Fic: Rings of Enchantment (Chapter 1)
Chapter 1
~Earlier that week~
It’s early on a Monday morning, and the crisp breeze tousles Sam Winchester’s floppy bowl-cut hair as he walks across campus with his brother, Dean. More precisely, they are witch and familiar, but growing up together under Sam’s mentor and old family friend, Bobby, they are very much brothers, and the bond the three share as a family is strong.
Dean found Sam two weeks after his birth, when Dean himself was just four, and they have been together ever since. It was Dean who mourned Sam’s mother, Mary, most when she died mysteriously, since Sam had been too young to know what was happening, and it was Dean who helped Bobby with Sam when John, Sam’s father, left them at Bobby’s and never came back. No one’s under any illusions - Mary was the witch in the family, and being only human, John’s search for her killer couldn’t have ended well. He hadn’t even known Mary was a witch until their other dog, Eddie, took human form before dying as he attempted to save Mary from the fire that killed them both.
The large campus of Excolo University is a mix of old and new buildings surrounded by sprawling greenery. There are beautiful parks, gardens and woods around almost every corner, and they are the nation’s top university for the study of botany. Somewhat more surprisingly, they also have an excellent law school, which Sam fully intends to get into in three years’ time. Sam has work at the administration building (one of the oldest buildings on campus, but fully refurbished just last year) before his first class at 12:40pm, and Dean, as usual, is using the walk there to try talking him into getting a girlfriend.
“What about Amelia?” he suggests, and Sam’s lost track of where they are on his list of female acquaintances, some of whom he only very remotely knows. “You guys have been hanging out a lot.”
He shakes his head. “We’re just friends, Dean. I like her dog.”
The blond almost pouts. “What, I’m not good enough for you?”
In his other form, Dean is a gorgeous emerald-eyed golden retriever, not that he’s any less attractive as a human - he’s certainly popular either way.
“Oh, c’mon man, having Rufus never kept Bobby from spoiling you rotten.”
Rufus is Bobby’s familiar, a large and fearsome Rottweiler. While everyone tries to pat Dean, Rufus keeps strangers firmly off Singer Salvage.
“I resent that, bitch.”
“Jerk,” he replies automatically when he catches sight of someone familiar as they come within sight of the administration building’s stone façade. “Hey, look.”
Two girls are hurrying down the steps hand-in-hand, one lightly tanned in a red dress with long wavy golden hair, the other chocolate-skinned with long black curls and wearing a blue sweater and jeans.
Dean checks them out unsubtly. “Friends of yours, Sammy? That’s my boy. They’re hot.”
“They’re new,” Sam corrects, rolling olive eyes. “Exchange students. Bela, the blonde, is from the UK. Cassie is originally from Missouri. We’ve got Latin together.”
“Well, well, sounds like my baby brother’s taken an interest.”
“Yeah, um…” Sam ducks his head, hiding his slight blush under his bangs. “I was thinking of asking Bela out this week. She’s smart, smells good too - I think a Beta.”
“Yeah? Atta boy.” Dean turns for another good, long look. “Me, I’m more into- Wait a minute.” He perks up. “That girl, you said her name’s Cassie? She’s a familiar, like me.”
Sam whirls. “What?”
“Huh, what do you know? You never could pick the normal girls.” Dean shrugs.
Sam groans, burying his face in his hands. “I suppose it makes for a lot less explaining,” he concedes.
Given his track record (the first died in a mysterious fire, the next turned out to be a werewolf, the third a girl who mostly hyperventilated in his presence, and after a brief escapade with a siren, he’d quite simply given up and decided to take a long hiatus from it all), he figures a fellow witch counts as pretty ordinary.
“Well,” Dean claps him on the shoulder as they climb the stairs, “don’t you slack off or chicken out on me, Sammy. You’d damn well better have a date lined up for us both this weekend, you hear me?”
Sam pauses midway through the door. “Don’t you have to be at work in fifteen, Dean? You’re going to be late.” Dean works at the local mechanic’s. Of course, Martin doesn’t know he’s a familiar.
His brother frowns. “Don’t change the subject.”
“I-”
Just then, the security alarm goes off.
Looking at each other in confusion, everyone grabs the personal belongings they have on hand and hurries outside as trained.
“What’s going on?” Shawna, one of his colleagues, asks no one in particular as she passes, but before anyone can hazard an answer, a lady (one of the secretaries upstairs, if Sam remembers right) bursts through the door of the emergency stairwell.
“Oh my God! Oh my God!!!” she cries in a panic, running out, tears streaming down her terrified face. “The President is dead!!!”
The police are milling about the fourth floor crime scene, and some officers are questioning some of the people out here - from what he’s overheard, the prevailing opinion is murder, but the weapon that inflicted the stab wound in the victim’s neck appears to be missing. All Sam can think about, though, is the lingering energy of spellwork around the building.
Does it mean Bela was the killer? If so, why would she use a weapon? Perhaps to make it look like an ordinary murder and keep the Grigori off her trail? But then why use the Craft at all?
