Author's Note: So so so sorry for the delay. It's hard to write with all of these ideas in my brain.
Please note, this chapter is written a little differently …in hopes of advancing (and ending) this challenging and rewarding piece of fiction. Truly, I hope that you've enjoyed this and I know some of you will be upset with me for ending this the way that I did... but trust me—this story was driving me to the point of madness. I could've added fifty more chapters. So, it's really for the best – a crazy fan-fic author isn't a pretty sight.
I have truly enjoyed writing this story, and hope that you have enjoyed reading it as well. Please review and thank you again for all of the support that you've shown me.
About a Year Later…
"No, Sam. We need to do more than kill it."
The words echoed in Sam's brain as he watched the smoldering flames ripple like a raging wave of water across the facility. Dean and their father stood next to him, watching…waiting for it to finally end.
"We need to make sure that no one creates another one of these—freaks again."
The flames roared like an animal – his imagination filling in the sounds of screams. The screams of thousands of monsters, unborn, un-alive, but there—real, ready and waiting to hatch and slowly over take the world.
"We have to go to the source."
For a place that housed so much mystery, so much darkness, it looked so normal. Sam gasped at that realization. His entire life, all he wanted was normal. The two parent, two point five kids and a dog normal life. A life that wasn't surrounded in supernatural, fear, and death.
After all it'd taken for them to find this place, all of the research, the hunting, the clues, bribes, and frustration… it was a Planned Parenthood clinic. The rooms were cozy and warm, blankets draped over the chairs for those who were chilled from the cold world around them. Pictures and photographs covered the walls; it was inviting.
The receptionists who worked at the desk were nothing special…all smiling and behaving like normal women. The nurses wore the same scrubs seen at every other hospital they'd been to. The doctors with their god-like condescending attitudes.
No one would ever believe that the place was a secret genetics laboratory. That the doctors, nurses, hell—even the janitors were part of a secret organization bent on creating, at least in their eyes, the perfect being—one with the memory of all those who came before him.
To Sam, Dean, and John, the being was anything but perfect. The only thing that seemed perfect about it was its ability to destroy the lives around it.
Sam closed his eyes, he was so tired…
"We need to kill anyone involved—destroy everything: the genetic codes, the computers, the records, the studies, and tests—everything."
It'd had taken over a year; a year of non-stop research, searching for any clues that tied the past and the future together. It'd taken nearly that long to get Dean back into shape—for the debilitating migraines to lessen their hold on him. The memories of holding his older brother in his arms as he tried not to cry out in pain, trying to avoid their father's glare: the one that said, 'suck it up, Dean. Take it like a man.' It had taken everything in him not to duke it out with him; Dean pleading with him to 'just do what Dad says.'
For Dean, he had. John finally got what he always wanted: good little soldiers. Dean hardly spoke anymore, except for 'yes, sir' and 'no, sir.' Sam watched his brother slowly deteriorate into a machine. He also couldn't deny the changes he'd seen in himself. The man in the mirror was a stranger now. The truth of his lineage, the abilities he'd inherited—well, there was no way normal would ever be an option again. Inside, he cried for the loss—wanting nothing more than to leave their father—run away from everything and everyone. But he couldn't—not when the truth of their existence held their lives in a vice.
Inside them, inside the very building blocks of their DNA was the capacity to transform into a psychotic un-human being—An Abomination.
Just the thought of it—Sam swallowed hard, remembering the look on the man's face. Lowering his eyes to the ground, he laughed silently, the man—he'd actually called it a man. Well, to his own defense, it'd once been human. It had a name: Maxwell Miller. Once it'd had a father, step-mother and uncle…once upon a time…before he murdered them using his 'gifts'. The voices—a man/woman with yellow eyes—he claimed made him do it. They'd called out his name constantly. Max, Max, Max, Max. The 'other memories' had completely overtaken him –leaving behind a mind incapable of human compassion and without a conscience. The Bene Gesserit ability to slow the aging process left him with the body of a twenty year old man, but that was the only thing human about him.
The Abomination once known as Miller wielded an incredible power. The ability to move things with only the power of thought (telekinesis) made him one of the most frightening beings they had hunted. Demons, witches, werewolves—those things could be killed easily with an exorcism—a silver bullet, etc. But the Abomination—it'd know what you'd planned before you even planned it. Anything shot or thrown at it would be immediately stopped, and flung back with barely a blink of an eye.
Dangerous was an understatement.
The only way to kill this being was to get up close and personal. It had been, after all, human once. It could still bleed, could still die—if one was strong enough to fight it. If you could get close enough to it without it killing you.
After months of research, John swallowed what was left of his pride and begged his once mother-in-law for help, thinking the Bene Gesserit had inside knowledge of the monster that had murdered his love.
The Bene Gesserit and all of their training, their Weirding Way, their so-called self-control—with all of their knowledge, the past life memories—were completely impotent when it came right down to it. They had no way to stop it.
