DA/SPN Fic: The Wellspring (27/?)
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: Swearing, I guess. And violence.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Author's Notes: Long wait. Sorry. ♥
Additional author's notes and previous chapters can be found here.
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Alec knows something about war. He knows it’s a cold and bloody state and there are guns and bombs and tanks constantly being set off by soldiers who know nothing about the men they’re killing. He knows there are casualties, knows war is the place where you step over the bodies of your brothers and sisters and try not to look down because sometimes they’re in pieces and you don’t ever want to see them in pieces. Alec knows that some people cheat war like they cheat death and they come out alive, but not really. He knows that even if they come out with only a few holes and cuts and all their limbs intact, they’re never quite right afterwards.
“Alec?” Ben’s been to war like Alec’s been to war. They didn’t have tanks or bombs or even guns, but the other side did, and all Alec could do was run past the dead and dying children in the snow and try not to look down. He knows that if he had stayed, if he’d never attempted to go, he would have eventually been on that other side, but he didn’t and he won’t be. Not ever. “Alec, stay.”
Alec knows that war never leaves you, knows that you’ll always remember it and the feeling it gave you, how you were terrified and enraged all at the same time and you just wanted to run away, but you also wanted to run back and tear out their throats with your bare, little hands.
It’s so very conflicting. Alec now firmly believes he was born conflicted, born a rebel into a world of constant orders and rules. War has always been inside of him, gnawing through flesh and skin, begging to be let out for recess, and Alec has to let it out sometimes. He has to. He’s a pretty child who doesn’t want any holes in his pretty skin.
“Alec, don’t,” Ben pleads and he leans forward from the armrest of the couch, reaches over his own blanket-covered legs to wrap a hand around Alec’s ankle and tug. “Dean said to stay. We should stay.”
Alec yanks his foot back, out of his twin’s grip, and glares. “You don’t want to stay, either. Not really.” Ben doesn’t want to stay. Alec can see it in his eyes. Ben has this thing inside of him, too, and the only thing keeping him in place is the fact that this particular battle has nothing to do with blood or bombs and there’s no real sense of urgency because there’s no real sense of danger. This is a power struggle, and it’s strictly nonviolent. “Are you with me or against me?”
Alec’s amazed that this question is what causes Ben to temporarily lose that infuriating altruistic facade he’s so intent on keeping. His twin narrows his eyes and scowls, crosses his arms before dropping back against the armrest with a huff. “Neither.”
“Well, you have to be one of ‘em.”
“No, I don’t, Alec. I’m not choosing between you and Dean. M’staying on the couch like he told us to do and you should, too.”
“You’re such a brownnoser, Ben. Have I ever told you that?”
“Why, yes, you have. And then you got your ice cream taken away.” Ben’s a smug fucking bastard. Alec kind of wants to take a swing at his stupid face, but he doesn’t because he knows what this is and he knows that Ben secretly wants to come with him and protest this injustice. And their abandonment. And Dean’s stupidity.
“I’m going to forgive you for this moment because I’m an awesome brother,” he informs his twin as he slides off the couch and drops to the floor with a slap of his bare feet against the wood. “And because I know you’re just doing this because you’re still demented and think that Dean will throw you away if you do anything that could potentially be construed as wrong.”
Ben opens his mouth to protest, but Alec’s already got his back turned. He sucks in a breath and straightens his form because this is it. He’s going to go into the kitchen and he’s going to win this one, goddamnit.
“Alec?” Dean freezes with one arm in his leather jacket and one foot already out the door.
“You need a glass of water, buddy?” Sam’s sitting on the counter raising his eyebrows and fighting a smirk. “Or maybe some warm milk?”
That’s it. Alec’s had it up to here with these two.
He’s not even thinking about it, not even thinking about moving his feet, because his feet are moving him. His legs are a blur, kicking up dust where there is none like one of those old cartoons that used to come on TV before all the shit went down, when it was still Sam and Dean and Ben and Alec traveling from motel room to motel room with heads that were functioning relatively well - given the circumstances of their lives, that is. Alec totally understands the circumstances of his life now: legs that are a blur and dust that isn’t there and hands that were built for thievery, hands that grab Dean’s still-empty jacket sleeve and tug, and now Alec’s careening around and pulling the jacket right off and Dean doesn’t even know what hit him.
And when it does hit him, he’s too late. Alec’s already across the room, dancing out of Sam’s reach and holding the beloved garment behind his back, smirking, because he’s got the upper-hand here and Dean’s losing this battle and Alec is amazing.
“I’m amazing,” he says.
He hears a quiet chuckle come from Sam’s direction, but Dean doesn’t look amused, not at all. Dean’s shifting his eyes to the side and clenching his jaw. His legs are tense, ready to move the second Alec lets his guard down, but Alec’s not going to let his guard down, not ever, because this isn’t happening. Dean’s not going anywhere, and the concept of a set time for lights-out ended with Manticore.
“You’re amazing,” Dean finally agrees and he takes a slow, controlled step towards Alec. “You’re amazing and you’re going to bed and you’re going to stay there. You know why you’re going to stay there?”
Alec knows Dean’s answer to this question. That doesn’t mean he’s going to open his mouth and let it out into the air.
“You’re gonna stay there because I put you there.” Dean takes another step forward and Alec backs up until he’s pressed against the counter, still with the jacket behind his back, gripping it, rubbing the worn leather between his fingers and telling himself that he’ll never let it go, that Dean’s going to have to pry it from his cold, dead hands, because Alec’s not losing this one. Alec won’t lose this one.
“Who do you even think you are?” he demands. “When did you decide that dictatorship was the way to go?”
“It’s not a dictatorship, kitten.”
“The hell it isn’t! What’s next? Set times for elimination?”
“Elimination?” Dean’s eyebrows furrow in confusion as Sam turns his head to hide the amusement parading across his face.
“I think he means, uh...‘going to the bathroom,’ Dean.”
“Oh...oh,” Dean’s eyes widen just a bit. He shakes his head. “‘Course not. You gotta go when you gotta go.”
“And I gotta sleep when I gotta sleep. And right now I don’t have to sleep.”
“Well, you’re going to have to try, aren’t you?”
“No.” No, Alec doesn’t have to try. Not if he doesn’t want to and he doesn’t want to, and forcing him to do something he doesn’t want to do is an injustice, a crime against humanity even. “I won’t. It’s a crime against humanity.”
Dean’s got that look on his face, that are-you-kidding me look, and he starts approaching slowly, like he’s a lion and Alec’s a gazelle, which is a completely fucked-up analogy if you ask Alec. Alec’s the one with the cat DNA. Not Dean. Alec’s the one who comes out of this alive, with food in his stomach and blood on his teeth.
“A crime against humanity? Really.” There’s some mirth in Dean’s eyes as he asks the question, as Alec slides down the side of the counter until he’s backed up into a corner. He could just duck out now, could shoot across the room and keep the chase going, but he knows a verbal out when he sees it.
“If you wanna get technical about it, it’s a crime against kitten-kind.”
Dean comes to a halt a few feet away, turns his head to hide his grin, but Alec sees it, sees the flash of teeth and the crinkle of Dean’s eyes and right now, in this moment, it doesn’t feel like war. This is Dean. Dean, who’s amused by the smallest, most insignificant things that come out of Alec’s mouth, because Alec’s his and Dean’s Alec’s, and Dean can’t go anywhere, not now. He can’t. The world is dark and terrible and it’ll eat Dean alive if Alec’s not there with him.
“Dean.” Dean’s distracted and Sam’s using that prodding tone he manages to achieve just by saying a name.
“What? I got this.”
Sam rolls his eyes. Alec kind of hates it when Sam rolls his eyes. Hates it and loves it. Sometimes he struggles to understand how two opposing forces of such an extreme nature can exist in the same brain at the same time without causing an explosion. “You don’t have this at all.”
“Sure I do.” Dean clears his throat and turns his head, pins Alec with serious-business eyes. He holds out an open hand and waggles his fingers, smacks them against his palm. “Kid? Gimme my jacket.”
“No.”
“Don’t tell me no.” Dean’s one step closer. Alec’s darting across the room, feeling the brush of the bossy hands trying to grab him, trying to put him in some place that’s not his. Alec’s place isn’t a sheet-covered couch at nine-fifteen at night. Alec doesn’t have a bedtime. “Alec.”
“What?” Alec backs up against the wall, takes some comfort in the feel of the jacket wedged between himself and the peeling wallpaper. This is where he is, and if he’s here with the jacket in his hands, then Dean’s here, too. Alec hasn’t lost and Dean’s not gone.
“Do you remember that conversation we had about poking the bear?”
“Yeah, I remember that conversation.” Alec smiles fondly at the memory, at the empty checkbox in his head on his mental to-do-list. He can’t wait until they camp out again.
“Well, that’s what you’re doing. You’re poking the bear. And trust me, the bear does not want to be poked.” Dean’s not even trying to come closer now. He’s leaning against the counter with his arms crossed and that look in his eyes that says he’s had enough. Alec knows this look because Sam’s always on the receiving end of it. “Now you’re gonna come over here and you’re gonna give me my jacket and then you’re going to bed, capice?”
No.
“No. You’re not going anywhere.”
Dean’s face goes soft. His arms relax a little, but stay crossed. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Sam’s gonna stay with you and Ben. I need to score us some dough so we can get out of Bobby’s hair, you know that.”
Alec doesn’t know that. Or he does, maybe, because Sam and Dean were talking about it earlier, but he doesn’t care. Dean’s leaving, Dean’s going out all by himself into a world that is black and scary and littered with bad seeds and secret government agents and they’ll snatch him up the second he steps foot out that door. Alec knows this. They’ll stun him and they’ll take him, or they won’t even do that, they’ll just shove him to his knees and-
“Alec?”
-and they’ll-
“Kitten?”
They’ll win the war.
“Kid, look at me.”
There are two hands firm against his upper arms, shaking him and then squeezing and then they’re gone, they’ve moved to his fingers, disentangling them from that jacket that smells vaguely of aftershave mingled with traces of cigarette smoke long-since exhaled, and something else that Alec doesn’t know how to describe as anything other than Dean.
“Look at me. I’m right here.”
Alec blinks. Dean’s face comes into focus, and he’s so close that his nose is almost brushing Alec’s and he’s on his knees, but he’s here and they can’t get him when he’s here.
“You alright?”
Of course he’s alright. Alec’s always alright.
“I’m always alright,” he says, but the disbelief painted on Dean’s face is opaque and irritating, and Alec curls his toes and closes his eyes and tries not to snap. He needs to stop it with this vulnerable shit. Soldiers aren’t weaklings. “I’m not going to bed.”
Green eyes harden. “Oh, yes. You are.”
“I’m not. And you can’t make me.” The jacket’s on the floor, cast off by Dean’s hands in favor of consoling Alec and he’s grateful for this, he really is, but it isn’t enough. Dean can’t just force something so absurd as a bedtime on him and then leave. What does he think Alec is, anyway?
Alec knows what Alec is. Alec’s the impossible soldier, the one who survives without seeing his brother or his uncle or his dad face-down and bleeding in the snow.
“Yoink.” Alec’s the one with the leather jacket back in his hands, kicking up that invisible dust again.
“Dude, it’s not cute anymore,” Dean’s saying, but the words are lost in the air whipping past Alec’s ears as he bolts out of the kitchen. He’s so fast. He loves that he’s so fast.
