Fandom: “Supernatural”/“Dark Angel” crossover
Disclaimer: not my characters; just for fun.
Warnings: future!fic for both shows
Pairings: none stated
Point of view: third
Notes: forratherbe4gotten, to her prompt of Alec meets Sam or SamnDean
He blinks and it’s ten years after the apocalypse. He’s not in Miami anymore; the Space Needle is in the distance. Dean’s nowhere in sight. Dean’s nowhere in sight or hearing and there’s a gaping hole in Sam’s mind.
He blinks, the Space Needle looming a few miles away. He blinks, knowing something has gone horribly wrong.
He blinks and knows Dean is gone.
First things first, he researches the hell out of history. Ten years blank, a body older and harder than he remembers, powers he sure as hell hadn’t honed all primed and ready—what’s happened?
Some shit called the Pulse took America out of the running in world power. Something called transgenics being hunted down as mistakes and freaks and dangerous, but as far as Sam can see, humans have done worse to each other for less than survival.
No mention of Winchesters in any database he can find, but since the Pulse wiped out most records, that might not mean anything.
He still has no idea how he got here, where the last ten years have gone. He remembers Miami in summer of 2009, Dean by his side as they dealt with another coven of witches, three men and two women who’d been casting curses on anyone they didn’t like.
Witches. Curses. Shit. He’s been cast into the future, and with his luck, all the witches are dead. Since he’s here, Dean must have flipped out and killed them all.
No way home. After everything, Heaven and Hell, Michael’s sword and Lucifer’s vessel—he clenches his fist, feeling the power to the depths of his soul, pulsing beneath his skin, pooling in his blood. So much power. More than he could have fathomed in Miami of 2009, more than he had when he killed Lilith while flush with her favored’s blood.
But not enough to get back to Dean.
Sam is drunk when the doppelganger walks in, looking exactly like Dean had the year Sam left for Stanford. Sam stares at him, mouth open and eyes wide, fingers tight around his glass. It can’t be Dean. He stretches out a tendril of power, seeking recognition, and it’s not Dean.
But the kid flinches just the same, recoiling back from Sam’s psychic touch, gaze flicking around the room to settle on him.
Just like Dean could do, in those last months before Miami.
The kid doesn’t approach. He just sits at the table with the others he came in with, eyes constantly returning to Sam. Sam never looks away. He gently pushes his way past the kid’s defenses, so subtly even Dean wouldn’t have felt it. He learns everything there is to know about Alec in less than five seconds, seeping into his memories and his blood.
It’s an invasion of privacy so complete there would no forgiveness if Dean’s mirror ever learned of it. Sam’s fine with that, because he has to know.
When Sam leaves, the kid follows within minutes. Sam’s seething, his power lashing around him in small waves. The ground trembles so faintly, only those who know about it can sense it, and Sam’s the only one in the whole world.
Manticore. He’s aching to sink his teeth in and shake, rip the entire operation to its innards and spill the guts for all the world to see.
Knowing about transgenics from the news is one thing. Seeing it from the mind of one of their special projects is another entirely.
Alec slinks up to him like the panther in his genetic code, hesitant like a feral cat in the presence of a greater predator, and Sam’s the best there’s ever been. Alec doesn’t look at him straight on, now that they’re away from the crowd. Alone in the back-alley, lit up by flickering streetlights and a shadowed moon, Alec only glances at him in swift bursts, from the corner of his eye.
Sam waits for the boy to speak first, the boy who is his one connection to Dean left in this world.
Alec’s been dreaming, Sam knows. Dreaming about yellow eyes and fire, about angels and demons and an apocalypse averted by the scantest of margins, about blood and salt and iron.
Alec’s been dreaming about Dean’s life. Sam wonders what Ben had dreamed about, before being put down. If that Ben were Lisa’s kid or not. Where Ben Braedon might be now, whether he’s Dean’s son.
“Who are you?” Alec asks, finally pausing in his pacing. “Why—”
Sam’s had a starring role in Alec’s dreams for near-on a month, now. He blinks back tears, looking into Alec’s huge hazel eyes. Dean’s eyes. Dean’s back in the past—somewhere in the last decade, he’s died. Sam can feel it, the hole left gaping open in the world with no Dean Winchester to fill it.
“I’m Sam,” he says. “And you’re the closest thing I have to a brother.”
The kid blinks, but Sam can sense Dean in his blood and that’s enough.