Chapter Text
"Dean, Dean- oh god,"
Cough. Wheeze. "S'm...?"
"Oh god, Dean- it's me - Jesus - don't talk, I'll take care of it, I'll take care of you - I got you, fuck, I got you."
Moan. Gasp. "S'my..."
"Dean, don't worry, I know, I know - no hospitals. God, how could he? Shit."
Gasp. Gasp. Wheeze. A car let loose a mighty horn at them, irritated at the slick driving Sam was letting loose on the roads.
"Oh god." The 14 year old kept chanting, knuckles white across the steering wheel. "Oh god." A glance in the mirror showed him Dean was out for the count, head lolled against the window in the back seat, right hand unconsciously clutching at his left ribs. His left was still applying pressure on the profusely bleeding wound in his right shoulder, the position unwittingly making Dean look like he was hugging himself.
God, his big brother looked so small.
Of course Sam couldn't take Dean to the hospital - like he ever could - it would be hard enough trying to explain away the injury that looked like a rabid animal, sixteen times larger than a killer whale made as well as where their guardian was. Dean could get away with the latter - he was eighteen - but there was no way the officials would believe it if Sam said Dean was his guardian.
And there was no way he was calling Dad.
"All my fault." He whispered to himself, misty eyes taking in the sign that welcomed him into a new state. "All my fault." All his fault, and once again Dean paid the price. Sam felt sick as he glanced at his brother's pasty white complexion, freckles standing out glaringly, eyelashes long enough to cast shadows on his cheek. God, Dean always paid for Sam's mistakes.
But how the hell was Sam supposed to know this would happen? How the hell was he supposed to know he'd walk in from getting supplies to fill up their rock salt canisters, only to enter their current dump of a home to see Dad standing tall and furious, aiming his Desert Eagle at a concussed-out-of-his-mind, sprawled on the floor, blinking groggily as he stared up, Dean? How the hell is anyone supposed to know that?
But he had an idea - Jesus, he hoped it'd work - and if there was one thing Sam was sure, it was that this mess? This whole mess that was completely his fault? He'd fix it.
This'll be the last time Dean paid the price.
. . .
The '67 Impala that pulled right up to the gates had more than a few of the kids ogling shamelessly. Sleek, black, and well cared for, the car looked like it was alive, like a prowling beast demanding entry into the Institute.
But it was the scared voice on the other end of the intercom that had the gates opening up.
Logan couldn't hear that though, all he saw was a hand buzz the intercom, the low murmurs of a quick two second conversation, and the gates opening up with not even a creek, swinging wide open and allowing the black predator of a car to roll through all sleek like. He did catch a glimpse of the driver though, as it passed by him and the kids - the face of a barely teenage boy with floppy hair, staring wide eyed at a few of the kids who'd returned to their assigned activity before returning his attention to parking the car at the entrance.
Cyclops came out of the building, followed by Storm and Jean, and Logan wondered whether it was something he should be there for. But he hadn't been called, so he only watched out the corner of his eye as Cyclops moved into the back seat and picked up another stranger with psychic help from Jean.
And for that, Logan didn't have to be close to smell the faint stench of blood.
Cyclops and Jean hurried off back into the building - probably taking that guy to the good doctor if nothing else - while Storm carefully led the boy after them. Logan followed along with his eyes as the powerful woman spoke to the boy, holding his hand and gently pulling him along. For a moment, it seemed like the boy would do just that, and why shouldn't he, if he was just a little kid? But to Logan's, and evidently Storm's, surprise, the boy gave a sudden start, shook his floppy brown hair wildly, said something fiercely to Storm - something like an order, with a finger pointed towards the building, after the wounded guy - and stalked back to the car. Storm wasted a split second in shock, but immediately rushed forward after the kid, bending down to speak through the window as the kid buckled himself in.
Logan decided to ditch his own kids, who by now should know well enough what he expected, and jogged the few clicks towards the two just in time to hear the kid snap out an irritated "fine". He watched Storm open up the passenger door and climb in, and without a pause, he ran the rest of the way and yanked open the back door just as the kid started up the engine and put the black beauty in reverse, seating himself calmly in the back and closing the door after himself.
Storm gave him a frown, but Logan was too busy rolling the window down and trying to get rid of the heavy sick smell of blood concentrated in the backseat. Neither noticed the kid draw out a gun, but they did notice it when the sound of it cocking forced them to look.
"Sam," Storm said carefully, shock written over her face. "Sam, this is Wolverine, he's one of the teachers at the Institute. He's OK, Sam."
Teacher. He's a freakin' teacher. Hell, it still felt damn weird being called as such.
The kid - Sam, Storm had called him - kept the gun levelled carefully at the Canadian, face stoic. Logan couldn't help but be impressed by the stance, turned around slightly in his seat that he could switch his aim to Storm if he had to, but not too much to lose Logan out of his sight. And if Logan was right, the kid obviously took Storm to be a greater threat, if the way he inclined his head in a politely listening way was any indication.
Damn, the kid didn't even look 16 and he had good instincts. Maybe a mutant? Maybe his power had something to do with it - would explain why he was at the Institute.
