Author’s note o' DOOM:
So, a couple of things to go over this chapter. One, I bet some of you will notice a few inconsistencies between now and the first few chapters. Let’s face it, when I started this epic (and it is an epic. The current story file is 77 pages long and I have over 80 pages of scenes written out of order for the rest of the story. And I'm only getting going. Epic.) I had only the vaguest idea of what I was doing. Meaning I said 'Hey, dude, wouldn't it be awesome if I did a SPN/DA crossover?'. Can we say 'seat of the pants'?
Anyway, the point is that there are a few inconsistencies. Such as 494's Armed Forces I.D. said Second in Command. (That really is what the IDs look like BTW. I'm a detail Nazi.) But you will note in this chapter he is very definitely Unit Commander. I'm sure there are other things I'm forgetting to mention. I'm trying really hard now to keep track of my details. The lovely evenasiwander is helping me organize. I am such a geek. We have a spread sheet with all one hundred X5s with details and notes. It's kinda sick really. I'll post it when it's finished. Because I'm using it for both this fic and for Alec's muse journal. Sickeningly, I've also come up with a map for the Gillette base.
On the subject of military. First: military terms and slang and acronyms are starting to creep in. I am double checking everything for accuracy. (Everyone thank evenasiwander again). I don't want the story to turn into a lesson on Military!Speak, but they would use this stuff and I don't want to change that. I was thinking of starting a glossary, but wasn't sure if that was overkill. Opinions? (BLUF is “bottom line up front”, before anyone asks about that one.)
Second: I am trying to be careful of the military culture and mindsets. This is particularly important to John and 494/Alec. I have some freedom with Alec because Manticore is fictional. But John and the Marines aren’t. So let it be noted that Marines are not soldiers. They are Marines. However, John refers to himself as a soldier in this chapter. It isn't a mistake or an oversight. He is separating himself as a Hunter from himself as a Retired Marine.
Also, my use of names for X5s is non-canonical. In Dark Angel, it seemed that only the escapees Alpha Unit gave each other names. I ignored that and presumed that all of the units gave names to each other. This is for two reasons. One is that Alec's lack of a name is very important to his character. Secondly is the matter of readability. If I threw around 210 and 452 and 112 and 392 everywhere, no one would ever know what I was talking about. So. They all have names.
I think that’s it. Enjoy the chapter.
Chapter 6
Faced with Renfro, Dean did the only rational thing he could think of. He punched her square in the face. Okay, maybe rational was the wrong word to use.
It was satisfying though. The crunch of her nose breaking. "I don't like people who fuck with my family."
"Are you actually under the mistaken impression that I care? In case you hadn't noticed, you are at a distinct disadvantage."
Dean shrugged a little. He rolled his shoulders as uniformed personnel started appearing. "I had, actually. But see, the thing about Winchesters is that we never go down easy. I've lived through some pretty bad odds. I figure we can do this two ways." He had to give the bitch credit. She still managed to retain some sort of cold dignity even as she pinched at her already swelling nose.
"Oh, yes, please enlighten me."
"You can tell me where Sam and my little lookalike are, and I can get them and leave. In which case, you get the advantage of getting me to shut my God damned mouth. Or you can wait for me to damage as many of these monkeys as possible before I'm thrown back into a cell. At which point I will continue to mouth off, eventually get out, find my brothers, and leave anyway." He smirked at Renfro.
At least, he smirked until he felt a dart bury itself deep into his shoulder in the back. "I hate you," was the only thing he had time to say before his knees gave way and he crumpled to the floor.
XXXXX
By the time he woke up, it was too late. It was always too late. Even before he woke up.
He wished he hadn't. The whole of his being wanted to sink back into the numbing cold he had fought so hard against not long ago. Enemy turned friend. A dangerous thought. All thoughts were dangerous here. He could do without being awake. Safer.
494 had snapped awake so hard and quick that it hurt. Everything there was to feel hurt. Mind and body. He focused on it. How could he not? They force fed his bloodstream chemicals that bent his entire being toward them and this place. And all they ever brought was pain.
