Fic: The Wellspring (20/?) (Supernatural/Dark Angel)
Title: The Wellspring
Author: scourgeofeurope
Fandoms: Supernatural, Dark Angel
Rating: R (gen)
Summary: Sam and Dean find a tiny smartass in a barn. What are they to do?
Warnings: Language, child abuse, violence
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Additional author's notes and previous chapters can be found here.
____________________________________________________
“Are you ready?”
Donald Lydecker’s eyes are blue and they’re locked on Ben’s eyes and this contact should probably be cringe-inducing, what with the man’s grizzled hands on Ben’s knees, the way the colonel is kneeling in front of him in a display of pseudo-paternal support, but Ben doesn’t cringe because he doesn’t feel disgusted. Ben doesn’t feel anything at all.
He doesn’t even feel ready, but he says, “Yes, sir. I’m ready.”
“And do you know what task it is you’re ready for?”
“To hunt and eliminate the prisoners, sir.” Ben drones the answer, and Lydecker’s eyes flicker for half a second, but then the man nods.
“That’s correct, 493. Can you tell me who the prisoners are?”
Ben feels something now - something nudging in his chest, something collecting in his throat, something poking inside his head in ways that are extremely sad, but he closes his eyes and counts himself back into functioning before opening them again, and they’re cold and hard and green when they settle back on Lydecker’s blue, and Ben says, “The prisoners are Sam and Dean Winchester. They’re the men who aided a fellow soldier and myself after our traitorous act of escape.” Lydecker nods, but he’s still looking at Ben, still expecting more and Ben knows what he expects because conforming is never enough here, in this place, in this solitary cell, with this man. He adds, “I was a bad soldier who did a bad thing and I still have much to atone for.”
Something resembling a smile passes over Lydecker’s face and he pats one of Ben’s knees. Ben’s feeling stuff again. He’s feeling disgust and he wants to cringe and jerk away, but he fights it.
“It’s time,” the man tells him, and Ben’s stomach flutters at the words. “You enjoyed this last time. You came back with a look of exhilaration and fulfillment on your face. I expect to see that again today.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I have a present for you.”
Ben’s not interested, but he watches as Lydecker reaches behind his back, takes in the expression of pride and inexplicable fondness that crosses the man’s face as he sets the large, sheathed knife across Ben’s knees.
“Only you,” the man says as Ben fingers the black leather sheath. “Today, you’re not only being reinstated as a member of a unit, but I’m giving you a temporary promotion to commanding officer. Today, I expect you to end at least some of the suffering you have caused all of us. By using this.” Lydecker reaches forward and grasps Ben’s knees again, squeezes them with too-tight fingers. “I don’t think I have to say that things will be bad for you if you fail.”
Ben tries not to feel again. It’s better when he doesn’t feel. He tries to make sure his voice is quiet, but steady when he replies, “No, sir. You don’t have to tell me that.” Bad. Things will be bad for Ben because there’s no such place as a Good Place. There’s no such thing as a Bad Place, really, either. There’s just Place. This Place. This Place where things are always bad, but it’s not the Bad Place, it’s just what is, and Ben needs to believe only the things he can see, because the things he sees are the things that are real.
And right now he sees Lydecker. He sees the knife in his lap. He sees what has been carefully explained to him, the things he’s going to have to do.
“494 won’t be joining you.”
Ben won’t be seeing Alec. He bites his tongue to keep from asking why.
Lydecker continues, “You have done so much better than your cohort thus far, 493. Your progress in such a short span of time has been exceptional. I only hope to see you improve from here on out.”
“Yes, sir.” It’s what he’s supposed to say. Ben says what he’s supposed to say because this is here and here is now and it’s what his present situation requires. He’s plucking the knife from his lap and acquiescing to a military man’s orders for him to get up and follow.
Ben follows Lydecker as they collect the other X5’s, the tiny soldiers who line up, who stand straight, who shout “yes, sir!” back when its explained that Ben is to be regarded as the leader in this operation, that Ben is the one who has the knife (which is to be used) and the power to end the hunt. They shout the words. They “yes, sir!” but their eyes are falling on Ben and screaming “traitor.” Ben doesn’t care too much. He doesn’t need them. He’s already lost everything he needed.
They follow Lydecker outside to the field in front of the woods and it’s all very familiar, this scene. It was maybe a year ago the last time Ben was here, maybe a little less, but it’s not the ‘nomlie who’s standing in front of them this time, but Sam and Dean.
They’re wearing standard government issue sweats, grey like Ben’s, like the others’. Their eyes are quick to lock on him, but Ben doesn’t look them in the eyes. Ben can’t look them in the eyes, can’t see that cold disappointment and lack of want, not again. He can’t. If he sees it, that means its there.
One of them starts to say something, but there are guards with guns, two older guards, and whichever one it was - Ben thinks it might have been Sam but he doesn’t want to think about it too much - gets butted in the ribs for his trouble. Prisoners don’t get to talk.
They get a gun and a knife. Ben hears Lydecker hand them the weapons, hears the speech, “If you make it to the perimeter, you’re free men.”
And then he hears Dean snort in a most bitter kind of amusement. “Dude, you’re not going to let us go even if we do manage to escape the little rugrats.” Then he hears the grunt of pain as Dean, too, gets butted in the ribs with the blunt end of a rifle.
Lydecker repeats himself like someone repeating the rules of a fun and harmless game. If you make it to the perimeter, you’re free men. This time Dean keeps his mouth shut. Dean is silent, but Ben can feel him, can feel his eyes boring into and burning Ben’s skin. It’s unbearable, he just wants them to go. He just wants Sam and Dean to go, to be sent off, and then they are.
