spn/ff - Hell
Title: Hell
Author: Liv darkmagic-luvr
Fandom: Supernatural/Firefly
Characters: River Tam, Sam Winchester, Dr. Mathias, Dean Winchester, Simon Tam
30-kisses Prompt: 29. the sound of waves
Rating: R
Warnings: general spoilers.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Supernatural or Firefly. Any characters you don’t recognize are original and should not be used without my permission.
Author’s Note: I’ve taken concepts of Dark Angel and Dollhouse (because it’s my dream to one day write a fic where all three fandoms connect), if you squint you can see them.
Author's Note 2: Set in the Firefly!verse, pre-series. Mid season 1 for Supernatural, spoilers for seasons 4/5. Dialoge from Serenity.
Chinese: 1. damn/fucking massacre 2. my love.
Many things happened in the Academy. For one, screaming happened. They made to bend you until you broke. River knew this, before she started snapping at the seams she knew this. It wasn‘t a special program it was a tāmā datushā. And no one would come for her.
Week Fourteen. Tuesday.
There was something different about the way the guards walked in, they dragged something, something larger than they were, something breathing and bloody and angry and lost. The heavy something was shoved and dropped into the room (cell, it was a cell, they were in a prison and these were their pens) right next to hers. Heavy, shiny black footsteps, leaking authority and conformity stomped out of the corridor (stormy colored walls, mixed in their misery and their anonymity. The color chafes at their souls and they’re weakened) and River stopped her pacing, turning sharply towards the wall that held another special project for the program. Bare feet slid across the floor and scraped knees hit the side of her bed, the lumpy, thin mattress dipping under her body weight as she crawled across it, pressing her check and the palms of her hands against cool, stormy colored bricks.
All she heard was silence.
Week Fourteen. Wednesday.
He could see through trees. He could see through skin and time. Glassy hazel eyes blinked up at the cracking sky. Falling. The sky was falling.
Sam jerked upwards into a sitting position, breathing hard and feeling awful. He cringed, bringing both hands to his face and pressing the heels against his eyes. Last thing…the last thing he could remember…he couldn’t. He knew who he was and Dean and Dad and Uncle Bobby but he couldn't remember the last thing he did. It could have been anything, there might have been a witch hunt on Shinon, or the exorcism on Shadow…he didn’t know. Sam pulled his hands away from his face and looked around; a toilet in the corner, there was a bed to his immediate left and that was all.
Well, there was a door. A heavy, metal door with no handles on the inside. Just a keyhole.
Sam tried to stand, found he couldn’t and ended up pulling himself up onto the bed beside him. If you could call it a bed. He groaned and rolled onto his back, staring up at the cracked ceiling, breathing hard.
There was someone in the room (cell, it was a cell.) next to his, sleeping, he would have guessed, because she was whispering and crying for someone named Simon. Sam swallowed and tried not to imagine what she had been put through, what he would likely be put through. What would make him call out for Dean in his sleep.
The scraping of metal against metal, of lock against key, startled Sam. He swallowed, staring at the door and waiting.
Two pairs of blue hands and two black suits walked in, glided in, each one looking at him, neither bothering to turn to the other as they moved to the side to let a bigger man with a bigger needle with something liquid and clear and could possibly make him wish he was dead inside it. Sam tried not to move, they’d gotten him here, they intended to keep him here, dead or alive.
“That’s wise, Sam,” said the one on the left, waving the man with the syringe forward into the room. He moved confidently in to the room and to Sam’s side, who sat up suddenly.
“How do you know my name?” his voice sounded worn and the men with blue hands didn’t respond immediately. The one on the right replied.
“We know everything about you, Sam Winchester. Where you grew up, your family, the things you dream and the things you will do.”
The statement send a numb, cold feeling through Sam’s body, not even his brother knew about his dreams and Dean knew him better than anyone. Sam felt something sharp and cold pierce his skin and flinched, looking down.
He blinked slowly several times, every time the light shone through into his eyes it was something different, a hallway with dark eyes and stormy colors; glass walls and white machines and metal floors to wipe the blood clean; a chair and a light; and a light; and a light; and a light shining into his face. There were more sharp things plugged into his arms, something heavy slid into his forehead, the light was gone, and his eyelids dropped closed.
