(no subject)

[reading_is_in]

They went to dinner in the communal hall. It was that or go hungry: all that was left in their bags were a few pieces of bread with mould creeping around the edges, and a slice of dried meat that smelled dubious. Ruby was there, and she nodded to them, but didn’t sit nearby. She was at a table with the older man who’d been at the computer and some people Sam didn’t recognize. Sam counted twenty-one people in the hall - adding in those on guard or at other duties, he estimated the commune population to be around thirty, excluding him and Dean.
Dinner was a kind of savoury stew made of some pulse and rough bread. The stew was spicy and tinged with orange. Dean eyed it suspiciously.
“Full of protein and vitamins” said a woman communist, who was carrying the new red baby Sam had noticed earlier, and sat down at their table with an encouraging smile. She was tall, with round, earnest blue eyes, and younger than Sam had first thought upon seeing her. He realized now there were three distinct generations here - the older people, fifties and a couple above, who must have helped found the commune or come with the first deserters. Then those in their twenties and thirties, and their offspring. The last generation, he realized, must have been born here. Somehow that made him feel - optimistic. There was civilization outside the State, and outside the misery of the Ghost towns.
“I’m Ocean,” said the woman, offering a hand. Dean snorted, and Sam kicked him under the table as he shook Ocean’s hand. “My uh, parents wanted to see the sea someday,” she explained apologetically. “They were first generation, you know? If it redeems me any I named my son Joe.”
Dean tried to hide his smile. Sam said,
“I’m Sam, this is Dean.”
“How’d you get out? Oh, excuse me, this is Greg. My partner,” as the man who’d been carrying the baby before came to join them at the table. He smiled and nodded. Sam felt warmed with the sheer propriety of it - first the jail, then from Ghost town to Ghost town, it had been too long since they’d found themselves in civilized company. He glanced at Dean, who looked bored. But then, Sam thought, soldiers probably weren’t that civilized.
“So I hear you were State,” Greg said as he sat down.
“Word gets around fast,” Dean said.
“It’s a small commune. Why’d you leave?” Greg asked.
“Broke the law a few too many times.”
“What are they gonna do to a Guard? You were valuable.”
“Can’t order a man who don’t want to be ordered,” Dean said philosophically.
“That’s the truth,” Greg agreed.
“And you, Sam?” Ocean asked, unbuttoning her top and exposing one breast to feed the baby, which had been making small grunting noises but stopped immediately on contact with her nipple. Its mouth opened and latched on with a strong sucking sound, and its eyes closed in concentration as it gulped milk. Sam tried not to stare.
“He was my partner in crime,” Dean said easily. He was doing a better job ignoring the painful-looking procedure, and Sam guessed he had seen it before, maybe amongst Ghosts. “I’m a terrible influence.”
“No you aren’t,” Sam said, and told Ocean and Greg: “Dean’s taught me more in a year than the State colleges did my whole life.”
“Was it hard?” Ocean asked. “Getting out, I mean. If you don’t mind me asking…I never met an ex-Citizen before.”
“It was no walk in the park,” Dean said. “Course all the shit they spent twenty-two years teaching me came in handy.” He was trying hard not to get drawn into conversation, Sam could tell, but he couldn’t help it. Dean liked people, liked talking, and was hardly averse to a little showing-off for an attractive woman, present company notwithstanding. A faint hint of his trademark grin played at the corners of his mouth. Sam tamped down his frustration. He had the real Dean, he assured himself. He was the only one who did. Dean would probably always flirt to some degree. It was just part of his character.
“How did you…” Greg frowned. “I mean, as I understand it, the State regime is completely intolerant of dissident ideologies. How did you overcome your conditioning? What did your parents…?”
“Our parents are dead,” Sam said. “We were raised by the State. And yeah, we’re going against everything we ever learned and I still feel guilty - all the time. But when they turn on you, when they’ll kill you for something you can’t help, it’s kind of hard to believe…” He closed his mouth abruptly, realising what he’d said.
“Something you…can’t help?” Ocean asked, and Sam could feel Dean glaring daggers at him.
“Loving another man!” The save came to Sam suddenly.
“Oh,” said Ocean with understanding. “Oh, I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to…”
“That’s okay,” Sam said quickly. Dean looked relieved, if vaguely uncomfortable, but Sam figured that was mostly to do with the invocation of love.
“You were caught?” Greg asked, and Ocean smacked him lightly with the hand that wasn’t holding the baby.
“That’s none of our business,” she said.
“It’s our business how newcomers get to be here,” Greg objected without hostility: “Especially State newcomers. There must be more like them - who can’t live by the State’s ideologies through no fault of their own. If we could get the word out…”
“There you go again,” Ocean rolled her eyes. “I left that kind of ambition behind when I left the Resistance.”
