Fic: The Clone Rebellions, vol. 1 (DA/SPN, Wellspring 'verse)
Title: The Clone Rebellions, vol. 1
Fandoms: Supernatural, Dark Angel
Timeline: Slightly future Wellspring 'verse
Rating: R
Summary: Alec and Ben watch movies, stage a rebellion.
Warnings: Crude language, extreme cuddles, clones with absurd demands
Disclaimer: Dark Angel and Supernatural obviously aren't mine. Fear & Loathing bits are HST's.
Author's Notes: For my darling Liz. I <3 you.
_______________________________________
Alec cocks his head to the left. Then to the right. But the moving moment on the television doesn’t change, and the attempt to see it from a different physical perspective doesn’t make Alec understand it any better.
That kid is riding a motherfucking whale.
“Ben, he’s-”
“I see him.” Ben’s matter-of-fact. Ben’s watching the screen with plate-sized eyes. “I see him and I don’t think that’s natural.”
It’s not natural. It’s against nature. Humans shouldn’t be able to use something as colossal and as magnificent and as implausibly awesome for transportation. It’s just absurd, is what it is...
The thought that hits him is almost fleeting - almost, because there’s a blockade somewhere in Alec’s head that stops it dead. It’s inert. It’s floating there. Little brain hands poke and tease it with little brain fingers.
Alec wonders if he can get Dean to trade the Impala in for an orca.
Ben knows. Alec doesn’t even have to ask how. “Maybe if we ask really nicely?”
“They’ll say, ‘we’ll see’. They’re always saying that when we want something. It’s fixed, Ben. It’s a fixed response.”
“Well, sometimes-”
“They said it just yesterday when we asked for guns. We were born with guns in our hands, but what do we get when we want them now? We’ll see.” Alec can’t keep the disgust out of his voice. This “we’ll see” business really grates on his nerves. And Alec has delicate nerves.
“You’re irritated,” Ben says. He’s really observant, this kid.
“I have delicate nerves,” Alec replies. “And I want a gun, damnit. A gun and an orca.”
“No attorney?”
“Attorneys are for playgrounds and adventures in Las Vegas. Guns and orcas are for always.”
The guilt that crosses Ben’s face at the words “Las Vegas” is akin to dirty footprints on a clean floor - it stays there, in plain sight, and Alec wants nothing more than to wipe it away. “Sam said we weren’t supposed to watch that one.”
They weren’t, but Sam was out and Dean was there. They’d laid stomach-down on the bed, the three of them with Dean in the middle, and watched the forbidden movie, feet up and kicking the air.
“Dean was there. Dean trumps Sam.”
“He doesn’t.” Ben’s shaking his head. “We shouldn’t have-”
“Ben.” Alec snaps his fingers in his twin’s face. Really, he’s gotta get the kid past this guilt complex. “We’re talking killer whales here. Not something that happened days ago.”
“But-”
“No butts, young man.”
Ben’s trying really hard and failing really hard to keep a straight face. The kid cracks up. Alec does, too. Dean. Dean had said that the other day, had growled “No butts, young man” in a ridiculously serious tone. They’d cracked up then, too.
Now Alec wipes tears of hilarity from his eyes, smacks Ben lightly on the knee. “I propose we stage a rebellion. We need to put an end to this ‘we’ll see’ business.” Ben’s nervous. Alec can see that Ben’s nervous, but the guy better get past it before Sam and Dean come back from visiting that dead man’s wife. “It’s gonna be alright. A little defiance never hurt anybody.”
Ben’s chewing on his lip. He almost goes for his fingernails but Alec catches him and slaps the back of his hand. Sam’s always doing that when Ben’s going at his fingernails, so it’s okay that Alec hit his brother. Just this once.
“Ow.”
“You’re not s’posed to bite them.”
“That stung, Alec.”
“Sam’s always doing it.”
“Sam doesn’t do it like that.”
Ben’s irritated with him. That’s okay. These days Ben being irritated with him is like a really neat gift covered in bad wrapping paper. Alec says, “Call me an asshole.”
“M’not gonna-”
“Call me an asshole. I deserve it.”
“I-”
“It’s okay to call an asshole an asshole, Ben. You’re just calling it like you see it.”
“You’re not an asshole, though. You’re my brother.”
Alec sighs. If Sam and Dean were here they’d be glowing because apparently, Ben’s wholesome version of familial loyalty is adorable. Alec doesn’t find it too adorable. It’s nice, sure, but sometimes a guy just wants to trade a few insults and punches and is that too much to ask? “Well, at least you said the word. That’s progress, I guess.”
Ben considers him a moment, then sorta smiles and looks at the ground, whispers, “Asshole.”
Alec can’t, won’t, quell the large grin that spreads over his face. He lands a hearty hand on his twin’s shoulder. “That’s m’boy.”
It isn’t long afterwards that Sam and Dean come through the door, scrubbing tired hands over tired faces and arguing about god knows what. They cease upon the sight of Alec and Ben on the bed, though, with relief so evident it’s sickening. Alec is sickened. Sam and Dean are complete women when it comes to leaving them alone for even two measly hours.
The hunters greet them while peeling off their jackets, inquiring if everything went okay, and Alec just kind of glares because things don’t tend to go wrong when nothing’s happening, and useless questions are useless, and Alec’s nerves are delicate.
Dean throws himself onto the bed behind Ben’s feet, turns his head to look at the screen.
“Dude, Free Willy. Sammy, the kids are watching Free Willy.”
Sam falls into the lone motel chair on the other side of the night stand. “That’s great, Dean.”
“You bet your ass its great. This is classic.”
