Creative Imperative

TITLE: Cry Wolf (Part One)
SERIES: Cry Wolf can be considered a sequel to my SPN fic Family Values but it's not necessary to read that first.
RATING: Adults Only
FANDOM: The Sentinel/Supernatural Crossover
CATEGORY: Crossover, Horror...see story notes.
PAIRINGS: Jim/Blair, Dean/Sam, Dean/OFC
SUMMARY: In a small town in the Cascade Mountains, people are dying, bodies found mauled by some kind of beast. The Winchesters think it's a werewolf and plan to hunt it. Ex-cop Jim Ellison and his partner Blair are also hunting the creature. The four are uneasy allies, but Jim's suspicions of the brothers uncover the secrets of their past.
WARNINGS: Some horror scenes. There's also one scene that I'd class as dubious consent rather than as rape, but it's down to interpretation. If such things bother you and you want to know more before reading, feel free to ask me.
STORY NOTES: The story is a crossover between The Sentinel and Supernatural. Unlike my last crossover fic I'm trying hard to make this one about half-and-half. I believe you should be able to follow the story if you only know one of the two shows.

Why? Because at first sight these two shows don't have enough in common for a crossover, but I wanted to see how it would work. I wanted to see how the by-the-book cop Jim Ellison would deal with Dean's casual impersonations and fake ID's. Because I wanted to see Sam and Blair geek-out together. Because it's fun. Because I wondered how Sam and Dean would interpret Jim's apparently psychic ability. And lots of other maybes, too. There was a lot I wanted to do with this crossover but I did have to pick-and-choose. I hope you'll think I've done a good job of merging the two worlds.

Timeline: The story is set in the present, at the end of Winter 2005/6. In terms of Sentinel canon, this is several years after the final episode so the timing isn't too important, except in that it's post-TSbBS (obviously). In terms of Supernatural canon, I am aware that the time of year doesn't fit. The story is set during season one, after Nightmare but before Shadow, which ought to place it during the Summer of 2006. I didn't realise that when I started writing this story (the snow in Route 666 kinda threw me off), and the Winter setting is integral to my story, so I'm stuck with the anomoly. If it helps, consider the fic AU in the SPN universe.

Credits: The title and opening quote come from the song Cry Wolf, by A-ha. The song doesn't really have anything to do with the story, I just mention it for anyone interested. Panther Creek is a genuine location in the Cascade Mountains, north Washington. Whether there's really a town with that name, I don't know, but the name was too damn perfect for me not to use it, as I'm sure any Sentinel fan will agree! The song lyrics quoted in Part One are from Building A Mystery by Sarah McLaughan.

DISCLAIMER: Does anyone seriously believe I might own Sentinel or Supernatural? Thought not.

---

Cry Wolf

Night I left the city
I dreamt of a wolf...

Part One

Panther Creek, Wa.

It was snowing by the time Jean started home. That was why she walked. Martin offered to drive her, and she should have accepted - she was already in trouble if her papa noticed she wasn't in her room. But so close to the mountains a light snowfall could become a blizzard all too quickly. Jean knew the pathways and was sure she could make it home even in a blizzard. Martin's car could easily become mired in the snow. She kissed him at the door and set off, her boots clicking on the stone path.

The road home was lonely, and Jean walked quickly. The full moon overhead sent light streaming down to reflect off the snow, making it easy for her to see her way. As the snowfall became heavier, Jean stamped her feet to shake the caked snow from her boots. She reached the gate to Stonehaven Lodge, and drew her coat more closely around her. She didn't like passing the Ellison place at night: the wolf painted on the tall gate post always scared her a little. She couldn't help noticing how the snow gathered on the paint in little flaky clumps, almost as if it clung to the fur of a real wolf. Hurrying onward, Jean stayed close to the stone wall, letting it guide her home.

On the other side of the now-invisible track, great hulking trees shielded the ground from the snow and blocked out the moonlight; the forest was a deep well of shadows. Jean shivered and wished Martin had offered to walk her home. He wasn'tthat much of a gentleman.

Abruptly, Jean stopped, gazing into the woodland. She heard... Or thought she heard... Her eyes searched the darkness uncertainly. The woodland was quiet. Too quiet.

"Don't be silly," she said aloud. "There's nothing there." She walked on, picking up her pace. Home was ten minutes away. She began to sing softly, the first thing that came into her head.

