J2 AU Fic: Creature Feature (1/2)
May. 12th, 2011 01:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
saoneTitle: Creature Feature (1/2)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
saone77
Summary: Something hungry is lurking in Lake Winchester.
Rating: R
Warnings: Minor character death (somebody has to be monster-bait), descriptions of gore, wonky science.
Word Count: 20,204
Disclaimer: This is indulgent, cracktastic fiction.
Beta: Thanks go towirrrn for the look-through - and not frothing too badly at the Hollywood-izing of the 'monster' - and aythia for assuring me that this wasn't a huge, incomprehensible mess. ;) All mistakes are mine.
Notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
spn_cinema, this fic is based on one of my favorite comfort movies of all time - Lake Placid. It's a modern version of a fifties style Creature Feature, and worth a viewing by anyone who likes monster movies, humor with their horror, or Betty White being fabulous.
Part 1
Part 2
Dreamwidth
Ao3
"So, this is my tax dollars at work, huh?" Jensen Ackles says. He's got his arms crossed over his chest watching the Fish and Game guy he's babysitting zip up his wetsuit. Jensen thinks about offering to help the guy - Abel - with his gear, except that would require a bit more effort than he's willing to put into this expedition.
"You got something against nature, Sheriff?" Abel says. He's fiddling with his scuba tank, and looking kind of ridiculous with his cocky grin and neoprene covered stick legs.
"If I had something against nature do you think I'd live in the ass-end of Maine?" Jensen looks up, eyes scanning the calm - if murky - lake and the shore and treeline beyond. "I can like nature and still think studies like this are a waste of money, energy, and time."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Have I taken you away from the office during peak crime hours? Will the streets of Winchester run red with blood now that her fearless leader is out of town? You know, I bet, as we speak, some little old lady is jaywalking to get to the Shop 'n Save."
Jensen's not impressed. "Shouldn't you be counting beaver dick right about now?"
Abel laughs and flips him off before he flips himself over the side of the boat. Jensen watches as the ripples from Abel's splash fan out before they disappear, leaving the surface once again as tranquil and smooth as a piece of glass.
Jensen sighs and tilts his face to the sun, glad that Chris had reminded him to put on sunblock before he left the station. The only thing that would make this fool's errand worse would be if he gets burned on top of wasting a perfectly good morning.
"Mating habits of amphibious rodents, my ass," he mutters before he pulls out his cellphone and starts a game of solitaire.
Jensen's just won his fifth game in a row when, about thirty feet from the bow of the boat, Abel breaches the surface of the lake. He pops up like a cork, arms flailing, a high-pitched scream tearing it's way out of his mouth. Jensen startles so hard he drops his phone. But before he can do anything more than take a breath, Abel's gone again, his body disappearing under the water, leaving nothing but ripples behind.
"Abel! What the- Hang on!" Jensen starts the boat and steers towards where he saw the other man. He cuts the engine and peers over the side. His worried reflection stares back at him.
"Abel?" he calls out again. "Abel! Son of a..." Jensen can swim, but he's not a diver by any means. Would he even be able to find Abel in such dark water?
Jensen spends a few more precious seconds indecisively waiting before he says, "fuck it," and starts to pull off his boots. He's only managed to get the left one off when Abel practically explodes out of the water next to him.
"Shit!" Acting on pure instinct, Jensen reaches out and grabs Abel's arms. He tugs, trying to get the man out of the water, but he nearly gets pulled overboard himself when something tugs back. Abel's fingers dig into Jensen's arms painfully, and Jensen holds on just as tight. He uses his legs to brace himself against the side of the boat. For one sickening second the entire craft lurches sideways, and Jensen's sure he's going under. Then, the pressure holding Abel is gone, the boat rights itself, and Jensen's able to easily drag the man over the side.
Jensen sets Abel down and kneels beside him. He's pretty sure he's asking - screaming - questions, but there's blood rushing through his ears, and there's blood coming out of Abel's mouth. Abel's twitching - his shoulders and arms shaking with fine tremors - then he's abruptly still. His head slumps to the side.
Almost mechanically, Jensen's fingers search out Abel's carotid. It's instinct, and falling back on it helps Jensen beat off the shock that's trying to set in. His eyes snap up, scanning the surface of the lake as his hand reaches blindly for his cellphone. His fingertips brush the metal casing, but when he picks it up and examines it, he finds it waterlogged. He knows he probably wouldn't have been able to get a signal anyway, not this far out. He won't be able to call for help until he gets to the radio in his truck.
He knows this. Just like he knows that before he gets up, and starts the boat, and heads back to shore, he'll have to deal with what his mind's been shying away from. He'll have to take a good, long look, and then suck it up because he can't afford to get caught in the madness of what just happened.
As blood and viscera soaks into his pant legs, Jensen forces himself to look down Abel's body. To look past his chest. He forces himself to see why the man felt so damn light when he came out of the water.
_____________
"I'm fine," Jensen says. It's kind of become his mantra since what Mayor Gamble had so charmingly dubbed 'The Incident'. But he's not addressing her or the town council at the moment. Instead, he's facing the wholly unimpressed and disbelieving stare of his deputy, Chris Kane. "I am," Jensen says again, shoving his hands into his pockets and trying to adopt a nonchalant stance.
Chris, good friend that his is, isn't buying it. "Really? 'Cause, hell, son, I wouldn't be. You practically watched a man get torn in half." He turns his head to stare at the building behind them, like he could peer through the facade of Edlund's Funeral Home and see what remains of Jake Abel.
"But that's just it, Chris; I didn't." Jensen scrubs a hand through his hair. "I didn't see a damn thing."
Chris frowns. He purses his lips, like it's taking effort to hold something in.
"Don't say it," Jensen says.
"I wasn't gonna say anything."
"It's just been a couple hours and I've already heard people talking." Jensen crosses his arms over his chest and scowls. "The last thing I want is for a bunch of yahoos with more ammunition than sense to go out traipsing after some... some..."
"Lake monster?" Chris says, easily side-stepping the swat Jensen aims at his head.
"What did I just say?"
Chris shrugs. "Might be good for tourism. Didn't do Lake Champlain any harm. And you know where there's tourists there's tickets, which means revenue, which means both our sorry asses might end up surviving the next round of budget cuts."
Jensen blinks. "I'm scarily close to agreeing with you, which means I think it's time for you to head back to the office."
"Are you sure? Because I-"
"I'm fine." Jensen huffs out a short laugh. "Seriously, Chris, I am. I'm sure that when all is said and done I'll have a nice, long freakout, but for right now, I'm okay." He checks his watch. "The other Fish and Game guy I spoke to should be here any minute. We'll go in, hear what Traci may have found, and go from there."
Just as Jensen finishes talking a fairly newish, dark blue F-150 pulls up to the curb. The driver's door opens and this huge guy kind of unfolds himself from the cab. He's wearing jeans, the Fish and Game Department's khaki shirt, and a scowl.
"Ackles?" the man asks as he rounds the truck.
Jensen holds out his hand. The shake is brief and perfunctory. "Padalecki, right? This is Deputy Kane."
Padalecki doesn't look impressed with either of them. "Aren't you a little young for the job?" he asks Jensen.
Jensen can see Chris start to bristle. He holds up a quelling hand. "Unless you have a creepy painting stashed away in an attic someplace, I'm gonna have to say glass houses, man." He turns to Chris, hoping to cut off the probably caustic reply he can see brewing in Padalecki's face. "Why don't you head back to the office. We'll be along shortly."
"Jensen, I-"
"I got this," Jensen says. And he does, really. In fact, handling a pissed off Game Warden might just be the least taxing thing he'll have to do all day.
Chris nods and gives Padalecki a world class stink-eye before he starts the three block walk back to the office.
Jensen waits until Chris is out of earshot and then says, "I take it Abel was your friend."
"I barely knew the guy. But he could have been a complete stranger and I still wouldn't let you get away with this."
"Get away with..." Jensen's brow furrows. "Get away with what?"
Padalecki's all piss and vinegar. "With trying to to derail this investigation."
"What the hell?" Of all the reactions Jensen had expected from Abel's colleague - grief, anger, denial - an accusation of corruption wasn't on the list. "Okay, I'm not exactly sure what you think is-"
"Why did you bring Abel's body here instead of sending it straight to Bangor?"
Jensen takes a deep breath. He guesses that behavior could look a little suspect, but he had a good reason for keeping the body in town. "Because Edlund's is the only place around with a body freezer, so it acts as the town morgue when needed, and I wanted someone to take a look at Abel now while his wounds are fresh." He doesn't add how he wouldn't exactly trust the state guys not to pass off what had happened as nothing more than an accident.
"Right," Padalecki says, sneer still firmly in place, "his wounds. I read your preliminary report, and there is only one thing in New England lakes that can make injuries like that."
Jensen starts. Granted, his purview is mostly land oriented, but could what have happened really be explained simply by someone in the know? Could the answer to this horrific event be ho-hum and mundane to a nature guy? "Dude, seriously? What?"
"Boat propellers."
It takes a moment for Padalecki's answer to sink into Jensen's brain, but once it does, it only takes an instant to make him see red. "Wait a minute, you think-"
"I think you ran him over. You realized what you did, and you proceeded to concoct some story-"
Jensen's hand ball into fists. "Concoct?!"
"Yeah, concoct. Make up. Falsify. Lie out your-"
Jensen holds up a hand and cuts the other man off by saying, "you know what, fine. Don't believe me. But if you're just going to make up your mind and blame me without knowing all the facts about what happened, then you can just head on back to your state office. I don't need your kind here. Now, I am going to go into our make-shift morgue and see what Doc Dinwiddie has found. If you can pull your head outta your ass, you're more than welcome to join me." Jensen stalks off towards Edlunds, not really caring if Padalecki is following him or not. He knows what really happened on that lake, and he hopes to hell Traci will be able to tell the overgrown jackass that it was definitely not a boating accident.
_____________
"To quote Richard Dreyfuss," Traci Dinwiddie says, "'this was no boating accident'."
Jensen wants to aim a triumphant smirk towards the still frowning Game Warden, but he restrains himself. The doc, normally so irrepressible, looks to have aged ten years. Whatever she found must have been bad, and Jensen feels his stress level ratchet up just that much higher.
"If you don't mind," Padalecki says, rather primly, "I'd like to have a look at the body."
Traci's eyebrows shoot up. She glances at Jensen. He shrugs, and she says, "knock yourself out."
Jensen's seen enough of Abel's corpse to last him a lifetime, so he makes sure to keep his eyes trained on Padalecki. He can't help but take a bit of satisfaction at seeing the jackass' face go from healthy tan to sickly gray. Padalecki swallows a few times, and Jensen hopes there's a trashcan nearby.
To his credit, the big man doesn't throw up. He even leans down to get a closer look at Abel's wounds.
"Well?" Traci asks, a smidge of condescension in her voice.
Padalecki straightens. "You're right. I don't know what did this, and there will have to be a full autopsy, of course, but... This wasn't caused by a propeller." He looks at Jensen, contrition written plainly across his face. "I'm sorry about what I-"
"Don't worry about it."
"No, but I-"
"Dude," Jensen says, voice firm, "you apologized once; that's enough for me. Now, you guys have told me what didn't cause this; is there any chance of telling me what did?"
"Actually," Traci says, "I found something. In the wound."
When nothing more is forthcoming, Jensen prods a bit. "What did you find?"
"It's..." Traci pinches the bridge of her nose. She gives a harsh, little laugh. "Honestly, I'm having a little bit of trouble with this, Jensen. I mean, you know me; I'm as open-minded as someone around here gets, but..." She takes a deep breath and stands up a little straighter. "The injuries aren't concurrent with those inflicted by a propeller. His spine was... crushed, not cut. And I while I was examining the edges of his torso I saw something odd protruding from one of his rib bones." Traci directs them to a side table where she gently unfolds a white cloth.
They all stare for a moment at the incongruous thing before them.
"It's a tooth." Padalecki says.
"It's a big-ass tooth," Jensen adds. The thing has to be at least two and a half inches long, if not larger. It's a conical shape and wicked looking as hell.
