Supernatural and X-Men Cross-Over
Elements from the movie X-Men Origins:Wolverine and SPN Seasons 1 and 4 used. (Yes, there is ONE Season 4 spoiler but it relates only to the episode Jump The Shark. No other spoilers.)
SPN pre-series. Dean and John, Sam is only mentioned.
Wolverine is post-movie, but assuming he has regained most of his memories or that the amnesia was not as severe as the movie indicated.
Wolverines, Wendigos and Winchesters
Chapter One: Crossing Paths
Dean folded the newspaper he had been reading to display the suspicious article. Some kid had been hacked up and the authorities were still finding pieces. It was either some psycho or, hopefully, his kind of case.
After paying for his midday breakfast, the salt-and-burn last night had run a little late, Dean headed for the public library. Like most small towns, the librarian was a little old lady who had probably learned to read as a turn of the century celebration. She reminded him strongly of a nasty high school English teacher he'd had for a month, which had been three and a half weeks longer than his tolerance limit. When he walked past, Dean could feel the ancient weathered eyes following his every move and the nasty scowl directed at him. He shot another glance over his shoulder as he sat at a public computer terminal. Maybe she was that nasty bitty from high school? If so, Life hadn't been treating her well at all.
Cheered by the thought, Dean began a search on the history of the town where the kid had been killed. It was odd, but most of the local legends and lore were recent, within the last twenty years. Well, that would be consistent with a werewolf, except this was the first nasty death, although there had been a rumored disappearance. Okay, maybe it was just an odd little town a werewolf had just relocated to. Not that he was hoping to hunt down some bad-ass werewolf by himself...
Oh, who was he kidding? Dean tried Dad's cell, only half hoping the man would answer.
"Dean?" There was a lot of background noise, like Dad had the volume turned all the way up while watching a ballgame. "Hang on."
The racket died down by the time Dad spoke again. "Uh, Dean? Everything all right? What happened?"
Dad sounded a little breathless. Huh, so Dad liked to get busy with the ballgame on? He was going to have to talk to Dad about that. It was tough to have a really good time if you distracted yourself like that. Then again, maybe Dad was having a Really Wild time and needed to cover up the noise so he wouldn't get kicked out.
"I'm fine, Dad." He had to stifle a chuckle at the mental image of Dad wearing a towel and talking to him from some motel hallway. "Just a salt and burn, no big deal."
"You're not hurt?" Dad demanded. "Then why are you calling?"
"Think I found a hunt," Dean explained. "Kid was found, well pieces of him, in some podunk town on the other side of the state. Thought I'd check it out, since it's close by."
"Yeah, sure," Dad said hurriedly. "Call me when you figure out what it is."
Dean grinned broadly as he pumped a fist victoriously in the air. "Yes, sir!"
His fist froze in the air above his head. Crap. Had Dad changed his mind? "Yes, sir?"
"Be careful, that's an order."
The fist pumped once more. This was his hunt, all his! "Yes, sir. Bye." Dean hung up before Dad could add any stipulations.
Eyes on the article clutched in his hand, Dean felt the beaming grin on his face. "That means you're all mine."
It was a pretty average looking town, the kind where kids played ball in the street and the locals stared curiously at strangers. Funny part was, he was in the middle of Westchester County. Well, Sam would've laughed.
Dean started off in the town library, it only had one. He spent a day and a half reading through old newspapers, scrounging every story he could find for clues. It was odd, because he found tantalizing hints of strange things, like four buildings catching fire at the exact same time, no cause, and reports of odd animal noises for several nights which were investigated but the animal was never caught and apparently just moved on. All of the reports were something totally different, none of them seemed to be about the same thing. Maybe it was a hotbed of supernatural activity. Great, that meant he would need backup. Well, he could still investigate a little more on his own before calling Dad again.
Besides, Dean thought to himself as he folded his photocopies of the articles, Dad was busy. With a chuckle, he headed out of the library. The glove compartment of his car held a wooden box full of his fake IDs. The ones with Sam's picture were at the bottom. Dean couldn't bring himself to throw them out. Sam would be back. Okay, so maybe his little brother wouldn't be hunting with them any more, but Dean still clung to the thought that Sam would be back someday.
He selected a federal marshal badge before closing everything back up. Hopefully his black suit still looked good enough to pull this off. It wouldn't do in a small town like this to stop at the laundrymat to wash the suit before approaching the sheriff's office. There were a couple of motels in town, so Dean headed back to his room to change.
