Warnings: Slash (Dean Ambrose/CM Punk), Post-Apocalyptic AU, Fluff, Death.
Run!
His heart beating out of his chest, his legs working as fast as they can.
Don't wait for me!
He forces himself to go faster, forces himself to get to where he needs to be. The shelter is close, and his place is secured. He'll be safe once he gets there.
If it happens, don't look back. Just run.
His father's words.
Go!
His mother's when the fire started falling. He'd started running, and he's still running now. Pushing his way past screaming men, pleading women, and crying children.
"I have a number!" He calls out, and waves his hand in the air. His number boldly stamped on the back of his hand in ink that can't be washed off. "Let me in! Let me in! I have a number!" A single guard approaches, a scanner in his hand. It passes over the number, and the machine chirps.
"That one comes in." The guard grabs him by the scruff of the neck, and pulls him up and over the barricade. "Follow her." He gestures to a female guard, and he follows her obediently. She moves quickly, shunting him into a teleporter.
"It'll be okay." She says, a smile on her face. She's pretty, but not like his mom. His mom is pretty but in the way that moms are pretty. This lady is pretty in the way that the ferocious animals in the zoo were pretty. There's nothing soft about this lady, just violence and danger. "You'll be okay." She promises, and pushes the buttons to send him into the shelter.
He arrives inside the teleportation tube. A few quiet sounds whisper from above. Muted explosions, silenced screams, sirens. He doesn't want to think about it too much. There's no point in thinking too much. No good will come from thinking about what's happening outside. It's better to focus on the here and now. The shelter is full. Women and children are huddled nervously in corners. Men are pacing, or smoking, or drinking. And him. He's standing alone near where the teleporters let out looking around, hoping to see his parents. A soldier comes over to him.
"Get away from there. You're in the way." The soldier grabs his arm and pulls him away from the teleporters. Another child materialises in it, and stumbles forward. It's not his mother. He'd hoped it was, but it's not. "Over there." The soldier points to the women and children. He and the other child go. This new little girl can't seem to stay upright. She keeps stumbling. He moves to help her, but stops before he can touch her. She feels hot even from a distance.
"Are you okay?" He asks her quietly. She shakes her head and opens her mouth to try to speak, but it flaps uselessly. A soldier, a woman this time, looks over at them, and then grabs him, flinging him away from the girl.
"Get back all of you!" The soldier, not soft like his mom but still beautiful like the guard from the top, shouts. Her gun is pointed at the girl. She doesn't wince as she pulls the trigger. He's never seen a dead body before. He never wants to see another. The soldier calls a man in a white coat over. He's dressed like a doctor, but he doesn't look kind like any doctor he's ever been to.
"The boy." The unkind looking doctor says, pointing to him. "Did he touch it?" The soldier looks at him. She looks uncertain, and he shakes his head. He didn't touch the girl, she was too hot to touch. "We can't take chances." The unkind doctor snaps his fingers, and people in hazmat suits appear. They grab him roughly.
"Where's my mom?" He asks softly. He wants his mom. He knows she won't be able to do anything, but he wants her all the same. He's scared, and she always makes him feel less scared. The soldier looks at him sadly, and squats down in front of him, behind her other hazmat wearing people start to clean up the dead girl.
"What's her number?" The soldier asks it softly, and he feels a little safer. Ladies are always safer than men.
"Four-Three-two." He remembers all of his family's numbers. His father had made him remember. He's four-three-four, his brother four-three-three, his father four-three-one, and his mother is four-three-two. He remembered them carefully, right up there with his address and telephone number. The soldier types on her wrist computer, and smiles at him sadly.
"She'll probably arrive soon." She stands up, and looks at the hazmat people. They take him away. He doesn't know where to but it's all white.
"In here." Another unkind doctor says, pointing to a little cell. The hazmat people push him into the cell, and he is alone. He's alone for a very long time.
Floor Zero
"Subject Four-three-four is over here." Doctor Heyman gestures with one hand towards the screens on the wall, and meets Dean's bored gaze easily. "Very brief contact with The Blaze." The doctor sounds gleeful.
"Impossible." Dean snaps staring at the subject inside his cell. "There's no way that subject is from The Blaze." Heyman pulls up the subject's records, and taps at the first data entry made over three hundred years ago. "Impossible."
"And now you know why this facility is so important." Heyman smiles at him, and returns his gaze to the subject. "You've an important task here, Ambrose. Head of security is not to be taken lightly. Four-three-four is one of our more docile subjects, but make no mistake he is dangerous." Dean stares at the figure lying on the bed in the cell on the screen, and shakes his head.
