Supernatural/Numb3rs fic - Take a Long Line 2/3
Okay. This really did take me a bit longer than I expected, but in the category of "better late than never"...
Title: Take a Long Line
Fandoms: Numb3rs and Supernatural (Winchester "reality", Eppes POV)
Disclaimer: Still don't own any of these characters or scenarios. Still hoping to get away with borrowing them. Still no monetary profit involved.
Characters: Don, Megan, Dean, Charlie, Sam, Alan, David and Colby (eventually) - for part two, mainly the Little Brother duo - no romantic pairings
Spoilers: Everything up to Supernatural's "Roadkill" and Numb3rs' "Democracy" is fair game
Rating: PG for mildish language
Other notes: Heartfelt thanks to rinkle and starrylizard for betaing this. Nonetheless, all mistakes it contains remain my own. Title and lyrics are from "Take a Long Line" (Brewster-Neeson-Brewster). This is a "gen" fic. Feedback is very much appreciated. Oh, and part one of the story can be found here.
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He tried to appeal to the king of might
He said "I'm just exercising my sacred right"
The king he said "You ain't got no rights
You're a madman, traitor, get outta my sight"
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Charlie knows that his friends and family view his organisational skills as somewhat... chaotic. What they don't realise is that there is a very definite order in his "chaos" and what sometimes appears to be random or a mistake is simply a different approach to what might be considered conventional. That's all. For instance, the fact that he is currently making last minute adjustments to the lecture that he's about to give in - oh - twenty minutes while simultaneously making notes on the work that his brand new post-grad student asked his opinion on some time last week, well, that just demonstrates his amazing multi-tasking skills.
Okay, so he might have completely forgotten that he agreed to discuss Bronwyn's notes with her before the lecture until that little demanding, unrelenting, Nazi-like beep on his computer reminded him about ten minutes ago. Yeah, so maybe he should have left himself more time, but whatever. Quick and innovative thinking is Charlie's specialty. He's well known for it. If there are no more distractions, he knows he can get all of this done. Absolutely. No problem.
There's a tentative knock at the door.
Of course. Typical.
Charlie looks up - and up - to see a very tall student he doesn't know filling the doorway to his office.
"Dr Charles Eppes?"
"Yes." Charlie doesn't sigh, he really doesn't. But he generally saves his poker face for when he's playing poker and so the kid in the doorway leans back slightly, his features slipping into a rather doleful look of apology.
"Uh, sorry to bother you. Is this an inconvenient time?"
Now Charlie does sigh. Oh, who was he kidding? He was always going to be running late anyway. "Yeah, it is, but it doesn't matter." He determinedly summons up a smile (because he's always been proud of his reputation as "the approachable one" amongst the professors at CalSci), gets up from his desk and beckons his visitor into the room. "How can I help you? Er..."
He's fishing for a name because he's not going to call him "kid" or anything like that. That just makes Charlie feel old. The kid - young man - student steps forward, offering his right hand.
"Sam. Sam Winchester. And I really need to talk to you about something I've been working on." He looks Charlie directly in the eye and there is definitely an element of pleading. "It's rather urgent."
Under his left arm, he's carrying a folder that he now extends and it overtakes his right hand before Charlie has had time to shake it. For a split second, Charlie isn't sure which hand it would be more impolite to ignore and Sam appears to realise this, pushing his right hand further forward - just as Charlie has opted to reach for the file in his left. This results in an awkward little hand shuffle and slight juggling of the file, before the handshake ritual is performed.
Then the file ends up almost falling to the floor before Charlie catches it and Sam grimaces. But his expression becomes less awkward and he even smiles slightly when Charlie holds up the file in triumph, as if he thinks the whole thing was a spectacular acrobatic feat. Charlie catches himself smiling back, reminding himself that he really has to stop being such a pushover. Everybody always thinks their problems are urgent - Don and his team, the CalSci administration, the NSA, everyone - and he really has to learn to just say no, at least once in a while.
"I'm sorry, Sam, but I really am incredibly busy at the moment. I actually don't think I've seen your name on any of my student lists. I don't mind helping out other departments. I really don't, but just at the moment..."
Sam's eyes widen slightly. "Oh, sorry. This isn't about a CalSci thing." He coughs self-deprecatingly. "Actually, I'm not a student here. Umm, it's something you need to see because of your FBI work."
To say that Charlie is surprised is an understatement. Again Sam reacts to his obvious non-use of a poker face, his words of explanation almost falling over themselves in an attempt to apologise.
"Your affiliation with the FBI is... well, on your net bio, it mentions that you work closely with them as a consultant and what I've got here," he gestures to the file in Charlie's hands, "well, I don't think the police or FBI will take my word for it, but you and your work," and now he gestures vaguely at the office surrounding, "I thought you might understand the pattern I'm seeing here and maybe be able to convince them. It is a matter of life and death. It really is."
It's not the most well constructed argument that Charlie has ever heard, but there's something very earnest about the kid. Almost against his better judgement, Charlie opens the file to take a look. And blinks.
"Sam, what you've got here doesn't exactly look like a mathematical problem."
"No, I don't really have a mathematical background, but I was hoping that if I showed you the data, you might see the pattern I saw and, well, maybe you might be able to form some kind of mathematical model around it. Do you think you could do that? Maybe?"
Charlie glances up at him sharply, hearing the challenge hidden in the apparently earnest question. Sam half-ducks his head, seemingly embarrassed by his own nerve. "From what I understand, that's what you do for the FBI and I wasn't kidding about the life and death stuff. People are dying in these fires and more will die if they aren't stopped."
Charlie's eyes turn back to the file and he clicks his tongue, as if considering the pros and cons, but he's already pretty much convinced. He'd be lying if he said there wasn't a touch of ego involved. He never could back down from a challenge. But more than that, if lives are at stake, if there's a time limit involved...
One of the things that Charlie loves most about working with Don and his team at the FBI is the way he can often see the benefits of what he's done by the time the case is closed - lives saved, disasters averted, people finally receiving recompense for wrongs done to them in the past. The rewards of the FBI work seem almost immediate compared to his goals in academia.
Charlie unequivocally loves his work as a high-powered theoretical mathematician. It's challenging in a way that nothing else is. It's illuminating, exhilarating. He truly believes that he can make significant contributions to the advancement of knowledge for the entire human race, but that will take years. And the true benefits of some of his work may not even be seen in his lifetime.
If this file Sam Winchester has put together could actually save lives, does he really have a choice? Anyway, he'll make the lecture. Maybe a little late, but he'll get it done. Bronwyn will understand that he might need a little more time to look over her work. She's just starting out on her post grad work and he'll make it up to her. He really will.
Charlie takes the file back to his desk and sits down to look at it properly. He casts a brief glance up at Sam, who breathes a small but audible sigh of relief, but the kid doesn't hover. He stands back to give Charlie space and, like nearly every other visitor to Charlie's office, it seems he can't resist fiddling with the gadgets and toys that fill every spare inch of bench and shelf space in the room. Charlie keeps his eyes on the file he's reading, but he can identify most of the things that Sam touches from the familiar clicks and clatters each device makes. Then there's a longer, louder clatter and when Charlie does look up at this sound, Sam mutters, "Sorry".
Multi-tasker that he is, even while processing the contents of the file in his mind, Charlie also attempts to solve the other mystery before him, the one gathering marbles from the floor with an apologetic grin. Charlie's no linguist, but Sam's accent is clearly not local.
"Where are you from, Sam?"
Sam looks up, surprised. "Where? Oh, Kansas, originally."
