Familial Relations chp4 - 2/2
Nov. 26th, 2006 04:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tigriswolfChapter: IV. Genetic Codes
Rating: R for language and an assortment of other things(take a look at the warnings. I think you’ll understand.)
part 1
Jake is getting tired of waking up. He’s tired of his soul leaking every which way, of not having control over his emotions. Tired of Marisol in the back of his mind, telling him it’s just a matter of time, that he’ll prove her son in the end.
He’s just tired.
But the fourth time he wakes in the hotel room, it’s a slow process. He pushes toward the light, through a mist and clouds and rain. He fights for it, determined he’s had enough sleep for a lifetime.
His eyes open to sunlight, bright and glorious. The shades are drawn back and Sam stands at the window, dressed in jeans and dark shirt.
“Feel better?”
Without looking over at Jake, he asks the question. Without inflection or accusation, he still accuses.
Jake discards half a dozen replies before answering honestly. “Yes.”
Sam turns and Jake realizes Dean isn’t in the room. “He ran to get gas for his car,” Sam says and prowls closer.
Glancing around the room, searching just to be sure, Jake reaches out for the hum that is Dean. Then he notices that his arm is healed but for a pale scar. He sits up and swings his legs off the bed. “The hell?” he asks, raising the guilty appendage for inspection.
Sam laughs softly and stops just before Jake, standing between his knees. Jake looks up and up and up—damn, Sam is tall. “I came out of the shower and it was healed,” Sam explains, taking Jake’s arm in his hands. He trails his fingertips along the scar and Jake sucks in a breath. Sam’s eyes meet his and the uncle barely a year older smirks dastardly.
“You look like Dean when I left for Stanford,” Sam murmurs, his right hand trailing up Jake’s arm to his face. “Sometimes, I wonder why, how I could possibly leave.” He cups Jake’s cheek, eyes burning with—Jake thinks he knows this one. Misplaced desire.
He should push Sam away, pull back, not stand and tilt his head. But what he should do and what he does do are two completely different things and Sam’s kiss is familiar—like Dean’s, Jake thinks.
He is so completely fucked. The thought makes him laugh and Sam pulls back slightly, lowers his head to kiss his way along Jake’s jaw. “What’s so funny?” he breathes into Jake’s skin.
“Life,” Jake answers and Sam chuckles, too.
-
When Dean gets back, Jake is watching TV and Sam’s surfing the web.
Jake’s been thinking. As much as he wants to, he can’t stay with them. He’s too fucked up, too dangerous. Marisol is in his blood and his mind, whispers nasty things to his soul, and he’s terrified one day he’ll listen.
He asks before he knows he’s formed the question. “Would you kill me?”
Dean and Sam look over, Dean from the bags and Sam from the laptop. Then they glance at each other.
“No,” Dean says, gazing at something Jake can’t see. “No,” he repeats, more strongly. “Because if you die, it means they’ve won.”
Jake wonders if the three of them will ever talk about the discussion in the car, the discussion after Sam’s dream, the discussion after Jake nearly sawed his arm in half. And the sex. They really need to discuss the sex.
Sam nods and adds, “I wouldn’t, either.”
“But what if I go evil?” he asks. “What if I follow Marisol’s way?”
Dean goes back to sorting clothes and Sam stands, leans against the wall. “Do you want to?” Dean retorts, almost like an afterthought.
“No,” he says decisively. He doesn’t want to be a thing like Marisol, not in any way.
“Are you like her?” It’s Sam this time, Sam’s comforting voice, Sam’s everything is alright and nothing has ever been wrong tone. And it works. Jake feels himself calming; he can also see Dean’s smirk, even though Dean’s back is to him.
Jake thinks for a long second. “I killed a man.”
“If I remember correctly, Jake,” Dean comments, “you said you felt bad about that.”
“I do.”
“Do you think Marisol feels badly about anyone she killed?” Sam wonders aloud.
It’s rhetorical, but Jake answers anyway. “No.”
“There you go, then,” Dean says. “You may be her son, but you’re not hers. You have a choice, Jake.” Dean turns around, one of Sam’s shirts held loosely in his fingers. “That’s the beauty of being human. You have a choice. Blood is a large part, but it’s not and never will be the deciding factor.”
Jake stares at him, taking in everything. Comparing what he sees before him with what he sees in the mirror.
