grianchloch: (victor)
[personal profile] grianchloch

Back to Part Two

Two years after Victor first met Dean Winchester face to face, he jumped at the chance to do it again, and maybe this time bring him in. He arrived in the town first, and got a message from Reidy to say he’d been delayed and wouldn’t be there until the next day. Victor thought about waiting for him, but dismissed the idea straight away. He couldn’t take the chance that Dean might skip town. He didn’t even bother finding somewhere to stay before he headed for the local police department.

Victor flashed his badge, and pulled out a photograph of Dean to show to Sergeant Berrisford.

“Have you seen this man?”

“Agent Plant? Yeah, he was here yesterday. Keeping tabs on your own now?”

Victor stared at the sergeant for a heartbeat, then grinned. “Last time I spoke to him, he was still under cover. Can’t be too careful.”

“So you’re working on the Mercer case with him?”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m here, to take a look at the file.”

Berrisford led Victor through the office to a desk at the back, and brought him a slim folder.

“Like I told Agent Plant, there’s nothing worth investigating. The Mercer place is a wreck, has been since Tom Mercer was killed twelve years ago. Now that was a nasty business. His body was never found but his killer was convicted on the evidence. No-one loses as much blood as we found at the crime scene and lives. Dan Ross was the third kid to end up dead in that house, but there’s never been any evidence of foul play. You know what kids are like when it comes to haunted houses. All over it like bees round a honey pot. Doesn’t matter how many warnings get posted to stay out, there’ll always be one or two who’ll take on the dare to go in there.”

As the sergeant talked, Victor flicked through the folder, nodding in all the appropriate places as he examined the pictures. One in particular caught his eye. The one that showed the unfortunate Dan Ross’s lifeless body, skewered on a broken board.

Victor made a note of the address of the Mercer house, thanked the sergeant and left.

So Dean Winchester was posing as an FBI agent to investigate a case that was already closed? Victor shook his head and laughed to himself. Every time he thought he was getting closer to knowing what made Dean and his father tick, they threw him a curve ball. Out of all the people Victor had interviewed, a disturbing proportion of them were either elusive when questioned about the Winchesters, or insisted that they’d helped them in some way. Exactly how was always vague, even when it was cops he was talking to.

Victor pulled up outside the house, and stared up at it. The sergeant had been right, the place was a wreck but if one of the Winchesters was interested in it, there had to be something here that they wanted. Victor drove over a few blocks and walked back. He knew he should wait until Reidy arrived in town and he had backup, but waiting might mean yet another missed chance to see behind the mask.

Victor walked round to the back of the sizable property, and slipped into the yard through a break in the fence. He stayed within the tree line as he approached the house. For all he knew, Winchester could be in there already. The door to the back of the house was open, and he made his way through it, taking every step with great care. In the hall, he stood and listened, but there were no footsteps or other sounds that would point to someone being in the house. The haunted house, he remembered the sergeant saying earlier.

“Ghosts. Right.” Victor grinned and made his way up the sweeping staircase to the gallery above.

The spot where the Ross kid had met his grisly end was easy to find. Dark smudges still remained from where he bled out. Victor crouched down, looking up towards the ceiling and the spot the board must have fallen from to impale the kid at that angle. Although the house was a wreck, Victor couldn’t see where it could have come from. He was about to stand up again when the front door opened, so he shuffled to one side instead, out of sight of the hallway below.

Seconds later, Dean Winchester strode into sight, a spade slung over one shoulder and a bag in his hand.

“Okay, lets gank this motherfucker before he can hurt anyone else.”

Victor waited for Dean’s partner to step into view, hoping against hope that it would be his father, but no-one was following him. Dean walked off towards the kitchen and as he got to his feet as quietly as possible, Victor pondered on Dean’s statement. Who was he going to kill, and who had this person hurt? Was someone responsible for Dan Ross’s death after all, and if so, why would Winchester feel the need to kill the killer? Why not turn in whoever had done it?

Victor drew his gun, and edged down the stairs, across the hall and peered into the kitchen. It was empty, but the back door stood open and he could hear a voice coming from the garden.

“Yeah, under the yew tree. I know what a yew tree looks like.” Victor heard Dean say with a dismissive snort. And then, “I hope he’s not too deep, I’m still aching from the last one.”

The man was having a one sided conversation. Victor wondered who he thought he was talking too, and if this added another layer to the many psychoses that Victor reckoned he already had.

There was the sound of a spade hitting earth. Victor edged closer, keeping well out of Dean’s line of sight. More digging sounds, and Victor peeked around the corner of the doorframe to get a good look at where Dean was digging.

As if he’d triggered some unseen alarm, Dean stopped digging and swung round to face him, dropping his spade and pulling out a gun in one smooth movement that Victor would have appreciated more if he wasn’t suddenly face down on the kitchen floor as something swept his feet from under him and dragged him away by the ankles. His gun fired as he hit the floor, and he heard Dean’s yell from the garden, but it wasn’t what he expected.


And as he tried to grab hold of something to stop being dragged back into the hall, Dean charged towards him, snarling and brandishing what looked like a poker. Whatever had a hold of Victor flipped him over onto his back. He expected to see a large man, someone capable of throwing him around like a rag doll, but the thing that had him was monstrous, it’s face contorted as it flickered in and out of view. It raised a sharp wooden board above its head in one hand while Victor struggled to escape the grasp of its other hand.

“Let him go!” Dean roared, and the poker sliced through the air, and the monster.

With a bloodcurdling scream, the thing vanished and the board it had been holding clattered to the floor. Victor lay stunned until a hand reached down to help him up. It was warm and human, and Victor held onto it for a moment longer than necessary.

“What was that?”

“That was a ghost, a pretty nasty fucker who’s killed a couple of kids. If you’re gonna arrest me, could you do it later? I need to make sure …”

“It doesn’t hurt anyone else.” Victor finished for him.

“Yeah. That’s right.” Dean eyed him. “So I’m gonna finish up in the garden.”

Victor snorted with laughter, only glad it didn’t sound hysterical, because inside, he was fighting a full on melt down. “You make it sound like you’re planting roses out there, not desecrating a grave.”

