Well here it is as promised, My NCIS/Supernatural crossover Halloween story. I started writing this story before last week's Halloween themed episode of NCIS, which has made it now AU as I have Tony off Halloween weekend rather than working. I had no idea they were going to do a Halloween ep this year so I guess that's just the way it goes. Also this story is technically a sequel to my story "Mustangs and Impalas" but you don't really need to read it to understand this one.
I'll be updating with one chapter every day, with the final chapter going up on Halloween (Saturday, October 31). Enjoy!
Title: The Witching Hour
Rating: gen, angst, possibly some h/c in later chapters
Warning: some foul language
Characters: Tony DiNozzo, Dean Winchester
Spoilers: All aired episodes of NCIS and Supernatural (just to be safe)
Summary: Tony and Dean never wanted anything to do with Halloween. But when the two decide to hang out on Halloween night, it seems something else has other ideas in mind and Dean has to introduce his new friend to the world of the supernatural. Not Slash.
It was a match made in Heaven.
Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo was not having a good day. In fact, if one wanted to get right down to it, he wasn't having a good week. The team had been hit with a myriad of cases and the moment they solved one, Gibbs' phone would ring and they'd be off on another. It seemed like every crazy in town was not only gearing up for Halloween (which was in two days), but also reacting to the full harvest moon the night before. Tony hadn't enjoyed anything about Halloween since he was a kid. Now that he was a cop, he detested it even more.
Tony had barely been home in days and couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten a meal that didn't involve shoving the mound of files, pictures and other assorted leads off his desk to inhale a slice of cold pizza. People often remarked that he and the boss had iron stomachs, but even Tony was starting to feel like his body would rebel if it wasn't given some real food soon.
Typing as fast as he could, Tony put the final touches on his report and stopped to stretch his neck. Kneading his shoulders with one hand, he yawned and took a look at his partners. Ziva was filling out a form by hand and McGee was running to pick up something off of the printer. They all hoped that once they had finished this case - dotted every "i" and crossed every "t" - they would be done. They hoped that Gibbs' phone would not ring again, not like it had every other time they'd finished their paperwork in the past week (or had it been a month? Tony really couldn't remember).
With some trepidation, Tony saved the document and hit "print". He got to the printer just as McGee and Ziva both handed their reports to Gibbs. Walking over slowly, Tony was almost afraid to drop his onto the boss' desk, too. Perhaps his would be the last straw, the one that triggered the dreaded phone to awake from its slumber.
Gibbs looked up as Tony stood over his desk hesitantly.
"You got a problem, DiNozzo?"
"Any particular reason you haven't moved in the last thirty seconds?"
"No reason, Boss."
Shaking himself, Tony dropped the report and walked back to his own corner of the squad room. He desperately wanted to reach for his backpack, but didn't dare. Right now his pack was more than just an object. It meant home, a hot shower and a decent meal. Out of the corner of his eye, Tony saw McGee and Ziva hesitating as well.
Gibbs knew that his team was waiting for him to release them and he had every intention of doing so, once he was sure everything was in order. Taking a brief look at the reports on his desk, he smiled slightly.
"Alright, go home. I asked the Director to take us off weekend duty. So I don't need to see any of you until Monday. Go on, get out of here," he waved them off with one hand.
McGee and Ziva were in the elevator so fast, Tony was surprised that a bunch of papers didn't fly up in their wake (like something out of a cartoon). He moved a little slower, finally reaching for his backpack and lugging it to his shoulder.
As he headed out, Tony paused at his boss' desk and Gibbs looked up once again.
"You leaving too, Boss?" Tony asked. As tired as he was, he hated to think that Gibbs would be staying behind to do more paperwork. The man had to be just as exhausted as the rest of them.
Gibbs smiled, not at all surprised that his second in command was checking on him. He also had no doubt that if he asked Tony to stay, the younger man would, no matter how tired he was.
"Right behind you, just gonna run these up to the Director's office and then I'm out of here. Go home, Tony."
Tony nodded in satisfaction. "On it, Boss," he said with a grin, heading to the elevator.
An hour later Tony was home, showered, and his belly somewhat sated with a large turkey sandwich. He expected to go right to sleep, but strangely enough wasn't tired. He glanced over at the clock on the wall and chuckled.
"Well no wonder, old man. It's not even eight o'clock yet. Guess I'm not as tired as I thought," Tony said out loud to no one in particular. Once he'd been able to relax, his body had recovered somewhat. Currently, sleep was the farthest thing from his mind.
