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Chapter Text

Something unyielding and cold pressed against his cheekbone...or maybe his cheekbone was pressed against something. Yeah, that’s it, Alec thought as his senses sluggishly came back online. Concrete—cold, damp, unforgiving. He shuddered, the movement involuntary, scanning his surroundings with heightened alertness.

No immediate threats.

Only then did he open his eyes, cautiously.

He realized he was lying in an alleyway, just beyond the reach of the streetlights. Darkness cloaked the space around him, with only a faint glow from the main street spilling into a soft circle of light nearby.

Fragments of memory trickled back—he’d felt sick, dizzy. Steering his bike into the alley had been instinct, a way to escape the open street and avoid prying eyes.

He pushed himself into a sitting position, the fabric of his jacket snagging against the rough bricks behind him. His cat DNA kicked in, letting him scan the shadows with ease. No immediate threats, but his bike and packages were gone. Normal was going to be so pissed.

Getting to his feet was a slow, deliberate process. He braced against the wall, fighting off waves of weakness and nausea. His head pounded with a relentless thrum, but a careful check confirmed no injuries. It didn’t feel like the onset of the shakes, and transgenics weren’t supposed to get sick, not with their enhanced immune systems.

Carefully, Alec took an experimental step, but his legs buckled almost immediately and he stumbled back against the wall, panting. Every muscle throbbed, and his legs shook so badly he doubted he could make it to the end of the alley, let alone back to his apartment.

Reluctantly, he pulled out his cell. The last thing he wanted was to call Max—he’d never hear the end of it—but she’d come if he asked. He flipped the phone open, already bracing for her inevitable tongue-lashing, only to find the screen glaring back at him, a blank white oblong.

“Great,” he muttered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Just…great.”

He forced himself forward, one shaky step at a time, relieved the alley was relatively clear of debris. By the time he reached the end, his vision had narrowed to a tunnel, and he clung to the brick corner with trembling, desperate fingers.

The street beyond looked unnervingly tidy. Pools of light from the streetlamps illuminated a swept sidewalk, pristine and free of garbage or graffiti. 

Directly in front of the alley sat a beast of a car, parked tight against the curb. Even in his weakened state, Alec felt a flicker of appreciation for her sleek lines, the dark gloss of her paintwork, and the gleam of chrome—a rare gem in post-Pulse Seattle.

As he watched, a figure straightened from the trunk and slammed the lid shut with a decisive thud.

In a move completely at odds with his usual caution, Alec took a shaky step forward. It was a mistake. The world tilted sharply, and before he could react, the side of his head collided with the sidewalk in a sickening crack.

Pain and disorientation blurred together as he registered a muffled curse. A moment later, a firm hand gripped his shoulder.

"Hey, buddy, you okay there?"

A deep voice, oddly familiar even with the ringing in his ears, cut through the haze. Strong hands gripped his shoulders, rolling him onto his back with surprising care.

“Son of a... ” the voice muttered, a mix of frustration and disbelief.

Before Alec could process the words, a sharp sting bit across the back of his wrist, jolting him. He tried to protest, but all that came out was a groan. His eyes snapped open in shock as something cold and wet splashed across his face, yanking him further out of the fog.

The dark silhouette leaning over him let out a sigh.
"Sorry, kid. Gotta be sure."

He wanted to shove the hands away, to growl something biting and get the guy to back off, but his body refused to cooperate. For now, all he could do was watch and wait.

Firm fingers gripped his jaw and turned his face further toward the light. There was a sharp intake of breath.
"That’s not… no way. What the hell is this?”

Hands moved over him in a methodical rhythm, one Alec dimly recognized as field first aid. The familiarity was oddly comforting, even as his strength ebbed away. His eyelids fluttered, heavy and uncooperative as he drifted towards unconsciousness. 

“You’re a mess, kid,” the man muttered, shaking his head like he wasn’t sure what to make of Alec.

There was a pause then, just the sounds of the city reaching Alec's ears, as the man considered his next course of action. 

“Sonofabitch!" The tone expressed the speaker's frustration. "I should just leave you here, but that's not your freakin' face."

Alec felt a surge of panic and began to struggle weakly as hands slipped beneath his shoulders and knees. He was lifted off the ground, crushed against worn leather with an underlying strength of muscle and bone beneath. He couldn’t think of any good reason why a stranger would pick him up just because of his face, and he tried to pull free, but pain and nausea hit him in a debilitating wave.

“Keep still. You’re heavy dude.”

The man's words were a lie, given the ease with which he carried Alec.

The stranger's arms were steady, his grip firm but not rough. Alec wanted to pull away, to snap some sarcastic quip, but the warmth radiating from the man's skin and the steady rise and fall of his chest felt oddly grounding.

Alec went limp, his head rolling involuntarily to the side, forehead coming to rest beneath the man's jaw. A familiar, oddly comforting scent filled his nostrils—the scent of his own skin after a day in the sun. It was his, but not. This wasn’t a transgenic, the temperature of the man's skin alone told him that.

For a fleeting moment, he felt weightless, then the sensation ended as he was carefully eased into the passenger seat of the sleek, black car. A faint whimper escaped before he could stop it, and he cringed inwardly, hating the sound, hating the weakness it betrayed.

The driver's door slammed shut with a squawk, and the engine roared to life with a throaty rumble. Barely conscious, Alec sagged toward the familiar scent, his head coming to rest on the bench seat, near to the man’s leg.

"Well, this is just awesome."

The voice grumbled, even as something warm was draped over his shivering form.

Alec curled into himself as the vehicle surged forward, surrendering to the darkness and letting himself slip away into silence.

Chapter Text

As the flickering lights of the rundown motel came into view, Dean flipped open his cell and speed-dialed his brother.

"Sam. Get your ass outside. I need a hand here."

For a brief moment, he considered telling his brother to come armed, but dismissed the thought immediately. Sam would be prepared for anything. 

Sure enough, Sam was waiting outside the motel room, looking slightly alarmed under a wet mop of unruly hair. Dean popped the Impala’s door open and stepped out with a smirk.

“Did I catch you in the shower, dude?”

“Huh? No, just out. What’ve you got there?”

Sam approached the passenger door, eyeing the blanket-wrapped heap on the front seat with suspicion.

“That’s what I’d like to know! ”

Dean took hold of the man’s shoulders, tugged the prone figure back to a sitting position and hauled him out of the vehicle.

“Get a hold of his legs, let’s get him inside.”

Sam looked a little surprised, but took hold of the long legs without comment and they whisked the man inside, blanket trailing after them, getting him safely out from under the eyes of any interfering, temporary neighbours.

They dropped him unceremoniously onto one of the beds, the ancient mattress screeching loudly in protest. Dean peeled back the blanket and inhaled sharply. Under the harsh light of the dusty bulb, the resemblance was even more striking.

Sam loomed over Dean’s shoulder, a frown creasing his forehead.

“Who the hell is that? And why’d you bring him here?”

He focused on the man’s features, and a surprised huff escaped him. 

There was a brief pause as both men studied the limp figure.

“He’s not a shapeshifter,” Sam said, his voice quietly confident. He caught the unspoken question in Dean’s raised eyebrow and elaborated.

“Different hair, no scar... and he’s younger than you. I remember you looking like this, before I went to Stanford.”

“Dude! I never had a haircut like that!” Dean protested, affronted. He ran a hand over his head as though to make sure, but nodded slowly.

“You’re right, though. I checked with silver, and he’s no shapeshifter. Not a demon, either.”

Dean reached out and tilted the man’s head, pointing to the back of his neck. “What’s that?”

Sam hooked a finger into the stranger’s collar and pulled it down slightly.  “What is that?”

Dean studied the mark, his expression tense.  “Some kind of tattoo? Looks like a barcode.”

Sam shrugged.  "Maybe something military? Or tech-related." He frowned, noting the barcode seemed to fit with the sculpted, though grimy features, in a way it would not have done on Dean. "Do you think it's supernatural?"

He let the collar ride back up and the man’s head fall naturally.“So, what is he? Human?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. He just kind of fell out of an alley right in front of me. Doesn’t seem to have any injuries... well, not until he smacked his head on the sidewalk. But hey, what are the odds there’s not something freaky going on? I couldn’t just leave him there, looking like me!”

The man on the bed took a sharp breath, his hands twitching slightly.

Sam sighed. “Whatever or whoever he is, he’s not looking too good.”

Suddenly, dark eyelashes fluttered open, and narrow slits of vivid green glared up at Sam.

It was a hoarse whisper, but the words were unmistakable.

“I always look good.”

“Oh, no,” Sam said mournfully, his voice flat. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. I’m having a nightmare.” As if one Dean wasn't enough. 

.

The shock of the cold air when he was lifted out of the Impala had roused Alec. He struggled towards consciousness, crawling his way slowly out of the cloying darkness towards a jumble of words floating above him.

After a while he realised they were talking about him. The familiar, comforting scent so like his own was nearby; another blending with it, similar yet subtly different.

He forced himself nearer the surface; he was vulnerable in this state. He needed to get to his feet, get away, and find somewhere to hide until he could contact Max.

“… he’s not looking so good.”

Really? Let them think that. They wouldn’t be expecting it when he made his move. Even so, the automatic response slipped past the dry tunnel of his throat before he could stop it.

“I always look good.”

The deeper voice was suddenly next to him.

“Hey, you with us? Come on, dude. Keep your eyes open."

The owner of the voice shook his shoulder gently.

"You got a name?”

Alec struggled to open his eyes fully. The face over his was a blur and he blinked furiously to clear his vision. 

“Your name. What’s your name?”

This question was sharper, almost an order and he found himself responding automatically.

“X… er…”

His brain stuttered in time with his mouth, realising his mistake as he remembered these were probably Ordinaries and not friendly to transgenics. He tried again.

“Alec… ‘m Alec.”

“Alec. Okay, Alec. Are you injured?”

“Nuh.” He couldn’t remember being injured.

“You sick then?”

An icy wave chose that moment to wash over Alec's skin and his head pounded viciously in response. He took a deep breath and forced himself up onto his elbow, nausea roiling in his gut.

“Don’t get sick."
“I’m not sick.”

The words were barely out of his mouth before a wave of nausea hit him. He gagged, his stomach lurching. Strong hands tilted him so his head hung over the edge of the bed as he began to retch. Another pair of hands quickly shoved a trash can under his mouth, bracing him through the wave of sickness.

The deep voice came again, amusement lacing the words.

“Yeah, I take it you're feeling pretty peachy then, huh?”

Someone pressed a mouthful of water to his lips, then gently wiped his face. Alec fought to keep his head up, to stay alert. Maybe this is all just a trick, he thought dully. A way to catch him off guard. Any second now, it would begin.

"Just relax, okay? No one is gonna hurt you."

The other voice was softer, calm and measured. It spoke again, now clearly directed away from Alec.

"Maybe we should just take him to the hospital, Dean?"

“No!” Alec’s mind raced, panic flooding him as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

“No h-hospital. Please. Don’t..."

Hospitals meant questions. Questions meant answers he couldn't give.

He tried to say more, but all that escaped was a low groan, and a flush of humiliation rose in his chest as fear crept up his throat.

Before he could gather himself, another wave of cold hit. The cold wasn’t just around him now—it had seeped inside, gripping his chest, his limbs, his thoughts, dragging him deeper until even the voices became indistinct. 

Dean grimaced, sympathetic to a dislike of medical establishments.  "Not feeling the whole hospital vibe, huh?”

Sam frowned in response.“Dean, he’s clearly terrified. I don’t think it’s just hospitals.”

He raised his voice slightly, hoping his words would reach the man. "Okay, no hospital. You're safe here." 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Sammy.” Dean muttered. “We don’t know what he is.”

Sam stared at him incredulously.

“We don’t know who he is. For now we’ll treat him like he’s not a monster. That’s why you brought him here, right?”

Dean huffed, shrugged.

“Maybe. Maybe I just didn’t want to leave a corpse lying in the street wearing my face.”

Chapter Text

There was no gradual return to consciousness this time. The sharp click of the door shutting snapped Alec awake, every muscle going taut as his mind instantly shifted into fight or flight mode.

He could hear someone breathing nearby, the pace quickening slightly as if the person was also bracing for action. Alec rolled his head cautiously toward the sound, his senses sharp, scanning for any sign of threat.

A silhouette rose from a nearby chair and stepped forward into the lamplight. They stopped just far enough away to avoid being within striking distance—a move Alec recognized as cautious but practiced. The faint scent of worn leather and gun oil lingered in the air. 

His gaze locked onto a pair of green eyes staring back at him. His green eyes. 

Alec shot upright in shock, swinging his legs to the floor, the rapid movement causing a corresponding step backwards from the other man.

The abrupt change in altitude was a mistake. His vision swam, and the mirror image of his face was suddenly right in front of him, steadying him as hands gripped his shoulders, preventing him from face-planting the dirty carpet.

“Whoa…easy there.”

Alec’s eyelids fluttered and he lost a few seconds, coming back to find his forehead leaning heavily on a blue shirt. He recoiled instinctively, pushing weakly at the arms holding him upright.

“Who the hell are you?" He demanded, his voice hoarse but sharp. 

“Right back at ya, dude.”

The man sounded disgruntled, stepping back slightly but still keeping a hand on Alec’s shoulder as if expecting him to collapse again. 

Alec scowled, tugging at the man’s sleeve and trying to shake off the grip, irritated by how weak he felt. He didn’t need help. He just needed a moment to sit and collect himself.

At that moment, the door burst open and a tall guy entered, precariously balancing a cardboard tray of coffee, with a large paper, takeaway bag tucked under one arm. He came to an abrupt halt, staring at them from under a mop of brown hair, his gaze bouncing between Alec and the man standing over him.

"Dean, what have you done to him?"

"What! What have I done?" Dean snapped, clearly offended. "That is just typical of you, Sammy!"

Looking pissed, Dean yanked his arm away, ripping his sleeve free from Alec’s grasp.

Alec had a brief, glorious moment of triumph, then promptly toppled off the bed. Dean caught him just before he hit the floor, grunting as he hefted him up and dropped him back onto the sagging mattress.

“Stay down, will ya? You’re heavier than you look. Seriously, dude. You wanna pass out on your face again?”

Alec took a deep breath, forcing himself up to lean on his elbow.

"I've gotta go," he bit out, glaring at Dean.

"Right. Sure you do," Dean shot back, sarcasm oozing from his voice. "Good luck with that."

Breakfast safely deposited on the table, Sam approached slowly, stopping well before he encroached on Alec’s self-imposed bubble of space. 

“Hey,” he said quietly. “You’re Alec, right?”

There was a flicker of acknowledgement on Alec’s face as he sat up in slow stages. The sagging mattress beneath him groaned under his weight.

“I’m Sam,” Sam said smoothly. “And this here’s my brother, Dean. We’re not gonna hurt you.”

Alec snorted, disdain crossing his features. “Too right you’re not.”

He glanced around quickly. “Where the hell am I?”

He sniffed, trying to get a clue as to his whereabouts. The faint scent of cheap coffee mingled with the musty odor of the worn carpet. There was nothing else remarkable. 

“A motel, on the outskirts of Seattle.”

“What am I doing here? What do you want?” The accusation in Alec’s tone was unmistakable.

Dean’s voice cut in, low and gruff, but eerily similar.  “You passed out in the street, kiddo.”

“I did not faint!”

Sam couldn’t help the flicker of amusement as Alec’s voice hit a higher note, his scowl deepening.

“And I’m not a kid, Deano!”

“Whatever, dude.” Dean’s irritation hung in the air, sharp and palpable. “Maybe I should’ve just left your ass lying there.”

Alec had his feet on the floor now, hands braced on the edge of the bed as if testing his strength. His gaze flicked to the door, clearly weighing his odds. But then he hesitated, a faint crease of genuine puzzlement on his face.

“So, why didn’t you?”

Dean raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable.

“Ah,” Alec said, realization dawning with a smirk. “You picked me up ’cause we look the same, huh? Hate to disappoint you, but I’m not a long-lost little brother.”

He leaned forward slightly, voice dripping with mockery. “You are older than me, right? ‘Cause you’re lookin’ a little worn around the edges there, fella. Might wanna take better care of yourself. Be a shame to ruin a masterpiece like this.”

His grin widened, smug and unapologetic. “So… I’m gonna go now?”

He stood slowly, testing his balance. His knees wobbled, and for a second, it looked like he might tip over. But Alec swallowed hard and forced a faint grin, feigning confidence he didn’t feel.

“You’re not gonna try and keep me here against my will or anything shady like that, are you? No? Great. Just point me in the right direction, and I’ll be outta your hair.”

“Now you hold it right there!” Dean’s eyes flared with intensity, his voice sharp enough to freeze Alec mid-step.

“Dean, wait.” Sam stepped in quickly, his tone calm but firm. “Alec, look, we were just trying to help, okay? We can take you back to where Dean found you, but… you’ve got to be wondering why you look so much like my brother here. I know I am.”

Alec smirked, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“I look way better than him. What can I say? Just good genes, I guess.”

Truthfully, he was struggling to stay upright. Bright spots gathered at the edges of his vision, and his balance felt precarious at best. He doubted he’d even make it as far as the door.

Still, Dean’s resemblance was uncanny, impossible to ignore. Sure, the guy was older—his voice rougher, his jawline sharper, shoulders broader—but he wasn’t old enough to be part of an earlier X-series. And Alec was sure of one thing, Dean wasn’t transgenic at all.

If it weren’t for the scent, Alec might’ve dismissed it as a freak coincidence, one in ten million odds of meeting your doppelgänger. But the smell was undeniable. It wasn’t just similar; it was identical, minus the faint feline trace Alec knew clung to him. Sam, on the other hand, smelled like a variant, similar enough to Dean, but distinct, like different blends of a signature cologne.

Curiosity gnawed at him. Every instinct screamed get out now, but something held him back. Alec wanted answers. And hell, curiosity killed the cat, right?

First, though, he had to sit down.

Now.

His legs gave out before he could decide otherwise, folding beneath him as he sank back onto the bed. He gritted his teeth against the ringing in his ears and the creeping patches of darkness clouding his vision.

Sam, ever observant, saw through the facade instantly. Alec’s freckles stood out like ink spots against his pale face, a look far too familiar to Sam after years of patching up his older brother.

“Okay,” Sam said gently, ignoring Dean’s pointed glare. His tone was casual, deliberately disarming. “We’ll take you back later. But first, I need to eat. I brought breakfast.”

 Sam moved to the table, deliberately turning his back on Alec as he rummaged through the paper bag. The rich, greasy aroma of breakfast burgers filled the room.

Alec’s stomach growled loudly. Now that the nausea had passed, hunger hit him hard and fast. Actually, he realized, he was ravenous. He swallowed against the surge of saliva pooling in his mouth, his gaze darting to the bag. There were three cups of coffee on the table—was one meant for him? He glanced hopefully at the bag again, wondering if the offer extended to him. 

“Alec!”

Dean’s voice snapped his attention up just as something hurtled toward him. Instinct kicked in, and he snatched the wrapped breakfast burger cleanly out of the air. He tore back the paper in one smooth motion, catching the faintest twitch of amusement at the corner of Dean’s mouth.

Was that a test? Did he pass? Or fail? Alec couldn’t tell.

The tantalizing warmth of the burger distracted him—until a fleeting thought struck. What if it was poisoned? Or drugged? His muscles stiffened, the burger halfway to his mouth.

But the paranoia melted as quickly as it came. If these guys wanted to hurt him, they’d had plenty of chances already. Alec bit into the burger with gusto, the first bite almost enough to make him groan. He missed the way Sam smirked behind his coffee cup.

By the time he’d polished off the burger and drained a strong cup of coffee, Alec felt steadier, almost like himself again. But there was no ignoring the insistent pressure building in his bladder.

He stood, testing his balance carefully before heading toward the bathroom. As he neared the door, he half-expected a challenge or some snide remark from Dean, but neither brother said a word. Alec stepped inside and turned the lock, surprise crossing his face at their silence.

For the first time since waking, he felt a flicker of control.

The window was an option. Alec briefly entertained the thought before dismissing it. His body wasn’t quite steady enough, and the risk of getting stuck wasn’t worth the trouble. He had to admit it—he was still more out of it than he wanted to confess. 

When Dean’s voice cut through the quiet, it startled him, pulling his attention sharply back to the present. Alec froze, his fingers still wrapped around the window latch.

“You wanna try going out the window, be my guest. But don’t expect me to cut you loose when you get stuck."

Alec scowled at the door. It wasn’t like he'd need Dean’s help anyway. But after a brief mental calculation, he weighed the risk of making a fool of himself trying to escape in his condition, versus just sticking it out a while longer. He released the latch with a frustrated grunt and turned back.

His bladder and pride both dealt with, Alec splashed some water on his face, rubbing his eyes before slipping back into the other room. He needed to leave. Fast. He could always play it off later with Normal, say he had some kind of bug. He’d be fine in a day or two.

As he stepped back into the main room, though, his eyes immediately locked onto Dean, who had apparently taken up position in the outer doorway, as if waiting for him.

“So… Alec. How about you tell us a bit about yourself?”

Alec’s pulse quickened, and his defenses went up immediately, a mask of charm sliding into place. His smile was light, but the cold edge underneath it was unmistakable.

Dean shifted slightly, something about the way Alec wore that smile making him uneasy. It was almost like looking in a mirror. 

Alec leaned casually against the wall, trying to hide the tremor in his legs. His body was still betraying him in small ways, but his mind was on full alert.

“You’d be bored.”

“Try me.” Dean crossed his arms, not backing down.

Alec’s eyes flicked briefly to Sam, who was fiddling with the keys, a little too quiet for Alec’s taste.

“There’s nothing to tell. I live in Seattle, I’m a bike messenger. That’s it.”

Dean eyed him closely, but didn’t bite.

“A bike messenger?”

“Yeah, you know... parcels, packages.” Alec shrugged, though the lightness of his tone didn’t fully mask the wariness underneath. He was ready to deflect further if Dean pushed, but there was a subtle shift in the air—like Sam was ready to step in, too.

Dean seemed to hesitate, then glanced at Sam, clearly sizing up the situation.

“Dean…” Sam broke the silence, his voice low but firm. “He’s not what you thought he was, okay? Let’s drop him off and get out of here. We’re meant to be working a job, remember?”

Alec’s head snapped toward Sam, narrowing his eyes as the sudden change in tactics took him by surprise. 

Dean made a low sound of annoyance, but it wasn’t aimed at Alec. It was directed inward, like he was trying to work out something that didn’t quite make sense.

“Fine,” he muttered finally, pushing away from the doorframe. “We’ll drop you off. "

Alec didn’t respond. He just stared at the two of them, unsure what to make of the situation. If he was being honest, the idea of being dropped off somewhere seemed like the best thing to do. But a part of him wasn’t ready to give up the odd curiosity he felt about these two brothers. 

He glanced briefly back at Dean, then at Sam. Maybe this wasn’t just about escape, but also about figuring out what he’d stumbled into.

"Alright," he said, standing up straighter. "You want me to go with you? Fine." 

Dean sighed. Every fibre of his being wanted to know more about this stray, but there was no logical reason for not taking him back into Seattle. Sam was right. The job wasn’t going away. He was going to have to write the encounter off as just another strange event in an even stranger life.

“Yeah, okay.”

He picked up his duffle and headed for the Impala, leaving Alec to struggle into his boots.

. 

It was a silent ride back into the city.

Alec starting off sprawled across the back seat, playing it cool and trying to convince himself that it wasn’t going to bother him one bit when the brothers let him out and drove away. He wasn’t going to spend the rest of his life wishing he’d found out more. 

As the Impala growled into the main streets he sat up a little. Seattle looked… odd. Too clean, too busy. Smartly dressed people and shiny cars wherever he turned. No graffiti, no trash, no crumbling infrastructure. At first he didn’t even recognize the street where he’d collapsed.

“Here you are, dude.”

Dean pulled up next to the alleyway. He’d intended to just drive off, but there was something distinctly off about Alec’s expression as he climbed wordlessly out of the car. Every instinct pinging, Dean put the Impala in ‘park’ and stepped out onto the sidewalk instead.

Alec was staring up the alleyway, his shoulders tense.

“Alec?”

Alec turned to look at him. His earlier cockiness had melted away, leaving him looking confused, maybe even scared?

“Alec? You okay there?”

His double looked suddenly very young, very fragile and very ill.

“Have you got some place to go?”

It seemed as though Alec was about to speak, but his gaze slipped past Dean to focus on something up in the air. His breath puffed out in a little shocked huff and the remaining color in his face leached away.

Dean turned on his heel, staring behind and above him. Nothing. Just buildings and the Space Needle outlined against the blue sky.

Alec was frozen in place. The Space Needle was pristine, undamaged. He swung his head back to look at the street, back again at the Space Needle.

This wasn’t the Seattle he knew. This wasn’t the place he’d left his bike and parcels. He understood, with horrifying clarity, that in this place there was no Max, no Joshua, no Jam Pony.

He’d lost his unit.

He didn’t know where he was. He didn’t know what had happened.

He was lost.

“Alec! Come on man, breathe! Deep breaths, come on.”

A hand was rubbing his back, another holding his shoulder. Alec found he was on the Impala seat, his feet on the too clean sidewalk and his head between his knees.

He followed orders, dragged in some air, then some more, his breath shaky and uneven. His throat burned from the effort.

When he managed to raise his head, blinking away the dizziness, he realized the only things he knew now were the Impala and the two men at his side. Everything else had slipped through his fingers.

Chapter Text

They were starting to attract attention, faces turning in their direction.

“Look man, you’re still really sick. Let’s get off the main drag here and park up. When you feel up to it, maybe you can direct us to your place, or a friend's. Let's get you some help, okay?”

Sam spoke softly, his tone instinctively calming. Alec didn’t respond but, without protest, folded his legs back into the Impala.

Sam shut the door and, after a moment's pause, walked around and climbed in next to him. Alec was clearly trying to pull himself together but seemed momentarily lost for words. Sam figured “speechless” and “Alec” didn’t usually go together.

No-one spoke until Dean pulled the Impala into the back end of a store parking lot. He turned in his seat, looking back at Alec.

“So, you gonna tell us what’s going on? I know you’re sick, but back there, that was something else. What happened?”

Alec swallowed convulsively.

“You wouldn’t believe me.”

Sam peered at him from under his too-long bangs.

“You might be surprised. We see some pretty strange things in our line of work.”

Alec gritted his teeth. Manticore was gone, but somehow Psy-Ops must’ve gotten to him anyway. This couldn’t be real. Whole cities didn’t regenerate overnight. This entire situation must be an elaborate set-up. His mind was spinning. Nothing in his intense training programme had prepared him for the disappearance of his entire world.

Sam was persistant.

“Come on Alec! You can tell us. Whatever it is, we might be able to help.”

Alec squared his jaw.

“I’m hallucinating, okay? Someone’s messed with my head. I gotta get back to my friends.”

“Hallucinating. You been smokin’ something buddy? Popping some pills there?”

“Dean!”

Sam could feel his face twisting into the expression Dean loved to call his bitch face. He smoothed it out with an effort.

“We’ll drive you wherever you need to go, okay. Right Dean?”

Dean sighed. The last thing he needed now was someone else having some sort of visions. Maybe it wasn’t a coincidence? He stared at Alec, wondering what to do. The Winchesters had enough problems already.

Alec met his gaze, the defensive facade completely stripped away by something that had profoundly unsettled him. The raw confusion and fear on his face was a sight Dean recognized all too well, reflected in his own eyes during moments of solitude in a locked bathroom.

“Yeah,” he said eventually. “No problem dude. Where are we headed?”

.

Alec directed them hesitantly through a maze of streets. He kept glancing out of the window, his brows furrowed, as though trying to piece together a puzzle that didn’t quite fit. Occasionally, he rolled the window down and leaned out slightly, squinting up at the tops of the buildings as though something above street level could guide him.

Dean watched him in the rearview mirror, his unease growing with each turn. “You sure you know where you’re going, genius? Or are we just doing laps for fun?”

“Shut up,” Alec snapped. “I’ll know it when I see it.”

Sam exchanged a glance with Dean but stayed quiet, his fingers drumming lightly against his knee. Alec’s tension was obvious, and the brothers were used to dealing with people in a tailspin.

The streets were too clean, too pristine for the Seattle Alec knew. The lack of the grime and wear he was used to made everything feel wrong. Every turn only confirmed his suspicion: this wasn’t his Seattle.

“Pull over here,” he said suddenly.

Dean swung into the nearest gap, nearly taking off the front end of a green Honda.

“Friggin’ cities!” He returned the driver’s gesture with vigor.

Alec was staring at a smart apartment block, his expression one of despair.

“You live here?” Sam was impressed.

The response was bleak.

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“Well, do you or not!” Frustration edged into Dean’s voice.

“Funny, I’ve been asking myself the same question.”

Alec's mask was slipping smoothly back into place as he added. 

“Look, it’s been great, but I’m gonna get going now. I’m sure you’ve got some place to be and… Where the hell are you going!”

The Impala was nosing back into the traffic.

“Look kid, you seem a little confused. I’m not dumping you in the middle of this hell hole.”

Dean glowered at the fancy buildings and sharply dressed people. This place felt alien to him, a stark contrast to the gritty world he understood. He gripped the wheel, as he watched the suits and heels glide by, their inhabitants oblivious to what really went down around them. 

“Direct me someplace else.”

Part of Alec wanted to leap out into the traffic, but the way his luck was turning he figured he’d probably end up underneath a truck. Reluctantly he navigated their way to Jam Pony.

“Well, that just sucks.”

The building that had housed Jam Pony was there, in the right place… but there was no Jam Pony. No angrily gesticulating Normal, no bikes sweeping in and out of the entrance, not a messenger or a parcel in sight.

Alec slammed his fist down on top of the bench seat in front of him.

“Shit!”

“What’s going on, Alec?”

Sam still somehow managed to sound calm. Alec stared at him in disbelief.

“I’m goin’ crazy. Okay? Outta my skull crazy. ‘Cause yesterday morning I came out of that apartment block back there, only it wasn’t THAT apartment block… I came here to work, at Jam Pony, which isn’t fucking here now!”

On a roll now, figuring he had nothing left to lose, Alec gestured wildly at the surrounding city.

“This is Seattle, right? But it’s not MY Seattle. Yesterday everything was all shot to hell, falling apart. You couldn’t  have driven the route we just came without a sector pass! Where’s all the graffiti, where’s the sector police? How did everything get so goddamned clean all of a sudden…”

He could feel himself beginning to hyperventilate.

“… who fixed the Space Needle! Who does that!”

“Whoa, Alec! Slow down. Calm down.”

“CALM DOWN! My whole fucking world just disappeared man! This has gotta be that bastard White, or Manticore! They’ve brainwashed me! You’re working for them!”

Images of his torture in Psy-Ops crashed into his mind. He had to get away. Alec launched himself at the door, kicking out in terror at the large figure looming next to him. His fingers were already pulling at the handle when Dean leaned over the front seat and slapped him hard across the face. Alec stopped, his jaw dropping in shock as Dean moved his hand to the front of his jacket and shook him slightly.

The movement saved Dean’s life. Alec was already blurring; his hand moving in an automatic lethal strike when his nostrils filled with Dean’s scent. Somehow he managed to pull the blow, smashing the side of his hand onto the bench seat instead. The frame of the seat cracked loudly.

Two shocked pairs of green eyes locked, disbelief flooding the space between them. Sam made a little noise of distress.

Dean spoke without releasing his grip.

“You’re no postman. What the hell are you?”

Alec realised that he was staring into the steady muzzle of a nickel-plated colt, levelled at him over the top of the bench seat. He hadn’t even seen Dean move. No Ordinary should be able to move that fast. He froze, the throb of the pulse in Dean’s wrist audible to his sensitive hearing. There was no hesitation in the eyes boring into his.

Dean spoke without breaking eye contact.

“Sammy? Get out. Get in the front.”

Sam obeyed without question. He settled in the passenger seat, the muzzle of a Taurus joining that of the Colt. The steadiness of his hand and the wounded expression on his face did not sit well together.

Alec could sense the white coats of Psy-Ops closing in, just out of sight. A chill crept up his spine. His sharp eyes scanned the too-perfect streets for any sign of movement, any flicker of danger.

Confusion swirled in his mind. He’d made a mistake, turned on his own unit. Psy-Ops always knew. And now, he faced the inevitable punishment.

Panic clawed at him as he weighed his options, knowing he had to escape before they caught him. His breaths came faster, his body tense as he weighed his options. He had to escape. He had to run, fight, do something—but how? Where could he even go? 

Dean’s voice was pure gravel.

“One wrong move, I put a bullet in you. Got it? You’re about four seconds away from being put out on the sidewalk. Give me one good reason why you’re not there already.”

“No reason,” he whispered, all the fight draining out of him. He didn't even understand what was happening. He needed to retreat.

“I’ll go.”

He turned big eyes to Sam, careful not to move his body in any way. 

“My bad… sorry. Thought you were someone else… “

Alec raised his hand very slowly, fumbling with the door handle before stepping out onto the sidewalk. Just before breaking eye contact with Dean, he caught a fleeting shadow of regret, but the moment was lost as Alec stepped away from the car. 

He stumbled rapidly away from the Impala, swallowed almost immediately by the stifling crowds. The city buzzed around him, faces a blurred sea as he pushed forward, trying to shake off Dean’s final glance. The noise pushed at him, adding extra chaos to the confusion in his mind.

The streets felt too open, too exposed. His mind raced. They’re watching. They’re always watching. He forced his trembling hands into his jacket pockets, trying to appear nonchalant even as adrenaline surged through his veins.

.

“Was that a flashback?”

Sam still didn’t sound angry.

The weapon in Dean’s hand had vanished. He leaned over the seat and pulled the rear door closed, the harsh thud echoing in the interior. He straightened, expression unreadable. 

“Not our problem. Daylight is burning; we’ve only got a few hours ‘til dark. This could be our last chance to catch this freakin’ witch.”

Dean swallowed his regret. Alec was dangerous. It was Dean's job to keep harmful things away from Sam, even if it meant making difficult choices. The familiar sense of duty pressed heavily on him, overshadowing any flicker of empathy he felt for his double. 

He put the Impala in ‘Drive’ and pulled away. They needed to park by the cemetery, scout the area in the daylight, and find a good position for later.

.

Alec stumbled along, his boots dragging and catching on the snags in the sidewalk. He moved against the tide of people rushing about their everyday business, and they parted around him like river water around an obstruction. Most ignored him, but a few sent sly glances his way. He guessed his pale, sweating face and unsteady gait made him look drugged, drunk, or both, and their palpable dislike heightened his sense of isolation. 

He knew he was close to passing out again and needed to find somewhere quiet, out of sight. With a sense of urgency, he slipped sideways into a maze of alleyways, his feet moving instinctively toward the large cemetery. The shadows enveloped him, offering sanctuary from the crowds. 

After a while, he spotted a dark shadow between two dumpsters and crawled into the gap, curling up on his side with his back against the wall. A piece of grit dug into his cheek, but he lacked the energy to move. He blinked lazily, watching a candy wrapper tremble in the icy draft funneling beneath the dumpster. When a stronger gust finally flicked the wrapper away, he surrendered and let his eyes close. 

Chapter Text

"How do we even know we're in the right place?"

"Biggest cemetery in town, Sammy. It's like Walmart for grave robbers. That witch'll come, I'll put dollars on it."

"You can't bet money you haven't hustled yet. That's just wrong."

Dean looked a little confused, then brushed it off.

"She'll come," he repeated confidently. "If our research is right, she'll be after old bones."

They were surrounded by a sea of weathered grave markers, plain headstones bearing the nibbles of time and faded lettering. It was a far cry from the extravagant carvings and polished marble on the other side of the cemetery. This place felt somber and forgotten, each stone telling a story of lives once lived, adding to the gloomy atmosphere that wrapped around them like a shroud.

“Why couldn’t the hunt be anywhere but a graveyard?” Sam thought, the death of their father still a raw wound seeping into everything they did. Neither of them had found their footing since that day, and since his meeting with the crossroads demon, Dean seemed to teeter on a knife's edge between depression and desperation. The surroundings only deepened the ache in Sam's chest, each shadow a reminder of what they had lost.

They hunkered down in the deep shadows between two large tombs, the cold stone pressing against their backs. The air was thick with silence, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves.

"We should've brought a pack of cards."

Dean's knee bounced restlessly, his impatience increasing. Waiting had never been his strong suit; every second felt like an eternity, gnawing at him. He glanced at Sam, searching for any sign of reassurance, but all he found was a shared tension that mirrored his own. 

"Do you think he's okay? Alec?"

Trust Sam to bring up the one thing he'd been trying not to think about. Dean shrugged, trying to play it off, but his unease simmered beneath the surface.

"Walking wounded. Not our problem."

Sam's expression turned stubborn and Dean jostled him lightly with his arm.

"Hey, don't go all chick flick on me. You felt bad for the kid, I get that. But y'know it's probably just 'cause he had my face. Doesn't mean he's a good guy. Keep your mind on the job man."

.

Something was tugging at his boot, sharp, insistent little tugs. Alec drew his knee up towards his chest, hoping it would go away. There was a skittering noise, a pause… then the tugging started up again. The feel of little paws on his shin and the smell of rat arrived simultaneously. He hissed, instinctively kicking out and opening his eyes.

The rat retreated underneath the dumpster. It regarded him balefully, its eyes red in the dim light spilling into the alleyway. Artificial light, Alec realised. It was almost fully dark. He'd been unconscious for several hours.

Despite the chill of the air, he felt hot; his skin was burning and dry and thirst tore at his throat. He remembered that was why he'd been heading for the cemetery. There were water standpipes there and there'd be plenty of shelter among the tombs and grave markers.

He crawled out from his hiding place and pulled himself upright against the peeling paint of the rusty dumpster. The rat, cheated of its supper, squeaked at him angrily and scooted away through a gap in the crumbling brickwork.

Once he had his balance under control, more or less, Alec began to weave his way forward. He plucked ineffectually at his jacket as he walked, desperate to shed the heat of it, but his fingers refused to cooperate. Frustration welled up inside him, and in the end, he simply gave up, letting it hang heavy on his shoulders as he pushed onward. 

Even with Seattle altered beyond recognition visually, the layout of the streets and alleyways seemed the same. He could smell molecules of damp earth and trees floating in the wind, providing reassurance that he was heading in the right direction. Sure enough, he emerged from the alley right opposite a low hedge and wrought iron gate; he'd found one of the side entrances into the cemetery.

To his surprise, the Impala was parked in the deeper shadows beside the gate.

Alec aimed at the gateway, the ghost of his reflection passing along the Impala's gleaming paintwork. He guessed she'd been parked there for some time, as only the faintest hint of warmth was still spilling from her hood.

He had an impression of cold ironwork under his fingers as he pushed against the gate. With a muted squeal, it opened, and he took a few faltering steps onto the gravel. The standpipe was within reach, and he dropped to his knees gratefully, sticking his mouth under the flood of icy water. The shock of the cold rushed over him, making him shudder. 

. 

They'd come expecting a witch, or maybe two, armed with shovels and something to transport the bones. They'd brought as much protection as they could, because who knew what weapons a witch might use. It could be all or nothing. Some powerful necromancer or a teenage wannabe.

What they didn't expect was a demon.

The man looked innocuous enough at first, walking calmly up the lamp-lit path towards the older grave markers. When he stepped off onto the wet grass the Winchesters tensed up. Tidily dressed men in shiny shoes don't usually choose to wander around damp graveyards at night. He seemed to know exactly which grave he wanted, heading straight for a simple grey marker and coming to a halt.

He didn't bring a shovel.

A slight flick of one hand and the dirt over the grave was torn apart, as though by a giant plow. The coffin lid split with a sharp crack.

He stepped forwards, peering down into the coffin, then raised his head, sniffing at the air, the obsidian black of the eyes unmistakeable.

"Crap," whispered Dean. "Demon."

"Winchesters. I smell Winchesters."

It smiled, nothing kind in the expression.

"Now, there's an unexpected bonus."

Dean stood up, moving in front of Sam. He unscrewed the top of the flask of holy water and held it out in front of him.

.

Alec was still on his hands and knees by the standpipe when a swirl of wind brought a vile stench of sulphur to his nostrils. His mind was in chaos, feverish jumbles of Psy-Ops and a man with his eyes, big black cars and rats, but the stench brought him back to the present. 

He got to his feet slowly, snuffing into the wind, his cat DNA enabling him to pick up, separate and identify the mixture of aromas floating around him in the night air.

He clearly identified the scent of the Winchesters, overlaid with the sharp notes of their fear and the pervading stink of sulphur. He gathered himself together with a superhuman effort and ran up the path towards the older part of the cemetery.

.

The demon laughed, lazily flicking a small headstone into the air. It flew at Sam; he ducked and twisted away and it shattered against the tomb behind him.

"Now, Sam!"

Dean leapt forwards, hurling holy water into the demon's face. There was a sharp, hissing sound as it made contact, causing the skin of its face to bubble and twist. It snarled, enraged, gesturing at Dean.

It was like being hit by a steamroller; Dean was swept from his feet and thrown sideways, bouncing off a tree branch and rolling away between the headstones. He scrambled to his feet, grateful his skull had avoided the grave markers, as Sam began to chant.

"Exorcizarmus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas…"

The words were cut off abruptly as an invisible force threw Sam backwards into the side of the tomb. He took the vicious impact on his shoulder and slid down to the floor.

Dean rushed towards the demon, but the flask was ripped from his grasp. He stopped as though he'd run into a solid wall, slid to his knees and was flipped sideways into a grave marker, held there by the demon's power.

"…omnis incursio infernalis adversii…"

Sam's voice was reedy, cut off again in mid-sentence as he slammed back against the tomb. There was a pause and then Sam screamed.

Dean's fingers sought the flask, easing it towards him. There was still some holy water sloshing in the bottom. He managed to get up, the sound of Sam's distress lending him strength to fight the demon's hold, but invisible fingers closed around his throat. He choked, feeling a flare of panic as memories of the pain inflicted by the yellow-eyed demon rushed back. His vision was starting to fade when something dark blurred past him and crashed with force into the demon.

The demon staggered, thrown off balance. Confusion spread across its face.

"Winchester? You can't be."

It snatched physically at the man, who seemed to be moving too quickly to allow the demon to focus its mojo.

"You shouldn't be here!" It insisted. 

The figure somehow flipped up and over the demon in some sort of exaggerated martial arts move, landed and kicked it viciously in the small of the back, then dropped immediately to the floor and swept it to the ground with a swing of long legs. The demon fell hard.

Momentarily free, Dean lurched to his feet and threw himself forwards. Sam's voice rose behind him…

"... adversarii, omnis legio…"

Dean prised open the demon's mouth and poured in the holy water.

"...omnis congregatio et secta diabolica...draco maledicte ecclesiam tuam..."

The demon shrieked, steam bubbling from its mouth. Even so it managed to hurl Dean high into the air; he tumbled helplessly, heading straight for the imposing bulk of a tomb. At the last second, an arm hooked around his waist, snatching him out of mid-air just before he hit the solid stone.

Sam was shouting now.

"...secura tibi facias libertate servire, te rogamus, audi nos!"

The demon shrieked again, black smoke pouring from its mouth as an explosion of power rippled from its form. Sam dropped behind a grave marker for protection, but the main blast hit Dean and the man next to him.

The impact knocked them both off their feet and they rolled, Dean grunting heavily as he took an elbow to the ribs. There was a simultaneous bitten-off yelp as his forehead smacked into someone's teeth.

They landed in a tangle of limbs with Dean's face pressed into a rank pile of damp leaves. He tried to push himself up, tugging at his arm to free it, feeling a trickle of panic when his hand, lying before him on the leaves, failed to move. Several heartbeats later he realised his silver ring was missing. It wasn't his hand.

He twisted his head to the right, away from the cloying vegetation, wrenching it backwards in surprise as his nose brushed against someone's cheek.

Alec was lying on his back, half underneath him. He smiled lazily, releasing a thin rivulet of blood that slipped down his cheek and onto the mud.

"Not travelling salesmen then?" he enquired in a mild, conversational tone.

"Dean!"

Sam landed on his knees next to them, his eyes focusing on the figure next to his brother. 

"Alec?" he added, surprised. 

"You alright Sammy?" Dean tried to twist his head around again to check his brother. "Get me up, will ya."

Sam hesitated, in the lamplight it was difficult to tell one limb from another. He rocked back on his heels.

"I think you're gonna have to sort yourselves out."

Dean struggled, finally freeing his legs and pushing himself up to his hands and knees and then onto his feet. He turned to Sam in concern.

"Are you okay, dude? You landed hard."

"Yeah, I'm fine. Alec took him down. I've never seen anyone move that fast."

Alec was still lying on his back on the floor, his eyes focused on something far overhead.

Dean crouched down next to him, gave his shoulder a little shake.

"Alec?"

The dreamy gaze turned slowly in his direction.

"What was that?"

"A demon."

"Awesome."

Alec's eyelids dipped down, raised again wearily. Dean could hear his teeth chattering and wondered if he was going into shock. He laid a hand carefully against Alec's forehead, half expecting to be struck. The skin beneath his palm was burning with heat and to Dean's surprise, rather than striking out, the younger man just exhaled, rolling his head a little into the touch and inhaling deeply.

"He injured?"

Sam leaned over them, his bulk shielding them from the damp breath of the night air. As Dean conducted a quick triage, he spoke to Alec reassuringly in a low voice, carefully assessing the situation, before answering Sam. 

"I don't think so. He's burning up though. We need to get him outta here."

"The meat suit is dead." Sam's voice was bleak.

"Haven't got time to worry about him, Sammy. Give me a hand here."

Sam pulled him to one side, eyebrows drawing down.

"You're taking Alec with us? Wasn't long ago you were pointing a gun at him."

"Sam, he pulls a stunt like that again and I'm gonna ventilate him. But he just saved our assess. I ain't gonna leave him here to take the fall for that!"

Dean pointed at the corpse of the demon's meat suit, then the opened grave, and without further discussion, they hauled Alec upright, threw one of his arms around each of their shoulders and walked him out of the cemetery. He hung in between them, boots stepping and then dragging at random intervals.

"Why’d you help us?" Dean blurted, suspicious.

Alec gave him a sloppy grin, his head lolling to one side.

"Y’ask that like it’s a bad thing... just tryin’ to protect my own."

His voice was slurred, as though feverish or half-drunk. Whatever reserves of energy he’d called on during the fight were clearly spent.

"What do you mean, your own?"

Alec tried to look at Dean, leaning more weight onto Sam when his balance failed him. His words stumbled out, thick and slurred.

"My unit. You’re my unit."

"Dean, leave the interrogation until later. Okay?" Sam snapped, exasperated.

Alec tried again to focus on the familiar face level with his own. The fever was burning away the last shreds of his lucidity, but there was something he needed to know.

"You're in charge, right?" He asked, his voice flat as he directed the question at Dean.

Sam huffed, a mix of amusement and affront flashing across his face.

"You’re not gonna leave me here, are you?" In the harsh wash of light from the streetlamp, Alec’s expression looked haunted. "Sir?" he added, the word slipping out with an unexpected vulnerability.

Dean could feel Sam’s gaze on him, heavy with judgment, but he ignored it, tightening his grip on Alec's jacket. He could feel the shiver running through him, even through the leather.

"Damn right I’m not gonna leave you." Dean swallowed, cleared his throat. "I’m gonna regret this… but you’re stuck with us, dude."

Alec twitched the corner of his mouth into a half-smile. The Impala was in sight, but he knew he wasn’t going to make it that far. He sagged, losing his balance completely.

"Maybe I should just let you two handle this…" He muttered, the words carrying an edge of reluctance.

Sam took the extra weight as Alec went limp, tucking him tight against his side in the same way he’d done many times for his older brother. Alec fitted there perfectly. Just like Dean.

Chapter Text

By the time they were halfway to the motel, Alec had progressed from insensible shivering to a state of semi-conscious delirium. A meaningless jumble of words, an odd mixture of languages, spilled from his mouth into the uncaring leather seat. Sam reached around and palmed his forehead, his brow furrowing with concern.

“Hang in there, Alec,” he murmured, hoping to bring him back to reality as worry twisted in his gut. "He’s really burning up, Dean. We need to get him cooled down.”

“Yeah.” Dean’s jaw was tight. “Ice bath?”

“Yeah. He’s gonna fry his brain if he carries on like this.”

Sam was already out of the Impala and bounding through the room door by the time Dean had pulled Alec out of the car.

Alec stared at him out of wide, glazed eyes. He seemed to be trying to stand by himself but his legs weren’t on the same page, so Dean leaned him up against the side of the Impala, bracing him upright with the side of his own thigh and shoulder as he slammed and locked the door. To his surprise, Alec reached out slowly and touched his face, his expression puzzled.

“Look like me…” he muttered.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

Dean shivered. It was surreal. The feel of the warm fingertips against the skin of his face, even the pressure… it was as though it was his own hand.

“You’re... not Ben?” Alec sounded sad. 

“No. Who the hell is Ben?”

“M’twin.” Adding seriously. “He’s batshit crazy.”

“There’s two of you! Awesome.”

“No.”

Alec let his head roll back against the Impala.

“Ben’s dead.”

Dean flinched.

“I’m sorry, man.”

Alec shook his head, dismissing the sympathy.

“Never met him.”

His knees folded without warning and Dean stopped his slide to the floor by leaning in quickly with more body weight. He dragged one of Alec’s arms around his shoulders, grasped him around the waist and walked him unsteadily toward the room. Alec was heavier than he looked.

As they were passing the neighbouring room, a young woman stepped out of the doorway. Dean pulled up short, gripping hard at Alec’s waist as the sudden change in momentum nearly caused them to lose their balance. She jerked back, startled.

“Sorry! Didn’t see you there.”

She peered up at them.

“Is your brother okay?”

Brother? Dean caught sight of their reflection in the window. In the dim light, with Alec’s hair now wet and spiky, they were identical. He gave her a tense grin.

“He’s fine. Few too many beers. That right, Alec?”

Alec nodded agreeably, his head lolling against Dean’s shoulder. A cheeky little smile crept over his face as he focused on the woman.

“She’s hot,” he said, in a loud stage whisper, peering at her in an embarrassingly familiar and flirtatious manner from beneath his lashes. 

Dean winced, feeling his face reddening. 

“Sorry.”

The woman hid a smile behind her hand, eyes twinkling, as they stumbled past her.

Alec rolled his head back to look at her again as they passed, but when he turned back to Dean, the cheeky grin had vanished, replaced by an expression of raw anguish that took Dean by surprise.

“Pretty… like Rachel,” he murmured, his voice trembling.  Tears welled in his eyes and slipped silently down his face.

“Hey kid, don’t do that..Please.”

Dean pushed open their door and shuffled Alec inside. The sound of running water filled the room and Sam dashed past him with a plastic bag, heading for the ice machine.

Dean deposited Alec onto one of the rumpled beds and began to unlace his boots, struggling to get his head around the last few minutes and asking himself despairingly why he even cared.

“What happened?”

Sam, sounding anxious, was back, passing a bag crammed full of ice from hand to hand. 

“I wish I knew.”

Feeling out of his depth, Dean felt Alec’s forehead again. This at least was practical and familiar, part of his life growing up and caring for a brother and sometimes a father. The temperature beneath his palm seemed unnaturally high.

“Let’s get him in that water.”

They undressed Alec down as far as his boxers, hoping he'd forgive them later. He was rambling quietly again, eyes unfocused. He seemed oblivious to the fact that his clothes were being removed, twitching and trembling randomly beneath their touch, the thuds of his fevered heartbeat thrumming through the bones under their fingers and his hot, dry skin vibrating with each beat like the taut skin of a drum.

Sam took over, gently manoeuvring Alec through the narrow doorway and into the bathroom. For just a second Dean had an outsider’s view of how Sam must handle him when he was out of it… injured or ill or drunk. It brought an odd twinge of jealousy, quickly pushed aside and forgotten when Alec’s compliance went out the window as they sat him on the edge of the tub.

He was strong. Very, very strong and very fast. It took both of them and their combined body weight to get him into the water and all the time he fought them silently, a look of terror on his face.

“Crap!”

Dean stumbled back, pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to staunch the blood dripping rapidly from his nostrils.

“If he’s broke my dose, I’m gonna gank him.”

Sam stared up at him; he was lying half in the tub, his clothes soaking wet and his left eye already beginning to bruise.

“What’s he on?” He spluttered and hung on as Alec gave another almighty twist, his hands slipping on wet skin as they tried to get a purchase.

Dean dodged a kick and grabbed hold of Alec’s shoulders, his grip firm despite the chaos. Blood from his own nose dripped into the bath, merging with the agitated water and disappearing. The scene had degenerated into a blur of adrenaline and desperation, and Dean struggled to keep Alec steady. 

“Alec! Stop!”

Alec gave a final thrash and then began to whimper, his body going rigid as his eyes stared straight past them.

“Alec! Calm down. It’s okay.”

Sam’s soothing tones had no visible effect and Alec's voice rose in a strangled cry. “Don’t, don't drown me again! Please!”

“Whoa! No-one is gonna drown you! You need to calm down.”

Sam’s eyes sent a silent plea to his older brother and suddenly, Dean remembered Alec had mentioned a unit. He seemed much too young to have served, but it was worth a try.

“STAND DOWN SOLDIER!”

Dean thought his father would’ve been proud of his eldest son’s marine sergeant delivery. Or he would have been. If his father wasn’t in Hell. Because of him.

To their surprise, Alec froze instantly.

“I’m sorry, Sir.”

“Alec, what’s going on here?”Better to keep the momentum going, thought Dean. 

Alec’s eyes were huge in his wet face, earnest, and so eager to please.

“Not Alec. X5-494. Sir.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dean could see Sam’s hands shaking as he gripped onto Alec’s wrists. His eyes were suspiciously wet, more so than the water on his person warranted. 

Dean fought down a flutter of panic. He wasn’t sure if he could cope if both of them had a meltdown. The whole emotions thing wasn’t really his strongest point. He sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart.

Then, mercifully, between one heartbeat and the next, Alec relaxed. He turned his focus suddenly on Sam.

“Joshua,” he said clearly.

Sam looked up, startled, and Alec grinned at him, clearly seeing someone else.

“Hey, big fella.”

The distress of a few moments earlier evaporated as one fever hallucination slid seamlessly into another.

"You’re a bad dog. You do know cats don’t like water, right?"

Sam’s mouth fell open as Alec reached out and slapped him on the shoulder with an easy grin. There was a fondness in the gesture, like that between good friends.

Dean blinked, a headache blooming behind one eye, giving serious consideration for a moment as to whether this was just a crazy nightmare. He blundered forwards and palmed Alec’s forehead again, finding it to be much cooler.

“Sam, I think we can get him out.”

“Yeah.”

Sam, clearly stunned at being called a bad dog, complied, and between them they pulled Alec up and out of the water. He looked at them in bewilderment as they dried him off.

“He’s coming out it. Alec? You with us?”

Sam made eye contact with Alec, seeing recognition dawn slowly in the tired eyes as he continued.

“Let’s get you laid down. You need some rest.”

Alec went with them meekly, allowing them to settle him on the bed. He looked utterly exhausted.

Dean checked his temperature again with the thermometer from the First Aid kit; it was high but not terribly so. He noticed distractedly that the cut from his silver knife had already healed to a thin, silvery scar on the back of Alec’s wrist.

After a moment's consideration, he draped a blanket over the carbon copy of himself and dropped down on the chair next to the bed, thinking it was easy enough to read expressions on your own face, even if they were subtle. 

“I’m gonna be right here," he said quietly. "Get some sleep.”

Alec closed his eyes, the gratitude in his sigh unmistakeable.

“Sam.” Unwilling to disturb Alex's rest, Dean whispered, the words hoarse with stress. “Get me the whiskey.”

Sam pressed the cold bottle of amber liquid into his hand without argument and flopped down on the other bed. He dropped his head into his hands.

“What the fuck, Dean.”

“Yeah,” said Dean. “Just… yeah.”

Chapter Text

The dark hours between midnight and pre-dawn were always the worst, when fears felt magnified and life itself seemed more fragile. Dean remembered Bobby saying that 3 a.m. was the “Devil’s Hour.” Maybe that was why he’d spent so many all-night vigils, watching over his father, or his little brother... and now some kid, or man, who looked like a carbon copy of his younger self.

In the silence, grief and anxiety slipped through the cracks of his carefully constructed façade, the one that always said I’m fine, and painted their shadows across his features. Dean Winchester knew better than to let his face betray him during those lonely hours, so he turned off the lamp and sat in the darkness, watching over Alec’s sleep.

His eyes felt gritty with exhaustion, and he scrubbed his palms over his closed eyelids, breath hitching as the swell of distress threatened to choke him. His thoughts crowded in, relentless.

Sam knew his brother, knew him better than anyone. They’d lived so closely together for so long that even the slightest shift in the rhythm of Dean’s breathing could pull Sam from a deep sleep. Not that Sam ever slept deeply anymore.

That small hitch in Dean’s breath brought him to the surface. He heard the dry, papery sound of Dean rubbing his eyes and silently rolled his head in his direction.

It made no difference that Dean was in shadow. The ghostly light spilling through the curtain was enough to illuminate one side of his face—highlighting the edge of his forehead, cheekbone, and jaw, while the rest was swallowed by darkness. Sam could make out the faint shine on his lip, the dark curve of his eyelashes standing out against the pale glow filtering through the threadbare curtains.

He knew, without needing to see, that his brother would look winded, his eyes above the persistent bruises of fatigue would be unfocused, staring into hell. Their father, who’d sold his soul to save his eldest son, had left behind a legacy of pain that was almost unbearable for Sam and that was slowly and surely destroying his brother.

Sam sat up.

"Dean," he whispered.

Dean's head turned towards him.

"Sammy." The word was heavy with exhaustion and vulnerability. 

"My watch."

Dean didn't move.

Sam swung himself out of bed and padded across to the chair, laying a hand on his brother's shoulder, enough pressure in the fingers to make it a demand rather than a request.

"You need to sleep. It's my watch." He tugged gently. "C'mon."

There was still no movement. Sam increased the pressure of his fingers and the intensity of his voice.

"Dean, this is not your job, not just your burden. We share this one. Okay?"

Dean looked up at him then, his eyes shadowed. He nodded slowly.

"C'mon." Sam pulled again.

Dean complied at last, rising reluctantly from the chair and moving to the recently vacated bed, his boots catching a little on the carpet. Without a word he dropped forwards onto the crumpled sheets, pulled a pillow into his chest and turned his face away.

Sam eased himself down into the chair, the warmth of Dean's body still in the rough fabric. He considered removing his brother's boots but Dean’s breathing had already evened out in sleep and Sam didn't want to wake him; the first nightmare would come soon enough.

.

Alec awoke silently to the golden light of the rising sun streaming through the motel curtains. For the first time in days, his mind felt clear.

He rolled his head to the right, taking in the room. Dean was sprawled face down on the other bed, fully clothed, his limbs tangled in the loose sprawl of deep sleep.

Still here.

Alec let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and shifted his gaze to the window. Sam was sitting in the worn chair nearby, his warm hazel eyes fixed on Alec. A dark purple bruise encircled one of them, standing out starkly against his otherwise calm expression. He offered Alec a small, encouraging smile and leaned forward slightly.

“Hey. Alec. How you feeling?”

Alec swallowed and pushed himself up onto his elbows. He blinked, taking a moment to orient himself. They were back in the motel room. The events after the cemetery were a blur, vague and fragmented, scraps of some fevered dream.

“I, uh… okay.”

To his relief, it seemed true. He took a cautious breath and ran a quick internal check. Tired? Sure. But the heavy, disorienting fog of sickness had lifted. It had been a new kind of awful—worse than injuries or even the occasional torture session. Those were predictable, their pain rooted in something physical and immediate. But sickness? Transgenics didn’t get sick. His amped up immune system made sure of that.

It had scared him in a way he wasn’t used to admitting. And if Dean and Sam hadn’t been there...

Alec shook the thought away, sitting up slowly, testing his balance. No dizziness. His muscles ached faintly, but nothing he couldn’t handle. Maybe now he could find out where he was, what had happened. 

Sam, ever-watchful, handed him a glass of water.

“Drink this first, okay? You were in a bad shape last night. You need to rehydrate.”

Alec hesitated for a second, but the thirst hit him as soon as he registered the cool glass in his hand. He drank deeply, the water soothing his parched throat. 

“Thanks,” He muttered, his voice rough. He glanced over at Sam, who was still studying him, a hint of concern lingering in his expression.

“Good,” Sam said softly, leaning back in the chair. “Just take it slow, okay?”

Alec nodded, his gaze drifting again to the figure on the other bed. Somehow, knowing they were both still here made the tight band of anxiety ease just a little.

A faint rustle of movement broke the stillness. Dean was awake, shifting into a sitting position with a faint groan. His tired eyes met Alec’s, shadowed by exhaustion and framed by a face drawn tight with fatigue. His hair stuck out in every direction, hopelessly mussed from sleep, or the lack of it.

Alec’s gaze lingered for a moment, and a thought struck him. How much sleep had the brothers managed to get? Probably not much, judging by the lines etched around Dean’s eyes.

A small, unexpected warmth glowed in Alec’s chest. Someone in the world, these two strangers who had no reason to help him, had stayed up to make sure he was okay. They’d watched over him, when no one else would have bothered.

The thought unsettled him, but it was the kind of unsettling that wasn’t entirely unwelcome.

Alec felt an unfamiliar heat creeping up his neck and into his cheeks. It caught him off guard, leaving him suddenly, uncharacteristically, shy. He dropped his chin, letting his gaze lift cautiously to the Winchesters.

