sweetprince (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sweetprince) wrote2007-02-13 01:18 pm
sweetprince) wrote2007-02-13 01:18 pm
Entry tags:
When you don't sleep or eat you manage to churn these out pretty fast...
Title: And Through The Darkness, Light
Disclaimer: NO. NO. NO. I do not own Underworld, Supernatural, or Werewolf: the Apocalypse, anybody who tells you otherwise is a fool and a liar.
Summary: Vampires and werewolves have waged a nocturnal war against each other for centuries. But all bets are off when a vampire warrior named Dean, who's famous for his strength and werewolf-hunting prowess, becomes smitten with Sam, who the werewolves place a vital importance on. Supernatural/Underworld Crossover
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Chapters: 1/3
Genre: AU, SPN/Underworld Xover
Rating: R (in this chapter)
Acknowledgements: Thank you![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
albydarned, thothali, and whimsicalwonder for betaing. Special thanks go to Alby, for getting it back so fast and inspiring me to write this in the first place.
Notes: This is the first part of three, all of them are already finished, they'll be released as fast as they can be betaed.
The rain poured down, dripping over his bowed face, sliding past his nose and over the curve of his lips, but he didn’t wipe it away. It trailed down his face before falling to the street below. He stayed still, eerily still, watching and waiting. The assignment was boring and his back ached from his crouching position at the cupola of the tall gothic tower, but he pushed it out of his mind like so much else. It was necessary for the job and thus Dean did it perfectly. The only thing on his mind right now was the busy rain-slicked street he looked down upon.
And then it happened. A tall young man rushed out onto the sidewalk, tugging his jacket up around his head futilely to shield it from the rain. Something about him immediately captured Dean’s attention, which never happened. Never. Dean had no interest in humans, certainly not tall gangly ones with unruly hair.
He pursed his lips and looked up across the way, eyes connecting with Gordon, who was kneeling next to a rough stone gargoyle festooning the roof of the building across the street. His lips twisted into a mockery of a grin when he caught Dean’s attention. Dean looked away again, back at the street to see the man disappearing down the covered stairs to the subway. There was something—no, he corrected himself sternly, there was nothing about that young man that he found interesting.
He was so busy trying not to think about it that he almost missed the two figures pushing through the crowd on the way down to the station after the young man. It was a blonde with a pageboy cut in ugly red leather and a boring faceless man this time. He’d never seen these two before. How was it that after centuries of trying to eliminate them, they continuously spilled out of the cracks? He looked back over at Gordon, but the other vampire was already jumping off the roof and blending in with the crowd below. Dean waited another beat before jumping off himself, his leather duster streaming out behind him in a dense black parody of outstretched wings. He landed gently, and nobody around him blinked, even as he pulled out a 9mm and began loading it with silver bullets.
He allowed himself to be swept up by the queue moving through the train station, stealthily sliding into position behind a pillar. The leather-clad lycan was hardly on her guard and while Gordon probably found this great fun, Dean wondered more about the cause. A lycan only walked into Death Dealer territory and wasn’t afraid, if there wasn’t a reason to be. As he took stock of the bustling platform he locked eyes with the tall young man from before. For a moment, he couldn’t look away, all he saw was catlike hazel eyes and the long column of his throat.
Storm Lords.
What was he thinking? He’d been doing this job for close to four-hundred years without one single slip up. But the other man, unruly hair or not, god he was gorgeous. It had been a long time indeed since Dean had felt the rush of attraction for someone else. Tearing his eyes away he melted back behind the pillar, not realizing that the other man’s eyes still lingered upon him.
Dean spotted Gordon leaning nonchalantly next to a telephone kiosk and the black man nodded at Dean. No doubt Gordon would start firing aimlessly on the crowd in an attempt to get at the two. Dean hated that; his partner had absolutely no room for finesse.
The other vampire didn’t disappoint. Suddenly the bullets were flying and glass was spraying out of the stationary train’s windows and people were screaming, horrid wretched cries that grated on Dean’s oversensitive ears. Well, if he bothered to pay attention anymore, he was long inured to it by now.
He stood, gun cocked, waiting until the madness died down and Gordon used up his clip. Hopefully that wouldn’t be too soon. The young man had dashed behind another pillar when the firefight had started, but was now crawling forward, trying to get to a girl who was writhing on the floor from a bullet to the collar bone even as bullets ricocheted overhead. Ah, how valiant.
The second nondescript unmemorable lycan ran after him, grabbing at his shoulder and trying to tug him back and away. Before Dean knew what he was doing he’d put four silver bullets into the man.
The female lycan turned out to be a force to be reckoned with, before Dean had even blinked she’d whirled on Gordon and unloaded .45 calibre rounds of something that just made him explode. A two-hundred year partnership dissolved in mere seconds, Dean couldn’t have cared less. The lycan he’d shot earlier was dashing into the train tunnel, his movements sluggish and jerky. Dean felt with a certain vicious satisfaction that the silver was probably getting to him now, if he didn’t get it out soon—well they’d be left with one very dead werewolf.
The female lycan—Meg, her partner had called her—weighed her losses and took off after the other one, only sparing one last glance for the boy on the ground, his hands pressed against the girl’s wound trying desperately to staunch the flow of blood. It appeared that Dean wasn’t the only person interested in this one, but he had a job to do. He’d think about the tall young man later, when he didn’t have to worry about two very annoying, very alive lycans running around.
He dashed through the tunnels after them, trying desperately to hear anything that would give the two away above the sounds of running trains. It was dark, but he was a vampire; he didn’t need light. All he needed was sound, which, sadly, wasn’t helping him very much at the moment. The train tunnels were maze-like and impossible to navigate; it would take years and the aid of very good set of blueprints to easily navigate one’s way around here. For all he knew he was running in the wrong direction.
But there it was, the sound of harsh breathing off to his right, and on instinct he fired into the space. If the lycan changed the only thing that would save him in this place was his wits. Enough silver in that son of a bitch and the change would be but a dream. The tracks seemed to quiet at that moment, and he could hear everything perfectly, from the silvery sound of bullet cartridges pinging off the ground to the drip of blood on concrete.
One down.
He stepped over the body, pushing a knee aside with one booted toe. The low rumbling growl of the train whooshed by them, lighting up the scene for one short moment, revealing Meg, standing fully changed, at the other end of the concrete corridor. He eyed the changed lycan with trepidation.
She snarled at him and he could feel his fangs lengthening and his crystal-green eyes shifting to a clear shimmering blue. In physical combat only the oldest vampires could stand against their wolf counterparts, but the rage often overtook the vile lycans when they changed and vampires, if anything else, knew how to exploit a weakness. She dove at him, taking his stillness for fear rather than caution and he was easily able to flip up and over her, raining bullets down upon her exposed back.
Out, he needed out. Forget the job. Gordon was down, one Lycan was dead. Meg would live to be eradicated another day. He ran hard, hoping that some of the silver he’d slugged into her body would slow her down so that he could get away. Cornered without room to move, he didn’t have a hope. It more than scared him that the lycan knew her way around the tunnels.
Even as he ran, pushing his lungs harder and harder, trying desperately to find a way back up to the surface, something kept bringing unruly hair and warm hazel eyes swimming up into the back of his mind. Why? He never got this out of control—this out of focus.
*
Sam had noticed the man in the station immediately—his entire being had seemed to notice that man in the subway. He’d been leaning nonchalantly against a wall, waiting, clearly waiting, and not for the train either. He’d had the most amazing long-lash fringed green eyes Sam had ever seen and the mouth—oh god the mouth. It was almost painful to think of that mouth with its full ruby red lips that were made for one thing as far as Sam could see: pleasure.
The man’s wardrobe had been a little odd, like he’d walked out of a Matrix movie set and forgot to take the costume off. But Sam would be lying if he said the other man didn’t look hotter than hell in the midnight black leather duster, knee high boots, and tight trousers.