Dean was sitting on the hood of the Impala, drinking a beer and huddled in his leather jack, swimming in it in his lean frame. Dad was around the back with his head in the trunk, tossing cartons of silver bullets and rock salt to the side.
“Sammy, this is your first hunt alone, I want you to remember one thing, don’t panic,” John straightened up and held out a sawed off shot gun to Sam, who was shorter than he remembered being, he looked around, at where he was, where he knew he was, when he knew he was and carefully took the gun from John. “Now if you need anything, call me. Daddy ‘ll take care of it-” the light glanced across his eyes, tricking them yellow “-Daddy’s watching.”
Sam’s eyes snapped open and then there was light.
“Tell us, Sam, what do you see?”
Week Fifteen. The Sabbath.
River hung upside down, her long dark hair falling in a pool on the ground, sliding like ink along the concrete, watching the spot where the brick wall met the floor. The sound of rushing filled her ears and she turned over onto her stomach to stare under her bed. She waited. The rushing got louder and darker. She watched with parted lips as dark red slid in between the wall and the floor, through a crack that hadn’t been properly calked. It slid and pooled under her bed, the rushing stopped and the sound of dripping started.
River pulled herself onto her bed, turning over on her back and listened to the sound of heavy breathing and labored sleep, and tried to sooth him with whispers, dancing words that didn’t make sense until they became pretty. His breathing slowed and the dripping blood stopped. River placed her palm against the wall beside her head.
“Sleep is softly around you.”
Sam’s eyes snapped open, his chest heaving. The ceiling blurred for a few seconds before it came into focus, the cracks along the plaster making patterns, which he traced with his eyes. His breathing slowed and he let his head fall to the side, staring at the ground, where there was a plate of food. He tried to move, but even thinking about moving sent his head spinning and splitting with pain. He groaned, closing his eyes tightly, feeling hot tears leak down the side of his face.
“Just let it fade,” came a soft, muffled voice from the other side of the wall. Sam’s eyes snapped open, turning his head too fast to look at the wall, shifting on his back.
“What?” he heard a pained inhale of breath and then the same voice, closer.
“The pain. The one in your head,” the voice was feminine, girl-like. “Gotta breathe and let it fade.”
“Who are you?” asked Sam, rolling slowly onto his side, the tip of his nose centimeters from the wall.
“Empty, doll-like and broken. Called River.”
“River,” Sam repeated, sliding his hand along his bed until his knuckles were pressed against the wall, cool and scraping against his skin. “I’m Sam.”
“Sam,” she breathed. Sam could almost feel the warmth of her breath on his face and he closed his eyes. “Sam like-the-riffle.”
Week Fifteen. Monday. Midnight.
They pulled her out of her cell and gave her a ‘treatment’, filling her blood with liquid and telling her to keep her eyes open. It’s something new and different, and that has River scared. Her brain is forming equations and escape plans without her consent, and when they put her in a dark room with a gun strapped in her hand, her brain can’t decided whether to fight or fly. With smooth movements she does both, flying around an endless room, breaking one, two, three, seven necks. She fires three shots into the ceiling, because she knows that’s where they’re watching and the lights flicker on.
The room isn’t endless, and the bodies on the floor are wearing prison jumpsuits, led like lamb to slaughter at her hands. The door opens and Doctor Mathias is smiling at her, clapping slowly, in mock awe.
“Take her back to her room.”
The orderlies call that chamber the pod, they don’t tell her, but they do. River’s lead back to her cell and stands there, staring at the storm colored wall and relives every second of black. She doesn’t know when she starts speaking, when she starts screaming. They princess didn’t have a chance, the queen put her in a position to fail, but she couldn’t herself. She knew there was a pea somewhere in the room, it’s the only explanation.
“River! River!” Sam’s voice is muffled by the wall and the void in her brainpan, but it shocks her and she stops, pieces of her mattress dropping from her hands. She’s breathing hard and she can feel Sam on the other side of the wall, she can feel his hands warm against her skin where they’re pressed against the wall. She leans against the wall and breaths in an undertone of Sam, soaking up his warmth.
“It stops being so painful,” breathes Sam, and River can feel his mouth move against her ear. “Killing people, even if they deserve it. Give it time.”
River nods against the wall, her cheek scraping against the surface.
The door opens and someone tells her she’s wanted for a session.
Week Fifteen. Monday.
