SPN/DA Fic: The Wellspring (21/?)
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.
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Sam doesn’t remember the last time he ran like this. Winchesters aren’t usually ones for fleeing, but now Sam’s feet are pounding hard against the grass and he’s going as fast as he can, as fast as Dean can, and the boys are just a few feet ahead, restraining themselves, going slow so as not to lose them.
He doesn’t know why - it’s not the time or place - but Sam remembers his dad as he brushes sweaty tresses away from his face with a quick hand, as he feels his heart pounding in his chest, as his feet hit the earth over and over and over again, never stopping. He remembers the countless training sessions he tried to avoid, the hollering of orders to keep going, to not stop, because while fathers give their sons reprieves, life doesn’t. He remembers the time he ran so fast and so hard that he had to stop and hurl, remembers how he choked and cried and how he hated doing that in front of John, who was still kind of a dick about it, but rubbed Sam’s back with a hand that was both gruff and soothing, anyway. Sam remembers the way he jerked away from that hand, how he spat out the last bit of bile and snapped that he wasn’t going to run anymore. No way.
M’never running again. I’ll just kill the goddamn fucking thing instead.
Of course, this declaration was met with a hard look and a “Watch your fucking mouth, Samuel,” but then Sam heaved again, and John softened up a bit. His hand returned to Sam’s back and he murmured reassuring nonsense until the dry heaves stopped, at which point he helped Sam to his feet, got him some water, and explained that sometimes you can’t just “kill the goddamn fucking thing.” Sometimes the “goddamn fucking thing” is too big to be killed. Sometimes-
Sometimes you just gotta run, kiddo.
This is one of those times. So Sam’s running. And Dean’s running. Alec and Ben are running. Shots start ringing out from behind them and Dean picks up his speed, reaches out two arms and snatches the boys by the back of their sweatshirts, pulls them behind a large tree. Sam follows, stands to one side of the trunk while Dean stands to the other, sandwiching the small boys between their bodies and the bark. A bullet hits a tree not ten feet in front of them and Sam reaches back with the gun in his hand and shoots blindly in retaliation.
He hears Dean’s rough voice demanding, “Alec, gun.”
“But-“
“Kitten, no time. Hand it over.”
“Fine.”
It’s absurd, but the kid sounds like he’s pouting and Sam actually has to resist the urge to chuckle at the sullen tone. They’re still royally fucked. Three more bullets hit that same tree, blow the bark right off, and they could be shot any minute now from any given angle, but Alec…Alec sounds like someone just took away his ice cream. Sam shoots again, eases up in just enough time to hear the muttered, “I expect it back, though.”
Dean snorts and cocks the gun, mutters back the much-hated “We’ll see” before shooting until he hits. The pained cry is loud enough for them to hear, despite their ears ringing from the recent discharge of firearms, and some dead leaves that had managed to keep their place throughout the earlier weeks of fall drop and float to the ground.
And then they’re running again. Sam’s still not sure why. All sense is telling him that once they get there, once they get to the fence, there will be no way in hell of getting over it. There’ll be more bodies with more guns waiting for them there. Maybe the kids, too, looking pale in the sun, eyes hard and cold and not-to-be-deterred from their present assignment. Dean shaded it over with wisecracks, as usual, but Sam was chilled by the sight of them, the way they were quiet and serious and ready to kill. And they were alive. They weren’t ghosts. Sam gets ghosts, even the little ones, and these kids are just like them, left in this place to be molded into something essentially inhuman, something lacking in empathy and mercy, something that wouldn’t give two shits about gutting you and leaving the grass dripping red and you cold and still on the ground.
“We’re almost there,” Ben says. “Almost.”
They’re almost there and the fence is coming into view, and so is the military jeep and the ten to twelve men with guns. The kids are spread out, along the fence, and Sam’s not entirely sure, but he’s got the feeling their glares are aimed at Alec and Alec alone. There’s a guard on his knees, the younger guard Sam recognizes from trips to and from the cell, and his head is bent to the earth, and Lydecker is behind him, holding a gun to the back of the guy’s skull. Sam’s heart rate picks up as he and his brother and the kids they’ve claimed as their own come to a halt. Everything is still shit.
And Alec’s suddenly saying “no” over and over again, is dashing forward, so it’s a good thing Sam’s got exceptional reflexes for a guy who’s genetically inferior, because he’s fast enough to grab the kid and drag him back, and it’s a struggle, it’s a goddamn struggle, but he holds the kid tight and fast, doesn’t let go because it’s too big to kill, this monster in front of them, and the one thing you’re not supposed to do when you can’t kill it is run towards it.
