Stainless and Honorable Lives 4a/4
AUTHOR:Scullspeare
SPOILERS: Technically, the story is set within Season 9, post trial-related fallout, but is a standalone case-fic-no spoilers-and may become slightly AU depending on what happens in Tuesday’s Season 9 premiere. Right now, though, it fits within canon.
DISCLAIMER: The characters of Supernatural belong to Eric Kripke, Jeremy Carver & Co. I am playing in their sandbox, with their toys, with much gratitude.
RATING: T for swearing, including the 'big boy' words, as Jensen calls them.
WORD COUNT: Chapter Four: 11K+ Complete story: 30K
GENRE: Gen/Hurt-Comfort
A/N: This is the final of four chapters; to those of you who like to wait until a story is complete before reading - it's all here. It didn't fit in one file here but both 4a and 4b have been posted simultaneously. Many thanks to everyone who joined me on this adventure and sent along such wonderful feedback; both mean a lot. Big hugs to my beta, Harrigan; my stories are always better with your help. I tinkered post-beta, so any remaining mistakes are mine and mine alone. Thanks also to Freya for the encouragement to get this done. Written to fill the ‘Job-related Injury’ square in my hc_Bingo card. Enjoy.
Link back to Chapter 3 Here
STAINLESS AND HONORABLE LIVES
Chapter 4a
Sam walked up the three steps to the armory exhibit and glanced around. Two full suits of armor flanked the entrance, as if on guard. Inside, each of the walls was covered with swords, shields, lances-anything a knight would have used in battle. It was an impressive display of weaponry, but there was nothing that even remotely resembled a grail-in any of its possible forms.
He turned to leave but stopped when his gaze fell on a long, shallow crate on the floor. The customs labels made it obvious it was one of the boxes used to ship the exhibit items from the London museum to the States. An inventory list, identical to the one Sam, Galahad, and Rev. Jeffers had combed through back at the church, sat on top of the crate. The first dozen or so pages were folded back, with writing covering the margin on the opened page. Intrigued, Sam picked it up.
His eyes widened when he read the notes, obviously written by one of the museum employees while setting up the room. He dropped to his knees and pushed back the lid of the crate. There was just one artifact left inside, and Sam's heart started racing when he realized what it might be. "Oh my god…."
"Sammy! We're about to have company. Get your ass somewhere out of sight and hunker down."
Sam's head snapped toward Dean's shouted warning, and he staggered to his feet. Shoving the inventory list into his back pocket, he moved quickly down the armory's stairs and headed back towards his brother. When he rounded one of the faux-stone walls and saw Dean, he was light-headed from excitement and sudden exertion. His hand shot out reflexively, pressing against the wall to steady himself, but he ventured a smile. "I think I found something. I-"
A loud bang followed by the sound of splintering wood made him jump. Like Dean, his head snapped toward the origin of the noise-the doors to the exhibit hall. In front of them, Bors and Percival stood shoulder to shoulder, swords raised, watching as the doors buckled a little more with each blow.
"You found something? Dude, your timing seriously sucks." Dean scrambled back to the table to check out the laptop, with Sam close behind him. Sam studied the images on the screen; two armored knights standing outside the doors with swords raised, two more throwing themselves at the locked doors to break them down.
“What can I do?”
Dean pointed to the figures on the screen. "That one's Mordred, that's Accolon…."
"Morgan's lover." Sam's gaze jumped between the screen and the door, flinching as the door took another blow.
"Yeah. And the two human battering rams are Mordred's kids."
"Melehan and Medraig." Sam turned again towards the doors. "What can I do?"
"Like I said, get your ass out of sight. You're here for the treasure hunt, remember?"
Sam shook his head. "Dean, come on. No way am I-"
"Sorry, Sammy-everyone's partnered up. At this hoedown, you get to play wallflower." Besides…." Dean picked up a sword from the table. "You're in no shape for a swordfight."
"And you are?" Sam stared at his brother incredulously. In all the weapons training they'd been subjected to growing up, broadswords had never really entered the picture. "When the hell did Dad teach you to use one of those?"
"He didn't." Dean held the sword with both hands, swinging it to test its weight. His smile at Sam was accompanied by a small shrug. "But I've got two working arms, which is one more than you."
"Just….just make damn sure you keep both of 'em."
Dean grinned. "That's the plan, believe me."
Sam swallowed bile; Dean was a damn good fighter and a quick study, but the knights had been trained to use a sword since they were kids. Then there was the armor versus his brother's street clothes. He scowled as Dean stripped off his long-sleeved shirt, leaving only his T-shirt and jeans. Even a glancing blow could….
"Take that and hide." Dean pointed to the computer. "If anything goes sideways, get these guys home, then get the hell out."
Sam shook his head. "Screw that. I'm not going anywhere without you."
"I'm touched, Sammy." Dean grinned. "But I'm not planning on checking out-not after you go and drop a cliff-hanger on me. I wanna know what you found." He winked, then turned to join the knights.
Sam slammed shut the laptop, shoved it in the duffel, then stepped behind one of the exhibit hall's large support columns. Yes, his shoulder was screwed, and yes, a broadsword required two hands to wield effectively, but being relegated to the sidelines still felt all kinds of wrong; there had to be something he could do….
With a final ear-splitting crunch of splintering wood, the doors flew open. Out of breath, Melehan and Medraig barged through then moved to each side, allowing Accolon and Mordred to follow them inside.
Mordred smiled as he caught sight of Galahad, Bors, and Percival; it was a cruel smile that turned Sam's stomach. "Well, well, well…." He bowed his head to Galahad. "This is a surprise."
"Wish I could say the same, you lying sack of shit," Percival growled.
"Sir Percival." Mordred's eyes glittered coldly as he turned to the knight. "As crass as ever, I see. Why Arthur tolerates your filth I will never understand. If I sat on the throne, your head would have been mounted on a pike long ago."
Percival matched his opponent's dark smile. "I will see you in Hell before your ass gets within a league of Camelot's throne."
Mordred chuckled. "I'm certain that can be arranged-sending you to Hell, I mean." His gaze traveled from one knight to the other before finally settling on Dean. "You must be desperate, Galahad. First you travel through time, then you allow this gutter rat to join your ranks."
Dean offered a mocking bow. "Good to see you live up to your billing. Sack of shit, indeed."
Galahad's voice was quiet, attempting to be the voice of reason. "There's nothing here for you, Mordred. Take your men and leave."
Mordred surveyed the exhibit hall. "Come now, Galahad-you're a pious man. You would never have embraced the magic it took to bring you here unless the reward was worth angering your god." He strode toward the nearest display case, studying the items inside. "No…. I'd say the plunder must be well worth the trip."
"Plunder? Now it is you who treat me as a half-wit. We both know why you came." Galahad's expression didn't change. "I ask you as one brother-in-arms to another-will you leave peacefully? What you seek does not belong with you."
Mordred's cruel smile widened. "We shall see." He lunged at Galahad, a loud metallic clang echoing through the exhibit hall as Percival stepped forward and blocked Mordred's strike with his own sword. Galahad spun out of the way and had his own sword raised in time to block an attack from Accolon.
A full-on battle quickly broke out.
Sam was in awe of the strength and savagery with which the knights on both sides fought. The grunts of exertion, the chilling sound of metal against metal as offensive strike met defensive block echoed through the hall. Sam had worn Bors's armor for only a short time and he was amazed at how much the weight had slowed him down. But it seemed to have little effect on the knights; he had no idea how they could swing their swords with such ferocity, move with such grace while weighed down by all that metal.
Percival was paired with Mordred; size-wise they were evenly matched and their fighting styles similar, relying on brute strength. Galahad and Accolon, however, seemed more old-school, more in line with what Sam expected of a fight between knights. As for Bors…well, he just seemed annoyed that his opponent was young and green. He appeared content simply to defend himself…let the kid tire himself out before ultimately putting him out of his misery.
Hollywood had no fucking clue; any swordfight staged for movies or television paled in comparison to the scene playing out in front of him. Displays toppled, furniture splintered as each man battled in what was likely a fight to the death. It would have been fascinating to watch had his brother not been caught up in the middle of it.
Dean was paired up with one of Mordred's sons. He looked slightly younger than the one battling Bors, so Sam would assume it was Medraig. Dean didn't have the training or the grace of his opponent, but he had brains, fearlessness, and an uncanny ability to think on his feet. "Why so shocked?" Dean had retorted when many years earlier Sam had once asked him about the latter. "Life has dropped us headfirst in the shitpile so many times, we'd have suffocated long ago if we couldn't… improvise."
His brother was definitely improvising here. Medraig was circling him arrogantly, his sword cutting through the air as he put on a display like an animal trying to intimidate his adversary into submission. But Dean wasn't easily intimidated; he didn't back down to anyone, especially in a fight. Medraig's antics were just pissing him off.
Sam moved in closer in time to see Dean flash a dangerous smile and throw out his own taunt. "Is this a dance or a fight? 'Cause, dude-I don't dance."
That pushed Medraig into action, and when he attacked, he was vicious; arrogance did not make him a weak opponent. But while Medraig was more experienced, Dean was more agile; he blocked strike after strike, effectively if clumsily, sometimes staggering under the force of a blow, but quickly regaining his feet.
When Medraig caught his breath, again peacocking around his opponent, Dean smiled. "That the best you got?"