Sam pulled away from the wall as someone walked into River’s room, taking her away again. Her words were still ringing in his ears, protecting her spine from the mattress, a fairytale he’s never heard of before. He looked down at his own mattress and seriously contemplated doing the same. River had been here longer than he had, she must know more about this place…
“There’s nothing in the mattress,” said Sam, dropping into a sitting position against the wall. His eyes glanced down at his bed warily. “Nothing yet.”
Sam looked up sharply as the door to his cell opened and Dr. Mathias walked in, his hands clasped behind his back. “Hello, Samuel.”
“It’s Sam,” he countered automatically. He could hear River’s voice in his head they stuck her in a room, a pea in a pod. Dr. Mathias nodded his acknowledgement and beckoned a nurse in with a nod of his head.
“We need to do a few things today, Sam. First a treatment, then a nap, and we’ll see which way to go from there.”
Sam swallowed, but he didn’t fight. The smile on Dr. Mathias’ face told him that he knew Sam wasn’t going to.
They cut into his brain, and he saw his mother.
Week Fifteen. Wednesday.
Dr. Mathias was pleased with Sam’s results, he smiled at the younger man with his coat still covered in red and annonced to him and the other doctors in the room, that Sam was not a reader.
Dr. Mathias braced his hands against the armrests of the Chair, that Sam was currently in. He leaned in close, smiling deviously, nastily and Sam (through sweat and tear filled eyes, circles from being up for so long, nauseous and tired) leaned back as far as he could. “He is something, much more.” the overhead light caught the doctor’s eyes, tricking them yellow and Sam reeled away, his eyes wide and horrified.
“You’re a demon.”
Dr. Mathias pulled away from him and nodded to one of the nurses. “It seems like Sam’s hallucinating. Administer more of the drug and keep him stable. Return him to his room when he’s calmed down.
“No, no! He‘s a demon. HE’S EVIL! He killed my mother!”
Week Twenty-One. The Sabbath.
Sam’s eyes snapped open and he shot up in bed breathing hard, sweat running down his back, beading across his forehead. He wasn’t wearing any clothes, his eyes wouldn’t adjust to the light in his cell. There was something breathing next to him in the wall, whispering softly into his head.
“River?” Sam’s voice was broken and small, his head turning to the wall.
“They broke you,” breathed River, and Sam could hear tears in her voice. “Calling for Dean. Calling for demons and Daddy-”
Sam groaned, the past sessions with Dr. Mathias crashing into his brain. That medicine he’d instructed the nurses to give him, it was in his veins and it was changing him. There was a man in his head, with black eyes, strapped to a chair with black pouring out of his mouth and nose. He could see the man and see his own hand, outstretched, bleeding him of his insides, while he bleed red.
“It’ll be okay, Sammy,” breathed River, her lips pressed against the wall, against his cheek. Sam stuck his hands in his hair, tugging it painfully and hanging his head against his knees. “I’m here.”
Sam dropped against the wall, closing his eyes to the cold. He closed his eyes and could feel River pressing into him, all soft curves and dark hair, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. He took comfort in the feeling. “I love you.”
“I know.”
Week Twenty-One. Tuesday.
“So, how long was I practically comatose?” asked Sam, lying on his back underneath his bed.
“Six weeks. Forty-two days. 3-”
“I get it. Showoff.” River giggled into the wall, her smile fading off her face into something content and pleasant.
“Sammy?”
“Hmm?”
“They’ll come for us. They wont stop until they do.” Sam nodded.
“I know, bao bei.”
Week Thirty-Eight. The Sabbath.
Dean had found Simon Tam in a Blackout Zone. Such a respectable type such as him wouldn’t have been in a Blackout Zone unless it was for good reason, and Dean knew a good reason when he saw one, it was why he was in the Zone for God’s sake.
“Her name’s River.”
“My brother’s name is Sam.”
They bonded over their lost siblings, both taken away by the Alliance for some project, for Dean it was just after Sam started college, the most exciting program that didn’t discriminate the Winchesters, but welcomed them. John had been skeptical, but Sam had wanted to go, he had wanted to go and would have done anything to do it. He wanted to learn. For Simon, it was the same, except it was his beautiful, brilliant baby sister, at just fourteen, who was now seventeen. John took to Simon, immediately recognizing the desperation in the younger man and informing him of where they believed the Alliance was keeping them.