“Alec, stop-“
“No, no, no, nonono-“
Sam holds him tight and cringes when the shot echoes through the air, when the kneeling guard falls face-first and limp into the grass. Alec’s spew of negations turn into quiet, desperate sobs as Dean starts swearing up a storm, hollering out threats that can’t possibly be realized given their situation, as Ben bolts over to his brother and doesn’t say anything, just picks up the small wrist in his own small hand and holds it. The sobs stop as quickly as they started, leaving Alec with hitched breathing, dark eyes, and a hand that’s reaching for Sam’s gun.
“Alec-“
The kid’s faster than him this time, though. Alec’s so fast, he’s an indefinable blur of motion yanking the gun away from Sam and starting forward. Dean’s telling the kid no. Dean’s telling him to get his ass back here but Alec’s gone temporarily deaf. Alec’s cocking the gun and stalking forward. The small soldiers tense and leer, edge to the center and accumulate, transform themselves into a solid, but uneven grey wall. They’re of varying heights. Some of them haven’t grown as quickly as the others - some of them are still so small, like Alec and Ben.
The armed men are raising their guns and aiming them at Alec. Dean sees this, Ben sees this, Sam sees this and Dean’s rushing into the fray, following his clone, his kid into the fray and those guns are now pointed at Dean as well as Alec, and they’re going to go off any second from now, they’re going to shoot them dead, shoot Dean and Alec dead right in front of Sam and Ben. They’ll be on the ground and their blood will be on the ground and they won’t be moving because they’ll be dead. They’ll be gone. Sam won’t have them anymore.
Panic. It rushes through Sam’s arms and legs and he’s so huge and there’s so much of it, it’s filling him up, he’s surprised it’s not bloating him out because there’s so much of it and his heart is racing and his eyes are tearing and he can’t even swallow and he feels his heart in his throat and he’d bolt forward, but Ben’s hand is gripping some of his fingers, Ben’s trembling little hand, and he’s so damaged, this kid, so fucked-up because this place fucks people up like nobody’s business and it’s all panic and anger and panic and consummate rage and holy shit. Holy fucking shit.
The jeep rises up and crashes into the fence like it’s been lifted by a pair of giant invisible arms and thrown. Men are flung from it, go down with it, and the children scatter, some of them even squeak in surprise and fear. Lydecker dodges to the side when a body flies his way and Dean snatches Alec up only to tumble to the ground, to cover the kid with his body because apparently it’s not over yet. Guns are flying out of hands and hitting the ground and discharging and Sam grabs Ben and follows Dean’s example until it goes quiet and then he gets up, pulls Ben to his feet, and they run to their brothers who are doing the same.
Alec tries to bolt again, but Dean’s reflexes are good, too, and he hauls the boy back, presses him firmly into his torso. The gun is still gripped tight in the tiny hand and Sam steps forward, holding his own hand out. He says, “Give me the gun, Alec.”
Alec’s not looking at Sam. Alec’s looking at the inert body in the grass. Blood is pooling from and around the head and they’re so close to it, so close that Sam’s kind of afraid the blood will make its way to the little boy feet, touch them and make this thing even more real than it already is. He wants to cover Alec’s eyes, wants to cover Ben’s eyes, but instead he reaches forward and threads the gun out of his child’s fingers. He holds the weapon at his side with one hand, gently takes Alec’s chin in the other, guides the face so they’re making eye contact. He doesn’t know what happened, but he knows Dean’s looks like he knows the back of his own hand. “Nothing about this is your fault.”
Dean holds the boy tighter and Sam sees his brother’s strong arms twitch and tremble. The kid needs this, he does, he needs the reassurance, but they have to go. They have to go now. The little soldiers are standing off to the side with wary eyes; they’re not going to attack anytime soon. Some men are crushed and broken on the ground, but others are getting to their feet, and they’re looking at Sam like Sam looks at clowns. Of course, this doesn’t mean one of them won’t spontaneously regenerate some testicles in the next thirty seconds, so it’s kind of imperative that they start running again. Now.
Alec turns his head to look at the body again and Sam swivels it back around, hates himself a little when he sees the look in the kid’s eyes. “Alec?”
The boy’s lips part and he sucks in a breath, says somewhat convincingly, “M’fine, Sam. M’alright.”
Kid’s not alright. Kid’s not alright at all. Sam will try to fix it, though. He will. He and Dean will try to fix it. They just need to get out of here first.
