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24 August 2009 @ 10:05 pm
SPN Fic: Under the Blood Moon (Fate Comes for Him) [2/11]  
Title: Under the Blood Moon (Fate Comes for Him)
Author: Moonshayde
Season: Four
Category: Angst, Drama, Humor
Spoilers: Spoilers through On the Head of a Pin
Summary: When a hunt to protect one of the seals goes wrong, Sam awakens to find he's a hot-shot lawyer and Dean is a mechanic. Now, as the end of days nears, he must navigate a foreign life to figure out what went wrong, and get back to who he should be even if it means sacrificing the ones he loves.
Word Count: Approx. 33,000
Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke and co. All other characters, the story idea and the story itself are the sole property of the author. This is for entertainment purposes only; no financial profit has been gained from this story. This story is not mean to infringe upon the rights of the above-mentioned establishments.

[Chapter 1]



Chapter 2

Nothing special leaped out at him from the desk. Sam had spent the last twenty minutes going through every drawer, hoping to find an invoice, a bill of sale, anything, that would tell him more about his mystery mirror.

So far, he had gleaned from the paperwork that he was a defense lawyer who had won some big case that had received national attention and normally worked out of an office in New York. He had no idea why his law persona was in Boston, and frankly, he wasn't overly interested in finding out. He needed to find those invoices.

Sam leaned back in his chair and sighed. If he had been in the market for an antique mirror, where would he store his paperwork?

He glanced at the file cabinet across the room. It couldn't be that simple.

Sam crossed the room to the cabinet and shook one of the handles. As he suspected, it was locked, just like everything else in the room. At least the cabinets were labeled. Cases A-F were on the first drawer, which each file drawer holding subsequent parts of the alphabet. Sam knew he wasn't going to find any invoices for private purchases in his caseloads. He knew himself better than that.

However, next to the cabinet stood a smaller, darker filing cabinet. Nothing was labeled, yet each drawer was locked. Sam was immediately drawn to it.

Sam crouched down to pick the lock on each drawer. Breaking the locks proved trickier than the desk, but with a little persistence, he managed to snap them. Sam opened the top drawer.

He was surprised to find even more case files. Sam grabbed the first one he saw and flipped it open, curious why he wouldn't have labeled them.

He didn't have to stay curious for long.

Satanic images popped off the pages. Bloody pictures, gruesome murder details, and snatches of spell work were tucked and clipped to what looked like pages of his handwriting. The file was littered with occult paraphernalia.

"What the hell kind of lawyer am I?"

"Mr. Winchester."

Sam shut the file and rose to his feet. In the doorway stood a young blonde woman dressed in a trim, tailored suit. Her hair was pulled back into a severe bun and her face was hard as stone. Sam got the impression she wasn't one to be crossed.

"Can I help you?" he asked.

"I'm here for our 9 o'clock appointment." She arched her eyebrows, giving him a once over. "I assume it's business casual today, but I missed the memo."

Sam glanced down at his sweats, but turned back to her unfazed. "Is there a reason why everyone seems to be able to just waltz into my apartment?"

"Funny. As usual." She lifted her briefcase before she pointed to the living room. "I'll wait for you in the living room while you get your act together."

She went to leave, but Sam cleared his throat, effectively stopping her.

"I'm canceling all appointments for today. You'll have to reschedule."

"Don't think you can get rid of me that easily. Now, get a move on. We have a lot of work to do."

Sam watched her exit, listening to her high heels click on the hard wood floor. He sighed and slammed the file into the cabinet. This was perfect. He didn't need any more distractions.

After he finished tidying up his office, Sam went back to the bedroom and fished through the closet. Just with a quick glance, he could tell that his business suits came with a hefty price tag. He scanned for the cheapest looking one he could find and went with it. There was no need to look his best when he had every intention of dismissing the woman, and leaving this life, this apartment, and everything it came with far behind him.

"Let's get this over with," Sam said, fixing his suit jacket as he entered the living room. "I have a lot of work to do today.

"Yes, you do," she said. Sam frowned when she whipped out a daily planner. "You have to be downtown for 10 o'clock to okay some additional changes to the building if you want to have your office open on time. You also have a conference call with Mr. Hadley and Mr. Davis at 2 'o clock." She sighed. "Oh, yes. You have that consultation at 11."

Sam eased himself onto one of his leather recliners. "You're my personal assistant."

"Glad you finally woke up," she said dryly. "Should I continue?"