“Alec?” Ben’s ramrod-straight on the couch, startled as anything, and Alec wants to tell him that it’s going to be okay, that Dean’s not leaving, that Alec’s taking care of this. Alec’s taking care of everything. “Why do you have Dean’s jacket?”
“No time.” The pounding of big, booted feet is far too close for comfort and Alec shoots through the living room, through the dining room, aims for the basement then rethinks it because the basement is the scary place, even in Bobby’s house. He shouldn’t have stopped, though, because now Dean’s only six feet away, skidding to a sudden halt and glaring.
“C’mere.”
“No.”
Dean sinks his teeth into his lip and holds them there as if he’s struggling to keep something dangerous contained. An animal, maybe, or a bomb. Alec doesn’t know, and he doesn’t really want to know, but he’s going to know because he’s not surrendering, not ever. He’ll outrun it, whatever it is. He’ll do whatever he has to.
Dean snaps his fingers and the sound is like a warning shot. Alec flinches, swallows when the hunter points to the ground directly in front of his feet, growls, “I’m not even kidding with you right now. Get over here.”
Dean never talks to him like this. This is a horrible way to talk.
Alec doesn’t even realize where his eyes go, isn’t really conscious of the fact that he’s looking for a way to dodge the bullet even though he’s stepping back and readying himself for escape and Dean growls again, but there aren’t words this time. Just the sound, angry and treacherous, and Alec doesn’t even want to deal with it.
“Freeze.”
Alec doesn’t get cold enough to freeze.
“Alright, that’s it. If you take one more step, I swear to God-“
Alec doesn’t let him finish that threat. He’s gone, on feet like birds ascending the stairs, flying through the upstairs hallway with Dean hot on his wings, and this’ll be no problem. It would be, maybe, if Alec were anyone else. If Alec were anyone else this would be his fatal flaw, rushing from room to room, tripping over beds and trash and rotting wood from furniture that should’ve been thrown out twenty years ago. If Alec were anyone else, this would be a trap, but it’s just him and Dean and Dean’s hands may be well-trained and possessive, but Alec’s a quick and evasive creature. Alec can leap over mattresses and careen around corners and duck into that bedroom at the end of the hall for another song and dance. He can keep it going forever, he just knows it.
He just believes it.
He’s riding high on his fourth minute and his feet are starting to hurt from hammering against the wood, but Dean’s right behind him and the door’s right there, and he can’t stop. Not ever. So he pushes it open and barrels right in. Right into Sam’s awaiting arms.
And now Alec knows how monsters feel.
Dean wipes the perspiration from his forehead and takes in a long, agitated breath. Alec struggles for a moment, but stills when Sam’s gentle tone turns sharp because apparently, they’ve had enough. They’ve had enough and they’ve won.
“Nine or ten’s a little too old to have Daddy chasing you around the whole fuckin’ house, Alec.” Dean’s voice is vexed, but his hands are gentle as they peel the jacket away from Alec’s grip.
“I’m emotionally stunted,” Alec replies. “And for your information, I consider it a genetic defect.”
Dean’s eyes flash with something as he shrugs the jacket back on, and Alec’s not sure what it is - irritation or hurt or a reluctant sort of understanding, he doesn’t know, but he kind of wants to take it back, wants to take it all back because Dean has this sad and tired look about him and Alec was the one who put it there. Alec wants to surrender five hours ago, before the sun ever went down.
“I was thirty by the time I was five, sweetheart.”
Alec was a machine three times broken by the time he could process a thought.
“If I let you go, do you promise not to run?” Sam’s leaning down and his hair is tickling Alec’s cheek.
Alec promises and Sam lets him go. Dean lets him go, too, a whole three inches forward before he grabs one of his hands and pulls him back down the stairs, to the couch, where Ben is wide-eyed and waiting with his lip tucked under his teeth. Alec wants to tell him not to worry. He wants to apologize for making it worse because this is his brother, his Ben, and he’s starting to understand exactly how that crazy head works. Alec wants to tell him that it’s okay, that just because Alec is an asshole doesn’t mean Ben is an asshole, but he can’t because he’s being lifted into the air and dumped unceremoniously onto the scratchy couch cushions.
And now he’s watching Dean’s thumb trail over Ben’s lip, listening to the growl give way to a soft, “Lay down, Benny. M’not mad. Not at anybody.”
Ben slides down until his head hits the pillow, until his body sinks under the blanket and Alec wants to crawl under there with him. Alec wants to not to be here right now, feeling six-years-old and helpless with Dean crouching down next to the couch, looking at him with eyes that can burn a hole.
Alec stares back and wills himself not to combust. Dean’s never looked at him this way before. This is a horrible way to look at someone as adorable as Alec.
And that’s a thought. Alec juts out his lower lip and bats his eyes.
The sigh of defeat is almost immediate and he fights the triumphant smirk trying to conquer his face, but not for long. He’s in a surrendering sort of mood now, after all.
“Dude, that was…” Dean trails off. Dean apparently doesn’t know what that was.
“Naughty?”
Something glorious shoots through his heart when Dean’s lips twitch. “Yeah, and not in the fun way.” A large palm comes to rest on his stomach, fingers tapping rhythmically over his T-shirt and he puts his hand over Dean’s, stills it, dances his own digits down to pick at the leather sleeve.
“You’re not going now, though…right?”
“We need the money, buddy. Sam’s gonna-“
“I don’t care. Just because Sam’s here doesn’t mean you can leave.” Dean doesn’t get it. Dean doesn’t get it at all. He doesn’t understand, even after seven days in Hell, how fucking vigilant they are, how they know. They’ll always know and they’ll always be wearing a mask that says they don’t, the fuckers, and there’ll only be one of them but they only have to press a button or make a call, and then there will be tens of them, hundreds of them, a world of them.
All waiting for Dean and Dean’s brother, and the kids with Dean’s face.
“I’ll be back before three. You won’t even know I’m gone. I want you to try to sleep-“
“Fuck you.”
Dean’s eyes are the size of plates and his mouth falls open in shock. Ben kicks Alec’s leg underneath the blanket.
“What did you just say to-“
“You heard me.”
Dean totally heard him, and he tilts his head to the side and aims those eyes back on Alec, the ones that are going to set Alec on fire this time, he just knows it, but that’s fine. He’s okay with that, because if Dean’s looking at Alec with those eyes, that means Dean’s here, Dean in his jacket that smells like Dean, and Alec can breathe it in for as long as he wants, knowing that neither the man nor his scent will be drowning in blood anytime soon.
“You don’t want to go to sleep right now?” Dean looks like the lion again. Maybe they chose him for a reason. “That’s fine, kid. You don’t have to go to sleep right now. You and I can take a little trip into the kitchen or the bathroom or anywhere where your brother doesn’t have to listen to you getting it.”
“Getting what?”
“It.”
“Dad, that’s a really dubious threat. I have the feeling you don’t even know what ‘it’ is.”
Green eyes narrow. Alec doesn’t flinch.
“Oh, I know what ‘it’ is,” Dean says, but the lie is so thick, it’s almost tangible. Alec can practically smell it, it’s like smoke in the air, but this time he doesn’t smirk. This time there’s no satisfaction in triumph or defeat, war or surrender, because Dean’s unhappy. Unhappy with Alec. Unhappy, but still here. Still alive.
“Dean.” Sam’s standing over them. Alec didn’t even see him come down the stairs.
“Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something here?”
Sam snorts. “What? Idle threats?”
“Your face is an idle threat.”
Sam’s face may be an idle threat, but his hands are reaching down, pulling Dean to a standing position, and then he’s dragging his brother into the kitchen amid grunts and growls, promising Alec and Ben that Dean will be back, they just need a second to talk, is all.
There’s a hot foot pressed hard against Alec’s leg as he strains to hear the conversation.
“Alec, how could you say that to-”
“Shut up. M’tryin’ to listen.” He tries to tell himself he doesn’t feel bad about the hurt pinching his brother’s face. Ben knows exactly how Alec could snap two measly words at Dean, and he knows exactly why. Useless questions are useless and Alec needs this silence right now, needs to hear the quiet voices in the other room saying things like, “He said the same thing to me yesterday. He just doesn’t want you to leave.”
But the already low volume sinks as the exchange progresses, and Alec nudges Ben with his own foot, mutters a quiet, but sincere apology because Ben shouldn’t have to worry. Not about anything. Especially not about things that Alec’s said or done.
“It’s okay. I know he won’t...”
“He won’t.” Alec doesn’t know what Ben thinks Dean will do exactly, but he knows Dean won’t do it. He doesn’t even have to believe it this time. “You know how I know?”
Ben’s rubbing the blanket between his fingers, casting his eyes down. “How do you know?”
“I know because you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t leave me on the side of the road just ‘cause I told you to go fuck yourself, would you?” Alec doesn’t even give him the time to respond. “You wouldn’t. It’d kill you to do that. That’s how I know it would kill Dean, too. ‘Cause you’re him and you need like he needs.”
Alec hates having to say this shit, but Ben needs to hear it. He can’t make himself see it or feel it or believe it, so Alec just has to pound it into him until the day he finally gets it, until the day they can finally move on and get back to what they used to be. Well…without the teeth pilferage, anyway.
Ben looks like it might be sinking in just a little and it looks like he might even be getting ready to respond, but then he drops back underneath the blanket because the door’s opening and Dean’s sauntering out, scrubbing a tired hand over his tired face as he reattaches himself to the side of the couch.
“I’m going to be back by three,” he says. “Your Uncle Sam’s going to stay with you and you’re going to be right here when I get back. Right where I put you. We clear?”
No. No. No, no, no.
Alec’s hand may be small, but it’s strong as fuck, and he grabs Dean in a fistful of plaid and pulls. Dean stumbles and tries to regain his balance before falling onto the couch, falling onto Alec, but he doesn’t, and Alec doesn’t even notice the extra weight or the furious coloring of Dean’s skin, he just creeps out from underneath it, yanks his leg away from the abrupt attempt to stop him because it’s not over and he’s not willing to lose this completely. He’s not willing to lose everything.
“Okay, that’s fucking it,” Dean snarls. Dean’s a snarler. That’s okay, because Alec is, too.
“You’re a fucking moron.”
Long arms shoot out and suddenly Alec’s in a trap, restrained, like he was on that table not too long ago, that table that was clinical and cold and there were needles but there aren’t needles now. Dean is a warm body and he’s not stationary in the least because they’re falling to the floor in a tangle of limbs, big and small, and Alec’s kind of sad that it had to come to this. This was never supposed to get violent, after all.
“Dean?” Sam’s standing over them. Sam’s a giant. “Are you six?”
“Apparently.” Dean grits the words out between his teeth. Alec’s tempted to elbow him in the ribs, but he’s too nice for that. Right now, anyway.
“Yeah? Alec, how old are you, kiddo? Are you three?”
“M’ten.”
“You are?”
“Stop patronizing us, Uncle Sam. You’re not funny and we’re in the middle of something here.”
“Yeah, Sammy. Shove off.”
Sam doesn’t shove off. He stands there and watches them with crossed arms until they tire themselves out, until the struggle fades away slowly, leaving Dean panting on his back with Alec sprawled limply over his body, heavy and solid like a dead weight.
“They’ll shoot you. They’ll shoot you in the head,” Alec says. Dean’s heart is beating fast. Alec can feel it under his shoulder blade, pumping away. “They’ll shoot you or they’ll take you away and shoot you later. Either way, we’ll never see you again.”
