Notes:
IMHO, not being allowed to double-space between sentences is inexcusable, fanfiction-dot-net. If anyone would prefer, I am also posting this to deansfangirl dot livejournal dot com.
Basically, my two cents is that we've seen the love story of Sam and Dean in its entirety. And it's been SO awesome. Now they've got each other's backs no matter what... but there's not really anywhere left to go with that in and of itself. Sure, there'll always be new evil to fight, but that's just the surface of what makes this the greatest show of all time. It's the relationship twists and turns and trials and triumphs of the Winchester sons that truly drives the boat, imho. So my idea for season 8 is that it's time to add a whole new chapter to their platonic bromance love story by adding a third person into the dynamic. Can they adopt someone else 24/7 into their lives and come to trust and care about them equal to each other? I know they've had Bobby, but he fit into a fatherly/mentor category for the boys and didn't require them to adapt. Cas would be my first suggestion to the writers, because him becoming human and a hunter would easily fill a whole season and Dean has already started thinking of him like a brother.
But then I was watching another favorite show and randomly wondered: what would Gibbs' rules look like compared to John Winchester's? And so my sort-of-crossover fic was born. It does put the two sets of characters together, but it's unimportant whether you've seen NCIS before. Since Sam and Dean certainly haven't seen it, they're introduced to the characters in a progressive manner. I'm not happy with the title yet, but am starting with "Rewriting the Rules," even though the "rules" are a very small part of the story. Mostly it's about Sam and Dean adding Tony DiNozzo to their life (after his implodes). I have 90% of it written already by hand, so will update as quickly as I can type.
I am a junkie for constructive criticism. Please? Pretty please help me get better?
Prologue
Dean was slowly twisting the radio dial, searching for any kind of rock station in the middle of nowhere when his phone started ringing. "Hello?"
"Hi, Agent Bonham? This is Officer Tucker at the Portland PD. You helped my daughter Tracy with her... um, ballet recital at the station a couple weeks ago?"
"Yeah, I remember. Has something else like that happened again?" He tapped Sam's arm to get his attention too.
"Oh! No, thank God. But I just got a call from a detective in Baltimore who was looking for you and your partner. The strange part was that she had your names wrong and thought you two were brothers, but she described you to a T. I wasn't sure I should give her your number, so I told her I'd pass the message along."
"Thanks for that," Dean said, miming writing until Sam handed him a pen and the back of some magazine. "Sounds kind of crazy, but go ahead."
"Okay, her name is Diana Ballard and her number is 410-555-9185. She just said that she has 'a bad omen' to tell you about."
"Huh. You sound like you believe her."
"She really did seem alright. Sane, at least. I figured it wouldn't hurt to give you a call."
"We appreciate it, officer. Adios."
"Anytime."
Shutting the phone, Dean looked at Sam to see if he'd recognized the name after it was written. "So do you know a Diana in Baltimore?"
"Baltimore?" His brother made that constipated brain-wracking face.
"Apparently there's a 'bad omen' for us."
"Omen?" Sam's eyes clicked on like a light bulb. "Was she the detective that met the death omen from some lady her partner killed? Remember the guy who almost shot you, then she let us go?"
"Oh, yeah. That's it, Detective Ballard."
"Wow, that must have been about five or six years ago," Sam realized. "How'd she even think to track us down? I thought we were officially 'dead' after Henriksen."
"Beats me. Let's call her and get the scoop."
Chapter One
*Ouch!*
Tony awoke to consciousness suddenly when his cheek slapped his brain into gear. There was a blurry face too close to his nose, but blinking it into focus didn't bring him any enlightenment.
"Who...?" His throat felt like sandpaper, so he had to quit trying to talk.
"I'm Sam. Just hold on. We'll get you out of here." The guy turned behind him to yell, "Dean!"
Tony's brain was extremely distracted by the multiple aches and pains it was trying to catalog, but he stubbornly tried to multitask. Looking around, it was dark with moving lights- flashlights, just a couple. The air was humid, and it smelled...
"Are we," he tried to squeeze a question out of his abused throat, "in a *sewer*?"
"Yeah. Just hold on. I'll answer your questions after we find you some water, okay? I think you've been here long enough to get dehydrated." Sam trailed off as another man came up beside him to give Tony an appraising glance before ignoring him.
"All five of them are here, plus one random chick it must have come in as. I guess this guy is today's special." None of that made any sense. Tony wondered if he had a concussion.
"Tony," he spoke up. Hell of a first impression to make, but at the moment a whisper was definitely better than the pained whimper he was holding back.
