(no subject)

[samecgh]

Title: Dead Twilight

Author: cghardy

Fandom: Life On Mars (UK)

Characters/Pairing:  Sam, Gene (mostly), beginnings of a Sam/Gene relationship

Table: Mystic

Prompt: Supernatural

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: Violence, swearing, the occult, magic, slash

Word Count: 1676 (This may also include breaks.)

Summary: Sam Tyler is about to become a cult’s last point. Not if Gene can help it.

Notes: AU (of sorts) of original TV show. Beta-read by no one. I don't use beta readers.

 

 

 

 

Four dead. Two women in their 20’s and two in their 50’s. There were no connections, no real leads, and no suspects.

 

In 2006, there would have been DNA, latent prints, and fiber checks. Prints would have been checked in the system and any matches would have already come back.

 

Sam was not in 2006. He was in 1973, with no DNA and no deep checks in fingerprints. He had unreliable witnesses, no major evidence and a DCI that insisted on not staying late.

 

“Beer o’clock,” Gene announced, moving out of his office. Everyone started grabbing their coats and headed out behind him. Sam stayed for a while, ignoring the looks from Gene and Anne and catching up on paperwork and brainstorming anything he could think of to check the next day. When it finally hit midnight, he finally set aside everything and left. The night desk constable didn’t acknowledge him as he walked out into the open air.

 

It was crisp outside, not too cold as it had been for the last few nights. October, as the newscaster predicted, was warm during the day and cold at night. With Halloween the next day, he saw many had decorations up to welcome trick-or-treaters for the big night. Several had pumpkins that had not been smashed by vandals.

 

Walking slowly and preoccupied by thoughts he was trying to wrestle with, Sam didn’t hear two people walking a little faster than he was. He looked at you.

 

So did Annie.

 

Annie’s worried about you; she told you so. Gene doesn’t have a reason.

 

She could have told him.

 

That was a weak excuse. He would have come over and dragged you to have several shots. Sam’s other half was annoyed as he saw a third person race across from a doorway to a waiting van. He went the opposite way just as one of the people behind him hurried to seemingly help the person. Instead, the person pushed him toward the third person. The second person grabbed his left arm while the first grabbed his right. He went to kick the third person when they grabbed his leg. He kept struggling for a minute before someone hit him over the head. While it didn’t knock him out, it stopped him enough for them to force him into the van.

 

“Are you sure it’s him?” one asked.

 

“The reading’s right! He doesn’t make mistakes,” another hissed. He put up a small fight while they bound his hands and feet.

 

“Tap him again. Easier to deal with,” a third voice ordered. A lighter tap hit just above the first. The combined pain caused him to black out.

 

{*}{*}{*}{*}    {*}{*}{*}{*}    {*}{*}{*}{*}    {*}{*}{*}{*}

 

Gene Hunt was part demon. Being part demon meant he didn’t have the same tolerance as normal people. His was roughly three to four time greater (never tested it too much). He was just at the buzzed stage of the night when another buzzing sensation rushed through him. Separating this from the other buzz, he walked out of the pub slightly staggering. He reached the end of the sidewalk walking upright and faster.

 

The other buzz was intuition, demonic intuition. He walked with the buzz, trying to make it grow in strength. When he started getting closer, fragments of thought came through his head. “Bloody ‘ell, Tyler, you nag even off duty.” He passed a street to see an energy signature (his mother named it, she was more scientific) in the form of Sam’s retreating backside. He followed, feeling the buzz getting stronger.

 

Several other signatures showed up as he saw the event taking place. He watched the three gather around Sam and push him into the van. He tried to get a closer look at their faces, but they were distorted, grotesque. “They’re covering their tracks.” He got the license number of the van as the image started fading. “I was hoping it wasn’t related to this. And me without my gun,” he muttered, heading back to get his car at the pub.

 

“Guv, we thought you left for the night,” Chris said, surprised at the DCI’s reappearance. He had stood up straight after puking up the last two drinks he had. Annie stood by, waiting for him to finish.

 

“Forgot my car.”

 

“Are you alright to drive, sir?” Annie asked.

 

“Fine.” He drove off without a second glance.

 

She looked back at him. “Come on. You should sleep off that last drink.” She led him to her car.

