Title: Dues to Pay
Author: Arenas
Fandoms: Supernatural/Torchwood
Characters/Pairings: All, but features Sam, Dean, Jack, Ianto specifically. Implied Jack/Ianto
Rating: PG-13 now for language and graphic violence
Warnings: Spoilers for "In My Time of Dying" (SPN) and "Cyberwoman" (TW), gory violence, slash (Jack/Ianto)
Disclaimer: I am but a college student who is too poor to pay for my own tuition. I own nada.
Summary: The Winchester brothers are sent to NJ because of another of Sam's mysterious visions, this time involving members of an elite force by the name of Torchwood and a monster that might be too powerful to handle.
Chapter 2
Sam blinked tired eyes. Normally, he'd feel relatively refreshed when he woke up, but between Dean's bitching and the exceedingly itchy sheets, he felt worse than when he first lay down. It pissed him off, to be perfectly honest. He flung a weary arm over his eyes in a last attempt to ward sleep off before yawning and rocking upwards into a sitting position. When his arm finally fell into his lap again, he tried very hard to make sense of the scene around him.
Dean was nowhere to be seen and his bed was completely made up. Sam was willing to bet a lot of money that it hadn't been slept in. Considering that he had pretty much passed out cold as soon as his head impacted the lumpy pillow, it didn't completely surprise him that he missed Dean's exit.
But his absence smacked of weird; weird wasn't good as far as Sam was concerned.
He kicked his legs over the side of the bed and stretched stiff limbs before getting to his feet and stumbling to the bureau where he'd half-heartedly tossed his t-shirt the night before. He stepped into the worn sneakers he'd left by the door and took a moment to hitch his pajama bottoms slightly higher up on his waist. Then, he opened the door and stuck his head out. At first, nothing caught his attention, until a stray ray of sunlight muscled its way through the trees to reflect off the glossy black exterior of Dean's car. The sight of the Impala was promising enough, especially the boot resting against the glass of the rear passenger's side door. Closer inspection yielded Dean curled up in the back seat with a fleece blanket draped over himself.
Sam frowned, rapping on the window with his knuckles before crossing his arms to conserve some warmth against the chilly New Jersey spring. He idly scratched at his forearm as he watched Dean jerk violently before sitting up and looking around with a dopey sort of expression. The older Winchester's sleepy countenance immediately hardened into a scowl when he spotted Sam waiting outside. Dean scooted forward to unroll the window.
"I don't remember ordering a wake up call."
"I don't remember you leaving last night so you could possibly get attacked by reapers or mauled by monsters," Sam retorted.
"I can't help your sucky taste in motels. Did you even see the beds?"
"Some of us were too tired to be picky."
Dean nodded, eyeing Sam's arms tucked tight against his chest. "Really? I guess you're going to tell me that you just woke up with the chicken pox, then?"
The younger Winchester frowned at that statement, which only caused Dean's smirk to grow even wider as he eyed Sam's bare arms with open amusement. Sam glanced downwards and, with a small, strangled cry, began slapping at the large, red welts on his skin. What was worse, they itched abominably; judging by the laughter now issuing from his big brother's mouth, Dean seemed to be finding it much to his satisfaction.
"What'd I tell you?"
"Shut up, Dean, it's probably just a rash…"
"Ain't never seen a rash look like that before, and I've seen plenty. Needless to say, I didn't exactly stick around to examine 'em, but—"
"God, just shut up!" Sam resisted the immediate urge to scratch at the bright lumps on his arms, and quickly shucked his shirt off again. Sure enough, the red dots covered most of his sides, and he assumed a good deal of his back. Assuming that he had gotten them last night in the safety of his own bed, and with the knowledge that he had definitely gotten the chicken pox when he was seven years old, the only conclusion was bed bugs. The motel was infested with fucking bed bugs. "You fucking knew about the bugs and you didn't wake me up?"
"Nah," Dean grinned lazily. "You just looked so damn cute with that little thing of drool coming out of your mouth; I didn't have the heart."
"You're so damn immature, Dean."
"Look who's talking, loser. I'm not the one covered in spots."
"That's my point!"
"Listen, little lady, are we going to be on the road today? Because if you were still planning on doing research, you might want to take a shower, get the termites out of your clothes…that sort of thing."
Sam huffed, turning on his heel and stalking back into the room. Things really couldn't get much worse…assuming that his vision didn't come true, naturally. He would just have to buy lots of anti-itch medicated cream before the day was out, and make sure it was on Dean's tab.
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"Where are we landing, Ianto?"
" Newark Liberty International Airport. We'll be landing at 3 o'clock, assuming we aren't delayed, or bothered by turbulence, or…exploded," Ianto replied promptly. The pause before "exploded" was brief, but it still elicited a curious look from Gwen. Ianto's grip merely tightened on his handbag as the trio walked quickly through Bristol International Airport.
Their gate was just ahead, something which Ianto was slightly grateful for. The sooner they were on the plane, presumably, the sooner they could get off the thing. He had placed the bill for three first class tickets to EWR on Torchwood's tab, along with an order to rent a Nissan Pathfinder, and rooms for a week in a hotel on the outskirts of the Pine Barrens. Exactly as Jack had specified.
