Fic'ing to Christmas - Day Five - FIC: A Different Type of Monster
Title: A Different Type of Monster
Prompter: polgara_5
Prompt: Dean Winchester and Jack O'Neill and "That was all classic cliché, you sure you don't want to rethink that?"
Rating: FR13
Betas: kaylashay81 and avamclean
Fandoms: Supernatural, Stargate: SG1
Disclaimer: The characters of Supernatural belong to Eric Kripke, the CW, etc. The characters of Stargate: SG1 belong to Gekko Film Corp, MGM, the Sci-fi Channel, etc. The ideas and concepts in this story are mine entirely. Please do not copy or take this story without my permission.
All fics by authors participating in this year's Wishlist challenge, can be found here: wishlist_fic
My Masterlist is here: Fic'ing to Christmas
Every hunter had a reason for getting into hunting, and that typically lead to their preference on what evil monster to hunt down. For the Winchesters, it involved anything to do with glowing eyes, as they hunted down the Yellow-Eyed Bastard that killed their mother.
Dean’s phone chirped, alerting him to a new text, and he reached over into the passenger seat and grabbed his phone. He thumbed it open to see a text from an unknown number, coordinates and glowing eyes was all the message said.
“Thanks Dad,” Dean muttered to himself as he pulled off the highway to get his maps out of the trunk. After a few minutes, he carefully tucked the maps back in place and slammed the trunk down. “Yuma, Colorado here I come.”
~*~
Seven hours, a cup of coffee, and a slice of apple pie later, Dean had the name of the man his father had sent him out there to investigate. It turned out that Steven Parks abrupt shift in personality after returning from a trip abroad hadn’t sat well with anyone in town.
Dean slid off the barstool, leaving a few dollars to cover his bill and tip, and headed out to the Impala. Parks lived in a popular neighborhood just inside town limits, which allowed Dean the ability to drive by and case the house without too much suspicion.
His house was a normal split-level, matching the rest of the construction in the neighborhood. There wasn’t anything obviously demonic or abnormal about the house at all. A blue Ford Explorer sat in the driveway, and a couple days worth of newspaper had accumulated on the front step. Lights were on in the house, indicating that he was home, but it appeared Parks had no desire to keep current on local news.
Dean cruised by the house for a second time as he left the neighborhood, slowing down as much as he dared to get a second look at the house. The trouble would be the neighbors, which sat practically on top of one another in this area. Dean would have to wait for full dark to break in, and just hope that if he had to put down Parks, or whatever was posing as him, that he’d be able to get out of there before the cops arrived.
~*~
Dean waited until half past midnight to sneak around the back of the house, well out of the sight of any late arriving neighbors. He held the slim flashlight carefully between his teeth as he pulled out his lock picking kit. As he reached out to grip the doorknob, it turned in his hand, and the door started to push open. Dean froze, heart beating faster in his chest, at the development. When he didn’t hear anything, he slid the kit back into his jacket and pulled the gun out of the back of his pants, thumbing off the safety. Carefully he pushed the door open further, tilting his head to get a better angle for the flashlight beam. The kitchen was dark and empty and Dean entered the house.
He thought it was odd that the door was unlocked, but perhaps it was such a familiar community that they didn’t feel the need to lock themselves in their homes. The hair on the back of Dean’s neck stood up though as he pushed the door closed and switched the flashlight to his left hand. It was more likely that whatever had taken Parks’ place didn’t feel threatened enough by anyone in this town to bother locking the doors.
Dean quietly worked his way through the kitchen, giving everything a cursory glance and rifling through the pile of mail on the kitchen counter. Parks hadn’t bothered with it in some time either. Not finding anything useful, he moved on through the kitchen and out into the living room. He kept his flashlight beam angled down, casting enough light to see, but hopefully not enough to alert anyone outside of his presence.