“Do you feel guilt for what Sam did?” Jake asks after a lengthy silence.
Dean’s eyes flicker but his face stays comforting. “Yes.”
“Why?” Jake’s eyes stay locked onto his father’s, but he can feel Sam’s restlessness, feel how much Sam wants to jump in.
“He’s my little brother. Mine to protect. And I…” Dean searches for the words but they won’t come.
“You love him,” Jake offers. “More than you ever will anyone else. If you had to choose between him and the world, you’d light the world afire and watch it burn. And it’s not the sex, is it? That’s just one part, like the blood. But you don’t have the words to tell him how you feel, not often enough. So you don’t use words to tell him, you use your body. And you wish you had the strength to stop the fucking, because he’s still your kid brother, still that baby you remember holding, and it disgusts you, that you take and give pleasure.”
Jake doesn’t know where the words are coming from but he can’t stop them. Dean’s eyes are guarded, but he hasn’t made any move to leave or shut Jake up. And Jake sees the abyss looming, knows he’s about to plummet right over the edge and into it, and he has no idea if he’ll be able to find a way out.
“But, see, what you don’t know, Dean, is that Sam knows all that. He knows how you feel, about him and yourself. He knows. He’s always known. And he’s tried to tell you but you don’t want to listen. Because if you hear him say all that then he’s not your baby brother anymore. Then he’s no longer innocent. You don’t want him blemished, tarnished, because you have to keep him safe.” Jake watches Dean fight himself; a part of him denies the truth, will deny it forever. Another part of him unfurls, says, Yes.
Jake closes his eyes, feels Marisol in him, trying to tempt him and he knows it has to stop. He can’t be a battleground anymore. So Jake reaches deep in his soul with tendrils of his power—Marisol’s power—and finds where it all stems from. If he can cast this from him, send it away, Marisol will have no root in him, nothing to hold him with.
It’s a black pulsing light, diseased and disgusting. Now that he sees where it all came from, he wonders how he could ever have used it.
What are you doing? he hears. Her voice. Her voice a year after she’s dead.
Finishing it, he answers. Finishing you.
Her shriek fills his head, a ringing denial, and it hurts, but he takes his father’s blood and his will and he grabs the light, covers it over with—something, something that has no name. Mom’s face blinks in his memory, even here, and he knows now the something is filled with love. So he takes every memory of Connie, of Mom, every memory Sam and Dean have of each other, and he pours it all into his tendrils, grabbing hold of Marisol’s dark light. And he pulls. He covers it over and he yanks it out, and then he casts it into the void.
The chasm opens before him and Marisol shrieks, and then laughter, deep laughter, sounds around him. Marisol’s son, the deep voice says. You turn your back on all she was?
Yes, he responds, voice trembling but sure.
I will offer you no more chances.
The name pops into Jake’s mind but he refuses to form it. I don’t want any, he replies, staring into the abyss.
So be it, child, the darkest of the dark proclaims. Hell will have no hold on you.
Jake casts Marisol’s light from him and then collapses, mind and body no longer enough to sustain him. It streams from his blood and tissue, from his bone and skin, from his mind, his soul, his eyes—he will keep the knowledge he gained but not the ability. He will remember that he could destroy the world had he so desired, but the power will no longer flow through him.
The laughter booms, builds, breaks over him, and the dark voice murmurs, It is no longer yours, Jake Grey. What it cost so much to give you has now left you forever. But parts will remain. The war will be no fun if all the opponents are weak, so some of it will still flow in your blood. But remember, Jake. Remember. When the time comes, remember what you have given away.
A wave scoops him up and tosses him back, out of the crevasse in his soul, and his eyes open with a gasp. He shivers, realizes he’s half lying on someone’s lap and half lying on the bed, and someone is talking. Two someone’s. Arguing.
He’s fairly certain he’s been here before. Laughter bubbles in his throat but what comes out of his mouth is a keening wail. Now that it’s gone be realizes what he had, and he will miss it—but the cry trails off and he knows, he’s sure, he will be better now.
“It’s gone.” His voice is rough, barely there. “All of it.”
“Jake,” he distantly hears Sam say, “Jake, where did you go?” A gentle, calloused hand touches his forehead. Sam speaks again, softly says, “You’re safe now, Jake.”
Jake focuses his gaze on Sam and tells him, “Marisol isn’t there anymore.”