Charlie nods slightly. The file he is reading is clearly not written by a mathematician, probably not by someone trained in any of the physical sciences to a tertiary level. But this work is undeniably the product of a highly organised, analytical mind. He's pretty sure that he knows why this Kansas boy came to California.
"So where did you study? College, I mean."
Sam tilts his head quizzically, maybe wondering how Charlie made his deductions, maybe curious as to where the questions are going. "Stanford. Not mathematics, though."
"Obviously." And Charlie makes no effort to curb the note of judgement in his response.
Sam's eyebrows go up at that, a clear oh, really expression which Charlie is pleased to see. So, the ego of an intellectual is definitely in there. Good.
"Pre-law," Sam says, crossing his arms and lifting his chin slightly, "but I'm taking a little time off at the moment."
"To go into freelance arson investigation?" Charlie asks with false innocence, tempered with a smile.
But Sam abruptly looks down at his feet. He chuckles ruefully, acknowledging the joke, but it's not hard to hear the genuine underlying pain, then looking back up at Charlie, he says quietly, "No, personal time." Hesitation, then a sigh that encompasses both contemplation and resignation, as if he's reluctant to share the reason with a stranger, but then apparently deciding that having come this far, he might as well.
"My girlfriend died," the kid looks away again, "in a fire."
Okay, so maybe that doesn't make Charlie feel like the absolute lowest form of life there is, but it's pretty damn close.
"I'm sorry," he says, almost wincing at the inadequacy, but Sam just shrugs slightly, still not looking at him.
To get away from the awkwardness, give the kid a little space, Charlie turns his attention back to the file.
Sam's work is not only thorough, but it seems that he must have put this together rather quickly. The first fire in the series was only just over a week ago, two more in quick succession, and then one more that breaks the pattern. Charlie can't really see why the last one has been included. The first three are very distinctive. Each of them featured a fierce but short-lived blaze that caused one fatality and did very little damage to the surrounding property, as if the intention was specifically to kill. The objective is murder, not arson. No accelerants or ignition devices could be identified. Three explanation-defying fatal fires in quick succession. And some of the information here is not exactly the kind to be public knowledge.
"Sam," he says slowly, not looking up, "How did you get all this information?"
He senses the shrug without seeing it. "It's amazing what you can find on the internet these days."
Maybe. Not legally, though. Given what Sam has just told him, Charlie can see the kid bending a few rules to gather the evidence to put together his case, and he's obviously got some pretty impressive computer hacking skills. The level of obsession probably isn't healthy, but it's easily understood.
What isn't at all easy to understand is why he's included the fourth anomalous fire in his dataset. Again a fire with very little property damage, but it isn't that hard to explain a fire breaking out in a restaurant kitchen and there wasn't a fatality. Everything else flows so very logically. There must be a reason. He has to ask.
When he looks up, he sees that Sam has been studying him intently, probably trying to gauge his reactions. The kid already knows he's going to be quizzed on his data and draws himself up slightly in anticipation - which is so very unnecessary. He towers over Charlie by more than a head. There really is no need to push the height advantage, thank you.
"Why is this fire at the Chiyoda Restaurant included?"
Sam's eyes dart away and then back again. It's the first time the kid has looked in the least bit shifty. Then he shrugs. "It has features that match."
Charlie shakes his head. "Not really. And the biggest factor in your analysis is missing. No one was killed."
Sam stares into his eyes with fierce intensity, as if he intends to convince him by sheer willpower alone. "It's one of the same fires. I know it is."
Charlie folds his arms. "Okay, explain to me why." He likes to think he's a fairly open-minded guy. He's willing to open his mind to just about any possibility, if you can offer him some kind of rational explanation.
For the record, "because I saw it in a vision" does not qualify as a rational explanation.
Charlie gapes. He knows he's gaping because his head is filled with so many things he really wants to say at this point in time, but he can't make his lips form the words.
A vision. The kid actually just said that he saw the fire in a vision.
Charlie is now shaking his head in disappointment, even while he gapes, because he's only just met Sam Winchester, but he knows what a tragic waste of a good mind this is. An exceptional young mind really, one which should be a promise for the future. It's such a waste.
No. No, it might be too late for his good friend Larry Fleinhart, but this particular gifted young mind is not going to be allowed to take the last train to Crazyville. Charlie understands, perhaps better than most, the driving need to find answers, to try and explain the mysteries of the universe, but those answers should be sought in logic, not fantasy. With Sam's personal history, it's not hard to see why he might seek answers beyond the rational, but Charlie is not going to allow a tragic obsession to distort the boy's thinking in this way.
"No, Sam." He speaks quietly, but firmly and Sam cocks his head slightly, as if recognising something in the tone. Encouraged that he's garnered his audience's attention, Charlie continues. "I know you probably think that you've had some sort of premonition that felt like a psychic vision, but you really didn't."
"What makes you say that?" And Sam sounds genuinely curious. Maybe there really is hope for him.
"Because those sorts of things don't exist."
"They don't?" Now, there's the faintest hint of amusement in Sam's voice and Charlie bristles. He's not the one being humoured here.
"No, Sam, they don't. Look, you've been working really hard on the analysis of these fires and maybe it's begun to affect your thinking even on a subconscious level, so that you are processing the data on a level that you aren't even aware of. Sometimes the Eureka moment can hit you with an intensity so powerful that maybe, maybe you might mistake it for some kind of psychic revelation."
Sam's eyes widen in surprise, tinged with awe. "Wow," he breathes.
Charlie almost sighs with relief. He actually reached him! So far, he hasn't been able to convincingly win this argument with anyone - not Larry, not Don and their father and, most gallingly, not that charlatan, Kraft, who once conned his way into an FBI investigation. But now it looks like he's actually managed to make Sam Winchester see sense, and he can't stop the grin of triumph that spreads across his face. "You see?"
Sam starts slightly and then looks a little guilty. "Sorry. I was actually just thinking that you kinda reminded me of my brother there for a bit. And I really wasn't expecting that."
Charlie blinks. "Your brother?"
"Yeah, he can find a way to explain away just about anything he doesn't want to accept." And now Sam is the one grinning. "Of course, the real irony is that Dean's been dealing with the paranormal since before he was five but he's still a sceptic." The grin is garnished with a snort of laughter. "And he calls me 'Scully'!"
Charlie rests his elbows on the table and lets his head fall into his hands. So near and yet so far.
"Dr Eppes?"
Charlie looks up to see Sam looking at him again, his eyes wide with contrition this time. "Look, I don't want you to take this on faith in my psychic abilities. You're a man of science and that's too much to ask. There's a very simple, logical and non-psychic reason that there was no fatality in the Chiyoda Restaurant fire. We got there in time to prevent it. The fatality, that is, of course. Not the fire. Obviously."
Charlie is able to absorb and process data rapidly. Everybody knows that. But this is just a little overwhelming. "You? Who? What?"
Sam draws up a chair to sit in front of Charlie's desk and leans forward as he explains. If Charlie thought the kid looked earnest before, he now watches it taken to a whole other level.
"The Chiyoda Restaurant fire was meant to kill someone. We believe that the intended victim was a Dr Mildred French."
"Millie?" Now Charlie remembers that Millie had mentioned that restaurant to him recently, some dinner to try and encourage overseas investors to donate to the faculty.
"Yes, I believe you know her. Y'see, Dean and I got there first, so the arsonist wasn't able to line up her target. I wanted to confront her, talk to her - the arsonist, that is - but it looks like Dean was right and she's too far gone for that. Dean got his eyebrows singed a bit, but no one was really hurt. She got away though and I've got to find some way of stopping her. She'll try again and she thinks she can't be caught."
