Chapter 4 News from the hunting ground
OK…assuming I haven't put you off with the previous chapter, here's the next installment. Enjoy!
If you recognize them from either show, then they're not mine.
Something was wrong. It was the only conscious thought in Sam's mind. Something was very wrong. He could not be having a vision. Not now. Not again. And Dean wasn't even there with him…
It was a dark room, all cold metal and broken parts – an abandoned shipyard of some kind, or some fallen building, still inaccessible, in the San Diego Ruins. There was a figure pacing to and fro. He moved too quickly. His face was indistinguishable. It could have been anyone's. It could even have been Sam's. There was something about that person. Coldness and death and endless regret. And hate…hate for the world – hate mixed with sorrow and loss. He was looking for something. Fervently, he needed to find something. Sam could sense his urgency, like he was bound to him, like Sam was the only person who could understand him. And, Sam realized with a jolt, he could. He knew that guilt. He knew that loss. He knew the need to do anything to redress it. Anything – even break the world. Sam could not see the man's face, but he knew, he felt, this was a person ready to break the world. And Sam was sure he did not need visions to know the cause.
Sam's eyes snapped open. He was back on Mars. He was kneeling against a building, with his head pounding, faintly registering he had gathered quite a crowd.
Garth Fitzgerald the Fourth's place
Garth – or Garth Fitzgerald the Fourth, as he liked to call himself – was originally from Earth. He emigrated to Mars at a young age, more to prove a point than anything. He encountered Bobby Singer there and, through a series of strange events he never really shared with anyone, had become embroiled in the world of hunting. At first, people had no idea how to take him. He was a far cry from the gruff, rough around the edges old-school Hunters. His eccentricity and over-the-top enthusiasm made it difficult for people to take him seriously. He was a good hunter, though, and quickly moved in higher circles. When Bobby died he took on the mantle, unofficially, at first, then for real, with the Winchester's blessing. He was Hunter Headquarters, now, the place people called when they needed research done, or when they wanted to solve a mess with the authorities. He was the one those who knew about hunting called, when they needed a supernatural problem solved. During the past few years, Garth had dedicated himself to compiling a database of supernatural creatures, entities and events in all the Alliance races, aided by Sam – actually, Sam had been the one to suggest it, and he was the chief researcher and, as Garth liked to call him "the silent partner". When the library was complete, though, Garth had every intention of revealing everything about Sam's help. People needed to know about his contribution.
Dean stood in front of Garth's house, eyeing the eccentric construction with the usual amusement. No doubt the Martian Housing Committee must have raised a few eyebrows. Dean had no idea how they approved Garth's request in the first place. He was not really surprised, though. Garth always had a knack of getting things done.
He'd given up going to Jody first, sending her a message that they would both see her soon, and to tell Sam to contact him as soon as he got there. He did not send any messages to Sam. Since his discovery of that dreadful message, he was reluctant to do so, afraid someone might highjack his voice again and used it to shatter his brother. Some might have called it an irrational fear – it had happened once, it surely had little chances of happening again, right? Plus, Sam wouldn't fall for the same trick again, would he? But Dean was a Winchester, and he knew things were much more complicated when it came to them.
Dean entered the house – no one knocked, Garth had a policy against friends knocking. Garth must have seen him coming, because he bounded on Dean the minute he was inside. Dean had actually been hoping to avoid the hug this time.
"Hey, Dean!" Garth greeted enthusiastically. "Where's your other half?"
"You'll see Sam later," Dean told him gruffly. "I need some information."
"It's been a while, man," Garth pointed out. "Are you two back Hunting?"
"As long as we have a common problem, we are," Dean replied without hesitation.
As he had told Sam, they were the best ones to deal with this problem. But they were dealing with it on behalf of the Alliance more than anything. They were no longer trying to fix a world to which they owed nothing and which owed quite a lot to them. The Angels and Demons could have their political battles as long as they left everyone else out of them. Sam and Dean had been done being used a long time ago.
