Fic: 2nd of November (2/2)
Continued from part 1
Ducky looked up as Dean walked into the morgue. “Hello, there. What can I do for you?” He asked.
Dean came over and looked at the dissected body on the table. “What happened?” he asked.
“That's what I'm trying to determine. Did Gibbs send you down?” Ducky asked.
Dean shook his head. “Could I help? With the autopsy, I mean.” He took a deep breath. “Gibbs won't let me kill anything, I figure this might be the next best thing.”
Ducky stared at the young man. “Now that would be the first time I have ever heard that particular excuse.”
“I just need to do something, Ducky,” Dean said, clenching and unclenching his fists. “Please.”
Ducky nodded. “All right. I could use an assistant since Mr. Palmer has decided to stay home with the flu. You're sure you want to do this? An autopsy isn't the for the faint hearted.”
“I saw my fair share of dead bodies working with my old man,” Dean shrugged. “The ones that stay dead never bother me.”
Ducky chuckled. “Yes, well I suppose in your former line of work that was a much bigger problem.” He pointed over to the scrubs on a hook. “You might as well get yourself changed. You don't want to get those clothes full of blood.”
Dean snorted. “Wouldn't be the first time. I can give that Queen of Clean a run for her money.” He moved to the scrubs anyway. "You'll have to show me what to do."
"Oh, don't worry, Dean. You won't be doing any cutting. If you could help me with notes and perhaps some weighing, it would be helpful."
Dean nodded and let Ducky show him what to do. Dean worked quietly, listening to Ducky explain everything to him and tell him tales of his life. Usually Dean would match him story for story, the man had certainly lived an extraordinary young life. Ducky wondered what Dean had done to warrant banishment to the morgue but it wasn't his place to interfere with Jethro's team.
* * *
Gibbs wandered the lower halls of NCIS looking for his missing agent. He'd told Winchester to go calm down, unfortunately he didn't say where he was to go to do that. Winchester wasn't in the gym which is where he'd half expected him to be, punching a bag. He came off the elevator when Abby came out of her lab.
“Gibbs?” She asked.
“What is it, Abby?” He asked. “You got something for me?”
“Not yet, but Gibbs,” Abby said quickly, heading Gibbs off on his mission to find Winchester.
“What is it, Abby?” Gibbs demanded.
“I'm worried about Dean. I went to his house last night, you know just to see if he was all right. And to bring him food because you know if he had food poisoning he probably didn't have any food to eat and--”
“The point, Abby?” Gibbs asked.
Abby nodded, and took a deep breath. “Gibbs, when I got there, he threw the name of God at me. He never does that. The salt lines were there, but Gibbs, he had salt lines inside salt lines and they were thick. Usually he just does it because it's habit and he never asks me to watch the lines, just cleans them up afterwards.
“Then I came in, Gibbs, he was drawing something on the ceiling. I looked it up, it wasn't easy to find either, it was some kind of symbol to trap demons. Gibbs-I'm really worried.”
Gibbs sighed. Winchester's strange quirks picked the oddest time to come out. “Is there anything else?”
Abby took a deep breath. Clearly she didn't want to tell him. Was she afraid he'd blow up? “What is it, Abby?”
“Dean mentioned something about this case being hard on him. It brought up memories of Sam almost burning. I don't know what he means, Gibbs.”
Gibbs put his hand on her shoulder. “I'll take of it, Abby. Don't worry.” He watched Abby go back to her lab and again wondered where Winchester had wandered off to. Gibbs rounded the door of the lab and found Winchester dressed in scrubs talking quietly to Ducky as Ducky worked through an autopsy.
"What happened to him, Ducky?" Gibbs asked coming into the morgue.
"It looks like a blunt force trauma to the head. Possibly with a baseball bat," Ducky replied. "Is there something I can help you with, Jethro?"
"I need to borrow your assistant here," Gibbs replied, nodding toward Winchester.
"Certainly," Ducky turned to Dean. "I do appreciate the help young man. Without it it would have been quite the dull afternoon."
Dean flushed slightly. "It wasn't a big deal, Ducky. Glad I could help out."
"You, outside," Gibbs said nodding toward the door.
Winchester followed immediately. When they had reached the elevator, Gibbs turned to younger man.
"I asked you if we had a problem and you said no. Why did you lie?" Gibbs asked.
Dean frowned. "I didn't lie. We don't have a problem."
Gibbs glared at his newest agent. "I'm pulling you from this case. You're too invested in it. Too close."
Winchester stared at him, and Gibbs wondered if it had even registered. “Gibbs, I'm fine. I can work this case.”
Gibbs sighed. “You hit one of your teammates, Dean. For no reason I can tell, except that Ziva wouldn't let you shoot him. You haven't been fine since we started this case. You're no use to me on this one unless I can count on your head being in the game. It's not. Go home, get some sleep.”
Dean stared at him, and Gibbs could almost see the protest on his lips. That he wasn't a child, that he could do the job. “Go home,” Gibbs repeated quieter. “We can handle this one.”
In that moment, Gibbs watched as Dean literally shut down, his eyes going dark and expressionless, completely shutting him out from whatever was going through the boy's mind. “Yessir,” was all Dean said before he turned and went back into the morgue to change.
* * *
“I think I found something,” Ziva said slowly, staring at her screen intently.
DiNozzo looked up from where he was still going through the similar cases Winchester had found and nursing an ice pack on his face. He was going to have one hell of a shiner. “What did you find?”
“The major's wife is not the mother of this child,” Ziva replied.
“So, what? The major was banging his subordinate and just randomly brought home a baby? How did you find this anyway?” Tony said, curious despite himself.
“No, Tony. There was a surrogate. I found a copy of their medical record. The major's wife was going through fertility treatments.”
“Huh. So they decided to get a completely different host for their spawn. Not bad. That doesn't tell us why the baby was the target. People have other people's kids all the time.” Tony replied.
“Well, Tony, not everyone tries to get around the system. I see a record of a payment to a Michelle Sanders. Surrogates, they get how much for their services?” Ziva asked.
“No idea. The DiNozzo seed is powerful stuff, there won't be any problems if I have kids,” Tony retorted, with a smirk.
“Let us hope there are no mini DiNozzo's running around any time soon. They are expensive, yes?”
“I would guess so. What are you driving at Ziva?”
“This check is for five thousand dollars. This doesn't seem to be quite enough, and it was written two months ago.”
“Why would they pay the surrogate this late after the baby's been born?” DiNozzo asked.
“That is what I'm going to find out. Coming?” Ziva asked with a sweet smile on her face.
“Yes, before Winchester decides he could use a few more licks.”
* * *
Gibbs sat down at his desk and looked around. His was the only one occupied. He wondered what lead Ziva was tracking down. Gibbs assumed that DiNozzo was at the med unit getting his face looked at. Gibbs shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. There were days it was like refereeing a kindergarten class. Winchester had been an unpredictable element since he'd come on board. Too used to doing things his own way and not enough experience working independently. It was an odd combination that Gibbs had been trying hard to train out of the boy.
Gibbs thought they'd been making progress. Winchester was working with the others more. Sharing information and contacts, and it seemed as if he was settling down as well. He wasn't as jittery and eager to just jump into taking down the bad guys. Gibbs even thought they were slowly earning Dean's trust and respect. Two things that seemed to be hard won in that boy's life.
That was until this case. A simple arson had thrown Dean into a downward spiral. The background check had come up clean. There was no mention of anything that could explain why Dean was so spooked. Gibbs was going to have to dig deeper. He looked over at Winchester's desk, but realized there was nothing personal on it. His other agents had personal effects on their desks, a way to claim it as their own and warn people away from it. Winchester had nothing that wasn't work related on it. Every night the young man cleaned off the desk. If no one knew better they'd think it was empty, ready for the next available agent. It had happened once, just after Dean had started working there and he'd simply let the agent use the desk. He'd done his work down in Abby's lab until Gibbs had come into the office and asked the agent exactly what the hell he was doing and where was Winchester?