The suit didn't stink and the wrinkles in the knees hopefully would fall out after he wore it for a little while. The car didn't look like federal issue, but there was no way he would drive one of those beige clunkers anyway. Dean parked right in front of the sheriff's office, figuring the bolder he was the less likely they would question his credentials. It had worked every time so far.
A young guy sat behind the front desk, probably half asleep before Dean walked in. He jerked upright, a smile creasing his face as he looked at Dean. Kid was probably hoping for something to do that didn't involve lost farm animals or run-away dogs.
Dean flipped open his fake credentials. "Federal Marshal," he stated in a firm voice. "I'm here to look into that shredded body you folks found about a week ago."
The kid's face lit up. It really did. Yeah, he was seriously bored. "Federal Marshal? Really? I thought the sheriff said he couldn't get anybody out here."
Dean rolled his eyes, like he couldn't believe the kid was so stupid. "They usually say that when there's no one available, but as soon as one of us is..." He made a sweeping gesture to indicate, duh, here he was.
The kid's head bobbed eagerly. "Yes, sir! I'll get the sheriff for you!" He darted off to a door set in the wall about six feet from the front desk. He knocked before going inside.
Dean tugged nervously on the stiff white collar of his dress shirt while he waited. This was the make-it or break-it moment. If the sheriff bought his act, he was home free. He had expected the sheriff of a little town like this to be about sixty, salt-and-pepper hair, with a beer gut. Instead, the man who walked out of the back office was tall, broad, not a day over forty, with dark hair and piercing eyes. Suddenly Dean felt freaking transparent. He squared his shoulders and met the evaluating gaze straight on, making it obvious he was sizing up the local law.
The sheriff held out a meaty hand. "About time the feds sent somebody. Good to have you, Marshal …?"
"Simmons," Dean replied with a straight face. He cocked an eyebrow at the sheriff.
"Sheriff Mike Trumble," the large man replied as he pumped Dean's hand. The guy had relief written all over his face. "Folks around here are mighty upset about that kid, even though he was just passing through."
"Passing through?" Dean asked. Nothing he had read had indicated the kid wasn't from here. "But you were able to identify the body, right?"
"Oh, sure." Sheriff Trumble dropped Dean's hand to hook both thumbs into his gunbelt. "Kid was reported missing by his parents about a year ago, so we were able to get a positive ID from his picture."
Dean frowned at that. "But I thought he was a human jigsaw puzzle?"
"Yup," the large man replied with a sad shake of his head, "but the bastard who did it left his face untouched. I think he wanted us to be able to ID the body."
Dean nodded slowly. Yeah, unfortunately the sheriff had a point there. But if he was right, it meant it the culprit was most likely human and this wasn't his kind of case. Then again, Dean thought brightly, some vengeful spirits had been serial killers when they were alive, so they could stick to their old habits.
"So you're thinking serial killer," Dean ventured.
Trumble shrugged his huge shoulders. "That's your department, not mine."
"Mind if I take a look at your files? And the crime scene?" Dean asked, wondering if he would find any proof the killer wasn't human.
"No problem." Trumble nodded at the kid who had been following their conversation intently. "Brad here will make you copies of the files while we're gone. We'll take my car."
Dean hadn't been real happy to hear he would be stuck in the sheriff's car, he would have preferred to follow in the Impala, but the man had insisted. The sheriff's car was a large jeep, painted in the same brown as all the other county cop cars in this state. Trumble yammered on about how much trouble they had gone to in collecting the evidence, taking crime scene photos, and he just would not shut up. Dean remembered to nod occasionally and throw in a few grunts of approval. They turned off the main road and he assumed they were heading toward the lake, where the body had been found.
Unfortunately, this was not a road, it was just a path which happened to be devoid of trees. The way the jeep was bouncing, Dean would have bruises on his bruises.
"I hope you weren't planning on sitting down this week!" Sheriff Trumble shouted over the noise of the jeep slamming into every damn hole and rock in existence.
"Good thing I don't have a desk job!" Dean shouted back.
Trumble laughed loud and nodded. "Next couple of days are gonna suck for me!"
"I'll bet," Dean mumbled. He tried planting both feet on the floorboard and lifting his ass off the seat, but the seat just came up and whacked him in the butt anyway. It was no use. And here he thought the last 'geist had thrown him around enough. The 'geist was starting to look pretty good in comparison.
After what felt like an eternity, the jeep slowed. Dean stared out the front windshield at the stained rocks ahead. They appeared to be coated in dried blood. His stomach clenching, Dean waited for the sheriff to stop the jeep before stepping out. He wished he had his boots on instead of these sissy-damn dress shoes.
"Ought to wear boots next time," the sheriff announced in the sudden stillness which followed shutting off the jeep's engine.
