Title: Out for Blood
Rating: R, for language
Category: H/C, Angst, A/A, Crossover with NCIS
Season/spoilers: Sometime in S2 for Supernatural (knowledge of DMB would be good), S4 for NCIS
Summary: Someone from Dean and Sam Winchester's past comes back to haunt them…and they also take a member of the NCIS team.
Disclaimer: All things Supernatural belong to Kripke Enterprises and The CW. All things NCIS belong to Bellisarius Productions and CBS. Not trying to step on toes or claim ownership, much as I would really enjoy that.
Note: For Yum. Thanks go to LdyAnne, who took the time to read and give feedback throughout, and whose encouragement really kept me going. The story's mostly complete, it just needed to be tweaked and triple checked. Any errors that remain are mine and/or this particular archive's strange formatting foibles. ;)
Special Agent Tony DiNozzo shoved the last bite of his breakfast burrito into his mouth and chewed it haphazardly. He turned the corner and didn't see the NCIS truck anywhere; it was hard to miss. He was first on the scene even with the pit stop for food; days when the call to duty came before he was out his front door always seemed to last forever and he just never knew when he'd have the chance to eat again. He was glad he'd made that call. For all he knew, they'd be on this nonstop for upwards of forty-eight hours, if not longer.
Gibbs hadn't sounded thrilled with the early morning call, but then Gibbs never sounded thrilled about anything. Dead sailor, lots of blood and gore. This death was even worse than their usual cases, apparently, with the potential markings of a sociopath on the loose. Tony hoped beating the rest of the crew to the scene would also help him beat them to the punch. Getting on the boss's good side might help things go more smoothly. He pulled the car alongside the curb in front of a nice condominium with a well-groomed lawn and got out, pulling his "travel" kit with him. He wouldn't do much until the others got there, but Gibbs had taught him a long time ago to never leave home without some basic tools of their trade. He stretched his arms wide.
"Hey guys," Tony said as he approached the four cops standing outside the condo. Three of them looked a little green around the gills, and he guessed the fourth hadn't actually gone inside or he'd be in the same boat. He grimaced. Great, maybe breakfast first hadn't been a great idea after all. He flashed his badge. "Special Agent Tony DiNozzo, NCIS. What can you tell me?"
"I'm Officer Reynes," the greenest of the green said in greeting, then pointed to his colleagues. "And this is Smith, Lykken and Peters. We got a call about suspicious activity surrounding the home. We went in, saw the guy was dead and a sailor, and got out. We called off our CS unit before we even called you in, so nothing substantial has been done. Thought we'd leave that all up to you guys."
"You sound relieved."
"Yes, sir. Whoever killed the guy is one sick bastard. It's pretty bad in there."
Tony nodded sympathetically. Internally, he groaned. It really was going to be a long day, but he'd discovered another advantage to being the only one there: he could react without facing the scorn of Gibbs or the ridicule of Probie and Ziva. Years on the job hadn't managed to harden him completely, which he didn't consider a bad thing. Just an embarrassing thing.
"How'd you know the vic was a sailor, Officer Reynes?" he said. The rest of the group didn't look like talkers.
"Must have just got off duty or something. He's in uniform."
"Ah. You guys mind sticking around and keeping the scene secure until the rest of my team arrives?"
"As long as we can do it out here," Reynes said, and his two sickly-looking friends nodded with no small amount of enthusiasm.
"Sure. You can wait by your vehicles if it'll make you feel better," Tony said. They looked collectively humiliated. He gave them a smile. "Actually, I don't want to be embarrassed by knowing you all are out here listening to me puke."
"Speaking of, the puddle next to the stairs here is from Lykken. It's not evidential to the case."
Lykken looked to be all of twelve and he'd be damned if that didn't make Tony feel old. Poor kid. The officers all took his recommendation, moving further away from the secured building. Tony jogged up the stairs and ducked under the yellow police tape they'd slapped across the door. In two steps he could see into the room where the event had occurred, saw the copious amount of blood on the floor, ceiling and walls. In three steps he saw the atrocious condition of the body – at least the unclothed parts. In four steps he saw…someone else was in the room and was currently headed toward the body, someone not wearing a cop uniform.
