Code Duello (Part 13 of 14)
May. 9th, 2013 12:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tikificTitle: Code Duello (Part 13 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 we visit Roman Enterprises, Bobby gets yet another unexpected guest, and the boys play another match.
Cas gasped.
But then whatever it was dropped him. He fell chin-first to the floor.
Himself.
Still himself.
He blinked up, his vision still blurry.
Lucifer lay on the floor, bleeding, glaring up at Dean, who still held up the hand dumbbell with which he had just clobbered Lucifer. “Eat dirt, Satan,” Dean snarled.
Lucifer stumbled to his knees and roared at Virgil and Uriel, who stood there dumbly. ”Get him, you idiots!' And then, as a strangled scream erupted in Cas's dry throat, Uriel drew his sword. But Virgil, oddly enough, stood stock still, looking dazed.
Cas spotted his own sword lying on the ground amid a sea of shattered glass. He stumbled over and grabbed it. He rose shakily to his feet and took a wild swing at Lucifer.
Lucifer parried with the bloody sword. “Shamsiel! Shamsiel, are you in there?” he asked Cas. “Oh, fuck, it didn't work?” He beat Cas back, as Cas stumbled on broken glass, his bare feet cut to ribbons.
“I am here!” said Virgil. “But there's someone else in here.” He suddenly twirled around, like a dog chasing his tail.
“Shamsiel?” said Lucifer.
“Yes! It is I!” Virgil jerked one way and then the other.
“You idiot, you took the wrong vessel!”
“What?”
As Lucifer was distracted, Cas took his opening and swung at Lucifer, his movements more controlled. Lucifer parried, and then turned around to talk to Virgil. “You were supposed to end up in Castiel.”
“I wasn't going to occupy him! He's far too scrawny!” Virgil did a double take. “Wait, did I say that?”
“He's my son!” Lucifer wailed.
Cas swung and whacked him, hard, and his shielding crackled. Lucifer went down.
“Father. Fuck you!” Cas spat. He looked around wildly, hearing sounds now from the other parts of the dojo. He and Dean needed to get out of here, but fast, or they would definitely be goners. “Dean!” he yelled. “Everybody's waking up.”
“Yeah, I get it!” Dean yelled back. He was hiding behind a pommel horse, tossing hand weights at Uriel. “Some help here?”
Cas limped over and gave Uriel a whack on the back. Uriel whirled around, quicker than one would expect for a being his size, and knocked Cas back with the hilt of his sword. Then he charged.
Dean hopped up on the pommel horse and came down on Uriel's back, arms wrapped around the big man’s neck. Uriel spun around.
“Shielding!” Cas yelled.
Dean kicked at Uriel's belt, and his shielding clicked off just as Uriel wrested Dean from his back.
Cas attacked as Uriel screamed and fell, his body spasming from the unshielded electricity. Cas was breathing hard, his feet ached, and he wanted to throw up.
“You okay, man?” asked Dean. “Can you get out of here?”
“You're not going anywhere!” said Virgil, who grabbed both boys by their collars.
“Shamsiel!” said Cas.
“What?” asked Virgil, who suddenly dropped them and looked around, confused.
“Come on!” Cas ordered Dean. They made a break for the broken windows, Cas leaving a trail of bloody footprints in the parking lot as they raced to Dean's car.
Cas cringed as Coach Henricksen, cigarette dangling from his mouth, grabbed a bottle of whiskey and casually poured it over his bleeding feet. He was sitting in the middle of the Roadhouse, on top of a pool table that had been draped with towels, among assorted teammates and friends.
“Too bad you don't need stitches,” said Henricksen. “I tie a mean square knot!”
“I should ground the both of you idjits,” stormed Bobby, who was dabbing at various cuts and bruises on Dean’s face, much to Dean’s apparent annoyance. “What were you thinking? I oughta pull your asses off the team for this.”
“No, let 'em play, just take 'em out of classes,” suggested Henricksen cheerfully.
“You're a load of charm, aren't you, Vic?” asked Ellen, who had just come up with bandages.
Bobby huffed and puffed. “So again, from the beginning, Cas. Samyaza is Lucifer himself, and he wanted you to play ventriloquist dummy for some angel named Shamsiel?”
“It didn't work,” muttered Cas as Victor merrily would gauze around his feet.
“Hey, join the club,” said Gordon, who was watching, his arm around Jo, seemingly oblivious to the hairy eyeball he was getting from Ellen.
“You weren't a good vessel, Gordo?” asked Benny.
“I apparently scared off the demon,” laughed Gordon.
Cas sighed and winced. “The angel thought I was unsuitable. He rejected me.”
“It doesn't matter, Cas, as long as you're back here, safe with us,” said Dean.
Cas turned to Dean, blinking back tears. “Dean! You don't understand! None of you understand! I'm not human!”
“It's a little weeeeeird!” Charlie agreed. Pamela whacked her on the back of the head. “Ow!”
“Kid,” said Bobby. “You bleed when you're cut, you make dumb ass decisions, and you spend too damn much time glued to Dean. Believe me, you're human enough.”
“Bobby....”
“You're gonna have to stand in for him in the next game, Gordo,” said Dean. “There's no way he's playing on those feet.”
“I can play!” Cas protested.
“Hey! I thought you weren't human, kid,” Bobby told him, handing over a bag of frozen peas to Dean.
Cas sulked. “I can still play!”
“You're not playing,” Dean told Cas.
“You,” Bobby barked at Dean. “Keep those danged peas on your face. It’ll keep the swelling down. You,” he told Cas, “sit the fuck down.”
There was a sound like the whoosh of air. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!” howled Crowley, who had just appeared in the middle of the bar in a puff of acrid sulfurous smoke.
Suddenly, every sword in the place was poised and humming.
“What?” said Crowley.
“And what the hell are you doing here, demon?” demanded Dean.
Crowley turned to face him. “They exorcised my entire team!”
“Wait, who exorcised them?” asked Bobby.
“What's wrong with exercisin'?” asked Benny.
“The players were all demons,” Dean told him.
Benny’s eyes went wide. “We were fightin' demons?” he asked, grabbing at his crucifix.
“Yes, please try and keep up with the rest of the class,” tutted Crowley. “They sent a batch of those wretched angels over to my university, where I was busily minding my own business.”
“Cheating,” said Bobby.
“As I said,” sniffed Crowley. “Like the fine upstanding citizen I am. They raided my files and now every single one of my players is- is a student!” The last part of the sentence was choked out with much disgust.
“Well, that's too damned bad,” laughed Henricksen. “You mean your kids are going to have to actually practice?”
Crowley glared at the opposing coach, his eyes slits. “This isn't at all funny, Henricksen! Besides, you should talk. Do they know about your former career?”
“He's a street fighter,” said Dean.
“An incredibly good one,” Cas added, to Henricksen's smirk.
“Wait, what?” asked Benny.
“Dude, I think we need to pop some popcorn!” Ash put in.
“Look, we gotta get those guys off Cas!” said Dean. “Samyaza or Lucifer who whoever the fuck he is messed up their ritual, but I'm sure they're gonna try again.”
“Is that what happened to you two?” asked Crowley, suddenly eyeing Cas and Dean.
“We got jumped by Lucifer and a couple of his goons,” said Dean.
Crowley, as he often did, looked shrewd. “May I ask specifically which goons?”
Cas was painfully trying to ease his feet into a pair of clean socks. “Uriel. And Virgil.”
“Although I think Virgil is out of commission. In terms of goon-dom,” Dean put in with a smile.
“You're thinking up something, ain't you, Crowley?” asked Bobby.
“Wait, do we trust this guy?” Dean asked him.
Crowley scoffed. “Of course bloody not! I'm a demon. Are you stupid?”
“Demons: they ain't much at social niceties,” said Bobby, “but they're terrific plotters. Tell us what you have in mind, Crowley?”
“Boys,” said Crowley, “and lovely ladies. It's high time you started thinking big.”
It was a meeting of the board of Roman Enterprises. Dr. Gaines, the current Director of Scientific Operations, was busily flipping through his Blackberry device, in the middle of an intense game of Words with Friends.
It was more interesting than the board meeting, anyway.
He glanced up as the door burst open. Protestors? That was weird, as Dick usually had them dismembered before they made it this far. The group was heavily armed, which was probably the reason they had made it into the boardroom.
The leader, a slight young man with an unruly mop of dark hair, hopped up onto the conference table and marched boldly across it, his heavy dueling boots scattering meeting minutes and Gantt charts as he strode.
He stopped in front of Dick Roman.
“Well, that was out of the box thinking, I'll give you that,” said Roman, pushing his chair back and blinking up at the newcomer.
“I'm Castiel-”
“I know who you are, young man,” said Dick, standing up and looking around at the camera phones and trying to make sure they got a good angle on him. “You're the famous Avenging Angel. Good to see you've pulled yourself up by your bootstraps to make something of yourself, despite your tragic, tragic past.”
“What tragic past?” asked Cas, tilting his head with feigned confusion. “I'm a champion prize fighter and a straight-A student.”
Dick looked a little flustered. But only a little. “Well, an orphan, abandoned at birth....”
“I'm not an orphan. My mother is dead. But my father is very much alive. And working for you. So I hear.”
“Working for- What?” Now Dick was the one who was confused.
“Samyaza. Or you may know him by his other name: Lucifer.” This got some muttering from the board members.
