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Artwork courtesy of Valjean & JensenAcklesFans.com

Words
By Valjean

*****

Six hours earlier ...

Dean, why did you come back when you did? Why’d you come after me at Stanford?

I told you. ‘Cause Dad was missing and I didn’t wanna go lookin’ for him alone.

You were afraid to be on you own?

Not afraid, exactly. But yeah ... believe it or not I’m not what you’d call a loner. It’s always been us ... you and me and Dad and then still me and Dad. I’ve always had someone to watch my back. I didn't wanna fly solo.

You know, don’t you, that if you’d never come back for me Jessica would still be alive.

Where the hell did that come from?! Sam ... don’t tell me that you blame me for Jess’s death. Please, don’t tell me that’s what’s goin’ on in that freaky head of yours.

The thought’s occurred to me, yeah. I mean, for all those years I was at college everything was normal. Then boom. You reappear and a day later the thing that killed Mom kills my girlfriend. Maybe it followed you, Dean. Maybe if you’d left me alone Jess would still be alive.

Sam. I know where you’re comin’ from on this. Don’t you think the same idea’s been in my head a time or two? But we’ll never know. I mean, it could’ve come after you at any time in your life.

You think it was just a coincidence it chose to strike again right when you show up on my doorstep, draggin’ me back into the family business? Dean ... it’s not that I don’t love you. But ... you’re bein’ selfish, man. I’m thinkin’ that I never should have gone with you that night. If I hadn’t, then Jess would still be alive. She’d be ... we might even be making wedding plans by now.

Sam! Stop! I know you want like hell to blame someone or something for what happened to Jess, just like I wanna blame something for what happened to Mom. That it’s eatin’ you alive not bein’ able to get revenge or even make sense out of what happened. But we can’t turn on each other. Dad always said that--

I don’t want to hear what Dad said any more, Dean! Dad’s done enough to ruin my life, and in a way you’ve helped him. We’re never gonna find Dad because he obviously doesn’t want to be found. Someday, maybe, he’ll contact us. But until then we’re just chasin’ our tails out here -- putting ourselves in danger for the sake of other people and not being allowed to have lives of our own. Well, I’m tired of it. I made a mistake, Dean. I shouldn’t have gone with you that night, and I shouldn’t be with you now. I’m going back to Stanford. I’m going to apply to law school, and I’m going to do what would have made Jess proud.

How about what would make Dad proud?

Screw Dad! You can go on living in your little fantasy world if you want to, Dean, with your old car and mullet rock and eighties mentality that you cling to because it’s the only thing you have left of the man you idolize ... the man who's shaped and orchestrated your entire life. You do realize, don’t you, bro that you don’t have much of a personality of your own? Dad’s warped you ... tried to turn you into his clone. I know, you had a rough childhood that left you open to being manipulated but--

No one has manipulated me.

Yes, they have. You’re Dad’s good, dutiful little son who doesn’t really think on his own -- that is when you’re not bein’ a Manticore soldier. Either way, Dean, you’re a slave ... a slave to Dad or a slave to the military. And it’s sad and it’s scary and it’s not a trap I’m going to let myself fall into too. Maybe it’s too late for you to have a life of your own, but it’s not too late for me.

I have a life of my own!

You do? What about Lukas and his mom, Dean? I saw that way you were with that little boy ... got a glimpse of what you’d be like as a father with a normal life. Hell, you’ve got a son of your own somewhere up north that you’re afraid to barely acknowledge let alone be with. Your life is a mess, Dean. And when I back off and look at it I can really see that now. The only way I’m ever going to be able to make it in this world is to get away from you.

So, you’re leaving? Just like that? Like you did before?

Yeah. I’m leaving. Just like that. Have a nice life, brother, and don’t come after me ever again.

Do you wanna know if I find Dad?

If he can help me destroy what killed Jess, then yeah. But if he hasn’t a clue ... don’t bother.

It was a conversation that Dean knew would haunt him for the rest of his life worse than any ghost ever could. The pain of his beloved baby brother deserting him once again ... letting him down ... leaving him all alone ... was something he’d never get over. Mercifully, however, that life was going to be short. He was running a fever ...

