Author's Note: WARNING: This chapter contains scenes of physical and sexual violence.
Horseshoes & Hand Grenades
Chapter Four
Running Scared & Free
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Dean warred with himself. There was nothing to be gained by going after her, except perhaps a black eye, but staying alone, with their lovemaking still heavy in the air, didn't have much appeal either. With a muffled oath, he grabbed the first clothes he could find and stomped out to find her.
He didn't have to go far, Ali was leaning against the Impala, smoking, and looking very much like someone with a broken heart.
"I didn't know you smoked" Dean said conversationally, mentally kicking himself for the look on her face
Ali didn't even acknowledge his presence, she just kept smoking, but there was a tremor in her hand when she raised the cigarette to her mouth.
"We have to talk about this Ali" Dean moved to lean beside her, making her glare at him.
"I think we both said everything we needed to." Her voice was harsh as she stubbed out her smoke and turned to walk away.
Dean grabbed her arm, forcing her to face him, forcing her to face herself. When she struggled in his grip he gave her a quick and violent shake.
"Why Allison?"
"Let go of me"
"Answer the question"
"Why what?"
"Why me?"
"What?"
"You were a virgin"
"And?"
"Why me?" he shouted
"I don't know" she shouted back
"Great"
"You know what, fuck you"
"Didn't we already take care of that?"
"Let go of me"
"No"
"Goddamn it Dean let me go!"
"I said no!"
"You want to know why I picked you?"
"Yes dammit, yes"
"Because it hurt"
"What?"
"Everything just hurt, and I needed to..."
"Needed to what? What did you need Ali?"
"I needed to feel something that didn't hurt"
"Oh"
Suddenly everything was starting to make sense. Jake was the last person Ali had in the world, and now he was gone. Dean thought for a moment about what losing Sam might feel like, and immediately his stomach tied itself in knots. He knew all about needing someone, about needing to be needed by someone. God, when did everything get so twisted? How did he screw everything up, and how could he possibly fix this?
"Ali, I'm sorry." Dean let her go, shoving his hands in his pockets
"It's fine, I'm fine."
"I really don't think you are"
"And what about you?"
"What about me?"
"You've recovered Dean, but you haven't healed. You're like Frankenstein's monster, held together by the pain, none of the pieces fitting quite right."
"You think I'm a monster" he was incredulous
"No, I don't. You do."
"You don't have any idea what you're talking about"
"I think I do" she smiled softly
"This isn't a game Ali"
"Yet, you keep playing it, pretending to be something I know you're not."
Dean turned away, unable to face the truth of what she was saying. Ali was right, he hadn't healed; not really, he was just going through the motions and hoping that no one noticed. What the hell was this woman doing to him, turning his whole life upside-down, making him rethink everything about himself. Dean laughed, he couldn't help himself, torture, bullet wounds, knife wounds, bruises, burns, broken bones. A traumatic childhood and a lifetime of following gruesome orders, all that he could handle, but Allison Harvelle shockingly and frequently drove him over the edge.
Ali turned toward her room, calling a last warning over her shoulder.
"Be careful Dean, eventually we all become what we pretend to be."
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The next morning, before she could sneak away, Ali found herself facing an inquisition. At some point in the night, Sam had stumbled back to the motel with tequila coming out his pores, but this morning he was a man on a mission. Sam had a very inquisitive mind, he was always very good at getting the answers he wanted...by whatever means necessary.
They were all gathered in Ali's room, Sam and Dean having barged in and blocked her eminent retreat.
"We know you're one of the 'special children'" Sam started
"Yeah, and?" Ali countered, not liking the direction this conversation was taking
"We know you have death visions" he continued, ignoring her comment
"Again, yeah and?"
"You killed that thing in the park." Sam's voice was stark, grave; he made this statement as cold fact.
"No, I didn't" Ali shook her head
"Ali, I saw it myself, you killed it" Dean added gently, frowning at Sam's tone
"That's impossible"
"Not really" Sam continued, "I met a psychic who could kill like that"
"Really?" Ali snorted "You met a psychic who could use empathy to kill?"
