FIC: Ride The Skies 12/?
Jul. 20th, 2010 03:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dollarformyname—PART TWELVE—
A/N: Four chapters in a row! Okay, but I'm done for today. Too much caffeine only got me so far.-:-
Oh, Jesus. Sam needs a camera right the fuck now.
He's probably losing some kind of credibility, but he can't stop the grin that splits his face as he looks over his shoulder to see Dean and his shrunken replicas dozing lopsidedly on the couch. Raising a finger to his lips to indicate quiet, he softly instructs the children that it's time for lights out.
He spent a good twenty minutes explaining the inevitable division, and though no one protested out loud, their terror-stricken faces spoke volumes. He quickly added that they'd work out the details tomorrow, and the kids would be involved in the process, which earned him incredulous but pleased looks.
For tonight, they're all staying put, and he gets them ushered upstairs with minimal fuss, making sure to let them know that the bathroom and kitchen are open all night, but no one leaves the house and no one touches the books. The weapons are safely stashed in the master bedroom, which he assures them is the most forbidden bear cave in all the land. No one wants to risk the wrath of a well-armed, sleep-deprived Bobby, and their wide eyes say they believe this wholeheartedly.
As insane as this whole night has been, Sam has taken some consolation in the fact that at least the kids are fairly well-behaved. Except for that incident with Dolby—and when Alec's excitability kinda started to rub off on them during the Nerf war—they've been remarkably easy to deal with. The sudden change in command, and the introduction of these soldier-hybrid children to the confines of Bobby's cramped, old house could've gone a lot worse.
The children are terrifying for the simple fact that they're children, and the Winchesters have little experience with such creatures but, all in all, they're pretty awesome. He almost wishes he could be around to see each of them start to appreciate the freedom of being kids, when they discover things like coloring on the walls and gender-specific clubs formed in dubiously constructed treehouses.
He'll settle for watching the transformation in Alec and Ben, though. The Impala is bad-ass and he'd swear near-magical, what with its ability to remain inconspicuous when it's so loud and unique, but it is unfortunately confined to the laws of physics and won't accommodate a small army.
Each kid safely tucked in and mostly reassured, Sam navigates the creaks in the staircase and fishes his phone out of his pocket.
Dean and the boys remain undisturbed, his brother's head flopped back and his mouth hanging open, body canted partially to his left, where Ben is curled up beneath his armpit, a slumbering little bumblebee in Sam's old, yellow He-Man tee and black sweats. Alec started out on Dean's right side, but somehow ended up sprawled on top of everyone, like he conquered Dean Mountain and fell asleep before he got around to planting any flags, faded ThunderCats logo proudly on display across his chest.
Sam happily snaps a few pictures and starts to send them to a some people on his contact list, stops short.
Fuck.
Yeah, so he kind of forgot for a second that Ellen and Jo are dead. How, he doesn't know, but he guesses it's something to do with the Twilight Zone he's been inhabiting all night. That, and the fact that they haven't had time to properly grieve.
It doesn't feel as real as it should. Not like those endless months of wallowing in guilt over Jess' death because he could. Because Dean made sure he had the time to cope. Dean hasn't had time for anything but dodging the legions of Heaven and Hell lately, has barely managed to hold himself together, much less been able to ensure the appropriate mourning period for either of them.
And now that Sam feels like the scum of the Earth, all his recently softened places going hard again, he pockets his phone with a huff and shucks off his shoes. He doesn't want to wake them to move them to beds, and he doesn't want to let them out of his sight, so the logical thing to do is to join them on the torture device Bobby has brazenly dubbed a couch.
It takes some creative maneuvering, but eventually he incorporates himself into the slumber-pile, long legs kicked over Dean's lap, and Alec relocated to his chest.
Dean squirms and grunts out, “Fuckin' giraffe,” blearily pushing at Sam's legs so he can stretch out, gets his head pillowed on the opposite side of the couch with Ben nestled between his body and the back of the sofa, while his feet battle Sam's for dominance.
Sam wins, of course, and Dean says it's because there was a mix-up at the lab and it's really Sam who's the mutant science experiment, not the boys, at which Sam laughs and jiggles his freakishly huge, victorious feet so that they annoy Dean to no end.
