Co-written with CatscornerFandom: Supernatural Xover AliasPairing: Dean/Sydney Rating/warnings: NC-17Characters: Not ours, Joss' & JJ Abrams' - We're just playin' with 'emSummary: Dean goes back to hunting and searches for a way to get Sam out of Lucifer’s cage. He’s close, so damned close to an answer. If only a certain sexy red head... make that a blonde... or is it a brunette, would quit popping up and interfering with his schemes. CIA Agent Sydney Bristow is on a mission, and no irritating, too-charming-for- his-own-good, backwoods hunter, is gonna slow her down. The race, to find the holy spear of Longinus, is on.Author's Note: This takes place after the SPN Season 5 finale and goes AU-ish. It also takes place during season 1 of Alias.
[2 months after Sam jumped into the cage with Lucifer]
Dean pulled the car cover off the impala, and slowly rolled it up. There was a lump in his throat about the size of Texas, but he told himself the worst part was over. It had been hard, but he'd said his good byes to Lisa and Ben. The looks in their eyes, sadness, disappointment, he'd carry it with him for the rest of his life.
It was his fault of course. He was a fuck up. He'd wanted a home, a family, and Sam had made him promise to go make that dream come true. And he'd tried. God, he'd tried.
He'd wanted to be the man in Lisa's life, a father to her son. He'd gotten normal jobs, cooked breakfast for his family, dropped Ben off at soccer games and gone to neighborhood barbecues. These were all the things he'd secretly craved all his life, or maybe it hadn’t really been a secret since Sam had figured it out. But now that he'd had gotten a taste of that life he’d wanted so badly, it just... he couldn't enjoy it.
Maybe it was because a part of him had died with Sam. Or it was guilt. He couldn't sit here and live the good life while his brother burned, day in and day out, in the cage. Or it was the knowledge that despite what Lisa said, he was making her life and Ben's, more difficult. He was drinking hard, and, to his shame, Ben had seen him stumbling around more than once. What kind of role model was that for a kid? And lately, he'd been lying to Lisa, telling her he wasn't drinking when he carried good old Johnny with him everywhere he went, and telling her he wasn't hunting when the only thing on his mind most of the time was finding ways to get his brother back. And if not back, then out of that pit with Lucifer. Anything had to be better than that. Anything.
Opening the trunk, he took a quick look at the weapons in the secret compartment. Everything was just as he'd left it. Taking a breath, he turned around and grabbed his duffel bags and tossed them into the trunk. A small smile pulled at his lips when he saw the paper bag. She'd made him sandwiches or something. Swallowing over the lump in his throat, he closed the trunk and punched the button on the wall to open the garage door.
As he headed for the driver's door, he ran a hand over the cool shiny surface of the Impala and wrestled with bittersweet thoughts. As much as a part of him wanted to fit into Lisa and Ben's lives, a stronger part, the part that had been honed, trained and brought up to believe there was only one future for him, the part that was ingrained with a hunter's need to rid the world of evil, and to save lives, won out. And when the life he had to save was that of his brother’s... yeah, he had been an idiot to think he could just settle down and live out an impossible dream.
Dean started up the car and warmed up the engine for a few moments, then backed out of the garage. His gaze automatically went to the living room window. Through the sheer curtains, he saw both of them standing there. He raised his hand to acknowledge them, and then hit the gas, turning the car while he was still in reverse and shifting to drive. By the time he took another breath, he couldn't see the house in the rear view mirror.
They were better off without him, he told himself. He was going to be neck deep in hunting, doing whatever it took... whatever it took
... to get his brother back. He couldn't expose either of them to that side of himself, or to the danger his life and the things he did might bring them. They thought they were prepared for it, that they knew what it meant to be a hunter, but they didn't. And he wasn't gonna fuck up again by letting them into that part of his world.
He wished he hadn't hurt them. He told himself it was only a couple of months that he’d been with them, that they'd get over him. That this had been more about the things they all wished they had, a stable family, the American dream, but it hadn't been real, and wishes couldn't make it real. Didn't mean it didn't hurt like hell. Yeah, if he could erase his existence from their minds, he would.
