Title: Banishing Darkness
Rating: *snorts*
Summary: Newly christened Police Commissioner Dean Winchester has enough to deal with – disrespect because of his young age, detectives to handle, cases to solve, and his brother's wedding to plan for. He doesn't need to develop a very inappropriate attraction to Gotham's caped crusader on top of it all.
Disclaimer: If I owned DC, either Jensen Ackles or Misha Collins would be Batman, not Ben Affleck. If I owned Supernatural… *cough* It's probably best not to get into the implications of that.
Dedication: To lastknownwriter, who's amazing work inspired me to do my first AU. She is indescribably fantastic, both in her writing and in real life. Go read her work (but after you read mine, otherwise you'll realize just how bad of a writer I am compared to her).
Author's Note: I am desperately trying to update this on a regular basis, but college is a bitch so no guarantees.
He was saved on a Thursday.
At least, that's what he'll be told later on, in the hospital. They'll also tell him he was imprisoned for four months, along with several other unlucky bastards.
It feels more like forty years.
Time is of no meaning here, in the constant dark. Only the fires light it up with their flickering tongues of heat, and the stuff he sees makes him wish the flames would go out.
He's got someone on the rack when it happens. He'll pass his psych evaluation with flying colors and no one will say it's his fault, but he feels like it is. He could've kept saying no. He could've been stronger.
There's the sound of screaming, and at first he thinks it's just a new batch, but then he realizes it's the henchmen. They're not screaming in pain, either – they're screaming in fear.
He feels a hand grip his left shoulder, so tight it bruises. He'll be informed that other witnesses claimed the individual yelled at him, tried to snap him out of it, and only the bruising pain got him to stop.
He looks up and sees the dark, covered face, blue eyes shining like the heart of a flame – a different flame than that which burns down here, in the Pit. It's the fires of renewal, of cleansing, of rebirth.
He'll be informed, when he wakes up, that he was unconscious for three days after they found him.
They'll also inform him he's the only survivor.
What he doesn't tell them – what he won't ever tell anyone – is how all he dreamed about in those three days was that blue, blue fire.
Dean Winchester woke up in a silent scream.
His body was drenched in sweat, the sheets damp and tangled around his body. For a terrifying moment they felt like ropes and chains, holding him in place. He flicked on the lamp, reassuring himself that he was in his tiny dump of an apartment instead of that stifling, dark netherworld.
He staggered out of bed and shuffled over towards the living room, turning on the TV as he went to snatch a beer from the fridge. Tonight had been one of the bad ones. This time, there hadn't been a blue-eyed stranger to save him.
Dean reminded himself that it was a nightmare. He'd gotten out – or been yanked out, rather – and he'd survived. The bastard was in Arkham along with the other psychotic loonies, and Dean was still standing.
He was the only one standing, in fact. Out of the few dozen men and women tortured by the Sinister Comedian, only Dean had made it out. All the others had died during a session or passed on in the hospital soon after rescue.
Including the one Dean had been torturing when he'd been saved.
"And the Mayor has announced that Deputy Chief Dean Winchester will be taking over as Police Commissioner from Robert Singer, who retired last week. Former commissioner Singer was paralyzed from the waist down after a shootout a few months ago while trying to rescue several prisoners from Alastair Carnifice, known as the masked villain The Sinister Comedian. Carnifice's sidekick Meg Masters, known as Sketch, was also apprehended. Deputy Chief Winchester was one of the prisoners, and the only one to survive the terrifying ordeal." The newscaster's face was pretty and bland, a mask of solemnity as she reported.
Dean took a vicious pull from the bottle. He'd told his rescuer to put him in jail; to leave him, even, and save the others. Dean wasn't worth saving at that point. He'd given in, started hurting others the way he had been hurt. He'd become one of them.
"…was rescued by the masked vigilante known as Seraph…"
Seraph. Dean snorted. It was a stupid name, really. He preferred the name he'd given the man – whoever he was – in his head.
Thursday. After the day he had been rescued.
