Authors' Notes: Well, I didn't hook y'all up with the art for this fic very successfully, did I? Let's try that again: adrenalineshots DOT livejournal DOT com/204221 DO l. (Sorry about the URL; ff is cantankerous about 'em.) Thanks to everyone following along! Be sure to drop us a line and let us know what worked for you and what didn't. On with the show!

"I'm sorry, Dean."

So. Sam finally grew the balls to say something. Dean paused, spatula hovering over a cast iron skillet. "Yeah, well I'm sorry ain't gonna cut it if every dirty, stinkin' interstellar dick this side of the Horsehead Nebula tracks us to Kansas."

Sam leaned on the kitchen counter and moped, and Dean let him keep on moping. Served him right, the little shit. Dean should let him go hungry for the night, not that he would just because Dean refused to feed him, but that wasn't the point. Dean scowled at the burgers in the skillet; he didn't even want to look at his brother right now. It was Sam's fault that they weren't using the grill on the back porch; Dean wouldn't feel safe out in the open for at least a week. Taking the edge off an old dog's pain was one thing, but remedying a gunshot in a human? In public? Might as well have sent up a dozen flares to every Big Mouth and Angel in a three-galaxy radius. Besides, he didn't want to look at Sam's pleading eyes in that gaunt face or his long fingers fidgeting or his jaw jutting forward mulishly, so much like their dad. He didn't want to let go of his irritation just yet. He liked the burn of it.

"Come on, Dean, I—"

Dean whirled on him with a threatening spatula and an actual growl.

"She was dying—" Sam sputtered.

"Don't even!"

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes, pushing off the counter. He tried to grab a fried wedge of potato sitting on a pile of paper towels but Dean whacked his hand with the spatula. He wasn't messing around.

Sam's hand recoiled but as soon as Dean went back to the stove, Sam grabbed three steak fries and darted out of range. He'd been eating non-stop since they'd gotten home and showed no signs of slowing. This was another reason he couldn't go around healing people indiscriminately. They didn't have the funds or foodstuff to refuel that engine and though Sam was more resilient than just about anyone Dean knew, there were limits. He didn't want to find those limits.

"Won't do it again," Sam told him with his mouth full. "Promise."

Dean grunted but felt his frustration waning. "You just remember how much Dad went through to put us here. Keep us safe. And what our safety means. Maybe you'll think twice."

Sam didn't comment after that. Score one for Team Dean.

By the time they sat down at the table with their hamburgers and potatoes and fresh corn-on-the-cob, the sun was low on the horizon and a saturated sort of warmth glowed across the fields, making everything look deeper and denser than it actually was. The crickets had started to chirrup and Bones was banned to the front stoop because he wouldn't stop begging for handouts.

Dean was two beers in when he finally decided to abandon his grudge against Sam, figured he'd suffered enough. "You think you saved her?"

Sam's brows shot toward his hairline, mid-chew.

"Don't look at me like that; I'm not a total douchebag." Dean stabbed at a green bean—because one vegetable selection was not enough for Sam, apparently. "Of course I care about Jennifer."

"Jessica."

"Whatever." Dean knew full well what her name was. "You … you got the bullet out?"

"I think I coaxed it close enough to the surface. The big issue was the bleeding. Lucky it didn't hit anything vital."

"You could tell that?"

"Yep."

"Damn."

Sam shrugged, reaching for another burger. "But I feel like shit, Dean. If we hadn't been there—"

"Whoa, now hold up. If we hadn't been there, that wackadoo with the gun would've tracked the Leviathan into the bookstore anyway and he might've started shooting up the place, so we can't play the 'what if' game, you hear me?"

"Yeah, but—"

"No 'yeah buts'. Let's just be thankful he was here on Earth and the Firmament never tinkered with him. Could you imagine? We could've been dealing with a firestarter or a telekinetic or crap, who knows what? But maybe next time we bring our own guns so we don't have to send up an interstellar Bat Signal, okay?"

Sam wrinkled his forehead and stared at his plate.

"We're good, Sam. Finish your burgers. You want a beer?" Dean was shoving his chair back when Bones howled. Not a howl of alarm, exactly, but a howl, nonetheless. Dean craned his neck to look out the screen door.