Dean doesn't even open his eyes for the whole ordeal, and despite the sluggish, irritated slaps, he's smiling. “Bitch.”
Sam stops jiggling, grins back. It's been so fucking long. “Jerk.”
“Shut your faces,” Alec grumbles, pointy elbows digging into Sam's ribs as he wiggles around to get more comfortable, falls back to sleep and proceeds to drool on Sam's shoulder.
Sam feels himself softening again, like a squishy marshmallow. Damn kids are killing all his and Dean's hard-won bad-assery.
It's getting harder and harder to convince himself it's any kind of terrible thing, though. Might even work to their advantage. Like maybe if Lucifer catches up to them, he'll take one look at Stay-Puft Sam and change his mind.
Not very likely, but Sam drifts off with a smirk anyway.
-:-
“Get your damn hands offa me!”
Sam's eyelids flip up like snapped shutters, and his eyeballs promptly roll back into his head, chasing after them. He's sleeping, dammit, not time to wake up.
“Leggo, you overgrown chicken!” the same, shrill voice screeches not three feet away.
“If I release you, you will attempt to chew on me,” a more familiar voice responds, calm but verging on an impatient growl, and Sam's fight or flight reflex dulls further toward complacency. “It's unpleasant and I do not wish to experience it again.”
Sam's not waking up for more drama. Nope. He drapes his arm over his eyes to hide, while the other stills the stirring transgenic using him for a pillow.
“If you don't let go, I'll scream!”
“You are already screaming.”
“I'll scream louder! I'll tell the whole world you're a pedophile!”
“You don't have the vocal capacity to alert the entire planet.”
“Wanna bet?”
“Dean. Sam,” Cas implores their inanimate figures. “This child is unruly and loud. Make her stop.” The latter comes out as a mixture of 'I command thee' and 'please save me.'
Dean grumbles something unflattering but doesn't move. Sam is deeply asleep and unavailable for comment. Castiel's a winged being descended from cosmic clouds and shit. He'll figure it out.
There's more tussling, then Cas says, “Cease this ridiculous behavior, you ungrateful little—“
And then she screams, high and long, shattering any illusions of sleep, and Sam's eardrums.
“Jesus fuck!” Dean bitches, jostling Sam as he bolts upright. Ben growls low, a lion disturbed from its slumber, and Alec just huffs and starts slapping a hand around, like he's looking for the alarm clock so he can annihilate it. “Do the forehead whammy, for fuck's sake!”
“I tried! She bites!” Cas is definitely beginning to lose his temper, and the girl just keeps screaming. “I suspect rabies!”
“Oh for the love of... aaaaahhhhhhhhh!” Sam's yell is deeper and louder, and the shrieking instantly stops. He shuts up and cracks an eye open, the little banshee dangling from Castiel's restrictive embrace and looking at him like he's grown a second head. Dean and Castiel are eyeing him oddly, too. “What? I thought we were practicing our SOS.”
“Dude,” Dean smirks at him, shaking his sleep-ruffled head, red creases imprinted across the mottled stubble of his cheek.
“Dude,” Sam says right back, groaning as he sits up and adjusts Alec so that the boy can doze lightly against his shoulder. “That's the only reason to wake the freakin' dead.”
He looks pointedly at the girl, noticing for the first time that her face is very familiar. It's Sam... uh, the other, shorter, girlier Sam, only with crazy hair and dirtier clothes. Huh. Another twin. He wonders if there's some clueless woman running around out there with the older version of this face. Probably not just the twins who came from a previously existing template, but the thought distracts him enough to cause an awkward disconnect before he gets back on track.
“Are you gushing blood?”
She scowls at him, shakes her head.
“Is your life in immediate peril?”
She tilts her head back to glare at the angel holding her hostage, looks back at Sam and shrugs.
Sam concedes that point with a small nod. “He's not trying to hurt you. He just wants to help. For future reference, we only scream bloody murder when there's actual bloody murder to scream about, okay?”
She doesn't indicate her agreement at all, simply watches Sam and his Alec-blanket dubiously, shifts her eyes to Dean and his identical ball of Ben, who's curled up at Dean's hip with head buried beneath a sofa cushion to block out the disturbance.
Sam doesn't blame the boys; he feels pretty far from rested himself. A glance at the humidity-fogged window indicates it's still dark and holy fuck, will this night ever end?