No, if he wanted answers he'd have to go to Dean's home. Gibbs looked up Dean's home of record and frowned when he saw the address. Checking records he found that Dean's apartment was listed as Highlander Motor Inn, Arlington. Picking up the phone he hit Abby's extension.
"Gibbs, I told you I don't have anything yet," Abby said into the phone.
"Abby, what's Winchester's address?" Gibbs asked.
There was a pause and then she rattled off the address, which was significantly different than the one on record. He'd have to get Winchester to change it when he came back into the office.
"Thanks, Abbs," Gibbs said, hanging up the phone. He flirted with the idea of calling first, but declined. He didn't want to give Winchester time to clean up or hide anything in the time it took to get over to his place.
Half an hour later and Gibbs was standing in front of Dean's door. First floor, external entrance. Easier for Dean to come and go at all hours of the day or night and not have nosy neighbors interfering. He knocked on the door, and got no response. Knocking again, he waited as he pulled the lock pick kit out of his coat. If Winchester wasn't home, it might even make this easier. Opening the door, he saw the thick line of white covering the door jam. Frowning, he crouched down and touched his finger to it and then lifted his finger to his lips. Salt.
With a shake of his head, Gibbs entered the apartment. Straight back from the front door was a darkened hallway and a bar area that separated the kitchen from the living room. On his left was a small TV with a futon facing it. A battered coffee table sat in front of the futon with a matching end table on the side. The other side of the room held a small table with four chairs, a laptop sitting on open on the table, the screen dark. Glancing up, Gibbs saw what Abby had mentioned. A rather large symbol was drawn on the ceiling with what looked like to be thick charcoal. It was far enough in the apartment that someone would have to take several steps into the room before they were underneath it. Gibbs wondered if perhaps he hadn't made a mistake in standing up to Jenn when she had demanded a psych eval for Winchester. There certainly were some odd quirks to the boy.
Making a circuit of the room, Gibbs found the gun safe open. He raised his eyebrows at the amount of weapons in it. Pistols, sawed-off shotguns, rifles, not to mention enough ammo to make a small nation drool. From the meticulous way they were stored Gibbs saw that at least one of the shotguns and pistols were missing. Gibbs unholstered his weapon and moved quietly through the rest of the apartment.
Down the single hallway were two doors. One led to a small bathroom. Toilet, shower, sink, barely big enough for a grown man. Toiletries were neatly arranged in the small two shelf cabinet, and the towel was still damp. Winchester had at least come home and showered before leaving once more. Moving to the bedroom, Gibbs found another meticulously clean room. He wondered briefly if that was John Winchester's military training instilled in his boys. Everything seemed to have a place and a place for everything.
In the closet he found a metal box. Picking it up and dropping it on the bed, Gibbs holstered his gun and opened it. So far the apartment wasn't any more personal than Winchester's desk. Comfortable, but impersonal. As if Dean didn't expect to be any place long enough to settle in and put down roots. Inside the box, Gibbs found a few old pictures. Flipping through them he found himself looking at a happy family. Father was behind, a shit-eating grin on his face, as if he couldn't believe his good luck, the mother, with her arms around the infant, cuddling him close with a toddler next to her. All of them were smiling and before Gibbs even flipped over the picture he knew he was looking at Dean's family. The Winchesters: John, Mary, Dean and baby Sammy.
Gibbs put the pictures on bed and dug deeper. The box wasn't that big, but it was the most personal thing he'd found. At the bottom of the box was a small card. Pulling it out Gibbs found a picture of the Virgin Mary, her arms outstretched, a child clinging to each hand. On the back, the name Mary Winchester, with her birth and death date, along with a small prayer verse. A prayer card from a funeral, from Dean's mother's funeral. He rubbed his thumb over the card, wondering about the little boy that kept a small momento of his mother. Looking at the year, Gibbs did the math and realized Dean had been almost five when his mother died. Enough time to remember her but not enough for the memories to become anything more than vague dreams.
Other items were more obscure. A driver's license from Kansas, possibly the first real one Dean had, his high school diploma, the title to a '67 Chevy Impala, and a curious drawing of a house and a white church. It was obviously drawn by a child and Gibbs wondered if it was a family member or someone Dean had helped while working with his father. There was no signature, nothing on the back to register it's significance besides being in the box with pictures of Dean's family.
The box told him bits and pieces but not the whole story. Evidently Winchester left nothing of himself to be found. He was like a ghost, or a dealer that would only reveal the cards as they were needed. Everything they knew about Winchester came from the boy's own mouth, carefully doled out, as if he was testing the waters. Never sure how much was too much.
The only way to get to the bottom of this was to talk to Winchester himself. Gibbs packed everything back into the box and put it back where it was and retreated back to the living room. He was worried about the gun case. From everything he'd seen so far from Winchester, he was meticulous and fastidious. He was brought up around weapons and had respect for them. Which included not leaving a weapons locker open and unlocked if he could help it. Since the boy wasn't in the apartment, and Gibbs doubted he'd just run down the street for a jug of milk, it begged the question of where had Winchester gone with loaded weapons and no backup.
* * *
“Miss Sanders? I'm Special Agent DiNozzo and this is Special Agent David, we'd like to ask you some questions if you don't mind?”
The woman standing in front of them was pale, her brown eyes large in her face. Her brown hair was damp and curled lightly around her face. She was dressed in a pink and white raglan t-shirt with a picture of a princess with two large guns and jeans. The writing proclaimed “I don't need Mario to save me.”
DiNozzo smirked. “Nice shirt.”
The woman smiled up at him. “Thanks, and come in.” The apartment was small, cluttered but neat. Books were stacked on the desk that faced the wall. Pictures of various actors were plastered to the wall above the desk.
“Inspiration?” Ziva asked, nodding to the pictures.
The girl shrugged. “Sometimes they're the only thing that gets me through the day.” She sat down on the old couch and gestured to the chairs opposite. “What's this about?”
“We're investigating an arson. Your name came up in the course of the investigation,” Ziva said.
“Me? Why?” Michelle asked.
“We found a payment for five thousand dollars to you from the victim. We're hoping you could shed some light on it?” DiNozzo replied.
Michelle shifted in her seat. “Oh, him.” She said quietly. “There was a fire?”
“Yes, in the baby's room. Do you know anything about it?” Ziva demanded.
“Not about the fire. I'm not exactly surprised. Lisa Douglas doesn't exactly like baby Addison,” Michelle said quietly.
“Why not?” DiNozzo asked, glancing at Ziva. Ziva grimaced but backed off and let Tony handle it. He was better with the nervous women.
“Lisa can't have children. I don't know the specifics. I was working in the Major's department. IT, I'm a programmer on a civilian contract while I get my master's degree. He--” she trailed off. Michelle twisted her hands in her lap before taking a deep breath and looking Tony directly in the eye. “He took a liking to me. We...we had an affair and I became pregnant. When the Major found out, he went crazy. Demanded that I give him the baby. Threatened to have me fired, get me thrown out of school, put up on charges. He said if I didn't give him the baby, there was no end to what he could do to me.” She shrugged. “So I did. I gave him, Addison. It probably wasn't-wasn't the best thing, and I'm not exactly proud of myself but I didn't know what else to do. He's a major and I'm just an intern. Was. I, uh, quit a few months ago. After I gave him Addison, I just-I just couldn't be around him anymore.”
“I understand. Did you tell anyone about this?” Tony asked, gently.
“No, no one. Everyone thought it was my boyfriend that knocked me up, but no one knew it was the major,” Michelle replied.
“And the money? The major did give you five thousand dollars,” Tony added.
Michelle blushed. “I'm not proud of myself. He-he gave me the money to be quiet. To cover my medical expenses. Being a contractor, it's good money but crappy benefits and the pregnancy wasn't exactly cheap. The five grand was to make sure I was healthy.”
Tony nodded. “Sure. One last question. Where were you two nights ago?”
