Chapter 1 The last, best hope for peace

As stated in the Author Note from the prologue – that very v-e-e-e-r-y long thingy people are likely not to have read ;) – this is an AU story moving the Supernatural events into the Babylon 5 universe – and by universe I mean timeline as well, meaning this is 2259 and Dean and Sam were born at the end of the 2220's, beginning of the 2230's respectively. That's just to clear any eventual confusion :). On another note, Sam and Dean's alias used from this chapter – Parks – comes from Lee Parks, seen in B5's Season 4 Illusions of Truth (an episode I whole-heartedly enjoyed, although it did bring up some uncomfortable cans of worms.).

Thank you for everyone who has shown interest in the story.

I make no profit out of this, I am in no way associated with Supernatural or Babylon 5.

The Docking Bay was busy at that hour. The Asimov had just arrived with a rowdy group of Earth tourists barely waiting in line and threatening to cause a scene if they were kept at Customs longer than needed. They were all youngsters with parents and uncles holding prominent positions back on Earth. In other words, they were spoiled brats who thought the world should revolve around them and that everyone should bow before them. The idea that they now had to wait instead of just waltzing into the station – with a red carpet placed there just for them too, no doubt – was a foreign and unpleasant one. The officer in charge of entries then knew that quite well. He was also at the end of a long shift and he did not want more hassle than necessary. He therefore cast only a cursory glance at the IDs presented by the two young men who were just ahead of the pampered brats.

"Mr Dean Parks and Mr Sam Parks," he read, then frowned at the name. "Hey, are you guys related to Lee Parks, the one who makes those trivids?"

The two – presumably brothers since they shared the same name – glanced at each other for a moment before the tallest finally nodded.

"Oh, he's…he's a cousin of ours," he confessed nervously.

"We haven't been in touch with him since we were kids, though," the other put in quickly. "Family falling out. Plus we're kinda in the same line of work so we've got a bit of a competition thing going on in there."

The officer raised his eyebrows.

"Seriously?" he asked. "You don't strike me as the show business type."

The tallest – Sam – gave a low nervous chuckle.

"Yeah, we aren't really," he confessed shamefacedly. "Most of our documentaries are considered a bit…too out there to be known by the general public."

"That's why we're here," Dean completed. "I mean a look at Babylon 5 – that's every journalist's dream."

The security officer looked at the two suspiciously. He wondered whether he should not try for a background check before letting them in. but if they did prove genuine, he would be in for a lot of trouble. Plus, a background check would take too long. The former Asimov passengers were getting impatient. Behind them, Londo Mollari was waiting to enter the station. The Centauri Ambassador's nose was wrinkled as if he felt an unpleasant smell. Two of the Earth boys had started singing a lewd song that made a lot of unsavoury comments about Centauri women, seemingly oblivious to who was behind them. The security officer sighed, handing back the brothers' Identicards.

"You boys can go in now," he said. "I'd better get this lot through before they start a diplomatic incident."

"Yeah, good luck with that," Dean told him and stepped aside to let the first of the Asimov passenger give his Identicard. "Man," the security officer heard him mutter to his brother, "I do not want to be this guy in the following five minutes."

Seeing as the rowdy group was laughing wildly at "how many Vorlons does it take to screw in a light-bulb" and "why did the Markab cross the galaxy" jokes, the security guard was thinking that he did not want to be himself now, either.

Sam and Dean had managed to find themselves a room in the Brown Sector. It was not much, but it was all they could afford. It was much better than other places they had stayed in. Life as a Hunter did not exactly pay well and the two of them had had to deplete almost all their funds to ensure they would manage their stay on Babylon 5. They knew Bobby had cashed in too – how much, the older Hunter had refused to say. It was enough to make Dean think that they owed him big time – which was saying something considering what he thought he and Sam owed Bobby already. Not that Bobby was ever going to see it that way and he would have most certainly knock the both of them over the head, had he known what Dean was thinking.

