What happened

Judge McRiley had the world's biggest headache. Between the trial itself and the pending end of it, his head was almost constantly protesting. His body was tense to the point that he thought he'd have to take a week off and fill it with near constant massages in order to relax his muscles.

They were so very close to the end of all of this.

He turned ot the jury and sighed heavily.

"We have heard the closing statements of the lawyers, and I believe that they have both made their cases as best could be done considering the situation at hand. I have decided to strike absolutely none of this from record, so in your deliberations, you are to take every bit of it into account. I want you to all consider long and hard what your decision will be. The results of this case will have effects on many, many people. An entire city, if you will."

He was silent for a moment, and then nodded, as if he'd made a choice. "It's unusual to do, but I'm going to request that there be no hung jury. You will have to make a decision one way or another, and I don't care how long it takes. This will not be dismissed."

McRiley banged the gavel once and stood. The bailiff couldn't do his duty, the judge left so quickly.

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It had begun like any other trial. Smoothly. Calmly. The judge entered and the people silenced. The baliff called for everybody to stand, and they did so, respectably. They sat just as silently, just as calmly when the judge called for them to do so. Judge Scott McRiley presiding...

It was just as the judge was settling in that the first mishap occured.

Jack Napier stood up to introduce himself to the court. And to the audience of people attending. He did so with a flourish and a bout of laughter so nerve-wracking that it took Judge McRiley a good ten minutes to quiet everybody down again.

"That is the last we'll have of that, I hope." He stated, looking Jack directly in the eye as he spoke.

Little did the poor judge know that this was only a pre-cursor to the sorts of things that could go on in a trial like this. A trial against Jack Napier. Maybe the only truly insane genius The City had ever seen. The misguided fellow might actually mistake to think he'd be able to control The Joker.

Jack himself spent a good few moments blowing kisses at Harvey Dent while Judge McRiley tried to call for order and the beginning of the trial.

He looked out at the lawyers and nodded. "Prosecution? You may begin."

And then he sat back, ready to hear this fantastic case.

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and...





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Please let me know if I've missed anyone, or if any other characters would like to participate.

There was nothing to do but worry about John. The only bit of action they'd had since being in The City was there little encounter with Progo, as strange as that was, but since then? Nothing. And so the Winchester boys were left with endless time to worry about their dad. They had yet to find a way out of this place, but were still working on that. Hopefully John was okay. Actually, Dean was sure his dad was okay, it was more him wanting to be with him and working again. It'd been 24 years since he'd had a home, and honestly? He hated it. He was restless, and it was rare that he was in that apartment more than four hours while he was awake.

Like right now. Dean was looking for something, ANYTHING to do. Lately he'd resorted to girl watching across the street from the school, but he realized how creepy that was and looked for something better to do.

Too bad he couldn't think of anything. He lifted his arm too look at his watch, and smirked, reaching into the small bag of popcorn he'd gotten from a corner store on his way. 12:15pm, a half a day of classes for the college level students was over, and the show would be begin.

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Kate had a cell phone, but it wasn't on her person, no she could see it sitting on her bed where she had left it when she had dashed out of her room, convinced she was going to be late for school. Well, that meant the cell phone was back .. wherever the hell her apartment was. So, no cell phone meant Kate was turning to a payphone, in her attempt to phone her father. She dialed the number for her father's office, and held her breath while it rang and than ..

"Hello, Maratha's Pizza."

"Oh, sorry. Wrong number."

She hung up the phone, not exactly … surprised. Next she tried her sisters cell phone, that number wasn't in service. Muttering that the third time was the charm Kate dialed her hone number only to hear, that much like her sisters cell phone, that number was no longer in service.

"Dammit!" She placed the phone back on the hook with more force than necessary. Back to plan B it seemed, trying to find that newspaper place. Kate wasn't a fan of adults, after all tended to confiscate her weapons (okay, so that had happened once, and to be fair she had "borrowed" said weapons, but really it wasn't like any of the Avengers had been using them ...) and tell her to go home. But in this case maybe an adult could shed some light on this situation.

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WHO; Dean and Sara
WHAT; dean's distracted, coffee getting, arguing, etc.
WHEN; when pigs flew
WHERE; a few places?

It had just passed noon when Dean Winchester, the older, and more ruggedly good looking of the two brothers who'd been pulled into the city, sat down in the drivers side of the dark green Impala. The sound of the car starting made him grin, and he leaned over the passengers seat to reach for, and open the glove compartment.

