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So Why So Sad (Absolutely Perfect)
Chapter 6
Fandom: the X Files/ Supernatural
Pairing: Dean Winchester/Alex Krycek
POV: Krycek's
Rating: R throughout
Beta'd by Courtney Gray (HUGE thanks to her!)Dedicated: to Lu, LID, Warped, absrip, SibSkys - the partners in crime!
6.00 am
SundayAlex crossed the line between unconsciousness and alertness in the space of a few seconds. First thing he noted was the cloying smell of lavender. It was everywhere: on his fingers, on his stomach and under his pillow. The bed smelled like some grandma's ancient wardrobe. That Lavander Mint was a powerful thing. He lay in the dark listening, tense; the unfamiliar yet steady rhythm of someone else's breathing next to him in the bed.
Dean was snoring lightly at an arm's length from him. He saw the outline of his back and shoulders as the blanket slipped. He must be truly sound asleep, for he was still lying in the same pose he'd dropped off, about four hours earlier. Maybe it had been a while since he'd slept in a normal bed.
It was pitch dark, still early. The alarm-clock by the bedside showed 5.55 am.
Slowly, Alex slid out of bed, took his holster from under the pillow and headed for the shower, as always, without making a sound.
When he felt some conflict inside, a spark of unwanted attraction, he always reduced events to facts, like entries in a medical journal. He'd just fucked a handsome, yet weird guy, who mistook him for some wrong-doer, but it had all ended relatively well. Now he would take a nice, long shower. He would definitely remember Dean as a pleasant interlude, no matter how much time went by, but that was it.
Before his resolution cracked, Alex hurried through his shower.
When Alex was drying his hair, he heard the bathroom door open, and Dean stumbled in, squinting against the sudden light. He was naked and looked not quite awake yet. He turned to take a leak, either oblivious or not caring that he was nude. But Alex was naked too, and when he was done toweling, he turned away to put on a tee and briefs, already formal and distant.
,,You mind if I have more shut-eye?" Dean asked crustily. There was a yawn in his voice. Apparently he also felt hung over.
Alex looked at him, keeping his eyes strictly above the heart line.
,,No problem."
He watched the door close. There were no more sounds.
Alex took a long look at himself in the mirror. Damn, couldn't Dean have taken a piss five minutes later? Now, he was putting off the moment of departure. A weight sat on his shoulders. It wasn't guilt or fear this time. It was not a lust so hard and sharp you couldn't separate it from love. Just two people in his life ever made him feel this way. And he was still having disturbing, sex-filled dreams about them.
It was time he faced reality, however reluctantly. Alex put on his shirt on, then the holster. He felt as if he had overlooked something, or maybe had not paid enough attention. The heap of Dean's clothes where he'd thrown them near the shower drew his gaze like a magnet.
Habits were hard sons of bitches to break. He learned to be content, but inside he always burned to know more... A thousand people would have called it a shame, though he couldn't deny how effective it was. Alex lost count of how many times going through someone's nightstand or pockets gave him necessary clues or merely earned him a month's pay.
If the cat was more careful, curiosity would have never killed it, he reasoned. So he picked up Dean's jacket.
He finally learnt how Mulder must have felt when he found those damn Morley butts in his car. First thing Alex saw in Dean's jacket pocket was a crumpled pack of Morleys and he was seized with such strong dread just for one brief irrational second that his knees almost buckled. When his shock subsided, Alex turned the pack carefully and saw a phone number and the name 'Rosie' written in black ink on a piece of napkin, tucked inside with several remaining cigs.
Alex clamped his hand over his mouth, repeating "fuck" and trying not to laugh hysterically. Goddamn, he must have caught the paranoid bug from Dean. He resisted an overpowering urge to crumple the pack and flush it down the toilet, then hastily put it back in the pocket.