“It’s not desecrating if the body inside belongs to a vengeful spirit. It’s a service to the community.” Dean flashed Victor a grin and went back out into the garden.

Victor followed him unable to stop himself from admiring the view of Dean’s ass as he bent down to pick up his spade. Victor tore his gaze away and spied a shed down by the trees. He broke the lock and found a spade, hefting it in his hand as he walked back to join Dean. Ten minutes ago, he was ready to arrest the kid for a laundry list of crimes and misdemeanors and now, he was going to help him dig up a body. The rest he would deal with later. The only thing that he was certain of right now was that a monster, a ghost, had come incredibly close to killing him, and that Dean had saved his life. Dean Winchester, the top of his personal most wanted list, had saved his life.

Victor slipped off his coat and jacket, and hung them out of the way over a low tree branch.

“Need some help?” he asked.

Dean turned around, grinning when he saw the spade. “Be my guest.”

They dug in silence for a while, until they hit something solid about four feet down.

“So how does this work? We dig him up and burn him? With salt for purification, right?”

Dean stopped digging and stared at him. “How do you know that?”

“I didn’t, not really. But forensics from the sites we’ve found over the years point to bones being burned, using accelerant, and there were always traces of salt. It doesn’t take an FBI agent to find out that salt is used in rituals for purification. Course, until now, I thought you and your Dad were paramilitary survivalist types with an edge of Satanism thrown in to keep it interesting.”

Dean laughed, shaking his head, and went back to digging. Victor helped clear the top of the wooden casket clear of soil, then watched, leaning on his spade as Dean did the rest. He winced as Dean broke into the casket, and peered down at the strangely recognizable face of the ghost that almost killed him.

A sudden gust of wind billowed almost violently around them.

“Shit,” Dean muttered. “Grab the poker, and swing at anything that comes for you.”

“What? Why?”

“Because they hardly ever go down without a fight.”

Victor picked up the poker and held it with two hands, putting himself between Dean and the door to the kitchen. Behind him, he could hear more wood splintering, then salt being poured into the grave. The wind picked up, howling around his head and then it was back. The ghost snarled as it came straight for him. Close up, Victor could see rotting flesh hanging from its face, and could feel the malice hanging around it, but he didn’t have time to stand and stare. He swiped the poker through it, which sent it screeching away, but this time it reformed and came straight back, aiming not for Victor but for Dean.

Victor hurled himself between them, swiping and thrusting as Dean dove for the lighter fluid, poured it on top of the salt and dropped in a flaming lighter. Even as Victor was taking another swipe, the ghost burned up in front of him, fizzling and popping until there was nothing left but the stench of burning bones.

This time, Victor helped Dean to his feet.

“So this is your typical day at the office?”

“Pretty much. There’s more out there, but I think you’ve had enough Hunting 101 for one day.”


“That’s what it’s called.”

“So you’re a hunter?”



“Why what?”

“Why do you do it?”

“Someone has to,” Dean shrugged. “Look, we should get out of here. If anyone saw the smoke or heard anything, the cops could be here any minute.”

Victor snorted. “First time I’ve run away from the cops.”

“First time?” Dean raised an eyebrow.

“Okay, second, but I was only eleven and stealing apples doesn’t really count.”

“Man, you do not want to know how many times I’d had to ditch the cops by the time I was eleven.” Dean grinned and stuck out his hand. “You’d make a decent hunter, Agent Henriksen.”

Victor shook Dean’s hand. “It’s Victor. I didn’t think you remembered me.”

“I never forget the face of law enforcement. It pays not to.”

“Look, I can’t make your file go away, or John’s, but I can stop looking into your cases and keep track in case anyone else takes an interest.”

“I appreciate it.” Dean fished a pen and notebook out of his jacket as Victor retrieved his coat from the tree. “If you find anything that looks like it might be more my thing than yours, give this number a call and ask for Agent Bonham.”

“I’m going to go out on a limb here and take a guess that you’ve got a thing for Zeppelin.”

“Classic rock all the way.”

Victor shrugged his coat back on over his jacket and nodded at Dean. “Thanks. For saving my life.”

“All in a day’s work.” Dean grabbed the bag and the spade he’d brought, saluted Victor with it and took off through the house.

Victor left the way he’d arrived, and drove to the nearest FBI approved motel. It wasn’t until he was in his room with the door locked behind him that it really hit him. He’d gotten a glimpse behind the mask, and the insights into Dean’s motivations that it had revealed were life changing. How could he go back to sitting behind a desk, knowing what he now knew about what was really out there. And what had Dean said? That there was more?

Victor sighed. Did it really make a difference? Sure, Dean had saved his life, and now he knew ghosts were real, but the man was still wanted. Now that the shock of his attack had worn off, Victor’s instincts kicked in, and it was all he could do to stop himself from going after Dean and dragging him back to the nearest field office. After all the years he’d spent fixated on both John and Dean, it wasn’t easy to let it all go, to give up his goal of bringing them in and finding out exactly what made them tick.

At least now, he had some idea of what they did, but why they did it still eluded him. He needed to know more before he gave up completely. He decided to declare a truce. He’d let Dean have this one, he owed him that much, but when he was ready, he’d insist on knowing more. He felt happier that he was shifting his focus, rather than giving up years of research without getting the answers he was looking for.

Victor fished the piece of paper Dean had given him from his pocket, and slipped it into his planner. He would use it when the time was right. Now, he needed a shower and to grab some sleep. He had to be able to face Reidy in the morning and flat out lie to him. He slipped out of his clothes, hanging them up in the wardrobe, then headed to the shower, letting the hot water pound on his shoulders. He thought, after everything that had happened, that he would be ready to sleep, but once he was in bed, he lay awake and stared at the ceiling.

He couldn’t get Dean out of his mind, and not just because he’d saved his life. He remembered Dean pulling him to his feet, the strength in his hands, the way the muscles in his shoulders and back had moved as he dug, the curve of his ass. Victor pushed his boxer briefs down to let his cock spring free, and wrapped his hand around it. He imagined it was Dean’s hand, that he’d pushed Dean up against one of the big trees in the garden and they’d jerked each other off. Victor panted as he imagined Dean’s dick in his hand, warm and hard and the needy sounds Dean would make as Victor worked him hard and brought him off. The idea of Dean’s come splattering over his fist did the trick, and he pumped up unto his fist, groaning as he came. He thumped his head back against his pillow with frustration of a different kind. For years he’d gone after Dean to bring him to justice, and now he wanted him for an entirely different reason.

