Code Duello (Part 11 of 14)
May. 2nd, 2013 08:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: Code Duello (Part 11 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. 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 we visit an unfortunately-named college pub, summon a demon, and Dean eats a burger with extra onions.
There was no one, Sam reflected, he knew better than his brother, Dean.
He stretched his sword arm, trying to maintain the yoga pose Cas had given him.
Yes, he was close to Jess. She was probably his soul mate, in fact, lucky, undeserving bastard that he was. But he knew his big brother. Maybe from those years of raising each other in motel rooms while John roamed the countryside doing whatever the fuck he did, Dean had gotten under Sam’s skin. It was almost telepathy.
Well, not quite telepathy. That would be gross, considering how Dean’s mind worked. Sam was well accustomed to the string of girls who flitted in and out of their lives starting some time during Dean’s adolescence. The names he didn’t remember. It didn’t pay to remember their names: he was unsure if even Dean knew half the time.
And the guys…. Well, there weren’t as many as the girls, but it had hit Sam full in the face that time he was thirteen years old walked in on Dean and that guy he was “studying algebra” with. Algebra dude: he was definitely flexible. The truly annoying thing was that Dean didn’t seem at all put out, but Sam had ended up wanting to crawl under a rock and hide from humanity for the next twenty years.
But here was the thing: he knew for a fact he had never seen his brother quite like this, around a girl or a guy. It was … entertaining as hell was what it was.
“Sammy, you look like a Yeti trying to do the Harlem Shake.”
Sam shook off his reverie and returned to more or less of a standing position. “I’m working on my balance. Your boyfriend gave me a couple of poses.”
The mild taunt worked its magic. Dean turned pink and ducked his head, muttering something about how his boyfriend wasn’t his boyfriend even though he was, really.
Sam wondered if he should rub it in, but he found he wasn’t feeling particularly obnoxious. It could wait. For later. “So, did you talk to Bobby? About Crowley and the stuff we learned?”
Dean grumbled and hopped up on the hood of a wrecked car. “He’s busy. He’s got some repair jobs he wants to get completed this week. I offered to help, but he told me to stick with my damned school work.” The latter part of the sentence was spoken in a rather good imitation of Bobby's irritated cadence.
Sam turned off his blade and went over to lean on the fender next to Dean, smiling indulgently. “You’d rather be rebuliding a transmission?”
“Definitely. But it looks like we’re gonna have to wait to get answers about what the fuck is up with K-state.”
“Hello Dean. Sam.”
Dean wriggled off the car at Cas’s approach, but then the two stood just apart, smiling stupidly at each other.
Jess had opined that they were “cute” together. She didn't mention the annoying as all hell part. Sam loudly cleared his throat.
“Are you doing your balance exercises, Sam?” Cas politely inquired as his attention shifted slightly to something outside of Dean. Sam suddenly folded himself into some kind of origami.
Cas nodded approvingly. “Whoa, doesn't that … hurt?” asked Dean.
“I am here because just received a text message,” Cas told them.
“A text?” asked Dean, rounding on him. “Who sent you a text message.”
“Becky,” said Cas, raising the phone.
“Becky? I thought she was your stalker?” Dean told Sam, who unwrapped himself enough to manage a shrug.
“She says I am needed,” said Cas. “We are all needed.”
“Seriously? What now?”
The team assembled outside the Kansas Union building.
"Everyone gather around the Jayhawk," Becky ordered. She and Chuck had arranged for a team photo gathered around a statue of the strutting, brightly-feathered college mascot.
"Where the hell is Jo? She's usually the first to line up for this sort of shit," said Dean, who was usually last for that kind of shit.
As if in answer, Jess blurted out, "Oh, sweetie!" to the newly arrived, teary-eyed Jo. She engulfed her in a hug.
"What the hell?" said Dean.
"Can we just do the photo?" barked Becky. "Here, Sam, you need to stand over here!" She urged. She gripped a very uncomfortable Sam around the waist and shoved him into a fractionally different position. But while she was doing that all of the other girls had wandered off to gather around Jo and dab off her face with tissues and offer up eyeliner. “Are you girls done?”
“Hold your horses, Becky. We just need to fix Jo,” said Pamela, handing Meg back her mascara brush and studying her handiwork on Jo's face.
“Jess should be in the picture too!” sniffed Jo.
“She doesn't even play!” said Becky, stamping a foot.
“Neither do I,” said Pamela. So, to Becky's extreme annoyance, the team dragged Jess into the photo as well, which resulted in yet more shuffling around, and Dean grabbing both a surprised Cas and a grinning Sam into headlocks just at the moment Chuck shouted, “Say cheeseburger!”
“You gonna tell us what's the matter?” asked Dean after several more poses and a fair bit of Becky groping Sam until Benny and Ash gripped her by the arms and forced her into one of the photos.
“It's Gordon, right?” said Jess.
“He's not even on our team anymore!” said Dean.
Jo sniffled, and wiped her nose on her sleeve, ruining the makeup repair job. “I'm worried about him. I got a text from him. I don't think it's like he thought it would be.”
“Should we look into this?” asked Sam.
“I think you should talk to him,” said Jo.
“We could arrange a meeting,” said Cas.
“He doesn't even go here!” protested Dean. After this produced a round of furious looks, he added, “Look, Jo. I realize you're upset....”
“But don't worry,” said Sam.
“We'll look into it,” said Cas.
“Oh, thank you!” squealed Jo, throwing her arms around a terribly confused and flustered Cas, who flushed red and tentatively patted her back.
“I thought you guys had a thing,” Sam whispered to Dean as Cas turned red as a beet.
“Yeah, I think it's just Jo. Or maybe girls in general,” his brother whispered back. He shrugged. “At least he didn't throw up on her.”
“Baby bro!”
Cas broke into a run when they reached the campus parking lot and saw Gabriel waiting there, leaning against the black town car. To Gabriel's surprise, Cas greeted him with an awkward embrace.
“Whoa, don't crush the merchandise,” said Gabriel, pushing him back and grinning. “You guys finally teaching Cassie about not being such a stiff?”
“Some of us more than others,” cracked Sam, which earned a jab in the ribs from Dean.
Cas was peering into the town car. “Balthy isn't here today,” Gabriel told him. He flapped his hands. “Flew off somewhere.”
“How did you get here?” asked Cas.
“Drove myself, dimwit,” said Gabe, swatting Cas on the back of his head.
“You can drive?” Cas's voice actually broke with the betrayal. “Since when?”
“What the hell else am I supposed to do? I can't walk for shit.” Gabriel hopped up on the fender, swinging his legs. “Cassie, the secret is, don't let anyone know, and then you'll always get a ride.”
Cas straightened up and crossed his arms, holding his chin up. “I have a driver’s license.”
“What?”
“It's one that Bobby cooked up for him,” Dean explained. “You didn’t wanna meet us out at Bobby’s?”
“I haven't been back there yet,” Gabriel admitted. “Your uncle frankly scares the crap out of me. So what have you guys found out with the information I got you? The PerFormaT drug?”
“Bobby's busy right now, so we're kind of waiting,” Dean told him.
“Waiting? Waiting for what?”
“We know Crowley's somehow connected to Roman Industries,” said Sam.
“Yeah, and we suspect Crowley is trying to get Gordon juicing – that player who defected,” grumbled Dean.
“He didn't defect, Dean,” laughed Sam. “He just transferred!”
“Wait, you know a dude who's doping?” asked Gabriel.
“We think so,” said Sam. “But right now it's just circumstantial.”
“He's totally doping,” said Dean.
“Then, why wait for your uncle?” asked Gabriel.
Sam, Dean and Cas exchanged a glance. “What do you mean?” asked Dean.
“Let's go talk to him!”
“I want to get dinner first,” insisted Cas.
“Wait, you got my bro hugging and eating?” asked Gabriel. “What the hell have you been doing to him?”