Dick began to sputter. “I have no knowledge at this point in time-”
“Do you or do you not currently sit on the board of directors of an illegal street fighting dojo?” asked Cas.
Dr. Gaines held up his phone to better picture Dick Roman's reaction.
Dick reacted by swiftly igniting his blade and beheading the unlucky Dr. Gaines. Dr. Gaines, unfortunately, did not get his shot, but several others did.
“Street fighting is legal … in parts of Nevada,” Roman muttered.
“The dojo is in Kansas.”
Roman gazed up at Cas, obviously annoyed to be doing so. “So, are you or are you not challenging me?”
Sam stepped forward. “As specified in your by-laws, subsection 3/c/iii, Mr. Singer would like to challenge you for Chairmanship of Roman Enterprises's Board of Directors.”
“I accept. But of course you know, you won't be fighting me, but rather, my appointed surrogate, as also specified by the by-laws.”
Cas hopped down just as none other than Uriel stepped into the room. He smiled predatorily at Cas, who, oddly, looked back at Dean.
“Is that the guy?” asked Cas.
“You know who I am!” Uriel told Cas.
Dean nodded. “That's the guy.”
“The one who hit you?”
Dean rubbed his eye, which was still bruised and swollen. “Yes.”
Cas turned calmly to face Dick Roman. “And you will be facing my surrogate, Mr. Roman.”
“Who?” asked Uriel.
The lights dimmed and crackled. There was a soft sound, like whispering wings.
And there stood Balthazar, sword poised. “You have drawn innocent blood, Uriel,” he said.
Uriel, who suddenly looked terrified, drew his blade. And a whole lot of cell phone cameras flashed.
“We can't divest everything!” wailed Crowley as Sam bent over the computer in a room in the suite of offices that, until a few moments ago, had been the domain of Richard Roman.
“We're gonna divest everything,” said Bobby.
“Can't you let me be an evil corporate CEO for even a day?”
Across the room, Frank and Charlie were also bent over computers. “Wow, they had holdings in the Cayman Islands?” said Charlie.
“Wait, where did you find that?” demanded Frank. Charlie irritably hid her screen from him. “Hey, she's not letting me look!”
“You two, cut it out,” Dean scolded.
“It looks like most of Dick's activities are confined to the past year or so,” Sam told Bobby, Dean, and Cas, who were gathered around. “It's strange. He went from being a normal corrupt businessman to a megalomaniac very suddenly.
“You think he turned?” asked Dean. “Like, he's a demon or something.”
“He's no demon,” sniffed Crowley.
“No, he is the most venal species, he is human,” said Cas with a kind of firmness.
“You can tell?” asked Dean.
Cas nodded, looking thoughtful. “I always thought it was the fighting. That it allowed me to gauge of my opponents. But I see now that I have a sense for supernatural beings.”
“So what are we doing?” asked Sam.
Cas spread his hands. “You are going to hunt down every subsidiary involved in the manufacture or distribution of PerFormaT and shut them all down. The rest of the businesses will be spun off. We are dissolving Roman Enterprises, once and for all.”
Crowley groaned. “I am coach of a losing team, and I am now giving away untold wealth. You know I'm gonna lose my union card for this.”
“You two! Do I gotta come over there!” warned Dean as Frank and Charlie began to wrestle over a laptop.
“I can offer assistance with your team, Crowley,” said Cas.
“What do you mean?”
“I think I can find a suitable … assistant coach.” Cas frowned and shifted his feet.
“Hey, Mr. Chairman,” said Dean. Cas looked at him as Dean grabbed him by the upper arm. “Bobby, you think you can keep things under control here for a minute?”
“It would be a pleasure,” said Bobby, rubbing his hands together.
“And if Balthazar comes back, please tell him to come see me?” said Cas.
“Heh. I think Balthy is finding a good pike for Uriel’s head.”
“That was a little messy,” Dean admitted as he led Cas into the adjoining office.
Cas immediately collapsed onto the couch, where he started to unbuckle his boots. “I’ve seen messier.”
Dean plopped down next to Cas, “You okay?”
Cas sighed. “My feet are bothering me. And I don’t want to be a CEO. I want to fight.”
“You’re chairman of the board, not a CEO.”
“Whatever.” Cas pulled off his other boot and rubbed his feet.
“And you looked really hot up there on the table.”
Cas looked around in surprise, and Dean kissed him. Cas didn’t object, but then pulled away. “Should we be doing this here?”
“I’m trying to distract you from the terrible pain,” Dean laughed. “Plus, you’re not gonna have to be chairman or CEO or Grand Poobah or whatever for long, since we’re breaking up your company.”
“Dean,” said Cas. “I'm not human.”
“Yeah, I know!”
Dean was still hovering very close. Cas blinked in surprise. “And, you find this … arousing?”
“Oh fuck yeah.”
“Do you find everything arousing?”
“I think when it involves you.” Dean shaking his head. “Sort of. Yeah. Hey, I made you smile.”
“You shouldn’t feel obligated to … accept me, Dean. You didn’t know what you were getting into.”
“Dude, you wanna know something? That first day – that very first day – do you remember that? When me and Sam chased you down? I saw you guys get out of the car.”
“You did?”
“Yeah, you and Gabe. And I thought, there he goes, walking away. And then I thought, oh, no fucking way I’m gonna let that happen!”
Cas was definitely smiling now.
“But, I don’t understand why you don’t believe me, Cas. You’re a fucking champion!”
“I’m strange, Dean. I didn’t fully understand how strange until now.”
“What, because of your relatives? Hey, wait until you meet our dad!”
They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Benny stuck his head in, big grin on his face. “Hey, we ain’t interrupting anything?”
“Our chairman needed a pep talk,” said Dean, as Cas blushed and began to pull his boots back on. “What’s up?”
“Brother, you will never guess what me and Ash just found on our perambulations!” said Benny.
“Behold! The storeroom from hell!” said Ash, which really didn’t answer the question, and so Dean and Cas followed them into the depths of the headquarters. Dean stopped short at the doorway: the room was stacked from floor to ceiling with carton upon carton upon carton of the world’s worst footwear: Wellman Wellies.
“I hate these fucking things!” said Dean, picking up a carton.
“So, my idea was a bonfire!” said Benny. “Though my colleague, Ash, evidently favors a tactical nuclear device.”
“No kidding, I know some guys. Imagine the good done for humanity,” said Ash.
“Find a pair in your size, Cas?” asked Dean as Cas used his sword to nick open a carton and then went rummaging inside for a pair of boots. He pulled them out, staring at them, and then pulled the stuffing from out of the center of the boot.
“They had many boxes of these shoes at Lucifer’s dojo,” he said, reaching his hand inside the boot. He pulled out his hand. There was a baggie full of white powder in the very bottom.
“Well well well!” said Benny. “Just like Cracker Jacks. It comes with a prize inside.”
“PerFormaT?” asked Dean.
“That would be my guess,” said Cas, holding up the baggie.
“No wonder Charlie couldn’t tell where this stuff goes. It gets stuffed into crappy shoes.”
“I think we should take Ash and Benny’s suggestion,” said Cas, tossing the package back in the pile.
“Nuke the room?” asked Dean. “You guys up for that?”
From Ash and Benny’s expressions, he didn’t have to ask twice.
“Cas!” said Jo, poking her head in the storeroom. “Roman is in the office. He wants to talk to you before he goes.”
Cas and Dean strode off with her. They found Dick Roman in the board room, flanked by Balthazar and Gabriel. He was holding a cardboard box full of office supplies, and under his arm had a large fuzzy purple whale plush toy, which emitted a high-pitched squeak when pressed. Crowley, Sam, Frank, Bobby and Charlie were still in the room, hunched over various computers and laptops.
“I must credit you, Castiel. You’ve won this round.”
Cas narrowed his eyes. “I’ve won the war, Mr. Roman.”
“Oh, really?”
“We’ve found you subsidiaries in the Cayman Islands,” Cas told him.
“And the British Virgin Islands!” Charlie piped up.
“And the Isle of Man,” said Frank.
“San Marino,” said Bobby. “And the Seychelles.”
“And Liechtenstein!” said Sam.
Dick Roman looked considerably less pleased. He sagged, and the whale emitted a squeak.
“You got a choice, Dick,” said Dean, who was quite obviously savoring his words. “Now that we’ve grabbed all your money, we could also smash your reputation by telling everybody how you’re involved in street fighting.”
“It’s not illegal in parts of Nevada!” Dick protested.
“Or you could supply some information,” said Cas. “How many dojos are getting Wellman Wellies?”
“All of them,” said Dick proudly.
Cas and Gabriel looked at each other. “Wait,” said Gabriel. “All of them?”
“All of the training facilities on the World Street Fighting Title circuit. Yes.”
“And, you’re the only supplier?” asked Dean.
“Young man, have you any respect for intellectual property? Of course. PerFormaT is protected by no less than sixteen patents. I have one of the awards here,” he added, taking a little acrylic plate shaped like a sword out of his cardboard box.
“Okay, hotshot,” said Bobby. “So, what happens if somebody turns off the faucet for that crap?”
Dick Roman grinned. It was chilling. “You’re talking about the special players, aren’t you? The most highly trained ones?”
“The fallen angels, yeah.”
“Oh, I’ve been witness to it. Dreadful thing. Just dreadful.” Dick Roman tsk-ed. The whale under his arm squeaked.
Gabriel snatched the whale from Roman. He tossed it up in the air and sliced it in two with his sword.