Pressing his lips into a determined line, he reached for the tape deck and popped a cassette in. Then he cranked up the music, letting it and the road drive all other thoughts out of his troubled mind.
[9 Months Later]
Walking across the campus greens, Dean couldn't help thinking back a few years. Almost six years, God, had it been that long? Back then, he'd parked outside Sam's apartment at Stanford, sneaked inside and forced his brother to get back to the life of hunting. Once, Dean had thought he was responsible for dragging Sam off his chosen career path. Sometimes, he’d been downright happy about it, mostly cause he had his brother back, his family was back to doing what it was supposed to do. Kicking demon ass and hunting things. Other times, he blamed himself for having thwarted Sam from living the life he’d wanted for himself.
In the end, Dean had given himself too much credit. This, their lives, their paths, it turned out that other sons of bitches were manipulating them the whole time. Grooming Sam, taking steps to make sure he not only went back on the road, but stayed there. Making sure he honed his skills, making sure Dean did the same, prepared for the final battle. So the final battle hadn't actually been fought. So they'd thrown a wrench into it and stopped a full on Apocalypse. Had 'team free-will' really won a damned thing? Dean wasn't so sure.
Seeing the History Building on the large UCLA campus, he broke away from thoughts of the past. The long halls were quiet. Some of the classroom doors were open and he could see the students at their desks taking notes. He went all the way to the auditorium-style lecture hall and slipped inside.
It was crowded. He heard a few complaints directed at him about getting there late and, ignoring them, brushed past people as he made his way to an open seat, and sat down. He wanted to get a beat on this Professor Pasquali before he either went rummaging through the man’s stuff or talked to him, or both. The man was an authority in international law, and more specifically, German occupation and the occultism of the Nazi party. His name came up in every search Dean had performed in his efforts to find out everything there was to know about the Spear of Longinus. There were so many stories, and so many claims that the real thing was housed at various churches, museums and in private collections, it made Dean's head spin.
Sitting back, he listened to the professor's lecture, which had nothing to do with what Dean was interested in. He did seem to know his stuff though, and that was important. As the middle aged man droned on, Dean's gaze moved across the aisles of students furiously taking notes. A few 'fresh faced and bushy tailed' comments were at the tip of his tongue, and it was too bad he didn't have anyone to share them with. Then he noticed a woman with reddish brown hair.
He could only see her from the side, but noticed she was taking in everything the professor said without writing any of it down. Her tight tee shirt and jeans were plain, but nothing else about her could be called plain. Neither the sever ponytail, nor the glasses, could disguise how good she looked. Actually, he even liked the glasses. He could easily imagine her as the hot librarian in a porn flick...
Several bumps of knees against his broke Dean out of the damned good day dream to find that class was over and people were trying to get past him. Making a face, he got up, mentally vowing that the next time a backpack hit him, he’d cram it down its owner’s mouth.
Still, that didn't stop him from leaning to the side as hot librarian chick walked by, swinging her hips and completely oblivious of his interest. Damn, he had to be losing his touch.
* * *
It was night, a little past ten. Dean was surprised by the amount of activity on the college campus at this time of the night. Hoping Professor Pasquali wasn’t overly committed to work, he knocked firmly on the door to his office. When the knock went unanswered, Dean pulled out his tools and quickly broke in. Closing the door behind him, he turned on the lights.
It was a pretty big office, which was probably a reflection of the professor's status or something. There was wall to wall shelving and every inch of space on the shelves, the desk and the other furniture, was covered by papers and files and books. Great. Just friggin great.
Dean scanned the books, and then started to get down to business. Dropping down to his knees, he tried to open the large file drawer of the desk and ended up having to pick the lock. This was a good sign, seeing as what he needed would probably be locked up. He'd want to take a look at the computer too, at least the hard drive. He might be able to leave the computer open to hacking from another location, that way he wouldn’t need to spend too much time looking at it here.
