Author: Tara 'aka' LovinJackson
Summary: Captured and tortured by a supernatural foe who is out to get his brother, Dean receives the help from an unexpected source. Pre-series. Spn/Lethal Weapon CrossOver.
Disclaimer: Supernatural, Lethal Weapon and all their characters are sadly not own by me. No Copyright Infringement Intended.
Warnings: Course Language .... come on, I'm dealing with Winchesters and Riggs and Murtough ... it would be wrong if there wasnt some :P
A/N: Hey guys! I hope everyone has been well. I hope 2009 has been treating you well. I know there is a few of you who know I am meant to be writing a new Brotherhood fic and it is still very much underway. I have big plans I hope I can live up to with it lol
This fic right here? Was planned back in Novemeber 2008 as a gift for a very special friend's birthday. I knew I would need time to write even a one-shot because certain characters were going to be hard to write no matter how much i love and adore them. Doing a crossover? Not so easy ... for me anyways.
So ... the 30th of January has passed. I didnt make it in time but with this fic I want to say a very HAPPY BIRTHDAY for Gaelicspirit! It's late and you and everyone else who might read this will probably think I am on crack or something but it's something I just had to try lol (especially since you gave me that awesome card last year)
Gaelic, I did promise you your vid this weekend but I did this instead. Hope you dont mind the set back and I hope you enjoy the story and most of all? I hope you had a wonderful birthday. You deserve it. I value our friendship more all the time (Thanks for the scene you wrote in Weapon and the Wound ;) You know I loved it hehe). Happy Birthday, Girl!
Also on a side note I would like to say Happy Birthday to alwaysateen who shares the day as her birthday *hugs*
Chick Flick moment over ... Thanks everyone else that may read this. Thanks to Mum and Angelustatt once again and always :) All mistakes are my own.
There was movement coming from the other corner. He was sure of it. It was hard to tell in the small dark space but he was sure he wasn't at the point of hallucination … yet. But instead of spiking hope, the movement and scurrying of small little feet only made him tense, press his back into the splintered wood behind him, pressing into his torn skin.
Dean's breath caught in his throat as his back ignited in fire. It hurt and not just a little bit. It hurt a fucking lot. Tight skin pulled and Dean hunched forward, wincing at the new wetness sliding down his back and the twinge in his ribs. One rib was broken for sure, maybe two … or maybe the second one was only cracked. He wasn't sure and it didn't really matter because it all hurt the same.
The sudden, yet not unexpected feeling of something running across one bare foot had Dean almost jumping out of his skin and kicking out blindly. His back hit the wall again and this time he couldn't keep the groan from escaping.
"God …" He didn't know how the rat had gotten into his small wooden prison. He hadn't seen any visible holes but then his captors hadn't really given him a chance to scope his surroundings.
They'd been holding him in the same place since he had been caught, only releasing him once in a while to ask him a few questions and beat him when he didn't tell them what they wanted to hear. How long it had been he wasn't sure. All time seemed to blend together when you could barely see you own hand in front of your face.
Dean jumped again, glaring at where he knew his feet were almost tucked up in front of his thighs, making his body as small as possible. "I'm not looking for a new friend, you furry little fuck." He hated rats, always had, but this brought it to a whole new level.
He cringed at the raspy sound of his voice and was ashamed that not all of it was because of lack of water. The massive belt buckle connected to the belt that had practically flayed his back open had reduced him to screams no matter how had he tried to hold them back, no matter how much he hadn't wanted to give the bastards who had him locked under the fucking warehouse the satisfaction of hearing his pain.
He hadn't been conscious the last time they had put him back in the box and maybe it was a little bit sick but he was kind of glad because every time he was forced back under the house in something that resembled a little too much of a coffin, Dean was afraid that he wouldn't see daylight again. He was sixteen years old and all the more willing to die for his family but the thought of dying alone in this little dark hole had him terrified.
Dean shifted, biting down hard on his dry and cracked bottom lip to stifle the whimper the motion caused. He held himself still, waited for the stinging to calm down before taking another full breath of the stale, stuffy air. Lifting a hand above him, he tested the strength of the box lid. He ignored the splinters in his fingers, not even really noticing them now. He pushed despite the futility.
"Shit." He coughed and pressed his other arm harder against his ribs and leant sideways against the wall next to him, sitting forward with his forehead against the wood. His breath felt hot and stagnant and he was trying really hard to not panic.
Where was Dad? Was Sammy okay? Thoughts of his family ran through his head. It was the only thing keeping him sane. A small squeaking noise had his eyes opening and he realised that he hadn't even notice they had been closed. He was so tired. "Go away." He pleaded, kicked his leg out. His eyes widened slightly in surprise and disgust as he felt the fat little furry body connect with the bare skin of his foot. It connected with the wooden wall but Dean couldn't tell in the dark whether it was stunned or dead. He seriously doubted that he would have had enough strength to kill the rodent. God, he was going to die with a rat his only company.
Dean reached up with one hand and grasped the amulet Sam had given him years before, trying to let it ground him. He was thankful they hadn't taken that because it was something he wasn't willing to lose.