But then when the crazed black man had pulled the gun out and started shooting things, Sam had pretty rapidly changed his mind. Clearly Mr. Made-For-Sex was in the middle of some gang battle and that, in Sam’s book, was pretty big turn off, even if his leather-clad hands had looked positively sinful wrapped around the polished black berretta. Sam believed in gun control—he believed in it with all his being—that’s why he was here in England going over gun policy and not off making tons of money on some corporate law firm like half his graduating class.
Sam also reminded himself that the man’s gun possession was actually the least of his worries—the whole murdering people thing was actually a much bigger problem. Even if he was pretty sure Mr. Made-For-Sex had shot that guy in defense of Sam’s own life, he’d still shot him four times. Although the dude had managed to pick himself up and run away…and what the fuck was that about? Sam watched TV, he remembered his anatomy class; that guy had been hit in at least two vital areas, but he was still moving around. By all rights that shouldn’t be possible, even if the guy had been hopped up on PCP.
Ah, god, what a day. All Sam had wanted to do was get home from the office, bundle up in an old ugly sweater and go over boring old legal briefs. Instead, he’d wound up in the middle of some kind of weird gang fight, trying his hardest to keep some poor woman who happened to be hit with a stray bullet alive. And then he’d had the grand adventure of taking her to the hospital and talking to the London police and bladdy bladdy blah. Well, if he hadn’t been convinced before, Mr. Made-For-Sex had made a very good case for the permanent destruction of firearms in Sam’s book. Not to mention that one guy exploding had pretty much ended his interest in food for life.
Clearly he’d also lost his mind somewhere in the interim if he was referring to some random psychopath as Mr. Made-For-Sex in the confines of his own head. Good lord, he should have just stayed in bed. But he couldn’t stop thinking about him, the way the man had moved, all lithe and self-possessed, like the two guns in his hands were part of his body, like he couldn’t even feel the recoil.
Oh man, he was going crazy, really crazy, like locked up in a dark place where no one can ever see you crazy. He sighed and tossed himself onto his giant, soft bed, which was the only concession to lavishness that Sam had allowed himself. Many had called Sam’s Tottenham apartment more than austere, but to him, his apartment was just where he slept not where he lived.
But for now, all he wanted to do was sleep on the damn bed. Boy was he going to have a story for his colleagues tomorrow.
*
Meg dragged Drake back to the hideaway, her fur melting away to nudity as she passed a group of people sparring on a crude mat. They didn’t have the sheer economic capital to rival their vampire enemies, but that wasn’t to say that they were living like a pack of mangy dogs either. Drake was gone, she could tell, the beautiful vampire had ended him like he was so much trash. She’d heard of that one, colder and more efficient than any other death dealer that roamed the streets, a real wolfs’ bane. She’d never caught a vampire alone before that didn’t cower at the sight of her changed form; this one had put two bullets in her and lived to tell about it.
She dumped Drake’s prone body onto a metal examining table in the primitive lab they’d built. Jim came out from behind the curtain that cordoned off his experiments from the rest of the lab and looked at the twisted body lying on the table.
“Too much silver in him to change,” she said in response to his unanswered question.
Jim sighed and shook his head, another warrior down. “Did the UV slugs work?”
Her face shifted into a smile, revealing abnormally sharp teeth, as she remembered the satisfying way the black vampire had disintegrated. “Like a charm.”
“And did you get Winchester’s blood?” came a voice from the doorway.
She turned around to look at the speaker, John of the Get of Fenris and leader of the resistance, and bowed her head. “No.”
Jim noted the acquiescence with some pride, time was no Fenrir like John could be in the room with a Black Fury like Meg without bloodshed. Ever since the Stargazers had come forth with their prophecy the times finally seemed to be changing, even if they were still hiding out like mere Bone Gnawers.
John made a face. “And why not?”
She looked up at him, her expression earnest. “The vampires—”
John blew out a breath. “Must I do everything myself?” He sighed heavily and stomped off.
Meg bowed her head again, only to snap upwards as Jim unceremoniously pulled a piece of shrapnel out of her shoulder and another out of her scapula. “You are lucky you had undergone the change,” Jim said as poked away at her, digging bits of silver out of her naked back.
“I hope this Winchester boy is worth it,” she howled as he pulled another piece of silver out of her flesh.
*
“Listen, Jo, there are werewolves in those tunnels!” Dean snarled. “I’m telling you they knew their way around!”
Dean had made it back to the mansion some two hours later after a harrowing journey in the tunnels that had him absolutely convinced there was more than just the blonde lycan Meg down there. All that he’d accomplished upon his return was getting into a ridiculous argument with Jo in the Great Hall where all could see.
“It’s absolutely impossible!” the blonde vampire replied, hands planted squarely on her hips. Her entourage looked coolly straight ahead, not paying attention to Jo’s temper tantrum. “Their numbers haven’t been the same since John’s death!”
“What if we were wrong?” Dean gritted out. He was tired, he hadn’t fed, and he absolutely could not stand Jo.
She turned away from him. “We were not wrong!”
“Jo,” Dean shouted back. “That’s like Galileo telling the church that maybe they were wrong about Aristotle and the Church putting him to death in response!”
“I fail to see the comparison.” She turned back around, her eyebrow raised. He was so frustrated he was seriously contemplating yanking her hair out.
“Jo, the church was wro—” he broke off, recognizing her deflection tactic. “No! Listen to me. It wouldn’t hurt to check!”
“Dean!” she hissed at him. “No!”
“If Eleanor were here she’d listen!” Dean shot back, completely incensed. He turned around to face the corridor to his rooms.
“And Eleanor put me in charge! You will listen to me!” She grabbed at his shoulder, refusing to let him leave.
“If you won’t send anyone then I will go myself!” he replied, ignoring her command and shrugging her off.
“And I said NO!” her palm came swinging towards his face, but he caught the blow before it even landed.
His eyes went brilliant blue in his anger. “And you honestly thought you’d land that?” he asked, dangerously quiet, his grip tightening around her wrist just slightly before dropping it altogether. He stepped away from her, determined to leave the room.
Jo recovered herself, flexing her hand slightly. The other vampires in the room looked from person to person nervously.
“In two days it’s the awakening! I expect that when you escort me to the masque ball you will be better behaved!” Jo said smugly, a knowing smirk on her face.
He turned back around, his surprise and anger open for all the coven to see. “I will not escort you! Take someone who actually thinks you have a functioning brain in your head!”
He swept out of the room, towards the practice courts ignoring the gasp and murmurs he left in his wake. At least there he could shoot something. Lounging useless and licentious vampires whose only interest was pleasure moved out of his way as he thundered past them. They feared him as well they should. They were content to let the death dealers die for their fripperies and it wasn’t like they were out doing any other type of job.
“Dean,” Ash called out, as he walked into the armory his face a cold impenetrable mask. Dean looked over at him and the other eccentric vampire came striding toward him, holding out the gun cartridge he’d pulled off the dead werewolf. “They were UV rounds! I’m so mad I could spit that they got to them first.”
“You were developing UV rounds?”
“What? No!” Ash looked at him like he was an idiot. “Silver nitrate … I mean, that would be the end of those fuckers! No more pulling those bullets out or hacking off their limbs or whatever it is they do to combat silver poisoning.” Ash handed him a gun that he assumed was full of these knew silver nitrate bullets.
“Hack off their limbs, Ash?” Dean had yet to come to blows with a crippled lycan. The idea was more than a little amusing.
“The last ten years or so…well, we’ve seen a spike in their technology, it’s amazing.” Ash ignored him, but Dean was used to it. Ash was very young for vampire standards, only forty years or so, and an American at that.
“I—what?”
“Listen, they shouldn’t have the funds or the know-how to design something like this.” Ash waved the cartridge around and Dean stepped carefully away from the bottled UV light. “But in the last ten years, their weapons are becoming more and more sophisticated. There’s something going on here, certainly more than Jo and the upper echelons want us to know about.”
“What makes you say that Jo knows?” Dean asked, liking the heft of the semi-automatic in his palm. “I feel like that woman knows nothing more about werewolves than the fact that we put bullets in them occasionally.”
A strange look passed over Ash’s face before melting back to normal again. “Never mind.”
Dean knew better than to press it, Ash’s mind worked in strange ways. “May I keep this?”
