Chapter Text
Sam broke the silence first. “Well, that was a hell of a morning.”
He finished off the last of the water from his bottle and rubbed his mouth. “Feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.”
“Right back atcha.” Bobby sent him a sharp look.
“Anythin’ in that vision of yours we need to know about real urgent?”
Sam shook his head, the weight of his thoughts pulling his brows into a frown.
“I think it’ll have to wait until Alec wakes up. It was in Seattle; I saw the Space Needle, but Seattle wasn’t looking too good.”
He noted with relief that Alec seemed to be deeply asleep, still on the floor but all cocooned with cushions and blankets.
“I don’t want to disturb him.”
Intriguing, thought Bobby. Had Sam had a vision from Alec’s world? Was that even possible? He focused on the pasty color of Sam’s normally tanned skin and pushed any thoughts of visions to the background.
“In that case, princess, get y’self to bed and get y’head down. I ain’t gonna be happy if I see ya again before chow time.”
Bobby glanced behind him.
“And go quiet on those oversized hooves of yours, y’brother is catchin’ up on his beauty sleep.”
Sam stood up quietly, peering into the armchair where Dean lay in a careless sprawl of long legs and dangling arms. He seemed to have shrunk inside his layers of jacket and shirts and someone, probably Bobby, had slipped a cushion between his head and the wing of the armchair. The slow rise and fall of his chest proved that he was, finally, asleep. If the shadows in the hollows under his cheekbones and beneath his eyes were anything to go by, it was a sleep long overdue.
Sam slipped the blanket from around his own shoulders and very carefully laid it over his brother. He hovered a moment, resisting an urge to indulge in a sentimental moment and do something soft like pulling the blanket up to Dean’s chin or rubbing a hand over his spiky hair.
Bobby’s voice reminded him they were not alone.
“I’ll watch him, boy. Get goin’.”
Sam pulled himself away reluctantly. He sent a small, grateful smile to the older hunter and headed for the stairs.
.
Bobby brewed coffee and prepared a big pot of stew. After feeding the dog, he settled onto the tumbledown porch next to him, sipping a bottle of beer while lost in thought. Eventually evening faded into night, and even Bobby's musings couldn't keep his head from nodding.
He ambled inside. Alec and Dean didn’t look like they were moving any time soon and when he checked the bedroom, all that could be seen of Sam was a tuft of messy hair sticking out of a roll of bedding.
Bobby felt a little worn himself, so in the end he grabbed the blankets off his own bed and settled down on the couch, just in case Alec woke up and needed help in the night.
.
Alec was first to awake, his eyelids lifting to let in the wintry dawn. It was warm in his cosy nest of cushions and blankets and he lay there for a few moments, reluctant to let in the frigid air despite the uncomfortable grind of the hard floor against his hip bone and his need to relieve himself. Eventually he moved cautiously, grateful to find that his muscles responded correctly; they were really sore and stiff, but he figured that was to be expected.
A tub of tryptophan and a carton of milk were balanced on three books within arm’s reach. Alec propped himself up on one elbow and took a pill, following it with several swallows of cool milk. If the shakes never returned, it would still be too soon.
On the couch behind him, Bobby grunted and snored like a hibernating bear, while Dean’s deep, slow breaths were audible from the armchair. Even from this distance, the muffled thump of his heartbeat sounded stronger, the pulse of his life a bit less ragged after a much-needed night’s sleep. Sam was nowhere in sight, but the faint creak of a bedspring from upstairs suggested he was likely asleep in the bedroom.
Alec peeled back the warmth of the blankets and rose, moving slowly but gracefully despite his aching body. A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as he caught sight of Bobby's whiskers flaring in and out with each snore.
He padded silently over to the armchair, grimacing at the uncomfortable pull of dried sweat clinging to the fabric of his clothes. He definitely needed a shower.
Some sixth sense seemed to stir Dean awake as Alec came into view around the armchair. His eyes focused immediately on Alec.
“Alec? You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine. Shakes have gone.”
Alec stretched out the ache in his muscles; a long, slow, bone-popping kind of stretch. He hid a wince and slid a smirk onto his face and a twinkle into his eyes as he reached out a hand to Dean, who was unfolding himself from the armchair.
“Need a hand there? ‘Cause you know, you are getting on a bit.”
Dean scowled and straightened up, rolling his shoulders. He batted away Alec’s hand and comment automatically, thoughts of Manticore overriding the jibe from the younger man.
“If I ever meet up with those sonsabitches from Manticore, I’m gonna rip their lungs out.”
“Aww… didn’t know you cared.”
Alec grinned cheekily at Dean, trying to keep it light, despite the warm feeling in his chest caused by his hazy recollections of the previous day; real evidence that, at last, someone did actually care.
Dean saw the deflection for what it was and played along, knowing how much he hated chick flick moments himself. He grinned back, raising an eyebrow lazily.
“Who says I care; mebbe I had plans yesterday that didn’t include looking after a pain in the ass clone.”