“Whatever the fuck is goin' on in there, I hope you shot it!” Bobby bellows from the back. Shit, if he has to haul himself into the wheelchair to come in here, there's going to be bloodshed.
“It's okay, Bobby!” Dean assures quickly. “We got it under control!” He focuses a stern, desperate glare on the girl. “No more goddamn screaming, I mean it. He comes in here, we're all fucked.”
She catches the paranoia like a flu bug, wide eyes straining to see around Cas so she can get a good look at the dark, ominous stretch of hallway. Sam stifles a snicker. It's not funny, really, except he's so sleepy and it totally is. Bobby will tear Dean and Sam a new one, but the kids will be safe enough. Not that he's going to tell her that right this second.
Instead, he clears his throat and says, “You're safe here. Your, uh, friends are here, too.” He gestures to Alec, then up the stairs, and she scrunches her brows in concentration. Longing flickers across her face as she tries to glimpse Alec's barcode, seeing as how his face is smashed into Sam's shirt. “We're just trying to help you, okay?”
“I was doing fine on my own,” she snaps, hope masked and her eyes blazing fury.
Sam raises his brows at the backtalk. Most of the children have shown nothing but fear-induced respect for the grown-ups so far, but this girl is brimming with attitude. That, coupled with the street-kid look, tells him they're dealing with another escapee from last year.
“Yeah, looks like you're doin' real well for yourself,” Dean drawls sarcastically, looking her dirt-streaked, too-thin form up and down. He can't help but rise to the tone; Sam's pretty sure it's encoded into his brother's genes to recognize and check his own, smart-ass kind or something.
Pouting fiercely, the girl twists a little in Castiel's grip, trying to get down, and the rumpled angel reluctantly lets her go. She takes a couple of careful, backwards steps toward the door, waiting for anyone to try and stop her. Dean just cocks a brow, while Sam lightly pokes Alec. Alec stiffens, but gives no overt indication that he's alert, subtly tightens his fingers in Sam's shirt—message received, Speedy Gonzales on stand-by. Sam imagines Dean is engaging in a similarly wordless exchange with Ben.
“What's your name?” Sam tries, and it works. She stops backing away, at least temporarily. Like Ben, she probably has something more than a series of numbers, so he doesn't bother asking for a designation as he'd taken to doing before Dean named everyone.
“What's yours?” she counters, like it's a dare.
Sam smirks. “I'm Sam. That's my brother, Dean,” he jerks his chin at said brother, then at the angel. “The guy you tried to snack on is Cas. This is Alec, and that's Ben.”
She pales visibly, eyes gaping at Dean's lap. “Ben?” Her voice cracks on the name, and Sam's not exactly surprised. “493?”
Ben's head pops out of hiding, and then he's a yellow smear across the room. “Max!”
He flings his arms around her and lifts her up with ease, spinning them both in giddy circles. Her distrustful little face breaks wide with joy, and they're both giggling and bouncing around like live wires. The happiness is contagious, Dean and Sam both smiling absently as Alec finally decides to raise his head and grace his surroundings with some attention.
He doesn't look quite as pleased with the reunion.
Castiel looks completely flummoxed, not understanding how the hissing, spitting little beast that had been making his flesh ache mere moments ago is now those emitting happy, musical sounds, resembling something... not altogether horrid. It's like he expects her to burst into flames, or start spewing acid any second.
Ben finally puts Max down, but immediately grabs on to her hand as she asks what happened to his hair. He leads her into the kitchen, a string of babble explaining his adventures, his topsy-turvy world view, and the like, as he firmly sticks her in a chair and proceeds to rifle through the refrigerator, eager to share the wealth of food he knows hasn't been available to her.
They've been magically transported into their own little world, where everyone else has ceased to exist. There are more words coming out of that boy's mouth in less than five minutes than Sam's heard since meeting him.
“Hey, Max, this is my brother, Alec,” Alec mutters moodily as he slumps against Sam and glowers in their general direction, then in an exaggeratedly falsetto voice, “Hi, Alec! It's totally epic to meet you! Isn't it so polite of Ben to introduce us instead of completely forgetting you exist? Why yes, Max, yes it is.”
Sam pinches his lips together, trying not to laugh at Alec's mini drama starring himself, but his whole body's shaking with suppressed mirth, and Alec turns a glare on him.