The kid frowned slightly though, finally giving a huff and pointing his gun elsewhere, very pointedly not switching on the safety just as he kept the weapon in his lap. The black car - so much sweeter inside, now that he could hear her purr - rolled out of the drive way, leaving the Institute behind, prowling down the road with a level of skill no kid should have.
"How old're you, kid?" He finally asked, curious despite himself.
The kid's eyes flickered back at him for a moment, cold, assessing, before losing some of that rigidity, face crumbling back into how a kid should look. "Fourteen." He said, sounding exhausted and drained of the fight Logan had seen in him.
"Sam," Storm began from her shotgun seat, voice calm and enticing, with a lace of that power that was so instinctive to her others automatically fell in line. "How about you tell us what happened?"
The kid sighed, shoulders going loose, turning down a road until he entered downtown. He drove slowly, making the car glide across the asphalt, people gazing adoringly at the beast, even if they didn't know the difference between an Audi and a Hyundai. They drove past the county's main mall, Sam circling twice like he was searching for the optimum audience before finally hitting the gas and cruising out of the place.
"Need to be seen." He said haltingly, talking more to himself but letting the two outsiders in on his thoughts. "Need to show that the car came and left. That we came and left."
"Why?" Logan shot out from the back, dimly paying attention to the outskirts of town zipping by them. "Who you got on your tail, kid?"
Storm frowned at him again, but kept quiet, watching as the kid shot death at Logan through his rear view mirror. "It's Sam." He bit out, irritation flavouring his two words. "My name's Sam. And Dad- John- Dad- fuck, I don't know. But I'm not taking the chance."
Oh. Runaways. Damn it, from his own Dad too. Big man probably didn't like the thought of his own having powers. "You a mutant, Sam?"
Eyes flicked up to the rear view mirror again, analysing him for a moment before nodding. Storm seized her chance. "And that's alright, Sam. It's OK to be who you are. Both me and Wolverine are mutants too, Sam."
"What's yer power, kid?"
The reaction on the kid was hilarious. Sam's face went from stoically calculating to incredulously disbelieving at Storm's soft endearment (which obviously wasn't fooling anyone) then to exasperated irritation, like he'd given up already on Logan.
"Telekinesis." He said, rolling his eyes with a huff. "And sometimes, I dream about certain things that'll happen. Always bad."
"And your beat up friend?"
This time, the look Storm gave him was serious, and Logan realised with an abrupt cutting of the car's engine that he'd apparently crossed a line. The Impala started up again, rolled into a small opening in between thick foliage, and Sam turned the ignition of and angrily left the car, going to the trunk with long strides. Storm shook her head at him, signalling him to follow her lead from now on, and she left before he could shout out his defence. How the hell was he supposed to know the kid would get touchy if he mentioned the guy whose blood he was sitting on? Touchy much?
"Sam, he didn't mean anything by that. Neither of us are your enemy. You know that - it's why you came to us."
Kid was covering the car up with a camouflage tarp by the time Logan got out; looking like he'd done the exact same thing, so many times before, he was barely paying attention to it. As if hiding your car in a forest was a freakin' chore.
"Sam," Storm tried again. "We've determined that the mutant gene is hereditary, it passes from family to family. There's a very good chance your... Friend... Has it too, if he's related. Maybe it's just recessive, or dormant. Or, if he already is a mutant, it would help to know what he can do."
"Oh yeah?" The kid shot back, looking at them with fire in his eyes. "And what're your powers? Huh? I told you mine; I gave you that small bit of faith. How about returning the favour."
Damn, Logan thought as Storm looked surprised, kid is sharp and paranoid. Definitely not something new to - he'd glimpsed a wicked looking knife hidden underneath the kid's shirt. Without much preamble, he fisted his hands and held them up to view as the sharp razors unsheathed themselves from his fists, gleaming in the light playing through tall trees. Storm sighed and massaged her forehead as the kid blatantly ogled the three blades, and sue a guy if Logan felt his ego stroked a little.
But then the kid looked thoughtful, eyebrows pushing down together through what little Logan could see past that stupid hair (seriously, what the hell are parents thinking nowadays?). "That looks more scientifical than... Telekinesis." The fourteen year old said slowly.
Logan just shrugged. "How old you think I am, kid?"
A confused look. "Mid-thirties? Why?"
Logan grinned sharply. "Let's just say I've been around way longer."
"Logan here automatically heals from any wounds he sustains." Storm doggedly explained. "And I can control the weather."
"The weather?" Sam spluttered out, wide eyes swinging from Logan's still unsheathed blades to Storm. "Like, you can make it rain? Snow? Thunder and lightning and everything?" Storm nodded, running her fingers through her hair. Sam just spluttered for a few minutes, mouth opening and closing, then promptly turned on his heels and began making his way out of the foliage.
The two X members hurried after the kid, just in time to hear him talk again. "Dean's my brother." He said, looking back at them for a moment before turning his attention back to the front. "He's not a- a mutant. Doesn't have any powers." A snort. "No matter what I thought when I was six."
The three exited the greenery, falling in line to walk down the interstate - Logan dimly wondered if they were supposed to walk all the way back to the Institute.
"Dean is... He's normal. Power wise anyway. I'm the only one."
Logan snorted. "Not really kid. Could just mean he hasn't activated his yet. Or he never told you. He really good at anything? More so than others?"