“That was my personal property!” Roman protested.
“Get him out of here,” said Cas.
“You’ll be hearing from my attorney!” Dick Roman yelled as Balthazar and Gabriel hustled him out of the building.
“Cas,” said Dean. “You know Benny and Ash’s Wellman Wellies bonfire?”
“Yeah?” said Cas.
“Dean!” shouted Sam. “You’re not getting an idea, are you?”
“Have them hold off,” Dean told Cas. “I got an idea.”
It was a tired group of men that straggled back to Singer Salvage that night.
They found the gate wide open.
Bobby pulled the truck to the side of the road and got out, along with Cas. Dean and Sam, following in the Impala, stopped as well. “What the hell, Bobby?” asked Dean.
“I got this place warded against anything on heaven or earth,” said Bobby.
“It’s not my brother again, is it?” asked Cas.
“We left his ass back at Roman Enterprises,” said Dean.
“Whatever it is, we go in armed,” said Bobby, pulling out his sidearm.
The front door of Bobby’s house had been left wide open as well. “Balls! Who the hell got past my defenses? I’ll murder the bastard.”
Cas sniffed the air. “Is that … steak?”
“It's just you being a garbage gut,” Dean told him.
They ended up spreading out, Bobby and Sam going around the back door, Dean and Cas at the front. “You stick close to me, hear?” Dean told Cas.
“I should go in first.”
“No. I know this house. I need you at my back in case something wants to kill me.”
Cas nodded grimly. And the signal, Dean rushed in Cas right in back of him. They hurried through the mud room, into the living room.
Cas sniffed the air. “I swear I smell-”
“Cas!” Dean stopped short when he saw the figure sitting on the couch.
“Dean,” said the man – who very much appeared to be just that, a stocky, dark-haired, forty-something man. “Have you had dinner? I bought us some steaks.”
Bobby and Sam burst into the room, swords poised.
“Oh, shit,” said Sam.
“Balls!” Bobby added for good measure.
Dean sighed and lowered his sword. “Cas. This is my dad. This is John Winchester.”
“Goddammit, John,” said Bobby, who went over to shake his hand. “You coulda just called.”
“Bobby! Something big has come up. Angels! And demons!”
Sam rolled his eyes. “We know, Dad.”
“What? You do? You know about the street fighting circuit?”
“Yeah, Dad,” said Dean. “It’s been taken over by fallen angels.”
John’s attention had drifted over to Cas. “Do I know you?”
“This is Cas, Dad. The Avenging Angel.”
“I’m … gonna go check on the steaks,” said Sam a little too loudly. He hurried out of the room.
John Winchester stopped short. He stared at Cas. He began to say one thing, and then another, and then another. He finally said, “You have a street fighter here? Under my roof?”
“Ain’t your roof, John,” grumbled Bobby.
“Dean,” his father told him. “We don’t associate with that sort of people.
“We do now, Dad,” said Dean.
“Dean,” cautioned Bobby.
“He’s my boyfriend.”
John, red-faced, made to hit Dean but ended up on the floor, when Cas, quick as a wink, charged in front of Dean and punched him smack in the jaw.
“Uh. I’m sorry Dean,” said Cas, shaking out his fist and looking back and forth between father and son.
“Hey! What did I miss?” asked Sam, who had rushed back into the room.
“Your dad being a idjit,” said Bobby dryly. John had managed to prop himself up on his elbows. Bobby offered a hand, and then elder Winchester got, somewhat shakily, to his feet.
“You got a hell of a right,” said John, feeling his jaw.
“Kid,” Bobby told Cas. “You’re under my roof. Next time, you let me clobber him?”
“I didn’t draw my sword, Bobby,” said Cas. “If I had, Mr. Winchester would no longer be conscious,” he added, glaring at John.
“Boys, you all go and put your weapons away in the mudroom,” said Bobby sternly. “I'll have no more fighting under my roof, hear? Cas, you check on dinner. Sam and Dean, set the damn table. And no chipped mugs, use the good stuff, we got a guest.” Everyone stood and stared for a moment, so he barked, “Now! Get a move on.”
Sparing one last withering glance at John, Cas complied, the Winchester brothers hurrying after him.
Bobby and John watched them go. “I knew I’d have it out with Sam. I didn’t expect this from Dean.”
Bobby smiled. “That boy was nine years old when he landed on my doorstep, John. May I point out things mighta changed somewhat?”
John rounded on his friend. “That’s not fair. I never dumped them with you, Bobby.”
“Oh really? You left that boy with a twenty dollar bill and a baby brother in a place with no heat in January.”
“Bobby. There’s a bigger picture here. You know that.”
“There’s two boys in the kitchen. Three now. That’s a big enough picture for me.” Bobby studied his old friend, noticing for the first time the lines he hadn’t seen before, the hollow spots under his eyes. His voice soft, he asked, “You gonna tell those boys about that business with your ticker?”
John’s hand reached up unconsciously to cover his heart, his expression shifted to sadness for a fraction of a second. And then his face hardened. “No, Bobby. And you’re not gonna tell them either.”
“John-“
“None of that.” John thumped his chest. “I had an … incident, but I’m good for another 30,000 miles. No need to worry my boys.”
“Then that ain’t why you’re here?”
John shook his head. “No. The reason I’m here is I got a lead on Yellow Eyes. I may have finally tracked him down.”
“Well, for your sake, we’ll hope that’s true,” said Bobby, leading John into the dining room.
Tempers seemed to have cooled after a big dinner was set before them. John ate heartily of the steak and Cas’s mashed potatoes, but had left his salad untouched. Sam, without asking, grabbed John’s salad bowl and poured the contents onto his own plate while Dean dug into the potatoes once again.
“These are addictive,” he commented.
“Heavy cream,” said Cas, slicing up his steak with great efficiency.
“You’re gonna burst our arteries, kid,” said Bobby, who nonetheless gestured for the bowl of potatoes from Dean.
“I’m sorry. It usually wasn’t an issue … where I’m from.”
“Were you a fighter or a short order cook?” asked John, dark eyebrows knitting in a scowl.
Cas started to answer, but Dean cut in, “Dad. A dojo's like a firehouse. They all cook.”
John studied Cas, who met his stare. “And why don’t you have the hair?” he asked, gesturing to the top of his head.
“I did,” said Cas.
“He cut it,” said Dean.
“I was defeated.”
“I defeated him!”
Cas smiled affectionately at Dean, his hand unconsciously going to his hair, making it even more of a tangle.
“My son … fought a street fighter?” asked John.
“He's on the team, Dad!”
“You oughta get down and see you boy play, John,” Bobby interjected with a studied casualness. “See both of them.”
“Sam too?” asked John. Sam shrugged and went back to his salad. “I thought you quit fencing?” There was an awkward silence, as four of the five people in the room remembered the knockdown, drag out fight that had followed Sam's decision.
Dean cleared his throat. “We’re playing TTU on Friday night,” he told his father. “It’s a home game. How long are you here for this time?”
“I hadn’t planned to stay long,” John muttered, and Dean’s face fell. “I think I have a lead on Yellow Eyes. A good one.”
Dean and Sam exchanged a glance, Dean frowning, Sam rolling his eyes. Dean mouthed at Sam, “Don’t say it.”
“I think he may even be on staff at KU,” John continued, obliviously slicing at his steak. “You boys’s school!”
There was a knock at the door, and Sam was up instantly. “I’ll get it,” he said, sparing an exasperated look for his father before he left.
“Hey, Sammy!” came Gabriel’s voice, and soon he and Balthazar were bustling into the kitchen. “I hope we’re not interrupting dinner, and if so, you got some extra steaks for us.”
“I’ll get you a plate, Gabriel” said Cas, rising and heading for the kitchen. Gabriel immediately sat down at Cas’s plate and started sawing into his steak. “Bring me two!” he called. “Are these your mashed potatoes? Damn, Balthy, sit down and eat, this is heavenly.”
Balthazar inclined his head politely at Bobby, who told him, “Yeah, no problem, always room for a couple more.”
Sam darted out and came back with a couple of extra chairs, although Gabriel showed no sign of moving from his brother's spot. “Do I know you, buddy?” he smacked to John, as the older man was staring at him.
“Hey, sorry. Gabriel. Balthazar. This is our dad. This is John Winchester,” said Dean.
“Meetcha,” muttered Gabriel through a mouth full of mashed potatoes.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Winchester,” said Balthazar. “You should be very proud of your boys.”
“Gabe and Balthy, they’re Cas’s people,” said Bobby. “From his dojo.”
“You’re both street fighters?” asked John.
“I’m retired and he just pretends,” said Gabriel, pointing his steak knife towards Balthazar.
“Balthazar is an angel, Dad,” said Sam, who was studying his father.
“Semi-retired,” said Balthazar, who was helping himself to a glass of iced tea from the pitcher.
John's mouth attempted to form words, but the elder Winchester was momentarily struck dumb.
“How are things at our dojo?” Cas asked as he came out of the kitchen bearing two fresh steaks. He set one down in front of Balthazar and then, after a glance at Gabriel, sat down in an empty chair and began to tuck in to the other.
“Hey! That’s my steak!” said Gabriel, reaching for the plate.
“Possession is nine tenths of the law!” answered Cas, pulling it back.
“There was a certain amount of confusion at first,” said Balthazar, tugging Gabriel back to his seat by his collar. “But I believed they reacted well, overall, to the introduction of the new management team.”