A short distance away, Sydney rounded the corner into Dwinelle Hall, shouldering her messenger bag as if it were just heavy with text books and not all the tech Marshall had set her up with for the assignment. The soft footfalls of her sneakers echoed off the walls of the mostly empty corridor, but as she neared the professor's office, she saw a shadow play across the slats in the air vent over the door, signaling movement inside. She was ready for anything, but the most likely scenario was that Dr. Pasquali was simply working late, so she did a quick mental adjustment and prepared to talk her way into getting what she needed. A knuckled rap on the door preceded her turning the handle to poke her head inside.
"Dr. Pas-?" she stopped short on seeing a guy jerking around as if he'd been startled. She'd seen him earlier that day arriving late to the lecture hall, but she quickly blinked away any hint of recognition that might have shown her eyes. "Uh... excuse me?" She opened the door wider and stepped inside to make sure there wasn't anybody else in the office. Although she was instinctively on alert, Sydney's eyes were wide and she donned a convincing air of confusion. "I was looking for Dr. Pasquali. And you're not him."
Hot librarian chick... oh man, times like this, Dean wished he was a boring professor, or in his case, a not so boring one. Getting up, he used his knee to shut the drawer. "Sorry, he's not in but he'll be in bright and early tomorrow." He gave her a nod of dismissal, having had much practice from the time he'd had to act like a high school coach. "It's late, you should probably get some sleep, or go on a date, or something."
Her eyes flicked down, toward the filing cabinet he'd shut, and she made a mental note of the label on the drawer, but she covered the move by letting her eyes drag up his body as if she were openly appraising him. A slight quirk of her brow punctuated the appraisal as her eyes locked on his, returning his cocksure smile with a flash of dimples. "I wasn't aware the professor had a new TA," she said adjusting her glasses as if she was just a bit flustered. "Didn't I see you in his lecture today? I'm Sydney... Sydney Bristow," she reached out her hand in introduction. It was nice to be able to use her real name on a mission for once - posing as a college student definitely had its perks. "And you are?"
"Dave Hasselhoff, I know, I should kill my parents," he said, reaching across the desk and shaking her hand. "I was in class. You were sitting in section D," he said, adding, "I have a pretty good memory. But like I said, the prof's not here. I can leave him a note that you were here, Sydney, but it still means you won't get to see him until morning." He decided he liked her name, it suited her. If he weren't busy trying to get rid of her, he'd be busy trying to get her to go for a drink or something. "See ya in class?"
Sydney let out a girlish giggle at the name and lowered her eyes shyly, which gave her the opportunity to shift her weight and move around to the side of the desk where she saw the corner of a large canvas duffel bag. This was definitely a guy who was used to charming his way out of jams, but he wasn't getting rid of her that easily. He'd been looking for something in that cabinet - it was the same one she would have already started in on if he hadn't been here.
"So... Dave Hasselhoff... really? UCLA is a far cry from Baywatch..." she said, ignoring the attempted brush-off and turning on a bit of her own charm as she lifted her eyes to look at him through dark lashes, her hand surreptitiously slipping over the flap of the satchel at her hip. "So does the professor know you're in here rummaging through his things?"
Crap. It had been going so well too, he'd thought she was falling for it. Never trust a hot looking librarian.
"Look I don't know what you're talking about but it's too late for busy-bodying, you get my drift?" He nodded toward the door. "I just need to finish up in here then lock up, so I'm gonna have to ask you to leave." If his charm wasn't working on her, he wasn't going to waste it.
"Actually no... no I don't get your drift," Sydney said, not dropping her facade of innocence as she reached just into the outer pouch for her cell phone. "I'll just be calling security to make sure you're supposed to be here."
Double crap. "Hold on." He waited a fraction and pulled out a badge from the inner pocket of his jacket hoping to hell it was the right badge. "I'm with the CIA. Agent Andy Beddington," he said, flashing it at her. "This is a matter of national security, so I'm sure you'll understand that I can't give you any details, and I'm going to have to insist that you leave, right now. You're free to call security, but if you put this investigation in peril, don't be surprised to find yourself in hot water for interfering with a government investigation." He hoped she wasn’t as stubborn as the stiff lines of her body implied.