The usual cocky mask was gone, replaced by a vulnerability that made him seem younger, almost fragile. It was startling compared to his typical bravado. 

“Thanks,” he muttered, his voice quiet. “For lookin’ out for me.”

Sam grinned at him, transformed immediately to youthful dimples and floppy hair.

"No problem dude. So, you’re really feeling okay?"

"Yeah."

Alec pushed the embarrassment aside, retreating from the rawness of the moment. He needed to reassemble his usual front. 

He let a grin spread across his face, the kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes and brought a spark of mischief back to his gaze.

“I’m starving. Like, seriously hungry,” he declared, the cheekiness in his tone masking the lingering warmth in his chest.

Sam huffed, smiling, not sure which was funnier, Alec's blatant manipulation or Dean's startled expression at seeing his own tactics used so effectively by someone else.

"Breakfast run. I got it."

Sam snagged the Impala's keys. He raised an eyebrow in Dean's direction.

"Usual?"

"Yeah. And make it a big coffee. The stronger, the better."

"Alec?"

"Another one of those burgers?" he asked hopefully. "I could eat two... and some milk."

"Sure thing, dude."

Sam couldn't hide his smile. It looked as though their credit cards were going to be taking a hammering if Alec and Dean shared the same appetite as well as the same looks.

.

The sound of the Impala growling her way off the parking lot seemed to shake Dean from a stupor. He pushed himself onto his feet.

"I'm gonna take a quick shower."
He raised an eyebrow at Alec.
"You good for a minute?"

"I'm good."

Alec might be a multi-million dollar, genetically engineered super soldier, but at that moment it didn’t bother him one bit to be asked if he’d be alright sitting alone in a locked motel room for a few minutes. In fact, it was a novelty—and a welcome one.

He waited until the sound of water hitting tile filled the room and then got up slowly. Everything seemed to be in working order, and he stretched carefully, loosening the residual ache from his fever. The freshness of the morning eased the lingering tension in his muscles as he took a deep breath, feeling a lot more like himself.

Dean emerged a few minutes later in a cloud of steam, a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair dripping as though he'd not taken the time to dry himself properly. He headed for his duffle, gesturing over his shoulder to the bathroom.

"All yours, dude. There's a dry towel in there. I'll grab you some clothes; your gear's soaked."

He eyed Alec critically, wondering if his own belly had ever looked so hollow. He figured it probably had—there hadn’t always been much to eat when John came back late from a hunt, whether it was a few days or weeks later than expected.

He shoved aside any thoughts of his father and rummaged through his bag, pulling out a spare set of clothes for Alec. They should fit; they were close enough in size.

Alec's muffled but enthusiastic voice reached him from the bathroom.

"This is hands down the best shower I've been in… the water is like seriously hot!"

The sounds of running water and appreciation filled the room for a few minutes before Alec reappeared, his hair damp and spiky, carrying the unmistakable scent of Sam’s shampoo.

Dean wrinkled his nose instinctively at the overly sweet aroma, muttering something under his breath before tossing the spare clothes in Alec's direction.

“Wear your own boots and jacket."

Alec pulled the clothing on quickly. It fitted him well enough, just a little loose on the waist and shoulders, but nothing that ruined the look. Turning to the mirror, he gave himself a quick once-over, his lips twitching into a smirk as he adjusted the shirt collar.

Catching Dean’s eye in the reflection, Alec flicked a pointed glance his way, raising an eyebrow as if to say, Not bad, huh? He admired himself for a moment, then waved a hand at Dean.

"What’s with all the layers? You expecting a bad weather front or something?"

Dean was still trying to work out a suitably scathing response when Sam opened the door and stopped short, his head shuttling from Dean to Alec and back again. He groaned, suddenly feeling out-numbered.

“That is just weird; you might as well be twins.”

"Yeah," Dean muttered. "Twins."

He looked at Alec appraisingly.

"We'll eat first, then I guess it's time for some caring and sharing, huh, Sammy? There’s stuff you need to know about us, and you said a few things yesterday yourself. If we're gonna help you, you’ve gotta be honest with us."

Alec nodded. He figured he’d already put his life in their hands anyway. 

.

Until they started talking, Sam had really only noticed the similarities between Alec and his brother. Now, as Dean delivered the "monsters are real" and "hunting is the family business" speech, Sam began to pick up on the differences.

Dean spoke with his usual intensity, his tone just shy of challenging as he explained demons, spirits, and the Yellow-Eyed Demon in particular. It was a well-worn narrative, delivered with the grim authority of someone who’d lived through too much of it.

Alec, in stark contrast, sprawled casually across one of the beds, his head propped on one hand, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips. His eyes glinted with amusement as he listened, giving every impression that he found the whole thing entertaining. Yet, the longer Sam watched, the more he realized Alec wasn’t nearly as aloof as he seemed. That smirk, calculated and irreverent, might well be Alec’s version of Dean’s impassive glare. Same shield, different design.

When Dean finally stopped, Alec sat up smoothly, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands dangling loosely between them.

“So,” he said, drawing the word out. “Monsters are real. Or you’re both crazy.” He shot them a cheeky grin. “I s’pose now you want me to join in?”

Alec’s tone was light, but after a moment’s pause, he gave them an edited version of his own story. He told them about Manticore—the genetic engineering, the barcodes, the super-soldier experiments. He mentioned Psy-Ops, Donald Lydecker, and the fall of the organization, though he skipped most of the darker details. Alec explained the Pulse and his Seattle, so different from the clean, bustling city outside the motel.

By the time he finished, Dean’s jaw was tight, and Sam looked a little green.

“So, hey...” Alec shrugged, his smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth again. “Maybe I’m the crazy one.”

Dean stood slowly, his expression thoughtful.

“Okay,” he said, his voice careful. “Suppose we believe you. But that still doesn’t explain why you don’t recognize Seattle—or why we haven’t heard anything about this Pulse or your transgenics. I mean, it’s 2006, dude. Stuff like that doesn’t just happen without making the news.”

Alec froze, his face going very still. Slowly, he reached for the remote on the bedside table.

He started flipping through channels, pausing briefly on each news station, muttering something under his breath about re-runs. When he reached the end of the list, he started over, his pace growing faster and faster. Suddenly, the remote cracked in his grip, the plastic fragments spilling across the bedspread.

“2006.” Alec’s voice was flat. He stared at them, then out the window, then back. “Well, that’s just great.”

“Alec, what’s wrong?” Sam’s voice was soft but urgent, his concern clear as he stepped closer.

Alec’s smile returned, but it was sharper now, edged with something brittle. “Sorry, man, but it looks like crazy runs in the family. ‘Cause if this is 2006, I’m way ahead of schedule. And I definitely shouldn’t have been doing what I was doing with that girl at Crash the other night.”

Reaching into his jacket, Alec pulled out a battered card and held it up between two fingers.

A Sector Pass.

The date stamped on it read 2020.

Chapter Text

The pass trembled in Alec’s fingers. Dean took it, his expression unreadable as he turned it over, examining both sides. After a moment, he handed it to Sam.

Alec watched them closely, his face unusually still, though his body crackled with nervous energy.

“Right,” Sam said, flipping the pass over again and again, as though expecting a solution to leap off the worn plastic. “Well, none of us were expecting that. But, y’know, stranger things have happened.”

He glanced at Alec, trying to gauge his reaction. Alec’s eyes glinted dangerously, his jaw working in a tense rhythm that reminded Sam of Dean in the moments before he did something reckless.

“Alec,” Sam said gently. “Chill. Whatever’s going on, we’ll figure it out, okay? We’ll help you.”

His voice was calm, and his expression earnest. He held the pass out to Alec.

Alec snatched it back, his movements sharp, his posture wound tight like a coiled spring. “You think I’m crazy.”

“No.” Dean’s voice was firm, a steady anchor in the rising tension. “Dude, please. We just told you we hunt monsters for a living. If you’re crazy, we’re crazy too. And trust me—we’ve got a lot more in common than you think.”

Alec’s knee bounced erratically, the rapid rhythm a dead giveaway of his stress. Dean frowned at the familiar tell. It was like looking at himself in a warped mirror. Alec needed grounding, and fast. If this was real, they’d need to keep clear heads to deal with it. And if Alec wasn’t stable, letting him bolt wasn’t an option either.

Dean’s tone shifted, sharpening into the kind that demanded attention. “Alec. You figure I’m in charge here, right?”

Alec’s eyes widened slightly, and he nodded, his expression tense, as though bracing for rejection.

“Then stand the fuck down. You’re not goin’ anywhere. We’ll help you. That’s what we do—help people.”

Alec stared at him, the combination of a firm tone and supportive words catching him off guard. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders eased, and he straightened, finally processing the message.

“Yessir,” Alec said hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper.

Dean nodded, satisfied. “Good. And don’t call me ‘sir.’ I’m just Dean. Now sit tight with Sam and tell him everything—every single detail. Sam’s a genius. If anyone can figure this out, it’s him.”

Sam’s ears turned faintly red at the rare compliment, but he gave Dean a small smile.

“Where you going?” Sam asked, glancing up at him under his bangs.

Dean grabbed his jacket. “Not far. Gonna check out that alley, see where Terminator here fell out of the sky.”

.

Alec talked, reluctantly at first, but Sam coaxed out details while jotting notes and conducting searches on his laptop. Eventually, Alec’s frustration with Sam’s typing speed got the better of him, and he commandeered the keyboard. His fingers flew across the keys, navigating the web with military precision.

Despite their combined efforts, they turned up little beyond generic information on genetic research. Alec’s frustration mounted visibly.

Sam watched him carefully, then made a decisive move, snapping the laptop shut.

“Time for a beer,” he said firmly. “This is getting us nowhere. Dean’ll be back soon.”

He popped the caps off two bottles, handing one to Alec.

“You think your friends will come looking for you?” Sam asked casually.

Alec took the bottle, avoiding eye contact. His tone was mocking when he answered. “They’ll be pissed about the extra runs they had to cover when I didn’t show for work. But no one’s gonna lose sleep over me being gone. Hell, they probably haven’t even noticed.” He paused, then added quietly, “Well, maybe Joshua has.”

“Joshua,” Sam repeated, the name triggering a memory. He leaned forward slightly, meeting Alec’s gaze. “You called me Joshua when you were out of it.”

Alec blinked, startled, before giving a soft laugh. “Yeah. Big fella. Looks kinda like you. A Sasquatch, y’know.”

Sam chuckled. “Dean calls me that. This Joshua—he really looks like me?”

Alec grinned slyly. “Big like you. Lotta hair. Must be all the dog DNA.”

Sam groaned. “Dog DNA? Great. You’re Dean’s double, and I get some part-man, part-dog lookalike?”

Alec burst out laughing, his first genuine laugh since they’d met. It was a rich, warm sound that briefly lit up his face.

Sam rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the smirk tugging at his lips. In one smooth motion, he punched Alec on the arm—a light, brotherly jab.

“Knock it off, man,” Sam said with mock exasperation.

Alec clutched his arm dramatically. “Ow, dude! Lucky for you I’m not as soft as your brother.”

Sam snorted, shaking his head. Job done.

It wasn’t much, but the friendly banter had lightened the mood. Sometimes, it was the little things that kept everything from tipping over the edge.

.

The Impala slotted neatly back into the same parking spot, just to one side of the alley entrance.

The street buzzed with the hum of morning activity, a mixture of hurried footsteps and distant snippets of conversations. No one spared a glance at Dean as he pulled his leather jacket tighter around him, bracing against the chill that emanated from the shadowy depths of the alleyway. 

The light was dim in between the tall sides of the buildings; they were tall enough and so close together it was unlikely sunlight ever reached floor level even in the height of the summer. It was colder than the main street, but at first glance it was just your average alley. A narrow dead end, empty except for two large garbage bins.

Dean stepped into the shadows and after giving his eyes time to adjust, he worked his way slowly up one side of the alley and then back down the other.

It was so narrow it was claustrophobic; the buildings seemed to tower over him as though they would collapse inwards without warning. He swallowed, feeling his pulse start to pick up pace.

"Flashlight," he muttered to himself, pulling it from his pocket and directing the beam into the deeper shadows where the walls met the floor. If Alec, a bike, and a bag full of parcels had fallen in this area, there had to be something.

When he reached the first bin, he lowered himself to his hands and knees and peered underneath. The cold struck immediately through his jeans and into his kneecaps, numbing the fingers of the hand he was using to support himself. A stench of rotting food and maggots flooded into his nostrils, the aroma so strong he could actually taste it. Dean swallowed hard, fighting against an urge to gag.

The reek from the next bin was even worse and he was about to give up when he saw a square corner sticking out from behind a round bin wheel. The flashlight revealed a small parcel crushed between the wheel and the brick wall. Dean dragged the heavy bin forwards a little and bent down to retrieve it.

“Yahtzee,” he muttered, reading the date stamp across the address. “2020.”

He straightened up, gripping the side of the bin for a moment to steady himself. Head rush, he thought bitterly. Awesome… not enough sleep, too much caffeine, and now another person to worry about; just what I needed.

The smell of the bins was making him feel really nauseous, so he made his way out to the Impala and drove off, the little parcel on the seat beside him. He wasn’t too surprised when he had to pull over and throw up his breakfast on the way back to the motel, and resigned himself to the fact that he might have caught Alec’s mystery illness.

.

Dean walked in as Alec was explaining to Sam about his barcode. He caught the tail-end of the conversation.

“So those gene cooks called you by a number?” Dean shook his head, incredulous. “They didn’t even give any of you kids a name?”

“I’m X5-494,” Alec confirmed, his voice flat, as if the number meant nothing to him anymore. “I didn’t have a name until Max decided to call me Alec.”

Sam’s brow furrowed as he processed the information. “Max? Is she one of those scientist douchebags?”

Alec’s smile appeared, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, just a thin, bitter curl of his lips. The kind of smile that wasn’t really a smile at all. “No. Max is a female X5.” He paused, the words heavy as he spoke them. “She said I had to have a name, called me Alec… for smart alec.”

Sam’s gaze softened for a moment, the bitterness in Alec’s tone not lost on him. “So, she gave you a name like it was a joke, huh?”

Alec shrugged, the gesture almost defensive. “Yeah. Guess I was a smartass. Figured it fit.”

"If Max cared enough about you to give you a name, I guess she’ll be wondering where you are?" Sam asked, a little tentative. The question hung in the air, and Sam immediately regretted it, wondering if he was probing too much.

Alec snorted derisively. “Max doesn’t care much about me," he said, his voice hard. "She was my designated breeding partner.”

“Your what?” Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “Did you just say ‘breeding partner’? Is that what I think it is? She was, like, allocated to you?”

He snorted in amusement at Alec’s nod, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Dude! Couldn't you get your own action? Don’t you know how to work that face? I know I’m adorable, so you’ve gotta be doing it all wrong!”

Alec glowered at him, but Dean didn’t let up.

“So, this Max, is she your chick? No?” Dean grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “Well, I guess at least you had some good times, huh?”

The evasive look on Alec's face betrayed his discomfort.

“Max doesn’t like me. At all.”

Dean's grin grew. 

“She turned you down? Really? You need to watch and learn, kid.”

Alec snarled, his cheeks flushing with unexpected irritation at the teasing.

“I don’t need any lessons from you,” he snapped. “It’s just Max. She’s... kind of aggressive.”

Dean dropped the package next to Alec, slapping him on the shoulder with a smirk.

“Don’t worry about it. I got good news. This turned up at point X. Check the date.”

Alec stared at the packet, his fingers tightening around it as if he feared it might vanish.

“2020,” he muttered, his voice barely a whisper. “Now what?”

Dean shivered suddenly, his stomach choosing that moment to roll. He forced another grin. 

“It’s like 'Back to the Future', Sam.”

His neck had begun to sweat and he swallowed awkwardly. Nothing escaped his brother's attention and Sam’s voice was sharp.

“Are you okay, Dean?”

Dean waved him off and slammed his way into the bathroom. Minutes later they heard the unmistakeable sound of someone vomiting. The toilet flushed, the tap ran briefly and Dean emerged, looking pale and sweaty. He flopped down on a bed and glowered at Alec.

“Dude, I get sick, I’m gonna take it outta your hide.”

Chapter Text

Dean rolled slowly over on the 1970s' style orange and brown bed cover and dropped his arm over his face in a weary motion.

"We're well past checkout, right?" he said, the words muffled slightly by the cuff of his sleeve.

"Yeah," Sam confirmed. "Might as well get some rest."

The room fell quiet, the occasional drone of passing cars breaking the silence, punctuated by the rumble of a big rig that made the walls vibrate.

Dean lay flat on his back, exhaustion etched into every line of his face. His arm remained draped over his eyes, partially hiding the vivid bruises that marked his pale throat, their mute history of violence.

Across the room, Alec perched on the edge of the other bed, his knee bouncing restlessly. His pasty complexion and furrowed brows made Sam uneasy, the anxious look a stark contrast to Alec's sarcasm and swagger.

Sam rubbed at his own stiff shoulder, the ache from last night’s tomb collision still fresh. He glanced at Dean. We all look wrecked, he thought.

"I checked," he offered into the quiet. "No sign of demon activity."

"Good," Dean muttered. "Nothing keeping us in this friggin' city then."

He swung up to a sitting position, brushing off Alec’s small sound of protest with a dismissive hand.

"Look, dude, there’s nothin’ else in that alleyway. We've already driven around Seattle and found diddly-squat. Let’s face it, no one you know is gonna be around for what, another 14 years? Not in Seattle anyhow."

Alec's restless knee stilled. His head snapped up, comprehension dawning.

"Manticore," he breathed.

"Yeah," Dean said, his voice sharp. "Manticore. It'll already be there, right?" 

There was an angry gleam in his eye and Sam had visions of them breaking into Manticore and destroying the facility, leaving them with dozens, maybe even hundreds, of genetically enhanced children on their hands.

"Dean, we can’t just go bursting into a secret government facility!"

"We’re not busting in anywhere—not yet. I just want to check it out."

Sam hesitated, chewing on his lip. "But what if Alec meets himself? Isn’t that gonna screw up the space-time continuum or something?"

Dean glared at him.

"Kinda late to be worrying about that." He paused, then added with a smirk, "What? I know what that means! I’ve seen 'Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure!' Stop treating me like I’m dumb, dude."

Sam raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, Einstein," he muttered under his breath, earning a satisfied grunt from Dean.

Alec glanced between them. The anxious lines on his face smoothed just slightly as the brothers' banter broke the tension. But out of sight, his hands clenched into fists, the thought of facing Manticore again twisting knots in his gut.

Dean absently rubbed at his bruised throat, swallowing hard before heading to the bathroom. A moment later, the sound of vigorous scrubbing echoed from the sink. When he emerged, wash kit in hand, his hair was damp, and he looked slightly more awake but no less tense.

"Dean!" Sam protested, leaning forward with an earnest expression. "Manticore will still be there tomorrow. You need rest."

Dean shook his head, tossing the wash kit into his duffle. His face hardened as he turned to face Sam across the table. "We're wasting time here, Sammy."

His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides before he caught himself. With a sharp exhale, he folded his arms, tucking his fists tightly into the crook of his elbows, as if afraid they might fly out and knock something off the table.

Across from him, Sam didn’t back down, his brow furrowing as he switched tactics. "My shoulder’s killing me," he said with a slight wince, leaning back in his chair. "I could use a night in a real bed, and these are already paid for..."

Then came the look: Sam's wide, pleading "puppy dog eyes." Alec snorted softly, watching the masterful maneuver with open amusement. Sure enough, Dean visibly deflated, sinking into a chair with a grumbled, "Fine."

Alec smirked, appreciating the scene for what it was: emotional chess. Still, beneath the amusement, he felt a flicker of relief. Another night meant more time to prepare—for what, he wasn’t entirely sure, but the idea of Manticore loomed over him like a shadow.

If he was honest with himself (which he rarely was), the thought of confronting his younger self unsettled him. Would it feel like looking in a mirror or stepping into a nightmare? He pushed the thought aside, leaning back against his headboard. No point in borrowing trouble.

.

They headed out early the next morning, cruising along I-90 East toward Gillette, Wyoming, where the Manticore facility had been located until 2009. 

Dean drove, brushing off Alec’s request to get behind the wheel with a raised eyebrow and a firmly slammed door. His face was impassive, making it impossible to guess whether he felt better or worse. He turned the music up loud and left it that way.

Sam took over the wheel halfway through the 15-hour drive, the road rolling on beneath them until the sun dipped towards the horizon, daylight waned, and shadows stretched across the asphalt. Each mile brought them closer to Manticore, and the growing shadows seemed strangely ominous, a silent warning to keep their distance. 

As they neared Gillette, Alec offered directions from the back seat, navigating without a map. Tension radiated from him, his comments growing increasingly clipped with each passing mile. 

They left the Impala parked up behind some bushes, about a mile short of where Alec recalled the boundary fence had been located. He led the way then, slipping silently through the trees and thick brush with the Winchesters following, cautious and quiet, every one of their hunters’ senses alive.

Alec came to a halt when he reached the location of the perimeter fence.

It wasn’t there.

He checked carefully, testing his eidetic memory to the full. The tree growth pattern corresponded with that he recalled, less a few years increase in height and girth of each individual tree. The angle of the slope was exactly as expected. Even the smell of the earth and vegetation type was correct. 

He glanced back at the brothers, his question aimed more at himself than them.

“I guess they put the fence down in this area after 2006?”

He couldn’t remember for sure when he’d first seen the fence in this particular area, but he thought he’d been quite young, maybe only six or seven.

He moved on slowly, the knowledge that they were now close to the facility making his pulse quicken with anticipation and a prickle of fear pass over his skin.

When they reached the final rise he crouched, motioning at the Winchesters to wait.

A short leopard-crawl brought him into a position where he could look down onto the Manticore buildings. He lay there on his belly, gathered his courage and raised his head cautiously. He caught his breath and for a long moment he just stared, wide-eyed. 

“Alec!” Dean’s voice hissed behind him.

The air burned in Alec’s lungs. His fingers dug themselves deep into the wet earth of their own volition, almost as though he was trying to prevent himself floating off into thin air.

Moisture from the damp leaf litter seeped through his clothing, cold against the skin of his thighs and stomach, but he couldn’t move.

The clearing below him was startlingly empty save for a ramshackle shed. The forbidding buildings of Manticore were nowhere to be seen.

After a while, a warm body crept up beside him, Sam’s voice in his ear.

"You’re sure you’re in the right place?"

Alec nodded, trying to force the air back out of his lungs and failing.

A hip nudged against his on the other side. Dean.

“Alec?”

Alec turned his head slowly, every muscle tense, his pulse pounding so loud it drowned out the world. He braced himself for anger, for disbelief, sharp words that would hit harder than fists.

But Dean's eyes held his, steady and unyielding. Without saying a word, he shifted closer and draped a heavy arm over Alec’s shoulders. The weight was grounding, solid.

He felt a body shift closer on his other side, the steady rhythm of Sam's calm voice resonating against his ribs.

“It’s okay, buddy. We’ll find the answer. You’re not alone.”

The reassurance wrapped around Alec like a shield. 

"Take a breath, man. Whatever's goin' on here, we’ll figure it out."

Alec finally exhaled, a shaky rush of air that didn’t feel nearly enough. He forced his fingers to release their hold on the earth, the damp clinging to his skin like a second layer.

"I’m in the right place," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "It was here. It was here."

Dean’s eyes followed Alec’s line of sight to the clearing below, his jaw tightening.

Sam shifted beside Alec, scanning the area with the meticulous gaze of a hunter. "Could they have relocated it? Dismantled the operation? Or maybe it’s underground?"

Alec shook his head. "If they moved it, they didn’t leave any signs. And it was here in 2006. I was here!" 

Dean pushed up onto his elbows, staring down at the lone shed in the clearing.

Alec flailed mentally, trying to reconcile the barren shed with the imposing facility he’d once known.

"This doesn’t make any sense," he said through gritted teeth. "It was here. I know it was here."

Dean turned to face him, his expression unreadable. "We’re gonna figure out what happened, Alec. But we can’t do it tonight."

Sam placed a hand on Alec’s shoulder. "Dean’s right. We’ll regroup, get some rest, and figure out our next move."

Alec wanted to argue, to keep searching, but the shock had left him feeling hollow. He gave a curt nod, his jaw clenched so tightly it ached. 

Chapter Text

The nocturnal life of the forest carried on around them as though nothing of any great significance had occurred, unaware that the existence of one Alec McDowell, or X5-494, had just been torn right off its foundations.

Alec wasn't sure how long he lay on the damp earth. He'd taken some big hits in his life, but this was off the scale. He was tail-spinning, only the warmth of the bodies on each side of him and the solid weight of Dean's arm anchoring him.

The brothers were talking over his head, but he couldn't be bothered to decipher the words. He was scared of Manticore. Although he'd once regarded it as home, ultimately they'd tried to kill him and his fellow transgenics, and his reawakened memories of psy-ops were terrifying. Despite that, right now, sight of the imposing buildings would have been a massive relief.

"C'mon, Alec."

Dean's voice, mere inches from his ear, broke through the fog in his brain. 

He allowed himself to be hoisted upright, suffered the indignity of being brushed down, didn't even protest when mud was thumbed off his face in the beam of the torchlight. He felt oddly numb, detached from reality. Now that was a joke, because he was detached right enough, detached or just plain nutty.

They were half-way back to the Impala before he found his voice again. 

"Do I seem crazy to you? 'Cause I think it's the only logical explanation! "

There was a snort beside him. Sam.

"Logic. Take it from me, you can’t put too much faith in that."

"Yeah? Well see, there's no other explanation. Everything I can remember, it's not real!"

Alec's pace quickened as his subconscious urged him to run away from something he couldn't fight. He was pulled up short when Dean dodged in front of him.

"Easy! Slow down there. Look at me. you want to use logic, use it. You're here, right? Well, you're proof."

Alec blinked, confused.

Dean elaborated, his voice steady and reassuring.

"You're all amped up, yeah? So prove it. If you can show us some Superman mojo, then it's all true, right? And that'd mean you're just... kind of in the wrong place. And we'll fix that, somehow."

Alec ground his palms into his eyes. Of course. His commanding officers at Manticore would not be impressed at their super soldier’s powers of analysis. That sickness must have scrambled his brains. The situation had just been accurately assessed by an Ordinary. Except Dean didn’t really come across as ordinary, no more than Sam did.

It was time to get a hold of himself. 

“Okay,” Alec said firmly, lifting his chin with determination.

The fleeting approval on Dean's face quickly gave way to amusement. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he bit his lip, a glint of moonlight reflecting in his gaze. 

“What?!” said Alec, puzzled.

“You look like a freakin’ panda!”

“Oh...yeah.”

Alec suddenly remembered his hands had been pressed into the mud. He quickly rubbed at his eyes with his cuff before anyone could offer to clean his face. He had had enough of this rough sympathy. In truth, he wasn’t accustomed to receiving any sympathy at all.

He led the way back to the Impala, not bothering to use a torch. It was full moon and he could see pretty well, even in the heavy shadows beneath the trees, so perhaps at least he hadn’t been imagining all his enhanced senses.

.

A few miles away from the Manticore site that wasn't, Dean stopped the Impala and pulled her off the road. 

"We need to sleep," he announced, the words slow with weariness. "Sleep, eat and then Alec here can show us his awesome super powers."

He slouched in his seat before anyone could say a word, crossed his arms, and closed his eyes. Conversation over.

"I'll sit up front," Alec offered. "I don't need much sleep, anyhow."

Sam almost declined, but reconsidered. He was too tall to be comfortable in the passenger seat, especially with a sore shoulder. They switched positions, and he stretched out as much as possible in the back, falling asleep before Alec even settled into his spot. 

It seemed he'd only been asleep for a few minutes when an incoherent mumble jerked him awake to find Dean shifting restlessly, the sound of his breathing increasingly distressed. Alec was already unfolding from his position by the door and he reached across to Dean, the moonlight bright enough that Sam could see the worried frown on his face.

Sam opened his mouth to warn Alec that a sleeping Dean was one that shouldn't be approached too closely, but it was too late; Dean's fist was already in motion, aimed with sickening speed at Alec's face, but the blow never landed.

Alec moved, too fast for Sam's eyes to follow, ducking his head out of the way and catching the fist in his hand. He said something quickly to Dean, so low-voiced that Sam didn't catch the words despite his proximity. Dean didn't awaken fully, blinking slowly at Alec and mumbling something back. Then, to Sam's intense surprise, he subsided against the door and closed his eyes again.

Sam raised himself quietly to a sitting position. Alec glanced back at him, shrugged a little and slid back down on his seat.

After a while Sam drifted back to sleep, his brain fumbling over the fact that his brother had just uncharacteristically accepted reassurance from a virtual stranger.

.

Max popped her head around the door frame.

“Hey big fella! Whatcha doin?”

Joshua lounged in his tatty armchair. He raised his head slowly.

“Hey little fella.” He sounded miserable.

Max scanned the room quickly. Nothing seemed out of place, or rather everything seemed as out of place as usual. Joshua’s canvas of Alec was in the centre of the room, an array of open tubes and dirty brushes scattered over the little table in front of it.

She smiled warmly at Joshua.

“Still not finished that, huh?”

“No. No medium fella to paint now.”

“What? Has Alec not been callin’ on you?”

She fumed inwardly. It was typical of Alec to forget to call on Joshua when he knew she would be tied up for a couple of days.

“Medium fella gone.” Joshua noted bleakly. 

She felt a spark of irritation. Alec hadn’t shown at work either. Most probably he was with some girl, or girls.

“He’s probably just doin’ some personal stuff. He’ll show up in a coupla days.”

Joshua shook his head mournfully.

“No. Alec gone. Big fella not sure where he is.”

“Hey Joshua.”

Max reached up and cupped his face for a moment.

“Alec is a big boy. He can take care of himself. Okay?”

Joshua nodded, sorrow in his eyes.

“Little fella stayin’ for some mac and cheese?”

“I’m sorry big fella. I gotta get to work. I’ll call back later, okay?”

Max threw a leg over her bike, pushing down the tiny shoot of concern that was trying to take root. When she got hold of Alec she was going to slap him upside the head, hard.

.

Sam didn’t wake again until the first light of dawn. Easing himself upright in the gray morning was a slow process; his shoulder had stiffened, and he knew it would benefit from some ibuprofen gel as soon as they found a pharmacy.

Realising that, for the first time in weeks, Dean had only woken him once with his nightmare-ridden ramblings, Sam peered over the front seat. He grinned, biting back a chuckle.

Alec and cat DNA, maybe it was true after all. Dean could sprawl with the best of them when he wanted to, but Alec had taken it to a whole new level. He was lying on his back, his chest angled in towards the seat back. One long arm and leg trailed off the edge of the seat while his other boot was propped up on the edge of the door glass. The side of his face was squashed into the leather of the seat back, with the top of his head wedged into Dean’s hip. The resemblance to the arrogant sprawl of a feline was unmistakeable.

Despite his best intentions, Sam snorted.

Dean’s eyes snapped open, horror flooding his expression as he first registered the muddy boot on the Impala’s door panel, then the head nearly in his lap. After a brief pause, he let out an outraged yell, “Dude!”

Alec rolled up and turned in one fluid motion, his back hitting the passenger door as his wide, sleepy eyes locked onto Dean in astonishment

Sam collapsed on the back seat, shaking with laughter.

His brother peered around Alec, taking in the muddy boot prints smeared across the Impala’s door panel and window. His eyes narrowed to slits, a mix of rage and disbelief crossing his face.

"Now might be a good time for you to demonstrate your superpowers, 'cause I’m tellin’ you, anybody who does that..."

He jabbed a finger in the direction of the mud for emphasis.

"...is gonna get punched!"

Alec’s gaze drifted sideways, his eyebrow arching as he spotted the offending prints. Dean lunged at him across the width of the Impala, but Alec was quicker, flinging open the door and rolling backward onto the mossy grass. He sprang to his feet just as Dean catapulted himself through the passenger door in hot pursuit.

Alec crowed with delight, his face lighting up with youthful enthusiasm. He retreated a little, bouncing around as though he was in a fighting ring. He made a beckoning gesture to Dean. 

“C’mon! Let's see how Ordinary Me can do against the all-improved model!”

Dean snarled something incomprehensible and leapt forwards, his fingers slipping off the edge of Alec’s jacket as he blurred. Sam blinked, his expression of shock mirrored on his brother’s face.

“Sonofabitch!”

Dean adjusted his expectations and plan of attack rapidly, automatically slipping into hunter mode. This wasn’t the first unexpectedly fast and powerful being he’d faced. He walked forwards slowly, lightly balanced on the balls of his feet.

“So… these awesome genes of yours, and all you can do is run off faster?”

He smirked at Alec, echoes of the same youthful enthusiasm bringing a glint to his eye and a curl to his grin.

The game was on and for a while it seemed the playing field was level. Two different techniques, transgenic speed and strength versus monster fighting experience. Kicks and punches rapidly turned into a full-on wrestling match, a tangle of identical limbs. Sam hovered on the periphery, ready to leap in and use his greater bulk to bring a stop to things if, or when, it got too serious.

Hopefully it wouldn’t escalate to that level; he could see no way of interceding without sustaining at least a minor injury.

Dean was far faster and stronger than he should have been. Alec struggled, not wanting to cause injury, but finding it difficult to restrain himself given the pressure he was under from the older Winchester’s attack.

After a few minutes of lightning fast blows being exchanged, he released his full strength for a moment, enabling him to flip Dean over and onto his back. Alec dropped down on top of him, forearm in position in a good choke hold and for what would ultimately be a fatal strike. Pain flickered briefly on Dean’s face and Alec relaxed the pressure immediately, feeling a little shocked that he’d given in to his natural instincts so completely.

Dean caught the look in his eyes at the same instant as the pressure against his throat eased. He reacted immediately, flipping and restraining Alec in one swift move, his full body weight pinning the younger man to the ground as he stared at him from a distance of a few inches.

Alec grunted, not resisting. The fight was over, and whether he’d conceded victory or not, as the loser, he was trained to expect immediate and brutal punishment. Dean pulled back slightly. The vicious blow was coming. Alec flinched, adrenaline draining the color from his face. He closed his eyes, waiting.

The expected blow never came. Dean’s breath puffed warm against Alec's face, and Alec lifted his eyelids cautiously, wondering at the sorrow dragging at the other man’s features.

“I’m not gonna hit you, kiddo. I wouldn’t hurt you.”

Dean’s voice was gruff. He rolled away and onto his feet, reaching down to haul Alec upright. Alec rose smoothly, confusion and relief mingling on his face.

Any awkwardness vanished as Sam squeezed between them, slapping both on the back.“You’re fast!” He grinned easily at Alec, showing his dimples.

Alec’s mask of good humor slipped rapidly back over his features. He relaxed his stance and dipped a nod at Dean.

"And you're a lot faster than you should be. Not bad for an Ordinary."

"Ordinary?" Dean huffed. "Dude, I am far from ordinary!"

“You both look like freaks to me.” Sam’s easy smile took any sting out of the words.“How ‘bout we get some breakfast?”

"Yeah." Dean rubbed gingerly at his ribs, eyeing Alec with new respect. "And then Superboy here’s got some cleaning to do."

.

“What’s up, boo?”

Max lifted her head to find Original Cindy peering at her, a concerned frown on her face.

“Nothin’.” Max shrugged.

“Sugar, don’t front. You can tell Original Cindy. You been outta sorts all mornin'.”

Max sighed. “It’s Joshua.”

“Doggie-dog?”

“Yeah. He’s kinda upset. Alec hasn’t been by in a few days.”

Original Cindy pursed her lips.

“Mmm. Come to think of it, I ain’t seen your boy for mebbe four, five days now. You think he’s out cattin’ around?”

Max shrugged. “I’ll ask Normal later. Anyone knows what’s goin’ on with his golden boy, it’ll be him. And Alec’s not my boy.”

Chapter Text

Dean pulled into a drive-thru on the outskirts of Gillette.

"Drive-thru breakfast?" Sam queried in surprise.

Dean usually preferred going into a diner; it offered a chance to stretch their legs and, of course, there was always the possibility of a flirty waitress.

"Yeah."

Dean flicked his gaze briefly to the back seat, raising an eyebrow slightly. Sam glanced casually backward, pretending to admire the lurid panel advertising burgers, fries, and super-sized milkshakes. Alec, slumped against the door, was staring morosely into the distance, the muscle in his jaw tensing as he ground his molars.

Sam raised his chin fractionally in Dean's direction, in unspoken acknowledgement and agreement.

"Okay," he said agreeably. "Breakfast to go is good."

Alec's head lifted lethargically as they jolted over the lip of the drive-thru lane.

"What are you eatin', Alec?" Dean queried casually, already winding down his window.

Alec shrugged, gnawed at his lower lip and then muttered, "Milkshake, plain."

Dean ordered, adding an extra sausage'n'egg bagel for Alec. He parked up at the far end of the parking lot and dumped the bagel and super-sized drink onto Alec's lap, waving down his protest before it was spoken.

"You'd better have something for that fast metabolism of yours."

Sam, as he often did, added the voice of reason.

"Once Dean hits the road, it's kind of hard to get him to pull over 'til Baby runs out of gas."

Dean scowled at him, affronted.

"I never let my Baby run outta gas! It's bad for the carburetor. You should know that, Sammy."

They ate in silence for a while, Alec doing little more than poking miserably at his meal. It was obvious that the full implications of the previous night's discovery were sinking in and Sam decided to take the bull by the horns.

"So… there's nothing to see here or in Seattle. I guess if there isn't a Manticore facility here in Gillette in 2006, there won't be one up near to Seattle either."

Alec stopped drinking; he kept his head down, although it was obvious that he was listening intently.

"We're only a few hours out of South Dakota?" Dean offered.

"Yeah," said Sam firmly. "Bobby. He's got more research material and contacts than anyone else we know. And it'll be somewhere to hole up for a few days; it'll give us time to get our heads around everything."

Dean flipped his cell open, pressing the speed-dial for Bobby.

"Bobby… yeah, yeah… Uh, we're about 6 hours out. You think we could crash there for a coupla days?... No, we're fine. Tell y'about it when we get there… Err Bobby? You're probably gonna want to test for shapeshifters and… well I dunno what the hell else. Just don't shoot us, okay?"

There was a brief burst of static followed by some gruff muttering, and then the call ended abruptly. Dean swallowed hard, forcing a nervous smile as he tucked his phone into his pocket.

"Bobby's okay with that," he said carefully.

Sam casually stretched an arm along the back of the front seat, casting an encouraging smile in Alec's direction.

"Bobby's an old friend, more like family really. He'll help us figure things out."

Alec eyed him in a disbelieving manner. He slugged the rest of his milkshake, stuffed the remains of his bagel into the empty cup and shrugged.

"Okay."

Five minutes out of Gillette, Alec slouched against the door again, folding his arms and shutting his eyes. Dean watched him in the rearview mirror, the frown line between his brows deepening as he steered the Impala toward South Dakota.

.

"No, Missy Miss!" Normal's tone was even more acidic than usual. "I do not know where the boy wonder has gone… Hey you! Hot run, sector nine!" He hurled a packet at Sketchy's back and flapped his hand angrily in the direction of the exit.

Max put on the sweetest smile she could muster. "I was wonderin' if he'd called in sick at all?"

"Sick! Sick! A fine specimen like that doesn't suffer from weaknesses like you sad excuses for humanity… HEY! You! This isn't a hotel! Bip, bip, bip!"

Max ground her teeth. "Alec. Have you heard from Alec?"

"No." Normal looked affronted. "I've been paging him for days." He scowled at Max, pushing his glasses up with one finger. "What's it to you anyway, Miss Too Many Questions? A young man needs a little privacy, time to live a little." He huffed, clearly disgruntled. "Although it would be nice if he saw fit to drop off the signatures… records have to be kept you know!"

"Normal!" Max snapped, her patience at its end. "When did you last see Alec."

"Not that it's any business of yours... four days ago, when I sent him over to sector eight." He glared at her retreating figure and yelled. "And if you see him, tell him to call Normal! He's not immune from being fired y'know!"

Max ignored him as she strode towards her bike. The twinge of worry in her gut was turning into a full blown clench. She headed for sector eight with Original Cindy close behind.

.

Alec pretended to sleep for most of the journey, finally cracking open an eye when Dean slowed for the turn into Singer's Salvage. He looked around at the heaps of rusting vehicles and parts and raised an eyebrow.

"You sure the Pulse hasn't already happened around here?"

Sam snorted, grinning.

"I don't think the Pulse would make much difference to Bobby."

"One man's trash is another man's treasure, Sammy!" Dean smirked. "And Bobby sure has a heap of treasure."

He brought the Impala to a halt by an impressive pile of hubcaps, near to the front door of the house.

An aging dog shuffled towards them on stiff legs, the links of his chain dragging and rattling behind him. His half-hearted warning rumbles went up a pitch when Alec exited the Impala. He sniffed in the transgenic's direction eagerly and Alec stopped short, nostrils flaring as though he was inhaling the odour of grouchy, old dog. He raised one side of his lip a little, showing a glimpse of white canines, but dropped it again quickly when Dean slapped a hand onto his shoulder and propelled him towards the house.

"C'mon Alec."

The door swung open, revealing Bobby with his greasy hair, worn shirt, and even greasier jeans, a shotgun casually tucked under one arm. He squinted, his gaze shifting between Dean and Alec, assessing the situation.

"Balls," he said gruffly. "That ain't good."

Dean could feel Alec's muscles tense under his hand at the sight of the shotgun. He moved forwards casually, so that he was partially between Bobby and the younger man. He had absolutely no idea which one of them he was protecting.

.

It took two hours, Original Cindy's people skills and Max's transgenic nose to find Alec's empty Jam Pony messenger bag in a gloomy alley off the main street.

Max poked into every corner, sniffing at the brickwork and even feeling the floor around the abandoned bag with her fingertips. There was nothing to find, but she couldn't shake off a sense of distress; it wasn't so much her own distress as a residue left in the physical structures and the air of the alley. Eventually she sat on her heels next to the bag, chewing at her bottom lip.

"Ain't nothin' here, boo." Original Cindy said, anxiety pulling her lips into a pout. "Your boy ain't here."

Max dragged the bag to her, frowning as she turned it over in her hands. "It's Alec; maybe he ditched the packages and blew town."

OC sighed, shrugging. "Mebbe he's gone to get his swerve on. Why are you expectin' the three-legged gender to be considerate for their fellow workers? One thing for sure though, he's all turned around lately..."

She held out Max's bike, frowning as she continued. "Alec… he thinks a lot of doggie-dog. It's not like him to leave Joshua hangin'. How about my girl goes to see Logan, see if he's heard anything on the streets?"

Max pulled up her hood, cast a last worried look around the alley and followed OC out into the main street.

.

Bobby ran through routine tests for shapeshifters, demons and anything else he could think of, with nothing awry coming to light. But nothing was ever simple when Winchesters were involved. He slammed down a bottle of whisky with some shot glasses and pulled up a chair.

"So," he said slowly, his eyes roving over the three younger men in a remote triage of emotional and physical well-being. "Mebbe you idjits betta tell me what's been goin' on."

Sam, unsurprisingly, presented him with a detailed summary of events from the time of their arrival in Seattle, the information issuing from a face that looked as though he hadn't slept properly for far too long. His hazel eyes were bleary as he watched Bobby intently for his reaction and his stance in the chair suggested a residual stiffness from an injury, probably to his shoulder.

Dean was edgy, an unstable energy keeping his knee bouncing nervously underneath the table while his eyes glittered with an unhealthy combination of anxiety and exhaustion. The purple finger marks around his throat were startling against his pale skin.

Alec… well Alec looked like Dean aged about twenty-one. Hell, he looked a lot like Dean now, just softer in the features. He seemed depressed, almost rigid with suppressed emotion, only the familiar green eyes alive in a face equally as pale as Dean's. Bobby compared them, uneasily fascinated by the identical scattering of freckles. Even the flecks of gold in their eyes were the same. It couldn't be a coincidence.

"You want a picture there?" Alec interrupted his thoughts, a frown on his face. "'Cause I don't come cheap y'know."

Bobby scowled at him.

"Don't be a douchewad boy! I get enough smart-assed comments offa this one here."

He jerked a thumb in Dean's direction.

"You can't expect to turn up at a man's table lookin' like a carbon copy and not expect to get stared at some."

Alec subsided, glowering.

Bobby stared a while longer, rubbing at his whiskers in a thoughtful way.

"I've got a contact," he said eventually. "Mebbe he can check out a coupla things for me. Why don't you boys show Alec here where everythin' is at, get yourselves settled in?"

He waited until the room was empty and then carefully carried the shot glasses to his desk. Minutes later he was faxing a copy of the fingerprints taken from the glass to his contact. He spoke gruffly into the 'phone.

"Yeah, Frank, I'm callin' in a favor! Yeah… yeah just get 'em to me as quick as y'can. And those other points… find out anythin' y'can. What! You are one paranoid bastard, y'know that? Just make it quick Frank, okay?"

.

Alec's head hurt. He'd run through every possible explanation and then discarded it so many times that his brain felt bruised. He'd been here, wherever here was, for days now. He was no closer to finding an answer than when he'd first collapsed by the Impala.

The Winchesters wanted to help; he was sure of that. But since he'd first met them he'd become increasingly aware of an undercurrent of distress and desperation that had nothing to do with his sudden appearance. He was an added complication in their already crazy lives.

You didn't let your unit down, not ever. That had been drilled into him. Max had reminded him of its importance. Sometimes sticking around and being a burden was letting your unit down. Everything would be better if he took off and took responsibility for his own problems.

He accepted a glass of milk, reclaimed his own clothes and retreated to the privacy of the shower. He stood there for a while, leaning his forehead against the smooth tiles and letting the luxury of hot water sluice down over his skin. It wouldn't be the first time he'd walked away from the only people he knew, but it didn't make it any easier. He'd survived then; he would find a way to survive now.

Soap suds swirled around his feet on their way to the drain plug, releasing an aroma of artificial fruit smells, reminding him of Sam's shampoo and his first morning of proper lucidity in the motel.

He slammed his hands against the tiles, pushing his forehead harder into their cool surface. He didn't like the conclusion he'd drawn, but that didn't make it any less valid. He'd made up his mind. It was time to cut loose.

He dressed quickly, slipped his knife into his boot and dropped silently from the upstairs window into the dirt yard.

Two minutes later, he located a vehicle in reasonable condition and pushed it through the gate. A few minutes after that, it was hotwired and heading north, Alec swallowing hard against the lump rising in his throat while rubbing intermittently at the unexplained ache in his chest.

Chapter Text

The pieces of paper quivered in Bobby's grip as he walked into the kitchen. Dean put down the hot coffee pot with a dull thunk, reading all sorts of things into the older man's frown and finding none of them good.

"What's up?"

Bobby slapped one sheet down onto the table top, a few breadcrumbs bouncing with the force of the blow.

"You boys know how to get yourselves right in the middle of anythin' crappy. Ain't monsters enough for ya?"

He pointed at the paper with a gnarled finger.

"Looks like you an' Alec got identical fingerprints."

Dean's eyebrows shot up.

"You lifted our fingerprints? That's sneaky even for you, old man!"

"Don't worry y'head about it."

Bobby jabbed at the paper.

"This ain't possible 'less he's some kinda alternative shapeshifter that don't react to silver. Or... if his story ain't a steamin' pile of bullcrap... then I guess that could make him your clone, seein' as you're older."

Dean looked distinctly uncomfortable. Bobby spread the other pieces of paper on the table; they were copies of clippings from newspapers and research documents. He held up his hand as Dean opened his mouth to speak.

"Ain't so crazy as it sounds... Look here, this article is about Dolly, a cloned sheep all the way back in 1996... And here's information on Polly an' Molly, transgenic sheep. And they ain't the only cases. These kinda things don't happen overnight and y'can guarantee only some of what's goin' on ever gets released to the public domain. Let's just suppose for a minute that ten, mebbe even fifteen years afore Dolly, someone started mixin' up humans in a petri dish?"

Dean swallowed.

"I hear you Bobby. But nothin' else fits. Alec says it should be 2020 now… and nothin' he remembers from 2006 is here in 2006."

He kneaded his forehead with long fingers, dragged them back through his hair. There was real regret in his tone.

"I like the kid, y'know? But…"

His voice tailed off.

Bobby sent a sharp glance in his direction.

"Y' think he might be nuts?"

"No! Well… hell, I dunno. We see crazy every day. Maybe this is just, y'know, a different kind of crazy?"

"And he don't seem a little different t'ya? 'Cause from what Sam was sayin', Alec moves kinda fast for a reg'lar human being?"

Dean's expression betrayed his conflicting emotions. Looking purely at Alec's story, it seemed certain that he was crazy. But there were the other things to take into consideration. Alec's impossible speed for one thing, something he'd witnessed first-hand in the cemetery and again when they'd been fighting by the Impala.

Then there was the incredible strength; neither he nor Sam were weaklings but it had taken all their power to keep Alec in the bathtub. He'd felt it again when they'd been fighting and just for a moment Alec stopped playing and unleashed his full strength, pinning Dean to the floor… but then Alec had capitulated and lay back to take his punishment for not making the killing blow.

Even now that angered Dean. That flinch, the way Alec had closed his eyes. Someone had hurt him real bad in the past; even worse than that, they'd trained him to think it was okay to be hurt. If Alec was crazy, maybe he had his reasons.

Bobby stacked the papers, scowling and chewing at a corner of his moustache.

"I got somethin' in an old file," he muttered suddenly. "Never thought I'd need it… I'm gonna have to go dig it out."

Dean stared at him.

"You don't think this is all for real?"

"I didn't, not 'til them fingerprint results came in. Now I'm wonderin' about somethin' happened a long time ago. Somethin' your Daddy wrote down and asked me to keep."

It just wasn’t right, Bobby thought. The boys, especially Dean, were understandably torn up about John’s death, but the way Dean blanched at the mention of their father, the guilt flooding his face, suggested there was more going on than just grief. He made a mental note to grill Sam about it once this new crazy was under control.

Clearing his throat, he steeled himself to address the situation.

"Tell ya what. You get ahold of Sam and Alec and I'll go get my file. Might as well do this all together."

Dean looked at him, his expression strained, as if the skin on his face had suddenly tightened.

"Yeah, okay."

.

Max slouched against the frame of the glass partition, crossing her arms. She tilted her head to lean on the wood as she watched Logan tapping at his keyboard, the light of the monitors reflecting off the lens of his glasses and highlighting his profile.

"I ran a search of all the police bulletins for the last five days. If Alec was picked up by the law there'd be something on file."

"Anything turn up?"

Logan approached her slowly, his forehead creased in thought. She backed away slightly, ever mindful of the deadly virus planted in her by Manticore.

"No. Nothing. No arrests in that area, no trouble."

"What about the hospitals?"

"Nothing that sounded like Alec."

Logan pulled off his glasses, polishing them with the corner of his shirt.

She snorted. "Half of me thinks he just took off."

"Doesn't seem logical. Why would he leave the Jam Pony things in an alley?"

"I guess not." Max frowned, more worried than she was letting on. "You'll let me know if you hear anythin', right?"

Logan replaced his glasses and stared at her.

"You're thinking White has him again?"

"No…" She shrugged. "Maybe."

"I'll ask around and I'll call Matt Sung... maybe he can dig up somethin' I can't. We're going to find him, Max, if he wants to be found."

.

The sound of Sam's boots thundering across the upper floor echoed down into the kitchen. Dean stuck his head up the staircase.

"You alright there, Sammy?"

"He's gone!"

Sam came into view at the top of the stairs.

"His clothes are missing; looks like he went out the back upstairs window."

"You're freakin' kiddin' me!"

Dean rushed out of the door and to the back of the house. There was no sign of Alec, although the boot-shaped imprints directly beneath the upstairs window made it fairly obvious he'd jumped out.

"Well, that's normal."

Dean looked uneasily up at the height of the window before heading back to the front of the house. To his relief the Impala was still parked in the yard. At that moment Bobby appeared in the front door.

"Bobby," he hollered. "You got any cars missing?"

He figured Alec had a head start of about twenty minutes; he needed to get on the road as soon as possible if he was going to catch up with him. For a brief moment it occurred to Dean that he could just cut Alec loose and it would be one less thing to deal with, but the thought was squashed almost as soon as it formed.

A quick check of the yard revealed that an old blue Dodge had disappeared.

"Idjit ain't gonna get far. That one's got herself a cracked sump; he's gonna seize the engine."

Dean was already in the Impala.

"Stay here, Sammy. When I catch up, I'll call, and you can come out with Bobby’s tow truck."

Sam was puzzled.

"How do you know where he's gone?"

"Well, hell, Sammy, he's meant to be my goddamn clone."

Dean put his foot on the gas and peeled out of the yard, leaving Sam with a confused expression on his face.

"Clone?" he said, turning to Bobby.

.

Original Cindy nodded her thanks to the barman as she slid the jug of beer off the bar. She carried it over to the table and put it between herself and Max.

"No luck, boo?"

Max shook her head, tucking a strand of dark hair behind her ear.

"No. Logan's got nothin'."

"My girl is gettin' all mopey."

OC sloshed beer into Max's glass. The sympathy shining in her big brown eyes betrayed her own concern for the absent, smart-mouthed X5.

"It ain't like you to be so shook up over Alec. You really think somethin' bad happened to your boy, huh?"

For once Max didn't bother to correct her about Alec being 'her boy'. Alec was a transgenic too; he was family. She took a swig of her beer and slid off the stool.

"I'm gonna head out, see if there's any word on the streets."

She declined to mention which streets she intended to visit.

"Sure sugar. You be careful y'hear?"

Original Cindy twirled her glass around in its little puddle of beer, frowning, as the sound of Max's departing motorcycle echoed through the open door.

.

Somewhere between Sioux Falls and Mitchell the Dodge began to overheat. Alec swore, slamming his hand against the wheel and snarling to himself that it was typical he hadn't been trained in vehicle maintenance by Manticore, apart from the general 'fill it with gas and keep the fluids topped up' kind of maintenance. His specialism had been a little more deadly.

He pressed on slowly to the next rest stop, barely making it to the parking area. As he rolled down the access road, a loud bang erupted from the engine, accompanied by an acrid smell of burning. A trickle of dark smoke began to seep through the dashboard.

Alec jammed on the brakes, bringing the car to a halt and parking haphazardly across several spaces. At least the rest stop was quiet, with only a few RVs and a couple of cars under the trees at the far side. He popped the hood, releasing a small cloud of smoke along with a strong scent of burnt oil.

He was still staring at the engine, contemplating his next move, when the growl of the Impala interrupted his thoughts. There was a screech of tires as Dean slammed on the brakes, fishtailing briefly before straightening down the access road. He pulled up in front of Alec and stepped out. He looked really pissed.

Alec shifted his shoulders slightly, curling his hands loosely, ready for whatever was about to unfold as a frisson of nerves prickled across his skin.

"What the hell, dude!"

Dean sounded pissed too.

"Why'd you run off like that?"

He marched right up to Alec, stopping within arm's length, looking for all the world as though he wanted to throw him bodily into the Impala.

"What are you doin' here?"

Alec swallowed, unaccountably nervous.

"I was about to ask you the same thing."

He kept his voice calm, not wanting to escalate things with Dean. It suddenly struck him that Dean was angry about the car, and he blinked sheepishly, doing his best to appear contrite.

"’M sorry about taking the car. I think I might’ve broken it?"

He figured Dean probably wouldn’t have followed him if he hadn’t been stupid enough to steal a vehicle. For some reason, that thought stung, so he smirked, trying to play it cool as he tipped his chin slightly toward the Dodge.

"Guess that's why you came after me, huh? I shoulda known better than to steal from your pal. I'd offer to pay him back, but..."

He shrugged, smirked again, slapping his jacket pocket.

"Guess I lost my wallet. Probably fell out in some time warp—happens to me all the time, y'know."

Dean glowered at him, then pulled out his cell, snapping a few directions into it before shoving it back into his pocket.

"I didn’t drive all the way out here just to get the damn car! Where the hell did you think you were going?"

So why had Dean rushed after him if it wasn’t about the car? Alec scowled in response. He wasn’t some useless Ordinary or a kid who needed protection. He hadn’t needed it when he was a kid, and he sure as hell didn’t need it now.

"Sometimes a guy just has more fun on his own. What part of me being a genetically enhanced super soldier don’t you get? I can take care of myself!"

An SUV drove by slowly, the occupants goggling out of the windows at the minor drama of the broken-down vehicle and the two angry men.

Dean didn’t break eye contact.

"You were just gonna ditch us, huh?"

He stepped closer, invading Alec’s space—so close that Alec could see the muscle twitching in his jaw. It was unnerving to stare into a mirror image of his own eyes.

Alec opened his mouth to do one of the things he did best, mouth off, but in doing so inadvertently inhaled a lungful of Dean's scent. Some instinct bred into his DNA identified the other man as kin and the balloon of his anger and sarcasm deflated immediately.

Dean, oblivious to this occurrence, pressed on, his anger still simmering.

"Sure you can look after yourself! That's why you're sat at the side of the freakin' road with a busted vehicle and no goddamn money!"

He wound his fingers into the front of Alec's jacket, giving him a little shake.

"Bobby's found something, you asshat! You need to hear him out. Then if you want to leave, you do that… with a decent car and some dollars in your pocket!"

He let go of Alec's jacket and stared at him, the anger gradually bleeding away, to be replaced by hurt.

"Dude, you said we were your unit. My Dad…"

He swallowed hard then, looking a little sick and then continuing in a harsh tone.

"He said in the Marines, that's kinda like family!"

So that was why he was so angry. Alec bit his lip, struggling to find the words to explain.

"I dunno what's going on… I don’t want to put you in danger. The people after me? They're bad news. When the Manticore facility was exposed, they locked everyone in and tried to barbecue ’em—even the little kids!"

He dragged in a shaky breath.

"You don’t need to get mixed up in this crap. I’m not important. I’m expendable."

Dean gestured at his own face, jabbing a finger at Alec.

"You may have noticed we look kinda similar? This doesn't affect just you dude. And we're always in danger."

He took a deep breath, looking even more aggravated.

"And what's that supposed to mean, you're expendable!"

Alec watched him, eyes wide.

"You can't just run off like that, kiddo. You need backup. You're gonna get yourself killed...". Something raw flashed across Dean's face as he continued in a furious snarl.  "I'm not lettin' anybody else die on my watch!"

Startled at the unexpected vehemence of the last comment, Alec took a half step backwards, thrusting a hand behind himself for balance as the back of his knees collided with the front of the Dodge. His hand made contact with the smoking hot engine with an audible hiss. He shot upright, pulling it free as pain exploded in his palm and lanced up the nerves of his arm.

"Sonofabitch!"

Dean grabbed him by the wrist, his fingers cool against the heat flooding up from Alec’s palm. He yanked Alec toward the Impala's trunk and pulled out a bottle of water, pouring the cold liquid over the burn and frowning, completely unaware of Alec’s surprise.

"Bang up job of lookin' after yourself there."

"It's okay." Alec was embarrassed. It wasn't something important enough to mention, let alone treat. "It'll heal in a few hours."

He smiled cautiously, hoping they were done with fighting.

"Superior genes."

Dean huffed. "Of course they're superior; Bobby figures you're my clone."

With his anger abated, he was impressed despite himself.

"Coupla hours, huh? Awesome."

The trunk slammed shut with a decisive bang. Dean's eyes were glinting, crinkling up at the corners.

"You jumped out the upstairs window?"

Alec grinned. "Yeah, cat DNA."

"Awesome."

Relieved by the change in the tone of the conversation, Alec leaned back against the Impala, flexing his palm. It was throbbing, but the blistered skin would soon subside—it was only a minor injury, though like all burns, it was surprisingly painful at first. X5s were equipped to deal with pain, so Alec clamped down on it quickly, rubbing lightly at the tingling sensation in the skin of his arm.

"Alec? You okay?"

Dean was watching him with concern.

"I'm fine."

Alec shoved his hand into his pocket, squinting against the glaring winter sunlight.

"Hungry, I guess?"

"We'll wait and help Sam hook up the Dodge, then get on back to Bobby's. He makes the best chili this side of Mexico."

Alec hoped he was going to be offered some chili. Bobby hadn't seem to like him even before he stole one of his cars. Although to be truthful, he wasn't really all that hungry.

What he needed was a big carton of milk. He considered asking Dean to buy him some, but dismissed the thought. Maybe Bobby would have some spare.

Chapter Text

A.N. It's a long chapter, time to get the 'technical' part of the plot done...

.

Alec did get some chili. His experience of chili was fairly limited, but he would've cast a vote that it was the best chili this side of Mexico. He found he was kind of hungry after all and he pushed the spoon around the plate, chasing down the last few grains of rice and spicy sauce.

"That was some good chili, Bobby. Thanks."

Dean shoved his plate away and rubbed his stomach in appreciation.

"Awesome, huh, Alec?"

"Yeah."

Alec put his spoon down, still feeling really guilty about the Dodge. He kept his chin down, glancing up at Bobby in a cautious manner.

"Real good. Thanks."

Bobby sighed; it was young Dean all over again. All guilt and big worried eyes. Another minute or two and he'd be covering it up with jokes and smirks.

He stacked the dishes and headed for the sink, patting Alec on the shoulder on the way past.

"Don't worry y'self about the car," he said gruffly. "Y'can help me fix it. If you're gonna go bustin' em up like that, y'idjit, y'might as well learn how to fix 'em up after."

Alec flushed a little, looking surprised; he'd been expecting punishment, not a lesson in vehicle maintenance.

