A/N: Thanks for the reviews, everyone. Now let's see what Dean gets up to. Remember we are back to 'today' again.
Howlround (Chapter VIII: Flipside) by frostygossamer
Timeline: Huge Attraction Ice-station - Today
Dean's consciousness comes back to him drop by drop. Awareness of his surroundings follows close behind.
Dark. Wet. Painfully cramped. Jeez, is it cramped.
He asks himself why did he have to be six foot plus of long legs and perfectly proportioned torso? Why did he have to have shoulders like a greek god? Why did he ever think he could survive in a module designed for a freakin' chimp?
His body aches for release from this torture in the worst way. Twitching like a tadpole ready to hatch, he feels desperately with numbed fingers for his box cutter. He is soon stabbing recklessly and blindly at the tough, elastic wall of his prison.
Jab. Jab. Rip. Slurp...
The pod collapses and he slides from the part melted ice block to the ground, spluttering, tearing at the rubberized membrane, gasping for real air. He lies on the cold wet floor for a spell, the cutter slipping from his fingers, coughing up fluid like a dying fish until his senses come back on-line.
He becomes dimly aware there is now someone kneeling at his side, trying to shake him awake. Kevin? His eyes are blurry and unfocussed. He struggles to make sense of what is going on.
"Hey there! Wake up, fella!" Someone is speaking gruffly to him. Not Kevin.
Dean waves his hands around, finding and locking onto an arm and pulling himself up into a sitting position. The stranger helps him to sit up.
"Help. H-help me. I-I gotta," Dean stutters, his windpipe gurgly with oxy-fluid.
"You gotta what?" The voice sounds incongruously angry. "Who in Hades are you anyways? Where'd you come from? Why're you here?"
Dean's eyes at last clear and he finds himself staring in the face of a chunky guy with a stubbly beard and heavy brow. He can barely make out the name tape on his shirt as it swims before him. He speaks, his voice croaky and halting, interrupted by chesty hacking.
"Uh, Roy? I, uh, I need to find my brother." Cough. "Sam Winchester. I gotta warn him. Gotta warn you all." Cough. "You gotta stop what you're doing. Right now." Cough. "It's gonna kill everyone. Gotta stop you."
Roy lands a punch square on Dean's jaw then reaches inside his jacket for a knife. He brings out a mean blade with a bony handle and a vicious point.
"Dunno what you're doing here, buddy, but you're not part of the plan. So goodbye, pal."
This is so NOT what Dean expected. What is with this guy? Is he completely insane?
Suddenly all the way conscious, the super-oxygenated blood coursing through his veins helps Dean react fast to the attack. He is on his hands and knees in a blink, fingers fumbling for the box cutter where he dropped it. He curses Kevin for not letting him pack a gun to defend himself.
He swings the cutter in a wide arc, forcing his assailant to jump backward to avoid it. Dean completely misses him. Roy gives a cold laugh and juggles his knife from hand to hand. Compared to Dean's small plasticky toy, Roy's knife is a big mother with a murderously sharp blade. Dean inhales. Talk about unprepared?
Luckily for him, Dean made the high school wrestling team. He has moves. But Roy is a dirty fighter. The second time he is thrown up against the hut wall, Dean slides to the floor and plays dead until Roy stands right over him with a nasty grin on his bristly face. Then Dean lashes out with his small weapon and connects.
The cutter gouges a raw chunk out of Roy's thigh, but strangely, he isn't fazed. Chuckling, the guy watches as the jagged wound closes over and heals before Dean's astonished eyes. What is this guy? Dean lunges at him and slams him back against a worktable. The snicker slices bloodily across the guy's chest but again it heals.
"Is this guy indestructible? Am I even awake yet?" thinks Dean. "This is like some bad freakin' trip."
Now Roy has Dean in an arm lock, big knife poised over his heart. Dean elbows him in the face, bumping the big blade from his hand. Jumping on it, Dean dodges back up, waving the knife between them. Roy's demeanour completely changes. He looks at his own knife with scared eyes. Dean notices the alteration.
"Oh, yeah," he taunts. "Not so brave around THIS little baby, huh?"
So he isn't proof to his own blade? Good to know. Roy growls in response.
