Fic: For Me This is Heaven (Dean/Castiel)
For Me This is Heaven
**
Heavy wind beats the air and the grass ripples silver in the moonlight. A night that until seconds ago had been still is now abuzz with the clap of horseshoes on cobblestone and the pounding of them over dirt. With the metallic clang of swords and arrows and the heavy weights on the nets. Of men shouting order.
“Get the line in order!”
It's been over a month since the last attack.
Dean's feet thud heavy against the stone brick as he runs along the great wall that surrounds his city, pausing only to stare down at the melee below or up into the dark sky. He rarely sees it coming no matter how hard he tries, eyes peeled for that telltale flash of light; a wing in the sky or a reflection of metal armor. No one ever sees them coming until it’s too late and the force of the wind is already bearing down with the beating of a dozen giant wingspans.
The angel's are here and the hunters rise to meet them. They mount their horses and ride ahead, fearlessly gallop into the night, to the edge of the city. Dean will be with them soon and he watches them now with naked awe in his gaze.
The first angel comes from the side. The sudden scream of a horse pierces through the air and Dean's eyes cut to where the angel covers beast and man with its wings. A flash of golden light and the man's soul is gone. One powerful beat of its wings and the angel is a hundred feet in the sky, circling for a second dive, this time joined by a dozen more.
“Ready the nets!”
Dean's gaze finds the owner of the deep voice that calls and rallies the men into attack. That's John Winchester, best of the hunters of Cansae, a city nestled in the foothills of mountains and ravines and rivers. The next city is a week's horse ride away and tonight, they escape siege and Cansae faces it.
A shower of arrows whistles through the air. Flashes of white energy light up the sky where they meet their marks but that's only a distraction. A volley to slow the angels down.
There's only one way to kill an angel.
First you have to down it. Aim for its wings.
Dean watches John swing one of the cannons around. It takes a split second. Find the target. Light the fuse. Keep the aim steady. The cannon sounds off with a bang and a coiled net hisses into the air, the heavy metal weights stretching it out. John Winchester never misses and the net snags and catches the angel's wings. The weights tangle and drag it down.
Angels are clumsy on the ground; their wings are unwieldy. Dean mimes the movements as John draws a silver dagger from its sheath.
Second, you stab it. Skewer its delicate throat but not with any knife. The silver daggers of the hunters are long and indestructible. The flats of them are carved through with angelic symbols. Woven with death spells. Only these can kill an angel and you have to hit it in the throat, beneath the jaw, up into the back of its head.
A downed angel might be a dead one but it's still a dangerous one. A clean swipe with a large wing could break a man's neck but on the ground, men are more agile.
And John never misses.
The angel screams, light explodes across the landscape, brightening the scene around it. Dean is left with the impression of wings seared to his retinas until he blinks them away. With the death of the first angel, the rest scatter.
That's John Winchester. That's his dad. That's who Dean wants to be.
**
There are bodies to be burned the next day, after the sun rises and the angels have left with souls in their grasp. The angels are burnt as well, separate from the citizens of the city, and they look like men upon their death.
Their wings disintegrate and all that's left are impressions in the afterimage. Without those wings, they could be human. Under the armor and chain mail they wear, their bodies are that of the toned hunters. Their eyes are crystal clear. Their blood is red. They burn the same.
One angel and five men. The odds are never in their favor. Dean helps to build the pyres and to stoke the fires high, a task that takes the majority of the day as the angels and hunters are burned on separate ends of the city. The smell of it permeates the air.
The battles started an age ago. War, some men call it. Well before Dean’s time and while he knows there are a dozen different theories; all ‘why’ and ‘how’ and ‘when’, Dean only cares about one thing. What’s the best way to kill them now?
A school was formed and cities from all across the land sent their most eager and dedicated youths to train. Hunters. Train the best, the fastest, and the strongest. The bravest. To kill angels and to protect their families. To keep the civilians safe and the cities thriving.
This year the home of the training compound would be Cansae. The age of training; twenty-one. One week from now and Dean would be in training to take his dad’s place as the most renowned angel hunter of his time. He was going to make John proud.
**
Impala is the fastest horse Cansae has seen in years. John had handpicked her when she was a filly and he had handed her lead rope over to Dean to train. Raven black and sleek with muscle, Dean had thought here is a horse and one that was going to be way too much for him. She’d thrown him at least once a day when she'd grown enough to carry a saddle. But she was smart and when he’d won her over, he’d won an amazing ally. A hunter can only be as good as the weapons he uses and the horse he rides. And Impala is the best.
Dean settles his saddle over her back and she stamps her foot with impatience to get going while he cinches up the girth.
“Hey, Dean!” A voice calls out to him and Dean turns, watching as his little brother winds through the people and animals of the stables to get to Dean's side. Dean knots the girth and waits for Sam to reach him. Sam who isn't little anymore, who's taller than Dean but all long skinny arms and legs and more than his share of clumsiness to go with them. A few years and he'll be able to sign up for angel training as well if he has a mind to.
“Hey, Sammy,” Dean greets. “You wanna come along?”
“Can I?” Sam asks, eager as anything and Dean grins and nods.
“Fetch Dodge and meet me out at the west gate.” Dean watches as Sam runs off into the stables to halter and saddle his own horse. Handpicked by their father as well, he's a bright bay gelding with an attitude but he'd run head first into anything he's pointed at. Dean's not sure if that's from blind faith in his rider or if the horse is just a little mindless or a lot fearless.
Dean lifts himself up onto Impala and turns her for the city gates. There are three points of entrance to the city. The large main entrance is heavily guarded by hunters both on horseback and up in the towers on either side of the iron gates. As well, there are two smaller doors and here only a single guard on horse. The rest of the city is surrounded by a stone wall where hunters patrol and guard posts are set up along the perimeter. It shields the city from the wind the angels kick up and gives the civilians some added sense of security, though the high walls do nothing to keep out something that can fly. Within the walls there are lines of square stone houses each marked at the doors with warding symbols to keep the angels from gaining entrance. This doesn’t stop them beating the walls down to get in that way, no matter how strong the architects build them.
It's one of the smaller doors Dean rides to. A guard mounted on a stocky tough pony lets him through with a stiff nod and Dean waits just outside the city limits on a beaten road that winds off into the forest for Sam. Dean laughs when Sam rides through a few minutes later, Dodge letting out a quick kick at the pony as he's wont to do and Sam yells at him as he's wont to do.
“Maybe he'll kick the angels down for you," Dean suggests as they make their way along the road, where soon the forest blocks out the sounds of the city at work during the day and then it's just the rustling of leaves and birdsong.
Sam rolls his eyes. "We have more important things to do, thanks."
It's an ongoing argument because Sam doesn't have a mind to be a hunter. He wants to research, more interested in the 'why are they doing this?' than the 'how do we kill it?' If they can figure out that 'why' they might be able to stop the kill altogether. It breaks family tradition and Dean is secretly glad for it. Their mother had been a hunter and it had killed her. John might be disappointed but Dean doesn't want his little brother going down that track.
It's why Sam has always got this satchel over his shoulder when they go out riding. There's paper and pen in there and Sam is always jotting down this or that note. An idea or an observation, anything at all that pops into his head. There's more to angels than people know, he insists. They attack too intelligently, there has to be a reason behind it and more than the simple genocide of humanity. Dean doesn't disagree with him, he just doesn't care. They're angels. They're monsters. The only good one is a dead one.
They reach a flat grassy stretch of the trail and Dean grins at Sam. Here's where Impala gets to stretch her legs and he puts his heels to her sides so she explodes under him, launching forward. There's a second where Dean is always sure the force is going to send him tumbling backwards off of her before he can feel her strides lengthening beneath him and she grunts with the effort. Behind him he can hear the heavy pound of Dodge's hooves fighting to keep up.
The trail leads down into a gentle gully, cut through by a stream. Dean only pulls Impala up to a walk when the path narrows and winds through the sapling pine trees that boarder the water's edges. The horses stop here to drink and Dean and Sam both take in the quiet beauty of the place without a word. It if weren't for the angels, it would be perfect. But there are angels and they should know better than to let their guard down so fully.
“Dean!” Sam snaps in a harsh whisper and Dean's instantly alert. Sam is staring off into the trees and Dean follows the gaze, heart thudding and it takes him a second to see it. Then the wings flex up into the air, huge black monstrosities, as dark as the horse Dean rides.
For all that Sam speaks of the intelligence of angels and their reasons, he looks scared of this one. Only a few hundred feet up the stream from them, the angel cups water in its hands to drink, hidden away around a bend in the stream and a cluster of pine trees. Dean raises a hand to hold Sam steady and puts himself and Impala between the creature and Sam. The movement shifts a rock under Impala's hoof and the angel snaps to attention, head darting up and eyes immediately locking on Dean's.
For a moment, they stare across the space, the forest staying silent around them and Dean hardly dares to breathe. The angel isn't in battle armor, only white cloth covering its torso and down to its knees. Canvas covers its feet and straps of it crisscross half-way up its shins. Its hair is a mess of black but from here, Dean can't see the color of its eyes, though all angels are said to be jewel bright and hypnotizing.
A snap of a branch in the distance flings the angel into action. Dean and Sam both flinch as it launches with a single downward beat of its wings into the air, breaking through the thin canopy of the trees. Out of the shade and in the bright sunlight, Dean can see its wings aren't black at all but the deep blue of night sky. Dean has no idea why he does it but when the angel moves, so does he. He kicks Impala sharply and she launches forward after the angel, her hooves clattering down the rock bed of the stream. The trees pass him by in a blur but above and ahead of them, the angel stays sharp and clear as Dean focuses on it.
“Dean, what the hell are you doing?” Sam yells from behind him and Dean takes his eyes off the angel for long enough to glance at Sam, struggling with Dodge who sets himself to keeping up with Impala, ignoring Sam's straining hands on the reins.
“I dunno!” He's chasing an angel, following the gentle curves of the stream and then up onto the rocky ground, winding through the trees as the angel darts above the tops of them. Its deep blue wings push against the air, sending the skinny birch trees swaying and a shower of dead needles raining from the pine trees. Dean can feel the force of it as he pulls level beneath the angel. It looks down at him while Dean stares up, and Dean trusts Impala to guide them safely through the forest.
The angel banks sharply and Dean leans to steer Impala- “Dean!” Sam voice cries out to him. “The canyon is there!”
Dean yells for Impala to stop, hauls back on the reins as they break through the tree line and there, a few feet ahead of them, the land falls down into a rocky cliff. The angel soars out into the open air, looks back at them once and then it’s gone from sight as Impala pulls up with a skidding half-rear, dirt billowing up around them.