The only other riches Dean had were a few coins, his wristwatch, half an empty box of matches, and something that might have been a dead crow's foot. Alex did not pass judgment from first impressions, but he had gone through a second, and now a third...and Dean definitely started to creep him out, despite the almost angelic face and resilient ass. For the full collection of magical attributes Dean only missed a live frog to leap out and demand to be kissed, to turn into a princess.
Fingers quick with practice, Alex went for Dean's wallet. By the number of brightly colored credit cards Dean had, one would figure he could never be tapped out. But they must have all been flagged, useless pieces of plastic. Alex noted there was one for Daniel Turner (sic Dean's fake last name), Lionel Lamb and even a Benjamin Ramrod. Life must be a joyride for a guy with a name like that, if he wasn't already drafted by the porn industry.
Alex ignored some receipts and a lonely five dollar bill. There was nothing more except for a white plastic card with "Menninger Clinic of Mental Health and Consultation Center" on it. Alex almost sighed in relief when the big print under Dean's name stated "VISITOR". Never sleep with anyone crazier than yourself was an ingrained law for him.
The wallet tucked back, he took Dean's flip-phone. He had to make sure there was no connection to anything that Alex considered dangerous, acting even on the most absurd of suspicions like a Morley pack with some waitresses' number. The phone looked like it had seen better days. There was a deep scratch on the cover, as if it had been in the claws of some animal. Alex couldn't imagine what kind of animal could leave such a mark. Unless it was not an animal but some Freddy Kruger type.
The last call received was from a Bobby and it was two weeks ago. The last dialed call was made even earlier and it was the same number as the one he noted on the Visitor card. His mind connected clues like atoms and he quickly took his own cell phone, punched in the number. Alex had a theory to check when he was safely out the door.
He must be done here, Alex decided when he tucked the phone back. He felt a folded sheet of paper on the bottom on the pocket. Alex listened to the quiet around him, then slipped it out carefully. It was a copy of what looked like an article that had been photocopied many times.
A thin sheen of sweat covered Alex's lip as he focused even more intently. The air was damp; he had to take just one long look at the text. Dean's mother must have been a woman who turned heads. Dean had clearly inherited her open face, regular features, perfect mouth and expressive eyes. Her portrait was placed next to a faded header: "Terrible Tragedy on All Soul's Day." Next to it was another photo of a house in flames, surrounded by firemen and an ambulance. The predatory smirk slowly faded from Alex's expression as he catalogued the information, quickly scanning through the lines on the crumpled paper.
Sam Winchester was an infant and his brother Dean was only four years old when their mother, Mary, had died in a fierce and mysterious fire that had suddenly swallowed the nursery in the Winchester's house on November 2nd, 1980. The firemen had not been able to detect the fire's source, yet there were no reasons to suspect arson. Mary Winchester's husband, John, a Vietnam war veteran, managed to carry out his older son and the infant. His desperate attempts to save his wife had been futile and he had suffered major burns as the house was consumed by flames while his older son watched in shock.
Mechanical reflexes guided Alex through the careful movements when he refolded the soft paper and arranged the disarrayed clothes the same way Dean had dropped them the night before. He finally felt fulfilled with the facts, and there was nothing to feel remorse over.
And now he knew that this so-called hunter's name was Dean Winchester. The last name suited the young man better than a neutral Turner or something else...short and inexpressive. Winchester rifle was the first thing that came to his mind, and although Alex was not a man given to poetic thinking and associations, he knew that a Winchester was something powerful and durable. Pleasant to the touch, made of polished wood and with faded engravings. With a long history if one could make it talk....
No wonder Dean reacted immediately when Alex touched upon his family values yesterday. The facts listed in the article were few, but it wasn't for nothing that Alex had spent some time with Mulder, and not just to study his ass and serve him coffee. He'd picked up the basics of profiling, too. Dean was tough, a real rough and tumble cowboy type, at least he tried hard to appear that way to others. Inside he could be empty in the worst case, or a softer, the always-there-for-my-family devoted, self-sacrificing pack animal. It also explained the often dark and bleak look in his distant gaze, as if he was someplace else entirely...