Footsteps from above him had his body tensing, the hair on the back of his neck stood up and a shiver ran down his spine. He had been praying to he didn't know what that someone would come for him, that his Dad would get here before he became the rat's next meal but as much as he prayed to be saved, footsteps from above had him on edge because it was never a rescue, it was always more pain.
He looked up and as expected darkness greeted him. Someone was standing right above him, probably more than one person. Their voices were muffled between the floorboards and the lid to his box but it once again confirmed that whoever was up there again wasn't a friend. He couldn't move; his heart was beating so hard and fast in his chest that he thought it might explode. They were going to drag him out, ask him the same questions all over again and then the pain would come. He wasn't ready for it, not so soon … not ever again if he had a choice.
So caught up in his thoughts, in his prayers for them to 'just go away', Dean didn't hear them coming until light blinded him, artificial light from a light bulb hanging from the ceiling right over him.
"Aww look at our scared little puppy."
The mocking tone in his torturer's voice would have induced a glare had he not had to squint in the light, his eyes still adjusting from his long stay in the dark. His blinked rapidly and gave a quick look around the large wooden box he'd been held in before he felt fingers curl in his hair and pull.
"Argh …" he called out, trying to get to his feet as fast as he could. The man lifting him by his hair had no mercy and Dean almost thanked them when he felt hands wrap around his bare arms, helping to lift him right out of his underground prison.
Grunting as his body was dropped to the polished wooden floorboards, Dean gasped for breath, relishing in being able to breathe in clear air. His lungs were almost in shock, making him cough and gag.
"Poor little hunter is shaking like a leaf. Don't'cha like our hospitality, pretty boy?"
He knew there voices by now and knew without even looking that it was Rocky. They hadn't hesitated to introduce themselves. – Rocky and Sink, both heavy handed, both stupid beyond reason, stupid beyond the names they called themselves, and the only reason they had beaten was size alone … the tranquiliser dart helped in the first place – they hadn't hidden their identity. That told Dean all he needed to know … if he didn't get away? He wasn't getting out of there.
He had to get through this. It was his fault he'd been targeted. He must have been sloppy when he had been scouting with his Dad when they had first arrived in town.
Dean glanced up with the intention to tell Rocky where he could shove his hospitality but decided it wasn't worth it. He wasn't going to just give up but he wasn't going to invite trouble, not just yet. He was busier with just simply breathing and didn't want to waste precious energy pissing off his captors.
"Looks like he knows his place. Don't ya, kid?"
"Fu…ck you." It was worth every breath it stole. He could help it.
"Now that's not very nice." Sink reprimanded with a kick to Dean's kidney's to punctuate it. Dean let off a keening growl of pain and his body didn't know what parts to protect so he remained curled on his side, breathing through his nose.
"And just when we decided to keep you outta the hole too."
Suddenly Dean was nervous. As much as he hated it in there? Them keeping him out of it had to mean something much worse. God, where was Dad? Dean hated sounding like a little kid – even in his own mind – but he couldn't help his mind straying to his father.
Rocky squatted down in front of Dean, reached out and grabbed Dean's chin in an iron grip. What these guys lacked in intelligence they made up for in physical strength. He felt like his jaw was about to break. Reaching up with his own hand, Dean wrapped it around Rocky's thick wrist, his other hand was planted firmly on the ground to keep Rocky's hand being the only thing holding him up. It left his torso unprotected.
"You gonna tell us what we wanna know, Winchester? Because, I gotta tell you that Miss Mason isn't at all happy with you right now."
His chin was released and Dean collapsed back to the hard floor. He flexed his sore jaw and glared. "I …" he coughed. "I gotta tell you … I don't care."
"Is that so?" The voice came out of nowhere and Dean cursed himself for not being more aware of his surroundings.
The shape-shifting bitch that had started this whole thing was standing behind a crouched Rocky. Her small upturned nose, flaring with annoyance. "You're annoying me, Dean."
Dean's mouth twitched, a half smirk wanting to form despite his body's protests that he'd had enough. "Really? Well, I guess my… work here is d-done," he quipped, ignoring how his vision doubled every few minutes.
His blurred gaze travelled down to the plastic cup in her manicured hand. He unconsciously licked his tight, dry lips, his thoughts lingering on trying to remember the last time he'd had even a drop of the precious liquid.
He cursed himself when Mason noticed where his attention was. Now she was the one smirking. "Thirsty Dean?"
"You're lying again. You know if you just tell me where to find your precious little brother then you can have as much water as you want," she told him sweetly, like she was like the fair and kind business woman she was pretending to be. Dean briefly wondered what had happened to the real Elizabeth Mason.
"I don't know where my brother is," Dean replied tiredly. The tremble was becoming more obvious, fatigue becoming an enemy.
He had given up denying he had a brother early on. It was obvious they knew who he was. They knew far more about him than he liked. Did Dad know how much his latest hunt knew about their family? Did he know that she would be after Sam?
"Dean, Dean, Dean …" The shape-shifter sighed as if berating a small child. "Didn't Daddy ever teach you to do as you were told?"
"He … he taught me lots, bitch."
