Fic: My Brothers' Keepers - Part Two
Apr. 26th, 2009 12:16 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
brighteyedjillTitle: My Brothers' Keepers - Part Two
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 tire-kicking by the sassy 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.
Four days ago
If Sam had to discuss information he'd gotten from Ruby, he definitely preferred to do so in a deserted back alley in the company of friends so Dean wouldn't feel compelled to argue with him. But back ally or not, he was still getting a stinkeye of monumental proportions.
"...Last night she said someone is messing around with really ancient magic, forming a cult, and raising demons as part of it," Sam explained. "I think that's our source of these possessed people, if we can find out exactly where this person is." Ruby showing up during his and Nathan's night out had been something of a shock, but it only reinforced the importance of what they were doing. The Petrellis had been warned, the Winchesters had discovered the same problem, and then Ruby had overheard rumors... When three different sources confirmed the same menace, it didn't bode well.
Dean only swallowed once, but nodded tersely, while Peter looked like he'd just confirmed something.
"Then I think I know where we have to start looking," Peter said, nodding. Behind him Nathan was feeding quarters into a pay phone, and dialing someone long distance. "New York."
“Why do we have to go to New York?” Sam asked, confused. Nathan handed the phone to Peter, who started asking the person on the other end a barrage of questions.
“Because Mohinder has something we think you should see. If we’re right, this could lead us to the source of whoever is behind this cult,” Nathan said.
“So, where in New York?” Dean asked. Sam could tell he was already calculating which roads and highways to take.
“The Company facility.”
“Whoa, whoa, I thought you said they were looking for you,” Sam said sharply. The last thing he needed was for the Petrellis to get themselves caught when they’d barely begun working together again.
“Yes, they are, which is why you two are going inside,” Nathan replied. “We have something else we need to do while we’re there that should keep us out of your way and their way.”
“Can you trust this Mo-whatsis dude?” Dean asked.
“Dr. Mohinder Suresh. And yes, he’s our inside man in the Company.” Nathan seemed reluctant to get more detailed, and Sam sympathized. All of them had secrets, and exposing them could put their few remaining friends in danger.
“He assists people inside the Company,” Nathan elaborated.
“And you two help people outside it?” Sam hazarded. Nathan shot him a sharp glance. “What? You never actually said what you two have been doing all this time, so I guessed.” Nathan relaxed marginally.
“That’s true, more or less,” Nathan offered warily.
“So, what’s the address?” Dean asked. He was clearly eager to get back on the road and the hell out of Georgia.
“We’re not driving,” Peter said over his shoulder. Nathan looked pained, but resigned.
“We’re not?” Dean seemed both disappointed and confused.
Nathan crossed his arms sternly. “Dean, we're on something of a timetable here."
Sam suddenly tuned into what Peter was talking about on the phone. "Uh-huh," he was saying. "Wait, is that the room with the red wallpaper? Uh-huh. What about furniture? Right. Is it still sorta by the window?"
Sam's stomach sank somewhere to the vicinity of his knees. “We’re teleporting,” Sam said flatly.
“Whoa, what about the post-apocalyptic future shit?” Dean asked, visibly alarmed. He was probably remembering Peter’s comment from the last time they’d teleported. Though, on the other hand, the alarm could have been from the thought of leaving the Impala over half a dozen states away from him for any length of time.
“I was kidding about that,” Peter broke in quickly.
“No you weren’t,” Nathan muttered, and Peter blushed before returning to his phone.
“Seriously, we’re teleporting?” Sam asked again, desperate for the unwanted confirmation.
“I think I have to,” Peter said, shushing whoever was on the other line for a moment. “Otherwise we’ll end up putting Matt and Molly in danger, and Mohinder would kill me.”
“No weird futures!” Dean said positively.
Peter nodded emphatically. “No futures,” he agreed, and picked up the conversation again.
“So, who’re Molly and Matt? His wife and kid?” Dean asked. Nathan and Sam snorted with amusement almost simultaneously. “What, his dogs?”
Sam started laughing and Nathan smirked hard enough to risk pulling a muscle in his face. “Ah, neither,” Nathan said finally. “Matt is Mohinder’s roommate. Molly is Matt’s ward. She’s eleven.”
“Oh,” Dean said awkwardly, and glared at Sam. Sam stopped laughing eventually; it just hadn’t occurred to him to tell Dean until he was already knee-deep in the joke.
“Who are we supposed to be for this gig?” Dean asked, glossing over the moment as fast as possible.
“Yourselves, in the main. Experts in cults. I don’t want to toss demons and ghosts at Mohinder all at once; he’s seen a lot in the past few years, but he’s still very scientific. Take your suits though. More professional that way,” Nathan explained.
“Why?” Sam asked. “If this Dr. Suresh has to smuggle us in, shouldn’t we be wearing lab coats or something?”
“Just take the suits,” Nathan said.
“Show them Nathan,” Peter interrupted. Nathan glared, but Peter only looked heartbreakingly earnest. Sighing, Nathan pulled a piece of paper from his briefcase while Peter finished up his conversation.
“Peter painted this two weeks ago,” Nathan said, and handed it over. Sam and Dean stared at the comic book-style drawing. It clearly showed them in suits, standing in a small room next to a flickering TV, looking rather grim. A rather frightened-looking Indian man in a lab coat stood next to them.
“What the hell?” Dean asked.
“He can draw the future. Don’t ask,” Nathan said, heading off further questions. “They always come true." Sam thought he detected a faint hint of evasion in Nathan's statement, like he wasn't telling them the full story. He made a mental note to corner him on it later.
"That’s the Company facility, and that’s Mohinder in the picture,” Nathan continued.
“And us. In suits,” Sam said faintly, holding the drawing gingerly. Every time he thought he had the Petrellis figured out, something like this would happen. It didn’t make for a very easy friendship, that was for certain. On the other hand, it was never dull.
--
"I'm sorry, say again?" Sam paused where he was, half in and half out of the shower's spray, trying to blink water out of his eyes so he could focus on Nathan, who stood naked and grinning mischievously behind him.
"An ability," Nathan said slowly. "It runs in the family. It's genetic; I think I mentioned that."
"Yeah, but," Sam protested, "You didn't say you had an ability."
Nathan shrugged; he was too damn nonchalant for a guy who'd just confessed to having superpowers. "You didn't exactly come out and tell me about your demon blood right away." He reached for the shampoo and poured a generous measure into his hand.
"Yeah, but," Sam said again. "I did tell you when I needed to."
"Actually, I recall figuring it out myself." Nathan reached up and ran his hands through Sam's hair, lathering it up with shampoo. "It's not my fault you're not observant."
"What's your power?" Sam asked. He had to close his eyes to keep the suds out. He reached out to find Nathan's shoulders with his hands. "Tell me."
"No," Nathan said. He kept massaging Sam's scalp. "It's a secret."
Carefully but firmly, Sam pushed Nathan against the wall of the shower and pinned him with the length of his body. "Tell me," he said.
Nathan just chuckled. He wiped the shampoo out of Sam's face and kissed him as the water poured over them. He said softly, "I bet I can distract you instead."
--
Dean sighed and went to grab the suits from the car. Sam caught him giving the Impala an affectionate pat before he locked it up tight. Sam stared at the picture before Nathan plucked it from his nerveless fingers and tucked it back in its place.
At last, Peter got off the phone. “Ok, all ready,” he said.
“Don’t suppose you saw any hot chicks in the future?” Dean asked hopefully. Sam glared at his brother in irritation; every time Peter surprised them with a new ability, Dean just took it in stride. Every time Sam mentioned the tiniest thing different about himself, Dean became temporarily deaf. Sighing, he shoved it aside to deal with it later.
+++++
“Ok, hang on.” Peter put out one hand and everyone touched it. Dean was unfortunately reminded of a football huddle, and half-expected to hear someone call "And break!" but managed to keep his thoughts to himself for once. You didn’t annoy the driver when you were on an unfamiliar road.
The world around them transformed in an instant from a back alley in Georgia to an oddly large rundown apartment with traffic noise outside. Dean and Sam blinked, looking around for danger automatically. Dean almost drew his gun reflexively when he spied a dark-haired, heavy-set man standing barely ten feet away at the kitchen table, but checked himself when he spied the brown-haired girl sitting at the same table chewing on corn flakes. The Winchesters hadn’t had the best experiences with little girls lately, considering they were Lilith’s chosen “steeds,” but Dean reminded himself that they were safe. None of Lilith’s hosts would voluntarily be eating healthy breakfast cereal.
“Cool!” the girl exclaimed, corn flakes forgotten.