And this is real. Ben can’t believe how real this is.
“They have a five minute head start,” Lydecker announces. “In five minutes, this will be your hunt.”
Ben closes his eyes and counts.
______________________________________________
It’s been seven days. It’s been seven days and today’s the day and Alec knows this because he got a visit earlier, a visit from Lydecker, who was unhappy and speaking in his “You’ve-disappointed-me-greatly-494” voice and Alec fucking hates that fuck so much he could break every bone in his body, smash the bastard’s eyeballs in with the pads of Alec’s tiny thumbs. No joke. Right here, right now, with this rage? Alec would do these things. And then he’d laugh.
And then he’d get the fuck out of here and go. He’d get Sam and Dean, who would totally still be…who are, who are totally still alive and kicking, and he’d get Ben who would still be whole, who would still be Alec’s brother, and they’d go, the four of them, they’d get the fuck out of here and run for god knows how long, but they’d run until they were away, until all this was gone.
They’re out there. Alec’s pretty sure they’re out there already. The hunt’s already started. And Alec would throw himself at the door right now, would claw at the walls, but he’s chained to this cot. Lydecker came in to announce his disappointment and then he shackled Alec’s wrists and ankles and chained him to this cot, told him if he had to eliminate, to hold it.
Control, 494. You need to learn control.
Alec doesn’t need to learn control. Alec does what he does because it’s how he survives. He steals and he swears and he rebels and he stays alive. Except right now he’s not surviving at all. Right now he’s here, and his Sam and his Dean and maybe his Ben are out there being ripped to shreds by tiny, desensitized killing machines. So Alec’s being ripped to shreds, too, with every passing second, and he’s been trying for a while now, maybe fifteen minutes, to gnaw at the cuffs with his teeth, but it’s not giving fast enough.
He feels like he’s getting somewhere just when the cell door starts to creak open and Alec flinches and jumps up only to teeter back down onto the cot because he’ll fall face flat if he tries to get any farther. It’s a guard, a fresh-faced guard who’s looking really nervous and he’s slow and quiet about entering and he closes the door, but not completely.
“The fuck do you want?”
The guard puts his finger up to his mouth to silence Alec, and this isn’t a very comforting gesture. Alec’s stomach drops because he’s chained and there’s a man he doesn’t know trying to silence him and Sam gave him a really awkward talk once, one of the talks about wandering off, about people who might tell him to be quiet when he really shouldn’t because strangers are danger. Alec, had of course, snorted, because very few people actually pose a threat to someone of an X5’s genetic makeup, but now he can’t move and even if he screams, nobody will help him.
The guard’s holding up a tiny key, though, and he’s moving towards Alec like he would a very dangerous animal, with slow steps and caution. Guy’s got the right idea. Alec is totally a dangerous animal, and even when the guard does him this inexplicable favor of kneeling down and undoing the shackles around his ankles, and then around his wrists, Alec lashes out and knocks him to the ground, kicks him in the ribs once for extra measure, and heads for the slightly-open door.
“Wait.” The pained rasp is urgent enough to cause Alec to stop and look back. The guy on the floor’s reaching for his holster and pulling out his gun, but he doesn’t point it at Alec. He flips it around, holds it by the barrel, offers it.
Alec is perplexed. This doesn’t compute. At all.
“Please…please, take it.”
Alec doesn’t trust this. He doesn’t trust this at all, but it’s a gun and he could use a gun. He walks towards the fallen guard in the same manner that the guy walked towards him only moments ago, snatches the gun out of the willing hand and narrows his eyes. He’s half-tempted to aim it at the guy’s head, but he doesn’t. He asks, “Why are you doing this?”
“I…you should go. They already started. You should go.”
The guy’s not explaining. It could be a trap. Or another lesson, another mindfuck. Alec doesn’t need another mindfuck. He steps on the guy’s hand just lightly enough so that it doesn’t crush under his weight, repeats, “Why are you doing this?”
The guard’s eyes tear in pain, his face tenses. His face is young. Alec noticed it before, but he notices it even more now with the tears and the mouth twisting in a way that Alec’s mouth has twisted before, that Ben’s mouth has twisted before, that even Sam’s mouth has twisted when something painful hits hard, like a bad memory. It’s been only months and Alec knows the word that comes with a mouth that twists this way. Dean.
Only this guy doesn’t have a Dean. Only Alec and Ben and Sam have a Dean so he must have something else, and Alec vaguely recalls something mildly demeaning he heard on television once. Cry for mommy.
“Why?” Alec repeats, and this time his voice is a little less severe, and he lets his foot up.
The guy looks up at Alec with great effort and his eyes are filled with water and they’re red where they should be white. He says, “You’re all so small.”
And Alec still doesn’t understand. He still doesn’t know about this guy or why he’s doing this, but he does know that that’s probably one of the closest things to humanity he’s heard out of a member of Manticore staff.
“You need to get out of here,” Alec tells him. “Unless you can lie really, really well, you need to get up and get out of here. They’ll kill you, you understand? I’d help you, but I can’t…I have to-“
“I know.”
He sounds like he knows and Alec nods and leans down for a moment, runs a tiny hand over the guard’s hair, because that’s what Dean and Sam do when Alec and Ben have their moments of terror and pain. “Thank you,” he says quietly.
And then he’s out of there, evading surveillance cameras as he goes, but he’s out of there like a good soldier should be: with a mission and a gun in his hand.
____________________________________________
“Five minutes,” Dean grumbles. “Five minutes, are you kidding me?”
They ran for two of those five minutes and now they’re covering their tracks, trying to create a diversion, trying to get those kids to run somewhere where there are no Winchesters to find.