He fought it. Fought hard. Animal instincts left him no rest. He would have lashed out with hands and words, with tooth and claw, but they expected that. He was tied down. Drugged. There were too many faceless monsters anyway. Body going nowhere. Mind going to pieces.
They would remake him. Put him back together.
"State your designation."
However they saw fit. And it hurt.
This shifting and breaking of
"X5 -331845739494."
Everything that made him who he was.
"Who are you?"
He couldn't escape the question.
"No one."
And the faceless monsters always gave him the answers.
"What are you?"
Forced the answers into his mind.
"X5-331845739494."
A red laser that would burn away everything else.
"What is an X5?"
And the answers were there. In stark black and red. Sharp and cutting into his thoughts.
"Obedience, duty, loyalty."
He had the answers. He knew the answers.
"Yes. Obedience"
But that wasn't right.
"Loyalty."
"Yes. To your commanders. Obedience."
"No."
But that was not the thought that they had given him. So the monsters with the red, red eyes clawed into his mind until he screamed what they wanted him to know.
"X5-331845739494. Obedience. Duty. Obedience. Loyalty to Manticore. Obedience."
XXXXX
She held an icepack carefully to her face. She was trying to keep the swelling down as she reviewed and rearranged the guard rotations and patrol schedules. She had a hard time keeping the smirk from her lips. Dean Winchester was much better at this than she had anticipated. She had been sure he would make a move soon, but she had figured he would take advantage of one of the few times that he was taken from his cell. Instead, he had made his own opportunity. He took them all by surprise. She wondered how long he had been free to move around.
Even more surprising was that he had clearly been putting this plan together for so long. The missing bed spring had been evidence enough to support that. It showed a keen understanding of his environment and initiative. Deck had declared the escape a stroke of genius, once he had questioned X5-395.
She had rather ungraciously agreed that a facility for escape plans seemed to be in the genetic makeup, and that so far, X5-493 seemed to be the reigning champion. She felt that it would only be a matter of time before one of them tried again. She penned out a memo letting the entirely inconsequential Mr. Frank Capingly be granted his request for a personal day off. Now she knew exactly when they would try.
XXXXX
Sam’s eyes snapped open, and he was looking into a sterile white room. At first, he thought he might have been hurt on a hunt. It happened more often than any of the Winchesters cared to think about. He turned his head to look for Dean or his father, but saw neither. His head was killing him, and he raised a hand to rub at his temple, but it didn’t obey. He could feel his muscles willing to do the work, but there was something holding his arm down. Absurdly, he noted that his feet were bare, and that he was back in those pale blue scrub pants again.
It was then that he realized that he was fully strapped down, and that this was not a hospital bed. He struggled to get free, but gained nothing except strained muscles and bruises. He opened his mouth to question what was happening, or maybe just to yell, but found it too dry to say or yell anything.
He could hear people talking about him, but was too panicked to make out what they were saying. His panic spiked even further as someone approached with a filled syringe. He struggled harder, knowing somehow that if he didn’t get away, things would only get worse. He couldn’t get away, and they injected the drug through an IV that was already running into his arm. He wondered why he hadn’t noticed that before.
Strangely, he could feel the exact moment the chemical hit his system. It seemed to burn its way straight to his brain. His eyes fell closed.
When they opened again, all he could see was fire. Eyes wide with fear, he backed away from it until his back hit the hallway wall. It wasn't normal. It wasn't right, if a fire like this could ever be right. It was white hot and it was searching. Seeking. The fire wasn't raging. The fire was rage.
It carried the smell of sulfur and pain with it, just like it had that night he had watching it take his mother from them. She had died with a silent scream as the flames had reached for his father.
Just like they were reaching for his brother now. His brother, who was only seconds behind him, even though it had felt like an eternity. This time the demon wasn't playing. Not like it had with his father. This time it meant to kill. To take his brother from him the same way it had taken his mother. The shadows reached out past the flames to slice and rend. To use the spilled blood sacrifice to feed itself.