He was unsure of the protocols in this unusually 'civilised' environment where people sat down together to eat a meal cooked for everyone. None of his missions had prepared him for this type of day-to-day domestic life. The closest he'd come to eating like this was at Joshua's. He eyed the stack of dishes and the chili remains in the worn pan, trying out a few scenarios in his head. 

"Er… you want me to clean up?" He offered. 

It was the right thing to say. Bobby's expression shifted slightly—subtle but noticeable to anyone attuned to empathy. It might have even been the beginnings of a smile.

"Y'can wipe up later. First, there's some things we need to figure out."

He put down the steaming coffee pot, sliding an empty mug across the table top to each of them.

Alec fidgeted, flicking his gaze to the refrigerator. It didn't look as though any milk carton was coming out and his craving for milk was increasing by the minute. 

"Hey, Bobby. You got milk." Sam asked.

Bobby scowled at him in a good natured way, used to Sam's ways. 

"Get it y'self, princess. Y'know where it's at."

Sam pulled a large carton from the fridge, splashing some into his coffee. He hovered over Alec's mug.

"You want milk or coffee, Alec?" He smiled easily at Bobby. "Alec here’s a fiend for milk."

"Oh yeah, I'll have milk."

The relief was evident in Alec's tone. He met Sam's gaze, surprised when Sam grinned in a conspiratorial manner and dropped him a wink. He grinned back, swigging the milk and flexing a cramp out of one of his toes.

Sam and Alec had already read the newspaper articles about the cloned and transgenic sheep. Now Bobby pulled out a thin cardboard file. Inside were some loose pages; they looked suspiciously as though they'd been torn out of John Winchester's journal. He held them almost reverently, letting his eyes drift to each of the younger men in turn.

"Now," he said slowly. "This is somethin' I never thought would see the light of day again. But Alec here, he's mebbe made a few things fall into place."

Dean cleared his throat.

"They're from Dad's journal?"

"Yeah. They are. He tore 'em out. Didn't want to leave somethin' in the journal he wasn't too sure about. But he figured… hell we figured, back in the days before I threatened to fill his ass full of buckshot, that I betta keep 'em safe, just in case."

Bobby settled back in his chair. He had everyone's full attention.

"When you boys were just little kids… Sam was 'bout three I guess… your Daddy stopped over for a coupla weeks. Dean here was just over the chicken pox and Sam was comin' down with it, all covered in spots like a raison puddin'."

Dean snorted, waggling an eyebrow at his brother.

"Well Dean started complainin' about his jaw hurtin'. Few days later it was all swole up. Dentist here in town took a look and said it was a tooth comin' in the wrong way. It had to be pulled fast or pretty boy here wouldn't have that smile he likes to flash around."

Sam chuckled.

Dean nodded. "I remember that. It hurt like hell. I was maybe seven?"

"Yeah 'bout that I reckon."

Bobby took a slurp of coffee and continued, explaining how the local dentist hadn't had the equipment to do the small operation on such a young child. He'd put John in touch with a specialist, operating out of a small clinic on the outskirts of Gillette. John had set up an appointment and lit out like a cat with its tail on fire, leaving Sam in Bobby's care.

By the time they arrived in Gillette, John wasn't feeling too well, but he kept it to himself in the time honored Winchester way. The little operation went well but that's when things had started to go sideways. Dean reacted badly to the anaesthetic; nothing too serious, but enough to warrant him being kept in the clinic overnight. John had stayed with him, feeling increasingly ill as the hours passed. As soon as Dean was discharged the next morning they'd headed for Sioux Falls, Dean still groggy as hell, but they'd only travelled a few miles when John had to pull over to throw up.

"It was afore cell 'phones were common, y'understand? John, realisin' he was about to pass out, grabs ahold of Dean and bangs on the door of a little industrial unit. And that's the last thing he remembers 'til he wakes up on a bunk in some sorta laboratory. Dean's lyin' on a table next to him, looks like he's asleep. There's an argument goin' on between some man in a white lab coat and another guy who's yellin' that he shouldn't have took samples from the little boy. Well John, he realises they're talking about Dean and he jumps up like an idjit and promptly passes out again.

Next thing he knows this other guy is wheelin' him out of the building in a wheelchair; Dean's on his lap. The guy rushes 'em to where the Impala should be, only it ain't. He kind of pitches John outta the chair, tells him to hold on tight to Dean and says he's gotta go back to where he come from. John recalls there was an almighty big bang and then they're lyin' on the floor next to the Impala; the man is gone and the building is all empty and derelict.

Well, John hightails it back here to Sioux Falls with Dean. He's kinda sick for a day or two and then he heads back up there like there's a demon on his ass, leaving you boys with me.

When he gets back down here, he tears out these pages and tells me to keep 'em safe 'cause somethin' funny happened in Gillette and he ain't sure what. He pulls out a few days later with you boys and we never spoke of it again."

"Samples?" asked Dean, looking horrified. "What kind of samples?"

"Your Daddy never knew. He saw a phial of blood and some glass dishes on a tray and that was it."

"DNA samples," breathed Alec.

"Could be." Sam leaned forwards, intent. "I can see where you're coming from, Bobby. It's pretty freaky and it's one time Dean could've had some DNA taken, but let's face it, he's left blood and bits of DNA in just about every hospital across the USA."

"Hey!" Dean protested.

"The sickness, sounds like I had, when you picked me up in Seattle?"

Alec frowned in concentration.

"You said the building was derelict, when John found himself back by the Impala? Just like Seattle was in a hell of a different state of repair when I woke up in that alley."

The Winchesters were nodding.

Bobby sighed.

"John, he was all tore up over Mary and on a mission to track down her killer and nothin' was gonna distract him from that. John convinced himself he'd had a fever dream, but deep down I think he knew it was more'n that. When he wrote it up in these pages, he reckoned if it hadn't been a hallucination then he was either plain crazy or he'd travelled through time somehow. Either way, he couldn't find diddly squat when he went back up to Gillette, so he got on with tracking Mary's killer and left the only evidence he had, these here notes, with me."

Alec looked directly at Bobby, again reading his expression accurately.

"There's more to it."

Bobby's face shifted to one of approval.

"Keep goin'," he said.

Sam chipped in.

"Alec was in Seattle in 2020. He felt sick, passed out in an alleyway and when he woke up he's here in 2006. But Seattle had changed and things that should be here in 2006 aren't here."

He squinted, continuing slowly.

"It's like he didn't just travel through time, but fell through into a different layer of reality. But supposing that's even possible, why?"

"Somethin' pulled 'em through," Dean said suddenly. "First, Dad got pulled through in Gillette and came back. Then Alec got pulled through in Seattle... only he's still here."

"It was you," said Alec with surety. "I was ahead, in 2020, in a different layer of reality. You were here in this one. We were both in the same location in Seattle… different layer, same location. Somehow we got too close and I was sucked through. So that means… in Gillette…"

He stared at Bobby.

"I'm right, aren't I?"

Alec turned to the Winchesters.

"The guy who helped your Dad, in Gillette… he looked just like your Dad."

"What!" Dean stood up. "Is that true, Bobby?"

"Yeah. It was John Winchester helped you and your Daddy escape. An older John Winchester."

"Bobby, this is a huge leap, even for us to believe."

Sam sounded uncertain.

"It's not," said Alec. "There's been theories around time travel and alternate universes for decades. If we think about time travel first… many theories suggest it may be possible, under certain conditions, for something to slip from one time to another. Then dimensions or alternative universes… just one example; the many-worlds interpretation is an interpretation of quantum mechanics that implies that all possible alternate histories and futures are real, each representing an actual universe. In other words, there is a huge, perhaps infinite, number of universes, and everything that could possibly have happened in our past, but did not, has occurred in the past of some other universe or universes... "

He became aware of the glazed expressions of the other occupants in the room.

"It's kinda a huge subject."

"Y'don't say," said Bobby dryly.

"Are you tellin' me," Dean asked, "that you were in some freakin' alternate universe in 2020, and we— I dunno— walked over the same ground or somethin' in Seattle, and somehow that caused you to get sucked through into this universe in 2006?"

"Yeah. I think so. And your Dad, he was sucked through in Gillette because he was in the same location as the alternative John Winchester. You got dragged through with him. While you were both there some pre-runner of Manticore stole your DNA and a few years later, hey presto, here's me, X5-494."

"How come being dragged to another universe doesn't happen all the time then?"

Sam was trying hard to hide the incredulity in his tone, but it was seeping through anyway.

Bobby snorted.

"Who's to say it don't? Would ya pop into work the next day and say hey, I took a little roadtrip to 2020 yesterday? 'Course ya don't, not 'less ya want a one way ticket to the crazy farm. Makes sense it might happen. All these monsters we hunt… there's no sign of 'em for years and then this ancient being appears an' causes all hell to break loose. So what have they been doin' all them other years? Sittin' on their asses and readin' a book? Or d'ya think they might've been causing havoc someplace else, someplace not in this universe or time?"

Sam shrugged.

"It's possible, it's all possible, but it's all just guesswork."

"Well, it was," Dean added. "Until Alec showed up. He's proof it happens."

Sam's academic mind was picking over the case.

"Why didn't the DNA thief just take some DNA from the son of the other John Winchester?"

"Maybe he did," Alec sighed. "Or maybe there isn't a Dean in my universe. Your dad wasn't working for some lab in this one, so somewhere along the way their paths diverged."

Sam swallowed. The thought of a universe without a Dean in it was unnerving.

"So what we gotta do," Bobby noted. "Is figure out a way to get Alec back to where he belongs."

A stunned silence fell over the room. Alec rubbed absentmindedly at a stiffness in his calf muscle while Sam frowned at the table.

"My head hurts," said Dean. "Don't look at me like that, old man! I've just been told my clone time-travelled from a different universe 'cos I trod on the wrong piece of sidewalk. It's friggin' crazy. I need a whiskey."

"Yeah," agreed Bobby, levering himself to his feet. "I think we could all do with a coupla shots."

He offered the bottle around.

Alec waved him off, wishing he could get more milk. The mug hadn’t even taken the edge off his craving, and his thigh had started to twitch under the table. He bounced his knee to mask the tremble in his thigh muscle, which was noticeable even through the thick fabric of his jeans.

Sam stood up and walked slowly over to the dirt-streaked window. He jammed his hands in his pockets.

"You were there in Gillette with Dad. You remember any of this, Dean?"

"Not much, dude. I was kinda out of it after the op."

Dean frowned, his eyes unfocused as he sought through his memories.

"I remember feeling sick and dizzy, and Dad carrying me out to the Impala from the clinic… then he pulled over to hurl… after that, there’s a coupla vague memories…" He looked surprised. "Dad does look old in some of them."

"Typical Dad." Sam snorted, bitterly. 

"What d'you mean by that, Sammy?"

Dean's eyes snapped into focus. He'd always played peacemaker between John and his youngest, but John was gone now and Bobby was surprised at the bite of anger in the words.

"Trying to drive back to Bobby's when you were still sick and getting over the anesthetic. He never put you first."

It was a familiar complaint, Sam's dissatisfaction with his father's methods of parenting.

Dean glowered at him.

"Lay off, Sam!"

To Bobby's astonishment, Sam flushed, backing down immediately, guilt tugging at his mouth.

"I'm sorry! I just... I didn't think." 

"Well, start thinking! I don't want to hear that crap."

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, looking pained. 

"We got enough to worry about."

Alec flinched. He wasn't sure what was behind the first part of the exchange, but he'd picked up the last sentence loud and clear. Of course, he was an additional worry to them. Sure, they might want to help, but even so they'd be keen to be rid of him as soon as possible. Send him home. He rose quickly, turning away abruptly when one eyelid began to twitch slightly.

"Lot to take on board," he said smoothly. "I'm gonna get some air."

He ambled to the door, forcing himself not to limp as his left thigh began to cramp. He flicked a quick grin in their direction and stepped out into the yard, letting the door swing to behind him. Honestly, he wasn't that surprised by the conversation. He'd already known he was in a different time and most likely a different universe. What he needed to get his head around was the fact that his first instinct was that he wanted to stay.

.

After leaving Original Cindy at Crash, Max spent a couple of hours scaring the hell out of Alec's dodgy contacts around Seattle. None of them had laid eyes on him for days. One or two thought they could take money they were owed from Max. She re-educated them; they wouldn't be making the same mistake again.

She slipped silently into Terminal City and started tracking down a few of the Manticore escapees. It was the same story, no sign of Alec anywhere.

.

The crisp air in the junkyard seemed to help. Alec let the cold soak through his clothes and settle like an icy shroud over his super-heated skin. After a while the cramp in his thigh eased off and he started to walk, picking his light-footed way among the piles of scrap.

He wasn't sure he wanted to go back to 'his' Seattle. He missed Joshua. The thought of never seeing Original Cindy, Sketchy, even Normal was oddly painful. And Max… but Max didn't really like him. Sure, she'd saved his life and since the Berrisford thing she'd been a little nicer, less ready to slap him upside the head, but she didn't really think of him as a friend; she was too tied up with the whole Logan and virus situation. He brushed it all aside. At this moment in time they'd no idea how to get him home anyway. He might never have to make a choice.

Alec paused outside a lit window. The Winchesters and Bobby had moved into the room which housed Bobby's desk and endless piles of dusty books. The warm, yellow, glow of the lamp light shone through the dirty glass, making the room seem almost cosy, the way he pictured a home would look, on those rare occasions he allowed himself the luxury of dreaming about what could have been, if he'd been a real person, with a real family and wasn't some lab-created freak. 

Alec shivered, pulling his jacket tighter around him, excluded by more than a thin pane of glass he could have shattered in a millisecond. He felt lonely, lost, as he had ever since he'd left Manticore behind. He wasn't even sure why he wanted to stay with the Winchesters, but he did want to stay. 

It wasn't simple though, he reflected. If he did get to make a choice, the Winchesters might not want him to stay anyway, especially if they found out he was damaged goods.

A shudder that was more than a reaction to the cold rippled up his back. He had more immediate things to worry about. He'd never personally experienced a seizure, that awful glitch in the superior X5 series. Up until the demise of the Manticore facility they'd all been given supplements as part of their daily rations. Despite this, some X5s had succumbed anyway and Alec's gut roiled with terror at the memory of their bone-cracking agony. Failure to respond immediately to Manticore's emergency treatment had inevitably resulted in the removal of the afflicted X5. None of them ever returned.

Alec wrapped his arms tight around his middle, fighting to control another shudder. Not now, he thought, please, not now.

When the shudder eased he slipped silently into the house and helped himself to the remaining milk in the refrigerator.

He needed Tryptophan; he knew Max had a stash but that was as far out of his reach as it was possible to be. Was it even available here?

If he could just hold off the seizure until the next morning, maybe he could get some, or drink the state dry of milk. His jaw clenched involuntarily as he swallowed the last mouthful from the carton, causing some milk to spill through his lips and onto his shirt. He dropped the empty carton back into the fridge and dabbed at himself with a wet cloth.

It was getting late. Resting might help. He slipped unnoticed up the stairs and dropped onto one of the beds in the spare room. Even fully clothed and still wearing his boots, he was shaking with cold, so he pulled the blanket over himself and tried to relax.

.

It was late, very late, when Max dropped by at Logan's apartment. Tired, red-rimmed eyes met hers and a voice hoarse with exhaustion confirmed there were no leads. It didn't seem as though Eyes Only had time to sleep either, although without the benefit of shark DNA it was clearly affecting him more than her.

By the time she returned home, not long before dawn, Max had to accept that Alec was either far away from Seattle or, more likely, in the clutches of Ames White.

.

Alec was up at first light, relieved his restless and fitful night was over. He had barely managed to sleep, shivering beneath the blanket and fighting to keep the sound of his chattering teeth from reaching the brothers. He felt worse than before. A deep ache throbbed at the back of his skull, and his vision was blurred at the edges. Occasionally, sharp cramps would seize his legs and feet, leaving him on edge and anxious as he faced the day ahead.

He rose quietly, a primal instinct urging him to retreat and find a dark corner to hide in. For a moment, he thought about taking the blanket with him but regretfully decided against it, leaving it crumpled on the bed, a reminder of the chill he couldn’t shake off.

Outside, the air was well below freezing, the yard blanketed in frost and pale in the early light. Yet Alec's skin now felt as if it were scorched under a blazing desert sun. He pondered, almost absently, which would claim him first—his rising internal heat or the biting cold outside. Drawing closer to the shadows at the back of the yard, he sought refuge from the harsh brightness of the dawn, craving the stillness and darkness that felt safer.

The first real cramp hit him without warning, seizing his leg and violently twisting the muscles in his buttocks and along his back. The pain was excruciating, stealing his breath and forcing a small, shocked sound from his lips. Time seemed to freeze; he was paralyzed, unable to move, breathe, or even blink. Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the agony released its grip, leaving him gasping in its wake.

Alec sank to his knees, the cold air around him filled with the white puffs of his labored breaths. Panic surged through him—shit, shit, shit, shit. He forced himself back to his feet, leaning heavily on his trembling knees with his hands as he struggled to regain his composure.

"Alec?" Dean's voice, sharp with concern, sounded behind him in the yard. "Dude, are you okay?"

Alec struggled to stand tall, masking his discomfort as best as he could, but it was futile. A sudden cramp tore through his stomach, causing him to double over involuntarily. His fingers pressed into the tight muscles of his abdomen as he let out a strained, "Uhh…"

“Shit! Alec!” Dean exclaimed, his hands gripping Alec's shoulders as he straightened with difficulty. His eyes raked Alec's pained expression for some explanation.

Alec opened his mouth to speak, but a violent cramp shot up his spine, arching his back and forcing him onto his toes before yanking him forward. He fell against Dean’s shoulder, collapsing as Dean struggled to support him. The icy bite of metal sliced his cheek, a harsh reminder of his junkyard surroundings as he fought to regain control.

He could hear Dean shouting for help, the urgency in his voice cutting through the haze. A reassuring hand rubbed along Alec's arm, but he could only focus on the pain. Clenching his teeth, he felt as if they might crack under the pressure. As darkness threatened to pull him under, he hated himself for the whimpering sounds escaping his lips.

Chapter Text

The day had not started well for Dean.

As soon as Alec left the bedroom, Dean’s feet hit the floor with a sense of relief. The night had dragged on, filled with the unsettling sounds of Alec’s restless twitching, and now it was finally over.

Not that he would have slept much anyway. With Dad in hell, Alec trapped in the wrong universe, and Sam having troubling visions that hinted at going dark-side, Dean felt his head was about to burst. Just one more thing, and he was certain he’d give himself an aneurysm.

"Is Alec okay?"

Sam's disheveled bed-hair and weary eyes suggested that he hadn’t slept much either.

Dean wondered why he was supposed to know if Alec was okay. Maybe it was just because he was Sam's big brother and therefore the supposed expert on that sort of thing. Sam, despite being a highly intelligent and self-sufficient man in his own right, occasionally still automatically deferred to Dean over little things.  Apparently this situation qualified as one of those times.

"I dunno," he said, not feeling particularly intelligent himself at that moment in time.

He considered himself lucky that the question had been “Is Alec okay?” instead of “Are you okay?” This morning, he might have choked on the expected “I’m fine,” and blurted out something reckless like, “No, I’m not fucking okay.” If that had happened, everything would have spiraled out of control.

He settled for a simple, safe statement.

"I'll go check on him."

He finished tightening his laces and left the room rapidly, leaving behind the sound of Sam yawning and muttering something about putting on some coffee.

The cold hit him as soon as he stepped outside, biting into his exposed skin and piercing through his clothes. He cursed under his breath, muttering about clones who ventured out into sub-zero temperatures at dawn and younger brothers still tucked in bed.

He followed after Alec, tracing the clear boot prints etched in the fur of thick frost. Just a few steps out, he heard a sound that was half yelp, half gasp—a cry of shock and pain that sent Dean sprinting. He rounded the corner of the house to find Alec struggling to straighten himself up.

"Alec?  Dude, are you okay?"

Alec’s features were gray with pain, yet his expression mirrored Dean’s own when he was desperately trying to muster that classic “I’m fine.” But the words never left Alec's lips; his face crumpled instead as he doubled over, clutching his abdomen. 

Dean grabbed Alec's shoulders as he straightened, his youthful face reflecting a look of near terror. But before Dean could steady him, another spasm seized Alec, wrenching him from Dean's grasp. Alec arched back and then snapped forward into Dean, collapsing against him. In his descent, he slammed his face into a metal car panel, despite Dean’s frantic attempt to catch him. 

"Sammy! Sam!" roared Dean. "Bobby, get out here!"

He dropped to his knees, trying to shield Alec’s head from further injury as the transgenic seized, his body arching off the ground in a convulsion of twisting muscles. A whimper escaped his lips, raw and involuntary. 

"Crap," whispered Dean.

The expression on Alec’s face revealed the excruciating level of pain he was enduring. Dean murmured words of reassurance, though he wasn’t sure if his voice reached Alec through the haze of agony. With a final convulsion, the younger man passed out. 

A half-dressed Sam skidded to his knees beside them, Bobby right behind, his boots unlaced, sawn-off shotgun in one hand and a wild look on his face. In a distracted way Dean noted he was wearing pyjamas under his hunting jacket.

"Seizure."  Dean said, his voice flat in the icy air.  "Let's get him inside while he's out of it."

They gently laid Alec down on the old, musty couch. Bobby cleared away a pile of books and tattered stuffing to create space for Alec's long legs, which were shifting restlessly as he began to stir.

Sam leaned in, speaking softly as he wiped away the blood trickling down Alec’s cheek. The nasty gash left by the metal panel looked painful but didn’t seem too deep. With Alec’s accelerated healing, it likely wouldn’t require stitches.

Alec’s eyes fluttered open slowly as he took in his surroundings. An embarrassed flush spread across his pale cheeks when he realized they were all watching him.

"Well, that was fun," he said in a ragged whisper. His bottom lip trembled, causing his attempt at bravado to fail miserably.

"Alec."

Dean's voice pulled the glassy gaze in his direction.

"You had some sort of seizure. Ever had one before, dude?”

"No. Not me. X5s..."

Alec shuddered, swallowed, trying to talk through chattering teeth.

"X5s h... have a serotonin imbalance. We... we Uh.."

Another, stronger spasm pulled him sideways; he ground his cheek into the couch. Bobby laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Try an' relax when they hit kiddo; it'll help."

He stooped down beside the younger man, waiting until the cramps eased.

"That's it; nice an’ easy does it."

He put a hand on Alec's cheek, tapping it gently to get his attention.

"Do y’take any meds?"

"No."

Alec coughed, trying to clear the hoarseness from his voice.

"Manticore put sup... supplements, with our food."

Sam leaned in. "And since Manticore? Do you take anything now?"

"No. Been okay, just... milk. Milk helps. Max used to take Tryptophan, but they fixed her."

Alec's head dropped back. He looked exhausted.

"Tryptophan."

Sam had already flipped open his laptop. He continued in an undertone.

“Why do I know something about that?”

"No milk." Dean's voice came from the doorway. He shook the empty carton to emphasise his point.

Bobby checked his watch. "Gas station sells it but they ain’t open yet. Hammer on the door and tell ‘em Bobby Singer sent ya. They’ll let y’have some."

Dean's boots thundered out of the house, the Impala leaving a stripe of rubber behind as she hit the blacktop outside Bobby's gate.

"Bobby," Sam hissed.

He pointed at the screen of the laptop.

"Tryptophan might be difficult. Looks like the FDA lifted its import ban in 2005, but there's no guarantee that supplies available to consumers aren't contaminated."

Bobby scratched his head, frowning.

"Leave it with me, I've got a contact. Clone boy here’s got enough problems without us buyin' somethin' that'll poison him too."

Alec shifted restlessly, and Bobby moved to sit beside him, a knot of worry tightening in his stomach at the scared look that Alec couldn't mask. The resemblance to Dean was uncanny, and seeing one of the boys in pain always made Bobby feel physically ill.

“You okay there, kiddo?”

"It's comin' b...back."

Alec’s teeth gleamed white, lips pulled back in a grimace, as the next shock coursed through him. His head thumped backward against the couch, driven by the vicious, rhythmic spasms that tore through his body.

"Aww kid."

Bobby watched Alec with genuine pity as the seizure finally eased. He pulled an oily rag from his pocket and gently wiped away the line of drool pooling on Alec's chin, then swiped his cuff across the sweat-beaded forehead. Alec lay still, panting, his green eyes dull beneath drooping lashes. Bobby settled more comfortably on the edge of the couch, keeping a reassuring hand on one shoulder. After a while, the transgenic drifted into a light doze, the tension slowly leaving his body.

.

Even shark DNA only keeps you awake so long. By mid-morning Max was feeling the strain. Later she would blame being tired for nearly walking straight into the clutches of Ames White. The alternative, that she was worried enough by Alec’s disappearance to be seriously distracted, was ridiculous.

If it hadn’t been for her enhanced sense of smell, she would have been taken. Fortunately a stray trickle of air seeping around the street stall brought her a scent to her nostrils that jerked her out of her thoughts and into the present with a shock. White. Much too close.

Max reacted immediately, actually feeling White’s fingers graze her sleeve as she threw her leg over her bike and pedalled furiously into the crowd. A hum of swearing rose behind her as she forced herself through the throng.

Running footsteps behind gave way to the noise of a car door slamming and the roar of an engine. She swerved, dodged, almost fell but regained her balance with cat-like ease.

She took a short cut through a narrow alley, barely wide enough for her bike to fit through. The sector police were ahead, grim faced behind their barrier. Max swerved past the queuing vehicles, unzipped her jacket to show her cleavage to maximum advantage, plastered on her widest smile and flashed her sector pass at the nearest policeman. He made a cursory inspection of her pass, took a long stare at her cleavage and raised the barrier. She was underneath it and away while it was still rising.

Three swift turns later and she was in the maze of passageways leading alongside the wire fence separating one sector from another. She approached the fence cautiously, glad that her Jam Pony bag had lost its logo.

White’s sleek black car was on the other side of the wire, snarled up in the traffic waiting to get through the barrier. He got out of the car, glancing up at a nearby hovering drone, before staring at her through the wire.

“452.”

Max scowled at him. He wasn’t going to jump the wire with the drone overhead.

White grinned, pulling his lips back from his square, white teeth. “Next time, 452. I’m going to get you; then I’m going to get your mouthy friend 494 and I’m gonna make you both wish you’d never been cooked up in that petri dish.”

Max’s stomach churned. She managed a sneer at White, flipped him the finger and rode off with her heart thumping. White didn’t have Alec, that was good, but where was he? She’d already checked his apartment and nothing was missing so it was unlikely he’d left town for a few days. She was starting to fear the worst. A nagging thought was making its way to the surface . Did the big X5 suffer seizures; he’d never mentioned them. There’d been no sign of tryptophan in his apartment or locker. Had he seized in the alleyway and just crawled off to die somewhere?

Max turned into the Jam Pony entrance, dashing quickly at her eyes. He was a pain in the ass, but the thought that the glinting green eyes and cocky smirk might be gone was surprisingly painful. It was far too quiet without his snarky comments.

.

Alec raised his head, a dazed look on his face, when Dean burst back into the room and snatched up a whiskey tumbler from Bobby’s desk.  A generous glassful of milk was pushed under his nose at the same time as a steady hand supported his neck.  Grateful, Alec drank, managing almost two full glasses before subsiding with a groan.

"'M tired," he muttered, shivering.

Dean draped a blanket over him, then gently placed his palm on Alec’s forehead in a now familiar gesture. 

"Get some rest. I’m gonna be right here."

Bobby's brusque tones carried in through the open door. 

"Yeah I figure that'll do the trick. I'll come m’self. Be there in ‘bout an hour." 

He stuck his head through the doorway, keys jangling in his hand.

"You boys got this? I'm gonna go get some pure Tryptophan."

.

Sam raised his head from the laptop.

“I don’t get this… everything I can find says taking Tryptophan in excess can lead to higher levels of serotonin; Alec says X5s have a serotonin imbalance, right?  But too much serotonin causes seizures?”

Dean frowned.

“Let’s not go all geek on this stuff, okay?  If Alec says he needs Tryptophan, we’ll get him Tryptophan.”

To their surprise, Alec answered without opening his eyes, although his voice was shaky and weak.

“Our genetic modifications are kinda extreme.  Manticore made us pop supplements every morning and one of them was Tryptophan.”

He sighed heavily.

“I made it my business to know what the supplements were… I had a few things working on the side, selling ‘em to the guards. Max took it to control her seizures, before Manticore fixed her. We’re all meant to be fixed, but some X5s get an imbalance anyway.”

The speech seemed to exhaust him and he curled in on himself.

Sam pushed gently, needing more information.

 “How did Manticore treat them, if they seized?”

“Big dose of Tryptophan.”

“And then, if that didn’t work?”

It was better to know the worst-case scenario now, Sam thought, while Alec was still able to talk.

Alec pressed his face deeper into the ripped cushion, his tone flat.

"Terminated. They were terminated." 

“Son of a bitch! I hate those freaks. What kind of people...”

Furious, Dean slammed his palm against the wall, the impact reverberating through the room and making the aging window rattle.

“I’d like to pay them a visit!” He snarled. 

Sam shut his laptop and made his way over to Alec.

“Bobby should be on the way back,” he told him reassuringly.

He noticed that Alec’s cheeks were flushed a deep red, a stark contrast to his pale face. When Dean looked like that, it usually signaled a fever. Sam laid a cool palm against Alec’s forehead, and sure enough, the skin felt like a furnace, radiating heat.

“You’re running quite a fever there, dude.  Hey Dean, has Bobby got any clean cloths around?”

Dean hunted through Bobby’s pile of laundry, which was balanced precariously on the edge of a kitchen shelf. He returned with a relatively clean cloth and a pan of cold water. Sam wrung out the cloth and gently laid it on Alec's burning forehead. Alec’s tired eyes fluttered open for a moment before drifting shut again.

“I’m freezin’.” He protested. 

"You’re burning up. The seizures are making you feel cold. We need to bring your temperature down."

Sam could sense Dean close behind him, hovering anxiously. He glanced over his shoulder and noticed the exhaustion etched on his brother's face, the deep shadows under his eyes, and stubble dark against the pale skin of his lips and jaw.

“Dean, did you sleep at all last night?”

There was no answer.

“Hey, how about you make us some coffee, I could use a cup.”

“Yeah.” Dean dragged his fingers and thumb along his jaw, the dry rasping sound audible in the silent room. “Coffee.”

He retreated to the kitchen.

Sam had just re-dipped the cloth when Alec made a little hissing noise. He grasped at his thigh, raising himself to a sitting position.

“Not again.”

There was despair in his words.

“Could you use some more milk?”

Sam glanced at the half-full carton.

“Nah…”

Alec’s breaths sped up as his lips thinned out in a grimace.

“It’ll make me puke.”

He panted harder, once, twice, grabbed at Sam’s shirt and seized.

“Shit, Alec!”

Sam could hear the transgenic’s teeth grating as the stitches on his own shirt gave way. He thought it was a good thing Alec hadn’t taken hold of his wrist; there was no telling what damage he could inadvertently cause. 

He was about to call out for Dean when a vice-like grip seized his head. For a moment, he thought it was Alec, but then a familiar pain lanced through his skull. He dropped to his knees on the carpet, clawing at his head as if he could drive his fingers through bone and into his brain. Not now, not now, he thought desperately, but the vision pulled him in regardless.

.

As soon as Bobby opened the car door, he heard Dean shouting for him. He sprinted toward the house, his legs carrying him as fast as they could.

“A little help here, Bobby!”

“Bullcrap!”

Bobby came to a sudden halt, a bleak thought crossing his mind: his room was filled with broken things. On the mantelpiece, a twisted frame held a picture of a shattered marriage behind cracked glass. Ripped curtains, ragged chairs, and empty whiskey bottles with missing caps littered the space, remnants of a broken life and a broken heart. And on the floor, surrounded by tattered books, lay three broken boys.

Dean looked up at him with an expression of desperation, sitting on the floor with his back against a teetering stack of those same tattered books.

Alec lay on the floor beside him, his head resting on Dean’s thigh. The transgenic shook continuously, tremors racking his body, while Dean ran his fingers soothingly through his sweat-soaked hair.

Beneath Dean’s other arm, Sam was pressed tightly against his side, his knees drawn up to his chest. He held his head as if his grip were the only thing keeping it attached.

“What the hell is goin’ on?”

“Sam got a vision."

Dean lowered his head to Sam's, lips almost brushing against his brother’s shaggy hair.

"Okay there, Sammy. I gotcha."

He looked back to Bobby.

"Get some meds into Alec. He’s not gonna last much longer like this.”

Bobby grabbed the milk carton and moved to Alec's side. He gently helped him into a sitting position, noting the tear tracks on the gray pallor of his face and the way Alec’s fingers clutched frantically at Dean’s shirt. Alec had long since abandoned any pretense of being okay.

“Make it st… stop… p…please.”

“Open your mouth, kiddo.”

Bobby placed a pill at the back of Alec’s tongue and held the milk to his trembling lips. Alec swallowed, choked, and coughed, but eventually managed to get the pill down. Bobby repeated the process two more times before rolling Alec onto his side and propping him up with a couple of cushions. He dragged a blanket off the couch and tucked it around Alec’s shuddering body, praying the medication would take effect. He knew Alec couldn’t handle much more.

“Hang in there boy," He reassured him. 

Bobby shifted his attention to Sam, who was sipping water from a bottle while Dean rubbed his back soothingly. Sam looked completely wrecked; he opened his mouth to speak, but Bobby cut him off.

“Tell me later, kiddo. Get y’self together first.”

Bobby draped another blanket around Sam’s shoulders, and Sam exhaled softly, leaning back against the stack of books, clearly exhausted.

"That was about as fun as getting kicked in the jewels." Dean's voice cracked as he stood up. Bobby turned to face him, took in the strained look on his face and the way he swayed, and gently nudged him backward into an armchair.

“Balls! Put your ass on that chair; I don’t want all three of you layin’ on the carpet.”

He grabbed hold of Dean’s jaw, turning his face upwards.

“Ya look like shit, y’silly son of a bitch!  Have y’slept at all lately?”

“What? Yeah… I’ve slept! Lemme up. Sam, Alec…”

The words were slow, too slow.

“Shut up y’idjit! Sit down!”

Bobby scowled at him, disliking the gray cast to his features. He wagged a finger in a threatening manner.

“You’re playin’ wounded. Later you an’ me are gonna talk.”

Dean made a move to get up. Bobby laid a hand firmly against his chest.

“Y’move, I’m gonna kick y’stupid ass!”

Dean subsided. For a fleeting second Bobby thought he looked almost grateful.

Chapter Text

Sam broke the silence first. “Well, that was a hell of a morning.”

He finished off the last of the water from his bottle and rubbed his mouth. “Feel like I’ve been run over by a truck.”

“Right back atcha.” Bobby sent him a sharp look.

“Anythin’ in that vision of yours we need to know about real urgent?”

Sam shook his head, the weight of his thoughts pulling his brows into a frown.

“I think it’ll have to wait until Alec wakes up. It was in Seattle; I saw the Space Needle, but Seattle wasn’t looking too good.”

He noted with relief that Alec seemed to be deeply asleep, still on the floor but all cocooned with cushions and blankets.

“I don’t want to disturb him.”

Intriguing, thought Bobby. Had Sam had a vision from Alec’s world? Was that even possible? He focused on the pasty color of Sam’s normally tanned skin and pushed any thoughts of visions to the background.

“In that case, princess, get y’self to bed and get y’head down. I ain’t gonna be happy if I see ya again before chow time.”

Bobby glanced behind him.

“And go quiet on those oversized hooves of yours, y’brother is catchin’ up on his beauty sleep.”

Sam stood up quietly, peering into the armchair where Dean lay in a careless sprawl of long legs and dangling arms. He seemed to have shrunk inside his layers of jacket and shirts and someone, probably Bobby, had slipped a cushion between his head and the wing of the armchair. The slow rise and fall of his chest proved that he was, finally, asleep. If the shadows in the hollows under his cheekbones and beneath his eyes were anything to go by, it was a sleep long overdue.

Sam slipped the blanket from around his own shoulders and very carefully laid it over his brother. He hovered a moment, resisting an urge to indulge in a sentimental moment and do something soft like pulling the blanket up to Dean’s chin or rubbing a hand over his spiky hair.

Bobby’s voice reminded him they were not alone.

“I’ll watch him, boy. Get goin’.”

Sam pulled himself away reluctantly. He sent a small, grateful smile to the older hunter and headed for the stairs.

.

Bobby brewed coffee and prepared a big pot of stew. After feeding the dog, he settled onto the tumbledown porch next to him, sipping a bottle of beer while lost in thought. Eventually evening faded into night, and even Bobby's musings couldn't keep his head from nodding. 

He ambled inside. Alec and Dean didn’t look like they were moving any time soon and when he checked the bedroom, all that could be seen of Sam was a tuft of messy hair sticking out of a roll of bedding.

Bobby felt a little worn himself, so in the end he grabbed the blankets off his own bed and settled down on the couch, just in case Alec woke up and needed help in the night.

.

Alec was first to awake, his eyelids lifting to let in the wintry dawn. It was warm in his cosy nest of cushions and blankets and he lay there for a few moments, reluctant to let in the frigid air despite the uncomfortable grind of the hard floor against his hip bone and his need to relieve himself. Eventually he moved cautiously, grateful to find that his muscles responded correctly; they were really sore and stiff, but he figured that was to be expected.

A tub of tryptophan and a carton of milk were balanced on three books within arm’s reach. Alec propped himself up on one elbow and took a pill, following it with several swallows of cool milk. If the shakes never returned, it would still be too soon.

On the couch behind him, Bobby grunted and snored like a hibernating bear, while Dean’s deep, slow breaths were audible from the armchair. Even from this distance, the muffled thump of his heartbeat sounded stronger, the pulse of his life a bit less ragged after a much-needed night’s sleep. Sam was nowhere in sight, but the faint creak of a bedspring from upstairs suggested he was likely asleep in the bedroom.

Alec peeled back the warmth of the blankets and rose, moving slowly but gracefully despite his aching body. A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as he caught sight of Bobby's whiskers flaring in and out with each snore.

He padded silently over to the armchair, grimacing at the uncomfortable pull of dried sweat clinging to the fabric of his clothes. He definitely needed a shower.

Some sixth sense seemed to stir Dean awake as Alec came into view around the armchair. His eyes focused immediately on Alec.

“Alec? You okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Shakes have gone.”

Alec stretched out the ache in his muscles; a long, slow, bone-popping kind of stretch. He hid a wince and slid a smirk onto his face and a twinkle into his eyes as he reached out a hand to Dean, who was unfolding himself from the armchair.

“Need a hand there? ‘Cause you know, you are getting on a bit.”

Dean scowled and straightened up, rolling his shoulders. He batted away Alec’s hand and comment automatically, thoughts of Manticore overriding the jibe from the younger man.

“If I ever meet up with those sonsabitches from Manticore, I’m gonna rip their lungs out.”

“Aww… didn’t know you cared.”

Alec grinned cheekily at Dean, trying to keep it light, despite the warm feeling in his chest caused by his hazy recollections of the previous day; real evidence that, at last, someone did actually care.

Dean saw the deflection for what it was and played along, knowing how much he hated chick flick moments himself. He grinned back, raising an eyebrow lazily.

“Who says I care; mebbe I had plans yesterday that didn’t include looking after a pain in the ass clone.”

Alec dropped his eyes, his lips still curved in a little smile.

“Yeah,” he said. “Sorry about that.”

He shuffled his feet, feeling suddenly awkward, once again in a situation where his survival had depended on someone else's care. It made him wonder if part of his survival mentality had been irreparably altered by his transition between one reality and another.

“I’m gonna take a shower.” He headed for the door, slapping Dean on the arm as he passed. “Thanks man.”

.

“That’s all I got.” Sam kneaded at the ache in his forehead. “I’m sorry Alec; that’s all I saw.”

Alec ground his teeth in frustration. They had gone over Sam's vision repeatedly, but it remained so vague—a mere series of fleeting images. Sam had definitely seen Seattle, Alec's Seattle, with its debris, graffiti, and crowds of oddly dressed people.

Sam closed his eyes, concentrating, going over it one last time.

“A man—didn’t see his face—collecting money outside a place called the ‘Light of Life Mission.’ Two guys on motorcycles. Didn’t see their faces either, but one had really dark hair, and the other was just a blur. Then the dark-haired guy, lying on the ground, getting beaten. Later, he’s hung upside down next to a burning cross…”

Muscles in Sam’s throat worked as he swallowed convulsively, still feeling sick at the mental image.

“…the way he’s hanging, I think he’s dead. There’s a barcode on the back of his neck, like yours. And there’s a mob, TV cameras, and some reporter talking about transgenic freaks. And that was it, man. I’m sorry.”

Sam dropped his head into his hands, the images burned into his mind.

Alec paced across the floor in a continuous, stress-induced pattern, lithe and dangerous as any caged predator.

“I gotta get back. They’re gonna need my help!”

“Steady there.” Bobby’s voice cut through the fog of tension. “First off, we dunno how to get you back. Yet. But I’m working on that. Second, this vision is in your Seattle. That means it’s at least fourteen, fifteen years in the future, so there ain’t no rush.”

He paused, watching the younger men’s faces flit through a variety of expressions as that information sunk in.

“You’re all kinda busted up. Sit back and kick y’heels for a spell. First we gotta figure out how to get Alec back.”

Like it or not, it made sense. Most things Bobby said made sense, even if you weren’t too happy to hear them at the time.

.

“Hey, big fella!”

Max spread a warm smile across her face and pushed the door open. The smell of oil paints and thinners hit her in a powerful wave and made her nose wrinkle.

Joshua turned, a surprisingly happy grin on his face. He’d been moping for Alec. Max couldn’t quite get her head around the fact that anyone could miss Alec’s smart mouth and uncaring attitude as much as Joshua did. It was good to see him more cheerful. He was painting on a large canvas and Max stepped closer to see.

“Little fella,”

Joshua boomed enthusiastically, waving a brush laden with yellow paint around. A fair amount detached itself from the bristles and spattered across the room. Max retreated a little, wiping a blob of yellow off her cuff.

“That’s a new one?”

She gestured at the large painting, slightly mesmerised by the multi-colored patterns splashed across the canvas.

“Yes. Big fella is drawing Alec.”

Joshua beamed at her.

“Oh.” Max sighed. “I’m sorry Joshua. I haven’t found him yet.”

She watched her friend anxiously.

To her surprise, Joshua smiled again, waving his brush airily around.

“No need to be looking for Alec. Medium fella is safe with himself and the brother.”

Max’s forehead creased in confusion.

“Alec is by himself? What brother?”

Surely there wasn’t another clone?

“No. Not Alec with Alec! Alec is with himself, older Alec. And older Alec’s brother, lotsa hair.”

He jabbed a paint streaked finger at the canvas.

“Look! Here is Alec…”

A pretty swirl of yellow, orange and red, with a jagged dark centre.

“…and here is older Alec…”

The finger pointed to a splash of emerald green and a brown that put Max in mind of distressed leather, all coiled about with what appeared to be twisted dark roots.

“…and the brother…”

Soft blues and greens and browns this time, with a harsh streak of bright yellow in the centre.

Max’s bewilderment was easy to see on her face.

“You’ve seen Alec?”

Why hadn’t Joshua told her!

“Yes.”

Joshua beamed.

“Big fella is dreaming and seeing Alec with older Alec. And the brother. They all help each other.”

Max tried very hard to get more information but Joshua was adamant. Alec was with ‘older Alec’ and his brother; Max shouldn’t worry herself about them.

.

“I got it.”

Alec nudged Bobby aside with his shoulder and began reassembling the Dodge's engine, his hands moving swiftly and with confidence. Bobby watched, his eyebrows rising gradually in surprise.

With the last piece in place, Alec turned, a cocky smirk firmly in place. Bobby grumbled his acknowledgment; the kid sure learned fast. He remarked as much to Dean as Alec sauntered out of the workshop.

“Alec does everything fast,” Dean noted, glancing up from under the hood of the Impala and gesturing at the reassembled engine. “You about ready to put that back in?”

“Yeah.” Bobby craned his neck around the door frame. Alec was strolling back their way, three beer bottles caught between his fingers. “Let’s see how strong that boy really is.”

.

The engine went back in with ease. Bobby finished the last few bolts and wiped his hands on a greasy rag.

“You did good."

He delivered the praise begrudgingly, not wanting it to go to Alec's rather cocky head. He tapped the younger man on the shoulder.

“Go fix y’self somethin’ to eat. Me and Dean’ll finish up.”

Accurately surmising that he’d been dismissed, Alec sloped off. He sensed something was brewing with Dean, and from Bobby’s expression and the audible quickening of his pulse, it was clear he was about to tackle the subject. Alec rounded the corner of the workshop and paused, leaning casually against the wall, well within earshot of their conversation.

.

Dean watched Alec leave with something akin to dismay. The transgenic wasn’t the only one who was good at reading people. Bobby clearly had something he wanted to say and Dean was equally sure he didn’t want to hear it. He eyed the older man warily.

Bobby took off his grimy baseball cap and twisted it around in his hands for a moment before jamming it back on his head.

“Known you boys a hell of a long time,” he stated.

Dean dipped his head in acknowledgement, his heart rate accelerating and nausea beginning to curl in his stomach.

“Never wanted to see either of ya in the state y’was in after your Daddy passed.”

Dean sucked in a breath, held it.

“Now you bin away a while and I figured when y’came back… well…you’d be gettin’ y’heads around it. But you’re here, and you ain’t gettin’ your heads around it at all. Seems to me it’s affectin’ ya worse than ever and that ain’t natural.”

“Bobby. I’m fine.”

“No goddamit, you’re not fine, y’idjit! I’ve known ya since y’were knee high an’ one thing I know for sure is you ain’t fine… not even close to it.”

Dean closed his eyes, grating his teeth. He didn’t feel as though he even knew what ‘fine’ was any more.

“Tell me what’s wrong kiddo. ‘Cause you’re so wound up you’re gonna explode. Y’can’t go on like that, you’re gonna get yourself killed, or get someone else killed.”

Dean snorted, his eyes flying open. Bobby was shocked by the bitterness engraved on his face, by the harsh grate of his voice.

“Get someone killed. Yeah, I’m real good at that.”

“What the hell are y’talking about?”

“Dad! It’s my fault he’s dead, okay?!”

“What! ‘Course it ain’t your fault. He died, kid. And now he’s moved on and you gotta do the same!”

“No, Bobby! It’s my fault! I was dying, in that hospital. Dammit, I died! And Dad… he made some sorta deal…”

Dean's voice broke as he hurled the spanner in his hand across the workshop. It slammed into a box of parts, sending die-cast pieces scattering across the metal work surface, creating a discordant clatter.

Bobby blanched, his face contorting in disbelief. He didn’t want to accept what he was hearing. Not even John... 

“Deal? What kinda deal?”

“He traded his life, for mine.”

There was a wealth of pain in the statement and Dean stepped up to Bobby, taking hold of his upper arms in a vice like grip, not even realising what he was doing.

“And you know what really sucks? He’s not moved on. He’s in hell, fuckin’ burning… being tortured… FOR ME.”

His voice quavered, bottom lip beginning to tremble.

Bobby cupped his hand around the back of the younger man’s neck, giving him a little shake.

“What are y’talking about? How could y’even know that?”

“The demon bitch at the crossroads… she told me.”

It was all there - in the hoarseness of Dean's voice, the misery reflected in his eyes - the reason the boys were so deeply torn up.

“Demons lie, all the time, y’know that.”

Dean shook his head, grief twisting his features.

“She wasn’t lying. Just think about it, Bobby—one minute I’m dying, being jump-started… Dad’s fine. Then, suddenly, I get some miracle cure and Dad’s dead.”

Bobby swallowed hard. It made sense, and he wished it didn’t, but it did. He focused on the grief-stricken face in front of him, saw the damage that the deal had done spilling out over Dean’s eyelashes and streaking down his cheek.

“Aww Dean, don’t… C’m here kiddo.”

He pulled his surrogate son into a big, warm bear hug, wishing he could take the pain for himself. Of all the people in the world, maybe Dean was the one least able to bear this burden. Loyal, self-sacrificing Dean, who thought he was worth nothing and already carried around a load of guilt that would crush most people.

“Damn you, Winchester,” he thought, even though he knew he’d do the same thing himself to save the boy. “Goddamn y’for doing that to Dean.”

“He wasn’t meant to go out like that…making a deal with that yellow-eyed son of a bitch.”

Dean’s breathing hitched, hot and anguished against Bobby’s neck.

“What am I gonna do, Bobby? How the hell am I ever gonna put this right?”

Bobby put his big gnarled hand up and took hold of the back of the other man’s head, the short hair soft against his rough fingers. He pulled Dean tight into his shoulder and held him there, rubbing his back with the other hand. He could hear himself making comforting noises and muttering reassurances, even though he had no idea how to make things right.

Chapter Text

Sam was maneuvering the heavy weapons' bag out through the doorway when he caught sight of Bobby’s pensive expression. He stopped, letting the door rest against him for a moment. 

"You're doing the right thing." He said. 

"Am I? I sure as hell hope so, Sam."

Bobby rasped his gnarled fingertips against his whiskers, the sound rough and scratchy in the quiet room.

Sam nodded his head in the direction of the Impala, where Alec and Dean were jostling in a good natured way.

"They're going stir crazy here. It'll get Dean's mind off things and we'll get a chance to show Alec what hunting, Winchester-style, is all about." 

"Yeah an' I can get down to some serious research without them idjits under m'feet. Sure you don't want to stay?"

"Nah." Sam grinned. "Someone with a brain has to go." 

Bobby huffed a gruff laugh.

"Y'ain't wrong.  Keep an eye on 'em."

"Always do."

Sam patted him on the arm and stepped away from the door.  "If you find anything..." 

"I'll be sure an' let ya know." 

Bobby watched them drive away. There was a car load of angst if ever he'd seen one. Vision-plagued Sam, Dean tormented by his father's actions and for sure still hiding something and Alec, wound tight as a spring.

Sam was right; a hunt would focus them on something else.  Bobby had a theory he wanted to concentrate on and to concentrate properly you needed noisy, needy boys out of the way. 

.

Bobby's directions led them to the bright sunshine of a Californian city. It wasn’t Palo Alto, but the shady boulevards, palatial residences, and the lively chatter of students created an atmosphere that made Sam feel both at home and uneasy all at once.

They booked into a motel just outside the university area. It was a cut above their usual choice, but the convenient location made it worth the extra dollars. As an added bonus, the air conditioning worked and the bath looked nice enough to actually sit in without catching a disease. There were even complimentary bath and shampoo sachets and, to Dean's vast amusement, a small, free, rubber duck wearing a pirate's hat and an eye patch.

They dropped off their bags and headed out into the early evening for food and a few beers.

"These Californian chicks, dude, you gotta see 'em."

Dean winked at Alec, who responded with a nonchalant raised eyebrow.

"I've been here before y’know."

His face staged a charade, eyes glinting and lips curling into a smirk, but the flat tone of his voice spoiled the performance.

"I’ve travelled around quite a bit."

The laugh lines around his eyes seemed suddenly weary, making him seem far older than his years. Dean regarded him thoughtfully. 

“Guess it wasn’t a holiday in the sun then, huh?”

Alec dropped his chin and his gaze, letting out a bitter huff of laughter.

“I guess you could say that.”

Pushing just a little, curious if Alec would open up, Dean threw in a casual remark.

“Always good to mix a little fun with business.”

“Yeah.” Alec shuffled his boot toe against the sidewalk, the memory of a young brother and sister forcing its way through the barriers he kept in his mind. Young… in fact they'd been about the same physical age as himself, but in some ways he was already old and worn beyond belief. They’d seemed so immature, childish even, with their trusting eyes and easy lifestyles, welcoming him into their home, never suspecting they were unleashing a tiger in a nest of soft, domestic birds.

Alec had smiled and joked and played the bright, social game the way he’d been instructed. Two weeks later, he was heading north, leaving their father floating face down in their luxury, heated, swimming pool.

He grinned at Dean, no trace of humor reaching his eyes. “Always good.”

.

The FBI helicopter circled briefly in the darkness and came down on its designated landing pad at the safe house near to Seattle. Ames White stepped clear of the whirling blades and straight into the comfort of the waiting limousine. The armor plating muffled the whump of the departing helicopter as the glass division between Ames and the chauffeur slid back with a quiet, mechanical whirring noise.

“It’s all arranged, Sir.”

Ames nodded, recognising the familiar by sight.

“The interrogation?”

“Under way, Sir, as you requested. There will be a small traffic accident on the main route into the city. It will allow sufficient time for you to stop off at the interrogation site without raising suspicion at central HQ.”

“Good.”

Ames settled back in the comfortable leather seat as the glass panel closed.

The abandoned warehouse was a derelict hulk left over from pre-pulse posterity, sitting in a sea of cracked concrete amid the rusting remains of delivery vehicles. A side door raised as the limousine approached. Ames stepped inside. The transgenic was slumped in a chair in a pool of light, in the centre of the large empty building.

“Sir?”

A nervous voice piped up from his side. Ames glared impatiently at the small man.

“Well?” He demanded.

“He, er, he does know X5-452, Sir.”

“Good.”

Ames was pleased. Perhaps at last his hunt for the elusive ‘Max’, as she liked to call herself, was about to reach a satisfactory conclusion.

“I asked about 494, Sir, as you requested. 452 is looking for him herself; it appears she has no idea of his whereabouts.”

Ames raised an eyebrow. “No idea?”

“None, Sir.” The interrogator was firm. “I quote directly here Sir, ‘it’s as though he vanished off the face of the earth’.”

Something tweaked at a corner of Ames’ impressive memory. He nodded slowly.

“Well done. And 452, you know her whereabouts?”

The interrogator shifted awkwardly, his eyes flicking nervously to the side.

“Er, no, Sir.”

“No? Then why are you standing here. Get back to it. I need to know 452’s location. Immediately.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Sir.”

A pink tongue darted out, licking at the interrogator’s thin lips.

“Not possible?” Ames’ voice was mild.

“I’m afraid the transgenic died under interrogation, before that question was answered.”

“He died.”

The controlled violence in the quiet voice was unmistakeable.

“I’m really sorry, Sir.”

“Of course you are.”

Ames smiled, patting the man on his shoulder with a gloved hand. He raised his voice to reach the shadowy figure standing behind the slumped transgenic.

“Clean up this mess.”

“Sir.”

The shadowy figure stepped forwards, began to untie the bonds on the transgenic’s wrists.

Ames walked away. In the entrance he turned; the interrogator stared at him, his eyes wide as a rabbit’s in headlights. Ames pulled out his pistol.

“I don’t accept failure.”

A neat hole blossomed in the centre of the interrogator’s forehead.

Ames sighed, holstered his pistol and returned to his limousine.

.

Sam lengthened his stride, responding to Dean’s impatient wave. Alec and Dean were half a block ahead of him, weaving through the throng of young people gathered outside the restaurants and bars.

Sam’s long legs closed the distance easily. He’d fallen behind when he'd spotted an interesting-looking book in an old shop. The cashier was about to lock up but took Sam’s hastily thrust twenty dollars with a vague look, as if he didn’t own the place and probably wouldn’t be putting the money in the till come morning.

Sam’s height allowed him to spot Dean and Alec above the crowd, but he reflected wryly that he could have tracked them even if he were only three feet tall. He maneuvered through a group of excited young women scattered across the sidewalk.

He slowed his pace, contemplating whether it might be more dignified to slip into the bar unnoticed in their wake. 

Some sixth sense alerted Dean to his little brother’s decision and he slowed, turning to wait for Sam. Alec turned with him, grinning cheekily.

A mutter of appreciation rose around Sam as he stepped forwards reluctantly and with a start, he realised the  attention was now also focusing on him. He blushed, pushed the book into his pocket, pulled his shoulders back a little and stepped in between Dean and Alec. He slapped them both on the shoulder and grinned back. Sometimes, when he was following Dean, he just forgot he wasn’t an ungainly fourteen year old any more.

.

"So, werewolf hunting? Interesting.” Alec twirled his glass lazily on the beer-ringed table. “Lycanthropy... from the Greek lykos for wolf and anthropos for man."

“You studied some mythology?”

Alec shrugged. “A little. Touched on it briefly in our common behavioral lessons—y’know, Halloween, horror films, general knowledge. And Greek was one of the languages we learned.”

“You speak several languages, then?” Sam asked, clearly impressed. Alec was full of hidden depths.

“Yeah, a few. We were supposed to be able to operate anywhere globally.”

“There’s a lot of lore on werewolves…” Sam settled back, his expression slipping into what Dean thought of as his “professor” mask.

“The first accounts of werewolves come from Ancient Greek literature. You might be familiar with Metamorphoses? Ovid wrote about the Arcadian king, Lycaeon…”

Dean tuned out, feeling adrift amid the conversation about literature and languages. He knew the facts and the mythology, but more importantly, he understood werewolves—their weaknesses, their hunting grounds, and how to kill them. With a subtle gesture toward his glass, he pushed away from the table and made his way to the bar, feeling a bit lost and lonely.

Another beer and a whiskey chaser arrived as he slouched, letting his gaze drift over the clientele. He could tell from the interested glances that he wouldn’t be sitting alone for long, but to his surprise, an elbow nudged his immediately. He turned to find Alec beside him. 

“You comin’ back? You kinda ran off there.”

Dean forced a smile. “No. It’s good for geek boy to have someone around he can have an intelligent conversation with, y’know?”

Alec swirled the whiskey in his shot glass, studying Dean closely. “He can’t have an intelligent conversation with you?”

Dean dropped his head, nudging his glass along the surface. He grinned, taking some of the seriousness away from his words.

“Sam’s a genius, y’know? Got a full ride to Stanford and everything. I’m not all that clever. I figure he kinda misses having academic friends around sometimes.”

Alec tossed back his shot and banged the glass on the bar. “You’re not that clever, huh? Don’t know what they were thinkin’, then.”

Dean stared at him, wondering why Alec sounded so annoyed.

“You know my IQ’s pretty high, right? Part of that’s because I’ve got this awesome brain. Then there’s Manticore—they taught us stuff right from birth.” Alec grimaced. “Failure wasn’t an option. They had this great incentive program. Basically, if you failed a subject, you got terminated. That kind of concentrates your attention, y’know what I mean? So whatever brainpower I had, it was focused, strengthened, real early on.”

He gestured to the bartender for another whiskey.

“That’s the thing, though, y’know? They could only train what I had, get every ounce of IQ out of it. The brain itself, that’s the human part of my cocktail. The big cat genes—they give me speed, agility, enhanced senses. But the brain, that’s all from my human donor.” He met Dean’s wide-eyed stare. “From you, Dean.”

Alec smirked suddenly. “So don’t be going around tellin’ everyone you’re not a genius, ‘cause, man, I don’t want crap like that getting around.”

He stood up, slapping Dean on the shoulder as he moved away. “Personally, I’m kinda happy with my donor. You comin’ back over? Sammy’s looking lonely over there. Then maybe we can get to know some of these Californian chicks.”

He winked cheekily. “Betcha I pull one before you do.”

Dean blinked, a smile spreading slowly across his face. The bet was on... and he wasn’t even going to call Alec out for saying "Sammy."

Chapter Text

It took two days of pondering and head scratching and hunting through old boxes of notes before Bobby was able to lift his cap and run his fingers across his scalp in celebration. 

“Well, ain’t that somethin’.”

He plodded into the kitchen, chasing the aroma of strong coffee steaming in the pot. He sloshed a generous helping into a thick, chipped mug and laid a handful of crumpled notes almost reverently on the table next to his scribblings and books, directly below the pages torn from John’s diary.

There it was, the thing that had been nagging at the back of his brain ever since he’d shown those same pages to the boys.

He looked first at the diary pages, covered in John’s untidy script. They were dated 25^th – the day of Dean’s operation, 26^th – the day John and Dean ended up spending the majority of the day and part of the following night in an alternative reality, 27^th – the morning a delirious John arrived back in Sioux Falls.

His gaze switched to the crumpled notes… John’s original notes, copied days later into the diary. 25^th – the day of the operation. 26^th – the day John and Dean were absent from this reality. 26^th – the morning John arrived back in Sioux Falls. Arrived back in Sioux Falls hours before he’d left the alternative reality. At the time Bobby had put it down to John being so ill. Even so, some instinct had prompted him to keep those original scribbled notes.

The penultimate piece of the puzzle fell into place. John was pulled through into an alternative reality, with Dean, because his double was on the other side. Alec had been pulled through to Dean. So how had John returned the first time? He’d returned to this reality almost at the same moment he’d left; pulled through the barrier by his own presence.

“I figure that means we can get Alec back where he rightfully belongs… and how in hell am I gonna break that piece of news. Balls! It woulda been easier if the kid had no choice but to stay. I ain’t sure them boys can take losin’ anybody else.”

Bobby sighed, scrubbing his knuckles into his tired eyes.

The big question remained. It seemed John’s double had known what would happen? How had he known?

.

Bobby wasn’t the only one digging through his memories. Separated from the grizzled hunter by an incalculable distance and time, Ames White was using his considerable mental powers to reach a conclusion of his own to a question that had raised itself when that phrase “vanished off the face of the earth” had rolled off the interrogator’s tongue.

A phone call to a close associate in the familiars and an hour or so of impatient waiting ended with the ping of a message being received. He opened the attachment eagerly and allowed a smile to stretch his lips. The document was a copy of old research records compiled by the familiars into the early activities of the organisation that would ultimately become known as Manticore. He read for a while and then called for his car. Minutes later he was heading South.

.