“Ben wouldn’t look at us,” Sam mumbles.
“Shut up,” Dean tells him. Dean doesn’t need to think about that right now. Dean doesn’t need to think about how Ben wouldn’t look at him because it doesn’t mean anything. Ben’s still Dean’s, whether the kid looks at him or not. Whether the kid likes it or not.
At least Sam’s not pointing out that other thing right now, that thing in which Alec wasn’t there. Alec’s still inside somewhere, and they’re going to have to go back in and get him and any plan Dean might have had is now bunk anyway, even if he had no plan to begin with. Fuck this place. Fuck this place so hard.
“Dean.” They have one minute left. Dean can hear that one minute in his brother’s voice, the panic of the seconds ticking away. “Dean, man, they’re not gonna fall for this.”
They’re not. Alec and Ben wouldn’t. These kids won’t, either. Dean’s well aware of this fact.
“Shoot the gun,” he says. Sam’s got the gun. Dean’s got the knife.
Sam stares at him like he’s insane. Dean gets that. Dean is kind of insane sometimes. “Dean, you want to draw them right to us?”
“Yes. Shoot the fuckin’ gun, Sammy.”
“We’re giving up?”
“We’re not giving up. We’re doin’ what we can.”
They are, they’re doing what they can, which is to give up with the hope of lucking out. The gun will draw the kids right to them, and the kids will attack. The kids will tear them to shreds.
“They’ll tear us to shreds,” Sam says. “They’ll tear us to shreds and we won’t fight back.”
They won’t. It’s fact that Sam and Dean won’t fight back because these kids…these kids are Alec and Ben. Every single last one of them with the same destroyed childhood and Dean won’t lay a hand on them. He won’t, not even in his own defense.
“I know.”
“Dean, if we’re dead, we can’t get them out of here. We can’t get Alec and Ben out of here if we’re dead. We can’t give up.”
The minute’s up and they’ll be coming soon anyway, and Sam and Dean will be helpless. At least bringing them here will give the Winchesters some semblance of control. “Ben’s hunting with the pack and Alec’s inside. We’re not taking one and leaving the other. We draw Ben to us and we…I don’t fucking know. We’re not giving up, though. We’re doing what we can. Now shoot the motherfucking gun.”
Sam shoots a bullet into the sky.
It’s not long, maybe a minute, before they hear the crunching of dead leaves, hear the small feet bringing the small troops closer and closer. The crunching turns into a rustle as they approach, and the kids don’t show themselves, not immediately. They’re lions, they’re crouching, they’re getting ready to pounce.
Dean spots a girl, tiny and silent, almost hidden behind the trunk of a large tree, and she’s signaling to someone on their other side. So they’re surrounded. The little bastards circled and surrounded them, like vultures.
Dean calls. “C’mon out, you little whippersnappers.”
“Whippersnappers?” Sam hisses. “Seriously, Dean?”
Dean would tell his brother to shut up, but they’re coming out now, so many of them are coming out now that he’s not even going to try to count them, and their eyes are cold and they don’t look at all amused or like they’re going to be amused even if Dean tries really hard.
“Alright, dudes, I think we should just talk this through, don’t you?” They’re not agreeing, and they’re stony-faced and predatory. Dean raises his eyebrows and holds up a pair of surrendering hands, tries again. “We could, uh...hug it out?”
They don’t want to hug it out. They keep edging forward and Dean scans the faces, the shorn heads, until he spots his boy. His Benny, who’s finally looking at him with a face like all these other little faces, tense with anticipation, but Dean thinks maybe he can see something there, something softening in the boy’s cheeks or his eyes right before the hunting knife is snatched out of Dean’s back pocket.
“Aw, c’mon-”
He twists around to see which one did it, but this is a mistake. His feet are kicked out from under him and he hits the ground, turns his head in just enough time to see Sam hit, too, and then they’re on top of them, piles of children with hands that might as well be claws and this is it and he’s failed and he should have known that the word “luck” would never really be in the Winchester vocabulary.
“Stop!” The voice is so clear and firm and demanding of respect that Dean almost doesn’t recognize it. Benny. Benny’s barking orders like any good Winchester should. John’s voice is in there somewhere. Dean’s voice, too. “Back up!”
The kids back up. Dean and Sam kick up leaves as they scramble to their feet and Ben’s glaring at the other kids until they do the right thing and get behind him.
Something’s swelling inside of Dean, something indescribably amazing. It feels like sunlight swooping into his blood and rushing straight to every nerve. It’s about to come flooding out of his pores, he just knows it and he really just wants it to stay in there, wants it solidified inside of him - and his boy, Dean’s boy, is standing there, looking between Dean and Sam, unaware of this feeling Dean’s experiencing, this feeling of utter and explicit need to reach out and grab what’s his.
“Benny.” Dean sounds like a man in need of water asking for water. He takes a step forward and then goes still.
Ben’s holding out a really fucking big knife with the sharp end aimed at Dean, and his eyes are hard and cold.
“Ben?” Sam sounds like he did when he was ten, when Dad would come home with a bad temper and booze on his breath and nothing to show for two weeks apart but an order for his children to get their asses into bed. “Benny, please…”
“No,” Ben replies.
Dean shouldn’t be surprised anymore. He swallows his shock, licks his lips. “No what, Ben?”
“Just…no.”
The knife is being held steady and it’s being held right, and Dean knows he can’t get it away from the kid without having his ass kicked and then stabbed. “Benny, kiddo-“
“Saying my name doesn’t make this any less real.”
It doesn’t. The kid’s right. Nothing makes this any less real. For any of them. Dean says, “I can see that.”
