SPN/DA crossover fic: Of Desire and the Status Quo (32/38)
Story Title: Of Desire and the Status Quo
Chapter Title: Each Our Own Devil
Fandom(s): Supernatural, Dark Angel
Summary: In the end, it’s a complete accident that gets Dean Winchester out of Hell.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,419
Disclaimer: Same stuff applies as in the first chapter. Oh, and unfortunately I neither own Supernatural nor Dark Angel. Just this.
Of Desire and the Status Quo
Chapter XXXII: Each Our Own Devil
“Maybe he’s out of cell range,” says Max deceptively flippantly.
Meg narrows her eyes, far from amused. She’d made the woman try Alec multiple times, and so far no such luck. It just went to the generic voicemail, and, from what Meg knows of the Winchesters-or, as the case may be, a clone of a Winchester-she’s got no reason to trust that Max is telling the truth. She doesn’t exactly think highly of the transgenic leader, but she’s at least indirectly in league with Dean. Whatever other demons may have said-do say-about Dean Winchester’s intelligence (lack thereof, rather), Meg knows it’s not true.
Dean may still be a thorn in her side, but he’s never been stupid. And that is often what caused her fellow hell spawn to get sent back Down There. They didn’t underestimate Sam’s intelligence, but Dean’s they often did, and boy was that always their fatal mistake.
But no sir, not she. She may have early on presumed Dean the dumb-as-rocks older brother, but she’d quickly learned her lesson. Say, after a certain few of her daeva friends dragged her off a twenty-story building. That, coupled with being sent to Hell soon after (evidently it wasn’t appreciated that she “allowed” herself to be expelled from Sam’s body) tended to make the adage “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned” more than true.
And, okay, maybe she hadn’t quite counted on Dean ensnaring the transgenic co-leader to go cross country to find Sam, and maybe she hadn’t quite anticipated Max to be so steadfast, but her life has in the past many times depended on working through such snags, and so this is really nothing to worry about.
“While we’re waiting for Alec to pick up-or not-his phone,” Max says blandly, before turning her voice to ice, “when…I mean, how…why Kalinda? What good is she to you?”
Meg smiles. “You really have no idea, do you?” she snickers. “This is more than me just wanting to joyride some freak show in the middle of a toxic dump. While you were floundering over Dean, and Dean was fighting his own head, I was ensuring my survival. With some collateral along the way, naturally. You humans are so stupid.”
It takes Max a second, but then she gets it. “You have some agreement worked out with the military or…” Meg’s expectant expression changes her answer, unwillingly. “Or…or White.”
Meg claps her hand against the gun mockingly. “Lookie there, we finally have a smart one on our hands,” she sneers.
Max shuts her eyes, like the darker her vision gets, the less of a tailspin her world will go.
“You know, much as I like overtaking normal humans, it’s the corrupt ones I love exploiting the most. They’re so overconfident and blind, it’s beautiful.” Meg sits on the corner of Max’s desk, nonverbally acknowledging the fact that, as powerful as she is (though, granted, not as she once was), she can’t manufacture a cell signal, nor teleport unruly Winchesters. “By the way, you should update your security. It was pathetically easy to wander outside…”
What was also pathetically easy to do was find the transgenics’ primary nemesis; Ames White, as Kalinda’s inadvertent thoughts (for she had been in the room when Max, Alec, and Dix discovered White’s bunker) had so kindly informed Meg. She had thankfully kept her ability to transport herself, and in less than three seconds, she materializes into the center of a group of Familiars, smiling a grin that doesn’t belong on Kalinda’s face.
“Hey, boys,” she says, enjoying the fact that the enhanced soldiers are too stunned by both Meg’s supernatural appearance and, although they don’t know she’s a demon, sense that she’s…something else.
“Who are you?” asks a blond-haired man who looks as if he could give Mr. Universe a run for his money.
“Someone who has better things to do than pretend to be intimidated by you, small fry,” Meg sneers, crossing her arms. “Now, tell me where Ames White is. I need to speak with him.”
“No one sees him without explaining themselves,” says Blond, taking a step towards her. He gives Meg a small nod, and there’s something that feels like a gust of wind, which she guesses was meant to be some kind of telekinesis. But, despite their impressive muscles and specialized breeding, they don’t even register on Meg’s threat meter. She stands there, raising an eyebrow at his attempt.
He looks her up and down, trying and failing to keep his shock down. “Who are you?” he repeats.
“Look,” Meg says impatiently, “either you tell me where White is, or I slaughter all of you and find him myself. Your choice.”
Blond exchanges a look with a few of his cohorts, and then exhales in what is more of a growl. “Follow me,” he says, walking in the direction of a hallway.
Meg smirks at the group of Familiars, and then walks down the hallway behind Blond. It isn’t far to a large room that contains multiple computers and two men huddled over what looks like a map or blueprints. Not that Meg cares much. She really only needs White for manipulative purposes.
Blond hesitates before the door, glancing from White to Meg, weighing who he fears more. Meg levels her eyes and starts to summon power from within her, but it isn’t needed; Blond decides the demon is the one he’s most afraid of, and so knocks on the door before opening it.
“And we can use-” White stops whatever he was going to say at the intrusion. “What do you think you’re doing?” he seethes at Blond. “This is a private conference.”
“Forgive me, sir, but there’s someone who’d like to speak to you,” says Blond, gesturing to Meg.
White looks at her disdainfully, and then looks back at Blond. “Who is she?” he asks.
“I don’t-”
“Someone it’d be wise to hear out,” Meg interrupts. White turns back to her, and she promptly blinks, her irises changing from hazel to pitch black. “There’s some matters I’d like to discuss.”
White doesn’t show alarm, merely cautious intrigue, and turns to the man beside him. “Otto, escort yourself and this man out of here. It appears I have a more pressing meeting.”
Meg grins, and as Otto and Blond leave the room, takes a seat next to one of the computers. “Good decision.”
