Standard Issue [CSI:NY crossover]
Title: Standard Issue
Pairing: Dean/Danny, Sam/Don
Rating: R-NC-17
Summary: It was a run of the mill murder. A young woman found dead. NYPD homicide had no idea what was about to knock on their door.
Spoilers: Up to 5.10 Abandon All Hope for SPN and 6.12 Criminal Justice for CSI:NY
Notes: Thank you to everyone that commented on the first chapter! I have a feeling I won't be done with these four guys for a very long time. XD
Danny Messer had yet to get tired of processing scenes. He hadn't been the new guy in a long time and so things like dumpster diving, piecing bottles back together, and other tedious tasks got left to guys like Adam, their prized lab tech. No, Danny enjoyed processing much more when he could block out the rest of the world and just let his mind focus on putting the puzzle together.
He didn't, however, like it when pieces weren't fitting, as though they were from the wrong box.
Sid, their coroner, had ruled cause of death as transection of the Jugular and Carotid, noting the wound track had been clean and that she'd died in seconds from the deep laceration. What Danny couldn't figure out was what kind of blade had been used.
The entire stock of knives, shivs, and other assorted sharps the lab owned had been gone through and he'd yet to match the jagged cut on the young girl's neck to any blade that had ever been catalogued by the state of New York. From what he could tell, the guy had used a blade that had teeth, and the blade was razor sharp. Despite the two factors, the perp had still used tremendous force, as though he were furious with the young teen. Danny shook his head as he again looked over the narrowed list of blades, comparing the marks they'd left on the lab test pig to those of the autopsy photos.
"Ho! Mess!" Don's voice was as unmistakable as Danny's as it echoed through the glass-framed room, the taller detective coming in with his usual warm smile. Out of everyone on the team they were assigned to work with day in and day out, Danny and Don were the only two born and bred in New York City, their heavily accented words a source of intimidation or amusement depending on which side of the law you were on.
Wearing his new uniform of button down shirt, jacket and jeans, Don looked less stuffy than he had in years past when his daily attire consisted of a tailored three piece suit that was immaculately kept despite his usual chases after perps. He'd loosened up substantially since the death of his partner, Jessica Angell, and it showed primarily in how he now carried himself with a bit less perfection. It saddened Danny a little, to see the man he knew and looked up to get taken down a peg by heartache and loss, but it only served to make him more human and therefore even more of a hero in his friend's eyes.
Giving Don a warm but frustrated smile, Danny motioned for him to come around the lab table, wanting to show him his findings.
"None of 'em match, Flack. Not a single one. It's like whatever sliced this girl up was just made yesterday and there's only one of 'em." He complained, holding up a bread knife in defeat.
"How 'bout I ask around the other departments? Maybe Vice has seen it on the streets. I mean, we both know her boyfriend's a thug if he goes by the name Demon, but maybe he's in even deeper than his name suggests." Don reasoned, head cocked to the side, shoulders shrugging as he tried his best to help Danny out.
"Yeah, yeah, that's a good idea. Vice'll have anythin' comin' up from the 6th Borough and anywhere in between. D'ya hear 'bout what Hawkes found traces of next to 'er body?" He asked, changing the subject as he took off his lab coat, knowing he and Don had a date with the guy that sold Brats with all the fixin's two blocks down.
"Nah, what?"
"Sulfur. So we're dealin' with a guy that does factory work. Either makin' matches or fireworks. No other explanation for it."
"Narrows it down some. What girl in 'er right mind would date a guy that smelled like rotten eggs all day though?" Don wrinkled his face, shaking his head as he handed Danny his coat, the two making their way down the hall to the elevators.
The good thing about working in the biggest precinct in Manhattan was that it was a one-stop shop. Labs upstairs, bullpen downstairs. Vice sandwiched somewhere in between.
Once they hit the main floor, Danny's eyes were drawn to the greater-than-usual commotion in the 'pen. Danny smacked Don lightly on the chest with the back of his hand, a motion for him to look in the same direction and when he did, they both deviated course and headed through the old double doors into their offices.
In the middle of the series of desks was a hysterical woman in her mid-forties. In her left hand was a fire poker, in her right a Glock. Tears poured down her face as she held her teenage daughter tight against her own chest, both weapons much too close to the girl for anyone's comfort.