That got the guy's full attention, which was somewhat intimidating. He was a little older than Sam, younger than Tony, but strength and confidence were clearly his middle names. "Hey, man. I'm Dean. We've got some really bad, fucked-up shit to tell you, but it can wait a while. First, anything broken?" He probably wasn't a civilian, but Tony started to feel pretty sure they were the good guys. Not whoever put him here, at least.
He flexed and twisted where he could. Something was holding his wrists and ankles behind his back, bur the skin there was too numb to say what. Instead of torturing his voice again, Tony just shook his head to tell Dean he wasn't too injured to walk.
Dean frowned and crouched down closer. Tony blinked tiredly, and then it was the first guy in front of him again, with a half-empty Coke bottle aimed for his mouth. As he took a sip, it was flat but still cold enough to feel fantastic on his vocal chords. His arms were being slightly jostled, and Tony could guess it was from the rope being untied. But then it sounded more like cuffs being unlocked.
"There you go. Gonna sting like a bitch when the blood gets moving, though. These cuffs were on tight." Dean walked around him and back into view, dropping something on the ground.
Tony glanced at it as he took another sip. Sam was quite the patient nursemaid, it seemed. "Holy shit," he coughed out before remembering how much it would hurt. The other two men paused in expectant silence until Tony squeezed out a succinct, "My cuffs." That got some raised eyebrows and a traded look he knew meant they were rethinking something. Tony hoped it wasn't whether or not to help him. Quickly going with his gut that these two were trustworthy, he nodded toward his breast pocket. "Badge," he said.
As Sam fished it out of his jacket, Tony wiggled his limbs. The pins and needles were just starting in his hands, but his legs felt merely stiff.
"Sorry, but your badge is gone. Wallet too, I'm sure," said Sam. He didn't look surprised, though. Tony sure hoped they knew what to expect right now. That meant they were working this case already and probably had some leads. "So, give us a few more minutes, then we'll help get you somewhere safe." They moved off then, leaving it darker and quiet while their whispers to each other faded with distance.
Tony decided it was time to sit up. His hands were screaming, so he used his elbows to roll sideways onto his knees, then kneel. It seemed like a great accomplishment to stand up, until a dizzy wave had him scrambling for the nearest wall to lean against. When he stopped spinning, his head was pounding. Tony wondered how long it was since his last meal. That had felt like a low blood pressure crash.
He struggled to focus on discovering what Sam and Dean were doing. It looked like they were examining a crime scene top to bottom. Tony caught sight of at least three dead bodies in various incidental tracks of the flashlights. Whatever clues they were now finding, he was too far away to see. After a minute he noticed they weren't wearing gloves, which ruled them out as any sort of cops. They both moved like competent professionals, though. Maybe a National Guard search and rescue team? He was dying to ask questions immediately, but wanted to drink a gallon of water first. Maybe ice chips. Smoothie. No, ice *cream.*
His daydream of a menthol-milkshake was interrupted when Sam and Dean appeared on each side of Tony, ready to take his arms if needed.
"Good to go?" asked Sam. Damn, he was tall.
Slowly, Tony put one foot in front of the other and nodded.
"This way," Dean said as he took the lead.
Tony praised every patron saint of movie lovers and beat-up government agents when the distance to the nearest exit was only a few minutes. Climbing up to the ladder was going to suck, but he was pretty sure he could manage without crying like a girl. Especially since crying would make his current throat pain feel like a gentle headslap by comparison.
It took longer than he would have liked, but his feet finally got onto street level. They were behind some warehouse that looked well-kept but quiet. The sun was right overhead, and Tony wondered what day it was. He'd been planning to stay in Baltimore for the weekend, and it didn't look like a weekday right now.
Sam climbed out right behind him, and Tony saw his heavy duffle for the first time. It could be army, or just from the surplus store. But when Sam led him to a beautiful classic Chevy Impala, Tony started to get a little concerned about who these guys were. Dean was already in the car, talking on his phone.
"Yeah, they're all down there together." As Tony got into the backseat, Dean didn't seem to change track in his conversation, to Tony's relief. "I don't know who the other body is. Figured it didn't matter now, and you guys could worry about that." Of course, who else talked about the dead so casually? Maybe private detectives? "We've got the current guy with us now. Gonna clean him up and find out who he is." Dean made eye contact with him in the rear-view mirror. Sam closed the trunk and got in the car while the phone conversation switched to the other party for a minute.