"Yeah," Traci says. "Pretty much."
"What's it a tooth from?" Jensen asks.
"At what point in the past few minutes did I become a zoologist?!" Traci grimaced. "Sorry. Sorry." She rolls her shoulders back, and the pops from a few cracking bones echo through the small room. "I don't know what it's from. I did take the liberty to send the measurements, along with a couple of pictures, to some people I know in a few different fields. I'm hoping one of them might have an answer. It's just... I'm not the only one creeped out right now, am I?"
Jensen clears his throat, but he doesn't answer. He also very pointedly does not think about how close he came to being dumped in the lake this morning.
"What about you, Mr. Fish and Game guy?" Traci arches an eyebrow.
Padalecki looks horrifically out of his depth, and very, very young. He leans down until his face is less than an inch away from the tooth. "It doesn't look... My best guess would be a bear incisor, except I'm pretty sure I'd be wrong."
"Bear?" Jensen shakes his head. "That size, it'd have to be a grizzly - one hell of a grizzly - and they haven't been found in New England for about a century."
"Which is one of the reasons I said I'd be wrong," Padalecki says, a bit of his former testiness raising its head. "Also, the shape is... off." He takes a deep breath. "I've never seen anything like it."
"It looks almost..." Traci pauses, "Fuck my life. Prehistoric, okay? It looks prehistoric."
Jensen privately agrees, but he's certainly not ready to voice that opinion out loud. Yet.
Jared slowly shakes his head. "No, this isn't a fossil. I don't know what kind of creature this came out of, but I do know it was alive when it lost the tooth."
"I didn't say it looked like a fossil," Traci's voice is soft and serious, "I said it looked prehistoric."
Padalecki doesn't scoff, or call her crazy. He blinks a few times and asks Jensen, "how long did the attack last?"
Jensen's mouth is dry. "Seconds. It took seconds. I think if it had gone on any longer it would have capsized the boat."
"Your boat nearly turned over?" Padalecki's eyes grow wide.
Traci reaches over and places her hand on Jensen's shoulder. She squeezes, her grip surprisingly strong. "Gotta say, I'm pretty damn glad you stayed dry today, Sheriff."
Jensen glances at the tooth. "You and me both."
Padalecki clears his throat, bringing their attention to him. "I'd like to see this lake," he says.
Jensen checks his watch. "First thing tomorrow." Padalecki opens his mouth, probably to argue, and Jensen says, "The lake's about twenty-five miles outside of town. By the time we get there, and get a boat unhitched and in the water, the sun'll be on its way down. I'm not going out there in the dark, Padalecki, and neither are you."
"Jared."
"What?"
"We'll more than likely dispense with formalities at some point during this investigation," Jared shrugs and looks oddly bashful, "might as well do it now."
Jensen can recognize an olive branch when he sees one. Besides, if worse comes to worse, a two syllable name would be much easier to yell out in a life or death situation. "Jensen," he says, slightly inclining his head.
"Did I just witness some sort of odd, male-bonding ritual?" Traci asks. "Are there any more steps? Does anything need to be compared and/or measured?"
Jensen rolls his eyes. "Don't you have a body to prepare for transport?" He grips Jared's elbow and starts to maneuver him out of the room. "Let me know if you hear anything about the tooth," he says over Traci's griping. He's glad that Traci's personality wasn't completely beaten down by the shock of Abel's body; he just wishes it hadn't started to resurface in front of company.
_____________
Standing out in the pleasant sunshine of a gorgeous day, the information Jensen had just learned from Traci seems even more nightmarish - there's something currently unidentifiable and carnivorous living in Winchester Lake.
Regardless of the mild temperature, Jensen feels a chill run down his spine.
Padalecki, no, Jared, looks like he's undergoing his own internal crisis.
"You okay?" Jensen asks. He doesn't offer a friendly hand to an arm or shoulder, like he would do with his deputies or friends, but Jensen does stand a bit closer than he normally would.
Jared gives him a weak smile. "Just trying to wrap my head around things," he says. "Again, I'm really sorry for how I acted-"
"Hey, what did I say?"
"Either you let me apologize proper-like, or you'll have to deal with the consequences once my festering, lapsed-Catholic guilt takes over my life and leaves me a shell of the man I once was."
Jensen blinks a few times, but when he catches a subtle twinkle in Jared's eye he lets out a bark of a laugh that startles them both. "Sorry," he says, chuckling, "guess I needed to release some tension."
"Can't imagine why."
"Yeah. And feel free to grovel if you think it would help assuage any regret over your obvious failings in tact and discretion." Jensen can't quite keep a straight face and he's rewarded when Jared smiles big enough to show off two rather impressive dimples. He's not exactly sure what's going on, but if Jensen didn't know any better, he'd swear this feels like flirting.
"I don't know about groveling," Jared says, "but I could definitely get behind buying you a cup of coffee."
Okay, maybe it is flirting. Jensen is both thrilled - Officer Padalecki ain't exactly hard on the eyes - and slightly incredulous - it was just a few hours ago that he almost got eaten by something. And while normally Jensen wouldn't look the gift horse of hot guy flirting with him in the mouth, there are more important things on his plate than his woeful lack of a love life.
"Tell you what," he says, "why don't we walk on over to the Roché Café, you buy me that cup of coffee, and we have nice, little chat about our... problem."
"You don't want to drive?" Jared asks, hooking a thumb towards his truck.
"Nah, it's not that far, only a block or so." He raises an eyebrow. "In case you missed it, Winchester ain't that big."
"Yeah, I kinda got that with the whole funeral home doubling as a morgue thing." They start to walk. "And Traci isn't an official coroner, is she?"
"That's one of her duties," Jensen says, "but she's mainly the town G.P."
Jared shows his dimples again. "It's very... Mayberry-esque. Is Deputy Kane only allowed one bullet?"
Jensen laughs again, in spite of himself. "I'm pleading with you to never say that again. Ever. Especially if you want to keep yourself un-perforated."
"Duly noted," Jared says.
After a few more minutes of affable chatting, interposed with the occasional teasing remark by Jared - the man could be quite charming when he wasn't acting like an ass - they arrive at the café. Jensen pauses before opening the door. He puts a light hand on Jared's chest. "Fair warning, the owner is... a bit eccentric."
"Isn't everyone in this town?" Jared asks cheekily.
"I'm going to take that as a compliment," Jensen says before pushing the heavy glass door open and stepping inside. He waves and nods as various cries of 'Sheriff' ring out from around the restaurant. He spies an empty booth in the corner, but before he can claim it a soft hand lands on his arm.
"Is it true," Julie McNiven asks, her eyes solemn and wide. "Is there really a monster out in Winchester Lake?"
Even thought Julie's voice was soft it must have carried because Jensen can almost see several sets of ears perk up. He clears his throat and puts on his best 'public official' face. "Julie, there's-"
"I heard a man got bit in half," Katie Cassidy interrupts from her place at the counter. "Care to comment?"
In Jensen's opinion, Katie would be much more at home terrorizing surfers or baby seals then running the weekly published Winchester Gazette. He forces a smile onto his face. "Now, Ms. Cassidy-"
"There was an incident at Winchester Lake," Jared says smoothly, stepping up beside Jensen, "and a man was killed. But I can assure you that the Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife, working in tandem with the Winchester Sheriff's Department, will be launching a full investigation into the matter. And, until the time that said investigation is concluded, I'm going to insist that all inquires into the matter be handled by the state office in Augusta."
"We have a right-"
"To call the state office in Augusta, yes, you do."
Katie looks gobsmacked. "But-"
"You have a nice day, Ma'am." Jared's grin is blinding.
Jensen bites back his irritation and gives Katie and anyone else watching a 'what can you do' type of shrug. He then brushes past Jared and walks to the booth. Once Jared's settled in on the bench opposite his Jensen says, "look, I understand that Fish and Game automatically takes the lead in this, and I'm only really still around by your good graces, but in the future, if you could try to not completely undermine me in front of-"
"Jensen," Jared says, cutting him off, "I'm not trying to undermine you." Jared's eyes cut away, and he picks at an edge of his paper placemat. "I wouldn't try and undermine you. I just thought I could deflect some of the attention away from you." The top of Jared's cheeks flush. "My job isn't dependent on these people voting for me in the next election cycle, which means I can be an unhelpful hardass without worrying about any repercussions. Unlike you."
"Oh," Jensen says, slightly mollified. "Well. Thanks. I guess." He leans across the table. "You know that's not gonna stop people from talking, right? In fact, an attitude like that might make them talk more."
"As long as they don't waste our time by talking to us, I don't really care. You know as well as I do that there's no hope trying to shut down small town gossip. The best we can hope for is finding our answers before the public starts to get really belligerent."
Before Jensen has a chance to respond that even if Jared made himself a convenient target, he and his deputies would still be the ones handling the complaints, Seb, the café's owner, comes sauntering up to their table.
"Gentlemen, I'm running a two for one Winnie Special. Trout, caught fresh this morning," Seb lowers his voice conspiratorially, "and the fisherman lived to tell the tale."
"Winnie?" Jensen asks, already knowing he's going to regret it.
"Of course. Like Nessie, or Chessie. I'm even going to be generous and not trademark the name," Seb huffs. "And some people say I wouldn't know civic duty if it fell on my face and started to wriggle." He looks down the length of the room and makes a rather rude gesture towards one of the Town Councilmen sitting in a booth along the opposite wall. "Suck it, Singer!" He turns back to Jensen. "Do you think it's too early to order tee-shirts? What about plushies? Bumperstickers?"
Jensen feels a pulse of pain shoot out from behind his eyes. He makes a mental note to pick up some Tylenol before he heads back to his office. "Yes."
"Hmmm. I suppose you're right. No one's even seen the beastie yet. I would hate to get stuck with a plesiosaur design only to find out its some sort of eel-like creature."
"Yeah," Jensen says dryly, "that would suck." He glances over to Jared who looks like he just swallowed something unpleasant. "Can we get two coffees?" he asks Seb.
"Of course. If you want to be boring." Seb makes a notation on his server's pad and saunters off.
"I did warn you," Jensen says.
Jared leans across the table and whispers, "you said 'eccentric', not a promotion-hungry loon. Jake's body is barely cold, for Chrissakes."
Jensen winces and tries not to think about Chris' tourism idea. "Look, you have to understand, this is a small town. Nothing happens here. Ever." Jensen lays his palms flat on the table. "So, when you have a gory tragedy compounded by a mystery, people are going to act a little... nutty, at first." He nods a thanks as Julie sets coffees in front of them.
When she's gone Jared says, "you don't think any of your other 'eccentrics' might do something stupid, do you, like try and find this thing on their own?"
"I've already sent a deputy out to cordon off the main access road, and I've got others spreading the word among the county's more enthusiastic hunters and fishermen that the entire area's off limits."
"What about the people who live on the lake?"
"Well, that's kind of where we lucked out. It's mostly uninhabited. It has been a traditional spot for skinny-dipping with the high-school age crowd, but the only people who live within miles of it are a couple of old codgers, Jim Beaver and Stephen Williams. They got grandfathered in when the place became a state park back in the seventies."
"Isn't that a little odd," Jared asks, "for a lake that size to be uninhabited?"
Jensen shrugs. "Ever since Campbell Reservoir was built most people just go there for boating or fishing - it's closer to town, and a hell of a lot easier to get to. Lake Winchester only has one paved access road and that leads to the main dock. In fact, when we go out to talk to Beaver and Williams we'll probably just take the boat and go 'cross the lake instead of trying to navigate one of the trucks through the woods."
Jared's eyebrows raise. "We?"
Jensen feels foolish. He had naturally assumed that he, and the rest of the Sheriff's department, would continue to be involved in the investigation. "I just thought... I mean, of course, if you want to handle this alone then-"
"No!" Jared looks alarmed. "I didn't mean..." He fiddles with his cup for a moment, then takes a sip. "I appreciate you automatically involving me in the interview."
"But you-"
"I know technically I'm in charge. But you know these people and this area, Jensen; there's no way I could do this without you."