"Yes…" She answered thoughtfully, hand coming to rest on her hip, her tailored suit jacket hiding the long nails that Dean had gotten way to close to at some points. "Yes, I suppose he did … and what did that get you my little hunter?"
Dean looked away, refusing to answer her stupid questions. Dad was hunting a shape-shifter, not once had either of them thought that she would come after them, at school no less. He wondered if anyone had seen him get taken, if anyone had called the cops. They were in LA and the school he currently attended was bigger than most schools he ended up at. There had been kids around but had anyone of them noticed the new kid being knocked out and shoved in a van? God, it sounded lame. Dean Winchester, even at sixteen was not taken down so easily. Dad was going to kill him … if he found him alive to kill him.
"Not so talkative today?" She asked and finally began to move. Dean looked down and watched her feet as her high heels clicked on the polished floorboards. "That's fine, Dean. I don't need you to talk. If you won't bring Sam to me then I'll make sure your father knows I mean business ... but first? I'm going to be nice. Here. Have a drink, it's on me."
Dean licked his lips again, finding it hard to swallow. He needed that water and wasn't sure how his head actually managed to shake in the negative when his body was screaming for something, anything to quench its thirst.
"What's that, boy? Speak up."
"I said no." Dean told her, looking up finally into her cold brown eyes with fire in his own. "No mean's … no … y'know."
Mason huffed and passed the plastic cup to Sink and crouched down at Dean's level alongside Rocky. "Too bad, I'm not the kind of woman that takes no for an answer, kiddo. Now are you going to be a good boy?"
Dean cocked his head to the side. "You're no … woman and I've n…never really been able to get a handle on the whole 'good boy' … thing."
Mason reached out with her hand, tapping Dean on the cheek. "Have it your own way, sweetie."
Mason stood in one fluid movement and stepped back. "Boys."
The name spoken from her lips sent her lapdogs into motion. Rocky's arm was suddenly wrapped around his throat and he was hauled up against the man's chest. Dean struggled, gasping for air and against what felt like a serrated knife tearing at him as Rocky's denim jacket rubbed the lashes on his back. Tears sprung to the corner of his eyes. His head was wrenched back by Rocky's other hand and that's when Dean noticed Sink coming forward, the cup in one hand.
He didn't want the water so much now. If they wanted him to have it so bad then it was most likely to keep him alive for another round of torturing or it had something in it. Either way Dean didn't like the idea. "Lemme' go," he grunted.
Sink came closer, standing with his feet on either side of Dean's jean clad legs. Despite the pain and uselessness of the act, Dean tried to back up further. Rocky's arms were too strong and steady and Dean could do nothing as Sink lowered himself until he was seated on Dean's legs, restricting movement even further.
"Open up, boy."
Dean clamped his mouth shut. They wanted him to drink? Then they would have to force it down his throat and he wouldn't make it easy on them.
Sink shared a look with Rocky over Dean's shoulder, shrugged. He felt his head yanked back again and Dean was afraid his neck just might snap. The roof above him shimmered, unshed tears collecting in his eyes. He could feel Sink moving and he didn't have to wonder what he was doing for long.
Sharp cutting pain lanced up his side as a hand slapped against his ribs. The shout was instantaneous and enough to give his captors what they wanted. His chin was gripped in a strong hand, the blunt fingers digging into his cheeks, keeping his mouth open. His breathing was coming fast now, dealing with pain and fear at what he couldn't stop from happening.
Dean choked and gagged as liquid was poured down his throat, the weak plastic edge of the cup bending in against his bottom lip. As hard as he tried to keep himself from swallowing it all became mute when his head was released and in its absence Rocky's hand squeezed his nose, restricting his airway.
"Swallow it down. Come on, you little shit." He could feel Rocky's breath on the side of his face.
He couldn't fight it. His lungs demanded air and his survival instincts kicked in. The first mouthful he swallowed was followed by two more. He realised belatedly that they must have refilled the cup to make up for the liquid he'd spilt. As soon as the attack had started it finished and he was released, both men standing back as Dean gasped and spluttered on the floor at their feet.
"Now, was that so hard?"
"Sc..crew you." Dean coughed, pushed himself up to lean on his elbows and wiped a hand across his mouth.
"Sorry, honey. You're a little young for my tastes. Now Daddy?" She raised a single finger to her jaw, in consideration. "Him I'd do."
Dean shivered, coughed again. His ribs twinged. He looked up at the shape-shifter, hate and malice in his tired eyes. "He's gonna kill you."
Her laugh made his blood boil. He wanted to kill her himself. He could just imagine his silver knife - the one Dad had given him on his twelfth birthday – plunging into her heart. He could just imagine his fists pounding into Rocky and Sink. They might have been big and strong but they hadn't been trained by a marine, they hadn't been trained by John Winchester.
"So Dean …" Her voice interrupted his thoughts and he glanced up again, arching an eyebrow. "I'm going to give you one more chance."
Dean laughed; the sound coming out ragged and almost painful. "Go to hell, bitch." His stomach clenched; something between nausea and cramping. The sensation came so suddenly that it actually surprised him.
Mason shook her head sadly. "You could have saved yourself a lot of trouble, Dean."
