Fic: "Definitely not Shambhala (but it's good money)", 1/3 Lost/SPN
it's finally time to unveil my sncross_bigbang fic, ergo a crossover where Sam and Dean end up on the Island of Mysteries!
Title: Definitely not Shambhala (but it's good money)
Author: gottalovev
Crossover: Supernatural/Lost
Disclaimer: I do not own any of it, this is just for fun!
Type: I'd say this is a gen fic with slashy undertones, nothing racy (sadly!). PG-13 for violence and language.
Word Count: 21,5K words
Characters/Pairings: Dean, Sam, characters seen in S5 of Lost, light Dean/Sayid
Warnings: Brief scene of torture, but not in a sexual context.
Spoilers: General Supernatural S4 spoilers, but for Lost it's spoilery until the episode 5-11 "Whatever Happened, Happened." Alternate AU from there. Creative license taken with the timelines to make everything fit together. If you'd like a primer on either Lost or Supernatural, I made one here (spoiler warning is the same).
Artist: the wonderful chosenfire28 who did so much for this challenge being mod AND artist!
Link to Art: see it all here and please go tell her how great she is! thanks babe!
Summary: Sam and Dean have until noon to decide if they'll accept Benjamin Linus' job offer. On paper, it seems pretty straightforward: a lot of money to take care of a demon and of a ghost named Jacob on a mysterious Island in the South Pacific. But why does the case file include background info on the Oceanic Six? Can Benjamin Linus be trusted?
Author’s Notes: I want to thank my wonderful beta,
elise_509 who did a tremendous job helping me with this one. All remaining errors in what was done after her suggestions are entirely my own!
Definitely not Shambhala (but it's good money)
Tilting his head to the side, Dean observes as Sam wolfs down his second plate of pancakes, doused in syrup.
"Frankly, I just don't understand your metabolism." He states, bemused.
Sam doesn't stop eating, just quirks up an eyebrow. The City Hall won't open for one more hour, and they're all dressed up already so it's not like they're in a hurry or anything. Or going to starve in the foreseeable future. Dean takes a sip of his coffee, winces at the bitterness and adds sugar.
"Let's face it: you are huge. Yeti-like and all that shit. But for weeks you eat almost nothing, then spend a couple of days stuffing up like you are 14 again and on the biggest growth spurt ever seen on Earth. I don't get it." And Dean really, really doesn't.
Sam rolls his eyes and Dean eagerly waits for the bitch face that gives him so much glee, but then Sam suddenly stiffens up while trying to act like everything's normal (and fails spectacularly). He swallows his bite and keeping is lips half closed whispers with a definite 'don't turn and look' expression.
"I don't like how that guy is staring at us."
Dean swirls on his chair, spotting right away who Sam's talking about. The guy's not even trying to hide his interest, and even gives them a small smirk when he realizes he's busted. He doesn't look like a Fed at first sight, definitely not a hunter either, but there is something unsettling in being stared at by those bulgy blue eyes. Unsettling enough that Dean's surprised to realize the guy's quite short when he gets up and comes to their table; he’s not physically imposing, even if looking at him makes Dean’s skin crawl just a little. The man nods in greeting, then gestures towards a free chair.
"Gentlemen. May I sit down?"
Sam's unusually hostile when he answers.
"And why would you want to do that?"
That makes the man pause but he smiles like what comes out of his mouth next is perfectly normal.
"Because I'd prefer to make my job offer while sitting down, Mr. Winchester."
Sam tenses and immediately Dean checks the exits, eyes darting about to find anyone else suspicious. Looking through the diner window, he sees no sign that this guy came with company.
Not waiting for their approval, the man puts a leather case on the table. As their uninvited guest pull up a chair from a nearby table and sits at the end of their booth, Dean can hear the click of the safety on Sam’s gun, obscured from view by the linoleum table top. He inwardly praises Sam for his foresight; he must have pulled at the ready the second the guy walked toward them.
Obviously the man heard the telltale sound too; it was pretty hard to miss. But he doesn’t look afraid - merely surprised.
"Well well, all reports pegged Dean as the trigger happy brother. Guess you can't believe everything you hear."
Dean has to refrain from whipping his own gun out to point it right at the guy's forehead, just to wipe the arrogance away, but there's no point in making a scene while innocent families surround them. Instead he reaches for his piece with a tense, practiced calm and does the same as Sam. The second safety turning off is even louder than the first.
"It's a family thing. I guess your intel was wrong," he says with a shrug.
Sam is scowling now and the way he spits out "Christo" sounds more like a threat than a mere demon identity check. The man doesn't even blink and his eyes stay blue as he raises his hands in a surrendering gesture.
"I'm no threat, I swear."
"Let us be the judge of that." Dean adds, wishing he had holy water or something to double check.
"Who are you? And what do you want?" Sam demands.
"I'm sorry, right, let's start this over. My name is Benjamin Linus and from what I heard, the Winchester brothers are exactly who I need to get rid of a very peculiar problem. Very pleased to finally meet you."
He says, extending his hands and Dean just stares at him, then at the hand, and chooses to ignore it. Sam just sits back, even more passive aggressive. Linus shrugs it off, and starts talking anyway.
"Let's cut to the chase, I am on a tight schedule. As I said I have problems back home that are exactly in your line of work. We're talking about a very powerful spirit here. It can take any shape it wants, a shape taken directly from its victims’ subconscious." Ben pauses a little, evaluating their reaction, and satisfied with their interest then turns his attention to Sam, as if he made up his mind whom he needs to sell this job to. "And besides that pesky issue, there is also a cloud of deep black smoke that moves with horrible purpose. A cloud of black smoke that I saw kill men with my very own two eyes."
It’s stated like every day facts and Linus throws in front of them glossy color pictures of smoke in the middle of a forest, smoke in a clearing with short grass, never with any sign of something burning that could have produced it. The cloud is horizontal, snake-like, and Dean sits up straight, slides one the pictures closer. He’s never seen a demon captured in a photograph like this before in his whole life.
Sam has gripped a couple of pictures himself and the hostility is gone, now replaced with deep interest.
"The smoke, it always stays in that form?"
The smirk on Ben Linus' face shows he knows he's got Sam hooked. On principle, Dean prepares to balk. He's seen enough demons down in the pit and while avoiding the apocalypse to last a lifetime, thank you very much.
"I've never seen it otherwise." Linus says, snapping open the briefcase and lifting the lid. "I am prepared to pay you fifty thousand dollars for the job. Cash. I have ten thousand to give you right now to prove that I'm serious. All other expenses paid."
He turns the case towards them. Inside, a couple of paper envelopes are full in a very interesting way. That sparks Dean's interest. In the case beside the cash there are files - labeled Jacob, and Christian, maybe a dozen more - as well as some more pictures of what seems to be a tropical island. A Blackberry and a couple of plane tickets are tucked under a pair of passports and fake IDs for a Dean and a Sam Remington, all made with recent pictures.
Frowning, Dean opens the airline envelope and is relieved to see they're bound for Los Angeles. If they decide to go, it's only a two day drive. But Sam's pushing one of the pictures towards Linus.
"Where is this? Looks like a jungle."
Ben nods.
"It is. The Island is..." There is a small pause as if he doesn't really want to say, but then he smirks and goes on. "It's in the South Pacific."
