Welcome to the weekend, and welcome to the update. I'm actually going away for a few days in a couple hours, so replies to reviews might be later than usual. I apologize in advance for the delay. I'm actually going to a city called Winchester! The place came on my radar for the SPN name years ago, and I always wanted to visit, but it's apparently a lovely place so it's about way more than the connection to the boys now. If I can't reply while I'm away, I'll do them as soon as I get home Tuesday. Know that I will be reading and appreciating them as soon as they come in.
Thank you MaggieMay17 for beta'ing, Ncsupnatfan and VegasGranny for pre-reading.
Chapter Twenty-One
Sam tucked in his wings as he arrived outside the vast, white-stone building with its age-worn sign, the inset gold lettering announcing it as Kendricks Academy.
He'd found it after some research in a London library, much to his surprise. He'd thought the Men of Letters' Hogwarts would be more discreet, and he'd expected to need to dig deep. Instead, he'd found an article describing the mysterious school in Hampshire that had the lowest pupil intake of every public school in the country. Families vied for a chance to send their children to the select academy with its impressive exam result statistics, but it was usually only the children of an alumnus that were taken. They called those children 'legacies', which had made Sam smile. They were legacies, just not in the way the article had assumed. The Men of Letters members usually followed a family line.
Sam walked up the stone steps to the door, still concealed from sight. He imagined the place would have impressive security, and as he wanted to find the way into the inner sanctum, he would need to be unnoticed until he actually wanted to be seen.
The double doors opened, and two students, one a boy of around fourteen and a younger girl, exited. They were wearing black tailcoats and white shirts and cross ties, and both looked tense as they discussed some examination they had taken.
Sam let them pass him and then put out a hand to the door just before it could close and slipped inside. A strange heaviness settled over his chest as he entered, and he rubbed his sternum. He thought it was perhaps some kind of warding. He spread his wings and flexed his arms. His wings moved freely, and he felt no resistance to his movements. He supposed that the protections they had in place weren't enough to slow an archangel.
He walked deeper inside and looked around. There was a wealth of wood on display. The walls were paneled, and the staircase to the right was dark with a red carpet running up the center. The tables and display cabinets looked like mahogany, and all held what looked like antique ornaments.
On the wall opposite was a richly varnished board with small gold plaques on them. Sam examined them, seeing names and dates. The one that caught his eye was a newer one bearing the name Doctor G Hess – Headmistress.
This was obviously the memorial wall of former members. There were fewer names than he would have expected, and he guessed that they were the members that had died in the line of duty. His guess was confirmed when he saw the neatly lettered Latin inscription at the top — Gloriosae Pretio Officium. The glorious price of duty.
Sam smirked. Doctor Hess' end hadn't been glorious. It had been a fitting death for a bitch like her, delivered with a bullet to the head from Jody's gun.
He scanned the other names, looking for others he knew, and found Renny Rawlings, the man Eileen had accidentally shot when trying to kill Dagon. There was no sign of Mick Davies or Toni Bevell. Sam figured that Mick's assassination wouldn't end with a memorial, and Toni Bevell had been left for dead along with Sam and Dean when they locked down the bunker.
There were other students milling around in their formal uniforms, and Sam moved carefully around them to the stairs. He thought he would start on the top floor, what would probably be called a penthouse to them, and work his way down. He imagined the most senior staff would be on a level which offered the best views of the vast lawns and surrounding countryside.
As he started towards the stairs, an old-fashioned bell rang, and the students began to rush away from the hall in various directions. Sam assumed it was a call to class.
He waited for them to go, tucking himself into a corner so none of them would brush past him, and then started up the stairs. He reached the fourth floor and smiled. The carpets here were thicker, and the art on the wall looked older and probably more valuable.
He scanned the doors leading off the long hall and spotted one at the end with a brass plaque declaring it as the office of the headmaster. He didn't bother to wait for someone to enter or exit this time; he just spread his wings and flew the short distance to the office.
The room was large and as opulent as any British Palace he'd seen on TV on the rare occasions he got control of the remote as a child and could watch documentaries. He used to love them, especially those about other countries and monarchies, as they showed him a world he would never inhabit, even if he'd been born to the normal life he'd longed for. It made him feel that his situation wasn't so different from the kids he'd wanted to hang with back in school. None of them could ever hope to have that kind of life either.