“Hello Matt,” Nathan said casually. “Molly.”
“That… actually worked,” Matt said faintly.
“Hey, I’ve been practicing,” Peter said.
Matt grinned wryly. “Well, if Hiro can figure it out, you can too.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Peter muttered, and turned back to the rest of the group. “Ah, Matt Parkman, Molly Walker, this is Sam and Dean Winchester.”
Matt nodded at them both and waved at the table in an invitation to sit down. “Molly, go get ready for school,” Matt said, and she rolled her eyes.
“It’s teacher in-service today. No school,” she said quickly. Matt looked at her sideways and she defiantly crossed her arms. “You said I could know what’s going on!” Matt sighed in defeat, and Molly started back in on her corn flakes with gusto.
“You guys eat yet?” Matt offered, gesturing at the loaded table.
Dean dug into the plates of waffles and sausages before Matt finished speaking, while Molly looked on in envy. Sam and Peter virtuously chose the same corn flakes Molly was eating. Nathan selected an orange and banana and began slowly to peel them. Sam, Dean noted with some amusement, kept looking at Nathan oddly, and Dean wondered if there had been fun with fruit during one of their dates. He chose that moment to glance at Peter, who winked at him.
--
"Peter, I said get food. Not... produce," Dean said in disgust.
Peter dumped the grocery bag on the hotel room dresser and leered at Dean. "Oh, I got you a burger, too." He tossed Dean a grease stained bag, which Dean tore open.
As he began devouring his burger, Dean glanced up at Peter. Around a mouthful of all-beef patty and sesame seed bun, he said, "You not hungry?"
"Ate earlier," Peter said. "But I thought I might pick up a few things." From the grocery bag, Peter pulled a bag of carrots. Then a bunch of bananas. Then a cucumber. Then a zucchini.
With every item, Dean's eyes grew wider, and soon the burger dangled from his hand, forgotten. "Uh... So..." he said cleverly.
"Part of a balanced meal," Peter said primly.
--
For some reason Matt snorted into his coffee while everyone was getting their food, and had to wipe his face off with a napkin before he could talk again.
“Ok, Mohinder said he’d be back soon. But I want to hear this first.” Matt’s tone was very no-nonsense; it reminded Dean of himself when he pulled a cop routine.
“It’s complicated,” Peter warned. Matt shrugged, clearly in a, “when is it not?” gesture. Peter delved into Nathan’s briefcase and handed him a few folded papers. Dean caught a glimpse of colored pencil lines. These must be more of Peter’s prophetic drawings. Dean tried to look over at them, but Sam surreptitiously kicked him under the table and shook his head.
Spoilsport, Dean thought.
Matt unfolded the papers and stared at them for several long minutes. He flipped through them one by one, looking more and more concerned with each new drawing.
“We think there’s someone trying to get both normal people and people with abilities involved in something really dangerous. If we’re not careful, we think it could get really ugly and public,” Peter explained.
“What kind of thing?” Matt asked. Peter turned to the Winchester to explain. Sam and Dean exchanged a glance, and Sam nodded. He was the better one to try to convince Matt; the guy looked like he thought Sam was more trustworthy.
“A cult. Someone’s trying to recruit specials, and anyone else, into a new kind of cult. With ah… demon worshipping,” Sam began, clearly trying to find some kind of explanation that would fit a non-believer's worldview. Matt looked pained and exasperated, while Molly just stared.
“Seriously?” Matt asked.
“I’m dead serious. We think it could really become a major problem."
Matt was watching Sam with his head at an odd angle, while Sam just stared back at him with all the dignity he could muster.
“If it helps, Peter and I both agree this is a threat,” Nathan offered.
“’Cause otherwise you wouldn’t be here,” Molly muttered accurately. Dean grinned around a mouthful of waffles as Matt threw a chastising glance at her. “Well, it’s true!” she exclaimed.
“Molly…” Matt began.
“You said no more secrets,” she said stubbornly, and took another pointed spoonful of corn flakes.
“So, you two are experts on this kind of thing?” Matt asked, rather than get into a losing argument with his ward.
“Cults, and other things. We’ve pretty much been doing it all our lives.”
Dean let Sam try to explain their expertise without going into the whole “demons, ghosts, monsters, and angels are all real” thing. For one, Matt might want proof, and that could be hard to rustle up on demand. Two, he didn’t want to get into gruesome specific details in front of an eleven-year-old girl. So Dean took the opportunity to distract the kid a bit so Sam could talk more freely. Clearly Matt didn’t trust the Winchesters, but he trusted the Petrellis, and it would be a lot easier if Sam could try to be the articulate one and represent them as experts instead of wackos. Dean preferred to tell things straight, when he didn’t need to lie like a rug. Which, granted, was a good deal of the time…
“Tired of corn flakes?” Dean whispered conspiratorially to Molly. She nodded, looking wistful, and Dean handed her a folded napkin under the cover of the table. Inside was half a waffle wrapped around some sausages. She grinned and began to sneak bites of it between her cereal.
“Mohinder says I have to have cereal every morning ‘cause it’s good for me,” she muttered.
“Well, I guess he thinks he’s pretty smart.”
“He is smart. He saved me when I was sick. He helps other sick people now,” Molly explained.
“Huh. So what does Matt do?” Dean asked.
“He saves people too. He saved me from the boogeyman.”
“Boogeyman?”
Molly’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Sylar. He… he killed my mom and dad. Matt saved me, and he and Mohinder have been taking care of me ever since.”
Dean felt like he’d been punched in the gut.
“Are you ok?” Molly asked in concern.
“Yeah… yeah. I’m… Jesus, I’m sorry,” Dean said.
“Don’t swear,” Molly said automatically.
“Sorry,” Dean said again. “I just… I lost my mom when I was a kid, but I just lost my dad a couple years ago.”
“That’s when my mom and dad died,” Molly said, and put her hand on Dean’s. “It’s ok. I cry too sometimes.”
"Well yeah, you're a little girl." He blinked rapidly and quickly stuffed another bite of waffle into his mouth to try to cover the reaction.
“Can you do anything?” Molly asked abruptly.
“Like?”
“Like Peter?”
Dean shook his head, grateful for the change of subject. “Uh, no, nothing like that.”
“I find people,” Molly said proudly.
“Huh?” Somehow it hadn’t occurred to him that there might be kids with powers too.
“I find people,” she repeated. “If I know their name or what they look like, I can find them wherever they are.” Molly was staring at him, definite challenge in her voice and face, as if daring him to freak out. Dean poked himself mentally for a reaction, but after seeing what Peter could do, finding people wasn’t going to unsettle him. He supposed he was getting more comfortable with new levels of weird.
“Can you show me?” Dean asked instead. As powers went, it sounded kind of useful and cool, something that might have been damn handy any number of times during his life. Molly dug into a book bag on the floor and came up with a large, battered atlas and a push pin.
“Who?” she asked. Dean blinked and said the first name that came to mind.
“Bobby Singer.”
Molly opened the atlas and started to flip pages, slowing partway in and eventually stopping in South Dakota. The hand holding the push pin hovered as she sought out the regional maps, trembling over Lawrence County, before unerringly pushing it down on the exact stretch of road where Bobby had his house and junkyard. Molly grinned up at him and Dean smiled back.
“That’s pretty cool.” Then Dean realized the conversation around the table had gone silent and everyone was staring at them. “What?”
“Ok,” Matt said, sounding resigned. “You guys pass.” Sam looked just as bewildered as Dean felt, and the Petrellis didn’t look all that less confused. “Sorry, but you can guess how things are right now. Whatever happened at the Company labs really has Mohinder spooked.”
“We understand,” Sam said simply. “Thanks for trusting us.”
“I’ll call Mohinder,” Matt said. He got up to find the phone.
“So… why’s he trust us? Because I talked to you?” Dean asked Molly as he took a large gulp of coffee.
“No. Matt reads minds,” Molly said matter-of-factly. Dean’s mouthful of coffee sprayed everywhere in astonishment, soaking Molly and the table in front of her.
“Ewww…” Molly said, wiping her eyes.
“What, didn’t I say that?” Peter asked innocently.
I’m going to get you Petrelli. Later, Dean thought loudly in Peter’s direction, and then cringed when he realized Matt might have picked that up. Peter only arched one eyebrow at Dean and winked. Sam and Nathan pulled the two apart to prevent anything else from happening.
Matt came in a second later as Molly, disgusted and dripping, disappeared into the bathroom. When the door shut, Matt glared at all of them.
“And would you four stop with the mental hardcore pornography? Please? There are children present,” he said testily, and stomped off again. Dean started snickering.
