Fic: Rings of Enchantment (Chapter 2)
Chapter 2
~Present day~
Sam and Castiel walk briskly away from the body, away from the stench of blood and death, eager to make themselves scarce before any authorities arrive. They’d arrived too late to see anyone suspicious, Cassie’s nowhere to be seen, and Bela’s death only raised more questions.
“No ordinary gun can kill a witch. What the hell is going on here?” Sam asks after making sure there’s no one around, careful to keep his voice low.
“I-” Castiel shakes his head, stopping abruptly beside the Economics department, one of the oldest buildings on campus. “I don’t know.” He seems to catch Sam’s look of disbelief because he adds, “It’s true. I was only told to investigate a murder. I need to report what I have learned. The only gun I know of that can kill a witch is a lost relic. My superiors must be alerted that it has surfaced.”
Sam turns, remaining a safe distance away. “Then you’re going back?”
The detective nods. “Briefly, yes. I must.”
He mirrors the nod, troubled, sitting down on a nearby bench. “Right. Uh…”
For a moment, Castiel merely squints at him, head tilted, then his eyes widen, and he seems to understand. “Worry not, Sam Winchester. From what I have seen, I believe you are no murderer. I will not be detaining you.”
“Oh.” Sam could fall over in his relief. “Oh, that’s- That’s comforting. Thank you.”
Castiel walks towards the trees behind the building, then stops. “One last thing.” He turns back to Sam, looking more awkward and disquieted than ever. “I… hesitate to ask this of an unsanctioned civilian, but… perhaps you could assist me by gathering some information before I return?”
Sam is nodding before he’s even processed the request, and when his brain finally catches up, he adds, “I can try.” It’s not like he knows anything about all this investigative stuff, so more than likely, he’ll be no help at all. Still, it’s too late to back out now, and he has to admit his curiosity is piqued. “What is it?”
“I believe I may have found the reason for Bela Talbot’s involvement. Perhaps you could look into it?” Blue eyes meet his. “Her DNA partially matches Edward Hazel’s. She could be his unknown daughter.”
Back in his apartment, Sam drops his bag on the wooden coffee table and sinks into the couch with a sigh. It came with the apartment, and he doesn’t want to know what’s been on it, but it’s comfortable, so they just covered it with a dark green sheet.
“There you are,” Dean greets, coming out of their tiny kitchen with a spatula in hand and an apron over his shirt, the familiar smell of bacon and whisky permeating the air. “What happened to your stalker?”
“Bela’s dead. He had to report it.”
“What?” Dean takes the armchair. “How in hell?”
“That’s just it.” Sam pushes himself upright. “She was shot.”
“That’s not-”
“Yeah, it takes a very special kind of gun. A lost relic, Castiel called it. And get this.” He flops back down. “She’s Hazel’s daughter.”
“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”
Sam raises an eyebrow.
“There is no way that ugly old geezer had such a smokin’ hot daughter.”
He throws his brother a dirty look. “Is the stove still on in there?”
“Oh shit, yeah.”
Dean dashes back into the kitchen to rescue their dinner, and Sam’s about to doze off where he is when the doorbell rings. Tiredly, he pulls himself out of the tangle of soft cushions and drags himself over to the door. He wonders who it is - they don’t get many visitors. He hopes it’s not their vegan neighbor here to tell them Dean has the wrong kitchen window open again, and she really doesn’t appreciate the smell of bacon in her unit, not to mention there are ninety-nine reasons why they shouldn’t be eating bacon at all. He doesn’t have the energy to deal with Tara right now.
But when he opens the door, suddenly, he’s wide awake.
“Is he here?”
It’s Cassie, Bela’s familiar, pale with terror and covered in cold sweat as she keeps looking around like she’s trying to make sure she hasn’t been followed. He can smell her fear.
“Who?” he asks without thinking, looking around as well. It doesn’t look like she’s been tailed.
“T-that Grigori agent that’s been following you around,” she hisses. “I know an angel when I smell one.”
“No, he’s gone to report your master’s murder.”
She flinches, but nods. “Good, you’re being honest with me. Can I come in?”
For a moment, Sam thinks better of it, but then he steps aside. It’s him and Dean against her if she tries anything, and a familiar is greatly weakened by the death of its master. He’s more concerned about what has her so spooked, but he can’t sense anyone tailing her presently. He locks the door behind her and activates the protection wards around the apartment. It immediately has Dean rushing out for a fight.
He smiles thinly. “Look who’s here.”
His brother freezes, then narrows his eyes at Cassie. “Why are you here?”
She looks from one man to the other desperately. “I was hoping to find the angel detective. I need the Grigori. We’re siblings in the Craft, aren’t we? You’ve gotta help me.”