"I think we're gonna have to give him the whole story," Dean continued. "That or lock him in your cell for a few days." Tony's eyes shot wide at that, but he didn't have time to worry before seeing the wink and easy smile on the man's face. "We may need you to help convince him later. I'm sure that crime scene will have you tied up the rest of the day, but call me as soon as you come up for air." Two seconds later the phone was closed.
Tony was now wide awake- adrenaline easing his pain- and dying of curiosity. Dean was still fairly young but was clearly in charge of this situation. And what were they going to want to convince him of? After waking up in a sewer surrounded by dead bodies, what else did they think was going to faze him?
Sam cleared his throat. "Um, Tony, let's hit a drive-thru for you. When was the last time you ate?" The car was already pulling out.
Looking at his wrist, Tony just now realized that his Rolex was also gone. But if it was noon on Saturday, he knew it had been a while. "Thursday afternoon," he croaked out.
Both men looked at him again in surprise. "Damn," said Dean. "You realize it's Sunday? We're gonna have to ease you back in to solids."
Well, no wonder he was so dehydrated. As soon as his throat cleared, he was going to have to call Gibbs. No doubt Craig had gotten worried when Tony missed their dinner on Thursday night, which meant his boss was tearing up the city by now.
The car pulled into a McDonald's. Tony hadn't been so happy to see one since he was a kid.
"Would you like to try our new-?"
Dean loudly interrupted the squawking box. "We'll have a couple garden salads with ranch, two of those apple pouches, two junior hamburgers, and a number one with extra bacon and supersize fries."
"Fruit smoothie," Tony added as loud as he could, which meant Dean could barely hear him two feet away with the engine running.
"And a large berry smoothie," Sam yelled out the window on Tony's behalf.
"I'll have you know," Dean told Tony in a normal volume, "I don't order embarrassing shit like this for just anybody. Consider yourself lucky." Sam hit him in the arm calmly. Long-time partners, Tony figured.
"That'll be twenty-one eighty-three at the first window."
By the time they pulled up to the second window, Tony was salivating and about to embarrass himself by lunging for the smoothie he could see waiting on the ledge. Dean handed it back right away, but the straw was clearly being held hostage and put in the bag to wait on the rest of the order. Tony threw off the lid and started chugging.
He spluttered when the icy manna from heaven was suddenly wrenched away, and could only stare in shock as Sam started lecturing him about the importance of taking it slow so his stomach wouldn't revolt. Finally the bag was handed to Dean, and Sam extracted the straw before returning the smoothie with a firm order to sip.
Fifteen minutes later they pulled up in front of a run-down, cheap motel. Tony's gut started churning again, and not from the food. Rule number eight: never assume. He'd deserve that headslap for sure. Why weren't they either at a hospital or police station? He thought briefly about refusing to get out of the car until they'd explained, but knew he'd be no better off there if things really did go south.
He settled for a perfect Gibbs-stare as they all moved inside. The one that said "start talking or else." Tony had seen it cower a lot of hardened criminals, but although he got an overly-apologetic grimace from Sam, it was clearly only to compensate for his completely unmoved partner.
Dean tossed the extra salad and the apples in the fridge, sitting himself on the counter as he finished his fries. Sam took one of the two chairs and indicated that Tony should join him. Still sipping his smoothie, Tony pulled the chair around and placed it right in front of the door with both men in his line of sight. His impatience grew when it appeared rock-paper-scissors was the way the two decided who would give the explanations.
Finally Dean rolled his eyes when he lost and opened his mouth. It was a false start, though, as he seemed to reconsider what he wanted to say.
"What kind of badge do you carry?"
Tony was unimpressed. "You first."
"Hmm. Okay, did you ever watch The X-Files?"
Was that random or tangential? "Sure."
"Well, I'm Mulder and Sam is Scully," Dean said, getting a pen thrown into his forehead for reprisal. "And you were just introduced to the monster of the week."
Tony grinned. He could play this game. "So are we at the start of the episode and don't know what it is, or was that the final clue before catching the bad guy after the next commercial break? Am I a special guest star or just a redshirt?" It still hurt to use his voice, but at least it sounded almost normal now.
"Sorry dude, but this is just page two of the script. Shit's about to get real," Dean said too seriously for Tony's peace of mind.
"Um, Dean, maybe that's not the best approach. Just start at the beginning," Sam suggested.
"And where is the beginning of this one? Last month? Saint Louis? Six days ago?" They glared at each other mildly again, reminding Tony of his own team.
"Baltimore," was Sam's answer.
