Crusaders 7/7
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May 25, 2001
Annapolis, MD
Beaming, newly-commissioned Lieutenant Dean M. Winchester of the United States Marine Corps made his way through the crowd to his wife, parents, and brother. The first person on either side of the family to go to college, Dean had just graduated summa cum laude from the Naval Academy with a major in mechanical engineering and was looking forward to some time off before moving to Camp Lejeune and starting his hitch with the 2D Combat Engineer Battalion. Sam was about to graduate from Lawrence High School himself the next weekend, and they’d promised each other a cross-country road trip in Dean’s black ’67 Impala before Sam started to Stanford on a full scholarship in the fall.
It was the third happiest day of his life, after Sam’s birth and his marriage to his high school sweetheart two years earlier.
Amanda found Dean first, and after she’d kissed him until their unborn son kicked hard enough to make her stop, John pulled him into a hug and rumbled “So proud of you, son” in his ear. Mary was crying and laughing all at the same time as she took her turn, and Dean nearly joined her in crying for joy. Then he looked over at Sam, who was grinning in that way that meant he had a surprise.
“Dude,” said Sam, “look who’s here!”
Dean looked—and gasped. “Uncle Gabe! Uncle Cas! You made it!”
“Of course we did, Deano,” replied Uncle Gabe. “You didn’t think your guardian angels would miss your graduation, did you?”
Dean laughed and hugged each of his ‘uncles’ in turn. They weren’t blood, of course, and neither was Uncle Bobby, who couldn’t get time off from his salvage yard in Sioux Falls to come; but Gabe and Cas had moved to the Winchesters’ neighborhood just before Dean was born and had befriended John and Mary, who named them as godfathers for Dean and Sam, and they’d been looking out for both boys ever since. They were a little weird, what with Uncle Gabe’s addiction to candy and Uncle Cas’ tendency to wear a trench coat everywhere he went, and nobody knew much about them beyond the fact that they were brothers, but Dean loved them anyway.
Uncle Cas smiled that strange little smile of his as he looked Dean in the eye and said gravely, “You’ve done very well, Dean.”
“Thanks, Uncle Cas.” Dean clapped him on the shoulder and went back to put an arm around Amanda’s shoulders. “So, when do we eat?”
Everyone laughed.
Meanwhile, 35 miles away in Ilchester, the coroner’s van was leaving St. Mary’s Convent, and a detective was finishing taking statements from the shaken sisters.
“He started mumbling during the Lord’s Prayer,” the elderly British nun he was interviewing explained, “and that’s when I noticed that the statue of Our Lady was weeping blood. I couldn’t think what might be wrong... and then... oh, please don’t think I’m mad, Leftenant, but he turned around, and his eyes were white! No iris, no pupil, just white as they could be. And he started saying the strangest things about his father’s will, and this knife just appeared in his hand, and he smiled... such an evil, evil smile. So unlike our dear Father Lehne—he’s been with us for thirty years, and never has he acted like that before.”
The detective was skeptical, but he prompted, “And that’s when the other man walked in?”
“Oh, no. He didn’t walk in. He was just there behind the altar, and he had an old gun in his hand, and he shot Father Lehne and disappeared.” She leaned forward. “And the queer thing was the way Father Lehne died. He lit up from the inside, almost like he was on fire. But the gun looked like an ordinary revolver.”
“Did the shooter say anything?”
“Just one word. ‘Alastair.’ And Father Lehne turned as if he’d been called by name—only that wasn’t his name, you know, it was Fred. And Father Lehne looked most surprised and started to say something, but the other man shot him.”
“What did he say?”
“Well, he didn’t get very far. It was a guttural kind of sound, though, and I thought it was a ‘guh,’ but it might have been a ‘kuh.’”
“Hm.” The detective made a note. “Anything else you can remember?”
The nun thought for a moment. “I did think I might have heard wings flapping when the man disappeared, but I don’t suppose it means anything.”
“Probably not,” the detective agreed. “Thank you, Sister.”
