DISCLAIMER: All characters belong to their respective creators.
ARCHIVE: No
The following short story is based on characters
created for the television series
SUPERNATURAL & DARK ANGEL, and is set in an indeterminate time frame. -- author's note
Helpless
By Valjean
*************************************
God ... Dad ... somebody ... please, please help me!
Dean ... X5-494 ... swallowed hard and forced himself to open his eyes. Of course he’d known where he was even before looking ... had known ever since regaining consciousness ... the antiseptic smell, sound of whirring machines, and soft hushed voices of medical personnel walking around him dredging up old dreaded memories. He was in a lab at Manticore ... or worse, an operating room. Naked -- without even a sheet for modesty -- his wrists and ankles were locked in leather restraints that didn’t give so much as an inch when he quietly pulled against them. There was metal beneath him, cold against his elbows, calves, back, and bare buttocks ... a table (or slab) of some kind. And the temperature of the air was icy, almost like a refrigerated room. In spite of his high X5 body heat he was shivering, nipples taut and goose bumps peppering the skin of his arms, legs, and belly.
What have they done to me? What are they going to do?
The lighting in the room was bright ... harsh ... painful to look at. However, that wasn’t why the squinted image of those chrome machines and white walls began to swim. It was because of the tears, brimming then overflowing the captive X5’s hazel-green eyes even as he tried in vain to blink them away. Droplets slid down his face, trailing like tiny streams through the week’s growth of dark blond beard stubble on his cheeks and chin.
“He’s awake,” someone said from across the room -- a lab technician dressed in green surgical scrubs and wearing a mask so that only a pair of frighteningly disinterested grey eyes were visible. Approaching the table, the man made a note on his clipboard, then said over his shoulder, “Inform the major.”
The major, Dean thought as he quickly closed his eyes again, feigning unconsciousness although he knew it was probably futile. Major Davis Stendahl ... the man his friends and family had handed him to ... the man who was now his slave master. Oh, Sammy, why’d you let this happen? Why didn’t you just put a bullet in my head?
But of course Sam didn’t realize ... couldn’t realize ... that he’d just fed his brother to the wolves. They did what they thought was best for me. They were trying to save me ...
“494!” a cold familiar voice barked from a few feet away. “Open your eyes! And have no doubt about it. From now on you will be known only by your designation. Alec, Dean, and any other ordinary aliases you may have used in the past no longer exist.”
Dean ignored him.
“That’s an order, soldier! And orders are something you’d better begin remembering how to obey because that’s going to be your life from now on.”
“Go to hell,” Dean growled, his voice low and dangerous as he opened his eyes to glare up at the enemy -- an animal cornered. Once again he pulled hard on the restraints -- uselessly.
The major, his pale blue eyes twinkling with what might have been humor, strolled across the room to the side of the table where he could look down on his helpless victim. Then he glanced over at the technician. “Status of the Unit?” he asked.
“X5-494 is stable, sir,” the masked man said, looking down at the chart again. He flipped to a second page. “The retrovirus has been deactivated and full immunity imposed. His feline chromosomes are already almost repaired, and no permanent damage to his genetic structure has occurred.”
“How long?” Dean asked quietly, not expecting an answer but thinking it couldn’t hurt to ask.
Stendahl’s snake-cold gaze shifted to him again, and the X5 was sorry he’d spoken. A humorless smile, and the major replied, “Three weeks, most of which time you’ve been in an induced coma while your DNA was repaired and the retrovirus purged from your system.”
Dean’s eyes went to the tangle of I.V. tubes sprouting from the backs of both his wrists.
“The past three days we’ve simply kept you sedated,” the major added. “For your own protection. After all, we didn’t want to risk you damaging yourself.” Stendahl’s eyes raked the naked body lying before him.
“You gonna rape me?” Dean asked bluntly. “Or just torture me then cut me up for spare parts?”
“Among other things,” the major replied quietly, leaning closer so his face was only inches from his prisoner’s. “Your genetic material is invaluable to our program, although you’ll have the option of ‘donating’ voluntarily.”
Dean spit in his face, just as he’d spit in the face of Ames White many years before when similarly cornered.