He could feel the scream rip its way free from his throat, because he couldn't cover the distance in time. The next few seconds were lost in the confusions of useless sprinkler systems, flickering electrical light and demon fueled flame and shadow. Someone slammed into his brother, knocking him down. Taking the damage.
The two bodies rolled clear of each other. One righted itself into a defensive crouch. The other curled up on its side, a pool of blood already forming under him. What started as a wail of terror from Sam morphed into a snarl of rage. It was not taking either of his brothers the way it took his mother.
He pushed the flames
back against the wall. A few fragile glass vials shattering as they impacted. Everyone in Exam Room One stood stunned for a moment as inanimate objects were propelled backwards, away from the test subject strapped down in the middle of the room. Some of his monitors were screaming alerts, as the staff inched slowly farther away from him. The possible loss of valuable data was all it took to get them moving again.
And then, just as suddenly as it started, it stopped. Sam had clawed his way back to the waking world. Memory and awareness came back to him in the same jolting rush. He had been drugged by the person who looked frighteningly like his brother. Then he had awoken here. In a motel that seemed about a lifetime ago, he had had a dream about this nightmare. About the drugs swimming through his veins, the straps holding him prisoner. The faceless people responsible for this torture.
Whatever he had dreamed because of the drugs was fading fast, along with his understandably fragile composure. He could feel blood streaming from his nose, over his lip, and down the back of his throat. He coughed to try to clear it, then turned his head and spat. Sam was in too much pain to really enjoy the fact that he had managed to hit one of his captors. He felt like his skull was being crushed while his brain was trying to explode. Opposing forces battling each other to make him hurt so badly that tears started to mix with the blood by his head.
A whimper of pain escaped him when someone brutally pinched the bridge of his nose to try to stop the bleeding, while someone else shone a pen light into his eyes, looking for God knows what. Sam would have shot them if the opportunity had presented itself.
It had been a long time since he had actually passed out from pain, but he welcomed it here. The blissful dark didn't last long before something else forced him awake. The random thought that his bloodstream must be more chemical than blood at this point flitted across his mind, but it was quickly lost as they started asking questions about what he had seen.
Questions he couldn't answer, because it had already faded, except for an impression of fire and blood.
XXXXX
Reindoctrination had only taken a week this time, and Colonel Lydecker was still trying to decide if it was because 494 had actually submitted to it, or if he was faking it remarkably well. With this X5, either was a possibility. Normally, 494 was not the type to just accept reprogramming, but it was the fastest and most reliable way to be released from neuropsychology and the X5 had clearly been highly distressed and desperate.
He now walked down the hallway with the X5 to his left and one step behind, conforming perfectly to regulation. Gone was Dean Winchester's slight swagger, gone was 494's easy gliding stride, the slight smirk he usually wore, and the look in his eyes that told the Colonel that 494 was keenly in tune with the world around him, constantly observing, questioning, and evaluating. That was the worst, if Lydecker allowed himself to think of the X5s as people and not just weapons wrapped in attractive packaging.
This docility made the Colonel think more of 493 than he was comfortable with. 493 had always been a good soldier, if something of a smart mouth, but there had been something lurking underneath. Something that he hadn't seen until too late. He had always assumed that the escape, that that will for insubordination, had been it. It had only taken one of 493's carefully planned and executed killings to tell Lydecker that he had been wrong.
Of course, 494 had to be thoroughly evaluated to see if he had the same defect. And the X5 had been angry. Violently angry, because he had never been passive like his twin; the hunting cat that was part of his makeup had always seemed closer to the surface. It was also possible that he had more than his twin. As a general rule, all of the twins were identical, clones. But like every generalization, there were exceptions. Some where accidental, such as 210 and 211. Some quirk, maybe in gestation, had given 210 an eidetic memory. Beyond that, though, there were deliberate differences between 493 and 494, as well as between 452 and 453.
