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: R for language and certain situations!
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. *grins evilly*)
Summary: Change can be a choice and you never know where the road you choose to take will lead you.
A/N- Please see the note at the end of the fiction.
When It Changes
Chapter Seventeen
Coming Of Age
Her focus narrowed as she looked out at the back yard of their Geraldine home. Something wasn’t right. Then she zeroed in on it. The Impala. There had never been a place to park it in the back. They’d always parked it at the curb out front. Yet here it was, the black paint preening in the sunlight. Suddenly Max’s mission made sense when she caught the rainbow miasma coming from the trunk. Water in the pail. Wet car. They were washing the car. Just then, a figure rose up from the other side of the car and Max felt more than heard herself release a small ‘oh’ in surprise.
Dean rose up, surely having just washed some lower area of the car. Max continued on towards him, a heavy sensation in her chest. The sunlight playing down over her skin felt warmer than usual. As she walked, she watched Dean, a soapy sponge in his hand lean over the trunk of the Impala, carefully washing away any bits of mud and debris he may have missed. Without even realizing it, he ran one wet hand through his hair, pushing back the bangs that were slightly too long. The movement accomplished an end to his annoyance, only for a moment, when the now wet clumps fell back into his eyes. Dean shook his head good-naturedly, too intent on his work that was more pleasure than anything.
Max slowed to a stop as Dean leaned over once again, disappearing from view. When he came upright once more, the sponge in his hand moved over, not the car, but his head as he used the water to try and tame his wayward locks. Max’s breath hitched in her throat as little droplets of water dripped onto his broad shoulders. Dean seemed to have heard her as he glanced up. His face, already sporting a relaxed smile, broadened into a grin. Max forced herself on stiff legs to move forward with the bucket. Once she’d neared him, he dropped the sponge back into the bucket at his feet. Max hefted her own bucket once more, holding it out to him. He accepted it and gently nudged her out of the way. Max stepped back and watched as Dean rinsed the soap residue from the back of the car, leaving a little water in the bucket. He turned to her with a glint in his eyes before upending the rest of the water over himself.
Max’s cheeks burned as Dean shook the water from his head. The water was enough to completely douse the old white t-shirt he was wearing, so worn and faded that the water made it see though. It outlined each curving ripple of musculature in his chest and as he turned to set the bucket down, Max could see the slim gracefulness of his side twisting and extending. Dean glanced at her, then down at his wet form.
He lowered his lashes as his fingers sought out the hem of his shirt and with one quick motion, had pulled the shirt from his frame. Max swallowed as more of his skin was exposed. His broad shoulders bunched as he balled up the fabric, before tossing it into the bucket. Unconsciously licking her lips, Max stared at the sun-kissed skin gleaming like honey under the azure sky. Dean returned her gaze, his thumbs hooking his front belt loops, a half-smirk curving his lips as if he dared her to say something. But Max was speechless. Given over entirely to some new, nameless emotion coiling within her.
Hot. She was so damn hot.
Perhaps Dean recognized it, that feeling in her. Whatever moved him, pushed him towards her. He stepped slowly, like a predator with its prey, watching her with heavy hooded eyes. Max felt herself shudder, though she was nowhere near cold. And when his hands reached for her, she was more than willing to go where he led.
With ease, Dean slowly lifted her upwards and Max’s legs automatically opened to accommodate his body. She wrapped her legs around his lean hips, not caring that the moisture that had soaked the waistband of his jeans was now seeping into hers. The relief of the rapidly cooled water was welcome, though it did nothing to quench the raging fire within her.
So close to him now, Max could see a droplet of water, wavering in descent, hanging from his eyelashes. A slow blink and it connected with his chiseled cheekbone and trickled its way down a planed path. Max followed that trickle, turning her head so slightly to focus on his lips. Soft, smooth, curving again as he spoke. She had to force herself to look up into his eyes.
‘Max?’
Her lips parted. She couldn’t respond. She didn’t know how to respond. She sucked her lower lip into her mouth, letting it scrape slowly against her teeth. She felt his groan reverberate though his body. It made her tingle. His arms shifted, one moving to support her back while the other crossed behind her, his fingers gripping at her shoulder. Max’s head fell back allowing her to stare up at him. Dean tilted his head to his right, his chin dropping fractionally.