There's no way to go there by car, that's for sure. As if riding a roller coaster, Dean sits back and raises his hands, shaking his head. He can't help but mourn all of this hypothetical cash: he had already been happily imagining a complete overhaul for the car.
"I'm sorry, but we don't work out of the States." Dean announces with finality.
Sam doesn't back him up though; instead he stretches as he sits back, straightening his tie.
"We usually don't work outside the States," Sam amends. "But independent research, going to the South Pacific, getting rid of your problem and coming back sounds like a job for several weeks. Fifty thousand isn’t going to cut it."
Linus' eyebrows inch up.
"Then what is your price?"
Sam smiles, although it's sly and cold.
"You need help fast, we're the best. We don't accept the case until we study it first. If we do accept it, you pay top security storage for the car and our stuff, agree to pay for all the material we list without questions asked, and we are totally in control of the operations on the field. Oh, and it's going to be one hundred thousand in cash, and this," he says dejectedly pushing a corner of the case, "we keep no matter what, just to examine your offer."
Dean has to bite down hard so his jaw doesn't hang open; he suddenly has this vivid picture of the terrifying lawyer Sam would have been. Linus, on the other hand, sniggers and smiles wide.
"You're a tough negotiator, Mr. Winchester." Linus leans back himself and studies Sam for a minute, then glances at Dean, who gives him a grin of his own. Take that, mister.
With a sigh Linus puts everything back in the briefcase and closes it. Then he pushes it at Sam.
"But I accept your conditions. You'll find my number in the phone. When can I expect your answer?"
With his best blank expression, as if they've not just been offered a small fortune, Sam nods his gracious acceptance as if he's doing the guy a favor.
"You'll have it at noon. Oh, and we need half the money before we leave too, non-refundable. If we do agree, that is."
Linus nods curtly.
"Very well." This time, when Ben extends his hand, starting with Sam, they both shake it. Dean tries to make it as short as possible while making a statement. "It will be my pleasure to see you both again in Los Angeles. I'll have your money."
Sam snorts in amusement, at last breaking his business façade.
"We'll see about that, Mr. Linus."
And just like that, the guy turns away and exits the diner, leaving Dean to stare at Sam, who looks as bewildered as Dean feels.
"Holy shit, Sammy!" Dean finally whispers, a bit awed.
"I know!" Sam says, flailing a little and making a gesture to grab the case. Dean snatches it to his chest on impulse but puts it back down when Sam bitchfaces him.
"Sorry, it's just. Holy fuck, ten grand! Just like that!"
Sam grins, obviously pleased with himself.
"Hell yeah."
No doubt, Sam deserves his gloating - deserves it enough that Dean gives him room to inflate his giant head without comment.
"You were frigging amazing, Sammy. Whoa."
That makes Sam's ears turn pink with pleasure and his grin widens.
"I know."
Dean laughs too, but then Sam looks outside and a little frown comes back.
"I don't like that man. At all. He's dangerous."
Glad he's not alone with that impression, Dean nods.
"He gives me the creeps. But, it’s not exactly the first time we’ve run into somethin’ creepy, man.” He eyes Sam, eyes the briefcase. “So? What now, mastermind?"
When Sam takes the case this time, Dean lets it go. He can't wait to count the cash later.
"Let's go take a look back at the room. Maybe buy a couple of coffees to go?"
Dean nods; he's just as curious as Sam is to find out what’s in the briefcase.
“I’ll grab ‘em, you get the cash back to the room.”
Leaving his half eaten second helping of pancakes on the table, Sam ambles for the door. With the suit and the case and the general impression of confidence Sam exudes, Dean thinks again about what could have been. Maybe Sam should go back to law school, save people in other ways. But those are thoughts for some other day, when they don't have ten grand to spend.
Dean waves at the waitress, who smiles back, coming right over.
***
Of course, Sam doesn't wait for him; he's already going through the contents of the case when Dean enters the room. Predictably, he seems fascinated with the pictures of the demon. Even with all of what happened with Sam's powers and the almost fiasco that resulted - fiasco is really tame, to speak of the apocalypse - his brother can't help it when he's close to a demon. Like a hound that smells blood, which is fucking ironic if he stops to think about it.
But he really doesn’t want to stop and think about it.
The first thing Dean checks out is the money, which he meticulously counts, aligning piles of a thousand dollars each on his bed. Linus was right: ten fucking thousand dollars, and in unmarked bills as far as he can tell. Dean lets go of a slow whistle. If they are fake, they are done well enough to fool anyone.
"So," asks Sam, "does it look clean?"
Grinning, Dean does a double thumbs up.
"At first glance, yep. The serials are all over the place, but maybe we could check a couple on the databases to see if it's wanted money."
"Good idea." Sam nods, letting go of the files he's been looking through to fire up the laptop.
Dean looks at the money some more, and then spreads it over the comforter.
"Dean, do not roll on the money. Especially if you plan getting naked."
Okay, so that was exactly what Dean had planned. It's long been a fantasy; one viewing too many of Indecent Proposal. Suddenly embarrassed that he's so predictable, Dean protests.
"What are you talking about? I'm spreading it to pick a random sample. Jesus."
Sam snorts.
"Yeah, right."
Making a show out of it, Dean puts an hand over his eyes and picks half a dozen bills that he then brings to the table where Sam has wormed his way into the police database that holds the serials of marked bills.
"Good thing I kept a shortcut for this one, I didn't think we'd have to use it again." Sam remarks, before making grabby hands for the bills and starting to enter the numbers. All of them come out clean. Each time, Dean does a fist pump.
"Awesome. But now what?"
Sam pushes the paper files towards him as he exits the database, but he stays on the computer and opens a couple of browser windows.
"This shit is really out there, man." Sam says about the files, still typing. "Check it out, there are files on the Oceanic Six."
It takes a moment before Dean places the nickname, but then the media frenzy comes back to him.
"Those poor suckers who crashed three years ago? What for?"
As Dean flips into the different files, he sees that the info on most of the Ocean Six is a background check, though it notes briefly where they are now, with recently taken glossy pictures on top.
"There's a note from Linus. They might go to the island with him," Sam says. "But it doesn't say why."
Doesn't make much sense, not to Dean.
"Didn't they end up on some godforsaken rock in the middle of nowhere?" Dean remembers thinking back then that it would be his worst nightmare, seriously. He looks at the glossy jungle pictures again. "I don't recall anything about an island as big as the one in these pictures."
Sam shrugs.
"I know, it's weird. And I really don't see how it relates to demons, spirits and Benjamin Linus." Sam looks closely at the screen and frowns. "Speak of the devil..."
"What? Found something?"
Sam nods, clicks a little more.
"He pops up a bit…linked once with a charity benefit for Mittelos Bioscience. Nothing in the Feds database, very little credit history. A bit meager if you ask me."
True, people that can offer a hundred thousand dollars generally are a bit more high profile.
Or maybe not.
"You think it's not his real name? Or maybe he doesn't pop up because he lives, you know, in the South Pacific?"
Sam shrugs again.
"Maybe.” He pauses, considering, forehead creasing. “But I still don't understand how the O6 fit in the picture. Give me one of the other names, someone who wasn’t on the plane."
Dean picks a file Sam has not checked yet. Some Asian looking guy.
"Miles Straume," he announces, starting to scan the sheet attached to the picture. Nothing out of the ordinary until the words 'medium/ghost whisperer' pop out.
"I can't find much." Sam mutters.
"I think there might be more in the files than you'll find online. Look."
