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blue_bells» Title: Less Than A Hundred Percent
» Fandom: Supernatural, Dollhouse
» Warnings: Crossover
» Pairing(s)/Characters: Dean Winchester, Doctor Saunders
» Summary: Even with his personality wiped clean, he still can't resist his favorite dessert.
» A/N: Originally written here for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
karahalliwell in ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
comment_fic.
He didn’t like visiting Doctor Saunders in her infirmary.
She tried to see him outside its close walls and without her lab coat, if she could, because she had noticed he reacted to that as well.
Dean -- or Delta as they called him now – didn’t like visible canvases of white.
Delta would jerk and recoil as though his retinas had been burned and they had to respond before he could put that hand out, pushing the palest shade away because it hurt him.
“Too bright,” He would shake his head, his expression torn, “No, too bright.”
He’s still tall, but stronger than when they first brought him in. When he pushes, he doesn’t know his own strength. And when he’s pushed back...
Well, the Dollhouse security learned firsthand that there were some instincts no number of wipes could erase.
That knowledge is what tipped Doctor Saunders in the end. Of course, Delta wasn’t interested in lollipops, none of her common techniques worked with him, but one day Topher pulled her aside with a conspiratorial grin.
“Cherry pie,” He’d said and it took Doctor Saunders at least five minutes to understand quite what he’d meant.
The next time Delta was due for a pre-mission check-up, the smell of freshly baked pastry and warm cherries filled her entire office.
She smiled when Delta poked his head in, not hovering beyond the threshold as he often did when his Handler brought him by. His face glazed over with wonder when he saw the pie on the plate at her desk. She’d motioned for him to sit and he took the proffered plastic fork.
Never hand metal to an Active.
She couldn’t help returning the grin when his eyes lit up at that first bite and he’d smiled at her through a mouthful of pie. Her own smile felt out of place, tight around her healing scars.
It was a good feeling.
Delta had happily let himself be prodded on the examination table as long as he had his pie in hand. He’d burned his tongue at one point at its centre, still too hot, too fresh. It almost made her laugh in sympathy how greedily he gulped down the subsequent cold cup of water.
At his request, she had sought him a second cup and he was drinking it down when the partition to her office drew back and Delta’s Handler poked her head in.
“Doctor, Topher’s advised he’s ready for Delta now.”
Doctor Saunders took the empty cup back and nodded.
She knew enough details of Delta’s upcoming mission.
The Michael wedge: the persona that was the reason she had to seek new and inventive ways to bait Delta into her infirmary for ongoing medical care. The bruises from Michael’s last mission still hadn’t faded, though the worse wounds had finally knitted and closed.
Just for once, she wanted to be able to send him out at a hundred percent. He would never be his best if they didn’t let him heal.
“You can take him now,” she said, quietly and turned back to her desk.
Behind her, she heard the Handler croon, “Delta, would you like a treatment?”
Vaguely, she felt sick.
» Fandom: Supernatural, Dollhouse
» Warnings: Crossover
» Pairing(s)/Characters: Dean Winchester, Doctor Saunders
» Summary: Even with his personality wiped clean, he still can't resist his favorite dessert.
» A/N: Originally written here for
karahalliwell in comment_fic. He didn’t like visiting Doctor Saunders in her infirmary.
She tried to see him outside its close walls and without her lab coat, if she could, because she had noticed he reacted to that as well.
Dean -- or Delta as they called him now – didn’t like visible canvases of white.
Delta would jerk and recoil as though his retinas had been burned and they had to respond before he could put that hand out, pushing the palest shade away because it hurt him.
“Too bright,” He would shake his head, his expression torn, “No, too bright.”
He’s still tall, but stronger than when they first brought him in. When he pushes, he doesn’t know his own strength. And when he’s pushed back...
Well, the Dollhouse security learned firsthand that there were some instincts no number of wipes could erase.
That knowledge is what tipped Doctor Saunders in the end. Of course, Delta wasn’t interested in lollipops, none of her common techniques worked with him, but one day Topher pulled her aside with a conspiratorial grin.
“Cherry pie,” He’d said and it took Doctor Saunders at least five minutes to understand quite what he’d meant.
The next time Delta was due for a pre-mission check-up, the smell of freshly baked pastry and warm cherries filled her entire office.
She smiled when Delta poked his head in, not hovering beyond the threshold as he often did when his Handler brought him by. His face glazed over with wonder when he saw the pie on the plate at her desk. She’d motioned for him to sit and he took the proffered plastic fork.
Never hand metal to an Active.
She couldn’t help returning the grin when his eyes lit up at that first bite and he’d smiled at her through a mouthful of pie. Her own smile felt out of place, tight around her healing scars.
It was a good feeling.
Delta had happily let himself be prodded on the examination table as long as he had his pie in hand. He’d burned his tongue at one point at its centre, still too hot, too fresh. It almost made her laugh in sympathy how greedily he gulped down the subsequent cold cup of water.
At his request, she had sought him a second cup and he was drinking it down when the partition to her office drew back and Delta’s Handler poked her head in.
“Doctor, Topher’s advised he’s ready for Delta now.”
Doctor Saunders took the empty cup back and nodded.
She knew enough details of Delta’s upcoming mission.
The Michael wedge: the persona that was the reason she had to seek new and inventive ways to bait Delta into her infirmary for ongoing medical care. The bruises from Michael’s last mission still hadn’t faded, though the worse wounds had finally knitted and closed.
Just for once, she wanted to be able to send him out at a hundred percent. He would never be his best if they didn’t let him heal.
“You can take him now,” she said, quietly and turned back to her desk.
Behind her, she heard the Handler croon, “Delta, would you like a treatment?”
Vaguely, she felt sick.