"What … what are y-you gonna do?" Dean licked his lips; any moisture the forced drink had left was long gone. His breathing was strained. His ribs grating every time he breathed in. "Throw me in the box again?"
"Oh no, I have better plans for you." She nodded to the two men in her command and Dean was manhandled onto his stomach. He couldn't hold back the cry of pain. It felt like someone was stabbing his side with a hot poker. His arms were wrenched up behind him and the unmistakable feel of cold metal encircled his wrists. "I think my next little exercise will be much more encouraging."
Eyes clenched tightly closed, Dean grunted as he was lifted up by his bound arms. His shoulders bunched up as his arms were pulled, his torn skin on his back tight and strained in the new position. "W..what are you d-doing?" Dean stammered.
He blinked his eyes open, his chest heaved as Rocky pulled him along. Every time he stumbled he was yanked up. He was sure they were going to pull his shoulders out of their fucking sockets.
Sink opened a wooden door to what looked like a cupboard and flipped a switch just inside the door, turning the light on. Dean's eyes widened at thick the rope hanging in the middle of the walk-in storage room. A noose clearly shaped the end of the rope.
"What? You gonna k-kill me now?" Fight renewed itself in Dean's overtaxed system, adrenaline rushing through him.
He was pushed through the doors and his knees buckled, not used to holding his weight. Sink caught him, roughly lifted him so that he was standing again and made quick work of slipping the noose around Dean's neck. The rough texture of the rope pinched at his skin. Dean flinched when the noose was tightened and then pulled up so he was almost standing on the balls of his feet.
Sink held him up, his grip bruising on Dean's arms. He tried to swallow against the pressure straining his neck as Mason came forward, her high heels tapping on the wood. She rested her hands on either side of the door frame, her grey business jacket bunching up around her shoulders. "Despite what you think, sweetie, I didn't want it to get this far but you will be stubborn," she clucked, dropping her hands, smiling sweetly as she stepped into the storage room. "I'm going to give you a little chance to think about your options."
Dean opened his mouth to respond but he was pushed forward, anything he was going to say cut off in a choked garble. The pressure was released and Dean gasped for breath. The niggling in his stomach grew, his muscles constricting.
Mason's hand skimmed across the naked skin of his lower stomach, travelling up, her long nails scraping slightly. "You feel that, Dean? That feeling … it's just going to get worse."
Dean tried to flinch away from her touch, his face scrunching up as another cramp rippled through his stomach. "What … what d-did you g…give me?"
Mason ignored the question, instead moving her hand up to his chest, her other hand joining the first one, before it came to finally rest against his cheek. Her face was only inches from his when she spoke. "We're going to leave you here now and I want you to think really hard about the questions I've asked you."
"I … n..ot givin' you my …b-bro…ther," Dean struggled speak against the rope and the cramps that were hitting him more frequently.
Mason patted him almost affectionately on the cheek and then backed out of the small room. "Sink's going to let you go now, Dean. Don't fall now … because if you die? I'll just change into your skin and get your family to come to me. Little Sammy will probably be so relieved to see his big brother alive that he wouldn't even see it coming at first."
"N…o…" Dean whimpered, hating to sound so weak. Sam was a smart kid but would he know straight away that it wasn't him?
Why the hell didn't she just do that in the first place? Dean shuddered at the thought. One look at the smug smile on her red lips and Dean knew the answer to his unasked question. She enjoyed playing them, with people in general. These types always did but it didn't make him feel any better.
He felt Rocky move past him, knocking him enough to make him gag. Sink steadied him, waited until he got his balance and then let go. Dean stumbled at first, his airway cut off by the rough pressure. He growled as he tried to regain his footing. The noose was too short to allow him to stand with both feet squarely on the ground and it made it hard not to sway. His leg muscles coiled, strained to stand as still as possible.
His chest moving rapidly, Dean tried to look through the doorway, to find the shape-shifter. "I'll see you again soon, Dean … if I remember you're in here." The door slammed shut and Dean was sure he heard a lock snip but he couldn't be sure and he couldn't really care.
Again he was locked away in darkness; again all he could hear was his harsh fast breathing. His legs were already starting to get tired. He could do this. He wasn't some pansy ass teenager.
Sweat ran down his face. He pursed his lips, trying to regulate his breathing. He almost had a handle on it when a cramp ripped through his abdominal muscles. His body tried to curl in on itself, inadvertently choking himself. The moan that was pulled from his throat was pitiful. With considerable effort, Dean straightened his body, panting against the strain. He just had to wait it out, that's all. He just had to wait it out. Dad would come. He could do this.
The sudden yank and pressure wrenching his neck forced Dean's eyes open. A strangled gasp escaped his throat as he wobbled on achingly tired legs. The strain of holding him up straight in the awkward position was taking its toll. His thighs, his calves … both felt like they might snap from the pressure as did his neck.
Time seemed to blend together. Occasionally he would hear someone walk by the door to his cell but it soon became apparent that they weren't coming back for him anytime soon. Had it been minutes? Hours? Days? Dean couldn't be sure.