Dean wedges himself eagerly between Alec and Ben, eyes not leaving the screen. He’s really captivated by this film, Alec can tell, and hell, now’s as good a time as any, right? He opens his mouth to start in on their demands but Dean, as per usual, is far too quick with his Awkward-Kid-Sam anecdotes.
“Y’know, when we were kids, your Uncle Sammy sobbed at the end of this movie.”
“I didn’t sob, Dean-”
“Real honest-to-god tears. To this day, I’m not really sure why because it has a happy ending. I mean, the kid got a family and freed his whale, right? But Sammy was just so freakin’ sad.”
Sam’s got bitchface. “You’re an emotionally retarded jerk-off, did I ever tell you that? Because I should have. Emotionally. Retarded. Jerk-off.”
“Oh, sorry.” Dean doesn’t sound sorry at all. “Your Uncle Sammy cried tears of joy. I had to lead him out of the freakin’ theater because he couldn’t see through his haze of happiness. Kid kept bumping into people while he was blubbering about how beautiful it was that Willy was free now.”
“That did not happen-”
“You just don’t remember it ‘cause you were, like, ten years old or something. It totally happened.”
This is going to go on forever. Alec groans and kicks Dean in the leg, but Dean doesn’t pay any attention because he’s almost always one-track when he’s teasing Sam, and he’s definitely one-track right now. Alec clears his throat and prepares himself, ‘cause it’s going to take something ingenious to break this up.
“Holy Jesus, what are these goddamn animals?”
He doesn’t yell it. He doesn’t have to. He just raises his voice loud enough to be heard and both Sam and Dean stop mid-sentence, mouths open and tongues placed to get that next syllable out. They shake it off after a moment.
Dean’s got oh-shit face. Sam looks furious.
“Dean, for chrissakes. They’re nine. Nine. Nine is not old enough for Fear and Loathing. Nine is not old enough for the glorification of illegal drugs.”
Dean snorts. “It’s not like they’re gonna run out and start toking up, Sam.”
“It’s in their heads now, you idiot. They’re impressionable. You know they’re impressionable.”
“They didn’t even pay attention to the drugs. They were all over the bats and the chimp and the...okay, admittedly, drug-crazed Christina Ricci character, but I digress...”
Sam looks like he’s going to fly off the chair and dive right over Ben in order to strangle Dean. He’s got his hands reached out and everything, but then he just closes them into tight fists and slumps back, breathing heavily. It occurs to Alec that irritating Sam really isn’t going to get them any farther in this rebellion, and what was it they wanted again?
“Alec and I want some mescaline,” Ben announces.
Okay. That wasn’t on the list. At all. But Alec’s gotta admit he’s curious as to where his brother’s going to take this.
Sam’s hands are reaching out again, his jaw clenched tight as he grits his teeth, and he looks for all the world like he’s about to cut a bitch. Alec can only see the back of Dean’s head, but he’s pretty sure he knows the look the guy’s got fixed on Ben; that pale and scandalized look that Dean gets whenever Sam mentions sexual reproduction while Alec and Ben are present.
“Benny, you don’t even know what mescaline is,” Dean says, and there’s a tinge of hope in his voice that makes Alec snicker, because of course Ben knows what mescaline is.
“Sure I do. It’s a psychedelic alkaloid.”
Sam looks kinda proud now, because they’re geniuses and that’s something he’ll always encourage, but he’s saying, “Ben, mind-altering drugs are incredibly dangerous and not something you should ever think about. Or joke about. Or do. Ever.”
“Alec and I want five sheets of high-powered blotter acid,” Ben replies.
Sam smacks, literally smacks, his palm against his face. His voice is muffled behind his hand. “Dean...the chimp and Christina Ricci? He friggin’ memorized the movie, you stupid ass.”
He. Singular. No, no, Alec has to get in on this. Ben’s being brave and all, but Alec’s gotta help him out. “Ben and I want a salt-shaker half-full of cocaine.”
“Alec...” Dean groans.
“Alec and I want a whole galaxy of uppers-”
“-downers-
“-screamers-”
“-laughers-”
“That’s enough-” Dean’s voice is just shy of stern, but Ben bravely trucks on:
“Don’t forget the quart of tequila.”
Alec’s on the verge of laughing. He manages to the get words out without his voice shaking, though. “Or the quart of rum, but I think we might have that...”
“Yeah, I think we do, too.” Ben nods. Then, thoughtfully, with his eyes in the direction of the motel door. “And I think we have at least half a case of Budweiser in the car.”
“But we’re gonna need a pint of raw ether,” Alec points out. “Raw ether is always important.”
“It’s essential,” Ben agrees before adding with a note of finality, “And two dozen amyls. Those are our demands.”
Sam and Dean are stricken. Stricken. Alec leans forward, past Dean, and reaches out a fist which Ben then bumps with his own, the little rebel. Alec is so proud he doesn’t know what to do with himself. The hunters are silent. They’re silent for a long time, so Alec settles his eyes back on the television screen where the orca is now leaping triumphantly over his child-sized driver.
Oh. That’s right. They wanted a whale.
“You aren’t funny,” Sam finally says from the chair. “Drugs are dangerous. Drugs are...drugs are wrong.”
“We’re not trying to be funny,” Alec tells him. “We really want these things. We want to reach an altered state of mind by using illegal drugs. I can see it now.” And here, Alec pulls out a splayed hand which he runs slowly through the air in imitation of starry-eyed youth hoping to see their name in lights. “Ben and Alec, functioning drug addicts. I think it sounds amazing.”
“Dean.”
“No more R-rated movies, Sammy. Scout’s honor.”
“Great.” Sam’s real terse right now. “That doesn’t help our present situation, though, does it?”
“They’re joking, Sam. It’s disturbing to hear them say it, sure, but they’re joking. Do I need to come over there and straighten your panties out for you?”