White folds his arms over his chest, his tailored suit as immaculate as ever. “You’re a transgenic, I know that much,” he says, “but something else, too. Care to elaborate?”
“I’m a demon,” Meg says candidly. She’s not here to play games. “I’m possessing some…transgenic…from what they call Terminal City. No one there knows, yet. As I understand it, you want the transgenics’ heads on plates, specifically their leaders’, am I right?”
“A demon,” White repeats skeptically. He can believe a lot-Familiars (let alone he himself being one) is one such element-but…demons? Possession? Surely this transgenic in front of him was just…concocted differently, to where she could change her eye color. And somehow convince his minions to let her see him.
“Oh, spare me the doubt speech,” Meg says, rolling her eyes. “You got two choices here, hotshot: One, accept my offer and get your two archenemies hand-delivered to you; or two, try and kill me, and unmistakably get killed in the process. Your decision.”
Well. There’s skepticism, and then there’s “What the hell, what could it hurt?” White goes with the first option Meg suggests. Besides, if she tries to double-cross him, it isn’t like he’s ill-prepared.
“I’m listening,” White says, keeping his face calm.
Meg smiles.
Max stares in horror at the demon imprisoning the young X6, her clenched hands endangering her cell phone’s life. “What…what are you going to do?” she asks in dread.
“Nothing yet,” answers Meg. “After all, I still don’t have the whole set. Your better half has to arrive first. Then…then you’ll find out.”
Max swallows, looking down at her phone again. She prays-to no one in particular-that Alec’s years and years of espionage and infiltration prowess will bring them all through this mess. Oh, he’ll get a hell of a talking-to when Meg and White are toast, but for now she’ll settle for a rescue.
The problem being that, honestly, she has no idea if Alec’s any safer than she is.
Which, it turns out, he isn’t.
“Ruby!” Sam exclaims, looking from Dean and Alec choking on the wall to Ruby, her undiluted, evil expression looking all too amiss on her soft face. “What are you doing?”
Without moving her hand from its outstretched position, she turns her eyes to Sam. “Come on, Sam, it isn’t like I’m doing anything you haven’t done.”
Sam balks for a second, before trying to push Ruby’s hand down. Unfortunately, even Sam’s strength is unable to overcome hers. “I’d never try and kill my brother!” Sam yells, looking at Dean again.
“He’s supposed to be dead anyway,” Ruby says, reveling in the gasping noises she’s causing. Alec’s faring somewhat better than Dean, having suffered through innumerable tests to see how long he could hold his breath, but even his eyes have a burst capillary or two. “I’m just setting everything right again.”
“I’m not losing him again, Ruby!” Sam says.
Ruby sends a smirk in Sam’s direction. “Sorry,” she says. “But I didn’t get the pleasure to kill your brother last time around; I can’t pass this one up. And hey-two for the price of one.”
“S-Sam…”
Sam had been drinking Ruby’s blood for thirteen years, he’d turned his back on everyone but Ruby-only sparing a day to bury Bobby upon hearing of his death-hell, he’d fucked Ruby, but here Dean is, somehow flesh and blood alive, and even if he does have some kind of freakish transgenic clone in tow, even if Sam does feel like he’s dead inside, even if Sam had put his trust in Ruby, he isn’t going to let her kill his big brother.
He isn’t.
Summoning up all the rage, grief, and supernatural blood inside him, Sam extends his own hand towards Ruby and, with a brief expression of surprise, Ruby is flung backward, hitting the opposite wall with a crack, making an imprint in the plaster before sliding down to meet the carpet.
Simultaneously, there’s two more thuds as Dean and Alec are released from Ruby’s power, accompanied by twin gasps of air, the two desperately trying to reoxygenate their lungs.
Sam scrambles over and puts his hands on Dean’s shoulders, breathing heavily himself. “Dean!” he exclaims. “Are you all right?”
“Sammy,” Dean whispers, giving his brother a weak smile.
“I’m sorry, Dean,” Sam fumbles, his thirty-eight-year-old face suddenly losing a decade, suddenly looking like the face Dean remembers. “I’m so sorry.”
“We’ll fix it, Sammy,” Dean says. “I’ll fix it.”
As if just realizing that Dean’s not the only one recovering from strangulation, Sam moves to Alec, hesitating for a second before touching Alec’s arm. “Are…are you okay?”
Alec looks up, astounded. “I’m peachy,” he snarks, shrugging off Sam’s hand. “Leave me alone.”
Sam does, primarily for the fact that Alec is doing precisely the same, gruff I’m-indestructible façade that Dean always would, and that he knows no matter what he says, it would only result in more sarcasm and brusqueness.
So instead, Sam goes back over to Dean. He starts to speak (though, admittedly, doesn’t know at all what he’d say), but then notices something. Dean’s shirt is dark, and Sam knows the sight of bloodstains too well.
“What happened to your shoulder?” he asks.
Dean peers as best he can at his wound and sighs. “Ah, damn,” he mutters. “That bitch throwing me against the wall started it bleeding again. Just perfect.”
“Are you kidding me?” Alec pipes up indignantly. “I fucking drugged you just to get that stupid thing repaired, and now you go and ruin it again? You live to make my life difficult.”
Sam and Dean exchange a long-suffering glance, the familiarity of it makes Dean’s chest ache, and Alec’s ache for an entirely different reason. “As glad as I am for this lovely reunion,” Alec gripes through his seeing them act so like brothers, “can we get the hell out of here please?”
Dean smiles and stands up, rubbing at his neck briefly. “Best words I’ve heard come out of your mouth, kid,” he remarks, stepping towards the door.
Alec chooses not to comment, just leads the way, Sam and Dean following, but then his hyper-sensitive ears pick up something. He turns, but it’s too late.
Ruby’s there, with the same knife that he himself had sent sprawling into her sternum. She’s bleeding profusely from her head, but her grip on the knife is sound, and the squelching noise of it digging into Sam’s back to the hilt is devastatingly real.