Headlights were cutting down the road and dust was kicking up in a truck's wake. Now that they weren't talking, Dean could hear the horn blaring. Over and over. A prickle of nerves started at the base of his neck and curled up his scalp. The dog didn't sound alarmed, but the truck sure did.

"That Bobby?" Sam said, turning in his seat.

Dean stepped across the small dining room and out of the house, squinting at the distance, the screen door rattling closed behind him. Sure looked like Bobby. He glanced at his cell phone to confirm he hadn't missed a call and heard Sam step up behind him. Bones took off, still barking amicably.

Stars were just beginning to appear in the soft purple sky over the haze of the truck's dust, Venus sitting tiny and bright on the horizon beside the even tinier, redder dot of Mars. But then Venus got bigger. And moved.

"Dean, do you see …?"

"Yes. Shit."

That was definitely Bobby coming up the road. And they were definitely in a world of trouble.

Without another word, Sam darted back into the house and Dean jumped off the porch, making a beeline for the big, teetering barn behind the house.

oOo

The barn was in pitiful condition, the old red wood warped by time and the brutal weather of the last few summers. It was empty except for some hay. Just enough to cover the floor. It was synthetic, because Dean wanted to discourage critters from nesting in it.

Sam noted briefly that Dean's strategy had worked incredibly well. There wasn't a flicker of life inside the barn, not even a mouse. He followed his brother to the center of the barn, lugging the bags they'd packed for emergencies, and waited as Dean forced the trap-door open. It creaked noisily, but that didn't matter at this point. The Leviathans were already on their tails. They had to vamoose, and quick. If they were lucky, they'd make it to the jumpgate and shoot out of Earth's backyard before the Leviathans caught up.

The shaft down was a tight fit for Dean, and even tighter for Sam, but it was angled just enough to be more of a slide than a free-fall. That didn't stop Sam from landing on his ass in the Impala's mini-docking bay. Dean didn't even spare a glance, too busy opening the airlock. He moved the manual release quicker than humanly possible, the ship already responding to his pleas for help.

"Come on, baby," Dean muttered under his breath. "Sorry about this, but we gotta roll."

"She fueled?" Sam asked, as he stepped through the airlock behind Dean.

Dean scoffed. "Like I'd let her starve. Please."

"We haven't had to fly in—"

"I visit her every week. What do you think I do in here?" Dean jogged down the length of the ship to the bridge, the lights flickering to life around them.

"You don't want me to answer that," Sam said, suppressing a smirk.

"You're gonna hate me, sweetheart, but we have to go out full costume, okay? Shields and camo up. Alternating currents, patterns Delta Nine and Gamma Four. They're after us." He plopped down into the command chair and began flipping the ignition switches.

The copilot dash activated by itself, as did the navigation panel. As much as Sam loved watching Dean work, he hated how useless it made him feel when they flew. He was literally of no use. The ship could navigate far faster on its own than it would under Sam's instruction, and Dean's affinity for all things mechanical allowed him to understand outputs better than anyone alive. So Sam did what he could: strapped himself in, and closed his eyes, opening his senses wide so he could keep tabs on their pursuers.

The Leviathans were visible to Nephilim, as was their technology, but their warships could scramble even Nephilim brains thoroughly enough to disappear from view. The warships—Serpents—were immense, biomechanical monsters that moved fast and killed even faster. And it was Sam's fault they were following them. Just like it was Sam's fault that Jessica had almost died, no matter what Dean had said. Sam's heart sped up in response to his anger and his stomach growled irritably. He hadn't eaten nearly enough to replenish his own body's needs let alone his abilities, and that was a dangerous combination, especially considering what they were about to attempt.

The ship rumbled to life around them, and Sam's fingers clutched the sides of his seat as he held on. Take-offs were one thing; emergency take-offs from underground to orbit in thirty seconds or less were another thing altogether.

"Ready?" Dean asked with a leer that looked half-pissed and half-eager.

"Not really," Sam said, as he did another mental sweep of the sky above them. The Serpent was closing in, maybe three miles away at best.

"Hold onto your pants." Dean pulled back on the main lever and grabbed hold of the yoke.

Sam's stomach didn't so much drop as shoot all the way down his legs. They launched so quickly his brain felt like it was being squished. Luckily, the Impala's gravity-compensators were top notch, so even though Sam felt uncomfortable he was safe. They both were. Well, until the Leviathans blew them into the next life.

