what it was. Bobby then had Sam and Dean grab some empty tin cans from the garbage, and they headed outside, where they set the cans along a fence post, and Rufus and then Bobby took turns shooting them down.
Dean cringed at the first sound of a gunshot. It was incredibly loud, and reminded him too damn much of the creepy guys in the alleyway. Cas, who had donned the odd vest, put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right, Dean?”
Dean waved him away. “Naw, I'm fine. What's up with the floatation device?”
“That there is a bullet-proof vest,” said Bobby.
“I won't need it,” said Cas, pulling at the neck. “And I find it restricting.”
“You're wearing it kid, and no arguments,” Bobby told him. Cas sighed and rolled his eyes, but nodded. Bobby stared at Cas. “I don't know, Rufus, maybe this was a stupid idea.”
Rufus tutted. “Bobby, he's wearing the vest. We can't pass up this opportunity!”
“Well, can you at least aim it away from him?”
“It's easiest if he aims it straight at me, Bobby,” said Cas. “Straight at the heart,” he added, pounding his chest with a fist.
“This was a bad idea,” said Bobby. He looked up, surprised to see Cas standing there, his hands on Bobby's shoulders.
“I'll be fine, Bobby. I promise. On my honor.”
“Honor don't repel bullets!” Dean was surprised to see the old man had gotten slightly teary-eyed, which was very unusual for someone so unsentimental. “All right. We'll do one. Just one! And then we'll have a drink.”
“We'll have several drinks!” said Rufus. “I brought the Scotch!” He looked over towards Sam. “You got the camera?” Sam, who had been texting Jess and not paying a whole lot of attention to the proceedings, held up the video camera and nodded.
Rufus had Cas back up several paces. Cas ignited his sword and let it fall to his boot, where the crackling indicated his shielding was activated, though it wouldn’t do much good against a bullet. Dean caught the whiff of ozone from the humming blade.
Cas got into his ready position, awkwardly tugging at the vest. Then, as Bobby sweated and Sam calmly filmed, Rufus raised his gun. Dean had a sudden terrible realization that this was a very stupid idea and they all needed to go inside and have a few drinks and think it over when there was a terrible bang and a flash and a flick of metal, and then all was silent again.
Cas was frozen in place, his blade hot and humming.
“Got it,” said Sam, peering into the camera.
“Good thing because we are not doing that shit ever again!” said Bobby, hand over his heart.
“Damn!” said Rufus, peering over Sam's shoulder at the replay. He grabbed the camera from Sam and, after determining how to run the video on slow, Dean watched the frame-by-frame with utter fascination. The gun quivered and fired, and you could see the silvery projectile hurtling towards Cas. And then the flash of the blade, flicking in the blink of an eye, even in slow motion, and it was all over.
Cas, who had been calmly puttering around looking for something on the ground, came over and dropped something in Rufus's hand.
“Shit! My bullet!” said Rufus, rapturously holding up the two halves, hot in his palm.
“How the hell do you practice that?” asked Bobby, but Cas only grinned. He extricated himself from the bullet-proof vest and handed it back to Bobby.
“That's like magic,” said Dean. “I mean, who can do that?”
“It was a street fighter trick,” said Rufus. He held up the gun. “That’s why you don’t see these things any more, unless they’re hanging on somebody’s wall.”
“Uh, Rufus?” said Dean.
“Yeah?”
“Before you put it away, can I try firing the gun?”
It took a couple of tries, but Dean managed to shoot a couple of cans off a fence post. He had to admit, it was archaic, but kind of cool. He liked the little kick when he squeezed the trigger. “You wanna try Cas?”
The street fighter wrinkled his nose. “It's dishonorable!”
“Now,” said Bobby. “Nothing dishonorable about an inanimate object. The dishonor is in how you use it.”
“I don't care to fire a gun, no,” Cas persisted, glaring at the firearm as if it were sour milk.
“You wanna go in for that drink?” asked Rufus.
“I could use one,” said Bobby.
“Rufus,” Cas began shyly. He absent-mindedly let his sword tap on his ankle, even though the blade was turned off.
“Yeah?”
“Um. Have you made any progress in your search....”
“You mean for your parents? Yeah, actually. Frank and I, we think we have a few leads. Hasn't been anything worth mentioning, but yeah, don't worry. We're on the case.”
“Thank you.”
Sam, who had hopped back up to perch on a junker car, glanced up from his phone and laughed bitterly. “And while you're on it, maybe you could look for our father.”
Frank stared at him, puzzled. He turned to Bobby. “Is John Winchester in trouble?”
“No,” Bobby told him. “And as a matter of fact, Sam, I talked to your father not too long ago.”
“Really?” asked Dean. “What did he say?”
“What does he ever say?” grumbled Sam, stabbing at the buttons on his phone.
Bobby folded his arms. “Well, I told him the team's been winning a few games, and suggested he might be inclined to come watch his son play.”
“You think he would?” asked Dean.
“No, Dean,” snapped Sam. “Why do you always get your hopes up? That old bastard is not gonna come to a game.”