Sam huffs. Alec drops his head into the comforter and giggles. Everything is always funnier when Sam’s huffing.
“First of all, gross. Second of all, yeah sure. Now they’re joking. They think drugs are a joke. What if they always think drugs are a joke, Dean? What if we just let them grow up with lighthearted thoughts about extremely dangerous drugs and then one day they think, ‘Oh, hey. Drugs are funny. Lets do drugs!’”
Alec barks a laugh. Dean turns his head and glares down at him, jabs a finger into the most ticklish part of the boy’s side.
“Alec, stop laughing. Sammy’s having a serious moment.”
“But Sammy’s serious moments are hilarious,” Alec chokes, weakly attempting to fend off Dean’s persistent hand. They really are. Sammy’s never funnier than when he’s serious.
“Sam?” Ben. Ben’s using his timid, apologetic voice that always ends with their faces smothered in ice cream come nighttime. Dean’s hand stills, comes to rest on Alec’s hip. “We promise we’ll never do drugs...on one condition.”
Yeah, Ben’s got it. Ben knows exactly what to do.
Sam heaves the biggest sigh in the history of the goddamn universe. “What’s the condition?”
“You get us an orca.”
Silence. There’s so much silence happening today.
“You...want...an orca?” The words are slow tumbling out of Sam’s mouth but Ben nods and Alec half climbs over Dean’s back so Sam can see him nod, too.
“It’s a proven mode of transportation,” Alec chimes in, pointing to the screen of the television which really has no relevance at the moment. “That kid rode that motherfucking whale. It was inspiring, Sam.”
“Language.” Alec feels Dean rumble the word beneath him, hears and sees Sam’s lips form the same word. He ignores it. This is about far more important things than socially scorned words.
“Orca. You get us an orca. That’s the condition.” Alec is firm. He props himself up with his elbows along Dean’s spine, aims a steely gaze at his uncle. Brother. Mom. Sam is just so many things, Alec can’t even begin to place him on the spectrum of familial relations.
“Whales aren’t modes of transport, Alec.”
“I don’t care. Get us one.” Alec’s not budging. Or he’s trying not to budge. Dean’s suddenly an earthquake, shaking hard with silent laughter.
“Dean, this isn’t funny,” Alec tells him, dropping from his elbows so that his hands come down with a smack on his donor/brother/dad’s shoulders. Dean is just so many things, too. “This is serious business.”
“Sam-” Dean can’t get the words out. He’s trying so hard but he can’t get the words out. Alec waits patiently. Ben waits patiently. Sam rolls his eyes and sighs and jiggles his leg. It takes forever and a day, but Dean finally croaks, “I just remembered that Sammy wanted an orca, too.”
Alec raises an eyebrow, because hey now, that’s an interesting fact. He’ll gladly share his orca with Sam if Sam begs hard enough.
“I did not want an orca, Dean. Stop making shit up.”
“I’m not making shit up. You totally wanted an orca. You kept trying to find cases on the coast so Dad would take us to the ocean. You wanted a Willy.” Dean is a 9.5 on the Richter Scale. Alec curls his fingers into the man’s soft T-shirt for balance as the guy cracks the fuck up.
“We’ll share our orca with you, Sam,” Ben offers. “If you really want...”
“Nobody’s getting an orca!” Sam’s exploding. Sam is an explosion. Sam gets up from his chair and crosses his arms and glares at them. “This is a ridiculous conversation. No orca. That’s final.”
Crickets. There aren’t any, but if there were, they’d be the loudest thing in this room. Dean’s not even laughing anymore. Alec reaches his hand down, flicks Ben’s shoulder, and gives his twin a meaningful look. It’s time. He clears his throat. “Ben and I have decided that we’re gonna do drugs. Hard, mind-altering drugs.”
Sam bites his lip in irritation. Alec watches with fascination as the hunter’s right eye twitches. Sam’s trying to get himself together. They’ve got him wound up real tight, just like they like him. “I don’t want to hear another word about drugs.”
“Drugs!” Alec instantly chirps, because really, he can’t help himself. He’s got mad impulse control issues. Sam knows this. Everybody knows this.
One of Sam’s arms works itself loose to point at the now empty chair.
Alec blinks. “What?”
“Chair.”
Sam doesn’t have to put the word ‘naughty’ in front of it for the meaning to be clear.
“No.” No. The Rebellion’s not going to fail. The Rebellion can’t fail. Alec and Ben must stand strong against the evil forces of Sam and his naughty furniture.
Dean starts moving under him. Alec resists the urge to pin the man down, but it’s a moot point after a second when Dean rises and turns and Alec’s upper half slips from the broad back and lands on the mattress. And then Dean’s looming over him, one arm bolstering his body upwards so that he can look down at Alec.
“No more drug talk, kid.”
That’s just not fair. It’s even less fair when Dean gets up from the bed, just to haul Alec up, too. It’s a screaming injustice when Dean leads him over to the damn chair and sits him down and lectures him about respecting Sam, and then tells him he’s gonna have to sit there for five whole minutes.
“Alec?” Ben approaches him when its all said and done, looking miserable and apologetic and all sorts of terrible Ben-like things. “Alec, I think our rebellion failed.”
“No.” Alec refuses. The Rebellion’s still going strong, this is just a minor speed bump on an otherwise smooth road to complete control. “No, it hasn’t.”
“We’re not getting an orca, Alec.”
It’s a fact. They’re not getting an orca. Sam’s not getting an orca, either. And yeah, it’s a tragic thing to befall an otherwise strong resistance, but they’ve got to carry on. “We’ve gotta be strong, Ben.”
“For what?”
“For guns.”
Yes, guns. Guns are what they really want. Screw orcas and attorneys and mescaline, guns are where it’s at. Alec hops off the chair and informs Sam and Dean of this change in their demands.
