Author: Restive Nature
Genre: Crossover
Type: WiP
Shows: Dark Angel and Supernatural
Disclaimer: Neither show represented in this fiction belongs to me. Dark Angel is the product of Cameron/Eglee and Fox, whereas Supernatural is the product of Kripke and The CW. No profits are made from this fiction and it is intended for private enjoyment only.
Story Rating: PG-13 up to NC-17 for language, violence and sexual situations. (All higher rated material will be contained in its own chapter and clearly marked at the beginning of the chapter. PG versions of these chapters will also be available.)
Chapter Rating: PG-13 for language.
Timeline/ Spoilers: This story takes place predominantly in the Supernatural timeline. This means that the Dark Angel structure of post-pulse America does not fit in. The massive changes will be that Manticore is decades ahead of itself and the characters from DA are born much earlier than portrayed on the show. There is no Pulse occurring. Any other changes to the structures or episodes of the shows will be (hopefully) explained within the story itself.
Pairing: None at this time. (The pairing will become evident as the story progresses, but much further down the road.)
Summary: Change can be a choice and you never know where the road you choose to take will lead you.
When It Changes
Chapter Eleven
Critical Cravings
“Can you shut the fridge door please Max?” John sighed tiredly. He was standing at the stove, stirring the rapidly cooking eggs. The girl had shuffled downstairs and had gone immediately to the large appliance. John could hear Dean and Sam moving around upstairs and knew that the scent of cooking food would bring them downstairs. He glanced at Max again, but she was still scouring the contents of the refrigerator. “Max!” he barked sharply at her. She straightened up and swung the door shut.
“Do we have any milk?” she asked in a quiet voice. John shook his head after glancing at the now empty carton.
“I used the last of it for the eggs,” he explained. Just then the toast popped up from the old four piece toaster that he’d picked up at the goodwill store. “Can you get that for me?”
“Yes sir,” Max replied, her voice still quiet. John grabbed a plate from the counter and began to spoon the cooked eggs onto it. He was absorbed in what he was doing, not noticing really how slowly the girl was moving. He set the plate on the table and turned back to remove the warming sausages from the oven. He added that to the table and then returned for the coffee and juice. By then, his boys had tromped down the stairs and were attacking the table as if they were starving hellhounds.
“Wait for Max,” John growled. The boys glanced up and saw Max bringing over the plate piled high with buttered toast. She set it down by John’s elbow and slid into the last available chair. John took two slices of toast and then nudged the plate her way. Max stared at it dully before taking a slice. John moved the plate to his other side, to let Sam get some, trading the eggs for the toast. He spooned some onto his plate and then held it out for Max. The girl dutifully took the plate, but simply set it down beside her silverware.
“You okay Max?” Sam asked, watching her intently, as the other males were. She shrugged. “You better eat before Dean inhales everything.”
“Look at your own plate Sammy boy,” Dean returned as he poured himself some coffee.
“I’m not really hungry,” Max sighed. Silverware clattered as three sets of eyes began to bore holes in her.
“Uh oh,” Dean snorted, picking up his fork again. “There’s something wrong in the world if Maxie isn’t eating.” John silenced him with a glance, before turning to the girl.
“Are you sick?” he asked with a measure of patience that the children rarely saw in him. Max shook her head no. “Tired?” She shrugged. “What is it?”
“Just feeling kind of… blah,” she tried to explain. She wasn’t sure what was bothering her. She’d just woken up and hadn’t wanted to get up. Then she’d gotten thirsty, but they were out of milk. She wondered if she was a little dehydrated. That could account for feeling yucky. So she straightened up and reached for the orange juice, pouring herself a generous glass. She had gulped down over half of it before she noticed that the men were still staring at her. “Thirsty,” she mumbled.
John grinned for a moment, and then turned serious again. “Maybe you’re coming down with something,” he theorized, then sighed. “I hope not.”
“Me too,” Max grimaced. “I’m starting my new classes tomorrow.”
“Maybe you’re feeling nervous about it,” Sam pointed out reasonably. Max shook her head and then picked up her piece of toast to nibble on the edge.
“Well, whatever it is, it will happen or it won’t,” John decided. “Eat what you can and then lay down for a while.” Max nodded and that was the end of the subject.
The next morning, Max was feeling slightly worse than she had the day before. She woke up just as thirsty as she had been the morning previous. They hadn’t been able to pick up anything at the store, since Mrs. Gallagher was gone to spend the weekend with her closest children and grandchildren. She’d given her two employees the Sunday off.