“Samuel Winchester,” said Bobby. “I will not hear you speak that way about your father!”
Sam got a murderous gleam in his eye, but at that moment, his phone rang, and, after a moment's hesitation, he picked it up. “Hey Jess. No, we're still here at Uncle Bobby's. It's a long story.... What? Aw, crap! Yeah, I'll tell Dean. Don't worry.”
“Tell me what?” asked Dean.
Sam glanced between Dean and Cas. “There's trouble. Gordon's quit the team.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Not again. Did he and Jo break up?”
“It's not that. It’s much worse. He's transferring to Kansas State. He's gonna play for Crowley!”
There was a moment of shocked silence.
Dean threw up his hands. “Son of a bitch! We've got a game in three days. How the hell could he do this?”
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. This chapter contains violence some may find upsetting.
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, some unexpected guests arrive at Bobby's place, and there are happenings with the fencing team.
So many guns.
They're playing K-State. Crowley and Ruby and Alastair and all of them. But then they all dropped their swords and pulled out guns and started firing. The KU team dove for the empty stands.
And the band was playing. First slow, then fast. “Rock. Chalk. Jayhawk. KUUUUUU!”
Henricksen is there.
“It's not fair, Coach,” Dean tells him.
“Rock. Chalk. Jayhawk. KUUUUUU!”
But Henricksen turns around and it's not Henricksen.
“Dad?”
He points down to the court. Dean turns, face contorted in horror.
“Rock. Chalk. Jayhawk. KUUUUUU!”
“Cas! No!”
Castiel seems unaware of the bullets whizzing by. He's striding across the court, sword drawn, wearing an expression of terrible vengeance.
And Dean is leaping out of the stands after him.
But he's not Cas. Not any more.
He's grown bigger.
So much bigger.
And he glows.
And....
And....
“Rock. Chalk. Jayhawk. KUUUUUU!”
A mighty pair of wings sprout from his shoulders. His sword is aflame. He has become the soul of wrath. His anger is great.
His vengeance … terrible.
Dean awoke to the cacophony of a great pounding on Bobby’s front door, the weird dream fading in the mist. He and Cas, still in pajamas, hurried down the stairs to see Bobby already standing in the entryway, sword poised. Sam, yawning mightily, was right behind them.
“You kids, keep back,” Bobby warned.
“I should go out there!” said Cas.
“You stay back like I told you,” barked Bobby, who was peering through the peep hole on the front door. “Oh for the love of- Quit pounding! I got the door!” he shouted to whoever was outside. To Dean’s shock, Bobby unlocked the door and threw it open.
“Where’s my brother?” bellowed Gabriel, flourishing a sword in a threatening manner.
“How the hell did you get inside here, boy?” asked Bobby.
“Hello, Gabriel,” Cas deadpanned.
Gabriel lowered the sword. “Cassie? Wait, weren't you kidnapped?”
“No. I ran away.”
“What? Why would you do something as bone-headed as that, you dick brain?”
Bobby had walked out to the front porch, and now turned and confronted Gabriel. “What the fuck did you do to my gate, ya idjit!”
Dean hopped out on the front porch as well, although he wasn't wearing shoes, and it was cold as hell on his bare feet. He looked at the gate: the chain link fence had been utterly shredded by something: could it have been Gabriel's sword? Were they really that sharp? And the inevitable town car was parked nearby in the driveway. Dean assumed this was how Gabriel had gotten all the way out her so late at night.
“Uh, sorry,” said Gabriel, who was suddenly occupied with scratching the back of his neck. “I may have gotten … overwrought.”
“Overwrought? I'm trying to keep my kids safe from some crazy ass street fighter thugs and you tear down my damned fence?”
Gabriel grinned sheepishly. “I take it you're Bobby?”
“And you’re Gabe. The Trickster. I recognized your ugly mug from your fights.”
“None other!” Gabriel stuck out a cheerful hand, and Bobby took it. “I got back to the dojo and Cassie was gone. They told me you kidnapped my brother.”
“And you believed 'em?” grumbled Bobby.
“They locked me in a room Gabriel,” Cas told him. “They told me they would take me out of school.”
Gabriel threw up his hands impatiently. “I go away for a couple days, and all hell breaks loose?”
Bobby snorted. “They sent you away, ya idjit. Isn't that obvious?”
Gabriel absently twirled his sword. “What the hell? I didn't think even Zachariah would stoop that low. So what do we do now?”
At that point the town car's door opened, and the driver emerged. He was a tall man. He doffed his cap. He had very long blond hair, caught in a ponytail fastened at the nape of his neck.
Cas let out a cry and ran over to him, engulfing him in a hug. “Balthazar!”
“Balthie?” said Gabriel. “What the hell?”
“You didn't even notice he was driving?” Cas asked Gabriel.
“Who notices the driver?” Gabriel scoffed.
“And who the hell is this?” asked Bobby.
