Fake Fan Fiction ❯ Fight or Flight ❯ A Chance Meeting ( Chapter 3 )

MediaMiner Reviewers:

 

Raven Black: Thanks for your review! I think you're pretty much the only person who's come back for more, and that means a lot, seriously. I'll try to keep the Ryo/Dee fluff coming! And, of course, the Rose bashing—I hate that man…

 

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This whole thing was not going according to plan.

 

It was supposed to be so simple. Normal job. Kill the puppy. Fill him with bullets. Make a clean getaway. And naturally, since it was so simple, things started to go wrong fairly quickly.

 

It had started out well enough—all their time apart hadn't affected the fluid teamwork of the Winchester brothers, and at first it had looked like the job would go smoothly.

 

That had lasted for all of three seconds.

 

Until they actually found the animal, and learned that apparently possessed dogs were not only virtually immune to most weapons—which they had already known—but they were stronger and about ten times as fast as your average Greyhound.

 

Dean had emptied over half his clip, and Sam had used about a quarter of his, before they'd finally decided to approach the problem differently. That is to say, Sam snapped at Dean to stop wasting bullets, and then they'd fallen to trying to think of something else while they danced and dodged and generally looked like morons.

 

After that minor disaster, Sam had been thrown into a dumpster, and the ensuing crash had been enough to wake up most of New York.

 

And then came the moment when Sam decided to be stupid in order to get the stupid dog killed. Now, to most people, it would appear that Sam getting caught by the dog wasn't anything more than a simple lapse, likely caused by his collision with the dumpster. But Dean knew his brother much better than that, and he knew that Sam had been caught much more easily than his skill level allowed—even after being thrown across an alleyway.

 

Yeah, they were definitely gonna have to talk about that later…

 

Which reminded him—wasn't he supposed to have a talk with Sam about something else…?

 

Well, whatever. The point was, Sam was stupid.

 

And, okay, maybe that had gotten the dog killed, but that wasn't the point.

 

And to top it all off, after Dean had shot the dog while it was snacking on Sam's arm, he looked up and saw…people. People in normal clothes, but they carried guns, so Dean wasn't sure what to think of them.

 

And one of them looked very familiar…

 

XXX

 

The first thing that Dee noticed about the man he was currently locking eyes with was that this was not the first time he had held a gun. The loose, easy grip and the nonchalant stance screamed pretty much the opposite of “novice”…whatever that is.

 

The second thing Dee noticed was that the other guy wasn't nearly as put off by whatever had just happened in this alley as he himself was. He didn't seem in any way freaked out that he'd just shot a dog in the dead of night in New York City—or that that dog might have been some little kid's pet.

 

The third thing was that the guy did seem angry. Or…not even angry, actually. Just really, really annoyed, though what—or who—he was annoyed with was difficult to say. His hazel eyes flashed as he looked at Dee, and his shoulders tensed under the faded brown leather jacket he wore.

 

Dee absorbed all of this in just the couple of seconds it took for the other guy, the one who had been bitten, to move. Slowly, the man rolled over and began to stumble to his feet, holding his arm tightly across his chest.

 

The guy currently having a staring contest with Dee immediately turned and snapped, “At least wait for me to lend you a hand, idiot.” But despite the harsh words, something that didn't remotely resemble irritation flashed in his eyes, and he strode quickly over and put one of his hands under the uninjured arm, the other going around his friend's shoulders.

 

Dee lowered his gun cautiously, and sensed, more than saw or heard, Ryo come up next to him, his gun already in its holster. “You can put that away,” he said calmly to Dee. “They won't give us any trouble.”

 

“How do you know?”

 

Ryo shrugged, and Dee matched the gesture and put his weapon away, his eyes still trained on the other two men. He had already deduced that the uninjured man was older, though now that his companion was standing it became obvious that he was the taller one. Still, something about the shorter of the two made it clear that he was older by at least a couple of years.