She clutched at his arms when she felt herself sliding downward, but he didn’t let her go far. Max concentrated on the fresh waves of heat pounding through her legs, her hips, her…
Eyes widened as new contours to his body made themselves known. Max’s gaze flew to his face once more and Dean grinned wickedly. They both knew what he was feeling, what he was making her feel. His head began to move towards her and Max eagerly waited for that perfect moment when his lips touched hers.
*****
“Max!” Sam barked again, shaking his thirteen year old sister by the shoulder. He frowned down at her sleeping form, wondering if she was sick. She never slept until ten o’clock in the morning. And he could have sworn that she was awake before, when they left to eat breakfast. And was she looking flushed?
Her eyes snapped open so swiftly, that Sam was startled and fell back in surprise.
“Sam?” she croaked, her eyes darting around the room. If anything, the blush in her cheeks deepened. Sam tried to strive for calmness, his sixteen year old self desperate to look adult. But before he could say anything, she was scrambling out from under the bed sheets. She hurried into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her. Sam skirted the end of the bed and hesitantly followed after her. Something was really wrong.
“Max?” he called, more than a little concerned. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah!” she called back after a moment’s pause. “Just… bad dream!”
Although he wasn’t looking in a mirror, Sam knew that his face was most likely clearly registering the surprise he felt. He raised one hand, as if to knock on the door, but it fell to his side when he heard the shower start up. Realizing that Max, usually on an even keel, was back on her way to being normal, Sam shrugged and looked around the motel room for anything he, his father or Dean might have missed. All that was left were Max’s bags. Thoughtfully, he shifted them so they were waiting just outside the bathroom door. He noticed that Max hadn’t taken anything with her into the bathroom to change into.
Back to his almost carefree self, Sam chuckled and left the room. Dean and John were loading up the Impala and checking over the engine. Dean was muttering something about it being almost time to change the oil again. John glanced up when he heard the door shut.
“Where’s Max?” he demanded, eager to get on the road again. They had a lead on another salt and burn.
“Uh, she just woke up,” Sam replied, leaning against the cool stucco wall of the building. Both John and Dean stared at him. They knew as well as he did that Max never slept this late. “She’s in the shower.”
“Is she okay?” Dean asked, turning his face back to the engine. The easy way he spoke masked an obvious concern. Sam shrugged, even though his brother didn’t see it. Dean pulled back and stared at his brother. “Sammy?”
“It’s Sam,” he muttered. “I don’t know,” he answered, shrugging again. He crossed his arms and looked off in the distance. Why on earth should he know how Max was feeling. She was a big girl. She could tell them herself if she wasn’t feeling well.
“She was probably just overtired,” John decided. “She sleeps less than anyone I’ve ever known,” he spoke to no one in particular. “It was bound to catch up with her.” He decided then that it might be a good idea to encourage the girl to get to bed earlier. She was still a growing child. For that matter, so was Sam. Yet Sam, like Dean before him, was obliging in his habit of sleeping anywhere at anytime, unless something dangerous was going on.
“She said she had a bad dream,” Sam finally volunteered. “She kind of freaked out.”
John glanced once at his younger son, and then for the most part dismissed the worry. “It’s not surprising,” he announced. “Hell, I have bad dreams all the time.” The boys nodded their agreement, silently counting themselves among the nightmare set. With what they’d seen and done already in their short lives, it was no surprise at all.
It took only twenty minutes of impatient toe tapping, sighing, frequent glances in the window and finally Max emerged. She sailed out of the hotel room, her hair still wet and plastered to her skin. She had both her bags and she disregarded John’s outstretched hands to put the bags in the trunk herself. That accomplished, she moved around to the passenger’s side and climbed into the backseat of the car. The three males threw each other amused if slightly baffled glances at one another and then followed suit. John had decided to drive this morning, so he slammed the trunk of the Impala down and made his way to the driver’s side. Once in the vehicle, he checked once more to make sure that Dean had the road map and they set out on the road yet again.
They’d gone perhaps twenty miles, silence filling the car, when Dean turned in his front seat to regard his siblings. “So Sam says you had a bad dream Max,” he began conversationally. “Want to talk about it?”
“No.” The answer was short, offered in a monotone. Dean grinned.
“’Cause you know, talking about it can help,” he smiled. “It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve had one, right?” There was no answer. “Right Max?”