Lydecker had always assumed that the differences in personality between 493 and 494 could be attributed to their differences in genetic makeup and 494's eidetic memory. Originally, they had all considered it a gift, one they wanted desperately to duplicate. The X5 had been gifted regardless, but that memory gave him an edge, even over his equally gifted twin. It had been a highly desirable trait until Lydecker had lost his baker's dozen from Alpha Unit.
After that, it had caused nothing but trouble for both the Colonel and 494. Reconditioning relied heavily on manipulating memory to redirect thought process. Sometimes it was as simple as convincing the subject that an event had happened according to scenario A as opposed to scenario B. It actually wasn't all that difficult with the right combination of chemical assistance. Sometimes things became complicated, and physical or other means of intervention was required, but that was uncommon.
494 was always an exception to the rule. Reconditioning, it was discovered, simply did not take with him. It would appear to, but then over time, usually only a couple of months or less, his original memory and thought patterns would reassert themselves. Reconditioning 494 had become a deadly balancing act teetering between his will to fight, the chemical soup used to make his brain susceptible to the new material, his seizures, and the knowledge that he was one of Sandeman's special kids and therefore not, under any circumstances, expendable. Sandeman seemed to be the only one who could successfully alter 494, and he was not sharing his secret.
Lydecker found himself re-evaluating his stance on the personality traits of 494 and his less than copesetic twin. 494's attitude and behavior seemed perfectly in line with his genetic base. They were all dominant personalities and fought with the determination of a wild predator when cornered. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but 493 had been the anomaly that needed watching, not 494. He should have known. X5s had originally been made to be commanders, self-assured and bold. They had been all that and more. And that had been the problem.
He didn't expect 494's new behavior to last past a week, if that long. Renfro should have known better by now. He gestured for the X5 to entire his spartan cell and then followed him in. "A tech will be by in an hour with your medication and evening meal. You are to stay here until tomorrow and then resume light duty. Is that understood, soldier?"
"Yes, sir." The salute was as sharp as ever, but there was a slight tremor to 494's hand. Leaving him to rest and recover was clearly a wise choice. He turned to leave and was not in the least bit surprised to see X5-112, CeCe, and X5-392, Biggs, filling the doorway, shoulder to shoulder. CeCe's lip curled into an obvious snarl of anger; Biggs didn't wear his anger so obviously, but Lydecker could see it anyway, in the slight narrowing of his eyes and the tightness of his jaw.
Their displeasure didn't stop them from stepping to the side and saluting as he passed, however. Out of the four units of X5s, only Bravo had a team for second in command. But then, this was the only Unit where the designated leader had been displaced. Originally, each unit had had an X5 built to be commander. They were designed to be dominant, for lack of a better term. 599, Zack, for Alpha Unit and 600, his twin Lane, for Bravo Unit. Charlie Unit had the only female commanding officer, X5-123, Teagan. Delta Unit had X5-235, Rand, who, like Teagan, was never twinned. They were the four oldest. Lydecker himself was the one who had decided to not try to preset the entire command structure. It would have been unwise to ignore the fact that his kids each had genes from undomesticated Great Cats spliced into them. They had to sort a few things out on their own.
He had, admittedly, been surprised when Bravo Unit had sorted themselves into having a new leader. 494 was smaller, nearly two years younger, and much more amiable in personality than 600. It didn't seem like much now, at the respective ages of twenty-one and twenty-three, but the differences had been glaring at the ages of seven and nine. The colonel remembered quite clearly the images of a small blonde seven year old in a torn uniform, with a split lip, bloody nose, several nasty bruises, and a cracked arm announcing firmly to him that he hadn't liked the way Lane was running things, so he had decided he was going to do it instead. 600 had been considerably more damaged than 494.
That had been Lydecker's first real indication that 494 might be a handful in the coming years. He had, however, given the child command of the unit on the condition that he live up to expectations, because no one was going to cut him any slack just because he was younger. The child had rather boldly replied that it was fine. That was why he had seconds. They were supposed to help the commanding officer. 494 was going to be one hell of a hand full.