Cas smiled. Dean thought he had never seen him smile quite that way before: his whole face lit up. “Bobby, this is Balthazar. He was Joshua's assistant. For many, many years.”
“You know Joshua?” asked Bobby. “I have an interest in talking with that individual.”
Balthazar smiled serenely. “I've come here to talk. Your warding was keeping me away, until Gabriel managed to punch such a lovely hole in your perimeter.” Balthazar indicated the mangled fence, and Bobby heaved a deep, disappointed sigh. “But may I make a suggestion? The night is cold, and you are all weary. Perhaps we should wait until the morning?”
“I'll need to stand guard,” said Bobby. “I’ll need to brew me some coffee.”
“I can take care of the fence,” Balthazar assured him.
Bobby gave him a skeptical glance. “You brought your welding equipment, Balthy?”
Balthazar grinned and strode over to the fence. Everyone crowded along behind him, even though Dean could feel his toes getting numb. Balthazar stood near the fence and held up one hand, palm facing outward, and repeated some words in a strangely accented language.
There was a barely audible hum, and then to Dean's astonishment, the cut ends of the chain link began to glow softly, and then knit themselves back together.
“There you are!” said Balthazar, pleased at a job well done.
Bobby padded over and tugged at the fence. He turned to Baltahazar. “Balthazar, answer me truly. Are you a demon?”
“He's no demon!” said Gabriel. “He’s…. Uh…. I dunno.”
Balthazar laughed. “No, I’m not a demon, Bobby. But once, very long ago, I was an angel.”
“Holy crap!” said Dean. “Uh, sorry,” he added, covering his mouth.
“Wait. What?” said Gabriel.
Balthazar put one arm around Gabriel's shoulders, and another around Castiel. “We will talk in the morning. You all need rest. As I don't require sleep, I will stand watch.”
Bobby stared at Balthazar, and then at Cas. “You vouch for him, Cas?”
Castiel nodded enthusiastically. “Balthazar will protect us.”
To Dean’s surprise, given the somewhat outlandish story, Bobby agreed, and everyone but Balthazar made their way inside, Dean hopping on half-frostbitten feet. Gabriel casually handed his sword over to Bobby when they crossed the threshold, and Bobby had Sam and Dean grab some blankets so he could crash on the living room couch for the rest of the night. The rest of them headed upstairs. Cas started to head over to his cot, but Dean grabbed him by the back of his T shirt and tugged him back onto his bed. “You can't go over there. My feet are cold as ice!”
Cas looked uncertainly at Dean. “It's now my job to keep you warm, Dean?”
“Yes!” One thing Dean had learned for certain, once he had stopped trembling earlier that night, was that Cas was like a small furnace. “You can't let all that body heat go to waste. Come on.”
Cas smiled skeptically, but then good-naturedly slipped in beside Dean. “Darn!” he shouted as he encountered one of the icy appendages. “I think you have circulation issues.” He squirmed back into his old position, on his side, holding Dean close, but kept his own feet well away from Dean's.
“So, you don't seem too freaked out about Balthazar?” Dean asked after they were comfortable.
“Why should I be … freaked out?”
“After he did the weird shit with the fence?”
Castiel was quiet for so long Dean wondered if he had dozed off. Finally he said, “I wish you had known Joshua. I knew he was different. He and Balthazar both. I don't know how I knew. But I knew.”
“Okay,” said Dean. To his own surprise, after all the excitement that day, he had started feeling very sleepy.
“Just go to sleep now,” Cas whispered.
Dean awoke to the smell of cinnamon and spices. He thought at first it was Cas, but noticed with a twinge of disappointment that he was alone in the bed.
He heard noises downstairs, so he washed his face and headed down to find Uncle Bobby's kitchen filled with street fighters. Balthazar and Cas were busy cooking, while Gabriel was sitting up on the counter (lucky for him Bobby wasn't around) snatching at things to nibble on.
Dean was most surprised to see Cas acting like a chatterbox, at least relative to his usual taciturn attitude. While he efficiently chopped tomatoes into neat little bits Balthazar affectionately ruffed his hair while Gabriel used the opportunity to lean over and filch a slice of chopped vegetables. Dean paused in the doorway. It looked as if they had been passing mornings like this all their lives.
“Dean!” said Balthazar. “I’ve been hearing some very good things about you.”
“Really?” said Dean as Cas shyly ducked his head.
“It's good you're here!” Balthazar told him as he came over and ushered Dean into the kitchen. “We need to make coffee, and I don't know how strong your Uncle Bobby likes it.”
Dean laughed. “Strong enough to stand up a spoon!” he answered, going for the filters. “I dunno what he's gonna think about so many vegetables for breakfast though,” he added pointing to the rather large bowl of chopped victuals Cas had prepared.
“It will all be thrown into a Spanish omelet,” Balthazar assured him. “Believe me, he'll never notice.”
Cas grabbed something out of the oven. It smelled heavenly. “Holy shit, are those actual cinnamon rolls?” asked Dean.
“Would you like to help me frost them?” asked Cas, waving the tray under Dean's nose.