Jensen tries to hide his pleased smile behind the rim of this coffee cup. "Well," he says after swallowing, "you could. It would just take you longer, and you'd probably suck at it."
Jared's pleased grin seemed to indicate they were back on equal footing. "Uh huh. When do you want to talk to the, uh, codgers?"
"First thing tomorrow morning while Chris and the others set up camp," Jensen says. He looks through the window of the café to the lengthening shadows on the street. He looks back to Jared. "Do you need me to find you a place to stay tonight? There's a motel not too far down the highway, or I'm sure I could find somebody to put you up." Jensen tries to remember just how messy his guestroom is. He's pretty sure he ran the vacuum through there at least some time in the past few months.
"You offering?" Jared's dimples are back, and they seem to get deeper as Jensen's face gets redder. "Thanks, but I'm gonna have to head back home and get my gear anyway. I'm only about two hours away so it's not that bad."
Jensen snorts. "Yeah, I guess on your trip out you didn't think you'd be sticking around here very long, huh?"
Jared ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck. "I'm really glad I was wrong. About you, I mean." He clears his throat and pulls his wallet out of a back pocket. "I should head out," he says, putting a few bills on the table. "I'll meet you at your office, around seven?"
"Sounds good," Jensen says. He watches Officer Padalecki ease out of the booth and gracefully maneuver around tables, chairs, and townspeople. When he gets to the door he pauses, looks over his shoulder, and smiles at Jensen. Then he's gone and Jensen is left with an odd feeling in his chest from his heart beating double-time.
Seb appears at the table to collect the money and Jared's cup. "I heard Chris thinks your tall drink of something is a bit of a prick, but he seemed all right to me."
"How did you hear... you know what, never mind," Jensen says. "And he's not my tall drink of anything."
Seb gives him an admonishing look. "Sheriff," he says chidingly. "Changing gears, I know we agreed it's too early for tee-shirts, but what do you think about hats?"
_____________
Jensen's more than a little apprehensive about getting back on the lake. But when the time comes, he swallows his nerves, shores up his pride, straightens his spine and, without hesitation, climbs on board the whaler Jared brings down the next morning. He sits back and keeps his eyes peeled as Jared steers them across the water. The surface is as calm as ever, and with a breeze lightly blowing in from the south and a symphony of birdsong coming from the gently swaying trees, it's almost enough to make Jensen forget about the harrowing, near death experience he had not more than twenty-four hours ago.
"Pretty place," Jared calls out over the noise of the engine as he pilots the twenty foot-long whaler.
Jensen grunts noncommittally.
"You know, I can't help thinking about what you said yesterday," Jared says, a teasing tone to his voice, "about the skinny-dipping." He looks over his shoulder at Jensen. "You know about that from personal experience?"
Jensen shifts a bit on his hard, wooden seat. "As a sworn officer of the law I'm afraid I have to decline to answer that." Jared's laughter rings out, and Jensen feels ridiculously pleased with himself. He's already firmly told himself to not put a lot of stock in Jared's flirtations, but there shouldn't be any harm in playing along a bit. Especially not when it gets him another glimpse of those dimples.
Jared opens his mouth, but whatever remark he was going to make is truncated by the appearance of a small homestead on the other side of a bend in the lake. There's a cape style house set off to the side, just beyond the bulkhead, and a smattering of outbuildings including a well-kept looking barn. Chickens flit here and there while a half dozen cows and two horses stare balefully out from behind a split-rail fence.
"Nice place," Jared says as he pulls the boat up alongside the dock and cuts the engine.
Jensen doesn't respond. He's keeping his attention on the figure ambling out of what looks like a well-tended garden, a hoe in one hand and a shotgun in the other.
Smooth as silk, Jensen flips the snap on his holster. He doesn't touch the butt of his gun, but his hand hovers close enough for his intentions to be clear. With the sun glinting off his star pinned to his shirt, he calls out, "Mr. Beaver. Winchester's Sheriff's Department. Mind putting down your weapon?"
There's a tense moment when the old man doesn't react. Then he shrugs, spits onto the ground, and tucks the shotgun under his arm. He gestures with his now free hand before saying, "come on if you're coming," and turns around to walk towards his house.
Jared lets out a breath, and he and Jensen share a bemused look. "Eccentrics," Jared mutters.
"You love it." They climb off the boat, and Jensen takes the lead, keeping himself between Jared and the darkened door Beaver disappeared through. He doesn't necessarily think the old man is going to pull something, but instinct tells him to not secure his holster just yet.
The interior of the house is neat, if a bit barren. There are a few pictures on the walls, mostly of pastoral scenes, but no photographs or real knickknacks to speak off. Jensen follows the sounds of Beaver puttering through the living room and towards the entryway to a kitchen.
"I ain't much on social graces, but I think I remember how this goes. You fellas want anything?" Beaver asks, a carafe of coffee in one hand an a chipped mug in the other.
"No thank you," Jared says. "We just have a couple of questions and then we'll be outta your hair."
Beaver takes off his hat. "Son, I ain't had hair for close to two decades. Now, why don't you tell me why the hell you're disturbing my peaceful existence?"
Jensen coughs into his fist. "Sir, yesterday a Fish and Game official was attacked and killed on the lake. Since you and Mr. Williams are the only residents out here, we thought we'd ask if either of you have seen or experienced anything... odd, lately?"
Beaver's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, attacked?"
"Just what it sounds like," Jensen says. "He was attacked."
"By what?"
"That's what we're trying to ascertain, Mr. Beaver," Jared says. "And why we're asking if you've noticed anything unusual in or around the lake?"
Beaver stares at Jared for close to a minute before he says, "nope. Can't say as I have. Been the same around here as always."
Over the course of his decade wearing a badge, Jensen's dealt with enough people trying to get away with stuff to know a liar when he sees one. "That right?" he asks, injecting a good amount of disbelief into his tone.
Beaver's gaze swings around to him. "Yeah, that's right," he says mockingly.
"Uh huh." Jensen eases back on his heels. "And would Mr. Williams have the same answer?"
"Since I'm not him, I wouldn't rightly know, now would I?"
"Getting a little testy, Mr. Beaver?" Jensen waves off Beaver's sure-to-be acidic response. "Is Mr. Williams around?"
"No, he ain't." Beaver crosses his arms over his chest. "And I'd appreciate it if you two fine gentlemen would get the hell out of my house."
Jensen feels Jared lightly touch his elbow, but he brushes it off. Beaver's sweating, and there's blood in the water. "Your house? So, Mr. Williams doesn't live here anymore?"
"I didn't say that."
"Then where is he?"
"Around."
"Around where?"
"Just... around."
"And he's coming back..."
"Later."
"This afternoon?"
"No. Maybe."
"Uh huh. And where did he go?"
"Out. He's just... out."
"When's he gonna be back?"
"He's not!" Beaver's brain catches up to his mouth. He points a shaking finger at Jensen. "You're an asshole."
"Yep, I am," Jensen says. "Why isn't Mr. Williams coming back?
Beaver's eyes are slits in his craggy face. "Because the man's been dead for almost two years."
Jensen exchanges a quick glance with a perplexed Jared. "My department doesn't have any record of that."
"Ain't that a shame. Nothing pisses me off more than incomplete record keeping."
Jensen scowls, but before he can say anything untoward, Jared steps in and asks, "I'm sorry, Mr. Beaver, but what was the cause of your friend's death? Was he ill? Was he sick? Was he-"
"Swallowed?" Jensen lets out a tiny grunt as Jared's rather pointy elbow connects with his ribcage.
"Sir," Jared says, "the man who was attacked yesterday, he was killed by some kind of... animal. Do you know how your friend died?"
Beaver's eyes flit back and forth between the two officers for a moment before he says, "aw, hell." He puts his hat back on and pulls the brim low. "Yeah, I should know how he died. I killed the son-of-a-bitch."
Jensen blinks a few times. "You... did what?"
"Steve had a whole slew of health problems," Beaver says with what looks like real sorrow etched onto his face. "First it was his lungs, then his joints, then it was the stomach pain. But it was when his mind started to go that he made me promise to end things if it ever got too bad."
"Why didn't you take him to the hospital?"
"The only one he could afford to go to is the VA, and the nearest one of those is all the way in Augusta. 'Sides, he was convinced that all of his problems were caused by the government and all the Agent Orange he got exposed to back in 'Nam." Beaver squares his shoulders and fixes both younger men with a steely gaze. "He wanted to die here, in his home. So, after one of his really bad days, I... hit him over the head with my grandpappy's cast iron skillet, and I buried him by the bulkhead." He glares at Jensen who's pinching the bridge of his nose, like that could actually ward off the migraine that's forming. "You gonna arrest me, Columbo?"
_____________
"Shouldn't you arrest him?" Jared asks as he pilots away from Beaver's house and towards the area a few miles away from the main dock where Jensen's deputies are making camp.
"Probably," Jensen says, shrugging. "But hell if I'm gonna do it now. I'll put in a request for a sate forensics team to come out and uncover the body. Honestly, the old guy's probably more of a danger to himself than anyone else. Besides, if I'm right, Mr. Williams was most likely receiving Social Security, and if his death wasn't property reported, then..."
"Those checks are still being mailed out," Jared says.
"And that's a federal matter." Jensen says with a grin. "It's all about delegating."
"Ah." Jared shakes his head, but there's a smile on his face. For a few moments there's just the steady sound of the boat's motor and a few calls from distant birds, then Jared says, almost absently, "sure is calm out here. Peaceful."
"Yeah." Jensen closes his eyes and tilts his head up to the sun. If he wasn't going to soon start a hunt for some kind of carnivorous creature, he might be inclined to take a nap. "Our very own Lake Placid."
Jared hums. He sounds distracted.
Jensen opens his eyes and asks, "you okay?"
"Yeah," Jared says, "it's just... Do you see that?" He raises one long arm to point out across the water. There's something there, about one hundred yards away, bobbing on the surface. Jared steers the boat towards it.
Jensen narrows his eyes. "The hell? Looks like some kind of a branch." But as they draw closer he can see quite plainly that it definitely isn't a branch. It is organic, though. They pull up alongside the object, and Jensen gives Jared a heavy look before he reaches over and grabs one of the large antlers. His muscles strain and with a grunt he pulls the decapitated head of a mature moose into the boat. It lands with a wet squish.
"Christ," Jared says, crouching down. "It's fresh. Fish haven't even gotten the eyes yet."
Jensen's hand automatically rests on his service revolver as his eyes scan the still and tranquil surface. "Jared, whatever this is ate half of a full grown man yesterday morning, and then got hungry enough twenty-four hours later to go after a, what, eight hundred, nine hundred pound moose? What the hell are we dealing with here?"
Jared shakes his head and doesn't' answer. Instead, he asks a question of his own. "How many deputies have you got?"
_____________
When Jared and Jensen reach camp its already bustling with activity, all of which stops when Jared hauls the moose head out of the boat.
"Shit," Aldis says, followed quickly by, "I quit."
Jensen rolls his eyes. "Nobody's quitting." He turns to Chris. "Everything set up?"
"Malik and Alona are finishing up with the tents." He looks at Jared with only the slightest bit of animosity still lingering from the previous day. "We got most of your gear unpacked too."
"Thanks, man," Jared says flashing that day-glo grin of his. Chris' eyes widen for a brief second. Then he frowns and harrumphs his way across camp. Jared turns to Jensen. "I'm growing on him, I can tell."
"Hmm. Like a particularly tall strain of slime mold." Jensen sidesteps a swipe from one of Jared's massive paws. "All right, who doesn't have something to do?" He snorts as Aldis and Richard scurry off from one blink to the next, leaving a confused looking Travis in their wake.
Travis gingerly raised a hand. "Uh, me? I guess."
"Get one of the cameras out and take pictures of the head; make sure you get close-ups of the wound." Jensen watches the color drain from Travis' face. When he's pretty sure the guy's not going to faint or puke he says, "then take it away from camp and bury it. We don't want a decomp smell attracting any predators here."
"Right," Travis says, swallowing heavily, "that would be bad."