He was so screwed.


It took less work than Victor thought it would to get Reidy out of town without plunging into a full scale Winchester man hunt. Victor took him to the house, where they “discovered” the burned out grave. Victor called the local PD in, and Sergeant Berrisford was pleased to finally have a grave for the poor unfortunate murder victim. Victor couldn’t help rolling his eyes at that, remembering how the ghost had almost killed him.

He asked for a copy of the forensics report, then dragged Reidy back to DC where his partner insisted on taking him out for a few beers, concerned at Victor’s lack of enthusiasm for a case that had all the signs of being Winchester related.

Finally home, Victor fired up his PC and spent the night researching ghosts. He gave up sometime after midnight, feeling like he was no further forward. Most of what he’d read sounded like fiction written to read like fact. There was only one way to get the truth, but he wasn’t ready to make the call. That night, his dreams were full of ghosts and spirits, and a green eyed man who fought his way through them.

The next morning he was at his desk before seven, sipping down the last of the coffee he’d bought on his way in when Reidy appeared, yawning, with more. Victor took the large paper cup from him gratefully as Reidy peered over his shoulder.

“Thought you were done with digging into the Winchesters.”

“I decided to go back to the beginning and start again.”

Reidy sat down at his own desk, and eyed Victor.

“I’ll let you know if I turn up anything new,” Victor told his partner, smiling when Reidy’s shoulders visibly relaxed.

It was, or had been, Victor’s crusade, not Reidy’s. He’d always been eager to follow Victor’s lead, but he wasn’t as driven as Victor.

For the next week, Victor turned his passion around, from hunting Winchesters to researching each and every case they’d been involved in or suspected of being involved in. But now he read between the lines, looking for clues to explain what had really happened.

As well as going over the case files, he researched anything out of the ordinary that happened in the area that John or Dean had been spotted in. As well as a whole range of grave desecrations, he turned up dog or wolf attacks where hearts had been ripped out, mysterious drownings, more than one suspect who claimed demons had made them commit unspeakable crimes, and a slew of exsanguinations.

Never happier to see a Friday come around, Victor bought a bottle of tequila on the way home, ordered a pizza and spent the night drinking himself into oblivion. If he was right, demons, water spirits, vampires, and even werewolves really existed.

He wished he’d never heard the name Winchester, wished that he could live his days in blissful ignorance of what was really out there, but he couldn’t go back. He wondered if the professor who’s lecture on serial killers had so inspired him had ever really seen behind a mask that altered his life as much as Victor’s had been altered. Or whether he lived his life still searching for something akin to Pandora’s Box.

“Werewolves,” Victor snorted and took another drink straight from the bottle. Of all the things he’d come up with, he was still holding out a scant hope that he’d been wrong about werewolves being real. That the next time he saw Dean, he’d grin and shake his head at the insane notion that they were real. Deep down, Victor knew that wasn’t going to happen.

Dean. Victor had tried not to think of him in anything but a professional way since he’d started going through the files again, and now when his mind strayed, he was too wasted to do anything about it. He passed out on the couch, curled around a cushion.

Monday brought reality with it, and an organized crime case that would take up a lot of his time. He resigned himself to several weeks of boredom, listening to recordings of wire taps. It was his job, but he itched to be doing something that made him feel as if he were making a real difference.

He was already wallowing deep in self pity when Reidy dropped a file on his desk.

“What’s this?”

“Exsanguination.” Reidy grinned at Victor. “I saw you looking it up last week, thought you might be interested.”

Victor flicked through the file. Three girls in their late teens or early twenties, all found dead close to their homes. The only injuries found were small cuts on their necks, and all three had been virtually drained of blood. The local PD’s report suggested that they had bled out through the cuts, but Victor thought differently.

“Thanks,” he smiled at Reidy, grateful that his partner knew him well enough to understand that their current assignment wasn’t Victor’s favorite way to spend time.

Victor read the file from cover to cover twice. When he got home that night, he dug out the number Dean had given him and called it.
After three rings, a gruff voice answered.

“Willis, FBI.”

“I need to speak to Agent Bonham.”

“He’s in the field right now. Who’s this?”

“Agent Henriksen.”

“I’ll tell him you called. Has he got your number?”

Victor gave the bogus agent his number and rang off. He had no idea how long he would have to wait. Minutes, hours, days or longer. He paced about the apartment for twenty minutes then gave up, annoyed at himself for feeling like he was waiting for a potential date to call. He busied himself in the kitchen, throwing together a large salad to go with the chicken he’d picked up from Wholefoods on the way home. He’d been letting his eating habits slide into too much take out lately, and didn’t want to have to up the time he already spent at the gym to compensate.

He’d almost given up on hearing from Dean that night, when the phone rang. The noise grated on Victor, and he snatched it up.

“Victor,” he stated, losing the edge of annoyance when he heard Dean’s voice.

“Hey FBI, you got something for me?”

“Only if vampires exist. Otherwise, it’s looking like some vampire wanna be who’s ramping up the body count towards serial.”

“Vamps? Yeah, they exist. So where are they?”

“Small town in Michigan. There’s three bodies so far.”

“You gonna tell me which town?” Victor could hear the amusement in Dean’s voice.

“Yes, but I want in. On the hunt.”

“What? No! You’re a civilian, Vic, it’s too dangerous.”

“I’m an FBI agent. I can handle myself.”

“So what’s the deal? You don’t give me the name of the town unless I say you can tag along?” The amusement had turned to annoyance.

“No, course not. I don’t want anyone else to die. But I want to know more, and I helped you deal with the spirit without getting myself killed.”

“It was a close call,” Dean muttered. “If I say yes, you have to promise that you’ll do exactly what I say. Even if that’s get the fuck out and run for your life.”

“I promise.”

“Okay, so where are we going?”


