Code Duello (Part 12 of 14)
May. 5th, 2013 08:51 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: Code Duello (Part 12 of 14)
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikific
Rating: This chapter: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Sam/Jess, Bobby, Gabriel, Victor, Charlie, Pamela, Benny, Ash, Jo/Gordon, Ellen, Uriel, Zachariah, Joshua, Balthazar, Chuck/Becky, Crowley
Warnings: Cursing, 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, the boys fill out internship applications, Cas learns more about his past, and KU plays another match.
“And who exactly is Ginger Baker?” whispered Cas as he squinted purposefully at the Roman Enterprises internship application form attached to his clipboard.
“Shhh. You. You are Ginger Baker,” Dean muttered back. The three boys went silent as a stern-faced woman in a sharply-cut suit passed by. The office had that new carpet smell. In fact, the whole building had the feel of something that had been slapped up and opened for business just this morning. Germ-free. Spotless. And everything was so … plastic.
“Hey.” Dean nudged Sam once the woman had safely passed out of the waiting room area and disappeared into an office. “She seem familiar?”
Sam gazed at the ceiling for an instant and then snapped his fingers. “The academic duel! Jaunoeil and Swift. Wasn't she one of the drones buzzing around Dick Roman?”
“Dumb bastard got to sit in the good seats,” grumbled Dean as he and Sam rose and handed their applications in at the desk, both feigning sincere smiles as they did so.
“Thank you Mr. Clapton. Mr. Bruce,” droned the ageless being behind the desk, her voice an unholy blend of aged whiskey and unfiltered cigarettes.
“Hey, you don't think that means Roman is actually here today?” asked Sam as they ambled back to the seating area.
“We got a little Dick in the house?” said Dean, casting a sly gaze around the little office. “Might be worth taking a look around, what do you think?”
They sat back down next to Cas. “Hey, Sam and I are gonna take a stroll.”
“What should I put down for my references?” Cas asked Dean, his expression earnest.
“Steve Winwood and Ric Grech,” said Dean. “We'll be right back.” And then, after inquiring of the disinterested admin the correct route to the men’s room, he and Sam were off down the beige corridor.
“Boy, this is not exactly a party atmosphere,” Dean complained after they passed yet another knot of surly Roman employees.
“You know, I'd be a little more confident about this if it were 3 am and just us and some sleepy security guards,” Sam told Dean.
“Hey, you could have stayed with Cas filling out applications.”
“Frankly, Dean, he was driving me a little crazy. He's actually taking this seriously.”
“He takes everything seriously. It's like his transmission got stuck in serious gear.”
“Wait, look, isn't that one of the goons?” Sam pointed up the corridor. Both brothers ducked around a corner. They peered out.
“Yeah. And if they've got goons on guard, it must be something they don't want us to see.”
“Uhhhh, Dean.” Sam leaned out and took another look at the guards. “Those guys are big as rhinos.”
“Maybe we could put on our rhino tamer hats.”
“Our what?” Sam stared at his brother.
A door opened, and Dean and Sam cringed back again. They flattened themselves against the wall as best they could as two of the goons walked right by. Some people in suits followed, and then none other than Dick Roman. Who was joking with a very familiar figure.
“Hey. That was....” whispered Dean.
“Zachariah,” said Sam.
“Creepy immortal Zach.” The party had passed, so Sam and Dean relaxed. “We should get out of here.”
“Dean. Zachariah doesn't know what we look like....”
“Cas! Shit! Let's go.” The brothers high-tailed it back to the Human Resources office, being careful to avoid Dick Roman and his entourage on the way. But they pulled up short, seeing the waiting room was completely empty.
“Where the hell is Cas?” rasped Dean, feeling the panic rising.
“Thank you very much for the opportunity,” said a familiar voice. Cas was shaking the hand of the stony-face woman they had passed on the way in.
“Thank you, Mr. Baker. You are the kind of self-starter individual Mr. Roman likes on the team.
“Yes, you could say I am a real team player,” said Cas, smiling over at Sam and Dean as the woman turned on her high heel and departed.
Dean rushed over to Cas. “Oh, hey, Ginger. We gotta go. Uh. Mom wants the car back.”
“Mr. Clapton? Mr. Bruce?” rasped the administrative assistant at the desk. “Your interviews are next.”
“Uh, yeah, maybe next time. I just remembered we got a lot of school work to do. I got, you know, homework. And stuff.” Dean seized Cas by the arm and marched him out of the office.
“And stuff?” asked Sam as they hastened out.
“You know, whatever it is students do,” said Dean. They burst out the front door and all then did a clumsy walk-run to the car.
“What happened?” asked Cas from the back seat as Dean was peeling out.
“Zachariah,” said Sam.
“What. You saw him?”
“He was meeting with Dick!” said Dean.
“WHAT?” Cas turned around to gaze out the back window at the retreating Roman Enterprises building.
Dean pressed the accelerator. “We're putting in some miles so he doesn't see your ass.”
“Why the hell would he be there?” asked Cas.
“You got no idea?”
“We know some of the dojos were getting sporting equipment donations from Wellman, which is owned by Roman,” said Sam.
Cas sat and frowned. “Dean. When Zachariah took over my dojo, there was talk about new leadership. No one seemed to know who. And most of us didn't pay attention to such thing. The guys just wanted to fight.”
Dean gripped the steering wheel. “Wait a minute. You think Dick and Roman Enterprises were behind pushing Zach in your faces?”
“That makes sense, Dean!” said Sam. “His companies are manufacturing the drugs that pump up the fighters. And then their media enterprises sell the fights. He makes money going in and coming out.”
“But he’s also stocking the earth with a bunch of nasty fallen angels!” said Dean. “Like your pal, Uriel.”
“He’s not my pal,” Cas grumbled.
“So what do we do?” asked Sam.
“For now, I guess we go home. Get some dinner.”
“I thought I would make spinach lasagna!” said Cas.
Dean looked dubious. “Dunno if Bobby wants vegetables so close to his lasagna. And you can’t tell me you’re already hungry?”
“I’m starved. Can we stop by the grocery store on the way home?”
Dean shook his head. “You got a hollow leg, Cas. Yeah, sure. Maybe we can pick up some pie.”
Sam laughed. “Now who’s got a hollow leg?”
They found Bobby in a serious mood.
“Cas, sit down,” said Bobby, who looked grim.
Castiel felt a chill run through his heart. “I’d prefer to remain standing. Sir,” he said haltingly. But Dean put a hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him into one of the kitchen chairs.
“Now, I don’t want you to get sore at me. But you remember you told Rufus you were interested in learning about your folks?”
Cas shook his head. “I don’t remember anything about either of them. Have they found out anything?”
“Well, Rufus put Frank on the case. Now, I know Frank’s kind of a nutball, but he’s good at what he does.”
Cas looked between Bobby and Dean. “And? What did they find?”
Bobby looked sad.
Cas sat down on the grass, crossing his legs. He reached over and pulled out a few weeds that had grown around the grave marker. He brushed the markings on the stone. “That’s the year I was sent to live with my relatives,” he said, pointing to the date inscription. “The year she died.”
Dean sat down opposite of Cas. Sam and Jess stood nearby, holding hands.
“So now we know why she gave you up,” said Dean. “She had to.”
Cas ran his fingers along the carved letters. “And her name was … Jane?”
“Bobby says they just called her a Jane Doe. Rufus says we think her name was Hannah.”
“Hannah,” Cas repeated. His smile was wistful. “That’s a nice name.”
“Cas?” Castiel looked up at Sam. Jess was holding the bouquet she had brought along. Cas nodded, and Jess knelt down and placed the flowers on the stone marker. She squeezed Cas’s shoulder and stood up.
