Post by corvette1710 on Apr 12, 2014 18:28:29 GMT
vs 
electricferret.freeforums.net/thread/603/sam-winchester electricferret.freeforums.net/thread/63/dexter-morgan
electricferret.freeforums.net/thread/297/dean-winchester
A black ‘67 Chevy Impala roared down the highway towards Miami, with palm trees and oaks populating the forests to the side of the road.
“You really didn’t give me much of a chance to talk to you about this one,” Sam said, glancing over at his brother Dean, after several hours of silence (minus the radio, which blared classic rock). “You just said we had to go to Miami and never told me why.”
“I have a feeling, okay Sam? I think this is our kind of thing.”
“What is our kind of thing, is what I’m asking, Dean.”
“Over thirty bodies, all at the bottom of the bay, in a big ol’ city like Miami? Doesn’t even sound a little like our thing to you?”
“It does, Dean… I just wanted to know why we were going to Miami.”
“Because Dad said so. I got a text.”
“Because Dad said so,” Sam scoffed. “I just want to know when you’ll start thinking for yourself.”
Dean gave him an angry look.
“Look, for now, we don’t know if it’s our thing, but Dad thinks so, and I’m inclined to believe him.”
“So, we talk to Miami Metro, what they have on this case, and then we look through Dad’s journal, see if it fits any of the things he’s documented so far.”
“Alright…” he glanced at the sign overhead. “This is our exit. We’ll be there in about half an hour.”
******
Dexter looked down into his office microscope, the half-smile his face seemed to naturally adopt showing through as he observed the blood from his own work.
“Okay, Dex, don’t jack off on the slides,” snarked Vince, his coworker in forensics. “Wouldn’t want any protein stains on them.”
“Ha-ha, Vince.” He rather annoys me. “Just go look for prints on the bags.” There aren’t any.
“I already have. There aren’t any.”
Damn right there aren’t.
“Nowhere?”
“Nope.”
Good. I have no intention of being caught, and even less of an intention to die.
“I don’t know what to tell you. Go ask Lundy. He’ll have something for you to look at.” Probably. Lundy has been overseeing the Bay Harbor Butcher case since it went public. He knew everything about the case… but nothing that Dexter didn’t, already.
To be honest, Lundy was one of the best law enforcement officers Dexter had ever met. Certainly more that Sergeant Doakes, who gave Dexter dirty looks of dire suspicion. Not that Doakes could say or do much to Dexter, at this point. Nothing Dexter couldn’t respond to in kind.
Note to self, watch out for Doakes, regardless of his position in the police hierarchy.
******
Sam clipped his fake ID onto his shirt, and nodded to Dean, who did the same. They identified themselves as FBI, Agents John Meriwether and William Fuller, respectively.
“Are you with Lundy?” a guard asked at the front door.
They gave each other quick, nearly imperceptible glances. “Yes. We’d like to talk to him immediately,” Dean said, smiling.
“Follow me, then.” He lead them to the elevator. “Just press three and move out and to your right when you get there, and you should see him in his case room.” He smiled and went back to the door.
Sam and Dean exited the elevator at three and glanced into the office. There was an older man seated at his desk, glancing every couple seconds at the clock, which read 12:51.
They knocked on the glass door, which seemed to startle the man behind the desk. He jumped, knocking a paperweight onto the floor. He stood up and then bent over to grab it.
Dean opened the door and stooped to pick it up for him. “I got it.”
Lundy took the paperweight from him with a gracious smile. “Thanks.”
He sat back down and motioned for them to take a seat. “So, what brings you two here?”
Sam answered, “The Bay Harbor Butcher. We’re here to oversee the case in conjoinment with you.”
Lundy frowned. “Aren’t you a little young to be on the same level of clearance I am?”
Dean smiled charmingly. “We’re pretty devoted to the job, Agent Lundy.”
“So I see. Frank Lundy,” he rose from his desk and held out a hand to Dean, then Sam. They shook it and sat back down.
“I’m Agent Merriweather, and this is my partner, Agent Fuller,” Sam said, gesturing to himself and Dean in turn.
“I can read, Mr. Meriwether.” Lundy seemed to now be all business. “Why did you get sent out here? I can handle this on my own.”
