Fic: My Brothers' Keepers - Part Six
Apr. 26th, 2009 06:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
brighteyedjillTitle: My Brothers' Keepers - Part Six
Authors:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jaune_chat and brighteyed_jill
Art: byxkelorosiamano is at her graphics community.
Pairings: Every combination of Nathan and Peter Petrelli and Sam and Dean Winchester
Rating: NC-17
Warning: See Part One for full list
Spoilers: Supernatural--though 4x16. Heroes--vague ones for Season 2
Authors' notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
sncross_bigbang. Beta and moral support from the superstarlet redandglenda
Summary: Sam and Dean discover demons have been possessing people with special abilities that have nothing to do with magic. Peter draws a future that reunites him and Nathan with the Winchester brothers. Together they find out that specials--people whose powers come from an unusual inherited gene-- are being targeted for possession by a woman who is on the verge of breaking one of the sixty-six seals.
Dean had been absolutely certain that Bubba's Pub had been the exact and precise kind of bar that Nathan Petrelli would not be caught dead entering. It was the worst kind of bar he’d ever been able to find: the sort that was worth your life to enter if you didn’t have the right look. After that night’s fight with Nathan, Dean was pissed and wanted the solace of alcohol. He was tired of holding back, tired of being cooped up, and Caroline could swoop in and stab him in the heart if she'd just let him get wasted first.
So when Dean had told the barkeep to just line up the whiskey shots and keep them coming, only to see the second shot snatched up by a well-manicured hand before he’d slammed even one, he was understandably startled. Even so, he drank down the first shot before he whirled to see Nathan downing the second. Except this Nathan was wearing jeans and a leather bomber jacket, and his usually precise hair was tousled forward.
“Maria is going to kill you if you come into work drunk again. Let’s go Dean,” Nathan said as he grabbed Dean’s jacket sleeve. Dean stared at Nathan like he’d just grown a second head. Where the hell was the precise lawyer he’d been rooming with for the last couple of days?
“Problem?” the barkeep growled.
“If he comes home drunk off his ass again and misses work, he’s not going to have a roof over his head,” Nathan said in explanation. The barkeep looked at them both, squinting in the dim light. But Nathan’s voice of authority combined with Dean’s startled submissiveness gave exactly the impression that Nathan was trying to create. The barkeep grunted vaguely, neither wanting to interfere nor help, as Dean and Nathan exited the bar.
Dean was so surprised that it didn't occur to him to resist until they were almost two blocks away, when Nathan paused to smooth his hair back into its usual precise coif. Then the fact sunk in that Nathan, who Dean had had to stop from drinking himself into a stupor not more than a day ago, had prevented Dean from getting what he wanted. Again.
“What the hell, man?” Dean demanded, wrenching himself out of Nathan’s grasp. “What the hell was that?”
“I was keeping a promise I made to your brother,” Nathan said. He twitched the rest of his clothes straighter and neater as they kept walking back to the motel.
“What, going into a bar dressed as fucking James Dean and laying on that bullcrap?” Dean couldn’t believe Nathan had come up with that idea on his own. If it involved impersonating some kind of officer, Dean had no doubt that Nathan could do it and do it very well, probably almost as well as him in some cases. But going onto Dean’s own turf and bluffing his way into and out of a place that should have eaten him alive… It rankled.
“Sam thought this might happen. He thought up a cover that I could use,” Nathan responded.
Dean resolved to punch Sam in the face when he came back.
--
Sam slid onto the bar stool next to Dean, and raised an eyebrow at the impressive number of shot glasses lined up on the bar. "Those all yours?" he asked.
"Yep." Dean grabbed the next shot the bartender poured, and slugged it back.
Sam wrinkled his brow in disapproval. "You're done working for the night, I guess."
"Yeah, well, I was done hours ago. I got the police report, checked out the house, and then I went back to meet you. At the motel." He slammed the shot glass down on the bar, and the burly bartender poured him another without comment. "But you weren't there. And you weren't picking up your phone. Starting to be kind of a pattern with you, Sammy boy."
"Yeah, you know what else is a pattern?" Sam grabbed the fresh shot and held it out of Dean's reach. "You drinking yourself stupid. Alone. Come on." He stood, and grabbed Dean's arm to pull him up, too.
Dean shoved Sam away. He was well on his way to drunk-as-hell, but he didn't need his little brother telling him what his limits were. "Tell me you weren't with Ruby," he said angrily. "You tell me where you were, and I'll stop."
Sam sighed. He looked tired. Not angry, or ready to fight, just exhausted and a little sad. "It's none of your business where I was. Come on, you're embarrassing yourself."
And that was it, because if there was one thing Dean couldn't stand, it was pity. Not from Sam. He threw a punch, but he must have been a little further gone than he anticipated, because Sam dodged it easily: he simply stepped back out of Dean's range.
"You guys wanna take this outside," the bartender grumbled.
"Yeah. No problem," Sam said. He threw one gigantic arm around Dean's shoulder and steered him toward the door. Reluctantly, Dean let himself be manhandled.
"You are not going to keep doing this to yourself," Sam said, once they were out on the street and into brisk night air that was making Dean feel a degree more sober.
"You shouldn't be doing what you're doing, either," Dean pointed out. "You think I have a problem? Look in the mirror, Sammy."
"That's it," Sam mumbled. "Once I get you to bed, I'm calling Peter. I bet he has some advice on dealing with this shit."
--
“Well thanks for nothing,” Dean growled ungratefully. With his alcohol tolerance, one shot wouldn’t even get him mildly buzzed. He was going to make Nathan suffer for pulling him out of the bar. For starters, he was going to rent porn on pay-per-view and leave it on all night.
Then Dean considered exactly how Sam might have coached Nathan into a persona that could safely pass in Bubba's. And how it might have involved roleplaying. And possibly leather. His brain shut down briefly and he realized he better not think about it too closely if he wanted to stay sane.
“I didn’t come out here for your thanks,” Nathan retorted, his voice deceptively mild.
“What do you fucking care if I get wasted?” Dean asked.
Nathan turned his face away, and they walked a few moments in silence. “I’ve already been where you’re going Dean. It won’t help, believe me,” he said finally.
“I don’t need to be fucking rescued like Princess Peter, so next time, don’t bother!” Dean nearly shouted.
Nathan stopped in his tracks, and Dean took another ten steps before he stopped too and turned around to stare back at Nathan.
“That car wasn’t there before,” Nathan said, looking through the screen of bushes that sheltered the back of the motel from casual scrutiny.
Dean, exasperated all to hell, glanced over at the parking lot. It had a few old beaters, and lots of blah yuppymoblie businessman cars: suburbanites who were in trouble with their wives, or trying to get into trouble with one of the local working girls, along with just a few people looking for a cheap place to crash. It was absolutely typical for the types of motels the Winchesters frequented. Looking more closely, he could see a new, completely boring late-model sedan in an aggressively blah shade of silvery-gray next to Nathan’s yuppified Impala.