Sam smiles but Jake can it’s strained. He wonders why and tries to ask. But the words won’t come. So instead he asks, “Where’s Dean?”
“He had to go deal with the neighbors,” Sam explains, his fingers still threading through Jake’s hair. “You were screaming and we couldn’t…” Sam shudders. “We couldn’t reach you.”
“I’m sorry,” Jake whispers, barely staying awake.
“Go to sleep, Jake,” Sam murmurs, leaning down to kiss his forehead and then lightly pressing their lips together. “Sleep.”
“Okay,” he mutters and closes his eyes. For a little while longer, Jake holds on to consciousness, feels Sam card his fingers though Jake’s hair, listens to Sam murmur in a comforting tone. But finally, Jake drops off.
-
He wakes in a car. After a moment, he recognizes it—Dean’s Impala. He’s stretched out in the backseat, a coat spread over him and a sweatshirt bundled up beneath his head.
Sam and Dean are softly talking in the front; the music is muted. Jake strains to hear them but all he can make out are their voices.
“Where are we?” he asks finally, sitting up.
Sam turns around in his seat, smiles at Jake. “Just passed the Colorado state line. We have a friend in Lost Creek; she’s letting us stay there for the night. Tomorrow we’ll decide what to do.”
Jake stretches, trying to work out the kinks, but his neck and back still ache. “How long?”
“Three days,” Dean answers. “Sam had to carry you to the car.”
“I’m sorry,” Jake tells them. Instinctively Jake reaches for the power, to see who this friend is, to see if there’s any danger—but nothing. There’s only a blank, empty space where it used to reside. “For everything I’ve done to you.”
“Don’t be,” Sam responds, eyes sincere and voice calm. “We had to find you, Jake. We had to. And I—we—think…” Sam catches his gaze. “You’re ours, Jake. One of us.” Sam shrugs. “Do you feel it?”
Jake nods. His whole life, he’s felt out of place. Even with Mom and Connie—something was missing. Had always been missing. Some part of him felt empty, those twenty-one years. And then it all made sense—he wasn’t even human, so of course humans couldn’t fill him or make him happy.
But after he met Dean and Sam, he felt… complete. Whole. Parts of him that had been empty were filled. Like pieces of a puzzle, all the jagged edges fit together flawlessly. Seamlessly. He stretches with his senses, tentatively, wondering… and he feels them.
But parts will remain, the dark voice said. And Jake can feel Dean, feel Sam—their minds hum, their blood calls to him, and he answers. He’s lost the power to end everything and gained a family. He figures it to be an even trade.
Dean stops at a McDonald’s and they buy lunch. It’s a quiet meal but the silence is not strained. There’s so much to think about, to reconcile with everything he’s ever known.
He listens to the hum and feels at peace. There is something coming, he knows it—that dark voice… even now, he doesn’t think the name. But he knows—and he shies away from that thought. He can do nothing at the moment.
So he says, “Tell me about this friend.”
“Well,” Dean starts, “she sure is a pistol.”
Sam laughs. Jake can’t help but smile.
“Her brother was kidnapped by a wendigo,” Sam continues. “Our dad sent us the coordinates to the place, otherwise we never would have caught wind of it.”
“We might have,” Dean cuts in, taking a bite of his Big Mac. “But it would have been too late for Tommy; probably Haley and Ben, too.”
“Anyway,” Sam says, “Haley is Tommy’s little sister, and Ben’s the youngest. Haley hired a guide to take her through the forest, determined to find Tommy. It’s just the three of them since their parents died.” Sam eats a couple of fries and Dean steals some.
“So, in the end,” Dean adds, “I torched the son of a bitch and we saved the three kids.”
“What about the guide?” Jake asks, finishing off his fish sandwich.
Sam and Dean share a glance. “No one likes a skeptic,” Dean says. “And wendigos hate to be shot at.”
Jake thinks about that for a moment then comments, “Guess that’s true.” He drains the rest of his water then questions, “So you just called her up and told her you needed a place to stay?”
“Well, uh, see,” Sam answers, “turns out that Ben sometimes just knows things. And Haley called us. Said Ben knew we were tired and needed a rest.”
Dean takes over. “In your sleep, you said it was okay, that we’d be safe in Colorado.” He shrugs. “So here we are, ‘bout an hour away.”
Sam finally finishes his third burger and drains the last of his coke.
“Black hole full?” Dean snarks and Sam smirks.