Medraig returned the smile in kind. "Not even close."
The battle between Galahad and Accolon had moved closer to Sam, blocking his view of his brother. He darted for a pillar fifteen feet away, peering around it in time to see that Dean's taunt had fueled another attack. Medraig unleashed another flurry of strikes; Dean countered successfully but almost went down, regaining his balance at the last second. But he mistimed his last block, his adversary's sword sneaking through to carve a long slash across Dean's cheek.
Medraig smiled at drawing blood. Dean's eyes narrowed, and for the first time, he went on the offensive. He wouldn't earn many marks for form but, unencumbered by armor, he came at Medraig with a speed the knight was unused to, and Medraig was soon backpedaling under the force of each two-handed strike-something that both surprised and angered him. Then as Dean smashed his sword down on his adversary's, knocking it toward the ground, he let go of his own weapon with his right hand and leveled a solid punch to Medraig's face. Despite the noise from the other fights in progress, Sam liked to think he heard bone crack.
"You little fuck."
Yeah; by the sound of the knight's voice, Dean had broken his nose.
Dean grinned. "Mission one-accomplished."
Then the knight played dirty. He snapped a pouch from his belt and threw the contents in Dean's face. Choking on the black dust, his eyes watering, Dean stumbled backwards, swiping a hand across his face in an attempt to clear his vision while swinging the sword blindly one-handed just to keep his opponent at bay. Medraig was smirking, stalking toward Dean just waiting for his opening.
Sam riffled through the duffel then stepped into the open. "Hey!" As Medraig's attention snapped to him, Sam rolled a bottle of water along the floor toward his brother. "Dean-at your feet." He circled away from Dean, keeping the knight's focus on him and away from his brother. "That the only way you can win a fight? Blinding your opponent?"
Medraig studied Sam, making no attempt to hide his contempt. "No sword…no armor…. The rats are indeed rallying to Galahad's call."
Out of the corner of his eye, Sam watched Dean crouch down, fumble around until he found the bottle, then quickly twist off the lid and tilt his head back to pour the water all over his face, rinsing away the dust. Sam glared at Medraig. "I dunno-taking on an unarmed man seems just your speed." He took a step forward. "Come on-what are you waiting for?"
"You'd like that wouldn't you?" Medraig's smile was cruel. "But one rat at a time." He spun without warning, swinging his sword at Dean.
Dean had dropped the water bottle and again had both hands on his sword, but was still blinking to clear his vision. He reacted instinctively to the blur of movement in front of him, raising his sword in time to deflect the knight's blow. But the force of the strike knocked the sword from Dean's hands, and momentum carried through the strike, Medraig's blade slicing into Dean's side.
"No!" Sam's horrified shout disappeared almost immediately behind a gunshot. He'd reacted instinctively; the moment he saw Medraig spin towards Dean, Sam had reached for his gun. His aim was true, the bullet hitting Medraig between the shoulder and neck where the chain-mail was vulnerable.
Medraig went down immediately, but so did Dean, his knees buckling as he clutched at his side, his gray T-shirt beneath his hand rapidly turning red. Medraig gaped at Sam, unsure of what had happened, of what had taken him down.
Dean put him out of his misery. "Good night, knight." He slammed his fist into the man's jaw, likely breaking that along with his nose and knocking consciousness from him. With the momentum of the punch, Dean pitched forward and collapsed on top of Medraig with a groan.
Galahad was fighting Accolon a few feet from Dean. Whether it was the gunshot that distracted Accolon or the sight of his comrade going down, Sam couldn't be sure, but whichever it was gave Galahad the opening he needed. He drove his sword into a joint in Accolon's leg armor and when the man went down with a scream of pain, slammed the hilt of his sword into his head. Mordred's lieutenant was unconscious before he hit the ground. Galahad left him there and joined Sam in scrambling toward Dean.
"Hey…." Sam dropped to his knees at his brother's side, but needed Galahad's help to pull Dean off Medraig and roll him onto his back.
"Fuck." Dean swore loudly at being moved, then shot a bleary look at Sam. "You said don't shoot him, then you go and do it?"
"I never said don't shoot him." Sam pulled Dean's hand away from his side and peeled his T-shirt out of the way, revealing a long, deep gash running from just under the ribs to the pelvic bone. "I said don't kill him."
"Details, Sammy…. Son of a bitch…." Dean screwed his eyes closed, forcing out short breaths as Sam examined the wound. "How's that bullet in his neck gonna change history when we ship him home?"
Sam turned to Galahad. "I need the duffel bag-over there. It's got the first-aid kit in it."
Galahad nodded and went to get it.
Sam turned back to Dean and pressed his hand firmly over the wound. "We'll dig out the bullet, but I think his armor took the brunt of the shot. Besides…." His stomach lurched at the sight of his brother's blood on his hands. "If he'd-"
"But he didn't." Dean glanced up at Sam, a simple look offering unspoken reassurance; even hurt, he was still in full-on big brother mode.
"Damn it." Sam cleared his throat and pressed down a little harder. "We've gotta get the bleeding under control."
"I like that plan." Dean blinked to clear his vision, then glanced around. "How are the good guys doing?"
Sam turned toward the fights still in progress. "Two down, two to go."
Bors seemed to have tired of simply holding off his opponent; he was fighting in earnest now and real fear was visible on Melehan's face as he quickly realized he was outmatched. Stumbling sideways under the latest onslaught, Melehan snarled a curse, then threw black powder in Bors's face.
Bors roared in fury; Melehan smirked-then made the mistake of gloating.
"You're too slow, old man," he taunted. "No match for the strength of youth. You-"
Bors lunged at Melehan. Eyes screwed shut, zoning in on his opponent's voice, he swung his sword with all his weight behind it, knocking Melehan's sword from his hands. Before Melehan had a chance to react, Bors dropped his own sword and grabbed his opponent by the neck of his breastplate, yanked a dagger from his belt and plunged the blade into the younger knight's neck. Melehan died with shock still frozen on his face.
Dean swiped a hand over his eyes, blinking rapidly, as he watched the body crumple. "Dead?"
"Very."
"Well, that just rewrote a few pages of history. He-
"Bors-down!"
Bors reacted instinctively to Galahad's shouted warning, dropping to the ground. The dagger thrown at him by an incensed Mordred sailed over his head and plunged hilt deep into the wall.
With Bors in the clear, all eyes snapped to the one battle still in progress. Mordred had seen both sons and his lieutenant fall. Fury and hate seemed to refuel his strength, and he launched a renewed attack on Percival. The knight was holding his own, but slowly and deliberately being backed into a corner. Galahad dropped the duffel at Sam's side, raised his sword and moved quickly to help his friend.
Percival saw him coming and shook his head. "Don't you dare, brother. This bastard is all mine."
Mordred snorted contemptuously. "It seems all Galahad's rats have delusions of grandeur." He unleashed another vicious attack, with Percival countering each strike; Galahad reluctantly respected his friend's wishes, but stayed close.
The tide turned in an instant; a counter strike from Percival left Mordred slightly off-balance, and Percival launched himself at his opponent, sending them both crashing to the ground. His sword hand pinned under Percival's weight, Mordred had no defense against the punch that smashed into his jaw. Percival yanked a dagger from his belt and raised it, ready to strike.
"Percival-no!"
Percival snapped his head toward Galahad, incredulous at the order.
Galahad shrugged apologetically. "He is worth more to us alive. Restrain him. Bors-you are well?"
Bors shook off his gauntlet and swiped his hand over his eyes. "I'm bloody fine."
Galahad nodded. "Good-then help Percival."
As Bors stumbled forward to help do just that, Galahad turned back to Sam and Dean.
"Ow! Son of bitch!" Dean glared up at his brother, who was using a bottle of water from the duffel to flush the wound in his side. "Go easy there, Sammy."
"Sorry…sorry." Sam worriedly studied his brother. "How's the vision?"
"Blurry." Dean snorted. "So you've never looked better." He turned to Galahad. "But good enough to see what just went down. You sure keeping that bastard alive is the best idea?"
"No." Galahad glanced at Mordred, who was struggling to free himself as Bors and Percival yanked him to his feet. "But his death would simply ignite his mother's fury. If she is busy negotiating his release instead of scheming revenge, that will at least give Merlin the chance to enact some spell to prevent her from opening a door through time again, from undoing anything we may accomplish." He glanced down at Dean. "How can I help?"
Sam motioned to the gauze pad he had pressed against Dean's wound. "Put pressure on this while I flush his eyes."
Galahad shook his head. "The effects of the powder are temporary. His eyesight will soon clear. Focus your attention on the sword wound." The knight looked worried. "Mordred's men are known to devil their blades."
Dean scowled at the knight. "With what?"
Sam stomach lurched again as he wedged another bottle of water between his knees while unscrewing the cap, his left hand still not fully cooperating. "Some kind of poison, I'm guessing."
"So if the wound doesn't kill you, the poison will." Dean scrubbed a hand down his face. "Fuck…."
Sam poured the entire bottle of water over the wound. He then reached instinctively for the antibiotics, but his hand froze on the bottle. "I can't give you this. If there's poison, I have no idea how it will react."
"Then use this." The knight handed Sam a pouch from his belt. "The powder of the calendula flower."
"Calendula…." Sam tipped some of the orange powder into his hand. "They still use this today. It helps the blood clot."