When 494 had been brought in for reprogramming after the baker’s dozen from Alpha unit had escaped, the Colonel had simply left Lane in Bravo Unit, assuming that the new X5-494 would be docile and no longer a leader. Lane would either live up to his design and be docile to orders to dominate, or a new leader would step forward. The loss of potential hurt like a physical thing, but what good was an X5 that couldn't be controlled?
The thirteen X5s, twins of the escapees from Alpha Unit, had spent months completely isolated from everyone but their handlers and those responsible for their reprogramming. Then they interacted with each other for training and, in some cases, relearning basic skills. It had been much like watching automatons for a while. They did what they were told, when they were told, and that was all. Obedience. It took anywhere from three to six months for independent thought or action to return, and their basic personalities came after that. But the ones that fought the reprogramming the hardest took the longest to come back. He thought 494 and perhaps 453 had been lost permanently.
They had been slowly integrated back into their units. Lydecker was proven correct in that 600 simply reverted back to his original role. 494 had been far too subdued for his liking. Docile, pliant, broken. Prone to staring and watching everything around him with an unsettling but absent intensity. Lydecker almost wrote him off as a loss. A tragic one, much like the loss of a great work of art, but ruined nonetheless.
Except for his seconds. X5-112 and X5-392. CeCe and Biggs, who were by no accounts stupid. They stayed with him. Where they used to stand behind him as his lieutenants, they now stood in front, as his shield. The colonel had been fascinated. He had only seen that sort of solidarity in the thirteen who had escaped from Alpha Unit. And it divided the unit. Half of them looked to 112 and 392 as a substitute for 494, half looked to 600 as the ranking officer.
Lydecker let it play out as a practical experiment. They showed no signs of true insubordination, so he didn't step in. And 494 came back. It was slow at first, his watchful eyes less absent, the quiet refusal to eat a food he had previously disliked. He picked up speed, like he had finally figured out where he was on the map. Questions here and there, a pointed comment, a snide observation. Then one morning he seemed to come back to himself with a snap. His first act was to challenge 600's right to be in charge of the unit.
Lydecker had defused the situation quickly by moving 600 to Alpha Unit to replace 599, which worked out for the best as they were floundering with the lack of internal structure and the loss of so many from their ranks. It hadn't taken Lydecker long to figure out that 494 had been slowly doing away with all the reprogramming during his self-imposed absence. He was the same as he had been before the reprogramming, except that now he was angry. He also seemed entirely unaware that his behavior was different from the other X5Rs
The colonel had a problem on his hands. One he had to solve quickly, or he would have to have 494 put down. And that was not an option. This was Sandeman's only remaining special kid. He had 494 returned to Psy-Ops, with the instructions to fix the problem and do quickly and correctly this time. The ensuing damage from the seizures, the chemical overload, and what they had to do to keep him alive had put the X5 in the Med Lab for eight days, five and a half of those under heavy sedation. He spent those eight days being glared at angrily by half of Bravo Unit, and thinking.
In the end, he decided that the trick with X5-494 was to make him want to do what was asked of him. Give him a sense of duty he was willing to fulfill on his own. Lydecker restarted his officer training the day he was released from Medical.
All of his kids were special. Some of them were turning out to be a giant pain in the ass on top of it.
XXXXX
As soon as Colonel Lydecker was safely away, Biggs caught hold of 494's elbow and steered him over to sit on his bunk. CeCe had already pulled the rough blanket free and wrapped it around his shoulders as soon as he made solid contact with the mattress. They both knew that the cold was entirely psychological at this point, because Med Lab wouldn't release an X5 who was hypothermic. That would have been reckless with valuable government property. But none of that changed the fact that they both knew that 494 would huddle into the blanket for the rest for the night if he thought no one was watching.
"You going to be okay, Pirate?" CeCe never called him sir. That was reserved for the colonel and the like. She and Biggs both would have given him a name, at least to use within the unit, but it had been explicitly forbidden. Renfro said it was because giving him a name would only fuel his insubordinate behavior. This made CeCe latch onto terms like 'Pirate' more fiercely. She had picked that up when she, 494, and two others had been lent out to the Army for a mission. 494 had only just barely started his eighteenth year, and they had been matched up with another small unit of men. Ordinaries. They hadn't liked the fact that their point men seemed to be little more than children.