The Grigori are the supernatural police, notorious for their radical interrogation techniques and even more extreme punishments. Named after the original watchers of humanity and once made up entirely of angels, it seems the angels protested the name until the introduction of the non-angelic membership. Although any non-angel had to prove they were righteous and “clean” (meaning they didn’t harm humans or otherwise contravene the laws of Heaven) before being sanctioned, none of that could change the angelic perception that they were impure, and the angels now consider the name terribly apt. Till this day, only angels are allowed to work in the field alone - everyone else needs an angelic partner or supervisor, no matter how many years they’d been sanctioned.
Sam couldn’t blame anyone for wanting to avoid the Grigori enough to practically hand themselves in to the human police, but why would Bela kill the University President? She’s only been stateside for two weeks. Surely a fortnight isn’t enough to cultivate a motive for the murder of a person she barely interacted with. Unless… they knew each other before. Or that isn’t what the spell was for. Would that mean there was someone else involved? Or perhaps she had used magic to distract him for Cassie to deliver the killing blow.
Sam shakes his head - too many questions. If only he could get close enough to cast a tracing spell, he would be able to determine the nature of the spell and its caster, but of course, the police have almost the entire floor taped off. Technically, he supposes it’s none of his business, but he wishes he knew whether he’d been planning to ask a murderer out later in Intermediate Latin.
“Hey.” He looks up from where he’s seated on the stone steps. Dean called Martin to say he’d be late because the cops won’t let anyone leave. “How long do you think they’re gonna keep us here, man? We didn’t even see anything.”
Just then, one of the officers announces over a megaphone that the police will be closing off the building for the investigation and that anyone who isn’t being questioned can leave. That means work’s out of the question for the rest of the day, possibly much longer, and he might have to find another job. He needs the hours and the money - he can’t afford to wait till any longer than next week for them to reopen the building. Still, there’s nothing to be done about it, and he will accomplish nothing by staying, so he climbs to his feet and joins the quickly dispersing crowd.
“Let’s go, Dean.”
The blond falls into step beside him. “Guess this means we won’t be having that date this weekend.”
Sam shoots his brother a Look. “Would you?”
Dean shrugs as they step out of the building’s shadow into the morning sunshine. “Sure I would. Best way to investigate.”
“Right.” Sam’s expression morphs into what Dean fondly calls his bitchface, one of many. “Don’t you have work, Dean? As I recall, you said you’d be late, not absent.”
“Ugh.” He glances at his watch. “I’m going, I’m going.”
“It’s that way.” Sam pushes him in the direction of Martin’s workshop. “Now hurry up and go. I’ll see you at home.”
They part with a clap to the shoulder, and Sam watches Dean jog off for several moments before turning towards the library. If he can’t work, he can at least get some required reading done for tomorrow’s class before the entire morning goes to waste.
He’s barely rounded the corner when he’s stopped by a hand to the forehead and vise-like grip on his wrist. “Halt, witch,” says a deep voice with a strangely resonant quality. “With the authority vested in me by the Grigori, I am placing you under arrest for the suspicion of murder.”
“Wait, what?!” The other is strong - he can’t escape. “Who are you?!”
“I am Castiel, an angel of the Lord,” the other explains simply.
He has short dark hair and the bluest eyes Sam has ever seen. He’s also wearing a tan trench coat over his black business suit despite the increasingly warm spring day, and his blue tie is inside-out. More notably though, Sam finds his attention drawn to the other’s scent - it’s like nothing he’s ever smelled before, otherworldly, and being an Alpha, Sam picks up a great many scents just walking around. He can’t help but be intrigued, and Castiel being easy on the eyes doesn’t hurt either.
“Now, come, Sam Winchester,” the angel continues. “You will be tried and punished for your crime.”
That snaps Sam out of his daze.
“Cr- What?! Wait, wait, wait. I haven’t killed anybody!” he protests, flailing wildly and pushing the other’s hand away.
“We will hear your testimony later.” Castiel reaches for his brow again, and he hurriedly leans away.
“T-testimony? No, wait, please! I don’t even know whom I’m being accused of murdering!”
The detective pauses. “So you claim ignorance of the murder of President Edward Hazel? Know that such shallow pretenses will not save you from justice.”
“Th-the President?!” Olive eyes widen. “Why would I kill the President? I don’t even know the President! A-and the police said he was stabbed. Why am I even a suspect? Why are the Grigori even here?!”
“There were clear signs of witchcraft on the scene of the crime, and you, Sam Winchester, are the only unsanctioned witch in the vicinity.”
Castiel moves to teleport them away again, and Sam steps aside to evade, shaking his head. This is… This can’t be. He doesn’t even know how this Grigori officer can already know his name.
“No… You would bring me in, by mere virtue of my birth, for a crime I haven’t committed? I-I prayed to angels as a child. You’re supposed to be just!”
Blue eyes soften just a little, and the other sighs. “If you are innocent, the investigation will bring that to light. Now, please, come peacefully. Do not force my hand.”
“No. No, please.” He continues to shake his head, stepping back as far as he can. “I’ve heard about your investigations and interrogations. If I go with you now, you will never let me go until either I confess or someone else is convicted. I won’t be tortured into pleading guilty just because I didn’t get a license from you like your undercover agent here before going in to work this morning!”