The lizard eyes that skimmed over him looked far too old for a freakin' 14 year old. "Dean's good at a lot of things. So am I. That's probably genetics. Not this." A hand sweep of himself indicated what 'this' was, and neither Logan nor Storm missed the disgust infused with the last word.
Before any more questions could get asked, Sam perked up at something, crossing the road to a lone gas station at the other side. The fourteen year old stopped at an old, beaten up, pick-up truck that barely looked like it could start up, and fished something from his pocket. A cautious look around and the kid was busy picking at the lock, deft hands moving two thin, metal looking things along each other, making the two act like a key until the door sprung open.
"What?-" The kid demanded, seeing Storm's disapproving look matched with Logan's impressed gaze. "You want to walk all the way to the Institute? Really?"
So they all got in, the kid hot-wiring the car just as easily as he had lock picked it, and drove them all the way back to the school.
. . .
The older guy woke up almost as soon as they entered, almost as if he'd felt his little brother entering the small clinic. Neither probably knew they were on loudspeaker - Hank had installed hidden microphones along with cameras so people could watch and hear from behind a one-way window, just like in cop shows - because the apparent brothers were arguing fiercely with it each other. Loudly.
"The older male should be swimming through his thoughts," Hank was saying, looking bewildered just as the 14 year old gave a mighty huff and launched into another tirade. "There are just so many drugs in his system right now to deal with the multiple injuries on him - heavens, he shouldn't even be awake."
"Maybe he's a self-healer." Logan grunted. "Just slower, so kid never noticed." And by kid, he meant both of them.
Hank dismissed the idea quickly. "No, all his injuries are exactly the same. Any difference would have manifested by now. Besides, evidence of previous injuries is abundant."
"Sam, you shouldn't have---!"
"---No, Dean! God, you're so infuriating! You could barely string together a and b and you're telling me I should have done nothing?"
Logan shook his head in wonder - kid was barely letting the other guy get a word in edgewise.
"Sam, he's our---"
"---If you say Dad, I swear to God I'll...!"
"Sam!"
Jean startled next to him, having been standing there when Logan and Storm had arrived. Silence fell inside the clinic, the kid shutting his mouth so hard you could hear his teeth clacking. The older guy, who Logan could see wasn't much older at all with short dirty blonde hair, rubbed a hand over his face, looking old and weary in the same way Logan noticed Sam did sometimes.
"Sam, for god's sake, listen for just a second, OK?"
The 14 year old kept his mouth shut, lips thinning with the force, and gave a single, angry, nod.
"Shit, man. None of this is your fault. And none of this is Dad's." Sam opened his mouth immediately, a noise coming out right before getting smoothly interrupted by an older brother still rubbing at his face. "No, Sam!" He barked out, quickly shutting up anything Sam would have said. "Imagine if you saw one of your kids doing something like that, knowing what we know - would your first thoughts be 'oh, he must be a mutant'? Hell no. It's either a shapeshifter, a demon, or even a freakin' witch. Either way, it'll be something requiring a bullet to the head - or an exorcism."
Sam kept quiet. Logan shared a look with Hank and a confused Jean who mouthed 'shapeshifter? demon? witch?' at him. He just shrugged. How the hell was he supposed to know what the hell crap like that meant.
"If I suddenly started breathing fire, dude wouldn't you be real suspicious?" The guy - Dean - continued. "Don't blame Dad for thinking something got his sons."
A minute of silence passed, Dean put his hands on top of the blanket covering his legs and leaned back on the bed with nothing but a twitch of his fingers to attest to his discomfort.
"How did he find out...?" Sam finally asked.
Dean just shrugged, then frowned right afterwards - probably regretting doing that if the clenched fist and locked jaw was anything to go by. "The ghost." He answered instead, and Logan noticed the Professor leaning in closer to the window, absolutely fascinated by the two boy's conversation. "When you pushed Dad outta the way. He kinda realised neither of us were in touching distance."
"So he thought it was you?" Sam's incredulous reply came, disbelief colouring each word.
"He confronted me 'bout it. I told him it was me. Thought it'd be better than saying you and having to explain why we kept it a secret." A self-disgusted huff. "Didn't think he'd see some giant conspiracy where I was corrupting you or something. Where was he when I had to give you The Talk? God, do I hate birds an' bees."
A flush climbed up over the fourteen year old's cheeks. "Ssshhh," Sam hissed. "What if they can hear?" A furtive glance was shot to the one-way window, which should be blacked out on their side, and right then the kid looked exactly his age.
His older brother gave a patronising smirk, cocking an eyebrow at the little brother. "Guess you'll have to explain away all this crazy mumbo jumbo talk." A wicked gleam and Dean started speaking progressively louder with his next words. "Y'know, like shapeshifter! And demons! And witches - with all their disgusting bodily fluids and goddamn curses! Let's not forget-phhmmphhh--!"
"God- Dean, you jerk!"
Cough, hack, gag. "Did you just stick your disgusting sock in my mouth?! Bitch!"
Storm's disapproving look at the language had Logan furtively hiding a snort.
. . .
Dean somehow procured papers claiming him to have full custody of Sam, soon after. He didn't have them yesterday, or this morning, but give Dean five minutes with a printer and a photocopier and he could forge the Mona Lisa. By hand. With dollar cheap paints.