"He doesn't look dangerous." Dean mutters. Heyman smirks at him, and types at the screen for a second. A security video flashes up. A corridor filled with security personnel making routine rounds one moment, a grisly scene of flayed corpses and viscera appears the very second, they walk past the cell labelled four-three-four. The footage from inside the cell shows the subject standing staring at the wall, his fingers balled up in the sleeves of his simple clothes, shaking slightly.
"He's dangerous, Ambrose. Very dangerous." Heyman chuckles. "There's a reason we don't let anyone near him." Dean's read the records of all the subjects housed in Heyman's laboratory, and none of them made for as interesting but unbelievable reading as Four-three-four.
"No one?" Dean stares at the man on the screen, subject Four-three-four as he is now. Pale, thin, dressed in simple white clothes, his hair shaved short, his gaze fixedly on the door to his cell.
"It's not safe unless the subject is subdued. It's how we bath him. Four-three-four is our most valuable resource, and our most dangerous." Heyman turns from the monitor to Dean. "Be very careful when you're on this floor, Ambrose. Four-three-four is unpredictable, and dangerous." Dean nods absently, staring at the man on the screen. He looks so small and fragile. He can't be dangerous, he just can't be. "Docile, but dangerous." Heyman smiles at Dean, and turns away from the monitor. "You've been reassigned from Residential, right?"
"Yeah… It was decided I'd done enough to keep them safe, and that I'd be better served down here." Dean mutters, his gaze still fixated on Four-three-four. "You're sure it's him that's dangerous? He-"
"Don't be fooled by him. He's a weapon, and the enemy knows it. The Blaze reacts with different people differently, and there's a reason that research into has been banned." Heyman positions himself between Dean and the monitor. "Don't worry about him. The research team mostly take care of him." Dean nods, and follows Heyman the remaining tour of the facility.
Floor One Hundred and Fifty
His home in The Tower is on floor one-fifty. He's lived there ever since becoming a member of the security forces. Before being assigned to the facility, on floors zero to ten, Dean worked up on floors one to two hundred. He does and doesn't miss working residential floors. He misses there being people to talk to, but he doesn't miss the crime rates.
The subjects Dean's monitoring are all quiet and docile most of the time, but every so often something will happen. There's been one death in all the three months Dean's been there. He doesn't like dwelling on the desiccated corpse, he's seen enough to not really care, but he does dwell on who he could have avoided there being a corpse. Four-three-four is as Heyman said, dangerous. But why, and how, did Four-three-four kill that guard. It weighs on Dean's mind. He doesn't like not having answers, and he doesn't like not knowing how to get them.
Four-three-four haunts the back of Dean's mind. He's taken the non-classified version of Four-three-four's notes home many times, trying to read and understand as much of them as he can. They're bewildering. The sheer length of time Four-three-four's been alive is terrifying. Three hundred and five years. He was made a subject at five years old when The Blaze occurred. The subject in the cell Dean finds himself staring at so often is over three hundred years old, but barely looks as old as Dean.
Floor Three Hundred and Ninety-Nine
Being called to see the higher-ups is never fun. Dean's met with the executives on a handful of occasions, and each time he's felt like a child being called to floor three hundred and twenty, where his principal's office was. He hadn't like his principal, and he doesn't like the executives. The receptionist gives him an elevator key, and tells him to take it to floor four-thirty-four. It almost feels like fate, and it doesn't comfort Dean at all.
Floor Four Hundred and Thirty-Four
Floor four hundred and thirty-four turns out to be a research lab. Men and women in white coats are pouring over computers and beakers of chemicals that are bubbling or smoking lightly.
"Ambrose?" A man approaches him, a tall, solid man with a genial smile.
"Yeah. I'm guessing you're who called me here." Dean fidgets, and wishes he'd known more about the four hundred floors. He'd thought he'd been called to see the executives, he'd thought he was going up to the five hundreds. He's never been on a four hundred floor before. The man nods, and beckons Dean to follow him. "Why am I here?" Dean asks once they get into a stairwell. He's taken stairs in The Tower before, but not often. They're usually the home for nefarious deeds, but this one is clinically clean.
"This way." The man walks down a few flights, and stops on a landing. He taps the wall, and then presses his hand against it. A secret door opens, and he quickly ushers Dean in. "Let's go." The man keeps walking, and Dean hurries to catch up with him. He's never seen a place like this. It's probably maintenance tunnels, but he's studied plans of The Tower, and he's never seen this tunnel on them.