“You and your master nearly got Sammy arrested for murder,” Dean retorts sharply. “No, we don’t gotta help you.”
She puts her hands on her hips. “Look, my master is no saint. She’s been using her powers to steal since she could control them. But she’s no murderer either.”
“That’s not what the Grigori think,” Sam informs her. Castiel would say that just because Bela is dead doesn’t mean she didn’t kill Edward Hazel. But that does explain why she was avoiding them - she probably thought she was wanted for theft, if nothing else.
That makes Cassie sigh and wearily run her hands through her tight curls. “Please.” Her dark eyes are bloodshot - she’s on the verge of tears. “I saw Bela’s killer. Long blond hair, dark red leather jacket, so fast. One moment, she was there, then she fired that cursed gun, and by the time the bullet hit Bela, she was gone. I went after her, but there was no trace of her anywhere in the vicinity. It’s like she just disappeared. And when they realize Bela doesn’t have the key, they’ll come for me.”
Dean opens his mouth to say something, but Sam beats him to it. “Key? What key? Who are they?”
“The key that Bela found. I don’t know. I don’t know who they are.” She’s close to panic. “Please, just tell me where the angel is. It’s not safe. It’s not safe anywhere.”
“Okay, whoa, slow down. I don’t know how to call him, but Castiel says he’ll be back.” He takes a step closer, making sure he’s calm, so his scent will calm her down too. “Why don’t you just… sit down and tell us everything while we wait? He knows Bela is related to President Hazel.”
Cassie looks warily at them, then nods. Dean reluctantly relaxes and indicates a chair by the table.
“You look like you could use a drink. Coffee, beer or whisky?”
“I-I’ll take a beer, thank you.” She goes to the table with Sam and sits down to begin her story as Dean heads to the fridge with an approving nod.
“Edward Alcaz Hazel is Bela’s father. He left long before she was born, so he never knew he had a daughter. After her mother passed away, Bela went looking for her father, hoping to at least meet the man. After several months of digging, she found him and joined the student exchange program to come here. So she made an appointment the morning of his murder, the first slot, and came early to see if she could catch him before office hours.”
“How do you feel about bacon cheeseburgers?” Dean asks, poking his head out of the kitchen.
She turns. “Uh… They’re the best kind of burger…?”
The blond nods his approval, then brings them both a bottle of El Sol and a burger each before heading back into the kitchen to make a third burger for himself.
“Thank you. Anyway,” she takes a swig of beer and a bite of burger before continuing. “Instead, she found him dead, and the window sliding shut by itself. We ran to the window, and I think it was the same girl who killed Bela later. I caught a glimpse of long blond hair before she disappeared into the trees. So Bela tried looking for something, anything vital about her father before the police could lock everything away as evidence.”
Dean comes out to join them, and she quickly thanks him again for the food.
“This burger’s amazing.”
Dean gives her a flirty wink, grinning as he starts on his own burger and beer. “You betcha. It’s a Dean Winchester special.”
She smiles a little and nods, then turns back to Sam. “But anyway, all she found was this tiny key,” and she lifts the chain around her neck to show them a small silver key with a design he’s never seen before behind her triquetra pendant, “wrapped in a piece of paper with the code 9461 written on it.”
“That’s why she was in the library,” Sam surmises as he finishes his burger. That sort of key could only be for the kind of locks used on small jewelry boxes or books.
“Yes. Nothing in his office would fit. We went to search his house, but some people beat us to it. The place was ransacked when we found it. They even busted open his safe, but it wasn’t the combination type, so Bela figured the locked object probably wasn’t even there. A bit of digging showed he frequented the library -many articles about the man describe him as an avid reader- so we thought to try our luck there. It turns out Special Collections are stored in a restricted access room secured by a combination lock, and 9461 is the code. She tried looking for a locked book in there, but then I overheard people talking about using something in Special Collections, so I warned her the librarian was coming to retrieve it, and she left to avoid getting caught.”
“Before she could find what she was looking for.”
Cassie nods. “I was supposed to meet her outside, but when I got there…” The girl buries her face in her hands. “Please. Y-you’ve gotta get me to the Grigori. There’s someone killing people, and there’s someone else looking for this key - maybe they’re working together. But Bela’s gone. I don’t have any reason to figure this mess out anymore. I just-” She shakes her head. “I don’t wanna get killed too.”
To his surprise, it’s Dean who reaches out to pat her on the shoulder. “Hey, no worries, man. If you just hang out for a bit, that dick angel’s gonna come back ‘cause he’s stalking Sammy here.” He grins at Sam’s bitchface. “You’ll catch him, no problem.” Then again, Dean has always, with very few exceptions, been sweet on the ladies.
