Over the Hills and Far Away (Chapter 1a)
Title: Over the Hills and Far Away - CHAPTER 1A
Author(s): operationhades
Artist: evian_fork
Summary: Sam was a fourteen year old mutant when he walked in on an injured Dean staring up at the barrel of a gun held by John Winchester. And after that, with Sam at the Xavier Institute for Higher Learning and Dean throwing John, every other hunter in the country, and a pissed Yellow Eyed Demon of their trail, thing's only get progressively worse.
1A
CHAPTER ONE (1A)
"Dean, Dean- oh god,"
Cough. Wheeze. "S'm...?"
"Oh god, Dean- it's me - Jesus - don't talk, I'll take care of it, I'll take care of you - I got you, fuck, I got you."
Moan. Gasp. "S'my..."
"Dean, don't worry, I know, I know - no hospitals. God, how could he? Shit."
Gasp. Gasp. Wheeze. A car let loose a mighty horn at them, irritated at the slick driving Sam was letting loose on the roads.
"Oh god." The 14 year old kept chanting, knuckles white across the steering wheel. "Oh god." A glance in the mirror showed him Dean was out for the count, head lolled against the window in the back seat, right hand unconsciously clutching at his left ribs. His left was still applying pressure on the profusely bleeding wound in his right shoulder, the position unwittingly making Dean look like he was hugging himself.
God, his big brother looked so small.
Of course Sam couldn't take Dean to the hospital - like he ever could - it would be hard enough trying to explain away the injury that looked like a rabid animal, sixteen times larger than a killer whale made as well as where their guardian was. Dean could get away with the latter - he was eighteen - but there was no way the officials would believe it if Sam said Dean was his guardian.
And there was no way he was calling Dad.
"All my fault." He whispered to himself, misty eyes taking in the sign that welcomed him into a new state. "All my fault." All his fault, and once again Dean paid the price. Sam felt sick as he glanced at his brother's pasty white complexion, freckles standing out glaringly, eyelashes long enough to cast shadows on his cheek. God, Dean always paid for Sam's mistakes.
But how the hell was Sam supposed to know this would happen? How the hell was he supposed to know he'd walk in from getting supplies to fill up their rock salt canisters, only to enter their current dump of a home to see Dad standing tall and furious, aiming his Desert Eagle at a concussed-out-of-his-mind, sprawled on the floor, blinking groggily as he stared up, Dean? How the hell is anyone supposed to know that?
But he had an idea - Jesus, he hoped it'd work - and if there was one thing Sam was sure, it was that this mess? This whole mess that was completely his fault? He'd fix it.
This'll be the last time Dean paid the price.
. . .
The '67 Impala that pulled right up to the gates had more than a few of the kids ogling shamelessly. Sleek, black, and well cared for, the car looked like it was alive, like a prowling beast demanding entry into the Institute.
But it was the scared voice on the other end of the intercom that had the gates opening up.
Logan couldn't hear that though, all he saw was a hand buzz the intercom, the low murmurs of a quick two second conversation, and the gates opening up with not even a creek, swinging wide open and allowing the black predator of a car to roll through all sleek like. He did catch a glimpse of the driver though, as it passed by him and the kids - the face of a barely teenage boy with floppy hair, staring wide eyed at a few of the kids who'd returned to their assigned activity before returning his attention to parking the car at the entrance.
Cyclops came out of the building, followed by Storm and Jean, and Logan wondered whether it was something he should be there for. But he hadn't been called, so he only watched out the corner of his eye as Cyclops moved into the back seat and picked up another stranger with psychic help from Jean.
And for that, Logan didn't have to be close to smell the faint stench of blood.
Cyclops and Jean hurried off back into the building - probably taking that guy to the good doctor if nothing else - while Storm carefully led the boy after them. Logan followed along with his eyes as the powerful woman spoke to the boy, holding his hand and gently pulling him along. For a moment, it seemed like the boy would do just that, and why shouldn't he, if he was just a little kid? But to Logan's, and evidently Storm's, surprise, the boy gave a sudden start, shook his floppy brown hair wildly, said something fiercely to Storm - something like an order, with a finger pointed towards the building, after the wounded guy - and stalked back to the car. Storm wasted a split second in shock, but immediately rushed forward after the kid, bending down to speak through the window as the kid buckled himself in.