“No,” she answered again, keeping her eyes averted out the window.
“Well it can’t have been that bad,” Dean pressed on relentlessly. “It’s not like you woke up screaming your head off.”
“Yeah,” Sam chuckled. “Like the time you had that dream about-!”
“Shut up Sammy,” Dean growled. “We’re not talking about me here.”
John chuckled as well. He vaguely remembered the incident, when he’d returned from a solo trip and Sam had been poking Dean in the stomach. He’d thought Dean was sick but it turned out that the boy was just exhausted from taking care of a belligerent little brother all day. Suddenly Dean had woken up yelling about pink alien voodoo pretzels. He still had no idea where that had come from. Probably too many video games and late night snacks. Dean glared at his father and John smirked at him, and then turned his eyes back to the road. He wasn’t going to tattle on his son, yet.
With relief, Dean turned back to Max. “So come on, share. What was so horrible?”
“Nothing!” Max snapped at her eldest brother. Dean drew back in surprise. But then, in true elder sibling tormentor style, he was right back at it.
“Ooh, little Maxie’s got herself a temper,” he taunted as Sam looked on, smirking. “Temper, temper Maxie,” he sing-songed as he poked at her leg. With startling swiftness, her foot shot upwards as she twisted her body to the side. If Dean hadn’t jerked back as quickly as he did, she would have caught him.
“Leave me alone!” she snarled and this time Dean couldn’t quite recover from his shock. He gaped at her, before turning to his father. It was as if the world had suddenly shifted. He had no rational explanation for his sister to be in a mood like this and he wanted someone to explain it. Of course, in their small world, that meant John. But father was just as stumped as his sons.
“That’s enough Dean,” John warned. “Just leave her be.” Dean, still too shocked to even think of disobeying, turned himself back around to stare out the window ahead of him. “Max?” John asked, his question loaded with emotion. He swiveled his head once and was startled to see an expression of extreme vulnerability and fear on her face before her head ducked down and her hair flowed forward. Sure as hell, something extreme was going on and he wanted to get to the bottom of it. But for now it could wait. He wasn’t going to press the girl and perhaps upset her further. “How about some music?” he suggested to the car in general. Dean mechanically leaned forward to pick up a box of cassette tapes, his fingers flipping through them numbly.
Music, softly played, reigned in the car for the next hour. John was feeling quite soporific when Max’s tiny voice roused him. “Dad?”
He blinked in surprise, cleared his throat and reflexively glanced up in the rearview mirror. He had forgotten though that she wasn’t sitting directly behind him like she usually did. “Yeah sweetie?”
“Can we make a pit stop?” she asked softly. John noticed that there was a sign coming up.
“No problem,” he answered amiably. As they drew nearer to the sign and he could read it, he offered a more definitive answer. “In ten miles.” Max nodded absently and turned back to staring at the window.
As soon as they pulled in to the highway gas station, Max had her door open and jumped out of the car. John was about to admonish her for her lack of safety mindedness, but she was moving quick. She ran into the gas station, leaving three puzzled males behind.
Max bypassed the front counter, her eyes searching. Finally seeing what she wanted, she dashed back towards the restrooms, hoping desperately that they were empty. Seeing how their car was the only one in the station, aside from the employee’s, she was in luck. She hurried into the small room and flipped on the light. Typically, the internal fan came on as well. She was grateful for that as the tears she’d been trying to hold back came freely. The noise of the fan would block out any small sounds she might have made. She moved over to the sink, resolutely avoiding looking in the mirror, just as she’d done earlier in the motel room. She ran the water, wincing at its ice cold temperature at first. But it was just what she needed. She splashed it over her face and the inside of her wrists, trying desperately to cool down. She hadn’t been this flushed in, well… ever.
Choking back a sob, Max wondered again what the hell was wrong with her. She’d had a dream about Dean for God’s sake! A… a bad dream. A naughty dream. Something horribly, horribly wrong. He was her brother for crying out loud. And as little as she still knew about the mystical sisterhood, she knew that girls didn’t have dreams like that about their brothers. The whole damned mess had her so flummoxed and her confusion had turned to anger and she had very stupidly given into that anger in the car when Dean had been picking on her, just like her big brother always did. And now he was mad at her and that alone right there was devastating.