Sam grinned at Dean, which earned another jab in the ribs.
“So that’s the plan? We drive across the state, to our rival team’s town, find our rival team’s bar, and just go strolling in?”
“Yep! That’s my plan,” said Gabriel, who looked to be on top of the world piloting the big town car through Manhattan. Manhattan, Kansas, that is.
Dean slumped back into the capacious back seat, where his brother, annoyingly enough, was stretched out and looking just as comfortable as Dean was agitated. “You could have offered your objections before we took off,” Sam supplied.
“I thought there would be more of a, you know, plan to the plan!” Dean explained. He moodily opened the cooler and pulled out a Gatorade.
“I’m a straightforward kinda guy!” announced Gabriel, who cut yet another corner way too close, causing Dean to spill blue liquid down his front.
“I thought your fighter name was The Trickster!” said Dean.
“Aw, you’re just sore that I wouldn’t let you snuggle in the back seat with my bro!” said Gabriel, which caused Cas to turn around from the passenger seat and give Dean a tantalizing smile. At some point during the drive to Manhattan it had been revealed to Gabriel that Cas and Dean had a “thing.” To Dean’s infinite relief, this did not cause Gabriel to flay Dean alive. To his chagrin, however, it meant Gabriel had appointed himself their official chaperone, and it seemed his new mission in life was to keep them ever at least six feet apart.
That traitor, Sam, seemed amused by this frustrating turn of events.
“This is medieval,” grumbled Dean.
“Aw, c’mon, Deano, somebody needs to preserve my brother’s honor.”
“My name’s not Deano, and preserve it from what exactly?”
“I dunno. What do you have in mind?” Gabriel wiggled his eyebrows.
Dean slumped back in the seat. “Nothing.”
“Well, that’s not very creative. Besides, nobody needs to see that. Am I right, Sam?”
Sam, disloyal twit that he was, chuckled. “Oh wait. Is this it?” he asked, leaning forward in his seat and pointing.
“How can you see shit through these fucking windows?” grumbled Dean, who was determined not to enjoy anything. He leaned over past his brother and squinted through the smoked glass at the blinking neon sign. “Wait. Flirty’s? I have to go into a bar called Flirty’s?”
Gabriel had pulled off the main street and skillfully maneuvered the car (the behemoth was even larger than the Impala) into a parking space on a small side street, leading Dean to wonder exactly how often the street fighter grabbed a car and played hooky like this. Gabe and Cas emerged and strode off side by side towards the club, Gabriel with his cane swinging jauntily.
Sam and Dean hurried along after them. Dean was surprised at how sure-footed Gabriel was along the sidewalk, which was spotted with patches of snow and ice from a recent storm. He wondered not for the first time what the guy had been like in his prime. He remembered the fuzzy fight tape he had watched with Rufus and Frank: Cas had been much more showy with his style, but Gabriel was an efficient little fighting machine.
“You brought your sidearm?” Dean reflexively whispered to Sam.
“Yes, Dean, I brought my sidearm,” sighed Sam, rolling his eyes as the sword he carried on his belt was rather obvious. “Though I really doubt I’m gonna use it.”
“Oh. You don’t think things will get hairy?”
“I think there will be no need because we’re out with Gabe and your boyfriend,” said Sam, tilting his head towards the street fighters swaggering up the block.
“But Gabe’s not even armed,” croaked Dean. And indeed, he wasn’t.
Gabe and Cas paused at the doorway. Gabriel glanced back at Sam and Dean, and then, with a slight nod at Cas, pushed through the door to Flirty’s.
Sam and Dean picked up the pace and Dean charged into the bar. At first, as his eyes adjusted, he didn’t recognize Cas and Gabriel. Somehow in the act of going through the door Gabriel seemed to have shrunk, and now, limping, leaned heavily on Castiel’s arm.
“That was a hell of a game for KU. One hell of a game!” boomed Gabriel, whose voice was loud enough to be heard over the noise and chaos of the bar.
Dean nervously scanned the room. There were a lot of eyes on them now. “We’re going to die here, aren’t we?” he whispered to Sam.
“Just go with it,” Sam advised him. He peering over the crowd, and signaled to Gabriel to head towards the back room.
Dean glimpsed what his giraffe-like brother was looking at as soon as they entered. “Yep, we’re gonna die.” There were a number of K-State players gathered around one of the stained and battered tables, and all of them were glaring. He instinctively glanced under the table: yes, every single one of them had come armed.
To Dean’s mounting horror, Gabe deposited himself at a table directly opposite from the scowling rival team. Dean and Sam crowded into the bench against the wall as Cas, after making sure his “crippled” brother was settled, made his way back through the crowd to the bar.
“I'm just not feeling it, you know,” Gabriel told Sam and Dean. “You ever just not feel it?”
Sam refolded himself to fit behind the table. “Sometimes.”
“What are you not feeling, crip?” snapped Alastair, who was sitting in the middle of the K-State table, Ruby draped over him.
Gabriel whirled around. “Well! That’s an interesting question. And how very astute of you to point out my obvious disability. There’s nothing that doesn’t get past you K-State hulks, is there?”
“Ignore him, Alastair,” grumbled Ruby.
“Yes, and congratulations to you, my dear, on being able to tie your boots and leave your house this morning.”
“You don’t insult her,” warned Alastair.
“Insult, huh? It would be difficult to insult that one,” cracked Gabriel. “Maybe I should lie down on the floor and give it another try?”
“That’s it,” said Alastair, hopping up beside the table and upsetting just about everybody’s drinks in the process.
“Say, you like your beer all down your front?” said Gabriel. Cas had just returned from the bar with a small tray of beers. “Let me help!” Gabe grabbed a beer from the tray and tossed one onto Alastair.
“We’re dead,” Dean told Sam.
“I've been kicked out of lots better places!” Gabriel yelled, waving his cane after the burly bouncer who had rather politely escorted him out the door.
Sam, Dean and Cas had not been so lucky, as they were all presumably able-bodied, the other bouncers had not been quite so gentle, although Cas had, oddly enough, managed to keep hold of his beer, which he now gulped. Dean sent him a questioning look, and Cas grinned. “I've been out with Gabriel before.”
“That was kind of a waste, Gabe,” grumbled Dean as they stood on the icy sidewalk, picking themselves up and brushing themselves off.
“What's that, Deano?” asked Gabriel, throwing a jaunty arm around Dean's shoulder.
“Gabe. We didn't learn anything about Gordon, and we got kicked out before I even started my drink.”
“Ah, no drinkies for you, Deano, you're driving!” And with that, Gabriel strode off, Cas beside him, still sipping his pint of beer.
“Hey, that's not the way to the car!” Dean called after him. He looked to Sam, who shrugged, and they headed after the street fighters.
Gabriel took them on a short walking tour around the neighborhood. “Are we going in circles?” Dean whispered to Sam at one point.
“Yeah, we're going in circles,” said Sam, looking around nervously.
As if on cue, Cas, with Gabriel now clinging to his arm, disappeared around a corner, and the Winchesters hurried to catch up.
They all came to a halt in the middle of a large, trash-strewn vacant lot.
They weren't the only people there. About half a dozen of the K-state guys from the bar had assembled as well.
“Hey, fancy meeting you here!” said Gabriel, saluting with his cane. “We wanted to talk.”
“We don't talk to scumbags,” said Alastair, whose hair was still pasted down from the spilled beer. They had drawn weapons, and a couple were tapping boots. The cold air smelled of ozone.
“Yeah, it figures that speech is difficult for you guys. Lucky you're not trying to chew gum as well!”
“Gabe,” said Dean. Cas turned around and took a drink of his beer. Smiling calmly, he wiped the foam off with a sleeve, and mouthed, “Stay back.”
Gabriel leaned on his cane. “See, we've been kind of curious about Gordon. He left our team, and now we're worried about him.”
