Code Duello (Part 10 of 14)
Apr. 28th, 2013 10:54 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: Code Duello (Part 10 of 14)
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikific
Rating: This chapter: NC-17
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, no beta. This chapter contains sexual situations and is NSFW.
Word Count: 80,000 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, the fencing team gets a new player, Cas learns to drive stick, and we face the Horned Frogs.
“Come on, Gordo.”
“Lay off, Benny,” groused Gordon, slapping away the big man's hand from his shoulder.
“This is lame!” said Ash.
Gordon regarded his teammates, who had just hauled his unwilling ass down to the court for one last round of reminding him why he was leaving.
“C'mon, man,” said Benny. “Is it Jo again? Because she'll come around.”
Gordon's scowl only intensified and the mention of his eternally on-and-off girlfriend. “No, it's not Jo! Dammit. I'm not doing this for her. For once I'm doing something for me. I'm not playing to my potential.” Benny and Ash exchanged a glance. It didn't sound like their friend Gordon. It sounded like he was repeating a line he'd heard from someone else.
“Your potential? And you're gonna do that under Crowley?” Dean snapped as he, Sam and Cas strode in.
Gordon glared defiantly at Dean. “Yes, Dean. For your information, he's got a training regime already in mind. We talked a long time.”
“But Crowley doesn't even coach, man,” said Sam. “You know he leaves it to Alastair.”
“He has a different role, he's more like … an overseer.” Gordon cringed at his own lame analogy.
“An overseer?” asked Dean. “So, you guys are slaves?”
Gordon rounded on Dean. “No, that's not what I meant. Don't twist my words.”
“They're Crowley's words, plain as day,” said Benny. “And they don't need to twist 'em. They come out bent.”
“You are aware that we have evidence the players on Crowley's team all use performance enhancements?” Cas asked quietly.
“He means they're juicing,” Dean translated.
Gordon was staring Dean down. “And what exactly is wrong with that?”
Dean started to answer, but Cas cut him off. “You mean besides the fact that the long-term effects have not been well documented and may well be deleterious? In the short term, most if not all of those agents are known to cause alterations of the pituitary hormonal axis resulting in decreased production of sexual hormones...”
Gordon's expression turned from sour to confused.
“He means your nads will shrivel,” Ash told Gordon with a snicker.
“...as well as adverse effect on liver functionality and increases in plasma cholesterol, and increase aggressive behavior. Plus, they make you slower.” Cas stepped closer to Gordon, into his space. “And stupider.”
Gordon leaned forward. Both put hands towards their weapons.
“Whoa whoa whoa! Okay, hey, wait,” said Dean, stepping quickly between them. “I don't want a duel, especially when I'm not entirely sure what it's about.”
“I'm going,” said Gordon, not taking his eyes off Cas. “It's already a done deal.” He looked at Benny and Ash. “If these two hadn't dragged me down here, I'd already be on my way.”
“Gordon!” The voice came from the stands, where Jo had just come in along with Jess and Pamela.
Gordon looked up at her. For a moment – just a moment – Dean thought Gordon was changing his mind. His face, usually so arrogant, was a lined in regret. But instead he just turned and stalked out the door. It shut with a distinct, and final, slam.
“Well, there goes the Rebellion's last hope,” sighed Meg, who had somehow shown up as well.
“We're winning, and now we can even field a damn team?” cursed Benny.
“Okay, that's it, where's the sword cabinet?” Sam stalked over and yanked it open.
“You gonna stop him that way?” asked Benny.
“No,” said Sam, throwing down his bag and grabbing a sword. “We're down a man. If he's off, I'm playing.”
There was a moment of stunned silence. “Holy shit balls, Sammy!” said Ash. “My fucking hero!”
“All right, hold it a minute” said Dean. “I thought you said you were off. For good. We agreed, after high school.”
“Screw it,” said Sam, who threw a couple of moves with a sword, frowned, and then replaced it in the rack.
Dean crossed his arms, baffled by this brotherly intransigence. “You sure about this, Sammy? You and Dad argued for a week. The kitchen wall still has that hole you punched!”
“I'm sure,” said Sam. “I have never been more sure.”
“Jess?” pleaded Dean. “Talk some sense into my brother.”
Jess grinned at Dean. “I only talk him out of stupid stuff.”
Dean held up his arms in exasperation. “And this isn't stupid? Sam! You have three days to practice.”
“So I'm a little rusty,” said Sam, replacing another blade. Cas, who had wandered over to the cabinet, fetched down another blade and handed it over to Sam. Sam tried a couple of moves and broke out into a grin. “Yeah, this works. Thanks Cas.”
“You have an excellent reach, Sam,” said Cas.
“Thanks!”
“Cas!” said Dean. “Talk to Sam. You're my last hope.”
“I thought Meg said Gordon was the last hope,” cracked Ash, prompting an actual, if fleeting, smile from Meg.
“I'm your last hope!” said Sam, who was brought up short when he swung wild and found himself parried by Cas, using not a sword, but just his index and middle fingers. “Uh.”
“He hasn't fenced since high school, Cas,” said Dean.
“He has obvious deficits,” said Cas. “As certain of them are similar to your shortcomings, I think they are more the result of your secondary school sensei's failings as a trainer.
“My shortcomings?” wailed Dean, his voice breaking.
Sam rolled his eyes. “Cas, if you train me, will you at least promise to use a sword and not just your fingers? Because, damn.”
“My apologies,” said Cas, withdrawing his hand.
“Don't you have a midterm?” asked Dean, who knew full well he was now grasping at straws. Sammy had taken debate classes, the little shit.
“I passed my last midterm.” Sam inclined his head. “I have an essay due.”
“We can do the essay!” Charlie shouted down from the stands.
“You don't even know what class!” Dean shouted back.
“What class?”
“Poly sci 102!” said Sam.
“We got it.” Charlie and Pamela hunched over the laptop.
Dean watched with a growing sense of inevitability as Cas led his brother off to one of the mats and they began to drill. “We're just up against the Horned Frogs next, brother. Ain't like it's a mob of guys with guns,” Benny told him softly.
“You heard about that?”
For once, Benny looked serious. “We all of us heard.”
“And you're still here?”
Benny spread out his arms. “Look at me! I'm still here. Everyone but Gordo is still here. Didn't see that one coming, or we woulda warned you.”
“It's not your fault, Benny.”
“Gordo's a moody son of gun. Hard to get a fix on. He'll get to perseverating about his sister.”
Dean turned and stared at Benny. “You think that's what it is? Not Jo?”
Benny scowled and nodded. “If I was a bettin' man, I'd say he wants to get juiced up. Wants to go all street fighter and go look for her.”
“Are his people Freedmen?” asked Dean, who was surprised he didn't know the answer.
Benny laughed. “His daddy's a chemist and his mama's a CPA.”
“So, no.” Benny nodded sadly, and went off to spar with Ash.
Dean was lost in thought. He was only shaken from his reverie some time later when Coach Henricksen, cigarette dangling from his lips, slapped him on the shoulder. “What's the word, Winchester? Why is Charlie up in the stands with a laptop?”
“She's working on Sam's Poli Sci essay.”
“Oh. All right. Carry on,” said the coach, turning to go.
“Wait, is that all you wanna know?” asked Dean.
“I gotta get ready. I'm seeing Ellen tonight.”
Dean goggled. “You mean, seeing seeing?”
“I know you're slow, Dean, but I didn't think you were stupid.”
Dean glared at the authority figure for his obvious dereliction of duty. “And you're not wondering-”
“Why Gordon missed my practice and your brother is making an ass of himself?” He smirked over to where Sam, who had just been walloped by Cas, was sitting on his rump once again. “I'm sure in the fullness of time, all will be revealed, and all that zen crap.”
Dean hurried over to where Cas had been clobbering his little brother, arriving just as Cas was helping Sam to his feet.
“Sammy-”
Sam looked truly blissed out. “This is fun, Dean! I'd forgotten how much I liked this stupid sport.”
“Your brother is doing very well!” Cas assured him. “Although I wouldn't be surprised if he has some sore muscles tomorrow. I might recommend a warm bath.”
“I might do that. Um. I'm staying over at Jess's tonight,” Sam told Dean.
Dean grinned. “Are her parents gonna be around?”
“Yeah. It's family game night.”
“I'm sorry,” said Dean, as it meant his brother would probably be bathing alone. As well as playing Monopoly with a bunch of cops.
“C'mon Cas. I wanna hit the road before it's dark.”
Cas hurried after Dean as they headed towards the parking lot. He looked worried. “Will your brother be … all right? I mean, staying at the Moore's tonight? We're still not sure if there are more of those men abroad.”
Dean smiled broadly. “Well, Jess’s dad, Mr. Moore, is a cop.”
“And her mother?”
“Mrs. Moore … is a cop. And her older brothers are cops. And her uncles on her dad's side are cops.”
“And her uncles on her maternal side?”
“Firemen. Her mom was a black sheep.”
“That's interesting, Dean.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “But some of the things you and your brother did in past years? For the underground railroad?”
“Yeah. Not strictly legal,” laughed Dean as they reached the car. “In fact, not legal in any way, shape or form. Sammy wanted to turn over a new leaf when he started college, and as far as I could tell, Uncle Bobby was all for it. He said there might as well be one respectable person in the Winchester family line. Sam and my dad had a pretty bad argument when Sammy said he wasn't going to continue with fencing. Thought they were gonna kill each other this time.” Dean shuddered with the memory. “But then my dad took off. It's what he does.” He shrugged and got into the car, somewhat carelessly tossing his sidearm in the back. Cas carefully set his scabbard at his feet and got in the passenger side.
“So your father is … away? A lot?” asked Cas cautiously after they had driven for a while.
“Yeah. That's a long story. See, our families – there's the Campbells one one side, and the Winchesters on the other – they both have histories of trouble making. Legend has it a couple of Campbell cousins rode with John Brown. I prefer to believe that legend! But I guess we're kind of like Coach Henricksen's family: Dad originally wanted nothing to do with all that. He joined the army and then married Mom. But it all went south when Mom died. I mean, you know Ash and all his theories?”
“Some of them are correct.”
“Well, yeah, maybe. Anyway, Dad's gotten like that. Only more so. He got it in his head that mom's death was part of a conspiracy. Someone called Old Yellow Eyes. So he was off after one conspiracy after the other, used to leave me and Sammy alone for a longer and longer time. Finally one day Uncle Bobby pulls up with his pickup truck, packs us up and moves us out to his place.”
“Have you seen your father since then?”
“Occasionally. He and Sam don't get along too well lately, so it's almost better that he stays scarce.”
“I'm sorry.”
“It's not your fault.”