“You’re letting him come on a vamp hunt?” Sam yelled and scowled at Dean when he’d finished talking to Victor. “He’s a civilian who’s seen one ghost!”

“He can handle himself. You saw that.”

“But this isn’t a spirit Dean, it’s vamps. What if he freaks out, or freezes? What if he gets himself killed, or turned?”

“Everyone starts somewhere. It can’t be easy to live a normal life and then to find out what’s really out there. Look at Dad.”

“He’s not Dad!” Sam yelled, storming out through the wall, setting the papers Dean had been looking through swirling through the air and turning off the lights as he went.

He didn’t want Victor around, and not just because he might get himself killed. Victor liked Dean, Sam knew that from the way he’d looked at Dean last time they’d met. Victor could be the perfect hunting partner for Dean. Smart, and yes, able to look after himself, but that was Sam’s job, and he wasn’t about to let someone else take it away. Someone alive.

Sam hid in the Impala, keeping himself invisible, but he wasn’t surprised when the driver’s door opened and Dean got in.

“C’mon Squirt, I know you’re here.” Dean drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

Sam sighed and made himself visible again.

“What was that about?”

“Nothing.” Sam looked out of the window, feeling Dean’s gaze on him.

“It’s one hunt. He’s got a day job, and I’ve already got a partner,” Dean paused. “I don’t wanna replace you, Sammy, no-one ever could.”

Sam nodded, not wanting to say anything.

“So if you’ll fix the room, I’ll find us a movie to watch?” Dean coaxed, and slowly, Sam smiled.

He vanished from the car, appearing in the motel room, and with a thought, the lights came back on and the TV sprang into life. He was halfway through tidying up the research that was scattered over the floor when Dean opened the door and helped him with the rest.

Sam spent the rest of the night chattering away to Dean, making up for the coming days when Dean wouldn’t be able to talk to him until Victor left.


Victor was already miles away from DC when he called his Assistant Director and asked to take the rest of the week as vacation time. The request was approved, almost a given as Victor hadn’t taken a vacation for two years, and his leave was stacking up.

He got into town and booked into a motel, almost anxious as he waited for Dean’s call.

“This is a mistake,” he muttered to himself.

If anyone found out that he was associating with a known criminal, the life he’d built for himself would be over. He’d be dismissed from the Bureau, and probably arrested for being an accessory to whatever was about to happen. But he needed to know, needed to see for himself that there were more things out there than ghosts, needed Dean to talk to him, to tell him the truth about it all.

The shrill ringtone made him jump, and he snatched up the phone.


“FBI. Glad you could make it. There’s a bar called Dante’s just off Main Street. Meet me there as soon as you can.”

“On my way.”

Victor decided against taking his weapon, and set off to walk the couple of blocks to the bar. Inside, he spotted Dean straight away, sitting at a table against the back wall, sipping a beer. Victor ordered one for himself, and joined Dean.

“So what happens now?”

“Straight to the point,” Dean grinned. “I like that in a weekend hunter.”

Victor rolled his eyes, but smiled and shook his head. It was way too easy to enjoy Dean’s company when he should be keeping his distance.

“We sit and watch and wait,” Dean explained. “This is the boring part, but you have to pay attention.”

“What exactly are we waiting for? The vampire to show?”

“Yahtzee. The crime scene photographs had two people in all three of them watching the forensics team arrive. I’ve ruled out Mrs Patricia Webster. She’s a well known crime buff who likes to follow cases from beginning to end. The other guy isn’t a local as far as I can tell. I showed his picture around all the bars in town earlier and this was the one he drinks at. So we wait. If he turns up, we follow him, see where he goes, make sure he doesn’t attack anyone else and if we’re sure he’s a vamp, we take him out. If he leaves here with someone, we do the same.”

“How do we ‘take him out’?” Victor was curious. There was so much information out there about vampires that he didn’t know what to believe.

“Decapitation. Most of what you’ve read before is useless. Sunlight won’t kill them, crosses don’t repel them, and garlic might not be one of their favorite pizza toppings, but it isn’t going to hurt them enough to make a difference.”

“Anything else?”

“Dead man’s blood is poison to them.”

“Dead man’s blood?” Victor’s eyes widened.

“Yeah, blood from a corpse. Does that solve another of your unsolved mysteries?”

“It does.” Victor now had his answer on why there were mortuary break ins on Dean’s rap sheet.

“I’ve got a couple of shots with me. Here.” Dean slid a syringe across the table.

Victor palmed it and slipped it into his pocket.

“Do I get a real weapon?”

“No. Decapitation is my job.”

“So what do I do?”

“You watch and learn and stay safe.” Dean’s attention was drawn to the bar. “And look who’s arrived.”

Victor took his time looking over, so it didn’t seem as if his focus was the slight man ordering a beer.

“We go for him now?”

“No, we wait for him to leave. We don’t want the whole bar to watch us manhandle him out of here.”

“Good point.” Victor wished he could wave his badge around and do this the legal way. And he hated waiting.

They had time to order another round of beers, which they sipped on, before the suspected vampire made his move on a girl who’s friends had left earlier. She was finishing her drink when he moved in and ordered her another.

“Soon as they leave, we go after them. I want to make sure he’s a vamp before I gank him,” Dean explained. “And one thing you need to know. If you swallow one drop of vamp blood, you’ll turn into one of them.”

“Okay. I wasn’t planning on it, but thanks for the heads up.”

“No problem. I wouldn’t want the next vamp I hunted to be you.” Dean stood, leaving a couple of bills on the table. “We’re up.”

Victor’s heart was pounding in his chest as they followed the pair at a distance. The potential vampire’s hands were all over the girl, who didn’t seem to mind. Victor wondered if she was really into it or if the vampire was coercing her in some way.

A few blocks later, Victor noticed Dean reach into his jacket as the man led the girl down an alley. It fit with the other locations. More visible than most murders, almost as if the killer wanted the bodies to be found quickly. Dean’s pace quickened, and he ran into the alley with Victor hot on his heels. In the shadows, they could just make out the man looming over the girl who was trying to push him away, and Dean pulled a long, wide blade from his jacket, pulling his arm back to strike a fatal blow. But the vampire ducked as he swung, turning to snarl at Dean, who sprang back just in time to avoid being hit in the chest by the girl, who was also snarling at Dean with a mouth full of pointed teeth.