Impala is breathing hard beneath him and Dean isn't any better. He looks back and finds Sam, wide-eyed and frightened and Dean doubts he looks different except for the part where he's grinning in exhilaration. “Did you see that?” Sam glares and shakes his head. Dean tries to find the last speck of the angel in the distance.
**
They head back to the city at a sedate walk, letting the horses cool from the run and allowing their own quick beating hearts to settle.
“You're out of your mind, Dean. You can't just chase an angel.”
Dean rolls his eyes. “You're the one going on about angels being good, blah blah blah.”
“I never said that. I said they're intelligent. I said there's probably a better way than letting a bunch of people get massacred every month. You're just looking for a cheap thrill.”
“Whatever, Sammy. Gotta loosen up sometimes.”
Honestly, Dean's not sure why he did it. No one in their right mind chases an angel through the forest unarmed. That angel could have turned and killed them both in an eye blink if it had wanted, armor or no. But it hadn't. It had only tried to lead Dean over the edge of a canyon. Dean snorts and tells himself to quit acting like an idiot. They ride the rest of the way in silence and Dean thinks of the spread of wings more than he should.
When they get back inside the city walls, there's commotion. People are excited, the city alive as they hurry to put the final touches in place for the training. Extra market stalls are going up along the main street, new housing has been built, a whole new stable even. There will be celebration and festivities in the week to come, before the training begins. As Dean and Sam enter the walls, the guard tells them the first of the new hunters are arriving through the main gates
Dean and Sam ride through the excitement back to the stables at the far end of the city, where they turn the horses loose in a paddock to enjoy the remainder of the day.
“You want to go see who's here?” Sam asks and Dean nods so they wander the side streets to avoid the press of people and get to the gates to watch the newcomers. Dean’s heart thumps for a new reason now, anxious to see the others that he’ll be up against because it is something of a competition. Only the best of them get the final reward in the end, the chance to kill their first angel under the watchful gaze of the city.
There’s a crowd at the gates, all vying for a position to best see what’s about to come through and Dean drags Sam away from them to the guard tower. The guards all recognize Dean and they let him past so he and Sam can climb the spiraling staircase to the top of the wall and from here, they can look down over everything. This is more of a crowd than the new hunters should merit and Dean feels his heart picking up with excitement. He thinks back again to the blue-winged angel and that's it. These are angels the gates are opening to admit. Captured and bound, to be used in the training. These are the things Dean is going to be facing off against in a week.
Huge horses, stocky and muscled, haul in solid reinforced wood cages on drays. Five drays. Five angels. The cages are carved with symbols, keeping the creatures inside held at bay, but as the last cage comes through there is a great noise. A high-pitched scream, a thunderous banging as the angel within beats at the walls with its wings hard enough to make the cage rattle and to startle the duo team of horses that pull it. Men are there to hold their reins and steady them. The watchers all gasp at the show of power from the unseen creature inside.
Dean glances to Sam, feeling his excitement welling up with the others, egged on by the crowd below. “That's the archangel. Ash said they had an archangel coming in this year.” Dean wonders who caught it. Who managed to take down an archangel and then hold it. He knows his dad could do it.
They watch as the convoy heads into the city, to the other side, across the horse's pasture fields and away from the houses to where the training will be held. That is all new as well. A stadium where the city will watch and Dean will get his own angel killing blade.
Once the convoy is out of sight, Dean grins at Sam and they head back down from the guard tower to meet the newcomers who have followed the wagons in. They're easy to tell apart from the civilians who have come to watch the training from the stadium seats. They wear armor, carry a metal shield, and their horses are some of the most impressive that Dean has seen.
There are three of them here from the city of Sarnia, the closest at a week’s ride and the first to arrive. Others will have ridden a month or more to attend the training.
Dean pushes his way through the people who are dispersing now that the angels have passed and to the side of the road. The new hunters spot him, a girl and two guys, and the girl pulls her horse up by Dean’s side, swinging her leg around to dismount. She looks tough but her grin is light while her grip is strong when Dean shakes her offered hand.
“You're Dean Winchester,” she says and Dean tosses a grin Sam's way.
“See, got a reputation already.”
She rolls her eyes skyward. “Your dad has the reputation. And don’t forget, Sarnia turns out more successful hunters than any other city,” the girl says with an arrogant raise of her eyebrow before she lapses back into a friendly grin. “I'm Jo. The twins there are Andy and Ansem.”
“Well welcome to Cansae,” and he can’t help but add on, “Home of the best hunter living,” with the same arrogant look Jo had a second ago. But his excitement overcomes him and he nods back to Sam. “That’s Sam. Come on, we’ll show you the stables.”
Dean leads them around the back roads to avoid the crowd again, walking ahead with Jo, and casually flirting while Sam falls behind with the twins.
“You came in with the angels; they’re kept at Sarnia, right?” Dean asks once they’ve reached the stables and Dean leans back against a wood support to watch Jo settle her horse.
“Yep. It's our hunters who capture them like that,” she says full of pride and Dean bites back the urge to tell her that Sarnia may be larger but Cansae still has the single best hunter out of any of them. Again.
“Do they really have an archangel?”
Jo nods and a thunderous expression replaces her previously bright eyes. “My dad was the one to catch it. Two months ago. Then it killed him while they were transferring it into a holding pen the next day.” Dean's stunned, staring at Jo who's suddenly all business and now he gets what she's doing here. “And I'll be the one to kill it.”
**
The week passes in a blur of parties and laughing and drinking. More people trickle in until Cansae is fairly brimming over. The new housing fills quickly and then the Inns and after that people even rent their guest rooms to out-of-towners for more money than what ought to be right. There are ceremonies to be had once all the new recruits have arrived. One to introduce them and it’s the first time Dean sets foot in the stadium.
Inside, the stone walls are higher than he had imagined and he cranes his head upward to take in the rows of stands for the viewers. The ground is sand which his feet sink into and in the curved walls there are five doors across from the entrance. Behind them are angels. Above them, the ceiling is a webbing of nets, woven into a symbol of power that the angels cannot break through. There are similar symbols lining the walls. This is where each of the new hunters - twenty-five total - are handed their own silver blades.
Dean studies his own as it’s handed to him, deceptively light but razor sharp. He grips his fingers around the hilt and the power of the symbols on the blade resonates through him. The others hold their blades with a similar awe and when Dean looks to his side, Jo holds hers with powerful determination. Dean feels the first ticking of nerves through him.
The opening ceremonies are followed by a feast. With the new hunters and their families, comes food; it's exotic and wonderful, the various towns bringing with them the reaps of their fall harvests. Dean finds a place to sit with Jo and Sam at his side with the twins Andy and Ansem sitting across from them and Dean watches in amusement as they bicker their way through boring speeches from too many people.
“Aren’t you nervous?” Andy asks and Ansem rolls his eyes and coughs “Loser” into his fist.
Dean lies, shrugging the worry off. “Nah. Not really, I mean…how often does anyone really get hurt in the stadium?” Dean says and then mimes with his steak knife while he goes on, “Besides, with those angel blades? We’ll just skewer anything that comes close.”
“Eating, Dean, thanks.” Sam pulls one of his faces.
“Actually, people have been killed in the stadium.”
Andy goes a little pale at this piece of information delivered deadpan from Jo. “Why did I let you talk me into this?” He asks his twin but Dean just grins and reaches across to slap his shoulder.
“Don’t worry; I've got your back.” Because nothing is going to take Dean down. Nothing is going to change what he’s going to do here. Nothing is going to stop him making his dad proud.
Nothing is going to stop him helping Jo avenger her father and he finds her after the dinner, standing atop the stone wall and looking over the forest. He steps up behind her and nudges her shoulder with his. “We've got 'em, you know. That archangel and soon all the others.” She smiles at him. “I've got your back too.”
**
Two days before the training begins, the angels attack Cansae again.
The city is awake late, fireworks cracking through the air and there is drink and food. Dean is admittedly getting a little sick of all the fanfare so he’s wandered away from the lights and the crowds, even gently brushing Jo from his arm. There’s a wind, a gentle billowing of the leaves that have fallen in preparation of winter. The sky is patchy with clouds and as Dean approaches the main gates to climb his way up the guard tower and perhaps walk the perimeter of the wall, the guards seem on alert.
Another volley of fireworks crackle into the sky and Dean stares out at the stars. A flash of dark movement cuts in front of them and he frowns. He turns to the guard standing beside him, armed with a quiver of arrows at his back. “Did you see that?” But the guard is distracted by the fireworks. Dean turns his attention back to the quiet skies and after a minute, in another flash of a firework, the spread of black wings against dark gray clouds.
“There's an angel out there.”
The guard looks but there's nothing and the wind stays only a breeze. “You ain't a hunter yet, kid.”
Dean glares at the dismissal and walks further along the high wall, to where the narrow pathway widens to accommodate three cannons. There are four cannon outposts along the wall, at each corner of the city, and more along the ground, all of them ready loaded with nets, flints to light them laid out in trays. Dean stands by one, reaches for a flint and watches the sky.
Aim. Dean catches movement in the sky and swings the mouth of the cannon around.
Keep it steady. He strikes the flint and lights the cannon. The whistle of the net through the air is overridden by the final explosion of fireworks but Dean sees a black streak fall across the sky. He hit it. He hit it. Elation slams into him for as long as it takes realization to and then he's racing back towards the guard.
“There are angels!” Dean cries but the wind is already there. Noise like a thousand birds and then the alarms go up, a thundering of gongs across the city.
Dean runs down the tower stairs. He put the angel down, now he has to kill it. The guards are already mounted, the gates opening to them so they can meet the challenge and Dean leaps to join, to run on foot if he has to, but a hard hand grabs him by the collar of his shirt and hauls him back.
“You're not a hunter yet, Dean,” his father tells him and Dean looks to find him suited for battle.
“But I shot one down!” And Dean has the knife; it rests eager to do its job in the sheath at his hip. He makes another bid to join the hunters but John holds him fast.
“Get back home.”
Dean finds himself dragged back another couple steps and then his dad is striding through the gates without looking back, leaving Dean to watch. He stands there for all of a minute before he turns and runs the other way, towards the stables with wind whipping at his back. Everyone else is streaming into homes or to the stables as well. At least Cansae has never been so well defended, as the hunters from outside the city pick up their blades as well, and order their horses saddled to ride with the Cansae hunters to meet the attack. Dean ignores them all and finds Impala in her stall.
He doesn't bother with a saddle, only grabs the lead rope of her halter and uses the side of the stall to heft himself up onto her back. She's anxious to get out there and he hardly needs to tell her before she's galloping down the line of stalls and into the open. He turns for the main gate and they race out into the dark of night and the howl of the wind, lost to the clash of angels and hunters that fade into the distance as he rides into the woods and no one stops him. No hunter and no angel notice a lone horse and rider leave the city. Dean should know better but he has to find his angel. To have put one down even before training? Unheard of. Dean's going to find it and he's going to kill it.
