Fiction Title: Racing Towards Destiny
Chapter Title: Occupational Hazard
Author: Restive Nature
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 to NC-17
Chapter Rating: PG-13
Genre: Crossover
Type: Romance, Angst
Pairing: Sam/ Max
Summary: One dream set her on a path of destiny.
Spoilers/ Timeline: This story would begin in Chapter 17- Coming Of Age
Feedback: Always welcome!
Distribution: Ask first, please
A/N: This story, while being in the same universe as WiC, does not actually occur within that storyline. This fiction is just an off-shoot of what might have happened.
Chapter Two
Occupational Hazard
“I’m just sayin’ Sammy,” Max could hear the laughter in Dean’s voice. “She was cute and she was flirtin’ with you for all she was worth.”
“Yeah, well, unlike you,” Sam’s voice was long-suffering and slightly snide, “I’m not inclined to jump into bed with any woman who winks at me.”
“I swear you’re gonna die a virgin,” Dean sounded amused and exasperated. Sam made a noise as well, but Max, unable to see him, was not able to decipher it.
“You’ve done it?” Now Dean sounded amused and impressed. “When? And who?”
“It’s none of your business Dean!” Sam snapped.
“Oh come on,” Dean snorted. “I’m just trying to figure out when the hell you had a chance… Did you sneak out some night?” His voice was filled with warning of an imminent butt chewing if that were the case.
“No! And leave it alone.” Sam snarled.
“Come on Sammy,” Dean was teasing again. “Oh don’t tell me it was some… I mean, she was at least cute, right?”
“Dean!”
“It’s no big deal Sammy,” Dean chuckled. Max had stilled as she was, the screwdriver poised as she’d been trying to pry loose the fitting. She was beginning to feel lightheaded from holding her breath.
“Oh fine,” Sam snapped and broke. “It was a few months ago. That girl at the library, Melissa.”
“Oh yeah,” Dean crowed. “She was a cute little thing. So what’d you do? Sneak off to the copy room?”
“No!” Sam sounded disgusted and slightly… bemused. “Um, we went to her house.”
“No way!”
“Yeah." Remember, the computers weren’t working? Well she offered to let me use hers at her house and then, you know, one thing led to another and then…”
“That’s my boy!”
‘Oh shut up Dean!”
Their voices faded away and she heard the motel door slam shut. Max inhaled shakily, realizing suddenly that her face was wet and her fingers felt numb. It wasn’t until something splashed on her face did she realize that she was bleeding. The screwdriver had slipped and gouged across her palm of the opposite hand. Mechanically she scooted out from under the car and sat up, staring stupidly at the free flowing stream of crimson liquid.
“Hey Max!” she heard Dean call as he re-emerged from the motel room. “Did you get the filter loose? It can be a real pain in the-! Oh hell! What happened?” He’d come around the car and saw the blood. He dropped to one knee, pulling towards himself the damaged hand that she’d been cradling. His concern for her evident as his eyebrows furrowed together as he quickly inspected the gash.
“The screwdriver slipped,” she whispered, dismayed by a fresh onslaught of tears.
“Yeah, I see that,” Dean murmured. Quickly he located the roll of paper towels, intended for wiping greasy hands and tore off several squares. Scrunching them up, he applied the wad to the cut, curling her fingers around it, helping her to apply pressure. “Come on,” he instructed softly, catching her under the elbow of her uninjured hand. “Let’s go inside and take care of that. It looks deep.”
Obediently, Max stood and let Dean lead her to the room. The door was ajar and he pushed it open, calling out, “Dad! We need the first aid kit!”
“What happened?” John demanded, already heading for the bag that contained their supplies.
“Max cut herself,” he replied tersely. He nudged her into the bathroom and down onto the closed toilet seat. Max, unable to look at any of the males faces, lest they see something more than the natural distress of personal injury, stared at the red blooming on the white paper towels. “Keep your hand elevated,” Dean instructed and Max obliged.
“Ah,” Sam hissed in sympathy, standing in the doorway. “That looks like it could be nasty.”
“Let’s just hope she doesn’t need stitches,” John muttered dryly, coming alongside Sam, carrying the kit. He passed it along to Dean, who set in on the narrow counter and began to rummage through it. “It’s a little crowded in here,” he noted, patting Sam on the shoulder. “You got this Dean?” His eldest nodded, still removing what he would need. ‘We’ll clear out then.” John decided and moved away. Sam threw Max a sympathetic smile, which she didn’t see and then he moved back to what he’d been doing before.
In the bathroom, Dean had torn open one of the wet wipes that they’d purloined from several restaurants. They were handy to have in a situation like this one. At the same time, he reached behind Max and plucked several facial tissues from the box situated on the toilet tank. He held them out for her and she took them in her free hand with a sniffle.
“I’m sorry,” Max hiccuped. “I don’t know why I’m being such a baby.”
“Shock,” Dean replied easily as he squatted before her, using the moist towelette to mop of the almost dry blood that had trickled down her arm. He glanced up at her face and gave her a reassuring grin. “Most people don’t expect to cut themselves open.”