“C'mon, buddy,” Dean chuckles out, thankfully drawing the boy's ire away from Sam. “He's just excited, you know how it is. You got thirty of your friends upstairs and Ben didn't get jealous.”
“That's because I can socialize and acknowledge him at the same time!” Alec hisses, throwing his arms across his chest. He's not coming down from his high, affronted horse anytime soon. “I was all, 'Here's my brother, Ben. He's awesome. Don't fuck with him.' And what? Castiel finds a new stray and I'm chopped liver? That's whack, Dad, don't even try to tell me it isn't!”
Alec doesn't give Dean a chance to tell him anything, because he's already hopping off of Sam's lap and marching into the kitchen to correct this grave injustice. Sam snorts into his fist, and Dean just shakes his head.
“Hey, Ben, how's it going?” Alec stomps right up to the table and leans over it, making sure he's smack-dab in the middle of the conversation. “Is that peanut butter and jelly? Did you make me one?”
“I, um... do you want one?” Ben's a little distracted, obviously not knowing what to make of Alec's sudden, weird behavior.
Alec makes a sour face, bottom lip trembling ever so slightly. “You know what? It's fine. I wasn't hungry anyway.” He huffs and stalks out, heading for Bobby's study to pout.
Sam frowns, unable to take Alec's hurt feelings for very long, but Dean pulls him back down when he tries to stand. “Just leave him alone for a minute, dude. Not everyone needs to share and care every time they get pissed off, Samantha.”
Oh, what? Just because they're made out of Dean makes him the all-knowing wise one when it comes to their issues? Sam scoffs, folding his arms over his chest, but doesn't voice his doubts. Dean will just say something annoying and get that smug look on his face, and then there'll be wrestling on the floor and childish name-calling. Sam knows how this goes. He's not losing authority points with the boys over it.
Dean shifts his attention to Castiel as the angel plunges tiredly into Bobby's ratty recliner, kicks his legs up and just sprawls, like he's finally starting to grasp the concept of exhaustion. The twisted pout on his face says he has zero appreciation for this new insight into human limitations, even if he still doesn't have any need for sleep.
“Dude, where's my car?” Dean tosses a hand up when Sam opens his mouth to make fun of his phrasing, gaze still concentrated on his angel BFF. “Shuddup, Sammy. This is important.”
It is important, Sam knows. He may make fun of Dean's unnatural love affair with the car, but he wants it back, too. All his stuff is in there, all their favorite weapons, and okay, maybe he kind of needs to power up, the Impala always good for boosting comfort and confidence. He's not going to admit that his brother, though, because then he might as well just start spouting love poetry at her like he accuses Dean of doing every time he's not looking and comes back to find that expression of unadulterated adoration on his brother's face (no one looks at anything like that unless there's some serious unresolved sexual tension going on, Sam has pointed this out loudly and often). Sam's not that far gone.
“There was a small communication breakdown,” Cas mutters sullenly, looking at anything but Dean, and is he actually fidgeting? Sam doesn't recall the angel ever having fidgeted. Crap. This is going to be bad.
“What the hell're you talkin' about?” Dean grits out dangerously, suddenly so stiff in his seat that Sam could probably breathe sideways and snap him in two. “A breakdown in communication between you and the car?”
Cas nods curtly, like that's all the answer that's required of him, stares fixedly at Ben and Max as they sit at the table and chatter, legs swinging against their chair legs. Max's sneakers are loosing dirt all over the floor with every kick, Sam notes distractedly. She needs a bath.
“Cas!”
Castiel flinches, actually freaking flinches at Dean's bark, and still won't look directly at him. He runs his hands over himself, as if to smooth his ruffled angel feathers. Oh, yeah. If Castiel, Mr. High and Mightier Than All Human Transport, is nervous, this is going to be epically tragic. Sam's already writing out his epitaph in his mind—Here Lies Castiel, Heavenly Rebel And Smiter Of Vending Machines. Dean made him cry himself to death.
“I believe there are other priorities,” Cas tries, but Dean's not having any of it.
“The only priority is for you to tell me what the fuck you did to my car.”