 

But both of them looked worn and tired, beyond their years, and both looked ready to drop where they stood. They seemed…dangerous, somehow, and Dee wondered why he and Ryo weren't taking them in for questioning yet…

 

XXX

 

Dean masked his concern for his brother with the help of long practice, until he was sure that the two men, at least, couldn't see it, though Sam probably did. Carefully, he took Sam's injured arm and raised it, wincing inwardly at Sam's sudden intake of breath.

 

“It isn't broken,” Sam said with certainty, though his voice was laced with pain. “Maybe sprained, though, and it's gonna take stitches.”

 

“Is it something—”

 

“No, you can just take care of it back at the motel.”

 

“You sure?”

 

Another small gasp as Dean let go, and then Sam said, “Yeah.” Then he lowered his voice so only Dean could hear it. “But what are we gonna do about those guys, Dean?”

 

XXX

 

Dee's eyes narrowed in suspicion as the younger man pulled the older closer to him and lowered his voice so that he and Ryo couldn't hear a thing. But in truth, the suspicion was more a habit formed from his years on the force than a feeling sprung from the actual circumstances. Sure, these men were obviously well-trained with guns, and that was slightly disconcerting, if not downright dangerous, but—well, in the end, it still boiled down to the fact that one of them could barely lift his arm and the other obviously cared about him too much to risk something like another fight.

 

Besides, I could draw and shoot ten times as fast as him, and with ten times the accuracy…

 

Dee was jerked out of his thoughts when a sudden movement captured his attention, and he looked up to see the two coming toward him and Ryo, the injured one walking without any support, though the other hovered close enough to him to lend help if it was needed. Dee wondered for a moment if it was always like that—one always here to help the other, though neither said a word about it.

 

Hmm…I wonder if…

 

But then the older of the two spoke, directly to them this time, and Dee was forced to let the thought lie.

 

XXX

 

Dean really wished he could place this black-haired man who kept staring at him, but though recognition flickered at the edge of his memory, no name came to him. The other man, though, was a complete stranger to him—and he was watching Sam, anyway.

 

Dean didn't feel like another staring contest, so he only let the silence continue for a couple of seconds before he snapped, “Are you going to get out of the way or not?” He felt Sam's eyes on him, and he sensed the implications of that look, but he ignored the warning and continued. “I can tell that you want to stop us, and ask us about that damn dog, but I think you should just forget about and move. What, Sammy?” he asked, turning around when a hand fell on his shoulder.

 

“It's Sam,” Sam said flatly. “And you do realize they're cops, right?”

 

“…Oh.”

 

Sam glared, probably driven to distraction by the pain in his arm. “You're an idiot.”

 

“Just trying to hurry things along,” Dean grumbled.

 

Sam rolled his eyes and took a step forward, holding out his uninjured arm and managing to grimace only slightly. “I'm sorry about him. He's just a little on edge.”

 

The brown-haired stranger smiled easily and said, “Don't worry about it. But he's right, you need to get your arm taken care of. Do you need a ride to the hospital?”

 

“No, thanks. We have a car.” But then he looked back and forth between the two men, and sighed. “You have to question us, don't you?”

 

It wasn't really a question, but the brown-haired man answered reluctantly. “Yes.”

 

Sam sighed again. “You can come with us to our motel, then.”

 

“Sam,” Dean said warningly.

 

“Dean, shut up,” Sam replied, but without anger. “Just…don't argue, okay? I don't feel like it right now.”

 

Dean's eyes snapped to his face, and he saw exhaustion there that he hadn't noticed before. He softened immediately, but didn't permit it to show as he turned back to the two cops and snapped, “Fine. You can follow us to the motel.”

 

“Huh? I thought you were going to a hospital,” the black-haired, familiar looking guy said, sounding confused. “I mean, your friend here—”

 

“You think I've already forgotten that my brother's arm has been ripped open?' Dean asked sharply. He didn't notice the smirk that darted across the black-haired man's face, luckily. “But we take care of our own. Besides, we can't afford any kind of hospital right now.”