“I wanna help frost!” said Gabriel.
“You'll just eat all the frosting,” said Cas, keeping the tray away from him in a manner that looked very practiced. “Like you always do.”
“Gabriel, please go out and find Bobby,” said Balthazar. “Tell him breakfast is almost ready.”
Gabriel grunted, but, after snatching some chopped melon from a bowl, grabbed his cane from where he’d hung it on the kitchen counter and sauntered out the door.
Cas handed Dean a knife, and they both dipped into the buttery frosting. “We need to do this before they cool so it will make a glaze,” Cas told him as Dean greedily ran a finger over his knife and licked his finger.
“So good,” sighed Dean, who was never quite as happy as when he was eating.
“Gabriel will end up eating ninety percent of them anyway,” sighed Cas.
“So you're a street fighter too, Balthazar?”
Balthazar had cracked a number of eggs into a bowl and had started heating a fry pan. “Many years ago, my function was something like that. In recent years, I worked more along the lines of a scout.”
“Balthazar found me!” said Cas. “He picked me!”
“It was a little bit of a job convincing Joshua to take in another hungry mouth,” said Balthazar, who was fiddling with the burner. “But I was quite convinced he wouldn't be able to resist once he'd seen you.”
“He knocked me down,” said Cas, who still stung with the memory. “Twice! He was a real jerk.”
“And then he gave Gabriel a little smack, and I thought you were going to take his head off.”
“I wonder what he would have done if I had punched him right in the nose?”
“To give you some context, Dean, Cas was about yea high when this took place.” Balthazar's hand hovered down quite near the floor, and Dean laughed, imagining a very tiny, very cross Castiel, his little hands balled into fists.
“What?” asked Cas, to which, in way of reply, Dean tapped a dab of frosting on his nose. Cas went cross-eyed looking at his own nose, and then drew back into his full en garde stance, holding the frosting-coated butter knife. Dean hooted with laughter and held up his own knife in an elaborate two-handed grip.
“Coffee?” came a small moan. Dean turned to his sleepy-eyed brother, who nearly filled the kitchen doorway.
“Dean, pour your brother some coffee, and then you two boys set the table,” Balthazar told him. Dean set down his “weaponry” and poured a little of Bobby's spoon-stander coffee into a mug for Sam, and then the boys went about grabbing dishes as Bobby arrived with Gabriel in tow. Dean realized as he was setting up that everyone seemed to be in a good mood this morning, and he wondered if Balthazar's presence had to do with it. Balthazar was just as good at ordering around people as Bobby, but for some reason, it felt more like suggestions when Balthazar did it.
They all settled into breakfast, and Balthazar was right, Bobby had no objection at all to a Spanish omelet. Gabriel ended up grabbing half of the cinnamon rolls, and even Cas was eating heartily for once and not just picking at his food.
“So tell me, Balthazar,” started Bobby, putting down his coffee mug. “Is everybody in your dojo some kind of gourmet chef?”
“Not Gabriel!” both Cas and Balthazar answered, laughing.
“It's an environment with many hungry, growing boys, who are also active athletes, so we put as much effort into food as we do training,” said Balthazar.
“Food and pornography,” Gabriel piped up, to a roar of laughter from Bobby. Cas pretended to be utterly fascinated with his omelet.
Balthazar was laughing too. “Yes, and the local brothels get more than their share of patronage.” Dean grinned, but Sam was looking slightly aghast. Hadn't Balthazar claimed he was some kind of ex-angel?
“Remember when I took you for your first visit?” Gabriel asked Cas.
Castiel hung his head. “Of course I remember. I threw up.”
“He was a little young, Gabriel,” scolded Balthazar.
“I took him after his first match!” said Gabriel.
“You were only 13?” asked Dean. Cas, whose face was now beet-red, nodded. “Geez, dude, I would have thrown up too!”
“They were nice, though,” said Cas. “They gave me a cold towel for my forehead. And then we stayed up all night just talking. And she told me to come back. In a couple more years.”
“So … did you?” asked Sam, though Dean tried so shush him.
“Um. Yeah.” And it was Dean's turn to be shocked.
“So, Balthazar, you wanna tell us what was so danged important it caused you fellows to tear up my fence?” asked Bobby, who, despite the delicious breakfast, still carried a modicum of bitterness.
“It's a long story, so I had hoped you would be rested and well fed first,” said Balthazar. “But first, how much do you know about Zachariah?”
“Not much. I just recently heard tell that Zachariah was a nineteenth century plantation owner from down south, which would make him pretty damned old.”
Balthazar pushed his plate away slightly and inclined his head. “That's correct, for as far as it goes. More accurately, Zachariah's human vessel was a plantation owner. If you'll remember, back then, your country was still quite young, and at that time, the original leaders – Washington, Jefferson, Adams – were still a living memory to a lot of people. As they died off, however, a group of Southern men with similar sympathies began to assemble. They were convinced that the country was headed in the wrong direction.”