Dean gives Sam the paper, pointing to the supposed psychic abilities.
"Really? Well, Linus found us, so it's possible.” Sam leafs through the folder, scanning the information quickly. “File says he's been on the Island since 2004. Maybe we could call around and see if he's known in the hunting circuit. Give me another one?"
In the next file, there's a mug shot of a man with a mean scowl and an impressive rap sheet.
"James 'Sawyer' Ford," Dean reads. Foster home circuit, con man, some misdemeanors; prison for fraud; when Dean gets to the bottom, there's a mention that he was on Oceanic Flight 815. And that he could possibly be on the island.
"Huh." Sam huffs, and Dean supposes that he's found the guy online. "Why give us the file of a guy who died in the plane crash?"
Again, Dean passes Sam the paper and points.
"Says here he could be alive and on the island." Dean looks rapidly through the other files; he finds a Korean man and a cute blond girl who are possibly on the island too.
Sam's eyebrows rise.
"Maybe all of the O6 went there when the plane crashed. But why would they lie about it?"
Good question, Dean thinks.
"I have no fucking idea."
Sam's got his thinky face on and Dean is suddenly aware of how brilliant a strategy this is for Ben to draw Sam in.
"You're not seriously considering going there, are you?"
Sam raises his eyebrows.
"Hey, a hundred thousand dollars? I'm considering it!"
"You can't be serious!" Dean says, blinking.
"And why the hell not?" Sam exclaims.
"The South Pacific, Sam! Hours and hours of plane!" Just the mere thought makes him flail.
"Come on, Dean, not this again. We could just take a boat or something." Sam looks up at the ceiling, obviously annoyed.
"I don't know man. This," Dean points to the bed, "is the easiest money we've ever made. Let's just take it and settle with good enough with no unnecessary trip to the island of mysteries."
Sighing warily, Sam massages his temples, mouth pinched tight. Dean knows that he's winding up, preparing to lash into a selling pitch. The best course of action for Dean is to try to throw Sam off course early on if he wants any chance in stating his own opinion.
"It's the demonish smoke, huh? That's why you want to go there, can't stay the fuck away from those bastards." Dean accuses, and sees immediately that it hits home when Sam tilts his chin up defiantly.
"I won't lie, there's a bit of that." Sam scowls when Dean raises his eyebrows in a way that he hopes conveys the 'ain't that a first!' he won't say out loud. Raising a hand, Sam continues. "But that's not all. Want it or not, Benjamin Linus has ammo against us. He found us, Dean, what if he oh-so-casually leaves a detailed file on us for the FBI? I'm sure he can make it look bad, or at minimum unwillingly resuscitate us and get back us on their radar. Linus won't let us walk away with his little secrets." Sam says, gesturing to the table in general.
"Fuck." Dean says, shoulders sagging.
There is no way to argue with that, and he knows when he's beaten - though screwed might be more appropriate. On the other hand, a possible ninety thousand dollars more ain’t so bad.
Knowing he got his point across, Sam doesn't bother wasting more saliva and starts reading the files they haven't been through yet. Dean busies himself with looking at the fake IDs and passports. It's top-notch work, that's for sure. Nothing done in a Kinko’s here.
Finally voicing his defeat, Dean waves the plane tickets for LA at Sam.
"Can we at least drive this part?"
The corner of Sam's mouth turns up and he nods.
“I'll tell Linus when I call him. But not a minute before noon." He looks up, grins for real then. "Why don't you make the most outrageous supply list we can somewhat reasonably get away with? Put in a new laptop."
Dean grins back, grabbing a notepad. This could be kind of awesome.
"I can do that. I feel a pressing need for a sniper rifle, C4 and a couple of land mines myself."
Sam rolls his eyes and laughs.
"I'm sure you do. Just don't forget the rock salt."
"I'm no idiot, Sammy."
He jots it down before he forgets, and right after that, Dean writes 'flame thrower'. Underlined.
***
When they finally make it at Linus' meeting point several days later, they are the first to arrive. Dean has no idea why they were asked to be in this particular place at night, in a Los Angeles suburb so anonymous they could be in any big city. There is a church across the street, but he can't even read its name, has no idea who'll they meet.
Dean drums his fingers on the Impala's door, bored to tears, while Sam almost coos at his new laptop. Ben says he'll get everything they asked for onto the Island but in the meantime it will have to be put in cargo, although he didn't say precisely when or how they will travel yet. Dean thinks it's not fair that he couldn’t even fondle his C4 but Sam got his own toy.
Okay, so Sam had requested all files and pictures in a numeric format, which are now being opened on said computer, but it's still a bitch.
Finally, a black Dodge Ram Van lettered to 'Canton-Rainier, Carpet Cleaning' pulls aside and Benjamin Linus, the hot asian chick and Jack Shephard come out. Seems the doc shaved since the last picture in his file, and women everywhere must be thanking god for small favors.
Sam's spotted them too, so they leave the Impala and walk closer, overhearing the conversation as Sun Kwon stares at a gold ring in her hand.
"Why did he not tell me himself?" She says.
"I don't know." Answers Ben. "Maybe he never had a chance before he died. I'm sorry I had to bring you here before I gave it to you, Sun. But all those people back on the Island - Jin included - need our help. There is a woman in this church and she can tell us how to get back to your husband. But we're running out of time, Sun. So I need you to decide right now. Will you come with me?"
Sun takes a moment to think about it as she looks down at the ring in her hand again.
"Yes." She says, finally.
Dean wonders if he should cough so Ben acknowledges their presence and introduce them, because frankly he's beginning to feel like a tool here on the sidelines, with only the doctor squinting at them suspiciously. A man coming over succeeds in his entry a lot better than they did.
"What are you doing here?" He shouts, walking towards the group.
Even if surprised, the others seem to know him. It definitely backs Sam’s theory that all of the Oceanic Six spent those months on the island, because with the Scottish accent and the long hair, it's not hard to recognize the newcomer as Desmond Hume, location supposedly unknown. Hume was on that island for four years, up until the end of 1994, or so his file says.
"I assume the same thing you are." Ben says, which Dean would love to be privy of, if someone would dare explain it to him. Hume looks confused.
"You’re looking for Faraday's mother too?" Dean has no idea who's he talking about. Faraday? Wasn't that the scientist in the file? But Dean doesn't remember anything in particular noted about his mother.
Ben stares at Desmond, then turns around and walks briskly into the church. The others follow, so Dean looks at Sam and they shrug, deciding they better tag along even if Ben didn't even tell them to. They enter the church where an older woman with white hair stands near the rows of flickering votive candles with her back turned toward them.
"Hello, Eloise." Ben says.
The woman lights a candle and turns to face them. It's weird to think of her as the mad scientist’s mom, to be honest.
"Hello, Benjamin." Everyone kind of stares at her while she looks back calmly. "I thought I said all of them."
"This is all I could get on short notice." Ben replies.
The woman, Eloise, sighs.
"Well, I suppose it will have to do for now." She then looks towards Sam and then Dean, who is in a way kind of relieved because he sort of felt invisible for a moment there. "And who are those boys?"
Before they can answer, Linus does it for them.
"Sam and Dean Remington. They have some work to do on the island."
Dean nods, and out of the corner of his eye sees that Sam does the same.
"Yes ma'am. Supernatural related." Dean agrees just to see how everyone will react. Nothing even flickers across Linus's face, although Jack, Sun and Desmond all squint at them. The good thing is that they don't completely seem to think he's crazy. Interesting. Apparently satisfied, Eloise nods.