"Fine, whatever. So, last month a dead John Doe was called in to the Baltimore PD. They picked it up, and their medical examiner got a bit excited about how strange it was, but mostly no big deal. The detective that got assigned to look into it got suddenly obsessed with the case a few days later. Then after a couple weeks, he disappeared. The case landed on another guy's desk, and he's infatuated within twenty-four hours. Goes missing after a week. Same thing with detective number three. Next, their supervisor gets suspicious, takes the case of the weird body and the missing detectives for himself. Guy lasts ten days. Some hotshot from a different precinct gets called in, but we just found his body a few dozen feet away from you in that sewer. You are the only one left alive of the previous five." Tony was frozen. "Did I miss any of the good parts, Sam?" Dean is still cool as a cucumber, detached and unemotional like a professional should be. Sam didn't reply, just watched Tony for a reaction.
All the air Tony had started holding expelled slowly, loud in the quiet room. "What was the last detective's name?" he asked with all the calm he could summon.
"Um," Sam got up and dug through a stack of file folders on the bed behind him. "It was . . . Craig Kohl." Their eyes sharpened at seeing Tony's head drop in confirmation. They were eager to know the connection, but God it was disconcerting to be on the victim side of an interview, however informal.
"I was meeting him for dinner after work on Thursday. He said something big had happened and he could use my help. I was a detective at his precinct years ago." There wasn't anything to be gained by withholding information now. Tony wanted this perp caught yesterday. "I work for NCIS now."
But as he looked back up, he saw only blank looks on their faces. As in, they weren't law enforcement agents themselves if they hadn't been through basic intelligence training and heard about the jurisdiction protocols when military members were involved.
"So, who the hell are *you*?" he demanded.
The reply was only half a beat too late to be fully convincing. "Private investigators," Sam said so smoothly that Tony mostly bought it, but not entirely. Both their faces had that non-expression that either meant it was the unremarkable, boring truth . . . or real expertise in lying. These two would be stellar at undercover work, but that didn't mean they weren't being honest now.
"And you've never heard of NCIS?" he said with blatant suspicion in his voice.
"If we've never crossed paths before, it's because this isn't our usual type of case, and does it *look* like we have a ton of experience?" Dean growled with more irritation than Tony thought warranted. But if Tony wanted someone off his back, that's the kind of deflection it would usually take.
Of course, it didn't hurt to seem cooperative at this point. "Naval Criminal Investigative Service," he said. "We have jurisdiction when a Navy or Marine is involved. It's not a small department," he advised.
That at least got a smile out of Dean. "Our dad was a Marine," he said with pride. "Thought y'all were called NIS without the C?"
More clues he couldn't use yet. "That was changed a long time ago. So you two are brothers?" It would be a tick against them in his internal legitimacy debate, but mostly it confirmed what their behavior with each other looked like. Tony might be an only child, but most of his friends had siblings who were often around.
"It's the family business," Sam said with sincerity.
"Okay, so if you're PIs and are coordinating with Baltimore PD, why are we hiding out here?" Time to get down to it.
Sam and Dean exchanged another look, and Dean picked back up explaining. "Because there's another piece to this puzzle that's keeping you from going home. And you're not going to believe it, so we're going to spend the next half hour trying to convince you. After that, you can come with us, stay here voluntarily, or stay locked in my trunk involuntarily. But we're going to have to go catch this guy soon, and we can't have you slowing us down or getting in the way."
Neither of them looked surprised when he laughed, but they did after he said, "You sound just like my boss."
"What the hell does that mean?" Dean wanted to know.
"Rule number sixteen: If someone thinks they have the upper hand, break it." He knew the grin was out of place, but it was nice to have familiarity with this kind of stern personality.
"They make you learn the rules by number?" frowned Sam in disapproval.
"Ha! No, that's just if you work for Gibbs. He's a legend because he's no-nonsense and terrifying," said Tony with a fond expression that would earn him extra paperwork for a month if his boss could see it. "And I need to call him A-sap. Tell me the rest; I can handle it."
"I didn't say you couldn't handle it. I said you won't believe it. You're gonna think that we're liars or lunatics, but we have a limited timeframe to work with," warned Dean.
"Okay. Is this a theory or is there proof?"
"We can give you proof- if you cooperate," Sam said. "I have an idea, Dean. Let's call Tony's phone on speaker. And his boss. At the same time, even. If," he stared hard at Tony, "If you'll be able to resist saying a word, and I mean *no* sound. Listening privileges only. Then give us five minutes to explain after the calls before we let you call Gibbs right back." The guy's face was so earnest and entreating, he surely had most people eating out of his hands despite the intimidating size.
Extremely curious now, Tony nodded and even threw in a finger over his lips.
Dean seemed to know what Sam intended. "Tony, what kind of car do you drive?"