There’s a guy reaching for his gun, but he stops dead when Sam looks at him. They all stop dead when Sam looks at them. A few of them even run away. Dean snorts, squeezes Alec to himself one last time before pushing him towards Sam. He reaches out to Ben and does the same, says, “Take them and start running. I’ll be right behind you.”
He’s got to be kidding. He’s got to be fucking kidding, but Sam grabs both Ben and Alec before they can fling themselves in protest at his idiot brother. “Dean, what-“
“Go. Now.” Dean doesn’t wait for a response, just starts sprinting in Lydecker’s direction and Sam grabs the arms of two unwilling boys, pulls them forward.
“He’ll be right behind us,” Sam tells them. They’re uncertain and unwilling, but they run with him anyway because they believe him. They trust him. It’s like when Sam said the apartment was clean, declared it spirit-free, and they relaxed. There could have still been a ghost, but they relaxed anyway because Sam said it. There’s something terrifying about that.
Nobody attempts to stop them. They’re still pants-pissing scared of Sam and there’s something terrifying about that, too, because Sam likes the feeling of power it gives him. He tries not to think about that. He tries to only think about the little boys by his sides and his brother somewhere behind him, doing something undeniably and incomprehensibly stupid.
The jeep brought down a portion of the fence and they climb over the jeep in order to get out. It’s easier this way.
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Dean shoots the fucker in the hand upon approaching him and Lydecker’s gun falls to the ground. He shoots the other hand, too, the one holding the walkie-talkie and the bastard cries out and Dean smirks a bitter smirk before reaching him, leaning down, hauling him up by the fabric of his shirt, and placing the barrel of the gun in the small of his back.
He grins cheerfully, rumbles into the guy’s ear. “I got awesome aim, don’t I? M’dad taught me how to shoot a gun when I was just seven years old. I was pretty awesome then, too.” There’s mad amounts of blood pouring from Lydecker’s hands but Dean doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that the bastard probably won’t be able to use them again, doesn’t care at all, and he drags the fucker over to the jeep, over to the dent in the fence. The disarmed men are white-faced and backing away from him, probably scared that he’s a freak like…no. Yes. Yes, Sam’s a freak and Dean’s a freak, and these guys are totally worried that Dean’s a freak like Sam’s a freak. Dean’s a freak in a completely different way, but just this once he’s kind of grateful that his little brother might have something truly scary inside of him.
He pushes Lydecker up to the fence, calls back to the children who aren’t standing straight at all, but are fidgeting nervously about twenty yards away. “Kids? If you want to come, come now.”
He waits for a few seconds. A few seconds is as long as he has. There are rumbles coming from behind him, coming from the direction of the facility, rumbles of multiple military vehicles headed right for him. He has to go now. He mutters, “Stupid friggin’ walkie-talkie.”
There aren’t any takers. Some of them glare, some of them don’t, but nobody wants to come with him. On some kind of sad level, he gets that. Home is the place you know.
He pushes Lydecker over the fence and the man trips and falls onto his bleeding hands, emits small, repressed noises of pain. Dean hauls him up again, drags him, runs and Lydecker runs with him to a point, but only to a point and Dean can’t drag him any farther so he just shoves him against a tree, shoves the gun under his chin and says, “Tell me how you know about my brother.”
Lydecker’s eyes flutter. He pants, “I’m losing too much blood. I’m going to pass out.”
Dean shoves him harder, knees him in the ribs. He moves the gun, presses it into Lydecker’s throat. “Dude, I will blow your fucking head off and I’ll do it in the next five seconds. I’m not even kidding. Tell me.”
The words come out in a rasp, “We know because of you, Dean. You were pretty and strong and quite bright and you fell into our laps. We researched you.”
“No amount of research would have uncovered that. Elaborate.”
“Someone from the top came in with the information. Someone who strongly backed our hard work and efforts. He wanted this army to be as strong and amazing as it could possibly be. He congratulated us on acquiring your DNA and then he told us all about how your brother was special.”
“What was his name?”
“He didn’t have one.”
Lydecker chokes. Dean doesn’t blame him. The pressure of the gun against his throat must be unbearable at this point. “What. Was. His. Name.” He takes some of the pressure off. Lydecker coughs.
“I don’t know. He didn’t offer it…he was an off-putting man, if you must know.” Lydecker hesitates, trembles. Then he says, “He had odd eyes.”
Dean’s throat goes dry. So very dry. “Odd as in, like...yellow?”