“You’re just jealous ‘cause I never gain weight.”
Jake smiles and clears their table, taking one last sip of his water before throwing everything away. “I gotta go,” he says, gesturing to the restroom.
“Don’t worry,” Dean says, “we’ll wait.”
Jake rolls his eyes.
-
“Jake?” Sam asks and Jake glances towards the front. “You said that it’s gone. All of it. And Marisol.” Sam twists in his seat, looking at Jake. “What did you mean?”
Licking his lips, Jake wonders how he can possibly explain. “I, uh,” he starts and then pauses. He drums his fingers on the window. “I sorta went inside myself, down deep where my power was. My center. Or whatever. And I…” He takes a deep breath. “I cast it out.” He meets Sam’s eyes, then Dean’s in the rearview. “It’s gone. All my abilities. The telekinesis, conjuring, telepathy, foresight—poof. Cast back into the abyss.”
“But you still have something,” Dean says. “Don’t you.”
Jake nods. “Same as you.”
-
Haley is pretty much what Jake expected, and so’s Tommy. But Ben—
“Sure have grown, squirt,” Dean chuckles and Ben ducks his head. He’s almost as tall as Sam, gangly and awkward, unsure of his movements. He doesn’t look at Sam directly but keeps glancing at him out of the corners of his eyes.
Jake and Dean share a smirk; Sam blushes.
Haley tells them that there’s the guest bedroom and the couch. Neither she nor her brothers had blinked when Jake got out of the Impala. He doesn’t know if that’s because of Ben or what, but he’s glad for it.
Tommy says, “We’re having steaks for dinner,” and Dean whoops.
“So, how’ve things been?” Sam asks Haley. Jake’s hanging back, unsure of his place.
“Really good,” she answers. “Tommy’s fine; everything healed perfectly. The state paid for the hospital and Tommy’s boss gave him some time off, paid leave.” She smiles up at Sam. “Thank you—both of you—so much.”
Sam smiles in return and shrugs. “It’s what we do.”
It’s over supper that Ben says to Jake, “You’re going to regret letting them go.”
Jake freezes and Sam questions calmly, “Letting what go?”
Ben smiles sadly at Jake. “All your abilities—they would have come in handy at the end. But now…” he shrugs. “A little bit of knowledge, knowing when your family’s in danger, an affinity for fire—it’ll be useful, but when the time comes, it may not be enough.”
Tommy and Haley look uncomfortable, but the Winchesters and Jake focus on Ben.
Jake says, “It’ll have to be.”
Ben meets his eyes and answers, “I guess so.”
The moment passes. Sam asks Tommy what his job is and Dean talks about cars with Haley. Jake watches Ben and Ben watches Jake.
After supper, Haley clears the table and Sam helps her with the dishes. Tommy shows Dean some electrical gadget—usually, Jake would have been interested, but he follows Ben to his room.
“What do you know?” he asks and Ben falls back onto his bed. Jake stays by the door, leaning against it.
“Everything. What you were, what you are. Who they are to you.” Ben’s voice is solemn, but Jake hears the want threading through it.
“My family,” Jake tells him. “And I won’t let anyone hurt them.”
Ben laughs softly. “I feel the same way. Dean and Sam, they’re…” his voice trails off and he shakes his head.
“I know.” Jake pushes off the door and lets himself fall beside Ben. “They’re something else.” He looks Ben right in the eyes. “You won’t get Sam. Not the way you want.”
Ben nods. “I know that. It was obvious then, back when he saved us. But it’s even clearer now.” He sighs and stares up at the ceiling, stretched out next to Jake. “I had the first dream a few weeks after Tommy came home from the hospital. I saw Sam and Dean—they were younger, sparring. Then hunting. And then they found you. In my dreams, they jumped around, from places to ages. Over and over, at least three times a week for months, I dreamed their lives. Watched them grow and fight, and finally…” He licks his lips and laughs softly. “Finally,” he murmurs, “I saw them fuck.”
Jake laughs, too.
“Anyway, so about a week ago,” Ben continues, “I dreamed about you. Only you. Your parents, both sets, your friends—and the abyss. I woke knowing Dean’s phone number and that the three of you needed a place to rest.”
“You’d told Tommy and Haley about your dreams?” Jake asks.
