SPN/NCIS gen fic: Out for Blood 5/9
Apr. 24th, 2007 06:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
superbadgirlTitle: Out for Blood
Author: SBG
Rating: R, for language
Category: H/C, Angst, A/A, Crossover with NCIS
Season/spoilers: Sometime in S2 for Supernatural (big reference to DMB), S4 for NCIS
Word count: Now a hair over 39,000 ;)
Summary: Someone from Dean and Sam Winchester’s past comes back to haunt them…and they also take a member of the NCIS team.
Disclaimer: All things Supernatural belong to Kripke Enterprises and The CW. All things NCIS belong to Bellisarius Productions and CBS.
Notes: Hugs and kisses to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ldyanne. And everyone else.
Then
Part one
Part two
Part three
Part four
Dean held no love for cops of any kind, but the look on Tony’s face as Kate’s henchmen pulled him from the room tore at him. Once Tony had been compromised, Kate had been right – Dean’s hands were virtually tied again. His vision went hazy. He blinked a couple of times, but it didn’t help. Through the buzz in his ears, he heard the cell door clank shut, and he stopped trying to see. He let his head drop to the dirty floor, and also let himself groan. Good ol’ boy Duane had done a number on him. It didn’t help that he’d been smacked around by a 5’4”, 115 lb woman prior to the actual bloodletting. He felt the bruises from that forming already, the itch of blood on his shoulder.
“Dean…?” Tony said, then the outer door shut and he was alone.
Shit. Dean tried really hard to not contemplate what Kate had in store for the guy. It didn’t take much imagination at all. No one deserved getting killed at the hands of a psycho vampire and her dedicated, stupid followers. Dean thought preparing Tony would help, but he’d misjudged the effectiveness of telling the truth. It wasn’t exactly easy to prepare someone for the fact vampires were real. Hell, he hadn’t even really believed it himself until he saw them. He closed his eyes and imagined Tony staring at him in horrified confusion as he was tortured, and then, of course, Sam’s face superimposed over the image.
Dean rolled over onto his back, stared at the ceiling and thought about whether or not the walls were soundproof. He didn’t hear any screaming yet. It probably wouldn’t be long before Kate came back in to taunt him some more. Or worse, it would be Tony, turned just like she’d threatened. He didn’t want to have to kill someone he knew had been a decent person at one point. It could be argued that Kate had probably been good and decent once, but he’d only ever known her as a monster. The morality of killing her was black and white, cut and dried. A turned Tony…or, even worse, a turned Sam…was a whole mess of gray, even grayer than Lenore and her clan had been if only because of the personal connection. There he went again, letting his imagination get the better of him. Sam could take care of himself.
Of course, so could he and yet there he lay.
He shivered, suddenly very cold. He was probably going into shock. The cut on his cheekbone burned in contrast. So much for preventing infection, and a lot of good that preventative measure had done for Tony. Dean sat up slowly, waited for the cell to stop doing vicious loops and his vision to settle. He was well and truly fucked if Sam didn’t come through for him, and god, Dean almost hoped he didn’t. The vampires had stayed one step ahead of them all the way across the country, killed people just like Tony before he and Sam could get to them. They’d keep doing it until they were dead or they had Sam, and if they had Sam then Dean would find a way to kill them all and they’d be dead anyway. He preferred the shorter route to the same destination.
He spotted his jacket lying next to the wall, didn’t remember how or when it had been stripped off him. Moving wasn’t exactly appealing, but he had no choice. The jacket looked about a thousand miles away, but he couldn’t stop shaking and needed to try to prevent shock.
“Oh, jeez,” he moaned as he sort of crawled and scooted over, reminding himself the whole trek that he’d had worse. He hated getting blood on the jacket, but sometimes sacrifices had to be made. He pulled it up over him like a blanket, felt warmer just from having the weight on him. He reached up cautiously to the bite mark on his shoulder. It was already clotting. “Okay, that’s much better.”
“Talking to yourself, Dean?”
He looked over, startled, and saw Kate by the cell door, one arm propped against a bar. Christ, he was really losing his edge. He hadn’t heard her come back in again. Again. Dean tried and probably failed to look like he felt a hell of a lot better than he did. His vision, along with continued haziness, started doubling on him. More often than not, there were two Kates in front of him. As if one wasn’t bad enough.
“Bet you’re wondering why I didn’t bleed you myself.”
“Uh, no,” Dean said. He leaned his head against the wall, pulled the jacket closer. He was getting bored with her methods. “Not really. I was actually thinking about my car. It’s about time for a tune up.”
“I don’t want your blood polluting me,” she said, going ahead with an explanation he didn’t have any interest in. She studied the nails of her right hand, looking nonchalant. “The thought of your disgusting killer blood mixing with mine makes me sick. Luther wouldn’t like it.”
“I doubt Luther would care much, being dead and all,” Dean said. “And you know, you’re pretty judgmental for being a killer yourself.”
“I kill to survive. You just kill.”
“Well, that’s bullshit and you know it.” Dean looked away, toward the door. “What, you got rid of the other guy so you could come in here and have a heart to heart with me?”
He started panting slightly by the end of the sentence, winded. Shit. He closed his eyes for a moment, opened them back up slowly. So much for making a good show of it.
“Because I have to say heart to heart conversations are really not my thing.”
“No, those are probably more up your brother’s alley. Don’t worry. When I get my blood in him, he won’t be quite so touchy-feely. At least not that way.”
Dean glared at her.
“And I got rid of the other guy because he was a fed.” She held up a wallet. “Your brother seems to be taking his old sweet time. I thought maybe he needed some help. Once I finish with Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, the feds will be hopping, therefore so will little Sammy.”
Kate prowled around the cage again, and Dean was glad she stayed on the outside instead of coming in to get all over him. He shuddered slightly. His head felt thick and he didn’t have the energy to watch her, so he kept her in his peripheral vision only. If he knew Sam, and he did, he’d be way ahead of the feds. He’d almost certainly already searched most of the way through their list of possible nest sites, slowed only by fretting over Dean’s capture. Sam had probably spent lots of time fretting. Dean grimaced, slumped to his good side for a minute and then struggled to sit up straight.