"At the moment?" his tone turned sad. "An '07 Camero that a friend sold me for a song. It's not bad, the seats are pretty comfy, but it doesn't have the effect on the chicks that my 1990 Corvette did before it was stolen. And the '66 Mustang that got blown up by a terrorist a couple years ago was so sweet, it wasn't worth trying to replace."
"Oh, God," muttered Sam.
Dean just gave him an approving ear-to-ear smile. "Man, I wish we could have hung out before scaring you off. Kindred spirits. So when's the last time you had it in the shop?"
Tony had to think for a moment. Naturally, he itched to check his missing phone's calendar. "First Tuesday of last month. It was crazy busy, but I had that stupid 'check engine' light keep going off."
"Perfect. Okay, what's the name of the shop?"
"Al's Classics. He did good with my first sweetheart, and lets me bring the newbie out of pity." That got another grin out of Dean.
"Sounds like a guy I'd let handle my baby." Then he got serious. "Okay, Sam's gonna call your boss and ask him questions about you. Just go with us, here. Can you give him a cover? HR, maybe?"
"That would work. What kind of questions?"
Sam pulled out a pen and paper. "Anything that won't sound suspicious. Maybe we had a computer glitch and need to confirm your last day off?"
"Sure. Ask him which of my days were medical leave two months ago. They're always fussing when I clock in while I'm supposed to be out. I'm sure Gibbs can give you an earful." Tony still couldn't guess what they were trying to accomplish here.
"Last name?" Sam asked, and Tony immediately realized it was an opportunity to send a signal to Gibbs that something was hinky. If he said DiNardo . . . .
But Dean saw it too. "Hey, I swear this is the only way to give you proof that we're not crazy." Damn it, he realized he liked the guy now, and it was affecting his judgment.
"Then it's time to tell me the crazy part."
"This guy isn't just killing people," Sam blurted out quickly, like he wanted to prevent Dean from doing it insensitively. "He's kidnapping them to steal their identities. Not like identity theft, but he actually makes himself look and sound and act like them. Good enough to fool their friends and family." The brothers looked serious and slightly wary of his reaction.
Tony gave them the benefit of the doubt for five whole seconds while he considered it. Then he shook his head. "No one's *that* good."
"Well, that's what we're about to see. Or hear, rather." Sam was watching him closely with those sympathetic eyebrows again. "Dean's gonna call your phone and let you listen in. See for yourself how convincing this guy is. At the same time, I'll talk to your boss and find out if he thinks you're still you. Following?"
Yeah, that made the past few minutes make sense, but it was still absurd. Maybe this guy could act like a regular person, but Tony's team would have caught on at first glance. Of course, it was Sunday. "Lucky for you, my job is for workaholics. They're probably both in the office right now. But if this dude messes with my memorabilia on my desk, he won't live to face trial," he warned. He'd let Sam and Dean dig their own graves with this stunt, then he'd let Gibbs ram that lesson home. "Last name is DiNozzo. Capitol N," and he got up to move over to the table and write Gibbs' phone number on Sam's paper. Dean tossed him a phone, and he punched in his own cell number.
While they looked at him like waiting for more naysaying, Tony returned to his seat in front of the door with an air of low expectations.
"Alright, don't say we didn't warn you," said Dean as he hit send, then speaker. It rang three times.
"Hello?" said Tony's own voice, with that same impatient inflection he always used with an unfamiliar caller ID.
"Mr. DiNozzo? This is Dean at Al's Classics shop."
"Okay, can I help you?" Wow. It was definitely his voice.
"I'm afraid we've found an error in our billing records. You came in several weeks ago, but your credit card payment never cleared. Can I get a different card from you?"
"What? That's not possible. It was just some computer glitch on my newfangled car that Jeff had sorted out in ten minutes. He said he'd knock half off the fee and then rang me up himself."
Tony- the real Tony- felt his jaw fall into his lap. There was *no way* someone else could have got that right. When Dean eyed a question at him, Tony just nodded absently. The details were dead-on.
"Well I'm afraid Jeff didn't make a record of that, sir. Do you happen to remember the date?" Dean played his part easily, staying casual while chit-chatting with a serial killer. He moved off into the open bathroom to continue the conversation, where Tony could still hear his own voice arguing about the bill.
That was Sam's cue to start his call, and though Tony was still reeling, he was eager to hear from Gibbs. His gut was screaming to take the opportunity to tip off his boss that Tony's . . . doppelganger . . . couldn't be trusted. But Sam and Dean had already proved they knew more than he did so far, and for some reason they didn't want to let Gibbs know just yet. As long as it was all sorted out before the end of the day, Tony was willing to wait until he had a bigger picture of this insane perp.