“SAM!” Alec yells helplessly.
It had all happened so fast that Dean’d barely turned by the time Ruby yanks the knife out and Sam falls. Struck with the identical image of Sam back in Cold Oak, South Dakota, Dean relives the horror to the nth degree, hurrying over and holding Sam’s face in his hands.
Alec, for his part, feels anger instead of sadness rise up, and rushes over to Ruby’s relishing form. It takes a split second, and he doesn’t think twice as he snaps her neck, the motion familiar, and yet alien.
Unfortunately, Alec’s still not versed with demonology, and although Ruby groans, she merely snaps her head back, and looks at Alec with revulsion. His eyes widen, and he uses the only weapon he has left. Blurring, he pounces on Ruby, tackling her to the floor and sticking a knee in her spine, wrenching her arms behind her.
“What do I do?” he begs to either Sam or Dean.
Dean’s horror-stricken, staring at his brother, but Sam, even though there’s blood dripping from his mouth, and his eyes are glassy, turns his head over to Alec. “N-N-Nightstand…” he exhales, so quietly Alec barely catches it.
Presuming there’s a gun or something in there, Alec awkwardly but quickly maneuvers Ruby over and, with a stranglehold on her, uses his other hand to rifle through the nightstand drawer. There’s only one thing in there, a thick, leather-bound book, and Alec glances over to Sam again, fearing that the wound had addled his brain.
“End,” Sam moans out, squeezing his eyes shut. “R-Read it…”
Alec humors him and flips to the end, where there’s a paragraph full of Latin. “I-I don’t know what this says,” he laments. He’s fluent in French, Spanish, Russian, Mandarin, and German, and knows enough to get around in four other languages, but Latin is not one of them.
It’s Dean this time who pleads, “Alec.” There’s wetness to his cheeks, but the desperation is there, desperation for Alec to finish…something. Alec has no idea.
Sam’s dying, Dean’s mind is on one track, Alec’s currently holding a squirming demon in his hand, and to top it all off he’s got the former two people asking him to read something, of which he has no idea the purpose, and his life is so fucked up now that he doesn’t know which way is up anymore. But the looks on Sam and Dean’s faces, and the evil emanating from Ruby is enough to make up Alec’s mind.
He forces Ruby to the floor again, casts a quick glance to Sam and Dean, Sam’s blood slowly leaking into the hardwood, Dean’s breaths coming in choking sobs as his brother’s life drains away, and then looks at the book in his hands. The words are clunky at first, but then come with a shocking degree of ease, of hasty but accurate precision, as if he’d been speaking it for, well, as long as Sam and Dean had.
“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica, in nomini et virtute Domini Nostri Jesu Christi, eradicare et effugare a Dei Ecclesia, ab animabus ad imaginem Dei conditis ac pretioso divini Agni sanguine redemptis.”
There’s an awful screech, and then, to Alec’s saucer-wide eyes, a billow of black smoke comes out of Ruby’s-or, rather, her host’s-mouth, slinking through and scorching the floorboards, and then leaving the room in eerie silence, broken only by Sam’s gurgles and Dean’s sobs.
Alec silently places the book on the nightstand and turns over Ruby’s host, the girl unarguably dead, but somehow peaceful. He shuts her open eyes, and then walks over to Dean, kneeling next to Sam’s barely-alive form.
He looks at Sam, tries to withhold the unknown and sudden surge of anguish. “I did whatever that was you asked,” he says unnecessarily. If Sam had the strength to nod, he would.
“I-I’m sorry, D-D-Dean,” Sam forces out, the effort causing more blood to spill from his mouth.
“Shh,” Dean struggles. “Sammy, be quiet. We’re gonna get you help. We’re gonna patch you up.” He looks up at Alec, eyes wet. “Do something. Please.”
Alec treads water, not ashamed to say he’s freaking the fuck out. He’d just exorcised-killed?-a demon, a demon who’d just fatally stabbed Sam, and Dean, the man who Alec hadn’t hesitated to say was emotionally broken beyond all repair. He’d been renowned in his unit for being able to keep a level head in the most SNAFU of situations, but this is way beyond his rationality.
“Dean, I-” he stumbles out, for one of the very few times in his life unsure of what to say. “Dean, I don’t…”
“DO SOMETHING, FOR FUCK’S SAKE!” Dean cries, somehow managing an expression of threat and desolation at the same time. “Please, Alec. He’s m’brother.”
“D-Dean,” comes Sam’s voice thickly, his speech marred by blood. “Dean, it’s too late. You and I both know that.”
“Sammy, no.”
“I really fucked everything up,” says Sam, eyes glassy as he looks up at his big brother, still amazed that Dean’s alive. “You t-told me she was…and then I…I’m so sorry, Dean, I am.”
Dean swallows heavily. “I know you are, Sammy,” he replies, gripping onto Sam’s shoulders with white knuckles. “Just be quiet, I’ll get you out of here, we’ll fix you up, good as new.”
Alec sees Sam’s injury, knows it’s only a matter of time, sees Sam’s eyes that know the same, sees Dean’s that are ensconced in denial, and, despite the obviously wrong choices Sam made, Alec admires him in this moment. Feels pangs of regret that he’d never get to know the man.
“H-Here,” says Sam then, shakily reaching up to a string around his neck, grimacing in agony as he takes it off. He hands it to Dean, with a bloody smile, and as Dean looks down, his mouth drops open.
“Sammy, is this…?”
Sam smiles again. “She’s-She’s around back.”
Alec frowns, edges a few inches closer to see what Dean’s holding. Car keys. Car keys and some kind of gold pendant, both of which he surmises have much more value than they appear to, for all the reverence that both brothers show.
Sam’s face is a sickly shade of white, his hair plastered to his forehead in sweat, and there’s minute shivers overwhelming his body in spurts. But as he stares at Dean, he somehow manages to look all of five years old, like he’d gotten a scrape on the knee and needed his brother to make it better.