"The question on everyone's mind, of course, is can the new Commissioner finally do something about the crime rate in Gotham? Commissioner Singer began making headway before his incapacitation, and one can only hope that our new Commissioner will follow in his mentor's footsteps. Mayor Novak…"
Mayor Michael Novak, King of the Pricks. Dean turned off the TV and made his way back to bed. Once upon a time there'd be a girl or a guy in there waiting for him, but not since the Pit. He wasn't going to share his demons with just anybody.
Dean sat down on the edge of the bed, rubbing his forehead. Sure, he was Bobby's protégée, so to speak – his son, really. Dean and his little brother Sam had lost their mother, Mary Winchester, in a fire when Dean was only four and Sam just a baby. When their father John had learned that an arsonist was responsible, he'd gone on a rampage. Bobby had watched his partner tear himself apart trying to find the man who'd murdered his wife, and then been forced to hold John Winchester as he lay dying after being reckless in a shootout. He'd taken in two scared, lost, angry boys and raised them as best he knew how, and without his guidance Dean wasn't sure he and Sammy would have turned out as good as they did.
But now Bobby was in a wheelchair and out of commission for trying to save Dean's worthless ass. It was yet another thing to feel guilty about. The man had mentored him all through his years as a detective and Dean had paid him back by getting him paralyzed. Some son he turned out to be.
Thank God Sammy was doing well. Graduated from Stanford, went on to become a hotshot lawyer, putting criminals behind bars. In fact, if it weren't for Jess, Sam could've been D.A. by now, instead of that dick Raphael. Between him and Michael, Dean was certain his new job was going to be nothing but one massive migraine.
At least Raphael hadn't given him the job to get into his pants. Dean was pretty much convinced that was half the reason he had the job now – the other reason being that he had been Bobby's second-in-command, and knew what the former Commissioner's plans for the city had been.
Still, if Michael leered at him one more time…
Dean flung himself back into the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Tomorrow was his first day as Commissioner.
He didn't think he was going to get any more sleep that night.
"Gird your loins! The boss is here!"
Dean flipped Det. Jo Harvelle the bird as he strode past. "Just for that, Harvelle, you can buy the first round." He told her.
"Fuck you, Winchester."
"Not for a million bucks." He shot back. At least his team wasn't treating him any differently. He had enough shit from the underlings as it was. He heard what people said, especially as nobody was bothering to lower their voices.
His first day had been nothing short of Hell. Okay, bad analogy. But it had still been a shitty day. The minute he stepped into the Roadhouse, however, and saw his friends sitting in their usual seats, it had all melted away.
"So, Dean…" Det. Anna Milton swiveled around on her barstool, her face serious. "How are you liking your new job?"
"It sucks ass." He plunked down next to her, with Victor on his right. "How about you, Victor? How's the new partner?"
Victor Henriksen pulled a face. "Dude's an asshole and a half."
"I heard that." Det. Benny Lafitte drawled as he approached. He had several beers in hand, which he distributed.
Victor grinned. "Still, he's not as bad as Harvelle here."
Jo tried to punch Victor, but ended up nailing Dean instead. He rubbed his shoulder. "Geez, Jo, watch it."
"Children, children." Ellen Harvelle, Jo's mother and owner of the Roadhouse, chided as she walked up to them. "If you're going to fight, do it outside so I don't have to make Jo clean it up."
Dean grinned. This, more than his office or his apartment, was home. He'd spent countless hours here, working the bar or hustling pool, or just sipping a beer with Benny and Victor.
"So you're not settling in too well?" Anna pressed.
Dean raised an eyebrow. "What's it to you, Anna Milton?"
The redhead rolled her eyes, fiddling with the label on her beer bottle. "It's just… there's this, um, thing next month…"
Dean sighed. "Let me guess – another society party."
Anna nodded. "You have to put in a couple public appearances anyway, right?"
"Anna, I'm not going to be your beard just so Uriel will leave you alone." Dean argued, taking a sip of his own beer.
"It'll be fine. You won't have to stay for long – just an hour or so. All you have to do is put on a suit, show that pretty face of yours, and be my arm candy. You don't even have to talk."