“What the hell were you thinking about Dean?” Sam demanded in a low voice.
“Something about bananas,” Dean said blandly.
“Syrup,” Sam muttered in a confession.
“Butter,” Peter laughed. All three looked at Nathan, who’d already managed to get himself more or less cleaned up.
After a moment of staring peer pressure, Nathan said demurely, “I'm not saying.”
“Knock it off!” Matt yelled from the other room. Diligently, the four worked to clean up the wreck of the kitchen table, and Dean tried to keep his mind out of the gutter.
+++++
It was almost a half-hour before the mysterious Mohinder arrived, long enough that the Winchesters had time to get into their suits and get their minds back on business. Sam felt odd meeting a guy they were apparently destined to meet; it brought a strange déjà vu to the whole thing. Mohinder looked exactly like Peter's drawing of him: a fit Indian man who looked far too young to have earned the doctorate the Petrellis claimed he had.
Matt had vanished into the depths of the apartment with Nathan, Peter, and Molly, leaving the other three to make hasty formal introductions on their own. Mohinder watched the Winchester brothers with some small amount of fear in his eyes, though Sam was pretty sure Mohinder wasn't afraid of the Winchesters themselves, but rather the information they might bring. He’d seen the same expression on some peoples’ faces when someone was about to confirm bad news.
“Matt tells me you should be able to explain what I saw at the Company,” Mohinder began after a round of tentative handshakes.
“Maybe. It depends on what you saw,” Dean pointed out.
“It’s completely outside the realm of my experience, and considering what I’ve seen in the past three years, that is something I rarely say. I’ll let you judge for yourselves,” Mohinder said.
“Give us a run-down before we go in, if you can,” Sam asked, and Mohinder sighed and nodded. He looked fairly beaten down, like he’d been overworking and undersleeping. And that was about par for the course for a man who’d suddenly been confronted with evidence that there was more on heaven and earth that was dreamt of in his philosophy.
“Do you know what the Company does? It tries to keep the world from learning about people with abilities. It tries to track those that it considers harmless, and contains those it considers dangerous.”
“And by contain you mean…?” Sam prompted.
“Capture and imprison them. They test their abilities until they figure out how they work. If the special is cooperative and able to learn control, they might become an agent. If they fight or can’t control themselves, they don’t leave the Company. Ever.” Mohinder’s voice was flat and his expression deeply saddened.
“That’s-,” Sam started, almost sputtering in shock.
“Yes, I know. Inhuman.” The self-recrimination on his face stopped the rest of the Winchesters’ half-formed protests. The Petrellis had said Mohinder was their “inside man.” He would have to play ball with the Company some of the time or risk being caught at what he was doing.
“So… what happened?” Sam asked tentatively.
Mohinder took a breath and assumed a more businesslike demeanor, distancing himself emotionally so he could talk. “The agents brought in a subject for containment and testing. They told me she had been difficult to capture, and that she might have some previously unknown regenerative ability. She fell into a steep ravine while being pursued and had no apparent injuries afterward. I found that very odd because according to all the files we had on her, the only thing she could do was breath fire.”
“Only thing,” Dean muttered.
“Please understand, I do not, can not condone what they did to her or any of the others. It’s the only way we’ll ever get reliable information about the Company and keep anyone safe,” Mohinder interjected. Sam started to get a very bad feeling about this. If Mohinder was preemptively asking for understanding and forgiveness, this whole thing must have gone very badly.
“I understand. What happened?” Sam asked, needing to hear what the hell had happened.
"It'd be better if I just show you," Mohinder said wearily.
A half-hour later, Mohinder had smuggled them into his laboratory through a service entrance, and hustled them into a small room behind one-way glass.
“Through there. That's where she died," Mohinder said, waving at the room beyond the glass. It was blank concrete, with a spot burned black through the ceiling. "We tape all procedures as a matter of course,” Mohinder said. “I don’t know what she was saying during..., but I thought it was Latin. I couldn’t translate--.”
“I might be able to,” Sam offered. Mohinder raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment.
--
Sam stared at the book a little longer, committing the words to memory, before slowly sounding them out, fixing the sounds in his mind. The words of the exorcism ritual had become too familiar in his mouth over the years, and this old book of Latin prayers and ancient Biblical lore held more knowledge in its pages, if Sam could just translate it.
Dean, of course, thought he was nuts.
“Sammy, you know there are English versions of that stuff, right?”
“Then how come the exorcism only works if it’s in Latin, Dean?” Sam asked logically.
Dean snorted. “Dad does just fine without knowing how to talk like Caesar.”
“Well, I’m not Dad.”
Dean scowled, and flipped on the TV to a football game.
--
The small room held a couple of chairs and a TV. Mohinder fiddled with the remote a moment before the tape began to play, showing the black-haired girl that Mohinder had identified as Ashley Anderson, strapped to a gurney with sturdy leather bindings. She had what looked like a muzzle over her mouth, lashed securely to her head. It didn’t stop her from talking, because she was yelling a barrage of English profanity at everyone in the room, but when sparks and red light showed underneath it, Sam understood it was to keep her from spewing fire with her curses.
One of the three agents in the room approached the struggling girl with a syringe and, with some difficulty, injected her in the shoulder.
Mohinder was standing next to the TV, back to it, arms crossed over his chest and his head down, but started a running commentary to explain things. Sam wondered how many times he’d watched this video already. With an odd chill, Sam realized that this was the exact scene in Peter's drawing. Why was this moment so important to the future?
“He’s injecting her with a combination of a sedative, a truth serum, and curare, which paralyzes both the body and the part of the brain that produces telekinesis.”
“Damn,” Dean said, echoing Sam’s unspoken sentiment.
“This is the part I hate. I’ve been helping some people get better, control their abilities, and get their lives back. But it seems for every other person that leaves here, another is captured and imprisoned for using what they were given by destiny,” Mohinder said softly. Neither Winchester seemed to know what to say.
“I’m sorry,” Sam offered, as on the screen Ashley went limp.
“The drugs are supposed to make her tractable, but talkative,” Mohinder explained, continuing his self-imposed narrative.
“But if it’s supposed to paralyze her…” Sam asked, confused.
“Very strong specials can speak through curare. I’ve proven that through field research,” Mohinder said, his eyes like stone. For a second, Sam could understand why this “powerless” man was helping people like Peter.
On the screen, agents began to ask Ashley questions, and everyone dragged their attention back to the tape.
“Who are you? Where are you from?” one man barked.
“The name we had for her was an alias. We identified her through missing persons reports and DNA,” Mohinder said, staring out the doorway into the morgue.
Ashley was responding now on the screen, her voice harsh and definitely in Latin. Sam gestured for the remote, paused, rewound, and listened to it again and again, writing down what he heard and slowly translating.
“I came from the Pit, fools, don’t you see the flame? I am Baubo, Baubo!” he said. Dean flinched at the name.
“Met her last summer,” he said tightly, and Sam winced. Not looking at Dean, he let the tape go forward.
“Are there others? Where are they hiding? Who organized you?” the agents demanded.
As Sam paused, rewound, and played over and over to get Ashley’s, or rather Baubo’s answer, Mohinder broke in with another comment.
“She was attempting to contact another known special. What little she said to the agents before she was captured indicated that this might not have been the first attempt. The very idea of a group of specials gathering for an unknown purpose scares the Company.”
Sam let Dean think on that while he went back to translating. Even though Dean was only getting one word in ten, neither of them had trouble picking out an English name in the middle of all the Latin. Caroline.
Sam spoke the translated words slowly, trying to making sure they all made sense. “She called us up from the circle, our friend Caroline. So lonely, she called us up with the old ways, the oldest ways, and we could not resist her. There, in the heat, the brackish water, the tortured trees and mist, a fitting place for her solitude, we gathered.”
No one had an immediate answer for that comment, at least nothing concrete, but Sam was getting nervous.
On screen, another agent barked, “What are you planning?”
As Sam started listening and re-listening to Baubo’s answer, Dean turned to Mohinder. “If they can’t understand what she’s saying, why keep asking her questions?”
Mohinder shrugged. “We’ll get a translation eventually; it’s only a matter of time. They’re just letting her run on in hope of getting anything useful.”
Sam finished the translation and felt himself blanching as he spoke the words out loud. “We’ll come, we’ll come in droves when she breaks us free. We’ll take the powerful bodies, all their special bodies, and have so much fun with them. So much easier to break everyone free.”
“Jesus,” Dean said. “She’s talking about deliberately possessing-.”
“Specials,” Mohinder finished, and his eyes widened.