 

“But isn't that—”

 

“It's normal for us, is what it is, and that's all I'm going to say. Now move, already!” he said, his voice tinged with concern as he looked at Sam and took stock of how pale his brother was getting.

 

The man looked ready to say something else, but his companion put a hand on his shoulder and gently pulled him off to the side. Still grumbling about what he saw as a long and unnecessary delay, Dean put a hand on Sam's shoulder and supported him out of the alley.

 

“Hey.”

 

Dean turned and looked at the brown-haired man with an air of impatience that said more than words could have.

 

“I'm Randy MacLean. This is my partner, Dee Laytner.”

 

Dean looked at him for another moment, completely masking the bell the name rang in his head. “I'm Dean. And my brother's Sam.” He didn't give a last name, and the black-haired man, Dee, immediately looked suspicious, but Dean ignored that and the brothers continued toward the car, the two cops following behind.

 

Dee gave a low whistle when he clapped eyes on Dean's '67 Impala. “That's yours?” he asked. He reached out to touch the hood, but then he paused, and dropped his hand, contenting himself with a murmur of, “She's a beauty…”

 

Now, normally, such praise of his beloved car would have won at least Dean's grudging friendship in a heartbeat, but tonight he happened to be in an extraordinarily bad mood, and Dee Laytner had already managed to get on his bad side. So, in order to keep his dignity intact, he only allowed himself a small smile, a proud pat on the waxed black hood of the Impala, and a grudging, “Yeah, she is.”

 

“Why didn't you touch it?' Randy asked curiously.

 

“Yeah, I was kinda wondering that too,” Sam added, leaning heavily against the car.

 

Dean and Dee both looked scandalized, shocked that they didn't know. “Dude,” Dean said. “You don't touch another man's car without permission. It's, like, the height of rudeness.”

 

Both Sam and Randy rolled their eyes.

 

“Pathetic.”

 

“Shut up,” Dean snapped at his brother, helping him into the car and slamming the door to cut off any further judgments. Then he went around to his side and opened his door. Before he got in, he turned and said to Dee, “Keep up, because I'm not slowing down.”

 

“Hey,” Dee said sharply, “NYPD, man. We don't have to let you go to your motel at all. We could just as easily bring you to a hospital and then down to the station. You're only making the decisions because my partner's too nice for his own good.”

 

“Yeah, not much with the caring,” Dean replied calmly, and before Dee could said anything more, the door slammed shut and the engine started up. “NYC sucks,” he fumed, pulling out on to the road.

 

Sam smirked.

 

“What are you laughing at, Sammy?”

 

XXX

 

Dean was obscurely disappointed that the car behind them kept up perfectly all the way to the motel. He had been hoping to lose the cops among the traffic of New York, but he probably should have known better. But that didn't stop him from using rather colorful language when Dee and Randy pulled up and parked next to them in the lot.

 

“Shut up, Dean,” Sam snapped, climbing out of the car. “You're going to get us arrested.”

 

Dean's curses subsided then into nothing more than annoyed grumbles as he went around the car to join his brother. He didn't pay any attention to Dee and Randy, but rather just motioned irritably for them to follow him and Sam. Nor did he invite them in—just left the door open and they followed him in and closed it.

 

Dean sat his brother down on his bed, and Sam leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. “You okay?” Dean asked, and waited for Sam's nod before he went and got the first-aid kit. Theirs was rather larger and more tightly packed than most, containing everything from bandages to butterfly stitches.

 

God, he hated this part of hunting. He'd been doing it sporadically since his teenage years, but it never got easier. But aside from cloistering Sam and forcing him to stay in the car for the rest of his life, there was only one thing for him to do—let out a sigh, pull out the alcohol, thread, needle and a roll of bandages, and get straight down to work.

 

XXX

 

Sam only cried out twice—once when the alcohol touched his scratches, and once the first time the needle slid in—and they were only small cries, hardly more than groans. In spite of himself, Dee was impressed with the man's stoicism—and also uneasy. It was obvious that they'd done this before, but how many times? How often had one of them been hurt, and gone without professional treatment?

