Not Your Kind of Trouble

Chapter 9

Jack woke up groggy. He could hear an engine, something big and gas-guzzling. He pried his eyes open and found himself propped up in the back seat of a car, padded with blankets, coats, and pillows. It wasn't enough to stop the little jolts of pain that shot through his aching leg whenever the tires hit uneven ground, but someone had tried to make him comfortable.

He brought his hands to his face to rub his gummy eyes, and had a moment of panic when he noticed his fingers were too small. He clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. He did remember the last two years, but it took a moment to remember himself.

These are my hands. This is me.

Pain medication would explain the disorientation. Thinking of medication brought back fuzzy snap shots of the hospital. Obviously, he was not there now.

"What's going on?" he asked the ceiling.

"Jack?" a young female voice asked. His eyes focused enough for him to identify Cassandra Frasier in the front passenger seat.

Cassie is here. Why is Cassie here?

"Thought I was at the hospital," he said.

"You were," the driver said. "We…uh, we had to go."

The driver was a man with too-long brown hair. He had broad shoulders and was wearing a flannel work shirt. Jack looked around the car, a Chevy of some kind, from the late 60's or early 70's judging by the interior. Through the windows he saw the outline of trees against a navy blue skyline. The headlights swung across a large, hand-painted wooden sign, advertising the Happy Dairy Diner. A cartoony waitress with a beehive hairdo held up a tray of milkshakes.

"We aren't in the 60's, are we?" Jack asked.

"No, Jack," Cassandra said, her voice anxious. "It's 2007, remember? On the run from the NID and all that?"

Jack remembered some of the shootout, but after ramming his stolen SUV into the one chasing Cassie, his recall broke up into random flashes that he struggled to put in order. His brain was getting into gear a lot more slowly than he would have liked.

"If we aren't in the 60's," Jack said, "Explain his haircut."

The driver gave an annoyed huff, and turned to look at Jack. It was enough for Jack to recognize his profile. The expression on the young man's face was a little betrayed, and Jack was tempted to say "Get a decent cut, you hippie" but that would draw attention to his gaff instead of deflecting it. Just a little mocking, no allusions to time travel here. No, sir. Cassandra flashed Jack a smile when he winked.

"This is Sam Winchester," Cassandra said. "He and his brother are helping us get to Scott Air Force Base."

"I remember you," Jack said. "From the coffee shop."

"We ran into some problems on the way to Scott," Sam said. "There were road blocks so we're circling through ah…a few other states. We've been avoiding the highways and large cities and driving mostly at night. We're going to pull over as soon as Dean finds a good spot to spend the day."

"And Dean is?" Jack asked.

"My brother," Sam said. "You met him before too, but…blood loss. He's about a mile ahead of us in another car we…uh…acquired. We have a couple of walkie-talkies that we're signaling with. They don't use the cell towers and we've got a code worked out so he can warn us surreptitiously if the Feds or anyone else has a road block set up. Cassandra has kept her cool, so for now it's a good system."

They know about Cassie's abilities, Jack thought. Did she tell them or did they find out from someone else? He tried to stare the answer out of Cassandra, but she was looking out the window again.

"Why'd you bust me out of the hospital?" Jack asked.

"That was Dean's idea," Sam said. Jack got the impression lots of not-so-great ideas were Dean's. "He was trying to call people from Cassandra's list, but no one is picking up, so as a goodwill gesture he figured he'd check up on you, and at the hospital he saw someone we've run into before, who we wanted to avoid. Dean made kind of a snap decision to get you out, but he got all your meds and stuff."

"And this avoidable person was?" Jack prompted.

"He's an FBI agent who Dean managed to piss off," Sam said.

"How long's it been since we tried to raise the SGC?" Jack asked.

It was possible a rogue NID team could temporarily disrupt communications, but there were dozens of work-arounds and backup channels.

"15 hours," Cassandra said. "You've been out for about 30. We tried calling again in Louisville, but I still couldn't get through to anyone I know, not even Major Davis. We haven't tried since, in case they are trying to work out our route."

Jack tried not to look worried. If no one was answering, it could be a foothold situation, or it could be an emergency so dire everyone they knew had been deployed off world. The least dire scenario would be some kind of huge command restructuring, but even then Cassie's codes should have got her to somebody she had at least met before.

