Alexandria (Chapter 4 of 13)
Please see the masterpost for warnings, summary, and previous chapters.
“Damn! You got a lot further than I thought.”
Dean dropped his pack in front of Castiel, who was sitting on a pile of rocks. He had removed his suit jacket and put it over his head. Unwrapping the bottom of his keffiyeh, Dean dug around in his pack and removed a jug of water, he proffered to Castiel. The bladesmith remained stubbornly motionless.
“Did you even bring any water? Look, you need to drink this, unless you think I can carry you back.”
Castiel glared.
“Cas, look,” said Dean, sitting down opposite with a sigh and taking a good drink of water. He wiped his mouth with a sleeve.
“My name … is Castiel.” His voice was the rasp a door makes when you don't remember to oil the hinges.
Dean shook his head. “I'm sorry. Okay? Things between us and Lucifer's crew … they're dicey right now. I had to get you out of there.”
“Virgil was spying!”
“Yeah. I know.”
Castiel stared at him. “You knew?”
“Yeah. He took off with them, by the way. He's gone.”
“Oh.”
“We guess he headed out with their crew when they left.” Dean handed over the water jug once again, and Castiel, letting the jacket fall from over his head and onto his shoulders, took a sip. “Look, I'm sorry. But I didn't think they'd pick up on who you were like that. I thought-”
“You thought I was my father.”
“Yeah. And you're not. You're a just kid.”
“I'm not a child.”
“Cas. We didn't wanna make things dangerous for you. I didn't wanna make things dangerous.”
“You failed.”
“Well. Yeah. But you're lucky. They might have found you before we did.”
“And what? I would have made swords for them? My trade?”
“Cas, you don't understand. I know Crowley is annoying as shit. But Lucifer? He'd chain you in the dungeon and have you at the forge until you died of exhaustion.”
“So you admit I'm a bladesmith?” He took another long swig of water as Dean fumbled in his backpack again.
Dean tossed him an orange. “Heard you like these.” Cas caught it. He hungrily tore it in half and raised the fruit to his lips. He devoured it like he had never tasted anything so delicious. “So, you think you could make us some swords?”
Cas picked some pith from between his teeth. “No.”
Dean threw up his hands in exasperation. “Wait. What?”
“What you are asking is for me to make you quality weapons. I cannot do that. Not with the materials you have at hand.”
“What do we need?”
“Your steel is shit. Weapons made from shit are still shit, no matter how much magic you apply. This is Lucifer's mistake.”
“What do we need? Tell me. I'll get it for you.”
Cas’s head lolled to the side, like an inquisitive puppy. “I need good Damascus steel. It's the only kind.”
“All right. We'll get it.”
Castiel wiped orange juice from his mouth. “How the hell will you do that?”
Dean grinned. “Remember, I have friends in low places.”
“Benny?” Castiel's eyes lit up.
“You met Captain Lafitte on the way over.” Dean shifted to sit next to Castiel on the outcropping. When Castiel did not object, he leaned over close and untangled the unholy mess Castiel had made of his tie. He pulled it off and tossed it in the bag.
“Benny said....”
“What did he say?”
“He said he'd ask about my brothers.”
Dean looked pained. “Sam told me you had brothers.”
“Inias and Samandriel. My younger brothers. I'm- I’m really worried about them, Dean.”
“You have a brother, Sam, too?” muttered Dean. Cas’s eyes were getting watery, and Dean found he longed to put a an arm around his shoulders. “Yeah, well.... All right, you might as well know this. It was Benny that let us know Metatron was moving in on your territory. Metatron, he has a history. He's been taking over weapons shops all over the North. That's why it's getting hard for us to get armaments out here. We don't have anyone here who's got the skills and the magic.”
“I didn't know that. I usually don't pay attention to that kind of stuff.” He squinted at Dean. “You thought.... You thought you were protecting me?”
“Yeah, that's what we thought. We fucked up. Major league.”
Castiel nodded, absorbing what Dean had told him, although he felt a little light-headed from the sun. “Look, how about we get you back to the outpost?” Dean asked softly. “You could maybe relax for a while.”
Castiel got to his feet, although he found he was a little shaky. “I missed my shift on prep. Crowley will not be pleased.”
“Crowley can fuck himself,” said Dean. He had grabbed another scarf from his pack and was tying it around Castiel's head. “Besides, you're out of the kitchen. I want you on patrol.”
Cas blinked as Dean fixed the knot underneath his chin. “I'm not a soldier, Dean.”
“No, I know that. I'll put you with some good guys. Don't worry. I just think you need to see what we're up against.” Having satisfied himself that Castiel's keffiyeh was straight, he doffed his jacket and handed it over.
“That's your jacket, Dean.”
“Yeah, I know it's my fucking jacket. Put it on. You'll sunburn right through that shirt.”
Castiel held the jacket, but hesitated.
“You're in my patrol now,” Dean said softly. “That's an order.”
Cas let the suit jacket fall from his shoulders and donned instead Dean's jacket, was a little too big for him. Dean pulled it tight and smiled. “Is it far?” Castiel asked.
“Hey, you should have thought of that before you started walking! But no, if we go by the most direct route, maybe an hour.”
Castiel looked crestfallen. “Only an hour?”
Dean chuckled. “Yeah, you obviously need help with this desert survival thing. Come on.”
“No bladesmith. And no chef,” grumbled Lucifer as he and Uriel marched down the corridor towards his office. “Virgil, our spy, was compromised. And my fucking hamburger was cold.”
“Sorry I missed it,” said Uriel.
“Worst day of my life,” muttered Lucifer, opening his office door to find a stunning redhead sitting in his chair, her boots up on his desk. “Who in hell are you?”
The woman, who was busily applying a string of dental floss to her molars, signaled to wait. She then expertly balled up the floss and batted it into the waste basket. “Sorry, boss, those blueberry tarts were hell on my enamel.”
“What blueberry tarts?”
“The ones on the platter,” she said, indicating a plate on Lucifer’s desk now contained only crumbs. “I assumed they were to share.”
Lucifer had a glint of murder in his eyes. “Like I said, who are you?”
“Abaddon. Your new psychic. Since you broke the last one.” She shot a derisive glance at him.
“That was Lilith's fault,” sulked Lucifer. “I'm not going to take the blame for that.”
“Well, we're gonna do things my way this time,” said Abaddon, swinging her feet down and standing up. “Follow me,” she added, brushing past them out of the office.
Lucifer lunged at her, pushing her up against the wall, his sword at her throat. “Understand this. Nobody talks to me like that.”
Abaddon grinned and pointed down, where she had a stiletto at his belly. “Wanna dance?” she asked.
Lucifer released his grip.
Uriel's own hand was on his hilt. “But-”
“Let's get lost,” said Abaddon, breezing out of the office.
“I like this one,” Lucifer whispered to Uriel. He hurried after Abaddon, and Uriel hastened after them. They walked down to the room Lilith had recently used. The floor around the table was now covered in markings.
Abaddon stood, hands on hips. “All right, so ground rules, since I don't wanna end up taking my meals through a straw. See this circle on the floor? When we're chatting with Metatron, you do not break the circle, you do not step outside the circle.
Uriel leaned over and looked at the bowl in the center of the table. It was filled with what looked like blue-tinged water. “That isn't virgin's blood.”
“Red didn't go with my outfit.”
“What is it?” Uriel persisted.
“Whiskey. And blue curacao. Now, let's sit down and talk turkey with Metatron.”
Lucifer nodded to Uriel, and they sat down across the table, being mindful not to disturb any of the sigils scrawled on the floor. They joined hands, and the liquid rose to form an Onyx fort. But quite unlike the last time Lucifer had been scrying, the image of the fort retreated from view in a leisurely manner, and then traveled deliberately across the wastelands and over the sea. Unlike Lilith, Abaddon was keeping her eyes open, and directing her gaze deliberately towards the image in the bowl.
They came upon Metatron, once again, amongst his odd book formations. Even through the odd blue image, he appeared flustered. “What's going on. Lucifer?” This wasn't Abaddon talking this time though: the voice instead seemed to be in Lucifer's head. He nodded to Uriel, who was evidently hearing it too.
“Yes. Hello Metatron,” said Lucifer, glancing at Abaddon, who actually winked.
“What's going on?”
“New psychic.” Lucifer winked back. “You wanted to talk?”
“Yes, you idiots. Where were you?”
“At dinner. At the Red Fort. As you suggested, remember?”
“You were supposed to bring back the bladesmith!”
“Didn't get him this time. Next time.”
“What do you mean next time? He was in the desert. Why didn't you go after him?”