"Where are we going?" Dean trails along behind the man, staring a hole into the back of his head. The man shakes his head, and pushes open a door. Inside the room there's several strangely dressed people.
"Ambrose!" One of the people steps forward, and claps Dean on the shoulder. He recognises this man. He's the son of the Chief Executive, Shane McMahon. "I'm glad you came. We've a big ask for you." Shane ushers him over to a screen, and gestures to it. It shows Four-three-four sitting on the bed in his cell. "We want him out. Our researchers have been studying the samples we've stolen from Tower researchers, and we know how the Blaze manifested in him. We need to get him out of here before they work it out. Colt's been doing all he can to fudge their results, but it's getting too risky." The man who'd taken Dean here smiles over at him, and he assumes that must be Colt. "We need you to get him to The Roof."
"The Roof? Are you insane?" Dean shakes his head, and takes a step back. "The Roof leads to the outside, and there's nothing out there." Shane laughs softly at Dean's outburst.
"They lied to you. The Earth's recovering nicely without humans all over the place. We need you to take him to Independence. When you get to The Roof one of our guys will meet you." Shane approaches Dean, and claps him on the shoulder. "His whole life has been nothing but that cell and pain. You can help him. We've been keeping an eye on you, and we know you want to do that." Shane squeezes Dean's shoulder, and smiles. "You've a few days to think about it. If you decide you want to help us, go to floor seventy-nine on Thursday at eight p.m." Shane glances over at Colt, and Dean's taken away from the little meeting room.
Floor Seventy-Nine
This isn't a floor Dean's ever been on before. There's nothing but crates and the destitute. He looks out of place. He's dressed in nice clothes and has had a shower this morning. Every person he's walked past so far is clad in filthy rags, and looks like bathing is low on their list of priorities. But, he'd spent the last few days staring at Four-three-four. He'd been shaking the whole time, blood stains on his white clothes, and a bruise that had looked terrible for an hour then healed on his face. Dean can't leave him where he is, Four-three-four deserves something other than the cell he's been left in for so long.
"You must be the guy I'm looking for." A hand lands on Dean's shoulder. He freezes, his hand going straight for his gun. "Don't worry, I'm a friend of a friend." The man holding his shoulder tugs Dean back a little. "This way." He follows the man into the alleyway, his hand resting on his gun the whole time. The man is silent the whole walk, but keeps his hand on Dean's shoulder. "In here." Dean follows the man into the room, and is surprised by the bustle inside it. A young woman looks up at him, and smiles.
"You must be Ambrose." She shakes his hand, and beams at him. "Alrighty. I'm gonna need a handprint." She holds out a tablet to him, and grabs his wrist, pressing his hand flat against the tablet. She carries the tablet over to the computer in the corner, and starts typing quickly. "Fit him up for a com, will you?" She calls out, and another woman comes over to Dean. She takes his wrist, and wraps a tape measure around it, then hops over to a shelving unit on the wall.
"C'mere." She calls out to him. Reluctantly he goes over to the woman, and she snaps a communications unit onto his wrist. "Okay. This here has a list of all the safe passages, ducts and houses you can use. It also has a scrambler in it, so it'll be harder for Tower Security to track you." She smiles at him, and shows him how to access the maps showing safe places. The first woman comes over, and taps Dean on the shoulder.
"Passage doors are accessible using your handprint, press it against the sensor and the door will open. The first thing you need to do once you've got him out of the facility is get him here. We're gonna need to check for tracking chips, or anything else they might have implanted into him. Do you have a start date?" The woman looks at Dean, and he nods.
"Midnight. I want him out as soon as I can." Dean sounds determined, he feels determined. He just hopes he can succeed.
Floor Zero
Dean's hands are shaking as he types in the security code to cell four-three-four. The subject isn't moving. He's just sitting with his back pressed against the wall staring at him. Dean creeps forward carefully, and forces a smile to his face.
"I need you to trust me." Dean says softly, and he hopes that Four-three-four understands him. "I need you to come with me, okay?" Dean offers a hand, and Four-three-four looks at him blankly. "Do you understand what I'm saying?" Four-three-four blinks slowly, and nods.
"I…" He stands slowly, and looks around the cell desperately. "Is it supposed to be open?" He asks softly, and Dean finds himself reaching out for Four-three-four to pull him close. He takes a firm hold of Four-three-four's hand, and leads him out of the cell.
