Warbound Ground Zero 1/8 part A

[banditobane.livejournal.com]

Authour: banditobane

rating: R

beta reader: pen 37

summary: Five strangers are brought together by fate to end a war that threatens humanity.

Characters: From SN Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Bobby Singer, From SV Chloe Sullivan, From HL Duncan Macleod, From TC Robert Cross AKA The Crow, Original characters Professor Albert Townson, Detective Adam Staplebeck, Lt. Jeff Duccat

disclamer: I don't any of these characters I just did it for fun, Please don't sue.

A/N: Babdah is the raven god of death in Celtic lore.
Dean makes a refrence of John Carpenter's 'They Live' because of his love for cult horror movies.
pen told me to add some Buffy refrences for Chloe but I do not know crap about Buffy, I just never got into it.

Okay so it has been awhile since I posted the prolauges. I've Just been really busy with a lot of things and I wanted to make sure it was perfect so I hope you guys like it. And this is only the begining

Professor Albert Townson walked towards his office in the University of Pittsburgh with a seemingly unconcerned air. Any other man might not have walked around campus so boldly in middle of the night. Particularly while wearing an obviously expensive suit and carrying an even more expensive briefcase. Especially after the recent spate of cult activity in the area.

 

But Townson knew he had nothing to worry about. His only real concern was who he would spend the evening with.

 

He was thinking one of his many mistresses when his cell went off. Looking at the caller ID he saw it was Jeff Duccat, a friend of his and a lieutenant in the Pittsburgh PD homicide division.

 

“Jeff,” He answered casually, “How’re you doing tonight?”

 

“There’s been another murder.” Jeff’s voice was tense the other side of the line.

 

“What?” Townson felt his stomach tighten as fear suddenly crept into his gut. He looked around nervously; as the night suddenly seemed to hold hidden terrors that it hadn’t only seconds before. “Who was it?”

 

“It was Marcus and Holly,” Duccat answered with panic in his voice, “The bastard slit their wrists and throats and let them bleed out.”

 

“Was the sign of Babdah there?”

 

“Yeah, it was drawn in their blood. That makes seven of us that the god has taken now.”

 

“Why is this happening? We never gave the god’s Lieutenants the names of people that anyone would miss.

 

“Have you spoken to them about this? Surely they know what is going on.”

 

Duccat snorted in derision, which told Townson all needed to know about the Lieutenants and their response. “Those uptight bastards would never lift a finger to help us because of their precious immortal gift.”

 

“Then we’re on own against a mad god? We will be dead for sure.” 

 

 “Maybe this is just a test of faith.” Duccat suggested hopefully. “Surely another sacrifice would appease the gods enough that they would intervene on our behalf?”

 

“With the Lieutenants gone who-knows-where we’d have to perform the sacrifice ourselves,” Townson said “But we can’t risk an abduction--we might be identified.”

 

“Maybe we could find a couple of hookers to give to him,” Duccat said. “Hopefully that would be enough to protect us from the raven god.

 

“Stay alert. He is probably after us even as we speak.” Duccat told Townson before he hung up.

 

Townson cursed under is breath and went straight to his office, where his antiques weaponry collection was stored. As a history scholar, he was known for collecting rare and ancient lethal implements, so no one thought twice about the fact that he’d amassed a small arsenal of weapons. The average person saw that his wall was decorated with sharpened swords and spiked fails, and thought it was interesting. They never assumed that he proficient with each weapon that hung there.

 

He went straight to his desk without closing his door and reached for the one modern weapon in his arsenal: a 36 caliber revolver that he kept in the topmost drawer. He may have been proficient with ancient weaponry, but something had just killed seven of his associates. If he was in a defensive situation, he preferred to do his killing from a distance.

 

Just as his hand closed over the weapon, the caw of a bird caught his attention. He turned around and saw a crow perched on his opened window.

 

“Professor Albert Joel Townson I presume,” a dark voice said behind him. As he turned slowly around, he saw a man dressed completely in black. He’d tried to hide his features by painting over them in whiteface. Dramatic black lines twisted his features into a permanent expression of joy.

 

Yet the professor was chilled to realize that beneath the paint, the man’s own face grinned at him in an expression of demonic glee.

 

“Who are you?” he said in a shaky voice,

 

“I understand that you like to collect weapons,” the painted man ignored his question. “I just recently came across a couple of well forged antique daggers and was hoping you could take a look at them.”

 

“I’m sorry,” the professor said nervously. “These aren’t my normal office hours. Perhaps you could come back during the daytime?”

 

The man ignored his request, reached into his coat and produced two bloody daggers. They gleamed in the moonlight, and Townson inhaled sharply as he realized that he recognized them. He’d given them as anniversary gifts last year to Marcus and Holly.

 

“You,” he said in shock, “You’re the one who killed them.” Townson pulled out his gun and took aim, but the stranger moved with superhuman speed. Before the professor could blink, the man was forcing his gun hand down while at the same time dragging one of the daggers along it. Blood welled up at his wrist seconds before Townson registered the pain. He blinked down at the blood stupidly as the gun fell from his slackened grip.