Max slaked her thirst with a huge glass of water, and then followed it with more juice. She was tempted to drink it all, but knew that Dean and Sam might want some. The thought of eating breakfast was repugnant to her and she wondered if John was right and she was coming down with something. The scary thought was that she had no idea what it could be, since Manticore had made her immune to bio-warfare agents. That still meant that she could get the flu or a cold, or another common virus. It was just that the genetics in her body were able to produce such a high level of anti-bodied white blood cells that she fought things off much quicker than the average human. So while she could get sick, it didn’t happen all that often.
Max returned to her room and dressed, wondering if she’d feel better when she got to school. She managed to duck John’s concern and forced down some oatmeal. It was like lead in her stomach. She finished first and was waiting at the door for Sam and Dean so that they could walk to school together. They dropped her off first, since the elementary end of the school was closer to the house than the high school was.
Mrs. D’Amato, who, like John, noticed that Max didn’t seem up to par, shrugged it off as jitters over her new classes. But when it was time for Max to leave for Mr. Janowski’s math class, the girl seemed eager.
As Max made her way quickly to the assigned room, she felt a tremor shudder through the very tips of her fingers. She stopped in mid-stride and stared down at the betraying hand. It was steady and she blinked slowly, telling herself that she had imagined it. It was because she was tired, she told herself. Sam and everyone were right. She was just nervous about joining yet another group of new faces. She forced herself to continue on.
She joined the throng of ninth graders as they milled into Mr. Janowski’s room. Some of them glanced curiously at her. They’d all been told already that Max would be joining them for some classes. Most didn’t care one way or another. Max hung back to see how things were going to unfold. She wasn’t surprised when the only available seat turned out to be the one in the front center of the room. She eased herself into it and set her books in front of her. She turned to the page of the new chapter they were beginning and waited for the teacher to start.
He welcomed Max to the class and then took an impromptu roll call so that Max could begin to get to know her new classmates. It was much more laid back than her own class and most of the kids offered her a friendly wave. She smiled back shyly and the teacher ploughed on, determined not to place too much emphasis on this new development.
Max’s stomach was starting to growl around eleven thirty. She was just glad it wasn’t the only one. Since the school’s cafeteria was so small, the classes were released for lunch in staggered order. The kindergarten, first and second graders were let out at 11:30. Ten minutes later, the rest of the elementary were released. Ten minutes after that and it was the junior high kids. And lastly, at noon, the high school was released to eat. It was strange, but it worked, especially when many of the students who brought lunch ate outside in warm weather, or went home for lunch. So Max, who was used to eating now every school day at 11:40, had to wait for lunch.
That was strange to her as well. As a Manticore soldier, she could go for days without food. But this morning, she wanted to get to the lunch room more than anything in the world. Her mouth felt like a roll of cotton had been stuffed in it and she was having trouble sitting up straight. But finally, at long last the bell rang. Max slammed her book shut and raced out the door. She heard laughter behind her, but she didn’t care. She was the first of her class to arrive at the lunch line, mostly because she hadn’t stopped to put her books in the locker that was assigned to her. She used the books to balance the tray, since she’d determinedly not noticed the tremor settling into her whole hand.
She hadn’t even gotten two steps past the end of the line before she was tearing open her milk and gulping it down. She finished it and pitched it into the garbage can. She turned back, wondering if they’d let her have another. They would, but it would cost her fifty cents, she remembered. But she didn’t have fifty cents on her. With a sigh, she carried her tray to a partially empty table. With a smile, she realized that Sam was sitting there, talking with another boy. Max halted beside her brother and he glanced up in surprise.
“Hey Max,” he grinned, then turned back to continue talking with the kid. Max knew she should wait for them to finish, but she couldn’t wait.
“Sam,” she interrupted her voice low and slightly tremulous. Apparently Sam heard it too and turned back to her. “Do you have some money?”
“No,” he shook his head.
“Oh,” Max was disappointed. She glanced around, wondering what she could do, and then brightened up a bit. “Maybe Dean has some. Can I leave my tray here?”
Sam nodded his head, but stalled her. “Dean doesn’t have any. He spent the last of his money on that tape he wanted.”
“Oh shoot,” Max frowned. She stood beside her brother, wondering who else she could hit up for some change.
“What do you need it for?” Sam demanded. It was rare to see Max so agitated.
“Milk,” she supplied shortly. Sam snorted.
“Here,” he grunted, snatching his as yet unopened milk from his tray. “Take mine.”
Max grabbed eagerly at the little carton and was about to rip it open and gulp it down. But Sam, who was beginning to squirm at his sister’s embarrassing behavior yanked on her sleeve.