Lucifer looked at Uriel, who shrugged. “What the hell was he doing in the desert, anyway?”
Metatron huffed.
“Metatron,” said Uriel.
“What is it, parrot?”
Uriel frowned. “This parrot would like some backstory.”
Metatron actually sat down his book. “All right. What do you know about Alexandria?”
Uriel and Lucifer exchanged a look.
When they returned, Castiel's things had already been moved upstairs to another, smaller dormitory. Although Castiel was a little disappointed that he wasn't able to greet Kevin and Garth, he was also relieved at not having to face Crowley. He kicked off his shoes, and was asleep as soon as his face met the pillow.
He had some very strange dreams, about creatures that seemed part bug, and part octopus. Even in his sleep, he thought his brother Samandriel would be intrigued. He woke up refreshed, but with an ache in his heart.
After a meal (he wasn't precisely certain whether it counted as breakfast or lunch) and a long shower (where once again he was truly impressed by the water pressure, and also discovered that he was sunburnt, although not as badly as he had feared) he found his way upstairs, to the same area on the roof where he had met Bobby Singer the first day.
A bald, dark-skinned man immediately walked up to him, his hand outstretched. “You're Cas?”
“Um, yes. I'm Castiel. Cas.”
“Victor. Good to meet you. And that's Ash,” he said, pointing to a grinning man sitting on the parapet. “He's fucked up in the head, but he's all right.”
“Uh. Hello, Ash.”
“Hey, Wings!” said Ash, who hopped down and came over. In contrast to Victor, Ash had an elaborately-styled mop of reddish hair.
“I'm sorry?” said Castiel.
“De Angelus, correct?” asked Ash. “I figure you're our guardian angel.”
“I'm a.... I'm a bladesmith, actually.”
“You made your sidearm?” asked Ash, pointing to Castiel's sword. Castiel had figured since he was out of Crowley's domain it was now all right to bring it along. As both men seemed curious about it, he extracted it from the scabbard and presented it to Victor, who made a great show of sighting down the blade while Ash hovered nearby.
“Nice. Damn,” said Victor. “You made this?” he asked, handing it over to Ash.
“Holy sweet Mama! Can you make another?” Ash danced around with the blade, feinting left and right. “Can you make two? Can you be my new best friend?”
Castiel looked over at Victor, who rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Ash. We're in the presence of company, man. Be normal for five fucking seconds.”
“Normal is boring!” said Ash, handing Castiel back his sword. “Wanna hit the road?” Without waiting for an answer, Ash began to saunter away.
“Like I said, he's fucked in the head. But he's all right,” Victor whispered to Castiel. “So, are you going to secure us some new weaponry?” he asked as they reached a back stairway Castiel hadn't noticed before. “The armaments we've been getting - less than satisfactory.”
“I've requested the procurement of some new materials,” Castiel told him.
“They're gonna have Benny steal 'em!” Ash shot back, and then he disappeared around a bend.
“Won't be the first time,” chuckled Victor. “Besides, who needs good blade steel more than us? We're doing the Lord's work, if you ask me.”
“Fighting the Enemy?”
Victor snorted. “Yeah. Them. And Lucifer.”
“I met Lucifer.”
“I'm sorry. Ash and me, we were out on patrol during the banquet.”
“On purpose?” Castiel guessed.
“I don't mix well with that crowd. Oh, here we go.” They had reached the ground level, but Ash was still nowhere in sight.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a great beast came roaring into view. Terrified, Castiel flung himself back against the wall as the behemoth squealed to a stop.
A panel opened somewhere near the front, and Ash popped out. “Cas. Dude. Don't tell me you never seen a car before?”
“A … what?” asked Castiel, who was still shaking.
“You were born and raised in the North, right?” Victor asked.
“Yes.”
“Ash, he's never seen a car before.”
“Well, hot damn! You're in for a treat. This here is a Dodge Challenger. An automotive marvel from the time before the Flood.” He proudly patted the fender. The beast was still making a noise, but it was more like a purring sound than the dull roar it had when it was in motion.
“A car? Is this metal?” Castiel asked, putting a tentative hand on the hood. It was warm!
“Internal combustion,” said Victor. “Ash?” Ash tugged at something inside the car, and there was a click. Victor put his hand beneath a front panel and tugged. A large metal plate raised up, and the noise suddenly got a lot louder. His chariness overcome by curiosity, Castiel peered over the fender with Victor at the humming marvel housed beneath the hood. “We have access to petroleum products here,” Victor shouted. “Oil and gasoline. Keeps this bugger running.”
Castiel drew back and now walked the length of the car. There were pipes beneath the back wheels that let out a foul-smelling gas. “This car makes emissions, doesn't it?”
Victor smiled. “Hey, smart kid.” He let the hood slam down again, somewhat muffling the sound of the motor. “Yeah, it does. And we're pretty sure it attracts the Enemy. Either the noise or the smoke, we're not sure. So when you're out, we keep to the roads, and it’s best not to stay too long in one place.”
Castiel nodded, now completely intrigued. Victor showed him how to operate the handle on the back door, so he slipped inside, and Ash took off. Castiel was immediately grateful that he had been placed in one of the back seats, as the sense of vertigo was incredible. The desert seemed to fly by.
“Now,” Victor told him, “usually we have a set area to patrol, but Dean says he wants you to see one of them. So we're heading out to an area where we've ascertained recent activity.”
Castiel watched the desert slip by, desperately grasping the seat in front of him. “Sam told me that they're difficult to spot.”
“Not with my little secret baiting machine!” said Ash, hitting the gas pedal. They were just over a rut in the road, and Castiel nearly hit the ceiling.
“Aw, you didn't bring that stupid motor thing, did you?” asked Victor.
“Sure as fuck did. I invented it!”
“I thought Dean invented it?”
“Well,” Ash conceded, “maybe we both invented it.”
“I heard it nearly got Sam and Dean both killed!”
“Aw, they were obviously using it wrong.”
“Well, you are nowhere near my ass when you put that thing out.” Victor puffed air through his cheeks. “If their father had seen this….”
“John? Not likely.” Ash and Victor exchanged a glance.
“Sam and Dean's father?” asked Cas. In truth, his neck was getting tired from all the back and forth between these two, but the kitchen staff occasionally mentioned John Winchester with a sort of reverence usually reserved for the dead, and Castiel was curious.
Ash shook his head, so Victor answered. “John took it pretty bad when he lost his wife.”
“She is dead, then?”
“Yeah. It's been almost twenty years now.” Victor shook his head at the memory. “I was just a cadet at the time. There was a raid. It was unsuccessful, we beat them back. But not before Mary was killed. John was off on patrol. He was convinced that Lucifer was behind it, but the thing was, there wasn't any proof.”
“But Dean still invites Lucifer to dinner?”
“There’s only six outposts. We've all gotta get along, at some level.”
Ash was staring up ahead. “She was a magic user. Mary.”
“Yeah, that's right,” said Victor. “That might be why we can't get a bladesmith worth a damn. After Mary died - she was trying to protect herself with magic, and Dean saw the whole thing, poor kid - John decided that spells were bullshit, and I think he convinced Dean of the same.”
Cas put his elbows over the back of the seat. “You need magic to forge the best blades.”
“Well, you'd think that would be obvious. But there's no convincing John. He's even more hard-headed than his sons.”
Cas was thoughtful. “You said six forts? I thought there were seven? The Seven Sisters?”
“Originally it was seven. One was lost.”
“Lost? How do you lose an entire fortification?”
Victor shrugged. “The Sapphire Fort. It’s mentioned in all the records, but then the mentions stop.”
“It’s another bullshit legend,” Ash volunteered. “Like a bug’s hoard.”
“If you say so,” Victor told him. “I’ve seen a lot of weird stuff out here. A lot of weird stuff.”
Ash finally stopped the car on an overlook over a rather featureless plain. Castiel and Victor took out a pair of binoculars to survey the field while Ash pulled something from the trunk. It looked, to Castiel, like a smaller version of the Challenger's motor. Ash also fished out a can of gasoline and filled the reservoir, and then he clicked a switch and pulled a cord, and the thing sputtered to life and began to rumble and belch an acrid black smoke.
“Will you shut that damn thing down, Ash? I don't want it anywhere near me!”
“Aw, chickenshit.” But Ash clicked another switch, and the motor quieted. He slung it over his back. “I'm gonna head down and find a good spot.”
“You set it down and you get yourself right back up here, understood?” Victor told him. “That shit is dangerous.” Ash shrugged and walked down the hillside.
Castiel continued to scan the area with Victor's binoculars. “Ash's machine attracts the Enemy?”
