81 Days: Part 1 (Torchwood/Supernatural)
Title: 81 Days
Author: philote_auctor
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Dean Winchester is 81 days older than he should be. But he has no proof of that since he lived those days misplaced in the timeline, working with an institution few people would believe exists.
Disclaimer: The characters and situations of Supernatural and Torchwood do not belong to me. I make no money from this story. Please don’t sue.
Prompt: #173-What cases was Dean working whilst Sam was in school?
Spoilers: Through “Skin” for Supernatural; only the pilot for Torchwood.
Author’s Note: This was written for the tw_exchange. While I’ve written several Supernatural stories, this is my first outing for Torchwood. This is part 1, hopefully the rest will follow shortly.
oOo
Day 1
It was really a pretty simple hunt. All he had to accomplish was a nice, straightforward salt-and-burn. Then the small Georgia town would be rid of the ornery old spirit who refused to leave her mansion despite her death two months before.
It was simple enough, in fact, that his father had gone on to investigate a possible poltergeist a couple hundred miles down the road, leaving Dean with his first real solo job.
And so it was that he found himself alone behind the old church in the town cemetery, flashlight clenched between his teeth as he broke into Margaret Macdonald’s crypt. The Winchesters were not unaccustomed to digging up graves, but Dean had developed a real appreciation for mausoleum users. It was truly considerate of them to leave their bones above ground for him. No shovels necessary; just a crowbar to break the lock and a little shove to a lid and he was in business.
The door swung open easily enough. He snagged the flashlight with his fingers as he stepped inside, casting a quick look around. He hesitated, then snorted softly as he took in all of the stuff crammed into the corners. Granted, he didn’t have a lot of experience with the rich and famous. But it never ceased to amaze him what people had placed with their bodies, as if they could take it with them. Or, at the very least, keep anyone else from having it.
Most of it looked like antiques, probably pricey ones. He could keep himself in fancy hotel rooms for a while with a few of those. But his eye caught on something different than the rest, glinting from its position stuffed into the back corner. It was a box; fairly small, with a metallic-looking coating and what appeared to be a little keyboard on the side.
He’d never seen anything quite like it. It definitely looked too modern for this place. Sam was the more technology-savvy one; he might have recognized it. But his little brother wasn’t here.
Not that Dean was bitter about that. Not at all.
Sammy had been gone for a few months now; Dean could certainly function without him. He was just as smart, anyway. He didn’t need Stanford to tell him that.
He knelt beside the thing, examining it, not yet touching. He was pretty well versed in occult symbolism, but he didn’t recognize any of the little squiggles on the keys. He glanced uneasily between the object and the coffin where the body rested, a tendril of worry creeping into his gut. Had he misjudged this case? Was his simple spirit involved with something more sinister?
All the more reason to get rid of it, and soon. He stood, his movements a bit more wary now. He thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye and spun the light towards it, but by the time it was illuminated there was nothing there. He swallowed; told himself he was just jumpy because he was unaccustomed to being without backup. He stuck the flashlight back between his teeth and shrugged out of his pack, digging for the matches.
It popped out from thin air, literally. One moment he was headed purposefully for the coffin and the next there was a very irate little old lady between him and it. He jerked backwards in surprise, and stumbled. He had only a moment to register that he’d tripped over a little statue that had definitely not been there before. Then he hit the ground and the hand he’d thrown out to catch himself came down hard-right on top of the oddly inscribed keys.
The world exploded in a brilliant flash of light.
oOo
Day 2
When he first cracked his eyes open, the light was still unbearably bright. He shut them tightly again as he slowly came back to his senses. He felt odd, disoriented; his head hurt and his body felt unduly heavy.
He tried to rouse himself enough to take stock and risked slowly opening his eyes again. He was lying on a flat, uncomfortable table. His clothes were gone, replaced by a short, flimsy gown. He squinted up at the bright light and took in the sterile atmosphere. Was he in a hospital?
He pushed up onto his elbows to study the room. It had a medical feel with the tiled floor and instruments nearby, but the large drawers bothered him.
It didn’t look like an exam room; it looked like a morgue. Which raised a slightly more worrisome option-was he dead? In his experience, things that woke up on morgue slabs didn’t tend to be human anymore.