They stole away in the cold of night, Simon’s money getting them anything and everything they could need, Dean’s charm putting everyone they encountered at ease. Dr. Mathias was only too happy to lead a demonstration.
“She’s dreaming now, it’s when we do our best work; when they’re asleep. River Tam, is our star pupil. ”
“We’ve heard that,” said Simon, staring at River, shaking in the Chair, screaming. Dean played uninterested, Dr. Mathias noticed.
“But you’ve seen River, how about something different? I know parliament has been wanting results from our latest subject, and I am proud to say we’ve cracked the surface.” Mathias turned to an orderly. “The light, please.”
Dr. Mathias lead them to a two-way mirror. Simon had to grab Dean’s arm in order to prevent him from lashing out and killing the doctor, but Mathias was too busy smiling proudly.
“Sam Winchester, is an extraordinary boy.”
“How so?” asked Simon, his grip on Dean’s arm tightening.
“Parliament is aware of the coming of the apocalypse, we believe Sam is the key.”
“The key how?” asked Dean through a clenched jaw.
“The ability we believed was psychical developed into something we consider a psychic exorcism.”
“He can expel demons from a person with his mind?” asked Dean, his head snapping around to look at the doctor, who nodded excitedly.
“With little damage to the subject being exorcised or to Sam. And while we hope on keeping Sam here until the opportunity arises, he and River Tam are our most invaluable assists. They’re ideal for defense deployment. Even with the side effects.”
“Tell us about them,” said Simon steadily, turning around to focus on River.
“Well, while non of our subjects are allowed together, Sam and River have created an unusually strong connection to each other. They’re aware of each other. We’ve found they compliment each other extremely well, in both combat and in comfort. Mentally they’re obviously unstable. In River’s case the neural stripping has altered her reality matrix, while Sam’s body and his mind are addicted to the drip we’ve been giving him. Sam’s withdrawal is easily fixed, while River-”
“What use do we have for a bunch of psychics if they’re insane?” asked Dean, finally turning away from Sam and looking at Mathias, who bristled at the question.
“They’re not just psychics. Given the right trigger these children are living weapons. In Samule’s case-”
“It’s Sam.” Dr. Mathias froze, turning to Dean, who was glaring at him.
“Excuse me?”
Dean swung back his arm and punched the good doctor in the face so hard his head snapped back. Mathias crumpled to the ground, blood pouring from his face. Dean didn’t have time to catch his breath before Simon was pulling him by the back of his jacket to the floor, sending an electro wave into the air, stunning the remaining people in the room.
“Did you really have to hit him?”
“Well, I didn’t want you to do anything morally wrong.” Simon rolled his eyes, but didn’t seem all that broken up about Dr. Mathias with a broken nose.
“Help me with River, and we’ll get Sam.” Dean nodded and quickly moved to River’s side, unfastening restraints, while Simon removed the needle from her forehead.
“River, it’s Simon.” River moaned, her head lolling to the side. “Please, River, it’s Simon. It’s your brother.”
“Let’s go, Simon,” urged Dean, turning away from River and heading for the window keeping him from Sam. He pulled his gun from the back of his pants and fired, shattering the glass.
“Dean!”
“Simon.” both men jumped, spinning around to see River staring at Simon, her eyes slightly out of focus. “They know you’re hear.”
“Then let’s go.” Dean jumped over the frame of the window, moving quickly towards Sam with Simon on his heels.
“Sam? Sammy, wake up,” muttered Dean, his hands on his brother’s face. Sam’s eyes fluttered open and he swallowed, gasping for a moment.
“Dean?”
“Any time now, Simon,” growled Dean, looking down at Simon, who was finishing with the final lock around Sam’s arm.
“Let’s-”
“River.” Dean frowned at his brother who was staring over his shoulder at Simon’s sister. The dark haired girl was staring back, and Dean watched in confusion and fascination as Sam stood up quickly, ignoring both him and Simon and walking quickly over to River, running his hands over her face and around the back of her head, kissing her.
Dean flinched and looked over at Simon. “Oh, this is bad.”
“We’re going to have to leave together.”
“Four people on the run, awesome.”
Sam pulled away from River slightly, his head still bowed and his hands still on her. River was breathing hard.
“Sam! We gotta go!” Sam reluctantly pulled away from River, turning to his brother and-
“You’re Simon.”
“Now, bitch!”
River slipped her hand into Sam’s, looking up at him. “Two by two.”