The nun left, and the detective sighed as his partner entered the office.
“Still the crazy story?” asked the other man.
“Yeah. White eyes and weeping statues and assailants that appear out of nowhere. What’s Doc Hembry got?”
“Not much yet, but it looks like an oddball caliber, like a .28.”
The detective blinked. “They said it was an old revolver... what, an 1836 Colt Paterson?”
“Yeah, could be. And—get this—there was some kind of sulfur residue on the padre’s lips.”
“Gunpowder?”
“Nope. Raw sulfur. Like he’d been drinking the stuff.”
The detective shook his head and gathered his notes.
“You know,” his partner said casually, “they say this place was built over a hellmouth. Supposed to keep a lid on Lucifer’s cage.”
The detective rolled his eyes. “Catholics. C’mon, let’s get some lunch.”
“Nah, you go ahead. I’m gonna look around, see if I can figure out how that shooter got away so fast.”
“Suit yourself.”
Once the detective was out the door, however, his partner’s eyes turned a furious black from corner to corner. Alastair wasn’t supposed to die! The Colt was locked away in Daniel Elkins’ safe, and the angels were in Annapolis! This was supposed to be their one chance to get through to their Father without attracting attention! How could Castiel have wrecked everything again?
And yet, if Alastair’s death had caused the angels to relax their guard on the convent... this might be the right time after all. She—for the spirit had once been a woman—could perhaps take advantage of the situation. She knew the spell, in part because she was the only one of Alastair’s apprentices whom he could trust to watch his back, what with the lower ranks preparing for some delicious disaster coming up in September and Crowley being too involved with the crossroads division to even care about the Apocalypse. She had the nuns’ trust; the angels were off with the Winchesters....
Slowly, sinisterly, the demon sometime known as Meg began to smile. She had work to do.
Explicit Gestum Angelorum Gabriel et Castiel Fratrorumque Decanum et Samuel
—aut est hoc?
Notes
May 25, 2001
Annapolis, MD
Beaming, newly-commissioned Lieutenant Dean M. Winchester of the United States Marine Corps made his way through the crowd to his wife, parents, and brother. The first person on either side of the family to go to college, Dean had just graduated summa cum laude from the Naval Academy with a major in mechanical engineering and was looking forward to some time off before moving to Camp Lejeune and starting his hitch with the 2D Combat Engineer Battalion. Sam was about to graduate from Lawrence High School himself the next weekend, and they’d promised each other a cross-country road trip in Dean’s black ’67 Impala before Sam started to Stanford on a full scholarship in the fall.
It was the third happiest day of his life, after Sam’s birth and his marriage to his high school sweetheart two years earlier.
Amanda found Dean first, and after she’d kissed him until their unborn son kicked hard enough to make her stop, John pulled him into a hug and rumbled “So proud of you, son” in his ear. Mary was crying and laughing all at the same time as she took her turn, and Dean nearly joined her in crying for joy. Then he looked over at Sam, who was grinning in that way that meant he had a surprise.
“Dude,” said Sam, “look who’s here!”
Dean looked—and gasped. “Uncle Gabe! Uncle Cas! You made it!”
“Of course we did, Deano,” replied Uncle Gabe. “You didn’t think your guardian angels would miss your graduation, did you?”
Dean laughed and hugged each of his ‘uncles’ in turn. They weren’t blood, of course, and neither was Uncle Bobby, who couldn’t get time off from his salvage yard in Sioux Falls to come; but Gabe and Cas had moved to the Winchesters’ neighborhood just before Dean was born and had befriended John and Mary, who named them as godfathers for Dean and Sam, and they’d been looking out for both boys ever since. They were a little weird, what with Uncle Gabe’s addiction to candy and Uncle Cas’ tendency to wear a trench coat everywhere he went, and nobody knew much about them beyond the fact that they were brothers, but Dean loved them anyway.
Uncle Cas smiled that strange little smile of his as he looked Dean in the eye and said gravely, “You’ve done very well, Dean.”