“We don’t tort- What did you just say?”
“A license!” Sam cries, trying to twist his wrist out of the other’s grip. “Must I be sanctioned just to go to college? Must I-”
“No,” Castiel interrupts sternly. “About the undercover agent. What did you say?”
“Bela. Bela Talbot. The other witch in my class? She’s working for you, isn’t she? That’s how you know witchcraft was involved. She was checking out the crime scene earlier.”
The detective levels Sam a hard look, his piercing blue eyes seeming to bore right through to the soul. Finally, he lets go, lowering his other hand slowly, and Sam nearly falls back in the sudden imbalance.
“I am the first Grigori agent to be sent here,” the other says then, his eyes never leaving Sam’s. “There are no records of any sanctioned witches operating in the area.”
Sam blinks, cradling his sore wrist. “Then-”
“Show me, Sam Winchester,” the detective commands, brows furrowed. “This Bela you speak of. But be warned,” his glare turns sharp, “if this is a trick…”
“No!” Sam raises both hands in supplication. “It’s not, I swear! I have a class with her at two.”
Castiel tilts his head then. “It’s a quarter to ten.”
“Hmm…” Sam frowns, pensive. “I don’t know her well enough to know where she’d be at this hour.” Before the other can remark on that, he adds, “What? It’s only the second week of class,” defensively. “Still, if we can get back to where she was earlier, I could use a tracing spell to find her.”
There’s a long pause before “You mean to return to the scene of the crime.”
“W-well. That is where I last saw her.”
“That fits the behavioural pattern of a serial killer,” Castiel muses, still staring unnervingly at him.
“T-that’s…”
“But very well.” The detective takes his hand and begins walking towards the administration building. “Let us see if we can’t get past the police.”
The main entrance is fully cordoned off, but a bit of magic gets them through a locked back door into the basement of the emergency stairwell. They climb quietly, keeping to the walls to avoid being spotted, but it doesn’t look like anyone’s around to see them. They make it all the way to the fourth floor undetected, but Castiel shakes his head at the door.
“It’s overrun with policemen,” he whispers. “We cannot get any nearer.”
“That’s fine.” Sam moves away from the door to a corner of the landing. “This is close enough.” He can feel enough residual energy for a tracing spell here. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a small pouch and removes his emerald pendulum from the bag before jiggling the rune lots inside. Catching the angel’s stare makes him sheepish, and he ducks his head. “W-what? It’s better than a map when you’re lost in some of the woods around here.”
Castiel doesn’t reply, and he closes his eyes, focusing on the spell’s residual energy as he continues jiggling the rune lots. When he’s sure his focus and intent is clear enough, he whispers, “Tutki.”
As he opens his eyes, six wooden lots float out of the bag into the air, arranging themselves in two rows. Two runes, almost touching make up the first, and four spell out the equivalent of BELA in the second.
“I hope you don’t do that in public,” is Castiel’s first remark, and Sam almost drops everything as the detective comes closer.
“No, I only use the pendulum in public, mostly.” He’s well aware of the law of secrecy, but more importantly, “It wasn’t a spell that killed President Hazel.”
“No,” Castiel agrees. “This was a seeking spell. She was looking for something.”
Sam looks at him, surprised. Castiel catches the expression and tilts his head.
“I may not use witchcraft, but that doesn’t mean I have no idea how it works. Are you certain that is the only spell used here?”
Sam nods. “It’s the only one I can sense.”
Castiel thinks for a moment, then looks expectantly at him. “I sense you speak the truth, but we still need to talk to Bela. Just because she didn’t use magic doesn’t mean she didn’t commit the murder.”
“Right.” He lifts his pendulum and focuses on the spell, on the energy of its caster. “Näytä tietä,” he murmurs, and it swings to the right. Come on,” he says, descending the stairs. The pendulum shifts as they switch directions. “It’ll take us to her.”
It has been over an hour since they left campus, and they’ve walked through downtown and into the residential area, and there is still no sign of Bela. Castiel seems unaffected, but despite working out regularly, Sam is starting to tire.
More importantly, he doesn’t want to miss his 12:40pm class. It’s just one class, but he bets they’re all watching, waiting for him to slip up, so they can take his scholarship away and say he should have tried out for the athletics program instead like all the other Alphas. He’s so sick of being stereotyped.
He should have thought to check the distance before they started walking.
Abruptly, Castiel stops. “Are you certain this is the right path?” His tone isn’t weary; it’s suspicious.
“Yes!” Sam assures hurriedly, turning. “I just…” He ducks his head, feeling very sheepish. “I should have checked the distance before we started. The pendulum only tells the direction. I’m sorry.” He sighs. “I have a class at twelve-forty, and I don’t want to miss it. Why can’t we just talk to them at two?”
For a moment, it seems Castiel might relent, then, “You forget, Sam Winchester, that you are still a suspect in this case. I c-”
“But I didn’t even cast the spell at the crime scene!” he protests.
