[FIC] The Division | Chapter 3
Title: The Division
Beta: none
Rating: 14-A
Spoilers: Everything up to 8.01 in Supernatural and everything up to 3.02 in Nikita
Warnings: None
Genre: Action, case fic, crossover
Word count: 3202 so far
Summary: Sam and Dean are investigating demonic omens of the bovidae type when they're suddenly surrounded by people with guns. They are taken in to what appears to be a super secret spy base. It's all normal interrogations 101 until demons decide to crash the party.
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters. This is a work of fiction. No profit is being made off of this work.
Read elsewhere: AO3 (chapter 3)
Chapters 1-2
No matter how much Sam concentrates and prays, he knows it’s not going to be enough. Castiel isn’t here and every other angel that might have ever considered helping them is gone. Dead.
He closes his eyes as the man stares at him. Maybe if he can sleep, he can find Castiel in a dream and tell him where he is.
The thought scares him. The only angel that ever visited him in his dreams was Lucifer and he really doesn’t want to be thinking about that.
Sam really just wants to sleep.
- - -
She enters the room. The room is cold and the man is breathing deeply. At first she thought Michael was right--that he was was sleeping--but as she looks closer, she saw his eyes move and caught a flash of white. If anything, it looks like he was trying to sleep, but couldn't.
She shut the door behind her and strode over to the table. Nikita's shoes click against the floor and it seems to rouse their prisoner from his attempted sleep. Like his brother, Sam Winchester was handcuffed to the chair. Nikita’s hands itched to slam the chair down on the floor to get his attention, but both were bolted to the floor. Instead, she had to settle for slamming her hands down on the table.
He jerks his head up and gave her a sharp glare, but said nothing.
Nikita tilts her head to one side and smiles.
For some reason, this makes him widen his eyes.
“Christo,” he mutters. Nikita frowns.
“So you’re a religious man,” Nikita says.
“Not quite,” he replies. He tightens his lips into a thin line and watches her warily from behind his long hair. She had the feeling that he wants to brush it aside, but since his hands were otherwise occupied, he had to glare at her like an overemotional teenager. Well, at least he hadn’t dyed his hair black.
“I’m sure Michael’s already told you: we know, Sam.” She pauses, hoping that he would fill in the blanks.
“Not really,” he sighs. He leans back and rests his elbows on the arms of the chair. “He just sat there and watched me,” Sam replies, jerking his head to the chair.
Nikita walks around behind her chair and rests her palms on the back. “So you don’t know then,” she muses softly. “Well, we know about the murders, the assaults, the robberies, and the grave desecration.”
“Naturally,” he replies. She’s not sure if he’s being serious or sarcastic. She leans down, but he has his head tilted down to the floor.
“It’s a bit unnatural, wouldn’t you think? You’re dead, and yet here you look very much alive to me.” Nikita’s no stranger to the world of faked deaths, but faking your own death twice is a bit much-for a civilian, at least.
His laugh surprises her.
“Yeah,” he says, and then falls silent.
“From what I can tell, you were hunting someone: someone who’s been killing those cattle,” Nikita begins, “but what I can’t understand is why.”
“Why is a human life worth so much more than an animal’s?” he asks. This time, he leans forward and his look is earnest. It’s almost as if he believes this.
“We eat beef. Why are these any different?” she asks.
He shrugs and then leans back.
This wasn’t going anywhere. She glances up to the camera in the corner. She’s exasperated and she doesn’t understand why they’re here.
Birkhoff’s voice chimes in her ear: “remember Nikki: new Division; you can’t torture these guys.”
Nikita wishes there was another way to extract information from them. All she wants is the truth: no more deflection and no more jackass remarks. But she also knows that no interrogation is that easy. She can’t let this wear her down. She just hopes Michael is having better luck.
- - -
“Dean Winchester,” he drawls. His lips are pursed when he sits down in the chair.
“You,” Dean drawls in response, since he doesn’t know the guy’s name. “Hey, you think I could get some water? Or whiskey? Maybe both? I’m kinda parched.” He grins.
Michael frowns at him. “No,” he replies flatly. “Why were you out in those fields?”
“Getting me some tasty burgers,” Dean snarks. “Well, not yet. Gotta kill ‘em and then get them out. That’s where our plan hit a snag.” He grins and leans back in the chair.
Michael’s not sure which point to go after first: the fact that they were armed to the teeth with weapons, wandering around a field five miles from the nearest road, and had no way of transporting anything. But Michael also recognizes a diversion when he sees one.
“Right,” Michael replies. “From what I understand, animal murder isn’t your normal MO.”
“Only on full moons. Gotta pray to our overlord Satan and all.” It seems as though Dean forgets that he’s joking, because halfway through, his shit-eating grin starts to falter.