Logan decided to ditch his own kids, who by now should know well enough what he expected, and jogged the few clicks towards the two just in time to hear the kid snap out an irritated "fine". He watched Storm open up the passenger door and climb in, and without a pause, he ran the rest of the way and yanked open the back door just as the kid started up the engine and put the black beauty in reverse, seating himself calmly in the back and closing the door after himself.
Storm gave him a frown, but Logan was too busy rolling the window down and trying to get rid of the heavy sick smell of blood concentrated in the backseat. Neither noticed the kid draw out a gun, but they did notice it when the sound of it cocking forced them to look.
"Sam," Storm said carefully, shock written over her face. "Sam, this is Wolverine, he's one of the teachers at the Institute. He's OK, Sam."
Teacher. He's a freakin' teacher. Hell, it still felt damn weird being called as such.
The kid - Sam, Storm had called him - kept the gun levelled carefully at the Canadian, face stoic. Logan couldn't help but be impressed by the stance, turned around slightly in his seat that he could switch his aim to Storm if he had to, but not too much to lose Logan out of his sight. And if Logan was right, the kid obviously took Storm to be a greater threat, if the way he inclined his head in a politely listening way was any indication.
Damn, the kid didn't even look 16 and he had good instincts. Maybe a mutant? Maybe his power had something to do with it - would explain why he was at the Institute.
The kid frowned slightly though, finally giving a huff and pointing his gun elsewhere, very pointedly not switching on the safety just as he kept the weapon in his lap. The black car - so much sweeter inside, now that he could hear her purr - rolled out of the drive way, leaving the Institute behind, prowling down the road with a level of skill no kid should have.
"How old're you, kid?" He finally asked, curious despite himself.
The kid's eyes flickered back at him for a moment, cold, assessing, before losing some of that rigidity, face crumbling back into how a kid should look. "Fourteen." He said, sounding exhausted and drained of the fight Logan had seen in him.
"Sam," Storm began from her shotgun seat, voice calm and enticing, with a lace of that power that was so instinctive to her others automatically fell in line. "How about you tell us what happened?"
The kid sighed, shoulders going loose, turning down a road until he entered downtown. He drove slowly, making the car glide across the asphalt, people gazing adoringly at the beast, even if they didn't know the difference between an Audi and a Hyundai. They drove past the county's main mall, Sam circling twice like he was searching for the optimum audience before finally hitting the gas and cruising out of the place.
"Need to be seen." He said haltingly, talking more to himself but letting the two outsiders in on his thoughts. "Need to show that the car came and left. That we came and left."
"Why?" Logan shot out from the back, dimly paying attention to the outskirts of town zipping by them. "Who you got on your tail, kid?"
Storm frowned at him again, but kept quiet, watching as the kid shot death at Logan through his rear view mirror. "It's Sam." He bit out, irritation flavouring his two words. "My name's Sam. And Dad- John- Dad- fuck, I don't know. But I'm not taking the chance."
Oh. Runaways. Damn it, from his own Dad too. Big man probably didn't like the thought of his own having powers. "You a mutant, Sam?"
Eyes flicked up to the rear view mirror again, analysing him for a moment before nodding. Storm seized her chance. "And that's alright, Sam. It's OK to be who you are. Both me and Wolverine are mutants too, Sam."
"What's yer power, kid?"
The reaction on the kid was hilarious. Sam's face went from stoically calculating to incredulously disbelieving at Storm's soft endearment (which obviously wasn't fooling anyone) then to exasperated irritation, like he'd given up already on Logan.
"Telekinesis." He said, rolling his eyes with a huff. "And sometimes, I dream about certain things that'll happen. Always bad."
"And your beat up friend?"