"No, that's all right," Sam said. "I'm afraid I do have to cancel my appointments for today. Something pressing has come up."

"Oh?" Her cool eyes were on him again. "More important that speaking with your bosses?"

"My bosses." Sam paused for a moment and then nodded. He remembered coming across their names several times when he had rummaged through the desk. "Mr. Hadley and Mr. Davis."

"I'm sure they would be very interested in hearing what could be more important than them."

Sam kept himself posed and relaxed in front of the woman, but barely. Time was ticking and he needed to track down that mirror. He couldn't be wasting time playing normal with a bunch of people he had no use for currently.

"It's a family emergency. I think they would understand."

For the first time, her severe face softened. "That is workable. I'll let them know. Though, is there anyway you can keep your 10 o'clock?"

Sam glanced down at his watch. He'd like to say no, but he suddenly had the notion that this woman could be useful. Besides, maybe he had something stashed in the office that could help him figure out what was happening.

"Sure," he said. "I'll get downtown right away."

She nodded, the twinkle in her eye giving him confirmation that she was pleased. "And should I go cancel your 11 o'clock as well?"

Sam nodded. There was no way he was going to sit with a potential client when by this time tomorrow he planned on having back his not-so-normal life.

"Good." She crossed out the date in the planner and rose to her feet, taking out her phone. "You don't need to be associated with that sort of thing here anyway."

He frowned. "What sort of thing?"

"Oh, you know. That little 'pet' project of yours. Some of the big boys might have thought it was cute in New York, but if you make a habit out of it, it's going to hurt your reputation."

Sam blinked. He had no idea what she was talking about.

"Oh, don't play those games with me, Mr. Winchester. I know what you've been doing all too well."

Sam laughed. "You do? I knew there was a reason I keep you as my personal assistant. You're too smart for your own good."

The woman beamed at the praise. "And you're too clever." She gave him a significant look before she packed up her briefcase and started for the exit. "Now, just drop those charity cases, and you'll be all set," she called over her shoulder as she walked.

Sam hopped from his seat and hurried to join her. "What would I do without them?" He couldn't get a read on whether she was just playing along with him, or if he could really fish additional details out of her without seeming insane. He stopped at the door and held it open for her. "So, just who was my charity case of the day?"

"The lovely janitor who shot that poor college girl in the heart." She leaned close and waved her cell. "Between you and me, I'll enjoy this. He was so desperate when he made the appointment. We both know you can do better."

"Your opinion has been noted." He paused at the door and flashed her a charming smile. "Do you think I could manage another favor out of you today?"

She crossed her arms. "And what kind of favor would that be?"

"I recently purchased an antique mirror, and then decided to sell it. I've started having some second thoughts. Do you think you could track down the invoices so I can have another look?"

His assistant dropped her arms. "It's not that ugly mirror you had wanted for the office, is it?"

Sam played his guilty as charged look and gave a slight shrug. "That would be the one."

"I'll get the file together and drop it off here later this afternoon," she said with a defeated sigh. "And here I thought we were making progress."

"One battle at a time," he told her.

"And I'm losing the war." She shook her head. "I'll speak with you later, Mr. Winchester."

"Thank you." He shut the door and let out a deep breath.

Score one victory for the day. Now, he just had to run down to his office, check on a few things, and wait for those invoices. He just hoped that he wasn't already too late to stop whatever Lilith had planned.

* * * *

The building was old and carried a certain aura to it, heavy and aged, burdened with the years and lives that it outlasted, like many of the structures in Boston. Even though Sam should have expected one of the more historic looking buildings to serve as his office, part of him was surprised he wasn't in one of the vast metallic tinted skyscrapers that stretched toward the upper atmosphere.

"It's all about appearance," echoed the voice of one of his old mentors. Funny how he could hear the professor's voice as clear as day here and now, when just a day ago he had been nothing but a forgotten memory.

Sam stopped in front of the door to his private office, pausing as he stared at the lettering etched into the glass. "Attorney Winchester." Sam had to admit the name had a nice ring to it. Perhaps in another life the title was something that would make him proud. Then, he remembered this was a different life, and he sobered to the idea.

Sam unlocked the door and searched the office. In the center, near the window, was a large mahogany desk, with a sleek lamp and computer. Across from the desk was a large and expansive bookshelf littered with as many, if not more, books as his library at home. The office included its own bathroom, a sofa, and chairs for what Sam would assume were for his clients. Despite the age of the building, the inside was state of the art. Like the secretary's office, the conference room, and the main lobby, his office held the aroma of new leather, computer components straight from the package, and that sterile cleansing smell of disinfectant and plastic.