And then the intel they had turned out to be inaccurate. Half the mission had to be rewritten on the spot. It wasn't the first time 494 had reworked things at the last minute or on the fly. It was one of the reasons he had been chosen for the mission. The job needed doing and he was going to get it done. She had thought nothing of it until one of the regulars, the unit's lieutenant, had made a quiet but pointed comment about their training, capability given their age, and 494's lack of discipline, not to even mention the fact that he was giving orders where he had not the right. A pirate. That was the term the man had used to describe 494. Her commanding officer. She could feel the insult in it. It rubbed her fur the wrong way. Insulting him was insulting all of them. If 494 had heard the man, he wouldn't have let him get away with insulting their Unit. She wasn't going to let the man get away with insulting her commander.
So she had introduced the man to a handy tree. Face first. "It's Pirate, sir, to you," she had informed the man. She would have liked to have been able to enforce a name, but there wasn't one to use. She made do, and then took it as a term of affection for the rest of the mission. That took the rest of the insult out of it.
And it stuck. After that they all collected terms from their varying missions. Biggs preferred calling him Lucky Charm. They had to change it up, though. Even the most obscure words and terms could be turned into names if used consistently.
She couldn't remember who had named her; it had just been there one day. 494 never had that. At least, not that she could recall. Biggs might know, but he could be so damned secretive sometimes. He was good at it, too, with his easy smile and soft brown eyes. She looked down at her commanding officer, friend, and brother, a fierce frown on her face.
"I can't do this anymore." His tone was flat. Dead.
CeCe looked over to where Biggs was crouched in front of 494, taking his boots off him. 494 suddenly batted Biggs' hands away and started to unlace them himself. This gave Biggs a chance to sign the word 'caution' at her without 494's noticing. She rolled her eyes, because she had completely figured that one out on her own. She signed the word 'plan' back with a questioning look. He shrugged, which was bad. Biggs was the planner, she was the doer.
494 kicked his boots free and tipped over to lay along the edge of the bunk. "Dontcha got a meal to get to or something?" They could still hear the accent he had picked up for the mission.
"And leave you here to stew? Do I look deficient?" CeCe snapped. Normally, she would have smacked him upside the head, but you just didn't do that to someone that had been in Psy-Ops or Med Lab. It was an unwritten rule.
494 rolled partly onto his back to look up at her; Biggs had stood next to her and his tall silhouette reminded 494 of Sam. He rolled over to face the wall and pulled his blanket with him.
His two lieutenants sat down on the bunk simultaneously. One on each end, like grossly mismatched book ends. "What the hell happened?" Biggs was the one that finally laid it out there.
"I fucked up. How'd you two feel about bein' promoted? 'Cause I fucked up bad. So, you know, nice knowing you."
"Cut the melodrama and give us the facts, princess." CeCe's voice was impatient. She had never had much tolerance for that kind of crap. It was Biggs' job to be the gentle one, which he was doing admirably at. He was leaning against the cement wall, legs stretched out in front of him. 494's long legs were tucked up, because there just wasn't room for all three of them on the bunk. This meant that 494's sock clad feet were pressed into Biggs' hip. A small but solid and warm contact, which was the whole reason they wedged themselves onto the bunk.
"It should have been a simple retrieval. Watch this guy until I could play him. Bring him back here to keep him out of the way. Then I go and get his kid brother. Slick and quick."
"And they thought this would work?"
"Should have. He looks just like me. My template. But Sammy. Sam knows his brother so well it's frightening." 494 gave a laugh that sounded pained, and it turned into a small moan. CeCe started trying to work the bowstring tension out of his neck and shoulders. It might help lessen the headache she knew he had. "Knew which order he gets dressed in, and which bed he'll always sleep in, and I bet the exact number of freckles he has."