“Nobody talks to Gordon,” declared Alastair.
“Wait, why?” asked Dean. “It's not as if he defected! He just transferred schools.” This earned him a dirty look from Sam.
“Didn't you hear the man?” asked Ruby. “Nobody talks to Gordon.”
“Well, why don't you put down those big old pointy sticks and talk to us?” asked Gabriel.
“We're done talking.” And then something very strange happened: Alastair's eyes flashed, just for a second. It looked like they'd been covered in a slick black oil. Even Gabriel seemed a little taken aback. But then he nodded over to Cas.
And then a lot of things happened at once. Someone shouted, “five,” and several electrical blades went up, humming. Alastair lunged, but Cas guzzled the rest of his beer and tossed it away, and then hopped up in Gabriel's cupped hands and flipped over him, clobbering Alastair from the back. Ruby rushed at Gabriel, but he darted out of the way and took her down by hooking an ankle with his cane.
There were four K-State players standing. Gabe hit a switch on his cane and drew out a sword from the handle. Making skillful use of both the small sword and the handle, he downed another guy. Dean, who, as a Winchester, hadn’t really been paying attention to the order to stay back, had his weapon drawn and ended up getting body-checked by a huge lump of a guy. He crouched down and landed a good one with the hilt of his sword right in the dude’s ample midsection, and then clobbered him while he was staggering around.
He whirled around in time to see his brother exchanging rapid blows with another K-State dude, sparks flicking off in the night as the electric blades clashed. Dean rubbed his bruised ribs and noted, to his astonishment, Sam’s fierce smile as he fought. The little shit was clearly having the time of his life.
Then Sam stepped back on a patch of ice, momentarily losing his balance. Dean stood staring, sword in hand, not knowing what to do. It would have been dishonorable to rush in when the two of them were clearly dueling, but goddammit, that was his little brother.
Dean decided big brother outweighed honor, but felt a hand restraining him. Cas had him by the arm. “Wait,” he mouthed.
To Dean’s astonishment, Sam managed to dart out of the way of his opponent’s blow, and then he somehow got all the way around 360 degrees and got the guy low in the leg. Another blow, and the guy was down. Sam grinned like a fiend.
Cas smirked, and Dean blinked.
That left one guy, Samhain, and Gabe with a sword at his neck, staring him down.
“My brother is pissed,” Gabe told Samhain.
“I didn't get to enjoy my beer,” said Cas.
“You need to quit looking for Gordon.” said Samhain.
“Why is that?” asked Dean.
“Because he's not one of you any more, idiots,” spat Ruby. She was still down on the ground, but was a little more coherent, probably because she hadn't been clobbered with an electric blade.
“And what the hell do you mean by that?” asked Dean.
“We're not just players any more. We're supermen.”
“Oh, bullshit, Ruby,” said Sam. “We just took all of you down, and our team beat yours!”
“Good to know you're still an asshole,” Ruby told Sam.
“Good to know you're still a bitch,” Sam told Ruby.
“Are we, uh, intruding on something?” Gabriel asked, earning him glares from Sam and Ruby.
“Look, whether it's training or drugs or whatever, don't you realize there isn't a short cut to all this?” asked Dean.
“Oh, thanks for the public service announcement,” said Samhain. “You would still be losers if you weren't screwing a street fighter.”
“Hey!” said Dean, who charged forward, only to be stopped by Gabriel's cane.
But quick as a wink, Cas had Samhain by the collar, holding him up and staring into his eyes.
That was when Samhain's eyes flashed black again. And stayed that way. Cas stared for a moment, and then dropped his grip on the duelist, stumbling backwards. “What are you?” he muttered. He looked at Dean.
Samhain's eyes had gone back to normal.
“I think … maybe it’s time to go,” said Gabriel soberly.
“Yeah, I think so too,” said Dean.
They slowly cleared out of the vacant lot, backing away, Cas and Gabriel with swords raised, and then all four beat a hasty, silent retreat to Gabriel’s car, which sped off into the night.
“That was … weird,” Castiel finally said.
“That was very weird,” said Gabriel
“You know what I think?” said Dean.
“Yeah?”
“I think we need to talk to Uncle Bobby. He specializes in weird.”
Dean was distracting Cas, his new favorite occupation. Cas had been putting dinner together when Dean strolled in and, seeing Bobby nowhere in sight, hopped up on the counter and started to grab bits of food.
“Have you turned into Gabriel now?” asked an exasperated Cas. “You don't even like vegetables!”
“I'm definitely not Gabe,” said Dean, who grabbed Cas and pulled him into a kiss.
“My hands are dirty,” said Cas, holding them up as evidence.
“You told me I need more vegetables.”
“Will you get your dumb ass off my counter, ya idjit?” demanded Bobby, startling the hell out of Dean. “You can keep your hands off him for ten damn minutes while he's making my dinner.” Cas smiled and went back to chopping vegetables.
“Sorry, Uncle Bobby,” said Dean, who was really not terribly sorry at all.
“Cas, you got your essay done?”
“Yes sir,” said Cas.
“And studied for your mid-term exam?”
“Yes sir.”
“Why don't you ask me if I've studied?” asked Dean.
“Because it wouldn't do any good with you, you've always been a pig-headed little shit. Sam, you here?”
“Yes, Uncle Bobby,” said Sam, who was suddenly hovering in the doorway.
“All right, listen up! After we're done with dinner, we have an important activity. We're gonna summon up a demon.”
“What, really? Cool!” said Dean, who was imagining a situation that looked something like a heavy metal album cover.
“Sam, I got a list of ingredients I want you to gather. Cas, you're gonna come with me, and do some painting.”
“Painting?” asked Cas, who appeared bemused by the situation.
“And what do I do, Uncle Bobby?” asked Dean.
“Well, since you've suddenly become a fan of my kitchen, you're gonna clean the damn dinner dishes.”
“Aw,” said Dean. It didn't seem very heavy metal. Of course, neither did painting.
“Dinner will be ready in about 15 minutes, Bobby,” said Cas.
“I'll go wash up,” said Bobby, breezing out of the kitchen.
“Hey, Bobby,” said Dean, following him out into the living room. But Bobby ignored him. “Sam,” he muttered to his brother. “Is he treating Cas like he's his kid now?”
Sam smiled. “Yeah, I noticed the same thing.”
“But, he's just been here a few weeks. And I thought Bobby only did the last name thing so he could stay enrolled.”
“Dean. You are a complicated guy.”
“What?”
Sam grinned broadly. “So, now you have a ‘thing’ with Cas, but you also have sibling rivalry with him? Psychologically speaking, that's pretty mind-bending.”
“It's not sibling rivalry! It's just, Bobby never gives a shit if I do my homework.”
“Bobby gives a shit, Dean.” Sam huffed a sigh. “Look, give him a break, all right? He took us in when our dad couldn't be bothered, and I've never heard the man complain. Even when we gave him reason to! If the guy wants to start going to parent-teacher conferences with Cas, I'd say, let him. You know damn well neither one of us would put up with that.”
Sam wandered off to study, leaving Dean looking uncertain.
“What's with the decoration?” asked Dean when he entered the shed. Bobby and Cas had cleared out a big patch of the floor, which was now painted with a large five-pointed star.
“It's a trap, boy. A very special kind,” said Bobby.
Cas, deep in concentration, was holding an old, crumbling book to his nose, painting a design, looking at the book, and then going back to painting. He had succeeded at smearing as much paint on himself as on the floor. “How does that look, Bobby?”
“Just about perfect. Boy's got a knack for this!” Bobby started to walk around. “You have to be careful, though. Can't go with near perfect, or your critter will escape.”
“I got the stuff, Uncle Bobby!” said Sam, stumbling in clutching a cardboard box.
“Let's see here,” said Bobby. “I don't have as much know-how about summoning as I do in banishing. It usually don't come up in my work. Gimme that book, Cas.”