Michelle blinked. “Out. I had a study group from four and lasted most of the night. I think I got back around midnight. We were at the local Silver Diner. Crappy food, I know, but it's cheap and we're mostly poor. IT doesn't pay nearly as much as it used to. Especially since the dot com bust and all the importing of Indian programmers. It's just hard, you know?”
Tony smiled. “Of course, thank you for your time, Miss Sanders. If we need anything else, we'll be sure to contact you.”
Michelle smiled and led them out of the small apartment. Once they were outside, Tony turned to Ziva.
“What do you think?” Tony asked.
“I don't know. If it was true, this doesn't explain why the baby was the target,” Ziva said.
“Maybe the mother wasn't as stable as we thought. Jealous maybe? This woman doing what she couldn't?”
“But why kill the baby?” Ziva asked as they sat in the car. “If she was jealous, why not go after Sanders?”
“Easier target, maybe? The baby was in her home, a constant reminder of what she couldn't give her husband. Makes it look like an accident. No one knows that she's not the mother and who would look at a grieving mother as a suspect?” Tony replied. “This is just like Rosemary's Baby.”
“I don't want to hear it, Tony,” Ziva snapped. “What went wrong?”
Tony was quiet for a moment. Whether he was thinking about the case or the movie, Ziva wasn't going to ask. It was enough that he wasn't talking. “The major? He said he came in to check on the baby and saw an intruder. He could have seen her setting the fire and not realized it was her.”
“What about all the other cases Dean found?” Ziva asked.
Tony nodded. “Not sure about that. I mean those are spread out, I'm not sure there's anything more than bad luck in those cases. They were all considered natural causes. Shorts, faulty wiring. I think Winchester is barking up the wrong tree.”
“Maybe,” Ziva said.
* * *
Gibbs stared at the orderly desk. He started to rifle through the desk, trying to find anything that might explain where Winchester had gone. There were reports on the weather, cattle mutilations, similar cases to the one they were working. Gibbs found small black notebook in the top drawer and opened it. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, a list of women being high on the list, only to find notations on various beings and creatures. Notes about how to recognize, track and kill. What worked, what didn't and what just pissed it off. Gibbs flipped thorough it until he found notes on the current case. As he read the notes, the tickling came back. He should know this.
None of the information helped Gibbs figure out where Winchester had disappeared. It did help him understand what a meticulous and detailed orientated agent Winchester would become some day. The young man wasn't at home, nor the office and he wasn't answering his cell. Gibbs didn't like it. Winchester was running solo and running scared and that got agents killed.
A siren came from the corner of Dean's desk. Picking up the phone, Gibbs noted the number before answering. It wasn't from the DC metro area. "Hello?"
"Dammit Dean, you know better than to hang up on me! I want to know exactly what is so goddamn important that you can't be bothered to come home. Do you think it was easy for Sammy to ask you? To get time off of school and you just blow him off? Can't you even come up with a better damn excuse? Do you have any idea how difficult this time of year is for him and you can't even show enough support to do the one thing he has ever asked of you?"
Gibbs waited as the man continued to rant in his ear. When the other end finally wound down, Gibbs cut in. "Who are you?" he asked, fairly certain of the answer.
"John Winchester. Who the hell are you? Where's Dean?" The gruff voice demanded.
"Special Agent Jethro Gibbs. I was hoping you'd be able to shed some light on that," Gibbs replied.
"What the hell has that boy gotten into now?" The anger had burned out and left a weariness. As if John was used to dealing with his son being in trouble. As if it was no shocker to him.
"No idea," Gibbs replied lightly. "Where's he supposed to be?"
There was a sigh. "Lawrence, Kansas." A pause then, "his mother's buried there. She passed twenty-five years ago this November."
Suddenly it was all there. The first time the Winchester boys had shown up. Dean had been injured and Sam had mentioned a serial killer, one that liked to murder young mothers and burn the house to hide the evidence. Gibbs grabbed the files off the desk and flipped through them until he found the one he was looking for, Winchester.
"Mr. Winchester, where was your wife murdered?"
"In the baby's room. Why? What does this have to do with Dean?"
The same place the fire at the Major's started. No wonder Winchester was spooked. Gibbs remembered Winchester saying they'd caught the bastard that had killed his mother and Sam's girlfriend. Maybe he'd remembered wrong or they had a copy cat on their hands. "He's working an arson investigation for me. He seems to have gone AWOL."
There was silence on the other end of the line. "His brother thought he was making it up. Using work as an excuse not to come." John said quietly.
"He wasn't," Gibbs answered, another piece sliding into place.
"Dean wouldn't stay out of contact. He'd have left word at least. Coordinates, an address, something. I trained him better than that." There was a pause. "You find my boy, Gibbs." There was the growl of an order behind the words. This wasn't a man used to being disobeyed.
"I'll do my best," Gibbs replied.
It took Gibbs another twenty minutes to decipher the notes Winchester had left on the cases. Once he found the markings, Gibbs had to admit it was as clear as a stoplight on a dark night. He grabbed his gun, phone and Dean's cell and headed out.
Another fifteen minutes and Dean jumped when Gibbs knocked on the window of Dean's car. The younger man sighed as Gibbs slid into the passenger seat but accepted the cup of coffee Gibbs offered him.
"You left your cell at the office," Gibbs said lightly, offering the object to Winchester.
Winchester grunted and dropped the phone into the cup holder. He sipped the coffee and went back to watching the house.
"I expect to be able to get a hold of you. I can't have afford to have my agents out of contact," Gibbs said. The boy didn't even turn. "Dammit Winchester, look at me when I'm talking to you!"
There was silence and then "Sorry, sir," but Winchester kept his face turned toward his prey.
Gibbs took a deep breath and reminded himself why he came. His agent wasn't stupid and he'd seen enough in the evidence and other cases worth checking. As much of a loudmouth as Winchester could be, it was the silences that you had to worry about. As long as Winchester kept talking he was processing whatever it was that went on in his head. The kid was a minefield, no doubt. Gibbs didn't resent having to navigate the field. He could be patient when he had to.
"Your father called," Gibbs said quietly. Another grunt answered him. Gibbs let it sit and simply watched the house. He had no idea what he was watching for but he knew Dean knew what it was and he was content with that for now.
"What did you tell him?" the voice was quiet, the owner still not taking his face from the window. Another defense, not allowing anyone to see his face and read him. Gibbs didn't bother to pretend he hadn't talked to the eldest Winchester.
"Told him you were working a case," Gibbs replied taking a sip of his coffee.
Another silence. "Christ! He can't come here. If he thinks--" Winchester cut himself off and Gibbs wondered what he'd been about to say. He didn't push. He was still mapping out the field, trying to find the best way inside without blowing everything up.
"I can't stop it," almost too quiet, a plea in the dark.
"Can't or won't?" Gibbs replied.
"Can't." Another pause. "but I'll die trying."
Gibbs shifted in his seat. "No one's dying here, Winchester. We'll catch the bastard that did this, but you've got to let us help you."
Winchester did turn toward him then but the car was too dark to see anything clearly. He was in deep now and had to pick his steps carefully.
"It'll come tonight. Anoint the baby with her mother's blood. Womb blood, source of all life. Like it tried with Sammy." Winchester turned back to the window. "I can't stop it, but no one else--" he stopped, "not if I'm still here."
“What is it?”
“A demon. Had plans for the kids. Special kids with abilities like the ones you see in all the horror movies. Thought we took care of it before,” a shrug in the darkness, “guess we were wrong.”
Gibbs digested that. He remembered Kate and Ari's ghost, the way the brothers knew exactly what to do, how to put the souls at rest. He'd have brought the shrink in himself if he'd hadn't seen it for himself. Why should demons be any different? Just a different kind of evil. “You're waiting for it, without backup, to do what exactly?”
Winchester looked over at him. “Hoping to piss him off again. So he leaves the baby alone, leaves the family.” Winchester shrugged. “I'll do what I can to keep it away from the family but without the Colt, there's not much I can do.” Winchester looked over at Gibbs, and he could just make out a feral grin on his face. “This bastard's taken a shine to us Winchesters. Won't be able to resist the challenge.”
