Hey sorry for being away so long! I love this story I'm just super busy but I promise I'll try to post more chapters soon!
Lycan
Pie was, Dean Winchester philosophized, a constant in his turbulent life. He took another bite of the tart cherry pastry in front of him and closed his eyes, savoring the taste of fruit. Across from him, Sam's face was buried in his laptop. His brother really needed pie, Dean mused. Anything to drag Sammy out of his head. "Find anything?" he asked, trying to draw his brother out. Sam glanced up, as though forgetting Dean had been sitting there. "Uh yeah," Sam spun his laptop around showing an article title "MYSTERIOUS DISAPEARNCES CONTINUE IN NEW YORK AREA"
"Come on Sammy, that's supermarket tabloid stuff," Dean snorted. "Why are you wasting time on those crackpots?"
"Because this particular 'crackpot' listed some names." Sam replied, fingers dancing over the keys again. 'I checked missing person databases. They're all in here, and witnesses describe soldier coming to take these people. It gets weirder."
"Huh," Dean grunted, his attention caught now. "Go on."
"It says that the people who were taken fought back using impossible abilities, throwing tables like they were paperweights, moving objects without touching them, stuff like that."
"So what are you thinking? Some kind of monster turf war? Government kidnapping witches now?" Dean leaned back, pie forgotten. Sam stood up, throwing a few bills on the table to pay for his coffee. Dean gave one last glance at his pie, sighed and followed suit.
"Where are we going?" Dean plopped into the drivers seat and looked at Sam.
"Back to the motel to get the Fed gear. We need to go see this reporter now; his article said he had someone who had escaped an attack as a source."
"Ok fine but what's the rush?" Sam looked at Dean gravely. "Dean if I could find all that out, I'm sure whoever's behind these attacks already knew."
"Okay, fair point," Dean conceded. "What's this guy's name anyway?"
Sam consulted his notes for a minute. "It says his name's Parkman. Matt Parkman."
"Why the hell would you write that article Matt?" hissed Sylar, slamming a fist on the table. "What could ever possess you to write something that revealing?"
"Noah and his psychotic daughter have been pushing us around long enough," Matt retorted. "I'm tired of this shadow war Sylar! I'm tired of hiding all the Specials we save, of smuggling them to new lives and tearing everything away from them! It's time we fight back; remind them why they're afraid! Or are you afraid of spilling a little blood?" Matt instantly knew he had gone too far. Sylar's face darkened and a flash of inhuman rage crossed his face. There was a tense second between them before Sylar turned away, breathing heavily.
"You know Peter wouldn't want that Matt," Sylar finally spoke.
"Peter isn't here Sylar," Matt replied. "He ran. He took Emma and ran. So stop using him as an excuse. It's time for us to stand up for ourselves."
"I keep thinking one day he's just going to walk in you know," Sylar sighed. "He's going to come back and explain to all of us why he left, and he'll have a plan to save us."
"It's just us," Matt agreed. "Now let's figure out our first attack." Sylar hesitantly crossed to the city map Matt had on his table. "We know the Company has a facility here," Matt pointed. "It seems to be one of their lower security-"
A knock at the door jarred them both from their concentration. Matt hesitantly walked to the door and with a glance at Sylar to make sure he had backup, opened the door. Two men in suits, one with long brown hair and the other with a short haircut stood on his doorstep. "Mr. Parkman, FBI. We'd like to ask you a few questions."
Claire Bennett stood alone in Level 5's deep containment area. Never could she have guessed she would have gone from cheerleader to a leader she mused. The rebels had no idea what they were fighting, she mused. She wandered over to one of the stasis tanks on the wall. Particularly dangerous subjects were emerged in a paralytic toxin, and fed a carefully crafted blend of cocktails through IVs. She stared at the bodies floating, wondering what it would be like to just stop. To just slip away like that. She had been submerged in one of those tanks once for showing weakness on a mission. Her body had fought off the toxins and the sedatives, but hanging in the liquid, terrified to rip the mask off, she had been forced to contemplate death. Sylar had told her she would never die, but she had never been sure of that. She stopped by her favorite tank. The man inside floated blissfully ignorant, unaware of the craziness rushing by out here. She was interrupted from her reverie when her walkie-talkie beeped. "Commander Bennet, the Strike Force is ready to move out."
"Roger," she replied crisply. "Be right up." She took a last glance around the room then back at the tank she had been contemplating. "Be good, Uncle Pete." She left the room, returning it to its eerie quiet. Peter Petrelli floated, helpless to scream as nightmares flooded his mind.
"No not again," Peter gasped. The same scene as always, the eternal nightmare. He had lost track of how long he had been trapped here, or even which world, this or the distant memories and occasional flashes of the outside world was real. He curled into a ball, wanting to escape the screams, the sounds of flesh tearing and rending as the mountainous creatures tore the sky and split reality from seam to seam. But this time it was different.
A hand touched his shoulder and he jerked back, scrambling away to face a dark haired man in a trench coat.
"Peter Petrelli, my father has need of you." The man extended his hand. "Take my hand and I will raise you from this prison of the mind."
"What-what are you?" he challenged. None of the people he tried to save could ever see him; ever hear his screams as he tried to warn them. "I'm an angel of the Lord Peter. My name is Castiel." Behind Peter a scream rattled the pillars of the universe. Castiel glanced up and frowned as the sky turned blood red. "Touch my hand and escape this place, or stay trapped with these fiends Peter. The choice is yours."
"You promise?" Peter weakly asked.
"Yes Peter," Castiel extended his hand. Peter closed his eyes and placed his hand in the angels. He felt a lurch, and when he opened his eyes he saw a room through a green haze. He was trapped, dangling suspended in this fluid. His eyes frantically darted around until they settled on a sign on the wall. "LEVEL 5 DEEP CONTAINMENT AREA." The glass in his tank shattered, and the fluid inside poured out, taking Peter with it. He landed on the floor coughing weakly at the shoes of Castiel.
"Take heart Peter, you will soon be away from this place." Castiel touched Peter and Peter felt a numbness he hadn't realized was there leave his limbs.
"No," he gasped. Castiel frowned as Peter pulled himself to standing position on wobbly legs. "You…don't understand," Peter tried to talk as foreign words fell across his tongue. "That wasn't…a dream…it was a vision…and it's going to happen soon." With that his fatigued body gave out and he collapsed into Castiel's arms.