“I think I’d like … a moment?” Cas said.
Sam nodded. “Jess and I wanted to walk around the grounds for a little while.” They took off, while Dean remained.
“Are you okay?” Dean asked after a time.
“Yes.” Cas’s voice was shaky. “Please thank Bobby. I’ve never had this before. I never knew.”
“I don’t remember much about my own mom,” said Dean, straightening out one of his legs when it began to cramp. “And Sam doesn’t remember anything at all. He was too young.”
“I’ve always thought I remembered her face. But it might be a false memory.”
“They’re trying to find a picture-“
“There’s probably not much hope, if she was a prostitute.”
Dean bit his lip.
“It’s all right, Dean. I’m ignorant, not stupid. This part of the graveyard is outside hallowed ground.” He pointed back up the hill, towards a rusty iron fence that demarcated the grassy grounds. “You know, I don’t understand. If she was an honorable person, why should God turn His back on her?”
“This isn’t God’s doing,” said Dean. “This is a bunch of men. A bunch of stupid men.”
Cas smiled slightly. “I don’t believe I am much interested, nor would it be profitable, to search for my father.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. I'm sure.”
Dean nodded. “Yeah, fair enough. We’ll tell them, okay?”
And they sat for a while in silence, listening to the soft wind blow.
“So, he wants to kill her?”
“I think it’s more complicated than that, Cas,” answered Sam from up on the couch where he was sitting snuggling with Jess.
“No, it’s just that simple,” said Dean. He was down on the carpet, back against the couch, Cas sitting between his knees with a bowl of popcorn on his lap. “He wants to kill her!”
“But he doesn’t.”
“Don’t give it away!”
“Who hasn’t seen The Searchers?”
“Cas hasn’t seen The Searchers.”
“I haven’t seen The Searchers,” Cas agreed. “And I am out of popcorn,” he added, holding up the empty bowl.
“Garbage gut,” said Dean.
“I like popcorn, Dean. Will you get some more?”
“You’ll have to get off of me.”
“But I’m comfortable this way.”
“When did you turn into such a pain?”
Dean and Cas stared at each other for a moment.
“I’ll get more popcorn,” said Sam, leaping up and grabbing the bowl. He strode into the kitchen shaking his head at his idiot brother and his idiot boyfriend. He threw a bag of popcorn into the microwave, noticing that Jess had come up behind him. “Coming to supervise?”
“Coming to do this,” she laughed, giving him a kiss and hopping onto the counter. They watched the bag twirl around on the Lazy Susan inside the microwave for a while. “So, your brother….”
“What about my brother?”
“He’s with the same person? And it’s been what, weeks?”
“Dean isn’t that bad, Jess.”
“Yes. He is, actually. You don’t see it because he’s your brother.”
“Look, I dunno. He just seems happy, you know? Like, really, really happy.”
Jess was staring at something very interesting in her fingernails. “We don’t know a lot about Cas.”
“He doesn’t know a lot about himself. Like you saw today, he didn’t even know his mom. He was mostly just raised to do fighting.” Sam regarded his girlfriend: she was in one of those, “I know something but you need to figure it out for yourself, genius,” moods he guessed. Which could be irritating, especially because she was usually right.
Aw, hell, Jess was inevitably right.
“Okay, what?” Sam finally asked. The kitchen had begun to smell of slightly burnt butter.
Jess looked off to the far wall. “You think he's okay? With finding out?”
“Why?”
“He doesn't seem okay.”
The microwave beeped for attention, and he pulled the bulging waxed paper bag of popcorn out of the tray and carefully pulled at the seam, wincing when the steam sprayed across his finger. “What's wrong with him? I thought you liked Cas?” He stuck a hurt finger in his mouth.
“I do like him. Sam. It’s just, I think he needs support right now. And I'm not sure whether your brother is gonna be there for him. As long as we’ve been going out, I’ve never been around any of Dean’s … friends long enough to even remember their names.”
“Well. Yeah. But those guys, they’re inseparable. I mean, it’s like they’ve got magnets inside them.” Sam brought his hands together in an imitation of electromagnetic attraction.
Jess searched her boyfriend's face. “Dean used to say the same thing about us, remember? And the thing is, I mean, it’s just you guys out here. You and Bobby.”
“And you think we’re clueless?” laughed Sam, spilling popcorn into the bowl. Butter smell permeated the house. “Look, feeling stuff isn't my brother's specialty. They'll probably go knock each over on the piste and that will be the end of it.”
“Hey, what the hell’s taking so long?” Dean hollered from the living room.
“You are clueless,” Jess told Sam as she hopped off the counter.
“Stop worrying. Maybe you should worry more about Gabriel and Pamela.”
Jess sighed. “I’m worried more about Pamela and Meg,” she told him, grabbing the bowl and heading back to the living room. “Coming!” she shouted.
“Wait, what?”
But Sam didn't get an answer.
Dean was pleasantly surprised.
Although Cas's cot remained in their room, it had been all but abandoned. The picture of Cas Dean had ripped from one of Rufus's magazines had also remained, though now it was taped above the bureau. And Cas had insisted on also setting up one of Becky's team photos below it, even though Dean found it incredibly dorky.
But, the cot notwithstanding, Dean and Cas now quite frankly shared a bed. Even on the rare night where no funny business happened, they would fall asleep pleasantly tangled up in one another. Dean hadn't regarded himself prior to this as someone you could call a cuddler, but he had no objection to this state of affairs.
But he found himself taken aback by Cas's ardent reaction that evening, after the movie was done and everybody had trailed off to bed. It had been almost like their first night together, where Cas had practically thrown Dean down to the bed, and then struggled to put hands and mouth everywhere at once, like something inside was burning in him. Dean laid back, and let himself be consumed by it, happy and surprised and feeling a little drunk even though he hadn't had a single beer all evening.
Afterwards, though, he wasn't sure why it silpped out but it did, as Cas lay twisted up against him, face pressed into Dean's chest, Dean said, “You okay, man?” Which was weird because of course Cas was okay, and Dean was okay, and they were all just fine thank you.
But fortunately, Cas just muttered something into Dean's skin, and Dean put an affectionate hand through the dark, tangled hair, and let himself drift off.
“Do you need me to drive?” sighed Sam as he found Cas and Dean in lip-lock by the car.
“I’m driving in today,” said Cas, holding up a set of keys.
“What?” Sam, thinking it was a joke, looked between Cas and his brother.
“He’s driving that piece of shit!” Dean told him, pointing to a battered Toyota Corolla.
“I need practice.”
“We got you a license!”
“I intend to get a real license,” said Cas. He puffed up. “Now that I have a real legal name.”
“But that’s not your real legal name. It's your fake legal name.”
Cas shrugged. “And then I’ll get a truck. Like Bobby’s!” He smiled mischievously at Dean.
“He has no taste. Here I thought I raised him right, and he has no taste.” Cas waved and opened his car door. “You won’t forget the game tonight?”
“No, I won’t forget the game tonight.”
“It's the Longhorns!”
“Yes, the Longhorns, Dean.” Cas shut the door. And was off.
The coach of the K-State team sat in his office, as he often did these days. And as he also often did these days, he took another drink. Truth be told, it was probably one too many. But the K-State coach found himself more and more consumed by a particular sort of worry these days.
Lying next to him on the floor, a very large dog emitted a whine.
Crowley reached over and scratched behind the ears of the great head. “Now, don't worry, Growley, mate. We're still the winningest team in the Midwest.” He held up his shot glass, as if in a toast. “We shall prevail!”
The dog's ears twitched, and his nose wrinkled, sniffing the air.