“Of what?” Gibbs asked.
“Taking one of us out. Tried before, a couple of times, but it didn't finish the job.”
Gibbs took that in, “You're going to sacrifice yourself to it?”
Dean looked back at the house. “If that's what it takes. No one else is dying because of that thing. Not if I'm still here.”
Dean suddenly sat up and leaned out the window. “There's someone there. In the nursery,” he said, as he bolted out the door.
“Winchester! Wait!” Gibbs snapped. As he was waiting for a car to pass before crossing his phone rang. “What?!” he snapped.
“Boss, it's DiNozzo. Listen, we think the mother might be unstable,” The voice was slightly breathless and Gibbs realized Tony must have let Ziva drive.
“What? Why?” He snapped again.
“The baby, it isn't hers. It's a Michelle Sanders. She had an affair with the Major and he took the baby.”
Gibbs closed his eyes. It was looking more like natural human impulses and he had to stop Winchester before they had a murder on their hands. “Where are you?”
“En route,” DiNozzo replied.
“Good. I'll be inside when you get here,” Gibbs snapped off the phone and ran toward the house.
Once inside, Gibbs found himself alone in the house. He pelted up the stairs and found Winchester, gun drawn, and a stranger in what appeared to be a trench coat standing over the baby's crib. He kept quiet, not wanting to startled either Winchester or the stranger.
"Get away from the baby," Winchester snapped.
"It's my baby!" the stranger said. "They took her from me."
Gibbs saw Winchester frown. Apparently that wasn't part of the script. "Who are you?" Gibbs asked, announcing himself.
"Addison's mother. She's my baby. They took her from me. They wouldn't let me have her. They wouldn't even let me see her. But they can't keep me away. She's my baby."
Gibbs stared at the woman. "Michelle, you need to step away from Addison. We can sort this out but only if you don't hurt the baby."
"She's my baby," the woman repeated.
"I'll take care of her," Winchester said, putting his weapon back into his holster. "I've got experience with babies. I looked after my brother for most of his life. Can I take the baby?"
"You'll let me see him?" Michelle asked.
"I'll do my best," Winchester replied. He stepped up to the crib and took the baby into his arms before stepping back.
Gibbs surged forward and snapped the woman in handcuffs just as the light flicked on and a bewildered major and his wife stood at the door.
"What the hell is going on here?"
* * *
Dean stared at his glass of whiskey. He hated today. Hated being anywhere near the North where it smelled like friggin' November. Had he tried, he could have made it, if he hadn't been such a pussy. Too chicken shit to fly, too chicken shit to go home, just plain chicken shit. Instead of getting drunk with Dad and Sam, he was getting drunk alone. Dean snorted and tried no to think too hard about that.
Dean figured if anyone asked, he was celebrating. The freaky, insane surrogate was safely locked up and the major and his family were safe. Hadn't even been a return of the Demon, which really was worth celebrating. That would be his story. No one needed to know about anything else. Especially that Dean Winchester was so much of a pussy that he wished more than anything to have Sam and Dad drinking with him. Or just about anyone else that would fill up the giant, gaping, screaming hole in his head.
Dean tossed back the whiskey and motioned for the bartender to bring another. He wasn't driving. He might hate the piece of shit car he was driving but he wasn't about to get arrested for putting it around a tree in his less than sober state. There was a hotel not that far, a dive, but hell, he'd been in worse. Had stayed in worse when he first got here, content to live out of that shithole forever if it hadn't been for Tim and Abby ganging up on him and making him get a decent apartment.
Dean smirked as the bartender set the glass down in front of him. He wondered vaguely if his mother would approve of him. If this is what she'd wanted for her boys. For him. Drinking alone to her memory in some crap bar in downtown DC. Alone, because work kept him from coming home. Gave him an excuse not to go and visit her, to see her grave and reminisce about the four years he barely remembered with his brother that didn't remember her at all. He'd like to think she'd be proud of what he was doing. That he was making a difference and helping people but he just didn't know. Had no way to know because Dad had never liked to talk about her and Dean simply didn't remember enough.
Dean raised his glass and nodded at it. "To you, Mom," he said quietly, draining the glass. He put the glass back on the bar and contemplated another when fingertips trailed across his shoulderblades. He froze, afraid to look because freaky shit like this happened to the Winchesters. Toast your mother and she shows up sitting next to you, ready to answer any and all questions like she'd just been gone on a trip and not freakin' dead for twenty-five years. Quarter of a century and Jesus that was a long time when he put it like that. But he was a Winchester and Winchesters didn't run just because they were chicken shit.
The hair was wrong. Dark brown and not the brilliant blond he remembered. As was the face and the voice, when she said his name. A hint of an accent, features younger, and Dean blinked, the glamour fading and shifting until he saw Ziva sitting next to him.
"Are you all right?" She asked. Dean wondered vaguely how badly he looked that she felt that she had to ask that question.
"Fine, just peachy," he replied.
"Yes, I can see this by the alcohol you've consumed," Ziva replied.
Dean grunted, he wasn't in the mood for Ziva's brand of humor. He just wanted to drink to another anniversary, maybe find a nice girl to fill the screaming hole and forget for awhile. He considered leaving, there were plenty of bars in DC to get lost in, not as many as Wisconsin, where the only thing that out numbered the bars were the churches, but enough.
Ziva put her hand on his wrist and Dean looked at her. She montioned to the bartender. "Two of whatever he's having," she said.
Dean gave her a suspicious look but settled again in his seat. Ziva didn't speak and Dean saw his cell phone skitter across the bar. He watched Ziva, but since she wasn't answering hers, he felt no reason to answer his. NCIS wouldn't be calling him for a case and not Ziva.
"Are you going to answer?" Ziva said as the whiskey was placed in front of them.
"Nope," he replied. He didn't take the glass, ready to wait to see what Ziva had in mind.
"Could be Gibbs," Ziva suggested.
"Won't be him," Dean replied. Gibbs had mentioned Dad had called, from his tone Dean could guess how the call had gone. Which meant Gibbs knew what today was.
"You don't want to check?" Ziva asked again.
Dean glared at her. "When did you become Tony?" He snapped. He did drain the glass then, putting it back down with a thunk. Dean shrugged. "It's my geek brother or my dad. Don't feel like talking to them tonight." Didn't want to talk because both of them were well versed in the language of Dean and he was just drunk enough to say what he really meant and that served no one. Better for all of them if Dad and Sam thought it was an excuse and he didn't want to go to Kansas and not that he wanted to, so badly he could almost taste it, but couldn't because he didn't know how to take time off. No reason for them to realize how badly he was failing the whole normal thing.
Mercifully both the phone and Ziva shut up. He scrubbed his hand over his face, but he was done talking. The more he talked, the more he screwed things over and he liked Ziva, just not tonight.
Ziva drained her glass and ordered another for them both. When the glasses arrived Ziva looked over at him. She snorted and then said, "the ghost, the one you-" she flapped her hands at him.
Dean raised an eyebrow and supplied, "banished?"
"Yes, that. He was my half brother. I shot him because he was going to kill Gibbs and he admitted that he had turned on us, on me."
Dean nodded. He got that Ziva sharing, something she rarely did, was her way of cheering him up. He had no idea if she knew and he wondered if she'd been sent. Sent to make sure he didn't do anything overly stupid.
"Sam almost killed Dad once. Shot him in the leg. Would have finished the job, but I begged him not to." He wasn't sure where the words came from, words had power and he didn't like anyone having that kind of power over him, but Ziva had started this sharefest and it was only fair. "Dad was possessed, he was the one almost ripped my heart out. Special gun, special bullets. Got rid of the Demon, at least for a while."
The phone buzzed again and they both watched it skitter across the bar. Ziva picked it up and checked the number before putting it back on the bar unanswered. Dean picked up the glass and nodded to her.
"To family lost," he said before tossing back the whiskey.