“Thanks, Uncle Cas.” Dean clapped him on the shoulder and went back to put an arm around Amanda’s shoulders. “So, when do we eat?”
Everyone laughed.
Meanwhile, 35 miles away in Ilchester, the coroner’s van was leaving St. Mary’s Convent, and a detective was finishing taking statements from the shaken sisters.
“He started mumbling during the Lord’s Prayer,” the elderly British nun he was interviewing explained, “and that’s when I noticed that the statue of Our Lady was weeping blood. I couldn’t think what might be wrong... and then... oh, please don’t think I’m mad, Leftenant, but he turned around, and his eyes were white! No iris, no pupil, just white as they could be. And he started saying the strangest things about his father’s will, and this knife just appeared in his hand, and he smiled... such an evil, evil smile. So unlike our dear Father Lehne—he’s been with us for thirty years, and never has he acted like that before.”
The detective was skeptical, but he prompted, “And that’s when the other man walked in?”
“Oh, no. He didn’t walk in. He was just there behind the altar, and he had an old gun in his hand, and he shot Father Lehne and disappeared.” She leaned forward. “And the queer thing was the way Father Lehne died. He lit up from the inside, almost like he was on fire. But the gun looked like an ordinary revolver.”
“Did the shooter say anything?”
“Just one word. ‘Alastair.’ And Father Lehne turned as if he’d been called by name—only that wasn’t his name, you know, it was Fred. And Father Lehne looked most surprised and started to say something, but the other man shot him.”
“What did he say?”
“Well, he didn’t get very far. It was a guttural kind of sound, though, and I thought it was a ‘guh,’ but it might have been a ‘kuh.’”
“Hm.” The detective made a note. “Anything else you can remember?”
The nun thought for a moment. “I did think I might have heard wings flapping when the man disappeared, but I don’t suppose it means anything.”
“Probably not,” the detective agreed. “Thank you, Sister.”
The nun left, and the detective sighed as his partner entered the office.
“Still the crazy story?” asked the other man.
“Yeah. White eyes and weeping statues and assailants that appear out of nowhere. What’s Doc Hembry got?”
“Not much yet, but it looks like an oddball caliber, like a .28.”
The detective blinked. “They said it was an old revolver... what, an 1836 Colt Paterson?”
“Yeah, could be. And—get this—there was some kind of sulfur residue on the padre’s lips.”
“Gunpowder?”
“Nope. Raw sulfur. Like he’d been drinking the stuff.”
The detective shook his head and gathered his notes.
“You know,” his partner said casually, “they say this place was built over a hellmouth. Supposed to keep a lid on Lucifer’s cage.”
The detective rolled his eyes. “Catholics. C’mon, let’s get some lunch.”
“Nah, you go ahead. I’m gonna look around, see if I can figure out how that shooter got away so fast.”
“Suit yourself.”
Once the detective was out the door, however, his partner’s eyes turned a furious black from corner to corner. Alastair wasn’t supposed to die! The Colt was locked away in Daniel Elkins’ safe, and the angels were in Annapolis! This was supposed to be their one chance to get through to their Father without attracting attention! How could Castiel have wrecked everything again?
And yet, if Alastair’s death had caused the angels to relax their guard on the convent... this might be the right time after all. She—for the spirit had once been a woman—could perhaps take advantage of the situation. She knew the spell, in part because she was the only one of Alastair’s apprentices whom he could trust to watch his back, what with the lower ranks preparing for some delicious disaster coming up in September and Crowley being too involved with the crossroads division to even care about the Apocalypse. She had the nuns’ trust; the angels were off with the Winchesters....
Slowly, sinisterly, the demon sometime known as Meg began to smile. She had work to do.
—aut est hoc?
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Date: 2013-06-08 04:36 am (UTC)I so love this picture! :)
How could Castiel have wrecked everything again?
*grins*
I've said this many times, but this is such a great fic! :) Thank you again so much for posting it here. I look forward to the sequel!
no subject
Date: 2013-06-09 05:13 am (UTC)