"She's possessed!!" The woman shrieked, not caring that every gun in the room--including those belonging to Danny and Don--were all pointed at her.
"Ma'am, calm down. My name is Detective Don Flack and whatever's goin' on...it ain't worth killin' yer daughter over." Don stepped forward, oozing confidence despite a lack of bullet proof vest under his shirts.
Years of training told him that the only reason the mother would shoot him was if he enraged her in some way. Her target was her daughter, not him. If he listened, sympathized, and got close enough to disarm her, he'd have the upper hand.
"She's possessed, detective. Found her in her room...sl-slicing the neighbor's c-cat! She's got the devil in 'er!!" Don couldn't stop the flinch of disgust at the description, though it was quickly replaced by a look of understanding.
As hard as the mother was crying, so was the daughter, both women making everyone's panic levels rise along with their guns when they first came barrelling in.
"I understand that her behavior's a little troubling. We've got people here than can help her though. You holdin' a gun to 'er head ain't gonna help nobody's situation, y'understand?" He leveled his eyes with her, Don slowly holding up his own Glock 19 and putting the safety back on as he tucked it back into its holster at his side.
"Look, I'm not gonna hurt ya. Neither is anyone else in this buildin'. All we ask is that ya drop the gun, drop the poker and hand over yer daughter so we can get 'er the help she needs." Reason seemed lost on the woman, Don's words only causing her to push the barrel closer to her daughter's head, the hooked end of the fire poker snug against the soft skin of the young girl's neck.
"Ma'am, please. Y'don't wanna do this. She's yer daughter!" Don's voice rose in intensity, his true feelings coming out as he took another tentative step closer to the crazed mother.
"I'm sorry, Detective. She's possessed. She needs to be cleansed of the Devil!!" Several yells resounded, Don, Danny and every other detective in the room watching as the woman unloaded the clip and jammed the poker up towards the brain stem of the young girl.
His eyes closed instinctively against the blood spatter that caught him full in the face, the rest of what hadn't shot out gurgling sickly out of the wounds as the young girl fell to the floor.
The image would be seared into Don's brain well into the next week.
-------------------------------------
"Would you hurry up?! Stop bein' such a chicken and run already!!" Sam would've laughed, had it not been for the fact that Dean was making them late for their impromptu barge-in of the 14th precinct.
"I'm gonna get creamed!" Dean yelled back, glaring at Sam even across six lanes of traffic. Despite having been to the city several times, he'd yet to get used to just how many damn cars there were.
Finally, a small break in the traffic had him doing the fifty yard dash across the lanes, Dean getting at least three honks for his jaywalking.
"You do that again with your freaky Giraffe legs and I'm locking you in the Impala." He huffed at Sam once they were reunited on the other side, his younger brother merely letting out a belly laugh before cuffing Dean on the back of the neck and leading them towards the building.
Right off the bat, they were aware of something being wrong. There was absolutely no one in the lobby. In a building normally crawling with cops, Dean had expected at least one doughnut-bellied speed-trap-happy sonofabitch to be mulling around. Shaking his head, he motioned with a jerk of his chin towards the first set of doors inside the precinct, Sam nodding and following him towards the wood and glass opening.
"Tell me something, Sammy. What's better than a box of Krispy Kreme to these guys?" Dean asked in a distracted voice, having reached the doors first, one glance telling him exactly why no one was anywhere other than the bullpen.
"What?" Sam asked, finally moving into a position where he could see what was going on, his mouth parting a little in shock as he took in the sight of the mother and child locked together in a battle that was sure to end badly for both of them.
"A standoff with a crazy bitch." Dean murmured just before the shots rang out and the girl was practically decapitated.
One look at each other was all it took, both brothers knowing precisely what had happened without even having to ask. They had some serious investigating to do and they had to start moving quick.
"Think it's the same demon?" Dean asked, moving away from the door and over towards a bench by the front entrance, both him and Sammy ready to move and blend in when the two doors were opened and people began to bustle out.
"If it is, it's moving quick and not worried about getting caught. D'you see how the mom's eyes flashed right before she..."
"Right before she went all Andrea Yates on her? Yeah, I saw. You think any of the schmucks in there noticed?"
"I think they were a little distracted, Dean." Sam deadpanned, both boys watching as swarms of cops flew into action, the lobby filling quickly.