“Sit down,” he hissed. He turned back to his friend and rolled his eyes as Max took a seat. Jeremy, seated across from Sam, grinned and nodded. He had a younger brother who acted weird ninety-nine percent of the time. The only time the kid wasn’t cuckoo was when he was asleep. So he understood perfectly.
Max gulped down every last drop she could garner from the carton before she plunked it down on the table. She swung her legs around, not caring that Sam was inching away from her. She gazed down at the unappetizing form of her lunch. “Bleh. Meatloaf,” she complained. That got a laugh from Jeremy. “I wish it was turkey loaf,” she sighed as she dragged her fork through the mashed potatoes.
“Dude,” Jeremy sputtered. “Why? Turkey loaf sucks. It is so gross!”
Max glanced up at the boy and then looked at Sam, who was beginning to go a little red around his ears. She grinned a bit, realizing that she was actually the cause of his irrational embarrassment. “It doesn’t have to be turkey loaf,” she shrugged one shoulder. “Any turkey would do.”
“Well it isn’t turkey,” Sam complained. “So just shut up and eat it.”
Max tried a bite of the meatloaf and barely contained a small shudder. She threw her fork down and made to rise from her seat. “I’m gonna go see if they have any turkey,” she declared. Sam groaned and grabbed her hand, but before the protest left his lips, his eyes widened in alarm.
“Max!” he exclaimed. “You’re burning up.”
“What?” Max asked, distracted. Sam stood quickly and rested the back of his hand against her forehead.
“You’ve got a fever,” he told her. He glanced back at Jeremy. “Watch my food, will you? I’ll be right back.”
“Where are we going?” Max asked as he began to drag her out of the lunchroom.
“You’re going to the nurse,” Sam declared. He felt Max trying to tug her hand out of his, but he tightened his grip. “Don’t freak out,” he muttered. “All she’ll do is take your temperature, call dad and send you home.” Max relaxed marginally once he’d said this and she followed rather docilely behind her brother.
They entered the office, startling the secretary, who was eating her lunch at her desk. Before she could ask what was wrong, since her mouth was full, Sam informed her that his sister was sick. The secretary nodded and waved them back to the nurse’s office. Sam knocked on the door, still not letting loose of Max. Knowing how she felt about doctors, he was sure she’d bolt.
The nurse answered and let them in. Sam told her about Max’s fever and she gestured for Max to take a seat on the little cot. Max did as she was bid, suddenly finding herself drained of energy. The nurse let out a little exclamation of surprise at how high the temperature was. She asked Max how she was feeling and Max admitted that she felt a little off and was a bit dehydrated. The nurse let out a knowing clucking of her tongue, stuck the thermometer in Max’s mouth and went to call John.
The telephone conversation was short. John had asked his boss for the afternoon off, but wasn’t able to get accommodation. He asked the nurse if it would be all right for Dean to take her home and stay with her until he could make it home. The nurse, feeling that this was better for Max, rather than staying in her cramped office all afternoon, agreed to it. She sent Sam off to find Dean and bring him back to her office.
While Sam was occupied doing that, the nurse ran a wash cloth under some cool water and told Max that she was going to lay it across her neck. Max asked what medical purpose that had and the nurse had laughed, saying that it just plain felt good. But the nurse was in for another surprise when she swept aside Max’s hair and was confronted with several black lines of varying thickness.
Rolling her eyes about the fads and dares these kids these days fooled around with, she swiped at the black lines. But she was startled and confused when the lines didn’t even smudge. “Max?” she questioned softly. Max, who was indeed comforted by the cool cloth, hadn’t even given thought to the back of her neck. She murmured something and the nurse tried again. “Max? What’s this on the back of your neck? It isn’t marker ink.” Max’s head snapped up. Her barcode! She cursed herself for letting herself forget to guard it. All these months and no one knew, but one moment of indulgence and the nurse was freaking out. “Is it a tattoo?” the nurse demanded, running her finger over the lines etched into her skin. Max shivered, from fear and from the nurses soft touch.
The nurse recognized Max’s reluctance to talk and laid the cloth against her skin. She moved around so that she could squat in front of the child. “Max? Who did that to you?”
Max was unable to meet her eyes. She knew the woman must think that it was something an insane person did to her. And she knew she had to disabuse a certain notion immediately, because the first suspect would be John. “My stepfather,” she offered in a tiny voice. “When I was really little. He was sick. He was schizophrenic.”