Charlie once again finds himself floundering in the monosyllabic. "What? Who?"
Sam looks down and takes a deep breath before once again fixing Charlie with his steady, earnest gaze. "These fires, these murders are being committed by Bronwyn Sequard."
And finally this insanity is just too much. Charlie cracks up. He can't help it and the laughter feels good. Of all the ludicrous, insane...
"Bronwyn?"
"I know you think you know her, but the pattern fits. She knew all of the victims, had some axe to grind with each of them. One was a real estate agent who refused to give her the lease on an apartment she wanted. Another was a woman she was seen arguing in public with last week. And the third was a guy that, after we did a little digging, turns out to be an ex-boyfriend. And then Dr French, who apparently is questioning her suitability for some campus scholarship grant she's applied for."
That is true. Millie has voiced her doubts to Charlie, as Bronwyn's supervisor. But that doesn't mean anything. Millie can get a bit hard-nosed about these things, but Charlie is sure that he'll be able to talk her around. He told Bronwyn as much. He told... Oh, no. No.
He only realises that he's voiced the denial out loud when he sees Sam produce a helpless little shrug of his shoulders, as if he wishes he could deny it, but is just unable to.
"We saw her do it at the Chiyoda Restaurant. She set the fire there. Dean and I saw it."
Charlie realises that he's still shaking his head in denial and forces himself to stop. This is ridiculous. Crazy. Totally and utterly insane. He needs time to think. Time.
"God! What time is it?" Charlie looks down at his watch and jumps to his feet instinctively. He's so late! They'll be looking for him.
Sam also stands, pleading with him. "Please, you've got to listen to me!"
Charlie has taken a half-step to dodge around Sam and get to the door, when something occurs to him. He plants both feet firmly and glares up at his visitor, the height difference having no effect on him now.
"So, did you come to me because of my connection to the FBI or because of my connection to Bronwyn?"
Sam looks a bit uncomfortable, but he doesn't back down. "Both, really. I really wanted you to help me get the FBI on board, but I also thought you would be concerned for the people you work with here at CalSci."
"Why should I believe you?"
Sam gestures at the file still on Charlie's desk with a faint air of helplessness. "The evidence is all in there. You can verify it for yourself."
"And your story about seeing Bronwyn do it? How do I verify that? You said your brother was with you? Why isn't he here with you now to back up your story?"
"There was somewhere else he had to be. Besides, hanging around with academic types really isn't his thing. If he can, he leaves me to do the..." Sam stops abruptly, apparently biting his tongue against what must have been ill-considered words.
But Charlie is well and truly fed up with information being rationed to him piece by piece. He wants all the cards on the table right now. "Leaves you to do what?"
"Leaves me to do the geek stuff," Sam admits sheepishly.
And in response to that, Charlie half-crosses his arms and drops his head onto the palm of one hand. Against his will, he finds himself half-smiling again. "So, he's your older brother then?"
Sam chuckles and spreads his hands - a classic you got me gesture. "Yeah, about four and half years older. Thinks I'm a total geek and still treats me like a kid half the time."
Yeah, that's not at all familiar. Charlie gives up and just lets the grin spread across his face. He likes this kid. He's not at all sure that Sam Winchester isn't certifiably crazy, but Charlie likes him nonetheless.
"Okay, I don't know where you get your ideas about that psychic stuff and, frankly, I don't want to. And I'm sure you've got the wrong end of the stick with the stuff about Bronwyn." He holds his hand up for silence when Sam opens his mouth to protest. "But the analysis you've put together definitely should be put to the FBI."
Sam's eyebrows shoot up. "Really?"
"Yes, really. I'll give my brother a call."
"Now?" Sam asks, with an almost puppy-like eagerness.
Charlie looks again at his watch and sighs. He's so very late now, there's no real point in hurrying. "Yes, okay, now."
Sam watches him as he pulls out his phone and Charlie could swear that the kid is about to start bouncing with excitement. Despite the seriousness of what they're about to discuss, Charlie has to fight to keep the mirth out of his voice as he responds to his brother's terse phone greeting.
"Hey, Don! Do you think we could meet up sometime today? Someone's come to me with a very interesting dataset and preliminary analysis on a set of fires and I think it's something you guys might wanna look into. His name's Sam..."
Suddenly, Sam leans across, enunciating carefully so he can be heard over the phone, "Sam Winchester."
Charlie is astounded to hear Don swear in response and it makes him turn in reflex, to look at the phone in his hand. In that instant, a forearm slips across his throat. He has time to call out to Don before it clamps down like a vice, shutting speech down completely and restricting his breathing enough for him to momentarily see stars. He thinks he can still hear his brother's frantic shouts, as the phone falls from his hand.
What happens next is a blur. He feels himself being dragged across the room, vaguely registers that the door has been shut and wonders when that happened. As he falls into a chair, the pressure on his throat is released and he starts to cough, but that is cut off when a gag is quickly tied in place. He finds that he can't remember if his hands were tied to the chair before or after he was gagged, but as he struggles to get his bearings, Sam looks up from tying his legs to those of the chair, his expression apologetic again. Unbelievably, he still seems to look every inch the harmless, earnest kid who walked into the room. You'd be convinced that all he wanted to do was help, if he didn't happen to be currently gagging and tying someone to a chair in their own office.
"I'm sorry. I know how uncomfortable this is. I really wish I didn't have to do it."
The voice and eyes are still amazingly sincere and Charlie can't help but wonder if Sam actually expects to be believed. He watches as Sam walks over to pick up Charlie's phone from where it slid into a corner of the room during the struggle (although calling it an actual struggle might be considered optimistic on Charlie's part). Sam ends the call and pockets the phone, then goes to Charlie's desk and, after a brief search, he retrieves Charlie's pass and some other papers for the FBI, slipping them into another pocket.
There's a difference in the way he moves, Charlie notices. Up until now, Sam's movements have had a certain awkward hesitancy to them. He'd slouched slightly, mostly kept his hands in his pockets, all of which accentuated his gangly youthfulness. Now all his movements are purposeful and economical, unhurried, as he efficiently searches through Charlie's desk and Charlie realises that the way Sam is moving now reminds him of Colby Granger. Sam Winchester moves like a soldier. This can't be good.
Charlie begins to struggle against his bindings when Sam sits down at the computer and begins typing. All the complex security that usually protects his work isn't going to stop Sam getting at the files that Charlie already has open which include some of his work for the FBI. At this stage, it's scarcely a surprise to learn that Sam ties knots which are practically immovable, but Charlie struggles on even though he quickly realises it is pointless.
His captor glances towards him and offers a rueful smile, before turning back to the keyboard, speaking as he types away. "I know you won't believe this, but you really don't have to worry. I'm just gathering a little information. I won't damage any of your files. Most of what I want isn't here anyway, but I can see this stuff is important and, despite what Dean says, I know that your brother and friends at the FBI do actually track down genuinely dangerous criminals, as well as wasting time with the likes of us."
He grins at his own joke, but there's no way that Charlie finds any of this amusing.
Sam Winchester is wanted by the FBI. Charlie has no idea what for, but the way Don reacted...
Charlie closes his eyes. His brother must be going quietly - or not so quietly - insane right now.
He hears Sam make a call and reopens his eyes to see him using Charlie's phone. It sounds like he's called the fire department, reporting a fire at the very lecture theatre Charlie should be at right now. Then Sam ends the call and stands up to face Charlie. His expression is once again filled with reluctance and contrition. He still moves like a soldier, but his face is regretful, perhaps the soldier that didn't want to go to war.
