EIGHT
The Amazing Race
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Dean pushed back into the staff room, tipping his head at Sam. He put his coffee down and put a hand to Katie's arm, smiling before walking past her and over to his brother.
"What was all that about?" he whispered hoarsely. Dean gestured to the corridor with his head and the Winchesters left the room again, just as Castiel breezed past them and toward the window. "What's up with him?" Sam asked quickly, closing the door to the room behind him.
Dean looked up and down the corridor to make sure it was empty save them. "We just met the ninja angel."
"Is he going to help us?"
Dean scoffed, but it was hard to tell if he were more annoyed or just finding it all too crazy for words. "No. Get this: he thinks he's going to kill demons, protect Chuck, and then wipe Cas off the face of the Earth."
"What? Why?" Sam gasped.
"Looks like Cas has been black-listed. He's on the outs."
"Like Anna?"
Dean avoided his gaze. "Yeah," he shrugged. "So all we have to do is kill this demon or demons, snatch Chuck and get the Hell out of Dodge before this Ramiel dude catches up with Cas."
"Great," Sam judged, his hands stealing onto his hips. "Wait, how did you get rid of him?"
"I told him if he really wanted to tangle we'd kill him," Dean shrugged.
"With what? Dean, we have no idea how to kill an angel!"
"Well I know that, and you know that, but he doesn't!" Dean hissed. "It was a bluff, ok, and it worked this time. Next time he could wipe the floor with us. We gotta solve this thing and quickly."
"Right. So we find a place to stash Martin, and then work out which demon it could possibly be. We must be able to trace the MO - or something?" Sam asked desperately.
"I have no clue, man. I'm just managing to keep my head above all this crap floating around," he sighed, wiping his forehead.
"Alright, well… We focus on Martin first. The demon's going to want him pretty bad."
"You know what I don't get?" Dean said suddenly.
"What's that?"
"Well… Chuck's supposed to have Raphael looking out for him, right? Well where is he?"
"You said you and Cas left him in that fire last time. Maybe he's still pissed."
"True - but he's still supposed to be Chuck's guardian angel, right? Maybe he's just sore he blew Cas into a million tiny pieces and then found him all resurrected and walking about rebelling against Heaven," Dean smirked. "Maybe it was him who sent this Ramiel guy. Speaking of which, we should devil's trap and Ring of Fire this place up while we sit on Radar and wait out both sides."
"You think this ninja angel's really going to fall for that?"
"It's all we got, Sammy," Dean shrugged. "What do you want, traps or holy oil?"
"Traps. You get the oil."
"It's in the car," Dean nodded. "Watch Radar and Chuck," he warned, before he turned to go. Then he stopped in thought, turning back to see Sam just opening the door to the staff room again. "Sam!"
"Yeah?"
"Better keep an eye on Cas, too," he said uncomfortably. "He just got a death-threat from someone higher up on the food chain."
"I heard that," Sam nodded, turning and going back into the room.
Dean turned, huffed to himself, and hurried to the elevators.
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"So," Sam said brightly, "why don't you tell us more about this idea you have to turn Chuck's books into a TV show?"
Katie looked up at him from the rather uncomfortable chair. "Are you on board with the script writing thing?" she asked slyly.
Sam caught Becky's sudden glare and raised his hands quickly in defence. "I haven't decided," he said quickly. "And anyway, how are you going to bring all this together if someone else dies at this network?"
Katie shrugged and then a small smile chased the pensiveness away from her face. She looked at Chuck and then Becky before her gaze rested rather comfortably on the tallest Winchester. "You do realise," she said with bemusement, "who the next person in line is in this place?"
Becky gasped. "Not you?"
Katie gave her grin full rein. "Who else?" She swung her head to look at Sam again. He, for his part, simply let his eyebrows leap up underneath his fringe in a vain attempt to somehow reach the top of his head. He shook his head ruefully as Becky clapped her hands together.
"But that's wonderful!" she cried. She turned to Chuck.
"Oh yes, that's just wonderful," Chuck managed, making an Herculean effort not to look at Sam. "Perhaps if one more person dies, Miss Frye could be in charge of the whole network."
"That's not what I meant," Becky grumped.
"Where's your cousin?" Katie asked Sam innocently.
"He's gone out to the car to get something," he said. "He'll be back soon."
"I was just wondering if we could persuade him to somehow sign off on this tentative deal," Katie said. "It would be good if we could say that we have a lead actor on board. That way we can at least convince the network that we have something prepared." She looked over at the angel, who was watching her with vague unease. "And you sir, would you be prepared to take on the role of John?"
Castiel looked surprised. His eyes darted towards Sam before latching back onto the network executive. "I would be honoured," he managed.