He ducked behind the doorframe, quietly set his kit down and drew his weapon. This really might be his lucky day; he'd nab the killer right there and then before Gibbs even arrived. Hail the conquering hero and all that. Tony contemplated getting the cops for backup – if this was the killer, and who else would it be, he was apparently a raging psycho – but the risks of the murderer hearing him or sneaking away again before he could reenter the house were too great. He had the advantage here. He'd be fine. He'd have the guy in cuffs and then wait around to watch McGee and Ziva give him dirty, jealous looks. He smiled and silently slid into the room.
The perp knelt by the body now, leaning over it. Tony knew serials usually went after women, and that sometimes they came back for…visitation rights…with their victims. This wasn't part of a serial type killing because the body would probably have been found in a much more remote place, the victim and the killer were both male, and mostly because his intuition was telling him it was different from any serial pattern he was familiar with. That, and he actually had no idea at all if there were related deaths and was just filling in blanks where there probably weren't blanks to fill. He was overthinking. There was no reason a killer would come back with the cops still on scene, unless he was crazy or stupid. Tony voted this guy crazy, stupid and caught. He took aim.
"Federal agent," Tony announced, moderating his voice to low and even. The guy stiffened, shifted slightly like he was reaching for something. "No, you don't. Put your hands where I can see them, and stay on your knees."
Tony aimed the gun at the left shoulder. If he had to shoot, he didn't want it to be for the kill. He preferred to put people behind bars, where they could live with their mistakes. The guy's shoulders slumped slightly as he uttered a low curse, but he raised his hands slowly. Tony took a second to size the man up. Even without seeing his face, he looked rough. Old jeans. Worn and dirt-crusted boots. Leather jacket that was aged and scratched a little. He also noted the shoulders were broad, and that there was probably a fair amount of muscle under the jacket. He couldn't tell age, but the hair on the back of the head wasn't greyed so he guessed the perp was no older than himself; something told Tony he'd be tough to beat in a fight. Tony took another step into the room.
"What'd you do?" One step closer, then another. "Forget your trophy?"
"You've got it all wrong." Even the voice was rough, and yet somehow filled with earnestness. Tony frowned, kept moving forward slowly and carefully. "I didn't kill this guy."
"Of course you didn't," Tony said. He stood right behind the guy now. "You woke up this morning and decided you'd find a bloody crime scene to break into – nice touch doing it while the cops are right outside, by the way – just for fun."
"Fun isn't the word I'd use," the guy said. Tony walked around the dead sailor, carefully avoiding the blood spatter. The perp looked up at him with a rueful half smile and hazel eyes that didn't lie. Or maybe they lied all too well. The man looked more like a kid who'd grown up too fast and hard, which was usually a dangerous thing. "I'd have rather slept in, to tell you the truth."
"You're a funny man." Tony reached for his cuffs…and realized he didn't have them. Shit. "Just stay put for a second."
"Sure. Where am I going to go?"
Tony retraced his steps through the blood and headed for his kit. He couldn't remember if he had cuffs in there either. It wasn't like they had ever run into a killer at a crime scene. If worse came to worst, he could call the officers back in. He carefully kept his gun and an eye trained on the guy while he squatted down and rooted through the bag.
"Hurry up. My hands are falling asleep."
He rolled his eyes. Oh, yeah. Someone was a real smartass. Tony narrowed his eyes. The guy seemed really calm for the present situation, almost assured. Cocky son of a bitch probably thought he could still get away. Not on DiNozzo's watch. His fingers fumbled against a set of cuffs, luck continuing for him. Tony snagged them and hurried back.
"Okay, hands behind you."
"Really? I thought maybe we could do front." Another strange contradiction. The guy bitched and moaned the whole time he complied with no indication he was a fight or flight risk, and he should have wanted to do either or both. "I promise I'm not going to try anything. I hate sitting on my hands, dude."
"You know, you're pretty relaxed for a cold-blooded killer," Tony said.
"I told you," the guy said, grunting when Tony tightened the cuffs around his wrists. There was no blood on his hands, or anywhere on his person. He must have cleaned up before he came back. Tony furrowed his eyebrows. "I didn't kill this guy. In fact, I'm trying to find what did."
"Right. And where's the other Hardy Boy?" What? What did he mean, 'what'? Tony patted the guy down, found a handgun at his waist, a nasty looking knife strapped to his ankle. He waggled both in front of the guy, who gave one haughty sniff and looked smugly bored. "It's clear to me I'm wrong about you."