Sam was sitting on Dean's hospital bed (in a personal - honest to god - clinic) daring the man in the wheelchair to refute the papers. While he bore into the man's face, Dean was as cool as a cucumber, telling the Professor (who also happened to be the head of Xavier Institute of Higher Learning - also called Xavier himself) he could call up the law firm right there and then and confirm the details 'if he so wanted too'.
Sam had no doubt the papers would go through too - Dean didn't just make fancy papers, he made whole freaking backgrounds for them so they'd pass through any checks. And every now and then Sam would sneak a peak of Dean pocketing the number of victims 101 and 634 who just so happened to be a lawyer. Or a cop. Or a doctor. Or even a CPS worker.
Dad barely paid much attention to the victims - all he did was take down the baddies. Not to save people, just to take down the baddies - the saving was just extra karma for his success in getting The Demon (note the capital letters). Survivors and victims were usually relegated to Sam, when Dean was busy doing the actual taking down of the bad guys, or it was relegated to Dean when Dad claimed he could handle the hunt alone.
But Professor Xavier wasn't a victim, or survivor - he probably believed humans were capable of enough evil that they didn't need to create fictitious monsters on top of it all. Wasn't there a quote or something like that? By Joseph Conrad...? Dean would probably say anyone who could believe in dudes with powers should be able to at least acknowledge the possibilities of the supernatural. Dad would say 'we do what we do and we shut up about it'. Which brought Sam all the way back to the conversation he'd just had with Dean.
Where Dad thought Dean was a monster. Dad thought Dean was going to do something to Sam. To Sam. Dean doing something to Sam? This being the same guy who pretended he didn't like Lucky Charms just so Sam could have the last bowl? This being the guy who's all "bitch, god Samantha, you're so freakin' chick flicky" while letting himself be dragged to watch said chick flick?
Did Dad know nothing about Dean?
Of course he doesn't, a voice in his head said, he's barely home.
And just like always, Dean was letting it slide, letting it go, completely brushing it under the carpet and forgetting it ever happened. Just like always, Dean was rationalising it, making excuses, trying to use logic to it. There was no logic to it! Dad thought Dean was a monster and was ready to put a bullet in between his own son's eyes! How the hell do you explain that?
Sam felt so angry - so incredibly furious at the unfairness of it all. Neither of them should've had to keep Sam's powers a secret anyway! What kind of a father was he if he couldn't even be trusted with the knowledge of something like this? If his own children were too afraid to let him know? Dad made Dean a hunt. A hunt.
Jaw locked, Sam watched as the Professor read the documents without much focus and instead smiled smartly at them. If the situation had been even the slightest different than what it currently was (read: Dad hadn't tried to kill Dean), Sam would have smiled back just as politely and done his best to be the good mannered boy his school teachers always praised him to be. But today, he was too jaded, too busy second guessing every word and expression a stranger gave them, too suspicious to believe in the good of people. Today, he was like Dean - except without the mask of grins and cocky smirks layered with witty humour.
The Professor didn't seem too bothered by either Dean's smart summary of the papers or Sam's stony glare, but there was just something off about the man that had Sam's hackles bumping the ceiling. A strong hand trailed up his back and landed on his nape, squeezing it for a moment before simply resting there. Sam's constant vigilance relaxed slightly at his big brother's presence, the warmth of the bigger palm soaking into him and calming him down.
"... So I'd totally appreciate it if you guys could take in lil' ol' Sammy here for a while. Teach him how to bend a spoon or stuff." Dean said, finishing his monologue. Sam couldn't help but roll his eyes at the last sentence, remembering how Dean had thrust a fork in his face after the first time Sam had moved something with his mind. Dean could be a real jerk when he wanted to be.
The old man was already nodding his head, clasping his hands together in that educated way that made Sam feel so worlds apart. "Of course," he answered them. "Sam is welcomed here at Xavier Institute. This whole Institute was intended for young mutants such as him."
Sam winced, Dean's hand on his little brother twitching in answer. But Dean just nodded as Sam schooled his face at the curious look from the Professor.
"That's great. And, uh, really sorry about our entrance. I'll pay you back for your medical assistance."
The Professor waved Dean off, looking highly amused with a knowing glint in his eyes, as if he knew whatever payment Dean could make would be coming from a card in a different name. "That is of no concern to us; please, do not worry about such trivial things. Though may I ask a question?"
Next to him, Dean nodded amiably, no doubt coming up with a thousand and one stories for multiple questions the Professor could possibly ask.
"Are you also a mutant?"
Dean faltered. Sam huffed in irritation and rolled his eyes, wondering whether these guys were seriously obsessed with 'mutants' or not. And seriously, separating yourself from 'humans'? So not the best way to not inspire fear. Seriously, as long as something wasn't supernatural, Sam pretty much considered it human.
Next to him though, Dean sat wide eyed, lips slightly parted, obviously completely taken by surprise by the question. Sam couldn't blame him, because seriously, Dean with powers? Sam could just imagine it now, a Dean with something cool and totally not girly like getting headaches whenever a vision came, or being unable to control his psychic abilities. Dean would probably have something like a big cat's reflexes - be something like a male version of cat woman (Sam mentally snickered at the image that brought up) - or super strength. Maybe even being able to order someone into giving him anything he wanted, all the time, like the power of suggestion or something. Yeah, Dean would definitely probably have that.