Galahad nodded. "And Merlin has added a few more ingredients to help battle Mordred's treachery."
Dean shot a suspicious look at powder in Sam's hand. "What kind of ingredients?"
Sam raised an eyebrow. "Ones that can counteract the poison. You really wanna know specifics?"
"Probably not."
When Dean gave a terse nod, Sam mixed some of the powder with water in the palm of his hand to form a salve, then spread it on the wound.
"Beyond magic, Merlin is a skilled healer." Now it was Galahad's turn to offer reassurance. "You have done much to help us. I would not offer if I believed it posed any threat."
"Thanks-I"ll hold you to that." Dean looked on as Sam ripped a pressure bandage from its sterile packaging and pressed it into place over the salve. "You done?"
Sam nodded. "For now, but we need you checked out. Medieval poisons are little beyond my first aid skills."
"One crisis at a time, Sammy." Dean held up a hand. "Help me up."
Sam shook his head. "No way. You need to stay as still as possible until-"
"Fine. I'll do it myself." Dean began to push himself up.
"Damn it, Dean…."
Galahad frowned. "Do you need assistance in restraining him?"
"Back off, G." Dean glared at the knight. "I was just starting to like you. Don't make me change my mind."
Reluctantly, Sam moved in to help Dean to his feet. He knew better than to fight his brother; on this they were too much alike. Dean was no more staying put on the floor than Sam would've stayed at the church. Once upright, Dean seemed to pale a little more, but he was at least steady when Sam released his hold.
Bors and Percival were striding towards them, Mordred struggling between them, his arms pinned behind his back. The prisoner spat at Galahad, then started chanting something that to Sam sounded like an incantation. Whatever it was ended abruptly when Percival decked him.
"Did I not make myself clear," Percival grabbed Mordred's face. "You start pulling that dark magic shite and I'm gonna pull off your gauntlet and shove it so far down your throat it comes out the other end. We clear?"
Mordred just glared in response. Sam bent down and riffled through the duffel. "Here, use this to bind his hands." He held up a zip tie and demonstrated how it worked. "Put this end through here and pull. Trust me, he won't get out of it. There's more to use on the others, too."
Mordred was quickly secured to one of the pillars near the round table. There he was in plain sight, but far enough away that the brothers and the knights could still talk without being overheard. After Dean showed Percival a roll of duct tape, and what to do with it, the knight took great pleasure in slapping a piece over Mordred's mouth. Mordred's eyes lit up with renewed fury at that indignity. Bors and Percival then dragged the unconscious knights and Medraig's body into the open area of the exhibit hall near the entrance. When they were done, that's where they'd open the portal.
As Galahad walked back toward the brothers, his gaze fell on the bloodstain that covered much of Dean's shirt. "I am sorry you were injured trying to help us. I owe you a great debt."
"You owe me squat." Dean took in the damage the battles had caused: display cases upended-the glass smashed and contents shattered; paintings slashed; the faux stone walls torn and leaning. "All in a day's work, right?"
Galahad sighed. "Mordred does not have the grail-that is something. But we also have nothing."
"Hold the phone…." Dean grimaced as he moved too quickly, his left arm pressing tightly against his injured side. "You missed Sammy's big announcement, didn't you?"
Galahad turned to Sam, a puzzled expression on his face.
"I, um…." Sam cast a glance at the armory. "Just before Mordred and his men burst in here… I think I found something."
The knight's eyes widened. "Not-
"No." Sam shook his head. "Not the grail itself-but something definitely connected to it. And if I'm right, it's definitely what Mordred was after." He turned to the knights, Bors and Percival now standing on either side of Galahad, listening intently. "You already know that our history books are next to useless, so I just need to know…." He glanced from one knight to the next. "Does Castle Corbenic mean anything to any of you?"
Percival scowled. "I was there less than two moons past…escorting my sister to care for our ailing uncle who is master of Corbenic."
Sam's expression brightened a little. "Your sister is Dindrane, and your uncle Pelles-the Fisher King?"
Percival's expression darkened. "What kind of devilry is this? You cannot know-"
"Stand down, Percy." Dean unsteadily took a step forward, placing himself between Sam and Percival, a warning hand against the knight's chest. "There's no devilry-just an Ivy League education and Sammy's freaky memory. He's going somewhere with this, trust me." He nodded to his brother to continue.
"Look, in several versions of the…folk tales we know, Dindrane and Pelles play central roles in the grail legend." Sam swallowed. "Backing up a bit…. At the time of the crucifixion, there was a man named Bron. He's thought to be the brother-in-law of Joseph of Arimathea, and the man Joseph originally entrusted with the grail. All the guardians of the grail are descended from Bron." He glanced from Percival to Galahad. "Including Pelles-who, if I remember your family tree right, is not just Percival's uncle, but Galahad's grandfather. This ringing any bells?"
Galahad frowned. "Percival and I are blood kin, that much is true-and we know of these guardians. But if we are descended from this Bron, are destined to become guardians, this is the first I am hearing of it."
Sam shrugged. "Given the idea of the guardians is to keep the grail off the radar, I'm guessing it may be a piece of family history that's shared only on a need-to-know basis. You didn't need to know-until you were next in line as guardian. I think this quest is kind of a trial run."
Galahad's frown deepened. "But my father still lives. If what you say is true, would he not be the next to serve?"
"I got this one." Dean gave Galahad a sympathetic shrug. "Lancelot kinda blew it when he fooled around with another man's wife. That pretty much takes him out of the running for anything 'stainless and honorable'-moves you to the front of the line."
Galahad looked puzzled. "This still makes no sense. How can Pelles be guarding something that is lost?"
"Because I don't think it is." Sam exhaled slowly. "I think the grail is still safely hidden at Castle Corbenic."
Dean shot him a WTF look on that one, voicing what each of the knights was also thinking. "If the grail is stashed safe and sound, one, why send Galahad and the boys to hunt it down? And, two, what the hell led them to 2013?"
Sam was pacing as he mentally sorted through the facts. "The grail is a symbolic object-hugely important historically, culturally-but, at the risk of being struck down for saying it, that's all. It has no power. One school of thought says it was simply a serving dish that held the lamb at the Last Supper."
Dean raised an eyebrow. "They sent three knights on a quest for a dirty dish?"
"Like I said, symbolically-it's a big deal." Sam glanced over at Mordred who was still struggling with his bonds, glaring at the men from the far side of the room. "But why would Morgan and Mordred want it? They're not even Christians."
Dean scowled at the trussed knight. "You mean other than a giant 'Fuck you-we found it first'? Or, 'Arthur can have it if he turns over the throne to Mordred.'" His focus returned to his brother. "I'm guessing you've got a third option?"
Sam nodded. "Another theory says the grail was the cup that held the blood of Christ-blood from a wound in his side after a Roman soldier stabbed him with a lance during the crucifixion. His weapon became known as the Bleeding Lance because, at least according to legend, whenever it's placed near the grail, it starts to bleed."
"Wait…I remember this." Dean scrubbed a hand down his face as he sorted through dusty memories. "Pastor Jim told me about it once when we were cleaning the weapons in his church. It's mentioned in the Bible but disappeared after the crucifixion. There's all kind of theories about who took it and where it was hidden." He glanced again at Mordred. "It's also supposed to be some kind of bad-ass weapon-has the power to heal along with the power to kill."
Sam nodded. "Legend also says the man who possesses it will have unlimited power."
Galahad cast a glance at Mordred. "And as the man trying to take the throne from Arthur, that would be reason enough for Mordred to want it."
Again, Sam nodded. "He's just one in a long list of power-hungry men who've tried to find it over the centuries." He shrugged at Dean. "Hell, it was even on Hitler's wish list."
Dean snorted. "The douchebag had necromancers on the payroll, so jonesing after a holy WMD? No shock there."
"If all this is true," Percival snarled, "when we get home, I'm going to take my lance and shove it up Merlin's arse. We've spent years riding all over seven kingdoms in search of the wrong fucking thing."
Galahad smiled. "Some of that fault rides on our own shoulders. Merlin said only that when our quest was successful, we'd know it. We simply assumed we were seeking the grail."
"Because he told us the story of the fucking grail before he sent us out on the bloody quest," Percival growled. "What the hell were we supposed to think we were looking for."
Sam smiled; Percival certainly had a point. "Look, what Merlin did kinda makes sense. Anyone who met you would see three knights on a quest to recover a sacred object-a pretty noble goal. But if they knew you were hunting for a legendary weapon that gives the man who possesses it great power…." He shot another glance at Mordred. "You'd have a lot more competition than just Mordred and his men."
"And perhaps figuring out the true purpose of this quest is all part of proving our true worth as guardians." Galahad turned to Sam and bowed his head. "We are indebted to you and your brother."
"No...." Sam shook his head. "You have no idea what it means to be part of this."
Dean stared at Sam for a moment, a smile toying with the corners of his mouth before he cleared his throat. "And you believe this Bleeding Lance is in the museum?"
"I think so. Check this out." Sam reached for his back pocket and pulled out the inventory list he'd found earlier. "This was on a crate in the armory. One of the museum employees has written notes all over it. Turns out, they found a piece that wasn't on the list. Because it seemed to be a genuine artifact, they called the London museum but couldn't get hold of anyone because of the time difference. They called Chicago, and it looks like someone there was a little sloppy with their record-keeping, because they pulled the old 'We don't know what you're talking about' defense. Chicago either left the lance in the crate or stuck it in a display without cataloging it. It wasn't noticed until it arrived here in St. Louis."