"All right! Let's get started."
They all walk to the back of the church where Eloise opens another squeaking door and flicks the light switch.
"Shall we?" She says, before waling down a spiral, metal staircase and through a dim, stone hallway with a sturdy metal door at the end. There is one of those logos on the door, similar to the ones of that hippie DHARMA organization they've been informed of. Dean had rolled his eyes at their pretense to recreate Utopia. As if. He exchanges a knowing glance with Sam, who's got his focused face on, all business.
The door-wheel squeaks as Eloise opens it and on the other side, in the fairly dark room, there is a loud whooshing sound. As they all enter, Dean looks with disbelief at the large pendulum swinging back and forth in the center of the room. Sam's eyes are round, trying to take everything in. The walls are covered with computer equipment that seems to be dating almost as far back as the dinosaurs. There's an odd clicking noise, toward which Jack and Dean walk to find out is a panel with a series of coordinates changing constantly. Looking back to the center of the room, Dean glances at the map on the floor over which the pendulum is moving.
"What is this place?" Jack asks, obviously voicing the thought of the majority. Eloise answers.
"The DHARMA Initiative called it the Lamp Post. This is how they found the island."
Jack turns to Ben. "Did you know about this place?"
"No. No, I didn't." And even with years trying to see through people, Dean can't tell if Ben's being honest or not. Jack has his doubts too since he asks Eloise.
"Is he telling the truth?"
She chuckles, amused. "Probably not." And Dean smirks, not surprised at all. He'd bet money he doesn't have yet that the weasel is lying.
Eloise opens a drawer and pulls out a binder.
"Aha. Here we go."
Jack goes to inspect a photograph on the chalkboard while Sam strays a bit to the side, looking at printed readouts. Eloise sighs wearily before starting her explanation.
"All right. I apologize if this is confusing, but..." She directs her next remark at Jack, who is still staring at the photo. "Let's pay attention, yes? The room we're standing in was constructed years ago over a unique pocket of electromagnetic energy. That energy connects to similar pockets all over the world. The people who built this room, however, were only interested in one."
Sun is the one to comment. "The Island."
Eloise nods. "Yes. The Island. They'd gathered proof that it existed. They knew it was out there somewhere, but they just couldn't find it. Then a very clever fellow built this pendulum on the theoretical notion that they should stop looking for where the Island was supposed to be and start looking for where it was going to be."
Bewildered at the crazy talk going on, Dean stares at the big ass pendulum that is still whooshing back and forth, leaving a chalk mark when it brushes the ground. Sam looks totally fascinated. Jack, though, sounds as confused as Dean feels.
"What do you mean, 'Where it was going to be'?" He asks.
"Well, this fellow presumed, and correctly, as it turned out, that the Island was always moving. Why do you think you were never rescued? Now while the movements of the Island seem random, this man and his team created a series of equations which tell us, with a high degree of probability, where it is going to be at a certain point... in time. Windows, as it were, that while open, provide a route back. Unfortunately, these windows don't stay open for very long. Yours closes...in 36 hours."
Eloise then hands the binder to Jack. Desmond is the first to talk and it's with obvious disbelief.
"Um, I'm sorry. Excuse me." He chuckles without humor. "Am I really hearing this? That's what this is about? You're all going back to the Island? Willingly?"
Poised, Sun nods.
"Yes. Why are you here, Desmond?"
The man sighs wearily and scoffs.
"I came here to deliver a message." He turns to Eloise. "Daniel Faraday - your son - sent me here. He wanted me to tell you that he and all the people on the Island need your help. He said that only you could help them. He didn't say Jack. He didn't say Sun. He didn't say Ben. He said you."
And whoa, that's a lot to take in at once and Dean mutters under his breath at Sam.
"You sure you want to have anything to do with those weirdos?"
"Shhhh!" Sam hisses, bumping his shoulder unnecessarily hard. Eloise smiles at Desmond.
"But I am helping, dear."
Desmond snorts again.
"Consider the message delivered."
With a look of someone knowing a lot, Eloise declares:
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, Desmond, but the Island isn't done with you yet."
That riles Desmond even more. He addresses the group.
"This woman cost me four years of my life - four years that I'll never get back because -" He turns back to her. " - you told me that I was supposed to go to the Island! That it was my bloody purpose!" He turns to Jack, all worked up. "You listen to me, brother, and you listen carefully. These people - they're just usin' us. They're playing some kind of game, and we are just the pieces." He lowers his voice for a couple of words at Jack, then looks at Eloise. "You say the Island's not done with me? Well, I'm done with the Island."
And with that he does a dramatic exit, stepping past the whooshing pendulum before slamming the door behind him. Dean wonders if the Scot is not the only one with a lick of sense they've seen in the last hours and kind of admires the man's sense of showmanship. But the scene doesn't phase Eloise even one bit. She turns to Jack.
"Jack... the binder in your hands shows all the air routes that fly over the coordinates where I believe the Island will be in little more than a day from now. There's a commercial airliner flying from L.A. to Guam. It's going to go right through our window. Ajira Airways, Flight 316. If you have any hope of the Island bringing you back, it must be that plane. You all need to be on it. It must be that flight." She pauses with a sigh. "If you... want to return, you need to recreate as best you can the circumstances that brought you there in the first place. That means as many of the same people as you are able to bring with you."
And the worst thing is that Shephard, who seems like a level headed guy on paper, just looks at her imploringly.
"And what if we can't get anyone else to come with us? What if we're it?"
"All I can tell you is the result would be... unpredictable." Eloise answers.
"So that's it? We just get on that flight, and we just hope that it works? That's all?" Jack says, a bit manic.
"No, that's not all, Jack... at least, not for you." She answers, gesturing Jack to an office and then closes the door behind them. Ben lets his anger show at being excluded for one second before composes a straight face again and turns to Sam.
"I'll call Ajira Airways. Two tickets on Flight 316 to Guam will be in your names, at the counter. What you asked for on your list will already be checked in. Do not miss the plane."
Crossing his arms over his chest, Sam shakes his head no.
"Not before we get our forty thousand. In advance, or the deal is off."
"Yeah." Dean adds unnecessarily, because there are many levels of crazy, but looking at the map and the pendulum, he has to admit that this ranks pretty high on the list. He's not so sure he wants to be part of this, safety and money be damned.
Ben takes a business card out of his wallet and gives it to Sam.
"They'll put your car in storage and give you the money. And yes, they are expecting you. Again, and I can't say this enough, do not miss the plane."
Dean knows when he's dismissed, so he tilts his head towards the door and Sam falls in step behind him. Dean knows Sam's having to work hard for the casual way he's purposefully not looking at the content of the room as they leave. His brother is almost vibrating with curiosity. Once outside and able to lose their cool, they look at each other in bewilderment.
"Okay so that? Was fucked up. They are all a couple of fries short of a Happy Meal if you ask me." Dean declares.
“Is it really that much more fucked up than anything else we’ve seen? Come on, Dean,” Sam counters, shrugging. “It’s no stranger than what we’ve seen Bobby or Bela do. It actually seems pretty fascinating.”
Rolling his eyes, Dean opens his door and slides in.
"Trust you to get a hard on for the geeky stuff, of course. We going to get this money or not?"
Sam bitchfaces him.