"C'mon." Dean hurries him along, and hopes that the security detail are still watching the looped footage he put in place. He doesn't want to see what Four-three-four can do up close and personal. His job is to get the subject, and get out. Half of the job is done, the other, harder, half is left. "C'mon. You have to move faster than this."
"I…" Four-three-four looks hopelessly at Dean, and shakes his head. He waves down at his skinny legs, and frail body. "I didn't know it opened without there being more people." His voice is tiny, so soft and quiet it almost hurts to hear. Dean chokes back bile, and bites his lip thinking about how to get Four-three-four out of here if he can't move faster than the mostly atrophied creature he is. He could carry him, but they'd get caught. They could try to sneak out. He could get a gurney and pretend to be moving a corpse. In the end, he ushers Four-three-four into a janitor's closet, and tells him to wait there. The subject looks confused, but agrees. It takes Dean about five minutes to find a suitably sized uniform, and another three to explain what was going on to Four-three-four enough for him to put it on.
"Now… Just pretend to be drunk." Dean wraps an arm around the subject's slight waist, and hopes that no one looks to closely at them. He's not wearing his head of security clothes, they're both just regular looking security guys heading somewhere whilst being a little tipsy. Four-three-four's a little wobbly anyway, so somehow this shoddy plan works. Now to take the elevator to floor seventy-nine, and hope that Shane's people have someone there to meet them.
Floor Seventy-Nine
A large man with a scowl on his face bumps into Dean and Four-three-four as soon as they step off the elevator.
"This way." He mutters quietly, and Dean catches Four-three-four's hand once more, gently tugging him along. He seems bewildered and scared, but Dean can't blame him. His whole life he's lived in a cell in the Facility, and now he's travelling around The Tower he knows nothing about.
"It's okay." Dean tells him softly. "These people are going to help you." Four-three-four looks even more confused, but doesn't comment, instead he focusses on keeping moving. The large man leads them back to the room Dean had gotten his com-unit from. The woman inside looks delighted to see Four-three-four, and quickly she takes him over to the computer. She's talking a mile a minute, but Dean's not listening to what she's saying. Instead he's watching Four-three-four. The subject looks scared. He keeps wincing whenever some comes over to him with any kind of enthusiasm or metal object. "It's okay." Dean finds himself taking Four-three-four's hand once more. "They're going to check for a tracking device, and anything else that might have been done to you, and then we're going to get out of here."
"Where are we going?" Four-three-four's focused on Dean. His attention squarely on him, and not the woman poking at his arm.
"A place we call Independence." The woman smiles brightly, and pats Four-three-four's shoulder. "You're all clear sweetie."
"Independence from what?" Four-three-four gets to his feet, not letting go of Dean's hand for even a second.
"This." The woman waves her hand around, and smiles at him. "We are Independence. It's our desire to leave this tower and to be free once more. Getting you out of here is Dean's job, and once you're out, you'll be free for the first time in three hundred years." The woman smiles at him fondly, and turns to Dean. "We've cleared a service elevator. This key will take you up to floor four hundred and thirty-four. Colt'll meet you there. He'll give you another clearance. Hopefully, you'll be up and out before too long."
Floor Ninety-three
At floor ninety-three, a delivery team gets on the elevator. Four-three-four moves as close to Dean, and the package the woman on seventy-nine had given him to take to Colt, as he can. The delivery team make rambling small talk with Dean, and Four-three-four ignores them as much as he can. He stands as still as a statue, clinging to Dean's hand, and staring straight ahead. One of the delivery team comments on him, and Dean shakes his head.
"He's never been on the service elevators before." Dean offers, knowing that it's a fairly reasonable explanation. The service elevators move far quicker than civilian ones, and they're much more barebones. It's not uncommon for people to be uncomfortable in them.
"You'll get used to it." The delivery man says with a laugh. "What floor you heading to?"
"Four-thirty-something." Dean offers vaguely, and the delivery man nods.
"Up to research… All those white coats make me uncomfortable, you know?" A different member of the delivery team mutters. "Hate those fuckers, reminds me of being a kid."
"Alright, alright. Quit your yammering. This is our floor." They bundle out with their shipping crates.
Floor One Hundred and One
"It was nice speaking to you boys." The foreman for the delivery team waves goodbye as the elevator starts moving again.
"Why would white coats remind him of being a kid?" Four-three-four asks softly, and Dean shakes his head. He doesn't like thinking about being a child too much. It wasn't a pleasant experience at all. "My doctor was really nice… Do you think he had a mean doctor?"