"Uuh, no." Dean finally answered, coughing slightly to cover up his awkwardness. "Dude- just, uh, no. And before you ask, I'm pretty damn sure I don't have powers."
Sam couldn't help it. He snorted.
The Professor just nodded again, a small amused smile playing on his lips, and excused himself from the small medical room, wheeling himself out. Sam was left with a slightly creeped out Dean who stared at him with a raised eyebrow practically shouting 'dude, creepy much?'. Sam just shook his head in exasperation and eyed the IV bag next to his brother’s bed.
Dean looked over to it too, then he started pawing at his hand until he found where the needle inserted into the back of it, expertly removing it with years of experience under his belt.
"What are you doing, Dean?" Sam asked slowly, disapprovingly.
Dean didn't even look up to him as he continued to unhook the nasal cannula from his nostrils, grimacing at the tickling sensation. "Getting the hell outta here, twerp."
Lips tugging downwards, Sam grabbed at Dean's hands, stilling them. "You've got a badly injured shoulder, were suffering from a concussion just moments ago, and you've lost tons load of blood." Dean just stared at him, lone eyebrow raised. "You're not going anywhere." Sam stubbornly clarified. "You're not."
Dean frowned at him, looking slightly confused. "Uh, no offence Sam, but I can't stay here." He said, peering at Sam in a way that said he was wondering if Sam was suffering from brain damage.
Lips pulling further down and thinning, Sam tightened his grip on his brother’s wrists. "Why not, Dean? You want to just leave me here?"
Expression turning serious, Dean sighed a little as he made himself more comfortable on the bed, grimacing a bit before turning his focus back to the topic. "Sam." He said slowly, carefully. "This is an Institute for 'mutants'," the word was said with a disgusted scowl Sam couldn't help but return. "I bet you my shotgun everybody here is a mutant. I'm not one." Dean paused here, turning solemn eyes on Sam. "You know that right? I'm not a mutant. I don't have any powers - and even if I did, I wouldn't have kept it secret from you, even if you never ended up with your own ones."
Surprised at his brother's words (but why should he be? This was Dean, the Dean Dad almost shot dead), Sam nodded his head without doubt. "I know, Dean." He said truthfully, rolling his eyes as he said the next words. "You're awesome hunter skills are just all you."
Dean grinned, smugness and pleasure wafting off him, making it really hard for Sam not to grin back. "Damn straight, squirt. And you remember that while you're off being all freaky with these other freaks. Remember your big brother, who’s completely, 100% powerless, but can still kick your ass, psychic or no psychic."
"But Dean, I'm sure there's a spot you can take. It's just like you said, man. Everything about you is completely human, but yet you could probably take down 80% of the people here!"
Dean growled, slapping at Sam's hands still encased around his wrists. "Don't ever say that, Sam." He warned lowly. At the confused look Sam gave him, Dean huffed in irritation and clarified. "The 'human' crap. Don't ever say that. A genetic mutation doesn't change anything - everybody has a goddamn genetic fuckup somewhere. It's why there's black people and white people and Asians, why there's freakin' girls and boys. You're just a new kind - and a cool kind too, with powers and shit. Most likely, Sam, the numbers of 'mutants' will grow with each generation. Don't give me that look - I did my research, dammit."
An amused snicker broke forth from Sam, who patted his brother's lap condescendingly. "My brother," he said sarcastically. "The 20th century Sherlock Holmes."
"You can be Watson." Dean replied without missing a beat. "But then... Watson's too cool. Maybe I should be him 'n you the geeky Holmes."
Not wanting to get off track (he knew Dean's tactics, thank you very much) Sam returned to frowning again. "So what?" He started to ask. "You're just going to go back to Dad? Dean, I don't know if you noticed or not, but he thinks you're the mutant."
Dean snorted. "Dad doesn't know a damn thing about mutants. He thinks I'm a demon or something. No, no, I'll just go around flashing the Impala here and there, staying the hell away from Dad and his buddies."
"And hunt." Sam filled in, irritation curling around his belly.
"Come on, Sam." Dean sighed, suddenly looking bone weary and tired. "I can't just stop hunting and live like a civilian in the town over. You know I can't. People out there are getting hurt, and if I can help them..."
They both fell into silence, the tension thrumming with resignation but anticipation of what would happen next. Sam knew Dean was right - the idea of his big brother not hunting with the trunk full of weapons in the Impala just seemed foreign to him. Dean was good at hunting, almost frighteningly good at it, and Dean was doing it for all the right reasons, to help people, make sure nobody else got hurt by the same things that hurt their family. The noble cause.
"I'll never see you again, will I?" Sam finally blurted out, voicing his worst fear.
Dean's head swerved over to him, eyes landing on his own with a carefully neutral expression. "Sam, it's too dangerou---"
"---So you're just going to go riding off into the sunset, and I'll be left here with strangers that don't know the first thing about Latin or silver rounds or even salt." Sam spit out, anger finally breaking through to the surface. "And just like every other time you or Dad went off on a freakin' hunt, I'll be left behind wondering if both of you are lying in a ditch somewhere dying! Or even worse!"
