Mink (minkmix) wrote,

SPN/DA Fic: Aftershock Eight

Title: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven - Aftershock Eight - Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen & Sixteen
Also: Minor Tremors parts One & Two
accompaniment(s) to: With a Bang
Author: Mink
Rating: SPN/DA Crossover - PG - Gen – AU in the year 2020
Spoilers: General (for all aired episodes)
Disclaimers: SPN & DA & characters are owned by their various creators.
Summary: Dean POV. When one telepathic Winchester has a problem, they all have a problem. Alec succumbs to a chemical deficiency that all X5s like to hide. Spoilers for DA S1.

Dean cut the hunting trips down to a couple forays a month.

Between that and the church stuff he wished there was some free time to sit around and have a beer every now and then. Not to mention all the hours he spent at the gas station. He showed Alec around the little garage where he reigned supreme as the best (and only) mechanic in a hundred square miles, but the kid hadn’t been too impressed with the oil stained concrete. After Alec revived the dead diagnostic computer and emptied the vending machine Dean never saw him around there again.

That was fine by him.

Dean privately enjoyed having the radio and toolboxes all to himself anyway.

Shedding his greasy attire, he tossed a shirt, pants and everything else on the fence and turned on the garden hose. It was easier to get clean out here than going inside and messing up the bathroom. He’d been banging around the insides of a Winnebago all afternoon and a bottle of magma soap usually got most of the black off.

Grabbing a clean pair of jeans off the clothesline, Dean pulled them on and carefully tugged up the zipper.

It was strange not to hear the television blaring when he came up barefoot on the back steps. Usually there was a jumble of CNN along with the fancy stereo system they now inexplicably owned.

“Hello!” Dean called out in the silence. “Anyone here?” He caught a flash of a shadow along with an unnaturally frigid breeze. “Besides you, Jim.”

He was starving and had hoped there’d be food conveniently already cooked, but the stove was cold.

Pulling a drinking glass out of the sink, Dean noted that the dishes he washed that morning were wet. They had not only been rewashed but also rearranged into a more tidy system of size and color. Dean frowned. As if the remaking of his bed wasn’t fun enough to find everyday, now Alec was on the dishes too. They were going to have a sit down about how many times a plate had to see water before it was deemed clean—

He didn’t remember dropping the glass.

Staring down at the broken pieces on the floor around his feet, the cold breeze picked up around him with the resident ghost’s agitation. But the Pastor hadn’t knocked the thing out of his hand. Something else had made him drop it and whatever it was had hammered behind his eyes like a physical pain.

“What the hell...”

The icy presence of the Pastor swirled and suddenly whipped up the staircase, rattling picture frames and windowpanes until it hit the third floor of the attic with a boom that shook the rafters. Jim wasn’t a real chatty apparition but he could always get his point across.

“Alec!” Dean yelled. “You up there?”

Dean ignored the bite of the glass underfoot as he quickly headed to the stairs. When he got to the landing he received another wave of what had struck him the first time. Doubling over, he fought the urge to sink to his knees. It was a strange sensation that wasn’t all pain exactly. It was mixed up with a sickening euphoria. Dizzy, Dean stumbled up the next flight of stairs and saw Alec’s bedroom door was closed.


Dean hadn’t expected the kid to be sitting in a chair looking out the little window.

“Hey,” Dean tried again. “You hear me callin’ you?”


“I felt somethin’, a-and the Pastor is all riled up—“

“I didn’t know you were going to be home.”

“They shut down the power every other Wednesday,” Dean put a palm over Alec’s pale forehead. The kid was pretty toasty even if it was always uncomfortably hot up here. “I closed up early.”

Alec’s eyes weren’t focused on anything. Dean waved his hand in front of his face and snapped a few times.

“Okay, what is this Alec? Did you take something? What was it?”

“I don’t do drugs.”

“You don’t drink much either.”

“I-I just need some sleep.”

“Sleep?” Dean repeated.


“You sleep all the time. What are you talking about—“

“Not really,” Alec’s hands were trembling. “I close my eyes but nothing happens.”

Dean took a moment to interpret what that might mean.



“Don’t let this alarm you,” Alec slumped forward limply, sliding out of his seat and onto the floor. “I do it… I do it… all the time.”