“You’re pretty stupid. Sam’ll skip town to avoid getting caught. You’re just going to call them down on yourself.”
“Nice try. I’m not really worried about them, and I know Sam won’t go anywhere without you. Special little Sam will come try to get his big brother long before the authorities figure anything out. Then he’ll be mine, you’ll be dead and we’ll be gone before anyone else even gets close.”
The chill that seemed to pervade every inch of him suddenly evaporated and was replaced with the dull heat of anger. It wasn’t going to happen like that. He took several quick breaths, tried to dispel the very idea with every shaky exhalation. Dean managed to laugh weakly and shook his head, refusing to rise to the bait again. It was bad enough that he literally was bait for Sam, he wouldn’t also be mouse to her cat.
“You keep telling yourself that, sweetheart. It’s more likely you’ll be with your dead boyfriend before the end of the day.”
“And just who do you think is going to kill me? You?” Kate said. She crouched down at the side of the cage near him, legs encroaching into the cell. She leaned her face close to the bars. “Please, I don’t think so. Sam? Sam’ll take one look at the state you’re in – you look really pathetic, by the way, but the bloody and bruised look is kind of hot despite how despicable you are – and he’ll do anything to get you out of here. Anything. I know how you boys work. I’ve watched you.”
“We’ll see,” he said, but a small part of him panicked because Sam would do anything if it meant getting him free. His brother had harebrained ideas sometimes.
“Yes, we will.” She tilted her head, eyes glittering and dark. “Now, how about some food? Water, maybe. I don’t want you completely limp when Sam bleeds you. It’ll be more enjoyable to see you fight in vain, maybe beg a little.”
He clenched his jaw and said nothing. It. Wasn’t. Going. To. Happen. To his surprise, Kate actually walked over to a dark corner and came back with a bottle of water. Instantly, it felt as though his salivary glands had been blocked, his mouth filled with charcoal. Kate laughed at him, tossed the bottle into the cell and watched it roll across the floor. Dean tracked it the best he could, with his eyes only. He didn’t make a move. He wasn’t sure if he could, and he also wanted to maintain what pretense of control he’d established. The bottled rolled to a stop about three feet away from him. He stared at Kate.
“I’ve got other things to do now. That pretty, pretty agent would make a nice addition to my little family. Put him in jeans and boots, or leather…mmm,” Kate said, and licked her lips. “Bet he’d make a great lure, not that we need to play games to feed. It’s just more fun that way.”
She opened the door, and glanced out briefly. The screams Dean had wondered about before started on her cue. Kate peered back at him.
“I couldn’t resist having a little fun with him for a while,” she said. She tapped the edge of the door. “I’ve reconsidered. I don’t think I’ll turn him after all, just watch him suffer beautifully before I take all the blood from his veins.”
“You’re a real bitch, Kate.”
“Why, thank you, how nice of you to say. I’ll let you know when Sam gets here.”
She smiled leisurely, and left the door open a crack so he could hear everything that was happening to DiNozzo but do nothing. Dean tried to tune the screams out, couldn’t. He hadn’t known Tony for a very long time, but it didn’t matter; he was someone Dean was supposed to help protect from monsters. It didn’t take more than a minute before the screams started fading into muffled whimpers and groans, and yet it seemed everlasting. It seemed like he would hear those death noises forever, if only in his head. He squeezed his eyes shut, and ground his teeth together tightly when even the faintest sounds of torture finally stopped. The silence was thick, like a pall, and almost worse than the tortured cries. The only comfort he could take was knowing it hadn’t lasted long for the poor guy. It was very small comfort.
Dean couldn’t dwell on things he couldn’t control. He opened his eyes and fixed his attention on the water bottle. It wouldn’t help much, but it was something. He needed some strength, so he could help when Sam came. He shrugged the jacket off, cringing when he saw the new maroon stains on the lining. His vision was starting to improve, while his body started really feeling the aches and pains. That little Heather had some muscle on her. Reality bit him in much the same way Duane had; he was going to be piss-all help for Sam, which was, of course, the whole point. Kate wasn’t as stupid as he wished she was, but she was no Sam. No matter how much the seed she’d planted in his head bothered him, he knew Sam wouldn’t walk blindly into a trap.
He took a deep breath and crawled one-handedly for the bottle. From outside, he heard voices and laughter, a couple of dull thudding slaps but no pain-filled cries. Bottle in hand, he paused long enough to glare at the still-open door. He’d recognize the sounds anywhere. The sick fucks were beating down on Tony’s dead body for reasons he didn’t even want to think about. Yeah, and he was the killer, the bad guy. Kate’s lack of rationale shouldn’t have astounded him, but it did. Dean resituated himself by his jacket. The initial shock of the beating and bleeding was passing, he thought. Hoped. He finished the bottled water in four long gulps, and actually did feel better. He felt one step up from shit.
The voices got louder. Dean eyed the door, and waited for Kate to make another appearance. It wasn’t like he expected to be left alone for the duration; she’d probably keep torturing him nice and slow. He winced, not looking forward to it. He gave quick flex of his biceps, as if to test them and make sure they still worked. They did. Now that she didn’t have leverage to use by way of another prisoner, he wasn’t going to just lie there and take it. He steeled himself. Kate had sent one of the thugs. The one who hadn’t fanged him. Alex.
“Kate says I can play with you now,” Alex said, voice deep. “If I’m nice and gentle.”
“Fantastic,” Dean said. “Maybe a group game would be better. Invite the others. We’ll play Twister.”
“They can’t, they’re all go…”
The guy caught on, and stopped talking before he said anything else that might be useful. He growled and tromped over to the cell, unlocked it and entered unceremoniously. Dean had to say Alex’s forward nature was a welcome change from Kate’s undead sex kitten routine. He carefully flicked his eyes to the open cell door, and then took stock of his new best friend. He didn’t stand much of a chance against Mr. Muscles in the physical department, given his weakened condition. He noted the barb-like pins stuck in the guy’s jean jacket, either keeping it together or some lame idea Alex must have had that made him think it looked cool.