"Now's the best time to go in, Sammy." Dean suddenly looked like a light bulb had gone off in his head as he watched a detective about Sam's height walk out, blood sprayed all over his features.
As usual, they had called before showing up, and the CO in charge of the detective on the case had given a very good description of the man they wanted to talk to. Don, it turned out, fit the description perfectly.
"We'll get in and out easy as pie with them being all confused and dealing with this chick." He pointed out, moving towards the detective, badge in hand.
"Excuse me, Detective Flack." Dean cleared his throat, Don turning and looking at him in confusion for a moment before taking note of the badge. In an instant, his face turned sarcastic, an eat-shit grin coming across his features.
"You boys are a lil' late. Show's over already." He said by way of greeting, his eyes going towards the now-propped-open doors of the bullpen.
"We caught the final death scene, actually. But we're here about another case. The one earlier tod--" Dean looked shocked as Don held up a hand nearly as big as Sammy's, about two inches from his face.
"Stop. Just stop. I'm covered in blood and brain, so if y'don't mind, I'm gonna jump in the shower. Then, I'm 'a head over to Ray's for a slice, and maybe, just maybe, after that we'll have our lil' chat." Clearly, this was a guy with whom the letters F.B.I. meant very little.
Sure, Dean had heard about the notorious distaste that cops had for Feds; hell, he'd seen it in action a few times. But never, in all the years he'd been posing as a suit, had he ever been talked to by a Detective the way he was being talked to now. Dean didn't like it, not one little bit.
"Hey, listen here, pal..."
Sam cleared his throat, moving his brother aside and flashing Don an understanding smile. It was time for a little more finesse, and a little less brute force. Not to mention the Detective looked very capable of squashing his brother into a pancake if he so chose.
"Tell you what, Detective. The slice is on us. We'll wait for you right over there and we can discuss the case after we eat." Smiling warmly at the man, Sam hoped he'd used the right approach.
Much to Dean's ire, and Sam's delight, Don's face broke out into something of a smirk, nodding his agreement.
"I'll let my partner know. We'll be more than happy to have a lunch on the Fed's dime. See you boys soon."
So...maybe that didn't go quite as well as he'd planned.
Pairing: Dean/Danny, Sam/Don
Rating: R-NC-17
Summary: It was a run of the mill murder. A young woman found dead. NYPD homicide had no idea what was about to knock on their door.
Spoilers: Up to 5.10 Abandon All Hope for SPN and 6.12 Criminal Justice for CSI:NY
Notes: Thank you to everyone that commented on the first chapter! I have a feeling I won't be done with these four guys for a very long time. XD
Danny Messer had yet to get tired of processing scenes. He hadn't been the new guy in a long time and so things like dumpster diving, piecing bottles back together, and other tedious tasks got left to guys like Adam, their prized lab tech. No, Danny enjoyed processing much more when he could block out the rest of the world and just let his mind focus on putting the puzzle together.
He didn't, however, like it when pieces weren't fitting, as though they were from the wrong box.
Sid, their coroner, had ruled cause of death as transection of the Jugular and Carotid, noting the wound track had been clean and that she'd died in seconds from the deep laceration. What Danny couldn't figure out was what kind of blade had been used.
The entire stock of knives, shivs, and other assorted sharps the lab owned had been gone through and he'd yet to match the jagged cut on the young girl's neck to any blade that had ever been catalogued by the state of New York. From what he could tell, the guy had used a blade that had teeth, and the blade was razor sharp. Despite the two factors, the perp had still used tremendous force, as though he were furious with the young teen. Danny shook his head as he again looked over the narrowed list of blades, comparing the marks they'd left on the lab test pig to those of the autopsy photos.
"Ho! Mess!" Don's voice was as unmistakable as Danny's as it echoed through the glass-framed room, the taller detective coming in with his usual warm smile. Out of everyone on the team they were assigned to work with day in and day out, Danny and Don were the only two born and bred in New York City, their heavily accented words a source of intimidation or amusement depending on which side of the law you were on.
Wearing his new uniform of button down shirt, jacket and jeans, Don looked less stuffy than he had in years past when his daily attire consisted of a tailored three piece suit that was immaculately kept despite his usual chases after perps. He'd loosened up substantially since the death of his partner, Jessica Angell, and it showed primarily in how he now carried himself with a bit less perfection. It saddened Danny a little, to see the man he knew and looked up to get taken down a peg by heartache and loss, but it only served to make him more human and therefore even more of a hero in his friend's eyes.
