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Artwork courtesy of Valjean & JensenAcklesFans.com

Complications
By Valjean

*****

The moment Max’s cell phone began to ring Dean heard the high whine of the trace on her line. Quickly, he slammed down the receiver -- before she could pick up. Fuck. Then he looked back across the street at the hotel parking lot where Sam was waiting by the Impala. No way to reach her now. If her line’s tapped, then probably all of TC’s are.

“Did you get hold of her?” Sam called as Dean jogged across the road to the car.

“No,” his brother said, shaking his head. “Someone was listenin’. I’ll hafta try again later ... maybe get hold of O.C. or Sketchy.”

Sam nodded. “So, we head east then ... after Dad?”

Dean bit down on his lower lip and squinted slightly at the rising sun. Every fiber of his being wanted to make a beeline straight toward Seattle and Max, but the soldier in him knew that now was the time to lay low. Essentially, as a transgenic, he was behind enemy lines ... a target ... and he’d better start acting like it.

“Dean?”

“We keep huntin’ for Dad,” he finally said. “And hope to God no one notices me.”

Sam relaxed visibly. It was the decision he’d have made too, but he hadn’t wanted to cross his brother. “What about your bar code?” he asked, stepping forward to pull down the collar of Dean’s leather jacket.

Dean shrugged away, annoyed. “It’s fine,” he said.

“No, it’s not,” Sam returned calmly. “You haven’t lasered the thing off in weeks and it’s showing up loud and clear.”

“Lasers hurt,” Dean snapped. “No one will notice.”

“They’ll notice,” Sam insisted.

Dean rounded on the younger man. “Well,” he said sarcastically, “just point me in the direction of Po Dunk, Wyoming’s most modern dermatology office and I’ll get right to work on that.” He sighed heavily and, hands on hips, looked up and down the deserted highway. “The bar code stays for now. I’ll just keep it covered.”

“That bar code’s a bullseye on your back,” Sam persisted. “It makes you an instant target. At least put a bandaid over it.”

“Fine,” Dean said, tired of arguing. “I’ll get one out of my shaving kit, then we hit the road. I sure as hell wish Dad would turn up, though.”

“That’d make you feel safer?”

“Yeah,” his big brother said honestly. “It would.”

“Don’t worry,” Sam said firmly, putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder “We’re in this together, and I’m not gonna let the military, the government, or that creepy major take you from me.”

Dean smiled at that, proud of the kid but at the same time saddened by Sam’s naiveté. Baby Brother had no idea -- even after their previous encounter with Stendahl -- just how ruthless the world could be with regards to the Freaks of Manticore. And unfortunately, he had sick feeling in his gut that they were both, sooner or later, going to find out.

*****

Mountain Dew, twinkies, beef jerky, and peanut M&Ms ... that about covered the four basic food groups Dean figured as he headed back up the aisle of the Quickie Mart toward the register. At least now he’d have some sustenance, even though Sam was having a fit about paying for stuff with forged credit cards. However -- as Dean had pointed out to the younger man -- it was either that or resorting to another one of his less-than-noble-yet-practical talents: shoplifting ... or perhaps even pickpocketing.

Sam had shut up then, at least for awhile. The kid was probably even more tired than he was, Dean thought as he opened the bag of M&Ms, popped a yellow candy into his mouth, and began to chew. There were several guys dressed in cowboy hats up ahead -- rednecks -- and the X5 decided it prudent to hang back until they were gone. The trip hadn’t been much fun so far -- Metallica, Zeppelin, and Motorhead tapes not withstanding. They had another 400 miles to go before they could even think about stopping for the night, and the Impala had already had one flat tire. The cost of gas was astronomical out here, too, which didn’t help Dean’s outlook on things. Petty theft was one thing, but it was beginning to border on needing a grand larceny caper just to fill the Chevy’s tank.

The cowboys were talking to the store clerk, taking their good old time at checkout, and Dean’s impatience was growing. He was just about to head for the line anyway, to see if he couldn’t speed things along, when he noticed that the pudgy, middle-aged man in his green clerk’s apron behind the counter was looking scared.

--and then he saw the gun in the hand of the tallest good-old-boy. Shit.