“So it’s just you and me. What do you have in mind, then? I should warn you, I’m really good at chess so you might not want to choose that.” Alex responded by yanking him to an upright position by his shirtfront. “Let me guess. Tag, I’m it?”
Dean saw an opportunity in their positions, though. He pulled what he’d otherwise classify as a dirty move and kneed Alex in the groin, crazily hoping that the undead still felt that kind of agony. Alex smacked him once on his way to a hunched position, leaving Dean seeing stars again. Not enough stars to impede him palming a couple of the pins from the vampire’s jacket, and pocketing them quickly. He darted (hobbled) for the door, but Alex recovered quickly and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. Damn, those were big hands. Dean was flung, and a millisecond before he hit the wall he knew it was going to really, really hurt. Something cracked, his head against the wall or maybe his ribs.
“Anh, she said gentle, gentle,” Dean wheezed, and kind of flopped around on the floor. He tasted blood. “When mommy gets home, I’m telling.”
“Alex, stop!” Huh. Never would have thought he’d be glad to hear Kate’s voice. She sounded distant and tinny and all wrong. He thought maybe the crack had been his head and his ribs. “I said you could play with him not kill him, you fucking idiot. Duane, Heather, get him out of here.”
Dean retched a little, spitting blood. He zoned out while the vampires argued among themselves, only vaguely aware of Kate entering the cell and standing above him.
“That was a miscalculation on my part, Winchester. Sorry. It’s a good thing we didn’t get very far away,” Kate said. “Alex gets…aroused easily, in more ways than one. He might have killed you before I gave Sam the chance to, and I would have really missed watching that.”
She ran her fingers through his hair in a mock gesture of sympathy. He jerked away, causing pain that revived him slightly. Kate wiped her hand across his sleeve, then stood up. She left again, and he was alone with his misery. Dean fingered the pins in his pocket and dimly wondered how long he’d have to wait to make sure they were actually gone before he could pick the lock and get his ass out of jail for free.
~~*~~
He clasped Abby on the shoulder gently. A quick semi-hug was all either of them could afford, time-wise or emotion-wise. She raised a hand and squeezed his, but didn’t say anything. Gibbs didn’t know how, but her lab was even quieter than it had been since they’d first learned of Tony’s disappearance. His Abs was a trooper, though, as she continued to work at her same frenzied pace even without the outward chaotic energy that was her to the core. He expected nothing less.
“I’ve found six shots of our guy, Gibbs. There are probably more,” Abby said, moving out of his grasp. “He’s good, though.”
She put a collage of digital stills on the big screen, and he saw instantly what she meant. He moved around and stood directly in front of the screen, staring all the while. Every single shot was just like his memory of the guy– vague and slightly out of focus. It was like the guy was there but not, a spook. Gibbs stared at the young, lanky man and again felt the urge to kick something. Whoever he was, he was good. He hadn’t been able to avoid the security cameras entirely, but even through the checkpoints he had averted his face, let his hair flop down to obstruct any clear view the cameras might have picked up. They couldn’t identify him by anything other than his height, hair color and bad style.
“He’s damn good.” Might have been a decent recruit for someone. Too bad all Gibbs wanted to do now was wring his elusive neck. “You’re sure you got no prints?”
“Not in here. He took them with him right along with the weapons. Walked everything right out the front door.”
“Focus,” he said, and hated himself for it. In a way it was better for her to berate herself about losing evidence (albeit from a highly skilled thief) than to think about…other things. Like Tony, cold, naked and dead down with Ducky. Gibbs squinted at the screen, and the images didn’t get any clearer. “What else do you have?”
“Nothing on the mystery man or why he’s been roaming the halls, and until I get more from McGee, Ziva or Ducky, I’m fresh out of anything useful at all. I’m useless, Gibbs,” Abby said.
“You’re anything but useless. I need you to stay on this, Abs.”
He looked back at her, then, really made eye contact for the first time since he’d come back without McGee and Ziva, and without hope for Tony. Gibbs could barely stand it. Her eyes were huge, and so clear with grief her gaze was like a physical blow. Suddenly, it felt like they didn’t have time to not have time. He moved back over to her quickly, wrapped his arms around her and it felt so good to have just this little bit of human comfort, however brief it had to be.
“We do this,” he whispered. “We do it for DiNozzo, okay?”
“You’re right.” She nodded, and sniffled twice. “I just needed a second.”
Gibbs needed more than a second. He needed bourbon. He started to have an inkling that the break in and missing evidence wouldn’t matter in the long run, because these bastards weren’t ever going to see a trial. Ethics be damned. They’d all die trying to escape. It was a temptation he honestly didn’t know if he’d be able to resist if given half a chance. One of Abby’s computers beeped.
“That’s probably McGee sending me pictures from the new crime scene,” Abby said, and pulled away from him at last. She shook herself, stood up straighter and moved over to the computer. “Yeah, he’s sending me files. Let me just pull up the first message. I can compare it with the one left near To…the new one.”
“Keep me informed, Abs,” he said, and headed for the door. “I need to go see if Ducky’s actually back yet.”
“Oka…wait. Gibbs! Oh, no, no, no. This can’t be happening.”
He rushed back into the lab, faintly relieved that his grueling visit to Ducky’s lab was temporarily delayed. There was only so long he could delay the inevitable, as that cliché went. Soon he’d have to face seeing DiNozzo again.
“What? What is it?”
“Someone’s…how the…someone’s erasing files, Gibbs. Someone’s hacked in and has started deleting items relating to the Bowman case.”
Oh, hell, just when he’d thought nothing else could possibly go wrong. It wasn’t “someone,” though. It stood to reason that if someone was determined enough to waltz around their offices, he might also feel the need to traipse around electronically. It had to be their mystery man. He couldn’t think of a reason for hacking other than complicity in the actual crimes. Gibbs’ irritation with the mystery man was well founded but he honestly didn’t believe the guy was also their killer, which made this all the more confusing.