The wind dies down as he draws further away and he hopes the attack was short lived. That the other angels realized they were out-gunned and left. As he rides, Dean maps out the trajectory of the angel's fall in his head. Somewhere in the Lawrence Ravine, he thinks, and he presses Impala harder to reach it, splashing through a creek, jumping the logs in their path. When Impala's pace slows, he pulls her to a walk, allowing her to catch her breath. The other hunters won't stop him now and it takes Dean until morning to reach the ravine, looking all along the way for signs of the angel and crisscrossing the forest as they go.
By morning, Dean is ready to give up hope. That it must have been a bad hit, the angel somehow got away. Or maybe one of the others had come to the rescue though he's never seen the angels stand for each other before.
Lawrence Canyon is a small canyon, carved out by a creek and a waterfall crashing down into it; the canyon walls are high and steep, rough rock walls worn down from water and slick in places with moss. Trees and roots grow and crawl down the sides. Dean rides Impala along a winding path down into it, the splash of the water against her legs echoing off the walls.
There's nothing here. A deep wide pool at the base of the waterfall. The banks of the creek are gravel patched with coarse grass. There's are old fallen trees that lay across the creek and on the ground, great roots sticking up where some have been torn from the dirt. He's a few steps from a dead tree before he sees it, the huge expanse of a dark wing arching from the ground and Dean nearly jerks Impala away before he realizes that it isn't moving. Dean nudges Impala a cautious step forward, his hand dropping to the hilt of his blade. The angel has wedged itself as tight against the fallen tree as it can and as Dean inches closer, he can see the netting and the ropes wrapped all around it, digging in and holding the angel fast.
Adrenaline beats hard through Dean's veins. The angel is down. Now he has to kill it.
As Dean circles around, he realizes he knows this angel; he'd chased it through the forest days ago. It's dressed in battle armor now, a metal chest plate to cover its torso and shoulders, the skirt of the white cloth covered in metal plates as well and there are guards over the ange's shins. Angel metal is valuable, impenetrable. Every piece is stripped from them, to be melted and re-forged, usually into the blades that kill them or shields to ward them off. This angel's armor is adorned in decorations of deep blue and depictions of dragons.
The angel breathes but doesn't stir and Dean finds himself relaxing as he takes it in. The great wings are held tight, half-stretched out and immobile. Dean can see even like this that they're damaged from the fall but not how badly. It doesn't matter. He's got to kill it.
He unsheathes the blade and holds it tight. Through the throat and into its head. It's no different than cutting the throat of a deer to finish it off after the hunt. This is just another animal. Dean takes a deep breath and swings himself from Impala's back. His feet hit the ground and the angel's eyes snap open and lock on him. Dean is sure his heart stops, entire body - entire world - freezing as he stares down into bright blue eyes. Or maybe this is them dulled and dark as anger flashes through them before they take in the sight of the blade and then it's fear.
The angel is afraid but it holds itself still, staring at Dean and even just looking at it, Dean can see it thinking. Then it tips its head back, baring its throat but never once breaking eye contact. There's a challenge there, a silent question, and Dean stupidly swears the angel is offering him its trust.
And Dean can't. The thing is laying there waiting to be killed and Dean's heart is beating wildly. The angel is helpless, its eyes are pained. Scared like so many humans, it looks just like so many humans. And Dean did this to it.
He turns the blade to the ropes, cuts through the netting that holds the angel's arms and legs in tangles. Casts aside the heavy metal weights that hold the wings in place. As soon as the weight disappears the angel is on him. Those blue wings beat the ground, Impala spooks with a scatter of gravel beneath her hooves, and the angel moves like lightening, its hand around Dean's throat and strong fingers pressing in to choke him.
The blade is knocked to the side and Dean stares with frantic eyes into the angel's as they bore into him. He grips at the angel's wrist but an angel's hold is unmovable. Give them a grip and they'll shake the life from you. Dean knows this but he looks into the intelligent eyes of this angel and doesn't feel as afraid as he should.
Another minute and the angel shoves him hard, hand against Dean's throat cutting off his air and he falls to the ground, vision graying around him. When it clears again, the angel is running, one stride and two and its wings snap out and launch it into the air. Dean can see what will happen before it does when he sees the awkward way the left wing sits, how it won't open properly. The angel manages a short distance before the wing folds and drops it back to the ground. Dean flinches at the short noise of distress before the angel is on its feet again, launching itself into the air one more time but it only meets with the smooth stone walls where the angel can't get a grip to climb out. Not under the weight of its wings. It screams then, loud enough to startle the birds from the trees above and to make Dean flinch and cover his ears. The screams of angels have been known to turn men deaf.
The movement draws the angel's attention back to Dean, its eyes narrowed and Dean knows it won't let him go a second time. He ducks to grab the angel blade and bolts but the angel can't lift it's wing again and it drags along the ground. Dean stops out of the angel's reach and when it tries to lunge forward, he only has to back step. The angel stops, stares at him before closing its eyes in something too close to despair for Dean's comfort.
He whistles for Impala and rides away down the creek, leaving the angel behind.
**
They way back is quicker as Dean rides Impala on as straight of a line as he can manage and Impala is anxious to get back to her stall and the meal that awaits her there. It's late morning by the time Dean reaches the city and despite the attack there were no deaths and no one is any less excited. It takes Dean a precious long moment to remember why. Training starts tomorrow and with that thought, Dean's stomach drops.
He returns Impala to the stables and makes his way to his family's stone house, hoping to slip into his room and avoid detection. He makes it half-way up the steep stairs to the loft before there's a sound from below and he abruptly heads back down. It's not hard to pretend he's only just waking. Tiredness itches at his eyes and roughens his voice. A second later and his dad is calling out his name in an enthusiastic boom that makes Dean cringe.
“There you are, son. I wanted to talk with you.” John takes hold of Dean by the shoulders the moment Dean steps over to him and Dean nearly stumbles over their feet. But John draws him along, and together they make their way to the den. Training starts tomorrow.”
“I know.” Dean can't even pretend to muster up the enthusiasm he'd shown a day ago. “Dad…”
But John smoothly cuts him off and Dean can't interrupt the quiet pride in his voice. “Your mother would be so proud of you.”
And Dean wonders if that's true. If maybe she wouldn't just be scared the way Dean suddenly is. If after so many deaths, she wouldn't rather see Dean follow in Sam's footsteps. Maybe Sam had it right all along. Dean can't shake the deep intelligence of the angel's eyes from his head. Maybe he's hypnotized, and this is what the researchers mean when they talk about the depth of an angel's gaze.
They reach the den where Dean pulls from his father's grip and sinks down onto a wood chair that creaks beneath his weight. He can't bring himself to look up at his father. “I just…I don’t think I can do this.”
This is it, where all of John’s faith and pride will fall away because Dean has to admit that he can’t kill an angel. He nearly jumps when John laughs again. “First time nerves, boy! I went through the same thing, my first day before training. You’ll do fine.”
“But I can’t kill an angel,” Dean tries again, he does, shoving the words out into the air between them but John isn’t listening. He never listens.
“Yes you can.” John holds out his hand, expectant, knowing that Dean will take it and after a hesitation, Dean does. John grips his hand tight, a deal made between them, all grins while Dean's hand suddenly feels sweaty with uncertainty. “You're going to make me proud.”
Or something, Dean thinks as John finally lets him go and leaves the house to oversee the last minute work on the stadium. He's always been about the job, more so since the death of Mary when vengeance gripped his eyes. The way it does with Jo's and so many other hunters. Dean heads back up the stairs with heavy feet and Sam is there in the loft to greet him. The loft his small where both their beds lay. Dean's head nearly touches the ceiling and already Sam has to duck a little. “Where have you been?”
“Out.”
“Out?” Sam's eyebrows raise. “I saw you taking off last night on Impala.”
Dean nods and sits down heavily next to Sam on the bed. Sam’s been writing in his pad of paper again but he sets it aside, noticing the worry that lines Dean's face. “Did something happen?”
“No.” Dean's fingers slide around the hilt of the angel sword still sheathed at his hip and he shakes his head. What would mom say if she knew he left an angel alive? What would Sam say if he knew that angel hadn’t gone for the kill when it could have? Angels always went for the kill. Why didn’t this one? “Just nervous, I guess.”
“You'll do great. Just picture the angels naked.”
That makes Dean snort and he glares at Sam. “Fuckin’ child. Come on, let’s grab some lunch, I’m starving.”
He leaves the blade sitting on his bed and they head down to the kitchen together.
**
Dean stands in the center of the stadium while the sound of cheers and applause echoes all around.
There are six of them in here including Dean. Jo is to his left, along with the twins Andy and Ansem. There are two others to his right, having ridden in only the other night from the city of Medina, James and Dimi. They're large, tough. They have a look in their eyes that tells Dean to watch out for them because they're only going to watch out for themselves. In Dean's mind, they've already failed angel training because to defeat an angel you need to have each others back, to be able to trust the other hunters in the ring or out in the field with you.
Dean also knows the reputation of the man pacing in front of them. Old Bobby Singer, trainer to the new recruits. He'd been one of the best once and if his reputation is true to life then Dean thinks this man could even rival his dad. He looks rough and uncaring and he walks with a pronounced limp. Beneath those canvas jeans he wears, the leg isn't real. The story says an angel's wing had shattered it beyond saving. Even with the handicap, Dean would not want to face this man in anything but friendship.
“Welcome to your first day of angel training,” Bobby addresses them, turning to face them finally and his eyes lock on Dean's for a moment. The spectators settle as Bobby speaks, his voice carrying as the circle of the stadium is designed to make it do. Dean swallows beneath his gaze and wonders if Bobby can read the truth in his eyes, how much Dean doesn't want to be here. But he moves on and takes in each of them the same way.
“You might want to get to know the people in the ring with you right now; this is who you'll be training with for the next month. You'll have each others backs; you'll need to trust each other. These are real angels you'll be fighting in this ring and they won't hold back. Got me?” His gaze zeroes in on Dean again and Dean can feel himself nod though he's less sure than ever.
“Good. Then let’s get this show on the road.” He moves away from them and the first of the five doors creaks as it begins to slide open.
“Hang on!” Andy yelps, panic raising the pitch of his voice. “Don't you have to, I don't know...teach us first?”
Bobby grins, the six of them tensed and not even a bit ready. “You learn better if it's on your feet. Angels are resourceful. You're going to need to be as well.” And then Bobby is out of the stadium, the heavy iron entrance gate is secured behind him and the first cage door slides open.
The angel within explodes from the cage, its wings kicking up the sand in a whirlwind and Dean stumbles backward in anticipation of an attack. But the angel ignores them; it beats its wings against the ground, stirring sand until Dean can barely see it. It gets air born, struggling to reach the netting and freedom, but just as quickly, the angel hits the ground with a thud.