"You tried home phones, too?" Jack asked.

"Only got answering machines," Cassandra said.

"Anything in the news?" Jack asked.

"Nothing that stands out as a cover-up," Cassandra said.

Jack frowned some more. If no one was reporting a mysterious meteor shower, or an accidental satellite collision, it probably meant the problem was not yet in Earth's solar system. The issue could be in another galaxy, or a foothold contained within the SGC under Cheyenne Mountain. Jack found himself wishing he had insisted on keeping some kind of security clearance. Some things he could work out backwards from the official cover stories, but that was nowhere near as accurate as having an actual source.

"Where are we now?" Jack asked.

"We're on the 94, just outside Murray, Kentucky," Sam said.

Jack caught Cassandra's eye, and she smiled faintly.

The sky bled red along the horizon as they passed through Murray, an orderly little city with a lot of square brick buildings and empty sidewalks. The walkie-talkie on the dashboard buzzed as they passed into Tennessee, and after clicking back and forth in some code that was not Morse, Sam turned the car off of the highway. There was a little traffic on the road-a couple of tractors and a flatbed hauling bags of gravel. The walkie-talkie made another few clicks and Sam took a left, onto an older farm road. They bounced along cracked pavement for another minute, and then came to an open wooden gate with a man standing beside it. Behind him was an overgrown orchard. The leaves were a sickly yellow, as if no one bothered to water it anymore.

Jack recognized the man by the gate; it was the other guy from the coffee shop, who he'd mixed it up with at the construction site. Jack wondered if the other man would try to get his own back, now that Jack was injured. He looked at Cassie, but she didn't seem worried, just annoyed.

"I don't see a ladies' room," she said to Sam.

The young man looked embarrassed and muttered "sorry" as they drove past the gate.

"That's Dean," Sam muttered, for Jack's benefit.

Dean closed the gate behind them, and Jack pushed himself up enough to see another car a little further into the trees. Sam parked next to it. Dean had a frown on his face as he approached, but his eyes were on the hood of the car, not its passengers.

"You pulled behind the gravel truck on purpose, didn't you, bitch?" Dean growled.

"Yeah," Sam huffed as he opened his door. "All part of my master plan to make you wax the Impala again."

"Sup, Amish?" Dean asked, flashing Cassandra a grin.

She scowled.

"What about you, littlest ninja?" Dean asked, still smiling. "Ready for a rematch?"

"Maybe later," Jack said. "If I get shot in the other leg, you might even stand a chance."

Dean's frown returned, but Jack couldn't read any real malice in his expression.

"Now that we're all annoyed," Sam said. "How about another round of intrusive personal questions? Cassandra said she couldn't disclose…uh…anything to us. I don't suppose you can? Cassandra told us about the researcher who experimented on her, and we want to help."

Jack shot Cassie a look. It sounded like she had stuck to a story that was close to the truth, one that just cut out all the aliens and other planets. She nodded a little, and Jack hoped they were on the same page.

"Why do you want to help?" Jack asked. "What's in it for you?"

"Good Karma," Dean said. "We're devout Hare Krishnas."

Sam scowled. "We know what it's like to be mixed up in stuff so crazy no one would ever believe it."

Sam looked sincere, but crazy people could be very sincere, and sociopaths could fake it.

"Cassandra and I need a moment to discuss this," Jack said.

"Privately," Cassie added.

Sam nodded as Dean frowned. They wandered over to the other car, though Dean's voice floated back to them.

"-outta my Baby!"

"It's a car!" Sam said. "Babies wear diapers."

Cassandra grinned, but the look left her face as she focused on Jack.

"What's really going on?" Jack asked.

"Pretty much just what you see," she said. "You've been out more than a day and they haven't tried anything."

"What's your take on them?" Jack asked.

"I think they're crooks, and they're nuts. They think demons are after me because I've blown out a few electronics around them. They're well armed. Aside from the guns they had when they rescued us, they've got knives and things in the trunk. I can hear them clanking around but they haven't given me a chance to really snoop. Sam's got a Desert Eagle in the waistband of his pants. I saw it when he was leaning over. He's got a lot of scars too," Cassandra said.

"Notice anything else?" Jack asked.

"He's got a nice butt?"