“Alec?” Sam’s using his gentle voice, the one he uses when he’s trying to calm Ben down after a nightmare or a lapse, when Dean’s too wound up or wrecked from seeing things that are too fucked up to think about, when Alec’s talking about them and the things they did when he was…there. “That’s not going to happen.”
“Why not? It happened before. It could happen at any time. They could come charging in here anytime and take us back or kill us all or just take me and Ben and kill you and Dean and Bobby. Right in front of us. Because that’s what they do when they think we need to be put in our place.”
That’s what they do.
Dean’s breath catches. “M’not gonna let that-“
“You already did.”
The room’s silent aside from the breathing. There’s a lot of breathing going on. Alec aches with what he just said, with what he knows Dean now feels because it’s not true, it’s not Dean’s fault. Dean didn’t have to do any of this and Alec knows it. Dean doesn’t owe him or Ben or even Sam anything. He can leave now if he wants to, can go off and drink some booze and fuck some people over in games of pool or poker, can perform adult acts with attractive female drifters because he hasn’t done that in a long ass time and Alec knows it.
I’m sorry, he wants to say.
“I’m sorry,” Dean says, wrapping an arm around Alec, bracing him as he pushes himself up into a sitting position. “I’m so sorry and I’ll never let it happen again, but we can’t live in a goddamn hole, either. They’re not gonna get you again, I promise.”
“It’s not about me-“
“I’m not gonna let them get me, either. I’m not gonna let anyone get me.”
Alec slides off Dean’s lap as the man rises to his feet. He takes the hand when it’s offered and walks to the couch when he’s led there. He waits as the blanket’s shirked back and doesn’t resist when Dean lifts him and dumps him back in that place, Alec’s place. The place where he stays because Dean put him there.
“Take an extra gun. Or an extra knife,” Alec mumbles. “Take both.”
Dean nods. “I’ll have my phone on the whole time. If you need me.”
“Don’t talk to strangers unless they’re heavily-tattooed and have dirt under their nails. Make sure their boots are scuffed, and I’m not talking recently.” Even then, it’s questionable.
Dean looks amused by this instruction, but he nods again, smirks, starts pulling off his jacket and for one hopeful moment, Alec thinks he’s going to stay.
The leather’s heavy, draped over his small body like an extra-thick blanket and Alec pulls one of his arms out from under it, curls it around the sleeve like he would if he were hugging his plush canine progeny.
“Hang onto it for me,” Dean says.
“S’cold outside.”
“I’ve got another.”
“Take Sam with you.”
“No. He stays with you.”
“Bobby, then, if he’s still fast enough.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that.”
Alec’s smarter than that. “I’m smarter than that.”
“You are,” Dean agrees, placing a hand on top of Alec’s head. “And when I get enough money to get us out of here, we can go wherever you and Benny want for a while, okay? M’gonna buy you guys waffles and pie.”
“Boston cream pie?”
“That’s a cake, kitten.”
“I don’t care.”
“If we can find it, I’ll get you some Boston cream pie.”
“That’s what I like to hear.”
That’s what Alec likes to hear and he bites his tongue to keep from protesting any more, tightens his arms around the sleeve to keep them from throwing themselves around Dean’s neck when the guy reaches down again, when he touches Alec in the same way Alec touches glass that he doesn’t want to break. Alec closes his eyes and listens to the soft shift of Dean’s boots as they move him down to Ben’s side of the couch, listens to the, “Hey, Trouble. Look at you being so quiet,” followed immediately by the insecure hitch in Ben’s breath and Dean’s assurance that it’s funny because it’s ironic.
Alec presses his ear into his pillow and tries to block out the sounds of Ben’s tearful admission that he won’t be able to sleep, that he thinks maybe he and Alec should go with Dean and he’s sorry, he’s sorry for even suggesting it, he’ll…he’ll go to bed and be quiet and-
“You never have to apologize to me for anything, sweetheart. Especially not for wanting to have my back.” But they still can’t go, and Dean leaves eventually after muttering orders to Sam to not stray too far from the couch. Not that Sam needs to hear them. He settles himself down on the floor as soon as Dean’s gone, with his back to the center of the furniture where Alec’s legs cross with Ben’s, and he tells them not to worry, that Dean’s going to be okay, that Sam knows this. He’s known Dean for twenty-six years, twenty-three of which he was cognizant, and nothing’s ever taken his brother down twice.
Alec buries himself in the jacket and inhales, tucks his leg under his brother’s and waits for that moment when Dean waltzes back into the house with his pockets full of paper money and no limbs missing.
_______________________________________________
The snowball fight is short and merciless and the air is cold against Ben’s cheeks, flushing them pink as he runs and dodges, tackles Dean down because he’s not thinking, he doesn’t have to think, he’s high on this. There’s a smattering of frozen white powder quickly melting on his right hand and his heart is beating fast and Dean’s laughing, honest-to-God laughing, and looking up at Ben with eyes that are tired, but fond, and for once, Ben feels like maybe it was all just a really bad dream. None of it was real, none of those terrible things that crept into his head and took up residence.
“You win, Benny,” Dean says, and he reaches up and pats one of Ben’s legs, which are straddling his torso.
I’m sorry. The words are tattooed in invisible ink on Ben’s tongue, he swears it, but he’s not going to let them show themselves because Dean will look sad. And Ben never wants Dean to look sad.
“I win,” he says instead. “I reign victorious.”
Alive. Ben’s alive and Dean’s smiling and today is a good day.
“You totally do, kid.”
They sit like that, Ben in his victory and Dean in his defeat, until Dean suddenly tilts to the side and dumps Ben into the snow and then there are fingers, fingers that are ridiculous and vicious and Ben tries to squirm away from them but he can’t and he’s laughing and laughing’s not allowed, they tell you to shut up if you laugh and no, he’s not thinking this because he’s not there and this is Dean and Dean wants him to laugh and he’s laughing and-
Dean’s flying away, toppling into the snow and Alec’s the victorious one.
“Kitten reigns supreme,” Alec sighs happily, pinning Dean’s arms to the ground and licking his teeth like he just swallowed a bird. “This is the way it always ends.”
It wasn’t the way it ended last night, but Alec seems to be forgetting that, forgetting the way he disappeared under Dean’s jacket and tried to stay still even though Ben could feel the trembling of his legs up until three-oh-five in the morning, when Dean came home to accusations of gross negligence and child abandonment.
Dean snorts and moves his head, snow falling from his hair to the ground as his eyes fight to find Sam, who’s talking to Bobby in the distance about something or other. A new case, maybe. Ben’s pretty sure they’re leaving here soon and he doesn’t know how to feel about that.
“Hey, Gargantua!” The holler is enough to get Alec to release one of Dean’s hands in favor of covering the loud mouth.
“What?”
But Dean’s already got what he needs, he’s got his leverage, and Alec’s flipped back into the snow, big hands holding his wrists to the ground, before he can so much as say, “How dare you.”
“Nevermind! I had a little clone uprising, but I’ve got it under control now.”
Sam rolls his eyes. Ben can see it from here and it’s hilarious because Sam’s always rolling his eyes and looking mildly disapproving even when he’s clearly amused.
“M’lettin’ you win,” Alec grumbles, straining against Dean’s hold. “Ben, help a brother out here.”
Dean smiles wide with an open mouth and licks his teeth and looks just like Alec just did but in the reverse position, and Ben feels something crushing inside of him for a moment, something crushing and hollow and things like that aren’t supposed to go together even though they are, right now, inside of him. Dean and Alec are the same and Ben is-
“Benny, help a dad out here,” Dean says, and then pinches his tongue between his teeth as Alec almost squirms loose. “Duuuude.”
It’s not real. It can’t be real. Ben’s seeing things that aren’t there again. Dean didn’t say that. Dean wouldn’t say that because Ben isn’t supposed to say that and only Alec can say that and any second now those playful hands are going to rot, are going to flake in dark debris to the pretty white snow because they know what Ben is and what he doesn’t have and-
“Ben, c’mon, pry ‘im off of me.” Alec’s voice splinters his thoughts. Ben’s eyes focus on his brother’s wriggling form, fighting to free itself under Dean’s steady weight. “I’ll pay you five bucks!”
“Where’re you gonna get five bucks?” Dean demands.
“Your wallet. You’ve got money now, don’t you? Ben? Benny. Brother. Five whole bucks.”
Ben can’t do this. Ben can’t do this and Dean’s already trying to mask the disappointment on his face and Alec’s already scowling, already snapping, “For chrissakes, Ben-”
“Hey.”
And they’re already done. The fun’s already over.
“What? You offer a guy five bucks, he’s supposed to hop-to. He’s not supposed to just sit there and freak out because he can’t get over some stupid fucking mind games-”
“Alec.” Dean’s voice is about as low as it ever gets, and Alec’s name is almost indistinguishable from the growl that produces it.
Ben’s stomach clenches as he watches the hunter get to his feet, dragging Alec up with him. Ben’s always causing problems like this and he never means to and he’s sorry. He’s so sorry.
“M’sorry,” he says.
Dean shoots him a hard look that softens almost immediately and tells him that he has nothing to be sorry for, he’s done nothing wrong. But Alec has, apparently, and Dean snaps his fingers in that authoritative way he does when he’s trying to get Alec, or sometimes Sam, to listen. “You. Apologize.”
“He doesn’t have to-”
“Good, ‘cause I’m not gonna. I’m so sick of this bullshit, Ben.”
Ben’s fucked up and Alec’s finally tired of it and who can blame him, anyway? Not Ben. Maybe Dean, considering he’s making some kind of incomprehensible noise of rage between his teeth and kneeling down and pressing his forehead against Alec’s, growling about how he needs to go inside and sit in the kitchen and wait for him because Dean’s had enough of this fucking bullshit, too, thank you very much. Alec merely blinks in response and returns the glare, because he’s not scared of Dean at all. Alec’s not scared of anything.
“Kid.”
But Alec doesn’t leave until Dean forcefully turns him around and pushes him towards the door, with the promise to join him in a minute.
“You okay?”
Ben’s fine, or as fine as ever he is, so he says, “I’m fine” and Dean swallows and nods, looks like he wants to say something else or ask something else, but he can’t bring himself to. Deans aren’t built for talking. Ben understands this because somewhere inside of him he understands that he, himself, is a Dean.
“Alright, then. You wanna hang out with your Uncle Sam and Bobby for a little while?”
Ben doesn’t. Or he does. Ben doesn’t know what he wants to do. Erase time, maybe, go back to ten minutes ago before he ruined everything, but that’s impossible. Nobody can do that. The Blue Lady, she couldn’t, back when she was real even though she was never real and Ben knows that now. Not even Dean could do that. Not even Alec.
“I’ll hang out with Uncle Sam,” he agrees, because there aren’t any other options right now and Sam’s pretending not to watch them even though Ben’s been seeing his eyes shifting in their direction ever since Dean and Alec rose to standing positions.
“Alright,” Dean says, and waits until Ben actually moves in Sam’s direction before turning around and heading into the house to do whatever he’s going to do to Alec. Ben wonders if the consequences will include grilled cheese, like they did last time.
“Everything alright?” Sam asks, and his arm is warm and heavy over Ben’s shoulder, his blue eyes soft, and Ben’s so glad that he’s still here, so glad that Sam didn’t leave.
“Alec…” Ben doesn’t know how to explain what Alec did, how Alec feels, why this isn’t Alec’s fault.