“What is it, boy? Somebody frying a steak?” A small smile twisted Crowley's features.
The huge dog was on his feet, back arched, red eyes glaring at the door. He was currently emitting a growl – a low, rumbling sound – that Crowley thought he had never before heard from his admittedly rather amiable companion.
“What the Bloody hell?” Crowley turned to the door. “Alastair? Is that you? Get in here, you great twit, and quit larking about.”
There was a silence.
And then the door blew off its hinges with a great crash and a flash of light.
Crowley hit the deck, spilling good Scotch everywhere. He heard footsteps, slow and deliberate, across his floor. And then a great wrenching sound as his file drawer burst open.
He peeked up over the desk.
“Oh no. Not you. Not you!”
The crowd was on their feat, roaring.
They stomped their feet in a rhythmic pattern. Stamp, stamp, stamp-stamp, stamp.
The band vamped the chant, and the crowd erupted, “Rock! Chalk! Jayhawk! KUUUUUUU!” The last syllable echoed throughout the crowded court.
The victorious Jayhawks waved swords and pumped fists as they filed from the field.
Cas gave a half-hearted wave and slipped off in to the locker room. He hadn’t wanted to tell Dean about it, but his head really hadn’t been in the game. He had been feeling out of sorts, to be honest, since he sat down at his mother’s graveside a few days prior.
He had to admit to himself, even though he had long suspected this outcome, he had probably held onto the slim hope that one of both of his parents would be alive and well, and that one day, they would meet.
And they would be proud of him.
Truth be told, that was probably part of the reason he’d told Bobby in no uncertain terms to halt the search for his father.
And why he found it disconcerting that he was, right now, staring at none other Rufus's friend, the strange obsessive, Frank Devereaux. Frank had been instrumental at cooking up Cas's fake identity papers as Castiel Singer, and according to Rufus, did the lion's share of the work identifying Cas's mother. He felt he should be properly grateful. The the guy still, as Sam would say, skeezed him out.
Frank gestured for Cas to follow him outside. Cas looked around, but for whatever reason, Dean hadn't made it into the locker room yet. So, reluctantly, he followed the older man outside.
“What is it?”
“You’re gonna thank me, Pumpkin. I got a line on Daddy-kins.”
Cas stared. And then he glowered. Grateful or not, this was over the line. “I told you to discontinue the search for my father,” he said, not even trying to conceal his irritation. “I do not wish to know anything about him. I have no interest.”
“I think you’ll be interested,” said Frank slyly. “I’ve got a warm body this time.”
Cas felt his heart sieze. He didn't want to know. And yet.... “He’s alive?”
“Alive and kicking. Literally. You know the place your mother worked?”
Cas gave him a sour look. “She was young. Too young.”
“That's literally true. Some of those places, they don't stick strictly to the rules. As you know. You were fighting when you were thirteen. Your mom was doing … other things.”
Cas wanted to draw his sword. “Tell me what you found out.”
Frank smiled, the cat playing with the canary. “You're mom's establishment had a close relationship with another local business. A dojo.”
Cas froze. “Which dojo?”
“I thought that would get a reaction. Hey!”
Cas was now holding Frank by the collar. “Which. Dojo?”
Frank broke into a grin. “As it happens, it's a place you know well.”
“You seen Cas?” Dean asked Sam.
His brother shrugged. “He brought his own car, right? He’s probably already on the way to Harvelle’s.”
Dean sighed.
“You guys have a fight or something?” asked Sam.
“No, nothing like that. He’s just started acting … I dunno, detatched. Or something.”
Sam suddenly remembered a conversation with Jess. Dammit, right again. “He’ll come around. I think it was maybe, emotional, you know? Seeing his mom?”
“I guess so.”
“So you guys are okay?”
Dean heaved a sigh. “Why would we not be okay?”
“Jess thought you might not be okay.”
“Why would Jess think we’re not okay?”
“Because … she’s a girl?”
“Where’s Cas?” piped up Jo, who had just appeared. “Are you guys okay?”
Dean glowered. “For the last time, everything is okay!”
“Then why the heck did Cas take off so fast?” asked Benny.
“What? Wait! Where did he go?”
“I seen him outside. He was talking with some funky looking old dude with big, thick glasses.”
“An old guy with…. Frank?”
“I dunno. Cas picked him up by the collar and I thought was gonna wallop him.”
“That’s gotta be Frank. Where’s Bobby?”
Several people pointed towards the stands. Dean burst out of the locker room and spotted Bobby still talking to Rufus.
Dean took the stairs two at a time. “Rufus!”
“Well, hey Dean!”
“Where’s Cas?” asked Dean.
“That’s what we were gonna ask you,” said Bobby, looking confused.
“And for the last time, Cas and I are okay!”
Bobby and Rufus exchanged a puzzled glance. “And why in hell wouldn’t you be okay?” asked Bobby.
Dean sighed. “Rufus, did you come here with Frank today?”
“He was here, yeah, but I haven’t seen him since the end of the match.”
“He calls me Cupcake one more time I’m gonna slice his fucking head off,” grumbled Bobby.
“Someone saw him with Cas, and then Cas took off.
Rufus put a hand to his mouth. “Shit, he didn't.”
“Didn't what? What's going on.”
Rufus looked at Bobby, apologetic. “You know, I told Frank what you said, to stop looking into Castiel's parents? But he said he was gonna go ahead anyway. I wonder if he found something?” Rufus looked back at Dean. “You know he's obsessed. With street fighting. Maybe he thought he'd get in with Cas if he had more information?”
“Even if the boy didn't want it?” asked Bobby.
“That's Frank,” sighed Rufus. “I need to tear that guy a new one.”
Dean felt the panic rising. “Shit. Cas drove his own car. He might have taken off by now.” He took off running towards the exit.
It wasn’t so hard to break in. There was an old tree with branches that reached up towards the second floor. Easy enough to climb. And then he didn’t even have to pick a lock, just jimmy the latch on one of the windows.
The Winchesters had taught him well.
The room he entered was dark and quiet. Cas had a quiet moment of uncertainty: now that he was here, what the hell did he intend to do? Perhaps he shouldn’t have taken off from the game. Perhaps he should have waited, and consulted Dean. Or even talked Bobby.
But he put aside such thoughts. This wasn’t their battle. This was his.
He imagined the layout here would be more or less the same as his former home, with kitchen, common rooms and gymnasium on the ground floor, and dormitories and private rooms upstairs.
At some point, he decided that finding Samyaza’s office made sense. He imagined it was likely it would be down on the ground floor, near the gym, as Joshua’s office had been. He looked around the small room he had broken into: it looked like some kind of storeroom, loaded with carton upon carton. He paused, looking at the cartons, wishing he had thought to bring a flashlight. It was a stupid idea, coming here.
He pulled a carton from the shelf and held it near where the moonlight shown through the window. “Oh no,” he groaned, as he spotted the familiar logo for Wellman Wellies. He looked back at the room, wondering why the dojo would need racks upon racks of those terrible fake street fighter boots. Evidently the information was correct about the ties to Roman Industries. He wanted to tell Dean. He half considered simply climbing back out the window and returning to campus. But, no. He'd come too far.
He emerged into the hallway and noticed that there were bare hardwood floors. He sat down and pulled off his heavy boots, lacing them together and throwing them over his shoulder. Then, as quietly as possible, he tiptoed down the hallway, past several closed doors, and slipped down the staircase.
As he had expected the ground floor held the gymnasium and exercise area. He noticed with relief that it all appeared to be dark and deserted. Sometimes guys would get up for a midnight snack from the kitchen, or, though less likely, a perfectionist like Cas would be in the exercise area, trying to improve a move.