"Gibbs," came the terse tone out of Sam's speaker.
"Excuse me, sir, this is Sam Wesson in HR. I have just a quick issue you can resolve for us." Sam was also good at the con.
"Make it quick," his boss insisted.
"We're a bit confused because month before last, your Agent DiNozzo was cleared for a week of medical leave, which you signed off on, but we also have your signature on his timesheet as being in the office that same week. Just for our records, can you recall which file I should log?"
"Why don't you ask him yourself?" Gibbs asked with exasperation.
"Because that would be a conflict of interest, and your signature is what matters." Sam looked like he believed every word out of his mouth.
"He gets paid whether he's here or not, right? He probably came in that week because we were tracking down a guy who was preying on teenage girls and DiNozzo has his priorities straight!"
Tony couldn't help snickering quietly, since it was always fun to watch his boss yell at someone else. Sam quickly turned his back in order to keep his straight face. "I'm glad to hear that, sir. Thank you for clearing things up. Should I set aside these unused sick days to be available to him later in the year? He'd still need a doctor's note to use them, though. Actually, why don't I just save those questions for your agent himself. He's not in the office today, I don't suppose?"
"He is, but he's on another call." Sam turned back to catch Tony's eye.
"Really?" his voice only sounded pleasantly surprised. "Does he usually come in on Sundays or are y'all on another big case?"
"This is normal. Now, if there's nothing else?" Tony's heart sank after the word *normal*. No, it's not! he wanted to call out. You really have to choose *this* time to be wrong, boss?
Despondently, Tony went over to the fridge and tore into one of the apple packs while the two brothers ended their calls. At their expectant looks, he pouted a bit. "It's not possible, you know. Something is seriously weird here." He noticed how carefully they both did *not* react to his words and realized there was still more to this.
"Plus, it doesn't make any sense," he said, pointing an apple slice at them. "What's this guy's motive? Climbing the career ladder quickly? Does he get off on conning more and more-" A new thought burst in. "What if he's done being me? Is Gibbs next? Or the director of NCIS? The Secretary of the Navy? President?" Now he was getting a bit hysterical, but Tony knew he needed to call Gibbs and read him in quick.
"We have no idea," Dean said bluntly. "But I want to stop him tonight, so it shouldn't matter *why* the guy's a loony toon. How long is the drive from here?" Sam started gathering their things and packing up.
"Less than an hour on Sunday," Tony said, stuffing apples into his mouth and grabbing the remaining salad and burgers. "I'm going to need to borrow a gun," he pointed out.
That stopped Dean, who was pulling knives out from under the bed pillows and shotguns from every corner. "I don't think so, buddy. Your legs are still shaky, and you can't tell real meat from imitation spam. Let us handle him. You can try to get your boss and his boss and whoever into a highly public place for tonight, or whatever. But me and Sam work better alone." There was a no-arguments-accepted finality to his tone that got Tony thinking about Gibbs again.
"I need to call my boss back right *now* and get him-"
"You can't do that," Sam interrupted. "Look, right now surprise is the only thing on our side. We can't risk Gibbs somehow tipping this guy off. He reads people, remember? Besides, they're pretty secure where they're at now, aren't they? We'll be there in an hour, you said." It was all spat out quickly, but was still logical and rational enough that Tony couldn't find a legitimate counter. He certainly didn't agree, but they just didn't know Gibbs like he did.
"Let's move this discussion to the Impala," ordered Dean, already opening the door and jobbing to the motel office to check out.
Traffic, of course, refused to cooperate. Tony couldn't imagine how that semi managed to tip over on a flat stretch of highway across all five lanes, while Dean was more interested in cursing the driver for pulling his stunt fifty yards in front of them, leaving no exit route on this stretch until the truck was righted and hauled away.
The only upside was that Tony had time to eat all of the remaining food, found an empty cup rolling at his feet to pee into, and was feeling eighty percent better than he did just four hours ago. Plus, he and Dean had gotten to show off everything they knew about cars. He learned their last name was Winchester when he asked about the initials carved on the door to his left. But Tony had yet to find common ground with Sam, who was sort of a geek with muscles and actual social skills. The kid had actually left poverty to attend a name brand college on a full ride, while Tony had left the silver spoon for a public university as a basketball walk-on. Dean found that irony hilarious, of course.