Running at the other man, Dean succeeds in knocking him off balance and he careers backward, upsetting a box of tools with a loud clatter of metal. Dean follows up with a round kick to the ass and Roy staggers forward blindly, bangs his head on the front of a snowcat, and falls flat on the floor out cold.
Dean blows out an exhausted breath and pulls himself upright. Looking around he spots a box of cable ties on a shelf and speedily binds the unconscious man's hands tight behind his back. He sticks the guy's knife in his own belt and tosses the box cutter over his shoulder into the general clutter of spilled tools.
When his breathing has returned to normal, Dean rolls the guy over on his back and throws a cup of chilly meltwater in his ugly face. He comes around coughing and cussing, struggling against the tough plastic ties. He scrambles to sit up. Dean slaps him down hard with the back of his hand and growls.
"Roy! Whatever you freakin' are. You better tell me where's my brother. And tell me RIGHT NOW, assface!"
The guy on the floor gives a vicious laugh and leans up on one elbow.
"You think THIS is Roy? All this is is some crap-ugly meatsuit I POSSESSED. The dope called himself Roy is long gone. Come to save this bunch of bleeding heart do-gooders? You're too damn late, pal. We already got most of 'em. Rest'll go the same way soon enough."
"Possessed?!" Dean balks at that word. "What the hell IS this? Child's freakin' Play?"
The guy does an eye-roll. "I'm a DEMON, jughead. Get it now? We're taking over this little Ice Show. First step in our diabolic plan for dominion of Earth, get it?"
World domination? Dean can't believe his ears. What has he fallen into? Armageddon? Anywhere but Antarctica he wouldn't have believed it. Right now, with his brain a little scrambled, he could buy into anything. He grabs the demon's knife from his waistband and shoves it close up under his throat.
"OK. Let me have this Plan 9 of yours."
But Roy has managed to drag one hand free of the cable ties, nearly sawing off a thumb to do it. He lashes out at Dean, catching him short, slamming the blade from his fist. They scrabble on the floor together like street dogs, but Dean's arms are longer, and on his stomach stretched full length, he gets to the knife a fraction before the demon. He lands heavily on Dean's back.
Flipping them over, Dean rolls the stockier guy under him. Both pairs of hands are on the hilt of the knife for a beat then Dean puts a knee in his nuts and wrests back control. Driven by desperation and adrenaline, he plunges the blade deep into his adversary's heart.
Roy's face contorts in agony. Panting, Dean drags himself away from him. He automatically covers his own mouth with a hand when he is shocked to see the man's lips open wide and a stream of foul black smoke issue forth. It circles lazily in the cold hut air and finally disappears through a gap in the wall panels.
Now THAT isn't normal. Not natural. Supernatural? Maybe. Dean is beginning to get it. Possession. Demonic possession. He has heard of that from movies. Jeez! Has he gone back in time or gotten lost in Bizarro World?
Dean takes a deep breath and eases the knife out of the guy's chest. Blech! He wipes the blade clean on Roy's shirt and stows it back in his belt.
He is going to need it again.
OK, so what the Sam Hill is going on in this place? Dean expected to show up, warn everyone about the impending gas explosion, and hopefully, convince them to evacuate the station until safety checks can be made. Job done. He never expected to find himself in the middle of a plot by demons out to take over the Earth. Possession? Meatsuit? Jeez, this is like something straight from a late night cable horror movie.
Phew! He needs to take a moment to decide what to do. He spots Roy's bottle of whiskey on his workstation. When was the last time he had a drink? Dean pulls a chair right up beside Roy's space heater and helps himself to a bracing shot. Whew, so much better.
Now what?
First of all, he has got to find Sam. Yeah, but what if the demons have already gotten to his brother? Somehow he has to find out which of the research station personnel are human and which aren't.
If Sam isn't one of them someone is going to PAY!
A quick look at Roy's watch tells Dean it is officially night, despite the 24/7 twilight outside. Everyone on the ice-station should be asleep. He decides to wait until the station wakes up to make his first move. Meanwhile, the warmth of the little heater is evaporating the residue of the breathable fluid off of his skin and clothing. He begins to dry out, warmth returning to his limbs.
After a short while, he decides to disable the two cat track vehicles. Best if he can keep any demons isolated while he works out who is who. Or what. He snarfs a couple small but vital engine parts. He has to prevent the demons repairing the two machines. Then he sits back down to wait.