S didn't know what he was talking about. The quality of his cassette tapes just made listening to the music on them even better. At least that's what Dean thought. He pulled out Fire of unknown origin and popped the tape into the deck before tossing the case into the seat. The end of the title song played while he checked his mirror and pulled out of his parking space.

Just as he started driving, the opening to I'm Burnin for you started, and he couldn't help but j. "AhhhHHHhhhh," ba dum dum, goes Dean while he's driving down, whatever street he's on, not really paying attention at all until he sees someone in front of his car. He slmed his breaks, hearing the tires scre, he winced and looked out of the windshield to see who was flipping him off.

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Proginoskes never had any doubts about how odd he looked in terms of life on Earth: there was no species that quite resembled a giant ball of wings with more eyes than any creature ever needed. Birds came close, but no birds ever breathed fire. He'd taken to wandering around invisibly, just to save himself the trouble of dealing with people staring at him. It was a very uncomfortable and off-putting thing to put up with, even if he did have a habit of staring, himself.

There was a certain element of chaos in the City that hadn't been there before. He didn't quite understand it - surely, without all of the metallic distractions humans had made for themselves, they could actually try and think about what they were, and what they should be doing.

Progo was a bit ruffled. It was the only explanation for why he suddenly materialized inside what appeared to be a bar. It was certainly crowded. Alcohol seemed to be popular when things went badly. One moment, he was hovering around next to the bartender, staring at the variety of bottles lining the wall and taking in all of the colors.

Then someone was pointing at him, and then he realized he wasn't invisible.

The pointing and staring was followed by a moment of shocked silence, and then, probably, the realization that he was actually a real creature. Then the screaming started, and the panic. The bartender tried to smack Proginoskes with a baseball bat, but a wild, instinct-driven burst of flame took care of that. People ran out into the street. A few dropped to their knees and started praying, drunkenly. Most simply fled, babbling things about angels and demons and dragons.

Inside the bar, Proginoskes drifted over the barstools, feeling rather smugly proud of himself, despite the trouble he caused.

Silly humans.

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WHO; dean, sam & sara.
WHAT; Investigation of, several things.
WHEN; Uhm. Yesterday...
WHERE; Somewhere in The City :O

Investigating homocide cases wasn't really something you might expect a beautiful girl such as Sara might be doing for a living, but hey. There's always some sort of surprising quality about a beautiful girl. Sara had always been a good cop, and was especially fascinated by the inner workings of the police system. With her father's name in front of her, she'd been granted her wish of investigating the truly wicked and creepy.

Today was just another day on the job, though this case was a particularly messy-looking one. When she went in to see what had gone down, Sara had been surprised to feel a slight bit nauseous. The sole owner of the apartment had been ripped to shreds, to put it as settlingly as possible, like an animal had gone loose in the apartment and just gone ballistic on the guy. Thank God Sara wasn't religious, or else she might have had to say a prayer or two while checking the scene. Rest in peace, man.

Stepping outside the apartment building in her fine, but as usual sexy business suit, Sara glanced up at the crowd that had formed around the caution tape that kept them away from the crime scene. It was always like that, though, and she didn't seem phased by those who were curious and concerned about the recent murder. She stopped at her patrol car, tossed hair from her features, and started to pull at her rubber gloves. They'd been thorough in their search. No need to keep those on with the amount of evidence they'd picked up; or lack thereof.

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Sam had finally convinced Dean that they should sleep for the night, before they went running around trying to figure out where the hell they were. He didn't sleep very well, at all, maybe a few hours all together, between him waking up and tossing and turning. It was nine, now, and he was staring at the ceiling. There were no cracks to count. No strange stains to wonder about. Those things were comfortable to him, which would probably sound weird to someone else, but when you've been living out of motels for the last nine years of your life, your comforts seem to change.

Sam was still sleep, which was a good thing, so he wouldn't spoil that just yet. Instead, he got up and found his way to the kitchen. Standing in the door way for a second or two, he yawned and ran a hand over his head before walking in. He looked back and forth over the cabinets before he reached for one. Where's the coffe? Dean dug around, cabinet after cabinet, getting more and more frustrated the longer it took his to find his addiction. He was quite sure now that he had died and gone to Hell.