He entered the gym area. Despite the late hour, he decided not to turn on any lights. Fortunately the gym was ringed by a row of tall windows which let in the ample moonlight. He ghosted across the floor, threading between exercise equipment to reach the office, which he found to be locked. He hadn’t carried a lock pick along – another oversight – but managed to make do with a paperclip.
He smiled as he heard the door click.
And then all the overhead lights switched on.
The old Volvo roared to life. It veered out of its parking space, early enough to beat the crowds, and chugged towards the exit.
Frank stomped on the brake, breathing hard, when the crazy guy with a sword jumped out in front of him.
He unrolled the window when he recognized the guy. “I’m on my way home, Cupcake,” he grumbled. He gulped when he felt the sword at his throat.
“What the hell did you tell Cas?” demanded Dean.
Cas turned and froze, hand reaching for his sword.
“Did you find your smoking gun?” grinned Samyaza.
“I’m here because you raped my mother,” said Cas. He wondered why it was so cold inside.
“Rape? Now, that's a harsh word.”
“Samyaza. She was fourteen years old.”
“She enjoyed every second,” Samyaza told him.
Cas’s blade snapped on with a hum.
“Why so hostile? The daughters of man, they are comely. And so we took them for our own, my brothers and me.”
“You won’t get away with it.”
Samyaza laughed. “We’ve been getting away with it for a century. Why do you think a little ant like you will have any effect?”
“I’m not an ant.”
“Well, you’re arrogant enough. You probably got that from me. Look, I’ll be frank. What I should really do right now, given what you are, and what you know, is just put a quick end to you. I mean, I’d like to string it along, as I usually do, but I don’t have time.
“But given what you are, I’m going to make you an offer. Now, remember, this is one time only. And you turn me down, we’ll go right back to Plan A.”
Cas glared. “I won’t make any deal with you.”
“You know why we’re down here, don’t you?” Samyaza asked him. “There isn’t anything left up topside. What you call heaven. There was a war and our Father, your Grandfather, took off. So a few of us, we saw an opening, and came down here. With the mud monkeys. Yeah, the smell is bad, but you get used to it. And they're amusing. Especially the women.”
Cas tightened his grip on his sword.
“Oh, calm down. Anyway, you were a little experiment.” Samyaza pulled on the front of his shirt. “The trouble is, these bodies are like tissue paper. They're so easy to tear. And there are still so many of us – good, loyal soldiers – waiting to come on board.”
“That's why you're doping players.”
“It was a happy accident! We have to thank your friend Crowley for that. He was using it for demons. Had no idea it would work for us as well, the idiot. Well, what do you expect? He's just a demon.
“But now here you are, and here I am. And I’m stronger than ever. This vessel is good, but not ideal. But the drugs keep me strong. And immortal. Just like you’ll be.”
“I’m not taking any drugs.”
“Oh, don’t be peevish. All I'm asking is for you to be a dutiful son, and do what you're told. You’ll never miss it, leaving your pathetic human side behind. Come and become the glory that you can be.”
“You're not my father! Bobby Singer is my father!”
Samyaza paused. “What? Oh, Father, but aren't you an idiot? Well, no matter, we'll soon take care of that. Now, just come along quietly, and we'll get you a personality transplant. Come on, it won't hurt a bit. Well, actually, it will. But they don't call me Lucifer for nothing.”
Cas hesitated. But only a second.
Samyaza – Lucifer – had his sword up to meet Cas's blow. Lucifer was taller, and Cas had stupidly taken off his boots, which worsened the height difference.
Cas didn't care. The blades met, sending sparks arcing off into the night. It was too bad really that there was no audience, as there probably would have been applause. People loved sparks.
It was difficult, though, without a wall, fighting in the open. Lucifer seemed to be toying with him, pummeling him hard, but then backing off. Cas cursed himself for not thinking this through before rushing off.
He espied a piece of equipment on the floor and started to try to back Lucifer towards it, but without tipping him off to what he was up to. Lucifer raised his arm for a big, showy blow, but Cas ducked under, hopping on the mount and then up onto the balance beam. Lucifer realized Cas's gambit too late and lunged, but Cas, sure-footed, leapt out of the way with a perfect layout, and then sprang off the beam … and right up onto Lucifer's shoulders.
Lucifer roared, striking blindly, trying to dislodge Cas. Cas gripped Lucifer by the hair and raised his sword.
“Stop it! Now!”
Cas froze when he heard Uriel's bellow. He turned, his heart sinking to see who Uriel and Virgil were holding.
“Dean!”
“Look at what we found sneaking around.” Uriel and Virgil had a struggling Dean Winchester between them. His face was bloody.
Cas let Lucifer wrench him off his back, and dropped down to the floor. “What the hell are you doing here, Uriel?”
“Haven't you heard, Castiel? The old ways are out. This is a new day, a day for changing loyalties. Samyaza is our new leader, here on earth.”
“Lucifer,” corrected Cas.
“What?” asked Dean, who looked around, a little dazed, spitting blood. “Lucifer? Holy fuck.”
“Dean! Are you all right?” asked Cas.
“Oh, just dandy.”
“Just in time, Uriel,” sighed Lucifer. “This was getting boring. Now. Castiel. Be a sport and say you'll serve as a vessel, and maybe we won't lop your little friend's head off?”
“No!” said Cas. “Don't touch him.”
“They're already touching him. Lord, you're dumb as a post. Hopefully the ensoulment won't fry whatever brain cells are left.”
“No, Cas, don't do it!” said Dean. This earned him an elbow in the face from a chuckling Virgil. Dean moaned and sank to his knees.
Cas fought back tears. “I'll do it. I'll do it. Quit hurting him.”
“Quit hurting him,” mocked Lucifer, in a voice some three octaves higher than Castiel's. “Make it stop. Uriel, Virgil, give me a hand with this.” Lucifer grabbed Cas's sword and tossed it away, and then pushed him roughly down to his knees in front of him. “Let us summon Shamsiel.”
“Yes, my brother!” said Uriel excitedly as he and Virgil left Dean slumped against the wall. “What should we do, boss?” he asked Lucifer.
“Is he giving you a blow job or something first?” asked Virgil.
Cas looked up in horror.
Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Oh, for.... Virgil, this is my son!”
“Oh?” asked Virgil with a bewildered expression. And then, after an uncomfortably long pause, “Oh! Then, what do you want us to do?”
“Just, stand on either side and hold him up. And try not to let him splash all over me if he explodes like the last one.”
“The last one?” asked Cas.
“You!” Lucifer told Cas as Virgil and a somewhat more reluctant Uriel grabbed Cas roughly by his upper arms. “Castiel! Say you welcome Shamsiel!” Cas nodded, and Lucifer smacked him in the face. “Say it, dimwit. Aloud!”
Cas looked over at Dean, and then told Lucifer in a small voice, “I welcome him. I welcome Shamsiel.”
There was a crackling, as the overhead lights popped and fizzled out. There was a deep humming in the room, at a timbre just too low for human ears.
Lucifer began to recite some words in Enochian. Cas looked around, trembling. He watched as a crack began to seam one of the high windows. It traced upwards, spreading out like a vine, and then the window crackled and dissolved into shards.
“Shamsiel! Steward of the legions! Come to us!” Lucifer hollered in English.
Cas gasped. His hands went to his neck. Something was squeezing the life out of him. He cried out, feeling static electricity everywhere on his body. His arms flew out to his sides as something – like a very big pair of hands – was pulling him apart.
He tried to scream, but his throat wouldn't work. His chest was being crushed by a heavy lead weight. His eyes burned, his vision went static. He felt the smash and crash as suddenly, every single window in the room shattered to a billion pieces.