The Impala's sleek form shot up through the air and pierced the stratosphere like butter. Sam felt the black, ugly power of the Serpent strike forward and bank, changing direction.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, his eyes flying open as he looked for confirmation of what he'd felt.

"Way ahead of you," Dean muttered, his eyes locked on the Impala's proximity meters. "Oh, and Sam?"

Sam turned to his brother, and swallowed at the look in his eyes.

"It might get a little bumpy."

The Impala lurched heavily to the right as Dean tried to swerve around the oncoming missile barrage. He avoided nearly all of them, but there were three distinct pings as the hull was hit.

Dean winced in pain; the Impala's alarms wailed through the bridge.

"Hey, you okay?" Sam was used to Dean reacting to his machines' distress, but with the Impala everything was twice as personal. Dean could control her better than anything else—she was practically like an extension of him, but when she got hurt, so did he.

"I'm fine." Dean's mouth curved into a snarl. "How the hell'd they see through our shields that easy?"

"Don't know." Sam pushed aside the thought that it was his fault again somehow, that whatever he'd done at the bookstore had given the Leviathans a permanent lock on him—onthem—because that thought was just way too scary.

"Gonna try something," Dean said before pulling back on the yoke again as he pushed down the two control levers with his thumbs.

"Oh goodie," Sam said quietly just before the Impala did a pirouette, forcing his eyes shut again. They looped down, narrowly avoiding a collision with another stream of missiles, and bent sharply left as Dean corrected, aiming for the far side of the Serpent. He was trying to pass them by forcing them to turn around. Risky would be an understatement.

Sam felt the presence of the Serpent like a migraine, the overwhelmingly hungry feel of it, of them. It was a dark, mad, almost giddy exhilaration that the bastards had found the Winchesters and that they were in this antiquated ship. It was true, though Dean would never admit such a thing about the Impala. If Sam wasn't already nauseous from their break-neck departure, he would be now. He concentrated on shutting out the Serpent, trying to keep his focus where it needed to be. On his brother.

Just as it looked like they were going to make it, another Serpent broke through the mesosphere and opened its huge maw, releasing another barrage of missiles.

"Shit!" Dean cried out, scrambling to correct their course.

The missiles didn't explode on impact like Sam expected, but the Impala's alarms blared even louder for a second and then fell completely silent, which was far more ominous.

"No, no, no…" Dean muttered, as he reached forward, laying his hands on the Impala's control panel. "Baby, what're they doing to you?" Sweat beaded his brow, and his skin was turning an ugly shade of yellowish grey.

"Dean?" Sam knew something was wrong, but he had no idea how to help.

"They're eating her, Sam. Right through her hull, her engines, her—" Dean stiffened for a moment, wincing in pain. He reached for the small blue button on the back of the control panel, activating voice control. "Sorry sweetheart, I know you're hurtin', but I need you to try something for me okay? Send all power to shields and then some. I need you to go into overload for a sec—let's try to shrug them off."

The Impala complied, her lights dimming as she temporarily rerouted energy towards the shields. The air outside the ship flared hot-white for a second as she sent more power into them. Dean's eyes were closed in concentration. He was trying to help the ship, and it was a huge strain on him. The hyper-charged shields faded in brightness, and Dean let out a moan of agony, as another barrage of missiles hit, rocking the ship. Dean's back arched and he slumped forward across the control panel. He wasn't moving.

"Dean!" Sam yelled, unstrapping himself from his seat. He leapt to his brother's side as the ship's lights flickered slowly back to life around him. "Dammit!"

Panic swelled in Sam's chest, but he forced it back, trying to think. "Impala, set course for JumpGate T12. Command code Alpha Three Epsilon."

"Command not recognized," said a crisp British woman's voice. Dean rarely used voice command, so rarely that Sam had forgotten the ship's attitude problem.

"Command code Alpha Three Epsilon," Sam repeated as he laid his hands on the side of Dean's temples, trying to get an idea of how badly he'd been hurt.

"Dean doesn't want you piloting me. He says you're not ready," responded the voice.

"Well, tough. He's hurt, and if you don't let me pilot, we're gonna be hurt worse. Or did you not happen to notice the Serpents on our tail?"

"Don't be stupid. Of course I did."