“We’ll see,” Dean tells him from the edge of the motel bed, where he’s now cleaning his own gun, the taunting bastard.
Ben’s eyes are wide. Alec’s eyes are wide. No. No, this was the point of the Rebellion. Not orcas or drugs or guns. We’ll see. Those two hated words that are always on the tip of Sam or Dean’s tongue, words that are consistently spoken but never meaning what they’re supposed to mean. Sam and Dean aren’t seeing about anything. They’re just sitting there cleaning their own guns with absolutely no intention of procuring any for Alec and Ben.
“‘We’ll see’ isn’t a sufficient response,” Ben says, and Alec is surprised and proud. Ben’s really getting the hang of this defiance thing. “Alec and I don’t like ‘we’ll see’.”
Sam and Dean look surprised, too. They don’t expect this from Ben, either.
“You don’t like ‘we’ll see?’” Sam asks and Ben bites his bottom lip and looks at the carpet for a split second, before snapping his eyes back up and shaking his head. Ben’s strong. Ben’s a rebel. Ben is the Rebellion. Sam’s lips twitch. “You don’t want us to say it anymore?”
“No,” Ben says, and his eyes shift from Sam to Dean and back to Alec who nods encouragingly. “No, we don’t want you to say it anymore. You don’t seem to mean it when you say it. Say what you mean.”
Sam and Dean exchange a long and incredibly significant look. Alec knows this look. It’s that look they share when they’re reading each other’s minds. They do that, sometimes, Sam and Dean. They’re telepathic. Alec’s sure of it.
“We won’t say it anymore,” Dean agrees in an amiable tone. “Demand filled.” And he goes back to cleaning his gun. Sam does, too. They just sit there, cleaning their guns, as if Alec and Ben had never asked anything at all.
Ben looks at Alec. Alec looks at Ben. They clear their throats.
The two hunters look up with expressions of near saintly patience. Dean asks, “Something you wanted?”
“Guns,” Alec tells him. “We want guns.”
Dean doesn’t look at Sam. He doesn’t even take a moment to think about it. He just says, “No.”
Alec and Ben are stricken. Stricken. No? What does he mean no? There’s just been a whole lot of no today. No orca, no drug talk, no guns? And the fucking naughty chair to boot? No. No. This is fucked. The Rebellion can’t and won’t fail this hard. Alec won’t stand for it.
His eyes are blurry. He doesn’t know why his eyes are blurry, but he can see Dean looking at him very carefully, can feel Dean’s hand grip the front of his T-shirt and pull him forward, between Dean’s legs where he’s lifted just enough to be placed on the hunter’s thigh. The gun’s beside them, abandoned in its half-clean state and Alec eyes it with hazy disdain. Stupid gun.
Alec doesn’t know when he started breathing like this, when his breaths started to become these terrible, hitching things, but he can’t control them. And he’s crying, he’s crying so hard, he’s fucking sobbing and this is humiliating. Dean’s arms are heavy and solid around him, gripping him, pressing him in until they’re blended so firmly together that nobody would recognize them as two distinct people.
Dean’s saying things. Sam’s saying things. Ben’s asking them if Alec’s broken.
“It’s not so bad, kitten.” Dean’s voice is close and soft and Alec feels the man’s stubble rub against his own very soft cheek. “Kids don’t need guns, is all. Maybe when you’re older.”
“F-failed.”
Dean’s confused and asking “What failure?” because he didn’t quite catch it, but Alec can barely hear him, much less respond. Ben’s voice is distant and helpless as it explains.
“We filled your demand, Alec, remember?” Sam’s voice is low and soothing and kind. “We’re not saying it anymore. No more ‘We’ll see.’ Your operation was a success.”
It’s true. Somewhere inside of him, somewhere behind all these horrific tears, Alec’s aware that they did, indeed, succeed in what they set out to do.
But there’s no hope in no. And that’s all today was. A fuckload of no.
“Today was just a fuckload of no.” The words come out a half-wail shrouded in tears and snot and Dean’s arms get tighter and the guy starts rocking, for chrissakes. Rocking and shushing and...humming. Humming Zeppelin. Humming the slow parts of “What is and What Never Should Be” and Alec’s subsiding into the vibrating throat, is boneless and quiet against the man he came from.
Dean stops eventually, once Alec’s calm, once Alec’s head is still and peaceful on his shoulder and he asks, “What was all that about, kitten?”
Alec doesn’t know. Alec has no idea.
Ben says, “Alec has delicate nerves.”
That’s true. Alec doesn’t have a lot. He doesn’t have an orca, an attorney, a gun, or the freedom to make jokes about dangerous drugs, but he does have one thing: delicate nerves.
“It’s true.” He rubs at his eyes, which are tired and heavy and trying their best to close. Dean shifts, but doesn’t move him, just settles him into a more comfortable position. “M’have delicate nerves.”
“I’m not gonna blame your nerves, kid,” Dean murmurs. “M’blaming Free Willy. That shit’s always making cool little kids cry.”
“Did you just call me cool?” Sam’s voice is filled with wonder.
“No-”
“You did. You just called me cool.”
Dean keeps insisting that he didn’t. Sam keeps insisting that he did. Alec doesn’t care. Alec’s good. Alec’s calm. He freaked out for a while there, but now he’s as languid as a tranquilized horse. He hiccups. Dean takes it to mean more than it is and trails a warm hand up and down Alec’s back. Ben inches forward and puts a small hand on Sam’s big knee until the guy gets the hint, and still focused on berating Dean, lifts Ben up to sit on his lap. Alec blinks blearily as Ben smirks at him, sneaks a tiny thumb upwards. Alec returns the smirk and the thumb in a tired, lazy sort of way because he gets what his brother means.