“Well, make it stop,” he said sharply.
“I’m trying, but he’s really quick. Where’s McGee when I need him?”
“Uh, here?” Gibbs spun around, saw a now perpetually stunned-looking McGee at the door, and Ziva behind him. “We just got back.”
“McGee, quick, pull up a chair. Someone’s in our system,” Abby said.
“That’s impossible.”
“Clearly it isn’t, McGee. Get over there and help her do whatever it is you two do.”
“On it, Boss.”
Technology wasn’t his thing, because it didn’t need to be. He had faith they’d handle it. Or do their damnedest. Gibbs stood out of the way for the next few minutes, uncertain what was going on. All he really knew was Ziva slid up next to him silently, and both McGee and Abby’s fingers clattered across keyboards at a rapid speed, amid bursts of “How is he doing this?” and “Holy crap!” and other various mutterings he didn’t pay much attention to.
If DiNozzo were around, he’d mock the dynamic duo as he always did, with nothing but affection at the root of it. He actually missed Tony shooting off his mouth about the geekery, something he never thought he’d feel. As sophomoric as Tony tended to be, Gibbs had to admit he often just said what the rest of them thought. He smiled sadly. Tony wasn’t there. Abby’s phone rang, and it pulled him from his reverie. Ziva was closer to it, so she picked it up.
“This is…how did you know my name?” she said. Gibbs glanced her way, watched her expression. McGee and Abby kept clattering away, and muttering various imprecations. Ziva stiffened as whomever was on the other end of the phone spoke. After a second, she abruptly held the receiver out toward Gibbs. “He wants to talk with you. He asked by name.”
Gibbs raised his eyebrows, took the phone.
“Gibbs.”
“Agent Gibbs.”
“Yes, and who am I talking to?”
“Who I am isn’t really important. I’m not who you’re really after, not in the long run.” He heard quiet confidence in the tone, but also something more. Something like desperation, and quiet fear. The guy sounded somehow young and old at the same time. Gibbs knitted his eyebrows. “I do happen to know who killed all those people, though, and I have to say you’re in over your heads. You’re good; you’ll probably figure it out in time. Tell Abby and McGee they don’t have to work so hard. I don’t need State secrets or anything. It should all be over soon.”
“Breaking into a government agency, stealing evidence from a murder, hacking into classified files are all highly illegal activities. I’d like to know where you studied,” Gibbs said. He nodded at Ziva, who was already on getting a line trace. McGee and Abby didn’t pause from their task. “When I catch you, you’ll spend a lot of time in prison for it, and I could probably charge you with accessory to murder.”
“Yeah, probably,” the voice said. Gibbs detected a laughing note, as if the guy didn’t expect there was a snowball’s chance in hell that he’d be caught. “But I can’t stress this enough - you really don’t know what you’re dealing with, but you know that sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do. That Abby might think she has some idea what’s going on, but I doubt she really could. I hope she never does know, the way the vic…I guess the point is that some things are better left as rumors, lies and fairy tales.”
“What?” This conversation made no sense, like the guy had just called up to chat about crazy topics. It made about as much sense as an 80-year-old woman being the head of some pseudo-vampire cult. “How the hell do you know who we all are?”
“Never mind, that doesn’t matter either. I have to go now. I just…”
“You just what?” Gibbs said. He couldn’t wrap his brain around why the guy was calling them. By all evidence, he was smart and knew they’d run a trace. As he thought it, he saw Ziva nodding at him. “Wanted to rub it in my face how you waltzed on in here, right under our noses?”
“No, not at all. I just want you to know these things won’t get away with what they’ve done, to Petty Officer Bowman, to Agent DiNozzo, to all those others.”
“Of course they won’t. I’ll hunt them down myself. But I also want to know what your involvement is in all this, why ten people had to die to deliver messages I assume are for you. Fourteen dead if you count the cops. What’s at stake for you?” Ziva waved her hand in the air, asking him to draw it out a little more. The guy didn’t respond. Gibbs heard a couple of beeps, maybe the sound of a door shutting. “Hello? Hey!”
“Gibbs?” Ziva said.
“He’s not on the line anymore, but he didn’t hang it up.”
“That will make it very easy to get a location on him. I just need a few more seconds.”
“No, you don’t,” Abby said numbly, looking up. “He just…stopped. It was like a surgical attack, in cyberspace. He only took certain things, though I couldn’t tell you why. They don’t seem connected by anything other than being evidence on the same case.”
“How bad?” Gibbs said, moving over to stand next to her. He tried to shake off the utter bizarreness of the phone conversation he’d just had and focus. Something told him they were close to making that crucial break, even if he didn’t understand a damned thing yet. “How much did he get?”
“He was…amazing. His skill and method reminded me of someone I knew back at MIT, at least before he got asked to leave. I wonder whatever happened to…”
“Not now, McGee,” Gibbs said.
“Right, Boss. He only got a third of what was logged in for the Bowman case,” McGee said. “Some of it we have backups on, obviously.”
“Only?” There was no only. Now there wasn’t even a remote chance Bowman’s killers would ever be effectively prosecuted, if Gibbs decided to let them live. He couldn’t help but wonder what their mystery man meant when he said it would be over soon, the computer attack or something else. “Is that all? Some punk just punked us, and I’m getting the feeling he did it just to show us he could.”
“To answer your question, no, Gibbs, that’s not all,” Abby said. He stared at her. She still looked shocked. “The guy did some serious damage. Then he just stopped deleting, but he left the connection open. We know exactly where he is.”
Just like the phone. Gibbs scowled.
“Then let’s go get him and get some answers out of him. Where is he?”
“He’s at Tony’s place,” Abby and Ziva said simultaneously and they both sounded appalled and awed.
“Son of a bitch,” Gibbs said, experiencing a spark of déjà vu. He was going to have a serious discussion with this guy. “Abby, keep working. McGee, Ziva, with me.”