“You g-got any tips for s-s-survivin’ Downstairs?” Sam asks weakly.
Dean’s face is shocked confusion. “You’re not goin’ there, Sammy,” Dean says firmly. “Don’t think you are, don’t ever.”
Sam looks hopeful. “You think?” he asks. “After…after everything?”
“Yeah,” Dean smiles, dropping a tear. “Yeah, I do.”
Sam’s eyes close, his words a breathy whisper, “Thanks for…being…my brother, Dean.”
Dean tries to say something, anything, but Sam’s gone.
And finally, after two millennia in Hell and a week up on hellish Earth, and thousands of miles with his sort-of-clone, Dean breaks. Shatters. Alec watches him break, watches him shatter, watches Dean’s already tenuous grip on reality snap. Dean just sits there on the grimy floor, holding his little brother in his arms, grief running unchecked down his cheeks. Alec doesn’t know what to do, not remotely, but there’s one person he knows who will.
Stepping into the bathroom, he dials the number. “Max, I need your help,” he says, before she can even whip out a greeting.
“Alec,” Max sighs, a mix of anger and relief. “Where are you?”
“Illinois,” he answers. “But listen, I-”
“Can you get back here soon?”
Alec stops mid-sentence, through his panic noting the severe switch of her usual tone of confidence. “Are you okay?” he asks instead. “You sound…weird.”
“We’ve got a situation over here. A, uh, a not good one.”
Alec zeroes in on her words in dread. He shuts his eyes, hoping his worst-case scenario isn’t true. “Max, if there’s a gun to your head, say ‘please.’”
She doesn’t hesitate-a sign in and of itself-as she replies, “Get back here now…please.”
Alec drops his forehead against the cracked tile of the bathroom wall. He needs to deal with Dean, but the mere image of not only Max with a firearm aimed for her brain, but the fact that she’s not already finagled herself out of it frankly makes his blood run cold. He’s guessing the rest of T.C. is tied up, too, but right now, it’s Max he’s worried about.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can, Maxie,” he promises, within his words swearing he’ll break every speed limit there is.
“Thanks,” she says after a short pause, and as if Alec’s concern wasn’t already sky high, the sheer, unbridled relief in her voice sets his nerves on edge again. He’d already known that she’d named him Second for a reason, that reason being that she put enough trust in him to watch her back, but until now he hadn’t realized she put that much trust in him. He’s sure that once all of this shit is over, she won’t cop to anything, but he’s not inclined to let her down.
He closes the phone, unable to stop part of him from feeling like he’d just signed her death sentence. But it’s quickly subdued when he looks back at Sam and Dean, Dean still holding onto his brother so tight, as if by doing so, he can imbue life back into him. It isn’t working, and Alec’s killed enough people to know that it won’t be long before Sam’s blood goes cold and then still.
He doesn’t, of course, know that Dean has already seen his brother dead for three days before, that Dean would give absolutely anything-as he’d done once-to not see Sam like that again.
Clearing his throat and preparing himself to blur out of the way should Dean become violent, Alec says quietly, “Dean, we…we need to, um…”
Dean glares up at Alec, who takes a step back. The darkness of Dean’s eyes, the deadness in them, is worse than Sam’s. When Alec’d lost Rachel, he’d thought he was so dead he’d never be back to normal. And he’s not, not really, but he’s managing. But seeing Dean like this, Alec knows in his gut that Dean really won’t ever get back to normal; honestly, he doubts Dean will ever even function beyond the basics. His whole livelihood, his whole drive after returning from Hell, had been to find Sam, and he’d only had a few moments with his brother before he lost him once more.
Alec’s never had a brother, but Dean’s desolation is palpable. And in that second, Alec wishes he had some backup. Because he has a bad feeling that trying to get Dean to come with him, to leave Sam’s body, would be harder than fighting ten Familiars.
Feeling he has no other choice, Alec curses himself and then walks up to Dean. With a strategic blow, he slams his fist into Dean’s temple, and, in spite of Dean’s grief, he falls into blackness.
Alec then turns to Sam, the puddle of blood underneath him making Alec nearly literally sick to his stomach. Stowing away his emotions into an impenetrable vault, Alec grabs a blanket off the bed and wraps it around Sam’s body. He pries the keys from Dean’s hand and then picks up Sam. He’s heavier than Alec had anticipated, but after a few adjustments, he’s more…manageable.
The car is exactly where Sam had said, the black body gleaming in the dying sunlight, resting there in solemn grace. Alec doesn’t even have the heart to give the lines due admiration, just unlocks the back door and lays Sam’s body gently on the bench seat. He knows Dean would want to give his brother a proper burial, and he plans to let Dean do so, but at the moment, Alec’s priorities are on Max. If when Dean wakes up he wants to tell Alec to fuck himself and leave him to bury Sam himself, to leave him the hell alone while Dean disintegrates, well, fine. But Sam’s dead, and as cold as it sounds, Alec feels he has to concentrate on the living. He’ll hate himself for it later, but there it is.
He returns to Dean and repeats the motions-grabbing the journal as an afterthought-setting Dean in the front, leaning his head against the window. He vacillates for a moment on what to do with Ruby, but then remembers. He silently thanks Sam that he’d kept the trunk stocked, and quickly withdraws lighter fluid, a matchbook, and salt. Taking them and Ruby into the wooded (albeit sparsely) area behind the motel, he puts her on the ground, feeling only a fleeting moment of insecurity before drenching her in salt and gasoline, and then lights a match, dropping it onto her body.
He knows he should wait, should make sure nothing hinky will arise, but between Dean’s anguish and Max’s peril, he can’t.
The flames are still a pulsating red-orange as he puts the key into the ignition of the Impala, the engine turning over with a rumble. An hour ago, Alec would have thought his greatest fear would be if he drove the precious car and Dean found out.
Now, though…now he’d welcome anger. Anything except the soul-scouring emptiness that had embraced Dean’s entire being. Anything except the death of Dean’s baby brother.