Sammy mad at her she could handle. John upset with her was a little tougher, but he was dad and he was supposed to get upset. Dean and Sam accepted it when it happened and she had learned to as well. But Dean upset with her was beyond imagining. The only time Dean ever got supremely pissed off was when they were hunting and that was born out of frustration. When he was mad, which Max very rarely ever saw, it was because something hurt him so deeply that it was like a mortal wound. Most everything he just shrugged off. But now Max had taken her anger out on him and tried to kick him and she had hurt him.
The tears flowed faster, the cold water doing nothing to soothe the burn within. What was happening to her? The thought pounded around her mind. This wasn’t normal, she knew that. And as such, there was no one she could ask about it. She couldn’t ask John for two reasons. First, the normal thing, second of all, how on earth do you tell your dad that you’re dreaming about your brother in naughty ways? Oh she wasn’t stupid. During their year in Geraldine, they’d had health classes, which had lightly touched on reproduction in humans. So she knew the technicalities of that situation. And if she didn’t get it then, she certainly got it when she’d seen a couple of dogs going at it in an alleyway.
She glanced mechanically at her watch, noting that she’d been in the bathroom for about five minutes. They’d start to worry if she took any longer. At least John would worry. Sammy probably didn’t care and Dean probably would be just fine with them leaving her behind after the way she’d treated him. She sighed. Actually, she knew that wasn’t true. Her big brother wouldn’t leave her behind any more than he’d leave Sam or Dad. At least she hoped he would be like that with her.
Dreading returning to the car, Max decided that the only course would be to apologize. After all, it wasn’t Dean’s fault that her subconscious decided to play twilight zone in her dreams. Carefully wiping the tear stains from her face and patting it dry with a scratchy paper towel; Max took a few deep breaths and unlocked the door to the rest room. Her steps returning to the car were much slower than when she’d left it.
No one was looking at her as she approached and she opened the back door. Sam glanced up and John turned to make sure she was okay. Max slid into the seat and pulled the door shut behind her. Before putting on her seat belt, she began to lean forward, her apology hovering on her lips.
Dean didn’t even look up from the cassettes he was still examining, when he heard the door shut. No one said anything for a moment. “Took you long enough,” he snarled. He glanced at his father. “Can we go now?”
The apology flew from Max’s mind. Dean was mad, still. And whatever remorse she was feeling transmuted itself back into anger. She didn’t realize how much, until now, that anger was her major defense against hurt, against pain. “Yeah, well, you know that might be because some of us actually like to wash our hands after being in a place like that,” she snapped. She added a kick to the back of his seat with that little insult. That was enough to turn him in his seat.
“Shut the hell up Max,” Dean growled, glaring at her from the front seat. “Whatever the hell is bugging you; just get the hell over it!”
“You’re bugging me!” she yelled back.
“That’s enough you two!” John’s voice overrode both of theirs. His eyes were snapping with irritation. “Turn around Dean!” He obeyed his father mulishly. “I want silence for the next hour! Do you understand?” All three kids nodded, every one of them struck mute.
At the very outside edge of the demanded hour, Max managed to pipe up. “Sir?”
John, who’d finally managed to let his ire drain out of him, glanced over his shoulder. Looking at Max’s tiny, face, any residual anger fled. “Yeah baby?”
“I…uh,” she began, stammering.
“What is it?” he asked patiently, his eyes returning to watch the road.
“I need to stop again,” she blurted out. Sam just glanced at her as she announced this, but Dean started rolling his head back and forth, giving every indication of annoyance.
“Already?” John asked, slightly amused.
“Uh, yeah,” Max searched her mind for an excuse. Her mouth felt dry and she seized on that sensation. “I’m thirsty and I didn’t eat anything this morning.”
John nodded his assent. That was reasonable. And he was getting a little parched himself. “Okay. Next stop then.”
Max nodded in relief. Again it was the same, as soon as John pulled in and halted the car, Max bolted from her seat. Sam gave a low chuckle.
“What?” John demanded.
“For someone who didn’t eat anything today, she sure has to go,” he pointed out. John rolled his eyes. He opened his own car door and glanced pointedly at the boys.
“You guys want anything?” he asked. Both boys nodded. “The usual?” More nods. John sighed as he climbed out of the vehicle and slammed the car door shut. That meant junk food. Not that he was opposed to it, but he didn’t need sugar hyped, head butting moods right now. He entered the gas station and looked for Max. He didn’t spy her immediately, but noticed that the woman’s rest room door was shut.