Alec’s evening had been a success. It was up for debate whether it was he or Dean who had first attracted what Dean would have classed a 'hot chick.' The only impartial observer, Sam, was likely unable to make a judgment, as he had been surrounded by a group of college girls who were utterly fascinated by the fact that someone with such an impressive physique could also have a mind as sharp as a razor blade.

The end result of Alec’s very successful evening was that he’d had little sleep, and by pre-dawn, he was flat out in the motel room, breathing so deeply it almost sounded like he was purring. Hot California chicks were awesome, he decided, though, as always, he couldn’t quite relax and just be himself with an Ordinary. Still, it had been a strenuous night, and even transgenics needed sleep sometimes.

Deeply asleep or not, Alec was on his feet and in combat mode at the first sound of distress. It took him only a split second to assess there was no immediate threat, that Sam was still absent, and that Dean was having a nightmare.

Nightmares weren’t unusual for Dean. Ever since the night in the Impala, Alec had grown accustomed to the disturbed dreams that plagued the Winchesters.

Both brothers seemed to suffer from some suppressed agony that seeped out through the chinks in their sleep-loosened armor. Time and time again he’d listened, watching surreptitiously, as whoever was suffering torment was soothed by a word or a gentle hand reaching across to touch a shoulder. The comfort was both given and received, usually without either party fully waking, demonstrating each time how much the brothers trusted and depended on each other.

Tonight though, Sam was absent. Alec chewed his lip, uncertain whether he should intervene, but Dean’s distress visibly increased until he fought restlessly with the sheets and started to call out to his father with such fear in his voice that it forced Alec into action. 

He stepped forwards, silent and light as a breath of air. In the Impala his touch, his voice, had helped. But he knew that Dean habitually slept with a knife under his pillow and a vicious punch at the end of his arm.

“Dean?”

An anguished mutter answered him.

“Dean!”

Alec made it a little louder this time, but still there was no indication that Dean was aware of his presence.

He reached out cautiously, laying a warm hand on the uncanny familiarity of a shoulder identical to his own. The response was immediate. Dean surged upright, throwing a punch with one hand while the other swept a knife through the air. Alec swayed back almost lazily, effortlessly plucking the knife from his grip.

“You want to be careful with that,” he said easily, putting it out of reach. 

“What the hell are you doin’?"

“Nightmare,” said Alec, keeping it short. He wanted to get back to sleep and conversation seemed pointless; hell would freeze over before Dean told him what was wrong. 

The older man stared around the room, clearly struggling to break free from whatever still plagued his dreams. Light from the parking lot filtered in, casting broad stripes across the room through the broken slats of the blinds. It was enough for Dean to see that Sam was still out and that Alec was hovering uncertainly next to the bed. 

Alec thought back to the cold barracks he used to call home, to the trembling tears in the darkness of frightened children and, later, traumatized adults. Acting on instinct, he flopped down on the bed beside Dean, turned his back, and sneakily stole part of the blanket. 

“Alec? Hey, Alec?”

There was no reply. Alec rubbed his cheek against the pillow and murmured something barely audible.

Dean watched him with a mix of irritation and concern. Maybe Alec had nightmares too, though he seemed peaceful enough now. Dean sighed, letting his head fall back onto his pillow, a little tug of protectiveness tightening in his chest.

After a while, he turned onto his side, settling back-to-back with Alec. The warmth was comforting, and he felt safe with someone he could trust at his back.

Alec waited until the breathing behind him evened out and deepened. He smiled into the pillow, decided he was comfortable enough where he was, and drifted back to sleep. 

.

John Winchester’s residence was a sorry reflection of the depths to which the former marine had fallen. Ames straightened his tie as he approached the dilapidated trailer. The door was wrenched open and a gaunt man with a grizzled beard and unkept dark hair shot through with gray peered at him from intense dark eyes.

“FBI,” snapped Ames, brandishing his badge under the man’s nose. “We need to talk.”

“We do.” John raised an eyebrow.

“Manticore,” said Ames. “You’ve got information. The government needs it.”

John sighed, a resigned expression crossing his face.

“Knew this day would come.”

He retreated into the trailer.

“You’d better come inside.”

Ames stepped into the fog of fried food and stale whiskey. John stared at him balefully.

“You worked for Manticore.”

He waved a photograph of the industrial unit housing the laboratory under John’s nose.

“Here, you worked here.”

“Yeah.” John’s eyes narrowed. “I left.”

“Why?”

“They were doin’ things I didn’t agree with.”

The dark-eyed stare was fierce, challenging Ames to disagree.

"But you took the job. Says what it was, here, in the contract.”

John flinched, sighed.

“Yeah. I needed the work. Needed the money. It was a good gig. It was okay at first, y’know, volunteers, test tubes, just experimental. Then donors started turning up that didn’t seem to know what was goin’ on…”

His voice trailed off as he plucked distractedly at his jacket sleeve with one hand.

“You walked out. Why?”

“I wasn’t happy with what was goin’ on. Told ya that already. Then they brought this kid in…”

His head came up, anger pulling his brows down.

“That was the end. I wasn’t gonna sit by and let ‘em take DNA from some kid.”

Ames smiled an oily smile.

“Wasn’t just any kid, was it, John? Or should I say, it wasn’t just any man with him.”

John had the grace to look surprised, shocked, maybe even a little relieved.

Ames laid a hand flat on John’s chest and pushed the older man back. For a moment there was a flicker of controlled rage, an echo of the man John once was and perhaps could still have been if his life had turned out differently. Then he folded onto the stained, built-in couch and stared up at Ames.

Ames slapped his folder down on the table.

“Time to set the record straight, John.”

Chapter Text

Alec spat onto the whetstone and slid the knife back and forth along it. The familiar rhythm and sound of the moving blade were reassuring, and the simple, essential maintenance helped soothe him, filling the limbo in which he currently existed.

He glanced sideways at Sam. A difficult question had been nagging at him for some time, and now seemed as good a moment as any to ask it.

He wasn't sure quite how his years of training, don't get involved, had been overriden so easily, but perhaps if he had more information it would be easier to file everything away and resume his normal, detached existence.

He pitched his voice so that it carried easily. 

“What happened? To your Dad?”

He kept the knife blade moving, the rasp of metal against the abrasive surface suddenly loud in the room.

Startled, Sam dropped his pen, caught it again and stared at Alec with surprise. Alec was always asking questions, too many questions. Sam had bitten back the phrase ‘curiosity killed the cat’ several times before it tripped off his tongue. Questions about everything and everyone, but never before questions of a deeply personal nature.

He considered his reply carefully, sensing that, for some reason, this must be important. He took long enough that Alec began to fidget a little.

Eventually, he decided to keep it simple and see how the conversation unfolded.

“We told you. He died in the hospital, after the accident.”

Alec caught and held his gaze.

“I think maybe there’s a bit more to it than that?”

Tension was visible now in Sam's shoulders. The pen flipped and rolled across his knuckles, then back again.

“Why?”

“You two don’t sleep so good. I mean, there’s nightmares and then there’s nightmares.”

“We see some bad things, always have. I guess sometimes your subconscious revisits them when you’re sleeping.”

Alec nodded and swallowed hard. He was all too aware of how true that was, but Sam still wasn’t really answering his question. Alec tried again.

“You dream about Jess.”

Sam flinched. There was no need to respond to that. It was a statement, not a question. It was also accurate.

“Dean dreams about your Dad, all the time. Why would he do that?”

With sudden clarity, Sam recalled that Alec and Dean had been sprawled on opposite sides of the same bed when he’d returned to the motel room that morning. Had Dean suffered another nightmare while Sam was absent? Had Alec comforted him, just like in the Impala?

Of course Alec wanted to know what was tearing at Dean, breaking through the shell of ‘I’m fine’ every time his eyes closed. To tell him would bring back vivid memories of an event Sam tried not to think of too often. 

Dean’s gray face against the hospital pillows, the ventilator forcing air into his lungs, his body arching as the paddles were applied to his chest...

“Dean was hurt really bad." He cleared his throat, forcing himself to continue. “The yellow-eyed demon tore him up; the car wreck finished the job. He was dying, Alec. He did die, but they managed to bring him back.”

Alec winced. The blade stilled in his hand. Dean being dead wasn’t something he wanted to contemplate. 

Sam’s voice ground on, raw and pained, as though each word scraped against his soul.

“They told us he was gonna die again anyway and there was nothing they could do. Dad was hurt, but he was okay, just kinda beat up. He got all emotional… and believe me Dad wasn’t big on getting emotional in that way. He disappeared for a couple of hours and suddenly Dean was fine; a miracle cure they said. Then Dad was dead…he just died. And the Colt was gone.”

Alec was puzzled. He knew about the Colt and that it had been taken, but he didn’t quite understand what Sam was getting at.

“Dean thinks... we think, Dad made a deal with the demon. His life for Dean’s."

Alec’s eyes went wide.

“Is that even possible?”

The thought of dying for the good of his unit, for the mission, wasn’t foreign. It was, after all, written into Manticore’s standard mission orders. Selling your soul was a new concept, although he privately assumed transgenics didn't possess one anyway. 

“Yeah, it is.”

Sam told Alec about crossroads demons, the kind that made deals where souls were the currency.

“Thing is, that last big case we were on… Dean was told some things by the demon he summoned at the crossroads. She told him Dad made a deal.”

“That sucks.” Alec worked it through in his mind.  “There’s nothing you can do, right? And your Dad, he made that choice by himself?”

Sam sighed.

“Yeah. He did. The demon wasn’t too happy Dean was trying to deceive her. She made sure Dean knew Dad was in hell, that he was being tortured. That gets to me man, it really does…but Dean, he thinks it’s his fault. He blames himself.”

Alec was uncharacteristically silent. He understood the underlying reason for the nightmares and the guilt fueling them. But what silenced him was awe: the thought that someone might care enough about you to die and go to hell, to be tortured, maybe forever. He didn’t know what it felt like to have parents, but he thought maybe that kind of sacrifice was a big thing, even if you were someone’s father.

After a while he realised that Sam was still watching him.

“Thanks, for telling me.”

He knew it was inadequate, but he felt too trapped in his own thoughts to offer anything better.

He dipped his chin, fixed his gaze back on the whetstone, and resumed sliding the blade. A sharp-edged question crawled under his skin, making him uncomfortable and edgy. Whatever heroic brand of extreme loyalty had driven John Winchester to make that decision, was it woven into the strands of his son's DNA and, by default, into his own? If it came down to it, would he be brave enough to make that same choice?

In his mind, he heard his own voice.

“Well, when the going gets cute, the tough get going.”

Max’s sharp response and the look of disgust in her big brown eyes lingered in his mind.

“Figures you’d forget the one good thing Manticore ever taught us – never abandon your unit.”

He'd left them anyway, abandoned them to their fate, at least for a while. Maybe that was it—the reason he'd ultimately ended up alone in his own world. Maybe everyone could see there was something wrong with him, some flaw that made him shallow, selfish, and unworthy.

Alec kept his head down, pulling another knife from the cloth and running its blade over the whetstone. How could he ever fit in when Ordinaries were so... extraordinary? As soon as he found a way home, he'd drag his sorry ass out of here before he could let anyone else down.

.

John felt trapped, folded onto the too-low couch with his knees jammed against the metal pole that supported the table top.

He watched warily as Ames White pulled a bottle of John’s whiskey from the shelf and put it on the table with a dull thunk of glass against formica. A couple of glasses joined the bottle and Ames poured them both a shot, tilting his glass towards John in a mock toast.

John fought it for a moment, then gave in and downed the shot. The familiar burn spread through his gut, doing little to numb the steadily growing feeling that this wasn’t going to end well.

Ames opened the folder, the papers inside teasing John with their blank edges, their unknown content threatening his safety.

“So… you left the Marines, went home to Lawrence, Kansas.”

John remembered. It seemed like yesterday but, at the same time, so long ago it must surely have happened to a different person.

“You were settled, took a job as a mechanic, got yourself a girl. ”

“Mary.” John’s voice was soft, memories pulling his mouth into a little smile.

“Then suddenly you up and left, disappeared off the grid until you turned up working for some eccentric scientist near Gillette. What made you leave Lawrence, John?”

“What does it matter?” John stared at the file. “It’s old news. You know that much, you know the rest.”

Ames slammed his hand on table, making the folder jump briefly into the air.

"Once a Marine, always a Marine! Government owns you, John. Always has, always will do. Now the United States of America wants you to tell me exactly what happened in Lawrence, in your own words.”

He glared at John.

“It’s a matter of national security. You know those experiments have caused our streets to be infected with freaks, right? You were involved in that. This is your opportunity to put some things right. It’s your duty.”

Duty. John sighed. There’d been a time when his duty had seemed clear, before the ‘Nam, before genetic experiments. Now? He was an old man. It was a long time since he’d thought of duty, or of anything much past the neck of a whiskey bottle. He straightened his shoulders imperceptibly. Took himself back to Lawrence and a life that could have, should have, been his.

He told White about coming home, living on a knife edge of relief and pain as he tried to put the shattered remains of his life back together, make sense of it in the brightly colored reality of small town life. The job had helped, oil and machinery easing him back into an existence where there were no machine guns, no napalm. Mary had helped more. He’d glimpsed the bright soul beneath the soft blonde curls, behind the beautiful eyes. He’d wanted her. Not just in a lustful, one night stand kind of way, but in the whole marriage, home and kids way. For a while, everything had been almost perfect. He’d begun to heal, given up the whiskey and learned how to hope again.

Then he’d walked past the house in Lawrence, the house he’d hoped to buy for his Mary, and everything had gone wrong.

White pushed another glass of whiskey across the table, letting him take his time.

“It was a fine little house, y’know? I used to walk by on the way home from work and think one day it was gonna be mine. Then the ‘for sale’ sign appeared and I’d already bought the ring and I was gonna ask her to be my wife.”

John’s brows lowered, the hidden muscle along his jaw causing the white streaked beard to shift.

“It was hot that day. I stopped under the tree…”

John closed his eyes and could almost feel the warm trunk against his shoulder, through the thin material of his t-shirt.

“I made up my mind, there and then, I was gonna ask her that night. So I walked up to the door, raised my hand to knock. I was gonna see if we could come around and see the place the next day… if she said ‘yes’.”

He smiled ruefully at his confidence that the answer would’ve been ‘yes’. He knocked back the shot of whiskey, running his tongue over his lips, missing the drop of spirit gleaming in his moustache.

“Next thing, it was dark, night. I was on my ass on the ground and there was fire pouring outta the bedroom window. Some little kid came running out the front door, right past me; he had a baby in his arms, was looking up at the window, all scared. I could hear someone yelling inside, so I ran in and up the stairs. There was a man in the nursery, staring up at a great ball of flame pouring out of the ceiling. Didn’t look like he was gonna move any time soon. Then the flame, it roared at us…”

John wiped at the sweat greasing his forehead and shuddered, his eyes wide but the focus far away as he saw again the hungry gout of fire coming towards them.

“It roared, like it was alive, like it was comin’ for us. The guy collapsed. I grabbed him, dragged him down the stairs and outta the door and he took off running for the kids. I got a good look at him… and it was like lookin’ in a mirror. And I thought, ‘Is that me? Are those my boys?” Then I tripped, fell backwards… and I’m lying in the sunlight on the path with the house owner asking me if I was okay.”

John picked up the whiskey bottle, took down a couple of big swallows, not bothering with his glass.

Nothing had ever been the same again. By the time Mary had found him lying in the alley beside the bar, he'd drunk enough to sink a battleship and was still sober. He’d seen the disappointment flare in her eyes and whiten her cheeks. Next morning he’d taken his pounding head and blistered hands and gone North. Whatever was wrong with him, he wasn’t going to let it affect his Mary’s life.

.

Sam was too slow to warn Dean that the bathroom was occupied. He attributed his sluggish reflexes to the headache that had settled into his temples since his conversation with Alec that morning.

So Dean slammed the door open with his usual haste and was half way through unzipping his flies before he realised Alec lay sprawled in the bath.

Alec raised an eyebrow at him, completely unabashed. After all he’d lived the majority of his life in a dormitory or barrack room with communal showers. It definitely wasn’t the first time he’d been seen naked by a unit member, not that he had anything to be ashamed of anyway.

“Dude!” Dean said in protest.

“You walked in." Alec pointed out mildly. "I was already here. Possession is nine tenths of the law.”

“But DUDE!”

“It’s not like you don’t see it every day.”

Alec smirked, amused at Dean’s unexpected discomfort. It was, after all, basically his own body in the bath. 

Dean started to point out that living in small spaces called for unspoken rules, one of them being that you never walked in on your brother when he was naked.

That thought muddled his tongue and he was still trying to get his head around the fact that he’d just thought of Alec as his brother, when he realised that, naked or not, he could see very little of Alec.

“Dude!”

Alec frowned a little.

“As conversations go, this is gettin’ kinda old. You want to move it along past the ‘dude’ comments?”

Dean snorted, waving his hand at the sea of foam obscuring the transgenic.

“Bubbles? You’ve gotta be kiddin’ me! You’re more of a princess than Samantha here!”

Alec scowled, irritated. The bubbles were nice, soft against his skin, and the water was hot. It was a bath—clean enough to sit in, with hot water. And bubbles. Distracted, he swatted lazily at a few stray ones, feeling a strange thrill as they skittered away along the rim of the bathtub. He flicked at them again, faster now, wanting to chase them.

“Alec! Bubbles!”

Alec ignored him. Clearly, Dean was just trying to be irritating. He took a couple of deep breaths and slipped beneath the foamy water. Manticore had left him wary of unexpected submersion, but if he focused, he could hold his breath for a long time. Hopefully, by the time he resurfaced, Dean would be gone.

"‘Sam! Alec’s having a bubble bath!’ His voice was distorted through the water in Alec’s ears. 

‘Yes, Dean. A bubble bath.’ Sam sounded bored and mildly pissed. ‘That’s what regular people do with bubble bath liquid.’"

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically. Sometimes, Sam just didn’t get it. He hoped Alec would come up for air soon, because even though he knew the X5 had impressive breath-holding capabilities, it was still worrying.

It was really worrying. 

Dean stepped forward, itching to poke the transgenic in the ribs and make him come up for air, preferably before he lost control and risked catching a punch for dragging him out, just in case he'd drowned. But all thoughts of drowning vanished when he caught sight of the flash of yellow by one of Alec's toes. He swooped down, snatching the bright piece of plastic.

Alec shot up to a sitting position, bubbles and water streaming out over the edge of the tub.

“Hey!”

Dean grinned, waggling his eyebrows as he waved the duck just out of reach.

“Dude!”

“Don’t start that again. Did anyone ever tell you your conversational skills are seriously lame?”

“You’re playing with a rubber duck!”

“It fell in.”

Alec looked at the duck hopefully. It stared back with one painted eye, foam dripping from the black eyepatch. He snatched it back as Dean waved it under his nose.

Dean smirked, mischief glinting in his eyes as he headed out of the bathroom. 

“You want toys… I can introduce you to this chick in Illinois?”

Alec turned the yellow plastic duck over in his wet fingers, his face flushing with embarrassment at the teasing tone in Dean’s voice. He launched the duck casually at the trash can. It hit the metal with a dull clang.

“You think the toys you had as a kid were awesome? She’ll make you see toys in a whole new light.”

Alec looked at him, his face expressionless beneath a crown of wet hair and foam.

The door was almost shut when Dean glanced back. Alec didn’t look like a super soldier, or like a pissed off younger brother… or whatever. He looked like a kid in a rocking sea of foam, all big eyes under dripping wet hair. Big hurt eyes. Because of course Alec had never been given toys as a kid. Because Alec was never allowed to be a kid.

“Way to go, Dean.”

Sam’s voice was sour as he flipped open the laptop.

“Probably the first toy he’s ever had.”

“Crap." It stopped being funny. Fast.  “That’s just… sonofabitch, I freakin’ hate those bastards!”

Chapter Text

Ames White pursed his lips, sucking at his teeth.

“So, let me get this straight. Some scientist picked you up… and I mean literally picked you up, outside a bar in Gillette? Now why’d he be interested in a drunken hobo.”

“I wasn’t a hobo.” Jo hn’s voice deepened in annoyance. 

Ames curled his lip in a sneer.

“You were homeless, drunk. What’s the difference? Whatever… he was interested in your drunken ranting, thought there might be something in it?"

John nodded, still amazed at the generosity of the stranger who’d pulled him up from the floor and offered him a decent wage and accommodation in exchange for discretion, loyalty and a full analysis of John’s little ‘episode’. He’d never understood what part of his drunken ramblings had convinced a near genius that there was some truth in the story.

“I worked for Project Manticore before it even had a name. The guy who took me in, Budson, he dealt with Sandeman, but I only saw Sandeman once or twice. The lab back then was operating out of some industrial units near Gillette.”

“Go on.”

Ames tapped his fingers impatiently on the table top. This he knew already.

“I was security. They took it all pretty seriously. Genetic manipulation was big business, not the type of business you wanted spread all over the newspapers. Budson was working on the cloning experiments but he was kinda obsessed with my story; he wrote it all up in some file.”

John eyed the folder on the table, wondering how much the agent already knew.

“Sandeman wanted Budson to take some of my DNA, but Budson said it was too soon to use it; he said they needed to understand more about what’d happened to me before they started mixing it in some genetic cocktail. They did take some in the end but, far as I know, it was never used. I guess it was destroyed, when the DNA lab was burned.”

John paused. His knowledge of the workings of the scientific side of the laboratory was vague. Ames seemed to read his mind.

“I know about Manticore and their freak factory.”

He tapped the file with a squared off fingernail.

“Your little trip, somehow you convinced Budson it was for real. Budson was no fool… no way would he believe something without proper analysis, repeated experiments.”

John flinched. Those records should have been destroyed years ago.

Ames grinned at him, merciless.

“He sent you back. Didn’t he?”

John swallowed, reluctant. “Yeah.”

Budson had taken notes and written theories and talked it through with him, again and again. Then, like any scientist worth his salt, he’d wanted evidence. And John had been taken back to Lawrence, made to hang around near the house like some kind of stalker. After weeks, just as they were about to give up, it happened again. Without warning he’d been snatched away to find himself sitting on the grass of a neatly manicured lawn, watching the other John smiling and humming to himself as he polished a shiny beast of a ’67 Impala. He’d only been there for a few seconds. When he’d returned, he was sick, so sick he couldn’t even remember being taken back to Gillette. Budson hadn’t repeated the experiment, but he’d kept John close and John had been under no illusion that it would all be forgotten.

Ames nodded.

“Budson writes here that the experiment was a success, that you’d been drawn to the other John like metal to a magnet and then pulled back to yourself, arriving almost at the time of your departure. He states it wasn’t the right time to pursue it. Too much was happening on the genetic manipulation front. So he kept you on, as security, and to keep an eye on you.”

Ames pulled a photograph out of his file and slapped it on the table in front of John, raising an eyebrow.

The young boy in the picture was easily recognisable.

“That’s the kid that came to the lab with the other John; he called him Dean.”

“You’d seen Dean before, right?”

“Yeah. He was the little kid, with the baby, on the night of the fire.”

“How can you be sure? You only saw him for a minute.”

“I’m sure. I recognised his eyes.”

John’s voice was harsh. Mary’s eyes.

Ames nodded, dropping a second photograph beside the first. John peered at it in surprise.

“How’d you get that? That’s the kid, Dean, when he was really small, like on the night of the fire!”

“No,” said Ames. “That’s X5-494. They’re both X5-494. Dean’s clone. A genetically manipulated freak.”

A third photo floated down to the table top. A young man stared at John through the bars of a cage. Even behind bars the beautiful perfection of his features looked somehow dangerous, feral.

“X5-494, or Alec as he likes to call himself. A major security risk to this government and a major pain in my ass.”

John swore, quietly, viciously. Budson had lied to him; he’d assured him he hadn’t taken any of Dean’s DNA. Finding his double and the kid bedded down in the laboratory, with Budson hovering over Dean with his sample kit, had been the final straw for John. Already disillusioned with the whole cloning situation, he’d helped his double and his son escape, seen them disappear back to their own world and then left Manticore for good himself. There’d been no fear of him opening his mouth, not with Budson holding Mary’s life over him as a threat.

.

"Sam, quit worrying, alright? Of course I can handle a werewolf! When do we get to go take this thing down? It’s about time you let me in on the hunt. I’m going stir-crazy cooped up in here." 

Alec was restless, his energy buzzing beneath the surface, and his mouth ran at full speed until Sam's head started to ache.

Sam chose his words carefully, speaking with patience.

"I’d feel better if you started with something simple, you know, a salt ‘n burn or something like that."

Alec's eyebrows expressed his disbelief. Even after a few weeks with the Winchesters, he still found it unsettling that someone felt the need to actually look after him, worry about him. 

"Well, as far as I remember, I started at the top of the supernatural food chain with that demon!"

He slouched dramatically across the nearest bed, sending a few pages from Sam’s research scattering to the floor.

"Alright, Sammy, here’s the thing—I’m bored... and you really don’t wanna see me when I’m bored."

He smirked, a dangerous glint in his eyes. Research wasn't Alec’s thing, especially not when it involved staying near a campus full of girls Dean had officially designated as ‘hot chicks.’

Dean grinned back, caught between the rush of adrenaline building inside him and the need to urge caution, a sentiment clearly mirrored by Sam, if his brother’s expression was anything to go by.

"The lunar cycle's right. If this thing sticks to the same pattern as the last few months, by tomorrow morning, if we don’t do something, someone’s gonna be missing a heart."

Dean paused, locking eyes with Alec.

"You follow our lead, dude. These things? They're slippery, dog-faced sons of bitches."

Alec shrugged, grinning lazily.

"Me, canines... Natural adversaries, man. Superior DNA always wins."

Sam frowned.

"I thought Joshua was part dog?"

Alec's grin faltered, just slightly.

"Joshua? Yeah, he's part dog. But that’s different."

He rolled to his feet and turned away, pretending to inspect the blade of the silver knife in his hand. But a fierce ache, unexpected and sharp, hit him. He suddenly missed the big transgenic more than he cared to admit.

Dean read the movement easily and redirected the conversation back to the hunt, answering Alec’s technical questions without hesitation. All three of them knew the truth: the conversation had become a cover.

There was no doubt Alec was worried about his home. In Dean’s opinion, there was even less doubt that Bobby would eventually find a way for Alec to return. Once the hunt was over, they'd be heading back to South Dakota, and that was putting Dean in an uncomfortable position, one where he had to examine his own feelings about Alec’s possible decision to stay or go.

Analyzing his feelings wasn’t exactly Dean’s strong suit; he wasn’t sure he was ready to lose someone else, especially someone he was starting to see as a brother. He shuffled weapons around uneasily, still unsure how Alec had managed to work his way past all of his defenses and settle into the role of family.

After a while, an expectant silence made Dean realize he'd lost track of the conversation. He raised his head, struggling to pull his thoughts together, and immediately noticed that Sam looked pale and sweaty, rubbing his forehead.

'Sam? You okay there, dude?'"

Sam muttered something incomprehensible, his fingers tugging at his mess of brown hair in jerky, desperate movements.

“Crap!”

Dean dropped the weapons bag onto the floor and rushed forward, catching his brother by the shoulders just as Sam crumpled. Alec was at his side instantly, helping to bear Sam’s weight as they lowered him to the floor.

'Vision,' Dean explained tersely, remembering how Alec had been seizing and barely conscious the last time Sam had a vision.

Alec screwed up his face in sympathy.

"Looks painful. I always kind of pictured visions of the future with crystal balls and some mysterious, hot chick in lace and velvet."

Sam whined, clutching at his head, and Dean pulled him into a loose hug.

'It’s okay, Sammy, I gotcha.'

Dean cupped a hand gently around the back of Sam’s skull, supporting his brother’s weight against his chest."

"That sucks. No way to fix it?” Alec asked.

“Just gotta wait it out.”

Alec scooted sideways, out of reach of Sam’s large sneakers as they slid across the floor, while he leaned forward into Dean’s shoulder.

“Hey, buddy… come on, that’s it. Easy there…” Dean soothed, his voice a low rumble as he pulled Sam in closer.

Alec watched them, comprehension dawning on his face as the usual smokescreen of banter and disagreements faded away. The trust between the Winchesters, their reliance on each other, was suddenly nakedly obvious.

Alec swallowed, chewing at his bottom lip. He felt lonely, surplus. Of course, he thought, a sudden twinge of bitterness rising in his chest. That’s because I am surplus. An over-priced, worthless, failed experiment with no place in my own world, or anywhere else.

The surge of bitterness was quickly swept away as Sam groaned. Alec felt a rush of guilt. He shouldn’t have been feeling sorry for himself, not now.

Sam’s face twisted as he tried to sit up, Dean’s voice gradually pulling him back from the vision.

“That’s it. C’mon. You with me now?”

Dean put his hand on his brother’s cheek, patting it gently as Sam opened his eyes and slowly untwisted his fingers from his hair, his eyes focusing blearily.

“Dean, are you okay?” His tone sharpened. “Alec! Is Alec here?”

Sam’s head swiveled frantically until his eyes locked on the transgenic. He let out a huff of breath, clearly relieved.

“We’re all okay, dude. Calm down. Take a minute.”

Dean’s anxious eyes met Alec’s, mirroring his concern, as Sam sat up carefully, his knees shaking from the reaction. He pulled them up to his chest and leaned back against the wall.

Alec’s heart thumped painfully, wondering if Sam was about to deliver more bad news about his fellow transgenics.

“We’ve got to be careful on this hunt.” Sam cleared his throat and swiped at his sweat-greased forehead. “Something bad is out there... and it’s coming after Alec.”

“What kinda bad?” Alec stared at him, intent.

“I dunno. Just… bad. I didn’t see it. Just a shadow against a wall, a knife, blood. You’ve got to be careful, man.”

“Hey, I’m always careful.”

The corner of Alec’s mouth turned up, easy good humor sliding across his features, but it pooled far too slowly in his green eyes. “It’s just a vision, right? So we get to change it.”

.

The sun was beginning to settle lower in the sky. John licked his dry lips, eyeing the mean lines set into the face opposite him.

“What do you want, of me?”

Ames gave him that little humorless smile again.

“You’re smart John. Work it out for yourself.”

“You want me to find this clone for you?”"

“I have all the resources of the government, and more, behind me. I can’t find 494. What makes you think you can? I want this freak dead.”

Ames hissed, the words dripping venom. 

“I want him to be wiped off the face of the earth… never to have existed!”

John’s heart thumped, his pulse picking up pace.

“You want me to go back.”

“You say that like you have a choice, Winchester. You are going back. And you’re gonna kill that kid.”

John rose to his feet.

“No! I can’t control it anyway, I’d never find him.”

Ames slammed his hands on the table.

“This Dean kid, if he dies before his DNA is taken, 494 doesn’t ever get to exist.”

“Why? Why do you hate him that much?”

“He double-crossed me. That’s enough.”

Ames couldn’t explain to this man the deep gut feeling he had that X5-494 was just clever enough to be dangerous to the Familiars. He just knew he wanted him dead, even more than 452.

John shoved his way out of the door, stumbled down the steps, throwing his head back in the golden glow of the setting sun.

“I’d never find him.”

It was an empty protest and they both knew it.

Ames grabbed his upper arm, squeezing hard fingers into his biceps as he forced him to the wooden picnic table.

“Here…”

He threw a handful of photographs onto the wooden surface.

“Doesn’t matter when it is, so long as it’s before the DNA is taken.”

John focused slowly. The photos were all of the same kid at every age from baby to around eight years of age. Alec. A military kid clad in fatigues, short buzz cut hair, blank, tight expression and empty eyes.

“That’s his clone, Winchester. They look the goddamn same. Now you’re gonna go back to wherever the hell it is this Dean kid comes from, and you’re gonna kill him. You get that!”

John stared at the pictures, at the one of the caged, older X5-494. Alec. After he’d escaped from the hell that Manticore had become. An Alec with longer hair, street clothes… life and arrogance in Mary’s eyes. Of course, he’d figured it out years before. In that world John had married his Mary… this Dean kid was their son, could so easily have been his son. And that John had let his son run out into the yard with a baby, while he stood and screamed at a ball of fire. Only one thing would have kept John in that building while his kids were outside… Mary.

John looked back at the sunset. The light lit the deep brown of his eyes, setting free the green flecks.

“No.”

“You don’t have a choice here, Winchester. This is an order.”

John pulled back his shoulders.

“Yeah, I am a Winchester.”

He turned to glare at Ames, brows pulling down.

“That’s the only thing you got right tonite, you arrogant, pumped up little asshole. There’s no fucking way I’m gonna go kill a kid that’s near as damn it my own blood. You can go screw yourself.”

Something ugly crossed Ames’ face.

“You’re signing your own death warrant.”

“Bring it on, you piece of shit. I got nothin’ here to live for.”

Ames’ gun was levelled at him. John stood tall; it was too far and he was too old to take the bastard out, but there was no way on earth he was going to help him.

“I hope he kills you… this Alec. Hell, I hope he tears you to pieces. He’s the nearest thing in this world I’m ever gonna have to a kid… and I tell you this, that boy, he’s got Winchester blood in him, and he’s gonna hunt you down.”

Ames didn’t change expression at all as he pulled the trigger. The bullet left a neat, round hole in the middle of John’s forehead. For a split second, Ames thought he wasn’t going to fall; his dark eyes still staring. Then a little trickle of blood crept over the purple edge of the hole and he dropped backwards, thudding into the dust.

Ames holstered his gun as the sun disappeared behind the horizon. If you needed a job doing well, you had to do it yourself. He was going to find Alec, one way or another. If that involved trying to travel to another world, that wasn’t a bad thing, right?

He stepped past the dark huddle in the dusk, heading for his vehicle. The Familiars would realise how important he was to them if he could present them with a way of colonising other worlds. It was a big risk to take, but he was the right man for the job.

.

The ice dropped noisily out of the machine into Alec’s paper cup. He watched each piece intently, fascinated by this machine that dispensed free ice. Ice! These people didn’t realize what luxuries were all around them.

He straightened up, popping a nugget of ice into his mouth and savoring the sharp cold against his tongue before crunching into it, enjoying the brief spike of sensation that shot through his teeth. He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, smiling, his smile turning up to full wattage as he spotted the slightly pink-faced girl watching him from her room door. 

“Ice,” he told her happily, striding casually past. She stared after him, mouth slightly open.

Alec’s hand was already raised to open the door when he heard the voices. He let his hand drop, moving silently to the side of the door, and leaned casually against the wall—just a guy soaking up the warm rays of the setting sun and sucking on ice out of a cup if anyone was looking.

Dean's voice. 

“I don’t get it, Sammy. Why don’t you want him on this hunt?”

“Because it’s dangerous, Dean. He doesn’t know what he’s doing…”

There was a pause. Alec could almost see Sam waving off Dean’s unspoken protest.

“Yeah, I know. He’s a super soldier, I get it. But this is different. This isn’t a human being, Dean. It’s a werewolf. A monster.”

“I think Alec can handle it.”

An edge entered Sam’s tone.

“You seem to have a lot of confidence in this kid we’ve known for a few weeks!”

“Yeah.” Dean sounded annoyed. “Yeah, I have confidence in him. And he’s not exactly a kid. Dammit, Sam, he’s two years older than when you left for Stanford.”

“That’s what this is all about, isn’t it, Dean? Me leaving, having my own life.”

“How in hell has that got anything to do with this?” Dean sounded astonished. “Alec is here, on this hunt, because he’s a trained soldier. He’s got abilities, Sam. There’s no other reason.”

“You trust him to have your back. That’s my place, Dean! I’ve been away for a while, but I’m here now… And there’s something coming after him. I saw it!”

Silence. Then Dean’s voice, higher than his normal baritone, sounded bemused. “You’re jealous!”

“What! No!”

Sam mumbled something even Alec’s enhanced hearing couldn’t catch.

“You’re my little brother, Sammy. Nothin’ is ever gonna change that. I like havin’ Alec around; he’s easy to get along with. He thinks the same way I do, and yeah, you’re right, he doesn’t keep fightin’ with me over every little thing. But don’t you ever think I’m gonna replace you with someone else. There is no one—no one—ever gonna take your place.”

Alec straightened as Dean unexpectedly slammed his way out of the room. He stopped abruptly, his face clearly showing his regret that Alec had overheard the conversation.

If anything, that made the situation even more awkward. It was bad enough to overhear people speak their mind, but it was so much worse when they said things you might not want to hear—and then found out you’d heard them and felt sorry for you.

Alec schooled his features into indifference, not allowing even a hint of his discomfort to show. Of course Sam didn’t want him around, occupying space that rightly belonged to him. Of course Dean liked him because he was easy to get along with and removed from the immediate Winchester drama.

The brutal truth was that every minute he spent here, he somehow screwed things up for the people who’d been so good to him. It was time to go back. As soon as this hunt was done, as soon as Bobby found a way.

 Alec flicked his eyes up to meet Dean’s, never knowing how much he revealed in that instant. He raised his chin in a small nod of acknowledgment and forced a lazy little smile that lifted one side of his mouth.

“Siblings, huh?” He spoke easily. “Kinda glad I missed out on that deal.”

He dropped his shoulder and swerved casually past Dean, completely missing the ripple of muscle in his double’s cheek as Dean ground his teeth.

Alec dropped the cup of ice onto the table. He felt cold enough inside without the need for frozen water. A few pieces bounced out of the cup and skittered away across the shiny surface. 

“Ice,” he said unnecessarily. “I’m, uh, gonna take a shower before we head out.”

The bathroom door was the only real barrier that offered any privacy.

Alec set the shower running and peeled off his clothes, folding them neatly on the little stool. He glowered at himself in the mirror, tilting his head until he could peer sideways at the edge of his barcode.

“Stop this now,” he muttered to himself. “You’re a manufactured freak. A machine. Made to kill people. They’d put you down if they knew what you really are and what you've done. You were never meant to be part of anyone's family.”

He stood there, staring at the near-perfect image that hid the Manticore-created monster, until the steam from the shower obscured his reflection. Then he stepped deliberately into the stream of hot water, letting it pour over his head. It dripped from the ends of his hair, running into his eyes and down his face—until even a lost transgenic couldn’t tell if he was crying or not.

Chapter Text

“Hidin’ in plain sight, that’s what it is, Sammy.”

“I’d just feel better if you wore a hat, Dean.”

“No.”

Dean slammed the trunk lid shut with a decisive bang, effectively ending the discussion.

Alec watched them with amusement as he pulled up his hood. It didn’t bother him to wear a hoodie, to hide himself. Even in a world where transgenics were unknown, old habits made him feel safer when his barcode was covered.

Based on the attacks over the past few months, the werewolf’s hunting grounds had extended onto the campus—where there were far too many surveillance cameras for comfort, especially when you already had a police record. They’d already mapped out where the cameras were, but in the heat of the chase, the last thing they wanted to do was blunder in front of one just as they were making a kill.

Sam huffed, frustrated by his brother’s stubborn attitude. Dean shot him a glare in return.

“Whoa, hey…” Alec slipped easily between them. “I hate to break it to you, Sam, but we’re gonna blow it if some student sees the three of us lurking around in hoodies. We’re gonna look suspicious as hell—it’s not like it’s cold or anything.”

Sam still felt uncomfortable, but he could see the logic in Alec’s argument.

“I guess,” he admitted reluctantly, shaking his bangs forward to cover his face a little. “Just keep an eye on those cameras, okay?”

“Sure, dude.”

Dean slapped his arm, and they set off, moving smoothly through the grounds. They stayed in plain view, but out of the illuminated circles cast by the lamps bordering the walkways.

““Moon’s up,” Dean noted tersely as he scanned the shadowed lawn. There weren’t many students around—a combination of exam week and an unknown assailant stalking the campus had most people staying indoors.

They’d already walked around the majority of the campus when Alec cocked his head as his enhanced hearing picked up the sound of someone running through the woodland bordering the university grounds. Jogging, he decided, as the rhythmic gait and breathing came closer. A female, light, breathing a little hard on the incline back up towards the campus.

They sauntered onwards, casual, unhurried, giving the appearance of students heading out for a drink or to a study group. 

The girl’s pace faltered, then quickened, her breathing growing faster now. Alec stopped, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the trees. The Winchesters were at his side in an instant. He yanked down his hood, tilting his head to listen more closely. 

“It’s here!”

Even as the words left his lips, Alec caught its scent on the breeze—a strong, musky, canine odor, more potent than a dog’s. He hated it. Immediately. Instinctively. The hair on his scalp prickled as an involuntary growl rumbled from his chest, and before he could think, he blurred into motion, the Winchesters sprinting after him.

Alec was moving at full speed as he closed in on the girl from the side. He leapt out behind her, directly into the path of the werewolf. It slammed into him with a surprised yelp, and they crashed to the ground in a tangle of limbs. The girl shrieked and bolted up the path, ramming straight into Sam’s chest. He caught her, dodging her flailing fists, just as Dean raced past him and dove into the fray.

“Hey, ow! Stoppit. It’s okay, we’re here to help. Wow! That… ow!”

Sam held her at arm’s length, astonished that someone so small could deliver such sharp blows. She wailed miserably, unsure where to look first, and lashed out at him with her foot. Sam side-stepped, wishing he could push her away and get to the writhing, snapping mass on the floor behind her.

“Stop! Now!”

There was an echo of his father’s Marine sergeant tone in his voice. The girl froze, shock written across her face, before she started to sob.

“Hey,” Sam soothed, his voice softer. “I’m sorry. It’s gonna be okay, really.”

“Don’t hurt me!”

She sniffed, focusing suddenly on his earnest eyes and messy hair.

“That thing is after me! What even is it?”

Dean was thrown out of the tangle of fangs, claws, and Alec. He rolled smoothly to his feet.

“Get her out of here, Sammy.”

Dean planted a hand on Sam’s shoulder and gave it a quick shake to emphasize his command.

“Get her inside!”

Sam’s protest was cut off by an unearthly howl from the woods to their right. Without another word, he grabbed the girl’s arm and bolted toward the campus buildings, dragging her along with him.

“Alec!” Dean roared. “Get outta there!”

The transgenic flipped over, landing on top of the werewolf. He lashed out, the sharp crack of breaking bone cutting through the night air, then rolled clear.

Dean fired immediately, sending a silver round into the dark shape rising from the ground. The werewolf yelped, staggered, and raked out a claw in Alec’s direction. Alec blurred backward, the claw missing by a hair’s breadth as it passed under his nose. A second shot to the head dropped it, and it sprawled into the bushes by the side of the path.

“There’s another one!”

There was the sound of something heavy crashing through the undergrowth. Alec hissed, wiping blood from a gash over his eye.

“More’n one.”

“Sonofabitch! It’s a friggin’ pack.”

“I can hear four.”

And just like that, they were upon them.

The first one broke cover at speed, hitting Dean from the side and sending the gun flying across the path with the force of the impact. The werewolf’s claws hooked into Dean and swung him into the undergrowth.

Alec had no time to intervene. A second werewolf, with blond hair, came out of the bushes at knee height, sending him sprawling. He rolled instinctively, coming up on his feet with a knife in hand just as a third sank its claws into his shoulder from behind.

There was a shriek from the undergrowth. Dean staggered out, his silver knife dripping blood. He was immediately faced by the last member of the pack, who had just emerged from the trees.

“Down, Dean!”

Sam, right behind him, sounded winded. Dean dropped and Sam fired several rounds over his head into the werewolf's chest. It fell, almost in slow motion, looking oddly surprised.

Alec was dragged off into the trees, leaving his silver knife protruding from the chest of the blond-haired one.

“Shit! One got Alec!”

The brothers rushed forwards, fighting their way through the branches as the crashing noises receded into the distance. There was the sound of a startled grunt, a fierce shout and then silence.

They pushed past a screen of bushes and were brought up short by a fallen tree trunk. On the other side of it, Alec and the werewolf were crouched, facing each other across a small clearing. It didn’t look as though Alec had a weapon, but he was grinning, his face alive with devilment. 

“Dammit Alec, move, I can’t get a clear shot!”

But Alec was already moving, blurring towards the advancing werewolf. They met with a resounding crack and Alec flipped up into the air, landing on his feet behind the werewolf. He spun around, fast and light as a breath of air and leapt onto its back. A moment’s fierce struggle followed, and then they fell. Alec twisted away quickly, blood spraying as a severed head rolled across the clearing. He came up into a crouch immediately, his green eyes slitted and his teeth gleaming white in a snarl. He re-focused suddenly on the brothers, drew in a sharp breath and straightened easily, wiping the blood from his face with his cuff.

“Alec?” Sam's voice expressed his shock.

Alec flexed his shoulders and dropped his chin, quickly masking the trained killer within with a facade of youthful anxiety.

Ever practical, Sam cut through the weirdness. This wasn’t the time. They had five bodies to move and a hysterical woman, no doubt already calling the police.

“We drag the bodies to the side road?”

“Yeah.” Dean was already moving. “I’ll bring the Impala around. We’ll bundle them in a tarp and burn them far from here.”

.

Ames White was disappointed. John Winchester had seemed like the answer to a lot of his problems. Now the stubborn old fool was dead. But Ames wasn’t a person who gave up easily and he was a methodical man. He set out his choices.

• Assume Alec was gone. If he returned then Ames would kill him. If he didn’t, well…no loss.

• Attempt to jump himself. IF it was possible, would he jump to his own double?

It had occurred to him that maybe only Winchesters could jump… something genetic, some fault or ability. He’d driven away from John’s body and returned a few minutes later, on a whim. He was now in possession of a cloth bag containing locks of John’s grizzled hair and beard and a few nail clippings. If it was genetic… maybe, just maybe they would help.

• If it was the contents of the cloth bag that caused him to jump, would he go to John’s double? If that was the case hopefully it would be at a time when he could kill Dean and stop the whole DNA collection. It should be easy enough to return home. He knew John Winchester had lived in his trailer for a few years so he’d just go to that location in the other world.

• If he jumped to his own double, surely he could recruit his help, one way or another. Then find and kill Alec, or Dean, or both of them.

Ames sighed, it was a big risk but held the possibility of vast reward. The removal of one Alec X5-494 would be pleasing; the discovery of a new safe haven for the Familiars would be spectacular and would prove his worth to them more than anything else ever could.

His mind made up, Ames set out for a small town in the mid-west, a town where he had spent a considerable amount of time in the past; one where he could easily remember the places he used to hang out.

.

Sam was angry. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got—though he hadn’t yet bothered to figure out why.

He dragged his fingers through his smoke-scented hair, his voice rising easily over the sound of water splashing as Dean showered.

“I get it, you’re a multi-million-dollar, genetically enhanced soldier. You kill things—that’s what you do, what you were trained to do! And you're damn good at it!"

Alec winced, a flush of shame and embarrassment creeping up as he recalled his feral reaction to the werewolf.

“But it doesn’t make you invincible! You could’ve been killed, Alec!”

Alec stared at him, thoroughly confused.

Sam took a few paces, ran out of space, and spun on his heel. “First, you take off, don’t even wait for us. You ran straight at it!”

Alec frowned, defensive. “It was right behind her, man. No choice.”

Sam wasn’t backing down. “Then you go at one without a weapon! I was right there—I could’ve shot it! What the hell were you thinking?”

“I took it out. Didn’t flunk it. That’s what you wanted, right?”

A distinct pout curved Alec’s bottom lip, and Sam couldn’t help but feel an eerie flash of déjà vu—it was like staring at a younger Dean.

“We wanted it dead, yes. We didn’t want you dead!”

“I’m not dead! Look!” Alec waved his hand at himself, grinning. “See? Alive! Handsome as ever!”

“This is Dean’s fault.”

“What?!”

"This is his ridiculous, superhero idiocy.” Sam glowered, jabbing a finger at Alec. “Just ‘cause you’ve got the DNA doesn’t mean you have to adopt every crazy idea he has!”

“What are you even talking about?!”

“Taking unnecessary risks, Alec. Why’d you have to pull a stunt like that?”

“Oh, for the love of—” Alec threw his hands up. “I had it under control! Sure, there was a risk, but it was a calculated one. I knew I could take down the monster dog, and I did. Job done.”

Sam grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair.

“I’m getting some air. Call me when the shower’s free.”

Sam stormed out just as the shower turned off and Dean emerged, towel in hand, rubbing at his hair.

“What’d I miss?”

“Aw hell, just Sammy throwin’ a tantrum.”

Alec slapped Dean on the shoulder, swiping the towel as he passed.

“You should’ve seen his face, man. All scrunched up—looked like a bulldog licking piss off a thistle.”

The shower kicked on again. Dean raised an eyebrow, unsure whether to grin or duck for cover.

Chapter Text

.

When Sam returned, the large first-aid kit from the Impala was tucked securely under his arm. He nudged the door shut with his knee, and the sounds of the street faded, punctuated only by the final splashes of water as Alec turned off the shower. The room, now still, felt charged with tension, the humidity from the bathroom mixing with the sharp, antiseptic scent of the kit.

Dean regarded the kit with a mix of disdain and wariness, his gaze shifting between it and Sam. Sam met his brother's scrutiny with a steady, unfazed expression as he set the first-aid kit down on the table with a dull thud.

"I need to see those scratches, Dean," he insisted, his voice calm but firm.

"Alec first," Dean shot back, his tone leaving no room for argument. 

He gestured toward Alec, who had just stepped out of the bathroom, shirt open, droplets still clinging to the skin of his chest.

Sam opened his mouth to argue that Alec could fend off infection more easily than Dean could, but the fierce furrow of his brother’s eyebrows silenced him. The tension in the room thickened as Sam weighed his words, knowing better than to push it.

""Alec first," Dean repeated, his voice brooking no dissent.

To Sam's surprise, Alec shrugged off his shirt and settled onto the edge of the table with a casualness that belied the strained atmosphere. 

“Whatever. Let’s get this over with, huh?” he said, a hint of impatience in his voice.

Sam leaned in, his thumb brushing over the freshly washed, pink scar on Alec's forehead. He couldn’t hide his amazement. Just two hours earlier, that scar had been a jagged gash, its angry red edges stark. The dried blood had masked the rapid healing, a testament to Alec's healing ability. 

"I heal quick," Alec reminded him with a cocky grin. "But you might wanna take a look at my shoulder. Pretty sure wolf-boy left a claw in there. Don’t want it to heal over—it's a bitch having to dig crap out later."

He turned his back obligingly, giving the brothers a good view of the deep gashes that ran from the top of his shoulder and cut diagonally across his spine to the bottom of his rib-cage on the other side.

Dean hissed, leaning forwards for a better look.

“Why didn’t you say somethin’? These are nasty, dude.”

Alec shrugged, deliberately turning his face from the Winchesters as pain shot through his back. He was skilled at hiding his discomfort, but the Winchesters had a knack for seeing through facades.

"I’m fine. It’s healing. Told ya, I heal quick."

Sam unscrewed the cap on the bottle of holy water.

“This might sting,” he warned, sloshing it liberally over the gashes. There was a hissing noise and steam boiled from the wounds. Alec flinched slightly despite his best efforts and then his impassive mask slid back into place. Manticore didn’t encourage its soldiers to react to pain.

“Sorry man.”

Sam dabbed at the area with some disinfectant. Alec might have great antibodies but there was no harm in being careful. He noted with surprise that where the edges of the wounds were shallow, they’d already begun to knit together; there was no sign of infection apart from one small area low on the shoulder blade. He prodded at it gently, able to feel something just beneath the surface.

“There's something in there... it’s healed over.”

“Yeah,” said Alec. “Felt it snap off. Cut it out.”

He felt Sam hesitate. "Just cut it out, Sam. It's only gonna get worse if you leave it."

“You want me to…?” Dean offered.

“I got it.” Sam steadied his hand and cut a neat slice under the small protusion, prising free a green-black curved claw. He held it out for Alec’s inspection. The transgenic eyed it with distaste and turned away.

“I’ll put some stitches in these…” Sam began.

“No. They’ll heal better if you fix a light dressing.”

Going against every rule he knew, Sam obliged and minutes later Alec was back on his feet, rotating his shoulder carefully under the white dressings.

“What about him?”

He nodded in Dean’s direction and sniffed dramatically.

“I can smell he’s leaking all over the place.”

Dean glowered at him as he gingerly pulled off his t-shirt to reveal a few claw marks of his own. Sam was in his face immediately with the holy water and a terse snap to his voice.

"Really, Dean? How long before you were gonna mention these?"

His brother shot a death glare in Alec’s direction and batted at Sam’s antiseptic cream in a bad-tempered way.

“No mother-henning, Sam.”

.

Within the space of seven hours, Ames had covered most of the small town on foot, loitering in and strolling through every public place and a few more that were most definitely not public.

The majority of the places had changed very little since he’d lived in town; a little wear and tear and general fading the only indication that time had moved on. He didn’t fear recognition. Most of the residents seemed to move in a slow daze of hopelessness, but even so he kept his tinted glasses on his face and his official badge handy just in case questions needed to be discouraged.

Frustration was starting to eat at him; he’d pretty much decided it was time to jack it in for the day and get some food and sleep when he recognised the small, boarded-up house on Jackson Road. He approached cautiously, surprised that something that’d been dilapidated when he lived in town was still standing at all. He’d spent a week there once, holed up away from prying eyes, doing a bit of soul-searching. A haven, temporary and long forgotten.

Ames kicked in the door, the worm eaten frame splintering easily. He moved slowly into the musty air of the interior, pulling off his glasses and gazing around. Empty, apart from the scurry of rats and the flutter of birds in the rafters.

On the back wall, dimly illuminated by the dying sun, Ames could see the faded remains of his name, daubed in a childish graffiti of multi-colored letters. He smiled, sardonic and regretful at the same time and reached out his hand to trace the purple ‘A’...

...When he finally stopped vomiting long enough to open his eyes, he found himself staring at a man huddled beneath the graffiti. Long, straggly hair and a dark matted beard obscured most of his face. Even as he drew back from the unwashed stench, Ames already knew.

“You’re a fucking mess, White!” He snapped, lurching to his feet and delivering a swift kick to the cowering figure.

.

Morning found Sam immersed in research, again. Alec wasn’t clear on the subject matter, but Sam looked too far too involved to interrupt. Dean slouched nearby, half-hidden behind the sheets of the local newspaper, as he scanned the pages for any news on the recent events on campus.

Bored nearly out of his mind, Alec jiggled his knee, shifted on the chair, casting his eyes around to find something of interest to investigate. It was nearer than expected, right in front of his eyes. Dean’s stubble.

He leaned forwards, peering around the edge of the newspaper as he focused, fascinated by the dark shadows and even patterns of growth that followed and accentuated the bones and hollows of cheeks and jawline of what was essentially his own face. 

After a few moments, Dean became aware of the burn of Alec’s gaze. He twitched, becoming uncomfortable and then rapidly annoyed. His lip and brow curled into irritated lines as Alec leaned further forwards, staring at the way the growth extended down his neck and then simply faded away.

“What?” Dean demanded tersely, his eyes slits of annoyance.

Alec shot back in his chair, his eyes flying wide. He flushed. “Nothin’”.

“Nothin’? Even chicks don’t stare at me like that. There’s nothin’ here you can’t see looking in the mirror.”

Alec dropped his chin, flush darkening.

“Stubble,” he muttered, barely audible with embarrassment.

“Stubble?”

“Yeah…”

Alec gestured awkwardly at his own face, his gaze now directed firmly at the table top.

The puzzlement on Sam’s face suddenly cleared as something fell into place.

“You don’t shave.”

Alec shrugged, trying to play it down. 

“Manticore thought it was a waste of time. They fixed it so we don’t need to.”

Visibly taken aback, Dean squinted at him.

“What? You don’t shave, like ever, dude?”

“No.”

The conversation had gone far enough. Alec almost blurred to the door, muttering something about fetching ice. 

The brothers stared after him. Something dark curled in Sam’s gut, an implacable hatred against the monster that’d decided to produce an army of useful, replaceable soldiers. Soldiers who didn’t have the most basic of human rights, who’d never even have the freedom to choose whether or not to grow a beard.

.

The man wriggled, pulling at the bindings on his wrists. Ames jerked the cord around his neck with a vicious tug.

“Keep moving.”

“Don’t want to…”

His filthy double was a whiner, Ames decided. A hopeless, dirty, lost excuse for a human being. He was embarrassed for him, embarrassed for himself. He jabbed his gun into the grime of the man’s jacket.

“Move faster. I can always shoot you here.”

It was an empty threat but White didn’t know. He quickened his pace, skinny knees shaking. The cold violence seeping out of the large man behind him was terrifying. Even more frightening was the way he looked vaguely familiar, giving White an odd feeling that he should’ve recognised him.

When they reached a quiet residential street, Ames broke quickly into a vehicle and threw White inside.

“Stay still.”

White stayed, shaking, as the man hot-wired the car and drove them away into the darkness. Maybe, just maybe, if he did what he was told, he would live to see another day.

Later, Ames pulled the car over behind some bushes. He turned to White, checking the handcuffs securing him to the car door.

“We’re going to sleep,” he said in a flat voice. “But first, you’re going to answer some questions.”

White nodded, so nervous he was sure Ames could see the pulse jumping in his throat.

“Right. Let’s start with the date…”

.

By morning, Alec had slipped into uncharacteristic silence, his brow furrowed as he sorted continuously through the jumping threads of the thoughts that’d kept him awake for most of the previous night.

They were heading back towards Bobby’s as soon as Sam finished paying for the gas; that meant hour upon hour with the three of them in the confined space of the Impala. He wasn’t sure how to behave. Yet again, he’d made it only too obvious that he was a freak. Not even a freak of nature, just an outright freak.

What kind of man didn’t need to shave? For that matter, what kind of man ripped a werewolf apart with his bare hands? The answer was simple. He wasn’t a man. He was a monster. The same sort of monster that the brothers hunted on an almost daily basis.

Dean’s boots scuffed on the blacktop next to him. He slapped Alec on the shoulder, startling him out of his reverie.

“’M tired.”

Alec stared at him, bewildered by this unexpected statement.

Dean took a deep breath, gritted his teeth and dangled the Impala keys under Alec’s nose.

“You drive.”

He yanked open the passenger door with a howl of metal on metal.

“One scratch…” His nostrils pinched in, lips firming. “Just one…”

Alec was still standing there with his mouth open when Sam came out of the gas station store. Only his superior reflexes enabled him to catch the bag of candy that hit him in the chest.

Sam grinned at him, ruffling his hair on the way into the back seat. He dropped a bag of M&Ms onto Dean’s lap and settled back with a livid green smoothie.

“C’mon, Alec.”

Dean’s voice got him moving. He slid smoothly behind the wheel, eyes wide.

“You like candy, right?”

Sam’s head appeared between them as he leaned over the bench seat.

Alec nodded, for once finding himself completely without speech. He put the candy on the seat beside him, slid the keys into the ignition and stared at the brothers.

Sam slapped the back of Dean’s head with a large hand, earning himself a scowl.

“How come he gets to drive? He’s the youngest!”

“Cause, Sammy, he's got superior genes. And don’t get any of that green crap on Baby’s seat."

Sam huffed, grinning to himself as he settled back. He balanced the smoothie on his knee for a moment, dug around in his jacket pocket and pulled something out.

“Dean!”

Dean caught the object without missing a beat and slapped it down on the dashboard, flicking a tape into life with his other hand.

“Lucky charm,” he said easily, as he flipped open his dark glasses and settled them on his face.

Alec swallowed and blinked furiously as he pulled onto the highway. The yellow plastic duck on the dashboard regarded him with one shiny black eye. It seemed to be smiling.

Chapter Text

Ames pulled over as soon as they were clear of town.  He checked there was nothing coming from either direction and popped open the trunk to reveal the trussed figure of White, twisted around an odd assortment of junk. White glared at him balefully.

Ames hauled him upright and slashed the restraining cable ties. 

"Out."

White grimaced, massaging his wrists as he pulled the gag away. 

"What is your problem!"

His demeanour had changed considerably in the last twelve hours and he was becoming steadily less frightened and steadily more angry at his treatment. The interrogation the previous evening had been followed by hours tied up in the trunk, while Ames flexed the power of his official badge in the local Sheriff's office, taking a gamble that, in the early hours of the morning, a small town law enforcement officer was unlikely to question the bearer.  Ames' gamble had paid off and several hours with internet access had provided him with valuable information.

 Ames waited until White had clambered awkwardly out of the trunk and then thrust a plastic bottle of water and a wrapped sandwich at him.  White took them, keeping a suspicious scowl on his face. 

"You're going to help me."

 Ames threw some prints onto the trunk lid.

"We find these guys, you get to go free." 

White's gaze skipped over the photograph of Alec and the prints of Dean and Sam, then sharpened as he focused on John Winchester.

"That bastard!" 

Ames was shocked, hiding it with difficulty.

"You know him?" 

"Yeah. The murdering bastard killed my parents!  We were hiding out with some bloodsuckers by Louisville and that son of a bitch killed 'em all." 

"You want revenge?"

Ames smiled a little shark-like smile. 

"Yeah, I want revenge."

White's answer was fervent. 

"You're too late; he’s dead."

Ames watched the disappointment bloom, then smoothly offered new hope.

"These are his sons. I want them killed."

Spittle ran down White's chin.  He ignored it, his eyes filling with a savage hunger.

"You're going after his kin, I'm with you!" 

The shark-like smile broadened.

"Perhaps we can make something of you after all."

Minutes later they were headed towards South Dakota, the last recorded location of one black Impala, apparently the Winchester boys' preferred form of transport. 

.

Bobby's revelation that he knew how to get Alec home had exploded like a rogue grenade into the boys' new-found acceptance of each other.

For a while, Bobby had actually wondered whether he'd have been better to keep his mouth shut, but he was a fair man and sometimes being fair wasn't the easiest way, or even a route you wanted to take at all. Ultimately the decision had to be Alec's. 