Maybe he was having a nightmare. He pinched a chunk of skin on his forearm, but was just left wincing and looking at the same surroundings.
Of course, there was another possibility. A cliché, really. Bright flash of light, waking disoriented in a strange, sterile room. It had the makings of every bad alien abduction tale he’d ever heard.
But, although he’d heard plenty of stories, none had ever proven true. He didn’t believe in aliens. So he had absolutely not been abducted by one. No way. Still…he kind of preferred it to the dead theory.
“Hey, look who’s up. You’ve been out for nearly 14 hours. We were starting to worry.”
Dean’s attention swung to the left, where he found a tall, dark-haired man descending the stairs. He shot upright, intent on facing the threat, and had to clench his hands on the edge of the table as his head throbbed and left him horribly woozy. His vision wavered and he wobbled precariously.
“Whoa, take it easy, kid.”
A hand grasped his elbow and he shoved it away, trying to brace himself for a fight. “Who the hell are you?”
“Captain Jack Harkness, at your service. The more interesting question is, who are you?” Jack reached to pull something off the nearby countertop and flipped it open, and it took Dean a long, fuzzy moment to recognize his own wallet. He watched as Jack flipped through multiple credit cards, reading off the names. “Ted Nugent, Alan Buchowitz, Hector Aframian; the list goes on and gets rather creative.” He flipped the leather flap closed and gave Dean a smirk. “Which one would you like us to call you?”
Dean blinked hard a couple of times, still trying to focus. “You can pick,” he offered snidely.
“I could, but then it would be so difficult to learn more about you.”
“Maybe we should start with you, and why you brought me here.”
Jack shrugged. “Sure. But I didn’t bring you here. You just showed up.”
“Yeah, right. I think I’d remember that. What do you want?”
“I just want to help you. Unless of course you’re here for some unpleasant purpose; then I’m afraid my motives would have to become unpleasant as well.”
Dean’s head was spinning, but he knew one thing. He didn’t trust this Jack guy as far as he could throw him. So the first step, the only step at the moment, was to get out of here.
He scanned his surroundings with long-practiced ease, sizing up threats, escape routes, and possible weapons. The only way out seemed to be the short staircase, and Jack was between him and it. But there was a tray of medical instruments on the nearby counter, the bright light glinting off a sharp scalpel.
He returned his attention to Jack. “Where are my clothes?”
“Yeah, sorry about that. We had to make sure you were human.”
Dean was afraid to ask what exactly that had entailed. He shifted, subtly testing his limbs and finding that no, he hadn’t even been spared his socks or underwear. “Are you a doctor, Jack?”
“Oh, hell no.” He paused after the adamant reaction before adding, “Though I suppose I could be. I’ve certainly had enough time. But, no. Our team medic checked you out.”
“Team?” He recalled the introduction and added, “Captain of what?”
Jack ignored him. “You’ll be happy to know that we think you’re going to be fine. No injuries to speak of; normal brainwave patterns.”
“So I was unconscious for a day for no reason.”
“Half a day. And I’m sure you had your reasons.”
This conversation was making his headache worse. He decided that he was probably as steady as he was going to get, and went into action. When he hopped to the floor, there was a terrible moment when the adrenaline rush on top of his weakness left him breathless. Sheer force of will kept him from passing out.
Jack was caught off guard, but he stepped closer with a hand outstretched. Whether he meant to offer support or restraint Dean didn’t know, and didn’t wait to find out. He dodged to the left, grabbing the scalpel in one smooth motion and spinning back with the intention of simply using it to threaten.
One problem with that plan-Jack seemed disinclined to go for it, and it turned out that he was no slouch of a fighter. Normally Dean might have been a match for him, but he wasn’t exactly in stellar condition. He soon gave up pretenses and resorted to the scalpel.
Dean aimed for torso but Jack brought a hand up at the last second, and with the force of the blow the blade drove clear through his palm.
Jack swore and clutched the hand. Dean didn’t stick around to see any more than a spurt of blood. For good measure he aimed a punch at Jack’s left eye, then turned and dashed up the stairs as the man staggered. He made it out the doorway and stopped in his tracks.
This was definitely not a hospital.