There was a large oak desk with a green blotter and matching shaded lamp whose glow fell on the stack of papers in front of the grey-haired man that sat behind it. He was writing in perfect calligraphy on a sheet of thick paper which looked like a letter. He showed no signs of hearing Sam's arrival; perhaps it was drowned out by the opera that was playing on the discreet speakers set into the wall.
Sam just watched him for a moment and then made himself visible and cleared his throat.
The man looked up, irritated for the instant before he got a good look at Sam, and his color faded.
"Oh," he breathed.
Sam smiled. "I'm assuming you know who I am."
The man nodded. "Lucifer."
"Yes," Sam said. "And I come here with a warning."
The man's hand dipped beneath the desk, and Sam heard a low hum. Like the alarm at the veterinary office, he guessed it would be imperceptible to a human's ear.
"That was stupid," he said.
"What was stupid?" the man asked innocently.
"Tripping that alarm. I told you I came here to give you a warning. I didn't come to attack. If I wanted you dead, you would be dead already."
"You don't want me dead?" the man asked hopefully.
Sam narrowed his eyes. "You know, you're pretty weak compared to Hess. She was at least slightly scary. I couldn't see her cringing from me."
His words seemed to reach the man, gird him, and he jutted out his jaw and said, "As you know, the alarm has been tripped. Within moments a group of armed operatives will be here. You should pass on your warning before they arrive. I can't account for their actions."
Sam smirked. "You know what, I think I'll wait for them to arrive. You could do with a demonstration of my power if you're going to be able to take me seriously."
The man clenched his teeth, but his eyes were scared.
You're enjoying yourself, Gabriel said gleefully. It's about damn time you found some fun with this whole thing, Sam. I get that you miss your family, but being an archangel is a pretty potent thing that can be exploited for good times.
Sam walked forward and tapped his fingers on the table. "They're taking their time. You sure it was the attack alarm you set and not one asking for a cup of tea?"
The man swallowed hard, and then a look of relief spread across his features as the door flew open, and twelve people wearing gas masks rushed inside. They weren't armed with guns. Instead, they had strange bronze cylinders in their hands that they threw at Sam's feet. The man behind the desk grabbed a gas mask from a drawer and yanked it over his face.
"Now!" he commanded, his voice muffled by the mask.
"Libero!" another muffled voice shouted, and Sam watched as grey smoke began to pour from the canisters. It rose in the air, and he hesitated between taking flight away and staying. Before the decision could be made, he felt the gas reach his lungs on an indrawn breath, and his head swam. He tried to spread his wings, but they felt loose and weak at his back, and when he tried to take flight, they fluttered uselessly.
Cursing his mistake, he tried to walk away, but his legs gave out from under him, and he crumpled to the floor. His eyes fell closed, and he felt his breath weaken. He felt no panic, he was sure whatever concoction the Men of Letters could come up with wouldn't do him real damage, and they couldn't kill him—that was Dean's task. He felt consciousness slipping away, and he wondered how long it would hold. How long he was going to be delayed here before he could deliver his message and get back to America.
He decided he didn't like England.
When awareness came back to Sam, he was lying on a concrete floor and felt warmth against his skin. He opened his eyes to see flames dancing in front of him.
He pulled away from it instinctively and looked around. He was in a circle of what he was sure was holy fire and surrounded by men and women in black suits that would look, without the oxford ties, like the uniforms the students had worn. Apparently, Kendricks had a theme.
He got to his feet and turned on his heel, facing the headmaster that he'd spoken with before.
"You didn't need to do this," he said conversationally.
The man smiled, much braver now. "My name is Doctor Graves, and I believe we needed to do exactly this. We know who and what you are, Lucifer, the kind of threat you pose. We have been prepared for you since the first apocalypse."
"If I'd known, I would have come sooner," Sam said. "Wouldn't want to keep you waiting when you're clearly such friendly and reasonable people."
Nice, Gabriel said appreciatively.
"What was in the gas?" he asked.
"A spell we've never tested on an archangel before," Doctor Graves said. "Never having had the opportunity. I plan to ensure that the Old Men know who to praise in weapons development for this success."
"How did you know to bring it?" Sam asked. "You can't have known I was coming."
"On the contrary, we knew you would come eventually and that you or your brother were the only beings capable of breaching our defenses. The alarm I tripped was specially designed to alert security to an archangel incursion. Incidentally, there is also one to request tea, but that's on the desk itself. No need for subterfuge with that."
"And what are you going to do next?" Sam asked. "I know you can't kill me."