“There's still folks who would say that,” said Dean, munching on a crispy slice of bacon.
“There's always folks would say that,” said Bobby.
“This group foresaw that the south would steadily lose power to the most industrial north. So they began seeking other solutions, and one dark avenue they ventured down was the occult. From what we can tell, they only dabbled for many years, but then Abraham Lincoln was elected president.”
“And he wanted to do away with slavery. And dueling,” said Dean.
“Correct! So the men of this group decided that serious measures were called for. They grew bolder, and this resulted in their biggest triumph, which was also their biggest mistake.”
“What happened?” asked Sam, who, like Cas and Bobby, had stopped eating to hang on every word. Dean was still happily eating while he listened, and Gabriel was unwinding another cinnamon bun.
“They somehow got access to a forbidden book. We are still not certain how this happened. It was a very dangerous book, and we who were watching over earth at that time had thought all copies had been destroyed. The trouble for this group of was that, in the interim while the book was no longer known, some knowledge had also been lost. These men cast a spell thinking to summon a demon. But what they summoned was much worse.”
“Worse than demons?” asked Dean, who was trying to imagine. Maybe it was dragons with mounted laser beams?
“They summoned a group of fallen angels. Who proceeded to possess – or try to possess – the bodies of the men. Zachariah survived, or rather his vessel survived to contain him. But several of the men perished in the process. It's not easy containing an angel, even a fallen one.”
“Did they blow up or something?” asked Dean, who was always eager for the gory details.
“Yes, something like that,” said Balthazar.
“Ewwww!” chimed in Gabriel through a mouth full of roll.
“Don't talk with your mouth full, kid. It ain't polite,” Bobby chided. “So, Balthy, can I assume that another of these men was John Wilkes Booth?”
“The Lincoln … assassination?” asked Dean.
“That's what it amounted to,” Balthazar told them. “Lincoln was goaded into the duel. His secretary of state, Seward, tried to talk him out of it, but Lincoln was convinced it would be a failure of honor to refuse. But Seward was not a stupid man. He realized something unnatural had occurred. After the duel, he sought out occult practices as well, and managed to summon Joshua down to earth. Joshua in turn summoned me. I am a sacred warrior of the Lord, and I was able to slay Booth. It was his just punishment for taking the life of a human.”
“Oh, so that’s why Booth mysteriously disappeared,” said Bobby.
“I thought Booth committed suicide,” said Sam, who had obviously been paying attention in history class.
“That’s what they claim,” Bobby told him, “but word is he was stabbed twenty-three times.”
Balthazar smiled with a rather obvious false modestly. “I may have had a hand in that. But after that, Zachariah and his associates grew more cunning. We are bound by strict laws here on earth. We can only take blood for blood. Zachariah instead began to train men in fighting, and to use unnatural methods to help them grow strong. So Joshua chose to remain behind on earth and became a sensei as well. For my part, I became a sort of talent scout. I walked the earth, looking for young ones with a certain spark.” At this, Cas puffed up proudly and Gabriel shoved more omelet into his mouth.
“Or a certain gut,” said Bobby. “Where the hell do you put all that food, kid?”
Gabriel grinned a grin laced with spinach from the Balthazar's omelet.
“But you need to understand the greater purpose of the dojo, at least when Joshua was running it and I was assisting him. We trained a few great fighters, like Castiel and Gabriel here, who would go out and fight for money and fame. But that was never our main mission. The vast majority of the boys would never fight professionally. They will go back into the community, where some will teach, and some will fight. But they will fight for what's right and just.”
“The folks as take the fight against the bounty hunters,” said Bobby. “That makes sense.”
“Some of your old friends, Castiel, like Samandriel, and Inias, are out there even now.”
“I should have been doing that, instead wasting my time of prize fighting,” said Cas.
“No,” said Balthazar. “Your place was on the circuit. Your fights brought in prize money. And it brought us honor.”
“So, why are you telling us all this?” asked Bobby.
Balthazar suddenly looked very far away. “Matters between ourselves and Zachariah stood like that for many years. A stalemate, you might say. But that changed recently. As you know, there has been a lot of money coming into the sport recently, now that fights are broadcast remotely. As you also know, some men have developed much more sophisticated performance enhancing drugs. One of the drugs had a most unexpected side effect. As it turns out, fighters treated with this drug are now more suitable as vessels.”
“Uriel!' said Cas. “That's what happened to him. It's what they did to Uriel.”
“Now, calm down, kiddo,” said Gabriel. “You don't know that. Maybe Uriel is just a big asshole.”
Castiel glared at his brother. “I know it, Gabriel. And so do you.”
Dean scratched his head. “You think Uriel, the guy you fought with, is now possessed by demons?”
“Angels,” said Bobby.
“I think so,” said Cas. “Gabriel, Uriel was a jerk. Even I noticed that. But I just don't think he would have taken a life so capriciously before. He liked to cheat, not to kill.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” said Sam, who had finally ingested enough coffee to get his brain started. “You said this Zachariah dude was running your dojo?”