In fact it was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. The room was huge, open to multiple levels, but there were no windows. It vaguely resembled a factory at first glance. But there were several desks, some with strange objects resting on them.
And the ceiling went up, and up…and unless his eyes were playing tricks, there was something swooping around up there. He jerked his attention back down, looking for the quickest escape route.
He had a brief moment of panic when he couldn’t find a door. He actually jumped when a large, circular piece of metal across the space began to move, the bars in front of it swinging open. He took a steadying breath and made for it.
As he crossed the room it rolled completely open to reveal a younger man. His eyes were on the tray in his hands where two cups were balanced. He glanced up and stopped short, raising his eyebrows. “Sir?” he called over Dean’s head, a touch of worry in his tone.
Jack had apparently recovered enough to clamor up the stairs and into the main room. “Stop him, Ianto,” he barked.
Dean was unconcerned, pretty certain that he could take this guy even in his unsteady state. The man’s eyes widened a bit at the order, and he glanced between Dean and his tray. He waited until Dean made a move towards him, then unceremoniously dumped the cups on him.
Dean yelped as hot liquid seeped straight through thin cloth. The burning distracted him enough that he didn’t see the tray coming in time to move before it slammed into his head.
oOo
He woke to the same brightness as before, groaning as he squeezed his eyes shut.
“Well, that was fun. I’m surprised you were so anxious to be unconscious again, though.”
Dean decided it was worth opening his eyes to glare at Jack. He shifted to sit up and immediately discovered that things were a little different this time. Both his wrists were firmly cuffed to the table.
Jack continued as if they were having a perfectly civil encounter. He gestured to the man in the suit, who had apparently gone back to refill his tray and was now setting it down on the countertop. “This is Ianto.”
“Pleasure to meet you.” Ianto offered him a formal, polite smile. He had an accent that Dean couldn’t quite identify.
Jack watched him expectantly, finally prodding, “And you are…”
Dean just stared at him, jaw set.
Jack sighed. “Still not gonna give me a name? We’ll have to go with John Doe, then. I hate using that, it’s just so impersonal.”
Dean stubbornly kept his silence, jerking his wrist a bit to test the cuff.
“Sorry about those. We can’t have you trying to kill people and run off; you understand. Maybe now we can have an actual conversation, what do you say?”
Dean shot him an incredulous look. “What do I say? I’m half-naked, handcuffed to your autopsy table, and covered in…” he paused to peer suspiciously at the brown splotches now staining the hospital gown. “Is that tea?”
“The Welsh do like their tea.” Jack’s eyes swept his body in a way that made him want to squirm. “I’ve grown rather fond of it myself.”
“Welsh?”
“Cardiff, Wales.” When Dean looked at him blankly he added, “Little country called the United Kingdom?”
“Europe? You’re telling me I crossed an ocean while I was unconscious?”
“I don’t think you came by way of the ocean, but I suppose you’ve got the idea.”
“That’s crazy. I don’t buy it.”
“You’re American.”
“Just like you,” Dean pointed out. He flicked his fingers towards Ianto, which was the best he could manage in the way of pointing. “Just because you have a little British butler doesn’t mean we’re in England.”
“Wales,” Jack corrected patiently. “So where were you exactly? Just before you lost consciousness?”
He started to answer, then thought better of it and just glowered. “I’m not telling you anything. If you can’t remember where you kidnapped me from, that’s your problem.”
Jack sighed softly and leaned his hip against the table, every bit of his body language suggesting that he was a patient man…one who would not go away without answers. He smiled that disarming grin once more. “John Doe. Can I call you John? You can trust me, John.”
Dean rolled his eyes, and regretted it when it made his head pound. “My father is going to be looking for me.” He hated it the second it came out, because he sounded like a five-year-old. He was 22; he shouldn’t still take so much comfort in the idea that his Daddy could beat this guy up.
Even if he totally could.
Jack seemed unconcerned. “Hey, we didn’t abduct you. You just appeared in our basement.”
“Oh, sure. I suppose people just do that all the time.”
“Devices, alien artifacts, terrifying creatures; sure. People, not so much. It does happen though, on occasion.”
