: Don Eppes, Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester with cameo by ADIC Wright.Fandoms
: Numb3rs/Supernatural - crossoverRating
: PG 13+Warning
: I don't own them, I just borrowed them. Numb3rs, Supernatural and associated characters are the property of those that created them. No copyright infringement intended. No financial reward gained. All real places and organisations are used in a fictional sense. Anything you don't recognise comes from my imagination.Spoilers
- Numb3rs: nil; - Supernatural: nil.Status
: Part 2 of 4Wordcount
(this part): 2200Total wordcount:
: Another Halloween and another encounter with the Winchester brothers leaves Don under suspicion.
Far too quickly for his liking Don slowed and pulled the SUV into the entrance to the basement parking lot. Pressing his tag to the sensor he waited as the roller moved up.
“You walk around with that out they’ll be all over us in seconds,” Don said pointedly glancing at the weapon in Dean’s hands.
“Just making it look good for when they check the cameras later,” Dean explained, casually lifting the gun slightly and moving it a little closer to the windshield so it would be a touch more visible.
As they moved forward Dean shoved the gun back into his waistband. “It’s not as though I really need it do I?”
“Yeah, you do,” Don said.
He may have been a willing participant last time he’d aided the man, able to justify it as working a confidential informant to solve the string of murders but not this time. Not when there was an easier way to protect the agents and civilians working in the Field Office from whatever this dangerous thing was. Calling in a bomb threat would get the building cleared within minutes. It didn’t matter that he knew it wasn’t a bomb. It would work to get everyone out without the brothers having to try to explain to him whatever it really was. He also wasn’t sure if he actually wanted to know.
Dean looked somewhat taken aback at the agent’s response to what he’d clearly thought was a rhetorical question. “Are you usually this stubborn or is it just us? Most cops we deal with don’t need this much convincing.”
“I helped you last time because that worked to bring Best down and save Sam. This is just stupid, there is another way,” Don argued.
“No there isn’t, not to stop-“ Dean broke off, shaking his head. Placing his hand deliberately back on the grip of his gun he pulled it out an inch or so in emphasis. “There’s no point explaining it. If it makes you feel better to be forced to do this then you know we’ve both got these and you’ve got bupkis. That work for you?”
He responded with a tight nod, it worked for him. He drove to his usual spot and shut the SUV down. About to open his door he stopped as Sam’s hand pulled at his shoulder. Looking back he saw the younger brother holding out the Glock.
“Here,” Sam offered.
Reclaiming the weapon he felt the difference the lack of bullets made to the weight. Quickly dropping the magazine out he confirmed it was empty. It didn’t take much thought to understand why the unloaded weapon had been returned, an empty holster would be a dead giveaway that something was wrong if they were spotted. With everything apparently in order he had a chance of talking their way out of potential trouble but he hoped it wouldn’t come to that. Despite his earlier claim to there being sufficient agents in the building to pose a problem, when he’d left a few minutes before the building was very quiet. There was a very good chance they could do this without being challenged. Shoving the useless weapon into his holster he turned to Dean, glancing back at Sam to include him as he spoke.
“We go in, you do what you need to do with this box and whatever is in it, and then we get out. No one else needs to be involved, right?”
“Sounds like a plan,” Dean agreed. “You can get into the locker?”
“Yes.” As a supervisor he had access to the evidence locker on his floor and would not need to drag the Duty Agent into it.
“Forty-three minutes, Dean,” Sam warned.
At the impatient reminder of time ticking away Don opened his door and climbed down, checking his gun was snugly in the holster through force of habit. Turning he saw the brothers were ready and waiting for him with Sam adjusting the strap from his bag across his shoulder. Without a word he strode over to the elevator and swiped his card over the sensor before pressing the call button. This was the in he could provide the brothers, no need for them to cook up some story to talk their way past the security checkpoint in the lobby and no need to find a way to ditch an escort. This way they could simply use his ID and get all the access they wanted.
The doors opened immediately on the same elevator he’d ridden down in only a short time before. Stepping in he turned and reached for the button for his floor but stopped at Sam’s raised hand.
“Evidence locker’s on eight,” Sam said suspiciously.
“There’s one on each floor,” Don explained, ignoring as unimportant at that particular moment how Sam knew where the main long term store was. “We haven’t moved the exhibits up to eight yet.”
“No one else involved, right?” Dean repeated Don’s words, as much warning as question.
“My office was empty when I left. The box you want is in our evidence locker on my floor,” Don spelled it out. “I’m taking you exactly where you want because I don’t want anyone else involved.”
Without waiting for Sam’s approval Don pressed the button for his floor and they started up.
The brothers tensed as the doors opened but the floor was just as empty as when Don left it. Moving as if he were in control of the situation he made his way across the bullpen to the storage areas on the far side of the floor. Entering a hall they reached a reinforced door with a placard clearly marking it as ‘Authorised Access Only’. He swiped his card against the sensor but found himself hesitating with his hand over the numpad. A second later he entered his code and the door unlocked. There was no point to delaying things, the sooner this was done the sooner the two fugitives would be gone from his life once more.
As they entered the room Don saw Dean’s eye taken by a high spec military rifle resting on a shelf. “Don’t touch anything,” he warned. Having two men who were officially wanted criminals in the locker put far more than just an agent at risk. “Everything in here is evidence on a current case, there is no need to contaminate anything else.”