"What do you know about the New Winchesters?" Dean asked.
Garth raised his eyebrows.
"You've heard the name, then. It's not really accurate. They were never you."
"Well, what were they?" Dean prompted.
Garth's narrative was disjointed and long winded. But slowly, Dean managed to put together the gist of it. There were two brothers – Ivan and Albert Lukassen, from the Russian Consortium. Ivan, the eldest, was about Sam's age. Albert was seven or eight years younger. They had been pretty low-key for a while, even though they had both been active in the hunting field since they were teens. But back then, they had probably been eclipsed by Sam and Dean. People had been too busy talking about the Winchesters – for good or for bad – to pay attention to another pair of brothers. Especially since there had been nothing scandalous about them at first. But then the youngest started dabbling a bit in spells. Nothing harmful and probably it had been prompted by other interests – especially as he was dating another witch, or almost witch – who, strangely enough, also happened to be a Hunter.
"We might want to talk to her," Dean said. "What's her name?"
Garth's lips quirked up.
"Max Banes," he answered promptly. "Not short for Maxine, if that was your next answer."
"Oh. Never heard of him."
Garth waved that aside.
"Younger generation," he pointed out. "Probably grew up on stories of you, though."
"How did Ivan react?" Dean deflected. "To Max, I mean."
Ivan was, apparently, old school in more ways than one. He did not want his younger brother associated with a witch – and a male witch at that. There were some fights, the two split up for a bit, but they reunited again. There was another rough spot a year later, this time having to do with a woman Ivan was quite attached to. She had been taken by shapeshifters as leverage, the two brothers had gone to rescue her, but something went wrong – and Ivan always heavily implied it was Albert's fault – and the woman was killed. Albert never refuted the accusation.
After another brief separation, the Lukassens got together again. It seemed they always did this, separated then reunited, helplessly drawn to each other's presence. Just like you and Sam, a voice told Dean, and he tried to quash it. Because the Lukassens were nothing like him and Sam. They could not have been. Dean knew he would never have killed Sam, Mark or no Mark. He probably would not have been as dumb as to take the Mark in the first place – although Dean decided not to think too much on that, the Winchesters were known for desperate plans, after all. What was certain, though, what Dean would insist for as long as there was breath in his body – was that he would have never killed Sam. He would have stopped himself somehow.
"So, what about the Mark of Cain?" he asked harshly.
Garth's face took on an uncharacteristically grave expression.
"That was bad. About two years ago Albert called me in a panic. He told me about the Mark, asked me to research ways of removing it. Actually, he ordered me to drop everything and focus only on how to remove it."
"Did you?"
Garth shrugged.
"Within reason. Albert was about to shatter entire planets. It was the first time they actually reminded me of you two. I wanted to help them. There was trouble – doom and darkness and all the rest. But I tried to help them. I found a few solutions, but…"
He stopped again, looking helpless. Dean understood.
"They didn't take."
"I assume you know how it ended. Albert dead, Ivan vanished off the face of the galaxy."
"Well, he's back," Dean informed. "And he's allied with demons and attacking everything in sight – or will soon. I want us to do something about it. I want you to call a Hunter council."
Garth gaped at him.
"A what? Man, there hasn't been one of those in ages. Not even in the time of Lucifer! I mean, we're not on one planet anymore, we're scattered all over the Galaxy."
Dean waved this aside.
"Make it happen. I don't care how. Have as many of them as possible here within a week. And I want Max Banes in particular."
Garth shook his head.
"You don't ask for much, do you?"
Dean's eyes flashed.
"I ask for a way to stop Ivan Lukassen. And all of you are going to help me."
Streets of Mars
"I think he's coming round."
"Sir, lie still"
"Should we call someone?"
"You know who we should call."
"You saw what that was."
Sam groaned. The disjointed voices made no sense. The aftermath of the vision – if that was what it had been was still playing in his head. He could barely register where he was, or who he was. All he knew was that he was lying on the ground with too many people around him. He tried to get up, but someone pushed him back.