"No, Sam---"
"---And!" Sam interrupted swiftly again, not letting Dean get a word in edgewise. "What the hell are you going to do? You can't hunt alone, Dean - and you can't get a partner too. You know Dad! And you know hunters! The moment Dad lets loose he thinks you're a monster that's grabbed me, the whole hunting community will track you down like hounds and kill you!"
"Which is why I can't stay here, Sam." Dean promptly replied, voice confident and decided. "It's why I need to get the Impala the hell away from here, and myself. What do you think Dad and the other's'll do if they find out 'bout this place, Sam?" Sam didn't have to answer - both of them knew what would happen, and it wouldn't be pretty. "And this is a big place, just salt the windows and all the doors stealthily and it should be cool. Besides, if a werewolf or something tries anything, I'm sure one of the kids can hold them off long enough with their freaky powers until you shoot it with silver."
Sam snorted, suddenly remembering how Storm and Wolverine's faces had looked when he'd held the latter at gunpoint. "You think they'll let me keep a few weapons, Dean? I'll be lucky if I get to keep my favourite knife."
"You'll have your weapons." Dean said, eyes flashing at Sam's words. "I'm not leaving you here alone without protection."
"Then don't."
Dean's opened his mouth, but stopped, running a hand through his hair in thinly veiled despair. "Sam..." Dean sighed. "It was a good idea, coming here. And I know you're worried, Sam - you know I'd never leave you behind if I didn't have to. Look, I'll... I'll find a way to drop you a message, every now and then. And I'm going to have to get rid of my phone and most of the cards and ID since Dad knows them all." Dean brightened up, looking at Sam with a sincere smile as he got an idea. "Sam, you get a phone - I'll get you a phone - and I can call you now and then. I'll just memorise the number, then I can call you from whatever phone I'm using since I'll probably have to change them on a weekly basis. And just to make sure I haven't been compromised, you have to answer saying 'Fred's establishment for adult entertainment. Today, our greatest offer is'--"
Sam groaned, disgusted at the idea as Dean broke out into snickers. "And if you don't call?" He said instead, wanting to iron out the kinks but liking the idea better than total abandonment. "If I don't hear from you for too long? You know I'll leave this place in a heartbeat and hunt you down, Dean."
Dean grinned, dismissing Sam's worries flippantly. "No you won't." He said confidently. "I'm telling the old man to keep you under lock and key. Gonna say Dad's a professional, and not mention what kind of professional he is. That'll keep him watching you like a hawk." Dean paused, staring at the large black window at the other side of the room contemplating. "Dude, I bet that's his power. Bird’s eye view. Everywhere. Any time."
If that wasn't a disturbing thought, Sam didn't know what was. "One of them can control the weather." He told Dean, nodding his head wisely at the disbelieving look. "And another has these honest to god metal claws that come out of his knuckles, Dean. Like, like, that tiger claw in that Bruce Lee movie. And he calls himself Wolverine."
Dean all but laughed at that. "Well make sure to not tell him what we do to his cousins." He grinned. "The metal wouldn't happen to be silver by any chance would it?"
The younger brother shrugged. "Doesn't look like it. I'm a bit worried that any of these people could have powers a bit too similar to, say, a shapeshifter. Can't exactly go slicing them with silver to see if they burn."
"Don't worry." Dean said reassuringly. "I really doubt it. Besides, all things evil act evil, and I really doubt any of these guys are gonna hulk out and eat someone if they haven't already. The fact that there isn't even one protective sigil anywhere just goes to show they're as normal as can be."
"Whatever." Sam said petulantly, watching as Dean finally returned his attention to taking off the IV from the back of his hand.
Shuffling to the side of the bed, Dean swung his legs down, carefully placing them on the floor in a way that reminded Sam that Dean had sprained his left ankle too. But Dean didn't try to stand, instead scowling down at the hospital scrubs he'd somehow been changed into and pushing Sam off the bed with a shove. "Enough of the touchy feely crap, man. Find me my clothes."
Obediently, Sam turned to search for his brother's trademark clothes. He found them in a heap on the floor, bloody beyond recognition, obviously in no state to be worn. Picking them up, he wondered what a psychiatrist would say if he knew seeing his brother's blood barely phased him, but considering Sam was by all means out of the hunting life now, it didn't seem to matter. What was that saying? Out of the frying pan, into the fire? At the very least he'd had the tools to protect himself as a hunter. What did he know about mutants? What did he have other than visions that were nightmare worthy and the ability to move things with his mind at random moments?
Maybe it was better for Dean not to be around him. After all, hadn't he decided not to let Dean pay for his mistakes any more? Maybe this was the only way, for them to separate, because it made a hell of a lot of sense when mom had died because of him too. And if Sam had to be left behind just to keep his Dad and brother safe, then by God he'd do it.
"A week." He said finally, holding Dean's clothes up to gain his brother's attention. Dean turned to look at him, green eyes first landing on Sam before looking down to his clothes, grabbing them and holding them apart with a scowl directed at the large blood stains. "You have to stay a week until I'm sure you're fit to even drive, much less avoid the hunting community. Are you going to call Pastor Jim, Uncle Bobby or even Caleb?"
Dean snorted his reply as he briskly manoeuvred his way into his jeans, wincing as the movements jarred his injuries. "Dude, Dad's probably called them first. Too easy."
"So you're just going to go on your way, lone wolf a hundred percent."