Soon he slips into a doze...
~O~
...until he is disturbed by a rattling at the door.
Glancing up sharply, he realizes he has been sitting here too long. Morning has arrived and someone is letting themselves in the hut. Dean hauls Roy's inert body into his chair and hides himself behind the big cat. Whoever this is could be another demon. His fingers grip the handle of Roy's knife, ready for whatever goes down when the door opens.
It looks like the new guy has come to check on Roy and probably bring him inside for breakfast. He is in for a surprise.
The newcomer, a robust and clean-shaven Nordic type, steps inside the hut, stamping his feet, and spots Roy to all appearances asleep on the job. Dean edges behind the snowcat as he spots the melted ice block and goes to check out the remains of Dean's pod.
Dean ducks back out of sight when the guy shakes Roy and his inert body falls to the floor. Cursing, the stranger brings out a big knife which glints evilly in the glare of the bare light bulb above them.
It is the same ugly-looking knife Roy pulled!
"Another freakin' demon?" wonders Dean. "Those ugly stickers standard issue or what?"
He braces himself for another fight. Luckily the likely demon heads for the door, leaving it standing open to the Antarctic windstorm in his haste to flee.
For now.
Dean thanks God the second guy chose to get out stat, but he guesses he will be back soon - and with reinforcements - so he takes the opportunity to slip outside and disappear into the bitter wind.
Yikes, is it cold!
~O~
Outside in the icy cold and chilling gale, Dean realizes he won't last long in the open even in his thermally insulated wetsuit. He needs to get warm again soon. From a safe distance he observes the knife guy return to the hut with a small man carrying a doctor's bag and a tall figure. Sam.
Yay, his baby brother Sam!
Dean's heart leaps a little in his chest. His Sam! Alive! Ah, but why is Sam with the possible demon? Is he also possessed? Is Dean too late? He needs to find out the truth before he even tries to get close to his brother.
Dodging behind a bank of snow, he watches the little group enter the Nissen hut. His eyes remain glued to the door waiting for them to re-emerge.
Shortly after they arrive, the group reappear and make their way back to the main building. With them off of the scene, Dean returns to the hut, where he discovers the door has been padlocked. By this time he is beginning to get a little hypothermic. He knows he needs to get warmed up again and soon. Snow has gotten into his stupid-ass bootees and his fingers are almost numb. Leaving the garage hut behind, he trudges over to the main building through the deepening blizzard and searches for an alternate way in.
He eventually finds a poorly sealed fire-door in the station's accommodations annex and slips inside. He only narrowly avoids four guys who are wandering around checking out the building. He guesses they are looking for whoever offed Roy.
It seems he has ducked into some sort of radio shack. He examines the equipment. Tools and circuits from the long-range transmitter are spread out all over the place. Someone has been working on it but it looks like they gave up.
"Explains why the station was out of contact right before the explosion," he mutters to himself.
He notices a walkie-talkie base booster and decides to disable that too. There is no point in letting the freaks communicate with each other. There may be more of them out there, for all he knows. He rips out a handful of wires and snaffles a small tool he can use as a lockpick.
With the radio equipment safely dead, Dean peeks out into the passageway. The search party seems to have moved on. He makes his way to the nearest bedroom to look for real boots and something warmer to wear.
~O~
The name on the first bedroom door is Bobby Singer. Dean goes straight for the spare boots Singer left by the door. Rummaging in a drawer for a dry pair of socks to go with them, he notices three framed photos on the nightstand.
One is a shot of a bearded guy in a monkey suit posing with his beaming bride. The next is of the same guy older. He is carousing in some bar with his buds, big smile on all their faces. The third shows the same older guy cuddling up with a different woman.
Dean smirks. "Singer, you old dog."
He pulls the boots on over freshly stockinged feet and tosses his own sodden footwear out the window where they disappear under the snow.
The next room he enters is labelled Rufus Turner. Turner has a whole album of photographs beside his bed. Some of them have Singer in them too but the common denominator is a thin, middle-aged black guy. That has to be Turner himself. It looks like he gets around some, that guy. Also on the nightstand is a smartphone, earbuds attached. Dean glances through his playlist. Manilow? Demis Roussos? Jeez! Who'da thunk?