"Hey, man, don't judge a book by its cover. And if you mean Frank, I'm sure he's got his nose buried in a book somewhere."
"Why are we talking so much? Enough chatting until you've been read your rights. I don't want this tossed out for improper procedure. Come on." Tony shifted his gun, reached down and half-hauled the guy to his feet. Plenty of muscle, he noted, and was relieved he'd had cuffs. "We're going to wait around until my team gets here, but I'm not fond of this location."
The guy chewed on his lip, eyebrows furrowing as he looked down at his victim. For a second, Tony thought he saw genuine regret on his face. A crazy thought that maybe this guy really wasn't lying flashed through his mind, and it was one more thing that didn't make sense. A normal person wouldn't seek out such gore, an innocent person wouldn't know where to look for it and therefore his perp was neither normal nor innocent.
"Thanks," the guy said, his eyes narrowing slightly. When he looked back up again, he appeared nervous. Finally, something Tony thought fit. "Do I still get one phone call even if you're not a real cop?"
"Doesn't quite work like that," Tony said dryly.
"Then before we take another step, you should know I'm not saying another word until I get a lawyer."
Ah, shit. Gibbs would not be happy this guy had lawyered up before he had the chance to question him. Not that there was any real need to question. The guy had been caught red-handed.
"You mind telling me your name?" It was worth a shot. Tony was sick of referring to him as 'guy.' His father used to call other men 'guy' all the time, even though he knew their names. "Unless you want to be called Bad Guy."
"What's your name?"
"DiNozzo." Tony saw no reason to withhold that.
"Okay, DiNozzo. It's not nice to meet you. I'm Dan."
"Now don't you believe him. He's a liar and a killer."
The guy stiffened, and in unison he and Tony turned back around, searching for the person who belonged with the new voice. Tony had his gun at the ready again, aimed right at the heart of an attractive, dark-haired woman who stood above the corpse. She looked pissed and jubilant at the same time. How the hell had she got in, Tony thought dazedly, he hadn't heard a sound. He was close enough to his suspect to feel muscles tense, the energy around him electrifying.
"Uncuff me, uncuff me," the guy, Dan, growled. "Do it now, uncuff me!"
There was such coldness in the woman's eyes that Tony actually reached into his pocket for the key. He really would have, had time not suddenly slowed and sped up simultaneously. The woman flew across the room at them, and suddenly they were surrounded by another, slighter woman and two guys. Tony's head reeled. Literally. Someone landed a punch. He took aim and discharged his weapon at his nearest attacker – he couldn't see who it was – and somehow missed hitting anything amid the tangle of limbs and curses and pain. He suddenly had a new theory about who had killed Petty Officer Frank Bowman. Beside him his former suspect cried out, not standing a chance in hell with his hands bound behind him. Within seconds, both he and Tony were held tightly.
"Took you long enough to catch up, Winchester. I thought we were going to have to start back across the country," the woman said. She leaned in close, the guy recoiled. Tony remained confused as hell. "Where's your daddy?"
"He's dead, bitch."
"Awww, that's so sad." The woman laughed humorlessly. "Where's the other one?"
"He's dead, too."
"Nope. I can smell him on you. Unless you had breakfast with a dead man, he's still around," she said, then looked at Tony. "This one's pretty. We're keeping him, for a while anyway. He could be useful."
Hands grabbed at him roughly, several more punches landed. There was unintelligible shouting, something sharp biting into his left bicep, stinging enough to know the injury drew blood. Tony fought against his captors instinctively, but it was useless. They were unbelievably strong and so fast he couldn't see them moving and where the hell were the cop…
Sam Winchester paced the room aimlessly. He had a very bad feeling, deep down in the pit of his stomach. Dean should have been back already. Dean wasn't answering his cell. Dean was in trouble. He scrolled down to Dean's name on his cell again, pressed talk and waited. There was no answer, again, and he hadn't really expected one. It had been such a colossally bad idea, traipsing onto a crime scene before the cops were through with it. They'd done it before, but not while the body was still there. Sam should have made his brother wait, both for the cops to clear out and for Sam to join him.
Because, yeah, he could make Dean do anything.
