Title: Natural Disaster
Rating: PG-13 for swearing
Disclaimer: If I owned them, I wouldn't be posting on a fanfiction website, now would I?
Notes: Technically, this story is my first fanfiction, but I wrote and posted a different one before I decided to make something out of this one. ANYWAYS. This takes place at the end of Season 7, and is an AU of Season 8. I haven't seen any trailers/spoilers, so there shouldn't be any here, 'cause I doubt this is what's going to happen. Seriously. And I try to proofread my stories, but I'm also impatient. :)
More Notes: If you read this before, I changed the chapters so its two so far instead of three. The length was bothering me, and I'm going to update with longer segments from now on.
Some mornings, Sam wondered if he was going insane.
His mind would then supply that the notion was ridiculous (he knew what insanity felt like) and that anyone would be effected by his sleeping patterns, or lack thereof. Still, he entertained the possibility, if not solely for the fact that there was no one to refute him.
You are well and truly on your own.
Crowley's parting words resounded in the empty space, foreign silence pressing down on him. Feeling confined, Sam rolled out from beneath the blankets and self-pity, resting on the edge of the mattress for a second to drag a hand down his face before tottering over to the bathroom to commence his morning ritual. He slid easily into crisp efficiency; it settled on his shoulders like the embrace of an old friend.
It had been 23 days since he had left the laboratory alone.
As per family tradition, he pursued a solution to this new round of 'search and rescue' with characteristic desperation. His days were a toss up between research and hunting- sleep seized him in fits, and he allowed it only to avoid succumbing to the symptoms of insomnia he was entirely too familiar with. At first, he had relentlessly chased Leviathan and interrogated any he managed to track down about Purgatory. He was convinced that Dean was there- where else would Dick Roman have gone in death?
However, despite his work, the only way he knew to access Purgatory was the ritual Crowley and Castiel had procured, but he couldn't risk unleashing the Leviathan and render all they had done (sacrificed) meaningless.
No, he needed something else.
He couldn't help but think there was nothing else to find.
xxx
"Do you ever wonder what it feels like?"
Sam picked up the bucket, filling it to the brim with the Borax he was so well stocked up on. Salt, holy water, cleaning solution. The best supernatural defense, all readily available at your local convenience store.
"Floating, body in pieces, yet unable to die?"
This leviathan was talkative, even as it contemplated its own dismemberment. It had donned the face of a local officer and had seen fit to lead Sam on while he had hunted down a poltergeist in its jurisdiction. If it hadn't followed him, he probably wouldn't have even realized there was any leviathan in the town at all.
"Why don't you tell me after? You know, if you ever run in to the rest of your body." He quipped, turning to rifle through his duffle for the machete. The fake cop was pinned against the wall for the moment, but he wasn't going to indulge its conversational tendencies to give it a chance to recover.
It glared at him, but then let out a derisive chuckle.
"But then, you would know, wouldn't you? You can't exactly die in the Cage."
The head collided with the ground in a fleshy thump, the body going limp. Sam dragged the flat of the knife against his jeans, which already sported a growing bloodstain from a wound he had received courtesy of the poltergeist. He should probably do something about that.
Sighing, he sagged into a chair. Miraculously, it had remained upright through all the hubbub of the spirit's tantrum that involved flinging furniture and cutlery everywhere. He allowed himself a moment of respite, eyeing the head on the floor blankly. Mention of the Cage had taken him off guard, although in retrospect he realized that it would've been knowledge all the leviathans had been privy to, being holed up inside Cas. He thumbed at the scar on his hand absently, dropping his chin to follow the pink line with his eyes. It probably wouldn't have left a trace if he hadn't kept digging at it, but then he would've gone off the rails that much faster.
Now his hallucinations were gone, and it served as a testament to how bad it was- could get. The memories were still there, and he could just as easily fall back into them as he did back then; he did every time he slept and woke to wonder what torture this particular illusion entailed.
Sam shook his head, belatedly noting that he was still sitting there, drifting. Snagging one of the plastic bags he had begun collecting from his supplies, he slipped it around the severed head and tied it shut, abandoning it to the floor as he moved to drag the body outside to bury.
xxx
Three disappearances in the last two weeks; two children, one teen. No connection other than their age group and neighborhood. Police at a loss.
He couldn't ignore it. Shouldn't ignore it. Even with the litany of findDeanfindDeanfindDean endlessly cycling his mind, he was still a hunter.
And it would be nice to save someone, for once.
That sentiment brought him to this small corner of suburbia on the outskirts of Wichita, Kansas, greeted by overcast skies and the pervasive nausea of shame from expending time outside his research.
It had been 32 days since the lab.