Soon it was time for Cas to hop out and open the gate, which, to the boys's surprise, was padlocked. They found the reason as soon as they were inside: Bobby had stuck a note on the fridge to the effect that he was out for the evening.
“He's playing cards over at Jody Mills's place,” said Dean. “She's the local sheriff.”
Cas looked intrigued. “Bobby is friends with the local sheriff?”
'Yeah, funny story. I'll have him tell it some time. They met when she arrested him, and they just hit it off. But it looks like we need to make sure the property is locked up tight. And more important, we're fending for ourselves for dinner.”
“That's no problem!” said Cas. “I could make some stew...”
“Aw, come on, Cas, you're always cooking for us. Why don't I make something? I grill a pretty mean burger!”
Cas smiled. “Should I check the perimeter?”
“Yeah, sure.”
As it turned out, Dean was still making a mess of the kitchen when Cas returned, so he reluctantly accepted Cas's offer to help with preparation, even though this resulted in more vegetables than he usually let come near his burgers. But in the end Cas persuaded him to load his burger with a big beefsteak tomato and thin sliced red onions and even a leaf of fresh lettuce and finished with a big dollop of Cas's favorite ranch dressing, and Dean had to concede that it was sort of not bad.
Dean finally pushed himself back from the table after his second helping of ice cream to declare that this was a very satisfactory meal indeed. “Hey, you know what?”
“What?” asked Cas. As it turns out, Dean's idea of preparing a healthy side dish was an opening a bag of potato chips. Cas had decided that he liked potato chips almost as much as French fries, but that they weren't very good dipped in ranch dressing.
“I think it's still light enough, you want a driving lesson?”
Cas dropped his potato chip.
Dean wouldn't countenance a student driver getting near his beloved Impala, and besides Bobby had dictated they learn on a stick shift, so he picked an old, battered Toyota Corolla to start out with. Cas, as an athlete, was well coordinated and had lightning quick reaction time, but at first seemed too nervous to do much besides sweat. But gradually Dean got him calmed down enough to talk over the principles of the clutch pedal, and, after a couple of harrowing near misses, Cas managed to make it around a couple of corners without dropping the transmission.
Dean then insisted on a brief primer on auto mechanics, so, as it was getting darker, he hung one of Bobby's trouble lights on the hood, and introduced Cas to the mystery that was the Impala's internal combustion engine.
“Do you service on this car yourself, Dean?” asked Cas as he leaned on the fender.
“I rebuilt her! I know every bolt.” He got a funny look on his face. “It was actually my dad's car. Originally. One of the few things I guess we got in common.”
Cas's face was in the shadows, so Dean couldn't tell his reaction. Dean wondered if the talk of family tonight was making his friend wistful. “Anyway, you wanna get in and clean up the kitchen before Bobby comes back and has a fit?”
Cas ended up washing and Dean rinsing and stacking things in the drain. “I've told Bobby he needs a damn dishwasher,” Dean muttered.
“I find washing dishes calming,” said Cas.
“You would. So, you and your brothers, spent a lot of time in the kitchen, I take it?”
Cas's features traced a small, shy smile. “Yes. It was a good place to congregate. We couldn't stay in the training room all day. And the dormitories were cramped. And some of our brothers....” He trailed off, as if trying to decide how to phrase his sentiment. “Well, they wanted privacy. Those who, um, formed bonds. If you know what I mean?”
Dean didn't know at first, but it took him only a few seconds. “Oh. So, the action wasn't all at the brothels?”
Cas shrugged. His face rippled through half a dozen emotions. “Dean, I have a confession.”
Dean dropped a plate in the drain and leaned against the counter, having no idea what was coming next. “Yeah?”
“After Gabriel took me the first time, I began to visit the brothels. It was a tradition after a bout, especially after a victory. It was … expected?”
“All right. You said you just sat and talked with the girls at first?”
Cas's voice was barely above a whisper. “Dean. That's all I ever did, actually.”
“Wait. You didn't.... Oh.”
“We would talk. Or play cards. They didn't mind. The girls were all nice. They were all very nice.”
Dean wondered if he should pry, but decided since Cas had started it.... “Um, so what was the issue? You, maybe didn't want a girl?”
Cas shook his head. “It wasn't that … specifically. I don't know. It just seemed like the act was somewhat.... It seems like a sacred thing. I'm not explaining myself well.”
“No, that's cool, Cas.”
His eyes were pleading. “Please don't laugh. I haven't even told Gabriel about this.”
“No, man. I see what you mean. You want it with somebody special, right?”
Cas nodded, a picture of perfect earnestness. Dean smiled. “You promised not to laugh!” Cas chided.
“I'm not laughing. Cas. It's nice. It's real … old fashioned. Anyway, it's not something to be ashamed of.” Cas was staring at the floor, thoroughly abashed. “And hey, look. You told me something, I'll tell you something. And it's completely okay if you laugh. All right? Come on!” Dean grinned and led Cas upstairs to his bedroom. He went to sit over on his bed and pulled something out of the nightstand. “I had this up, until you got here. Both Sam and Bobby gave me hell. But I liked it. Anyway,” Dean said, nervously handing a much-folded paper over to Cas.
Cas, after looking curiously at Dean, carefully unfolded the paper, and gasped at what he saw. “Is this me?”
“It was from one of Rufus's magazines. I thought it was so … awesome. I couldn't believe you could do that. This was before I knew you. I mean, knew you well. I still don’t believe I know somebody like that.”
To Dean's surprise, Castiel crossed the room sat down on his cot, facing the wall, his back to Dean. His hand was now tracing over the picture, his thoughts unreadable. He unfolded the tape on the top edge of the magazine page and stuck it up on the wall in front of him. Concerned, Dean went to sit beside him.
“You're- You're really amazing,” said Dean, running a hand over the photo.
“My signature move,” murmured Cas. His voice was barely above a whisper. Dean leaned closer to hear. “My mother and father.... You know I never knew them. Do you think...?”
Cas was quiet for a while. “What, Cas?” Dean gently prompted.
“If they knew.... If they saw me.... Do you think they would have still...?” His hand dropped down to his lap, and he wilted.
“Cas.” Dean gripped his shoulders and pulled him around. “Look, I know family stuff. You don't know why your parents left. Maybe they died. Maybe.... We'll never know. But that wasn't about you, it was about them. You're a freaking incredible person, Cas. Incredible. Whether you're jumping on the walls, or coaching my baby brother. I'm glad you're here with me. I'm so lucky. I'm just so lucky. I've got you.”
Cas put a tentative hand out to touch Dean's face, tracing with great care two slender fingers down the side of his cheek. The eyes that could burn through you shown with the refracted pooling of tears. Dean found it hard to reconcile the feral creature crashing through in the photograph with this fragile being now trembling beside him. He leaned forward, just a fraction, just enough to bring his forehead to gently press on Castiel's, holding a hand in back of his head, threading through the tangled hair back there. And they sat that way for what may have been a minute or five minutes or just a breath.
And then they were kissing, and it was so sweet and soft and slow, and Dean never did figure out who started it, it just all felt so right, and Dean thought maybe he could just sit here and kiss for a few more hours. He leaned over a fraction and his hand came down on Cas's tense thigh. He felt the muscles quiver like a bowstring, and slid his hand up and up and up further, and-
Cas emitted a whoop as they both found themselves spilled over flat on their asses, the wheeled cot having popped out from beneath them when Cas moved. Cas's face was a mask of surprise and betrayal.
Dean hooted, his body shaking. “Look at us, we're supposed to be a couple of athletes.” Cas smiled shyly, and Dean hauled him up by the shirt. “Come on. Bed. It's more stable,” he laughed. He sat down hard on the end of his bed, pulling Cas up beside him. To his surprise, Cas scooted over to straddle his lap, and began kissing him, more ardently this time. Dean held on and kissed back, and it was really sexy and nice. He pushed his friend back. “Cas, you done this before?” he asked.
Castiel flashed a guilty look. “Uh. No.”
“That's okay. That's fine. You sure you want to-”
“YES!”
“Okay, good,” said Dean, going to pull off Cas's shirt as he was suddenly feeling more skin was needed. He brushed his hands up the wiry muscle. “We can take it slow.” At which point Cas shoved him – hard – into the mattress. “Or not! Oh boy....”
Dean had never seen Cas like this. He had seen him naked before, or nearly so: sharing a small cramped bedroom and equally tiny bathroom would do that. But he was used to the cool customer whose every movement was sharp and precise as a blade. But this … it was like the first few minutes of the driving lesson, where Cas was everywhere and nowhere, here mouthing Dean's nipple and there sending a hand down into his waistband. Clumsy fingers started fumbling with the clasp on his jeans as if it was the most difficult problem in the universe.
“I got it. I got it,” Dean told him, deftly clicking the snap and then wriggling partway out of his jeans and boxers. “Hey, wait a second,” he chided as Cas crawled on top of him before he'd gotten them quite kicked off. Dean let out a moan as, pinned down by Cas's weight and a tangle of clothes, Cas rubbed his entire body against him, one hard cock stroking another. He felt another moan escape his throat, grateful that they were alone in the house. He stayed like that for while, just feeling the delicious friction, letting it spread warmth through his body. Cas's skin: how the hell did it manage to stay so soft.
Cas ground his hips, and Dean arched and gasped. He needed to do something.
He somehow extracted his ankles from his pants, and abruptly shifted his weight, tangling his legs in Cas's so he was now on top of Cas, trapping the street fighter's hands up above his head. He paused and stared down triumphantly at Cas, whose eyes had grown wide in surprise beneath tangled hair. Dean thought he looked the same way back when the whole team had taken him on, and Dean had finally worn him down and cut his hair. His Cupid's bow mouth formed a perfect circle, and Dean ducked his head down. “Wrestling team. I lettered,” he whispered in Cas's ear, and the mouth shaped up in a small smile.
“Let me show you something.” Releasing Cas's wrists, Dean went in for another burning kiss, trailing his hand down between them, tracing the lovely mound of Cas's pectoral muscles, easing down his flat stomach, tickling the fine small hairs that led down to his groin. Arching his body up, he gently grabbed both his dick and Cas's and, as Cas let out a very pleasing little whine, began to stroke them together. He felt Cas's hands scrabble to grip his back, fingernails digging into his skin as he increased the pace, watched his eyes flutter shut, the lashes long and dark against pale skin. Cas's mouth was open making strangled noises. Dean felt the burning in his groin, felt the naked want. He would not be satisfied until he'd chased away all street fighter cool and turn Cas into a begging, pleading wreck beneath him.
“Dean....”
His name came out as a delightfully strangled gasp. Cas was close, he just needed to push him over the edge. “You're so beautiful,” Dean murmured. And then Cas bucked and gasped and stiffened and Dean felt the warm sticky cum spread on his hand.