“Yes.” Dean pulls away. Lydecker tumbles to the ground, hacking and gasping for air, croaking, “You know him.”
Dean collects himself. Then he smiles. “I killed him. I killed that sonuvabitch two years ago.” He crouches down, gently places the gun under Lydecker’s chin and guides his face to meet Dean’s. “I killed him. I killed him like I should kill you for what you do to those kids…for what you did to my boys.”
“They’re not yours.”
Dean pulls the gun back. Then he slams it across the fucker’s face.
Lydecker falls to his side, but he’s still conscious and Dean informs him, “They’re pretty and strong and bright like me. They’re mine. If you come after them again, I’m gonna kill you. And then I’ll kill everyone who ever touched them in a way that I deem wrong and then I’ll burn this motherfucking place to the ground. I promise you that. I promise you won’t catch me off guard again.”
Dean gets to his feet. The rumble of the vehicles is getting closer, is almost on top of him, and he looks down at the bleeding half-conscious man at his feet before kicking him in the ribs for good measure. And then he runs.
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Ben sees Dean first, sees him coming through the brush with blood-soaked sweats and a stony face that erupts in a smile the moment the man catches sight of them. Ben wonders if he killed someone, but finds he doesn’t really care, because Dean’s here and he’s not dead, and hopefully that’s not his blood.
“Is that your blood?” Alec demands to know, but only after he’s in Dean’s arms, has his face buried in the hunter’s neck.
Dean smirks. “Nah, kitten. S’not my blood.”
Ben’s more hesitant, trotting forward, hand taking hold of a tiny portion of the sweatshirt that’s still dry. He asks, “Did you kill someone?”
Dean loses his balance slightly as he shifts Alec to one arm and crouches to pull Ben into his other. “I don’t think so, Benny. Wanted to, though.”
“I don’t mind either way,” Ben says honestly, and he feels Dean’s stubbled cheek against his face.
“You’re an idiot.” Sam somehow manages to sound incredibly angry and somewhat amused at the same time. “A big, freaking idiot.” And then, as if that’s not enough, Sam adds, “And a jerk. You’re also a jerk.”
“You’re a bitch,” Dean retorts. “A little bitch with a brain on steroids. Seriously, dude, that was freaking ridiculous.”
Sam threw that jeep into the fence somehow. Ben’s aware of this though he’s not sure how it’s possible and he hasn’t asked because Sam’s scared of it. Ben knows Sam’s scared of it. He saw the look on Sam’s face after it happened, felt the panicked breathing beating down on his skin when Sam covered him as the guns shot off by themselves.
Sam’s gone quiet. Dean puts Alec down and says they have to keep moving. So they keep moving.
They’re miles away, by the side of the road, when Alec throws up. Ben doesn’t know why his brother throws up, but he does, and he cries a little so Ben holds his hand and squeezes while Sam rubs Alec’s back and Dean strokes the prickly head.
“S’like a hedgehog,” Dean says lightly.
“M’want my hair back,” Alec replies, tears still evident from the exertion.
They have to keep moving. Dean plucks Alec up first, but Alec reaches for Sam, who looks surprised and then kind of happy as he takes the kid into his tired arms. Dean looks down at Ben and asks him if he wants a ride and Ben kind of does, but Dean’s tired and Ben doesn’t want to be a problem so he shakes his head no. Dean shrugs his eyebrows and curls his big hand around Ben’s tiny one. They keep moving.
It’s dark by the time they reach the bar. Alec’s eyes light up at the partially blacked-out neon sign, but he accepts that this isn’t the time or place to run in and enjoy the atmosphere. He tells Sam and Dean and Ben this in tones that indicate he believes he’s doing something incredibly selfless here and then he smiles. It’s a nice smile. Sam puts him down and shields Dean from sight as Dean hot-wires an old, but sturdy-looking car and Ben edges over until his arm is grazing Alec’s arm. He feels warmer this way.
The engine starts and Sam herds them into the back which smells like cigarettes and bodily fluids, and he shuts the door behind them before running and launching himself into the passenger seat. Dean’s already reversing out by the time Sam manages to shut his own door.
Ben and Alec huddle together in the center of the backseat. Sam reaches back a hand and pats them both on the knee. Dean tries to, too, even though his hand is blind what with his eyes being on the road and all.
Ben leans against his brother and concentrates on the motion of the car. He feels Alec’s hand grip his wrist, and his arm shakes because Alec’s trembling. They’re moving fast. They’re getting away. Ben only wishes they could leave it behind.
[ 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.