The wings are clipped, Dean realizes as the dust settles and the angel gathers itself. It stretches the wings to their full span and Dean thinks again to the angel in the woods. The long pinion feathers that Dean could have touched. This angel doesn't have them and it can't raise itself from the ground or control its flight when it does.
Dean can see it clearly now. Her. Her hair is long; her form is small, so exposed without the angel's armor covering her. She looks at them and Dean can see the fear in her eyes. She's trapped and she wants out. But the six of them are standing in her way and she angles towards them, fierce determination in the lines of her face.
“A downed angel might be a dead one,” Bobby calls out to them, bringing Dean's mind back into the game. “But that doesn't mean they ain't dangerous.”
To kill an angel, you need to bring it down. Once you do that, you're more agile but an angel is far from helpless themselves. Watch out for the wings and no sooner does Dean think it than the angel darts forward and he only just manages to jump above a heavy swipe aimed for his leg.
Dean casts his gaze around the ring but there are no weapons, only a single net. This lesson is about team work and capturing this angel alive.
The angel rounds on Andy and Dean's instincts push him to start barking orders. “Jo! Get the net. You two, distraction,” he snaps to James and Dimi. Angels can't speak English but Dean swears this one is narrowing its eyes and watching him intently.
They dive to their places and circle the angel who watches them in despair, trying to keep them each in her sights, swinging with her wings, using them to stir up clouds of sand and block their vision. Anything at all to keep them off of her, to keep that net from dragging her down again.
The angel buzzes them, a quick launch into the air and straight at Dean, her wings snapping an inch from his head before he rolls out of her way and back to his feet. The sand is difficult to find purchase on and the angel stumbles while Dean escapes. Dean watches as she turns away, wheeling around for another run like a bird of prey, her sharp eyes mapping each of them out. Who is the biggest threat?
Dean takes his eyes off her for a second to look at the others and sees Jo and the twins, pressing together, ready to pen the angel in. The angel does as well and she aims for them. Her wings cut outwards and this time she strikes with enough speed to send Andy flying back against the wall, wind knocked from his lungs.
Jo yells at Dean and Dean realizes he's just standing there, just watching in fascination as this creature moves, precise and elegant, and the angel is about to move on Andy, who lies dazed and useless.
The other four are there as well. Together, they stretch the net and catch the angel's wings to drag her back to the cage. They almost have her when she screams and Dean flinches from the noise that would have deafened them all if not for the wards surrounding the stadium. The angel rips the net from their hands and Dean finds himself on the ground with the angel bearing down on him. Her fingers reach for his forehead and he closes his eyes but she never makes contact.
A heavy net has been shot onto her wings from a canon post along the outside of the stadium and she's being hauled back into her cage. He sees her struggling uselessly against it and then Bobby takes up his field of vision.
“Never let an angel touch you. They'll always go for the kill.”
Except when they don't.
**
They're dismissed after a debriefing where Bobby paces before them and lectures them on everything they did wrong. Except Jo, who he praises in an offhand gruff manor and Dean would feel ruffled by this, that Jo had bested him but he doesn't care anymore. And Andy, who suffers bruised ribs in the medical building. A day in and already an injury because Dean can't get his head on straight.
Jo tries to call him over as they exit the ring, but Dean ignores her, pressing through the six new recruits that file in for their own lesson, making his way towards his house, where he throws together a bag with some food and he steals Sam's paper and pen. Then he's off to the stables, dodging his way around people that might try to stop him, thankful that his dad is busy at the stadium or out with old hunters and Sam is nowhere to be seen. Impala waits for him and he saddles her quickly.
He leaves by the side door and rides along the worn trail to Lawrence Ravine. He wonders if the angel will even still be there or if its fellows will have gotten him but Dean doubts that. From what he's seen, there's little care between them. They don't return for their fallen.
At the canyon, he leaves Impala to forage knowing she'll never stray far from him and walks into the canyon, dragging his bag along after him. He stays near the security of the wall for a moment, hidden amongst rocks and spindly trees, peering out as he searches for the angel. He spots it - him? - after only a moment.
The angel is sitting on the bank of the stream, his wings are spread around him and he's combing his fingers through one. Littering the ground at his feet are feathers, bent and broken and wet. Dean can see the blood glisten on the angel's fingers and the angel keeps reaching into the stream to cup the water and bring it to his wings. Cleaning the injuries, Dean realizes and feels his stomach sink a little whenever the wing twitches in hurt. One wing still sits awkwardly and if anything the bend in it looks worse. The angel's armor has been discarded in a pile next to it so it only wears the white cloth and sitting there, it - he - looks strangely vulnerable.
Dean wishes he could kill it. It would be a mercy, wouldn't it? The angel's wing is broken, it's trapped here. But Dean looks at him and sees his fear. That angel doesn't want to die anymore than Dean does.
He takes a cautious step forward and his bag scrapes against the rock wall as he leaves the gap. The angel's head snaps around immediately, eyes narrowing as they catch sight of Dean and then he's on his feet, good wing flaring up behind him while the other lays limp on the ground
Dean raises his hands to show they're empty. “Hey uh... It's okay,” Dean says and feels like an idiot. The angel can't understand him, they don't speak English, Dean doesn't know if they speak at all. They scream. Researchers have taken them apart and found their larynx to the most complicated of any animal. A source of power. Dean thinks then that they must talk.
But the angel in front of him doesn't show any signs of understanding. His wing doesn't relax the defensive posture, feathers puffed in agitation, and he stares at Dean like one wrong move will mean the end. Dean knows it will so he stands still with his hands up.
Those blue eyes keep boring into Dean's and Dean's sure he's going to have a heart attack if one of them doesn't do something. The angel's gaze flicks over him, his eyes settle on the angel blade at Dean's side and Dean swears the angel growls at him for it. A base rumble at the back of its throat and when Dean moves, it gets louder, jerking the angel forward a half-step, wings bristling even while one drags along the ground.
“Wait wait,” Dean snaps out, one hand still raised while his other drops to the knife and the angel is on him - broken wing or not - almost before Dean can toss it aside, back into the rocks where neither of them can easily reach it. But the angel is still there, hard breaths that ruffle through Dean's hair and Dean cries out despite himself and stumbles back, squeezing his eyes shut.
He only opens them when he realizes that the angel is just standing there again, inches away and staring at him. The conflict is gone from the angel's eyes though deep-set wariness remains. That stare makes Dean want to shift on his feet but he forces himself to meet it.
“See, buddy? No harm.” Dean thinks the angel might roll his eyes at him before turning and stalking back to his place by the stream.
The angel goes back to combing out his wings, pulling bent or ruined feathers and washing away the mostly dried blood. Dean moves forward a few steps, until the angel glares at him and then Dean settles down onto the ground, sitting cross-legged and pulling his bag onto his lap. The angel studies him for a moment; Dean almost sees curiosity in the tilt of his head, before he goes back to grooming his wing.
From the bag, Dean pulls Sam's pen and paper and spends the next hour uselessly sketching while he lets his mind wander. He's sitting maybe ten feet from an angel and they haven't killed each other yet. Dean wonders why. Why the angel isn't attacking him and then he wonders why he isn't attacking the angel. What would dad say? Sam would be jealous that he wasn't the one here performing this little experiment, possible proof that there's more to angels than any of them know. Maybe Dean really should be the researcher in the family.
At least the angel seems content enough for them both to stay where they are but when Dean lifts his head after a while to glance over, the angel is gone and Dean jumps to his feet. Only to spin around and find the angel is again mere inches from him, making Dean flinch and trip backwards onto the ground. He looks up at the angel and the angel peers down at him before holding out his hand. It takes Dean a second to get it and then he's handing over the pad of paper, blushing for some inconceivable reason while the angel glances over the page filled up with sketches of feathers or various symbols that Bobby had told them to memorize.
This time, when the angel makes noise it sounds like words and Dean can hear the tone of a question.
“Angel language? I can't understand that,” Dean says and the angel tilts his head. “And you can't understand me.” Dean sighs and wonders how they'll get over this roadblock. Then the angel turns away from him, broken wing whispering along the ground as the angel holds it up as best he can and Dean catches sight of the slightest smirk before he does. “Hey! You can understand, you-” Dean reaches out, touches his hand to the angel's wing to stop him. He has the quickest sensation of soft feathers against his fingers and then he's being struck hard and thrown back to the ground.
The angel has his wrists in a vice grip, lip curled back into a snarl as it presses Dean down against the sharp rocks of the creek bed. Dean yelps out, wide-eyed, “Sorry!” For a second he's sure this is it but like every other time, the angel hesitates for a second and then pulls away, releasing Dean from the grip and allowing him to gain his feet.
Dean rubs at the back of his head where it had struck the ground. “Touchy, jeez.”
They stare at each other for a moment, Dean gingerly pressing the back of his head, until the angel sighs and reaches out for him with two fingers. Dean's eyes widen and he stumbles back but the angel grabs hold of his wrist again when Dean holds his hand up to ward the angel away. Those fingers find Dean's forehead. Dean has seen what happens when an angel touches a man this way and prepares for encroaching darkness to take him. It doesn't. Instead the pain from the fall lifts away into nothing.
The angel lets go of him and steps back, eyelids drooped in sudden weariness. “Wow...um. Thanks, I guess.”
Dean had no idea angels could heal with a touch. He doubts anyone else did either.
“Neat trick. Guess that doesn't work on you though, huh?” Dean says and glances back to the angel's broken wing.
The angel follows his gaze, first with eyes and then he touches his fingers against the bend in the wing bone, flinching and pulling away quickly.
“I did that...”
The angel looks at him sharply, expression accusing until he takes in the guilt in Dean's gaze.
“Come on,” Dean says to break the moment and he turns to his bag, not bothering to look and see if the angel follows him. There's a rustle of feathers that says he is. Dean crouches down and opens the bag to bring out some of the food he shoved in. He has no idea what angels eat. The hearts of men, his dad might have said. Dean wonders if they hunt deer the way humans do or maybe they don't eat anything at all.
“You must be hungry, I didn't really know what you eat but if there's anything that catches your eye?” Dean turns to look at the angel while he lays out the wrapped food on the ground between them and sees that something has definitely caught the angel's eye. His nostrils are flared like he can actually smell the bar of chocolate Dean had stolen from the hiding place Sam thinks he doesn't know about. “Go on then.”
The angel's fingers wrap around the bar and it looks like he's going to take the food and run before he visibly stays himself. He breaks the bar in half and offers it to Dean. The feathers of his wings practically ripple in pleasure when he eats it. Who knew angels had a sweet tooth?
Dean leaves soon after, returning to Impala and the city, and tomorrow another day of training.