Bobby began setting aside ingredients and kept Sam and Dean running back and forth for more for a while. Then when he was finally satisfied, and he'd done one more inspection of Cas's trap, he had the boys step back and started tossing this and that into a big ceramic bowl. Dean watched in wonder: sometimes Bobby would toss in an herb and the whole thing would start to flame or throw off sparks. It was pretty cool.
“All right, the last step, and I'm just guessing here, but I have a hunch this will do it.” Bobby dug his wallet out of his pants and picked out a one dollar bill. He chanted something in Latin, and then released the dollar and let it float down into the bowl, where it caused yet another colorful light show.
The overhead lights sputtered out. Dean instinctively threw a protective arm across where his brother stood, and grabbed Cas's paint-splattered shoulder.
And then the lights were back on.
And there was another presence in the room. Right in the middle of the trap.
“Whoa!” said Dean. “Awesome!”
“What the bloody hell?” growled Crowley, who had quite suddenly forgotten to be charming. His tie was loosened, and he had a drink in his hand, as if he had just come home and was relaxing for the evening.
“Just wanted a little chat,” said Bobby.
“Crowley?” said Dean.
Crowley turned and peered at him. “Oh no, not you!” He wandered over to the edge of Bobby's trap, being careful not to cross the edge, and peered into the bowl. “You summoned me with one dollar? ONE DOLLAR? You cheap bastards!”
“You came for one dollar. Who's the cheap bastard?” said Bobby.
“Wait, you're a demon?” asked Dean.
Crowley scoffed. “Well, nothing gets past you, does it, Huckleberry?”
“Wait, but you're a dueling coach!”
“I’m a winning coach, dearheart. Seven seasons running the best win/loss record in the Midwest. Do you think anybody gives a shit what I do in my off hours?”
“He's got a point,” said Sam.
Crowley turned to address Bobby. “I will assume that you are the boys's uncle/guardian/all around snoop?”
“I'm Bobby Singer.”
“Ah, Castiel's father figure. I should have known from the family resemblance. So, Bobby Singer, what do you and your Boy Scout jamboree want from me?”
“What do you have to say about Gordon?” asked Dean.
Crowley heaved a sigh, crouched down and brushed imaginary dust from a patch of the floor, and then seated himself, cross-legged. “More trouble than he's worth, that one.”
Bobby crossed his arms. “We got word that you got him juicing.”
“And there’s something weird about your team,” said Dean.
“They’re demon possessed, most likely,” said Bobby.
Dean turned to stare at his uncle. “What? Holy hell.”
“Nothing holy about it,” sighed Crowley. “Look, I am just a simple sportsman, trying to cheat my way to another championship title. Is there anything so wrong with that?”
“Depends,” said Bobby. “You gonna let those kids go at the end of the year?”
“Yes. All of the innocent little children who volunteered for this will be released, to a championship trophy, their parent’s pride and, I might add, a much higher combined GPA.”
“What about Gordon Walker?” asked Dean.
“This is about Walker?” sighed Crowley. “Yes, that's quite a … situation.”
“How is it a situation?”
Crowley heaved a long sigh, and then blurted, “He frightened off my demon!”
Dean, Cas, Sam and Bobby all exchanged glances. And then, as one, began to howl with laughter.
“This is not amusing! He's a quite a little shit.”
“If he ain't of any use to you then...” said Bobby.
“If I give him back,” sighed Crowley, “and tear up the contract, will that be enough to send you impertinent plaid-wrapped entities packing?”
“I don't wear plaid,” said Cas.
“There's one more thing,” said Sam. “Your supply of sporting equipment. Dueling footwear.”
Crowley quite suddenly stopped looking cool and casual and appeared actually a bit fraught. “Yes, what about it?”
“We know you're getting stuff donated from Wellman. As fully owned subsidiary of Roman Enterprises.”
“If you gentlemen are quite done.” Crowley abruptly stood up and nervously tapped his watch, “I have my mani/pedi.”
“Answer the damn question,” demanded Bobby.
“I didn't hear a question,” grumbled Crowley.
“We wanna hear about your relationship with Roman Enterprises,” said Dean.
“Relationship? Roman? Naw, we're just good friends.”
“Crowley!” said Bobby. “I got a jug of holy water in the house. You want me to bring it on down.”
“You're telling me the weird boy doesn't know about Dick?” he said, eyeing Castiel.
“What do you mean?” asked Cas.
“I have already said too much. Send your intrepid boy reporters out on the job. And now, that you have right and properly screwed me over, may I please depart these hideous surroundings?”
Bobby nodded. He picked up a knife and scratched through one of the paint lines on the trap.
There was the scent of sulfur.
And quite abruptly, Crowley was standing nose to nose with Bobby. “Call me again and there won't be enough of you left to mop up, old man.”
Bobby shoved the knife into one of Crowley's nostrils. “Iron, ya idjit.”
Crowley stared cross-eyed at the knife. And then he was there no more.
Bobby turned to the boys. “So, what do we know about Dick?”
“This looks like the world's most boring office park,” sighed Dean.
“You suppose Crowley steered us wrong?” asked Sam, who was sitting beside him in the Impala. They were parked across the street from SucroCorp headquarters, as Bobby had absolutely and in no certain terms forbidden them from actually going on to any of Dick Roman's properties.
“He totally would. Damn! I have stuff I need to do.”
“Stuff?”
“Practice! Homework.”
“Wait, Dean, you want to do your homework?”
“Well....”
“Or you wanna be making out with the street fighter?”
The back door opened, causing both Sam and Dean to jump. “What about me?” asked Cas, who had just slid into the back seat.
“Oh, uh, nothing Cas,” said Dean. “Just wondering where you were.” Sam grinned as Cas handed over a plastic container of many chopped vegetables.
“They didn't have honey mustard,” said Cas apologetically, handing over a little plastic packet. “So I got you ranch. I like ranch.”
“Is there anything actually to eat in that bag?” groused Dean, who was handed a burger-shaped item in waxed paper. “Ah! This is what I'm talking about.”
“They asked me if I wanted extra cheese or extra onions, so I said yes.”
Dean unpeeled the paper and took a bite. He rolled his eyes in orgasmic glee. “You're perfect.”
“Ugh, do I gotta sit in the car with him for the rest of the afternoon?” Sam grumbled.
Cas rattled the bag and extracted a handful of French fries. He held up another packet of ranch dressing and expertly chewed a small rip in the top, and then delicately applied the sauce to the fries. “So what have you guys discovered?”
“This is fucking boring!” said Dean through a mouth full of cheeseburger with extra onions.
“And my brother has the breath of Satan,” laughed Sam, waving his hand at Dean.
“Wait, what's that?” asked Cas, pointing a sauce-covered fry out the window. All three boys turned to look at the panel truck that was approaching the parking lot. On the side it said, Roman Security Solutions LLC.
“Security solutions?” mocked Dean. “Why don't they just say Rent-A-Goon?”
“Dean!”
“What, Cas? You didn't spill secret sauce on the seat again?”
“Those guards, Dean.”
“What about 'em?” Dean peered over at the personnel emptying from the van. It was about half a dozen guys, and not one of them had a neck to speak of. Dean shuddered. “I spoke too soon, that's an insult to goons.”
“There's something … funny about them.”
“Funny like what?” asked Dean.
“They don't look like the joking sort,” said Sam.
“Unnatural,” said Cas.
“Unnatural … you mean like Crowley’s fencing team?” asked Dean.
“Unnatural like Crowley’s fencing team.”
“Oh. Oh! Holy fuck.”
“Holy something,” said Sam.
Tossing his burger to the seat beside him, Dean started the car and shifted into drive.
“Wait! Dean, you know what Bobby said!” Sam and Dean looked at each other.
Dean grinned and, as Sam rolled his eyes and Cas looked on curiously, he guided the car towards the SucroCorp parking lot.