There’s some win here.
Fandoms: Supernatural, Dark Angel
Timeline: Slightly future Wellspring 'verse
Rating: R
Summary: Alec and Ben watch movies, stage a rebellion.
Warnings: Crude language, extreme cuddles, clones with absurd demands
Disclaimer: Dark Angel and Supernatural obviously aren't mine. Fear & Loathing bits are HST's.
Author's Notes: For my darling Liz. I <3 you.
_______________________________________
Alec cocks his head to the left. Then to the right. But the moving moment on the television doesn’t change, and the attempt to see it from a different physical perspective doesn’t make Alec understand it any better.
That kid is riding a motherfucking whale.
“Ben, he’s-”
“I see him.” Ben’s matter-of-fact. Ben’s watching the screen with plate-sized eyes. “I see him and I don’t think that’s natural.”
It’s not natural. It’s against nature. Humans shouldn’t be able to use something as colossal and as magnificent and as implausibly awesome for transportation. It’s just absurd, is what it is...
The thought that hits him is almost fleeting - almost, because there’s a blockade somewhere in Alec’s head that stops it dead. It’s inert. It’s floating there. Little brain hands poke and tease it with little brain fingers.
Alec wonders if he can get Dean to trade the Impala in for an orca.
Ben knows. Alec doesn’t even have to ask how. “Maybe if we ask really nicely?”
“They’ll say, ‘we’ll see’. They’re always saying that when we want something. It’s fixed, Ben. It’s a fixed response.”
“Well, sometimes-”
“They said it just yesterday when we asked for guns. We were born with guns in our hands, but what do we get when we want them now? We’ll see.” Alec can’t keep the disgust out of his voice. This “we’ll see” business really grates on his nerves. And Alec has delicate nerves.
“You’re irritated,” Ben says. He’s really observant, this kid.
“I have delicate nerves,” Alec replies. “And I want a gun, damnit. A gun and an orca.”
“No attorney?”
“Attorneys are for playgrounds and adventures in Las Vegas. Guns and orcas are for always.”
The guilt that crosses Ben’s face at the words “Las Vegas” is akin to dirty footprints on a clean floor - it stays there, in plain sight, and Alec wants nothing more than to wipe it away. “Sam said we weren’t supposed to watch that one.”
They weren’t, but Sam was out and Dean was there. They’d laid stomach-down on the bed, the three of them with Dean in the middle, and watched the forbidden movie, feet up and kicking the air.
“Dean was there. Dean trumps Sam.”
“He doesn’t.” Ben’s shaking his head. “We shouldn’t have-”
“Ben.” Alec snaps his fingers in his twin’s face. Really, he’s gotta get the kid past this guilt complex. “We’re talking killer whales here. Not something that happened days ago.”
“But-”
“No butts, young man.”
Ben’s trying really hard and failing really hard to keep a straight face. The kid cracks up. Alec does, too. Dean. Dean had said that the other day, had growled “No butts, young man” in a ridiculously serious tone. They’d cracked up then, too.
Now Alec wipes tears of hilarity from his eyes, smacks Ben lightly on the knee. “I propose we stage a rebellion. We need to put an end to this ‘we’ll see’ business.” Ben’s nervous. Alec can see that Ben’s nervous, but the guy better get past it before Sam and Dean come back from visiting that dead man’s wife. “It’s gonna be alright. A little defiance never hurt anybody.”
Ben’s chewing on his lip. He almost goes for his fingernails but Alec catches him and slaps the back of his hand. Sam’s always doing that when Ben’s going at his fingernails, so it’s okay that Alec hit his brother. Just this once.
“Ow.”
“You’re not s’posed to bite them.”
“That stung, Alec.”
“Sam’s always doing it.”
“Sam doesn’t do it like that.”
Ben’s irritated with him. That’s okay. These days Ben being irritated with him is like a really neat gift covered in bad wrapping paper. Alec says, “Call me an asshole.”
“M’not gonna-”
“Call me an asshole. I deserve it.”
“I-”
“It’s okay to call an asshole an asshole, Ben. You’re just calling it like you see it.”
“You’re not an asshole, though. You’re my brother.”
Alec sighs. If Sam and Dean were here they’d be glowing because apparently, Ben’s wholesome version of familial loyalty is adorable. Alec doesn’t find it too adorable. It’s nice, sure, but sometimes a guy just wants to trade a few insults and punches and is that too much to ask? “Well, at least you said the word. That’s progress, I guess.”
Ben considers him a moment, then sorta smiles and looks at the ground, whispers, “Asshole.”
Alec can’t, won’t, quell the large grin that spreads over his face. He lands a hearty hand on his twin’s shoulder. “That’s m’boy.”
It isn’t long afterwards that Sam and Dean come through the door, scrubbing tired hands over tired faces and arguing about god knows what. They cease upon the sight of Alec and Ben on the bed, though, with relief so evident it’s sickening. Alec is sickened. Sam and Dean are complete women when it comes to leaving them alone for even two measly hours.
The hunters greet them while peeling off their jackets, inquiring if everything went okay, and Alec just kind of glares because things don’t tend to go wrong when nothing’s happening, and useless questions are useless, and Alec’s nerves are delicate.
Dean throws himself onto the bed behind Ben’s feet, turns his head to look at the screen.
“Dude, Free Willy. Sammy, the kids are watching Free Willy.”
Sam falls into the lone motel chair on the other side of the night stand. “That’s great, Dean.”
“You bet your ass its great. This is classic.”
Dean wedges himself eagerly between Alec and Ben, eyes not leaving the screen. He’s really captivated by this film, Alec can tell, and hell, now’s as good a time as any, right? He opens his mouth to start in on their demands but Dean, as per usual, is far too quick with his Awkward-Kid-Sam anecdotes.
