11

Rightful Accusations:

One

Weeks passed this way. Early energy recharging every few days. Breakfast. Awkward conversation with Dean and the others. Meeting new people. Then work at the bar until they closed. Ellen stopped giving me breaks, which toughened me up, and every now and then I'd be the last one around scrubbing tables before I went to my room and put my systems on diagnostic until morning.

The wear I was getting from work was very beneficial. It was building up resistance and strength in my new joints, teaching me how to interact, and how to be a cog in the machine. I was useful, and I enjoyed it. So far, I had only overturned one pan of dishes that decimated upon their meet with the floor, and spilled two bottles of 'the good stuff,' as Jo put it. But cleaning them up had been much more difficult than breaking them.

I did not eat, or drink, or otherwise. I could. But since the processing speed of my unused artificial organs was snail slow, I had not yet had to rid myself of the little alcohol and the small bits of food Benny and Sam encouraged I try. There were tutorials on how to. I just hadn't opened them yet. I found I preferred cheeseburgers and tater tots over most human food, though.

On my many trips to the bar and through the facilities, I saw very little of Dean. He was always talking to someone, or on a run, or holed up in his room 'on business,' as Jo put it when I asked. I wanted to see more of him. His unsolved discomfort around me was a subject I could not avoid much longer. I needed to know his true intentions.

Jo also advised me against that. "Dean is a hard case to crack," she explained, "asking him for the truth is like asking a turtle to leave its shell. He plays everything close to the chest. Half of us still don't know anything about him, except what Sam tells us. And even then Sam likes to be vague." I became only more determined. He was just afraid someone would use information about his personal life against him. I certainly wouldn't, and anyway it was me he had a problem with not the other way around.

Benny had brought me to spend time in the armory with Garth, in order to verse me in the art of firearms. In a day or so I was fully aware of all of them. Using them, though, was a different matter. Garth made it clear he'd love to teach me, but Dean had warned him against it just yet. I handled them, cleaned them, reloaded them, unloaded them, but did not fire a single one.

Garth kept my spirits high by being a very clumsy, very character-esque friend. I enjoyed his company and his jokes. We spent spare hours in conversation about culture, various cartoons, and little-known comic books. Often, he described what Dean had done over the past ten years. His missions. The news coverage. The big changes. I would clean a handgun while he told me all about Dean's career as a rebel leader. But not many people knew about what he was like before all this. I was steeled to find out.

More clothes had appeared for me to wear. Always while I was working did they come by – most likely Dean – to drop them off on my desk. Another way to avoid me I suppose. Obviously wearing the same thing all the time was unacceptable, seeing as humans wore different things most every day, so I was not surprised. But what did make me curious was the shape of the clothing given. It was all brand new. Like it had been ordered just for me. Compared to Dean's worn offerings they were much stiffer, and less soft. I wore them to be grateful but my favorites remained the ones I often fell back on wearing. There was just something about those Lee's jeans and the torn collar of that t-shirt that I found comfort in.

This morning was similar to the others. I returned from charging to dress for breakfast, except I found that the pile of clothes I'd worn all week had vanished. All that was left was a pair of light-wash jeans and a soft woven long-sleeve shirt the color of angry storm clouds, with three buttons at the collar. My panic clogged my thoughts. Dean's things had been among the pile taken! My favorite possessions, gone! I searched the room vigorously with no luck. Empty closet, empty desk drawers. I pulled off my old clothes and I pulled on the other ones hastily and hurried to breakfast. Someone had to know my clothes had been taken – maybe the culprit was among them. My clothing just irritated me further. These jeans were a size too large. They fell over my boots with extra material and the sleeves of the shirt were far too long.

Only when I arrived at the cafeteria did I realize how early it was. Barely a handful of people were around the tables, some mulling about with their food, and I checked the clock on the wall. I had spent only a little time outside today, because my batteries were mostly full. Spotting Dean talking to Jo at one of the tables, I headed over and sat down beside them, agitated. Their conversation ceased when I came over. I had interrupted something.


Rightful Accusations:

The Other

Kas became a regular. A part of the meshing routine. Not Dean's routine, obviously, but the facilities. He was doing really well with making friends – everybody loved the Android and his shy, serious nature, and the clumsy determination he used to carry out everything asked of him. A few of the younger girls spoke of him pretty highly. But Kas was a hard worker. Obliviously. He hung mostly around Garth these days, him and Sam picking up conversation at meals. Which was good. He was blending.

But someone had noticed the lack of attention being paid to the Android by a certain leader of theirs. He wasn't exactly subtle, after all. Besides a small altercation with Sam over it Dean had found no one else challenging him. But Jo appeared at his door as soon after he'd showered this morning. He left her waiting while he put on boxers and jeans, but after that she'd come in of her own accord.

"Nothing I haven't seen before," she'd replied when he had lifted an eyebrow at her.

