Chapter Sixty-One
Throwdown
TW/CW: Discussion about John Winchester's A parenting and his POV. Brief mention of both World Wars and killing Nazis – slight connection to the plotline that plays out in canon. Canon levels of violence.
Valerius Estate: August 21, 2010 – Morning
John frowned, watching the soldiers mill about talking. He hadn't stepped foot in the camp before, and he was surprised by how crowded and loud everything was. It was overwhelming after spending most of his time with only Mary. After Dean's visit last night, he needed to do something, even if it meant mingling with people who didn't share his views on monsters. He noticed a redhead with a shoulder-length braid dressed differently from the others. His armor was more ornate, and his shield held the Valerius coat of arms rather than the Roman one that adorned the others. He'd seen him with the others, but not at that shitty dinner Mary had dragged him to. He must not be considered family despite the shield. Maybe a guard of some kind, then? He slowly approached them, listening to all the talk around him. It was weird he could understand the men, but it was probably a side effect of being brought back from the dead.
"No, I need to train with the tall one today," the redhead said with an easy smile. "Dominus was right; he reminds me of myself at that age."
"So reckless, loud, and impertinent?" one of the men asked.
"Ah, you have such a negative view of me!" the redhead whined. "I was not so bad."
The man opened his mouth to say something but noticed John. "Seems we have a visitor, sir."
The redhead glanced toward him with sharp green eyes. "It seems so. Go about your duties. The blacksmiths need a sorter this morning."
"At your command, sir."
The man walked off when John came to stand in front of the redhead, who looked rather impassive at the sight of him. It was better than the vitriol everyone else he'd met so far spat at him.
"You must be one of the hunters," the man said lightly. "How may I assist you?"
"My name is John. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions."
"I am Cassius," the man said with an offered hand. "I am needed at the training ground, but you are welcome to walk with me."
John shook his hand, glad this was going smoothly. The man lifted his shield off the ground, shouldering it before sheathing his sword. He opted to carry his spear and began leading the way toward the training ground.
"What questions do you have?" Cassius asked.
John knew he had to choose his words carefully, especially after Dean's blow-up last night. "What do you think of all of this?" he finally asked. "Being back to fight the devil, I mean?"
Cassius chuckled. "It is simply another battle for me. Then again, I was aware of what you hunters deem the supernatural long before I died."
"Do all the men feel like that?"
"You will find that some are more transparent with their loyalty than others," Cassius said. "Those who marched with the Dominusduring the war in particular. Others came because this is home, and dying will not stop us from defending it."
"By Dominus,you mean Marcus?" John clarified.
Cassius hummed. "The very same. Our legion was blessed because he caught the eye of a goddess. What could have been a miserable march was rather comfortable, by our standards."
"A goddess?" John asked in confusion. "Thought she was an angel?"
Cassius snorted. "We are Romans," he said flatly. "Angels were rarely heard of when I lived. We saw her as a death goddess, one who was bestowed with our centurion."
"Wouldn't that be a bad omen?" John pressed as they reached the outskirts of the camp.
"Death is not just an ending," Cassius lectured. "It is a beginning and a transformation. We walked with death all our lives."
John sighed in frustration. "But she isn't human."
"And that is why we love her," the man said coldly.
John stopped, turning to look at Cassius. His green eyes burned with anger as his fingers flexed around the spear.
"We?" John asked, not bothering to hide his disgust.
"We," Cassius said. "We who marched with Marcus to this place and helped build the estate. You look at Azrial with nothing but fear, and perhaps that is a normal mortal response now. Back then, she was salvation. She saved Marcus from being struck down, likely saving us all from being slaughtered. She delivered fresh food and drink to us when supplies ran low, never expecting even a prayer in return. Missives from family would be found at our bedside on a regular basis, something that was a rarity to receive on other marches. She is our Domina, but she is also our matron goddess. One we worshiped with love in our hearts then and that we still happily serve now."
Cassius pushed him aside with the side of his spear. "Leave my sight, John Winchester. Before I break my vow to her and strike you down myself instead of letting your sons deal the blow."
