New: WIP: The Hunter and the Hunted
Sep. 9th, 2006 08:27 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
candygrammeTitle: The Hunter and the Hunted
Authors:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-syndicated.gif)
art_of_mayhem and ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
candygramme
Rated: PG for adult situations. There will be graphic sex in subsequent sections.
Pairing: Dean Winchester/Alex Krycek
Spoilers: none
Warning: Slash
Wordcount: 3,250
Disclaimer: Dean and his family belong to Eric Kripke and Supernatural, and Alex belongs to Chris Carter and the X-Files. We own nothing, but we are doing this for love and not money.
Author’s notes: Dean spent four years traveling with John, his father, and later on his own missions, while Sam, his brother, was at Stanford. We’ve bent time a little, and we are aware of that, but this is fiction . We’ve decided that Dean met up with Alex Krycek after the events of Piper Maru and Apocrypha so for everyone that ever wondered how Alex got out of the missile silo, we have the scoop.
The quoted song is “October Song,” by the Incredible String Band.
Chapter 1: The October Song
I’ll sing you my October song, There is no song before it
The words and tune are not my own, my joy and sorrow bore it
Beside the sea there’s a brambly briar in the still of evening
Birds fly out from beside the sun, and with them I’ll be leaving
Dean Winchester never liked to fly – he had more than just a slight fear of air travel, so instead, he spent his time driving around the country in the 67 Impala his father had given him. It was a funny thought, given Dean‘s profession, which was that of hunter. He wasn't just your average hunter either, not the kind that hunted animals. Dean hunted the paranormal. Demons, ghosts, spirits - anything that troubled people, and he saved their lives. It was something he’d grown up with – something that his father had taught both his boys, believing that, if he made soldiers out of them, their knowledge and skills would protect them.
At the tender age of four, when Dean was little, his brother a mere six months old, their house had burned down. Dean had carried his little brother out on his father’s orders. As the house burned, Dean, his father and little Sammy had watched. Dean later learned that his father believed something supernatural had started that fire, and that it hadn’t been the electrical blaze that the authorities had decided to call it.
Much later his father had told Dean that he’d seen their mother pinned to the ceiling, before it had burst into flames. Whatever had done this, it had become the family mission to hunt it down and destroy it.
Dean's father, John, had heard a rumor of strange things happening around a certain field close to Fargo, North Dakota, the part of the country where Dean was now traveling. Events had been going on for a while, and people were reporting strange lights, things happening that could not be explained, even peculiar noises coming from the woods. Finally, Dean had been sent to check it out.
Dean found himself driving down a dirt road, which led to the field he was to investigate. It was just past sunset, and his headlights cut through the light fog lifting off the grass. The tree line could barely be seen in the darkness, but something else was catching his attention. A Missile silo jutted up into the night sky like a rotten tooth against the scudding clouds.
The Impala rolled to a stop, the driver peering out of the window at his surroundings. "Great, dad," Dean mumbled, pushing the door open. It creaked with age as he closed it, looking around at the apparently disused building. Walking back to the trunk, he opened it up, and then pulled open the hidden compartment, which was loaded down with all he needed to fight whatever he encountered, guns, knives, holy water, rock salt, gas, and more. He selected a flashlight; he already had a gun at his back, just in case, but he reached in to grab some spare ammo for it.
Walking around, he started to explore what he thought of as the target area, EMF at the ready. After wandering through the complex for nearly an hour, he was beginning to think this trip might be a bust. He hadn't seen or heard anything except... well, now that he thought of it, that was a little strange, there were no birds flying about, and not even the crickets were making a noise. Hell, there weren’t even bugs flying at him to bite or get at his light.
After some consideration, Dean decided to check out inside the silo, if at all possible, so he made his way to the entrance. It appeared to be unlocked, so, pulling the door open, he entered. Once inside, he gazed down the long hall, frowning, then shone his flashlight around, walking down the length of the corridor as he looked about.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Alex Krycek had given up. Hungry and thirsty to such a degree that his tongue had swollen in his mouth, he sat slumped, his back to the door against which he’d pounded so fruitlessly for hours.
It seemed as if this was going to be the one time when he wouldn’t get away. The creature that had taken him over had departed from his body, leaving only a greasy scum on his skin and a vile taste in his mouth - as if he’d drunk industrial waste.