“Of course,” Ben answers. “At first, they didn’t want to believe me. Dreams of the past, the future… but Sam and Dean saved us. We’d be dead without them.” Ben rolls over and looks at Jake. “Haley said then, at Blackwater Ridge, that those things aren’t supposed to exist. But they do. So my dreams…” Ben trails off and Jake nods his understanding.
They lie in silence for a few minutes and then Ben questions softly, “How was it?”
Jake’s laughter rings out, loud and full. Ben grins and chuckles, “Was that redundant?”
“Pretty much,” Jake answers, unable to stop laughing. Finally he does, though, and leans against Ben, whispers into his ear, “Best ever, in the history of the world.” Ben shivers and Jake pulls back, Dean’s predatory smirk on his lips.
Ben’s gaze flickers from Jake’s eyes, down his face to his mouth, and then further south. Jake almost preens but refrains. Ben licks his lips and pulls his gaze away. He’s sweating and breathing shallowly; Jake takes pity on him and slips off the bed. “I’m gonna see what they’re up to,” he says and Ben nods.
But as he walks out, Jake tosses over his shoulder, “Just ask, Ben. I am as close as you’ll ever get.” He smirks again and softly shuts Ben’s door behind him.
They spend a week with the Collins’. Jake gets the guest bed three times, the couch twice, and the guestroom floor twice. Sam shows Ben some moves that take advantage of his height, Dean teaches Haley some self-defense techniques that can’t be defeated, and Jake plays with all four of their computers, working out each bug and improving their speed. All three Collins’ are taught the basics of guns. Haley takes to it with ease. Ben prefers no weapons, but Tommy likes knives.
By the time Sam has a dream, it’s been seven days. Dean enjoys the Collins’ company, but he’s itching to move on.
Ben never takes Jake up on his offer; Jake had known he wouldn’t.
Jake sleeps well each night, out like a light. It isn’t dreamless, but the dreams are pleasant. Memories of Connie and Mom, replays of his time with Sam and Dean, and flashes of the man he could have been.
Sam wakes on the eighth day and says, “It’s time to go.” Jake’s on the floor and Dean has the couch.
“Okay,” Jake answers.
By noon, they’re packed and gone. Haley hugs all three of them. Tommy claps them on the shoulder and Ben moves restlessly, unsure of what to do. Finally, as Dean slams the trunk shut, Ben lunges forward and pulls Sam’s head down, presses their lips together. Sam doesn’t react for a moment but then he places his hands on Ben’s shoulders and kisses back.
When Ben moves away, he’s blushing and blinking furiously, unable to look at Sam, and stammering, trying to think of something to say.
“See you later,” Sam says to Haley and Tommy, giving Ben a warm smile. Ben studies the ground but raises his head when Sam walks away.
Jake meets his eyes and nods, smiles once more, and slides into the backseat.
He doesn’t look back as Dean drives away, but Sam watches their house recede in the mirror.
“So, what’d you see?” Dean asks a few miles down the road.
“Meg,” Sam answers, flipping the visor back up. “She had some kid, a boy about eight or nine. She was daring another boy, twelvish, telling him that he couldn’t do it.”
“Do what?” Jake inquires, stretching himself along the seat.
“I don’t know,” Sam replies. “But I know that we have to get to Fitchburg, Wisconsin, before she does.”
Dean nods and speeds up.
“So,” Jake says, “either of you gonna tell me who Meg is?”
-
Jake’s been waiting for the time to tell them how to kill the demon.
The thing is, he doubts both of them, Sam and Dean, will make it out alive. He already knows he won’t.
Marisol’s knowledge of ending her own kind was complete. She hadn’t made it to a few rungs below—well, so high in the hierarchy by being nice. When she went after someone, she erased them from existence. And Jake knows everything she knew.
But he no longer has the power. He hates himself for not taking the chance when he had it. And he knows they will, too.
Dean stops for lunch and Jake says, “It’s a trap.”
Sam nods. “Probably.”
“I know how to kill it.”
Dean freezes in the act of opening his door. “It?” he repeats, turning his head to look at Jake.
“The thing that killed your mom, killed Jessica. It’s messy and slow, could backfire in a hundred different ways, because we’re all just plain humans, now—mostly—but if we do the ritual right, the demon will be gone forever.”
Dean laughs incredulously. “So while you were all hopped up, more powerful than God, you didn’t think to mention this?”
Jake looks at his hands. “I’m sorry,” he says softly and Dean sighs.