“So? Some dude came here rather than sleep on the couch,” Dean said. If Nathan was going to interfere with his drinking, Dean at least wanted to try to get to sleep.
“That’s a Company car,” Nathan said, and Dean heard actual fear in his voice for the first time.
Dean shouldered Nathan to the cover of the bushes and drew his gun, keeping it low. Nathan crouched down next to him, watching the motel doors and windows for any movement. “Not a coincidence,” Dean decided. His eyes darted around, scanning for anything suspicious.
“No,” Nathan said, voice taut, face set like stone. The door of the room next to theirs opened, and a tall, shorthaired man with horn-rimmed glasses stepped out, talking on a cell phone.
“Bennet. He got here fast,” Nathan said shortly.
Dean’s brow creased. “Didn’t you want to talk to him?”
“Not like this. He’s been after Peter and me for a long time. He’s too dangerous to meet face-to-face.” Dean was very familiar with the hard-repressed tone of fear and worry in Nathan’s voice; he had heard it in Sam’s whenever he had talked about his powers.
Dean looked back up at this Bennet character, evaluating him as he would any potential prey. The man outwardly looked like an accountant, maybe one that played a little pick-up basketball on the weekends, but Dean could see by the way he held himself that the man had a shoulder holster under his left arm. Getting back to the motel was no longer an option; guns changed things. They couldn’t afford a shoot-out and definitely couldn’t afford a body, not when Sam and Peter’s lives were at stake as well as their own. This guy wasn’t a monster that Dean could just shoot down in cold blood.
Bennet looked up at the bushes, seemingly just staring out into the darkness, but Dean suddenly recognized the stare of another hunter, one who had just sighted his prey. Working on pure instinct, he pulled Nathan with him as he dove for the ground, just before a whump! and crackle sounded over their head.
“Move!” Dean thundered. Nathan crawled like a commando, rapidly putting distance between themselves at the now-dangerous motel. There was crackling in the bushes behind them, and Dean flipped onto his back, gun out, recognizing only that there was a man in black SWAT gear with a rifle leveled at him. Neither blinked, and Dean suddenly saw his death coming with a bullet in his brain.
“No!”
Dean recognized Nathan’s voice behind him, and then felt himself jerked upward with such amazing speed that he couldn’t even catch his breath. He stared, mind refusing to accept that he was suddenly up high, staring down at the town below, the streets reduced to a thin, glittering roadmap.
Dean twisted, realizing Nathan’s arms were locked around his chest, and stared. Nathan was flying, straining towards the heavens, then flipped horizontal practically hard enough to give Dean whiplash, and rocketed sideways, soaring over the countryside at some insane speed.
Nathan was flying.
Nathan could fly.
Dean hated flying, normally. He hated planes with their tiny little seats and low ceilings, their stale air, the fact that they were always too hot and loaded with explosive fuel. They made him feel like he was at the mercy of a cheap machine and indifferent crew, just one mistake away from falling from the sky in an explosion of burning metal.
But this… there was no seatbelt, no metal walls, no powerful engines, just Nathan’s arms and some crazy genetics. The intoxication of this flight was like the kind of flying that happened in his dreams. Above all worldly concerns, completely free, able to go anywhere and do anything. It was more than the sudden rush of adrenaline that came from being rescued, or the euphoria of escaping from danger. It was a realization that he had a real ally in this world, someone outside of his own tiny circle who would risk his life for Dean's. Right now he didn’t care that he’d been about to start a full on bitch-fight with Nathan not five minutes earlier. Right now he wanted to show Nathan that he could actually be grateful for saving him.
+++++
Nathan had his arms locked around Dean’s sturdy, heavy frame. His joints ached from holding him so tight, flying so fast, trying to outrun his fear. He heard Dean groan, but put it down to a fear of heights, or flying, or his surprise at Nathan turning out to have an ability… That was, until Dean suddenly started to twist in his arms, and Nathan dipped in the sky.
“Damn it, hold still or I’m going to drop you!” Nathan yelled over the wind. Somehow Dean worked himself around so he was facing Nathan, holding onto Nathan on his own so Nathan could relax his own arms a little. “Don’t let go,” Nathan warned, and accelerated. He wanted to be several states away by morning; Peter would be able to find him eventually, now that he had Molly’s ability, or Sam would call-.
Nathan’s thoughts came to a screeching halt when the squeeze of Dean’s arms around him went from desperately clutching to something more possessive. One arm hooked around his shoulder and Nathan was now face-to-face with Dean, who was looking at him with an expression of such hunger and desire that Nathan actually started losing altitude.
Shaking his head slightly, Nathan concentrated on breathing and averted his eyes. He couldn't avert his body, however, and he could feel a stirring hardness trapped between them. Involuntarily, Nathan slowed just a little, slow enough so that the wind no longer rushed by their ears so loudly.
"Are you ok?" Nathan asked. This had to be stressful as hell, and the body did crazy things sometimes... It would be much easier to give Dean an "out" than to let his imagination run away with him. Much better than to try to acknowledge anything.
"Yeah," Dean said, and Nathan could see him staring at him in the darkness, lit only by the sliver of the moon. "You fly."
Nathan actually laughed at the bald statement. "Very fast," he said. This was the first time since he'd discovered his ability that someone hadn't had a problem or a panic attack when he revealed it. The change was actually sort of nice.
"That's kinda hot."
Nathan's brain froze dead at those words. Oh, he really should have listened to Peter when he talked about his dates with Dean. The panic of saving Dean and running from Bennet had Nathan's blood up, but he'd been trying to keep himself contained. Unfortunately Dean's lack of impulse control was seriously wearing at him.
"Dean, I-."
"Hey, thanks for the rescue," Dean said, talking right over him. His teeth gleamed in the moonlight as he smiled. Nathan had to look away, averting his attention from Dean's expression, and glanced to his left. All the twisting around in Nathan's arms had gotten Dean's jacket off of his left shoulder, and Nathan damn near froze to a dead stop in mid-air when he saw the handprint burned into Dean's shoulder.
Peter's drawing, he thought, mind going blank. Dean was pressing into him, hard and ruggedly beautiful, but Nathan could feel him losing some of that contact as Dean struggled to hold himself flush against the pull of gravity. Nathan desperately wanted that feeling back, of shared strength and warmth and hardness, something he hadn't been able to feel for days.
Peter would understand... He drew this, Nathan said to himself, and writhed in mid-air, pulling Dean on top of him, arcing his back as Dean's arms locked around him, and his hips ground down into him. It nearly startled a gasp out of him, and Nathan felt himself defying gravity in several interesting ways to grind down harder, to get more sensation.
