"Today we're going to learn about the major – and I mean major in a broad encompassing term – styles of angel combat." Hannah, Dean's War Theory tutor conjured three names into the air: Raphael, Gabriel and Castiel as the other students emblazoned everything Hannah said into their eternal, photographic memories. Ugh, Dean really didn't see the point of War Theory. He'd been at the Academy of Holy War for years now and theory had never come in handy. Sure, maybe for the nerds. Dean turned about in his seat and some dweeb called Coledai met his eye. The smaller angel looked down again as his creamy ochre wings fluttered with nerves; he knew that eye contact with Dean meant a bruising after class.
"Raphael's style of fighting is simple but effective." Hannah continued. Today the prim and proper angel looked male, but tomorrow they might be female, and some days it was impossible to tell. Most angels were gender neutral, but some, like Dean, had a particular preference. "We'll call it Strength and Intimidation. Raphael is very powerful and often can simply resolve disputes by making a display of strength to scare his opposition into submission. In the occasion where this fails, Raphael's fighting technique comes down to brute strength in a head-on attack."
Well that sounded familiar. Dean smirked and shuffled his dappled brown wings; he'd scared the crap outta many a challenger with his huge span. In fact he just loved it when some punk came up all brazen and brash, then found themselves in the massive shadow of their feathery, impending doom.
"Gabriel, on the other hand, uses Illusions and Deception to defeat his enemies, as he is by job description, a herald, not a warrior. Or was – nobody has seen him for millions of years, however we have personal accounts of those who fought beside him in the First Holy War."
"Deception and illusions are for babies." Josephus snickered on Dean's left, and Dean gave a huff of agreement. Those sort of angels needed to be taught the lesson that they belonged at Nerd School next door (The Academy of Lore), instead of cluttering up the space of better angels. Yeah, Dean's brother Sam went to the Lore Academy, and if anyone gave him a hard time, Dean would punch their Grace out their eyeballs. But Sam was family. That was different.
"And thirdly, we have the fighting style of Castiel." Hannah made the name glow brighter, but it didn't make Dean care more. "He didn't climb the ranks by just shaking hands. We call his style Speed and Brutality; one of the hardest forms to learn, but extremely effective and dangerous to against any angel or demon. His speciality is tracking and killing Fallen Angels that might join Lucifer, giving him the epithet Scourge of the Fallen."
"Why don't you include Michael?" Some preppy angel up the front asked and Dean felt his attention doing a sly climb out the window.
"Good point! But the truth is, asking you to compare yourself with either Michael or Lucifer would be like asking a human to smite a demon." Hannah conjured the names of the two most powerful archangels in existence and put them in a circle beyond the other three names. "If you ever find yourself in the unlikely situation of facing combat with Lucifer, my advice to you would be to run. Only two angels have ever survived a full-frontal assault from him. Can anyone tell me who?"
Hannah paused as though she actually expected input from the class. Damn, if he wasn't careful, his Grace was going to melt out his ears from boredom.
"Michael is the obvious one; he and Lucifer are on equal terms of power. But Castiel also faced Lucifer and survived. No angel quite knows how, but there's a reason he's the Third Marshal of Heaven." Hannah began to conjure up notes. Yeah, yeah, who cared about some frickin Third Marshal when they could be learning Raphael's moves with Uriel?
Dean rolled his eyes and sank back into a memory as Hannah carried on the nerdy crap.
Darkness hung in the air like a foul smell. Tell-tale vibrations gave Dean the warning he needed as a demon prowled through the alleyway. His father John hadn't explained what the demon's purpose was, just that if Dean didn't smite it, he wouldn't be allowed back into Heaven. At the angel equivalent of ten years old, there was nothing more Dean wanted to do than obliterate his first demon. Just the sight of its twisted mug of sin and evil made his Grace itch to end it. He slid out an angel blade that was about half his own height and crept towards the creature of Hell. This was it. Dean's still-fluffy wings just about quivered with exhilaration as he gauged the pounce, crouched, jumped and –
Smack!
The demon slapped him into a wall with a pustule-covered black hand. It had no wings, so it couldn't be a powerful demon; it simply had good reflexes.
"Oh look." That toothy, five-eyed face made a fake pout. "God sent a cherub to thwart my evil ways. How…adorable."