“So much for voluntarily,” the major said with a heavy sigh as he wiped the saliva from his cheek with a white linen handkerchief. “Psy-ops told me you’d never submit willingly -- to anything.”
“I’m going to kill you,” Dean said, surprising himself by how calm those words came out.
“No,” Stendahl said, the look on his face almost one of regret. “You won’t. What you’ll do is become the obedient soldier you were bred to be ... a valuable weapon in this nation’s arsenal. You’ll follow orders without question ... do anything I ask of you, and I do mean anything ... attack when I say attack ... kill when I say kill ... even if it’s your own--” The cold smile was back. “--brother.”
Dean’s heart rate shot up so fast one of the machines sounded an alarm. The technician checked the readout, stopped the noise, and nodded at the major.
“I can do that to you, you know,” Stendahl said. “Alter your brain so you won’t even realize who Sam is ... or Max ... or Brac ...”
“Just try,” Dean growled. Bold but meaningless words he realized. However, he was a supersoldier. It just wasn’t in his nature to not fight back.
“I’ll do more than try, 494. A little neurosurgery will solve all of my problems with regards to you. But don’t worry, Stendahl added with that maddening smile. You won’t remember a thing.” He nodded at the technician. “Prep him. If he’s healthy enough for a fuck-authority attitude like this, he’s healthy enough for the procedure.”
The masked med tech came over and began adjusting a medication bottle hanging on the I.V. rack. “Just go to sleep like a good little kitty-cat,” the man said. “And when you wake up it’ll all be over and you’ll be more than willing to do anything we say.” There was a grin behind the mask, and something in those grey eyes that scared Dean almost as much as Stendahl. The tech then leaned closer and whispered in his ear. “In fact, you and I might even have a little bit of fun together, collecting those DNA samples, if you know what I mean.”
“Then I guess I’ll hafta kill you too,” the X5 said, his voice still remarkably calm considering the circumstances. But then that’s how 494 had always faced dire situations -- certain death even -- with dignity and strength overcoming instinctual panic. Part of his breeding ... his training ... his destiny ... However, Dean's inner thoughts weren’t nearly as calm. Oh, God, Sammy, they’re gonna cut you out of my mind ... and Dad ... my family ... my life. He wished mightily now that Rachel had won back at the Darby Estate, that he’d pulled that trigger.
“It’s a shame, really,” Stendahl said from the doorway. “If only I could trust you to cooperate I wouldn’t have to relegate you to stud service. As things stand,” he sadly shook his head, “your specialized training, high I.Q., and resourceful nature will be destroyed leaving just your animal skills and body. You’ll be a blindly obedient automaton, 494 -- a useful commodity to be sure, but hardly the top-of-the-line warrior material X5s like you were envisioned to be by Lydecker.”
“Just go to sleep now,” the med tech said from behind Dean as he prepared to inject something into one of the I.V. lines. The X5 quickly summoned a memory of Sammy, and then of his son the last time he’d seen the boy in O.C.’s apartment. Max, too, flitted through his mind ... the final thoughts he’d ever have of his family. And -- in spite of himself -- his eyes began to fill with tears again.
“Wait,” someone said.
The X5 threw his attention to the doorway where a pastey-faced clerk dressed in an ensign’s uniform and carrying a piece of paper was standing behind Stendahl. The major took the message, glanced at it, and held up his hand indicating the technician should wait before administering the medication. Then he turned speculative eyes on the prisoner even as a slight scowl turned his thin lips down.
“I thought you’d want to know,” the clerk piped in, “before anything irrevocable was done to the Unit.”
“Correct,” the major said low under his breath as he seemed to ponder something. He looked down and reread the missive, then barked, “The buyer is on the phone?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Sir? the technician questioned. “The surgeon is waiting.”
“Damn it,” Stendahl muttered. Then he shook his head, apparently coming to a decision. “Tell Dr. Marlow there’s been a delay,” he said. “I need to take this phone call.”
The med tech waited until the major had left the room, then he once again picked up the hypo.
“He said to wait,” Dean pointed out, alarmed that the guy seemed willing to disobey orders, as well as by what he suspected was in that needle.
A shrug. “The major will be back in a few minutes and order me to proceed. In the meantime, I want you out.”