“I am not responsible for its insolence!” Cas snaps, face contorted in offense. “I applied pressure to the pedals, I jiggled all the little sticks, and the obnoxious beast still refused to heed my commands! It hates me!” He says it like it's Dean's fault, like he's been talking shit about him to the car behind his back.
Sam laughs, he can't help it. Never mind the fact that Dean's gone ten shades too pale, looking furious and sick all at once. He has this image in his head of Cas trying to smite the steering wheel and failing, and it won't go away.
Castiel's face crumples up in repentance, and he really does look like he's about to cry, because Dean looks like he's about cry, and Sam is crying a little bit, what with the giggle fit. Good thing they're oblivious to him right now, though he's pretty much used to it. Dean and Castiel have their little pep talks all the time, and Sam ceases to exist in those moments. He doesn't begrudge them—it's just something else to poke fun at his brother for.
“Dean...”
“Just.” Dean hauls in a tremulous breath and forcefully shrugs his shoulders to shake himself loose. “Just tell me where she is.”
Cas frowns, reluctant. “It seemed perfectly content to settle in a small... ditch.” He scratches his head and looks away, mumbling the rest, “On the other side of a guard rail. There may have been a short row of mile markers involved as well.”
“A short row of mile markers?” Sam pipes up, still chuckling, but it's got a harder, more hysterical edge to it now. If Dean has to rebuild her again, that's definitely going to hinder their running and hiding plan. “You mean those things that are exactly a mile apart? How many miles did you go before you hit the guard rail?”
“Oh, god,” Dean gasps softly, covers his face with his hands. “My poor baby.”
Castiel shrugs awkwardly. “I wasn't counting. It didn't seem pertinent.”
“Okay!” Dean abruptly shoots to his feet. “Take me to her right the hell now!”
Cas looks uncomfortable again.
“Oh, c'mon, what now?” Sam asks with dread.
“I may have already enlisted the assistance of one of those,” he flaps a hand around, “large truck services. I paid a great deal of money to have that uncooperative machine dragged here.” He raises his head to look Dean dead in the eye, firming the line of his shoulders. “It seemed the most logical course. I had other things to accomplish.”
“Oh.” Sam relaxes.
Dean does the opposite, pacing furiously now, ranting right over the both of them. “You had her towed? They're gonna fuck her up! They use those chains and shit, they're never careful! She's gonna have scars, you son of a bitch!” He thrashes his arms all over the place, a spastic dust devil of righteous indignation, and nope, Cas is not coming out of the doghouse anytime in the foreseeable future. Sam affords him a small smirk of sympathy as Dean starts poking at him and bellows inches from his face. “You better hope they don't lose so much as a goddamn hubcap on the way here, or so help me...” Dean doesn't finish the threat, too upset to get creative and opting to leave it to the imagination.
He stops dead and forces himself to engage in some more productive oxygen intake, fists flexing erratically at his sides, and Sam and Cas both ignore the low strains of hummed Metallica out of respect.
“Dean mentioned an impending discussion,” Castiel prompts, regarding Sam like he's the most reasonable being he's ever encountered, and Sam figures that's probably true, if the last twenty-four hours counts as forever. “There are countless more children to retrieve, so unless it's urgent, I should—“
“It is,” Sam cuts him off as the angel rises reluctantly from his chair. He obviously doesn't want to return to the difficult task of rounding up uncooperative superkids, but he looks even less eager to stick around for more of Dean's fit. “It's about Ben.”
Cas glances into the kitchen just as Ben's voice is rising, the bonding with his former cellmate seemingly taking an unfriendly turn.
“He is so! You hafta be careful, Max! You coulda made her mad!”
Max seems unfazed by this declaration, polishes off the last of her sandwich, shaking her head. “That was just a story, Ben. The guy's a freak, I'll give him that, but he's got some kinda delusions of grandeur or something. She's not real. That stuff never worked.”
“It does work! I got sick, and I did what I was supposed to! I did it and he came!” Ben kicks off his chair, the legs scraping harshly against the tile, and jabs a finger at Castiel. “He fixed it!”
Oh, shit, Sam thinks, dread pooling high and acidic in his gut. He thought Ben understood what he did wasn't okay, but apparently all Ben grasped was that everyone was upset with him for some inexplicable reason. He still thinks his actions were justified... no, not justified. Required. To make himself better.
“Fuck,” Dean mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose as he seems to be concluding the same, and Ben's still going, outrage swelling higher.