"Then get us the hell out of here. JumpGate T12!" Sam yelled, as he closed his eyes and tried to find that space in his mind where his power lived. It felt like a well run dry. He had to help Dean, but he didn't have a drop of fuel left.

"I can't," said the Impala. "The Leviathans targeted my power nacelles first, we can't accelerate. Not unless you can get those nasty little leeches off of me."

Sam let his head hang in despair and tried to think. Dean was his top priority, but even if he healed him here, they were floating targets.

"Show me where you're hit," Sam said finally. "Maybe we can knock them off."

The monitor in front of Sam lit up, displaying the Impala's full blueprints. Little red dots were covering her, clustered most heavily around the nacelles. There was a clump of them only feet away from him, on the exterior hull of the command module. Sam begrudgingly took his hand off of Dean and moved closer to the wall of the ship. "The 'leeches' … are they bioengineered too, like the Serpents?"

"Forty percent ultratanium, twenty percent tungsten, eighteen percent magnesium alloy. The rest of its components are organic. Each one has one organ: heart, brain and nervous system all in one."

"Is that a fact …" Sam said as he laid his hands flat against the ship's hull. Again, he closed his eyes, this time reaching forward out towards the exterior of the ship. He could feel them there—the tiny little parasites the Serpent had covered them in. There were over a dozen of them within feet of him. He wrapped his mind around the closest of the round spiky balls of bio-metal and focused, until he could feel inside its shell—until he could feel its heart beating. Then he pulled.

The well of power inside him grew, by just a fraction, not enough to do much with, but enough to come up with an idea. He repeated the process with the next spiked ball, and the next, and the next, sucking them dry one by one. Then he had a revelation. He knew where the others were. He'd sensed them, not the way he normally sensed life, because these little probes weren't wholly organic. He knew where they were, because they recognized each other. They were networked.

"Nice work," the Impala commented. "But can you do that with all the others? More importantly, can you reach the ones working their way towards my engine?"

Keeping his hand touching the Impala, Sam moved back to Dean's side, and laid one hand on his forehead. He began feeding the syphoned energy into Dean, willing him to come to. His brother's skin felt clammy to the touch, and his heart beat was far too weak.

"Come on, come on," Sam said as he pushed more power into Dean, but it wasn't enough. He reached outwards with his senses, grabbing hold of another dozen parasites, then another and another. His skin buzzed as he drained them, feeding their power into himself and then right into Dean. His brother's heart finally started to beat more strongly, but Sam had to be sure it would stay that way.

With one last Herculean effort, Sam reached out yet again, waited until the probes sent out a communication and then latched onto their network. He imagined wrapping his fingers through the invisible web of energy, tracing each path until he could feel all two thousand eight-hundred and forty-nine of them. Then he drained them all dry, hoping it would be enough. It had to be.

Sam rocked back and saw stars. Not just the actual stars beyond the confines of the ship, but black stars at the edges of his vision from the effort of pumping life back into his brother. His fingertips still tingled, even as he drew them back from Dean. Something warm ran over his lips and tasted of metal; it glowed red when it dripped on the illuminated fuel gauge. Shit, he hadn't had a nosebleed since he was fifteen—when he was young and foolish and using his powers indiscriminately.

"Dean," Sam pleaded, dragging a sleeve across his mouth. "You with me, man?"

It was the Impala that answered, though. "Well, that was delightful, but too little too late."

"What?"

"The Leviathans' devices have breached the casing and compromised rather important parts of my system. Shall I spell it out of you?"

"Yeah, dumb it down for me, thanks," Sam murmured as the cockpit swam before his eyes. He gripped the edges of the control panel.

"One of those disgusting little vermin have gnawed into the life support system and managed to get more than a mouthful before you sucked it dry. You have kept Dean from dying, haven't you?" The ire in the ship's voice did nothing to ease Sam's dizzying stress.

"Hell, I hope so."

"Good job," the Impala conceded. "But if we don't leave this quadrant immediately, there's a high probability we will have a Serpent on my arse before you can say 'Hey, look, there's a Serpent on our arse.'"

"Jumpgate… " Sam panted. "…T12." He sat heavily in the co-pilot's seat and stared at all the dials and read-outs and gadgets before him. "Scramble our exit."

He hoped his difficulty breathing was just panic.

It wasn't.