Dean squinted at him, trying to decide just how much of that Jack actually believed to be truth. Finally he just latched onto the most interesting part. “Creatures? What sort of creatures?”
Jack arched an eyebrow and replied with a perfectly straight face, “The alien kind.”
Dean scoffed. “Yeah, right.”
“Why don’t you tell me about your father?”
“Sure. I like to share details about my family with psychotic strangers.”
Jack’s lips quirked again as he shook his head. “Okay. Well, we’re clearly not going to get anywhere tonight. Would you like to stay here as you are, or can you behave for a little trip downstairs?”
“Why? Is that where you keep the stocks?”
“We’ve probably got some of those somewhere, if you prefer. But I was planning to offer you a nice little locked room. I’ll even throw in your clothes as a bonus.”
Dean narrowed his eyes at Jack. He didn’t like this situation at all. He didn’t like not knowing how he’d gotten here or what they wanted from him. But he usually had a good sense about people, and while he got the impression that Jack could be plenty dangerous if he wanted to be, he didn’t seem to have ill intent towards Dean. His head hurt, he was tired, this room was seriously creeping him out, and the table was hard and cold. “Fine,” he finally answered.
Jack fished out a key and came closer, and it was a testament to Dean’s disorientation that he hadn’t noticed until then. “Hey…your hand…” He trailed off, staring at the perfectly healthy and whole flesh.
“What about it?” Jack asked casually, unlocking the cuff on his right wrist and tugging him upright.
Dean glanced to Ianto and then back to Jack. Both of them were staring at him innocently. “Nothing, apparently,” he murmured, wondering if he’d been wrong; if this was some bizarre dream after all.
But it felt real enough. Jack unlocked his other wrist and maneuvered him until he could cuff both hands behind his back. Dean grimaced. While it was a position he’d been in a few times, he still didn’t enjoy it. He allowed Jack to help him off the table and grasp his elbow, watching as the man grabbed his clothes from the nearby counter before leading him towards the staircase.
“Take off if you like,” Jack was saying to Ianto. “We’ll all be in bright and early to figure this out.”
Jack walked him up the stairs, out into the main area as Ianto headed back the way he’d come. Dean stared after him for a moment before turning to Jack. “I take it it’s nighttime?”
“Just after midnight,” Jack replied, leading him to another doorway Dean had missed before.
“You and the butler stay late?”
“Just for you, kid.” They descended more stairs into a dimly lit hallway. “You do realize that the man you’re mocking just took you out with a tray of tea?”
Dean just muttered something unintelligible under his breath. After the minute it took his eyes to adjust, he realized he was looking at a long row of cells.
The closest one was occupied. Dean peered at the creature. It stood upright like a human; it was even clothed. But the face looked like some grotesque Halloween mask. He’d seen a lot of things, but he’d never seen one quite like this. “What is it?” he asked as he stepped closer to the glass, interested. The thing made an abrupt movement, jumping towards him. His muscles tensed automatically in anticipation, but he didn’t flinch.
Jack glanced curiously between him and the creature. “We call them Weevils. It’s not from around here.”
“Let me guess. You think it came from a galaxy far, far away. Did you see its spaceship?”
“It is an alien, there’s no doubt about that. But I expect it came through the same way you did.”
“Oh, you kidnapped it too?”
Jack chuckled and grasped his elbow again, steering him a few yards further. “When I kidnap aliens, I like them a little prettier.” He stopped before the next cell, opened the door, and stood beside it with a grand sweeping gesture. “Your accommodations, sir. I do hope they meet your standards.”
The cell was cramped and poorly lit, furnished with only a cot against one wall, so it was a good thing Dean didn’t have much in the way of standards. He shot Jack an unhappy look but didn’t protest, walking in without complaint.
Jack removed the cuffs, then handed him his clothes before he closed and locked the door behind him. “I realize you’ve spent a lot of time unconscious, but you should still try to get some sleep,” he advised.
“Your concern is touching.”
“We’ll talk in the morning,” Jack promised as he headed off down the hall, though it was a bit more like a threat.
“You still haven’t told me what this place is!” Dean called after him.
Jack turned back to him briefly. “My apologies. Welcome to Torchwood, Mr. Doe.”