Author: Liv darkmagic-luvr
Fandom: Supernatural/Firefly
Characters: River Tam, Sam Winchester, Dr. Mathias, Dean Winchester, Simon Tam
30-kisses Prompt: 29. the sound of waves
Rating: R
Warnings: general spoilers.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Supernatural or Firefly. Any characters you don’t recognize are original and should not be used without my permission.
Author’s Note: I’ve taken concepts of Dark Angel and Dollhouse (because it’s my dream to one day write a fic where all three fandoms connect), if you squint you can see them.
Author's Note 2: Set in the Firefly!verse, pre-series. Mid season 1 for Supernatural, spoilers for seasons 4/5. Dialoge from Serenity.
Chinese: 1. damn/fucking massacre 2. my love.
Many things happened in the Academy. For one, screaming happened. They made to bend you until you broke. River knew this, before she started snapping at the seams she knew this. It wasn‘t a special program it was a tāmā datushā. And no one would come for her.
Week Fourteen. Tuesday.
There was something different about the way the guards walked in, they dragged something, something larger than they were, something breathing and bloody and angry and lost. The heavy something was shoved and dropped into the room (cell, it was a cell, they were in a prison and these were their pens) right next to hers. Heavy, shiny black footsteps, leaking authority and conformity stomped out of the corridor (stormy colored walls, mixed in their misery and their anonymity. The color chafes at their souls and they’re weakened) and River stopped her pacing, turning sharply towards the wall that held another special project for the program. Bare feet slid across the floor and scraped knees hit the side of her bed, the lumpy, thin mattress dipping under her body weight as she crawled across it, pressing her check and the palms of her hands against cool, stormy colored bricks.
All she heard was silence.
Week Fourteen. Wednesday.
He could see through trees. He could see through skin and time. Glassy hazel eyes blinked up at the cracking sky. Falling. The sky was falling.
Sam jerked upwards into a sitting position, breathing hard and feeling awful. He cringed, bringing both hands to his face and pressing the heels against his eyes. Last thing…the last thing he could remember…he couldn’t. He knew who he was and Dean and Dad and Uncle Bobby but he couldn't remember the last thing he did. It could have been anything, there might have been a witch hunt on Shinon, or the exorcism on Shadow…he didn’t know. Sam pulled his hands away from his face and looked around; a toilet in the corner, there was a bed to his immediate left and that was all.
Well, there was a door. A heavy, metal door with no handles on the inside. Just a keyhole.
Sam tried to stand, found he couldn’t and ended up pulling himself up onto the bed beside him. If you could call it a bed. He groaned and rolled onto his back, staring up at the cracked ceiling, breathing hard.
There was someone in the room (cell, it was a cell.) next to his, sleeping, he would have guessed, because she was whispering and crying for someone named Simon. Sam swallowed and tried not to imagine what she had been put through, what he would likely be put through. What would make him call out for Dean in his sleep.
The scraping of metal against metal, of lock against key, startled Sam. He swallowed, staring at the door and waiting.
Two pairs of blue hands and two black suits walked in, glided in, each one looking at him, neither bothering to turn to the other as they moved to the side to let a bigger man with a bigger needle with something liquid and clear and could possibly make him wish he was dead inside it. Sam tried not to move, they’d gotten him here, they intended to keep him here, dead or alive.
“That’s wise, Sam,” said the one on the left, waving the man with the syringe forward into the room. He moved confidently in to the room and to Sam’s side, who sat up suddenly.
“How do you know my name?” his voice sounded worn and the men with blue hands didn’t respond immediately. The one on the right replied.
“We know everything about you, Sam Winchester. Where you grew up, your family, the things you dream and the things you will do.”
The statement send a numb, cold feeling through Sam’s body, not even his brother knew about his dreams and Dean knew him better than anyone. Sam felt something sharp and cold pierce his skin and flinched, looking down.
He blinked slowly several times, every time the light shone through into his eyes it was something different, a hallway with dark eyes and stormy colors; glass walls and white machines and metal floors to wipe the blood clean; a chair and a light; and a light; and a light; and a light shining into his face. There were more sharp things plugged into his arms, something heavy slid into his forehead, the light was gone, and his eyelids dropped closed.
Dean was sitting on the hood of the Impala, drinking a beer and huddled in his leather jack, swimming in it in his lean frame. Dad was around the back with his head in the trunk, tossing cartons of silver bullets and rock salt to the side.