“We brought along your coach,” said Gabriel.
“Henricksen?” asked Dean. “Oh, I bet that was good.”
“Yeah, and he gives them a speech about no more doping,” Gabriel smacked. “While he’s chain-smoking.”
“That’s our coach,” said Sam.
“And what about Crowley’s K-State players?” asked Dean.
Balthazar’s face lit up. “They are actually quite talented, although they are understandably disoriented. But they are receptive to coaching. I actually haven’t felt so needed in an awfully long time.”
“Knew you’d be a great coach, Balthy,” said Gabe, who was trying once again to filch some of Cas’s steak.
“You’re the Trickster,” John, who finally had recovered his voice, said to Gabriel.
“Ding ding ding!” said Gabriel, who was grinning from ear to ear.
“I saw you fight,” said John.
“You saw a tape?” asked Cas, letting his head list to the side.
“I saw you fight,” John repeated. “I was there. It was you. Your partner was some tiny kid.” He held his hand a tiny kid's-length up from the ground.
Gabriel and Cas exchanged an amused glance. “That was Cas,” said Gabriel.
John pushed his chair back and stared frankly at Cas.
“I grew,” said Cas shrugging his shoulders and blushing.
“You've been to a street fight, John?” asked Dean.
John suddenly became interested in his mashed potatoes once again. “It was part of an investigation,” he muttered. Dean looked over at Sam, who rolled his eyes and pushed his wide shoulders into a shrug. Dean stared down at his half-eaten steak, suddenly finding he was losing his appetite. His father, it appeared, had seen Cas fight more often lately than his own sons.
At a certain point in the evening the guests had departed, the dishes had been washed and put away, some residents of Bobby’s house had quietly headed upstairs to bed.
None remained in the living room but the three Winchester men.
“Son,” said John from a nest of blankets on the couch.
Dean stretched. “Yeah, John. I gotta get to bed. It’s a big day tomorrow.”
John actually looked uncertain. “We should … catch up. There’s been a lot going on.”
Dean stared at his father.
“Yeah, we could get you caught up, John,” said Sam, who was standing on the stairway landing. “We could sit down and chit-chat all night. And then you'll pick up and leave. Which is what you do.” And he turned and marched up the stairs.
“Dad…” said Dean. “Maybe … maybe later. Okay. If you’re around?”
John gestured noncommittally.
“Good night, Dad,” said Dean, who was now himself on the stairs.
John did not answer.
“So let's see,” said Dean as Frank set up the laptop. Rufus, Bobby, Sam and Cas also crowded around the computer in the Jayhawks’s cramped locker room.
The laptop’s small speakers emitted the sound of a roaring crowd. The men watched as street fighters entered the cage, the championship team first, as was the tradition, and then the challengers.
“What’s wrong with that guy?” Dean asked, pointing to a fighter who looked a little under the weather.
“Wait for it,” said Rufus, grinning slyly.
The match proceeded. It wasn’t as exciting as watching Cas and Gabe, Dean decided. In fact, as little as he knew about street fighting, everybody looked a little off.
And then one of the guys was a little slow getting his sword up after he’d hitched some wall and landed wrong, and his opponent struck and….
SPLAT!
“Holy crap!” said Dean. The men gawped as the camera actually shook and refocused. The three surviving fighters suddenly found themselves drenched in the splattered remains of the guy who’s been hit. “He’s chunky soup. Swords don't do that!”
“That’s pretty gross,” Sam agreed.
Grinning, Frank, stopped the video. “There have been reports of circumstances like this all up and down the circuit,” Rufus told them. “This is one of the … more spectacular, admittedly. But wait until you see this. Hit it Frank.”
Frank pushed play once again. The dead man’s teammate stumbled back. Dean at first thought he was going to vomit. But then he threw his head back and suddenly his eyes and mouth and even his nose lit up with a strange glow. It suddenly flashed incredibly bright as the other fighters shrunk away and shielded their eyes. Then the man sunk down to his knees, looking completely disoriented.
“Looks like his angel ran away,” said Bobby.
“Yeah. We think the remaining ones are going to start abandoning their vessels,” said Rufus.
Sam clapped his brother on the back. “And that’s what happens when you substitute powdered sugar for the drugs in the Wellman Wellies?” he asked. “I gotta hand it to you, Dean. When you have an idea, you have an idea.”
Dean grinned. “We just sent along their normal shipment of boots. Like they were expecting.”
“At this rate, we might just be able to wait ‘em out!” said Bobby.
“I don’t think so,” said Cas quietly.
“Why not, Cas?”
Cas shrugged. “I don’t know, Dean, I just have a … feeling. About my biological father.”
Dean looked concerned, but listened to the stomping rhythm coming from the next room. “Whatever, we got a game to go to now. You two!” he told Cas and Sam. “No explosions!” Sam grinned, but Cas looked confused. “Come on!” Dean put one arm around Sam’s shoulders and another around Cas’s and marched them out into the stadium. The crowd stomped and roared, shouted and cat-called, danced and waved signs and threw popcorn.
Cas looked up, seeming stunned.
“Dean,” Sam whispered to his brother. Dean followed Sam’s eye line up into the crowd.
There, sitting next to Bobby. It was their father. John Winchester smiled and held up a hand. Dean gawped, and silently held up his own in greeting.
“First match the old bastard has attended since high school,” Sam muttered.
“Hey, good of you ladies to make it!” came a female voice. Pamela popped up from where she had been sitting on the bench. She was wearing an eye patch which, though it didn’t feature a skull and crossbones, still looked stylish.
“You playing?” asked Dean.
“Try and stop me,” she told him. “We win this one, we’re in the finals.”
“We’re gonna win,” said Meg, who was quite suddenly hovering at Pamela’s side. She nudged Pamela, and they both took their seats. Castiel stared after them.
“What?” Dean asked him.
“Something just struck me…” said Cas. “Later. After the match.”
As it turned out, Dean couldn’t hear himself think after the match.
He stood, absolutely struck dumb, as Benny and Ash hoisted Pamela to their shoulders and carted her off the field to the roar and stomp of the frenzied crowd screaming KU!
“Post-season!” shouted Sam, who swallowed Dean in a bear hug. And then he set down Dean and ran to the low wall dividing the stands from the court, where he caught Jess as she hopped into his arms and then they both did a little drunken victory dance.
“Is everything all right, Dean?” Dean hadn’t noticed Cas was standing quietly by his side.
“I saw our dad up in the stands,” said Dean, peering into the crowd. But John was no longer in sight.
Cas seemed to read his friend's mood. “Perhaps your father has already headed to Harvelle’s?” he ventured, although he sounded less than certain.
Dean frowned, and, without a word, stalked off towards the exit.
“So, you’re taking off?”
John hesitated. He shut the door of his car, and leaned his elbows on the hood. “Yeah, I’m taking off.”
“Well, okay. But dude, you suck at goodbyes,” said Dean. He scowled and turned to go.
John paused, resting a hip on the fender of his car. “You want some kinda touching father-son moment here?”
“What, with you, John? How about at least a, ‘Goodbye, I’m fucking off now.’”
“I could give you the goodbye speech. But I don’t think you’d like to hear.”
“Try me.”
“Castiel. It’s obvious you like him. But I don’t know if he’s right for you.”
“Yeah, well-“
“I told you.”
“Go on.”
John threw his hands up, looking up to the sky. “Dammit. Why is it, when you’ve got ten good choices, you always go for number eleven?”
“I dunno. Take after you?”
“I don’t know what you want.”
“Twenty-one years. And most of that time, all I got from you is twenty bucks, and ‘Take care of your brother.”
“You want the twenty?” asked John, giving a half-smile and pretending to reach for his wallet.
“I just thought there might be … more, you know?”
“Maybe there isn’t,” said John. He pulled open the car door once again.
“All right.” Dean had vowed not to cry, but he felt himself welling up. He grimaced and wiped an eye on his sleeve.
“Goodbye, Dean.” John stared over Dean’s shoulder and nodded.
Dean glanced back to see where John had been looking. He hadn’t heard Cas come up behind him, but he stood there now, silent as a sentinel, staring at John. Dean heard the car’s engine turn over and looked back to see John Winchester driving off.
Sam came walking up, Jess on his arm. “Hey! Was that Dad?” asked Sam.
“He says goodbye. No, not really,” sighed Dean. He jammed his hands in his pants pockets.
“Hey, Dean. How do you like my shoes?” asked Jess, who posed her feet.
She was wearing a pair Wellman Wellies.
Purple ones.
While Cas stared, utterly perplexed, Dean started choking. And then then he was doubled over laughing.
“You took one of the boxes at Roman?” asked Cas.
“I couldn't resist.”
“Those are beautiful, Jess,” laughed Dean. “Abso-fucking-lutly the most stylish shoes ever.”
Dean drifted off, not really sleeping. Cas was lying on top of him, snoring softly. Dean put an affectionate hand through his soft, dark hair. It was a comfort to have Cas here, after the shit with his father. After all these years, John's goodbyes hadn't gotten any easier.
He heard the door creek and looked up in confusion. Cas stirred as well.
Sam was hovering over the bed, cell phone in hand, looking concerned.
“Wassup?” muttered Dean, squinting at the bedside alarm clock.
“Dean.”
Cas was sitting up as well, rubbing his eyes.
“What is it Sammy?”