“Fuck,” Victor blurted out, drawing their attention to him.

“Run!” Dean yelled as he threw himself at the first vampire, machete slicing through the air and catching its shoulder. Blood spurted, but it hadn’t been a precise enough blow to take its head off.

Victor tried to do as he was ordered, but as he turned, the second vampire was suddenly right in front of him, pushing him back with a force that went way beyond what would have been normal for a human woman. Victor hit the wall of the alley, his arm catching on something sharp as he slid down it. She was on him in a second, an inhuman glint in her eyes as she held him down and lowered her mouth towards her arm.

Victor fumbled in his pocket, fingers closing around the narrow cylinder full of poison. He almost dropped it as she bit into the flesh of his arm, pulling his tattered jacket and shirt apart to get to it. Somewhere to his left, he heard Dean grunt ‘motherfucker’, and there was the sound of something heavy falling to the alley floor. As Victor pulled the syringe out of his pocket and pushed the cap off, the vampire pulled back to look at him, and she bent down to tear open her own arm. Victor didn’t think, he plunged the needle into her shoulder and pushed down the plunger. She reared back, and Dean’s machete swept through the air and took her head clean off. Her body swayed before falling forwards, and Victor scrambled out of the way, refusing to be trapped under a headless corpse that was gushing with blood.

Dean reached a hand down to Victor and helped him to his feet.

“We’ve got to go, now. This way.” Dean took hold of Victor’s arm, and pushed him in the opposite direction to the one they came from, deeper into the alley.

They ran until they got to the end of it. One block over, and Dean opened the door of the black Impala that Victor had only seen in pictures before. Victor was suddenly very tired.

“You okay?”

“I’ll get back to you on that one.”

“Look, I know this is a lot to take in. I can drop you back at your motel; you can go on your way and never see me again. How’s that sound?”

Victor shook his head. “I’ve been on the edge of this for more years than I want to think about and I had no idea what I was really dealing with. I just followed the white rabbit, and I can’t stop now.”

Dean nodded, his face suddenly serious. “Okay, but this isn’t just some game, you’ve gotta understand that. The people who live this life, they’re good people, and they put themselves on the line every day. I have to know that I can trust you with this.”

“I can swear to you that what happens while I’m ‘on vacation’ will never make it back to the day job. It’s not like I could put in a report about hunting vampires.”

Dean nodded again. “Okay man, red pill it is.”

They drove in silence to a motel three towns away from the one they’d left the dead vampires in. Victor followed Dean inside wincing as he turned to close the door behind him. The wound on his arm was throbbing. Dean frowned at the wince.

“Do you wanna get that seen to at a hospital? It might need stitches.” Dean pulled a medical kit from his bag.

“What, now you’re a nurse as well as a hunter?”

Victor slipped his jacket off, wincing, and examined the damage in the mirror that hung in the room.

“Damn. I liked that shirt.” He mumbled. He knew he should head to the nearest hospital and get a professional to deal with the cut, but then it would go on record, and he didn’t want to have to start giving explanations about how it had happened. And honestly? He knew he should be marching Dean down to the nearest police station and throwing him in a cell, not hanging out and taking him up on his offer of minor surgery.

But he knew what he’d seen, twice now. Unexplainable things that Dean had taken in his stride as if it were a day at the office. He eyed Dean, who was staring straight back at him.

“Okay, let’s get it done.”

Victor undid half of the buttons on his shirt, wincing a little when the action pulled on his shoulder. He started when Dean moved closer and batted his hands away. Dean pulled the shirt free from Victor’s pants, then got to work on the buttons, not glancing at Victor’s face until he was done. Which was something Victor was very glad of. It gave him time to recover from the shock of such intimate gestures.

The last time someone had done that, they’d slipped to their knees and deep throated Victor’s cock, and he had to wrestle away the sense memory as the fabric was pulled across his skin, and nimble fingers grazed his chest as they finished unbuttoning his shirt. The thought of Dean slipping to his knees, and wrapping his fingers around Victor’s dick was one that almost caused him to panic because the last thing he wanted was to give the kid any indication he was attracted to him. Not only was Dean a wanted felon, but he also killed supernatural creatures, all of which Victor was still processing, so adding wanting to get into his pants into the equation just wasn’t going to happen.

Dean eased the shirt off Victor’s shoulders, looking at the wound.

“Sit down,” Dean ordered, and Victor sat on one of the chairs, draping himself over the back of it.

“Drink some of this.” Dean passed a bottle of whisky over Victor’s shoulder.

He took it and knocked back a couple of mouthfuls, shaking his head as the buzz hit. Dean took the bottle back and pulled up another chair to sit behind him. Victor couldn’t help that spike of want that hit him again at having Dean so close and seemingly unconcerned at being there.

“Hold still, this is gonna hurt.” Dean placed a hand between Victor’s shoulder blades, and poured whisky over the wound.

“Jesus, fuck!” Victor gripped the chair, tensing up against the pain.

“Can’t be too careful.”

Dean unconsciously rubbed Victor’s back until he began to relax just a little.

“And again.” This time Victor tensed up before the liquid hit.

‘Son of a bitch,” He snarled out through gritted teeth.

Dean grinned and patted his back.

“After that, this is gonna be a piece of cake.”

Dean worked fast, pulling the skin together with a neat row of stitches. He bent close over Victor’s back, close enough that his breath occasionally ghosted over Victor’s skin. Dean cut the thread, thankfully, Victor thought, with scissors and not his teeth. A last breath hit Victor’s neck, leaving a trail of goose bumps in its wake, then Dean patted him on the other shoulder, and taped a dressing over the stitched up wound.

“There ya go, FBI, good as new.”

“Thanks. So what now?”

“You’re done.” Dean threw a shirt at him as he stood up, and Victor pulled it on. He’d never been one for plaid before, but it was soft and comfortable, so he buttoned it up.

“Your turn.”

“I’m fine,” Dean shrugged.

“Fine is seeping through your shirt.”