“Why did you leave the Resistance?” Sam asked. “Was it like Ruby - you didn’t agree with what they’re doing now?”
“Well broadly, I’d say that’s why we’re all here,” Ocean said. “Except the children, of course. Though different people have different - straws, if you like. Things that push them to make the decision. For me it was when I got pregnant. I didn’t want to take part in biomodification - that’s, you know, the experimental scheme where they’re trying to produce super-babies.”
“Trying?” Sam repeated. “So it hasn’t worked?”
Ocean looked hesitant, and Sam was reminded they were still on tenuous ground.
“We’re not spies,” he reasserted.
“If you were you’d be shot for incompetence,” Greg said. “Let’s just say their record hasn’t been the most successful.”
“Would they make you?” Dean asked Ocean.
“That’s…not the official line. But they can make it pretty difficult for you to say no. Fertility rates have dropped off in the past twenty years, and whilst there’s a faction that claims they should just concentrate on healthy reproduction, there’s a group of powerful hardliners who want to take every opportunity to produce this - superhuman or whatever.” She shrugged. The baby released her breast from its mouth and made a strange sound. Ocean put her breast away and hitched the baby onto her shoulder, patting its back. “You have to make them burp,” she told Sam with amusement: obviously he wasn’t as subtle as he thought he was being.
“I think you did the right thing,” Sam told her.
Ocean shrugged. “I don’t know. God knows I want to see the State fall, but not at the risk of my child. I’m too selfish.”
“It’s not selfish,” Sam argued. “It’s - natural. He’s…” he supposed this was where he should compliment the baby.
“Pretty boring, at this stage,” Ocean finished with a smile. “To everyone except us,” she shared a look with Greg, who smiled in acknowledgement.
“I don’t know how someone could do it,” Sam said. “To their own child, I mean.”
“People have their reasons,” Ocean said. “The cause is more important to some than their lives. Or their children’s lives. I do understand that. I just don’t think they’re going about it the right way.”
“So you done?” Dean wiped his hands on his trousers and glanced at the rest of Sam’s food, which he showed no signs of eating.
“Yeah,” Sam shook his head. “Nice - nice to meet you. Both of you.”
“You too,” Ocean smiled up at him as he stood, still bouncing the baby on her shoulder.

* * *

Dean of course was put on defense duty. Sam was set to work repairing and improving part of the drainage system underground at the back of the compound. He had theoretical understanding of structural engineering, understood what the problem was, but had never done any kind of work with his hands before. His co-worker was a short dark man who had no use for conversation. He told Sam what to do and kept half an eye on him whilst he did it, but any polite overtures or questions were met with silence. The man had a wide half-moon scar on his left cheek, and was missing the last two fingers of his left hand.
Twice a day Sam was trained with firearms. Apparently he was the only adult here who had never fired a gun, but that soon changed. He wasn’t bad, but he wasn’t a natural either. They gave him simple weapons that were easy to operate. By the end of the third day he was hitting a target more often than missing it.
They ate in the communal hall, sometimes with Greg and Ocean, and they slept in the barracks during the second sleep-rota. They made love again, and this time there was less pain before the pleasure - Sam’s embarrassment was lessened only slightly by the fact he’d twice overheard other couples doing the same. They rarely saw Ruby. Duties were assigned by a rota posted in the hall, and everyone seemed happy enough with their lot. On the fourth day, Sam saw two women kissing as he passed their sleeping partition, which was slightly askance. They didn’t seem to notice him, or the fact that their door was open. His eyes lingered on them for a brief second, more surprise than anything. The next day he saw them holding hands.
On the fifth day a general meeting was held in the communal hall to discuss weekly business.
“We picked up over the wire that a State emissary will be passing the north-east route tomorrow around dawn,” Ruby announced. “It sounds like they’ll have at least a couple of Guards, but the convoy itself is only three, so it won’t be a huge outfit. Volunteers?”
“I’ll go,” said the taciturn man Sam had been working with, and the young woman they’d seen at the table the first day also volunteered.
“What’s the convoy?” Sam asked.
“Military scientists,” Ruby said. “A Professor Kircher and two assistants. Want to come? Get your feet wet?”
“Yes,” said Sam.
“Is that wise?” said the blond man who was often in Ruby’s company. Sam had picked up that his name was Jack, somewhere along the line.
“I’ll keep an eye on him,” she said lightly. “Dean?”
Dean shrugged. “Been waiting to get my hands on one of those M16s you got goin’ to waste.”
Ruby nodded approvingly. “Rendezvous 06:00 at the back meeting point. We’ll bring kit for you,” she addressed Sam and Dean.
That night, Sam said,
“It’s good here, isn’t it?”
“Been worse,” Dean shrugged.
Determinedly, Sam climbed on top of him, felt the warmth of their bodies pressed together slowly and unequivocally arouse him. Dean’s responding erection against him.