“Well, it’s been, what, a month now with all the bodies as evidence but no official suspects, no leads that you’ve so far shared, and you seem to be getting nowhere. That’s why we’re here. The higher-ups think we can help you with this case, and so that’s what we’re going to do.” Dean’s face was cold, like a mirror in that he matched Lundy’s glare eye for eye. “So, we’re going to need any file you have on the thirty-odd missing persons, any leads you’ve yet to share-- hell, if you have even the slightest inkling of a suspect, we’ll take that.”
Lundy’s glare finally broke and he got up with a sigh. “Fine. I’ll get the case files.”
******
Dexter noticed someone new had entered the office. Two someones. Young, similar facial structures, same hair color, probably aged a couple years apart, likely siblings. They wore badges, but he couldn’t see who they were with. They looked for a few seconds into the office, then made their way toward-- Dexter guessed-- Lundy’s office.
Possibly more FBI like Lundy, but I can’t begin to guess why. Dexter entertained the idea that Lundy’s work had been deemed subpar and he was being replaced. Unlikely, but always a pleasant surprise.
Dexter picked up his handbag, exiting the office with empty coffee cup in hand, nodding to his coworkers but not looking at them, trying to get a look into Lundy’s office to see what the newcomers were doing. As far as he could see, they were reviewing files-- or about to. He saw Lundy and unluckily, Lundy saw him. He smiled in a strange, snakelike way he seemed to do a lot. At least, Dexter thought it was rather snakelike.
Lundy turned to talk to the two behind him. They got up after Lundy motioned to Dexter.
Now I’ll have to talk to them, I suppose.
Lundy opened the door to his office.
“This is Dexter Morgan, lead forensics analyst for MMPD. Talk to him about the lack of evidence.” Lundy said sardonically as he smiled his snake smile.
I can play your game, Lundy.
Dexter’s half-smile greeted Sam and Dean.
******
After about thirty seconds of reviewing files, it was clear that Lundy didn’t want them in his office.
He stood, looked out his office window, then smiled. He looked to them.
“Oh, good. Come out, John, William. Meet the evidence gatherer.” He pushed open his door and lead them out.
Sam and Dean exchanged looks. They shrugged, then stood up to follow Lundy out. Sam took a last glance around the office. Nothing he wouldn’t expect to see in a lead investigator/special agent’s office.
Lundy closed the door behind them.
“This is Dexter Morgan, lead forensics analyst for MMPD. Talk to him about the lack of evidence.” He sounded accomplished with himself for getting Sam and Dean off his back.
When Sam looked at Dexter, he saw the look of an intelligent man-- in his eyes there was distinct contemplating nature-- Dexter was well-built, but shorter than either Winchester brother, three inches shorter than Dean and six less than Sam. He wore a dress shirt, glasses not unlike Dean’s, and khaki pants. He looked… too normal to Sam. There was something else he couldn’t put his finger on that bothered him about Dexter, some sort of cold, calculating essence that couldn’t quite be observed but felt. And there was something chilling about his smile...
Dean’s observations were a bit more tactical, more practicalities than observations. He saw that Dexter was smaller than him, but not by that much, and was much bulkier, and probably heavier by muscle. He couldn’t observe much fat on Dexter’s form, and he had big arms. He reminded Dean a bit of a monkey, but tailless and stocky. The way he carried himself, Dean could tell he had some sort of training-- the fluid and yet languid movements, the eyes he could see were sucking in any observable details about Dean and Sam.
They stood in silence for a few moments.
“I’m Dexter.” He held out his hand.
Dean shook first, then Sam. “I’m William, this is John.”
Sam gave a polite smile. “Hello.”
“Before you ask, no, Lundy’s never been in the mood for company. Especially not fellow agents, so far as I’ve seen,” Dexter said, pointing out their cards.
“We guessed as much,” Sam smiled.
Dexter smiled in return. “So, what do you want to know about the case?”
“Whatever you’ve got. Any fingerprints, DNA, hair. We’ll even take suspect suggestions at this point, because of how close to nowhere this case is going,” Dean said.
Dexter shrugged. “That’s the thing. There aren’t any of those. Anywhere. Nowhere to be found. There’s nothing even mildly incriminating on the bags or the bodies. Whoever this guy is, he’s clean.”
Sam and Dean once more glanced at each other. Our sort of thing.