“It’s not exactly seeping,” Dean grumbled, but he winced and Victor guessed there was more to the damage than grazed skin.

“Let me take a look,” Victor insisted.

Dean slipped off his shirt and pulled up his tee. Victor hissed at the extensive bruising over his ribs, and couldn’t help looking at the other scars that were revealed. He ran his hand over Dean’s ribcage, checking to see if there was anything broken. Dean panted, and let out a long breath as Victor stepped back.

“No breaks, but that grazing could do with seeing to.”

Dean nodded, and allowed Victor to tend to him, sitting down on the edge of one of the beds when he was done.

“Look, I don’t know what your plans are, but I need to eat, and I need to sleep.”

“Right now, I have no idea what I’m going to do.” Victor shook his head.

“I know it’s a lot to take in. There’s a spare bed, and I’m gonna pick pizza up, so if you wanna stay and put off any decisions until the morning, the offer’s there.”

“You trust me?”

“Not entirely, but as you said, now you know what’s out there.”

Victor nodded, and pulled his wallet from his pocket. He took out a couple of twenties and held them out for Dean to take. “Okay, but I’m buying. You said yourself, hunting doesn’t pay well.”

Dean hesitated, but he must have heard the humor in Victor’s voice because he smiled as he took the bills.

“Just because you’re buying me dinner, doesn’t mean I’m gonna put out.” Dean winked, and left, leaving Victor spluttering.


“You just left a Fed in our room.” Sam fell into step as Dean strode off towards the pizza place.

“Yeah, I know,” Dean shrugged. “I think he’s okay.”

“He’s okay, I suppose,” Sam admitted reluctantly. “He didn’t do too badly against the vamps.”

“”Glad you were there too. If you hadn’t warned me about the girl, neither of us would have made it out.”

“I didn’t see her face until the last minute.”

“You did good, Sammy.” Dean smiled at him.

“Victor would make a great inside man.”

“You’ve been watching too many movies,” Dean shook his head.

“Think about it, Dean. If he really is cool with all of this, think of all the information he could get you. He could send you X files to look into.”

Dean snorted. He ruffled Sam’s hair then looked around to see if anyone had noticed the odd gesture. To anyone else, it would look like he was petting thin air.

“He could be useful, but be careful, Dean.”

“I will. Why don’t you stay with him until I get back?”

Sam disappeared and left Dean to buy pizza and a six pack.


Sam watched Victor. He didn’t make any calls to turn them in, which Sam was glad about, and he glanced around the room. He spotted Dean’s bag, but Sam was pleased that although he could tell that Victor was itching to look inside, he didn’t. Instead, he picked up Dean’s gun, giving it the once over, then he pulled Dean’s knife from its sheath, whistling to himself at the well kept, razor sharp blade.

Later, after pizza, they lay on the beds, Sam curled up against Dean’s side.

“I still can’t believe we did that. Well, you killed them, but seeing them, seeing they were real and wanted to kill us …” Victor shuddered. “Are werewolves real?” he asked almost sheepishly.

“Yes, and no, I’m never taking you on a werewolf hunt. If it’s any consolation, Bigfoot isn’t real.”

“It’s not, but thanks,” Victor grinned and stole a glance at Dean who was lying on his back, eyes closed.

“Ask, whatever you want to know.”

“Excuse me?”

“I can tell you’re itching to, so ask.”

“Okay,” Victor paused. “What really happened to your Mom?”

Dean lay silent for a while. Sam nudged his brother. “Tell him, it’s okay.”

“When I was four and Sammy was six months old, a demon came into his nursery. It pinned my Mom to the ceiling and burned her up. My Dad got us out. He took us and ran, and he’s spent a good part of his life hunting it down.”

“Did he find it?”

“No, not yet. But he will.”

“So, demons. Ghosts are one thing, poltergeists , vampires, werewolves even, but demons? I’m having a hard time with that one, man.”

“Just hope you never run into one. Here.” Dean dug something out of his pocket and threw it at Victor.

“What’s this?”

“Anti possession charm. Keep it with you, and you’ll be okay.”

Victor looked at it, turning it over in his hand. “Looks like the same symbol as your tattoo.”

“Yeah, can’t be too careful.”

“So how many hunters are there?”

“You asking as you you or FBI you?”

“Me me.” Victor rolled his eyes.

“Honestly? I’ve no idea. It’s a loose network, there’s no real organization. Most people get into it like my Dad did, because they lost someone, or they saw something and they couldn’t go back to a normal life. There’s ways of finding others, if a job is too big for one or two to take on. A lot live on the road. I’ve met one or two who protect the towns they live in, but it’s not exactly something that fits in with a nine to five or a regular job. So …”

“So you use credit card fraud to finance hunting?”

“That and hustling pool. Others have other ways, but this is how I was brought up. If the credit card companies want to send me cards, then that’s up to them. I don’t steal cards from regular people.”

Victor sighed. “I’m still having a hard time processing all this.”

“Get some sleep.” Dean yawned. “We can talk more in the morning.”

Henriksen fell asleep first, then Dean until Sam was left alone in the dark. He willed himself away to a park on the edge of town where he sat through the night until well after the sun had come up.


Victor woke just after dawn. He rolled onto his side and watched Dean stretching, the shirt he was wearing riding up to reveal a strip of smooth skin at his waist.

“Mornin’.” Dean grunted.

Victor blushed at having been caught admiring the view so openly. Dean grinned, and slowly got out of bed, stretching enough that Victor wondered if he was putting on a show.

“I’m gonna take a shower.” Dean reached down and caught hold of the hem of his tee. He slowly peeled it off over his head and threw it back over his shoulder towards his empty bed. When he glanced back at Victor, he smirked as if he knew exactly what was going on in his head.

Dean didn’t give Victor any more encouragement. He sauntered into the bathroom, Victor heard him take a piss and turn on the shower. Victor hesitated, but there was a chance that they’d never see each other again, and Victor wanted to know what Dean sounded like when he came. Victor stripped off his clothes on the way to the bathroom, leaving them where they fell. When he pulled back the shower curtain, he saw that Dean had already soaped up his skin, and he pressed Dean up against the tiled wall, the full length of his body sliding against Dean’s. Dean shuddered and reached behind him, his hand slipping over Victor’s damp skin, across his hip and round to grab one of his ass cheeks, pulling him closer. Victor’s dick slid between Dean’s cheeks, so Dean canted his hips back and moaned as Victor ground against him. When Dean reached down to grasp his own cock, Victor pulled his hand away and replaced it with his own.