Sydney's brows rose with genuine surprise when she saw the flash of the badge - if it was a fake, it was a good one. Did the SD-6 get their wires crossed? Or was there another arm of the CIA working a different angel? "A matter of national security... I wouldn't want to interfere with that, but I'm sure you understand if I'd like to check out your story." She held out her hand for the badge. "Dr. Pasquali is a good professor... if he's in some kind of trouble..." she paused and worried her lower lip as if she was way out of her league. "I'd like to see that badge, if you don't mind."
"Of course," he said tightly, fishing out his card and passing both items to her. "If you have any questions after we're done here, my number's on there. So's my superior officer's contact information." He had the feeling she was gonna be a problem and that the direct approach, telling her to call his boss, wouldn't work as well as letting her reach that decision on her own. With a little help from him.
Sydney took the badge and gave it a good look. It appeared to be legit, as did the business card. "This is your superior? Lieutenant Fisher?" She let out a sharp sigh and pulled out her cell phone and made like she was dialing the number of the card as she punched in the digits for her handler's direct line. "Hello, my name is Sydney Bristow," she said formally to tip off Michael that she was in a potentially compromising position. "I need to verify that the man here claiming to be a CIA agent is really who he says he is." She paused a beat and read off the name and badge number.
When Michael told her it was bogus, a flicker of surprise flashed in her eyes as she looked into the intense greens of the impostor that stood not three feet from her. "Alright. Thank you very much for the information," she said neutrally as she flipped her phone shut.
"I'm sorry to have held you up, Agent Beddington," she said. As she slipped the phone back into her bag, she drew her weapon in a smooth motion. But in the split seconds that it took her to level and cock the sleek glock 22, he'd drawn a sawed off shotgun from his duffel and had it trained at her midsection. "Who the hell are you?" she questioned, her jaw pulsing with tension.
His gaze narrowed on her as he went through a mental checklist of who or what she might be. Demons didn't usually walk around with guns, they didn't need them. Neither did angels. As far as he knew, those groups were the only ones currently interested in the spear, so that left humans. A butt load of them, from collectors, to museums, to insurance investigators. One thing was for sure, though, she was no student.
"Why don't you go first, sweetheart. I've got the bigger gun." In other circumstances, he might have admired her choice of weapon. Now, he just wanted to know if she knew how to use it, or more importantly, how not to get spooked into shooting.
"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's not the size that counts? I would think you'd have heard that a lot," Sydney said, adjusting her grip on the gun. It was modified to shoot tranqs, but he didn't need to know that. She slowly moved around the side of the desk to get a better look at his bag as she continued talking. "Look, it's obvious you feel like you have a lot to compensate for. I don't want to hurt you... why don't you just put that down and we can talk."
"That would hurt more if you weren't playing 'librarian chic,'" he shot back, leaving out the 'hot' part. "Talk, yeah let's do that. You show me yours, I’ll show you mine. Name and shtick, that is," he said, following her movements as she got closer and toed his bag. Moving suddenly, Dean grabbed the barrel of her gun and twisted it away from her. As he yanked it to get it out of her hand, he found her making the same play and giving him the choice of letting go of his weapon or hers.
Cursing, he shoved her but kept his hold on her weapon, very aware that she was trying to turn it on him. In the short struggle, he ended up being slammed back against the desk, then wheeling her around so she was facing the desk and he was behind her. That's when he heard someone fumbling with the door knob and with his hand clamped on her wrist, quickly shoved his gun under his jacket.
Acutely aware that someone was at the door and her cover was about to be blown, Sydney jerked her head back, slamming it into his chin as she abruptly shifted her weight and spun beneath him. He still had her wrist, but she fell back to the desk and hooked her leg around his back to bring his weight down on her so he couldn't use the shotgun that was now pinned between them. She was forced to tuck her weapon into the waist of his jeans at the small of his back to free her hand. Grabbing the back of his neck, she brought his mouth to hers just as the door opened.
"Follow my lead or you get a bullet in your ass," she hissed, her mouth closing over his just as the door finally opened to a befuddled professor with keys dangling in his hand.
Dean was seeing freaking stars and he wished he could say it was from the kiss and not the unexpected head-butt. This was almost as bad as getting ass-kicked by his own mom, dammit. He wasn't very happy about the cold metal he felt at his back, right next to his own piece, either. A number of other complaints came to mind but he clamped down on them, choosing instead to show her who would follow whose lead.