You come out at night
That's when the energy comes
And the dark side's light
And the vampires roam

Her foot slipped in the snow and she stumbled. Behind her, wind rustled the tall pines and she turned toward the sound.

Jean saw the movement, black against shadow. She started to run.

A lightning bolt of pain slashed across Jean's back. She screamed. Unthinking, she turned her head, but she never did see the thing that killed her.

*****

Jim stayed at a careful distance, examining the girl's body with his senses. He heard neither heartbeat nor breath. The smells that reached him were raw meat, blood and a hint of her perfume. She was dead. Her blood had soaked into the snow around her, scarlet against the white. Her clothing was torn, three parallel gashes across her back, diagonally from left-to-right: gashes that went through her thick winter coat to the flesh. What in hell could have done that? Freddy Krueger, perhaps, but certainly no animal native to the Cascades.

Jim had seen enough murder scenes when he was a detective in Cascade to be sure: Jean had been dead for hours.

Poor Jean. Why was she out here so late, all alone?

Jim swallowed. He'd seen worse than this, but he knew Jean. He looked at her snow-laced hair and remembered her wary smile, her laughter, the way she used to sing as she passed their farm. It made a difference; made it personal.

Jim looked, then, for tracks in the snow. He saw snow-filled traces of human footprints near her body, but could not distinguish Jean's from her killer's. The snow had fallen for some time after she died, concealing that evidence so well he could not be certain her killer’s tracks were even there. Jim saw other tracks, too, but those he expected and paid little attention.

Jim took his phone from his pocket and called Blair. Blair was sitting on the gate waiting for Jim to return. Jim could see him from where he stood, and noticed that Blair's hands were pale, almost blue from the cold as he fumbled to answer Jim's call.

"Hey, man."

"What time did you find her?" Jim asked him, not bothering with a greeting.

"Just after dawn. She was already dead, Jim, I swear..."

"Blair, I believe you," Jim said hurriedly. As if he could have thought anything different! If there was any chance Jean was alive when Blair found her, he would have tried to help her, Jim was certain. "That's not why I asked. Jeanie passed our gate around midnight last night. I remember hearing her singing. So, if she never made it home, why has no one missed her? You found her after dawn...that's, what, seven hours after she must have died?"

Blair's eyes widened. "Oh. Yeah, I see." He was looking up at Jim as he spoke into the phone. Jim must have been no more than a distant silhouette to Blair, but he always looked Jim's way. He knew Jim saw his partner clearly.

Could Jeanie have been out without her family's knowledge? Sixteen years old...it was possible she'd been with a boy, or a man. If so, could they be looking for a human killer this time? Jim almost hoped it was a person, but he looked again at the tracks in the snow and knew better.

Jim sighed. "I've got to call the cops."

Blair nodded unhappily. "Sheriff Fridell? Or do you want to call Simon?"

"I'd love to call Simon, but this is way outside his jurisdiction, Chief."

"What will you tell them?"

"I'm out jogging and I found her on the road. So get your ass back indoors. I'll take care of it."

Blair blew him a kiss. "Be careful, Jim."

He smiled. "Always. See you in a few hours." Jim ended the call and began to dial the local police.

*****

The interview room of the Panther Creek Police Station was a dingy place permeated with the stink of cigarettes. Numerous cigarette burns covered the table between Jim and Sheriff Fridell, as if every suspect was a chain smoker but no one ever bothered to use an ashtray. The sheriff had supplied Jim with a cup of coffee, but it stood untouched on the table, cold now.

Jim tried to breathe shallowly, keeping tight control of his senses of smell and taste. It was the only way he could avoid throwing up. He looked up at Fridell leaning against the door and said patiently, "No, as I've already explained, I was just taking my morning jog."

Fridell's bushy eyebrows raised toward his hat. "In the snow?" he said, his voice heavy with scepticism.

Jim refused to be baited. "Sheriff, I run every day, no matter what the weather is like. Snow, rain...I'd run in a tornado if we ever got one." He smiled calmly. "I'm compulsive that way."

"Compulsive," Fridell repeated as if he wanted to suggest a different word. "Do you always run the same way?"

"Again, no. I prefer rougher terrain. But there was fresh snow today, so I took the easier route." Jim sighed. "Sheriff, we've been over this. Twice. I'm sure you're waiting for me to contradict myself but it's not going to happen because I'm telling the truth."