He moved over to the coolers and began picking out drinks for the boys. He wondered if there was anything decent he could get for them that wasn’t too sweet. He roamed up and down the aisles, waiting for Max and just as the rest room door opened, decided on crackers instead of candy. Grabbing a few types, he also grabbed an outrageously priced box of granola bars. He met Max at the counter and she seemed surprised to see him there. He held up the drink he’d gotten for her and she gave him a half smile.
John dumped his armload on the counter and waited for the clerk to ring it up. “Hang on a sec Maxie,” he instructed. “You can help me carry this back out to the car.”
“Yes sir,” she responded automatically. They waited and John pulled out one of his multitude of cards. The pimply faced teen barely glanced at it as she swiped it through the machine. She passed John a slip to sign and a pen, then handed the card back to him, along with his two bags of groceries.
“Boy, polite much?” Max grinned as they exited the store. John smiled back, glad to see that she was in a better mood. He’d have to remember that. Hungry Max equaled a cranky Max. He followed her to the car and skirted around to the driver’s side. Max had already opened up the bag she was carrying and was doling out crackers to Sam. She took a few granola bars for herself then negligently tossed the bag up over the seat and onto Dean’s lap. John saw this and gave Dean a warning glance when his son would have opened his mouth to protest.
“Who wants the cherry cola?” he asked, knowing that Dean would go for that. Dean held out his hand expectantly, even as his other was fumbling to open the sealed cardboard box. “And a root beer for Sammy boy.”
“It’s Sam,” the teen protested as he leaned forward to accept the drink. Truthfully, John had heard those precise words coming from his son’s mouth so much lately that he kind of tuned it out now.
“And an iced tea for Max,” he continued as he handed it back to her.
“Thank you,” she mumbled politely through her mouth full of granola goodness. John smiled as he pulled out his own cola. He opened it up and took a swig before closing the cap up tightly and stashing it in the divot between the front seats.
“All right, let’s go,” he sighed. They headed off again and this time, no one protested his turning on the radio to some classic seventies rock. He found himself humming along with the tunes while Dean roamed through their road map book, silently marking X’s on places that he’d like to someday visit. Sam was occupied with a book in the back seat and no one noticed that Max hadn’t even opened her bottle of iced tea.
The poor girl wasn’t really thirsty any more. No, now she was overheated. And tired. She couldn’t understand because she’d slept most of the night, had a nap that morning before they left and now she felt ready to drift off again. Without attracting notice, she’d curled up as much as her seat would allow, pressing the ice cold beverage to her flaming cheeks. It felt so good and much better than simply drinking it would make her feel.
But eventually, the bottle began warming up. Her cheeks and the warmth of the car making it impossible for it to stay cold all that long. Finally Max used it for its intended purpose and drank the tea down. But it did little to stave off that damned heat. Finally, Max had enough and shifted so that she could press her cheek against the window of the car. It was uncomfortable to her, to stretch like that and she shifted again. Just like the bottle though, the window didn’t stay cold for long. She moved a few more times, searching to cool down. At last she decided to open a window and let some cold air in.
“Max, close the window,” John instructed after a few minutes. He heard the girl sigh. “If you’re too hot I can turn the heat down.” She didn’t respond, but did as he told her and rolled the window back up. She sighed again and John rolled his eyes. Maybe his earlier theory about hunger wasn’t it. Maybe she needed to run off some excess energy. He glanced at Dean, still stubbornly ignoring the rest of his family. Maybe a stop in a park wouldn’t be so bad. He could make them run this pissy attitude right out of themselves. If anything, he could exhaust them until they were too tired to argue. He smiled to himself, knowing that it wouldn’t do any good. Kids would always be kids and tiring them out would just make them even more prone to arguing.
He turned his head to try and make a joke to lighten the mood, but instead caught Max shiver, just once. His eyes widened as he wondered what the hell was really wrong with his daughter. He glanced again and she seemed to be just fine, until she brushed her long hair back from her face. Was he mistaken, or were her cheeks just a little flushed? He felt like cursing.