Instead they seemed to focus on his brother, constantly attempting to pry him away from the hunt to train with them, promising him that they would teach him everything he would need to know about his abilities, if he would only share his 'seed'. They'd even been so bold to send seductresses to him at night, secretly following him to bars and accidentally bumping into him. Of course, they'd play hard-to-get; they knew that much about him, but it completely astounded Sam that Dean would immediately know their game as soon as they walked into the room. He'd smile coyly and send them on their way, back to the Bene Gesserit in shame of their failure.
He'd asked Dean, 'How did you know that she was Bene Gesserit?' And Dean would merely grin, taking a sip of his beer before shrugging his shoulders in mild amusement. 'I just know what women want—a woman like that, Sammy… She just wants one thing, and it isn't my mind or body.'
They'd all figured out fairly quickly that Kate had obviously told her 'sisters' about Dean's abilities. To them, he was the better half—the one with the most ability and the one they believed would be easier to seduce. They wanted a child. They wanted to continue their quest for their Messiah. John was disgusted with them, and in his usual form, threatened to kill them if they ever showed their faces again.
They were on their own. And that thought, it put a chill down Sam's spine.
In the end, it was the Abomination who would be the key to their undoing.
Maxwell Miller, once a human being, and now nothing but a demon created from the haunted memories of all those before him fought to escape the never ending droning of the voices in his head.
They'd tracked him down, finally, to the place in which he'd been created. A clinic, a god-damned medical clinic. It wasn't clandestine…hell, people were standing in front of it waving their fucking anti-abortion signs at the women sneaking inside, trying to hide their faces and ignore the sermons of those trying to stop them.
He'd walked in like a normal person, everyone who'd seen him assumed he worked there or was supporting someone inside—perhaps a father trying to beg for the life of his unborn child.
No one knew—not a single person even assumed that he was a monster. Or that he was out to destroy those who'd worked their entire lives to create him.
Dean, swiping the lab coats from a hospital supply room, quickly entered the building followed by Sam and their father.
Drawing their weapons, (it was a useless, but ingrained, gesture) they followed it quietly into the basement. It had known all along that they were following him, and it allowed it. To it, they would be witness to end of the doomed Kwisatz Haderach bloodline.
It spoke, 'I would rather die, then lose myself to the Voices again. It has to be stopped. This can never happen again.' It smiled at Dean, then at Sam, before nodding to John, its eyes downcast, as if apologetic.
'Get out!' It screamed! And in that moment, a vision flashed through Sam's eyes.
A sense of calm. Of finality.
He'd opened his eyes, cradled in his brother's arms as John stood guard, weapons ready to fire at the monster.
Pushing past the pain that still resided in his head; he struggled to stand, using his brother as a support. Once he was upright, he gently laid his hand on his father's arm. Not for a second, did he peel his eyes away from lost soul in front of him…
'Dad. We need to leave. Now!' He gripped Dean's hand, which held his waist to keep him steady on his feet.
John twisted sharply, 'We can't leave now, Sam!' He shouted, angry. 'We have to finish this! No one else is going to die because of this son-a-bitch. It ends now!'
Dean understood, because Dean had always understood… 'Sam's right, Dad. We need to get out of here.' He stared at him, willing him to listen, 'Trust me, Dad. It's over.'
'No, Dean! It's not over yet! It's still alive! That Fucking Freak killed your mother! And it's still walking. There's no way in hell that I'm leaving.'
Thinking back, Sam realized that there was no way to describe what happened next… it was…there were just no words.
Dean stood back, and in the strangest, most calm voice Sam ever heard commanded their father to follow them out of the building.
And to his absolute horror, he did, without a single argument or hesitation.
It was only days after they had stood back watching the building explode in front of them, did the reality of what had actually happened hit Sam.
His brother—his best friend—had the power of persuasion.
Sam kept his thoughts to himself—or at least that's what he wanted to believe—for another four days before he finally couldn't take it anymore…he had to know.
So, he and his brother sat down in a loud and obnoxious nightclub, nursing their celebratory beers just staring at each other from across the table. It was a comfortable silence—one that two brothers wouldn't shy away from.
Sam sipped at his beer, thinking.
"Go ahead and ask, Sammy."
He lifted his head, blinking. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you read my mind…"
Dean laughed, "That only works if you have a brain for me to read, little brother."
"Ha ha, Dean. You're so funny." Sam rolled his eyes.
His brother stopped laughing, "Go ahead," he repeated, softly.
"How long, Dean?" Sam lifted his eyes and stared directly into Dean's.
"How long, what?" Dean took another sip of his beer.
Sam turned away, staring at the bodies dancing, in beat with the music and strobe lights. He took a deep breath in, forcing himself to remain calm. It wouldn't help matters if he became defensive.
"How long have you had your abilities? I mean, I told you about my visions, or whatever the hell they are... They started about a month before Jess—So, what about you? Did they start about the same time?"
Dean didn't even blink. "No. They didn't, Sam. I've had them for a while." He sat there, now silent, just waiting for his little brother's response.
"What's a while, Dean? A couple months before me? A year? What?"
Dean huffed, now squirming under Sam's stare. "A while, Sam. Like—I don't know. I've had them for a long time, since I can remember. I just—god, Sam, Don't look at me like that!"