He didn’t have to tell them. Both were already running for the door.
~~*~~
To part six
:)
Author: SBG
Rating: R, for language
Category: H/C, Angst, A/A, Crossover with NCIS
Season/spoilers: Sometime in S2 for Supernatural (big reference to DMB), S4 for NCIS
Word count: Now a hair over 39,000 ;)
Summary: Someone from Dean and Sam Winchester’s past comes back to haunt them…and they also take a member of the NCIS team.
Disclaimer: All things Supernatural belong to Kripke Enterprises and The CW. All things NCIS belong to Bellisarius Productions and CBS.
Notes: Hugs and kisses to
ldyanne. And everyone else. Then
Part one
Part two
Part three
Part four
Dean held no love for cops of any kind, but the look on Tony’s face as Kate’s henchmen pulled him from the room tore at him. Once Tony had been compromised, Kate had been right – Dean’s hands were virtually tied again. His vision went hazy. He blinked a couple of times, but it didn’t help. Through the buzz in his ears, he heard the cell door clank shut, and he stopped trying to see. He let his head drop to the dirty floor, and also let himself groan. Good ol’ boy Duane had done a number on him. It didn’t help that he’d been smacked around by a 5’4”, 115 lb woman prior to the actual bloodletting. He felt the bruises from that forming already, the itch of blood on his shoulder.
“Dean…?” Tony said, then the outer door shut and he was alone.
Shit. Dean tried really hard to not contemplate what Kate had in store for the guy. It didn’t take much imagination at all. No one deserved getting killed at the hands of a psycho vampire and her dedicated, stupid followers. Dean thought preparing Tony would help, but he’d misjudged the effectiveness of telling the truth. It wasn’t exactly easy to prepare someone for the fact vampires were real. Hell, he hadn’t even really believed it himself until he saw them. He closed his eyes and imagined Tony staring at him in horrified confusion as he was tortured, and then, of course, Sam’s face superimposed over the image.
Dean rolled over onto his back, stared at the ceiling and thought about whether or not the walls were soundproof. He didn’t hear any screaming yet. It probably wouldn’t be long before Kate came back in to taunt him some more. Or worse, it would be Tony, turned just like she’d threatened. He didn’t want to have to kill someone he knew had been a decent person at one point. It could be argued that Kate had probably been good and decent once, but he’d only ever known her as a monster. The morality of killing her was black and white, cut and dried. A turned Tony…or, even worse, a turned Sam…was a whole mess of gray, even grayer than Lenore and her clan had been if only because of the personal connection. There he went again, letting his imagination get the better of him. Sam could take care of himself.
Of course, so could he and yet there he lay.
He shivered, suddenly very cold. He was probably going into shock. The cut on his cheekbone burned in contrast. So much for preventing infection, and a lot of good that preventative measure had done for Tony. Dean sat up slowly, waited for the cell to stop doing vicious loops and his vision to settle. He was well and truly fucked if Sam didn’t come through for him, and god, Dean almost hoped he didn’t. The vampires had stayed one step ahead of them all the way across the country, killed people just like Tony before he and Sam could get to them. They’d keep doing it until they were dead or they had Sam, and if they had Sam then Dean would find a way to kill them all and they’d be dead anyway. He preferred the shorter route to the same destination.
He spotted his jacket lying next to the wall, didn’t remember how or when it had been stripped off him. Moving wasn’t exactly appealing, but he had no choice. The jacket looked about a thousand miles away, but he couldn’t stop shaking and needed to try to prevent shock.
“Oh, jeez,” he moaned as he sort of crawled and scooted over, reminding himself the whole trek that he’d had worse. He hated getting blood on the jacket, but sometimes sacrifices had to be made. He pulled it up over him like a blanket, felt warmer just from having the weight on him. He reached up cautiously to the bite mark on his shoulder. It was already clotting. “Okay, that’s much better.”
“Talking to yourself, Dean?”
He looked over, startled, and saw Kate by the cell door, one arm propped against a bar. Christ, he was really losing his edge. He hadn’t heard her come back in again. Again. Dean tried and probably failed to look like he felt a hell of a lot better than he did. His vision, along with continued haziness, started doubling on him. More often than not, there were two Kates in front of him. As if one wasn’t bad enough.
“Bet you’re wondering why I didn’t bleed you myself.”
“Uh, no,” Dean said. He leaned his head against the wall, pulled the jacket closer. He was getting bored with her methods. “Not really. I was actually thinking about my car. It’s about time for a tune up.”
“I don’t want your blood polluting me,” she said, going ahead with an explanation he didn’t have any interest in. She studied the nails of her right hand, looking nonchalant. “The thought of your disgusting killer blood mixing with mine makes me sick. Luther wouldn’t like it.”
“I doubt Luther would care much, being dead and all,” Dean said. “And you know, you’re pretty judgmental for being a killer yourself.”
“I kill to survive. You just kill.”
“Well, that’s bullshit and you know it.” Dean looked away, toward the door. “What, you got rid of the other guy so you could come in here and have a heart to heart with me?”
He started panting slightly by the end of the sentence, winded. Shit. He closed his eyes for a moment, opened them back up slowly. So much for making a good show of it.
“Because I have to say heart to heart conversations are really not my thing.”
“No, those are probably more up your brother’s alley. Don’t worry. When I get my blood in him, he won’t be quite so touchy-feely. At least not that way.”
Dean glared at her.
“And I got rid of the other guy because he was a fed.” She held up a wallet. “Your brother seems to be taking his old sweet time. I thought maybe he needed some help. Once I finish with Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, the feds will be hopping, therefore so will little Sammy.”
Kate prowled around the cage again, and Dean was glad she stayed on the outside instead of coming in to get all over him. He shuddered slightly. His head felt thick and he didn’t have the energy to watch her, so he kept her in his peripheral vision only. If he knew Sam, and he did, he’d be way ahead of the feds. He’d almost certainly already searched most of the way through their list of possible nest sites, slowed only by fretting over Dean’s capture. Sam had probably spent lots of time fretting. Dean grimaced, slumped to his good side for a minute and then struggled to sit up straight.