"Yeah, I'll keep that in mind," Dean replied as he slid over the uneven rocky ground. There was no way he'd bring his car out here. Too dangerous. His baby would never make it out here in one piece, much less back to the road. Yellow tape surrounding the scene swayed gently in the soft breeze, at complete odds with the horror story it encompassed.
"The lake isn't natural. They dammed up a tributary off the big river to make it. This," Sheriff Trumble swept his hand over the rocky area, "used to be the throughway."
Dean nodded without comment as he kneeled down to inspect a particularly bloody area. There were four deep marks, like claw marks, in the rock. "What made this?" he asked.
Trumble shrugged. "Best bet is a bear, but I don't remember the last bear sighting out here. My deputy swears it's a cougar, but we didn't find any bear or big cat tracks. Of course, finding any tracks on rock would be damn near impossible, but you'd think there would be at least a bloody footprint." His head shook as a deep frown creased his face. "Nothing."
"Nothing," Dean muttered to himself as his hoped flared. Most likely only something supernatural would not leave a trace. He would have to hike out here later, by himself, to check out the area with his EMF meter. Too bad it was going to be a pain in the ass to reach, but hiking had to be better than riding in the damn jeep.
Hiking sucked. Dean had always hated camping and now he remembered why. It was a pain in the ass, plus the nearest bar was an hour hike back to the car and a twenty minute drive away. His boots made this trip more tolerable than the last one, but between the hike itself and the heavy duffel slung across his back, he was sweating by the time he arrived at the yellow tape. As he approached, the small hairs on the back of his neck stiffened, like he was being watched. Dean shifted his body nonchalantly, adjusting the pressure of his favorite handgun against his back.
From his pocket he removed the EMF meter, made from his old busted walkman during a particularly boring recuperation from some broken ribs. After turning it on, Dean walked all around the gory scene. Nothing. Less than nothing. He checked the batteries and walked around it again. Still nothing. Huh. Well, it could still be a werewolf. Those were flesh and blood, so they never left an EMF trail. He spotted something yellow on one of the rocks. His heart skipping a beat, Dean checked to see if it was sulfur. Nope, just the nasty crap that grows on rocks by lakes. Sam would know the name of it, Dean didn't really care as long as it wasn't made by a demon.
Still having the distinct feeling of being watched, Dean shoved his EMF back in his pocket before stepping back to take a few shots of the claw marks with the camera in his phone. Satisfied, he headed back the way he had come. When he reached the treeline, Dean veered sharply off, toward the lake, until he found a bush capable of hiding him.
As he crouched behind the bush, breathing lightly, Dean kept his hearing tuned for sounds which did not belong in a forest. He might hate camping, but that didn't mean he wasn't an expert in the woods, thank you Dad. His handgun felt nice and solid in his right hand.
Soon his patience was rewarded with the sounds of soft footfalls to his right, coming from the lake. Peering through the thick mass of branches in front of him, Dean could just make out the shape of a man standing about six feet away. The man stopped and sniffed the air. Weird. Then the guy looked right at Dean's hiding place.
"Okay, Bub, I don't know who you are, but you might as well come on out," the man announced.
Crap. If Dad ever found out about this, he would be doing survival drills for months. Dean stood slowly, his gun trained on the guy. Now that he had an unobstructed view, Dean could see the guy wasn't particularly big, but he had some long-ass sideburns and kind of wild dark hair. He dressed a lot like a lumberjack, minus the ax, and chewed on the end of an unlit cigar.
"If you're gonna shoot, go ahead and get it over with," the guy told him. "Then you need to get your ass outta here. It ain't safe."
"Safe?" Dean asked incredulously. "Dude, I'm the one with the gun. Now who are you and what are you doing here?"
"I'm the guy telling you you're in danger. Now go back home to your fluffy bed and rotten television shows." The guy snarled at him. "Go wherever the hell you want, but you ain't stayin' here."
Dean narrowed his eyes on the intruder. Werewolf? Maybe. He had no idea what they were like in their human state, and this dude was really suspicious. At least he had loaded up on silver bullets before coming out here.
"Says who?" Dean demanded.
The guy snarled at him again. "Says me." His head jerked to the side and one hand came up to wave at Dean for quiet. Dean waited, impatiently, as the guy sniffed the air again.
"We got company," he growled. Dark eyes leveled on Dean. "You blew it. Listen up, Bub, if you wanna live. Stay down and don't make a sound." He waved disdainfully at Dean's gun. "That won't do ya a damn bit of good."