"I'm the commissioner. People are going to want to talk to me. Rich, stuck-up people who want to make sure Kitten isn't going to get their grandmother's pearls."
Victor slammed his beer onto the counter, which earned him a black look from Ellen. "I swear when I catch that bitch…"
"…you'll tell her all about how obsessed you are with her?" Jo teased. This led to bickering between the two.
Anna rubbed her temples. "I swear those two just need to get it on before my head explodes."
Dean nodded in sympathy. As Victor's partner before the new gig, Dean had been forced to listen to Victor and Jo's version of flirtation (i.e. arguing) all day every day. Now, Anna – as Jo's partner – had to suffer through it on her own.
Well, there was Benny, but the guy was so stoic when Dean had first met him he'd thought Benny was a mute.
"So will you? Please?" Anna pouted, batting her big eyes. Dean sighed. He'd known from the get-go he wasn't going to win this battle.
"Fine. But," He pointed a finger at her; "You owe me big for this, Milton."
"Oh, I'll make it up to you." Anna grinned.
"Make what up to him?" A booming voice asked as a large hand clapped Dean on the shoulder.
"I got Dean to be my date to Michael's birthday next month," Anna explained to the giant that was Sam Winchester.
"Wait – what?" Dean spluttered.
Sam laughed. "I take it she didn't tell you that."
Dean glared at Anna. "I expect something big for this, Anna. That guy looks at my ass like he wants to eat it."
"Well, it is a good ass." Anna noted.
Sam laughed even harder.
"All right, wise guy." Dean elbowed his brother. "Why are you so late, anyway?"
"I'm afraid that's my fault," A sultry voice cut in.
Both Dean and Anna's eyes widened as they took in the brunette standing before them.
"Dean, Anna, this is Ruby Thomas." Sam said. Dean knew that tone. It was Sam's hopeful puppy voice. "Ruby, this is Dean, my older brother, and Anna, one of Gotham's finest detectives."
"So you're the famous Dean Winchester." Ruby smiled, sticking her hand out. Dean didn't like her smile, but shook her hand anyway. "Sam's told me a lot about you."
"Funny, he didn't mention you," Dean replied, smiling back.
He wasn't going to lie – this was a shock. Sam had been on a total of one date since Jess and Madison's deaths, with some art gallery owner named Sarah. The date had gone well, as far as Dean knew, but Sam hadn't been ready to commit. Now he had a new girl and he hadn't even thought to tell Dean?
To her credit, Ruby didn't rise to the bait. "I'm afraid that's my fault. I'm Sam's secretary and I wanted to keep our relationship quiet. You know how office gossip is."
Oh, did Dean ever.
Still, he was gearing up for his obligatory big-brother interrogation when Benny tapped him on the shoulder. "It's almost ten pm, brother," He warned him.
Dean looked at his watch. "Shit!"
He jumped up from the stool, giving Sam an enthusiastic hug. "I'll catch you later," He said, making sure to put a warning note in his voice. Office gossip or not, Sam was going to explain why he hadn't told Dean about his new relationship.
"We'll talk," Sam muttered, sounding like a kicked puppy. Dean clapped him on the arm and headed out.
"Good luck!" Anna shouted.
"Show the Caped Crusader who's boss!" Jo yelled.
"Don't be cocky!" Anna quickly added.
"But be tough!" Jo shouted over her.
"Let the man handle his own business," Victor grumbled, covering Jo's mouth.
Victor's shout of pain as Jo bit his hand was the last thing Dean heard as he hurried out the door.
The roof of the Gotham Police Headquarters was dark and a little windy, save for the signal lighting up the sky. The massive searchlight had a cutout on it, sending the image of angel wings into the night sky. Dean fidgeted. He felt exposed, up there next to this ridiculous overblown flashlight.
But it was Thursday, and that was the day of the week when Bobby had met with Gotham's self-appointed protector to discuss the crime situation. Now that Dean was Commissioner, it was his job.
Well, maybe it wasn't a part of the description, but Bobby had threatened him with some rather colorful punishments if Dean didn't continue the tradition.