Next
Chapter Title: Each Our Own Devil
Fandom(s): Supernatural, Dark Angel
Summary: In the end, it’s a complete accident that gets Dean Winchester out of Hell.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,419
Disclaimer: Same stuff applies as in the first chapter. Oh, and unfortunately I neither own Supernatural nor Dark Angel. Just this.
Of Desire and the Status Quo
Chapter XXXII: Each Our Own Devil
“Maybe he’s out of cell range,” says Max deceptively flippantly.
Meg narrows her eyes, far from amused. She’d made the woman try Alec multiple times, and so far no such luck. It just went to the generic voicemail, and, from what Meg knows of the Winchesters-or, as the case may be, a clone of a Winchester-she’s got no reason to trust that Max is telling the truth. She doesn’t exactly think highly of the transgenic leader, but she’s at least indirectly in league with Dean. Whatever other demons may have said-do say-about Dean Winchester’s intelligence (lack thereof, rather), Meg knows it’s not true.
Dean may still be a thorn in her side, but he’s never been stupid. And that is often what caused her fellow hell spawn to get sent back Down There. They didn’t underestimate Sam’s intelligence, but Dean’s they often did, and boy was that always their fatal mistake.
But no sir, not she. She may have early on presumed Dean the dumb-as-rocks older brother, but she’d quickly learned her lesson. Say, after a certain few of her daeva friends dragged her off a twenty-story building. That, coupled with being sent to Hell soon after (evidently it wasn’t appreciated that she “allowed” herself to be expelled from Sam’s body) tended to make the adage “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned” more than true.
And, okay, maybe she hadn’t quite counted on Dean ensnaring the transgenic co-leader to go cross country to find Sam, and maybe she hadn’t quite anticipated Max to be so steadfast, but her life has in the past many times depended on working through such snags, and so this is really nothing to worry about.
“While we’re waiting for Alec to pick up-or not-his phone,” Max says blandly, before turning her voice to ice, “when…I mean, how…why Kalinda? What good is she to you?”
Meg smiles. “You really have no idea, do you?” she snickers. “This is more than me just wanting to joyride some freak show in the middle of a toxic dump. While you were floundering over Dean, and Dean was fighting his own head, I was ensuring my survival. With some collateral along the way, naturally. You humans are so stupid.”
It takes Max a second, but then she gets it. “You have some agreement worked out with the military or…” Meg’s expectant expression changes her answer, unwillingly. “Or…or White.”
Meg claps her hand against the gun mockingly. “Lookie there, we finally have a smart one on our hands,” she sneers.
Max shuts her eyes, like the darker her vision gets, the less of a tailspin her world will go.
“You know, much as I like overtaking normal humans, it’s the corrupt ones I love exploiting the most. They’re so overconfident and blind, it’s beautiful.” Meg sits on the corner of Max’s desk, nonverbally acknowledging the fact that, as powerful as she is (though, granted, not as she once was), she can’t manufacture a cell signal, nor teleport unruly Winchesters. “By the way, you should update your security. It was pathetically easy to wander outside…”
What was also pathetically easy to do was find the transgenics’ primary nemesis; Ames White, as Kalinda’s inadvertent thoughts (for she had been in the room when Max, Alec, and Dix discovered White’s bunker) had so kindly informed Meg. She had thankfully kept her ability to transport herself, and in less than three seconds, she materializes into the center of a group of Familiars, smiling a grin that doesn’t belong on Kalinda’s face.
“Hey, boys,” she says, enjoying the fact that the enhanced soldiers are too stunned by both Meg’s supernatural appearance and, although they don’t know she’s a demon, sense that she’s…something else.
“Who are you?” asks a blond-haired man who looks as if he could give Mr. Universe a run for his money.
“Someone who has better things to do than pretend to be intimidated by you, small fry,” Meg sneers, crossing her arms. “Now, tell me where Ames White is. I need to speak with him.”
“No one sees him without explaining themselves,” says Blond, taking a step towards her. He gives Meg a small nod, and there’s something that feels like a gust of wind, which she guesses was meant to be some kind of telekinesis. But, despite their impressive muscles and specialized breeding, they don’t even register on Meg’s threat meter. She stands there, raising an eyebrow at his attempt.
He looks her up and down, trying and failing to keep his shock down. “Who are you?” he repeats.
“Look,” Meg says impatiently, “either you tell me where White is, or I slaughter all of you and find him myself. Your choice.”
Blond exchanges a look with a few of his cohorts, and then exhales in what is more of a growl. “Follow me,” he says, walking in the direction of a hallway.
Meg smirks at the group of Familiars, and then walks down the hallway behind Blond. It isn’t far to a large room that contains multiple computers and two men huddled over what looks like a map or blueprints. Not that Meg cares much. She really only needs White for manipulative purposes.
Blond hesitates before the door, glancing from White to Meg, weighing who he fears more. Meg levels her eyes and starts to summon power from within her, but it isn’t needed; Blond decides the demon is the one he’s most afraid of, and so knocks on the door before opening it.
“And we can use-” White stops whatever he was going to say at the intrusion. “What do you think you’re doing?” he seethes at Blond. “This is a private conference.”
“Forgive me, sir, but there’s someone who’d like to speak to you,” says Blond, gesturing to Meg.
White looks at her disdainfully, and then looks back at Blond. “Who is she?” he asks.
“I don’t-”
“Someone it’d be wise to hear out,” Meg interrupts. White turns back to her, and she promptly blinks, her irises changing from hazel to pitch black. “There’s some matters I’d like to discuss.”
White doesn’t show alarm, merely cautious intrigue, and turns to the man beside him. “Otto, escort yourself and this man out of here. It appears I have a more pressing meeting.”
Meg grins, and as Otto and Blond leave the room, takes a seat next to one of the computers. “Good decision.”