“Right,” Michael says, drawing out the vowels. “So lets discuss why you were really out there: we found you wandering-”
The lights flicker once, twice, three times.
Dean’s grin disappears entirely.
Michael glances up to the camera in the ceiling of the room and frowns.
“No idea, shit, shit, shit,” Birkhoff shouts into his ear. The earpiece screeches and Michael flinches.
“Okay man, it looks better. No idea what just happened. It should be okay,” Birkhoff says.
Michael is silent.
Birkhoff speaks: “Okay, so I pulled up some of their files from when Dean was apparently buried and-”
Birkhoff is gone and his voice is replaced by a static fuzz.
Michael pretends that he has just received important information and he stands up and quickly exits the room. Once outside, he sees Nikita has exited the room as well.
“What do you think?” he asks.
“Attack on Division?” she asks. “They’ve got some sort of frequency jammer on them and more are coming,” she hypothesizes.
“We patted them down when we took them in. There were no wires. We didn’t miss anything,” he points out.
“Okay, so what? The lights flickered, our comm’s are down, what the hell is going on?”
“Guys! Hey, Nikita, Michael, something’s causing our communications to go nuts.” Alex’s heels click loudly against the hard floors.
“Why? What’s going on?”
“Honestly? Birkhoff’s stumped. He can’t figure it out. Something’s screwing everything up. The screens are on the fritz and it’s-holy shit!” Alex strides over to the room where Sam is sitting. “Guys, he’s drawing something on the table and-oh that is nasty!” She revoils and looks at Nikita.
Nikita and Michael peer over her shoulder through the window next to the door. Sam is drawing something inside of a circle with what looks to be his own blood.
For a second, nothing happens. Then Nikita, Alex, and Michael all begin arguing.
“We need to go in there,” Nikita demands and then reaches out to open the door.
“Wait!” Alex intercepts Nikita and tries to grab Nikita’s hand. Habit forces Nikita to jerk her hand back and she pauses before she drops her hands to her sides.
“What?” she demands.
Alex steps back and Nikita does the same so that Michael can be included in their group.
“Birkhoff was trying to tell you guys something before he got cut off. When Dean and Sam were in prison, their medical files said that they each had tattoos on their chests in the shape of a star surrounded by flames. If these are really Sam and Dean Winchester, they should have that tattoo.”
“Thanks Alex,” Nikita says. She opens the door and enters the room with Sam Winchester.
“Stop that,” she says immediately. Whatever it is, it can’t be good. After all, he’s drawing it in his blood. The first thing any sane, rational person would do is demand that such behaviour cease immediately.
His hands freeze. He doesn’t look up. His eyes are hidden underneath a wave of hair.
“What are you drawing?” Nikita asks cautiously.
“Protection,” he grunts.
“Well, stop that,” she replies. She doesn’t know if she should believe him or not. His hands hover over the circle and then he leans back. He clasps his right hand over his left palm to stop the bleeding.
“Unbutton your shirt,” she demands. Sam gives her a confused look, but tries to comply regardless. He lets go of his left hand and tries to reach up with his hands, but is stopped by the handcuffs.
“A hand?” he asks.
“Lean forward,” she replies. He grunts in annoyance, but follows along anyhow. He unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt.
“Okay,” he says. “Happy?”
“Show me the tattoo,” she demands. He sighs and pulls the opening of his shirt down. Nothing.
“Other side,” she amends. He looks worried. Slowly, the tattoo is revealed underneath a sea of plaid.
“So you really are Sam Winchester then,” she says as he yanks his shirt down and slouches in the chair. “Tell me: why are you here?”
“You’re in danger.” His voice is quiet and he’s looking at the circle of blood.
“No Sam, I don’t think we’re the ones you should be worried about,” she replies, trying to sound soothing and warm. It doesn’t seem to work because he jerks his head up and leans forward.
“You don’t know what’s out there. The flickering lights, your feeds not working, your little earpieces-that’s the beginning. It’s just going to get worse.” He speaks with such conviction that Nikita knows that he believes this.
“So you’re working with someone,” Nikita says. She leans forward. Finally she’s getting somewhere.
“No, we’re trying to stop them. We can’t do this here.” He raises his hands, still shackled, to demonstrate his point.
“Who’s after us?”
Sam doesn’t answer.
“Sam.” Nikita leans forward. “What’s going on? I know you’re a good man, Sam Winchester. You can tell me. We can help. Whatever you’re fighting-those people who’re killing the animals-we can help you. But only if you let us.”
Sam shakes his head. “You don’t understand. They’re not here for you. They’re here for us.”
The lights flicker again and then go out completely. Sam and Nikita are thrust into a world of darkness. It’s deadly silent. He hears someone open the door.
“Nikita! Quick! Something-”
The lights flicker back on. Nikita is standing over the unconscious body of a brunette woman.
“You’re right,” Nikita says. “We are here for you.”