There’s a flicker of something that’s neither cold nor hard in the kid’s eyes, and Ben opens his mouth to respond but then there’s the crunching of dead leaves again and all the little soldiers noticeably straighten, their eyes snapping to every possible point of entrance. They tense like they’re getting ready to spring, and the footsteps don’t slow, they don’t rustle, they just keep crunching away until they come into sight.
Alec. Oh, God, it’s Alec.
Alec’s here and he’s not in there and if Dean just takes a few steps he can touch him. Alec’s holding a gun, skidding to a stop, taking in the sight of Ben holding that knife of which Dean is still on the receiving end. His little brain is working fast, Dean can see it. He’s been seeing it for months, this kid with his quick thinking and sharp wit.
Alec turns on one heel to face the others. “You guys are supposed to go back to base. Ben and I are supposed to take care of the prisoners.” Dean hears tiny snorts, mumblings from the other kids and Alec heaves a tremendous sigh and waves the gun around. “Hello? Do you see that I’ve been issued a firearm? Higher-ups, guys. This is serious business. Get your asses back to base before you get in trouble.”
They shuffle a little bit where they stand, but the words “in trouble” really seem to resonate with these kids. Dean watches in amazement as one boy finally seems to break under the thought of this impending doom, watches as he’s brave enough to be the first to leave, watches as the others follow. Dean wants to tell them to stop, wants to get them the fuck out of here, too, but he can’t do that. Alec and Ben and Sam are his priorities and he can’t do that.
Alec waits until they’re gone, waits until they’re more than likely out of hearing distance and then he launches himself at Dean. There’s still a knife in Ben’s hand but Dean crouches down, welcomes the spindly but strong arms around his neck and the legs around his waist. Dean’s arms are tight around the kid, but Alec’s arms are tighter, and Dean can feel the dead weight of the gun against his spine, absently gripped in Alec’s hand, but he doesn’t notice it all too much. He buries his face into the kid’s neck and breathes in the odors of days in solitary, that musty smell of confinement grouped with the underlying scent of little boy.
They don’t say anything and the embrace probably lasts too long given their current situation, but Dean doesn’t give a fuck and Alec obviously doesn’t give a fuck, either.
“We have to go,” the kid murmurs, his own face nuzzled into the crook of Dean’s neck. “We don’t have any time.” Dean doesn’t want to put him down. Dean hasn’t felt this warm in a week.
Alec lets go first and hurls himself at Sam, who catches the boy in expert arms, like he’s prepared himself for this moment for days. Dean turns back to his little knife-wielder, hears Alec’s little voice mumbling behind him, repeating that they have to go and go now. Ben’s face is a picture of confusion, but that knife is still steady in his hand.
“Benny, it’s over.”
“It’s never over.”
It isn’t, Dean knows it isn’t. It’s not over until they get themselves the fuck out of here, if they get themselves out of here, and even then…there’s not time, though, for thoughts like these. Dean says, “Put down the knife and come here.”
“No.”
Dean’s getting really sick of this ‘no’ bullshit. They don’t have the time, and if the kid does this for much longer, Dean’s going to have to risk getting stabbed. And he should probably be more soothing, should probably be speaking in that gentle, lilting tone he’s always taking with Ben, but he’s not. The question’s practically an admonishment coming out of his mouth, rough and terse. “Why? Tell me why you’re saying no.”
Ben flinches at the tone, but Dean sees the hardness and confusion melt away at the question. Sadness. Dean only sees sadness in those green eyes. Deep and heavy and aching. “You don’t want me.”
Dean lets loose an incredulous snort, ignores the knife, steps towards the boy. “Fuck that noise, kid. ‘Course I want you. You’re more awesome than rock music and classic cars.”
Ben takes a step back. “You said you didn’t.”
Dean’s eyebrows jump upwards. He never said that. He would never say that, not in his entire life, not even if someone offered him a trillion dollars and his own private monster-less island. But the kid had to hear it somewhere. Dean knows the kid had to hear it somewhere because Benny’s been doing real well recently, with the not making shit up and believing it and…oh. Oh, shit.
They’re seeing things that aren’t there.
“I never said that. You tell me when I said that and I’ll take the knife outta your hand and freakin’ stick myself with it.”
“It wasn’t them, Ben,” Alec says, and Dean turns just enough to see that the kid’s back on the ground now, though he’s still clinging to Sam’s side. Sam’s looking ashen-faced, but alert, his eyes skirting around the trees. “I thought it was, too, sometimes, but it wasn’t. They wouldn’t…you can’t really believe they would.”
“We wouldn’t,” Dean agrees, bringing his full attention back to Ben. “I haven’t seen you in seven days, kid. Nothing between us has changed in seven days. I still want you. I’ll always want you.”
The boy’s caving. Dean sees it, sees the eyes tear a little, and the tiny lip tremble. What comes out of Ben’s mouth next isn’t so much defiance as an explanation. “I saw you. You said to believe the things you see.”
“I know, baby. I should have added that government mindfucks don’t make the cut.”
The words hit home, Dean can tell. Ben’s gonna drop the knife and run into his arms and then Dean’ll have both his boys back and he can be whole again. He steps forward and Ben doesn’t step back and fuck it, he’s just going to swoop the kid up himself, but then Ben’s arm extends back and then flings forward and the knife leaves the kid’s grip, flies blade-first through the air.
A scream. Dean whirls around and there’s a man screaming, a man who has the handle of the knife sticking out of his arm, a man whose gun is falling to the ground. Sam and Alec have guns pointed at him, wide eyes looking between the guy and Ben, and Dean’s absently murmuring, “That’s my boy.”
Ben’s reaching forward and grabbing Dean’s hand because time’s run out, and they really do have to go now.