He hit the lights as he left, plunging the cells into darkness.
oOo
tbc
Author: philote_auctor
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Dean Winchester is 81 days older than he should be. But he has no proof of that since he lived those days misplaced in the timeline, working with an institution few people would believe exists.
Disclaimer: The characters and situations of Supernatural and Torchwood do not belong to me. I make no money from this story. Please don’t sue.
Prompt: #173-What cases was Dean working whilst Sam was in school?
Spoilers: Through “Skin” for Supernatural; only the pilot for Torchwood.
Author’s Note: This was written for the tw_exchange. While I’ve written several Supernatural stories, this is my first outing for Torchwood. This is part 1, hopefully the rest will follow shortly.
oOo
Day 1
It was really a pretty simple hunt. All he had to accomplish was a nice, straightforward salt-and-burn. Then the small Georgia town would be rid of the ornery old spirit who refused to leave her mansion despite her death two months before.
It was simple enough, in fact, that his father had gone on to investigate a possible poltergeist a couple hundred miles down the road, leaving Dean with his first real solo job.
And so it was that he found himself alone behind the old church in the town cemetery, flashlight clenched between his teeth as he broke into Margaret Macdonald’s crypt. The Winchesters were not unaccustomed to digging up graves, but Dean had developed a real appreciation for mausoleum users. It was truly considerate of them to leave their bones above ground for him. No shovels necessary; just a crowbar to break the lock and a little shove to a lid and he was in business.
The door swung open easily enough. He snagged the flashlight with his fingers as he stepped inside, casting a quick look around. He hesitated, then snorted softly as he took in all of the stuff crammed into the corners. Granted, he didn’t have a lot of experience with the rich and famous. But it never ceased to amaze him what people had placed with their bodies, as if they could take it with them. Or, at the very least, keep anyone else from having it.
Most of it looked like antiques, probably pricey ones. He could keep himself in fancy hotel rooms for a while with a few of those. But his eye caught on something different than the rest, glinting from its position stuffed into the back corner. It was a box; fairly small, with a metallic-looking coating and what appeared to be a little keyboard on the side.
He’d never seen anything quite like it. It definitely looked too modern for this place. Sam was the more technology-savvy one; he might have recognized it. But his little brother wasn’t here.
Not that Dean was bitter about that. Not at all.
Sammy had been gone for a few months now; Dean could certainly function without him. He was just as smart, anyway. He didn’t need Stanford to tell him that.
He knelt beside the thing, examining it, not yet touching. He was pretty well versed in occult symbolism, but he didn’t recognize any of the little squiggles on the keys. He glanced uneasily between the object and the coffin where the body rested, a tendril of worry creeping into his gut. Had he misjudged this case? Was his simple spirit involved with something more sinister?
All the more reason to get rid of it, and soon. He stood, his movements a bit more wary now. He thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye and spun the light towards it, but by the time it was illuminated there was nothing there. He swallowed; told himself he was just jumpy because he was unaccustomed to being without backup. He stuck the flashlight back between his teeth and shrugged out of his pack, digging for the matches.
It popped out from thin air, literally. One moment he was headed purposefully for the coffin and the next there was a very irate little old lady between him and it. He jerked backwards in surprise, and stumbled. He had only a moment to register that he’d tripped over a little statue that had definitely not been there before. Then he hit the ground and the hand he’d thrown out to catch himself came down hard-right on top of the oddly inscribed keys.
The world exploded in a brilliant flash of light.
oOo
Day 2
When he first cracked his eyes open, the light was still unbearably bright. He shut them tightly again as he slowly came back to his senses. He felt odd, disoriented; his head hurt and his body felt unduly heavy.
He tried to rouse himself enough to take stock and risked slowly opening his eyes again. He was lying on a flat, uncomfortable table. His clothes were gone, replaced by a short, flimsy gown. He squinted up at the bright light and took in the sterile atmosphere. Was he in a hospital?
He pushed up onto his elbows to study the room. It had a medical feel with the tiled floor and instruments nearby, but the large drawers bothered him.
It didn’t look like an exam room; it looked like a morgue. Which raised a slightly more worrisome option-was he dead? In his experience, things that woke up on morgue slabs didn’t tend to be human anymore.