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. 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 we visit an unfortunately-named college pub, summon a demon, and Dean eats a burger with extra onions.
There was no one, Sam reflected, he knew better than his brother, Dean.
He stretched his sword arm, trying to maintain the yoga pose Cas had given him.
Yes, he was close to Jess. She was probably his soul mate, in fact, lucky, undeserving bastard that he was. But he knew his big brother. Maybe from those years of raising each other in motel rooms while John roamed the countryside doing whatever the fuck he did, Dean had gotten under Sam’s skin. It was almost telepathy.
Well, not quite telepathy. That would be gross, considering how Dean’s mind worked. Sam was well accustomed to the string of girls who flitted in and out of their lives starting some time during Dean’s adolescence. The names he didn’t remember. It didn’t pay to remember their names: he was unsure if even Dean knew half the time.
And the guys…. Well, there weren’t as many as the girls, but it had hit Sam full in the face that time he was thirteen years old walked in on Dean and that guy he was “studying algebra” with. Algebra dude: he was definitely flexible. The truly annoying thing was that Dean didn’t seem at all put out, but Sam had ended up wanting to crawl under a rock and hide from humanity for the next twenty years.
But here was the thing: he knew for a fact he had never seen his brother quite like this, around a girl or a guy. It was … entertaining as hell was what it was.
“Sammy, you look like a Yeti trying to do the Harlem Shake.”
Sam shook off his reverie and returned to more or less of a standing position. “I’m working on my balance. Your boyfriend gave me a couple of poses.”
The mild taunt worked its magic. Dean turned pink and ducked his head, muttering something about how his boyfriend wasn’t his boyfriend even though he was, really.
Sam wondered if he should rub it in, but he found he wasn’t feeling particularly obnoxious. It could wait. For later. “So, did you talk to Bobby? About Crowley and the stuff we learned?”
Dean grumbled and hopped up on the hood of a wrecked car. “He’s busy. He’s got some repair jobs he wants to get completed this week. I offered to help, but he told me to stick with my damned school work.” The latter part of the sentence was spoken in a rather good imitation of Bobby's irritated cadence.
Sam turned off his blade and went over to lean on the fender next to Dean, smiling indulgently. “You’d rather be rebuliding a transmission?”
“Definitely. But it looks like we’re gonna have to wait to get answers about what the fuck is up with K-state.”
“Hello Dean. Sam.”
Dean wriggled off the car at Cas’s approach, but then the two stood just apart, smiling stupidly at each other.
Jess had opined that they were “cute” together. She didn't mention the annoying as all hell part. Sam loudly cleared his throat.
“Are you doing your balance exercises, Sam?” Cas politely inquired as his attention shifted slightly to something outside of Dean. Sam suddenly folded himself into some kind of origami.
Cas nodded approvingly. “Whoa, doesn't that … hurt?” asked Dean.
“I am here because just received a text message,” Cas told them.
“A text?” asked Dean, rounding on him. “Who sent you a text message.”
“Becky,” said Cas, raising the phone.
“Becky? I thought she was your stalker?” Dean told Sam, who unwrapped himself enough to manage a shrug.
“She says I am needed,” said Cas. “We are all needed.”
“Seriously? What now?”
The team assembled outside the Kansas Union building.
"Everyone gather around the Jayhawk," Becky ordered. She and Chuck had arranged for a team photo gathered around a statue of the strutting, brightly-feathered college mascot.
"Where the hell is Jo? She's usually the first to line up for this sort of shit," said Dean, who was usually last for that kind of shit.
As if in answer, Jess blurted out, "Oh, sweetie!" to the newly arrived, teary-eyed Jo. She engulfed her in a hug.
"What the hell?" said Dean.
"Can we just do the photo?" barked Becky. "Here, Sam, you need to stand over here!" She urged. She gripped a very uncomfortable Sam around the waist and shoved him into a fractionally different position. But while she was doing that all of the other girls had wandered off to gather around Jo and dab off her face with tissues and offer up eyeliner. “Are you girls done?”
“Hold your horses, Becky. We just need to fix Jo,” said Pamela, handing Meg back her mascara brush and studying her handiwork on Jo's face.
“Jess should be in the picture too!” sniffed Jo.
“She doesn't even play!” said Becky, stamping a foot.
“Neither do I,” said Pamela. So, to Becky's extreme annoyance, the team dragged Jess into the photo as well, which resulted in yet more shuffling around, and Dean grabbing both a surprised Cas and a grinning Sam into headlocks just at the moment Chuck shouted, “Say cheeseburger!”
“You gonna tell us what's the matter?” asked Dean after several more poses and a fair bit of Becky groping Sam until Benny and Ash gripped her by the arms and forced her into one of the photos.
“It's Gordon, right?” said Jess.
“He's not even on our team anymore!” said Dean.
Jo sniffled, and wiped her nose on her sleeve, ruining the makeup repair job. “I'm worried about him. I got a text from him. I don't think it's like he thought it would be.”
“Should we look into this?” asked Sam.
“I think you should talk to him,” said Jo.
“We could arrange a meeting,” said Cas.
“He doesn't even go here!” protested Dean. After this produced a round of furious looks, he added, “Look, Jo. I realize you're upset....”
“But don't worry,” said Sam.
“We'll look into it,” said Cas.
“Oh, thank you!” squealed Jo, throwing her arms around a terribly confused and flustered Cas, who flushed red and tentatively patted her back.
“I thought you guys had a thing,” Sam whispered to Dean as Cas turned red as a beet.
“Yeah, I think it's just Jo. Or maybe girls in general,” his brother whispered back. He shrugged. “At least he didn't throw up on her.”
“Baby bro!”
Cas broke into a run when they reached the campus parking lot and saw Gabriel waiting there, leaning against the black town car. To Gabriel's surprise, Cas greeted him with an awkward embrace.
“Whoa, don't crush the merchandise,” said Gabriel, pushing him back and grinning. “You guys finally teaching Cassie about not being such a stiff?”
“Some of us more than others,” cracked Sam, which earned a jab in the ribs from Dean.
Cas was peering into the town car. “Balthy isn't here today,” Gabriel told him. He flapped his hands. “Flew off somewhere.”
“How did you get here?” asked Cas.
“Drove myself, dimwit,” said Gabe, swatting Cas on the back of his head.
“You can drive?” Cas's voice actually broke with the betrayal. “Since when?”
“What the hell else am I supposed to do? I can't walk for shit.” Gabriel hopped up on the fender, swinging his legs. “Cassie, the secret is, don't let anyone know, and then you'll always get a ride.”
Cas straightened up and crossed his arms, holding his chin up. “I have a driver’s license.”
“What?”
“It's one that Bobby cooked up for him,” Dean explained. “You didn’t wanna meet us out at Bobby’s?”
“I haven't been back there yet,” Gabriel admitted. “Your uncle frankly scares the crap out of me. So what have you guys found out with the information I got you? The PerFormaT drug?”
“Bobby's busy right now, so we're kind of waiting,” Dean told him.
“Waiting? Waiting for what?”
“We know Crowley's somehow connected to Roman Industries,” said Sam.
“Yeah, and we suspect Crowley is trying to get Gordon juicing – that player who defected,” grumbled Dean.
“He didn't defect, Dean,” laughed Sam. “He just transferred!”
“Wait, you know a dude who's doping?” asked Gabriel.
“We think so,” said Sam. “But right now it's just circumstantial.”
“He's totally doping,” said Dean.
“Then, why wait for your uncle?” asked Gabriel.
Sam, Dean and Cas exchanged a glance. “What do you mean?” asked Dean.
“Let's go talk to him!”
“I want to get dinner first,” insisted Cas.
“Wait, you got my bro hugging and eating?” asked Gabriel. “What the hell have you been doing to him?”
Sam grinned at Dean, which earned another jab in the ribs.