“Dean.” Sam sat down hard on the edge of the bed. “It's Jess.”
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 we visit Roman Enterprises, Bobby gets yet another unexpected guest, and the boys play another match.
Cas gasped.
But then whatever it was dropped him. He fell chin-first to the floor.
Himself.
Still himself.
He blinked up, his vision still blurry.
Lucifer lay on the floor, bleeding, glaring up at Dean, who still held up the hand dumbbell with which he had just clobbered Lucifer. “Eat dirt, Satan,” Dean snarled.
Lucifer stumbled to his knees and roared at Virgil and Uriel, who stood there dumbly. ”Get him, you idiots!' And then, as a strangled scream erupted in Cas's dry throat, Uriel drew his sword. But Virgil, oddly enough, stood stock still, looking dazed.
Cas spotted his own sword lying on the ground amid a sea of shattered glass. He stumbled over and grabbed it. He rose shakily to his feet and took a wild swing at Lucifer.
Lucifer parried with the bloody sword. “Shamsiel! Shamsiel, are you in there?” he asked Cas. “Oh, fuck, it didn't work?” He beat Cas back, as Cas stumbled on broken glass, his bare feet cut to ribbons.
“I am here!” said Virgil. “But there's someone else in here.” He suddenly twirled around, like a dog chasing his tail.
“Shamsiel?” said Lucifer.
“Yes! It is I!” Virgil jerked one way and then the other.
“You idiot, you took the wrong vessel!”
“What?”
As Lucifer was distracted, Cas took his opening and swung at Lucifer, his movements more controlled. Lucifer parried, and then turned around to talk to Virgil. “You were supposed to end up in Castiel.”
“I wasn't going to occupy him! He's far too scrawny!” Virgil did a double take. “Wait, did I say that?”
“He's my son!” Lucifer wailed.
Cas swung and whacked him, hard, and his shielding crackled. Lucifer went down.
“Father. Fuck you!” Cas spat. He looked around wildly, hearing sounds now from the other parts of the dojo. He and Dean needed to get out of here, but fast, or they would definitely be goners. “Dean!” he yelled. “Everybody's waking up.”
“Yeah, I get it!” Dean yelled back. He was hiding behind a pommel horse, tossing hand weights at Uriel. “Some help here?”
Cas limped over and gave Uriel a whack on the back. Uriel whirled around, quicker than one would expect for a being his size, and knocked Cas back with the hilt of his sword. Then he charged.
Dean hopped up on the pommel horse and came down on Uriel's back, arms wrapped around the big man’s neck. Uriel spun around.
“Shielding!” Cas yelled.
Dean kicked at Uriel's belt, and his shielding clicked off just as Uriel wrested Dean from his back.
Cas attacked as Uriel screamed and fell, his body spasming from the unshielded electricity. Cas was breathing hard, his feet ached, and he wanted to throw up.
“You okay, man?” asked Dean. “Can you get out of here?”
“You're not going anywhere!” said Virgil, who grabbed both boys by their collars.
“Shamsiel!” said Cas.
“What?” asked Virgil, who suddenly dropped them and looked around, confused.
“Come on!” Cas ordered Dean. They made a break for the broken windows, Cas leaving a trail of bloody footprints in the parking lot as they raced to Dean's car.
Cas cringed as Coach Henricksen, cigarette dangling from his mouth, grabbed a bottle of whiskey and casually poured it over his bleeding feet. He was sitting in the middle of the Roadhouse, on top of a pool table that had been draped with towels, among assorted teammates and friends.
“Too bad you don't need stitches,” said Henricksen. “I tie a mean square knot!”
“I should ground the both of you idjits,” stormed Bobby, who was dabbing at various cuts and bruises on Dean’s face, much to Dean’s apparent annoyance. “What were you thinking? I oughta pull your asses off the team for this.”
“No, let 'em play, just take 'em out of classes,” suggested Henricksen cheerfully.
“You're a load of charm, aren't you, Vic?” asked Ellen, who had just come up with bandages.
Bobby huffed and puffed. “So again, from the beginning, Cas. Samyaza is Lucifer himself, and he wanted you to play ventriloquist dummy for some angel named Shamsiel?”
“It didn't work,” muttered Cas as Victor merrily would gauze around his feet.
“Hey, join the club,” said Gordon, who was watching, his arm around Jo, seemingly oblivious to the hairy eyeball he was getting from Ellen.
“You weren't a good vessel, Gordo?” asked Benny.
“I apparently scared off the demon,” laughed Gordon.
Cas sighed and winced. “The angel thought I was unsuitable. He rejected me.”
“It doesn't matter, Cas, as long as you're back here, safe with us,” said Dean.
Cas turned to Dean, blinking back tears. “Dean! You don't understand! None of you understand! I'm not human!”
“It's a little weeeeeird!” Charlie agreed. Pamela whacked her on the back of the head. “Ow!”
“Kid,” said Bobby. “You bleed when you're cut, you make dumb ass decisions, and you spend too damn much time glued to Dean. Believe me, you're human enough.”
“Bobby....”
“You're gonna have to stand in for him in the next game, Gordo,” said Dean. “There's no way he's playing on those feet.”
“I can play!” Cas protested.
“Hey! I thought you weren't human, kid,” Bobby told him, handing over a bag of frozen peas to Dean.
Cas sulked. “I can still play!”
“You're not playing,” Dean told Cas.
“You,” Bobby barked at Dean. “Keep those danged peas on your face. It’ll keep the swelling down. You,” he told Cas, “sit the fuck down.”
There was a sound like the whoosh of air. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!” howled Crowley, who had just appeared in the middle of the bar in a puff of acrid sulfurous smoke.
Suddenly, every sword in the place was poised and humming.
“What?” said Crowley.
“And what the hell are you doing here, demon?” demanded Dean.
Crowley turned to face him. “They exorcised my entire team!”
“Wait, who exorcised them?” asked Bobby.
“What's wrong with exercisin'?” asked Benny.
“The players were all demons,” Dean told him.
Benny’s eyes went wide. “We were fightin' demons?” he asked, grabbing at his crucifix.
“Yes, please try and keep up with the rest of the class,” tutted Crowley. “They sent a batch of those wretched angels over to my university, where I was busily minding my own business.”
“Cheating,” said Bobby.
“As I said,” sniffed Crowley. “Like the fine upstanding citizen I am. They raided my files and now every single one of my players is- is a student!” The last part of the sentence was choked out with much disgust.
“Well, that's too damned bad,” laughed Henricksen. “You mean your kids are going to have to actually practice?”
Crowley glared at the opposing coach, his eyes slits. “This isn't at all funny, Henricksen! Besides, you should talk. Do they know about your former career?”
“He's a street fighter,” said Dean.
“An incredibly good one,” Cas added, to Henricksen's smirk.
“Wait, what?” asked Benny.
“Dude, I think we need to pop some popcorn!” Ash put in.
“Look, we gotta get those guys off Cas!” said Dean. “Samyaza or Lucifer who whoever the fuck he is messed up their ritual, but I'm sure they're gonna try again.”
“Is that what happened to you two?” asked Crowley, suddenly eyeing Cas and Dean.
“We got jumped by Lucifer and a couple of his goons,” said Dean.
Crowley, as he often did, looked shrewd. “May I ask specifically which goons?”
Cas was painfully trying to ease his feet into a pair of clean socks. “Uriel. And Virgil.”
“Although I think Virgil is out of commission. In terms of goon-dom,” Dean put in with a smile.
“You're thinking up something, ain't you, Crowley?” asked Bobby.
“Wait, do we trust this guy?” Dean asked him.
Crowley scoffed. “Of course bloody not! I'm a demon. Are you stupid?”
“Demons: they ain't much at social niceties,” said Bobby, “but they're terrific plotters. Tell us what you have in mind, Crowley?”
“Boys,” said Crowley, “and lovely ladies. It's high time you started thinking big.”
It was a meeting of the board of Roman Enterprises. Dr. Gaines, the current Director of Scientific Operations, was busily flipping through his Blackberry device, in the middle of an intense game of Words with Friends.
It was more interesting than the board meeting, anyway.
He glanced up as the door burst open. Protestors? That was weird, as Dick usually had them dismembered before they made it this far. The group was heavily armed, which was probably the reason they had made it into the boardroom.
The leader, a slight young man with an unruly mop of dark hair, hopped up onto the conference table and marched boldly across it, his heavy dueling boots scattering meeting minutes and Gantt charts as he strode.
He stopped in front of Dick Roman.
“Well, that was out of the box thinking, I'll give you that,” said Roman, pushing his chair back and blinking up at the newcomer.
“I'm Castiel-”
“I know who you are, young man,” said Dick, standing up and looking around at the camera phones and trying to make sure they got a good angle on him. “You're the famous Avenging Angel. Good to see you've pulled yourself up by your bootstraps to make something of yourself, despite your tragic, tragic past.”
“What tragic past?” asked Cas, tilting his head with feigned confusion. “I'm a champion prize fighter and a straight-A student.”
Dick looked a little flustered. But only a little. “Well, an orphan, abandoned at birth....”
“I'm not an orphan. My mother is dead. But my father is very much alive. And working for you. So I hear.”
“Working for- What?” Now Dick was the one who was confused.
“Samyaza. Or you may know him by his other name: Lucifer.” This got some muttering from the board members.
Dick began to sputter. “I have no knowledge at this point in time-”
“Do you or do you not currently sit on the board of directors of an illegal street fighting dojo?” asked Cas.