Jensen claps a hand on Travis' shoulder. "Get Aldis and Richard to help you."
Travis grins wickedly. "Thanks, Sheriff. Hey..." He cocks his head to one side, and his eyes go distant. "You guys hear that?"
Jensen looks to Jared, who shrugs, but a second later he picks up on an odd sound too. Now that he's listening for it, there's the distinctive thwapping of rotary blades.
"A helicopter?" Jensen raises an eyebrow and looks at Jared. "One of yours?"
"Hell," Jared says, snorting, "I had to beg, plead, and cajole with my boss just to get the damn boat." His eyes look up, panning the sky. "State boys, maybe?"
"Nope, not state," Jensen mummers as the chopper comes into view. Its a dull brown with fitted floats. They watch as it makes one circuit of the immediate area before descending towards the water. With its approach, Jensen can now see that what he thought was a drab brown is actually some sort of stylized design with the underside of the helicopter looking almost like scales.
"Interesting paint job," Jared says, frowning.
"Isn't it just." Jensen glances around at the small crowd of deputies that's grown around them. "Don't you all have things you need to be doing?" He cocks a pointed eyebrow, and when that doesn't work, he makes shooing motions with his hands. "Git," he says, as all but Chris reluctantly disperse.
"I'm good," Chris says in a tone that brooks no arguments. He clearly is going to have Jensen's back, whether Jensen wants him to or not.
Jensen rolls his eyes and ignores Jared's amused smile before turning his attention back to the helicopter.
It touches down by the shoreline. A minute later the pilot's door opens, and a rather disheveled looking man climbs out. When he sees Jensen and the others his face splits into a wide grin, and he hurries over to greet them.
"Hello! Gorgeous day, isn't it?" he says, breathing in deeply. He's only an inch or two shorter than Jensen, and the wildness of his hair pales in comparison to the wildness in his eyes. "And what a lake! Perfect. Just perfect." He claps his hands together. "Who do we have from Fish and Game?"
Jared raises both eyebrows and a hand. "Me."
The man nods but doesn't spare Jared more than a glance. He peers out into the water. "I can see the algae bloom coming in. The water looks almost stagnant. Misha Collins, pleasure to meet you. I need topographic studies of the entire area." When no one immediately jumps at his request he turns back and stares at them with his startlingly blue eyes. "Sometime soon would be nice," he says slowly with more than a hint of condescension. "We might have time for a quick scout."
Jensen shakes his head. He can't help feeling that there was a large chunk of conversation that was missing. "I'm sorry, who are you?"
The man's head tilts to one side as he studies Jensen. "I see this county doesn't require an I.Q. test for its civil servants. Misha Collins; I said it once, let me know when it sinks in."
Jensen's mouth gapes, and he can feel Chris and Jared bristle. Before any of them can say anything the man continues blithely on, like he didn't just insult a lawman.
"Have you seen it?" Collins asks, face bright with undisguised curiosity and glee.
Jensen pulls himself together and growls out, "mister, if you don't tell me what your purpose is here I am going to arrest you."
Collins scoffs. "On what grounds."
"Pissing me the hell off. It's a small town; I can get away with shit like that."
"He really can," Chris adds.
"Hmm." Collins eyes blatantly track up and down Jensen's body. He licks his lips. "Feisty. I like it."
Jensen doesn't know whether to shoot the bastard or go home and take a long shower.
Jared clears his throat, and in a stern voice asks, "your purpose?"
"Oh, yes," Collins says, his eyes clearing. "I'm here to help you find it."
Again, Jensen knows he's missed something. "Find what?"
Collins grins. "The crocodile, of course."
_____________
"Yeah... Uh huh... That's just peachy, Traci," Jensen says into his new phone. He's pacing along the edge of camp, keeping one eye on Jared - who's having his own phone conversation - and the other on the lunatic unpacking his helicopter. "Well, I don't care if you like him; the guy's obviously nuts... No, no, I don't want you coming out here... Yeah... Fine... Okay." He closes his phone and resists the urge to pound his head against the nearest sturdy-looking tree.
"That sucked," Jared says, closing his own phone and slipping it into his pocket.
"What did your boss say?" Jensen asks.
"You mean after he stopped laughing?" Jared sighs. "If I can give him definitive proof, he'll call in the federal guys from Florida, but he's refused to give me access to any of our more advanced sonar equipment." He frowns and agitatedly runs a hand through his hair. "If, if, it is a crocodile than it's going to have to come on land at some point. I guess our best bet will be to look for tracks."
"You do know there's over one-hundred miles of shoreline here, right?"
Jared's shoulders slump. "I'm not doing anything for the next few months. What did Traci have to say?"
Jensen closes his eyes and prays for serenity. "She and Mr. Whack-job met at a retreat in Sri Lanka a few years ago. His dayjob is a mythology professor, but he spent most of their time together regaling her with stories about how he travels all over the world to swim with crocodiles."
Jared's eyebrows go up. "Swim with them?"
"Like I said, whack-job."
"Actually," Collins says, having sneaked up on them like some damn cat, "I prefer Misha. And did Traci also tell you that I'm considered an expert in my field?"
"Yeah," Jensen says grudgingly, "she did."
Collins holds holds out his hands and puts on what he probably considers a placating expression. "Look, I understand your reluctance to trust me. I don't agree with it, and I think you're both being incredibly narrow-minded and stupid, but I understand. It's hard for people who aren't that intelligent to-"
"Hey!"
"Excuse me?"
"At least the two of you are pretty," Collins says. "Who needs to be smart when you have good bone structure, right?"
"I'm gonna shoot him," Jensen says.
"Jensen," Jared chides, "think of the paperwork. Mr. Collins-"
"Misha."
"Whatever, we appreciate any expertise you might bring to the table, but what makes you so sure that what we're dealing with here is a crocodile?"
"The tooth," Misha says simply. "It's crocodilian. No ifs, ands or buts about it. Gentlemen, somewhere in or around this lake is an extremely, extremely, large reptile. They've been migrating north, you know, and this lake does connect to the ocean; it's not as far-fetched as it may sound."
"Then why don't we hear about them in any of the mid-Atlantic states?"
"There have been confirmed Alligator reports as far north as Virginia. And the only real difference between alligator and crocodile habitat is the type of water they prefer." Misha shrugs. "Just because there are no news reports about them doesn't mean they aren't there. Crocodiles are the ultimate stealth predators. Most of the time they're only seen when humans know specifically what to look for, or if they come out of the water to grab something. And even then, attacks generally only last-"
"Seconds," Jensen says faintly. He can't help thinking of the various nature specials he's watched over the years, of the classic image of a Nile croc snatching some poor gazelle or impala right off the banks of the river. Jensen wonders, when he was leaning over the side of the boat calling for Abel, if he could have been snatched just as easily. He clears his throat, shoves his shaking hands into the pockets of his jeans, and ignores the look of concern on Jared's face. "Okay," he says, injecting a false bravado into his voice, "then how could it survive the winter? This isn't exactly a tropical climate."
"As long as their nostrils don't freeze, they survive," Misha says. "That's what they are, gentlemen - survivors. Crocodiles have barely changed in the last million years. The animals that we see today are the exact same ones proto-humans saw five hundred thousand years ago. Think about that for a minute."
Jensen doesn't want to think about it.
"Look," Misha says, his tone turning conciliatory, "I believe we could have a mutually beneficial relationship. I couldn't help but glance at some of the equipment you've brought with you. It sucks. But, then, you two do work for the government, so I wouldn't expect any different. I, on the other hand, am independently wealthy - family money, you see - and I can afford the best kind of toys. Toys that I would be more than willing to share with you, if I'm allowed to stay."
Jensen has to admit, having access to state-of-the-art technology would go a long way towards excusing most of Collins' jackass-ish tendencies. It's not officially his call, but when he looks at Jared he can almost see the same thoughts running through the other man's head. Jared quirks his eyebrows at him, and Jensen slightly inclines his head. Jared nods.
"Fine," Jared says, "but this is not your operation. You're here in an advisory capacity only. You listen to me, or Jensen, and if you step one inch out of line, one of Jensen's deputies will be escorting you to the county lockup. That clear?"
"Crystal." Misha grins. "Would now be a good time to tell you how much I enjoy a forceful man?"
"No."
_____________
Twenty minutes later Jensen is regretting not shooting Misha's helicopter down at first sight. He's sitting in a canoe - a freakin' canoe - with Aldis, paddling out to show Jared and Misha - in their own canoe - the scene of yesterday's attack. Jensen's not entirely certain how he got into such a predicament, but he does know it's all Misha's fault with his twisted logic and fancy sonar equipment that he claims doesn't work as well in a motor boat.
"For the record," Aldis says, sounding as nervous and twitchy as Jensen feels, "I'm not entirely comfortable with this."
"Oh, and I am?" Jensen says. "Shut up and keep paddling; we're almost there."
"Would it ease your mind if I said crocodiles don't usually attack boats?" Misha says.
"Usually?" Aldis' voice is unpleasantly high.
"Well, there are always aberrations." Misha grins. "That's what makes life interesting, don't you think?"
"Interesting," Jensen says, "right. You've been in the running for a Darwin Award, haven't you?"
For a moment Misha looks even sketchier than normal, then his face clears and he says, "if he's close, we'll find him." He fiddles with the sonar equipment in his lap. "Their signatures are unmistakable."
"That's great," Jared says, "and what are we supposed to do then?"
"Do? Nothing. But we'll have confirmation. Wait, stop!" Misha peers closely at his equipment's screen while holding one hand up to the bud in his ear. "I thought I heard something." After a long, tense moment he shakes his head. "Let's keep going."
"Actually," Jensen says, looking around, "it was right around here that the attack happened."
"You okay?" Jared asks him.
"Yeah, it's just..." Jensen scowls, and shrugs, and wishes he could shake off this feeling of doom that's settled over him.
"You came close to a full realization of your own mortality here," Misha says with surprising empathy.
Jensen takes a deep breath. "Yeah. And now I'm back. In a canoe."
Misha shakes his head. "Like I said, the risks of an attack while we're in a boat are-"
"Guys," Aldis interrupts, "what the hell is that?" He's pointing towards some activity on the surface of the lake. About one hundred yards from their canoes there's a spot where the water is rippling, almost dancing.
"They're white perch," Jared says. "I can't tell... They're feeding? Maybe?"
Misha's looking at his screen. "I wouldn't be too sure about that."
Jensen has his mouth open, ready to ask Misha just what the hell he meant by that, when his canoe rocks. He grabs onto the edges and barely has enough time to share a terrified glace with Aldis before the boat flips, dumping them both into the water.
The shock of it paralyzes Jensen for a moment. He opens his eyes, sure to see death's toothy grin coming towards him. There's nothing there, though, just the general murk of the water. He turns himself around and, with legs kicking, moves towards the filtered daylight shining down form the surface. He comes up beside the overturned canoe, and immediately reaches out to grab hold. Jared is yelling at him to climb onto the hull, and Misha is yelling to keep his legs still.
He doesn't see Aldis.
"Shit!" Jensen takes a deep breath and is about to go under - it might be futile, but he has to try to find him - when Aldis pops up a few feet from him. He looks as petrified as Jensen feels.
"C'mon, man," Jensen says, holding out his hand. "Don't think about it, just swim to me."
"Will you," Jared yells, "God, just get on the fucking hull!"
Jared sounds frantic, and Jensen can't blame him, but he and Aldis are going to climb up together. When Aldis is within reach, Jensen grabs his hand and together they scramble up onto the bottom of the canoe. Jensen rests his forehead on Aldis' shoulder, and he know his own shoulder is probably going to have fingerprint shaped bruises from the strength with which Aldis is gripping him. They're both shaking.
"I changed my mind," Jensen says quietly, "you can quit if you want to."
"What, and miss all this excitement?"
"In my defense," Misha calls out, "I did say there were aberrations."
Jensen has just enough energy to give him the finger.
_____________
Part 2
Author:
saone77Summary: Something hungry is lurking in Lake Winchester.