Ah, Nathan thought vaguely. I do bend that way. The surging pulse between them was climbing higher with each half-mindless thrust, and Nathan felt himself begin to shudder with pleasure. He usually felt tiny next to the oversized monstrosities that were the Winchester brothers, but now he felt completely in control. It felt like Dean actually wanted him. This wasn't the need, the almost psychotic devotion he had to Peter, nor was it the mutually agreeable, civilized, pleasantly restrained encounters he had with Sam. No, this kind of wanton desire made Nathan feel like a rock star with a particularly star-struck groupie.
Dean panted hot against his neck, an inch away from pressing his lips into Nathan's flesh, and
Nathan clutched his hand around Dean's scarred shoulder. Dean sucked in a surprised breath and pulled back slightly. The cooler air rushing between them suddenly made them both excruciatingly aware of each other, and the situation.
I can't do this. Jesus, what was I thinking?
Picking a place totally at random, Nathan suddenly went to ground, nearly spilling Dean to the turf. They sprang apart, standing with their hands on their knees, slowing their breathing from desperate to normal, not looking at each other.
We could have been killed back there and I was just... Nathan was so angry with himself that he couldn't even speak coherently for several long minutes. Dean, on the other hand, merely looked frustrated. Too damn bad. This was neither the time, nor the place, and definitely not the right person, no matter how he looked. People did strange things in post-danger situations, but that didn't excuse his behavior. Just because Nathan was feeling needy didn't mean he to risk angering Peter or Sam by reaching out to the closest warm body to satisfy his desires. Even, or especially, if Dean wanted to.
There were several long moments of extreme awkwardness, and then they both stood up.
"Well, now what?" Dean said. To Nathan's relief, Dean sounded brisk and businesslike.
Nathan quickly took stock of what he had on him: not much. His wallet, a little cash, that was about it.
"Everything was in the car," Nathan said in disgust. "All the extra money, the IDs, all the paperwork, and all my weapons." Everything, in other words, that he needed to pull off his lawyer routine. He couldn't pass for one now, not in a leather jacket and jeans covered in grass stains and not a legal brief to his name. He didn't even have the books and forms he needed to make copies.
"Huh," Dean said, and began digging through his long jacket. To Nathan's amazement, Dean came up with not one but two guns, some extra ammo, two metal flasks, some small bills, and several pieces of paper.
"Boy Scout?" Nathan asked, eyebrow raised. How he had managed to carry all that around without looking weighted down was mystery.
Dean snorted. "No. You get caught off-guard a few times..."
Nathan only shrugged, irritated that he hadn't done it himself. But when both he and Peter could fly, getting cut off from an escape route wasn't something that usually could happen. They hadn't needed to be as well-prepared.
"Ok, fine. How much money do we have? We need to find someplace to hide." A quick tally showed they maybe had enough for one cheap motel room. For one night.
"Not a problem. Get me somewhere with people, and I can get us some cash," Dean said quickly. He looked so supremely unconcerned that Nathan had to believe him. The Petrellis had been getting their cash from a combination of clever robberies (Peter's phasing had come in very handy there), card-sharking (Peter's telepathy helping there), and occasional help from their friends. Nathan didn't have any easily sellable skills, at least none that could be turned to making a fast buck.
"And after that? What the hell are we supposed to do now?" Nathan asked, frustrated. He'd just gotten to the point where he'd been feeling effective during this caper and he'd had the rug yanked out from under him again. "I need to get that car back. There's too much information in there that Bennet shouldn't get access to."
Dean held up the papers and waved them slightly for emphasis. Nathan recognized the newspaper articles that had been the touch-off for Dean's trip to Bubba's Pub, as well as some old parchment.
"We go after the demons before your boy Bennet stumbles over them by mistake," Dean said. Since Nathan's primary argument of not being able to get to Sam and Peter fast enough if they left the area had been shattered by revealing he could fly, he couldn't even protest very effectively. Besides, Dean was, irritatingly, right. "I have the exorcism ritual, the devil's trap diagram, a little holy water... All we need is salt, and we're set."
"Don't you have that thing memorized by now?" Nathan asked. "It seems you do this all the time. Winchesters exorcise a demon; must be Thursday."
"Well, yeah. I still don't go anywhere without it," Dean said, tucking the papers back in his jacket.
"I still need the car back," Nathan muttered. "If we're going to be helping specials, I have things in there that-."
"Fine, fuck, whatever, but we're not doing it tonight. Just get us to the nearest town," Dean snapped.
Nathan stepped forward and tapped his shoulders where Dean was to hang on.
"Just keep it in your pants."
"Hey!"
+++++
Peter was out exploring the grounds when Aaron came back. Peter should probably have seen him coming, but he'd been busy examining the carved stones that seemed to be placed at intervals around the property. He thought they might be part of some magic Caroline was using to shield the place from prying eyes, but he'd have to ask Sam to know for sure.
"What are you doing?" Aaron said.
Peter whirled around to see the sallow faced man holding an unconscious woman over his shoulder. Peter caught an indignant undertone from the demon inside him, and he channeled it into his answer. "Getting to know my new home," he said. "Not all of us are overpaid errand boys."
"Not all of us are pampered house pets, either," Aaron sneered.
Peter ignored the jibe. "What's that?" He pointed at the woman.
"I found her," Aaron said happily. "Someone who might be one of us. Don't know yet."
Not another demon, then--an innocent civilian. Peter took a step closer. "What makes you think she's special?"
"The others have been watching her for a while. Had a suspicion," he said proudly. "And then today, I saw her planting flowers in her backyard. Did a pretty impressive job of digging holes without a trowel. I brought her here to see what else she can do."
"You just take anyone who might be useful? Doesn't that... attract attention?"
Aaron shook his head. "No one around here is going to bother us. The end is a lot sooner than you might think. I'm not sure what you've heard in the pit, but we have to move quickly if we want to protect ourselves. Her forces are everywhere. Humans are just minor inconveniences. We'll step on as many as we have to. Here." He lifted the girl off his shoulder and shoved her at Peter. "Carry her inside, and we'll show her to Caroline."
Peter shivered. He gently lifted the woman onto his shoulder and followed Aaron toward the house. The way these demons talked about the end of the world made him nervous. It also made him profoundly grateful that the Winchesters existed, fighting this battle. It made him feel a little guilty about the work he and Nathan did. Sure, they helped specials, but they'd taken themselves out of the larger game. Others, Mohinder for example, were taking more risks and doing more good.
The woman stirred slightly. Peter kept walking, not wanting to let Aaron know she might be waking up. Peter wondered what this woman's power really was, and if there was any way he could get here out of here without casting suspicion on himself and Sam. Maybe he could talk to her, and give her a way to escape. He had no wish to watch a civilian go through the same ceremony he'd been subjected to. But he couldn't just walk away--or fly away--with this woman. He wasn't even sure he could teleport, not in this place, and not with Vetis inside him. Their cover would be blown, and they'd have to figure out another way to fight Caroline.
From up ahead, Aaron turned back with a scowl on his face, and called, "Hurry up!"