“Say no more.”
Ben doesn’t say anymore. Neither does Sam. Neither does Bobby. They’re quiet now that Ben’s here and that’s nerve-wracking and normally he wouldn’t, but Ben has to ask, “Is there another case?” Are you leaving us again?
“Looks like,” Sam says.
“A haunting?”
“We don’t know, Benny. It might be something different this time.”
“When are we leaving?” We. It has to be we.
“Don’t know, yet, kiddo. Maybe in a day or two. It’s not urgent.”
“Where are we going?”
Bobby chuckles and it turns into a cough, then back into a chuckle again. He holds a hand over his mouth, but his breath is visible, a fog escaping through his fingers into the cold air. “Eager to get out of here, are you?”
“No, it’s not that,” Ben’s quick to say. It isn’t that. He doesn’t want Bobby to think he’s not grateful because Bobby’s awesome. Bobby’s…family. “It’s just…where are we staying?”
Sam’s bemused. “Ben…since when do we ever even know that?”
“It’s just…there’s four of us. Four people need lots of space.”
“I don’t remember the last time we had lots of space.”
“I know, but-“
“Dude, if you feel like there’s not enough space, we can always make Dean sleep on the floor. Or outside. I promise you, I’ll be totally fine with that.”
“Okay.” Relief, Ben feels it. Not that he wants Dean to be ousted for lack of space because there’s no way that’s ever going to happen, but Sam seems to have no plan to leave Alec and Ben behind. The problem now is that Sam is looking at him with eyes that are trying to decipher things, and Ben hates being looked at this way. Sam’s going to study him for a few more seconds with those eyes and then he’s going to start asking questions that he already knows the answers to and then he’s going to try to talk about things.
Ben doesn’t want to talk about things.
“Uncle Sam, I’m bored.”
Sam’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline and for a second, Ben thinks he may have just made it worse. Blue eyes look up and off to the side, lips part, trying to a form a delicate question, but then Bobby clears his throat and smacks Sam in the arm.
“He’s ten, you idgit. And there’s snow on the ground. I reckon finding something for him to do won’t be too hard.”
Sam’s mouth snaps shut, but his face brightens as he looks down at Ben. “Hey, you wanna build a snowman?”
They build a snowman. Sam’s really into it, his smile wide and his cheeks flushed and his eyes bright as he rolls the base with his huge hands, telling Ben that he hasn’t done this for, like, twenty years, that Dean stopped doing it with him after he turned six and then it wasn’t fun anymore so he’s glad that he has Ben now. Ben’s awesome.
“You’re awesome, Benny,” Sam says as Ben comes running back to him, two long twigs in his hands. “You wanna get his left side?”
Ben gets his left side, watches as Sam sticks his tongue out just a little as he judges whether or not the arms are off-kilter.
“He doesn’t have a face,” Ben says, because he doesn’t. The snowman is composed of three snowballs of various mass and two twigs for arms. He has no face. He’s blank and white and pure. “I like it.”
Sam’s looking at him with those eyes again.
“Benny-“
“You wanna climb the tree with me?”
“It’s a bit too high for me, sweetheart.”
Ben hesitates. “Can Alec come out and climb the tree with me?”
“Well, that depends on what he did, I guess.”
“He didn’t do anything.” Alec didn’t do anything. Alec just told the truth. “Can you ask Dean if Alec can come out and climb the tree with me?”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
Ben’s stomach plummets. He can’t do that.
“Please, Uncle Sam?”
“I really think you should ask him yourself, buddy. You’ve been so up and down with him recently-“
“It’s okay. I can climb it by myself.” He can. Ben doesn’t need anybody to climb the tree with him, it was just a preference, a way not to be alone. It was just a way to include Sam, but if Sam can’t climb the tree, that’s fine. Sam can stay down here with his prying eyes and uncomfortable questions. Ben doesn’t need Alec, either. Alec can stay inside with Dean, who won’t have to listen to Ben make absurd requests or question his authority.
“Ben, I just-“
But Ben’s already scaling the trunk, digging his fingers and feet into the bark, on his way to that forty-foot high branch he and Alec sat on a few days ago. A few days ago, when Alec wasn’t sick of Ben, yet, and Dean wasn’t tired from being out all night long.
“I’ll…Ben? I’ll go get him, okay? Just…be careful. Don’t fall.”
If Ben falls, he’ll land on his feet. He won’t feel like he did, but he will.
He brushes snow off the branch as he creeps to the end, sits himself down facing the entrance of the salvage yard, the beat-up old sign that’s been there for God knows how long. He watches Sam disappear into the house out of the corner of his eye, waits and tries not to think about how, not too long ago, this was a good day. This was a day he felt alive.
It was just a word, a positive word, something he wanted to hear but because he wanted to hear it, it can’t be true. Good things don’t happen. Good things are fabricated for the sole purpose of screwing with Ben’s head. That’s how it works. That’s how they make things work.
He tries not to think about it, but it’s all he can think about. Time disappears inside these thoughts.
“Hey! Ben!”
Ben looks down. Alec’s on the ground, waving his arms in the air, his face alight with glee. There’s something in his hand that looks like a folded piece of notebook paper and he sticks it in his mouth as he heads for the tree trunk, holds it between his teeth as he climbs, and then he’s there, straddling the branch, taking the paper out of his mouth and offering it to Ben.
“What’s this?”
“Just read it.”
Ben looks for words, but there aren’t any, just a rough pen-sketch of a long-haired person wearing a hat on one side of the folded paper.
“Open it.”
Still no words - a five-dollar bill, though, that Ben snatches up before it floats away, and a pretty decent drawing of the Impala.
“Um, there aren’t any words,” Ben says.
“Aw. I know you’re really touched and everything, but I’m sure you can dredge up something from the deep, dark recesses of your mind.”
“No, Alec, I meant literally…there aren’t any words. You didn’t write anything.” He holds up the money, waves it in front of Alec’s face. “Where…did you take this out of Dean’s wallet?”
Alec waves a dismissive hand. “He won’t miss it. Oh, and I guess I forgot to write it. It’s supposed to say ‘I’m sorry.’ It’s an apology card! See the front? I drew that. It’s Uncle Sam in a tiara.”
“It’s…awesome, but-”
“Dad drew the Impala.”
Dean drew the Impala. Ben flips the paper open again, runs a finger over the carefully drawn lines.
“It’s…great. But you have nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t…I’m sorry.”
“Dude, don’t be an idiot. You’re traumatized and I know you’re traumatized and I snapped at you about it, anyway. It’s not your fault you’re a whiny little bastard sometimes. They did it to you. They did it to me, too, it’s just that I’m willing to accept things for what they are and you’re just…”
Alec can’t bring himself to say it. That’s okay. Ben can say it for him.
“Messed up?”
“Kinda. They mixed you all up. That’s not your fault, though. I’ll get you thinking straight again one of these days.”
They go quiet. Alec starts inching the snow off the branch, watching it fall to the ground, and then he can’t stand the quiet anymore. Alec can never stand the quiet for too long. “Hey, I’m sorry there’s no glitter, by the way. I really wanted to put some glitter on it to make Uncle Sam extra shiny, but Bobby doesn’t have any.”
“Glitter?”
“Yeah, you know, that sparkly junk in the tubes they had at that drug store next to all the colored markers and shit? I should’ve snagged some while I had the chance. It was…it was delightful. Think about how great the apology card would have been then.”
“It’s great without it,” Ben tells him, and he means it. The card is perfect just the way it is, even without glitter. Even without words.
“Yeah, well…it’s got my spit on the crease of it now, so I guess it is great. And if you look really closely, on Uncle Sam’s cheek you’ll see a damp spot that’s all dried up. That was one of Dad’s tears of mirth. He thinks Uncle Sam in a tiara is a truly hilarious joke. And our DNA is worth a lot, you know. You’ll probably be able to sell it on the Internet one of these days for a plentiful sum of money. You know, if you want.” Alec swipes some more snow off the branch. “But you’re gonna keep it forever, right?”
Of course he is. “Of course I am. I think I’m, uh…going to give the money back to Dean, though.”
“Yeah,” Alec agrees. “He’ll probably appreciate that.”
“Yeah.”
Alec starts talking after that, babbling about insignificant things like Boston cream pie to keep the silence away and Ben listens to his voice even as the words fade into nonsense. The sun’s getting low. It’ll be dark in a few hours and Ben will have to go back into the house, will have to give the money back to Dean, will have to meet Dean’s eyes and try not to look away and make him sad again, for the millionth time. Ben needs to stop this. Ben needs his head not to be messed up anymore.
“I mean, if it’s a cake, why do they call it a pie? Boston sits on a throne of lies, Ben. I think maybe I’m going to have to ditch the entire idea of getting Boston cream pie in favor of boysenberry pie, because boysenberry is a funny word. Boysenberry-“
Ben doesn’t know how readily available compound fruits are anymore, but he hopes his brother gets his boysenberry pie. Alec deserves whatever he wants because he keeps holding them all together, stops them from breaking apart and getting killed and killing each other and all that other shi-…stuff.
He listens to Alec’s babble, but allows his eyes to stray past his twin’s face. The sign at the entrance to Bobby’s home and place of business is tall and derelict, but familiar now. Ben’s not sure how he feels about leaving it, about going past it, about looking back through the windshield and watching it fade away into the distance. There’s Bisquick here, and a stove where Dean showed Ben how to make pancakes. There are bruises that faded away and tears that they hid and tears that they didn’t and bad dreams, horrific dreams made okay when they woke up because they were just dreams and everything was in place when their eyes opened, even if there were angry words and angry fists being thrown around and Ben hated that. He hated it. He hated that Sam tried to walk out the door in the middle of the night with no set plan on coming back, with no thought to what would happen to him when he went past that sign. He hated that Dean did the same, just last night, and Ben was sure he would never come back, was sure that they would go into town the next day and find Dean’s blood on the dirty floor of some bar, but they didn’t because Dean came back. Dean always comes back.
“I hear they have awesome key lime pie in Florida…”
Alec’s still going. Alec will never stop. Ben keeps looking at the sign, at the shadows it casts, at the birds that flutter down and perch on it to rest their wings. The sign is calm and stagnant, unchanging, and it won’t leave until someone knocks it down and takes it away. Ben kind of wants that. Ben kind of wants to be that, to just stand there and let life tear him down slowly, year after year, as long as he has a place to stand. He can let the people walk past him, coming and going so long as they’re not bothering him. Like that lady walking past the sign right now. She’s not bothering it at all.
She’s just a person walking past a sign in the late afternoon. With sunglasses covering her face.
“A-Alec?”
“…pecan pie is a Southern delicacy-“
“Alec.”
Alec stops, and looks to where Ben’s now pointing, to the woman with the small quirk to her lips, hair long and dark, but pinned up.
“L-lots of people have sunglasses.”
It’s her. Ben knows it’s her.
“I know it’s her.”
He knows it’s her when she walks under and slightly past the tree, hips sashaying as she goes, the movement pulling the collar of her shirt down and…he’s not imagining it. It’s there. He knows it’s there because Alec’s breathing in a way that indicates that it’s there and that’s how he knows for sure that it’s her. He knows it’s her when he jumps off the branch, plummets to the ground and takes her down with him.
He knows it’s her when he hammers her face with his small fists, dirtying his skin and the snow with her blood.