Beta: none
Rating: 14-A
Spoilers: Everything up to 8.01 in Supernatural and everything up to 3.02 in Nikita
Warnings: None
Genre: Action, case fic, crossover
Word count: 3202 so far
Summary: Sam and Dean are investigating demonic omens of the bovidae type when they're suddenly surrounded by people with guns. They are taken in to what appears to be a super secret spy base. It's all normal interrogations 101 until demons decide to crash the party.
Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural or its characters. This is a work of fiction. No profit is being made off of this work.
Read elsewhere: AO3 (chapter 3)
Chapters 1-2
No matter how much Sam concentrates and prays, he knows it’s not going to be enough. Castiel isn’t here and every other angel that might have ever considered helping them is gone. Dead.
He closes his eyes as the man stares at him. Maybe if he can sleep, he can find Castiel in a dream and tell him where he is.
The thought scares him. The only angel that ever visited him in his dreams was Lucifer and he really doesn’t want to be thinking about that.
Sam really just wants to sleep.
- - -
She enters the room. The room is cold and the man is breathing deeply. At first she thought Michael was right--that he was was sleeping--but as she looks closer, she saw his eyes move and caught a flash of white. If anything, it looks like he was trying to sleep, but couldn't.
She shut the door behind her and strode over to the table. Nikita's shoes click against the floor and it seems to rouse their prisoner from his attempted sleep. Like his brother, Sam Winchester was handcuffed to the chair. Nikita’s hands itched to slam the chair down on the floor to get his attention, but both were bolted to the floor. Instead, she had to settle for slamming her hands down on the table.
He jerks his head up and gave her a sharp glare, but said nothing.
Nikita tilts her head to one side and smiles.
For some reason, this makes him widen his eyes.
“Christo,” he mutters. Nikita frowns.
“So you’re a religious man,” Nikita says.
“Not quite,” he replies. He tightens his lips into a thin line and watches her warily from behind his long hair. She had the feeling that he wants to brush it aside, but since his hands were otherwise occupied, he had to glare at her like an overemotional teenager. Well, at least he hadn’t dyed his hair black.
“I’m sure Michael’s already told you: we know, Sam.” She pauses, hoping that he would fill in the blanks.
“Not really,” he sighs. He leans back and rests his elbows on the arms of the chair. “He just sat there and watched me,” Sam replies, jerking his head to the chair.
Nikita walks around behind her chair and rests her palms on the back. “So you don’t know then,” she muses softly. “Well, we know about the murders, the assaults, the robberies, and the grave desecration.”
“Naturally,” he replies. She’s not sure if he’s being serious or sarcastic. She leans down, but he has his head tilted down to the floor.
“It’s a bit unnatural, wouldn’t you think? You’re dead, and yet here you look very much alive to me.” Nikita’s no stranger to the world of faked deaths, but faking your own death twice is a bit much-for a civilian, at least.
His laugh surprises her.
“Yeah,” he says, and then falls silent.
“From what I can tell, you were hunting someone: someone who’s been killing those cattle,” Nikita begins, “but what I can’t understand is why.”
“Why is a human life worth so much more than an animal’s?” he asks. This time, he leans forward and his look is earnest. It’s almost as if he believes this.
“We eat beef. Why are these any different?” she asks.
He shrugs and then leans back.
This wasn’t going anywhere. She glances up to the camera in the corner. She’s exasperated and she doesn’t understand why they’re here.
Birkhoff’s voice chimes in her ear: “remember Nikki: new Division; you can’t torture these guys.”
Nikita wishes there was another way to extract information from them. All she wants is the truth: no more deflection and no more jackass remarks. But she also knows that no interrogation is that easy. She can’t let this wear her down. She just hopes Michael is having better luck.
- - -
“Dean Winchester,” he drawls. His lips are pursed when he sits down in the chair.
“You,” Dean drawls in response, since he doesn’t know the guy’s name. “Hey, you think I could get some water? Or whiskey? Maybe both? I’m kinda parched.” He grins.
Michael frowns at him. “No,” he replies flatly. “Why were you out in those fields?”
“Getting me some tasty burgers,” Dean snarks. “Well, not yet. Gotta kill ‘em and then get them out. That’s where our plan hit a snag.” He grins and leans back in the chair.
Michael’s not sure which point to go after first: the fact that they were armed to the teeth with weapons, wandering around a field five miles from the nearest road, and had no way of transporting anything. But Michael also recognizes a diversion when he sees one.
“Right,” Michael replies. “From what I understand, animal murder isn’t your normal MO.”
“Only on full moons. Gotta pray to our overlord Satan and all.” It seems as though Dean forgets that he’s joking, because halfway through, his shit-eating grin starts to falter.
“Right,” Michael says, drawing out the vowels. “So lets discuss why you were really out there: we found you wandering-”
The lights flicker once, twice, three times.