"So that's how you did it" Sam sat back, watching Ali flinch when she realized what she said
"It's complicated"
"How about you start at the beginning?" Dean suggested
Ali flopped gracelessly onto the bed, pressing her head into her hands.
"I've had the..." she hesitated "ability...to read people's emotions for as long as I can remember."
"What do you mean 'read' their emotions?" Dean asked softly, kneeling on the floor at her feet
"I can sense what other people are feeling" Ali looked up at Sam, towering over them like a dark angel, "Like right now Sam is angry, confused, and a little scared."
Sam didn't move, didn't flinch, he just kept looking at her like he would know all her secrets. Dean narrowed his eyes at his brother, he knew Sam better than anyone, Ali was right.
"So you can sense emotions, that's a bit different from reading them isn't it?" Dean concluded, turning his attention back to Ali.
"Yes, reading is purposely reaching into someone and feeling what they are feeling."
"What do you mean by that?" Sam asked, still unmoving.
"You wear your emotions openly Sam, but if I wanted to read your brother..." Ali looked down at Dean and smiled softly "If I wanted to read you Dean, I would have to do it on purpose."
"Why?" Dean asked, both grateful and confused by her statement
"You bury your emotions so deep that half the time I don't even think you know what you're feeling." Her voice was barely above a whisper.
"Sometimes it's like you don't feel anything at all." Sam added, finally relenting
Dean looked from Ali to Sam and back again. That his brother thought he was without feeling stunned him. Did he really hide himself so well that even his own brother couldn't see?
"That doesn't explain what happened at the park" he said, "How the hell did you do that?"
"You know how a Grandmother can lift a car off a child?" Ali said, "You know that the same Grandmother couldn't just do it again, right?"
"Well yeah" Dean shrugged
"It's like that."
"I still don't understand how you did that with empathy" Sam said, shaking his head
"I could feel his pain..." Ali wrapped her arms around herself
"Jake's" Dean said softly
"Yeah" Ali nodded, "I could feel his pain like it was mine"
Sam and Dean shared a look, what could it have been like to feel someone you love in so much pain, to feel them die?
"All I could see was that monster, all I could feel was the pain" Ali shook her head, "It just came out of me..."
"Like a punch" Sam finished softly, he knew something about that.
"Yeah," Ali nodded "Like a punch."
Dean stood, taking a good look around the room for the first time. There were two duffle bags on the far bed, both neatly packed. There was nothing left in the room, Ali was leaving again.
"Hey Sam" he said, turning to his brother, "Could you give us a minute?"
Sam nodded, reaching out to touch Ali's arm in a wordless apology before slipping out the door.
"Were you even going to say goodbye?" he asked her, motioning to the packed bags.
"I thought about it."
"And?"
"What was I going to say Dean?" Ali asked, rising to face him "What could I possibly say to you?"
"I don't know" he admitted, "But you could have said something."
"What would you have said?" she countered easily
When he didn't reply, Ali grabbed the bags and turned for the door.
"Ali please just give me a chance," Dean said suddenly, moving himself between Ali and the door. "I know I've been a right bastard..."
"It's not about chances Dean" she said "We make our own chances, we get to decide, we make our own fate."
"I don't understand" and he didn't, what did fate have to do with it?
"I just can't do this. I have to go, you have to let me go." Ali's voice cracked, unable to contain the emotions boiling under the surface any longer.
At the sound of tears in her voice, Dean realized she was right. He had no right to keep her, he had nothing to offer her, Ali was better off on her own. The thought of Ali off on her own twisted in his gut, pressed a sharp pain in his chest.
With a heavy sigh, Dean opened the door and let Ali walk out of his life...again.
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Birmingham, Alabama
Two Weeks Later
Ail didn't know what she was still doing in Birmingham, it had been almost two weeks and she needed to get out of town. The odds that the Winchester's were looking for her were slim, but she needed the distance.
While she pondered her next move over a cup of coffee at the local diner, someone else was stacking the odds. Just as Ali folded up her map, a young creole woman slid into the booth across from her.
"Can I help you?" Ali asked, reaching casually for the gun in her bag
"I need your help to get to New Orleans" the woman replied
"What makes you think I would take you to New Orleans?" Ali was incredulous, but a little intrigued
"My name is Brenna LaSalle, I need to get to New Orleans and you can take me there."
