Mistaken Identities

By Mellaithwen

Rating: T

Genre: Action/Adventure/Angst

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural, or Dark Angel –grumbles to self—

Timeline: Supernatural: Set during the end of Scarecrow (as you can see) and Dark Angel: Set after Gill Girl. Dark Angel is being set in present day America along with Supernatural.

Summary: Ames White grinned as he saw the Impala drive past him. He had finally found 494. Dark Angel/Supernatural crossover.

Chapter 1

"Thanks for coming, Sheriff," Scotty said, as he walked back into his café away from the kitchen in the back, causing Dean to shift in his seat as he stared at the officer having just stepped through the door. The couple sitting at the table there also turned, but seemed unperturbed by the arrival.

Dean stole a glance at the two men whispering near the doorway, before looking away from their glares trained on him.

"I'd like a word please," the sheriff said to Dean, almost pleasantly with an eerie smile and his hands in his pockets.

Next to his gun, just what I need...

"Oh come on, I'm having a bad day already," Dean said, as the sheriff of the creepy town came toward him, placing the balls of his fists on the table and leaning in.

"You don't want to make it worse."

Dean growled under his breath as he left the small café getting into his beloved car. His every move watched by the hawk-like eyes of the sheriff, who then followed the Winchester, and drove him out of their perfect little creep-fest-town of Burkitsville, Indiana. The sheriff only left once he knew the man was three miles away.

Special Agent, Ames White of the US government, in charge of wiping out any trace of the transgenic-creations of Manticore, stayed where he was, and kept his distance with his car hidden down the small embankment on either side of the road. He watched as the black Impala drove past him, not giving him a first, let alone a second, glance, and when Ames saw the driver, he smiled. Ever since he had seen that X5-494 was indeed alive, and working with X5-452, Ames had made it his personal mission to find the cocky-transgenic and bring him to his knees.

He had received a tip from one of the officers in St Louis that there might be a possible transgenic death, and upon arriving there, White had seen the body mimicking 494's looks perfectly. Except for the barcode. So, then having heard of another sighting in Iowa, he had realised that 494 had clearly been trying to cover his tracks.

Things in Seattle had been going rather quietly, and he had assumed that for some reason, somehow, 494 had gotten out of the city without detection. Until now, of course. In St Louis, the man had gone under the name of Winchester, a ploy of course, though, one differing from the apparent name of "Alec." Ames didn't care, and he paid their names no heed, sparing not a second longer in picking his phone out of his pocket, and pressing speed-dial. As the voice on the other end picked up, he greeted it simply by saying, "You were right, I've found him. I've found 494."

To say Dean was angry was putting it mildly. Not only had Sam left him, though granted the younger brother would argue that it was clearly the other way round, but now he had been driven out of town? Literally! He was trying to help those people, and that's what he got in return? Well clearly, the sheriff, Scotty, and no doubt the entire town was in on this thing; it was driving him insane.

He'd seen that scarecrow, and it was obvious to him that it was supernatural; his EMF meter had told him that much. He growled at the lack of information and the cold creeping into the car as night slowly descended. He drove aimlessly for sometime circling the vicinity of the town and biding his time before driving back. Normally Sam would do the research, that was College-Boy's job, and he had agreed to it being so when John and Dean had shown a lack of skill in the matter when they were younger. John would find out everything, things they didn't need to know, while Dean would skim books, skim articles, boring himself to sleep. Sam, it seemed, had the perfect balance of the two.

He heard the beginnings of the train pass overhead, as he made his decision, and under the cover of darkness, drove back through the town. Even if he had been a little more paranoid, he still would not have seen the car hidden still down the embankment, nor the driver on his phone as he told whomever it was on the other end of the Impala's driving. Nor would he have heard the words, "No, not yet, but soon, we have to catch him by surprise, it's the only way we can succeed."

It was night, and Dean knew that the couple from the restaurant was in danger. No matter how ignorant, rude, and downright ungrateful the two had been, he still had to take into account that they did not deserved to be eaten alive, or skinned, or whatever else it was the damn scarecrow did to people.