But he doesn't give up that quickly. He moved to what looked like a pantry and continued his hunt there, swearing to himself when he hit his head on a shelf. For all he knew, Sam could have gotten up earlier and hid the coffee on purpose! "That little Bastard," he said quietly to himself, hitting his head again, and giving it a bit of a rub before calling. "Sammy!"

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who dean & sam.
what their arrival :D!
where some random highway, and then the city.
when whenever your heart wishes it to happen.

Trying to keep his eyes open, since, you know, he was driving, Dean kept his eyes on the rising sun in front of him. He'd been driving for hours after getting a tip from their dad, and hoping he would be somewhere in the area, too. Reaching to turn up the radio, in hopes that the loud would keep him awake, since he didn't have any coffee.

Sam had been passed out beside Dean for hours, forehead smooshed against the windshield and his mouth hanging wide open as he slept. The gentle lull of the radio that had been playing so quietly before had been boring, but when paired with one of Dean's drone-worthy stories? Recipe for sleep. It was one of the rare times that Sam had really gotten much sleep, let alone sleeping without dreaming of Jessica, and so the sudden jerk of loud noises from the radio disturbed the poor guy's slumber.

Twitching violently as he awoke, Sam blinked, sat up straight and rubbed at his eyes. "Where are we?"

"Sure ain't Kansas," he said, turning to his brother with a grin. When he saw that he didn't buy his super lame attempt at humor, Dean turned back to the road. "You sleep alright?"

Sam passed on laughing at Dean's attempt of a joke, instead clearing his throat and blinking some as he rearranged his sitting position. "Yeah," he nodded some, glancing out the window. "How long was I asleep?"

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Lois had just finished securing herself a job with The City Voice. The editor was no Perry, but he seemed to be fairly straight-to-the-point and no-bullshit, so she had a feeling they would get along just fine. He'd been hesitant to give her an assignment beyond writing some sixth-page level stories on recent City social events, given that she was a newcomer to town and could not provide samples of her work. Somehow, he hadn't even heard of the Daily Planet or Metropolis.

Well, as much as she resented losing everything she'd worked for over the years and starting over from scratch, she was confident she'd prove herself soon enough. And it sure as hell beat sitting around and accepting the younger Lex's charity without giving anything in return.

Stuffing the palmtop she'd been given to help her complete her current assignment into her purse, she walked through the glass doors, stopping as she heard a shower of gunfire. Reacting quickly, she ducked around the side of the building, climbing up the fire escape, attempting to get a better view of the events. Did she pause, for even a split-second to consider taking cover?

No, of course not. When Lois Lane smelled a story, she dove in headfirst, without stopping to consider her own personal safety.

And so, adrenaline pumping and mind on getting the scoop before anyone else did, she continued her climb up the fire escape, focusing on getting to the top of the building as quickly as possible.

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She had taken to wandering the corridors of Wayne Manor in her night gown, waiting for whoever had been using her father's bookmarks to come home.

Instead, she had found herself face to face with an Alfred that was nearly two decades younger than she remembered him. She'd also seen a side of Alfred she never remembered seeing-he'd demanded to know who she was, and had all but physically thrown her out of the house when she'd told him.

And so, the cab that had been paid for pulled to a stop in the center of the unfamiliar city, in front of what looked to be a motel. She climbed out, shouldering the black duffel bag she had insisted on taking with her-the few remaining vestiges of her life, which included her suit and a small collection of weapons.

She stopped at an ATM machine outside the motel, trying her card. At the very least, her bank account seemed to be in tact, as her pin number worked and the machine spit out a small pile of bills. Enough to ensure that she was taken care of for the next two weeks, just in case, well, just in case her bank account disappeared too, as everything else that was familiar seemed to have.

She quickly stowed the bills inside her left boot, leaving just enough in her pocket for the motel room and some food. She went inside and checked in, making her way to the motel room and sitting for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts.

Last night, she'd been in her bed at dad's house, which she'd inherited two months ago. She certainly hadn't wanted the house. It held too many memories.

But she hadn't been able to bring herself to move, either.

She'd spent the last two months guarding the city with a growing intensity, bordering on obsession. As though taking up Dad's old mantle would somehow make up for the fact that he'd given his life because of her. Because of her lack of honesty.

Or perhaps taking on the role her father had been so unhappy to find her in was her way of lashing out at him, post-mortem. Her last rebellion against a man who had spent his entire life holding her at arm's length, moreso when she had needed him the most.

She sighed, changing from the nightgown she had been wearing into her costume, placing a mask on her face.