Cupping her ass with one hand, he lifted her onto the table, and slid his other hand behind her neck, bending her back as he kissed her. The awkward position would put her at a disadvantage, at least that was his theory, until he thrust his tongue into her mouth, just past her teeth.
He'd meant to teach her a lesson, that was true. But as he moved his mouth over hers, he hadn't counted on the sudden rush of heat that swept away most of his rational thoughts. Instead, he held her tighter, wanting more, exploring the depths of her mouth as he tangled his tongue with hers. Dean never fully forgot that they had an audience, or that her gun was within her easy reach, but it was as if all that didn't matter at the moment, only this mattered... that he felt alive for the first time in a very, very long time.
Unexpectedly disarmed by the intensity of his returned kiss, Sydney's entire body came alive as adrenaline pounded through her system. She jerked the back of his jacket down to conceal her weapon even as her leg clamped harder around his thigh to counter his attempt to keep her off balance. It wasn't until the professor cleared his throat for the second time that she finally broke the kiss and turned her head as if noticing him for the first time. She didn't have to manufacture the color to her cheeks to feign embarrassment, they were flushed with heated arousal – something that absolutely wasn't supposed to happen in the line of duty. What was wrong with her?
"Oh God! Andy... Andy!
get up," Sydney moved her hand to his chest to push him off. "Dr. Pasquali. We're so sorry... we... were in the hall... and-and your office was open." As she levered upright, she tried to retrieve her weapon, but her unwanted cohort was too fast and had already moved so he was behind her. Instead she dropped down to a crouch as if scrambling to get her bag and losing her glasses in the process. "Oh no!" she stammered nervously. As she fumbled under the desk to grab them, she deftly inserted a data replicator with a wireless transmitter in an unused port at the back of the computer's CPU.
"Careful not to break your glasses," Dean said, kicking himself for losing his concentration. She was armed. She didn't really need her glasses. She wasn't like any hunter he'd met, so who the hell was she and what did she want. Thinking he'd get that drive off her, he didn't give her away as she popped up, looking much too innocent.
"Ah, Professor, I was actually waiting for you outside until Ms. Bristow distracted me," Dean wiped his thumb over his mouth noting with amusement the irritation in her eyes. He cleared his throat, "Anyway, I need five minutes of your time. Syd... would you mind waiting for me outside?"
"Oh no, pumpkin head, you know I can't stand to be away from you for a minute," she gushed and sidled up next to him, slipping her hand around his back to snatch her gun out of his waistband. "I can't wait
to hear what you have to say."
"For cryin' out loud. Don't you kids have electronic contraptions for sexting or some other nonsense now? Are you trying to give an old man a heart attack?" The befuddled professor shook his head and set his books down wondering if he was going senile before his time. He could have sworn he'd locked up before he'd headed over to the library.
"Office hours are from four to six, Tuesday, Thursday and every other Monday," he said tapping on the notice posted on the bulletin board that was mostly covered by dozens of articles, white papers and maps he had tacked up all around the room. "Now you kids skedaddle on out of here," he made a shooing motion with his hands.
, and that would be her, actually I'm not a student." Dean straightened and moved away from her thieving hands. "I ah, I'm helping a well-known author with historical research and I just need a few minutes, maybe fifteen, of your time. It would be a great help and I think if his book is a hit, as it will be, there might be grant money in it for you... the school. In this economy, that's always a plus."
"It's late. Maybe tomorrow--"
"See that's the problem, I'm only in L.A. today and I'm flying out tomorrow morning. If you absolutely can't, then I understand." Dean didn't like the way the professor was shaking his head 'yes.' "I'll just have to have a chat with the second best authority, I guess. Professor Aldrich, he's still at Utah State, isn't he?"
"I have a few minutes," the Professor blustered.
Grinning, Dean grabbed Sydney's arm and started to steer her to the door. "Why don't you get the wine and the candles going, sweetums, and I'll be home shortly," he said, giving her a wink.