Fridell nodded as if he agreed. He moved forward and dragged the chair out noisily. "Here's the part I don't understand. Why didn't we find your footprints anywhere near the girl's body?"

"I'm an ex-cop. I know better than to disturb a crime scene."

"It's not a crime scene. The girl was killed by a wolf."

"You don't know that yet. Not for sure."

"Mister Ellison, most people, even most cops, if they find a young girl collapsed in the snow, they'd try to help her. Check for a pulse at least. But you didn't. Why?"

At last, Jim understood what Fridell was getting at. "I've seen a lot of murder scenes, Fridell. I didn't need to get close to see she was dead. Her throat was slashed. From where I stood I could see the blood spatter pattern in the snow and it told me her carotid artery was severed. She would have bled out in minutes and the layer of snow on her body told me she'd been lying there for a couple of hours at least. So I kept my distance to preserve the evidence, and I called you." He hesitated then forged on. "Sheriff, maybe it was a wolf, like you said. But if so this attack was very unusual. Those scratches on her back looked more like knife wounds than claws. I realise this is your case, but if you need any help..."

"That's real convenient, Ellison," Fridell interrupted him, "you finding her like that."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"And here you are telling me we've got a man to look for 'stead of a wolf to hunt, when anyone could see the wolf tracks in the snow."

You pig headed jerk! "I'm not angling for a job, Fridell. I'm offering my help. No charge."

"Well, I don't need help from the likes of you."

Jim struggled to keep his temper. "If you could see the tracks clearly enough to identify them as wolf, then you know they were fresher than the body. Fresher than her footprints in the snow. The wolf didn't kill her."

"I don't agree. And the M.E.'s report is going to support me." Fridell strode over to the door and opened it. "Get out, Ellison. We're done here."

Jim stood. He was happy to get out of the room, but not at all happy with the outcome. He walked around to the door but stopped before he walked out. He tried one last time. "My offer stays open, Sheriff. Jeanie deserves the most complete investigation you can give her." He walked out without looking back, hoping Fridell would at least think about what he'd said.

Outside the police station, Jim called Blair to let him know he was on his way home.

Blair, as usual, picked up on his sour mood. "It didn't go well?" he asked.

Jim could hear the nervousness in his partner's voice. He snorted into the phone. "Fridell is an asshole. He insists a wolf killed Jeanie yet he interviewed me like a suspect."

"You're a suspect?"

"Not really. He just enjoyed giving me a hard time. It would have been worth it if the stupid fuck heard what I was saying." He slammed the door of his snow-covered Hummer.

Blair hesitated. "Jim...the cops can't do anything."

"I know, Chief. But if I could convince Fridell there's a human predator out there, maybe people would be a bit more careful. What the hell was Jean doing out there alone, past midnight?"

"It's not your fault, man," Blair said in a very different voice.

Jim sighed, letting his head rest against the Hummer's window. "Why didn't I hear it, Blair?"

"Jim, you can't save everyone."

"But last night? I should have..."

"Jim. Stop it. You're a sentinel. You're not Superman."

You're right. I know you're right... But Jim still felt guilty.

"If Fridell is calling it a wolf kill, can we look at the scene?" Blair asked hopefully.

"No, he'll keep it sealed until he can bully the M.E. into supporting his theory." Jim sighed tiredly. "I'm coming home, Chief. D'you need anything while I'm in town?"

There was a pause while Blair thought about it, but he finally said, "No, we're stocked up. See you soon."

Jim fired up the engine and started to drive.

*****

Iowa, Three Weeks Later

"Ow!" Sam exclaimed, flinching away from his brother's touch.

"Keep still! You're going to make it worse." Dean probed the wound just below Sam's shoulder blade carefully with his fingers. He couldn't feel any more glass in there. "Okay, Sammy, I think I got it all." He used a cloth soaked in antiseptic to clean Sam's blood off his hands, then a different cloth to clean the blood from Sam's back. "Hold still, dude. This is gonna hurt."

He was kicking himself for not realising the job would go down this way. Dean thought, a nice, straightforward haunting, something easy. After everything they went through in Saginaw, Dean looked for a gig that might give Sam an easier time of it, and if he was honest with himself, that would give him a little shore leave as well. It was a good plan...until they ended up having the final showdown in a room full of glass.