“Y’know, when we were kids, your Uncle Sammy sobbed at the end of this movie.”
“I didn’t sob, Dean-”
“Real honest-to-god tears. To this day, I’m not really sure why because it has a happy ending. I mean, the kid got a family and freed his whale, right? But Sammy was just so freakin’ sad.”
Sam’s got bitchface. “You’re an emotionally retarded jerk-off, did I ever tell you that? Because I should have. Emotionally. Retarded. Jerk-off.”
“Oh, sorry.” Dean doesn’t sound sorry at all. “Your Uncle Sammy cried tears of joy. I had to lead him out of the freakin’ theater because he couldn’t see through his haze of happiness. Kid kept bumping into people while he was blubbering about how beautiful it was that Willy was free now.”
“That did not happen-”
“You just don’t remember it ‘cause you were, like, ten years old or something. It totally happened.”
This is going to go on forever. Alec groans and kicks Dean in the leg, but Dean doesn’t pay any attention because he’s almost always one-track when he’s teasing Sam, and he’s definitely one-track right now. Alec clears his throat and prepares himself, ‘cause it’s going to take something ingenious to break this up.
“Holy Jesus, what are these goddamn animals?”
He doesn’t yell it. He doesn’t have to. He just raises his voice loud enough to be heard and both Sam and Dean stop mid-sentence, mouths open and tongues placed to get that next syllable out. They shake it off after a moment.
Dean’s got oh-shit face. Sam looks furious.
“Dean, for chrissakes. They’re nine. Nine. Nine is not old enough for Fear and Loathing. Nine is not old enough for the glorification of illegal drugs.”
Dean snorts. “It’s not like they’re gonna run out and start toking up, Sam.”
“It’s in their heads now, you idiot. They’re impressionable. You know they’re impressionable.”
“They didn’t even pay attention to the drugs. They were all over the bats and the chimp and the...okay, admittedly, drug-crazed Christina Ricci character, but I digress...”
Sam looks like he’s going to fly off the chair and dive right over Ben in order to strangle Dean. He’s got his hands reached out and everything, but then he just closes them into tight fists and slumps back, breathing heavily. It occurs to Alec that irritating Sam really isn’t going to get them any farther in this rebellion, and what was it they wanted again?
“Alec and I want some mescaline,” Ben announces.
Okay. That wasn’t on the list. At all. But Alec’s gotta admit he’s curious as to where his brother’s going to take this.
Sam’s hands are reaching out again, his jaw clenched tight as he grits his teeth, and he looks for all the world like he’s about to cut a bitch. Alec can only see the back of Dean’s head, but he’s pretty sure he knows the look the guy’s got fixed on Ben; that pale and scandalized look that Dean gets whenever Sam mentions sexual reproduction while Alec and Ben are present.
“Benny, you don’t even know what mescaline is,” Dean says, and there’s a tinge of hope in his voice that makes Alec snicker, because of course Ben knows what mescaline is.
“Sure I do. It’s a psychedelic alkaloid.”
Sam looks kinda proud now, because they’re geniuses and that’s something he’ll always encourage, but he’s saying, “Ben, mind-altering drugs are incredibly dangerous and not something you should ever think about. Or joke about. Or do. Ever.”
“Alec and I want five sheets of high-powered blotter acid,” Ben replies.
Sam smacks, literally smacks, his palm against his face. His voice is muffled behind his hand. “Dean...the chimp and Christina Ricci? He friggin’ memorized the movie, you stupid ass.”
He. Singular. No, no, Alec has to get in on this. Ben’s being brave and all, but Alec’s gotta help him out. “Ben and I want a salt-shaker half-full of cocaine.”
“Alec...” Dean groans.
“Alec and I want a whole galaxy of uppers-”
“-downers-
“-screamers-”
“-laughers-”
“That’s enough-” Dean’s voice is just shy of stern, but Ben bravely trucks on:
“Don’t forget the quart of tequila.”
Alec’s on the verge of laughing. He manages to the get words out without his voice shaking, though. “Or the quart of rum, but I think we might have that...”
“Yeah, I think we do, too.” Ben nods. Then, thoughtfully, with his eyes in the direction of the motel door. “And I think we have at least half a case of Budweiser in the car.”
“But we’re gonna need a pint of raw ether,” Alec points out. “Raw ether is always important.”
“It’s essential,” Ben agrees before adding with a note of finality, “And two dozen amyls. Those are our demands.”
Sam and Dean are stricken. Stricken. Alec leans forward, past Dean, and reaches out a fist which Ben then bumps with his own, the little rebel. Alec is so proud he doesn’t know what to do with himself. The hunters are silent. They’re silent for a long time, so Alec settles his eyes back on the television screen where the orca is now leaping triumphantly over his child-sized driver.
Oh. That’s right. They wanted a whale.
“You aren’t funny,” Sam finally says from the chair. “Drugs are dangerous. Drugs are...drugs are wrong.”
“We’re not trying to be funny,” Alec tells him. “We really want these things. We want to reach an altered state of mind by using illegal drugs. I can see it now.” And here, Alec pulls out a splayed hand which he runs slowly through the air in imitation of starry-eyed youth hoping to see their name in lights. “Ben and Alec, functioning drug addicts. I think it sounds amazing.”
“Dean.”
“No more R-rated movies, Sammy. Scout’s honor.”
“Great.” Sam’s real terse right now. “That doesn’t help our present situation, though, does it?”
“They’re joking, Sam. It’s disturbing to hear them say it, sure, but they’re joking. Do I need to come over there and straighten your panties out for you?”
Sam huffs. Alec drops his head into the comforter and giggles. Everything is always funnier when Sam’s huffing.
