SEVEN

Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased)

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Dean crossed the car park and went back to the Impala, unlocking the boot and lifting the lid quickly. He rooted around inside for a moment, pocketing a flask of holy water and picking up a box of salt-filled shells. He stuffed them into his pocket and shut the boot just as a figure chose to hove into view from the corner of his eye.

"Crap!" he gasped, jumping in surprise. He turned to look, finding it was Sam. "Don't do that, dude. You need to hear the latest news and we need to find ourselves a demon." He paused, eyeing Sam's serenity and tiny, shiny smile that would have beaten Mona Lisa herself in any enigmatic smugness contest. "Where have you been, anyway? Cas has been baby-sitting Chuck for an hour already. I've been sweeping the place for demons - still nada."

"I was with Katie. She was filling me in on how this place works, and I think I have an idea of what's going on."

"You do? Wait till you hear what me and Cas have been up to today." He gestured back toward the doors of the building. "I can't believe I had to leave the only room with coffee, when Cas got to stay there. He doesn't even drink coffee," he grumped.

"I'm sure he's doing a good job," Sam allowed airily.

Dean blinked at him as they turned and began to walk back to the studio doors. "Whatever. So what did Katie have to say?"

"She… said the three people who have died were all top level people - like seriously top level people. Now they're gone, they're going to struggle to put anything together. One of the shows they've got is even going to have to take a hiatus till they can find someone to replace Amy as executive producer."

"Oh no. One less reality show. Let me demonstrate my complete and utter disappointment over that piece of news," Dean drawled sarcastically.

"Yeah but the thing is, if they lose one more guy, this place really will get it in the jewels - it'll be one step beyond and not only will they cancel all plans for any new shows this entire year, they may well cut a few ongoing shows."

"Whoa," Dean observed. "That sounds like privileged intel, Sam. So why would Katie tell you?"

"We just connected. She's… a real nice person."

Dean thrust the back of his hand into his brother's chest, bringing them both to a stop. "Hold on a second," he accused. "When you said you were with Katie, did you mean you were banging her in her office?"

"Dean," Sam tutted in disapproval.

"Aw hey - I know that look!" Dean marvelled. "I thought your ears were all red."

"We were just talking," he managed irritably.

"Tell me you're kidding? Dude, it's happy dance time! Wait - she's not a demon, is she?" he teased.

"Dean!"

"Ok, ok, I know, that was uncalled for," he allowed with an easy smile. "But taking time out to get your end away when we're running around scratching our heads?"

"I wasn't! We were just talking!" Sam protested. He eyed his brother, noticing the sad tinge steal across Dean's hopeful face. "Ok, what?" He sighed with an entire encyclopaedia entry on 'resignation'. "Say it."

"Consider yourself high-fived," Dean grinned suddenly, elbowing him to turn him round. Sam snorted with amusement and they walked on toward the doors. "Who'd have thought it, all those years ago when you left for Stanford, huh? Little Sammy's all grow'd up and banging important chicks on the road."

Sam stuck his elbow out and into his brother's arm. Dean just chuckled wickedly, reaching the door first and opening it for his brother. The way he waved a hand out, doorman-style, to usher Sam in made it very clear he was in riotous approval of some elements of the interesting times in which they now lived.

Sam shook his head in slight embarrassment as he entered. But he grinned on the inside.

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Sam and Dean walked back into the staff room to find Castiel leaning against the far counter, his hands behind him on the surface. Becky was eyeing him with unease as Chuck simply sat a few feet away, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

"Is he going to keep staring at us like that?" Becky whispered to Chuck.

"Yes. He doesn't blink. He never blinks. He's like this amazing unblinking staring watching thing," he moaned. "Oh God. I just want to go home."

Becky put her hand on his back, moving up to sit a little closer. She patted him, leaning her head on his shoulder. "Don't worry so much, Chuck," she said quietly. "If the worst comes to the worst, I'll still read and adore your work."

"If we survive this," he sighed.

She smiled. "If anyone dares hurt you, I'll spork their eyes out."

Chuck raised his head slowly, turning it to look at her. She rubbed her head against his shoulder.

"I think I'm now realising the potential of harnessing the power of the fangirl," he observed.

Becky grinned until she realised someone was crossing the room in front of them. She looked up and caught sight of the Winchesters passing them by. They stopped in front of Castiel, and the three huddled as if there were only minutes left in the last game of the season.

"So what we got so far," Dean said quietly, mindful of who may have been close enough to hear, "is that these demons are here to somehow corrupt Chuck's work or to simply wipe out his 'gospel'. Cas clocked this angel, he reckons he's some James Bond version and he's here to stop any and all demons."

"There's another angel here?" Sam asked quickly, surprise stamped on his face.

"I put that in the voicemail you ignored cos you were - talking," Dean stressed with a smile. "You haven't heard it?"

"My cell is flat. It needs charging," Sam responded evenly. Then he looked at Castiel meaningfully. "So there is another angel? You're sure?"

"Absolutely," Castiel admitted, his discomfort palpable. "It is Ramiel."