"Four-three-four, things are different now. Did you grow up with your parents?" Dean sets the package down, and looks over at Four-three-four. He nods, and his gaze falls to the floor.
"Until they put me in the white room. Every day until we had to go to the shelter I was with my mom and dad and brother." Four-three-four smiles sadly at the floor.
"Here in The Tower, kids are born, and then they're taken to the three hundred floors. They go to school, they sleep, they play without ever knowing their parents. Here, our parents are the executives." Dean squeezes Four-three-four's hand gently. "Every week we have to go to see the white coats… It's not a fun experience."
"Oh." Four-three-four whispers something softly to himself, and Dean decides it's best not to pry into what revelation Four-three-four's just had. "What's your name?"
"Dean." Dean's shocked more than anything at Four-three-four's question. He'd not been expecting the question, and he's not entirely sure he should have answered, but he did. Four-three-four looks pleased to have an answer, and Dean supposes there's no harm in letting Four-three-four know his name.
Floor Four Hundred and Thirty-Four
"You made it." Colt greets them at the service elevator, and quickly ushers them into one of the Independence secret ducts. "They've notice he's missing, so you're going to have to be a little more careful.
"I know you." Four-three-four says suddenly, glaring at Colt. "You came with the pe-"
"I know, you know me, and I'm sorry for what they did to you. I can't apologise properly now, but I can help make sure it never happens again." Colt rests a hand on Four-three-four's shoulder, and smiles at him. "I do have another lollipop though." He pulls one from his pocket, and gives it to Four-three-four. Without saying anything else, Four-three-four unwraps the candy, and starts sucking on it. "You're going to have to move up through the ducts. There's elevators every few floors, but they're spread out. Use your map." He pulls an elevator key from his pocket, and presses it into Dean's hand. "Once you get to floor eight hundred, this will take you to the roof." He squeezes Dean's shoulder, and smiles over at Four-three-four. "Try to not use your gift, okay? It'll take a lot out of you, and we need you to be okay when you get to Independence."
"What are they going to do to me there?" Four-three-four asks sharply. Colt shakes his head and smiles kindly at him.
"We can help you either get rid of it, or control it better. We found out what it does, and how it works, so we can help." Colt pulls another lollipop from his pocket, and hands it to Four-three-four. "Grape's your favourite, right?" Four-three-four nods slightly. "Be safe, you two." He turns away, leaving Dean and Four-three-four in the corridor. Dean takes a hold of his hand, and leads him to where the com-unit says they should be.
Floor Five Hundred and Twenty-Three
It doesn't feel safe to stop here, but Four-three-four looks exhausted. The Indy ducts are far harder work than the service elevator had been. The links out to service staircases, the rare short elevator rides, it's tiring to Dean as well as Four-three-four, but it's definitely affecting Four-three-four the most. He's lagging behind Dean. The only thing keeping him moving forward is the fact his hand is held in Dean's.
"Dean?" He says softly, and rubs at his eyes with his free hand. "I'm tired." Dean nods, and opens the com-unit. There's a small safe house along the duct from them. They can rest for a few hours, and then get back on their journey. There's just under three hundred floors before they can use the elevator key Colt gave them.
"I know." Dean strokes his thumb over Four-three-four's skin, and keeps walking. The entrance to the safe house opens once Dean presses his palm flat against the sensor. "Get in. We can stay here for a few hours." Four-three-four crawls in first, and then makes a soft noise of surprise. Inside the safe house is nothing more than a bed, and a toilet with a shoddy curtain tacked around it to block it from view. Four-three-four makes his way to the toilet, and Dean starts poking around, hoping that there's something worth eating. He finds some jerky, and bottled water. He makes use of the toilet whilst Four-three-four settles on the bed to start chewing at his portion of jerky.
"You take the bed." Four-three-four says once he's eaten all he can, and can't keep from yawning. Dean shakes his head, and pulls a blanket off the bed, leaving two more on it.
"Four-three-four, you take the bed. I'll sleep here." Dean gestures to the floor beside the single mattress. "I'll be right here if you need me." He promises, and isn't overly surprised when Four-three-four's hand seeks his out, hold it tightly.
In the morning, they eat more of the jerky, and sneak back out into the ducts. Four-three-four seems very quiet, his gaze down cast as they trudge up stairwells, and occasionally get an elevator ride for a few floors. Dean's growing worried about him. He's not had the opportunity to do much of anything in his cell, and this must be hard on him. But, he is holding up well enough.