"Yeah, yeah," Peter grumbled. As he watched, Aaron's expression changed from irritation to alarm, and that's when Peter felt the earth start to move under him. He stumbled and fell, dropping the woman.
"Peter!" Aaron called.
He rolled and came up on his feet, only to see the woman sitting up in the tall grass, looking around for a target. When she saw him, her eyes narrowed in anger, and she thrust a hand out in front of her. Directly beneath Peter, the ground rumbled. A crack appeared in the earth, and dirt began to slip out from underneath him as the fissure widened.
Peter tried to run, only to have the ground heave under his feet and send him crashing to the ground. The woman stood not ten feet away, her hands shaking as the earth opened up to swallow him. He was gripped by a primal terror at the stable earth dancing beneath his feet, and couldn't make his mind work to save himself.
As Peter watched in horror, Aaron stepped up behind the woman, grabbed her head, and in one sharp movement, snapped her neck. She dropped like a stone, and the earth settled down immediately.
Peter stumbled to his feet and ran over to the woman. She was dead: her eyes stared up sightlessly toward the blue sky.
"You're welcome," said Aaron.
"Yeah," Peter said, keeping his face still when what he really wanted to do was scream. If he'd thought faster, he should have been able to do something. Calm her down, make her stop, defend himself so Aaron could subdue her. Something.
From the house, Caroline and Sam came running.
"It's okay!" Aaron called to them.
"Felt like an earthquake!" Caroline said. When she reached Aaron's side, she caught sight of the dead woman. "Oh, Aaron. Again?"
He shrugged. "She wouldn't have been any good to us. Too intractable," he said apologetically. "She nearly sent Peter here back to the pit by the express route."
"Still and all." Caroline knelt next to the woman and brushed her eyes closed. "I wish you wouldn't bring someone here until you know how they're going to work out. Be more careful, won't you Aaron?"
"I'm sorry," he said. He took her hand to help her up. "You know I'd never put you in danger."
"Of course not," she said, and patted him fondly on the cheek.
"She had an ability?" Sam asked.
"She could move the ground," Peter said. He could easily read the recrimination in Sam's eyes. Sam was thinking exactly what Peter himself knew: he should have been better, faster. He shouldn't have let someone be killed right in front of him. But any admonishment from Sam was only fuel for the bonfire of Peter's self-loathing.
"Well, at least you're safe, dear," Caroline said. She walked over to Peter and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "These things happen."
"Yeah," said Sam. "Nothing to worry about." But his glare at Peter, when he turned to walk back to the house with Caroline, was anything but forgiving.
+++++
Sam didn't get a chance to talk to Peter until Rourke and Tamara came back with their daily report. Caroline had excused herself to the other room to talk with them, and Sam had charmingly said that he didn't want to intrude on her operation.
He'd gone right to Peter's room. Luckily, Peter was there. He was sitting on the floor, holding a wallet.
"Is that hers?" Sam asked.
Peter nodded. "Cindy Wells. Forty-two Tupper Lane. In Shreveport."
Sam quietly closed and locked the door behind him. "You wanna talk about it?"
Peter shrugged, and slipped the drivers license back into the wallet. "I should have done something to stop it."
Sam shook his head. "Then they would have killed us both." Sam settled on the floor next to Peter and reached out a hand to wrap around his shoulder. "There's nothing you could have done."
Peter drew in a shuddery breath. "I'm supposed to be able to help people."
"There's nothing you could have done," Sam said again. After a moment's hesitation, he pulled Peter closer. Peter came right away, slumping against Sam's chest bonelessly.
"I'm sorry," Peter whispered.
"Shh." Sam found himself smoothing the hair away from Peter's eyes and wrapping his arms more tightly around him. It felt pretty good to hold Peter like this, to feel for a moment like he could protect him from the horrors of this place. It gave him comfort, too, to hold Peter the way he would hold Dean, if Dean would ever let his damn guard down long enough to admit he needed or wanted help.
Peter wasn't crying, not exactly, but he clung to Sam, breathing deeply for several minutes. Finally, he said, "I should have found a way."
"It's not your fault," Sam said. "We knew when we started that we were going to have to make tough choices, Peter."
Peter sat up, pulling away far enough to look Sam in the eye. "You're saying you're willing to let someone die for this?"
"These things happen, Peter. It's not all black-and-white, the good guys get to fight the good fight and bad guys go away. If I have to let someone die to prevent the apocalypse, yeah, I'm going to call that a fair trade."
"You don't understand," Peter said. He jumped to his feet and turned on Sam. "There's so much I could have done. I could have stopped time. I could have flown away. I could have knocked her down. Hell, I could have gone invisible and run away, and Aaron wouldn't have had to kill her."
"If you're so all-powerful, then what are we even doing here? The way you talk, it sounds like you could just kill everyone here with your brain right now." Sam stood up. Peter's self-pity was getting to be a little much for him.
"That's just it, Sam. I could kill everyone."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"These powers I have? I can't use too many at once. I can't," Peter said, voice starting to crack. "Sam, I can't. I have a whole laundry list of powers, but I can't use them all the time. If I use too many of them too fast I'll blow up."
That brought Sam up short. "Blow up?"
Peter cringed, honestly cringed at Sam towering over him, and Sam forced himself to step back.
"You remember that explosion over New York two years ago?" Sam's glowering expression warned Peter to get to the point. Quickly. "That was me. I was like a nuclear bomb. I used too much too fast trying to take out this guy we all thought was so dangerous... I blew up. Nathan almost died."
Sam considered that for a moment, and thought about how he'd feel if he almost killed Dean because of his powers. He couldn't imagine. "So... If things get really bad in here," he said slowly. "You could go nuclear?"
"I'm better at knowing my limits now. I'll do what I can," said Peter. "But I'm not Superman. If I try to do too much..."
"Yeah," Sam said. "Good to know."
"I'm sorry I let her die."
"Peter, you couldn't have stopped it. Once they figured out her power, they would have killed her anyway."
Sam had meant that to be consoling, but Peter looked even more distressed. "You knew they do that? Kill people whose powers they won't be able to control?"
Sam shrugged. "Caroline and I talked a lot today."
"And you're okay with that?" Peter asked. The despair was creeping out of his voice, to be replaced by suspicion. "If they'd brought her in, and Caroline had said she had to die, what would you have done?"
Sam counted to ten, slowly, before answering. "I told you, Peter. I'd do what I have to do. Sometimes we have to make tough choices."
"Yeah," Peter said. He went to the door. "What if they'd asked you to do it, Sam? Would you kill to get the job done?"
Sam didn't look at Peter. He couldn't help but hear Dean's words echoing in his head: "I don't see how growing into your demon blood is going to help stop the apocalypse!" He didn't want to hear Peter's judgment on top of that. But Peter had to know how far it might go. He didn't want Peter trying to stop him. "Yeah," he said at last. "If it comes to that, I would."
Peter didn't say anything. Instead, he stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him. Sam sat by himself for a moment, and then he got up, too. There had to be some whiskey somewhere in the mansion.