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Sam doesn’t remember the last time he ran like this. Winchesters aren’t usually ones for fleeing, but now Sam’s feet are pounding hard against the grass and he’s going as fast as he can, as fast as Dean can, and the boys are just a few feet ahead, restraining themselves, going slow so as not to lose them.
He doesn’t know why - it’s not the time or place - but Sam remembers his dad as he brushes sweaty tresses away from his face with a quick hand, as he feels his heart pounding in his chest, as his feet hit the earth over and over and over again, never stopping. He remembers the countless training sessions he tried to avoid, the hollering of orders to keep going, to not stop, because while fathers give their sons reprieves, life doesn’t. He remembers the time he ran so fast and so hard that he had to stop and hurl, remembers how he choked and cried and how he hated doing that in front of John, who was still kind of a dick about it, but rubbed Sam’s back with a hand that was both gruff and soothing, anyway. Sam remembers the way he jerked away from that hand, how he spat out the last bit of bile and snapped that he wasn’t going to run anymore. No way.
M’never running again. I’ll just kill the goddamn fucking thing instead.
Of course, this declaration was met with a hard look and a “Watch your fucking mouth, Samuel,” but then Sam heaved again, and John softened up a bit. His hand returned to Sam’s back and he murmured reassuring nonsense until the dry heaves stopped, at which point he helped Sam to his feet, got him some water, and explained that sometimes you can’t just “kill the goddamn fucking thing.” Sometimes the “goddamn fucking thing” is too big to be killed. Sometimes-
Sometimes you just gotta run, kiddo.
This is one of those times. So Sam’s running. And Dean’s running. Alec and Ben are running. Shots start ringing out from behind them and Dean picks up his speed, reaches out two arms and snatches the boys by the back of their sweatshirts, pulls them behind a large tree. Sam follows, stands to one side of the trunk while Dean stands to the other, sandwiching the small boys between their bodies and the bark. A bullet hits a tree not ten feet in front of them and Sam reaches back with the gun in his hand and shoots blindly in retaliation.
He hears Dean’s rough voice demanding, “Alec, gun.”
“But-“
“Kitten, no time. Hand it over.”
“Fine.”
It’s absurd, but the kid sounds like he’s pouting and Sam actually has to resist the urge to chuckle at the sullen tone. They’re still royally fucked. Three more bullets hit that same tree, blow the bark right off, and they could be shot any minute now from any given angle, but Alec…Alec sounds like someone just took away his ice cream. Sam shoots again, eases up in just enough time to hear the muttered, “I expect it back, though.”
Dean snorts and cocks the gun, mutters back the much-hated “We’ll see” before shooting until he hits. The pained cry is loud enough for them to hear, despite their ears ringing from the recent discharge of firearms, and some dead leaves that had managed to keep their place throughout the earlier weeks of fall drop and float to the ground.
And then they’re running again. Sam’s still not sure why. All sense is telling him that once they get there, once they get to the fence, there will be no way in hell of getting over it. There’ll be more bodies with more guns waiting for them there. Maybe the kids, too, looking pale in the sun, eyes hard and cold and not-to-be-deterred from their present assignment. Dean shaded it over with wisecracks, as usual, but Sam was chilled by the sight of them, the way they were quiet and serious and ready to kill. And they were alive. They weren’t ghosts. Sam gets ghosts, even the little ones, and these kids are just like them, left in this place to be molded into something essentially inhuman, something lacking in empathy and mercy, something that wouldn’t give two shits about gutting you and leaving the grass dripping red and you cold and still on the ground.
“We’re almost there,” Ben says. “Almost.”
They’re almost there and the fence is coming into view, and so is the military jeep and the ten to twelve men with guns. The kids are spread out, along the fence, and Sam’s not entirely sure, but he’s got the feeling their glares are aimed at Alec and Alec alone. There’s a guard on his knees, the younger guard Sam recognizes from trips to and from the cell, and his head is bent to the earth, and Lydecker is behind him, holding a gun to the back of the guy’s skull. Sam’s heart rate picks up as he and his brother and the kids they’ve claimed as their own come to a halt. Everything is still shit.
And Alec’s suddenly saying “no” over and over again, is dashing forward, so it’s a good thing Sam’s got exceptional reflexes for a guy who’s genetically inferior, because he’s fast enough to grab the kid and drag him back, and it’s a struggle, it’s a goddamn struggle, but he holds the kid tight and fast, doesn’t let go because it’s too big to kill, this monster in front of them, and the one thing you’re not supposed to do when you can’t kill it is run towards it.