Giving Don a warm but frustrated smile, Danny motioned for him to come around the lab table, wanting to show him his findings.
"None of 'em match, Flack. Not a single one. It's like whatever sliced this girl up was just made yesterday and there's only one of 'em." He complained, holding up a bread knife in defeat.
"How 'bout I ask around the other departments? Maybe Vice has seen it on the streets. I mean, we both know her boyfriend's a thug if he goes by the name Demon, but maybe he's in even deeper than his name suggests." Don reasoned, head cocked to the side, shoulders shrugging as he tried his best to help Danny out.
"Yeah, yeah, that's a good idea. Vice'll have anythin' comin' up from the 6th Borough and anywhere in between. D'ya hear 'bout what Hawkes found traces of next to 'er body?" He asked, changing the subject as he took off his lab coat, knowing he and Don had a date with the guy that sold Brats with all the fixin's two blocks down.
"Nah, what?"
"Sulfur. So we're dealin' with a guy that does factory work. Either makin' matches or fireworks. No other explanation for it."
"Narrows it down some. What girl in 'er right mind would date a guy that smelled like rotten eggs all day though?" Don wrinkled his face, shaking his head as he handed Danny his coat, the two making their way down the hall to the elevators.
The good thing about working in the biggest precinct in Manhattan was that it was a one-stop shop. Labs upstairs, bullpen downstairs. Vice sandwiched somewhere in between.
Once they hit the main floor, Danny's eyes were drawn to the greater-than-usual commotion in the 'pen. Danny smacked Don lightly on the chest with the back of his hand, a motion for him to look in the same direction and when he did, they both deviated course and headed through the old double doors into their offices.
In the middle of the series of desks was a hysterical woman in her mid-forties. In her left hand was a fire poker, in her right a Glock. Tears poured down her face as she held her teenage daughter tight against her own chest, both weapons much too close to the girl for anyone's comfort.
"She's possessed!!" The woman shrieked, not caring that every gun in the room--including those belonging to Danny and Don--were all pointed at her.
"Ma'am, calm down. My name is Detective Don Flack and whatever's goin' on...it ain't worth killin' yer daughter over." Don stepped forward, oozing confidence despite a lack of bullet proof vest under his shirts.
Years of training told him that the only reason the mother would shoot him was if he enraged her in some way. Her target was her daughter, not him. If he listened, sympathized, and got close enough to disarm her, he'd have the upper hand.
"She's possessed, detective. Found her in her room...sl-slicing the neighbor's c-cat! She's got the devil in 'er!!" Don couldn't stop the flinch of disgust at the description, though it was quickly replaced by a look of understanding.
As hard as the mother was crying, so was the daughter, both women making everyone's panic levels rise along with their guns when they first came barrelling in.
"I understand that her behavior's a little troubling. We've got people here than can help her though. You holdin' a gun to 'er head ain't gonna help nobody's situation, y'understand?" He leveled his eyes with her, Don slowly holding up his own Glock 19 and putting the safety back on as he tucked it back into its holster at his side.
"Look, I'm not gonna hurt ya. Neither is anyone else in this buildin'. All we ask is that ya drop the gun, drop the poker and hand over yer daughter so we can get 'er the help she needs." Reason seemed lost on the woman, Don's words only causing her to push the barrel closer to her daughter's head, the hooked end of the fire poker snug against the soft skin of the young girl's neck.
"Ma'am, please. Y'don't wanna do this. She's yer daughter!" Don's voice rose in intensity, his true feelings coming out as he took another tentative step closer to the crazed mother.
"I'm sorry, Detective. She's possessed. She needs to be cleansed of the Devil!!" Several yells resounded, Don, Danny and every other detective in the room watching as the woman unloaded the clip and jammed the poker up towards the brain stem of the young girl.
His eyes closed instinctively against the blood spatter that caught him full in the face, the rest of what hadn't shot out gurgling sickly out of the wounds as the young girl fell to the floor.
The image would be seared into Don's brain well into the next week.