Next part
Previous part
Master Post
Authors:
jaune_chat and brighteyed_jillArt: by
xkelorosiamano is at her graphics community.Pairings: Every combination of Nathan and Peter Petrelli and Sam and Dean Winchester
Rating: NC-17
Warning: See Part One for full list
Spoilers: Supernatural--though 4x16. Heroes--vague ones for Season 2
Authors' notes: Written for
sncross_bigbang. Beta and moral support from the superstarlet redandglendaSummary: Sam and Dean discover demons have been possessing people with special abilities that have nothing to do with magic. Peter draws a future that reunites him and Nathan with the Winchester brothers. Together they find out that specials--people whose powers come from an unusual inherited gene-- are being targeted for possession by a woman who is on the verge of breaking one of the sixty-six seals.
Dean had been absolutely certain that Bubba's Pub had been the exact and precise kind of bar that Nathan Petrelli would not be caught dead entering. It was the worst kind of bar he’d ever been able to find: the sort that was worth your life to enter if you didn’t have the right look. After that night’s fight with Nathan, Dean was pissed and wanted the solace of alcohol. He was tired of holding back, tired of being cooped up, and Caroline could swoop in and stab him in the heart if she'd just let him get wasted first.
So when Dean had told the barkeep to just line up the whiskey shots and keep them coming, only to see the second shot snatched up by a well-manicured hand before he’d slammed even one, he was understandably startled. Even so, he drank down the first shot before he whirled to see Nathan downing the second. Except this Nathan was wearing jeans and a leather bomber jacket, and his usually precise hair was tousled forward.
“Maria is going to kill you if you come into work drunk again. Let’s go Dean,” Nathan said as he grabbed Dean’s jacket sleeve. Dean stared at Nathan like he’d just grown a second head. Where the hell was the precise lawyer he’d been rooming with for the last couple of days?
“Problem?” the barkeep growled.
“If he comes home drunk off his ass again and misses work, he’s not going to have a roof over his head,” Nathan said in explanation. The barkeep looked at them both, squinting in the dim light. But Nathan’s voice of authority combined with Dean’s startled submissiveness gave exactly the impression that Nathan was trying to create. The barkeep grunted vaguely, neither wanting to interfere nor help, as Dean and Nathan exited the bar.
Dean was so surprised that it didn't occur to him to resist until they were almost two blocks away, when Nathan paused to smooth his hair back into its usual precise coif. Then the fact sunk in that Nathan, who Dean had had to stop from drinking himself into a stupor not more than a day ago, had prevented Dean from getting what he wanted. Again.
“What the hell, man?” Dean demanded, wrenching himself out of Nathan’s grasp. “What the hell was that?”
“I was keeping a promise I made to your brother,” Nathan said. He twitched the rest of his clothes straighter and neater as they kept walking back to the motel.
“What, going into a bar dressed as fucking James Dean and laying on that bullcrap?” Dean couldn’t believe Nathan had come up with that idea on his own. If it involved impersonating some kind of officer, Dean had no doubt that Nathan could do it and do it very well, probably almost as well as him in some cases. But going onto Dean’s own turf and bluffing his way into and out of a place that should have eaten him alive… It rankled.
“Sam thought this might happen. He thought up a cover that I could use,” Nathan responded.
Dean resolved to punch Sam in the face when he came back.
--
Sam slid onto the bar stool next to Dean, and raised an eyebrow at the impressive number of shot glasses lined up on the bar. "Those all yours?" he asked.
"Yep." Dean grabbed the next shot the bartender poured, and slugged it back.
Sam wrinkled his brow in disapproval. "You're done working for the night, I guess."
"Yeah, well, I was done hours ago. I got the police report, checked out the house, and then I went back to meet you. At the motel." He slammed the shot glass down on the bar, and the burly bartender poured him another without comment. "But you weren't there. And you weren't picking up your phone. Starting to be kind of a pattern with you, Sammy boy."
"Yeah, you know what else is a pattern?" Sam grabbed the fresh shot and held it out of Dean's reach. "You drinking yourself stupid. Alone. Come on." He stood, and grabbed Dean's arm to pull him up, too.
Dean shoved Sam away. He was well on his way to drunk-as-hell, but he didn't need his little brother telling him what his limits were. "Tell me you weren't with Ruby," he said angrily. "You tell me where you were, and I'll stop."
Sam sighed. He looked tired. Not angry, or ready to fight, just exhausted and a little sad. "It's none of your business where I was. Come on, you're embarrassing yourself."
And that was it, because if there was one thing Dean couldn't stand, it was pity. Not from Sam. He threw a punch, but he must have been a little further gone than he anticipated, because Sam dodged it easily: he simply stepped back out of Dean's range.
"You guys wanna take this outside," the bartender grumbled.
"Yeah. No problem," Sam said. He threw one gigantic arm around Dean's shoulder and steered him toward the door. Reluctantly, Dean let himself be manhandled.
"You are not going to keep doing this to yourself," Sam said, once they were out on the street and into brisk night air that was making Dean feel a degree more sober.
"You shouldn't be doing what you're doing, either," Dean pointed out. "You think I have a problem? Look in the mirror, Sammy."
"That's it," Sam mumbled. "Once I get you to bed, I'm calling Peter. I bet he has some advice on dealing with this shit."
--
“Well thanks for nothing,” Dean growled ungratefully. With his alcohol tolerance, one shot wouldn’t even get him mildly buzzed. He was going to make Nathan suffer for pulling him out of the bar. For starters, he was going to rent porn on pay-per-view and leave it on all night.
Then Dean considered exactly how Sam might have coached Nathan into a persona that could safely pass in Bubba's. And how it might have involved roleplaying. And possibly leather. His brain shut down briefly and he realized he better not think about it too closely if he wanted to stay sane.
“I didn’t come out here for your thanks,” Nathan retorted, his voice deceptively mild.
“What do you fucking care if I get wasted?” Dean asked.
Nathan turned his face away, and they walked a few moments in silence. “I’ve already been where you’re going Dean. It won’t help, believe me,” he said finally.
“I don’t need to be fucking rescued like Princess Peter, so next time, don’t bother!” Dean nearly shouted.
Nathan stopped in his tracks, and Dean took another ten steps before he stopped too and turned around to stare back at Nathan.
“That car wasn’t there before,” Nathan said, looking through the screen of bushes that sheltered the back of the motel from casual scrutiny.
Dean, exasperated all to hell, glanced over at the parking lot. It had a few old beaters, and lots of blah yuppymoblie businessman cars: suburbanites who were in trouble with their wives, or trying to get into trouble with one of the local working girls, along with just a few people looking for a cheap place to crash. It was absolutely typical for the types of motels the Winchesters frequented. Looking more closely, he could see a new, completely boring late-model sedan in an aggressively blah shade of silvery-gray next to Nathan’s yuppified Impala.