**
Part Two
masterpost
**
Heavy wind beats the air and the grass ripples silver in the moonlight. A night that until seconds ago had been still is now abuzz with the clap of horseshoes on cobblestone and the pounding of them over dirt. With the metallic clang of swords and arrows and the heavy weights on the nets. Of men shouting order.
“Get the line in order!”
It's been over a month since the last attack.
Dean's feet thud heavy against the stone brick as he runs along the great wall that surrounds his city, pausing only to stare down at the melee below or up into the dark sky. He rarely sees it coming no matter how hard he tries, eyes peeled for that telltale flash of light; a wing in the sky or a reflection of metal armor. No one ever sees them coming until it’s too late and the force of the wind is already bearing down with the beating of a dozen giant wingspans.
The angel's are here and the hunters rise to meet them. They mount their horses and ride ahead, fearlessly gallop into the night, to the edge of the city. Dean will be with them soon and he watches them now with naked awe in his gaze.
The first angel comes from the side. The sudden scream of a horse pierces through the air and Dean's eyes cut to where the angel covers beast and man with its wings. A flash of golden light and the man's soul is gone. One powerful beat of its wings and the angel is a hundred feet in the sky, circling for a second dive, this time joined by a dozen more.
“Ready the nets!”
Dean's gaze finds the owner of the deep voice that calls and rallies the men into attack. That's John Winchester, best of the hunters of Cansae, a city nestled in the foothills of mountains and ravines and rivers. The next city is a week's horse ride away and tonight, they escape siege and Cansae faces it.
A shower of arrows whistles through the air. Flashes of white energy light up the sky where they meet their marks but that's only a distraction. A volley to slow the angels down.
There's only one way to kill an angel.
First you have to down it. Aim for its wings.
Dean watches John swing one of the cannons around. It takes a split second. Find the target. Light the fuse. Keep the aim steady. The cannon sounds off with a bang and a coiled net hisses into the air, the heavy metal weights stretching it out. John Winchester never misses and the net snags and catches the angel's wings. The weights tangle and drag it down.
Angels are clumsy on the ground; their wings are unwieldy. Dean mimes the movements as John draws a silver dagger from its sheath.
Second, you stab it. Skewer its delicate throat but not with any knife. The silver daggers of the hunters are long and indestructible. The flats of them are carved through with angelic symbols. Woven with death spells. Only these can kill an angel and you have to hit it in the throat, beneath the jaw, up into the back of its head.
A downed angel might be a dead one but it's still a dangerous one. A clean swipe with a large wing could break a man's neck but on the ground, men are more agile.
And John never misses.
The angel screams, light explodes across the landscape, brightening the scene around it. Dean is left with the impression of wings seared to his retinas until he blinks them away. With the death of the first angel, the rest scatter.
That's John Winchester. That's his dad. That's who Dean wants to be.
**
There are bodies to be burned the next day, after the sun rises and the angels have left with souls in their grasp. The angels are burnt as well, separate from the citizens of the city, and they look like men upon their death.
Their wings disintegrate and all that's left are impressions in the afterimage. Without those wings, they could be human. Under the armor and chain mail they wear, their bodies are that of the toned hunters. Their eyes are crystal clear. Their blood is red. They burn the same.
One angel and five men. The odds are never in their favor. Dean helps to build the pyres and to stoke the fires high, a task that takes the majority of the day as the angels and hunters are burned on separate ends of the city. The smell of it permeates the air.
The battles started an age ago. War, some men call it. Well before Dean’s time and while he knows there are a dozen different theories; all ‘why’ and ‘how’ and ‘when’, Dean only cares about one thing. What’s the best way to kill them now?
A school was formed and cities from all across the land sent their most eager and dedicated youths to train. Hunters. Train the best, the fastest, and the strongest. The bravest. To kill angels and to protect their families. To keep the civilians safe and the cities thriving.
This year the home of the training compound would be Cansae. The age of training; twenty-one. One week from now and Dean would be in training to take his dad’s place as the most renowned angel hunter of his time. He was going to make John proud.
**
Impala is the fastest horse Cansae has seen in years. John had handpicked her when she was a filly and he had handed her lead rope over to Dean to train. Raven black and sleek with muscle, Dean had thought here is a horse and one that was going to be way too much for him. She’d thrown him at least once a day when she'd grown enough to carry a saddle. But she was smart and when he’d won her over, he’d won an amazing ally. A hunter can only be as good as the weapons he uses and the horse he rides. And Impala is the best.
Dean settles his saddle over her back and she stamps her foot with impatience to get going while he cinches up the girth.
“Hey, Dean!” A voice calls out to him and Dean turns, watching as his little brother winds through the people and animals of the stables to get to Dean's side. Dean knots the girth and waits for Sam to reach him. Sam who isn't little anymore, who's taller than Dean but all long skinny arms and legs and more than his share of clumsiness to go with them. A few years and he'll be able to sign up for angel training as well if he has a mind to.
“Hey, Sammy,” Dean greets. “You wanna come along?”
“Can I?” Sam asks, eager as anything and Dean grins and nods.
“Fetch Dodge and meet me out at the west gate.” Dean watches as Sam runs off into the stables to halter and saddle his own horse. Handpicked by their father as well, he's a bright bay gelding with an attitude but he'd run head first into anything he's pointed at. Dean's not sure if that's from blind faith in his rider or if the horse is just a little mindless or a lot fearless.
Dean lifts himself up onto Impala and turns her for the city gates. There are three points of entrance to the city. The large main entrance is heavily guarded by hunters both on horseback and up in the towers on either side of the iron gates. As well, there are two smaller doors and here only a single guard on horse. The rest of the city is surrounded by a stone wall where hunters patrol and guard posts are set up along the perimeter. It shields the city from the wind the angels kick up and gives the civilians some added sense of security, though the high walls do nothing to keep out something that can fly. Within the walls there are lines of square stone houses each marked at the doors with warding symbols to keep the angels from gaining entrance. This doesn’t stop them beating the walls down to get in that way, no matter how strong the architects build them.
It's one of the smaller doors Dean rides to. A guard mounted on a stocky tough pony lets him through with a stiff nod and Dean waits just outside the city limits on a beaten road that winds off into the forest for Sam. Dean laughs when Sam rides through a few minutes later, Dodge letting out a quick kick at the pony as he's wont to do and Sam yells at him as he's wont to do.
“Maybe he'll kick the angels down for you," Dean suggests as they make their way along the road, where soon the forest blocks out the sounds of the city at work during the day and then it's just the rustling of leaves and birdsong.
Sam rolls his eyes. "We have more important things to do, thanks."
It's an ongoing argument because Sam doesn't have a mind to be a hunter. He wants to research, more interested in the 'why are they doing this?' than the 'how do we kill it?' If they can figure out that 'why' they might be able to stop the kill altogether. It breaks family tradition and Dean is secretly glad for it. Their mother had been a hunter and it had killed her. John might be disappointed but Dean doesn't want his little brother going down that track.
It's why Sam has always got this satchel over his shoulder when they go out riding. There's paper and pen in there and Sam is always jotting down this or that note. An idea or an observation, anything at all that pops into his head. There's more to angels than people know, he insists. They attack too intelligently, there has to be a reason behind it and more than the simple genocide of humanity. Dean doesn't disagree with him, he just doesn't care. They're angels. They're monsters. The only good one is a dead one.
They reach a flat grassy stretch of the trail and Dean grins at Sam. Here's where Impala gets to stretch her legs and he puts his heels to her sides so she explodes under him, launching forward. There's a second where Dean is always sure the force is going to send him tumbling backwards off of her before he can feel her strides lengthening beneath him and she grunts with the effort. Behind him he can hear the heavy pound of Dodge's hooves fighting to keep up.
The trail leads down into a gentle gully, cut through by a stream. Dean only pulls Impala up to a walk when the path narrows and winds through the sapling pine trees that boarder the water's edges. The horses stop here to drink and Dean and Sam both take in the quiet beauty of the place without a word. It if weren't for the angels, it would be perfect. But there are angels and they should know better than to let their guard down so fully.
“Dean!” Sam snaps in a harsh whisper and Dean's instantly alert. Sam is staring off into the trees and Dean follows the gaze, heart thudding and it takes him a second to see it. Then the wings flex up into the air, huge black monstrosities, as dark as the horse Dean rides.
For all that Sam speaks of the intelligence of angels and their reasons, he looks scared of this one. Only a few hundred feet up the stream from them, the angel cups water in its hands to drink, hidden away around a bend in the stream and a cluster of pine trees. Dean raises a hand to hold Sam steady and puts himself and Impala between the creature and Sam. The movement shifts a rock under Impala's hoof and the angel snaps to attention, head darting up and eyes immediately locking on Dean's.
For a moment, they stare across the space, the forest staying silent around them and Dean hardly dares to breathe. The angel isn't in battle armor, only white cloth covering its torso and down to its knees. Canvas covers its feet and straps of it crisscross half-way up its shins. Its hair is a mess of black but from here, Dean can't see the color of its eyes, though all angels are said to be jewel bright and hypnotizing.
A snap of a branch in the distance flings the angel into action. Dean and Sam both flinch as it launches with a single downward beat of its wings into the air, breaking through the thin canopy of the trees. Out of the shade and in the bright sunlight, Dean can see its wings aren't black at all but the deep blue of night sky. Dean has no idea why he does it but when the angel moves, so does he. He kicks Impala sharply and she launches forward after the angel, her hooves clattering down the rock bed of the stream. The trees pass him by in a blur but above and ahead of them, the angel stays sharp and clear as Dean focuses on it.
“Dean, what the hell are you doing?” Sam yells from behind him and Dean takes his eyes off the angel for long enough to glance at Sam, struggling with Dodge who sets himself to keeping up with Impala, ignoring Sam's straining hands on the reins.
“I dunno!” He's chasing an angel, following the gentle curves of the stream and then up onto the rocky ground, winding through the trees as the angel darts above the tops of them. Its deep blue wings push against the air, sending the skinny birch trees swaying and a shower of dead needles raining from the pine trees. Dean can feel the force of it as he pulls level beneath the angel. It looks down at him while Dean stares up, and Dean trusts Impala to guide them safely through the forest.
The angel banks sharply and Dean leans to steer Impala- “Dean!” Sam voice cries out to him. “The canyon is there!”
Dean yells for Impala to stop, hauls back on the reins as they break through the tree line and there, a few feet ahead of them, the land falls down into a rocky cliff. The angel soars out into the open air, looks back at them once and then it’s gone from sight as Impala pulls up with a skidding half-rear, dirt billowing up around them.
Impala is breathing hard beneath him and Dean isn't any better. He looks back and finds Sam, wide-eyed and frightened and Dean doubts he looks different except for the part where he's grinning in exhilaration. “Did you see that?” Sam glares and shakes his head. Dean tries to find the last speck of the angel in the distance.