"They will never be forgotten."
Ducky looked up as Dean walked into the morgue. “Hello, there. What can I do for you?” He asked.
Dean came over and looked at the dissected body on the table. “What happened?” he asked.
“That's what I'm trying to determine. Did Gibbs send you down?” Ducky asked.
Dean shook his head. “Could I help? With the autopsy, I mean.” He took a deep breath. “Gibbs won't let me kill anything, I figure this might be the next best thing.”
Ducky stared at the young man. “Now that would be the first time I have ever heard that particular excuse.”
“I just need to do something, Ducky,” Dean said, clenching and unclenching his fists. “Please.”
Ducky nodded. “All right. I could use an assistant since Mr. Palmer has decided to stay home with the flu. You're sure you want to do this? An autopsy isn't the for the faint hearted.”
“I saw my fair share of dead bodies working with my old man,” Dean shrugged. “The ones that stay dead never bother me.”
Ducky chuckled. “Yes, well I suppose in your former line of work that was a much bigger problem.” He pointed over to the scrubs on a hook. “You might as well get yourself changed. You don't want to get those clothes full of blood.”
Dean snorted. “Wouldn't be the first time. I can give that Queen of Clean a run for her money.” He moved to the scrubs anyway. "You'll have to show me what to do."
"Oh, don't worry, Dean. You won't be doing any cutting. If you could help me with notes and perhaps some weighing, it would be helpful."
Dean nodded and let Ducky show him what to do. Dean worked quietly, listening to Ducky explain everything to him and tell him tales of his life. Usually Dean would match him story for story, the man had certainly lived an extraordinary young life. Ducky wondered what Dean had done to warrant banishment to the morgue but it wasn't his place to interfere with Jethro's team.
* * *
Gibbs wandered the lower halls of NCIS looking for his missing agent. He'd told Winchester to go calm down, unfortunately he didn't say where he was to go to do that. Winchester wasn't in the gym which is where he'd half expected him to be, punching a bag. He came off the elevator when Abby came out of her lab.
“Gibbs?” She asked.
“What is it, Abby?” He asked. “You got something for me?”
“Not yet, but Gibbs,” Abby said quickly, heading Gibbs off on his mission to find Winchester.
“What is it, Abby?” Gibbs demanded.
“I'm worried about Dean. I went to his house last night, you know just to see if he was all right. And to bring him food because you know if he had food poisoning he probably didn't have any food to eat and--”
“The point, Abby?” Gibbs asked.
Abby nodded, and took a deep breath. “Gibbs, when I got there, he threw the name of God at me. He never does that. The salt lines were there, but Gibbs, he had salt lines inside salt lines and they were thick. Usually he just does it because it's habit and he never asks me to watch the lines, just cleans them up afterwards.
“Then I came in, Gibbs, he was drawing something on the ceiling. I looked it up, it wasn't easy to find either, it was some kind of symbol to trap demons. Gibbs-I'm really worried.”
Gibbs sighed. Winchester's strange quirks picked the oddest time to come out. “Is there anything else?”
Abby took a deep breath. Clearly she didn't want to tell him. Was she afraid he'd blow up? “What is it, Abby?”
“Dean mentioned something about this case being hard on him. It brought up memories of Sam almost burning. I don't know what he means, Gibbs.”
Gibbs put his hand on her shoulder. “I'll take of it, Abby. Don't worry.” He watched Abby go back to her lab and again wondered where Winchester had wandered off to. Gibbs rounded the door of the lab and found Winchester dressed in scrubs talking quietly to Ducky as Ducky worked through an autopsy.
"What happened to him, Ducky?" Gibbs asked coming into the morgue.
"It looks like a blunt force trauma to the head. Possibly with a baseball bat," Ducky replied. "Is there something I can help you with, Jethro?"
"I need to borrow your assistant here," Gibbs replied, nodding toward Winchester.
"Certainly," Ducky turned to Dean. "I do appreciate the help young man. Without it it would have been quite the dull afternoon."
Dean flushed slightly. "It wasn't a big deal, Ducky. Glad I could help out."
"You, outside," Gibbs said nodding toward the door.
Winchester followed immediately. When they had reached the elevator, Gibbs turned to younger man.
"I asked you if we had a problem and you said no. Why did you lie?" Gibbs asked.
Dean frowned. "I didn't lie. We don't have a problem."
Gibbs glared at his newest agent. "I'm pulling you from this case. You're too invested in it. Too close."
Winchester stared at him, and Gibbs wondered if it had even registered. “Gibbs, I'm fine. I can work this case.”
Gibbs sighed. “You hit one of your teammates, Dean. For no reason I can tell, except that Ziva wouldn't let you shoot him. You haven't been fine since we started this case. You're no use to me on this one unless I can count on your head being in the game. It's not. Go home, get some sleep.”
Dean stared at him, and Gibbs could almost see the protest on his lips. That he wasn't a child, that he could do the job. “Go home,” Gibbs repeated quieter. “We can handle this one.”
In that moment, Gibbs watched as Dean literally shut down, his eyes going dark and expressionless, completely shutting him out from whatever was going through the boy's mind. “Yessir,” was all Dean said before he turned and went back into the morgue to change.
* * *
“I think I found something,” Ziva said slowly, staring at her screen intently.
DiNozzo looked up from where he was still going through the similar cases Winchester had found and nursing an ice pack on his face. He was going to have one hell of a shiner. “What did you find?”
“The major's wife is not the mother of this child,” Ziva replied.
“So, what? The major was banging his subordinate and just randomly brought home a baby? How did you find this anyway?” Tony said, curious despite himself.
“No, Tony. There was a surrogate. I found a copy of their medical record. The major's wife was going through fertility treatments.”
“Huh. So they decided to get a completely different host for their spawn. Not bad. That doesn't tell us why the baby was the target. People have other people's kids all the time.” Tony replied.
“Well, Tony, not everyone tries to get around the system. I see a record of a payment to a Michelle Sanders. Surrogates, they get how much for their services?” Ziva asked.
“No idea. The DiNozzo seed is powerful stuff, there won't be any problems if I have kids,” Tony retorted, with a smirk.
“Let us hope there are no mini DiNozzo's running around any time soon. They are expensive, yes?”
“I would guess so. What are you driving at Ziva?”
“This check is for five thousand dollars. This doesn't seem to be quite enough, and it was written two months ago.”
“Why would they pay the surrogate this late after the baby's been born?” DiNozzo asked.
“That is what I'm going to find out. Coming?” Ziva asked with a sweet smile on her face.
“Yes, before Winchester decides he could use a few more licks.”
* * *
Gibbs sat down at his desk and looked around. His was the only one occupied. He wondered what lead Ziva was tracking down. Gibbs assumed that DiNozzo was at the med unit getting his face looked at. Gibbs shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. There were days it was like refereeing a kindergarten class. Winchester had been an unpredictable element since he'd come on board. Too used to doing things his own way and not enough experience working independently. It was an odd combination that Gibbs had been trying hard to train out of the boy.
Gibbs thought they'd been making progress. Winchester was working with the others more. Sharing information and contacts, and it seemed as if he was settling down as well. He wasn't as jittery and eager to just jump into taking down the bad guys. Gibbs even thought they were slowly earning Dean's trust and respect. Two things that seemed to be hard won in that boy's life.
That was until this case. A simple arson had thrown Dean into a downward spiral. The background check had come up clean. There was no mention of anything that could explain why Dean was so spooked. Gibbs was going to have to dig deeper. He looked over at Winchester's desk, but realized there was nothing personal on it. His other agents had personal effects on their desks, a way to claim it as their own and warn people away from it. Winchester had nothing that wasn't work related on it. Every night the young man cleaned off the desk. If no one knew better they'd think it was empty, ready for the next available agent. It had happened once, just after Dean had started working there and he'd simply let the agent use the desk. He'd done his work down in Abby's lab until Gibbs had come into the office and asked the agent exactly what the hell he was doing and where was Winchester?
