Fic: Gotham City Remix (2/7)
Fic: Gotham City Remix (2/7)
Summary: Gorden Walker has taken Sam Hostage. To save him, Dean and Chloe go into the heart of darkness: Gotham City.
Author: pen37
Beta: Clarksmuse
Fandoms: Smallville/Supernatural/DCU
Characters: Chloe, Sam, Dean
Pairing:Chloe/Dean
Rating: Pg for language and minor violence.
This is a part of the Special Projects series. You can find the rest of the series here.
Written for the Crossovers100 challenge. Prompt #61 winter. The table is here.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7
Harvey Bullock had his feet up on his desk and was looking at catching about forty winks, when a tall black man in a black suit with a black tie and a white shirt walked in. Judging by his government requisition haircut and the way he walked like he had a pole up his ass, Bullock decided that he had to have been a federal agent.
The fed took one look around the room, and zeroed in on him. Probably because he was the only one not wearing a uniform, and therefore the recognized authority.
Great, Bullock thought. Like I need this shit?
With a shake of his head, he kicked out a chair. “Detective? I’m Agent Hendrickson of the --” The fed was reaching for his ID, but stopped to look at the open chair. His gaze drifted back to Bullock with a question written all over it.
“I know you’re a fed. Don’t particularly care who. Why don’t you have a seat?”
“I’m here to pick up a prisoner.”
“Have a seat,” Bullock re-emphasized. He leaned forward, and pulled his keyboard to him. Since he obviously couldn’t nap in front of the fed, he may as well work on his back-log of reports. Starting with his account of The Joker’s latest clambake. “The Joker firebombed us last week. We’re running on a skeleton crew, and the captains are all in an emergency meeting with the commish. The rest of us are still trying to clean this place up. Trust me, kid. You’re going to be here a while.”
The fed looked at him in disbelief as he started to hunt-and-peck out his report. “By the way, is there an actual legal term for deadly assault with a cream pie?”
The agent blinked. “I don’t quite think you understand . . .”
He grinned over at the fed in a slightly sadistic manner. “No, I just don’t care.”
“What’s your name?” The agent’s voice took on a threatening tone.
“Bullock,” he said proudly. “Detective Harvey Bullock of the Gotham Major Crimes division. Major crimes - get it? Around here, it takes a lot to be a major crime. And I’m your best bet for help at the moment.”
The detective fixed him with a look that was probably guaranteed to make police officers in any other city across the country wet themselves. But this FBI fuckwad obviously hadn’t spent much time in Gotham. Working at other police departments was like taking a cruise compared to Gotham.
“I hope you know, Detective Bullock that I can arrange to have you busted down to traffic cop.”
Bullock gave him a cynical smile. “Could you? That’d be a nice vacation.” He turned back to his report. “By the way, is there a legal term for assault with a deadly elephant?”
***
Sam knew that a hunter's trunk didn't have to smell oily. Look at the Impala: Dean kept a good supply of motor, gun, bar and chain oil on hand at all times. Nor did it have to be a jumbled mess, as the weapons cache that they kept under the false bottom would proclaim.
“A place for everything, and everything in its place” was a rule that John had drilled into their heads from the moment that they were old enough to help him keep the place clean and neat.
Not that you could tell with the way Dean kept his dirty socks in the sink. But they kept their tools immaculate.
By contrast, Gordon Walker's own trunk was a mess. Things had been jammed in haphazardly. And to make things worse, Gordon could tell that Sam didn't approve.
Sam couldn't quite figure it out, but Gordon was taking every opportunity he could to pull Sam out of the trunk, and talk to him. He didn't seem like he really cared for an answer - even if he did pull the tape off Sam's mouth when he did pull him out. What he seemed interested in most was drawing his own conclusions about Dean and Dad and what it was like to grow up with them.
It was damned annoying. If Gordon would just leave Sam alone for three friggin' hours, Sam could easily slip his bonds, pick the lock of the trunk, and hot-foot it out of there. Sam really didn't think it was too much to ask for, but instead, he got to play Clarice to Gordon's Hannibal Lector.