“Sammy, this is your first hunt alone, I want you to remember one thing, don’t panic,” John straightened up and held out a sawed off shot gun to Sam, who was shorter than he remembered being, he looked around, at where he was, where he knew he was, when he knew he was and carefully took the gun from John. “Now if you need anything, call me. Daddy ‘ll take care of it-” the light glanced across his eyes, tricking them yellow “-Daddy’s watching.”
Sam’s eyes snapped open and then there was light.
“Tell us, Sam, what do you see?”
Week Fifteen. The Sabbath.
River hung upside down, her long dark hair falling in a pool on the ground, sliding like ink along the concrete, watching the spot where the brick wall met the floor. The sound of rushing filled her ears and she turned over onto her stomach to stare under her bed. She waited. The rushing got louder and darker. She watched with parted lips as dark red slid in between the wall and the floor, through a crack that hadn’t been properly calked. It slid and pooled under her bed, the rushing stopped and the sound of dripping started.
River pulled herself onto her bed, turning over on her back and listened to the sound of heavy breathing and labored sleep, and tried to sooth him with whispers, dancing words that didn’t make sense until they became pretty. His breathing slowed and the dripping blood stopped. River placed her palm against the wall beside her head.
“Sleep is softly around you.”
Sam’s eyes snapped open, his chest heaving. The ceiling blurred for a few seconds before it came into focus, the cracks along the plaster making patterns, which he traced with his eyes. His breathing slowed and he let his head fall to the side, staring at the ground, where there was a plate of food. He tried to move, but even thinking about moving sent his head spinning and splitting with pain. He groaned, closing his eyes tightly, feeling hot tears leak down the side of his face.
“Just let it fade,” came a soft, muffled voice from the other side of the wall. Sam’s eyes snapped open, turning his head too fast to look at the wall, shifting on his back.
“What?” he heard a pained inhale of breath and then the same voice, closer.
“The pain. The one in your head,” the voice was feminine, girl-like. “Gotta breathe and let it fade.”
“Who are you?” asked Sam, rolling slowly onto his side, the tip of his nose centimeters from the wall.
“Empty, doll-like and broken. Called River.”
“River,” Sam repeated, sliding his hand along his bed until his knuckles were pressed against the wall, cool and scraping against his skin. “I’m Sam.”
“Sam,” she breathed. Sam could almost feel the warmth of her breath on his face and he closed his eyes. “Sam like-the-riffle.”
Week Fifteen. Monday. Midnight.
They pulled her out of her cell and gave her a ‘treatment’, filling her blood with liquid and telling her to keep her eyes open. It’s something new and different, and that has River scared. Her brain is forming equations and escape plans without her consent, and when they put her in a dark room with a gun strapped in her hand, her brain can’t decided whether to fight or fly. With smooth movements she does both, flying around an endless room, breaking one, two, three, seven necks. She fires three shots into the ceiling, because she knows that’s where they’re watching and the lights flicker on.
The room isn’t endless, and the bodies on the floor are wearing prison jumpsuits, led like lamb to slaughter at her hands. The door opens and Doctor Mathias is smiling at her, clapping slowly, in mock awe.
“Take her back to her room.”
The orderlies call that chamber the pod, they don’t tell her, but they do. River’s lead back to her cell and stands there, staring at the storm colored wall and relives every second of black. She doesn’t know when she starts speaking, when she starts screaming. They princess didn’t have a chance, the queen put her in a position to fail, but she couldn’t herself. She knew there was a pea somewhere in the room, it’s the only explanation.
“River! River!” Sam’s voice is muffled by the wall and the void in her brainpan, but it shocks her and she stops, pieces of her mattress dropping from her hands. She’s breathing hard and she can feel Sam on the other side of the wall, she can feel his hands warm against her skin where they’re pressed against the wall. She leans against the wall and breaths in an undertone of Sam, soaking up his warmth.
“It stops being so painful,” breathes Sam, and River can feel his mouth move against her ear. “Killing people, even if they deserve it. Give it time.”
River nods against the wall, her cheek scraping against the surface.
The door opens and someone tells her she’s wanted for a session.
Week Fifteen. Monday.