“Yeah, at least that's what happened to the Winchesters. You ask me those boys are just magnets for the weird. But that's just my opinion. There's a theory the Enemy is attracted to gas engines, like I told you. There's also those that say rhythmic noises are enough.
“Like a motor?”
“Yeah.”
“Or … somebody walking?”
Victor nodded. “Like Dean said, you're a sharp kid.”
“Dean said that?”
Victor grinned.
“So what is that down there?” asked Castiel, pointing to one of the few features of the featureless landscape.
Victor focused the binoculars. “Oh, that was where somebody tried to dig a well. Folks do crazy things for water around here. Hundreds of meters deep, but it looks like they gave up.”
“Do the Enemy need water?”
“That's a damned good question.”
Castiel waited a beat. “And?”
“No fucking idea. Damn, what is taking Ash so long?” Victor jumped up on a pile of rocks and shouted down. “Ash, dammit! Place the thing and get the fuck out of there.”
Ash turned around and waved his middle finger at Victor, and then just kept on walking.
“Asshole,” grumbled Victor.
“You don't have, uh, what seems, um, military....”
“You mean we don't respect our superior officers?” laughed Victor. “Naw, kid. Anybody out doing this has an appropriate level of regard for our officers. I'm technically Bobby's second in command, but I don't mind telling the old bastard to go fuck himself, and he'd do the same for me. You want respect, get a dog.”
Castiel heard a low sound and looked back down to the plain. Ash had finally located a good spot, and now sat fiddling with his engine. It sputtered and died once, and then again.
“He needs to quit fucking with that thing and get back up here. I'm gonna yell at him in a minute.”
“What's that over there?”
“Where do you mean?” Victor trained the binoculars in the general direction Castiel was pointing. “Might be dust... Oh fuck!”
Down below, Ash cried out in victory as his motor hummed to life.
Meanwhile, off in the distance, the desert buckled and threw up a cloud of dust. The pattern of disruption was slow and steady. And it was headed right towards where Ash now stood.
“Ash! Get out of there NOW!” Victor screamed, waving his hands towards the trail of what was undoubtedly an Enemy creature tunneling towards him.
Down below, Ash turned and did a double take. And then he began running away. But in his panic, he did not run back towards the hill and safety, but rather at a course directly parallel to it.
“Shit,” whispered Victor. “No, asshole! Up here!” he thundered. He looked to Castiel, and then the car. “I gotta get down there. Cas, stay here, I'll take the car.”
“No, I have an idea,” said Castiel. Before Victor could object, he grabbed a coil of rope, tossed it over his shoulder and started running down the hill. But he didn't run towards Ash: instead, he ran towards the humming motor. The creature had swerved to intersect Ash, attracted, Cas reckoned, by the rhythm of his running feet. He heard the car roar to life and speed away as he ran.
He skidded to the bottom and made for the machine, making sure to pound his feet as loudly as possible. He grabbed the running motor and, without stopping to turn it off, started running towards the empty well, praying that it hadn't been capped off with something like concrete. The motor was heavy and slowed him down. He chanced a look back and gulped. Whatever it was had changed course and was now heading along after him. Well, he told himself, that's what you wanted, wasn't it?
He heard in the distance the roar of the Challenger: Victor had made it down. Hopefully he would swing around and rescue Ash. Though his lungs ached, he sprinted the last few meters for the empty well and found to his relief just a rotting wood plank capping it off. He tore off the plank, and tied one end of the rope and lowered the motor down the well as fast as he could, hand over hand. The dust storm kicked up by the tunneling creature was getting drawing nearer: within a few hundred meters now. It had looked like a frail smoke trail up from the overlook, but now he could see it was at least the width of several cars. Finally the motor must have hit bottom, because the weight was off his hands.
Every instinct told him to run, but instead he forced himself to do a strange dance away from the well, stepping and then sliding and then skipping - anything to break up the rhythm. He wanted the thing to get the motor, not him. Closing in, a few yards, he finally let himself run and then threw himself into a leap, falling face down on the ground.
The well creaked, and then there was a groan, and then, suddenly the whole well structure sunk beneath the desert floor as the bottom had dropped out of the earth. Castiel rolled onto his back and gawped. There was now a small crater where the well had been.
He carefully stood up and brushed himself off. The ground trembled. And then it shook.
And then the bottom dropped out. Castiel reached around, desperate for some purchase. He grabbed a rock and held on for all he was worth.
At last, the shaking stopped. He blinked. There was now a very large crater centered around the place where the well used to stand. He was clinging to the side, about twenty feet down. He shifted somewhat, and a rock near his feet went sliding down and down and down and down, to wherever the bottom might be.
He heard a familiar rumble up ahead and, trying desperately not to disturb the rock he was clinging to, looked up to the rim of the crater.
“You took my only rope, asshole!” Victor called down from the car.
“I got a tow cable,” Ash shouted. “Let's lower it.”
“You go out once - once! - and you almost get killed?”
Castiel, who was currently sitting on top of Dean's desk, winced, though not from Dean's comment. Sam, who was now perched in his brother's chair, was contentedly bandaging a large cut on Castiel's arm, and he had prefaced it with a big splash of alcohol.
“Want some?” Sam held up the bottle and smiled.
Castiel grabbed the bottle and downed a good gulp of whiskey. He wiped his mouth. “I didn't get to see one. But I did get to witness a tow cable in use.” He felt Dean’s hand on his face.
“Cas. Dammit. Try not to die!”
“You look concerned, Dean.”
“He's been freaking ever since he heard,” Sam chuckled. Castiel wasn't quite certain why Dean’s brother seemed to be enjoying this so much.
“I'm gonna kill Victor,” said Dean.
“It wasn't Victor's doing,” Castiel told him. “I myself determined to save Ash.”
“Ash is an idiot! He can save himself.”
“If he's an idiot, wouldn't he require help?”
“Don't be logical!”
Castiel looked to Sam for confirmation, but Sam only grinned. “I don't think what you need for this situation is my swords, Dean. I think Sam is right.”
Sam puffed up. “Of course I'm right.”
“I think these creatures require more study.”
Dean had started pacing, furious. “Well, the thing is, see, I'm not a fucking scientist. I'm a soldier! I hunt bugs and I kill them. That's what I do.”
“You gonna tell him the good news?” Sam asked, as he finished taping the bandage.
“What good news?” Dean grumbled. Sam snorted and shook his head, making the face Castiel was beginning to recognize as “My brother is the dumbest human being on the planet.” “Oh, yeah!” Dean finally said. “We have a visitor.”
“Hello, friend!” came a call from the doorway.
Castiel found himself wrapped in a back-breaking hug. “Benny!” he coughed, when once again he was able to breathe.
“Don't break my bladesmith,” Dean chided, reaching out his hand. Benny shook it while madly patting Dean on the back.
“Bladesmith? I'm here to take him on as second mate!”
“I'm sorry, but I won't go for less than first mate,” Castiel told him.
Benny rocked with laughter. “I can't never tell if you're being funny, friend.”
“Tell us the news,” said Dean.
“Well, I got you a little something. Seems there were some folks taking a whole lot of Damascus steel to Metatron, and, well, that ain't right, he been naughty this year. I was thinkin’ maybe Santa Claus needs to divert this to some nice kids.”
“Damascus steel,” said Castiel, savoring the words.
Benny eyed Castiel. “You didn't forget your promise now, did you?”
Castiel stood tall. “You will have your sword.”
“After my sword,” Dean interjected.
“No, Benny gets precedence.”
“What the hell? Who just put whiskey on your cuts?”
“Sam did,” Castiel reasonably pointed out.
“Whiskey?” asked Benny. Sam grabbed the bottle and handed it over. Benny looked at the label. “Kid, didn't nobody tell you not to drink spirits older than yourself?” he said approvingly.
“There's no liquor on earth older than you, Benny,” said Dean.
“That might just be true.”
“How old are you, Benny?” Castiel asked.
“Well,” said the vampire, sitting down next to Castiel. “It was up to eight hundred before I stopped counting.”
“Wow.”
“And for a vamp, I'm just a pup!”
“And,” Cas leaned forward. “What about my brothers?”
“So, there's good news and bad news there, kid. They were taken alive, that's clear. But they ain't in Lawrence no more.”
Castiel was silent. “Where were they taken? Did you find out, Benny?” Dean asked.
“I heard tell it was some place to the east.”
“Alexandria?” asked Castiel.
“What?”
Castiel reached into his pants pocket and withdrew the crumpled piece of paper he now always kept there. Dean grabbed it and straightened it out. “It was in my bag. I think maybe my brother put it there before he left.”