Next
Author: scourgeofeurope
Fandoms: Supernatural, Dark Angel
Rating: R (gen)
Summary: Sam and Dean find a tiny smartass in a barn. What are they to do?
Warnings: Language, child abuse, violence
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Additional author's notes and previous chapters can be found here.
____________________________________________________
“Are you ready?”
Donald Lydecker’s eyes are blue and they’re locked on Ben’s eyes and this contact should probably be cringe-inducing, what with the man’s grizzled hands on Ben’s knees, the way the colonel is kneeling in front of him in a display of pseudo-paternal support, but Ben doesn’t cringe because he doesn’t feel disgusted. Ben doesn’t feel anything at all.
He doesn’t even feel ready, but he says, “Yes, sir. I’m ready.”
“And do you know what task it is you’re ready for?”
“To hunt and eliminate the prisoners, sir.” Ben drones the answer, and Lydecker’s eyes flicker for half a second, but then the man nods.
“That’s correct, 493. Can you tell me who the prisoners are?”
Ben feels something now - something nudging in his chest, something collecting in his throat, something poking inside his head in ways that are extremely sad, but he closes his eyes and counts himself back into functioning before opening them again, and they’re cold and hard and green when they settle back on Lydecker’s blue, and Ben says, “The prisoners are Sam and Dean Winchester. They’re the men who aided a fellow soldier and myself after our traitorous act of escape.” Lydecker nods, but he’s still looking at Ben, still expecting more and Ben knows what he expects because conforming is never enough here, in this place, in this solitary cell, with this man. He adds, “I was a bad soldier who did a bad thing and I still have much to atone for.”
Something resembling a smile passes over Lydecker’s face and he pats one of Ben’s knees. Ben’s feeling stuff again. He’s feeling disgust and he wants to cringe and jerk away, but he fights it.
“It’s time,” the man tells him, and Ben’s stomach flutters at the words. “You enjoyed this last time. You came back with a look of exhilaration and fulfillment on your face. I expect to see that again today.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I have a present for you.”
Ben’s not interested, but he watches as Lydecker reaches behind his back, takes in the expression of pride and inexplicable fondness that crosses the man’s face as he sets the large, sheathed knife across Ben’s knees.
“Only you,” the man says as Ben fingers the black leather sheath. “Today, you’re not only being reinstated as a member of a unit, but I’m giving you a temporary promotion to commanding officer. Today, I expect you to end at least some of the suffering you have caused all of us. By using this.” Lydecker reaches forward and grasps Ben’s knees again, squeezes them with too-tight fingers. “I don’t think I have to say that things will be bad for you if you fail.”
Ben tries not to feel again. It’s better when he doesn’t feel. He tries to make sure his voice is quiet, but steady when he replies, “No, sir. You don’t have to tell me that.” Bad. Things will be bad for Ben because there’s no such place as a Good Place. There’s no such thing as a Bad Place, really, either. There’s just Place. This Place. This Place where things are always bad, but it’s not the Bad Place, it’s just what is, and Ben needs to believe only the things he can see, because the things he sees are the things that are real.
And right now he sees Lydecker. He sees the knife in his lap. He sees what has been carefully explained to him, the things he’s going to have to do.
“494 won’t be joining you.”
Ben won’t be seeing Alec. He bites his tongue to keep from asking why.
Lydecker continues, “You have done so much better than your cohort thus far, 493. Your progress in such a short span of time has been exceptional. I only hope to see you improve from here on out.”
“Yes, sir.” It’s what he’s supposed to say. Ben says what he’s supposed to say because this is here and here is now and it’s what his present situation requires. He’s plucking the knife from his lap and acquiescing to a military man’s orders for him to get up and follow.
Ben follows Lydecker as they collect the other X5’s, the tiny soldiers who line up, who stand straight, who shout “yes, sir!” back when its explained that Ben is to be regarded as the leader in this operation, that Ben is the one who has the knife (which is to be used) and the power to end the hunt. They shout the words. They “yes, sir!” but their eyes are falling on Ben and screaming “traitor.” Ben doesn’t care too much. He doesn’t need them. He’s already lost everything he needed.
They follow Lydecker outside to the field in front of the woods and it’s all very familiar, this scene. It was maybe a year ago the last time Ben was here, maybe a little less, but it’s not the ‘nomlie who’s standing in front of them this time, but Sam and Dean.
They’re wearing standard government issue sweats, grey like Ben’s, like the others’. Their eyes are quick to lock on him, but Ben doesn’t look them in the eyes. Ben can’t look them in the eyes, can’t see that cold disappointment and lack of want, not again. He can’t. If he sees it, that means its there.
One of them starts to say something, but there are guards with guns, two older guards, and whichever one it was - Ben thinks it might have been Sam but he doesn’t want to think about it too much - gets butted in the ribs for his trouble. Prisoners don’t get to talk.
They get a gun and a knife. Ben hears Lydecker hand them the weapons, hears the speech, “If you make it to the perimeter, you’re free men.”
And then he hears Dean snort in a most bitter kind of amusement. “Dude, you’re not going to let us go even if we do manage to escape the little rugrats.” Then he hears the grunt of pain as Dean, too, gets butted in the ribs with the blunt end of a rifle.
Lydecker repeats himself like someone repeating the rules of a fun and harmless game. If you make it to the perimeter, you’re free men. This time Dean keeps his mouth shut. Dean is silent, but Ben can feel him, can feel his eyes boring into and burning Ben’s skin. It’s unbearable, he just wants them to go. He just wants Sam and Dean to go, to be sent off, and then they are.
And this is real. Ben can’t believe how real this is.