If he had any moisture left in him, he would have cried, but as it was he merely sat, staring blindly into the stygian darkness, wondering how long it would take for him to die.
He had no idea how long he’d been there. Time had stopped for him at that airport bathroom in Hong Kong, and he had somehow awakened here in this hellhole, back in the clutches of the Smoker. He’d thought he could somehow parley his way out of the place, but Spender wasn’t having any of it. He’d told the soldiers to leave him, and then abandoned him to his fate.
As the door had clanged shut, he’d been crouched over the ground, vomiting out the oily substance that had been riding him for the past few days, and by the time he’d realized that he wasn’t in Hong Kong any more, the door had been shut on him, locking him into a darkness that was doubly terrifying because he didn’t know how he’d got there, only that he was there now, and it seemed as if he would never get out again.
He thought he might have dozed for a while, but he came suddenly awake as he heard something moving on the other side of the door. “God!” He stumbled to his feet and peered through the glass in the door, trying to discern whether there actually was someone out there, maybe Mulder returning to poke around.
He was giving up again, when he saw the light. It was a flashlight, he was almost certain, and that meant Mulder; of course it did. Even Mulder wouldn’t condemn him to die alone in the dark, although if it did turn out to be his nemesis he’d have to work out a way of escaping the feeb’s clutches once out of here.
“Help! Help!” His voice was cracked and barely audible, so Alex did the only thing he could. He banged on the heavy iron door, kicked at it with one steel toecapped boot, until the hollow booming he made could not possibly be missed.
“Oh, God, please!” He didn’t believe in God, but he hoped like crazy that God would believe in him, just this once.
“Help, goddammit!” he screamed.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
There was nothing but darkness, and the hollow echo of his boots striking the flooring. His flashlight reflected off painted signs and numbers on the wall. Dean shone the light up, not able to figure out where those strange sounds would have come from - those sounds and lights that had been reported in the press. Perhaps this was really nothing -just stupid people trying to get attention. He and his dad had run into that before.
Suddenly there was an echoing, a booming followed by a faint sound that might have been a voice. Then there was banging - loud banging. Dean turned toward the source, his flashlight pointing out the direction. He started walking toward where he thought it was coming from, and as he got closer it became unmistakably a voice. Someone was inside, apparently locked behind the huge iron door at the end of the corridor. Running up to the window, he shone his light in through the glass.
"Hey! Hey, you okay in there? Hold on." He reached for the latch but then paused wondering if he should. Was there a reason someone had put this man in here?
His head jerked up when the man spoke again, although he couldn't hear what the other was saying, because of the thickness of the metal door. "Okay, hold on." He moved the latch, pulling the pin that held it in place, then jerked the handle to release it and pulled open the door, catching the man as he nearly fell out.
"Easy!"
He wrapped an arm around the newly freed prisoner, supporting him as he started to help him out. Dean would worry about how he got in there later. He was sure there was going to be a story.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
For a moment, Alex couldn’t quite believe he was out. He clung to his rescuer. He was unable to see the man properly in the light from the flashlight, but one thing he knew, he was out! He was free, and there was no way anyone would get him back into that chamber again without brute force, and a lot more brute force than was usual.
“Jesus!” he whispered. “Get me out of here! Please get me out of here?” His abused vocal chords were way beyond their usual ability to vibrate now, and his voice was a ragged travesty of its usual sensual husk, but his wild eyed look, and the panic he was so visibly experiencing would have to do for now. Either the man who’d opened the door would recognize his fear, or he wouldn’t. If he didn’t, then he’d cut and run, and that was all there was to it.
It seemed that the other was on his wavelength, because he turned and began to guide Alex back towards the doorway he had thought never to see again. He coughed, almost choking as he tried to speak, but managed a brief ‘thank you’ as his rescuer led him to freedom.
The night was damp and chilly, and Alex breathed in the sour air with desperate greed, clinging still to the slick leather that his savior was wearing. “Can we get out of here?” he asked, still coughing a little.
Dean had to support most of the man's weight. He was weak, stumbling, and who knew how long he had been in there. By the smell it had been a while, that was for sure. And he had this strange greasy film covering him, like oil. Dean had to wonder where that had come from. He turned a corner; the metal door he’d entered by was still wide open. Bugs fluttered around the entrance although they hadn't been there earlier, and the cool air rushed in to wash over them as Dean was taking the ex-prisoner out.