Too late, Dean realized he should have been worried about seeing whoever was in the house. Twin pools of glowing light lit up the figure’s eyes in the living room and Dean had half a second to get off a shot before he was tackled. The sound reverberated around the room, and Dean heard the thing grunt upon impact, but there wasn’t an adverse reaction to the silver bullets. The flashlight was knocked out of his hand, breaking when it hit the floor, and the room was cast into complete darkness. Parks managed to land a punch to Dean’s face, sending his head to crack against the floor. Brief flashes of light exploded in Dean’s vision, but he brought his hand up with the gun, and smashed it into the man’s temple.
Dean’s throat tightened in fear as he realized that perhaps his Dad had sent him after something worse than a shifter. Frantically, before he could return, Dean sunk his fingers into his pocket and pulled out the flask. With two fingers, he unscrewed the top, and let the lid fall to the floor beside him. He forced himself up, eyes straining in the dark for Parks. He saw movement and emptied the flask in its face.
He saw the creature’s eyes widen in surprise, but there was no smoke. Confusion, with a slight thread of fear, ran through Dean, as he realized he wasn’t prepared for whatever it was he was facing. He tried to take aim again, better to put a bullet between the guy’s eyes and sort it out later, when he was alive. But the thing picked him up and tossed him effortlessly across the room. He collided with the wall, taking pictures with him as he slid to the floor. His fingers scrambled along the floor, searching for his gun, but Parks crouched down over top of him.
In the dark, his eyes flashed again and he reached out, fingers tightening around Dean’s jaw and forcing it open. He screamed, yelled in the face of thing and tried to fight his way out, but the creature slammed his head back into the wall again, disorienting him for a second, and then Dean saw it open its own mouth.
“Hey Snakehead!” a voice yelled out as the lights in the living room were thrown on.
The pressure on Dean’s jaw disappeared as Steven Parks turned to face the group of people that had entered his house. Dean sagged against the wall, taking a few gasping breaths, before he lifted his head.
“He’s clear Jack,” the blonde woman in the group called out and Dean watched as the grey-haired leader pointed a weapon at Parks. A short burst of light shot from the device and collided with Parks.
Parks jerked for a second and then collapsed to the floor with a thud. Dean watched as a large black man quickly taped the man’s mouth shut and secured his arms behind his back. The blonde woman watched over the contact with her own device pointed at Parks.
Their leader, Jack the blonde woman had called him, made his way over to where Dean lay against the wall.
“What’s going on?” Dean asked.
“Are you alright?” Jack chose to ask instead.
“Fine,” Dean bit out. “Who are you and where are you taking him?”
“He’s coming in with us for some questioning,” Jack’s answer was vague.
“You gonna start with asking him how his eyes glowed?” Dean snapped back.
Jack paused for a second, studying Dean for a second. “It was just a trick of light,” he lied and offered Dean a hand up.
“A trick of light?” Dean couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “And that gun, is just a fancy stun gun?” he added with a nod to the weapon attached to Jack’s hip.
Jack didn’t bother looking down at his hip, just gave Dean a small shrug.
“That was all classic cliché, you sure you don’t want to rethink that?” Dean pressed as he ignored the hand and pushed himself up off the wall and to his feet.
“Well what’s your explanation?”
His head was hurt, his vision was swimming and kinda double, but he knew what he’d seen. And if that was the case then these guys had no idea what they were getting into. Figuring it couldn’t hurt, especially if Jack and his team were in full denial and cover your ass mode. “Thought it was a shifter at first, then a demon, and scarily enough now I’m not so sure,” he answered, held Jack’s gaze as he said it.
Jack’s eyes widened a little at the words. “Shifter? Demon?” he repeated. “As in shape-shifter and hell spawn?”
Dean let his annoyance show at the questions and accompanying disbelieving tone. “As in something not human,” he explained.
Jack nodded and cleared his throat, looking back over his shoulder at his team, and at the unconscious form of the thing they’d both come for. “It’s classified,” Jack finally said.
Dean’s brow furrowed at that comment, not quite sure what to make of military involvement in the supernatural.
“But I can honestly say it wasn’t a shape-shifter, or a demon,” he added and his lips set in a grim line across his face.