The transgenic took the news stoically. There was a brief run of expressions across his face and then he shut down, a combination of Dean's DNA and Manticore's training creating a beautifully carved mask behind which his thoughts remained hidden from view.

Sam was visibly distressed, but uncharacteristically kept his mouth shut, for the time being at least. Bobby didn’t think it would last too long. 

After a moment of open dismay, Dean rapidly assembled flimsy walls and attempted desperately to hide behind them. His tortured glances from one younger man to the other told Bobby, loud and clear, that Dean wanted Alec to stay, but also raised warning flags that he was worried about Sam... even more worried than usual. That was something Bobby fully intended to get to the bottom of, just as soon as the present crisis worked itself out one way or another. 

It turned out that Bobby wasn’t the only one who'd picked up on Dean's anxiety, although Alec was more direct. He caught Dean by himself in the yard and dived right in.

"What's up with Sam?"

"Nothin'."

"Now see, that thing you do? Kinda pointless with me, 'cause I already know all your tricks. Being as you are me, or I'm you, or somethin'."

Dean blinked, trapped.

"Can't tell ya."

"That can't, or won't?" 

"Both." Dean's jaw took on a stubborn jut.

"You want to elaborate on that?" 

Dean shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged, his mouth pulling up in a weary grimace.

"Nope. I dunno if it's even true... It can't be true."

His eyes turned slowly to Alec, anxiety in their depths.

"But this thing Bobby's found out, maybe there's a way to alter everything."

And with that, Alec had to be content.

.

Max took Joshua's large face between her hands. She ran her thumbs tenderly down his cheeks.

"What's up Big Fella?"

Anyone who knew her would've been shocked at how gently she spoke.

"Big Fella is seeing Medium Fella...in Big Fella's head."

"Is Alec okay?"

Max asked, making efforts to keep her expression neutral. 

Joshua shook his head and Max's stomach lurched, annoying her; she still couldn't see why she even cared.  Joshua whimpered miserably, snot and saliva dripping onto Max's cuff. She curled her lip but kept her thumbs moving in soothing circles.

"No, Alec is not okay. White is hurting him and the other White is hurting older Alec! There is too much blood."

The thought of Alec being hurt, really hurt, brought a sick feeling to Max's gut. Alec and a man with his face...hurt. The thought chilled her to the bone. 

Max eventually calmed Joshua down enough to leave him alone and she headed off to Logan's with anxiety making her heart hammer in her chest.

There was nothing to say Joshua's visions were real, but the fact that her contacts had told her Ames White had disappeared from the scene a couple of days earlier wasn't doing anything to reassure her.

.

Alec felt like a leaf caught up in a spring flood, events had swept him towards places he'd never expected to be... places where there was family, support, where the nightmare that was Manticore had never existed.

Somewhere ahead there was a division in the river and he would have to choose one fork or another. In one direction lay the Winchesters, Bobby, a life of hunting and unknown dangers.  In the other lay the transgenics, his other 'family' and the dark cloud that hung over all their futures.

The need to make a decision nagged at him, consumed him enough that he'd already taken two full strides out of the liquor store in Sioux Falls before he realised he was being watched.

Alec stopped abruptly, his sole scraping on the sidewalk as he turned. There was no-one there. He waited, listening, shifting his grip on the whiskey bottle and beer, just in case he needed to drop them or use them or something. Still nothing, just the drift of his breath visible in the frigid air.

He walked quietly on to Bobby's old truck, every sense tuned into the flow of the evening. There was the click of a pebble. Alec spun towards it. Some fifty yards away, a man shuffled his unlaced boots away from the store.  He didn't look in Alec’s direction, but hunched himself into his ragged coat as the wind bit at him. Nothing else was moving.

Alec drove off, putting it down to being stressed and on edge.  For everyone's sake, a decision needed to be made.

Chapter Text

Ames collided with Dean at the gas station, the impact sending them both stumbling slightly as they met face to face by the 'reduced price' stand in the doorway.

Ames nearly, very nearly, went straight for a killing strike. If it hadn’t been for Dean’s quick, gruff apology, Ames would never have paused for the split second it took him to register the complete lack of recognition, the fractionally older face. 494 was good at keeping a poker face, but he wasn’t that good.

So Ames turned the movement of his hand into a swipe to catch a falling bag of potato chips and grinned a harmless apology and was past his target and outside without missing a beat.

So simple, it would’ve been so simple, to just kill him there and then, but that may well leave Alec running and alert. Past experience had taught Ames that a running and alert Alec was an impossible thing to catch. He’d come this far, waited this long; he could wait a little longer and take out Dean Winchester and his impertinent clone at the same time.

Dean felt the strength of the man as he brushed past him, finding himself fully wired for a fight without any apparent reason. He stared after the broad shoulders until they disappeared from view behind the gas pumps. He’d never seen the man before, but he didn’t like him; he really didn’t like him.

.

“He’s new around here.” Sam noted, jerking his head in the direction of the shapeless bundle of inhabited clothes propped up against the side of the store. “I wonder if Bobby knows anything about him.”

"Saw him a couple of days ago." Alec frowned. "I can't put my finger on it, but there's something about the guy I don't like."

It was an understatement. Even from that distance, the man made Alec’s nerves hum and sent a shiver up his spine. He was about to walk over to him when the rumble of the Impala reached his ears from behind. By the time Alec slid into the back seat, the man was out of sight, obscured by a vehicle that had pulled up between them.

It seemed Dean was edgy too. The Impala peeled away from the sidewalk, tires whining as it accelerated, causing Sam to raise an eyebrow.

“What’s up?”

“Dunno. Just somethin’ off about today.”

Still uneasy, feeling as though fingers were scraping up his spine, Alec looked over his shoulder through the back window of the Impala. His breath puffed out in shock. Ames White. Sitting in the vehicle by the store. The figure was hazy behind glass but, to Alec’s horrified eyes, unmistakeably Ames White.

“We gotta get outta here!”

Alec slammed his hand onto the seatback between the Winchesters.

“Go! Go!”

Dean didn’t wait to ask questions, flooring the Impala’s accelerator. The engine roared as she shot up the highway.

"Shit! It’s White. He’s followed me. We gotta go!"

Alec’s face was taut, shocked, his mind racing. This was his fault. Somehow, White had tracked him down, and now they were all in danger.

.

The thunder of the Impala hitting full revs bounced off the walls of the store as White climbed into the passenger seat of Ames’ car. He looked worried.

“Do y’think he saw us?”

“Yep.”

Ames didn’t seem particularly bothered. He slapped White’s knee in a paternal manner.

“Don’t worry yourself. They won’t be going far.”

He waved a piece of unfamiliar electronic equipment under White’s nose and smirked.

“And where they’re going, we’re following.”

.

“You lost him, Dean.”

Sam craned his head out of the passenger window. There was no sign of any pursuit. There hadn’t been any sign of pursuit since they’d roared away from the store.

“Still doesn’t feel right, Sammy.”

“We’ve toured more of South Dakota today than we have in the last ten years.” Sam pointed out. “There’s no sign of him. He might not have seen Alec.”

A tinny sound crackled through the air.

"Crap!" Sam lifted his cell to his ear. "Sorry, Bobby. Got kind of caught up in the evasion there."

“Bobby.” Dean raised his voice so he could be heard on the cell. “We’re gonna have to stop by to fetch our gear.”

Alec made a noise of protest from behind him.

“Put me on speaker.” Bobby’s voice grumbled through the car. “There’s no point y’haulin’ ass all over the state. If y’can’t see him, you’ve thrown him off y’tail. Either that, or he’s too good to spot.”

"Ames White is dangerous," Alec cut in. "It's me he’s after. Let me out—he’s my problem to sort."

“No.” Dean glared at him.

“You’re not in this alone, Alec.” Sam shot him a worried glance.

“Stop fightin’ y’idjits!”

"I don’t want to lead White over there, Bobby. It’s not fair you get dragged into this... You’ve done enough for me. I’m not putting you in danger..."

Bobby spoke over him. “I’ve been involved since the day John Winchester brought two little kids to m’house. You’re that worried, we’ll all pull out and head for the hills. How far out are ya?”

“Twenty five minutes, give or take a couple. But what about your place?”

“Good. That’ll give me time to get the dog over to Hank. My place? It’s a scrapyard y’asshat! There ain’t diddly squat here for anybody to mess with. The important stuff, it’s all locked away.”

“Bobby. Be careful. He’s not like a regular human.”

“I know. Y’told me. Now get your asses in gear.”

.

When they turned into the yard, Bobby’s truck was gone.

“Guess he’s taking the dog?”

Sam’s tone was uneasy. They parked up behind a towering pile of scrap cars and got out cautiously, weapons drawn. There didn’t seem to be anyone about and the house was still locked.

About ten minutes later Bobby’s truck clattered its way into the yard and pulled up by the house. The door swung open and Bobby got out, his movements stiff and his hands in the air. Ames White stepped out behind him, the muzzle of his gun aimed at Bobby.

“Come out! Where I can see you! All three of you.”

A confident smile played over his face.

"Son of a bitch! Is that White? I saw him at the gas station! Knew there was something off about him."

“Yeah, that’s Ames White.”

Alec leveled his gun, aiming at the narrow gap between Bobby’s head and the edge of the truck door. “I can take him.”

“NO!” Dean grabbed his wrist. “Too risky.”

“Sorry boys.” Bobby grimaced. “Got the drop on me. There’s t…”

The butt of the gun slammed into the side of his head and he went down on one knee, blood blooming on his face.

“Shut your mouth.”

Bobby was dragged back upright, the muzzle of the gun now under his chin.

“Throw your weapons down, now! That’s it. Kick ‘em over this way!"

Dean snarled as he complied, tapping his weapon with the side of his boot and sending it sliding across the yard.

“I’m gonna tear that asshole apart.”

“You’re gonna have to get in line.”

Alec was icily calm as he raised his voice.

“This is a pleasant surprise. Not enough people to terrorize in your own world?”

“Ahh 494. I missed that mouth of yours. So this is your donor? And that must be his little brother.”

“What do you want, White?”

“Bit slow back home. Running out of freaks to torture. Thought I’d pay a call on my favorite transgenic.”

Alec curled his lip.

“I told you before, I make it a point not to fraternize with automatons. You bore me.”

Ames White took two swift steps backwards, dragging a dazed Bobby with him as a living shield. He gestured to his right. “Get in the workshop.”

“Can’t we just rush him?” Sam whispered.

“He’ll kill Bobby.” Alec’s voice was flat. There was no doubt in his tone.

“Can’t you like blur or somethin’?” Dean’s fists clenched as he shifted his weight edgily from foot to foot.

“He’s too fast. I gotta be closer.”

They entered the workshop slowly, their eyes adjusting to the dim light inside. There was a scuff behind them as Bobby and his captor followed.

“Turn around.”

They turned slowly. 

Alec narrowed his eyes. “I don’t get it. I’m here. You’ve obviously gone to a lot of trouble to find me. So, why am I still alive?”

“Maybe I want to see you suffer.”

There was a blur behind them, a sickening crack of something hard meeting bone and Sam sprawled face-down onto the workshop floor.

At the same moment, Alec caught a whiff of something in the light breeze that passed through the workshop door. It swept past Ames White and into Alec’s nostrils, bringing with it the scent of someone who was unmistakably Ames White—but with an underlying odor of ill health, something vaguely rancid.

Alec spun, too fast for the naked eye to follow, but it was too late, much too late. The blade of Ames’ razor sharp knife cut across his torso. The weapon parted his t-shirt and his flesh down as far as the white bone of his ribs. Within the space of a shocked blink, the perfect slash filled with blood that flooded down, soaking the material over his belly.

The knife travelled on, its trajectory dipping towards Dean as he threw himself to the side. It missed the intended target of his gut and sliced into the top of his thigh.

Behind Alec there was a gasp of pain as White butt-stroked Bobby and the older hunter slid to the floor.

Alec, all consideration of his injury suspended, was already rolling across the floor.

He came up beneath White’s jaw and wrenched the gun out of his hands, took a step backwards and with the muzzle already lined up, pulled the trigger. White collapsed, a look of surprise on his face as the round took him between the eyes.

With a snarl of rage, Ames lunged out of the shadows. Alec spun to face him, but not fast enough to do more than deflect the slash of the knife. Ames followed his evasive move, slightly off-balance, his shoe skidding across a small, dark stain on the workshop floor. 

The air between them seemed to warp, like the shimmer of a heat wave, and an immense pressure punched forward past Alec, slamming him into the workshop wall. He struggled to regain his balance as the knife clattered to the floor with a sharp, metallic sound.

Ames was gone.

Bobby groaned as he pushed himself up on his elbows. Alec had already taken a step toward him when Dean’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

“Alec?” It sounded off somehow, weak.

There was a thud. Alec knew from the expression on Bobby’s face that it was bad, really bad.

He spun on his heel, his heart leaping in his chest. Dean was sitting on his ass on the floor, desperately trying to hold in the spurts of bright, arterial blood coming from the slash in the top of his thigh.

Chapter Text

The pressure wave rocked Sam back into consciousness. He would have given anything to stay wrapped in dark oblivion because, when he opened his eyes, it was to nightmare made real.

To his right, Bobby staggered to his feet, his expression that of a man who’d hardened himself to tragedy, but who, despite his best efforts, was still falling apart.

Directly in front of him, Alec was down on his knees, his chest slashed open from one side to the other, the front of his t-shirt and jeans dark with blood.

And Dean. Dean was just sitting on his ass on the floor, his legs stuck out in front of him, staring wide-eyed at the blood pumping out of his own thigh as his hands fluttered, shaking, trying to stem the steady spurts of red.

Sam’s vision had come true.

The sight shocked Sam back to full awareness. He watched, horrified, as Alec ripped apart the material of Dean’s sodden pants' leg.

“Let me see.”

There was a tremor in Alec’s voice, but his hands were steady as they moved along the blood slick skin, his fingers delving into the flesh of Dean's thigh in a way that turned Sam's gut.

Sam pushed himself to his feet, his brain sloshing around in his skull, a brutal reminder that he’d just been knocked unconscious. Despite the urgent need to get to Dean, he found himself back on one knee, retching as the room seemed to spin around the one point he could focus on: his brother’s hands, red and trembling, falling away from the wound and dropping to the workshop floor. There was a hopelessness in the movement that tore a primal sound from deep in Sam’s chest.

Alec eased Dean onto his back, and Dean went down without resistance, making no protest. There was no "I'm fine," and that terrified Sam so much that, for a split second, he couldn’t move. Then Dean sighed, the life visibly draining out of him at a horrifying speed, and Sam was up and running, dropping to his knees beside his brother.

"Dean! Look at me. Hey! Here—look at me. Hold on, man."

Dean’s eyes swiveled slowly toward him, already struggling to focus. A greasy sweat formed on his pale face as his blood pressure dropped alarmingly. Terror gripped Sam’s chest in iron fingers. It wasn’t fair. After everything they’d been through, it felt impossible that something as simple as a knife slash could steal his brother’s life so quickly.

Alec already had his fingers pressed hard against the pressure point in Dean’s groin, the heel of his other palm pressing down on top of them. The blood flow slowed, but it didn’t stop, and Alec swore under his breath, viciously. He turned his head toward Bobby.

"We need to stop the bleeding. Tourniquet."

"On it."

Bobby was moving, rummaging under the bench and dragging out a large tin box. Somewhere deep down, Sam felt a brief flicker of gratitude that the old hunter was always so well-prepared.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw Alec’s boot press down on his brother’s groin. He let out a choked protest—some sort of “don’t hurt him” noise—that died in his throat when he saw the look of determination on the transgenic’s face.

“Gotta stop the bleeding, Sammy.”

Alec applied pressure to the pressure point, and the flow of blood from the wound finally stopped.

"Bobby!"

"Here."

The metal box hit the ground with a clang. Bobby flung the lid open and thrust a dressing at Sam.

"Get that around Alec’s chest while I put a tourniquet on Dean."

Bobby peered at the wound on Dean’s thigh, sending a worried glance at Alec.

“Nicked the femoral artery.” Alec confirmed, his voice tense. “It needs surgery. Now.”

“Paramedics are on the way.”

“He’s lost a lot of blood. Hypovolemic shock is setting in. The hospital’s more than thirty minutes away by road. You need to get some of my blood in him; it’ll help with clotting, and the artery wall will start to heal. Even a little will help.”

The words came out like sharp, factual bullet points, delivered like a report to a senior officer. Cold, clinical, and detached. But the truth of the situation—a man dying beneath Alec’s boot—was something Alec couldn’t ignore. The fact that it was Dean, his responsibility, was pushing him to the brink of implosion.

“Direct transfusion?”

The stress was clear on Bobby’s face.

“I’ve got the kit… even got the anti-coagulant, but it ain’t somethin’ I’d ever choose to do. The risks… and there ain’t time.”

“We haven’t got time to collect it in a bag.”

“Alec, I can’t take any of your blood. Looks like you’re running low y'self!

“I’m fine. I can put some fluids back in, as soon as you’re outta here.”

“Balls! I can't! Direct transfusion... it’s archaic! The risks of clotting alone...”

“Bobby. I can do it. My blood, it’s not the same as regular blood. We were designed for this. Trained for it!”

Alec’s eyes flicked from Bobby to Dean and back again.

“I keep telling you, I’m not a regular, normal human being. You’re running out of options, old man. Out of options and out of time.”

Sam pulled the dressing tight around Alec’s torso, trying to hold the edges of the wound together. He figured anyone else would’ve already been on the floor, but Alec was still mobile, a picture of icy, controlled calm. Sam quickly tied off the dressing, desperate to be closer to his brother. He reached out with his voice.

“Dean?”

“Still here, Sammy.” The words were barely a whisper.

Alec let out an involuntary sound, a mix of relief and terror that echoed in the tense air. The icy facade of his perfect features trembled, almost shattering under the weight of his emotions, as he fought to regain control.

In that moment, Sam realized just how fragile Alec was—like a sheet of finely polished glass. One wrong tap, and he'd splinter into a million sharp-edged shards. A wave of unease washed over Sam as he wondered if Dean was equally vulnerable beneath his own tough exterior.

Bobby hunkered down, indecision carved into the tension of his shoulders and the deep furrow of his brow. He pressed his palm against Dean’s face, but Dean seemed oblivious, his gaze unfocused as he ran his tongue clumsily over his pale lips, staring vacantly at the ceiling. Under Bobby’s hand, Dean’s skin felt cold and clammy—a sure sign time was running out.

“Bobby...” Sam’s voice cracked as he checked his brother's vitals. “His blood pressure’s dropping fast.”

It was an emergency. Unwillingly, and uncharacteristically scared of making things worse, Bobby pulled a bag of equipment from the metal box and set to work.

Alec dropped down beside Dean, leaning in close, his face mere inches away. The intensity of his emotions radiated off him, almost palpable. “Dean. You gotta stay with us. We’re gonna fix this. All you gotta do is hang in there.”

“Alec.” Bobby glanced at the transgenic’s wrist, his eyes narrowing. “I ain’t sure I’ve got the eyesight anymore…”

Alec took the needle from Bobby with a sure hand. “I got it, Bobby. You set Dean up.”

The two men worked in sync, their movements controlled but urgent. Sam forced himself to stay back, out of the way. As he glanced around, he realized White’s body was still lying on the workshop floor. Reluctantly, he turned away, dragging the corpse into the storeroom. He grabbed a tub of sand and scattered it over the floor, turning the crime scene into nothing more than a messy spill.

As an afterthought, Sam rolled a sharp metal file into the bloody puddle near Dean. Bobby shot him a grateful glance of approval. The stage was set for a believable workshop accident, at least as far as Dean was concerned. Alec, however—well, Alec wasn’t so easily explained. But the transgenic seemed to read their minds.

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll be outta sight.”

Blood was already flowing into the tubing from Alec's wrist as he sat cross-legged on the floor, his full attention fixed on his double. Careful not to disturb the lifeline, Sam draped his jacket over Dean, then hunkered down and took hold of his brother's wrist in his long fingers—comforting and monitoring all at once. Dean looked up at him with a slow blink, his breaths shallow, sharp snatches of air that barely seemed enough.

Alec, his face pale and luminous in the dim light, reached out with his free hand, laying it gently on Dean’s shoulder. They sat there in silence, Dean held between them, watching as red life flowed smoothly down the plastic tube.

.

Time can be a strange thing. To Sam, the wait for the paramedics felt like it lasted a thousand years, yet it was also over in the space of a single, slow breath.

Then came the blur—high-viz jackets and bright red blankets, IVs swiftly inserted and taped down, dressings applied with precise efficiency. Bobby hurriedly shoved Sam into the Impala, and the engine roared to life as they raced after the ambulance. Meanwhile, Alec had already slipped away, vanishing into the house without a sound, unnoticed by Sam in the chaos. 

Sam stayed in a daze during the entire journey. He trailed unsteadily after the stretcher at the hospital, until the expected set of double doors were slammed in his face.

Someone gave him papers on a clipboard, but his IQ abandoned him. He just stared vacantly at the jumble of symbols on the pages, until Bobby gently took the pen out of his hand and filled them in himself.

“Sit down, afore y’fall down. C’mon son, he’s in good hands.”

But Sam stood, swaying like a tall tree in a high wind, waiting to hear if his roots were still fixed in the ground or if he was going to topple off the edge of the world.

Eventually the words “lacerated artery”, “some of the surgeon’s finest work”, “wonderful how that artery wall virtually repaired itself” chipped their way through the fog in his concussed brain.

He tugged at Bobby’s sleeve, seeking reassurance like a lost child as the overheard words rattled around in his skull like loose, jagged stones. 

“Yeah Sam, y’brother is gonna be fine. Just give him some time to come outta the anesthetic and y’can see him.”

Bobby’s gruff voice was oddly gentle and Sam finally let himself be steered to a ridiculously low plastic chair, surely designed for seven year olds. He flopped down, his knees nearly up to his chin.

“Balls… it’s just the concussion. Don’t apologise, y’idjit.”

Sam snuffled and snorted into the massive, cotton handkerchief that Bobby produced from his pants' pocket. He’d never put Bobby down as a man who used anything other than an oily rag or his sleeve for boogers, but hey, it was Bobby and he was ever a man of unexpected depth.

.

Earlier... 

Alec retreated to the kitchen. He sank into a chair at the table, his body stiff and exhausted from the tension that had been building for hours. 

Outside, the ambulance pulled away, closely pursued by the Impala. Alec could hear the sound of the engine’s roar fading into the distance, leaving him behind.

Alone. 

He began methodically peeling away the blood-soaked dressing from his own wound. His hands trembled, shaking from shock and injury, from the aftermath of the fight, and from something deeper he didn't want to examine. The steady rhythm of his movements helped anchor him a little, but it was a fragile tether. 

Alone.

The unspoken word hung in the air, heavier than the silence around him. It wasn’t just the physical isolation he’d come to expect since the demise of Manticore, but something deeper. An overwhelming sense of being unnecessary. 

He was just… there. Existing. No real connection in this world. No purpose. He figured dully that he'd never had a purpose other than the one controlled by Manticore. He only existed because of them, and now they were gone. 

His breath caught in his chest, and he didn’t fight it. There was no one here to see him falter. The house was quiet, save for the faint rustle of his movements and the hum of the refrigerator in the corner.

Alec focused on the wound again, trying to push away the weight of the word that was slowly suffocating him.

The slash was already starting to heal, the edges beginning to close as his body worked overtime to patch itself up. But the outer flaps of skin still needed stitching to bring them together, to seal the damage before it could worsen. Alec sloshed antiseptic into the wound, the sharp sting biting into his skin. It wasn’t really necessary, he’d dealt with worse wounds before without it, but the pain was almost a relief. It brought him back into focus, sharp enough to steady his trembling hands for the task at hand.

His breath was slow and shallow as he threaded the needle. The small, black stitches slid in and out with precision, each one pulling the skin tighter, making the wound close a little more. His movements became almost robotic, and the rest of the world felt far away, distant, like he was operating in a vacuum.

He didn’t think about the blood or the pain. He didn’t think about anything but the tiny, deliberate stitches.

When the last one was done, he cleaned the wound with a quick swipe of gauze and covered it with a large dressing, pressing it into place with his palm. The process was a small victory, a reminder that no matter how fragile he was, he could still stitch himself together, at least for a little while.

“IV,” he muttered to himself. 

He cursed under his breath, trying to line up the needle with his vein, but the renewed tremors in his hands made it nearly impossible. His vision blurred, and he could feel the exhaustion, shock and blood loss creeping in, threatening to drag him under.

In the end, it took more effort than he expected. PHe braced his wrist against the edge of the table, willing his body to hold steady. With a sharp intake of breath, he finally managed to pierce the vein, and the steady drip of fluid began. He let out a long, shaky exhale, his body sagging with relief as the cold sensation of the saline coursed through him.

For a moment, he just sat there, eyes unfocused. His head swam, and black spots began to swirl across his vision like a murmuration of starlings, their chaotic dance pulling him toward the edge of consciousness. The temptation to give in, to let the darkness swallow him up, was almost overwhelming, but he fought it, clinging to the faint rhythm of the drip. 

He was cold, so cold. Even transgenics could only lose so much blood before it started to take its toll. His body felt like it was turning to ice, each shiver an unmistakable signal that shock was creeping in. Shock, he thought through the haze in his mind. Gotta move.

With every step, his legs wavered beneath him, unsteady as though his body was forgetting how to function. He staggered into the front room, forcing himself to stay upright. The cold air clung to him, and the effort of moving felt like a battle he wasn’t sure he was going to win.

He fumbled with the IV bag, and hung it off the old lampstand with a shaky motion, the sterile plastic seeming foreign against his skin. He kicked the old electric fan heater into life, the motor groaned in protest, but eventually, the weak, shuddering warmth started to fill the room. It was slow, too slow, but it was better than nothing.

The couch, old and lumpy, seemed to reach out for him as he collapsed onto it. The cushions were musty, the broken springs pressing into his ribs, but he didn’t care. The faded comforter that had been tossed over the back of the couch dropped easily onto him, its dusty warmth a soft weight.

Alec lay there, his body heavy and trembling, fighting off the pull of unconsciousness. His mind swirled, thoughts slipping in and out of clarity. Every time he closed his eyes, the darkness seemed to beckon a little bit more insistently. But he couldn't give in, not yet. He had to keep going.

His breath came in shallow, uneven gasps as he gripped the IV line to anchor himself to the present. Stay awake, he told himself. 

Just as his vision started to fade again, the sound of his phone ringing cut through the haze.

Bobby's name flashed across the screen. The sound of his gruff voice brought a lump to Alec's throat. 

“In recovery… Yeah, that’s great. Yeah. I’m fine. I’m gonna get some sleep now.”

The call light went out. The cell slipped out of Alec’s fingers and at last he let himself slide into dark silence.

Chapter Text

With Sam parked safely next to his brother's bed and Dean sleeping off the anesthetic, Bobby finally felt able to make his exit, leaving the brothers in the enthusiastic care of a bevy of nurses. It didn’t do a patient any harm, he decided, to be young and easy on the eye.

He burned rubber back to Singer Salvage in a way that Dean would definitely not have appreciated, although in the circumstances he would’ve surely done the same. Alec had sounded clear enough on the phone, but Bobby had picked up an underlying shake in his voice he didn't like and the youngster hadn't picked up a call since.

It was dark and quiet at the house and Bobby took the steps slowly, with his shotgun at the ready, trying to make up his mind if it was better to shout out or not.

In the end he decided that, if there was a bad guy, or an assassin transgenic, about to shoot him, they would have to be deaf or half dead not to have heard the Impala. He sincerely hoped it wasn't the latter.

He gently toed the door open and slipped inside, nostrils twitching as they were invaded by the metallic odor of blood, overlaid with the sharper tang of antiseptic.

"Alec?"

There was a sleepy mutter from the direction of the front room as Bobby flicked on the light. The first thing he saw was the array of medical items on the table, gleaming in the stark light. Blood soaked dressings trailed untidily out of the trash can. Bobby grimaced; Alec shouldn't have had to deal with this by himself.

From the kitchen doorway, he spotted Alec's boot protruding from the edge of the couch, faintly illuminated by the dim glow of the front room lamp. He saw the foot twitch slightly and hurried into the front room, flicking on the ceiling light. The sudden brightness sliced through the shadows, revealing the scene in stark detail.

Alec lay sprawled on the couch, his long legs draped over the armrest, one arm hanging down toward the floor with curled fingers just inches from the abandoned cell phone. The other arm lay across his midriff, resting on an old comforter. A piece of tape secured an IV needle and tubing in place, while the fluid bag, suspended from the lamp, hung empty. 

"Alec... balls...are you okay kiddo?"

Bobby approached with caution, careful not to make any sudden noises. It wasn’t until he placed a gentle hand on Alec's shoulder that he finally stirred.

"Alec?"

A small crease formed between Alec's brows as he mumbled something inaudible, his voice barely more than a whisper. His skin, pale and stretched taut over the sharp angles of his face, made him look unsettlingly fragile. Bobby pressed his fingertips a bit harder.

“C’mon kid. Talk to me.”

A small sigh escaped Alec as he opened his eyes. They were unusually dull and lacking their usual spark.

"Bobby?" One soft word that held several questions.

"Yeah. Dean's okay, just gonna need to take it easy for a time. And Sam's doing okay too, take more'n a knock like that to addle that hard noggin of his."

A little smile curved the edge of Alec's mouth and his eyelids drooped back to half-mast.

“On the other hand, you ain’t lookin’ so good.”

“I always look good.” The little smile stayed in place.

Bobby huffed, exasperated, the familiar looks and response before him so like Dean that his hands automatically began a triage of damage. Alec made a small sound of protest but was instantly hushed.

“Keep still, y’idjit.”

Alec stilled, unused to the attention but responding to the note of authority, finding an odd comfort in the passage of firm and caring hands. He was slipping back under when the cold touch of the thermometer in his ear startled him into full awareness. 

“Runnin’ kinda cold there, ‘n y’blood pressure’s still down.” Bobby focused on the fast trip of the pulse in Alec’s neck. “I’m gonna give y’some more fluids. Let me check that wound first.”

He helped the younger man to sit upright and gently undid the dressings. Alec bore it in silence, without giving away any sign of discomfort until Bobby pulled away the final gauze, then he shuddered and sighed and dipped suddenly forwards into Bobby’s shoulder. Bobby cupped the back of his head, supporting him there until he came back to himself.

“It’s okay,” he said gently. “I’ve gotcha. Take y’time.”

After a while, Alec lifted his head, his eyes closed as he gave a grim nod for the procedure to continue. Carefully, Bobby continued his inspection. The wound was even nastier clean than it had been bloodied, but for all that it was clearly healing and there were no visible signs of infection.

“Y’could sell that blood of yours.”

“Nah.” Alec’s face moved into a ghostly version of his normal smirk. “Leave you some though, when I go.”

Bobby’s calloused fingers paused in their application of antibiotic cream, then resumed. He cleared his throat, speaking with care.

“When you go?”

Alec winced slightly, reacting to both the words and the sting of the antibiotic.

“White would never have come here; he was after me.”

“This ain’t your fault kid.”

“If I hadn’t hooked up with the Winchesters, they wouldn’t be in the hospital.”

The misery on Alec’s face tore at Bobby’s heart.

“You don’t have to go nowhere. We’ve got y’back.”

“I know. That’s why I gotta go, Bobby. Who knows what else is gonna follow me. You’ve got enough troubles here.”

Alec reached out, long fingers, Dean’s fingers, fastening them on Bobby’s arm.

“Keep it to yourself, but soon as Dean’s up and about, healed, I’m outta here.”

“Alec!”

“Made up my mind, Bobby. You’ve gotta help me. ‘Sides, who knows what’ll happen to those bozos in Seattle without my help, huh?”

Alec forced a cocky smile, his face a gray, sweaty mask that Bobby’s experienced eye penetrated easily as he tied off the new dressing and draped a soft, blanket around the bundle of hurt and confusion on his couch.

“Stay put.”

Minutes later, a mattress lay on the floor beside the couch, with Alec stretched out, propped up by cushions and wrapped in warm bedding. Bobby quietly set up a new IV drip, then settled onto the couch with a bottle of whiskey. He took a swig directly from the bottle, hissing slightly as the burn coursed down his throat.

“I shoulda stayed with ya.”

Big eyes turned to him, puzzled. “Why would you? The Winchesters are kinda like… sons to you.”

“You would be too, y’jackass.”

There was a flicker of gratitude and then the tired, young face turned into the cushion. Bobby took another slug and capped the bottle, stretching himself out on his side and mentally cursing the self-sacrificing Winchester genes. He jammed a musty cushion under his head, tucked the whiskey bottle securely in the crook of his knees and dropped a hand down over the edge of the couch onto Alec’s shoulder.

“Right here, kiddo. Get some sleep.”

There was a small movement in response and then Alec went still, just the soft sound of his breathing in the cluttered room.

  .

Heat. Burning heat and the raw stink of sulphur. Ames screamed reflexively as the temperature seared his skin, the sound swallowed by the clamor of shrieks and the roaring of fire.

A dark haired man in chains turned a blood streaked face towards him and looked at him without recognition.

Ames threw up, choking, spitting. The man watched him, only vaguely interested.

Ames spat again, clearing his mouth enough to speak.

“John Winchester. You’re dead.”

“Yeah.” The man stared at him out of dark, bloodshot eyes. “You got me there. Right on both counts. Who in hell…” He snorted, bitter laughter. “Who in HELL are you?”

“I’m not meant to be here.”

“Figured that. Helps if you’re dead.”

John Winchester’s tone was mocking, his instinctive dislike of Ames easily visible even through the streaks of blood.

Ames tore at the small cloth bag tied around his neck on a piece of cord.

“Shit!”

The cord snapped under his frantic tugs, leaving the small bag in his grasp. His skin was blistering, his eyes tearing with pain; he had nothing to lose. Ames aimed at the flames to his right and launched the little bag into the heart of the fire. It burst into flame instantly, destroying the remains of one John Winchester, late employee of Manticore.

.

Dean had woken up to the dim illumination of a night-time ward, sliding effortlessly from terrifying red-soaked dreams into yellow light.

He could hear Sam's steady breathing nearby. A slight turn of his head revealed his brother's messy hair, as Sam slouched in a bedside chair, legs propped on another, asleep and snoring softly.

Dean fumbled around until he found the bed control and slowly whirred up to a sitting position, stopping and easing back a few inches when the dressing on his thigh began to pull. His leg throbbed with a deep pulse of discomfort and his fingers found dressings over what must be stitches. Either side of the dressing his thigh shone bare and cool in the dim light, oddly numb beneath his exploring fingertips. Nerve damage then, perhaps, or just some pain relief.

He sat there for quite a while, trying to get his head in order. His fingers drifted repeatedly across the dressing, picking at the sheet as he breathed in and out through his nose, keeping the rhythm deliberate, under control.

When his jaw started to quiver, Dean bit down hard, grinding his molars, aware that his lip was trembling. He didn’t get it; he’d been hurt worse. But there’d been something about that steady pulse of red pushing through his fingers. He had a vague memory of Sam holding his wrist, of Bobby rushing around, of Alec covered in blood. Then everything had gone gray and oddly distorted, sounds distant and toneless.

He worried about Alec until he couldn’t stand it any more, then reached across and shook Sam’s knee. Sam startled awake, almost falling off the chair. In any other circumstances it would have been hilarious.

“Alec?” Dean asked, his voice croaking in his dry mouth.

“He’s okay. Bobby called. He’s looking after him.” Sam rubbed his eyes with his knuckles and turned sorrowful hazel eyes to his brother. “He saved your life.”

Dean nodded, shoving his hands underneath the sheet so Sam couldn’t see the shake in his fingers.

“I know.”

Sam gave him a knowing look and scooted his chair forwards so he could casually drape an arm onto the bed, the edge of his hand resting lightly against Dean’s hip. He caught Dean’s troubled gaze and held it with the warmth of his own.

“Guess you’re part cat now too, huh?”

The smile and the dimples warmed a part of Dean he hadn’t realised was cold. He peered at Sam, not sure what to say.

Sam’s smile grew; there was a gentle pressure against Dean’s hip, there and gone again.

“Don’t let it worry you dude, you’re always out tom-catting around anyway.”

And Dean breathed, properly, the tension in his shoulders soaking away into the pillow.

He smiled. Just with his eyes, but it was a start.

.

Ames curled in on himself, pulling his knees into his chest. The ice cold air and concrete were shocking against his blistered skin. He whined, involuntary tears streaming from sore eyes, breath panting through his peeling lips.

The sharp snick of a round sliding into a chamber echoed in the cold, empty space.

Ames froze, barely breathing.

Slow, hesitant footsteps. A sharp intake of breath.

“Sir? Sir is that you?”

Ames turned his head… tried and failed to swallow the sob of relief.

Chapter Text

If you'd asked Bobby Singer right after the night he kept vigil over Alec, he would have insisted he'd remember every moment of the days that followed.

But in reality, that didn’t happen. Years later, as he reflected on it all, Bobby found that only fragments remained—small, vivid scenes from a much larger story. 

.

Alec, recovering more slowly than expected…

Bobby was sure stress, or perhaps anticipated grief, had a large part to play in that.

Not knowing what else to do, he offered advice and dispensed soup.

Alec didn’t like the soup. Alec really didn’t like the soup.

He did like it when Bobby kept asking him to stay, although he didn’t show it. Fortunately Bobby had years of practice reading Dean when he was hiding something, so he knew anyway.

.

Dean, arriving home, much too soon according to the hospital…

A Dean who was a little shaky, a little pale, but remarkably well, considering.

A Dean who seemed to be even more agile than normal, and who could definitely see in the dark better than he’d been able to before his transfusion of transgenic blood.

That raised questions Bobby didn’t even want to ask.

.

Teaching Alec some mechanics…

Because it just might come in handy some time, somewhere.

Alec dropping his wrench onto the table, making Bobby jump enough to smack his head on the overhead locker. Alec marching up to him, looking at him very seriously and suddenly giving him a hug and a whispered, “Thanks Bobby.”

And Bobby did not have tears in his eyes after that. Not at all.

.

Overhearing Sam apologizing to Alec for something that’d happened on their hunt…

Apologizing and assuring Alec that as far as he was concerned, they were brothers.

And Alec saying “Don’t worry about it, I get it.” And “I kinda like having two older brothers.” With an Alec smirk, of course.

. 

Dean pondering about something that kept a frown on his face for days… and finally cornering Bobby and just blurting it out.

“This time travel crap. Why can’t I just go back and stop Dad making his deal?”

The way Dean’s expression went from desperate to upset and then to resigned when Bobby explained that the John in this universe had already made his deal. That if the deal hadn’t been made, Dean wouldn’t be sitting with him now and Alec would never have ended up in that alley. That Sam could survive without a father, but Sam just might not be able to survive without a Dean.

.

Snapshots. That’s all. Kept forever in the box in Bobby’s mind that was labelled, ‘Alec’.

.

Sometime during those days, Sam dreamed of Jess. Even in his dream, he knew it was only a dream and that she was gone forever.

“You have to go and meet your little brother.” Her soft whisper into his ear made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He kissed her, tickled her ribs and felt her mouth laugh against his own.

“Go on.” She pushed him through the door and he found himself in a diner, with Dean, waiting for his brother to walk through the door.

Dean fussed around, swapping the cutlery for silver, tipping holy water into the water glass, waves of suspicion pouring off him and ruffling the surface of Sam’s anticipation.

When the diner door swung open, Sam sat up eagerly. Was it…?

He awoke and shot upright.

Alec raised an eyebrow at him and turned back to the TV.

.

When Joshua blundered into Crash, hardly able to see where he was going with the large, red crash helmet rammed onto his head, Max knew it was bad, she just wasn’t sure how bad.

Original Cindy saw her expression from clear across the bar and was by her side in seconds, moving at almost transgenic speed.

It was hard to understand Joshua, what with the crash helmet and the snot and all the “big fella seeing medium fella” but they understood enough to get up and start running.

Alec needed them.

.

“Dean?”

The swirl of the blue polishing cloth over the Impala’s gleaming hood stopped, then resumed.

“Yeah?”

“You’re all good now, right?”

Dean took in a quick breath and turned to face the transgenic.

“I’m fine, Alec.”

Alec leaned casually up the pile of crates stacked outside Bobby’s door, tucking his hands into his pockets. The speech he’d been going over all morning seeped out of his head like smoke through a fishing net.

Dean stared at him, his face impassive. He held Alec’s gaze for a second or two before turning half away.

“God damn it.”

He flicked the cloth away across the expanse of shiny paint and dropped his head. Alec could see the flex of his ribs beneath the black t-shirt as he took in a deep breath. He tried again.

“Dean?”

And Dean’s chin came up and his eyes fixed on Alec’s face and then he was right there beside him, slinging an arm around Alec’s shoulders and squeezing hard, biceps and fingers digging into muscle and bone.

“I know.”

“Oh... Bobby told you?”

“No. Didn’t have to.” The gravel in Dean’s voice was more obvious than usual. “When you goin’?”

“Generally speaking,” said Alec carefully. “When you make up your mind to do something, it’s best to get moving, y’know, before the waterworks start.”

Dean snorted. “Yeah.”

“The fact is, I should be with my own kind.”

“You are with your own kind, kiddo.” Dean kept his gaze fixed on the Impala and kept his arm around Alec. “Anythin’ I can say to change your mind?”

Alec shook his head, the muscles along his jaw betraying how hard his teeth were clenched.

“I got debts to pay.”

He stared at the Impala too, as though they might both find an answer in the pattern of clouds reflecting in her glossy surface.

“Debts?”

“Yeah. Debts. Here… I owe you and Sam and Bobby. I brought danger here; you got enough crap in your life as it is.”

He felt Dean’s intake of breath, the beginning of a protest, and held up a hand.

“Lemme finish. Debts at home too. There are transgenics like me, mebbe don’t know as much as me about surviving out in the world. I can help them. I reckon I owe them that much. And then…”

Alec swallowed. Perhaps this was the greatest debt of all. Dean waited, keeping Alec pulled in tight against his side.

“Y’know what I did, right? I killed people. It was my job. Maybe some of ‘em deserved it. Some probably didn’t. But I killed ‘em anyway. They weren’t the only victims. How about their families, their friends, their kids! They’re all victims too and I owe them. If nothing else mebbe I can help stop this whole ‘transgenics are on the streets’ fiasco from blowing the hell up and wiping out what’s left of their world.”

For the first time during the conversation, he realised it was him holding Dean up, rather than Dean supporting him.

His donor’s voice was ragged with suppressed emotion. “I’ll drive you. We’ll drive you. Anywhere you need to go.”

Alec drew in air that felt as sharp as razorblades, surprised he could still speak at all.

 "There’s some woodland near Seattle. It’s quiet. I was in a bad way last time. I’d rather not crash into a busy street. ‘Sides, I used the woods as a way back into Seattle when I was running contraband. Took the same route a ton of times."

He looked down, snorted with laughter.

“Can’t go wrong.”

“The others know?” Dean asked. 

“Bobby knows. I’m gonna tell Sam now.”

Dean ran shaky fingers through his hair. “You want me to go with you?”

“Nah.” Alec smiled a humorless smile, the light gone from his eyes. “Guess it’s time for those waterworks.”

.

The ping and tick of cooling metal came from behind them as the Impala cooled. Alec could still hear the deep rumble of her engine in his ears, but it was just a memory now, a sound he would never hear again.

“Any time now.”

Sam’s voice was raw as he checked his watch. They were in the right place, parked up on a rough track at the edge of the woods, the approximate time of Alec’s contraband run just a few minutes away. He let his jacket sleeve drop back over his wrist and pulled Alec into a hug, the power in it bending the transgenic’s strengthened bones.

“You’re always gonna be my brother." Sam's quiet voice was earnest. "Wherever you are."

“Thanks,” whispered Alec, forcing the words past the jagged lump in his throat. “For everythin’.”  His vision blurred and he blinked furiously as they broke apart reluctantly.

He staggered back a step, his legs shaking so much he might have fallen if Dean hadn’t gripped onto his shoulders. Dean pulled him in tight, his expression as wrecked as Alec felt.

Alec clung to him, aware that the pressure of his hands would leave bruises on Dean’s skin, but finding it physically impossible to let go.

"You don’t have to go." It was a broken mutter, accompanied by the strained sound of Dean's teeth grinding in his ear.

“I don’t want to… ”

The admission that had been festering inside him all day was torn from him. Panic gripped Alec’s chest; he sucked in a lungful of the familiar, comforting scent and raised his head.

A puff of air brushed against his throat as Dean began to speak, but the words never reached his ears, swallowed by a cataclysmic roar. 

Alec felt the leather of Dean’s jacket wrenched from his grip as he was pulled into a cold, dark place, his senses snuffed out abruptly, like candles before a tsunami.

With a surge of horror, Sam realized his brother was being pulled into the swirling darkness along with Alec. He lunged forward, tumbling face-first into the dirt as he grabbed at Dean’s ragged jeans.

He clung to them, his frantic fingers digging into Dean’s calf as a blinding storm of pine needles whipped against his face. Even above the roar of the chasm, he could hear the gut-wrenching sound of his brother’s scream.

.

Stretched out like taffy, as insubstantial as vapor, the being that was Dean Winchester seeped out of the darkness between the trees. Mute, insubstantial, with bars of sunlight filtering through his form, he hovered, puzzled.

Alec walked swiftly past him, dressed in a dark t-shirt and canvas jacket. The pallor of his face, the deep shadows under his jaw, and the scowl of his eyebrows made him appear harder—and somehow desperate. He glanced behind him, looking straight through Dean, the green-gold of his eyes catching the sunlight. Dean saw fear there, longing, and years of exhaustion. Then he was gone, slipping away among the trees.

A young woman followed, moving fast, her long dark hair whipping over the shoulder of her black leather jacket as she swerved into the trees, unerringly following his trail.

Dean tried to call out, to warn Alec. The sound bounced off the tree in front of, around him. Bounced and pushed him away, faster and faster, back into the darkness. Something was clawing at his leg, pulling him home.

.

It stopped as abruptly as it had begun.

Dean collapsed untidily across Sam, as though he were a puppet whose strings had suddenly been cut.

Sam wriggled out from under the dead weight with difficulty, Dean’s knee flopping unexpectedly into his cheekbone, bringing reflexive tears to his eyes.

He scrabbled around, only remembering to breathe when he found a weak pulse in his brother’s neck. He tried for some time to get a response, but there was nothing—no reaction, even to the vicious drag of his knuckle down Dean’s sternum.

Eventually, crying so hard he could hardly catch his breath, Sam pulled his brother onto his lap and wrapped his arms around him. Dean’s head lolled back against his upper arm, the pale, stubbled line of his throat achingly vulnerable. He was deeply unconscious.

.

Alec fell into mid-air, slammed against a tree trunk, and slithered down to sprawl face-first across the dirt track. His index finger twitched once, then stilled.

An hour later, he was still in the same position when Joshua’s nose led them to the spot.

Joshua let out a mournful howl, dropping to his hands and knees beside his friend, his nose working vigorously, searching for injury, blood. 

Max pulled up short, uncharacteristically unwilling to approach. Alec’s limp sprawl made her feel physically sick. The thought that she might never see the cocky smirk again was suddenly unbearable. 

“Is… is he?”

Joshua lifted his tear-streaked face.

“Medium fella is very hurt. He is not waking up.”

Original Cindy took hold of Max’s hand, giving it a quick squeeze.

“Pretty boy’s still alive, boo. Let’s not leave him layin’ on the dirt.”

Max shook herself mentally and dropped to her knees. She’d been trained to deal with this sort of situation.

She checked Alec for injuries as best she could, then gripped his broad shoulders and hip, gently rolling his long frame toward her. Alec’s torso flopped back against her thighs in a too-familiar position, his long legs stretched across the track, his head lolling backward toward the woodland floor, exposing the long line of his neck. Tears filled Max’s eyes. This couldn’t be happening again.

“He’s alive shuga.”

OC’s voice was gentle, encouraging, her elegantly manicured fingers wiping pine needles and bits of grass away from Alec’s face.

Max wiped her sleeve across her face and checked Alec's weak pulse at his neck. Seconds later, at her nod, Joshua swung X5-494 into his arms and followed her back to the car.

Original Cindy jogged behind them, struck by how the tall transgenic dangled like a broken doll in Joshua’s arms. They were nearly back to the car when something small fell out of the pocket of Alec’s jacket.

Original Cindy frowned. The small object was incongruous in the woodland setting and she was about to step over it when some instinct made her pick it up instead.  She sniffed at it and poked it carefully; it seemed innocent enough.

By the time she caught up with the others, she'd decided that beneath the tissue paper of Alec's bravado, he was the most complex and lost person she knew. The object clearly meant something to him and should therefore be preserved. 

She tucked it securely back into his pocket, thinking with regret that he looked so ill he might not survive to care one way or the other.

.

Dean shifted on the bed, restless and sweat-soaked with delirium.

Sam kept hold of his hand, as he had for most of the preceding few days, stroking gentle, slow circles with his thumb. His bloodshot eyes turned to Bobby.

“Is he ever going to come out of this?”

Bobby put a fresh mug of coffee on the nightstand and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Y’brother’s strong, Sam. Keep talking to him, so he knows you’re there.”

He settled down near to the men he thought of as his sons, keeping vigil, waiting for Dean to come back to them.

.

It was almost twelve hours before Alec stirred, slowly raising his eyelids to focus on Joshua’s muzzle.

“Dude,” he protested weakly, rolling his face away. “Dog breath.”

Joshua’s face split with a huge grin. “Medium fella is waking up!”

“Yeah,” muttered Alec, already sliding under again. “Is Dean here, and Sam?” He groaned. “I don’t feel so good.”

Joshua leaned in close. If Alec was admitting he didn’t feel good, things were really bad. “Just Joshua. Who is this DeanandSam?”

Alec’s eyes fluttered open again. He looked confused. “I dunno. Jus’ dreamin’.” He swallowed painfully. “Joshua? Good to see you big fella.” He patted Joshua’s cheek clumsily and wound his fingers into the long hair. “Don’t go away, okay.”

Joshua sighed, a look of misery settling on his features as Alec’s eyes closed and his hand dropped away.

“Big fella is right here,” he assured him, petting the tousled hair. “Big fella will look after Alec.”

.

“Dean’s taking a shower.” Sam flopped down wearily at the table. “Still nothing.”

“He doesn’t remember diddly-squat?” Bobby’s voice was incredulous. “Not one single thing!”

“Nothing. He knows he had a concussion, that he’s been really sick.”

“He doesn’t remember Alec at all? But all that time! It’s not like it was a coupla days there, Sam!”

“He thinks it’s some sort of short term memory loss.” Sam ran his fingers through his hair, every part of his being stressed to breaking point. “I don’t know what to do!”

Bobby frowned at him, puzzled. “Well ain’t ya gonna tell him about Alec? Don’t ya think he’s got a right to know?”

“I’m scared, Bobby. He’s so… vulnerable right now. He was walking on a knife-edge because of Dad before all this. I’m not sure he can handle it right now.”

Bobby lifted his cap a little, reaching underneath with one finger to scratch at his head. It was the truth and he knew it.

“Then don’t tell him. Keep it to y’self… and if he remembers later on, we’ll deal with it then.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

Bobby’s voice was firm. “Then we don’t tell him. Ever.”

.

Alec sauntered into Jam Pony, raising a hand in casual acknowledgement of Normal's enthusiastic greeting. There was no doubt that the boss of the package delivery service was delighted at the return of his golden boy.

Behind Alec, Max let out a hiss of disgust, muttering something about Normal behaving differently if it'd been anyone else.

Alec raised an eyebrow at her, smirking. 

"You jealous, Maxie?" 

She scowled at him. 

"Don’t be a smartass. And it’s Max."

"You might as well face it, Normal just likes me better than you.”

Alec’s smirk widened into a grin.

“Do you think it's because I'm awesome? I think it's because I'm awesome."

"What!"

Max slapped him hard upside the head. She'd never heard him say that one before. How had he managed to find something even more irritating than usual to say?

Alec dropped his chin, a little frown knitting his brows. Immediately Max regretted the slap, his too pale face reminding her that he'd only been back on his feet for a few days.

She trailed after him to the lockers, watching him out of the corner of her eye as she unlocked her own. He had an odd expression on his face, almost as though he was puzzled.

"You okay?" No answer. “Hey Alec, you okay?”

He snapped back to the present with a visible jerk, intense green eyes focusing on her.

“Take more than a slap from you, Maxie.” The irritating smirk was back. “I’m always okay.”

Alec kept it casual, confused by the sudden sick feeling in his gut, but determined not to let it show.

He flipped open his locker and hooked an arm over the top of the door, his loose slouch hiding the tremble in his legs.

The big, chocolate brown eyes fixed on him were unnerving, intrusive even.

“Go away Maxie. You’re staring.”

She huffed and pouted and flounced off, sending him a parting scowl from the doorway.

Alec turned into the lockers and rested his forehead against the edge of the open door. He swallowed. Should transgenics get headaches? ‘Cause he was getting one.

He fumbled in his top pocket for his sunglasses, fingerless gloves catching against the flap. Sunglasses? No, not sunglasses, something small and… he pulled it free, his eyes widening in surprise. A yellow duck?

Alec curled his fingers around the small toy, hefted it and was already eyeing up the trash can at the far side of the room when he caught a glimpse of the little face with its jaunty pirate patch. He lost his breath so suddenly he went dizzy, made a floundering grab at the end of his locker with his free hand and made contact with a hollow bang that raised heads. Oblivious, he stared at the duck with stinging eyes, overwhelmed by a feeling of loss, but with no clue what it was that he’d lost.

The unusual silence alerted him to the watching faces. Alec straightened up abruptly and tossed the toy into his locker, where it came to rest next to his sunglasses. He fished them out and slipped them on with a feeling of relief, the buzz of the room starting up again in response to Normal’s “Bip, bip bip!”

He’d already locked the door when he realized the duck was back in his fist. With a little frown, Alec buttoned it securely into his pocket and headed to the desk to sign for his package.

“Metallica.” Normal said helpfully.

“Huh?”

“That tune you’re humming; it was a hit song by some old rock band called Metallica. Before your time, young man.”

Alec smiled easily and headed out.

.

THE END?

Chapter Text

Alec

Set some weeks after ‘Freak Nation’

Joshua’s flag still flew proudly over Terminal City, the white dove soaring in the wind funneling through the buildings. It was a little more battered than it had been, but then again, they all were.

Alec lingered in the fine drizzle, watching it drift in gray sheets across the grimy buildings, wondering if he’d ever be free to fly away into a clear sky. He shifted his shoulders, uncomfortable, cold rain seeping from his hair and creeping down the back of his neck beneath the collar of his black, leather jacket.

At first, it had been so uplifting—the transgenics’ escape to Terminal City and the creation of their own nation. Now? Now, a few weeks had passed, and the whole thing had slipped off the front page of the news, as everything does… eventually.

Alec and Mole had w orked together well to set up a solid, tight security system around the transgenics' new home.

Max, newly attached in an awkward and latex-gloved way to Logan, had become responsible for overall leadership. She now seemed to spend her time rushing from one crisis to another and negotiating through a loud-hailer with Clemente and Government representatives. 

The majority of the transgenics, used as they were to Manticore’s control, had fallen easily into line, finding a semblance of happiness in the new sense of belonging, even if it was a freedom with limits.

A few slipped away over the wall to make their own way in the world, but for the first time in their lives it was a decision they’d been free to make.

It was a world Max hoped would one day accept them all as free and equal citizens. Until then, at least they had their own place—an uneasy truce behind barricades, but a place nonetheless.

The trouble was, the longer Alec spent there, the more he felt it wasn’t his place. He’d thrown himself whole-heartedly into the defenses of Terminal City, found that his opinion was sought after more than he’d ever expected and proved he was, in his own way, a natural leader when it came to soldiering.

The fault lay deep within himself. Ever since his unexplained illness, he’d been off-balance, not at the top of his game.

The gunshot wound at Jam Pony had healed slowly, far too slowly for a transgenic. Sometimes, even now, he still felt drained, but was sure it was more an unexplained weight of grief than any real physical weakness.

He had sifted through his memories countless times, each time leaving him more lost than the last. The weight of his depression was overwhelming, a heavy fog that clouded his thoughts and drained his strength. It wasn’t just the grief that weighed him down—it was as if Psy-Ops had planted something deep in his mind, a poison that twisted everything, trapping him in a mental prison he couldn’t escape.

It was that feeling of despair that brought him here, to stand alone in the cold rain, surrounded by a small city of his own kind, but feeling more lost and lonely than ever before.

“Hey, pretty boy!” The gruff voice belonged to Mole, a prized cigar clamped between his teeth and a pugnacious glower on his face. “Max is looking for ya.”

Alec shrugged, finding it difficult to care. The rain slid down his forehead and dripped off the end of his nose. Mole squinted at him and took the cigar out of his mouth.

“What’s up with ya?”

“I’m fine, Mole. Just peachy.”

‘Peachy’ thought Alec, another word that turned up in his vocabulary from nowhere. He pushed down a dull pang in his gut and stitched on a smirk that failed to wipe the misery from his eyes.

“Mustn’t keep our leader waiting. Where is old Maxie anyway?”

“Max is right here.”

“Dammit Maxie! You gotta stop sneakin’ up like that.”

“You’re an X5, smart ass. I can’t sneak up on you.”

Alec’s smirk widened. He winked at Mole.

“She’s got a mind like a steel trap, Mole. You can’t get anythin’ past her.”

Mole sniffed and clamped the frayed end of the cigar back between his teeth.

“You two gonna start clawing chunks of fur, I’m outta here.”

He stomped off, muttering something about “damn cat DNA”.

Alec made to follow him, but Max’s small hand on his forearm halted him. He raised an eyebrow lazily, a challenging glint in his green eyes.

“Whattsup Maxie? You’re not in heat are you?”

He sniffed dramatically at the air.

Max’s hand fell away, but she held his gaze with her own direct stare.

“What’s got you all rotated?”

For a moment, Alec almost wanted to tell her, although he had no words to explain what he didn’t understand himself. He caught himself in time, dipped his chin and broke eye contact.

“Walls are tight. Security is good.”

Max nodded acknowledgment, then spoke carefully.

“We could use someone on the outside. See how things are holdin’ up south of Seattle where transgenics aren’t hot news. Long term, we’re goin’ to need more suppliers. I could do with someone I trust making a run south.”

Alec’s head was still down, but he looked at her from under his lashes, unable to hide the flicker of interest on his face.

“Got somebody in mind?”

“Yeah, Alec. You. You know your way around out there in the world.”

“What about Terminal City? We’re getting our butt's kicked here. In our friend Mole’s words, it’s a pig farm out there.”

Max shrugged, hiding her concern about Alec under a veneer of hard ass bravado.

“We’ll manage. I’ll do what I always do, make it up as I go along.”

Alec swallowed. When he spoke, there was a note of hope in his voice.

“And White?”

“I’ll dealio. What I need is a smart Alec out there roundin’ me up some suppliers who aren’t afraid of public opinion.”

Alec squared his shoulders.

“Guess I’ll get goin’ then.”

The small hand was back on his forearm. Max tilted her head up, suddenly softer than he’d ever seen her.

“Be careful out there.”

Alec smirked again, just a little of it reaching his eyes this time.

“Always am, Maxie, always am.”

.

The Winchesters

(Set just after Born under a bad sign)

“Dean!”

Dean mumbled something into his pillow, fighting the sheets as he twisted in the arms of a nightmare. Sam could see his right hand was underneath the pillow, fingers no doubt wrapped around the handle of his knife.

“Dean!”

Sam approached as close as he dared. Even so the knife blade was at his neck faster than he could blink. For a moment there was just fear on his brother’s face and then recognition, but still fear.

Sam’s eyes filled with tears, part of him hoping Dean would draw the shining blade across his throat and finish, once and for all, the pain of living every day knowing his older brother no longer trusted him, not entirely.

Dean’s eyes widened slightly as he took in Sam’s stricken expression and, even as the knife was withdrawn, a shutter dropped across his face. He rolled quickly away, the knife disappearing back under the pillow.

“Dean?”

“I’m okay.”

Dean was on his feet, facing away from Sam until he’d schooled his expression to an impassive mask.

“You’re never going to forgive me, are you?”

“Already have, Sammy.”

But forgiven isn’t forgotten. Never was. Never will be. Sam’s eyes overflowed, the tracks immediately dashed away by his large hand.

Dean was already in the bathroom doorway when he half-turned to look at his little brother.

“I need to put some miles between us and…”

He gestured vaguely at the room. Sam knew he meant this town, this state. He waited anxiously to see if it meant him too, but Dean seemed to run out of words, his gaze fixed on the mirror by the entrance door, a puzzled frown settling on his face.

“Where we headed?” Sam asked, cautiously, a little breathlessly.

Dean blinked, seemed to realize he was being spoken to and ducked into the bathroom.

"I dunno, man. North, I guess. The Impala could use a good run."

Sam opened his mouth and shut it again.

The Impala hadn’t needed a “good run” since November 2, 1983.

.

Dean slammed the bathroom door, still rattled by the nightmare in which Sam had gunned him down with a smile. The unsettling double image of himself in the motel room mirror only deepened his unease.

He scrubbed his eyes, attributing the weariness to a string of sleepless nights, and wiped the small vanity mirror above the sink. Tired eyes with dark circles beneath them stared back, his face drawn and weary in the reflection. 

Dean sighed and filled the tooth glass with water, raising it to his lips as he glanced back at the mirror. Suddenly, there it was again - an overlay of a younger version of his own face, wearing an expression he recognized but rarely wore.

“Son of a bitch!”