“We could die tomorrow,” he said against Dean’s mouth.
“We could die anytime.”
“If we go to Hell, I’m not sorry.”
“We’re not going to Hell. Hell doesn’t exist, except as a training camp for the Elite Guard, and I’ve already been there. ”
“How do you know?”
“Because I know.”
“What will happen when we’re dead?”
“Decomposition.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“I know it.”
“How did you get this one?” Sam asked, laying his palm flat on the scar that ran messily under Dean’s navel, curling up around to the bottom of the ribs on his right side.
“Bomb blast.”
“It must have almost killed you.”
Dean made a falsely dismissive noise and said in a tough-guy voice, “You ain’t a Guard till you’ve spilled your guts on the enemy’s ground.”
“Is that what they tell you in Hell?”
“Hmm. Amongst other things.” Dean turned his head to the side and bit Sam’s earlobe. Sam jumped, and Dean ran a hand down his flank. “You want…?”
“Yes.”
For a moment, Sam thought Dean was going to invite him to change roles, but Dean had no such intention. He turned Sam over and entered him hard, less restrained than before, less gentle. Pain and pleasure were less than distinct, and Sam had to bite his knuckles to keep from screaming at the moment of orgasm, other hand scrabbling at Dean’s back, leaving scratches.
After, when he went to the showers to wash up, Ruby was there, just leaving, a plain towel wrapped tight around her small curvaceous body. Even here, she looked like a warrior: lean and toned and compact, more dangerous and more capable than the team-sports and fresh-food reared women of State Colleges. Her left calf muscle was peppered with pale circular scars. Her dark eyes met Sam’s for the briefest moment, more knowing than judgemental, and the corner of her generous mouth quirked up in a smirk.
“Don’t be late,” she said, and brushed past him.

* * *

At 02:33, Sam sat bolt upright in the bedroll and gasped, clamping both hands hard over his mouth to stifle a different scream.
“Sammy?” Dean sat up after him, instantly awake, laying a hand on the small of his back.
“Oh God,” said Sam. “Jack is going to die.” He bowed his head to his knees and closed his eyes, feeling himself shake, trying to rid his brain of the nightmare images. In his mind’s eye he saw Jack lying in scrubland dirt, at pale dawn, dark clothes drenched with blood and more blood trickling from his slack mouth. He saw the State bullet pierce his body-armour effortlessly, tear through muscle and bone, severing blood vessels and the darker meat of organs. Jack died with an expression of profound surprise on his face.
“We can’t let him go,” Sam said.
Dean said nothing.
“I have to warn him.”
“Sam,” said Dean warningly.
“I can’t-”
“We know these visions don’t have to happen like you see them. Remember Max. So I’ll stick around Jack and make sure he doesn’t get himself killed, okay?”
“But-”
“No.”
Sam glared at Dean. He wanted to argue,‘you can’t tell me what to do’ (But Dean could, he supposed: Sam owed him his life several times over. Really, Dean was the smart one).
“Well don’t you get yourself killed either,” Sam snapped finally, and lay back down, his back to Dean, posture defensive.
Dean chuckled.
“And don’t laugh at me!”
“I’m not, I’m not, okay sorry. Okay, babe?” he slid an arm around Sam’s waist. Sam didn’t react, but he didn’t push him off either. Part of him was pleased by the endearment, how casual it sounded, another part vaguely insulted by the knowledge that in some ways Dean would always think of him as child.
“Yeah,” he said finally. Dean kissed the nape of his neck and Sam relaxed, only mildly annoyed with himself for how easily Dean won him over. “I’m going back to sleep.”
He didn’t. Dean didn’t either, his body remaining alert behind Sam, breathing regular but shallow.
06:00 was cold and the air clear, stars crisper and brighter than in the city, nearer than the Ghost towns. They were six: Ruby and Jack, the young woman Shani, the taciturn man, and Sam and Dean. The other communists were dressed all in black - clothes Sam partly recognised from his vision - and their faces were half-obscured by masks. Jack produced similar outfits for Sam and Dean with a short instruction to change. They did so, Sam turning his back briefly to protect what remained of his modesty, although clearly no-one was looking. The night chill raised the hairs on his exposed body, and he caught the blur of Dean’s pale skin from the corner of his eye, whiter in the darkness. ‘We could die tonight,’ he thought again, and wished he’d tried harder the night before to tell Dean he loved him.
They piled into one of the off-road vehicles and made the short drive to the stretch of road their scouts had suggested as the best place for a raid. Here the road ran beneath a small scrubby cliff, giving them the advantage of height. Ruby and Dean consulted on the best place to leave the vehicle: far enough to be out of sight, not so far as to be inaccessible for a quick getaway.