Sam was rocked helplessly back against the side of an old tire as the pinto slowed. He heard footsteps, as Gordon came around to the trunk of the car. Sam sighed, and rolled his eyes. Here we go again.
The trunk popped open, leaving him blinking in the afternoon light.
“Good news, Sammy,” Gordon said. “I just got a call from Agent Hendrickson. Your brother turned himself in. So first thing tomorrow, we're going on a little trip out to Gotham.”
Sam frowned behind the gag. Gordon told Dean that he was going to turn Sam over to the police as soon as Dean turned himself in. So why were they going to Gotham?
His confusion must have shown in his eyes, because Gordon continued explaining as he helped Sam unfold his tall frame from the smushed ride in the trunk. “Agent Hendrickson wants me to turn you directly over to him. That way, Dean doesn't try something funny. Me? I just want the chance to look Dean in the eye and find out how he feels, knowing that I'm the one who stole his freedom away.”
Inwardly, he was seething that Gordon had managed to get the drop on him. Now Dean was in jail as a result. He glared at the shorter hunter, and resolved in his mind that Dean wasn't going to suffer because of him.
Gordon sat Sam down in an uncomfortable straight-backed chair, and added another layer of rope to hold him there. Then he pulled the tape away from Sam's mouth.
“You know, this revenge thing is very Sideshow Bob of you,” Sam said with a shake of his head.
Walker gave him an odd look and sat down to clean his guns. Sam watched for a little while. Walker did a fair job, in his estimation. But not nearly as thorough as Dean would have.
“What?” Walker looked up, and frowned at Sam.
“Nothing,” Sam said.
“No, not nothing.” Gordon waved the gun at Sam. “You're sitting over there judging me. What's wrong?”
“Dean uses bronze brushes to clean his guns,” Sam said.
“Yeah?” Gordon gave him a so what look.
“You're using stainless steel. That can damage the barrel.”
“No it won't,” Gordon said. “Look --”
“The bristles are looped, I know.” Sam cut him off. “So not only will it damage your barrel, but you have to work harder to clean it.”
“Stainless brushes last longer,” Gordon argued.
“Maybe,” Sam said. “But Dean says that it's a lot less costly than having a gun malfunction when you've got a werewolf bearing down on you.”
“Right. Like you've seen a werewolf.”
“A few years back,” Sam said sourly. He cursed his own big mouth. Werewolves had been a taboo subject around the Impala ever since Madison.
“Really?” Gordon leaned forward, an eager expression on his face. “What happened?”
“He was hunting prostitutes every full moon,” Sam said. He completely left Madison out of the story. He didn’t even want Gordon knowing her name. “Dean found him, and shot him.”
“It,” Gordon corrected Sam.
“What?” Sam asked in confusion.
“The werewolf,” Gordon said patiently. “You called it a him.”
“Considering that he didn't even know he was a werewolf, I think I'm pretty justified in calling him a him,” Sam said.
“Really?” Gordon chuckled. “Did I hear that right, Sammy? It was a mindless killing machine during the full moon, and it didn't even know it?”
“And don't call me Sammy,” Sam said. He breathed deeply in an attempt to calm down. Walker had always been good at punching his buttons.
“That's right, only Dean gets to call you that.” Walker grinned at him. “Well, Dean ain't here, is he? His ass is in prison in Gotham, and it's going to rot in prison. And in a few days, you'll be right there next to him.”
“I'll be in better company than I am here,” Sam said.
“Just don't drop the soap,” Gordon chuckled.
“Speaking from experience?”
Gordon frowned. Then, without warning, he lashed out. The hand holding the gun came smashing down on Sam's left cheek. Sam rolled with the punch, letting most of the impact glance off of him. He came up with a bloody cheek, and stared full-on at Gordon's cold, stony expression.
