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Point of a Needle, Head of a Pin (first half)
NCIS/Supernatural Crossover
Genre: uh, gee…
Rating: PG-13 for language and violence
Characters: NCIS - The MCRT, Ducky, Abby, Palmer, and Vance; Supernatural - Team Free Will (including Bobby) and guests.
Set in early/mid season 7 of NCIS, early/mid season 5 of Supernatural, with flashbacks to the previous season for both.
Disclaimer: I don’t own either. Bummer.
Summary: A naval officer, missing for a year, turns up dead. The case becomes very personal for a member of Gibbs’ team.
Chapter 1 - prompt 041 Shapes
How many angels can dance on the head of a pin?
It depends on the tune.
--The Crow, J O’Barr
The immense warehouse was eerily silent as Officer Roger Ferrera eased through the ruined doorway and shined his flashlight around the cavernous space. The call had come in to Dispatch roughly half an hour ago: someone cruising through the area had heard a disturbance and had placed an anonymous call to inform the police that a gang was tearing apart one of the warehouses in the area’s oldest industrial park. Ferrera and his partner, Frank Hutchins, had been the closest to the park and had indicated that they would check it out. Vandalism wasn’t generally high on their priority list, but since the warehouses belonged to one of the department’s major supporters, a courtesy was extended quite willingly.
When the officers had arrived, they saw that every single window in the largest and most remote warehouse was shattered. The two men had then checked the perimeter and noticed that all of the doors were hanging loosely on their hinges. They had waited in silence, alert to any sign of the perpetrators, but the vandals appeared to have abandoned their tasks. Hutchins had suggested they split up to enter from the back and front of the warehouse, and Ferrera had reluctantly agreed, after calling for backup, and had headed for the main entrance.
Once inside, he looked around for a light switch and soon found a bank of switches to the right of the door. He flipped them all on, and only one weak bulb in the corner flicked to life. He shined his flashlight at the fixtures overhead and saw that the long tubes in the fluorescent lights were also shattered.
“Damn,” he muttered. “What the hell were they doing in here?” He could now see that several sets of heavy shelving had been knocked over, creating a domino effect for the rest of the storage areas. As he passed the manager’s office he noticed that all the windows, as well as the computer monitors and TV screen had been broken as well. “Christ. The chief is gonna have a shit fit when he sees what those punks did to his buddy’s property, and now we gotta bring in the SOC monkeys.”
“Rog? You copy? Over.”
Ferrera pressed the button on his shoulder mic. “I copy. Over.”
“We’ve got a body. Over.”
“Gang member? Over.
“Doubt it. Get on the horn and tell the chief to call NCIS. Over.”
“Navy cops? Body’s a sailor? Over.”
“Looks like an officer. Wait…”
Ferrera waited for his partner to give the sign he was done, but the com was silent. “Frank?”
He pulled his gun from its holster and cautiously made his way towards the back of the warehouse. Soon he spotted his partner, who was standing with his back to him and slowly moving his flashlight across and around the body sprawled on the floor in front of him.
“Frank?”
Hutchins turned and looked at his partner, his eyes wide with shock, and pointed at the body.
“Look.”
Ferrera moved closer and turned his attention to the images his partner was illuminating with his flashlight. I took him a few moments to realize what he was seeing.
“What in the hell…?”
XXX
The cell phone vibrated against the coffee table, its frantic dance drawing Gibbs from an uneasy sleep. He grabbed the phone and answered it.
“Yeah, Gibbs… Mac? What…?” Gibbs listened, eyes widening slightly as he listened to the caller. “Yeah, OK. I got it. I get my team there ASAP. Yeah, understood.” He snapped the phone shut, swung his legs over the side of the couch and pulled himself into a sitting position. He rubbed his eyes, opened his phone again and pressed a number.
“DiNozzo,” the groggy voice on the other end answered.
“We got a case. Warehouse district in Frederick.”
“Got it. I’ll call McGee and Ziva.”
“The Yard in thirty.”
“On it, Boss.”
Gibbs ended the call and headed up the stairs to get ready, but his mind was on what Mac had told him.
Looks like it’s gonna be a weird one…
XXX
Gibbs brought the agency sedan to a halt in front of the warehouse and climbed out just as the MCRT truck and M.E.’s van arrived with the rest of the team.
“What do we got, Boss?”
“Body of a naval officer was found inside by two patrol officers.”