Maybe he was having a nightmare. He pinched a chunk of skin on his forearm, but was just left wincing and looking at the same surroundings.
Of course, there was another possibility. A cliché, really. Bright flash of light, waking disoriented in a strange, sterile room. It had the makings of every bad alien abduction tale he’d ever heard.
But, although he’d heard plenty of stories, none had ever proven true. He didn’t believe in aliens. So he had absolutely not been abducted by one. No way. Still…he kind of preferred it to the dead theory.
“Hey, look who’s up. You’ve been out for nearly 14 hours. We were starting to worry.”
Dean’s attention swung to the left, where he found a tall, dark-haired man descending the stairs. He shot upright, intent on facing the threat, and had to clench his hands on the edge of the table as his head throbbed and left him horribly woozy. His vision wavered and he wobbled precariously.
“Whoa, take it easy, kid.”
A hand grasped his elbow and he shoved it away, trying to brace himself for a fight. “Who the hell are you?”
“Captain Jack Harkness, at your service. The more interesting question is, who are you?” Jack reached to pull something off the nearby countertop and flipped it open, and it took Dean a long, fuzzy moment to recognize his own wallet. He watched as Jack flipped through multiple credit cards, reading off the names. “Ted Nugent, Alan Buchowitz, Hector Aframian; the list goes on and gets rather creative.” He flipped the leather flap closed and gave Dean a smirk. “Which one would you like us to call you?”
Dean blinked hard a couple of times, still trying to focus. “You can pick,” he offered snidely.
“I could, but then it would be so difficult to learn more about you.”
“Maybe we should start with you, and why you brought me here.”
Jack shrugged. “Sure. But I didn’t bring you here. You just showed up.”
“Yeah, right. I think I’d remember that. What do you want?”
“I just want to help you. Unless of course you’re here for some unpleasant purpose; then I’m afraid my motives would have to become unpleasant as well.”
Dean’s head was spinning, but he knew one thing. He didn’t trust this Jack guy as far as he could throw him. So the first step, the only step at the moment, was to get out of here.
He scanned his surroundings with long-practiced ease, sizing up threats, escape routes, and possible weapons. The only way out seemed to be the short staircase, and Jack was between him and it. But there was a tray of medical instruments on the nearby counter, the bright light glinting off a sharp scalpel.
He returned his attention to Jack. “Where are my clothes?”
“Yeah, sorry about that. We had to make sure you were human.”
Dean was afraid to ask what exactly that had entailed. He shifted, subtly testing his limbs and finding that no, he hadn’t even been spared his socks or underwear. “Are you a doctor, Jack?”
“Oh, hell no.” He paused after the adamant reaction before adding, “Though I suppose I could be. I’ve certainly had enough time. But, no. Our team medic checked you out.”
“Team?” He recalled the introduction and added, “Captain of what?”
Jack ignored him. “You’ll be happy to know that we think you’re going to be fine. No injuries to speak of; normal brainwave patterns.”
“So I was unconscious for a day for no reason.”
“Half a day. And I’m sure you had your reasons.”
This conversation was making his headache worse. He decided that he was probably as steady as he was going to get, and went into action. When he hopped to the floor, there was a terrible moment when the adrenaline rush on top of his weakness left him breathless. Sheer force of will kept him from passing out.
Jack was caught off guard, but he stepped closer with a hand outstretched. Whether he meant to offer support or restraint Dean didn’t know, and didn’t wait to find out. He dodged to the left, grabbing the scalpel in one smooth motion and spinning back with the intention of simply using it to threaten.
One problem with that plan-Jack seemed disinclined to go for it, and it turned out that he was no slouch of a fighter. Normally Dean might have been a match for him, but he wasn’t exactly in stellar condition. He soon gave up pretenses and resorted to the scalpel.
Dean aimed for torso but Jack brought a hand up at the last second, and with the force of the blow the blade drove clear through his palm.
Jack swore and clutched the hand. Dean didn’t stick around to see any more than a spurt of blood. For good measure he aimed a punch at Jack’s left eye, then turned and dashed up the stairs as the man staggered. He made it out the doorway and stopped in his tracks.
This was definitely not a hospital.