"Shut up. And it's on Holloway Drive, West Hollywood. Just drive already."
(click here for part 2)
Title: Definitely not Shambhala (but it's good money)
Author: gottalovev
Crossover: Supernatural/Lost
Disclaimer: I do not own any of it, this is just for fun!
Type: I'd say this is a gen fic with slashy undertones, nothing racy (sadly!). PG-13 for violence and language.
Word Count: 21,5K words
Characters/Pairings: Dean, Sam, characters seen in S5 of Lost, light Dean/Sayid
Warnings: Brief scene of torture, but not in a sexual context.
Spoilers: General Supernatural S4 spoilers, but for Lost it's spoilery until the episode 5-11 "Whatever Happened, Happened." Alternate AU from there. Creative license taken with the timelines to make everything fit together. If you'd like a primer on either Lost or Supernatural, I made one here (spoiler warning is the same).
Artist: the wonderful chosenfire28 who did so much for this challenge being mod AND artist!
Link to Art: see it all here and please go tell her how great she is! thanks babe!
Summary: Sam and Dean have until noon to decide if they'll accept Benjamin Linus' job offer. On paper, it seems pretty straightforward: a lot of money to take care of a demon and of a ghost named Jacob on a mysterious Island in the South Pacific. But why does the case file include background info on the Oceanic Six? Can Benjamin Linus be trusted?
Author’s Notes: I want to thank my wonderful beta,
elise_509 who did a tremendous job helping me with this one. All remaining errors in what was done after her suggestions are entirely my own!
Definitely not Shambhala (but it's good money)
Tilting his head to the side, Dean observes as Sam wolfs down his second plate of pancakes, doused in syrup.
"Frankly, I just don't understand your metabolism." He states, bemused.
Sam doesn't stop eating, just quirks up an eyebrow. The City Hall won't open for one more hour, and they're all dressed up already so it's not like they're in a hurry or anything. Or going to starve in the foreseeable future. Dean takes a sip of his coffee, winces at the bitterness and adds sugar.
"Let's face it: you are huge. Yeti-like and all that shit. But for weeks you eat almost nothing, then spend a couple of days stuffing up like you are 14 again and on the biggest growth spurt ever seen on Earth. I don't get it." And Dean really, really doesn't.
Sam rolls his eyes and Dean eagerly waits for the bitch face that gives him so much glee, but then Sam suddenly stiffens up while trying to act like everything's normal (and fails spectacularly). He swallows his bite and keeping is lips half closed whispers with a definite 'don't turn and look' expression.
"I don't like how that guy is staring at us."
Dean swirls on his chair, spotting right away who Sam's talking about. The guy's not even trying to hide his interest, and even gives them a small smirk when he realizes he's busted. He doesn't look like a Fed at first sight, definitely not a hunter either, but there is something unsettling in being stared at by those bulgy blue eyes. Unsettling enough that Dean's surprised to realize the guy's quite short when he gets up and comes to their table; he’s not physically imposing, even if looking at him makes Dean’s skin crawl just a little. The man nods in greeting, then gestures towards a free chair.
"Gentlemen. May I sit down?"
Sam's unusually hostile when he answers.
"And why would you want to do that?"
That makes the man pause but he smiles like what comes out of his mouth next is perfectly normal.
"Because I'd prefer to make my job offer while sitting down, Mr. Winchester."
Sam tenses and immediately Dean checks the exits, eyes darting about to find anyone else suspicious. Looking through the diner window, he sees no sign that this guy came with company.
Not waiting for their approval, the man puts a leather case on the table. As their uninvited guest pull up a chair from a nearby table and sits at the end of their booth, Dean can hear the click of the safety on Sam’s gun, obscured from view by the linoleum table top. He inwardly praises Sam for his foresight; he must have pulled at the ready the second the guy walked toward them.
Obviously the man heard the telltale sound too; it was pretty hard to miss. But he doesn’t look afraid - merely surprised.
"Well well, all reports pegged Dean as the trigger happy brother. Guess you can't believe everything you hear."
Dean has to refrain from whipping his own gun out to point it right at the guy's forehead, just to wipe the arrogance away, but there's no point in making a scene while innocent families surround them. Instead he reaches for his piece with a tense, practiced calm and does the same as Sam. The second safety turning off is even louder than the first.
"It's a family thing. I guess your intel was wrong," he says with a shrug.
Sam is scowling now and the way he spits out "Christo" sounds more like a threat than a mere demon identity check. The man doesn't even blink and his eyes stay blue as he raises his hands in a surrendering gesture.
"I'm no threat, I swear."
"Let us be the judge of that." Dean adds, wishing he had holy water or something to double check.
"Who are you? And what do you want?" Sam demands.
"I'm sorry, right, let's start this over. My name is Benjamin Linus and from what I heard, the Winchester brothers are exactly who I need to get rid of a very peculiar problem. Very pleased to finally meet you."
He says, extending his hands and Dean just stares at him, then at the hand, and chooses to ignore it. Sam just sits back, even more passive aggressive. Linus shrugs it off, and starts talking anyway.
"Let's cut to the chase, I am on a tight schedule. As I said I have problems back home that are exactly in your line of work. We're talking about a very powerful spirit here. It can take any shape it wants, a shape taken directly from its victims’ subconscious." Ben pauses a little, evaluating their reaction, and satisfied with their interest then turns his attention to Sam, as if he made up his mind whom he needs to sell this job to. "And besides that pesky issue, there is also a cloud of deep black smoke that moves with horrible purpose. A cloud of black smoke that I saw kill men with my very own two eyes."
It’s stated like every day facts and Linus throws in front of them glossy color pictures of smoke in the middle of a forest, smoke in a clearing with short grass, never with any sign of something burning that could have produced it. The cloud is horizontal, snake-like, and Dean sits up straight, slides one the pictures closer. He’s never seen a demon captured in a photograph like this before in his whole life.
Sam has gripped a couple of pictures himself and the hostility is gone, now replaced with deep interest.
"The smoke, it always stays in that form?"
The smirk on Ben Linus' face shows he knows he's got Sam hooked. On principle, Dean prepares to balk. He's seen enough demons down in the pit and while avoiding the apocalypse to last a lifetime, thank you very much.
"I've never seen it otherwise." Linus says, snapping open the briefcase and lifting the lid. "I am prepared to pay you fifty thousand dollars for the job. Cash. I have ten thousand to give you right now to prove that I'm serious. All other expenses paid."
He turns the case towards them. Inside, a couple of paper envelopes are full in a very interesting way. That sparks Dean's interest. In the case beside the cash there are files - labeled Jacob, and Christian, maybe a dozen more - as well as some more pictures of what seems to be a tropical island. A Blackberry and a couple of plane tickets are tucked under a pair of passports and fake IDs for a Dean and a Sam Remington, all made with recent pictures.
Frowning, Dean opens the airline envelope and is relieved to see they're bound for Los Angeles. If they decide to go, it's only a two day drive. But Sam's pushing one of the pictures towards Linus.
"Where is this? Looks like a jungle."
Ben nods.
"It is. The Island is..." There is a small pause as if he doesn't really want to say, but then he smirks and goes on. "It's in the South Pacific."
There's no way to go there by car, that's for sure. As if riding a roller coaster, Dean sits back and raises his hands, shaking his head. He can't help but mourn all of this hypothetical cash: he had already been happily imagining a complete overhaul for the car.