“Let’s eat,” he mutters and gets out, softly shuts the door behind him. It’s louder than if he’d slammed it.
Jake lifts his gaze to Sam. “It takes blood,” Sam says. “Doesn’t it.” Jake nods and Sam studies him for a moment more. “Before the vision,” Sam tells him, “I dreamed of something else. Of someone falling—a man. But he jumped, to take another’s place. I couldn’t see his face, just feel him—he was happy.”
Jake isn’t sure what Sam is saying so he doesn’t have the words to respond. Finally, Sam says, “Let’s get inside before Dean orders the worst thing on the menu.”
With a tired sigh, Jake opens the door and slides out of the car. When Sam follows, Jake tells him, “I am sorry. If I’d’ve known—”
Sam cuts him off. “I know, Jake. I dreamed your life, remember? I know.” Sam runs a hand through his hair and mutters something about stubborn jackasses, but Jake can’t make out most of it and doubts he really wants to. “You just…” Sam lowers his head and steps forward, into Jake’s space. “You had the world in the palm of your hand, Jake. And we’re lucky that you’re basically a decent guy, because you could have done some really fucked-up things. But you didn’t. You didn’t. And that right there proves the guy you are.”
“But I didn’t do anything good, either,” Jake interrupts, almost embarrassed. “I just wandered, like some demented Forest Gump.”
“Yeah,” Sam admits with a soft huff of laughter. “You did. But you’re a demented Forest Gump that could have gone Voldemort on the world and didn’t. You’re a demented Forest Gump that could have taken over, and if you were more like your mom, you would have. And, yeah,” Sam adds, reaching out and grabbing Jake’s shoulders, “it would have been nice if you took care of that fucking demon for us, but you didn’t. And we—I—can’t hold you guilty for that.”
Jake looks up into Sam’s eyes and raises a brow. “Okay,” Sam amends, “we could. We’ve been chasing it for two decades and counting, and it’s all I remember, all I know—but.” He stops, searching Jake’s face for something. Jake waits a moment and then goes to move away, to head inside, but Sam’s grip tightens. “Listen to me,” Sam tells him softly. “Actually listen, okay?” He pauses and Jake nods. “I forgive you.”
Jake almost smiles and looks away, out past the car, at the horizon. Sam lowers his head, rests on Jake’s, and Jake reaches up, strokes his face.
“This is so fucked,” he mutters. “Really, truly fucked.”
“Yeah,” Sam answers. “It is, a bit.”
They stand in silence for a moment, listening to the world and each other’s breath. “We should get inside,” Sam finally murmurs. “Before Dean really loses his temper.”
Jake nods but doesn’t move, except to raise his face a little. Sam takes that as his cue and leisurely leans down, whispers into Jake’s mouth, “You taste like him.”
“So do you,” Jake whispers back.
-
By the time Sam and Jake make it to lunch, Dean’s mostly finished. He’s silent when they sit down, he ignores them when they order, and he doesn’t react when they talk to him.
Sam rolls his eyes and asks Jake, “Have you seen Day of the Triffids?”
Jake’s gaze flickers to Dean but he looks back at Sam and says, “Yeah. The book’s a million times better.”
So they eat and discuss the merits of the novella versus the film and let Dean stew. Jake hopes Sam knows what he’s doing, and supposes he does—he has a lifetime of practice.
Sam swallows his last bite of burger and pulls out a twenty, places it on the table. Jake drains his glass of water and stands in tune with Sam. Dean lifts his head, eyes them both.
“Goin’ somewhere?” he asks lazily and takes a sip of Coke.
“We gotta get to Fitchburg soon as possible, Dean,” Sam says. “Two kids—maybe more—are in danger.”
Dean purses his lips and stands. “You’re drivin’, Sammy,” he states, raising his glass for one final gulp. “Me and Jake have some talkin’ to do.”
His smile is pure evil and Jake’s actually scared. He brings up the rear, dragging his feet, and Sam shoots him a compassionate smile before getting in the Impala and starting her up.
Dean opens the back door and gestures for Jake to slide in. There’s nothing else for him to do, and Dean follows him in, gently closing the door.
Dean doesn’t say anything for roughly fifty miles. And there’s no way in hell Jake is going to speak first. Sam keeps his peace, too, and Jake understands. He still feels a little betrayed, though.
“So, your uncle,” Dean says, staring out the window. “Why’d you let him rape you?”