“They have a five minute head start,” Lydecker announces. “In five minutes, this will be your hunt.”
Ben closes his eyes and counts.
______________________________________________
It’s been seven days. It’s been seven days and today’s the day and Alec knows this because he got a visit earlier, a visit from Lydecker, who was unhappy and speaking in his “You’ve-disappointed-me-greatly-494” voice and Alec fucking hates that fuck so much he could break every bone in his body, smash the bastard’s eyeballs in with the pads of Alec’s tiny thumbs. No joke. Right here, right now, with this rage? Alec would do these things. And then he’d laugh.
And then he’d get the fuck out of here and go. He’d get Sam and Dean, who would totally still be…who are, who are totally still alive and kicking, and he’d get Ben who would still be whole, who would still be Alec’s brother, and they’d go, the four of them, they’d get the fuck out of here and run for god knows how long, but they’d run until they were away, until all this was gone.
They’re out there. Alec’s pretty sure they’re out there already. The hunt’s already started. And Alec would throw himself at the door right now, would claw at the walls, but he’s chained to this cot. Lydecker came in to announce his disappointment and then he shackled Alec’s wrists and ankles and chained him to this cot, told him if he had to eliminate, to hold it.
Control, 494. You need to learn control.
Alec doesn’t need to learn control. Alec does what he does because it’s how he survives. He steals and he swears and he rebels and he stays alive. Except right now he’s not surviving at all. Right now he’s here, and his Sam and his Dean and maybe his Ben are out there being ripped to shreds by tiny, desensitized killing machines. So Alec’s being ripped to shreds, too, with every passing second, and he’s been trying for a while now, maybe fifteen minutes, to gnaw at the cuffs with his teeth, but it’s not giving fast enough.
He feels like he’s getting somewhere just when the cell door starts to creak open and Alec flinches and jumps up only to teeter back down onto the cot because he’ll fall face flat if he tries to get any farther. It’s a guard, a fresh-faced guard who’s looking really nervous and he’s slow and quiet about entering and he closes the door, but not completely.
“The fuck do you want?”
The guard puts his finger up to his mouth to silence Alec, and this isn’t a very comforting gesture. Alec’s stomach drops because he’s chained and there’s a man he doesn’t know trying to silence him and Sam gave him a really awkward talk once, one of the talks about wandering off, about people who might tell him to be quiet when he really shouldn’t because strangers are danger. Alec, had of course, snorted, because very few people actually pose a threat to someone of an X5’s genetic makeup, but now he can’t move and even if he screams, nobody will help him.
The guard’s holding up a tiny key, though, and he’s moving towards Alec like he would a very dangerous animal, with slow steps and caution. Guy’s got the right idea. Alec is totally a dangerous animal, and even when the guard does him this inexplicable favor of kneeling down and undoing the shackles around his ankles, and then around his wrists, Alec lashes out and knocks him to the ground, kicks him in the ribs once for extra measure, and heads for the slightly-open door.
“Wait.” The pained rasp is urgent enough to cause Alec to stop and look back. The guy on the floor’s reaching for his holster and pulling out his gun, but he doesn’t point it at Alec. He flips it around, holds it by the barrel, offers it.
Alec is perplexed. This doesn’t compute. At all.
“Please…please, take it.”
Alec doesn’t trust this. He doesn’t trust this at all, but it’s a gun and he could use a gun. He walks towards the fallen guard in the same manner that the guy walked towards him only moments ago, snatches the gun out of the willing hand and narrows his eyes. He’s half-tempted to aim it at the guy’s head, but he doesn’t. He asks, “Why are you doing this?”
“I…you should go. They already started. You should go.”
The guy’s not explaining. It could be a trap. Or another lesson, another mindfuck. Alec doesn’t need another mindfuck. He steps on the guy’s hand just lightly enough so that it doesn’t crush under his weight, repeats, “Why are you doing this?”
The guard’s eyes tear in pain, his face tenses. His face is young. Alec noticed it before, but he notices it even more now with the tears and the mouth twisting in a way that Alec’s mouth has twisted before, that Ben’s mouth has twisted before, that even Sam’s mouth has twisted when something painful hits hard, like a bad memory. It’s been only months and Alec knows the word that comes with a mouth that twists this way. Dean.
Only this guy doesn’t have a Dean. Only Alec and Ben and Sam have a Dean so he must have something else, and Alec vaguely recalls something mildly demeaning he heard on television once. Cry for mommy.
“Why?” Alec repeats, and this time his voice is a little less severe, and he lets his foot up.
The guy looks up at Alec with great effort and his eyes are filled with water and they’re red where they should be white. He says, “You’re all so small.”
And Alec still doesn’t understand. He still doesn’t know about this guy or why he’s doing this, but he does know that that’s probably one of the closest things to humanity he’s heard out of a member of Manticore staff.
“You need to get out of here,” Alec tells him. “Unless you can lie really, really well, you need to get up and get out of here. They’ll kill you, you understand? I’d help you, but I can’t…I have to-“
“I know.”
He sounds like he knows and Alec nods and leans down for a moment, runs a tiny hand over the guard’s hair, because that’s what Dean and Sam do when Alec and Ben have their moments of terror and pain. “Thank you,” he says quietly.
And then he’s out of there, evading surveillance cameras as he goes, but he’s out of there like a good soldier should be: with a mission and a gun in his hand.
____________________________________________
“Five minutes,” Dean grumbles. “Five minutes, are you kidding me?”
They ran for two of those five minutes and now they’re covering their tracks, trying to create a diversion, trying to get those kids to run somewhere where there are no Winchesters to find.
“Ben wouldn’t look at us,” Sam mumbles.