"Sweetheart, there are a million and one people more likely to help you out than me." Ali stood, tossing money on the table for the bill.
"It has to be you" Brenna begged imploringly "She said it had to be you"
"Who said?"
"Missouri"
"How do you know Missouri?"
"She was teaching me to use my gifts"
"So you're a psychic?"
"Yes"
"What's in New Orleans that you have to get to so badly?"
"My mama is..." Brenna hesitated "She's not well"
"And you need to get there to take care of her?"
"I need to say goodbye"
"Well..." Ali hesitated, feeling the pain wash off Brenna in waves. "Can you be ready to leave in about an hour?"
"Of course, where do you want me to meet you?"
"I'm staying at the Calloway Motel, you know it?"
"Yes"
"Meet me out front in an hour"
With that, Ali strode out the door without a backward glance. What the hell possessed her to agree to take a complete stranger to Louisiana? Shaking her head at herself, Ali climbed into the truck. Thankfully New Orleans wasn't much more than five hours away, easy to make it before dark and be back on the road.
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True to her word, Brenna was waiting next to the truck when Ali came out an hour later. Tossing her bags in the back and gesturing Brenna to do the same, Ali jogged over to the office to check out.
Swinging into the cab, Ali took a good look at her companion. Brenna was short, probably no more than 5'4", her skin was the colour of coffee and cream, but her eyes were shocking. Large and almond-shaped bottle green eyes, reminding Ali painfully of Dean. Shaking her head as if to rid herself of unwanted thoughts, Ali pulled out of the parking lot and onto the highway.
Thankfully Brenna wasn't a talker, content to simply stare out the window and listen to the classic rock blaring from the radio, but this left Ali to her own thoughts, troubling as they were. What if running wasn't the answer, what if it only made things worse? Missouri always said that you couldn't outrun your fate, that often running lead you right to where you were trying not to go.
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It was still early afternoon when they pulled into New Orleans, heat pouring off the road in visible waves. They drove through the city and into the bayou, weaving along old back country roads. Ali was surprised by the well-kept condition of the house Brenna directed her to. It was an old plantation manor, faded with age, but still beautiful.
"Did you want to come in?" Brenna asked softly, lifting her bag from the back.
"I don't think so"
"Might be you find what you're looking for"
"And what might I be looking for?" Ali asked, gazing sharply at the other woman
"That's not for me to know" Brenna shrugged, turning for the wide front porch "Coming?"
The inside of the house was much better preserved than the outside. Miles of pine floors gleamed in the light from the large bay windows. Ali ran her hand along the curve of the banister, looking up at the old chandelier with wonder.
"In here child." A woman's voice called from the parlor
"I'm sorry, Brenna's gone upstairs" Ali said softly, poking her head into the room
"S'not Brenna I'm waiting for."
"Oh, well then."
Ali stepped into the parlor, immediately enthralled by the woman in front of her. Of indeterminate age, she was obviously a Voodoo Priestess, garbed in the trappings of her faith.
"Why do you run away child?" her voice was rich, like smoke and honey
"I'm not running"
"Not just now, but it's what you do, isn't it?"
"I feel the weight of the world bearing down on me. A future I don't want." Ali paused, not knowing where that thought came from "So I keep running as fast as I can... anywhere... nowhere."
The woman just stared at her, intense, like she could see right inside, like all the secrets of the soul were hers.
"I know you." She said suddenly, eyes clearing "You're the Angel of Fire."
Ali jerked at the woman's words. There had been a paramedic, when her mother died, who called her that.
"You know what you have to do" the woman continued, "you know there are certain sacrifices that need to be made."
"What sacrifices?" Ali's voice was barely a whisper
"If you don't find a way to save him, you will all die."
The woman paused, considering for a moment.
"There is a great prophecy." Seeing the comprehension in Ali's face she continued, "You know what I speak of."
"Yes."
"You have only one destiny, and that destiny is... that you must offer your life in exchange for the life of the chosen one." The woman's eyes were cloudy again, and something in the air made Ali's hair stand on end.
