Disclaimer: We do not write for money, to infringe copyright, nor do we own NCIS or Supernatural. (sigh)

Ratings/Warnings: A'ight then. T for language, violence, and in later chapters, sexual descriptions/situations. SlashFic.

A/N: Wooo! We have a NCIS/Supernatural CrossoverSlashFic! That's a mouthful. This Fic is posted on my account, but my good friend VanHelsings angel. (VanHelsings angel shameless plug alert: Hi everyone! Head on over to my look up to check out my stories!) co-authored this fic with me. The idea was hers, so if this sucks, her fault.

Anyway, please R+R, and enjoy!

Trying New Things

They'd done it. The three Winchester boys had succeeded in killing the thing they considered to be their worst enemy.

John and Dean had gone off to do their own thing, and now Sam had decided that becoming a Navy Investigator worked for him.

He had the investigative skills, the ingenuity, his father had once known a guy high up in the service, and most importantly, he had skills with a gun.

HE was on His was to Washington DC to start his new job at the Naval Criminal Investigative Service.

Dean had given Sam a copy of the Impala.

Not THE impala, but damn close to it. Somehow Dean wasn't able to express his joy for his little brother verbally, so he bought him a car instead.

Sam had appreciated the gesture greatly, even if it wasn't your classic 'You're-My-Little-Bro-And-I-Love-You' sort of gift. Sam had promised Dean the car wasn't going anywhere any time soon.

Sam sighed and slouched into the dark leather seats, so like the ones he has reclined in with Dean so many times before.

He pulled up at some stop lights, and reached out to flick on the Radio.

Some old-rocker song had just finished playing, and the last guitar cords were fading into silence.

Then there began a poppy-techno sounding tune.

Sam listened for a moment, then shuddered and uttered an audible "Ugh!" as he realised it was 'My Humps' by the Black Eyed Peas.

Trashy white-girl rapper.

He played with the tuner, trying to find something he remotely liked. After a while he angrily flipped it off and shoved a tape in.

AC/DC blasted through the speakers and Sam smiled.

That was much better.

He turned the music down, checking the street signs with a road map he had on the passenger seat of the car.

Unbeknownst to him, he had long ago left the dust back roads of the country behind, and he was now surrounded by tall buildings, people and cars.

Pulling up the car, parking, and checking the myriad or parking signs and meters around him, he shrugged and tossed his keys into the pocket of his suit jacket.

His shirt collar was currently unbuttoned, and he put his hand to his throat, realising.

He fumbled with his other pockets, and pulled out a simply patterned tie.

Sam looked up at the tall, glass-walled building ahead of him.

It looked massive and daunting to a small town boy.

He tied his tie round his neck (somewhat loosely,) but did not do the button up. He was already warm enough.

He set his shoulders and jaw, and strode confidently through the plate-glass doors.

Sam looked around the bustling reception area he had just walked into.

It was like its own mini-Manhattan. Everyone seemed to have a place, a purpose and a destination.

Swallowing, he walked up to a blonde rosy-cheeked receptionist typing furiously at her computer.

"Hello Dear!" She chirruped cheerfully. "Can I help you with something?"

Sam flashed a quick smile of assent, and cleared his throat. "Uh… Yeah…" he pulled a crumpled piece of note paper out of his pocket. "I'm looking for… Leroy Jethro…"

"Gibbs," A new voice finished for him.

Sam looked up and saw a somewhat timeless looking man striding around the reception desk towards him.

The first thing Sam noticed about him was his grey hair.

The man, or Mr. Gibbs, did not look old, yet his hair was steel-grey, kind of like Richard Gere.

His electric blue eyes helped him retain the youthful look. He was tall and had a purposeful and authoritative air about him, in the way he held himself and in the way he looked and walked.

A little behind Mr. Gibbs scurried a shorter, younger man, he was chubby and looked hassled.

"Call me Gibbs." He finished his earlier statement. They shared a brief handshake,

"We already know everything about you Sam. We have work to do. Follow."

Gibbs began to walk off and, almost as an after though, said, "Oh, and this is Timothy McGee. Or McGee."

As the two followed Gibbs towards the lift, Sam shook McGee's hand. "Is he always like that?" He asked.

"What? The 'we know everything about you, we always will, we know where you live, we know where your grandparents were born…' and the turning up outta nowhere?" Sam nodded, and McGee mocked thinking for a moment. "Yea, pretty much."

Sam and McGee took up their place behind Gibbs in the lift, and Sam looked at the ground and stifled a laugh as the doors closed.

This would be and interesting week.