“Something doesn’t add up,” Sam muses, narrowing his eyes as he thinks the entire scenario through. “How do you know it’s the key they’re after? The killer could simply be eliminating witnesses. They didn’t even take the key when they killed Edward Hazel. What else do you know about him?”
She shakes her head quickly. “Bela used a spell to find something important to her father. The key is what it led to. People ransacked his house, so they were looking for something. Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s not the key, and I’m just guessing. But either way, my life is in danger. The only safe place left for me is in Grigori custody.”
Personally, he’s not so sure. He’s heard plenty of horror stories, and even Castiel seems to operate under the assumption that anyone unsanctioned is guilty until proven innocent. Then again, a familiar is often compelled to obey its master’s orders, so she can’t be held accountable for Bela’s crimes. She could be right. At any rate, the possibility is better than awaiting certain death here.
“As for what else… well, I don’t know if this is relevant at all, but…” She hesitates. “Bela is completely human, and her mother, Edea Talbot, was the witch, but when we arrived that morning, President Hazel didn’t smell human. Yet, you just confirmed that he is indeed her father.”
The President, a non-human? That explained why Castiel had been so quickly assigned to the case.
“Anything familiar to you?” Dean asks, leaning forward.
“The scent? No.” Then she gives it a bit more thought. “Well, yes, in a way. He reeked of sulphur.”
Sam and Dean exchange glances. Sulphur - now that she’s mentioned it, he’s quite sure that’s the odor he detected in President Hazel’s house as well. This was something they’d only read about in Bobby’s books: evil creatures that stink of sulphur from the fires of their home and care nothing for the laws of the Grigori - demons. If they truly were involved, nothing good could come of this. That complicated things.
“All right,” Sam said, standing and mentally checking the wards on the apartment - they might need strengthening. Given their new information, it was safest to wait for Castiel’s return before acting. “I expect it’s not safe to go anywhere until the detective comes back, so you can stay here for now. There’s only two beds, but you can ask Dean if he’s willing to share.” There’s a sleeping pad by the heater that Dean uses in his dog form, and it would probably be less awkward that way.
“Hey, as long as we’re sharing,” the blond winks, “even the floor’s no problem.”
“It’s gentlemanly of you to offer to take the floor,” she says coolly, dusting a few crumbs off her faded black jeans as she rises. “Thank you for letting me use your bed.”
Sam grins as Dean protests, “Hey, th-”
Glass breaks to the left, and Cassie cries out in pain, spasming.
“Whoa! Cassie?” She collapses to the wooden floor as Sam reaches for her, falling to his knees. “Cassie!”
In his peripheral vision, Dean rushes to the window to peer out from the side and shakes his head, but all Sam can focus on is the blood blooming in her light gray sweater, the smell of propellant traces on the bullet. She’s dead. She’s dead, her lifeless eyes staring vacuously up at him, and he clamps his hands over his mouth. He’s going to be sick. The rising stench of blood and dog, and all he can think about is it could have been Dean.
Oh God.
He makes a mad dash for the bathroom, barely makes it in before he starts retching.
Hey. Dean’s suddenly in the tiny bathroom with him, patting him on the back. I’m here, Sammy. I’ve got you.
Oh my God, Dean, she was right there. She was right there, and I- And now, she’s dead. She’s dead on our floor, Dean! He retches more, empties out the contents of his stomach, and he doesn’t think he can eat another bacon cheeseburger anytime soon.
Dean just keeps patting his back as he slumps into the cold white tiles. None of us saw it coming, Sammy. It’s not on you. No sign of the killer by the time I got to the window either. It’s fast, all right. And it’s a bullet too, probably the same gun that killed your girl, Bela.
He doesn’t feel there’s anything left to throw up, so he wipes his mouth and lets Dean help him stand despite the nausea, despite the burning bitterness of bile in his mouth. “We need to call the cops,” he rasps, staggering to the sink to rinse his mouth. It’s not safe here. We need to go.
“Go? Go where? Back to Bobby’s?”
Shit. Dean’s right. They don’t have anywhere else here, and leaving means losing his full ride. He can’t afford to drop out. It was hard enough to convince them to give an Alpha a scholarship. He won’t get another chance. He washes his face and runs wet hands through his hair. Shit. He punches the wall beside the bathroom mirror, and the pain that shoots up his arm is the most grounding sensation of all. “I don’t know. Let’s just… Let’s just call the cops.”
They step out of the bathroom, and Dean goes to the phone to do just that. He can deal with this, he tells himself; he can pull himself together. Twice in a row. Twice in a row, but watching Cassie die was so much worse than seeing Bela already dead. Oh God.
“They’re on their way,” Dean announces as he hangs up, and Sam nods, dropping into the couch. He squeezes his eyes shut briefly. The reek of death threatens to make him sick all over again.