Sam wiped his hands over his face to stop anyone from seeing the disbelief and incredulity written on it.
"Yes, well, all this talk is great, but we could use something on paper," Katie mused. "How quickly do you think you could whip the first book into a pilot episode?" she asked Chuck directly.
Becky's grin yanked on the release cord and it inflated into the vastest mushroom-canopy of joy it could physically manage. She pressed her palms together, trying not to make any kettle-whistles. "He could have it ready in a few days," she said excitedly.
"What?" Chuck blurted.
"I'll help you with it," she winked, putting her hands round his arm and squeezing. "It'll be fine, Chuck."
"If you say so," the man managed, glimpsing Sam's glower from higher up and deciding not to look up after all.
"Martin?" Katie said without looking away from the pulp writer, "get this man an iPad."
"We're not supposed to use them yet--"
"Well he'll need something to work on that also does mood music to write to, and he's hardly going to tell everyone he's got it when he's under contract to the studio," she allowed, tilting her head at Chuck. "The great prophet Steve Jobs can't keep all the toys to himself, now can he?"
"He is a prophet too? Then this iPad must be a tool of the Lord," Castiel nodded seriously.
The room turned to stare at him with varying degrees of bemusement.
"Some jokes get lost in translation, I guess," Sam said innocently. The spell on the room was summarily broken. "Hey, uhm, do you have like a room in this building where I could discuss this with my cousin? Where no-one else would be able to hear us?" he continued with his most innocent head-tilt.
Katie thought about it. "There is a room, yes. It's my private retreat," she admitted guiltily.
"All the times I can't find you, that's where you are?" Martin asked suddenly from behind her.
"Maybe," she allowed gingerly. "I used to sneak down there to have a secret cigarette, as the place is airtight. Now I don't smoke, it's just this little happy place away from the crazies who work in this office," she added quietly.
Sam grinned. "Perfect," he said. "Oh, uhm, do you think Martin could show me down there?"
"I could do that," she smiled.
Sam wavered for a long moment. And then another one. Then he tightened his slack face and shrugged. "Oh, well, I just have a few things to ask Martin about, too. May as well do both at once, right?"
Katie gave a small smile. "The store room - the one past Dead Filing," she said, nodding to Martin.
He sighed. "Yeah. Come on then, down to Miss Frye's private refuge," he allowed, already turning away.
Sam nodded to Katie before catching Chuck's eye. Then Sam's eyebrows twitched in annoyance before he turned and followed Martin to the door.
It swung open just as they reached it and Dean appeared, his duffle over his shoulder. "What's going on?" he asked, finding Sam and Martin apparently eager to get out of the room.
"Martin knows of a private, sealed room where we three can talk," Sam said politely.
Dean nodded instantly. "Sounds good. I got that stuff I wanted," he added, shrugging the shoulder that currently sported the duffle.
"Super. Let's go," Sam nodded.
The three of them left the room. Quiet descended while Katie looked up at Castiel. She met his fearless stare with curiosity, and for the longest time the angel was in danger of losing a blinking contest. At last Katie smiled and looked away to the window. Castiel's head tilted as something went through it at high speed. Then he crossed the room and stopped by the pane of glass, looking out.
Katie folded her arms slowly, appraising him. She got up and walked over, standing what would have been uncomfortably close to him, had he had any comprehension of personal space.
"You're not really Swiss, are you?" she asked quietly. "Everyone speaks like four languages over there - and they do it without an American accent, Clarence."
Castiel turned his gaze away from the window and again she was caught in the direct stare of eternity.
"You are not really a 'Miss'."
She opened her mouth but froze, watching him in surprise. She recovered her composure. "Actually, I am again now. The divorce went through a few weeks ago. How did you know?"
"I can see it."
"Right," she managed, looking to the window quickly.
"You were not at fault. He was. And you should know, he is not coping well with his new lifestyle," Castiel added quietly. "I believe you may be gratified to know this."
"Who are you?" she dared curiously. "I mean, really?"
Castiel's face, while not exactly smiling, positively hummed with satisfaction. "I am someone who appreciates Chuck's work."
She grinned suddenly, shaking her head and letting it all go over her head. "So how many of the books have you--"
Castiel stiffened with an abruptness that stopped her short and attracted Becky's attention. The angel's head snapped round to see the door. He put his hand to Katie's elbow, easing her out of his way. He began to walk very quickly across the carpet.
"Does he do this a lot?" Katie asked Chuck, prepared to be bemused.
"No. Normally he just pops in and out," Chuck heaved, watching the angel leave the room. "God, I hope he's just looking for the washroom."
Castiel broke into a run as the door closed behind him. He pounded down the corridor toward the door to the stairs. He paused at the exit, looking up and down the thoroughfare. He pushed through the door and stopped. There was a flurry of invisible wings and he was gone.