“First of all, gross. Second of all, yeah sure. Now they’re joking. They think drugs are a joke. What if they always think drugs are a joke, Dean? What if we just let them grow up with lighthearted thoughts about extremely dangerous drugs and then one day they think, ‘Oh, hey. Drugs are funny. Lets do drugs!’”
Alec barks a laugh. Dean turns his head and glares down at him, jabs a finger into the most ticklish part of the boy’s side.
“Alec, stop laughing. Sammy’s having a serious moment.”
“But Sammy’s serious moments are hilarious,” Alec chokes, weakly attempting to fend off Dean’s persistent hand. They really are. Sammy’s never funnier than when he’s serious.
“Sam?” Ben. Ben’s using his timid, apologetic voice that always ends with their faces smothered in ice cream come nighttime. Dean’s hand stills, comes to rest on Alec’s hip. “We promise we’ll never do drugs...on one condition.”
Yeah, Ben’s got it. Ben knows exactly what to do.
Sam heaves the biggest sigh in the history of the goddamn universe. “What’s the condition?”
“You get us an orca.”
Silence. There’s so much silence happening today.
“You...want...an orca?” The words are slow tumbling out of Sam’s mouth but Ben nods and Alec half climbs over Dean’s back so Sam can see him nod, too.
“It’s a proven mode of transportation,” Alec chimes in, pointing to the screen of the television which really has no relevance at the moment. “That kid rode that motherfucking whale. It was inspiring, Sam.”
“Language.” Alec feels Dean rumble the word beneath him, hears and sees Sam’s lips form the same word. He ignores it. This is about far more important things than socially scorned words.
“Orca. You get us an orca. That’s the condition.” Alec is firm. He props himself up with his elbows along Dean’s spine, aims a steely gaze at his uncle. Brother. Mom. Sam is just so many things, Alec can’t even begin to place him on the spectrum of familial relations.
“Whales aren’t modes of transport, Alec.”
“I don’t care. Get us one.” Alec’s not budging. Or he’s trying not to budge. Dean’s suddenly an earthquake, shaking hard with silent laughter.
“Dean, this isn’t funny,” Alec tells him, dropping from his elbows so that his hands come down with a smack on his donor/brother/dad’s shoulders. Dean is just so many things, too. “This is serious business.”
“Sam-” Dean can’t get the words out. He’s trying so hard but he can’t get the words out. Alec waits patiently. Ben waits patiently. Sam rolls his eyes and sighs and jiggles his leg. It takes forever and a day, but Dean finally croaks, “I just remembered that Sammy wanted an orca, too.”
Alec raises an eyebrow, because hey now, that’s an interesting fact. He’ll gladly share his orca with Sam if Sam begs hard enough.
“I did not want an orca, Dean. Stop making shit up.”
“I’m not making shit up. You totally wanted an orca. You kept trying to find cases on the coast so Dad would take us to the ocean. You wanted a Willy.” Dean is a 9.5 on the Richter Scale. Alec curls his fingers into the man’s soft T-shirt for balance as the guy cracks the fuck up.
“We’ll share our orca with you, Sam,” Ben offers. “If you really want...”
“Nobody’s getting an orca!” Sam’s exploding. Sam is an explosion. Sam gets up from his chair and crosses his arms and glares at them. “This is a ridiculous conversation. No orca. That’s final.”
Crickets. There aren’t any, but if there were, they’d be the loudest thing in this room. Dean’s not even laughing anymore. Alec reaches his hand down, flicks Ben’s shoulder, and gives his twin a meaningful look. It’s time. He clears his throat. “Ben and I have decided that we’re gonna do drugs. Hard, mind-altering drugs.”
Sam bites his lip in irritation. Alec watches with fascination as the hunter’s right eye twitches. Sam’s trying to get himself together. They’ve got him wound up real tight, just like they like him. “I don’t want to hear another word about drugs.”
“Drugs!” Alec instantly chirps, because really, he can’t help himself. He’s got mad impulse control issues. Sam knows this. Everybody knows this.
One of Sam’s arms works itself loose to point at the now empty chair.
Alec blinks. “What?”
“Chair.”
Sam doesn’t have to put the word ‘naughty’ in front of it for the meaning to be clear.
“No.” No. The Rebellion’s not going to fail. The Rebellion can’t fail. Alec and Ben must stand strong against the evil forces of Sam and his naughty furniture.
Dean starts moving under him. Alec resists the urge to pin the man down, but it’s a moot point after a second when Dean rises and turns and Alec’s upper half slips from the broad back and lands on the mattress. And then Dean’s looming over him, one arm bolstering his body upwards so that he can look down at Alec.
“No more drug talk, kid.”
That’s just not fair. It’s even less fair when Dean gets up from the bed, just to haul Alec up, too. It’s a screaming injustice when Dean leads him over to the damn chair and sits him down and lectures him about respecting Sam, and then tells him he’s gonna have to sit there for five whole minutes.
“Alec?” Ben approaches him when its all said and done, looking miserable and apologetic and all sorts of terrible Ben-like things. “Alec, I think our rebellion failed.”
“No.” Alec refuses. The Rebellion’s still going strong, this is just a minor speed bump on an otherwise smooth road to complete control. “No, it hasn’t.”
“We’re not getting an orca, Alec.”
It’s a fact. They’re not getting an orca. Sam’s not getting an orca, either. And yeah, it’s a tragic thing to befall an otherwise strong resistance, but they’ve got to carry on. “We’ve gotta be strong, Ben.”
“For what?”
“For guns.”
Yes, guns. Guns are what they really want. Screw orcas and attorneys and mescaline, guns are where it’s at. Alec hops off the chair and informs Sam and Dean of this change in their demands.