"Dr Eppes, I really am very sorry. I've called the fire department down here just in case, but you've got to listen to me when I say you mustn't go anywhere near Bronwyn Sequard today. She's dangerous. She really is."
Oh God, exactly how insane is this kid? If he's delusional, would he actually hurt Bronwyn, trying to punish her for what he thinks she's done? Charlie can't let that happen. He's got to get out of here, warn her.
Suddenly, Sam Winchester gasps in pain. One hand is pressed to his forehead and the other swings out to try and brace himself using the top of Charlie's desk, but he falls to his knees anyway and the gasp becomes a moan of pure agony. Charlie can't help but stare in morbid fascination, as Sam drops both hands to the floor and hangs his head, panting, trying to get his breathing back under control.
When Sam lifts his head again, Charlie expects to see anger, for some reason, but what he sees instead is fearful concern. His eyes are bright with tears, although that might be purely from the sheer physical pain that he apparently just went through, and it seems to cost him a lot to drag himself to his feet. One hand lands heavily on Charlie's shoulder.
"Listen to me! You've got to listen to me!" The kid is really begging now and the impact is increased by the edge of tears in his voice. "If you go near her, she will kill you. She will see you as you enter the lecture theatre. She will then stare at you for a fraction of a second. You will see the firelight briefly reflected in her eyes. And then she will direct a column of flame straight at your head and incinerate you where you stand! If you try to approach her, that is what is going to happen. So please. Please, just don't."
By the time he's finished saying this, their faces are only inches apart and Sam draws back to study Charlie for a moment. Charlie thinks Sam Winchester is insane and doesn't try to hide it. Sam runs one hand through his hair in frustration and then brings both up to cover his face, keeping them there as he speaks through his fingers in deliberately measured tones, the voice of someone forcing themselves to remain calm.
"I can't stay here and deal with her. I just don't have the time." He drops his hands and looks at Charlie again. His expression is still filled with worry and remorse, but the frustration has been replaced by determination. "I can't stay. Really. I have to get to Dean before he gets impatient and does something stupid, like getting himself shot trying to escape." A small, sad chuckle breaks through. "Or just pisses someone off enough that they find an excuse to shoot him." The mirth fades into one more sigh. "Please! I can only tell you what I know. Call it one of your 'Eureka moments', if you like. If you go near her, she will kill you."
Charlie knows his expression doesn't change. He's not going to pander to the delusion and Sam throws up his hands in a gesture of exasperation.
"Look, at the very least duck - I mean, really duck, if you even think you see a hint of fire around her."
And then Sam Winchester turns to leave, but sticks a hand backwards for something he dropped on the desk when he was hit by that seizure or whatever it was. His hand seems to snag on something which he picks up to look at and Charlie can see that it's a book of Milton prose, lent to him by Larry as part of his friend's bid to turn him into a 'Renaissance Man'. The book is important to Charlie for that fact alone, and when he sees Sam smirk with undisguised mischief, the sudden jerking movement he makes almost overbalances the chair. Sam's expression becomes almost gleeful, as he tucks the book under his arm. "Don't worry. You'll get it back."
He doesn't touch Charlie again but leans in to emphasise his warning one more time. "Don't go near her. Wait for the cavalry to arrive." Then he abruptly strides past his captive to the doorway behind him. Charlie hears the door close again and the lock turn. Then there is silence.
The doorway is behind him, and Charlie now realises that Sam positioned the chair like this so that he could keep an eye on both Charlie and the only entrance to the office while he worked at the computer. Charles Eppes has been played like a fiddle. Nothing about this whole encounter has been accidental or left to chance. Every single aspect of this has been meticulously planned out and efficiently executed.
The FBI file on Sam Winchester must be fascinating. The kid is insane, but he has the intellect of a criminal mastermind. Then, like a blow to the back of the head, the further implications of that sink in.
The fires! What does it mean about the fires? Is any of that data true? Could Sam himself be the one responsible for those deaths?
But if he's a killer, why leave Charlie alive? Why alert the FBI? Because now it's obvious that he manipulated Charlie into making the call to Don. So what the hell was that all about?
Too many questions. Too many dangerous questions. Charlie knows that he's got to get free. He's got to do something. He again struggles against the immovable bonds, until he hears a heavy pounding on the door and someone shouting his name. The only response he's able to produce is a pathetic gurgle in the back of his throat, but whoever it is doesn't wait for a response anyway. He hears a key turn in the lock and figures that it's probably campus security. They'd have a master key.
Two security guards quickly make their way around the chair so that he can see them before they start untying him. He recognises both of them, even though he can't put names to faces at the moment. He just nods when they ask him if he's okay because he's trying to spit the taste of the gag out of his mouth, and they have to steady him when he stumbles slightly, standing up too quickly, already heading for the door.
He's got to get to Bronwyn. He still doesn't know whether Sam Winchester is going to try and harm her, even kill her. And he's not sure how coherent he is as he tries to explain this to the security guys, but he notices that they do seem to be helping him along, rather than holding him back. All three of them race to the lecture theatre. He only vaguely registers other things they tell him. Don called them. They are sorry about the delay in finding him because they went to the lecture theatre first. That's where they thought he was supposed to be. Yes, that is where he's supposed to be.
And finally, finally they get there. Charlie spots Bronwyn right away and she turns to look at him. The oddest sense of foreboding hits him, like a sort of morbid déjà vu. Bronwyn's eyes widen slightly, when she seems to take in the presence of the campus security guys accompanying him. Then those eyes harden and flash with anger. He's never seen that look in her eyes before. He's never seen that look in anyone's eyes because for an instant they literally seem to be lit by fire from within. And he doesn't know where the instinct comes from, but he throws himself to the floor, dragging the security guys with him. But still he sees it, the column of flame hurtling towards him. Like the fire itself is driven by a ravenous hunger. Maybe he has seen "Backdraft" too many times.
He hits the ground heavily, but he still feels the intense heat overhead. Screams of terror pound his ears, one scream dominating the rest. Agony more than terror, a scream of someone, a woman dying. Bronwyn, he thinks. He has to know for sure, but he can't lift his head. Everything hazes into a blur of darkness, noise and the smell of burning.
He doesn't know how long he lies there. It's not the first time he's thought he was going to die, but he thinks it's the first time he's ever imagined himself in Hell. Then he feels someone half-lift him to his feet and help him stumble out of the room, and out of the building altogether because he can now smell the open air. The tortured cacophony of screaming has been replaced by a reassuring muttering and Charlie registers the familiarity of the person half supporting his weight. He recognises a combination of voice, touch, rhythm of movement and a host of other factors he couldn't calculate if he tried.
He tries to say his brother's name, but he's coughing too hard. His knees give out again, but fortunately what they land on is soft grass and Don's grip switches from holding him up to a reassuring pressure on his back. His vision clears enough to register vague shapes and the flashing lights of fire engines. It's at least another minute before he finally manages to croak out Don's name, to let his brother know that he's aware of his presence, and he hears Don sigh in relief.
Charlie doesn't know how long they sit there. A paramedic arrives and Charlie earns himself an oxygen mask.
Don doesn't say much, just occasional mutterings that include Charlie's name, as well as some curses and rather vicious threats against unspecified persons. His arm has now slipped around Charlie's shoulders; his grip feels tight enough to bruise.
Charlie doesn't say anything, he just breathes.
His mind is plagued with enough unanswered questions to drive him nuts well into the next century, but Charlie just breathes.
All he can do is just breathe.