Dean lowered himself into another long slow kiss, sliding their bodies together, luxuriating in the sticky feeling on his belly. “Mmmm. So beautiful,” he whispered, kissing along Cas's hairline. “And all mine.”
“Dean.” Cas was holding his face, sweating, pupils wide as dinner plates, hair stuck here and there and everywhere catching his breath. It seemed to be all he could say. I've scrambled his brain, Dean thought smugly. He ground into him a couple strokes, grunting with pleasure and want.
“What about you, Dean?” Cas managed to croak.
Dean smiled. He pulled up Cas's hand and spit into it, rubbing it around the palm. And then he pulled it down so it encircled his still red, engorged cock. “Like this. Careful. Just hold me.” Cas nodded and Dean slowly began to stroke again, fucking into Cas's hand. Cas was wildly concentrating, adjusting his grip as Dean pushed himself up and down. The hand gripped tighter, and Dean hitched his body faster. And then Cas's other hand came around, caressing the globe of his ass. Dean sighed and continued, stroking and stroking as Cas's hand slid around between his ass cheeks. Two fingers found his asshole and started to push inside.
Dean let out a surprised cry. He lost it right there as every drop of blood in his body raced to his groin. He shot out, marking Cas's stomach.
He bucked again, once, twice, and then huffed and let himself smash down into Cas's body, feeling loopy and satisfied and all flavors of surprised. Cas was stroking a hand up and down his back, and humming a funny little satisfied hum.
“Where did you learn that?” Dean finally rasped. “I thought you were virgin?”
Cas only smiled mysteriously.
“What?”
Cas actually blushed. “Well, when I used to go to the brothel? I spent a lot of time talking to the girls....”
Dean laughed and they kissed. “You're gonna kill me,” Dean told him. “Damn, you're gonna kill me.”
“I hope not. Then we couldn't have more sex.” His brow wrinkled. “Isn't it supposed to last longer?”
Dean laughed again. “It takes a while. Don't worry. We'll practice. We'll get lots of practice.” He pushed up, resting on Cas's chest, listening. “I don't think Bobby's coming back, let's hit the showers.”
“Together?”
Dean grinned. “Come on.”
They ended up using up all Bobby's hot water. And then Dean wouldn't let Cas don his pajamas, so they slept that way that night, all tangled around one another, smelling of soap and warmth and contentment.
If Dean dreamt that night, of terrible black-eyed beings and winged saviors, he didn't remember.
“I’ve gotta head to class,” said Dean as he pulled the car into one of the campus parking lots the next morning. “You?”
Cas was squinting at his cell phone. “I am actually headed to a practice session with your brother.”
Dean broke out in a grin. “He’s sure dedicated.”
“He has a great deal of natural facility with the sport, although he has issues with his sense of balance.”
“That’s my Sammy.” Dean hesitated, his hand on the door, looking at Cas for a moment, and then they leaned together and kissed. And then they kissed some more, and then some more, and then finally Dean pushed Cas away and said, “Okay, I think we better stop, before we can’t stop.”
Cas just gave a sly little grin and slipped out the door. Dean sat there for a moment longer. “Damn,” he said. And giving a little, “What did I get myself into?” look, he departed.
Sam was sitting on his ass. Again. As Cas had just tripped him. Again.
“You know,” Sam said, not attempting to stand, “I don’t think that move was strictly legal.”
“You need to be more aware of your center of balance, Sam.”
“That doesn’t mean you can go tripping people!” Sam sighed, ignoring Cas’s offered hand, and crossed his long legs. A frown creased his brow. “You really think I’m gonna be ready for the game?”
“You are already more than ready,” said Cas.
“Seriously?”
“As I was just telling your brother, you have a knack for this sport.” Cas hunkered down so he was more at Sam’s eye level. “You appear to have a poor body sense however. Can you tell me, did you experience a growth spurt in recent times?”
“My last year of high school! I mean, I was always big for my age, but it was like a rocket. Whoosh!”
“I experienced something similar. I was small for my age. They had expected me to fight in the flyweight division, like Gabriel. But then I rapidly grew tall. Unfortunately, I wasn’t large enough for the heavyweight class. That’s part of the reason they wanted me to use performance enhancing drugs.”
“But you didn’t?”
Cas tilted his head and stared off into the distance. “No. Instead, I became something quite different. Something new.”
“So, is this my zen wisdom for the day?”
Cas suddenly lit up. “I am taking a class in Buddhist philosophy! I’m finding it quite enlightening.”
Sam regarded Cas. He was definitely something different. “So, I’m gonna be okay?”
“You should do exceedingly well. If you remember not to give your opponent an opening.” Cas stood and once again extended a hand.
“Okay, but dude? No more tripping this morning? My butt aches.”
“All right.” Sam took his hand and stood.
“Hey, Sam! Cas!” yelled Charlie from up in the stands. “I got your essay,” she added, waving a thumb drive.
“Charlie, I could kiss you!” said Sam.
“Could I kiss Jess instead?” she asked. “Your girlfriend is hot.”
Sam laughed and sauntered over to his book bag and dragged out his laptop. “Yeah, Dean says she’s out of my league. Could you upload it?”
Charlie opened the computer and plugged in the drive and transferred the file. “Hey, why are you poking around the Niveus Pharma site?”
“Oh, that,” said Sam. “They manufacture this performance enhancing drug we’re interested in. But it’s really difficult getting information. It’s locked down pretty tight.”
“They’re owned by SucroCorp. Did you know that?”
Sam and Cas looked at each other. “No, I didn’t know that.”
“Oh, one of my friends hacked into their web site a couple weeks ago. He wrote, ‘Dick is a wad’ all over the site. You know, Dick Roman, their CEO dude?”
“I think I’ve seen him on TV. Is that the same guy?”
Charlie rolled her eyes. “The cheesy dude? Yeah. He’s so annoying.”
Sam leaned closer. “Look, Charlie, do you think your, uh, 'friend' could hack into the site again?”
“What do you need?”
“We’re looking for the distribution network for a drug called PerFormaT.”
Charlie grinned. “Can do. But this is gonna cost you.”
“Cost me what?”
“I dunno. Date with Jess? Dean’s right, she’s out of your league.”
“Charlie, are you gonna be a Becky?”
“A what?”
To Dean’s surprise and delight, Bobby insisted on attending the next game. “If both my boys are determined to end up as shishkebab, I guess I oughta be around to pick up the pieces.” He was, along with everyone else, shouting the Gregorian-like rock chalk chant along with a real live marching band, who filled one end of the stadium with crimson and blue. And then everyone stood for the Alma Mater.
Jess was swaying there in the stands, of course, along with half of the Lawrence police force, and a rather decent portion of its first responders, a surprising proportion of whom happened to be Moore, Moore in-laws or Moore cousins.
“I had better not fuck up, huh?” said Sam, staring from his place at the sidelines up at the Moore-filled stands as the singing finally halted and his first duel was announced.
“This city better not have a fire,” said Dean. “Or a car accident. Or a bank robbery. Or any parking violations.”
‘You will be fine, Sam,” Cas told him. “Just remember your center. Um, Grasshopper.”
Sam grinned and strode out into the court. Dean laughed and Cas turned to him, saying sincerely, “Sam wanted me to call him that.”
“Yeah, I know why.” Cas still looked perplexed, so Dean told him, “It’s okay, it means he thinks you’re full of martial arts wisdom.”
“What the blazes does Sam think he’s doing out there?” Benny demanded as Sam stopped for a moment at the side of the mat, yanked up one heel, and sent another long arm stretched out. “He looks like an overgrown crane.”
“I gave him some yoga poses. For balance,” Cas explained.
“Sam’s doing freaking yoga now?” Benny wailed.
“If it can get us a win, I’ll go out and quack like a duck!” Dean vowed.
“Is your brother ready?” asked Henricksen, who had nervously paced down and now sat in Sam’s vacated seat. He looked badly nicotine-deprived.
“Sam will be fine. Cas has been practicing with him.”
“You showed him those crazy moves, Singer?” Henricksen asked, pointing to Sam, who was still making a big production out of stretching.
Cas blinked at him for a moment, unfamiliar with his brand new last name. At last he responded, “Yes! I taught him the crazy moves.”
“Good. His opponent is completely freaked out now.” The boys directed their attention out to the field, where indeed Sam’s opponent on the Horned Frogs team looked totally baffled at Sam’s elaborate gyrations. They lined up, and Sam was able to quickly rack up the first Jayhawks win of the night.
Sam rushed back to the bench, where he was basically dancing. “I’m pumped! I’m so pumped.”
“Sammy!” whispered Dean.
“Yeah.”
“Turn off your damn sword before we get a penalty.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Sam looked around and, with a guilty expression, quickly clicked off the electrified blade.
Fortunately for Sam and his team, none of the officials seemed to have witnessed his gaffe. Unfortunately, the rest of the match did not go as smoothly as Sam’s first duel. Pamela still didn’t feel confident enough to suit up, so Charlie went in an inevitably lost. But Ash also fell short, and, surprisingly, Dean lost on points, for which he spent the rest of the match cursing himself. Cas thought to offer some pointers, but was persuaded by Benny to keep this knowledge to himself for the present time.
It all came down to Cas’s duel, which, to make things more dramatic, was the last one of the match. “It’s all down to you, Cas,” Dean told him.
“Yes, I’m aware of that, Dean,” Cas told him serenely.
“Doesn’t anything make you sweat?”
Cas leaned over close. “Nothing but you.” And with a smug smile, Cas strode out to the mat.
Dean felt himself punched in the shoulder. “Dude,” said Sam, which served as both a statement and an inquiry.
“Later,” said Dean, brushing off his brother so he could concentrated on worrying himself sick over Cas. They’d matched him with a big guy again, and Dean was left speculating whether some of the guys on this team were doping. This was a guy with muscles on his muscles. And no neck. Dean wondered not for the first time why opposing coaches always tried to counter Cas’s elegant, swift style with brawn.
There was a shout from the stands. “Rock! Chalk!”
And an answering, “Jayhawk!”
“KUUUUUUUUU!”
And then the band picked it up. “Rock! Chalk! Jayhawk!”
“KU!” shouted Dean, along with the rest of the bench. Cas, out on the field, flicked a small smile his way.
The entire stadium thundered now. “Rock! Chalk! Jayhalk! KUUUUUUUUU!” the last notes echoing as everyone held their breath.
“Rock chalk Jayhawk KU! Rock chalk Jayhawk KU! Rock chalk Jayhawk KU!”
And then there was nothing but the echo of the final note.