Rating: R
Warnings: Minor character death (somebody has to be monster-bait), descriptions of gore, wonky science.
Word Count: 20,204
Disclaimer: This is indulgent, cracktastic fiction.
Beta: Thanks go to
wirrrn for the look-through - and not frothing too badly at the Hollywood-izing of the 'monster' - and aythia for assuring me that this wasn't a huge, incomprehensible mess. ;) All mistakes are mine.Notes: Written for
spn_cinema, this fic is based on one of my favorite comfort movies of all time - Lake Placid. It's a modern version of a fifties style Creature Feature, and worth a viewing by anyone who likes monster movies, humor with their horror, or Betty White being fabulous.Part 1
Part 2
Dreamwidth
Ao3
"So, this is my tax dollars at work, huh?" Jensen Ackles says. He's got his arms crossed over his chest watching the Fish and Game guy he's babysitting zip up his wetsuit. Jensen thinks about offering to help the guy - Abel - with his gear, except that would require a bit more effort than he's willing to put into this expedition.
"You got something against nature, Sheriff?" Abel says. He's fiddling with his scuba tank, and looking kind of ridiculous with his cocky grin and neoprene covered stick legs.
"If I had something against nature do you think I'd live in the ass-end of Maine?" Jensen looks up, eyes scanning the calm - if murky - lake and the shore and treeline beyond. "I can like nature and still think studies like this are a waste of money, energy, and time."
"Oh, I'm sorry. Have I taken you away from the office during peak crime hours? Will the streets of Winchester run red with blood now that her fearless leader is out of town? You know, I bet, as we speak, some little old lady is jaywalking to get to the Shop 'n Save."
Jensen's not impressed. "Shouldn't you be counting beaver dick right about now?"
Abel laughs and flips him off before he flips himself over the side of the boat. Jensen watches as the ripples from Abel's splash fan out before they disappear, leaving the surface once again as tranquil and smooth as a piece of glass.
Jensen sighs and tilts his face to the sun, glad that Chris had reminded him to put on sunblock before he left the station. The only thing that would make this fool's errand worse would be if he gets burned on top of wasting a perfectly good morning.
"Mating habits of amphibious rodents, my ass," he mutters before he pulls out his cellphone and starts a game of solitaire.
Jensen's just won his fifth game in a row when, about thirty feet from the bow of the boat, Abel breaches the surface of the lake. He pops up like a cork, arms flailing, a high-pitched scream tearing it's way out of his mouth. Jensen startles so hard he drops his phone. But before he can do anything more than take a breath, Abel's gone again, his body disappearing under the water, leaving nothing but ripples behind.
"Abel! What the- Hang on!" Jensen starts the boat and steers towards where he saw the other man. He cuts the engine and peers over the side. His worried reflection stares back at him.
"Abel?" he calls out again. "Abel! Son of a..." Jensen can swim, but he's not a diver by any means. Would he even be able to find Abel in such dark water?
Jensen spends a few more precious seconds indecisively waiting before he says, "fuck it," and starts to pull off his boots. He's only managed to get the left one off when Abel practically explodes out of the water next to him.
"Shit!" Acting on pure instinct, Jensen reaches out and grabs Abel's arms. He tugs, trying to get the man out of the water, but he nearly gets pulled overboard himself when something tugs back. Abel's fingers dig into Jensen's arms painfully, and Jensen holds on just as tight. He uses his legs to brace himself against the side of the boat. For one sickening second the entire craft lurches sideways, and Jensen's sure he's going under. Then, the pressure holding Abel is gone, the boat rights itself, and Jensen's able to easily drag the man over the side.
Jensen sets Abel down and kneels beside him. He's pretty sure he's asking - screaming - questions, but there's blood rushing through his ears, and there's blood coming out of Abel's mouth. Abel's twitching - his shoulders and arms shaking with fine tremors - then he's abruptly still. His head slumps to the side.
Almost mechanically, Jensen's fingers search out Abel's carotid. It's instinct, and falling back on it helps Jensen beat off the shock that's trying to set in. His eyes snap up, scanning the surface of the lake as his hand reaches blindly for his cellphone. His fingertips brush the metal casing, but when he picks it up and examines it, he finds it waterlogged. He knows he probably wouldn't have been able to get a signal anyway, not this far out. He won't be able to call for help until he gets to the radio in his truck.
He knows this. Just like he knows that before he gets up, and starts the boat, and heads back to shore, he'll have to deal with what his mind's been shying away from. He'll have to take a good, long look, and then suck it up because he can't afford to get caught in the madness of what just happened.
As blood and viscera soaks into his pant legs, Jensen forces himself to look down Abel's body. To look past his chest. He forces himself to see why the man felt so damn light when he came out of the water.
_____________
"I'm fine," Jensen says. It's kind of become his mantra since what Mayor Gamble had so charmingly dubbed 'The Incident'. But he's not addressing her or the town council at the moment. Instead, he's facing the wholly unimpressed and disbelieving stare of his deputy, Chris Kane. "I am," Jensen says again, shoving his hands into his pockets and trying to adopt a nonchalant stance.
Chris, good friend that his is, isn't buying it. "Really? 'Cause, hell, son, I wouldn't be. You practically watched a man get torn in half." He turns his head to stare at the building behind them, like he could peer through the facade of Edlund's Funeral Home and see what remains of Jake Abel.
"But that's just it, Chris; I didn't." Jensen scrubs a hand through his hair. "I didn't see a damn thing."
Chris frowns. He purses his lips, like it's taking effort to hold something in.
"Don't say it," Jensen says.
"I wasn't gonna say anything."
"It's just been a couple hours and I've already heard people talking." Jensen crosses his arms over his chest and scowls. "The last thing I want is for a bunch of yahoos with more ammunition than sense to go out traipsing after some... some..."
"Lake monster?" Chris says, easily side-stepping the swat Jensen aims at his head.
"What did I just say?"
Chris shrugs. "Might be good for tourism. Didn't do Lake Champlain any harm. And you know where there's tourists there's tickets, which means revenue, which means both our sorry asses might end up surviving the next round of budget cuts."
Jensen blinks. "I'm scarily close to agreeing with you, which means I think it's time for you to head back to the office."
"Are you sure? Because I-"
"I'm fine." Jensen huffs out a short laugh. "Seriously, Chris, I am. I'm sure that when all is said and done I'll have a nice, long freakout, but for right now, I'm okay." He checks his watch. "The other Fish and Game guy I spoke to should be here any minute. We'll go in, hear what Traci may have found, and go from there."
Just as Jensen finishes talking a fairly newish, dark blue F-150 pulls up to the curb. The driver's door opens and this huge guy kind of unfolds himself from the cab. He's wearing jeans, the Fish and Game Department's khaki shirt, and a scowl.
"Ackles?" the man asks as he rounds the truck.
Jensen holds out his hand. The shake is brief and perfunctory. "Padalecki, right? This is Deputy Kane."
Padalecki doesn't look impressed with either of them. "Aren't you a little young for the job?" he asks Jensen.
Jensen can see Chris start to bristle. He holds up a quelling hand. "Unless you have a creepy painting stashed away in an attic someplace, I'm gonna have to say glass houses, man." He turns to Chris, hoping to cut off the probably caustic reply he can see brewing in Padalecki's face. "Why don't you head back to the office. We'll be along shortly."
"Jensen, I-"
"I got this," Jensen says. And he does, really. In fact, handling a pissed off Game Warden might just be the least taxing thing he'll have to do all day.
Chris nods and gives Padalecki a world class stink-eye before he starts the three block walk back to the office.
Jensen waits until Chris is out of earshot and then says, "I take it Abel was your friend."
"I barely knew the guy. But he could have been a complete stranger and I still wouldn't let you get away with this."
"Get away with..." Jensen's brow furrows. "Get away with what?"
Padalecki's all piss and vinegar. "With trying to to derail this investigation."
"What the hell?" Of all the reactions Jensen had expected from Abel's colleague - grief, anger, denial - an accusation of corruption wasn't on the list. "Okay, I'm not exactly sure what you think is-"
"Why did you bring Abel's body here instead of sending it straight to Bangor?"
Jensen takes a deep breath. He guesses that behavior could look a little suspect, but he had a good reason for keeping the body in town. "Because Edlund's is the only place around with a body freezer, so it acts as the town morgue when needed, and I wanted someone to take a look at Abel now while his wounds are fresh." He doesn't add how he wouldn't exactly trust the state guys not to pass off what had happened as nothing more than an accident.
"Right," Padalecki says, sneer still firmly in place, "his wounds. I read your preliminary report, and there is only one thing in New England lakes that can make injuries like that."
Jensen starts. Granted, his purview is mostly land oriented, but could what have happened really be explained simply by someone in the know? Could the answer to this horrific event be ho-hum and mundane to a nature guy? "Dude, seriously? What?"
"Boat propellers."
It takes a moment for Padalecki's answer to sink into Jensen's brain, but once it does, it only takes an instant to make him see red. "Wait a minute, you think-"
"I think you ran him over. You realized what you did, and you proceeded to concoct some story-"
Jensen's hand ball into fists. "Concoct?!"
"Yeah, concoct. Make up. Falsify. Lie out your-"
Jensen holds up a hand and cuts the other man off by saying, "you know what, fine. Don't believe me. But if you're just going to make up your mind and blame me without knowing all the facts about what happened, then you can just head on back to your state office. I don't need your kind here. Now, I am going to go into our make-shift morgue and see what Doc Dinwiddie has found. If you can pull your head outta your ass, you're more than welcome to join me." Jensen stalks off towards Edlunds, not really caring if Padalecki is following him or not. He knows what really happened on that lake, and he hopes to hell Traci will be able to tell the overgrown jackass that it was definitely not a boating accident.
_____________
"To quote Richard Dreyfuss," Traci Dinwiddie says, "'this was no boating accident'."
Jensen wants to aim a triumphant smirk towards the still frowning Game Warden, but he restrains himself. The doc, normally so irrepressible, looks to have aged ten years. Whatever she found must have been bad, and Jensen feels his stress level ratchet up just that much higher.
"If you don't mind," Padalecki says, rather primly, "I'd like to have a look at the body."
Traci's eyebrows shoot up. She glances at Jensen. He shrugs, and she says, "knock yourself out."
Jensen's seen enough of Abel's corpse to last him a lifetime, so he makes sure to keep his eyes trained on Padalecki. He can't help but take a bit of satisfaction at seeing the jackass' face go from healthy tan to sickly gray. Padalecki swallows a few times, and Jensen hopes there's a trashcan nearby.
To his credit, the big man doesn't throw up. He even leans down to get a closer look at Abel's wounds.
"Well?" Traci asks, a smidge of condescension in her voice.
Padalecki straightens. "You're right. I don't know what did this, and there will have to be a full autopsy, of course, but... This wasn't caused by a propeller." He looks at Jensen, contrition written plainly across his face. "I'm sorry about what I-"
"Don't worry about it."
"No, but I-"
"Dude," Jensen says, voice firm, "you apologized once; that's enough for me. Now, you guys have told me what didn't cause this; is there any chance of telling me what did?"
"Actually," Traci says, "I found something. In the wound."
When nothing more is forthcoming, Jensen prods a bit. "What did you find?"
"It's..." Traci pinches the bridge of her nose. She gives a harsh, little laugh. "Honestly, I'm having a little bit of trouble with this, Jensen. I mean, you know me; I'm as open-minded as someone around here gets, but..." She takes a deep breath and stands up a little straighter. "The injuries aren't concurrent with those inflicted by a propeller. His spine was... crushed, not cut. And I while I was examining the edges of his torso I saw something odd protruding from one of his rib bones." Traci directs them to a side table where she gently unfolds a white cloth.
They all stare for a moment at the incongruous thing before them.
"It's a tooth." Padalecki says.
"It's a big-ass tooth," Jensen adds. The thing has to be at least two and a half inches long, if not larger. It's a conical shape and wicked looking as hell.
"Yeah," Traci says. "Pretty much."
"What's it a tooth from?" Jensen asks.