“What?” Ash asked. “Oh, yeah, sure. Go for it.”
“Any warnings about this, Ash?” He held the gun up.
Ash seriously considered for a minute, before smiling. “Well, I’m not sure it works.”
Dean rolled his eyes, that was helpful, a broken gun, and left the training rooms again. Something was still niggling him about that man at the train station. When he got back to his rooms, he booted up the program on his computer that would allow him to hack into the traffic cams from the street (one of Ash’s designs). He watched as the man came racing out of the building, just like he’d noticed the first time, but this time he saw how Meg and her now-dead companion melted away from the wall to follow him. He hadn’t even noticed that before, although their attempts to grab the man suddenly made a little more sense.
So who was he? What could they possibly want with him? Dean hadn’t the slightest idea; as far as he could tell the man was completely human, and they certainly wouldn’t go into death dealer territory for the simple matter of turning him. He pulled up the nifty little zoom tool Ash had created and zoomed in on the boy’s face, stopping and starting until he got a good shot from the front of his face. Then he ran the face through a data base hoping to come up with match. Ash was a genius though, so it was more of a surety.
He was pacing about the room waiting for the database to get back with an answer when he heard a knock at the door.
“Come in,” he called, not even bothering to turn around or to cease his pacing. Only one person it could be.
“I don’t understand why you bait her,” a soft voice said from the door. Dean finally turned around to look at Sarah, who was practically Jo’s pet plaything. She definitely had to be the most tolerable of the other vampire’s groupies though.
“If she wasn’t half so incompetent, I wouldn’t,” he replied, his voice dry. No doubt Sarah was here on some errand for Jo, who just never quit.
“Jo is very capable, Dean.” Dean snorted and she shot him a glare. “And she so obviously wants you—”
Ah, that was laughable. She didn’t want Dean, she wanted his submission.
He shook his head and cleared his throat. “Only because I am exactly what she cannot have!”
Sarah huffed and dumped a garment bag over the arm of his sofa. “You’re to wear this for the party tonight.” She fingered the color of her own frilly dress that Jo had no doubt insisted on. Sarah was far more the simple black gown type than that ridiculous lace confection. Dean could only wonder what awfulness was inside the garment bag.
“I won’t, Sarah. Something’s not right. I’m going back out.” He tugged on the sleeve of his plain black cotton shirt. He hadn’t been to one of Jo’s parties in the last fifty years, and he wasn’t about to start when he had this bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“Dean!” she shouted, clearly scandalized. “She gave you an order.”
“A stupid one!”
Sarah sighed, resigned. “Whatever, you get yourself in trouble and it’s only good for me.”
“Which is why you won’t tell her until I’m nice and gone,” he replied, plopping back into his desk chair when the computer made a little affirmative sound.
“Ugh!” she burst out, finally giving up and leaving the room and the garment bag behind. Dean laughed as he turned back to what the computer had come up with. He liked Sarah, even if she was crazy for thinking herself in love with that idiot Jo.
A US driver’s license photo of one Samuel Winchester was blazoned across his LCD screen. He looked at the specs written across the screen. The kid was completely apple pie normal; he was born in the States, both his parents died when he was seven and his maternal relatives took him in, he went to Stanford and graduated Summa before going to law school. Dean had a sudden irrational thought that maybe the werewolves were seeking representation and he burst out laughing.
Well, whatever it was, it was time to pay Sammy a little visit. He gathered his kit together, both his berettas and the new semi-automatic Jericho and other assorted weaponry. Because Jo was being such a colossal pain in the ass, he figured he’d grab her favorite car out the garage, a gleaming black Maserati that she’d literally killed to attain.
The drive to Winchester’s house went by in a blur as he thought and thought what the other young man could possibly mean to the damn lycans. A voice inside of him wondered what exactly Winchester meant to him, but Dean was good at avoiding things he didn’t want to think about, and so he pushed that thought aside.
Winchester lived in an aged and run-down building in a nevertheless trendy area of Tottenham. There was no security of any kind and the hallway lights buzzed with noise as they bathed the halls in a semi-greenish glow. Dean found Winchester’s ancient door and rusty lock to be little trouble and then he was inside the inner sanctum of the man’s aparment.
The walls were littered with information about gun deaths and legal briefs—clearly Winchester took his work home with him. He inspected the contents of a desk but found nothing besides office supplies and files. Obviously there wouldn’t be some mysterious memo that simply declared his affiliation with the werewolves, but he couldn’t understand this; Winchester seemed to be a completely regular guy. He leafed through some old photographs he found shoved in the bottom drawer of Winchester and gorgeous blond, both appearing very much in love. He wasn’t sure why his gut clenched at that.
There was nothing, simply nothing, and he was starting to think he’d made a fool’s errand. He heard the creak of the bedroom door, and before Winchester knew what hit him, his back was crashing against the wall and his feet were hanging off the floor as Dean suspended him with one hand around his throat.
“Why were they after you?” he snarled, looking up as Winchester gripped the hand around his throat and gasped for air, struggling with his assailant. “Tell me!”
“I—I don’t—know what you’re talking about!” Winchester choked out, clawing at Dean’s gloved hand.
Dean’s eyes shifted blue, visible even in the darkness. “Today, at the station, why did they want you?” he shouted.
Winchester shook his head and burst out weakly, “I don’t know, I don’t know!”
Dean heard it, a crash in the stairwell. He dropped Sam to the floor and listened for a second. When he looked back down at Winchester’s gasping form he was surprised to note the miles of well-muscled tan skin that Winchester had on display. He was wearing low-slung pajama pants and breathing hard on the floor. Dean wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a more attractive sight and after four-hundred years of living, that was truly startling.
The crash came again and Dean knew without a doubt that it wasn’t some drunken neighbor dropping boxes down the stairway, had to be the lycans coming after Sam again. They’d have to get out of here; anything that the lycans wanted Dean was not going to let them have.
He tugged Winchester to his feet. “We’ve got to get out of here!”
“What?” Winchester cried as he rubbed his throat. “I’m not going anywhere with you!”
Dean shot him a quelling look and Winchester raised his hands in defeat. “All right, all right. Can I at least get some better clothes?”
“There’s no time!” Dean replied, gripping Winchester’s bicep tightly and pulling him out the door. They ran out the door of the apartment only to be confronted with four very angry werewolves scaling the stairs at a very fast clip.
Winchester watched them with wide eyes. “I uh—there’s a back stair over that way!” He pointed to the left and they took off, Dean still hanging on to Sam as they ran down the corridor toward the other exit. An elevator was across from it and just as they stopped in front of the emergency exit, the doors slid open revealing one very tall burly man with dark hair and dark eyes. Dean stilled at the sight of him, so surprised that he completely forgot what he was trying to do. It couldn’t be, he was dead! Before he could stop it, the man was yanking Winchester through the already-closing elevator doors.
Dean got control of himself then and without preamble started shooting a circle into the rickety floor at his feet, falling through it as his weight became too much for the bullet-riddled plaster and wood to hold him up. The elevator doors were open, revealing the unchanged werewolf fastened to Winchester’s shoulder. Completely forgetting about Ash’s prototype, he shot five regular silver rounds into the man and then yanked Winchester out from under him.
Winchester was dazed and out of it, blood rushing over his shoulder and down his arm, the smell nearly driving Dean mad as they rushed out of the building. But Sam Winchester was tainted now; there was no way that Dean would dare to feed upon him. The rain was coming down hard outside again, and Dean was glad for it because it would mask their smell and make them nearly impossible to track. The downside was that Winchester was in pajama pants and barefoot, and other man cursed as he stepped on pebble, seeming not even noticing the gaping wound in his shoulder. Half-dragging the larger man to the car, Dean shoved him inside hoping against hope that Winchester wouldn’t turn in the car, because then Dean would have to put a bullet in him and that would hardly yield any answers.
He started the engine, very glad now that he’d taken Jo’s zippy Maserati. Winchester was silent in the seat next to him, seemingly in shock. Dean shifted hard and raced around the street corner. They had to get out of the area as quickly as possible.