******
As John and William approached Dexter, he looked them over. Both were taller than he was, both apparently muscular, but not as much as Dexter. They didn’t hold themselves so self-importantly like Lundy did. No, they’re not like Lundy.
They conversed. After a brief conversation, Dexter finished his explanation about the cleanliness of their culprit so callously killing so countless an amount of citizens of Miami.
“That’s the thing. There aren’t any of those. Anywhere. Nowhere to be found. There’s nothing even mildly incriminating on the bags or the bodies. Whoever this guy is, he’s clean.” Very clean, indeed.
He noticed the two agents exchange looks in unison. Obviously they’ve worked together a long time… too long for it to be exclusively professional. John looks too young to have been in the FBI for very long. Maybe they’re related. Their last names
are different. Perhaps they’re under aliases. The names are common enough to be fabricated.
“Why don’t I take you both on a tour of Miami? You’ll know the city a little better. We can take my car.” Though I’m willing to bet the rumble I heard before you came in was your car.
“What is it?”
“Ford Escape. A hybrid.”
“I think we’ll take the Impala.”
“Alright. I just wanted to talk while we drove. I am giving the tour, after all.” Dexter shrugged.
William’s expression was sullen, but it slowly morphed into a mischievous grin. “I’ll put John here in the back. You don’t mind, do ya John?” He clapped John on the back, then pressed the button for the elevator to open.
“Not at all,” John responded, sighing.
He obviously minds. He suspected a chuckle would earn him some form of camaraderie from William, so he did.
Time to find out your little secrets.
******
They climbed into the Impala, with Dexter playing the role of tour guide as he directed them around Miami.
“This is downtown. Clubs, bars… crime. Lots of drunk violence, gang violence as well. We get a lot of our murders in here.”
“But not the Butcher,” John said.
“But not the Butcher,” Dexter confirmed. “We don’t know where he committed his murders. We just know the bodies ended up at the bottom of the bay.” Abandoned train car outside of town, in an old man’s hoodoo shop, a parking garage around here…
William's eyes scanned the crowds of people. He saw some suspicious figures, but nothing he could pull a shotgun on.
“Look, Dexter, it’s getting towards the afternoon, and I’d like to get our things into our hotel before nightfall.”
I bet.
“No problem,” Dexter said. They turned to go back to Miami Metro.
******
When they returned to Miami Metro HQ, Dexter got out of the Impala and Sam returned to the passenger seat.
“See you tomorrow,” Dexter said cheerfully, turning to get into his car.
When he was back in his car, Sam turned to Dean, who accelerated out onto the highway. “There’s something about Dexter that I don’t like. I just… can’t put my finger on it.”
“The man’s friggin’ creepy, always staring at everything,” Dean agreed. “Definitely someone to watch out for.”
“It’s like he’s… smart. Very smart. And calculating. And he doesn’t want people to know it.”
Dean nodded in agreement.
They arrived back at their hotel after about an hour due to heavy traffic. Both of them took their things out of the over-trunk of the Impala, covering the armory of supernatural killing weapons they kept underneath.
They unpacked, mostly fileless but with the vital resource of the Internet.
Minutes after getting on his laptop, Sam found a few things on the Butcher of Bay Harbor.
“So, we’ve got more than thirty victims, dismembered and drained of blood. Maybe vampires?”
“I’d think Miami’s too sunny a place for vampires-- sunlight hurts like a bad sunburn to them. But we won’t rule them out. Anything else it might be?”
“Rakshasa, but they usually eat their victims and they tear them apart, not this surgical precision we’re seeing in these corpses.”
“So… it’s a human?”
“It might be… I’ll have to consult Dad’s journal, though, and ask around to some of Dad’s friends.”
“If it’s a human… I suggest we leave the hunt alone. Everything else has a pattern. Humans are just… crazy.”
“But, Dean, if it’s a serial killer, a human, they’ll follow a pattern, too,” Sam said. “Most serial killers have a specific M.O. they’ll follow. If we can find this guy’s, we can catch him.”
Dean looked nonplussed, but he could see Sam wanted to stay on the case.
“Fine. We’ll stay. If it’s a serial killer. If it’s not, I want to leave.”
“Deal.”