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: Swearing, I guess. And violence.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Author's Notes: Long wait. Sorry. ♥
Additional author's notes and previous chapters can be found here.
______________________________________________________________
Alec knows something about war. He knows it’s a cold and bloody state and there are guns and bombs and tanks constantly being set off by soldiers who know nothing about the men they’re killing. He knows there are casualties, knows war is the place where you step over the bodies of your brothers and sisters and try not to look down because sometimes they’re in pieces and you don’t ever want to see them in pieces. Alec knows that some people cheat war like they cheat death and they come out alive, but not really. He knows that even if they come out with only a few holes and cuts and all their limbs intact, they’re never quite right afterwards.
“Alec?” Ben’s been to war like Alec’s been to war. They didn’t have tanks or bombs or even guns, but the other side did, and all Alec could do was run past the dead and dying children in the snow and try not to look down. He knows that if he had stayed, if he’d never attempted to go, he would have eventually been on that other side, but he didn’t and he won’t be. Not ever. “Alec, stay.”
Alec knows that war never leaves you, knows that you’ll always remember it and the feeling it gave you, how you were terrified and enraged all at the same time and you just wanted to run away, but you also wanted to run back and tear out their throats with your bare, little hands.
It’s so very conflicting. Alec now firmly believes he was born conflicted, born a rebel into a world of constant orders and rules. War has always been inside of him, gnawing through flesh and skin, begging to be let out for recess, and Alec has to let it out sometimes. He has to. He’s a pretty child who doesn’t want any holes in his pretty skin.
“Alec, don’t,” Ben pleads and he leans forward from the armrest of the couch, reaches over his own blanket-covered legs to wrap a hand around Alec’s ankle and tug. “Dean said to stay. We should stay.”
Alec yanks his foot back, out of his twin’s grip, and glares. “You don’t want to stay, either. Not really.” Ben doesn’t want to stay. Alec can see it in his eyes. Ben has this thing inside of him, too, and the only thing keeping him in place is the fact that this particular battle has nothing to do with blood or bombs and there’s no real sense of urgency because there’s no real sense of danger. This is a power struggle, and it’s strictly nonviolent. “Are you with me or against me?”
Alec’s amazed that this question is what causes Ben to temporarily lose that infuriating altruistic facade he’s so intent on keeping. His twin narrows his eyes and scowls, crosses his arms before dropping back against the armrest with a huff. “Neither.”
“Well, you have to be one of ‘em.”
“No, I don’t, Alec. I’m not choosing between you and Dean. M’staying on the couch like he told us to do and you should, too.”
“You’re such a brownnoser, Ben. Have I ever told you that?”
“Why, yes, you have. And then you got your ice cream taken away.” Ben’s a smug fucking bastard. Alec kind of wants to take a swing at his stupid face, but he doesn’t because he knows what this is and he knows that Ben secretly wants to come with him and protest this injustice. And their abandonment. And Dean’s stupidity.
“I’m going to forgive you for this moment because I’m an awesome brother,” he informs his twin as he slides off the couch and drops to the floor with a slap of his bare feet against the wood. “And because I know you’re just doing this because you’re still demented and think that Dean will throw you away if you do anything that could potentially be construed as wrong.”
Ben opens his mouth to protest, but Alec’s already got his back turned. He sucks in a breath and straightens his form because this is it. He’s going to go into the kitchen and he’s going to win this one, goddamnit.
“Alec?” Dean freezes with one arm in his leather jacket and one foot already out the door.
“You need a glass of water, buddy?” Sam’s sitting on the counter raising his eyebrows and fighting a smirk. “Or maybe some warm milk?”
That’s it. Alec’s had it up to here with these two.
He’s not even thinking about it, not even thinking about moving his feet, because his feet are moving him. His legs are a blur, kicking up dust where there is none like one of those old cartoons that used to come on TV before all the shit went down, when it was still Sam and Dean and Ben and Alec traveling from motel room to motel room with heads that were functioning relatively well - given the circumstances of their lives, that is. Alec totally understands the circumstances of his life now: legs that are a blur and dust that isn’t there and hands that were built for thievery, hands that grab Dean’s still-empty jacket sleeve and tug, and now Alec’s careening around and pulling the jacket right off and Dean doesn’t even know what hit him.
And when it does hit him, he’s too late. Alec’s already across the room, dancing out of Sam’s reach and holding the beloved garment behind his back, smirking, because he’s got the upper-hand here and Dean’s losing this battle and Alec is amazing.
“I’m amazing,” he says.
He hears a quiet chuckle come from Sam’s direction, but Dean doesn’t look amused, not at all. Dean’s shifting his eyes to the side and clenching his jaw. His legs are tense, ready to move the second Alec lets his guard down, but Alec’s not going to let his guard down, not ever, because this isn’t happening. Dean’s not going anywhere, and the concept of a set time for lights-out ended with Manticore.
“You’re amazing,” Dean finally agrees and he takes a slow, controlled step towards Alec. “You’re amazing and you’re going to bed and you’re going to stay there. You know why you’re going to stay there?”
Alec knows Dean’s answer to this question. That doesn’t mean he’s going to open his mouth and let it out into the air.
“You’re gonna stay there because I put you there.” Dean takes another step forward and Alec backs up until he’s pressed against the counter, still with the jacket behind his back, gripping it, rubbing the worn leather between his fingers and telling himself that he’ll never let it go, that Dean’s going to have to pry it from his cold, dead hands, because Alec’s not losing this one. Alec won’t lose this one.
“Who do you even think you are?” he demands. “When did you decide that dictatorship was the way to go?”
“It’s not a dictatorship, kitten.”
“The hell it isn’t! What’s next? Set times for elimination?”
“Elimination?” Dean’s eyebrows furrow in confusion as Sam turns his head to hide the amusement parading across his face.
“I think he means, uh...‘going to the bathroom,’ Dean.”
“Oh...oh,” Dean’s eyes widen just a bit. He shakes his head. “‘Course not. You gotta go when you gotta go.”
“And I gotta sleep when I gotta sleep. And right now I don’t have to sleep.”
“Well, you’re going to have to try, aren’t you?”
“No.” No, Alec doesn’t have to try. Not if he doesn’t want to and he doesn’t want to, and forcing him to do something he doesn’t want to do is an injustice, a crime against humanity even. “I won’t. It’s a crime against humanity.”
Dean’s got that look on his face, that are-you-kidding me look, and he starts approaching slowly, like he’s a lion and Alec’s a gazelle, which is a completely fucked-up analogy if you ask Alec. Alec’s the one with the cat DNA. Not Dean. Alec’s the one who comes out of this alive, with food in his stomach and blood on his teeth.
“A crime against humanity? Really.” There’s some mirth in Dean’s eyes as he asks the question, as Alec slides down the side of the counter until he’s backed up into a corner. He could just duck out now, could shoot across the room and keep the chase going, but he knows a verbal out when he sees it.
“If you wanna get technical about it, it’s a crime against kitten-kind.”
Dean comes to a halt a few feet away, turns his head to hide his grin, but Alec sees it, sees the flash of teeth and the crinkle of Dean’s eyes and right now, in this moment, it doesn’t feel like war. This is Dean. Dean, who’s amused by the smallest, most insignificant things that come out of Alec’s mouth, because Alec’s his and Dean’s Alec’s, and Dean can’t go anywhere, not now. He can’t. The world is dark and terrible and it’ll eat Dean alive if Alec’s not there with him.
“Dean.” Dean’s distracted and Sam’s using that prodding tone he manages to achieve just by saying a name.
“What? I got this.”
Sam rolls his eyes. Alec kind of hates it when Sam rolls his eyes. Hates it and loves it. Sometimes he struggles to understand how two opposing forces of such an extreme nature can exist in the same brain at the same time without causing an explosion. “You don’t have this at all.”
“Sure I do.” Dean clears his throat and turns his head, pins Alec with serious-business eyes. He holds out an open hand and waggles his fingers, smacks them against his palm. “Kid? Gimme my jacket.”
“No.”
“Don’t tell me no.” Dean’s one step closer. Alec’s darting across the room, feeling the brush of the bossy hands trying to grab him, trying to put him in some place that’s not his. Alec’s place isn’t a sheet-covered couch at nine-fifteen at night. Alec doesn’t have a bedtime. “Alec.”
“What?” Alec backs up against the wall, takes some comfort in the feel of the jacket wedged between himself and the peeling wallpaper. This is where he is, and if he’s here with the jacket in his hands, then Dean’s here, too. Alec hasn’t lost and Dean’s not gone.
“Do you remember that conversation we had about poking the bear?”
“Yeah, I remember that conversation.” Alec smiles fondly at the memory, at the empty checkbox in his head on his mental to-do-list. He can’t wait until they camp out again.
“Well, that’s what you’re doing. You’re poking the bear. And trust me, the bear does not want to be poked.” Dean’s not even trying to come closer now. He’s leaning against the counter with his arms crossed and that look in his eyes that says he’s had enough. Alec knows this look because Sam’s always on the receiving end of it. “Now you’re gonna come over here and you’re gonna give me my jacket and then you’re going to bed, capice?”
No.
“No. You’re not going anywhere.”
Dean’s face goes soft. His arms relax a little, but stay crossed. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Sam’s gonna stay with you and Ben. I need to score us some dough so we can get out of Bobby’s hair, you know that.”
Alec doesn’t know that. Or he does, maybe, because Sam and Dean were talking about it earlier, but he doesn’t care. Dean’s leaving, Dean’s going out all by himself into a world that is black and scary and littered with bad seeds and secret government agents and they’ll snatch him up the second he steps foot out that door. Alec knows this. They’ll stun him and they’ll take him, or they won’t even do that, they’ll just shove him to his knees and-
“Alec?”
-and they’ll-
“Kitten?”
They’ll win the war.
“Kid, look at me.”
There are two hands firm against his upper arms, shaking him and then squeezing and then they’re gone, they’ve moved to his fingers, disentangling them from that jacket that smells vaguely of aftershave mingled with traces of cigarette smoke long-since exhaled, and something else that Alec doesn’t know how to describe as anything other than Dean.
“Look at me. I’m right here.”
Alec blinks. Dean’s face comes into focus, and he’s so close that his nose is almost brushing Alec’s and he’s on his knees, but he’s here and they can’t get him when he’s here.
“You alright?”
Of course he’s alright. Alec’s always alright.
“I’m always alright,” he says, but the disbelief painted on Dean’s face is opaque and irritating, and Alec curls his toes and closes his eyes and tries not to snap. He needs to stop it with this vulnerable shit. Soldiers aren’t weaklings. “I’m not going to bed.”
Green eyes harden. “Oh, yes. You are.”
“I’m not. And you can’t make me.” The jacket’s on the floor, cast off by Dean’s hands in favor of consoling Alec and he’s grateful for this, he really is, but it isn’t enough. Dean can’t just force something so absurd as a bedtime on him and then leave. What does he think Alec is, anyway?
Alec knows what Alec is. Alec’s the impossible soldier, the one who survives without seeing his brother or his uncle or his dad face-down and bleeding in the snow.
“Yoink.” Alec’s the one with the leather jacket back in his hands, kicking up that invisible dust again.
“Dude, it’s not cute anymore,” Dean’s saying, but the words are lost in the air whipping past Alec’s ears as he bolts out of the kitchen. He’s so fast. He loves that he’s so fast.