"Not what I meant," Jack said with a scowl. "What do they know about you?"

"That I'm the victim of a mad scientist. Since they've already seen me blow out a few lights I haven't bothered trying to hide. I've been spinning magnets whenever we stop for a stretch break," Cassandra said. "I don't feel like it's building up. It's not like last time, but if I burn off the charge, it keeps the phones and the radio from freaking out."

"And the fever isn't back?" Jack asked.

"No. I think I've worried myself into an ulcer, but other than that I'm doing okay," she said. "Mostly."

"Mostly?"

"Jack, I shot somebody," she said. "That's not…that's not something I'm supposed to do."

Silently he agreed. This wasn't something he wanted for Cassandra. He was proud of how capable she had been, thrust into the middle of a firefight for the first time. It would have been nice if she had shot the NID agent before he'd put a round in Jack's leg, but she had returned fire competently and managed to get them this far. But she should not have been in that situation in the first place.

Jack knew she was an adult, but when he looked at her he still saw the little girl she had been, rather than the adult she now was.

"I know, kiddo," he said. "I'm sorry."

He did not bother saying 'It was him or us', because they both knew that. He reached out and patted her hand. She pulled away and thrust a water bottle at him, mumbling about hydration. He supposed she had the opposite problem he did. She wanted to see the adult he was supposed to be, and all she got was a skinny kid.

Jack looked over at the Winchester brothers. He couldn't even promise she wouldn't have to shoot someone else.

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Jack did not like that he could not get a clear read on their rescuers/kidnappers. One minute the Winchester brothers were deadly serious, discussing routes that would keep them clear of police stations and traffic cameras, the next they were flicking each other's ears and pulling hair because a password was too lame, or the food was too greasy, or the Impala's gear shift was being "wrenched" instead of "finessed".

Their hodgepodge combination of military training and grifter knowhow led Jack to believe they were members of one of the militia groups, or at least raised in one. They probably had warrants out on them, which would explain their desire to avoid police. It still did not explain their desire to help, but since Jack saw no evidence of who they worked for, or that they even knew about the Trust or the Go'auld, he did not try to kill them in their sleep.

Jack shut down all conversation about his training. Mostly he listened to Sam and Cassandra chatter about classic literature and indie bands. He almost wished he was in the other car with Dean, who apparently had three subjects in his repertoire: classic rock bands, action flicks, and The Impala. Jack couldn't risk it, though. Cassandra was far too free with hints when she talked to Sam. She seemed to be one understanding nod away from admitting she was from another planet.

Jack did not know why, but he distrusted the younger Winchester. Sam seemed sincere, polite, and sympathetic even without his belching, smirking older brother acting as a foil. He didn't think it was just his protective parent instincts acting up. He was sure the boy was trouble.

At one of the many gas station stops, Jack realized Dean shared his concern, at least about their respective charges. Sam fetched the restroom key, and Cassandra snatched it out of his hands. She then gave him a not-so-gentle poke under the ribs, and slammed the door on him with a grin on her face. Sam just smiled back.

Watching from the parked Impala, Dean and Jack grumbled in unison. Jack wanted to be a little offended on Cassandra's behalf, but it would work against his own goals to defend her. Jack thought he and Dean both wanted to get this over with quickly and quietly. Dean wanted to get back to whatever it was he and his brother usually did, and Jack did not want tarry in their company, either.

Two more nights rolled by, broken up by days hidden off the road, one in an abandoned house, the second camping in the cars. They rolled through Tennessee and headed west into Arkansas, circling back toward Scott AFB, because it still seemed like the closest safe haven. Jack slept through a lot of the trip. He felt guilty about it, but his leg was still almost useless, and the drugs the Winchesters had pilfered were very high quality.

He made plans of course, and had palmed enough of his pain pills to make knock-out coffee should the brothers act at all suspicious. Just after dawn on the third day of the trip, it seemed like the time for it had come.

Sam had pretty much carried Jack to a rest-stop men's room, but they still beat Dean back to the cars. After giving Jack a bottle of water to wash down his pills, Sam popped the trunk and fiddled around with the huge stockpile of weapons they seemed to think Jack didn't know about. Jack settled down, and was pretending to sleep when Dean returned.

"He out again?" Dean asked, tugging at one of Jack's pillows. Jack played dead.

