'Face the firing squad,
Against all the odds.
When friends are thin on the ground
And they try to divide us,
We must find a way.'
"Dig Down" ~ Muse
Jules feels the heated whistle of a bullet pass by her nose. When she spares a glance, the bullet is lodged in her driver's side frame.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
The border is already half a kilometer behind, speedometer pushing a hundred and twenty, but two black SUVs zoom after them, lights flashing. In the rear view mirror, agents lean out of the passenger side windows with their automatics drawn. There's no bullhorn, no police calls to pull over, just three men with semi-automatics that are inches away from being sniper rifles. The sight chills Jules down to her core, that this is methodical, planned, without purpose other than to neutralize them both.
Dean peers up at her, blood on the back of his hands. "Are we gonna die?"
Jules wrenches the wheel to the left, using the camper to clip the left SUV's grill. It skids away into the ditch, taking one of the rifles with it. One down, two to go. Dean's jaw drops, awed.
"Not if I have anything to say about it," Jules hollers. "If only Spike was here. He loves a good tactical driving shake down."
That gets a surprised grin out of Dean. His eyes glimmer. Jules can't tell if they're from fear or amazement.
"You have our getaway?" she asks.
Awkward with the cramped position, Dean manages to pull his phone out of his jacket pocket. He scrolls through the special map they photographed at the library archives.
CRACK! Jules swerves. CRACK!
"Not going to do us much good if we can't lose the second SUV!" Dean yells, over the rush of air from the busted window and sound of bullets pinging off their car. "But you need to take the next exit and then there's a hidden road."
"Hang tight, Dean!"
He stretches one arm out to touch her knee. "Jules, what are you possibly going to do?"
Her nostrils flare. "This!"
Jules pumps the gas with tiered pressure and then takes her foot off. Her right hand yanks on the emergency brake and her left swivels the wheel clockwise.
The car goes out of control for a split second, one split second of stomachs thrown against abdominal walls to the tune of screaming tires, and Jules marvels that she over compensated, that they're going to die just because she couldn't drive under pressure. She can't believe they made it this far only to crash. Dean resumes his screaming.
Then the wheel resists under her hand.
Jules pumps the gas again, their spin sliding into something controlled.
Like a battering ram, the camper gains weight through centrifugal force. They spin once, twice, three times, growing ever closer with each circle.
Jules watches the moment the driver of the SUV realizes what's about to happen. He takes his hands off the wheel and ducks, arms over his head just like Dean.
WHAM!
Their trailer slams into the passenger side of the SUV, sending it flying. The SUV hits the ditch with a spray of sparks and rolls. The impact is so strong that it shudders through Jules' bone marrow, all the way up into her teeth.
Metal litters the road for a quarter mile radius and both passengers of the second SUV have been thrown onto the pavement from the impact. One has a rifle still strapped to his body.
Jules stares at the carnage in her mirrors. Did I kill them? I didn't think it would be that violent!
Trembling, she releases the e-brake with a snap motion of her wrist. The car rights, the camper a moment after. It's still spitting sparks.
Jules speeds down the highway, passing cars and diving for the exit. Car horns blare but traffic is sparse enough that she can get away with the reckless driving.
"Dean, where's that old back highway? We need to pull over."
Dean's eyes don't blink, on Jules and the view out the shattered back window.
"Dean?" Anxiety pierces her suddenly. "Are you hit? Did you hurt your head?"
"That…" Dean eases himself out from under the dashboard. He's flushed now, ruddy cheeked and sweating. "That was the coolest thing I've ever seen."
Jules runs a hand through her hair, her laughter tinged with panic. "Yeah. Let's not tell your father about this one."
They're the only car on the road now, further away from the main artery. Trees clump closer on either side of the cracked pavement.
"Up here," says Dean. "It's not marked well. See that sign with the carriage on it? Take a right."
Jules does, slowing down when she sees the camper bouncing along behind them. The curtains still haven't moved, aside from a rod on the window that's come off in the chaos.
"I think we should take a break," says Dean. "I'm worried about him."
"Me too." Jules pulls over in an empty meadow. She turns off the car and rests her head on her forearms, on the wheel, for a blissful minute. "You okay, Dean?"
"Yeah." He sits up properly in his seat. "You?"
Jules doesn't answer, eyeing the short but jagged, numerous cuts on his skin. "Grab my first aid duffel in the back."
Dean leans around and retrieves it. "Can we check on him first? There aren't any seatbelts back there."
Jules concedes this with a soft curse. Their car is riddled with bullet holes, the stuffing torn out of the backseat by a hollow point round. One of the car tires is completely shredded.
They weren't shooting to detain. Jules is dazed for a whole new reason. These are kill shots. That was way too close.
Stepping out of the vehicle, two things happen simultaneously:
Dean falls to his knees to throw up, repeatedly. And a hand emerges from the little camper door—just to flip Jules the bird.
She stops dead in her tracks, ears ringing. "Director? Is that you?"
However, the man who comes out first is not Hartford.
"Sam!" Jules flips him the bird too, she's so outraged. She absently notes that her middle finger is shaking. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Sam's hand turns into a comforting one, when he stumbles down the steps to gather his wife in for a jell-kneed embrace. "Please don't ever become a stunt driver."
