Numb3rs: Doubt

Disclaimer – I don't own them, I just borrowed them. Numb3rs, Supernatural and associated characters are the property of those that created them. No copyright infringement intended. No financial reward gained. All real organisations are used in a fictional sense. Original characters and the storyline are mine however.

A/N: Written for Clue Challenge #4, October 2009, at hurt_don on LiveJournal. Prompts: Who? – Don. What? – Magic. Where? – Graveyard. Crossover with Supernatural from a Numb3rs POV. Third in a series following Unexplained and Explained.

CHAPTER THREE

-10111-1001-1110-11-1000-101-10011-10100-101-10010-10011-

This time when the fed's back arched Dean was unable to hold him down. The man's body stretched taught like a bow, only the back of his head and ankles remained on the ground as the arms curled up tight against his chest. Both Dean and Sam staggered back as the fed screamed once again before going into convulsions.

"Sammy."

"It's working." Sam insisted. He critically watched the writhing form. The incantation was finished, the prepared potions delivered just as instructed and the reactions they were seeing were spoken of in the copy of the ancient text he'd been working from.

Sam had made the potions in the hope of saving Regan if they'd been able to get to him in time, even if the text had claimed the ritual would only work on the newly infected. Sam had thought it worth the shot and if they'd failed they still had the silver bullets in their guns. Instead Dean had been forced to shoot Regan and they'd had to use the ritual on the fed, newly infected by the werewolf just as they'd reached him. Now they just had to wait, the fed could either die or lapse into unconsciousness.

There was a snap and the belt binding the fed's ankles tore apart, leaving his legs now free to drum against the ground. His body gave one last jerk, the force enough to lift the man completely off the ground before he flopped back bonelessly and lay still. A few moments passed before the chest shuddered and rose slightly, rising again more smoothly a few seconds later. He was still alive.

"Did it work? You said it was working." Dean demanded impatiently.

Moving closer Sam inspected his handiwork. "He's alive. Look at his arm."

Dean joined his brother looking down at the fed's left arm. The black marks from the silver poisoning were completely gone. But that wasn't all, the werewolf's bite was healed over, as were the two cuts Sam had made with the silver knife. Scars were all that remained, scars that gleamed almost silver in the moonlight.

"Get the knife, we have to be sure."

"You want me to cut him?"

Dean blinked at Sam's sudden squeamishness. He'd had no problem cutting the fed while he was awake to feel it. "Give it here, I'll do it."

Bending Dean placed the blade against the unconscious fed's left arm. Pressing down with the tip he drew the blade back just enough to cause a small bead of blood to well up. Nothing else happened. He pressed a little harder, driving the silver blade in deeper and held it there. Still nothing, no creepy black mark spreading up the fed's arm, much to his relief. That had been just plain wrong.

"He's not allergic to silver any more." Sam diagnosed. "It did work."

"Yeah, looks like it." Dean removed the knife from the wound and cleaned the blood from its tip. He looked over at the werewolf's body. "We'd better finish this."

-100-1111-1110-

Don Eppes saw the man just as he rounded the corner on the way out of his building. Freezing instantly in place he locked eyes with Dean Winchester. Knowing the other brother would be nearby and that escape was most probably futile if his previous efforts were anything to go by he didn't move, not even attempting to draw the gun from his hip. It wasn't just the gun already aimed at him that stopped him, he suddenly experienced the ghost of the unbearable pain he'd suffered at their hands when last they met. He'd thought it buried deep within his memory but now it resurfaced and he gasped before he could prevent it.

Finally he did move, risking being shot but the urge to rub at the strange silver scars on his left arm was too strong. He suddenly understood why they were back, it was the full moon tonight and they were back to see if he had become like Regan. If he'd become a werewolf.

He'd regained consciousness back in that graveyard last month to find himself alone. His entire body had ached so much he couldn't move and there had been the foulest taste in his mouth. When he was next aware there had been hands on him and he'd instantly reacted, fighting to free himself before their voices had penetrated the fog around his mind. It had been Colby and David, his back up had finally arrived. While Nikki hovered over the burnt remains of Regan's body they'd loaded him into an ambulance and he'd spent the next several days in the hospital while they ran every test known to medical science on him.

The version he'd told his team in the graveyard before he'd been able to censor himself was unbelievable, even to him, and he was glad when they'd written it off as blood loss, he'd been lying in a pool of it. But they believed he'd been forced to drink something against his will and they'd had to be sure that it would do no lasting harm. He endured his stomach being pumped without complaint, it was far less than what he'd just been through. The results came back showing he'd ingested a concoction containing amongst many other things a significant amount of wolfsbane. The medical staff had been astonished, the active ingredient aconite was fatal even in small doses and the amount he'd taken should have killed him long before he'd been found. His blood work showed elevated levels of silver most probably absorbed from the strong silver nitrate base of the potion. Recent follow up blood tests showed those same elevated levels of silver even if he wasn't showing any of the effects of having that much of the metal in his system.