“So that’s the plan? We drive across the state, to our rival team’s town, find our rival team’s bar, and just go strolling in?”
“Yep! That’s my plan,” said Gabriel, who looked to be on top of the world piloting the big town car through Manhattan. Manhattan, Kansas, that is.
Dean slumped back into the capacious back seat, where his brother, annoyingly enough, was stretched out and looking just as comfortable as Dean was agitated. “You could have offered your objections before we took off,” Sam supplied.
“I thought there would be more of a, you know, plan to the plan!” Dean explained. He moodily opened the cooler and pulled out a Gatorade.
“I’m a straightforward kinda guy!” announced Gabriel, who cut yet another corner way too close, causing Dean to spill blue liquid down his front.
“I thought your fighter name was The Trickster!” said Dean.
“Aw, you’re just sore that I wouldn’t let you snuggle in the back seat with my bro!” said Gabriel, which caused Cas to turn around from the passenger seat and give Dean a tantalizing smile. At some point during the drive to Manhattan it had been revealed to Gabriel that Cas and Dean had a “thing.” To Dean’s infinite relief, this did not cause Gabriel to flay Dean alive. To his chagrin, however, it meant Gabriel had appointed himself their official chaperone, and it seemed his new mission in life was to keep them ever at least six feet apart.
That traitor, Sam, seemed amused by this frustrating turn of events.
“This is medieval,” grumbled Dean.
“Aw, c’mon, Deano, somebody needs to preserve my brother’s honor.”
“My name’s not Deano, and preserve it from what exactly?”
“I dunno. What do you have in mind?” Gabriel wiggled his eyebrows.
Dean slumped back in the seat. “Nothing.”
“Well, that’s not very creative. Besides, nobody needs to see that. Am I right, Sam?”
Sam, disloyal twit that he was, chuckled. “Oh wait. Is this it?” he asked, leaning forward in his seat and pointing.
“How can you see shit through these fucking windows?” grumbled Dean, who was determined not to enjoy anything. He leaned over past his brother and squinted through the smoked glass at the blinking neon sign. “Wait. Flirty’s? I have to go into a bar called Flirty’s?”
Gabriel had pulled off the main street and skillfully maneuvered the car (the behemoth was even larger than the Impala) into a parking space on a small side street, leading Dean to wonder exactly how often the street fighter grabbed a car and played hooky like this. Gabe and Cas emerged and strode off side by side towards the club, Gabriel with his cane swinging jauntily.
Sam and Dean hurried along after them. Dean was surprised at how sure-footed Gabriel was along the sidewalk, which was spotted with patches of snow and ice from a recent storm. He wondered not for the first time what the guy had been like in his prime. He remembered the fuzzy fight tape he had watched with Rufus and Frank: Cas had been much more showy with his style, but Gabriel was an efficient little fighting machine.
“You brought your sidearm?” Dean reflexively whispered to Sam.
“Yes, Dean, I brought my sidearm,” sighed Sam, rolling his eyes as the sword he carried on his belt was rather obvious. “Though I really doubt I’m gonna use it.”
“Oh. You don’t think things will get hairy?”
“I think there will be no need because we’re out with Gabe and your boyfriend,” said Sam, tilting his head towards the street fighters swaggering up the block.
“But Gabe’s not even armed,” croaked Dean. And indeed, he wasn’t.
Gabe and Cas paused at the doorway. Gabriel glanced back at Sam and Dean, and then, with a slight nod at Cas, pushed through the door to Flirty’s.
Sam and Dean picked up the pace and Dean charged into the bar. At first, as his eyes adjusted, he didn’t recognize Cas and Gabriel. Somehow in the act of going through the door Gabriel seemed to have shrunk, and now, limping, leaned heavily on Castiel’s arm.
“That was a hell of a game for KU. One hell of a game!” boomed Gabriel, whose voice was loud enough to be heard over the noise and chaos of the bar.
Dean nervously scanned the room. There were a lot of eyes on them now. “We’re going to die here, aren’t we?” he whispered to Sam.
“Just go with it,” Sam advised him. He peering over the crowd, and signaled to Gabriel to head towards the back room.
Dean glimpsed what his giraffe-like brother was looking at as soon as they entered. “Yep, we’re gonna die.” There were a number of K-State players gathered around one of the stained and battered tables, and all of them were glaring. He instinctively glanced under the table: yes, every single one of them had come armed.
To Dean’s mounting horror, Gabe deposited himself at a table directly opposite from the scowling rival team. Dean and Sam crowded into the bench against the wall as Cas, after making sure his “crippled” brother was settled, made his way back through the crowd to the bar.
“I'm just not feeling it, you know,” Gabriel told Sam and Dean. “You ever just not feel it?”
Sam refolded himself to fit behind the table. “Sometimes.”
“What are you not feeling, crip?” snapped Alastair, who was sitting in the middle of the K-State table, Ruby draped over him.
Gabriel whirled around. “Well! That’s an interesting question. And how very astute of you to point out my obvious disability. There’s nothing that doesn’t get past you K-State hulks, is there?”
“Ignore him, Alastair,” grumbled Ruby.
“Yes, and congratulations to you, my dear, on being able to tie your boots and leave your house this morning.”
“You don’t insult her,” warned Alastair.
“Insult, huh? It would be difficult to insult that one,” cracked Gabriel. “Maybe I should lie down on the floor and give it another try?”
“That’s it,” said Alastair, hopping up beside the table and upsetting just about everybody’s drinks in the process.
“Say, you like your beer all down your front?” said Gabriel. Cas had just returned from the bar with a small tray of beers. “Let me help!” Gabe grabbed a beer from the tray and tossed one onto Alastair.
“We’re dead,” Dean told Sam.
“I've been kicked out of lots better places!” Gabriel yelled, waving his cane after the burly bouncer who had rather politely escorted him out the door.
Sam, Dean and Cas had not been so lucky, as they were all presumably able-bodied, the other bouncers had not been quite so gentle, although Cas had, oddly enough, managed to keep hold of his beer, which he now gulped. Dean sent him a questioning look, and Cas grinned. “I've been out with Gabriel before.”
“That was kind of a waste, Gabe,” grumbled Dean as they stood on the icy sidewalk, picking themselves up and brushing themselves off.
“What's that, Deano?” asked Gabriel, throwing a jaunty arm around Dean's shoulder.
“Gabe. We didn't learn anything about Gordon, and we got kicked out before I even started my drink.”
“Ah, no drinkies for you, Deano, you're driving!” And with that, Gabriel strode off, Cas beside him, still sipping his pint of beer.
“Hey, that's not the way to the car!” Dean called after him. He looked to Sam, who shrugged, and they headed after the street fighters.
Gabriel took them on a short walking tour around the neighborhood. “Are we going in circles?” Dean whispered to Sam at one point.
“Yeah, we're going in circles,” said Sam, looking around nervously.
As if on cue, Cas, with Gabriel now clinging to his arm, disappeared around a corner, and the Winchesters hurried to catch up.
They all came to a halt in the middle of a large, trash-strewn vacant lot.
They weren't the only people there. About half a dozen of the K-state guys from the bar had assembled as well.
“Hey, fancy meeting you here!” said Gabriel, saluting with his cane. “We wanted to talk.”
“We don't talk to scumbags,” said Alastair, whose hair was still pasted down from the spilled beer. They had drawn weapons, and a couple were tapping boots. The cold air smelled of ozone.
“Yeah, it figures that speech is difficult for you guys. Lucky you're not trying to chew gum as well!”
“Gabe,” said Dean. Cas turned around and took a drink of his beer. Smiling calmly, he wiped the foam off with a sleeve, and mouthed, “Stay back.”
Gabriel leaned on his cane. “See, we've been kind of curious about Gordon. He left our team, and now we're worried about him.”
“Nobody talks to Gordon,” declared Alastair.