Guilt now fueled Galahad's frown. "I was drawn to that armory. Felt…something there. But I was so focused on finding the grail, I overlooked what was right under my nose." He snorted. "What kind of guardian does that make me?"
"A human one." Sam took a step closer to Galahad. "Before you kick yourself too hard, maybe we should take a look at it and make sure I'm right." He smiled. "I'm human, too-got plenty of screw-ups on my record." He gestured with his head towards the armory. "It's in a long, flat crate on the floor."
Galahad nodded at Bors and Percival and the two knights headed for the armory, returning a few moments later, carrying the crate between them. They set it down in front of Galahad, and removed the lid. The lance that lay inside the crate was very ordinary in appearance-the shaft almost seven feet in length, the wood grayed and cracked with age, and topped with a triangular head affixed by a socketed iron shank. Galahad bent down to pick it up; as his fingers curled around the wood, etched markings suddenly became visible just below the shank.
"What the hell is that?" Dean leaned in to study the mark. "Long…Longinus." He frowned. "I know that name."
"As do I." Galahad stared at the etching. "Longinus was the Roman soldier whose lance pierced our Lord's side when he was on the Cross."
Sam's chest tightened with excitement as he reached for the lance. "May I?"
Galahad handed over the lance, but as Sam took hold of it, the etching vanished. "What…." Sam looked shocked for a moment, then a smile spread slowly across his face. He turned to his brother. "Dean, take it-I wanna check something."
Dean took the lance; there was still no sign of the etched mark.
"Hand it to Bors."
In the knight's hands, the lance remained unmarked.
"OK, Percival-your turn."
As Percival took the lance, the word Longinus slowly reappeared.
Sam's smile widened. "It's some kind of…warding on it-a protective spell as a last line of defense. To most of us it's just an old-very old-but ordinary weapon. But in the hands of the descendants of Bron, the guardians of the grail-"
"It reveals its true origin." Galahad smiled at Percival, who still held the lance. "What would the gentlefolk of Camelot think of Sir Percival now?"
Percival just looked overwhelmed. "Bugger me-take it." He quickly handed it back to Galahad. "Before God realizes his mistake and lightning strikes me dead."
Galahad grinned, then placed the lance reverently back in the crate. "This has remained hidden for centuries. How is it that it is now so carelessly left unguarded?"
"Based on what Sammy found, I'd say it was never supposed to be part of this exhibit, never supposed to leave London." Dean seemed shaky as he took a few steps backwards. "Best guess? I'm going with latest guardian dropped dead. Between Chicago and here, that lance has been in America for close to a month. No way would it have gone AWOL that long if there was somebody around to notice it was gone."
"Speaking of noticing…." Sam checked his watch. "We've got about fifteen minutes before that meeting upstairs is over." He surveyed the damage in the exhibit hall. "None of us wants to be here when they see this."
Galahad nodded. "Then it is time we all returned home." He frowned at the blood stain on Dean's shirt. "But the lance supposedly possesses the power to heal. Can we not use it to heal each of your wounds? Surely that would be an honorable use given your service to its protection here today."
Dean shook his head. "If it's all the same to you, I think I'll stick with modern medicine. Messing with weapons of God, especially ones Hitler wanted-that's just got 'bad idea' written all over it."
Sam swallowed; he wanted so badly to say 'No. Go for it-make Dean better.' The sword wound didn't worry him too much; he'd stitch that up and, with time and rest, Dean would be fine. But if poison was involved…that was a whole different ball game. But Dean was right; as much as he hated to admit it, they couldn't use it-it was just as likely to kill him as cure him. "No, just pack it up and get it safely to Corbenic-make sure neither Mordred nor anyone like him ever gets their hands on it. I'll take care of Dean." He glanced at his brother. "It's what we do."
Galahad smiled. "So I've noticed."
xxxXXXxxx
Less than ten minutes later, Galahad was ready to begin the spell.
After Sam had done one last check on the computer, the cameras showing the meeting upstairs beginning to wrap up, he shoved the laptop in the duffel and Bors carried the bag to the exit closest to their car, where he dropped it beside the door. Bors then joined Percival, and the two knights freed Mordred from the pillar before marching him between them to stand beside his men and the crate holding the Bleeding Lance. Each gave a final bow to the brothers, a gesture promptly returned.
Galahad added the final ingredient to a small bowl and picked up the parchment on which the words to the spell were written. "Are you sure there is nothing more I can do to repay your kindness?" He glanced worriedly at Dean. "It would be my honor to carry you from here to a place of safety before I go."
"Hell no. No one's carrying me anywhere," Dean growled. "I can walk my own damn self to the car."
Galahad turned questioningly to Sam, who just nodded. "We'll get home in one piece. Thanks. You just do the same."
Galahad took a step toward his men, then turned back. "You do know that Camelot sits within the walls of the City of Winchester?"
Dean's eyebrow peaked. "I thought that was just more folk tale B.S."
Sam nodded. "I mean, even our so-called experts can't even agree where Camelot was, or if it even existed."
"Oh it exists-I assure you. It is my home." Galahad smiled. "And since you carry the name of Winchester as your own, then it seems it was also home to your forebears. It would not surprise me to learn that your ancestors were at my side in battle, fighting as fiercely as you did today."
Dean snort quickly turned into a pained grimace. "Hopefully they were fighting with you, not against you."
Galahad's smile widened. "Of that I have no doubt." He reached inside his cowl and tugged at a chain, freeing it from his armor then pulling it over his head. "Here." He offered the chain to Sam "I ask that you accept this as a token of my gratitude for your services to the Crown."
Sam's eyes widened when he saw the amulet that hung from the chain-a red rampant dragon holding a cross against a backdrop of Camelot's Round Table. He shook his head. "We can't… we can't take that."
"Why?" Dean glanced from the amulet to Sam. "Why can't we?"
"It's too much." Sam again shook his head. "It's the symbol of the Brotherhood of the Round Table. Only those called to serve by King Arthur were given those."
"And if Arthur were here, he would bestow this on the two of you himself." Galahad grabbed Sam's arm and dropped the amulet into his hand, folding his fingers over it. "To refuse would be considered a great insult."
"And we don't wanna insult him, do we Sammy?" Dean grinned at his brother. "I mean, the dude's a total badass with that sword. Pissing him off just wouldn't end well."
"Yeah." Sam allowed a small smile to escape, then glanced up at Galahad and nodded his thanks. "It was an honor."
"No…." Galahad bowed gracefully. "Sir Samuel, Sir Dean-the honor is mine. Your methods may be…unorthodox, but in your hearts, you are true knights of the Round Table."
Dean weakly smacked his brother. "Hear that-we're knights. That is so cool."
With a smile and another bow, Galahad turned and rejoined his men. After igniting the mixture in the bowl and reciting the words of the spell, there was a loud crack that made both brothers flinch, a brilliant flash of red light, then nothing. The knights had returned to the past.
Sam smiled. "And you'd never even know they were here."
Dean snorted, glancing again at the destruction that surrounded them. "You're kidding, right?"
"Yeah…suppose I am." Sam moved to put his good arm around Dean's back, lending support. "Come on, let's get the hell out of here."
Dean batted away Sam's arm. "Dude, I'm good. Just move."
Sam glanced down at Dean's injured side; despite the arm cradled protectively around it, it was easy to see blood leaching through the bandage. He was pale, sweat visible on his forehead, and his breathing too shallow, too rapid. "Dean, what's going on in there?"
"I feel like crap, so let's just…go home." Dean was already moving toward the exit.
Sam fell in step beside him. They were almost out of the hall when a metallic glint in one of the display cases caught Sam's eye. "Son of a bitch…."
"What?" Dean turned unsteadily. "What son of a bitch?"
"Looks like the knights got home safely." Sam gestured with this head toward the case. "In there, one of the exhibits-it's a piece of foil." He read the card under the fragment. "This small piece of processed aluminium foil has confounded experts. Found during an architectural dig in the City of Winchester, England, it has been carbon dated to the 5th Century."
Dean snorted. "Percival and his sandwich, right?"
"Yeah. Guess he took one for the road."
"I liked him." Dean smiled tiredly, setting off again for the exit. "He was my favorite."
"Can't think why?" Sam glanced over at his brother; Dean was moving robotically, one foot in front of the other. If he stopped now, there was good chance he wouldn't get started again. The best thing to do was keep him talking, keep him distracted. "You still think Batman could kick Galahad's ass blindfolded?"
"What?"
"When we were kids, you read me that comic-Classics Illustrated-about the knights and the Holy Grail. You didn't think much of Galahad back then." As they reached the exit, Sam pulled the passkey he'd swiped from the docent from his pocket. "Pretty sure you called him a pansy."
Dean stared at Sam like he'd just grown a second head. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"That's convenient." Sam swiped the card through the reader and pushed the door open. After Dean walked through, he picked up the duffel and followed him. "Where'd you park the car?"
Dean had to think for a moment, which really amped up Sam's worry. "Um…over there, by the exit."
Sam nodded. "OK. Wanna stay here and I'll bring the car to you?"
Dean was moving again. "Already halfway there, Sammy-keep up."
Sam had to smile at that, and quickly fell in step beside his brother.