Dean noted his little brother's tone, a tone that glaringly screamed that he wasn't all too impressed with what he was hearing. Shooting a cocky grin at his brother, Dean grabbed his shirt from the jumbled mess of his clothes, wondering if he had any spare (clean) clothes in the Impala's trunk. The thought brought him up short, left hand sticking inside the shirt's arm while his head stayed halfway through the neck.
"Dude," he carefully started. "Where's my baby?"
Sam's face turned into a little bitch face, still mild considering how potent he could make the expression go, huffing to himself a bit. "I hid it in some forest on the city's outskirts."
Shucking his head and neck through the damn neck collar of his shirt, Dean moved his right arm through another hole, finally tugging the shirt down to cover his chest. "You hid my car far away in some place in New York? Sam, do you know what they do to beauties like that? They defile it! Do unspeakable, atrocious, Shakespeare worthy tragical things to it."
Again, Sam didn't seem impressed - little bitch was a little bitch after all - causing Dean to throw his hands up in the air in exasperation. "I have to walk all the way to who knows where for my car!"
"You can't," Sam finally piped up, eyes going wide and eyebrows climbing his forehead as a thought suddenly struck him. "Dean, if you drive the Impala, Dad will find you faster than you found Lilly Anderson back at that high school."
A stupid looking grin crossed Dean's face, eyes tracking upwards and glazing as memory overtook him. "Mmm, Lilly. I remember her - took me 1 minute and 34 seconds to get her in that janitor's closet. Best damn record."
"You. Can't. Drive. The. Impala." Sam gritted out, teeth grating together in irritation. "Dad will find you. Caleb will find you. Hell, every hunter and their dog will find you."
But Dean was already shaking his head, bending down carefully to put his shoes on. "I'm not leaving the Impala, Sammy." He said, voice distracted as he quickly decided bending down wouldn't be such a great idea. Sitting back on the bed, he swung his legs up until he wouldn't have to bend in half to do his shoes up, wincing as the wounds pulled on his back. "I doubt Dad would think I'm stupid enough to carry on driving it since he taught us to ditch cars faster than you ditch hobbies whenever we're going underground."
With his boots finally tied and all his clothes on, Dean stood up and moved to his little brother, ruffling the shaggy hair with a hand. "Look, I'll stay the week - even if Captain Picard and his weird mutant congregation decide they don't want a poor, little, non-mutant bad ass in their presence. Should be a motel near here anyway, right?"
Sam opened his mouth to reply, not sure what exactly he was going to say but certain it was going to be something good when a new voice interrupted him. "That won't be necessary, Mr. Winchester."
Turning around to face the direction of the voice, the two brothers gaped as a man covered in blue fur came in, wearing glasses (glasses!) and a lab coat of all things. Dean shoved Sam behind him, hands tightened into fists and up in front of him before the expression on the newcomer's face actually got through to him.
The guy was smiling.
Okay, so bad guys tended to smile too - nothing new there - but not bad guys that looked barely human. And Sam was hissing something behind him, sounding irritated and embarrassed with a touch of little brother whininess, which probably all translated too 'Dean, not a monster, just something I completely forgot to tell you about' but went more along the lines of 'God, Dean, stop embarrassing me and move! Yeah, it's my fault for not telling you that some mutants don't look human, but that doesn't give you the right to embarrass me for the rest of my life!'
Dean stared, cataloguing everything he could while he could still pass it off as a first impression, taking note of the fur, the fingers, the face and feet. The man looked like a primate, or like a civilised ape like cartoons sometimes did, but had the air of someone kind and slightly scholarly about him. For one, he just stood there and calmly waited till Dean took his fill, which totally brought him up a few points in Dean's book. But still. Blue.
"The fuck?"
Sam made a pissy little bitch sound behind him, one arm going round Dean's body and fisting the shirt right above his heart in some strange attempt to move and protect Dean. Stupid little brother. Kid had a stubborn streak worse than Dad's.
"Ah, Mr. Winchester," the blue furred man greeted, smiling at them both kindly. "I have to thank you for not attacking or screaming at me. I realise this must be strange for the both of you, but you have nothing to fear. My name is Dr. Hank, and I too, am a mutant. Just like you, Samuel."
"Christo." Dean blurted out, right along the same time Sam petulantly muttered "My name's Sam," behind him. The blue furred man - Hank, and what kind of an evil son of a bitch called himself Hank? - cocked his head to the side, eyebrows furrowing together in confusion. Dean didn't really know what he expected to happen anyway, since he'd never run into a demon before, but Dad and Bobby had said they'd flinch in the name of God and their eyes would turn black or something.
But blue guy was still... blue.
"I thought mutants 'n shit had like, powers, not..." Dean waved his hands around, trying to come up with a word to explain the guy's look. Sam dug his bony fingers into Dean's back, causing the older brother to wince and bite the inside of his cheek. "Maybe he's like, a mutant chubacabra or something." He hissed to his little brother, slapping a hand that looked like it was going to punch him in the kidney. "God dammit Sam!"
"The X-gene sometimes causes changes in one's physical appearance." The blue Dr. Hank answered, despite Dean not having technically spoken to him. "Unfortunately, mine is among the more... Dramatic changes."
No shit. Guy was freaking blue.