Dean nearly shouted in surprise when John stepped into the street directly in front of their oncoming car. He realized he probably shouldn’t even be surprised that if a man like John had managed to survive his first death, a few well placed bullets would fail to do the trick. Dean accelerated the car, hoping that, in John’s unchanged form, the speeding Maserati would run him flat, but like everything else this night, he was sadly disappointed.
John dove on top of the roof the car, a giant piece of steel puncturing the roof to completely destroy the CD console between the seats. He swerved in an attempt to shake the werewolf off the car, but was only rewarded by the sword plunging through again, just between Winchester’s spread thighs. Dean was just thinking Jo was going to kill him when the sword plunged down a third time straight into his own shoulder.
“Storm lords!” he shouted out the expletive, punching down on the break and hurling John off the roof, before throwing the car into reverse and turning around to go the wrong way down a one way street. At the nearest ally way he turned left, accelerating hard. They drove down a few more streets at breakneck speed, turning at random points but always putting as much distance as they could between them and Winchester’s apartment. Finally it seemed that no one was pursuing them and he breathed a sigh of relief.
“What in the hell is going on?” Winchester finally asked, seeming to get a hold of himself.
“Those were lycans, werewolves as you humans prefer to call them, and for some reason they want you,” Dean replied, eyes hard on the road. “I guess now you’re one of them—” he looked over at Sam and broke off, noting that the torn flesh had completely knit itself together and all that was left was a red patch of fresh skin.
“What the fuck?” he asked at the same time that Sam shouted, “Watch the road!”
A black taxi was heading straight for them, beeping loudly. Dean swerved dramatically, turning down another side street before finally looking back at Winchester again. “You regenerated!”
“I—” Sam looked down at his shoulder, only just now seeming to notice that it was fine. His expression was first surprised and then horrified. He stroked the skin wonderingly.
Dean shook his head. “Only full vampires and werewolves should be able to do that and you—” He was coming up with more and more dead ends and half answers. Sam clearly had no clue what was going on, which fucking sucked. He was tail-spinning right now, with no idea what his next move would be. Jo wouldn’t listen, he knew this, but he had to try.
“I am not a vampire or a werewolf!” Sam cried out, bringing Dean back to the moment. He looked over at the young man again, noting the way his flesh was pebbled with goose bumps and he’d crossed his arms to shield himself. Was Sam still afraid of him? The thought annoyed him irrationally.
“I know that! But a werewolf bit you back there, by all rights you should be one right now!”
“Well obviously I’m not!” Sam looked straight ahead, his face rigid and stony.
“Yeah, I know! That’s what scares me,” Dean snapped back, driving towards the docks. Hi head was starting to hurt and his arm felt like it was going to fall off. “No one has ever survived a bite from both kinds!”
“I am not a vampire either!” Sam protested.
Dean thought for a minute, his lips pursed. He’d never seen what could happen if someone was bit by both, but he imagined it wasn’t this. “Yes, how could you be—a covenless vampire who walked about in the sun? Not freakin’ possible!”
Winchester snorted, still looking at the road. Dean glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.
“You must be some kind of mutant instead!” Dean finally said with a smile.
“What? I’m not a mutant, either!” Sam shouted back. “Look, the only thing I am is certifiably insane. I’m seeing things and being driven around in a car by a man who’s made for sex and also likes to unload semi-automatics onto crowds of innocent people! How could I be anything else?”
Dean cleared his throat at Sam’s comment and tried to hide a smile. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Sam blushing prettily. So, apparently he was not the only one to have been hit by a crazy out of the blue attraction today.
“You’re not insane.” Dean replied quietly, finally taking pity upon the poor boy. “You’ve just stumbled into the middle of centuries old war between the vampires and the lycans.”
“This is supposed to reassure me?” Sam muttered, but he relaxed. “How is it that if you’ve been at war for so long none of us has noticed?”
“We don’t want you to,” Dean replied, matter of fact, fingers tightening on the steering wheel.
“Right, and today’s shoot-out? You don’t think that anyone noticed that?” Sam asked sarcastically.
Dean sighed and rolled his eyes heavenward, he could feel blood running down his arm and into his glove. “Well, that was more Gordon’s doing, but he’s dead now, so I doubt we’ll be seeing anymore of that.”
Sam quickly changed the subject, and Dean sensed from the paraphernalia around Sam’s apartment, that it was a sensitive subject. “If they’re werewolves then you must be a vampire.”
Seeming to realize what he’d just said and he shrank back against the opposite car door. Dean sighed.
“Winchester, you’re really very bright,” Dean replied dryly. He was starting to get a little dizzy and his vision was turning grey at the edges. Sam made a face at his sarcasm.
“Look I—” Dean trailed off, shaking his head and trying to clear the cobwebs upstairs.
Sam noticed that something was wrong. “Vampire or no, you’ve lost a lot of blood. You should probably pull over.”
Dean snapped at him, “I’m fine!”
“Well I really think—” Sam started as the car began to drift out of the lane, before Dean quickly jerked it back.
“I said I was fine!” he snarled again, fingers tightening on the steering wheel again.
Sam sighed and raised his hands in supplication. He looked back at the road, suddenly noticing that they were heading straight towards a barrier in front of the river. “Pull over!” he shouted, turning back to Dean, noticing too late that the vampire was already unconscious. With a horrendous crash they were flying over the barrier, plunging head-first into the water, the windshield breaking on impact.
*
TBC
Disclaimer: NO. NO. NO. I do not own Underworld, Supernatural, or Werewolf: the Apocalypse, anybody who tells you otherwise is a fool and a liar.
Summary: Vampires and werewolves have waged a nocturnal war against each other for centuries. But all bets are off when a vampire warrior named Dean, who's famous for his strength and werewolf-hunting prowess, becomes smitten with Sam, who the werewolves place a vital importance on. Supernatural/Underworld Crossover
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Chapters: 1/3
Genre: AU, SPN/Underworld Xover
Rating: R (in this chapter)
Acknowledgements: Thank you
albydarned, thothali, and whimsicalwonder for betaing. Special thanks go to Alby, for getting it back so fast and inspiring me to write this in the first place. Notes: This is the first part of three, all of them are already finished, they'll be released as fast as they can be betaed.
The rain poured down, dripping over his bowed face, sliding past his nose and over the curve of his lips, but he didn’t wipe it away. It trailed down his face before falling to the street below. He stayed still, eerily still, watching and waiting. The assignment was boring and his back ached from his crouching position at the cupola of the tall gothic tower, but he pushed it out of his mind like so much else. It was necessary for the job and thus Dean did it perfectly. The only thing on his mind right now was the busy rain-slicked street he looked down upon.
And then it happened. A tall young man rushed out onto the sidewalk, tugging his jacket up around his head futilely to shield it from the rain. Something about him immediately captured Dean’s attention, which never happened. Never. Dean had no interest in humans, certainly not tall gangly ones with unruly hair.
He pursed his lips and looked up across the way, eyes connecting with Gordon, who was kneeling next to a rough stone gargoyle festooning the roof of the building across the street. His lips twisted into a mockery of a grin when he caught Dean’s attention. Dean looked away again, back at the street to see the man disappearing down the covered stairs to the subway. There was something—no, he corrected himself sternly, there was nothing about that young man that he found interesting.
He was so busy trying not to think about it that he almost missed the two figures pushing through the crowd on the way down to the station after the young man. It was a blonde with a pageboy cut in ugly red leather and a boring faceless man this time. He’d never seen these two before. How was it that after centuries of trying to eliminate them, they continuously spilled out of the cracks? He looked back over at Gordon, but the other vampire was already jumping off the roof and blending in with the crowd below. Dean waited another beat before jumping off himself, his leather duster streaming out behind him in a dense black parody of outstretched wings. He landed gently, and nobody around him blinked, even as he pulled out a 9mm and began loading it with silver bullets.