Floor Six Hundred and Seventeen
The Tower Security detail hadn't been waiting for them, but they'd been there all the same when they stumbled out of the stairwell. Dean had quietly cursed his misreading of which door to take them back into the Indy ducts. If he'd gone with the door on the left, they'd have been fine, but he'd gone right. Quickly, he'd grabbed Four-three-four more firmly, and dragged him behind some paltry cover. He'd fired shots at Security, but he'd only managed to take one down. There's still several more trying to kill them on the other side of the wall they're cowering behind.
"I can stop them." Four-three-four says softly. He looks scared, but Dean's come to expect that from him. He's looked scared since they'd left The Facility, he's looked scared every step of the way up The Tower.
"How?" Dean mutters, checking his clip once more. One bullet. He needs more than one bullet. The shoots that Tower Security are firing at them are deafeningly loud, and show no signs of stopping.
"I…after I stop them, you'll need to carry me." Somehow, even over the sounds of gunfire, Dean can hear Four-three-four. "Will you? You won't leave me behind?" Dean touches his shoulder lightly, and smiles softly.
"I promised to get you out of The Tower, and I will." He touches Four-three-four's cheek lightly, then squeezes his shoulder once more. "Do what you have to, but try to leave their ammo alone." Four-three-four nods vaguely, and gets to his feet. He takes a few steps forward, out from their cover. Screams and crackling sounds fill the air. Dean closes his eyes until there's the soft sound of a body hitting the floor in the silence that followed the screaming. He carefully drags Four-three-four back into cover, and picks his way through the dusty corpses of the Security detail that had been shooting at them for ammo. Several cartridges, and a decent rifle to go with his handgun. He grabs a few extra provisions, and the detail's commander's id. It'll help them get further up The Tower in the elevators, which is helpful because Dean's not sure he'd be able to carry Four-three-four up too many flights of stairs.
Floor Seven Hundred and Twenty-six
"Hey." Four-three-four's soft voice wakes Dean gently from the nap he was having. Once the commander's id had taken them as far as it could, Dean had tracked down an Indy duct to rest in. He'd settled down with Four-three-four cuddled close to his chest. "You can let me go. I'm awake." Dean almost reluctantly releases him, and rubs at his eyes.
"What time is it?" He asks, and gets nothing but a shrug in response. He's not sure what he'd been expecting though, it's not like Four-three-four's going to have a watch.
"Later than it was." Four-three-four smiles at him vaguely, and tucks his knees under his chin, watching Dean carefully. Dean glances down at his com-unit, and rubs his eyes. They should probably get going again. They need to get as far up The Tower as possible before they sleep for any length of time. The higher up they are, the less people there'll be, at least that's the assumption he's working with. During his time working in Population Control, there'd never been any records of anyone but Security and Agriculture on floors higher than seven hundred. "Where are we?" Four-three-four asks quietly, still staring at Dean.
"I didn't look at the floor number. I just wanted to get you somewhere safe." Dean smiles at him, and Four-three-four shakes his head.
"I was somewhere safe…mostly safe. It was safe when there weren't people with guns or knives." He closes his eyes, and wraps his arms about himself. "I'm glad you don't have a knife."
"People with knives?" Dean reaches over, and rests his hand on Four-three-four's wrist. He nods, opens his eyes, and sighs softly.
"They'd…do things to me. Take my blood, make me scream." His eyes screw shut, and he ducks his head. "The people with guns would tell me to let the people with knives do what they had to or they'd shoot me again."
"Again?" Dean knows he sounds almost too startled, but there'd been nothing in Four-three-four's records about any of this. Sample collections were documented, some basic health tests, logs of exercise times, education, but nothing about men with knives.
"A long time ago now." Four-three-four rubs at his shoulder, and offers Dean a slight smile as he pushes the fabric down, showing a very faded scar. "It hurt a lot, but it went away. They test to see how quickly things go away. Sometimes it takes a long time, sometimes only a little, and some things never stop being painful." He pulls his shirt back into place and buries his face against his knees. "They tell me they want to understand what happened to me, that the only reason they do any of these things is because they think that I can help the rest of humanity survive better, but sometimes I think that some of them just like to hurt me." Dean scoots across the duct, and wraps an arm around Four-three-four's shoulders.
"I'm trying to help you." Dean squeezes him lightly, and Four-three-four relaxes against him. "I was asked by some people, they call themselves The Independents, the people on floor seventy-nine, to get you out of here. They say they've got a place outside of The Tower where you'll be safer."
"Why?" Four-three-four sounds suspicious, and Dean pulls away a little so he can look him in the eye.