Continued in Chapter 4b
SPOILERS: Technically, the story is set within Season 9, post trial-related fallout, but is a standalone case-fic-no spoilers-and may become slightly AU depending on what happens in Tuesday’s Season 9 premiere. Right now, though, it fits within canon.
DISCLAIMER: The characters of Supernatural belong to Eric Kripke, Jeremy Carver & Co. I am playing in their sandbox, with their toys, with much gratitude.
RATING: T for swearing, including the 'big boy' words, as Jensen calls them.
WORD COUNT: Chapter Four: 11K+ Complete story: 30K
GENRE: Gen/Hurt-Comfort
A/N: This is the final of four chapters; to those of you who like to wait until a story is complete before reading - it's all here. It didn't fit in one file here but both 4a and 4b have been posted simultaneously. Many thanks to everyone who joined me on this adventure and sent along such wonderful feedback; both mean a lot. Big hugs to my beta, Harrigan; my stories are always better with your help. I tinkered post-beta, so any remaining mistakes are mine and mine alone. Thanks also to Freya for the encouragement to get this done. Written to fill the ‘Job-related Injury’ square in my hc_Bingo card. Enjoy.
Link back to Chapter 3 Here
STAINLESS AND HONORABLE LIVES
Chapter 4a
Sam walked up the three steps to the armory exhibit and glanced around. Two full suits of armor flanked the entrance, as if on guard. Inside, each of the walls was covered with swords, shields, lances-anything a knight would have used in battle. It was an impressive display of weaponry, but there was nothing that even remotely resembled a grail-in any of its possible forms.
He turned to leave but stopped when his gaze fell on a long, shallow crate on the floor. The customs labels made it obvious it was one of the boxes used to ship the exhibit items from the London museum to the States. An inventory list, identical to the one Sam, Galahad, and Rev. Jeffers had combed through back at the church, sat on top of the crate. The first dozen or so pages were folded back, with writing covering the margin on the opened page. Intrigued, Sam picked it up.
His eyes widened when he read the notes, obviously written by one of the museum employees while setting up the room. He dropped to his knees and pushed back the lid of the crate. There was just one artifact left inside, and Sam's heart started racing when he realized what it might be. "Oh my god…."
"Sammy! We're about to have company. Get your ass somewhere out of sight and hunker down."
Sam's head snapped toward Dean's shouted warning, and he staggered to his feet. Shoving the inventory list into his back pocket, he moved quickly down the armory's stairs and headed back towards his brother. When he rounded one of the faux-stone walls and saw Dean, he was light-headed from excitement and sudden exertion. His hand shot out reflexively, pressing against the wall to steady himself, but he ventured a smile. "I think I found something. I-"
A loud bang followed by the sound of splintering wood made him jump. Like Dean, his head snapped toward the origin of the noise-the doors to the exhibit hall. In front of them, Bors and Percival stood shoulder to shoulder, swords raised, watching as the doors buckled a little more with each blow.
"You found something? Dude, your timing seriously sucks." Dean scrambled back to the table to check out the laptop, with Sam close behind him. Sam studied the images on the screen; two armored knights standing outside the doors with swords raised, two more throwing themselves at the locked doors to break them down.
“What can I do?”
Dean pointed to the figures on the screen. "That one's Mordred, that's Accolon…."
"Morgan's lover." Sam's gaze jumped between the screen and the door, flinching as the door took another blow.
"Yeah. And the two human battering rams are Mordred's kids."
"Melehan and Medraig." Sam turned again towards the doors. "What can I do?"
"Like I said, get your ass out of sight. You're here for the treasure hunt, remember?"
Sam shook his head. "Dean, come on. No way am I-"
"Sorry, Sammy-everyone's partnered up. At this hoedown, you get to play wallflower." Besides…." Dean picked up a sword from the table. "You're in no shape for a swordfight."
"And you are?" Sam stared at his brother incredulously. In all the weapons training they'd been subjected to growing up, broadswords had never really entered the picture. "When the hell did Dad teach you to use one of those?"
"He didn't." Dean held the sword with both hands, swinging it to test its weight. His smile at Sam was accompanied by a small shrug. "But I've got two working arms, which is one more than you."
"Just….just make damn sure you keep both of 'em."
Dean grinned. "That's the plan, believe me."
Sam swallowed bile; Dean was a damn good fighter and a quick study, but the knights had been trained to use a sword since they were kids. Then there was the armor versus his brother's street clothes. He scowled as Dean stripped off his long-sleeved shirt, leaving only his T-shirt and jeans. Even a glancing blow could….
"Take that and hide." Dean pointed to the computer. "If anything goes sideways, get these guys home, then get the hell out."
Sam shook his head. "Screw that. I'm not going anywhere without you."
"I'm touched, Sammy." Dean grinned. "But I'm not planning on checking out-not after you go and drop a cliff-hanger on me. I wanna know what you found." He winked, then turned to join the knights.
Sam slammed shut the laptop, shoved it in the duffel, then stepped behind one of the exhibit hall's large support columns. Yes, his shoulder was screwed, and yes, a broadsword required two hands to wield effectively, but being relegated to the sidelines still felt all kinds of wrong; there had to be something he could do….
With a final ear-splitting crunch of splintering wood, the doors flew open. Out of breath, Melehan and Medraig barged through then moved to each side, allowing Accolon and Mordred to follow them inside.
Mordred smiled as he caught sight of Galahad, Bors, and Percival; it was a cruel smile that turned Sam's stomach. "Well, well, well…." He bowed his head to Galahad. "This is a surprise."
"Wish I could say the same, you lying sack of shit," Percival growled.
"Sir Percival." Mordred's eyes glittered coldly as he turned to the knight. "As crass as ever, I see. Why Arthur tolerates your filth I will never understand. If I sat on the throne, your head would have been mounted on a pike long ago."
Percival matched his opponent's dark smile. "I will see you in Hell before your ass gets within a league of Camelot's throne."
Mordred chuckled. "I'm certain that can be arranged-sending you to Hell, I mean." His gaze traveled from one knight to the other before finally settling on Dean. "You must be desperate, Galahad. First you travel through time, then you allow this gutter rat to join your ranks."
Dean offered a mocking bow. "Good to see you live up to your billing. Sack of shit, indeed."
Galahad's voice was quiet, attempting to be the voice of reason. "There's nothing here for you, Mordred. Take your men and leave."
Mordred surveyed the exhibit hall. "Come now, Galahad-you're a pious man. You would never have embraced the magic it took to bring you here unless the reward was worth angering your god." He strode toward the nearest display case, studying the items inside. "No…. I'd say the plunder must be well worth the trip."
"Plunder? Now it is you who treat me as a half-wit. We both know why you came." Galahad's expression didn't change. "I ask you as one brother-in-arms to another-will you leave peacefully? What you seek does not belong with you."
Mordred's cruel smile widened. "We shall see." He lunged at Galahad, a loud metallic clang echoing through the exhibit hall as Percival stepped forward and blocked Mordred's strike with his own sword. Galahad spun out of the way and had his own sword raised in time to block an attack from Accolon.
A full-on battle quickly broke out.
Sam was in awe of the strength and savagery with which the knights on both sides fought. The grunts of exertion, the chilling sound of metal against metal as offensive strike met defensive block echoed through the hall. Sam had worn Bors's armor for only a short time and he was amazed at how much the weight had slowed him down. But it seemed to have little effect on the knights; he had no idea how they could swing their swords with such ferocity, move with such grace while weighed down by all that metal.
Percival was paired with Mordred; size-wise they were evenly matched and their fighting styles similar, relying on brute strength. Galahad and Accolon, however, seemed more old-school, more in line with what Sam expected of a fight between knights. As for Bors…well, he just seemed annoyed that his opponent was young and green. He appeared content simply to defend himself…let the kid tire himself out before ultimately putting him out of his misery.
Hollywood had no fucking clue; any swordfight staged for movies or television paled in comparison to the scene playing out in front of him. Displays toppled, furniture splintered as each man battled in what was likely a fight to the death. It would have been fascinating to watch had his brother not been caught up in the middle of it.
Dean was paired up with one of Mordred's sons. He looked slightly younger than the one battling Bors, so Sam would assume it was Medraig. Dean didn't have the training or the grace of his opponent, but he had brains, fearlessness, and an uncanny ability to think on his feet. "Why so shocked?" Dean had retorted when many years earlier Sam had once asked him about the latter. "Life has dropped us headfirst in the shitpile so many times, we'd have suffocated long ago if we couldn't… improvise."
His brother was definitely improvising here. Medraig was circling him arrogantly, his sword cutting through the air as he put on a display like an animal trying to intimidate his adversary into submission. But Dean wasn't easily intimidated; he didn't back down to anyone, especially in a fight. Medraig's antics were just pissing him off.
Sam moved in closer in time to see Dean flash a dangerous smile and throw out his own taunt. "Is this a dance or a fight? 'Cause, dude-I don't dance."
That pushed Medraig into action, and when he attacked, he was vicious; arrogance did not make him a weak opponent. But while Medraig was more experienced, Dean was more agile; he blocked strike after strike, effectively if clumsily, sometimes staggering under the force of a blow, but quickly regaining his feet.
When Medraig caught his breath, again peacocking around his opponent, Dean smiled. "That the best you got?"
Medraig returned the smile in kind. "Not even close."