"I'm sorry, but we don't work out of the States." Dean announces with finality.
Sam doesn't back him up though; instead he stretches as he sits back, straightening his tie.
"We usually don't work outside the States," Sam amends. "But independent research, going to the South Pacific, getting rid of your problem and coming back sounds like a job for several weeks. Fifty thousand isn’t going to cut it."
Linus' eyebrows inch up.
"Then what is your price?"
Sam smiles, although it's sly and cold.
"You need help fast, we're the best. We don't accept the case until we study it first. If we do accept it, you pay top security storage for the car and our stuff, agree to pay for all the material we list without questions asked, and we are totally in control of the operations on the field. Oh, and it's going to be one hundred thousand in cash, and this," he says dejectedly pushing a corner of the case, "we keep no matter what, just to examine your offer."
Dean has to bite down hard so his jaw doesn't hang open; he suddenly has this vivid picture of the terrifying lawyer Sam would have been. Linus, on the other hand, sniggers and smiles wide.
"You're a tough negotiator, Mr. Winchester." Linus leans back himself and studies Sam for a minute, then glances at Dean, who gives him a grin of his own. Take that, mister.
With a sigh Linus puts everything back in the briefcase and closes it. Then he pushes it at Sam.
"But I accept your conditions. You'll find my number in the phone. When can I expect your answer?"
With his best blank expression, as if they've not just been offered a small fortune, Sam nods his gracious acceptance as if he's doing the guy a favor.
"You'll have it at noon. Oh, and we need half the money before we leave too, non-refundable. If we do agree, that is."
Linus nods curtly.
"Very well." This time, when Ben extends his hand, starting with Sam, they both shake it. Dean tries to make it as short as possible while making a statement. "It will be my pleasure to see you both again in Los Angeles. I'll have your money."
Sam snorts in amusement, at last breaking his business façade.
"We'll see about that, Mr. Linus."
And just like that, the guy turns away and exits the diner, leaving Dean to stare at Sam, who looks as bewildered as Dean feels.
"Holy shit, Sammy!" Dean finally whispers, a bit awed.
"I know!" Sam says, flailing a little and making a gesture to grab the case. Dean snatches it to his chest on impulse but puts it back down when Sam bitchfaces him.
"Sorry, it's just. Holy fuck, ten grand! Just like that!"
Sam grins, obviously pleased with himself.
"Hell yeah."
No doubt, Sam deserves his gloating - deserves it enough that Dean gives him room to inflate his giant head without comment.
"You were frigging amazing, Sammy. Whoa."
That makes Sam's ears turn pink with pleasure and his grin widens.
"I know."
Dean laughs too, but then Sam looks outside and a little frown comes back.
"I don't like that man. At all. He's dangerous."
Glad he's not alone with that impression, Dean nods.
"He gives me the creeps. But, it’s not exactly the first time we’ve run into somethin’ creepy, man.” He eyes Sam, eyes the briefcase. “So? What now, mastermind?"
When Sam takes the case this time, Dean lets it go. He can't wait to count the cash later.
"Let's go take a look back at the room. Maybe buy a couple of coffees to go?"
Dean nods; he's just as curious as Sam is to find out what’s in the briefcase.
“I’ll grab ‘em, you get the cash back to the room.”
Leaving his half eaten second helping of pancakes on the table, Sam ambles for the door. With the suit and the case and the general impression of confidence Sam exudes, Dean thinks again about what could have been. Maybe Sam should go back to law school, save people in other ways. But those are thoughts for some other day, when they don't have ten grand to spend.
Dean waves at the waitress, who smiles back, coming right over.
***
Of course, Sam doesn't wait for him; he's already going through the contents of the case when Dean enters the room. Predictably, he seems fascinated with the pictures of the demon. Even with all of what happened with Sam's powers and the almost fiasco that resulted - fiasco is really tame, to speak of the apocalypse - his brother can't help it when he's close to a demon. Like a hound that smells blood, which is fucking ironic if he stops to think about it.
But he really doesn’t want to stop and think about it.
The first thing Dean checks out is the money, which he meticulously counts, aligning piles of a thousand dollars each on his bed. Linus was right: ten fucking thousand dollars, and in unmarked bills as far as he can tell. Dean lets go of a slow whistle. If they are fake, they are done well enough to fool anyone.
"So," asks Sam, "does it look clean?"
Grinning, Dean does a double thumbs up.
"At first glance, yep. The serials are all over the place, but maybe we could check a couple on the databases to see if it's wanted money."
"Good idea." Sam nods, letting go of the files he's been looking through to fire up the laptop.
Dean looks at the money some more, and then spreads it over the comforter.
"Dean, do not roll on the money. Especially if you plan getting naked."
Okay, so that was exactly what Dean had planned. It's long been a fantasy; one viewing too many of Indecent Proposal. Suddenly embarrassed that he's so predictable, Dean protests.
"What are you talking about? I'm spreading it to pick a random sample. Jesus."
Sam snorts.
"Yeah, right."
Making a show out of it, Dean puts an hand over his eyes and picks half a dozen bills that he then brings to the table where Sam has wormed his way into the police database that holds the serials of marked bills.
"Good thing I kept a shortcut for this one, I didn't think we'd have to use it again." Sam remarks, before making grabby hands for the bills and starting to enter the numbers. All of them come out clean. Each time, Dean does a fist pump.
"Awesome. But now what?"
Sam pushes the paper files towards him as he exits the database, but he stays on the computer and opens a couple of browser windows.
"This shit is really out there, man." Sam says about the files, still typing. "Check it out, there are files on the Oceanic Six."
It takes a moment before Dean places the nickname, but then the media frenzy comes back to him.
"Those poor suckers who crashed three years ago? What for?"
As Dean flips into the different files, he sees that the info on most of the Ocean Six is a background check, though it notes briefly where they are now, with recently taken glossy pictures on top.
"There's a note from Linus. They might go to the island with him," Sam says. "But it doesn't say why."
Doesn't make much sense, not to Dean.
"Didn't they end up on some godforsaken rock in the middle of nowhere?" Dean remembers thinking back then that it would be his worst nightmare, seriously. He looks at the glossy jungle pictures again. "I don't recall anything about an island as big as the one in these pictures."
Sam shrugs.
"I know, it's weird. And I really don't see how it relates to demons, spirits and Benjamin Linus." Sam looks closely at the screen and frowns. "Speak of the devil..."
"What? Found something?"
Sam nods, clicks a little more.
"He pops up a bit…linked once with a charity benefit for Mittelos Bioscience. Nothing in the Feds database, very little credit history. A bit meager if you ask me."
True, people that can offer a hundred thousand dollars generally are a bit more high profile.
Or maybe not.
"You think it's not his real name? Or maybe he doesn't pop up because he lives, you know, in the South Pacific?"
Sam shrugs again.
"Maybe.” He pauses, considering, forehead creasing. “But I still don't understand how the O6 fit in the picture. Give me one of the other names, someone who wasn’t on the plane."
Dean picks a file Sam has not checked yet. Some Asian looking guy.
"Miles Straume," he announces, starting to scan the sheet attached to the picture. Nothing out of the ordinary until the words 'medium/ghost whisperer' pop out.
"I can't find much." Sam mutters.
"I think there might be more in the files than you'll find online. Look."
Dean gives Sam the paper, pointing to the supposed psychic abilities.