Alec dropped his eyes, his lips still curved in a little smile.
“Yeah,” he said. “Sorry about that.”
He shuffled his feet, feeling suddenly awkward, once again in a situation where his survival had depended on someone else's care. It made him wonder if part of his survival mentality had been irreparably altered by his transition between one reality and another.
“I’m gonna take a shower.” He headed for the door, slapping Dean on the arm as he passed. “Thanks man.”
.
“That’s all I got.” Sam kneaded at the ache in his forehead. “I’m sorry Alec; that’s all I saw.”
Alec ground his teeth in frustration. They had gone over Sam's vision repeatedly, but it remained so vague—a mere series of fleeting images. Sam had definitely seen Seattle, Alec's Seattle, with its debris, graffiti, and crowds of oddly dressed people.
Sam closed his eyes, concentrating, going over it one last time.
“A man—didn’t see his face—collecting money outside a place called the ‘Light of Life Mission.’ Two guys on motorcycles. Didn’t see their faces either, but one had really dark hair, and the other was just a blur. Then the dark-haired guy, lying on the ground, getting beaten. Later, he’s hung upside down next to a burning cross…”
Muscles in Sam’s throat worked as he swallowed convulsively, still feeling sick at the mental image.
“…the way he’s hanging, I think he’s dead. There’s a barcode on the back of his neck, like yours. And there’s a mob, TV cameras, and some reporter talking about transgenic freaks. And that was it, man. I’m sorry.”
Sam dropped his head into his hands, the images burned into his mind.
Alec paced across the floor in a continuous, stress-induced pattern, lithe and dangerous as any caged predator.
“I gotta get back. They’re gonna need my help!”
“Steady there.” Bobby’s voice cut through the fog of tension. “First off, we dunno how to get you back. Yet. But I’m working on that. Second, this vision is in your Seattle. That means it’s at least fourteen, fifteen years in the future, so there ain’t no rush.”
He paused, watching the younger men’s faces flit through a variety of expressions as that information sunk in.
“You’re all kinda busted up. Sit back and kick y’heels for a spell. First we gotta figure out how to get Alec back.”
Like it or not, it made sense. Most things Bobby said made sense, even if you weren’t too happy to hear them at the time.
.
“Hey, big fella!”
Max spread a warm smile across her face and pushed the door open. The smell of oil paints and thinners hit her in a powerful wave and made her nose wrinkle.
Joshua turned, a surprisingly happy grin on his face. He’d been moping for Alec. Max couldn’t quite get her head around the fact that anyone could miss Alec’s smart mouth and uncaring attitude as much as Joshua did. It was good to see him more cheerful. He was painting on a large canvas and Max stepped closer to see.
“Little fella,”
Joshua boomed enthusiastically, waving a brush laden with yellow paint around. A fair amount detached itself from the bristles and spattered across the room. Max retreated a little, wiping a blob of yellow off her cuff.
“That’s a new one?”
She gestured at the large painting, slightly mesmerised by the multi-colored patterns splashed across the canvas.
“Yes. Big fella is drawing Alec.”
Joshua beamed at her.
“Oh.” Max sighed. “I’m sorry Joshua. I haven’t found him yet.”
She watched her friend anxiously.
To her surprise, Joshua smiled again, waving his brush airily around.
“No need to be looking for Alec. Medium fella is safe with himself and the brother.”
Max’s forehead creased in confusion.
“Alec is by himself? What brother?”
Surely there wasn’t another clone?
“No. Not Alec with Alec! Alec is with himself, older Alec. And older Alec’s brother, lotsa hair.”
He jabbed a paint streaked finger at the canvas.
“Look! Here is Alec…”
A pretty swirl of yellow, orange and red, with a jagged dark centre.
“…and here is older Alec…”
The finger pointed to a splash of emerald green and a brown that put Max in mind of distressed leather, all coiled about with what appeared to be twisted dark roots.
“…and the brother…”
Soft blues and greens and browns this time, with a harsh streak of bright yellow in the centre.
Max’s bewilderment was easy to see on her face.
“You’ve seen Alec?”
Why hadn’t Joshua told her!
“Yes.”
Joshua beamed.
“Big fella is dreaming and seeing Alec with older Alec. And the brother. They all help each other.”
Max tried very hard to get more information but Joshua was adamant. Alec was with ‘older Alec’ and his brother; Max shouldn’t worry herself about them.
.
“I got it.”
Alec nudged Bobby aside with his shoulder and began reassembling the Dodge's engine, his hands moving swiftly and with confidence. Bobby watched, his eyebrows rising gradually in surprise.
With the last piece in place, Alec turned, a cocky smirk firmly in place. Bobby grumbled his acknowledgment; the kid sure learned fast. He remarked as much to Dean as Alec sauntered out of the workshop.
“Alec does everything fast,” Dean noted, glancing up from under the hood of the Impala and gesturing at the reassembled engine. “You about ready to put that back in?”