The glass shattered in the sink with a sharp crack. Dean fumbled blindly for the pieces, hardly aware of Sam opening the door behind him or his brother's startled exclamation at the bright blood pooling in the dingy sink.

“Hey, Dean, leave it man.”

Sam yanked him back, and Dean staggered, suddenly dizzy as a half-formed memory prodded at his mind. He instinctively rubbed his forehead, smearing blood into his eyebrows, and peered hazily toward the mirror.

“What’s up with you? You okay?”

Sam gripped his upper arm, concern etched across his features.

Dean blinked, turning puzzled eyes to his brother.

“Who’s Alec?”

.

Chapter Text

Dean blinked, turning puzzled eyes to his brother.

“Who’s Alec?”

Sam’s heart plummeted. “Alec?” He asked carefully, keeping his face as neutral as possible.

His brother pressed a shaky hand to his forehead, the blood from his cut finger smearing further into his hairline. His voice rose. 

"Yeah. Alec!” He stared at Sam, reading poorly concealed guilt. “What the hell is goin’ on?”

“I don’t know an Alec,” said Sam, hating how easily the lie sprang to his lips.

A range of emotions flickered across Dean’s face as he stepped back from his brother, his feet stumbling a little on the uneven linoleum. Instinctively, Sam reached out and grabbed his shoulder to steady him, feeling the unexpected heat and bulk of a dressed wound beneath the fabric. Dean pulled away with a sharp hiss, his face twisting involuntarily in pain.

“Dean!” Sam’s voice went up a pitch with concern. “Are you hurt?” A pregnant pause. “Did I hurt you?”

The words were unnecessary; they both understood that Sam had hurt his brother. The livid bruises on Dean's face stood as silent testament to that truth. A sick feeling twisted in Sam's gut as the realization settled in: he had done something far worse than just beat Dean nearly unconscious - something so terrible that Dean hadn’t even confided in Bobby.

“What did I do?” It was almost a plea. “Let me see.” Sam reached out again, but Dean backed off into the main room.

“Gerroff me.”

He collapsed onto his ass on the nearest bed, his hand grasping his left shoulder as he stared at Sam with feverish eyes. There was an underlying panic in his gruff voice.

"What’s all this crap in my head, Sam? Huh?"

He let go of his shoulder and ran his fingers across his forehead, the shaking now pronounced enough that they danced a staccato rhythm against his skin.

"It's OK, Dean, I can explain..."

"Sure you can."

His brother's voice was bitter. He pushed himself to his feet and slammed his way into the bathroom.

Sam stared at the solid bulk of the door for a moment, but it was more than just a physical barrier. After a moment more he pulled out his cell 'phone and speed-dialled Bobby.

"Bobby," he said without preamble when the grumbly tones answered. "It's Dean. He remembered."

"Balls! That ain't good Sam, especially now, when he's already knocked all off-centre by your demon possession and all."

"What do I do? I don't know what to say to him. Do I just tell him everything?"

"Don't see as y'have much choice, but he ain't gonna be pleased."

"Dammit Bobby! I hoped he'd never remember. He's not up to this right now."

"Well, it ain't good timing, Sam, I'll give y'that, but I guess it had to happen someday. Dean ain't the kind that forgets family."

"He's hurt, Bobby."

"Well y'whaled on him real good there, son."

Sam winced. "Yeah I know, but it's not that. He's got a dressing on his shoulder. Do you know anything about that?"

"He never said nothing to me, but this is Dean we're talking about. He ain't exactly big on sharing. Talk to him, Sam. Call me if y'need me to talk to him, y'hear me?"

"Yeah Bobby, I will. Thanks man."

Sam slid the cell 'phone back into his jeans’ pocket and turned to face the bathroom door, finding himself unexpectedly face to face with his brother.

"You both knew." There was a look of betrayal on Dean’s face.

"I can explain," said Sam desperately. "It's not how it looks!"

"Then how the hell should it look, Sammy?"

Dean moved rapidly into the open space in the center of the room, his movements agitated.

"At what point exactly were you planning on tellin’ me?"

Sam broke eye contact, guilty and with no idea how to explain that it'd all seemed for the best at the time.  Dean's mouth pulled into a humorless smirk.

"No excuses this time, Sammy."

His expression hardened, bruises stark against the pale skin.

"It's not as if you had some demon drivin’ back then, was it?" He swallowed hard, his voice suddenly quiet, hurt. "I can't trust you at all, can I?"

Sam opened his mouth to protest and didn't even see Dean's fist coming his way. It landed hard against his jaw and he found himself lying on the threadbare carpet. A spatter of gravel hit the door as the Impala roared out of the parking lot.

Sam rolled up unsteadily onto his hands and knees and shook his head, fingering his jaw gingerly.

"Damn it, Dean."

.

Alec had been gone just over a week when the first call came through to the command center. Gem took it, jotting down Alec’s terse instructions about the imminent arrival of supplies while she balanced her baby on her hip.

“No,” she confirmed to a surprisingly intent Max, there was no other message.

A few days later, the first delivery arrived, desperately needed supplies delivered to a secure location agreed between Alec and Mole. Mole set up a task force and dealt with the retrieval of the supplies and their storage within Terminal City.

A few days after that, Alec made a brief appearance, confirmed he’d started to set up a network of suppliers and requested a bag full of Joshua’s paintings. It seemed the transgenic artist’s work was suddenly a highly desired item in the cities of the west coast, and like all highly desired items, it fetched a fine price. Enough, it seemed, to keep Terminal City supplied for some time to come.

Max almost missed seeing Alec altogether. If he hadn’t stopped by to see Joshua, he’d have been gone before she even knew he was there. She caught sight of him striding away from the accommodation block. An initial jolt of surprise and something akin to pleasure was replaced immediately with a familiar flare of irritation when she realized he was heading towards the disused sewer pipe that led out into the streets of Seattle.

“Hey!”

Max quickened her step and caught up with him as he approached the guarded entrance. Alec turned, the light falling full on his face. She saw he was a little thinner, diminished somehow, with shadows of exhaustion beneath his eyes.

The snarky comment poised on her lips was discarded before it was fully formed and she was suddenly, uncharacteristically, lost for words.

Alec waited for a moment, then raised a sarcastic eyebrow.

“Somethin’ you want to say there, Maxie?”

“You did good with the supplies,” she managed eventually. Then in a burst of honesty. “ You look like crap. Why don’t you chill for a few days, where you don’t have to watch your back all the time? ”

Predictably, Alec smirked.

“Well now, Maxie, didn’t know you cared, being as you’re all loved up with Logan again.”

Max flushed, fought down the instinct to slap him upside the head and took a deep breath.

“You just got here.”

“And now I’m leavin’. See, that’s the thing with setting up a network of suppliers… you have to pay them, or they get all unreasonable and mean-spirited.”

“You need some help out there?”

“Now why would I need help? I work better alone, Maxie, you know that. Don’t worry, you’ll get your supplies.”

She wanted to tell him he looked ill, worn down, but didn’t know how to put it into the sort of soft words other women might use.

“There’s somethin’ off about you.”

No, she thought, as soon as the words hit the air; that wasn’t it at all.

Alec frowned at her, his face falling into offended lines.

“There is never anythin’ 'off' about me. I’m a superior specimen, remember?”

“You’re a superior ass!”

“Why thanks Maxie, I’ll carry those words close to my heart.”

And with a dramatic gesture to his heart and a final trademark smirk that completely failed to ignite a spark in his eyes, Alec was gone, taking an aura of misery with him.

Max thought he had never looked more like Ben.

.

"Bullcrap!" Bobby's voice was sharp with frustration as it crackled through the speaker. "Did ya even find out how much he remembers?"

"No," said Sam ruefully. "He took off before I could explain."

"I got a friend owes me a favor. I can get a car there for ya in 10 minutes."

There was a pause and Sam could hear him speaking on another 'phone in the background, then his whisker-muffled voice was back in Sam's ear.

"You've gotta catch up with him... there's no telling what he might do."

Sam's breath caught. "You don't think he’d try and go after Alec?"

"Just find him, Sam, afore he ends up some place where he gets pulled through whether he intends it or not."

.

Chapter Text

The Impala jolted over the potholes at the entrance of the parking lot and Dean pointed her north, or as north as the road allowed.

At first he just drove, his mind a mess of half-remembered events. Sam’s demonic possession and a vague memory of another brother… a brother? Alec? All of it strangled by confusion at the reason for the enormous untruth concocted by his brother and surrogate father.

Gradually he surfaced for mental air and found he was driving left-handed, the fingers of the right hand digging into the skin around the throbbing infection in his left shoulder. He pulled over, parking untidily on a grass bank and fumbling in his pocket until he found a pill bottle. He removed the lid with difficulty and swallowed a couple of pills, washing them down with warm water tainted with the cloying taste of plastic.

He sat there for a few minutes, frowning, alternately running his hand over the heat of his shoulder and the damp skin of his forehead.

Something had happened. Something big and something bad. And it had started in Seattle.

Dean took another swig of water, had a quick glance at the map and headed for the north.

.

Alec returned with the fourth delivery of supplies. He slipped into Terminal City in Mole’s wake, spoke briefly with one or two of the transgenics guarding the sewer pipe and went to see Joshua.

Joshua gave him an enthusiastic hug, patted him vigorously on the back and announced that Medium Fella would be Little Fella soon if he didn’t eat more.

“Medium fella is needing more mac ‘n cheese.”

Alec gave him a weary smile and dropped in a boneless way into the stuffed armchair that Joshua had found to replace the one he’d left in Sandeman’s house.

“What I’m needing, is more paintings…”

He held up a hand as Joshua turned eagerly to point at the stack of canvases beside his bed.

“Now you understand, what we’re dealing with here is a bunch of overpaid, bored, interior decorators? Most of 'em wouldn’t know a fine piece of art if it bit' them in the ass. What they want is color schemes. But the thing is, Josh... they have coin, lots and lots of coin and it’s our duty to relieve them of as much of it as possible. So you, my furry friend, need to start painting to order.”

“Huh.” Joshua nodded cheerfully. “Here is orders.” He gestured again at the stack of canvases.

“Whaddya got in green?”

Joshua rooted through the pile and pulled out a predominantly green array of paint splatters.

“Yeah.” Alec nodded. “That’s what I’m talking about. Find me two more and I’ll take ‘em with me.”

A few minutes later he was gone. Joshua carefully re-stacked the scattered pile, pulling one canvas forward. He ran a finger over the bumps of dried paint, a sad expression on his face.

“Alec,” he said softly. “Medium fella is losing all his pretty colors.”

.

The car provided by Bobby’s acquaintance was a pile of rust, but Sam decided the engine had enough power to enable the vehicle to break the sound barrier, if it didn’t fall apart first.

He figured if Dean remembered anything much at all, he’d head for Seattle, thinking Alec was there. He flicked open his cell, smiled a grim smile and dropped the cell on the seat beside him. Then he hunched his tall frame over the wheel and set about the near impossible job of out-driving his brother.

.

Alec slipped soundlessly along the sidewalk, barely visible even in this place where the inhabitants had enhanced senses. Those that knew him well paused, and then walked on, their greetings withered by the 1000 yard stare from his usually expressive eyes.

Mole caught up with him at the corner, blocking his path with his greater bulk as he spoke something low and gruff that only Alec heard.

Alec stared at him, his expression suddenly lost and hopeless as he shrugged. M ole took hold of his upper arm, gave it a little shake that caused Alec to drop his chin and shrug again before pulling away. He said something through a set jaw and walked on, slapping Mole on the shoulder as he left. Mole turned slowly on his heel, staring after the X5 with a brooding expression his face, until the tall figure disappeared into the sewer entrance.

.

As Dean drove, memories slowly emerged. They spooled and looped in his head, getting all mixed up with demons and Jo digging at his shoulder. He hissed, grabbing again at the wound as burning pain shivered down his arm and across his back. He knew he was running a fever, high enough that the world was pale and shimmering around the edges. He needed antibiotics, but first he had to find something…

“Alec…” he muttered, sure now of the name but still unable to recall quite what had happened. The only clear image was of swirling darkness, the memory of a roaring noise and the sound of someone crying out in pain as they were torn away from his grasp.

The miles blurred beneath the tires as the sun dipped below the horizon, only to rise again. Finally, he bumped the Impala onto the edge of a back street sidewalk in Seattle.

Dean clambered out slowly, cursing his own clumsiness and apologizing to the Impala for the scraped tire walls. The smell of smog and the hum and roar of the city surrounded him, the daytime bustle hidden from his view by a high brick wall.

Eternally grateful for GPS, tracking devices and whatever supercharged engine sat in the rust bucket of a car, Sam pulled in a few feet behind him. He was fully aware that despite all that he’d only caught up with Dean because his brother wasn’t running on all cylinders.

He took a couple of seconds to send a quick text to Bobby and stepped out onto the sidewalk. They were a couple of seconds that were to cost him dear.

In front of him, still oblivious to his brother’s presence, Dean stumbled, clapped his hands over his ears and reeled awkwardly sideways into the empty road.

Some sixth sense had Sam already in motion as thunder split the air. Dean fell, putting out his hands to brace himself against a ground that was no longer there as the road gaped open beneath him. Sam launched himself forward, caught hold of the heel of his brother’s boot and was hurled violently away from the street. 

.

Dean… falling through a gray cloud, his eyes closed, limbs lax, swept out of sight despite Sam’s reaching hands… then there were treetops, branches catching at Sam’s clothes, twigs in his face as he landed heavily in some bushes.

He lay, stunned, catching his breath. Nearby he could hear the sound of a fight, recognizing the sharp breaths, the thud and gasp of action. In the distance the rumble of vehicles and the whump of a helicopter moved steadily closer.

There was a cry, bitten off, then silence. Warily, Sam put his head up enough to see through the greenery. He could make out long legs in dark jeans, black boots, the rest of the prostrate figure hidden behind a woman with long dark hair, who was kneeling with her back to Sam.

Some words reached him, partly obscured by the sound of something moving toward them through the undergrowth.

A man’s voice, familiar, scared. “Don’t leave me here. Don’t let them take me.”

A female, quieter, barely audible. “… can’t carry you…get caught.”

More speech, too quiet to be understood, then the sound of someone crying. There was a brief rustle of leaves as the woman left, running fast into the bushes.

Sam pulled himself up onto his hands and knees, his eyes drawn irresistibly toward the sprawled figure.

Dark jacket, white throat standing out in the gloom. Something horribly familiar about the angle of the head, the color of the hair. Sam’s heart began to hammer, his knees shaking as he rushed forward and dropped down beside the body.

It wasn’t Dean, he realized immediately, with a sickening lurch of relief mixed with dread. Was it Alec? It looked like Alec.

Sam's fingers sought the pale throat. At first it seemed there was nothing, then with a surge of hope he detected a tiny thread of a pulse, although the neck looked bent at an unnatural angle. It must be Alec, but he wasn’t breathing.

Sam very carefully took hold of his head, checked the airway and began to give mouth to mouth, blanking his mind to the fact he had his lips on a carbon copy of his brother’s.

After a minute or so, there was a weak gasp and the chest beneath his palm began to rise and fall of its own accord. Sam pulled away, very conscious that the noises in the undergrowth were getting closer and that Alec hadn’t wanted to be caught.

He did a lightning fast triage that revealed a possible broken neck and a shattered knee joint, but somehow he still had to move 180 lbs of seriously injured transgenic.

The hunting knife flashed quickly in the gloom, fashioned splints for the knee, bound with the arms of Sam’s shirt. Then a wooden brace from the skull to the mid back, tied in place with strips of the same shirt.

“I’m sorry, buddy,” Sam whispered. “It’s the best I can do.” He slid an arm beneath limp shoulders, keeping the braced head cradled against his shoulder. Then a gentle rise to standing, giving thanks for strong thigh muscles and the deeply unconscious state of the man in his arms.

Moving carefully and using every skill imparted to him by John Winchester, Sam slipped ghost-like into the bushes. He’d only taken a few steps when the scenery wobbled, shifted. He curled his fingers into the dark fabric of the jacket and jeans in his arms and let himself be pulled sideways, disappearing from the scene with his load as though they had never been there.

Chapter Text

Alec pushed his motorcycle out of the concealed entrance and settled the waterproof bag more securely around his back and shoulders. It was time to head back to California, get some more money from fools. He mounted the bike with an easy swing and gunned it into life, steering it casually around the debris of boxes and trash.

When it came, the shockwave was completely unexpected. The motorcycle flipped up onto its front wheel and cartwheeled across the street.

Alec let himself be thrown clear, only his cat reflexes enabling the decision and the lightning fast roll. Even cat DNA couldn’t stop his shoulder colliding with a metal post and he regained his feet with a slight stagger as the bike engine puttered and died a few feet away.

“What the…?”

The question was cut short as a figure detached itself from the shadows and rammed into him with some force.

Already off-balance, Alec stumbled and was still turning to face the threat when a solid object slammed into the side of his head.  There was a flash of light in his skull and then nothing.

.

Dean came down hard onto concrete, the breath driven out of him in a grunt as the fire in his shoulder exploded. He curled involuntarily into a fetal position, hand gripping his shoulder and teeth gritted. He fought his way through it with sharp, panting breaths, instinctively trying to be quiet as he squinted around.

It was dark; just enough light filtered out through a grimy window for him to make out he was lying on the sidewalk in a side street. Old boxes and general debris lay all around, graffiti looming over him in pale spray-painted loops against the dirty brick.

He forced himself to loosen his grip on his shoulder, using his good arm to push himself upright. His boots dug into the gritty floor as he shuffled backward, pressing his back against the nearest wall. Reaching out, he hooked a couple of large boxes with his fingertips, dragging them around and half over himself for partial concealment.

His head dropped back against the wall, his senses swimming, but his mind as clear as crystal.

Alec. His clone... his brother... from a different universe.

Memories flooded his mind, each one distinct. He remembered everything. As his body slipped into unconsciousness, his last coherent thoughts were of how sick Alec had been when he'd arrived in their Seattle—and the vain hope that no one would find him before he woke up

.

It didn’t feel as though they’d moved far, either in time or space. Sam staggered, struggling to keep both his footing and his grip on his precious load.

He peered around. The woodland looked much the same although the sounds of pursuit were gone. Everything was silent except for the occasional call of a small bird.

It was quite possibly the same place, but a different time. It seemed later in the day, and perhaps later in the year too, with less greenery and a colder feel to the air.

The burden in his arms was limp, heavy. Sam shifted his grip, his face setting in determined lines. He would get his little brother help, wherever they were.

.

Bobby pulled the tow-truck in front of the Impala. The heavyset figure beside him scratched at his chest through his grimy t-shirt and huffed a laugh. “Just where you said it’d be!”

“Thanks man. I owe ya.”

“Owe me nothin’. Hunters gotta look out for their own.”

The man opened the door of the truck and dropped heavily down onto the road. He hitched up his pants in a distracted way, a warm note entering his gruff voice as he eyed the V8 rust bucket parked behind the Impala.

“Good to be seein’ the old girl again though.”

He slammed the truck door, slapped the panel in farewell and shuffled off. Seconds later the V8 grumbled into life and the rust bucket was gone.

Bobby climbed down slowly, checking his cell for the umpteenth time that day as he muttered into his own moustache.

“Balls.” He sighed heavily. “Least y’caught up with him, Sammy.”

The Impala stood in solitary splendor in the street. Wherever the boys were, and whatever they were doing, Dean wouldn’t want her left here. With a heavy heart, Bobby set about loading her up. The Winchesters were out of reach and all he could do was take the Impala home and wait.

.

Alec came to with a start, jolted awake by the racket of the helicopter lifting off. He turned his head, wincing at the sharp pain above his ear. Black combat boots near his face belonged to a figure whose clear voice rang out above him.

“Yes, Sir. I have cable ties on him now, Sir.”

“You’ll need more than cable ties for that freak. 494 is a particularly troublesome specimen.”

White’s voice cut through the whump of the blades, easily distinguishable. A slight turn of Alec’s head brought him into view, sitting in the co-pilot’s seat.

Alec was simultaneously aware of the constriction of the ties around his wrists and ankles and the buffet of wind against his side. With a swift move, he flipped onto his back, then onto his feet, silently thanking his luck that his wrists were bound in front of him. In one fluid motion, he grabbed the knife from the belt of the startled operative in front of him and severed the tie on his ankles.

The speed of the reaction that slammed Alec into the bulkhead next to the open door confirmed that his adversary was one of the breeding cult. 

Alec struck out, his wrists still bound. The knife caught on the webbing of the operative’s chest before sliding between his ribs. It snagged, then tore free, and the operative fell into him, a shocked look frozen on his face.

.

“I can pay.” Sam could hear the desperation in his own voice. The man peered at him wearily.

“Wouldn’t be doin’ it if ya couldn’t.” He motioned towards the scrubbed operating table behind him, squinting at Sam. “Don’t have much equipment left, y’understand?”

Sam nodded. “Just do what you can.”

The man stared at him a moment longer and then set to work. Sam sank wearily into a stained, plastic chair, fingering the wad of notes in his pocket. It wasn’t ideal, this broken-down clinic at the edge of Seattle, but it was the best he could do.

.

The smell of gasoline filtered into Dean’s consciousness, the sharp smell gradually rousing him. He raised his eyelids to a gray, cold dawn and blinked a few times, looking around with bleary eyes. The smell was coming from a motorcycle, lying on its side on the far side of the street, fuel weeping slowly from a tiny puncture in the tank.

There was no sign of anyone around and after a while Dean gathered himself together and clambered unsteadily onto his feet. The angular lines of the buildings, the curve of the road, all matched the street where he’d parked the Impala. The trash, the graffiti, were all new. And the Impala was gone.

.

Sam was half-asleep, drifting, when a sharp intake of breath from the bed beside him snapped him fully awake.

“Alec?”

Lashes trembled briefly, then lifted slowly, the skin beneath them almost translucent in the dim light.

"Don’t try to move," Sam said quickly, laying a calming hand on the bare chest in front of him.

Shocked eyes went wide with horror as a trembling hand moved immediately to the neck brace.

“It’s okay,” Sam said, forcing a smile as he used every trick he knew to reassure the man lying on the bed. “You’re safe now. No one’s gonna hurt you.”

There was no recognition on the face that was a younger version of Dean’s—only abject fear as the man's eyes darted from side to side, taking in the sterile white walls of the clinic.

“It’s not Manticore,” Sam said softly, hoping to ground him.

The gaze shifted toward him, eyelids already fluttering closed as the X5 lost his battle with consciousness.

“Not Manticore. You’re safe.”

The words fell into the quiet room, but whether they helped or not, Sam couldn’t say. His gaze tracked the slow slide of a tear down the side of the familiar face.

.

Chapter Text

Alec twisted instinctively in mid-air, his movements a blur as he straightened himself so he hit the foliage boots first, exposing the smallest surface area possible to the inevitable impact of branches.

A split-second later he crashed into the treetops, breaking straight through the thin limbs at the top of the trees and then bouncing, twisting, scraping until he came to a halt with a bone-jarring jerk, his boots swinging a few feet above the leaf litter as he hung from the stubby end of a broken branch by his cable-tied wrists.

Before he could think about how much everything hurt, he swung his legs up and wrapped them around the tree trunk, took the weight off his wrists and pulled himself loose from the branch.

A quick look around, then he dropped cat-like to the floor and blurred away through the trees, away from the heavy beat of the helicopter’s rotors as it circled the area where he’d fallen.

.

Alec stared at the rusted road sign. He was twenty miles outside Seattle.

“Son of a bitch!”

The now familiar words rolled off his tongue in a satisfactory way. He wasn’t sure where this additional colloquial vocabulary had come from, perhaps some half-forgotten training package of Manticore’s, but it was strangely comforting nonetheless.

He was sore, scraped, bruised, and blood-stained, but surprisingly intact considering he'd fallen from a helicopter.

Most of his injuries were already beginning to heal, though the deep incisions around his wrists would take a few days to mend, even for a transgenic. It was remarkable that the cable ties hadn’t severed the arteries when he'd come to that muscle-tearing halt against the tree branch.

He fingered the blood-encrusted lump on his head, even the light touch of his fingertips making him feel nauseous. He sincerely hoped the agent in the helicopter had been the one responsible for the vile headache currently slamming around in his skull.

“Well,” Alec muttered to himself, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he pulled his hoodie up over his mussed-up hair. “This has been a fun day.”

He stuck out a thumb hopefully at a pick-up truck travelling in the direction of Seattle. It veered around him with a scattering of small stones and picked up speed.

“No,” Alec said calmly. “I don’t blame you for that carefully considered decision, even though it sucks. I wouldn’t pick me up, either.”

He chose the side of the road closest to the bushes, just in case he had to dive for cover, and started the trek back to Terminal City.

.

Dean steadied himself, one palm against the coarse brickwork, crumbs of mortar embedding themselves in his fingertips. Footsteps were approaching and his hunter’s senses told him they didn’t belong to anyone he wanted to meet. A voice drifted around the corner of the building.

“…no-one else here!”

“I tell you, there was! I saw him!”

Dean reversed along the wall, gaze fixed on the corner as he retreated slowly into shadows.

A box caught at his feet, and he staggered, his usual grace eroded by the infection spreading through him and the sickness caused by his journey across time and space. He’d taken a couple of stumbling steps, trying to right himself, when a strong hand gripped his upper arm and hauled him backward with surprising force.

“Watch out there! You’re leadin’ ‘em right to us.”

Dean found himself inside a dark doorway, then he was turned and thrust towards an opening in the floor. Too dizzy to keep his feet, he half-fell down the shaft and ended up face down in what smelled like a sewer side-tunnel.

The light above him was cut off abruptly as a cover dropped into place over Dean’s head. Boots thudded next to his face, and a hand gripped his right shoulder, pulling him upright and rolling him onto his back. He bit off an involuntary groan of pain as he rolled over his wounded left shoulder. A scaly face, partly illuminated by the light filtering up from the tunnel, swam into view, its features blurring through the fog over his vision.

“You ain’t looking too good there, pretty boy.”

“Right back atcha.”

The scaled man snorted.

“Well, that hurts.”

He leaned forward in the dim light and sniffed, going suddenly still as he muttered to himself.

“Well, what’s Mole gone and caught himself. ‘Cause you ain’t 494.”

His hands began to pat their way down over Dean’s body, checking for weapons. Dean struck out, knowing it was weak and slow.

“Gerroff me, you freak!”

A grim smile tugged at Mole’s lips as he grabbed Dean’s injured shoulder, tightening his grip. Dean clenched his teeth, breathing through his nose, fighting to stay conscious as the tunnel faded, turning gray and silent.

“…is gonna want to meet you.”

Sound, distant white light, and cold air rushed back with the words. Mole eyed him with distaste as he stuffed Dean’s weapons into his belt pouch.

Dean gagged, coughed, gagged again, and was hauled upright.

“Get movin’. You’re no civilian.”

Dean staggered, almost fell, steadied by a firm grip on his upper arm. 494, he thought. Alec.

The words were enough to keep him moving.

.

The doctor stepped back with a sigh. He indicated the newly replaced dressing.

“I’ve done what I can. Pre-pulse, he’d be in a hospital for a lengthy spell with the knee alone.”

He grimaced at the neck brace.

“As for that, how he’s not dead...I dunno. The X-rays, well, they showed his neck was near as damn it snapped. Now, seems to be healin’ of its own accord. Never seen the like. Next thing you’ll be tellin’ me he’s one of them super-enhanced creations from Terminal City.”

A steely gaze from tired brown eyes met Sam’s own.

“If he was, I’d just as soon not know.”

Sam thanked him again and told him they must be moving on. The doctor nodded and reminded him there was no telling yet what damage the injury had caused mentally, after all being resuscitated after sustaining a broken neck was no small matter.

“You paid me well,” he said quietly. “Cash like that’s hard to come by these days. I’ll bring the ambulance round, drop you where you wanna go. Then, far as I’m concerned, we never met.”

He left, shutting the door behind him.

“You hear that, Alec?”

Sam forced a bright smile onto his weary face as he addressed the unconscious transgenic.

“We’re getting out of here.”

.

A low hum rose from the watching transgenics. Max held up a hand for silence.

“It’s Alec!” Jem insisted, her eyes fixed on the stumbling figure being marched toward them.

“That’s not Alec.” Max’s voice was shaking.

The man with Mole stopped and raised his head, looked at them with Alec’s eyes set in Alec’s face.

“Then who is it?” Jem whispered, her eyes wide. “If it isn’t Alec, and it isn’t that crazy twin of his, ‘cause he’s dead...it’s got to be some kind of set-up.”

Mole shoved the man forward, shrugging his weapon into place, the business end aimed at the imposter.

“Stay right there!”

The man stared at the mixed crowd before him, his expression one of confusion. The waiting transgenics could smell the putrid stench of an infected wound from several feet away.

“Alec? Is Alec here?”

The man moved slowly toward them. He looked dazed and seemed not to notice or care about Mole’s command. His voice was deeper than the X5’s, and Max frowned, wondering if this was another of Sandeman's earlier experiments.

The man staggered, dropped to his knees and slowly collapsed onto his side. Mole stepped forward in an aggressive manner, his finger tightened on the trigger, but before he could pull it, the gun was ripped from his hand as a blur of rage slammed into him from the side.

Mole fell, rolled, and scrambled up to see what had attacked him. He found himself facing a furious X5—Alec. Alec, with a feral snarl on his face, standing over the prostrate man.

“Stay away from him.”

Mole gawped, astounded, as the thought crossed his mind that he hadn’t seen Alec look this animated in months.

“He’s mine,” Alec snarled, staring them all down. He seemed to realize what he’d said and quickly amended it. “He’s with me.”

“Alec?” Max’s voice was uncharacteristically unsure, her face shocked. 

Alec blinked, as if becoming aware of his stance. He stepped clear of the man, noticeably indifferent to the stranger unsteadily getting to his feet behind him.

“It’s not Ben.” Alec caught the unspoken question in Max’s gaze.

He turned slowly to face the other man. They were strikingly alike, Max thought—almost identical, though the stranger seemed a little older.

Dean steadied himself against the wall, a wave of intense relief washing over him as his eyes drank in the sight of the transgenic before him.

He shut his eyes for a moment, took a calming breath, and then looked straight into the eyes of his mirror image.

“Alec. Hey, buddy. You okay?”

The compassion in the question was unmistakable. Alec realized, with a jolt, that he was shaking, his breath ragged and uneven, his jaw trembling as memories rushed back, relentless and sharp. He swallowed hard, trying to steady himself, but all at once the walls he had built up seemed to crumble. With a deep, shuddering breath, he stepped forward, letting himself lean into the embrace of the man he had come to think of as his older brother.

Max stood there, stunned, watching as Alec—usually so guarded and composed—let go of his cool exterior, clinging to his double with a raw vulnerability. He accepted the soothing back rub and the firm hold, allowing himself to be comforted, even if just for a moment.

“Dean,” Alec whispered. “Dean.”

“Yeah, man, I gotcha.”

Alec’s eyes filled with tears, the darkness lifting from his soul as he dropped his face into his brother’s shoulder and clung to him.

Chapter Text

For a moment, Alec just clung to Dean, his breath hitching as a maelstrom of memories overwhelmed him. The terrible burden of unexplainable grief he’d carried since his illness suddenly made sense. The dark depression that had weighed him down was his body’s response to something his conscious mind hadn’t been able to grasp—the loss of a family.

He became aware of the smell of infection just as he realized his older brother was trembling—a continuous, fine vibration that grew stronger with each passing moment. The embrace shifted from one of affection to one of need, as Dean leaned into him for support.

Alec, too close to see what was wrong, stepped back half a pace, his hands still gripping Dean’s upper arms. His brother hissed, shut his eyes, and wilted slightly as Alec’s grip neared his left shoulder.

“Dean? Are you hurt?”

Alec already knew the answer. He could smell the pus and, with a pang, remembered how ill he’d been after traveling—without an injury to make things worse.

Dean’s eyelids opened halfway, and he attempted a wink at his clone.

“Been better. You got a decent first aid kit in this dump? Jo must’ve left some crap in my shoulder.”

Alec had heard the brothers mention a Jo Harvelle. He wondered if it was the same Jo, but dismissed the thought. Whoever she was, she wasn’t here, and Dean needed help.

“What happened?”

The muscle along Dean’s jaw rippled, his features tightening as he dropped his gaze.

“Took a bullet.”

“Fill me in later,” Alec said quietly, tamping down a surge of anger. “We’re heading to the med center.”

Dean nodded and swayed, his eyes losing focus. “Med center,” he mumbled. “Betta be close, dude."

He allowed Alec to throw an arm around his waist and help him along, but they’d only gone a few steps when Dean gave a tired little sigh. He stumbled, then stumbled again, going limp in Alec’s grip.

Max, still frozen in astonishment, felt herself pushed aside. It was Joshua.

“Why isn’t Little Fella helping?” He frowned at her, clearly puzzled. “This is other Alec.”

The “other Alec”. The splash of emerald green and worn-leather brown in the middle of Joshua’s painting. The “other Alec” beside Alec’s hidden “pretty colors.” It seemed the “other Alec” was now in Terminal City, while the original Alec looked like he was about to explode if someone didn’t help soon.

She stepped forward, but it was already too late. The limp figure was scooped from the X5’s grip, and Joshua hurried toward the med center. Alec stalked after him like a big cat guarding its prey, casting murderous glances at anyone who came too close.

.

The transgenic startled awake, going to fearful alertness in the blink of an eye. His eyes roved the room frantically, just as they had every time he’d awoken since the ambulance had dropped them off at the small cabin.

Sam approached slowly, making soothing noises and holding his hands out at his sides, palms up, in a universal gesture of peace.

“It’s okay, Alec.” Sam smiled, keeping his face calm and reassuring. “No one’s gonna hurt you. This isn’t Manticore.”

The man on the bed was rigid with terror, the rapid drumming of his heart visible through the thin T-shirt stretched tight across his chest. Sam sat down on the upturned oil drum beside the cot, letting the back of his hand rest gently against the trembling arm.

“I won’t let anyone hurt you. We’re safe here.”

This time, unlike the previous occasions, unconsciousness didn’t return. Baleful eyes glared at Sam, a faint ripple of movement running through the recumbent form as limbs and extremities were tested.

“Try not to move,” Sam cautioned. “I know you heal fast, but you really screwed up your knee.”

The warning came too late. Shock flared in the transgenic’s pupils as he flexed his knee joint.

Perhaps it was the genuine wince and sympathy on Sam’s face, perhaps it was the dull interior of the wooden cabin, scented with pine resin from the surrounding forest, so different from Manticore’s labs, or perhaps it was just pain and exhaustion, but something seemed to break through the barrier of fear and control.

“Are you a ‘nomaly?” The voice was raw, forcing its way through a damaged throat.

“Huh?” Sam’s brain raced, remembering the stories Alec had told them about Manticore. “No. I’m not an anomaly. I’m Sam, remember? I’m Sam, and you’re Alec.”

“I’m not Alec.” The man swallowed, speaking again, his voice slightly stronger now, but still rough. “I’m X5. I’m Ben.”

Sam’s gut flipped. Brain damage. Too long without oxygen, and you get brain damage. He fought the urge to pull his little brother into a hug and settled for resting his hand over the long fingers on the blanket.

“Okay,” he said, unconsciously projecting every bit of the empathy Sam Winchester had at his disposal. “Don’t worry about anything, kiddo. Try to get some sleep, and we’ll talk later, when you’re feeling stronger.”

The fingers twitched under his, then stilled, almost as if they’d pulled away, but stopped just short.

“I’ll be right here,” Sam said, wrapping his larger hand around the one so like his big brother’s. “Right here.”

.

“He’ll be okay.”

Max stood her ground outside the partitioned-off cubicle that served as an operating room, meeting Alec’s scowl with a neutral expression.

“He’ll be okay,” she repeated. “They know what they’re doing.”

“Yeah,” Alec said bitterly. “They’re Manticore-trained, I know. Thing is, though, Maxie, he’s human. And we don’t get many of those around here, apart from virus boy, if you hadn’t noticed.”

Max’s lip curled, annoyance flashing in her eyes.

“Don’t bust my chops. Anyway, it’s you I’m worried about.”

Alec looked taken aback.

“Me? I’m fine. A hundred percent perfect specimen, just like always.”

“No, you’re not. You’re hurting.”

Max took a tentative step forward, wiping a trickle of blood from Alec’s eyebrow with one small finger, wishing it was as easy to wipe away the anxiety eating at the man in front of her.

“What happened?”

Alec blinked, as if finally processing her concern.

“White. White happened. His goons set off some kind of explosion outside the entrance and grabbed me.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frowning. There’d been no sign of an explosion when he’d returned…Dean, he realized suddenly. It must’ve been Dean arriving.

Max grabbed his forearm with a hiss, forcing it back down, then quickly pulled aside his cuff to reveal the deep gashes around his wrists.

“You need these looked at!”

“I’m fine. I heal, remember? Just like you. All thanks to Manticore’s little enhancements.”

“Sit down!”

A familiar sting edged Max’s tone. To her surprise, Alec backed down without further argument, sinking onto a vacant cot with an injured look on his face. She clenched her teeth in frustration, hating the flicker of sympathy stirred by the wide-eyed expression he shot her.

It was time to focus on practicalities, not on feeling sorry for a smart-mouthed fellow X5 who’d been a pain in the ass for months. She grabbed a few supplies from a cupboard and set about cleaning and dressing Alec’s wrists.

“So, what did White want? Apart from your head?”

Alec shrugged, not allowing himself to wince as the movement jarred his wrists. 

“I dunno. Didn’t stick around to find out.”

He glanced at her quickly, catching the unspoken question in her eyes.

“I declined a helicopter ride, ran a while, snagged a car. And here I am.”

Max huffed, fingering the tears in his clothing, the swiftly healing gashes on his face.

“You did this turning down a helicopter ride?”

“Yeah,” Alec smirked. “Well, it was kinda flying at the time.”

She didn’t know whether to hug him or slap him.

.

The big man with long hair was asleep, his neck tilted awkwardly against the wall.

Ben carefully slid his hand out from under the warm fingers and felt around the brace on his neck.

He let his hand drop, flexed his fingers. The contact lingered, faintly comforting, though unsettling in its foreignness. He wasn’t used to comfort. The touch of another person felt like a breach of his carefully constructed defences. 

A subtle movement of his head confirmed that the vertebrae were knitting together. Soon, the brace would come off. The realization was almost an afterthought, overshadowed by the confusion clouding his thoughts. 

The last thing he remembered was Max. Her hands around his neck. The sickening pressure as his bones snapped. The cold, black emptiness after.

How was he here? How was he alive?

His knee was on fire, throbbing angrily as the growing bones fused with the metal pins inside the joint. He wasn’t going to be moving fast anytime soon. But that didn’t matter, his body was healing. It was his mind that couldn’t make sense of what was happening. There was no Lydecker here. No sterile walls, no lab, no white-coated doctors with their cruel, calculating eyes. He was somewhere… different. Somewhere safe?

But how was that possible? How had he escaped death? How had he escaped Lydecker?

Being stuck there, with no answers, felt like being trapped in a nightmare. Pain, exhaustion, and a gnawing fear of the unknown ate at him. The faintest flicker of hope, if that’s what it was, was buried under layers of disbelief. He shouldn’t be feeling anything. He couldn’t let himself feel anything. 

He’d been through worse, far worse. Pain was nothing, just a reminder that he was still breathing. But the not knowing… that was something else.

Ben closed his eyes for a moment, pressing his lips together in a tight line. He hated feeling exposed, uncertain. It was weakness and he needed to be strong, in control.

It was quiet in the cabin. His enhanced senses told him nothing bigger than small wildlife was moving for miles around. It felt safe, safer than Ben had felt in a long time, and part of that was due to the large anomaly sitting beside him.

He studied the man carefully, not sure why the anomaly made him feel safe but finally pinning it down to his scent. Similar to his own, but subtly different. Maybe he was a donor for one of Ben's brothers or sisters?

He forced himself to relax. Max thought him dead. The Blue Lady had abandoned him, left him to die in the woods. This man hadn’t hurt him so far, and with every minute that passed, Ben was getting stronger. Soon, he’d be able to leave, and no one would be able to stop him.

.

Dean muttered in a feverish sleep, sweat beading at the roots of his hair and running down to soak the pillow, forming a dark patch around his head. Alec dipped the cloth in cold water again, something he’d been doing all night, and gently laid it back over his brother’s forehead.

The bullet wound, properly cleaned and aided in its healing by a pint of Alec’s blood, was already beginning to knit together. The fever seemed unrelated, stirring hazy memories in Alec of staggering through a dark alleyway toward a cemetery, burning with fever and too weak to even remove his jacket. It seemed that transgenic blood, whether your own or someone else’s, offered no defense against the strain of traveling between universes.

Hours later, a heavy tread in the corridor broke through Alec’s fog of fatigue, alerting him to Mole’s presence. The large transgenic paused in the doorway, chewing on his unlit cigar, his stance uncertain.

Alec found himself on his feet, instinctively placing himself between the intruder and the man on the bed.

Mole broke the awkward silence. “How’s he doin’?”

“Been better."

Mole shifted uncomfortably, moving the cigar to the other side of his mouth. “Didn’t know he meant anything to ya.”

Alec's eyes narrowed to venomous slits. “Didn’t notice anything familiar about him, then?” The corner of his lip curled, sarcasm lacing his tone. “Like he might be, oh, I dunno, family?”

Mole stared at him, expressionless. “You all look the same to me, pretty boy.”

He turned on his heel, the rubber squeaking, then paused, glancing back over his shoulder. “You’ve got family already.”

And with that, he was gone.

“Alec?”

Alec spun around to find Dean watching him with tired eyes. He frowned as Alec pressed his hand to his forehead but bit back the instinctive retort when a look of relief crossed the younger man's face.

“You’re cooler. ”

“Yeah, dude. I’m just tired.”

Dean gave him a ghost of a grin, allowed Alec to change his pillow for a fresh one, then settled back with a yawn. He flexed his shoulder experimentally.

“That blood of yours is awesome.”

Alec stared at him, momentarily lost for words, the weight of exhaustion hitting him all at once now the emergency had passed. Dean winked.

“I’m gonna sleep. Sit down before you fall down.”

Alec stayed there, unblinking and swaying with exhaustion, until Dean’s breathing evened out. Then he cast a glance at the doorway, wishing not for the first time, that there was an actual door attached.

Eventually, almost collapsing with his need to rest, he scooted up on the cot between Dean and the open doorway, pressing his back to his brother’s side, careful not to jar his shoulder. Seconds later, he was asleep, missing the small quirk of amusement that tugged at the corner of Dean’s mouth.

.

The play of sunlight through the leaves spilled through the window, startling Sam awake. He jerked upright, catching at his stiff neck with a subdued curse.

The man on the cot was watching him through narrowed eyes. Perhaps it was the shadow, or maybe it was just that Sam was still half-asleep, but there seemed to be a darkness that clung to him, hidden beneath the surface, but still unmistakable.

Sam could feel a tension seeping across the space between them: barely contained rage, confusion, loneliness. He didn’t know if he should reach out to comfort, or give him space.

Sam shivered involuntarily, remembering the same expression on the features of a shapeshifter wearing his brother’s face.

The transgenic was far more dangerous than he appeared, Sam knew that instinctively. Beneath the sharp edges and the defensive posture, there was something else... something unstable. 

This man said he wasn't Alec. Maybe he wasn't? 

Chapter Text

Sam tipped the contents of the last can of soup into the small, battered pan. The liquid was thin, more gruel than soup, with a greasy film rising to the surface as it began to steam in the cool air. They desperately needed supplies, but the thought of leaving Alec, or Ben as he now preferred to be called, was unappealing. Sam couldn’t be sure the transgenic would still be there when he returned, no matter how immobile he seemed.

A sharp snap behind him caught Sam’s attention, and he turned wearily, wondering what was going on.

"A… Ben, don’t… hey, man, don’t do that!"

It was too late. Ben scowled at him, dropping the neck brace onto the floor.

"I’m Ben. Not a Ben."

"What? Oh."

Sam felt flustered, as he often did when confronted with the unblinking stare of the younger man. He rubbed his palm down his pants leg, trying to calm himself, and made another attempt.

"Look, buddy, you need the neck brace. Your neck was broken."

"Well," Ben said coldly, "now it's not. So I don't need the brace, and you can stop bitching."

A flood of irritation grounded Sam, sweeping away his nervousness.

"It's your neck, snap it again if you want, you douchewad!" he snapped, resorting to a Deanism and returning the scowl.

Ben ignored him, shifting around on his ass until his left leg dangled off the bed. Carefully, he placed his foot on the floor, then began to inch his right leg forward, using both hands for support.

"Ben, don't."

Sam watched, his concern deepening as he noted how the man's face stayed impassive, even though sweat beaded along his forehead and upper lip.

"You're not ready yet," Sam said quietly, trying to break through the wall of concentration.

The muscle along Ben's jaw flickered as he gritted his teeth, lifting his right leg off the bed. His knee bent, and the foot slid toward the floor with deliberate slowness.

Sam, already a step closer, watched as  Ben's face took on a gray hue. He judged the moment when the transgenic's body gave out, his expression twisting in a brief, involuntary spasm. Sam caught him just as he slipped forward, his head lolling into Sam's chest.

"Shit." The word spilled from Sam's lips, a sharp acknowledgment of the pain he’d just witnessed.

Ben struggled weakly, his forehead pressing against Sam's collarbone.

"Quit fighting!" Sam gritted out, trying to hoist him up even as Ben’s body slid toward the floor. "Dammit, HOLD STILL!" 

Ben froze, his pupils wide and dark as he lifted his head to meet Sam’s irate gaze. The stillness allowed Sam to maneuver him, deposit him back onto the bed in a sitting position.

"Stay put."

Ben’s unblinking eyes locked onto Sam’s, his pasty skin emphasizing the freckles now visible beneath the sweat.

"Sorry, Sir."

It was barely more than a whisper, but it struck Sam like a punch to the gut. He patted Ben's shoulder awkwardly, unsure how to handle the sudden vulnerability.

"It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. I thought you were going to fall there."

Sam looked down at Ben’s knee, saw a fresh bloom of red soaking through the bandage.

"We need to move, but we can't leave 'til your knee is up to it."

"I can go now."

Startled, Sam tore his gaze away from the dressing and locked eyes with Ben. A new, earnest expression pulled at the younger man's features, making him look so strikingly like a teenage Dean that Sam’s heart skipped a beat. Dean, where are you, man? Are you even alive?

"I'm a good soldier, Sir. I can go now."

Sam was jolted back to the present, his attention snapping to the transgenic, picking up the unspoken plea for approval. 

"You're not a soldier anymore," Sam said, his voice firm yet softening with understanding. "Remember? You're free now."

He let out a deep breath, running a hand through his hair.

"And you don't have to call me Sir," he added with a small, almost tired smile. "I'm Sam. Just Sam. Just sit, okay? I'm getting the soup. We'll eat, then I'm gonna have a look at your dressing."

Ben sat, his eyes locked on Sam, unmoving, unblinking. Sam fought the urge to fidget under that steady gaze, wishing for a blink, a sign of life, something that said Ben was actually present in the real world. 

.

They were both asleep, Max realized, standing silently in the doorway. The older one, Dean, was half-sitting, propped up by pillows, one hand resting on his abdomen, the other arm draped loosely over the figure beside him. Alec's back was pressed against Dean’s side, his boots dangling off the end of the bed.

Dean still looked a little sickly, the left over pallor of illness draining the color from his skin, his cheeks dark with stubble—stubble that Alec would never have. Alec, in contrast, looked more open and vulnerable than Max had seen him since Rachel’s bedside. The sight squeezed her chest with an unfamiliar surge of emotion.

His brother, she thought. It was easy to think of the older man as Alec's brother, even though she knew that couldn’t be the case. His donor, then, closer than a brother genetically, but she could see how the relationship might develop that way, from both sides.

She flushed, suddenly aware that Dean was watching her with an amused expression. Her scowl didn’t seem to faze him; instead, it brought a flicker of a smile to his lips.

"You're Max."

Spoken quietly, but with a lower pitch and a distinctive timbre, Dean’s voice was strikingly different from Alec's. Would Alec sound the same in a few more years? The similarity and the differences between them were uncanny—it was like catching a glimpse of the future.

Alec stirred, his lean form shifting uneasily, but was soothed instantly by the small, instinctive movement of Dean’s hand on his arm.

Max nodded, reluctant to wake her fellow X5, who had looked like he was about to collapse from exhaustion the last time she’d seen him.

Dean seemed to read the concern that had slipped onto her face without her realizing it.

“He’s okay. Just needs to sleep.”

Max nodded, about to slip out of the room, when he gestured toward the bottle of water on the far side of Alec and raised an eyebrow.

She moved quietly across the room and passed the bottle over, feeling the coolness of his fingers as they brushed against her own.

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

He flicked the cap off with his thumb and drank deeply of the tepid liquid. He'd been thirsty for a while, Max thought, but hadn’t wanted to wake the younger man.

Her gaze flicked down to Alec, took in the long dark lashes resting on his pale cheeks, his face free of the usual cockiness or bravado, relaxed in sleep. Manticore sure makes 'em pretty. The thought came unbidden, Original Cindy's words echoing unexpectedly in her mind.

She stepped back, suddenly unsure of herself, and looked up to meet Dean's gaze. Something in his eyes told her he was amused. She frowned in response, but he only offered a cheeky grin and a wink.

"Be seeing ya, Maxie."

The smirk was identical to Alec’s—and just as irritating.

"It's Max," she hissed, turning on her heel with a squeak of rubber, practically blurring to the door. Her enhanced hearing caught his chuckle from the far end of the hallway.

.

The pan of soup steamed and wobbled in Ben's hand as he paused, spoon in the other, eyeing Sam suspiciously.

"Where's yours?"

"I already ate," Sam replied, not eager to get into a debate about soup, especially one that didn't smell too appealing.

"No, you didn't. My knee's injured, not my brain." He thrust the bent spoon at Sam. "We share."

"You need it more than me," Sam protested.

Ben's gaze hardened. "I need you to get me out of here." His voice was flat. "So we share."

"Well," said Sam, eyeing him in an unfriendly way as he took the spoon. "If you're gonna put it that way…"

.

Mole found himself drawn back again. He told himself it was to ensure the intruder was secure, but he wouldn’t admit, even to himself, that he was concerned about the X5 he'd come to think of as more than a friend. Damn it, Alec was family.

He stopped in the doorway, narrowing his eyes at the man glowering at him over Alec’s prostrate form.

"Whaddya want, Klingon boy?"

Mole growled, chewed harder than he'd intended on his soggy cigar and spat some bitter tobacco shreds out of the corner of his mouth.

"If I had my way, punk-ass, you'd be six feet deep now."

He took a couple of steps forward, trying to see if Alec was alright. The man, Dean, tensed. Mole got a distinct impression that if he took another step the human would be at his throat, injured or not.

He peered at Alec, trying to get a clear view of his face. The younger man looked relaxed enough, but it wasn’t like an X5 to be sleeping with a threat nearby. Maybe he was unconscious. Mole growled again, uneasy.

"You got stomach problems, lizard man? 'Cause if you need to take a crap, take it outside."

Mole was about to strike when Alec stirred, responding to the threat in the air despite his exhaustion. The human’s attention shifted immediately, his expression softening as he murmured something and gently patted the transgenic. To Mole’s surprise, Alec cracked an eye open, muttered a few words, then settled back into sleep.

Mole realized his mouth was hanging open and snapped his hand up, catching the cigar just as it peeled away from his lip.

"He okay?" He blurted, surprising himself.

Dean glanced at him, thoughtful. "I'm not gonna hurt him," he said after a beat. "He's family."

Family. That word again. Mole nodded and left, surprised by how much a single word could hurt.

.

When Sam replaced the dressing, it was clear that Ben's knee had healed far more than he'd expected.

Even so, their trek away from the cabin was agonizingly slow. How the transgenic remained upright was a mystery. Despite the makeshift crutch and an arm draped around Sam's neck, Ben was clearly in intense pain. Time and again, he nearly collapsed. 

"I'm sorry," Sam murmured helplessly, using his body weight to brace the pain-dazed X5 against a tree.

"'S'okay," Ben whispered, his voice weak. The half-light filtering through the canopy deepened the shadows on his face, seeming to add a layer of despair to the already present darkness. He was fading. Sam could feel it in the way Ben was sagging against him, barely holding on. They needed food and rest, and fast.

The sound of voices cut through Sam’s thoughts. He half-dragged Ben a little further down the trail and propped him against a large rock before moving forward cautiously. Peering through a thin screen of bushes, he spotted a road a few feet below them. An old car was pulled over on the side, a man and two children loading logs into the trunk.

"We need that car." Ben’s voice came from behind him, strained as he swayed on his crutch, pain carving deep grooves in his face. The hairs on the back of Sam's neck lifted. There was no way the man should have been able to approach so silently, given the state he was in. 

"I'll ask for a lift," Sam said after a pause, already feeling defeated. Why would a stranger offer a ride to two unknown men, one of them clearly injured?

"I can take them from here." The voice that belonged to Alec spoke words he would never have said.

"Take them?" Sam asked, confusion thick in his tone.

"I'll kill the old man. You knock the kids out or kill 'em or something." Ben didn't sound like he cared either way. The set of his expression, the glint in his eyes, were feral. There was no mistaking the fact that he was a predator. 

"Are you insane?!" Sam hissed, furious. 

Ben's scowl was belligerent, unrepentant. "We need that car," he repeated stubbornly.

"Well we're not killing anyone for it. Not anyone! You understand me?"

Sam eyed him with distrust, but recalled the transgenic's response to an authoritive voice.

"Stand down, soldier. Y'hear me? Stand down. I'll deal with this."

Ben blinked at him and nodded reluctantly, letting himself slide down to a sitting position on a rock.

"Yessir," he muttered, not looking happy, but not arguing either.

Chapter Text

"You see…" Sam pushed his hair back from his forehead, sub-consciously trying to appear tidier, more respectable. "We could really use a ride to town." He looked anxiously at the man. "I can pay."

The man eyed Sam skeptically, crossing his arms. "How much we talking?"

Sam felt a rush of nerves as he fished for his wallet. "I’ve got a little cash, enough for gas," he said, hoping it would be enough to convince him.

The man's expression softened slightly, but he still seemed hesitant. Sam took a breath, trying to think fast. "Just a simple ride. No trouble, I promise."

Brown eyes regarded him, considering, as the man tugged at a log of wood, settling it more securely in the open trunk.

"There's two of you, y'say?"

"Yeah. My…brother. He's hurt his knee. I left him up top."

Sam gestured at the screen of bushes on top of the slope.

The man slammed the trunk lid and sighed.

"Well son, cash is a good persuader. Go fetch your brother and we'll get on the road."

He flapped a hand at the two small boys.

"Set in the front, outta the way."

Sam gabbled his thanks and jogged back up the bank, eager to get Ben into the car before the stranger changed his mind. The transgenic was waiting for him, his expression leaving Sam in no doubt that although he was obeying orders, for now, he wasn't happy about the situation.

"It would've been quicker to terminate them," he noted in a sullen tone.

"There's not going to be any terminating!"

Irritated, Sam hauled him onto his feet, getting a small, guilty twinge of satisfaction when the younger man's lips drew back in an involuntary grimace.

"C'mon, before he changes his mind."

The slope was short but steep and extremely slippery. By the time they reached the bottom Ben's eyes were wide and shocked, moss green in the dappled light under the leaves.

"C'mon," Sam repeated in a kinder tone, wishing the younger man didn't look so much like Dean. It was hard to stay mad at him when it was Dean's face sweating in pain and Dean's arm shaking under his hand.

The man was suddenly beside them, taking hold of Ben's other arm.

"Lemme give you a hand there, sonny."

He peered at Ben's face and winced in sympathy.

"Leg hurts some, huh? Let's get you in the car."

He opened the rear door and gestured inside.

Sam realized with surprise that the transgenic was leaning into him, not only for support but seemingly to get as far away from the stranger as possible.

He maneuvered himself into the cramped back seat, hauling Ben after him, all the time conscious of the curious stares of the young boys from the front seat.

Ben manfully ground his teeth and dragged his injured leg inside the vehicle, ending up slumped against Sam's side. He was shaking continuously, his skin the color of old putty. Sam put an arm around him, finding the younger man's distress hurt him more than he wanted to admit, but the feeling warred with his growing distrust. 

The engine roared and clattered into riotous life, effectively preventing any conversation with the other occupants of the vehicle as they jolted down the unkept track.

Ben shuddered, his body quivering against Sam's torso as he gripped fiercely at his injured leg above the knee and Sam ducked down, trying to get a measure of his torment from his expression. To his dismay, he saw that the transgenic's teeth had sunk into his bottom lip far enough to draw blood.

"Ben?"

There was something wild in the younger man's eyes, something desperate about the set of his jaw. Ben was visibly unraveling before his eyes, the amazing transgenic ability to deal with pain shredding away like smoke in a strong wind.

Not now, Sam thought, not here. He pulled Ben closer, trying to cushion him against the impact of the bumps, murmuring reassurance into his ear almost as though he was a kid.

"Easy, try and relax. Shhh. C'mon, you can do it. You're the tough guy, remember, 494?"

"No." The whisper was forced through bitten lips. "493. I'm X5-493."

Sam's heart jumped, raced, jumped again. 493. Not Alec. He cursed under his breath. Of course it wasn't Alec. It had never been Alec. This man was a twisted version of Alec. But one thing was for sure, Ben was Dean's clone.

.

Alec came up to the surface slowly, easily, his eyes half way open before he realized he was in the clinic. He shot upright immediately and turned to the sound of a soft chuckle behind him.

"Well hey there, sleeping beauty."

Dean. Fully dressed, smirking and leaning against the window frame with a steaming mug of coffee in his hand.

Alec swung his feet to the floor, remembered he'd crashed out on Dean's bed and flushed, suddenly awkward, running his hand through his already crazily mussed-up hair to try and cover up his embarrassment.

"Good thing you're awake," said his brother drily. "You've had some weird ass visitors. I didn't know whether to gank 'em or shake their hands…" He paused, frowning. "Not sure all of 'em had hands."

"Guess they want to see for themselves how perfection can be made from something mediocre," said Alec with a sassy smirk as he blurred across the room and swiped the coffee from Dean's grasp.

He took an appreciative slurp, his eyebrows lifting in surprise. "This is the real deal! Do you know how rare this is in Terminal City! Where'd you get it?"

"Get your own," said Dean without rancour, deftly removing the mug from Alec's hand. "Some big furry dude fetched it."

He regarded Alec over the top of the mug, a serious expression settling on his face.

"Is there somethin' I should know about here, 'cause everyone comes by seems to look at you like you might break."

Alec was wondering how to answer without answering at all, when Joshua loomed in the doorway.

“Medium fella is awake!”

His happy boom filled the small room and Dean dodged out of the way, keeping a wary eye on proceedings as his surprised clone was enfolded in a huge hug.

.

The man rubbed the dollars between his thumb and forefinger and handed half back to Sam, waving off his protest.

"Your brother's real sick. Was a time, pre-pulse, I wouldn't have took money for giving a sick man a ride to town, but now…" He motioned at the children in the front seat.

Sam thanked him, gripped his hand with vigor and took a more secure hold of Ben's arm as he turned towards the small pharmacy. Ben went along with him, looking dazed, all belligerence forgotten in his struggle to remain upright.

They settled into a slow, halting rhythm that would've taken them to the door if Ben hadn't come to a sudden halt. Off-balance, Sam teetered between one step and the next and turned to the transgenic with a questioning frown.

Ben ignored him, his face stricken as he stared at the battered brick façade of a church on the far side of the road.

"Ben?"

"She doesn't want me anymore." 

"What? Who doesn't want you?" Sam's forehead crumpled in confusion.

"The Blue Lady." Ben pulled away from his grip with unexpected strength, lurching in the direction of the church and muttering something half under his breath about failing in his mission.

He was rambling, Sam thought, hurrying after him and catching the heavy door as the transgenic blundered through it into the dimly lit interior. The church was empty, all dusty pews and a lingering smell of incense.

"Please…" Ben's whisper hung in the cold air, plaintive and thready in the silence. 

Sam's eyesight adjusted to the gloom and he realized the younger man had halted in front of a damaged, stained glass window depicting the Virgin Mary. All his attention was focused on the blue clad figure. 

Ben fumbled in his pocket and then reached out with a shaking hand; something rattled onto the stone shelf beneath the window.

"I'll try harder…get more…please..."

The urgency of the plea seemed to use up the last of Ben's reserves and he sagged backwards. Sam caught him and steered him onto a pew, supporting him there with one palm against his chest as he peered up at the shelf with puzzled eyes. Three adult-sized, blood stained teeth and another still attached to a piece of jawbone were scattered across the stone.

"I tried," Ben mumbled. "He was worthy...but Max..." He looked as though he was about to burst into tears. 

Sam found himself sitting on the hard wood of the pew, his mind racing and his arm automatically locked around the broken transgenic beside him.

"Ben," he said helplessly. "What did you do?"

.

Joshua pumped Dean’s hand heartily, causing coffee to slop everywhere and Dean’s eyes to go wide with surprise and then crinkle around the edges when he remembered Alec had compared Sam to the large canine transgenic.

Sam. And suddenly it was as though the bottom had dropped out of Dean’s gut, because his little brother was a whole universe away and now there was no way to tell him that Dean forgave him, that there’d never been anything to forgive because Sam couldn’t help being possessed by a demon.

Alec must have read something on his face; perhaps it was a particular expression Dean reserved for worrying about Sam without even knowing, because Alec just came straight out with it.

“Where’s Sam?”