She found herself thinking back to the Mansion, to the man who, no doubt, accompanied the butler. Alfred wouldn't have expelled her unless he was protecting yet another occupant.

The original occupant, no doubt. Or, rather, the man she would always think of as the 'original' occupant, as she hadn't had the chance to get to know her grandparents or great-grandparents, etc.

Dad?

No, not exactly. And yet, she wondered if she would somehow find some resolution in seeing him, speaking with him.

Apologizing for the secrets she'd kept, for the fact that she hadn't been quick enough, or strong enough, or good enough to help him in the end.

Perhaps if he were able to forgive her, then she could move on. Maybe even, if... somehow, he was a version of her father from the past, she could prevent it from happening.

She shook her head, attempting to clear the thoughts. Now was not the time. What mattered now was finding out as much as she could about this city. She quickly stowed her collapsible crossbow in her boot, along with a few other weapons on her belt, and then climbed out the window, using a grapple hook to exit the balcony onto a nearby fire escape, climbing it to the top of a building and stopping, surveying the city. Nothing but twinkling lights and buildings that were a blend of the familiar and unfamiliar. She watched, blinking as, suddenly, a few of the buildings changed. Just like that, they were gone, new ones in their place.

She shook her head, as though to clear the hallucination, and then looked again. Nope. There it was again-another part of the city was moving.

She retrieved a small pair of night vision binoculars from her belt, looking through them, attempting to see beyond the buildings. The city itself stretched for miles, but beyond the mass of concrete skyscrapers, there was a dense wood-like nothing she'd ever seen, really. Certainly not like the woods she'd went to on a camping trip for school once when she was younger.

At this point, she was all for chalking this all up to one incredibly realistic dream. Or nightmare, for that matter.

And so, for the time being, she'd go along with it, and sooner or later, she'd hopefully find herself back at home, in her bed.

But the question was-did she really want that to happen before she got the chance to talk to this world's version of her Dad?

Attempting to again push that thought of her mind, she leapt from building to building, occasionally stopping to survey the city, still completely baffled by the mysterious changing of the buildings, and hoping that the motel she'd just shelled out for would still be there when she returned.

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Dean glanced over at Sam as the Impala sailed passed a sign reading Seattle - 15 miles. His little brother was finally sleeping after hours of tossing and turning in the passenger seat, sometimes only getting rest one hour at a time, woken by nightmares far too frequently. Sighing heavily, Dean rolled his head, trying to loosen the kinks that eight straight hours of driving had put in his neck and shoulders. Not long now. They should be hitting Seattle not long after sunset, the last place Dean had even heard a whisper of their father's presence.

Not that he'd be able to tell when the sun set. It had been grey and overcast all day, the clouds getting steadily heavier and more oppressive the further north he drove. And now a thick fog was rolling in across the highway in a way that made Dean swear as he flicked on the high beams. He hoped he didn't miss their exit.

A half our later Dean was swearing again.

The fog had rolled out, replaced by a miserable light rain and Dean had no idea where the hell they were. He checked the map he'd pulled from the glove compartment, then looked out at the city before him. This was not Seattle.

"Son of a bitch." He tossed the map into the backseat, then crept the Impala down an unfamiliar city street. A few more minutes of aimless driving and he finally saw something that resembled a motel. Right now he needed to get his bearings and Sam--he looked voer at him once more--Sam needed a real bed.

He nudged his little brother to wake him. "Rise and shine, Sammy."

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Who: Dean and Sam Winchester
When: Immediately after this
Where: On the phone/at Stanford
Summary: Sam needs his big brother.


Sam held his phone for far too long before he even opened it. He hadn't spoken to Dean in so long, and then when he showed up just the other day, Sam didn't have the courtesy to help him go look for their missing father. He didn't have the right to all and ask for his help now, but there was nothing else he could do. He needed his brother and call he could hope for was that Dean was more willing to come for his younger brother than Sam was to go cross country looking for his estranged father. Sam stared at the phone and finally hit five, and held it. He'd still never taken Dean off his speed dial. Biting his lip, he waited as the phone rang.


Speeding down Route 101, doing a comfortable 80 mph and listening to some Metallica to keep him awake, it took a moment for Dean to hear the chirp of his cellphone over James Hetfield's hard vocals and tearing guitar riffs. Eyes on the road, he felt for it on the passenger seat and flipped it open, bringing it to his ear without checking the caller ID. "Dean Winchester. Talk to me."