He led the man over to the car, opening the passenger door to set him in, then went around to the back, opening the trunk to get him some water. "Here, drink it slowly." He held it up to the man's lips. "What the hell were you doing in there?"
Crouching down before him, he put his hand upon the man's leg as he looked up into another set of green eyes set in a face that looked like it’d been scared shitless for far too long.
"I... I don't know." Alex gazed at his rescuer, eyes still wide and shocky, although his initial panic attack was subsiding now that he was outside and able to see the sky above his head, feel the icy bite of the wind that was beginning to blow flakes of snow around the desolate landscape.
"I was in Hong Kong, and Mulder..." He stopped short. This man wouldn't know Mulder, wouldn't have a clue what he was talking about, and he didn't want to give away any sensitive information until he found out for himself what had happened. He'd already patted his pockets down and knew that he no longer had the DAT tape on him - worse, he couldn't find that last little packet of the amphetamines he knew had been in his jacket, and he thought that any moment now he might come apart. This man with his bland, pretty face, and his big old battleship of a car would help him, if he pushed the right buttons, he knew. It ought to be easy. He took a deep breath and began again.
"The last thing I remember," he murmured, his voice growing stronger as he sipped the water. "Was being in the airport at Hong Kong. There was a woman in the bathroom, and she choked me." He sighed. "I know that sounds feeble but..."
The sudden sound of a vehicle in the distance made him jump and twitch, and he hugged himself. "Can we get out of here? It's not that I'm not grateful or anything, but I don't suddenly want to find myself back in that place."
Dean frowned; Hong Kong was a hell of a long way from here, and the muttered name, Mulder, was not one he knew, although of course he would look it up later and check with his father to see if he’d heard of him. But his face didn't show too much other than a frown as he kept a close eye on the man's intake of water.
"Missing something?" Dean asked, pushing up from his crouch and fishing around for his keys. The things this man was telling him were triggering off warning signals. It sounded like a possible possession of the kind that would transfer from person to person. It seemed obvious to Dean that a demon had gone from the woman to this man, but where was it now, and why did it leave this man here in this godforsaken hole?
Dean got the man the rest of the way into the car and closed the door. Climbing in on the other side, he started up the engine and pulled the car away from the silo, barreling off to the road and down it, heading for Fargo, where he already had a room in a dilapidated motel.
"Name is Dean." He didn't give his last name. Ordinarily he would have given a fake ID, but, if this man had been possessed, it might be best to gain his trust rather than lying about something as simple as his name. He glanced at the other, frowning at the residue upon his skin and clothes. He hadn't ever seen a possession that left behind that kind of stuff. It looked almost like oil. "I'm staying in a motel. It’s not far; there it is in fact,” he said, a few moments later. “Look, we'll get you cleaned up. Something to eat and then..." He pulled the car up to his room and shut the engine off. "Then you can tell me what really happened."
"Arntzen," lied Alex, glibly. "Valery Arntzen. Call me Val." He'd breathed a sigh of relief as the Impala picked up speed and leant his head back against the upholstery, closing his eyes for a brief moment.
God, but he was tired, and his skin crawled with the slime that covered it. The substance seemed to burn his skin, and he looked at Dean with genuine gratitude when the other man suggested food and getting clean. His clothes were soaked in the oily residue, but at least he would be able to get the stuff off his body, and who knew, perhaps he'd be able to bum some clothing from Dean - they were after all very similar in size.
As Dean stopped the car, Alex turned to Dean. "Man, don't think I'm not grateful - you'll never know just how grateful I am, but I've told you everything. It was like one minute I was in that bathroom, and the next minute I was screaming my lungs out, trying to get someone to hear me in that hell-hole."
Dean had done a double take to the name. Valery was a strange name – even stranger than the aliases he usually picked for himself. "Okay, Val is easier," he nodded. He looked the man over then thought he better not press him just then. The man was traumatized. He would be hungry too, Dean was sure. Getting out, he went around to help the man out, closing the door and supporting him to the room. Once inside, he guided him to the bed.
Heading into the bathroom, Dean came back with a towel, then stood before him. "Why don't you tell me everything you remember? Any little detail, no matter how strange it might seem, because there has to be a reason for this," He swiped a finger over the oil on Alex's neck, showing him what he’d collected.
The stuff on Dean's finger made Alex gag helplessly. He lifted his eyes to Dean's, doing his best to look as harmless and scared as he could. "Could I... do you think I could get a shower?"