Quietly ... moving slowly ... Dean set down the food and began backing up, keeping out of sight. The last thing he and Sam needed right now was to get involved with an armed robbery. Hopefully, the clerk would just fork over the dough and the cowboy gang would leave. But X5-494’s day was going badly. Sam chose that moment to come looking for him (or maybe the restroom) and walked through the store’s front door. Immediately, the gun -- a wicked looking .45 revolver -- swung toward the young man, and Dean’s reflexes took over. X5s were, indeed, mostly human, but when it came to violence they had a deeply ingrained instinct to fight ... to kill. All it took was a trigger -- and 494’s trigger had just been pulled.

Without even thinking, the young transgenic blurred across the store and barreled straight into the pack of robbers, knocking aside the gun while at the same time shoving Sam backwards out the door and hopefully out of the line of fire. There was the sound of a single shot as the younger Winchester brother hit the asphalt hard on his back. Dean immediately whirled and let loose with a spinning hook kick that batted the gun out of the astonished cowboy’s hand followed by a punch to the jaw that put the guy’s lights out. The remaining two robbers stared slack-jawed at their fallen leader then jumped his attacker. However, they were unarmed and nothing but easy prey for the battle-mode X5. Five seconds later they, too, were lying bleeding and broken on the pavement.

“Let’s go!” Dean shouted at Sam who was picking himself up, the whole fight having taken barely more than the blink of an eye. Together, they ran for the Impala where it was parked next to a gas pump. Jumping in, Dean turned the key and put pedal to the floor, the vehicle roaring out of the lot and leaving a trail of dust behind in the air. With luck, the soon-to-arrive law would be too preoccupied with the actual thieves to bother trying to pursue the guy who’d thwarted the robbery. However, the young transgenic’s streak of bad luck was far from over.

“You okay?” he asked Sam who was breathing hard in the seat beside him and looking back down the road making sure they weren’t being pursued.

“I’m fine,” the younger man said, turning wide eyes on his brother. “What the hell was that back there anyway, you goin’ all primitive on those guys? Way to lay low, Dean.”

“What the hell that was, was me savin’ your ass, bro,” Dean snapped. “Didn’t you see the gun?”

“Not right away, no,” Sam admitted.

“He was gonna shoot you.”

“Well then ... thanks,” Sam said, his voice carrying a tinge of chagrin. “But I sure hope that clerk doesn’t start babbling about his savior having super speed and strength.”

“You and me both,” Dean agreed as he shifted uncomfortably in the driver’s seat. He winced then, and bit down on his lower lip. “Sam,” he said a moment later, his eyes staying carefully on the rapidly darkening road.

“What?” Sam said dryly, his disgust at the whole situation obvious once again.

“I’m bleedin’.”

*****

Dean could feel the warm wetness saturating his t-shirt on the left side, but was childishly afraid to look down. He honestly hadn’t felt the bullet hit ... adrenaline he supposed. But now a deep ache was beginning in his gut that couldn’t be good.

Sam instantly turned from scolding nag to mother hen. Leaning over, the younger man took one look at the rapidly spreading blood stain on his brother’s shirt and ordered, “Pull over.”

“We can’t stop yet,” Dean said through clenched teeth, feeling cold even though sweat was beading on his upper lip. He was getting lightheaded too ...

“I said pull over!” Sam shouted. He glanced out the back window. There was no sigh of following cars. “I’ll drive,” he added more gently. “We can’t risk you passing out. We’ll find some place safe in a few miles and then figure out our next move.”

Sammy was right. “No hospitals,” Dean panted as he pulled the Impala over to the berm of the road. “Shit, I’m gonna--” He barely got the car door open before the contents of his stomach spewed out. When he was done vomiting ... his head reeling ... the X5 wiped his mouth with his sleeve and tightly clutched the car door to keep from falling face first into the gravel. Then he felt Sam’s hands on his shoulders.

“Get in the back seat,” his brother said gently. “Lie down. A sign back aways said there’s a rest stop about ten miles down the road. We’ll pull over there, where there’s water, get you cleaned up, and see how bad it is.”

*****

“It’s bad.”

“Not that bad. I’ll be all right.”

“Dean, you need to go to a hospital, right now. You’re bleeding and the bullet’s still in you.”