"We should try talking to some of the smugglers here," Dean suggested. "See if we can get a hold of some Brivari for Bobby."

Sam snorted at that.

"Bobby doesn't drink Brivari," he pointed out. "He says aliens have no notion of what alcoholic beverages should feel like."

"Hey, the Centauri swear by it," Dean said. "Every smuggler I've met does too. All right, so what's the plan?"

"Well, we maintain our cover," Sam said. "We're two brothers, distant cousins of Lee Parks, hoping to strike it rich - or, at least famous – by making an "unofficial, unbiased documentary of Babylon 5"."

Dean raised his eyebrows.

"Talking like a nerdy idealistic journalist already, Sammy" he chuckled. "I've never thought this role would suit you so well."

"Bite me," Sam deadpanned, having already anticipated Dean's teasing.

"Nah, not me," Dean replied easily. "But I think there might be a few in the Alien Sector of this place who could oblige if you asked them nicely…So, do we even know what we're looking for?"

"Not really," Sam replied thoughtfully. "But that's Cas' fault. He wasn't exactly forthcoming about this whole object we're supposed to be retrieving for him. Although…he did say it was something that offered great power – which is why I'm thinking it's here in the first place."

"Oh yeah?" Dean asked interested. "How do you figure that out?"

"We've got representatives of important and not so important alien races coming here by the dozen," Sam pointed out. "Plus we've got humans with agendas of their own. Earth people, Martians, telepaths…hell, any and all could see an object that supposedly offered great power as the answer to all their dreams."

Dean nodded at that. He was beginning to see Sam's reasoning.

"Right," he agreed. "They don't need to know it can cramp an Archangel's style as well or if they do they'd think it's just superstition."

Sam nodded thoughtfully.

"If they know what an Archangel is in the first place," he pointed out. "I mean if we're talking about someone non-human…they'd be having entirely different beliefs."

Sam paused. A thought had struck him, entirely unrelated to the matter at hand. It was not the first time it had come to him. But being in Babylon 5, it certainly made the thought hit home harder than before.

"I wonder," he began musingly. "If the Apocalypse would have affected alien races as well. I mean, they don't even believe in angels or heaven or hell…as we know it."

Dean huffed at that. Having Sam thinking about anything even remotely related to hell these days was a hazardous thing. Nor did he find any real benefit to that line of thought anyway. The Apocalypse had not happened. So why did they have to ask themselves now who would have or wouldn't have been affected by it?

"You think too much," he chided. "You'll hurt yourself and I'm not even kiddin' this time."

Sam shook himself out of his previous musings and strove to put on a confident face.

"Got it," he said. "Focus on the work, right?"

Dean examined Sam carefully. His brother seemed all right – but seeming and actually being were two very different things. As for the all right part, Dean could hardly remember how that really felt, and he supposed neither of them had been even close to all right for a very long while.

"I think we should try tracking this thing down," was all that Dean said in the end. "And since we've got zero on how to actually start I think we should start simple. So I'm gonna try blending in the social life of B5. I'll hit some bars and try making friends with the natives. If something hinky's going on, I'll know."

"Sounds good," Sam agreed. "I think I'll join the tour the passengers of that liner will be taking round the station."

Dean raised his eyebrows.

"Seriously?" he asked. "You wanna join the douchebag tour?"

Sam shrugged his shoulders.

"It's gonna help me find my way around the station afterwards. And I'll also find out who the major players are around here. We're gonna have to talk to them, Dean. One of them might have what we're looking for."

"If so, we're gonna have a hell of a time convincing them to give it to us," Dean mumbled darkly.

"Well, we're not there yet," Sam reminded him. "So you go do your thing and I'll do mine. Meet you back here in a couple of hours, right?"

"Awesome," Dean replied, "Be careful."

Medlab

Garibaldi strode purposely into medlab. He found Doctor Stephen Franklin at his desk, going over some reports.

"Is that autopsy I've asked for ready, Doc?" Garibaldi asked.

"Ah, Michael," Franklin greeted, getting up. "I was just about to call you. Yes, it's done."