“I’ll take the low ground,” Jack said, indicating to the far side of the road. That was clearly a more dangerous position, shielded only by trees and a few rocks - but their best chance of a clean kill was brief sustained fire from either side of the road, taking out as many of the Guards as possible and leaving the scientists defenceless.
“I’ll go with you,” Dean said casually. Sam’s eyes darted to him. Dean gave him a look that conveyed ‘come on. You think this is high risk to me?’ and ‘Trust me’ at the same time.
“Me too,” Shani offered. “Three and three.”
Ruby and the taciturn man exchanged a look, and both nodded. Sam wished he’d volunteered for the low ground too, but now it was too late.
“Fifteen minutes to sunrise,” said Ruby evenly, checking her wristwatch once they were in position. She sighted down the barrel of her gun. “You good?” she asked Sam.
“Sure,” he said.
“Know what to do?”
“Dean blows the whistle, we fire.”
“Right enough. Worried about your boyfriend?”
“Worried about yours?”
Ruby’s mouth quirked. “Jack’s not my boyfriend.” She adjusted herself slightly, eyes never leaving the road below.
The first thing they heard was the rumble of an engine in the distance, very quiet, just a suggestion of a sound. Ruby’s muscles tensed. Her eyes widened very slightly and then narrowed, small enough to be imperceptible if Sam hadn’t been crouching right next to her. She tightened her grip on her gun.
“Ready,” she said quietly. It wasn’t a question.
The vehicles came into sight, just dots at first, then headlights, then the shape of two 4x4s: apparently these white coats weren’t important enough for both front and rearguard. Closer, closer, and Sam thought, ‘there are people in there. People I’m going to kill’. And then he remembered the way they had looked on him when he was strapped to the chair, their cool efficient delivery of the drugs, and fuck it. He was ready. They deserved to die more than he did. If God was real and God thought different, then God was wrong. At the very split second the convoy entered the space on the road below them, the shrill metal whistle split the air, and Sam fired.
The sound of guns firing all around him was louder than anything Sam had ever heard. He didn’t know what was outside him and how much was in his head. Immediately the Guards below began to return fire, but someone had blown out at least one tyre on each of the vehicles, and two were preoccupied trying to regain control. Sam heard a scream, a window shattered, and blood spurted from the empty pane to pool with broken glass on the road. A Guard was standing below the cliff, eyes on their point, and Sam saw him aim but the taciturn man squinted, and in the next second the Guard went down with a bullet in her neck. The other Guard was turned towards the other side of the road, firing. He too collapsed.
A moment of weighted quiet as dust settled. Muffled sobs from the car.
Ruby let out a whoop of triumph and pushed up her mask. She scrambled agilely down to the dirt road. Sam pushed up his own mask to breathe better, then he and his other comrade followed a little more slowly. From the corner of his eye, he saw Dean, Jack and Shani, all alive, clambering out of the ditch and gathering around the Guard who lay dead near them, starting to strip him of weapons and armor. They caught up just as she wrenched the car door open: the two remaining white coats were huddled against the far door. Both were older men, one whispering prayers, the other crying quietly. Sam felt his heart stall:
“Samuel!” the prayers ended abruptly.
“You,” said Sam slowly, recognition settling over him. “You were at the facility.” A name came back to him, cold and blank. Ellicot. Dr. Ellicot.
“I-”
“You tortured me.”
“I didn’t-”
“Well, you watched,” Sam shrugged. “You took notes.” His heart was beating again. Fast and hard. He could feel it pounding against his ribs. The memories of those days were distant - he knew they were made of the worst things imaginable, but he knew it distantly. Academically.
“Don’t say you’re working for them,” the scientist’s eyes darted around to the others. “My God, anything but that. After all the State did for you…”
“Did for me?” Sam’s laugh was an ugly thing to his own ears - almost a bark. “You would have killed me.”
“That was the last thing we wanted!”
“You wanna do him?” Ruby stood back a little, her glance at Sam curious, and gestured to the scientist with her gun.
“I…” Sam looked down at the gun in his hand. Looked at the scientist. Just then the crack of a bullet split the air, a shout and a flurry of returning fire. Shani shouted,
“Jack!”
And Sam saw that beyond the car, the Guard who had fallen at the cliff’s base had clung to life long enough to fire as the other three approached. Now Jack was on the ground, gasping, blood streaming from mouth and stomach just as in Sam’s vision.
“Fuck!” shouted Ruby, and she and the quiet man quickly shot both of the scientists - execution style, one bullet each to the brain, and with two there was more mess than when Jim died. They ran from the car, but by the time they reached the rest of their contingent, Jack was dead.

11.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said to Sam.
“It wasn’t your fault,” said Sam absently.
“I have guard duty,” Dean said.
“Alright.”
“What are you doing tonight?” Dean asked.