“Alec, stop-“
“No, no, no, nonono-“
Sam holds him tight and cringes when the shot echoes through the air, when the kneeling guard falls face-first and limp into the grass. Alec’s spew of negations turn into quiet, desperate sobs as Dean starts swearing up a storm, hollering out threats that can’t possibly be realized given their situation, as Ben bolts over to his brother and doesn’t say anything, just picks up the small wrist in his own small hand and holds it. The sobs stop as quickly as they started, leaving Alec with hitched breathing, dark eyes, and a hand that’s reaching for Sam’s gun.
“Alec-“
The kid’s faster than him this time, though. Alec’s so fast, he’s an indefinable blur of motion yanking the gun away from Sam and starting forward. Dean’s telling the kid no. Dean’s telling him to get his ass back here but Alec’s gone temporarily deaf. Alec’s cocking the gun and stalking forward. The small soldiers tense and leer, edge to the center and accumulate, transform themselves into a solid, but uneven grey wall. They’re of varying heights. Some of them haven’t grown as quickly as the others - some of them are still so small, like Alec and Ben.
The armed men are raising their guns and aiming them at Alec. Dean sees this, Ben sees this, Sam sees this and Dean’s rushing into the fray, following his clone, his kid into the fray and those guns are now pointed at Dean as well as Alec, and they’re going to go off any second from now, they’re going to shoot them dead, shoot Dean and Alec dead right in front of Sam and Ben. They’ll be on the ground and their blood will be on the ground and they won’t be moving because they’ll be dead. They’ll be gone. Sam won’t have them anymore.
Panic. It rushes through Sam’s arms and legs and he’s so huge and there’s so much of it, it’s filling him up, he’s surprised it’s not bloating him out because there’s so much of it and his heart is racing and his eyes are tearing and he can’t even swallow and he feels his heart in his throat and he’d bolt forward, but Ben’s hand is gripping some of his fingers, Ben’s trembling little hand, and he’s so damaged, this kid, so fucked-up because this place fucks people up like nobody’s business and it’s all panic and anger and panic and consummate rage and holy shit. Holy fucking shit.
The jeep rises up and crashes into the fence like it’s been lifted by a pair of giant invisible arms and thrown. Men are flung from it, go down with it, and the children scatter, some of them even squeak in surprise and fear. Lydecker dodges to the side when a body flies his way and Dean snatches Alec up only to tumble to the ground, to cover the kid with his body because apparently it’s not over yet. Guns are flying out of hands and hitting the ground and discharging and Sam grabs Ben and follows Dean’s example until it goes quiet and then he gets up, pulls Ben to his feet, and they run to their brothers who are doing the same.
Alec tries to bolt again, but Dean’s reflexes are good, too, and he hauls the boy back, presses him firmly into his torso. The gun is still gripped tight in the tiny hand and Sam steps forward, holding his own hand out. He says, “Give me the gun, Alec.”
Alec’s not looking at Sam. Alec’s looking at the inert body in the grass. Blood is pooling from and around the head and they’re so close to it, so close that Sam’s kind of afraid the blood will make its way to the little boy feet, touch them and make this thing even more real than it already is. He wants to cover Alec’s eyes, wants to cover Ben’s eyes, but instead he reaches forward and threads the gun out of his child’s fingers. He holds the weapon at his side with one hand, gently takes Alec’s chin in the other, guides the face so they’re making eye contact. He doesn’t know what happened, but he knows Dean’s looks like he knows the back of his own hand. “Nothing about this is your fault.”
Dean holds the boy tighter and Sam sees his brother’s strong arms twitch and tremble. The kid needs this, he does, he needs the reassurance, but they have to go. They have to go now. The little soldiers are standing off to the side with wary eyes; they’re not going to attack anytime soon. Some men are crushed and broken on the ground, but others are getting to their feet, and they’re looking at Sam like Sam looks at clowns. Of course, this doesn’t mean one of them won’t spontaneously regenerate some testicles in the next thirty seconds, so it’s kind of imperative that they start running again. Now.
Alec turns his head to look at the body again and Sam swivels it back around, hates himself a little when he sees the look in the kid’s eyes. “Alec?”
The boy’s lips part and he sucks in a breath, says somewhat convincingly, “M’fine, Sam. M’alright.”
Kid’s not alright. Kid’s not alright at all. Sam will try to fix it, though. He will. He and Dean will try to fix it. They just need to get out of here first.