Tony looked up at the building in front of them. “Looks like a bomb went off inside. Was it a bomb?”
“Don’t know, DiNozzo, that’s what we’re going to find out.”
The team grabbed their supplies from the truck before heading into the warehouse, followed by Ducky and Palmer. The local police force had set up floodlights inside and the team paused for a moment as they took in the scene surrounding them.
“Looks like a heard of elephants on PCP went through here,” observed Tony as they headed for the back of the warehouse.
“PCP’s a tranquilizer for animals, Tony.”
“I know that, Probie, but…never mind. What’s with you, McGrouchy?”
“Not enough sleep.”
“Up all night killing people again?”
McGee noticed a group of local officers turn and give him strange looks. “No, Tony, I was not up all night playing computer games,” he said, loud enough for the officers to hear. They chuckled and returned to their conversation.
“So what were you doing, McGee?” asked Ziva.
“Trying to sleep, but…”
“But what?”
“Nothing. Just really weird dreams.”
“Really?” Tony drawled with a grin. “Anything you want to share?”
“Not like that. Just… weird.”
“Define ‘weird’.”
“Drop it, Tony, I…” McGee caught sight of the body and stopped so suddenly Tony nearly ran into him.
“Nice warning there, McTrainwreck. What…?” Tony heard Ziva gasp as he saw what had drawn McGee’s attention. He froze for several moments before managing to croak, “What in the hell…?”
The body, dressed in the uniform of a Navy Lieutenant, was on its back, arms and legs outspread. The body was mostly unmarked, and the only sign of violence was what appeared to be a diamond-shaped puncture wound in the chest. What had drawn their collective attention, however, were the marks around the body. They appeared to be made of ash and stretched out from either side, spanning nearly twenty feet. The shapes that had at first appeared to be random soon resolved to form an incredible, impossible image…
They looked like wings.
*SOC = Scene of Crime, another name for CSIs.
Chapter 2 prompt 006 Hours
Gibbs stared at the body before them, barely able to contain his own shock at what they were all seeing. Local police Chief Russell MacTaggart had told Gibbs what his officers had discovered at the scene, but seeing it for himself was a completely different story. He glanced at his team to gauge their reactions to the strange tableau. They all looked as shocked as Gibbs had felt, but McGee was white as a sheet. He continued to stare, wide-eyed at the body while Tony and Ziva managed to turn their attention to their team leader.
“Boss, what--?”
“Get to work, DiNozzo.”
Tony and Ziva started to unpack their equipment while Ducky and Palmer moved closer to examine the body, carefully avoiding stepping on the strange marks surrounding it. McGee seemed to still be frozen in place.
“McGee!”
Tim jumped slightly and looked at Gibbs.
“Y-yeah, Boss?”
“You know this guy?”
“Uh, no…”
“Then maybe you need to get us an ID,” Gibbs snapped.
“Right, Boss.” He pulled the portable fingerprint scanner out of his bag and, after a moment’s hesitation, stepped towards the body, also avoiding the strange marks. After getting permission from Ducky, he carefully raised one of the body’s hands and placed its thumb on the scanner. He read the information that popped up and his forehead creased in puzzlement. He glanced up at the face of the man and then back at the screen.
“Well?”
“Lieutenant Gregory Allen Pruitt, formerly stationed aboard the Big Stick before being assigned to the base in San Diego as a control officer. He’s been UA for over a year, Boss.”
“Call the San Diego Office and have them send us their case file, then help Tony and Ziva.”
“Yes, Boss.” McGee moved off to join the rest of the team, although his movements were more hesitant than they had been in years. Gibbs made a mental note to corner the agent later and find out what was bothering him before turning his attention to the M.E.
“What can you tell me, Duck?”
Ducky had turned the body on its side and was examining the back. “The apparent cause of death is a through and through stab wound, Jethro. I see no other marks on him. The object which created the wound is a curiosity, however. I haven’t seen anything like this before. It had to be long enough to go completely through the body, yet was not a flat blade. I believe this is the entrance wound.”
“Stabbed in the back? So he was caught by surprise?”
“As I said, I see no defensive wounds.”
“Why the wings?”
Both older men turned to the M.E.’s assistant, who blushed at his obviously unintentionally audible question.
“Sorry…”
“An interesting question, Mr. Palmer, and one for which I do not currently have an answer, or even speculation.”
“Symbolic, maybe?” Gibbs asked, eyeing the marks that his team was busy documenting.