He needs a warmer coat. The point of Roy's knife tore some ugly rips in his wetsuit jacket. He unzips and peels it back. Beneath the rubber, patches of his sore, bare skin are red raw from cold. He touches the flesh with his fingertips and winces.
Poking around in Turner's locker, he selects a very cosy looking parka and quickly pulls it on. Checking out the pockets he finds a mitten stuffed in each. Now this is more like it. He finally starts to get some heat back in his body.
When he sneaks in the room across from Turner's, Dean is immediately struck by the difference. He checks the door. This is Roy's, his friendly meet-and-greet demon. No photos in this room. No memorabilia. Nothing personal whatsoever. Well, this guy was a self-confessed demon. Dean guesses the demonic won't be majorly into sentiment. It strikes him he has found a rough and ready way to distinguish between the demon-possessed and surviving humans. Awesome!
The next room belongs to Walt and Dean doesn't even need to go in to know exactly what the guy is. The room is austere as a prison cell, but without the obligatory sexy pin-ups. Even without the framed cross-stitch of Hell entitled 'Home Sweet Home' it doesn't leave much space for error.
Adjacent to Walt's room is Sam's. Dean pauses a second to run a finger over Sam's nameplate before going inside and closing the door behind him. This room is pretty spartan too. Worryingly, there isn't a thing on the night table except a well-thumbed paperback edition of Lonely Planet's 'Antarctica: A Travel Survival Kit'.
"Nerd," mumbles Dean, affectionately.
He checks in the top drawer and finds a photo frame lying on its face. He takes it out and looks at it. It is the snap of him and the folks down at the auto repair shop that Sam took a couple years ago. They had won some kind of award? Sam was proud of him back then.
Taking a seat on Sam's bed, he stares at the photo blankly for seconds. He didn't even know Sam kept that picture. But what does it mean that it was consigned to a drawer? Face down? Is that something a demon would do? Or something a mad-at-him brother would do? The jury seems to be out on Sam.
Shrugging, Dean gets up to leave, but before he goes he takes out Roy's demon knife and slides it under his brother's pillow. If Sam is human he could use an effective weapon to defend himself. If he isn't, well, it couldn't hurt much.
He has hardly stepped through the next doorway when he is surprised by the room's owner, Walker, coming up behind him.
"Turner-" Walker begins, recognizing the coat, then instantly realizes his mistake.
It has taken Dean less than a second to register Walker's room is far from homelike and he is already on his guard. Walker jumps on Dean before he can even turn around to face him and they struggle.
Walker growls in Dean's ear. "So you're the buttinski that showed up to mess with our perfect plan, huh?"
Dean shoves Walker back against the metal framed bed, jamming his fist up under Walker's jaw, effectively preventing him from crying out and so bringing help. Walker reaches inside his quilted vest, his fingers fighting with Dean's to fold around the hilt of his knife.
Walker jerks the knife out of his grasp and the blade makes glancing contact with Dean's left ear, snicking a shallow cut which nonetheless bleeds profusely.
"Human scum, prepare to die knowing our scheme means any ONE of us has the power to END mankind," he hisses.
But Dean grabs his arm and twists hard until the guy's fingers release their grip. He grabs the knife and drags it across Walker's exposed throat leaving a bloody gash. The demon gurgles out a final curse.
Dean backs away, panting, the demon's blade in his hand. Blind instinct was all that saved him. He watches as that same ugly black smoke pours from Walker's slack mouth and vanishes through a chink where the corrugated wall panels don't quite meet up.
Touching his ear, Dean's fingers come away wet. Though he tries to wipe the blood off of his face with his parka's sleeve, it continues to drip down his chin and onto the floor.
He hears others approaching along the passageway outside. He has to get out of here before he gets caught. Flinging open Walker's window, he hesitates a moment before climbing out into the snow. He hobbles away right as someone pushes Walker's door all the way open and a woman screams.
So any ONE of these guys can end mankind? Well, Dean is going to see that doesn't happen. He will come back later to check out the rest of the station's personnel. He has to eliminate every demon in the place.
He hopes to God that doesn't include his brother.
TBC
A/N: Dean has a much bigger task ahead than he expected. Just as well our Dean is up to man enough for the job. More soon.