“Hey, that's true. If Joshua was an angel, why didn't he just smite Zachariah’s pansy ass?” asked Dean.
Balthazar sighed. “As I've said, as Heaven's servants, we are bound some … unfortunate but nevertheless very strict laws. Joshua and I cannot intervene where blood has not been spilled. And this incident with Uriel did not happen until Joshua was forced out of the dojo.”
“It ain't strictly Josh's dojo, I take it?” asked Bobby.
“No. As with anything, it takes money to run a training facility. The institution has always been run by a board of directors, although, as you will understand, their names are not widely known. They all consider themselves legitimate businessmen, and pillars of the community.”
“Well why doesn't someone go tell the pillars of the community what's happening?” asked Dean.
“Sure, kid, you're gonna go stomp in and tell 'em their dojo's been invaded by a bunch of fallen angels?” asked Bobby.
“We gotta do something, Bobby,” said Dean.
“So, you think they're after Cas to convert him, Balthazar?” asked Sam.
“That would be my guess,” said Balthazar.
“Well they can't fucking have him!” said Dean, who emphasized the sentiment by leaping to his feet. “We're gonna keep him here, and we'll slice any bastard who comes near!”
“You won’t have to,” said Gabriel, “because I’ll slice them first.”
“Balthazar, is there a way to keep angels off your back same way as you do demons and other little petty stuff?” Bobby asked him.
“That's right, we're all gonna get badass demon tattoos,” said Dean.
“We are?” asked Sam.
“Sammy, try and keep up.”
“Can I get a demon tattoo too?” asked Gabriel.
“Not if you eat the last damn cinnamon roll,” said Bobby.
“I can give you a warding mark, if you like, Castiel,” said Balthazar. “I believe I am recharged after last night. It will have limited effectiveness. You can still be taken over, but the entity will need to be granted your permission first.”
“I think you should do it, Cas,” Dean told him.
Cas looked over at Gabriel, who nodded. “All right,” said Cas, and Balthazar motioned to him to pull up his shirt.
“This might sting a little,” Balthazar warned. He laid a hand over Cas's shoulder blade and concentrated for a moment.
“Ouch,” said Cas. Balthazar took his hand away, and Cas stretched his shoulders. There was now a red mark, like a brand, just over his shoulder blade.
“That looks familiar,” said Dean.
Cas craned his neck, but was unable to see. Balthazar placed his hand on the table, and the mark appeared there as well.
“I hope that comes off,” said Bobby.
“Sorry,” said Balthazar as Bobby fumed at wanton property destruction.
“Dean, isn't that the mark from Crowley's office?”
“Hey, yeah, he's got one of these on his floor.”
“He also has similar marks on his flask. And he wears another on his lapel.”
“Paranoid bastard,” said Dean.
“Who the fuck is this Crowley?” asked Gabriel swinging his feet up to rest on the table. He was immediately slapped down by Bobby.
“He's the coach of the Kansas State fencing team,” Cas told him.
“We'll I've never heard of him!” said Gabriel.
“The big question is, why would Crowley need anti-angel warding?” said Bobby.
“That is what you must needs find out,” said Balthazar. “Castiel, if you can prove that Uriel and others in Joshua's dojo are now possessed by angels, then I can move against them, especially if Uriel has taken blood.”
“Balthazar. Have you heard from Joshua?” asked Cas.
“No. Not for years. Not since I left in fact.”
“So … you don't know whether he's all right?”
“I'm afraid not.”
“You can't use your heavenly cell phone and text him or something?” asked Dean.
Balthazar smiled. “That unfortunately is not how it works. Joshua called me down. He contacts me. It doesn't work the other way around.”
Cas looked disappointed. “And what will you do now, Gabriel?” Balthazar asked.
“Sounds like I need to go back to the dojo and spy!” said Gabriel.
Cas was up out of his seat. “No. Gabriel. It's too dangerous!'
Gabriel waved a cinnamon roll derisively. “Tsk. I'm smarter than those guys. Which isn't saying much.”
“I don't like it,” Cas declared. “You're too smart for your own good.”
“Look, think of it this way, Cassie. They sent me away so they could pull their shit. That says to me they're scared of me, and not the other way around.”
“You'll call us if you need anything?” asked Bobby.
“Yeah, sure. And I'll still get to all your games, Shorty.”
“I haven't been shorter than you in years,” Cas crisply informed him. Gabriel tousled Cas's hair, and Cas would have smacked him over the head with a dinner plate had Bobby not barked at them both to quit fighting at his breakfast table.
But despite his earlier high spirits, Cas seemed to sag as Gabriel and Balthazar departed. He waved sadly as the town car vanished, and Dean put a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Don't tell me you're homesick, Cas?”
“What?” Castiel turned around towards Dean and appeared to think deeply on the subject for a moment. “I hadn't considered that possibility. But, it was my home. For as long as I remember.”
“Well, you got us now! And we're not bad.”
“No. You're not bad at all.”