He rounded the desk and eased himself into the large, plush leather chair. His gaze darted to the computer on the desk.

Within minutes, he had the computer online and running. The only problem was that his files, naturally, were password protected.

Sam let out a frustrated sigh. He didn't have time for this. He'd already wasted an hour talking to the workers finishing up the office for his "grand opening." But he also knew that if his files about the mirror were anywhere, they would be on this computer. He was organized enough to make sure business receipts and personal ones remained separate.

After a moment of staring at the screen, Sam broke awake and grabbed a pen and pad of paper. He let the thoughts flow, crossing out words he knew would be too simplistic for his taste, and crossing out ones that were insanely ridiculous for someone working in a law firm.

He searched the walls again, noticing a blank area on the surface to his right. He instantly knew that would be where the degrees would go, as well as any proof of his credentials.

His eyes darted to the bookcase.

Sam could identify several of the books. He knew them from his undergrad days. Many more were equally foreign to him. The experience of his life here versus his true life could be so vast in their differences that Sam wasn't sure even his best guesses would crack his locked files.

He needed to find common ground.

Once again his gaze fell to his library. Then, a thought struck him.

Sam started to scribble a bunch of random Latin phrases that came to his mind.

He eliminated most of the Biblical or supernatural phrases and prayers he had learned over the course of his life, as well as the simple and common words that many Americans would know from common culture.

But one phrase stuck out at him, one that had always remained with him during his college days. It was a phrase that always seemed to call to him somehow, speak to his desires and his sense of justice.

Curious, Sam typed in the Latin for "pay the penalty."

The computer rejected it.

"Dammit," Sam grumbled. He thought back to that class. He always enjoyed that teacher, the room itself, and general atmosphere it had contained. He never would forget it; every last detail was committed to memory, even the number of the classroom.

Sam smiled.

He typed in poenasdare06 and watched the computer spring to life.

Sam wasted no time in searching for any information on this elusive mirror of his. It didn't take him long to find a file just on office purchases, mirror included. Sam brought up the file along with some digital photos.

He recognized the mirror immediately. The antique had definitely been inside the basement of the shop. The mirror was made of finely polished steel, its concave surface warping any of its shimmering reflections. Still, despite this deformity, lawyer Sam had managed to find an extensive list of buyers who had owed the mirror through history, dating all the way back to early medieval France, and had added that to his file.

The mirror was a popular antique. And why wouldn't it be? Sam noted that it had an entire legend wrapped around it: the mirror was a tool in divination.

He sat back and let his mind absorb that bit of information. Mirrors had been used as a form of divination for millennia. They could be found through several ancient cultures and among countless ancient legends and myths. But what Sam was experiencing right now was not even close to simple divination. No, he knew that this mirror was much different.

Maybe the hard copies that his assistant was gathering for him would have more details. He needed to know the specifics about this mirror. While the invoices gave him the details in words, Sam had a feeling that there was something concrete in the mirror itself that would finally give him the information he needed so he could break free of this nightmare, destroy the demon, and find Dean.

At least he had a paper trail.

Sam picked up his office phone and dialed the number of the person who had bought the mirror from him. He sighed, hearing the jovial voice of a man on the trading company's answering machine. Sam left a message for a call back at his office and hung up the phone.

This was a delay he couldn't afford. In the meantime, he decided to print out the photos, invoices, and files he had associated with the mirror.

While that was printing, he rose to check out his small library, only to stop when he heard a knock on the door.

"Come in," he said.

A small petite brunette, a woman he'd come to know as Tabby, his office assistant, hovered at the door. In her hands, she held a file and a cell phone.

He frowned. "What's this?"

"Ms. Diego left them for you. She said you had requested a hard copy on your recent office purchases?"

Sam nodded. The assistant from early that morning. "Yes, thank you." He took the file, but frowned again at the phone.

"She also said that she couldn't reach your cell, so she took the liberty of using the account funds to buy you a new one."

He offered a sheepish grin as he took the phone. "Nice call on her part."

No way could he explain to her that his phone didn't work in whatever kind of place this was.

"Also, there is a gentleman on the line for you. I tried to tell him that you weren't seeing anyone today, but he refused to get off the line."

"Don't worry about it," he told Tabby. "I'll take care of it."