"At what point in the past few minutes did I become a zoologist?!" Traci grimaced. "Sorry. Sorry." She rolls her shoulders back, and the pops from a few cracking bones echo through the small room. "I don't know what it's from. I did take the liberty to send the measurements, along with a couple of pictures, to some people I know in a few different fields. I'm hoping one of them might have an answer. It's just... I'm not the only one creeped out right now, am I?"
Jensen clears his throat, but he doesn't answer. He also very pointedly does not think about how close he came to being dumped in the lake this morning.
"What about you, Mr. Fish and Game guy?" Traci arches an eyebrow.
Padalecki looks horrifically out of his depth, and very, very young. He leans down until his face is less than an inch away from the tooth. "It doesn't look... My best guess would be a bear incisor, except I'm pretty sure I'd be wrong."
"Bear?" Jensen shakes his head. "That size, it'd have to be a grizzly - one hell of a grizzly - and they haven't been found in New England for about a century."
"Which is one of the reasons I said I'd be wrong," Padalecki says, a bit of his former testiness raising its head. "Also, the shape is... off." He takes a deep breath. "I've never seen anything like it."
"It looks almost..." Traci pauses, "Fuck my life. Prehistoric, okay? It looks prehistoric."
Jensen privately agrees, but he's certainly not ready to voice that opinion out loud. Yet.
Jared slowly shakes his head. "No, this isn't a fossil. I don't know what kind of creature this came out of, but I do know it was alive when it lost the tooth."
"I didn't say it looked like a fossil," Traci's voice is soft and serious, "I said it looked prehistoric."
Padalecki doesn't scoff, or call her crazy. He blinks a few times and asks Jensen, "how long did the attack last?"
Jensen's mouth is dry. "Seconds. It took seconds. I think if it had gone on any longer it would have capsized the boat."
"Your boat nearly turned over?" Padalecki's eyes grow wide.
Traci reaches over and places her hand on Jensen's shoulder. She squeezes, her grip surprisingly strong. "Gotta say, I'm pretty damn glad you stayed dry today, Sheriff."
Jensen glances at the tooth. "You and me both."
Padalecki clears his throat, bringing their attention to him. "I'd like to see this lake," he says.
Jensen checks his watch. "First thing tomorrow." Padalecki opens his mouth, probably to argue, and Jensen says, "The lake's about twenty-five miles outside of town. By the time we get there, and get a boat unhitched and in the water, the sun'll be on its way down. I'm not going out there in the dark, Padalecki, and neither are you."
"Jared."
"What?"
"We'll more than likely dispense with formalities at some point during this investigation," Jared shrugs and looks oddly bashful, "might as well do it now."
Jensen can recognize an olive branch when he sees one. Besides, if worse comes to worse, a two syllable name would be much easier to yell out in a life or death situation. "Jensen," he says, slightly inclining his head.
"Did I just witness some sort of odd, male-bonding ritual?" Traci asks. "Are there any more steps? Does anything need to be compared and/or measured?"
Jensen rolls his eyes. "Don't you have a body to prepare for transport?" He grips Jared's elbow and starts to maneuver him out of the room. "Let me know if you hear anything about the tooth," he says over Traci's griping. He's glad that Traci's personality wasn't completely beaten down by the shock of Abel's body; he just wishes it hadn't started to resurface in front of company.
_____________
Standing out in the pleasant sunshine of a gorgeous day, the information Jensen had just learned from Traci seems even more nightmarish - there's something currently unidentifiable and carnivorous living in Winchester Lake.
Regardless of the mild temperature, Jensen feels a chill run down his spine.
Padalecki, no, Jared, looks like he's undergoing his own internal crisis.
"You okay?" Jensen asks. He doesn't offer a friendly hand to an arm or shoulder, like he would do with his deputies or friends, but Jensen does stand a bit closer than he normally would.
Jared gives him a weak smile. "Just trying to wrap my head around things," he says. "Again, I'm really sorry for how I acted-"
"Hey, what did I say?"
"Either you let me apologize proper-like, or you'll have to deal with the consequences once my festering, lapsed-Catholic guilt takes over my life and leaves me a shell of the man I once was."
Jensen blinks a few times, but when he catches a subtle twinkle in Jared's eye he lets out a bark of a laugh that startles them both. "Sorry," he says, chuckling, "guess I needed to release some tension."
"Can't imagine why."
"Yeah. And feel free to grovel if you think it would help assuage any regret over your obvious failings in tact and discretion." Jensen can't quite keep a straight face and he's rewarded when Jared smiles big enough to show off two rather impressive dimples. He's not exactly sure what's going on, but if Jensen didn't know any better, he'd swear this feels like flirting.
"I don't know about groveling," Jared says, "but I could definitely get behind buying you a cup of coffee."
Okay, maybe it is flirting. Jensen is both thrilled - Officer Padalecki ain't exactly hard on the eyes - and slightly incredulous - it was just a few hours ago that he almost got eaten by something. And while normally Jensen wouldn't look the gift horse of hot guy flirting with him in the mouth, there are more important things on his plate than his woeful lack of a love life.
"Tell you what," he says, "why don't we walk on over to the Roché Café, you buy me that cup of coffee, and we have nice, little chat about our... problem."
"You don't want to drive?" Jared asks, hooking a thumb towards his truck.
"Nah, it's not that far, only a block or so." He raises an eyebrow. "In case you missed it, Winchester ain't that big."
"Yeah, I kinda got that with the whole funeral home doubling as a morgue thing." They start to walk. "And Traci isn't an official coroner, is she?"
"That's one of her duties," Jensen says, "but she's mainly the town G.P."
Jared shows his dimples again. "It's very... Mayberry-esque. Is Deputy Kane only allowed one bullet?"
Jensen laughs again, in spite of himself. "I'm pleading with you to never say that again. Ever. Especially if you want to keep yourself un-perforated."
"Duly noted," Jared says.
After a few more minutes of affable chatting, interposed with the occasional teasing remark by Jared - the man could be quite charming when he wasn't acting like an ass - they arrive at the café. Jensen pauses before opening the door. He puts a light hand on Jared's chest. "Fair warning, the owner is... a bit eccentric."
"Isn't everyone in this town?" Jared asks cheekily.
"I'm going to take that as a compliment," Jensen says before pushing the heavy glass door open and stepping inside. He waves and nods as various cries of 'Sheriff' ring out from around the restaurant. He spies an empty booth in the corner, but before he can claim it a soft hand lands on his arm.
"Is it true," Julie McNiven asks, her eyes solemn and wide. "Is there really a monster out in Winchester Lake?"
Even thought Julie's voice was soft it must have carried because Jensen can almost see several sets of ears perk up. He clears his throat and puts on his best 'public official' face. "Julie, there's-"
"I heard a man got bit in half," Katie Cassidy interrupts from her place at the counter. "Care to comment?"
In Jensen's opinion, Katie would be much more at home terrorizing surfers or baby seals then running the weekly published Winchester Gazette. He forces a smile onto his face. "Now, Ms. Cassidy-"
"There was an incident at Winchester Lake," Jared says smoothly, stepping up beside Jensen, "and a man was killed. But I can assure you that the Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife, working in tandem with the Winchester Sheriff's Department, will be launching a full investigation into the matter. And, until the time that said investigation is concluded, I'm going to insist that all inquires into the matter be handled by the state office in Augusta."
"We have a right-"
"To call the state office in Augusta, yes, you do."
Katie looks gobsmacked. "But-"
"You have a nice day, Ma'am." Jared's grin is blinding.
Jensen bites back his irritation and gives Katie and anyone else watching a 'what can you do' type of shrug. He then brushes past Jared and walks to the booth. Once Jared's settled in on the bench opposite his Jensen says, "look, I understand that Fish and Game automatically takes the lead in this, and I'm only really still around by your good graces, but in the future, if you could try to not completely undermine me in front of-"
"Jensen," Jared says, cutting him off, "I'm not trying to undermine you." Jared's eyes cut away, and he picks at an edge of his paper placemat. "I wouldn't try and undermine you. I just thought I could deflect some of the attention away from you." The top of Jared's cheeks flush. "My job isn't dependent on these people voting for me in the next election cycle, which means I can be an unhelpful hardass without worrying about any repercussions. Unlike you."
"Oh," Jensen says, slightly mollified. "Well. Thanks. I guess." He leans across the table. "You know that's not gonna stop people from talking, right? In fact, an attitude like that might make them talk more."
"As long as they don't waste our time by talking to us, I don't really care. You know as well as I do that there's no hope trying to shut down small town gossip. The best we can hope for is finding our answers before the public starts to get really belligerent."
Before Jensen has a chance to respond that even if Jared made himself a convenient target, he and his deputies would still be the ones handling the complaints, Seb, the café's owner, comes sauntering up to their table.
"Gentlemen, I'm running a two for one Winnie Special. Trout, caught fresh this morning," Seb lowers his voice conspiratorially, "and the fisherman lived to tell the tale."
"Winnie?" Jensen asks, already knowing he's going to regret it.
"Of course. Like Nessie, or Chessie. I'm even going to be generous and not trademark the name," Seb huffs. "And some people say I wouldn't know civic duty if it fell on my face and started to wriggle." He looks down the length of the room and makes a rather rude gesture towards one of the Town Councilmen sitting in a booth along the opposite wall. "Suck it, Singer!" He turns back to Jensen. "Do you think it's too early to order tee-shirts? What about plushies? Bumperstickers?"
Jensen feels a pulse of pain shoot out from behind his eyes. He makes a mental note to pick up some Tylenol before he heads back to his office. "Yes."
"Hmmm. I suppose you're right. No one's even seen the beastie yet. I would hate to get stuck with a plesiosaur design only to find out its some sort of eel-like creature."
"Yeah," Jensen says dryly, "that would suck." He glances over to Jared who looks like he just swallowed something unpleasant. "Can we get two coffees?" he asks Seb.
"Of course. If you want to be boring." Seb makes a notation on his server's pad and saunters off.
"I did warn you," Jensen says.
Jared leans across the table and whispers, "you said 'eccentric', not a promotion-hungry loon. Jake's body is barely cold, for Chrissakes."
Jensen winces and tries not to think about Chris' tourism idea. "Look, you have to understand, this is a small town. Nothing happens here. Ever." Jensen lays his palms flat on the table. "So, when you have a gory tragedy compounded by a mystery, people are going to act a little... nutty, at first." He nods a thanks as Julie sets coffees in front of them.
When she's gone Jared says, "you don't think any of your other 'eccentrics' might do something stupid, do you, like try and find this thing on their own?"
"I've already sent a deputy out to cordon off the main access road, and I've got others spreading the word among the county's more enthusiastic hunters and fishermen that the entire area's off limits."
"What about the people who live on the lake?"
"Well, that's kind of where we lucked out. It's mostly uninhabited. It has been a traditional spot for skinny-dipping with the high-school age crowd, but the only people who live within miles of it are a couple of old codgers, Jim Beaver and Stephen Williams. They got grandfathered in when the place became a state park back in the seventies."
"Isn't that a little odd," Jared asks, "for a lake that size to be uninhabited?"
Jensen shrugs. "Ever since Campbell Reservoir was built most people just go there for boating or fishing - it's closer to town, and a hell of a lot easier to get to. Lake Winchester only has one paved access road and that leads to the main dock. In fact, when we go out to talk to Beaver and Williams we'll probably just take the boat and go 'cross the lake instead of trying to navigate one of the trucks through the woods."
Jared's eyebrows raise. "We?"
Jensen feels foolish. He had naturally assumed that he, and the rest of the Sheriff's department, would continue to be involved in the investigation. "I just thought... I mean, of course, if you want to handle this alone then-"
"No!" Jared looks alarmed. "I didn't mean..." He fiddles with his cup for a moment, then takes a sip. "I appreciate you automatically involving me in the interview."
"But you-"
"I know technically I'm in charge. But you know these people and this area, Jensen; there's no way I could do this without you."
Jensen tries to hide his pleased smile behind the rim of this coffee cup. "Well," he says after swallowing, "you could. It would just take you longer, and you'd probably suck at it."