"Sir, don't move. You need to lie down. You need to stay still."
Sam did not need to lie down. He did not need to stay still. He needed Dean, though. He wanted him there. Yes, he was over thirty years old and he needed his brother to get his world pieced together again. Yes, he was aware of his codependency issues, thank you very much. He had diagnosed himself back at Stanford and over the years he found he could not give a damn. It was a free galaxy, after all. He could keep on needing Dean until they were both old and helpless with all their teeth falling. It would still be only his and Dean's problem and the rest of the world could go hang.
Once again, Sam tried to push himself up, irritably batting away the hands trying to keep him still.
"My brother," he muttered, finding his words heavy and his throat hoarse. "I've got to get to my brother."
"Sam?"
Sam turned around, keeping a hand firmly against the wall, to keep himself steady. The voice was vaguely familiar. It brought to him a sense of grief and for an instant, he was too much in shock after his vision, to fully register why he should feel that way. Then, he caught the woman's face above him, through the haze of pain, and he knew. This was the one he had come to see. Lena McDuff, Llewellyn's mother. And he had terrible news for her.
Sam tried to shake off the last vestiges of the incident. He felt Lena's hand on his trembling back and heard her talking to the crowd. He had to urge himself to concentrate on what she was saying:
"It's alright. I know him. He's a friend of my son, you see."
The words caused Sam to flinch. Because he had indeed been a friend of Llewellyn's, and look where that got him. And Lena didn't know, and she was being so kind to him, just like her son had been, and Sam hated it, because as sure as hell he didn't deserve it. Not from her. He cursed himself for his incredibly bad timing, for getting the vapors right outside Lena's workplace. She was focused on him and she shouldn't have been.
Beyond Lena's words, Sam could hear other people arguing.
"But he's a telepath, Ma'am," one of them was saying, "That was a mind-burst, I could swear to it."
Well, what else could they think, Sam mused darkly, after they saw him go down with his hands clutching his head, probably screaming, too?
"Nonsense," Lena said firmly. "It wasn't anything of the kind, right, Sam?"
Sam cleared his throat. This was his chance to clear this mess.
"No," he said firmly, "No, it wasn't a mind-burst. It was a…"
Vision. Say it, Sam. Say it out loud. Like that's gonna sound any better. He bit his lips, trying to think of an explanation that would not land him in a locked room – or with the Psi-Corps.
He heard himself muttering some half-convincing explanation about an attack and him being hit on the head a little too hard. It was his fault, really, he shouldn't have been wandering about on his own like that. But he had urgent Ranger business to attend to, so what could he do? He was not sure they believed him, but the crowd did begin to scatter. Sam let go of a breath he did not know he had been holding. Only Lena remained at his side.
"I think you'd better come to my office," she said tonelessly. "Judging from the state of you, you wouldn't be here unless you really wanted to talk to me."
And just like that, Sam thought he would rather face the crowd.
Lena led Sam to her office. She locked the door behind her and motioned Sam to sit. She herself went to stand by the window.
"It's bad news, isn't it?" she asked harshly. "I know. You won't look me in the eye. My husband, Llewellyn's father, he was on board the Icarus."
Sam's startled eyes moved briefly to her, and she nodded, in a sort of grim approval.
"Oh, yes. You know what happened. The accident. The ship exploding. And when they came to tell me, they would not look me in the eye. Just like you're doing now."
Sam bit his lips. He still would not look up.
"I'm sorry."
He meant more than Llewellyn's death. He meant his involvement in it. The part he had played, however unwilling. He wished he had the guts to confess that to Lena. But he could not. This was not only about him and his need for redemption. Lena might find it easier if she did not know how useless, how senseless Llewellyn's death had been. He was certain Llewellyn did not want her to know.
"Your son was one of the best of us. He did the Anlashok proud – and he was a good friend."