Shrugging, Dean nodded and sat shirtless on the end of his bed to pull on black socks. "Ok, fair enough. What's this about?" Last week he'd butted heads with Sam over his limp as well as the way he was treating Kas. But Dean was in charge. He was alpha around here. No matter how good Sam's argument was, Dean was running the facility personally, and that kind of responsibility warranted a bit of weird behavior in his opinion. He had a right.

Jo leaned against the wall as she watched him. "Kas." She replied.

Rising to go to his closet, and trying his best not to limp, Dean glanced over at her. Those dark eyes said she wasn't playing, but her posture said that she thought he was. "Is he all right? What's up? Come on, spit it out." He snapped, a bit irritated that she was being so suspenseful about this.

Her eyes glanced over the scar on his arm before meeting his eyes. "You're ignoring him."

"Seriously?" He asked in exasperation. "Why's it gotta matter to you? I'm trying to get him to integrate here, I can't baby him." He turned away to snatch a shirt and pull it over his head defensively.

"Don't pretend like I don't know you, Dean Winchester," Jo shot back. "You babied everyone their first time here. Not only did you personally yank Kas out of a lab like he was born yesterday, but you made him feel like he's some killer, already! He's barely spilled alcohol, Dean. You dropped him on us and keep glancing back but you won't go to him for anything." Dean froze, glaring at her, and she glared right back. "I know you don't think he's dangerous. So that first part is just you being an ass," she continued blatantly, "but the rest of this is about what it's doing to him."

"You think I-" Dean stammered.

"Dean," she interrupted, "he is always, always asking about you. Your life, your health, your interactions with everyone – you're the only one here who's treating him like he's not one of us! He doesn't understand why you're not giving him the warm and fuzzy, and I don't either!" That shut him up quick. He swallowed and Jo crossed her arms. "Mom says he's an absolute angel. If he could stop knocking over whiskey bottles." That loosened Dean's tension a bit. He sighed as he reached for a shirt to sling over his tee, and shook his head as he did. "Dean, he's done nothing wrong."

Dean tied on his boots and led her out, locking the door behind them. They walked to the cafeteria in silence. What could he say to keep her in the dark, but placate her worries? "I know he hasn't done anything wrong." He grumbled as they sat down with their food.

"Then what is it?" Jo pressed. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the Android approaching.

"None of your business, all right?" Dean sighed. "Look, just, let me take care of it."


Rightful Accusations:

One

"My apologies," I said to the both Jo and Dean as they glanced at me furtively from their seats. "I have found most of my clothing is missing, and I am alarmed." My eyes went to Dean, who, as always, was staring at his plate while he pushed eggs around on it. He never looked at me on purpose. "Someone took the jeans and shirts you gave me as well." That got his attention. He looked at me, and the tension in his eyes was blunted by surprise. "I'm sorry." I blurted. "I… I lost them."

"Saturday is laundry day," Jo chuckled from my side. I glanced at her with round eyes. "The clothes need to be washed once a week. A team comes around and collects all the dirty clothes, washes them, dries them, and sends them back." I stared at her in confusion, and she put a hand on my shoulder. "It's ok, Kas. You didn't lose anything. We forgot to add you to the laundry list until yesterday. You'll get all your clothes back tonight, when they finish washing them."

My panic stalled out. I blinked and touched my forehead. "I thought… I…" This was a weekly ritual? Stealing clothes for the day? I turned to her. "My clothes are not… dirty."

She just laughed. "Kas, dirt doesn't discriminate. Human or not, where you sit, what you touch, what goes on your clothing – especially when you work – stains it, makes it dirty. I can tell you right now that you've smelled like beer for the past two days after that guy tipped it all over your pants."

"Oh." I sat back, blinking. "Oh." Why hadn't I noticed? Cleanliness was not a primary function. I should most likely prioritize my systems. I glanced over at Dean, feeling embarrassment heat my cheeks. How childish I'd been. I sought his approval above everything, and here I was having a melt down over hand-me-downs. His freckles wrinkled with a smile that he let slip.

But the moment I caught his soft gaze, he looked away. A chuckle escaped his lips. "We should really give you a schedule of all the shit we pull. Maybe then we'd save you some grief." He sat back a little and slid his hand into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out a few folded pieces of paper. Each one he squinted at and shuffled behind the others until he found the desired one. Then he offered it to me, and I took it gratefully. "This is everything. Our shifts, the jobs, everything. Plans change the shift order during missions, but otherwise we're on that schedule. And… since you're one of us, I updated it. With your shift at the bar." I was reading it over and preparing to thank him when he rose to his feet. "I've got some plans to go over. Jo, please, God, teach him the meaning of a comb today." I watched him leave with his usual passive-aggressive stride. He never left this early. Maybe it was his leg? His limp had hit a point and become a continuous level of painful – it must be stiffening up.

I got the sudden urge to run after him. I wanted to assess his wound, help him heal it. I couldn't control myself. I was on my feet, striding after him, and Jo was calling after me, but I didn't stop.