“I don't think that's where they'd take 'em, Cas,” said Dean.
“Are you sure, Dean?” asked Cas, who looked disappointed.
“Guys, are you thinking about the big picture here?” asked Sam. “If Metatron wants Alexandria...?”
“That's getting ambitious,” Dean finished.
“Told you boys he's one greedy little motherfucker,” said Benny.
Dean made a low sound in his throat - it sounded a lot like a growl - and turned to his brother. “Well, for now, he's on the other side of an ocean. We gotta think of the Enemy.”
“And Lucifer,” Sam added.
“It means armaments. Cas,” Dean said, turning around again. “I know it's a lot to ask.”
“I have Damascus steel. Show me to your forge. I'll make blades.”
“Oh, mama!” said Benny, rubbing his hands together. “I can see it already.” He held one hand behind his back and pretended to fence.
“You're okay then?” Dean asked Castiel. “I know it’s not great news about your brothers, but we’ll keep looking, right?” Benny nodded.
Castiel stood. “I would prefer to be occupied. I am eager to return to my trade. Where is your forge?”
Dean stood as well and, with a quick nod to Benny and Sam, escorted Castiel out of his office.
Benny invited himself to sit down, a quizzical expression on his face.
“We'll have the chef drain something for you and your crew,” said Sam.
“Pig is fine, though cow's better if you have it,” Benny said, though he sounded distracted.
“Long as you don't start-”
“-Snacking on the kitchen staff. Yeah, you make that joke every time, little brother.”
Sam shrugged. He was not, frankly, especially comfortable with the notion of having a single vampire as a guest, when in fact they now had a dozen of them lurking around. He rose to his feet. “I'll contact the kitchen staff.”
“So,” said Benny, picking at his fangs with a toothpick. “Your brother and the bladesmith kid....”
Sam slumped back into his chair. “What about it?”
“Nothing. Maybe. I've known Dean a long time now....”
“Not eight hundred years.”
“No. Not that long.”
“We had a little mishap today. A couple of the guys took Cas out to catch an Enemy, and the Enemy nearly caught them instead.”
“You boys just can't stop pokin' at those things, can you?”
“Well, they are abominations.”
“So am I.”
Sam shrugged. “Anyway, I think Dean feels responsible.”
Benny tilted his head. “And that's what you think,” he stated.
“What do you mean?” Sam shot back, just a little too quickly.
“Mmmm.”
“Don't give me that 'Mmmm” crap! Spill!”
“You don't think he's a little … stuck on the kid?”
Sam sagged, resting his head down on Dean's desk. He straightened and sat back in Dean's chair. “Maybe a little.” He heaved a sigh. “Maybe a lot.”
“Maybe a lot.”
Sam stood up. “Maybe. We just got a lot going on now. So, how do you want your blood: straight up, or with soda?”
“Hey, we heard you were down here,” Victor began as he and Ash approached Castiel in the main dining hall. He and his two companions were currently the only other occupants of the cavernous room.
“Yeah, it ain't mealtime,” said Ash.
“Hello Victor, Ash. These are my friends, Kevin and Garth. They work in the kitchen, so I was able to get a late meal.” He looked from side to side and noticed both boys had scrambled to their feet. “Are you finished already?” he asked.
“Sit down,” Victor told them. “You don't mind if we hang out?” he asked, noting with irritation that Ash had already taken a seat and had started poking at the tray of food.
“Not at all. There's plenty here.”
“If you don't mind leftovers?” Garth ventured.
“Aw, hell no,” said Victor, who sat down. “We had one mother of a day.” He grabbed the pitcher of wine and helped himself. “I'm not gonna be able to sleep for a while I think.”
“What happened?” asked Kevin, looking back and for the between Castiel and Victor and Ash.
“Didn't Cas tell you?” Ash chomped. “Pretty goddamned exciting.”
Now Kevin and Garth both scowled at Castiel, who offered, “I went on patrol.”
“You didn’t tell us that!” said Garth.
“And...?” Kevin urged.
“We saw the Enemy!” Ash told them. “And he nearly had Cas for a noontime snack!”
“What!”
“Aw, let me tell it!” said Ash, who proceeded to launch into a dramatic description, complete with sound effects, of an event somewhat resembled what had just happened to them on patrol that afternoon.
“Dude, why didn't you tell us?” Kevin asked when it had been concluded.
“I honestly didn't realize it was that exciting,” said Castiel.
They talked and ate and drank some more, until at last Dean came into the room. He looked around, surprised. He motioned for Castiel to come over.
“Is everything all right?” Cas asked him.
“Sure,” said Dean. “Just came down to tell you we got the forge ready. So, any time.”
“I'll start first thing tomorrow.”
“You know....” Dean kept his voice low.
“What?” Castiel cocked his head, listening.
“We don't usually mix here. I mean, kitchen personnel and patrols like that.”
“Why not?”
Dean shrugged. “Now that you mention it, I have no idea.” Cas inclined his head, and Dean followed him back to the table, where Ash proceeded to toss a dinner roll at his head. Dean snatched it out of the air and took a bite. To Garth and Kevin’s apparent surprise, Dean sat down and poured himself a glass of wine, and for a time they chatted and ate.
Lucifer looked around him at the party assembled outside. “Alastair, pay attention,” he scolded.
Virgil gave Alastair, who was leaning against the wall, drowsing, a kick in the shin. He roused, muttering something.
“Do you have the transcript from Metatron, Uriel?”
Uriel straightened out some papers. “I believe so. As you know, I am not a secretary,” he said, shooting an irritated glance at Abaddon.
“Don't look at me,” said Abaddon, who was suddenly giving her manicure a great deal of attention.
Uriel grunted. “Here it is: a minor spell of concealment. I have heard that the key is to be attentive when you recite the words.”
“I'm attentive,” said Lucifer, snatching away the papers. He ran his eyes over them, and then scanned the area. “Now I need a target.”
“Might I respectfully suggest something small?” said Uriel. “You could, for example, disarm one of our men down here?” He gestured at Virgil and a groggy Alastair. Lucifer smirked.
“That wouldn’t be any fun, they’re aware of me. How about the guards up above?” said Lucifer, pointing to two shadowy figures visible up behind the battlements on the roof.
“As you wish, My Leige,” sighed Uriel. Abaddon rolled her eyes, and Alastair began to drift back to sleep.
Lucifer held up the papers with one hand. He looked down, moving his lips, and then looked back up, carefully pronouncing the unfamiliar words. Virgil glanced over at Lucifer, who was now more caught up in the spell. Abaddon shuddered, feeling cold chills creep up her spine. Lucifer finished the first page and let it flutter to the ground.
Uriel took a step back, not quite sure why. Lucifer had his eyes closed now, his arm stretched out, seeming possessed. It was like watching Lilith at the first scrying with Metatron. Only Lucifer seemed more in control of it. “Lucifer,” whispered Uriel.
Another page dropped. It spun, and then alit on the ground. Lucifer kept reciting the spell.
There was a rumble.
Everyone looked around in confusion.
Lucifer was no longer there.
Alastair roused again, convinced that Virgil had kicked him again, but Virgil had moved away.
And then there was a faint scraping coming from the wall. It would have passed for something rustling in the wind, if you didn’t know otherwise. It was a quiet sound, like somebody climbing the rough stone. “Lucifer?” whispered Uriel. But there was no answer. And then the sounds faded, and it was quiet for a long moment.
All were staring upwards at the oblivious sentries up above. One of them, hearing the commotion, approached the edge and then, seeing the party gathered below, started to wave.
He stumbled back, as if someone had struck him. He struggled, punching wildly, but then appeared to receive another impact and fell, disappearing behind the battlement.
The second guard drew his sword. You could see him looking around wildly. He too looked as if he had been struck, but he managed to keep his balance, and rounded, raising his sword. And then he did an odd dance, as if he were struggling with an unseen opponent. His sword hand shot up, and then came down, the sword knocked from his hand. He wrestled with his invisible foe, and managed to slam the other man down on the parapet. But then, as a strangled cry escaped from his lips, he was flipped over the low wall and came tumbling down off the roof to land with a dull thud in the midst of Lucifer’s gathered minions.
Uriel approached the broken body of the sentry. He knelt down and, though it was obvious the guy didn’t survive, dutifully placed two fingers on his neck to check for a pulse. He shook his head and then used a thumb and forefinger to pull down the eyelids, closing the unlucky bastard’s eyes.
Uriel stood and, putting up a hand to shield his eyes, squinted up at the roof, where Lucifer now stood, revealed, panting for breath.