"And you spoke to him?" Sam breathed at Castiel.

"I did not."

"Cas here can't interfere because he got fired from Heaven by siding with us," Dean said quietly. "And the new guy kinda got away from us."

"He what?" Sam managed flatly.

"That's how Cas knew he was some secret ninja version. Normal angels can't do that," Dean said darkly.

"So we've got some top-level angel on a demon hit?"

"Exactly," Dean sighed.

"Well it gets better," Sam said, equally quietly. "There's one more person vital to the running of this place. Amy's gone, Charles is gone, Eric's gone. That leaves the one person who keeps everything together and the entire place ticking over. Remove them, and this place crashes and burns. They must be doing this so that the book deal is never done, and/or Chuck gets possessed so the gospel is re-written by the other side."

"So who's the last cog? Did Katie tell you that in between screaming and squeezing?" Dean asked.

"We weren't--." Sam almost huffed but contained himself. He eyed his brother, sticking his chin out in a stubborn refusal to rise to any bait. "She told me." He looked up and across the room at the man pouring himself more coffee.

"Radar?" Dean gasped. "Radar is the mystery cog?"

"Mr Martin Fox services all departments and is in fact the one person in this entire place that pulls different agents and meetings together. With him gone, no-one would know where to be, who to hire or fire, where to get paper cups for coffee, or in fact what day to work," Sam shrugged. "It's not the generals you slaughter first in war, it's their campaign organisers."

"So Martin must also be protected," Castiel nodded.

"If and when a demon comes for him, we trap it," Dean confirmed. "When this Ramiel dude turns up, we hand the demon over and take Chuck home. Deal?"

"Deal," Sam nodded. "With one amendment."

"What's that?"

"We also stop Chuck from publishing his next set of books - the ones about what's happened since you came back from Hell."

"Agreed," Dean nodded.

Castiel said nothing, instead choosing to eye the pulp fiction writer and the girl currently trying to soothe his tortured soul.

"Sam - you go get in there with Radar," Dean instructed.

"You do it," Sam said abruptly, even as he walked off to the coffee machine. Dean watched him go, surprised by the terseness, until he realised his brother was picking up an empty cup and rubbing elbows with Katie, the room's most recent addition.

"Oooh yes sir," Dean muttered archly, before catching Castiel's curious look from the corner of his eye. He spared him a glance. "What?"

"Sam appears to have found a useful ally," he observed.

"Don't sweat it - there are still two reception girls downstairs. I'll split 'em with you," Dean sniffed off-hand. "You keep your eyes on Chuck. I got Radar."

"Martin."

"Him too." Dean left the angel to watch the room. He approached the glass container housing the doughnut display, looking in wistfully. He cleared his throat, looking at Martin next to it. The young man was staring across the room in a very dedicated way. "Hey, uhm, which one of these is which?" Dean asked hopefully.

Martin dragged his gaze to the display. "Brown are chocolate. Tan are cinnamon," he said tonelessly.

"Thanks." He rolled the lid back, picking up a cinnamon one and closing the lid slowly. He turned and leaned back on the counter, trying to see what Martin was watching. It appeared to be a movie poster of something containing Michael Keaton. "It's not all bad, you know," Dean offered.

"Are you talking about the police investigation, the dead people, or Chuck's books?" he managed with a half-smile.

Dean smiled himself. "All of the above, maybe." He looked up to see Martin appraising him.

"You're not an actor, are you?" he asked quietly.

"You're not working here for the money, are you?" Dean observed.

"You're very perceptive."

"You're fawning over the wrong woman," he advised.

Martin sighed. "I know. I can't help it."

"Don't get me wrong - she's something to look at alright," Dean said, his eyes sweeping over Katie Frye, deep in a smily discussion with his brother. "But you're not her type."

"Oh I know," Martin mumbled. "She likes Luke. Because he's tall and dark and handsome and a little bit… dangerous."

Dean blinked at Martin - just blinked. "Dangerous?"

"He's not who he says he is. Like you."

"You're in the wrong job, man," Dean smiled. "You should have been a private eye. Or a pulp fiction writer - or both."

"I'm not good at writing," Martin said.

"You've tried?"

"I submitted some scripts. They were all rejected," he shrugged. "I found I'm very good at filing, cataloguing, organising and running things. I was just never meant to lead."

"Oh I think you lead alright - just without standing out in front of the troops," Dean said, lifting his doughnut and taking a bite.

Martin turned and studied his face for a long moment. "What do you two do? I mean, really?" he asked quietly.

"You really want to know?"

Martin nodded, and Dean swallowed the doughnut jumble in his mouth. He sighed. "Chuck… He kinda based the books - very loosely - on people like us," he said uncomfortably.

Martin's head tilted up and he looked at the ceiling. "So you go round hunting monsters?"

"Of course not," Dean grinned. "That's just nutty."

Martin smiled. "Yes, I guess it is. Tell me something, Harry."

"What?" he asked, biting into his doughnut again.