Sam let the tape run, hoping to see if anything else happened. On screen, Mohinder walked in, clearly prepared to draw her blood. Ashley-Baubo spoke one last time, and arched her back, vomiting black smoke. It burned through the ceiling and was gone, leaving behind the mangled wreck of Ashley Anderson’s body. On screen, everyone stood in shock as the tape ended.
“Sam, what did she say?” Dean asked faintly.
Sam had to swallow twice before answering. “You'll never stop us. This whole world will burn for Caroline."
Mohinder had a hand clasped to his mouth, as if trying not to vomit. The import of the last comments really started to hit the Winchesters as they got over their own shock.
"'Break us free?'" Sam repeated, knowing the answer already.
“A seal. Jesus, bunch of demons waiting behind a seal and wanting to possess, uh, specials,” Dean said, meeting his eyes. They were both thinking about Peter Petrelli; what the demon could have done with him if they hadn’t had the Colt.
“They’d be like kids at a theme park with free passes to the roller-coaster,” Sam summed up for Mohinder’s benefit.
“Even if the Company doesn’t believe in demons, all they’d have to know is that specials can suddenly become violent, vicious, and practically unstoppable and-.”
“It’d be genocide,” Sam stated flatly.
+++++
After Mohinder left with the Winchester brothers, Matt, Molly, and the Petrellis gathered in the living room. Molly sprawled out with her atlas on the sofa. Peter was at her side; they were huddled together, talking intently.
Taking Matt aside, Nathan looked over at Peter briefly. He knew Matt thought they were insane for risking a visit to New York, but Peter needed to talk with Matt and Molly both, not just because of their friendship, but for a practical reason.
Ever since that night on Kirby Plaza, when Peter had absorbed too many new abilities and used too many of them in his fight against Sylar, he’d become infinitely more diligent at practicing with all of his abilities, and shouldering more responsibility in general. Nathan knew that Peter still felt guilty over what had happened to Nathan because of Kirby Plaza: the months he’d spent lying in bed suffering from horrible burns and radiation poisoning. Peter had sworn over and over that he’d never let anything like that happen again.
--
Nathan groaned, eyes blinking as they cleared, breathing coming easily for the first time in months, pain finally disappearing, staring as two shadowy figures came into focus.
"Peter," he breathed. "Claire... What happened?"
Claire burst into tears as she turned to Peter, and he pulled them all into a hug that held sheer desperation in its strength.
"Claire figured it out Nathan. Her blood healed you," Peter said into his shoulder, his voice ragged.
Nathan turned to his erstwhile daughter, throwing an arm around her, and then another around Peter. Claire could do little more than sob, and Nathan could hear months of self-recrimination in her crying, that she hadn't figured out his miracle cure sooner. But Peter was even worse off, shuddering against him in a breakdown worse than anything Nathan had ever seen. When you'd suddenly become the most powerful person in the world, you got used to being able to fix anything. For months Peter hadn't been able to do anything but watch his brother die by inches.
"It's ok Peter, Claire, it's ok. I'm ok, we're going to be all right," Nathan soothed, knowing they needed him right now as a father and an elder brother, not as a bewildered victim, as much as he'd like to be.
"I should have been better, known more, had more control..." Peter gasped softly. "It won't happen again. I won't let it, Nathan, I promise..."
--
Now Peter used his powers much more sparingly and with greater control, practicing with a dedication that had surprised everyone but Nathan. Arrogance about his abilities wasn’t part of Peter’s personality anymore; when he needed to learn, he would come straight to the source.
“This is important,” Nathan said to Matt. “Don’t let him slack off , whatever you do. Make sure he can handle anything you throw at him. Do your worst, and make sure he can fend it all off.”
“Hey, Peter isn’t some lazy ass college punk,” Matt protested.
“I know you’re having trouble believing all of this. I wouldn’t have believed it myself a year ago. But you saw into the Winchesters' minds-.”
“I wish I hadn’t,” Matt said, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I’m going to have nightmares.”
“Look, just think of it as someone trying to take over Peter’s mind: someone with no morals, no compassion, who would use all of Peter’s powers indiscriminately,” Nathan said, hammering the point home as forcefully as he could.
Matt paled, and Nathan felt tired. He knew it had to be getting harder for them all the time. Matt had lost weight, and Mohinder had looked haggard. Even with Nathan presumed dead, the Company was still powerful, but was currently leaving Matt and Molly alone as a favor to Mohinder. Nathan knew that though it was dangerous and stressful, Matt was still using his ability to help protect any specials he met in the course of his job as a NYPD detective. Maybe Nathan should have wondered why Matt didn’t look worse.
“I never slack off on him,” Matt said, lifting his chin up. Molly apparently heard him and tossed a comment over the back of the couch.
“Don’t be too hard on him Matt!” she exclaimed, grinning. Matt’s expression faltered slightly, torn between the love for his “daughter” and the need to prepare Peter to save himself. Nathan watched the expressions between them and felt his heart contract. Nearly two years away from Simon and Monty and it still hit him like a blow to the gut that he would never see his sons again. That was the reason he hadn’t visited this place since Matt and Molly had arrived. He had never really wanted to come back to New York. It just hurt too much every time.
“I won’t be any harder on him than Nathan is,” Matt said, a ghost of a smile back in place.
“Which will be very hard,” Nathan muttered.
“I know,” Matt murmured.
“Nathan… if the Winchesters are here to see Mohinder, and Peter needs to see me…” It wasn’t that Matt thought Nathan was a fifth wheel. He was probably trying to discern if Nathan was just along for the ride. Matt didn’t exactly approve of what Nathan and Peter had together, and he definitely didn’t appreciate that Nathan had abandoned his family to keep company with his younger brother. He never said a word about it, because he knew the love between them was strong, but Nathan couldn’t blame him for not wanting them to confuse Molly. Nathan didn't need Matt's unstinting approval; it was enough that this was a safe place to stay.
“I’m just here to keep everyone on track,” Nathan said firmly. Matt nodded sharply and went to wait for Peter.
+++++
When the Winchesters arrived back nearly two hours later, Nathan and Peter were already subdued and serious. The news the Winchesters had to tell them didn’t improve their mood.
“That’s not what I wanted to hear,” Nathan said, running a hand through his hair.
“You have to prevent it. The Company will stop at nothing to destroy everyone if it spreads,” Mohinder said. “I know they have contingency plans.”
“We’ll beat them to it,” Sam promised. “May I?” At a nod from Mohinder, he bent over the laptop.
“He’s got mad Googling skills,” Dean said proudly.
"Mohinder, how long do you think we have before the Company figures this out?" Nathan asked while Sam worked.
"I know Noah Bennet is the next person in line for an assignment. With him... maybe a week, if you're lucky."
“Bennet could be useful, assuming we can convince him not to shoot us on sight,” Nathan opined.
“He’s too dangerous, and he’s chased you for too long. I wouldn’t count on his help, and I definitely wouldn’t trust him,” Mohinder said forcefully.
“That’s got to be it,” Sam said triumphantly. “Lake End, Natchitoches Parish, Louisiana.”
“Mad skills,” Dean said.
“Okay,” Nathan said. “I guess we’ve got a flight plan, then.”
“Figuratively speaking, I hope,” said Matt.
“Figuratively,” Nathan assured him.
“Hey Peter. You ready to pull your Scotty impression?” Dean said a little too loudly. He was clearly ready to get this show on the road. Sam picked up their bags as Peter and Nathan made their good-byes. Out of the corner of his eye, Nathan saw Dean sidle up to Matt.
+++++
“So,” Dean asked Matt awkwardly. “You, ah, aren’t going to repeat anything you, ah overheard?”
“Not unless I’m really, really drunk,” Matt promised, smiling slightly. “Believe me, I can keep a secret.” Dean nodded his thanks, then paused.
“You get drunk often?”
Matt snorted. “I have a very clever eleven-year-old and a boyfriend so smart I can barely keep up with his mind when I’m stone-cold sober, so no, I don’t-,” Matt stopped himself dead. “I said boyfriend, didn’t I?”
“Uh, yeah.”
Matt looked embarrassed. Clearly he hadn’t meant for that to slip.
Dean looked back at Mohinder, deep in conversation with Peter and Nathan, appraising him purely aesthetically.
“Did pretty well for yourself,” he opined. Who was Dean to judge anyway? He didn’t have a leg to stand on. Matt flashed a hastily repressed grin.
“Yeah, I did. Good luck, we’re all counting on you four.”
“So, no pressure or anything.”
“Right.”
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 tire-kicking by the sassy 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.