"Yeah," Sam said. "I think we might be over-medicating him. I don't think we ever had stuff this strong when we were that age."

"You did. Remember the compound fracture you got in Shiloh when you were 13?"

"Not really," Sam said.

"Exactly," Dean said.

Sam snorted. Jack heard Dean's feet scuff the asphalt.

"I checked in with Bobby," Dean said.

"He say anything about the case?" Sam asked.

"He said she's not a gremlin, and that we're idiots," Dean said.

"What did he say about the military guys?" Sam asked.

"He said to send him a post card from Gitmo," Dean said. "He also mentioned there's been a series of weird deaths out on the 106, outside Batesville, Arkansas."

"We're already on a case, Dean," Sam said.

"This isn't a case Sam," Dean growled. "This is us driving a girl you like and her kid brother, cousin, whatever around. We'll have to head north again anyway, we might as well check it out. Three people have died in the last four months along the same stretch of road. All three had breakdowns and were found dead a few feet from their cars. All three were written up as hit and runs with no trace of the other car found."

"Another murderous phantom car?" Sam asked.

"If it is, you better find me a church before the damn thing is trying to drive up my ass," Dean scolded.

"So we stash Jack and Cassie somewhere safe, and use the day to research," Sam said. "But if it's not something quick, then we take care of it on the way back."

"People could die while you're driving Miss Daisy around."

"You don't think those two will get themselves killed if we don't? The drive will take two more days at most, and whatever this thing in Batesville is, it doesn't sound like it's on a spree. It could be on a lunar cycle or something. You don't know," Sam said.

"I could work the case on my own," Dean said, without enthusiasm. "You could come back for me after."

"And you could end up staked out as a sacrifice to a pagan harvest god, again," Sam said.

"Screw you, Sammy. I left you alone five minutes at that bar and you got snatched by hillbilly cannibals," Dean said. "My record is…pristine in comparison."

"Pristine, huh?" Sam said. "You know that means virginal?"

"Shut up," Dean growled.

Jack heard the sharp smack of a fist hitting flesh. Boots shuffled in the dirt. Jack didn't need to open his eyes to know another wrestling match had broken out by the trunk. He was about to "wake up" and threaten to separate the two of them when Cassandra returned.

"Seriously? Do I have to throw a bucket of water on you two?" she snapped.

The drive through Batesville was a little bit tense. Jack was noting the mile markers, and the Winchesters less then suavely stopped to "check the oil" along the suspect stretch of road. Cassandra asked them what they were doing, and Sam said something about letting the engine cool. While Sam and Dean wandered up and down the side of the highway, Jack hauled himself upright and quietly told Cassandra what he had overheard.

Dean had his walkman out and was waving it around. The brothers would pause to confer with each other and then look back at the Impala.

"That's their electromagnetic field reader," Cassandra said. "They think it detects ghosts. That's how they zeroed in on me. Apparently, I set it off. "

"From the looks we're getting, I guess you still do," Jack said.

When they got back on the road, Sam looked a bit upset. He then started scowling at the back of Dean's head as his older brother brake-checked them. They drove to a foreclosed farmhouse a few miles from the "haunted" stretch of road. Jack wasn't sure how Dean spotted the place. He suspected Dean had been directed to it by the mysterious Bobby. It was at the end of a long driveway, with a high hedge row marking the property line. Dean already had the front door open by the time Sam parked the Impala.

Sam lent Jack an elbow so he could hobble inside. The house had modern wiring and fixtures, but he saw Cassie was having no luck with the light switches.

"So, we got something to take care of in town," Dean announced.

"Beer run?" Jack asked.

"Yeah, but none for you. Sorry, short stuff," Dean said with a grin.

"When will you be back?" Cassie asked.

"A little after dark at the latest," Sam said. "We'll make sure you guys are all set for the day before we go."

Sam wandered back to the Impala, and Jack heard him taking things out of the trunk. Cassandra and Dean followed him out. They had left Jack on the couch, but he managed to haul himself up onto his good leg and hop over to the window.

Jack expected the brothers to take the battery from the stolen car, or hold Jack's pills hostage. Instead, he saw Dean showing Cassandra how to start the stolen car with two stripped wires under the dash. Dean went over the maps a few times to make sure she had three different routes to the base, all of which were off the main roads.