Max hadn’t eaten that morning, which meant she hadn’t taken her pills, probably. He hoped to hell that she wasn’t heading down the path of seizures again. Those were damn scary. They’d had some minor episodes the past few years, but the kid was so damn good about taking her tryptophan and drinking plenty of milk. That’s what he should have gotten her to drink earlier.
John began watching for the next road sign indicating a turn off. Just his luck, it wouldn’t be for another hundred miles or so. But he watched for unmarked Mom and Pop establishments as well. But there were none. Finally, he pulled into yet another gas station. All three kids stared at him in surprise as he unbuckled his seat belt. He smiled at them. “What?” he joked, “It’s contagious.” That got a chuckle out of his kids and they took his hint.
The whole family climbed out of the car. Sammy stretched his long limbs, while Dean cracked his neck. Max just hurried off to find the little girls room. But John, instead of following nature’s call, moved to unlock the trunk. “Dean?”
“Yes sir?”
“Go grab a carton of milk,” he instructed. He glanced up, around the hood and saw Dean puzzling it out. “Max didn’t get any today,” he reminded his son.
His son nodded in sudden understanding and hurried inside to do as instructed. John pulled Max’s bag up a little and unzipped it. Usually she carried her tryptophan there and true to herself, there it was, tucked away in a side pocket, easily accessible, should she need it. He pulled the bottle out and tucked it into his jacket pocket, before zipping up her bag and pushing it back into place. He’d have it with him on hand just in case she needed it. After shutting the trunk, he headed inside. He waited only a minute for Sam to come out of the rest room, but before going in, John handed Sam the keys for the Impala.
His son’s eyes lit up as he realized that he was finally getting a turn to drive again. It seemed to happen so infrequently, in his teenaged mind. Sam hurried out to the car, determined to establish his place in the driver’s seat before Dean could oust him. John took care of business and headed back to the car. Dean was leaning against the car, holding the half gallon jug of milk negligently. He straightened up when his father approached, not sure if John wanted to navigate or take a complete break. John waved him away and Dean obligingly moved to get in the back. He shifted Sam’s bag of junk onto the floor and settled the milk in the center of the backseat. John passed him his own bag before Dean could even ask, then the box of cassette tapes that usually rested on the floor boards up front.
“You know,” he grumbled, “we’re never gonna get anywhere if we have to keep stopping.”
“Dean,” his father sighed. “Just lay off her okay?”
“All right,” he mumbled. “I’m just saying is all.” He went back to digging his tape player out of his bag before deciding on what he wanted to listen to. Max returned to the car, pausing as she saw the new arrangement, but gamely she climbed in. She shut her door and buckled up, not even realizing how far into the corner she scrunched herself, trying to stay out of her big brother’s way. But it was for naught when he sat up and grabbed up the milk. He dumped it into her lap, making her gasp at the sudden cold contact.
“Here,” he grumbled petulantly.
“I don’t want it,” she retorted automatically. She still couldn’t handle being near Dean after the morning she had had.
“Tough,” Dean responded, nudging it back to her. “Just take the damn stuff.”
“I don’t want it,” she repeated heatedly. Sam’s hand hovered over the key, unsure whether to wait for his father to settle this fight or to just drive. His father gave an encouraging nod and he started up the car.
Dean had no idea why his little sister was acting like such a brat. This was usually the type of attitude that Sammy gave. Maybe little brother was turning into a bad influence, but right then, Dean was tired of it. He grabbed Max’s arm, intent on depositing the milk in her hand. He’d pour it down her damn throat if he had to. But he didn’t get that far.
“Jesus Maxie!” he cried in sudden concern. “You’re burning up!”
Sam, who’d been slowly pulling away from the parking lot, slammed his foot down on the brake so that he could turn and check on his sister. Those familiar words played havoc with them all.
Max glared at Dean. He would have to just go and notice that and bring it to everyone’s attention. “I’m fine!” she snapped at him. John’s hands were already fishing out her bottle of tryptophan.
“No you’re not,” Dean countered, his tone gentler, though he was still aggravated. Why couldn’t she just have told them that she wasn’t feeling well, instead of acting like a brat? Of course, nobody was at their best when they were sick. But Max being sick was just a little more monumental than a cold or the flu.