Alec’s body suddenly stiffened in Dean’s hands and then began to shake. Dean was knocked backwards into the wall when the kid suddenly flung an arm back into his face. His vision cleared just in time to see Alec’s eyes roll back in his head. Finally realizing what was going on, Dean kicked the chair away and pushed his hands between Alec and the floorboards.

Another wave of white sizzled through Dean’s head as Alec’s back arced off the floor.

“Shit,” Dean hissed.

Surge after surge of the noise in Alec’s brain was broadcasting unchecked and uncontrolled right through air like a radio signal. Dean groaned as he realized he wasn't going to be upright for very much longer. Fumbling for his back pocket, he mumbled a sincere prayer of thanks that he’d randomly stuck his phone there. It was a good thing he didn’t have to be able to see to hit the right button.

“Sam?” The agony behind his eyes burned bright and hot. “Y-You’re needed at home.”

Alec wasn’t breathing right. Dean tried one more time to shake off the pain but it wouldn’t go away. He reached out and grabbed onto Alec instead, the kid’s muscles constricting violently under his grip. The last thing he was aware of was the sound of his own gasping.

And then he was gone.

Dean tapped the bottle of tryptophan on the table with a steady rhythmic thump.

Alec sat warily across from him but didn’t have much to say for a change. Dean realized the rattle of pills was just making his own headache worse so he stopped.

“I told you,” Alec said reasonably. “This happens to me all the time.“

“Drink the milk.”

“It’s expired.”

“Drink it.”

The month old milk was pretty nasty but it also contained lots of natural tryptophan goodness and about half the bottle of the pills pounded into a fine powder. Alec took a courtesy sip before shoving the glass half way across the table. If Dean’s forehead felt like it was now sporting a railroad spike he couldn’t begin to imagine how crappy the kid was pretending not to feel.

“We have a problem, Alec.”

“No we don’t.”

“Why aren’t you takin’ these things?” Dean held up the bottle. “When we got here we had a talk about keeping up on the supplements. You either sleep or you take the pills. You don’t get to not do both.”

“I was trying to sleep!” Alec protested. “Every night! When you guys do!”

“Sleep means sleep, not watchin’ Skinamax till the crack of dawn.”

“You don’t know anything about it,” Alec attempted some anger. “I’m totally fine.”

“You do this when we’re not around?” Dean asked. “You wait to be alone?”

“I get lucky sometimes. Can’t exactly plan it.”

“This is so uncool, Alec.”

“You can forget about those pills. I’m not taking them.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t like it.”

Dean looked down at the supplements on the table before reconsidering his nephew. “I don’t like a lot of shit either but that’s the beauty of this thing called life.”

“You don’t understand,” Alec sagged further down into his seat. “I mean I don’t like it.”

Rubbing at his eyes, Dean waited for some elaboration.

“Those pills make me dream,” his voice sounded oddly confessional. “It’s lame.”

“Bad dreams?”

“All kinds,” Alec looked lost again. “I had an epic adventure starring a talking cat head last week. Before that I had one about that pretty dude that runs the flower store and then before that I was back in that fire in the Needle and then I had this funky one about driving on Mars with Abraham Lincoln riding shotgun—“

“That’s how it works,” Dean said. “Good with the bad, it all comes together in one box.”

They both turned at the sound of tires skidding at high speed on the dirt driveway.

Dean wasn’t sure what kind of incoherent message he’d left on Sam’s voice mail, but after he'd woken up on the attic floor he’d found his own phone ringing with a few dozen missed calls. Apparently explaining that everything was more or less under control hadn’t improved his brother's mood much.

He got up from the table.

“Dean, wait,” Alec flinched when the front door slammed open. “This is a family discussion that should involve everyone—“

“I think my work here is done.”

“I’m drinking it!” Alec gulped some milk and gagged. “S-See?”

The kid looked almost pathetic enough to make Dean sit back down and get ready to perform some damage control. However, Sam was already standing in the doorway doing some worrisome controlled breathing exercises.

Dean pushed his chair in and ducked down the back hallway.

He was sending himself to his room.

go to part 9
Tags: aftershocks, dean pov, gen, h/c, hurt!alec, hurt!dean, spn/da crossover, with a bang
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