He could hear his breathing short and forced … and loud in his ears. Sweat trickled down his face, dropping off his chin and onto his chest to run down, collecting where his jeans hung snugly on his hips. The top of his jeans were soaked through with sweat, making them itchy and uncomfortable.
Dean closed his eyes, wavered on the spot, the noose pulling at his strained neck. His stomach muscles flexed and tightened as if trying to stave off the next attack automatically. He could feel it building, almost like he could anticipate when the next cramp would come.
The sharp jab in his side still caught him by surprise. A small whimper joined the heavy breathing and he jolted again, this time more harshly, the movement, his body's response playing havoc on his ribs. Every breath came with a whine he couldn't hold in. He didn't even try anymore. Tears collected in his eyes, two fell, trailing down his cheeks. He wasn't going to make it.
"Ah …" The noise was pathetic and weak and sounded suspiciously like a sob. He was so tired and sore. Another jab, turned into what felt like someone was reaching into his stomach and twisting. A growl emanated through the small room, ending in an actual sob as Dean threw his head back and almost hung from his neck when his knees shook and threatened to buckle.
Dean blinked rapidly, despite being coveted in darkness, dizziness swept over him. His mind was starting to shut down, winning against his natural fight instinct. His body sagged, pressure of the tear and sweat soaked rope bit into his skin, cutting off his limited, stuffy air supply. Dean gagged, little choking noises filtered around the room that had turned into a hotbox. His body moved erratically, its natural need for oxygen causing him to flounder.
He choked on a gasp, air rushing through his abused throat as for a minute his feet were under him, the balls pressed tightly to the ground but it didn't last for long. A ripple of pain tore at his stomach once again and Dean shouted; the sound of it raspy. Dean's eyes rolled back in his head and he could feel consciousness slipping, like his brain was short circuiting and had had enough torture. He imagined footsteps stopping at his shout, almost like someone was standing outside the door, someone tinkering with the lock. He thought he heard someone curse. He didn't recognise the voice. It was imaginary. No-one was coming. Dad wasn't going to get there on time. I'm sorry, Sammy … Dad … I'm sorry.
The unfamiliar voice came from nowhere and Dean flinched, gagging, choking. His lungs burned.
"Kid? Dean … dammit."
The voice was muffled, coming from behind the door. He wanted to believe whoever it was would help him but he didn't have time to worry. He couldn't breathe, his mind already shorting out again, his body freaking out over the total lack of oxygen.
A loud roaring in his ears, his rapid heartbeat reverberating in his skull was all he could hear. He saw nothing, heard nothing but the sounds of his own slow death …
Dean gasped, upper body shooting up as cold sharp air travelled like a freight train down his throat and into the burning dried up sponges that were his lungs.
"That's it, kid. Breathe."
Who the hell was with him and what the hell did they think he was trying to do? He slumped back on the ground, not even caring that his back didn't appreciate the new torture. Greedily sucking in air, Dean saw a blurry flash of a man leaning over him before he was rolled onto his side. Panic settled in his system, causing him to jerk away from the strange hands, coughing and jerking.
"Hey! Calm down. I'm just here to help. You hearing me, Dean?"
The cuffs clicked open and his arms fell loose, tingling with sensation that felt just as good as it did bad. His ragged breathing got louder as his lungs filled more, as his body registered that it was actually taking in oxygen.
"W…" Instead of speaking, Dean coughed. It felt like sharp jagged knives. He wrapped his aching arms around his stomach, feeling his knotted up muscles clenching and unclenching sporadically.
Hands were upon him again, gripping his shoulders, avoiding his injured back and Dean wondered why the hell this person was helping him. "Take it easy, buddy. We don't have time to talk anyway. We have to get out of here."
Getting out of here? Yeah, that sounded good in theory. But Dean couldn't move. A hand released his shoulder and grabbed his chin, turning his head to look at the man who had released him. Wild, concerned blue eyes met his, wispy longish hair framing the unfamiliar face rested on the man's shoulders. "You with me? We gotta move."
Dean nodded, coughed, and sucked in more air. He tried to move, to get his feet under him or something but all it accomplished was embarrassingly flopping around like fish out of water.
"Come on, kid. I promised your little brother I was bringing you home."
Dean blinked. "S'..my?" he croaked. Simply speaking his brother's name felt like he had swallowed a bunch of knives.
"You got another brother?" The man asked as he lifted Dean up into a sitting position.
"With your brother. Now a little less conversation and a little more getting the fuck out of here, what do you say?"
Before he could answer his stomach sparked again, a loud groan passed his dry lips as he pressed hands against his contracting muscles.
"What is it?"
Dean gasped, face scrunched up in pain as he once again tried to ride it out. "D..rugs." It was the most he could get out in answer to the guy's question. It died down in increments until all he felt was nausea.
Dean nodded, his hand moving up to his swollen throat, gingerly touching the irritated area. He felt movement behind him and then suddenly the support was gone and he could feel himself falling back. A hand gripped his shoulder once more - this time from in front of him – stopping him from crashing on his back. "Whoa … easy."
"Sure you are. I'm going to pull you up now and I need you to help. You got that, Dean?"
"Got … it."
