Of Monsters and Men (genfic, 1092 words, pg)
This was incredibly fun to write because I've not written Gordon or Henrickson before. However, while fun, there's not really much plot there, so be warned. And yes, I totally have slash goggles on when it comes to Dean and Gordon. In fact, where Dean is concerned, the slash goggles, they do not come off.
Of Monsters and Men
(genfic, 1092 words, pg)
A coda to Hunted. Henrickson and Gordon Walker discuss monsters. Written for missing_spn.
One thing Henrickson's got to say for Dean Winchester is that he's friends with some exciting types. This one's no exception. In fact, this one sets a whole new standard for exciting. Not quite up there with Winchester, but that's only because he's been taken off the street and can't compete in the crazy stakes anymore.
"So," says Henrickson, casually throwing the file down on the table so a few photos of headless corpses slide out, "you want to tell me about these, Gordon?"
Walker doesn't look up. His hands are resting neatly on the tabletop, the handcuffs only visible as a glint of silver when he shifts slightly. When his silence stretches on, Henrickson shrugs, sits down across from him and starts to spread the photographs out like a macabre comic strip.
"People just lose their heads around you." He flashes him a smile. "That's a little gallows humour for you. So… shall we talk about these?"
Walker takes a brief look at the pictures and for a moment, Henrickson thinks he sees him smile. Then he's back to playing oblivious.
"We don’t have anything to tie you to these murders yet. We're not done processing your impressive weapon collection and whereas you tidy up after yourself, I'm betting you didn't catch every drop of blood. You wanna confess now? We've got plenty of deaths to talk through, might help to get a head start before forensics butts in."
Nothing. Henrickson tries swapping the order of the photos around a little, watching to see if he provokes another spark of life, but he gets nothing. So he takes a photograph out of a different file and lays this one in front of Walker.
Slowly, carefully, Walker's fingers spider across the tabletop and come to rest on the glossy surface of the print. As if someone's just called his name, Dean Winchester's looking back over his shoulder. The picture's grainy and pixellated from the amount of enhancement programs it's been run through. Still, no mistaking Winchester's face.
"Or shall we talk about him?"
"What about him?"
It's the first time Henrickson's heard Walker's voice in person. He's heard the tapes from the first interrogation, a few monosyllabic answers. This is the first and the most he's heard from Walker himself though. His voice is thick and rich.
Henrickson props his chin up on the heel of his hand and shoots Walker a long-suffering look.
"This boy is driving me crazy. He pops up out of nowhere, wreaks havoc, and then disappears. I've got dead bodies and disturbed corpses and houses burnt to the ground and fake credit cards and police officers that don't exist conducting enquiries and hey, hey, hey! I'm not telling you some dumb blonde joke here. Why are you smiling, Gordon?"
Walker's got perfect teeth, broad and white and even. His lips curl back into a smile that's only a step removed from a snarl and Henrickson makes a note to move him a little higher up the psycho register in his mind. Walker may be cuffed and in custody right now but that doesn't mean he's suddenly a nullified threat.
"That's Dean. One hell of a guy."
"He's a monster," Henrickson corrects him firmly. "And the longer he's out there, the more people are gonna get hurt. He needs to be stopped. And I'm thinking, it takes a monster to catch a monster." Henrickson smiles and slides the photo out from under Walker's slack fingers. "And that's where you come in."
Walker lifts his head. His eyes are blank but they don't deviate from Henrickson.
"See, I can't get inside his head. Don't get me wrong, I've had psych training and I've heard all the theories about what makes a man act the way he does. But our friend Dean? I can't figure out why he'd do the things he does. Sure, I can make some guesses. The credit cards are easy, he wants money and isn't gonna work for it like the rest of us do. He wants his little bitch boy back, so he kills the girlfriend and torches the apartment-"
He breaks off there because something just happened. There was something in Walker's eyes, a shadow over his face. It was tiny but significant. Henrickson watches him a moment longer then picks up like nothing happened.
"But all the crazier stuff? I mean, what is with all the grave desecrations? C'mon! One of our specialists says Dean has a death-fixation. That by exhuming the corpses he's trying to demonstrate to himself that there's nothing to death. That it's nothing special. But I don't buy that. So, tell me," Henrickson leans in over the table and is caught again in Walker's empty gaze, "what makes a man a monster?"
The ticking of Henrickson's watch drums through the room as Walker stares back at him and Henrickson refuses to look away first. It's like dogs, whoever breaks eye contact is backing down, and it's not going to be Henrickson.
Finally Walker swipes a tongue over his lips and speaks again in that black-coffee voice.
"I don't think it's the floppy hair or the puppy dog eyes but who knows? The Devil takes many forms."
And then the bastard has the nerve to laugh at Henrickson's quizzical expression. He throws his head back and roars with it, the sound rippling through the column of his throat. He laughs and then takes a look at Henrickson's face and starts laughing all over.
"Care to share with the rest of the class?" Henrickson says at last.
Walker wipes at his eyes with the cuff of his sleeve and pulls himself together. The smile doesn't leave his face though.
"You're looking at the wrong brother. You want a monster? You look at Sammy. Sammy's gonna bring Hell on earth."
Walker looks down at the photo of Dean Winchester and finally his smile begins to fade. He starts to reach out to pull it closer again but Henrickson instinctively keeps it where it is. He feels wrong-footed and he hates it. He sat down in this chair expecting to be surprised, but not like this, not with something so out of nowhere.
Without knowing why exactly, he relaxes his grip and lets Walker take the photo of Dean back. Walker studies it for a moment then shakes his head and sighs.