"Tell me you've got a cause of death," Garibaldi pleaded.

"His heart stopped." Franklin deadpanned. "That's all I can say."

Garibaldi huffed, shaking his head.

"His heart stopped," he repeated. "I could have told you that myself. Hell, those in Downbelow who saw him die could have told you that. What I needed was a reason for it stopping."

Franklin shrugged his shoulders.

"I wish I could give you one," he confessed. "But I found nothing: no physical trauma, no illness, no toxic substances….at least…well, this is rather strange…"

Franklin hesitated. Garibaldi, however, urged him to go on.

"Strange is good," he pointed out. "I'd take strange right about now. What is it, Doc?"

"I found small traces of sulphur on his face," Franklin answered. "Not enough to kill him but it still does not explain how he came into contact with it."

Garibaldi frowned.

"Sulphur?" he repeated. "And you think that's relevant?"

"Actually, I just think it's odd," Franklin admitted. "And it's also odd that I don't have a cause of death, either."

"Do you think we should inform the captain" Garibaldi asked. "I mean, could we be dealing with a…I don't know – a weird sulphur infection."

Stephen raised his eyebrows at the way Garibaldi had phrased it.

"I think for now we can consider this just an isolated incident," he said at length. "But I'll do some digging. See if I can find a connection between sulphur and the black smoke your lurkers described. Of course, it could be tied to whatever he was doing in those delegates' quarters. It's not the first time someone got dangerous things on board the station. But finding those isn't my department, Michael."

Garibaldi nodded quickly. He had taken the hint.

"I've got it," he said. "It's mine. Well, I see what I can do, Doc. You try to find out what you can on your end. Something smells rotten here."

"That could be the sulphur," Stephen deadpanned, his lips quirking up.

A few hours after the two brothers had split up to pursue separate lines of investigation, Dean walked back to his quarters to find Sam already there, sitting on his bed and watching an ISN documentary. Further examination told Dean that it was a special news report about Babylon 5, that had been filmed a week before.

"Oh, hey," Sam said when Dean walked in. "You're back early."

"So are you," Dean retorted. "Pampered douches too much for you?"

Sam snorted tiredly.

"Boy, if I was ever sorry for stopping the Apocalypse…" he muttered. "And to think they're supposed to be the future of Earth society. I'm thinking of asking the Drazi for political exile."

In response Dean handed his brother something wrapped in foiled paper. Sam looked at it questioningly.

"Dinner," Dean replied. "You get melodramatic on an empty stomach."

Sam eyed the foiled package warily without opening it yet.

"Do I wanna know where you got it?" he inquired wryly.

"Well, there was this Pak'ma'ra in the Zocalo…" Dean began, unable to resist. "He said it used to be someone's cat, and he swore by it." Then, seeing Sam's frown, he laughed and shook his head. "Don't worry, Sammy, you can find pretty decent food on Babylon 5 if you know where to look. Now eat up and asked me how my day was."

"How was your day?" Sam played along, knowing his brother was bound to lead him on for quite a while if he resisted. "Found anything?"

"Get this," Dean began. "There was this death in Downbelow - which apparently shouldn't be big news only they say this guy shouldn't have been dead."

"Why not?" Sam asked, starting to feel interested.

"Cause he just died suddenly, that's why," Dean went on. "And do you want to know something else? Several witnesses said there was black smoke coming out of him right before he died."

Sam's face grew grave.

"You're thinking demon?" he inquired. "Here?"

"Why not?" Dean said. "It's not like he had to announce what he was and anyway, isn't this the neutral zone free-for-all ultimate diplomatic station? I'm thinking some idealistic egghead could argue even a demon has every right to be here and be left alone."

"I don't think it works quite that way," Sam said thoughtfully. "And, you think it has to do with whatever Cas sent us for?"

"What else could it be?" Dean pointed out. "And that's not even all. I've done some more digging – and I heard some rumours. Apparently the dead guy was wanted by security because they suspected him of breaking into some bigwig alien delegates' quarters"

"So, what?" Sam asked. "You think the demon made him break in to search for that weapon?"