"Who is the chosen one?" Though she dreaded the answer, Ali had to know.
"Only you know the answer...the choice is yours."
Before Ali could ask anything else, before she could demand answers, Brenna came back downstairs.
"Ali?" she said tentatively, "Do you think you could take me into town?"
"Yeah Brenna, sure" Ali shook her head, feeling the delicate touch of another mind.
They were just stepping off the porch when the woman came to the door
"Allison" she called, making Ali stop and turn "Remember love."
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They never made it back to the city.
Ali woke up in a small cell, with no memory of how she got there. Feeling her way around in the intermediate light from a small window, she figured the room was no more than about 5'x6' and about 15' high. There was a cot, where she had woken up, a sink, and a toilet. Not exactly the Ritz. Poor Brenna was nowhere to be found, a thought that was both comforting and troubling.
Before Ali could process what all this might mean, the cell door swung open. The light from the hall was temporarily blinding, causing Ali to turn away from her jailor. His voice brought her back around.
"Have a good sleep honey?" he stepped into the light, smiling at the raw terror on her face.
It was her father. William Anthony Harvelle had been, in the prime of his life, a very attractive man. Powerfully built, but still graceful. The last memory Ali had of her father was the day he died, broken and bleeding, but the man in front of her was flawless. Though her first thought was shapeshifter, Ali quickly discounted that.
"Who the hell are you?" She demanded
The man smiled, "I'm your father Allison, don't you recognize me?"
"My father is dead"
The man laughed. Ali wanted it to be an evil sound, something out of nightmares, but it was her father's laugh, open and genuine. It made her skin crawl.
"Where am I?"
"You're where you belong"
"Why are you holding me here?"
"You have something we want, and we will do whatever it takes to get it from you."
"What do you want?"
"You'll find out soon enough"
With that last cryptic remark, he left, closing and locking her door behind him.
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Ali had all night to ponder her fate. Was help coming? Would anyone notice she was gone? Were Sam and Dean looking for her? After a sleepless night of worst-case scenarios, Ali decided that her best chance of rescue was for someone to notice Brenna was missing and launching a search. With the life of a hunter, it was highly unlikely anyone would know she was gone until it was much too late.
Her "father" came back some time in the morning with some food, a bowl of runny oatmeal that a generous soul might call breakfast. Ali choked it down, fearing that more might be a long time coming. Her father stayed while she ate, just watching her from the doorway. When she was done eating he gestured her to follow him down the hallway. He lead her into another room, similar to her original cell, but with some frightening extras.
This room was obviously used for interrogation. There was a cot in the corner, but the manacles made it much less cozy. Chains hung from the ceiling and at random intervals on the walls. A smart designer had put a drain in the center of the floor, which sloped slightly downward. The room made Ali's blood run cold. If this was intended to scare her, it worked brilliantly.
"What do you want from me?" She demanded with a bravado she didn't quite believe
"I don't want anything from you, my associate will be along shortly."
Giving her a small push further into the room, he closed the door behind her. The door re-opened a few minutes later, and Ali forced herself to face the man who would be her torturer.
"Hey Ali-bear"
"Oh God" she choked, backing away like the devil himself was before her
"Is that any way to greet an old friend?" he asked, smiling
"You're not him"
"Are you really sure?"
"You can't be him"
"You'd be amazed at what's possible if you're willing to do what needs to be done"
"No" she whispered weakly
"Yes" he countered
"You can't be him, you can't be"
"I think we both know that I am"
There was just no way. All the things she had seen and done in her life, this she refused to believe.
"John Winchester is dead"
"Did I say I wasn't dead?" he asked, cocking his head and looking so much like his youngest son that bile rose in the back of her throat.
"What do you want from me?" she whispered
"I want answers Allison" with lightening reflexes he had her in his grip, "and you're going to give them to me one way or another."
His fist struck the side of her face like a brick. It was only a moment before she dropped unconscious into his arms. When she came back around, Ali found herself hanging uncomfortably from the chains in the ceiling.
"If this is your idea of fun, I really underestimated you" she quipped, mind frantically working
"My but you have turned into quite the mouthy little wench" John replied, moving to a hidden compartment in the wall.