"You want the truth about Dean? I pity the bastard." Walker looks up and smiles at Henrickson. It's the smile of the righteous man, the mad man. "He'll see. He'll see."
~end
Of Monsters and Men
(genfic, 1092 words, pg)
A coda to Hunted. Henrickson and Gordon Walker discuss monsters. Written for missing_spn.
One thing Henrickson's got to say for Dean Winchester is that he's friends with some exciting types. This one's no exception. In fact, this one sets a whole new standard for exciting. Not quite up there with Winchester, but that's only because he's been taken off the street and can't compete in the crazy stakes anymore.
"So," says Henrickson, casually throwing the file down on the table so a few photos of headless corpses slide out, "you want to tell me about these, Gordon?"
Walker doesn't look up. His hands are resting neatly on the tabletop, the handcuffs only visible as a glint of silver when he shifts slightly. When his silence stretches on, Henrickson shrugs, sits down across from him and starts to spread the photographs out like a macabre comic strip.
"People just lose their heads around you." He flashes him a smile. "That's a little gallows humour for you. So… shall we talk about these?"
Walker takes a brief look at the pictures and for a moment, Henrickson thinks he sees him smile. Then he's back to playing oblivious.
"We don’t have anything to tie you to these murders yet. We're not done processing your impressive weapon collection and whereas you tidy up after yourself, I'm betting you didn't catch every drop of blood. You wanna confess now? We've got plenty of deaths to talk through, might help to get a head start before forensics butts in."
Nothing. Henrickson tries swapping the order of the photos around a little, watching to see if he provokes another spark of life, but he gets nothing. So he takes a photograph out of a different file and lays this one in front of Walker.
Slowly, carefully, Walker's fingers spider across the tabletop and come to rest on the glossy surface of the print. As if someone's just called his name, Dean Winchester's looking back over his shoulder. The picture's grainy and pixellated from the amount of enhancement programs it's been run through. Still, no mistaking Winchester's face.
"Or shall we talk about him?"
"What about him?"
It's the first time Henrickson's heard Walker's voice in person. He's heard the tapes from the first interrogation, a few monosyllabic answers. This is the first and the most he's heard from Walker himself though. His voice is thick and rich.
Henrickson props his chin up on the heel of his hand and shoots Walker a long-suffering look.
"This boy is driving me crazy. He pops up out of nowhere, wreaks havoc, and then disappears. I've got dead bodies and disturbed corpses and houses burnt to the ground and fake credit cards and police officers that don't exist conducting enquiries and hey, hey, hey! I'm not telling you some dumb blonde joke here. Why are you smiling, Gordon?"
Walker's got perfect teeth, broad and white and even. His lips curl back into a smile that's only a step removed from a snarl and Henrickson makes a note to move him a little higher up the psycho register in his mind. Walker may be cuffed and in custody right now but that doesn't mean he's suddenly a nullified threat.
"That's Dean. One hell of a guy."
"He's a monster," Henrickson corrects him firmly. "And the longer he's out there, the more people are gonna get hurt. He needs to be stopped. And I'm thinking, it takes a monster to catch a monster." Henrickson smiles and slides the photo out from under Walker's slack fingers. "And that's where you come in."
Walker lifts his head. His eyes are blank but they don't deviate from Henrickson.
"See, I can't get inside his head. Don't get me wrong, I've had psych training and I've heard all the theories about what makes a man act the way he does. But our friend Dean? I can't figure out why he'd do the things he does. Sure, I can make some guesses. The credit cards are easy, he wants money and isn't gonna work for it like the rest of us do. He wants his little bitch boy back, so he kills the girlfriend and torches the apartment-"
He breaks off there because something just happened. There was something in Walker's eyes, a shadow over his face. It was tiny but significant. Henrickson watches him a moment longer then picks up like nothing happened.
"But all the crazier stuff? I mean, what is with all the grave desecrations? C'mon! One of our specialists says Dean has a death-fixation. That by exhuming the corpses he's trying to demonstrate to himself that there's nothing to death. That it's nothing special. But I don't buy that. So, tell me," Henrickson leans in over the table and is caught again in Walker's empty gaze, "what makes a man a monster?"
The ticking of Henrickson's watch drums through the room as Walker stares back at him and Henrickson refuses to look away first. It's like dogs, whoever breaks eye contact is backing down, and it's not going to be Henrickson.
Finally Walker swipes a tongue over his lips and speaks again in that black-coffee voice.
"I don't think it's the floppy hair or the puppy dog eyes but who knows? The Devil takes many forms."
And then the bastard has the nerve to laugh at Henrickson's quizzical expression. He throws his head back and roars with it, the sound rippling through the column of his throat. He laughs and then takes a look at Henrickson's face and starts laughing all over.
"Care to share with the rest of the class?" Henrickson says at last.
Walker wipes at his eyes with the cuff of his sleeve and pulls himself together. The smile doesn't leave his face though.
"You're looking at the wrong brother. You want a monster? You look at Sammy. Sammy's gonna bring Hell on earth."
Walker looks down at the photo of Dean Winchester and finally his smile begins to fade. He starts to reach out to pull it closer again but Henrickson instinctively keeps it where it is. He feels wrong-footed and he hates it. He sat down in this chair expecting to be surprised, but not like this, not with something so out of nowhere.
Without knowing why exactly, he relaxes his grip and lets Walker take the photo of Dean back. Walker studies it for a moment then shakes his head and sighs.
"You want the truth about Dean? I pity the bastard." Walker looks up and smiles at Henrickson. It's the smile of the righteous man, the mad man. "He'll see. He'll see."
~end