“So? Some dude came here rather than sleep on the couch,” Dean said. If Nathan was going to interfere with his drinking, Dean at least wanted to try to get to sleep.
“That’s a Company car,” Nathan said, and Dean heard actual fear in his voice for the first time.
Dean shouldered Nathan to the cover of the bushes and drew his gun, keeping it low. Nathan crouched down next to him, watching the motel doors and windows for any movement. “Not a coincidence,” Dean decided. His eyes darted around, scanning for anything suspicious.
“No,” Nathan said, voice taut, face set like stone. The door of the room next to theirs opened, and a tall, shorthaired man with horn-rimmed glasses stepped out, talking on a cell phone.
“Bennet. He got here fast,” Nathan said shortly.
Dean’s brow creased. “Didn’t you want to talk to him?”
“Not like this. He’s been after Peter and me for a long time. He’s too dangerous to meet face-to-face.” Dean was very familiar with the hard-repressed tone of fear and worry in Nathan’s voice; he had heard it in Sam’s whenever he had talked about his powers.
Dean looked back up at this Bennet character, evaluating him as he would any potential prey. The man outwardly looked like an accountant, maybe one that played a little pick-up basketball on the weekends, but Dean could see by the way he held himself that the man had a shoulder holster under his left arm. Getting back to the motel was no longer an option; guns changed things. They couldn’t afford a shoot-out and definitely couldn’t afford a body, not when Sam and Peter’s lives were at stake as well as their own. This guy wasn’t a monster that Dean could just shoot down in cold blood.
Bennet looked up at the bushes, seemingly just staring out into the darkness, but Dean suddenly recognized the stare of another hunter, one who had just sighted his prey. Working on pure instinct, he pulled Nathan with him as he dove for the ground, just before a whump! and crackle sounded over their head.
“Move!” Dean thundered. Nathan crawled like a commando, rapidly putting distance between themselves at the now-dangerous motel. There was crackling in the bushes behind them, and Dean flipped onto his back, gun out, recognizing only that there was a man in black SWAT gear with a rifle leveled at him. Neither blinked, and Dean suddenly saw his death coming with a bullet in his brain.
“No!”
Dean recognized Nathan’s voice behind him, and then felt himself jerked upward with such amazing speed that he couldn’t even catch his breath. He stared, mind refusing to accept that he was suddenly up high, staring down at the town below, the streets reduced to a thin, glittering roadmap.
Dean twisted, realizing Nathan’s arms were locked around his chest, and stared. Nathan was flying, straining towards the heavens, then flipped horizontal practically hard enough to give Dean whiplash, and rocketed sideways, soaring over the countryside at some insane speed.
Nathan was flying.
Nathan could fly.
Dean hated flying, normally. He hated planes with their tiny little seats and low ceilings, their stale air, the fact that they were always too hot and loaded with explosive fuel. They made him feel like he was at the mercy of a cheap machine and indifferent crew, just one mistake away from falling from the sky in an explosion of burning metal.
But this… there was no seatbelt, no metal walls, no powerful engines, just Nathan’s arms and some crazy genetics. The intoxication of this flight was like the kind of flying that happened in his dreams. Above all worldly concerns, completely free, able to go anywhere and do anything. It was more than the sudden rush of adrenaline that came from being rescued, or the euphoria of escaping from danger. It was a realization that he had a real ally in this world, someone outside of his own tiny circle who would risk his life for Dean's. Right now he didn’t care that he’d been about to start a full on bitch-fight with Nathan not five minutes earlier. Right now he wanted to show Nathan that he could actually be grateful for saving him.
+++++
Nathan had his arms locked around Dean’s sturdy, heavy frame. His joints ached from holding him so tight, flying so fast, trying to outrun his fear. He heard Dean groan, but put it down to a fear of heights, or flying, or his surprise at Nathan turning out to have an ability… That was, until Dean suddenly started to twist in his arms, and Nathan dipped in the sky.
“Damn it, hold still or I’m going to drop you!” Nathan yelled over the wind. Somehow Dean worked himself around so he was facing Nathan, holding onto Nathan on his own so Nathan could relax his own arms a little. “Don’t let go,” Nathan warned, and accelerated. He wanted to be several states away by morning; Peter would be able to find him eventually, now that he had Molly’s ability, or Sam would call-.
Nathan’s thoughts came to a screeching halt when the squeeze of Dean’s arms around him went from desperately clutching to something more possessive. One arm hooked around his shoulder and Nathan was now face-to-face with Dean, who was looking at him with an expression of such hunger and desire that Nathan actually started losing altitude.
Shaking his head slightly, Nathan concentrated on breathing and averted his eyes. He couldn't avert his body, however, and he could feel a stirring hardness trapped between them. Involuntarily, Nathan slowed just a little, slow enough so that the wind no longer rushed by their ears so loudly.
"Are you ok?" Nathan asked. This had to be stressful as hell, and the body did crazy things sometimes... It would be much easier to give Dean an "out" than to let his imagination run away with him. Much better than to try to acknowledge anything.
"Yeah," Dean said, and Nathan could see him staring at him in the darkness, lit only by the sliver of the moon. "You fly."
Nathan actually laughed at the bald statement. "Very fast," he said. This was the first time since he'd discovered his ability that someone hadn't had a problem or a panic attack when he revealed it. The change was actually sort of nice.
"That's kinda hot."
Nathan's brain froze dead at those words. Oh, he really should have listened to Peter when he talked about his dates with Dean. The panic of saving Dean and running from Bennet had Nathan's blood up, but he'd been trying to keep himself contained. Unfortunately Dean's lack of impulse control was seriously wearing at him.
"Dean, I-."
"Hey, thanks for the rescue," Dean said, talking right over him. His teeth gleamed in the moonlight as he smiled. Nathan had to look away, averting his attention from Dean's expression, and glanced to his left. All the twisting around in Nathan's arms had gotten Dean's jacket off of his left shoulder, and Nathan damn near froze to a dead stop in mid-air when he saw the handprint burned into Dean's shoulder.
Peter's drawing, he thought, mind going blank. Dean was pressing into him, hard and ruggedly beautiful, but Nathan could feel him losing some of that contact as Dean struggled to hold himself flush against the pull of gravity. Nathan desperately wanted that feeling back, of shared strength and warmth and hardness, something he hadn't been able to feel for days.
Peter would understand... He drew this, Nathan said to himself, and writhed in mid-air, pulling Dean on top of him, arcing his back as Dean's arms locked around him, and his hips ground down into him. It nearly startled a gasp out of him, and Nathan felt himself defying gravity in several interesting ways to grind down harder, to get more sensation.
Ah, Nathan thought vaguely. I do bend that way. The surging pulse between them was climbing higher with each half-mindless thrust, and Nathan felt himself begin to shudder with pleasure. He usually felt tiny next to the oversized monstrosities that were the Winchester brothers, but now he felt completely in control. It felt like Dean actually wanted him. This wasn't the need, the almost psychotic devotion he had to Peter, nor was it the mutually agreeable, civilized, pleasantly restrained encounters he had with Sam. No, this kind of wanton desire made Nathan feel like a rock star with a particularly star-struck groupie.