 

“Funny,” the man said, “I want you to think of me as the one who killed you”. He told the professor with a scowl. “You’re just like the rest of them.”

 

“What?” Shock seemed to be setting in. The professor was finding it hard to think.

 

“I was told that you and the rest of your now deceased friends gave names to a false god. Names of people who you believed would not be missed. And in return you would be given gifts of fortune.” The man said the last part with disgust.

 

“What do you want?”

 

The man reached across the desk and grabbed him by the collar, dragging him across it.

 

“I want Michelle,” he spit the words back in Townson’s face. His own features twisted in opposition to the mask that he’d painted over them. “I want my life back, but most importantly, I want revenge.

 

“You sold the souls of your fellow man and for what? A new job? A new house? Beautiful women at your beck and call? Do you truly believe that that was enough for the blood you now have on your hands?”

 

Townson shook his head in mute denial. “We were only doing as we were told. We did it for the greater good of those who would survive the aftermath.”

 

The stranger must not have liked the answer he heard, because he threw Townson across the room with such force it knocked the wind out him when he hit the wall.

 

 Townson placed a hand on a nearby chair to steady himself as he rose to his feet slowly. But it was a wasted effort. The stranger threw the daggers at him with precision that the professor might have admired, had he not been the target. As the daggers shattered his kneecaps, he was driven painfully back to the ground.

 

“You did it for yourself.” The man shouted “People are dead because of your greed.”

 

Fear washed over Townson as he started to crawl towards the open door only to have it shut in front of him.

 

“Leaving so soon Professor?” the man asked mockingly as he stood over him, “But class is still in session.” With a kick to the jaw the stranger sent Townson sliding across the floor in to his desk.

 

“Please!” the professor pleaded through the pain. “It was the Lieutenants that performed the sacrifices.” He tried to back under the desk as he spoke. “We only gave them names of people who wouldn’t be missed.”

 

“That’s where you’re wrong.” The man said as he stalked towards him. “Someone important was killed. They were all important in their own way. And you will pay for your part in this.”

 

Townson saw his gun laying a couple inches from where he was. With a prayer to his god, he picked it up, aimed and fired at the man’s chest. The stranger stumbled back a step as the bullet impacted; leaving a clean bullet hole. But there, to Townsen’s horror, he saw that there was no blood. In shock Townson saw as the wound closed up leavening no sign that he was ever shot.

 

“Now that wasn’t very nice professor.” The stranger said calmly

 

Townson fired his gun until he heard a distinct click of an empty firearm. He fumbled with the gun, franticly trying to reload the weapon before the man reached him. He was surprised when one his of prized weapons pierced his wrist. As the pain telegraphed its way up his arm, he dropped the gun, and looked up in surprise. The stranger had taken the weapon off the wall and thrown it at him.

 

The man pulled another dagger from the collection on Townson’s wall and walked slowly towards the helpless man.

 

“You know, you really shouldn’t play with knives Professor. You could poke you an eye out.”

 

 

“Looks that new serial killer is at it again,” Dean told Sam as he read the paper in a café where they were eating. “Same MO, broke in, used whatever was handy and dressed in black. This time it was a couple of real estate agents and a college professor. And this time someone made a composite sketch of the guy. Handsome devil, what do you think Sam?”

 

Dean smirked as he turned the paper towards his brother and chuckled when he saw him jump. This was the fourth time that morning Dean had scared Sam with the picture using his extreme fear of clowns.

 

“Dude, knock it off.” Sam snapped.

“What?” he asked innocently.

 

“You know what.”

 

“I’m bored and I need to make my own fun Sammy,” Dean said as he went back to reading the paper, “We’ve been in this city for days and all of sudden it goes quiet. The demons vanish, no signs any vampires or werewolves and the only lead we got to work with are those rejects from Jonestown and Smiley the killer clown.”

 

Sam was going to say something when his cell phone went off. Looking at the caller ID and saw that it was Bobby Singer.

 

“Tell me you found something Bobby.” Sam said when he answered.

 

“I think I might have something, not sure if it applies here. But it sounds too damn close to be coincidental.” Bobby said on the other end of the line.

 

“What is it?”

 

“I just came across this legend--- actually, it sounds like more of a prophecy to me.” Bobby said in a troubled voice. “It tells of a war that will occur between three armies. ‘Says ‘they would gather at a point of power and begin to battle for the sake of the lands.’”

 

“And you think we’re at ground zero of this war? Bobby there hasn’t been any supernatural activity since we got here. Nothing has happened. It’s like they just vanished.”

 

“Kid whatever is out there could just be waiting for the right moment. Trust me. This is just the calm before the storm.”

 

“Is there anything more you can tell us about this war?” Sam asked. His question caused Dean to look from his paper.

