-Bump In The Night-
Okay... written for the October challenge prompt: 'Things that go bump in the night' over at the NickGreg LJ. Ended up a bit longer than I'd planned. I don't own the CSI's or the Winchester boys. Enjoy!
"Dean!" Sam called impatiently from his spot sprawled across his bed. "I found something!"
The older brother stepped out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his hips. "Impatient, much?"
He just rolled his eyes, reading through the article again. "A bunch of killings around Vegas. The original one is from 2002, but the guy who did it is dead now. There have been four or five murders since then with the exact same MO."
"We've gone on less." Dean agreed. "And it's in Vegas. Which means lots of showgirls and lots of people to hustle out of money." Sam wasn't sure which one his brother was looking forward to more.
"We'll head out in the morning, then."
Nick Stokes had never really been a believer in the supernatural. As freaky as the world he lived in was, he refused to believe in the existence of things that no one could even begin to imagine, things lurking in the dark.
However, he -was- a scientist and he had been trained to follow the evidence.
These two kids, okay, well maybe not kids, but still, were standing in his living room, after having apparently broken in, trying to explain that they believed some sort of evil spirit seeking vengeance was haunting his house and they'd like to know if he knows anything about it that they don't, oh, and no, no, they're not crazy.
Okay, so not quite supernatural. These boys were clearly insane and he should really call Brass or Grissom or -somebody- to have them committed, but they -have- evidence.
He'd heard of EMF before, electromagnetic frequencies, they explained, in case he didn't know, and he watched the set of lights sky rocker to red the second it was turned on. The taller one, who Nick suspected was actually the younger of the two, took one step outside the front door and the lights dimmed back to one. One step back in and all six were illuminated again.
"See?" The demonstrator inquired, slipping the device back into the duffel bag still hanging on the others shoulder.
Another figure stepped into the open doorway then, clearly assessing the situation. "Ugh… am I interrupting something?" The familiar voice asked and Nick spotted Greg.
"G, no, come in." He was grateful to have someone he knew was sound of mind to back him up on this. "Greg, this is, ugh…" He realized he had no idea who these people were.
"Dean Winchester." The short one supplied, offering a hand even as he eyed Greg in a not so subtle way that had Nick's blood boiling, and Nick thought to himself that that name sounds kind of familiar, he couldn't place it, though. "And my brother, Sam."
"Like the rifle? Cool." Greg shook the offered hand, either ignoring, provoking, or blissfully oblivious to the fact that this guy was eye-fucking him into next week. "Greg Sanders. Nick's friend. I live here, too." Nick assessed it as blissfully oblivious.
Nick possessively stepped closer to his friend, glaring death at Dean with a look that screamed 'Mine. Touch him and die.' Realizing he held the card that would ensure Greg never took one step closer to these psychos, he added, "They think my place is… get this, being haunted."
Greg's eyes lit up at the prospect, and, fuck, Nick forgot all about his buddies taste for the occult. Ever since that damn psychic case…"Really?"
"Yeah, we just don't know by what, yet." Obviously sensing that this newcomer was clearly more receptive to their theories than the doubtful Texan was, Sam addressed him instead. "Know of any deaths here?"
"Ugh…" The CSI eyed them both strangely, then. And Nick breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that that statement set off warning bells. He turned to Nick. "Should we… I don't know… call for back up here?"
"Wait!" Dean held up a hand. "Before you have us shipped off to those nice men in white coats, hear us out, okay?" He pulled out a manila folder, labeled with case numbers and the LVPD logo branded on the front.
"How'd you get a hold of that?" Greg asked, now even more suspicious. "That's from the department."
"That's not important." Sam opened the folder, producing several different crime scene photos. "April 17th, 2002. November 4th, 2005. July 27th, 2006. May 12th, 2007. September 17th, 2007. October 1st, 2007." Each photo was almost identical in nature. "Six murder cases in different counties in and around Vegas. Each victim was suffocated with a plastic bag and then left leaning over the toilet. Aside from the first one, they were all natural red heads. The first one's hair was dyed by the killer."