Dean studied him and his team for a few moments, running the possibilities through his head. The silver bullets and holy water hadn’t stopped him, the holy water only seemed to confuse him as to its use. But that stun gun attached to Jack’s hip had done the trick, immediately putting him down when everything Dean’d tried had failed.
“All right,” Dean finally relented and pushed himself off the wall. He wavered for a second, not sure whether his legs would support him, but when they held he moved forward. Bending over to pick up his gun sent sharp spikes of pain into his temples and he swallowed down the urge to throw up. Jack followed his motion and quickly squatted down to pick up Dean’s gun. Dean frowned at the fact that his gun was now in someone else’s hands, someone else who appeared to be military.
“What’re you doing with this?” Jack asked as he flicked the safety on.
Dean closed his eyes for a second and just wished that he was anywhere but here. But when he opened his eyes, Jack and his team, and the thing were still there in front of him. “I wasn’t kidding about the shifters and demons. Silver bullets kill weres and shifters. Not much’ll stop a demon short of an exorcism,” he explained. “Obviously silver didn’t work with whatever the hell that is.”
Jack snorted. “So you just break into peoples’ houses and shoot them with silver to be sure they die?”
It was Dean’s turn to snort. “Only when their eyes glow.”
They stood there in silence for another few moments, Jack openly studying Dean, and Dean letting his guard down enough for Jack to see the truth. After another few tense, silent seconds, Jack handed Dean back his gun. Relief flooded through him as his fingers gripped the familiar metal, and he immediately double-checked the safety before tucking it in the back of his pants.
Jack looked down at the gun in his hands. “I was really hoping I’d never have to meet another hunter,” he muttered before he looked back up at Dean. “Go on, get out of here,” Jack finally said.
Dean gave him a brief nod before he walked past Jack, past the rest of his team, and the shackled thing on the floor. He stopped, at the doorway to the kitchen and looked back at Jack. “If there are worse things out there than monsters it’s good to know someone is handling them.” He didn’t wait to hear confirmation or lack thereof from his comment, just made his way through the kitchen and out the back door.
Prompter: polgara_5
Prompt: Dean Winchester and Jack O'Neill and "That was all classic cliché, you sure you don't want to rethink that?"
Rating: FR13
Betas: kaylashay81 and avamclean
Fandoms: Supernatural, Stargate: SG1
Disclaimer: The characters of Supernatural belong to Eric Kripke, the CW, etc. The characters of Stargate: SG1 belong to Gekko Film Corp, MGM, the Sci-fi Channel, etc. The ideas and concepts in this story are mine entirely. Please do not copy or take this story without my permission.
All fics by authors participating in this year's Wishlist challenge, can be found here: wishlist_fic
My Masterlist is here: Fic'ing to Christmas
Every hunter had a reason for getting into hunting, and that typically lead to their preference on what evil monster to hunt down. For the Winchesters, it involved anything to do with glowing eyes, as they hunted down the Yellow-Eyed Bastard that killed their mother.
Dean’s phone chirped, alerting him to a new text, and he reached over into the passenger seat and grabbed his phone. He thumbed it open to see a text from an unknown number, coordinates and glowing eyes was all the message said.
“Thanks Dad,” Dean muttered to himself as he pulled off the highway to get his maps out of the trunk. After a few minutes, he carefully tucked the maps back in place and slammed the trunk down. “Yuma, Colorado here I come.”
~*~
Seven hours, a cup of coffee, and a slice of apple pie later, Dean had the name of the man his father had sent him out there to investigate. It turned out that Steven Parks abrupt shift in personality after returning from a trip abroad hadn’t sat well with anyone in town.
Dean slid off the barstool, leaving a few dollars to cover his bill and tip, and headed out to the Impala. Parks lived in a popular neighborhood just inside town limits, which allowed Dean the ability to drive by and case the house without too much suspicion.