The battle between Galahad and Accolon had moved closer to Sam, blocking his view of his brother. He darted for a pillar fifteen feet away, peering around it in time to see that Dean's taunt had fueled another attack. Medraig unleashed another flurry of strikes; Dean countered successfully but almost went down, regaining his balance at the last second. But he mistimed his last block, his adversary's sword sneaking through to carve a long slash across Dean's cheek.
Medraig smiled at drawing blood. Dean's eyes narrowed, and for the first time, he went on the offensive. He wouldn't earn many marks for form but, unencumbered by armor, he came at Medraig with a speed the knight was unused to, and Medraig was soon backpedaling under the force of each two-handed strike-something that both surprised and angered him. Then as Dean smashed his sword down on his adversary's, knocking it toward the ground, he let go of his own weapon with his right hand and leveled a solid punch to Medraig's face. Despite the noise from the other fights in progress, Sam liked to think he heard bone crack.
"You little fuck."
Yeah; by the sound of the knight's voice, Dean had broken his nose.
Dean grinned. "Mission one-accomplished."
Then the knight played dirty. He snapped a pouch from his belt and threw the contents in Dean's face. Choking on the black dust, his eyes watering, Dean stumbled backwards, swiping a hand across his face in an attempt to clear his vision while swinging the sword blindly one-handed just to keep his opponent at bay. Medraig was smirking, stalking toward Dean just waiting for his opening.
Sam riffled through the duffel then stepped into the open. "Hey!" As Medraig's attention snapped to him, Sam rolled a bottle of water along the floor toward his brother. "Dean-at your feet." He circled away from Dean, keeping the knight's focus on him and away from his brother. "That the only way you can win a fight? Blinding your opponent?"
Medraig studied Sam, making no attempt to hide his contempt. "No sword…no armor…. The rats are indeed rallying to Galahad's call."
Out of the corner of his eye, Sam watched Dean crouch down, fumble around until he found the bottle, then quickly twist off the lid and tilt his head back to pour the water all over his face, rinsing away the dust. Sam glared at Medraig. "I dunno-taking on an unarmed man seems just your speed." He took a step forward. "Come on-what are you waiting for?"
"You'd like that wouldn't you?" Medraig's smile was cruel. "But one rat at a time." He spun without warning, swinging his sword at Dean.
Dean had dropped the water bottle and again had both hands on his sword, but was still blinking to clear his vision. He reacted instinctively to the blur of movement in front of him, raising his sword in time to deflect the knight's blow. But the force of the strike knocked the sword from Dean's hands, and momentum carried through the strike, Medraig's blade slicing into Dean's side.
"No!" Sam's horrified shout disappeared almost immediately behind a gunshot. He'd reacted instinctively; the moment he saw Medraig spin towards Dean, Sam had reached for his gun. His aim was true, the bullet hitting Medraig between the shoulder and neck where the chain-mail was vulnerable.
Medraig went down immediately, but so did Dean, his knees buckling as he clutched at his side, his gray T-shirt beneath his hand rapidly turning red. Medraig gaped at Sam, unsure of what had happened, of what had taken him down.
Dean put him out of his misery. "Good night, knight." He slammed his fist into the man's jaw, likely breaking that along with his nose and knocking consciousness from him. With the momentum of the punch, Dean pitched forward and collapsed on top of Medraig with a groan.
Galahad was fighting Accolon a few feet from Dean. Whether it was the gunshot that distracted Accolon or the sight of his comrade going down, Sam couldn't be sure, but whichever it was gave Galahad the opening he needed. He drove his sword into a joint in Accolon's leg armor and when the man went down with a scream of pain, slammed the hilt of his sword into his head. Mordred's lieutenant was unconscious before he hit the ground. Galahad left him there and joined Sam in scrambling toward Dean.
"Hey…." Sam dropped to his knees at his brother's side, but needed Galahad's help to pull Dean off Medraig and roll him onto his back.
"Fuck." Dean swore loudly at being moved, then shot a bleary look at Sam. "You said don't shoot him, then you go and do it?"
"I never said don't shoot him." Sam pulled Dean's hand away from his side and peeled his T-shirt out of the way, revealing a long, deep gash running from just under the ribs to the pelvic bone. "I said don't kill him."
"Details, Sammy…. Son of a bitch…." Dean screwed his eyes closed, forcing out short breaths as Sam examined the wound. "How's that bullet in his neck gonna change history when we ship him home?"
Sam turned to Galahad. "I need the duffel bag-over there. It's got the first-aid kit in it."
Galahad nodded and went to get it.
Sam turned back to Dean and pressed his hand firmly over the wound. "We'll dig out the bullet, but I think his armor took the brunt of the shot. Besides…." His stomach lurched at the sight of his brother's blood on his hands. "If he'd-"
"But he didn't." Dean glanced up at Sam, a simple look offering unspoken reassurance; even hurt, he was still in full-on big brother mode.
"Damn it." Sam cleared his throat and pressed down a little harder. "We've gotta get the bleeding under control."
"I like that plan." Dean blinked to clear his vision, then glanced around. "How are the good guys doing?"
Sam turned toward the fights still in progress. "Two down, two to go."
Bors seemed to have tired of simply holding off his opponent; he was fighting in earnest now and real fear was visible on Melehan's face as he quickly realized he was outmatched. Stumbling sideways under the latest onslaught, Melehan snarled a curse, then threw black powder in Bors's face.
Bors roared in fury; Melehan smirked-then made the mistake of gloating.
"You're too slow, old man," he taunted. "No match for the strength of youth. You-"
Bors lunged at Melehan. Eyes screwed shut, zoning in on his opponent's voice, he swung his sword with all his weight behind it, knocking Melehan's sword from his hands. Before Melehan had a chance to react, Bors dropped his own sword and grabbed his opponent by the neck of his breastplate, yanked a dagger from his belt and plunged the blade into the younger knight's neck. Melehan died with shock still frozen on his face.
Dean swiped a hand over his eyes, blinking rapidly, as he watched the body crumple. "Dead?"
"Very."
"Well, that just rewrote a few pages of history. He-
"Bors-down!"
Bors reacted instinctively to Galahad's shouted warning, dropping to the ground. The dagger thrown at him by an incensed Mordred sailed over his head and plunged hilt deep into the wall.
With Bors in the clear, all eyes snapped to the one battle still in progress. Mordred had seen both sons and his lieutenant fall. Fury and hate seemed to refuel his strength, and he launched a renewed attack on Percival. The knight was holding his own, but slowly and deliberately being backed into a corner. Galahad dropped the duffel at Sam's side, raised his sword and moved quickly to help his friend.
Percival saw him coming and shook his head. "Don't you dare, brother. This bastard is all mine."
Mordred snorted contemptuously. "It seems all Galahad's rats have delusions of grandeur." He unleashed another vicious attack, with Percival countering each strike; Galahad reluctantly respected his friend's wishes, but stayed close.
The tide turned in an instant; a counter strike from Percival left Mordred slightly off-balance, and Percival launched himself at his opponent, sending them both crashing to the ground. His sword hand pinned under Percival's weight, Mordred had no defense against the punch that smashed into his jaw. Percival yanked a dagger from his belt and raised it, ready to strike.
"Percival-no!"
Percival snapped his head toward Galahad, incredulous at the order.
Galahad shrugged apologetically. "He is worth more to us alive. Restrain him. Bors-you are well?"
Bors shook off his gauntlet and swiped his hand over his eyes. "I'm bloody fine."
Galahad nodded. "Good-then help Percival."
As Bors stumbled forward to help do just that, Galahad turned back to Sam and Dean.
"Ow! Son of bitch!" Dean glared up at his brother, who was using a bottle of water from the duffel to flush the wound in his side. "Go easy there, Sammy."
"Sorry…sorry." Sam worriedly studied his brother. "How's the vision?"
"Blurry." Dean snorted. "So you've never looked better." He turned to Galahad. "But good enough to see what just went down. You sure keeping that bastard alive is the best idea?"
"No." Galahad glanced at Mordred, who was struggling to free himself as Bors and Percival yanked him to his feet. "But his death would simply ignite his mother's fury. If she is busy negotiating his release instead of scheming revenge, that will at least give Merlin the chance to enact some spell to prevent her from opening a door through time again, from undoing anything we may accomplish." He glanced down at Dean. "How can I help?"
Sam motioned to the gauze pad he had pressed against Dean's wound. "Put pressure on this while I flush his eyes."
Galahad shook his head. "The effects of the powder are temporary. His eyesight will soon clear. Focus your attention on the sword wound." The knight looked worried. "Mordred's men are known to devil their blades."
Dean scowled at the knight. "With what?"
Sam stomach lurched again as he wedged another bottle of water between his knees while unscrewing the cap, his left hand still not fully cooperating. "Some kind of poison, I'm guessing."
"So if the wound doesn't kill you, the poison will." Dean scrubbed a hand down his face. "Fuck…."
Sam poured the entire bottle of water over the wound. He then reached instinctively for the antibiotics, but his hand froze on the bottle. "I can't give you this. If there's poison, I have no idea how it will react."
"Then use this." The knight handed Sam a pouch from his belt. "The powder of the calendula flower."
"Calendula…." Sam tipped some of the orange powder into his hand. "They still use this today. It helps the blood clot."
Galahad nodded. "And Merlin has added a few more ingredients to help battle Mordred's treachery."