Greg watched Nick pale with this information, the older CSI turned to look at his friend, eyes wide. "Crane."
"That's who was charged with the first one." Dean nodded, having studied the file. "How'd you know?"
Noting that Nick looked about ready to bolt with this blast from the past, Greg answered instead. "Let's just say that Nick here is the one who took those pictures."
The brothers trade a look as if realizing that they were dealing with some form of law enforcement here. "Okay. That might explain the haunting part, then. Nigel Crane died in prison in September of '05. Not long before the killings started." Sam, employing his ability to gain people's trust with very little effort, explained, aware that his brother probably couldn't have this conversation without it ending in their arrest.
"He's dead?" The Texan was obviously surprised by this information and it looked as if a thousand pound weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. The other man wrapped an arm around him, keeping him upright.
"Yeah. Fuckers killed him in prison." Dean supplied. "We also know that these murders are surrounding this house. It's the central point of the five murders after his death."
Greg eased his friend down to sit on the sofa. "So you think he's coming after Nick again or something?"
Sam and Dean sat opposite the older men, prepared to continue their questioning. "What do you mean, 'again'?"
"You mean the stalking, living in his attic, shoving him out of a window, killing someone in his old apartment or trying to kill him?" Greg listed, surprised that they didn't find this information in their somehow-obtained files.
Recognition sparked in the younger's eyes. "Oh, you're the CSI who was attacked?" He flipped through the notes they have again, showing his brother the information. "I'm sorry."
"This does explain a lot, though. Why this is the central point, at least." Dean read the passage over Sam's shoulder. "The attacks are getting closer and closer together. We think the spirit will strike again, soon."
Greg raised an eyebrow. "And you two think you can get rid of it?"
"It's kind of what we do." Sam answered, as if they are asked that question often. "If you don't believe us, we'll tell you about some of the stuff we've dealt with."
"I'm on the fence with the buying into this thing." Nick was still quiet beside the younger man, so Greg took the initiative to question their motives. "Why are you doing this?"
Dean and Sam traded looks. "We do it to help people." Surely, the two can relate to that, given their professions. Sam was the one to answer his question, though, before adding, "No one was there to help us when something happened, so…"
Greg nodded, understanding that now that he'd survived his own near death experience. "So how does this all work?"
"Well, we'd like to stick around and make sure the spirit doesn't catch us by surprise. We need to figure out where he's buried so we can salt and burn the corpse and we should probably put up salt lines to keep him out here." Dean listed off the standard techniques, leaving one open mouthed CSI staring.
Nick chose this time to finish gathering his thoughts. "I'm in."
"You sure, Nicky?" The younger asked, a hand resting on the other man's knee.
"Yeah, they can crash in the guest room." Before they'd gotten together, before Greg had moved in, that's where Greg slept when he stayed over on the weekends, either for video game marathons or football games. It didn't matter much anyway, he doubted Nick would be getting much sleep after all of this.
"Upstairs, down the hall. Third door on the right." Greg supplied, his eyes on Nick.
"C'mon, Sammy." The elder brother prompted, exiting the room to give the two friends time to talk this unarguably strange event over.
"Why did we not know they worked with cops? We could be in trouble here, Dean." Sam was in full on panic mode. He didn't like prison when they were there on purpose with a fool proof plan of escape, Dean very much doubted he'd like it for real, either.
"Shh…" He scolded. "That cop in Baltimore helped us out once we proved we weren't insane."
Sam scoffed. "Yeah, out of pure dumb luck that the murderer the death omen was warning us about was her partner, Dean. This is a little different."
"Yeah, no dirty cops this time. Which means no cop trying to murder us or pin us for crimes we didn't commit." The elder rationalized. "Besides, it's obvious they're good at keeping secrets."
"How so?"
"They're together, you moron."