He allowed himself to be swept up by the queue moving through the train station, stealthily sliding into position behind a pillar. The leather-clad lycan was hardly on her guard and while Gordon probably found this great fun, Dean wondered more about the cause. A lycan only walked into Death Dealer territory and wasn’t afraid, if there wasn’t a reason to be. As he took stock of the bustling platform he locked eyes with the tall young man from before. For a moment, he couldn’t look away, all he saw was catlike hazel eyes and the long column of his throat.
Storm Lords.
What was he thinking? He’d been doing this job for close to four-hundred years without one single slip up. But the other man, unruly hair or not, god he was gorgeous. It had been a long time indeed since Dean had felt the rush of attraction for someone else. Tearing his eyes away he melted back behind the pillar, not realizing that the other man’s eyes still lingered upon him.
Dean spotted Gordon leaning nonchalantly next to a telephone kiosk and the black man nodded at Dean. No doubt Gordon would start firing aimlessly on the crowd in an attempt to get at the two. Dean hated that; his partner had absolutely no room for finesse.
The other vampire didn’t disappoint. Suddenly the bullets were flying and glass was spraying out of the stationary train’s windows and people were screaming, horrid wretched cries that grated on Dean’s oversensitive ears. Well, if he bothered to pay attention anymore, he was long inured to it by now.
He stood, gun cocked, waiting until the madness died down and Gordon used up his clip. Hopefully that wouldn’t be too soon. The young man had dashed behind another pillar when the firefight had started, but was now crawling forward, trying to get to a girl who was writhing on the floor from a bullet to the collar bone even as bullets ricocheted overhead. Ah, how valiant.
The second nondescript unmemorable lycan ran after him, grabbing at his shoulder and trying to tug him back and away. Before Dean knew what he was doing he’d put four silver bullets into the man.
The female lycan turned out to be a force to be reckoned with, before Dean had even blinked she’d whirled on Gordon and unloaded .45 calibre rounds of something that just made him explode. A two-hundred year partnership dissolved in mere seconds, Dean couldn’t have cared less. The lycan he’d shot earlier was dashing into the train tunnel, his movements sluggish and jerky. Dean felt with a certain vicious satisfaction that the silver was probably getting to him now, if he didn’t get it out soon—well they’d be left with one very dead werewolf.
The female lycan—Meg, her partner had called her—weighed her losses and took off after the other one, only sparing one last glance for the boy on the ground, his hands pressed against the girl’s wound trying desperately to staunch the flow of blood. It appeared that Dean wasn’t the only person interested in this one, but he had a job to do. He’d think about the tall young man later, when he didn’t have to worry about two very annoying, very alive lycans running around.
He dashed through the tunnels after them, trying desperately to hear anything that would give the two away above the sounds of running trains. It was dark, but he was a vampire; he didn’t need light. All he needed was sound, which, sadly, wasn’t helping him very much at the moment. The train tunnels were maze-like and impossible to navigate; it would take years and the aid of very good set of blueprints to easily navigate one’s way around here. For all he knew he was running in the wrong direction.
But there it was, the sound of harsh breathing off to his right, and on instinct he fired into the space. If the lycan changed the only thing that would save him in this place was his wits. Enough silver in that son of a bitch and the change would be but a dream. The tracks seemed to quiet at that moment, and he could hear everything perfectly, from the silvery sound of bullet cartridges pinging off the ground to the drip of blood on concrete.
One down.
He stepped over the body, pushing a knee aside with one booted toe. The low rumbling growl of the train whooshed by them, lighting up the scene for one short moment, revealing Meg, standing fully changed, at the other end of the concrete corridor. He eyed the changed lycan with trepidation.
She snarled at him and he could feel his fangs lengthening and his crystal-green eyes shifting to a clear shimmering blue. In physical combat only the oldest vampires could stand against their wolf counterparts, but the rage often overtook the vile lycans when they changed and vampires, if anything else, knew how to exploit a weakness. She dove at him, taking his stillness for fear rather than caution and he was easily able to flip up and over her, raining bullets down upon her exposed back.
Out, he needed out. Forget the job. Gordon was down, one Lycan was dead. Meg would live to be eradicated another day. He ran hard, hoping that some of the silver he’d slugged into her body would slow her down so that he could get away. Cornered without room to move, he didn’t have a hope. It more than scared him that the lycan knew her way around the tunnels.
Even as he ran, pushing his lungs harder and harder, trying desperately to find a way back up to the surface, something kept bringing unruly hair and warm hazel eyes swimming up into the back of his mind. Why? He never got this out of control—this out of focus.
*
Sam had noticed the man in the station immediately—his entire being had seemed to notice that man in the subway. He’d been leaning nonchalantly against a wall, waiting, clearly waiting, and not for the train either. He’d had the most amazing long-lash fringed green eyes Sam had ever seen and the mouth—oh god the mouth. It was almost painful to think of that mouth with its full ruby red lips that were made for one thing as far as Sam could see: pleasure.
The man’s wardrobe had been a little odd, like he’d walked out of a Matrix movie set and forgot to take the costume off. But Sam would be lying if he said the other man didn’t look hotter than hell in the midnight black leather duster, knee high boots, and tight trousers.
But then when the crazed black man had pulled the gun out and started shooting things, Sam had pretty rapidly changed his mind. Clearly Mr. Made-For-Sex was in the middle of some gang battle and that, in Sam’s book, was pretty big turn off, even if his leather-clad hands had looked positively sinful wrapped around the polished black berretta. Sam believed in gun control—he believed in it with all his being—that’s why he was here in England going over gun policy and not off making tons of money on some corporate law firm like half his graduating class.
Sam also reminded himself that the man’s gun possession was actually the least of his worries—the whole murdering people thing was actually a much bigger problem. Even if he was pretty sure Mr. Made-For-Sex had shot that guy in defense of Sam’s own life, he’d still shot him four times. Although the dude had managed to pick himself up and run away…and what the fuck was that about? Sam watched TV, he remembered his anatomy class; that guy had been hit in at least two vital areas, but he was still moving around. By all rights that shouldn’t be possible, even if the guy had been hopped up on PCP.
Ah, god, what a day. All Sam had wanted to do was get home from the office, bundle up in an old ugly sweater and go over boring old legal briefs. Instead, he’d wound up in the middle of some kind of weird gang fight, trying his hardest to keep some poor woman who happened to be hit with a stray bullet alive. And then he’d had the grand adventure of taking her to the hospital and talking to the London police and bladdy bladdy blah. Well, if he hadn’t been convinced before, Mr. Made-For-Sex had made a very good case for the permanent destruction of firearms in Sam’s book. Not to mention that one guy exploding had pretty much ended his interest in food for life.
Clearly he’d also lost his mind somewhere in the interim if he was referring to some random psychopath as Mr. Made-For-Sex in the confines of his own head. Good lord, he should have just stayed in bed. But he couldn’t stop thinking about him, the way the man had moved, all lithe and self-possessed, like the two guns in his hands were part of his body, like he couldn’t even feel the recoil.
Oh man, he was going crazy, really crazy, like locked up in a dark place where no one can ever see you crazy. He sighed and tossed himself onto his giant, soft bed, which was the only concession to lavishness that Sam had allowed himself. Many had called Sam’s Tottenham apartment more than austere, but to him, his apartment was just where he slept not where he lived.
But for now, all he wanted to do was sleep on the damn bed. Boy was he going to have a story for his colleagues tomorrow.
*
Meg dragged Drake back to the hideaway, her fur melting away to nudity as she passed a group of people sparring on a crude mat. They didn’t have the sheer economic capital to rival their vampire enemies, but that wasn’t to say that they were living like a pack of mangy dogs either. Drake was gone, she could tell, the beautiful vampire had ended him like he was so much trash. She’d heard of that one, colder and more efficient than any other death dealer that roamed the streets, a real wolfs’ bane. She’d never caught a vampire alone before that didn’t cower at the sight of her changed form; this one had put two bullets in her and lived to tell about it.
She dumped Drake’s prone body onto a metal examining table in the primitive lab they’d built. Jim came out from behind the curtain that cordoned off his experiments from the rest of the lab and looked at the twisted body lying on the table.
“Too much silver in him to change,” she said in response to his unanswered question.
Jim sighed and shook his head, another warrior down. “Did the UV slugs work?”