“We have only established who cast the seeking spell, not who killed Edward Hazel.”
Sam opens his mouth to protest further, but the futility of it dawns, and he slumps. Instead, he runs his free hand through his hair and says, “Then follow me to class.” When the detective doesn’t reply, he adds, “I won’t fight or run. If Bela skips Intermediate Latin, we’ll look for her again. And if we don’t find her by the end of today, you may bring me in.”
The angel still doesn’t reply, and when he looks up, he finds blue eyes focused intently on something behind him. He turns to see what the other is looking at, but then Castiel has grabbed his hand and is dragging him along again - towards one of the houses.
He’d tell the angel that people only hold hands when they’re really close, but right now, the fact that they are trespassing is of far greater importance. “What are w-”
Then he notices it - the door is ajar, just a crack, but someone’s clearly broken in - the lock is damaged. Castiel makes the door open wide enough for them to enter and pulls Sam in with him.
“Wait, wait.” Sam digs his feet in at the threshold. “What if we get accused of breaking and entering?”
“We won’t be,” the detective answers simply, walking further in.
He’s too strong for Sam to stop where he is. “I mean, by the human police,” he clarifies helplessly.
“I understand,” comes the reply. The other doesn’t even turn. “We won’t be. We haven’t broken anything.”
Sam gapes. No, he wants to wail. You don’t understand at all. We could get mistaken for the people who broke into this house, just like you’re mistaking me for the person who murdered President Hazel- whose photograph with a lady is hanging lopsided on the wall above the mantelpiece before him. He takes a second.
The house is a mess.
Someone has ransacked President Hazel’s house. Items are scattered, the expensive furniture is in disarray, and there’s a faint pungent odor in the air he can’t place. He doesn’t resist as Castiel leads him down the hallway’s pristine white walls and wooden floor. There’s a study built almost entirely of mahogany - books and papers are strewn everywhere; the safe is busted open, clearly by force. They go up the stairs to find the bedroom turned upside down and the walk-in wardrobe and marble bathroom in as much of a disarray as the rest of the house.
“What were they searching for?” Castiel wonders aloud.
Sam looks around. “Well, we could see if watching what they did in here tells us anything.” There’s a full length mirror on the door leading from the bedroom to the walk-in wardrobe that has a good view of the room. “When do you think they were here?”
Castiel considers him for several moments, then shifts his gaze to look around the room again. “They haven’t been gone long,” he pronounces at last. “Perhaps ninety minutes ago.”
“All right.” He extends his free hand towards the simple gold-framed mirror. “Let’s try the last two hours then,” he murmurs, focusing on that. “Praeterita aperi.”
The mirror seems to cloud over for a moment, then an image swims into view. At first, it’s just the bedroom, pristine, tidy and empty. Then six people enter, all young men dressed simply in T-shirts and jeans. He recognizes one of them, to his surprise.
“That’s Brady,” he breathes. “What- Why is he here?”
“Brady?”
The men nod at each other, then begin searching the room, trashing it as they turn over every item.
“He’s my classmate. We have criminal justice together,” he explains absently, watching as they even search under the mattress and between the pastel pink sheets. “You know, that class at twelve-forty?”
The men stop and exchange glances. One of them says something.
“Gotta wonder what’s in that stupid book,” Castiel lip-reads softly.
“Whatever it is, we’ve gotta get it before they do,” says Brady. “They’ve already got the wife. Hopefully, she knows nothing.”
They? Sam wonders. So there’s more than one party involved?
One of the others kicks the bedpost in frustration. “Well, it’s not here. One more wild goose chase, and I swear I’m gonna f-”
“Let’s just go,” Brady interrupts, walking briskly to the door. “We’re wasting time.” The others follow him out after a beat.
The room in the mirror remains empty for some time, and Sam’s about to end the spell when he catches some movement out of the corner of his eye. He waits and is rewarded by Bela and Cassie entering the room. But they only look around and exchange glances before leaving.
“So they were here!” he declares triumphantly, turning to the detective.
Castiel nods slowly, lost in thought. “We must apprehend this Brady,” he concludes after several moments. “He seems to be in charge of that group.”
Sam brightens. “Then let’s head back to campus. We should be able to catch him before or after class.”
They’re about to head back down the staircase when they hear some commotion below. Two sets of footsteps, heavy with boots, and static from some kind of radio.
“-bors reported unidentified people entering, and the locks are broken, sir,” a woman’s voice reports.
“Shit,” Sam hisses, tugging the angel back into the bedroom with him. “I told you about the police.”
The footsteps move further into the house.
“At this rate, we’re going to be the only suspects. Tell me you have a plan, Cas; tell me you have a plan. We’re g-”
Castiel touches his forehead, and the world falls away. Then suddenly, it rushes back, dizzying.
“Wh-”
Sam blinks, looks around, whirling.
“Whoa.”
They’re back on campus, over by the computer center where they’d met earlier.
“Whoa, you teleport?” He turns to face Castiel. “That’s amazing.”
“We fly,” the angel corrects, but he looks almost shy in the face of Sam’s open awe. “But I suppose, to you, it is similar to teleportation.”