It wasn't John, she was sure of that, but she couldn't think of him any other way right now.
"You know, if you ask nicely, I might just tell you what you want to know," she said, trying to balance on her toes.
John turned toward her, a frayed electrical cable in his hands.
"No." He said, advancing "I want you to tell me what you never want me to know."
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A few hours later and Ali was thrown back into her original cell. Broken and bleeding, she collapsed on the little cot and gave in to unconsciousness. She had to give points for creativity, electrical cables were an excellent weapon, she might just have to remember that.
Shortly after sunup, her father came back with more runny oatmeal.
"Just tell him what he wants to know and he'll stop hurting you" he said softly, brushing her matted hair from her eyes.
"My father never gave two shits about me, if you were really him you'd know that."
"I always loved you Allison, whatever else you believe, you have to believe that."
Before she could reply, he was out the door, the lock sounding ominous in the sudden quiet. Ali ate what she could, fighting waves of nausea with every bite, knowing that she was going to need all of her strength to make it through today.
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John was feeling talkative today. Ali was chained back up to the ceiling, manacles digging painfully into the welts from the day before.
"If you would permit me, I'd like to make an observation." John circled her like a shark
"Doesn't look like I can do anything to stop you just now." Ali jerked her head at the chains
"You're drawn to powerful men but you fear their power." He still circled her "You keep your guard up, a wall around your heart." John pressed his hand over her chest, fingers digging into her collarbone
"Oh please, do tell" she twisted herself out of his grip
Not at all upset, John resumed his pacing, reaching out to touch her as he went.
"How else do you explain your fearless devotion to a man obsessed, and yet you live alone?"
"I don't know, why don't you tell me Freud?" If this was a new form of torture, it was working.
"You'd die for Dean but you won't allow yourself to love him."
The sudden shift made her afraid. How much did they know, or suspect? Was this what they were really looking for?
"Love is a dangerous thing, you taught me that Johnny boy"
"You're afraid."
"Wow. I'm learning a whole other side to you. Not only are you a cold-blooded killer, you're a psychologist too." She had to throw him off, keep him from finding out about his sons.
"Tell me I'm wrong" John moved in front of her, demanding an answer
"You're wrong" she parroted obediently
"Say it like you mean it" He grabbed her face hard in his hands
"You. Are. Wrong." She bit out, fighting the urge to vomit
"Liars go to hell Allison" John danced away now, moving back to the secret compartment
"It's Ali, and I'm not going to hell, you are." Though her stomach dropped to her knees, Ali played brave, thrusting her pain at his mind
"That hurt...I kinda liked it." He turned to her, cable back in his hands "How about you?"
The quick slash was shallow, but it danced across her already enflamed senses.
"Go.To.Hell." She spat, eyes flashing
"There's my fightin' girl. Knew she was in there somewhere dying to come out and play." He grinned, looking more evil than she ever thought possible.
"I am not your girl, 'fightin' or otherwise"
"You will be"
He sounded so certain, so firm, Ali knew that they weren't going to let her go. It was join them, or die.
"Never." Well she had never really been a joiner.
"I know how you feel, forced to be someone you're not. It hurts, doesn't it?" John ran the cable lovingly along her shoulder.
"I thought I told you to go to hell" Ali spat, twisting away from him again
"Losing your family rips out your heart and your guts and your feelings until all that's left is the pain. Right? Hurts to the bone." The cable hit the floor as John pressed his hands over the welts on her skin. "You try to bury the pain, but you can't get the hole deep enough, can you? No matter how much you dig, it's still there. Broken shards stabbing every time you breathe, cutting you up inside." Digging his thumbs into her sides, he smiled when she gasped weakly "You know, there's only one way to make the pain stop. Hurt someone else."
"Alright then" she panted, "maybe I will"
Before he could react, Ali jerked on the chains, drawing her legs up and around his shoulders. Twisting viciously, she flinched when she heard the crunching snap of his neck. Letting his body slump to the floor, Ali thrashed until she felt one of her hands give. Thankfully, all the bleeding she had done had lubricated the manacles, allowing her to slide free.