**
They head back to the city at a sedate walk, letting the horses cool from the run and allowing their own quick beating hearts to settle.
“You're out of your mind, Dean. You can't just chase an angel.”
Dean rolls his eyes. “You're the one going on about angels being good, blah blah blah.”
“I never said that. I said they're intelligent. I said there's probably a better way than letting a bunch of people get massacred every month. You're just looking for a cheap thrill.”
“Whatever, Sammy. Gotta loosen up sometimes.”
Honestly, Dean's not sure why he did it. No one in their right mind chases an angel through the forest unarmed. That angel could have turned and killed them both in an eye blink if it had wanted, armor or no. But it hadn't. It had only tried to lead Dean over the edge of a canyon. Dean snorts and tells himself to quit acting like an idiot. They ride the rest of the way in silence and Dean thinks of the spread of wings more than he should.
When they get back inside the city walls, there's commotion. People are excited, the city alive as they hurry to put the final touches in place for the training. Extra market stalls are going up along the main street, new housing has been built, a whole new stable even. There will be celebration and festivities in the week to come, before the training begins. As Dean and Sam enter the walls, the guard tells them the first of the new hunters are arriving through the main gates
Dean and Sam ride through the excitement back to the stables at the far end of the city, where they turn the horses loose in a paddock to enjoy the remainder of the day.
“You want to go see who's here?” Sam asks and Dean nods so they wander the side streets to avoid the press of people and get to the gates to watch the newcomers. Dean’s heart thumps for a new reason now, anxious to see the others that he’ll be up against because it is something of a competition. Only the best of them get the final reward in the end, the chance to kill their first angel under the watchful gaze of the city.
There’s a crowd at the gates, all vying for a position to best see what’s about to come through and Dean drags Sam away from them to the guard tower. The guards all recognize Dean and they let him past so he and Sam can climb the spiraling staircase to the top of the wall and from here, they can look down over everything. This is more of a crowd than the new hunters should merit and Dean feels his heart picking up with excitement. He thinks back again to the blue-winged angel and that's it. These are angels the gates are opening to admit. Captured and bound, to be used in the training. These are the things Dean is going to be facing off against in a week.
Huge horses, stocky and muscled, haul in solid reinforced wood cages on drays. Five drays. Five angels. The cages are carved with symbols, keeping the creatures inside held at bay, but as the last cage comes through there is a great noise. A high-pitched scream, a thunderous banging as the angel within beats at the walls with its wings hard enough to make the cage rattle and to startle the duo team of horses that pull it. Men are there to hold their reins and steady them. The watchers all gasp at the show of power from the unseen creature inside.
Dean glances to Sam, feeling his excitement welling up with the others, egged on by the crowd below. “That's the archangel. Ash said they had an archangel coming in this year.” Dean wonders who caught it. Who managed to take down an archangel and then hold it. He knows his dad could do it.
They watch as the convoy heads into the city, to the other side, across the horse's pasture fields and away from the houses to where the training will be held. That is all new as well. A stadium where the city will watch and Dean will get his own angel killing blade.
Once the convoy is out of sight, Dean grins at Sam and they head back down from the guard tower to meet the newcomers who have followed the wagons in. They're easy to tell apart from the civilians who have come to watch the training from the stadium seats. They wear armor, carry a metal shield, and their horses are some of the most impressive that Dean has seen.
There are three of them here from the city of Sarnia, the closest at a week’s ride and the first to arrive. Others will have ridden a month or more to attend the training.
Dean pushes his way through the people who are dispersing now that the angels have passed and to the side of the road. The new hunters spot him, a girl and two guys, and the girl pulls her horse up by Dean’s side, swinging her leg around to dismount. She looks tough but her grin is light while her grip is strong when Dean shakes her offered hand.
“You're Dean Winchester,” she says and Dean tosses a grin Sam's way.
“See, got a reputation already.”
She rolls her eyes skyward. “Your dad has the reputation. And don’t forget, Sarnia turns out more successful hunters than any other city,” the girl says with an arrogant raise of her eyebrow before she lapses back into a friendly grin. “I'm Jo. The twins there are Andy and Ansem.”
“Well welcome to Cansae,” and he can’t help but add on, “Home of the best hunter living,” with the same arrogant look Jo had a second ago. But his excitement overcomes him and he nods back to Sam. “That’s Sam. Come on, we’ll show you the stables.”
Dean leads them around the back roads to avoid the crowd again, walking ahead with Jo, and casually flirting while Sam falls behind with the twins.
“You came in with the angels; they’re kept at Sarnia, right?” Dean asks once they’ve reached the stables and Dean leans back against a wood support to watch Jo settle her horse.
“Yep. It's our hunters who capture them like that,” she says full of pride and Dean bites back the urge to tell her that Sarnia may be larger but Cansae still has the single best hunter out of any of them. Again.
“Do they really have an archangel?”
Jo nods and a thunderous expression replaces her previously bright eyes. “My dad was the one to catch it. Two months ago. Then it killed him while they were transferring it into a holding pen the next day.” Dean's stunned, staring at Jo who's suddenly all business and now he gets what she's doing here. “And I'll be the one to kill it.”
**
The week passes in a blur of parties and laughing and drinking. More people trickle in until Cansae is fairly brimming over. The new housing fills quickly and then the Inns and after that people even rent their guest rooms to out-of-towners for more money than what ought to be right. There are ceremonies to be had once all the new recruits have arrived. One to introduce them and it’s the first time Dean sets foot in the stadium.
Inside, the stone walls are higher than he had imagined and he cranes his head upward to take in the rows of stands for the viewers. The ground is sand which his feet sink into and in the curved walls there are five doors across from the entrance. Behind them are angels. Above them, the ceiling is a webbing of nets, woven into a symbol of power that the angels cannot break through. There are similar symbols lining the walls. This is where each of the new hunters - twenty-five total - are handed their own silver blades.
Dean studies his own as it’s handed to him, deceptively light but razor sharp. He grips his fingers around the hilt and the power of the symbols on the blade resonates through him. The others hold their blades with a similar awe and when Dean looks to his side, Jo holds hers with powerful determination. Dean feels the first ticking of nerves through him.
The opening ceremonies are followed by a feast. With the new hunters and their families, comes food; it's exotic and wonderful, the various towns bringing with them the reaps of their fall harvests. Dean finds a place to sit with Jo and Sam at his side with the twins Andy and Ansem sitting across from them and Dean watches in amusement as they bicker their way through boring speeches from too many people.
“Aren’t you nervous?” Andy asks and Ansem rolls his eyes and coughs “Loser” into his fist.
Dean lies, shrugging the worry off. “Nah. Not really, I mean…how often does anyone really get hurt in the stadium?” Dean says and then mimes with his steak knife while he goes on, “Besides, with those angel blades? We’ll just skewer anything that comes close.”
“Eating, Dean, thanks.” Sam pulls one of his faces.
“Actually, people have been killed in the stadium.”
Andy goes a little pale at this piece of information delivered deadpan from Jo. “Why did I let you talk me into this?” He asks his twin but Dean just grins and reaches across to slap his shoulder.
“Don’t worry; I've got your back.” Because nothing is going to take Dean down. Nothing is going to change what he’s going to do here. Nothing is going to stop him making his dad proud.
Nothing is going to stop him helping Jo avenger her father and he finds her after the dinner, standing atop the stone wall and looking over the forest. He steps up behind her and nudges her shoulder with his. “We've got 'em, you know. That archangel and soon all the others.” She smiles at him. “I've got your back too.”
**
Two days before the training begins, the angels attack Cansae again.
The city is awake late, fireworks cracking through the air and there is drink and food. Dean is admittedly getting a little sick of all the fanfare so he’s wandered away from the lights and the crowds, even gently brushing Jo from his arm. There’s a wind, a gentle billowing of the leaves that have fallen in preparation of winter. The sky is patchy with clouds and as Dean approaches the main gates to climb his way up the guard tower and perhaps walk the perimeter of the wall, the guards seem on alert.
Another volley of fireworks crackle into the sky and Dean stares out at the stars. A flash of dark movement cuts in front of them and he frowns. He turns to the guard standing beside him, armed with a quiver of arrows at his back. “Did you see that?” But the guard is distracted by the fireworks. Dean turns his attention back to the quiet skies and after a minute, in another flash of a firework, the spread of black wings against dark gray clouds.
“There's an angel out there.”
The guard looks but there's nothing and the wind stays only a breeze. “You ain't a hunter yet, kid.”
Dean glares at the dismissal and walks further along the high wall, to where the narrow pathway widens to accommodate three cannons. There are four cannon outposts along the wall, at each corner of the city, and more along the ground, all of them ready loaded with nets, flints to light them laid out in trays. Dean stands by one, reaches for a flint and watches the sky.
Aim. Dean catches movement in the sky and swings the mouth of the cannon around.
Keep it steady. He strikes the flint and lights the cannon. The whistle of the net through the air is overridden by the final explosion of fireworks but Dean sees a black streak fall across the sky. He hit it. He hit it. Elation slams into him for as long as it takes realization to and then he's racing back towards the guard.
“There are angels!” Dean cries but the wind is already there. Noise like a thousand birds and then the alarms go up, a thundering of gongs across the city.
Dean runs down the tower stairs. He put the angel down, now he has to kill it. The guards are already mounted, the gates opening to them so they can meet the challenge and Dean leaps to join, to run on foot if he has to, but a hard hand grabs him by the collar of his shirt and hauls him back.
“You're not a hunter yet, Dean,” his father tells him and Dean looks to find him suited for battle.
“But I shot one down!” And Dean has the knife; it rests eager to do its job in the sheath at his hip. He makes another bid to join the hunters but John holds him fast.
“Get back home.”
Dean finds himself dragged back another couple steps and then his dad is striding through the gates without looking back, leaving Dean to watch. He stands there for all of a minute before he turns and runs the other way, towards the stables with wind whipping at his back. Everyone else is streaming into homes or to the stables as well. At least Cansae has never been so well defended, as the hunters from outside the city pick up their blades as well, and order their horses saddled to ride with the Cansae hunters to meet the attack. Dean ignores them all and finds Impala in her stall.
He doesn't bother with a saddle, only grabs the lead rope of her halter and uses the side of the stall to heft himself up onto her back. She's anxious to get out there and he hardly needs to tell her before she's galloping down the line of stalls and into the open. He turns for the main gate and they race out into the dark of night and the howl of the wind, lost to the clash of angels and hunters that fade into the distance as he rides into the woods and no one stops him. No hunter and no angel notice a lone horse and rider leave the city. Dean should know better but he has to find his angel. To have put one down even before training? Unheard of. Dean's going to find it and he's going to kill it.