In fact it was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. The room was huge, open to multiple levels, but there were no windows. It vaguely resembled a factory at first glance. But there were several desks, some with strange objects resting on them.
And the ceiling went up, and up…and unless his eyes were playing tricks, there was something swooping around up there. He jerked his attention back down, looking for the quickest escape route.
He had a brief moment of panic when he couldn’t find a door. He actually jumped when a large, circular piece of metal across the space began to move, the bars in front of it swinging open. He took a steadying breath and made for it.
As he crossed the room it rolled completely open to reveal a younger man. His eyes were on the tray in his hands where two cups were balanced. He glanced up and stopped short, raising his eyebrows. “Sir?” he called over Dean’s head, a touch of worry in his tone.
Jack had apparently recovered enough to clamor up the stairs and into the main room. “Stop him, Ianto,” he barked.
Dean was unconcerned, pretty certain that he could take this guy even in his unsteady state. The man’s eyes widened a bit at the order, and he glanced between Dean and his tray. He waited until Dean made a move towards him, then unceremoniously dumped the cups on him.
Dean yelped as hot liquid seeped straight through thin cloth. The burning distracted him enough that he didn’t see the tray coming in time to move before it slammed into his head.
oOo
He woke to the same brightness as before, groaning as he squeezed his eyes shut.
“Well, that was fun. I’m surprised you were so anxious to be unconscious again, though.”
Dean decided it was worth opening his eyes to glare at Jack. He shifted to sit up and immediately discovered that things were a little different this time. Both his wrists were firmly cuffed to the table.
Jack continued as if they were having a perfectly civil encounter. He gestured to the man in the suit, who had apparently gone back to refill his tray and was now setting it down on the countertop. “This is Ianto.”
“Pleasure to meet you.” Ianto offered him a formal, polite smile. He had an accent that Dean couldn’t quite identify.
Jack watched him expectantly, finally prodding, “And you are…”
Dean just stared at him, jaw set.
Jack sighed. “Still not gonna give me a name? We’ll have to go with John Doe, then. I hate using that, it’s just so impersonal.”
Dean stubbornly kept his silence, jerking his wrist a bit to test the cuff.
“Sorry about those. We can’t have you trying to kill people and run off; you understand. Maybe now we can have an actual conversation, what do you say?”
Dean shot him an incredulous look. “What do I say? I’m half-naked, handcuffed to your autopsy table, and covered in…” he paused to peer suspiciously at the brown splotches now staining the hospital gown. “Is that tea?”
“The Welsh do like their tea.” Jack’s eyes swept his body in a way that made him want to squirm. “I’ve grown rather fond of it myself.”
“Welsh?”
“Cardiff, Wales.” When Dean looked at him blankly he added, “Little country called the United Kingdom?”
“Europe? You’re telling me I crossed an ocean while I was unconscious?”
“I don’t think you came by way of the ocean, but I suppose you’ve got the idea.”
“That’s crazy. I don’t buy it.”
“You’re American.”
“Just like you,” Dean pointed out. He flicked his fingers towards Ianto, which was the best he could manage in the way of pointing. “Just because you have a little British butler doesn’t mean we’re in England.”
“Wales,” Jack corrected patiently. “So where were you exactly? Just before you lost consciousness?”
He started to answer, then thought better of it and just glowered. “I’m not telling you anything. If you can’t remember where you kidnapped me from, that’s your problem.”
Jack sighed softly and leaned his hip against the table, every bit of his body language suggesting that he was a patient man…one who would not go away without answers. He smiled that disarming grin once more. “John Doe. Can I call you John? You can trust me, John.”
Dean rolled his eyes, and regretted it when it made his head pound. “My father is going to be looking for me.” He hated it the second it came out, because he sounded like a five-year-old. He was 22; he shouldn’t still take so much comfort in the idea that his Daddy could beat this guy up.
Even if he totally could.
Jack seemed unconcerned. “Hey, we didn’t abduct you. You just appeared in our basement.”
“Oh, sure. I suppose people just do that all the time.”
“Devices, alien artifacts, terrifying creatures; sure. People, not so much. It does happen though, on occasion.”
Dean squinted at him, trying to decide just how much of that Jack actually believed to be truth. Finally he just latched onto the most interesting part. “Creatures? What sort of creatures?”