She’d tried to escape too. If only Detective Castiel hadn’t left this afternoon.
Out of the corner of his eye then, he catches sight of her hand - halfway reaching for her necklace - the key. That’s right - the Grigori would probably want it. He extends his hand, and the chain unclasps to let it float onto his palm before clasping back and returning to its original position. He pockets the key.
“It’s safer with the Grigori,” Dean concurs.
“Yeah.” He rises shakily. He doesn’t think he can take the smell any longer. “I’m going into the room.”
His brother nods. “I’ll call you when the cops get here.”
Sam stares up at the ceiling, white sheets loose around his waist. Dean is sitting on his bed, staring out the window. The College of Hospitality Business runs Rauha Hotel, and the university has put them up here for the number of days the police and decontamination team, respectively, will need to investigate and clean up the crime scene, but he doesn’t know how he’s going to live in the apartment after this. They’ve spoken to the officers, given them as detailed an account of the incident as they can without disclosing that they weren’t human or the existence of the key. Dean just got off the phone with Bobby who called them idjits for sticking around, but Sam’s not leaving. If he drops out, he might not get another chance to finish college.
He’s also not sleeping.
The lights are out, but every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is Cassie, her dead eyes wide open with shock, and it doesn’t look like Dean is even trying to sleep. The room smells austere, impersonal, unlived in - as dead as the image that haunts his memory. He’d go for a walk, get some fresh air, but it doesn’t feel safe. Every dark corner looks like it could be concealing a killer, every shadow a spy.
“Oof.”
The breath is knocked from his lungs as Dean flops heavily on him in dog form with a whine, giving him the most baleful green eyes. Get some sleep, Sammy.
He sighs, burying his hands in soft golden fur. I’m trying. God knows I need to be awake in class tomorrow.
An ear perks. You’re still going to class? Oh my God, you’re so friggin’ weird.
And you’re so friggin’ heavy, he retorts, poking Dean’s sides, glad for the distraction. What have you been eating lately?
The dog swats his cheek with a paw. I haven’t gained a single pound, bitch.
Jerk, that means you need to lose a few, but the fluffy golden retriever doubles as a blanket and a body pillow, and the warm weight is comforting.
Dean used to sleep on his chest when they were little too. It made the nightmares go away. He closes his eyes, Dean nuzzles his cheek, and he lets the hint of a snore and the familiar scent lull him to sleep.
A tense, somber air has settled about Excolo University. In the wake of the string of murders, now that there are even student victims, and with the killer still at large, the police are everywhere. There are fewer people around, students from afar too terrified to stay, the locals too terrified to leave their homes. The remaining students and lecturers alike walk in groups, hurrying furtively to their destinations.
Vice President Crowley has been quoted in the papers as saying that “these are targeted hits, not random killings, according to the police. Closing won’t stop the killer,” as his reasoning for keeping the university open and running. Sam doesn’t believe it for a moment. The police have confirmed the same, but it is clear from the mostly empty classrooms that few are reassured by these statements.
Most of the faculty have accommodated by recording their lectures to be fair to the students with a keener sense of self-preservation while giving out extra credit to the ones dedicated enough to stay. Sam is grateful for both - it’s hard to focus with the little key in his pocket, and everyone can use extra credit.
The carillon begins tolling for midday as he passes the belltower by the chapel and steps out of the shade of trees into the sun. He’s done with classes for the day, meaning plenty of time for a sit-down lunch. Perhaps he can grab some Chinese t-
Abruptly, a warm hand grabs his and yanks him sideways - into the familiar scent of angel.
“Cas!” he gasps, briefly gripping the other’s arms for balance, then there’s a rush of air nearby and a sharp crack behind him.
The Grigori agent vanishes, and he whirls. No one, no angel, just an oak tree behind him, and that’s probably the crack he heard. Heart racing, he runs over for a closer look - there’s a bullet lodged in the trunk at about the height of his chest.
He could have died mere moments ago, would have if Detective Castiel hadn’t pulled him out of the way.
“She’s gone.”
He jumps as the other reappears suddenly, slumps against the tree when he sees who it is beside him. He could hug the angel in gratitude and relief, but that would be untoward, so he simply says, “Thank you. You saved my life.”
He must have sounded surprised, for the angel tilts his head. “Should I have left an innocent man to die?”
“No! I mean…” He ducks his head. This is probably going to sound presumptuous again. “Doesn’t Grigori doctrine hold that Unsanctioned lives have no value?”
“Tainted,” the other corrects absently, appearing once more to be concentrating on something very far away. “Irredeemably tainted souls don’t hold any value.”
Sam is torn between relief and trepidation - he’s not irredeemably tainted yet, meaning he still has further to fall.