The wind dies down as he draws further away and he hopes the attack was short lived. That the other angels realized they were out-gunned and left. As he rides, Dean maps out the trajectory of the angel's fall in his head. Somewhere in the Lawrence Ravine, he thinks, and he presses Impala harder to reach it, splashing through a creek, jumping the logs in their path. When Impala's pace slows, he pulls her to a walk, allowing her to catch her breath. The other hunters won't stop him now and it takes Dean until morning to reach the ravine, looking all along the way for signs of the angel and crisscrossing the forest as they go.
By morning, Dean is ready to give up hope. That it must have been a bad hit, the angel somehow got away. Or maybe one of the others had come to the rescue though he's never seen the angels stand for each other before.
Lawrence Canyon is a small canyon, carved out by a creek and a waterfall crashing down into it; the canyon walls are high and steep, rough rock walls worn down from water and slick in places with moss. Trees and roots grow and crawl down the sides. Dean rides Impala along a winding path down into it, the splash of the water against her legs echoing off the walls.
There's nothing here. A deep wide pool at the base of the waterfall. The banks of the creek are gravel patched with coarse grass. There's are old fallen trees that lay across the creek and on the ground, great roots sticking up where some have been torn from the dirt. He's a few steps from a dead tree before he sees it, the huge expanse of a dark wing arching from the ground and Dean nearly jerks Impala away before he realizes that it isn't moving. Dean nudges Impala a cautious step forward, his hand dropping to the hilt of his blade. The angel has wedged itself as tight against the fallen tree as it can and as Dean inches closer, he can see the netting and the ropes wrapped all around it, digging in and holding the angel fast.
Adrenaline beats hard through Dean's veins. The angel is down. Now he has to kill it.
As Dean circles around, he realizes he knows this angel; he'd chased it through the forest days ago. It's dressed in battle armor now, a metal chest plate to cover its torso and shoulders, the skirt of the white cloth covered in metal plates as well and there are guards over the ange's shins. Angel metal is valuable, impenetrable. Every piece is stripped from them, to be melted and re-forged, usually into the blades that kill them or shields to ward them off. This angel's armor is adorned in decorations of deep blue and depictions of dragons.
The angel breathes but doesn't stir and Dean finds himself relaxing as he takes it in. The great wings are held tight, half-stretched out and immobile. Dean can see even like this that they're damaged from the fall but not how badly. It doesn't matter. He's got to kill it.
He unsheathes the blade and holds it tight. Through the throat and into its head. It's no different than cutting the throat of a deer to finish it off after the hunt. This is just another animal. Dean takes a deep breath and swings himself from Impala's back. His feet hit the ground and the angel's eyes snap open and lock on him. Dean is sure his heart stops, entire body - entire world - freezing as he stares down into bright blue eyes. Or maybe this is them dulled and dark as anger flashes through them before they take in the sight of the blade and then it's fear.
The angel is afraid but it holds itself still, staring at Dean and even just looking at it, Dean can see it thinking. Then it tips its head back, baring its throat but never once breaking eye contact. There's a challenge there, a silent question, and Dean stupidly swears the angel is offering him its trust.
And Dean can't. The thing is laying there waiting to be killed and Dean's heart is beating wildly. The angel is helpless, its eyes are pained. Scared like so many humans, it looks just like so many humans. And Dean did this to it.
He turns the blade to the ropes, cuts through the netting that holds the angel's arms and legs in tangles. Casts aside the heavy metal weights that hold the wings in place. As soon as the weight disappears the angel is on him. Those blue wings beat the ground, Impala spooks with a scatter of gravel beneath her hooves, and the angel moves like lightening, its hand around Dean's throat and strong fingers pressing in to choke him.
The blade is knocked to the side and Dean stares with frantic eyes into the angel's as they bore into him. He grips at the angel's wrist but an angel's hold is unmovable. Give them a grip and they'll shake the life from you. Dean knows this but he looks into the intelligent eyes of this angel and doesn't feel as afraid as he should.
Another minute and the angel shoves him hard, hand against Dean's throat cutting off his air and he falls to the ground, vision graying around him. When it clears again, the angel is running, one stride and two and its wings snap out and launch it into the air. Dean can see what will happen before it does when he sees the awkward way the left wing sits, how it won't open properly. The angel manages a short distance before the wing folds and drops it back to the ground. Dean flinches at the short noise of distress before the angel is on its feet again, launching itself into the air one more time but it only meets with the smooth stone walls where the angel can't get a grip to climb out. Not under the weight of its wings. It screams then, loud enough to startle the birds from the trees above and to make Dean flinch and cover his ears. The screams of angels have been known to turn men deaf.
The movement draws the angel's attention back to Dean, its eyes narrowed and Dean knows it won't let him go a second time. He ducks to grab the angel blade and bolts but the angel can't lift it's wing again and it drags along the ground. Dean stops out of the angel's reach and when it tries to lunge forward, he only has to back step. The angel stops, stares at him before closing its eyes in something too close to despair for Dean's comfort.
He whistles for Impala and rides away down the creek, leaving the angel behind.
**
They way back is quicker as Dean rides Impala on as straight of a line as he can manage and Impala is anxious to get back to her stall and the meal that awaits her there. It's late morning by the time Dean reaches the city and despite the attack there were no deaths and no one is any less excited. It takes Dean a precious long moment to remember why. Training starts tomorrow and with that thought, Dean's stomach drops.
He returns Impala to the stables and makes his way to his family's stone house, hoping to slip into his room and avoid detection. He makes it half-way up the steep stairs to the loft before there's a sound from below and he abruptly heads back down. It's not hard to pretend he's only just waking. Tiredness itches at his eyes and roughens his voice. A second later and his dad is calling out his name in an enthusiastic boom that makes Dean cringe.
“There you are, son. I wanted to talk with you.” John takes hold of Dean by the shoulders the moment Dean steps over to him and Dean nearly stumbles over their feet. But John draws him along, and together they make their way to the den. Training starts tomorrow.”
“I know.” Dean can't even pretend to muster up the enthusiasm he'd shown a day ago. “Dad…”
But John smoothly cuts him off and Dean can't interrupt the quiet pride in his voice. “Your mother would be so proud of you.”
And Dean wonders if that's true. If maybe she wouldn't just be scared the way Dean suddenly is. If after so many deaths, she wouldn't rather see Dean follow in Sam's footsteps. Maybe Sam had it right all along. Dean can't shake the deep intelligence of the angel's eyes from his head. Maybe he's hypnotized, and this is what the researchers mean when they talk about the depth of an angel's gaze.
They reach the den where Dean pulls from his father's grip and sinks down onto a wood chair that creaks beneath his weight. He can't bring himself to look up at his father. “I just…I don’t think I can do this.”
This is it, where all of John’s faith and pride will fall away because Dean has to admit that he can’t kill an angel. He nearly jumps when John laughs again. “First time nerves, boy! I went through the same thing, my first day before training. You’ll do fine.”
“But I can’t kill an angel,” Dean tries again, he does, shoving the words out into the air between them but John isn’t listening. He never listens.
“Yes you can.” John holds out his hand, expectant, knowing that Dean will take it and after a hesitation, Dean does. John grips his hand tight, a deal made between them, all grins while Dean's hand suddenly feels sweaty with uncertainty. “You're going to make me proud.”
Or something, Dean thinks as John finally lets him go and leaves the house to oversee the last minute work on the stadium. He's always been about the job, more so since the death of Mary when vengeance gripped his eyes. The way it does with Jo's and so many other hunters. Dean heads back up the stairs with heavy feet and Sam is there in the loft to greet him. The loft his small where both their beds lay. Dean's head nearly touches the ceiling and already Sam has to duck a little. “Where have you been?”
“Out.”
“Out?” Sam's eyebrows raise. “I saw you taking off last night on Impala.”
Dean nods and sits down heavily next to Sam on the bed. Sam’s been writing in his pad of paper again but he sets it aside, noticing the worry that lines Dean's face. “Did something happen?”
“No.” Dean's fingers slide around the hilt of the angel sword still sheathed at his hip and he shakes his head. What would mom say if she knew he left an angel alive? What would Sam say if he knew that angel hadn’t gone for the kill when it could have? Angels always went for the kill. Why didn’t this one? “Just nervous, I guess.”
“You'll do great. Just picture the angels naked.”
That makes Dean snort and he glares at Sam. “Fuckin’ child. Come on, let’s grab some lunch, I’m starving.”
He leaves the blade sitting on his bed and they head down to the kitchen together.
**
Dean stands in the center of the stadium while the sound of cheers and applause echoes all around.
There are six of them in here including Dean. Jo is to his left, along with the twins Andy and Ansem. There are two others to his right, having ridden in only the other night from the city of Medina, James and Dimi. They're large, tough. They have a look in their eyes that tells Dean to watch out for them because they're only going to watch out for themselves. In Dean's mind, they've already failed angel training because to defeat an angel you need to have each others back, to be able to trust the other hunters in the ring or out in the field with you.
Dean also knows the reputation of the man pacing in front of them. Old Bobby Singer, trainer to the new recruits. He'd been one of the best once and if his reputation is true to life then Dean thinks this man could even rival his dad. He looks rough and uncaring and he walks with a pronounced limp. Beneath those canvas jeans he wears, the leg isn't real. The story says an angel's wing had shattered it beyond saving. Even with the handicap, Dean would not want to face this man in anything but friendship.
“Welcome to your first day of angel training,” Bobby addresses them, turning to face them finally and his eyes lock on Dean's for a moment. The spectators settle as Bobby speaks, his voice carrying as the circle of the stadium is designed to make it do. Dean swallows beneath his gaze and wonders if Bobby can read the truth in his eyes, how much Dean doesn't want to be here. But he moves on and takes in each of them the same way.
“You might want to get to know the people in the ring with you right now; this is who you'll be training with for the next month. You'll have each others backs; you'll need to trust each other. These are real angels you'll be fighting in this ring and they won't hold back. Got me?” His gaze zeroes in on Dean again and Dean can feel himself nod though he's less sure than ever.
“Good. Then let’s get this show on the road.” He moves away from them and the first of the five doors creaks as it begins to slide open.
“Hang on!” Andy yelps, panic raising the pitch of his voice. “Don't you have to, I don't know...teach us first?”
Bobby grins, the six of them tensed and not even a bit ready. “You learn better if it's on your feet. Angels are resourceful. You're going to need to be as well.” And then Bobby is out of the stadium, the heavy iron entrance gate is secured behind him and the first cage door slides open.
The angel within explodes from the cage, its wings kicking up the sand in a whirlwind and Dean stumbles backward in anticipation of an attack. But the angel ignores them; it beats its wings against the ground, stirring sand until Dean can barely see it. It gets air born, struggling to reach the netting and freedom, but just as quickly, the angel hits the ground with a thud.