"Now boarding first class, Flight 289 to EWR. Flight 289 to Newark Liberty International Airport now boarding first class."
Ianto checked his wristwatch. They had cut it pretty close when the SUV got caught in traffic, but they'd gained time back by simply flashing badges at the appropriate checkpoints. Things were going smoothly; Ianto hoped that it stayed that way.
"Ianto! You with us?" A sharp snap jerked Ianto back into the present. Jack's hand was floating in front of his face, and Gwen's grip on his shoulder held him still. Jack looked concerned, as evidenced by his furrowed brows. Ianto figured that it would have been touching, if not for the fact that he didn't want to be coddled right then. "Ianto?"
"Sorry, got a bit carried away, sir." He offered a shy, blushing smile that Jack obviously was not just accepting on blind faith. "We should get moving before our flight leaves without us, sir."
"Jack, we can talk on the plane," Gwen agreed. "Come on, we've not much time."
His lips thinned noticeably, but in typical Jack fashion, he allowed the mission to take first priority for the moment. "Then what are we waiting for? Lead on, Ianto."
Ianto didn't reply, more than grateful for Gwen's inadvertent support for the moment. If it had just been himself and Jack, he wasn't entirely sure that the conversation would have been delayed. Now was not the time to argue with Jack about the sort of people in his employ, not when they were still within driving distance of Torchwood. The trio made it to the gate just as the attendants began boarding the back of the plane, and Jack, Gwen and Ianto took their seats with the rest of first class. Ianto had made plenty sure that they were situated towards the back of that section to leave them some room to talk about private matters.
"Okay, so, Ianto…what was that back there? You've been acting less than your usual, bubbly self lately and I need to know you're not going to jeopardize this mission," Jack murmured as he leaned in close to Ianto, who had taken the aisle seat. Ianto closed his eyes, feeling his fingers tighten continuously around the armrest. He hoped that his face wasn't excessively red.
"I won't jeopardize it. You have my word, sir."
"Okay, Ianto, that might have worked back at Torchwood, but now you have to start talking. Perhaps we'll start with why you're so keen on this mission for starters, and then why that arm rest in your hand deserves to be squeezed that hard as a follow up. Start speaking, Ianto."
The more that Jack inquired, the hotter the back of Ianto's neck felt. "To be honest sir, I just wanted a chance to go out in the field is all. Get a bit of a stretch and see what happens on the investigation level."
"And the arm rest?"
Ianto wanted nothing more than to bury his head in his arms and avoid the question entirely, but that would mean that he was at the mercy of fate should the plane fall on its side or get swept away in an unexpected gust of wind. He could imagine many different outcomes of their taxiing to the runway, none of which were exactly pleasant, and he wanted both hands firmly wrapped about something solid. Ianto glanced over at Jack who was still pinning him with an intense stare, and decided that there were some things that just could not be avoided where Jack was concerned.
"I, um….afraid of flying, sir. Can't be helped, really. I'll be fine once we land."
Jack's stern gaze flickered for a moment, as though it were merely a hologram. Then, the expression seemed to melt into a perplexed and slightly pitying look. "Ianto…if I remember correctly, it was established that there would be flying before you volunteered. You even promised not to get sick. This does not, despite any possible misconceptions you might have had, inspire confidence in me."
"I won't get sick; I'm afraid, not nauseated," Ianto replied harshly. "Why wait until there's something in our backyard? It may be too late then, something bigger than you'd be willing to let me participate in." He could feel the plane backing up, and the attendants were already starting the safety routine. The safety routine meant to keep you alive should the plane fall out of the sky. He noticed that they did it as soon as the plane started moving, and not before or once they were in the sky. Oh God, what if another jet collided with them on the runway?
A large hand covered Ianto's white-knuckled fist and began stroking it with the thumb. Ianto peeked out of slitted eyes to see Jack watching him while his hand continued to engulf his own in a comforting manner.
"I hope you know what you're doing," Jack murmured. Ianto merely trembled in his chair, eyes squeezed shut again. When the plane beneath their feet began to rumble from the spooling of the engines, Ianto's lip wormed its way between his teeth. When the jet began to trundle down the runway, Jack tapped Ianto on the shoulder, proffering a handkerchief to the paranoid Welshman. It took two more taps and a gentle slap on the cheek for Ianto to open his eyes. At his questioning look, Jack quirked an eyebrow. "I don't know about you, but it's probably better if you bite this."
The lip began to slide outwards slowly, his rueful smile becoming greener as the plane sped up. Jack held the wadded cloth up for Ianto to take and, five minutes later, the ground fell away beneath them. Ianto was taking deep, even breaths, but the handkerchief in his mouth was now dangling uselessly from slackened jaws. He'd, thankfully, passed out.
Gwen leaned over, careful not to disturb Ianto. "Did you know he was afraid of flying?" she whispered. Jack merely shrugged with a small shake of the head, earning an unhappy look from Gwen. He didn't really blame her; he could even imagine the way her thoughts were running. That didn't mean that Jack was in any position to put her at ease, though—that was Ianto's job.