Seated hunched over with pain in the back of the Impala with his feet on the ground outside the door, Dean grabbed hold of the lapels of Sam’s jacket and pulled him close. “I can’t go to a hospital,” he said, enunciating each word as if speaking to a backwards child.

Sam angrily pulled away and straightened his coat. “Fine,” he said scathingly. “Bleed to death for all I care. Then where does that leave me? With your body to bury? And what about Dad? You didn’t want to look for him by yourself. What the hell makes you think I do?”

“You’ll find him,” Dean said simply. “With or without my help.” A smirk. “As for buryin’ my body, just makes sure it’s on holy ground.”

“And what should the tomb stone say?” Sam asked coldly.

“Looks, brains, and attitude?” Dean tried.

“How about ‘Stubborn, pigheaded, and shit-for-brains,’” Sam supplied instead. “Dean, whether you like it or not, I’m takin’ you somewhere for medical attention. You’ve got a bullet buried in your side and you’re losin’ blood.”

“It’s just seeping.”

“As in a vein’s been severed,” Sam said. “And there’s probably other internal injuries. You could need surgery.”

Dean wanted to argue more -- he really did -- but all of a sudden his vision started to dim.

“Dean,” came Sam’s voice from very far away. “Dean!”

*****

“My brother’s been shot! Help him!”

Sam knew that he might not be doing the right thing, but he also knew he couldn’t just stand by and do nothing while Dean died in his arms in the back seat of the Impala. So, he had driven as fast as he could to the closest town and followed the signs to their hospital -- Boulder County General. Pulling into the ER bay with a squeal of tires, he’d jumped out and hollered for help. Of course there’d be questions from the law ... and the doctors would be running those “tests” Dean was always so afraid of ... but none of that mattered so long as his brother didn’t leave him the way their mother had ... the way Jessica had ...

He filled out paperwork while the ER personnel worked on Dean. Sam could see them through a clear window that separated the offices from the actual emergency ward. No questions had been asked -- yet. The fact that their charge was bleeding and unconscious had been enough to triage Dean straight to the doctors. Of course everything he wrote down on those forms was fake, but luckily it was late on a Friday and the details wouldn’t get checked until Monday morning. By then -- hopefully -- Dean would be better and they’d be outta here.

Sam finished the last page and handed the clipboard with its dangling chained pen back to the nurse behind the counter.

“You’re his brother?” she said.

He nodded, his eyes on Dean in the adjoining room as a new doctor came out of the elevator and approached.

“And your health insurance is Blue Cross?”

“That’s right,” Sam mumbled. “Excuse me,” he added, backing up from the window. “I need to talk to the doctor.”

“But, sir!” she called after him. “I need your signature on several more documents, and I need to make a copy of your insurance card!”

Sam ignored her, instead pushing his way through the glass double-doors and into the ER examining room where the new doctor was donning rubber gloves.

“Age?” the bespectacled doctor snapped.

“He’s 26,” Sam answered. “Almost 27.”

“Drug user?”

“No.” Of that Sam was certain. Dean had great contempt for drug users of any kind, although oddly he didn’t seem to include alcohol in that category. In fact, the question brought back a nasty memory to Sam of the time his older brother had caught him smoking a joint out back of the school they were currently attending. It was the one and only time Dean had hit him -- outside of their martial arts sessions that is. He’d told Dad the bruise on his jaw had happened when he fell off his bike ... Later, Dean had apologized, but Sam had never touched marijuana or any other drug again.

“HIV positive?”

“What?” Sam said, snapping back to the here and now.

“Is your brother HIV positive?”

“No,” Sam said, a vision of Dean with that hooker suddenly looming and hoping that what he was saying was true.

“Blood type?”

“O negative,” Sam said, remembering Dean’s mention of that when describing Manticore’s butcher shop attitude toward its soldiers, making them all universal donors with interchangeable body parts and organs.

“He needs surgery immediately,” the young blond doctor said after a brief examination and a glance at the x-ray. “The bullet’s lodged near his liver and the hepatic vein is seeping. If we don’t get it stopped, he’s terminal. Get me a complete blood workup! And you ... if you’re his next of kin I'll need you to sign a surgical release form.”