“I’m free. Just gonna go to sleep, I guess.”
“Okay. I’ll be in as soon as I can.”
Dean leaned in and kissed him on the mouth, consolatory. No-one in the corridor gave them a second glance. Sam had no real intention of going to bed: sleep was about the furthest thing from his mind. He wandered around absently from a little while, said hi to Ocean, who was cleaning the serving countertop in the mess hall. Then he went outside to the back of the compound and walked a little way down the path to the rudimentary vegetable gardens. The first hardy shoots were beginning to poke their way over ground in anticipation of Spring, pale green and blunt. Once, Sam would have been preparing for Good Friday services, for kneeling on hard wooden floors in the unheated chapel, proud in the experience of physical discomfort, relishing his understanding of suffering.
A figure stood under a tree in the moonlight, and as Sam drew closer he recognized Ruby. She was dressed in dark jeans as always, and a thick jacket against the night. A gun was holstered visibly at her hip. He coughed falsely.
“I know you’re there,” she said. “You can come over if you want.”
“I, um, I’m sorry about Jack,” Sam said pathetically.
Ruby shrugged. “He knew the risks. Maybe tomorrow they’ll storm the compound and all of us will follow him.”
“But you were friends.”
She shrugged again. Sam was infuriated and sorry, and thought again how she reminded him of Dean.
“I think you’re brave,” he said.
“It’s not brave if you don’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice. You could die.”
“Well that would be stupid. We’re all gonna die anyway, and that’s for sure. Might as well stick around and see what happens in the meantime.”
Sam considered.
“You know what?” she said, turning to face him suddenly, and her dark eyes were more earnest than he’d ever seen them: “I think you’re brave. I never met anyone who escaped the State before.”
“Dean did it. He saved me. Got me out.”
“Yes…” That considering look was back on her face, the same one he’d seen in the car. “Got you out of what? What were they doing to you, Sam? You mentioned that you were tortured.”
“I was…” he looked down. “My parents were Resistance. The State didn’t trust me.”
“What, they thought you were the Weapon?” she snorted.
Sam said nothing. Ruby’s jaw dropped.
“They did! Christ, Sam!”
“I’m not,” he said hastily. “I’m not - I’m nobody.”
“No shit you’re not. I don’t believe in fairy-tales. One of the main problems with the Resistance is its faith in this goddam Messiah.”
“Messiah? What - what do you mean?”
She rolled her eyes. “It’s a legend. Something the more naïve tell themselves. As to personal beliefs, I say hey - whatever gets you through the night. But when people start designing battle strategy around the coming of a fantasy savior, that’s where I gotta draw the line.”
“What do you mean?”
She looked at him. “Come on. Your parents were Resistance and you don’t know the story?”
“They died when I was a baby. I was raised by the State.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“That’s okay. It’s not like I remember them.”
“Well,” Ruby sighed, “Here are the facts. Twenty-odd years ago, the Resistance leaders found some woman whose genetic makeup they could manipulate with the tools they had to create the perfect bioweapon. She already had one kid, but they got her pregnant again by a guy they picked out for her, and they started the modifications. They monitored this foetus, and everything was going perfect - the baby was supposed to grow up to predict the future, move objects with the power of its mind, and generally bring salvation unto the people. Then, a couple of months before the due date, she vanished. No-one knows how or where. Kidnapped? Dead? Defected? Not likely. She was the perfect soldier - Mother of the Revolution and all that. Her name was - get this - Mary.” Ruby laughed. “So of course this kid is supposed to come back and claim his inheritance. Lead the people of out darkness, et cetera. Not everybody believes it.”
“What happened to the other kid?” Sam’s mind was spinning. It was him, she had to be talking about him, and that meant he had a brother or sister out there someplace. Maybe not dead.
“Disappeared when the happy couple did. The guy she was with disappeared too - the father of the first kid, I mean, not the one the State picked for her.”
“You think that much is true?”
“It is true. My parents knew her. Not like, well, but they knew who she was. Everybody did.”
“Oh.”
“Sooo...instead of fighting like grownups, half the Resistance council has staked their hopes and consequently their strategy on the return of the prodigal son.”
Silence.
“What…what do the Resistance want, Ruby?”
“The end of the State,” Ruby ticked off on her fingers, “the end of the Church. Bring the Ghosts back to the cities. Let people live where they want and abolish the borders. Social and material equality - take the toys of the rich away until everyone can have enough to eat, somewhere to live, medicine and education for every person on the planet. Did you know we could achieve that with less than a quarter of the State’s material wealth? But they spend it on weapons and technology and security systems. They also want to stop destruction of the environment: intensive research into renewable fuel resources. Nothing to kill or die for, and no religion too. It’s a song,” she added in response to his look.
“You still want that?”