Four days ago
If Sam had to discuss information he'd gotten from Ruby, he definitely preferred to do so in a deserted back alley in the company of friends so Dean wouldn't feel compelled to argue with him. But back ally or not, he was still getting a stinkeye of monumental proportions.
"...Last night she said someone is messing around with really ancient magic, forming a cult, and raising demons as part of it," Sam explained. "I think that's our source of these possessed people, if we can find out exactly where this person is." Ruby showing up during his and Nathan's night out had been something of a shock, but it only reinforced the importance of what they were doing. The Petrellis had been warned, the Winchesters had discovered the same problem, and then Ruby had overheard rumors... When three different sources confirmed the same menace, it didn't bode well.
Dean only swallowed once, but nodded tersely, while Peter looked like he'd just confirmed something.
"Then I think I know where we have to start looking," Peter said, nodding. Behind him Nathan was feeding quarters into a pay phone, and dialing someone long distance. "New York."
“Why do we have to go to New York?” Sam asked, confused. Nathan handed the phone to Peter, who started asking the person on the other end a barrage of questions.
“Because Mohinder has something we think you should see. If we’re right, this could lead us to the source of whoever is behind this cult,” Nathan said.
“So, where in New York?” Dean asked. Sam could tell he was already calculating which roads and highways to take.
“The Company facility.”
“Whoa, whoa, I thought you said they were looking for you,” Sam said sharply. The last thing he needed was for the Petrellis to get themselves caught when they’d barely begun working together again.
“Yes, they are, which is why you two are going inside,” Nathan replied. “We have something else we need to do while we’re there that should keep us out of your way and their way.”
“Can you trust this Mo-whatsis dude?” Dean asked.
“Dr. Mohinder Suresh. And yes, he’s our inside man in the Company.” Nathan seemed reluctant to get more detailed, and Sam sympathized. All of them had secrets, and exposing them could put their few remaining friends in danger.
“He assists people inside the Company,” Nathan elaborated.
“And you two help people outside it?” Sam hazarded. Nathan shot him a sharp glance. “What? You never actually said what you two have been doing all this time, so I guessed.” Nathan relaxed marginally.
“That’s true, more or less,” Nathan offered warily.
“So, what’s the address?” Dean asked. He was clearly eager to get back on the road and the hell out of Georgia.
“We’re not driving,” Peter said over his shoulder. Nathan looked pained, but resigned.
“We’re not?” Dean seemed both disappointed and confused.
Nathan crossed his arms sternly. “Dean, we're on something of a timetable here."
Sam suddenly tuned into what Peter was talking about on the phone. "Uh-huh," he was saying. "Wait, is that the room with the red wallpaper? Uh-huh. What about furniture? Right. Is it still sorta by the window?"
Sam's stomach sank somewhere to the vicinity of his knees. “We’re teleporting,” Sam said flatly.
“Whoa, what about the post-apocalyptic future shit?” Dean asked, visibly alarmed. He was probably remembering Peter’s comment from the last time they’d teleported. Though, on the other hand, the alarm could have been from the thought of leaving the Impala over half a dozen states away from him for any length of time.
“I was kidding about that,” Peter broke in quickly.
“No you weren’t,” Nathan muttered, and Peter blushed before returning to his phone.
“Seriously, we’re teleporting?” Sam asked again, desperate for the unwanted confirmation.
“I think I have to,” Peter said, shushing whoever was on the other line for a moment. “Otherwise we’ll end up putting Matt and Molly in danger, and Mohinder would kill me.”
“No weird futures!” Dean said positively.
Peter nodded emphatically. “No futures,” he agreed, and picked up the conversation again.
“So, who’re Molly and Matt? His wife and kid?” Dean asked. Nathan and Sam snorted with amusement almost simultaneously. “What, his dogs?”
Sam started laughing and Nathan smirked hard enough to risk pulling a muscle in his face. “Ah, neither,” Nathan said finally. “Matt is Mohinder’s roommate. Molly is Matt’s ward. She’s eleven.”
“Oh,” Dean said awkwardly, and glared at Sam. Sam stopped laughing eventually; it just hadn’t occurred to him to tell Dean until he was already knee-deep in the joke.
“Who are we supposed to be for this gig?” Dean asked, glossing over the moment as fast as possible.
“Yourselves, in the main. Experts in cults. I don’t want to toss demons and ghosts at Mohinder all at once; he’s seen a lot in the past few years, but he’s still very scientific. Take your suits though. More professional that way,” Nathan explained.
“Why?” Sam asked. “If this Dr. Suresh has to smuggle us in, shouldn’t we be wearing lab coats or something?”
“Just take the suits,” Nathan said.
“Show them Nathan,” Peter interrupted. Nathan glared, but Peter only looked heartbreakingly earnest. Sighing, Nathan pulled a piece of paper from his briefcase while Peter finished up his conversation.
“Peter painted this two weeks ago,” Nathan said, and handed it over. Sam and Dean stared at the comic book-style drawing. It clearly showed them in suits, standing in a small room next to a flickering TV, looking rather grim. A rather frightened-looking Indian man in a lab coat stood next to them.
“What the hell?” Dean asked.
“He can draw the future. Don’t ask,” Nathan said, heading off further questions. “They always come true." Sam thought he detected a faint hint of evasion in Nathan's statement, like he wasn't telling them the full story. He made a mental note to corner him on it later.
"That’s the Company facility, and that’s Mohinder in the picture,” Nathan continued.
“And us. In suits,” Sam said faintly, holding the drawing gingerly. Every time he thought he had the Petrellis figured out, something like this would happen. It didn’t make for a very easy friendship, that was for certain. On the other hand, it was never dull.
--
"I'm sorry, say again?" Sam paused where he was, half in and half out of the shower's spray, trying to blink water out of his eyes so he could focus on Nathan, who stood naked and grinning mischievously behind him.
"An ability," Nathan said slowly. "It runs in the family. It's genetic; I think I mentioned that."
"Yeah, but," Sam protested, "You didn't say you had an ability."
Nathan shrugged; he was too damn nonchalant for a guy who'd just confessed to having superpowers. "You didn't exactly come out and tell me about your demon blood right away." He reached for the shampoo and poured a generous measure into his hand.
"Yeah, but," Sam said again. "I did tell you when I needed to."
"Actually, I recall figuring it out myself." Nathan reached up and ran his hands through Sam's hair, lathering it up with shampoo. "It's not my fault you're not observant."
"What's your power?" Sam asked. He had to close his eyes to keep the suds out. He reached out to find Nathan's shoulders with his hands. "Tell me."
"No," Nathan said. He kept massaging Sam's scalp. "It's a secret."
Carefully but firmly, Sam pushed Nathan against the wall of the shower and pinned him with the length of his body. "Tell me," he said.
Nathan just chuckled. He wiped the shampoo out of Sam's face and kissed him as the water poured over them. He said softly, "I bet I can distract you instead."
--
Dean sighed and went to grab the suits from the car. Sam caught him giving the Impala an affectionate pat before he locked it up tight. Sam stared at the picture before Nathan plucked it from his nerveless fingers and tucked it back in its place.
At last, Peter got off the phone. “Ok, all ready,” he said.
“Don’t suppose you saw any hot chicks in the future?” Dean asked hopefully. Sam glared at his brother in irritation; every time Peter surprised them with a new ability, Dean just took it in stride. Every time Sam mentioned the tiniest thing different about himself, Dean became temporarily deaf. Sighing, he shoved it aside to deal with it later.
+++++
“Ok, hang on.” Peter put out one hand and everyone touched it. Dean was unfortunately reminded of a football huddle, and half-expected to hear someone call "And break!" but managed to keep his thoughts to himself for once. You didn’t annoy the driver when you were on an unfamiliar road.
The world around them transformed in an instant from a back alley in Georgia to an oddly large rundown apartment with traffic noise outside. Dean and Sam blinked, looking around for danger automatically. Dean almost drew his gun reflexively when he spied a dark-haired, heavy-set man standing barely ten feet away at the kitchen table, but checked himself when he spied the brown-haired girl sitting at the same table chewing on corn flakes. The Winchesters hadn’t had the best experiences with little girls lately, considering they were Lilith’s chosen “steeds,” but Dean reminded himself that they were safe. None of Lilith’s hosts would voluntarily be eating healthy breakfast cereal.
“Cool!” the girl exclaimed, corn flakes forgotten.
“Hello Matt,” Nathan said casually. “Molly.”
“That… actually worked,” Matt said faintly.
“Hey, I’ve been practicing,” Peter said.