“You’ve got my permission,” Sam immediately said, alarmed by the grim prognosis. “I’ll sign anything you want. Just ... don’t let him die.” He looked at his brother’s face then. With those predatory green eyes closed, Dean looked a lot like he had when they were children ... a little boy merely napping. Reaching out, Sam lightly touched the back of the large, strong hand that had already saved him more times than he cared to count, beginning with the night a five-year-old boy had so bravely, and without question, carried his baby brother to safety when their house had gone up in Devil’s flames, and ending earlier this evening when Dean had shoved him out of harm’s way, taking a bullet in the process.

“This is going to take awhile,” the preppy-looking surgeon said, sounding so bored about the whole thing Sam actually took it as a sign of confidence. “You might as well find some place to go and rest. If you’ve got a cell phone number I’ll call you when we’re through.”

“No,” Sam said. “I’ll stay here, at the hospital. Just tell me where the waiting room is.”

“Down the hall to the left,” the surgeon said. “I’ll see you in about six hours.” Sensing that Sam was still worried sick, the doctor was kind enough to add, “He’s young and strong. He’s got a good chance. Don’t give up on your brother yet.”

“I’ll never give up on him,” Sam said truthfully. “Not ever.”

*****

The recovery area was a semiprivate room with three other beds, the occupants separated by curtains. Sam actually slept for awhile, seated in a chair beside his still unconscious brother, arms and legs crossed, and his head tilted back against the wall. He’d been told that Dean might not wake up for half a day or even longer, but that the surgery had been a success -- no complications. The bullet was out, the vein repaired, and no other internal injuries found. After awhile, however, a crick in his neck forced the younger Winchester brother awake, just in time to see a newscast on the room’s high-mounted television set.

“It’s a witch hunt,” according to Senator James McKinley, the announcer was saying, “but a righteous one.” The Senator declares that transgenics must be eliminated once and for all, or at the very least contained. The enclave in Seattle is completely surrounded by military troops leaving virtually no possibility that any of its supersoldier denizens can escape. Meanwhile, representatives of Freak Nation continue to negotiate with government officials, seeking a peaceful solution to the standoff. However, transgenics not inside the protective walls of their Seattle village are having a far rougher time. At last count, three X4s and two X5s have been shot and killed by local law enforcement officials in various locations around the country after they reportedly refused to surrender to police custody, and as many as fourteen other transgenics and transhumans have been captured and turned over to the military. Technology is also being implemented that can distinguish transgenic from human in a crowd ... even the very human-looking X5s. In further developments, a law was just passed in an emergency session of Congress that makes it illegal to harbor a transgenic fugitive with a penalty of up to ten years in prison for those who defy it. “Our gene pool must be protected,” McKinley says. “And the dangerous filth that was the result of careless science must be eliminated.”

For the first time, Sam began to wonder about those blood tests the doctors were running on Dean before his surgery. Glancing out into the hallway, he saw that everything appeared to be calm and normal -- no stormtroopers on the way. However, he wished Dean would wake up so they could get the hell out of here.

As if he’d heard his brother’s thoughts, the young man lying in the bed turned his head, opened his eyes halfway, groaned, then mumbled incoherently, “I’m sorry ... it’s not my fault ...”

“Dean,” Sam said urgently, instantly at his brother’s side. “Come on. Wake up. We gotta book outta here.”

Dean’s eyes fluttered open and he blinked, trying to focus, lucidity returning as his brain overcame the affects of the anesthetic. When he emerged into the here and now ... saw his surroundings ... “Tell me you didn’t bring me to a hospital,” he groaned. “Tell me you weren’t that stupid.”

“I had to,” Sam said. “You were dying. But you’re gonna be okay now. They got the bullet out and patched you up.”

Dean glanced down to where an I.V. line sprouted from the back of his right wrist. “No cuffs,” he said. “So, I gather they haven’t figured it out yet?”

“No,” Sam said. “But they did run some tests, and the Gestapo are out all over the country trying to run down transgenics. We need to get out of here before someone notices ... something.”

“Like my bar code?” Dean said dryly.

“I told you to just let your hair grown down to cover it,” Sam snapped. “Yeah, like your bar code, or your special enriched blood. The lab has to be wondering about that by now.”

“Don’t get mad at me,” Dean tossed back. “This was your idea, not mine. Get me some water.”

