The creature Castiel had been following since it had left its palatial estate was puzzling. For one, its appearance was clearly a mystical fabrication. There were three overlapping visages: the vain, pretty young female with curly blonde hair, an indescribably horrific other-dimensional beast, and, strangely, the young doctor who had been caring for the mentally ill patients at the hospital. The most false was the female, but the beast and boy were equally truthful. The boy appeared to be in a stupor, completely unaware of what the body was doing. The beast, however, was visibly straining against confinement as it manipulated the illusion of the young female. Its struggles were breaking her essence apart in tiny increments.

The second puzzling attribute was its obsession with frippery. The seraph tailed the thing through a series of department stores at the local mall where it purchased dresses, shoes, makeup, jewelry; all of the highest caliber and all very, very expensive. Castiel doubted that the Winchesters had ever spent in a year what the woman-beast-boy carelessly splurged within a few hours.

Apparently the creature intended next to return to its home, perhaps to admire its acquisitions. It walked quickly, unimpeded by the multitude of bags or its five inch heels. Disconcerted by the enigma of the frivolous woman-beast-boy, Castiel noticed too late that the Hellgod was taking a rather circuitous route. With the crowds thinning it was becoming more and more difficult to remain inconspicuous. He took his eyes off Glorificus for a moment to search for a different vantage point. When he looked back it had disappeared.

The seraph grimaced at his mistake. There weren't many places it could have hidden. After peering about he spotted the edge of its dress disappearing down an alley across the street. Castiel immediately followed.

Again it was gone. the angel glanced about, checking both the refuse and the fire escapes, and found nothing. "I know this is a trap," he growled. "You might as well come out."

Instead of Glorificus, however, two black-eyed, scabrous vermin, dressed profanely in monkish brown robes and wielding daggers, rushed in from the street crying, "You shall not harm the most Glorious One!"

A short melee ensued. The things were more enthusiastic than skilled and Castiel easily dodged their erratic stabs and swings. One managed, by virtue of dumb luck, to stab his vessel in the back. When the angel ripped out the blade and turned around, annoyed, it gaped at him stupidly. He grasped the front of its robe and hurled it into the garbage. "Where is Glorificus?" he demanded as he advanced on the other creature.

"Right here, silly!" came a mellifluous voice from behind. The seraph turned around, certain he could quickly eliminate Sam and Dean's reason for lingering in Sunnydale. Instead, he found himself punched hard enough in the chest to go smashing into the brick wall of the alley. Castiel's vessel slumped to the ground as shattered masonry tumbled onto his head.

At close range Glory's female aspect became overwhelmingly prominent. She gazed at him curiously. "Well, well! An angel! I haven't seen one of you in forever." Her tone turned ominous. "Mind telling me what you've been doing following me all day? I know for certain that your 'Heavenly Host' is busy cowering upstairs so there must be some other reason for one of you to be down here."

When Castiel didn't answer the Hellgod reached down, grabbed him by the throat, and held him effortlessly up against the wall. His eyes widened in shock as his fingers scrabbled uselessly against her grip. "I'm really not in the mood for the silent treatment!" Glory declared. "C'mon, play nice before I have to rip off the remains of your tattered little wings."

Still he remained reticent and the Hellgod narrowed her eyes. She cocked her head to one side. "Aren't you things supposed to be inside regular humans? All I see in there is you. Which means," Glorificus complained as she drew back and slammed Castiel repeatedly into the wall, "you're not even useful as a snack!"

Once she was done she dropped the angel, bleeding and dazed, back into the pile of fallen bricks. With a mocking grin the Hellgod said, "Watch this!" and made a quick snatching gesture in the air. Castiel gasped in pain as his wings were mystically tethered.

Glory crouched before him as he made a valiant attempt to stand. "Aw, pretty birdie got hurt? Wanna fly away? Well too bad! I've got your feathers clipped and until I get some answers, you're not going anywhere. Don't want you winged stuck-ups or your smokey underworld friends coming by to mess up my plans. Minions!" she called. The two creatures scuttled to her side murmuring benedictions. "Pick this thing up and bring it along."