“All right you boys,” said Bobby, who was shutting his cell phone with a decisive click. “We got a kitchen we gotta get clean.”
Dean sighed. “Aw, Bobby, it's Saturday! Can't we lie around and wallow for a while?”
“No sir. We're gonna have us another visitor.”
“Who?” grumbled Dean, who thought it couldn't be much of a visitor if they required clean up.
“You're old friend, Rufus Turner,” Bobby explained.
“Oh, Rufus,” said Cas, who smiled.
“That's right, boy,” said Bobby, smiling warmly at Cas. “That man has barely been out of his own house in twenty years! This is an occasion.”
Sometime later, Dean was nursing painful case of dishpan hands, and Bobby and Rufus were hunched over the case of exotic-looking metal parts Rufus had brought over, snapping them together and pulling them apart and buffing with a soft cloth. Dean wandered over to where Cas was sitting hovering over them, apparently enthralled.
“These don't look like the guns the guys were using the other night,” Dean opined, picking up a bit with a barrel-shaped piece that spun around.
“You be careful with that, boy!” Bobby ordered, grabbing it back.
“You ever actually fired off any of these, Rufus?” Dean asked.
“Good question!” Rufus told him brightly. “I've never had a reason to. But when your uncle told me what happened the other night … I couldn't resist the chance to experiment.”
“Nobody uses them anymore?” asked Dean, who couldn't resist picking up another gun bit, though he was careful to stand around on the other side of Bobby.
“There was thought at one time that guns would overtake swords! They were getting pretty common in the late nineteenth century.”
“Gun fighters!” gushed Dean. “I heard there were guys in the Old West who only used guns!”
Bobby snorted. “Oh hogwash. It's just legends.”
“It was true! They wrote songs!”
“Anyhow, Tesla made 'em all obsolete. And you're gonna see why.”
“I'm thinking this one,” said Rufus, laying an assembled firearm out on the table. “But we should take them out and test them first. None of these have been fired in a decade.” He picked up a small wooden box and slid down the lid. He plucked out a small, shiny slug and handed it to Dean.
Dean stared in fascination at the smooth, oblong metal object. “This is a bullet?”
“Yeah, before your friend Cas has had his way with it,” laughed Bobby. Castiel, who had been listening silently, smiled broadly.
“You wanna head outside?” asked Rufus.
“Yeah, just lemme grab one more thing. I think it's in the upstairs cabinet.” Bobby heaved himself up and made his way upstairs just as Sam came stampeding down the staircase.
“Hey, check this out!” he told Dean and Cas. “I just got off the phone with Jess, and Becky says-”
“Wait,” said Dean, waving his hands. “Wait. Jess and Becky are now BFFs?”
Sam shrugged and his cheeks flushed pink. “She never bugged Jess the way she bugs me. Anyway, we're gonna have the band at the next game!”
“What?” asked Dean. “That's awesome!”
“A … band?” asked Cas. “A musical band?”
“Yeah, Cas. The marching band comes to the game and then they play. They used to come all the time but they kind of gave up on us, like everybody else.”
“Why is there music at a fencing match?” Castiel looked so sweetly baffled, Dean couldn't resist putting an arm around his shoulders.
“They play get everybody pumped. We do the chant, only to music.”
“I thought you didn't like the chant?” Cas asked suspiciously.
Dean was bouncing up and down on his toes. “I fucking love the chant! Rock – chalk – Jayhawk – KUUUUUUUUU!” He paused, abruptly half-remembering a strange dream.
Rufus sat back and sipped his coffee. “I need to get to one of you boys's games.”
“Hey, we could get you in, no problem,” Dean told him.
Rufus turned to Dean’s brother. “I heard you’re a pretty fair duelist too, Sam.”
Sam shook his head and waved his hands. “I played in high school. I leave the sharp objects stuff Dean now. Well, Dean and Cas.”
Rufus arched an eyebrow. “Once you pick up the sword, you never really lay it down.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “You sound like John.”
Rufus peered up at Sam curiously. “You mean your father?”
“You know our dad?” Dean asked eagerly.
“Dean, everybody knows John Winchester.”
“All right, all right,” said Bobby, “let's get out there.” He came clattering down the stairs holding something that looked like a life vest, but Dean had no idea what it was. Bobby then had Sam and Dean grab some empty tin cans from the garbage, and they headed outside, where they set the cans along a fence post, and Rufus and then Bobby took turns shooting them down.
Dean cringed at the first sound of a gunshot. It was incredibly loud, and reminded him too damn much of the creepy guys in the alleyway. Cas, who had donned the odd vest, put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right, Dean?”
Dean waved him away. “Naw, I'm fine. What's up with the floatation device?”
“That there is a bullet-proof vest,” said Bobby.
“I won't need it,” said Cas, pulling at the neck. “And I find it restricting.”
“You're wearing it kid, and no arguments,” Bobby told him. Cas sighed and rolled his eyes, but nodded. Bobby stared at Cas. “I don't know, Rufus, maybe this was a stupid idea.”