“Alec?” Ben’s ramrod-straight on the couch, startled as anything, and Alec wants to tell him that it’s going to be okay, that Dean’s not leaving, that Alec’s taking care of this. Alec’s taking care of everything. “Why do you have Dean’s jacket?”
“No time.” The pounding of big, booted feet is far too close for comfort and Alec shoots through the living room, through the dining room, aims for the basement then rethinks it because the basement is the scary place, even in Bobby’s house. He shouldn’t have stopped, though, because now Dean’s only six feet away, skidding to a sudden halt and glaring.
“C’mere.”
“No.”
Dean sinks his teeth into his lip and holds them there as if he’s struggling to keep something dangerous contained. An animal, maybe, or a bomb. Alec doesn’t know, and he doesn’t really want to know, but he’s going to know because he’s not surrendering, not ever. He’ll outrun it, whatever it is. He’ll do whatever he has to.
Dean snaps his fingers and the sound is like a warning shot. Alec flinches, swallows when the hunter points to the ground directly in front of his feet, growls, “I’m not even kidding with you right now. Get over here.”
Dean never talks to him like this. This is a horrible way to talk.
Alec doesn’t even realize where his eyes go, isn’t really conscious of the fact that he’s looking for a way to dodge the bullet even though he’s stepping back and readying himself for escape and Dean growls again, but there aren’t words this time. Just the sound, angry and treacherous, and Alec doesn’t even want to deal with it.
“Freeze.”
Alec doesn’t get cold enough to freeze.
“Alright, that’s it. If you take one more step, I swear to God-“
Alec doesn’t let him finish that threat. He’s gone, on feet like birds ascending the stairs, flying through the upstairs hallway with Dean hot on his wings, and this’ll be no problem. It would be, maybe, if Alec were anyone else. If Alec were anyone else this would be his fatal flaw, rushing from room to room, tripping over beds and trash and rotting wood from furniture that should’ve been thrown out twenty years ago. If Alec were anyone else, this would be a trap, but it’s just him and Dean and Dean’s hands may be well-trained and possessive, but Alec’s a quick and evasive creature. Alec can leap over mattresses and careen around corners and duck into that bedroom at the end of the hall for another song and dance. He can keep it going forever, he just knows it.
He just believes it.
He’s riding high on his fourth minute and his feet are starting to hurt from hammering against the wood, but Dean’s right behind him and the door’s right there, and he can’t stop. Not ever. So he pushes it open and barrels right in. Right into Sam’s awaiting arms.
And now Alec knows how monsters feel.
Dean wipes the perspiration from his forehead and takes in a long, agitated breath. Alec struggles for a moment, but stills when Sam’s gentle tone turns sharp because apparently, they’ve had enough. They’ve had enough and they’ve won.
“Nine or ten’s a little too old to have Daddy chasing you around the whole fuckin’ house, Alec.” Dean’s voice is vexed, but his hands are gentle as they peel the jacket away from Alec’s grip.
“I’m emotionally stunted,” Alec replies. “And for your information, I consider it a genetic defect.”
Dean’s eyes flash with something as he shrugs the jacket back on, and Alec’s not sure what it is - irritation or hurt or a reluctant sort of understanding, he doesn’t know, but he kind of wants to take it back, wants to take it all back because Dean has this sad and tired look about him and Alec was the one who put it there. Alec wants to surrender five hours ago, before the sun ever went down.
“I was thirty by the time I was five, sweetheart.”
Alec was a machine three times broken by the time he could process a thought.
“If I let you go, do you promise not to run?” Sam’s leaning down and his hair is tickling Alec’s cheek.
Alec promises and Sam lets him go. Dean lets him go, too, a whole three inches forward before he grabs one of his hands and pulls him back down the stairs, to the couch, where Ben is wide-eyed and waiting with his lip tucked under his teeth. Alec wants to tell him not to worry. He wants to apologize for making it worse because this is his brother, his Ben, and he’s starting to understand exactly how that crazy head works. Alec wants to tell him that it’s okay, that just because Alec is an asshole doesn’t mean Ben is an asshole, but he can’t because he’s being lifted into the air and dumped unceremoniously onto the scratchy couch cushions.
And now he’s watching Dean’s thumb trail over Ben’s lip, listening to the growl give way to a soft, “Lay down, Benny. M’not mad. Not at anybody.”
Ben slides down until his head hits the pillow, until his body sinks under the blanket and Alec wants to crawl under there with him. Alec wants to not to be here right now, feeling six-years-old and helpless with Dean crouching down next to the couch, looking at him with eyes that can burn a hole.
Alec stares back and wills himself not to combust. Dean’s never looked at him this way before. This is a horrible way to look at someone as adorable as Alec.
And that’s a thought. Alec juts out his lower lip and bats his eyes.
The sigh of defeat is almost immediate and he fights the triumphant smirk trying to conquer his face, but not for long. He’s in a surrendering sort of mood now, after all.
“Dude, that was…” Dean trails off. Dean apparently doesn’t know what that was.
“Naughty?”
Something glorious shoots through his heart when Dean’s lips twitch. “Yeah, and not in the fun way.” A large palm comes to rest on his stomach, fingers tapping rhythmically over his T-shirt and he puts his hand over Dean’s, stills it, dances his own digits down to pick at the leather sleeve.
“You’re not going now, though…right?”
“We need the money, buddy. Sam’s gonna-“
“I don’t care. Just because Sam’s here doesn’t mean you can leave.” Dean doesn’t get it. Dean doesn’t get it at all. He doesn’t understand, even after seven days in Hell, how fucking vigilant they are, how they know. They’ll always know and they’ll always be wearing a mask that says they don’t, the fuckers, and there’ll only be one of them but they only have to press a button or make a call, and then there will be tens of them, hundreds of them, a world of them.
All waiting for Dean and Dean’s brother, and the kids with Dean’s face.
“I’ll be back before three. You won’t even know I’m gone. I want you to try to sleep-“
“Fuck you.”
Dean’s eyes are the size of plates and his mouth falls open in shock. Ben kicks Alec’s leg underneath the blanket.
“What did you just say to-“
“You heard me.”
Dean totally heard him, and he tilts his head to the side and aims those eyes back on Alec, the ones that are going to set Alec on fire this time, he just knows it, but that’s fine. He’s okay with that, because if Dean’s looking at Alec with those eyes, that means Dean’s here, Dean in his jacket that smells like Dean, and Alec can breathe it in for as long as he wants, knowing that neither the man nor his scent will be drowning in blood anytime soon.
“You don’t want to go to sleep right now?” Dean looks like the lion again. Maybe they chose him for a reason. “That’s fine, kid. You don’t have to go to sleep right now. You and I can take a little trip into the kitchen or the bathroom or anywhere where your brother doesn’t have to listen to you getting it.”
“Getting what?”
“It.”
“Dad, that’s a really dubious threat. I have the feeling you don’t even know what ‘it’ is.”
Green eyes narrow. Alec doesn’t flinch.
“Oh, I know what ‘it’ is,” Dean says, but the lie is so thick, it’s almost tangible. Alec can practically smell it, it’s like smoke in the air, but this time he doesn’t smirk. This time there’s no satisfaction in triumph or defeat, war or surrender, because Dean’s unhappy. Unhappy with Alec. Unhappy, but still here. Still alive.
“Dean.” Sam’s standing over them. Alec didn’t even see him come down the stairs.
“Can’t you see I’m in the middle of something here?”
Sam snorts. “What? Idle threats?”
“Your face is an idle threat.”
Sam’s face may be an idle threat, but his hands are reaching down, pulling Dean to a standing position, and then he’s dragging his brother into the kitchen amid grunts and growls, promising Alec and Ben that Dean will be back, they just need a second to talk, is all.
There’s a hot foot pressed hard against Alec’s leg as he strains to hear the conversation.
“Alec, how could you say that to-”
“Shut up. M’tryin’ to listen.” He tries to tell himself he doesn’t feel bad about the hurt pinching his brother’s face. Ben knows exactly how Alec could snap two measly words at Dean, and he knows exactly why. Useless questions are useless and Alec needs this silence right now, needs to hear the quiet voices in the other room saying things like, “He said the same thing to me yesterday. He just doesn’t want you to leave.”
But the already low volume sinks as the exchange progresses, and Alec nudges Ben with his own foot, mutters a quiet, but sincere apology because Ben shouldn’t have to worry. Not about anything. Especially not about things that Alec’s said or done.
“It’s okay. I know he won’t...”
“He won’t.” Alec doesn’t know what Ben thinks Dean will do exactly, but he knows Dean won’t do it. He doesn’t even have to believe it this time. “You know how I know?”
Ben’s rubbing the blanket between his fingers, casting his eyes down. “How do you know?”
“I know because you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t leave me on the side of the road just ‘cause I told you to go fuck yourself, would you?” Alec doesn’t even give him the time to respond. “You wouldn’t. It’d kill you to do that. That’s how I know it would kill Dean, too. ‘Cause you’re him and you need like he needs.”
Alec hates having to say this shit, but Ben needs to hear it. He can’t make himself see it or feel it or believe it, so Alec just has to pound it into him until the day he finally gets it, until the day they can finally move on and get back to what they used to be. Well…without the teeth pilferage, anyway.
Ben looks like it might be sinking in just a little and it looks like he might even be getting ready to respond, but then he drops back underneath the blanket because the door’s opening and Dean’s sauntering out, scrubbing a tired hand over his tired face as he reattaches himself to the side of the couch.
“I’m going to be back by three,” he says. “Your Uncle Sam’s going to stay with you and you’re going to be right here when I get back. Right where I put you. We clear?”
No. No. No, no, no.
Alec’s hand may be small, but it’s strong as fuck, and he grabs Dean in a fistful of plaid and pulls. Dean stumbles and tries to regain his balance before falling onto the couch, falling onto Alec, but he doesn’t, and Alec doesn’t even notice the extra weight or the furious coloring of Dean’s skin, he just creeps out from underneath it, yanks his leg away from the abrupt attempt to stop him because it’s not over and he’s not willing to lose this completely. He’s not willing to lose everything.
“Okay, that’s fucking it,” Dean snarls. Dean’s a snarler. That’s okay, because Alec is, too.
“You’re a fucking moron.”
Long arms shoot out and suddenly Alec’s in a trap, restrained, like he was on that table not too long ago, that table that was clinical and cold and there were needles but there aren’t needles now. Dean is a warm body and he’s not stationary in the least because they’re falling to the floor in a tangle of limbs, big and small, and Alec’s kind of sad that it had to come to this. This was never supposed to get violent, after all.
“Dean?” Sam’s standing over them. Sam’s a giant. “Are you six?”
“Apparently.” Dean grits the words out between his teeth. Alec’s tempted to elbow him in the ribs, but he’s too nice for that. Right now, anyway.
“Yeah? Alec, how old are you, kiddo? Are you three?”
“M’ten.”
“You are?”
“Stop patronizing us, Uncle Sam. You’re not funny and we’re in the middle of something here.”
“Yeah, Sammy. Shove off.”
Sam doesn’t shove off. He stands there and watches them with crossed arms until they tire themselves out, until the struggle fades away slowly, leaving Dean panting on his back with Alec sprawled limply over his body, heavy and solid like a dead weight.
“They’ll shoot you. They’ll shoot you in the head,” Alec says. Dean’s heart is beating fast. Alec can feel it under his shoulder blade, pumping away. “They’ll shoot you or they’ll take you away and shoot you later. Either way, we’ll never see you again.”