No, if he wanted answers he'd have to go to Dean's home. Gibbs looked up Dean's home of record and frowned when he saw the address. Checking records he found that Dean's apartment was listed as Highlander Motor Inn, Arlington. Picking up the phone he hit Abby's extension.
"Gibbs, I told you I don't have anything yet," Abby said into the phone.
"Abby, what's Winchester's address?" Gibbs asked.
There was a pause and then she rattled off the address, which was significantly different than the one on record. He'd have to get Winchester to change it when he came back into the office.
"Thanks, Abbs," Gibbs said, hanging up the phone. He flirted with the idea of calling first, but declined. He didn't want to give Winchester time to clean up or hide anything in the time it took to get over to his place.
Half an hour later and Gibbs was standing in front of Dean's door. First floor, external entrance. Easier for Dean to come and go at all hours of the day or night and not have nosy neighbors interfering. He knocked on the door, and got no response. Knocking again, he waited as he pulled the lock pick kit out of his coat. If Winchester wasn't home, it might even make this easier. Opening the door, he saw the thick line of white covering the door jam. Frowning, he crouched down and touched his finger to it and then lifted his finger to his lips. Salt.
With a shake of his head, Gibbs entered the apartment. Straight back from the front door was a darkened hallway and a bar area that separated the kitchen from the living room. On his left was a small TV with a futon facing it. A battered coffee table sat in front of the futon with a matching end table on the side. The other side of the room held a small table with four chairs, a laptop sitting on open on the table, the screen dark. Glancing up, Gibbs saw what Abby had mentioned. A rather large symbol was drawn on the ceiling with what looked like to be thick charcoal. It was far enough in the apartment that someone would have to take several steps into the room before they were underneath it. Gibbs wondered if perhaps he hadn't made a mistake in standing up to Jenn when she had demanded a psych eval for Winchester. There certainly were some odd quirks to the boy.
Making a circuit of the room, Gibbs found the gun safe open. He raised his eyebrows at the amount of weapons in it. Pistols, sawed-off shotguns, rifles, not to mention enough ammo to make a small nation drool. From the meticulous way they were stored Gibbs saw that at least one of the shotguns and pistols were missing. Gibbs unholstered his weapon and moved quietly through the rest of the apartment.
Down the single hallway were two doors. One led to a small bathroom. Toilet, shower, sink, barely big enough for a grown man. Toiletries were neatly arranged in the small two shelf cabinet, and the towel was still damp. Winchester had at least come home and showered before leaving once more. Moving to the bedroom, Gibbs found another meticulously clean room. He wondered briefly if that was John Winchester's military training instilled in his boys. Everything seemed to have a place and a place for everything.
In the closet he found a metal box. Picking it up and dropping it on the bed, Gibbs holstered his gun and opened it. So far the apartment wasn't any more personal than Winchester's desk. Comfortable, but impersonal. As if Dean didn't expect to be any place long enough to settle in and put down roots. Inside the box, Gibbs found a few old pictures. Flipping through them he found himself looking at a happy family. Father was behind, a shit-eating grin on his face, as if he couldn't believe his good luck, the mother, with her arms around the infant, cuddling him close with a toddler next to her. All of them were smiling and before Gibbs even flipped over the picture he knew he was looking at Dean's family. The Winchesters: John, Mary, Dean and baby Sammy.
Gibbs put the pictures on bed and dug deeper. The box wasn't that big, but it was the most personal thing he'd found. At the bottom of the box was a small card. Pulling it out Gibbs found a picture of the Virgin Mary, her arms outstretched, a child clinging to each hand. On the back, the name Mary Winchester, with her birth and death date, along with a small prayer verse. A prayer card from a funeral, from Dean's mother's funeral. He rubbed his thumb over the card, wondering about the little boy that kept a small momento of his mother. Looking at the year, Gibbs did the math and realized Dean had been almost five when his mother died. Enough time to remember her but not enough for the memories to become anything more than vague dreams.
Other items were more obscure. A driver's license from Kansas, possibly the first real one Dean had, his high school diploma, the title to a '67 Chevy Impala, and a curious drawing of a house and a white church. It was obviously drawn by a child and Gibbs wondered if it was a family member or someone Dean had helped while working with his father. There was no signature, nothing on the back to register it's significance besides being in the box with pictures of Dean's family.
The box told him bits and pieces but not the whole story. Evidently Winchester left nothing of himself to be found. He was like a ghost, or a dealer that would only reveal the cards as they were needed. Everything they knew about Winchester came from the boy's own mouth, carefully doled out, as if he was testing the waters. Never sure how much was too much.
The only way to get to the bottom of this was to talk to Winchester himself. Gibbs packed everything back into the box and put it back where it was and retreated back to the living room. He was worried about the gun case. From everything he'd seen so far from Winchester, he was meticulous and fastidious. He was brought up around weapons and had respect for them. Which included not leaving a weapons locker open and unlocked if he could help it. Since the boy wasn't in the apartment, and Gibbs doubted he'd just run down the street for a jug of milk, it begged the question of where had Winchester gone with loaded weapons and no backup.
* * *
“Miss Sanders? I'm Special Agent DiNozzo and this is Special Agent David, we'd like to ask you some questions if you don't mind?”
The woman standing in front of them was pale, her brown eyes large in her face. Her brown hair was damp and curled lightly around her face. She was dressed in a pink and white raglan t-shirt with a picture of a princess with two large guns and jeans. The writing proclaimed “I don't need Mario to save me.”
DiNozzo smirked. “Nice shirt.”
The woman smiled up at him. “Thanks, and come in.” The apartment was small, cluttered but neat. Books were stacked on the desk that faced the wall. Pictures of various actors were plastered to the wall above the desk.
“Inspiration?” Ziva asked, nodding to the pictures.
The girl shrugged. “Sometimes they're the only thing that gets me through the day.” She sat down on the old couch and gestured to the chairs opposite. “What's this about?”
“We're investigating an arson. Your name came up in the course of the investigation,” Ziva said.
“Me? Why?” Michelle asked.
“We found a payment for five thousand dollars to you from the victim. We're hoping you could shed some light on it?” DiNozzo replied.
Michelle shifted in her seat. “Oh, him.” She said quietly. “There was a fire?”
“Yes, in the baby's room. Do you know anything about it?” Ziva demanded.
“Not about the fire. I'm not exactly surprised. Lisa Douglas doesn't exactly like baby Addison,” Michelle said quietly.
“Why not?” DiNozzo asked, glancing at Ziva. Ziva grimaced but backed off and let Tony handle it. He was better with the nervous women.
“Lisa can't have children. I don't know the specifics. I was working in the Major's department. IT, I'm a programmer on a civilian contract while I get my master's degree. He--” she trailed off. Michelle twisted her hands in her lap before taking a deep breath and looking Tony directly in the eye. “He took a liking to me. We...we had an affair and I became pregnant. When the Major found out, he went crazy. Demanded that I give him the baby. Threatened to have me fired, get me thrown out of school, put up on charges. He said if I didn't give him the baby, there was no end to what he could do to me.” She shrugged. “So I did. I gave him, Addison. It probably wasn't-wasn't the best thing, and I'm not exactly proud of myself but I didn't know what else to do. He's a major and I'm just an intern. Was. I, uh, quit a few months ago. After I gave him Addison, I just-I just couldn't be around him anymore.”
“I understand. Did you tell anyone about this?” Tony asked, gently.
“No, no one. Everyone thought it was my boyfriend that knocked me up, but no one knew it was the major,” Michelle replied.
“And the money? The major did give you five thousand dollars,” Tony added.
Michelle blushed. “I'm not proud of myself. He-he gave me the money to be quiet. To cover my medical expenses. Being a contractor, it's good money but crappy benefits and the pregnancy wasn't exactly cheap. The five grand was to make sure I was healthy.”
Tony nodded. “Sure. One last question. Where were you two nights ago?”