“You'll get your turn,” Gordon said. He sat down and calmly resumed cleaning his gun.
Summary: Gorden Walker has taken Sam Hostage. To save him, Dean and Chloe go into the heart of darkness: Gotham City.
Author: pen37
Beta: Clarksmuse
Fandoms: Smallville/Supernatural/DCU
Characters: Chloe, Sam, Dean
Pairing:Chloe/Dean
Rating: Pg for language and minor violence.
This is a part of the Special Projects series. You can find the rest of the series here.
Written for the Crossovers100 challenge. Prompt #61 winter. The table is here.
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7
Harvey Bullock had his feet up on his desk and was looking at catching about forty winks, when a tall black man in a black suit with a black tie and a white shirt walked in. Judging by his government requisition haircut and the way he walked like he had a pole up his ass, Bullock decided that he had to have been a federal agent.
The fed took one look around the room, and zeroed in on him. Probably because he was the only one not wearing a uniform, and therefore the recognized authority.
Great, Bullock thought. Like I need this shit?
With a shake of his head, he kicked out a chair. “Detective? I’m Agent Hendrickson of the --” The fed was reaching for his ID, but stopped to look at the open chair. His gaze drifted back to Bullock with a question written all over it.
“I know you’re a fed. Don’t particularly care who. Why don’t you have a seat?”
“I’m here to pick up a prisoner.”
“Have a seat,” Bullock re-emphasized. He leaned forward, and pulled his keyboard to him. Since he obviously couldn’t nap in front of the fed, he may as well work on his back-log of reports. Starting with his account of The Joker’s latest clambake. “The Joker firebombed us last week. We’re running on a skeleton crew, and the captains are all in an emergency meeting with the commish. The rest of us are still trying to clean this place up. Trust me, kid. You’re going to be here a while.”
The fed looked at him in disbelief as he started to hunt-and-peck out his report. “By the way, is there an actual legal term for deadly assault with a cream pie?”
The agent blinked. “I don’t quite think you understand . . .”
He grinned over at the fed in a slightly sadistic manner. “No, I just don’t care.”
“What’s your name?” The agent’s voice took on a threatening tone.
“Bullock,” he said proudly. “Detective Harvey Bullock of the Gotham Major Crimes division. Major crimes - get it? Around here, it takes a lot to be a major crime. And I’m your best bet for help at the moment.”
The detective fixed him with a look that was probably guaranteed to make police officers in any other city across the country wet themselves. But this FBI fuckwad obviously hadn’t spent much time in Gotham. Working at other police departments was like taking a cruise compared to Gotham.
“I hope you know, Detective Bullock that I can arrange to have you busted down to traffic cop.”
Bullock gave him a cynical smile. “Could you? That’d be a nice vacation.” He turned back to his report. “By the way, is there a legal term for assault with a deadly elephant?”
***
Sam knew that a hunter's trunk didn't have to smell oily. Look at the Impala: Dean kept a good supply of motor, gun, bar and chain oil on hand at all times. Nor did it have to be a jumbled mess, as the weapons cache that they kept under the false bottom would proclaim.
“A place for everything, and everything in its place” was a rule that John had drilled into their heads from the moment that they were old enough to help him keep the place clean and neat.
Not that you could tell with the way Dean kept his dirty socks in the sink. But they kept their tools immaculate.
By contrast, Gordon Walker's own trunk was a mess. Things had been jammed in haphazardly. And to make things worse, Gordon could tell that Sam didn't approve.
Sam couldn't quite figure it out, but Gordon was taking every opportunity he could to pull Sam out of the trunk, and talk to him. He didn't seem like he really cared for an answer - even if he did pull the tape off Sam's mouth when he did pull him out. What he seemed interested in most was drawing his own conclusions about Dean and Dad and what it was like to grow up with them.
It was damned annoying. If Gordon would just leave Sam alone for three friggin' hours, Sam could easily slip his bonds, pick the lock of the trunk, and hot-foot it out of there. Sam really didn't think it was too much to ask for, but instead, he got to play Clarice to Gordon's Hannibal Lector.