Dean helped as much as he could, pushing himself to use his legs, despite his uncoordinated control over them. Once up, Dean gripped the stranger's arms tight, not wanting to end up on the floor again after all that hard work. His legs shook and he thought he sounded a little bit like Darth Vader but he was standing … sort of. He tipped forward, his eyes downcast as he willed the room to stop spinning. His gaze resting on the black automatic tucked into the waistband of the man's jeans, the cowboy boots on the man's feet. Dean briefly wondered what had happened to his own shoes.
He felt himself be pushed back and then his arm was grabbed and pulled over a steady set of shoulders. "I think you'll agree we've spent more than enough time here."
Dean couldn't have agreed more and allowed himself to be pulled through the door, his bare feet stumbling over each other as he tried to keep up.
"Bad guys?" Dean rasped, swallowing painfully.
"Distracted by a massive pain in the ass. Trust me. Leo knows what he's doing."
Who the fuck was Leo? Who the fuck was this guy and why did he care? Was he a hunter maybe? Dean wanted to ask but did it really matter? Maybe he didn't need to know who was who until he was away from here. Until he could see Sammy and Dad and see with his own eyes that they were okay. Dean wanted to trust him. They kept moving and Dean could see the door, the exit and his heart beat fast the closer they got to it.
They stopped at the door, the break needed even though they hadn't actually moved that far. Every footstep jarred his body, his ribs grating together made up for the lax in muscle cramps. "Wait … wait…" Dean started, seeking the guy's attention. "W-Who are you?"
"Riggs … Martin Riggs." He had a name to go by now. Something he could call this guy aside from 'the guy'. That was getting old.
"Riggs," he breathed. "Th-thanks, man." He didn't know why this guy had come for him but the fact that he had spoken of his father and brother made him feel better. There was just honesty in his eyes that Dean knew was genuine.
"Just take it easy and we'll get you outta here."
Before opening the door, the gun was drawn, chamber and clip checked before it was held in Riggs's hand with a comfortable ease that Dean understood and respected. As soon as the door was open, they moved through it, gun at ready, safety off. At first glance the room looked empty and Dean's hopes soared.
The hammer of a second gun was audibly pulled back and the effect was instantaneous. They froze; the stop in momentum cause Dean to rock forward and almost out of the strong hold that kept him standing. His left hand groped for Riggs jacket to help himself from falling and both staggered a little with the movement and shifted weight
"Back again, Detective? I thought we agreed that you there was nothing for you to find here. My lawyer did warn you."
Detective? This guy was a detective? Okay so not a hunter. What did that mean? That meant in this case that Dean was more experienced. Because when it came to the supernatural the cops never had a fucking clue. Somehow Dean doubted Riggs was carrying around silver bullets in his gun.
"Yeah, he had me shaking in my boots, lady. But I told you, and your fucking pitiful lawyer, that I was going to take you down."
Mason laughed. "Oh that's right, you cops don't like seeing your own getting hurt. I admit that Detective Estaban's demise wasn't exactly planned … but necessary."
Dean shivered, his stomach twisting and turning. He closed his eyes and bit down on his bottom lip. Not again, he silently begged, his breath getting caught in his throat for a second as he waited for the impending agony.
"It's what you get for snooping I'm afraid."
"Death penalty is what you get for murder I'm afraid," he retorted. "Now drop the fucking gun before I decide to save everyone a lot of fucking trouble."
"Dude … silver …" Dean stuttered, his stomach felt like it had been punched from the inside, a groan slipped out as he pushed at the cop. Hanging off the man like a monkey would not help their situation. He was released and slid to the floor, feeling vulnerable with no weapon, struggling to draw breath.
A crash to his right made Dean jump and look up. Rocky stood in the doorway, gun already aimed at them as he came in to stand by Mason. Dean stumbled to his knees, trying to ignore the biting of his ribs as the muscle contractions died down once more.
"No, you freeze, detective, or I'll put a bullet in the kid before I finish you off." Dean stiffened as her gun was now trained on him. They were outnumbered. And it just got worse as Sink and another guy that he hadn't seen before entered the room, all armed. They were so fucked.
"Steady, Kid." Riggs warned and then directed his voice at Mason. "Let the boy go. He's got nothing to do with anything."
"You're right. He doesn't … but his brother does. I can't let either of you live now." She turned to Rocky. "Get his gun."
Dean glared at her, anger lit in his heart at the thought of his brother in the shape-shifter's clutches. It reminded him of the days right after his mother had died when the things in the dark had come for them, had come for his brother. It was why looking after Sam was so important. This freak wasn't getting his brother. Over his dead body.
"You touch my brother and … arggh!" Dean cried out and dropped hard to the floor, hands clutching at his stomach. He could feel the muscles contract. It felt like there were little men inside him twisting and hacking.
All eyes in the room landed on Dean as he fell. Riggs utilized the moment's distraction and in a well practiced move he attacked as Rocky came forward. A round house kick and the man's gun was flying out of his hand, sliding over the floor in Dean's direction. Before Rocky could stumble back he was yanked forward and a gunshot went off, the big man's body jerking. Dean automatically searched for the shifter. If she got away there was nothing stopping her from doing what she had promised, impersonating him to get to Sammy.