Fandom: Supernatural
Author: tikific
Rating: This chapter: PG-13
Characters/Pairings: Dean/Castiel, Sam/Jess, Bobby, Gabriel, Victor, Charlie, Pamela, Benny, Ash, Jo/Gordon, Ellen, Uriel, Zachariah, Joshua, Balthazar, Chuck/Becky, Crowley
Warnings: Cursing, 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, the boys fill out internship applications, Cas learns more about his past, and KU plays another match.
“And who exactly is Ginger Baker?” whispered Cas as he squinted purposefully at the Roman Enterprises internship application form attached to his clipboard.
“Shhh. You. You are Ginger Baker,” Dean muttered back. The three boys went silent as a stern-faced woman in a sharply-cut suit passed by. The office had that new carpet smell. In fact, the whole building had the feel of something that had been slapped up and opened for business just this morning. Germ-free. Spotless. And everything was so … plastic.
“Hey.” Dean nudged Sam once the woman had safely passed out of the waiting room area and disappeared into an office. “She seem familiar?”
Sam gazed at the ceiling for an instant and then snapped his fingers. “The academic duel! Jaunoeil and Swift. Wasn't she one of the drones buzzing around Dick Roman?”
“Dumb bastard got to sit in the good seats,” grumbled Dean as he and Sam rose and handed their applications in at the desk, both feigning sincere smiles as they did so.
“Thank you Mr. Clapton. Mr. Bruce,” droned the ageless being behind the desk, her voice an unholy blend of aged whiskey and unfiltered cigarettes.
“Hey, you don't think that means Roman is actually here today?” asked Sam as they ambled back to the seating area.
“We got a little Dick in the house?” said Dean, casting a sly gaze around the little office. “Might be worth taking a look around, what do you think?”
They sat back down next to Cas. “Hey, Sam and I are gonna take a stroll.”
“What should I put down for my references?” Cas asked Dean, his expression earnest.
“Steve Winwood and Ric Grech,” said Dean. “We'll be right back.” And then, after inquiring of the disinterested admin the correct route to the men’s room, he and Sam were off down the beige corridor.
“Boy, this is not exactly a party atmosphere,” Dean complained after they passed yet another knot of surly Roman employees.
“You know, I'd be a little more confident about this if it were 3 am and just us and some sleepy security guards,” Sam told Dean.
“Hey, you could have stayed with Cas filling out applications.”
“Frankly, Dean, he was driving me a little crazy. He's actually taking this seriously.”
“He takes everything seriously. It's like his transmission got stuck in serious gear.”
“Wait, look, isn't that one of the goons?” Sam pointed up the corridor. Both brothers ducked around a corner. They peered out.
“Yeah. And if they've got goons on guard, it must be something they don't want us to see.”
“Uhhhh, Dean.” Sam leaned out and took another look at the guards. “Those guys are big as rhinos.”
“Maybe we could put on our rhino tamer hats.”
“Our what?” Sam stared at his brother.
A door opened, and Dean and Sam cringed back again. They flattened themselves against the wall as best they could as two of the goons walked right by. Some people in suits followed, and then none other than Dick Roman. Who was joking with a very familiar figure.
“Hey. That was....” whispered Dean.
“Zachariah,” said Sam.
“Creepy immortal Zach.” The party had passed, so Sam and Dean relaxed. “We should get out of here.”
“Dean. Zachariah doesn't know what we look like....”
“Cas! Shit! Let's go.” The brothers high-tailed it back to the Human Resources office, being careful to avoid Dick Roman and his entourage on the way. But they pulled up short, seeing the waiting room was completely empty.
“Where the hell is Cas?” rasped Dean, feeling the panic rising.
“Thank you very much for the opportunity,” said a familiar voice. Cas was shaking the hand of the stony-face woman they had passed on the way in.
“Thank you, Mr. Baker. You are the kind of self-starter individual Mr. Roman likes on the team.
“Yes, you could say I am a real team player,” said Cas, smiling over at Sam and Dean as the woman turned on her high heel and departed.
Dean rushed over to Cas. “Oh, hey, Ginger. We gotta go. Uh. Mom wants the car back.”
“Mr. Clapton? Mr. Bruce?” rasped the administrative assistant at the desk. “Your interviews are next.”
“Uh, yeah, maybe next time. I just remembered we got a lot of school work to do. I got, you know, homework. And stuff.” Dean seized Cas by the arm and marched him out of the office.
“And stuff?” asked Sam as they hastened out.
“You know, whatever it is students do,” said Dean. They burst out the front door and all then did a clumsy walk-run to the car.
“What happened?” asked Cas from the back seat as Dean was peeling out.
“Zachariah,” said Sam.
“What. You saw him?”
“He was meeting with Dick!” said Dean.
“WHAT?” Cas turned around to gaze out the back window at the retreating Roman Enterprises building.
Dean pressed the accelerator. “We're putting in some miles so he doesn't see your ass.”
“Why the hell would he be there?” asked Cas.
“You got no idea?”
“We know some of the dojos were getting sporting equipment donations from Wellman, which is owned by Roman,” said Sam.
Cas sat and frowned. “Dean. When Zachariah took over my dojo, there was talk about new leadership. No one seemed to know who. And most of us didn't pay attention to such thing. The guys just wanted to fight.”
Dean gripped the steering wheel. “Wait a minute. You think Dick and Roman Enterprises were behind pushing Zach in your faces?”
“That makes sense, Dean!” said Sam. “His companies are manufacturing the drugs that pump up the fighters. And then their media enterprises sell the fights. He makes money going in and coming out.”
“But he’s also stocking the earth with a bunch of nasty fallen angels!” said Dean. “Like your pal, Uriel.”
“He’s not my pal,” Cas grumbled.
“So what do we do?” asked Sam.
“For now, I guess we go home. Get some dinner.”
“I thought I would make spinach lasagna!” said Cas.
Dean looked dubious. “Dunno if Bobby wants vegetables so close to his lasagna. And you can’t tell me you’re already hungry?”
“I’m starved. Can we stop by the grocery store on the way home?”
Dean shook his head. “You got a hollow leg, Cas. Yeah, sure. Maybe we can pick up some pie.”
Sam laughed. “Now who’s got a hollow leg?”
They found Bobby in a serious mood.
“Cas, sit down,” said Bobby, who looked grim.
Castiel felt a chill run through his heart. “I’d prefer to remain standing. Sir,” he said haltingly. But Dean put a hand on his shoulder and gently pushed him into one of the kitchen chairs.
“Now, I don’t want you to get sore at me. But you remember you told Rufus you were interested in learning about your folks?”
Cas shook his head. “I don’t remember anything about either of them. Have they found out anything?”
“Well, Rufus put Frank on the case. Now, I know Frank’s kind of a nutball, but he’s good at what he does.”
Cas looked between Bobby and Dean. “And? What did they find?”
Bobby looked sad.
Cas sat down on the grass, crossing his legs. He reached over and pulled out a few weeds that had grown around the grave marker. He brushed the markings on the stone. “That’s the year I was sent to live with my relatives,” he said, pointing to the date inscription. “The year she died.”
Dean sat down opposite of Cas. Sam and Jess stood nearby, holding hands.
“So now we know why she gave you up,” said Dean. “She had to.”
Cas ran his fingers along the carved letters. “And her name was … Jane?”
“Bobby says they just called her a Jane Doe. Rufus says we think her name was Hannah.”
“Hannah,” Cas repeated. His smile was wistful. “That’s a nice name.”
“Cas?” Castiel looked up at Sam. Jess was holding the bouquet she had brought along. Cas nodded, and Jess knelt down and placed the flowers on the stone marker. She squeezed Cas’s shoulder and stood up.