Then Castiel shakes his head, brows furrowed. “I can’t track her. She’s cloaked.”
Cloaked - of course she would be. An assassin targeting non-humans would have to be. Even Bela and Cassie had been cloaked, and they were just thieves. Still… He pauses, takes a deep breath and pulls himself together, lets the strength return to his legs before stepping back and holding out his hand.
“She is,” he agrees as the bullet dislodges itself from the wood and flies into his hand.
He meets a blue gaze, eyes hard. This is personal now - his life is at risk too.
“But perhaps her weapon isn’t.”
Castiel looks from him to the shiny piece of metal in his hand and nods. “Let’s try.”
Sam focuses on the bullet as he says the words of the spell, then drops the match on the map of campus they have laid out on the hotel room's glass coffee table. The entire map burns.
Blue eyes blink at him. “It didn’t work?”
He goes to get the city map from his backpack. “Perhaps they’re not on campus.”
He opens up the city map and tries again. This time, they get a circular piece left unburnt. It’s in the residential area, southeast of where they are.
“There,” he picks up the piece of map, heading for the door. “Let’s go.”
“Wait.” Castiel takes his hand to stop him.
He turns. “What is it?”
The angel looks up at him. “This will be dangerous. You need not come with me.”
A part of him wants to say, "Now you care? You drag me into this, and now you're worried about the danger?" Another part of him thinks to insist on going along because Detective Castiel just saved his life, and now this killer really is his problem. Instead, he listens to good sense, hands the map fragment over, and says, "Okay."
To his surprise, the detective squeezes his hand before vanishing in what he’s quite sure now is a beat of feathery wings. He glances at his hand. It’s probably simple reassurance - Castiel had reacted so negatively to the kiss. He doesn’t know where he stands with Castiel - perhaps it’s the absence of suspicion now, but the angel seems different, kinder, almost affectionate at times. Sam shakes his head to clear it - he can’t forget the taste of that kiss, the sweet scent of the other’s desire, but he knows better than to think anything of it.
An angel would never be caught dead with any of the impure, let alone a former Grigori suspect.
It’d be nice though, he thinks - he probably can’t jinx an angel, at least.
He sighs, then looks around at the empty room till he catches sight of the restocked mini bar. Dean is at work, taking extra hours. Sam should be at work, but the administration building hasn’t been reopened. They can’t even cook here. At this rate, they’re going to be desperately broke dreadfully soon. He’s about to make himself a cup of coffee when another rustle of feathers heralds Castiel’s return.
At his questioning look, the detective explains, “The house is warded against angels.”
Just like Bela’s had been, but of course Bela had plenty of reason to be prepared against the Grigori. She probably expected them to show up to search her house for stolen objects at any given moment.
“All right,” he says. “Are you calling Grigori Central for back up?"
"We don't- The agent available would insist on arresting everyone involved, including you, and smiting anyone who resists."
Oh.
There’s a pause, then Castiel adds, "We won’t get to interrogate the killer if we bring in Uriel. He’s an angel too, so he won’t be able to enter the house either, but he can and will flatten it, and everything in it, with a bolt of holy lightning."
"Right." Mentally, Sam chides himself for being silly. “Is it warded against witches?” he blurts, but when his brain catches up, he realizes that the sooner they catch the killer, the sooner he can go back to his normal life, so that's fine.
“No,” but the detective looks uncomfortable and hesitates before continuing. “I can't expect a civilian to get involved, but you are the only one who will help me."
"Well, um...” He scratches his head awkwardly. “You gave me a chance when probably no other Grigori agent would.” Uriel, it seems, would have killed him just for trying to explain. “So what do I do?"
With a small smile, Castiel steps closer and reaches up to touch his brow, then the world seems to slide sideways, and they're suddenly standing in a mostly empty park facing a house with all its curtains drawn shut and no lights on inside. He reflexively grabs hold of Castiel’s shoulders to steady himself as he regains his footing (it feels a little like each part of his body arrived here a millisecond after the previous one, like he’s disjointed somehow, and he’d just been too blown away the first time to notice this sensation), but the angel's attention is focused solely on the house.
“Do you see the glowing sigils on the wall?"
He blinks at the pristine white exterior. “No?"
Castiel looks down then, seeming disappointed. “Oh. Yes. Of course. I forgot."
"Forgot?" Sam shakes his head. “Uh, okay, wait… Let me try something." He takes a deep breath to center himself, then extends his hand towards the house. “Invisitata aperi."