He needed to get the shit off him - it felt like every pore was clogged with the black, disgusting residue, and he thought that he might start to scream and tear at his skin, if he couldn't wash it away very soon.
Dean nodded as he wiped his finger on his jeans, "Shower, sure."
At Dean's nod of assent, Alex rose to his feet and started to take off his clothes, black jeans and leather jacket, T-shirt and boots, finally kicking the things into the corner of the room as if to say he was never going to touch them again. Standing there, naked but for his boxers, he gazed helplessly at Dean.
"Like I said, Hong Kong airport. The woman had black eyes, which was peculiar, but other than that I don't know. She was very strong - lifted me off the ground with one arm, and I'm no lightweight."
He stepped towards the bathroom as he spoke, and turned back as he reached the door. "This shit on me is burning my skin. Got to get rid of it."
Dean held out the towel while the man undressed, unable to help his eyes wondering over that body. He took a moment to glance sideways at the clothing pile in the corner before sliding his eyes back to where Alex stood. What he hadn't expected was the helpless gaze that greeted him. He had almost winced, because it was very nearly the same look Sam always gave him, and he always, always fell for it.
"Go knock yourself out," Dean tossed him the towel, now distracted over the fact of black eyes and strength. He walked over to the clothing and lifted it up, looking the items over, taking a sample of the material to place it into a little glass container. He would send it off for analysis to one of the connections he and his father knew.
He moved over to the table while the man was taking a shower. "Christo," he murmured, recalling what his dad had said about possessions. It was obvious to Dean that the man had been possessed. Some people didn't remember, if they were rescued, and others did; it really all depended on the person. The black eyes, and the strength confirmed a possession, and the demon could be any of the ones he had listed in his journal. Damn, but he wished John Winchester were here, so he could check his dad's journal out. Hell, that man knew everything there was to know about possession, and he probably wouldn't even need the journal to know what had bitten his new companion; he’d just look at Valery and be able to tell, although that oily residue was a really unusual phenomenon.
The oily substance baffled Dean; he was unsure what kind of demon might leave such a thing behind. He looked back to the bathroom door, frowning deeply before grabbing the phone and ordering some take-out for delivery.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
End of part 1
Authors:
art_of_mayhem and candygrammeRated: PG for adult situations. There will be graphic sex in subsequent sections.
Pairing: Dean Winchester/Alex Krycek
Spoilers: none
Warning: Slash
Wordcount: 3,250
Disclaimer: Dean and his family belong to Eric Kripke and Supernatural, and Alex belongs to Chris Carter and the X-Files. We own nothing, but we are doing this for love and not money.
Author’s notes: Dean spent four years traveling with John, his father, and later on his own missions, while Sam, his brother, was at Stanford. We’ve bent time a little, and we are aware of that, but this is fiction . We’ve decided that Dean met up with Alex Krycek after the events of Piper Maru and Apocrypha so for everyone that ever wondered how Alex got out of the missile silo, we have the scoop.
The quoted song is “October Song,” by the Incredible String Band.
Chapter 1: The October Song
I’ll sing you my October song, There is no song before it
The words and tune are not my own, my joy and sorrow bore it
Beside the sea there’s a brambly briar in the still of evening
Birds fly out from beside the sun, and with them I’ll be leaving
Dean Winchester never liked to fly – he had more than just a slight fear of air travel, so instead, he spent his time driving around the country in the 67 Impala his father had given him. It was a funny thought, given Dean‘s profession, which was that of hunter. He wasn't just your average hunter either, not the kind that hunted animals. Dean hunted the paranormal. Demons, ghosts, spirits - anything that troubled people, and he saved their lives. It was something he’d grown up with – something that his father had taught both his boys, believing that, if he made soldiers out of them, their knowledge and skills would protect them.
At the tender age of four, when Dean was little, his brother a mere six months old, their house had burned down. Dean had carried his little brother out on his father’s orders. As the house burned, Dean, his father and little Sammy had watched. Dean later learned that his father believed something supernatural had started that fire, and that it hadn’t been the electrical blaze that the authorities had decided to call it.
Much later his father had told Dean that he’d seen their mother pinned to the ceiling, before it had burst into flames. Whatever had done this, it had become the family mission to hunt it down and destroy it.