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Take a long line
Take a long line
Take a long line
Reel him in
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Continue on to part 3
Title: Take a Long Line
Fandoms: Numb3rs and Supernatural (Winchester "reality", Eppes POV)
Disclaimer: Still don't own any of these characters or scenarios. Still hoping to get away with borrowing them. Still no monetary profit involved.
Characters: Don, Megan, Dean, Charlie, Sam, Alan, David and Colby (eventually) - for part two, mainly the Little Brother duo - no romantic pairings
Spoilers: Everything up to Supernatural's "Roadkill" and Numb3rs' "Democracy" is fair game
Rating: PG for mildish language
Other notes: Heartfelt thanks to rinkle and starrylizard for betaing this. Nonetheless, all mistakes it contains remain my own. Title and lyrics are from "Take a Long Line" (Brewster-Neeson-Brewster). This is a "gen" fic. Feedback is very much appreciated. Oh, and part one of the story can be found here.
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He tried to appeal to the king of might
He said "I'm just exercising my sacred right"
The king he said "You ain't got no rights
You're a madman, traitor, get outta my sight"
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Charlie knows that his friends and family view his organisational skills as somewhat... chaotic. What they don't realise is that there is a very definite order in his "chaos" and what sometimes appears to be random or a mistake is simply a different approach to what might be considered conventional. That's all. For instance, the fact that he is currently making last minute adjustments to the lecture that he's about to give in - oh - twenty minutes while simultaneously making notes on the work that his brand new post-grad student asked his opinion on some time last week, well, that just demonstrates his amazing multi-tasking skills.
Okay, so he might have completely forgotten that he agreed to discuss Bronwyn's notes with her before the lecture until that little demanding, unrelenting, Nazi-like beep on his computer reminded him about ten minutes ago. Yeah, so maybe he should have left himself more time, but whatever. Quick and innovative thinking is Charlie's specialty. He's well known for it. If there are no more distractions, he knows he can get all of this done. Absolutely. No problem.
There's a tentative knock at the door.
Of course. Typical.
Charlie looks up - and up - to see a very tall student he doesn't know filling the doorway to his office.
"Dr Charles Eppes?"
"Yes." Charlie doesn't sigh, he really doesn't. But he generally saves his poker face for when he's playing poker and so the kid in the doorway leans back slightly, his features slipping into a rather doleful look of apology.
"Uh, sorry to bother you. Is this an inconvenient time?"
Now Charlie does sigh. Oh, who was he kidding? He was always going to be running late anyway. "Yeah, it is, but it doesn't matter." He determinedly summons up a smile (because he's always been proud of his reputation as "the approachable one" amongst the professors at CalSci), gets up from his desk and beckons his visitor into the room. "How can I help you? Er..."
He's fishing for a name because he's not going to call him "kid" or anything like that. That just makes Charlie feel old. The kid - young man - student steps forward, offering his right hand.
"Sam. Sam Winchester. And I really need to talk to you about something I've been working on." He looks Charlie directly in the eye and there is definitely an element of pleading. "It's rather urgent."
Under his left arm, he's carrying a folder that he now extends and it overtakes his right hand before Charlie has had time to shake it. For a split second, Charlie isn't sure which hand it would be more impolite to ignore and Sam appears to realise this, pushing his right hand further forward - just as Charlie has opted to reach for the file in his left. This results in an awkward little hand shuffle and slight juggling of the file, before the handshake ritual is performed.
Then the file ends up almost falling to the floor before Charlie catches it and Sam grimaces. But his expression becomes less awkward and he even smiles slightly when Charlie holds up the file in triumph, as if he thinks the whole thing was a spectacular acrobatic feat. Charlie catches himself smiling back, reminding himself that he really has to stop being such a pushover. Everybody always thinks their problems are urgent - Don and his team, the CalSci administration, the NSA, everyone - and he really has to learn to just say no, at least once in a while.
"I'm sorry, Sam, but I really am incredibly busy at the moment. I actually don't think I've seen your name on any of my student lists. I don't mind helping out other departments. I really don't, but just at the moment..."
Sam's eyes widen slightly. "Oh, sorry. This isn't about a CalSci thing." He coughs self-deprecatingly. "Actually, I'm not a student here. Umm, it's something you need to see because of your FBI work."
To say that Charlie is surprised is an understatement. Again Sam reacts to his obvious non-use of a poker face, his words of explanation almost falling over themselves in an attempt to apologise.
"Your affiliation with the FBI is... well, on your net bio, it mentions that you work closely with them as a consultant and what I've got here," he gestures to the file in Charlie's hands, "well, I don't think the police or FBI will take my word for it, but you and your work," and now he gestures vaguely at the office surrounding, "I thought you might understand the pattern I'm seeing here and maybe be able to convince them. It is a matter of life and death. It really is."
It's not the most well constructed argument that Charlie has ever heard, but there's something very earnest about the kid. Almost against his better judgement, Charlie opens the file to take a look. And blinks.
"Sam, what you've got here doesn't exactly look like a mathematical problem."
"No, I don't really have a mathematical background, but I was hoping that if I showed you the data, you might see the pattern I saw and, well, maybe you might be able to form some kind of mathematical model around it. Do you think you could do that? Maybe?"
Charlie glances up at him sharply, hearing the challenge hidden in the apparently earnest question. Sam half-ducks his head, seemingly embarrassed by his own nerve. "From what I understand, that's what you do for the FBI and I wasn't kidding about the life and death stuff. People are dying in these fires and more will die if they aren't stopped."
Charlie's eyes turn back to the file and he clicks his tongue, as if considering the pros and cons, but he's already pretty much convinced. He'd be lying if he said there wasn't a touch of ego involved. He never could back down from a challenge. But more than that, if lives are at stake, if there's a time limit involved...
One of the things that Charlie loves most about working with Don and his team at the FBI is the way he can often see the benefits of what he's done by the time the case is closed - lives saved, disasters averted, people finally receiving recompense for wrongs done to them in the past. The rewards of the FBI work seem almost immediate compared to his goals in academia.
Charlie unequivocally loves his work as a high-powered theoretical mathematician. It's challenging in a way that nothing else is. It's illuminating, exhilarating. He truly believes that he can make significant contributions to the advancement of knowledge for the entire human race, but that will take years. And the true benefits of some of his work may not even be seen in his lifetime.
If this file Sam Winchester has put together could actually save lives, does he really have a choice? Anyway, he'll make the lecture. Maybe a little late, but he'll get it done. Bronwyn will understand that he might need a little more time to look over her work. She's just starting out on her post grad work and he'll make it up to her. He really will.
Charlie takes the file back to his desk and sits down to look at it properly. He casts a brief glance up at Sam, who breathes a small but audible sigh of relief, but the kid doesn't hover. He stands back to give Charlie space and, like nearly every other visitor to Charlie's office, it seems he can't resist fiddling with the gadgets and toys that fill every spare inch of bench and shelf space in the room. Charlie keeps his eyes on the file he's reading, but he can identify most of the things that Sam touches from the familiar clicks and clatters each device makes. Then there's a longer, louder clatter and when Charlie does look up at this sound, Sam mutters, "Sorry".
Multi-tasker that he is, even while processing the contents of the file in his mind, Charlie also attempts to solve the other mystery before him, the one gathering marbles from the floor with an apologetic grin. Charlie's no linguist, but Sam's accent is clearly not local.
"Where are you from, Sam?"
Sam looks up, surprised. "Where? Oh, Kansas, originally."