She was gone. Dean didn't know when she had disappeared and didn't know whether she was simply hiding, waiting or whether she had left completely. Dean slide across the floor and picked up the fallen piece and watched in awe as the detective used Rocky's body as a shield, firing under the man's arm, hitting the unnamed man in the chest, red spreading across his white suit shirt. Rocky's body was then propelled away from Martin, slamming into Sink sending the man crashing to the floor with a loud grunt.
The order wasn't directed at him but Dean struggled to push himself to his feet anyway. He made it to knees, panting. "Sh-She's gone," he gasped.
"You're not going to get her."
"Shut the fuck up, arms behind your back." Cuffs were slapped on Sink's wrists and he was made to lay on the ground, face first. Dean kept a hold of the gun he'd snagged from the floor. Still holding his own gun aimed at his prisoner, Riggs turned to glance at Dean. "You okay?"
Dean shook his head. He was far from okay. Sammy was in danger every second they didn't know where the shape-shifter was. "No. We n..need to find her. My family's in danger."
"She's not going to get far. I'm calling it in."
"No." Dean shook his head more vehemently, pushing himself to his feet only to crash back down when a cramp, less powerful than they others hit him unexpectedly. He growled in frustration. "You don't understand. She … she can be anyone … turn into anyone."
Riggs frowned, pressing his foot down on Sink's back when the man dared to move. He looked down in disgust. "Move again and I'll shoot you," he warned before bringing his attention back to Dean. The look on his face told Dean that it wasn't the first time he had heard this story and it didn't look like he believed it anymore now than he did before.
Dean whipped around, almost topping back over, and aimed the gun at the tall black man who walked through the door they had come through only moments before. There must have been a back entrance. Whatever. It didn't matter. Dean didn't know this guy or whether his family were okay and he was just about ready loose it.
"Roger, about time you showed up. You missed all the fun, man."
The new comer – Roger, as Riggs called him – walked further into the room and slowly eased his gun down. He glanced around the room, giving it a quick once over, his moustache covered upper lip twitched knowingly as he took in the scene. "Yeah, that's about right for you, Riggs. Anyone tell you that you have a strange idea of fun?"
Riggs smirked, a twinkle in his eyes. "Yeah, you, all the time."
Dean lowered his guard a little. This new man wasn't a threat. It was obvious they were friends, partners … all this didn't make him any less impatient to get to his family.
"You leave anyone alive this time?"
Riggs stamped his foot down on Sink, eliciting a grunt from the bound man. "This lucky son of a bitch."
"Mason … she got away," Dean piped up, resting on his knees, his lower legs tucked under him.
"You must be Dean. I heard a lot about you over the last several hours. I sure you're eager to get back to your brother."
"You've seen Sammy?" Dean asked, youthful hopefulness, sneaking into his voice.
"Seen him, heard him … kid sure talks a lot. How 'bout we…"
A single gunshot resonated loudly in the room. Dean flinched and watched in horror, green eyes widening, as Roger fell to his knees with a surprised expression forming, moments before his eyes rolled back and he slumped forward. Blood blossomed on the back of his brown suit jacket.
"Rodge…" Riggs uttered, in obvious shock and disbelief. The detective kicked out with his booted foot, connecting with Sink's head, knocking the man out before racing over to his partner.
The voice came from the doorway and for the first time since this whole thing started it was a voice that Dean wanted to hear. It was a voice that gave him a feeling of safety. "Dad?" The imposing figure of John Winchester stood in the doorway, smoking .45 in his hand.
"Dean, are you okay?" John entered the room, and Dean could breathe a little easier.
"Don fucking move." Riggs was up and standing, furious, gun now pointed at John. "And drop the fucking gun."
"This isn't what it looks like," John countered, flashing a fleeting look to Dean before, lowering slowly, and placing the gun on the ground. "Riggs, listen to me…"
"No!" Riggs shouted. "Give me a reason, asshole."
"Hey!" Dean attempted to raise his own weapon. He appreciated the guy's help but he wasn't having him attacking his father. His hand dropped immediately, gun clattering to the ground as his abdomen spasmed, again not as severely but still hard enough to incapacitate.
"I said don't fucking move!"
"Riggs! … Riggs, let him go!"
There was silence and by the time Dean was able to look back up there was a new person in the room. The other cop – the one his Dad had just shot - was walking into the room, hand to the back of his head, face pinched like he had a massive headache.
"R…Rodge? What the fuck is going on?"
"As I've already told you more than once … a shape-shifter." John's voice was impatient and annoyed. He was over this whole thing. He wanted to move on, get them out of here. It was in his stance and in the way he stole quick glimpses of Dean in concern.
"He's right. We found Elizabeth Mason's remains. She's been dead for at least three months," Roger told him, pausing to look down at what looked like his own body. Dean had seen that look before, on every victim of the supernatural they encountered.
"Right when the first murder victim showed up." Riggs, face lit up with acknowledgement.
"I'd say the fact your partner is standing in front of you right now proves I was telling the truth."
Riggs ignored John and turned on Roger. "What the hell happened to you?"