He reached the outside of the orchard, parked his car, and ran out; his shotgun was already on the passenger seat and he saved time where he would normally have gone to the trunk for weapons. He exited quickly, seeing the broken down car in front of him and running into the orchard without a second thought.

He listened intently to the night, hearing slight movement of the leaves beneath crunching feet that quickly increased, and cries of distress rang out. He followed them with precision and jumped out in front of the couple holding onto each other, with fear in their eyes as they took in his weapon, and the man who had harassed them from earlier, who had tried to save their lives. He fought the urge to roll his eyes and instead took action.

"Get back to your car!" he said, in a voice he reserved for the terrified. Authority was more likely to spark them into action, not to mention the slight fact there was a scarecrow, walking towards them with a very sharp hook attached to its arm...

He aimed the gun, cocking it, and pulling the trigger with ease. Motion he had long since practised, when facing the spirits and demons in his line of work. He didn't even let the gunpowder smoke to clear before stepping backward, and re-cocking the gun. He began running backwards, taking another shot, hitting the thing square in the shoulder, but barely succeeding in slowing it down. He took another shot, still running.

"Run! Go!" he cried to the couple that he was now catching up with. Even with the scarecrow hot on his tail, he didn't spare a look behind him, nor cock the gun once more, until they were backed up against the Impala doors, and the scarecrow was nowhere to be seen.

"What the hell was that thing?" the man asked.

Dean fought the urge to berate the lack of thanking he was receiving choosing instead to retort, his gun still aimed. "Don't ask."

"It's more than a spirit, it's a god. A pagan god anyway," he had told Sam, swallowing any doubts as he phoned his younger brother on the way to this community college. He now stood watching as the professor in question grabbed a large book from the shelf. The more he had thought about it the night before, the more it made so much sense. The town was using sacrifices to keep everything happy and humble.

He tried to keep his mind on the task at hand, but still as he watched the old man almost buckle beneath the weight of the libraries books, he heard his own words echo in his head: "I'm proud of you, Sammy," he had said, the call close to ending, and as he heard his brother bid him goodbye, he hadn't the heart to do the same, instead he simply hung up.

"So what would happen if the sacred tree was torched? You think it would kill the god?" Dean asked, digesting the information he had just been fed.

"Son," the old professor said, chucking, "these are just legends we're discussing."

"Oh, of course, yeah, you're right," he replied, playing along, before holding out his hand, "Listen, thank you, very much."

"Glad I could help."

Dean walked away, stealing a glance to smile, before opening up the door, never seeing the butt of the gun as it collided with his face, knocking him out cold as he collapsed onto the floor and fell unceremoniously onto his back.

He hated waking up inside of dark rooms he didn't recognize, but he had done so not too long ago, and what was worse, he hated waking up, not from sleep, but rather, a purposely induced state of unconsciousness. His eye throbbed horribly, and he winced, letting a finger trace along his eyebrow, checking for swelling gingerly. He sat, his legs bent as he rested his arms on his knees, and he looked up in anticipation when the door above him opened, and the girl was pushed in, pleading against those who held her. Her own family and neighbours. The people of this town.

"Why are you doing this?" she had asked, teary eyed with Dean behind her, glaring.

"For the common good," her aunt replied, in her warped sense of right and wrong, and ever since, Dean had tried to explain best he could about the current situation. The scarecrow, bang, he tried to open up the door, her family's intentions, bang, he tried again all of it, and how he planned to get them out of it, how he needed to know about the tree. He had been discussing it all, when the door opened once more, and the waning light was let in, letting them see the faces of their condemners. "It's time."

He stayed quiet, save for the occasional grunt at the way he was being manhandled, and poked in the back by the barrels of the many guns trained on him, as he was led through the orchard, and pushed down onto the floor. His hands were tied tightly to the tree, until he could feel the skin pinching and his fingers going numb, curled awkwardly against the branches of the apple tree.