 

{*}{*}{*}{*}    {*}{*}{*}{*}    {*}{*}{*}{*}    {*}{*}{*}{*}

 

The first voice started talking. Sounding like it was coming out of a badly tuned radio, it was hard to decipher. He could still make out the words after a few seconds though. “What are we doing this late?”

 

The third voice responded. “The completed pentagram has to be during dead hour on the 31^st. The power is at its strongest then.”

 

“Could it be as strong at another time of day?” a new voice asked.

 

At this, Sam opened his eyes. Well, he tried, but he couldn’t move his eyelids against the cloth. His open mouth felt and tasted like fabric, but that was because of the gag. He didn’t move, not wanting to give them indication he was awake. At least he was hearing the voices better, but that came with the pain of the hits. “The only other time would be twilight, and it would have been harder to either keep him or grab him at work,” the second voice answered, walking into the room. He heard a second set of footsteps with the second voice.

 

“How much time do we have left?” the last person inquired.

 

“Forty-five minutes, that will give us ten minutes to prepare before the dead hour strikes,” the fourth informed.

 

“Shall we gather for a meal before? I am feeling weak,” the first asked. A general sound of consensus went around.

 

“Let us gather our energy for the ritual ahead,” the fourth recited. The sounds of five footfalls became quieter and quieter.

 

Okay, they’re gone. First things first. Sam reached up for the blindfold, working it alternatively between the knots and pulling it up. A minute of struggling and he took it off. Looking at his bonds, he saw that he was handcuffed, along with chains wrapped around his legs. The chain went up to a pulley and came back down to a secure holding on the wall. He pulled out the gag to whisper the next thing, “Shit.” His arms were cuffed in front of him. Pushing himself up with the rim of the bath-like item he was in, he saw similar tubs around him. There were fleck of blood painting the outside and the surrounding floor.  He sank back, surprised and a little afraid. What the hell are these people?

 

Five idiots that are going to get their heads bashed in.

 

Great, now I’m thinking like Gene.

 

What are you talking about, Gladys? This is the Gene Genie.

 

Gene! How the hell are you in my head?!

 

Later, Tyler. Now time to deal with some murderin’ bastards. Sam groaned as he heard several footfalls come back into the hall.

 

“Ready the pentagram,” one of the voices shouted. The chain was unwound and Sam was lifted up to hang upside down over the bath. He watched the four others bring out white plastic tubs filled with a dark red substance. That isn’t wine, is it?

 

Right in one. Victims’ blood. He watched as they stripped down to nothing and stepped in the baths. They poured the blood over them, completely drenching themselves and splattering around also. The last person stepped in, holding a decorated knife that was positioned next to his throat. As weak as it was, Sam had to say it. “You kill me; you’ll have the entire Manchester force after your arses.”

 

“When we kill you, we will fear no one,” he intoned, moving the knife to just under the Adam’s apple. Waiting a second longer, Sam saw Gene slip into shadows behind the people on his right. Holding up his hands, he started whispering something. Another second later, fireballs came out of his hands and started taking out the others. Two were out and cold in the tubs. The two farthest from him ran. The last had moved so Sam’s head was protecting his.

 

“Drop the athame!” Gene ordered. There wasn’t a hesitation to play on as they both tried to work out something to get him free. Gene had a fireball ready, but he was quicker and closer to Sam. So, Sam balled both of his fists together and hit him directly below the breast plate. The athame slid and nicked him, but it left his throat. Gene used the distraction to aim a fireball directly at the same area. The man flew back a few feet, knocked unconscious from the pain.

 

Gene walked to the wall first and undid the chain, lowering him slowly back into the bath. He moved over to the bath to unlock. Sam was pulled up by his arms. Grateful that he was alive, he celebrated. By kissing Gene. Stunned to react for three seconds, Gene gave back by pulling him closer and deepening the kiss.

 

A warmth spread through them, generating from both of their chests. Sam had a tingle that went through all his nerves, sending the message that he was being tickled all over. Gene heard the singing, something his mother talked about when she first met his father.  Both had closed their eyes. If they hadn't, they would have seen a gold hue surrounding them.

 

After a minute, they finally separated. Sam almost collapsed from the previous wounds. Gene caught him, one arm around his waist and the other holding on to his wrist to pull the arm over his shoulder. “Come on, Gladys. Need to get to a pay phone to clean up this mess.”