“She is real, and he is an angel! I'll prove it!” Ben grabs her arm to haul her up and drags her into the living room. He pauses in front of Cas, who looks down at them with a pensive frown while Ben takes a second to compose himself, scraping up the proper air of respect. “Can you show her?” Ben asks softly, suddenly not as sure of himself as he shuffles his feet and stares at the floorboards.
“Cas,” Sam breathes, feeling helpless all over again.
He doesn't know what to do with this. Castiel has to help. He fucking has to. Sam and Dean are too fucked in the head to have any kind of grasp on this stuff. With their jaded viewpoints on God and His Heavenly Host of Asshats, they'll just make it worse. It's not like they can sweep it all under the make-believe rug, because seeing is believing, and Castiel himself is highly visible proof that it's real.
Cas offers a short nod, and Dean releases a whoosh of air at the same time Sam does. It's not a magical cure, but it's a huge step in the right direction. He hopes.
Castiel kneels down on one knee, and pulls out a trick Sam's never seen before.
The sudden warmth of the room is the first clue that something's happening, but it's not uncomfortable in a sweaty way. It's filling, peaceful, blissful, and Sam and Dean are both melting inside their own skin, sinking into boneless heaps on the couch without realizing it, entranced.
The air around the angel shimmers strangely. Sam's head feels musical all of the sudden. Castiel starts getting brighter.
Ben and Max's eyes are huge, fixed raptly on the otherworldly tax accountant in front of them as his brilliance increases. Cas is bathed in an immaculate, pearly glow, his skin almost translucent, and Sam is swiftly, unequivocally convinced that everything in the world is awesome. Ain't no mountain high enough, ain't no valley low, and no, ya can't keep a good man down.
He smiles and feels weightless, and then the radiance begins to ebb too soon, a tide of white washing back into Castiel's host.
When it's over, Sam blinks the spots out of his eyes, doesn't feel as awesome anymore, like that high you know you'll never reach again, but that knowledge won't stop you from trying. There's still the lingering effects of said high, however, and Dean looks just as blissed out as he feels when he glances over to see his brother sloped contentedly against the arm of the couch.
“Dude.” Dean's face spreads into a slow and lazy Cheshire grin, and Sam just nods. “How come you never did that for me?” Dean directs at Castiel.
Cas stands back up and clasps Ben's little hand in his. “You required a different approach. I didn't need you to trust me. I needed you to obey me.” Simple and honest, the way Cas knows best, and then he gently leads Ben out to the front porch for a private chat, leaving Max to blink after them in confused awe.
Sam snorts. “Cas was tryin' to make you his bitch,” he slurs drunkenly, even though he hasn't had a drop of alcohol. It makes sense, though. If he'd come at Dean with that glow instead of exploding windows and raining down sparks of electricity, Dean would've had the angel whipped way sooner. Castiel still ended up whipped, of course, but Sam's kind enough to give him credit and say he put up a hell of a fight.
“Too bad it backfired on his ass.”
Sam snorts again. Dean reading his thoughts is way more amusing than usual.
Max shakes off her stupor and turns to stare at them. Sam sobers a little, clearing his throat and feeling really uncomfortable under her penetrating scrutiny. “What?” he finally has to ask after checking himself for new deformities.
“Alec looks like Ben.” She crosses her wiry, little arms and waits, keeps staring. He's surprised she's not tapping her foot with the sheer expectancy she exudes.
“Yeah,” Sam says slowly, can't quite make his angel-drugged brain catch up with what she wants from him.
Dean slaps his knee and gets up. “Speaking of smart-asses, that kid's done enough brooding.” He hastily removes himself from the little girl's radar and goes off in search of his other, shorter self. Traitor.
Sam cocks a brow at Max, but she refuses to relent on the stare. “They're twins?” he tries, and she rolls her eyes at him.
“I figured that out all by myself, braintrust.” She drops her arms and shakes her head, like she's lamenting the hierarchy of adults versus children out here in the real world. “I asked Ben. He said we all have twins.” She angles him one of those suspicious looks she does so well, biting her lip, moves forward and climbs onto the couch.
Next thing he knows, the kid's buddying up to him like they've just shared some life-altering bonding moment or something, snug against his side and batting her eyelashes, though she keeps her hands to herself. Hugging is too far, apparently.