“Perhaps, but from what I can see, there is a great deal of detail in these markings. Why someone would go to so much trouble when some simpler representation would suffice…well, I cannot say.” He chuckled. “One my as well ask ‘how many angels could fit on the point of a needle?’”
“I thought it was ‘dance on the head of a pin?’”
“Either form has been used, Mr. Palmer. I was simply alluding to the fact that some questions may never be answered, as was the likely point of that particular question.”
“Anything you can answer, Duck?”
Ducky inserted the liver probe and waited for a reading. When it beeped, he checked the number and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Forty degrees Fahrenheit.”
Palmer looked up at his mentor, eyes wide with shock. “That’s impossible. To reach that he would have had to have been refrigerated, but--.”
“He shows no other outward signs of such treatment. His skin shows none of the drying that it normally would if he had been placed in a cold environment.”
“And according to the local cops, the body has only been here a couple of hours.”
“Very strange, indeed. We appear to have quite a mystery on our hands, Jethro, but I am sure I will be able to tell you more once we get our friend here to Autopsy.”
“Counting on it, Duck.” Gibbs turned and walked over to the group of local police, which, he hoped, included the officers who had discovered the body.
“Officers Ferrera and Hutchins?” Two men stepped forward. “Special Agent Gibbs, NCIS. What can you tell me?” The two men glanced at each other and then at their colleagues. “Is there a place where we can talk?” They nodded and headed for the exit.
The local crime scene techs were documenting the damage to the rest of the building, but had left the scene around the body clear for the MCRT to process. As Gibbs followed the officers past the destruction, he felt an uncomfortable twist in his gut. There was a lot more to this than random vandalism, but exactly what it meant he couldn’t begin to articulate. Hopefully the information both teams recovered could bring answers, but an even more uncomfortable feeling arose at that thought: maybe they really didn’t want to know.
Once outside, the officers quickly moved to the shelter of one of the other buildings and turned to face the lead agent. The younger of the two, Fererra, started to speak.
“We received the call from dispatch about a half-hour before we arrived. We drove through the park and saw the damage to that warehouse, so we decided to check it out. We waited to make sure no one had stuck around, called for backup, and then split up and went inside the building.”
“You didn’t wait for your backup?”
Hutchins shifted uncomfortably. “Didn’t really think we needed it, but called, just in case. Figured if there really was a problem we could get out fast.”
“Who discovered the body?”
“I did,” said Hutchins. “When I recognized the uniform I told Roger to call and have someone call you guys in. And then I saw…well, you saw it, right?”
“I did. Any of the gangs around use symbols like that?”
“Agent Gibbs, you’re seriously overestimating the ambition of the local gangs if you think they did… that.”
“Seen stranger.”
“Well I haven’t. I mean… it looks like your dead Navy officer had wings and they just…burned in place. It’s weird.”
“Anything else you can tell me?”
“No.” Gibbs noticed a brief flicker of uncertainty in the other officer’s eyes and he turned to the younger man.
“What about you, Officer Fererra?”
“I…a cousin of mine works for the St. Louis police department. He said he heard rumors of some strange cult killing there, and the victim had, well, similar marks around them.”
“And you didn’t mention this before?” Hutchins asked.
“Hey, it was just a rumor. Besides, I told you, he’s generally full of shit anyway. I didn’t want to freak you out even more.”
“I am not freaked out-“
“Hey!” Both men jumped and turned to Gibbs. “Is there anything substantial that you can tell me?”
Both men shook their heads, and after studying them for a few moments Gibbs decided they were telling the truth.
“If you think of anything else, you know where to reach me.”
“Yes, sir.”
Gibbs headed back to the scene, making another mental note to have McGee check on those rumors in St. Louis.
XXX
McGee leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes briefly to relieve the strain. He had been staring at the screen for nearly twelve hours straight, reviewing the San Diego case file on Lieutenant Pruitt and then starting his own follow-up searches. He had learned that Pruitt had vanished from his home in September of the previous year. The west coast team had not found any evidence of foul play, although the Lieutenant’s wife had reported that he had been acting strangely in the few days before he disappeared. Further digging revealed that Pruitt only mentioned that he was being ‘recruited’, but had not provided any further clarification. His superior officers had believed Pruitt’s recruiters had been potential terrorists and had called in NCIS to investigate, but the San Diego team had been unable to uncover any links between known terrorist groups, both foreign and domestic. The case was eventually moved to cold status when, after monitoring the chatter of those groups, it was decided that they had no knowledge of the Lieutenant’s whereabouts. His wife had pushed for more time and manpower to be assigned to the case but to no avail. After reading her desperate pleas on behalf of her husband’s welfare, McGee was very glad he wouldn’t have to be the one to tell her that her husband was dead.