“I suppose not,” she murmured in agreement. She was silent as Dean continued to clean her off, wiping her eyes once more. They both knew that it was best to wait several minutes before checking the wound, so that her body could work its magic. Finally Dean deemed that enough time had passed and he pulled Max’s hand down to have a look. Sure enough, the bleeding had slowed to a trickle. Carefully probing, Dean tried not to hurt her, but it was fairly unavoidable.
‘Well, good news,” Dean announced finally as he reached for a bottle on the counter. “It’s not deep enough for a trip to the hospital.”
“But?” Max asked, knowing from his expression that something was coming.
“Bad news,” Dean sighed as he unscrewed the cap from the brown bottle, “I think there’s still some dirt in there. Move your hand,” he instructed, pointing to the sink. Max obliged, knowing what was coming. “This might sting,” Dean warned, though unnecessarily. “Feel free to yell. Or,” he glanced around, “maybe not. The echo in here, it’d burst my eardrums.” That managed to get a weak chuckle out of her and seemingly satisfied, Dean began to trickle the hydrogen peroxide over the wound. She hissed as it bubbled through the wound, attacking and reacting to the debris inside. Dean winced in sympathy, but kept it up until she was sure that the wound was clear.
After a moment to let it air dry some, Dean continued his ministrations, muttering under his breath as he performed each action. “Antibiotic ointment… four by fours and now some Curlex. Hold the tape for me.” Max watched as he expertly wrapped the palm of her hand, looping her thumb and wrist with the stretchy gauze, then twice more around her palm before he anchored it with a piece of tape across the back of her hand.
“Well,” he smiled down at her. “Could have been worse, right?”
Max nodded. Yeah, she could have been stabbed through the heart literally instead of just figuratively.
*****
“Dean?” Max asked, finally looking away form the book that she had not been reading for the last hour. Her brother grunted, not bothering to glance away from the television set. Max wondered if maybe it would be easier to ask her question if he wasn’t looking at her. “Can I ask you something? Without you laughing at me?”
“Depends on the question,” he joked back automatically.
“I’m serious Dean,” Max groaned. His eyes flickered towards her, as if gaging the sincerity in her desire to have a real conversation with him. He seemed a little more serious as he nodded.
“Shoot,” he commanded, dropping his eyes to the cheesy beef nachos resting on one thigh.
“What’s the big deal about sex?” Max demanded. The suddenness and nature of the question surprised Dean and the platter of nachos bobbled when his body twitched. After taking a moment to recover both food and nerves, he glanced at his sister’s inquisitive face.
“Where’s this coming from?” he mused, slightly off-kilter. He wasn’t surprised to see her flush slightly. He sighed. “Well, sex is… it’s for the perpetuation of the species,” he announced, as if that was the totality of it. But judging by her annoyed grunt, that wasn’t the answer she was looking for.
“I know that!” Max snorted. “What I meant was… what’s the big deal? Why do guys think about it so much?”
Dean stared at her suspiciously. “Has some little punk been trying to-!” He demanded but Max was already shaking her head.
“No!” Her flush deepened and she dropped her eyes once more to her lap, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her bandage, nervous. “I just… I heard you and Sam talking yesterday,” she whispered. Dean frowned for a moment and then realized what conversation she had to have been referring to.
“Oh,” he sighed. He should have realized, but of course, he hadn’t known that she had been under the car until later. If he’d known, he would have saved the teasing for another time. “Didn’t you and Dad talk about this?” he demanded. Max shook her head.
“No, it was um… more… uh… girl stuff.”
Dean choked a little and then smirked. Yeah, he knew that. If his own conversation with his father was anything to judge by, then he knew his father’s answers would have been absolutely basic and getting answers about certain stuff was like pulling teeth. Dean drew in a deep breath. Why and how on earth did he get stuck with the hard questions?
“isn’t there anyone…?” he began to ask, but realized that honestly, there wasn’t really all that many people in Max’s life that she could talk to about this. Honestly, the best person was currently living in Montana, but Dean frowned. Maybe for Max, talking to Molly was like him talking to John. Okay for the same gender stuff, but opposite sex stuff? That was pure speculation. And also, Molly and John were older, a different generation. Kids just didn’t want to contemplate grown-ups being sexually active.
“Okay,” Dean sighed again as he moved the nachos from his lap. He wasn’t surprised that he suddenly wasn’t hungry. He turned to face Max, leaning an arm on the back of the sofa. “Why do guys think about sex so much?” he asked of her, clarifying the point of her curiosity. Max nodded, “Well, before a guy actually does it for the first time, it’s the same thing as you. They’re curious.”
“Yeah,” Max frowned. “But it’s like; don’t studies say that guys think about sex like ten times more than a woman does each day?”
It was Dean’s turn to frown. “I don’t know about that. But you know it kind of makes sense in a way.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, for guys,” Dean scrunched up his face as he tried to figure out a way to explain to her without getting too technical. “Look, you know that girls tend to mature faster than boys, right?” She nodded. “Well, the thing is, you can- uh… see a girl maturing. Girls don’t really see a guy maturing. You know what I mean?” He was sure that she did since she’d quickly crossed her arms over her chest. Not that he’d been looking. Max nodded her eyes thoughtful and her mouth lifted at the corner into a smirk.