"Why? Why what? Why am I helping you? Why do they want you to go to their safe place? I don't know about them, but I'm helping you because you've done nothing to deserve to be locked up in the Facility." Dean pats his arm, and offers Four-three-four a smile.
"Do you trust them?" Four-three-four asks quietly, his gaze never wavering from Dean's. He shrugs awkwardly.
"I don't not trust them. I trust them more than the executives, and anyone in The Tower." Dean smiles again, and takes one of Four-three-four's hands. "The Tower executives say that the outside isn't safe, but I think it will be safer than here for you. I think that there won't be any people with knives or guns looking to hurt you, and if there are, I'll stop them." Four-three-four looks confused, and Dean pulls him into a hug. "I promise that I'll keep you safe. If anyone means you harm again, I'll stop them." Four-three-four nods, his arms wrap around Dean and squeeze him tightly back.
"I trust you." He says it softly, almost like he's unsure if it's the right thing to say, but like he truly means it.
"Thank you, Four-three-four. I don't think anyone's ever trusted me before, so thank you." Dean squeezes him once more, and loosens his hold a little.
"I have a name you know." Four-three-four pulls away a little, and smiles at Dean, a soft, timid smile that makes his eyes light up. Dean makes an enquiring noise, and Four-three-four nods. "Do you want it?" Dean nods hopefully, not really trusting himself to speak. It feels like there's something lodged in his throat, stopping any words from coming out. "It's Phil."
"Okay, Phil." Dean smiles brilliantly, and is made even happier when Phil returns that smile. "Phil… The Independents tell me that they know what your power is… Do you?" Phil looks at him thoughtfully, his eyes half-closed.
"It's a gift… It's… It's not what the men with knives think it is." Phil tilts his head to one side, and smiles. "What do you think it is?" Dean's mind flickers to the dusty, aged corpses of the Security detail, and then lingers on the fact that Phil is over three hundred years old.
"It's time." Dean murmurs, staring at him. Phil doesn't answer, not really at least, he merely smiles.
Floor Seven Hundred and Forty-Three
They've been making slow progress up the stairwells for what feels like hours. Phil looks miserable, and Dean knows he does too. He starts typing on his com-unit, and a spike of joy fills him when he notices that on the next floor there's an actual Indy safe house.
"One more floor, Phil." Dean tells him, and Phil looks up at him. "On the next floor, there's a safe house."
"Oh good. I need a pee." Phil smothers a yawn behind the hand not held in Dean's, and smiles up at him.
"Yeah, me too. And a shower, and a night in a real bed… I never thought I'd miss my bed so much." Dean mutters, hopping up the last two steps in the flight. "But for a few hours at least, we'll have a bed, and a shower, and maybe even some real food." Phil nods vaguely, either not as excited as Dean or more tired than he is.
Floor Seven Hundred and Forty-Four
The safe house is small. A little room with a bed on the floor, an electric hotplate in one corner, and a small bathroom off one of the walls. Phil makes a beeline for the bathroom, and before too long, Dean can hear the shower running.
"You mind if I use the toilet while you're showering?" He calls out, and gets a vague yes back. In the bathroom, Phil's mostly hidden behind the shower's half-door, the sounds of him bathing mostly drowning out the sound of Dean peeing. "I'll make some food for when you're out, okay?"
"Sure. Is there clean clothes?" Phil pokes his head out from over the shower's door. There's a goofy smile on his face, and he looks more relaxed than Dean's ever seen him. "I'm nearly done."
"I'll look, but you don't need to hurry." Dean laughs, and leaves the bathroom, leaving the door open behind him so he can hear Phil's shower. Knowing that he's there, having it confirmed to him audibly makes him feel unspeakably better somehow. There turns out to a duffle-bag in the corner by the hotplate, filled with clothes and some food. The clothes look like the sort of coveralls that the agriculture workers wear so if they need to move through the farming levels, they should blend in alright.
They eat quickly, and as soon as they're finished its definitely time for bed. Phil's yawning almost constantly, and Dean feels drained in a way he's never felt before. The bed is big enough for two, but there's no suitable sleeping clothes save underwear. That doesn't seem to bother Phil. He's slipped into bed completely naked, and moans softly as he does so.
"I've never felt a more comfortable bed in my life." He grins at Dean. "Come feel!" he chuckles, and turns to lie on his side facing Dean. Dean pulls on a pair of boxers, and slips into bed with Phil. The mattress is comfortable, far more comfortable than the last two places he's slept. "Dean?" Phil moves a little closer, his eyes downcast.