Sam looks skeptical. "And you came to this conclusion, how, exactly?" He folded his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow.
Dean rolls his eyes. "I just know, okay? Not to mention the Cowboy got all defensive when I started checking out Sanders, bitch."
"Jerk."
"You sure this is what you wanna do?" Greg prodded; glad his friend was being responsive again. "I mean, I kinda believe them on this… but…"
Nick shrugged, letting Maverick out of his crate in the dining room they never used. The dog pranced obediently along behind him, knowing it was time for food. They proceeded to the kitchen, Greg leaning against the counter as Nick rationed out dog food. "I don't know. But, that's Crane's MO and it's either some really smart copycat - because the hair dying thing was never released to the public, or a ghost."
The younger man set the food on the ground for the yellow lab. "Ever consider the possibility it could be them? I mean, they do have the files… still haven't quite figured out how they got their hands on those."
"True, but I'm not getting that vibe from them." The Texan moved back to the living room, flopping across the couch again, puling Greg down beside him. "You'll stay, right?"
Greg smiled. "You couldn't get rid of me if you tried."
The rest of the day passed slowly, and pretty normally by their standards. The brother's came back downstairs not long after the couple settled on the couch, Sam toting a laptop and Dean, copious amounts of files and a bag full of different weapons that the CSI's were pretty sure weren't registered and were probably illegal for them to be carrying, as well as a weathered journal they both seemed to be treating as gospel.
Greg and Nick went back and forth between listening in on the conversation taking place in the kitchen between the two strangers, and relaxing and watching television. Sam and Dean rotated between researching on the Inspiron and reading through books, to cleaning guns and playing with the dog, as well as keeping watch.
Around six in the afternoon, the CSI's were ready to turn in for the night, having explained their odd schedule to their houseguests. The brothers would stick around until it got dark out and then they'd go to the cemetery they'd discovered their not-so-friendly ghost was buried in. After they'd set up the salt lines.
Nick and Greg headed upstairs to their room, stripping down to boxers and t-shirts and drawing the black-out curtains before falling into bed.
"Let's just hope we don't hear anything else going bump in the night." Dean teased, finishing up with the last of the guns.
"Just 'cause you couldn't get into the guys pants doesn't mean you gotta be all hostile." Sam rolled his eyes, digging the salt out of the bag. "Should we do this now or wait till we're ready to leave?"
The elder shrugged. "Might as well." He caught the canister of salt that was tossed in his direction and headed off towards the side of the house Sam wasn't taking.
By the time they'd finished with all of the salt lines, it was nearly seven thirty and it was suitably dark enough to dig up a body without being spotted. "Ready?" Dean asked, already out the door. Sam followed close behind, supplies they'd need in the bag slung over his shoulder.
A strange noise woke Greg from his sleep. That was odd in and of itself; he was usually a heavy sleeper. It had gotten him in trouble when he'd first started working graveyard shift. The only sound that would get him out of bed was the alarm on his cell phone.
"Nick?" The younger questioned, but his eyes fell on the empty space beside him. "Nicky!"
When no answer came, he pulled himself from the comfortable bed, noting the open bedroom door. When he stepped out of the room his barefoot landed on something that felt like sand and he looked down to see that it was a line of salt. At least up to where it seemed Maverick had pawed at it.
"Nick!?" He shouted more urgently this time. "Sam? Dean?" He knew they probably weren't back yet. Digging up a grave probably took a little while, even if they were as practiced at it as they claimed to be.
He stepped further into the hallway, noting that the hatch to the attic was open. "Nick?" He had been confident that his lover would never step foot in an attic if he could help it. Then again, he'd thought the same about confined spaces, too.
Upon searching the rest of the house and finding several other broken salt lines and no Nick, Greg decided there was no other place the Texan could be. So, he climbed the pull down ladder.
"Nick?" He poked his head into the darkness, knowing a light switch should be just above him, to the right a bit. He flicked the switch and was relieved to find that the light did in fact work.