The nurse, knowing what she did of Max and her ‘past’, said nothing else. She just stroked Max’s hair and turned the cloth over so that it stayed cool against her feverish skin. It amazed her that the tattoo was so even. If done, as Max said, when she was a toddler or a baby, then as she had grown, the lines should have skewed as the skin stretched. But all the lines, while of varying thickness, were uniformly straight. Odd, but it reminded her of a barcode.
Dean had just gotten through the lunch line, found a seat and was about to take the first unappetizing bite of meatloaf, when he heard his name being called. He recognized Sam’s voice immediately, but the tone behind it was harder to decipher. It wasn’t panic. But neither was it a simple acknowledgment from his little brother. “What’s the matter Sammy?” he demanded as his brother neared. He shoveled a forkful of food into his mouth and waited for the kid to speak.
“Max is sick,” Sam said simply. Truthfully, they’d been sort of expecting this since yesterday morning. “I think she’s got the flu.”
“Well, ‘tis the season,” Dean snorted. “What’m I supposed to do about it?”
“You have to take her home,” Sam informed him with a superior air. “Come on.” He began to walk away. Dean swallowed his mouthful and looked mournfully at his meal. But then he brightened. If he had to take Max home, then he could get into his stash of potato chips. He stood and carried the tray to the garbage. He caught up to Sam quickly, though the younger man was still getting growth spurts. If he kept it up, he’d be taller than Dean in no time.
“How come Dad can’t get her?” he demanded softly. Sam shrugged. “Probably couldn’t get time off,” Dean answered himself. Sam stood by the office door, feeling that his job was finished.
“Tell Max I’ll get her homework for her,” he informed his elder brother. Then a grin lit his face. “Do you want me to get yours too?”
“Oh I suppose,” Dean groaned. Trust the brainiac to think of schoolwork at a time like this. “But make sure you get your butt home immediately after school. I’m not playing nursemaid all afternoon.”
“Whatever dude,” Sam snorted and then headed back to his cold lunch.
Dean entered the office and waltzed right past the secretary. He didn’t even glance at her and she wasn’t fussed about it. She had a good idea why Dean Winchester was there. Dean knocked once on the nurse’s office door. She called him in.
Dean was extremely surprised, given Max’s dislike of doctors, to see the girl relaxed, leaning forward, while the woman applied something to the back of her neck. “So what’s up?” he asked genially.
“Max is sick,” the nurse informed him. He grimaced at her statement of obviousness. “Your father couldn’t get away immediately and asked if you could take your sister home and stay with her until he arrived home.”
“No problem,” he shrugged. Perhaps he wasn’t so mistaken about Max’s fears, since the moment he had agreed, she shot off the bed and out the door. “Lot of energy for someone with the flu,” Dean muttered suspiciously, shaking his head. “Max! Wait up!” He turned back to the nurse. “Anything I should do?”
“Just rest, liquids and some acetaminophen for the fever,” the nurse instructed, even as she handed him an instruction sheet.
“The usual then,” Dean confirmed. “Thanks. I better go chase her down.” The nurse smiled faintly and Dean left to find Max waiting impatiently in the doorway of the office. Her stance was so similar to what Sam’s had been a few minutes before that Dean wanted to laugh.
“Can we go?” she demanded pertly. Dean nodded.
“We have to get our coats first,” he reminded her. His locker was closer and he grabbed his stuff quickly. On their way to Max’s locker by her fifth grade room, they passed Mrs. D’Amato in the hall. Dean’s short explanation was met with sympathy for the sick girl and a promise to get her homework together from all her classes. Dean told her to give it to Sam and the younger boy would bring it home.
Once home, Dean was trying to decide whether to make a bed for Max on the sofa, so she’d be nearer to the bathroom, or to let her rest in her room as she seemed to want. He questioned her closely on her need to hurl. All he could see was that aside from her fever and thirst, she wasn’t all that sick yet. But schools were paranoid sometimes. Dean understood. They didn’t want everyone else getting sick. But they just didn’t realize that by the time symptoms showed up, the person had already been sick and spreading virus germs for a while.
Max solved the dilemma by simply climbing up the steps and going into her room. Dean followed after and watched as Max climbed into her bed that John had picked up at a garage sale. She said nothing, simply pulled her blankets up and shut her eyes. Dean grinned, hoping that this babysitting job would be so easy. Hoped that Max would sleep her sick days away and he wouldn’t be called on to do a thing. He knew that he’d never be so lucky, but that didn’t stop his wish.