Victor mouthed Dean’s neck, nipping at the soft skin as he pulled back enough to push his dick between Dean’s thighs so that it scraped across the underside of Dean’s balls every time he thrust his hips. Dean moaned and Victor took the opportunity presented by Dean’s perfect mouth opening with a sigh and kissed him, something Dean returned with enthusiasm. Their bodies slipped and slid against each other Victor’s cock hard and insistent between Dean’s legs. Dean clenched his muscles, drawing a groan from Victor and after another couple of thrusts, he spurted over Dean’s balls, and pulled Dean’s orgasm from him with a relentless hand.

Dean turned round and wrapped his arms around Victor’s neck, kissing him lazily as Victor ran soap covered hands over Dean’s body, and through his hair. Dean returned the favor, making sure that the dressing on Victor’s shoulder didn’t get too wet.

They dressed in companionable silence, and Dean stuffed his belongings into his bag.

“So what now?” Victor asked.

“Call me if anything else comes up.” Dean shrugged. “What about you?”

“I find somewhere to stay for a few days and have a real vacation before I go back. As far as hunting goes, I haven’t decided yet. I can’t turn my back on this.”

Impulsively, Dean threw him a cell phone.

“What’s this for?”

“My number is programmed into it. If you need to contact me, use that.”

Victor turned it over in his hand, and Dean thought he was going to say he didn’t need it.

“Yeah, okay.”


Ten minutes later, Victor took off, and Sam came charging across the parking lot.

“Is he gonna do it? Be our mole in the FBI?”

“I didn’t ask,” Dean shrugged.

“Dean!” Sam whined.

“Can it, squirt. He’s gonna let me know if he sees anything that might be our kind of thing. That’s enough for now. Time to go.”


One night, Victor was about to head to bed when he got a call.

“Agent Bonham,” he grinned. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m in a bar half an hour’s drive from your place.”

The rough edge to Dean’s voice told Victor exactly what Dean really wanted.

“Give me the address.”

As he drove, he wondered what the hell he was doing, but he itched to get his hands on Dean again. The kid was addictive, and Victor couldn’t resist.

He spotted Dean sitting at the counter in the bar. He was slugging back a shot, and he motioned for the bartender to give him another one. She filled his glass and winked at him.

Victor felt a spike of jealousy as Dean grinned back at her and sat down next to him, glaring at her.

Dean arched an eyebrow, and smirked as Victor leaned over and drank his shot. The bartender brought another glass and filled them both up.

“Who’s your friend?” She asked Dean and leered at Victor.

“Someone who doesn’t like to share,” Victor growled.

“Possessive much?” Dean asked as she walked away.

“Is that a problem?” Victor didn’t know where it was coming from, but he didn’t want to think of anyone else touching Dean.

“No, it’s not.” Dean knocked back his shot, and stood up, looking over at the door.

Outside, he led Victor round the corner into a dimly lit alley.

“Wanna blow you.” Dean pushed Victor against the wall, sank to his knees, and freed his rapidly hardening cock.

Victor bit back a moan as Dean rubbed his lips over the head of it, parting them little by little, easing it into his mouth.

“Fuck,” Victor growled and dug his fingers into Dean’s short hair as he slowly deep throated him. Dean’s warm, wet mouth worked him, pulling off and slamming back down until Victor got the hint and held Dean’s head as he fucked his mouth. His initial caution receded as Dean groaned around him, and fumbled at the zipper of his own jeans. Dean was getting off on being used in an alley like a cheap hooker and it got Victor off so damned fast he would have felt embarrassed if Dean hadn’t taken away his ability to think straight.

Dean pulled off, licking at the corners of his mouth, and leaned back so Victor could watch him come, spunk splattering on the dirty ground. He licked his fingers clean, and tucked himself away as Victor did the same. He was still dazed when Dean stood up and kissed him, making sure he tasted himself on Dean’s mouth.

“Call me.” Dean smirked and left Victor standing in the alley, wishing he didn’t have a half hour’s drive ahead of him before he could face plant in bed. For a fleeting moment, he thought of going after Dean and taking him home for the night, but he shook his head and chided himself. That wouldn’t have been the wisest of moves. With a sigh, he headed back to the car, wondering when he’d see Dean again.


While Dean was waiting for Victor to show up, Sam stood in a park not far from the motel they’d checked into after they’d gone their separate ways from John. A small enthusiastic spaniel called Sasha had followed him as he walked through town, and was happily chasing after a stick that Sam obligingly kept throwing for her.

“Where’s Dean?” Tessa appeared by Sam’s side.

Sasha yapped at her, but stopped when Sam threw her stick again, and went chasing after it.

“Getting laid, hopefully. He was wired, so I left him alone.”

Sometimes, Sam would stay away, letting Dean have some privacy so he could hook up with someone. Women and men were attracted to his brother, Sam wasn’t blind. He knew when Dean needed the company, or just plain needed to get laid. Sam might not have grown up, but he knew the mechanics of sex and Dean was always less cranky if he was getting some every now and again.

Sometimes, Sam wondered if Dean would ever want to stop hunting and find someone to settle down with, have kids even. Or not. Sam had seen Dean leave bars with men as well as women, although they never usually ended up back at Dean’s motel room. And lately, he got the feeling Dean wanted to see Victor again, and not just for the company.

“You look sad,” Tessa observed.

Sam considered saying nothing, shooting the breeze and pretending everything was okay, but in the years since he died, Tessa had become what he supposed was the ghost equivalent of a shrink. As long as he kept in mind she had an agenda, she was always willing to talk with him about whatever was bothering him.

“I saw my Dad. He and Dean went hunting together.”

Out of the blue, John had called, asking for Deans help with a hunt. John was fast and efficient. And once they were done, he was gone as quickly as he’d arrived, with a brusque nod at Dean and a promise of a beer at the Roadhouse next time they met up. Seeing John always left Sam unsettled, and he wandered off as soon as they’d hit town.