“You’re pretty stupid. Sam’ll skip town to avoid getting caught. You’re just going to call them down on yourself.”
“Nice try. I’m not really worried about them, and I know Sam won’t go anywhere without you. Special little Sam will come try to get his big brother long before the authorities figure anything out. Then he’ll be mine, you’ll be dead and we’ll be gone before anyone else even gets close.”
The chill that seemed to pervade every inch of him suddenly evaporated and was replaced with the dull heat of anger. It wasn’t going to happen like that. He took several quick breaths, tried to dispel the very idea with every shaky exhalation. Dean managed to laugh weakly and shook his head, refusing to rise to the bait again. It was bad enough that he literally was bait for Sam, he wouldn’t also be mouse to her cat.
“You keep telling yourself that, sweetheart. It’s more likely you’ll be with your dead boyfriend before the end of the day.”
“And just who do you think is going to kill me? You?” Kate said. She crouched down at the side of the cage near him, legs encroaching into the cell. She leaned her face close to the bars. “Please, I don’t think so. Sam? Sam’ll take one look at the state you’re in – you look really pathetic, by the way, but the bloody and bruised look is kind of hot despite how despicable you are – and he’ll do anything to get you out of here. Anything. I know how you boys work. I’ve watched you.”
“We’ll see,” he said, but a small part of him panicked because Sam would do anything if it meant getting him free. His brother had harebrained ideas sometimes.
“Yes, we will.” She tilted her head, eyes glittering and dark. “Now, how about some food? Water, maybe. I don’t want you completely limp when Sam bleeds you. It’ll be more enjoyable to see you fight in vain, maybe beg a little.”
He clenched his jaw and said nothing. It. Wasn’t. Going. To. Happen. To his surprise, Kate actually walked over to a dark corner and came back with a bottle of water. Instantly, it felt as though his salivary glands had been blocked, his mouth filled with charcoal. Kate laughed at him, tossed the bottle into the cell and watched it roll across the floor. Dean tracked it the best he could, with his eyes only. He didn’t make a move. He wasn’t sure if he could, and he also wanted to maintain what pretense of control he’d established. The bottled rolled to a stop about three feet away from him. He stared at Kate.
“I’ve got other things to do now. That pretty, pretty agent would make a nice addition to my little family. Put him in jeans and boots, or leather…mmm,” Kate said, and licked her lips. “Bet he’d make a great lure, not that we need to play games to feed. It’s just more fun that way.”
She opened the door, and glanced out briefly. The screams Dean had wondered about before started on her cue. Kate peered back at him.
“I couldn’t resist having a little fun with him for a while,” she said. She tapped the edge of the door. “I’ve reconsidered. I don’t think I’ll turn him after all, just watch him suffer beautifully before I take all the blood from his veins.”
“You’re a real bitch, Kate.”
“Why, thank you, how nice of you to say. I’ll let you know when Sam gets here.”
She smiled leisurely, and left the door open a crack so he could hear everything that was happening to DiNozzo but do nothing. Dean tried to tune the screams out, couldn’t. He hadn’t known Tony for a very long time, but it didn’t matter; he was someone Dean was supposed to help protect from monsters. It didn’t take more than a minute before the screams started fading into muffled whimpers and groans, and yet it seemed everlasting. It seemed like he would hear those death noises forever, if only in his head. He squeezed his eyes shut, and ground his teeth together tightly when even the faintest sounds of torture finally stopped. The silence was thick, like a pall, and almost worse than the tortured cries. The only comfort he could take was knowing it hadn’t lasted long for the poor guy. It was very small comfort.
Dean couldn’t dwell on things he couldn’t control. He opened his eyes and fixed his attention on the water bottle. It wouldn’t help much, but it was something. He needed some strength, so he could help when Sam came. He shrugged the jacket off, cringing when he saw the new maroon stains on the lining. His vision was starting to improve, while his body started really feeling the aches and pains. That little Heather had some muscle on her. Reality bit him in much the same way Duane had; he was going to be piss-all help for Sam, which was, of course, the whole point. Kate wasn’t as stupid as he wished she was, but she was no Sam. No matter how much the seed she’d planted in his head bothered him, he knew Sam wouldn’t walk blindly into a trap.
He took a deep breath and crawled one-handedly for the bottle. From outside, he heard voices and laughter, a couple of dull thudding slaps but no pain-filled cries. Bottle in hand, he paused long enough to glare at the still-open door. He’d recognize the sounds anywhere. The sick fucks were beating down on Tony’s dead body for reasons he didn’t even want to think about. Yeah, and he was the killer, the bad guy. Kate’s lack of rationale shouldn’t have astounded him, but it did. Dean resituated himself by his jacket. The initial shock of the beating and bleeding was passing, he thought. Hoped. He finished the bottled water in four long gulps, and actually did feel better. He felt one step up from shit.
The voices got louder. Dean eyed the door, and waited for Kate to make another appearance. It wasn’t like he expected to be left alone for the duration; she’d probably keep torturing him nice and slow. He winced, not looking forward to it. He gave quick flex of his biceps, as if to test them and make sure they still worked. They did. Now that she didn’t have leverage to use by way of another prisoner, he wasn’t going to just lie there and take it. He steeled himself. Kate had sent one of the thugs. The one who hadn’t fanged him. Alex.
“Kate says I can play with you now,” Alex said, voice deep. “If I’m nice and gentle.”
“Fantastic,” Dean said. “Maybe a group game would be better. Invite the others. We’ll play Twister.”
“They can’t, they’re all go…”
The guy caught on, and stopped talking before he said anything else that might be useful. He growled and tromped over to the cell, unlocked it and entered unceremoniously. Dean had to say Alex’s forward nature was a welcome change from Kate’s undead sex kitten routine. He carefully flicked his eyes to the open cell door, and then took stock of his new best friend. He didn’t stand much of a chance against Mr. Muscles in the physical department, given his weakened condition. He noted the barb-like pins stuck in the guy’s jean jacket, either keeping it together or some lame idea Alex must have had that made him think it looked cool.