Dean was surprised to see that Cas didn't seem to be playing any mind games with his opponent this time. It was like watching a bullfight, the guy snorting and stamping, jazzed to get fighting. He imagined this one would be better suited for street fighting: how could he ever hold it together for formal dueling?
They lined up, and Dean could barely breathe. The duelists saluted the stands. This was the longest fight in the history of the world.
The ref irritably signaled for silence. “En garde. Pret. Allez.”
And then....
It was over in an eyeblink, the TCU man enraged when the ref called it for Cas. The Horned Frog duelist grunted, and turned red.
Cas turned towards his bench. The TCU guy hadn't turned off his weapon though: just like Sammy. Only not so much like Sammy....
“CAS!” Dean was on his feet, screaming as the humming blade came down. And Cas was around, somehow parrying with a dead blade, and then there was a flash of bodies and swords and Dean was running over along with Henricksen and half the bench.
And Cas was there, knee on the guy's chest, and somehow, both blades raised, vengeful look in his eyes.
“Cas! Cas,” Dean said again. And Henricksen had him up, and then Benny and some other big guy from the Frog bench were wrestling up the opponent and a ref was in his face screaming at him and Henricksen was shouting and there was so much shouting and Dean grabbed Cas by the arm and pulled him around.
“Are you okay? You're okay? Right? You're okay.”
Cas's attention slowly but surely came around to Dean, his expression softening suddenly to a sweet smile. He pulled Dean close and gave him a quick kiss, and Dean sort of blithered.
“I KNEW IT!” Jo was standing right in back of Dean. Of course the little spitfire had emptied the bench as soon as there was trouble. Dean didn't know what to say, but Jo turned halfway around to say, I told you so, but then apparently realized Gordon wasn't beside her. There was no one to tell, and Dean felt a pinch on his own heart.
“Ew,” added Ash, who was standing to Jo's other side. She elbowed him.
“Okay. Wait. What?” asked a grinning Sam.
“Later, Sammy,” Dean told him.
Dean wondered if Cas was regretting that Gabriel hadn’t shown up. He had warned them ahead of time. It was probably for the best, as Gabriel probably would have murdered the unlucky TSU player who’d tried to make a late hit on Cas. Dean turned to ask Cas, but realized his friend was no longer standing beside him. Dean looked across the court. Cas was over standing with Bobby and Coach Henricksen. Henricksen was saying something to Bobby, and Bobby got this funny expression, and then reached out and gripped Cas’s shoulder, radiating pride.
Dean blinked in surprise. Bobby was acting exactly like a … a parent.
“What?” asked Sam.
“I told you, later.”
“No, I mean, why are you staring like that?”
Dean gestured towards Bobby. “This is gonna sound petty as fuck, but Bobby couldn’t be bothered to come to our games? And now Cas is under our roof a couple weeks, and look.”
Sam looked philosophical. “Dean, we have a dad. He’s just an asshole.”
Dean rounded on Sam. “John isn’t an asshole! You just don’t know him.”
“Yeah, Dean. He didn’t exactly give me the chance, did he?”
“Does he. Does he, Sam. He’s not … dead,” Dean muttered.
Sam’s expression indicated he wasn’t certain about that.
“Well, you boys are getting too damned big to hug, but I don’t give a shit,” said Bobby, pulling Dean in a great, back-slapping bear hug. He gestured for Sam, who enveloped the smaller man. “Damn, my back!” grumbled Bobby when the embrace broke. “All right, we’re headed to Harvelle’s, and the drinks are on me. You wanna ride in the pickup truck, boy?” he asked Cas, who hovered around, grinning madly.
“I would like to drive the pickup truck. Dean showed me how to operate a manual transmission.”
“Huh. Is that true? You're driving stick?”
“We had a lesson, yeah,” said Dean.
“So now you’re the expert?” Bobby asked Cas suspiciously.
“Yes!”
To Dean’s astonishment, Bobby handed his set of keys over to Cas. “Well, let me strap on my crash helmet. You boys following along?”
“I guess so,” said Dean as Cas and Bobby departed. “Sammy. He is totally spoiling Cas!”
“Aw, Dean. Come on. He’s more excited about driving that stupid broken down truck than he was about the match.”
After making certain Jess was situated with a ride, and a funny whispered conversation Dean couldn’t hear, Sam at long last accompanied Dean in the Impala.
“All right, so, it's later,” said Sam, settling into the passenger seat.
“Oh, so that’s what the conspiring was about? It's twenty minutes later, Sammy.” Dean sighed and wrinkled his brow into an exasperated brother expression. He sighed. “So, Cas and I, we have this thing.”
“You're a thing?”
“We have a thing.”
“You have a thing. Since when do you have a thing?”
Dean bobbled his head. “Since a couple days.”
“So he's the love of your life for the next 48 hours?”
“What? No, Sam, it's not like that!”
“He's a magician?”
“Sam. This is different. Believe me, this is different somehow. I can't explain it. When he's not around-”
“Which is hardly ever, any more.”
“When he's not around, he's all I can think about. It's like he's still there. It's fucking weird. And when he's there, I just wanna be around him.”
“Oh, boy,” said Sam, rolling his eyes.
“What?”
“You don't know?”
“No. What? Are you trying to be annoying? Because you're fucking succeeding!”
“All I can say is, you better not act like you always do, because I think Gabriel will come and hack you to little itty-bitty pieces.”
“Well. Yeah. There's that.” Actually, Dean hadn't considered the vengeful big brother angle. “Why didn't you warn me about this before?”
“You didn't ask me!”
“Well, that's right, nobody asked you.”
Sam got a very smug look. “You're in love with a street fighter,” he taunted.
“I am? Shit. I am. What the hell.”
Sam chuckled in an annoyingly condescending manner. “If it's any consolation, I'm in the same boat with Jess. If I don't keep on the straight and narrow, the Lawrence P.D. has my name and home address.”
Dean laughed. He really hadn’t thought about it like that before. But then he realized that meant Sam was comparing him and Cas to Sam and Jess, and he grew thoughtful once again.
“Here we are,” said Sam, and it was literally at that point that Dean realized he was in the Harvelle’s parking lot. Once they got inside, to Dean’s surprise, Cas was sitting up at the bar, where it looked like Jo had actually convinced him to do shots.
“You guys made it here in one piece?” Dean asked Bobby.
“We were fine. You’re obviously a hell of a driving instructor, Dean. Although I’ll tell you right now the boy ain’t driving us back.”
“Why not, Bobby?” asked Cas, who attempted to turn around on the barstool and ended up flopped halfway into Dean’s arms. “Hello, Dean!” he said brightly. “I'm doing shots!”
“Had a little too much to drink, there, Cas?” laughed Dean, attempting to reposition his now boneless friend up on the stool.
“No!” Cas emitted a burp. “I mean, maybe?”
“How about this? What if we got sit at a booth and have some of Ellen’s fried mushrooms?” Dean wasn't quite sure whether or not Cas agreed, but he half walked half carried him over to a booth and put in an order for something that wasn't alcoholic.
“Dean!” piped up Charlie. She invited herself to plop down in the booth opposite them and opened her laptop.
“'Sup?” asked Dean.
“So, you remember that weird drug you asked me - um, I mean, my friend - to trace for you?”
Dean looked baffled.
“Yes,” said Cas. “PerFormaT? You have something. Already?”
“Well, yeah, it was a fun problem! They have firewalls in front of firewalls. But the answer is, it goes nowhere.”
“What? How can it go nowhere?” asked Dean.
“No clue. All of the trails lead to nowhere. It’s like it all ends up stacked up in some warehouse somewhere.”
“That’s strange,” said Cas, popping a fried mushroom into his mouth.
Charlie grinned triumphantly. “But I tell you what my buddy did find! It’s shadowy! It's blacker than black! Times infinity!”
“What?”
“Roman Industries is also parent company to Wellman, Inc. It’s through a couple of subsidiaries in the Cayman Islands.”
“Wait,” said Dean, “Wellman is the company that does….”
“Wellman Wellies,” sighed Cas.
“Those horrible fake fighting boots that the stupid people all wear!”
Charlie looked smug. “Well, they may be fake, but they’ve donated a ton of them to a certain academic program.”
Dean and a suddenly sobered Cas exchanged a glance. “Who?” asked Dean.
“K-state.” She spun the computer around so Dean and Cas could see the screen.
“Thanks Charlie.”
“Any time! Remember me to Jess!” And she grinned and bounced away.
It was Cas’s fault, really.
He had given Dean this look. And you really shouldn’t look at another person like that. So Dean pressed him up against the car, although now he was starting to wonder whether things might be nicer in the back seat.
“Get a room.”
Dean stopped for a moment to glare at his brother. “Could you … I dunno, knock or something.”
Sam spread his long arms. “Knock where? We’re in the Harvelle’s parking lot, Dean.”
Dean looked around and realized it was true. “Well, you know.”
Sam heaved a sigh. “Are we gonna go home or what?”
“Yeah yeah yeah. Home.” Dean opened the driver’s side door and pushed Cas inside.
“You're impossible when you're hormonal, you know,” said Sam.
“I'm not fucking hormonal! Now get in the damn car! Before we leave your ass behind.”
“Can I drive home, Dean?” asked Cas, grinning and gripping the steering wheel.
“No fucking way! Shove over!” Cas vacated the driver’s seat and Dean slipped in beside him.
“You guys take it easy up there,” said Sam, climbing into the back. “I sit up there.”
“Sam,” grunted Dean, sitting behind the wheel. He peeled out. “Oh, did you ask Charlie to look up that drug we got from Gabriel?”
“She offered. Or rather her hacker 'friend' volunteered. What? Did she already come up with something” asked Sam.
“No,” said Dean. “Nothing but dead ends. But there’s another, related company. I’m not sure how it’s related, but they’re owned by the same guy. Wellman.”
“What the hell? The guys who make those horrible fake boots? I hate those things!”
“They may be fake, but they’re donating a bunch of them to the K-State fencing team.”
Sam sat back and scowled. “Okay. Why would the K-State team want a bunch of freaking go-go boots? Is Crowley insane?”
“Maybe Crowley digs rave parties?”
“That player who tried to hit me tonight,” mused Cas. “There was something wrong with him. I told Coach Henricksen about it.”
“That dude who made the late hit?” grumbled Dean, looking murderous. “I shoulda strangled him.”
“It’s a pretty well-known side-effect of the doping, Cas,” said Sam, leaning up against the front seat. “Aggression.”
“It was more than that, Sam. I looked him in the eye. There was something … not right about him.”
“Something’s gone ass over tits in the state of Denmark,” sighed Dean.
“Did you need help on your Shakespeare essay?” offered Cas.
“No. But we really need to talk to Crowley.”