"Oh don't be silly," Sydney gave her arm a sharp jerk and flashed a saccharine smile before turning back into the office and moving to the wall that had all the papers posted on the bulletin board. "You two just go on about your business and I'll be quiet as a mouse." When she had a hand-drawn sketch of particular interest in her sights, she reached up to adjust her glasses, pressing the hidden button on the frame to take a high resolution photo.
"All right then, let's have it," the professor said ignoring his student to turn his attention to the researcher. "What did you say your name is? And who's this author? I won't have my name sullied in any kind of trash, you hear."
"Ah... Dan Brown, did you see, I mean read, Angels and Demons? He's the author, so no trashiness, scouts honor."
With her back to the two men, Sydney's brow furrowed as she split her attention to focus on her own mission while trying to work out what this guy was up to. Passing himself off as a researcher for a novelist wasn't a bad ruse, but he didn't carry himself like an intellectual and the agent didn't think he'd get very far with it. But as long as he kept her target distracted long enough for her to collect the intel she needed, the agent would let him run with it.
Dean walked up to the table, put his hands on it and leaned in toward the professor, keeping his voice low but he didn't have high hopes that she would have the hearing of an eighty year old. "His next book is dealing with certain biblical relics. The holy lance... spear, to be specific. I understand you've done research trying to chase it down."
The professor shook his head. "Well, yes and no. I have done some
research, but all of it has already been published. My further efforts have been in partnership with the Vatican."
"The Vatican. How do you mean?"
"I'm working in partnership with a student at the University of Utah who has a brother who is a Cardinal at the Holy See."
"The what sea?"
It was all Sydney could do not to roll her eyes, but when her gaze flicked across an ornately carved bookend she shifted her position so she could get a good image.
"Holy See, Vatican City," Dr. Pasquali explained. "Thanks to Bill's connections, we are getting access to a lot of information which would otherwise be impossible to get. In any event, I have not yet gotten to that part of the project or performed a detailed check of much of the research. You should contact him, he's a good kid, he'll probably answer some of your questions." Grabbing a pen and pad, he wrote the student's name and phone number down.
Dean was quick to grab the scrap of paper, and gave Syd a 'back off' look.
Sydney quirked a brow and gave him a tight smile. If the nature of his questions hadn't hit right at the heart of her mission, the double-agent would have dismissed the guy as a rank amateur and he wouldn't even be on her radar. But the way he'd come alive the instant she'd made him... the way he moved and used the weapon as if it were a part of his body... no, he was more than just a Robert Langdon wannabe. She'd get the name off him and, as long as he didn't get in her way, he wasn't her problem.
A flicker of respect flashed in Sydney's eyes before she resumed her sickeningly sweet smile and batted her lashes. "Did you get what you came for sweet potato? Can we go now?"
He saw the challenge in her eyes and wished he could take her up and see whether she could get the paper from him once they were outside, which was no doubt part of her plan. The other part? He wasn't sure, but from the way she'd talked to the CIA, he'd gotten vibes of 'law enforcement.' She'd probably try to arrest his ass or something and he really didn't want to hurt her, which he would if had to. This was too important to him to fuck up over trying to play nice with humans. Though... he sure would like to play nice
"Sure thing, hot lips. Just as soon as I get that pencil you dropped," said matching her smile as he slowly started to bend over towards the hard drive of the computer where she'd left her thumb drive.
Eyes narrowing to slits, Sydney dropped down and slipped between him and the hard drive. "Oh, no, I wouldn't want you to throw out your back again marshmallow." So he was smarter than he looked and had seen her plant the device. It should have had long enough to transmit the data to their tech guy, Marshall, so she ducked her head and moved under the desk to grab it.
The moment she dropped down next to him Dean's mind went to bad, bad places. Really body? Now?
Releasing his lower lip from between his teeth, he took a quick breath. "I'll meet you at home snuggle-bunny, and I promise you there won't be anything as soft as a marshmallow in sight. Professor, if you could just answer the question she had, it'd make my life much easier." Figuring he'd overstayed already, Dean gave the stunned professor a salute and left the room and was quickly at a dead run in the long hallway.