Sam frowns. He's being tricked somehow, he knows it. He just can't figure out... Oh.
Oh! The little shit is sucking up! She's manipulating him.
It takes a second, but Sam manages to push back the remnants of happy-fog in his head and works out that manipulation usually has a specific purpose. She wants something. What were they talking about? Oh, right. Twins.
“You wanna see her,” he concludes, and she rewards him with a blinding grin, like she's so proud of him. Condescending brat she may be, but Sam can't help but become endeared to her against his will. She's fucking cute and she knows it. It's not fair. “Well, she's kinda sleeping right now, which is where you need to be.”
Max drops the act flat on the ground, scowls hard and pulls away from him. “You can't tell me what to do.”
Sam smirks bitterly. God, is he familiar with this attitude, that phrase was his own teenage mantra, but it's not like he blames her after escaping a life of restrictions and perfect, scary order. “That's true, but the offer to get some rest is open. There's also a bathroom, complete with active plumbing and soap, and if you're really nice, I might be able to come up with some clean clothes.”
She doesn't seem to appreciate the condescension being turned the other way, but her wandering gaze betrays her desire to partake in one or more of the listed amenities.
Sam hears Dean curse irritably, his brother's socked feet thudding around the back of the house, then a series of clatters and more cursing.
What in the unholy fuck is he doing to that kid back there?
“Here, c'mon.” Sam stands and plucks up the sadly depleted cardboard box from the floor, miraculously finds a small bundle of tees and sleep shorts leftover from the raid, and tosses an outfit over at the sofa, where Max is still stubbornly perched. “Clean up, go to sleep, do whatever. Just don't leave, okay? It's not safe out there, and there's no reason to give up a perfectly stocked, functional shelter right now. There's a meeting in the morning, might wanna stick around for that, see what you think, and we'll go from there, okay?”
Max eyeballs him for a long minute, and Sam fidgets, eager to go stop Dean and Alec from breaking out into some kind of house-destroying brawl as his brother's curses get louder and more creative, and then, “Alec, goddammit! This shit ain't funny! Where the hell are you?”
Something crashes, Dean presumably throwing whatever he turned over last in search of his elusive progeny, and Sam rockets into that oh-so-familiar and hated stratosphere of panic again. He dismisses Max in favor of racing toward the study, reaches it just as Dean's lobbing the back door open and stomping outside.
“Alec! I swear to fucking Christ, you'd better not be fucking playing with me right now! You're not too cute to get your little ass kicked!”
Sam stumbles breathlessly out onto the back porch, his galloping heart stealing all his precious oxygen away, eyes spinning in their sockets with his raging desire to take in everything at once.
The collected heaps of gutted metal skulk a gleaming gray under the shroud of night, offering too many hidey holes for little kids with hurt feelings, too many rusted edges and places to be kept quiet by the large, suffocating hands of whatever sinister thing Sam can imagine, too many goddamn sinister hands imaginable. The rustle of tall grass bordering the yard draws his attention to the gnarled, dark shapes of unevenly placed trees, the endless expanse of field beyond, miles and miles for Alec to lose himself in, too many miles that could exist between him and them and too many minutes to cover those miles, in which anything could fucking happen and—
Something small plows into the back of his legs, and Sam startles, yanking his borrowed gun from his waistband. Max freezes, enormous brown gaze trained on the pistol in her face.
Sam chokes on his attempt to breathe. “Fuck, don't do that! Stay here.” He nudges her back inside, already intent on the right side of the yard as Dean tears through the left, but she won't go.
“I can help,” she says, pushes around him and sniffs at the air.
Scenting. Oh, Jesus, she's scenting and Sam is internally singing heya, hallelujah, thank fuck for super-sensing little girls, but he holds onto enough common sense to pull her back.
“Stay close,” he orders firmly, doesn't really give a rat's ass how much she loathes being bossed around right now. “There's a lotta shit you don't know, dangerous, fucked up things looking for Ben and Alec. Trust me, you're gonna want back-up.”
She doesn't waste time arguing, or even getting annoyed, just nods and says plainly, “Keep that damn gun away from me,” snatches his hand up and drags him through the yard.
“Thank you,” she says after a beat, guiding him confidently around and over the wreckage, knows exactly where she's going.