Sam pulled away from the wall as someone walked into River’s room, taking her away again. Her words were still ringing in his ears, protecting her spine from the mattress, a fairytale he’s never heard of before. He looked down at his own mattress and seriously contemplated doing the same. River had been here longer than he had, she must know more about this place…
“There’s nothing in the mattress,” said Sam, dropping into a sitting position against the wall. His eyes glanced down at his bed warily. “Nothing yet.”
Sam looked up sharply as the door to his cell opened and Dr. Mathias walked in, his hands clasped behind his back. “Hello, Samuel.”
“It’s Sam,” he countered automatically. He could hear River’s voice in his head they stuck her in a room, a pea in a pod. Dr. Mathias nodded his acknowledgement and beckoned a nurse in with a nod of his head.
“We need to do a few things today, Sam. First a treatment, then a nap, and we’ll see which way to go from there.”
Sam swallowed, but he didn’t fight. The smile on Dr. Mathias’ face told him that he knew Sam wasn’t going to.
They cut into his brain, and he saw his mother.
Week Fifteen. Wednesday.
Dr. Mathias was pleased with Sam’s results, he smiled at the younger man with his coat still covered in red and annonced to him and the other doctors in the room, that Sam was not a reader.
Dr. Mathias braced his hands against the armrests of the Chair, that Sam was currently in. He leaned in close, smiling deviously, nastily and Sam (through sweat and tear filled eyes, circles from being up for so long, nauseous and tired) leaned back as far as he could. “He is something, much more.” the overhead light caught the doctor’s eyes, tricking them yellow and Sam reeled away, his eyes wide and horrified.
“You’re a demon.”
Dr. Mathias pulled away from him and nodded to one of the nurses. “It seems like Sam’s hallucinating. Administer more of the drug and keep him stable. Return him to his room when he’s calmed down.
“No, no! He‘s a demon. HE’S EVIL! He killed my mother!”
Week Twenty-One. The Sabbath.
Sam’s eyes snapped open and he shot up in bed breathing hard, sweat running down his back, beading across his forehead. He wasn’t wearing any clothes, his eyes wouldn’t adjust to the light in his cell. There was something breathing next to him in the wall, whispering softly into his head.
“River?” Sam’s voice was broken and small, his head turning to the wall.
“They broke you,” breathed River, and Sam could hear tears in her voice. “Calling for Dean. Calling for demons and Daddy-”
Sam groaned, the past sessions with Dr. Mathias crashing into his brain. That medicine he’d instructed the nurses to give him, it was in his veins and it was changing him. There was a man in his head, with black eyes, strapped to a chair with black pouring out of his mouth and nose. He could see the man and see his own hand, outstretched, bleeding him of his insides, while he bleed red.
“It’ll be okay, Sammy,” breathed River, her lips pressed against the wall, against his cheek. Sam stuck his hands in his hair, tugging it painfully and hanging his head against his knees. “I’m here.”
Sam dropped against the wall, closing his eyes to the cold. He closed his eyes and could feel River pressing into him, all soft curves and dark hair, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. He took comfort in the feeling. “I love you.”
“I know.”
Week Twenty-One. Tuesday.
“So, how long was I practically comatose?” asked Sam, lying on his back underneath his bed.
“Six weeks. Forty-two days. 3-”
“I get it. Showoff.” River giggled into the wall, her smile fading off her face into something content and pleasant.
“Sammy?”
“Hmm?”
“They’ll come for us. They wont stop until they do.” Sam nodded.
“I know, bao bei.”
Week Thirty-Eight. The Sabbath.
Dean had found Simon Tam in a Blackout Zone. Such a respectable type such as him wouldn’t have been in a Blackout Zone unless it was for good reason, and Dean knew a good reason when he saw one, it was why he was in the Zone for God’s sake.
“Her name’s River.”
“My brother’s name is Sam.”
They bonded over their lost siblings, both taken away by the Alliance for some project, for Dean it was just after Sam started college, the most exciting program that didn’t discriminate the Winchesters, but welcomed them. John had been skeptical, but Sam had wanted to go, he had wanted to go and would have done anything to do it. He wanted to learn. For Simon, it was the same, except it was his beautiful, brilliant baby sister, at just fourteen, who was now seventeen. John took to Simon, immediately recognizing the desperation in the younger man and informing him of where they believed the Alliance was keeping them.