*****

It was the fourth night and he was delirious now. Worse, the air temperature had to be below freezing -- a cold West Virginia December night -- too frigid for even his transgenic metabolism to handle. Wracked with shivers, Dean curled in a ball on the debris-strewn floor of the mine and tried to will himself to sleep ... to drift away. Eventually, he knew he’d die. But for now his Manticore-enhanced body was keeping him maddeningly alive. For the fiftieth time he flipped open the cell phone he’d been clutching in his hand, and for the fiftieth time he saw that there was no signal. The light on the screen flickered ... dimmed. The battery was running low.

“Alec.”

Dean blinked bloodshot eyes and sniffed loudly. Funny, but it sounded like someone had just said his name.

“Alec. Snap out of it.”

Turning his head with difficulty, Dean looked around the cavern, his cat eyes able to see more than a human’s in the faint filtered moonlight that was trickling through the opening far overhead. And then he spotted her and knew he was dreaming, or more likely hallucinating.

“Max,” he whispered her name as weary eyes focused on the lithe figure stepping from the deepest shadows. Clad in sexy tight black leather (just the way she always was in his fantasies), X5-452 glided toward him like a wraith. “What are you doin’ here?”

“I’ve come so you won’t be alone,” she said softly, kneeling beside him. Her hand touched his face. He expected it to be icy cold but her flesh was warm. She stroked his beard stubbled cheek. “Don’t be afraid, Alec,” she said gently, wrapping him in her arms and snuggling her head into the crook of his shoulder. “I’m here. I’ll stay with you. It won’t be long now and then everything will be all right.”

“Max, I’m dying.”

“I know, Alec. I know.”

“Are you real?” he whimpered, another wave of pain tearing through his stomach. Assuming a fetal position, he rocked back and forth on the ground as she cradled him against her soft breasts.

She didn’t answer.

“Are you a spirit?” he persisted. “A ghost?”

“Not exactly.” She kissed his lips gently, trying to shush him. “But I’ve been sent here to help you and that’s all that matters,” she murmured, her sweet breath mingling with his and her scent filling his nostrils in an intoxicating way that dulled the pain like a narcotic.

The thought crossed Dean’s mind that this could be a demon come to capture his soul while he was vulnerable. In fact, he knew that was the most likely explanation -- Hell seeking revenge on one of the brothers who’d dare challenge it for all of these years. But if the comforting warmth of Max holding him in her arms while he died was Hell, then he’d enter it willingly ...

“Max,” he said softly as his eyes began to flutter closed. “I love you. And tell Sam ... tell Sam I love him too.”

The being that might or might not have been Max smiled, and continued running fingers gently through his hair as Dean’s consciousness ... his soul ... began to let go.

*****

“Max,” I still think this could be crazy. “The hotel manager said Dean checked out right after I did last week. He’s long gone.”

Sam, I know it sounds really weird, but this was more than a dream. It was like I was right there with him. Alec ... your brother is in trouble. He’s hurt and he’s afraid and he’s someplace real dark, down in the earth, like a mine shaft or something.”

“Well,” Sam said into the cell phone as he steered the rental car through the deserted late night streets of Briarton, West Virginia, “there are plenty of those around here. This is the heart of coal mining country.” Suddenly he saw something that made him brake hard -- a black car parked to one side of an old gas station called “Jack’s Garage.” “I’ll call you if I find out anything,” he said quickly into the cell.

Just ... hurry, Max breathed in his ear. Please hurry.

A chill shot down Sam’s spine as he snapped his own cell shut. Max’s call had caught him completely by surprise earlier that day with her description of a dream that had seemed to her far more than a dream. But then who was he, of all people, to deny the reality of visions? Max was dead certain Dean had been badly hurt and was out there in the woods dying somewhere. She swore she’d just been with him ... holding him ... trying to comfort him. And now she was sending help. Luckily, he’d only been a hundred miles away, holed up in a hotel the past few days debating whether he’d made a huge mistake deserting his brother like that ... wondering if he shouldn’t call, go back, make amends ... apologize.