Dr. Gaines held up his phone to better picture Dick Roman's reaction.
Dick reacted by swiftly igniting his blade and beheading the unlucky Dr. Gaines. Dr. Gaines, unfortunately, did not get his shot, but several others did.
“Street fighting is legal … in parts of Nevada,” Roman muttered.
“The dojo is in Kansas.”
Roman gazed up at Cas, obviously annoyed to be doing so. “So, are you or are you not challenging me?”
Sam stepped forward. “As specified in your by-laws, subsection 3/c/iii, Mr. Singer would like to challenge you for Chairmanship of Roman Enterprises's Board of Directors.”
“I accept. But of course you know, you won't be fighting me, but rather, my appointed surrogate, as also specified by the by-laws.”
Cas hopped down just as none other than Uriel stepped into the room. He smiled predatorily at Cas, who, oddly, looked back at Dean.
“Is that the guy?” asked Cas.
“You know who I am!” Uriel told Cas.
Dean nodded. “That's the guy.”
“The one who hit you?”
Dean rubbed his eye, which was still bruised and swollen. “Yes.”
Cas turned calmly to face Dick Roman. “And you will be facing my surrogate, Mr. Roman.”
“Who?” asked Uriel.
The lights dimmed and crackled. There was a soft sound, like whispering wings.
And there stood Balthazar, sword poised. “You have drawn innocent blood, Uriel,” he said.
Uriel, who suddenly looked terrified, drew his blade. And a whole lot of cell phone cameras flashed.
“We can't divest everything!” wailed Crowley as Sam bent over the computer in a room in the suite of offices that, until a few moments ago, had been the domain of Richard Roman.
“We're gonna divest everything,” said Bobby.
“Can't you let me be an evil corporate CEO for even a day?”
Across the room, Frank and Charlie were also bent over computers. “Wow, they had holdings in the Cayman Islands?” said Charlie.
“Wait, where did you find that?” demanded Frank. Charlie irritably hid her screen from him. “Hey, she's not letting me look!”
“You two, cut it out,” Dean scolded.
“It looks like most of Dick's activities are confined to the past year or so,” Sam told Bobby, Dean, and Cas, who were gathered around. “It's strange. He went from being a normal corrupt businessman to a megalomaniac very suddenly.
“You think he turned?” asked Dean. “Like, he's a demon or something.”
“He's no demon,” sniffed Crowley.
“No, he is the most venal species, he is human,” said Cas with a kind of firmness.
“You can tell?” asked Dean.
Cas nodded, looking thoughtful. “I always thought it was the fighting. That it allowed me to gauge of my opponents. But I see now that I have a sense for supernatural beings.”
“So what are we doing?” asked Sam.
Cas spread his hands. “You are going to hunt down every subsidiary involved in the manufacture or distribution of PerFormaT and shut them all down. The rest of the businesses will be spun off. We are dissolving Roman Enterprises, once and for all.”
Crowley groaned. “I am coach of a losing team, and I am now giving away untold wealth. You know I'm gonna lose my union card for this.”
“You two! Do I gotta come over there!” warned Dean as Frank and Charlie began to wrestle over a laptop.
“I can offer assistance with your team, Crowley,” said Cas.
“What do you mean?”
“I think I can find a suitable … assistant coach.” Cas frowned and shifted his feet.
“Hey, Mr. Chairman,” said Dean. Cas looked at him as Dean grabbed him by the upper arm. “Bobby, you think you can keep things under control here for a minute?”
“It would be a pleasure,” said Bobby, rubbing his hands together.
“And if Balthazar comes back, please tell him to come see me?” said Cas.
“Heh. I think Balthy is finding a good pike for Uriel’s head.”
“That was a little messy,” Dean admitted as he led Cas into the adjoining office.
Cas immediately collapsed onto the couch, where he started to unbuckle his boots. “I’ve seen messier.”
Dean plopped down next to Cas, “You okay?”
Cas sighed. “My feet are bothering me. And I don’t want to be a CEO. I want to fight.”
“You’re chairman of the board, not a CEO.”
“Whatever.” Cas pulled off his other boot and rubbed his feet.
“And you looked really hot up there on the table.”
Cas looked around in surprise, and Dean kissed him. Cas didn’t object, but then pulled away. “Should we be doing this here?”
“I’m trying to distract you from the terrible pain,” Dean laughed. “Plus, you’re not gonna have to be chairman or CEO or Grand Poobah or whatever for long, since we’re breaking up your company.”
“Dean,” said Cas. “I'm not human.”
“Yeah, I know!”
Dean was still hovering very close. Cas blinked in surprise. “And, you find this … arousing?”
“Oh fuck yeah.”
“Do you find everything arousing?”
“I think when it involves you.” Dean shaking his head. “Sort of. Yeah. Hey, I made you smile.”
“You shouldn’t feel obligated to … accept me, Dean. You didn’t know what you were getting into.”
“Dude, you wanna know something? That first day – that very first day – do you remember that? When me and Sam chased you down? I saw you guys get out of the car.”
“You did?”
“Yeah, you and Gabe. And I thought, there he goes, walking away. And then I thought, oh, no fucking way I’m gonna let that happen!”
Cas was definitely smiling now.
“But, I don’t understand why you don’t believe me, Cas. You’re a fucking champion!”
“I’m strange, Dean. I didn’t fully understand how strange until now.”
“What, because of your relatives? Hey, wait until you meet our dad!”
They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Benny stuck his head in, big grin on his face. “Hey, we ain’t interrupting anything?”
“Our chairman needed a pep talk,” said Dean, as Cas blushed and began to pull his boots back on. “What’s up?”
“Brother, you will never guess what me and Ash just found on our perambulations!” said Benny.
“Behold! The storeroom from hell!” said Ash, which really didn’t answer the question, and so Dean and Cas followed them into the depths of the headquarters. Dean stopped short at the doorway: the room was stacked from floor to ceiling with carton upon carton upon carton of the world’s worst footwear: Wellman Wellies.
“I hate these fucking things!” said Dean, picking up a carton.
“So, my idea was a bonfire!” said Benny. “Though my colleague, Ash, evidently favors a tactical nuclear device.”
“No kidding, I know some guys. Imagine the good done for humanity,” said Ash.
“Find a pair in your size, Cas?” asked Dean as Cas used his sword to nick open a carton and then went rummaging inside for a pair of boots. He pulled them out, staring at them, and then pulled the stuffing from out of the center of the boot.
“They had many boxes of these shoes at Lucifer’s dojo,” he said, reaching his hand inside the boot. He pulled out his hand. There was a baggie full of white powder in the very bottom.
“Well well well!” said Benny. “Just like Cracker Jacks. It comes with a prize inside.”
“PerFormaT?” asked Dean.
“That would be my guess,” said Cas, holding up the baggie.
“No wonder Charlie couldn’t tell where this stuff goes. It gets stuffed into crappy shoes.”
“I think we should take Ash and Benny’s suggestion,” said Cas, tossing the package back in the pile.
“Nuke the room?” asked Dean. “You guys up for that?”
From Ash and Benny’s expressions, he didn’t have to ask twice.
“Cas!” said Jo, poking her head in the storeroom. “Roman is in the office. He wants to talk to you before he goes.”
Cas and Dean strode off with her. They found Dick Roman in the board room, flanked by Balthazar and Gabriel. He was holding a cardboard box full of office supplies, and under his arm had a large fuzzy purple whale plush toy, which emitted a high-pitched squeak when pressed. Crowley, Sam, Frank, Bobby and Charlie were still in the room, hunched over various computers and laptops.
“I must credit you, Castiel. You’ve won this round.”
Cas narrowed his eyes. “I’ve won the war, Mr. Roman.”
“Oh, really?”
“We’ve found you subsidiaries in the Cayman Islands,” Cas told him.
“And the British Virgin Islands!” Charlie piped up.
“And the Isle of Man,” said Frank.
“San Marino,” said Bobby. “And the Seychelles.”
“And Liechtenstein!” said Sam.
Dick Roman looked considerably less pleased. He sagged, and the whale emitted a squeak.
“You got a choice, Dick,” said Dean, who was quite obviously savoring his words. “Now that we’ve grabbed all your money, we could also smash your reputation by telling everybody how you’re involved in street fighting.”
“It’s not illegal in parts of Nevada!” Dick protested.
“Or you could supply some information,” said Cas. “How many dojos are getting Wellman Wellies?”
“All of them,” said Dick proudly.
Cas and Gabriel looked at each other. “Wait,” said Gabriel. “All of them?”
“All of the training facilities on the World Street Fighting Title circuit. Yes.”
“And, you’re the only supplier?” asked Dean.
“Young man, have you any respect for intellectual property? Of course. PerFormaT is protected by no less than sixteen patents. I have one of the awards here,” he added, taking a little acrylic plate shaped like a sword out of his cardboard box.
“Okay, hotshot,” said Bobby. “So, what happens if somebody turns off the faucet for that crap?”
Dick Roman grinned. It was chilling. “You’re talking about the special players, aren’t you? The most highly trained ones?”
“The fallen angels, yeah.”
“Oh, I’ve been witness to it. Dreadful thing. Just dreadful.” Dick Roman tsk-ed. The whale under his arm squeaked.
Gabriel snatched the whale from Roman. He tossed it up in the air and sliced it in two with his sword.