He could see everything but the corners and what lay behind the few boxes in the back. Greg heaved himself up the rest of the way, eyes scanning carefully.
"Greg?" The familiar voice rasped from the other side of the small room.
"Ah..." He let out a relieved sigh. "What are you doing up here?"
Arms encircled his frame, and not in the loving, passionate, playful way Nick had a tendency to use. "Nick! Get off of me!" He demanded, but a hand clamped over his mouth.
He could see his captor's eyes now, as he was pinned to the dusty floor. They weren't his lover's soft chocolate brown ones; instead, the cold, hard stare of a man Greg had never met.
"Alright, where is this freaking thing?" Dean demanded impatiently, eyes scanning the crudely marked graves of the men who had died in the county prison, the ones whose bodies had gone unclaimed.
Sam rubbed his temples wearily, dragging the shovel along behind him. "It's supposed to be around here somewhere." They were near an old oak tree where the information Sam had found reported the man to be buried.
"Sam, in this general area alone, there are at least two hundred graves. You can't narrow it down a little more than that?" However, he got no response from his brother.
Sam was doubled over, clutching his head as if it were ready to split in two. "Ah…." He groaned, his mind overwhelmed with images.
Dean was by his side in seconds, arms wrapped around his brother to keep him steady. "Sammy! Talk to me… what's happening? I thought we were done with those visions."
A moment later, panting and heaving the younger brother managed to lift his head again. "We need to get back. Now."
Dean didn't ask what he'd seen; it obviously would be awaiting them at the house. Instead, he heaved Sam to his feet, and started toward the car.
Greg pushed uselessly at the others man's chest. He refused to call it Nick because he knew it wasn't really. It may be in Nick's body, but it wasn't him.
"Stop!" He managed, panic in his eyes as his wrists were bound.
The possessed Nick just laughed at that. "No. I'm going to make Nick suffer for what he did to our friendship. I'm gonna take you away from him. And he'll live with the knowledge that he watched you die, couldn't do a damn thing about it… watched his hands strangle you." The smooth, caring voice of his lover was gone, replaced by the rasp of Nigel Crane.
"Nicky… come on. Fight it." He begged, hoping that wherever his lover was he could hear the pleas and get his body under control.
"He can't hear you."
"Nick was trying to kill Greg." Sam reported finally, sitting in the passenger's seat of the Impala as it made its way back to their current home base. "We have to hurry."
Dean looked over quickly, assessing his brother. "When you say that… Do you mean Nick or Nick possessed by the spirit?"
Sam glared. "Which one do you think?"
"Great. Now we gotta exorcise the damn thing." He smacked the steering wheel in his annoyance.
"I would like to think that saving Greg would come before the exorcism."
"Yeah, yeah. We'll be there in a couple minutes."
Fingers wrapped around the younger man's throat, thumbs pressing against his Adam's apple.
"Why… Nick?" Greg questioned, clawing at the hands restricting his air supply the words barely audible.
The reply cam in a voice that was not Nick's. "Because. We had something. And he ignored it. He ignored me. And now he needs to pay." A pause, as the fingers tightened for a moment then slackened again, drawing out this torture. "Woulda been so much easier if we had just gotten this over with back then."
Greg tried to bring a knee up to catch his captor off guard, but it had been expected, and Nick's body moved to straddle his hip, effectively blocking that plan of action.
"Please… Nick…"
"Come on!" Sam ordered, ahead of his brother, already through the front door. He noticed the broken salt lines and the dog sleeping on the couch and realized their idiocy. "Damn it."
"Up here!" Dean called, having spotted the ladder before his brother did.
Equipped with holy water, rope, chalk to make the devils trap and any other supplies they might need, they ascended the steps and quickly spotted the Texan hovering over the other man.
"You take Nick. I'll grab Greg." Dean nodded in agreement with that plan and crept around slowly to the other side of the room, Sam going the opposite way.