At least she’ll have some closure now, he thought as he absently rubbed his eyes. McGee fought down the anxiety that had been gnawing at his subconscious ever since he had seen the body and had been growing as he read through the case. When Gibbs had asked him to look into similar cases, he hadn’t expected to find anything. To his great surprise, there were similar incidents, although it appeared that a tight lid was being kept on those. McGee had only been able to find the barest of details, but it was enough to see the connection, and it was that detail that had McGee thinking back to his own experience.
Soldier in an army… fighting evil… accept your destiny…
With a start McGee awoke and it took a few seconds to escape the dream…and the memories of a previous dream. He looked up to see Tony staring at him.
“I’m awake.” He expected a grin, evidence of some mischief directed at him while he had been dozing, but Tony’s expression was serious. “What?” He glanced at Ziva, but she just shrugged and focused on her phone conversation.
“You OK?”
The question surprised him even more than the senior agent’s expression had.
“Fine. Why?”
“’Cause you’ve been acting weird ever since the crime scene.”
“Well, you have to admit, it was a little…disconcerting.”
“Does this ‘disconcern’ have anything to do with your weird dreams and lack of sleep?”
“That’s not even a real word, Tony. And no, my lack of sleep is just…that. Perfectly normal, all part of the job. You should know that.”
“So what did you dream about?”
“Forget it, Tony.”
“Aw come on, man. You can tell me.”
“I never should have mentioned it…”
“But you did, which means subconsciously you wanted to talk about it.”
“You’ve been spending too much time around Ducky.”
Tony just grinned. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“No, I just wish there were some of his other personality traits you’d pick up.”
“Whatever. Just tell me. I promise I won’t make fun of your dreams…much.”
Tim couldn’t help the small smile that appeared at his partner’s attempts to get him share his secrets.
“Not gonna happen, Tony.”
“How about you two getting some work done, is that gonna happen?” Gibbs snapped as he entered the bullpen.
“It’s happening, Boss,” Tony replied as he hurried back to his desk.
“Does anybody have anything?”
Ziva placed her phone back on its cradle. “No suspicious activity in the industrial park prior to the incident last night. The owner of the warehouse is an active supporter of the local police force and is very active in other areas of the community, both politically and financially. No police record, no evidence of involvement in any type of illegal activity.”
“DiNozzo.”
“Pruitt got along with everyone that he worked with before he disappeared. No activity on his credit cards since his disappearance, and no cash withdrawals from his bank account before he went UA.”
“McGee.”
“The west coast team found no evidence of terrorist involvement, either before or after Pruitt’s disappearance. I checked for other cases, both for missing persons and for the …signature at the scene. I found at least five where a body was found amongst a lot of destruction, and…well, they mention ‘ritualized markings’ around the body, but the details are pretty sketchy.”
“Keep looking. Go talk to Ducky and see if he can give you more details on the weapon used, then go see Abby and see if she has anything on the stuff used to make the marks. Might help narrow your search.”
“On it, Boss.”
He headed for the elevator, happy to have an excuse to stretch his legs and to escape Tony’s prying. He really didn’t want to think about the dreams he had had the night before, or the fact that last night was not the first time he had experienced them.
Tim stepped into the empty elevator and leaned against the back wall as the doors closed. He checked his watch and sighed. It had been a long day, and it looked like it would be a long night as well. At least he wouldn’t have to worry about more strange dreams…
“Timothy McGee.”
Startled, he turned and stared in shock at the man who had suddenly appeared in the elevator with him.
“What--?”
“We need to talk.”
“But how…how did you get in here?”
The man - tall, slightly heavyset, and wearing an expensive suit - gave Tim a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. It wasn’t a nice smile, McGee decided with a sinking feeling, and he pulled out his phone to call for help.
“No need for that, Timothy. I’m here because I have a job for you. A very important job.”
McGee blinked, wondering if he had dozed off again and this was just another dream.
“It’s not a dream, Timothy.” He raised his hands and held them out to the sides, palms up. “This is as real as it gets.”
“Who…who are you?”