Sam nodded, and they drove the rest of the way home in a thoughtful silence.
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikific
Rating: This chapter: NC-17
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, no beta. This chapter contains sexual situations and is NSFW.
Word Count: 80,000 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, the fencing team gets a new player, Cas learns to drive stick, and we face the Horned Frogs.
“Come on, Gordo.”
“Lay off, Benny,” groused Gordon, slapping away the big man's hand from his shoulder.
“This is lame!” said Ash.
Gordon regarded his teammates, who had just hauled his unwilling ass down to the court for one last round of reminding him why he was leaving.
“C'mon, man,” said Benny. “Is it Jo again? Because she'll come around.”
Gordon's scowl only intensified and the mention of his eternally on-and-off girlfriend. “No, it's not Jo! Dammit. I'm not doing this for her. For once I'm doing something for me. I'm not playing to my potential.” Benny and Ash exchanged a glance. It didn't sound like their friend Gordon. It sounded like he was repeating a line he'd heard from someone else.
“Your potential? And you're gonna do that under Crowley?” Dean snapped as he, Sam and Cas strode in.
Gordon glared defiantly at Dean. “Yes, Dean. For your information, he's got a training regime already in mind. We talked a long time.”
“But Crowley doesn't even coach, man,” said Sam. “You know he leaves it to Alastair.”
“He has a different role, he's more like … an overseer.” Gordon cringed at his own lame analogy.
“An overseer?” asked Dean. “So, you guys are slaves?”
Gordon rounded on Dean. “No, that's not what I meant. Don't twist my words.”
“They're Crowley's words, plain as day,” said Benny. “And they don't need to twist 'em. They come out bent.”
“You are aware that we have evidence the players on Crowley's team all use performance enhancements?” Cas asked quietly.
“He means they're juicing,” Dean translated.
Gordon was staring Dean down. “And what exactly is wrong with that?”
Dean started to answer, but Cas cut him off. “You mean besides the fact that the long-term effects have not been well documented and may well be deleterious? In the short term, most if not all of those agents are known to cause alterations of the pituitary hormonal axis resulting in decreased production of sexual hormones...”
Gordon's expression turned from sour to confused.
“He means your nads will shrivel,” Ash told Gordon with a snicker.
“...as well as adverse effect on liver functionality and increases in plasma cholesterol, and increase aggressive behavior. Plus, they make you slower.” Cas stepped closer to Gordon, into his space. “And stupider.”
Gordon leaned forward. Both put hands towards their weapons.
“Whoa whoa whoa! Okay, hey, wait,” said Dean, stepping quickly between them. “I don't want a duel, especially when I'm not entirely sure what it's about.”
“I'm going,” said Gordon, not taking his eyes off Cas. “It's already a done deal.” He looked at Benny and Ash. “If these two hadn't dragged me down here, I'd already be on my way.”
“Gordon!” The voice came from the stands, where Jo had just come in along with Jess and Pamela.
Gordon looked up at her. For a moment – just a moment – Dean thought Gordon was changing his mind. His face, usually so arrogant, was a lined in regret. But instead he just turned and stalked out the door. It shut with a distinct, and final, slam.
“Well, there goes the Rebellion's last hope,” sighed Meg, who had somehow shown up as well.
“We're winning, and now we can even field a damn team?” cursed Benny.
“Okay, that's it, where's the sword cabinet?” Sam stalked over and yanked it open.
“You gonna stop him that way?” asked Benny.
“No,” said Sam, throwing down his bag and grabbing a sword. “We're down a man. If he's off, I'm playing.”
There was a moment of stunned silence. “Holy shit balls, Sammy!” said Ash. “My fucking hero!”
“All right, hold it a minute” said Dean. “I thought you said you were off. For good. We agreed, after high school.”
“Screw it,” said Sam, who threw a couple of moves with a sword, frowned, and then replaced it in the rack.
Dean crossed his arms, baffled by this brotherly intransigence. “You sure about this, Sammy? You and Dad argued for a week. The kitchen wall still has that hole you punched!”
“I'm sure,” said Sam. “I have never been more sure.”
“Jess?” pleaded Dean. “Talk some sense into my brother.”
Jess grinned at Dean. “I only talk him out of stupid stuff.”
Dean held up his arms in exasperation. “And this isn't stupid? Sam! You have three days to practice.”
“So I'm a little rusty,” said Sam, replacing another blade. Cas, who had wandered over to the cabinet, fetched down another blade and handed it over to Sam. Sam tried a couple of moves and broke out into a grin. “Yeah, this works. Thanks Cas.”
“You have an excellent reach, Sam,” said Cas.
“Thanks!”
“Cas!” said Dean. “Talk to Sam. You're my last hope.”
“I thought Meg said Gordon was the last hope,” cracked Ash, prompting an actual, if fleeting, smile from Meg.
“I'm your last hope!” said Sam, who was brought up short when he swung wild and found himself parried by Cas, using not a sword, but just his index and middle fingers. “Uh.”
“He hasn't fenced since high school, Cas,” said Dean.
“He has obvious deficits,” said Cas. “As certain of them are similar to your shortcomings, I think they are more the result of your secondary school sensei's failings as a trainer.
“My shortcomings?” wailed Dean, his voice breaking.
Sam rolled his eyes. “Cas, if you train me, will you at least promise to use a sword and not just your fingers? Because, damn.”
“My apologies,” said Cas, withdrawing his hand.
“Don't you have a midterm?” asked Dean, who knew full well he was now grasping at straws. Sammy had taken debate classes, the little shit.
“I passed my last midterm.” Sam inclined his head. “I have an essay due.”
“We can do the essay!” Charlie shouted down from the stands.
“You don't even know what class!” Dean shouted back.
“What class?”
“Poly sci 102!” said Sam.
“We got it.” Charlie and Pamela hunched over the laptop.
Dean watched with a growing sense of inevitability as Cas led his brother off to one of the mats and they began to drill. “We're just up against the Horned Frogs next, brother. Ain't like it's a mob of guys with guns,” Benny told him softly.
“You heard about that?”
For once, Benny looked serious. “We all of us heard.”
“And you're still here?”
Benny spread out his arms. “Look at me! I'm still here. Everyone but Gordo is still here. Didn't see that one coming, or we woulda warned you.”
“It's not your fault, Benny.”
“Gordo's a moody son of gun. Hard to get a fix on. He'll get to perseverating about his sister.”
Dean turned and stared at Benny. “You think that's what it is? Not Jo?”
Benny scowled and nodded. “If I was a bettin' man, I'd say he wants to get juiced up. Wants to go all street fighter and go look for her.”
“Are his people Freedmen?” asked Dean, who was surprised he didn't know the answer.
Benny laughed. “His daddy's a chemist and his mama's a CPA.”
“So, no.” Benny nodded sadly, and went off to spar with Ash.
Dean was lost in thought. He was only shaken from his reverie some time later when Coach Henricksen, cigarette dangling from his lips, slapped him on the shoulder. “What's the word, Winchester? Why is Charlie up in the stands with a laptop?”
“She's working on Sam's Poli Sci essay.”
“Oh. All right. Carry on,” said the coach, turning to go.
“Wait, is that all you wanna know?” asked Dean.
“I gotta get ready. I'm seeing Ellen tonight.”
Dean goggled. “You mean, seeing seeing?”
“I know you're slow, Dean, but I didn't think you were stupid.”
Dean glared at the authority figure for his obvious dereliction of duty. “And you're not wondering-”
“Why Gordon missed my practice and your brother is making an ass of himself?” He smirked over to where Sam, who had just been walloped by Cas, was sitting on his rump once again. “I'm sure in the fullness of time, all will be revealed, and all that zen crap.”
Dean hurried over to where Cas had been clobbering his little brother, arriving just as Cas was helping Sam to his feet.
“Sammy-”
Sam looked truly blissed out. “This is fun, Dean! I'd forgotten how much I liked this stupid sport.”
“Your brother is doing very well!” Cas assured him. “Although I wouldn't be surprised if he has some sore muscles tomorrow. I might recommend a warm bath.”
“I might do that. Um. I'm staying over at Jess's tonight,” Sam told Dean.
Dean grinned. “Are her parents gonna be around?”
“Yeah. It's family game night.”
“I'm sorry,” said Dean, as it meant his brother would probably be bathing alone. As well as playing Monopoly with a bunch of cops.
“C'mon Cas. I wanna hit the road before it's dark.”
Cas hurried after Dean as they headed towards the parking lot. He looked worried. “Will your brother be … all right? I mean, staying at the Moore's tonight? We're still not sure if there are more of those men abroad.”
Dean smiled broadly. “Well, Jess’s dad, Mr. Moore, is a cop.”
“And her mother?”
“Mrs. Moore … is a cop. And her older brothers are cops. And her uncles on her dad's side are cops.”
“And her uncles on her maternal side?”
“Firemen. Her mom was a black sheep.”
“That's interesting, Dean.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “But some of the things you and your brother did in past years? For the underground railroad?”
“Yeah. Not strictly legal,” laughed Dean as they reached the car. “In fact, not legal in any way, shape or form. Sammy wanted to turn over a new leaf when he started college, and as far as I could tell, Uncle Bobby was all for it. He said there might as well be one respectable person in the Winchester family line. Sam and my dad had a pretty bad argument when Sammy said he wasn't going to continue with fencing. Thought they were gonna kill each other this time.” Dean shuddered with the memory. “But then my dad took off. It's what he does.” He shrugged and got into the car, somewhat carelessly tossing his sidearm in the back. Cas carefully set his scabbard at his feet and got in the passenger side.
“So your father is … away? A lot?” asked Cas cautiously after they had driven for a while.
“Yeah. That's a long story. See, our families – there's the Campbells one one side, and the Winchesters on the other – they both have histories of trouble making. Legend has it a couple of Campbell cousins rode with John Brown. I prefer to believe that legend! But I guess we're kind of like Coach Henricksen's family: Dad originally wanted nothing to do with all that. He joined the army and then married Mom. But it all went south when Mom died. I mean, you know Ash and all his theories?”
“Some of them are correct.”
“Well, yeah, maybe. Anyway, Dad's gotten like that. Only more so. He got it in his head that mom's death was part of a conspiracy. Someone called Old Yellow Eyes. So he was off after one conspiracy after the other, used to leave me and Sammy alone for a longer and longer time. Finally one day Uncle Bobby pulls up with his pickup truck, packs us up and moves us out to his place.”
“Have you seen your father since then?”
“Occasionally. He and Sam don't get along too well lately, so it's almost better that he stays scarce.”
“I'm sorry.”
“It's not your fault.”
Soon it was time for Cas to hop out and open the gate, which, to the boys's surprise, was padlocked. They found the reason as soon as they were inside: Bobby had stuck a note on the fridge to the effect that he was out for the evening.