“Unless of course it’s someone like Donny Wiederman,” she giggled suddenly. Dean had to think a moment before he recalled the name.
“Oh yeah,” he laughed, remembering the incident back in Geraldine. Poor little seventh grader, Donny had been trying to impress one of the ninth grade girls. It might have worked if the socks he’d stuffed down his pants hadn’t made a sudden reappearance out the cuff of his jeans, right in the middle of lunch. After their laughter subsided, Max grew serious again.
“So what about after?”
“Well,” Dean exhaled heavily. “I guess people and not just guys, but people still think about it ‘cause its… physically satisfying.”
Max took that in. “What about… well, when you’re in love?” she whispered. “Is it better?”
Dean had to smile at that. “Probably,” he answered, nodding. She looked surprised. “What?” he demanded.
“You’ve never been in love?” she asked of him softly.
“Nope,” his answer was swift and ready. He knew surely that whatever feelings he might ever have had didn’t come close to real love. After all, he lived every day in the embodiment of true love driving them onwards. But all the same, he had to laugh at her perturbed expression. “Oh come on,” he sputtered. “I’m not sayin’ I hated the girls I’ve… you know. I just didn’t really get to know them to find out if I could’ve felt that way.”
“Oh,” Max seemed satisfied. There was a long moment of silence and Dean figured that he was done, was just leaning to reach for his nachos when… “Dean? What’s sex like?” Thank God he wasn’t eating, because he definitely would have choked. “Because Justine’s cousin told me that it was like scratching an itch. And I thought that was stupid, because you don’t need someone else to scratch an itch for you. I mean, you need another person to actually have sex, right?” Dean winced under the onslaught of her words. Oh Lord, he really didn’t want to get into that realm with her. This one was already uncomfortable enough. “Or maybe she meant like an itch in the middle of your back. You know? And you can’t reach it and it just keeps getting itchier and itchier until it’s about to drive you mad and then finally someone comes along and helps you and…” she trailed off as she seemed to realize that Dean was pinching the bridge of his nose. “Dean?”
He kept his eyes shut, wondering how the hell he could answer that. He sighed. There really was no good way for him to answer, except… "Actually Max,” he began softly. “I’ve heard people say that too. Scratching an itch. It’s like I said. Physically satisfying. Like eating a hot fudge sundae. It’s good too, but in its own way. See what I’m saying?”
Max was thoughtful again. “So basically what you’re saying is that scratching and eating are completely separate sensory experiences that can achieve the same generalized outcome.” He smiled at the technical jargon, but nodded. “And that sex,” she continued, “is also its own unique experience. But-!”
“But the thing is,” he interjected before she could get going again, “is that it’s different for everybody. For example,” he smiled as her eyes grew wide, “look at the way our family eats hot fudge sundaes.”
“Dad doesn’t eat sundaes,” Max protested automatically. Dean had to bite off the ‘exactly!’ that jumped to the tip of his tongue, because he didn’t want Max making too many inferences at this euphemism.
“But Sammy, he eats most of his ice cream first, so that he has all that fudge at the end. And you like to make sure that each bite has a little bit of fudge on it.”
“And you like to swirl yours all together and have sprinkles,” Max grinned.
“Oh yeah,” Dean chuckled. “But see, if you asked someone what we were doing, they’d say we’re just…eating sundaes. See?”
“So what you’re trying to tell me is that sex is an experience that’s different for everyone and you can’t explain how it’s good, you just know deep down that it is,” Max drawled. Dean rolled his eyes and ruffled his sister’s curls.
“Yes brat, exactly. Now, anymore questions, or can I go back to my TV and nachos?”
“Just one.” He waited. “How will I know when I’ve met the right guy to… you know?”
Dean tried to hold back a scowl. Of all the questions, this was the most serious and most definitely the one that had to be handled with kid gloves. Because the wrong answer could be disastrous in more ways than one.
“Honestly Max,” Dean groaned, “ask him to wait.” Her lips pursed in protest, but Dean rushed on. “I’m serious Max. If you ever meet a guy that you really like, a guy you want to… then ask him to wait until you’re ready. Because most guys? They’ll say anything to have sex. But if a guy is willing to wait and I mean really wait, not just say that he can wait and hen keep trying to change your mind, then that’s a guy worth getting to know.” He stared at her, any embarrassment, any pretense of annoyance with her questions, it was all gone. “Can you promise me that you’ll do that Max Promise me you’ll wait until you’re absolutely sure?”
Max searched his face and then a small embarrassed smile touched her lips. “I promise Dean,” she vowed, and then leaned forward and planted a small kiss on his cheek. “Thanks,” she whispered and then bounced up from the sofa to grab her book and retreat to the bed. Dean slowly reached for his nachos and the remote. A proud glow suffused him, eclipsing the absolute embarrassment and discomfort he’d felt during the conversation. He was quite certain that he’d gouge his eyes out with spoons before he ever endured that again, but as he settled down to watch and old ‘Bewitched’ rerun, he couldn’t help but feel like the most awesome big brother in the world!
RTD03- Silent Treatment
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