“Wait, why?” asked Dean. “It's not as if he defected! He just transferred schools.” This earned him a dirty look from Sam.
“Didn't you hear the man?” asked Ruby. “Nobody talks to Gordon.”
“Well, why don't you put down those big old pointy sticks and talk to us?” asked Gabriel.
“We're done talking.” And then something very strange happened: Alastair's eyes flashed, just for a second. It looked like they'd been covered in a slick black oil. Even Gabriel seemed a little taken aback. But then he nodded over to Cas.
And then a lot of things happened at once. Someone shouted, “five,” and several electrical blades went up, humming. Alastair lunged, but Cas guzzled the rest of his beer and tossed it away, and then hopped up in Gabriel's cupped hands and flipped over him, clobbering Alastair from the back. Ruby rushed at Gabriel, but he darted out of the way and took her down by hooking an ankle with his cane.
There were four K-State players standing. Gabe hit a switch on his cane and drew out a sword from the handle. Making skillful use of both the small sword and the handle, he downed another guy. Dean, who, as a Winchester, hadn’t really been paying attention to the order to stay back, had his weapon drawn and ended up getting body-checked by a huge lump of a guy. He crouched down and landed a good one with the hilt of his sword right in the dude’s ample midsection, and then clobbered him while he was staggering around.
He whirled around in time to see his brother exchanging rapid blows with another K-State dude, sparks flicking off in the night as the electric blades clashed. Dean rubbed his bruised ribs and noted, to his astonishment, Sam’s fierce smile as he fought. The little shit was clearly having the time of his life.
Then Sam stepped back on a patch of ice, momentarily losing his balance. Dean stood staring, sword in hand, not knowing what to do. It would have been dishonorable to rush in when the two of them were clearly dueling, but goddammit, that was his little brother.
Dean decided big brother outweighed honor, but felt a hand restraining him. Cas had him by the arm. “Wait,” he mouthed.
To Dean’s astonishment, Sam managed to dart out of the way of his opponent’s blow, and then he somehow got all the way around 360 degrees and got the guy low in the leg. Another blow, and the guy was down. Sam grinned like a fiend.
Cas smirked, and Dean blinked.
That left one guy, Samhain, and Gabe with a sword at his neck, staring him down.
“My brother is pissed,” Gabe told Samhain.
“I didn't get to enjoy my beer,” said Cas.
“You need to quit looking for Gordon.” said Samhain.
“Why is that?” asked Dean.
“Because he's not one of you any more, idiots,” spat Ruby. She was still down on the ground, but was a little more coherent, probably because she hadn't been clobbered with an electric blade.
“And what the hell do you mean by that?” asked Dean.
“We're not just players any more. We're supermen.”
“Oh, bullshit, Ruby,” said Sam. “We just took all of you down, and our team beat yours!”
“Good to know you're still an asshole,” Ruby told Sam.
“Good to know you're still a bitch,” Sam told Ruby.
“Are we, uh, intruding on something?” Gabriel asked, earning him glares from Sam and Ruby.
“Look, whether it's training or drugs or whatever, don't you realize there isn't a short cut to all this?” asked Dean.
“Oh, thanks for the public service announcement,” said Samhain. “You would still be losers if you weren't screwing a street fighter.”
“Hey!” said Dean, who charged forward, only to be stopped by Gabriel's cane.
But quick as a wink, Cas had Samhain by the collar, holding him up and staring into his eyes.
That was when Samhain's eyes flashed black again. And stayed that way. Cas stared for a moment, and then dropped his grip on the duelist, stumbling backwards. “What are you?” he muttered. He looked at Dean.
Samhain's eyes had gone back to normal.
“I think … maybe it’s time to go,” said Gabriel soberly.
“Yeah, I think so too,” said Dean.
They slowly cleared out of the vacant lot, backing away, Cas and Gabriel with swords raised, and then all four beat a hasty, silent retreat to Gabriel’s car, which sped off into the night.
“That was … weird,” Castiel finally said.
“That was very weird,” said Gabriel
“You know what I think?” said Dean.
“Yeah?”
“I think we need to talk to Uncle Bobby. He specializes in weird.”
Dean was distracting Cas, his new favorite occupation. Cas had been putting dinner together when Dean strolled in and, seeing Bobby nowhere in sight, hopped up on the counter and started to grab bits of food.
“Have you turned into Gabriel now?” asked an exasperated Cas. “You don't even like vegetables!”
“I'm definitely not Gabe,” said Dean, who grabbed Cas and pulled him into a kiss.
“My hands are dirty,” said Cas, holding them up as evidence.
“You told me I need more vegetables.”
“Will you get your dumb ass off my counter, ya idjit?” demanded Bobby, startling the hell out of Dean. “You can keep your hands off him for ten damn minutes while he's making my dinner.” Cas smiled and went back to chopping vegetables.
“Sorry, Uncle Bobby,” said Dean, who was really not terribly sorry at all.
“Cas, you got your essay done?”
“Yes sir,” said Cas.
“And studied for your mid-term exam?”
“Yes sir.”
“Why don't you ask me if I've studied?” asked Dean.
“Because it wouldn't do any good with you, you've always been a pig-headed little shit. Sam, you here?”
“Yes, Uncle Bobby,” said Sam, who was suddenly hovering in the doorway.
“All right, listen up! After we're done with dinner, we have an important activity. We're gonna summon up a demon.”
“What, really? Cool!” said Dean, who was imagining a situation that looked something like a heavy metal album cover.
“Sam, I got a list of ingredients I want you to gather. Cas, you're gonna come with me, and do some painting.”
“Painting?” asked Cas, who appeared bemused by the situation.
“And what do I do, Uncle Bobby?” asked Dean.
“Well, since you've suddenly become a fan of my kitchen, you're gonna clean the damn dinner dishes.”
“Aw,” said Dean. It didn't seem very heavy metal. Of course, neither did painting.
“Dinner will be ready in about 15 minutes, Bobby,” said Cas.
“I'll go wash up,” said Bobby, breezing out of the kitchen.
“Hey, Bobby,” said Dean, following him out into the living room. But Bobby ignored him. “Sam,” he muttered to his brother. “Is he treating Cas like he's his kid now?”
Sam smiled. “Yeah, I noticed the same thing.”
“But, he's just been here a few weeks. And I thought Bobby only did the last name thing so he could stay enrolled.”
“Dean. You are a complicated guy.”
“What?”
Sam grinned broadly. “So, now you have a ‘thing’ with Cas, but you also have sibling rivalry with him? Psychologically speaking, that's pretty mind-bending.”
“It's not sibling rivalry! It's just, Bobby never gives a shit if I do my homework.”
“Bobby gives a shit, Dean.” Sam huffed a sigh. “Look, give him a break, all right? He took us in when our dad couldn't be bothered, and I've never heard the man complain. Even when we gave him reason to! If the guy wants to start going to parent-teacher conferences with Cas, I'd say, let him. You know damn well neither one of us would put up with that.”
Sam wandered off to study, leaving Dean looking uncertain.
“What's with the decoration?” asked Dean when he entered the shed. Bobby and Cas had cleared out a big patch of the floor, which was now painted with a large five-pointed star.
“It's a trap, boy. A very special kind,” said Bobby.
Cas, deep in concentration, was holding an old, crumbling book to his nose, painting a design, looking at the book, and then going back to painting. He had succeeded at smearing as much paint on himself as on the floor. “How does that look, Bobby?”
“Just about perfect. Boy's got a knack for this!” Bobby started to walk around. “You have to be careful, though. Can't go with near perfect, or your critter will escape.”
“I got the stuff, Uncle Bobby!” said Sam, stumbling in clutching a cardboard box.
“Let's see here,” said Bobby. “I don't have as much know-how about summoning as I do in banishing. It usually don't come up in my work. Gimme that book, Cas.”