“Shut up,” Dean tells him. Dean doesn’t need to think about that right now. Dean doesn’t need to think about how Ben wouldn’t look at him because it doesn’t mean anything. Ben’s still Dean’s, whether the kid looks at him or not. Whether the kid likes it or not.
At least Sam’s not pointing out that other thing right now, that thing in which Alec wasn’t there. Alec’s still inside somewhere, and they’re going to have to go back in and get him and any plan Dean might have had is now bunk anyway, even if he had no plan to begin with. Fuck this place. Fuck this place so hard.
“Dean.” They have one minute left. Dean can hear that one minute in his brother’s voice, the panic of the seconds ticking away. “Dean, man, they’re not gonna fall for this.”
They’re not. Alec and Ben wouldn’t. These kids won’t, either. Dean’s well aware of this fact.
“Shoot the gun,” he says. Sam’s got the gun. Dean’s got the knife.
Sam stares at him like he’s insane. Dean gets that. Dean is kind of insane sometimes. “Dean, you want to draw them right to us?”
“Yes. Shoot the fuckin’ gun, Sammy.”
“We’re giving up?”
“We’re not giving up. We’re doin’ what we can.”
They are, they’re doing what they can, which is to give up with the hope of lucking out. The gun will draw the kids right to them, and the kids will attack. The kids will tear them to shreds.
“They’ll tear us to shreds,” Sam says. “They’ll tear us to shreds and we won’t fight back.”
They won’t. It’s fact that Sam and Dean won’t fight back because these kids…these kids are Alec and Ben. Every single last one of them with the same destroyed childhood and Dean won’t lay a hand on them. He won’t, not even in his own defense.
“I know.”
“Dean, if we’re dead, we can’t get them out of here. We can’t get Alec and Ben out of here if we’re dead. We can’t give up.”
The minute’s up and they’ll be coming soon anyway, and Sam and Dean will be helpless. At least bringing them here will give the Winchesters some semblance of control. “Ben’s hunting with the pack and Alec’s inside. We’re not taking one and leaving the other. We draw Ben to us and we…I don’t fucking know. We’re not giving up, though. We’re doing what we can. Now shoot the motherfucking gun.”
Sam shoots a bullet into the sky.
It’s not long, maybe a minute, before they hear the crunching of dead leaves, hear the small feet bringing the small troops closer and closer. The crunching turns into a rustle as they approach, and the kids don’t show themselves, not immediately. They’re lions, they’re crouching, they’re getting ready to pounce.
Dean spots a girl, tiny and silent, almost hidden behind the trunk of a large tree, and she’s signaling to someone on their other side. So they’re surrounded. The little bastards circled and surrounded them, like vultures.
Dean calls. “C’mon out, you little whippersnappers.”
“Whippersnappers?” Sam hisses. “Seriously, Dean?”
Dean would tell his brother to shut up, but they’re coming out now, so many of them are coming out now that he’s not even going to try to count them, and their eyes are cold and they don’t look at all amused or like they’re going to be amused even if Dean tries really hard.
“Alright, dudes, I think we should just talk this through, don’t you?” They’re not agreeing, and they’re stony-faced and predatory. Dean raises his eyebrows and holds up a pair of surrendering hands, tries again. “We could, uh...hug it out?”
They don’t want to hug it out. They keep edging forward and Dean scans the faces, the shorn heads, until he spots his boy. His Benny, who’s finally looking at him with a face like all these other little faces, tense with anticipation, but Dean thinks maybe he can see something there, something softening in the boy’s cheeks or his eyes right before the hunting knife is snatched out of Dean’s back pocket.
“Aw, c’mon-”
He twists around to see which one did it, but this is a mistake. His feet are kicked out from under him and he hits the ground, turns his head in just enough time to see Sam hit, too, and then they’re on top of them, piles of children with hands that might as well be claws and this is it and he’s failed and he should have known that the word “luck” would never really be in the Winchester vocabulary.
“Stop!” The voice is so clear and firm and demanding of respect that Dean almost doesn’t recognize it. Benny. Benny’s barking orders like any good Winchester should. John’s voice is in there somewhere. Dean’s voice, too. “Back up!”
The kids back up. Dean and Sam kick up leaves as they scramble to their feet and Ben’s glaring at the other kids until they do the right thing and get behind him.
Something’s swelling inside of Dean, something indescribably amazing. It feels like sunlight swooping into his blood and rushing straight to every nerve. It’s about to come flooding out of his pores, he just knows it and he really just wants it to stay in there, wants it solidified inside of him - and his boy, Dean’s boy, is standing there, looking between Dean and Sam, unaware of this feeling Dean’s experiencing, this feeling of utter and explicit need to reach out and grab what’s his.
“Benny.” Dean sounds like a man in need of water asking for water. He takes a step forward and then goes still.
Ben’s holding out a really fucking big knife with the sharp end aimed at Dean, and his eyes are hard and cold.
“Ben?” Sam sounds like he did when he was ten, when Dad would come home with a bad temper and booze on his breath and nothing to show for two weeks apart but an order for his children to get their asses into bed. “Benny, please…”
“No,” Ben replies.
Dean shouldn’t be surprised anymore. He swallows his shock, licks his lips. “No what, Ben?”
“Just…no.”
The knife is being held steady and it’s being held right, and Dean knows he can’t get it away from the kid without having his ass kicked and then stabbed. “Benny, kiddo-“
“Saying my name doesn’t make this any less real.”
It doesn’t. The kid’s right. Nothing makes this any less real. For any of them. Dean says, “I can see that.”
