Some could argue that I'm updating this too quickly... I mean, it's been what, twenty minutes since I posted chapter three? But Sam is in this chapter! And I like how he's turning out so far. And we get our first glimpse of Dean! Sorry, I'm being a bit spoilery now... Still looking for future Disney AU suggestions, though! Please?
Sam walked through the streets, consulting his map in confusion, turning it several different directions to try to make some sense. He turned to Achilles, his horse, but the horse clearly had no answers. It had been almost ten years since he'd been in Paris, and it had changed quite a bit in that time.
"Excuse me, gentleman!" he called to a group of three men passing by. "I'm looking for the Palace of Justice. Would you-" But the the men ignored him and kept walking without a single sideward glance. "I guess not," he said, to himself. No one was listening to him anyways.
Nearby, a gypsy man by the name of Dean sat, playing a strange three-stringed instrument while a goat, which he affectionately called Pala, jumped around in an amusing imitation of a dance. A young child walked by, looking upon the pair with wide, happy eyes, but the child's mother grabbed her hand and quickly steered them away with a mutter of filth and thieves.
Sam walked by and discretely dropped a few coins into the weathered hat at the man's feet. He didn't really want to be seen giving a gypsy money; as a captain, it was generally seen as being in bad taste. However, he'd been raised with a strong moral principal, and refused to pass up a chance to help a man who, judging by the amount of other coins in the hat, was hard pressed for money. Sam moved on, but he didn't get far before he heard a guard interrogating the man.
"All right, gypsy," the guard said, practically yelled, though there was only a few feet between him and the man. "Where'd you get the money?"
"For your information," the man said, his voice possessing a slight accented edge, "I earned it."
The guard scoffed. "Gypsies don't earn money."
Another guard approached now. "You steal it?"
The gypsy man scoffed right back. "Well, you'd know a lot about stealing, wouldn't you?"
"Troublemaker!" the first guard accused.
"Maybe a day in the stocks will cool you down," the second agreed.
They seized the gypsy man roughly and hauled him to his feet, but he struggled and he wiggled free. The guards chased him, but Sam deftly maneuvered Achilles so that he cut the guards off, and let the running man pass, though most of his coins were scattered across the ground where he'd been sitting. The guards fell to the ground, and seeing that one of them was in just the right spot, Sam commanded, "Achilles, sit!"
The horse immediately obeyed, it's rump coming down on a surprised guard.
"Oh, dear!" Sam feigned, surprised that he was able to hold back his laughter so well. "I'm sorry!" He turned to Achilles, giving him a scolding finger, and in an exaggerated voice, saying, "Naughty, naughty! He's just impossible! I can't take him anywhere."
"Get him off me!" the guard gasped.
The first guard had gotten his footing back, now, and approached Sam, pulling a dagger out of his belt. "I'll teach you a lesson, peasant!"
In reply, Sam pulled out a full length sword, shining in the sunlight, as compared to the rusting three-inch blade of the guard's dagger. "You were saying, lieutenant?"
The guard's eyes widened. "Oh, I apologize, Captain, I didn't realize! At your service, sir!"
Sam sheathed his sword, raising an eyebrow, and bending down next to the guard who was still struggling beneath the weight of Achilles. "Look, I know you have a lot on your mind right now, but…the Palace of Justice?"
The guards quickly agreed to escort him, clearing the path with called of, "Make way!" and "Move aside!" Before departing, Sam scooped up the spilled coins, dropping them in a familiar weather beaten hat as they made their way to the Palace.
They arrived at the Palace of Justice soon enough, where he finally met with the Judge John Michael he'd heard so much about. They met in the hall on one of the upper levels, outside of a chamber where he could clearly hear the crack of a whip and the cries of a man, nearly stretched to his breaking point. The Judge seemed unfazed.
"Guard!" Michael called, summoning one of the men from the room. He looked haggard, but still determined. He was young, too, but there was no youth in his eyes.
"Ease up and wait between lashings," Michael instructed. "Let him feel it. Otherwise, the older sting may dull him to the new." His words were punctuated by another crack of the whip and another cry from the man.
"Yes, sir!" the guard exclaimed, hurrying back into the cell.
Michael turned to Sam. "Ah, so this is the gallant Captain Winchester, home from the wars."
"Reporting for duty, as ordered, sir," Sam responded in a clipped, practiced tone. He'd been through this drill before. It was nothing new to him. It was, however, the first time introductions with his ranking officer took place with prisoner being tortured in the next room.
"Your service record precedes you, Sam," Michael intoned. "I shall expect nothing but the best from a war hero of your caliber."
"I assure you, you shall have it," Sam replied. It was still nothing new. He'd made a habit of throwing himself into his missions and orders, and it'd served him well over the years. Almost gotten him killed on more than one occasion, sure, but at least he had rank.
"Yes, good." An odd look came across the Judge's face. "You know, my last captain of the guard was, well, let's call him a disappointment." Another whip crack, another scream, and Michael's eyes flicked to the door. Sam's eyes widened, and he rocked back on his heels slightly, but he said nothing. Military life was about obedience, and he was extremely practiced. "Well, no matter. I'm sure you'll whip my men into shape in no time. Walk with me, Captain."
"Um, thank you, sir," Sam stammered. "Very, uh, trem-uh, a tremendous honor, sir." He followed the Judge, and they came out into a covered pathway, a stone railing enclosing the space. It was near the top of the Palace of Justice; the only parts of the building that were above them were the four short towers, one at each corner.
Michael's eyes flicked, but he did not comment. He, instead, said, "You came to Paris at her darkest hour, Captain. It will take a firm hand to save the weak minded from being so easily misled."
"Misled, sir?" He was unsure of the Judge's meaning.
"Look, Captain, the gypsies." He said the word with such blatant disgust. "The gypsies live outside the normal order. Their heathen ways inflame the people's lowest instincts. They must be stopped."
Sam was a bit surprised by this, and his surprise made him bold. "You mean, I was summoned from the warfront to capture fortune tellers and palm readers?"
Michael let out a laugh. "Oh, the real war, Captain, is what you see here before you. For twenty years, I have been taking care of the gypsy problem one…by…one." There were a few ants crawling across the tile railing. On each of his final words, he crushed an ant with a finger. He then flipped the tile, revealing scores of the creatures crawling around beneath. "And yet, for all of my success, they have thrived, have they not?" He met Sam's eyes seriously. "I believe they have a safe haven, within the walls of this very city. A nest, if you will. They call it the Court of Miracles."
"And what are we going to do about it, sir?" Sam inquired, almost afraid to hear the answer, but unable to stop himself from asking. Michael didn't answer. Rather, he slammed the tile back down into its place, upside down now, and turned it, ensuring the death of each ant beneath it. "You make your point quite vividly, sir."
Michael smiled. "You know, I think I like you, Captain. Shall we?" He gestured to the far door. Nearby, the crowd of peasants attending the festival rang out in cheers, and Michael seemed to deflate slightly. "Oh, duty calls." He turned to Sam. "Have you ever attended a peasant festival, Captain?"
"Not recently, sir," he admitted.
"Then this should be quite educational for you. Come along.