Sam sat down on his bed, looking through the various internet pages with theories as to the identities and methods of the Bay Harbor Butcher. The hunt--
******
--is on. Tonight’s the night. The Dark Passenger has been nipping at my heels everywhere I’ve gone today. Tonight, you will be sated for another month.
Dexter’s gloved hands gripped the wheel of his car, fingers drumming in anticipation. His next quarry was a murderer thrice over, he was sure. He’d looked over the evidence personally. Julio Juarez’s lawyer was much too good for him to be
incarcerated, but Dexter was better than Julio Juarez. Much better. Quieter. Less likely to arouse suspicion. Dexter had the inkling that not many people would miss Julio.
Julio was staying at a motel downtown. It was a little adobe building, a Wild West theme in an east coast, metropolitan city. Utterly unfitting of it environment as it was, it was where Julio had decided to shack up.
He parked, lights off so as not to draw attention to himself. He held the etorphine hydrochloride hypodermic needle in his right hand. Suddenly he saw something that stopped him cold in his tracks. A black Chevy Impala.
This… is their hotel. Abort. I can’t abort. Abort. I can’t abort. The Dark Passenger must be fed, or it will consume me.
Julio stood on the roofed balcony of his room, facing the other way from Dexter, smoking a cigarette. Dexter knew he had to be quick, lest he be seen by one of the agents from today.
He checked his watch. 10:13.
He could get Julio, put him in his car, and be at the kill room in ten minutes. He had time.
He approached Julio slowly, hopping lightly onto the veranda. His crouched footsteps were shrouded by darkness and the breathing of Julio, which was rather labored, likely due to years upon years of smoking.
I’ve got you now.
******
Dean was laying awake on his bed, staring at the ceiling for a full half hour before he got up and dressed, stating to Sam that he was going out to get a Coke from the machine outside.
He walked out the door and out of the corner of his eye, saw a light go out. He turned and looked, seeing nothing. His eyes narrowed, and he slowly walked to the vending machine.
It might’ve been nothing.
******
Dexter had nabbed Julio just before William saw him and could place him as being there one moment and gone the next. The needle was already in his neck, and he was out cold. Julio’s cigarette lay on the rail of the platform.
Dexter carried Julio over his shoulder, quickly returning to his car over the railing he’d used to get onto the patio.
He stuffed Julio in the back of his car, a dead weight heap that Dexter had meticulously made murderous, malicious plans for.
He kept his lights off as he tried to quietly pull out of the parking lot for the motel.
Daringly dangerous Dexter does it again. That was far too close.
******
Unbeknownst to Dexter, Dean was crouched behind a car near his motel room’s door, a notepad in hand as he wrote down Dexter’s plates.
Dean made his way back inside after a moment or two, looking at the plate number.
“I think Dexter was just here,” he said, looking from the alphanumeric sequence to Sam. “These plates look familiar… I’ve got a hunch that they’re Dexter’s.”
“What would he be doing here?” Sam sounded a bit incredulous.
“I don’t know, Sam. But whatever it is, I don’t like it.” Dean’s expression turned to one of intense thought. “Maybe there’s more to him than we thought.”
“We’ll check his plates, and if they match, we’ll ask him tomorrow.”
******
Dexter’s eyes were alight. Julio was naked, plastic wrap wrapped multiple times around sections of his body to keep him from escaping his cold, clean prison.
Now, Dexter was sitting on a plastic-covered chair, looking proudly upon his latest quarry.
Forty-five days, one hour, three minutes, and… fifty-three seconds since I killed my brother.
Dexter grabbed his knife as Julio began to stir.
“Where the fuck am I?” Julio’s eyes danced around the room; at least, in Dexter’s view, they looked to be dancing.
“You’re in your safehouse. Safe.” Dexter smiled chillingly as Julio’s eyes rested on him.
“Goddamn gringo, let me out of here.”
Dexter merely shook his head slowly, walking over to the table above Julio’s recumbent form. He pulled a scalpel from his kill bag.
“Afraid that’s not going to happen, Julio.”
Julio’s eyes widened. “No…”
Dexter nodded enthusiastically as he made a small cut on Julio’s cheek, large enough to bleed but not excessively as he set down his scalpel back on the table behind him. Dexter took out his pipette and slides as he took a drop of blood from Julio’s
bleeding cheek.