Dean shot a suspicious look at powder in Sam's hand. "What kind of ingredients?"
Sam raised an eyebrow. "Ones that can counteract the poison. You really wanna know specifics?"
"Probably not."
When Dean gave a terse nod, Sam mixed some of the powder with water in the palm of his hand to form a salve, then spread it on the wound.
"Beyond magic, Merlin is a skilled healer." Now it was Galahad's turn to offer reassurance. "You have done much to help us. I would not offer if I believed it posed any threat."
"Thanks-I"ll hold you to that." Dean looked on as Sam ripped a pressure bandage from its sterile packaging and pressed it into place over the salve. "You done?"
Sam nodded. "For now, but we need you checked out. Medieval poisons are little beyond my first aid skills."
"One crisis at a time, Sammy." Dean held up a hand. "Help me up."
Sam shook his head. "No way. You need to stay as still as possible until-"
"Fine. I'll do it myself." Dean began to push himself up.
"Damn it, Dean…."
Galahad frowned. "Do you need assistance in restraining him?"
"Back off, G." Dean glared at the knight. "I was just starting to like you. Don't make me change my mind."
Reluctantly, Sam moved in to help Dean to his feet. He knew better than to fight his brother; on this they were too much alike. Dean was no more staying put on the floor than Sam would've stayed at the church. Once upright, Dean seemed to pale a little more, but he was at least steady when Sam released his hold.
Bors and Percival were striding towards them, Mordred struggling between them, his arms pinned behind his back. The prisoner spat at Galahad, then started chanting something that to Sam sounded like an incantation. Whatever it was ended abruptly when Percival decked him.
"Did I not make myself clear," Percival grabbed Mordred's face. "You start pulling that dark magic shite and I'm gonna pull off your gauntlet and shove it so far down your throat it comes out the other end. We clear?"
Mordred just glared in response. Sam bent down and riffled through the duffel. "Here, use this to bind his hands." He held up a zip tie and demonstrated how it worked. "Put this end through here and pull. Trust me, he won't get out of it. There's more to use on the others, too."
Mordred was quickly secured to one of the pillars near the round table. There he was in plain sight, but far enough away that the brothers and the knights could still talk without being overheard. After Dean showed Percival a roll of duct tape, and what to do with it, the knight took great pleasure in slapping a piece over Mordred's mouth. Mordred's eyes lit up with renewed fury at that indignity. Bors and Percival then dragged the unconscious knights and Medraig's body into the open area of the exhibit hall near the entrance. When they were done, that's where they'd open the portal.
As Galahad walked back toward the brothers, his gaze fell on the bloodstain that covered much of Dean's shirt. "I am sorry you were injured trying to help us. I owe you a great debt."
"You owe me squat." Dean took in the damage the battles had caused: display cases upended-the glass smashed and contents shattered; paintings slashed; the faux stone walls torn and leaning. "All in a day's work, right?"
Galahad sighed. "Mordred does not have the grail-that is something. But we also have nothing."
"Hold the phone…." Dean grimaced as he moved too quickly, his left arm pressing tightly against his injured side. "You missed Sammy's big announcement, didn't you?"
Galahad turned to Sam, a puzzled expression on his face.
"I, um…." Sam cast a glance at the armory. "Just before Mordred and his men burst in here… I think I found something."
The knight's eyes widened. "Not-
"No." Sam shook his head. "Not the grail itself-but something definitely connected to it. And if I'm right, it's definitely what Mordred was after." He turned to the knights, Bors and Percival now standing on either side of Galahad, listening intently. "You already know that our history books are next to useless, so I just need to know…." He glanced from one knight to the next. "Does Castle Corbenic mean anything to any of you?"
Percival scowled. "I was there less than two moons past…escorting my sister to care for our ailing uncle who is master of Corbenic."
Sam's expression brightened a little. "Your sister is Dindrane, and your uncle Pelles-the Fisher King?"
Percival's expression darkened. "What kind of devilry is this? You cannot know-"
"Stand down, Percy." Dean unsteadily took a step forward, placing himself between Sam and Percival, a warning hand against the knight's chest. "There's no devilry-just an Ivy League education and Sammy's freaky memory. He's going somewhere with this, trust me." He nodded to his brother to continue.
"Look, in several versions of the…folk tales we know, Dindrane and Pelles play central roles in the grail legend." Sam swallowed. "Backing up a bit…. At the time of the crucifixion, there was a man named Bron. He's thought to be the brother-in-law of Joseph of Arimathea, and the man Joseph originally entrusted with the grail. All the guardians of the grail are descended from Bron." He glanced from Percival to Galahad. "Including Pelles-who, if I remember your family tree right, is not just Percival's uncle, but Galahad's grandfather. This ringing any bells?"
Galahad frowned. "Percival and I are blood kin, that much is true-and we know of these guardians. But if we are descended from this Bron, are destined to become guardians, this is the first I am hearing of it."
Sam shrugged. "Given the idea of the guardians is to keep the grail off the radar, I'm guessing it may be a piece of family history that's shared only on a need-to-know basis. You didn't need to know-until you were next in line as guardian. I think this quest is kind of a trial run."
Galahad's frown deepened. "But my father still lives. If what you say is true, would he not be the next to serve?"
"I got this one." Dean gave Galahad a sympathetic shrug. "Lancelot kinda blew it when he fooled around with another man's wife. That pretty much takes him out of the running for anything 'stainless and honorable'-moves you to the front of the line."
Galahad looked puzzled. "This still makes no sense. How can Pelles be guarding something that is lost?"
"Because I don't think it is." Sam exhaled slowly. "I think the grail is still safely hidden at Castle Corbenic."
Dean shot him a WTF look on that one, voicing what each of the knights was also thinking. "If the grail is stashed safe and sound, one, why send Galahad and the boys to hunt it down? And, two, what the hell led them to 2013?"
Sam was pacing as he mentally sorted through the facts. "The grail is a symbolic object-hugely important historically, culturally-but, at the risk of being struck down for saying it, that's all. It has no power. One school of thought says it was simply a serving dish that held the lamb at the Last Supper."
Dean raised an eyebrow. "They sent three knights on a quest for a dirty dish?"
"Like I said, symbolically-it's a big deal." Sam glanced over at Mordred who was still struggling with his bonds, glaring at the men from the far side of the room. "But why would Morgan and Mordred want it? They're not even Christians."
Dean scowled at the trussed knight. "You mean other than a giant 'Fuck you-we found it first'? Or, 'Arthur can have it if he turns over the throne to Mordred.'" His focus returned to his brother. "I'm guessing you've got a third option?"
Sam nodded. "Another theory says the grail was the cup that held the blood of Christ-blood from a wound in his side after a Roman soldier stabbed him with a lance during the crucifixion. His weapon became known as the Bleeding Lance because, at least according to legend, whenever it's placed near the grail, it starts to bleed."
"Wait…I remember this." Dean scrubbed a hand down his face as he sorted through dusty memories. "Pastor Jim told me about it once when we were cleaning the weapons in his church. It's mentioned in the Bible but disappeared after the crucifixion. There's all kind of theories about who took it and where it was hidden." He glanced again at Mordred. "It's also supposed to be some kind of bad-ass weapon-has the power to heal along with the power to kill."
Sam nodded. "Legend also says the man who possesses it will have unlimited power."
Galahad cast a glance at Mordred. "And as the man trying to take the throne from Arthur, that would be reason enough for Mordred to want it."
Again, Sam nodded. "He's just one in a long list of power-hungry men who've tried to find it over the centuries." He shrugged at Dean. "Hell, it was even on Hitler's wish list."
Dean snorted. "The douchebag had necromancers on the payroll, so jonesing after a holy WMD? No shock there."
"If all this is true," Percival snarled, "when we get home, I'm going to take my lance and shove it up Merlin's arse. We've spent years riding all over seven kingdoms in search of the wrong fucking thing."
Galahad smiled. "Some of that fault rides on our own shoulders. Merlin said only that when our quest was successful, we'd know it. We simply assumed we were seeking the grail."
"Because he told us the story of the fucking grail before he sent us out on the bloody quest," Percival growled. "What the hell were we supposed to think we were looking for."
Sam smiled; Percival certainly had a point. "Look, what Merlin did kinda makes sense. Anyone who met you would see three knights on a quest to recover a sacred object-a pretty noble goal. But if they knew you were hunting for a legendary weapon that gives the man who possesses it great power…." He shot another glance at Mordred. "You'd have a lot more competition than just Mordred and his men."
"And perhaps figuring out the true purpose of this quest is all part of proving our true worth as guardians." Galahad turned to Sam and bowed his head. "We are indebted to you and your brother."
"No...." Sam shook his head. "You have no idea what it means to be part of this."
Dean stared at Sam for a moment, a smile toying with the corners of his mouth before he cleared his throat. "And you believe this Bleeding Lance is in the museum?"
"I think so. Check this out." Sam reached for his back pocket and pulled out the inventory list he'd found earlier. "This was on a crate in the armory. One of the museum employees has written notes all over it. Turns out, they found a piece that wasn't on the list. Because it seemed to be a genuine artifact, they called the London museum but couldn't get hold of anyone because of the time difference. They called Chicago, and it looks like someone there was a little sloppy with their record-keeping, because they pulled the old 'We don't know what you're talking about' defense. Chicago either left the lance in the crate or stuck it in a display without cataloging it. It wasn't noticed until it arrived here in St. Louis."