Charlie nods slightly. The file he is reading is clearly not written by a mathematician, probably not by someone trained in any of the physical sciences to a tertiary level. But this work is undeniably the product of a highly organised, analytical mind. He's pretty sure that he knows why this Kansas boy came to California.
"So where did you study? College, I mean."
Sam tilts his head quizzically, maybe wondering how Charlie made his deductions, maybe curious as to where the questions are going. "Stanford. Not mathematics, though."
"Obviously." And Charlie makes no effort to curb the note of judgement in his response.
Sam's eyebrows go up at that, a clear oh, really expression which Charlie is pleased to see. So, the ego of an intellectual is definitely in there. Good.
"Pre-law," Sam says, crossing his arms and lifting his chin slightly, "but I'm taking a little time off at the moment."
"To go into freelance arson investigation?" Charlie asks with false innocence, tempered with a smile.
But Sam abruptly looks down at his feet. He chuckles ruefully, acknowledging the joke, but it's not hard to hear the genuine underlying pain, then looking back up at Charlie, he says quietly, "No, personal time." Hesitation, then a sigh that encompasses both contemplation and resignation, as if he's reluctant to share the reason with a stranger, but then apparently deciding that having come this far, he might as well.
"My girlfriend died," the kid looks away again, "in a fire."
Okay, so maybe that doesn't make Charlie feel like the absolute lowest form of life there is, but it's pretty damn close.
"I'm sorry," he says, almost wincing at the inadequacy, but Sam just shrugs slightly, still not looking at him.
To get away from the awkwardness, give the kid a little space, Charlie turns his attention back to the file.
Sam's work is not only thorough, but it seems that he must have put this together rather quickly. The first fire in the series was only just over a week ago, two more in quick succession, and then one more that breaks the pattern. Charlie can't really see why the last one has been included. The first three are very distinctive. Each of them featured a fierce but short-lived blaze that caused one fatality and did very little damage to the surrounding property, as if the intention was specifically to kill. The objective is murder, not arson. No accelerants or ignition devices could be identified. Three explanation-defying fatal fires in quick succession. And some of the information here is not exactly the kind to be public knowledge.
"Sam," he says slowly, not looking up, "How did you get all this information?"
He senses the shrug without seeing it. "It's amazing what you can find on the internet these days."
Maybe. Not legally, though. Given what Sam has just told him, Charlie can see the kid bending a few rules to gather the evidence to put together his case, and he's obviously got some pretty impressive computer hacking skills. The level of obsession probably isn't healthy, but it's easily understood.
What isn't at all easy to understand is why he's included the fourth anomalous fire in his dataset. Again a fire with very little property damage, but it isn't that hard to explain a fire breaking out in a restaurant kitchen and there wasn't a fatality. Everything else flows so very logically. There must be a reason. He has to ask.
When he looks up, he sees that Sam has been studying him intently, probably trying to gauge his reactions. The kid already knows he's going to be quizzed on his data and draws himself up slightly in anticipation - which is so very unnecessary. He towers over Charlie by more than a head. There really is no need to push the height advantage, thank you.
"Why is this fire at the Chiyoda Restaurant included?"
Sam's eyes dart away and then back again. It's the first time the kid has looked in the least bit shifty. Then he shrugs. "It has features that match."
Charlie shakes his head. "Not really. And the biggest factor in your analysis is missing. No one was killed."
Sam stares into his eyes with fierce intensity, as if he intends to convince him by sheer willpower alone. "It's one of the same fires. I know it is."
Charlie folds his arms. "Okay, explain to me why." He likes to think he's a fairly open-minded guy. He's willing to open his mind to just about any possibility, if you can offer him some kind of rational explanation.
For the record, "because I saw it in a vision" does not qualify as a rational explanation.
Charlie gapes. He knows he's gaping because his head is filled with so many things he really wants to say at this point in time, but he can't make his lips form the words.
A vision. The kid actually just said that he saw the fire in a vision.
Charlie is now shaking his head in disappointment, even while he gapes, because he's only just met Sam Winchester, but he knows what a tragic waste of a good mind this is. An exceptional young mind really, one which should be a promise for the future. It's such a waste.
No. No, it might be too late for his good friend Larry Fleinhart, but this particular gifted young mind is not going to be allowed to take the last train to Crazyville. Charlie understands, perhaps better than most, the driving need to find answers, to try and explain the mysteries of the universe, but those answers should be sought in logic, not fantasy. With Sam's personal history, it's not hard to see why he might seek answers beyond the rational, but Charlie is not going to allow a tragic obsession to distort the boy's thinking in this way.
"No, Sam." He speaks quietly, but firmly and Sam cocks his head slightly, as if recognising something in the tone. Encouraged that he's garnered his audience's attention, Charlie continues. "I know you probably think that you've had some sort of premonition that felt like a psychic vision, but you really didn't."
"What makes you say that?" And Sam sounds genuinely curious. Maybe there really is hope for him.
"Because those sorts of things don't exist."
"They don't?" Now, there's the faintest hint of amusement in Sam's voice and Charlie bristles. He's not the one being humoured here.
"No, Sam, they don't. Look, you've been working really hard on the analysis of these fires and maybe it's begun to affect your thinking even on a subconscious level, so that you are processing the data on a level that you aren't even aware of. Sometimes the Eureka moment can hit you with an intensity so powerful that maybe, maybe you might mistake it for some kind of psychic revelation."
Sam's eyes widen in surprise, tinged with awe. "Wow," he breathes.
Charlie almost sighs with relief. He actually reached him! So far, he hasn't been able to convincingly win this argument with anyone - not Larry, not Don and their father and, most gallingly, not that charlatan, Kraft, who once conned his way into an FBI investigation. But now it looks like he's actually managed to make Sam Winchester see sense, and he can't stop the grin of triumph that spreads across his face. "You see?"
Sam starts slightly and then looks a little guilty. "Sorry. I was actually just thinking that you kinda reminded me of my brother there for a bit. And I really wasn't expecting that."
Charlie blinks. "Your brother?"
"Yeah, he can find a way to explain away just about anything he doesn't want to accept." And now Sam is the one grinning. "Of course, the real irony is that Dean's been dealing with the paranormal since before he was five but he's still a sceptic." The grin is garnished with a snort of laughter. "And he calls me 'Scully'!"
Charlie rests his elbows on the table and lets his head fall into his hands. So near and yet so far.
"Dr Eppes?"
Charlie looks up to see Sam looking at him again, his eyes wide with contrition this time. "Look, I don't want you to take this on faith in my psychic abilities. You're a man of science and that's too much to ask. There's a very simple, logical and non-psychic reason that there was no fatality in the Chiyoda Restaurant fire. We got there in time to prevent it. The fatality, that is, of course. Not the fire. Obviously."
Charlie is able to absorb and process data rapidly. Everybody knows that. But this is just a little overwhelming. "You? Who? What?"
Sam draws up a chair to sit in front of Charlie's desk and leans forward as he explains. If Charlie thought the kid looked earnest before, he now watches it taken to a whole other level.
"The Chiyoda Restaurant fire was meant to kill someone. We believe that the intended victim was a Dr Mildred French."
"Millie?" Now Charlie remembers that Millie had mentioned that restaurant to him recently, some dinner to try and encourage overseas investors to donate to the faculty.
"Yes, I believe you know her. Y'see, Dean and I got there first, so the arsonist wasn't able to line up her target. I wanted to confront her, talk to her - the arsonist, that is - but it looks like Dean was right and she's too far gone for that. Dean got his eyebrows singed a bit, but no one was really hurt. She got away though and I've got to find some way of stopping her. She'll try again and she thinks she can't be caught."