As her most adoring followers gathered up the stupefied angel, Glorificus sauntered homeward. "On the way, make sure you pick me up someone tasty. I'm feeling peckish."

"Damn it, Cass," muttered Dean as he discovered the cell phone amidst the alley rubble. He held it up, screen cracked but still functional, for his brother and the Slayer to see.

"Glory has him," Buffy inferred.

As Dean vented his feelings by hurling the useless device down the alley, Sam asked, "Do you know where she stays?"

"No." The Slayer released a frustrated sigh. "I'm not even sure where to start looking."

"Can that witch of yours do a locator spell?"

"I suppose." Buffy watched as Dean picked up a piece of masonry splashed liberally with blood. "What are you doing?"

"Trust me," he replied. "She's going to need this."

Prior to arriving back at the Magic Box the Slayer called her mother to verify Dawn had made it home, then sent a text instructing Willow and Tara to meet them at the shop. As Giles was reluctant to close during the busiest retail day of the week, the witches, hunters, and Slayer decided to gather in the training room that had been built in the back. They left Xander at the reading table to discourage potential customers from wandering too close while Anya manned the register.

Willow was completely unnerved by the request. "Oh no, I mean I think I can. I-I-I've done a demon locator spell but it kinda worked and kinda didn't work–I mean, it's the first time I've met an angel not including, you know, Angel, and-"

"Will," interrupted Buffy. She put her hands on her friend's shoulders and looked her in the eye. Willow stopped twisting her fingers together for a moment, her anxiety abating slightly. "Will, I know you can do this. I'm confident you'll find a way to make this happen."

The panic in Willow's eyes spiked. "Oh, Buffy. I don't want to be making-this-happen person. I'd rather be, you know, anyone else?"

"Come on, Willow," encouraged Buffy. "Think. You can make this work."

"Do you have anything that might have, um, a portion of his essence?" Tara asked. "A-a-a hair or something?"

"Oh! Oh! YES!" Willow cried, suddenly enthused. "If we can identify his aura we can reconfigure the spell to identify a specific being!"

"We found his blood around the alley," Sam said. "Dean picked up a brick that was soaked in it. I'll be right back."

As his brother rushed back to the Impala, the witches headed into the main shop area conferring with one another on the proper chants and spell ingredients. Dean stayed and prowled the room as he admired the setup. He stopped at a display of Asian weaponry and pulled down one of the kama. "Nice," he remarked as he gave the blade a few experimental swings.

"Most people ask before touching someone else's things," admonished Buffy.

Reluctantly, the hunter replaced the blade. "You actually know how to use all these?"

"Maybe," answered the Slayer. The ignominy of the Watcher's Council's attempt to test her abilities still stung and she had no intention of airing her ignorance to someone that was still practically a stranger.

"Huh." Dean continued along the walls, tipped the training dummy slightly with his index finger, and stopped at a rack of various sized bokken.

Willow poked her head through the door. "Hey, I think we've got it figured out and Sam has the icky brick. The three of us are going to borrow some of Giles' stock and do the spell out back."

Bemused, Buffy asked, "Why not just do that in here?"

"He said he didn't want us burning down the place. Pff." The young witch rolled her eyes at the Watcher's doubt in their ability and closed the door. When the Slayer turned back towards Dean, she discovered he'd pulled down one of the daito bokken and was making slow practice swings at the dummy's head.

"Hey!" she yelled as she stalked over to the elder Winchester. "What did I just say?"

"What's with the sticks?" Dean asked, pointedly ignoring her question. "Why not use real swords?"

Annoyed, Buffy grabbed for the wooden blade and missed. "It's so no one chops off anything important. Now gimmie!"

"What're you, five?" he retorted. The significantly taller man held the implement above his head and backed up towards the bokken rack. He'd intended to just replace the sword, but as soon as they were close enough the Slayer snatched a daito of her own and swung for his head. Dean ducked and without another word, the sparring match began.

It was obvious from the beginning that Buffy was better trained in swordplay. Her ripostes and swings were executed with precision and speed, each movement flowing from one to another in a deadly, almost balletic, dance. More importantly, the young woman was adaptive to changes in tactic; a vital skill to have when facing the enormous variety of creatures that inhabited the area. Combined with the extraordinary strength that belied her small form, Dean was hard-pressed to defend himself.