Michelle blinked. “Out. I had a study group from four and lasted most of the night. I think I got back around midnight. We were at the local Silver Diner. Crappy food, I know, but it's cheap and we're mostly poor. IT doesn't pay nearly as much as it used to. Especially since the dot com bust and all the importing of Indian programmers. It's just hard, you know?”
Tony smiled. “Of course, thank you for your time, Miss Sanders. If we need anything else, we'll be sure to contact you.”
Michelle smiled and led them out of the small apartment. Once they were outside, Tony turned to Ziva.
“What do you think?” Tony asked.
“I don't know. If it was true, this doesn't explain why the baby was the target,” Ziva said.
“Maybe the mother wasn't as stable as we thought. Jealous maybe? This woman doing what she couldn't?”
“But why kill the baby?” Ziva asked as they sat in the car. “If she was jealous, why not go after Sanders?”
“Easier target, maybe? The baby was in her home, a constant reminder of what she couldn't give her husband. Makes it look like an accident. No one knows that she's not the mother and who would look at a grieving mother as a suspect?” Tony replied. “This is just like Rosemary's Baby.”
“I don't want to hear it, Tony,” Ziva snapped. “What went wrong?”
Tony was quiet for a moment. Whether he was thinking about the case or the movie, Ziva wasn't going to ask. It was enough that he wasn't talking. “The major? He said he came in to check on the baby and saw an intruder. He could have seen her setting the fire and not realized it was her.”
“What about all the other cases Dean found?” Ziva asked.
Tony nodded. “Not sure about that. I mean those are spread out, I'm not sure there's anything more than bad luck in those cases. They were all considered natural causes. Shorts, faulty wiring. I think Winchester is barking up the wrong tree.”
“Maybe,” Ziva said.
* * *
Gibbs stared at the orderly desk. He started to rifle through the desk, trying to find anything that might explain where Winchester had gone. There were reports on the weather, cattle mutilations, similar cases to the one they were working. Gibbs found small black notebook in the top drawer and opened it. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, a list of women being high on the list, only to find notations on various beings and creatures. Notes about how to recognize, track and kill. What worked, what didn't and what just pissed it off. Gibbs flipped thorough it until he found notes on the current case. As he read the notes, the tickling came back. He should know this.
None of the information helped Gibbs figure out where Winchester had disappeared. It did help him understand what a meticulous and detailed orientated agent Winchester would become some day. The young man wasn't at home, nor the office and he wasn't answering his cell. Gibbs didn't like it. Winchester was running solo and running scared and that got agents killed.
A siren came from the corner of Dean's desk. Picking up the phone, Gibbs noted the number before answering. It wasn't from the DC metro area. "Hello?"
"Dammit Dean, you know better than to hang up on me! I want to know exactly what is so goddamn important that you can't be bothered to come home. Do you think it was easy for Sammy to ask you? To get time off of school and you just blow him off? Can't you even come up with a better damn excuse? Do you have any idea how difficult this time of year is for him and you can't even show enough support to do the one thing he has ever asked of you?"
Gibbs waited as the man continued to rant in his ear. When the other end finally wound down, Gibbs cut in. "Who are you?" he asked, fairly certain of the answer.
"John Winchester. Who the hell are you? Where's Dean?" The gruff voice demanded.
"Special Agent Jethro Gibbs. I was hoping you'd be able to shed some light on that," Gibbs replied.
"What the hell has that boy gotten into now?" The anger had burned out and left a weariness. As if John was used to dealing with his son being in trouble. As if it was no shocker to him.
"No idea," Gibbs replied lightly. "Where's he supposed to be?"
There was a sigh. "Lawrence, Kansas." A pause then, "his mother's buried there. She passed twenty-five years ago this November."
Suddenly it was all there. The first time the Winchester boys had shown up. Dean had been injured and Sam had mentioned a serial killer, one that liked to murder young mothers and burn the house to hide the evidence. Gibbs grabbed the files off the desk and flipped through them until he found the one he was looking for, Winchester.
"Mr. Winchester, where was your wife murdered?"
"In the baby's room. Why? What does this have to do with Dean?"
The same place the fire at the Major's started. No wonder Winchester was spooked. Gibbs remembered Winchester saying they'd caught the bastard that had killed his mother and Sam's girlfriend. Maybe he'd remembered wrong or they had a copy cat on their hands. "He's working an arson investigation for me. He seems to have gone AWOL."
There was silence on the other end of the line. "His brother thought he was making it up. Using work as an excuse not to come." John said quietly.
"He wasn't," Gibbs answered, another piece sliding into place.
"Dean wouldn't stay out of contact. He'd have left word at least. Coordinates, an address, something. I trained him better than that." There was a pause. "You find my boy, Gibbs." There was the growl of an order behind the words. This wasn't a man used to being disobeyed.
"I'll do my best," Gibbs replied.
It took Gibbs another twenty minutes to decipher the notes Winchester had left on the cases. Once he found the markings, Gibbs had to admit it was as clear as a stoplight on a dark night. He grabbed his gun, phone and Dean's cell and headed out.
Another fifteen minutes and Dean jumped when Gibbs knocked on the window of Dean's car. The younger man sighed as Gibbs slid into the passenger seat but accepted the cup of coffee Gibbs offered him.
"You left your cell at the office," Gibbs said lightly, offering the object to Winchester.
Winchester grunted and dropped the phone into the cup holder. He sipped the coffee and went back to watching the house.
"I expect to be able to get a hold of you. I can't have afford to have my agents out of contact," Gibbs said. The boy didn't even turn. "Dammit Winchester, look at me when I'm talking to you!"
There was silence and then "Sorry, sir," but Winchester kept his face turned toward his prey.
Gibbs took a deep breath and reminded himself why he came. His agent wasn't stupid and he'd seen enough in the evidence and other cases worth checking. As much of a loudmouth as Winchester could be, it was the silences that you had to worry about. As long as Winchester kept talking he was processing whatever it was that went on in his head. The kid was a minefield, no doubt. Gibbs didn't resent having to navigate the field. He could be patient when he had to.
"Your father called," Gibbs said quietly. Another grunt answered him. Gibbs let it sit and simply watched the house. He had no idea what he was watching for but he knew Dean knew what it was and he was content with that for now.
"What did you tell him?" the voice was quiet, the owner still not taking his face from the window. Another defense, not allowing anyone to see his face and read him. Gibbs didn't bother to pretend he hadn't talked to the eldest Winchester.
"Told him you were working a case," Gibbs replied taking a sip of his coffee.
Another silence. "Christ! He can't come here. If he thinks--" Winchester cut himself off and Gibbs wondered what he'd been about to say. He didn't push. He was still mapping out the field, trying to find the best way inside without blowing everything up.
"I can't stop it," almost too quiet, a plea in the dark.
"Can't or won't?" Gibbs replied.
"Can't." Another pause. "but I'll die trying."
Gibbs shifted in his seat. "No one's dying here, Winchester. We'll catch the bastard that did this, but you've got to let us help you."
Winchester did turn toward him then but the car was too dark to see anything clearly. He was in deep now and had to pick his steps carefully.
"It'll come tonight. Anoint the baby with her mother's blood. Womb blood, source of all life. Like it tried with Sammy." Winchester turned back to the window. "I can't stop it, but no one else--" he stopped, "not if I'm still here."
“What is it?”
“A demon. Had plans for the kids. Special kids with abilities like the ones you see in all the horror movies. Thought we took care of it before,” a shrug in the darkness, “guess we were wrong.”
Gibbs digested that. He remembered Kate and Ari's ghost, the way the brothers knew exactly what to do, how to put the souls at rest. He'd have brought the shrink in himself if he'd hadn't seen it for himself. Why should demons be any different? Just a different kind of evil. “You're waiting for it, without backup, to do what exactly?”
Winchester looked over at him. “Hoping to piss him off again. So he leaves the baby alone, leaves the family.” Winchester shrugged. “I'll do what I can to keep it away from the family but without the Colt, there's not much I can do.” Winchester looked over at Gibbs, and he could just make out a feral grin on his face. “This bastard's taken a shine to us Winchesters. Won't be able to resist the challenge.”