“Alec?” Sam’s using his gentle voice, the one he uses when he’s trying to calm Ben down after a nightmare or a lapse, when Dean’s too wound up or wrecked from seeing things that are too fucked up to think about, when Alec’s talking about them and the things they did when he was…there. “That’s not going to happen.”
“Why not? It happened before. It could happen at any time. They could come charging in here anytime and take us back or kill us all or just take me and Ben and kill you and Dean and Bobby. Right in front of us. Because that’s what they do when they think we need to be put in our place.”
That’s what they do.
Dean’s breath catches. “M’not gonna let that-“
“You already did.”
The room’s silent aside from the breathing. There’s a lot of breathing going on. Alec aches with what he just said, with what he knows Dean now feels because it’s not true, it’s not Dean’s fault. Dean didn’t have to do any of this and Alec knows it. Dean doesn’t owe him or Ben or even Sam anything. He can leave now if he wants to, can go off and drink some booze and fuck some people over in games of pool or poker, can perform adult acts with attractive female drifters because he hasn’t done that in a long ass time and Alec knows it.
I’m sorry, he wants to say.
“I’m sorry,” Dean says, wrapping an arm around Alec, bracing him as he pushes himself up into a sitting position. “I’m so sorry and I’ll never let it happen again, but we can’t live in a goddamn hole, either. They’re not gonna get you again, I promise.”
“It’s not about me-“
“I’m not gonna let them get me, either. I’m not gonna let anyone get me.”
Alec slides off Dean’s lap as the man rises to his feet. He takes the hand when it’s offered and walks to the couch when he’s led there. He waits as the blanket’s shirked back and doesn’t resist when Dean lifts him and dumps him back in that place, Alec’s place. The place where he stays because Dean put him there.
“Take an extra gun. Or an extra knife,” Alec mumbles. “Take both.”
Dean nods. “I’ll have my phone on the whole time. If you need me.”
“Don’t talk to strangers unless they’re heavily-tattooed and have dirt under their nails. Make sure their boots are scuffed, and I’m not talking recently.” Even then, it’s questionable.
Dean looks amused by this instruction, but he nods again, smirks, starts pulling off his jacket and for one hopeful moment, Alec thinks he’s going to stay.
The leather’s heavy, draped over his small body like an extra-thick blanket and Alec pulls one of his arms out from under it, curls it around the sleeve like he would if he were hugging his plush canine progeny.
“Hang onto it for me,” Dean says.
“S’cold outside.”
“I’ve got another.”
“Take Sam with you.”
“No. He stays with you.”
“Bobby, then, if he’s still fast enough.”
“Don’t let him hear you say that.”
Alec’s smarter than that. “I’m smarter than that.”
“You are,” Dean agrees, placing a hand on top of Alec’s head. “And when I get enough money to get us out of here, we can go wherever you and Benny want for a while, okay? M’gonna buy you guys waffles and pie.”
“Boston cream pie?”
“That’s a cake, kitten.”
“I don’t care.”
“If we can find it, I’ll get you some Boston cream pie.”
“That’s what I like to hear.”
That’s what Alec likes to hear and he bites his tongue to keep from protesting any more, tightens his arms around the sleeve to keep them from throwing themselves around Dean’s neck when the guy reaches down again, when he touches Alec in the same way Alec touches glass that he doesn’t want to break. Alec closes his eyes and listens to the soft shift of Dean’s boots as they move him down to Ben’s side of the couch, listens to the, “Hey, Trouble. Look at you being so quiet,” followed immediately by the insecure hitch in Ben’s breath and Dean’s assurance that it’s funny because it’s ironic.
Alec presses his ear into his pillow and tries to block out the sounds of Ben’s tearful admission that he won’t be able to sleep, that he thinks maybe he and Alec should go with Dean and he’s sorry, he’s sorry for even suggesting it, he’ll…he’ll go to bed and be quiet and-
“You never have to apologize to me for anything, sweetheart. Especially not for wanting to have my back.” But they still can’t go, and Dean leaves eventually after muttering orders to Sam to not stray too far from the couch. Not that Sam needs to hear them. He settles himself down on the floor as soon as Dean’s gone, with his back to the center of the furniture where Alec’s legs cross with Ben’s, and he tells them not to worry, that Dean’s going to be okay, that Sam knows this. He’s known Dean for twenty-six years, twenty-three of which he was cognizant, and nothing’s ever taken his brother down twice.
Alec buries himself in the jacket and inhales, tucks his leg under his brother’s and waits for that moment when Dean waltzes back into the house with his pockets full of paper money and no limbs missing.
_______________________________________________
The snowball fight is short and merciless and the air is cold against Ben’s cheeks, flushing them pink as he runs and dodges, tackles Dean down because he’s not thinking, he doesn’t have to think, he’s high on this. There’s a smattering of frozen white powder quickly melting on his right hand and his heart is beating fast and Dean’s laughing, honest-to-God laughing, and looking up at Ben with eyes that are tired, but fond, and for once, Ben feels like maybe it was all just a really bad dream. None of it was real, none of those terrible things that crept into his head and took up residence.
“You win, Benny,” Dean says, and he reaches up and pats one of Ben’s legs, which are straddling his torso.
I’m sorry. The words are tattooed in invisible ink on Ben’s tongue, he swears it, but he’s not going to let them show themselves because Dean will look sad. And Ben never wants Dean to look sad.
“I win,” he says instead. “I reign victorious.”
Alive. Ben’s alive and Dean’s smiling and today is a good day.
“You totally do, kid.”
They sit like that, Ben in his victory and Dean in his defeat, until Dean suddenly tilts to the side and dumps Ben into the snow and then there are fingers, fingers that are ridiculous and vicious and Ben tries to squirm away from them but he can’t and he’s laughing and laughing’s not allowed, they tell you to shut up if you laugh and no, he’s not thinking this because he’s not there and this is Dean and Dean wants him to laugh and he’s laughing and-
Dean’s flying away, toppling into the snow and Alec’s the victorious one.
“Kitten reigns supreme,” Alec sighs happily, pinning Dean’s arms to the ground and licking his teeth like he just swallowed a bird. “This is the way it always ends.”
It wasn’t the way it ended last night, but Alec seems to be forgetting that, forgetting the way he disappeared under Dean’s jacket and tried to stay still even though Ben could feel the trembling of his legs up until three-oh-five in the morning, when Dean came home to accusations of gross negligence and child abandonment.
Dean snorts and moves his head, snow falling from his hair to the ground as his eyes fight to find Sam, who’s talking to Bobby in the distance about something or other. A new case, maybe. Ben’s pretty sure they’re leaving here soon and he doesn’t know how to feel about that.
“Hey, Gargantua!” The holler is enough to get Alec to release one of Dean’s hands in favor of covering the loud mouth.
“What?”
But Dean’s already got what he needs, he’s got his leverage, and Alec’s flipped back into the snow, big hands holding his wrists to the ground, before he can so much as say, “How dare you.”
“Nevermind! I had a little clone uprising, but I’ve got it under control now.”
Sam rolls his eyes. Ben can see it from here and it’s hilarious because Sam’s always rolling his eyes and looking mildly disapproving even when he’s clearly amused.
“M’lettin’ you win,” Alec grumbles, straining against Dean’s hold. “Ben, help a brother out here.”
Dean smiles wide with an open mouth and licks his teeth and looks just like Alec just did but in the reverse position, and Ben feels something crushing inside of him for a moment, something crushing and hollow and things like that aren’t supposed to go together even though they are, right now, inside of him. Dean and Alec are the same and Ben is-
“Benny, help a dad out here,” Dean says, and then pinches his tongue between his teeth as Alec almost squirms loose. “Duuuude.”
It’s not real. It can’t be real. Ben’s seeing things that aren’t there again. Dean didn’t say that. Dean wouldn’t say that because Ben isn’t supposed to say that and only Alec can say that and any second now those playful hands are going to rot, are going to flake in dark debris to the pretty white snow because they know what Ben is and what he doesn’t have and-
“Ben, c’mon, pry ‘im off of me.” Alec’s voice splinters his thoughts. Ben’s eyes focus on his brother’s wriggling form, fighting to free itself under Dean’s steady weight. “I’ll pay you five bucks!”
“Where’re you gonna get five bucks?” Dean demands.
“Your wallet. You’ve got money now, don’t you? Ben? Benny. Brother. Five whole bucks.”
Ben can’t do this. Ben can’t do this and Dean’s already trying to mask the disappointment on his face and Alec’s already scowling, already snapping, “For chrissakes, Ben-”
“Hey.”
And they’re already done. The fun’s already over.
“What? You offer a guy five bucks, he’s supposed to hop-to. He’s not supposed to just sit there and freak out because he can’t get over some stupid fucking mind games-”
“Alec.” Dean’s voice is about as low as it ever gets, and Alec’s name is almost indistinguishable from the growl that produces it.
Ben’s stomach clenches as he watches the hunter get to his feet, dragging Alec up with him. Ben’s always causing problems like this and he never means to and he’s sorry. He’s so sorry.
“M’sorry,” he says.
Dean shoots him a hard look that softens almost immediately and tells him that he has nothing to be sorry for, he’s done nothing wrong. But Alec has, apparently, and Dean snaps his fingers in that authoritative way he does when he’s trying to get Alec, or sometimes Sam, to listen. “You. Apologize.”
“He doesn’t have to-”
“Good, ‘cause I’m not gonna. I’m so sick of this bullshit, Ben.”
Ben’s fucked up and Alec’s finally tired of it and who can blame him, anyway? Not Ben. Maybe Dean, considering he’s making some kind of incomprehensible noise of rage between his teeth and kneeling down and pressing his forehead against Alec’s, growling about how he needs to go inside and sit in the kitchen and wait for him because Dean’s had enough of this fucking bullshit, too, thank you very much. Alec merely blinks in response and returns the glare, because he’s not scared of Dean at all. Alec’s not scared of anything.
“Kid.”
But Alec doesn’t leave until Dean forcefully turns him around and pushes him towards the door, with the promise to join him in a minute.
“You okay?”
Ben’s fine, or as fine as ever he is, so he says, “I’m fine” and Dean swallows and nods, looks like he wants to say something else or ask something else, but he can’t bring himself to. Deans aren’t built for talking. Ben understands this because somewhere inside of him he understands that he, himself, is a Dean.
“Alright, then. You wanna hang out with your Uncle Sam and Bobby for a little while?”
Ben doesn’t. Or he does. Ben doesn’t know what he wants to do. Erase time, maybe, go back to ten minutes ago before he ruined everything, but that’s impossible. Nobody can do that. The Blue Lady, she couldn’t, back when she was real even though she was never real and Ben knows that now. Not even Dean could do that. Not even Alec.
“I’ll hang out with Uncle Sam,” he agrees, because there aren’t any other options right now and Sam’s pretending not to watch them even though Ben’s been seeing his eyes shifting in their direction ever since Dean and Alec rose to standing positions.
“Alright,” Dean says, and waits until Ben actually moves in Sam’s direction before turning around and heading into the house to do whatever he’s going to do to Alec. Ben wonders if the consequences will include grilled cheese, like they did last time.
“Everything alright?” Sam asks, and his arm is warm and heavy over Ben’s shoulder, his blue eyes soft, and Ben’s so glad that he’s still here, so glad that Sam didn’t leave.
“Alec…” Ben doesn’t know how to explain what Alec did, how Alec feels, why this isn’t Alec’s fault.