Finally they pulled into D.C. Since it was now nearly six, Tony was going to be dropped off at Gibbs' house to fill him in and stay the night. Sam and Dean hoped to stake out and follow the creepycopy, as Tony had named him. They didn't know if the guy would go to Tony's apartment or follow his own agenda, but they planned to end it as soon as they could catch him alone. It went unspoken that the guy wasn't going to just be getting a citizens' arrest, but Tony had no objection. Such a strange case would be tied up in legal for years before justice was sorted out. This freak had killed five of Baltimore's detectives, and who knew how many people before that. But Tony was glad to be left out of this part of the equation; no lying would be required to Gibbs or his conscience. He jotted Gibbs' phone number on a burger wrapper and handed it to Sam.
"So straight on down this road for a mile, left at Douglas, right at Elm, then get on the beltway and follow the signs. Ten minutes, tops. There's a small parking lot across from the Yard that you can watch from. My Camero's dark green." The Impala was idling in Gibbs' driveway, and suddenly Tony was reluctant to get out.
"You'll call us when it's clear to go back to my apartment, right?" With their elusiveness, he was fairly sure they wouldn't be back to shake his hand, but no way did he want to be left wondering.
Sam seemed to get it. He pulled a blank business card out of his wallet and wrote two phone numbers with an S and D beside them. As he handed it over the seat, they exchanged genuine smiles. "You've been a huge help, man," Sam started.
"Yadda, yadda," Dean prodded. "Tony, you're swell. Now get outta here so we can get going," he said with a grin.
"I owe you guys. Call it in anytime." Tony exited and waved them off, feeling strange walking into Gibbs' house alone and empty handed.
He stretched his cramped muscles out on the couch and tried not to count the minutes going by while he waited for Gibbs. When it passed thirty, Tony got up to call his boss' cell, but just then the Charger pulled into the driveway. Getting out the silver knife the Winchesters had given him, Tony waited for an opportune moment, already dreading the rage he was about to provoke. Probably there would be chokeholds and more bruises in his near future.
Somehow Gibbs knew the house wasn't empty, because he peeked just his head around the kitchen door before entering to set down the grocery sacks in his arms. "I thought you said you had plans tonight, DiNozzo?"
"Got any more to bring in, boss?" Tony moved further into the kitchen with the knife up his sleeve.
"No, that's it. So why are you-" Gibbs needed less than a second to disarm Tony and trap him against the sink after his arm was pricked. "What the HELL, DiNozzo?"
"Oh thank God you're really you, boss. Don't worry, I'm explaining already. You see, there's this perp we're chasing, and he can-"
"What? We did paperwork all day!" Yeah, that was a look on Gibbs' face that had never before been aimed at Tony.
He rushed to get the story out. "I swear, that wasn't me. I've been in Baltimore all weekend, until about an hour ago. *That's* the guy. He imitates his victims completely head to toe and voice included. I would *not* make up this kind of crap, Gibbs." His serious tone seemed to get through.
"That's impossible," but Gibbs was already pulling back and pointing Tony into a chair. While he himself remained standing on guard for another attack, of course, but it could easily be worse.
"I know! I didn't believe it either, and I woke up this morning in the guy's actual *lair* surrounded by dead bodies. With no memory after Thursday! Trust me, it's real."
Gibbs just stared.
"That phone call you got today from HR? It was phony, as was the one keeping the creepycopy occupied while you talked. I was listening in on both calls. It was the only way they could convince *me* that I had been clone. God, it was so awful. He sounded exactly like me and knew things he couldn't have."
Now Gibbs started frowning. "Who are 'they'?"
Tony sighed, more than a little embarrassed about this part. "The two PIs who found me unconscious, fed me, drove me back here, and are going after the perp as we speak. They were something else, boss, I gotta tell ya. About 30 years old, but could read that crime scene like old pros. No badge, but as far as I could see the Baltimore PD was following their lead. Brothers who said being PIs was the family business. Dad was a Marine, by the way. The older one, Dean, reminded me of you. I'm not convinced they told me their real bios; I think those two could con Mike Franks out of his hammock. But I swear, they knew this case and this guy top to bottom, and I trust them that much."
"Okay, DiNozzo, I hear you." Gibbs was still staring at him. Tony *was* rambling, he supposed. "But why the hell did you try to stab me?"
"Oh come on, it was barely a prick," Tony scoffed. "We don't know what the guy wants, but recently he's been moving up the ranks. He might have been after you next. Sam and Dean somehow found out that he's allergic to silver, so that knife was just to prove you're not him." Then he remembered, "Sorry, of course."