 

But the question foremost in Dean's mind was…why?

 

Why did they choose that way of doing things, when a hospital would have been a lot less crude and a whole lot less painful? Why would anyone choose that?

 

“Why, Sam?”

 

Dean's voice cut into his thoughts in an unexpected mirror of his own.

 

“Why did you do that?” Dean went on, and Dee couldn't figure out what he meant.

 

Sam obviously knew, though, because he shrugged his good shoulder and spoke calmly. “We couldn't come up with anything else, and you were wasting all of our ammo.”

 

“Well, that's no reason to let it get you!”

 

“Got you a clean shot, didn't I?” Sam asked wryly.

 

“Hey, I would have gotten that thing anyway, if you'd given me enough time,” Dean protested.

 

“Somehow I doubt that.”

 

“You're a moron, Sam.” But despite the anger in his tone, Dean's hands were steady and gentle as he continued with the stitches. “Next time you think of a suicide mission, at least check with your big bro first, okay?”

 

Sam didn't reply to that, and for a while silence reigned. Then, finally, Dee reached the end of his patience. “All right, since clearly no one's gonna start this on their own, would either of you care to explain what you were doing in a deserted New York City alley, fully armed, in the dead of night, with what seemed to be a really angry puppy after you?”

 

XXX

 

Dean finished off the stitching and cut the thread in silence, trying to gauge exactly how much to tell. Then he packed the needle and thread, unrolled the bandages, and began wrapping it around Sam's arm, all without speaking. Sam didn't say anything, either, and somehow Dean could tell already that he was going to have to do most of the talking.

 

“Well?” Dee demanded, crossing his arm and looking irritably from one brother to the other.

 

Dean shrugged, and tried for a lighthearted tone. “We were just passing by, and we heard something in the alley—”

 

“Bull,” Dee said conversationally. “How about the truth, okay? Otherwise we'll have to take you down to the station, and no matter how annoying you are, you do not deserve to have Berkley Rose inflicted on you.”

 

“Who—?” Sam asked, obviously to keep his mind off the bandage tightening around his arm more than anything else.

 

“Our superior on the force,” Randy explained. “Dee's absolutely certain that he hates the man.”

 

“What's that supposed to mean?” Dee snapped.

 

“But he's right about one thing. You do not want him questioning you. There's a good chance you'd kill him, and then you'd be facing a murder rap as well as vigilantism charges. And you should know…if Dee can't tell when you're lying, then I can.”

 

Dean sighed, and tied off the bandage. Unhurriedly, he packed up the kit and put it in his bag, while Sam moved gingerly to stretch out on the bed. Only then did Dean remember Sam's collision with the dumpster, and he realized how much Sam must be aching right now.

 

“Dean.”

 

He turned to his brother, who had been watching him the whole time. “Yeah, Sammy?”

 

“Just tell them, man.”

 

“They're gonna think we're nuts,” Dean warned.

 

“Better than arresting us.”

 

Dean went and sat down on the bed next to his brother's legs, resting his hands on his knees.

 

“Go on,” Randy said, but not in a way that spoke of interrogation.

 

Dean sighed again, wondering how best to phrase it. Then he shook his head, and just plowed into it.

 

“What you saw us kill back there—it wasn't a dog.”

 

Dee raised an eyebrow. “Well, then I'd be really interested to know what it actually was. A giant cat? Or maybe a really small bear?”

 

Dean smiled wryly at the hit. “I wish. But the truth is, it wasn't an animal of any kind. Not on the inside, at least.”

 

“Do you think you could be a little bit clearer?” Dee asked pleasantly.

 

So, Dean spoke more bluntly than he ever had. “There was an evil spirit inside the dog.”

 

Dee's eyebrows practically disappeared into his hairline. “What?”

 

“The dog was possessed,” Dean continued, his voice flat and calm. “That's why it could move so fast, and that's why it attacked Sam. And trust me, if I hadn't shot it it'd have gone for you guys, too, and your bullets would have been completely useless.”