“Who wouldn’t?” Ruby looked at him like he was crazy. “The world doesn’t have to be this way, Sam. It’s this way because of the choices of a few evil, powerful people, and the willingness of everyone else to sit by and do nothing.” She laughed, a bitter little sound. “And I can talk. I walked away. I gave it up because I’m a coward.”
“You’re not,” he told her fervently. “I - I admire you.”
“It just seems so hopeless, sometimes,” she shook her head. “They’re so powerful. And look at us. I still believe there will be a Revolution. Someday. Inequalities will get worse and worse, more people will defect from the State, and one day the balance of power will turn. We won’t live to see it, but maybe our children will.” She shook her head. “Better to die free than live in slavery.”
“It’s not hopeless,” Sam said. That old knowledge was back - the song of his life, the deep conviction that he was meant for more than this, that he was meant to change to the world. He thought of the way the Ghosts lived, how they died, their bodies discarded like trash on a daily basis. He thought of the Easter feast at College, of computers that worked at the speed of thought, of ever-more-sophisticated torture devices from the infinite wealth of the State. He thought of his promise to Dean, but then he remembered how Dean had always told him he was just one guy, that he couldn’t protect Sam forever, that he probably got most things wrong on a regular basis. That they would die when the State caught them, that their lives were insignificant. And he thought of Jack dying in the dirt.
“Ruby,” he said, “I have to tell you…”
“What?” she held his gaze. Her eyes were very wide and very dark in the moonlight.
“I…don’t believe in fairy-tales either. But there’s something you need to know about me.”
She waited.
“I - can do things. The kinds of things…like the bioengineers wanted. Not always,” he added hastily. “I can’t control it very well. But the reason they kept me and tortured me is that I have some of the abilities of the modified children.”
“Like what?” Ruby held very still.
“I have premonitions. I dream things. And then sometimes, they come true.”
“What kinds of things?”
“Death, mostly.”
“And?”
“I have moved things. Once or twice. When I’m really scared or angry. I can’t control it; it just comes out of me.”
A long moment of silence. Ruby nodded quietly to herself, apparently digesting this information.
“I half-suspected,” she said at last. “There’s something about you, Sam.”
“It doesn’t make me the Weapon.”
“No but…it sure as hell makes you useful.”
“I’m a freak.”
“Hardly the first I’ve known,” she smirked. “The bioweapon program has been in planning for more than fifty years, and implemented for thirty. A lot of the babies are stillborn, some aborted. A few more die in infancy. But you’re not the first to grow up. There was a girl, when I was young, a few years older than me. She had dreams, too. And she could conduct electricity. She was insane, though. They tried for years to use her, but eventually they had to put her away.”
“I’m not insane.”
“I never thought you were.” She studied him. “It can get better,” she said. “With the right drugs you can learn to use it. To harness it. We have to train you.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” Sam begged. “Not yet. Not till I can do something good with it.”
“Alright,” Ruby nodded. “Just Ocean.”
“Why Ocean?”
“She’s a geneticist. She can formulate the injections we have to give you.”
Sam gaped. “But - her baby - she said she ran away because…”
“Well maybe it’s different when it’s your own kid. She quit, Sam, but once she was a believer.”
Pause.
“Alright,” he said finally. “Just - Ruby - Dean can’t know that I told you. I promised him…”
“I understand,” she said. “You love him, and he takes care of you. But I don’t think he understands your potential.”
“He doesn’t,” Sam affirmed.
“Meet me tomorrow night in the lab at shift change. Same corridor as the mess hall, second door on the right coming from the front entrance. There’s a combination lock, but knock and I’ll let you in.”
“I’ll be there,” Sam promised. Excitement was fluttering in his stomach, and determination. Once again he had purpose, the deep understanding that love was nothing to stake an existence on. Love was small and personal, and in the grand scheme of things, not important enough to justify his life. He was not afraid, because this was bigger than him and Dean. Dean would understand someday. And if he couldn’t understand - well, Sam would grieve, because he did love Dean, and it was because of Dean that Sam was still alive. But he couldn’t allow that selfishness to stand in the way of what he had to do.
The loves of persons could not be counted against the events of the world.

* * *

SECURITY TO CENTRAL OFFICE OF THE HIEROPHANT.
RE:CODENAME ‘SLEEPER’
HIGH PRIORITY 10/03/2012.
MESSAGE INTERCEPT: SPIDER TO THE NEST. WEAPON LOCATED AT N43.054425, W104.656628. BIOMANIUPULATION IN PROGRESS. NEST TO CONVERGE AT LOCATION 20/10/2012, 20:00. RECOMMEND INTERCEPTION.
END REPORT.
AUTHORISED AS OF THIS DATE
GENERAL R Q ZACHARIAH
CHIEF OF STATE SECURITY
IN THE GLORY OF GOD AND THE STATE.

