A/N: I've had this story on the back burner since Nov 2014, but 2015 has been a busy year for me. Finally I have managed to get it pulled together over the Christmas/New Year holidays. So here it is...
Summary: Sci-fi/Mystery AU - Two brothers Sam and Dean have a falling out and Sam winds up working on a remote research station in Antarctica. Cue UFO (Unidentified Frozen Object), mysterious deaths, and the Earth in deadly danger. A different treatment of the perennial 'The Thing (from Another World)/Who Goes There?' situation.
Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, its fandom, its characters or anything connected to them. I do not make money or profit in any way from this story.
Warnings: Sorry no slash, no romance this time. Bit of violence, murder, hero death. Nothing a T shouldn't cover.
~O~
Howlround (Chapter I: Prelude) by frostygossamer
Timeline: University of Kansas, Lawrence KA - Two months from today
Kevin Tran, boy genius - his mother's words - lays the shimmering feather back in its handmade bamboo case and snaps it shut with a sigh. He carefully places the deceptively simple box on top of the janitor's high-piled cart and watches dejectedly as the shaggy-haired custodian trundles it away to its allotted storage lock-up.
Fishing his cell phone from the pocket of his immaculately white lab-coat, Kevin calls his mother.
"Hi, Mom."
He has caught Mrs. Tran filling her insulated coffee cup right before leaving for work. She puts the phone on loudspeaker and continues pouring.
"Oh, hi, Kevin honey. How are things in Lawrence? Heard from the committee about your grant?"
Her son recently applied for a grant to finance his new research. Mrs. Tran was convinced he would get it. How could he fail? Her son is brilliant. But Kevin was very for from sure, with good reason.
The young guy sighs dramatically. "Yes, Mom, I heard. And no, Mom, I didn't get it."
Mrs. Tran spills hot coffee on the toes of her fancy new shoes, but she is too shocked to notice. Her voice lifts a few decibels.
"You DIDN'T get it? Did NOT get it?! Sweetie, do those people have ANY idea what they're doing? How could they NOT give you the money? Ugh! Kevin, you want me to fly out there and tell them-"
Her son cuts in before she can get up to full speed.
"I, uh, told them about the feather," he explains, apologetically. "Guess they thought it was some kinda joke. Bottom line, they closed down my lab."
Mrs. Tran growls in disgust. How could those dusty old fuddy-duddies at KU treat her genius son that way?
"Oh, Kevin, and your experiments were going SO well. Your father's inheritance is an authentic ANGEL feather, a genuine miracle. How could those short-sighted idiots not see that? Do they have NO imagination?"
Kevin sighs again. No, the stalwart members of the Grants Committee have little or no imagination. They deal in hard cash. Hard cash and scientific vision maybe, but certainly not magic.
He can't really blame them though. He was just as sceptical about the feather as they were, to begin with. When his test results turned out amazing, he had to concede there really WAS something to this.
The thing is, he only intended to subject the feather to one or two standard lab tests to get his stubborn matriarch off of his back. Who would have believed the alleged angel appendage she presented him with on his sixteenth birthday, the treasured heirloom handed down for generations through the Tran family, could really have, well, supernatural powers?
His mother believed it, but then she wasn't a scientist, merely a firm believer in all things Tran.
Empiricist Kevin was more than incredulous about the whole thing. Aside from the ancestral claims, how could it be an actual ANGEL feather? Seriously? Like angels exist? Ancestor Tran must have been totally trashed when he came up with that dumb fairytale.
So who would have guessed the fluffy item could have powers like it does? Who would have guessed it could even HAVE any? Certainly not Kevin. And evidently NOT the old guys who sign off on research grants.
"I showed the committee my initial results were ALL positive. Every one. But they said it had to be some kinda hoax, and if the press got wind of it, the university would be a laughingstock. Guess they DO have a point. It all sounded pretty screwy, even to me."
"Ha!" Mrs. Tran exclaims. "Those pea-brained pedants. Kevin, they don't know what they're letting go. You'd be such an asset to their silly little school. One day they'll be sorry they let you slip through their arthritic fingers."
Young Kevin is grateful for his mother's faith in him, but he has already talked through his disappointment enough for one day.
"Listen, Mom. I'll call you back later and you can tell me again how great I am. Right now I need coffee. It's been a rough morning."
Mrs. Tran's maternal smile beams down the phone line to her son. Kevin can almost feel its warmth on his cheek.
"OK, honey," she coos. "You go get coffee. I promise tomorrow things will look so much brighter. There must be SOMEONE out there who knows a good thing when they see it. The fight's not over yet. You got me in your corner." She makes a kissing sound down the receiver. "Bye, Kevin honey."
"Bye, Mom."
Her son terminates the call. He lied a little about getting coffee. What he really wants to do is go drown his dashed hopes in some bar in town. Then maybe he will go back to his place to crash out and snore like an inebriated walrus. He feels he deserves it.