Dean’s eyes said everything his face didn’t and Alec was suddenly closer, his cuff brushing against Dean’s arm.

“What? What happened to him?”

There was a note of fear in the question and Dean shook his head, dipping his chin towards his injured shoulder in an unconscious motion that the transgenic did not miss.

“Sam got left behind. He’s okay.”

For now, with that, Alec had to be content, because Joshua was offering food and somewhere for Dean and Alec to stay and it was easier to be carried along with it all than try and talk about the elephant in the room.

.

Whatever it was that'd caused Ben to enter the church, it was enough to drain the few physical reserves he had left.

Sam, gory remains safely stashed in his pocket, half-dragged him out of the church and into the pharmacy. To his disappointment he found that the post-pulse world had little in the way of medicines in general and even less in the way of antibiotics, even for a desperate man with a babbling and semi-conscious younger brother in tow.

One night, he thought, just one night in a motel with hot water and some good food. Then he was going to beg, borrow or steal a car and head into Seattle. What Ben needed, only another transgenic could provide and if the date in the pharmacy window was correct then Alec, and therefore other transgenics, would be found in Seattle.

He set out on foot for the motel. Two blocks seemed like ten before he'd gone a hundred yards and finally he ditched the crutch and hoisted Ben over his shoulder in a fireman's lift made awkward by the need to avoid the injured leg. The transgenic moaned and muttered and finally, thankfully, passed out.

.

“Mac’n’cheese, and creamed corn.”

Joshua waved at the stack of cans and cartons on the work surface.

“Big fella is making a feast.”

“You got a lot of food there.” Alec pointed out, slightly surprised that Joshua had managed to accumulate such a large quantity of supplies.

“Mole is giving me extra,” Joshua told him proudly. “For medium fella and his brother and everyone who is coming to see them.”

Dean shuffled uncomfortably from one foot to the other. His shoulder was nearly healed and the time/space travel sickness was easing off but it was doing nothing to alleviate the headache growing at the back of his eyes. A headache caused by a lack of Sam; a headache that wasn’t going away any time soon because somewhere, some time, Sam was looking for him and worrying and thinking it was all his fault that Dean had disappeared.

Alec read the body language easily and intervened smoothly, suggesting perhaps just one or two people might be a good idea; the food was all dried or canned, so it would save until another day. Dean found himself sitting on a half-stuffed armchair while Joshua and Alec argued in a friendly fashion about who would be struck off Joshua’s mental guest list.

Dean listened, the surreal conversation about a mac’n’cheese dinner party competing with his thoughts that Sam was the man who should be here to deal with dinner parties, except he wasn’t. Joshua’s voice went up a notch. It seemed the problem was the number of chairs, so it was probably a good thing half of Terminal City weren’t invited after all. There was space for Dean, Alec and Joshua, Max and hopefully not Logan (from Alec) and that left one spare seat.

Dean rubbed his aching head and wished he could lie down.

“Alec.”

The transgenic was scowling and grumbling about Logan and Dean remembered that Alec kind of liked Max, so he would by default definitely not be all that crazy about Logan.

“Alec,” he said, louder this time. “Hey!”

They turned to him, startled.

“Dude, calm down.” Dean rubbed his forehead again wearily and stood up. “You gotta have one more? Ask Mole.”

He flexed his shoulder in an unconscious gesture, remembering Mole’s fingers driving spikes of agony into his injury and the way the tunnel grayed out before his eyes.

“Mole?”

Alec looked surprised, then suddenly pleased in a subtle sort of way. His eyebrows did a dance, moving from surprise to pleasure to puzzlement.

"Couldn’t help but notice, you two weren’t exactly on amicable terms the last time you met."

They hadn’t been, Dean agreed. They were still not on friendly terms, he thought privately, but the cigar chewing transgenic had looked like he might spit out the cigar and start chowing down on Dean if Alec was hurt. Then there was the not so small matter of his weapons, last seen tucked into Mole’s clothing.

.

“One night."

Sam braced his shoulder against the door frame, wondering how it was possible for it to take so long to find a vacant room in what was clearly a virtually empty motel. Ben's weight dragged at his back muscles and the younger man was starting to stir and mutter again, which was doing nothing to reassure the fraught looking woman on the desk.

"My brother," Sam said wearily. "Too much to drink."

She handed over a key with the sort of look that said she didn't believe a word of it and thought the worst of him.

Sam shivered, wondering what sort of a world it was, where it seemed a man could physically snatch another and walk through town with him over his shoulder, with never a word being said or a cop being called.

.

Chapter Text

“So this is Terminal City?” had been answered with “I’ll show you around.”

Of course that led to a fair amount of walking and a large number of curious transgenics. A couple of hours later Dean had lost count of the number of people he’d met, although he’d a fairly good idea of the layout of the transgenics’ stronghold.

“You’ve got a good set up here.”

He stared across the random collection of roofs and streets from their vantage point underneath Joshua’s flag of freedom, finding himself impressed by the way the refugees had set up home in a way that was both organized and individual, but at the same time feeling uncomfortable at the way people like his little brother were forced to live like rats in a trap.

Alec shrugged, downplaying his own role in the whole affair, as he had throughout the tour.

“Mebbe one day we won’t need it.” He flicked a grin at Dean. “But hey, it’s a tricky situation and for now, it’s a whole lot better than nothin’.”

He glanced at the white dove on the flag, thinking that, for the first time since the standard had been raised, he felt as though things were looking up.

“C’mon. I dunno about you but I could use some of that coffee and there’s somethin’ down here a car guy’ll be interested in.”

He jerked his chin at Dean in a ‘follow me’ gesture and set off for the vehicle maintenance sheds.

.

Sam lowered the transgenic onto one of the beds in the dim motel room and straightened up with a grimace of relief. Ben mumbled at him, eyeing him through half-raised eyelids before rolling carefully onto his side.

Within minutes his face was slack as he drifted off into an exhausted sleep. He was fading, Sam thought again, wondering at the real cause. It seemed much deeper than something just physical.

He watched Ben sleep for a while. It didn’t seem as though the younger man was capable of moving far, let alone leaving. It was a good time to buy food and scope out a likely vehicle for the following day, so Sam stretched his back, wincing a little as he took weary steps in the direction of the door.

He didn’t know when or where Dean was, but Ben was right there and needed care and he, Sam, could give that care. Then later, when Ben was out of danger, there would be some talking to do. If this was really another clone, it seemed he wasn’t all that much like Alec, apart from his looks.

.

It wasn’t long before Dean’s jacket was hanging off a mirror, and he was elbow-deep in the 6.6-liter guts of a 1979 Pontiac Firebird Formula.

“It’s a good thing you came by. We don’t have too much experience with the older models.”

The aptly named Grease Monkey, in charge of the mechanical repair division, slapped Dean on his back approvingly. Dean gritted his teeth at the impact, but his grin was genuine. The glossy blue Firebird had been found in storage in a locked garage within the parameters of Terminal City and she was a beauty, almost mint condition. Getting her running again was a privilege in his books.

He was so engrossed in his task that he didn’t notice Mole’s arrival at the far side of the workshop. The transgenic supervised the delivery of some spare parts, all the time aware of the easy interaction between Alec’s donor and the mechanics.

He was about to leave when a roar and splutter turned into a throaty rumble and announced the coming to life of the Firebird. He nodded slowly, eyes narrowing as he caught Dean’s eye above the excited heads of the mechanics peering under the hood. For a moment they stared at each other, calculating, assessing, and then Mole was gone.

.

When Sam pushed the door back open it met with resistance, a solid, fleshy thump against something on the floor. He forced himself through the gap, sharp words jumping to his lips when he saw that it was Ben.

The transgenic beat him to it, rolling his head so he could look up at Sam with betrayed eyes.

“You left.”

Sam’s sharp words died in his throat. 

“I’m not leaving, I told you that. Okay? I got food, that’s all.”

He raised the paper sack and gave it a quick shake to emphasize his point before setting it on the small table.

“C’mon, let’s get you back on the bed.”

Sam hauled Ben upright, practically dragging him back onto the lumpy mattress. He couldn’t help but notice the dark stain spreading around Ben’s knee.

“You’re bleeding again,” he said breathlessly. “I thought it was starting to heal.”

Ben was sweating and biting his lower lip, his eyes narrowing as he focused intently on Sam’s voice.

“The doctor,” he asked carefully, each word deliberate, “what did he do to me?”

Sam hesitated but explained as best he could. He watched as understanding—and horror—dawned on Ben’s face.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked sharply.

"The metal pins." Ben’s head sank back against the grimy wall. “My bones... they’re trying to grow back, but the pins are in the way.”

Sam stared at him, still not fully understanding.

"Transgenic bones grow back in their original form," Ben said quietly, his voice so low that Sam had to lean closer to hear.

"The pins are shattering the bones... over and over."

“Oh crap.”

Sam’s throat tightened. The pain must be unbearable, even for a transgenic. No wonder Ben was fading fast.

“You need to go to the hospital. Those pins have gotta come out. Now.”

“No!” Ben’s voice cracked, and a flush of distress darkened his cheekbones. “I can’t.”

That, at least, was something genetically inherited from Dean, Sam thought grimly. Stubbornness must run in their DNA.

“They can help you there, Ben,” Sam said, his tone softening as he tried to reason with him.

“No!” Ben’s response was instant and fierce. His eyes, wide and dark with fear, locked onto Sam’s. “They’ll shoot me.”

“What? No one’s going to shoot you!” Sam’s eyebrows shot up, his voice incredulous.

Ben shook his head rapidly, his words tumbling out in a hoarse, panicked rush. “Or they’ll send me back to Manticore! They’ll, they’ll throw me in with the anomalies. They’re gonna tear me apart, study me!”

His adam’s apple bobbed hard as he swallowed, his throat working against the rising tide of his panic.

“Help me get to the High Place," Ben pleaded, his voice raw. "One step, an’ it’ll all be over."

“The High Place? What’s that?” Sam frowned, then froze as realization hit. “What do you mean, ‘it’ll all be over?!’”

“Mebbe she’ll want me back then.”

“Who?” Sam’s voice cracked, laced with alarm. “The Blue Lady? She wouldn’t want you to do that! I don’t want you to do that! And you’re not going back to Manticore! I swear, no one’s gonna take you back—not on my watch!”

Ben flinched, his expression hardening, suspicious. “Why are you helping me? What do you want?”

The sudden shift in tone caught Sam off guard. It wasn’t just Ben’s words—it was the bitterness behind them. Words that sounded hauntingly like Alec’s had, hoarse with pain and fear.

“Why wouldn’t I help you?” Sam asked, keeping his tone steady.

“You don’t get anything for free.”

Bitter words, edged with years of trauma and mistrust. The words of someone who’d paid too high a price, too many times, for help that came with strings attached.

Sam’s heart clenched. That face, so like Dean’s, when Dean was hurting, made it impossible to separate them: Dean, Alec, Ben. His emotions tangled, but his response was instinctive.

It burst out before he could think.

“I’ll help you because you’re family, that’s why! I’m not gonna let anyone hurt you.”

And Sam meant it. As the words left his mouth, he realized he was committing himself to someone he barely knew. Someone who might be broken beyond repair. Someone who could very well be insane.

Ben stared at him, the words clearly hitting somewhere deep, but he shook his head violently.

“I can’t be your family! I was cooked up in a test tube!”

The declaration came out sharp, angry, but underneath, Sam heard it: the fear, the self-loathing, the doubt.

Ben shifted on the bed, his body taut with tension as he tried to edge toward the side. His distress was palpable, radiating off him in waves that made Sam’s chest ache.

Enough. It was time to take control.

Sam squared his shoulders and stepped closer, placing a solid, grounding hand on Ben’s shoulder.

“You’re family,” he said firmly, meeting Ben’s wild, confused gaze head-on. “Now you sit here, drink this protein shake, and let me tell you about Dean and Alec. Okay?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. As he turned to grab the shake, he listened for protest—but all he heard was silence. 

.

The candles flickered and smoked, dribbling molten wax down their sides to pool in the bottom of the jelly jars. The smell was heavy and greasy in the air, tugging at Dean’s gag reflex as it mixed with the pungent smell of processed cheese.

He poked the pile of food on his plate with his fork, swallowing against a sudden surge of unwanted saliva. Mac’n’cheese, a staple of their childhood. He couldn’t even begin to guess how many times he’d cooked it up over a single burner in some dilapidated motel room, adding extra butter to make it just the way Sam liked it. Sam. Who wasn’t there, where he should be, next to Dean.

He let the conversation flow over him, chewing slowly, forcing each mouthful down his throat, unwilling to offend Joshua because Joshua was Alec’s friend.

Alec lounged easily in the chair opposite him and it was his voice wrapping around the table, his gestures that stirred the dark yellow of the candle flames and sent the black smoke rising in lazy spirals.

At Max’s prompt, Alec was explaining how he’d ended up in another universe and found his donor. He’d been trained by Manticore to be eloquent, to captivate an audience if need be, the perfect cover for an assassin who had to mingle in all levels of society. Dean listened, awed by the smooth delivery, his deeper voice filling in the gaps when Alec pulled him into the story. And all the time it seemed that Alec’s intense gaze kept returning to Max, as though he was tangled in a net cast by her chocolate brown eyes.

Mole was diagonally opposite, his face stern and his posture deliberately a little aggressive. Occasionally he sent quick-fire questions across the candle flames, picking up points about Ames White and any possible threat to Terminal City.

Dean’s jaw slowed, his fork coming to rest on the cold mass on his plate. His shoulder was throbbing, head aching after the long day, his mind drifting in a quiet place of his own making until a sharp note in Alec’s voice snapped him out of it as surely as a bucket of ice-cold water.

Max. Her brows screwed down and her lips pushed out in a pout.

“I’m curious, that’s why. How come you bailed? You were that attached, you shoulda stayed there.”

Alec tilted his chair back, bracing a boot against the table leg. He ducked his chin, eyes catching the fire of the candle flames as he looked up from under his lashes.

“Yeah,” he said easily with a little shrug of his shoulders. “Mebbe I should’ve.”

Dean’s head came up, his chair scraping beneath him at the sudden movement. Irritation scratched at his skin, his eyes caught by the motion of Alec’s fingertips as he worried at the knee of his jeans.

“Hey Alec,” he drawled. “Sounds like Maxie here was getting all bitter and twisted about you not being around.”

“What?!” She spun to face him, face flushing dark under her olive skin. “I’m not gonna get all rotated about some smart-ass being outta town for a few days.”

“Huh…”

Dean flicked an eyebrow up and nodded slowly, switching his gaze to Alec’s startled face and then back to Max.

“I guess Alec was wasting his time then, coming back to this hell hole for you.”

He scowled at the other occupants of the room.

“For all of you. ‘Cause he didn’t want to let his friends down.”

Mole’s intervention was unexpected.

“We couldn’t have done it without pretty boy here. Everybody knows that.” He jabbed his cigar in Max’s direction. “Max here knows it too.”

“So how come he didn’t say anythin’ about all this before?” Her eyes were angry.

Then Dean stepped in, for Alec’s sake, and broke the habits of a lifetime by talking about himself. He spoke about losing the memory of someone he viewed as a younger brother. He directed his words only to Alec, as though it was just the two of them in the room, and saw some of the tension drop away from his clone’s forehead as Alec realized he hadn’t been the only person to forget.

Dean looked around then and told them all how he’d come to be there, at the table, somehow managing to explain he’d come looking for a younger brother without mentioning why or how he’d inexplicably lost another one in the process. He even managed to flirt a little with Max until her face darkened with something that may have been irritation and may have been something else, but his heart wasn’t really in it and he let it drop as soon as Alec began to scowl.

When his voice petered out, Joshua took up the conversation, turning it to Terminal City matters in a simple but effective way that made Dean suspect he was far brighter than his speech patterns suggested.

About the same time as it became physically painful to stay awake, Alec caught at his elbow, pulling him towards the stairs.

“C’mon. You’re gonna pass out on me there if you stay much longer.”

“I’m fine.” Dean told him, fighting his eyelids but not fighting the tug on his arm.

“Yeah, sure.” Alec sounded agreeable but kept up the pressure until Mole stepped in front of them.

“Here.”

Mole’s voice was gruff as he planted a weighty bundle on Dean’s chest. Dean caught hold of it reflexively, feeling the familiar shape of his weapons through the cloth. He opened his mouth to speak but Mole was already gone.

Instead he allowed Alec to steer him upstairs. He staggered on the steps once or twice, tired but not really caring, knowing Alec wouldn’t let him fall.

Chapter Text

Ben looked like a sick kid, Sam thought, his sweat-damp hair sticking up in uneven spikes above a drawn face. His lips pressed together in a way that was almost a pout, his dark brows furrowed low as he stared at Sam.

There was something painfully young in his expression, like a kid listening to a bedtime story he wanted so badly to believe—except his eyes betrayed him. They were haunted, filled with a skepticism that came from living too much life too soon. Sam could see it clear as day: Ben thought it was all crap.

And maybe it was. It was a story that didn’t belong in any normal world—a tale of another universe, demons, monsters, a father who sold his soul, and an older brother who’d somehow been cloned into someone just like Ben. 

Sam wasn’t sure how much Ben believed, but he knew with that razor-sharp memory of his, Ben would remember every word to mull over later. For now, it seemed that the story distracted him, enough to coax him into sipping the protein shake. A faint hint of color crept back into his pale face, though his features still seemed too sharp, the bones beneath his skin too prominent.

There was so much to tell—too much, really. Sam chose his words carefully, offering only the outline of their lives, just enough to give Ben something to grasp. But he made sure to weave in the threads that mattered most: the bittersweet ties of family, forged in blood, loss, and unbreakable loyalty. He spoke those parts like they were etched in stone, hoping Ben could feel the weight of their meaning.

Sam talked until his voice grew hoarse and Ben’s heavy eyelids betrayed his exhaustion. 

“Get some sleep,” he said eventually, voice cracking with overuse as he threw a musty blanket around the transgenic’s shoulders.

“Rest up. Tomorrow, we’ll get that knee taken care of—and then we’ll find our family.”

But long before morning light, Ben was restless and feverish and Sam knew there was no more time to waste. He was grinding a hefty dose of strong painkillers into a glass of milk, preparatory to moving, when a tinny sounding theme tune announced the news round-up on the tiny TV set. A spray-tanned man, sporting what was obviously a black hairpiece, droned about old news in bored tones, old news about transgenics and their base in Terminal City.

Sam sank onto the edge of the bed with a hysterical grin on his face. All that time, wondering how to find other transgenics, and they were right there, just a few miles away.

Ben, struggling to claw his way out of delirious dreams, was a bundle of tense energy, flinching at shadows and reacting to every small sound. At Sam’s insistence, he took the medicine, swallowing it quickly with a grimace at the bitter taste before handing the glass back with hands that danced a feverish quick-step. 

The car Sam had stashed nearby was already ready, leaving nothing for him to do but wait for the meds to take effect. He rested a hand lightly on Ben’s overheated forearm, feeling the taut tendons beneath his fingers. When the tension finally eased, Sam leaned down and spoke softly, explaining they needed to move. Without waiting for an argument, he hoisted the groggy transgenic into a fireman’s lift.

Ben hung limply over Sam’s shoulder, offering no protest. He remained silent throughout the transfer to the car, the pain dulled by the drugs but not absent. When Sam carefully maneuvered him into the passenger seat, he finally stirred and as Sam leaned over to fasten the seatbelt, he spoke. 

“Don’t leave me here… don’t let them take me.”

Ben’s breath, hot and uneven, ghosted across Sam’s ear.

Sam’s cuff wiped the sweat from Ben’s forehead gently, his voice firm but soft.

“I’m staying with you, dude. No matter what happens. Trust me, okay?”

Ben regarded him for a long moment, his eyes dark with fear, his pupils wide as he searched Sam’s face. It seemed he found something there that reassured him, and with a long, shaky sigh, he allowed himself to slump back into a daze.

“Okay,” Sam said quietly, as much to reassure himself as anything else. “Okay. Now we’ve gotta go to this Terminal City.”

His chest was tight with stress, his mind clamping down hard on the thought that if he found Alec but not Dean, his big brother might be forever out of his reach.

Minutes later, the car was gone. Only a dry patch on the rain wet pavement bore testament to the existence of a Winchester and an X5, both far from home but both closer to family then they realized.

.

“Where’s the dog dude?”

Dean eyed the bowl of leftover mac’n’cheese with a heart-felt shudder.

“Painting. Joshua is an artiste.” Alec, his eyes alight with mischief, wagged a finger dramatically at Dean’s disbelieving expression. “It’s a stretch I know, but Big Fella’s canvases are selling like hot cakes on the West Coast. He’s been keeping this place pretty much supplied with food and consumables.”

“This place?”

Dean’s eyebrows rose in disbelief as he surveyed the empty apartment; there was no sign of food, consumables or anything desirable.

“Nah. Terminal City.” Alec grinned. “Seriously, I got a sweet deal goin’. You wouldn’t believe how much those rich bozos are willing to pay for a bit of rare transgenic art work.”

Dean huffed a laugh.

“What?” Alec winked at him. “It’s my duty to aid the spread of transgenic culture and relieve the burden of too much wealth in the wrong hands.”

He poured dark coffee into a chipped mug and slid it across the table top to Dean.

“Now…” the humour fled from his face as his expression hardened. “I’ve got an hour or two to kill; why don’t you tell me what went down between you and Sam?”

Dean’s fingers, in the act of picking up the mug, stilled. “Nothin’ went down,” he said carefully.

Alec chewed at his bottom lip, snorted a derisive little laugh.

“Yeah right. You get shot and Sam lets you go wandering off to another universe. And you just up and leave your little brother.”

Dean’s mouth thinned to a tight line as he kept his gaze fixed on the table top.

“I came to find my asshat of a clone. Is that so hard to believe?”

“The only way you’d come to another universe without Sam is if he was the one shot you.”

The words, half flippant when they left Alec’s lips, dropped like heavy stones into the silence. Alec stared at his older brother in disbelief, reading volumes in the way Dean tucked his chin down, almost as though he was expecting a blow.

“Dean?”

The older man’s eyes met his for a second and slipped away.

“Dean! Did Sam shoot you?” Anger darkened the transgenic’s face.

“No.” Dean swallowed, met his gaze full on. “No. Sam pulled the trigger, yeah, but it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t get a choice. Some bitch demon possessed him.”

Alec’s eyes were wide with shock. “He’s possessed?”

Dean shook his head, guilt and misery on his face as he explained about Meg and Bobby and the anti-possession charms.

“Sam’s still there, Alec, ‘cause I left him there.” Dean's shoulders drooped. "I shoulda made sure he knew it wasn’t his fault.”

.

"What you owe me is lotsa cigars...good cigars; none of them pansy-assed little sticks, y'hear me?"

Mole appeared around the edge of the big door to the vehicle shed. He looked exasperated but oddly pleased with himself as he pointed the chewed end of his current cigar at Alec.

“Y'can have too much of a good thing y'know..." Mole snorted derisively at his own words. "Though you ain't ever been a good thing as such."

"What's got you all fired up?" Alec raised a lazy brow at him.

He was about to continue, when a large figure stepped into view. Alec’s mouth was still forming the word “Sam” when he was pushed aside as Dean muscled past him.

“Sammy?”

A hoarse question torn from a face tight with hope and fear.

“Dean. Alec.”

The relief evident in both eyes and voice was answer enough. It was Sam. It was really Sam.

The Winchester brothers met in a bruising hug, eyes closing, knocking the breath from each other as ribs collided in mute admission of how scared they’d been at the separation.

Mole snorted. “I’m gonna report in.” The words floated back over his shoulder as he strode off in the direction of HQ.

Alec waited a second or two and then stepped forwards himself to greet Sam, but the pleasure on his face dropped away abruptly as a pair of transgenics came into view behind the half-open door. Hanging between them was a figure, the right leg of his jeans sodden with blood and a grim look on his face… Alec’s face, Dean’s face.

Alec’s breath hitched, and his voice grated as if the words were ripped from his throat..

“Who the hell is that? Somebody round here needs to be more careful when they’re throwing DNA around!”

Dean responded immediately to the harsh tone, lifting his head and widening his eyes in surprise at the sight of a second clone. He stared for a moment, then turned to his brother, raising an eyebrow in silent question.

“Sam?”

A hesitant smile spread across Sam’s face.

“This is Ben. Looks like maybe you’ve got more than one clone.”

Any comment Dean might have made was drowned out by a startled yelp from Alec.

"Ben! Whoa, no! Psycho-nut Ben? No, man. He’s dead. Max snapped the freak’s neck a year ago!"

Dean frowned at him. “Ben was your twin, right?”

“You knew Alec had a twin?” Sam’s voice went high with surprise.

“Er, yeah, he mentioned it once, when he was sick, but the twin was already dead.” Dean shrugged, remembering; it had been a little thing in a traumatic day. “It never came up again.”

Sam turned an interrogating gaze on Alec.

“You say Max snapped his neck? Were they in the woods outside Seattle?”

Alec nodded warily. “How’d you even know that?”

Sam’s fingers ran through his hair; he blew out a little stressed puff of air and tried to explain how he’d grabbed hold of Dean as his brother dropped out of their world, how he’d seen Dean travel on when he’d lost his grip and fallen into woodland where Ben and a woman were fighting, how he’d resuscitated the transgenic and how they’d made their escape from the agents of Manticore.

While he was speaking, Ben hung quietly between the two transgenics, his eyes wary in his gray face and a little pool of blood spreading slowly around his boot.

“How’d he get hurt?” Alec snapped, everything about him now sharp edges and anxiety. “Hands down he’s been up to some psycho bullshit again!”

Sam stared at him in surprise.

“Max shattered Ben’s leg. He needs surgery.”

“Dude! That was more than a year ago.” Dean pointed out.

His little brother shook his shaggy head.

“Not for us. We came forwards in time somehow. Just before Manticore got there, something happened and they were gone.”

He inclined his head in Ben’s direction.

“I’ve been looking out for him… maybe a week now? Then this morning I saw a newsflash about Terminal City and here we are.”

Sam’s eyes were earnest, reminding Dean of a kid brother wanting to help a lost puppy.

“He’s not doing so good. He needs help, Dean.”

“I’ll help him.” The words were a low growl, the snarl twisting Alec’s features. “He’s dangerous. He needs to be put down. Now!”

The brothers turned to him, shocked, taking in the freckles splashed dark across suddenly pale skin as rage radiated from Alec’s shaking body in almost tangible waves.

“Hey…” Sam began, but it was too late.

Opposite them, Ben had already responded, his head coming up, eyes narrowing, gaze sharpening as his mouth lifted in a grim smile. A quick movement, too fast for the eye to follow and suddenly he was free of the transgenics on either side, sending them tumbling away as he snatched up a razor-sharp utility knife from the workbench at his side.

“You…” hissed Alec, his body taut as a drawn bow. “I spent months in psy-ops ‘cause of you, while you were runnin’ around giving us all bad press, playin’ the bad boy serial killer. Months in psy-ops! Do you even know what that’s like?!”

The Winchesters’ restraining hands closed on empty air as Alec blurred; he slammed into Ben and the knife flashed bright in the overhead lights as blows were exchanged.

Sam cried out with fear for them both, his fingers clawing at his head as he tore the knife free from Ben’s grip with his mind and sent it spinning high to impale itself into the roof rafters.

Alec didn’t miss a beat, taking the opportunity to drive a fist hard into Ben’s face. His twin fell backwards, off-balance, involuntarily placing his weight on his shattered knee as the Winchesters caught hold of Alec and body-slammed him into the workshop wall.

Ben froze, his face a rictus of agony, the shouts of the others drowned out by the roaring in his ears. The remains of his knee shattered again under his weight, metal rods bursting through his skin as he dropped soundlessly to the floor, unable to even breathe.

“What the hell was that!”

Dean still had hold of Alec’s shoulders; he slammed his clone into the wall again when he struggled and then held him there, restraint turning into support as he realized Alec’s expression was far away as he vibrated with anger like a tuning fork. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Sam panted, trying to ignore the sharp pain in his head, one hand kneading at his forehead as the other helped hold Alec upright. The aggression was draining rapidly out of the X5, seeming to take his strength with it.

“Let him down.”

Dean grunted, allowing Alec to slip down the wall as his knees folded. He patted the transgenic’s face to get his attention and was rewarded by a confused look. It seemed Alec was done, for now. Dean turned to Sam with a grimace.

“We got a fine mess here.”

Behind them, Ben used his last strength to raise himself up a little. Blood trailed down from his hairline, streamed from his nose, bright as spilt paint against his paper white skin as he lay, propped up awkwardly on one elbow. He raised his other hand, trembling fingers trailing along his lip before he pulled them away, staring with morbid fascination at the warm liquid running down his reddened fingers and across his palm.

He was in enemy territory, a prisoner of his own kind and his twin hated him. Max had told him he was a genetic mistake, an anomaly. The Blue Lady had abandoned him. 

Fierce flames of agony licked along his leg and into his torso from the ruins of his knee. They burned hot enough to stifle his breath and make black spots dance across his vision. They devoured his will to survive, assuring him he was far too weak to make an escape.

With a soft, hopeless huff of breath Ben let himself roll down onto his back, his bloodied hand falling limply onto his chest. He had no energy to fight the encroaching shadows. The 'nomalies were tugging at his limbs, pulling him down into darkness. They would get him after all.

His mind stuttered, slowing, telling him it would soon be over as a clog of thick blood poured down inside his throat, blocking his airways. It didn't matter, he was too tired to fight. He was broken, a freak, he'd failed his mission and there was nothing to fight for anymore.

The tableaux against the wall broke apart abruptly as Sam spun on his heel, some instinct developed over years overriding the angst of the moment.  

"Ben!"

The transgenic was flat out, his eyes closed. After so many days of caring for him it was unbearable and Sam let out an involuntary half sob as he fell to his knees, feeling for a pulse, finding a weak flutter, the flutter of someone giving up.

"No! You don't get to do this! C'mon Ben, wake up!"  

The solid strength of Dean's presence was suddenly there, beside Sam as he hauled the transgenic up to a sitting position by his jacket.

"Breathe! Goddamnit, breath!”

Ben coughed, moaned, fighting against the insistence of the man holding him upright, holding him in the world. He coughed again, a spray of red dotting the front of his jacket and the grey surface of the floor.

Sam’s voice was in his ear, demanding, urgent.

"Open your eyes. Now!"

Ben's eyelids struggled as he tried to respond, opening with an effort as the grip of the 'nomalies weakened.

"You don't get to die, not now."

Scared, exhausted and in agony, wanting only to let go, Ben found himself unable to give up because Sam hadn't given up on him. His eyes tracked dazedly from Sam's determined face to the green eyes that matched his own, then moved on to the confused and upset face of his twin, the shocked faces of the onlooking transgenics.

"Alec." Dean's voice. It was an order. "Get help. Fast."

There was a blur of motion and soon afterwards some distant shouts. Slowly Ben pulled in a breath, then another. They caught like jagged steel in his chest as something deep inside began to rip open and his eyes flooded with tears.

"Hey," said Sam, helpless, feeling the bone deep shudders racking the man propped against his chest. "Hey..."

Unthinking, he wrapped his arms around the ruins of X5-493 and hugged him tight, just like Dean used to do to him when he was a little kid.

Against his shoulder, too far gone and in too much pain to care what anyone thought, a young man sobbed as though his heart was breaking: for a stolen childhood in a world that only ever hurt him; for lost brothers and sisters; for a mistaken belief; a mission gone wrong. The grief and fear of being lost and lonely for too many years tracked down his face, translucent droplets turning to crimson as they mixed with the blood spilt by his twin. Ben wept because his twin hated him, but also because, although it was too late, finally someone thought he was worth saving. Most of all he cried because he could, because at last someone was looking out for him.

Chapter Text

There was a bustle around the gurney, a coming and going of an assortment of medically trained transgenics and a lone ordinary, who had arrived one day and stayed to help despite the contamination in Terminal City. They each, in their own way, fought to save the X5 lying pale and limp beneath their gloved hands.

“Sam. You can’t do anythin’ here.”

Dean tugged at his brother’s sleeve, a worried frown creasing the skin between his eyes.

“You’re exhausted man. Let’s get us some coffee and somethin’ to eat. They’ll let us know if anythin’ changes.”

Sam swayed under the pressure of his brother’s hand, suddenly undeniably weary. He took a last glance at the backs bending over the gurney, caught a glimpse of tousled hair before it was obscured by a green coat. No-one wore white coats in the hospital quarters in Transgenic City, not with a population all suffering at least some degree of PTSD after their years under Manticore’s rule.

Sam nodded, allowing Dean to steer him into the corridor and out onto the dimly lit street. The tang of the city hit his nostrils, the cooler air making him more alert. He straightened his back, strode level with this brother, their arms bumping occasionally on the narrow sidewalk.

A minute or so later they turned into a brightly lit hall filled with long trestle tables and an appetizing smell of cooked food. Roughly half of the tables were occupied and the animated buzz of conversation faltered and then resumed as curious eyes turned in their direction. Everyone already knew about Alec’s donor and most of them had managed to drift by the vehicle sheds when he’d been working on the Firebird. Now Alec’s donor had a brother, and Alec’s crazy twin was in town. It was all a welcome diversion from the stress of being under siege.

Dean headed to an empty table in the corner and dragged out a chair, the metal legs grating noisily on the hard floor. He jerked his thumb at the seat and Sam sat obligingly, folding his long legs underneath the low table as his brother headed over to the food counter, returning a few minutes later with two steaming plates of chili. He slid one across the table to Sam and flicked a fork across the shiny surface with a casual finger.

“Not as good as Bobby’s.” Dean gave a wry grin.

“Good ‘nuff,” said Sam, voice muffled by a mouthful of food, a second forkful already raised to his lips as his stomach reminded him it was starving and had been starving for some time.

They ate in silence for a while, nothing said until Sam leaned back, wrapping his fingers around a mug of coffee.

“No pie.” Dean mourned. “I haven’t seen pie since I got here.”

“Maybe there isn’t any pie, post-Pulse?”

Dean gave him a look from under lowered eyebrows and Sam smirked, sure that if there was pie anywhere in Seattle then his brother would be able to hunt it down.

“So,” he said carefully, finally getting to the question he’d been wanting to ask since he saw Dean in the vehicle shed. “You okay?”

Dean’s gaze dropped to the table top. He shrugged. “Yeah, Sam. I’m fine.”

“’Cause when I saw you last, you weren’t fine.”

His brother’s head came up, a firmness to his jaw as he met Sam’s eyes. “Wasn’t your fault, Sammy.”

“Feels like my fault,” said Sam miserably. He took a quick slurp of coffee, burning his lip, rubbing at it absently with his thumb.

“You were possessed. And I’m fine. Transgenic blood is awesome, you know that.” The elder Winchester ran his fingers through his hair as he leaned back in his seat. “Time travel crap I could do without though.”

He still looked too pale under the bright lights, Sam thought, with tired shadows painted under his eyes, eyes that were narrowed in a puzzled squint.

“How’d you take care of Ben? ‘Cause dude I felt like week old roadkill.” The ‘still do’ was noticeably missing.

It took Sam a moment to catch on, then his eyes widened in surprise. “I’ve been okay. You weren’t?”

“Not so much.” Dean caught his bottom lip between his teeth, worried at it, gave Sam a half-hearted smile. “Guess that’s a good thing then, huh?”

They were both thinking ‘demon blood’, but neither of them said the words.

.

The aging hunter dabbed the rag over his forehead, leaving a smear of polish as he wiped at the faint sheen of perspiration that had accumulated while he was buffing the surface of the shiny beast parked outside his door.

He thought Dean would be pleased, if he could see his car, if he ever saw her again. With a heavy heart, Bobby shoved the rag in his pocket, fighting a little with the fraying cotton around the torn flap.

He delved in his waistcoat, pulled out a sizeable dog chew and threw it to the muscular animal on the porch, deftly avoiding the string of saliva that flicked in his direction.

"Figure it's just me and you now."

The dog spared him a soulful glance before returning to its treat, having nothing to say on the subject of Bobby's absent surrogate sons. Bobby rubbed the dog's warm head with a calloused hand and headed inside. He was sure there was a bottle of bourbon in the study, hopefully the contents would summon the familiar golden brown fog and send slow, burning tendrils to numb the fear curdling his gut.

.

As far as Alec was concerned, Ben was a threat. Not only was he a danger in his own right to anyone around him, but his very presence in Terminal City was a risk. If it leaked out that the transgenics were harboring a serial killer in their midst, it could only do harm to the careful and painful process of building up good public relations. And that wasn’t the worst of it. Ben hunted and killed Ordinaries. Ordinaries just like Sam and Dean.

So Alec waited outside the room where they worked on the identical X5, telling himself it was to make sure his twin didn’t have some sort of episode, although it looked as though the only decisive move Ben was likely to make was giving up and dying. If anybody had bothered to ask, he would have been quick to deny there was an element of morbid curiosity involved. 

He slipped into a store cupboard when he heard Dean suggesting coffee and the Winchesters preparing to leave. He was on edge after the events of the last few hours, not ready to face questions about Ben, not ready to ask his own questions of Sam, like how he’d not been able to stop himself shooting his big brother.

It was over an hour after the Winchesters left when they wheeled Ben out and down the corridor into a smaller, dimly lit room. Alec was leaning up the door post, watching, one hand jammed into his pants pocket, when Mole strode up behind him.

“I was thinkin’ of assigning a guard,” Mole said without preamble.

“No need. I’m the one with a relative in town who’s crazy as a box of frogs. I figure it’s my responsibility.”

Alec sighed heavily, the unease in his posture easy to read to someone who’d spent weeks working with him.

Mole eyed him shrewdly but didn’t argue, resources were thin on the ground as it was, but he slapped Alec on the shoulder as he turned to leave.

“Lemme know if y’need a break.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Alec moved slowly on into the room. It didn’t look as though his twin was going to survive long; he just needed to hang around until… and then he would be free to find his brothers.

He settled down on a spare cot shoved into a corner of the room. There was a curtain drawn around it, so he could watch Ben with impunity and no-one who may object would be any the wiser.

.

It was cold, completely dark…he must be in the basement with the ‘nomalies.

Ben floated into a dreamlike awareness on nauseous waves of shivers.

It was so cold.

Later on, much later, he wondered if maybe the ‘nomalies weren’t mad when they were first caged in the basement; maybe it was the intense cold sent them over the edge into insanity.

It didn’t matter. He was crazy anyway.

A long time after that someone spoke to him. It seemed lighter up there, near to the voice, but he felt so sick the words were lost in the roaring in his ears. He thought it might’ve been Sam, so he struggled up a little further towards the surface, felt a large, warm hand on his arm. Sam, definitely Sam. The Ordinary who saved him.

The voice belonging to Sam had been gone for a while the next time Ben bobbed up into the lighter place. He thought about Max. His sister had told him it was wrong to hunt Ordinaries, but he was a good soldier; it was his Mission. But she said it was wrong. He was confused. Max must be right, ‘cause Sam was an Ordinary. Ben thought it was a good thing he was shut away with the ‘nomalies, where he couldn’t hurt anybody else, anyone like Sam.

.

Max arrived on feet so silent that even Alec only just heard her. He eased himself towards the gap in the curtain, sure she would sense him, but he needn’t have feared. Max was a frozen statue next to Ben’s bed, one hand pressed over her mouth and tears slipping down her face and dripping into her hair.

“I’m sorry.” Her whisper was a tiny thread of sound. “I should’ve made sure. You didn’t deserve this.”

Damn right. Alec thought. Right from the beginning of their training Manticore had drilled into them the importance of being sure of the kill. Way to go, Max, leave the psycho X5 breathing.

“You don’t deserve any of this; I should’ve come looking for you years ago.”

Alec clenched his teeth, unwilling to accept the guilt that was threatening to lessen his anger. Okay, Ben had a crap time growing up, but they all did. Didn’t mean you had to go nuts. Alec ground his teeth a little harder, the jut of his jaw belligerent. 

Not like it was you had two extended vacations in Psy-Ops, is it Ben? All ‘cause of some crazy ass twin!

Max stood beside the bed for a long time, reaching out occasionally and stroking Ben’s forehead.

She loved him, Alec realized, with a pang of envy he didn’t understand, because everyone knew Max had loved Ben as a brother. He’d never seen her so soft, so unguarded in her fear for someone else and he found himself hurt, unaware of her reaction in the woods outside Seattle when Joshua and Original Cindy had found him after he’d been torn away from the Winchester’s universe.

Alec thought maybe now she would be happier, with computer geek Logan and her own X5 brother around. She’d only ever put up with Alec because he looked so much like Ben anyway.

He chewed his lip hard and looked away, missing completely the tiny movement of his twin’s hand.

.

Max. Ben knew it was Max. He fought to get up to the light, but it was too far and he was too weak. Despair pulled at him; the ‘nomalies wouldn’t let him go, not now.

Max was crying. The sound made Ben hurt inside in a place he hadn’t been to for a long time. Max mustn’t cry. It was his job to look after his brothers and sisters, to make them laugh when things were bad. Shadow pictures...his shadow pictures used to make Max laugh, made her brown eyes all shiny with happiness.

It was dark down here, but if Max was with him he had to try. Ben’s fingers twitched, his hand fluttering a little. He didn’t think it’d moved enough to make a shadow but he felt Max’s palm run across his forehead, the press of her lips by his hairline, so maybe he’d done enough.

The darkness seemed empty when she left, more empty than it had been before. He was so tired…sinking down as life slipped away through the wound in his leg. Maybe he could stay down in the dark this time…it was so much effort and he was so cold…he was dying, he could feel it...alone...scared.

.

The room was quiet, not even the tick of a clock to remind a watching X5 that outside its walls life carried on in its usual random way. Alec pushed aside the curtain, finding himself drawn towards the other cot until he stood over the prone figure.

His twin was dying. It was in the pallor of his skin, the way his hair lay. Even with enhanced senses, Alec could hardly hear the whisper of breath that moved Ben’s chest the merest distance. It was alarming how much he looked like Dean had on that awful day in Bobby’s workshop.

Alec eased the room door shut. If Ben pulled off the impossible and survived, he’d kill again, Alec was sure of that. It would be better for everyone if he died now; everyone was expecting it anyway. It was up to him to finish what Max had started.

Alec found he had the pillow from the spare cot in his hands. He stepped forwards. It would only take a few seconds.

Almost as though he knew, the man on the bed twitched, his bloodless lips parted slightly and Alec heard something about “‘nomalies”.

Alec’s hands stopped, the pillow frozen in mid-descent. The figure beneath him, sprawled limp, a death’s head skull protruding through living flesh and near translucent skin…he’d seen it before.

A tear slipped from under Ben’s closed eyelid and darted to the mattress; it was the tiniest amount of liquid and yet it was enough to breach a wall built by Manticore inside Alec’s memory.

Alec was floating…they’d gone too far. He could see the green glimmer of his own eyes through half-open eyelids, the shine of a last tear slipping free. The pain had stopped at last, the livid trickle of blood from his mouth slowing, congealing. He drifted above himself, realizing with a sense of vague surprise that he must be dead...free.

Alec’s mouth opened, his breath coming fast in distress as he remembered the white coats pushing in, leaning over his dying body. Heard and felt again the fire-agony of the electric current, once, twice, a third time, ripping him back into his limp body.

Alec came back to the present with a shock as his twin moaned, weak, helpless. His twin.

With a vehement curse, Alec threw the pillow across the room. He couldn’t kill Ben, kill him for going crazy because of the things Manticore had done to them. Ben was dangerous, so it was Alec’s job to stay close to him and make sure he didn’t hurt anyone ever again.

A measured tread in the corridor announced the arrival of Harley, one of Terminal City’s medics. He didn't appear to notice Alec's thinly veiled distress, nodding grimly at the shocked X5 as he set about peeling the sodden dressing away from Ben's knee. The wound was still seeping, livid red painted on the dressings. 

“It’s not clotting?” Alec asked in surprise, eyeing the bag of X5 blood being fed into Ben’s arm with an IV.

“No.” Harley sighed. “Never seen it before. Even X5 blood isn’t doing the trick. Maybe he doesn’t want to live.”

The new dressing went on swiftly. Harley noted the time on the chart, shook his head sorrowfully and left.

The tremors that had started in Alec’s legs became worse as shards of memory fell glittering and sharp through his mind. Faster and faster they tumbled. Still he stood, motionless, watching his twin.

Another dressing change came and went.

“He won’t last much longer.”

Alec nodded, numb.

They were alone again. Alec's legs were threatening to fold beneath him so he leaned his back against the wall next to the head of Ben’s cot, allowing himself to slide down the smooth, cold surface until he was resting on his haunches. 

He felt like he was coming apart.  With a sense of panic he took his head in his hands, squeezing at his temples, trying desperately to stop the onslaught of memories. Awful things, cruel things, torture, fear, agony, garish pictures whirling through his mind.

Alec began to rock, backwards and forwards on his heels, fingers twisted in his hair, trying not to scream, completely unaware that he was crying.

He wouldn’t have tried for anything else, but Ben knew someone needed him. The need, raw and urgent, reached down into the darkness with grasping fingers and Ben responded, dragging himself out of dark vapors, away from the ‘nomalies and up into a dim light.

Someone was crying. He was in his dormitory and someone needed him, one of his brothers. Something told him that this brother was more important than anyone.

It took everything Ben had to move his head to the side, force his fingers to walk his hand over the edge of the mattress and onto the shaking shoulder beside him.

“It’s okay…”

Alec started, shocked, feeling the cold weight of his twin’s hand. He turned wide eyed, met a matching pair.

“It’s okay,” Ben whispered. “No ‘nomalies here…Sam won’t let ‘em in.”

Alec stared at him. At Ben. His twin. Dean’s other clone.

Harley didn’t argue when X5-494 took him by the arm and ran him to the dying man’s bedside. If Alec wanted to give blood to his twin, who was he to argue? Not Harley. Not today. Not when the X5 had tears on his face and a craziness in his eyes.

It took an hour, but the bleeding stopped.

Alec waited, unable to speak, allowing Harley to disconnect the IV without protest and all the time, Ben’s chest rose and fell.

Alec just sat there, watching his twin, wondering if he’d done the right thing.

Chapter Text

The wide dusty window ledge was a good place to sit and catch the last light before gloom fell over Terminal City. Dean had been lounging there for a while, his ass and one boot up on the ledge, his arm resting casually on his bended knee and the other long leg stretching down to the floor.

They'd settled into the empty room over Joshua's quarters. The canine transgenic kept the first floor of the old narrow storage house for his workshop and living accommodation; the bare second floor being allocated to the Winchesters and the X5 twins. Mole arranged for Alec's meagre possessions to be transported from the room he'd used infrequently since the transgenics' base was established and Alec soon scrounged some extra mattresses and blankets. They would eat in the Mess Hall, because there's only so much mac'n'cheese a man can stomach and even Joshua seemed to be tiring of it.

Dean sipped slowly from a bottle of cheap whiskey, letting the bite of the harsh liquor roll over his tongue and trickle down his throat. In between sips he let the bottle hang loosely, its glass neck snared by his fingers and the weak sunlight turning the contents to liquid amber.

Boots rang loud on the metal staircase but, recognizing the tread as belonging to his brother, Dean didn't turn, taking another slow slug from the bottle instead.

"Hey."

He rotated his head then, sending a brief glance and a half-nod in his brother's direction.

He looked tired, Sam thought. "Travel sickness still bothering you?"

"Nah." Dean took a longer swallow, letting his head drop back with a dull thud against the peeling paint of the frame.

"Seems kinda strange..." Sam ventured. "Staying put without a hunt to figure out."

Dean's eyes flicked back in his direction, the slanting rays of the sun highlighting his profile but hiding his expression in shadow.

"Yeah," he said tonelessly.

"Almost a vacation." Sam put a hint of a query into the comment, hoping to prompt a clue to the cause of his brother's increasingly morose attitude, but he was floundering in the sea of Dean's misdirection and he knew it.

"Guess we'd better hope it's not a permanent vacation." The growl in Dean's tone indicated he'd hit a sore spot. That was better than nothing.

"We'll get home somehow, after we see how it plays out with Alec and Ben."

The attempt at placation didn't work. Dean scraped a thumb down the side of his jaw, the dry rasp of nail over stubble audible across the room. He frowned a little, narrowing his eyes.

"We've got some unfinished business back home."

A yellow-eyed demon. A father to avenge. Sometimes the things you didn't talk about loomed larger than anything else.

Sam was stung, knowing it to be unreasonable but hurt anyway by the implication, however vague, that he might have forgotten. It lent a sharpness to his voice, brought a spark of resentment to his hazel eyes.

"Maybe drowning yourself in whiskey isn't the smartest way to figure out a way back."

Dean swiveled on his butt, bringing his leg down and dropping his booted foot to the floor with a thump as he glared balefully at his younger brother.

"So, what are you now Sammy? My conscience?"

Sam spun on his heel with a gesture of resignation. He would put money on it that part of Dean's worries centered on a brother with demon blood in his veins.

"I'm going to eat," he snapped, clanging his way down the stairs and inwardly cursing older brothers who were emotionally constipated.

Behind him Dean placed the bottle carefully on the ledge and massaged his forehead with a sigh. They were in the wrong universe and Azazel was running wild in their own. Sam had demon blood. A clone he'd accepted as a younger brother was clearly struggling to cope with his twin, who should be dead, and was an unexpected second clone who just might try and kill them all. Not to mention they were under siege in a stronghold of genetically enhanced super soldiers. Awesome.

Dean snorted. Sam was probably right and whiskey wasn't the answer, but it was better than worrying himself into an aneurysm.

.

Sam looked up from his plate of all-in casserole. The city was due a supply drop and food was becoming more and more basic. In the circumstances it surprised him that no-one seemed to mind feeding Alec's 'brothers' although the fact Alec had organized delivery of the majority of the food may have had a bearing on their lenient outlook.

That lenient attitude did not extend to Ben, even if he was Alec's twin. Everyone knew the story of the escaped 09er who'd developed psychotic tendencies. The silence that caused Sam to raise his head was a direct result of the entry of the twins. Alec had his head high, a look of defiance in his eyes as he led the way into the Mess Hall. Ben limped behind, keeping pace on his crutch, a sardonic smile pulling his face into perfectly sculpted lines.

It was an odd thing, thought Sam. When you saw the twins together they were identical, but if you had to describe Ben the picture in your head was of someone paler, with darker hair and eyes. He wondered if it was because Ben habitually kept to the shadows or if it was some darkness inside him seeping through his very pores. It made Sam wonder with a feeling of discomfort if the contamination in his own blood was somehow visible.

Alec spotted him immediately, a touch of relief in the look he sent over the heads of the other diners. He quickly took two plates of food and led the way over to Sam's table, casually working the other transgenics as he passed with a smile here, a comment there, falling back automatically on Manticore's training by easing the social situation and reducing the risk of unwanted confrontation.

Ben dropped into a chair at the end of the table so that the only person between him and the security of the corner was Sam. His arrogant slouch and sneer deflected any curious glances still coming in their direction and people turned uneasily away, not wanting to attract too much of his attention.

The mask slipped only once, when Sam slid a fork across to him with a smile. For just a second Ben's expression softened, making him instantly younger and more vulnerable. Sam found himself wishing the others had seen it; maybe they wouldn't be so wary if they had, or perhaps Ben was right and it was unwise to appear vulnerable in a room full of predators.

Alec slid into his own seat, positioning himself so he could keep a wary eye on both his twin and the other occupants of the Mess Hall.  Ben was making it obvious that he wasn't out to win friends and it was just as well because everyone seemed to hate him. Justified or not, that hurt Alec, quite unexpectedly, on a deep level.

They were all trained killers, but they'd killed to order, not by choice. Some had enjoyed it more than others. Did the intense dislike seeping from the other ex-inhabitants of Manticore stem from a worry they might turn out to have the same defect?

Alec understood that concern all too well. He poked his food listlessly, unable to trust his twin or the other transgenics and feeling increasingly wary of even his own instincts. At his side a glowering Ben chewed and swallowed without enthusiasm, doggedly building up his strength for...something. 

.

They were heading out of the Mess Hall when Alec pulled up abruptly. Sam halted, hearing Ben's involuntary hiss behind him as he was forced to take weight on his bad leg. Although the pins had been removed successfully the amount of damage and infection would take a long time to heal, a long time in transgenic terms.

"Max." Alec dipped his chin, his face frozen and all his usual banter forgotten as she stepped around him, eyes seeking Ben, oblivious to the way Alec bit his lip with a self-deprecating smirk as he moved out of the way.

Ben was motionless, his habitual scowl  absent as he looked around Sam's shoulder. Max stared at him for a moment, words following in an awkward rush.

"They fixed you up okay, huh?"

"It'll heal." Ben looked embarrassed, unconsciously rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand as he spoke.

Max flinched, reminded by Ben’s unintentional movement that she’d snapped his neck and left him for dead. "About that... She tilted her jaw in the direction of his neck."I shouldn't have left you...you're my brother."

His hand dropped and he shrugged, his intense gaze meeting her own, reading the tears in the shine of her eyes. "There was no choice."

"There's always a choice!"

He moved past her then, eyes intent as he patted her arm.

"You made the right decision. No hard feelings, okay?”

Then he was gone and Max was left with moisture on her cheeks. She dashed it away and raised her head, a frown settling on her features when she saw the upturned faces looking in her direction. She settled her hands on her hips and glared at them all.

"Defences in Zone A need shoring up." She singled out a beefy looking man with beaver genes. "Ziggy, get a work gang movin' willya?"

Any remaining awkwardness was lost in the scrape of chairs and a flurry of commands and by the time Max turned to the door, the X5 twins and Sam were out of sight.

.

“Whatever it is you want to say, just spit it out. You’re givin’ me a headache with all that messed up brooding.”

Alec was startled from his thoughts and found himself pinned down by the narrowed stare his brother was fixing on him from Joshua’s dilapidated armchair.

“C’mon, Alec…” Ben gave him a tight, sarcastic little smile, deliberately spacing his words out in a lazy drawl. “What’s eating at ya.”

“You,” said Alec bluntly. He was tired of stepping around the subject. “I wasn’t expecting a twin to turn up.” He gave a sarcastic smirk of his own. “There I was, minding my own business and wham, an unexpected double. Not just any double mind…” He spread his hands wide, expanding the smirk. “You. Dead you. It’s kind of a shock to a man’s nerves, y’know.”

Ben snorted. “Wasn’t expecting it either. So I guess that puts both of us on the wrong foot.”

Alec held his gaze. “So, I gotta ask, ‘cause it’s kinda unusual. What made you decide to go around killing ordinaries? Seems to me it’s not the smartest thing to do if you’re wanting to stay incognito? ”

If Ben was shocked by the direct question he didn’t show it. The lazy smile didn’t waver at all. “They were offerings to the Blue Lady, so she’d take care of us.”

“Offerings?” Alec’s eyebrows climbed up towards his hairline. “What sorta crazy is that! They were people, Ben! Not tooth-dispensing livestock bred to provide body parts for some psycho! What’s this blue lady to you anyhow?”

“She kept us safe, in Manticore, until Jack...” The smile was gone now, Ben’s posture turning tense and defensive. “You kill. What’s the difference?”

“Not for fun!” Alec’s voice rose a tone with the statement. “Did she keep you safe, this blue lady? ‘Cause way I recall it, your unit made a run for it. Doesn’t sound like you felt too safe to me.”

Ben dropped his eyes, hunching into himself in Joshua’s chair and pressing his back further into the moth-eaten cushions. “We had to run. Max had a seizure…they would’ve killed her.”

“Keep going.”

“Yeah. Keep going Ben.”

Dean’s voice made them both jump as he moved smoothly into the living area of Joshua’s accommodation. Their donor had an uncanny way of moving silently even when transgenic ears were involved, and he smelt so similar to them both that another of their early warning systems was almost useless.

“I’ve talked to Max. I get what happened in Manticore with the kids’ teeth. It’s weird, but I get it.” Dean walked a little closer, frowning down at Ben. “But you escaped, right? Lived free for years. It was in your interests to keep your head the hell down, not go on some killing spree.”

Ben looked hunted, his gaze shuttling around the room and fixing longingly on the exit.

“What happened, Ben?” Alec followed up the attack. “You were out, free from Manticore. The blue lady kept you safe, right?”

At first.” Ben’s fingers wound into the tattered cloth of the seat. “Then later…I did what I had to do.”

Dean glowered at him.  "The only reason you're here is because Alec is watching you. Far as I'm concerned, you're no different from the murdering freaks we gank every day. So if Alec says 'jump', you jump."

A muscle flickered in Ben's jaw. He kept his gaze fixed on the floor and refused to say any more, but they all knew the subject wasn’t closed, not even part-way closed.

.

The first time he saw it, it was only the briefest of glimpses but Sam had known that streamlined shape his entire life. A simple flash of gleaming black paintwork through the mesh fence in Zone A, where he was helping to repair the defenses.

Later, on the way back to their accommodation, he saw it again. A better view this time, the distinctive headlights unmistakable in the gloom. It sat, the engine idling with its familiar grumble, just outside the barricades. It was the Impala.

Chapter Text

Nightmares can stretch you thin. If they're bad enough, it's as though you never sleep at all. Too many, night after night, can wear you down as surely as a glacier over rocks, even if you don't need to sleep as much as a regular human.

When they start flickering just out of sight when you’re awake, you know you’re in trouble. Alec didn’t want to acknowledge it, even to himself, but he was scared.

Ever since that moment when Ben’s tear breached Manticore’s barricades in his memories, Alec had been spiraling downwards, ever faster, hiding it the best he could, because he had a reputation to keep, because Ben was meant to be the crazy one, not him.

When a foot nudged the end of his mattress with some force, Alec was startled awake, forgetting for the moment that he was meant to be playing it cool. He blurred into a crouch ready to defend himself and found he was more or less eye-level with Dean, who was sitting calmly on the next mattress, his legs stretched out across the dusty floor.

"That was some freakin' nightmare," observed his donor. 

Alec subsided onto his butt, his whole body trembling with residual terror and unused adrenaline as he tried to bring his breathing under control.

Dean moved incrementally closer, edging casually along the side of his mattress until he was within arm's reach.

"Hey," he said, the word a prudent warning of the descent of his hand to deliver a swift pat and a shake of Alec's bent knee. "You okay there?"

The younger man swallowed, the half-light painting grim hollows in his cheeks and thickening the darkness around the hard glitter of his eyes. He nodded, not looking convinced. They both knew that he wasn't okay at all.

The glint of Ben's eyes from the next mattress and a shuffling noise from Sam's direction indicated that Alec's sleep-bound distress had awoken them all, as it had periodically throughout the night.

Alec stood up swiftly, his nerves shooting lightning bolts along his skin and making it impossible to stay still. He rubbed his hand hard over his face, across his head, unaware that his hair stood up in unruly spikes after its passage.

It would soon be daylight and with every moment in the room the iron bands of stress around his skull became tighter, their insistent pressure bringing a swoop of dizziness. He must have swayed then because Dean's hand was firm on his shoulder and he hadn't even seen his brother get up onto his feet.

Alec allowed the contact for a few seconds, needing the emotional support as much as the physical. Then he patted Dean's hand brusquely and gave a weak smile of reassurance.

"I'm gonna go get some air."

Ben was already on his feet, pulling on his jacket cautiously as he balanced with most of his weight on one leg. Dean thought he looked sad, maybe a little confused at Alec's show of trust. He was visibly surprised when Sam handed him his crutch.

“I fixed some padding on the top,” Sam said quietly. “It’s not good to use it without padding. It could cause damage to the nerves under your arm.”

The surprise on the transgenic's face dissolved into pleasure and embarrassment, causing a slow smile to spread over Sam's face and Dean to wonder how often anyone had actually done anything for his newly discovered clone.

"C'mon, Ben," said Alec, forcibly injecting a bright tone into his voice. "Time for that dressing change."

His twin raised a nonchalant eyebrow but didn't protest. Early meant quiet, less chance of running into other people at the medical center, and that was fine with Ben. He fell into line behind his twin. Alec had made it plain that he felt responsible for Ben’s behavior in the transgenic stronghold and the sight of 494 closely shadowed by 493 was becoming a familiar sight.

.

A light wind whipped across the surface of the deep puddles at the roadside, causing the reflections of lights from nearby buildings to ripple and then shatter into crazy shapes that sliced into Alec’s mind and shimmered in a nauseating way.

Alec forced himself to concentrate on something else, keeping his eyes focused on the wall of the building beside him as he spoke to his twin over his shoulder.

“You said the blue lady kept you safe at first. So what happened?”

“I made a mistake.” It was a flat statement. “Safe doesn’t exist.”

Alec stopped, telling himself it was only so he could concentrate on his twin. “So you went all psycho and started killin’."

" You're an assassin," Ben noted in a cold tone. "You kill."

"I was doing my job." Alec's voice faltered, then strengthened. "You murder random strangers.  Did that work out for you?”

“I guess not.” A light shudder ran through Ben’s frame, his voice empty and chilling as he continued. “Maybe they weren’t worthy enough. I should’ve tried harder.”

Alec turned to him with horror. “What d’you mean? Worthy?”

“I’m a good soldier! I picked the best for her! But she…it wasn’t enough.” A bitter twist pulled at the expressive mouth. “She abandoned me. I tried, I tried so hard.”

Ben stared at him from the shadows that lay deeper alongside the wall, his eyes earnest, clearly hurt by the perceived rejection of his efforts.

Alec blinked, wanting to pursue the subject but suddenly overwhelmed by vertigo. He was aware of Ben’s face swimming at his shoulder but found his eyes drawn back to the mesmerizing kaleidoscope of color shivering across the puddles.

He didn't hear the sharp note of the motorcycle engine and took no evasive action as it hurtled carelessly past. The sheet of cold water thrown up from the road surface was shockingly, frighteningly familiar.