“Fly as in with wings?”
“Y-yes.”
The detective seems discomfited by the interest, so Sam steps back.
“S-sorry. Um…” He glances at his watch - it’s five minutes to twelve noon. “That class. Um, this way.”
He starts walking, and Castiel follows along without hesitation. The class is in Houdin Hall, home to the Department of Social Sciences. He decides to go through Epulos, the central food court and university store, so he can stop for a sandwich on the way there. He’s starving, but he doesn’t think he has the time or the justification to stop for lunch. When he stops outside the deli, Castiel squints at him quizzically.
“I-I’m hungry,” he mumbles sheepishly as his stomach growls at the smell of food. The spinach pie next door smells delicious. Maybe he should get that with a kebab wrap instead. He switches lines.
The angel nods, standing beside Sam in line. “Yes, humans require sustenance in many forms.”
Sam doesn’t answer. They are already getting weird stares from the crowd, though whether because they overheard the conversation or because he’s walking around with a strangely dressed older man, he can’t be sure. Castiel looks around, taking in his surroundings - the various foods, the bustle of people, the various activities in progress at the surrounding tables.
“Earlier,” he says suddenly as they step forward, and Sam turns to him. “What did you call me?”
The witch furrows his brows in confusion.
“In the house,” the angel clarifies. “Before we left. What did you call me?”
“Oh.” That. “Cas. Uh… Sorry if it seems overly familiar.” He keeps his gaze trained firmly on the floor.
“It is not of import.”
“Oh.”
He doesn’t really know what to make of that. Fortunately, it’s his turn to order. He orders the pie and wrap with some iced tea and asks if the detective wants anything, but Castiel only shakes his head, continuing to watch the people around him go about their daily lives. As they wait for his order, Castiel turns to him once more.
“Why do people pursue knowledge that they detest?”
It takes a long moment for Sam to realize that the angel must have heard some students complaining about their classes. “Sometimes they have to as part of learning the subject that really interests them. And sometimes, there are… other motivating circumstances.”
From the puzzlement in blue eyes, he sees he needs to clarify.
“Such as needing a good job, familial influences, certain limitations…”
The other nods, seeming to understand. “Are you pursuing knowledge you enjoy?”
Sam blinks, pleasantly surprised by the interest. “Yes, I’ve known for a while now that I want to study law.”
Castiel nods again. “That is good. A sincere pursuit will lead to success, Father willing.”
Oh, right.
He retrieves his order as the lady calls his number and heads out the other set of doors with the angel close behind. Turning towards Houdin Hall, he sighs.
First, he has to convince the Grigori to let him continue this “sincere pursuit” instead of taking him to prison.
Brady, as Sam should have expected, skipped class. This is their third class together, and Brady has never been one for a stellar attendance record if it wasn’t strictly necessary to ace the class. Detective Castiel is giving him a Look that all but screams, “You lied to me!” and it is taking every ounce of Sam’s Alpha chutzpah not to cower.
“You said he’d be here,” the angel says accusingly as they exit the classroom after the lecture.
“I said he should be,” he corrects. “I had no way of knowing that he wouldn’t come to class today.”
Suddenly, he’s being pinned to the corridor wall, and the other students whistle or giggle as an oblivious Castiel leans in to whisper. “You should show some respect, Sam Winchester. I could have detained you immediately, and I can still do so now.”
Sam swallows thickly and lowers his eyes. “Twenty minutes to the class with Bela.”
There’s a long pause before the detective steps back and lets him go. He peels himself away from the painted cement and fixes his plaid shirt as he walks. He certainly hopes Bela doesn’t skip class too.
Sam could sink to the floor in relief when he arrives in 302 Aristo Hall to find Bela and Cassie already chatting there with some of their other classmates. He’s about to walk in when Castiel grabs his hand and pulls him aside.
“You can’t alert her.”
“Secrecy, right?” He nods, looking down at their hands. Castiel hasn’t let go, and his hand is warm, soft, a little weathered. “I know. We need to get her alone. I’ll uh… I’ll ask her out.”
Just then, the door opens. “Hey Sam.”
He turns. It’s Cassie, heading down the corridor, presumably to the washrooms a few doors down.
“Hey, early as usual.” He smiles.
“New boyfriend?” She tips her head towards the angel. “He’s cute.”
“W-What?” He twists his hand out of Castiel’s, feeling a blush rising with his panic. “He’s- He’s um…”
She laughs as she passes. “Ooh, Sam likes the experienced ones, hm? You don’t have to be shy about it.” She disappears into the ladies’.
Sam sighs. “Or not.”
The detective looks at him quizzically, so he shakes his head.
“Well, you can’t really join the class. Where will you wait?”
“Where I can watch. Go.”
Castiel walks to the stairs, and Sam turns just as Professor Løkse rounds the corner. Gabriel Løkse teaches Greek and Latin, has a great, often sadistic sense of humor and makes Sam feel like a giant. He watches Castiel leave for a few moments before turning to Sam with a grin.
“Hey buddy, batting for both teams?”
He laughs as Sam hurriedly splutters, “N-no! It’s not like that!”