* * *

Five nights a week Sam went to the lab, and Ocean, serious-faced, injected him with something clear and cold.
“What do you feel?” she asked, eyes on a monitor connected to his heartbeat.
“It’s like adrenalin,” Sam told her. “I feel strong.”
Ruby stood to one side, a small smile on her lips, but her eyes were dancing with excitement. After Ocean left, with a worried glance and instructions to call her if anything happened, Ruby would drill Sam, telling him to move small objects or locate another person in the commune. At first he couldn’t. But the drugs helped, and now with all his focus on calling it up instead of quashing it down, it soon came bubbling back to life, gleeful at its newfound freedom. He was better at telekenisis than visions, but often he knew what Dean was doing, could see him clearly in his mind, and he realized with a start that that link had existed for some time - deep down, if he called on it, an awareness of Dean’s movements and feelings had taken seat in his body, simmering below the surface of consciousness. Less often, he could envisage other people he knew, Ocean, Greg, and less often still a Ghost or a soldier travelling the land outside the compound. On one occasion, a crystal-clear vision of Elder Harvelle, more grey hair now and more lines, praying over a cup of wine in the privacy of her quarters. That one shocked him and stole his breath, alarming Ruby, but it vanished fast and did not return. Usually he could not see anything outside a few miles radius.
He moved pens, then cups, then a knife, and then he made a coffeepot explode, and Ruby jumped up and hugged him, delighted. Shocked, he hugged her back, not knowing what else to do, surprised by the warmth of her lean muscles against his body, the firm softness of her breasts.
“Amazing,” she breathed. “Amazing. We’ll do something small, live - a rat, next.”
Sam frowned and pushed her back a bit. “You want me to kill a rat?”
“Well - yeah. Or another small animal. It’s a weapon, after all. I don’t think you’re ready for humans yet.”
Sam flashed back to the night he and Dean had fed the rat in the bush. The amused, unguarded expression on Dean’s face in the moonlight. Ruby stared at him.
“How about a reptile?” She asked. “There are lizards in the garden.”
Sam gathered himself and nodded. “Yes. A reptile,” he said.
Of course, he was guilty.
“You like it here,” said Dean to Sam one night.
“You like it here,” Sam returned. Dean had taken to commune life with his usual efficiency. He took regular guard duty happily, and worked with the taciturn man - whose name Sam had learned at last was Marquez - on some of the armoured vehicles. He even took a turn in the garden sometimes. On the rare nights they had time together, he made love to Sam, as thoroughly and deliberately as he did everything else. Sam no longer had the heart to suggest they exchange positions, although he thought about it. The shocking overload of sensations he’d experienced when they’d first starting sleeping together had dwindled - his body responded predictably, building to a moderate physical release that failed to clear his mind for more than a few moments.
“It’s a living,” Dean replied at last. He propped himself up on his elbow and regarded Sam, who was lying on his back staring at the ceiling. “You been spending a lot of time with Ruby lately.”
“So?”
“So nothing.”
“Are you jealous? There’s nothing-”
“I know,” Dean cut him off. “I wanted to say that I’ve changed my mind about her.”
“You have?”
“I ain’t saying we’re buddies or anything. She’s a cocky bitch and thinks she’s seen it all. But she’s…a good soldier,” Dean admitted. “She’d have made Guard.”
“High praise.”
“At first I figured she was playing us,” Dean said. “That she’d screw us over as soon as she got what she wanted. But I was wrong. She’s done a lot for this place and the people here. I don’t think she’d gamble that.”
Sam was silent.
“You okay?” Dean asked.
“Yeah,” Sam said, and for the first time, felt a rush of something like pity. He reached up and placed his hand along the side of Dean’s face, felt a raised scar under his thumb. Sam thought of all the scars on Dean’s body that he knew so well now, ran his fingers around to the vulnerable nape of his neck, and wished Dean could be safe for a while.
“Someday,” he said, “things will better. We’ll be able to rest.”
“Yeah?” the corner of Dean’s mouth quirked. “How d’you figure?”
“I just know,” Sam said. Dean gave him an odd look. “Not like that,” Sam said quickly. “I just believe it.”
“Well - good,” Dean lay down and pressed his face to the juncture of Sam’s neck and shoulder. “You keep believing that.”
Dean fell asleep before Sam.
* * *

“Murdering scum.”
Shani was standing over the shackled prisoner, dark eyes alight with rage, knuckles white where she gripped her rifle. The prisoner had a red welt on the side of his face where Shani had evidently struck him.
“Shani, let us interrogate him first,” said Greg quietly, putting a hand on the young woman’s upper arm.
“I’ll interrogate him,” Shani snarled.
“I know how you feel,” Greg said.
“No you don’t! Don’t say you do because you don’t!” Shani shook his arm off with an abrupt jerk.