“That was my personal property!” Roman protested.
“Get him out of here,” said Cas.
“You’ll be hearing from my attorney!” Dick Roman yelled as Balthazar and Gabriel hustled him out of the building.
“Cas,” said Dean. “You know Benny and Ash’s Wellman Wellies bonfire?”
“Yeah?” said Cas.
“Dean!” shouted Sam. “You’re not getting an idea, are you?”
“Have them hold off,” Dean told Cas. “I got an idea.”
It was a tired group of men that straggled back to Singer Salvage that night.
They found the gate wide open.
Bobby pulled the truck to the side of the road and got out, along with Cas. Dean and Sam, following in the Impala, stopped as well. “What the hell, Bobby?” asked Dean.
“I got this place warded against anything on heaven or earth,” said Bobby.
“It’s not my brother again, is it?” asked Cas.
“We left his ass back at Roman Enterprises,” said Dean.
“Whatever it is, we go in armed,” said Bobby, pulling out his sidearm.
The front door of Bobby’s house had been left wide open as well. “Balls! Who the hell got past my defenses? I’ll murder the bastard.”
Cas sniffed the air. “Is that … steak?”
“It's just you being a garbage gut,” Dean told him.
They ended up spreading out, Bobby and Sam going around the back door, Dean and Cas at the front. “You stick close to me, hear?” Dean told Cas.
“I should go in first.”
“No. I know this house. I need you at my back in case something wants to kill me.”
Cas nodded grimly. And the signal, Dean rushed in Cas right in back of him. They hurried through the mud room, into the living room.
Cas sniffed the air. “I swear I smell-”
“Cas!” Dean stopped short when he saw the figure sitting on the couch.
“Dean,” said the man – who very much appeared to be just that, a stocky, dark-haired, forty-something man. “Have you had dinner? I bought us some steaks.”
Bobby and Sam burst into the room, swords poised.
“Oh, shit,” said Sam.
“Balls!” Bobby added for good measure.
Dean sighed and lowered his sword. “Cas. This is my dad. This is John Winchester.”
“Goddammit, John,” said Bobby, who went over to shake his hand. “You coulda just called.”
“Bobby! Something big has come up. Angels! And demons!”
Sam rolled his eyes. “We know, Dad.”
“What? You do? You know about the street fighting circuit?”
“Yeah, Dad,” said Dean. “It’s been taken over by fallen angels.”
John’s attention had drifted over to Cas. “Do I know you?”
“This is Cas, Dad. The Avenging Angel.”
“I’m … gonna go check on the steaks,” said Sam a little too loudly. He hurried out of the room.
John Winchester stopped short. He stared at Cas. He began to say one thing, and then another, and then another. He finally said, “You have a street fighter here? Under my roof?”
“Ain’t your roof, John,” grumbled Bobby.
“Dean,” his father told him. “We don’t associate with that sort of people.
“We do now, Dad,” said Dean.
“Dean,” cautioned Bobby.
“He’s my boyfriend.”
John, red-faced, made to hit Dean but ended up on the floor, when Cas, quick as a wink, charged in front of Dean and punched him smack in the jaw.
“Uh. I’m sorry Dean,” said Cas, shaking out his fist and looking back and forth between father and son.
“Hey! What did I miss?” asked Sam, who had rushed back into the room.
“Your dad being a idjit,” said Bobby dryly. John had managed to prop himself up on his elbows. Bobby offered a hand, and then elder Winchester got, somewhat shakily, to his feet.
“You got a hell of a right,” said John, feeling his jaw.
“Kid,” Bobby told Cas. “You’re under my roof. Next time, you let me clobber him?”
“I didn’t draw my sword, Bobby,” said Cas. “If I had, Mr. Winchester would no longer be conscious,” he added, glaring at John.
“Boys, you all go and put your weapons away in the mudroom,” said Bobby sternly. “I'll have no more fighting under my roof, hear? Cas, you check on dinner. Sam and Dean, set the damn table. And no chipped mugs, use the good stuff, we got a guest.” Everyone stood and stared for a moment, so he barked, “Now! Get a move on.”
Sparing one last withering glance at John, Cas complied, the Winchester brothers hurrying after him.
Bobby and John watched them go. “I knew I’d have it out with Sam. I didn’t expect this from Dean.”
Bobby smiled. “That boy was nine years old when he landed on my doorstep, John. May I point out things mighta changed somewhat?”
John rounded on his friend. “That’s not fair. I never dumped them with you, Bobby.”
“Oh really? You left that boy with a twenty dollar bill and a baby brother in a place with no heat in January.”
“Bobby. There’s a bigger picture here. You know that.”
“There’s two boys in the kitchen. Three now. That’s a big enough picture for me.” Bobby studied his old friend, noticing for the first time the lines he hadn’t seen before, the hollow spots under his eyes. His voice soft, he asked, “You gonna tell those boys about that business with your ticker?”
John’s hand reached up unconsciously to cover his heart, his expression shifted to sadness for a fraction of a second. And then his face hardened. “No, Bobby. And you’re not gonna tell them either.”
“John-“
“None of that.” John thumped his chest. “I had an … incident, but I’m good for another 30,000 miles. No need to worry my boys.”
“Then that ain’t why you’re here?”
John shook his head. “No. The reason I’m here is I got a lead on Yellow Eyes. I may have finally tracked him down.”
“Well, for your sake, we’ll hope that’s true,” said Bobby, leading John into the dining room.
Tempers seemed to have cooled after a big dinner was set before them. John ate heartily of the steak and Cas’s mashed potatoes, but had left his salad untouched. Sam, without asking, grabbed John’s salad bowl and poured the contents onto his own plate while Dean dug into the potatoes once again.
“These are addictive,” he commented.
“Heavy cream,” said Cas, slicing up his steak with great efficiency.
“You’re gonna burst our arteries, kid,” said Bobby, who nonetheless gestured for the bowl of potatoes from Dean.
“I’m sorry. It usually wasn’t an issue … where I’m from.”
“Were you a fighter or a short order cook?” asked John, dark eyebrows knitting in a scowl.
Cas started to answer, but Dean cut in, “Dad. A dojo's like a firehouse. They all cook.”
John studied Cas, who met his stare. “And why don’t you have the hair?” he asked, gesturing to the top of his head.
“I did,” said Cas.
“He cut it,” said Dean.
“I was defeated.”
“I defeated him!”
Cas smiled affectionately at Dean, his hand unconsciously going to his hair, making it even more of a tangle.
“My son … fought a street fighter?” asked John.
“He's on the team, Dad!”
“You oughta get down and see you boy play, John,” Bobby interjected with a studied casualness. “See both of them.”
“Sam too?” asked John. Sam shrugged and went back to his salad. “I thought you quit fencing?” There was an awkward silence, as four of the five people in the room remembered the knockdown, drag out fight that had followed Sam's decision.
Dean cleared his throat. “We’re playing TTU on Friday night,” he told his father. “It’s a home game. How long are you here for this time?”
“I hadn’t planned to stay long,” John muttered, and Dean’s face fell. “I think I have a lead on Yellow Eyes. A good one.”
Dean and Sam exchanged a glance, Dean frowning, Sam rolling his eyes. Dean mouthed at Sam, “Don’t say it.”
“I think he may even be on staff at KU,” John continued, obliviously slicing at his steak. “You boys’s school!”
There was a knock at the door, and Sam was up instantly. “I’ll get it,” he said, sparing an exasperated look for his father before he left.
“Hey, Sammy!” came Gabriel’s voice, and soon he and Balthazar were bustling into the kitchen. “I hope we’re not interrupting dinner, and if so, you got some extra steaks for us.”
“I’ll get you a plate, Gabriel” said Cas, rising and heading for the kitchen. Gabriel immediately sat down at Cas’s plate and started sawing into his steak. “Bring me two!” he called. “Are these your mashed potatoes? Damn, Balthy, sit down and eat, this is heavenly.”
Balthazar inclined his head politely at Bobby, who told him, “Yeah, no problem, always room for a couple more.”
Sam darted out and came back with a couple of extra chairs, although Gabriel showed no sign of moving from his brother's spot. “Do I know you, buddy?” he smacked to John, as the older man was staring at him.
“Hey, sorry. Gabriel. Balthazar. This is our dad. This is John Winchester,” said Dean.
“Meetcha,” muttered Gabriel through a mouth full of mashed potatoes.
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Winchester,” said Balthazar. “You should be very proud of your boys.”
“Gabe and Balthy, they’re Cas’s people,” said Bobby. “From his dojo.”
“You’re both street fighters?” asked John.
“I’m retired and he just pretends,” said Gabriel, pointing his steak knife towards Balthazar.
“Balthazar is an angel, Dad,” said Sam, who was studying his father.
“Semi-retired,” said Balthazar, who was helping himself to a glass of iced tea from the pitcher.
John's mouth attempted to form words, but the elder Winchester was momentarily struck dumb.
“How are things at our dojo?” Cas asked as he came out of the kitchen bearing two fresh steaks. He set one down in front of Balthazar and then, after a glance at Gabriel, sat down in an empty chair and began to tuck in to the other.
“Hey! That’s my steak!” said Gabriel, reaching for the plate.
“Possession is nine tenths of the law!” answered Cas, pulling it back.
“There was a certain amount of confusion at first,” said Balthazar, tugging Gabriel back to his seat by his collar. “But I believed they reacted well, overall, to the introduction of the new management team.”