Dean's father, John, had heard a rumor of strange things happening around a certain field close to Fargo, North Dakota, the part of the country where Dean was now traveling. Events had been going on for a while, and people were reporting strange lights, things happening that could not be explained, even peculiar noises coming from the woods. Finally, Dean had been sent to check it out.
Dean found himself driving down a dirt road, which led to the field he was to investigate. It was just past sunset, and his headlights cut through the light fog lifting off the grass. The tree line could barely be seen in the darkness, but something else was catching his attention. A Missile silo jutted up into the night sky like a rotten tooth against the scudding clouds.
The Impala rolled to a stop, the driver peering out of the window at his surroundings. "Great, dad," Dean mumbled, pushing the door open. It creaked with age as he closed it, looking around at the apparently disused building. Walking back to the trunk, he opened it up, and then pulled open the hidden compartment, which was loaded down with all he needed to fight whatever he encountered, guns, knives, holy water, rock salt, gas, and more. He selected a flashlight; he already had a gun at his back, just in case, but he reached in to grab some spare ammo for it.
Walking around, he started to explore what he thought of as the target area, EMF at the ready. After wandering through the complex for nearly an hour, he was beginning to think this trip might be a bust. He hadn't seen or heard anything except... well, now that he thought of it, that was a little strange, there were no birds flying about, and not even the crickets were making a noise. Hell, there weren’t even bugs flying at him to bite or get at his light.
After some consideration, Dean decided to check out inside the silo, if at all possible, so he made his way to the entrance. It appeared to be unlocked, so, pulling the door open, he entered. Once inside, he gazed down the long hall, frowning, then shone his flashlight around, walking down the length of the corridor as he looked about.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
Alex Krycek had given up. Hungry and thirsty to such a degree that his tongue had swollen in his mouth, he sat slumped, his back to the door against which he’d pounded so fruitlessly for hours.
It seemed as if this was going to be the one time when he wouldn’t get away. The creature that had taken him over had departed from his body, leaving only a greasy scum on his skin and a vile taste in his mouth - as if he’d drunk industrial waste.
If he had any moisture left in him, he would have cried, but as it was he merely sat, staring blindly into the stygian darkness, wondering how long it would take for him to die.
He had no idea how long he’d been there. Time had stopped for him at that airport bathroom in Hong Kong, and he had somehow awakened here in this hellhole, back in the clutches of the Smoker. He’d thought he could somehow parley his way out of the place, but Spender wasn’t having any of it. He’d told the soldiers to leave him, and then abandoned him to his fate.
As the door had clanged shut, he’d been crouched over the ground, vomiting out the oily substance that had been riding him for the past few days, and by the time he’d realized that he wasn’t in Hong Kong any more, the door had been shut on him, locking him into a darkness that was doubly terrifying because he didn’t know how he’d got there, only that he was there now, and it seemed as if he would never get out again.
He thought he might have dozed for a while, but he came suddenly awake as he heard something moving on the other side of the door. “God!” He stumbled to his feet and peered through the glass in the door, trying to discern whether there actually was someone out there, maybe Mulder returning to poke around.
He was giving up again, when he saw the light. It was a flashlight, he was almost certain, and that meant Mulder; of course it did. Even Mulder wouldn’t condemn him to die alone in the dark, although if it did turn out to be his nemesis he’d have to work out a way of escaping the feeb’s clutches once out of here.
“Help! Help!” His voice was cracked and barely audible, so Alex did the only thing he could. He banged on the heavy iron door, kicked at it with one steel toecapped boot, until the hollow booming he made could not possibly be missed.
“Oh, God, please!” He didn’t believe in God, but he hoped like crazy that God would believe in him, just this once.
“Help, goddammit!” he screamed.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
There was nothing but darkness, and the hollow echo of his boots striking the flooring. His flashlight reflected off painted signs and numbers on the wall. Dean shone the light up, not able to figure out where those strange sounds would have come from - those sounds and lights that had been reported in the press. Perhaps this was really nothing -just stupid people trying to get attention. He and his dad had run into that before.
Suddenly there was an echoing, a booming followed by a faint sound that might have been a voice. Then there was banging - loud banging. Dean turned toward the source, his flashlight pointing out the direction. He started walking toward where he thought it was coming from, and as he got closer it became unmistakably a voice. Someone was inside, apparently locked behind the huge iron door at the end of the corridor. Running up to the window, he shone his light in through the glass.