Bobby began setting aside ingredients and kept Sam and Dean running back and forth for more for a while. Then when he was finally satisfied, and he'd done one more inspection of Cas's trap, he had the boys step back and started tossing this and that into a big ceramic bowl. Dean watched in wonder: sometimes Bobby would toss in an herb and the whole thing would start to flame or throw off sparks. It was pretty cool.
“All right, the last step, and I'm just guessing here, but I have a hunch this will do it.” Bobby dug his wallet out of his pants and picked out a one dollar bill. He chanted something in Latin, and then released the dollar and let it float down into the bowl, where it caused yet another colorful light show.
The overhead lights sputtered out. Dean instinctively threw a protective arm across where his brother stood, and grabbed Cas's paint-splattered shoulder.
And then the lights were back on.
And there was another presence in the room. Right in the middle of the trap.
“Whoa!” said Dean. “Awesome!”
“What the bloody hell?” growled Crowley, who had quite suddenly forgotten to be charming. His tie was loosened, and he had a drink in his hand, as if he had just come home and was relaxing for the evening.
“Just wanted a little chat,” said Bobby.
“Crowley?” said Dean.
Crowley turned and peered at him. “Oh no, not you!” He wandered over to the edge of Bobby's trap, being careful not to cross the edge, and peered into the bowl. “You summoned me with one dollar? ONE DOLLAR? You cheap bastards!”
“You came for one dollar. Who's the cheap bastard?” said Bobby.
“Wait, you're a demon?” asked Dean.
Crowley scoffed. “Well, nothing gets past you, does it, Huckleberry?”
“Wait, but you're a dueling coach!”
“I’m a winning coach, dearheart. Seven seasons running the best win/loss record in the Midwest. Do you think anybody gives a shit what I do in my off hours?”
“He's got a point,” said Sam.
Crowley turned to address Bobby. “I will assume that you are the boys's uncle/guardian/all around snoop?”
“I'm Bobby Singer.”
“Ah, Castiel's father figure. I should have known from the family resemblance. So, Bobby Singer, what do you and your Boy Scout jamboree want from me?”
“What do you have to say about Gordon?” asked Dean.
Crowley heaved a sigh, crouched down and brushed imaginary dust from a patch of the floor, and then seated himself, cross-legged. “More trouble than he's worth, that one.”
Bobby crossed his arms. “We got word that you got him juicing.”
“And there’s something weird about your team,” said Dean.
“They’re demon possessed, most likely,” said Bobby.
Dean turned to stare at his uncle. “What? Holy hell.”
“Nothing holy about it,” sighed Crowley. “Look, I am just a simple sportsman, trying to cheat my way to another championship title. Is there anything so wrong with that?”
“Depends,” said Bobby. “You gonna let those kids go at the end of the year?”
“Yes. All of the innocent little children who volunteered for this will be released, to a championship trophy, their parent’s pride and, I might add, a much higher combined GPA.”
“What about Gordon Walker?” asked Dean.
“This is about Walker?” sighed Crowley. “Yes, that's quite a … situation.”
“How is it a situation?”
Crowley heaved a long sigh, and then blurted, “He frightened off my demon!”
Dean, Cas, Sam and Bobby all exchanged glances. And then, as one, began to howl with laughter.
“This is not amusing! He's a quite a little shit.”
“If he ain't of any use to you then...” said Bobby.
“If I give him back,” sighed Crowley, “and tear up the contract, will that be enough to send you impertinent plaid-wrapped entities packing?”
“I don't wear plaid,” said Cas.
“There's one more thing,” said Sam. “Your supply of sporting equipment. Dueling footwear.”
Crowley quite suddenly stopped looking cool and casual and appeared actually a bit fraught. “Yes, what about it?”
“We know you're getting stuff donated from Wellman. As fully owned subsidiary of Roman Enterprises.”
“If you gentlemen are quite done.” Crowley abruptly stood up and nervously tapped his watch, “I have my mani/pedi.”
“Answer the damn question,” demanded Bobby.
“I didn't hear a question,” grumbled Crowley.
“We wanna hear about your relationship with Roman Enterprises,” said Dean.
“Relationship? Roman? Naw, we're just good friends.”
“Crowley!” said Bobby. “I got a jug of holy water in the house. You want me to bring it on down.”
“You're telling me the weird boy doesn't know about Dick?” he said, eyeing Castiel.
“What do you mean?” asked Cas.
“I have already said too much. Send your intrepid boy reporters out on the job. And now, that you have right and properly screwed me over, may I please depart these hideous surroundings?”
Bobby nodded. He picked up a knife and scratched through one of the paint lines on the trap.
There was the scent of sulfur.
And quite abruptly, Crowley was standing nose to nose with Bobby. “Call me again and there won't be enough of you left to mop up, old man.”
Bobby shoved the knife into one of Crowley's nostrils. “Iron, ya idjit.”
Crowley stared cross-eyed at the knife. And then he was there no more.
Bobby turned to the boys. “So, what do we know about Dick?”
“This looks like the world's most boring office park,” sighed Dean.
“You suppose Crowley steered us wrong?” asked Sam, who was sitting beside him in the Impala. They were parked across the street from SucroCorp headquarters, as Bobby had absolutely and in no certain terms forbidden them from actually going on to any of Dick Roman's properties.
“He totally would. Damn! I have stuff I need to do.”
“Stuff?”
“Practice! Homework.”
“Wait, Dean, you want to do your homework?”
“Well....”
“Or you wanna be making out with the street fighter?”
The back door opened, causing both Sam and Dean to jump. “What about me?” asked Cas, who had just slid into the back seat.
“Oh, uh, nothing Cas,” said Dean. “Just wondering where you were.” Sam grinned as Cas handed over a plastic container of many chopped vegetables.
“They didn't have honey mustard,” said Cas apologetically, handing over a little plastic packet. “So I got you ranch. I like ranch.”
“Is there anything actually to eat in that bag?” groused Dean, who was handed a burger-shaped item in waxed paper. “Ah! This is what I'm talking about.”
“They asked me if I wanted extra cheese or extra onions, so I said yes.”
Dean unpeeled the paper and took a bite. He rolled his eyes in orgasmic glee. “You're perfect.”
“Ugh, do I gotta sit in the car with him for the rest of the afternoon?” Sam grumbled.
Cas rattled the bag and extracted a handful of French fries. He held up another packet of ranch dressing and expertly chewed a small rip in the top, and then delicately applied the sauce to the fries. “So what have you guys discovered?”
“This is fucking boring!” said Dean through a mouth full of cheeseburger with extra onions.
“And my brother has the breath of Satan,” laughed Sam, waving his hand at Dean.
“Wait, what's that?” asked Cas, pointing a sauce-covered fry out the window. All three boys turned to look at the panel truck that was approaching the parking lot. On the side it said, Roman Security Solutions LLC.
“Security solutions?” mocked Dean. “Why don't they just say Rent-A-Goon?”
“Dean!”
“What, Cas? You didn't spill secret sauce on the seat again?”
“Those guards, Dean.”
“What about 'em?” Dean peered over at the personnel emptying from the van. It was about half a dozen guys, and not one of them had a neck to speak of. Dean shuddered. “I spoke too soon, that's an insult to goons.”
“There's something … funny about them.”
“Funny like what?” asked Dean.
“They don't look like the joking sort,” said Sam.
“Unnatural,” said Cas.
“Unnatural … you mean like Crowley’s fencing team?” asked Dean.
“Unnatural like Crowley’s fencing team.”
“Oh. Oh! Holy fuck.”
“Holy something,” said Sam.
Tossing his burger to the seat beside him, Dean started the car and shifted into drive.
“Wait! Dean, you know what Bobby said!” Sam and Dean looked at each other.
Dean grinned and, as Sam rolled his eyes and Cas looked on curiously, he guided the car towards the SucroCorp parking lot.