This time, the look Storm gave him was serious, and Logan realised with an abrupt cutting of the car's engine that he'd apparently crossed a line. The Impala started up again, rolled into a small opening in between thick foliage, and Sam turned the ignition of and angrily left the car, going to the trunk with long strides. Storm shook her head at him, signalling him to follow her lead from now on, and she left before he could shout out his defence. How the hell was he supposed to know the kid would get touchy if he mentioned the guy whose blood he was sitting on? Touchy much?
"Sam, he didn't mean anything by that. Neither of us are your enemy. You know that - it's why you came to us."
Kid was covering the car up with a camouflage tarp by the time Logan got out; looking like he'd done the exact same thing, so many times before, he was barely paying attention to it. As if hiding your car in a forest was a freakin' chore.
"Sam," Storm tried again. "We've determined that the mutant gene is hereditary, it passes from family to family. There's a very good chance your... Friend... Has it too, if he's related. Maybe it's just recessive, or dormant. Or, if he already is a mutant, it would help to know what he can do."
"Oh yeah?" The kid shot back, looking at them with fire in his eyes. "And what're your powers? Huh? I told you mine; I gave you that small bit of faith. How about returning the favour."
Damn, Logan thought as Storm looked surprised, kid is sharp and paranoid. Definitely not something new to - he'd glimpsed a wicked looking knife hidden underneath the kid's shirt. Without much preamble, he fisted his hands and held them up to view as the sharp razors unsheathed themselves from his fists, gleaming in the light playing through tall trees. Storm sighed and massaged her forehead as the kid blatantly ogled the three blades, and sue a guy if Logan felt his ego stroked a little.
But then the kid looked thoughtful, eyebrows pushing down together through what little Logan could see past that stupid hair (seriously, what the hell are parents thinking nowadays?). "That looks more scientifical than... Telekinesis." The fourteen year old said slowly.
Logan just shrugged. "How old you think I am, kid?"
A confused look. "Mid-thirties? Why?"
Logan grinned sharply. "Let's just say I've been around way longer."
"Logan here automatically heals from any wounds he sustains." Storm doggedly explained. "And I can control the weather."
"The weather?" Sam spluttered out, wide eyes swinging from Logan's still unsheathed blades to Storm. "Like, you can make it rain? Snow? Thunder and lightning and everything?" Storm nodded, running her fingers through her hair. Sam just spluttered for a few minutes, mouth opening and closing, then promptly turned on his heels and began making his way out of the foliage.
The two X members hurried after the kid, just in time to hear him talk again. "Dean's my brother." He said, looking back at them for a moment before turning his attention back to the front. "He's not a- a mutant. Doesn't have any powers." A snort. "No matter what I thought when I was six."
The three exited the greenery, falling in line to walk down the interstate - Logan dimly wondered if they were supposed to walk all the way back to the Institute.
"Dean is... He's normal. Power wise anyway. I'm the only one."
Logan snorted. "Not really kid. Could just mean he hasn't activated his yet. Or he never told you. He really good at anything? More so than others?"
The lizard eyes that skimmed over him looked far too old for a freakin' 14 year old. "Dean's good at a lot of things. So am I. That's probably genetics. Not this." A hand sweep of himself indicated what 'this' was, and neither Logan nor Storm missed the disgust infused with the last word.
Before any more questions could get asked, Sam perked up at something, crossing the road to a lone gas station at the other side. The fourteen year old stopped at an old, beaten up, pick-up truck that barely looked like it could start up, and fished something from his pocket. A cautious look around and the kid was busy picking at the lock, deft hands moving two thin, metal looking things along each other, making the two act like a key until the door sprung open.
"What?-" The kid demanded, seeing Storm's disapproving look matched with Logan's impressed gaze. "You want to walk all the way to the Institute? Really?"
So they all got in, the kid hot-wiring the car just as easily as he had lock picked it, and drove them all the way back to the school.
. . .
The older guy woke up almost as soon as they entered, almost as if he'd felt his little brother entering the small clinic. Neither probably knew they were on loudspeaker - Hank had installed hidden microphones along with cameras so people could watch and hear from behind a one-way window, just like in cop shows - because the apparent brothers were arguing fiercely with it each other. Loudly.