"Is this why you were so interested in what happened to Amy and the others? Because you're here to stop it?"

"Now that does sound like one of Chuck's books."

"That's a yes."

"That's your opinion."

Martin laughed suddenly. "I think I like you, Harry. You know, no-one talks to me any more. They fire off orders, give me lists, set me errands. You're the first person to actually be interested in what I think in a very long time."

"Yeah well, don't let it get about," Dean smiled. "I'm supposed to be just an actor, a dumbass faker, remember?"

"Right, right," Martin nodded. "You know I've read the first few Supernatural books, right?"

"And?"

"And… I know this 'Dean' isn't a dumbass faker at all, that he's… I know," he allowed. He sniffed, turning back to the coffee machine and pouring himself some fresh black gold. "I get it, and… I know."

"What do you know?"

"I know how this Dean character would react if I told him I knew."

"Do you," Dean replied vaguely with an uncomfortable nod. "Well. That's… nice for you."

"Just like that," Martin grinned. He turned to look at the taller Winchester, nodding as he raised his coffee cup at him.

Dean managed a polite smile before stuffing the rest of his doughnut in his mouth. He caught sight of Castiel crossing the room quickly. He patted Martin's shoulder and turned, following the angel without a word. Castiel flung open the door and disappeared out into the corridor. Dean looked back and saw Sam approaching. He put his hand up to stop him. Then he turned and banged out into the corridor, his hand already sliding inside his jacket for his gun. He made sure the corridor was empty as the door shut soundly behind him.

"We should not be talking."

The voice was a warning and Dean looked up at the owner. It appeared to be a short, stocky man in a grey suit, his dark hair impossibly neat. He was staring at Castiel as if the angel owed him several thousand dollars' worth of holy artefacts.

"Who the Hell is this now?" Dean demanded.

The man turned his gaze from angel to human. "Ah. The Michael sword. You're lucky. If you weren't needed, I would have to wipe you out here and now for seeing me," he snapped.

Dean let go of his gun and put both hands up in a placating gesture. "Woah horsey, slow your roll. I'm just on the look-out for demons is all. I'm guessing you are too?"

"Do not get in my way," the man snarled. "You and your brother have screwed all of this up and if you think I am going to stand by and watch you let demons lay claim to the Winchester gospel then--"

"Ho, hey there, just wait a second," Dean interrupted angrily.

Castiel took a deep breath. "Ramiel. We are also here to kill demons," he stated firmly.

"I do not care why you are here. You are Castiel. I was ordered to kill you too. Now out of the goodness of my heart I am going to give you a chance to leave."

"Why?" Dean demanded. "Seems a little late to turn the other cheek."

The man crossed the carpet quickly and silently. He put a hand up and grasped Dean under the chin. He wrenched his head up and back. He squeezed and Dean spluttered for air.

"Now you listen to me, you filthy little mud monkey," Ramiel seethed. "I am not weak like Castiel. I will not take one look at your Adonis profile and do whatever you want because you presume to think you know better than God Himself. I will not side with you lower creations just because you are supposed to be fulfilling Michael's will. And I will not be slowed down in my mission by the likes of you. Do you understand me?" he demanded roughly.

Dean's hand came up to the wrist. Instead of wrenching at it he simply grasped the thumb. He peeled it back and twisted.

The angel snarled and let go. He moved back just in time to get Dean's elbow in his face. He flew backwards, clutching at his nose.

"We came to kill demons and protect Chuck. And that's what we'll do," Dean countered, his eyes flaming Kryptonite. "Don't you get in our way. You bunch of pussies are limited while you're in human form, as you've just found out. The only reason we don't kill you right now is because you're possessing some poor bastard."

The angel spluttered as blood filled his mouth. He wiped at his lips desperately, trying to grip his nose shut to staunch the flow.

"You do not have a weapon capable of killing an angel," he judged.

Dean let his head tilt to one side before it bowed forwards slightly. "You want to test that theory? Bring it on. It'll answer a few questions I got myself," he breathed.

The angel's eyes narrowed. Dean simply watched him, and while his feet did not move on the carpet of the corridor, it was obvious he was steeling himself for a physical confrontation.

Castiel stepped in between them. "Just go," he advised the newcomer. "We will stop the demons. We do not need your specialist skills."

"Oh really?" Ramiel sniffed, wiping at his nose again. "We shall see." He turned to go, then paused. He looked back over his shoulder. "When I have completed this demon mission, I shall come for you, Castiel. You have been warned." He turned and abruptly, disappeared.

Castiel stared at the corridor in thought. Dean cleared his throat quietly, walking up next to him.

"So," he said bravely, trying to sound confident. "We kill the demon, save Chuck and the gospel, and then kill that asshole." He flicked his eyes to the right to look at Castiel's profile. He did not like what he saw. His eyes darted back to the far door to the stairs in discomfort. He cleared his throat again, finding his most confident tone. "Easy, right? We're good."

"We," Castiel said clearly, and neither human nor angel had heard such witheringly oppressive resignation in a voice, "are screwed."

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