Dean’s grin disappears entirely.
Michael glances up to the camera in the ceiling of the room and frowns.
“No idea, shit, shit, shit,” Birkhoff shouts into his ear. The earpiece screeches and Michael flinches.
“Okay man, it looks better. No idea what just happened. It should be okay,” Birkhoff says.
Michael is silent.
Birkhoff speaks: “Okay, so I pulled up some of their files from when Dean was apparently buried and-”
Birkhoff is gone and his voice is replaced by a static fuzz.
Michael pretends that he has just received important information and he stands up and quickly exits the room. Once outside, he sees Nikita has exited the room as well.
“What do you think?” he asks.
“Attack on Division?” she asks. “They’ve got some sort of frequency jammer on them and more are coming,” she hypothesizes.
“We patted them down when we took them in. There were no wires. We didn’t miss anything,” he points out.
“Okay, so what? The lights flickered, our comm’s are down, what the hell is going on?”
“Guys! Hey, Nikita, Michael, something’s causing our communications to go nuts.” Alex’s heels click loudly against the hard floors.
“Why? What’s going on?”
“Honestly? Birkhoff’s stumped. He can’t figure it out. Something’s screwing everything up. The screens are on the fritz and it’s-holy shit!” Alex strides over to the room where Sam is sitting. “Guys, he’s drawing something on the table and-oh that is nasty!” She revoils and looks at Nikita.
Nikita and Michael peer over her shoulder through the window next to the door. Sam is drawing something inside of a circle with what looks to be his own blood.
For a second, nothing happens. Then Nikita, Alex, and Michael all begin arguing.
“We need to go in there,” Nikita demands and then reaches out to open the door.
“Wait!” Alex intercepts Nikita and tries to grab Nikita’s hand. Habit forces Nikita to jerk her hand back and she pauses before she drops her hands to her sides.
“What?” she demands.
Alex steps back and Nikita does the same so that Michael can be included in their group.
“Birkhoff was trying to tell you guys something before he got cut off. When Dean and Sam were in prison, their medical files said that they each had tattoos on their chests in the shape of a star surrounded by flames. If these are really Sam and Dean Winchester, they should have that tattoo.”
“Thanks Alex,” Nikita says. She opens the door and enters the room with Sam Winchester.
“Stop that,” she says immediately. Whatever it is, it can’t be good. After all, he’s drawing it in his blood. The first thing any sane, rational person would do is demand that such behaviour cease immediately.
His hands freeze. He doesn’t look up. His eyes are hidden underneath a wave of hair.
“What are you drawing?” Nikita asks cautiously.
“Protection,” he grunts.
“Well, stop that,” she replies. She doesn’t know if she should believe him or not. His hands hover over the circle and then he leans back. He clasps his right hand over his left palm to stop the bleeding.
“Unbutton your shirt,” she demands. Sam gives her a confused look, but tries to comply regardless. He lets go of his left hand and tries to reach up with his hands, but is stopped by the handcuffs.
“A hand?” he asks.
“Lean forward,” she replies. He grunts in annoyance, but follows along anyhow. He unbuttons the top two buttons of his shirt.
“Okay,” he says. “Happy?”
“Show me the tattoo,” she demands. He sighs and pulls the opening of his shirt down. Nothing.
“Other side,” she amends. He looks worried. Slowly, the tattoo is revealed underneath a sea of plaid.
“So you really are Sam Winchester then,” she says as he yanks his shirt down and slouches in the chair. “Tell me: why are you here?”
“You’re in danger.” His voice is quiet and he’s looking at the circle of blood.
“No Sam, I don’t think we’re the ones you should be worried about,” she replies, trying to sound soothing and warm. It doesn’t seem to work because he jerks his head up and leans forward.
“You don’t know what’s out there. The flickering lights, your feeds not working, your little earpieces-that’s the beginning. It’s just going to get worse.” He speaks with such conviction that Nikita knows that he believes this.
“So you’re working with someone,” Nikita says. She leans forward. Finally she’s getting somewhere.
“No, we’re trying to stop them. We can’t do this here.” He raises his hands, still shackled, to demonstrate his point.
“Who’s after us?”
Sam doesn’t answer.
“Sam.” Nikita leans forward. “What’s going on? I know you’re a good man, Sam Winchester. You can tell me. We can help. Whatever you’re fighting-those people who’re killing the animals-we can help you. But only if you let us.”
Sam shakes his head. “You don’t understand. They’re not here for you. They’re here for us.”
The lights flicker again and then go out completely. Sam and Nikita are thrust into a world of darkness. It’s deadly silent. He hears someone open the door.
“Nikita! Quick! Something-”
The lights flicker back on. Nikita is standing over the unconscious body of a brunette woman.
“You’re right,” Nikita says. “We are here for you.”