 

“So yours worked because…?”

 

“They were silver.”

 

Dee smirked. “This just keeps getting better and better. Silver bullets and possessed pups—what's next, vampires?”

 

“Actually, we haven't seen a vamp in a couple months. I'm pretty sure there's a nest somewhere nearby, but we haven't gotten around to it yet. The last thing we killed was a shapeshifter.” Dean's gaze shifted from the wall in front of him to Dee's disbelieving face. “A shapeshifter in the form of an NYPD cop who looked an awful lot like you, Dee Laytner.”

 

There was a long silence, and in that time Dean could see all of the facts falling into place in Dee's head—his own kidnapping, the chaos over his supposed death, and then the confusion over his mysterious reappearance even as the other body lay in the morgue. Dean had learned about all of these events from Sam, who seemed to have an odd interest in current events, but now he wondered for the first time what it must have been like to be the focus of all that confusion and bewilderment, and he could almost sympathize.

 

But the feeling disappeared when Dee said flatly, “It's not possible. You're crazy. Either that or you're just hiding something.”

 

Dean flushed an angry red, and his hands clenched into fists. He'd expected the questioning of his sanity, but the accusation sent a thrill of anger through him. However, his voice was calm and cool as he said, “See, Sam? Completely close-minded.”

 

That single sentence seemed to snap whatever was left of Dee's patience, and he stood up. “Well, if you're going to stick to that story, I guess we'll have to go down to the station. Hadn't planned on going back tonight, but…”

 

“I think they're telling the truth, Dee.”

 

Dee stopped mid-sentence and turned to Randy, who had been silent up to now. “Ryo, what are you saying? It's insane! That body just looked like me—it couldn't have been…what they said. Right?”

 

Randy shook his head. “No…you didn't see…him. He didn't just look like you—he was you—every detail was you.” He seemed to be having extreme difficulty speaking, his voice choked and thick. “Trust me, I…I got a really good look.”

 

Dee suddenly looked sad. “Ryo…” he said softly, reaching out to put a hand on Randy's shoulder.

 

A blush fanned out over Randy's face, for some reason, and he shook his head. “I'm fine.”

 

Dee looked doubtful, but he didn't say anything, and for a moment there was silence.

 

“Hey, why did you just call him—um, Ryo, right?” Dean asked. “I thought your name was Randy…”

 

The brown-haired man reddened slightly again, though his reply didn't seem to warrant it. “Ryo is my Japanese name. It's what Dee calls me.”

 

“And it used to be only me who called him that,” Dee said grumpily. “But then Rose picked it up, and then everyone else at the damn precinct, so now it's not even a nickname anymore. For some reason, he sounded very put out.

 

“Well, anyway, I think they're telling the truth,” Ryo—now he was going to be “Ryo” forever, Dean could tell, why that was Dean didn't know—said, returning to the subject and talking to Dee again.

 

“Aren't you supposed to be the realist here?” Dee asked, annoyed.

 

“Normally, yes. But…well, things have been…strange, lately.” When Dee just looked skeptical, Ryo sighed. “Look, it can't hurt to hear them out, can it?”

 

Dee looked at him for a few seconds, then sighed and sat down again. “Fine. Talk.”

 

Dean thought a second, then half-turned in his seat. “Sammy, why don't you—” He cut himself off mid-sentence and sighed, though he was smiling a little as he carefully pushed himself off the bed, trying not to move it too much, and moved silently to the other bed, chuckling slightly.

 

“Right when I need him, the kid finally gets some sleep…” Then he shook his head, and began to talk.

 

XXX

 

It was about half an hour before he stopped talking, and leaned back against the wall with a quiet sigh. He hadn't covered everything—not even close—but rather had stuck to the basic and most important facts—the ones that pertained directly to New York City and the NYPD, and the ones about Dee Laytner himself. He told them about how they'd ended up in NYC, and how they'd figured out about the shapeshifter. Then he explained in less detail about the dog, telling only enough to present his case before moving on to what Sam had discovered last night—a series of mysterious deaths in one of the more questionable areas of the city, deaths that all seemed to be caused by lacerations to the neck.