“We brought along your coach,” said Gabriel.
“Henricksen?” asked Dean. “Oh, I bet that was good.”
“Yeah, and he gives them a speech about no more doping,” Gabriel smacked. “While he’s chain-smoking.”
“That’s our coach,” said Sam.
“And what about Crowley’s K-State players?” asked Dean.
Balthazar’s face lit up. “They are actually quite talented, although they are understandably disoriented. But they are receptive to coaching. I actually haven’t felt so needed in an awfully long time.”
“Knew you’d be a great coach, Balthy,” said Gabe, who was trying once again to filch some of Cas’s steak.
“You’re the Trickster,” John, who finally had recovered his voice, said to Gabriel.
“Ding ding ding!” said Gabriel, who was grinning from ear to ear.
“I saw you fight,” said John.
“You saw a tape?” asked Cas, letting his head list to the side.
“I saw you fight,” John repeated. “I was there. It was you. Your partner was some tiny kid.” He held his hand a tiny kid's-length up from the ground.
Gabriel and Cas exchanged an amused glance. “That was Cas,” said Gabriel.
John pushed his chair back and stared frankly at Cas.
“I grew,” said Cas shrugging his shoulders and blushing.
“You've been to a street fight, John?” asked Dean.
John suddenly became interested in his mashed potatoes once again. “It was part of an investigation,” he muttered. Dean looked over at Sam, who rolled his eyes and pushed his wide shoulders into a shrug. Dean stared down at his half-eaten steak, suddenly finding he was losing his appetite. His father, it appeared, had seen Cas fight more often lately than his own sons.
At a certain point in the evening the guests had departed, the dishes had been washed and put away, some residents of Bobby’s house had quietly headed upstairs to bed.
None remained in the living room but the three Winchester men.
“Son,” said John from a nest of blankets on the couch.
Dean stretched. “Yeah, John. I gotta get to bed. It’s a big day tomorrow.”
John actually looked uncertain. “We should … catch up. There’s been a lot going on.”
Dean stared at his father.
“Yeah, we could get you caught up, John,” said Sam, who was standing on the stairway landing. “We could sit down and chit-chat all night. And then you'll pick up and leave. Which is what you do.” And he turned and marched up the stairs.
“Dad…” said Dean. “Maybe … maybe later. Okay. If you’re around?”
John gestured noncommittally.
“Good night, Dad,” said Dean, who was now himself on the stairs.
John did not answer.
“So let's see,” said Dean as Frank set up the laptop. Rufus, Bobby, Sam and Cas also crowded around the computer in the Jayhawks’s cramped locker room.
The laptop’s small speakers emitted the sound of a roaring crowd. The men watched as street fighters entered the cage, the championship team first, as was the tradition, and then the challengers.
“What’s wrong with that guy?” Dean asked, pointing to a fighter who looked a little under the weather.
“Wait for it,” said Rufus, grinning slyly.
The match proceeded. It wasn’t as exciting as watching Cas and Gabe, Dean decided. In fact, as little as he knew about street fighting, everybody looked a little off.
And then one of the guys was a little slow getting his sword up after he’d hitched some wall and landed wrong, and his opponent struck and….
SPLAT!
“Holy crap!” said Dean. The men gawped as the camera actually shook and refocused. The three surviving fighters suddenly found themselves drenched in the splattered remains of the guy who’s been hit. “He’s chunky soup. Swords don't do that!”
“That’s pretty gross,” Sam agreed.
Grinning, Frank, stopped the video. “There have been reports of circumstances like this all up and down the circuit,” Rufus told them. “This is one of the … more spectacular, admittedly. But wait until you see this. Hit it Frank.”
Frank pushed play once again. The dead man’s teammate stumbled back. Dean at first thought he was going to vomit. But then he threw his head back and suddenly his eyes and mouth and even his nose lit up with a strange glow. It suddenly flashed incredibly bright as the other fighters shrunk away and shielded their eyes. Then the man sunk down to his knees, looking completely disoriented.
“Looks like his angel ran away,” said Bobby.
“Yeah. We think the remaining ones are going to start abandoning their vessels,” said Rufus.
Sam clapped his brother on the back. “And that’s what happens when you substitute powdered sugar for the drugs in the Wellman Wellies?” he asked. “I gotta hand it to you, Dean. When you have an idea, you have an idea.”
Dean grinned. “We just sent along their normal shipment of boots. Like they were expecting.”
“At this rate, we might just be able to wait ‘em out!” said Bobby.
“I don’t think so,” said Cas quietly.
“Why not, Cas?”
Cas shrugged. “I don’t know, Dean, I just have a … feeling. About my biological father.”
Dean looked concerned, but listened to the stomping rhythm coming from the next room. “Whatever, we got a game to go to now. You two!” he told Cas and Sam. “No explosions!” Sam grinned, but Cas looked confused. “Come on!” Dean put one arm around Sam’s shoulders and another around Cas’s and marched them out into the stadium. The crowd stomped and roared, shouted and cat-called, danced and waved signs and threw popcorn.
Cas looked up, seeming stunned.
“Dean,” Sam whispered to his brother. Dean followed Sam’s eye line up into the crowd.
There, sitting next to Bobby. It was their father. John Winchester smiled and held up a hand. Dean gawped, and silently held up his own in greeting.
“First match the old bastard has attended since high school,” Sam muttered.
“Hey, good of you ladies to make it!” came a female voice. Pamela popped up from where she had been sitting on the bench. She was wearing an eye patch which, though it didn’t feature a skull and crossbones, still looked stylish.
“You playing?” asked Dean.
“Try and stop me,” she told him. “We win this one, we’re in the finals.”
“We’re gonna win,” said Meg, who was quite suddenly hovering at Pamela’s side. She nudged Pamela, and they both took their seats. Castiel stared after them.
“What?” Dean asked him.
“Something just struck me…” said Cas. “Later. After the match.”
As it turned out, Dean couldn’t hear himself think after the match.
He stood, absolutely struck dumb, as Benny and Ash hoisted Pamela to their shoulders and carted her off the field to the roar and stomp of the frenzied crowd screaming KU!
“Post-season!” shouted Sam, who swallowed Dean in a bear hug. And then he set down Dean and ran to the low wall dividing the stands from the court, where he caught Jess as she hopped into his arms and then they both did a little drunken victory dance.
“Is everything all right, Dean?” Dean hadn’t noticed Cas was standing quietly by his side.
“I saw our dad up in the stands,” said Dean, peering into the crowd. But John was no longer in sight.
Cas seemed to read his friend's mood. “Perhaps your father has already headed to Harvelle’s?” he ventured, although he sounded less than certain.
Dean frowned, and, without a word, stalked off towards the exit.
“So, you’re taking off?”
John hesitated. He shut the door of his car, and leaned his elbows on the hood. “Yeah, I’m taking off.”
“Well, okay. But dude, you suck at goodbyes,” said Dean. He scowled and turned to go.
John paused, resting a hip on the fender of his car. “You want some kinda touching father-son moment here?”
“What, with you, John? How about at least a, ‘Goodbye, I’m fucking off now.’”
“I could give you the goodbye speech. But I don’t think you’d like to hear.”
“Try me.”
“Castiel. It’s obvious you like him. But I don’t know if he’s right for you.”
“Yeah, well-“
“I told you.”
“Go on.”
John threw his hands up, looking up to the sky. “Dammit. Why is it, when you’ve got ten good choices, you always go for number eleven?”
“I dunno. Take after you?”
“I don’t know what you want.”
“Twenty-one years. And most of that time, all I got from you is twenty bucks, and ‘Take care of your brother.”
“You want the twenty?” asked John, giving a half-smile and pretending to reach for his wallet.
“I just thought there might be … more, you know?”
“Maybe there isn’t,” said John. He pulled open the car door once again.
“All right.” Dean had vowed not to cry, but he felt himself welling up. He grimaced and wiped an eye on his sleeve.
“Goodbye, Dean.” John stared over Dean’s shoulder and nodded.
Dean glanced back to see where John had been looking. He hadn’t heard Cas come up behind him, but he stood there now, silent as a sentinel, staring at John. Dean heard the car’s engine turn over and looked back to see John Winchester driving off.
Sam came walking up, Jess on his arm. “Hey! Was that Dad?” asked Sam.
“He says goodbye. No, not really,” sighed Dean. He jammed his hands in his pants pockets.
“Hey, Dean. How do you like my shoes?” asked Jess, who posed her feet.
She was wearing a pair Wellman Wellies.
Purple ones.
While Cas stared, utterly perplexed, Dean started choking. And then then he was doubled over laughing.
“You took one of the boxes at Roman?” asked Cas.
“I couldn't resist.”
“Those are beautiful, Jess,” laughed Dean. “Abso-fucking-lutly the most stylish shoes ever.”
Dean drifted off, not really sleeping. Cas was lying on top of him, snoring softly. Dean put an affectionate hand through his soft, dark hair. It was a comfort to have Cas here, after the shit with his father. After all these years, John's goodbyes hadn't gotten any easier.
He heard the door creek and looked up in confusion. Cas stirred as well.
Sam was hovering over the bed, cell phone in hand, looking concerned.
“Wassup?” muttered Dean, squinting at the bedside alarm clock.
“Dean.”
Cas was sitting up as well, rubbing his eyes.
“What is it Sammy?”
“Dean.” Sam sat down hard on the edge of the bed. “It's Jess.”