Charlie once again finds himself floundering in the monosyllabic. "What? Who?"
Sam looks down and takes a deep breath before once again fixing Charlie with his steady, earnest gaze. "These fires, these murders are being committed by Bronwyn Sequard."
And finally this insanity is just too much. Charlie cracks up. He can't help it and the laughter feels good. Of all the ludicrous, insane...
"Bronwyn?"
"I know you think you know her, but the pattern fits. She knew all of the victims, had some axe to grind with each of them. One was a real estate agent who refused to give her the lease on an apartment she wanted. Another was a woman she was seen arguing in public with last week. And the third was a guy that, after we did a little digging, turns out to be an ex-boyfriend. And then Dr French, who apparently is questioning her suitability for some campus scholarship grant she's applied for."
That is true. Millie has voiced her doubts to Charlie, as Bronwyn's supervisor. But that doesn't mean anything. Millie can get a bit hard-nosed about these things, but Charlie is sure that he'll be able to talk her around. He told Bronwyn as much. He told... Oh, no. No.
He only realises that he's voiced the denial out loud when he sees Sam produce a helpless little shrug of his shoulders, as if he wishes he could deny it, but is just unable to.
"We saw her do it at the Chiyoda Restaurant. She set the fire there. Dean and I saw it."
Charlie realises that he's still shaking his head in denial and forces himself to stop. This is ridiculous. Crazy. Totally and utterly insane. He needs time to think. Time.
"God! What time is it?" Charlie looks down at his watch and jumps to his feet instinctively. He's so late! They'll be looking for him.
Sam also stands, pleading with him. "Please, you've got to listen to me!"
Charlie has taken a half-step to dodge around Sam and get to the door, when something occurs to him. He plants both feet firmly and glares up at his visitor, the height difference having no effect on him now.
"So, did you come to me because of my connection to the FBI or because of my connection to Bronwyn?"
Sam looks a bit uncomfortable, but he doesn't back down. "Both, really. I really wanted you to help me get the FBI on board, but I also thought you would be concerned for the people you work with here at CalSci."
"Why should I believe you?"
Sam gestures at the file still on Charlie's desk with a faint air of helplessness. "The evidence is all in there. You can verify it for yourself."
"And your story about seeing Bronwyn do it? How do I verify that? You said your brother was with you? Why isn't he here with you now to back up your story?"
"There was somewhere else he had to be. Besides, hanging around with academic types really isn't his thing. If he can, he leaves me to do the..." Sam stops abruptly, apparently biting his tongue against what must have been ill-considered words.
But Charlie is well and truly fed up with information being rationed to him piece by piece. He wants all the cards on the table right now. "Leaves you to do what?"
"Leaves me to do the geek stuff," Sam admits sheepishly.
And in response to that, Charlie half-crosses his arms and drops his head onto the palm of one hand. Against his will, he finds himself half-smiling again. "So, he's your older brother then?"
Sam chuckles and spreads his hands - a classic you got me gesture. "Yeah, about four and half years older. Thinks I'm a total geek and still treats me like a kid half the time."
Yeah, that's not at all familiar. Charlie gives up and just lets the grin spread across his face. He likes this kid. He's not at all sure that Sam Winchester isn't certifiably crazy, but Charlie likes him nonetheless.
"Okay, I don't know where you get your ideas about that psychic stuff and, frankly, I don't want to. And I'm sure you've got the wrong end of the stick with the stuff about Bronwyn." He holds his hand up for silence when Sam opens his mouth to protest. "But the analysis you've put together definitely should be put to the FBI."
Sam's eyebrows shoot up. "Really?"
"Yes, really. I'll give my brother a call."
"Now?" Sam asks, with an almost puppy-like eagerness.
Charlie looks again at his watch and sighs. He's so very late now, there's no real point in hurrying. "Yes, okay, now."
Sam watches him as he pulls out his phone and Charlie could swear that the kid is about to start bouncing with excitement. Despite the seriousness of what they're about to discuss, Charlie has to fight to keep the mirth out of his voice as he responds to his brother's terse phone greeting.
"Hey, Don! Do you think we could meet up sometime today? Someone's come to me with a very interesting dataset and preliminary analysis on a set of fires and I think it's something you guys might wanna look into. His name's Sam..."
Suddenly, Sam leans across, enunciating carefully so he can be heard over the phone, "Sam Winchester."
Charlie is astounded to hear Don swear in response and it makes him turn in reflex, to look at the phone in his hand. In that instant, a forearm slips across his throat. He has time to call out to Don before it clamps down like a vice, shutting speech down completely and restricting his breathing enough for him to momentarily see stars. He thinks he can still hear his brother's frantic shouts, as the phone falls from his hand.
What happens next is a blur. He feels himself being dragged across the room, vaguely registers that the door has been shut and wonders when that happened. As he falls into a chair, the pressure on his throat is released and he starts to cough, but that is cut off when a gag is quickly tied in place. He finds that he can't remember if his hands were tied to the chair before or after he was gagged, but as he struggles to get his bearings, Sam looks up from tying his legs to those of the chair, his expression apologetic again. Unbelievably, he still seems to look every inch the harmless, earnest kid who walked into the room. You'd be convinced that all he wanted to do was help, if he didn't happen to be currently gagging and tying someone to a chair in their own office.
"I'm sorry. I know how uncomfortable this is. I really wish I didn't have to do it."
The voice and eyes are still amazingly sincere and Charlie can't help but wonder if Sam actually expects to be believed. He watches as Sam walks over to pick up Charlie's phone from where it slid into a corner of the room during the struggle (although calling it an actual struggle might be considered optimistic on Charlie's part). Sam ends the call and pockets the phone, then goes to Charlie's desk and, after a brief search, he retrieves Charlie's pass and some other papers for the FBI, slipping them into another pocket.
There's a difference in the way he moves, Charlie notices. Up until now, Sam's movements have had a certain awkward hesitancy to them. He'd slouched slightly, mostly kept his hands in his pockets, all of which accentuated his gangly youthfulness. Now all his movements are purposeful and economical, unhurried, as he efficiently searches through Charlie's desk and Charlie realises that the way Sam is moving now reminds him of Colby Granger. Sam Winchester moves like a soldier. This can't be good.
Charlie begins to struggle against his bindings when Sam sits down at the computer and begins typing. All the complex security that usually protects his work isn't going to stop Sam getting at the files that Charlie already has open which include some of his work for the FBI. At this stage, it's scarcely a surprise to learn that Sam ties knots which are practically immovable, but Charlie struggles on even though he quickly realises it is pointless.
His captor glances towards him and offers a rueful smile, before turning back to the keyboard, speaking as he types away. "I know you won't believe this, but you really don't have to worry. I'm just gathering a little information. I won't damage any of your files. Most of what I want isn't here anyway, but I can see this stuff is important and, despite what Dean says, I know that your brother and friends at the FBI do actually track down genuinely dangerous criminals, as well as wasting time with the likes of us."
He grins at his own joke, but there's no way that Charlie finds any of this amusing.
Sam Winchester is wanted by the FBI. Charlie has no idea what for, but the way Don reacted...
Charlie closes his eyes. His brother must be going quietly - or not so quietly - insane right now.
He hears Sam make a call and reopens his eyes to see him using Charlie's phone. It sounds like he's called the fire department, reporting a fire at the very lecture theatre Charlie should be at right now. Then Sam ends the call and stands up to face Charlie. His expression is once again filled with reluctance and contrition. He still moves like a soldier, but his face is regretful, perhaps the soldier that didn't want to go to war.