If it was a weapon. Sam could not get over the fact that they still had no idea what exactly they were looking for. In his opinion, finding that out should have been high on their list of priorities.

"It ties in to what you said before," Dean mused. "About the object being capable of offering all kinds of advantages which would make it a desirable asset for all the diplomats and delegates and whatever other kind of politicians out here."

Sam nodded at that. But something about that theory did not seem to make sense to him. And by the pensive look on his brother's face, Sam knew he was not the only one.

"What's bothering you, Dean?" he asked.

"I don't understand," Dean confessed. "If the demon suspected one of the alien delegates had this thing, why jump some poor bastard lurker and force him to break into their quarters to search for it? Why not just possess the delegates?"

"Maybe he couldn't," Sam theorized.

In all their long career as hunters, they had never encountered any cases of aliens being possessed by demons. As far as Sam knew, no other hunter had, either. There had been rumours at some point about a Pak'ma'ra going berserk and many in the hunting community had said it had to have been demon possession. But no one could prove it and Sam himself really had problems with that theory. Dean believed it, though. Dean – just like their father had done – had claimed countless of times that race and planet of origin could not matter when it came to demons. It was one of the few instances, their dad had once said, when they were all equal. And Dean seemed about to remind Sam of that now.

"Let me tell you something," Sam said, "I know what you want to say, but listen for a moment. I've been thinking a long time about this – about how there might be something in an alien mind that could…I don't know, make it less vulnerable to possession. Maybe it's even conscious - some sort of…defence mechanism, if you like. I always thought that made sense."

Dean frowned.

"Why?" he asked. "And when did you come up with that one?"

Sam bit his lips, hesitating.

"At college," he replied in the end. "That's when I started thinking seriously about it, at least."

Dean raised his eyebrows.

"What, I doubt you were taught alien possession theories at that fancy school of yours," he remarked sceptically.

Sam huffed.

"Well, no, I wasn't," he admitted. "We were not talking about alien possessions, we were talking about alien minds. And it was not a class. No teacher would have risked talking about such things out front."

Dean shifted to face Sam.

"All right," he admitted. "You've got me interested. What exactly were you talking about and when?"

Sam stood for a while silent as if gathering his thoughts.

"It was a bunch of us, really," he began. "Jess…and a couple of her friends who met regularly and talked about how certain things in society could be different – you know, how Earth Gov treats the colonies, the Mars riots, a few more questionable dealings with other species, like what happened to start the Minbari war and all that. Not the kind of thing I'd be inclined to talk to you and as for Dad – he would have had my head for half of the opinions we put up in that group."

"OK, that sounds like you," Dean conceded, "What does this have to do with alien minds?"

"Jess had an older sister," Sam said quietly. "She had entered Psi Corps the year before Jess and I started dating. By enter of course I mean she was revealed as a telepath and Psi Corps didn't give her much choice. Well, you've heard the stories."

Dean nodded slowly, indicating for Sam to go on. He still did not see too much of a connection with their previous conversation, but he knew Sam had a point and that he was going to get to it eventually. And since this was about a difficult period for Sam to remember, the least Dean could do was let him talk it over in his own time.

"Anyway, Psi Corps was a big issue in our meetings," Sam went on. "You can guess. We even thought about starting petitions, you know, gathering signatures to have them at least relax some of their rules. Let telepaths get in touch with their families once in a while." Sam paused and chuckled bitterly. "As if a bunch of scribbles from a few students here and there were going to make any kind of difference to an organisation like Psi Corps…Sorry, I'm…I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"Just a bit," Dean admitted indulgently.

Sam snorted.