His mother wouldn't understand.
~O~
Kevin finds his way to a fairly empty mainly student bar not far off campus where he selects a stool at the bar. He intends to pickle his liver in as much beer as his slight frame can hold.
He isn't much of a drinker, as a rule, but for some reason today the alcohol fails to completely rob him of his wits as it should. The best he can do is slump over his glass looking slightly wrecked and feeling unjustly mistreated. His whole shining academic future now looks bleak.
How could his ancestors have done this to him? Their simple superstition could have made him the butt of the entire University's ridicule, and all because of a stupid little cock-and-bull story handed down through his father's family.
"Dad, how could you have done this to me?" he mumbles into his beer.
Picture this. An early Tran ancestor, back in the old country, an honest salt-of-the earth type. He is driving his oxcart to market when the dumb beast literally stumbles into a dishevelled stranger, staggering along the track. The stranger has appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the road and the startled ox knocks him flying into the dust.
The mortified farmer offers the dazed and lost-looking stranger a gratefully accepted ride to the nearest town. Once there, the stranger politely takes his leave and quickly vanishes, never to be seen again.
All that remains of old Tran's passenger is a single large, iridescent feather lying on the footboard of his cart. This fragile scrap of evidence proves to the farmer's superstitious mind his strange visitor had to have been some wandering messenger of heaven, or in western terms an angel, and the feather a gift bringing good luck.
"So where's all the luck when I most need it, huh?"
Kevin continues sitting there on his barstool muttering until the bar morphs into a nightspot and begins to get noisy, filling up with its regular evening patronage. At some point, the street door opens and in strolls a guy who is destined to change the young man's fortune.
A big fat guy in a Springsteen sweatshirt and cowboy boots.
~O~
Timeline: Winchester residence, Lawrence KA - Tomorrow
Dean Winchester unlocks his front door and flips the light switch. As expected, no one is in. Peachy.
Sexy desk clerk Carmen at long last packed up her crap and moved out yesterday. But only after Dean had spent an entire weekend calling everyone he could think of to locate a new place that met with her standards.
Hey, he is a gentleman when it comes to the ladies. He wasn't going to kick the chick out of his bed and into the gutter. She didn't bitch because that had always been the deal, right? Until she found an apartment? Yeah, well HE found the apartment and then SHE found it was time to go.
They will stay on good terms, for sure. Go for a drink once in a while, but not exclusive. At least Dean isn't. He never was. Sticking around was her idea not his, and he put up with her crap for quite a time. Only it needed to stop when he finally figured out she was one reason his brother Sam left for Antarctica. After he had promised Dean he would never do anything so dumb.
Was the big guy jealous? Well, he doesn't need to be. Sammy always comes first in Dean's book. Unhealthy maybe, but Dean is nothing if not an awesome big brother and that is how he rolls. Sam has got to see that eventually, right? Meanwhile, the kid can go spent a few months sulking in Antarctica if it makes him happy.
"Antarctica? Jeez! Could the dumb-ass get further away from me?"
Dean shrugs off his jacket as he walks in the kitchen. He hangs it on the back of a chair and opens the refrigerator, looking for a beer. After a long day in the repair shop he really needs some alcoholic refreshment. He glances at the cold, dewy bottle in his hand. Maybe he should take notice of his preachy brother and try cutting back on the sauce? Uh, tomorrow maybe.
He flops down on the couch in front of the TV and uses the remote to turn on the evening news. They are running the international roundup already. He catches the end of some item about an explosion and fire with what sounds like that Crocodile Dundee guy doing voice-over. Did the guy mention some place called Hobart? Dean has heard the name someplace.
Mildly curious, he takes his beer in the den and opens up his laptop to Google headlines, but notices he has a new email from Tasmania University. Huh?
Dean blanks for a moment before he remembers what he called the 'dumb-ass tree-hugger environmental crap' project his brother signed up for is run out of Tasmania University. Australia, right?
The email is from Sam and it has an audio attachment. Dean listens as he sips his beer.
"Hi, Dean," he hears Sam's familiar voice say. "First of all, uh, I'm sorry."
"You oughta be," comments Dean to himself.
"You do know I didn't mean what I said, right?" Nervous laugh. "Man, you weren't wrong. Antarctica is a bitch. At the risk of coming off like Dorothy, I'd rather be home in Kansas right now."
"Dude, I am NEVER wrong," agrees Dean.
"Remember how I whined about Dad sending me to that skeevy Summer Camp when I was eleven? Ten times as bad. Wish you would come get me like you did back then." Wistful sigh.
"Yeah sure." Dean chuckles at the memory. "Had your back, kid."
"I, uh, miss you, bro. Seriously. Guess I opened my big mouth and stuck my foot right in it." Awkward pause. "So, uh, well, Dean, if I don't hear from you I'll understand why, but please reply. I'm waiting, man."