It felt hypocritical to talk about Llewellyn like that. Sam was the last person with the right to do it. Llewellyn had been good. Not like Sam, with his bloody past and endless mistakes. Dean would probably kill him for thinking it, but it felt like the wrong person had died. It should not have been Sam standing here with Lena.
"I am sorry," he repeated again. "I know it doesn't help. I know…"
But he did not, did he? Because, even though he had been in Lena's position plenty of time – losing the only family he had, he always got it back. Dean always came back to him. Lena would not have such luxury. She would never get her son – or her husband back. So what right had Sam to talk to her? He got up abruptly.
"There will be someone to contact you about arrangements," he said, suddenly formal. "And if you need any help at all, we are at your disposal."
Someone else, Sam mused, would deal with Llewellyn's eulogy. Delenn, probably, or Sheridan. Someone more deserving than Sam. He nodded to Lena and left. He found the museum guide and told her Lena had received bad news and needed support. She should not be alone. But she should not be with Sam, either.
San Diego Ruins. Earth
He stood alone among the death signs of centuries ago. It was a fitting place for him – he, death's newest servant. He did not know what he was now, or even who he was. He remembered the name - Ivan Lukassen, from the Russian Consortium. Hunter. But he could not relate the information to himself. He could not define himself with it. And it was hard to do so, when the one person who knew him for who he was had died.
It was funny. He had heard about the Winchesters often and he thought he would never understand them. He'd never get how the two insisted on clinging to each other. He'd never get Dean for forgiving his brother time and time again. He'd never get the two of them breaking the world for each other. Not until now. Not until he'd lost Albert so irredeemably. By his own hand.
Now he knew. Now that he had crossed the line that divided good from evil, he got everything: the sacrifices, the breaking of the world, the deals. He had a front row seat to what the Winchesters had felt. And he was about to follow in their footsteps. He still did not know if it was love for Albert or guilt that I was prompting him. Maybe it did not matter. Maybe they were one and the same.
He had powers now. He could open doors closed to many. He could not bring back the dead, though. Especially not the ones dead by his own hand. He had made connections, though. He had made plenty of deals, selling the Galaxy piece by piece, like it was all his. Now, he needed one last thing. You could not bring back the dead without offering a life in return. And he wanted to do this right. He needed the Winchesters. Well, only one, really, but Ivan was not stupid. He could not risk leaving one of them alive. He knew that, even with what he was now, it would amount to signing his death of warrant.
He looked out at the fallen tangle of concrete and melted steel. And he swore that he would gladly get the entire universe looking like that – if it meant having Albert back by his side.
Mars. Jody Mills' place
When Sam got to Jody's place, Dean was already there. Jody had been called on a case and left with the promise to be back to them as soon as she was able. To be honest, Sam was actually relieved. After his talk with Lena, he felt emotionally drained. He did not think he was up to facing anyone other than Dean until he got his act together.
'What the hell happened to you?" Dean asked as soon as he caught sight of him.
Sam had to hand it to his brother. He had stopped at a restroom on the way and knew he did not look that bad. His face was not pale anymore and his headache had moved from full on power metal concert in his skull to bad but manageable. But while he might be able to fake being alright to most people – it was always different when it came to Dean.
He hesitated. Years back, he would have lied. He would have hidden this from Dean as long as possible, not wanting to worry him , or afraid of his reaction. But he had learned a thing or two in his time as a Ranger. Such as the importance of sharing information instead of hiding it. And maybe…maybe if he started being open to Dean, then Dean might follow his example.
"Sammy?" Dean asked, noticing Sam's hesitation. "You ok?"
Making a decision, Sam crossed the room to sit next to Dean. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for his brother's reaction.
"No," he admitted, forcing himself to meet Dean's concerned gaze. "No, I guess I'm not. Dean…before I got to the museum, something happened to me."
Right…I hope you enjoyed. I'll be on holiday for a few weeks, so expect the next chapter around the second week of September. Enjoy the rest of your summer.