The wings are clipped, Dean realizes as the dust settles and the angel gathers itself. It stretches the wings to their full span and Dean thinks again to the angel in the woods. The long pinion feathers that Dean could have touched. This angel doesn't have them and it can't raise itself from the ground or control its flight when it does.
Dean can see it clearly now. Her. Her hair is long; her form is small, so exposed without the angel's armor covering her. She looks at them and Dean can see the fear in her eyes. She's trapped and she wants out. But the six of them are standing in her way and she angles towards them, fierce determination in the lines of her face.
“A downed angel might be a dead one,” Bobby calls out to them, bringing Dean's mind back into the game. “But that doesn't mean they ain't dangerous.”
To kill an angel, you need to bring it down. Once you do that, you're more agile but an angel is far from helpless themselves. Watch out for the wings and no sooner does Dean think it than the angel darts forward and he only just manages to jump above a heavy swipe aimed for his leg.
Dean casts his gaze around the ring but there are no weapons, only a single net. This lesson is about team work and capturing this angel alive.
The angel rounds on Andy and Dean's instincts push him to start barking orders. “Jo! Get the net. You two, distraction,” he snaps to James and Dimi. Angels can't speak English but Dean swears this one is narrowing its eyes and watching him intently.
They dive to their places and circle the angel who watches them in despair, trying to keep them each in her sights, swinging with her wings, using them to stir up clouds of sand and block their vision. Anything at all to keep them off of her, to keep that net from dragging her down again.
The angel buzzes them, a quick launch into the air and straight at Dean, her wings snapping an inch from his head before he rolls out of her way and back to his feet. The sand is difficult to find purchase on and the angel stumbles while Dean escapes. Dean watches as she turns away, wheeling around for another run like a bird of prey, her sharp eyes mapping each of them out. Who is the biggest threat?
Dean takes his eyes off her for a second to look at the others and sees Jo and the twins, pressing together, ready to pen the angel in. The angel does as well and she aims for them. Her wings cut outwards and this time she strikes with enough speed to send Andy flying back against the wall, wind knocked from his lungs.
Jo yells at Dean and Dean realizes he's just standing there, just watching in fascination as this creature moves, precise and elegant, and the angel is about to move on Andy, who lies dazed and useless.
The other four are there as well. Together, they stretch the net and catch the angel's wings to drag her back to the cage. They almost have her when she screams and Dean flinches from the noise that would have deafened them all if not for the wards surrounding the stadium. The angel rips the net from their hands and Dean finds himself on the ground with the angel bearing down on him. Her fingers reach for his forehead and he closes his eyes but she never makes contact.
A heavy net has been shot onto her wings from a canon post along the outside of the stadium and she's being hauled back into her cage. He sees her struggling uselessly against it and then Bobby takes up his field of vision.
“Never let an angel touch you. They'll always go for the kill.”
Except when they don't.
**
They're dismissed after a debriefing where Bobby paces before them and lectures them on everything they did wrong. Except Jo, who he praises in an offhand gruff manor and Dean would feel ruffled by this, that Jo had bested him but he doesn't care anymore. And Andy, who suffers bruised ribs in the medical building. A day in and already an injury because Dean can't get his head on straight.
Jo tries to call him over as they exit the ring, but Dean ignores her, pressing through the six new recruits that file in for their own lesson, making his way towards his house, where he throws together a bag with some food and he steals Sam's paper and pen. Then he's off to the stables, dodging his way around people that might try to stop him, thankful that his dad is busy at the stadium or out with old hunters and Sam is nowhere to be seen. Impala waits for him and he saddles her quickly.
He leaves by the side door and rides along the worn trail to Lawrence Ravine. He wonders if the angel will even still be there or if its fellows will have gotten him but Dean doubts that. From what he's seen, there's little care between them. They don't return for their fallen.
At the canyon, he leaves Impala to forage knowing she'll never stray far from him and walks into the canyon, dragging his bag along after him. He stays near the security of the wall for a moment, hidden amongst rocks and spindly trees, peering out as he searches for the angel. He spots it - him? - after only a moment.
The angel is sitting on the bank of the stream, his wings are spread around him and he's combing his fingers through one. Littering the ground at his feet are feathers, bent and broken and wet. Dean can see the blood glisten on the angel's fingers and the angel keeps reaching into the stream to cup the water and bring it to his wings. Cleaning the injuries, Dean realizes and feels his stomach sink a little whenever the wing twitches in hurt. One wing still sits awkwardly and if anything the bend in it looks worse. The angel's armor has been discarded in a pile next to it so it only wears the white cloth and sitting there, it - he - looks strangely vulnerable.
Dean wishes he could kill it. It would be a mercy, wouldn't it? The angel's wing is broken, it's trapped here. But Dean looks at him and sees his fear. That angel doesn't want to die anymore than Dean does.
He takes a cautious step forward and his bag scrapes against the rock wall as he leaves the gap. The angel's head snaps around immediately, eyes narrowing as they catch sight of Dean and then he's on his feet, good wing flaring up behind him while the other lays limp on the ground
Dean raises his hands to show they're empty. “Hey uh... It's okay,” Dean says and feels like an idiot. The angel can't understand him, they don't speak English, Dean doesn't know if they speak at all. They scream. Researchers have taken them apart and found their larynx to the most complicated of any animal. A source of power. Dean thinks then that they must talk.
But the angel in front of him doesn't show any signs of understanding. His wing doesn't relax the defensive posture, feathers puffed in agitation, and he stares at Dean like one wrong move will mean the end. Dean knows it will so he stands still with his hands up.
Those blue eyes keep boring into Dean's and Dean's sure he's going to have a heart attack if one of them doesn't do something. The angel's gaze flicks over him, his eyes settle on the angel blade at Dean's side and Dean swears the angel growls at him for it. A base rumble at the back of its throat and when Dean moves, it gets louder, jerking the angel forward a half-step, wings bristling even while one drags along the ground.
“Wait wait,” Dean snaps out, one hand still raised while his other drops to the knife and the angel is on him - broken wing or not - almost before Dean can toss it aside, back into the rocks where neither of them can easily reach it. But the angel is still there, hard breaths that ruffle through Dean's hair and Dean cries out despite himself and stumbles back, squeezing his eyes shut.
He only opens them when he realizes that the angel is just standing there again, inches away and staring at him. The conflict is gone from the angel's eyes though deep-set wariness remains. That stare makes Dean want to shift on his feet but he forces himself to meet it.
“See, buddy? No harm.” Dean thinks the angel might roll his eyes at him before turning and stalking back to his place by the stream.
The angel goes back to combing out his wings, pulling bent or ruined feathers and washing away the mostly dried blood. Dean moves forward a few steps, until the angel glares at him and then Dean settles down onto the ground, sitting cross-legged and pulling his bag onto his lap. The angel studies him for a moment; Dean almost sees curiosity in the tilt of his head, before he goes back to grooming his wing.
From the bag, Dean pulls Sam's pen and paper and spends the next hour uselessly sketching while he lets his mind wander. He's sitting maybe ten feet from an angel and they haven't killed each other yet. Dean wonders why. Why the angel isn't attacking him and then he wonders why he isn't attacking the angel. What would dad say? Sam would be jealous that he wasn't the one here performing this little experiment, possible proof that there's more to angels than any of them know. Maybe Dean really should be the researcher in the family.
At least the angel seems content enough for them both to stay where they are but when Dean lifts his head after a while to glance over, the angel is gone and Dean jumps to his feet. Only to spin around and find the angel is again mere inches from him, making Dean flinch and trip backwards onto the ground. He looks up at the angel and the angel peers down at him before holding out his hand. It takes Dean a second to get it and then he's handing over the pad of paper, blushing for some inconceivable reason while the angel glances over the page filled up with sketches of feathers or various symbols that Bobby had told them to memorize.
This time, when the angel makes noise it sounds like words and Dean can hear the tone of a question.
“Angel language? I can't understand that,” Dean says and the angel tilts his head. “And you can't understand me.” Dean sighs and wonders how they'll get over this roadblock. Then the angel turns away from him, broken wing whispering along the ground as the angel holds it up as best he can and Dean catches sight of the slightest smirk before he does. “Hey! You can understand, you-” Dean reaches out, touches his hand to the angel's wing to stop him. He has the quickest sensation of soft feathers against his fingers and then he's being struck hard and thrown back to the ground.
The angel has his wrists in a vice grip, lip curled back into a snarl as it presses Dean down against the sharp rocks of the creek bed. Dean yelps out, wide-eyed, “Sorry!” For a second he's sure this is it but like every other time, the angel hesitates for a second and then pulls away, releasing Dean from the grip and allowing him to gain his feet.
Dean rubs at the back of his head where it had struck the ground. “Touchy, jeez.”
They stare at each other for a moment, Dean gingerly pressing the back of his head, until the angel sighs and reaches out for him with two fingers. Dean's eyes widen and he stumbles back but the angel grabs hold of his wrist again when Dean holds his hand up to ward the angel away. Those fingers find Dean's forehead. Dean has seen what happens when an angel touches a man this way and prepares for encroaching darkness to take him. It doesn't. Instead the pain from the fall lifts away into nothing.
The angel lets go of him and steps back, eyelids drooped in sudden weariness. “Wow...um. Thanks, I guess.”
Dean had no idea angels could heal with a touch. He doubts anyone else did either.
“Neat trick. Guess that doesn't work on you though, huh?” Dean says and glances back to the angel's broken wing.
The angel follows his gaze, first with eyes and then he touches his fingers against the bend in the wing bone, flinching and pulling away quickly.
“I did that...”
The angel looks at him sharply, expression accusing until he takes in the guilt in Dean's gaze.
“Come on,” Dean says to break the moment and he turns to his bag, not bothering to look and see if the angel follows him. There's a rustle of feathers that says he is. Dean crouches down and opens the bag to bring out some of the food he shoved in. He has no idea what angels eat. The hearts of men, his dad might have said. Dean wonders if they hunt deer the way humans do or maybe they don't eat anything at all.
“You must be hungry, I didn't really know what you eat but if there's anything that catches your eye?” Dean turns to look at the angel while he lays out the wrapped food on the ground between them and sees that something has definitely caught the angel's eye. His nostrils are flared like he can actually smell the bar of chocolate Dean had stolen from the hiding place Sam thinks he doesn't know about. “Go on then.”
The angel's fingers wrap around the bar and it looks like he's going to take the food and run before he visibly stays himself. He breaks the bar in half and offers it to Dean. The feathers of his wings practically ripple in pleasure when he eats it. Who knew angels had a sweet tooth?
Dean leaves soon after, returning to Impala and the city, and tomorrow another day of training.
**
Part Two
masterpost