“Well, it was your idea to get shot,” Sam said as he held a glass of water to his brother's lips.

“Protectin’ you.”

“That’s beside the point. Can you walk?” he asked, putting the glass down.

In reply, Dean hitched himself up in the bed and began pulling out the various tubes and lines that connected him to I.V.s and monitoring machines. “Ow,” he muttered as he ripped adhesive off the back of his hand. Followed by “don’t look” as he made a wry face and pulled out the catheter. “You got my clothes?” he asked a moment later.

Sam turned back to him. “Yeah, I brought you jeans and a t-shirt from the car. Your boots are in the closet.”

Gingerly, the X5 swung both legs over the side of the bed and grimaced with pain.

“Can you make it?” Sam asked anxiously as he saw an intern suddenly run by the room door and out toward the front desk. Something was happening ...

“I’ll make it,” Dean grunted as he wriggled into the jeans then let the hospital gown drop around his waist as he reached for the shirt.

“Good,” Sam breathed. “Because I think we just ran out of time.”

*****

A pair of sheriff’s deputies were stepping off the elevator as Sam and Dean entered the hallway, younger brother supporting older. But suddenly the X5 stopped and leaned heavily against the door frame.

“You all right?” Sam asked anxiously, alarmed by the pallor of his brother’s skin.

“I’m always all right,” Dean said quietly, clenching his jaw against what was obviously some pretty heavy duty pain. “Where’d you park?”

“Satellite lot,” Sam said, kicking himself mentally for not keeping their ride closer.

“So, they haven’t made the Impala?” Dean said hopefully.

“No.”

“Good.”

“But you can’t walk that far.”

“I’ll make it.”

“Not without--”

“There!” someone suddenly shouted -- an orderly. “There they are! They’re the ones you’re looking for!”

“Shit,” Dean spat.

“Hold it!” one of the sheriff’s deputies yelled. “Don’t move!” He had a gun out.

One of the doctors Sam recognized from the ER was now with the officers. “He’s a transgenic.” the intern said. “There’s no doubt about it. He’s got the strangest blood the lab has ever seen.”

“There’s been a mistake,” Sam tried, holding out both hands and hoping no one opened fire. “My brother’s got a blood condition that--”

“Give it up, Sam,” Dean said beside him, stepping forward in front of the younger man, swaying only slightly on his feet. “Yeah,” he called out loudly. “I’m a transgenic -- X5.” The last was said with a wicked little smile. “And supposedly a free citizen of these United States. What’s my crime?”

“Your crime is that one of your kind just assassinated the Secretary of Defense,” the older of the two uniformed officers said. “There’s a national mandate to detain any one of you animals caught in public -- with use of deadly force if necessary.”

Dean looked at Sam and breathed, “Looks like McKinley’s got his way after all.” Then his attention was back on the officers. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll come with you. No problem. But let my brother go. He’s an Ordinary.” He glanced at Sam again. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Sam said, also keeping an eye on the deputies.

“Take this thing into custody,” the older officer said. “The world’s gonna see what happens to animals who try to act like they’re human.”

“Oh great,” Dean murmured. “A fanatic.”

The surgeon who’d operated on Dean was also watching the drama as it unfolded. Now, he spoke up. “Let me check his wound before you take him,” he said. “He was running a fever. There could be infection setting in.”

“A fever won’t matter where he’s going to be taken,” the bigoted deputy sneered.

“He’s being detained, not charged with anything,” the doctor said tersely. “There’s no call to deny him medical attention.”

“All right,” the deputy said, motioning with his gun. “Check his wound and give us any meds he might need.”

The doctor slowly approached Dean. “Easy,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you. I really do just want to check your--”

It was the sort of luck that had followed 494 his entire life -- today’s earlier tragic events being the exception rather than the rule. Dean’s arm was around the man’s neck before he even realized he’d been grabbed. “Sorry, doc,” the X5 said as he pressed the blade of a pocket knife into the flesh of the surgeon’s throat. “But there’s no other way.” Then, to the deputies, “Back off! Me and my brother are leavin’. No one has to get hurt. Put your guns on the floor, get back in the elevator, and push the button to the top floor.” He turned to Sam. “Run. Get the car and bring it to the ER bay. I’ll meet you there.”