Buffy noticed that the hunter treated the bokken more like a long dagger rather than an actual sword, thrusting the blade when a slice would have been more effective. He even surprised her by flipping the blade into a reverse grip and stabbing backwards when she got behind him. The difficulty she faced was rooted in Dean's unpredictability; he moved without conventional form, as if all his instruction had been done via on-the-job improvisation. However, unlike the amateur street fighters that made up the bulk of the vampire population, the hunter was shockingly skilled and quick. Despite the lack of formal training he managed to move as if the blade was an extension of his arm.

Eventually they ended up stalking each other, circling the mats. "So how old are you really?" asked Dean. "Twelve?"

"Twelve!" Outraged, Buffy dove in with a swing at his neck. "I'll be twenty in a few days! How old are you, seventy-five?"

"Ouch," Dean replied. "I'll have you know I'm a man in his prime."

The Slayer swung, stabbed, and the hunter dodged. "Prime… Prime rib maybe."

Dean sliced downwards and Buffy rolled out of the way. "I do like my meat."

Swing, duck, stab, parry. "I bet you've never even killed anything worse than a werewolf," the young woman scoffed.

"Werewolf," snorted Dean. "Try leviathan. All teeth and black goop. Plus his name was Dick." He swung at her legs and she vaulted onto a balance bar, flipped over his head, and stabbed at his back. The elder Winchester dodged, barely, the tip of the Slayer's blade tearing a hole in his shirt. "Hey!"

"The Judge," Buffy countered. "Had to blow him away with a rocket launcher!"

"Killer clown!"

"Giant egg-laying brain thing!"

"Giant depressed teddy bear!"

"Seriously?"

"Wishing well. That was a weird day."

Buffy ducked under a two handed slice and brought her own blade around and down. The hunter quickly reversed his stroke and caught the daito on an upswing with his own sword, one hand on the hilt and the other on the "blunt" side. They found themselves locked.

Dean's eyes widened as the girl's preternatural strength began forcing him to his knees. He attempted to adjust his footing in order to press back and slipped on the mats. The hunter's legs went shooting forward and knocked the Slayer off her feet. Reflexively he reached out and grabbed the front of her shirt, pulling Buffy down on top of him…

"Buffy, I think–oh good Lord."

…which was when Giles decided to peek in the door.

"Dean," Sam said as he walked blindly around the Watcher, "we know where–dude. Seriously?"

"Are we looking at a thing?" asked Xander as he peeped over Giles' shoulder. "I wanna–nope, I no longer wanna look at the thing." He retreated back into the shop.

Morbidly embarrassed, Buffy and Dean spent the next few minutes untangling from each other. Undue haste caused the procedure to end with the two cracking heads.

"Ow," stated Buffy. She rubbed her forehead as Dean grasped his in both hands and indulged in a slew of profanities.

"O-kay," Sam finally managed. "Spell worked, we know where Cass is, and… we're going to wait for you by the car." The younger Winchester left with undue haste. This left the pair to shrink under the glower of the Watcher.

"Uh, hey!" Dean said with an uncomfortable attempt at a smile. "Accident. Fell," he explained while pointing awkwardly at the mats.

"Totally not what it looked like," Buffy added.

Giles' only reaction to the clarification was to adjust his spectacles. He gave the hunter another piercing glare before silently returning to his shop.

A moment of quiet ensued.

"Ah, so!" began the elder Winchester.

"Uh-huh," Buffy replied.

"We should… probably go."

"Right."

"After you."

"Going!" called the Slayer as she rapidly headed for the door.

"Yep," the hunter commented as he followed.

Author's note : The Japanese weapons being used are on the walls of the Magic Box training room in nearly every photo I could find online. Weirdly enough, I can't remember if they ever really got used. Some brief descriptions:

Kama : A small, short handled, curved blade that was originally used as a farming implement. Think of a scythe but not nearly so circular.

Daito Bokken : Bokken are katanas (swords) of various lengths. The ones being used by Buffy and Dean, daito, are the full length versions.