"Hey! Hey, you okay in there? Hold on." He reached for the latch but then paused wondering if he should. Was there a reason someone had put this man in here?
His head jerked up when the man spoke again, although he couldn't hear what the other was saying, because of the thickness of the metal door. "Okay, hold on." He moved the latch, pulling the pin that held it in place, then jerked the handle to release it and pulled open the door, catching the man as he nearly fell out.
"Easy!"
He wrapped an arm around the newly freed prisoner, supporting him as he started to help him out. Dean would worry about how he got in there later. He was sure there was going to be a story.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
For a moment, Alex couldn’t quite believe he was out. He clung to his rescuer. He was unable to see the man properly in the light from the flashlight, but one thing he knew, he was out! He was free, and there was no way anyone would get him back into that chamber again without brute force, and a lot more brute force than was usual.
“Jesus!” he whispered. “Get me out of here! Please get me out of here?” His abused vocal chords were way beyond their usual ability to vibrate now, and his voice was a ragged travesty of its usual sensual husk, but his wild eyed look, and the panic he was so visibly experiencing would have to do for now. Either the man who’d opened the door would recognize his fear, or he wouldn’t. If he didn’t, then he’d cut and run, and that was all there was to it.
It seemed that the other was on his wavelength, because he turned and began to guide Alex back towards the doorway he had thought never to see again. He coughed, almost choking as he tried to speak, but managed a brief ‘thank you’ as his rescuer led him to freedom.
The night was damp and chilly, and Alex breathed in the sour air with desperate greed, clinging still to the slick leather that his savior was wearing. “Can we get out of here?” he asked, still coughing a little.
Dean had to support most of the man's weight. He was weak, stumbling, and who knew how long he had been in there. By the smell it had been a while, that was for sure. And he had this strange greasy film covering him, like oil. Dean had to wonder where that had come from. He turned a corner; the metal door he’d entered by was still wide open. Bugs fluttered around the entrance although they hadn't been there earlier, and the cool air rushed in to wash over them as Dean was taking the ex-prisoner out.
He led the man over to the car, opening the passenger door to set him in, then went around to the back, opening the trunk to get him some water. "Here, drink it slowly." He held it up to the man's lips. "What the hell were you doing in there?"
Crouching down before him, he put his hand upon the man's leg as he looked up into another set of green eyes set in a face that looked like it’d been scared shitless for far too long.
"I... I don't know." Alex gazed at his rescuer, eyes still wide and shocky, although his initial panic attack was subsiding now that he was outside and able to see the sky above his head, feel the icy bite of the wind that was beginning to blow flakes of snow around the desolate landscape.
"I was in Hong Kong, and Mulder..." He stopped short. This man wouldn't know Mulder, wouldn't have a clue what he was talking about, and he didn't want to give away any sensitive information until he found out for himself what had happened. He'd already patted his pockets down and knew that he no longer had the DAT tape on him - worse, he couldn't find that last little packet of the amphetamines he knew had been in his jacket, and he thought that any moment now he might come apart. This man with his bland, pretty face, and his big old battleship of a car would help him, if he pushed the right buttons, he knew. It ought to be easy. He took a deep breath and began again.
"The last thing I remember," he murmured, his voice growing stronger as he sipped the water. "Was being in the airport at Hong Kong. There was a woman in the bathroom, and she choked me." He sighed. "I know that sounds feeble but..."
The sudden sound of a vehicle in the distance made him jump and twitch, and he hugged himself. "Can we get out of here? It's not that I'm not grateful or anything, but I don't suddenly want to find myself back in that place."
Dean frowned; Hong Kong was a hell of a long way from here, and the muttered name, Mulder, was not one he knew, although of course he would look it up later and check with his father to see if he’d heard of him. But his face didn't show too much other than a frown as he kept a close eye on the man's intake of water.
"Missing something?" Dean asked, pushing up from his crouch and fishing around for his keys. The things this man was telling him were triggering off warning signals. It sounded like a possible possession of the kind that would transfer from person to person. It seemed obvious to Dean that a demon had gone from the woman to this man, but where was it now, and why did it leave this man here in this godforsaken hole?
Dean got the man the rest of the way into the car and closed the door. Climbing in on the other side, he started up the engine and pulled the car away from the silo, barreling off to the road and down it, heading for Fargo, where he already had a room in a dilapidated motel.