Dean gave a flap of his small wings and swooped in right behind the demon, but it was too quick; it grabbed his arm and twisted it with such force that Dean gave a cry of pain. The angel blade bounced off the tarmac like a solid moonbeam and this abomination kicked it down the alleyway.
"I could just eat you up, little Cupid." It hurled Dean into the concrete pavement and brought a clawed foot down on him again and again, until there was a nice Dean-shaped crater in the tarmac.
"Why don't you come here and try it, you pathetic son-of-a-bitch." The child-angel glowered as blood made tracks out his nose. The demon bent down and yanked Dean up by the hair.
"Oh I w – "
Before it could even finish its sentence, Dean summoned up every ounce of energy in his Grace, every inch of holy ire and smote the demon's forehead with a hand that glowed with white-blue flame. Light sizzled out its eyes as it screamed; the young angel had never heard a more satisfying sound. It was a shame he couldn't save the human it had possessed, but he'd do his best to lead that soul to Heaven.
"Dicaeomen? Is that – " Two demons rounded the corner and stopped short at the sight of their barbecued buddy.
"Stay back, you scum." Dean flared his very small, fluffy wings and called on the angelic fire within him again. Nothing happened.
"Or what pipsqueak? Looks like your balls haven't dropped far enough for you to get it up again." The demon's spiked face twisted with glee, but the insult went straight over Dean's innocent little head. His angel blade was halfway down the alley, but before he could wing over there, the other demon's tentacle snaked around his foot.
"Hey!" He sliced downward with his wings, but the demon's skin only hissed and smoked; full angel wings would've chopped it in half, but who said life was meant to be easy.
"How about we rip off those nasty little stingers, hmm?" The first hellspawn took him by the neck and pinned him against a wall.
"I'd like to see you try, you bastard." Dean spat in its face and was rewarded when the thing's skin melted. The demon growled and wrapped its talons around his wing-joint. The thing's tentacle friend clubbed Dean across the jaw again and again until the world was a bruised blur. Nobody except Dad knew he was down here and John might submit Dean to the humiliation of being saved, but he'd never hear the last of it. Sam could barely even fly, let alone take on two demons. For the first time in his life Dean looked up to the Heavens, looked up to his home and cried to whoever was listening for help. The world sparked. He could feel his Grace about to tear and drip out of him. Then, just as the alley faded, a light so bright Dean could barely look at it filled his vision. When he closed his eyes, the only thing he could see were two savage black wings stark on the back of his retinas.
Dad had always said he'd been the one to pull Dean out, that he'd heard him call and come to his rescue. In fact, he'd never let Dean forget it. But…Dean had spent many hours just revisiting those wings, and he knew deep down somewhere that they weren't his father's. John had mottled grey wings, kinda like Sammy's, and even if they had been silhouetted –
"Decanos?" Hannah stood in front of him, arms crossed. The rest of the class had turned to look at him too, but they all found the floor very interesting when he turned to challenge their gaze.
"What can I do for you, sweetheart?" Dean flashed his best smile. He hadn't tried to lose himself so thoroughly in that memory.
"I see." Hannah raised an eyebrow filled with an extreme amount of disinterest in him or his dashing smile. "I said, what's so special about Castiel that sets him apart from the other two?"
Dean searched through his vast memory, but couldn't recall anything. The names of every prophet on earth kept popping up for some reason, but that didn't help.
"Uhhh, has he got a rainbow halo?" Dean gave a cocky little smirk, and Josephus and the gang sniggered next to him. Hannah just gave a sigh and turned back to the floating notes.
"He's not an archangel. He rose from where we are today, and it would do you all good to look to him as an inspiration. Class dismissed."
Finally. Dean's knuckles ached to show that little punk Coledai what it meant to try and stare him down around here. Hey, he was the ruler of this roost and he couldn't let impertinence like that slide.
Thanks for reading! I would love to know what you thought of the start, so why not hit up that comment section? c: I find the image of baby Sam trying to fly with fluffy lil wings so adorable hehehe.
Fun Fact: Decanos is the archaic Greek ancestor of the name Dean lol c: Thank you for reading, and I hope you all enjoy the rest of the fic!