Jared's pleased grin seemed to indicate they were back on equal footing. "Uh huh. When do you want to talk to the, uh, codgers?"
"First thing tomorrow morning while Chris and the others set up camp," Jensen says. He looks through the window of the café to the lengthening shadows on the street. He looks back to Jared. "Do you need me to find you a place to stay tonight? There's a motel not too far down the highway, or I'm sure I could find somebody to put you up." Jensen tries to remember just how messy his guestroom is. He's pretty sure he ran the vacuum through there at least some time in the past few months.
"You offering?" Jared's dimples are back, and they seem to get deeper as Jensen's face gets redder. "Thanks, but I'm gonna have to head back home and get my gear anyway. I'm only about two hours away so it's not that bad."
Jensen snorts. "Yeah, I guess on your trip out you didn't think you'd be sticking around here very long, huh?"
Jared ducks his head and rubs the back of his neck. "I'm really glad I was wrong. About you, I mean." He clears his throat and pulls his wallet out of a back pocket. "I should head out," he says, putting a few bills on the table. "I'll meet you at your office, around seven?"
"Sounds good," Jensen says. He watches Officer Padalecki ease out of the booth and gracefully maneuver around tables, chairs, and townspeople. When he gets to the door he pauses, looks over his shoulder, and smiles at Jensen. Then he's gone and Jensen is left with an odd feeling in his chest from his heart beating double-time.
Seb appears at the table to collect the money and Jared's cup. "I heard Chris thinks your tall drink of something is a bit of a prick, but he seemed all right to me."
"How did you hear... you know what, never mind," Jensen says. "And he's not my tall drink of anything."
Seb gives him an admonishing look. "Sheriff," he says chidingly. "Changing gears, I know we agreed it's too early for tee-shirts, but what do you think about hats?"
_____________
Jensen's more than a little apprehensive about getting back on the lake. But when the time comes, he swallows his nerves, shores up his pride, straightens his spine and, without hesitation, climbs on board the whaler Jared brings down the next morning. He sits back and keeps his eyes peeled as Jared steers them across the water. The surface is as calm as ever, and with a breeze lightly blowing in from the south and a symphony of birdsong coming from the gently swaying trees, it's almost enough to make Jensen forget about the harrowing, near death experience he had not more than twenty-four hours ago.
"Pretty place," Jared calls out over the noise of the engine as he pilots the twenty foot-long whaler.
Jensen grunts noncommittally.
"You know, I can't help thinking about what you said yesterday," Jared says, a teasing tone to his voice, "about the skinny-dipping." He looks over his shoulder at Jensen. "You know about that from personal experience?"
Jensen shifts a bit on his hard, wooden seat. "As a sworn officer of the law I'm afraid I have to decline to answer that." Jared's laughter rings out, and Jensen feels ridiculously pleased with himself. He's already firmly told himself to not put a lot of stock in Jared's flirtations, but there shouldn't be any harm in playing along a bit. Especially not when it gets him another glimpse of those dimples.
Jared opens his mouth, but whatever remark he was going to make is truncated by the appearance of a small homestead on the other side of a bend in the lake. There's a cape style house set off to the side, just beyond the bulkhead, and a smattering of outbuildings including a well-kept looking barn. Chickens flit here and there while a half dozen cows and two horses stare balefully out from behind a split-rail fence.
"Nice place," Jared says as he pulls the boat up alongside the dock and cuts the engine.
Jensen doesn't respond. He's keeping his attention on the figure ambling out of what looks like a well-tended garden, a hoe in one hand and a shotgun in the other.
Smooth as silk, Jensen flips the snap on his holster. He doesn't touch the butt of his gun, but his hand hovers close enough for his intentions to be clear. With the sun glinting off his star pinned to his shirt, he calls out, "Mr. Beaver. Winchester's Sheriff's Department. Mind putting down your weapon?"
There's a tense moment when the old man doesn't react. Then he shrugs, spits onto the ground, and tucks the shotgun under his arm. He gestures with his now free hand before saying, "come on if you're coming," and turns around to walk towards his house.
Jared lets out a breath, and he and Jensen share a bemused look. "Eccentrics," Jared mutters.
"You love it." They climb off the boat, and Jensen takes the lead, keeping himself between Jared and the darkened door Beaver disappeared through. He doesn't necessarily think the old man is going to pull something, but instinct tells him to not secure his holster just yet.
The interior of the house is neat, if a bit barren. There are a few pictures on the walls, mostly of pastoral scenes, but no photographs or real knickknacks to speak off. Jensen follows the sounds of Beaver puttering through the living room and towards the entryway to a kitchen.
"I ain't much on social graces, but I think I remember how this goes. You fellas want anything?" Beaver asks, a carafe of coffee in one hand an a chipped mug in the other.
"No thank you," Jared says. "We just have a couple of questions and then we'll be outta your hair."
Beaver takes off his hat. "Son, I ain't had hair for close to two decades. Now, why don't you tell me why the hell you're disturbing my peaceful existence?"
Jensen coughs into his fist. "Sir, yesterday a Fish and Game official was attacked and killed on the lake. Since you and Mr. Williams are the only residents out here, we thought we'd ask if either of you have seen or experienced anything... odd, lately?"
Beaver's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, attacked?"
"Just what it sounds like," Jensen says. "He was attacked."
"By what?"
"That's what we're trying to ascertain, Mr. Beaver," Jared says. "And why we're asking if you've noticed anything unusual in or around the lake?"
Beaver stares at Jared for close to a minute before he says, "nope. Can't say as I have. Been the same around here as always."
Over the course of his decade wearing a badge, Jensen's dealt with enough people trying to get away with stuff to know a liar when he sees one. "That right?" he asks, injecting a good amount of disbelief into his tone.
Beaver's gaze swings around to him. "Yeah, that's right," he says mockingly.
"Uh huh." Jensen eases back on his heels. "And would Mr. Williams have the same answer?"
"Since I'm not him, I wouldn't rightly know, now would I?"
"Getting a little testy, Mr. Beaver?" Jensen waves off Beaver's sure-to-be acidic response. "Is Mr. Williams around?"
"No, he ain't." Beaver crosses his arms over his chest. "And I'd appreciate it if you two fine gentlemen would get the hell out of my house."
Jensen feels Jared lightly touch his elbow, but he brushes it off. Beaver's sweating, and there's blood in the water. "Your house? So, Mr. Williams doesn't live here anymore?"
"I didn't say that."
"Then where is he?"
"Around."
"Around where?"
"Just... around."
"And he's coming back..."
"Later."
"This afternoon?"
"No. Maybe."
"Uh huh. And where did he go?"
"Out. He's just... out."
"When's he gonna be back?"
"He's not!" Beaver's brain catches up to his mouth. He points a shaking finger at Jensen. "You're an asshole."
"Yep, I am," Jensen says. "Why isn't Mr. Williams coming back?
Beaver's eyes are slits in his craggy face. "Because the man's been dead for almost two years."
Jensen exchanges a quick glance with a perplexed Jared. "My department doesn't have any record of that."
"Ain't that a shame. Nothing pisses me off more than incomplete record keeping."
Jensen scowls, but before he can say anything untoward, Jared steps in and asks, "I'm sorry, Mr. Beaver, but what was the cause of your friend's death? Was he ill? Was he sick? Was he-"
"Swallowed?" Jensen lets out a tiny grunt as Jared's rather pointy elbow connects with his ribcage.
"Sir," Jared says, "the man who was attacked yesterday, he was killed by some kind of... animal. Do you know how your friend died?"
Beaver's eyes flit back and forth between the two officers for a moment before he says, "aw, hell." He puts his hat back on and pulls the brim low. "Yeah, I should know how he died. I killed the son-of-a-bitch."
Jensen blinks a few times. "You... did what?"
"Steve had a whole slew of health problems," Beaver says with what looks like real sorrow etched onto his face. "First it was his lungs, then his joints, then it was the stomach pain. But it was when his mind started to go that he made me promise to end things if it ever got too bad."
"Why didn't you take him to the hospital?"
"The only one he could afford to go to is the VA, and the nearest one of those is all the way in Augusta. 'Sides, he was convinced that all of his problems were caused by the government and all the Agent Orange he got exposed to back in 'Nam." Beaver squares his shoulders and fixes both younger men with a steely gaze. "He wanted to die here, in his home. So, after one of his really bad days, I... hit him over the head with my grandpappy's cast iron skillet, and I buried him by the bulkhead." He glares at Jensen who's pinching the bridge of his nose, like that could actually ward off the migraine that's forming. "You gonna arrest me, Columbo?"
_____________
"Shouldn't you arrest him?" Jared asks as he pilots away from Beaver's house and towards the area a few miles away from the main dock where Jensen's deputies are making camp.
"Probably," Jensen says, shrugging. "But hell if I'm gonna do it now. I'll put in a request for a sate forensics team to come out and uncover the body. Honestly, the old guy's probably more of a danger to himself than anyone else. Besides, if I'm right, Mr. Williams was most likely receiving Social Security, and if his death wasn't property reported, then..."
"Those checks are still being mailed out," Jared says.
"And that's a federal matter." Jensen says with a grin. "It's all about delegating."
"Ah." Jared shakes his head, but there's a smile on his face. For a few moments there's just the steady sound of the boat's motor and a few calls from distant birds, then Jared says, almost absently, "sure is calm out here. Peaceful."
"Yeah." Jensen closes his eyes and tilts his head up to the sun. If he wasn't going to soon start a hunt for some kind of carnivorous creature, he might be inclined to take a nap. "Our very own Lake Placid."
Jared hums. He sounds distracted.
Jensen opens his eyes and asks, "you okay?"
"Yeah," Jared says, "it's just... Do you see that?" He raises one long arm to point out across the water. There's something there, about one hundred yards away, bobbing on the surface. Jared steers the boat towards it.
Jensen narrows his eyes. "The hell? Looks like some kind of a branch." But as they draw closer he can see quite plainly that it definitely isn't a branch. It is organic, though. They pull up alongside the object, and Jensen gives Jared a heavy look before he reaches over and grabs one of the large antlers. His muscles strain and with a grunt he pulls the decapitated head of a mature moose into the boat. It lands with a wet squish.
"Christ," Jared says, crouching down. "It's fresh. Fish haven't even gotten the eyes yet."
Jensen's hand automatically rests on his service revolver as his eyes scan the still and tranquil surface. "Jared, whatever this is ate half of a full grown man yesterday morning, and then got hungry enough twenty-four hours later to go after a, what, eight hundred, nine hundred pound moose? What the hell are we dealing with here?"
Jared shakes his head and doesn't' answer. Instead, he asks a question of his own. "How many deputies have you got?"
_____________
When Jared and Jensen reach camp its already bustling with activity, all of which stops when Jared hauls the moose head out of the boat.
"Shit," Aldis says, followed quickly by, "I quit."
Jensen rolls his eyes. "Nobody's quitting." He turns to Chris. "Everything set up?"
"Malik and Alona are finishing up with the tents." He looks at Jared with only the slightest bit of animosity still lingering from the previous day. "We got most of your gear unpacked too."
"Thanks, man," Jared says flashing that day-glo grin of his. Chris' eyes widen for a brief second. Then he frowns and harrumphs his way across camp. Jared turns to Jensen. "I'm growing on him, I can tell."
"Hmm. Like a particularly tall strain of slime mold." Jensen sidesteps a swipe from one of Jared's massive paws. "All right, who doesn't have something to do?" He snorts as Aldis and Richard scurry off from one blink to the next, leaving a confused looking Travis in their wake.
Travis gingerly raised a hand. "Uh, me? I guess."
"Get one of the cameras out and take pictures of the head; make sure you get close-ups of the wound." Jensen watches the color drain from Travis' face. When he's pretty sure the guy's not going to faint or puke he says, "then take it away from camp and bury it. We don't want a decomp smell attracting any predators here."
"Right," Travis says, swallowing heavily, "that would be bad."
Jensen claps a hand on Travis' shoulder. "Get Aldis and Richard to help you."