“Say no more.”
Ben doesn’t say anymore. Neither does Sam. Neither does Bobby. They’re quiet now that Ben’s here and that’s nerve-wracking and normally he wouldn’t, but Ben has to ask, “Is there another case?” Are you leaving us again?
“Looks like,” Sam says.
“A haunting?”
“We don’t know, Benny. It might be something different this time.”
“When are we leaving?” We. It has to be we.
“Don’t know, yet, kiddo. Maybe in a day or two. It’s not urgent.”
“Where are we going?”
Bobby chuckles and it turns into a cough, then back into a chuckle again. He holds a hand over his mouth, but his breath is visible, a fog escaping through his fingers into the cold air. “Eager to get out of here, are you?”
“No, it’s not that,” Ben’s quick to say. It isn’t that. He doesn’t want Bobby to think he’s not grateful because Bobby’s awesome. Bobby’s…family. “It’s just…where are we staying?”
Sam’s bemused. “Ben…since when do we ever even know that?”
“It’s just…there’s four of us. Four people need lots of space.”
“I don’t remember the last time we had lots of space.”
“I know, but-“
“Dude, if you feel like there’s not enough space, we can always make Dean sleep on the floor. Or outside. I promise you, I’ll be totally fine with that.”
“Okay.” Relief, Ben feels it. Not that he wants Dean to be ousted for lack of space because there’s no way that’s ever going to happen, but Sam seems to have no plan to leave Alec and Ben behind. The problem now is that Sam is looking at him with eyes that are trying to decipher things, and Ben hates being looked at this way. Sam’s going to study him for a few more seconds with those eyes and then he’s going to start asking questions that he already knows the answers to and then he’s going to try to talk about things.
Ben doesn’t want to talk about things.
“Uncle Sam, I’m bored.”
Sam’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline and for a second, Ben thinks he may have just made it worse. Blue eyes look up and off to the side, lips part, trying to a form a delicate question, but then Bobby clears his throat and smacks Sam in the arm.
“He’s ten, you idgit. And there’s snow on the ground. I reckon finding something for him to do won’t be too hard.”
Sam’s mouth snaps shut, but his face brightens as he looks down at Ben. “Hey, you wanna build a snowman?”
They build a snowman. Sam’s really into it, his smile wide and his cheeks flushed and his eyes bright as he rolls the base with his huge hands, telling Ben that he hasn’t done this for, like, twenty years, that Dean stopped doing it with him after he turned six and then it wasn’t fun anymore so he’s glad that he has Ben now. Ben’s awesome.
“You’re awesome, Benny,” Sam says as Ben comes running back to him, two long twigs in his hands. “You wanna get his left side?”
Ben gets his left side, watches as Sam sticks his tongue out just a little as he judges whether or not the arms are off-kilter.
“He doesn’t have a face,” Ben says, because he doesn’t. The snowman is composed of three snowballs of various mass and two twigs for arms. He has no face. He’s blank and white and pure. “I like it.”
Sam’s looking at him with those eyes again.
“Benny-“
“You wanna climb the tree with me?”
“It’s a bit too high for me, sweetheart.”
Ben hesitates. “Can Alec come out and climb the tree with me?”
“Well, that depends on what he did, I guess.”
“He didn’t do anything.” Alec didn’t do anything. Alec just told the truth. “Can you ask Dean if Alec can come out and climb the tree with me?”
“Why don’t you ask him?”
Ben’s stomach plummets. He can’t do that.
“Please, Uncle Sam?”
“I really think you should ask him yourself, buddy. You’ve been so up and down with him recently-“
“It’s okay. I can climb it by myself.” He can. Ben doesn’t need anybody to climb the tree with him, it was just a preference, a way not to be alone. It was just a way to include Sam, but if Sam can’t climb the tree, that’s fine. Sam can stay down here with his prying eyes and uncomfortable questions. Ben doesn’t need Alec, either. Alec can stay inside with Dean, who won’t have to listen to Ben make absurd requests or question his authority.
“Ben, I just-“
But Ben’s already scaling the trunk, digging his fingers and feet into the bark, on his way to that forty-foot high branch he and Alec sat on a few days ago. A few days ago, when Alec wasn’t sick of Ben, yet, and Dean wasn’t tired from being out all night long.
“I’ll…Ben? I’ll go get him, okay? Just…be careful. Don’t fall.”
If Ben falls, he’ll land on his feet. He won’t feel like he did, but he will.
He brushes snow off the branch as he creeps to the end, sits himself down facing the entrance of the salvage yard, the beat-up old sign that’s been there for God knows how long. He watches Sam disappear into the house out of the corner of his eye, waits and tries not to think about how, not too long ago, this was a good day. This was a day he felt alive.
It was just a word, a positive word, something he wanted to hear but because he wanted to hear it, it can’t be true. Good things don’t happen. Good things are fabricated for the sole purpose of screwing with Ben’s head. That’s how it works. That’s how they make things work.
He tries not to think about it, but it’s all he can think about. Time disappears inside these thoughts.
“Hey! Ben!”
Ben looks down. Alec’s on the ground, waving his arms in the air, his face alight with glee. There’s something in his hand that looks like a folded piece of notebook paper and he sticks it in his mouth as he heads for the tree trunk, holds it between his teeth as he climbs, and then he’s there, straddling the branch, taking the paper out of his mouth and offering it to Ben.
“What’s this?”
“Just read it.”
Ben looks for words, but there aren’t any, just a rough pen-sketch of a long-haired person wearing a hat on one side of the folded paper.
“Open it.”
Still no words - a five-dollar bill, though, that Ben snatches up before it floats away, and a pretty decent drawing of the Impala.
“Um, there aren’t any words,” Ben says.
“Aw. I know you’re really touched and everything, but I’m sure you can dredge up something from the deep, dark recesses of your mind.”
“No, Alec, I meant literally…there aren’t any words. You didn’t write anything.” He holds up the money, waves it in front of Alec’s face. “Where…did you take this out of Dean’s wallet?”
Alec waves a dismissive hand. “He won’t miss it. Oh, and I guess I forgot to write it. It’s supposed to say ‘I’m sorry.’ It’s an apology card! See the front? I drew that. It’s Uncle Sam in a tiara.”
“It’s…awesome, but-”
“Dad drew the Impala.”
Dean drew the Impala. Ben flips the paper open again, runs a finger over the carefully drawn lines.
“It’s…great. But you have nothing to be sorry for. You didn’t…I’m sorry.”
“Dude, don’t be an idiot. You’re traumatized and I know you’re traumatized and I snapped at you about it, anyway. It’s not your fault you’re a whiny little bastard sometimes. They did it to you. They did it to me, too, it’s just that I’m willing to accept things for what they are and you’re just…”
Alec can’t bring himself to say it. That’s okay. Ben can say it for him.
“Messed up?”
“Kinda. They mixed you all up. That’s not your fault, though. I’ll get you thinking straight again one of these days.”
They go quiet. Alec starts inching the snow off the branch, watching it fall to the ground, and then he can’t stand the quiet anymore. Alec can never stand the quiet for too long. “Hey, I’m sorry there’s no glitter, by the way. I really wanted to put some glitter on it to make Uncle Sam extra shiny, but Bobby doesn’t have any.”
“Glitter?”
“Yeah, you know, that sparkly junk in the tubes they had at that drug store next to all the colored markers and shit? I should’ve snagged some while I had the chance. It was…it was delightful. Think about how great the apology card would have been then.”
“It’s great without it,” Ben tells him, and he means it. The card is perfect just the way it is, even without glitter. Even without words.
“Yeah, well…it’s got my spit on the crease of it now, so I guess it is great. And if you look really closely, on Uncle Sam’s cheek you’ll see a damp spot that’s all dried up. That was one of Dad’s tears of mirth. He thinks Uncle Sam in a tiara is a truly hilarious joke. And our DNA is worth a lot, you know. You’ll probably be able to sell it on the Internet one of these days for a plentiful sum of money. You know, if you want.” Alec swipes some more snow off the branch. “But you’re gonna keep it forever, right?”
Of course he is. “Of course I am. I think I’m, uh…going to give the money back to Dean, though.”
“Yeah,” Alec agrees. “He’ll probably appreciate that.”
“Yeah.”
Alec starts talking after that, babbling about insignificant things like Boston cream pie to keep the silence away and Ben listens to his voice even as the words fade into nonsense. The sun’s getting low. It’ll be dark in a few hours and Ben will have to go back into the house, will have to give the money back to Dean, will have to meet Dean’s eyes and try not to look away and make him sad again, for the millionth time. Ben needs to stop this. Ben needs his head not to be messed up anymore.
“I mean, if it’s a cake, why do they call it a pie? Boston sits on a throne of lies, Ben. I think maybe I’m going to have to ditch the entire idea of getting Boston cream pie in favor of boysenberry pie, because boysenberry is a funny word. Boysenberry-“
Ben doesn’t know how readily available compound fruits are anymore, but he hopes his brother gets his boysenberry pie. Alec deserves whatever he wants because he keeps holding them all together, stops them from breaking apart and getting killed and killing each other and all that other shi-…stuff.
He listens to Alec’s babble, but allows his eyes to stray past his twin’s face. The sign at the entrance to Bobby’s home and place of business is tall and derelict, but familiar now. Ben’s not sure how he feels about leaving it, about going past it, about looking back through the windshield and watching it fade away into the distance. There’s Bisquick here, and a stove where Dean showed Ben how to make pancakes. There are bruises that faded away and tears that they hid and tears that they didn’t and bad dreams, horrific dreams made okay when they woke up because they were just dreams and everything was in place when their eyes opened, even if there were angry words and angry fists being thrown around and Ben hated that. He hated it. He hated that Sam tried to walk out the door in the middle of the night with no set plan on coming back, with no thought to what would happen to him when he went past that sign. He hated that Dean did the same, just last night, and Ben was sure he would never come back, was sure that they would go into town the next day and find Dean’s blood on the dirty floor of some bar, but they didn’t because Dean came back. Dean always comes back.
“I hear they have awesome key lime pie in Florida…”
Alec’s still going. Alec will never stop. Ben keeps looking at the sign, at the shadows it casts, at the birds that flutter down and perch on it to rest their wings. The sign is calm and stagnant, unchanging, and it won’t leave until someone knocks it down and takes it away. Ben kind of wants that. Ben kind of wants to be that, to just stand there and let life tear him down slowly, year after year, as long as he has a place to stand. He can let the people walk past him, coming and going so long as they’re not bothering him. Like that lady walking past the sign right now. She’s not bothering it at all.
She’s just a person walking past a sign in the late afternoon. With sunglasses covering her face.
“A-Alec?”
“…pecan pie is a Southern delicacy-“
“Alec.”
Alec stops, and looks to where Ben’s now pointing, to the woman with the small quirk to her lips, hair long and dark, but pinned up.
“L-lots of people have sunglasses.”
It’s her. Ben knows it’s her.
“I know it’s her.”
He knows it’s her when she walks under and slightly past the tree, hips sashaying as she goes, the movement pulling the collar of her shirt down and…he’s not imagining it. It’s there. He knows it’s there because Alec’s breathing in a way that indicates that it’s there and that’s how he knows for sure that it’s her. He knows it’s her when he jumps off the branch, plummets to the ground and takes her down with him.
He knows it’s her when he hammers her face with his small fists, dirtying his skin and the snow with her blood.
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