 

“It says that the armies are made of those who are damned, those who are cursed and those who can not die. This sounds almost too much like the war the yellowed eyed demon talked about. This really sounds like some serious stuff that you boys are in. Just hope you don’t go biting off more than you can chew.”

 

“What about that cult we wanted you to look into?”

Bobby sighed in frustration. “Those murders that have been happening over there it just don’t add up.”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“What the police aren’t telling reporters is that they found tattooed symbols of pagan gods on the forearms of the bodies.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“That what I got from my sources. Looks like someone is offing members of the cult. This is one hell of a case you boys are in. Be careful over there. And if you need help call me and I’ll be there as fast I can.”

 

Sam hung up his cell and looked into Dean’s expectant face.

 

“What’d Bobby say?” Dean asked.

 

 “Do you wanna hear the good news first or the bad news first?” Sam asked.

 

“Is the bad news Telekinetic crazy girl-bad or Special sunglasses show that people are aliens-bad?”

”Try, we are the middle of the war the demon was talking about-bad?”

 

Sam proceeded to explain what Bobby had told over the phone.

 

“So, everything stopped when we got here because the bad guys haven’t finished putting on their make up for World War III?”

 

“In a way, yeah.” Sam told him as he turned back to his computer to search for more information. “Other then the serial killer, it’s been pretty much quiet. No omens, no sacrificial killings, and no werewolf or vampire mauling.

 

“If this is the beginning of the war, our chances just went from slim to none,” Sam told him.

 

“Like a one legged man in an ass kicking contest,” Dean muttered.

    

“We, just might need some help with this one.”

 

“Yeah and who’s gonna come and help?” Dean asked bitterly. “Besides Bobby, every other hunter’s gunning for us. And if they find out we’re at the Pearl Harbor of this war then they’ll have an even better excuse to come after us.

 

“So what’s the good news?” He asked.

 

“It appears that the serial killer is hunting down the members of the cult for us.”

 

“And why is that a good thing?”

 

Dean noticed that Sam had that look in his eyes when ever he discovered something they had missed.

 

“Dean, look at this,” Sam told him as he turned the laptop screen to him. It was a minor article about a grave that was found empty at a crypt in a local cemetery. “It says here the grave belonged to a Robert Anthony Cross. The name sounds familiar.”

 

“You think it could be some amateurs trying to get rid of a ghost?” Dean asked after he finished reading the article.

 

“No it says that the coffin was broken and the slab was kicked out from the inside.”

 

“So what? Is this like that necromancer zombie case in Lawrence?”

 

“Could be, but why bring this specific guy back to life?” Sam wondered as he typed in his name into his laptop. And then he remembered where he had heard the name and pulled up the names of all victims of the sacrificial killings. “I thought the name sounded familiar, Robert Cross was one of the first victims that the cult sacrificed. He and his fiancée were the first victims police found in the old steel mills with their hearts torn out.

 

“Maybe one his friends brought him back and didn’t know what the side effects of doing this was. Robert’s animated corpse could be the new serial killer in town.” Sam guessed.    

 

“Great now we got a dead killer clown on our plate.” Dean groaned as he leaned back in his seat. “It’s like that Rakshasa we hunted back west.”

 

“Don’t bring that up.” Sam told Dean, annoyed at the fact the conversation had gone to one hunt he would like to forget.

 

“So, let’s go talk with Mr. Cross’s friends and see what we can dig up on this clown in black.” Dean said as he signaled the waitress that they were ready for the check. “Another killer clown Sammy. Guess it’s going to get a lot more fun.”

 

“Can you please stop talking about clowns?” Sam said,

 

“You know what we should really rent? Killer Clowns from Outer Space.” Dean said as they were leaving.

 

“I hate you.” Sam groaned,

 

“I know you do.” The older brother replied with a smirk.

 

As they walked out the café, a petite blond haired woman in a business suit passed them at the door, Dean held it open for her, not sure why he did and was rewarded by a smile of thanks from the green eyed beauty.

 

He was about to follow her back in the café until Sam tugged him by his collar out of the establishment.

 

“What?” Dean looked at Sam with an annoyed expression.

 

“Dude, we don’t have time for this.”

 

“I was just gonna talk to her.”

 

“Yeah, and ask her for her number while you were at it.” Sam grumbled.

 

“Hey we’re allowed to have fun sometimes.”

 

“Dean if this is the war the yellow eyed demon was talking about I need your head in the game.” Sam told his older sibling, using Dean’s own word against him.

 

“Come on Sammy, my head is in the game.”

 

“I meant the head attached to your neck, not the one you’re thinking with right now.” As Sam finished his sentenced he saw the woman that had knocked his brother for a loop, take a seat at a table with an older man in a suit. “See! She’s already with someone.”

 

Dean looked at the table with the blond and an older man, who could pass for her father. Sam noticed a trace of hurt in his eyes. Dean then turned from the window and stalked down the street to where they parked the Impala.

 

“Dude, what is it with chicks and older guys?” he said angrily.