“I think I’d like … a moment?” Cas said.
Sam nodded. “Jess and I wanted to walk around the grounds for a little while.” They took off, while Dean remained.
“Are you okay?” Dean asked after a time.
“Yes.” Cas’s voice was shaky. “Please thank Bobby. I’ve never had this before. I never knew.”
“I don’t remember much about my own mom,” said Dean, straightening out one of his legs when it began to cramp. “And Sam doesn’t remember anything at all. He was too young.”
“I’ve always thought I remembered her face. But it might be a false memory.”
“They’re trying to find a picture-“
“There’s probably not much hope, if she was a prostitute.”
Dean bit his lip.
“It’s all right, Dean. I’m ignorant, not stupid. This part of the graveyard is outside hallowed ground.” He pointed back up the hill, towards a rusty iron fence that demarcated the grassy grounds. “You know, I don’t understand. If she was an honorable person, why should God turn His back on her?”
“This isn’t God’s doing,” said Dean. “This is a bunch of men. A bunch of stupid men.”
Cas smiled slightly. “I don’t believe I am much interested, nor would it be profitable, to search for my father.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. I'm sure.”
Dean nodded. “Yeah, fair enough. We’ll tell them, okay?”
And they sat for a while in silence, listening to the soft wind blow.
“So, he wants to kill her?”
“I think it’s more complicated than that, Cas,” answered Sam from up on the couch where he was sitting snuggling with Jess.
“No, it’s just that simple,” said Dean. He was down on the carpet, back against the couch, Cas sitting between his knees with a bowl of popcorn on his lap. “He wants to kill her!”
“But he doesn’t.”
“Don’t give it away!”
“Who hasn’t seen The Searchers?”
“Cas hasn’t seen The Searchers.”
“I haven’t seen The Searchers,” Cas agreed. “And I am out of popcorn,” he added, holding up the empty bowl.
“Garbage gut,” said Dean.
“I like popcorn, Dean. Will you get some more?”
“You’ll have to get off of me.”
“But I’m comfortable this way.”
“When did you turn into such a pain?”
Dean and Cas stared at each other for a moment.
“I’ll get more popcorn,” said Sam, leaping up and grabbing the bowl. He strode into the kitchen shaking his head at his idiot brother and his idiot boyfriend. He threw a bag of popcorn into the microwave, noticing that Jess had come up behind him. “Coming to supervise?”
“Coming to do this,” she laughed, giving him a kiss and hopping onto the counter. They watched the bag twirl around on the Lazy Susan inside the microwave for a while. “So, your brother….”
“What about my brother?”
“He’s with the same person? And it’s been what, weeks?”
“Dean isn’t that bad, Jess.”
“Yes. He is, actually. You don’t see it because he’s your brother.”
“Look, I dunno. He just seems happy, you know? Like, really, really happy.”
Jess was staring at something very interesting in her fingernails. “We don’t know a lot about Cas.”
“He doesn’t know a lot about himself. Like you saw today, he didn’t even know his mom. He was mostly just raised to do fighting.” Sam regarded his girlfriend: she was in one of those, “I know something but you need to figure it out for yourself, genius,” moods he guessed. Which could be irritating, especially because she was usually right.
Aw, hell, Jess was inevitably right.
“Okay, what?” Sam finally asked. The kitchen had begun to smell of slightly burnt butter.
Jess looked off to the far wall. “You think he's okay? With finding out?”
“Why?”
“He doesn't seem okay.”
The microwave beeped for attention, and he pulled the bulging waxed paper bag of popcorn out of the tray and carefully pulled at the seam, wincing when the steam sprayed across his finger. “What's wrong with him? I thought you liked Cas?” He stuck a hurt finger in his mouth.
“I do like him. Sam. It’s just, I think he needs support right now. And I'm not sure whether your brother is gonna be there for him. As long as we’ve been going out, I’ve never been around any of Dean’s … friends long enough to even remember their names.”
“Well. Yeah. But those guys, they’re inseparable. I mean, it’s like they’ve got magnets inside them.” Sam brought his hands together in an imitation of electromagnetic attraction.
Jess searched her boyfriend's face. “Dean used to say the same thing about us, remember? And the thing is, I mean, it’s just you guys out here. You and Bobby.”
“And you think we’re clueless?” laughed Sam, spilling popcorn into the bowl. Butter smell permeated the house. “Look, feeling stuff isn't my brother's specialty. They'll probably go knock each over on the piste and that will be the end of it.”
“Hey, what the hell’s taking so long?” Dean hollered from the living room.
“You are clueless,” Jess told Sam as she hopped off the counter.
“Stop worrying. Maybe you should worry more about Gabriel and Pamela.”
Jess sighed. “I’m worried more about Pamela and Meg,” she told him, grabbing the bowl and heading back to the living room. “Coming!” she shouted.
“Wait, what?”
But Sam didn't get an answer.
Dean was pleasantly surprised.
Although Cas's cot remained in their room, it had been all but abandoned. The picture of Cas Dean had ripped from one of Rufus's magazines had also remained, though now it was taped above the bureau. And Cas had insisted on also setting up one of Becky's team photos below it, even though Dean found it incredibly dorky.
But, the cot notwithstanding, Dean and Cas now quite frankly shared a bed. Even on the rare night where no funny business happened, they would fall asleep pleasantly tangled up in one another. Dean hadn't regarded himself prior to this as someone you could call a cuddler, but he had no objection to this state of affairs.
But he found himself taken aback by Cas's ardent reaction that evening, after the movie was done and everybody had trailed off to bed. It had been almost like their first night together, where Cas had practically thrown Dean down to the bed, and then struggled to put hands and mouth everywhere at once, like something inside was burning in him. Dean laid back, and let himself be consumed by it, happy and surprised and feeling a little drunk even though he hadn't had a single beer all evening.
Afterwards, though, he wasn't sure why it silpped out but it did, as Cas lay twisted up against him, face pressed into Dean's chest, Dean said, “You okay, man?” Which was weird because of course Cas was okay, and Dean was okay, and they were all just fine thank you.
But fortunately, Cas just muttered something into Dean's skin, and Dean put an affectionate hand through the dark, tangled hair, and let himself drift off.
“Do you need me to drive?” sighed Sam as he found Cas and Dean in lip-lock by the car.
“I’m driving in today,” said Cas, holding up a set of keys.
“What?” Sam, thinking it was a joke, looked between Cas and his brother.
“He’s driving that piece of shit!” Dean told him, pointing to a battered Toyota Corolla.
“I need practice.”
“We got you a license!”
“I intend to get a real license,” said Cas. He puffed up. “Now that I have a real legal name.”
“But that’s not your real legal name. It's your fake legal name.”
Cas shrugged. “And then I’ll get a truck. Like Bobby’s!” He smiled mischievously at Dean.
“He has no taste. Here I thought I raised him right, and he has no taste.” Cas waved and opened his car door. “You won’t forget the game tonight?”
“No, I won’t forget the game tonight.”
“It's the Longhorns!”
“Yes, the Longhorns, Dean.” Cas shut the door. And was off.
The coach of the K-State team sat in his office, as he often did these days. And as he also often did these days, he took another drink. Truth be told, it was probably one too many. But the K-State coach found himself more and more consumed by a particular sort of worry these days.
Lying next to him on the floor, a very large dog emitted a whine.
Crowley reached over and scratched behind the ears of the great head. “Now, don't worry, Growley, mate. We're still the winningest team in the Midwest.” He held up his shot glass, as if in a toast. “We shall prevail!”
The dog's ears twitched, and his nose wrinkled, sniffing the air.
“What is it, boy? Somebody frying a steak?” A small smile twisted Crowley's features.