“Well, today.” He sets his things down on the desk and smooths out his wind-mussed dark hair. “Let’s put the Romance back into this language and have at some Latin love poetry! Now, before you all sigh, let me tell you those Romans were way ahead of their time. And if you think this is exciting, sign up for my Greek class next semester. I’m positive it’ll come in handy.”
He winks at Sam who is beginning to wish he really could sink into a hole in the floor, then begins reading a poem from Catullus with gusto, and Sam doesn’t need to know all the words to feel scandalized.
“So.” Gabriel sets the sheet of paper he’s reading from down and turns to the class. “Would anyone like to tell us about this poem?” A pause. “No? Sam?”
And Sam almost, almost regrets taking the class.
As soon as class is dismissed, Sam runs after Bela. “Hey.”
“Sam! I think Prof’s got a thing for you.” Bela grins, walking down the stairs.
“If by thing, you mean vendetta, then yeah, I’d say he does.” The faculty probably all do - an Alpha on a full ride is probably their prime example of misappropriated research funding. “What are you doing this afternoon?”
“Cassie and I have a class in Blaine at four, so we’re going to drop by Epulos for a bite on the way there.”
“And after that?” He still can’t think of any better, unsuspicious way to get her alone than to ask her out, and he hopes she’s free after this.
“Hm? No way.” Cassie whirls on him. “Are you asking Bela out? I thought Constantine back there was your boyfriend!”
“What? No! You didn’t even hear me out!”
“You were already holding hands!”
“That was-”
Bela pats Cassie on the shoulder. “Sam’s just shy.” She turns to him with a glint in her green eyes, and Sam thinks Dean may be right - between her scent, beauty and brains, he’d date her even if she did kill people on the side. “It’s completely normal, you know. And we can still do tea. You can bring your boyfriend along and chat to us about how you’ll be using all that Latin we just learned.” They’ve reached the bottom of the stairs.
He silences a groan. “I keep telling you he’s not my boyfriend.” Still, a private coffee date for four is exactly what Detective Castiel would want. He sighs, slumping a little. “But I can bring him if you want.” They exit the double doors of Aristo Hall into the warm afternoon sun.
“So he’s not your boyfriend, but he’ll come if you call?” Cassie taps her chin. “An escort then?”
“No! He was just asking me some questions!”
“While holding your hand?”
“Yes! He’s… some kind of alternative doctor.” It’s the first thing that came to mind, and maybe, just maybe, it’s plausible. Who are you kidding, Sam? Still, there’s nothing left to do but salvage it. “He was talking to me about preventive healthcare!”
“By holding your hand?” Bela this time - they are clearly having far too much fun at his expense, and he can’t help wondering if Bela would have agreed to coffee if she didn’t think he was gay.
“Yes.” Probably not. If only the angel would come do the deed now and spare him this misery, but there are still too many people around. Not as much as usual, of course, but nowhere nearly deserted enough for a Grigori arrest. “That’s how he diagnoses people.”
“Huh, that’s pretty quaint.” They stop in front of Epulos. “Well, maybe he can diagnose us over tea then. Will you be available on Wednesday at six? I’m afraid I can’t spare a moment till then.”
“Yeah, sure.” Venue, venue… He scratches the back of his head. “Any good tea places you have in mind? I’ve always been more of a coffee person.”
“Well, I haven’t had much time to explore, but Ujiya does have a good selection, and there’s sushi if you’re not into the tea.”
“Sushi sounds good.” Expensive but good. Perhaps Castiel can bill the Grigori. Ha ha ha. At best, he can hope Castiel arrests her before they even sit down.
“Great! Then Wednesday at six in Ujiya. Catch you then!” She pulls open the door.
“Remember to put the moves on your cute doctor by then!” Cassie calls with a wink before following her master in, and Sam feels too defeated to even jump when Castiel suddenly appears beside him.
“I tried, all right?” he blurts before the detective can say anything, walking off towards his apartment.
“I know. I saw.” There’s a pause, then “Your Latin pronunciation is excellent.”
He looks sharply to the right at that. The angel may as well have remarked on the weather for all that his attention is completely focused elsewhere. He hopes the compliment wasn’t intended to make him feel better because now all he can think of are the number of spells that might be useful in digging a six-foot trench where he’s standing. He’s quite sure Professor Løkse chose the most vulgar poems for him to read on purpose.
“They’re cloaked,” Castiel pronounces without slowing, brow furrowed. “The young men at the house as well. They were prepared for our methods. We must find out what it is they are hiding.”
We, the detective says, like they’re a unit, like anything besides catching the killer with incontrovertible proof makes him any less a suspect, like being wrongly accused makes the entire investigation his problem. And he’s tired. He’s tired of alternately being treated like a criminal, mistaken for the other’s boyfriend and expected to help like one of the Grigori’s many Allies on Earth.
“Well, Bela and Cassie won’t be alone for some time, I can’t help you track Brady, and even if you’re going to arrest me, I need to get home first before my brother starts a riot in his worry.”
Castiel tilts his head, blinking owlishly. “Why would he start a riot?”