“You miss him?”

“Yeah. So does Dean. He doesn’t say anything, but I know he misses him.”

“How does that make you feel?”

“Tired.” Sam thought of the Impala, and a second later he was sitting in her. He pulled a blanket from under the seat, curled up and pretended he was sleeping, just like he’d done so many times when he’d been alive.


“Grab your stuff. We’re heading to St Louis.” Reidy breezed past Victor’s desk, clearly a man on a mission.

“Do I get to ask why?” Victor saved the work he’d been doing and shut down his laptop.

“Dean Winchester is wanted for attacking a young woman. The local PD think he’s still in the area. Going by what we know, it’s doubtful he stuck around, but I want to interview her myself, and hey, we might get lucky. Maybe this is the time he’ll slip up.”

Victor regretted ever getting Reidy involved in his crusade to track down the Winchesters. He took his time getting his stuff together, until Reidy was looking at him as if he’d grown two heads, then tried to look as enthusiastic as he once had over a Winchester sighting. Half way there, he managed to sneak a call to Dean’s cell from a gas station rest room, but it went straight to voice mail. Victor left a curt message telling Dean to lay low and hoped that he picked it up before they arrived.

By the time they got to St Louis, there was a body on a slab in the morgue.

Victor stared down at Dean’s lifeless face. Once, he’d thought that one day, he’d be the one to put Dean away for his crimes. He’d imagined sitting opposite him in an interview room, triumphantly telling Dean how good it felt to know that he was the one to finally bring him to justice. Lately, he’d done his best to keep the young hunter safe from investigation. Either way, there was no victory in it ending this way, with Dean lying there dead.

“Tell me again, what exactly happened?”

“He went back to Rebecca Warren’s house, the girl he attacked, and she shot him. End of story.”

“Where’s his amulet?”

“What?” The cop looked mystified.

“He wears an amulet, never takes it off.”

“I don’t know. Maybe today he made an exception. Here’s the file.” The cop handed the folder to Victor and left him and Reidy alone with the body.

“I thought you’d be pleased. One down, one to go. Now there’s only Daddy Winchester to bring in.”

Victor flicked through the folder, brow furrowed, trying to keep the loss and grief from showing on his face. Dean had been a casual hook up, nothing more, he tried to tell himself, but it wasn’t working. So he did what he did best, he threw himself into the case and forced himself to think of Dean as no-one more important than a dead killer.

“Something doesn’t add up. Usually, he’s a ghost, he’s in and gone by the time anyone arrives on the scene. Torture isn’t his style. Why didn’t he finish the job the first time round, and why go back?” Victor mused. “I want to talk to the girl.”

They stopped by the medical examiner’s office on the way out, flashing their badges.

“You did the autopsy on Dean Winchester, correct?”

The examiner nodded. “I did. How can I help you fellas?”

“Was there anything notable about the body?”

“Well, you’ve got a copy of my report,” he answered and pointed at the folder. “It’s all in there.”

“Right, thanks. I’ve been chasing this kid and his father for years, and it almost seems like he went down too easy. But thanks for your time.” Victor turned to go.

“There was one thing. It doesn’t have any bearing on how he died, so I didn’t bother putting it into the report.”

Victor stepped back into the office, Reidy following.

“His skin was perfect. I mean it had scars in places, but the texture and composition? Not what I would have expected in a man in his twenties, even one in peak physical condition.”


“If I’d only gotten a tissue sample for examination, I would have said it was from a newborn. I didn’t even want to try and explain it, so I left it out.”

Victor pulled out a card and handed it to the examiner.

“Can you send me a copy of your findings? And if anything else comes to mind, anything at all, I’d appreciate it if you let me know.”

“Sure thing.”

Victor and Reidy strode out of the building into the sunlight and went to find Rebecca Warren.

“I really don’t know what else to tell you, Agent Henriksen. I was attacked by a stranger, and when he broke in again, I shot him.”

“Two shots, straight through the heart. You’re quite the markswoman, Ms Warren.”

“My Dad insisted we have lessons, me and my brother.”

“Your brother Zak?”


“And the place was quite a mess when the police arrived.” Henriksen flicked through the report.

“I was fighting for my life,” Rebecca explained. “It got rough.”

Victor nodded, noting the way her hands trembled as she picked up her coffee mug from the table. He sipped at his too, and catalogued the healing cuts and bruises on her face. Whatever had happened, the girl had been through a lot, and he didn’t think it was worth making her relive it any further. He put his mug back on the table and smiled at her.

“Thank you for your time, Ms Warren.”

Rebecca saw them out, and they climbed back into the rental car.

“We should celebrate,” Reidy suggested.

“Celebrate what?” Victor threw the case file on the back seat and sighed.

“Celebrate a win. You can cross Dean Winchester off your most wanted list.”

Victor shook his head and stared out of the window.

“Look, Vic, I know you wanted to bring him in yourself, but we don’t get to do this very often. It’s a win for the good guys, and you need closure,” Reidy said solemnly, a grin breaking out on his face when Victor rolled his eyes.

“Okay, Dr Phil, but you’re buying.” Victor gave in. He couldn’t seem too upset in front of Reidy, and Dean deserved a wake, he decided.


In a diner two hundred miles away, Dean’s cell buzzed. He put his burger down and answered it, whispering “it’s Rebecca” to Sam.

“Yeah? Oh, right, thanks for letting me know. Yeah, you too.”

“Fuck!” Dean swore as Rebecca rang off.

“What’s wrong?”

“Victor. He’s just been to interview Rebecca. He probably thinks it’s me lying in the morgue.” Dean hit speed dial. “He’s not answering.”

Dean’s agitation lasted all day as he kept calling and getting no answer, and no call back from Victor. Sam had never seen him as worked up over anyone before. When Victor finally answered his phone, the relief on Dean’s face was plain.

“Vic! Where’ve you been?”

“Bastard! Motherfucking bastard. I thought you were dead.”

“Sorry, man. It was a shapeshifter.”

“Fuck you.”

Victor hung up on him.

Part Four


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