 

“Oh, yeah, we've heard about that,” Ryo said, quite calmly, all things considered. “The victims all bled out quickly, apparently before they had time to even scream.”

 

Dean nodded at him in acknowledgement, then told them that he and Sam were planning to exterminate the nest before they left town.

 

By the time he finished, Dean felt that maybe he had accomplished something, at any rate. Dee still looked more than a little skeptical, but he wasn't throwing around accusations anymore. And Ryo—Ryo wasn't wearing any expression at all.

 

“So you came here knowing about all this?” Dee asked.

 

Dean shrugged. “Sam did some research when we got here, but yeah, more or less.”

 

“And you realize how crazy you sound.”

 

“To people who haven't lived my life, yeah, I guess it does.”

 

Dee looked carefully at them for a long time, then sat back in his chair with a sigh. “Fine. But now we have a problem.”

 

“Of course we have a problem,” Dean replied cheerfully. “In fact, I'd say we have a couple of them. Which one are you talking about?”

 

Dee answered with a question. “How are we gonna tie up loose ends? All of these things you've told us about are cases the NYPD has been working on for weeks and months now, and our officers really don't like unsolved mysteries, especially the kind that involves one of their officers turning up dead and then walking unharmed into the precinct a couple of hours later. Rose is out for blood, and I can't think of a single story he'd believe to get him to drop all these cases. And then there'd be the chief to deal with, and he'd be as difficult as Rose, as impossible as that seems.”

 

Dean very much wanted to tell Dee that this was his problem, and that he'd have to figure it out on his own, but he glanced at Ryo and for some reason found himself making a suggestion. “Can't you claim to have an anonymous source?”

 

Dee shook his head dismissively. “Not for something this big. He wouldn't accept an anonymous tip to completely drop a series of homicide cases. Hell, he'd probably wring a name out of me for fun. What else ya got?”

 

“Either frame someone or tell your commissioner the truth and let him deal with it. Those are your only options as far as I can see.”

 

Dee ran a hand over his face and sighed. “Yeah. I know.” He turned to Ryo. “So, who should we set up? Hey, how about JJ?”

 

Ryo rolled his eyes. “Rose is never gonna believe this…” He sighed, checked his watch, and stood up. “Well, anyway, it's getting late and you guys should probably rest. We'll be back tomorrow at ten.”

 

Dean had closed his eyes, but now they snapped open and he sat up. “Huh?”

 

“Well, obviously you're going to come with us,” Ryo said, as if the idea were perfectly reasonable and not absolutely cataclysmic. At Dean's incredulous look, he shrugged. “Hey, I certainly can't tell this well, and he'd just think that Dee's flipped his lid. You guys will have to talk to him.”

 

Dean's mouth still hung open a little, but he couldn't think of a single thing to say, and Ryo seemed to take this as an okay, because he was already opening the door. “Remember, ten o'clock.” Then he and Dee were gone, and Dean was alone except for his sleeping brother.

 

He sat still for a few seconds, then shook his head as if trying to clear it, and murmured, “NYC sucks.”

 

XXX

 

“I don't know if we should leave them, Ryo,” Dee murmured as they headed out to the car. “What if they decide to make a break for it?”

 

“They won't,” Ryo said with confidence, and Dee didn't say anything more—sometimes Ryo seemed to just know things like that, and he was usually right.

 

Instead, he sighed and slid an arm around Ryo's waist, pulling him close and pressing a kiss into his hair, as he had not been permitted to do in the motel room. “I kinda feel sorry for them, though. I feel kinda bad for unleashing Rose on unsuspecting victims…”

 

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AN: Sorry for the wait, readers! (A.K.A. Raven Black, gddsinferno, Minkster and friendly.) It's been a hectic week and I barely found time today to get this done. Please, please, PLEASE review!