It was a few hours later that Dean, lounging on the couch, eating his chips and laughing at the afternoon talk shows, heard something from upstairs. His first thought was that Max hadn’t slept as long as he had thought that she would. His second thought was that he probably should check on her. He brushed the chip crumbs from his lap and shut off the television with the remote. He climbed the stairs quickly and carefully poked his head into her room. If she was still sleeping, he didn’t want to disturb her.
But that wasn’t the case. Dean let out a soft sigh of frustration. The girl was shivering in her bed, under her covers. Dean knew that the house was warm. He figured it to be a reaction to the flu. “Hey Max,” he said softly as he came further into the room. The girl rolled over to look up at him, her eyes miserable. “I’ll get you another blanket and some tea, okay?” Max nodded. It seemed that was all she had strength for. Dean spun around and exited the room. He stopped at the bedroom that he and Sam shared to snag the extra army blanket that he kept. It was scratchy as hell, but it was warm. He returned to Max’s room, dismayed to see that the shivering had intensified.
“M-milk?” she questioned weakly. Dean tucked the blanket around her.
“I think we’re still out,” he replied. “Don’t worry, Dad will bring some home.”
Max didn’t respond. Dean, getting slightly worried about her sudden listlessness, hurried downstairs to brew her tea and get the acetaminophen. As he waited, seemingly forever for the old teakettle to boil, Dean wondered if maybe he shouldn’t call his father. This was worse than when he or Sammy were sick. It was funny though, their father never seemed to succumb to anything. Sure he got sick, but he never seemed to let it slow him down.
Finally the kettle began to issue forth it’s roils of steam and Dean poured a healthy measure of water into the mug, over the teabag. Handling the heated ceramic carefully in one hand, the pills in the other, he began a slow trek up to Max’s room. Slowness however, was forgotten when Dean heard the crash from Max’s room. He dashed up the last few steps, leaving the mug at the top of the stair as he ran on into her room.
“Son of a bitch!” he yelled as he took in the moment. His little sister was curled up into a ball, shaking. Hell, the entire bed was rattling, banging against the wall with the strength of the seizure tearing through her. He dashed to her side, a little panic beginning to settle in. This was bad. Extremely bad. “Max? Max!”
“D-don’t!” she cried, her teeth rattling in her head. Dean fell to his knees, dropping the pills, his hands hovering above her shoulders uselessly. He didn’t know what to do. All his first aid training went out the window at seeing this tiny girl in pain. “D-don’t l-let me d-die,” she whispered.
Dean’s heart constricted, becoming leaden in his chest. He nodded once, and then ran from the room. He flew down the stairs, taking them three at a time. As he rounded the curve into the kitchen, his hand scrabbled for the cordless telephone, placed strategically on the wall. He dialed 911 with shaking hands and gulped in a few breaths to calm himself.
“9-1-1,” a cool feminine voice answered after two rings. “What is your emergency?”
“This is Dean Winchester, in Geraldine” he half-shouted, relief pouring through him that he had contact with someone who could help him. “My sister is having a seizure.”
“What is your address?” the operator continued. As Dean began to run up the steps again, he could hear her keyboard clicking in the background. He reeled it off and there was a slight pause.
“Are you sending the ambulance?” he demanded, moving back into Max’s room.
“I’m sorry sir,” the voice replied, sounding regretful indeed. “The Geraldine ambulance is out on another call. One moment.” There was a click and Dean almost thought that she’d hung upon him, but he could hear a hum in the background and a low murmur of voices.
Max was still shaking violently and Dean started to recall his first aid training. He eased Max to the floor, so that she wouldn’t fall from the bed. He checked to make sure that her clothes weren’t too tight around her throat.
“Dean?” the operator called.
“Yeah?”
“The Fort Benton ambulance is on its way. They’re thirty minutes out,” the operator informed him. “There is also a Quick Response Unit still in the area. They’ve been alerted and are twenty minutes out. How long has she been seizing?”
“A couple minutes,” Dean replied, and then swore. Help was too far away.
“Are there any other symptoms?” again the voice was cool and collected.
“She’s got the flu,” Dean supplied with a grunt.
“How old?”
“She’s ten,” Dean replied, frustration welling up in his mind.
“Does she have a fever?”
“Yes, over 101 degrees,” Dean recalled from the nurses information. Of course, he hadn’t checked it since then. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. He felt something against his leg and looked down to see Max’s hand uncurling and then curling again. He slipped his hand down into hers, wincing at how tight her grip was.