Travis grins wickedly. "Thanks, Sheriff. Hey..." He cocks his head to one side, and his eyes go distant. "You guys hear that?"
Jensen looks to Jared, who shrugs, but a second later he picks up on an odd sound too. Now that he's listening for it, there's the distinctive thwapping of rotary blades.
"A helicopter?" Jensen raises an eyebrow and looks at Jared. "One of yours?"
"Hell," Jared says, snorting, "I had to beg, plead, and cajole with my boss just to get the damn boat." His eyes look up, panning the sky. "State boys, maybe?"
"Nope, not state," Jensen mummers as the chopper comes into view. Its a dull brown with fitted floats. They watch as it makes one circuit of the immediate area before descending towards the water. With its approach, Jensen can now see that what he thought was a drab brown is actually some sort of stylized design with the underside of the helicopter looking almost like scales.
"Interesting paint job," Jared says, frowning.
"Isn't it just." Jensen glances around at the small crowd of deputies that's grown around them. "Don't you all have things you need to be doing?" He cocks a pointed eyebrow, and when that doesn't work, he makes shooing motions with his hands. "Git," he says, as all but Chris reluctantly disperse.
"I'm good," Chris says in a tone that brooks no arguments. He clearly is going to have Jensen's back, whether Jensen wants him to or not.
Jensen rolls his eyes and ignores Jared's amused smile before turning his attention back to the helicopter.
It touches down by the shoreline. A minute later the pilot's door opens, and a rather disheveled looking man climbs out. When he sees Jensen and the others his face splits into a wide grin, and he hurries over to greet them.
"Hello! Gorgeous day, isn't it?" he says, breathing in deeply. He's only an inch or two shorter than Jensen, and the wildness of his hair pales in comparison to the wildness in his eyes. "And what a lake! Perfect. Just perfect." He claps his hands together. "Who do we have from Fish and Game?"
Jared raises both eyebrows and a hand. "Me."
The man nods but doesn't spare Jared more than a glance. He peers out into the water. "I can see the algae bloom coming in. The water looks almost stagnant. Misha Collins, pleasure to meet you. I need topographic studies of the entire area." When no one immediately jumps at his request he turns back and stares at them with his startlingly blue eyes. "Sometime soon would be nice," he says slowly with more than a hint of condescension. "We might have time for a quick scout."
Jensen shakes his head. He can't help feeling that there was a large chunk of conversation that was missing. "I'm sorry, who are you?"
The man's head tilts to one side as he studies Jensen. "I see this county doesn't require an I.Q. test for its civil servants. Misha Collins; I said it once, let me know when it sinks in."
Jensen's mouth gapes, and he can feel Chris and Jared bristle. Before any of them can say anything the man continues blithely on, like he didn't just insult a lawman.
"Have you seen it?" Collins asks, face bright with undisguised curiosity and glee.
Jensen pulls himself together and growls out, "mister, if you don't tell me what your purpose is here I am going to arrest you."
Collins scoffs. "On what grounds."
"Pissing me the hell off. It's a small town; I can get away with shit like that."
"He really can," Chris adds.
"Hmm." Collins eyes blatantly track up and down Jensen's body. He licks his lips. "Feisty. I like it."
Jensen doesn't know whether to shoot the bastard or go home and take a long shower.
Jared clears his throat, and in a stern voice asks, "your purpose?"
"Oh, yes," Collins says, his eyes clearing. "I'm here to help you find it."
Again, Jensen knows he's missed something. "Find what?"
Collins grins. "The crocodile, of course."
_____________
"Yeah... Uh huh... That's just peachy, Traci," Jensen says into his new phone. He's pacing along the edge of camp, keeping one eye on Jared - who's having his own phone conversation - and the other on the lunatic unpacking his helicopter. "Well, I don't care if you like him; the guy's obviously nuts... No, no, I don't want you coming out here... Yeah... Fine... Okay." He closes his phone and resists the urge to pound his head against the nearest sturdy-looking tree.
"That sucked," Jared says, closing his own phone and slipping it into his pocket.
"What did your boss say?" Jensen asks.
"You mean after he stopped laughing?" Jared sighs. "If I can give him definitive proof, he'll call in the federal guys from Florida, but he's refused to give me access to any of our more advanced sonar equipment." He frowns and agitatedly runs a hand through his hair. "If, if, it is a crocodile than it's going to have to come on land at some point. I guess our best bet will be to look for tracks."
"You do know there's over one-hundred miles of shoreline here, right?"
Jared's shoulders slump. "I'm not doing anything for the next few months. What did Traci have to say?"
Jensen closes his eyes and prays for serenity. "She and Mr. Whack-job met at a retreat in Sri Lanka a few years ago. His dayjob is a mythology professor, but he spent most of their time together regaling her with stories about how he travels all over the world to swim with crocodiles."
Jared's eyebrows go up. "Swim with them?"
"Like I said, whack-job."
"Actually," Collins says, having sneaked up on them like some damn cat, "I prefer Misha. And did Traci also tell you that I'm considered an expert in my field?"
"Yeah," Jensen says grudgingly, "she did."
Collins holds holds out his hands and puts on what he probably considers a placating expression. "Look, I understand your reluctance to trust me. I don't agree with it, and I think you're both being incredibly narrow-minded and stupid, but I understand. It's hard for people who aren't that intelligent to-"
"Hey!"
"Excuse me?"
"At least the two of you are pretty," Collins says. "Who needs to be smart when you have good bone structure, right?"
"I'm gonna shoot him," Jensen says.
"Jensen," Jared chides, "think of the paperwork. Mr. Collins-"
"Misha."
"Whatever, we appreciate any expertise you might bring to the table, but what makes you so sure that what we're dealing with here is a crocodile?"
"The tooth," Misha says simply. "It's crocodilian. No ifs, ands or buts about it. Gentlemen, somewhere in or around this lake is an extremely, extremely, large reptile. They've been migrating north, you know, and this lake does connect to the ocean; it's not as far-fetched as it may sound."
"Then why don't we hear about them in any of the mid-Atlantic states?"
"There have been confirmed Alligator reports as far north as Virginia. And the only real difference between alligator and crocodile habitat is the type of water they prefer." Misha shrugs. "Just because there are no news reports about them doesn't mean they aren't there. Crocodiles are the ultimate stealth predators. Most of the time they're only seen when humans know specifically what to look for, or if they come out of the water to grab something. And even then, attacks generally only last-"
"Seconds," Jensen says faintly. He can't help thinking of the various nature specials he's watched over the years, of the classic image of a Nile croc snatching some poor gazelle or impala right off the banks of the river. Jensen wonders, when he was leaning over the side of the boat calling for Abel, if he could have been snatched just as easily. He clears his throat, shoves his shaking hands into the pockets of his jeans, and ignores the look of concern on Jared's face. "Okay," he says, injecting a false bravado into his voice, "then how could it survive the winter? This isn't exactly a tropical climate."
"As long as their nostrils don't freeze, they survive," Misha says. "That's what they are, gentlemen - survivors. Crocodiles have barely changed in the last million years. The animals that we see today are the exact same ones proto-humans saw five hundred thousand years ago. Think about that for a minute."
Jensen doesn't want to think about it.
"Look," Misha says, his tone turning conciliatory, "I believe we could have a mutually beneficial relationship. I couldn't help but glance at some of the equipment you've brought with you. It sucks. But, then, you two do work for the government, so I wouldn't expect any different. I, on the other hand, am independently wealthy - family money, you see - and I can afford the best kind of toys. Toys that I would be more than willing to share with you, if I'm allowed to stay."
Jensen has to admit, having access to state-of-the-art technology would go a long way towards excusing most of Collins' jackass-ish tendencies. It's not officially his call, but when he looks at Jared he can almost see the same thoughts running through the other man's head. Jared quirks his eyebrows at him, and Jensen slightly inclines his head. Jared nods.
"Fine," Jared says, "but this is not your operation. You're here in an advisory capacity only. You listen to me, or Jensen, and if you step one inch out of line, one of Jensen's deputies will be escorting you to the county lockup. That clear?"
"Crystal." Misha grins. "Would now be a good time to tell you how much I enjoy a forceful man?"
"No."
_____________
Twenty minutes later Jensen is regretting not shooting Misha's helicopter down at first sight. He's sitting in a canoe - a freakin' canoe - with Aldis, paddling out to show Jared and Misha - in their own canoe - the scene of yesterday's attack. Jensen's not entirely certain how he got into such a predicament, but he does know it's all Misha's fault with his twisted logic and fancy sonar equipment that he claims doesn't work as well in a motor boat.
"For the record," Aldis says, sounding as nervous and twitchy as Jensen feels, "I'm not entirely comfortable with this."
"Oh, and I am?" Jensen says. "Shut up and keep paddling; we're almost there."
"Would it ease your mind if I said crocodiles don't usually attack boats?" Misha says.
"Usually?" Aldis' voice is unpleasantly high.
"Well, there are always aberrations." Misha grins. "That's what makes life interesting, don't you think?"
"Interesting," Jensen says, "right. You've been in the running for a Darwin Award, haven't you?"
For a moment Misha looks even sketchier than normal, then his face clears and he says, "if he's close, we'll find him." He fiddles with the sonar equipment in his lap. "Their signatures are unmistakable."
"That's great," Jared says, "and what are we supposed to do then?"
"Do? Nothing. But we'll have confirmation. Wait, stop!" Misha peers closely at his equipment's screen while holding one hand up to the bud in his ear. "I thought I heard something." After a long, tense moment he shakes his head. "Let's keep going."
"Actually," Jensen says, looking around, "it was right around here that the attack happened."
"You okay?" Jared asks him.
"Yeah, it's just..." Jensen scowls, and shrugs, and wishes he could shake off this feeling of doom that's settled over him.
"You came close to a full realization of your own mortality here," Misha says with surprising empathy.
Jensen takes a deep breath. "Yeah. And now I'm back. In a canoe."
Misha shakes his head. "Like I said, the risks of an attack while we're in a boat are-"
"Guys," Aldis interrupts, "what the hell is that?" He's pointing towards some activity on the surface of the lake. About one hundred yards from their canoes there's a spot where the water is rippling, almost dancing.
"They're white perch," Jared says. "I can't tell... They're feeding? Maybe?"
Misha's looking at his screen. "I wouldn't be too sure about that."
Jensen has his mouth open, ready to ask Misha just what the hell he meant by that, when his canoe rocks. He grabs onto the edges and barely has enough time to share a terrified glace with Aldis before the boat flips, dumping them both into the water.
The shock of it paralyzes Jensen for a moment. He opens his eyes, sure to see death's toothy grin coming towards him. There's nothing there, though, just the general murk of the water. He turns himself around and, with legs kicking, moves towards the filtered daylight shining down form the surface. He comes up beside the overturned canoe, and immediately reaches out to grab hold. Jared is yelling at him to climb onto the hull, and Misha is yelling to keep his legs still.
He doesn't see Aldis.
"Shit!" Jensen takes a deep breath and is about to go under - it might be futile, but he has to try to find him - when Aldis pops up a few feet from him. He looks as petrified as Jensen feels.
"C'mon, man," Jensen says, holding out his hand. "Don't think about it, just swim to me."
"Will you," Jared yells, "God, just get on the fucking hull!"
Jared sounds frantic, and Jensen can't blame him, but he and Aldis are going to climb up together. When Aldis is within reach, Jensen grabs his hand and together they scramble up onto the bottom of the canoe. Jensen rests his forehead on Aldis' shoulder, and he know his own shoulder is probably going to have fingerprint shaped bruises from the strength with which Aldis is gripping him. They're both shaking.
"I changed my mind," Jensen says quietly, "you can quit if you want to."
"What, and miss all this excitement?"
"In my defense," Misha calls out, "I did say there were aberrations."
Jensen has just enough energy to give him the finger.
_____________
Part 2
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2011-05-12 06:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-12 09:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-12 10:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-13 07:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-05-13 12:45 pm (UTC)♥
"I changed my mind," Jensen says quietly, "you can quit if you want to."
*snicker*
no subject
Date: 2011-05-28 10:35 am (UTC)