“Fine,” Max snarled, yanking the milk away from him. She tore the cap off and proceeded to chug as much as she could. She wiped the dribble off her chin and then turned to glare at him again. “Happy now?” she demanded angrily. Without waiting for his reply, she turned and curled up in her corner of the car again. Dean wanted to protest, he wanted to rail at her for being so damn stubborn, but he knew right then to do so would be to risk his father’s wrath. The man had told him just minutes ago to lay off his sister. Even though she was acting like a complete brat. And of course John was just going to let her get away with it. Dean retired to his figurative and literal corner and fumed about the injustices of being the eldest.
Sam was just glad when silence reigned in the car. He didn’t count the slight noise bleed over from Dean’s headphones. He could handle that. There were occasional murmurs from his father about watching his speed, or new directions to take. He didn’t mind that. He knew his father could be a lot worse when it came to his kids driving. He was when Dean got his learner’s permit. Of course Dean had a wild streak when it came to the car. Sam prided himself about being more grown-up about his turn for taking the wheel. That was why he passed his driver’s test on the first time, unlike his older brother, who’d taken the test twice.
Since they’d eaten snacks in the car, John decided to try and make up some time by not stopping for lunch. He figured that the next large town they stopped at, he’d find a motel and they could have an early supper. But even as he made these plans, he heard Max’s voice pipe up from the back seat. Another bathroom break. Dean was right; they were never going to get there.
Sam dutifully pulled over and shut off the car, knowing by now that Max would be a little bit. And as soon as she was gone out of earshot, Dean yanked the head phones from his ears and leaned forward.
“You know, she’s totally being a brat, right?” he demanded of his father.
“She’s sick Dean,” John sighed, resigned. “That’s not her fault.”
“Yeah, I get that,” he replied. “But taking it out on us is her problem.” He sucked in his breath, holding it for a moment, wondering if he dare push on. But it needed to be said. “And you’re totally letting her get away with it.” Dean swallowed heavily as one of John’s eyebrows arched up. “I mean yeah, I was teasing her, but I quit and she didn’t.” He tried hard not to back down in the face of his father’s impassive stare. Thankfully Sammy chose that moment to speak up.
“Dean’s right Dad,” he spoke softly, not wanting to push his father either, but for once, both brothers were united on this. It wasn’t that they were jealous of how John treated Max. Hell, they were a little on the protective side too. And it wasn’t like Max was a little trouble maker. Things just sort of… slid… around her. “If Dean or I were acting like that, you’d totally kick our butts.” He glanced back at his brother. “I mean, I know you wouldn’t kick Max’s butt, but you know what I mean.”
“I know,” John agreed after a moment. He sighed and let his gaze drop, thinking back through his memory, trying to ascertain if what the boys had said was true. Did he have a tendency to go easy on Max? Well, he did, to a certain point. Making allowances for her because she hadn’t grown up in their family. Because of her seizures. But maybe the boys were right. Maybe her behavior was getting a little out of hand. “I’ll go talk to her,” he decided. He wasn’t going to apologize to them and the boys knew it. But at least he was going to rectify things.
Max had dashed into the bathroom of the gas station, surprised to see that it was larger than all the previous ones. Which meant it had two stalls instead of one. And to her consternation, the other stall was occupied. She bit back a groan, not wanting the other person to see what a state she was in. As the toilet flushed and the door began to open, Max did the first thing she could think of. She hurried across the room and fished a quarter out of her pocket. With her back to the other person, she dumped the quarter into the slot and prayed fervently that the woman would hurry up and leave.
But as the water came on and stayed on, Max knew that she was out of luck. She twisted the dial around and grabbed whatever the hell it had been in the machine. Max’s eyes dropped down to the product she’d just bought and rolled her eyes. Well, she was in the charade now, might as well make it believable. She closed her hand around the tampon and marched into the second stall, determinedly avoiding the other woman. She shut and locked the stall door behind herself, turned around and shifted uncomfortably. Finally the water stopped and she heard the tear of paper towel. A moment later, the clang of the trash lid and the solid whoosh of the heavy door opening and the slow return as it closed. Max exhaled and dropped the tampon in the little garbage canister before hurrying to splash that heavenly cold water on her still overheated cheeks.