Dean dropped his hand with a last longing look before taking the laser pointer waved at him by Sam. Flicking it on he aimed the invisible beam up at the bubble on the ceiling, blinding the security camera.
“How long before they check on that?” Dean asked.
“At this hour? You don’t need to worry about it,” Don reassured him. The odds were against someone having been looking at that exact monitor the exact moment it went out so it should look like a simple malfunction when discovered. It would be noted on a work sheet for the morning. “The box is over here.”
He led them to the shelf and shifted the other exhibits aside before standing back.
Sam and Dean immediately focused on their task, whatever that might be. Don glanced at the door behind him and assessed whether he could reach it before either of the brothers enabling him to lock them into the secured room. SWAT could then take them down at their leisure. He also wondered whether he should, even if he could. A glance at the logo on the exhibit tags hanging off the items on the shelves solved that for him, there was no choice, he was a duly sworn agent with two wanted felons in his very office. Watching as they carefully moved the box to the floor he found himself hesitating even as they showed no obvious interest in him. It was five paces to the door from where he was, eight from where Dean was. Good enough odds he could make it before they could catch him. Or shoot him. Shaking the last thought off as extremely unlikely he judged the distances again, still finding himself reluctant to do his duty.
About to move he changed his mind as he saw something that wasn’t possible, a faint red glow around the seam where the lid of the box met the sides. The box had been opened when it was logged in as standard procedure to confirm if it was empty or to itemise the contents. It had been empty. There was nothing inside it that could possibly glow.
“Hurry, it’s started,” Sam stated as he also spotted the glow.
“I can see that,” Dean snapped. He dug into the bag and pulled out a box of wax crayons. Opening the box he handed one out to his brother.
Within moments they were busily drawing on the polished floor tiles. First they carefully drew a circle around the box and then symbols that Don didn’t recognise. He’d been in a circle drawn by the brothers before so he recognised that as a standard occult design but these symbols were different. As Sam made a last few notations Dean sprayed the contents of a small aerosol can over the fire sensor mounted on the ceiling. The why became clear when Sam pulled out a small camp stove and lit the flame. The sensitive device would have been setting off alarms within seconds if it hadn’t been nullified. Sam quickly started placing various herbs into a shallow dish above the flame, handed to him by Dean.
Sam then produced an odd knife that glistened blackly in the light. As he used it to prick his thumb the agent recognised it as a stone knife, made probably from obsidian. Sam passed the knife to Dean who repeated the move, cutting his thumb and squeezing several drops of blood into the shallow dish. Dean then turned to the agent, holding the knife out.
“You too, Fed.”
“No way,” Don refused as he took a step back.
“You don’t you’ll die,” Sam said quickly. “Everyone present has to be included in the spell.”
“Do it, or we’ll do it for you,” Dean threatened.
Don looked nervously towards Sam at that, he didn’t want the younger man carving on him again. “Fine,” he said tightly. He ignored the contaminated knife Dean held towards him, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his own.
“No,” Dean snapped. “It has to be this knife. Hurry!”
Before he had a chance to react Dean stepped close and slapped Don’s pocket knife away before catching his now empty hand. He found himself pulled roughly over to stop with his hand hovering over the mess they were cooking, Dean clearly impatient. As the knife was raised Don managed to jerk his arm away but found himself shoved against a shelf with Dean’s weight on him an instant later. Sam was also on him and once again Don found his hand captured, the brothers working together.
“No, wait,” Don said urgently as the knife was brought to bear over the pad of his thumb. The thought of the bloodied blade slicing into his flesh had him trying to pull his hand clear again without success. “Clean it, please. Then I’ll do it.”
Dean gave him a hard shove before backing off and holding out the stone knife, “Make it quick.”
Sam released his hand as he took the knife, turning back to dig into his bag. Under Dean’s watchful eye Don pulled out his handkerchief and wiped the blade as clean as he could. It was not good enough but was the best he could do given the circumstances. He put the tip against his thumb as he worked himself up to potentially exposing himself to whatever blood borne pathogens the brothers were carrying. A moment later it didn’t matter as Dean’s hand slammed down on his driving the knife in.
“Seven drops, move it!” Dean ordered, taking the knife.
Moving forward Don squeezed the requisite drops of blood from this thumb until Sam nodded. The contents of the bowl were stirred and he could have sworn he heard his blood sizzling, a sound that sent a shiver down his spine.
He backed away as Sam started to read from some sheets of paper he pulled from an all too familiar notebook. He squeezed some more blood from the wound on his thumb in an effort to reduce his exposure risk before wiping it with a clean section of his handkerchief.
“Sammy,” Dean called warningly.
Don looked away from his ministrations to the older brother, seeing him intently staring at the box. Following his gaze he was astonished to see the lid slowly rising, the red glow intensifying. “What the hell?”
“Close enough,” Dean answered. “Come on Sammy, get it done!”
Sam for his part continued to read after only the quickest of looks at the box, his words tumbling from his lips. Abruptly he stopped and used a pair of tongs to lift the shallow dish off the camp stove. Raising it up he intoned some more words in a language Don couldn’t follow before upending the contents over the glowing box.
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