Long silver claws or knives erupted from the back of the man's hands. Startled, Dean stepped back. Okay, probably not a werewolf. What the hell? No wonder the dude didn't carry an ax. Those things could be a match for the claw marks on the rocks.
"Stay," the claw-wielding lumberjack repeated before moving silently through the trees.
Stay, huh? Yeah, right. Dean crouched low as he followed, careful not to step on any twigs or give his movements away with an amateur mistake. There could be somebody in danger from this – this – what the hell was this guy anyway?
"Logan!" a deep voice thundered through the trees. "I know you're here!"
"Yeah, I'm here." Lumberjack stepped out of the trees, into the open to face another guy. Now this guy was HUGE. He had short but wild brownish-blond hair that stuck out, kind of like a mane, and some nasty-ass looking fingernails. "Getting your kicks killin' kids these days, Victor? Why doncha pick on somebody your own size?"
Dean's gaze snapped to the larger man. He was responsible? And what was he? This guy really didn't look human, unless you were going back to the cave-man days. Even his teeth were wicked sharp, which Dean could see because he was smiling at the lumberjack, Logan.
"Like who?" With a great inhuman leap, the big dude jumped over a boulder to land about six feet in front of Logan. "You?"
That's when the metal claws started flying. When these two dudes fought, they jumped so damned fast and far, they kind of looked like they could fly. Dean stayed back, in the treeline, trying to figure out what the hell was going on. It sure sounded like the other guy, not Logan, was responsible for the kid's death, and that Logan was here to stop him. Okay, that meant maybe he and this Logan character were on the same side. But a 'good' supernatural fugly? Man, did that sound about a hundred kinds of wrong. Dad would probably take back the Impala if he found out Dean was thinking about teaming up with the lumberjack.
Then it happened. Something flashed by the the guys fighting. Logan screamed, his face and back covered with bloody claw marks. He seemed to blame the other guy, Victor, for it and really laid into the fugly. Then the flash happened again, this time slashing up Victor. Now Victor paused to look around and, in the lull, Dean could see Logan's wounds were nearly gone. What the...?
"New trick, Logan?" Victor demanded, sounding ten kinds of pissed.
"Wasn't me," Logan replied with a shake of his head. He shot a sharp look in Dean's direction, like it was his fault. Brother!
Now that he thought about it, how thoroughly the body had been destroyed could have been the work of a Wendigo. The better portions could have been carried off and eaten. Even if the Wendigo had not been responsible for the kill, it could have taken care of most of the remains. Okay, this was bad. Really bad. Silver bullets might slow it down, but no guarantees there. He needed fire. Crap! And he had wanted to work this job alone? He couldn't even be sure Dad remembered where he was going, the man had been so distracted on the phone. Shit!
Dean dropped the duffel hanging from his shoulder to the ground. There had to be something in here he could use. Those guys out in the open were sitting ducks. Ah-ha! Trusty old salt. Dean stepped out of his cover and began pouring it in a large circle.
"Over here!" he shouted. "Before it comes back!"
Logan sauntered over as Dean finished up the circle. He stood just outside the white line. "Before what comes back?"
Dean hesitated before answering, his father's words of warning flashing through his mind. "Wendigo," he finally said. "Damn near perfect hunter. Now get inside the salt before it can..."
Another blur and Logan was gone. Damn it!
"Logan!" the big thing, Victor, shouted. He raced on all fours up to Dean. Wonder if salt worked on this joker? "Where is Logan?" It's breath was hot and stinky.
Dean made a face as he glared into eyes which reminded him of a wild animal. "I'm pretty sure it's a Wendigo."
"Explain," Victor demanded, one hand fisting Dean's shirt and jacket to lift him above the ground.
Holy crap! Not good, not good, not good, not good...
"Cannibals," Dean stated, trying real hard not to look like he might need a change of shorts. "It gives them speed, cunning, makes 'em perfect predators."
Victor's wicked teeth showed as he smiled broadly. "And this creature has Logan?"
"Good." He dropped Dean carelessly. "If Logan survives, he should be weakened by the encounter. If not..." Victor shrugged. "Then he will no longer be my concern."
He turned to take a mighty bound away from Dean.
"You killed the kid?" Dean shouted after him.
Victor paused, down on all fours as he turned to look over his shoulder at Dean. "Of course. I had to get Logan's attention." Then, like some kind of jungle cat, the dude took off and disappeared into the forest on the other side of the rocky area.
"Great," Dean muttered as he turned towards the area he thought Logan might be. "So much for that enemy of my enemy crap." He shouldered the duffel again before listening carefully and stepping outside of his salt circle. "This Logan guy had better be worth it."