Sam was rocked helplessly back against the side of an old tire as the pinto slowed. He heard footsteps, as Gordon came around to the trunk of the car. Sam sighed, and rolled his eyes. Here we go again.
The trunk popped open, leaving him blinking in the afternoon light.
“Good news, Sammy,” Gordon said. “I just got a call from Agent Hendrickson. Your brother turned himself in. So first thing tomorrow, we're going on a little trip out to Gotham.”
Sam frowned behind the gag. Gordon told Dean that he was going to turn Sam over to the police as soon as Dean turned himself in. So why were they going to Gotham?
His confusion must have shown in his eyes, because Gordon continued explaining as he helped Sam unfold his tall frame from the smushed ride in the trunk. “Agent Hendrickson wants me to turn you directly over to him. That way, Dean doesn't try something funny. Me? I just want the chance to look Dean in the eye and find out how he feels, knowing that I'm the one who stole his freedom away.”
Inwardly, he was seething that Gordon had managed to get the drop on him. Now Dean was in jail as a result. He glared at the shorter hunter, and resolved in his mind that Dean wasn't going to suffer because of him.
Gordon sat Sam down in an uncomfortable straight-backed chair, and added another layer of rope to hold him there. Then he pulled the tape away from Sam's mouth.
“You know, this revenge thing is very Sideshow Bob of you,” Sam said with a shake of his head.
Walker gave him an odd look and sat down to clean his guns. Sam watched for a little while. Walker did a fair job, in his estimation. But not nearly as thorough as Dean would have.
“What?” Walker looked up, and frowned at Sam.
“Nothing,” Sam said.
“No, not nothing.” Gordon waved the gun at Sam. “You're sitting over there judging me. What's wrong?”
“Dean uses bronze brushes to clean his guns,” Sam said.
“Yeah?” Gordon gave him a so what look.
“You're using stainless steel. That can damage the barrel.”
“No it won't,” Gordon said. “Look --”
“The bristles are looped, I know.” Sam cut him off. “So not only will it damage your barrel, but you have to work harder to clean it.”
“Stainless brushes last longer,” Gordon argued.
“Maybe,” Sam said. “But Dean says that it's a lot less costly than having a gun malfunction when you've got a werewolf bearing down on you.”
“Right. Like you've seen a werewolf.”
“A few years back,” Sam said sourly. He cursed his own big mouth. Werewolves had been a taboo subject around the Impala ever since Madison.
“Really?” Gordon leaned forward, an eager expression on his face. “What happened?”
“He was hunting prostitutes every full moon,” Sam said. He completely left Madison out of the story. He didn’t even want Gordon knowing her name. “Dean found him, and shot him.”
“It,” Gordon corrected Sam.
“What?” Sam asked in confusion.
“The werewolf,” Gordon said patiently. “You called it a him.”
“Considering that he didn't even know he was a werewolf, I think I'm pretty justified in calling him a him,” Sam said.
“Really?” Gordon chuckled. “Did I hear that right, Sammy? It was a mindless killing machine during the full moon, and it didn't even know it?”
“And don't call me Sammy,” Sam said. He breathed deeply in an attempt to calm down. Walker had always been good at punching his buttons.
“That's right, only Dean gets to call you that.” Walker grinned at him. “Well, Dean ain't here, is he? His ass is in prison in Gotham, and it's going to rot in prison. And in a few days, you'll be right there next to him.”
“I'll be in better company than I am here,” Sam said.
“Just don't drop the soap,” Gordon chuckled.
“Speaking from experience?”
Gordon frowned. Then, without warning, he lashed out. The hand holding the gun came smashing down on Sam's left cheek. Sam rolled with the punch, letting most of the impact glance off of him. He came up with a bloody cheek, and stared full-on at Gordon's cold, stony expression.
“You'll get your turn,” Gordon said. He sat down and calmly resumed cleaning his gun.