"So what did happen? Because I know you brought him in." She pressed her thumbs down along his spine at his bar code and moved down and out from there, trying to get the knotted muscles to let go.
"He came on his own."
"What?" Biggs asked. How stupid could people be?
"He caught me. A nineteen year old Ordinary got the drop on me." This was straying from the actual question, but Biggs figured that 494 would get back around to it in his own way and in his own time. His CO never rambled, but he did often come at things from an unexpected angle. "And I don't mean that he made me. I mean, he got the drop on me. He had a gun to my heart and knife to my neck. And he was good. Watching him handle a knife was like magic. Manticore didn't soup me up as much as they'd like to think. I got a lot of this naturally." He sighed a little as CeCe got to a particularly nasty knot. Biggs often wondered why they never used muscle relaxants in Psy-Ops. They never seemed to use anything to ease things for the X units they worked over. Maybe that was just part of the punishment for imperfection.
After a moment 494 started speaking again. "Anyway, the BLUF of the whole deal is that I told him the truth. What was the point in lying? The entire op was FUBAR anyway. Then, and this is what gets me, he submitted. He came willingly. He got up, packed up his gear, and snapped at me that I wasn't moving fast enough; he wanted to see his brother." Biggs watched as his commander suddenly rolled onto his back and looked up at that. His feet shifted and he laid his legs in Biggs' lap like it was the most normal thing in the world. And maybe it was. For the Ordinary world. But they weren't Ordinary. They were X5s. They didn't touch, not usually, and their Lucky Charm was even less likely to accept physical contact than nearly anyone else in their unit. Biggs figured it was partly because of Psy-Ops, and partly because he was their Lucky Charm. He kept ending up in the Med Lab, but he always came back out. It clearly marked him, though. A body could only take so much unwelcome and invasive contact before it started first shying away and then lashing out. There was no such thing as casual touch with 494. If he initiated contact, it was because he needed it, and it was an act of trust. Usually, he disguised it as sarcasm and casual behavior, so Biggs said nothing about being used as a foot rest. "What kind of person does that? Aren't humans supposed to have a self-preservation instinct?"
Biggs looked over 494 to CeCe. They were both clearly thinking the same thing, but neither had a chance to voice it as a tech came in wearing a white lab coat, carrying a tray of food. They could all smell the turkey that was on the tray, and it immediately reminded Biggs that 494 had been right. They did have a meal to get to, but it would be nearly over. It was a well known fact that they could stand to miss one meal. They had made their choice, and it really wasn’t all that difficult to live with.
Unfortunately, the smell of food did not have the same effect on 494 as it did on his seconds, or maybe it was the presence of the tech. Whatever the cause, Biggs felt 494 tense, even though he couldn’t see it. They all learned to mask their reactions like that. The lesson had been for covert operations, but it stood them in good stead here at home base as well. It was sometimes difficult to shake the feeling that their handlers were the enemy. The tech handed the tray to CeCe and pulled a pill bottle and capped syringe from his lab coat pocket. Biggs forced himself not to react as the tech roughly pulled 494's arm out from the blanket he had wrapped himself in and unceremoniously emptied the syringe into the prominent vein at the crook of 494's elbow. The fact that his sibling and commander didn't even so much as look over at the tech gave testament to what had been done to him in Psy-Ops. He hadn't shut down completely. For that, Biggs was grateful. But 494 was the least docile person in Bravo Unit. This complacency wasn't him.
Biggs could hear the growl vibrating out from CeCe's throat, and he had to admit he would like nothing more than to backhand the tech through a convenient wall. All the work she had done in unknotting 494's muscles had just gone out the window. He was thrumming with tension again. The tech then shook a pill free from the bottle and handed it to 494, who took it without complaint and dry-swallowed it. The pill was most likely 494's seizure medication. The injection could have been just about anything. They could only hope that it helped instead of harmed.
"Eat everything," the tech told him. 494 looked positively green at the idea. "And do not throw it up. Someone will be by in a half an hour to get the tray. No sharing."