“So it’s just you and me. What do you have in mind, then? I should warn you, I’m really good at chess so you might not want to choose that.” Alex responded by yanking him to an upright position by his shirtfront. “Let me guess. Tag, I’m it?”
Dean saw an opportunity in their positions, though. He pulled what he’d otherwise classify as a dirty move and kneed Alex in the groin, crazily hoping that the undead still felt that kind of agony. Alex smacked him once on his way to a hunched position, leaving Dean seeing stars again. Not enough stars to impede him palming a couple of the pins from the vampire’s jacket, and pocketing them quickly. He darted (hobbled) for the door, but Alex recovered quickly and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck. Damn, those were big hands. Dean was flung, and a millisecond before he hit the wall he knew it was going to really, really hurt. Something cracked, his head against the wall or maybe his ribs.
“Anh, she said gentle, gentle,” Dean wheezed, and kind of flopped around on the floor. He tasted blood. “When mommy gets home, I’m telling.”
“Alex, stop!” Huh. Never would have thought he’d be glad to hear Kate’s voice. She sounded distant and tinny and all wrong. He thought maybe the crack had been his head and his ribs. “I said you could play with him not kill him, you fucking idiot. Duane, Heather, get him out of here.”
Dean retched a little, spitting blood. He zoned out while the vampires argued among themselves, only vaguely aware of Kate entering the cell and standing above him.
“That was a miscalculation on my part, Winchester. Sorry. It’s a good thing we didn’t get very far away,” Kate said. “Alex gets…aroused easily, in more ways than one. He might have killed you before I gave Sam the chance to, and I would have really missed watching that.”
She ran her fingers through his hair in a mock gesture of sympathy. He jerked away, causing pain that revived him slightly. Kate wiped her hand across his sleeve, then stood up. She left again, and he was alone with his misery. Dean fingered the pins in his pocket and dimly wondered how long he’d have to wait to make sure they were actually gone before he could pick the lock and get his ass out of jail for free.
~~*~~
He clasped Abby on the shoulder gently. A quick semi-hug was all either of them could afford, time-wise or emotion-wise. She raised a hand and squeezed his, but didn’t say anything. Gibbs didn’t know how, but her lab was even quieter than it had been since they’d first learned of Tony’s disappearance. His Abs was a trooper, though, as she continued to work at her same frenzied pace even without the outward chaotic energy that was her to the core. He expected nothing less.
“I’ve found six shots of our guy, Gibbs. There are probably more,” Abby said, moving out of his grasp. “He’s good, though.”
She put a collage of digital stills on the big screen, and he saw instantly what she meant. He moved around and stood directly in front of the screen, staring all the while. Every single shot was just like his memory of the guy– vague and slightly out of focus. It was like the guy was there but not, a spook. Gibbs stared at the young, lanky man and again felt the urge to kick something. Whoever he was, he was good. He hadn’t been able to avoid the security cameras entirely, but even through the checkpoints he had averted his face, let his hair flop down to obstruct any clear view the cameras might have picked up. They couldn’t identify him by anything other than his height, hair color and bad style.
“He’s damn good.” Might have been a decent recruit for someone. Too bad all Gibbs wanted to do now was wring his elusive neck. “You’re sure you got no prints?”
“Not in here. He took them with him right along with the weapons. Walked everything right out the front door.”
“Focus,” he said, and hated himself for it. In a way it was better for her to berate herself about losing evidence (albeit from a highly skilled thief) than to think about…other things. Like Tony, cold, naked and dead down with Ducky. Gibbs squinted at the screen, and the images didn’t get any clearer. “What else do you have?”
“Nothing on the mystery man or why he’s been roaming the halls, and until I get more from McGee, Ziva or Ducky, I’m fresh out of anything useful at all. I’m useless, Gibbs,” Abby said.
“You’re anything but useless. I need you to stay on this, Abs.”
He looked back at her, then, really made eye contact for the first time since he’d come back without McGee and Ziva, and without hope for Tony. Gibbs could barely stand it. Her eyes were huge, and so clear with grief her gaze was like a physical blow. Suddenly, it felt like they didn’t have time to not have time. He moved back over to her quickly, wrapped his arms around her and it felt so good to have just this little bit of human comfort, however brief it had to be.
“We do this,” he whispered. “We do it for DiNozzo, okay?”
“You’re right.” She nodded, and sniffled twice. “I just needed a second.”
Gibbs needed more than a second. He needed bourbon. He started to have an inkling that the break in and missing evidence wouldn’t matter in the long run, because these bastards weren’t ever going to see a trial. Ethics be damned. They’d all die trying to escape. It was a temptation he honestly didn’t know if he’d be able to resist if given half a chance. One of Abby’s computers beeped.
“That’s probably McGee sending me pictures from the new crime scene,” Abby said, and pulled away from him at last. She shook herself, stood up straighter and moved over to the computer. “Yeah, he’s sending me files. Let me just pull up the first message. I can compare it with the one left near To…the new one.”
“Keep me informed, Abs,” he said, and headed for the door. “I need to go see if Ducky’s actually back yet.”
“Oka…wait. Gibbs! Oh, no, no, no. This can’t be happening.”
He rushed back into the lab, faintly relieved that his grueling visit to Ducky’s lab was temporarily delayed. There was only so long he could delay the inevitable, as that cliché went. Soon he’d have to face seeing DiNozzo again.
“What? What is it?”
“Someone’s…how the…someone’s erasing files, Gibbs. Someone’s hacked in and has started deleting items relating to the Bowman case.”
Oh, hell, just when he’d thought nothing else could possibly go wrong. It wasn’t “someone,” though. It stood to reason that if someone was determined enough to waltz around their offices, he might also feel the need to traipse around electronically. It had to be their mystery man. He couldn’t think of a reason for hacking other than complicity in the actual crimes. Gibbs’ irritation with the mystery man was well founded but he honestly didn’t believe the guy was also their killer, which made this all the more confusing.