Gibbs merely turned and started putting his groceries away. Tony was starting to be concerned at the lack of apocalyptic response that he'd expected. "So you're not gonna-"
*Smack!*
Ah, there it was. Well, at least Gibbs wasn't a pod person. "I was going to say, why aren't you demanding to go hunt the guy down? Calling in the team or something?"
"Should we? Sounds like you trust those other guys to get it done."
"Yeah, I do. But since when do you ever sit back and let someone else handle a case themselves?" Tony got up and started helping put away the cans, but Gibbs had paused.
Restarting, Gibbs put the last of the tv dinners in the freezer before sitting slowly while Tony finished up. After a moment, he finally said, "I'm still not happy that this guy fooled me. I can't think of anything he said or did today that was even a little suspicious. The suspicious part is what he *did* know. I gave him some forms and he handed them back filled out right, just as quick as you would have. At one point he threw a wrapper in Ziva's trashcan the same way you always ricochet it when she's not looking. Does he know our classified stuff, too?"
Gibbs looked pretty worried, and Tony was getting there too. "I didn't realize it went that far," he admitted. "Yeah, he could have accessed anything on my computer. We'll have to have McGee check for any tampering or something tomorrow morning, see if anything was copied or sent elsewhere. But Sam and Dean are probably already on his tail. They said they'd call us as soon as it's over so I can go home. Let's give 'em another hour or two before we panic. Most likely some of our questions will be answered then."
Actually, at that moment, Sam and Dean were rolling their eyes as the shapeshifter pulled Tony's car into a local mall.
"We don't have to follow him inside," Dean said firmly with a finger held up for emphasis. Sam didn't bother trying to argue.
"Look, let me out at the door, and I'll watch him inside. You watch his car. But we can't take the chance that he somehow made us and is going to switch vehicles or even bodies while we both sit on our asses out here."
"Fine, fine. Better you than me." He pulled up to the curb and let Sam out just as fake-Tony entered the building.
Dean drove up and down a few aisles, looking for a good space that had a line of sight to Tony's Camero without being right next to it. His Impala was so awesome that the 'shifter would be likely to notice seeing it twice, and he didn't want to risk keeping too far back when the guy got on the road again. Settling in, Dean turned off the engine and cranked up the radio, smirking that Sam willingly volunteered to visit yuppieland. Malls were even worse on the weekend than they were just on general principle. Tony was tall enough not to get lost in the crowds, though. And when the DJ announced it was time to get the Led out for a half-hour block, it felt like all was right in the world. About to gank a monster with a kick-ass soundtrack. He hoped that alternate-reality tv show about them got the music right, at least. Poor Chuck could have sold more books if they'd come with a mix tape. Or whatever they were called now. Playlists. Dean spent several minutes thinking of the perfect tracks for book one.
Sam's ringtone interrupted his zen, of course.
"Yeah?"
"This is weird, Dean. He's just walking around, not buying anything or even shopping. Just stopping to flirt or schmooze with anyone who makes eye contact. Just now he spent a minute with some frumpy mom, giving her little kids extra coins to throw in the fountain."
Okay, that was strange. "Well, Tony's a charming, handsome dude. Maybe this is his usual weekend hobby?" Not likely, but it was Dean's job to argue with Sam anyway.
"I don't like this, Dean."
"Yeah, but it doesn't change anything. Unless you can corner him in an empty restroom, all we can do is keep tailing him. Hell, there's cameras everywhere, even here in the parking lot. Just keep watching, unless you want to add to your rap sheet."
"Should we call Tony?" said Sam, grasping for something to be done.
"Still wouldn't change the plan. Might want to warn him about his hundred new BFFs later." Dean realized it would help Sam blend in with the masses better to stay on the phone. "I bet Tony would make a good hunter."
Sam's scoff was audible even over the background noise from the crowd. "It takes more than an appreciation for classic cars and carrying a gun, you know."
"Don't forget he stayed cool after waking up in a sewer. And he already knows how to track down bad guys."
"I bet he does more paperwork than actual crime solving. You remember how Henriksen complained about that."
"And *that's* my favorite part of hunting, Sam. The most paperwork I ever have to do is filling out credit applications."
"I bet he's good at research, though."
"Now you're talking! Think we can convince him that we usually chase ghosts? Then we could cash in that favor with cold, hard hours wading through government databases. Think of the access he probably has!"
"I think if you tried telling him, he'd revoke the offer and quite possibly lock you up himself. Then he'd find your FBI file."
"Yeah, yeah. Let a man have his dreams. I bet he'd even-"
"Hey, I think the show's finally coming to a close. We're back to the door we came in."
"I'm parked two rows to your right."
Back to work.
Chapter Two coming soon!