Guilt now fueled Galahad's frown. "I was drawn to that armory. Felt…something there. But I was so focused on finding the grail, I overlooked what was right under my nose." He snorted. "What kind of guardian does that make me?"
"A human one." Sam took a step closer to Galahad. "Before you kick yourself too hard, maybe we should take a look at it and make sure I'm right." He smiled. "I'm human, too-got plenty of screw-ups on my record." He gestured with his head towards the armory. "It's in a long, flat crate on the floor."
Galahad nodded at Bors and Percival and the two knights headed for the armory, returning a few moments later, carrying the crate between them. They set it down in front of Galahad, and removed the lid. The lance that lay inside the crate was very ordinary in appearance-the shaft almost seven feet in length, the wood grayed and cracked with age, and topped with a triangular head affixed by a socketed iron shank. Galahad bent down to pick it up; as his fingers curled around the wood, etched markings suddenly became visible just below the shank.
"What the hell is that?" Dean leaned in to study the mark. "Long…Longinus." He frowned. "I know that name."
"As do I." Galahad stared at the etching. "Longinus was the Roman soldier whose lance pierced our Lord's side when he was on the Cross."
Sam's chest tightened with excitement as he reached for the lance. "May I?"
Galahad handed over the lance, but as Sam took hold of it, the etching vanished. "What…." Sam looked shocked for a moment, then a smile spread slowly across his face. He turned to his brother. "Dean, take it-I wanna check something."
Dean took the lance; there was still no sign of the etched mark.
"Hand it to Bors."
In the knight's hands, the lance remained unmarked.
"OK, Percival-your turn."
As Percival took the lance, the word Longinus slowly reappeared.
Sam's smile widened. "It's some kind of…warding on it-a protective spell as a last line of defense. To most of us it's just an old-very old-but ordinary weapon. But in the hands of the descendants of Bron, the guardians of the grail-"
"It reveals its true origin." Galahad smiled at Percival, who still held the lance. "What would the gentlefolk of Camelot think of Sir Percival now?"
Percival just looked overwhelmed. "Bugger me-take it." He quickly handed it back to Galahad. "Before God realizes his mistake and lightning strikes me dead."
Galahad grinned, then placed the lance reverently back in the crate. "This has remained hidden for centuries. How is it that it is now so carelessly left unguarded?"
"Based on what Sammy found, I'd say it was never supposed to be part of this exhibit, never supposed to leave London." Dean seemed shaky as he took a few steps backwards. "Best guess? I'm going with latest guardian dropped dead. Between Chicago and here, that lance has been in America for close to a month. No way would it have gone AWOL that long if there was somebody around to notice it was gone."
"Speaking of noticing…." Sam checked his watch. "We've got about fifteen minutes before that meeting upstairs is over." He surveyed the damage in the exhibit hall. "None of us wants to be here when they see this."
Galahad nodded. "Then it is time we all returned home." He frowned at the blood stain on Dean's shirt. "But the lance supposedly possesses the power to heal. Can we not use it to heal each of your wounds? Surely that would be an honorable use given your service to its protection here today."
Dean shook his head. "If it's all the same to you, I think I'll stick with modern medicine. Messing with weapons of God, especially ones Hitler wanted-that's just got 'bad idea' written all over it."
Sam swallowed; he wanted so badly to say 'No. Go for it-make Dean better.' The sword wound didn't worry him too much; he'd stitch that up and, with time and rest, Dean would be fine. But if poison was involved…that was a whole different ball game. But Dean was right; as much as he hated to admit it, they couldn't use it-it was just as likely to kill him as cure him. "No, just pack it up and get it safely to Corbenic-make sure neither Mordred nor anyone like him ever gets their hands on it. I'll take care of Dean." He glanced at his brother. "It's what we do."
Galahad smiled. "So I've noticed."
xxxXXXxxx
Less than ten minutes later, Galahad was ready to begin the spell.
After Sam had done one last check on the computer, the cameras showing the meeting upstairs beginning to wrap up, he shoved the laptop in the duffel and Bors carried the bag to the exit closest to their car, where he dropped it beside the door. Bors then joined Percival, and the two knights freed Mordred from the pillar before marching him between them to stand beside his men and the crate holding the Bleeding Lance. Each gave a final bow to the brothers, a gesture promptly returned.
Galahad added the final ingredient to a small bowl and picked up the parchment on which the words to the spell were written. "Are you sure there is nothing more I can do to repay your kindness?" He glanced worriedly at Dean. "It would be my honor to carry you from here to a place of safety before I go."
"Hell no. No one's carrying me anywhere," Dean growled. "I can walk my own damn self to the car."
Galahad turned questioningly to Sam, who just nodded. "We'll get home in one piece. Thanks. You just do the same."
Galahad took a step toward his men, then turned back. "You do know that Camelot sits within the walls of the City of Winchester?"
Dean's eyebrow peaked. "I thought that was just more folk tale B.S."
Sam nodded. "I mean, even our so-called experts can't even agree where Camelot was, or if it even existed."
"Oh it exists-I assure you. It is my home." Galahad smiled. "And since you carry the name of Winchester as your own, then it seems it was also home to your forebears. It would not surprise me to learn that your ancestors were at my side in battle, fighting as fiercely as you did today."
Dean snort quickly turned into a pained grimace. "Hopefully they were fighting with you, not against you."
Galahad's smile widened. "Of that I have no doubt." He reached inside his cowl and tugged at a chain, freeing it from his armor then pulling it over his head. "Here." He offered the chain to Sam "I ask that you accept this as a token of my gratitude for your services to the Crown."
Sam's eyes widened when he saw the amulet that hung from the chain-a red rampant dragon holding a cross against a backdrop of Camelot's Round Table. He shook his head. "We can't… we can't take that."
"Why?" Dean glanced from the amulet to Sam. "Why can't we?"
"It's too much." Sam again shook his head. "It's the symbol of the Brotherhood of the Round Table. Only those called to serve by King Arthur were given those."
"And if Arthur were here, he would bestow this on the two of you himself." Galahad grabbed Sam's arm and dropped the amulet into his hand, folding his fingers over it. "To refuse would be considered a great insult."
"And we don't wanna insult him, do we Sammy?" Dean grinned at his brother. "I mean, the dude's a total badass with that sword. Pissing him off just wouldn't end well."
"Yeah." Sam allowed a small smile to escape, then glanced up at Galahad and nodded his thanks. "It was an honor."
"No…." Galahad bowed gracefully. "Sir Samuel, Sir Dean-the honor is mine. Your methods may be…unorthodox, but in your hearts, you are true knights of the Round Table."
Dean weakly smacked his brother. "Hear that-we're knights. That is so cool."
With a smile and another bow, Galahad turned and rejoined his men. After igniting the mixture in the bowl and reciting the words of the spell, there was a loud crack that made both brothers flinch, a brilliant flash of red light, then nothing. The knights had returned to the past.
Sam smiled. "And you'd never even know they were here."
Dean snorted, glancing again at the destruction that surrounded them. "You're kidding, right?"
"Yeah…suppose I am." Sam moved to put his good arm around Dean's back, lending support. "Come on, let's get the hell out of here."
Dean batted away Sam's arm. "Dude, I'm good. Just move."
Sam glanced down at Dean's injured side; despite the arm cradled protectively around it, it was easy to see blood leaching through the bandage. He was pale, sweat visible on his forehead, and his breathing too shallow, too rapid. "Dean, what's going on in there?"
"I feel like crap, so let's just…go home." Dean was already moving toward the exit.
Sam fell in step beside him. They were almost out of the hall when a metallic glint in one of the display cases caught Sam's eye. "Son of a bitch…."
"What?" Dean turned unsteadily. "What son of a bitch?"
"Looks like the knights got home safely." Sam gestured with this head toward the case. "In there, one of the exhibits-it's a piece of foil." He read the card under the fragment. "This small piece of processed aluminium foil has confounded experts. Found during an architectural dig in the City of Winchester, England, it has been carbon dated to the 5th Century."
Dean snorted. "Percival and his sandwich, right?"
"Yeah. Guess he took one for the road."
"I liked him." Dean smiled tiredly, setting off again for the exit. "He was my favorite."
"Can't think why?" Sam glanced over at his brother; Dean was moving robotically, one foot in front of the other. If he stopped now, there was good chance he wouldn't get started again. The best thing to do was keep him talking, keep him distracted. "You still think Batman could kick Galahad's ass blindfolded?"
"What?"
"When we were kids, you read me that comic-Classics Illustrated-about the knights and the Holy Grail. You didn't think much of Galahad back then." As they reached the exit, Sam pulled the passkey he'd swiped from the docent from his pocket. "Pretty sure you called him a pansy."
Dean stared at Sam like he'd just grown a second head. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
"That's convenient." Sam swiped the card through the reader and pushed the door open. After Dean walked through, he picked up the duffel and followed him. "Where'd you park the car?"
Dean had to think for a moment, which really amped up Sam's worry. "Um…over there, by the exit."
Sam nodded. "OK. Wanna stay here and I'll bring the car to you?"
Dean was moving again. "Already halfway there, Sammy-keep up."
Sam had to smile at that, and quickly fell in step beside his brother.
Continued in Chapter 4b