The black car was Dean’s Impala. The fact it was sitting in the parking lot of a chop shop made Sam shiver again. And when he got out of his car and looked through the Chevy’s window to see Dad’s journal lying on the floor of the back seat he knew with a horrible certainty that something terrible had, indeed, happened to his brother. Dean would never in a million years have left that book behind ...

There was a light on in the window of the doublewide trailer situated on the hill behind the garage. Looked like the owner -- Jack presumably -- was home ...

“Where is he!” Sam roared as he burst through the door into the trailer’s living room, shotgun cocked and ready in his hands (an entrance worthy of his more belligerent sibling). He let loose with a single blast that blew a hole through the back wall, then cocked the weapon again. “Where’s my brother?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” stammered a rough-looking, blond young man sporting a raggedy half-grown beard. Seated in a chair in front of the television, wearing only a pair of dirty white boxers and a holey sleeveless t-shirt, the towheaded kid’s blue eyes were as wide as they could be as he eyed the maniac who’d just invaded his home.

“The guy who was driving that black Impala outside,” Sam clarified, at the same time aiming the shotgun point blank at Jack’s head. “What did you do to him, and where is he now? I’m only going to ask this one time.”

“Kill me, and you’ll never know,” the man quickly said. “I’m Jack Evans, by the way.”

Sam’s muscles relaxed slightly with relief. At least he was in the right place. “Talk,” he hissed.

“Cocky guy,” Jack said as he swiped long strands of greasy hair out of his eyes. “Shorter than you ... shorter hair ... not a whole lot of resemblance, except maybe in the eyes. He moved good, though. Like a fighter. You say he was ... is your brother?”

Sam swallowed hard, knowing it was really, really bad that this character had just spoken of Dean in the past tense. “Where is he?” he repeated. “Did you shoot him and steal his car?”

“I bought the car, fair and square,” the young man replied calmly. “Last Saturday. Paid nine thousand for it -- cash.”

“Liar!” Sam screamed, letting another shotgun blast loose that shattered the television set, silencing it. Then he had a pistol in his hand -- a .45. Biting down on his lower lip, he aimed once more at the cowering piece of shit’s head. “Where’s Dean?”

“Dead,” Evans said -- the single world Sam had dreaded most to hear. “You can kill me if you want, boy, but your brother’s still dead. Me and mine ‘jacked his car up the road a way’s, shot him, and dumped his body down a mine shaft. You can pull that trigger now, only if you do you’ll never find your bro,” he continued, talking fast. “There’s dozens of holes up in those hills and he’s rotting at the bottom of one. By the time you figure out which tunnel there won’t be enough of him left to bury proper.”

“Show me,” Sam said, with great difficulty keeping his voice steady as he waved toward the door with the pistol. “Show me where you left his body or I’ll shoot you in the head right here and find him on my own. Even if it takes a year, I’ll still find him.” But not in time, a little voice whispered inside of Sam’s head. He held his breath while his prisoner considered the options.

Finally, Evans nodded. “All right,” the carjacker said. “Let me put on my pants and I’ll take you to your brother’s grave.”

*****

There was no pulse, and Dean’s skin was deathly cold. But when Sam, blinded by tears, lowered his head to his brother’s chest he heard the faintest of heartbeats. Only then did he let himself really cry.

There were transgenics in the area. Summoned by Max’s call, they arrived quickly, taking charge of the hog-tied prisoner left on the surface and quickly getting Dean out of the mine. Sam never knew what they did with Jack Evans, and from the predatory look in the slit-eyes of the cigar-chewing, half-human/half-reptile that gently carried Dean in his arms to the battered van the Manticore fugitives had arrived in, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. “How do you like West Virginia, Mole?” Sam asked as the van bounced down the clay back roads toward the town’s small hospital.

“It’s cold,” the lizard man growled around his cigar stub even as he continued pressing a gauze pad to the X5’s oozing stomach wound. “But at least the air’s free. I guess pretty boy’s stepped in it again.”

“I guess so,” Sam said, rubbing his aching temples. He looked up at Mole. “How can we keep the doctors from finding out what he is?”