"If they do come up on you, get back on the highway and pull an O.J. Don't stop until like 20 cop cars and three news helicopters are on your tail, too. The spooks trailing you probably won't try anything with that much publicity and it'll let your spooks know where you are," Dean said.

"Maybe me and Jack should just pull that now," she said.

"Awwww. You getting sick of us, sweetheart?" Dean asked.

"Sam's not so bad," she allowed, grinning when Dean scowled.

"If the guys after you have the right fake papers, the local yokels might hand you over before your people get there, and your people ain't exactly been on the ball with this mess."

Cassandra scowled this time. "They must have bigger problems."

"I'm sure the Middle East can blow itself up for the day it would take them to come get you."

"They don't deploy there," she said.

"Classified!" Jack called from his spying window.

"Is everything you've ever done classified?" Sam asked, from directly behind him.

Jack managed not to over balance, but it was a near thing. He turned to glare and saw Sam was carrying a huge bag of road salt. Jack wanted to complement the large man for moving so quietly across a creaky floor carrying it. Instead, he asked "What's that for?"

Sam leaned past him and poured a line of salt across the window sill.

"It keeps bad things out," Sam said. "Like ants."

"And murderous phantom cars?" Jack asked.

Sam scowled a little. "And those."

It took another ten minutes for Sam to finish salting the house. Cassandra whispered to Jack that Sam had done the same thing at the other house they had stayed at, but Jack had slept through the procedure. Dean brought Jack a new burner phone, a bag of Funyuns, a shotgun, and a machete, and then sauntered out the front door.

Jack heard the Impala's engine start. A moment later classic rock rattled the windows of the house the two fugitives were squatting in. He wanted to watch them go, but there did not seem to be any point. If the Winchesters were planning to sell them out to someone, they weren't going to do it through semaphore in the driveway. Jack spent some time watching the ceiling of the farmhouse, and listening to Cassandra banging around in the nearly empty kitchen. Eventually she returned with two cups of tepid decaf coffee.

"We can leave now," Jack said.

Cassandra looked at his bound-up leg and raised an eyebrow in a manner that would have done Teal'c proud.

"I think we should stick with them. I think they really are trying to help, and we're almost there," she said.

"You know they're nuts, right?"

"Duh, Jack," she said. "But they're useful. Like that offworlder who took all those drugs and made that TV show about the SGC."

"Yeah, I don't know how useful that was," Jack said. "And they seem to have ditched us to hunt a ghost."

"Do you think it's really…not a ghost, but an alien or something?" Cassandra asked.

He had considered that possibility, but without the SGC's records, or internet access, or working legs, he couldn't do much to vet the Winchester's stories.

"It's probably just a bad section of road," Jack said. "People who want to prove conspiracy theories can shoehorn just about anything into it as evidence. Have they tried to get more information out of you?"

"Not really," she said. "Sam's been trying to convince me that Nirti was a demon. I wasn't going to argue that she wasn't. Sam gave me a magic amulet to protect me. I think they may have stuck one in your pockets, too. They also think I should run off and live in the hills or something, rather than trust the government. I still don't get them, but I think their intentions are honorable."

"They didn't offer to run off to the hills with you, did they?" Jack asked. "That Sam kid's been making doe eyes at you."

Cassandra rolled her eyes. "Shouldn't you be worrying about Dean? He's the one that keeps staring at my butt."

"For the sake of my sanity, could you refrain from mentioning butts ever again?" Jack asked, taking a drink.

Cassandra smirked at him. "I could try, but I wouldn't count on it."

Jack snorted coffee out his nose. "You can't use puns," he coughed. "Those are old people jokes."

Cassandra graciously found Jack an old dishtowel to blot the coffee with. He did not bring up leaving for the rest of the day, largely because he was sleeping. He woke up to the sounds of Cassandra rattling around the house. The sun had set, and there was no sign of the Winchesters. Cassandra went outside so Jack could turn on the cell phone. It did work, but there were no messages and neither brother answered. Jack considered calling someone from the SGC, but he couldn't think of anyone whose line could not be traced.