“Give him to me,” Ruby said, entering the chamber.
Greg and Shani both looked at her. From where he was sitting at the table cleaning guns, Sam looked too. Ruby met his eyes and raised her eyebrows slightly. For a second no-one moved.
“Shani did bring him in,” said Greg cautiously, “They shot the other two outside.” Shani and Marquez had been on guard duty outside the chamber, and Greg had been cleaning weapons with Sam.
“I know, Shani,” Ruby said. “But you’re too close to this. You know you are. Let me and Sam handle it.”
Greg raised his own eyebrows at Ruby’s abrupt inclusion of Sam in her plans, but he didn’t say anything. Shani bit her lip, eyes narrowed, visibly struggling with herself. “Fine,” she said suddenly and lowered her weapon. On her way back outside to return to her post, she spat at the prisoner’s feet. Ruby picked up a handgun from the table and replaced the aim Shani had held on the prisoner.
“Shani’s family were killed by State troops,” Greg explained softly to Sam. “She was just a child.”
“Oh,” Sam said.
“Let’s go, hero,” Ruby nudged the kneeling prisoner roughly with her foot. The man got to his feet awkwardly, hands cuffed in front of him. His bland face was expressionless, the perfect cardboard cutout of a State soldier. Ruby ordered him to strip and disposed of the small weapons he had hidden under his clothing, as well as a communicator of some sort Sam had never seen before. The device appeared to be non-functioning, the power light dead, but Ruby crushed it under her boot heel to be sure.
“Remove your chip.” She handed the soldier his own penknife by the handle.
“What chip?” said the soldier.
“Greg, would you do the honours?” Whilst Ruby kept a gun trained on the soldier, Greg gripped the man’s forearm and neatly removed the identichip. He crushed that too on the ground.
“Sam,” Ruby gestured with her head for Sam to follow her. The soldier was silent as they escorted him to a locked room in a quiet corridor that Sam had never been to before. When he saw the single chair set in the middle of the stone floor, the parallel between this interrogation room and his own was not lost on him. He reminded himself this was different - the State was the aggressor, and this drone had come armed and infiltrated their sanctuary on purpose.
“Name and rank?” Ruby asked once the prisoner was seated.
“Chris P. Bacon,” said the soldier evenly.
“Oh, a funny guy, huh? What are you doing here, Chris P. Bacon?”
“Got lost.”
Ruby smacked him across the face with the butt of her gun. Sam didn’t wince at the crack.
“Tell the truth,” she scolded. “Who sent you? What do they want with us?”
“I got. Lost,” said the soldier through gritted teeth, “on a reconnaissance mission.”
“Well Sam,” Ruby said, her eyes never leaving the naked prisoner. “Looks like you got your first chance to practice your skills on a human.”
By now he had learned how far to push to cause pain without damage, or damage without fatality. He envisaged the man’s heart and circulatory system, caused his pulse to accelerate, heart beat harder, lungs to contract, blood vessels to constrict around his brain until the man was begging for mercy, until blood streamed bright red from his nose and veins bulged in his forehead. The whites of his eyes were shot red with straining capillaries. Ruby watched with professionalism, letting Sam judge the beats at which to start and stop, and Sam didn’t let himself feel anything.
“What the fuck are you?” gasped the soldier, sagging forwards in the chair but restrained by the cuffs around his wrists and ankles. Sam didn’t answer, too caught up in controlling his powers to spare the attention.
“He’s a soldier like you are,” said Ruby finally. “Now I’ll ask you one more time: what are you doing here?”
As best as they could gather, the man was part of a scouting contingent whose communications had failed.
“We must have gotten too far from the Base.”
“So you were scouting for us?” Ruby asked pleasantly.
“For your rebel base, yes. But they don’t know,” he said quickly, with a glance at Sam. “They don’t know your co-ordinates, we had a wide area to cover, and by the time I found this place my communicator was out of range. I came here by accident, I swear.”
“I think he’s telling the truth,” said Sam.
“Me too,” Ruby frowned, “But we’ve still got trouble. His base could’ve got a fix on his ID chip after he went missing.”
They extracted the location of the State base where the soldier was stationed, the number of personnel, the equipment, and Ruby quickly radioed Greg with directions.
“We don’t have the numbers to take them out, but get Jake to disable their communications, if he can,” she ordered. “Priority One.” Then, “Fuck,” she swore when she clicked off, “fuck,” and ran a hand through her hair. “Why couldn’t you just leave us alone?” she snarled.
The man actually laughed. “Leave you alone? You’re terrorists. You should all die.”
Ruby closed her eyes briefly, glanced at Sam, and said,
“That’s all we’ll get out of this one. Kill him.”
And the soldier looked up with equanimity, so Sam burst his heart.

Continues..