Suddenly, there are a lot more people around than there were only a moment ago, and the wall of the house is covered in strange symbols that glow with an unearthly blue light. The people give them a wide berth, possibly because Castiel is radiating light beside him even under the afternoon sun, and he’s glad for that. He remembers the first time he used this spell. Bobby made sure they were in a protective circle of salt, and even then, he never wanted to use it again. Some places have vengeful spirits, and those are violent, of course, but even ordinary ghosts will flock to you when they realize you can see them. He remembers clinging to Bobby, terrified, as hundreds of pale, horrific-looking people tried to reach for them from across the line of salt, begging him to listen, to help, to save them, pleasepleaseplease-
“Sam?”
Right. Focus, Sam, focus. He turns to ask the angel what to do next and gasps. He can see Castiel's wings, huge and majestic with feathers that seem to shift from black to silver depending on the angle, and they're beautiful. He’s reaching out to touch the nearest one without thinking, but his fingers pass right through though they tingle, and the wing seems to flutter.
“Sam…”
Ack. He jerks his hand back. “Sorry.” Turning back to the house and pointedly not looking at the grotesque figures staring hungrily at them, he asks, “Okay, I see them. Now what do I do?”
In the silence that follows, he glances back at Castiel in time to catch the angel looking like he wants to say something before changing his mind to settle on, “I need you to break the sigils on the wall.”
“All right. How?”
“Doesn’t matter. Just scratching a line through them will work.”
“And you couldn’t do that yourself?” he asks incredulously.
Castiel frowns, and Sam is seized by the compulsion to apologize. In hindsight, the wards wouldn’t be terribly effective if angels could just walk up to them and erase them.
“It hurts to go within a certain radius, and none of my powers will work near them,” the detective explains, and now Sam just feels like an awful person.
He ducks his head. “Right. Sorry. Uh…” He looks around for something he can use. Perhaps a sharp stone would work.
“Here,” the angel says before he can find a suitable piece, and he looks up to see the other holding out a blade like nothing he’s ever seen before. “Use this.” It’s made wholly of some kind of metal, flawlessly shiny like platinum, yet light as plastic when he takes it in his hand. Castiel seems reluctant to let it go, however - he hesitates before releasing it and retracting his hand. Perhaps letting someone else, someone impure, use it is forbidden, taints the blade somehow in some identifiable way.
“Okay,” he’ll try to make this quick then. It’s probably safer not to go any nearer, so he moves it to the wall with his mind and uses it to etch a thin groove through a row of sigils. It’s easier than he expected - the blade is extremely sharp. The row he’s stricken out stops glowing, and he quickly gets to work on the rest. The blade flies back into his hand when he’s done, and he turns to hand it back, only to have the other take a big step back out of range, staring warily at it.
Oh. Oh. He’s floored suddenly. Humbled and touched. “Thank you.” He turns the blade to offer it hilt first. “For trusting me,” of all people, with a blade that can kill angels.
Castiel takes it and turns towards the house, then halts. “You’re welcome.” He seems to hesitate before looking back and meeting Sam’s eyes. “I… have seen into your soul, Sam Winchester. You are…” He searches for the correct word. “…beautiful. It is how I know you are innocent. The sin of murder is one that taints the soul irreversibly.”
Sam stares into sincere blue eyes, stunned. Him? Beautiful? He opens his mouth, but no words come.
Fortunately, he is spared from potentially embarrassing himself by the detective vanishing, presumably into the house. In the absence of the angel’s light, the surrounding figures whirl on him, and he quickly mumbles, “Paueto,” as he backs into the nearest tree. Birch, it smells like. They disappear as the magic is dispelled, and he sighs in relief. No salt circle this time, and he doesn’t want to know what that’s like.
“I gotta hand it you, finding me out here so quickly.”
He whirls, looking for the source of the voice behind him. A blonde steps out from behind a few trees, tapping a dagger on her palm. She’s wearing a dark red leather jacket and form-fitting black leather pants, and in a matching black leather holster on her right hip, there is a gun. It doesn’t take more than an instant to put it together.
“You!” He backs away from her, looking for some form of defense, some way to protect himself. He can’t panic, not now. “What’s your deal? Why are you killing people?”
She grins. “Just doing my job.”
Shit. There’s no cover in this park of sparse trees and open space. “So now you’re here to finish it?”
“Calm down.” She chuckles, flips her long wavy hair over her shoulder. “If I were, we wouldn’t be standing here talking.”
No, she’s right. She could have shot him as soon as Castiel left. “So why aren’t you?”
“Because you’re tall. I love a tall man. And then there’s that bit about you having something I want.”
“Something you want?” He scoffs. “Like what? I’m having trouble just getting enough food for next week.”
The assassin steps closer, and he catches a whiff of sulphur in the air as his blood pounds in his ears. Perhaps he can get a spell off before she can shoot him, exorcise her before she can kill any more people. No, an exorcism would take too long. He’d never complete it in time. His heart races. There must be something.