The man chuckled, and that sound sent a sharp thrill of terror through the agent, although he didn’t immediately know why. Finally the man met his gaze and gave him another one of those chilling smiles.
“Call me Zachariah.”
Chapter 3 prompt 081 Mountain
“Call me Zachariah.”
Tim stared at the man, barely able to suppress the irrational feeling that he wasn’t a man at all
.
“What do you want?” he asked, fighting to keep his voice steady.
The man chuckled. “Your boss might enjoy using this place for meetings, but it’s far too cramped for me. Time to move this to a more…suitable location.” Before Tim could react, the man stepped forward and placed two forward fingers against his forehead. Tim dropped his phone in surprise as darkness swirled around him, and suddenly he found himself falling quickly followed by a soft thump as he landed on his butt. The ground beneath him was soft but cold, as was the air around him, and he soon found it much more difficult to breathe. He looked around, his eyes widening in surprise as he took in his surroundings.
“Where…”
“The summit of Mt. Elbert, in Colorado. Tallest mountain in the state, 14,440 feet above sea level. Really gives you an appreciation for God’s work, doesn’t it?”
Tim felt a shiver course through him, which had nothing to do with the cold or the fact that he was sitting in snow. Please tell me I’m dreaming…please tell me I’m dreaming.
“Now enough of that. I already told you, this isn’t a dream.”
“How…how did we…?”
“Neat trick, isn’t it? Teleportation. For humans, the stuff of fantasy and science fiction but a simple thing to accomplish for an angel.”
“You…you’re an…an angel?”
Zachariah snorted. “And they said you were one of the smart ones. Yes, I’m an angel, or at least the form of one that you can actually see and survive. An angel needs a human vessel to walk the Earth, which is why we need you. We did ask before, you know. You do remember?”
Suddenly Tim was sucked into his memories from a year ago: the strange dreams, a voice in his head, painful at first, asking him to join the battle, to accept his role in the war.
“I…I said no.”
“Yes, we know. As you did last night, when we asked again. Stubborn little mud monkey, aren’t you? But never mind that, we’ve decided we have slightly different job for you now, one that you might find a little more agreeable.”
“I don’t…understand any of this.”
“Of course you don’t, and you don’t need to understand it. It’s beyond the comprehension of pathetic little lifeforms such as you humans. If it was up to me, I wouldn’t bother with you, but it’s not. I answer to a higher power.”
“You mean…God?” At this point Tim had already decided he had probably lost his mind, so it couldn’t hurt anything to play along, could it?
“Well…no. He doesn’t have much to do with things these days. Doesn’t like to get his hands dirty, I suspect.”
“Then who?”
“Michael.”
“Michael…the archangel?”
“That’s the one. You see, he has his eyes on his own destined vessel, but that little mag…individual isn’t cooperating. He’s hidden from us. We need to find him, and that’s part of why we need you.”
“W-what can I do?”
“You have ways of tracking people down. Access that we don’t have, unfortunately. We need a direct visual to locate our target, and we need you to get that for us.”
“That’s all?”
“No. You see, we’ve had such a problem in the past with that… ‘free will’ thing you humans try to exercise that we’ve decided that you’ll need some extra supervision. A co-pilot, if you will.”
“You want me to…?”
“You are still a vessel, and we need you for that, but we’re willing to give you a little more of a free reign. You’ll still be mostly there, and in control, because we do need your human skills, but when the time comes…well, someone else will need to take the wheel.”
Tim’s gut was screaming at him that this was wrong, all wrong. Even if he wasn’t crazy, which didn’t look like a likely option at this point, the idea of allowing something to take control of him…he didn’t want to accept it.
“What…what would happen to me when someone else takes over?”
“Well, you’re in luck: it’s not an archangel that needs you. They tend to be quite rough on their human hosts. If all goes well, once your task is done, you’ll be able to go back to your normal, if somewhat boring, existence.”
“But…why do angels need to walk the Earth? Why now?”
“To stop the Apocalypse.”
“What?”
“Already started, but it can be derailed. We wouldn’t want it to continue, now would we? Imagine, all of this-“ He spread his arms and turned his back to Tim. “--would be gone. I’d hate to see all of my father’s hard work go to waste, wouldn’t you?”
Before Tim could answer, he thought he heard a slight rustle behind him and felt a strong hand cover his mouth. Suddenly the darkness returned.