Her face shifted into a smile, revealing abnormally sharp teeth, as she remembered the satisfying way the black vampire had disintegrated. “Like a charm.”
“And did you get Winchester’s blood?” came a voice from the doorway.
She turned around to look at the speaker, John of the Get of Fenris and leader of the resistance, and bowed her head. “No.”
Jim noted the acquiescence with some pride, time was no Fenrir like John could be in the room with a Black Fury like Meg without bloodshed. Ever since the Stargazers had come forth with their prophecy the times finally seemed to be changing, even if they were still hiding out like mere Bone Gnawers.
John made a face. “And why not?”
She looked up at him, her expression earnest. “The vampires—”
John blew out a breath. “Must I do everything myself?” He sighed heavily and stomped off.
Meg bowed her head again, only to snap upwards as Jim unceremoniously pulled a piece of shrapnel out of her shoulder and another out of her scapula. “You are lucky you had undergone the change,” Jim said as poked away at her, digging bits of silver out of her naked back.
“I hope this Winchester boy is worth it,” she howled as he pulled another piece of silver out of her flesh.
*
“Listen, Jo, there are werewolves in those tunnels!” Dean snarled. “I’m telling you they knew their way around!”
Dean had made it back to the mansion some two hours later after a harrowing journey in the tunnels that had him absolutely convinced there was more than just the blonde lycan Meg down there. All that he’d accomplished upon his return was getting into a ridiculous argument with Jo in the Great Hall where all could see.
“It’s absolutely impossible!” the blonde vampire replied, hands planted squarely on her hips. Her entourage looked coolly straight ahead, not paying attention to Jo’s temper tantrum. “Their numbers haven’t been the same since John’s death!”
“What if we were wrong?” Dean gritted out. He was tired, he hadn’t fed, and he absolutely could not stand Jo.
She turned away from him. “We were not wrong!”
“Jo,” Dean shouted back. “That’s like Galileo telling the church that maybe they were wrong about Aristotle and the Church putting him to death in response!”
“I fail to see the comparison.” She turned back around, her eyebrow raised. He was so frustrated he was seriously contemplating yanking her hair out.
“Jo, the church was wro—” he broke off, recognizing her deflection tactic. “No! Listen to me. It wouldn’t hurt to check!”
“Dean!” she hissed at him. “No!”
“If Eleanor were here she’d listen!” Dean shot back, completely incensed. He turned around to face the corridor to his rooms.
“And Eleanor put me in charge! You will listen to me!” She grabbed at his shoulder, refusing to let him leave.
“If you won’t send anyone then I will go myself!” he replied, ignoring her command and shrugging her off.
“And I said NO!” her palm came swinging towards his face, but he caught the blow before it even landed.
His eyes went brilliant blue in his anger. “And you honestly thought you’d land that?” he asked, dangerously quiet, his grip tightening around her wrist just slightly before dropping it altogether. He stepped away from her, determined to leave the room.
Jo recovered herself, flexing her hand slightly. The other vampires in the room looked from person to person nervously.
“In two days it’s the awakening! I expect that when you escort me to the masque ball you will be better behaved!” Jo said smugly, a knowing smirk on her face.
He turned back around, his surprise and anger open for all the coven to see. “I will not escort you! Take someone who actually thinks you have a functioning brain in your head!”
He swept out of the room, towards the practice courts ignoring the gasp and murmurs he left in his wake. At least there he could shoot something. Lounging useless and licentious vampires whose only interest was pleasure moved out of his way as he thundered past them. They feared him as well they should. They were content to let the death dealers die for their fripperies and it wasn’t like they were out doing any other type of job.
“Dean,” Ash called out, as he walked into the armory his face a cold impenetrable mask. Dean looked over at him and the other eccentric vampire came striding toward him, holding out the gun cartridge he’d pulled off the dead werewolf. “They were UV rounds! I’m so mad I could spit that they got to them first.”
“You were developing UV rounds?”
“What? No!” Ash looked at him like he was an idiot. “Silver nitrate … I mean, that would be the end of those fuckers! No more pulling those bullets out or hacking off their limbs or whatever it is they do to combat silver poisoning.” Ash handed him a gun that he assumed was full of these knew silver nitrate bullets.
“Hack off their limbs, Ash?” Dean had yet to come to blows with a crippled lycan. The idea was more than a little amusing.
“The last ten years or so…well, we’ve seen a spike in their technology, it’s amazing.” Ash ignored him, but Dean was used to it. Ash was very young for vampire standards, only forty years or so, and an American at that.
“I—what?”
“Listen, they shouldn’t have the funds or the know-how to design something like this.” Ash waved the cartridge around and Dean stepped carefully away from the bottled UV light. “But in the last ten years, their weapons are becoming more and more sophisticated. There’s something going on here, certainly more than Jo and the upper echelons want us to know about.”
“What makes you say that Jo knows?” Dean asked, liking the heft of the semi-automatic in his palm. “I feel like that woman knows nothing more about werewolves than the fact that we put bullets in them occasionally.”
A strange look passed over Ash’s face before melting back to normal again. “Never mind.”
Dean knew better than to press it, Ash’s mind worked in strange ways. “May I keep this?”
“What?” Ash asked. “Oh, yeah, sure. Go for it.”
“Any warnings about this, Ash?” He held the gun up.
Ash seriously considered for a minute, before smiling. “Well, I’m not sure it works.”
Dean rolled his eyes, that was helpful, a broken gun, and left the training rooms again. Something was still niggling him about that man at the train station. When he got back to his rooms, he booted up the program on his computer that would allow him to hack into the traffic cams from the street (one of Ash’s designs). He watched as the man came racing out of the building, just like he’d noticed the first time, but this time he saw how Meg and her now-dead companion melted away from the wall to follow him. He hadn’t even noticed that before, although their attempts to grab the man suddenly made a little more sense.
So who was he? What could they possibly want with him? Dean hadn’t the slightest idea; as far as he could tell the man was completely human, and they certainly wouldn’t go into death dealer territory for the simple matter of turning him. He pulled up the nifty little zoom tool Ash had created and zoomed in on the boy’s face, stopping and starting until he got a good shot from the front of his face. Then he ran the face through a data base hoping to come up with match. Ash was a genius though, so it was more of a surety.
He was pacing about the room waiting for the database to get back with an answer when he heard a knock at the door.
“Come in,” he called, not even bothering to turn around or to cease his pacing. Only one person it could be.
“I don’t understand why you bait her,” a soft voice said from the door. Dean finally turned around to look at Sarah, who was practically Jo’s pet plaything. She definitely had to be the most tolerable of the other vampire’s groupies though.
“If she wasn’t half so incompetent, I wouldn’t,” he replied, his voice dry. No doubt Sarah was here on some errand for Jo, who just never quit.
“Jo is very capable, Dean.” Dean snorted and she shot him a glare. “And she so obviously wants you—”
Ah, that was laughable. She didn’t want Dean, she wanted his submission.
He shook his head and cleared his throat. “Only because I am exactly what she cannot have!”
Sarah huffed and dumped a garment bag over the arm of his sofa. “You’re to wear this for the party tonight.” She fingered the color of her own frilly dress that Jo had no doubt insisted on. Sarah was far more the simple black gown type than that ridiculous lace confection. Dean could only wonder what awfulness was inside the garment bag.
“I won’t, Sarah. Something’s not right. I’m going back out.” He tugged on the sleeve of his plain black cotton shirt. He hadn’t been to one of Jo’s parties in the last fifty years, and he wasn’t about to start when he had this bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.
“Dean!” she shouted, clearly scandalized. “She gave you an order.”
“A stupid one!”
Sarah sighed, resigned. “Whatever, you get yourself in trouble and it’s only good for me.”
“Which is why you won’t tell her until I’m nice and gone,” he replied, plopping back into his desk chair when the computer made a little affirmative sound.
“Ugh!” she burst out, finally giving up and leaving the room and the garment bag behind. Dean laughed as he turned back to what the computer had come up with. He liked Sarah, even if she was crazy for thinking herself in love with that idiot Jo.