“We’ll see,” Dean tells him from the edge of the motel bed, where he’s now cleaning his own gun, the taunting bastard.
Ben’s eyes are wide. Alec’s eyes are wide. No. No, this was the point of the Rebellion. Not orcas or drugs or guns. We’ll see. Those two hated words that are always on the tip of Sam or Dean’s tongue, words that are consistently spoken but never meaning what they’re supposed to mean. Sam and Dean aren’t seeing about anything. They’re just sitting there cleaning their own guns with absolutely no intention of procuring any for Alec and Ben.
“‘We’ll see’ isn’t a sufficient response,” Ben says, and Alec is surprised and proud. Ben’s really getting the hang of this defiance thing. “Alec and I don’t like ‘we’ll see’.”
Sam and Dean look surprised, too. They don’t expect this from Ben, either.
“You don’t like ‘we’ll see?’” Sam asks and Ben bites his bottom lip and looks at the carpet for a split second, before snapping his eyes back up and shaking his head. Ben’s strong. Ben’s a rebel. Ben is the Rebellion. Sam’s lips twitch. “You don’t want us to say it anymore?”
“No,” Ben says, and his eyes shift from Sam to Dean and back to Alec who nods encouragingly. “No, we don’t want you to say it anymore. You don’t seem to mean it when you say it. Say what you mean.”
Sam and Dean exchange a long and incredibly significant look. Alec knows this look. It’s that look they share when they’re reading each other’s minds. They do that, sometimes, Sam and Dean. They’re telepathic. Alec’s sure of it.
“We won’t say it anymore,” Dean agrees in an amiable tone. “Demand filled.” And he goes back to cleaning his gun. Sam does, too. They just sit there, cleaning their guns, as if Alec and Ben had never asked anything at all.
Ben looks at Alec. Alec looks at Ben. They clear their throats.
The two hunters look up with expressions of near saintly patience. Dean asks, “Something you wanted?”
“Guns,” Alec tells him. “We want guns.”
Dean doesn’t look at Sam. He doesn’t even take a moment to think about it. He just says, “No.”
Alec and Ben are stricken. Stricken. No? What does he mean no? There’s just been a whole lot of no today. No orca, no drug talk, no guns? And the fucking naughty chair to boot? No. No. This is fucked. The Rebellion can’t and won’t fail this hard. Alec won’t stand for it.
His eyes are blurry. He doesn’t know why his eyes are blurry, but he can see Dean looking at him very carefully, can feel Dean’s hand grip the front of his T-shirt and pull him forward, between Dean’s legs where he’s lifted just enough to be placed on the hunter’s thigh. The gun’s beside them, abandoned in its half-clean state and Alec eyes it with hazy disdain. Stupid gun.
Alec doesn’t know when he started breathing like this, when his breaths started to become these terrible, hitching things, but he can’t control them. And he’s crying, he’s crying so hard, he’s fucking sobbing and this is humiliating. Dean’s arms are heavy and solid around him, gripping him, pressing him in until they’re blended so firmly together that nobody would recognize them as two distinct people.
Dean’s saying things. Sam’s saying things. Ben’s asking them if Alec’s broken.
“It’s not so bad, kitten.” Dean’s voice is close and soft and Alec feels the man’s stubble rub against his own very soft cheek. “Kids don’t need guns, is all. Maybe when you’re older.”
“F-failed.”
Dean’s confused and asking “What failure?” because he didn’t quite catch it, but Alec can barely hear him, much less respond. Ben’s voice is distant and helpless as it explains.
“We filled your demand, Alec, remember?” Sam’s voice is low and soothing and kind. “We’re not saying it anymore. No more ‘We’ll see.’ Your operation was a success.”
It’s true. Somewhere inside of him, somewhere behind all these horrific tears, Alec’s aware that they did, indeed, succeed in what they set out to do.
But there’s no hope in no. And that’s all today was. A fuckload of no.
“Today was just a fuckload of no.” The words come out a half-wail shrouded in tears and snot and Dean’s arms get tighter and the guy starts rocking, for chrissakes. Rocking and shushing and...humming. Humming Zeppelin. Humming the slow parts of “What is and What Never Should Be” and Alec’s subsiding into the vibrating throat, is boneless and quiet against the man he came from.
Dean stops eventually, once Alec’s calm, once Alec’s head is still and peaceful on his shoulder and he asks, “What was all that about, kitten?”
Alec doesn’t know. Alec has no idea.
Ben says, “Alec has delicate nerves.”
That’s true. Alec doesn’t have a lot. He doesn’t have an orca, an attorney, a gun, or the freedom to make jokes about dangerous drugs, but he does have one thing: delicate nerves.
“It’s true.” He rubs at his eyes, which are tired and heavy and trying their best to close. Dean shifts, but doesn’t move him, just settles him into a more comfortable position. “M’have delicate nerves.”
“I’m not gonna blame your nerves, kid,” Dean murmurs. “M’blaming Free Willy. That shit’s always making cool little kids cry.”
“Did you just call me cool?” Sam’s voice is filled with wonder.
“No-”
“You did. You just called me cool.”
Dean keeps insisting that he didn’t. Sam keeps insisting that he did. Alec doesn’t care. Alec’s good. Alec’s calm. He freaked out for a while there, but now he’s as languid as a tranquilized horse. He hiccups. Dean takes it to mean more than it is and trails a warm hand up and down Alec’s back. Ben inches forward and puts a small hand on Sam’s big knee until the guy gets the hint, and still focused on berating Dean, lifts Ben up to sit on his lap. Alec blinks blearily as Ben smirks at him, sneaks a tiny thumb upwards. Alec returns the smirk and the thumb in a tired, lazy sort of way because he gets what his brother means.
There’s some win here.