White folds his arms over his chest, his tailored suit as immaculate as ever. “You’re a transgenic, I know that much,” he says, “but something else, too. Care to elaborate?”
“I’m a demon,” Meg says candidly. She’s not here to play games. “I’m possessing some…transgenic…from what they call Terminal City. No one there knows, yet. As I understand it, you want the transgenics’ heads on plates, specifically their leaders’, am I right?”
“A demon,” White repeats skeptically. He can believe a lot-Familiars (let alone he himself being one) is one such element-but…demons? Possession? Surely this transgenic in front of him was just…concocted differently, to where she could change her eye color. And somehow convince his minions to let her see him.
“Oh, spare me the doubt speech,” Meg says, rolling her eyes. “You got two choices here, hotshot: One, accept my offer and get your two archenemies hand-delivered to you; or two, try and kill me, and unmistakably get killed in the process. Your decision.”
Well. There’s skepticism, and then there’s “What the hell, what could it hurt?” White goes with the first option Meg suggests. Besides, if she tries to double-cross him, it isn’t like he’s ill-prepared.
“I’m listening,” White says, keeping his face calm.
Meg smiles.
Max stares in horror at the demon imprisoning the young X6, her clenched hands endangering her cell phone’s life. “What…what are you going to do?” she asks in dread.
“Nothing yet,” answers Meg. “After all, I still don’t have the whole set. Your better half has to arrive first. Then…then you’ll find out.”
Max swallows, looking down at her phone again. She prays-to no one in particular-that Alec’s years and years of espionage and infiltration prowess will bring them all through this mess. Oh, he’ll get a hell of a talking-to when Meg and White are toast, but for now she’ll settle for a rescue.
The problem being that, honestly, she has no idea if Alec’s any safer than she is.
Which, it turns out, he isn’t.
“Ruby!” Sam exclaims, looking from Dean and Alec choking on the wall to Ruby, her undiluted, evil expression looking all too amiss on her soft face. “What are you doing?”
Without moving her hand from its outstretched position, she turns her eyes to Sam. “Come on, Sam, it isn’t like I’m doing anything you haven’t done.”
Sam balks for a second, before trying to push Ruby’s hand down. Unfortunately, even Sam’s strength is unable to overcome hers. “I’d never try and kill my brother!” Sam yells, looking at Dean again.
“He’s supposed to be dead anyway,” Ruby says, reveling in the gasping noises she’s causing. Alec’s faring somewhat better than Dean, having suffered through innumerable tests to see how long he could hold his breath, but even his eyes have a burst capillary or two. “I’m just setting everything right again.”
“I’m not losing him again, Ruby!” Sam says.
Ruby sends a smirk in Sam’s direction. “Sorry,” she says. “But I didn’t get the pleasure to kill your brother last time around; I can’t pass this one up. And hey-two for the price of one.”
“S-Sam…”
Sam had been drinking Ruby’s blood for thirteen years, he’d turned his back on everyone but Ruby-only sparing a day to bury Bobby upon hearing of his death-hell, he’d fucked Ruby, but here Dean is, somehow flesh and blood alive, and even if he does have some kind of freakish transgenic clone in tow, even if Sam does feel like he’s dead inside, even if Sam had put his trust in Ruby, he isn’t going to let her kill his big brother.
He isn’t.
Summoning up all the rage, grief, and supernatural blood inside him, Sam extends his own hand towards Ruby and, with a brief expression of surprise, Ruby is flung backward, hitting the opposite wall with a crack, making an imprint in the plaster before sliding down to meet the carpet.
Simultaneously, there’s two more thuds as Dean and Alec are released from Ruby’s power, accompanied by twin gasps of air, the two desperately trying to reoxygenate their lungs.
Sam scrambles over and puts his hands on Dean’s shoulders, breathing heavily himself. “Dean!” he exclaims. “Are you all right?”
“Sammy,” Dean whispers, giving his brother a weak smile.
“I’m sorry, Dean,” Sam fumbles, his thirty-eight-year-old face suddenly losing a decade, suddenly looking like the face Dean remembers. “I’m so sorry.”
“We’ll fix it, Sammy,” Dean says. “I’ll fix it.”
As if just realizing that Dean’s not the only one recovering from strangulation, Sam moves to Alec, hesitating for a second before touching Alec’s arm. “Are…are you okay?”
Alec looks up, astounded. “I’m peachy,” he snarks, shrugging off Sam’s hand. “Leave me alone.”
Sam does, primarily for the fact that Alec is doing precisely the same, gruff I’m-indestructible façade that Dean always would, and that he knows no matter what he says, it would only result in more sarcasm and brusqueness.
So instead, Sam goes back over to Dean. He starts to speak (though, admittedly, doesn’t know at all what he’d say), but then notices something. Dean’s shirt is dark, and Sam knows the sight of bloodstains too well.
“What happened to your shoulder?” he asks.
Dean peers as best he can at his wound and sighs. “Ah, damn,” he mutters. “That bitch throwing me against the wall started it bleeding again. Just perfect.”
“Are you kidding me?” Alec pipes up indignantly. “I fucking drugged you just to get that stupid thing repaired, and now you go and ruin it again? You live to make my life difficult.”
Sam and Dean exchange a long-suffering glance, the familiarity of it makes Dean’s chest ache, and Alec’s ache for an entirely different reason. “As glad as I am for this lovely reunion,” Alec gripes through his seeing them act so like brothers, “can we get the hell out of here please?”
Dean smiles and stands up, rubbing at his neck briefly. “Best words I’ve heard come out of your mouth, kid,” he remarks, stepping towards the door.
Alec chooses not to comment, just leads the way, Sam and Dean following, but then his hyper-sensitive ears pick up something. He turns, but it’s too late.
Ruby’s there, with the same knife that he himself had sent sprawling into her sternum. She’s bleeding profusely from her head, but her grip on the knife is sound, and the squelching noise of it digging into Sam’s back to the hilt is devastatingly real.
“SAM!” Alec yells helplessly.