Rufus tutted. “Bobby, he's wearing the vest. We can't pass up this opportunity!”
“Well, can you at least aim it away from him?”
“It's easiest if he aims it straight at me, Bobby,” said Cas. “Straight at the heart,” he added, pounding his chest with a fist.
“This was a bad idea,” said Bobby. He looked up, surprised to see Cas standing there, his hands on Bobby's shoulders.
“I'll be fine, Bobby. I promise. On my honor.”
“Honor don't repel bullets!” Dean was surprised to see the old man had gotten slightly teary-eyed, which was very unusual for someone so unsentimental. “All right. We'll do one. Just one! And then we'll have a drink.”
“We'll have several drinks!” said Rufus. “I brought the Scotch!” He looked over towards Sam. “You got the camera?” Sam, who had been texting Jess and not paying a whole lot of attention to the proceedings, held up the video camera and nodded.
Rufus had Cas back up several paces. Cas ignited his sword and let it fall to his boot, where the crackling indicated his shielding was activated, though it wouldn’t do much good against a bullet. Dean caught the whiff of ozone from the humming blade.
Cas got into his ready position, awkwardly tugging at the vest. Then, as Bobby sweated and Sam calmly filmed, Rufus raised his gun. Dean had a sudden terrible realization that this was a very stupid idea and they all needed to go inside and have a few drinks and think it over when there was a terrible bang and a flash and a flick of metal, and then all was silent again.
Cas was frozen in place, his blade hot and humming.
“Got it,” said Sam, peering into the camera.
“Good thing because we are not doing that shit ever again!” said Bobby, hand over his heart.
“Damn!” said Rufus, peering over Sam's shoulder at the replay. He grabbed the camera from Sam and, after determining how to run the video on slow, Dean watched the frame-by-frame with utter fascination. The gun quivered and fired, and you could see the silvery projectile hurtling towards Cas. And then the flash of the blade, flicking in the blink of an eye, even in slow motion, and it was all over.
Cas, who had been calmly puttering around looking for something on the ground, came over and dropped something in Rufus's hand.
“Shit! My bullet!” said Rufus, rapturously holding up the two halves, hot in his palm.
“How the hell do you practice that?” asked Bobby, but Cas only grinned. He extricated himself from the bullet-proof vest and handed it back to Bobby.
“That's like magic,” said Dean. “I mean, who can do that?”
“It was a street fighter trick,” said Rufus. He held up the gun. “That’s why you don’t see these things any more, unless they’re hanging on somebody’s wall.”
“Uh, Rufus?” said Dean.
“Yeah?”
“Before you put it away, can I try firing the gun?”
It took a couple of tries, but Dean managed to shoot a couple of cans off a fence post. He had to admit, it was archaic, but kind of cool. He liked the little kick when he squeezed the trigger. “You wanna try Cas?”
The street fighter wrinkled his nose. “It's dishonorable!”
“Now,” said Bobby. “Nothing dishonorable about an inanimate object. The dishonor is in how you use it.”
“I don't care to fire a gun, no,” Cas persisted, glaring at the firearm as if it were sour milk.
“You wanna go in for that drink?” asked Rufus.
“I could use one,” said Bobby.
“Rufus,” Cas began shyly. He absent-mindedly let his sword tap on his ankle, even though the blade was turned off.
“Yeah?”
“Um. Have you made any progress in your search....”
“You mean for your parents? Yeah, actually. Frank and I, we think we have a few leads. Hasn't been anything worth mentioning, but yeah, don't worry. We're on the case.”
“Thank you.”
Sam, who had hopped back up to perch on a junker car, glanced up from his phone and laughed bitterly. “And while you're on it, maybe you could look for our father.”
Frank stared at him, puzzled. He turned to Bobby. “Is John Winchester in trouble?”
“No,” Bobby told him. “And as a matter of fact, Sam, I talked to your father not too long ago.”
“Really?” asked Dean. “What did he say?”
“What does he ever say?” grumbled Sam, stabbing at the buttons on his phone.
Bobby folded his arms. “Well, I told him the team's been winning a few games, and suggested he might be inclined to come watch his son play.”
“You think he would?” asked Dean.
“No, Dean,” snapped Sam. “Why do you always get your hopes up? That old bastard is not gonna come to a game.”
“Samuel Winchester,” said Bobby. “I will not hear you speak that way about your father!”
Sam got a murderous gleam in his eye, but at that moment, his phone rang, and, after a moment's hesitation, he picked it up. “Hey Jess. No, we're still here at Uncle Bobby's. It's a long story.... What? Aw, crap! Yeah, I'll tell Dean. Don't worry.”
“Tell me what?” asked Dean.
Sam glanced between Dean and Cas. “There's trouble. Gordon's quit the team.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Not again. Did he and Jo break up?”
“It's not that. It’s much worse. He's transferring to Kansas State. He's gonna play for Crowley!”
There was a moment of shocked silence.
Dean threw up his hands. “Son of a bitch! We've got a game in three days. How the hell could he do this?”