There’s a flicker of something that’s neither cold nor hard in the kid’s eyes, and Ben opens his mouth to respond but then there’s the crunching of dead leaves again and all the little soldiers noticeably straighten, their eyes snapping to every possible point of entrance. They tense like they’re getting ready to spring, and the footsteps don’t slow, they don’t rustle, they just keep crunching away until they come into sight.
Alec. Oh, God, it’s Alec.
Alec’s here and he’s not in there and if Dean just takes a few steps he can touch him. Alec’s holding a gun, skidding to a stop, taking in the sight of Ben holding that knife of which Dean is still on the receiving end. His little brain is working fast, Dean can see it. He’s been seeing it for months, this kid with his quick thinking and sharp wit.
Alec turns on one heel to face the others. “You guys are supposed to go back to base. Ben and I are supposed to take care of the prisoners.” Dean hears tiny snorts, mumblings from the other kids and Alec heaves a tremendous sigh and waves the gun around. “Hello? Do you see that I’ve been issued a firearm? Higher-ups, guys. This is serious business. Get your asses back to base before you get in trouble.”
They shuffle a little bit where they stand, but the words “in trouble” really seem to resonate with these kids. Dean watches in amazement as one boy finally seems to break under the thought of this impending doom, watches as he’s brave enough to be the first to leave, watches as the others follow. Dean wants to tell them to stop, wants to get them the fuck out of here, too, but he can’t do that. Alec and Ben and Sam are his priorities and he can’t do that.
Alec waits until they’re gone, waits until they’re more than likely out of hearing distance and then he launches himself at Dean. There’s still a knife in Ben’s hand but Dean crouches down, welcomes the spindly but strong arms around his neck and the legs around his waist. Dean’s arms are tight around the kid, but Alec’s arms are tighter, and Dean can feel the dead weight of the gun against his spine, absently gripped in Alec’s hand, but he doesn’t notice it all too much. He buries his face into the kid’s neck and breathes in the odors of days in solitary, that musty smell of confinement grouped with the underlying scent of little boy.
They don’t say anything and the embrace probably lasts too long given their current situation, but Dean doesn’t give a fuck and Alec obviously doesn’t give a fuck, either.
“We have to go,” the kid murmurs, his own face nuzzled into the crook of Dean’s neck. “We don’t have any time.” Dean doesn’t want to put him down. Dean hasn’t felt this warm in a week.
Alec lets go first and hurls himself at Sam, who catches the boy in expert arms, like he’s prepared himself for this moment for days. Dean turns back to his little knife-wielder, hears Alec’s little voice mumbling behind him, repeating that they have to go and go now. Ben’s face is a picture of confusion, but that knife is still steady in his hand.
“Benny, it’s over.”
“It’s never over.”
It isn’t, Dean knows it isn’t. It’s not over until they get themselves the fuck out of here, if they get themselves out of here, and even then…there’s not time, though, for thoughts like these. Dean says, “Put down the knife and come here.”
“No.”
Dean’s getting really sick of this ‘no’ bullshit. They don’t have the time, and if the kid does this for much longer, Dean’s going to have to risk getting stabbed. And he should probably be more soothing, should probably be speaking in that gentle, lilting tone he’s always taking with Ben, but he’s not. The question’s practically an admonishment coming out of his mouth, rough and terse. “Why? Tell me why you’re saying no.”
Ben flinches at the tone, but Dean sees the hardness and confusion melt away at the question. Sadness. Dean only sees sadness in those green eyes. Deep and heavy and aching. “You don’t want me.”
Dean lets loose an incredulous snort, ignores the knife, steps towards the boy. “Fuck that noise, kid. ‘Course I want you. You’re more awesome than rock music and classic cars.”
Ben takes a step back. “You said you didn’t.”
Dean’s eyebrows jump upwards. He never said that. He would never say that, not in his entire life, not even if someone offered him a trillion dollars and his own private monster-less island. But the kid had to hear it somewhere. Dean knows the kid had to hear it somewhere because Benny’s been doing real well recently, with the not making shit up and believing it and…oh. Oh, shit.
They’re seeing things that aren’t there.
“I never said that. You tell me when I said that and I’ll take the knife outta your hand and freakin’ stick myself with it.”
“It wasn’t them, Ben,” Alec says, and Dean turns just enough to see that the kid’s back on the ground now, though he’s still clinging to Sam’s side. Sam’s looking ashen-faced, but alert, his eyes skirting around the trees. “I thought it was, too, sometimes, but it wasn’t. They wouldn’t…you can’t really believe they would.”
“We wouldn’t,” Dean agrees, bringing his full attention back to Ben. “I haven’t seen you in seven days, kid. Nothing between us has changed in seven days. I still want you. I’ll always want you.”
The boy’s caving. Dean sees it, sees the eyes tear a little, and the tiny lip tremble. What comes out of Ben’s mouth next isn’t so much defiance as an explanation. “I saw you. You said to believe the things you see.”
“I know, baby. I should have added that government mindfucks don’t make the cut.”
The words hit home, Dean can tell. Ben’s gonna drop the knife and run into his arms and then Dean’ll have both his boys back and he can be whole again. He steps forward and Ben doesn’t step back and fuck it, he’s just going to swoop the kid up himself, but then Ben’s arm extends back and then flings forward and the knife leaves the kid’s grip, flies blade-first through the air.
A scream. Dean whirls around and there’s a man screaming, a man who has the handle of the knife sticking out of his arm, a man whose gun is falling to the ground. Sam and Alec have guns pointed at him, wide eyes looking between the guy and Ben, and Dean’s absently murmuring, “That’s my boy.”
Ben’s reaching forward and grabbing Dean’s hand because time’s run out, and they really do have to go now.
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