John watched Cassius leave, fury burning in his chest. Clearly, he'd chosen the wrong person to speak with. Cassius was too close to the group, and that archangel had likely bewitched the poor bastard long ago. He'd have to talk to others, maybe those who hadn't served at the same time as Marcus. This was a training outpost, and Marcus had run it until he was 62. That meant a few generations of soldiers must be here. He highly doubted all of them felt the same about the man's inhuman wife.
Line Break
Azrial traded blows with Bobby, who had Crowley inside him. The two were a damn good team and often had her working for a victory. Rufus was sitting outside the training pit, working on etching out some type of rune work. The man had been trying to trip her up by making bad jokes, and Azrial hated to admit it almost worked a few times. Sam, Dean, Marcus, and Cassius were also watching them closely. More like watching for when they could kick her and Bobby out of the training arena so they could begin their own drills. Tough luck—early bird gets the worm, which all four damn well knew. She had far too much pent-up frustration after dinner last night to give over the arena now. She needed to get rid of the excess energy, or she'd be of no use to Gabriel when they pulled the villa into his dimension this evening.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Rufus demanded.
Azrial frowned, pivoting out of Bobby's reach. His burning hand rested near her bare stomach as her blade came to his throat. They were both panting, having been at it more than an hour. Her eyes cut toward Rufus, but she met the judgmental gaze of John Winchester and frowned. Great, just what she needed this morning. She felt Crowley's power rising right along with Bobby's anger. Her fingers brushed gently at his throat, but it didn't stop the growl from her mates. She needed to find a way to defuse this situation and fast. If she didn't, John would become a damn pincushion, given all the glares directed his way.
Line Break
He was in the goddamn Matrix. Every single person he spoke with had nothing but praise or polite indifference for the archangel and, by extension, the Valerius family. Each soldier he spoke with had something to say about their darling Domina. It ranged from personal anecdotes to more general thanks. A soldier named Regulus spoke at length about how she'd taken him as a personal guard, pulling him out from a sadistic commander who was later executed for his behavior. Others spoke about how their payments had almost doubled compared to what they received during other deployments. After all, the Domina believed in spreading the wealth the Valerius family was experiencing. It was nauseating how easily bought they all were. Then others, mostly civilians, spoke about how the land never experienced famine and drought. There was always excess to go around, and by their estimation, they were one of the wealthiest city-states in the Roman Empire, thanks to the Valerius' exporting wine.
An older woman, around the age Marcus would have been when he died, quietly admitted over freshly baked bread that there was one time nothing grew. Only one year, and even then, they didn't go hungry, thanks to the Valerius' planning. It was the year Marcus had been was said the archangel slaughtered everyone involved in the killing before going into a period of deep morning. Only her children were allowed to see her. The reins of the estate officially passed to her daughter Marcia, not her son Felix. It was accepted without comment. After all, a goddess had provided all these years, so her daughter would do just as well despite them being a normally patriarchal society. The Valerius family was never headed by a paterfamilias again, and slowly, the archangel pulled away, leaving nothing but her blessings behind until she disappeared a few hundred years ago.
That's when he'd learned the truth about the Valerius. They were witches of a kind. Divinity burned in their blood, granting them prolonged life and powers they kept close to their chest. The two current children, Cassiopeia and Orion, had been alive since just before World War I. Based on their predecessors, they weren't even a third through their lives.
It was unnatural. No one should live that long or be able to affect the world that much. The girl witch had apparently been active in World War II, preventing supernatural artifacts from falling into Nazi hands. She had a nasty habit of killing the men who fell into her clutches, taking the artifacts for the Allies or her family, depending on how dangerous they were. Her brother was no better, working with units that were aware of the supernatural to break Nazi defenses on the frontlines. He'd give them a hand up, allowing them to strike massive blows that normal humans wouldn't be able to manage.
It just cemented John's opinion. The family and their creepy archangel were willing to kill anything if it meant getting what they wanted. Hell, they seemed to enjoy it even! He needed to get his boys to realize that. They needed to get out before it was too late.