Matt grinned wryly. “Well, if Hiro can figure it out, you can too.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Peter muttered, and turned back to the rest of the group. “Ah, Matt Parkman, Molly Walker, this is Sam and Dean Winchester.”
Matt nodded at them both and waved at the table in an invitation to sit down. “Molly, go get ready for school,” Matt said, and she rolled her eyes.
“It’s teacher in-service today. No school,” she said quickly. Matt looked at her sideways and she defiantly crossed her arms. “You said I could know what’s going on!” Matt sighed in defeat, and Molly started back in on her corn flakes with gusto.
“You guys eat yet?” Matt offered, gesturing at the loaded table.
Dean dug into the plates of waffles and sausages before Matt finished speaking, while Molly looked on in envy. Sam and Peter virtuously chose the same corn flakes Molly was eating. Nathan selected an orange and banana and began slowly to peel them. Sam, Dean noted with some amusement, kept looking at Nathan oddly, and Dean wondered if there had been fun with fruit during one of their dates. He chose that moment to glance at Peter, who winked at him.
--
"Peter, I said get food. Not... produce," Dean said in disgust.
Peter dumped the grocery bag on the hotel room dresser and leered at Dean. "Oh, I got you a burger, too." He tossed Dean a grease stained bag, which Dean tore open.
As he began devouring his burger, Dean glanced up at Peter. Around a mouthful of all-beef patty and sesame seed bun, he said, "You not hungry?"
"Ate earlier," Peter said. "But I thought I might pick up a few things." From the grocery bag, Peter pulled a bag of carrots. Then a bunch of bananas. Then a cucumber. Then a zucchini.
With every item, Dean's eyes grew wider, and soon the burger dangled from his hand, forgotten. "Uh... So..." he said cleverly.
"Part of a balanced meal," Peter said primly.
--
For some reason Matt snorted into his coffee while everyone was getting their food, and had to wipe his face off with a napkin before he could talk again.
“Ok, Mohinder said he’d be back soon. But I want to hear this first.” Matt’s tone was very no-nonsense; it reminded Dean of himself when he pulled a cop routine.
“It’s complicated,” Peter warned. Matt shrugged, clearly in a, “when is it not?” gesture. Peter delved into Nathan’s briefcase and handed him a few folded papers. Dean caught a glimpse of colored pencil lines. These must be more of Peter’s prophetic drawings. Dean tried to look over at them, but Sam surreptitiously kicked him under the table and shook his head.
Spoilsport, Dean thought.
Matt unfolded the papers and stared at them for several long minutes. He flipped through them one by one, looking more and more concerned with each new drawing.
“We think there’s someone trying to get both normal people and people with abilities involved in something really dangerous. If we’re not careful, we think it could get really ugly and public,” Peter explained.
“What kind of thing?” Matt asked. Peter turned to the Winchester to explain. Sam and Dean exchanged a glance, and Sam nodded. He was the better one to try to convince Matt; the guy looked like he thought Sam was more trustworthy.
“A cult. Someone’s trying to recruit specials, and anyone else, into a new kind of cult. With ah… demon worshipping,” Sam began, clearly trying to find some kind of explanation that would fit a non-believer's worldview. Matt looked pained and exasperated, while Molly just stared.
“Seriously?” Matt asked.
“I’m dead serious. We think it could really become a major problem."
Matt was watching Sam with his head at an odd angle, while Sam just stared back at him with all the dignity he could muster.
“If it helps, Peter and I both agree this is a threat,” Nathan offered.
“’Cause otherwise you wouldn’t be here,” Molly muttered accurately. Dean grinned around a mouthful of waffles as Matt threw a chastising glance at her. “Well, it’s true!” she exclaimed.
“Molly…” Matt began.
“You said no more secrets,” she said stubbornly, and took another pointed spoonful of corn flakes.
“So, you two are experts on this kind of thing?” Matt asked, rather than get into a losing argument with his ward.
“Cults, and other things. We’ve pretty much been doing it all our lives.”
Dean let Sam try to explain their expertise without going into the whole “demons, ghosts, monsters, and angels are all real” thing. For one, Matt might want proof, and that could be hard to rustle up on demand. Two, he didn’t want to get into gruesome specific details in front of an eleven-year-old girl. So Dean took the opportunity to distract the kid a bit so Sam could talk more freely. Clearly Matt didn’t trust the Winchesters, but he trusted the Petrellis, and it would be a lot easier if Sam could try to be the articulate one and represent them as experts instead of wackos. Dean preferred to tell things straight, when he didn’t need to lie like a rug. Which, granted, was a good deal of the time…
“Tired of corn flakes?” Dean whispered conspiratorially to Molly. She nodded, looking wistful, and Dean handed her a folded napkin under the cover of the table. Inside was half a waffle wrapped around some sausages. She grinned and began to sneak bites of it between her cereal.
“Mohinder says I have to have cereal every morning ‘cause it’s good for me,” she muttered.
“Well, I guess he thinks he’s pretty smart.”
“He is smart. He saved me when I was sick. He helps other sick people now,” Molly explained.
“Huh. So what does Matt do?” Dean asked.
“He saves people too. He saved me from the boogeyman.”
“Boogeyman?”
Molly’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Sylar. He… he killed my mom and dad. Matt saved me, and he and Mohinder have been taking care of me ever since.”
Dean felt like he’d been punched in the gut.
“Are you ok?” Molly asked in concern.
“Yeah… yeah. I’m… Jesus, I’m sorry,” Dean said.
“Don’t swear,” Molly said automatically.
“Sorry,” Dean said again. “I just… I lost my mom when I was a kid, but I just lost my dad a couple years ago.”
“That’s when my mom and dad died,” Molly said, and put her hand on Dean’s. “It’s ok. I cry too sometimes.”
"Well yeah, you're a little girl." He blinked rapidly and quickly stuffed another bite of waffle into his mouth to try to cover the reaction.
“Can you do anything?” Molly asked abruptly.
“Like?”
“Like Peter?”
Dean shook his head, grateful for the change of subject. “Uh, no, nothing like that.”
“I find people,” Molly said proudly.
“Huh?” Somehow it hadn’t occurred to him that there might be kids with powers too.
“I find people,” she repeated. “If I know their name or what they look like, I can find them wherever they are.” Molly was staring at him, definite challenge in her voice and face, as if daring him to freak out. Dean poked himself mentally for a reaction, but after seeing what Peter could do, finding people wasn’t going to unsettle him. He supposed he was getting more comfortable with new levels of weird.
“Can you show me?” Dean asked instead. As powers went, it sounded kind of useful and cool, something that might have been damn handy any number of times during his life. Molly dug into a book bag on the floor and came up with a large, battered atlas and a push pin.
“Who?” she asked. Dean blinked and said the first name that came to mind.
“Bobby Singer.”
Molly opened the atlas and started to flip pages, slowing partway in and eventually stopping in South Dakota. The hand holding the push pin hovered as she sought out the regional maps, trembling over Lawrence County, before unerringly pushing it down on the exact stretch of road where Bobby had his house and junkyard. Molly grinned up at him and Dean smiled back.
“That’s pretty cool.” Then Dean realized the conversation around the table had gone silent and everyone was staring at them. “What?”
“Ok,” Matt said, sounding resigned. “You guys pass.” Sam looked just as bewildered as Dean felt, and the Petrellis didn’t look all that less confused. “Sorry, but you can guess how things are right now. Whatever happened at the Company labs really has Mohinder spooked.”
“We understand,” Sam said simply. “Thanks for trusting us.”
“I’ll call Mohinder,” Matt said. He got up to find the phone.
“So… why’s he trust us? Because I talked to you?” Dean asked Molly as he took a large gulp of coffee.
“No. Matt reads minds,” Molly said matter-of-factly. Dean’s mouthful of coffee sprayed everywhere in astonishment, soaking Molly and the table in front of her.
“Ewww…” Molly said, wiping her eyes.
“What, didn’t I say that?” Peter asked innocently.
I’m going to get you Petrelli. Later, Dean thought loudly in Peter’s direction, and then cringed when he realized Matt might have picked that up. Peter only arched one eyebrow at Dean and winked. Sam and Nathan pulled the two apart to prevent anything else from happening.
Matt came in a second later as Molly, disgusted and dripping, disappeared into the bathroom. When the door shut, Matt glared at all of them.
“And would you four stop with the mental hardcore pornography? Please? There are children present,” he said testily, and stomped off again. Dean started snickering.
“What the hell were you thinking about Dean?” Sam demanded in a low voice.
“Something about bananas,” Dean said blandly.
“Syrup,” Sam muttered in a confession.