Sam swallowed hard over the rush of relief at the sound of Dean's voice. He was half-worried his brother wouldn't answer. His voice stuck at first so there was a definite pause before he said, slightly choked, "Dean, it's me."


The Impala didn't swerve. Simply because Dean was too stunned to move. His knuckles went white for a moment around the wheel before he forced them to relax. "I think I can honestly say you're the last person I expected to hear from. And that's including Dad." He couldn't resist the the dig, voice laced with a bitter amusement.

Sam winced, just a little, at the tone. He wouldn't have had Dean actually been standing there. "Look, I know. And I'm sorry. This is out of the blue and I know you were just here, and I said I wouldn't go..." Sam griped the phone tighter. He was not doing well keeping his voice even. "Dean, something happened. It's Jessica." Sam exhaled slowly, feeling the tears threaten. He set his jaw to put them off. "She's dead, Dean."


This time the car did swerve and Dean pulled over to the side of the road before he killed himself. He wasn't there long, however. He spun the wheel and made a U-turn in the middle of the highway, Impala bumping its way over the grassy median before straightening out on the blacktop heading in the other direction. He was already on his way back to Stanford before he said with deceptive calm, "I'm sorry to hear that. What happend?"

Sam heard the screech of tires and forcibly loosed his grip on the phone before he snapped it in half. He didn't even bother to hide the complex emotional sound of his voice when he said, quietly, "She died like Mom, Dean. I woke up and she was dead."


"Shit." Dean's eyes closed briefly. Sam had been spared any memory of their mother's death and Dean had considered it a blessing. But to have his brother go through this, knowing the pain and the horror of seeing someone you love die..."I'm sorry, Sammy," And this time he sounded like he meant it. But he wasn't going to tell him he was on his way, wasn't going to until Sam actually asked him to come.

"Dean," Sam's voice was quiet again. This wasn't easy to ask, but there was nothing else Sam could do. He needed his brother. Simple as that. "Could you come back? Here, I mean." His words were carefully devoid of the amount of sincere need he felt.


"I'm two hundred miles away, Sammy." He sounded put out, but he followed it immediately with, "Be packed and ready to go by four." There was nothing he could deny his brother when he was like this, sounding like he was barely holding it together.

Sam certainly was only barely holding it together, especially now that Dean was on his way, even after Sam had refused something he knew even the second he closed the door that he shouldn't have. "Thanks, Dean. Really." That was about all he could say. His brother was coming. That's all that mattered.


"It's what I'm here for, buddy boy. I'll see you soon." He hung up before Sam could say anything more or thank him again. Foot heavy on the pedal, Dean sped down the highway, pushing over a hundred the entire way.

Sam closed his phone and shoved it back in his pocket. He was still outside - hadn't gone back in yet. He exhaled and pushed open the door. Dean was coming. Sam needed to pack. He wasn't going to stay here any longer.


Dean was doing twice the city limit when he finally pulled up in front of Sam's place, Impala screeching to a halt in front of the small apartment building. He cut the engine, taking a breath before climbing out of the car and looking at his brother over the top. Sam, quite honestly, looked like crap. "You look like shit." Dean wasn't really one for warm reunions.

"How'd you expect me to look?" Sam retorted shortly, stepping away from the building, dragging his bags with him. At least his hands hand finally stopped shaking. His expression was anything but pleasant, his voice strained and tired, but the relief was eveident in his eyes the moment they landed on Dean. He opened the back door, not even bothering to go for the trunk and shoved his things inside. "I've got everything I need here."


A shrug was Dean's only reply. There really was no way he could answer that without either sounding like a complete dick or losing it just a little; during the drive down, worry had been steadily chewing his nerves up inside and now...Now, it almost hurt to look at Sam. His little brother was putting on a strong front, but it had never fooled Dean when they'd been younger and it certainly didn't now. "Come on. We're a few hours behind now, but we still might be able to hit Seattle by dinnertime."

The feeling when Sam slid into the car was almost indescribable. It was joyriding at night when Dean wasn't supposed to be using the car. It was old worn leather, creased under and behind him, slightly cold from his absence. It was memories of Dean, from happier times, when things weren't complex. Before Sam left everything behind to try to be normal. "Floor it. I've got absolutely no need to linger."

Sliding back into the driver's seat, Dean gave Sam a long searching look before gunning the engine and stomping down on the gas, leaving Stanford behind with a squeal of tires and the smell of burned rubber.