It had all happened so fast that Dean’d barely turned by the time Ruby yanks the knife out and Sam falls. Struck with the identical image of Sam back in Cold Oak, South Dakota, Dean relives the horror to the nth degree, hurrying over and holding Sam’s face in his hands.
Alec, for his part, feels anger instead of sadness rise up, and rushes over to Ruby’s relishing form. It takes a split second, and he doesn’t think twice as he snaps her neck, the motion familiar, and yet alien.
Unfortunately, Alec’s still not versed with demonology, and although Ruby groans, she merely snaps her head back, and looks at Alec with revulsion. His eyes widen, and he uses the only weapon he has left. Blurring, he pounces on Ruby, tackling her to the floor and sticking a knee in her spine, wrenching her arms behind her.
“What do I do?” he begs to either Sam or Dean.
Dean’s horror-stricken, staring at his brother, but Sam, even though there’s blood dripping from his mouth, and his eyes are glassy, turns his head over to Alec. “N-N-Nightstand…” he exhales, so quietly Alec barely catches it.
Presuming there’s a gun or something in there, Alec awkwardly but quickly maneuvers Ruby over and, with a stranglehold on her, uses his other hand to rifle through the nightstand drawer. There’s only one thing in there, a thick, leather-bound book, and Alec glances over to Sam again, fearing that the wound had addled his brain.
“End,” Sam moans out, squeezing his eyes shut. “R-Read it…”
Alec humors him and flips to the end, where there’s a paragraph full of Latin. “I-I don’t know what this says,” he laments. He’s fluent in French, Spanish, Russian, Mandarin, and German, and knows enough to get around in four other languages, but Latin is not one of them.
It’s Dean this time who pleads, “Alec.” There’s wetness to his cheeks, but the desperation is there, desperation for Alec to finish…something. Alec has no idea.
Sam’s dying, Dean’s mind is on one track, Alec’s currently holding a squirming demon in his hand, and to top it all off he’s got the former two people asking him to read something, of which he has no idea the purpose, and his life is so fucked up now that he doesn’t know which way is up anymore. But the looks on Sam and Dean’s faces, and the evil emanating from Ruby is enough to make up Alec’s mind.
He forces Ruby to the floor again, casts a quick glance to Sam and Dean, Sam’s blood slowly leaking into the hardwood, Dean’s breaths coming in choking sobs as his brother’s life drains away, and then looks at the book in his hands. The words are clunky at first, but then come with a shocking degree of ease, of hasty but accurate precision, as if he’d been speaking it for, well, as long as Sam and Dean had.
“Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica, in nomini et virtute Domini Nostri Jesu Christi, eradicare et effugare a Dei Ecclesia, ab animabus ad imaginem Dei conditis ac pretioso divini Agni sanguine redemptis.”
There’s an awful screech, and then, to Alec’s saucer-wide eyes, a billow of black smoke comes out of Ruby’s-or, rather, her host’s-mouth, slinking through and scorching the floorboards, and then leaving the room in eerie silence, broken only by Sam’s gurgles and Dean’s sobs.
Alec silently places the book on the nightstand and turns over Ruby’s host, the girl unarguably dead, but somehow peaceful. He shuts her open eyes, and then walks over to Dean, kneeling next to Sam’s barely-alive form.
He looks at Sam, tries to withhold the unknown and sudden surge of anguish. “I did whatever that was you asked,” he says unnecessarily. If Sam had the strength to nod, he would.
“I-I’m sorry, D-D-Dean,” Sam forces out, the effort causing more blood to spill from his mouth.
“Shh,” Dean struggles. “Sammy, be quiet. We’re gonna get you help. We’re gonna patch you up.” He looks up at Alec, eyes wet. “Do something. Please.”
Alec treads water, not ashamed to say he’s freaking the fuck out. He’d just exorcised-killed?-a demon, a demon who’d just fatally stabbed Sam, and Dean, the man who Alec hadn’t hesitated to say was emotionally broken beyond all repair. He’d been renowned in his unit for being able to keep a level head in the most SNAFU of situations, but this is way beyond his rationality.
“Dean, I-” he stumbles out, for one of the very few times in his life unsure of what to say. “Dean, I don’t…”
“DO SOMETHING, FOR FUCK’S SAKE!” Dean cries, somehow managing an expression of threat and desolation at the same time. “Please, Alec. He’s m’brother.”
“D-Dean,” comes Sam’s voice thickly, his speech marred by blood. “Dean, it’s too late. You and I both know that.”
“Sammy, no.”
“I really fucked everything up,” says Sam, eyes glassy as he looks up at his big brother, still amazed that Dean’s alive. “You t-told me she was…and then I…I’m so sorry, Dean, I am.”
Dean swallows heavily. “I know you are, Sammy,” he replies, gripping onto Sam’s shoulders with white knuckles. “Just be quiet, I’ll get you out of here, we’ll fix you up, good as new.”
Alec sees Sam’s injury, knows it’s only a matter of time, sees Sam’s eyes that know the same, sees Dean’s that are ensconced in denial, and, despite the obviously wrong choices Sam made, Alec admires him in this moment. Feels pangs of regret that he’d never get to know the man.
“H-Here,” says Sam then, shakily reaching up to a string around his neck, grimacing in agony as he takes it off. He hands it to Dean, with a bloody smile, and as Dean looks down, his mouth drops open.
“Sammy, is this…?”
Sam smiles again. “She’s-She’s around back.”
Alec frowns, edges a few inches closer to see what Dean’s holding. Car keys. Car keys and some kind of gold pendant, both of which he surmises have much more value than they appear to, for all the reverence that both brothers show.
Sam’s face is a sickly shade of white, his hair plastered to his forehead in sweat, and there’s minute shivers overwhelming his body in spurts. But as he stares at Dean, he somehow manages to look all of five years old, like he’d gotten a scrape on the knee and needed his brother to make it better.