Snap out of it, Alex told himself. As if Dean was the only person you've ever met who had lost a family member. Or all of them.
Alex only wondered why Dean had to carry the clipping with him, a reminder of his trauma. Maybe because nothing fixed a thing so intensely in the memory as the wish to forget it. Alex would not carry a bloody bandage or his old FBI badge because he had hardened himself to his past, to things he could not change. He speculated that it was Dean's imagination or what he had been told by others that he accepted as an actual memory.
Abruptly, Alex wondered if Dean's little bro shared his mother's beauty too. He must be 23 years old now...too young for Alex to be interested in.
The toilet flushed somewhere behind the wall, followed by the sound of footsteps. Alex wiped a palm over his face, a choked sound escaping from his lips.
"Shit," he muttered, tucking away his phone and swallowing the sudden, unaccustomed feeling of selfdisgust at his prying and prurience. "Get out already, Alexei. Leave the guy to his misery."
Alex cringed when he put his still wet shoes on and slinked out of the door.
If Alex had been a man with a good conscience, he would not walk so fast to his car. He always thought himself to be above scruples, survival justified his every action, determined or instinctive. Every transgression he did, acted like an anesthetic, dulled him against what others considered right or wrong. In a way he could always relate to Mulder: Alex's purpose justified all the means, even though in his search for the truth, Mulder still wasn't ready to step over human bodies.
He needed this last call to dot the i's. It was an itch, a tease -- something Alex should be seeing but wasn't, something he should be doing but hadn't. Alex pulled out his cell phone, quickly dialing the number he'd copied from the visitor's card.
A female voice answered on the fourth ring.
,,Menninger Clinic and Consultation Center. Nurse Evans. May I help you?"
,,Yes, maam. Sorry for the early call... I'm calling on behalf of Dean Winchester. He had a visit scheduled next week. But he's afraid he's not going to make it. He asked me to pass a message. Can it be rescheduled?"
,,Just hold on, sir."
Alex heard the click of keyboard.
,,Sir, there must have been a mistake," the woman returned. There is no visit scheduled for Mr Winchester next week. Neither this week nor the week after."
,,Ack. That's a setback. Maybe I misunderstood him. Let me check with him and call you back?"
,,Sure, sir. By the way...you said you can contact him?"
,,Yes, ma'am," Alex answered, carefully.
,,Please remind Mr Winchester that his deposit for his father's treatment runs out November 15th. According to the caretaking agreement he signed, the next installment should be paid by November 1st. It's either that or we initiate the process of his father being passed to state welfare, to the Kansas City Free Clinic. We have tried to contact Mr Winchester but his email address bounces back, and his phone number seems to be permanently disconnected. We are a clinic with a high standard and select clientele. Please remind Mr Winchester we have a waiting list that's booked for a year ahead."
Alex digested the information, making an understanding noise.
"May I take your name Sir?"
"Of course. Lionel Lamb." Alex offered the first name he spotted on one of Dean's credit cards.
"Thank you, sir. We appreciate your help."
,,I'm sure he will settle the issue, ma'am. Thank you for your help."
Alex erased the info about the call, tucked the phone into his pocket. He felt vindicated once more about his theory of childhood trauma and apparently a dominant, authoritative Daddy. The man's military background probably led him to raise his older son like a tin soldier in the war with shadows. That had probably put the father right into the looney bin.
Looked like Dean followed in his father's footsteps, but lucky for him, his gait was somewhat erratic. But then he still had a decade ahead of him that could lead him into the same mental ward. And more...Wherever his brother was, Dean was apparently taking everything on himself. That's the only pattern Alex could discern without doing more research.
Mental illness appeared to run in Winchester family. A pity he could see the future for Dean as clearly as his reflection in the cracked mirror. His current behavior could only lead to disastrous, if not lethal consequences. It could well be a slit throat, with his body dumped in the gutter. County jail would be another option, after he eventually jumped the wrong man. And that was not a place he would last long with his pretty features and knee-jerk smugness.