Which is why he'd risked walking into the training area. He'd watched the archangel trade blows with Bobby, who was clearly possessed by that damn demon. It was fluid, quick, and deadly. Even he could admit they were both showing a ridiculous amount of skill, but he could still pick out holes in her defense. Areas where he could hit if he acted quickly enough. Bobby, on the other hand, had none. The old bastard's form was flawless, and John wasn't sure if it was from his skill or the demon's. It was like the two beings were working in tandem to take down the archangel. He doubted it, though; no demon would let a human have control when they could be in the driver's seat. He walked down the steps, intent on dragging the archangel into a fight. He'd nicked a blade that should work on the bitch. Hopefully, once she was dead, Sam and Dean would finally listen to him.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Rufus demanded.
John rolled his eyes. "What, is this area private?"
Rufus pointed the knife he was using to etch runes. "Damn right it is. This is a family-only session. Get lost, Winchester."
"My sons are here," John growled.
"Really? I don't see no kids you raised."
John sneered, ready to snap, back but someone clearing their throat stopped him. He glanced back towards the training pit, surprised to see the archangel staring up at him with her arms crossed. Bobby's arms were wrapped possessively around her waist, not that she seemed to care. The man was glaring daggers at him, but John decided to ignore the bastard. If he wanted to get mixed up with the supernatural, that was his choice. He wasn't dragging Sam and Dean down with him. Not if John could help it.
"You seem desperate for a fight," she said lightly. "Good news for you, so am I. Why don't you join me down here? We'll do hand to hand."
John frowned, surprised at the lack of hostility from her. Especially since he could feel the annoyance from everyone else. He felt like he was standing in the middle of a pack of wolves who were waiting for a reason to strike.
"Princess," Bobby began.
"Go get some water," she suggested warmly. "You both have a lot to do today. I appreciated the spar, though."
John could see the conflict in Bobby's eyes. They were a strange reddish blue and traced over the archangel's face. "Fine," the man huffed. "But I'm gonna stay and watch you kick his ass."
Bobby vanished from the arena, appearing next to Rufus and making John jump. The veteran hunter smirked but didn't bother saying anything to him as he sat down. John made his way down the few steps before jumping into the pit. The archangel was whipping sweat from her face and adjusting her braid, uncaring about his presence.
"I ain't as strong as you," John pointed out.
"Duh," she said. "No one here is. You'll still find at least three people who can hold their own in a spar, soon to be four if Dean keeps up the hard work."
John sneered. "So, what, you just fight with a handicap?"
"Why don't you come find out?" She offered with a predatory smile. "You've been wanting to since we met, after all."
John frowned, slowly adjusting his stance. In a lot of ways, the archangel was all openings. She was only wearing a damn sports bra and yoga pants. Wasn't exactly gonna protect her from anything, fists or weapons. They began circling each other, though her movements were much lazier than his own. She had a massive scar dead center in her chest. Another large scar dragged down from her side and into the waistband of her pants. Then a smaller knotted scar on her shoulder. Her stomach had a few cuts but nothing noteworthy. Just the normal wear and tear he'd expect from a fighter. They had to have been massive blows to remain on her skin, though. He'd seen how these angels healed. How it could leave next to nothing behind. Maybe he could work her the same way he would any other bastard after all.
Her lips twitched as if she could read his mind. Maybe she could. He took the chance and aimed a punch at the scar on her shoulder, but she caught it easily.
"Nice try," she said. "That one is about two thousand years old, and Marcus made sure I'd never defend it." She shoved him back, her smile still in place.
Of course she knew what he was doing. She'd probably done the same. He'd have to get her into a rhythm before he tried again. It didn't help that he could feel all the eyes watching him, waiting for a mistake. She aimed a flawless roundhouse at his side, and it was only instincts that kept his ribs intact. The blows came quickly after that. He was only managing to fully block two out of three, sometimes just one out of three, of her hits completely. The others he was tripping out of the way of, her speed and smaller frame giving her a natural advantage. She wasn't hitting him harder than he could hit her, though. When his blows landed, they left behind angry bruises the same as hers. It was almost cathartic, and if she wasn't what she was, he might even have enjoyed himself. John shook his head, refocusing on his plan. She took his next blow on her arm, quickly aiming a jab to his chest. The blade on his side was burning, but he couldn't use it just yet.