Sam sighs, rounding the corner onto the street his apartment is on. “It’s just- It’s just a figure of speech. You’re not…” He stops at the entrance to his apartment building and turns. “You’re not following me up, are you? I’m not cloaked, and now you know where I live. Why don’t you go follow Bela instead?”
“Our records don’t indicate that you have a brother.”
He gapes. “A-” No. He takes a deep breath, counts to five and lets it out again. Every Alpha instinct screams at him to at the very least throttle the angel, but he refuses to get in bigger trouble by letting nature get the better of him. So. Another deep breath. He can stay calm. “Dean is my familiar. But as you well know, we can’t tell people that, so my brother. It feels that way anyway.”
“I see.” He may be imagining the hint of chagrin on Castiel’s face. “I must insist on assessing him as well. If you are indeed to be detained, he will be detained with you.”
Sam slumps against the door, buries his face in his hands. No. No, no, no. It stands to reason, of course, but logical doesn’t mean he has to like it. “All right.” He runs both hands through his hair. “All right.” Castiel just needs to meet Dean, basically. It’s not like they’re being thrown in prison together immediately. He fumbles for his keys. “He should be home now. Let’s just head upstairs.”
“Of what?!”
If Dean can’t believe his ears, he’s going to make sure no one else can use theirs.
From his perch on the arm of the couch, Sam only lifts his eyebrows pointedly. Yeah. Yeah.
“Murder,” Castiel repeats helpfully, still standing near the doorway.
Dean paces, sets his spatula down on the wooden dinner table to run a hand through his hair. “Man, I’d heard you guys were dicks, but this is a whole new level. So what, now you’re crazy too? I mean, look at him!” He waves at Sam. “C’mon, man, the kid feels bad surfing the internet for porn! He won’t even use his Alpha mojo to get laid, for fuck’s sake. And you think he coulda killed someone?!”
“Gee, thanks, Dean,” Sam mutters. That’s some stellar character reference you’re giving.
“Until we find proof of his innocence, your master will remain a suspect in this case, Dean Winchester. The Grigori has its procedures.”
“Yeah? Well, they’re dumb ass procedures!”
“Dean.” Sam feels a headache coming on.
“What, you never q-”
“Dean!”
Dean stops and looks.
“It’s not going to change anything, all right? Nothing you say or do is going to change anything.”
“So you’re gonna just let this dickhead Columbo drag us off to Alcatraz, and-”
“Well, he’s not arresting us just yet…”
“No?” Dean whirls on the detective. “Then you can get the fuck out of my house.”
“Dean-”
“Sammy, he can arrest us right the fuck now or he can get the fuck out, but I won’t stand for him hanging around here accusing us of jack shit.”
Sam frowns - Dean probably calls it Bitchface #103 or something like that. “He c-”
“I need to track Bela Talbot,” Castiel interjects abruptly, blue gaze distant. “She should be in Blaine Hall by now.” So saying, he vanishes with what sounds like a rustle of feathers, leaving the Winchesters blinking at empty space.
“Well,” Dean says in the sudden silence, clearing his throat. “Good riddance.”
He heads back into the kitchen to cook the rest of their dinner, while Sam just lets himself fall back gracelessly into the couch. He’s positive he hasn’t seen the last of the Grigori.
Sam rolls in his bottom lip as he adds some information from a website to his outline for his paper evaluating the career of an intelligence analyst. It seems like a cool job, and he’d consider it if he weren’t so certain he wants to be a defense attorney. In fact, now that he knows what it feels like to be wrongly accused, he only wants the job more.
Dean comes out of the kitchen with a bottle of El Sol after doing the dishes and stops, stares. “Are you- Are you studying?!”
“I’m writing a paper,” he corrects absently, searching for details on work environment.
“Dude.” Dean comes over, sets his bottle down on the table. “What the hell is wrong with you? You’ve been accused of murder, and you’re writing your paper?!”
"Life goes on whether or not the Grigori press charges, Dean." He switches tabs. This site is a little more helpful. "The university isn't going to accommodate late assignments due to an investigation they can't even substantiate."
Dean shakes his head, turns to walk away, taking his beer with him. "Sammy, I live with you, and you're still the weirdest person I know."
"Bela's house is warded against angels."
They both jump. Dean drops the bottle. Sam halts its fall just before it hits the floor, making it fly into his hand, and sags in relief, setting it safely on the table.
"Jesus fucking Christ! Did no one ever teach you to knock?!”
Detective Castiel looks quizzically at Dean from where he’s standing behind Sam. “I wasn’t using the door.”
“Yeah? Well, you should!”
Sam sighs tiredly as the angel frowns, turning to face him. “So what brings you back here?”
Castiel turns to him. “There is only one suspect I can track at the moment, so I am obligated to watch you, Sam Winchester.”
Dean bears down on the detective, finger pointed imperiously. “Now, you listen here, y-”
Sam stands abruptly. “Forget it,” he says, walking towards the bedroom. “Just forget it. I’m going to bed.”
Castiel nods, following him. “I understand. I will watch you sleep.”