There’s a guy reaching for his gun, but he stops dead when Sam looks at him. They all stop dead when Sam looks at them. A few of them even run away. Dean snorts, squeezes Alec to himself one last time before pushing him towards Sam. He reaches out to Ben and does the same, says, “Take them and start running. I’ll be right behind you.”
He’s got to be kidding. He’s got to be fucking kidding, but Sam grabs both Ben and Alec before they can fling themselves in protest at his idiot brother. “Dean, what-“
“Go. Now.” Dean doesn’t wait for a response, just starts sprinting in Lydecker’s direction and Sam grabs the arms of two unwilling boys, pulls them forward.
“He’ll be right behind us,” Sam tells them. They’re uncertain and unwilling, but they run with him anyway because they believe him. They trust him. It’s like when Sam said the apartment was clean, declared it spirit-free, and they relaxed. There could have still been a ghost, but they relaxed anyway because Sam said it. There’s something terrifying about that.
Nobody attempts to stop them. They’re still pants-pissing scared of Sam and there’s something terrifying about that, too, because Sam likes the feeling of power it gives him. He tries not to think about that. He tries to only think about the little boys by his sides and his brother somewhere behind him, doing something undeniably and incomprehensibly stupid.
The jeep brought down a portion of the fence and they climb over the jeep in order to get out. It’s easier this way.
_____________________________________________________
Dean shoots the fucker in the hand upon approaching him and Lydecker’s gun falls to the ground. He shoots the other hand, too, the one holding the walkie-talkie and the bastard cries out and Dean smirks a bitter smirk before reaching him, leaning down, hauling him up by the fabric of his shirt, and placing the barrel of the gun in the small of his back.
He grins cheerfully, rumbles into the guy’s ear. “I got awesome aim, don’t I? M’dad taught me how to shoot a gun when I was just seven years old. I was pretty awesome then, too.” There’s mad amounts of blood pouring from Lydecker’s hands but Dean doesn’t care. He doesn’t care that the bastard probably won’t be able to use them again, doesn’t care at all, and he drags the fucker over to the jeep, over to the dent in the fence. The disarmed men are white-faced and backing away from him, probably scared that he’s a freak like…no. Yes. Yes, Sam’s a freak and Dean’s a freak, and these guys are totally worried that Dean’s a freak like Sam’s a freak. Dean’s a freak in a completely different way, but just this once he’s kind of grateful that his little brother might have something truly scary inside of him.
He pushes Lydecker up to the fence, calls back to the children who aren’t standing straight at all, but are fidgeting nervously about twenty yards away. “Kids? If you want to come, come now.”
He waits for a few seconds. A few seconds is as long as he has. There are rumbles coming from behind him, coming from the direction of the facility, rumbles of multiple military vehicles headed right for him. He has to go now. He mutters, “Stupid friggin’ walkie-talkie.”
There aren’t any takers. Some of them glare, some of them don’t, but nobody wants to come with him. On some kind of sad level, he gets that. Home is the place you know.
He pushes Lydecker over the fence and the man trips and falls onto his bleeding hands, emits small, repressed noises of pain. Dean hauls him up again, drags him, runs and Lydecker runs with him to a point, but only to a point and Dean can’t drag him any farther so he just shoves him against a tree, shoves the gun under his chin and says, “Tell me how you know about my brother.”
Lydecker’s eyes flutter. He pants, “I’m losing too much blood. I’m going to pass out.”
Dean shoves him harder, knees him in the ribs. He moves the gun, presses it into Lydecker’s throat. “Dude, I will blow your fucking head off and I’ll do it in the next five seconds. I’m not even kidding. Tell me.”
The words come out in a rasp, “We know because of you, Dean. You were pretty and strong and quite bright and you fell into our laps. We researched you.”
“No amount of research would have uncovered that. Elaborate.”
“Someone from the top came in with the information. Someone who strongly backed our hard work and efforts. He wanted this army to be as strong and amazing as it could possibly be. He congratulated us on acquiring your DNA and then he told us all about how your brother was special.”
“What was his name?”
“He didn’t have one.”
Lydecker chokes. Dean doesn’t blame him. The pressure of the gun against his throat must be unbearable at this point. “What. Was. His. Name.” He takes some of the pressure off. Lydecker coughs.
“I don’t know. He didn’t offer it…he was an off-putting man, if you must know.” Lydecker hesitates, trembles. Then he says, “He had odd eyes.”
Dean’s throat goes dry. So very dry. “Odd as in, like...yellow?”