“He's playing cards over at Jody Mills's place,” said Dean. “She's the local sheriff.”
Cas looked intrigued. “Bobby is friends with the local sheriff?”
'Yeah, funny story. I'll have him tell it some time. They met when she arrested him, and they just hit it off. But it looks like we need to make sure the property is locked up tight. And more important, we're fending for ourselves for dinner.”
“That's no problem!” said Cas. “I could make some stew...”
“Aw, come on, Cas, you're always cooking for us. Why don't I make something? I grill a pretty mean burger!”
Cas smiled. “Should I check the perimeter?”
“Yeah, sure.”
As it turned out, Dean was still making a mess of the kitchen when Cas returned, so he reluctantly accepted Cas's offer to help with preparation, even though this resulted in more vegetables than he usually let come near his burgers. But in the end Cas persuaded him to load his burger with a big beefsteak tomato and thin sliced red onions and even a leaf of fresh lettuce and finished with a big dollop of Cas's favorite ranch dressing, and Dean had to concede that it was sort of not bad.
Dean finally pushed himself back from the table after his second helping of ice cream to declare that this was a very satisfactory meal indeed. “Hey, you know what?”
“What?” asked Cas. As it turns out, Dean's idea of preparing a healthy side dish was an opening a bag of potato chips. Cas had decided that he liked potato chips almost as much as French fries, but that they weren't very good dipped in ranch dressing.
“I think it's still light enough, you want a driving lesson?”
Cas dropped his potato chip.
Dean wouldn't countenance a student driver getting near his beloved Impala, and besides Bobby had dictated they learn on a stick shift, so he picked an old, battered Toyota Corolla to start out with. Cas, as an athlete, was well coordinated and had lightning quick reaction time, but at first seemed too nervous to do much besides sweat. But gradually Dean got him calmed down enough to talk over the principles of the clutch pedal, and, after a couple of harrowing near misses, Cas managed to make it around a couple of corners without dropping the transmission.
Dean then insisted on a brief primer on auto mechanics, so, as it was getting darker, he hung one of Bobby's trouble lights on the hood, and introduced Cas to the mystery that was the Impala's internal combustion engine.
“Do you service on this car yourself, Dean?” asked Cas as he leaned on the fender.
“I rebuilt her! I know every bolt.” He got a funny look on his face. “It was actually my dad's car. Originally. One of the few things I guess we got in common.”
Cas's face was in the shadows, so Dean couldn't tell his reaction. Dean wondered if the talk of family tonight was making his friend wistful. “Anyway, you wanna get in and clean up the kitchen before Bobby comes back and has a fit?”
Cas ended up washing and Dean rinsing and stacking things in the drain. “I've told Bobby he needs a damn dishwasher,” Dean muttered.
“I find washing dishes calming,” said Cas.
“You would. So, you and your brothers, spent a lot of time in the kitchen, I take it?”
Cas's features traced a small, shy smile. “Yes. It was a good place to congregate. We couldn't stay in the training room all day. And the dormitories were cramped. And some of our brothers....” He trailed off, as if trying to decide how to phrase his sentiment. “Well, they wanted privacy. Those who, um, formed bonds. If you know what I mean?”
Dean didn't know at first, but it took him only a few seconds. “Oh. So, the action wasn't all at the brothels?”
Cas shrugged. His face rippled through half a dozen emotions. “Dean, I have a confession.”
Dean dropped a plate in the drain and leaned against the counter, having no idea what was coming next. “Yeah?”
“After Gabriel took me the first time, I began to visit the brothels. It was a tradition after a bout, especially after a victory. It was … expected?”
“All right. You said you just sat and talked with the girls at first?”
Cas's voice was barely above a whisper. “Dean. That's all I ever did, actually.”
“Wait. You didn't.... Oh.”
“We would talk. Or play cards. They didn't mind. The girls were all nice. They were all very nice.”
Dean wondered if he should pry, but decided since Cas had started it.... “Um, so what was the issue? You, maybe didn't want a girl?”
Cas shook his head. “It wasn't that … specifically. I don't know. It just seemed like the act was somewhat.... It seems like a sacred thing. I'm not explaining myself well.”
“No, that's cool, Cas.”
His eyes were pleading. “Please don't laugh. I haven't even told Gabriel about this.”
“No, man. I see what you mean. You want it with somebody special, right?”
Cas nodded, a picture of perfect earnestness. Dean smiled. “You promised not to laugh!” Cas chided.
“I'm not laughing. Cas. It's nice. It's real … old fashioned. Anyway, it's not something to be ashamed of.” Cas was staring at the floor, thoroughly abashed. “And hey, look. You told me something, I'll tell you something. And it's completely okay if you laugh. All right? Come on!” Dean grinned and led Cas upstairs to his bedroom. He went to sit over on his bed and pulled something out of the nightstand. “I had this up, until you got here. Both Sam and Bobby gave me hell. But I liked it. Anyway,” Dean said, nervously handing a much-folded paper over to Cas.
Cas, after looking curiously at Dean, carefully unfolded the paper, and gasped at what he saw. “Is this me?”
“It was from one of Rufus's magazines. I thought it was so … awesome. I couldn't believe you could do that. This was before I knew you. I mean, knew you well. I still don’t believe I know somebody like that.”
To Dean's surprise, Castiel crossed the room sat down on his cot, facing the wall, his back to Dean. His hand was now tracing over the picture, his thoughts unreadable. He unfolded the tape on the top edge of the magazine page and stuck it up on the wall in front of him. Concerned, Dean went to sit beside him.
“You're- You're really amazing,” said Dean, running a hand over the photo.
“My signature move,” murmured Cas. His voice was barely above a whisper. Dean leaned closer to hear. “My mother and father.... You know I never knew them. Do you think...?”
Cas was quiet for a while. “What, Cas?” Dean gently prompted.
“If they knew.... If they saw me.... Do you think they would have still...?” His hand dropped down to his lap, and he wilted.
“Cas.” Dean gripped his shoulders and pulled him around. “Look, I know family stuff. You don't know why your parents left. Maybe they died. Maybe.... We'll never know. But that wasn't about you, it was about them. You're a freaking incredible person, Cas. Incredible. Whether you're jumping on the walls, or coaching my baby brother. I'm glad you're here with me. I'm so lucky. I'm just so lucky. I've got you.”
Cas put a tentative hand out to touch Dean's face, tracing with great care two slender fingers down the side of his cheek. The eyes that could burn through you shown with the refracted pooling of tears. Dean found it hard to reconcile the feral creature crashing through in the photograph with this fragile being now trembling beside him. He leaned forward, just a fraction, just enough to bring his forehead to gently press on Castiel's, holding a hand in back of his head, threading through the tangled hair back there. And they sat that way for what may have been a minute or five minutes or just a breath.
And then they were kissing, and it was so sweet and soft and slow, and Dean never did figure out who started it, it just all felt so right, and Dean thought maybe he could just sit here and kiss for a few more hours. He leaned over a fraction and his hand came down on Cas's tense thigh. He felt the muscles quiver like a bowstring, and slid his hand up and up and up further, and-
Cas emitted a whoop as they both found themselves spilled over flat on their asses, the wheeled cot having popped out from beneath them when Cas moved. Cas's face was a mask of surprise and betrayal.
Dean hooted, his body shaking. “Look at us, we're supposed to be a couple of athletes.” Cas smiled shyly, and Dean hauled him up by the shirt. “Come on. Bed. It's more stable,” he laughed. He sat down hard on the end of his bed, pulling Cas up beside him. To his surprise, Cas scooted over to straddle his lap, and began kissing him, more ardently this time. Dean held on and kissed back, and it was really sexy and nice. He pushed his friend back. “Cas, you done this before?” he asked.
Castiel flashed a guilty look. “Uh. No.”
“That's okay. That's fine. You sure you want to-”
“YES!”
“Okay, good,” said Dean, going to pull off Cas's shirt as he was suddenly feeling more skin was needed. He brushed his hands up the wiry muscle. “We can take it slow.” At which point Cas shoved him – hard – into the mattress. “Or not! Oh boy....”
Dean had never seen Cas like this. He had seen him naked before, or nearly so: sharing a small cramped bedroom and equally tiny bathroom would do that. But he was used to the cool customer whose every movement was sharp and precise as a blade. But this … it was like the first few minutes of the driving lesson, where Cas was everywhere and nowhere, here mouthing Dean's nipple and there sending a hand down into his waistband. Clumsy fingers started fumbling with the clasp on his jeans as if it was the most difficult problem in the universe.
“I got it. I got it,” Dean told him, deftly clicking the snap and then wriggling partway out of his jeans and boxers. “Hey, wait a second,” he chided as Cas crawled on top of him before he'd gotten them quite kicked off. Dean let out a moan as, pinned down by Cas's weight and a tangle of clothes, Cas rubbed his entire body against him, one hard cock stroking another. He felt another moan escape his throat, grateful that they were alone in the house. He stayed like that for while, just feeling the delicious friction, letting it spread warmth through his body. Cas's skin: how the hell did it manage to stay so soft.
Cas ground his hips, and Dean arched and gasped. He needed to do something.
He somehow extracted his ankles from his pants, and abruptly shifted his weight, tangling his legs in Cas's so he was now on top of Cas, trapping the street fighter's hands up above his head. He paused and stared down triumphantly at Cas, whose eyes had grown wide in surprise beneath tangled hair. Dean thought he looked the same way back when the whole team had taken him on, and Dean had finally worn him down and cut his hair. His Cupid's bow mouth formed a perfect circle, and Dean ducked his head down. “Wrestling team. I lettered,” he whispered in Cas's ear, and the mouth shaped up in a small smile.
“Let me show you something.” Releasing Cas's wrists, Dean went in for another burning kiss, trailing his hand down between them, tracing the lovely mound of Cas's pectoral muscles, easing down his flat stomach, tickling the fine small hairs that led down to his groin. Arching his body up, he gently grabbed both his dick and Cas's and, as Cas let out a very pleasing little whine, began to stroke them together. He felt Cas's hands scrabble to grip his back, fingernails digging into his skin as he increased the pace, watched his eyes flutter shut, the lashes long and dark against pale skin. Cas's mouth was open making strangled noises. Dean felt the burning in his groin, felt the naked want. He would not be satisfied until he'd chased away all street fighter cool and turn Cas into a begging, pleading wreck beneath him.
“Dean....”
His name came out as a delightfully strangled gasp. Cas was close, he just needed to push him over the edge. “You're so beautiful,” Dean murmured. And then Cas bucked and gasped and stiffened and Dean felt the warm sticky cum spread on his hand.