Alex started the engine, and drove on automatic for a while as the dawn light filled the sky, chasing away the mist. He should have been satisfied: this page has been turned, enigma solved. There was nothing more to explore. The tragedy had happened too long ago, and even if there was an element of mystery around the fire, it did not look like an abduction or governmental experiment. He tried to ignore the restlessness he felt, nagging at him like an itch he could quite reach.
It was all his fault. He broke the rules he had himself established, to keep him safe if not physically - he was a pro at that - but emotionally. Five minutes ago Dean was like a piece of candy on the sidewalk, you don't know where it's been so let it stay where it is. Alex liked the idea of anonymous sex, the transient episode, full of possibilities and yet with a limit on desire. With a stranger, the loss could never be very great if it fell apart. Knowing nothing of the other's life, he could concentrate on just the body, on the momentary feelings. Now, there was a history behind the pretty face, and at the sudden, strong empathy he felt disturbed Alex. He drew one parallel too many to himself. He had seen a lot of human misery and pain and when it touched him, he hurried away, not out of cowardice, but because he believed you couldn't save everyone.
Alex looked into the rear view mirror, a 'that's life, what are you gonna do? expression on his face, the one he wore to silently explain all of his hang-ups about intimacy and morality. It was the look he always trotted out when a queer silence worked its way between him and anyone he ever let close, it was the look he wore whenever he came too close to some kind of uncomfortable moment and he had no chance to look away.
He was getting cold and hungry. Now THAT was the pressing reality of his life. He stopped the car in front of his hotel. With a sense of finality and more force than necessary, Alex swung the car door open and grabbed his dirty coat from the backseat.
That's when he noticed Dean's shotgun on the floor. Now here was something he had entirely forgotten about. Alex picked it up, used the opportunity to study the weapon without being distracted by its owner. He was not a specialist in this type of weapon, the kind that couldn't be easily hidden on his person. In Tunguska he saw shotguns mainly used for hunting birds or other small prey. However, in a military context, the large number of projectiles made the shotgun useful as a close combat or as a defensive weapon. Made Alex more firm in his belief that Dean used it for self-defense rather than for attack. He might be a clever hand at picking pockets or at petty crime, but he was not a bank robber. On the butt of the gun, which seemed polished by frequent use, Alex noticed a faded engraving - JW--in what looked like gothic script.
He could not send it back, neatly packaged. He could just wipe it and toss it by the road. Another option was to turn around, waste another hour and face the other man again. And most probably Dean's anger--at both himself and at Alex--for turning his own body against him. Alex had a deep aversion to such melodramatic scenes; he hated when people lied to themselves, giving him the type of "I'm not queer, it was all your idea" bullshit.
So he left the gun in the car, went to his room. His suite was big, too big for one man. He would never be completely free from claustrophobia. He shaved; changed his clothes, dressing up for the road, in black Levi's, gray undershirt and a black denim top, and his comfy Timberland boots. The pea coat was destined for the laundry; his familiar cracked brown leather hugged his back and arms snugly. Neither his clothes changing ritual, nor a five minute stop for a morning cappuccino in the hotel lounge did anything to deter his foolishly big-hearted intent.
It was 9 am sharp when Alex took the car back to Clover's.
Alex rarely found the need for people, certainly not for their own sake. But right now he felt guided by some fundamental obligation. He could deal with anger of any kind, Dean was not a threat. He was sure of that now.
It was the most he could do for Dean to make up for something he could not even name and wasn't even his fault, yet ate at him all the same. And it felt like the right thing to do. Maybe then he could leave and never look back.
/tbc
Title: So Why So Sad (Absolutely Perfect), ch. 6
Author: Griva [email/website]
Details: Work-In-Progress | R | 18k | 04/01/08
Pairings: Crossover Pairing | Dean Winchester / Alex Krycek
Category: Story, AU (Alternate Universe), Crossover | Supernatural / XFiles
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