XXX
Zachariah smiled. He was pretty sure he’d sold it this time. This particular human was different than those damn Winchesters, much less cynical, yet conditioned to try and please someone in authority. He allowed his own vessel to take a deep breath and spoke in his most winning tone. “What do you say, Timothy McGee? Do we have a deal?”
He turned and froze in surprise. The potential vessel was gone. The angel moved to where the man had been sitting and looked down to find a pair of footprints in the snow, directly behind the marks left by his guest. Immediately he knew what that meant and felt a surge of fury.
“Son of a --!”
XXX
Jimmy Palmer carefully balanced the sample containers and clipboard in one hand as he used his other to press the elevator button. Dr. Mallard had instructed him to take the samples up to Abby, hoping that maybe she could make some sense of the strange state the body of Lieutenant Pruitt was in.
The doors slid open and when he stepped inside, he noticed a phone lying of the floor of the elevator. He picked it up and examined it, remembering that he has seen McGee with a phone that looked just like this one. Maybe the agent had dropped it on his way to see Abby? Jimmy tucked the phone in his pocket and pushed the button for the next floor up. If McGee was still in the lab, he could just return it to him, saving him the embarrassment of searching for it later.
Once the doors opened again he went straight to Abby’s lab, but was surprised to find her alone.
“Hey Abby, Dr. Mallard sent these samples.” He placed them on her lab table and handed her the clipboard to sign. “Was McGee here? I think I found his phone in the elevator.”
“I haven’t seen him, Jimmy. Are you sure it’s his phone?” He pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to her. She checked the number and a puzzled expression crossed her face. “It’s his. I’m surprised he hasn’t missed it already.”
“I guess I should go take it to him. Unless you want to…?”
“Too much to do here, Jimmy. These samples from the scene today? Seriously hinky.”
“How hinky, Abs?” asked Gibbs as he walked into the lab and placed a Caf-Pow! on her desk.
“Hinky as in Major Mass Spec can’t tell me what this stuff is made of. It’s not in his library, which is weird. I can’t even get what elements are in this stuff… But I’ll figure it out.”
“Is McGee down in Autopsy?” Gibbs asked as he turned to Jimmy.
“Uh, not that I know of, Agent Gibbs.”
He turned to Abby. “Call him, we need him back upstairs.”
“Gonna be kind of hard to do that Gibbs. Timmy dropped his phone in the elevator.” She handed it to the lead agent and he frowned.
“Maybe...he’s looking for it now,” offered Jimmy.
“He’s supposed to be here. When did he leave?”
“He never got here, Gibbs. When did you send him down?”
“About ten minutes ago.” He pulled out his own phone and dialed a number. “Duck? Is McGee there? If he shows up tell him I’m looking for him. I have his phone.” He ended the call and dialed another number. “DiNozzo? Where’s McGee? What do you mean he’s not there?” Gibbs swore. “Where in the hell is he?” He listened. “No, he’s not in Abby’s lab. Because I’m here. Find him.” He snapped his phone shut and turned to Abby who was watching him with wide, worried eyes.
“Where could he have gone, Gibbs? Maybe he got sick.”
“He was acting weird earlier…not that I should say anything about that. I’ll check the bathrooms on this floor,” Jimmy stammered and rushed out under Gibbs angry gaze.
“I’ll help. We have to find him, Gibbs.” Abby hurried after Palmer and Gibbs shook his head. He left the lab and headed down to Autopsy, where he found Ducky still working on the body. He listened to Gibbs question and frowned.
“I’m sorry Jethro, but I haven’t seen Timothy since this morning…I certainly hope something hasn’t happened to him.”
Now very worried, but still hiding it, Gibbs called the evidence garage, storage area, and motor pool. No one had seen the agent. Gibbs made a call to security to and when he learned that McGee had not signed out, he told them to put the building on lockdown. Finally he called DiNozzo.
“Still haven’t found him, Boss. What’s going on?”
“I wish to hell I knew, DiNozzo. Keep looking.”
Fifteen minutes later DiNozzo reported in: McGee was nowhere in the building. The agent had somehow vanished from a secure building without a trace.
XXX
Tim felt a solid surface beneath his feet just before he tipped forward and nearly face-planted on the dirty cement floor. He barely managed to catch himself and collapsed, wondering why the world seemed to have suddenly gone insane. He rolled over on his back and looked up, surprised to find a roof above him and walls surrounding him, all painted with strange symbols.
“Where am I?”
“Five miles west of Pontiac, Illinois.”