“Yeah, I could kill for some fries, but I’m a patient girl. I can wait. So here’s the thing, tall, dark and handsome. I get a target, I off him, I think it’ll be a sweet vacation till my next job, but no. The next day, I get a new target. Fine. I off her, then her dog sees me, so I have to put the dog down.”
He keeps backing away, closer to the house, closer to Castiel. Maybe the angel will see him; maybe he’ll come help. Only a seasoned assassin could talk so casually about killing people, like she was just ticking some checkboxes on a standard form.
“Next thing I know, I get another target. Three in a row, all from the same employer, but separately. Like they didn’t know they wanted you dead till the last one was. So I did a little digging of my own. Word on the street tells me they want something, something that should have fallen into their hands when the targets died, but didn’t. So now, they know it’s with you.”
“They? Who’s they?”
“I don’t know.”
He arches a disbelieving eyebrow as he backs through the gate into the house’s front yard.
“I honestly don’t know. It’s an anonymous industry. Anyway, if I kill you now, your dog is just going to give that prize to your angelic boyfriend in there, which means a no-win for everybody. So how about it? You give me what you snitched from our late sister’s pet, I let you live, and everybody goes home happy?”
“What I-”
“Aaghh!!!”
The killer glows as she’s stabbed from behind and crumples, sliding off a blade to the ground with a sick squelch to reveal Castiel standing behind her, expressionless. He can’t look away from the unnatural position her body is frozen in as her gun and dagger fly into the detective’s hands. Wide-eyed and skin clammy with cold sweat, staccato breaths loud in the deathly silence, he scurries back as the angel advances on him. Seeing Sam’s terror, Castiel stops, and his blade seems to vanish with a flick of his wrist.
“Sam?”
He flinches, and the other’s expression grows chagrined.
“I apologize. You shouldn’t have had to see that.”
The Grigori are killers too, efficient and ruthless. He’d heard, of course, but to see it- And the stench of sulphur and blood all around. Again. Again. He stumbles, but doesn’t fall. Castiel is holding him up with a firm grip on his upper arms, and when he blinks, he’s back in his hotel room.
Oh God.
The flying amplifies his nausea, and it’s too much. He clamps a hand over his mouth and jerks away to dash into the bathroom, then he’s retching violently into the toilet bowl again, only his stomach is empty this time, so it’s straight burning bile and water, and now that the shock has passed, he feels hopelessly pathetic. If only it were true that Alphas had stronger stomachs - perhaps it is, and he’s the exception. When nothing more will come up, when even dry heaving takes too much energy, he wipes his mouth, sits on the marble floor with his back to the cold wall and closes his eyes, hating the déjà vu.
“I’m sorry.”
He cracks open an eye. The detective is standing at the entrance to the bathroom, his eyes trained on the floor with a look of deep regret.
“I feared she was going to kill you, that my carelessness in leaving you alone out there would prove fatal.”
He feels bad too - he hadn’t meant to react so poorly; he knows Castiel wouldn’t hurt him. “I thought you wanted to interrogate her.” His voice comes out weak and hoarse.
Castiel shakes his head, still not looking at him. “She’s a demon assassin. Even if she knew anything, nothing we could do would make her spill. Her weapons are enough to prove she killed Edward Hazel, Bela Talbot and Cassie Robinson. And I’d already extracted enough from the one inside.”
“Inside?”
The angel hesitates. “You called him Brady.”
He stiffens.
Brady, his classmate twice last year, dead. They’d even worked on a few assignments together. He’d never thought… well. He doesn’t want to think about Castiel interrogating the Beta to death.
“I’m sorry,” Castiel says again. “He was a demon. I know not since when, but the human you knew, if indeed you met him, was long dead.”
He doesn’t know which is worse, but he only takes long, deep breaths to pull himself together. He can’t focus on that, not now when his life is at stake. “I saw him just the day before. He was walking with Vice President Crowley and a blonde I didn’t recognize.”
Here, the detective finally looks at him. “He said got his orders from, in his words, ‘some bitch who thinks she’s better than everyone else just because she’s some big shot’s daughter.’ Perhaps that is the girl you speak of? He honestly didn’t know where to find her, however, so it may be that she finds him.”
He nods. “And Vice President Crowley?”
“He didn’t say. But he did reveal that he has been looking for a book and a key. For what or whom, he didn’t know. He also doesn’t know who else is after the same, but he’s positive they exist.”
The key! That’s right! With everything that had been going on, he’d forgotten all about it!
He climbs to his feet unsteadily, and the other steps back, gives him a wide berth. “I forgot to tell you.” He leans against the wall for support and digs around in his jeans pocket. “Here.” He drops the small, ornate metal key into Castiel’s hand when the angel approaches. “Cassie, Bela’s familiar? Before she…” He swallows, steels himself, presses on. “She brought this to us, looking for you. She thought Bela was killed for this, too. And just now, the assassin, she said I had something she wanted. Maybe this is it; this is the key. And Bela was quite sure the book was in the library’s Special Collections room. That’s why she was there. But she had to leave before she could find it, and… well.”