Dean started to ask why, but then he saw the reason all too clearly in those hungry grey eyes. Heart pounding, he could only swallow hard as the medication was injected into the I.V. line leading to his right wrist. The drug was fast acting. His eyelids fluttered, then closed.
“Now,” the tech said, rubbing his hands together in anticipation, “you and I are going to have some fun.” Turning his back, he began pulling on a pair of rubber gloves.
“You know somethin’, creep,” 494’s low silky voice said behind him. “You really should have learned by now not to underestimate an X5.”
“What the--!” the tech exclaimed, whirling around -- a bad mistake since it put him within the Unit’s striking range.
Grabbing the enemy’s throat with his free right hand, 494 squeezed hard. It was as simple as that. There was a popping sound and, with an awful gurgle, the man staggered backwards, hands clawing at his crushed trachea as blood poured from his mouth. For a brief moment, Dean allowed himself the luxury of relishing a victory as he watched the creep gagging, hazel-green eyes aglow with something very primitive -- then he began unstrapping the other restraints. Once free, he pulled out the I.V. lines, including the one he’d kinked closed with his little finger before the sedative could reach his blood stream. The tech was dead now, slumped on the floor.
Hopping off the table, Dean staggered and grabbed onto the I.V. pole as a wave of dizziness swept over him, his knees almost buckling. Dad, help me, he silently prayed as his throat tightened. He wasn’t going to make it. No way could he fight his way out of here. It had taken everything he had just to break that one wrist strap. The best he could hope for would be a quick death, perhaps shot down by one of the X5 guards that were undoubtedly stationed in the hallway. Still, he knew he had to try. Taking a deep breath, he moved to the dead medic and began tugging off the guy’s blue scrub pants. Moments later -- still barefoot and bare chested but at least clad well enough for modesty’s sake -- 494 looked around the surgical suite for a weapon, finally settling on a scalpel -- one of a set he found in a drawer. Then his eyes went to the door. It was now or never. However, before he could make his suicidal dash for freedom, the knob turned.
Major Stendahl -- to his credit -- barely reacted to seeing his very dangerous prisoner not only free, but brandishing a steel blade. “Stand down, soldier,” he said quietly. “That’s an order.”
“I don’t take orders from you,” Dean replied, his voice as hard as the look in his eyes.
The major motioned with his hand and instantly two X5 guards were behind him. “I see you haven’t forgotten all of your training,” Stendahl said as his eyes went to the dead technician lying on the floor. “Nicely done, soldier. But I must make a note to myself to have those leather shackles replaced with metal cuffs.”
“You do that,” Dean said quietly followed by, “I’ll never be your slave, so you might as well kill me right now.”
“Now that would indeed be counterproductive,” the major said. “Because even you will have to admit that you’re worth far more to me alive than dead. Lydecker was right about one thing with regard to ‘his kids’. All things considered, you X5s are the best with even the worst among you -- the rogues -- far superior to anything else Manticore R&D ever came up with.”
“Kill me, or let me go,” Dean said evenly, his lip curling with disdain. “I’m tired of the dance.”
“You’re too valuable to kill,” Stendahl snapped. “And as for letting you go -- you’re too valuable for that as well. However--” He eyed the X5 speculatively. “You do have one more option that has yet to be discussed.”
“Work for you voluntarily,” Dean guessed.
The major snorted a laugh. “Hardly. Even with leverage over you -- a hostage such as, say, your brother -- you could never be trusted. No. Your other option is to be sold.”
“What?”
“To a foreign nation that wants to upgrade its own supersoldier program.”
“The military would never let an X5 fall into enemy hands,” Dean said, his voice contemptuous. He was trembling visibly now ... cold ... his vision dimming. With great effort, he pulled his body more upright as the fingers of his left hand dug into the metal of the I.V. pole again and the fingers of his right closed tightly around the hilt of the scalpel.
“Not the enemy,” Stendahl softly said. “An ally nation, in this case South Africa.”
Dean’s stomach clenched. He remembered Max once telling him all the gory details about the Red Soldiers ... humans enhanced by technology to have super human strength even greater than an X5’s, but with life spans of only a year or two at the most. Supposedly the South Africans wanted an X5 in order to breed longer-lived specimens ...