His house was a normal split-level, matching the rest of the construction in the neighborhood. There wasn’t anything obviously demonic or abnormal about the house at all. A blue Ford Explorer sat in the driveway, and a couple days worth of newspaper had accumulated on the front step. Lights were on in the house, indicating that he was home, but it appeared Parks had no desire to keep current on local news.
Dean cruised by the house for a second time as he left the neighborhood, slowing down as much as he dared to get a second look at the house. The trouble would be the neighbors, which sat practically on top of one another in this area. Dean would have to wait for full dark to break in, and just hope that if he had to put down Parks, or whatever was posing as him, that he’d be able to get out of there before the cops arrived.
~*~
Dean waited until half past midnight to sneak around the back of the house, well out of the sight of any late arriving neighbors. He held the slim flashlight carefully between his teeth as he pulled out his lock picking kit. As he reached out to grip the doorknob, it turned in his hand, and the door started to push open. Dean froze, heart beating faster in his chest, at the development. When he didn’t hear anything, he slid the kit back into his jacket and pulled the gun out of the back of his pants, thumbing off the safety. Carefully he pushed the door open further, tilting his head to get a better angle for the flashlight beam. The kitchen was dark and empty and Dean entered the house.
He thought it was odd that the door was unlocked, but perhaps it was such a familiar community that they didn’t feel the need to lock themselves in their homes. The hair on the back of Dean’s neck stood up though as he pushed the door closed and switched the flashlight to his left hand. It was more likely that whatever had taken Parks’ place didn’t feel threatened enough by anyone in this town to bother locking the doors.
Dean quietly worked his way through the kitchen, giving everything a cursory glance and rifling through the pile of mail on the kitchen counter. Parks hadn’t bothered with it in some time either. Not finding anything useful, he moved on through the kitchen and out into the living room. He kept his flashlight beam angled down, casting enough light to see, but hopefully not enough to alert anyone outside of his presence.
Too late, Dean realized he should have been worried about seeing whoever was in the house. Twin pools of glowing light lit up the figure’s eyes in the living room and Dean had half a second to get off a shot before he was tackled. The sound reverberated around the room, and Dean heard the thing grunt upon impact, but there wasn’t an adverse reaction to the silver bullets. The flashlight was knocked out of his hand, breaking when it hit the floor, and the room was cast into complete darkness. Parks managed to land a punch to Dean’s face, sending his head to crack against the floor. Brief flashes of light exploded in Dean’s vision, but he brought his hand up with the gun, and smashed it into the man’s temple.
Dean’s throat tightened in fear as he realized that perhaps his Dad had sent him after something worse than a shifter. Frantically, before he could return, Dean sunk his fingers into his pocket and pulled out the flask. With two fingers, he unscrewed the top, and let the lid fall to the floor beside him. He forced himself up, eyes straining in the dark for Parks. He saw movement and emptied the flask in its face.
He saw the creature’s eyes widen in surprise, but there was no smoke. Confusion, with a slight thread of fear, ran through Dean, as he realized he wasn’t prepared for whatever it was he was facing. He tried to take aim again, better to put a bullet between the guy’s eyes and sort it out later, when he was alive. But the thing picked him up and tossed him effortlessly across the room. He collided with the wall, taking pictures with him as he slid to the floor. His fingers scrambled along the floor, searching for his gun, but Parks crouched down over top of him.
In the dark, his eyes flashed again and he reached out, fingers tightening around Dean’s jaw and forcing it open. He screamed, yelled in the face of thing and tried to fight his way out, but the creature slammed his head back into the wall again, disorienting him for a second, and then Dean saw it open its own mouth.
“Hey Snakehead!” a voice yelled out as the lights in the living room were thrown on.
The pressure on Dean’s jaw disappeared as Steven Parks turned to face the group of people that had entered his house. Dean sagged against the wall, taking a few gasping breaths, before he lifted his head.
“He’s clear Jack,” the blonde woman in the group called out and Dean watched as the grey-haired leader pointed a weapon at Parks. A short burst of light shot from the device and collided with Parks.
Parks jerked for a second and then collapsed to the floor with a thud. Dean watched as a large black man quickly taped the man’s mouth shut and secured his arms behind his back. The blonde woman watched over the contact with her own device pointed at Parks.