Therein lay the problem. His mind. Without a case, the need for food, a shower or any of a million little other things to keep it occupied, his mind began to wander. It went to places he didn't want it to go. Looked at things he didn't want it to see. The past couple months had been stressful. Ziva taken away, finding out she was dead, going after her killers only to find out she was alive. He and McGee getting themselves caught on purpose, Tony getting hit with truth serum.
It was all really just a bit much and when he had a quiet moment these days, his head practically reeled with all the thoughts that were jumping inside it. The team was back together, but would it ever be the same? Did he really want it the same? He and McGee were finally getting along. They may not be exactly best friends yet , but they were getting there.
Tony shook his head, standing up in an effort to get away from the turmoil inside his own skull. He needed a distraction. Something to take his mind off all of it. He thought about driving to the nearest bar and finding a willing female patron (or barmaid, as the case may be), but then thought better of it. He didn't think anonymous sex was going to do it this time. His old standby method hadn't been helping much recently.
What he needed right then was a friend. Not a colleague. Not someone who knew the whole story. Just a friend. A buddy. A pal. Someone to shoot the shit with, hang out and not have to talk about any of the hard stuff.
Where in the world was Tony going to find someone like that?
Just then, Tony's phone rang.
Dean Winchester was not having a good day. In fact, if one wanted to get right down to it, he wasn't having a good week. Well, if one really wanted to get nitpicky, it had been a pretty rotten couple of years.
At the moment though, it was all culminating in a bad day.
A few days before, he and his brother had decided to go their separate ways. Dean hadn't been surprised when Sam had suggested it. After all, he'd been half on the verge of saying it himself.
The novelty had been interesting at first. No one to argue with when he decided to listen to his favorite AC/DC album for the one billionth time. No one to ask him to stop singing at the top of his lungs to said album. No one to use up all the hot water before he could get into the shower. No one to complain about him putting his boots on the bed. No one to tell him to knock off with the happy fingers already.
The novelty may worn off fast, but Dean wasn't ready to call Sam. He just couldn't look into his brother's eyes anymore. Not when those eyes begged for the forgiveness that he wasn't able to give yet. How did one forgive someone for turning their back on you, their own brother? For putting their trust in a demon instead?
For the first couple days, Dean hadn't noticed it much. Cas had been around a lot, proving to be a rather interesting (if not downright hilarious) companion. Still, it wasn't the same. Besides, his very own guardian angel had gone off on another quest, leaving Dean all alone on the road again.
To top it off, it seemed like every supernatural being was not only gearing up for Halloween (which was in two days), but also reacting to the full harvest moon the night before. The fact that in October the harvest moon was also known as a hunter's moon had always amused Dean. He and all other hunters he knew certainly worked harder when it was out. He was glad it was gone for another month, but it gave him little joy as he also knew that All Hallows Eve was on its way. Dean had never liked anything about Halloween. Now that he was a hunter, he detested it even more.
For a minute, Dean thought about driving to the nearest bar and finding a willing female patron (or barmaid, as the case may be), but then thought better of it. He didn't think anonymous sex was going to do it this time. His old standby method hadn't been helping much recently.
What he needed right then was a friend. Not another hunter. Not someone who knew the whole story. Just a friend. A buddy. A pal. Someone to shoot the shit with, hang out and not have to talk about any of the hard stuff.
Where in the world was Dean going to find someone like that?
Just then, Dean remembered the business card sitting in his glove compartment. It had been sitting there for a few months, out of sight but not exactly forgotten. As Dean drove, he thought of Tony and the conversation in the coffee shop that morning. He wasn't sure how it was possible, but that guy he'd met by chance for coffee and pie felt like a friend. It made him realize he hadn't had one of those in a long time, not a real one, and right now he felt like he needed one.
Dean had just finished dispatching a werewolf in Virginia and could easily make it to D.C. in a few hours. As he realized how close he was, he decided to make the call. Pulling out the card, he flipped it over and called the cell phone number scrawled on the back. Within two rings it was picked up and he heard a familiar voice.
"Hey Tony, it's Dean."
"Dean! Hey man, how's it going?"
"Good. Listen I was just finishing up a…..job in Virginia, not too far from your neck of the woods. You wanna get a drink?"
On the other end of the line, Tony grinned. By some miracle, the distraction he so desperately needed had just called him. A night out sounded like a great idea.