“You’ll be put to stud,” the major said. “And carefully guarded. They only want your sperm, 494, not your allegiance or even your cooperation. However, they did request that you be kept intact, mentally as well as physically.”
Once again feeling like a piece of meat, Dean weighed his options. There would always be a chance of escape, so long as they didn’t physically incapacitate him. But a prisoner for the rest of his life? No, he thought, fingering the edge of the sharp scalpel with his thumb. No way in fucking hell. Clutching the blade, 494 readied himself. He was going to die -- and probably go to Hell -- but he was also going to take this bastard with him.
The sharp crack of the gun came out of nowhere. Looking down at himself, green-gold eyes widened with astonishment as Dean stared stupidly at the tiny feathered dart buried deeply in his left shoulder.
And then everything simply went away.
*****
Someone was speaking German ... a dialect. He could understand most of the words, but not quite all. They were talking about their prisoner ... their reward ... He was in a moving vehicle, a van of some sorts, that was traveling at a relatively high rate of speed over a bumpy road. Opening his eyes carefully, Dean could see the back of a threadbare car seat. He was lying on his side, his hands tied behind his back, his ankles tethered together as well -- trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey, his mind supplied. But the van was slowing down ...
Feigning unconsciousness, the X5 waited, hoping he’d get a chance. Whoever these goons were they didn’t seem to be very high tech. He let them tug his limp body out of the vehicle. They then carried him a short distance and -- to Dean’s surprise -- dropped him on the ground. Grunting with the impact as a rock embedded itself in his bare back, he finally opened his eyes, saw sun, sand, and cactus, and immediately closed them again. A rendezvous point? The voices were receding. They seemed to be leaving him alone ... in the desert? What the fuck? This didn’t make sense. Then he heard the vehicle’s engine start up, and a moment later the sound had faded into the distance. However, just as Dean began to hope that he really had been abandoned, he heard the sound of an approaching helicopter. Struggling against the wire encircling his wrists, he uttered a four-letter word as the metal cut deep into his skin. It was no use. He wasn’t going to free himself. Relaxing back on the sand, he waited for whatever was going to happen to his sorry ass next.
The chopper -- a black nondescript military model -- landed several hundred feet away, and three figures climbed out, one tall, one of medium built, and a lithe shorter one with a very girlish figure and long dark hair who looked like--
Dean felt dizzy again. It couldn’t be. X5-494 wasn’t that lucky ... or at least didn’t deserve to be. And how--?
“Alec!” Max cried out as she ran across the sand. “Oh, God, we were afraid that Stendahl had--”
“Dean!” Sam yelled his given name as he, too, sprinted toward him. “Dean! Are you all right, man?”
“I’m ... still here,” Dean said, his eyes going to the third person in the group -- the one he knew had all the answers to his questions.
“Nine million dollars, 494!” Donald Lydecker spat as he stood with crossed arms while Max and Sam freed their brother. “Nine fucking million dollars it cost my program to purchase your sorry ass from Stendahl’s group!” He gave Max a rather jaundiced look. “Now we’re even,” he said sternly.
“Even,” Max agreed, standing with hands on black-jeaned hips as Sam helped his older brother to his feet.
“And if I need you ... either one of you,” Lydecker added, pointing a finger at Dean, “you do the job, no matter what it is.”
“I already agreed to that, ‘Deck,” Max said hotly. She looked at the rescued X5. “And I speak for you, too, right Alec?”
“Uh ... right,” Dean said, still not positive about all the gory details but beginning to get a pretty good idea as to what was going on. Max had obviously cut some sort of deal with the Devil to get him away from Stendahl. With Sam supporting him under one arm, they started walking toward the helicopter. Max dropped back so she was beside them.
“One question,” Dean said to her. “Why? Why rescue me when you’re with Logan now?”
Glaring at him, she at first just shook her head. But then those brown eyes softened. “Do you really have to ask, you big idiot?”
“Yeah,” Dean said. “I do hafta ask because--” But then suddenly, realization dawned. She still cares! And -- for the first time in many weeks -- Dean Winchester’s world brightened.
THE END
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