The huge dog was on his feet, back arched, red eyes glaring at the door. He was currently emitting a growl – a low, rumbling sound – that Crowley thought he had never before heard from his admittedly rather amiable companion.
“What the Bloody hell?” Crowley turned to the door. “Alastair? Is that you? Get in here, you great twit, and quit larking about.”
There was a silence.
And then the door blew off its hinges with a great crash and a flash of light.
Crowley hit the deck, spilling good Scotch everywhere. He heard footsteps, slow and deliberate, across his floor. And then a great wrenching sound as his file drawer burst open.
He peeked up over the desk.
“Oh no. Not you. Not you!”
The crowd was on their feat, roaring.
They stomped their feet in a rhythmic pattern. Stamp, stamp, stamp-stamp, stamp.
The band vamped the chant, and the crowd erupted, “Rock! Chalk! Jayhawk! KUUUUUUU!” The last syllable echoed throughout the crowded court.
The victorious Jayhawks waved swords and pumped fists as they filed from the field.
Cas gave a half-hearted wave and slipped off in to the locker room. He hadn’t wanted to tell Dean about it, but his head really hadn’t been in the game. He had been feeling out of sorts, to be honest, since he sat down at his mother’s graveside a few days prior.
He had to admit to himself, even though he had long suspected this outcome, he had probably held onto the slim hope that one of both of his parents would be alive and well, and that one day, they would meet.
And they would be proud of him.
Truth be told, that was probably part of the reason he’d told Bobby in no uncertain terms to halt the search for his father.
And why he found it disconcerting that he was, right now, staring at none other Rufus's friend, the strange obsessive, Frank Devereaux. Frank had been instrumental at cooking up Cas's fake identity papers as Castiel Singer, and according to Rufus, did the lion's share of the work identifying Cas's mother. He felt he should be properly grateful. The the guy still, as Sam would say, skeezed him out.
Frank gestured for Cas to follow him outside. Cas looked around, but for whatever reason, Dean hadn't made it into the locker room yet. So, reluctantly, he followed the older man outside.
“What is it?”
“You’re gonna thank me, Pumpkin. I got a line on Daddy-kins.”
Cas stared. And then he glowered. Grateful or not, this was over the line. “I told you to discontinue the search for my father,” he said, not even trying to conceal his irritation. “I do not wish to know anything about him. I have no interest.”
“I think you’ll be interested,” said Frank slyly. “I’ve got a warm body this time.”
Cas felt his heart sieze. He didn't want to know. And yet.... “He’s alive?”
“Alive and kicking. Literally. You know the place your mother worked?”
Cas gave him a sour look. “She was young. Too young.”
“That's literally true. Some of those places, they don't stick strictly to the rules. As you know. You were fighting when you were thirteen. Your mom was doing … other things.”
Cas wanted to draw his sword. “Tell me what you found out.”
Frank smiled, the cat playing with the canary. “You're mom's establishment had a close relationship with another local business. A dojo.”
Cas froze. “Which dojo?”
“I thought that would get a reaction. Hey!”
Cas was now holding Frank by the collar. “Which. Dojo?”
Frank broke into a grin. “As it happens, it's a place you know well.”
“You seen Cas?” Dean asked Sam.
His brother shrugged. “He brought his own car, right? He’s probably already on the way to Harvelle’s.”
Dean sighed.
“You guys have a fight or something?” asked Sam.
“No, nothing like that. He’s just started acting … I dunno, detatched. Or something.”
Sam suddenly remembered a conversation with Jess. Dammit, right again. “He’ll come around. I think it was maybe, emotional, you know? Seeing his mom?”
“I guess so.”
“So you guys are okay?”
Dean heaved a sigh. “Why would we not be okay?”
“Jess thought you might not be okay.”
“Why would Jess think we’re not okay?”
“Because … she’s a girl?”
“Where’s Cas?” piped up Jo, who had just appeared. “Are you guys okay?”
Dean glowered. “For the last time, everything is okay!”
“Then why the heck did Cas take off so fast?” asked Benny.
“What? Wait! Where did he go?”
“I seen him outside. He was talking with some funky looking old dude with big, thick glasses.”
“An old guy with…. Frank?”
“I dunno. Cas picked him up by the collar and I thought was gonna wallop him.”
“That’s gotta be Frank. Where’s Bobby?”
Several people pointed towards the stands. Dean burst out of the locker room and spotted Bobby still talking to Rufus.
Dean took the stairs two at a time. “Rufus!”
“Well, hey Dean!”
“Where’s Cas?” asked Dean.
“That’s what we were gonna ask you,” said Bobby, looking confused.
“And for the last time, Cas and I are okay!”
Bobby and Rufus exchanged a puzzled glance. “And why in hell wouldn’t you be okay?” asked Bobby.
Dean sighed. “Rufus, did you come here with Frank today?”
“He was here, yeah, but I haven’t seen him since the end of the match.”
“He calls me Cupcake one more time I’m gonna slice his fucking head off,” grumbled Bobby.
“Someone saw him with Cas, and then Cas took off.
Rufus put a hand to his mouth. “Shit, he didn't.”
“Didn't what? What's going on.”
Rufus looked at Bobby, apologetic. “You know, I told Frank what you said, to stop looking into Castiel's parents? But he said he was gonna go ahead anyway. I wonder if he found something?” Rufus looked back at Dean. “You know he's obsessed. With street fighting. Maybe he thought he'd get in with Cas if he had more information?”
“Even if the boy didn't want it?” asked Bobby.
“That's Frank,” sighed Rufus. “I need to tear that guy a new one.”
Dean felt the panic rising. “Shit. Cas drove his own car. He might have taken off by now.” He took off running towards the exit.
It wasn’t so hard to break in. There was an old tree with branches that reached up towards the second floor. Easy enough to climb. And then he didn’t even have to pick a lock, just jimmy the latch on one of the windows.
The Winchesters had taught him well.
The room he entered was dark and quiet. Cas had a quiet moment of uncertainty: now that he was here, what the hell did he intend to do? Perhaps he shouldn’t have taken off from the game. Perhaps he should have waited, and consulted Dean. Or even talked Bobby.
But he put aside such thoughts. This wasn’t their battle. This was his.
He imagined the layout here would be more or less the same as his former home, with kitchen, common rooms and gymnasium on the ground floor, and dormitories and private rooms upstairs.
At some point, he decided that finding Samyaza’s office made sense. He imagined it was likely it would be down on the ground floor, near the gym, as Joshua’s office had been. He looked around the small room he had broken into: it looked like some kind of storeroom, loaded with carton upon carton. He paused, looking at the cartons, wishing he had thought to bring a flashlight. It was a stupid idea, coming here.
He pulled a carton from the shelf and held it near where the moonlight shown through the window. “Oh no,” he groaned, as he spotted the familiar logo for Wellman Wellies. He looked back at the room, wondering why the dojo would need racks upon racks of those terrible fake street fighter boots. Evidently the information was correct about the ties to Roman Industries. He wanted to tell Dean. He half considered simply climbing back out the window and returning to campus. But, no. He'd come too far.
He emerged into the hallway and noticed that there were bare hardwood floors. He sat down and pulled off his heavy boots, lacing them together and throwing them over his shoulder. Then, as quietly as possible, he tiptoed down the hallway, past several closed doors, and slipped down the staircase.
As he had expected the ground floor held the gymnasium and exercise area. He noticed with relief that it all appeared to be dark and deserted. Sometimes guys would get up for a midnight snack from the kitchen, or, though less likely, a perfectionist like Cas would be in the exercise area, trying to improve a move.