"Really? Well, Linus found us, so it's possible.” Sam leafs through the folder, scanning the information quickly. “File says he's been on the Island since 2004. Maybe we could call around and see if he's known in the hunting circuit. Give me another one?"
In the next file, there's a mug shot of a man with a mean scowl and an impressive rap sheet.
"James 'Sawyer' Ford," Dean reads. Foster home circuit, con man, some misdemeanors; prison for fraud; when Dean gets to the bottom, there's a mention that he was on Oceanic Flight 815. And that he could possibly be on the island.
"Huh." Sam huffs, and Dean supposes that he's found the guy online. "Why give us the file of a guy who died in the plane crash?"
Again, Dean passes Sam the paper and points.
"Says here he could be alive and on the island." Dean looks rapidly through the other files; he finds a Korean man and a cute blond girl who are possibly on the island too.
Sam's eyebrows rise.
"Maybe all of the O6 went there when the plane crashed. But why would they lie about it?"
Good question, Dean thinks.
"I have no fucking idea."
Sam's got his thinky face on and Dean is suddenly aware of how brilliant a strategy this is for Ben to draw Sam in.
"You're not seriously considering going there, are you?"
Sam raises his eyebrows.
"Hey, a hundred thousand dollars? I'm considering it!"
"You can't be serious!" Dean says, blinking.
"And why the hell not?" Sam exclaims.
"The South Pacific, Sam! Hours and hours of plane!" Just the mere thought makes him flail.
"Come on, Dean, not this again. We could just take a boat or something." Sam looks up at the ceiling, obviously annoyed.
"I don't know man. This," Dean points to the bed, "is the easiest money we've ever made. Let's just take it and settle with good enough with no unnecessary trip to the island of mysteries."
Sighing warily, Sam massages his temples, mouth pinched tight. Dean knows that he's winding up, preparing to lash into a selling pitch. The best course of action for Dean is to try to throw Sam off course early on if he wants any chance in stating his own opinion.
"It's the demonish smoke, huh? That's why you want to go there, can't stay the fuck away from those bastards." Dean accuses, and sees immediately that it hits home when Sam tilts his chin up defiantly.
"I won't lie, there's a bit of that." Sam scowls when Dean raises his eyebrows in a way that he hopes conveys the 'ain't that a first!' he won't say out loud. Raising a hand, Sam continues. "But that's not all. Want it or not, Benjamin Linus has ammo against us. He found us, Dean, what if he oh-so-casually leaves a detailed file on us for the FBI? I'm sure he can make it look bad, or at minimum unwillingly resuscitate us and get back us on their radar. Linus won't let us walk away with his little secrets." Sam says, gesturing to the table in general.
"Fuck." Dean says, shoulders sagging.
There is no way to argue with that, and he knows when he's beaten - though screwed might be more appropriate. On the other hand, a possible ninety thousand dollars more ain’t so bad.
Knowing he got his point across, Sam doesn't bother wasting more saliva and starts reading the files they haven't been through yet. Dean busies himself with looking at the fake IDs and passports. It's top-notch work, that's for sure. Nothing done in a Kinko’s here.
Finally voicing his defeat, Dean waves the plane tickets for LA at Sam.
"Can we at least drive this part?"
The corner of Sam's mouth turns up and he nods.
“I'll tell Linus when I call him. But not a minute before noon." He looks up, grins for real then. "Why don't you make the most outrageous supply list we can somewhat reasonably get away with? Put in a new laptop."
Dean grins back, grabbing a notepad. This could be kind of awesome.
"I can do that. I feel a pressing need for a sniper rifle, C4 and a couple of land mines myself."
Sam rolls his eyes and laughs.
"I'm sure you do. Just don't forget the rock salt."
"I'm no idiot, Sammy."
He jots it down before he forgets, and right after that, Dean writes 'flame thrower'. Underlined.
***
When they finally make it at Linus' meeting point several days later, they are the first to arrive. Dean has no idea why they were asked to be in this particular place at night, in a Los Angeles suburb so anonymous they could be in any big city. There is a church across the street, but he can't even read its name, has no idea who'll they meet.
Dean drums his fingers on the Impala's door, bored to tears, while Sam almost coos at his new laptop. Ben says he'll get everything they asked for onto the Island but in the meantime it will have to be put in cargo, although he didn't say precisely when or how they will travel yet. Dean thinks it's not fair that he couldn’t even fondle his C4 but Sam got his own toy.
Okay, so Sam had requested all files and pictures in a numeric format, which are now being opened on said computer, but it's still a bitch.
Finally, a black Dodge Ram Van lettered to 'Canton-Rainier, Carpet Cleaning' pulls aside and Benjamin Linus, the hot asian chick and Jack Shephard come out. Seems the doc shaved since the last picture in his file, and women everywhere must be thanking god for small favors.
Sam's spotted them too, so they leave the Impala and walk closer, overhearing the conversation as Sun Kwon stares at a gold ring in her hand.
"Why did he not tell me himself?" She says.
"I don't know." Answers Ben. "Maybe he never had a chance before he died. I'm sorry I had to bring you here before I gave it to you, Sun. But all those people back on the Island - Jin included - need our help. There is a woman in this church and she can tell us how to get back to your husband. But we're running out of time, Sun. So I need you to decide right now. Will you come with me?"
Sun takes a moment to think about it as she looks down at the ring in her hand again.
"Yes." She says, finally.
Dean wonders if he should cough so Ben acknowledges their presence and introduce them, because frankly he's beginning to feel like a tool here on the sidelines, with only the doctor squinting at them suspiciously. A man coming over succeeds in his entry a lot better than they did.
"What are you doing here?" He shouts, walking towards the group.
Even if surprised, the others seem to know him. It definitely backs Sam’s theory that all of the Oceanic Six spent those months on the island, because with the Scottish accent and the long hair, it's not hard to recognize the newcomer as Desmond Hume, location supposedly unknown. Hume was on that island for four years, up until the end of 1994, or so his file says.
"I assume the same thing you are." Ben says, which Dean would love to be privy of, if someone would dare explain it to him. Hume looks confused.
"You’re looking for Faraday's mother too?" Dean has no idea who's he talking about. Faraday? Wasn't that the scientist in the file? But Dean doesn't remember anything in particular noted about his mother.
Ben stares at Desmond, then turns around and walks briskly into the church. The others follow, so Dean looks at Sam and they shrug, deciding they better tag along even if Ben didn't even tell them to. They enter the church where an older woman with white hair stands near the rows of flickering votive candles with her back turned toward them.
"Hello, Eloise." Ben says.
The woman lights a candle and turns to face them. It's weird to think of her as the mad scientist’s mom, to be honest.
"Hello, Benjamin." Everyone kind of stares at her while she looks back calmly. "I thought I said all of them."
"This is all I could get on short notice." Ben replies.
The woman, Eloise, sighs.
"Well, I suppose it will have to do for now." She then looks towards Sam and then Dean, who is in a way kind of relieved because he sort of felt invisible for a moment there. "And who are those boys?"
Before they can answer, Linus does it for them.
"Sam and Dean Remington. They have some work to do on the island."
Dean nods, and out of the corner of his eye sees that Sam does the same.
"Yes ma'am. Supernatural related." Dean agrees just to see how everyone will react. Nothing even flickers across Linus's face, although Jack, Sun and Desmond all squint at them. The good thing is that they don't completely seem to think he's crazy. Interesting. Apparently satisfied, Eloise nods.