The brothers nodded at each other from across the room, indicating they were both in the positions they needed to be. Dean splashed holy water on the possessed CSI, which effectively drew the man's attention.
Nick whirled around, the water burning him. Sam took that opportunity to grab Greg's arm and pull, managing to get the man out of the direct path of the other. He cut the binding quickly. "Get downstairs."
"It's not Nick. Don't hurt him." The man pleaded and Sam only nodded before shoving him towards the ladder.
"Go."
"Sammy! I could use some help over here!" Dean called, slowly being backed up towards the wall, just as hands wrapped around his neck.
Not hesitating a bit, Sam moved forward, managing to land a hard blow on the back of his head.
"Not bad, Sam." Dean looked impressed as the figure collapsed to the floor. "You draw; I'll tie the bastard up."
Sam set to work drawing the Devil's Trap on the floor while Dean bound the Texan's hands and feet.
"Greg! You can come up again." Sam called down to the CSI.
The man poked his head through the opening. "Is Nick…?"
"He's still possessed. Just knocked out." Dean shrugged, looking for something to tie the man to. "Can you bring up a chair or something?"
Greg disappeared again, returning a moment later with a fold-up chair. "You didn't tell us spirits could possess people." He watched his lover carefully, looking for any signs that could explain this.
"We were wrong. It's not a spirit, though they can do that sometimes. This is a demon." Sam admitted, sketching the last few lines of the trap. "We have to exorcise it."
"It won't hurt Nick, will it?"
Dean shook his head. "Not unless he's fallen out of any seven story buildings in the last hour."
Greg let out a sigh of relief, rubbing at the bruises on his neck. "Crane's not trying to kill Nick. He's trying to make Nick kill me."
"We noticed." Dean found the entry they'd need in one of their books, handing it to Sam. "Why?"
"The guy was obsessed with Nick. They had one conversation while he was installing Nick's cable and Crane started stalking him. Stole his clothes, hacked his email, watched him sleep… He was trying to take over Nick's identity or something. I forget exactly how our boss explained it. Some philosophical thing. Self-actualization. Or something."
"Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs." Sam supplied, ignoring the twin looks of disbelief he received. "What? College, remember, Dean?"
His brother snorted. "Yeah, Stanford."
Greg looked surprised. "You went to Stanford, too?"
"Yeah. I was Pre-Law before I got back into the family business. You?"
"Degree in Chemistry."
"That's all well and good, but he's gonna be waking up soon and I doubt he'll want to compare class notes." Dean broke off their conversation, tossing a bottle of holy water at his brother.
Sam rolled his eyes. "This is never fun. You can't interfere with what were doing, no matter what, okay? He'll be better when were done."
Greg nodded solemnly, resigning himself to this. "Alright. Can I ask how many of these you've done?"
"Several. Dean even had to do it to me once. I, ugh… shot him first, though."
Dean looked to his brother, preferring not to think about that event. "Yeah. Not an experience I want to relive."
"Mmm…" The figure tied to the chair groaned, blinking its eyes open. "What the…?"
"Hello, Crane." Sam smirked, prepared to start reading as soon as Dean gave him the go-ahead.
Possessed-Nick blinked, staring at the people surrounding him. "Greggo? What's going on? Why… am I tied to a chair?"
"Nick?" Greg asked, hopeful.
"Greg. Don't believe him. He's faking." Sam warned.
"What the hell? I knew you two were bad news! What's going on!?" Nick demanded, struggling against the ropes.
"Guys, I don't think he's lying." Greg tried to step in, but Dean held up an arm to keep him back.
Sam splashed some of the holy water at the figure and sure enough, the steam rose, having burned the demon. "See? Still possessed."
"Okay, Sammy." Dean nodded.
Sam started, reading the ritual flawlessly."Stop!" Nick ordered and Sam paused. "I'm still controlling him! I'll kill him before you finish reading that!"