-------------------------------------
"Would you hurry up?! Stop bein' such a chicken and run already!!" Sam would've laughed, had it not been for the fact that Dean was making them late for their impromptu barge-in of the 14th precinct.
"I'm gonna get creamed!" Dean yelled back, glaring at Sam even across six lanes of traffic. Despite having been to the city several times, he'd yet to get used to just how many damn cars there were.
Finally, a small break in the traffic had him doing the fifty yard dash across the lanes, Dean getting at least three honks for his jaywalking.
"You do that again with your freaky Giraffe legs and I'm locking you in the Impala." He huffed at Sam once they were reunited on the other side, his younger brother merely letting out a belly laugh before cuffing Dean on the back of the neck and leading them towards the building.
Right off the bat, they were aware of something being wrong. There was absolutely no one in the lobby. In a building normally crawling with cops, Dean had expected at least one doughnut-bellied speed-trap-happy sonofabitch to be mulling around. Shaking his head, he motioned with a jerk of his chin towards the first set of doors inside the precinct, Sam nodding and following him towards the wood and glass opening.
"Tell me something, Sammy. What's better than a box of Krispy Kreme to these guys?" Dean asked in a distracted voice, having reached the doors first, one glance telling him exactly why no one was anywhere other than the bullpen.
"What?" Sam asked, finally moving into a position where he could see what was going on, his mouth parting a little in shock as he took in the sight of the mother and child locked together in a battle that was sure to end badly for both of them.
"A standoff with a crazy bitch." Dean murmured just before the shots rang out and the girl was practically decapitated.
One look at each other was all it took, both brothers knowing precisely what had happened without even having to ask. They had some serious investigating to do and they had to start moving quick.
"Think it's the same demon?" Dean asked, moving away from the door and over towards a bench by the front entrance, both him and Sammy ready to move and blend in when the two doors were opened and people began to bustle out.
"If it is, it's moving quick and not worried about getting caught. D'you see how the mom's eyes flashed right before she..."
"Right before she went all Andrea Yates on her? Yeah, I saw. You think any of the schmucks in there noticed?"
"I think they were a little distracted, Dean." Sam deadpanned, both boys watching as swarms of cops flew into action, the lobby filling quickly.
"Now's the best time to go in, Sammy." Dean suddenly looked like a light bulb had gone off in his head as he watched a detective about Sam's height walk out, blood sprayed all over his features.
As usual, they had called before showing up, and the CO in charge of the detective on the case had given a very good description of the man they wanted to talk to. Don, it turned out, fit the description perfectly.
"We'll get in and out easy as pie with them being all confused and dealing with this chick." He pointed out, moving towards the detective, badge in hand.
"Excuse me, Detective Flack." Dean cleared his throat, Don turning and looking at him in confusion for a moment before taking note of the badge. In an instant, his face turned sarcastic, an eat-shit grin coming across his features.
"You boys are a lil' late. Show's over already." He said by way of greeting, his eyes going towards the now-propped-open doors of the bullpen.
"We caught the final death scene, actually. But we're here about another case. The one earlier tod--" Dean looked shocked as Don held up a hand nearly as big as Sammy's, about two inches from his face.
"Stop. Just stop. I'm covered in blood and brain, so if y'don't mind, I'm gonna jump in the shower. Then, I'm 'a head over to Ray's for a slice, and maybe, just maybe, after that we'll have our lil' chat." Clearly, this was a guy with whom the letters F.B.I. meant very little.
Sure, Dean had heard about the notorious distaste that cops had for Feds; hell, he'd seen it in action a few times. But never, in all the years he'd been posing as a suit, had he ever been talked to by a Detective the way he was being talked to now. Dean didn't like it, not one little bit.
"Hey, listen here, pal..."
Sam cleared his throat, moving his brother aside and flashing Don an understanding smile. It was time for a little more finesse, and a little less brute force. Not to mention the Detective looked very capable of squashing his brother into a pancake if he so chose.
"Tell you what, Detective. The slice is on us. We'll wait for you right over there and we can discuss the case after we eat." Smiling warmly at the man, Sam hoped he'd used the right approach.
Much to Dean's ire, and Sam's delight, Don's face broke out into something of a smirk, nodding his agreement.
"I'll let my partner know. We'll be more than happy to have a lunch on the Fed's dime. See you boys soon."
So...maybe that didn't go quite as well as he'd planned.