Jules slaps him upside the head while kissing his cheek. "I saved our lives, thank you very much."
They share an exasperated look and then a long, relieved kiss.
Sam pulls away to look over his shoulder with clouded eyes. "Just barely."
Director Hartford stands at the open door. His lip is split and there's a spectacular, calico patch of bruises along his forehead but he looks relatively unharmed.
"Mrs. Braddock, my thanks. You kept your word." He points behind him. "But I think we're going to need that medical kit."
Dean wipes his mouth. His eyes nearly bug out of his head. "Dad?!"
He makes it to his feet with Hartford's help and dashes inside. Jules follows after, supporting Sam who still looks like he's gotten off a roller coaster after riding it ten times. She's rarely seen him so green.
There's only one place to sit in the tiny camper. A U-shape of padded booths around a small table and Greg perches on the edge of it, clutching his bad leg. His cane is by the window, nearly five feet away.
He glances up at their entry, veins in his forehead ropey. Eyes bloodshot with distress. He doesn't speak—something Jules has only ever seen maybe two times he's been in extreme pain—and the room goes cold.
"Boss!" Jules is aghast, and at the sight of him her eyes immediately fill with tears. "I'm so sorry! Had I known you were in here I never would have used you guys as a ram!"
Sam stares at her with the ghost of a puzzled smile. "You hid the Director in here."
"Yes," says Hartford, "but I knew what was coming and squeezed myself between the cupboard and a wall. I discovered you stowaways under the table just before the action started."
Dean's hands hover over his father, afraid to touch. "What can I do?"
"He hit the bullet scar on a door handle," says Sam.
Everyone winces.
Sam takes the duffel from Dean's hand. "We've got some morphine in here for emergencies."
Greg has enough energy to lift both brows, forehead furrowing.
Sam winks. "It's not your average Canadian Tire medical kit. Steve helped us with some of the rarer supplies. Here, just a few ccs."
He swabs Greg's elbow and depresses the needle while the other three wait, barely daring to breathe, for it to take effect. Jules spies a bloody patch along Greg's jaw that matches the one on the sink.
I did this.
She has to sit down, across from him.
Sam frowns. "Are you going to faint?"
"I wish," she snaps. Ire brushes at her in broiling waves. "How could you? Both of you! Director Hartford's request made sense, because the US government needs to think he's on vacation in Toronto while he investigates a possible corruption here. Dean got to come along because he's a dual citizen and it looked more legit, an easier story to sell, with him present."
Sam and Greg have a silent conversation with their eyes.
"But you!" Jules flails a hand at them. "You could have died! What were you thinking?"
Greg rubs at his temple, then swallows a few times. His voice is velvet soft. "This whole plan was not only illegal but far fetched. Way outside our comfort zone. You were willing to risk your life, your career."
Sam nods. "How could we not do the same?"
Dean massages at his father's shoulder and Greg reaches up to clasp the hand. Young against old, their fingers tangle together.
Hartford, wonder of all wonders, wears a narrow-eyed, smiling expression that is approaching fond. "We're probably all going to lose our jobs over this. I've never even met your comrades, but may I just say that even I think they are worth it."
Jules finds Greg's eye. She sniffs.
"They sure are," says Greg. "Every time."
"We're their only hope." Dean shakes his head. "We might be Spike and Ed's only chance at getting out of this alive."
"We might be our only hope," Jules counters. She throws a weighted look at Greg. "Those were kill shots, boss, not detaining maneouvers. Why would border patrol be sent a bulletin on us that mandates that kind of force?"
Greg doesn't have any more of an answer than her, and as one they all look to Hartford. He shakes his head. "I don't know, Mrs. Braddock, and I'm not sure I want to find out. My government locked me out but before that they weren't even taking the disappearances of your teammates seriously. I have no idea why they'd stonewall you and then try to stop you in such a harsh way. Perhaps CSIS...?"
It's Greg turn to frown. "No, that doesn't make sense. Damien Cho was assigned the case long, long after you were, and he cared about it more to save face in front of the FBI, I think. He's young, probably wants a career buffer. And what better way to gain that than by finding the culprits of an abduction ring that even the US federal government can't solve?"
His voice is bitter by the end, expressing all their feelings on the subject, on the very skin crawling idea that someone might see the kidnapping details of Spike and Ed and get greedy over it, not caring about their safety or condition one way or the other.
"Now that you mention it..." Hartford blinks fast. "Evidence kept getting 'lost' at the Bureau on these disappearing agents, and people were often asked to set the case aside for far more trivial ones."
Sam's brows shoot up. "Really? Your superiors want to table a missing persons case that directly harms their own agents?"
"It sounds galling, I agree," says Hartford, "And now I'm beginning to wonder if there's something to that. We may not be safe even through the proper channels."
The four Canadians are silent, pressing closer to each other without even noticing.
"Well." Hartford brushes off his suit jacket. "Either way, my cover is certainly blown now, with that little episode, and we have no usable car. We're back to square one should both of our governments come looking for us."
As if summoned, a helicopter whines to life in the distance.
AN: I don't recommend this as a way to cross the border lol! But I have a weird fondness for writing car stunts so this was a ton of fun. I also got to learn a bit about how to actually drift a car in real life from a friend!