Sam chewed on his lip for a second. He didn't have much choice, really. He had to go to the scene himself. He was really starting to hate when cases brought them to big cities. They always got into bigger trouble than usual in bigger cities. It was like it was themed. St. Louis. Baltimore…they were way too close to Baltimore right now for his liking. If this turned out to be what they thought it was, the potential for big trouble was very much there on a completely different front. They didn't need the law after them again at the same time.
He stewed in his thoughts all the way to the car. Then he stewed all the way to the crime scene. He parked the car four blocks away, and stewed as he walked the rest of the way, too. If the cops had busted Dean, Sam was going to have his work cut out for him. There were only so many times they could wiggle out from under the law, and he worried that they were approaching that final time. From a block away, Sam saw that the place was lit up with black and whites. There were several unmarked cars as well. If those had been there when he'd dropped Dean off, then Dean wouldn't have taken the risk. If they hadn't been there, then chances were Dean was, in fact, already in custody. Either way, Sam knew he was not getting anywhere near the place at the moment.
"Damnit, Dean," Sam muttered to himself. "You'd better be back at the motel when I get there."
He turned to retreat, then reconsidered. He might have the chance to learn a little about whom he was dealing with, just in case Dean wasn't back at the motel – and humans weren't exactly something he could research with Dad's journal or mythology books. Human patterns varied, even within structured organizations like law enforcement. Sam had to learn what he could about the people who held his brother in order to break his brother out. He skulked around, found a place to hide himself sufficiently out of sight…and saw a large truck parked in front of the condo for the first time. He squinted to read the block lettering. NCIS. Oh, shit. Feds.
Dean had probably been taken in by feds. It would only be a matter of time before the FBI caught wind of this, if they hadn't already tracked this killing and connected it to the eight others he and Dean had followed across the country. They'd call the cases solved, pin it all on Dean and he'd never see his brother again. Shit. Had he mentioned that? Because, shit.
He needed to get a grip. He was jumping to conclusions without having any solid information at all. Yeah, first things first. Sam had to make sure Dean actually was in trouble. Maybe Dean had just forgot to put his phone back on after leaving the crime scene. Sam wished he could get closer without being seen, because what he could see was limited to the spaces between vehicles. He watched as a man with silver hair and a bad suit jacket stormed out of the condo and pace along the sidewalk. Even from a distance Sam could tell the guy was pissed as hell. Two people wheeling out a gurney with a black, zippered body bag might have something to do with that anger. One of them loaded the body into the van, while the other spoke with the angry man briefly. Sam was no expert in body language, but it looked to him that this was somehow personal to them.
Sam frowned. These were the NCIS agents. He wondered where the uniformed police were, and ten seconds later he had his answer as two standard ME vans pulled up, and two more black and whites. This had become a multiple homicide. He shifted positions, finding a spot that afforded an angle that revealed more bodies. Even from a distance, he saw they were viciously torn apart. He recognized the brutality, the hunger behind it. They'd been right. Vampires. Bold ones. He only knew of two groups, and one group was not the type to draw attention to their existence.
Two more people in plainclothes came out of the condo and spoke with the older agent. Sam couldn't watch anymore. He had to assume Dean was either already in custody or back at the motel, because the only other option out there was not something he wanted to think about. He ran back to the car, and sped back to the motel.
Dean wasn't there.
Sam sat down on his bed, slight panic burbling up in him. Dean was in serious trouble and he was all alone. They were both all alone. He didn't know where to start and he was all alone with this. He got up, paced some more, thought about all the calls he'd placed to Dean and how maybe someone had that phone and was even now figuring out Dean had a partner in supposed crime.
"Okay, okay," he said. "Get it together."
He sat back down on the bed, pulled his satchel close and booted his computer up. While he waited, he tugged the Yellow Pages out and found the first motel listed, his new living arrangements. Before he gathered their stuff together, though, Sam felt the call to do a little more digging. He had to know what had happened to Dean, not just what he thought had happened. The computer was all set. He did a search on NCIS, scanning the basic information on the governmental site's home page. He quickly figured out it wouldn't yield him the answers he needed, and now he knew what he had to do. It was crazy. It was stupid. It was dangerous as hell. It was a risk he was willing to take if it meant saving Dean.
Sam had to hack into NCIS's system.
More to come...