"Stop it." He snapped, clenching the worn plastic of the steering wheel in frustration. "Concentrate in the case. Dean has Castiel with him, he's fine." You're talking to yourself, you're not fine.
He forced himself to take in the house he had parked in front of, all of its cheery yellow panelling and cobblestone walkway. Home to one Emily Park, who had gone to pick her nephew up from his soccer game and returned empty-handed. He slid out of the front seat, pausing to straighten his suit before marching determinedly up the front steps, FBI badge brandished like a shield. As he reached forward to rap on the door, it bent away from him, and a second later he was uncomfortably close to a dark-haired man clad in an almost identical suit. They stared at each other,
"Agent." Sam managed, raising the hand that gripped his badge.
"Oh, is this your partner?" A female voice piped from somewhere beyond the doorway. She stepped out from behind her guest as a petite woman, her greying hair pulled back and enhancing the softly wrinkled contours of her face that held an open smile.
The other man regained his composure, nodding curtly before reaching out to grip Sam's arm. "Yes, and if you'll excuse us, we need to discuss the case. It's been a pleasure."
Sam allowed himself to be dragged from the porch, free hand brushing the concealed gun tucked beneath his jacket. He no longer had a home base to back his FBI cover; he would either have to be incredibly convincing, or simply leave altogether. Or resort to violence.
They stopped at the sidewalk, Sam jerking back to release his arm and eyeing the man before him. His attention was returned as the other man tilted his head in his own observatory sweep, brow slipping in mild irritation as he seemed to catalogue their slight difference in height with the affronted air of one accustomed to being the taller. Roughly an inch shorter, he had tousled black hair and light stubble, and as he stared the amber flecks in his light brown eyes caught the light, sending a rush of apprehension through Sam as he fought the reflex to strike.
"So, agent." The man drawled, "Care to tell me who you really are?"
Sam's eyes narrowed. He wasn't going to lose this case; he would have to play the part. "I could say the same to you. I wasn't aware they were assigning anyone else to this case."
"Well, I was here first, so I think I take precedence."
"This isn't a game." He growled, "People are disappearing."
There was a pause, then Sam added, "We might as well work together." If the man wouldn't back off, then the least he could do was keep him from being killed.
"Fine." The agent bit out, folding his arms. Then his face was overtaken by a thoughtful look. "You... don't want to check in with your supervisor?" The question was careful.
"No, it shouldn't be an issue..." Sam trailed off, dread curling in his stomach as he realized his facade may have been seen through.
Abruptly, the man broke out into laughter, stiff formality dropped.
"You're a hunter!" He grinned, "Fuck, you scared me. Thought I would have to skip town or something."
Comprehension dawned, swiftly followed by relief. Sam couldn't help but chuckle himself- though he remained apprehensive. He didn't have the best history of run-ins with other hunters.
His unease was unheeded as he was offered a hand.
"Name's Alex. Alex Ruger. Hunter." He added, smirking.
"Sam. Winchester." He reciprocated the handshake, watching carefully for an adverse reaction.
"Huh." Alex gave him a brief searching glance, then his smirk widened. "Don't look so worried. Bobby told me about you and your brother, said you were some of the 'good ones.'" He made quoted gestures.
"He also said you saved the world."
"I had help." Sam smiled hesitantly.
Alex snorted. "Well, thanks anyways."
Fidgeting, he gave the surrounding neighborhood a glance before returning his attention to Alex. "So. How do you know Bobby?"
Alex shrugged in nonchalance, gaze drifting. "Met him back when I first started hunting. Checked in every once and a while since." There was a flash of sorrow in his eyes as he continued. "I was sorry to hear he passed."
Sam nodded. "Likewise."
There was another pause.
"So." Alex cleared his throat, "We teaming up for this?"
Sam met the hunter's gaze, briefly musing what tragedy pulled him into this life. Alex's faintly gilded eyes seemed to pierce him; his trust would only extend to what the job entailed. So would Sam's.
xxx
After they had gone through their awkward introduction, Sam suggested reconvening with what research they had so far, tactfully avoiding the fact that he had nothing himself. Alex offered his own motel room, which turned out to be at the same establishment as Sam's. He admitted to having arrived in town yesterday and had already conducted interviews with everyone worth investigating. Sam resisted the urge to pout; it was puerile and pointless, no matter how much he had been looking forward to temporary alleviating the emotions assuaging him by the mindless routine of an easy hunt.