Dean panted hot against his neck, an inch away from pressing his lips into Nathan's flesh, and
Nathan clutched his hand around Dean's scarred shoulder. Dean sucked in a surprised breath and pulled back slightly. The cooler air rushing between them suddenly made them both excruciatingly aware of each other, and the situation.
I can't do this. Jesus, what was I thinking?
Picking a place totally at random, Nathan suddenly went to ground, nearly spilling Dean to the turf. They sprang apart, standing with their hands on their knees, slowing their breathing from desperate to normal, not looking at each other.
We could have been killed back there and I was just... Nathan was so angry with himself that he couldn't even speak coherently for several long minutes. Dean, on the other hand, merely looked frustrated. Too damn bad. This was neither the time, nor the place, and definitely not the right person, no matter how he looked. People did strange things in post-danger situations, but that didn't excuse his behavior. Just because Nathan was feeling needy didn't mean he to risk angering Peter or Sam by reaching out to the closest warm body to satisfy his desires. Even, or especially, if Dean wanted to.
There were several long moments of extreme awkwardness, and then they both stood up.
"Well, now what?" Dean said. To Nathan's relief, Dean sounded brisk and businesslike.
Nathan quickly took stock of what he had on him: not much. His wallet, a little cash, that was about it.
"Everything was in the car," Nathan said in disgust. "All the extra money, the IDs, all the paperwork, and all my weapons." Everything, in other words, that he needed to pull off his lawyer routine. He couldn't pass for one now, not in a leather jacket and jeans covered in grass stains and not a legal brief to his name. He didn't even have the books and forms he needed to make copies.
"Huh," Dean said, and began digging through his long jacket. To Nathan's amazement, Dean came up with not one but two guns, some extra ammo, two metal flasks, some small bills, and several pieces of paper.
"Boy Scout?" Nathan asked, eyebrow raised. How he had managed to carry all that around without looking weighted down was mystery.
Dean snorted. "No. You get caught off-guard a few times..."
Nathan only shrugged, irritated that he hadn't done it himself. But when both he and Peter could fly, getting cut off from an escape route wasn't something that usually could happen. They hadn't needed to be as well-prepared.
"Ok, fine. How much money do we have? We need to find someplace to hide." A quick tally showed they maybe had enough for one cheap motel room. For one night.
"Not a problem. Get me somewhere with people, and I can get us some cash," Dean said quickly. He looked so supremely unconcerned that Nathan had to believe him. The Petrellis had been getting their cash from a combination of clever robberies (Peter's phasing had come in very handy there), card-sharking (Peter's telepathy helping there), and occasional help from their friends. Nathan didn't have any easily sellable skills, at least none that could be turned to making a fast buck.
"And after that? What the hell are we supposed to do now?" Nathan asked, frustrated. He'd just gotten to the point where he'd been feeling effective during this caper and he'd had the rug yanked out from under him again. "I need to get that car back. There's too much information in there that Bennet shouldn't get access to."
Dean held up the papers and waved them slightly for emphasis. Nathan recognized the newspaper articles that had been the touch-off for Dean's trip to Bubba's Pub, as well as some old parchment.
"We go after the demons before your boy Bennet stumbles over them by mistake," Dean said. Since Nathan's primary argument of not being able to get to Sam and Peter fast enough if they left the area had been shattered by revealing he could fly, he couldn't even protest very effectively. Besides, Dean was, irritatingly, right. "I have the exorcism ritual, the devil's trap diagram, a little holy water... All we need is salt, and we're set."
"Don't you have that thing memorized by now?" Nathan asked. "It seems you do this all the time. Winchesters exorcise a demon; must be Thursday."
"Well, yeah. I still don't go anywhere without it," Dean said, tucking the papers back in his jacket.
"I still need the car back," Nathan muttered. "If we're going to be helping specials, I have things in there that-."
"Fine, fuck, whatever, but we're not doing it tonight. Just get us to the nearest town," Dean snapped.
Nathan stepped forward and tapped his shoulders where Dean was to hang on.
"Just keep it in your pants."
"Hey!"
+++++
Peter was out exploring the grounds when Aaron came back. Peter should probably have seen him coming, but he'd been busy examining the carved stones that seemed to be placed at intervals around the property. He thought they might be part of some magic Caroline was using to shield the place from prying eyes, but he'd have to ask Sam to know for sure.
"What are you doing?" Aaron said.
Peter whirled around to see the sallow faced man holding an unconscious woman over his shoulder. Peter caught an indignant undertone from the demon inside him, and he channeled it into his answer. "Getting to know my new home," he said. "Not all of us are overpaid errand boys."
"Not all of us are pampered house pets, either," Aaron sneered.
Peter ignored the jibe. "What's that?" He pointed at the woman.
"I found her," Aaron said happily. "Someone who might be one of us. Don't know yet."
Not another demon, then--an innocent civilian. Peter took a step closer. "What makes you think she's special?"
"The others have been watching her for a while. Had a suspicion," he said proudly. "And then today, I saw her planting flowers in her backyard. Did a pretty impressive job of digging holes without a trowel. I brought her here to see what else she can do."
"You just take anyone who might be useful? Doesn't that... attract attention?"
Aaron shook his head. "No one around here is going to bother us. The end is a lot sooner than you might think. I'm not sure what you've heard in the pit, but we have to move quickly if we want to protect ourselves. Her forces are everywhere. Humans are just minor inconveniences. We'll step on as many as we have to. Here." He lifted the girl off his shoulder and shoved her at Peter. "Carry her inside, and we'll show her to Caroline."
Peter shivered. He gently lifted the woman onto his shoulder and followed Aaron toward the house. The way these demons talked about the end of the world made him nervous. It also made him profoundly grateful that the Winchesters existed, fighting this battle. It made him feel a little guilty about the work he and Nathan did. Sure, they helped specials, but they'd taken themselves out of the larger game. Others, Mohinder for example, were taking more risks and doing more good.
The woman stirred slightly. Peter kept walking, not wanting to let Aaron know she might be waking up. Peter wondered what this woman's power really was, and if there was any way he could get here out of here without casting suspicion on himself and Sam. Maybe he could talk to her, and give her a way to escape. He had no wish to watch a civilian go through the same ceremony he'd been subjected to. But he couldn't just walk away--or fly away--with this woman. He wasn't even sure he could teleport, not in this place, and not with Vetis inside him. Their cover would be blown, and they'd have to figure out another way to fight Caroline.
From up ahead, Aaron turned back with a scowl on his face, and called, "Hurry up!"
"Yeah, yeah," Peter grumbled. As he watched, Aaron's expression changed from irritation to alarm, and that's when Peter felt the earth start to move under him. He stumbled and fell, dropping the woman.