"Loved to. I know the perfect place." Tony replied, giving Dean the details of where to meet later.
Dean walked into the bar a couple hours later and surveyed his surroundings instinctively. As a hunter he was always on guard to some extent. As he looked around, he automatically searched for the booth that would provide the best view of the place while giving the most cover. Reminding himself that he wasn't there alone, Dean started looking for Tony. When he saw the other man waving to him from the same spot he himself would have picked, he chuckled. He and Tony hadn't discussed much the last time they'd met, but Dean would bet his best gun that DiNozzo was either military or trained by someone who was.
Tony stood up as Dean approached, and they shook hands. "Good to see you, Dean," Tony said, indicating the other man to take the seat on the opposite side of the booth.
"Yeah, you too."
"So you said you were just finishing up a job nearby? You get around to D.C. often?" Tony asked, raising his hand to order another beer for himself and one for Dean.
"Sometimes. I travel a lot so I probably make it up here a couple times a year," Dean said vaguely, hoping that Tony wouldn't pry too much into exactly what it was that had him travelling so much. To deflect attention off of himself, he decided to ask a few questions of his own. "What about you? You travel much?"
Tony thought about the implications of answering that fully and wondered how much he should tell Dean about his recent trip. Getting kidnapped, beaten and drugged to rescue a partner you thought was dead was probably not the sort of conversation the other man was expecting.
Right. Keep it simple, DiNozzo, Tony reminded himself.
"Sometimes. My job doesn't require me to travel too much. We do most of our work here in town."
Their beers arrived and Dean took a sip of his, smacking his lips appreciatively at the smooth brew. He was getting too used to the dark tap water that passed as beer in so many of the places he frequented. His tongue appreciated the treat.
"So what do you do?"
"I work for NCIS," Tony said, automatically going into the usual explanation. "It stands for…"
"Navy cops, yeah I know," Dean replied. "My dad was in the Corps."
"Semper Fi," Tony said, raising his beer.
Dean raised his as well. "Were you in the Corps too?"
"Nope, I started out as a cop. What about you?"
"Nope, just my dad. He…...," Dean paused as he realized he'd been about to say 'trained'. "He… taught me a lot though. Sometimes I feel like I was in the Marines."
Tony chuckled, setting down his beer on the table and tracing shapes in the water rings it left. "I know how you feel, man. My boss is an ex-Marine and he's taught me a lot too. I think I've probably learned more in the seven years I've been working for him than I ever could have at boot camp."
"Seven years? That's a long time. Then again my dad started in on me by the time I was four, teaching me everything he knew...." Dean paused again, fearful that he'd said too much. Sometimes he forgot that not everyone had a militant father who raised their son at the butt of a gun. How would Tony react to that?
Tony continued to slide his finger on the table, not meeting Dean's eyes. "Sounds like a pretty cool guy."
"Actually he was. He was tough, but he taught me everything I know. I can honestly say I'd be dead if it weren't for him," Dean replied, happy to talk to someone about his father who didn't think the man was a maniac. It was nice to have someone to listen and not judge for a change.
"That's nice," Tony replied. Deciding he didn't want any questions about his own father, he did some deflecting of his own. "So what about you Dean, what is it that you do?"
Dean groaned inwardly, knowing that the question had been bound to come up. He thought of about a million lies, but something wouldn't let him say any of them. For some reason Dean didn't want to lie to the man sitting in front of him. Somehow he didn't think that was what one friend did to another.
Then again, the truth might send Tony running for the hills. Or worse, like reaching for his handcuffs to lock up the crazy loon. Dean chose the simple route.
"It's….complicated. Let's just say I took over the old man's business."
Tony had felt Dean's hesitation. He had also interrogated too many suspects to miss that the other man wasn't telling him the whole truth. Frankly, Tony didn't care. If Dean wanted to keep some things about his personal life to himself, that was his business. Tony had more than a few of those secrets too, so he respected the other man's privacy.
"I hear ya. Now what did you think of that game last week?"
Relieved not to be pushed, Dean went on to discuss the game in question, happy that he'd actually been able to watch it. The two men continued talking into the night. From sports they moved on to music, then movies, then cars, then women. While Tony's taste in music tended to be more for modern artists, the two men found that they had a lot in common. Both loved almost any movie, from classics to horrible B movies that were so bad they were good. They both loved classic cars. They both (no surprise) loved beautiful women.
It was a match made in Heaven.