Once she made it to the hallway, Ali realized her problems were bigger than she thought. The place was a maze of hallways and doors. Everything looked exactly the same. There was no sign of Brenna, and Ali really couldn't leave without her. Before she could decide which way to turn, warm hands came down on her shoulders. Turning to face this new threat, Ali nearly collapsed when she saw his face.
"Dean!" She cried, throwing herself into his arms.
"Shhh" He comforted her gently, "Come with me"
Ali followed, gripping his hand tightly in her own. When he lead her back to her original cell, she stopped, still holding his hand. He tugged gently, urging her to trust him, and she did. Suddenly, using her hand as leverage, he jerked her into the room, slamming the door behind them.
"Dean?" she whispered, suddenly afraid
"You've been a very stubborn little bitch Allison" He replied, tossing his jacket on the floor
"You're not the real Dean, are you?" Ali backed away, bumping into the cot and losing her balance.
"You're very smart you know" he replied conversationally, "You don't ask if I am Dean, you ask if I'm the real Dean"
He struck her hard across the face. Tears temporarily obscuring her vision, she didn't see his intent until it was too late. Already in tatters, her shirt tore free with a jerk of his hands. He pushed her now, pressing his body down to keep her down.
"Do you know what happens to bad girls Allison?" he hissed in her ear, hands pushing at her jeans
"Please" she whimpered, "Don't do this"
There was no escaping him. Even if she wasn't already injured, she was no match for his strength. The only thing she could do was endure it. He didn't bother with preliminaries, he simply forced his way inside her. Ali thought, with all the other pains, this one could go unnoticed. She was wrong. She heaved under him, bucking and fighting to simply get away. With a painful grip he flipped her onto her back, straddling her hips he fought to subdue her. Punching and slapping, blows dull and heavy, there was more blood now. When she stopped moving, he lifted her legs and tore his way back inside her. Not Dean her mind repeated over and over like a mantra, Not Dean. As her eyes swelled shut she could block out his face, but his voice crept into her mind, taunting her.
"Such a good little bitch" he panted, thrusting hard and fast "Fuck me so good"
As hard as she tried to stop them, small noises forced their way from her, animal noises, mewling and crying. He seemed to enjoy this, working his way harder inside her, when suddenly he stopped. Ali blinked up at him, knowing he wasn't finished with her just yet. He stood over the bed, appraising the battered body beneath him. Suddenly he flipped her back onto her stomach, forcing her legs wide he shoved hard into her ass. Ali screamed, pain burning like fire up her spine. He worked slowly this time, making her feel every second of it.
It was Earnest fucking Hemmingway, she thought to herself, who said you should pass out from pain, but rarely do. Well it was obvious no one had ever raped him, because if the little dancing spots were any indication, Ali was not going to be able to take much more of this. Not Dean, she repeated firmly to herself, Not Dean.
Then it was over. He pulled out of her with a sucking pop, smirking as she drew herself painfully into the fetal position.
"I'm going to come back tomorrow," he whispered, pulling his pants back on. "And when I do, you're going to tell me everything, aren't you?"
Ali whimpered, unable to speak.
"That's my girl."
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Author's Note: This chapter kinda sucks. It all sounded so much better inside my head. Any other author, I am sure, has had the same problem, I just couldn't figure out how to fix this. I was supposed to have it to you guys almost two weeks ago, but it was really difficult to write. Going to the dark side may seem like a good idea, but it's really hard to come back from. Let me tell you, trying to write "Dean" raping is REALLY hard, and hell, writing a rape scene is just hard regardless. I promise that the next chapter will be more Sam and Dean centric, but I am not going to give an E.T.A., as I have NO idea how long it might take to write. I will say that I have started it, but this one was really long and the next one might be just as bad. 5,000+ words, what the hell was I thinking? Don't answer that.
DISCLAIMER: The Angel of Fire bit was paraphrased from Domino, kinda, because I was already going to call her that…and then I saw the movie. A bit of the last torture scene with John is paraphrased from Angel, because it stuck in my head and wouldn't let go. I don't own it…I just borrowed it…sorry for misusing it…don't sue.