"Here I thought you were all talk," she said breathlessly. "Guess there had to be some skill behind all that bluster, or you would have ended up dead a lot sooner."
"Careful," he said flatly. "That almost sounded like a compliment."
She grinned, sharp and vicious, her foot sweeping him off his feet. He hit the ground hard and was forced to roll out of the way to avoid a fist to his chest. He barely managed to get back on his feet before her assault continued. She was upping the speed, he realized, testing just how much of a beating he could take. Crafty bitch.
"I'm a general, Winchester. I can tell when a nuisance may actually be a threat."
The amused snort of laughter from the stands made him see red. He had a choice to make, chest or side. Whichever one he aimed for, he'd move and hit the other. He had to decide quickly, though. She was increasing the speed to a point where he was struggling to keep up.
Chest.
He aimed, and to his mild surprise she blocked flawlessly. A response that indicated the wound was very new. It left her injured side completely exposed. He pivoted, slipping the blade into his other hand. There was a shout, not that he could tell what was said. His heart was pumping loudly, and it echoed in his ears. The long silver blade sunk into her side and straight down to the hilt. He let go, quickly stepping back and waiting. Angels were supposed to burn out, according to his research, and he didn't want to end up injured.
Nothing happened. There was a deafening silence, tension hanging heavy in the air.
"Really?" Azrial asked drily, slowly pulling the blade out. "That was rather rude, John."
She flicked the blade clean, silver and red blood hitting the sand before tossing it toward his feet. It landed tip-first in the sand, mocking him.
"It didn't work," he whispered.
"Silly human," she said sweetly with burning quicksilver eyes. "Only an archangel can kill another archangel, and even then, you'd need one of these."
He wasn't ready for the bronze blade flying toward his face. He moved, but not quick enough to avoid a burning cut against his cheek. She wasn't trying to pretend to be human anymore. Her grin was like a wolf, and she was slowly herding him toward the training pit wall.
"Switch with me."
The firm voice made Azrial stop, her blade hovering uncomfortably close to his chest. He couldn't see who spoke, and the voice sounded off to his ears. "Is that an order?" she asked lightly.
"It is, sister."
John watched Sam drop into the arena, his eyes ringed with gold. Azrial hummed, pulling her blade back.
"Fine by me. Maybe you can knock some sense into his head before we have to resort to desperate measures."
She flicked her braid, allowing it to smack him in the face. John sneered at her, but she didn't bother to turn back. Cassius offered her a hand out of the pit, practically lifting her off the ground with one arm. She hopped up the few steps to Bobby and Rufus, sitting down between the two. John turned back to his youngest son, eyeing him critically.
"So, whose riding your ass?" he asked.
Sam's lips curled in such a familiar way. It indicated a fight was coming, an argument that would lead to one of them storming off. It always happened just like clockwork.
"Gabriel," Sam said. "How else do you think I was able to order Azrial to stop picking you apart?"
"I don't need your damn pity," John sneered. "Do you have any idea how far off the reservation you've gone?"
Sam sighed, deep and long. Another tell that this would turn into a screaming match.
"I just saved you from being sent back to Heaven," Sam said flatly. "Dean and I already gave the okay if you continued to act like an ass."
John felt ice creep through his blood. He thought it might be an empty threat, but the longer he looked at Sam, the more he realized it was the truth.
"I'm going to give this one more shot," Sam said softly. "We're going to talk here and now. For once in your damn life, do yourself a favor and listen. I'll even spar with you if it will get you to shut up."
This wasn't his son. His son wouldn't be this damn calm. What could he do, though? His one plan had failed spectacularly. This may be the only way he had to reach his sons and try to get them free of these creatures.
"Fine."
He didn't bother giving the creature possessing his son any warning before attacking. He hated that his son's eyes looked sad, like he was in the wrong. John wasn't, though. They fought and killed monsters. That was their damn job. He'd do anything to remind his boys of that. He'd save them, even if it meant killing them like he'd once told Dean to do.