"The older male should be swimming through his thoughts," Hank was saying, looking bewildered just as the 14 year old gave a mighty huff and launched into another tirade. "There are just so many drugs in his system right now to deal with the multiple injuries on him - heavens, he shouldn't even be awake."
"Maybe he's a self-healer." Logan grunted. "Just slower, so kid never noticed." And by kid, he meant both of them.
Hank dismissed the idea quickly. "No, all his injuries are exactly the same. Any difference would have manifested by now. Besides, evidence of previous injuries is abundant."
"Sam, you shouldn't have---!"
"---No, Dean! God, you're so infuriating! You could barely string together a and b and you're telling me I should have done nothing?"
Logan shook his head in wonder - kid was barely letting the other guy get a word in edgewise.
"Sam, he's our---"
"---If you say Dad, I swear to God I'll...!"
"Sam!"
Jean startled next to him, having been standing there when Logan and Storm had arrived. Silence fell inside the clinic, the kid shutting his mouth so hard you could hear his teeth clacking. The older guy, who Logan could see wasn't much older at all with short dirty blonde hair, rubbed a hand over his face, looking old and weary in the same way Logan noticed Sam did sometimes.
"Sam, for god's sake, listen for just a second, OK?"
The 14 year old kept his mouth shut, lips thinning with the force, and gave a single, angry, nod.
"Shit, man. None of this is your fault. And none of this is Dad's." Sam opened his mouth immediately, a noise coming out right before getting smoothly interrupted by an older brother still rubbing at his face. "No, Sam!" He barked out, quickly shutting up anything Sam would have said. "Imagine if you saw one of your kids doing something like that, knowing what we know - would your first thoughts be 'oh, he must be a mutant'? Hell no. It's either a shapeshifter, a demon, or even a freakin' witch. Either way, it'll be something requiring a bullet to the head - or an exorcism."
Sam kept quiet. Logan shared a look with Hank and a confused Jean who mouthed 'shapeshifter? demon? witch?' at him. He just shrugged. How the hell was he supposed to know what the hell crap like that meant.
"If I suddenly started breathing fire, dude wouldn't you be real suspicious?" The guy - Dean - continued. "Don't blame Dad for thinking something got his sons."
A minute of silence passed, Dean put his hands on top of the blanket covering his legs and leaned back on the bed with nothing but a twitch of his fingers to attest to his discomfort.
"How did he find out...?" Sam finally asked.
Dean just shrugged, then frowned right afterwards - probably regretting doing that if the clenched fist and locked jaw was anything to go by. "The ghost." He answered instead, and Logan noticed the Professor leaning in closer to the window, absolutely fascinated by the two boy's conversation. "When you pushed Dad outta the way. He kinda realised neither of us were in touching distance."
"So he thought it was you?" Sam's incredulous reply came, disbelief colouring each word.
"He confronted me 'bout it. I told him it was me. Thought it'd be better than saying you and having to explain why we kept it a secret." A self-disgusted huff. "Didn't think he'd see some giant conspiracy where I was corrupting you or something. Where was he when I had to give you The Talk? God, do I hate birds an' bees."
A flush climbed up over the fourteen year old's cheeks. "Ssshhh," Sam hissed. "What if they can hear?" A furtive glance was shot to the one-way window, which should be blacked out on their side, and right then the kid looked exactly his age.
His older brother gave a patronising smirk, cocking an eyebrow at the little brother. "Guess you'll have to explain away all this crazy mumbo jumbo talk." A wicked gleam and Dean started speaking progressively louder with his next words. "Y'know, like shapeshifter! And demons! And witches - with all their disgusting bodily fluids and goddamn curses! Let's not forget-phhmmphhh--!"
"God- Dean, you jerk!"
Cough, hack, gag. "Did you just stick your disgusting sock in my mouth?! Bitch!"
Storm's disapproving look at the language had Logan furtively hiding a snort.
NEXT PART
MASTERPOST