He entered the gym area. Despite the late hour, he decided not to turn on any lights. Fortunately the gym was ringed by a row of tall windows which let in the ample moonlight. He ghosted across the floor, threading between exercise equipment to reach the office, which he found to be locked. He hadn’t carried a lock pick along – another oversight – but managed to make do with a paperclip.
He smiled as he heard the door click.
And then all the overhead lights switched on.
The old Volvo roared to life. It veered out of its parking space, early enough to beat the crowds, and chugged towards the exit.
Frank stomped on the brake, breathing hard, when the crazy guy with a sword jumped out in front of him.
He unrolled the window when he recognized the guy. “I’m on my way home, Cupcake,” he grumbled. He gulped when he felt the sword at his throat.
“What the hell did you tell Cas?” demanded Dean.
Cas turned and froze, hand reaching for his sword.
“Did you find your smoking gun?” grinned Samyaza.
“I’m here because you raped my mother,” said Cas. He wondered why it was so cold inside.
“Rape? Now, that's a harsh word.”
“Samyaza. She was fourteen years old.”
“She enjoyed every second,” Samyaza told him.
Cas’s blade snapped on with a hum.
“Why so hostile? The daughters of man, they are comely. And so we took them for our own, my brothers and me.”
“You won’t get away with it.”
Samyaza laughed. “We’ve been getting away with it for a century. Why do you think a little ant like you will have any effect?”
“I’m not an ant.”
“Well, you’re arrogant enough. You probably got that from me. Look, I’ll be frank. What I should really do right now, given what you are, and what you know, is just put a quick end to you. I mean, I’d like to string it along, as I usually do, but I don’t have time.
“But given what you are, I’m going to make you an offer. Now, remember, this is one time only. And you turn me down, we’ll go right back to Plan A.”
Cas glared. “I won’t make any deal with you.”
“You know why we’re down here, don’t you?” Samyaza asked him. “There isn’t anything left up topside. What you call heaven. There was a war and our Father, your Grandfather, took off. So a few of us, we saw an opening, and came down here. With the mud monkeys. Yeah, the smell is bad, but you get used to it. And they're amusing. Especially the women.”
Cas tightened his grip on his sword.
“Oh, calm down. Anyway, you were a little experiment.” Samyaza pulled on the front of his shirt. “The trouble is, these bodies are like tissue paper. They're so easy to tear. And there are still so many of us – good, loyal soldiers – waiting to come on board.”
“That's why you're doping players.”
“It was a happy accident! We have to thank your friend Crowley for that. He was using it for demons. Had no idea it would work for us as well, the idiot. Well, what do you expect? He's just a demon.
“But now here you are, and here I am. And I’m stronger than ever. This vessel is good, but not ideal. But the drugs keep me strong. And immortal. Just like you’ll be.”
“I’m not taking any drugs.”
“Oh, don’t be peevish. All I'm asking is for you to be a dutiful son, and do what you're told. You’ll never miss it, leaving your pathetic human side behind. Come and become the glory that you can be.”
“You're not my father! Bobby Singer is my father!”
Samyaza paused. “What? Oh, Father, but aren't you an idiot? Well, no matter, we'll soon take care of that. Now, just come along quietly, and we'll get you a personality transplant. Come on, it won't hurt a bit. Well, actually, it will. But they don't call me Lucifer for nothing.”
Cas hesitated. But only a second.
Samyaza – Lucifer – had his sword up to meet Cas's blow. Lucifer was taller, and Cas had stupidly taken off his boots, which worsened the height difference.
Cas didn't care. The blades met, sending sparks arcing off into the night. It was too bad really that there was no audience, as there probably would have been applause. People loved sparks.
It was difficult, though, without a wall, fighting in the open. Lucifer seemed to be toying with him, pummeling him hard, but then backing off. Cas cursed himself for not thinking this through before rushing off.
He espied a piece of equipment on the floor and started to try to back Lucifer towards it, but without tipping him off to what he was up to. Lucifer raised his arm for a big, showy blow, but Cas ducked under, hopping on the mount and then up onto the balance beam. Lucifer realized Cas's gambit too late and lunged, but Cas, sure-footed, leapt out of the way with a perfect layout, and then sprang off the beam … and right up onto Lucifer's shoulders.
Lucifer roared, striking blindly, trying to dislodge Cas. Cas gripped Lucifer by the hair and raised his sword.
“Stop it! Now!”
Cas froze when he heard Uriel's bellow. He turned, his heart sinking to see who Uriel and Virgil were holding.
“Dean!”
“Look at what we found sneaking around.” Uriel and Virgil had a struggling Dean Winchester between them. His face was bloody.
Cas let Lucifer wrench him off his back, and dropped down to the floor. “What the hell are you doing here, Uriel?”
“Haven't you heard, Castiel? The old ways are out. This is a new day, a day for changing loyalties. Samyaza is our new leader, here on earth.”
“Lucifer,” corrected Cas.
“What?” asked Dean, who looked around, a little dazed, spitting blood. “Lucifer? Holy fuck.”
“Dean! Are you all right?” asked Cas.
“Oh, just dandy.”
“Just in time, Uriel,” sighed Lucifer. “This was getting boring. Now. Castiel. Be a sport and say you'll serve as a vessel, and maybe we won't lop your little friend's head off?”
“No!” said Cas. “Don't touch him.”
“They're already touching him. Lord, you're dumb as a post. Hopefully the ensoulment won't fry whatever brain cells are left.”
“No, Cas, don't do it!” said Dean. This earned him an elbow in the face from a chuckling Virgil. Dean moaned and sank to his knees.
Cas fought back tears. “I'll do it. I'll do it. Quit hurting him.”
“Quit hurting him,” mocked Lucifer, in a voice some three octaves higher than Castiel's. “Make it stop. Uriel, Virgil, give me a hand with this.” Lucifer grabbed Cas's sword and tossed it away, and then pushed him roughly down to his knees in front of him. “Let us summon Shamsiel.”
“Yes, my brother!” said Uriel excitedly as he and Virgil left Dean slumped against the wall. “What should we do, boss?” he asked Lucifer.
“Is he giving you a blow job or something first?” asked Virgil.
Cas looked up in horror.
Lucifer rolled his eyes. “Oh, for.... Virgil, this is my son!”
“Oh?” asked Virgil with a bewildered expression. And then, after an uncomfortably long pause, “Oh! Then, what do you want us to do?”
“Just, stand on either side and hold him up. And try not to let him splash all over me if he explodes like the last one.”
“The last one?” asked Cas.
“You!” Lucifer told Cas as Virgil and a somewhat more reluctant Uriel grabbed Cas roughly by his upper arms. “Castiel! Say you welcome Shamsiel!” Cas nodded, and Lucifer smacked him in the face. “Say it, dimwit. Aloud!”
Cas looked over at Dean, and then told Lucifer in a small voice, “I welcome him. I welcome Shamsiel.”
There was a crackling, as the overhead lights popped and fizzled out. There was a deep humming in the room, at a timbre just too low for human ears.
Lucifer began to recite some words in Enochian. Cas looked around, trembling. He watched as a crack began to seam one of the high windows. It traced upwards, spreading out like a vine, and then the window crackled and dissolved into shards.
“Shamsiel! Steward of the legions! Come to us!” Lucifer hollered in English.
Cas gasped. His hands went to his neck. Something was squeezing the life out of him. He cried out, feeling static electricity everywhere on his body. His arms flew out to his sides as something – like a very big pair of hands – was pulling him apart.
He tried to scream, but his throat wouldn't work. His chest was being crushed by a heavy lead weight. His eyes burned, his vision went static. He felt the smash and crash as suddenly, every single window in the room shattered to a billion pieces.