“But--” Sam protested, scared as hell of leaving Dean by himself. “What if--”

“Go!” Dean shouted. “There’s gotta be backup on the way. Maybe even the military.”

Years of habit are hard to break. Sam was used to obeying his big brother’s orders without question. He ran.

*****

Limbs trembling and sweat soaking his t-shirt, Dean kept a tight hold on his hostage as he dragged him to the nearest stairwell door, pushed it open with his shoulder, then shoved the doc down the stairs ahead of him. When they emerged on the first floor they could see the ER bay a short ways ahead. So far, the alarm hadn’t been tripped ...

“Get outta here,” Dean said to the doctor as he warily eyed the distance he’d have to traverse to reach the outside and hopefully freedom.

“Wait,” the surgeon said, his youthful face florid with what might have been fear, or perhaps was just excitement. He reached into his pocket and took out a pad of paper. “You’ll need an antibiotic.” He scribbled something down. “Take these twice a day until they’re gone. If the wound becomes infected, get medical attention. Also, if you start having dizzy spells or passing blood in your--”

“I get the picture, doc,” Dean said impatiently, grabbing the prescription and stuffing it in the pocket of his jeans. “I heal quick.” A smile. “One advantage of bein’ a thing.”

“You’re not a thing,” the man said quietly. “And don’t ever let anyone tell you that you are.”

“Preachin’ to the choir, doc,” Dean said. “But thanks.”

“I’ll tell them you went toward the loading bay,” the surgeon said. “It might buy you a couple of minutes. Good luck.”

Another nod of thanks, and Dean turned around to walk quickly but quietly through the busy ER waiting room. He reached the outside easily, but upstairs an alarm was sounding and in the distance he heard sirens. Come on, Sammy. The rumble of the muscle car a few minutes later was music to his ears. Knees shaking, but not wanting anyone to see the car, he headed Sam off before the Impala pulled in from the street.

“You all right?” Sam asked, breathing an audible sigh of relief as Dean slammed the passenger door closed.

“Yeah,” the X5 said. Glancing up and out the window he saw an approaching helicopter ... black ... undoubtedly military. The goon squad had arrived. “Hit the gas.”

Sam obliged, and five minutes later the dark car was sliding into mainstream traffic on State Highway 49. “That was too close,” the younger man said once they were safely on their way.

“Tell me about it.”

“You gonna cover that bar code better now?”

Dean made a wry face, and tugged the collar of the coat he'd donned higher.

“You’re fair game, you know,” Sam continued. “Max and the others are fairly safe for now. The military’s got them penned in Terminal City, but no one is about to open fire. Talk is, they’re gonna make the area sort of a camp for transgenics, a place where the government can keep a close eye on them.”

“It’ll be a prison anyway,” Dean said quietly as he watched the scenery whiz by. “And I’ll die before I let myself be caged.” He turned to Sam. “I need to get Max and my son out of there.”

“I know.”

“But I can’t do it alone. Not wounded like this.”

“Hey,” Sam said softly. “You don’t hafta to ask. Heck, she’s more-or-less my sister-in-law, and Brac’s my nephew ... family.”

“We head for Seattle then?” Dean said.

“What about Dad?”

“This won’t take long. Not the way I’m gonna do things.”

“And Max’s safety ... her being with us? You know ... Jessica and--”

Dean grabbed Sam’s shoulder. “I know,” he said. “But didn’t you ever hear of the lesser of two evils? Right now, McKinley, Stendahl, and the rest of the fuckin’ Ordinary world is more of an immediate evil than the one we’ve been huntin’. Or, at least I think so. Max is gonna get on her soap box and start preachin’ and the government’s gonna send in an assassin to shut her up. I know. I’ve seen it happen before.”

“Okay,” Sam said quietly. “We go and we get her out. We find someplace safe for her and your son, and then we go after Dad again.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Dean said as he settled back in the car seat and closed his eyes. His side was hurting like hell and he felt like he was a hair’s breadth away from passing out. “Wake me when we get there,” he added as he closed his eyes.

Sam looked over at his big brother and smiled. Then he turned eyes back on the road and stepped on the gas. They’d make Seattle by daybreak.

THE END