Biggs couldn't keep his mouth shut any longer. "Yeah, we got the idea. Just because you treat us like we're stupid doesn't mean we actually are. Get out." When the man looked like he was going to open his mouth, Biggs moved 494's feet out of his lap and flowed off the bed to his feet. He was a good few inches taller than the tech. "Get. Out."
The tech wasn't stupid enough to argue.
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John's fists clenched in a kind of muted rage. It was gone. He had been hot on the damned Demon's trail. He knew he had read the signs right. Hell, he had almost been caught in a lightning strike from the electrical storm. But then it had just ended. Stopped cold. Like it had just packed up its bags and left. Usually it left a trail of rising tension and weird occurrences.
It had been no different here. He had even found the family of the likely baby in question. If he was going to be honest, this had been one of the easiest jobs he had ever done. The little boy's parents were part of a local coven. They had already felt that something was coming. His real problem his been convincing them that he meant only to help. Hunters often didn't take well to those that openly used magic. Those who lived with it, and made bedfellows of it.
These people had dealt with Hunters before and didn't want one in their backyard. John had been walking a fine line for a long time, though. He was a Hunter, through and through. But his youngest was being hunted, both hunter and prey, and both his boys were special. He had done his best to keep that quiet, even from them, and for the most part he had managed. He had at least taught them caution. Sam couldn't help what he was, but he didn't know it was anything out of the ordinary. And Dean, for all of his intuition, thought he was just good because he was raised to the hunt. Maybe he was even partially right. But they knew no better, so neither did anyone else.
John didn't care who a person made bedfellows with, as long as they were on the side of the light. As long as he could work with it and still look Mary in the eye when he finally made a violent departure from this world. He knew that was how soldiers like him went. They didn't stop fighting until their bodies gave out on them.
So John set up camp with these people. He threw every bit of knowledge he had at them. In return, they gave him a warm place to sleep, some honest-to-God home cooked meals, and some of the best protection spell work he had had since Sammy had left.
But now the Demon was gone. The whole coven was understandably relieved. As far as he could tell, the Demon had only one chance to get at a baby, and it had given it up on this one. What frightened John was wondering would could have been more important to it. Why it would have left with its stake unclaimed.
It didn't take anything but common sense to know he wouldn't like the answer when he eventually found out.
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His eyes snapped open as soon as he felt someone touch his face. The fingers burned into his mind and he was forced to look the man in the eyes. He didn't want to. He knew what he would see. He had seen it before, not that he could really remember. Gut instinct, because his ability to reason had long since been robbed from him. He felt like he was floating in an ocean, unable to move. He knew the feeling. He had been there before, but that time he had been in a real hospital with his father and Dean with him. Back when his dad gave a shit. When he was still part of his father's life. Dean. Where was Dean? He wanted his brother.
He hated this drugged, floating feeling, but it wasn't like last time. Last time it stopped the pain. This time it only brought pain. He was floating and couldn't move, get away, find his brother, find a way out. It just held him still, but it wouldn't have mattered. He wouldn't have been able to move away from it. It was burning through his veins and towards his brain.
Which was being crushed or burned to ash by those fingers. By that touch. He looked up into the eyes. Such a strange sense of déjà vu. He had seen those eyes before. He knew this face, even though he couldn't see past the eyes. Just like last time. Considering him. Evaluating. Where had he seen those eyes before? Venomous, yellow. Like sulfur. He wasn't going to forget eyes that were the same shade as sulfur. Sulfur went with demons. Brimstone. And the fire was under his skin, and above his head, on the ceiling. He looked up into the eyes of the Demon and Sam screamed.
He kept screaming. He ran out of air but couldn’t stop screaming. He could hear people around them and even sometimes see them. But only a little past the fire. His body had finally started to settle into a sort of restful stillness.
Everything just . . . stopped. The burning, tearing pain, the fire, memory, his blood and body, breathing and heart. Everything was cool and dark. He was resting. Body dormant. Stilled.
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