“Hey, chief,” Alastair shouted up. “That was badass!”
NEXT
“Damn! You got a lot further than I thought.”
Dean dropped his pack in front of Castiel, who was sitting on a pile of rocks. He had removed his suit jacket and put it over his head. Unwrapping the bottom of his keffiyeh, Dean dug around in his pack and removed a jug of water, he proffered to Castiel. The bladesmith remained stubbornly motionless.
“Did you even bring any water? Look, you need to drink this, unless you think I can carry you back.”
Castiel glared.
“Cas, look,” said Dean, sitting down opposite with a sigh and taking a good drink of water. He wiped his mouth with a sleeve.
“My name … is Castiel.” His voice was the rasp a door makes when you don't remember to oil the hinges.
Dean shook his head. “I'm sorry. Okay? Things between us and Lucifer's crew … they're dicey right now. I had to get you out of there.”
“Virgil was spying!”
“Yeah. I know.”
Castiel stared at him. “You knew?”
“Yeah. He took off with them, by the way. He's gone.”
“Oh.”
“We guess he headed out with their crew when they left.” Dean handed over the water jug once again, and Castiel, letting the jacket fall from over his head and onto his shoulders, took a sip. “Look, I'm sorry. But I didn't think they'd pick up on who you were like that. I thought-”
“You thought I was my father.”
“Yeah. And you're not. You're a just kid.”
“I'm not a child.”
“Cas. We didn't wanna make things dangerous for you. I didn't wanna make things dangerous.”
“You failed.”
“Well. Yeah. But you're lucky. They might have found you before we did.”
“And what? I would have made swords for them? My trade?”
“Cas, you don't understand. I know Crowley is annoying as shit. But Lucifer? He'd chain you in the dungeon and have you at the forge until you died of exhaustion.”
“So you admit I'm a bladesmith?” He took another long swig of water as Dean fumbled in his backpack again.
Dean tossed him an orange. “Heard you like these.” Cas caught it. He hungrily tore it in half and raised the fruit to his lips. He devoured it like he had never tasted anything so delicious. “So, you think you could make us some swords?”
Cas picked some pith from between his teeth. “No.”
Dean threw up his hands in exasperation. “Wait. What?”
“What you are asking is for me to make you quality weapons. I cannot do that. Not with the materials you have at hand.”
“What do we need?”
“Your steel is shit. Weapons made from shit are still shit, no matter how much magic you apply. This is Lucifer's mistake.”
“What do we need? Tell me. I'll get it for you.”
Cas’s head lolled to the side, like an inquisitive puppy. “I need good Damascus steel. It's the only kind.”
“All right. We'll get it.”
Castiel wiped orange juice from his mouth. “How the hell will you do that?”
Dean grinned. “Remember, I have friends in low places.”
“Benny?” Castiel's eyes lit up.
“You met Captain Lafitte on the way over.” Dean shifted to sit next to Castiel on the outcropping. When Castiel did not object, he leaned over close and untangled the unholy mess Castiel had made of his tie. He pulled it off and tossed it in the bag.
“Benny said....”
“What did he say?”
“He said he'd ask about my brothers.”
Dean looked pained. “Sam told me you had brothers.”
“Inias and Samandriel. My younger brothers. I'm- I’m really worried about them, Dean.”
“You have a brother, Sam, too?” muttered Dean. Cas’s eyes were getting watery, and Dean found he longed to put a an arm around his shoulders. “Yeah, well.... All right, you might as well know this. It was Benny that let us know Metatron was moving in on your territory. Metatron, he has a history. He's been taking over weapons shops all over the North. That's why it's getting hard for us to get armaments out here. We don't have anyone here who's got the skills and the magic.”
“I didn't know that. I usually don't pay attention to that kind of stuff.” He squinted at Dean. “You thought.... You thought you were protecting me?”
“Yeah, that's what we thought. We fucked up. Major league.”
Castiel nodded, absorbing what Dean had told him, although he felt a little light-headed from the sun. “Look, how about we get you back to the outpost?” Dean asked softly. “You could maybe relax for a while.”
Castiel got to his feet, although he found he was a little shaky. “I missed my shift on prep. Crowley will not be pleased.”
“Crowley can fuck himself,” said Dean. He had grabbed another scarf from his pack and was tying it around Castiel's head. “Besides, you're out of the kitchen. I want you on patrol.”
Cas blinked as Dean fixed the knot underneath his chin. “I'm not a soldier, Dean.”
“No, I know that. I'll put you with some good guys. Don't worry. I just think you need to see what we're up against.” Having satisfied himself that Castiel's keffiyeh was straight, he doffed his jacket and handed it over.
“That's your jacket, Dean.”
“Yeah, I know it's my fucking jacket. Put it on. You'll sunburn right through that shirt.”
Castiel held the jacket, but hesitated.
“You're in my patrol now,” Dean said softly. “That's an order.”
Cas let the suit jacket fall from his shoulders and donned instead Dean's jacket, was a little too big for him. Dean pulled it tight and smiled. “Is it far?” Castiel asked.
“Hey, you should have thought of that before you started walking! But no, if we go by the most direct route, maybe an hour.”
Castiel looked crestfallen. “Only an hour?”
Dean chuckled. “Yeah, you obviously need help with this desert survival thing. Come on.”
“No bladesmith. And no chef,” grumbled Lucifer as he and Uriel marched down the corridor towards his office. “Virgil, our spy, was compromised. And my fucking hamburger was cold.”
“Sorry I missed it,” said Uriel.
“Worst day of my life,” muttered Lucifer, opening his office door to find a stunning redhead sitting in his chair, her boots up on his desk. “Who in hell are you?”
The woman, who was busily applying a string of dental floss to her molars, signaled to wait. She then expertly balled up the floss and batted it into the waste basket. “Sorry, boss, those blueberry tarts were hell on my enamel.”
“What blueberry tarts?”
“The ones on the platter,” she said, indicating a plate on Lucifer’s desk now contained only crumbs. “I assumed they were to share.”
Lucifer had a glint of murder in his eyes. “Like I said, who are you?”
“Abaddon. Your new psychic. Since you broke the last one.” She shot a derisive glance at him.
“That was Lilith's fault,” sulked Lucifer. “I'm not going to take the blame for that.”
“Well, we're gonna do things my way this time,” said Abaddon, swinging her feet down and standing up. “Follow me,” she added, brushing past them out of the office.
Lucifer lunged at her, pushing her up against the wall, his sword at her throat. “Understand this. Nobody talks to me like that.”
Abaddon grinned and pointed down, where she had a stiletto at his belly. “Wanna dance?” she asked.
Lucifer released his grip.
Uriel's own hand was on his hilt. “But-”
“Let's get lost,” said Abaddon, breezing out of the office.
“I like this one,” Lucifer whispered to Uriel. He hurried after Abaddon, and Uriel hastened after them. They walked down to the room Lilith had recently used. The floor around the table was now covered in markings.
Abaddon stood, hands on hips. “All right, so ground rules, since I don't wanna end up taking my meals through a straw. See this circle on the floor? When we're chatting with Metatron, you do not break the circle, you do not step outside the circle.
Uriel leaned over and looked at the bowl in the center of the table. It was filled with what looked like blue-tinged water. “That isn't virgin's blood.”
“Red didn't go with my outfit.”
“What is it?” Uriel persisted.
“Whiskey. And blue curacao. Now, let's sit down and talk turkey with Metatron.”
Lucifer nodded to Uriel, and they sat down across the table, being mindful not to disturb any of the sigils scrawled on the floor. They joined hands, and the liquid rose to form an Onyx fort. But quite unlike the last time Lucifer had been scrying, the image of the fort retreated from view in a leisurely manner, and then traveled deliberately across the wastelands and over the sea. Unlike Lilith, Abaddon was keeping her eyes open, and directing her gaze deliberately towards the image in the bowl.
They came upon Metatron, once again, amongst his odd book formations. Even through the odd blue image, he appeared flustered. “What's going on. Lucifer?” This wasn't Abaddon talking this time though: the voice instead seemed to be in Lucifer's head. He nodded to Uriel, who was evidently hearing it too.
“Yes. Hello Metatron,” said Lucifer, glancing at Abaddon, who actually winked.
“What's going on?”
“New psychic.” Lucifer winked back. “You wanted to talk?”
“Yes, you idiots. Where were you?”
“At dinner. At the Red Fort. As you suggested, remember?”
“You were supposed to bring back the bladesmith!”
“Didn't get him this time. Next time.”
“What do you mean next time? He was in the desert. Why didn't you go after him?”
Lucifer looked at Uriel, who shrugged. “What the hell was he doing in the desert, anyway?”