He frowned, idly tracing the scar on his palm and dragging himself from his thoughts. Alex was talking, hands gliding over the table and shifting papers in a fluttering dance on the surface of the table in his room. "...Jeremy Park disappeared while waiting to be picked up from soccer practice, no one would've been paying close attention to him. Abigail Griswald vanished during her class's recess- went to pick up a ball from the bushes and never came out. And Matthew Turner was on his way to a friend's house in his neighborhood and never got there." He leaned back in his chair, tapping his chin idly as his face smoothed in thought. "So, whatever it is follows them, snatches them up when no one would see and leaves no sign of a struggle. Or it draws them away somehow. Then it kills them elsewhere, or they're still alive."
"It could be a human. You know, not our kind of thing." Sam put in, shuffling through the three police reports. He had it pinned as something supernatural, but this is how they worked- argument, debate, bringing in every aspect of the job and validating the facts. For a fleeting moment the last few years vanished and he was sitting across from Dean without a concern other than the job, and in a few seconds his brother would scoff and call him 'Sammy' and they would go on with the investigation.
"Nah, I've got a hunch it is." Alex dismissed, breaking Sam's flimsy illusion as he rocked in his chair and smirked at him. "Besides, we haven't checked out the areas where the disappearances occurred yet. Give it time, Sammy."
"It's Sam." The words spilled out in a snarl, and his eyes widened before he hastily ducked his face to hide his unease. Agony flared in his chest as his grief surged, and he was aware of nothing but the desolate loss that wrought his entire being with misery. Abruptly ashamed of his obvious distress, he scrubbed a hand down his face and exhaled steadily. If Dean were there, he would have made light of the entire situation, not to mention a mockery of Sam's volatile emotions and something about his 'time of the month.' And it would've comforted Sam like nothing else could.
He could feel Alex's stare, could almost hear the cogs turning in the other man's head. After he was confident his expression was under control, Sam straightened. Alex watched him, face somber and eyes softened in what might've been sympathy.
"How'd it happen?"
Sam raised his brow, feigning ignorance. "How did what happen?"
"Your brother." Alex's voice was flat. "How did he die?"
"He's not dead." Again anger flared, but this time he let it rage, relishing the burn against the cold weight of sorrow in his belly.
"Where is he, then?" Alex's query was sharp, demanding, but he seemed to catch himself and visibly drew back. "I mean, I thought you two worked together. Family, and all that."
Sam read the underlying turmoil easily, even if he didn't know the cause. But he settled on answering the literal question. He had expected it to arise eventually, especially when Alex had claimed to have heard of them from Bobby. Silently, he considered lying, but brushed off the notion. Really, what harm would it be?
"He's... in Purgatory." Sam said carefully, "I'm trying to find a way to get him back."
Alex blinked. "Purgatory?"
"Yeah, it's like the afterlife for monsters."
"No, I know that." It was Sam's turn for surprise. "It's just... He's human, isn't he?"
"Yeah."
"So how did he get there?"
"When we killed the Alpha Leviathan, he got pulled in with him, along with another friend."
"Didn't know that could happen." Alex observed, wincing in commiseration. "Sorry."
"No need to be. He's not dead." Sam refrained from being churlish. Almost.
"Yeah, 'course." He replied, wisely backing off. "But..."
Not so wise, then.
"...that place is teeming, dude. Hunter or not, he's got no chance." Alex sounded apologetic.
"He's alive." Sam repeated. Say it enough, might be true.
Alex's eyes narrowed, but he said no more. Sam reciprocated the silence as they stared each other, then canted his head slightly in mild curiosity.
"How did you find out about Purgatory?" He asked casually, barring any accusatory notes from his tone. Inwardly, he berated himself for alienating the only company he had, but there was something about the surety of Alex's words that was unsettling.
"I read about it." Alex answered simply, face betraying nothing but subtle incredulity at Sam's question. Sam decided not to push it; he didn't think Alex was hiding anything particularly malicious. If anything he could relate to a penchant for keeping cards close to his chest. But if he knew anything about Purgatory…
After the case. He would ask after they solved this.
"Anyways. We should get back to this." Sam tapped on a picture of a little girl, one of the victims. "You want to split up? Two of the disappearances were at the local elementary school, the other in the neighborhood."
Alex seemed keen to change the subject. He rose to his feet, snagging the pictures of the younger boy and girl from the table. "I'll take the school."
Sam nodded, taking the file for the teenager, Matthew Turner. He paused in Alex's wake as the door swung shut behind his retreat, pushing against the chair to stand. He couldn't get a clear read on his temporary partner; he had seemed genuinely concern when Sam's control had lapsed, but other then that his emotions were the flicker of an eye and a curl to his lips. All Sam had been able to conclude was that Alex enjoyed his work; whether it was the noble idea of saving people or the inclination to violence in any form remained to be seen.