Sam flinched at the first touch of peroxide on the open wound, but he didn't cry out again. Dean worked as quickly as he could, covering the wound with a sterile dressing and taping it down. He stroked Sam's shoulder gently, pulling away before the gesture could mean too much. "All done."

Sam reached for the shirt he'd left on the motel bed. "Thanks."

"Dude, you're not wearing that."

"Why not?"

"It's pink."

"It's the only shirt I have that's clean and doesn't have holes in it."

"You're not wearing that," Dean insisted grumpily. "One of mine will fit you." He started to pack up the first aid kit. Bandage. Peroxide. Scissors. Tape. They needed to restock. Hell, they both got hurt too often.

Sam turned around, looking up into Dean's face. "I'm okay, Dean," he said seriously.

Dean shook his head, annoyed that Sam could read him so easily. "Just a little higher and it would have been your lung, not your rib."

"Yeah, and you'd have driven me to a hospital and given me hell for bleeding all over your upholstery."

Dean hesitated because Sam was right. And so wrong. The moment he saw that glass sticking out of his brother's back was one of the scariest of his entire life. The wound looked very deep and for a moment, Dean really thought he'd lost Sam. As it turned out, it looked worse than it was, but even so... "You want some Advil or something?"

Sam shook his head. "No, I'm just going to sleep." He grinned suddenly. "You go ahead. I know you've got your eye on the waitress in the diner."

Dean shrugged. "Yeah...well..." He reached beneath his pillow and pulled out a large knife. Silently, he offered it to Sam.

Sam took the knife. "Dude, we killed the ghost. Go celebrate."

Left alone, finally, Sam folded the pink shirt ready for morning, stripped off his pants and climbed into his bed. He slipped Dean's knife under the pillow. He had to lie on his front; the wound still stung like hell. He lay still in the bed and tried to sleep.

*****

Sam was walking through woodland. There was a stone wall on his left. His boots were churning up the virgin snow. He heard a girl's voice singing:

You come out at night
That's when the energy comes
And the dark side's light
And the vampires roam

He looked around, but could see nothing of the girl. His feet carried him onward. There was a full moon in the sky, silvery light reflecting off the snow. He heard a wolf howl.

Sam whirled around, his eyes seeking the wolf. It sounded so close...

Something leaped out of the trees. Sam had a confused sense of something black and grey. Moving fast. Eyes glowing. Teeth.

Sam cried out in pain...and found he was awake. He sat up, feeling his heart pounding against his ribs, the adrenaline rush still with him.

Dean, fully dressed and looking down at him from the foot of Sam's bed, said, "Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty."

Sam glared at his brother. It was way too early for a witty comeback. "At least one of us is beautiful," he growled.

Dean threw Sam's clothes at him. "Feel up to a new gig?"

Immediately, Sam was awake. "Sure. You found something?" He wanted Dean to say no. He wanted to take a break. Ghosts and old legends come to life...it never ended.

Dean nodded, dashing Sam's hope.

"What and where?" Sam asked wearily.

"In the Northern Cascades." Dean fished a folded printout from his pocket. "A girl was killed a few weeks ago in a town called Panther Creek. The local newspapers say it was an animal attack, but no one's saying what kind of animal."

"An animal attack in the mountains. Doesn't sound like our kind of thing."

"It's the fifth death up there in a year, Sam. Dad started collecting the articles. We talked about heading up there last summer, but something else came up. Here..." he handed the paper to Sam, "look at the dates."

The paper showed the news report Dean found, with a picture of a teenage girl smiling up at them. At the bottom, Dean had written a list of names, and dates. Sam looked, but the dates meant nothing to him.

Dean fished their father’s journal from his pocket and leafed through it until he found the right page. He passed the open journal to Sam. It showed a calendar with dates circled and several older news articles clipped to the page. Sam got the connection quickly.

"Full moon. You think it's a werewolf?"

"I'm thinking we should find out. I checked - the highway just re-opened."

If there was a werewolf out there... "Any survivors?" Sam asked warily, remembering his dream. It was just a dream, Sam. Not a premonition.

"Not that I've found. So far."

"Panther Creek, huh?" Sam shrugged, reaching for his pants. "Okay. Let's go."

Part Two