“Calm down Dean,” the operator tried to soothe him. He felt like swearing at her. She wasn’t the one who had to sit and watch a little girl seizing so hard that she was shaking everything around her. “Seizures can be common in children when they experience high fevers,” she continued.
“That doesn’t exactly help me right now, does it?” Dean snapped. The voice didn’t respond, even though Dean would have liked her to. He was scared for Max and he needed an outlet.
He heard another noise in the house, the door slamming. Pulling the phone away from his ear, he checked his watch. It was just after three. School was out and Sammy was home. He heard his brother shuffling around downstairs. “Sam!” he yelled. Feet pounded up the stairs. “Sam! Get Dad! Tell him to bring the car.”
Sam burst into Max’s room, terrified at what he was going to find. His brother and sister were on the floor and the little girl was shaking worse than a leafy tree in a hurricane. He had no words, just shook his head and ran back out of the room.
“Sir! Dean!” the operator’s voice sounded urgent now. “Dean, you need to wait for the QRU.”
“We can’t,” he barked at her.
“Dean, she might get worse,” the operator warned, but Dean was past that worry. The quicker they got her help, the better it would be.
“Tell the ambulance we’ll be driving a black ’67 Chevy Impala. We’ll meet them en route,” he informed her, then hung up. He threw the phone on the empty bed and then pulled loose a blanket. He picked Max up and wrapped the blanket around her shaking form as best he could. “Come on sweetie,” he smiled shakily. “Let’s go get you some help.”
“P-please,” Max moaned, shaking her head. “N-no!”
“Yes,” he countered authoritatively. She struggled weakly, but Dean was persistent. He moved carefully down the steps, and heard Sammy come back into the house.
“He’s coming Dean,” Sammy panted from his spot at the foot of the stairs. “He was already on his way.”
“Good,” Dean grunted.
John pulled up to the house and parked quickly. He’d caught a glimpse of Sam dashing into the house. He was mildly peeved at the boy for running around without his coat on. His sister was already sick. John didn’t need to have Sammy getting sick because he was behaving foolishly. He grabbed up the small bag of produce and the gallon of milk he’d stopped at the store to get and began to climb out of the driver’s seat.
But as he straightened up, he saw a sight that made his heart drop to his toes. Dean was carrying a blanket wrapped Max out of the house while Sammy shut the door behind them. The look on his eldest son’s face was what scared him the most. He ran towards them, not even bothering to shut the car door.
“What is it?” he demanded. “What’s wrong?”
“She’s having a seizure,” Dean explained, panting with fear and adrenaline. “The ambulance is on the way, but we have to meet them.”
John didn’t question what his son. He dropped the groceries and held out his arms. “Give her to me. You drive.”
But as Dean moved to give his sister to his father, not even questioning his order, the little girl scrambled from his arms. “Max!” he felt horrified that he’d dropped her. But she landed on her feet, and then fell to her knees. John was stooping over to pick her up.
“No!” she shouted as she scrambled towards the groceries.
John stared at her in confusion as Max’s trembling fingers, pushing aside the thick blanket and grabbing at the jug of milk. He dropped to one knee to haul her up again but she slapped his hand away. She snagged the milk and managed, by luck it seemed, to tear off the small perforated ring of plastic. Once the lid was off, Max hefted the gallon jug and began chugging it like a frat boy at an all night kegger. As soon as she paused for breath, John reached to take the milk away.
“Come on Max,” he told her quickly. But she shook her head in the negative. “We have to meet the ambulance.”
“No!” she shouted. John let out a low, frustrated growl.
“Max, no arguments!” he barked at her. “This is too serious.”
“I-I’m okay,” she managed to shudder out before she began drinking milk again. John watched as the trembling in her hands lessened and she was able to better handle her drink. John sighed. He didn’t want to give in on this point. He didn’t like being terrified for his children. But he had to remind himself that Max technically wasn’t his blood child. Looking into her eyes, he knew with certain conviction, that if he forced the issue, she’d run.
“Fine,” he grunted, moving forward to pick her up, milk, blanket and all. “But when the ambulance gets here, let them check you out.”
“C-cold,” Max whispered. Dean, right beside his father as they made their way back into the house, tugged the blanket up over her shoulder. “Uh uh, the milk.”
“It’s supposed to be cold,” Sam smiled shakily. “But I could warm some up for you.” Max nodded and let him take the jug from her. He hurried ahead, leaving the door open behind him. Dean gathered up the bag, seeing that his father had stopped to get home flu remedies. He entered the house last and shut the door behind him.