Their leader, Jack the blonde woman had called him, made his way over to where Dean lay against the wall.
“What’s going on?” Dean asked.
“Are you alright?” Jack chose to ask instead.
“Fine,” Dean bit out. “Who are you and where are you taking him?”
“He’s coming in with us for some questioning,” Jack’s answer was vague.
“You gonna start with asking him how his eyes glowed?” Dean snapped back.
Jack paused for a second, studying Dean for a second. “It was just a trick of light,” he lied and offered Dean a hand up.
“A trick of light?” Dean couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. “And that gun, is just a fancy stun gun?” he added with a nod to the weapon attached to Jack’s hip.
Jack didn’t bother looking down at his hip, just gave Dean a small shrug.
“That was all classic cliché, you sure you don’t want to rethink that?” Dean pressed as he ignored the hand and pushed himself up off the wall and to his feet.
“Well what’s your explanation?”
His head was hurt, his vision was swimming and kinda double, but he knew what he’d seen. And if that was the case then these guys had no idea what they were getting into. Figuring it couldn’t hurt, especially if Jack and his team were in full denial and cover your ass mode. “Thought it was a shifter at first, then a demon, and scarily enough now I’m not so sure,” he answered, held Jack’s gaze as he said it.
Jack’s eyes widened a little at the words. “Shifter? Demon?” he repeated. “As in shape-shifter and hell spawn?”
Dean let his annoyance show at the questions and accompanying disbelieving tone. “As in something not human,” he explained.
Jack nodded and cleared his throat, looking back over his shoulder at his team, and at the unconscious form of the thing they’d both come for. “It’s classified,” Jack finally said.
Dean’s brow furrowed at that comment, not quite sure what to make of military involvement in the supernatural.
“But I can honestly say it wasn’t a shape-shifter, or a demon,” he added and his lips set in a grim line across his face.
Dean studied him and his team for a few moments, running the possibilities through his head. The silver bullets and holy water hadn’t stopped him, the holy water only seemed to confuse him as to its use. But that stun gun attached to Jack’s hip had done the trick, immediately putting him down when everything Dean’d tried had failed.
“All right,” Dean finally relented and pushed himself off the wall. He wavered for a second, not sure whether his legs would support him, but when they held he moved forward. Bending over to pick up his gun sent sharp spikes of pain into his temples and he swallowed down the urge to throw up. Jack followed his motion and quickly squatted down to pick up Dean’s gun. Dean frowned at the fact that his gun was now in someone else’s hands, someone else who appeared to be military.
“What’re you doing with this?” Jack asked as he flicked the safety on.
Dean closed his eyes for a second and just wished that he was anywhere but here. But when he opened his eyes, Jack and his team, and the thing were still there in front of him. “I wasn’t kidding about the shifters and demons. Silver bullets kill weres and shifters. Not much’ll stop a demon short of an exorcism,” he explained. “Obviously silver didn’t work with whatever the hell that is.”
Jack snorted. “So you just break into peoples’ houses and shoot them with silver to be sure they die?”
It was Dean’s turn to snort. “Only when their eyes glow.”
They stood there in silence for another few moments, Jack openly studying Dean, and Dean letting his guard down enough for Jack to see the truth. After another few tense, silent seconds, Jack handed Dean back his gun. Relief flooded through him as his fingers gripped the familiar metal, and he immediately double-checked the safety before tucking it in the back of his pants.
Jack looked down at the gun in his hands. “I was really hoping I’d never have to meet another hunter,” he muttered before he looked back up at Dean. “Go on, get out of here,” Jack finally said.
Dean gave him a brief nod before he walked past Jack, past the rest of his team, and the shackled thing on the floor. He stopped, at the doorway to the kitchen and looked back at Jack. “If there are worse things out there than monsters it’s good to know someone is handling them.” He didn’t wait to hear confirmation or lack thereof from his comment, just made his way through the kitchen and out the back door.