A US driver’s license photo of one Samuel Winchester was blazoned across his LCD screen. He looked at the specs written across the screen. The kid was completely apple pie normal; he was born in the States, both his parents died when he was seven and his maternal relatives took him in, he went to Stanford and graduated Summa before going to law school. Dean had a sudden irrational thought that maybe the werewolves were seeking representation and he burst out laughing.
Well, whatever it was, it was time to pay Sammy a little visit. He gathered his kit together, both his berettas and the new semi-automatic Jericho and other assorted weaponry. Because Jo was being such a colossal pain in the ass, he figured he’d grab her favorite car out the garage, a gleaming black Maserati that she’d literally killed to attain.
The drive to Winchester’s house went by in a blur as he thought and thought what the other young man could possibly mean to the damn lycans. A voice inside of him wondered what exactly Winchester meant to him, but Dean was good at avoiding things he didn’t want to think about, and so he pushed that thought aside.
Winchester lived in an aged and run-down building in a nevertheless trendy area of Tottenham. There was no security of any kind and the hallway lights buzzed with noise as they bathed the halls in a semi-greenish glow. Dean found Winchester’s ancient door and rusty lock to be little trouble and then he was inside the inner sanctum of the man’s aparment.
The walls were littered with information about gun deaths and legal briefs—clearly Winchester took his work home with him. He inspected the contents of a desk but found nothing besides office supplies and files. Obviously there wouldn’t be some mysterious memo that simply declared his affiliation with the werewolves, but he couldn’t understand this; Winchester seemed to be a completely regular guy. He leafed through some old photographs he found shoved in the bottom drawer of Winchester and gorgeous blond, both appearing very much in love. He wasn’t sure why his gut clenched at that.
There was nothing, simply nothing, and he was starting to think he’d made a fool’s errand. He heard the creak of the bedroom door, and before Winchester knew what hit him, his back was crashing against the wall and his feet were hanging off the floor as Dean suspended him with one hand around his throat.
“Why were they after you?” he snarled, looking up as Winchester gripped the hand around his throat and gasped for air, struggling with his assailant. “Tell me!”
“I—I don’t—know what you’re talking about!” Winchester choked out, clawing at Dean’s gloved hand.
Dean’s eyes shifted blue, visible even in the darkness. “Today, at the station, why did they want you?” he shouted.
Winchester shook his head and burst out weakly, “I don’t know, I don’t know!”
Dean heard it, a crash in the stairwell. He dropped Sam to the floor and listened for a second. When he looked back down at Winchester’s gasping form he was surprised to note the miles of well-muscled tan skin that Winchester had on display. He was wearing low-slung pajama pants and breathing hard on the floor. Dean wasn’t sure he’d ever seen a more attractive sight and after four-hundred years of living, that was truly startling.
The crash came again and Dean knew without a doubt that it wasn’t some drunken neighbor dropping boxes down the stairway, had to be the lycans coming after Sam again. They’d have to get out of here; anything that the lycans wanted Dean was not going to let them have.
He tugged Winchester to his feet. “We’ve got to get out of here!”
“What?” Winchester cried as he rubbed his throat. “I’m not going anywhere with you!”
Dean shot him a quelling look and Winchester raised his hands in defeat. “All right, all right. Can I at least get some better clothes?”
“There’s no time!” Dean replied, gripping Winchester’s bicep tightly and pulling him out the door. They ran out the door of the apartment only to be confronted with four very angry werewolves scaling the stairs at a very fast clip.
Winchester watched them with wide eyes. “I uh—there’s a back stair over that way!” He pointed to the left and they took off, Dean still hanging on to Sam as they ran down the corridor toward the other exit. An elevator was across from it and just as they stopped in front of the emergency exit, the doors slid open revealing one very tall burly man with dark hair and dark eyes. Dean stilled at the sight of him, so surprised that he completely forgot what he was trying to do. It couldn’t be, he was dead! Before he could stop it, the man was yanking Winchester through the already-closing elevator doors.
Dean got control of himself then and without preamble started shooting a circle into the rickety floor at his feet, falling through it as his weight became too much for the bullet-riddled plaster and wood to hold him up. The elevator doors were open, revealing the unchanged werewolf fastened to Winchester’s shoulder. Completely forgetting about Ash’s prototype, he shot five regular silver rounds into the man and then yanked Winchester out from under him.
Winchester was dazed and out of it, blood rushing over his shoulder and down his arm, the smell nearly driving Dean mad as they rushed out of the building. But Sam Winchester was tainted now; there was no way that Dean would dare to feed upon him. The rain was coming down hard outside again, and Dean was glad for it because it would mask their smell and make them nearly impossible to track. The downside was that Winchester was in pajama pants and barefoot, and other man cursed as he stepped on pebble, seeming not even noticing the gaping wound in his shoulder. Half-dragging the larger man to the car, Dean shoved him inside hoping against hope that Winchester wouldn’t turn in the car, because then Dean would have to put a bullet in him and that would hardly yield any answers.
He started the engine, very glad now that he’d taken Jo’s zippy Maserati. Winchester was silent in the seat next to him, seemingly in shock. Dean shifted hard and raced around the street corner. They had to get out of the area as quickly as possible.
Dean nearly shouted in surprise when John stepped into the street directly in front of their oncoming car. He realized he probably shouldn’t even be surprised that if a man like John had managed to survive his first death, a few well placed bullets would fail to do the trick. Dean accelerated the car, hoping that, in John’s unchanged form, the speeding Maserati would run him flat, but like everything else this night, he was sadly disappointed.
John dove on top of the roof the car, a giant piece of steel puncturing the roof to completely destroy the CD console between the seats. He swerved in an attempt to shake the werewolf off the car, but was only rewarded by the sword plunging through again, just between Winchester’s spread thighs. Dean was just thinking Jo was going to kill him when the sword plunged down a third time straight into his own shoulder.
“Storm lords!” he shouted out the expletive, punching down on the break and hurling John off the roof, before throwing the car into reverse and turning around to go the wrong way down a one way street. At the nearest ally way he turned left, accelerating hard. They drove down a few more streets at breakneck speed, turning at random points but always putting as much distance as they could between them and Winchester’s apartment. Finally it seemed that no one was pursuing them and he breathed a sigh of relief.
“What in the hell is going on?” Winchester finally asked, seeming to get a hold of himself.
“Those were lycans, werewolves as you humans prefer to call them, and for some reason they want you,” Dean replied, eyes hard on the road. “I guess now you’re one of them—” he looked over at Sam and broke off, noting that the torn flesh had completely knit itself together and all that was left was a red patch of fresh skin.
“What the fuck?” he asked at the same time that Sam shouted, “Watch the road!”
A black taxi was heading straight for them, beeping loudly. Dean swerved dramatically, turning down another side street before finally looking back at Winchester again. “You regenerated!”
“I—” Sam looked down at his shoulder, only just now seeming to notice that it was fine. His expression was first surprised and then horrified. He stroked the skin wonderingly.
Dean shook his head. “Only full vampires and werewolves should be able to do that and you—” He was coming up with more and more dead ends and half answers. Sam clearly had no clue what was going on, which fucking sucked. He was tail-spinning right now, with no idea what his next move would be. Jo wouldn’t listen, he knew this, but he had to try.
“I am not a vampire or a werewolf!” Sam cried out, bringing Dean back to the moment. He looked over at the young man again, noting the way his flesh was pebbled with goose bumps and he’d crossed his arms to shield himself. Was Sam still afraid of him? The thought annoyed him irrationally.
“I know that! But a werewolf bit you back there, by all rights you should be one right now!”
“Well obviously I’m not!” Sam looked straight ahead, his face rigid and stony.
“Yeah, I know! That’s what scares me,” Dean snapped back, driving towards the docks. Hi head was starting to hurt and his arm felt like it was going to fall off. “No one has ever survived a bite from both kinds!”
“I am not a vampire either!” Sam protested.
Dean thought for a minute, his lips pursed. He’d never seen what could happen if someone was bit by both, but he imagined it wasn’t this. “Yes, how could you be—a covenless vampire who walked about in the sun? Not freakin’ possible!”