They waited in silence for the ambulance to arrive. Dean had already called back the operator and told her to tell the ambulance that they were waiting at the house. She complied and he hung up. Sam had heated up a mug of milk, which Max was savoring for all she was worth. And surprisingly, it did seem to help. Dean made a joke about Max getting an entire gallon of milk to herself, since she’d contaminated it with flu germs, at which she smiled. She was still huddled in her blanket, working on a second cup of milk, with Dean right beside her to steady the cup if needed, when the QRU and ambulance showed up.
John let them in and told them what had transpired. Dean threw in a comment or two, while Sammy stayed quiet and just watched with eagle eyes, what was going on. Dean took the milk from Max and helped her sit up so that the paramedics could assess her. But aside from the fever and slight trembling, there were no other symptoms. They told John that high fevers, such as Max had could easily cause seizures in younger children. Apparently, because it had happened to her, Max still fell into that category.
The paramedics continued their exam, but could find no other problems. Max was becoming acutely uncomfortable under the prolonged exercise in, what to her mind, was futility. They recommended taking her to the hospital for more tests. All three Winchesters could see the tantrum coming and moved to head it off before it started. John pulled them away from his daughter to explain about her hospital phobia, while Dean simply wrapped his arms around her. Sammy took a seat next to them and leaned into her, projecting a unified front against these strangers.
As John was telling them the little bits and pieces that made up Max’s fake history, a knock came at the door. With a frustrated grunt, he moved to open it, still talking. He was surprised by a middle age, good looking, well groomed lady, standing on his doorstep.
“Can I help you?” he asked shortly, his tone gruff.
“Mr. Winchester?” the woman asked. She stuck out her hand without waiting for confirmation. John stared at it. “I’m Dr. Kimble, Wyatt’s wife,” she said gently. The prompt was enough. She was their landlord’s wife. She put her hand down when he didn’t take it. “I was on my way home and saw the ambulance. I just thought I’d check and make sure everyone was okay.”
“Dr. Kimble,” the older paramedic called. “Glad you’re here.” Dr. Kimble glanced up at John and then stepped into the house. John sighed and waited for her to move so he could close the door. This whole thing was starting to turn into a cluster fuck.
“What’s the situation?” the doctor asked of the ambulance crew.
“Got a ten year old with seizures,” he told her quickly, and then ran down the list of vital information, such as her temperature and blood pressure and that surprisingly; the seizure had resolved itself without the application of anti-seizure meds.
“How long has it been since the seizure ended?” she asked of John. He checked his watch.
“About half an hour.”
“Okay,” Dr. Kimble smiled softly. She moved over to Max and the boys and knelt on the floor in front of her. “Hi Max. I’m Dr. Kimble.”
“Courtney’s mom,” Max clarified and the woman nodded. “I’m okay. I don’t have to go to the hospital.”
“Don’t like them, huh?” the woman asked. Max nodded vigorously. “Sometimes I don’t either and I have to work there.” Max willed herself to smile, but she couldn’t quite pull it off. There was something about the woman that just screamed to Max that she was trying too hard. Suddenly Max understood very well where Courtney got her condescending attitude. “Can I ask you a few questions?” Again Max nodded. “Max, have you ever had seizures before?” There was a pause and a small nod. “And did you go see a doctor about them with your mom or dad?”
“My mom,” she admitted tersely. Dr. Kimble didn’t look dismayed, as she had garnered a few things about the girl from her own daughter’s comments about the Winchester family. And from some gossip that had managed to slip through the cracks. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t escape at least some gossip in a small town.
“And do you remember what the doctor said about it?” she probed further. Max nodded again, shrinking back slightly. “What was that?”
“That it’s a rare condition,” she mumbled. Dr. Kimble, like all the rest, strained forward to hear her. “It’s not epilepsy. The serotonin levels in my brain drop below normal and my brain starts to short circuit.” Dr. Kimble nodded. That was an adequate description of what happened with seizures.
“Oh!” Sam exclaimed, sitting upright. Everyone glanced at him. “Tryptophan!” he proclaimed triumphantly. He realized that he was getting weird looks from the majority of the room and sought to explain. “Max was craving milk and turkey today. The stuff that has tryptophan in it. It makes you sleepy and relaxes you.”
“And evens out the level of serotonin in the brain apparently,” Dr. Kimble smiled. She glanced up at John. “Hasn’t she been drinking her milk lately?”
“We ran out yesterday,” he explained helplessly. Surely that didn’t make him a bad father. Especially when he didn’t know about Max’s seizures.
“But you didn’t know about this?” Dr. Kimble asked, gesturing vaguely at Max. John shook his head slowly. Dr. Kimble’s eyes began to harden just a little bit.