"Peter!" Aaron called.
He rolled and came up on his feet, only to see the woman sitting up in the tall grass, looking around for a target. When she saw him, her eyes narrowed in anger, and she thrust a hand out in front of her. Directly beneath Peter, the ground rumbled. A crack appeared in the earth, and dirt began to slip out from underneath him as the fissure widened.
Peter tried to run, only to have the ground heave under his feet and send him crashing to the ground. The woman stood not ten feet away, her hands shaking as the earth opened up to swallow him. He was gripped by a primal terror at the stable earth dancing beneath his feet, and couldn't make his mind work to save himself.
As Peter watched in horror, Aaron stepped up behind the woman, grabbed her head, and in one sharp movement, snapped her neck. She dropped like a stone, and the earth settled down immediately.
Peter stumbled to his feet and ran over to the woman. She was dead: her eyes stared up sightlessly toward the blue sky.
"You're welcome," said Aaron.
"Yeah," Peter said, keeping his face still when what he really wanted to do was scream. If he'd thought faster, he should have been able to do something. Calm her down, make her stop, defend himself so Aaron could subdue her. Something.
From the house, Caroline and Sam came running.
"It's okay!" Aaron called to them.
"Felt like an earthquake!" Caroline said. When she reached Aaron's side, she caught sight of the dead woman. "Oh, Aaron. Again?"
He shrugged. "She wouldn't have been any good to us. Too intractable," he said apologetically. "She nearly sent Peter here back to the pit by the express route."
"Still and all." Caroline knelt next to the woman and brushed her eyes closed. "I wish you wouldn't bring someone here until you know how they're going to work out. Be more careful, won't you Aaron?"
"I'm sorry," he said. He took her hand to help her up. "You know I'd never put you in danger."
"Of course not," she said, and patted him fondly on the cheek.
"She had an ability?" Sam asked.
"She could move the ground," Peter said. He could easily read the recrimination in Sam's eyes. Sam was thinking exactly what Peter himself knew: he should have been better, faster. He shouldn't have let someone be killed right in front of him. But any admonishment from Sam was only fuel for the bonfire of Peter's self-loathing.
"Well, at least you're safe, dear," Caroline said. She walked over to Peter and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "These things happen."
"Yeah," said Sam. "Nothing to worry about." But his glare at Peter, when he turned to walk back to the house with Caroline, was anything but forgiving.
+++++
Sam didn't get a chance to talk to Peter until Rourke and Tamara came back with their daily report. Caroline had excused herself to the other room to talk with them, and Sam had charmingly said that he didn't want to intrude on her operation.
He'd gone right to Peter's room. Luckily, Peter was there. He was sitting on the floor, holding a wallet.
"Is that hers?" Sam asked.
Peter nodded. "Cindy Wells. Forty-two Tupper Lane. In Shreveport."
Sam quietly closed and locked the door behind him. "You wanna talk about it?"
Peter shrugged, and slipped the drivers license back into the wallet. "I should have done something to stop it."
Sam shook his head. "Then they would have killed us both." Sam settled on the floor next to Peter and reached out a hand to wrap around his shoulder. "There's nothing you could have done."
Peter drew in a shuddery breath. "I'm supposed to be able to help people."
"There's nothing you could have done," Sam said again. After a moment's hesitation, he pulled Peter closer. Peter came right away, slumping against Sam's chest bonelessly.
"I'm sorry," Peter whispered.
"Shh." Sam found himself smoothing the hair away from Peter's eyes and wrapping his arms more tightly around him. It felt pretty good to hold Peter like this, to feel for a moment like he could protect him from the horrors of this place. It gave him comfort, too, to hold Peter the way he would hold Dean, if Dean would ever let his damn guard down long enough to admit he needed or wanted help.
Peter wasn't crying, not exactly, but he clung to Sam, breathing deeply for several minutes. Finally, he said, "I should have found a way."
"It's not your fault," Sam said. "We knew when we started that we were going to have to make tough choices, Peter."
Peter sat up, pulling away far enough to look Sam in the eye. "You're saying you're willing to let someone die for this?"
"These things happen, Peter. It's not all black-and-white, the good guys get to fight the good fight and bad guys go away. If I have to let someone die to prevent the apocalypse, yeah, I'm going to call that a fair trade."
"You don't understand," Peter said. He jumped to his feet and turned on Sam. "There's so much I could have done. I could have stopped time. I could have flown away. I could have knocked her down. Hell, I could have gone invisible and run away, and Aaron wouldn't have had to kill her."
"If you're so all-powerful, then what are we even doing here? The way you talk, it sounds like you could just kill everyone here with your brain right now." Sam stood up. Peter's self-pity was getting to be a little much for him.
"That's just it, Sam. I could kill everyone."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"These powers I have? I can't use too many at once. I can't," Peter said, voice starting to crack. "Sam, I can't. I have a whole laundry list of powers, but I can't use them all the time. If I use too many of them too fast I'll blow up."
That brought Sam up short. "Blow up?"
Peter cringed, honestly cringed at Sam towering over him, and Sam forced himself to step back.
"You remember that explosion over New York two years ago?" Sam's glowering expression warned Peter to get to the point. Quickly. "That was me. I was like a nuclear bomb. I used too much too fast trying to take out this guy we all thought was so dangerous... I blew up. Nathan almost died."
Sam considered that for a moment, and thought about how he'd feel if he almost killed Dean because of his powers. He couldn't imagine. "So... If things get really bad in here," he said slowly. "You could go nuclear?"
"I'm better at knowing my limits now. I'll do what I can," said Peter. "But I'm not Superman. If I try to do too much..."
"Yeah," Sam said. "Good to know."
"I'm sorry I let her die."
"Peter, you couldn't have stopped it. Once they figured out her power, they would have killed her anyway."
Sam had meant that to be consoling, but Peter looked even more distressed. "You knew they do that? Kill people whose powers they won't be able to control?"
Sam shrugged. "Caroline and I talked a lot today."
"And you're okay with that?" Peter asked. The despair was creeping out of his voice, to be replaced by suspicion. "If they'd brought her in, and Caroline had said she had to die, what would you have done?"
Sam counted to ten, slowly, before answering. "I told you, Peter. I'd do what I have to do. Sometimes we have to make tough choices."
"Yeah," Peter said. He went to the door. "What if they'd asked you to do it, Sam? Would you kill to get the job done?"
Sam didn't look at Peter. He couldn't help but hear Dean's words echoing in his head: "I don't see how growing into your demon blood is going to help stop the apocalypse!" He didn't want to hear Peter's judgment on top of that. But Peter had to know how far it might go. He didn't want Peter trying to stop him. "Yeah," he said at last. "If it comes to that, I would."
Peter didn't say anything. Instead, he stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him. Sam sat by himself for a moment, and then he got up, too. There had to be some whiskey somewhere in the mansion.
Next part
Previous part
Master Post