Startled, he turned towards the speaker, different from the man who had just been speaking to him on a snowy mountaintop. This man had a full head of dark hair and intense blue eyes. He was dressed in a suit with a loosely knotted blue tie and wore a rumpled tan trenchcoat.
“W-who…?”
“What did Zachariah want?”
“H-how…?”
The man looked up, as if he were listening to something, and paused for only a moment before moving forward and crouching down in front of Tim. “They’re looking for you. You need to remain hidden.” He quickly placed his hands on Tim’s chest and the agent felt like he was on fire as a burning agony surged through him, which dissipated as quickly as it had appeared, leaving the young man gasping in its wake.
“W-what d-did you do t-to m-me?”
“Enochian protection symbols. They won’t be able to find you now.”
Tim looked down at himself but saw nothing. “W-where…?”
“I carved them into your ribs.”
“Oh…” Tim was quite sure now that his sanity had left the building.
“What did Zachariah want with you?”
“He…said he needed me to find someone. And that…I’d have a…co-pilot.”
The man tilted his head and studied Tim, which did nothing for his state of mind.
“Did he say who?”
“N-not an archangel. But I’d be helping…M-michael.”
An odd look crossed the man’s face, almost as if he was not sure what emotion to display, or whether he should show it at all. Finally Tim ventured to ask a question to which he was pretty sure he really didn’t want the answer.
“Who are you?”
“Castiel.”
“Are you…an angel, too?”
“Yes, but Zachariah and I are not on the same side.”
“So you’re…a f-fallen angel?”
“No. Not like Lucifer, if that is what you mean. I am…rebelling, but not against God. Only against the angels like Zachariah, who want the Apocalypse.”
“But he said he wanted to stop the Apocalypse.”
“He does not.”
“Angels can lie?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
Tim collapsed back against the floor and covered his eyes. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance that this is one very bizarre nightmare…or that I’m really, really sick and this is just a fever dream.”
“No.”
Tim laughed, wondering if hallucinations at least told the truth.
“Then I’m just crazy, right.”
“You are in complete control of your faculties, Timothy McGee.”
“Just…call me Tim, please.”
“Fine. Tim. You are not crazy. All of this is very real. I am sorry you were pulled into this war.”
“War?”
“For the future of the human race. If Michael and Lucifer are able to take hold of their vessels, then the battle will begin, and mankind will suffer. Billions may die. I am part of a…small team trying to prevent that from happening.”
“How can I help?”
Tim opened his eyes and saw that the angel was looking down at him, an almost thoughtful expression on his face. “You are willing to join our cause?”
“I think I’m kind of already in the middle of this. The other side already tried to recruit me…more than once. They dragged me from my normal…safe life, and…I don’t even know if I can go back. I’m still not sure I can trust your side, but…I’m going with my gut on this one.”
Castiel’s gaze traveled to Tim’s mid-section and the puzzled expression returned. “I do not know what your stomach has to do with your choice, but I am grateful you are willing to take a chance. Come. I’ll take you to the rest of the group.” Without further warning, Castiel put two fingers to Tim’s forehead and he felt the now familiar sensation engulf him. The next thing he knew he was laying on his back in the middle of what looked like a wrecking yard.
“Castiel?”
The angel was nowhere in sight. Tim pulled himself to his feet and saw, a few hundred yards away, a rather run-down looking house. He staggered towards it, hoping there was someone inside who could at least make some sense of all this. Nearly all of his strength was gone by the time he reached the front steps, but before he could raise a hand to knock, the door swung open and he found himself gazing down the twin barrels of a sawed-off shotgun. Slowly he raised his hands in surrender.
The man holding the gun looked to be about Tim’s own age, but something in those dark green eyes made the agent think he had seen far worse things during his comparable lifetime.
“Who the hell are you?” the man growled, and Tim saw that he had been joined by another man: taller, younger, and just as dangerous judging by how he held the pistol he had aimed at Tim’s head.
“I’m…” He couldn’t even begin to explain why, or how, he had wound up on the porch. Before he could attempt to form an answer, he heard a soft rustling sound behind him and the man’s eyes widened as he gazed over Tim’s shoulder.
“Cas? What…who is this?”
“Someone who wants to help.”
The man’s gaze flickered between Tim and the angel before a bemused expression crossed his face.
“Please tell me this isn’t God.”
Finally, everything that had happened suddenly caught up with the agent, and Tim did the only thing that made any sense.
He passed out.