"He's the best ally we've got against the crazies, boy, and don't forget he dragged your worthless ass outta Hell," Bobby had snapped, nearly running Dean's toes over with his wheelchair.
So there Dean was, standing out in the cold, feeling like an idiot.
"Commissioner."
"Holy shit!" Dean jumped back, turning around. That voice so close to his ear – smooth and gravelly, like whiskey poured over broken glass – made him jump about a mile. He hadn't even known the guy had been there.
"Warn a guy next time, Thursday," He snapped, feeling his face flush. Even though the guy had saved his life, he'd never gotten a good look at him before. Now, he couldn't stop himself from getting an eyeful.
The outfit was all black, leather by the looks of it but Dean knew it was padded with something stronger than that. The mask covered everything except for the mouth area and those bright, burning blue eyes. Dean couldn't be sure but judging by the skintight (okay, yeah, really skintight) suit the guy was built like a swimmer, lean instead of bulky. Didn't prevent the guy from having a nice six-pack, though.
But it was the wings that really caught the attention. They were pulled in tight against the vigilante's back, arched up like cocked pistols so Dean couldn't get the best look, but they appeared black and glossy, melting into the night. Dean's fingers twitched. What would it be like to run his hands through them, to pull a little and–
"Thursday?" He saw the (plump, wow, really plump) lips twitch slightly. Geez, the guy had a strong jaw…
"Sorry," Dean said, feeling his face heat up. Damn it. "It's just…" He chuckled. "You rescued me on a Thursday. And uh, you meet – met – with Bobby every Thursday."
That earned him another lip twitch. "This is true."
Hot damn that voice was deep. Dean swallowed. Just his luck that the first person he was attracted to after his ordeal was the city's protector… and the man that saved his life.
"So," Dean cleared his throat. "About the Falcones…"
"Back so soon, Castiel?"
Castiel ignored the smug tone in his butler's voice. Balthazar was his childhood best friend and served his family well, as had his father before him, but he was a cheeky bastard when he wanted to be.
"Yes," Castiel replied, peeling off his mask.
"And how did it go with the new Commissioner?" Balthazar spun around in Workstation 2's revolving chair, grinning like a loon. "I've only seen him on television, of course, but he's quite the pretty boy. And that mouth…"
It was times that these Castiel regretted telling Balthazar he was gay. And was partial to blondes.
"We discussed the mob and Kitten's latest jewelry theft," Castiel said drily, sitting down at Workstation 1 to enter the information from the night's work. "And the incarceration of Sinister Comedian and Sketch, his sidekick."
"Didn't you kiss her once?" Balthazar asked, propping his feet up on the desk.
"She kissed me first, and it was a distraction technique," Castiel growled. "Get your feet off the table."
Balthazar did as he was told, still grinning. "I think this new boy toy's an improvement over the last one," He said.
"Thank you for your opinion. Not that I asked for it," Castiel replied. "And Commissioner Singer was a good man. I will miss his knowledge and levelheadedness."
"Ah, but now you get sex on a stick as well as all that knowledge stuff. Singer did raise Winchester after that whole arson episode," Balthazar noted, standing up. "I'll make you a sandwich, shall I?"
"I don't know why you bother. I don't ever eat them."
"Hope springs eternal." Balthazar started up the steps. When he got halfway up he paused, a thoughtful look sweeping over his face. "You know, that's something you two have in common."
Castiel stiffened.
"You both lost…"
"Don't." Castiel growled.
"I'm just saying; you need to get to know the man. Earn his trust. This is common ground," Balthazar pointed out.
Castiel sighed. "He is my ally, Baz – a work partner. He is not a friend. I saved his life and put the man who tortured him in a padded cell. That should be more than sufficient to earn his trust."
Balthazar looked like he might say something more, but seemed to decide against it, shutting his mouth and heading up the stairs. Castiel continued to enter the night's report, trying – and failing – to banish the image of Dean Winchester from his mind.
I know Castiel's superhero name isn't the best but it's what I could come up with. I suck at names.
And, fair warning – the Sam/puppy comparisons will never stop. He's just an adorable bundle of fluffiness.