Dean stops and grimaces. “Dude, that is the creepiest shit I’ve ever heard. What, you’re gonna count how many times he breathes too?”
Sam turns, looking disturbed. “Dean, I won’t ask how you know that.”
The angel looks from one to the other. “Why would I-? I don’t understand that reference.”
Dean opens his mouth, looks for a moment like he’s going to explain, then shakes his head. “No, let’s keep it that way.”
Sam heads straight into the bedroom they share and flops face down on the blue plaid sheets. He just really, really wants this day to be over.
Sam wakes to a flare of pain searing through his entire being, a hoarse scream trapped in his throat, and two orbs of blue fire in the darkness.
Then he blinks, his eyes adjust, and it’s Detective Castiel, expression indecipherable and eyes alight, hand on- no, inside his chest and glowing, and he gasps, but it comes out a scream - it feels like being incinerated from his very core.
“Sammy!”
Out of the corner of his eye, Dean lunges at them from the bed beside his, but the angel sends him flying into the nearest wall with a wave of his hand.
Dean!
There is no response, so he turns his head with effort. In the hint of illumination from the moon and streetlights outside, he can see his dog motionless on the floor.
“C-Cas,” Sam tries to say, grasping Castiel’s forearm with first one hand, then the other. “Wh-”
Then Castiel retracts his hand, turning away, and the pain is gone. “I apologize, Sam Winchester. I assure you, neither you nor your familiar have been harmed in any way. There was merely something I needed to ascertain.”
Then the angel is gone, and Sam feels his consciousness slip away.
Sam scribbles notes in Criminal Justice, but he’s only half paying attention. Brady is still not here, and he wonders what Latin will be like later, if Bela and Cassie will be there with Castiel shadowing them. He’d woken yesterday to find Dean cooking breakfast as usual and Castiel nowhere to be seen, as if the incident from the night before was a mere dream. Then, late last night, he’d almost leapt out of bed at a shout from Dean to find Castiel staring at them from the foot of his bed a moment before the angel vanished. Dean has declared himself officially creeped out. Sam doesn’t know what to think.
As class is dismissed, he half expects to find Castiel watching him from a corner in the back when he turns, but there’s no one, and he’s not sure whether it’s relief or disappointment that washes over him. He hurries down the university’s main avenue towards Aristo Hall alongside the throng of students rushing from one class to the next just like him, stops at a pedestrian crossing to wait for a few buses to pass.
That’s when he sees it.
Further down the road, in front of Hohenheim Science Center, Brady is walking with… is that Vice President Crowley? There is another person with them, a girl with short blond hair, and they are conversing rather animatedly about something. He glances at his watch - 17 minutes to Intermediate Latin. He could catch Brady for a quick chat perhaps, ask him why he hasn’t been to class in a while at least. So he switches directions, tries to catch up to them, but they’re walking rather briskly, and they have quite the head start. He gets close enough that he’s sure it’s Brady with Mister Crowley, but then they turn the corner at the next intersection, and even though he runs to catch up, by the time he looks around the corner, they are nowhere to be seen.
He wonders what they were talking about, whether it has anything to do with President Hazel. There’s no way to be sure, of course, but as he turns to head back towards Aristo Hall, he has the uneasy feeling that they weren’t talking about academic affairs.
Bela and Cassie didn’t make it to Latin today, and Sam can’t help wondering if their absence has anything to do with Detective Castiel. Professor Løkse, as usual, picked the most provocative pieces for him to read, but at least the day’s selection didn’t include Catullus. He hopes not all Latin poetry is so scandalous - surely that wasn’t all they wrote about.
“Sam Winchester.”
He jumps as Castiel steps out from behind a tree to impede his path. He’s headed home, but something tells him he’s going to have to tell Dean he’ll be back late.
“Detective,” he acknowledges with a nod, moving a little closer so they can converse more quietly.
“Do witches have a way of perceiving angels when we are not in physical form?”
Sam furrows his brow, thinking. “Well… I’ve never seen any spell specifically for that, but there could be other spells that work to that effect. Why?”
“Bela Talbot appears to know I am watching her. She has not left her house since I began doing so.”
“I see. Did you come just to ask this question?”
This seems to make the detective uncomfortable, and he hesitates before replying, “No, I came to ask if there is a way of watching her without being close enough to be perceived. I have planted a tracker on her that tells me she is now heading somewhere, but I fear she will change her mind if I check.”
And if I don’t help you, you will accuse me of abetting her crimes, Sam supplies mentally with a sigh. “Well, scrying over a long period of time is unreliable, but I can allow us to see through the walls if she goes inside a building or watch her from a distant vantage point. Which do you need?”
The Grigori agent seems to concentrate on something far away for a moment. “She has entered a large building close to where I first apprehended you,” he proclaims at last, returning his attention to Sam. “And it appears that she intends to remain there for some time. The option that allows us to see through walls might be more appropriate for now.”
“All right,” the witch accedes, taking out his phone to text Dean. He’s definitely going to be late. “First, we’re going to need two pairs of eyeglasses.”
Navigation:
Prologue
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2
Chapter 3 | Chapter 4
Epilogue