"All right! Let's get started."
They all walk to the back of the church where Eloise opens another squeaking door and flicks the light switch.
"Shall we?" She says, before waling down a spiral, metal staircase and through a dim, stone hallway with a sturdy metal door at the end. There is one of those logos on the door, similar to the ones of that hippie DHARMA organization they've been informed of. Dean had rolled his eyes at their pretense to recreate Utopia. As if. He exchanges a knowing glance with Sam, who's got his focused face on, all business.
The door-wheel squeaks as Eloise opens it and on the other side, in the fairly dark room, there is a loud whooshing sound. As they all enter, Dean looks with disbelief at the large pendulum swinging back and forth in the center of the room. Sam's eyes are round, trying to take everything in. The walls are covered with computer equipment that seems to be dating almost as far back as the dinosaurs. There's an odd clicking noise, toward which Jack and Dean walk to find out is a panel with a series of coordinates changing constantly. Looking back to the center of the room, Dean glances at the map on the floor over which the pendulum is moving.
"What is this place?" Jack asks, obviously voicing the thought of the majority. Eloise answers.
"The DHARMA Initiative called it the Lamp Post. This is how they found the island."
Jack turns to Ben. "Did you know about this place?"
"No. No, I didn't." And even with years trying to see through people, Dean can't tell if Ben's being honest or not. Jack has his doubts too since he asks Eloise.
"Is he telling the truth?"
She chuckles, amused. "Probably not." And Dean smirks, not surprised at all. He'd bet money he doesn't have yet that the weasel is lying.
Eloise opens a drawer and pulls out a binder.
"Aha. Here we go."
Jack goes to inspect a photograph on the chalkboard while Sam strays a bit to the side, looking at printed readouts. Eloise sighs wearily before starting her explanation.
"All right. I apologize if this is confusing, but..." She directs her next remark at Jack, who is still staring at the photo. "Let's pay attention, yes? The room we're standing in was constructed years ago over a unique pocket of electromagnetic energy. That energy connects to similar pockets all over the world. The people who built this room, however, were only interested in one."
Sun is the one to comment. "The Island."
Eloise nods. "Yes. The Island. They'd gathered proof that it existed. They knew it was out there somewhere, but they just couldn't find it. Then a very clever fellow built this pendulum on the theoretical notion that they should stop looking for where the Island was supposed to be and start looking for where it was going to be."
Bewildered at the crazy talk going on, Dean stares at the big ass pendulum that is still whooshing back and forth, leaving a chalk mark when it brushes the ground. Sam looks totally fascinated. Jack, though, sounds as confused as Dean feels.
"What do you mean, 'Where it was going to be'?" He asks.
"Well, this fellow presumed, and correctly, as it turned out, that the Island was always moving. Why do you think you were never rescued? Now while the movements of the Island seem random, this man and his team created a series of equations which tell us, with a high degree of probability, where it is going to be at a certain point... in time. Windows, as it were, that while open, provide a route back. Unfortunately, these windows don't stay open for very long. Yours closes...in 36 hours."
Eloise then hands the binder to Jack. Desmond is the first to talk and it's with obvious disbelief.
"Um, I'm sorry. Excuse me." He chuckles without humor. "Am I really hearing this? That's what this is about? You're all going back to the Island? Willingly?"
Poised, Sun nods.
"Yes. Why are you here, Desmond?"
The man sighs wearily and scoffs.
"I came here to deliver a message." He turns to Eloise. "Daniel Faraday - your son - sent me here. He wanted me to tell you that he and all the people on the Island need your help. He said that only you could help them. He didn't say Jack. He didn't say Sun. He didn't say Ben. He said you."
And whoa, that's a lot to take in at once and Dean mutters under his breath at Sam.
"You sure you want to have anything to do with those weirdos?"
"Shhhh!" Sam hisses, bumping his shoulder unnecessarily hard. Eloise smiles at Desmond.
"But I am helping, dear."
Desmond snorts again.
"Consider the message delivered."
With a look of someone knowing a lot, Eloise declares:
"I'm sorry to have to tell you this, Desmond, but the Island isn't done with you yet."
That riles Desmond even more. He addresses the group.
"This woman cost me four years of my life - four years that I'll never get back because -" He turns back to her. " - you told me that I was supposed to go to the Island! That it was my bloody purpose!" He turns to Jack, all worked up. "You listen to me, brother, and you listen carefully. These people - they're just usin' us. They're playing some kind of game, and we are just the pieces." He lowers his voice for a couple of words at Jack, then looks at Eloise. "You say the Island's not done with me? Well, I'm done with the Island."
And with that he does a dramatic exit, stepping past the whooshing pendulum before slamming the door behind him. Dean wonders if the Scot is not the only one with a lick of sense they've seen in the last hours and kind of admires the man's sense of showmanship. But the scene doesn't phase Eloise even one bit. She turns to Jack.
"Jack... the binder in your hands shows all the air routes that fly over the coordinates where I believe the Island will be in little more than a day from now. There's a commercial airliner flying from L.A. to Guam. It's going to go right through our window. Ajira Airways, Flight 316. If you have any hope of the Island bringing you back, it must be that plane. You all need to be on it. It must be that flight." She pauses with a sigh. "If you... want to return, you need to recreate as best you can the circumstances that brought you there in the first place. That means as many of the same people as you are able to bring with you."
And the worst thing is that Shephard, who seems like a level headed guy on paper, just looks at her imploringly.
"And what if we can't get anyone else to come with us? What if we're it?"
"All I can tell you is the result would be... unpredictable." Eloise answers.
"So that's it? We just get on that flight, and we just hope that it works? That's all?" Jack says, a bit manic.
"No, that's not all, Jack... at least, not for you." She answers, gesturing Jack to an office and then closes the door behind them. Ben lets his anger show at being excluded for one second before composes a straight face again and turns to Sam.
"I'll call Ajira Airways. Two tickets on Flight 316 to Guam will be in your names, at the counter. What you asked for on your list will already be checked in. Do not miss the plane."
Crossing his arms over his chest, Sam shakes his head no.
"Not before we get our forty thousand. In advance, or the deal is off."
"Yeah." Dean adds unnecessarily, because there are many levels of crazy, but looking at the map and the pendulum, he has to admit that this ranks pretty high on the list. He's not so sure he wants to be part of this, safety and money be damned.
Ben takes a business card out of his wallet and gives it to Sam.
"They'll put your car in storage and give you the money. And yes, they are expecting you. Again, and I can't say this enough, do not miss the plane."
Dean knows when he's dismissed, so he tilts his head towards the door and Sam falls in step behind him. Dean knows Sam's having to work hard for the casual way he's purposefully not looking at the content of the room as they leave. His brother is almost vibrating with curiosity. Once outside and able to lose their cool, they look at each other in bewilderment.
"Okay so that? Was fucked up. They are all a couple of fries short of a Happy Meal if you ask me." Dean declares.
“Is it really that much more fucked up than anything else we’ve seen? Come on, Dean,” Sam counters, shrugging. “It’s no stranger than what we’ve seen Bobby or Bela do. It actually seems pretty fascinating.”
Rolling his eyes, Dean opens his door and slides in.
"Trust you to get a hard on for the geeky stuff, of course. We going to get this money or not?"
Sam bitchfaces him.
"Shut up. And it's on Holloway Drive, West Hollywood. Just drive already."
(click here for part 2)