He dropped the blood onto the slide and smiled.
“Now, Julio, you’ve killed a few people… am I right?” Of course I am. That’s why you’re here.
“No way…” Julio was looking for a way out of this situation.
“Yes you did, that’s why you’re here!” Dexter yelled, pocketing the blood slide.
Dexter then turned and pulled his cleaver out of the kill bag.
He faced Julio and brandished it in plain sight.
“Ay dios mios…”
Dexter lined himself up and swung the cleaver down on his prey.
“Sorry, but he’s not going to help you.”
******
The next day, Sam and Dean made their way to the police station.
“Time to see if Dexter was at our place last night.”
Dexter’s car sat in the parking lot.
F6P-273, said the plates.
F6P-273, said Dean’s notebook.
“Looks like he was there, alright,” Dean said. “Time to find out why.”
They made their way into the building, up the elevator, and when they got out, asked a pretty girl at a desk to their right exactly where Dexter was.
“Dex? He’s in his office, right there.” She pointed behind her to the shuttered windows of a lab.
“And your name is?” Dean asked charmingly.
“Debra. Debra Morgan. Dexter’s sister.”
Oh.
“We’ll be out in a few minutes, we’re just going to talk to Dexter,” Sam said.
“Why?”
“We’re arranging the rest of the tour of Miami. We need to get the layout of the city down so we can do our job better,” Dean said, smiling.
Deb shrugged.
Dean and Sam made their way to Dexter’s office and knocked on the door.
Almost immediately, Dexter opened it, as though he had been waiting for them. “What can I do for you, agents?”
“First, you can let us in,” Dean said, pushing past Dexter into the lab, “and then you can close the door,” he gestured for Dexter to close it, which he did, “and then you can tell us exactly why you were at our motel last night.”
“I wasn’t at your motel last night.” Dexter lied seamlessly.
“Don’t lie to us, Dexter. Sam doesn’t like being lied to, and sure as hell, neither do I.”
Dexter sat in his red office chair. “Fine. I had a sneaking suspicion you weren’t FBI, and so I followed you.”
“You followed us, seven hours after we left for there?” Sam asked, his expression unbelieving. “No. There was something else.”
Dexter’s eyes narrowed.
“We know you were there for about five minutes. We heard you pull in, then you pulled out soon after. We just want to know why you were there.”
Dexter thought for a few moments.
Before he could answer, Vince opened the door to the lab and poked his head in. “Hey, hope I’m not interrupting something. I really hope I wasn’t interrupting something,” he restated when two glares met him. “Dex, we need you at a crime scene. Guy on the rocks by the water, near the freeway.”
“No problem, Vince, and you weren’t interrupting anything; I was just having a nice chat with the agents.”
“Alright,” said Vince, leaving.
“We’ll talk about this later. But right now, I need to be on the job.” Dexter smiled and nodded as he grabbed his forensics bag and left.
Dean’s brow furrowed and he glowered at Dexter’s retreating form in anger. “Dammit!”
Sam looked over at him, his own brow scrunched, not in anger but thought.
“He lied to us. Twice. In a row. Both of the lies were terrible. He wasn’t prepared; he had no alibi. He’s hiding something… he was there for something that wasn’t us.”
Dean looked at Sam, his anger dissipated. “Like what?”
“Maybe he’s a hunter.”
“Dad never talked about him.”
“Dad didn’t meet every hunter, did he? And the journal doesn’t say anything about Miami. Maybe he’s never been here.”
Dean pondered on that for a moment. Could it be that Dexter is a hunter? He works in the Miami Metro Police Department, giving him rights to go to any crime scene he wants, to look at wounds as a forensics officer, which would give him the
ability to observe any and all wounds on cadavers. Plus, he has access to interrogation tapes that other officers had recorded when they talked to victims who survived… he might be a hunter.
******
Dexter sat down on his couch, waiting. He was in his kill outfit, a uniform that he displayed only to himself and his victims. He had his gloves on, and jeans, and his boots, which he’d laced on tightly. The lights were off, the TV was off, Dexter merely
sat in his living room, wondering when the two “agents” would get to his flat. They weren’t agents. They were brothers, more than likely. Dexter had done his research on the two. They were national vigilantes. Their names weren’t online; their pictures were, though.