“Seemed like too much trouble to make him stop.”
Sam makes a noise and Jake looks toward the front. “You saw that?” he questions.
“I saw—something,” Sam answers. “But I wasn’t sure.”
“And somehow,” Dean continues, “what he did to you and what I did to Sam are different?”
“Yeah,” Jake replies in disbelief. “Because you love him and he wanted it. He initiated it, from what I know. He practically made it almost impossible for you stop. If anything, Dean, he raped you.”
Dean’s head whips around and he glares at Jake. Jake wants to cower back but he met Marisol’s stare when he thought she was the devil and there’s no fucking way Dean is scarier than her.
No. Fucking. Way. So Jake clenches his fists and meets Dean’s eyes and refuses to blink. Refuses to look away from Dean’s burning stare, refuses to give in to the fear churning in his belly and the knowledge that since he gave up everything, Dean could kill him before he even thinks about moving.
Not that Dean would, of course. Jake hasn’t done anything to deserve killing, not really, and Dean only goes after active evil. Plus, Sam would stop him.
Finally, after an eternity of barely breathing and warring within himself, Jake relaxes because Dean smiles. It’s bitter, razor-edged, dangerous—but it’s a smile. Dean says, “He didn’t.”
Sam whispers from the front, “I did.” He sounds disgusted and angry and full of self-loathing. “Holy fuck, Dean, I did.”
Jake leans up, peers around the driver’s seat. Sam’s hands are clenched tight on the wheel, a pale white. His jaw is clenched, too, and Jake wonders if it hurts.
Dean sighs and tells Sam, “Pull over.”
Jake looks from one to the other and then down at his hands. He stays in the car when they get out. He may be a part of them, but it’s not his place. He wasn’t there at the beginning, even if he has some of Sam’s memories floating around in his skull. He wasn’t there, so he can’t know—he forced this, maybe, with his questions and curiosity, with his face, and he may be fucked up, but this—
He raises his head and looks out the windshield, where Sam’s gesturing wildly but not yelling, and Dean’s just gazing up at him. Dean says something and Sam deflates, sinks in on himself. Sam reaches out, rests his hand on Dean’s shoulder, and Dean moves into the touch.
Jake smiles. With all the mistakes he’s made, it’s about damn time he did something right.
-
They’re a few miles out of Fitchburg and Dean’s asleep shotgun. The sun set hours ago and Dean didn’t stir when Sam and Jake switched places.
Dean might kill him for driving without permission, but Sam said he needed to rest, so either they stopped for the night or Jake could drive the Impala.
She’s the hottest car he’s ever seen. No one in their right mind would turn that down. Jake feels right behind the wheel, with Dean and Sam and a mission. What mission that might be isn’t quite clear yet, but he does know where it will end.
The knowledge sings in his memory, Sam and Dean’s blood hums to him, and Mom whispers in the back of his head, You’re home, baby. You’re home now, where you've always belonged.
Jake sees the hotel and asks, “This alright?” Sam says yeah, so he turns into the parking lot. Jake heads in to get a room and Sam just stretches, staying by the car.
The office is empty so Jake dings the bell and winces at the noise—he’s always hated that sound. A kid slouches out of the back, barely thirteen, if that. He leans against the counter and looks up at Jake, asks, “King or two queens?”
Jake responds, “Two queens.”
The kid’s eyes flick past him so Jake looks back, sees Sam through the window, resting against Dean’s Impala. “Yeah, I’ll bet,” the kid mutters and Jake smirks.
-
When the room is finally sorted out, Sam wakes Dean up and Dean grumbles something about inconsiderate mongooses. Jake raises an eyebrow and Sam shakes his head, so Jake doesn’t ask. Dean falls face-first into one of the beds and Sam sinks down beside him.
“That kid,” Sam says, running his hand along the comforter. “The one at the front desk? He’s one of the boys in my dream.”
“Well, at least we know we’re at the right place,” Jake comments, throwing himself onto the other bed.
“Yeah,” Sam sighs and stretches back, pushing Dean over.
“So, ya’ll’re good now, right?” Jake asks, turning his head to look at Sam.
“Good as we ever are,” Sam answers and Jake smiles.
continued in "Blood Kin"
(no subject)
Date: 2007-01-06 11:18 pm (UTC)It's one of those movies that's so bad it's good. Just don't expect too much.
Thank you for reading!