“Huh? For what?” Sam strains to see anything in the general direction she's headed. He barely registers his brother's shouts growing farther, the disorganized bustle of Cas, Ben, and Bobby joining the search effort.
She hesitates, letting go of his hand to scale a line of compacted metal, fenders shoved and twisted together to form an intentional perimeter of broken cars. Sam climbs up after her and hops down into the field, immediately reaffirms his grip before she can get carried away, finger twitching against the trigger guard.
“I hate orders, but at least you tell me why. You don't treat me like I'm some dumb kid, and you don't treat me like a tool.”
Sam doesn't even understand what foreign language she's speaking right now. She's weird, and rude, a soldier that doesn't like guns, too fucking adorable for his own good, and he needs to find Alec. “Uh, yeah. 'Cause you're not.”
She smiles to herself, nodding decisively, and normally Sam would be all over the heart-to-heart but he's got things to do, possibly things to shoot. Max drops the subject quickly, and he spares enough of his frantic thoughts to decide she probably did that on purpose, so he wouldn't make a thing out of it.
He wants to keep her. Dean's going to say no. Where the fuck is Alec?
And then... there.
As it becomes clearer that she's headed for a small copse of trees backlit by the first, pale stains of dawn, he squints into the shadows and sees it. The barest silhouette of someone shifting around in there.
Someones.
Fuck that. Sam's going to ventilate and dismantle whatever the hell it is. He's not putting up with this shit.
“Stay behind me.”
Max does, body strung taut enough to tell him she senses something undeniably wrong in those trees, and she doesn't like it. Sam keeps his gun close and concealed, hoping it's enough to at least slow the enemy down, because he can see better now, and his worst fucking fear is staring back at him, stark reality.
Alec's dangling in the grip of something human-shaped, kicking and flailing and snarling, hand smothering his cries, and Sam's vision bleeds red. Alec hates people touching him. There has to be a certain rapport for it to be okay, an established trust. Sam has that trust, and he's going to show this fucker exactly why.
He splays a hand across Max's collarbone, halting her momentum. “I need you to get Dean,” he says with more calm than he feels. “Give him a full report, tell him I don't know what, so just assume bear, got it?”
She streaks back toward the yard without bothering to reply, and Sam stalks forward. No sense sneaking, he's in the open and the thing's already seen him coming by now, so he opts for the purposeful stride of a spectacularly pissed off Uncle Grizzly.
Come hell or high water, he's coming out with that kid and his trust intact.
NEXT
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Date: 2010-07-20 11:07 pm (UTC)I wasn't too sure about Max being added into the mix, but you made her keep in character without being annoying. n__n It's probably good for Ben to have Max around... Jealous Alec is adorable. And I wonder how girlSam will react to meeting her twin. :3
no subject
Date: 2010-07-29 07:46 am (UTC)this fic is So good!!!
I'm waiting patiently the next chapters!
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Date: 2010-08-03 08:54 pm (UTC)I like the set up of this whole story arch and it's really exciting =D
Update soon!
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Date: 2010-09-19 10:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-28 07:19 pm (UTC)Please don't give up on either story if you have even the slightest inclination to continue!
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Date: 2011-01-17 04:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-06 09:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-21 04:32 pm (UTC)I love how this goes from humor to angst to more humor to family relations to...well, what? Horror? Mistaken identities? Have the nomolies caught up? I'll be happy if it's a teenage Mole, but I'm thinking probably not...
This is great, and I hope you get a chance to work on it again! I'll be here, whenever that happens. :)
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Date: 2011-02-26 09:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-06 10:44 pm (UTC)Sorry for the loooooooooooong delay, but the next couple of chapters are up now, if you're still interested.
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Date: 2011-04-06 10:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-06 10:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-06 10:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-06 10:48 pm (UTC)I'm working with people who are trying to beat my writer's block to a bloody pulp, so hopefully Fight will see another update soon, too.
Thank you so much for the lovely compliment! Crossover balancing can be a pain, so I appreciate it.
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Date: 2011-04-06 10:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-06 10:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-06 10:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-06 10:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-06 11:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-06 11:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-07 12:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-04-08 03:10 am (UTC)Thanks for letting me know!
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Date: 2013-03-07 11:36 pm (UTC)