Metatron huffed.
“Metatron,” said Uriel.
“What is it, parrot?”
Uriel frowned. “This parrot would like some backstory.”
Metatron actually sat down his book. “All right. What do you know about Alexandria?”
Uriel and Lucifer exchanged a look.
When they returned, Castiel's things had already been moved upstairs to another, smaller dormitory. Although Castiel was a little disappointed that he wasn't able to greet Kevin and Garth, he was also relieved at not having to face Crowley. He kicked off his shoes, and was asleep as soon as his face met the pillow.
He had some very strange dreams, about creatures that seemed part bug, and part octopus. Even in his sleep, he thought his brother Samandriel would be intrigued. He woke up refreshed, but with an ache in his heart.
After a meal (he wasn't precisely certain whether it counted as breakfast or lunch) and a long shower (where once again he was truly impressed by the water pressure, and also discovered that he was sunburnt, although not as badly as he had feared) he found his way upstairs, to the same area on the roof where he had met Bobby Singer the first day.
A bald, dark-skinned man immediately walked up to him, his hand outstretched. “You're Cas?”
“Um, yes. I'm Castiel. Cas.”
“Victor. Good to meet you. And that's Ash,” he said, pointing to a grinning man sitting on the parapet. “He's fucked up in the head, but he's all right.”
“Uh. Hello, Ash.”
“Hey, Wings!” said Ash, who hopped down and came over. In contrast to Victor, Ash had an elaborately-styled mop of reddish hair.
“I'm sorry?” said Castiel.
“De Angelus, correct?” asked Ash. “I figure you're our guardian angel.”
“I'm a.... I'm a bladesmith, actually.”
“You made your sidearm?” asked Ash, pointing to Castiel's sword. Castiel had figured since he was out of Crowley's domain it was now all right to bring it along. As both men seemed curious about it, he extracted it from the scabbard and presented it to Victor, who made a great show of sighting down the blade while Ash hovered nearby.
“Nice. Damn,” said Victor. “You made this?” he asked, handing it over to Ash.
“Holy sweet Mama! Can you make another?” Ash danced around with the blade, feinting left and right. “Can you make two? Can you be my new best friend?”
Castiel looked over at Victor, who rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Ash. We're in the presence of company, man. Be normal for five fucking seconds.”
“Normal is boring!” said Ash, handing Castiel back his sword. “Wanna hit the road?” Without waiting for an answer, Ash began to saunter away.
“Like I said, he's fucked in the head. But he's all right,” Victor whispered to Castiel. “So, are you going to secure us some new weaponry?” he asked as they reached a back stairway Castiel hadn't noticed before. “The armaments we've been getting - less than satisfactory.”
“I've requested the procurement of some new materials,” Castiel told him.
“They're gonna have Benny steal 'em!” Ash shot back, and then he disappeared around a bend.
“Won't be the first time,” chuckled Victor. “Besides, who needs good blade steel more than us? We're doing the Lord's work, if you ask me.”
“Fighting the Enemy?”
Victor snorted. “Yeah. Them. And Lucifer.”
“I met Lucifer.”
“I'm sorry. Ash and me, we were out on patrol during the banquet.”
“On purpose?” Castiel guessed.
“I don't mix well with that crowd. Oh, here we go.” They had reached the ground level, but Ash was still nowhere in sight.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, a great beast came roaring into view. Terrified, Castiel flung himself back against the wall as the behemoth squealed to a stop.
A panel opened somewhere near the front, and Ash popped out. “Cas. Dude. Don't tell me you never seen a car before?”
“A … what?” asked Castiel, who was still shaking.
“You were born and raised in the North, right?” Victor asked.
“Yes.”
“Ash, he's never seen a car before.”
“Well, hot damn! You're in for a treat. This here is a Dodge Challenger. An automotive marvel from the time before the Flood.” He proudly patted the fender. The beast was still making a noise, but it was more like a purring sound than the dull roar it had when it was in motion.
“A car? Is this metal?” Castiel asked, putting a tentative hand on the hood. It was warm!
“Internal combustion,” said Victor. “Ash?” Ash tugged at something inside the car, and there was a click. Victor put his hand beneath a front panel and tugged. A large metal plate raised up, and the noise suddenly got a lot louder. His chariness overcome by curiosity, Castiel peered over the fender with Victor at the humming marvel housed beneath the hood. “We have access to petroleum products here,” Victor shouted. “Oil and gasoline. Keeps this bugger running.”
Castiel drew back and now walked the length of the car. There were pipes beneath the back wheels that let out a foul-smelling gas. “This car makes emissions, doesn't it?”
Victor smiled. “Hey, smart kid.” He let the hood slam down again, somewhat muffling the sound of the motor. “Yeah, it does. And we're pretty sure it attracts the Enemy. Either the noise or the smoke, we're not sure. So when you're out, we keep to the roads, and it’s best not to stay too long in one place.”
Castiel nodded, now completely intrigued. Victor showed him how to operate the handle on the back door, so he slipped inside, and Ash took off. Castiel was immediately grateful that he had been placed in one of the back seats, as the sense of vertigo was incredible. The desert seemed to fly by.
“Now,” Victor told him, “usually we have a set area to patrol, but Dean says he wants you to see one of them. So we're heading out to an area where we've ascertained recent activity.”
Castiel watched the desert slip by, desperately grasping the seat in front of him. “Sam told me that they're difficult to spot.”
“Not with my little secret baiting machine!” said Ash, hitting the gas pedal. They were just over a rut in the road, and Castiel nearly hit the ceiling.
“Aw, you didn't bring that stupid motor thing, did you?” asked Victor.
“Sure as fuck did. I invented it!”
“I thought Dean invented it?”
“Well,” Ash conceded, “maybe we both invented it.”
“I heard it nearly got Sam and Dean both killed!”
“Aw, they were obviously using it wrong.”
“Well, you are nowhere near my ass when you put that thing out.” Victor puffed air through his cheeks. “If their father had seen this….”
“John? Not likely.” Ash and Victor exchanged a glance.
“Sam and Dean's father?” asked Cas. In truth, his neck was getting tired from all the back and forth between these two, but the kitchen staff occasionally mentioned John Winchester with a sort of reverence usually reserved for the dead, and Castiel was curious.
Ash shook his head, so Victor answered. “John took it pretty bad when he lost his wife.”
“She is dead, then?”
“Yeah. It's been almost twenty years now.” Victor shook his head at the memory. “I was just a cadet at the time. There was a raid. It was unsuccessful, we beat them back. But not before Mary was killed. John was off on patrol. He was convinced that Lucifer was behind it, but the thing was, there wasn't any proof.”
“But Dean still invites Lucifer to dinner?”
“There’s only six outposts. We've all gotta get along, at some level.”
Ash was staring up ahead. “She was a magic user. Mary.”
“Yeah, that's right,” said Victor. “That might be why we can't get a bladesmith worth a damn. After Mary died - she was trying to protect herself with magic, and Dean saw the whole thing, poor kid - John decided that spells were bullshit, and I think he convinced Dean of the same.”
Cas put his elbows over the back of the seat. “You need magic to forge the best blades.”
“Well, you'd think that would be obvious. But there's no convincing John. He's even more hard-headed than his sons.”
Cas was thoughtful. “You said six forts? I thought there were seven? The Seven Sisters?”
“Originally it was seven. One was lost.”
“Lost? How do you lose an entire fortification?”
Victor shrugged. “The Sapphire Fort. It’s mentioned in all the records, but then the mentions stop.”
“It’s another bullshit legend,” Ash volunteered. “Like a bug’s hoard.”
“If you say so,” Victor told him. “I’ve seen a lot of weird stuff out here. A lot of weird stuff.”
Ash finally stopped the car on an overlook over a rather featureless plain. Castiel and Victor took out a pair of binoculars to survey the field while Ash pulled something from the trunk. It looked, to Castiel, like a smaller version of the Challenger's motor. Ash also fished out a can of gasoline and filled the reservoir, and then he clicked a switch and pulled a cord, and the thing sputtered to life and began to rumble and belch an acrid black smoke.
“Will you shut that damn thing down, Ash? I don't want it anywhere near me!”
“Aw, chickenshit.” But Ash clicked another switch, and the motor quieted. He slung it over his back. “I'm gonna head down and find a good spot.”
“You set it down and you get yourself right back up here, understood?” Victor told him. “That shit is dangerous.” Ash shrugged and walked down the hillside.
Castiel continued to scan the area with Victor's binoculars. “Ash's machine attracts the Enemy?”