“Butter,” Peter laughed. All three looked at Nathan, who’d already managed to get himself more or less cleaned up.
After a moment of staring peer pressure, Nathan said demurely, “I'm not saying.”
“Knock it off!” Matt yelled from the other room. Diligently, the four worked to clean up the wreck of the kitchen table, and Dean tried to keep his mind out of the gutter.
+++++
It was almost a half-hour before the mysterious Mohinder arrived, long enough that the Winchesters had time to get into their suits and get their minds back on business. Sam felt odd meeting a guy they were apparently destined to meet; it brought a strange déjà vu to the whole thing. Mohinder looked exactly like Peter's drawing of him: a fit Indian man who looked far too young to have earned the doctorate the Petrellis claimed he had.
Matt had vanished into the depths of the apartment with Nathan, Peter, and Molly, leaving the other three to make hasty formal introductions on their own. Mohinder watched the Winchester brothers with some small amount of fear in his eyes, though Sam was pretty sure Mohinder wasn't afraid of the Winchesters themselves, but rather the information they might bring. He’d seen the same expression on some peoples’ faces when someone was about to confirm bad news.
“Matt tells me you should be able to explain what I saw at the Company,” Mohinder began after a round of tentative handshakes.
“Maybe. It depends on what you saw,” Dean pointed out.
“It’s completely outside the realm of my experience, and considering what I’ve seen in the past three years, that is something I rarely say. I’ll let you judge for yourselves,” Mohinder said.
“Give us a run-down before we go in, if you can,” Sam asked, and Mohinder sighed and nodded. He looked fairly beaten down, like he’d been overworking and undersleeping. And that was about par for the course for a man who’d suddenly been confronted with evidence that there was more on heaven and earth that was dreamt of in his philosophy.
“Do you know what the Company does? It tries to keep the world from learning about people with abilities. It tries to track those that it considers harmless, and contains those it considers dangerous.”
“And by contain you mean…?” Sam prompted.
“Capture and imprison them. They test their abilities until they figure out how they work. If the special is cooperative and able to learn control, they might become an agent. If they fight or can’t control themselves, they don’t leave the Company. Ever.” Mohinder’s voice was flat and his expression deeply saddened.
“That’s-,” Sam started, almost sputtering in shock.
“Yes, I know. Inhuman.” The self-recrimination on his face stopped the rest of the Winchesters’ half-formed protests. The Petrellis had said Mohinder was their “inside man.” He would have to play ball with the Company some of the time or risk being caught at what he was doing.
“So… what happened?” Sam asked tentatively.
Mohinder took a breath and assumed a more businesslike demeanor, distancing himself emotionally so he could talk. “The agents brought in a subject for containment and testing. They told me she had been difficult to capture, and that she might have some previously unknown regenerative ability. She fell into a steep ravine while being pursued and had no apparent injuries afterward. I found that very odd because according to all the files we had on her, the only thing she could do was breath fire.”
“Only thing,” Dean muttered.
“Please understand, I do not, can not condone what they did to her or any of the others. It’s the only way we’ll ever get reliable information about the Company and keep anyone safe,” Mohinder interjected. Sam started to get a very bad feeling about this. If Mohinder was preemptively asking for understanding and forgiveness, this whole thing must have gone very badly.
“I understand. What happened?” Sam asked, needing to hear what the hell had happened.
"It'd be better if I just show you," Mohinder said wearily.
A half-hour later, Mohinder had smuggled them into his laboratory through a service entrance, and hustled them into a small room behind one-way glass.
“Through there. That's where she died," Mohinder said, waving at the room beyond the glass. It was blank concrete, with a spot burned black through the ceiling. "We tape all procedures as a matter of course,” Mohinder said. “I don’t know what she was saying during..., but I thought it was Latin. I couldn’t translate--.”
“I might be able to,” Sam offered. Mohinder raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment.
--
Sam stared at the book a little longer, committing the words to memory, before slowly sounding them out, fixing the sounds in his mind. The words of the exorcism ritual had become too familiar in his mouth over the years, and this old book of Latin prayers and ancient Biblical lore held more knowledge in its pages, if Sam could just translate it.
Dean, of course, thought he was nuts.
“Sammy, you know there are English versions of that stuff, right?”
“Then how come the exorcism only works if it’s in Latin, Dean?” Sam asked logically.
Dean snorted. “Dad does just fine without knowing how to talk like Caesar.”
“Well, I’m not Dad.”
Dean scowled, and flipped on the TV to a football game.
--
The small room held a couple of chairs and a TV. Mohinder fiddled with the remote a moment before the tape began to play, showing the black-haired girl that Mohinder had identified as Ashley Anderson, strapped to a gurney with sturdy leather bindings. She had what looked like a muzzle over her mouth, lashed securely to her head. It didn’t stop her from talking, because she was yelling a barrage of English profanity at everyone in the room, but when sparks and red light showed underneath it, Sam understood it was to keep her from spewing fire with her curses.
One of the three agents in the room approached the struggling girl with a syringe and, with some difficulty, injected her in the shoulder.
Mohinder was standing next to the TV, back to it, arms crossed over his chest and his head down, but started a running commentary to explain things. Sam wondered how many times he’d watched this video already. With an odd chill, Sam realized that this was the exact scene in Peter's drawing. Why was this moment so important to the future?
“He’s injecting her with a combination of a sedative, a truth serum, and curare, which paralyzes both the body and the part of the brain that produces telekinesis.”
“Damn,” Dean said, echoing Sam’s unspoken sentiment.
“This is the part I hate. I’ve been helping some people get better, control their abilities, and get their lives back. But it seems for every other person that leaves here, another is captured and imprisoned for using what they were given by destiny,” Mohinder said softly. Neither Winchester seemed to know what to say.
“I’m sorry,” Sam offered, as on the screen Ashley went limp.
“The drugs are supposed to make her tractable, but talkative,” Mohinder explained, continuing his self-imposed narrative.
“But if it’s supposed to paralyze her…” Sam asked, confused.
“Very strong specials can speak through curare. I’ve proven that through field research,” Mohinder said, his eyes like stone. For a second, Sam could understand why this “powerless” man was helping people like Peter.
On the screen, agents began to ask Ashley questions, and everyone dragged their attention back to the tape.
“Who are you? Where are you from?” one man barked.
“The name we had for her was an alias. We identified her through missing persons reports and DNA,” Mohinder said, staring out the doorway into the morgue.
Ashley was responding now on the screen, her voice harsh and definitely in Latin. Sam gestured for the remote, paused, rewound, and listened to it again and again, writing down what he heard and slowly translating.
“I came from the Pit, fools, don’t you see the flame? I am Baubo, Baubo!” he said. Dean flinched at the name.
“Met her last summer,” he said tightly, and Sam winced. Not looking at Dean, he let the tape go forward.
“Are there others? Where are they hiding? Who organized you?” the agents demanded.
As Sam paused, rewound, and played over and over to get Ashley’s, or rather Baubo’s answer, Mohinder broke in with another comment.
“She was attempting to contact another known special. What little she said to the agents before she was captured indicated that this might not have been the first attempt. The very idea of a group of specials gathering for an unknown purpose scares the Company.”
Sam let Dean think on that while he went back to translating. Even though Dean was only getting one word in ten, neither of them had trouble picking out an English name in the middle of all the Latin. Caroline.
Sam spoke the translated words slowly, trying to making sure they all made sense. “She called us up from the circle, our friend Caroline. So lonely, she called us up with the old ways, the oldest ways, and we could not resist her. There, in the heat, the brackish water, the tortured trees and mist, a fitting place for her solitude, we gathered.”
No one had an immediate answer for that comment, at least nothing concrete, but Sam was getting nervous.
On screen, another agent barked, “What are you planning?”
As Sam started listening and re-listening to Baubo’s answer, Dean turned to Mohinder. “If they can’t understand what she’s saying, why keep asking her questions?”
Mohinder shrugged. “We’ll get a translation eventually; it’s only a matter of time. They’re just letting her run on in hope of getting anything useful.”
Sam finished the translation and felt himself blanching as he spoke the words out loud. “We’ll come, we’ll come in droves when she breaks us free. We’ll take the powerful bodies, all their special bodies, and have so much fun with them. So much easier to break everyone free.”
“Jesus,” Dean said. “She’s talking about deliberately possessing-.”
“Specials,” Mohinder finished, and his eyes widened.
Sam let the tape run, hoping to see if anything else happened. On screen, Mohinder walked in, clearly prepared to draw her blood. Ashley-Baubo spoke one last time, and arched her back, vomiting black smoke. It burned through the ceiling and was gone, leaving behind the mangled wreck of Ashley Anderson’s body. On screen, everyone stood in shock as the tape ended.