“Well, make it stop,” he said sharply.
“I’m trying, but he’s really quick. Where’s McGee when I need him?”
“Uh, here?” Gibbs spun around, saw a now perpetually stunned-looking McGee at the door, and Ziva behind him. “We just got back.”
“McGee, quick, pull up a chair. Someone’s in our system,” Abby said.
“That’s impossible.”
“Clearly it isn’t, McGee. Get over there and help her do whatever it is you two do.”
“On it, Boss.”
Technology wasn’t his thing, because it didn’t need to be. He had faith they’d handle it. Or do their damnedest. Gibbs stood out of the way for the next few minutes, uncertain what was going on. All he really knew was Ziva slid up next to him silently, and both McGee and Abby’s fingers clattered across keyboards at a rapid speed, amid bursts of “How is he doing this?” and “Holy crap!” and other various mutterings he didn’t pay much attention to.
If DiNozzo were around, he’d mock the dynamic duo as he always did, with nothing but affection at the root of it. He actually missed Tony shooting off his mouth about the geekery, something he never thought he’d feel. As sophomoric as Tony tended to be, Gibbs had to admit he often just said what the rest of them thought. He smiled sadly. Tony wasn’t there. Abby’s phone rang, and it pulled him from his reverie. Ziva was closer to it, so she picked it up.
“This is…how did you know my name?” she said. Gibbs glanced her way, watched her expression. McGee and Abby kept clattering away, and muttering various imprecations. Ziva stiffened as whomever was on the other end of the phone spoke. After a second, she abruptly held the receiver out toward Gibbs. “He wants to talk with you. He asked by name.”
Gibbs raised his eyebrows, took the phone.
“Gibbs.”
“Agent Gibbs.”
“Yes, and who am I talking to?”
“Who I am isn’t really important. I’m not who you’re really after, not in the long run.” He heard quiet confidence in the tone, but also something more. Something like desperation, and quiet fear. The guy sounded somehow young and old at the same time. Gibbs knitted his eyebrows. “I do happen to know who killed all those people, though, and I have to say you’re in over your heads. You’re good; you’ll probably figure it out in time. Tell Abby and McGee they don’t have to work so hard. I don’t need State secrets or anything. It should all be over soon.”
“Breaking into a government agency, stealing evidence from a murder, hacking into classified files are all highly illegal activities. I’d like to know where you studied,” Gibbs said. He nodded at Ziva, who was already on getting a line trace. McGee and Abby didn’t pause from their task. “When I catch you, you’ll spend a lot of time in prison for it, and I could probably charge you with accessory to murder.”
“Yeah, probably,” the voice said. Gibbs detected a laughing note, as if the guy didn’t expect there was a snowball’s chance in hell that he’d be caught. “But I can’t stress this enough - you really don’t know what you’re dealing with, but you know that sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do. That Abby might think she has some idea what’s going on, but I doubt she really could. I hope she never does know, the way the vic…I guess the point is that some things are better left as rumors, lies and fairy tales.”
“What?” This conversation made no sense, like the guy had just called up to chat about crazy topics. It made about as much sense as an 80-year-old woman being the head of some pseudo-vampire cult. “How the hell do you know who we all are?”
“Never mind, that doesn’t matter either. I have to go now. I just…”
“You just what?” Gibbs said. He couldn’t wrap his brain around why the guy was calling them. By all evidence, he was smart and knew they’d run a trace. As he thought it, he saw Ziva nodding at him. “Wanted to rub it in my face how you waltzed on in here, right under our noses?”
“No, not at all. I just want you to know these things won’t get away with what they’ve done, to Petty Officer Bowman, to Agent DiNozzo, to all those others.”
“Of course they won’t. I’ll hunt them down myself. But I also want to know what your involvement is in all this, why ten people had to die to deliver messages I assume are for you. Fourteen dead if you count the cops. What’s at stake for you?” Ziva waved her hand in the air, asking him to draw it out a little more. The guy didn’t respond. Gibbs heard a couple of beeps, maybe the sound of a door shutting. “Hello? Hey!”
“Gibbs?” Ziva said.
“He’s not on the line anymore, but he didn’t hang it up.”
“That will make it very easy to get a location on him. I just need a few more seconds.”
“No, you don’t,” Abby said numbly, looking up. “He just…stopped. It was like a surgical attack, in cyberspace. He only took certain things, though I couldn’t tell you why. They don’t seem connected by anything other than being evidence on the same case.”
“How bad?” Gibbs said, moving over to stand next to her. He tried to shake off the utter bizarreness of the phone conversation he’d just had and focus. Something told him they were close to making that crucial break, even if he didn’t understand a damned thing yet. “How much did he get?”
“He was…amazing. His skill and method reminded me of someone I knew back at MIT, at least before he got asked to leave. I wonder whatever happened to…”
“Not now, McGee,” Gibbs said.
“Right, Boss. He only got a third of what was logged in for the Bowman case,” McGee said. “Some of it we have backups on, obviously.”
“Only?” There was no only. Now there wasn’t even a remote chance Bowman’s killers would ever be effectively prosecuted, if Gibbs decided to let them live. He couldn’t help but wonder what their mystery man meant when he said it would be over soon, the computer attack or something else. “Is that all? Some punk just punked us, and I’m getting the feeling he did it just to show us he could.”
“To answer your question, no, Gibbs, that’s not all,” Abby said. He stared at her. She still looked shocked. “The guy did some serious damage. Then he just stopped deleting, but he left the connection open. We know exactly where he is.”
Just like the phone. Gibbs scowled.
“Then let’s go get him and get some answers out of him. Where is he?”
“He’s at Tony’s place,” Abby and Ziva said simultaneously and they both sounded appalled and awed.
“Son of a bitch,” Gibbs said, experiencing a spark of déjà vu. He was going to have a serious discussion with this guy. “Abby, keep working. McGee, Ziva, with me.”
He didn’t have to tell them. Both were already running for the door.
~~*~~
To part six
:)