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The rather bland looking door at the end of the corridor stood and watched the dust settle on the floor before it. Just as it was contemplating how many flakes would accumulate before the cleaners arrived for the evening, it heard the familiar sounds of footwear on the carpet. A moment later a tall, wide gentlemen of the mousy blond persuasion was attempting to turn its doorknob.
"Wait," Martin said, sinking his hand into his pocket and drawing out a key fob. "It'll be locked."
Dean stepped back from the door and waved Martin toward it. He pushed the key into the lock just as he heard what sounded like a large comfortable blanket being unfurled with a snap not far behind him.
"He is here!" Castiel said urgently.
Martin jumped, not realising the raincoat fanatic had been with them as they had approached the door. The fact that he hadn't heard his feet arrive was relegated to the bottom of his priorities list as he instead turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open.
"Who's here?" he asked innocently, even as he put his hand up for the light switch.
Dean bundled him in and Martin found himself in the twenty foot square room with three tall men, each of them turning on the door and shoving it closed.
"Do you have oil?" Castiel asked quickly, leaning his palms on the door.
"Woah, wait a minute guys," Martin said quickly. Sam looked at him, confused. "I'm not into any of these downstairs parties if there aren't any girls involved--"
"Radar, can it," Dean interrupted. "It's not what you think." He was already pulling a small plastic jug from his duffle, turning toward Castiel. "Cas, get it ready," he instructed.
Castiel took the oil as Sam grasped Martin's elbow, drawing him to the back of the small room.
"Martin, whatever happens next, you have to believe we're here to protect you," Sam said urgently.
"What? Protect me? F-from wh-what?" he stammered, dodging to one side to see Castiel pouring oil on the floor in a large circle. He looked to Dean, finding him shaking a spray can and getting to work on the inside of the door. "What are they doing?" he added fearfully.
"Protecting this room," Sam said quickly.
Something huge slammed into the other side of the door. Sam and Martin jumped in surprise.
Dean did not even blink, instead carrying on his apparently haphazard spraying slightly faster. "You done with the oil, Cas?" he chivvied darkly, watching his hand work.
"Done," the angel said, standing back. "Once you light this, I may also be trapped inside."
"Damn," Dean hissed through clenched teeth. "Forgot about that."
Another huge attack walloped into the door. It bounced in the frame and there was a slight sound of cracking.
Martin jumped and stepped back quickly. "What the hell was that!"
"Martin, stay behind me," Sam said quickly, putting his hand to the back of his jeans. He pulled out a large, heavy-looking handgun.
Martin eyed it with alarm. "What the hell--"
"Radar! Just shut your piehole and do whatever we tell you to," Dean snapped, finishing the design in red paint and standing back one.
Sam looked back at the shorter man currently doing his best not to cower behind him. "Martin, listen. You know the people who have died here?"
"Y-yeah--"
"Well they're on a list - a lit of powerful people. And you're the next one on that list. You have to trust us to protect you."
Another slam of something heavy and/or angry as all Hell hitting the door and Martin was starting to shake. "From what? Some psycho with a machete?!" he shot back, his face a picture of panic.
"Hey - there's one of him and four of us," Dean pointed out quickly.
"And we have more than machetes," Sam added meaningfully, turning back to the door.
Another few strikes and the wood was starting to splinter. Dean slung the paint can into the corner of the room. He snatched something from his coat pocket. The light in the ceiling revealed it to be a handgun with pearl plating, and Martin swallowed hard as Dean checked it over before pushing the safety off. He paused, slid his eyes to the left to find Martin staring at him in horror, and smiled slightly.
"Don't worry, I have a license for this," Dean assured him. "Well, someone does, anyway."
The door took a heavy pounding before Castiel turned and put his hand out at Dean. He simply blinked at him.
"What?" he asked.
"Lighter," Castiel ordered.
Dean delved into his pocket before thrusting the small Zippo affair at him. Castiel took it and his hand disappeared into the folds of his raincoat.
The door burst inwards. A small man, his suit a little rumpled but not seriously harmed, stood staring at them.
"Hand over the demon," he demanded.
Dean and Castiel exchanged a glance. "What demon?" they asked in perfect accord. Sam's eyebrows vaulted upwards in summary judgement of the brothers' identical performance until his fringe slapped them for not paying attention to the bigger picture.
The man raised a hand, pointing between human and angel. He waved the finger attached and Sam felt himself nudged to one side. He took a step to avoid falling over.
"Him," the man informed the room at large, his finger clearly and definitely bridging the gap between the mystery and the answer.
That looked an awful lot like Martin Fox.
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Dun dun duuuuun! Thanks for reading so far, folks!