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"Sam, it's not a reaper. Reapers don't eat people," Dean groaned. Sam fought not to look at his brother, who was now fidgeting in his seat for the umpteenth time. Dean had been anything but helpful the past half hour between the squirming, the feet that kept kicking him beneath the table, and other such distractions. Not to mention the fact that Dean's inability to sit still only reminded Sam of the itch cream that they had yet to purchase.
"Dean, there's no harm in looking for suspicious deaths," Sam replied coldly.
"Maybe not, but for three hours, Sam?"
"Why don't you get a hooker or something? Just stop fidgeting."
"I'd be sorely tempted if they had more than three teeth between 'em and they didn't stink of cow shit."
"Dean!"
"Wasn't tired last night, so I went cruising." He shrugged absently, while Sam resisted the urge to bury his head in his neon red arms. Dean kicked his feet onto the chair beside Sam and raised his arms behind his head. "Find any suspicious tourist deaths yet?"
Sam sighed. "No. I don't think I will, either."
"So why are we wasting our time with this?"
"Because, Dean," Sam replied, trying to ignore the sheepish tone his voice had adopted, "it's better than just waiting for it to find us."
Dean quirked an eyebrow at Sam's confession. The youngest Winchester returned to the archives; Dean remained quiet for a full five minutes before he opened his mouth again.
"Hey, Sam…did you get a look at the monster?"
"Uh…" Sam ran a weary hand through his hair to corral the stray wisps back in place on his head. After a blank moment, he nodded, turning back to Dean. "Yeah. Yeah I did. It was pretty big; six, maybe seven feet tall. Big, leathery wings, um…long tail with a kind of scythe on the end. It kinda looked like a dragon or something, except it had this massive…huge mouth in its chest. It pretty much just pounced on this person and…ate him."
"Did it have hooves?"
"It might've, why?""Because I think I know what's doing this. And it's i not /i reapers." Dean pinned his brother with a dry smirk, just waiting for Sam to say it. The younger brother cocked his head, his mouth working to form coherent words, until Dean waggled his eyebrow. A huff and a roll of the eyes later, Sam relented.
"So, Dean. What will kill these people?"
Dean grinned. "An excellent question, my compadre. The answer, you see, is simple." He paused for effect, but it only caused Sam's glare to grow even more caustic. "It is none other than the Jersey Devil."
"Dean!" Sam protested, earning himself a hissing shush from the closest librarian. He scowled irritably, returning to the conversation at hand. If his lips thinned any further, they were in grave danger of disappearing entirely. "Dean, that thing doesn't kill humans, it only heralds death. This thing ate the guy."
"So? Myths evolve, it's not unheard of. Besides, dragon head, I assume horns. Cloven feet, leather wings…when it pounced, it landed on its hind feet, right?"
"I…I guess…"
Dean nodded confidently, smug look already seeping across his face. He spread his arms wide. " Jersey Devil."
"How do you explain the mouth thing then? The Jersey Devil's got a normal face, normal mouth, everything. What I saw didn't have much of a neck to speak of."
"Evoluuution," Dean crooned. He straightened in his seat, folding his arms across his chest once more and shrugging. "Maybe it just pounces people so it can rip them apart, not necessarily eat them. Did you get a good look of it doing the munching?"
"Yeah, I did, Dean." Sam could still clearly see the attack in his mind whenever he called it up, and it still made him want to vomit. Sometimes, he thought he'd seen it all; he sort of wished he had. "When it jumped on the guy, half of him disappeared into this thing's chest. Either…he fell into a black hole or there was an orifice there. And I saw teeth when it…dropped what was left."
Dean frowned thoughtfully before his shoulders migrated upwards again. "It's not unheard of for legends to change. Maybe this one just grew teeth."
The explanation was sort of plausible just based solely on the drawings of the Devil that had been in their father's journal. There were similarities, but…it just didn't sit right in his gut. It didn't feel like just your average devil; Sam wasn't even sure what an "average" devil was supposed to feel like, but the guy had been brutally bitten in half. There was nothing in the stories that related attacks on humans, and most of the stories had the devil being chased away in the end. No, there was more to the creature than just the Jersey Devil, but he'd never be able to convince his brother of that. Dean was the sort that needed to see to believe, and the only evidence Sam had was Jack and shit. Unfortunately, Jack had already left town.
"So…" he mused aloud, trying to drag Dean onto his train of thought. "Do we hunt it? Are you supposed to kill a legend like that? How do you kill a legend like that?"
A grin split Dean's face, showing off many of his shining teeth. "Lots of rock salt."
Sam sighed, his gloomy mood growing even darker because of his brother's blind optimism. But…damned if it wasn't infectious. A small smile tilted the corner of his mouth upwards. "I think we're gonna have to do a little bit better than that. Let's get to a grocery store, huh? I need itch cream."
The older Winchester chuckled as he pushed himself to his feet. "Dude, come on. We're going hunting tonight."
Shout outs: Kesomon: You know, I've always hoped I was an alien, but I fail at luck. Glad you're enjoying the story!