Jack arched an eyebrow and replied with a perfectly straight face, “The alien kind.”
Dean scoffed. “Yeah, right.”
“Why don’t you tell me about your father?”
“Sure. I like to share details about my family with psychotic strangers.”
Jack’s lips quirked again as he shook his head. “Okay. Well, we’re clearly not going to get anywhere tonight. Would you like to stay here as you are, or can you behave for a little trip downstairs?”
“Why? Is that where you keep the stocks?”
“We’ve probably got some of those somewhere, if you prefer. But I was planning to offer you a nice little locked room. I’ll even throw in your clothes as a bonus.”
Dean narrowed his eyes at Jack. He didn’t like this situation at all. He didn’t like not knowing how he’d gotten here or what they wanted from him. But he usually had a good sense about people, and while he got the impression that Jack could be plenty dangerous if he wanted to be, he didn’t seem to have ill intent towards Dean. His head hurt, he was tired, this room was seriously creeping him out, and the table was hard and cold. “Fine,” he finally answered.
Jack fished out a key and came closer, and it was a testament to Dean’s disorientation that he hadn’t noticed until then. “Hey…your hand…” He trailed off, staring at the perfectly healthy and whole flesh.
“What about it?” Jack asked casually, unlocking the cuff on his right wrist and tugging him upright.
Dean glanced to Ianto and then back to Jack. Both of them were staring at him innocently. “Nothing, apparently,” he murmured, wondering if he’d been wrong; if this was some bizarre dream after all.
But it felt real enough. Jack unlocked his other wrist and maneuvered him until he could cuff both hands behind his back. Dean grimaced. While it was a position he’d been in a few times, he still didn’t enjoy it. He allowed Jack to help him off the table and grasp his elbow, watching as the man grabbed his clothes from the nearby counter before leading him towards the staircase.
“Take off if you like,” Jack was saying to Ianto. “We’ll all be in bright and early to figure this out.”
Jack walked him up the stairs, out into the main area as Ianto headed back the way he’d come. Dean stared after him for a moment before turning to Jack. “I take it it’s nighttime?”
“Just after midnight,” Jack replied, leading him to another doorway Dean had missed before.
“You and the butler stay late?”
“Just for you, kid.” They descended more stairs into a dimly lit hallway. “You do realize that the man you’re mocking just took you out with a tray of tea?”
Dean just muttered something unintelligible under his breath. After the minute it took his eyes to adjust, he realized he was looking at a long row of cells.
The closest one was occupied. Dean peered at the creature. It stood upright like a human; it was even clothed. But the face looked like some grotesque Halloween mask. He’d seen a lot of things, but he’d never seen one quite like this. “What is it?” he asked as he stepped closer to the glass, interested. The thing made an abrupt movement, jumping towards him. His muscles tensed automatically in anticipation, but he didn’t flinch.
Jack glanced curiously between him and the creature. “We call them Weevils. It’s not from around here.”
“Let me guess. You think it came from a galaxy far, far away. Did you see its spaceship?”
“It is an alien, there’s no doubt about that. But I expect it came through the same way you did.”
“Oh, you kidnapped it too?”
Jack chuckled and grasped his elbow again, steering him a few yards further. “When I kidnap aliens, I like them a little prettier.” He stopped before the next cell, opened the door, and stood beside it with a grand sweeping gesture. “Your accommodations, sir. I do hope they meet your standards.”
The cell was cramped and poorly lit, furnished with only a cot against one wall, so it was a good thing Dean didn’t have much in the way of standards. He shot Jack an unhappy look but didn’t protest, walking in without complaint.
Jack removed the cuffs, then handed him his clothes before he closed and locked the door behind him. “I realize you’ve spent a lot of time unconscious, but you should still try to get some sleep,” he advised.
“Your concern is touching.”
“We’ll talk in the morning,” Jack promised as he headed off down the hall, though it was a bit more like a threat.
“You still haven’t told me what this place is!” Dean called after him.
Jack turned back to him briefly. “My apologies. Welcome to Torchwood, Mr. Doe.”
He hit the lights as he left, plunging the cells into darkness.
oOo
tbc