"No," Doctor Graves agreed. "But we can do something I think you'll find worse. We understand it's almost impossible for you to find a vessel that is suitable, the only one that can contain you is the oafish Winchester. All information indicates that he'll never give you consent again. We can make you helpless."
He stepped to the side, revealing a table with a familiar egg-shaped object on it. It was a Hyperbolic Pulse Generator, the same kind they'd used to get Lucifer out of the President.
He wasn't sure what would happen if they banished him. Was his body him, the man he had been? Did it house his soul still, or was that gone and replaced with grace? There might be a way for them to kill him, the real him, and leave him as disembodied grace. What could he do then? There would be no one to stop Michael.
"You don't need to do this," Sam said, fighting to keep the stress from his voice. "I only came to deliver a message."
Doctor Graves smiled. "I don't think you did, Lucifer. You came to attack."
"I really didn't. Why would I have waited before killing you if I wanted you dead? I came to talk."
Doctor Graves held the pulse generator to the woman standing beside him and said, "Would you like to do the honors, Findlay?"
"Yes, sir," she said formally and then shot Sam a satisfied smile.
She held it up and started the chant that Sam knew would expel him. "Vade retro. Princeps Inferni…"
Sam waited to feel something more than fear of what might happen. Lucifer had seemed to suffer when they expelled him from Rooney, but there was nothing apart from a vague tugging in his chest that was uncomfortable but not painful.
As Findlay continued her chant, Sam relaxed. It wasn't going to work. Perhaps because he was an archangel that didn't belong, hadn't started out that way, or because Chuck had done something to seal him inside, they couldn't force him out.
Grave looked wary, which became fear as Findlay finished her chant, "Mah tay, ez loh, say tah!" and nothing happened.
Yep, Dad knew what he was doing, Gabriel said.
Sam straightened his spine and said, "Well, since that crapped out, do you want to let me go?"
"So you can kill us all?" Graves asked, his tone defiant but his eyes scared.
"So I can give you my warning and get out of here," Sam corrected. "I don't plan to kill anyone."
There were nervous murmurs around him, and Findlay shifted from foot to foot.
Sam sighed. "Fine, I'll wait for the fire to burn out. I've got nothing pressing to worry about, like killing Michael before he can unleash his new army of monsters on the world."
"Michael? An army?" Grave asked warily.
"Yes!" Sam said emphatically. "An army of super-powered monsters. He's been dosing monsters with grace. They're stronger than any other monsters I've seen, and so far, I've traced them to Moscow and Rio as well as The States. Michael could be spreading them all over the world. That is why I came—to warn you so you can tell the hunters and chapters in other countries. You have other foreign chapters, right?"
Graves nodded. "We do."
"Then get on the phone and tell them," Sam said. "They need to know, hunters need to know, that the only surefire way to stop them is decapitation." He narrowed his eyes. "Think you can remember that, or do you need me to write it down?"
Graves looked annoyed, "I can remember, thank you, but what does Michael have to do with it? I thought he was trapped in the Cage."
Sam's eyes widened. "You seriously don't know? I thought you guys were tracking everything we did."
"We lost the ability to track with the death of Lady Bevell. We've had no news from across the pond since Nick Winchester's incursion and massacre at our American base of operations."
Sam sighed. "Okay, get me out of this fire, and I'll tell you everything.
Graves looked doubtful. "I'm not sure that is safe for us."
"It is," Sam said. "What is not safe is pissing me off. Let me out, and I'll talk. Make me wait, and I'll find a way to tell the other chapter houses without you."
It was an idle threat, but he was getting annoyed. Being inside the fire was disconcerting, knowing how close he was to pain, and he wanted out.
Graves nodded and indicated to one of the men behind Sam. He slipped out of the door and then came back inside with a fire extinguisher. He checked Graves' face once more, received a nod in return, and then aimed the nozzle at the fire and sent a jet of foam at it, dousing the flames.
With a wave of relief, Sam stepped out of the circle, over the white foamy area, and approached Graves. "Do you know there are millions of other worlds, different universes, to ours?"
"We have theories about it," he replied.
"Good," Sam said. "That simplifies things. In one of those worlds, there was an apocalypse that Michael won…"
He hurried through the words as he shared the story of the other world and what had happened there to Graves' and his team's careful attention. He wanted it over, he wanted the other hunters out there warned, and then he wanted out.
He really didn't like England.
So… That was The Brits Take II, and Sam now has a weapon he can use to help him against Michael.
Until next time…
Clowns or Midgets xxx