"Like what, Dean?" Sam argued, now becoming angry. "What am I looking at you like? I can't believe you! You reamed me out for weeks about keeping the visions from you!"
Dean put the beer bottle down; Sam noticed his hands shaking and stopped his attack abruptly. "Wait. I'm sorry, Dean. I didn't mean to… It's alright."
"No. It's not, Sam. That's why I didn't want to tell you!" Dean started rubbing his hands over his face…the way he did when he felt his emotions start to spiral out of his control, when he was upset over something.
"What do you mean?" Sam asked this gently, not wanting to upset him any further. It was hard enough to get his brother to open up, to risk him clamming up again.
"The way you've been looking at me—the past few days. Like I'm a freak."
Sam shook his head, denying the claim. "Dean, I haven't been looking at you that way. Anyway," he said this with a small smile, "Don't you remember—you already are a freak, but so am I. I'm right there with you, brother."
Dean lowered his head, closing his eyes in what could only be relief. Sam waited patiently for him to lift his head back up, to continue their conversation.
"So, you persuaded Dad to leave that building. You've definitely got big balls."
Dean grinned at that. He sniffed indigently, "Hey, someone had to do it. The building was going to explode, dude!"
"Yeah, I know. I saw it, right before it happened, remember?"
"Yeah. I remember, I was the one carrying your ass out the door."
Sam blinked, the memories of his brother confessing that he'd carried him out of their burning childhood home colliding with the recent ones. "Thanks, Dean."
"Huh? For what?"
"For carrying me out of the fire."
Dean looked thoughtful for a second, "You're welcome, but why do I get the feeling that you're not talking about the clinic fire?"
Sam didn't answer, just took another sip of his beer. Dean did the same.
"There is just one more thing that I want to ask you, Dean."
"What's that, Sammy?"
"I know that you can use your abilities on me. Hell, I think you take my so-called 'puppy-dog' look and multiply it by a thousand."
"Sam, I never—."
"I know, Dean." Sam interrupted him, holding his hand palm out. "That's my point. You've never used them against me. Even when I left for Stanford…"
Dean shuddered slightly, his breath quickening, and Sam's heart shot in his throat. Perhaps it was the wrong thing to say…
"Forget it…it's not important."
"No. You asked, so it's important to you. You're my brother, Sam. There's no way in hell that I'm going to use my 'powers' or whatever on you." Dean swallowed, "I've—ahh—I've never told you this, but I was really proud of you, when you stood up against Dad. You—ahh—were a stubborn bastard, more stubborn than the old man. And you fought for what you wanted. I wish—sometimes, I wish that I was like you."
"Really?" Sam questioned.
"Yeah." Dean nodded.
"Huh," Sam mumbled.
Sam shook his head, "I just—it's just strange. Because my entire life, I wanted to be like you." He smiled at him.
Smiling back, Dean tipped the beers together in a silent toast. "Yeah, I don't blame you. I got the car, the looks, the chicks. I'm damn hot. You should want to be me, dude!"
The laughter from the table was heard even through the noisy crowds and blaring music.
A black car drove up to the wreckage of the clinic, watching from the blackened windows. The camera crew reporting the bombing of a Planned Parenthood clinic was packing away their equipment.
An anti-abortion leader had claimed responsibility for the attack. The police and FBI counted it as a lucky break—a signed confession and a warrant later captured everyone involved. They were so incredibly pleased that they could return to their families in time for dinner, that they missed a few small details.
Like the fact that the 'leader' hadn't been in the city during the attack. That the evidence had been planted inside a small barn on the outskirts of town where the terrorists resided. And the fact that the entire episode had been quickly covered up by other—more worthy—scandals.
Inside the car, the phone rang. The man quickly answered, "Sandeman."
"Don't worry, the bloodline is still intact. The Winchesters."
"Yes, sir. It might take a little longer than expected, but we will produce the Kwisatz Haderach."
"Samuel Winchester's daughter is being raised by the Reverend Mother herself. She will be trained in the ways of the Bene Gesserit."
"Yes, it is."
"I'm surprised. The Reverend Mother named her 'Jessica'. That's a kind of sentimentality I didn't expect from her."
"Thank you, sir."
Closing the cell phone, he continued to stare out the window for a few more minutes, before calling out to his driver to continue on their way.
He reached down and pulled a brown non-descript file from his briefcase. He looked over the pictures of Jessica Moore. Flipping past the pages of her school records, he reread her medical history. The last doctor's appointment she had was most interesting.
Planned Parenthood – Stanford University Branch.
Patient recently setup appointment for pregnancy test/first prenatal visit. IN SEPARATE (HIDDEN) FILE
Tests were confirmed. + for pregnancy.
Diagnosed - approximately three weeks along.
Patient has family history of hemophilia in men. Genetics testing recommended.
Pt will schedule after informing significant other of pregnancy.
Fetus has been successfully removed and implanted into host.
Pt has no memory of procedure.
Pt scheduled for termination.
IN SEPARATE (HIDDEN) FILE
"And then, Sam, and only then, will it be finally over."