"Got hit from behind," Roger told him, wincing and pulling his hand away to show blood.
Dean watched the exchange, his limbs trembling, in fatigue and pain. They had always avoided cops. So sitting here watching his father deal with these two, waiting til they 'got it' instead of just taking charge of the situation was different.
"This is fucked up, man. Murderers and junkies I understand but … shape-shifters?" Riggs stood back, getting out of Dad's space. His eyes moved over to his partner checking him over visually.
Roger shrugged. "I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself." He leant down and scooped up John's gun, turning it over in his hand. "Silver, huh?"
"Only way to kill a shape-shifter." Dean replied, pushing himself to his knees for what felt like the hundredth time.
His concentration on the wooden floor, Dean was surprised when he felt arms reaching under his own, lifting him with ease. He clamped his mouth shut, resorting to a pained grunt as his back rubbed on the material of his Dad's shirt buttons.
"I gotcha, dude," the older hunter tried to soothe, squeezing him suspiciously like a hug.
John snorted but didn't offer any other response, just slung his arm over his shoulders. Dean felt his broken rib shift but it didn't seem to matter so much anymore. His Dad was here, the shifter had been ganked. Now he just needed …
"Dean!" Sam's shout was loud and unmistakable and Dean twisted in his Dad's grip to his see his little brother. The twelve year old skidded to a stop in the room; his eyes scanned the area, evaluating the situation. He must have been satisfied because he bounded over to them, eyes wide with relief and then worry once he got closer.
"Sammy, it's good to see you, man."
Sam stepped closer, face now completely converted into a concerned frown. "You okay? You look like crap, Dean."
"No your not," John contradicted before giving Sam a stern look. "I thought I ordered you to stay in the car with that Leo fella?"
Sam squirmed under his father's scrutiny "But …"
"I gave you that order for a reason, Sammy."
Dean shared a look with the younger boy and shook his head slightly, silently telling him to just go with it. They could deal with orders and reprimands later. Dean felt it coming before the stomach spasm came this time and jerked in his fathers grip, closing his eyes tight.
"They gave him something. He needs to see a doctor."
Dean felt his father tense and didn't blame him. Riggs was right. He needed to be tended too but a hospital? Especially when being sent there by the police. What if they got separated? What if they realised who they really were? Who was he kidding? That was a given.
"Give me his gun, Rodge."
Dean jerked again as his stomach settled again and watched warily as Roger handed over the .45. He didn't have all the information. He didn't know what the deal was. Had Dad been working with the cops or had they been in their custody? Somehow he got the feeling it was the latter.
"This is some serious messed up shit but … I think we can all agree that you aren't the bad guys here."
"What does that mean, exactly?" John asked, shifting his hold on Dean to get a better grip.
"It means if you promise to leave the crims and your general asshole up to us? I reckon you guys can give us the slip." He turned and looked up at Roger, slapping him lightly on the stomach. "What do you say, Cochise?"
"I think the sooner my life gets back to normal, the better. No offence."
"None taken," Dad answered, holding still.
"So you're letting us go?" Sam asked, his neck craning back to see the cop.
With a shared look between the two detectives, Riggs looked down at Sam with a wink before looking back at Dean and John, seriousness clouding in his eyes. "As long as your Dad promises to get your brother medical treatment."
"He will. Right, Dad?" Dean didn't miss the pointed look Sam threw at their father. Sam never needed to actually say anything to get his message across.
"Right." John agreed readily and Dean got the sinking feeling that Dad was actually going to take him to a hospital … even scarier? Dean wasn't sure he would put up that much of a fight.
Riggs turned to stare at the body of the shape-shifter. When he looked back up again he smiled and held the gun out. "How you getting out of here?"
"My car's still where we left it. We'll be fine." John supplied and Dean couldn't wait to hear this story. How the hell had John gotten caught by the cops and how the hell had he convinced them to take him along on the bust?
"You better get going. Back up will be here any minute." Roger looked at his watch and then back up at the others expectantly.
Riggs patted Sam on the shoulder and let the kid go. Sam smiled up at the two cops, relief clear in his eyes at the break they were being given. That was when John decided to move forward, nodding once to each man.
"Dad ... wait." Dean asked, holding back. Dean held his left hand out to Riggs. The man had saved his life. "Thanks man … for getting' me out."
Instead of taking his hand, Riggs held a closed fist up. "Word, Winchester."
Dean arched a single eyebrow at the unfamiliar term but clenched his hand into a fist nonetheless and bumped it against the detectives. "Word, Riggs."
A/N2: So ... there you have it. I'm a loon I know lol I hope anyone who dared to read this enjoyed it and please feel free to drop me a line and let me know your thoughts :) Reviews are always loved and appreciated.
Gaelic, again Happy Birthday. Hope you enjoyed our favourite hunter and favourite crazy cop together. Not sure if I pulled it off even marginally but it was worth a shot ;)
RIP to Kim Manners. The world has lost a great director and a great man. I'm still in shock and my best wishes go out to his friends and family, the boys and the supernatural community. I know we all felt his loss *hugs*
Hope you had a great weekend people ... till next time (hopefully soon) ... :)