“Yeah, at least that's what happened to the Winchesters. You ask me those boys are just magnets for the weird. But that's just my opinion. There's a theory the Enemy is attracted to gas engines, like I told you. There's also those that say rhythmic noises are enough.
“Like a motor?”
“Yeah.”
“Or … somebody walking?”
Victor nodded. “Like Dean said, you're a sharp kid.”
“Dean said that?”
Victor grinned.
“So what is that down there?” asked Castiel, pointing to one of the few features of the featureless landscape.
Victor focused the binoculars. “Oh, that was where somebody tried to dig a well. Folks do crazy things for water around here. Hundreds of meters deep, but it looks like they gave up.”
“Do the Enemy need water?”
“That's a damned good question.”
Castiel waited a beat. “And?”
“No fucking idea. Damn, what is taking Ash so long?” Victor jumped up on a pile of rocks and shouted down. “Ash, dammit! Place the thing and get the fuck out of there.”
Ash turned around and waved his middle finger at Victor, and then just kept on walking.
“Asshole,” grumbled Victor.
“You don't have, uh, what seems, um, military....”
“You mean we don't respect our superior officers?” laughed Victor. “Naw, kid. Anybody out doing this has an appropriate level of regard for our officers. I'm technically Bobby's second in command, but I don't mind telling the old bastard to go fuck himself, and he'd do the same for me. You want respect, get a dog.”
Castiel heard a low sound and looked back down to the plain. Ash had finally located a good spot, and now sat fiddling with his engine. It sputtered and died once, and then again.
“He needs to quit fucking with that thing and get back up here. I'm gonna yell at him in a minute.”
“What's that over there?”
“Where do you mean?” Victor trained the binoculars in the general direction Castiel was pointing. “Might be dust... Oh fuck!”
Down below, Ash cried out in victory as his motor hummed to life.
Meanwhile, off in the distance, the desert buckled and threw up a cloud of dust. The pattern of disruption was slow and steady. And it was headed right towards where Ash now stood.
“Ash! Get out of there NOW!” Victor screamed, waving his hands towards the trail of what was undoubtedly an Enemy creature tunneling towards him.
Down below, Ash turned and did a double take. And then he began running away. But in his panic, he did not run back towards the hill and safety, but rather at a course directly parallel to it.
“Shit,” whispered Victor. “No, asshole! Up here!” he thundered. He looked to Castiel, and then the car. “I gotta get down there. Cas, stay here, I'll take the car.”
“No, I have an idea,” said Castiel. Before Victor could object, he grabbed a coil of rope, tossed it over his shoulder and started running down the hill. But he didn't run towards Ash: instead, he ran towards the humming motor. The creature had swerved to intersect Ash, attracted, Cas reckoned, by the rhythm of his running feet. He heard the car roar to life and speed away as he ran.
He skidded to the bottom and made for the machine, making sure to pound his feet as loudly as possible. He grabbed the running motor and, without stopping to turn it off, started running towards the empty well, praying that it hadn't been capped off with something like concrete. The motor was heavy and slowed him down. He chanced a look back and gulped. Whatever it was had changed course and was now heading along after him. Well, he told himself, that's what you wanted, wasn't it?
He heard in the distance the roar of the Challenger: Victor had made it down. Hopefully he would swing around and rescue Ash. Though his lungs ached, he sprinted the last few meters for the empty well and found to his relief just a rotting wood plank capping it off. He tore off the plank, and tied one end of the rope and lowered the motor down the well as fast as he could, hand over hand. The dust storm kicked up by the tunneling creature was getting drawing nearer: within a few hundred meters now. It had looked like a frail smoke trail up from the overlook, but now he could see it was at least the width of several cars. Finally the motor must have hit bottom, because the weight was off his hands.
Every instinct told him to run, but instead he forced himself to do a strange dance away from the well, stepping and then sliding and then skipping - anything to break up the rhythm. He wanted the thing to get the motor, not him. Closing in, a few yards, he finally let himself run and then threw himself into a leap, falling face down on the ground.
The well creaked, and then there was a groan, and then, suddenly the whole well structure sunk beneath the desert floor as the bottom had dropped out of the earth. Castiel rolled onto his back and gawped. There was now a small crater where the well had been.
He carefully stood up and brushed himself off. The ground trembled. And then it shook.
And then the bottom dropped out. Castiel reached around, desperate for some purchase. He grabbed a rock and held on for all he was worth.
At last, the shaking stopped. He blinked. There was now a very large crater centered around the place where the well used to stand. He was clinging to the side, about twenty feet down. He shifted somewhat, and a rock near his feet went sliding down and down and down and down, to wherever the bottom might be.
He heard a familiar rumble up ahead and, trying desperately not to disturb the rock he was clinging to, looked up to the rim of the crater.
“You took my only rope, asshole!” Victor called down from the car.
“I got a tow cable,” Ash shouted. “Let's lower it.”
“You go out once - once! - and you almost get killed?”
Castiel, who was currently sitting on top of Dean's desk, winced, though not from Dean's comment. Sam, who was now perched in his brother's chair, was contentedly bandaging a large cut on Castiel's arm, and he had prefaced it with a big splash of alcohol.
“Want some?” Sam held up the bottle and smiled.
Castiel grabbed the bottle and downed a good gulp of whiskey. He wiped his mouth. “I didn't get to see one. But I did get to witness a tow cable in use.” He felt Dean’s hand on his face.
“Cas. Dammit. Try not to die!”
“You look concerned, Dean.”
“He's been freaking ever since he heard,” Sam chuckled. Castiel wasn't quite certain why Dean’s brother seemed to be enjoying this so much.
“I'm gonna kill Victor,” said Dean.
“It wasn't Victor's doing,” Castiel told him. “I myself determined to save Ash.”
“Ash is an idiot! He can save himself.”
“If he's an idiot, wouldn't he require help?”
“Don't be logical!”
Castiel looked to Sam for confirmation, but Sam only grinned. “I don't think what you need for this situation is my swords, Dean. I think Sam is right.”
Sam puffed up. “Of course I'm right.”
“I think these creatures require more study.”
Dean had started pacing, furious. “Well, the thing is, see, I'm not a fucking scientist. I'm a soldier! I hunt bugs and I kill them. That's what I do.”
“You gonna tell him the good news?” Sam asked, as he finished taping the bandage.
“What good news?” Dean grumbled. Sam snorted and shook his head, making the face Castiel was beginning to recognize as “My brother is the dumbest human being on the planet.” “Oh, yeah!” Dean finally said. “We have a visitor.”
“Hello, friend!” came a call from the doorway.
Castiel found himself wrapped in a back-breaking hug. “Benny!” he coughed, when once again he was able to breathe.
“Don't break my bladesmith,” Dean chided, reaching out his hand. Benny shook it while madly patting Dean on the back.
“Bladesmith? I'm here to take him on as second mate!”
“I'm sorry, but I won't go for less than first mate,” Castiel told him.
Benny rocked with laughter. “I can't never tell if you're being funny, friend.”
“Tell us the news,” said Dean.
“Well, I got you a little something. Seems there were some folks taking a whole lot of Damascus steel to Metatron, and, well, that ain't right, he been naughty this year. I was thinkin’ maybe Santa Claus needs to divert this to some nice kids.”
“Damascus steel,” said Castiel, savoring the words.
Benny eyed Castiel. “You didn't forget your promise now, did you?”
Castiel stood tall. “You will have your sword.”
“After my sword,” Dean interjected.
“No, Benny gets precedence.”
“What the hell? Who just put whiskey on your cuts?”
“Sam did,” Castiel reasonably pointed out.
“Whiskey?” asked Benny. Sam grabbed the bottle and handed it over. Benny looked at the label. “Kid, didn't nobody tell you not to drink spirits older than yourself?” he said approvingly.
“There's no liquor on earth older than you, Benny,” said Dean.
“That might just be true.”
“How old are you, Benny?” Castiel asked.
“Well,” said the vampire, sitting down next to Castiel. “It was up to eight hundred before I stopped counting.”
“Wow.”
“And for a vamp, I'm just a pup!”
“And,” Cas leaned forward. “What about my brothers?”
“So, there's good news and bad news there, kid. They were taken alive, that's clear. But they ain't in Lawrence no more.”
Castiel was silent. “Where were they taken? Did you find out, Benny?” Dean asked.
“I heard tell it was some place to the east.”
“Alexandria?” asked Castiel.
“What?”
Castiel reached into his pants pocket and withdrew the crumpled piece of paper he now always kept there. Dean grabbed it and straightened it out. “It was in my bag. I think maybe my brother put it there before he left.”