“Momma didn’t tell him,” Max spoke softly, her voice tremulous. All eyes turned back to her. “And then she died.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” John demanded, his voice just as soft. No one but the Winchester boys could tell just how dangerous their father’s mood was. John definitely did not like being kept in the dark, especially about things that put people’s lives in danger. But Max it seemed, was catching on quickly to John’s mood. She cringed back from him and ducked her head down. John took a deep breath, reminding himself that there were other people present and he needed to keep a lid on his anger.
“I thought you wouldn’t want to keep me,” Max mumbled, her voice unsteady. “Mom said that you wouldn’t want a defective daughter.”
That took the wind out of John’s indignant sails immediately. There was no real truth to that statement. Since of course, Max wasn’t his daughter and she never knew her mother. But somewhere along the line, she had gotten the idea that she wasn’t good enough, not like other children were.
“Max,” Dean protested gently, when his father stayed silent. “We’ll always want you. Who’s the one who helps me annoy Sammy all the time?”
“And who’s the only other genius in the family that actually understands what I’m talking about?” Sammy interjected, smirking at his brother over Max’s head.
“And who’s the one that’s so darn cute, every waitress gives her free cookies, which a certain person shares with her adorable older brother?” Dean rambled.
“And with Dean too,” Sammy joked. He stuck his tongue out at his older brother and Dean reached around Max to punch him lightly on the arm.
“I think what the boys are trying to say Maxie,” John finally spoke as he knelt down in front of the girl, “is that we’d die before we gave you up. You’re with us now and that’s all that matters.”
If the EMT’s and Dr. Kimble thought that there was anything strange about the situation, it was quickly dispelled by that touching scene. They backed off and waited for the group hug to finish. As soon as John was back on his feet the doctor pulled him aside. She told him that in her professional opinion, he should get a hold of Max’s previous hospital records or the doctor that had treated her so they could find out more about her condition. Barring that, he needed to take her to the hospital for a complete neurological examination. And it was her opinion that even though she didn’t believe that Max had had a real seizure this time, since seizures didn’t resolve on their own and go away completely like Max was claiming hers did, he should keep some tryptophan, in pill form, on hand in case she ever experienced another seizure. When asked, she told him that drug stores and health stores generally carried the natural supplement.
Once John shooed the unwanted company from his home, he waited until all vehicles had left. He’d signed the refusal of care sheet that the paramedic had supplied to him, promised the slightly aggravating and smug Dr. Kimble that he’d take care of matters and waited for them to drive away. Once all three vehicles passed from his sight, he turned back to the trio on the couch.
“All right Max,” he growled, intently serious once again. “Is there anything else we need to know about?”
She squirmed under his gaze, knowing that he was angry and upset about this incident. While it hadn’t harmed him or his sons, she had been in serious trouble and had brought unwelcome attention on their family. That was a serious breach with this group.
“Well?”
Max could feel Dean’s arm tense around her and Sammy wasn’t leaning against her anymore. They could feel the impending explosion as well. She wondered if she dared tell them the truth. It wasn’t like they weren’t used to weird stuff anyways. And they had accepted her as one of their own. They wouldn’t betray her.
“There’s…it’s…” she tried to tell them, not knowing exactly how to put it.
“Just spit it out,” Dean smiled down at her. She glanced up at him, grateful for the modicum of understanding in his eyes.
“What if I told you that I was a genetically revved up female?” she questioned them seriously.
John stared at the girl. It took him a moment to put her words into some semblance of orderly thought. He understood each word individually, but put together he had to think a moment. She was saying that someone had messed with her genes? But that wasn’t possible. Or was it? Maybe she’d gone through genetic consultation and gene therapy for some other disorder. That was what he wanted to know. Was there a likelihood that she’d be sick for some other reason?
“No,” John shook his head, discounting what she’d just tried to tell him. “I mean medical wise. Is this it for surprises?”
“What?” Max stared at the man, confused. She’d just told him the truth about herself, not in so many words, and he was just brushing it aside. “No. I mean yes. Just the seizures.” At least she prayed that was all that was wrong with her.
“How would you be revved up genetically?” Sam demanded, his mind whirring with thoughts. “Scientists are only now starting to understand human DNA and how to manipulate it.”
Max could see that this was going to throw them all into a big mess, so she pasted a huge grin on her face. “Boy, can’t take a joke, can you?”
“Only if it’s funny Maxie,” Dean chuckled. “And that just wasn’t funny.”
Chapter Twelve
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