"Name is Dean." He didn't give his last name. Ordinarily he would have given a fake ID, but, if this man had been possessed, it might be best to gain his trust rather than lying about something as simple as his name. He glanced at the other, frowning at the residue upon his skin and clothes. He hadn't ever seen a possession that left behind that kind of stuff. It looked almost like oil. "I'm staying in a motel. It’s not far; there it is in fact,” he said, a few moments later. “Look, we'll get you cleaned up. Something to eat and then..." He pulled the car up to his room and shut the engine off. "Then you can tell me what really happened."
"Arntzen," lied Alex, glibly. "Valery Arntzen. Call me Val." He'd breathed a sigh of relief as the Impala picked up speed and leant his head back against the upholstery, closing his eyes for a brief moment.
God, but he was tired, and his skin crawled with the slime that covered it. The substance seemed to burn his skin, and he looked at Dean with genuine gratitude when the other man suggested food and getting clean. His clothes were soaked in the oily residue, but at least he would be able to get the stuff off his body, and who knew, perhaps he'd be able to bum some clothing from Dean - they were after all very similar in size.
As Dean stopped the car, Alex turned to Dean. "Man, don't think I'm not grateful - you'll never know just how grateful I am, but I've told you everything. It was like one minute I was in that bathroom, and the next minute I was screaming my lungs out, trying to get someone to hear me in that hell-hole."
Dean had done a double take to the name. Valery was a strange name – even stranger than the aliases he usually picked for himself. "Okay, Val is easier," he nodded. He looked the man over then thought he better not press him just then. The man was traumatized. He would be hungry too, Dean was sure. Getting out, he went around to help the man out, closing the door and supporting him to the room. Once inside, he guided him to the bed.
Heading into the bathroom, Dean came back with a towel, then stood before him. "Why don't you tell me everything you remember? Any little detail, no matter how strange it might seem, because there has to be a reason for this," He swiped a finger over the oil on Alex's neck, showing him what he’d collected.
The stuff on Dean's finger made Alex gag helplessly. He lifted his eyes to Dean's, doing his best to look as harmless and scared as he could. "Could I... do you think I could get a shower?"
He needed to get the shit off him - it felt like every pore was clogged with the black, disgusting residue, and he thought that he might start to scream and tear at his skin, if he couldn't wash it away very soon.
Dean nodded as he wiped his finger on his jeans, "Shower, sure."
At Dean's nod of assent, Alex rose to his feet and started to take off his clothes, black jeans and leather jacket, T-shirt and boots, finally kicking the things into the corner of the room as if to say he was never going to touch them again. Standing there, naked but for his boxers, he gazed helplessly at Dean.
"Like I said, Hong Kong airport. The woman had black eyes, which was peculiar, but other than that I don't know. She was very strong - lifted me off the ground with one arm, and I'm no lightweight."
He stepped towards the bathroom as he spoke, and turned back as he reached the door. "This shit on me is burning my skin. Got to get rid of it."
Dean held out the towel while the man undressed, unable to help his eyes wondering over that body. He took a moment to glance sideways at the clothing pile in the corner before sliding his eyes back to where Alex stood. What he hadn't expected was the helpless gaze that greeted him. He had almost winced, because it was very nearly the same look Sam always gave him, and he always, always fell for it.
"Go knock yourself out," Dean tossed him the towel, now distracted over the fact of black eyes and strength. He walked over to the clothing and lifted it up, looking the items over, taking a sample of the material to place it into a little glass container. He would send it off for analysis to one of the connections he and his father knew.
He moved over to the table while the man was taking a shower. "Christo," he murmured, recalling what his dad had said about possessions. It was obvious to Dean that the man had been possessed. Some people didn't remember, if they were rescued, and others did; it really all depended on the person. The black eyes, and the strength confirmed a possession, and the demon could be any of the ones he had listed in his journal. Damn, but he wished John Winchester were here, so he could check his dad's journal out. Hell, that man knew everything there was to know about possession, and he probably wouldn't even need the journal to know what had bitten his new companion; he’d just look at Valery and be able to tell, although that oily residue was a really unusual phenomenon.
The oily substance baffled Dean; he was unsure what kind of demon might leave such a thing behind. He looked back to the bathroom door, frowning deeply before grabbing the phone and ordering some take-out for delivery.
~~~~~~~oo(O)oo~~~~~~~
End of part 1