“Yeah.” Bobby craned his neck around the door frame. Alec was strolling back their way, three beer bottles caught between his fingers. “Let’s see how strong that boy really is.”
.
The engine went back in with ease. Bobby finished the last few bolts and wiped his hands on a greasy rag.
“You did good."
He delivered the praise begrudgingly, not wanting it to go to Alec's rather cocky head. He tapped the younger man on the shoulder.
“Go fix y’self somethin’ to eat. Me and Dean’ll finish up.”
Accurately surmising that he’d been dismissed, Alec sloped off. He sensed something was brewing with Dean, and from Bobby’s expression and the audible quickening of his pulse, it was clear he was about to tackle the subject. Alec rounded the corner of the workshop and paused, leaning casually against the wall, well within earshot of their conversation.
.
Dean watched Alec leave with something akin to dismay. The transgenic wasn’t the only one who was good at reading people. Bobby clearly had something he wanted to say and Dean was equally sure he didn’t want to hear it. He eyed the older man warily.
Bobby took off his grimy baseball cap and twisted it around in his hands for a moment before jamming it back on his head.
“Known you boys a hell of a long time,” he stated.
Dean dipped his head in acknowledgement, his heart rate accelerating and nausea beginning to curl in his stomach.
“Never wanted to see either of ya in the state y’was in after your Daddy passed.”
Dean sucked in a breath, held it.
“Now you bin away a while and I figured when y’came back… well…you’d be gettin’ y’heads around it. But you’re here, and you ain’t gettin’ your heads around it at all. Seems to me it’s affectin’ ya worse than ever and that ain’t natural.”
“Bobby. I’m fine.”
“No goddamit, you’re not fine, y’idjit! I’ve known ya since y’were knee high an’ one thing I know for sure is you ain’t fine… not even close to it.”
Dean closed his eyes, grating his teeth. He didn’t feel as though he even knew what ‘fine’ was any more.
“Tell me what’s wrong kiddo. ‘Cause you’re so wound up you’re gonna explode. Y’can’t go on like that, you’re gonna get yourself killed, or get someone else killed.”
Dean snorted, his eyes flying open. Bobby was shocked by the bitterness engraved on his face, by the harsh grate of his voice.
“Get someone killed. Yeah, I’m real good at that.”
“What the hell are y’talking about?”
“Dad! It’s my fault he’s dead, okay?!”
“What! ‘Course it ain’t your fault. He died, kid. And now he’s moved on and you gotta do the same!”
“No, Bobby! It’s my fault! I was dying, in that hospital. Dammit, I died! And Dad… he made some sorta deal…”
Dean's voice broke as he hurled the spanner in his hand across the workshop. It slammed into a box of parts, sending die-cast pieces scattering across the metal work surface, creating a discordant clatter.
Bobby blanched, his face contorting in disbelief. He didn’t want to accept what he was hearing. Not even John...
“Deal? What kinda deal?”
“He traded his life, for mine.”
There was a wealth of pain in the statement and Dean stepped up to Bobby, taking hold of his upper arms in a vice like grip, not even realising what he was doing.
“And you know what really sucks? He’s not moved on. He’s in hell, fuckin’ burning… being tortured… FOR ME.”
His voice quavered, bottom lip beginning to tremble.
Bobby cupped his hand around the back of the younger man’s neck, giving him a little shake.
“What are y’talking about? How could y’even know that?”
“The demon bitch at the crossroads… she told me.”
It was all there - in the hoarseness of Dean's voice, the misery reflected in his eyes - the reason the boys were so deeply torn up.
“Demons lie, all the time, y’know that.”
Dean shook his head, grief twisting his features.
“She wasn’t lying. Just think about it, Bobby—one minute I’m dying, being jump-started… Dad’s fine. Then, suddenly, I get some miracle cure and Dad’s dead.”
Bobby swallowed hard. It made sense, and he wished it didn’t, but it did. He focused on the grief-stricken face in front of him, saw the damage that the deal had done spilling out over Dean’s eyelashes and streaking down his cheek.
“Aww Dean, don’t… C’m here kiddo.”
He pulled his surrogate son into a big, warm bear hug, wishing he could take the pain for himself. Of all the people in the world, maybe Dean was the one least able to bear this burden. Loyal, self-sacrificing Dean, who thought he was worth nothing and already carried around a load of guilt that would crush most people.
“Damn you, Winchester,” he thought, even though he knew he’d do the same thing himself to save the boy. “Goddamn y’for doing that to Dean.”
“He wasn’t meant to go out like that…making a deal with that yellow-eyed son of a bitch.”
Dean’s breathing hitched, hot and anguished against Bobby’s neck.
“What am I gonna do, Bobby? How the hell am I ever gonna put this right?”
Bobby put his big gnarled hand up and took hold of the back of the other man’s head, the short hair soft against his rough fingers. He pulled Dean tight into his shoulder and held him there, rubbing his back with the other hand. He could hear himself making comforting noises and muttering reassurances, even though he had no idea how to make things right.