“We can’t,” the transhuman said simply. “Or rather you can’t. We’ll leave you and Alec off at the hospital, then we’re gone. You two are on your own. My advice ... tell ‘em the truth and worry about it later when the government goon squad shows up to make the arrest. Right now,” he glanced down at Dean’s unconscious body, those lizard eyes surprisingly worried, “you’ve just got to get him help.”

Sam nodded, conceding the point. Then, with a heavy sigh, he began concocting a story in his head that would explain why he was bringing in a man with a severe gunshot wound, a broken leg, and a bar code tattooed on the back of his neck.

*****

A human would have died. It was X5-494’s manipulated DNA that gave him the strength ... the healing ability ... to survive. The doctors were at first amazed at how quickly the severely wounded man recovered from surgery ... his rapid cell repair. But on the third day the blood tests came back from the CDC (where a suspicious lab tech had sent them) and they realized that their patient hadn’t lived in spite of being a human, but rather because he wasn’t. However, when the armed military squad burst into Room 204 at County General Hospital “Ted Nugent,” along with his younger brother “Donald,” were gone.

You sure you’re all right? Max’s voice said in Dean’s ear.

“Never better, sweetheart,” Dean lied as he relaxed back in the passenger seat of the Impala. He and Sam were headed for ... wherever ... along with a bagful of antibiotics and pain killers Sam had stolen from the hospital just before they’d fled. “But Max,” he added. “Thanks. Thanks for bein’ there with me, even though it gives me the creeps that you were.”

Gives me the creeps, too. This astral projection stuff Sam told me about is beyond weird. But then I guess ‘weird’ is nothin’ new to us, right?

“Brac all right?”

He’s just fine, now that his daddy’s out of danger. I think he knew, too -- that something was wrong. He kept crying ...

“I’ll try’n see you soon, okay? Oh, and Max. Has Logan--?”

Logan hasn’t been here. I’m not sure he ever will be.

Dean wondered what she meant by that, but took it as a positive thing, and he smiled. “Love you,” he said -- words he’d once been afraid to speak but now knew were vitally important. Sam looked over at him.

Love you too. Bye.

“Bye.” Dean’s eyes locked with his brother’s. “Don’t start,” he ordered. “You and me had an argument. We had words. Things were said. I got my car stolen, a hole blown in my favorite t-shirt, and almost died. You rescued my ass, and now you’re sorry about runnin’ out on me, but it’s not like you didn’t have a reason ... actually, a damn good one. End of story. No apologies necessary.” He shifted positions so the cast on his nearly healed broken leg was resting more comfortably in the knee space of the car.

Sam smiled and shook his head sadly. “Leave it to you to Cliff Notes the whole thing,” he said. “Anything to avoid all the touchy-feely-emotional stuff, right Dean?”

“Right,” his brother said, settling back in the seat and opening a container of Jell-O -- the only safe thing for him to eat at the moment beyond chicken soup considering he was recovering from a severe gut wound.

“What I said about you being responsible for Jessica’s death--”

“Is true.” Dean looked at him intently again, hazel-green eyes narrowing slightly. “Don’t you think I haven’t considered that same thing a hundred times -- that your girl would still be breathing if I hadn’t come back for you that night? Maybe I really should have just gone after Dad on my own ... be on my own now. But if I had--”

“You’d be dead by now,” Sam said softly. “Maybe I’d still have my girlfriend, but my brother would be dead. That’s not an even trade, Dean.” He took a deep shuddering breath. “And it’s sure as hell a choice I’m glad I didn’t have to make ... that it was made for me.”

“Me or Jess?”

“Yeah. What if it was me or Max ... or me or Brac? Or me or Dad even?”

“Don’t even think about that.” Dean snapped, using a plastic spoon to scoop out some lime green Jell-O and shoveling it into his mouth. He made a wry face at the taste. “Next stop, we get some M&Ms,” he said adamantly. “Peanut.”

“Are you sure you should be eating those after a stomach wound like you had?”

“Doc said I’d healed,” Dean argued. “Well, mostly ...”

“But peanuts?” Sam said, his tone making it obvious he wasn’t about to help his brother acquire a case of peritonitis.

“Shut up and drive.”

Sam just smiled again, and turned his attention back to the road ... and to the hunt.

THE END