He’d known from the start that they knew each other too well to have just been friends in profession. Though, if he worked in a police department where only one person got the creeps from him, perhaps they were in the same situation. People will believe just about anything they’re told, whether it be “I’m just a normal man,” or “We’re not brothers.”
He heard a knock at the door, and quickly but quietly stood, then crouched as he hid behind the counter. He suspected they’d open the door themselves in a moment. He had his needles in hand.
“Dexter?” came a voice from outside. It was John, or whatever his true name was. “Dexter, we’re coming in. We just want to talk.”
Talk. Please. I can already hear your steps weighed down by equipment.
The door was kicked open with a loud bang, and Dexter quickly retreated into his room before the lights came on. They did, he could see from behind the door of his room.
Booted footsteps made their way towards his room, he could hear, and he knew only one was coming from the sound. Which one, he didn’t care, so long as he got both in the end. It was clear they knew too much. They likely already had their suspicions. Perhaps they’d even reached their conclusion about him.
The door opened, and in stepped John. He looked first to the wrong side of the door, and Dexters seized the opportunity. He plunged the needle into John’s neck, and held him up so he didn’t make a sound when he hit the floor. What Dexter couldn’t grab was John’s shotgun, which thudded to the floor quite loudly.
William would quickly make his way towards the noise, he knew. He tossed John to the side, then closed the door shut quickly, locking it. It wouldn’t hold William for long, but it would give Dexter a moment to prepare. Making sure not to trip over John’s unconscious form, he went back behind the door, gripping the second syringe. The door swung open with a loud bang as it was kicked, and William made his way in, shotgun in hand. He immediately checked behind the door.
As William was turning to face him, Dexter sprang forward with the speed of an animal, tackling William into the wall and knocking the shotgun from his hands. William, as soon as he came into contact with the wall, threw a punch that connected with Dexter’s face, but Dexter quickly retaliated.
Dexter’s hand came hurtling into William’s ribs, and almost immediately after an uppercut to William’s jaw. An elbow to William’s ribs, a fist to Dexter’s stomach, a headbutt to knock William’s head into the wall.
Dazed, William brought a knee up to Dexter’s groin, but Dexter could see it coming and smacked it out of the way with his own knee. He then put his forearm to William’s neck to hold him down, and jabbed the needle into his neck.
William went down.
******
When Sam’s vision returned to him, he was naked, he could feel, but he couldn’t move his head to look. He felt dizzy from the tranquilizer he’d been administered. The most he could do was move his head to the side. He saw his brother Dean, still
knocked out.
“I see you’re awake,” he heard, and Dexter’s sadistically smiling face obscured the harsh white light above him. “We’ll be waiting for your brother to wake up in just a moment. I only knocked him out about a minute after you.”
“Where are we?”
“Nowhere that anyone can hear you, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“What the hell?” Dean’s voice could be heard by Sam from behind Dexter.
“He’s awake now, too.” Dexter smiled again, then sat down above both of their recumbent bodies. “Now, I want you two to tell me everything you know. About everything. I looked you both up on the Internet. First, what are your names?”
Sam and Dean looked at each other. “I’m Sam Winchester.”
“I’m Dean Winchester. We’re hunters.”
“Hunters?” Dexter asked, sounding intrigued. “What kind of hunters?”
“We hunt…” Sam began, but an alarmed look from Dean cut him short. Don’t tell him, Dean’s expression said.
“You hunt what?”
Against his brother’s recommendation, Sam continued. “We hunt things.”
“What kind of things?” Dexter sounded bemused now.
“Paranormal things. Monsters. Ghosts. Creatures. Killers.”
******
“Paranormal things. Monsters. Ghosts. Creatures. Killers.”
Dexter heard Dean groan in exasperation.
Nothing goes bump in Dexter’s night.
“No. They don’t exist. Tell me the truth.”
“That is the truth, Dexter,” Sam said.
“No, it’s not!” Dexter yelled at Sam. “Nothing goes bump in Dexter’s night!”
******
So, TL;DR: Dexter has kidnapped Sam and Dean and is holding them trapped in plastic wrap, ready to be killed. He’s willing to listen to them, but they have to convince him that in their world there exists paranormal, strange things that Dexter has never believed in.