The recording ends.
Dean sighs. He knew his brother would wind up regretting the day he walked out on him to get down with those dorky-ass penguins. And over a woman? Seriously? How could Sam NOT know Dean would NEVER let some chick come between him and his little brother. Come on now.
Maybe he should RSVP right away and put the guy out of his misery. Or maybe he should let him stew for a while. Oh yeah!
Ding-ding...
As he considers it, he hears a tinkle from his laptop. Another email has arrived and this one looks like it came direct from the administrator of Sam's Antarctic research project. Dean opens it unthinkingly and reads.
Dear Mr. D. Winchester
I'm sure by now you will have seen the news coverage of the recent incident at Huge Attraction ice-station, the base of our Antarctic research operations.
You may already know an observation plane has been dispatched to reconnoitre the scene and directly report back on the situation as they find it.
At present, we have no firm details about casualties. But please be assured we will keep you and the other emergency contacts informed of further developments as and when they emerge.
Meanwhile, please accept my condolences.
Yours sincerely,
Head of Antarctica Project
University of Tasmania
Hobart
Unable to take in any of this the first time through, Dean has to read the email again. And again.
"Casualties? Condolences? What the crap? What the freakin' crap?!"
Dean raises his beer bottle to his lips on autopilot but immediately puts it back down. Returning to the living room in a daze, he perches on the couch. He is staring blankly at nothing, his mind in a spin, when his cell phone starts to vibrate in his pants pocket. He pulls it out numbly.
On TV the news guys have switched back to their Australia correspondent. He is using his most serious voice. The tremor of the explosion registered in Tasmania, he says. The rosy glow of distant firelight can be clearly seen along the horizon. The Hobart University research base has been out of radio contact for several days, and without counter-communication, they can only assume the worst.
A recon team has been dispatched by airplane and will supply more details as soon as they become available. The channel's talking head suggests a methane explosion as a possibility. They could have hit a methane pocket while taking core samples, their expert believes. Dean is frozen in disbelief.
He speaks curtly into the phone. "Dean Winchester."
A pleasant female voice responds, her tone solicitous.
"Mr. Winchester, you've presumably seen the news by now? I'm speaking on behalf of our Antarctica research project here at the university in Hobart. Your brother was part of the project team, yes?"
"I, uh, sure," mumbles Dean.
"I just want to assure you, you and the other relatives, you WILL be updated the MINUTE we get ANY reliable information AT all. Unfortunately right now we're as much in the dark as you are. I'm sure we'll learn more when the observation aeroplane reports in."
He lets the phone drop from his limp hand onto the couch.
A distant tinny voice shouts, "Mr. Winchester? Are you still there?" a couple times before the line goes dead.
Dean stares straight ahead unseeing. This can NOT be real. No way. Not his Sam. Not in Antarctica. Not so far away from home.
"No. Freakin'. Way."
His mind is racing, grasping for an alternative explanation.
"They've been out of radio contact, right? That's it. They'll radio in soon and everything will be OK. Stupid mistake. Big laugh on the news guys."
Dean opens a cabinet and grabs a bottle of Jack. He twists off the lid and takes a long slug.
"Yeah, sure. Dumb-ass Aussies. Freakin' mess-up."
But they aren't and it isn't.
They cremate what remains of Sam and the others in Hobart and scatter his remains in a rose garden. Representatives from the university attend. Dean doesn't fly down because there isn't any point. He doesn't see a point in anything anymore. Sam was the only living thing he truly cared for. Without Sam, he is left aimless and hopeless.
Jeez, Dean isn't even a brother anymore. All he wants is to drown his memories in alcohol. Lots of it. And most of all, it breaks his heart be couldn't be there for Sam the one day the kid really needed him.
That one day. What he wouldn't give to change that? To have that one day back.
~O~
Timeline: Huge Attraction Ice-station, Antarctica - Yesterday morning
On the other side of the world, deputy project leader Sam Winchester's day begins like any other working day of his sojourn on the lonely South Pole. Contrary to his brother's comments there is not one 'dorky-ass' penguin within miles. He has risen early to go out and check his meteorological equipment before sharing lunch with his team on base. Readings are pretty much as expected.
On his way back to the research station, he pauses to scan the horizon. Icy, bleak, lifeless and yet deeply mysterious, the wind-blown Antarctic snowfield stretches before him unblemished and untrodden by man. No sounds of life, only the disturbingly wolfish howl of the ever-present biting gale, winding round and round the low wood buildings of the station.
OW OOH... OH WHOO OH... OH OOH WOE...
He takes a deep breath, catching a little on the pure yet chilly air, and smiles inwardly.
Little does he know this day will be the penultimate day of his short life.
TBC
A/N: This is all written so I hope to update soon and regularly. Next chapter will begin Sam's story. What really happened?