“Of what?” Gibbs asked.
“Taking one of us out. Tried before, a couple of times, but it didn't finish the job.”
Gibbs took that in, “You're going to sacrifice yourself to it?”
Dean looked back at the house. “If that's what it takes. No one else is dying because of that thing. Not if I'm still here.”
Dean suddenly sat up and leaned out the window. “There's someone there. In the nursery,” he said, as he bolted out the door.
“Winchester! Wait!” Gibbs snapped. As he was waiting for a car to pass before crossing his phone rang. “What?!” he snapped.
“Boss, it's DiNozzo. Listen, we think the mother might be unstable,” The voice was slightly breathless and Gibbs realized Tony must have let Ziva drive.
“What? Why?” He snapped again.
“The baby, it isn't hers. It's a Michelle Sanders. She had an affair with the Major and he took the baby.”
Gibbs closed his eyes. It was looking more like natural human impulses and he had to stop Winchester before they had a murder on their hands. “Where are you?”
“En route,” DiNozzo replied.
“Good. I'll be inside when you get here,” Gibbs snapped off the phone and ran toward the house.
Once inside, Gibbs found himself alone in the house. He pelted up the stairs and found Winchester, gun drawn, and a stranger in what appeared to be a trench coat standing over the baby's crib. He kept quiet, not wanting to startled either Winchester or the stranger.
"Get away from the baby," Winchester snapped.
"It's my baby!" the stranger said. "They took her from me."
Gibbs saw Winchester frown. Apparently that wasn't part of the script. "Who are you?" Gibbs asked, announcing himself.
"Addison's mother. She's my baby. They took her from me. They wouldn't let me have her. They wouldn't even let me see her. But they can't keep me away. She's my baby."
Gibbs stared at the woman. "Michelle, you need to step away from Addison. We can sort this out but only if you don't hurt the baby."
"She's my baby," the woman repeated.
"I'll take care of her," Winchester said, putting his weapon back into his holster. "I've got experience with babies. I looked after my brother for most of his life. Can I take the baby?"
"You'll let me see him?" Michelle asked.
"I'll do my best," Winchester replied. He stepped up to the crib and took the baby into his arms before stepping back.
Gibbs surged forward and snapped the woman in handcuffs just as the light flicked on and a bewildered major and his wife stood at the door.
"What the hell is going on here?"
* * *
Dean stared at his glass of whiskey. He hated today. Hated being anywhere near the North where it smelled like friggin' November. Had he tried, he could have made it, if he hadn't been such a pussy. Too chicken shit to fly, too chicken shit to go home, just plain chicken shit. Instead of getting drunk with Dad and Sam, he was getting drunk alone. Dean snorted and tried no to think too hard about that.
Dean figured if anyone asked, he was celebrating. The freaky, insane surrogate was safely locked up and the major and his family were safe. Hadn't even been a return of the Demon, which really was worth celebrating. That would be his story. No one needed to know about anything else. Especially that Dean Winchester was so much of a pussy that he wished more than anything to have Sam and Dad drinking with him. Or just about anyone else that would fill up the giant, gaping, screaming hole in his head.
Dean tossed back the whiskey and motioned for the bartender to bring another. He wasn't driving. He might hate the piece of shit car he was driving but he wasn't about to get arrested for putting it around a tree in his less than sober state. There was a hotel not that far, a dive, but hell, he'd been in worse. Had stayed in worse when he first got here, content to live out of that shithole forever if it hadn't been for Tim and Abby ganging up on him and making him get a decent apartment.
Dean smirked as the bartender set the glass down in front of him. He wondered vaguely if his mother would approve of him. If this is what she'd wanted for her boys. For him. Drinking alone to her memory in some crap bar in downtown DC. Alone, because work kept him from coming home. Gave him an excuse not to go and visit her, to see her grave and reminisce about the four years he barely remembered with his brother that didn't remember her at all. He'd like to think she'd be proud of what he was doing. That he was making a difference and helping people but he just didn't know. Had no way to know because Dad had never liked to talk about her and Dean simply didn't remember enough.
Dean raised his glass and nodded at it. "To you, Mom," he said quietly, draining the glass. He put the glass back on the bar and contemplated another when fingertips trailed across his shoulderblades. He froze, afraid to look because freaky shit like this happened to the Winchesters. Toast your mother and she shows up sitting next to you, ready to answer any and all questions like she'd just been gone on a trip and not freakin' dead for twenty-five years. Quarter of a century and Jesus that was a long time when he put it like that. But he was a Winchester and Winchesters didn't run just because they were chicken shit.
The hair was wrong. Dark brown and not the brilliant blond he remembered. As was the face and the voice, when she said his name. A hint of an accent, features younger, and Dean blinked, the glamour fading and shifting until he saw Ziva sitting next to him.
"Are you all right?" She asked. Dean wondered vaguely how badly he looked that she felt that she had to ask that question.
"Fine, just peachy," he replied.
"Yes, I can see this by the alcohol you've consumed," Ziva replied.
Dean grunted, he wasn't in the mood for Ziva's brand of humor. He just wanted to drink to another anniversary, maybe find a nice girl to fill the screaming hole and forget for awhile. He considered leaving, there were plenty of bars in DC to get lost in, not as many as Wisconsin, where the only thing that out numbered the bars were the churches, but enough.
Ziva put her hand on his wrist and Dean looked at her. She montioned to the bartender. "Two of whatever he's having," she said.
Dean gave her a suspicious look but settled again in his seat. Ziva didn't speak and Dean saw his cell phone skitter across the bar. He watched Ziva, but since she wasn't answering hers, he felt no reason to answer his. NCIS wouldn't be calling him for a case and not Ziva.
"Are you going to answer?" Ziva said as the whiskey was placed in front of them.
"Nope," he replied. He didn't take the glass, ready to wait to see what Ziva had in mind.
"Could be Gibbs," Ziva suggested.
"Won't be him," Dean replied. Gibbs had mentioned Dad had called, from his tone Dean could guess how the call had gone. Which meant Gibbs knew what today was.
"You don't want to check?" Ziva asked again.
Dean glared at her. "When did you become Tony?" He snapped. He did drain the glass then, putting it back down with a thunk. Dean shrugged. "It's my geek brother or my dad. Don't feel like talking to them tonight." Didn't want to talk because both of them were well versed in the language of Dean and he was just drunk enough to say what he really meant and that served no one. Better for all of them if Dad and Sam thought it was an excuse and he didn't want to go to Kansas and not that he wanted to, so badly he could almost taste it, but couldn't because he didn't know how to take time off. No reason for them to realize how badly he was failing the whole normal thing.
Mercifully both the phone and Ziva shut up. He scrubbed his hand over his face, but he was done talking. The more he talked, the more he screwed things over and he liked Ziva, just not tonight.
Ziva drained her glass and ordered another for them both. When the glasses arrived Ziva looked over at him. She snorted and then said, "the ghost, the one you-" she flapped her hands at him.
Dean raised an eyebrow and supplied, "banished?"
"Yes, that. He was my half brother. I shot him because he was going to kill Gibbs and he admitted that he had turned on us, on me."
Dean nodded. He got that Ziva sharing, something she rarely did, was her way of cheering him up. He had no idea if she knew and he wondered if she'd been sent. Sent to make sure he didn't do anything overly stupid.
"Sam almost killed Dad once. Shot him in the leg. Would have finished the job, but I begged him not to." He wasn't sure where the words came from, words had power and he didn't like anyone having that kind of power over him, but Ziva had started this sharefest and it was only fair. "Dad was possessed, he was the one almost ripped my heart out. Special gun, special bullets. Got rid of the Demon, at least for a while."
The phone buzzed again and they both watched it skitter across the bar. Ziva picked it up and checked the number before putting it back on the bar unanswered. Dean picked up the glass and nodded to her.
"To family lost," he said before tossing back the whiskey.
"They will never be forgotten."