"However, I assure you, you have nothing to fear. This look," and he swept a hand over himself, like a bad magician going 'look, look, nothing here so far right?' before carrying on. "This look has given me a few other abilities too, so all's fair in love and war, right?-"
Dean stared at the man, taking note of the Doctor's bare feet and how the toes looked just like one's hands. If he remembered correctly, monkeys could use their feet just like hands, and sure the doctor didn't look like he had a tail but what the hell, it might be covered underneath that lab coat.
Hank seemed even more pleased by Dean's observations - Dean couldn't help but dimly feel a bit sorry for the guy, he was probably used to people screaming whenever they saw him - and shuffled over to one of the machines that had been hooked up to Dean. "You can stay here however long you wish, Mr. Winchester," the doctor said, addressing Dean in particular. "The fact you've neither attempted to hurt me nor screamed in fear goes to show we'll have no problem here. But I must warn you, some others are very similar in... Mutation, shall we say, as I am. Not all of us have the simple luck to suddenly be able to use a nifty power with no side effects."
Finally settling on a nod - what else was he supposed to do, besides play nice then hit the books later on in search of a furry blue, English speaking, Medical diploma holding, monster? - Dean settled a hand on Sam's shoulder, an unconscious gesture of both safety and possessiveness. No matter what you all have, he's mine. "Thanks, I guess. Is there anything else you should probably warn me about? Like to watch out for moving staircases?"
The foot that stomped on his toes was painful, sure, but so worth it.
The doctor laughed, sounding genuinely surprised by the reference to Harry Potter and pleased with it. "Oh no, nothing like that here, though I'm sure the Professor would have loved to have such." He pushed up the drooping glasses on the bridge of his nose, flicking through some papers that made him look all doctor-y. "I'm glad to see you're very open about all this, Dean. May I call you Dean?” Dean nodded with a shrug. “Thank you. The only thing I can think of to immediately inform you of is the need for secrecy here, to ensure everyone's safety. As such, we use code names, referring to each other as such, though I thought it would only make myself seem more suspicious if I were to introduce myself using my codename: Beast.” At the look both brothers gave him, Hank laughed. “Yes, yes, I know, but that is the way of things. Unfortunately, I realise this must all be so very new. Just how much are you aware of the mutant gene?"
Considering every piece of information they had was from Sam's mad hacking skills and Dean flashing a few high security fake badges, not that much. But then again, everything they knew, the government did. And the government didn't know that much. Sam fidgeted next to him, just bursting at the seams to go into a long tirade of everything they knew, and Dean just let him at it.
"We only really know that there's a difference in a person's genetic makeup that causes the powers, and that everybody with it gets something different every single time. This is an institute made by a Professor Charles Xavier that on the outside is for 'gifted children'," the speech quotes could practically be seen floating in the air, "but is actually the Professor making a place for mutants of all age, race and ability to converge in hopes of lessening possible bad case scenario's.” Doctor Hank nodded, looking slightly impressed by their knowledge, but before he could speak up, Sam continued on like the unstoppable force of nature he was. “And the government knows about mutants, but so far only very little and mostly thinks little of them of them until they have hard proof – plus this place is on their watch list. A yellow alert is out on the so called 'brotherhood of mutants', but the government is attempting to find more information on that before they upgrade it to an orange, and if they think it to be too much of a national threat, then red.”
That got Hank's surprise, from the very moment the word 'government' was mentioned, Hank's eyebrows (or at least where Dean thought his eyebrows were) climbed steadily higher up his forehead, until that whole area of his face just looked... blue. “The government?” The strange looking man repeated, sounding peculiar and a bit faint. “How did you-? … Do I want to know?”
Smart man. Plausible deniability was a beautiful thing if you knew how to use it. Dean sharply grinned at the man, deciding to bump him up a few points in his 'maybe not a monster' list, but he was still going to smuggle some holy water into the man's drink as soon as he could. “Nope.”
Sam's face was twisted into an unhappy frown – probably going all 'woe is me' about hacking national intelligence buildings and all their digital software. Dean hadn't even been the one to suggest it, everything had been all Sam's idea, but nooo, kid still had to feel all guilty about it. The blue man put down his clipboard of papers, humming to himself with a knowing look in his eyes, turning around to start rummaging about in a cupboard full of medicine for something. He took out a small blue bottle, looked at it and nodded decisively, before surprising the hell out of Dean by throwing it across the room at him. Dean caught it – of course he did, who did you take him for? - and stared down at the bottle for a bit before putting it away in one of his pockets. Even if he didn't plan on taking any of them, he knew enough of medicine to recognise it for some heavy duty painkillers, and stuff like that was always good for the road.
“So Dean can stay here? For the week? Or more if he needs it?” Sam asked eagerly, face smoothing out into an earnest expression.
Hank nodded, smiling at them warmly. “Yes, of course. Our door is always opened for Dean.”
And didn't that sound nice? A door always open for Dean. Except the one time he might finally get it is when it'd be too dangerous to be seen around it. The two brothers watched as the doctor bid them goodbye, telling them someone would come in shortly to lead them to a room, and watched him leave. Then they looked at each other, Sam's expression victorious, Dean's amused, except for when something Sam had said early made a return to his brain.
“So you said something about a woman controlling the weather? She better be damn hot.”