“Yes.” Dean pulls away. Lydecker tumbles to the ground, hacking and gasping for air, croaking, “You know him.”
Dean collects himself. Then he smiles. “I killed him. I killed that sonuvabitch two years ago.” He crouches down, gently places the gun under Lydecker’s chin and guides his face to meet Dean’s. “I killed him. I killed him like I should kill you for what you do to those kids…for what you did to my boys.”
“They’re not yours.”
Dean pulls the gun back. Then he slams it across the fucker’s face.
Lydecker falls to his side, but he’s still conscious and Dean informs him, “They’re pretty and strong and bright like me. They’re mine. If you come after them again, I’m gonna kill you. And then I’ll kill everyone who ever touched them in a way that I deem wrong and then I’ll burn this motherfucking place to the ground. I promise you that. I promise you won’t catch me off guard again.”
Dean gets to his feet. The rumble of the vehicles is getting closer, is almost on top of him, and he looks down at the bleeding half-conscious man at his feet before kicking him in the ribs for good measure. And then he runs.
______________________________________________________
Ben sees Dean first, sees him coming through the brush with blood-soaked sweats and a stony face that erupts in a smile the moment the man catches sight of them. Ben wonders if he killed someone, but finds he doesn’t really care, because Dean’s here and he’s not dead, and hopefully that’s not his blood.
“Is that your blood?” Alec demands to know, but only after he’s in Dean’s arms, has his face buried in the hunter’s neck.
Dean smirks. “Nah, kitten. S’not my blood.”
Ben’s more hesitant, trotting forward, hand taking hold of a tiny portion of the sweatshirt that’s still dry. He asks, “Did you kill someone?”
Dean loses his balance slightly as he shifts Alec to one arm and crouches to pull Ben into his other. “I don’t think so, Benny. Wanted to, though.”
“I don’t mind either way,” Ben says honestly, and he feels Dean’s stubbled cheek against his face.
“You’re an idiot.” Sam somehow manages to sound incredibly angry and somewhat amused at the same time. “A big, freaking idiot.” And then, as if that’s not enough, Sam adds, “And a jerk. You’re also a jerk.”
“You’re a bitch,” Dean retorts. “A little bitch with a brain on steroids. Seriously, dude, that was freaking ridiculous.”
Sam threw that jeep into the fence somehow. Ben’s aware of this though he’s not sure how it’s possible and he hasn’t asked because Sam’s scared of it. Ben knows Sam’s scared of it. He saw the look on Sam’s face after it happened, felt the panicked breathing beating down on his skin when Sam covered him as the guns shot off by themselves.
Sam’s gone quiet. Dean puts Alec down and says they have to keep moving. So they keep moving.
They’re miles away, by the side of the road, when Alec throws up. Ben doesn’t know why his brother throws up, but he does, and he cries a little so Ben holds his hand and squeezes while Sam rubs Alec’s back and Dean strokes the prickly head.
“S’like a hedgehog,” Dean says lightly.
“M’want my hair back,” Alec replies, tears still evident from the exertion.
They have to keep moving. Dean plucks Alec up first, but Alec reaches for Sam, who looks surprised and then kind of happy as he takes the kid into his tired arms. Dean looks down at Ben and asks him if he wants a ride and Ben kind of does, but Dean’s tired and Ben doesn’t want to be a problem so he shakes his head no. Dean shrugs his eyebrows and curls his big hand around Ben’s tiny one. They keep moving.
It’s dark by the time they reach the bar. Alec’s eyes light up at the partially blacked-out neon sign, but he accepts that this isn’t the time or place to run in and enjoy the atmosphere. He tells Sam and Dean and Ben this in tones that indicate he believes he’s doing something incredibly selfless here and then he smiles. It’s a nice smile. Sam puts him down and shields Dean from sight as Dean hot-wires an old, but sturdy-looking car and Ben edges over until his arm is grazing Alec’s arm. He feels warmer this way.
The engine starts and Sam herds them into the back which smells like cigarettes and bodily fluids, and he shuts the door behind them before running and launching himself into the passenger seat. Dean’s already reversing out by the time Sam manages to shut his own door.
Ben and Alec huddle together in the center of the backseat. Sam reaches back a hand and pats them both on the knee. Dean tries to, too, even though his hand is blind what with his eyes being on the road and all.
Ben leans against his brother and concentrates on the motion of the car. He feels Alec’s hand grip his wrist, and his arm shakes because Alec’s trembling. They’re moving fast. They’re getting away. Ben only wishes they could leave it behind.
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