John was waiting outside the rest room, wondering what on earth he was going to say to Max. Lecturing her wasn’t like lecturing Dean or Sam. And if she was sick, then he didn’t want to be yelling at her. Did he even want to yell in the first place? It wasn’t like she was totally unreasonable. Stubborn yes, they all were. She fit in well in that respect. But the boys had made a point, of some sort. It was just that for the life of him, he couldn’t’ see where things went wrong, if they were indeed, really wrong. But there wasn’t any more time for contemplation as he noticed the ladies room door open. But when an older woman stepped out, John sighed with relief. Dealing with a little girl was just so different from dealing with his boys.
The women though, that had just stepped out, seemed to notice his distraction. “That your girl in there?” she asked kindly. John realized that she was speaking to him and jerked his head up.
“Wha-?” he began, startled, until he realized what she’d asked. “Yeah, it is. Is she okay?”
The woman relaxed and chuckled, nodding her head. “She’s just fine. How old is she?”
“Thirteen,” John replied cautiously. Suddenly, he saw the appearance of how the situation might seem. Older guy, lurking around the women’s bathroom of a gas station. That did not sit well, but at least this lady didn’t seem to be jumping to conclusions. He sighed and let his hand run over his tired face. “The kids have been going at it for hours,” he revealed, slipping into tired, haggard father mode. “They’re about to drive me nuts.”
“How many do you have?” the woman asked, a hint of amused sympathy in her voice.
“Three,” he confided. “Two boys and Maxie,” he let himself smile softly. “Dean and Sam are older and they’ve been picking on her all morning.” The woman nodded.
“I have two girls myself,” she told him. “Though they’re both college aged now.” John nodded. “But believe me; they fought worse than boys do.”
John laughed. His boys had gotten into some doozies of a fight. “I’m not so sure about that.”
The woman shook her head. “You’ve never seen a fight until you’ve been in the middle of a hair pulling extravaganza,” her words held the ring of familiarity and finality and John really believed her right then. He smiled again, really amused this time. Thank God the boys didn’t resort to that kind of sissy behavior. “And their voices,” the woman continued, comfortable with her chattiness to a complete stranger. Parenthood was a universal woe. “When you’ve got girls, their voices get up into octaves you can’t even imagine.” John laughed.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “At least with the boys, I can just grab them by their ears and make them behave. Max on the other hand…” he trailed off. He didn’t really ever have to discipline Max.
“Oh I’m sure your wife knows how to deal with it,” the woman shrugged. She stopped, eying John a little warily at the sudden change in his demeanor.
“My wife died when the kids were little,” he explained quickly, though the pain still lanced through him at having to say it. Duller, not as sharp as it once had been to admit, but the pain was still there.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she sympathized. She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Your daughter seemed so…”
“So what?” John demanded, puzzled and worried again.
“When she was in the bathroom,” the woman began again, looking slightly uncomfortable herself. “Well, knowing now, I can see why maybe she was so uncomfortable.”
“Uncomfortable with what?” John demanded, his ire rising. He wished this woman would just spit it out.
“You do know, don’t you,” she asked quietly then, leaning forward in a conspiratorial manner. At John’s helpless shake of his head, she took a half step forward to whisper, “That she’s grown up.”
“What?” John tried to make sense out of what she was trying to tell him. The woman glanced away, a slight tinge of blush coloring her cheeks. Then she chuckled.
“My husband was just as dense,” she told him wryly. “Your daughter has become a woman.” She stared pointedly at him, her chin down, her eyes boring into his. And suddenly it all made sense. The extra nap, the crankiness, the frequent pit stops. John’s jaw dropped as he put all this information together.
“Oh hell!”
**A/N- So at last we come to the heat. Instead of going over this a few times, I decided to get this out of the way here. Yes, Max is thirteen. Since the show never gave us a timeline when heat started occurring, I went with the popular theory of puberty. But, we also don’t know how feline DNA affects human DNA in this aspect. So I formed another theory and will explain it within the next chapter. I know that nowadays puberty is starting at a younger age for most girls, but I felt that heat for Max before she was a teen was pushing the envelope just a little far in this instance. I feel that this subject needs to be explored at an easy rate instead of one chapter and bang everything’s done. Heat was probably something Max agonized over and didn’t quite understand for a long time. So it will probably be that way for her in this fiction. And again, because I don’t see her accomplishing womanhood in a matter of moments, her heat dreams will reflect that. This first one was vague and she didn’t understand too much of the physicality besides the obvious. Hopefully we’ll have some more fun down the road as her… understanding… broadens. (*wink wink*)
Chapter Eighteen
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