Dean lowered himself into another long slow kiss, sliding their bodies together, luxuriating in the sticky feeling on his belly. “Mmmm. So beautiful,” he whispered, kissing along Cas's hairline. “And all mine.”
“Dean.” Cas was holding his face, sweating, pupils wide as dinner plates, hair stuck here and there and everywhere catching his breath. It seemed to be all he could say. I've scrambled his brain, Dean thought smugly. He ground into him a couple strokes, grunting with pleasure and want.
“What about you, Dean?” Cas managed to croak.
Dean smiled. He pulled up Cas's hand and spit into it, rubbing it around the palm. And then he pulled it down so it encircled his still red, engorged cock. “Like this. Careful. Just hold me.” Cas nodded and Dean slowly began to stroke again, fucking into Cas's hand. Cas was wildly concentrating, adjusting his grip as Dean pushed himself up and down. The hand gripped tighter, and Dean hitched his body faster. And then Cas's other hand came around, caressing the globe of his ass. Dean sighed and continued, stroking and stroking as Cas's hand slid around between his ass cheeks. Two fingers found his asshole and started to push inside.
Dean let out a surprised cry. He lost it right there as every drop of blood in his body raced to his groin. He shot out, marking Cas's stomach.
He bucked again, once, twice, and then huffed and let himself smash down into Cas's body, feeling loopy and satisfied and all flavors of surprised. Cas was stroking a hand up and down his back, and humming a funny little satisfied hum.
“Where did you learn that?” Dean finally rasped. “I thought you were virgin?”
Cas only smiled mysteriously.
“What?”
Cas actually blushed. “Well, when I used to go to the brothel? I spent a lot of time talking to the girls....”
Dean laughed and they kissed. “You're gonna kill me,” Dean told him. “Damn, you're gonna kill me.”
“I hope not. Then we couldn't have more sex.” His brow wrinkled. “Isn't it supposed to last longer?”
Dean laughed again. “It takes a while. Don't worry. We'll practice. We'll get lots of practice.” He pushed up, resting on Cas's chest, listening. “I don't think Bobby's coming back, let's hit the showers.”
“Together?”
Dean grinned. “Come on.”
They ended up using up all Bobby's hot water. And then Dean wouldn't let Cas don his pajamas, so they slept that way that night, all tangled around one another, smelling of soap and warmth and contentment.
If Dean dreamt that night, of terrible black-eyed beings and winged saviors, he didn't remember.
“I’ve gotta head to class,” said Dean as he pulled the car into one of the campus parking lots the next morning. “You?”
Cas was squinting at his cell phone. “I am actually headed to a practice session with your brother.”
Dean broke out in a grin. “He’s sure dedicated.”
“He has a great deal of natural facility with the sport, although he has issues with his sense of balance.”
“That’s my Sammy.” Dean hesitated, his hand on the door, looking at Cas for a moment, and then they leaned together and kissed. And then they kissed some more, and then some more, and then finally Dean pushed Cas away and said, “Okay, I think we better stop, before we can’t stop.”
Cas just gave a sly little grin and slipped out the door. Dean sat there for a moment longer. “Damn,” he said. And giving a little, “What did I get myself into?” look, he departed.
Sam was sitting on his ass. Again. As Cas had just tripped him. Again.
“You know,” Sam said, not attempting to stand, “I don’t think that move was strictly legal.”
“You need to be more aware of your center of balance, Sam.”
“That doesn’t mean you can go tripping people!” Sam sighed, ignoring Cas’s offered hand, and crossed his long legs. A frown creased his brow. “You really think I’m gonna be ready for the game?”
“You are already more than ready,” said Cas.
“Seriously?”
“As I was just telling your brother, you have a knack for this sport.” Cas hunkered down so he was more at Sam’s eye level. “You appear to have a poor body sense however. Can you tell me, did you experience a growth spurt in recent times?”
“My last year of high school! I mean, I was always big for my age, but it was like a rocket. Whoosh!”
“I experienced something similar. I was small for my age. They had expected me to fight in the flyweight division, like Gabriel. But then I rapidly grew tall. Unfortunately, I wasn’t large enough for the heavyweight class. That’s part of the reason they wanted me to use performance enhancing drugs.”
“But you didn’t?”
Cas tilted his head and stared off into the distance. “No. Instead, I became something quite different. Something new.”
“So, is this my zen wisdom for the day?”
Cas suddenly lit up. “I am taking a class in Buddhist philosophy! I’m finding it quite enlightening.”
Sam regarded Cas. He was definitely something different. “So, I’m gonna be okay?”
“You should do exceedingly well. If you remember not to give your opponent an opening.” Cas stood and once again extended a hand.
“Okay, but dude? No more tripping this morning? My butt aches.”
“All right.” Sam took his hand and stood.
“Hey, Sam! Cas!” yelled Charlie from up in the stands. “I got your essay,” she added, waving a thumb drive.
“Charlie, I could kiss you!” said Sam.
“Could I kiss Jess instead?” she asked. “Your girlfriend is hot.”
Sam laughed and sauntered over to his book bag and dragged out his laptop. “Yeah, Dean says she’s out of my league. Could you upload it?”
Charlie opened the computer and plugged in the drive and transferred the file. “Hey, why are you poking around the Niveus Pharma site?”
“Oh, that,” said Sam. “They manufacture this performance enhancing drug we’re interested in. But it’s really difficult getting information. It’s locked down pretty tight.”
“They’re owned by SucroCorp. Did you know that?”
Sam and Cas looked at each other. “No, I didn’t know that.”
“Oh, one of my friends hacked into their web site a couple weeks ago. He wrote, ‘Dick is a wad’ all over the site. You know, Dick Roman, their CEO dude?”
“I think I’ve seen him on TV. Is that the same guy?”
Charlie rolled her eyes. “The cheesy dude? Yeah. He’s so annoying.”
Sam leaned closer. “Look, Charlie, do you think your, uh, 'friend' could hack into the site again?”
“What do you need?”
“We’re looking for the distribution network for a drug called PerFormaT.”
Charlie grinned. “Can do. But this is gonna cost you.”
“Cost me what?”
“I dunno. Date with Jess? Dean’s right, she’s out of your league.”
“Charlie, are you gonna be a Becky?”
“A what?”
To Dean’s surprise and delight, Bobby insisted on attending the next game. “If both my boys are determined to end up as shishkebab, I guess I oughta be around to pick up the pieces.” He was, along with everyone else, shouting the Gregorian-like rock chalk chant along with a real live marching band, who filled one end of the stadium with crimson and blue. And then everyone stood for the Alma Mater.
Jess was swaying there in the stands, of course, along with half of the Lawrence police force, and a rather decent portion of its first responders, a surprising proportion of whom happened to be Moore, Moore in-laws or Moore cousins.
“I had better not fuck up, huh?” said Sam, staring from his place at the sidelines up at the Moore-filled stands as the singing finally halted and his first duel was announced.
“This city better not have a fire,” said Dean. “Or a car accident. Or a bank robbery. Or any parking violations.”
‘You will be fine, Sam,” Cas told him. “Just remember your center. Um, Grasshopper.”
Sam grinned and strode out into the court. Dean laughed and Cas turned to him, saying sincerely, “Sam wanted me to call him that.”
“Yeah, I know why.” Cas still looked perplexed, so Dean told him, “It’s okay, it means he thinks you’re full of martial arts wisdom.”
“What the blazes does Sam think he’s doing out there?” Benny demanded as Sam stopped for a moment at the side of the mat, yanked up one heel, and sent another long arm stretched out. “He looks like an overgrown crane.”
“I gave him some yoga poses. For balance,” Cas explained.
“Sam’s doing freaking yoga now?” Benny wailed.
“If it can get us a win, I’ll go out and quack like a duck!” Dean vowed.
“Is your brother ready?” asked Henricksen, who had nervously paced down and now sat in Sam’s vacated seat. He looked badly nicotine-deprived.
“Sam will be fine. Cas has been practicing with him.”
“You showed him those crazy moves, Singer?” Henricksen asked, pointing to Sam, who was still making a big production out of stretching.
Cas blinked at him for a moment, unfamiliar with his brand new last name. At last he responded, “Yes! I taught him the crazy moves.”
“Good. His opponent is completely freaked out now.” The boys directed their attention out to the field, where indeed Sam’s opponent on the Horned Frogs team looked totally baffled at Sam’s elaborate gyrations. They lined up, and Sam was able to quickly rack up the first Jayhawks win of the night.
Sam rushed back to the bench, where he was basically dancing. “I’m pumped! I’m so pumped.”
“Sammy!” whispered Dean.
“Yeah.”
“Turn off your damn sword before we get a penalty.”
“Oh. Sorry.” Sam looked around and, with a guilty expression, quickly clicked off the electrified blade.
Fortunately for Sam and his team, none of the officials seemed to have witnessed his gaffe. Unfortunately, the rest of the match did not go as smoothly as Sam’s first duel. Pamela still didn’t feel confident enough to suit up, so Charlie went in an inevitably lost. But Ash also fell short, and, surprisingly, Dean lost on points, for which he spent the rest of the match cursing himself. Cas thought to offer some pointers, but was persuaded by Benny to keep this knowledge to himself for the present time.
It all came down to Cas’s duel, which, to make things more dramatic, was the last one of the match. “It’s all down to you, Cas,” Dean told him.
“Yes, I’m aware of that, Dean,” Cas told him serenely.
“Doesn’t anything make you sweat?”
Cas leaned over close. “Nothing but you.” And with a smug smile, Cas strode out to the mat.
Dean felt himself punched in the shoulder. “Dude,” said Sam, which served as both a statement and an inquiry.
“Later,” said Dean, brushing off his brother so he could concentrated on worrying himself sick over Cas. They’d matched him with a big guy again, and Dean was left speculating whether some of the guys on this team were doping. This was a guy with muscles on his muscles. And no neck. Dean wondered not for the first time why opposing coaches always tried to counter Cas’s elegant, swift style with brawn.
There was a shout from the stands. “Rock! Chalk!”
And an answering, “Jayhawk!”
“KUUUUUUUUU!”
And then the band picked it up. “Rock! Chalk! Jayhawk!”
“KU!” shouted Dean, along with the rest of the bench. Cas, out on the field, flicked a small smile his way.
The entire stadium thundered now. “Rock! Chalk! Jayhalk! KUUUUUUUUU!” the last notes echoing as everyone held their breath.
“Rock chalk Jayhawk KU! Rock chalk Jayhawk KU! Rock chalk Jayhawk KU!”
And then there was nothing but the echo of the final note.