"Hmm?" Dean can feel sleep coming over him already. Phil moves closer still, and without really thinking about it, Dean pulls him close, trying to not think about the lack of clothing on his slender body.
Floor Seven Hundred and Ninety-Two
A farmhand looks at them, or at least Dean. He doesn't look right in the coveralls, he knows he doesn't. They should have tried harder to find the duct, but there'd been no sign, and Dean had hoped they'd be able to sneak through without being noticed. His hope was in vain. He tightens his grip on Phil's hand, and pulls him along faster. He hopes that they're make it up the last eight flights without any other mishaps. They're so close now. This is almost over, and he won't let them fall at the last hurdle.
Floor Seven Hundred and Ninety-Nine
"Last floor." Phil says suddenly, and stops walking, causing Dean to feel a tug on his hand.
"C'mon, we're nearly there." Dean pulls on his hand a little and shakes his head when Phil plants his feet.
"I wanna say something first." He grins at Dean, and takes a step closer. He presses a very timid kiss to Dean's lips, and then quickly looks away. "I've never kissed someone I wanted to before… I hope you don't mind."
"I don't mind." Dean catches his cheek and turns him to face Dean. "I don't mind at all." Dean leans forward a little, and catches Phil's lips in a gentle kiss. He breaks it reluctantly, and pushes open the door to floor eight hundred.
Floor Eight Hundred
Phil seems to be in fine spirits as they approach the last elevator. He glances back at Dean as he rests his hand on the key pad.
"C'mon, hurry up!" He ushers Dean over, but the smile on his face suddenly falls away. There's a sound, a loud sound, and the next thing Dean's aware of is falling to floor. Phil's standing in front of him, his arms spread wide, and opposite him is Vince McMahon the Chief Executive, a gun with a coil of smoke drifting from it in his hand pointing at Phil's chest.
"You're not going anywhere, Four-three-four." Vince says sharply, and Phil straightens his back, his stance becoming more defiant. "There's nowhere for you out there. These fools have been lying to you. There's no Independence, there's no understanding your illness, there's no cure. They want to hurt you as much and more than you were ever hurt with me."
"Stay away from me." Phil says softly, taking a half-step back. "I don't want to hurt you, but I will."
"I'll finish the job on your little friend, if you do." Vince laughs, his gun trained on Dean. Dean forces himself up into a sitting position, and pulls his gun out, aiming it at Vince. "Really, Ambrose? You're going to threaten me?" Vince laughs, but before he can pull the trigger on his gun, his hand ages. The skin becomes greyer and greyer, the fingers too weak to hold the weapon, so it falls to the floor. Vince lets out a scream, and scrabbles for the gun with his other hand, but it too ages rapidly.
"I could kill you. I should kill you." Phil sneers at Vince, but turns his back on him. "I won't have the strength to fix this if I kill him." Phil mutters softly, and the wound on Dean's hip starts healing rapidly. Once it's repaired, Phil smiles vaguely and falls face first to the floor. Dean gets to his feet easily, and stalks over to the whimpering Vince. The Chief Executive stares at him wide glassy eyes.
"He might not be able to kill you, but I sure as hell can." Dean smirks, and pulls the trigger. Maybe Shane will take over as Chief, then problems in The Tower might get better. If nothing else, Shane can't be as bad as his father was. "C'mon, Phil Let's get you in this elevator." Dean scoops up Phil's unconscious form, and carries him over to the elevator. He slides the key into the slot, and the door whooshes open. He props Phil against the wall, and presses the button marked Roof.
The Roof
There's a single flight of stairs more. Phil had woken up halfway through the longest elevator journey Dean's ever taken. He'd asked what had happened to Vince, and whilst Dean had wanted to lie and say nothing, he couldn't keep the truth from Phil. He'd told him that Vince was dead. Phil had nodded once, and said nothing more than good.
Dean pushes the last door open, and is startled. He'd expected The Tower to be standing tall in the sky, but instead they've emerged from a small building, only one storey high. In front of him is a spread of greenery. He's heard of grass and trees before, he's even seen pictures, but he's never seen them. He, like every resident of The Tower was told that the outside world was uninhabitable, and that they were better off staying in The Tower. Phil shuffles up beside him, and looks pleasantly surprised by the view.
"It's prettier than I remember." He says quietly, and Dean catches hold of his hand, squeezing it lightly, then pressing a kiss to the back of Phil's hand.
"It's prettier than I ever even knew."
No requester this time, other than myself.
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