Sam carried the file and the phone back to his desk. He waited a moment before answering to flip through the hard file that Ms. Diego had compiled for him.

Most of the file was just a copy of what had already been saved to disk. Though Sam did notice that there were some papers that hadn't been scanned onto the system yet. He slipped them out of the file and started to examine them as he answered the phone.

"Attorney Winchester?"

"Yes. Look, Mister…"

"My name is Randy Pinto. We were supposed to have a consultation. I want you as my attorney."

"Yes, I know and I'm sorry I had to cancel. I have a family matter I have to attend to right now."

"Oh."

Sam tried to ignore the disappointment in the man's voice, but there was something about his tone that kept drawing Sam back. He paused over one of the more detailed photos of the mirror and remained quiet, sensing Randy would continue.

"Please, Mr. Winchester. I heard about you. I know what they say on the street. I got no where else to go."

Sam frowned. "What have you heard on the street?"

"That you help. You help people like me."

Sam felt his heart start to race as the gruesome images from his unmarked file cabinet flooded his mind. "People like you?"

"Yes, you know…" His voice trailed off until it was barely audible over the phone. "Hunters."

Sam fell silent. While he wasn't really surprised, he still found himself slightly thrown by the news. Representing innocent hunters who had become victims to the legal system never occurred to him. But, given his circumstances in his reality, he would have never had a chance to even consider that option. He'd never graduated. He'd never had much of a normal life. It seemed that even here, despite the normalcy of his everyday life, the supernatural still found its way to him. He wasn't really sure how to process all of this information.

"Attorney Winchester?"

"Sorry." Sam cleared his throat and tried to focus. "Death of a college girl."

"She was a werewolf."

"You're sure?"

The man snorted "'Course I'm sure. Been hunting those things for ten years. I'm always careful, but…"

"Not this time."

He heard a sigh. "I can't – I can't go into it here."

Sam understood. "Have you posted bail?"

He could hear Randy shake his head. "No."

"When is your hearing?"

"Next week," he said in a small voice.

Sam couldn't believe he was going to say this but…"My assistant will post bail for you, but you have to stay within the city. Next week we'll meet to discuss your case."

"Thank you," came Randy's shaky voice. "Thank you."

Sam wished him well and hung up the phone. Not even his pleasant goodbye could ease the weight he felt pressing on his shoulders. He had no intention of being here a week from now, and depending on where "here" was, Randy Pinto might never get the help he needed.

He vaguely wondered how many cases he had won for the hunters he had represented. He wondered if it had made a difference or if it had just been a way to win sympathy as a philanthropist in the eyes of the public. Sam knew he would probably never find out the real truth. He still had no idea whether he was trapped in someone's fantasy or if he had been sent somewhere.

Not that it mattered. He still had a job to finish.

His gaze fell back to the photos.

Two of the photos were more detailed than the digital ones on his computer. Large and glossy, they covered every scratch, scrape, or dent to the steel backing of the mirror. He leaned forward, certain he had seen some etchings in the corners of the mirror. When his careful scrutiny proved fruitless, he reached into his drawer for a magnifying glass.

That's when he found it. In each corner there was inscribed a Biblical name: "Jehovah," "Eloym," "Metatron," and "Adonay."

Sam turned to the computer and started a word search.

His eyes widened.

"Angels."

While he knew that the names were holy names, he hadn't expected them to be associated with angels. In fact, the incantation that went with the mirror and these names, specifically, was to invoke the angel named Anael. Sam hadn't heard Castiel, Uriel, or even Anna mention that particular angel, but it's not like he was exactly in their circle of trust.

More importantly, Dean never had said anything about that angel.

Again, the text he found online only associated the mirror with divination. The mirror was something called the Mirror of Solomon, and it sounded powerful. The rite to summon Anael was archaic and complex, involving a blood sacrifice of a pigeon. Then, after forty-five days, Anael would appear to grant the operator's request.

That wasn't what had happened. There was more to this incantation.

Sam felt his anger grow. The demon knew. The demon had known what was going to happen and he and Dean had been part of the set up.

Sam didn't need anyone to connect the dots for him. While the text never said anything about needing a human blood sacrifice, Sam knew that was what exactly had happened. Dean's blood had triggered the mirror and whatever purpose it held.

And according to the text, the same pigeon's blood that opened the incantation would have to seal it.

Sam knew what that meant.

And it killed him inside.

[Chapter 3]
 
 
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