“Sam, what did she say?” Dean asked faintly.
Sam had to swallow twice before answering. “You'll never stop us. This whole world will burn for Caroline."
Mohinder had a hand clasped to his mouth, as if trying not to vomit. The import of the last comments really started to hit the Winchesters as they got over their own shock.
"'Break us free?'" Sam repeated, knowing the answer already.
“A seal. Jesus, bunch of demons waiting behind a seal and wanting to possess, uh, specials,” Dean said, meeting his eyes. They were both thinking about Peter Petrelli; what the demon could have done with him if they hadn’t had the Colt.
“They’d be like kids at a theme park with free passes to the roller-coaster,” Sam summed up for Mohinder’s benefit.
“Even if the Company doesn’t believe in demons, all they’d have to know is that specials can suddenly become violent, vicious, and practically unstoppable and-.”
“It’d be genocide,” Sam stated flatly.
+++++
After Mohinder left with the Winchester brothers, Matt, Molly, and the Petrellis gathered in the living room. Molly sprawled out with her atlas on the sofa. Peter was at her side; they were huddled together, talking intently.
Taking Matt aside, Nathan looked over at Peter briefly. He knew Matt thought they were insane for risking a visit to New York, but Peter needed to talk with Matt and Molly both, not just because of their friendship, but for a practical reason.
Ever since that night on Kirby Plaza, when Peter had absorbed too many new abilities and used too many of them in his fight against Sylar, he’d become infinitely more diligent at practicing with all of his abilities, and shouldering more responsibility in general. Nathan knew that Peter still felt guilty over what had happened to Nathan because of Kirby Plaza: the months he’d spent lying in bed suffering from horrible burns and radiation poisoning. Peter had sworn over and over that he’d never let anything like that happen again.
--
Nathan groaned, eyes blinking as they cleared, breathing coming easily for the first time in months, pain finally disappearing, staring as two shadowy figures came into focus.
"Peter," he breathed. "Claire... What happened?"
Claire burst into tears as she turned to Peter, and he pulled them all into a hug that held sheer desperation in its strength.
"Claire figured it out Nathan. Her blood healed you," Peter said into his shoulder, his voice ragged.
Nathan turned to his erstwhile daughter, throwing an arm around her, and then another around Peter. Claire could do little more than sob, and Nathan could hear months of self-recrimination in her crying, that she hadn't figured out his miracle cure sooner. But Peter was even worse off, shuddering against him in a breakdown worse than anything Nathan had ever seen. When you'd suddenly become the most powerful person in the world, you got used to being able to fix anything. For months Peter hadn't been able to do anything but watch his brother die by inches.
"It's ok Peter, Claire, it's ok. I'm ok, we're going to be all right," Nathan soothed, knowing they needed him right now as a father and an elder brother, not as a bewildered victim, as much as he'd like to be.
"I should have been better, known more, had more control..." Peter gasped softly. "It won't happen again. I won't let it, Nathan, I promise..."
--
Now Peter used his powers much more sparingly and with greater control, practicing with a dedication that had surprised everyone but Nathan. Arrogance about his abilities wasn’t part of Peter’s personality anymore; when he needed to learn, he would come straight to the source.
“This is important,” Nathan said to Matt. “Don’t let him slack off , whatever you do. Make sure he can handle anything you throw at him. Do your worst, and make sure he can fend it all off.”
“Hey, Peter isn’t some lazy ass college punk,” Matt protested.
“I know you’re having trouble believing all of this. I wouldn’t have believed it myself a year ago. But you saw into the Winchesters' minds-.”
“I wish I hadn’t,” Matt said, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I’m going to have nightmares.”
“Look, just think of it as someone trying to take over Peter’s mind: someone with no morals, no compassion, who would use all of Peter’s powers indiscriminately,” Nathan said, hammering the point home as forcefully as he could.
Matt paled, and Nathan felt tired. He knew it had to be getting harder for them all the time. Matt had lost weight, and Mohinder had looked haggard. Even with Nathan presumed dead, the Company was still powerful, but was currently leaving Matt and Molly alone as a favor to Mohinder. Nathan knew that though it was dangerous and stressful, Matt was still using his ability to help protect any specials he met in the course of his job as a NYPD detective. Maybe Nathan should have wondered why Matt didn’t look worse.
“I never slack off on him,” Matt said, lifting his chin up. Molly apparently heard him and tossed a comment over the back of the couch.
“Don’t be too hard on him Matt!” she exclaimed, grinning. Matt’s expression faltered slightly, torn between the love for his “daughter” and the need to prepare Peter to save himself. Nathan watched the expressions between them and felt his heart contract. Nearly two years away from Simon and Monty and it still hit him like a blow to the gut that he would never see his sons again. That was the reason he hadn’t visited this place since Matt and Molly had arrived. He had never really wanted to come back to New York. It just hurt too much every time.
“I won’t be any harder on him than Nathan is,” Matt said, a ghost of a smile back in place.
“Which will be very hard,” Nathan muttered.
“I know,” Matt murmured.
“Nathan… if the Winchesters are here to see Mohinder, and Peter needs to see me…” It wasn’t that Matt thought Nathan was a fifth wheel. He was probably trying to discern if Nathan was just along for the ride. Matt didn’t exactly approve of what Nathan and Peter had together, and he definitely didn’t appreciate that Nathan had abandoned his family to keep company with his younger brother. He never said a word about it, because he knew the love between them was strong, but Nathan couldn’t blame him for not wanting them to confuse Molly. Nathan didn't need Matt's unstinting approval; it was enough that this was a safe place to stay.
“I’m just here to keep everyone on track,” Nathan said firmly. Matt nodded sharply and went to wait for Peter.
+++++
When the Winchesters arrived back nearly two hours later, Nathan and Peter were already subdued and serious. The news the Winchesters had to tell them didn’t improve their mood.
“That’s not what I wanted to hear,” Nathan said, running a hand through his hair.
“You have to prevent it. The Company will stop at nothing to destroy everyone if it spreads,” Mohinder said. “I know they have contingency plans.”
“We’ll beat them to it,” Sam promised. “May I?” At a nod from Mohinder, he bent over the laptop.
“He’s got mad Googling skills,” Dean said proudly.
"Mohinder, how long do you think we have before the Company figures this out?" Nathan asked while Sam worked.
"I know Noah Bennet is the next person in line for an assignment. With him... maybe a week, if you're lucky."
“Bennet could be useful, assuming we can convince him not to shoot us on sight,” Nathan opined.
“He’s too dangerous, and he’s chased you for too long. I wouldn’t count on his help, and I definitely wouldn’t trust him,” Mohinder said forcefully.
“That’s got to be it,” Sam said triumphantly. “Lake End, Natchitoches Parish, Louisiana.”
“Mad skills,” Dean said.
“Okay,” Nathan said. “I guess we’ve got a flight plan, then.”
“Figuratively speaking, I hope,” said Matt.
“Figuratively,” Nathan assured him.
“Hey Peter. You ready to pull your Scotty impression?” Dean said a little too loudly. He was clearly ready to get this show on the road. Sam picked up their bags as Peter and Nathan made their good-byes. Out of the corner of his eye, Nathan saw Dean sidle up to Matt.
+++++
“So,” Dean asked Matt awkwardly. “You, ah, aren’t going to repeat anything you, ah overheard?”
“Not unless I’m really, really drunk,” Matt promised, smiling slightly. “Believe me, I can keep a secret.” Dean nodded his thanks, then paused.
“You get drunk often?”
Matt snorted. “I have a very clever eleven-year-old and a boyfriend so smart I can barely keep up with his mind when I’m stone-cold sober, so no, I don’t-,” Matt stopped himself dead. “I said boyfriend, didn’t I?”
“Uh, yeah.”
Matt looked embarrassed. Clearly he hadn’t meant for that to slip.
Dean looked back at Mohinder, deep in conversation with Peter and Nathan, appraising him purely aesthetically.
“Did pretty well for yourself,” he opined. Who was Dean to judge anyway? He didn’t have a leg to stand on. Matt flashed a hastily repressed grin.
“Yeah, I did. Good luck, we’re all counting on you four.”
“So, no pressure or anything.”
“Right.”
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![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2009-05-17 03:11 pm (UTC)And YES, what is up with the bad haircut plague? Seriously, I don't see why Milo and Zach would follow his example in this... Aren't they supposed to be the ones with fashion sense?
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Date: 2009-05-19 08:11 pm (UTC)