"Dr Eppes, I really am very sorry. I've called the fire department down here just in case, but you've got to listen to me when I say you mustn't go anywhere near Bronwyn Sequard today. She's dangerous. She really is."
Oh God, exactly how insane is this kid? If he's delusional, would he actually hurt Bronwyn, trying to punish her for what he thinks she's done? Charlie can't let that happen. He's got to get out of here, warn her.
Suddenly, Sam Winchester gasps in pain. One hand is pressed to his forehead and the other swings out to try and brace himself using the top of Charlie's desk, but he falls to his knees anyway and the gasp becomes a moan of pure agony. Charlie can't help but stare in morbid fascination, as Sam drops both hands to the floor and hangs his head, panting, trying to get his breathing back under control.
When Sam lifts his head again, Charlie expects to see anger, for some reason, but what he sees instead is fearful concern. His eyes are bright with tears, although that might be purely from the sheer physical pain that he apparently just went through, and it seems to cost him a lot to drag himself to his feet. One hand lands heavily on Charlie's shoulder.
"Listen to me! You've got to listen to me!" The kid is really begging now and the impact is increased by the edge of tears in his voice. "If you go near her, she will kill you. She will see you as you enter the lecture theatre. She will then stare at you for a fraction of a second. You will see the firelight briefly reflected in her eyes. And then she will direct a column of flame straight at your head and incinerate you where you stand! If you try to approach her, that is what is going to happen. So please. Please, just don't."
By the time he's finished saying this, their faces are only inches apart and Sam draws back to study Charlie for a moment. Charlie thinks Sam Winchester is insane and doesn't try to hide it. Sam runs one hand through his hair in frustration and then brings both up to cover his face, keeping them there as he speaks through his fingers in deliberately measured tones, the voice of someone forcing themselves to remain calm.
"I can't stay here and deal with her. I just don't have the time." He drops his hands and looks at Charlie again. His expression is still filled with worry and remorse, but the frustration has been replaced by determination. "I can't stay. Really. I have to get to Dean before he gets impatient and does something stupid, like getting himself shot trying to escape." A small, sad chuckle breaks through. "Or just pisses someone off enough that they find an excuse to shoot him." The mirth fades into one more sigh. "Please! I can only tell you what I know. Call it one of your 'Eureka moments', if you like. If you go near her, she will kill you."
Charlie knows his expression doesn't change. He's not going to pander to the delusion and Sam throws up his hands in a gesture of exasperation.
"Look, at the very least duck - I mean, really duck, if you even think you see a hint of fire around her."
And then Sam Winchester turns to leave, but sticks a hand backwards for something he dropped on the desk when he was hit by that seizure or whatever it was. His hand seems to snag on something which he picks up to look at and Charlie can see that it's a book of Milton prose, lent to him by Larry as part of his friend's bid to turn him into a 'Renaissance Man'. The book is important to Charlie for that fact alone, and when he sees Sam smirk with undisguised mischief, the sudden jerking movement he makes almost overbalances the chair. Sam's expression becomes almost gleeful, as he tucks the book under his arm. "Don't worry. You'll get it back."
He doesn't touch Charlie again but leans in to emphasise his warning one more time. "Don't go near her. Wait for the cavalry to arrive." Then he abruptly strides past his captive to the doorway behind him. Charlie hears the door close again and the lock turn. Then there is silence.
The doorway is behind him, and Charlie now realises that Sam positioned the chair like this so that he could keep an eye on both Charlie and the only entrance to the office while he worked at the computer. Charles Eppes has been played like a fiddle. Nothing about this whole encounter has been accidental or left to chance. Every single aspect of this has been meticulously planned out and efficiently executed.
The FBI file on Sam Winchester must be fascinating. The kid is insane, but he has the intellect of a criminal mastermind. Then, like a blow to the back of the head, the further implications of that sink in.
The fires! What does it mean about the fires? Is any of that data true? Could Sam himself be the one responsible for those deaths?
But if he's a killer, why leave Charlie alive? Why alert the FBI? Because now it's obvious that he manipulated Charlie into making the call to Don. So what the hell was that all about?
Too many questions. Too many dangerous questions. Charlie knows that he's got to get free. He's got to do something. He again struggles against the immovable bonds, until he hears a heavy pounding on the door and someone shouting his name. The only response he's able to produce is a pathetic gurgle in the back of his throat, but whoever it is doesn't wait for a response anyway. He hears a key turn in the lock and figures that it's probably campus security. They'd have a master key.
Two security guards quickly make their way around the chair so that he can see them before they start untying him. He recognises both of them, even though he can't put names to faces at the moment. He just nods when they ask him if he's okay because he's trying to spit the taste of the gag out of his mouth, and they have to steady him when he stumbles slightly, standing up too quickly, already heading for the door.
He's got to get to Bronwyn. He still doesn't know whether Sam Winchester is going to try and harm her, even kill her. And he's not sure how coherent he is as he tries to explain this to the security guys, but he notices that they do seem to be helping him along, rather than holding him back. All three of them race to the lecture theatre. He only vaguely registers other things they tell him. Don called them. They are sorry about the delay in finding him because they went to the lecture theatre first. That's where they thought he was supposed to be. Yes, that is where he's supposed to be.
And finally, finally they get there. Charlie spots Bronwyn right away and she turns to look at him. The oddest sense of foreboding hits him, like a sort of morbid déjà vu. Bronwyn's eyes widen slightly, when she seems to take in the presence of the campus security guys accompanying him. Then those eyes harden and flash with anger. He's never seen that look in her eyes before. He's never seen that look in anyone's eyes because for an instant they literally seem to be lit by fire from within. And he doesn't know where the instinct comes from, but he throws himself to the floor, dragging the security guys with him. But still he sees it, the column of flame hurtling towards him. Like the fire itself is driven by a ravenous hunger. Maybe he has seen "Backdraft" too many times.
He hits the ground heavily, but he still feels the intense heat overhead. Screams of terror pound his ears, one scream dominating the rest. Agony more than terror, a scream of someone, a woman dying. Bronwyn, he thinks. He has to know for sure, but he can't lift his head. Everything hazes into a blur of darkness, noise and the smell of burning.
He doesn't know how long he lies there. It's not the first time he's thought he was going to die, but he thinks it's the first time he's ever imagined himself in Hell. Then he feels someone half-lift him to his feet and help him stumble out of the room, and out of the building altogether because he can now smell the open air. The tortured cacophony of screaming has been replaced by a reassuring muttering and Charlie registers the familiarity of the person half supporting his weight. He recognises a combination of voice, touch, rhythm of movement and a host of other factors he couldn't calculate if he tried.
He tries to say his brother's name, but he's coughing too hard. His knees give out again, but fortunately what they land on is soft grass and Don's grip switches from holding him up to a reassuring pressure on his back. His vision clears enough to register vague shapes and the flashing lights of fire engines. It's at least another minute before he finally manages to croak out Don's name, to let his brother know that he's aware of his presence, and he hears Don sigh in relief.
Charlie doesn't know how long they sit there. A paramedic arrives and Charlie earns himself an oxygen mask.
Don doesn't say much, just occasional mutterings that include Charlie's name, as well as some curses and rather vicious threats against unspecified persons. His arm has now slipped around Charlie's shoulders; his grip feels tight enough to bruise.
Charlie doesn't say anything, he just breathes.
His mind is plagued with enough unanswered questions to drive him nuts well into the next century, but Charlie just breathes.
All he can do is just breathe.
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Take a long line
Take a long line
Take a long line
Reel him in
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Continue on to part 3