"Right, a bit," he repeated, "Anyway, Jess told us about her sister at one of those meetings. She said she'd been good at hiding from people that she was a telepath for quite a while. Only her family knew. But then she accidentally scanned a Drazi and apparently went berserk after that. Of course that drew attention and the next day Psi Corps was on her doorstep. Anyway, before leaving she told Jess that the reason she broke down like that was because that Drazi mind was unlike anything she had encountered before. It was different. It was like something unfriendly was trying to keep her out. Which is what got me thinking about how alien minds must have some kind of defence mechanisms to protect them from telepaths and that maybe these mechanisms could work for possessions as well."

Sam looked at Dean questioningly. The latter was not saying anything nor was he giving away anything that he might have been thinking about Sam's theory.

"I know it's a longshot and kinda far-fetched," Sam confessed. "But in hindsight it did make sense when I first thought about it."

"No, I don't know, there might be something to it," Dean admitted. "I mean, I know what Dad used to say and I won't say I still don't agree with him, but there really hasn't been a proven case of a possessed alien, so I'll give you that."

Sam nodded. If he was to be honest with himself, though, now that he had told his long-ago formed theory to Dean, he thought he could find a lot of loopholes in it, if he thought better. He was surprised Dean had not seen them yet. Usually his brother was an expert at spotting loopholes and pointing them out to Sam with a sometimes frustrating amount of glee. There was nothing of that now, though. In fact, Dean looked faintly concerned. Well, Sam should not have been surprised. He had just mentioned Stanford and Jess, after all. He did not do that often.

"So," Dean began hesitatingly, confirming Sam's suspicions, "Ummm…how come you never told me about Jess' sister before?"

Sam shrugged his shoulders.

"What's to tell? I never met her. She was just a story. I know a couple of our friends tried to contact her when Jess died, right before the funeral. From what I heard later, they managed to get a hold of her mentor or handler or whatever you call them at Psi Corps. The dude said he'd tell her about Jess, but she wasn't there at the funeral. I used to wonder if she even knew her sister was dead, or if, after all that time at Psi Corps, she even, you know, cared. You're familiar with their motto: The Corps is Mother, the Corps is Father. She must have had plenty of brothers and sisters there."

Dean did not reply to that. While he usually professed not to care to much about the non-supernatural events in the world, there were things that even he could not brush aside. Psi Corps was one of those things. He had never said that to anyone, but the very existence of the organisation made his skin crawl.

"Man, that's messed up," he commented in the end. "The world's already screwed to hell and beyond a thousand times over. And then people come and screw it up some more."

Dean shook himself. They had ventured seriously off-topic and had reached a dangerously gloomy territory. While he did not mind to allow Sam to indulge in such discussions once in a very long while, they still had a job to do.

"So, what about you?" he asked casually. "What have you been doing with yourself while I was busy finding things out?"

"I was finding things out," Sam deadpanned, his demeanour quickly shifting from moody to business-like. "Thanks to the tour I know my way around the station well enough. I've also heard a few stories about the major players in this place and with the help of our cover story, I think I can even get some to talk to us."

"Really?" Dean inquired.

"Yeah," Sam confirmed. "I managed to get some appointments. I don't know how one goes about reaching Kosh and the Narn Ambassador is currently off station. But I did track down the diplomatic attachés to Centauri Prime and Minbar and I got us appointments with Ambassadors Londo Mollari and Delenn first thing in the morning."

"Good job," Dean praised. "Why don't you tackle Londo Mollari then and I'll try my luck with the Minbari."

Sam nodded distractedly. He stopped mid gesture, though, casting Dean a suspicious look.

"What?" Dean asked innocently.

"How come you get to take the female ambassador while I'm stuck with the little guy with the funny hair?" Sam asked, his eyebrows raised.

Dean chuckled.

"I've had four years in advance to claim that privilege, little brother. What can I say, Sammy? You should have been born earlier. And anyway, each with their own set of skills. You're good at tackling grumpy politicians and I…well, I work better with the ladies."

"Yeah, right," Sam muttered. "Just remember our ambassador is a member of the Minbari Religious Caste. So try to be a little less…"

"Libidinous?" Dean provided helpfully.

"I was going to say forward," Sam confessed. "But yours works better."