Dean was surprised to see that Cas didn't seem to be playing any mind games with his opponent this time. It was like watching a bullfight, the guy snorting and stamping, jazzed to get fighting. He imagined this one would be better suited for street fighting: how could he ever hold it together for formal dueling?
They lined up, and Dean could barely breathe. The duelists saluted the stands. This was the longest fight in the history of the world.
The ref irritably signaled for silence. “En garde. Pret. Allez.”
And then....
It was over in an eyeblink, the TCU man enraged when the ref called it for Cas. The Horned Frog duelist grunted, and turned red.
Cas turned towards his bench. The TCU guy hadn't turned off his weapon though: just like Sammy. Only not so much like Sammy....
“CAS!” Dean was on his feet, screaming as the humming blade came down. And Cas was around, somehow parrying with a dead blade, and then there was a flash of bodies and swords and Dean was running over along with Henricksen and half the bench.
And Cas was there, knee on the guy's chest, and somehow, both blades raised, vengeful look in his eyes.
“Cas! Cas,” Dean said again. And Henricksen had him up, and then Benny and some other big guy from the Frog bench were wrestling up the opponent and a ref was in his face screaming at him and Henricksen was shouting and there was so much shouting and Dean grabbed Cas by the arm and pulled him around.
“Are you okay? You're okay? Right? You're okay.”
Cas's attention slowly but surely came around to Dean, his expression softening suddenly to a sweet smile. He pulled Dean close and gave him a quick kiss, and Dean sort of blithered.
“I KNEW IT!” Jo was standing right in back of Dean. Of course the little spitfire had emptied the bench as soon as there was trouble. Dean didn't know what to say, but Jo turned halfway around to say, I told you so, but then apparently realized Gordon wasn't beside her. There was no one to tell, and Dean felt a pinch on his own heart.
“Ew,” added Ash, who was standing to Jo's other side. She elbowed him.
“Okay. Wait. What?” asked a grinning Sam.
“Later, Sammy,” Dean told him.
Dean wondered if Cas was regretting that Gabriel hadn’t shown up. He had warned them ahead of time. It was probably for the best, as Gabriel probably would have murdered the unlucky TSU player who’d tried to make a late hit on Cas. Dean turned to ask Cas, but realized his friend was no longer standing beside him. Dean looked across the court. Cas was over standing with Bobby and Coach Henricksen. Henricksen was saying something to Bobby, and Bobby got this funny expression, and then reached out and gripped Cas’s shoulder, radiating pride.
Dean blinked in surprise. Bobby was acting exactly like a … a parent.
“What?” asked Sam.
“I told you, later.”
“No, I mean, why are you staring like that?”
Dean gestured towards Bobby. “This is gonna sound petty as fuck, but Bobby couldn’t be bothered to come to our games? And now Cas is under our roof a couple weeks, and look.”
Sam looked philosophical. “Dean, we have a dad. He’s just an asshole.”
Dean rounded on Sam. “John isn’t an asshole! You just don’t know him.”
“Yeah, Dean. He didn’t exactly give me the chance, did he?”
“Does he. Does he, Sam. He’s not … dead,” Dean muttered.
Sam’s expression indicated he wasn’t certain about that.
“Well, you boys are getting too damned big to hug, but I don’t give a shit,” said Bobby, pulling Dean in a great, back-slapping bear hug. He gestured for Sam, who enveloped the smaller man. “Damn, my back!” grumbled Bobby when the embrace broke. “All right, we’re headed to Harvelle’s, and the drinks are on me. You wanna ride in the pickup truck, boy?” he asked Cas, who hovered around, grinning madly.
“I would like to drive the pickup truck. Dean showed me how to operate a manual transmission.”
“Huh. Is that true? You're driving stick?”
“We had a lesson, yeah,” said Dean.
“So now you’re the expert?” Bobby asked Cas suspiciously.
“Yes!”
To Dean’s astonishment, Bobby handed his set of keys over to Cas. “Well, let me strap on my crash helmet. You boys following along?”
“I guess so,” said Dean as Cas and Bobby departed. “Sammy. He is totally spoiling Cas!”
“Aw, Dean. Come on. He’s more excited about driving that stupid broken down truck than he was about the match.”
After making certain Jess was situated with a ride, and a funny whispered conversation Dean couldn’t hear, Sam at long last accompanied Dean in the Impala.
“All right, so, it's later,” said Sam, settling into the passenger seat.
“Oh, so that’s what the conspiring was about? It's twenty minutes later, Sammy.” Dean sighed and wrinkled his brow into an exasperated brother expression. He sighed. “So, Cas and I, we have this thing.”
“You're a thing?”
“We have a thing.”
“You have a thing. Since when do you have a thing?”
Dean bobbled his head. “Since a couple days.”
“So he's the love of your life for the next 48 hours?”
“What? No, Sam, it's not like that!”
“He's a magician?”
“Sam. This is different. Believe me, this is different somehow. I can't explain it. When he's not around-”
“Which is hardly ever, any more.”
“When he's not around, he's all I can think about. It's like he's still there. It's fucking weird. And when he's there, I just wanna be around him.”
“Oh, boy,” said Sam, rolling his eyes.
“What?”
“You don't know?”
“No. What? Are you trying to be annoying? Because you're fucking succeeding!”
“All I can say is, you better not act like you always do, because I think Gabriel will come and hack you to little itty-bitty pieces.”
“Well. Yeah. There's that.” Actually, Dean hadn't considered the vengeful big brother angle. “Why didn't you warn me about this before?”
“You didn't ask me!”
“Well, that's right, nobody asked you.”
Sam got a very smug look. “You're in love with a street fighter,” he taunted.
“I am? Shit. I am. What the hell.”
Sam chuckled in an annoyingly condescending manner. “If it's any consolation, I'm in the same boat with Jess. If I don't keep on the straight and narrow, the Lawrence P.D. has my name and home address.”
Dean laughed. He really hadn’t thought about it like that before. But then he realized that meant Sam was comparing him and Cas to Sam and Jess, and he grew thoughtful once again.
“Here we are,” said Sam, and it was literally at that point that Dean realized he was in the Harvelle’s parking lot. Once they got inside, to Dean’s surprise, Cas was sitting up at the bar, where it looked like Jo had actually convinced him to do shots.
“You guys made it here in one piece?” Dean asked Bobby.
“We were fine. You’re obviously a hell of a driving instructor, Dean. Although I’ll tell you right now the boy ain’t driving us back.”
“Why not, Bobby?” asked Cas, who attempted to turn around on the barstool and ended up flopped halfway into Dean’s arms. “Hello, Dean!” he said brightly. “I'm doing shots!”
“Had a little too much to drink, there, Cas?” laughed Dean, attempting to reposition his now boneless friend up on the stool.
“No!” Cas emitted a burp. “I mean, maybe?”
“How about this? What if we got sit at a booth and have some of Ellen’s fried mushrooms?” Dean wasn't quite sure whether or not Cas agreed, but he half walked half carried him over to a booth and put in an order for something that wasn't alcoholic.
“Dean!” piped up Charlie. She invited herself to plop down in the booth opposite them and opened her laptop.
“'Sup?” asked Dean.
“So, you remember that weird drug you asked me - um, I mean, my friend - to trace for you?”
Dean looked baffled.
“Yes,” said Cas. “PerFormaT? You have something. Already?”
“Well, yeah, it was a fun problem! They have firewalls in front of firewalls. But the answer is, it goes nowhere.”
“What? How can it go nowhere?” asked Dean.
“No clue. All of the trails lead to nowhere. It’s like it all ends up stacked up in some warehouse somewhere.”
“That’s strange,” said Cas, popping a fried mushroom into his mouth.
Charlie grinned triumphantly. “But I tell you what my buddy did find! It’s shadowy! It's blacker than black! Times infinity!”
“What?”
“Roman Industries is also parent company to Wellman, Inc. It’s through a couple of subsidiaries in the Cayman Islands.”
“Wait,” said Dean, “Wellman is the company that does….”
“Wellman Wellies,” sighed Cas.
“Those horrible fake fighting boots that the stupid people all wear!”
Charlie looked smug. “Well, they may be fake, but they’ve donated a ton of them to a certain academic program.”
Dean and a suddenly sobered Cas exchanged a glance. “Who?” asked Dean.
“K-state.” She spun the computer around so Dean and Cas could see the screen.
“Thanks Charlie.”
“Any time! Remember me to Jess!” And she grinned and bounced away.
It was Cas’s fault, really.
He had given Dean this look. And you really shouldn’t look at another person like that. So Dean pressed him up against the car, although now he was starting to wonder whether things might be nicer in the back seat.
“Get a room.”
Dean stopped for a moment to glare at his brother. “Could you … I dunno, knock or something.”
Sam spread his long arms. “Knock where? We’re in the Harvelle’s parking lot, Dean.”
Dean looked around and realized it was true. “Well, you know.”
Sam heaved a sigh. “Are we gonna go home or what?”
“Yeah yeah yeah. Home.” Dean opened the driver’s side door and pushed Cas inside.
“You're impossible when you're hormonal, you know,” said Sam.
“I'm not fucking hormonal! Now get in the damn car! Before we leave your ass behind.”
“Can I drive home, Dean?” asked Cas, grinning and gripping the steering wheel.
“No fucking way! Shove over!” Cas vacated the driver’s seat and Dean slipped in beside him.
“You guys take it easy up there,” said Sam, climbing into the back. “I sit up there.”
“Sam,” grunted Dean, sitting behind the wheel. He peeled out. “Oh, did you ask Charlie to look up that drug we got from Gabriel?”
“She offered. Or rather her hacker 'friend' volunteered. What? Did she already come up with something” asked Sam.
“No,” said Dean. “Nothing but dead ends. But there’s another, related company. I’m not sure how it’s related, but they’re owned by the same guy. Wellman.”
“What the hell? The guys who make those horrible fake boots? I hate those things!”
“They may be fake, but they’re donating a bunch of them to the K-State fencing team.”
Sam sat back and scowled. “Okay. Why would the K-State team want a bunch of freaking go-go boots? Is Crowley insane?”
“Maybe Crowley digs rave parties?”
“That player who tried to hit me tonight,” mused Cas. “There was something wrong with him. I told Coach Henricksen about it.”
“That dude who made the late hit?” grumbled Dean, looking murderous. “I shoulda strangled him.”
“It’s a pretty well-known side-effect of the doping, Cas,” said Sam, leaning up against the front seat. “Aggression.”
“It was more than that, Sam. I looked him in the eye. There was something … not right about him.”
“Something’s gone ass over tits in the state of Denmark,” sighed Dean.
“Did you need help on your Shakespeare essay?” offered Cas.
“No. But we really need to talk to Crowley.”
Sam nodded, and they drove the rest of the way home in a thoughtful silence.