The battery of tests had included scans and biopsies of the scars on his arm, his team had confirmed he'd not had them before pursuing Regan even if they appeared to be old. The small fresh cut was easy enough to explain based on Don's description of the knife Sam had wielded. It had healed naturally and now, a month later, he had an additional scar, a small silver line that matched the others.

The Winchester's claim that Regan was a creature out of folk-lore was a little harder to disprove scientifically given the state of the body. The Winchesters had put the can of gas to good use after they'd finished with him. All that had remained was a charred and twisted mess of mostly bone. The medical examiner had confidently declared there to be nothing unusual about Regan, even though he had little to work with. Don's wild tale had been mentioned and he'd dismissed it instantly, treating it with the contempt he felt it deserved. The final autopsy report didn't even mention it, just listing among the usual things his discovery of salt along with pieces of melted metal.

Most of the metal was identified as the remains of standard issue law enforcement bullets whilst some was identified as pure silver. The initial conclusion was that both the agent and the Winchesters had fired on Regan and that he'd died as a result of gunshot trauma. With Don denying firing on the man it was decided that the Winchesters had used Don's Glock as well as their own weapons and had killed Regan for some purpose of their own. The Glock was tested for prints and the case was made as prints belonging to Dean Winchester were identified. Another murder was added to the Winchester's tally.

There was no sign of any dog, even if the double row of jagged silver dots across the back of Don's arm, unmarred by Sam's knife, looked remarkably like a dog bite. An expert had suggested it was more lupine than canine but everyone knew there were no wolves in LA.

"So," Dean started as he stalked slowly closer. His weapon may have been held down at waist level but the agent had no doubt about its aim. "Feel the need to howl at the moon?"

Warily Don shifted as he saw movement in his peripheral vision, it was Sam moving in. This late at night the parking lot was deserted and there was no one that could help him. He suddenly suspected that the late night callout to attend a scene had been a hoax, designed to lure him out and into the moonlight and the Winchester's reach. He retreated, putting the wall against his back even though he didn't see any weapons in the younger brother's hands. Dean's was plenty enough anyway. "No."

Dean looked at him closely, reading the fear and uncertainty clearly. "I totally knew you were going to get the wrong impression."

"I think I have grounds."

"Dean, leave him alone." Sam interrupted, holding out a hand as Dean made to move in even closer.

"I'm cool." Dean responded, releasing the hammer on his pistol and sliding it into the top of his jeans.

Don still made no move to draw his own weapon, it had done him little good in the past. He jerked his head indicating the gun that had just been put away. "Silver?"

"Yep." Dean confirmed. "We needed to be sure."

"So what now? Are you sure?" Don wasn't sure he could survive a second round if they weren't. As the thought crossed his mind he decided there wasn't going to be a second round, resolving not to surrender this time if things twisted again.

"I think you're good." Dean answered. He dug into a pocket and pulled out a familiar object. "I've still got your cell so call when you wanna talk."

Don recognised the phone that they'd taken from him back when they'd tricked Charlie into running some calculations for them. Despite Charlie remembering exactly what they'd given him his results hadn't really made any sense. Having the nearest Field Office attend the designated location had turned up nothing but an odd burnt patch in an otherwise empty bit of desert. A dead end.

"I could trace you on that."

"Nah, I only turn it on every other day or so. Besides, we've had a friend work some magic and now your computers can't track or record the line. Leave a message, we'll get back to you."

"C'mon, Dean." Sam called taking a step back. "We've seen what we needed. We better go before he calls it in."

"You going to call it in?" Dean queried, holding his ground.

There was no threat in the tone but Don already knew he wasn't going to do that. "No."

Dean's face took on the cocky grin he'd seen before. "Well, I think we're done. See ya round, Fed."

Don watched them go, melting into the night as if they'd never been there. He leant back against the wall in relief, waiting for the shakes to ease. He'd had plenty of time to think over what had happened back in the graveyard and he'd come to some pretty strange conclusions. This latest visit gelled with what he'd decided. He hadn't been duped as his panicked thoughts that night had believed. There was something to the Winchesters, something more than what the files said. They were most definitely dangerous, he could attest to that, and he certainly didn't understand or trust them but the doubt was enough to make him hold off from reporting this latest contact.

Perhaps he would take up Dean's offer to call, he would find it easier to ask questions if he wasn't suffering any of the perfectly reasonable fear reactions that their mere presence brought him. But only if he could be sure they had in fact defeated the trap and trace that had been set up on the line. The bureau had left the cell active in an effort to track the Winchesters if they ever decided to use it; the brothers had a history of hanging onto cell phones. It was another small detail now proven to be true.

Don finally eased away from the wall and started to head over to his SUV before remembering that his callout was probably fake. A quick call and he confirmed there were no jobs pending for either him or his team. Thanking the operator he turned and headed back towards the entrance to his building. At the door he hesitated and couldn't help the glance upwards at the silvery disc of the moon. Suppressing the shudder he punched in his code and went inside. Since his experience it no longer seemed quite as beautiful or serene as it once had.

END

A/N: So there we have it. With these prompts I couldn't resist bringing back the Winchesters. Poor Don, struggling to understand this new world he's bumped into a couple of times now.