“I don't think that's where they'd take 'em, Cas,” said Dean.
“Are you sure, Dean?” asked Cas, who looked disappointed.
“Guys, are you thinking about the big picture here?” asked Sam. “If Metatron wants Alexandria...?”
“That's getting ambitious,” Dean finished.
“Told you boys he's one greedy little motherfucker,” said Benny.
Dean made a low sound in his throat - it sounded a lot like a growl - and turned to his brother. “Well, for now, he's on the other side of an ocean. We gotta think of the Enemy.”
“And Lucifer,” Sam added.
“It means armaments. Cas,” Dean said, turning around again. “I know it's a lot to ask.”
“I have Damascus steel. Show me to your forge. I'll make blades.”
“Oh, mama!” said Benny, rubbing his hands together. “I can see it already.” He held one hand behind his back and pretended to fence.
“You're okay then?” Dean asked Castiel. “I know it’s not great news about your brothers, but we’ll keep looking, right?” Benny nodded.
Castiel stood. “I would prefer to be occupied. I am eager to return to my trade. Where is your forge?”
Dean stood as well and, with a quick nod to Benny and Sam, escorted Castiel out of his office.
Benny invited himself to sit down, a quizzical expression on his face.
“We'll have the chef drain something for you and your crew,” said Sam.
“Pig is fine, though cow's better if you have it,” Benny said, though he sounded distracted.
“Long as you don't start-”
“-Snacking on the kitchen staff. Yeah, you make that joke every time, little brother.”
Sam shrugged. He was not, frankly, especially comfortable with the notion of having a single vampire as a guest, when in fact they now had a dozen of them lurking around. He rose to his feet. “I'll contact the kitchen staff.”
“So,” said Benny, picking at his fangs with a toothpick. “Your brother and the bladesmith kid....”
Sam slumped back into his chair. “What about it?”
“Nothing. Maybe. I've known Dean a long time now....”
“Not eight hundred years.”
“No. Not that long.”
“We had a little mishap today. A couple of the guys took Cas out to catch an Enemy, and the Enemy nearly caught them instead.”
“You boys just can't stop pokin' at those things, can you?”
“Well, they are abominations.”
“So am I.”
Sam shrugged. “Anyway, I think Dean feels responsible.”
Benny tilted his head. “And that's what you think,” he stated.
“What do you mean?” Sam shot back, just a little too quickly.
“Mmmm.”
“Don't give me that 'Mmmm” crap! Spill!”
“You don't think he's a little … stuck on the kid?”
Sam sagged, resting his head down on Dean's desk. He straightened and sat back in Dean's chair. “Maybe a little.” He heaved a sigh. “Maybe a lot.”
“Maybe a lot.”
Sam stood up. “Maybe. We just got a lot going on now. So, how do you want your blood: straight up, or with soda?”
“Hey, we heard you were down here,” Victor began as he and Ash approached Castiel in the main dining hall. He and his two companions were currently the only other occupants of the cavernous room.
“Yeah, it ain't mealtime,” said Ash.
“Hello Victor, Ash. These are my friends, Kevin and Garth. They work in the kitchen, so I was able to get a late meal.” He looked from side to side and noticed both boys had scrambled to their feet. “Are you finished already?” he asked.
“Sit down,” Victor told them. “You don't mind if we hang out?” he asked, noting with irritation that Ash had already taken a seat and had started poking at the tray of food.
“Not at all. There's plenty here.”
“If you don't mind leftovers?” Garth ventured.
“Aw, hell no,” said Victor, who sat down. “We had one mother of a day.” He grabbed the pitcher of wine and helped himself. “I'm not gonna be able to sleep for a while I think.”
“What happened?” asked Kevin, looking back and for the between Castiel and Victor and Ash.
“Didn't Cas tell you?” Ash chomped. “Pretty goddamned exciting.”
Now Kevin and Garth both scowled at Castiel, who offered, “I went on patrol.”
“You didn’t tell us that!” said Garth.
“And...?” Kevin urged.
“We saw the Enemy!” Ash told them. “And he nearly had Cas for a noontime snack!”
“What!”
“Aw, let me tell it!” said Ash, who proceeded to launch into a dramatic description, complete with sound effects, of an event somewhat resembled what had just happened to them on patrol that afternoon.
“Dude, why didn't you tell us?” Kevin asked when it had been concluded.
“I honestly didn't realize it was that exciting,” said Castiel.
They talked and ate and drank some more, until at last Dean came into the room. He looked around, surprised. He motioned for Castiel to come over.
“Is everything all right?” Cas asked him.
“Sure,” said Dean. “Just came down to tell you we got the forge ready. So, any time.”
“I'll start first thing tomorrow.”
“You know....” Dean kept his voice low.
“What?” Castiel cocked his head, listening.
“We don't usually mix here. I mean, kitchen personnel and patrols like that.”
“Why not?”
Dean shrugged. “Now that you mention it, I have no idea.” Cas inclined his head, and Dean followed him back to the table, where Ash proceeded to toss a dinner roll at his head. Dean snatched it out of the air and took a bite. To Garth and Kevin’s apparent surprise, Dean sat down and poured himself a glass of wine, and for a time they chatted and ate.
Lucifer looked around him at the party assembled outside. “Alastair, pay attention,” he scolded.
Virgil gave Alastair, who was leaning against the wall, drowsing, a kick in the shin. He roused, muttering something.
“Do you have the transcript from Metatron, Uriel?”
Uriel straightened out some papers. “I believe so. As you know, I am not a secretary,” he said, shooting an irritated glance at Abaddon.
“Don't look at me,” said Abaddon, who was suddenly giving her manicure a great deal of attention.
Uriel grunted. “Here it is: a minor spell of concealment. I have heard that the key is to be attentive when you recite the words.”
“I'm attentive,” said Lucifer, snatching away the papers. He ran his eyes over them, and then scanned the area. “Now I need a target.”
“Might I respectfully suggest something small?” said Uriel. “You could, for example, disarm one of our men down here?” He gestured at Virgil and a groggy Alastair. Lucifer smirked.
“That wouldn’t be any fun, they’re aware of me. How about the guards up above?” said Lucifer, pointing to two shadowy figures visible up behind the battlements on the roof.
“As you wish, My Leige,” sighed Uriel. Abaddon rolled her eyes, and Alastair began to drift back to sleep.
Lucifer held up the papers with one hand. He looked down, moving his lips, and then looked back up, carefully pronouncing the unfamiliar words. Virgil glanced over at Lucifer, who was now more caught up in the spell. Abaddon shuddered, feeling cold chills creep up her spine. Lucifer finished the first page and let it flutter to the ground.
Uriel took a step back, not quite sure why. Lucifer had his eyes closed now, his arm stretched out, seeming possessed. It was like watching Lilith at the first scrying with Metatron. Only Lucifer seemed more in control of it. “Lucifer,” whispered Uriel.
Another page dropped. It spun, and then alit on the ground. Lucifer kept reciting the spell.
There was a rumble.
Everyone looked around in confusion.
Lucifer was no longer there.
Alastair roused again, convinced that Virgil had kicked him again, but Virgil had moved away.
And then there was a faint scraping coming from the wall. It would have passed for something rustling in the wind, if you didn’t know otherwise. It was a quiet sound, like somebody climbing the rough stone. “Lucifer?” whispered Uriel. But there was no answer. And then the sounds faded, and it was quiet for a long moment.
All were staring upwards at the oblivious sentries up above. One of them, hearing the commotion, approached the edge and then, seeing the party gathered below, started to wave.
He stumbled back, as if someone had struck him. He struggled, punching wildly, but then appeared to receive another impact and fell, disappearing behind the battlement.
The second guard drew his sword. You could see him looking around wildly. He too looked as if he had been struck, but he managed to keep his balance, and rounded, raising his sword. And then he did an odd dance, as if he were struggling with an unseen opponent. His sword hand shot up, and then came down, the sword knocked from his hand. He wrestled with his invisible foe, and managed to slam the other man down on the parapet. But then, as a strangled cry escaped from his lips, he was flipped over the low wall and came tumbling down off the roof to land with a dull thud in the midst of Lucifer’s gathered minions.
Uriel approached the broken body of the sentry. He knelt down and, though it was obvious the guy didn’t survive, dutifully placed two fingers on his neck to check for a pulse. He shook his head and then used a thumb and forefinger to pull down the eyelids, closing the unlucky bastard’s eyes.
Uriel stood and, putting up a hand to shield his eyes, squinted up at the roof, where Lucifer now stood, revealed, panting for breath.
“Hey, chief,” Alastair shouted up. “That was badass!”
NEXT