Winchester snorted, still looking at the road. Dean glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.
“You must be some kind of mutant instead!” Dean finally said with a smile.
“What? I’m not a mutant, either!” Sam shouted back. “Look, the only thing I am is certifiably insane. I’m seeing things and being driven around in a car by a man who’s made for sex and also likes to unload semi-automatics onto crowds of innocent people! How could I be anything else?”
Dean cleared his throat at Sam’s comment and tried to hide a smile. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Sam blushing prettily. So, apparently he was not the only one to have been hit by a crazy out of the blue attraction today.
“You’re not insane.” Dean replied quietly, finally taking pity upon the poor boy. “You’ve just stumbled into the middle of centuries old war between the vampires and the lycans.”
“This is supposed to reassure me?” Sam muttered, but he relaxed. “How is it that if you’ve been at war for so long none of us has noticed?”
“We don’t want you to,” Dean replied, matter of fact, fingers tightening on the steering wheel.
“Right, and today’s shoot-out? You don’t think that anyone noticed that?” Sam asked sarcastically.
Dean sighed and rolled his eyes heavenward, he could feel blood running down his arm and into his glove. “Well, that was more Gordon’s doing, but he’s dead now, so I doubt we’ll be seeing anymore of that.”
Sam quickly changed the subject, and Dean sensed from the paraphernalia around Sam’s apartment, that it was a sensitive subject. “If they’re werewolves then you must be a vampire.”
Seeming to realize what he’d just said and he shrank back against the opposite car door. Dean sighed.
“Winchester, you’re really very bright,” Dean replied dryly. He was starting to get a little dizzy and his vision was turning grey at the edges. Sam made a face at his sarcasm.
“Look I—” Dean trailed off, shaking his head and trying to clear the cobwebs upstairs.
Sam noticed that something was wrong. “Vampire or no, you’ve lost a lot of blood. You should probably pull over.”
Dean snapped at him, “I’m fine!”
“Well I really think—” Sam started as the car began to drift out of the lane, before Dean quickly jerked it back.
“I said I was fine!” he snarled again, fingers tightening on the steering wheel again.
Sam sighed and raised his hands in supplication. He looked back at the road, suddenly noticing that they were heading straight towards a barrier in front of the river. “Pull over!” he shouted, turning back to Dean, noticing too late that the vampire was already unconscious. With a horrendous crash they were flying over the barrier, plunging head-first into the water, the windshield breaking on impact.
*
TBC
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As I've already told you, I really adore how you've meshed these different verses together and yet kept it original and unique. Oh, Sam and Dean ... they are just two star-crossed lovers no matter where you throw them, aren't they? And really ... man, what I wouldn't give for a visual of this Dean-vampire, seriously. So hot, so sexy ... omg!
I'm totally going to rec this in my journal, btw. *giggles* Great start, and the rest is amazing too! *runs back to beta-land!*
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Christ, do you think I can just pay Jensen to wear the outfit I've described him in?
I'm glad you like it, since I mostly wrote it at your instigation.
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And anything that has supernatural creature!Dean and Sam automatically has my love.
Psst. Ps. Guess what I got in the mail today?!?! And I was having a really shitty day, so that was PERFECT timing. I'm going to finish yours off tonight or tomorrow and get it in the mail then if I can... midterms have been holding me back. *hides sheepishly* I'm sorry!!
But for now I want more of this please. Thanks. ^_^
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My own special flair, heh, I like the sound of that.
YAY! I had hoped it would arrive soon. Don't worry, I was doing it originally because I wanted to make you a mix, not because I expected anything in return.
More of this, eh? Well, hopefully tomorrow or the day after there will be more.
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Vampire!Dean rocks my socks!
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You've just blended one of my all-time favorite movies with one of my all-time favorite shows!
Eeeee! I'm so excited about this story now!
And not to sound like a broken record since it's been said before in the reviews above....but Vampire!Dean...HOLY HANNAH it's hot!
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It's one of my all time favorite movies too (or maybe that's just Kate Beckinsale, forget Scott Speedman, it's all about Selene)
Yes, Vampire!Dean in tight leather pants and gloves and oh I cannot get enough of the leather!
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^^*Head explodes*
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And yes...Vampire!Dean and Hybrid!Sam = love.
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I loves me some sammy, so OF COURSE I would give him a voice, otherwise he'd be written as "Sammy the Brick Man" which is what Scott Speedman played him as.
Who said anything about hybrid!Sam? I didn't say anything about hybrid!Sam!
SQUEE!!
(Anonymous) 2007-02-14 01:50 am (UTC)(link)Re: SQUEE!!
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*happy*
This was really well written, I could picture it all in my head so easily due to your brilliant descriptions. I love the way you've incorporated characteristics from the Underworld characters into our Dean and Sam. I can't wait for more!!
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Best movie ever, and you are so doing it justice with your Sam/Dean take on it! And I love how you're bringing in all the other characters! John and Jo and Ellen and Pastor Jim and Sarah and Gordon and Meg and Ash. The list will probably continue on. Very nicely done!
This comment does not in any way convey how much I loved this and want more, but I don't know that any comment can.
Oh, and Dean in leather... FUCK YES!
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Anyway, I'm glad you like it so much. I take it from your username that you are a fan of vampires. So I'm happy you think I'm doing them justice.
Dean in leather---so awesome.
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Yes, big fan of vampires and you are keeping me pleasantly numb (and the 3 cups of coffee I've had this morning are probably also helping).
I look forward to more Vampire Dean and want to see how you tweak it for Lawyer Sam since Michael as doctor boy and the one to fix Selene up.
*claps excitedly* <~~That could be the coffee speaking, but probably not.
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And this is great. It was a crossover waiting to happen and I was so wary opening it that it was going to be terrible, but I am so so so impressed by how well you've married the worlds together and how invested I am in the story already.
Love,
Julie-Rae
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I'm glad that you didn't think it was completely terrible. I was wary about everybody going, OHMYFUCKINGGOD, Lauren, what the hell are you doing. But they haven't, and you haven't so it's all good. I'm attempting to get the next part out, it's still at the betas, but it shouldn't be long.
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Am online, by the way, if you'd like to chat via IM.
ICQ: 59149333
AIM & YAHOO: Yakkorat
MSN: Yakkorat@hotmail.com
Just actually got a whole bunch of source books, even though I haven't truly played for over a year. (Early morning job + late night games = BAD MIX)
And by the way, I was SO psyched when you dropped the word "Fenrir." I actually giggled aloud. And you introduced the tribes in a good way, mentioning them as absolutes, as things everyone should know and giving just a hint of description so that non-gamers can begin to understand. :)
And I didn't think it was even a little bit terrible. I thoroughly enjoyed it. :)
Love,
Julie-Rae
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You should totally look my cousin up by the way, I feel like you would have much to talk about. Her name's
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Actually, I never got into WtA. I know it all depends on the GM, but every game I thought about getting into - LARP or Table Top - always ended up being 90% hack-n-slash, which I hate. VtM gave me the opportunity for more politics, more character developement. I LARPed Changeling a few times and that was a blast. There aren't enough Changling LARPs out there. And my FAVORITE WW game is Mage, but no one ever runs a freaking Mage LARP, and very few GMs can run a decent MtA game. *sigh* So VtM it was...
Back in the day... LOL. Nowadays I don't have the time, or energy. I was thinking about it; it's been years.
But as for writing an Underworld fic and including WW, I would think it would be really hard not to. I mean, they all but labeled the tribes. It would be like writing a Kindred: the Embraced fanfic (*cringe*) and not including the clans.
And I'm willing to bet that anyone else reading these comments thinks we're speaking Greek. LOL.
But yeah, pass my IM info onto your cousin, and keep up the excellent work!
Love,
Julie-Rae
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I was wondering if you were going to finish it though? It's been over a year. I would love to find out what happens.
Please. It is too good to be left incomplete.
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finished (http://dark-reaction.livejournal.com/62763.html#cutid1)
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Thanks for the link. :)
*runs off to read the rest*
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