They stole away in the cold of night, Simon’s money getting them anything and everything they could need, Dean’s charm putting everyone they encountered at ease. Dr. Mathias was only too happy to lead a demonstration.
“She’s dreaming now, it’s when we do our best work; when they’re asleep. River Tam, is our star pupil. ”
“We’ve heard that,” said Simon, staring at River, shaking in the Chair, screaming. Dean played uninterested, Dr. Mathias noticed.
“But you’ve seen River, how about something different? I know parliament has been wanting results from our latest subject, and I am proud to say we’ve cracked the surface.” Mathias turned to an orderly. “The light, please.”
Dr. Mathias lead them to a two-way mirror. Simon had to grab Dean’s arm in order to prevent him from lashing out and killing the doctor, but Mathias was too busy smiling proudly.
“Sam Winchester, is an extraordinary boy.”
“How so?” asked Simon, his grip on Dean’s arm tightening.
“Parliament is aware of the coming of the apocalypse, we believe Sam is the key.”
“The key how?” asked Dean through a clenched jaw.
“The ability we believed was psychical developed into something we consider a psychic exorcism.”
“He can expel demons from a person with his mind?” asked Dean, his head snapping around to look at the doctor, who nodded excitedly.
“With little damage to the subject being exorcised or to Sam. And while we hope on keeping Sam here until the opportunity arises, he and River Tam are our most invaluable assists. They’re ideal for defense deployment. Even with the side effects.”
“Tell us about them,” said Simon steadily, turning around to focus on River.
“Well, while non of our subjects are allowed together, Sam and River have created an unusually strong connection to each other. They’re aware of each other. We’ve found they compliment each other extremely well, in both combat and in comfort. Mentally they’re obviously unstable. In River’s case the neural stripping has altered her reality matrix, while Sam’s body and his mind are addicted to the drip we’ve been giving him. Sam’s withdrawal is easily fixed, while River-”
“What use do we have for a bunch of psychics if they’re insane?” asked Dean, finally turning away from Sam and looking at Mathias, who bristled at the question.
“They’re not just psychics. Given the right trigger these children are living weapons. In Samule’s case-”
“It’s Sam.” Dr. Mathias froze, turning to Dean, who was glaring at him.
“Excuse me?”
Dean swung back his arm and punched the good doctor in the face so hard his head snapped back. Mathias crumpled to the ground, blood pouring from his face. Dean didn’t have time to catch his breath before Simon was pulling him by the back of his jacket to the floor, sending an electro wave into the air, stunning the remaining people in the room.
“Did you really have to hit him?”
“Well, I didn’t want you to do anything morally wrong.” Simon rolled his eyes, but didn’t seem all that broken up about Dr. Mathias with a broken nose.
“Help me with River, and we’ll get Sam.” Dean nodded and quickly moved to River’s side, unfastening restraints, while Simon removed the needle from her forehead.
“River, it’s Simon.” River moaned, her head lolling to the side. “Please, River, it’s Simon. It’s your brother.”
“Let’s go, Simon,” urged Dean, turning away from River and heading for the window keeping him from Sam. He pulled his gun from the back of his pants and fired, shattering the glass.
“Dean!”
“Simon.” both men jumped, spinning around to see River staring at Simon, her eyes slightly out of focus. “They know you’re hear.”
“Then let’s go.” Dean jumped over the frame of the window, moving quickly towards Sam with Simon on his heels.
“Sam? Sammy, wake up,” muttered Dean, his hands on his brother’s face. Sam’s eyes fluttered open and he swallowed, gasping for a moment.
“Dean?”
“Any time now, Simon,” growled Dean, looking down at Simon, who was finishing with the final lock around Sam’s arm.
“Let’s-”
“River.” Dean frowned at his brother who was staring over his shoulder at Simon’s sister. The dark haired girl was staring back, and Dean watched in confusion and fascination as Sam stood up quickly, ignoring both him and Simon and walking quickly over to River, running his hands over her face and around the back of her head, kissing her.
Dean flinched and looked over at Simon. “Oh, this is bad.”
“We’re going to have to leave together.”
“Four people on the run, awesome.”
Sam pulled away from River slightly, his head still bowed and his hands still on her. River was breathing hard.
“Sam! We gotta go!” Sam reluctantly pulled away from River, turning to his brother and-
“You’re Simon.”
“Now, bitch!”
River slipped her hand into Sam’s, looking up at him. “Two by two.”