The angel looks down at the piece of metal in his hand, inspecting it closely. “You were wise to keep this for me, Sam.” He looks up, meeting olive eyes. “You said Special Collections?”
Staring at the many shelves of books in Special Collections storage, Sam realizes that the one-way glass wall isn’t even that. Unlike the rest of the library, it’s been boarded up to preserve the collection - the lighting, temperature and humidity in the room is controlled. It just made no difference to the charm he used on the sunglasses.
“I hope it is uncommon for books to take keys,” Castiel says quietly at his side.
“It is,” Sam assures him, but that’s still way too many books to search. “Could I borrow the key for a moment?”
The angel doesn’t hesitate to hand it over, and he focuses on it as he fishes his pendulum out of his pocket, asking it to lead him to the key’s match. After several moments, the green gem swings to the upper left, and he follows the direction it indicates past several shelves as the pendulum slowly shifts to point due left. Now that they’ve found the right shelf, Sam and Castiel decide to search through the books one row at a time. Realizing that the detective can’t reach the top two rows, Sam begins from the top right and Castiel from the bottom left. Sam makes a mental note to request some books from here someday - there are so many rare books he wants to read among this collection.
When they meet in the middle, they nearly bump into each other, and Sam is suddenly overwhelmed by that exquisite scent in their proximity.
Shit. He nearly trips over himself backing away, and all but runs to the end of the row to resume his search before the detective can ask him what’s wrong. Dean would say he needs to get laid. Or at least clean the pipes. But the former might get someone killed, and the latter… if he gives in to the fantasy, things will only get more awkward. It’s not a good idea.
Just then, his cellphone buzzes. It’s Dean. “Got Chinese for dinner,” reads the text, and he grins. Just as well he missed lunch then. Then he realizes it’s six.
“What is it?” Castiel asks quietly from beside him, and he nearly jumps.
“I need to get back,” he says, turning to face the other as he slips his phone back into his pocket. Dean needs to know everything that’s happened, that some people believe they have something worth killing for, and he’ll be upset if dinner gets cold now that they don’t have a microwave.
The angel doesn’t question it. “I will take you there then and return here to continue searching.”
He nods, and Castiel touches his brow lightly, then they’re back in his hotel room, and Dean jumps.
“Jesus, Sammy!”
They appeared right behind him, and he whirls on them.
“What’s he doing here?”
Castiel opens his mouth to answer, but Sam hurriedly interjects with, “He saved my life, Dean.”
That makes Dean take a second. “What the hell?”
“The assassin that killed Cassie?” He smiles thinly. “She tried to kill me today.”
This seems to spur his brother into motion. “Okay, that’s it. Bobby’s right. This is nuts.” He goes around grabbing things and shoving them into a duffle. “Pack up, Sammy. We’re getting the hell out of dodge.”
“No, wait, wait. She’s dead, Dean.”
The blond stops. “What?”
“He killed her.” Sam tilts his head towards Castiel who nods in confirmation.
There’s a long pause, then, “Okay.” Dean sets the bag down and goes to unpack their dinner. “Okay, you’re telling me everything.”
“So if we run, they will come after us,” he finishes, swallowing a spoonful of beef lo mein.
There’s a beat of silence before Dean replies, “Or you’re just saying that because not dropping out of college is more important than your life.”
Sam opens his mouth to retort, but Castiel beats him to it. “No, your brother is right. Demons will not rest just because you’ve left this town.” To be honest, Sam’s a little surprised Castiel stayed through the whole story after saying he’d just drop Sam off earlier.
“You know what?” Dean turns on the detective. “No comments from the peanut gallery.”
Castiel squints, confused. “What is a peanut gallery?”
Instead of explaining, Dean points an accusing finger. “You dragged Sammy into this mess, so you get him out of it, you hear me?”
Sam pinches the bridge of his nose. “D-”
“No, you don’t get a vote on this.”
“I will try,” Castiel promises solemnly, rising. “After today, they will know that the Grigori are involved. I will keep the key and continue searching for the book to solve this case. I pray that this leads the perpetrators away from you.” Then he vanishes, presumably to return to the library.
Dean crosses his arms, looking pleased with himself, and turns to Sam. “And you stay out of this, got it?”
Sam sighs as he stands, rolling his eyes and getting his Philosophy textbook from his backpack before stretching out on his bed to open it. “I didn’t want in to begin with.”
Navigation:
Prologue
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2
Chapter 3 | Chapter 4
Epilogue