"No, you won't." Dean is aware of the déjà vu effect, remembering a similar threat when the Meg-Demon was possessing his brother. "Keep going, Sammy."
"Humiliares sub potente magnu dei…" He read on, watching the demon writhe and squirm as each word echoed in the room.
He finally reached the end of the ritual and watched as the possessed figure lifted his head, the demon roaring as it came out of Nick's mouth, well on its way back to hell.
Nick slumped forward in the chair and Greg looked at Sam. "Is it over?" He asked, wanting to go to his lover. Sam nodded and the CSI didn't need to be told twice. He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around the stronger frame.
"Greg?"
"I'm here," He assured the other man, running a hand through his hair, untying the bindings holding him to the chair. "You're okay. He's gone."
"Don't." Nick pushed him away.
Confusion and hurt swept across Greg's face but before he could say anything, Nick was moving down the ladder, back downstairs.
"What…?" The two brothers gave him 'I have no idea' looks and started gathering their things together. Greg followed Nick. "What was that?" He asked, spotting his lover sitting on the sofa, a vacant look on his face.
Nick didn't answer. When Greg sat down beside him, he stood, moving to the other sofa. "I said 'don't'."
"Why?"
"I could have killed you." The Texan looked ashamed. "I was aware of what was going on, Greg. I know what he was trying to do to you. To get to me."
Greg still didn't understand, he approached again, a hand resting on the other's shoulder. "Nick… I know it wasn't you. I'm not upset with you. Or scared of you… or anything. I'm just glad you're back."
Nick's hand rested on top of Greg's as his eyes absorbed the bruises on the other's neck, as well as those on his wrists from the too-tight bindings. "God… what did I do to you?" He moved away again.
"Nick! Stop!" He pulled the Texan back to him. "You didn't do anything to me. Some freaky demon possessed you and did this. Not you. Not you, okay? I know you'd never hurt me." He rested his head on Nick's shoulder.
"Greg… It's still my fault. He was after me."
Greg shook his head. "No. It doesn't matter anymore, Nick, its over." And Nick finally gave in, then, wrapping his arms around the other man.
A voice from behind them caused both men to startle. "It's not over yet."
The four stood around the grave, watching as flames licked at the corpse.
"Now, it's over." Sam assured them, after he and Dean had insisted on salting and burning the body, just in case.
"Thanks." Greg smiled softly; glad to have it all over and done with, though neither of them would ever forget it. Things that go bump in the night would never quite be the same again.
"We'll head out tomorrow." Dean told them, aware that they probably needed some privacy to sort the last day's events out.
Nick nodded. "And we'll keep your secret, don't worry."
"What secret?"
"We know who you are. The thing in Baltimore. And Milwaukee. We're assuming those events both had to do with the supernatural and were, in fact, not part of some weird crime spree." Greg replied.
Dean nodded. "Yeah, ugh… death omens and dirty cops in Maryland and a shape-shifter in the bank. Police make our job so much harder. No offense." The two CSI's nodded. "There's a group - a very small one- of cops who know about us. They protect the hunters when they come to town. Found one in New York, once. Which was kinda freaky, since we didn't know about it."
Greg laughed. "We'd like to join the club, then."
The flames were starting to burn themselves out now and not too much later, they had the grave refilled. "Guess we should head back, now, huh?"
"I'm just eternally grateful that we had the night off tonight and all day tomorrow to sleep." Greg slid into the backseat of the Impala with Nick, leaning against the other's shoulder as the two brothers took their seats in front.
They were nearly back to the house when anyone spoke again. "Nick?" Sam asked, not sure if the man was still awake. He received some noise of acknowledgement and continued. "When I was possessed I did some bad stuff, too, you can't dwell on it. There wasn't anything you could do. You gotta let it go."
Dean nodded his agreement, fully aware of what the demon had made Sam do.
"Thanks." Nick sighed, running his fingers through the sandy brown hair of the man sleeping against him. "I'm starting to get that."