"How many people have you killed, Sheriff?"

"We don't kill them," the sheriff said, giving credence to the town's actions.

"Oh but you sure cover up after, I mean how many cars have you hidden, clothes have you buried?" His only answer was the sound of yet another gun pointed at him from behind. Great, he thought to himself, just great.

He listened in fuming anger at the clichéd views of the twits doing this to them. He heard the girl's voice, too young to be a part of this, too young to die. And what about him? He wasn't ever thirty, and this was how he was going out? Tied to a goddamn tree? Hell, no.

"I hope your apple pie is frickin' worth it!"

"So what's the plan?" she asked, as they were left alone in the orchard, awaiting their doom.

"I'm working on it," he said looking around, hoping for a burst of inspiration he knew would not come. He pulled at his wrists, only serving another dose of pain erupting from them, and he jerked around, trying to get free, trying to think of a way to get his cell phone to magically switch itself on and speed-dial 1. Speed-dial Sam.

"You don't have a plan, do you?" she said, resigned to her fate, and Dean practically screamed, Thanks for the vote of confidence. But knew she was right, and knew he could never admit it.

"I'm working on it!" Though he sounded far from sure himself.

"Can you see?"

"What?"

"Is he moving yet?"

He watched as she tried to catch a glance, then slumped back. "I can't see."

Then he heard it. Footsteps crunching on leaves, slow and steady, a normal pace walking through the orchard that could only mean one thing. Oh crap.

"Oh my god, oh my god!"

He struggled harder, pulling and pulling, his teeth gritted in determination. He would not die at the hand of a fugly scarecrow, he just wouldn't!

"Dean?"

He stopped struggling, stopped panicking, stopped thinking of doing anything rather than feel the surge of relief that the scarecrow was still keeping its distance. This particular lanky creature, devoid of any murderous intentions however, was welcome. If only he had the sense to look behind him, and see the agents clad in suits following his every move...

"I take back everything I said," Dean said in relief to being let out of his bonds. "I'm so happy to see you." Still taking in deep breaths, "Come on," He edged his brother on to hurry, "How'd you get here?"

"I uh, stole a car," Sam said, almost in embarrassment.

Dean smiled, laughing, "That's my boy." Paying his younger brother a compliment. "Keep an eye on that Scarecrow," he said, suddenly realising that Sam would be able to see it, while pulling at the last of the rope.

"What scarecrow?" Sam frowned, as Dean got to his feet, slightly numb from the pins and needles that had been shooting through them, thanks to his position on the floor. He looked at the post, the empty post, and felt the relief wash away.

He heard a crunching behind him, but turned too late as a tazer was shoved under his ribs, burning and sizzling as the electrodes burst through his skin, stunning him. He saw the man, the ordinary man in front with a neutral mask, but the man behind was grinning. Dean tried to get his bearings in an attempt to defend himself, but slowly he was going numb from the weapons' effects.

"Hey!" Sam cried, lunging at his brother's attacker, before feeling something hard hit him on the back of his head, knocking him down, hard, having been hit by another agent. In the distance Sam heard Emily let out a cry, as he landed on the leaves littering the ground. Dean doubled over in pain, and suddenly another tazer was shoved beneath his other rib, making him cry out in pain, his back arching, as he slumped to the ground, unconscious.

"494," the grinning man said, with pleasure, ignoring the still-tied-up girl, and what he assumed was the unconscious man. They were nothing to him, and he could see that neither were transgenics. All he cared about was his captive.

As the last feeling of a dazed grogginess left him, Sam saw from where he lay on the ground, three men dragging his brother's lifeless body away. He tried to stand up, to fight, and run after them, but he heard a whimper from the side, and his head shot to the side to see Emily, looking all the more distressed. He crawled over to her, untying her bonds, and turned back to see his brother being taken away, but there was nothing there. Nothing at all, not even the whirring of a car in the distance broke the tense silence. His brother was gone, and it was all his fault.

TBC

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