“You g-got any tips for s-s-survivin’ Downstairs?” Sam asks weakly.
Dean’s face is shocked confusion. “You’re not goin’ there, Sammy,” Dean says firmly. “Don’t think you are, don’t ever.”
Sam looks hopeful. “You think?” he asks. “After…after everything?”
“Yeah,” Dean smiles, dropping a tear. “Yeah, I do.”
Sam’s eyes close, his words a breathy whisper, “Thanks for…being…my brother, Dean.”
Dean tries to say something, anything, but Sam’s gone.
And finally, after two millennia in Hell and a week up on hellish Earth, and thousands of miles with his sort-of-clone, Dean breaks. Shatters. Alec watches him break, watches him shatter, watches Dean’s already tenuous grip on reality snap. Dean just sits there on the grimy floor, holding his little brother in his arms, grief running unchecked down his cheeks. Alec doesn’t know what to do, not remotely, but there’s one person he knows who will.
Stepping into the bathroom, he dials the number. “Max, I need your help,” he says, before she can even whip out a greeting.
“Alec,” Max sighs, a mix of anger and relief. “Where are you?”
“Illinois,” he answers. “But listen, I-”
“Can you get back here soon?”
Alec stops mid-sentence, through his panic noting the severe switch of her usual tone of confidence. “Are you okay?” he asks instead. “You sound…weird.”
“We’ve got a situation over here. A, uh, a not good one.”
Alec zeroes in on her words in dread. He shuts his eyes, hoping his worst-case scenario isn’t true. “Max, if there’s a gun to your head, say ‘please.’”
She doesn’t hesitate-a sign in and of itself-as she replies, “Get back here now…please.”
Alec drops his forehead against the cracked tile of the bathroom wall. He needs to deal with Dean, but the mere image of not only Max with a firearm aimed for her brain, but the fact that she’s not already finagled herself out of it frankly makes his blood run cold. He’s guessing the rest of T.C. is tied up, too, but right now, it’s Max he’s worried about.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can, Maxie,” he promises, within his words swearing he’ll break every speed limit there is.
“Thanks,” she says after a short pause, and as if Alec’s concern wasn’t already sky high, the sheer, unbridled relief in her voice sets his nerves on edge again. He’d already known that she’d named him Second for a reason, that reason being that she put enough trust in him to watch her back, but until now he hadn’t realized she put that much trust in him. He’s sure that once all of this shit is over, she won’t cop to anything, but he’s not inclined to let her down.
He closes the phone, unable to stop part of him from feeling like he’d just signed her death sentence. But it’s quickly subdued when he looks back at Sam and Dean, Dean still holding onto his brother so tight, as if by doing so, he can imbue life back into him. It isn’t working, and Alec’s killed enough people to know that it won’t be long before Sam’s blood goes cold and then still.
He doesn’t, of course, know that Dean has already seen his brother dead for three days before, that Dean would give absolutely anything-as he’d done once-to not see Sam like that again.
Clearing his throat and preparing himself to blur out of the way should Dean become violent, Alec says quietly, “Dean, we…we need to, um…”
Dean glares up at Alec, who takes a step back. The darkness of Dean’s eyes, the deadness in them, is worse than Sam’s. When Alec’d lost Rachel, he’d thought he was so dead he’d never be back to normal. And he’s not, not really, but he’s managing. But seeing Dean like this, Alec knows in his gut that Dean really won’t ever get back to normal; honestly, he doubts Dean will ever even function beyond the basics. His whole livelihood, his whole drive after returning from Hell, had been to find Sam, and he’d only had a few moments with his brother before he lost him once more.
Alec’s never had a brother, but Dean’s desolation is palpable. And in that second, Alec wishes he had some backup. Because he has a bad feeling that trying to get Dean to come with him, to leave Sam’s body, would be harder than fighting ten Familiars.
Feeling he has no other choice, Alec curses himself and then walks up to Dean. With a strategic blow, he slams his fist into Dean’s temple, and, in spite of Dean’s grief, he falls into blackness.
Alec then turns to Sam, the puddle of blood underneath him making Alec nearly literally sick to his stomach. Stowing away his emotions into an impenetrable vault, Alec grabs a blanket off the bed and wraps it around Sam’s body. He pries the keys from Dean’s hand and then picks up Sam. He’s heavier than Alec had anticipated, but after a few adjustments, he’s more…manageable.
The car is exactly where Sam had said, the black body gleaming in the dying sunlight, resting there in solemn grace. Alec doesn’t even have the heart to give the lines due admiration, just unlocks the back door and lays Sam’s body gently on the bench seat. He knows Dean would want to give his brother a proper burial, and he plans to let Dean do so, but at the moment, Alec’s priorities are on Max. If when Dean wakes up he wants to tell Alec to fuck himself and leave him to bury Sam himself, to leave him the hell alone while Dean disintegrates, well, fine. But Sam’s dead, and as cold as it sounds, Alec feels he has to concentrate on the living. He’ll hate himself for it later, but there it is.
He returns to Dean and repeats the motions-grabbing the journal as an afterthought-setting Dean in the front, leaning his head against the window. He vacillates for a moment on what to do with Ruby, but then remembers. He silently thanks Sam that he’d kept the trunk stocked, and quickly withdraws lighter fluid, a matchbook, and salt. Taking them and Ruby into the wooded (albeit sparsely) area behind the motel, he puts her on the ground, feeling only a fleeting moment of insecurity before drenching her in salt and gasoline, and then lights a match, dropping it onto her body.
He knows he should wait, should make sure nothing hinky will arise, but between Dean’s anguish and Max’s peril, he can’t.
The flames are still a pulsating red-orange as he puts the key into the ignition of the Impala, the engine turning over with a rumble. An hour ago, Alec would have thought his greatest fear would be if he drove the precious car and Dean found out.
Now, though…now he’d welcome anger. Anything except the soul-scouring emptiness that had embraced Dean’s entire being. Anything except the death of Dean’s baby brother.
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