Around ten o'clock Jack wondered aloud if the Winchesters hadn't ditched them. It would make about as much sense as their volunteering to help in the first place. Cassandra did not buy it and suggested they go look for them. Before Jack had to shout down the idea, they both heard the sound of an engine. Cassandra put out the lantern and went to look through the curtains.

"It's them," she said.

A minute later the two men stumbled in the door, reeking of smoke. Jack lit the camp lantern again and turned on the flashlight. Both brothers were covered in dirt and soot, and Sam had a bloody gash above his left eye.

"So what have you been up to?" Jack asked.

"Had to help an old lady change a tire," Dean lied.

"On a burning car?" Jack asked.

Jack and Dean got into a little staring contest as Cassandra fussed over Sam's bleeding face. Jack knew he was in no position to force the issue, but the Winchesters had clearly been in a fight.

"Is the old lady going to call the cops on you?" Jack asked.

"She might," Dean said. "So let's get packed up and-"

"What is that?" Cassandra said, cutting him off.

"What's what?" Dean asked.

"That noise!" she said.

They all froze as a high whine filled the air.

"Shit," Dean said.

Jack thought it sounded like an electric motor; a radio controlled model plane, or a weed-whacker. Neither of which should have caused the look of near-panic on Dean's face. The windows rattled, and the Winchesters rushed around the house, checking that the lines of salt were still intact.

"What is it?" Jack called.

Light came through curtains.

The windows rattled again.

"So fire didn't kill it," Dean growled.

"Why are you looking at me?" Sam grumbled as he dug through the duffle bag. "Fire was your idea!"

"What is it?" Jack demanded as the entire house rattled.

"As it turns out, we don't know," Dean said.

"We thought it was a will-o-wisp," Sam said. "It's a kind of spirit that finds lost travelers and…feeds off them. The lore said fire or direct sunlight would destroy them, but-"

Plaster cracked and fell from the ceiling in chunks the size of dinner plates.

"Have you tried, I don't know, shooting it in the face?" Jack growled, picking up the shotgun they'd left with him.

"It didn't have a face," Dean growled back, and snatched the gun from Jack's hands.

Soot fell into the cold hearth. Dean rushed towards it, probably planning to slam the flue closed, but a bright blue light filled the fireplace and he hopped backwards, raising his shotgun. The light burst into the room and Dean's gun barked. His shot hit the already-tortured-looking wallpaper and the thing floated into the center of the living room.

Jack would have described it as a levitating bug zapper with yellow crepe paper streamers circling around it. It was a bug zapper that did not like being shot at.

One of the streamers lashed out at Dean. He raised his shotgun to block it, but the streamer went low at the last second and lashed him across the ribs. It seemed to stick to his skin for a moment, and then pulled away with a tape ripping sound. Dean toppled over backwards. The zapper moved toward the fallen man, but Sam grabbed up an open bag of road salt and flung it all across the room. The zapper tried to dodge the white grains, but they went everywhere. Where the salt touched it, it smoked and the windows rattled as it shrieked. It started high pitched and went up beyond hearing.

Beyond most of their hearing. Jack looked over at Cassandra and saw her face scrunched up and pained. She was grabbing at her temples and a trickle of blood dribbled out of her left nostril. She flung her arms forward suddenly, like she was throwing a basketball.

The zapper flinched back, bouncing across the wall and then trying to move back towards the fireplace. Dean, on his hands and knees, scooped together a handful of the salt that was covering the floor and tossed it into the hearth. The zapper veered away.

Cassandra threw her arms out again, and this time Jack's skin crawled. The light bulbs in the powerless house lit up and then burst. The zapper shrieked again. It got brighter, and Jack had to squint to keep looking at it. It seemed to be getting bigger. The shotgun fired again. For a moment the zapper went almost completely dark. The light came back, flickering unsteadily. Cassandra lunged at it. Her hands came up on either side of it. Her teeth ground and both her nostrils streamed blood.

The zapper made squeaky sputtering sounds, as if someone was letting air out of a balloon.

And then it popped like one.

Cassandra startled backwards, and fell on Dean who had been getting back to his feet. Sam hurried over and helped them both up. Cassandra had something gooey and scorched all over her arms, face, and chest.

"How did you do that?" Sam asked Cassandra.

"It's classified!" Dean shouted, before Jack could.

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Author's note: a chapter that didn't take five months to post, must be a new record for me. Feel free to review!