Alec ducked away instinctively, trying to escape from the....lights in his eyes...the hose aimed at his face by the man in the white coat.

"Come now, 494, its only water."

Alec's breath went out in a high-pitched wheeze as he staggered sideways, his hands lifting to protect his head.

"Why, you're shaking. Perhaps you're cold?" Insidious, the voice dripped into his ears. "Maybe I can warm you up?"

Blinding blue light crackled, reached out and stroked him with vicious fingers of electricity. The Psy-Ops technician was laughing as he turned up the current.

Alec cried out, falling against the brick wall at his side, his jacket rasping against the rough surface. He collapsed, whimpering, completely unaware of his current surroundings or of his twin reaching for him.

"Alec? Hey Alec, what's up with you!?"

Ben bent down, balancing himself carefully. His twin seemed to be having some sort of episode. He didn't respond to Ben's voice or a shake of his shoulder other than to cringe away.

"HEY!"

Still nothing. Alec's head lolled back against the wall, the whites of his eyes showing, uncaring of the water soaking into his jeans as he sprawled in the puddles.

"Looks like I'm not the only one with the crazy gene then."

Ben lifted Alec's eyelid, felt his pulse and tried slapping his face. The only response was a quiet groan.

"Okaaay..." Ben glanced around quickly, considered his twin briefly and then tucked his crutch securely in position. He jammed his other hand under Alec's armpit and dragged him towards the gaping maw of a dark entrance to an abandoned building. Alec whimpered and kicked weakly, his fingernails tearing on the rough floor as he tried half-heartedly to resist.

"Knock it off!" Ben scowled down at his twin's wet head. "It'd be much easier for me to just leave you lying here in the street y'know."

He leaned the crutch up the wall by the doorway, took hold of the frame for support and hoisted his brother through into the dark interior. Alec immediately curled up into a ball in the darkness, holding his head and mumbling something unintelligible.

"Well, this is just great." Ben peered at him with morbid curiosity. "Nice of you to warn me you're likely to have a flashback if you get wet. Good thing dog man doesn't have a shower fitted."

He took hold of his crutch and poked Alec with the end of it. His twin cringed away.

"N...no more...please. Don't hurt me again. I don't want to go down with the 'nomalies."

Ben hissed, white teeth gleaming in the gloom as he curled his lip in disgust. 'Nomalies. Alec was having flashbacks about Manticore.

It was now a war of desire against duty. Ben’s instincts screamed at him to abandon his twin and make a run for it, but that would leave Alec in Manticore's clutches, even if it was only in his own head.

Undecided, Ben chewed his lip, glanced again at his brother. There was no choice; he couldn’t carry Alec, so he had to go for help.

"Stay put." He tapped Alec on the shoulder but his brother was staring blankly at the doorway and wheezing as though he'd smoked 100 cigarettes a day since birth.

"I'm gonna get help. Don't go running off anywhere."

It didn't look as though Alec was capable of doing anything other than possibly dying of fright, so Ben turned on his heel and stumped off as quickly as he could.

His mind was in a turmoil of self-recrimination at the lost opportunity to escape, and the work truck thundering past as he turned into their building covered the sound of Dean coming the other way. His donor was moving at some speed and they collided with force in Joshua's entrance door. Ben's crutch and their legs somehow tangled and they went down in a heap with a complete lack of grace.

"What the ..."

Dean removed Ben's elbow from his ribcage, unnerved by the close proximity of the transgenic's face to his own. Ben's gaze seemed to be fixed on his mouth.

"You're not gonna pull my teeth out, are ya?" Dean squinted at him.

“Very funny.” Ben rolled away. “Alec needs help.”

Dean was already on his feet; he fisted Ben’s jacket and hoisted him upright with an angry motion.

“Where the hell is he? What’d you do to him?”

Ben narrowed his eyes.

“Oh please. Use your inadequate brain. I can’t help it if he’s nuts.”

He gestured for Dean to go through the doorway first, a sadistic smirk lifting the corner of his mouth.

“They are very nice teeth.”

“You’ve got your own set.” Dean snapped, shouldering past him with unnecessary force. “Mebbe I can knock ‘em out for ya.”

.

They went down the sidewalk at a half-run, Ben's expression getting progressively more pinched at the quick pace until he stopped in relief at the last corner and pointed wordlessly at the stark rectangle of the doorway, more obvious now in the growing daylight.

Dean left him leaning there and jogged up to the entrance. He entered the dark interior cautiously, grateful that his transfusion from Alec had left him with improved night vision. He crouched down next to his clone, who was huddled quietly in the shadows.

"Alec. I'm here. Hey, dude, look at me. It's Dean."

He laid a hand carefully on Alec's shoulder. The transgenic shuddered but didn't pull away. That was something at least.

"I'm gonna sit down, okay? It's gonna be alright; you know you can trust me, right?"

Dean swiveled and slowly dropped his butt onto the cold floor next to Alec, keeping his tone soothing and steady.

“You shoulda told me you were feelin’ this crappy. You can talk to us anytime, ‘bout anything. We got your back, okay?”

It was ironic, he thought, that he was asking his clone to talk about feelings. It was so unlikely that he would do it himself.

Alec’s face turned toward him, a pale blur in the gloom. His breath hitched as he said something Dean couldn’t understand. It might have even been in a different language.

“No one’s gonna hurt you,” Dean said firmly. It was a shot in the dark, but probably what Alec needed to hear anyway.

He wriggled sideways and laid his arm across Alec’s shoulders. The transgenic was cold, wet, and shaking; it was instinct to pull him closer, tucking him tight against his side under one arm. After a couple of minutes, some of the tension eased out of the thigh next to his own, and Alec’s breathing slowed to a more normal rate.

“How about we get outta here?”

Alec nodded, more felt than seen, as Ben chose that moment to appear in the doorway, blocking out most of the light.

“Yeah, c’mon, Alec. You don’t want everyone thinking you’re a genetic mistake too.”

"One more friggin' word outta you and you get punched," warned Dean, glowering at Ben as he helped Alec to his feet. "He wouldn't be in this world of hurt if it wasn't for your freak-assed behavior."

He helped Alec stumble outside, propping him against the wall until he was sure the younger man could support his own weight.

"I'm okay now." Alec waved him off, obviously embarrassed by his own weakness.

Alec took a tentative step, then another. The others fell into step on either side of him, close enough to offer assistance if needed.

"What'd you mean, 'if it wasn't for me'?" The grim line of Ben’s brows accentuated the confusion in his voice. 

Dean stared at him, incredulous.

"You know they all had an awesome little vacation in psy-ops when you escaped, right?"

"I heard that. It was a long time ago."

"Yeah, well it wasn't too long ago you decided to start pulling teeth from civilians. Kinda thing that makes Manticore sit up and take notice. I guess mebbe they thought if they broke your twin often enough, then they'd find what went wrong with you."

"They tortured him, ‘cause they couldn't catch me." After a pause Ben continued in a quiet voice. "How long?"

"Six months. Give or take a week or two. He doesn't remember too well, what with all the friggin' brainwashin'."

"I am here y'know."

Alec's baleful mutter finished the conversation effectively and Ben didn't say another word until his twin was dry and wrapped up in a scratchy blanket with a hot mug of broth clasped between his hands. Then he whispered, half to himself. "I didn't know I had a twin."

"Manticore wasn't big on sharing," noted Sam, pushing a mug of the soup in his direction.

"Is that why he attacked me, that first day?"

"Yeah, Ben. I reckon it was."

Sam remembered how shocked they'd all been at Alec's reaction, not finding out the reason for it until later.

Ben subsided onto his mattress and rolled away to face the wall. The soup mug, abandoned on the floor, sent thin tendrils of steam into the cool air.

Alec's nonchalant slouch against the wall was gradually degrading into a slump. Dean waited until his eyelids began to close and the mug tilted in his grasp, then took his elbow.

"Lie your ass down."

Alec blinked at him. "Yeah..."

Seconds later he was prone on his mattress, eyes closed. Dean raised his eyebrow in silent query and Sam smiled, waving airily in the direction of the first aid kit.

"Thought he could use a decent sleep."

His brother smirked.

"Way to go, Sammy."

He gestured at the twins. Ben’s turned back was an insurmountable barricade, and the way he was holding his knee in a white-knuckled grip suggested he wasn’t going anywhere soon. Alec was out cold and was likely to be for some time, bearing in mind the amount of sedatives Sam had slipped into his broth.

"You want to go grab us all some food?"

"Sure." Sam hesitated, then continued. "Didn't get chance to mention it, but I saw an Impala outside the wire last night."

"Yeah?" Dean's interest was =piqued.

"Seems too much of a coincidence?"

His brother snorted.

"Coincidences and Winchesters don't go together, Sammy, you know that. Lemme know if you see it again."

.

It would only take five minutes to take a quick walk along the nearest boundary fence. Something seemed to be drawing Sam in that direction; it had been calling to him since Alec woke him that morning. It wasn’t a vision as such, but the urgency was similar.

He paused in the entrance to their building, then turned away from the Mess Hall and headed resolutely to the perimeter. When he passed the last barricade before the wire, he already knew it would be there. Silent this time, parked in the weak sunlight on the deserted street, raindrops scattered across its gleaming surface and catching the light like a thousand glittering crystals. The Impala. Again.

Sam approached the wire on silent feet. There was no-one in sight. From this angle he could see the number plate clearly. KAZ 2Y5. She was identical in every way, but for all that there was something wrong about her. Nothing specific. Just…wrong.

Sam wound his fingers into the wire fence, brow furrowing. Dean would know his baby anywhere and he’d certainly know a doppelganger if he saw one. He needed to fetch his brother, now.

The slight scuffing noise behind him would have been missed by any human other than a hunter. Sam whirled, fast enough to see his assailant, far too slow to evade the Taser that made contact with his ribs. The world exploded into juddering agony and faded away as his long legs collapsed. His last sight was the asphalt, gritty and inexplicably close to his nose.

.

Chapter Text

“Joshua!”

The large canine transgenic paused in the entrance to his living area.

“Dean.”

He gave a toothy grin and sniffed the air at the bottom of the stairs dramatically.

“Where is Sam?”

“That’s what I was gonna ask you.”

Dean swung down the last couple of steps and arrived in the hallway next to him.

“He went to get food a while back now. I was kinda hoping you’d seen him?”

“No.”

Joshua shook his head and snuffled around close to Dean’s head.

“You are worried.”

“What? No! Well…mebbe.”

Dean grimaced, thinking no-one should be able to smell how you felt emotionally, but unable to deny it.

“You didn’t see him at all?”

“That is what I am saying.”

Joshua reiterated, nodding slowly, then gesturing at the street.

“I can track him for you? Big Fella’s nose is very sharp.”

“Er no, it’s okay man. I guess he got talkin’.”

Joshua continued his sniffing, nose now pointed up the stairs.

“What is wrong with Medium Fella; he smells of medicines. And the twin is hurting.”

Dean snorted derisively.

“Ben deserves to hurt.”

He paused, narrowing his eyes as he glanced at Joshua, almost embarrassed for Alec at the admission that followed.

“Alec…he’s not so good since Ben turned up. Sam gave him some sleeping pills.”

“Ahh.”

Joshua nodded slowly, his long hair swinging.

“Yes. Alec needs to sleep, he is suffering with the night mares.”

The tension in Dean’s posture spoke clearly of his concern about Alec’s nightmares.

“Yeah. Y’know, sometimes I wish Sam had never found Ben. He wasn’t meant to be here, not now.”

Furry wrinkles spread across Joshua’s face as he considered that statement, then he seemed to come to a decision.

“But Ben is here. So perhaps Sam was meant to find him.”

Dean looked at him, startled at the wise look in the big eyes fixed on his own. Joshua moved a little closer, his voice earnest.

“Medium fella’s brother should be giving Ben a chance.”

“A chance. To do what exactly? Kill someone else?"

“To prove he can change. Ben is Alec’s twin. He is not X2.”

“X2?” queried Dean, puzzled.

“The X2s went…wrong. Some of them came down to the basement. Manticore put the rest down.”

Joshua sighed.

“Manticore was a hard place to survive. Not everyone made it out.”

He glanced up the stairs and turned back to Dean, a waft of dog breath making the hunter wrinkle his nose.

“Big Fella had a brother once. In brother’s head, he could not escape Manticore. Now he is dead.”

The impact of the comment on Dean was clear from his face, his sudden feeling of awkwardness apparent in his delivery of the inadequate words.

“I’m sorry.”

Joshua nodded again.

“Everyone was afraid of him. Even Big Fella was afraid of him at the end. Now everyone is afraid of Ben.”

“Yeah, well, he’s brought that on himself.”

Joshua continued as though he’d not been interrupted.

“Some of them are being afraid of what Ben might do. Most are being scared they will become like him. Is that what you are afraid of?”

Dean’s mouth opened in protest and then closed again. He frowned. He wasn’t afraid of Ben. Why would he be worried that someone created from his DNA was crazy? He swallowed, hard.

“It is difficult escaping from Manticore when everyone is afraid of you, especially when Manticore is in your head.”

With that parting shot of wisdom Joshua turned away, leaving Dean standing in the hallway with a stunned expression on his face.

.

For a long time Sam drifted slowly in and out of consciousness, bobbing about under the surface of full awareness but present enough to know that he was tied securely to a chair. When he finally forced his eyes slightly open he could see two figures silhouetted against a bright light. He peered through his long bangs, grateful they filtered out some of the glare because his head was banging and his ribs throbbed sickeningly, probably a result of the Taser.

One of the figures approached, voice and face falling into place immediately.

“Well, it seems the young Mr Winchester is joining us."

A hard slap to the face made Sam gasp involuntarily and his eyes flew open. It was Ames White. The familiar gave him an insincere smile.

“Remember me?”

Sam scowled at him. He wasn’t likely to forget White in a hurry.

“Now, you may be wondering why you’re here? What use you could be to us?”

Sam stared at him, sure he wasn’t going to like the answer.

“Hmm? Cat got your tongue? Well, truth is I’m not interested in you, only as a bargaining chip. Still…it’s a shame to miss a golden opportunity like this, isn’t it?”

White punched him in the gut with force. Sam gagged, coughed, heaved for air.

“I didn’t have a pleasant trip home, after we last met. So, before I make a deal, I owe you some pain. That’s fair, don’t you think? Of course, if you should happen to have any information, any at all, that may be useful then I can arrange for there to be, let’s say, a little less pain.”

White smirked at him, patted him kindly on the shoulder and gestured behind him.

“This is Bradley. Say ‘hello’ Bradley. Bradley will be making your stay enjoyable.”

White stepped backwards, still smiling, and gave a friendly wave of farewell. Sam took a breath, blew out through his nose and waited for the onslaught.

.

Dean’s stomach griped and twisted, nauseating waves of fear washing over him as he paced with Mole behind Joshua. Sam was still missing, had been gone far too long for the outcome to be anything good. Now he was following a man who was part dog and quite possibly the only person who could provide a clue as to his brother’s whereabouts.

“Sam was walking this way,” said Joshua.

“You sure?”

Dean’s thoughts skittered like water droplets on hot metal. He’d lost his brother, again. He ground his teeth, bit back the rising panic.

“Joshua is very sure.”

The transgenic’s voice held a note of finality.

“He is coming to the fence, there.”

The wire fence stood undamaged, the street beyond it clear of vehicles or movement of any kind. There was no sign of Sam.

Joshua cast about for a while like a hunting dog on a trail, his frown becoming deeper by the second.

“Someone else was here, they are burning Sam with electricity!”

“Burning!”

Dean’s voice matched the growl that was beginning to rumble in Joshua’s chest. He turned to Mole.

“Joshua can smell all this?”

“He’s got the best nose ‘round this place,” said Mole calmly. “Sounds like your brother got himself in some trouble.”

The growling turned into a full-blown snarl and Joshua’s lip lifted to expose his teeth.

“White. He was here.”

He gestured at the fence, pointing to a minute thread of cotton caught on the top links.

“They took him over the top.”

“I’m gonna fuckin’ gank that bastard.”

The words were quiet but intense. It only took Mole one glance at Dean’s face to make it clear just where the violent gene in the twins had originated.

.

When the message came it was short and to the point and it was attached to a tiny transgenic who’d been missing for weeks. The youngster walked up to the barricade, shaking from head to foot and trying to blink back the tears that welled in her eyes. Once inside, she held out a small piece of clean, white card.

“494 in exchange for Winchester. Ten minutes. Barricade.”

Dean snarled; he was being asked to trade one brother for another.

.

Mole had an impressive amount of firepower directed at the open space in front of the barricade, some of it clearly visible, some secreted in the surrounding buildings. It was immediately obvious that White was similarly prepared.

“I can’t let you do this.”

There was anger in Dean’s whisper, mixed with the despair of knowing he had no choice. If Alec didn’t go out to White then Sam, currently at gun point on the other side of the fence, was a dead man; White had made that clear in his brief megaphone message.

“No choice.”

Alec’s confirmation was firm.

“Look, I know we look alike and everythin’, but White, he’s gonna know the difference.”

He gave a weak imitation of a grin; it didn’t sit well on his face.

“Told ya before, I’m the handsome one.”

“Yeah right. You can barely stand up.”

Dean had hold of his clone’s arm, could feel the weight coming and going as Alec swayed, still groggy from the effects of the tranquilizers and his flashback.

Alec patted his hand reassuringly.

“I got this. I’m the super soldier, remember? You’ve got no chance against White.”

“You might be a friggin’ super soldier, but you’re still my little brother.”

Alec pulled away with a decisive move.

“And your other one is out there, with a gun to his head.”

Dean felt nauseous. It was true. The weaponry trained on Sam’s battered face made it quite clear that any wrong move on the part of the inhabitants of Terminal City would end with his brother’s brains spread across the barricade.

Unwilling, unable to make any other choice and forced into inaction, he watched Alec take his first unsteady steps towards the edge of the solid block of shadow in which they hid. Ten more steps after that edge and he would be at the opening to the barricade.

“Why does White want you?”

“Well, I am awesome.”

Alec smirked over his shoulder.

“But I’m guessing he wants somethin’ from Maxie; he’s got some crazy idea in his head that I actually mean somethin’ to her.”

Any further thought in that direction was cut short.

“HEY!”

A strong voice rang out, echoing a little in the open space between the buildings.

Sam’s head came up, his swollen eyes widening as a figure limped into view, heading directly at the barricade.

In the cover of the shadows, Mole’s arm swung out, holding Alec back.

“Keep quiet or you’ll get someone killed.”

The voice rang out again. “You want to make this trade or what?”

It was Ben, stepping into sunlight, his black clothing stark in the glare, the glitter of his eyes visible under his dark scowl.

The door of the gleaming ATV behind Sam swung fully open as some rifles re-aligned on the figure now slouching arrogantly in the gap in the fence. White stepped out of the vehicle, still partly shielded by the door.

“Well…494. Seems jumping out of helicopters wasn’t too good for your health after all.”

He smiled his deadly smile, visibly delighted at the partly-healed injury.

“I’m awesome, but even I can’t win ‘em all,” said Ben, calm, ice in his tone.

He had hold of the fence with one hand and waved the other arm in a languid manner at Sam.

“Send him over, and I’m all yours.”

“Easy as that?” White laughed. “452 got nothing to say?”

“Max isn’t involved in this.”

That at least was the truth; the leader of Terminal City was in a secret meeting with a government agency two states away and knew nothing of the incident.

“She will be,” promised White. “She will be.”

He jerked his head in the direction of Sam.

“Both of you, walk forwards. One wrong move and you’re both dead.”

Ben shrugged, smirked, limping slowly forwards under the bright sunlight. Sam thought it was the first time he’d seen him completely clear of shadows.

Sam stumbled on towards the fence, struggling to stay on course, his mouth opening to say something, but Ben shook his head, just slightly, the unspoken communication in his eyes as easy to read as if it had been Dean approaching. As they passed he dropped an eyelid in a slow wink, gave an easy grin; Sam thought he’d never looked more like Dean.

It seemed to take forever to reach the gap in the barricade, then suddenly Sam was in shadow and Dean was there, his hands reaching out as Sam stumbled. 

Just before he entered the building, Sam heard the sickening sound of something making contact with flesh and Ben’s involuntary grunt. There was the sound of Alec swearing wildly and then Sam was inside. 

.                                                                               

The warehouse was huge, dark and echoingly empty but for the pool of white light in the center where a harsh floodlight illuminated a cage with the door flung open. White and several assistants stood at the edge of the circle of light, staring at a half-naked figure sprawled awkwardly face-down just outside the cage.

“He’s unconscious, Sir. Has been for some time.”

White nodded. He approached the body that was clad only in torn, dark jeans. The marks of savage and repeated beatings covered the exposed skin, mottled bruises and torn flesh tattooed in grotesque patterns along ribs and back. The raw circles of burns tracked along the soles of the bare feet and across the hand thrown carelessly in front of the man’s head.

White smiled, his lips bloodless in the bright light as he stooped over the figure and lifted the sweat-darkened hair at the nape of the neck. He hissed then, smile fading. His agents were correct. X5-493. Presumed dead. Most definitely not X5-494.

It wasn’t a total loss, even it was a disappointment. There was no saying if 452 would be as eager to rescue the transgenic known as Ben, although he’d heard they were close back in Manticore. Still, not a complete loss; the transgenic’s suffering had been most enjoyable.

White stood and delivered a swift kick to Ben’s ribs. The body jerked sluggishly but there was no other reaction.

“You can go.”

“But Sir…”

“I’m armed, Bradley. Leave me. All of you. Now!”

There was a brief pause then the hollow sound of footsteps receding across the vast floor. A metal door shrieked and clanged shut.

White pulled a wooden chair into the circle and sat, leaning back and resting one ankle on his other knee.

“You’re awake,” he stated flatly.

Swollen lips moved against the grit of the floor.

“And you’re an asshole.”

Ben's voice was so weak even White’s incredible hearing struggled to make out the words.

“Smart mouth, just like your twin.”

White sucked at his teeth, running through possible courses of action.

“X5-493. I heard you were dead, but here you are.”

Dark lashes parted, just a little, as the transgenic coughed; it sounded wet and White noted how his fingertips clawed momentarily at the floor.

“You’re all broken,” he observed in a bored tone. “So what to do with you? Umm…I think maybe if I take you apart, find out what makes you tick, now that would be entertaining.”

Ben’s eyes opened a little more, his eyes shining dark in the hard light.

“Terminal City is in uproar. Taking the Winchester boy and then you…”

White laughed.

“Like poking an ants’ nest with a burning stick.”

He stood up, one hand in his pants’ pocket.

“494 and the Winchesters, I hear they want you back.”

He read the tiny movement of Ben’s head accurately.

“That surprises you? It surprises me too, but hey, ordinaries and transgenics, who knows what’s going on in their heads.”

He strolled slowly around the edge of the circle, taking pleasure in the labored sound of breathing coming from his captive.

“My sources tell me we should be in a position to take 494 in the next couple of hours; he’s not his normal self by all accounts. Now I think if I drop off your body at the same time, the elusive 452 won’t be slow in coming forward to rescue your twin; she seems to be fond of him.”

“Why’d you want Max?”

The words were such an effort that Ben appeared to slip back into unconsciousness, his eyelids sliding down.

White waited obligingly until they lifted again and a spark returned to the transgenic’s eyes.

“She has something I need, written in her skin. You and 494, you’re just pawns in the game.”

He sat back on the chair, smiling.

Very, very slowly Ben raised his head from the floor. That he was still able to do so was remarkable. The venom in his eyes was shocking and sent an unexpected chill down White’s spine. He’d heard this one was different and it was there in the glitter of his green eyes and the hard planes of his sculpted face. He watched, fascinated, as the transgenic’s lips parted.

“I’m no pawn.”

A thick rope of viscous blood escaped from Ben’s mouth and stretched down to the floor to join the small pool where his head had been lying. Such defiance in the face of death. It was almost a waste.

White was opening his mouth to reply when Ben slammed into his chest, moving so fast that the familiar was caught unawares. He flew backwards, the chair shattering beneath their combined weight as he struck out at the blood-streaked face above him. It was too late, vice-like fingers took hold of his skull and cracked it onto the concrete.

When White came to, he was lying uncomfortably on wrists restrained behind his back by his belt. X5-493 was astride his chest and the sharp blade of White’s own knife was pressing into his jugular. Ben smirked at him, lips curving back from red-rimmed teeth.

“I’m going to kill you,” he promised. “Soon. But today I’ve left you with something to remember me by.”

“SIR, SIR!”

Running footsteps were followed immediately by a sprinkle of hot glass as the light above them shattered. The weight was gone from White’s chest; he tried to call out but found he was gargling on the blood gathered in his throat.

Ben was gone, leaving just a few bloody footprints behind.

.

Chapter Text

Sam was a pale shadow of his usual self, lying propped against a random assortment of tatty cushions and pillows on the narrow cot. Shadows and bruises vied for pride of place on his drawn face, and seeing the way he kept his fingers tucked under the edge of the blanket, Dean guessed they were still trembling.

Dean’s chair was pressed hard against the cot and had been since his brother took up residence. Alec, outwardly calm but with his knee bouncing from contained stress, was seated at the end of the bed. He took space intended for Sam’s feet, but Sam was too relieved to have his brothers next to him to protest. For a while there, he’d thought he might never see them again.

“So, that’s pretty much how it happened? You can’t remember anything else at all?”

Alec, mindful of Sam’s injuries and general state of shock, was in full military mode. His keen gaze was fixed on Sam’s face, as though he could forcibly extract forgotten details from his mind.

Sam considered the question carefully. If his brothers were going on a rescue mission, he didn’t want to miss even the smallest detail that might make all the difference in getting them back safely. He shook his head slowly.

“No. That’s everything.”

He looked earnestly from one to the other.

“Be careful. White’s operation is professional and very tight.”

Alec grinned, but there was no humor in it.

“No operation in the world tight enough to keep us out. That right, Dean?”

“Damn right.”

There was a mean look on Dean’s face. White was at the top of his hit list.

“We’ll be just a few hours. No sweat.”

Alec slid off the bed, sending a cocky grin in Sam’s direction as he directed his next words to Dean.

“Well, let's get this over with.”

Behind him, Dean wrapped his fingers around Sam’s wrist where it lay outside the edge of the covers and gave it a quick, reassuring squeeze.

“You stay put there, Sammy.”

“Be careful of White.”

Sam repeated the warning, unable to express adequately how helpless he’d felt in the familiar’s clutches.

“I see White, I’m gonna smoke him.”

Dean’s words were without inflection of any kind, his face expressionless. It sent a shiver down Sam’s spine and Dean softened momentarily, reading the fear in his brother’s hazel eyes. He gave him a tight smile, then turned away.

“C’mon Alec, let's get this mission on the road.”

.

Dean and Alec selected their weapons of choice from the armory, leaving a few minutes later with Mole and two specially selected soldiers.

“Max ain’t gonna like this.”

Mole didn’t sound too worried.

“She’s on the way back with Logan.”

Alec snorted.

“Well, far be it from me to violate the chain of command, but hey, Maxie can chew me out later.”

Dean shrugged, uncaring if he alienated the leader of Terminal City.

“So…she’ll get her panties in a knot. We’re not hangin’ around. When White finds out he’s got Ben, not Alec, there’ll be hell to pay and Ben is gonna be the one paying the price.”

Two minutes later the small party slipped out through the defenses and into the back of a waiting van. White’s abandoned warehouse was approximately fifty minutes away by road.

None of them knew that Ben had been beaten until he was close to death and had already made his escape.

.

As soon as he was clear of the warehouse, Ben ran. He ran at super-human speed on burnt, bare feet with his injured knee sending fire arrows along his nervous system with every step. He ran in the darkness with only his cat genes to aid his eyesight. He ran naked to the waist in the cold, northern rain, and the blood from his injuries mixed with the icy water, sapping his strength with every passing minute.

Adrenaline kept him going for the first five miles. Those five miles got him clear of the area, enabled him to get his bearings and gave the cold rain time to clear his head.

The pace was not sustainable. As the heady mix of adrenaline wore off, he closed his mind to the hurt that had been done to his body. The discipline instilled by Manticore and the determination that had enabled him to survive in the outside world took over and carried him on for several miles more. Then his bad leg twisted on a tree root and he went down before he could even register the impact of the pain. Long minutes later, the cold roused him and he lifted his face out of wet leaf mold and knew his strength was almost gone.

At the third attempt he made it back onto his feet. He tore some material from the bottom of one leg of his jeans and bound two sturdy sticks on either side of his bad knee. It was better than nothing and he could resume his flight, though slowly and awkwardly now. The hurt was everywhere, pushing through his mental barriers, every injury shrieking to be heard louder than the rest.

A long time later, after several more falls, he realized that he was heading back to Terminal City. It occurred to him to wonder why, but the only reason he could find was that there was nowhere else for him to go.

Once he was sure someone was walking easily alongside him in the darkness. The man didn't say anything, but he looked at Ben with curiosity and compassion in his deep blue eyes. Ben thought he must’ve been a hallucination, because when he thrust out a hand to see if he was real, there was nothing there, and the rain didn't dampen the man’s dark hair or his tan coat.

By the time dawn lightened the sky, the rain had stopped, Ben was reeling in and out of the shadow of the Grim Reaper and Terminal City was still impossibly far away.

He thought now that he probably wouldn’t make it. It was for the best. He’d paid his debt to Sam, but he owed another debt. Life had been returned to him, even though he was a killer, when he was meant to be dead. Ben thought that maybe, the next time he fell, he would be repaying part of that debt too.

.

The storming of the warehouse was done with military precision. It was unnecessary; White and his associates had gone.

The abandoned cage, the smashed chair, the pools and streaks of blood and the implements used to bring that blood forth all told a story. A dirty story of torture, but one with an unexpected ending. Escape.

Mole took his soldiers to the East, moving swiftly, tracking the familiar’s party. His priority was to end the life of one Ames White, threat to Terminal City.

Dean watched them leave, disappointment at missing White evident on his face. He spoke, half to himself.

“Wherever White’s running, he ain’t running fast enough.”

Alec wasn’t sure if he was referring to Mole’s pursuit or some future action he planned to take himself.

“Did you get a lead on crazy boy?”

Dean pointed out into the dark trees.

“Your eyesight better be as good as you say it is.”

They headed West, in the general direction of Seattle, following a blood trail that smelt of Ben and hurt and increasingly of despair.

It was dark and it was raining, but the combination of Dean’s hunting skills and Alec’s enhanced abilities and military training enabled them to move at speed. Animals and birds startled by their near-silent passage fled in instinctive fear of creatures they accurately identified as predators, hunters.

They followed a trail that gradually began to waver and falter. They passed the first place where Ben had fallen and a grimness settled on their faces because after that the gaps between the bloodied footprints became less and the prints left by a hand reaching for support became more.

By dawn it was a race against time.

.

“I’m tellin’ ya, Normal, this is some far distance outside Original Cindy’s remit.”

Normal frowned at her over the top of his glasses and then returned his attention to the unkept road, fingers more used to holding a pen, gripping tight at the juddering steering wheel.

“May I remind you, Missy, you are an employee of Jam Pony, not some prima donna in a stage production.”

“Why you gotta be so salty? May I remind you, a girl is entitled to some extra remuneration for hauling her delicate ass out of bed at this time of day.”

Normal sniffed.

“You’ll be paid. This, I’ll have you know, is a very important delivery. Very important. It could make all the difference in the competitive world of parcel delivery.”

OC sniggered.

“Right, ‘cause Jam Pony ain’t the only parcel delivery joint in town.”

Normal set his jaw. The request had specified two operatives were required and unfortunately Original Cindy had been the only one he’d been able to rouse from bed. Of course, things weren’t the same since his transgenic delivery personnel had fled into Terminal City. If only his golden boy was sitting next to him instead of the smart-mouthed Cindy. Not that Alec didn’t have a smart mouth of course, but…

Normal’s thoughts roamed away and he smiled, deciding that the jibing from the passenger seat was inconsequential noise.

.

Ben stopped. Just stopped.

The hurt had travelled with him every step of the way, a dragging burden with vicious claws and teeth that savaged every part of his abused body. Now, suddenly, it was gone.

The weak sunlight of early morning painted the roadway a golden hue, Ben’s shadow stretching long and thin and insubstantial in front of him. He’d followed the pale wraith for several minutes but couldn’t seem to catch up; it was always in front, stretching out ahead of his stumbling feet.

It was a nice place, there on the road, green trees set back on either side all filled with the sound of birdsong. The drainage ditch at his left-hand side was mossy and at the bottom a living snake of sparkling water chuckled its way along. Even through the cloying smell of his own metallic blood, Ben could smell the fresh, rain-washed aroma of the morning.

It was a good place to stop.

It was a good place to die.

.

Dean’s breath dragged raw in his throat; his muscles burned to the point where they would stiffen if he stopped. Every instinct told him that the prey was weak, about to go down. The only trouble was the prey this time was Ben and he really didn’t want Ben to go down.

They stared ahead of them. The trail of bent grass and broken twigs left by Ben’s increasingly uncaring passage headed out of the trees and along the grass verge at the edge of a rough road.

“He’s not gonna last much longer.”

Dean’s fingertip ghosted lightly over the palm print on the tree trunk next to him.

“Sonofabitch!”

He ran his hand over his face, wiping away the accumulation of sweat and dirt and weariness as his concerned gaze settled on Alec.

“We’re kinda running low on time here.”

“The road turns on itself. We can cover more ground if we split up.”

“Yeah.” Dean nodded. “You cut across through the trees; try and get ahead of him. I’ll stay with the road.”

“You got it.”

They were a perfect team, a combination of compatible skills and experienced decision-making under pressure. There was no need for further discussion.

Dean resumed his tired but steady lope up the road. Alongside, getting gradually further away, he could hear Alec; tiredness had stolen some of the silence from his feet.

It was easier going on the road. Although the surface was rough there were no protruding roots or brambles to snag at feet and clothing, so Dean picked up the pace a little, keeping his breathing even.

He knew Sam would be wondering where they were. The urge to get back to his little brother was strong, but it was partly for him that Dean was out here, running with the warmth of the morning sun on his back, because Sam was fond of Ben and treated Ben like family.

Dean reflected that he’d thought of Ben as someone essentially self-centered, acting out because of a childhood no worse than that suffered by every other transgenic. Then Ben had stepped forwards to save Sam, assumed Alec’s identity and become a captive himself, fully aware that the likely outcome was torture and quite possibly death.

Had he done that thinking he’d have an opportunity to slip away, or was it because he cared for his twin and the man who’d saved him from death? The fact that he was now heading back towards Terminal City suggested it was the latter.

Mulling that over as his boots struck an even cadence on the hard-packed surface, Dean decided he wanted to get to know this second clone, try and find out why he’d turned to the dark side, if there was any way he could be trusted. 

Maybe there was a place in the family business for Ben? It was ironic, saving people and hunting things was what they did. Today, he was both hunting and trying to save his clone.

.

Ben sighed. He fingered the hard objects in the bloodstained wrap of cloth in his pocket and wished in a vague and regretful way that he’d finished White while he had the chance.

He was sorry he wouldn’t get to know more about his twin and the men his twin regarded as family. At least, he thought, Alec had someone to care for him, to help him with his memories of Manticore. It was a nice thought.

The warmth seemed to have gone from the sun and the road seemed grayer in color than before. Ben’s breathing faltered, dragging in his throat. Even most of the birds had gone quiet, although an insistent one peeped a sharp note behind him.

Very slowly, with all the grace he had inherited in his DNA and displayed in his movements since he’d drawn his first breath, X5-493 collapsed into the drainage ditch. He fell backwards, stretched out in a long arc, leaving his long legs in their torn, dark jeans lying with their knees hooked over the mossy edge of the ditch while his bruised torso and outstretched arms slid down the bank with a supple ripple of muscle and bone under skin. His sweat-soaked head kissed the sparkling water and sank, little bubbles of trapped air breaking free of his hair as the icy liquid flowed over his face.

.

A tall, lean figure was at the side of the road ahead of them. The man was half-naked and the soft, morning sunlight lit his back in pale gold and highlighted the injuries on his skin. He swayed, dangerously close to toppling into their path. Normal blasted the horn several times in warning with a sharp mutter.

“What’s this folderol?”

There was no response and the boss of Jam Pony already had his foot over the brake and was about to press the horn again when recognition dawned. His fingertip fell away from the horn and he uttered a startled comment.

“Alec?”

Original Cindy echoed him, clutching at the dashboard as Normal stamped on the brake.

The van was still shuddering to a halt when the figure folded and fell into the drainage ditch at the side of the road. He sprawled, his long length stretching from the verge down to the water and Normal clearly saw the splash as his head was submerged.

“Oh no!”

Normal half-fell out of the van and threw himself into the ditch, uncaring of the mud that submerged his highly prized brown, suede shoes. The transgenic’s head was submerged, clear water flowing over his features like living glass. Normal’s hand, shaking with nerves, raised the head above water level. The bloodless face was motionless. Water streamed from hair and skin, the droplets turning to rainbow crystals as they fell through the sunlight to rejoin the flow.

“Is that Alec?”

OC was shrill, her manicured nails incongruous against the stained and ripped black jeans as she caught hold of the man’s legs to prevent him sliding further down the bank.

“Keep hold of his legs.”

Normal was down on one knee in the ditch, hoisting the surprisingly heavy torso and clasping it to his chest.

“Up, up,” he panted, jerking his head in the direction of the verge.

Original Cindy took a firm grasp and between them they lifted the tall figure up onto the grass beside the van.

“Is he dead?”

“No! No.”

Normal sounded frantic as he tipped the transgenic onto his side and a dribble of water escaped from blue lips.

“My golden boy can’t be dead!”

He looked as though he was about to cry, Original Cindy thought, blinking at sudden moisture in her own eyes. She pawed at her cell, dashing angrily at her eyes as Normal began CPR. She reached Max just as a flood of bloody water spewed out of the transgenic’s mouth.

“Straight up! It’s Alec. He took a dive right in front of Original Cindy.”

Normal sat back on the heels of his ruined shoes with a gasp of relief.

“Get us some help, Missy, fast! There’s been some nefarious activity going on around here!”

“Shugga, are you sure?”

Original Cindy’s ear was still pressed to her cell and her mouth opened in an 'o' of surprise. She waved the cell in Normal’s direction.

“Hey, Normal, listen up would ya. That ain’t Alec. That boy is his crazy twin. Max says you be careful, there ain’t no tellin’ how he’s gonna react if he opens those pretty green eyes of his.”

“Ben? Twin?” said Normal faintly. “There’s two of them?”

“Hold it right there!”

An angry, deep baritone interrupted them and Normal looked up to find himself staring down a blued barrel. He swallowed nervously, gradually focusing on the face behind the barrel. Furious eyes glared at him out of Alec’s face…but not Alec’s face, something harder, leaner about it.

It couldn’t be Alec’s face anyway, because Alec, still clearly in possession of his own face, was running up the road towards them. He came to a halt next to Normal and dropped to one knee, addressing the man with the gun as he did so.

“Dean, it’s okay! These are friends.”

“Thought I was trippin' there for a minute!”

Original Cindy blinked, staring from one to the other. 

“Alec, who the hell is that? Normal here was suckin’ water outta this one’s mouth and suddenly another one pops up outta nowhere!”

Alec glanced up briefly, his fingertips on the sluggish pulse in Ben’s neck.

“I guess you all haven’t been introduced… Original Cindy, Normal, this is my twin Ben; he’s a little nuts. And the guy with the gun over there, that’s our donor, Dean Winchester.”

“Three of them.”

Normal was a few shades pinker than before as he pulled off his glasses and polished them nervously.

Alec rose to his feet.

“Well, now we’ve got the social niceties out of the way… Normal, I’m appropriating your van.”

He paused suddenly, raising an eyebrow at Normal with the beginnings of a smirk tugging at the side of his mouth.

“You gave Ben the kiss of life?”

Normal raised his chin.

“Yessir, I did, that’s a fact.”

He squared his shoulders and nodded, opening the side door with a sweeping gesture.

Dean slid the gun back into the waistband of his pants and ran his hands expertly over Ben’s body, his face turning hard and his mouth tightening as he saw the damage.

“White did this. That man has some answerin’ to do.”

Alec nodded, a grim look on his face. He took hold of Ben’s legs with care as Dean lifted him by the shoulders and they laid him in the back of the van. Ben groaned, the movement of his eyelids signaling he was returning to some semblance of consciousness; he turned his head suddenly to the side, coughing up a quantity of bloody mucus that narrowly missed Dean’s boot.

Alec put one foot up into the van and then paused, reaching out to give Normal’s shoulder a firm pat.

“Thanks, man.”

Normal blushed.

“Ahem. It’s the least a man can do. These are trying times.”

“I’m gonna stay in the back with Ben,” said Dean.

He could see that X5-493 was struggling to get a clear breath and raised him carefully to a sitting position, leaning him against the side of the van. He made sure his gun was readily accessible, just in case, and settled on Ben’s right-hand side, sitting on the van floor and keeping Ben upright with an arm around his shoulders. It left space for Alec to sit opposite them, his legs stretched out alongside Ben’s and his boots by Ben’s left hip.

Normal started the engine, a look of pride suffusing his face. It was a momentous occasion for the boss of Jam Pony.

The rumble of the engine and the slam of the passenger door roused the unconscious transgenic. His eyelids flew open, fearful eyes scanning rapidly around the interior of the van, before his body convulsed and he lunged for the side door. Dean’s arm tightened around his shoulders, giving him a sharp tug back against his side. Ben was so weak that it was easy.

“Steady, Ben. It’s Dean and Alec. You’re safe now, dude.”

Ben stared up at him, his body rigid with fear as he said something Alec couldn’t catch over the noisy engine.

Dean frowned, dipped his head and replied, his lips close to Ben’s ear. To Alec’s surprise, Ben’s face crumpled; he was clearly almost out of his mind with terror. He said something else and Dean’s face darkened.

“Whaddya mean?”

The sharper, raised tone carried to Alec’s ears. He didn’t hear the reply but saw his older brother’s expression twist slowly into revulsion, then anger and then compassion.

Ben said something else, his hand grasping at the damp denim over Dean’s thigh. Dean pulled him a little closer, moving behind his torso so that Ben was leaning against one side of his chest.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he said, and the line of his jaw was fierce as he brought his other arm around, wrapping it across the front of Ben’s chest. “Nothin’ bad like that is ever gonna happen to you again, not while I’m around.”

Alec wasn’t sure what had passed between them, but he drew his legs up and shuffled across to sit against Ben’s other side, leaning in just a little and pressing his leg against the length of Ben’s. They’d all been through too much. It didn’t matter what Ben had said, his twin needed support and Alec was there to give it to him.

Normal steered the van in the direction of Seattle. In the mirror he could see the three of them, dirty and tired and tight together. Something warm settled in his chest. He thought it might be the finest sight he’d ever seen.

Chapter Text

The pain was back; the blissful emptiness had been ripped away by claws of ice-cold water as it was forcibly ejected from his throat and replaced by the burn of unwanted air. Immediately tentacles of fire crept around him, writhing mercilessly and mocking his body’s renewed efforts to survive.

Ben tried to keep his eyes open only because Dean told him to do so and because Alec held a steadying hand on his thigh. Occasionally he drifted away, jerked back again by the jog of Alec’s shoulder or the tightening of Dean’s arm around him.

One time, when he opened his eyes, he found an old man standing next to his feet and looking down on him. He wore a suit of well-cut, gray, shot silk, his shoes so highly polished that his specter-white face should have been reflected in their surface, but strangely was not. Something in his stance suggested he was waiting for someone. When he reached out his hand, Ben realized with a flutter of fear that it was him.

The old man stared at him with obsidian eyes, then made a ghostly beckoning motion with his fingers and Ben felt a little tug, as though something was pulling him free from the familiar adhesion of his body. Panic stirred, dull in his burning chest, as the tugging increased and caused a sensation of fibers being stretched and snapped as his soul was pulled upwards. Pain retreated, tied to his physical body; soon it would be gone altogether. Relief and regret mingled in a bitter-sweet cocktail of swiftly doused emotion.

“No.”

Ben jumped. 

The old man was visibly startled, his obsidian eyes switching abruptly to meet deep blue ones. The man in the tan trench coat. Still calm. His face was stern as he held the old man’s gaze.

“He’s mine to take. You’ve no right.” Anger and strength were in the old man’s words and on the wrinkled face.

“Not this one. Not yet. He has a purpose.”

“You’ve no right.” Unsure now, the tone faltering.

“I have authority.”

Blue eyes burned with a zealous fire and the old man’s wrinkled hand dropped, skeletal fingers falling against the shot silk clothing his thigh.

“It’s his time.”

But the protest was weak and Ben felt himself slump back into his body, not quite aligned. The pain was back, sharp and insistent along his nerves. His eyes filled with tears. Enough. He'd had enough. 

“But it’s his time.”

The voice was that of an ancient man now, querulous with age.

“It’ll be his time soon enough. All of them, they walk only for the blink of an eye.”

The old man dropped his head in acquiescence and simply faded out of sight.

Ben blinked, shaking with the nauseous sensation of being misaligned and in agony. Blue eyes regarded him with compassion, the ends of the tan coat sweeping the dusty floor of the van as the dark haired man squatted down.

“The Blue Lady doesn’t need anything else from you.” It was an order.

Ben’s lips moved soundlessly. “Yessir,” his internal voice said.

The man seemed to hear anyway and he nodded with a sharp movement of his head.

“Stay with the Winchesters and your twin.”

His gaze moved briefly to Dean and Alec and then settled back on Ben’s face.

Ben breathed his agreement, unable to form words around the fire in his throat.

A hand touched his shin. White, cool light flooded through him, wrapped the pain in soft layers of cotton wool and pulled it away, leaving only warm sleep behind.

Ben’s head lolled against Dean’s shoulder, caused a stir of alarm, the urgent movement of fingers against his neck.

“Is he…?”

Even as he asked the question, Alec knew Ben was still alive, the steady thrum of his pulse suddenly strong in his ears. He squinted at his twin, raised puzzled eyes to Dean.

Dean’s hands moved fast, checked, re-checked.

“Guess his healing abilities just went into overdrive.”

He checked Ben’s pulse again, shrugged.

“Pulse is good. He seems easier. I guess he’s asleep.”

Alec ran his own check. Ben’s injuries were healing. Not gone; that would take some time, but definitely beginning to knit together, fade. He struggled with it mentally for a minute or two, but exhaustion had dulled his mind and in the end he hunched his shoulders in a shrug of his own and leaned wearily into Ben’s side with a small frown stitched between his eyebrows. Something was bothering him. Had been bothering him for a while.

“Dean?”

Dean’s head came upright from its weary lean against the side of the van.

“Yeah dude?”

He recognized the tone, had heard it from Sam often enough.

Alec glanced quickly at him, then turned his eyes down to stare at his own boots.

“Why brothers?”

“Huh?”

“Way back, you said I was your brother. Now Ben too, I guess. We’re clones. Unnatural creations of a mad genius. Seems that me and Ben, the others from Manticore…we shouldn’t even exist. So why brothers?”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. This wasn’t comfortable ground for him, but he recognized the importance of the question.

“You do exist, right? You got as much right to exist as me and Sam, mebbe more.”

He took a deep breath, organized his thoughts.

“Yeah, you and Ben, you’re my clones; an exact copy of me, made by the combination of Mary and John Winchester’s genes, just like me and Sam. Doesn’t matter how you got cooked up, that doesn’t change the facts. You’re the same as me and Sammy, kiddo. A Winchester. And don’t you forget it.”

He scowled at Alec to reinforce the message, saw the relaxation of the muscles along his clone’s jaw and knew that the message was received and understood. Sam would perhaps have done it better, but he thought he’d covered the main points. To his relief, Alec just nodded and leaned his head against the van side, letting his eyelids close.

“’Kay,” he said in a quiet voice.

It was a relief sometimes, that reaction so like Dean’s own. No need to dig into dark corners and analyze everything. He sighed and settled Ben more securely against his chest, let himself drift a little, needing only Sam next to him to make everything complete.

.

Sam awoke with a start, nearly tumbling from the narrow cot as Joshua burst into the room. He stared at the large transgenic with shocked eyes, still half entrapped by the dream that was fading into his subconscious.

“What the…?”

“Back, they are back!”

Joshua’s arms were a windmill of excitement that slowed only when they were needed to steady Sam as he lurched from the bed, all thoughts of dreams pushed away.

“Are they…?”

“Joshua is not knowing everything…but all alive, Sam!”

Sam shoved his feet into his boots and allowed his adrenaline to move his stiffened limbs into a semblance of a jog. When they reached the edge of the crowd gathered around the blue van, Joshua lowered his shoulder and plowed through like an ocean liner through a flotilla of small yachts. Sam followed in his wake, glad of the grip of the transgenic’s hand on his arm.

.

Normal and his passengers arrived back in Terminal City to a welcoming committee made up of Logan’s smile, Max’s glare and a subdued sense of excitement and anxiety from a sizeable gathering of transgenics.

Normal opened his door with all the finesse of a seasoned stage player and stepped out with pride, straightening his tie as peered intently at Max.

“Well now, what’s all this hullaballoo, missy.”

“Normal.”

Max frowned and leaned around to see past him, relief coloring her cheeks when the side door slid open and Dean emerged, followed closely by Alec and a groggy but upright Ben. Her gaze swept over their bedraggled appearance, took in the visible signs of Ben’s healing injuries and suddenly her pent-up anxiety exploded into anger.

“What were you thinkin’! You gave yourselves up to WHITE! You could’ve compromised security in TC…”

She ran out of words, fuming, throat closing as she found herself unexpectedly upset.

“Shugga…”

Original Cindy laid a calming hand on her sleeve.

“My girl needs to let it go.”

She waved her glamorous nails at the three men.

“Your boys is upright and breathin’. Not sayin’ they don’t need attention of the medical kind, but they are breathin’, at least one of ‘em courtesy of Normal here.”

Max’s brow furrowed in confusion at Alec’s sudden smirk.

“Yeah Maxie,” said Alec, his words drawn out in a nonchalant drawl. “Normal here saved the day, gave Ben CPR.”

“What?”

The anger ebbed away, the beginnings of amusement pulling at Max’s mouth as she put her concern on hold because Ben was standing, listing and holding onto Dean’s arm admittedly, but definitely standing. CPR? She turned to Normal with an unsure smile.

“Err…thanks? For saving Ben.”

“You were all lucky,” said Normal loftily. “It was pure good fortune there was a trained first-aider like myself on hand.”

Ben seemed okay, or if not okay, at least better than she’d expected. Max stepped closer, checking him over with her eyes.

“How’d you get away?”

“Naturally gifted I guess.”

Ben let the van side hold him up as he fingered the small packet that lay warm against his upper thigh in the pocket of his jeans.

“Did Mole…?”

Max turned, shook her head at Dean’s hopeful enquiry and saw the disappointment cloud his eyes.

“No,” she said. “White got away. They tracked him to an airfield but he’d already split.”

Her lips made a moue of confusion.

“I don’t get it. I thought things were gonna get all fired up, but then he just ran for it.”

“He’d betta keep runnin’,” snarled Dean. “’Cause I am gonna smoke that asshat.”

Behind Max, a ghost of a smile flickered across Ben’s bruised face.

“Maybe someone pulled his fangs.”

The front ranks of the crowd were pushed aside as Joshua appeared, Sam close behind. Dean was in motion immediately, meeting his brother in a back-slapping hug that made the younger man wince but lit up a huge grin right across his battered face.

“Alec!”

Joshua boomed, looming over them as he patted Alec’s shoulder with an enthusiasm that knocked the X5 into Ben’s side and nearly sent them both to the ground. Alec told him to watch out for the merchandise, but Ben thought he didn’t seem to mind, not really.

Feeling like a bystander caught up in a family reunion, Ben made a move to step away, but the motion was arrested by the grip of Alec’s fingers around his bicep. Identical eyes asked a silent question and Ben, blinking in surprise, nodded.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

Joshua waved that affirmation away.

“You are all coming with me and eating and resting.”

“Hey, Big Fella.”

Max slipped in front of him, laid a hand on his chest as she tilted her face up.

“I need to talk to them, okay?”

“No.”

Joshua had a quiet dignity about him as he patted the back of Max’s hand and gestured at the twins.

“Big Fella has been thinking and dreaming. Things are all messed up.”

He lowered his mouth to Max’s ear, speaking in a quiet growl.

“Medium Fella is torn in all directions, not knowing which way to go, like electricity through water. Ben…he is like canvas when the paint is too wet. If the man in the brown coat hadn’t come, Ben would be dead now.”

Alec’s enhanced hearing caught Ben’s name and it drew his attention to the quiet conversation. He eyed Joshua with surprise.

“What man?”

“In the brown coat, in the van.”

Alec frowned, then gave his arm a playful nudge.

“There were no men, in brown coats or pink dresses or anything else. You’ve been breathin’ in too many paint fumes again, Big Fella.”

“Brown coat,” insisted Joshua, a stubborn line appearing between his eyes. Only Max noticed something pull at Ben’s expression, there and gone again, that said he knew more than he was letting on.

There were clearly things to discuss. She tried again, attempting to regain control of a situation that was spiraling into disorder.

“We gotta debrief.”

“No,” said Joshua firmly. He pointed at Sam’s tired face. “They are needing to rest.”

“Not before a debrief, they’re not.”

Even as she said the words, Max felt the wave of weariness coming off the men. She bit down on the snap in her voice and modified the comment.

“But I guess it can wait until later.” She sighed.

Logan appeared around the corner of the van. He pushed his glasses up his nose with an apologetic air.

“Don’t shoot the messenger, but Max, I think you need to hear this.” 

He stepped aside to let Gem through.

“I’m sorry to interrupt now…” Gem gestured at the muddle of people.

“It’s okay, Gem. Whaddya got?”

“Mole called. White and his crew are gathered outside Seattle. He says it looks like they’re gearing up for an attack.”

She held up her hand.

“Sorry, that’s not all. I just picked up a TV transmission from the local station. Someone has reported that Terminal City is harboring a serial killer.”

Max stared at her until her eyes went dry. The day was turning to nightmare. Behind her Joshua heaved a heavy sigh.

“I think the shit is hitting the fan.”

.

Chapter Text

Max scrubbed at her eyes, trying and failing to wipe away the fog of fatigue that had settled over her during the last few days. Even shark DNA didn’t keep her going forever.

The situation wasn’t good. White’s private army of familiars had joined forces with local militia and Terminal City was surrounded, frozen once more in an uneasy state of siege.

Tensions were high, not helped by the rantings of the circus media camped outside the gates. If shots were exchanged, who knew where it could lead.

“It’s never going to end, is it? They’re never going to leave us alone.”

The note of despair was unfamiliar in the feisty transgenic’s voice and Logan’s head came up, his attention torn away from the flickering screen of the old laptop. He pushed his lips out, chewing at the inside of his cheek as he slowly removed his glasses and began to polish them with small, decisive movements.

“We have some support growing within Government, Max.”

When he finally spoke, Logan chose his words carefully, understanding and respecting the pressure bearing down on the shoulders of the leader of Terminal City.

Max turned to him with a dark scowl.

“They’re not a lotta use if they won’t take sides.”

“They can’t be seen to take sides with us, not now. You know that. The media is running wild with this story and they’re not going to let it go.”

Max sighed, hitched one hip up to rest the cheek of her ass on the table.

“Ben.”

It wasn’t a question.

“Yes. Ben.”

Logan slipped his glasses back onto his face and settled them in place. His eyes, magnified a little by the lenses, were earnest.

“Public opinion is starting to lean towards acceptance of transgenics. There are even support groups forming for those affected by what are viewed as illegal trials with human DNA. But Joe Public isn’t going to accept a situation where Terminal City is harboring a serial killer.”

Max sighed again, a weary acknowledgement full of sorrow and stress.

“You’re right. Thing is, we send him away, where is he gonna go?”

.

It was a question that had been rattling around in Sam’s head for some time. Not to imply that Sam’s head was the empty kind of skull where a thought could collide with blank walls of bone and bounce freely across to the opposite wall. More that it was a thought with sharp edges, a question with a shape that didn’t fit with any answer his considerable brain capacity could produce. Fortunately, sometimes when the conscious mind cannot provide a solution, the unconscious mind comes forward with the very answer you are seeking. In Sam’s case it used the medium of a dream.

He awoke to the startling view of Joshua’s furry features at close quarters.

“Sam is dreaming. About Ben.”

“Uh…”

Sam pushed stray hair out of his eyes, unglued his tongue from the roof of his mouth and hoped his breath wasn’t as bad as the dog-scented wafts coming from the face hovering over him.

“Yeah.”

Mercifully, Joshua sat upright, slapping the palm of his hands down onto his own thighs with a pleased expression.

“Joshua has been dreaming too.”

He squinted at Sam with a wistful gaze.

“Can Sam do this thing?”

Sam swung his legs off the narrow cot and ran his fingers through his hair in a distracted way, pushing away the weird thought that Joshua had shared his dream. That weirdness could wait until later.

“Honestly, I don’t know. Guess I’m gonna have to try though.”

Joshua nodded, the movement firm.

“Yesss,” he said. “Yes.”

“Is it somewhere…quiet?”

Joshua nodded again.

“Big fella has it in the perfect place.”

.

“Sam! Hey Sammy!”

Sam’s stride broke and he halted, his boots planted firmly on the uneven surface of the broken sidewalk. Turning his face upwards towards the sound of the familiar voice, he saw Dean’s head leaning out of a broken, second floor window. His brother frowned down at him.

“Where you goin’?”

"Gonna give Joshua a hand.”

Sam didn’t elaborate, hoping Dean wouldn’t question him further, but it seemed Dean had other things on his mind. His brother leaned a little further out of the window, resting his elbows on the shattered frame.

“Seen the news this morning?”

He didn’t wait for an answer.

“Media is goin’ crazy, stirring up some heavy hitters in the Seattle law department. They’re demanding we hand over the serial killer. That ain’t gonna happen, Sammy. We gotta get Ben outta here, before some loose cannon starts somethin’ we can’t stop.”

Sam nodded. “I’ve got an idea…I’ll be a few minutes, okay?”

I hope, he thought fervently, sending an easy grin in Dean’s direction. He stuck his hands in his pockets and turned away quickly, before the ever-present Dean-radar detected some anomaly in what was essentially a truthful statement.

.

The sound of the Winchester’s voices had travelled easily upwards to another broken window, set a floor higher and a little to the right of the one recently occupied by Dean’s head and elbows.

A pigeon fluttered in through the broken panes, seeking a dry nesting ground. It settled on a bare shelf and regarded the X5 sitting on the dusty floor with a beady eye.

A steady pair of green eyes were turned in the same direction. Their owner shuffled slightly on the upturned crate on which he was resting, waiting for Ben’s reaction.

Ben kept him waiting a little longer, drawing the tip of his finger slowly through the brick dust and minute shards of glass that coated the floorboards beside his outstretched leg. Even the miraculous healing in the van had only gone so far to mending his leg and sometimes it was easier to just sit on the floor and stretch it out.

Eventually he looked up and met Alec’s stare. He shrugged, raising his palms upwards in a gesture of resignation.

“I’m coming with you,” said Alec firmly.

Ben tilted his head back, letting it rest against the cobwebbed plaster behind him. His eyes were dark slits in his shadowed face as he met his twin’s gaze.

“By all means,” he drawled. “Come along, get yourself strung up by a mob when some asswipe thinks you’re me.”

“There won’t be any stringing up,” snapped Alec.

He rose swiftly, jaw muscle flickering.

“Seems to me that you can’t wait to leave us all behind. But here’s the thing, you didn’t do so well without us, so mebbe you better hang around, least ‘til we come up with a plan.”

Ben scowled at him. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re going to be hard to shake off?"

Alec smirked. “My bad, guess I’m just naturally persistent by nature.”

He stepped forwards and bent down, taking a firm grip of Ben’s upper arm.

“C’mon, don’t freak out on me yet. We’ll all get outta here, together.”

.

In the dim light of the warehouse the metal surface had a dusty sheen. Sam thought its bulky presence held within it all of his hopes. It might also be the death of him.

“Where’d you find it?”

“Mole was finding it outside the walls. Maybe White wasn’t needing it again. The engine is broken.”

“So Mole brought it in here.” Sam smiled, dragging his cuff along the streamlined curve of metal closest to him. “Guess he thought Dean would fix it up.”

If they were going to stay, if things had been different, then he could see his brother out here, up to his armpits under the hood, bringing life back to the dusty shell of the duplicate Impala.

Sam took a deep breath, trying to steady the nervous trip-hammer of his pulse.

“Okay,” he said quietly to himself. He opened the door and put one long leg inside the foot well before looking back at Joshua. "If this doesn’t work…”

“It is working,” said Joshua firmly. “Big fella and Sam have both seen it already.”

Sam nodded. “You better stand back.”

He dropped into the seat, placed a large palm over one of the vents and closed his eyes as he reached inside his mind, seeking and finding the dark strand of power that coiled at the center of his being.

It hummed beneath the touch of his attention, unfurling and stretching like a sun-warmed snake before sliding down his veins and out through the skin of his fingers, reaching for a block of lego that lay a universe away, nestled inside the vent of an Impala parked in a scrapyard in South Dakota.

.

“Are you friggin’ KIDDIN’ me!”

Dean’s voice hit a deep, resonant note that clearly indicated his fury. Sam winced under the onslaught of the combination of scowl and shout.

“Dean, stop! It worked! ”

“You could’ve been KILLED!”

Dean’s fingers curled into a fist and Sam tensed, sure his brother was about to let fly.

“What if you’d got lost? Sonofabitch!”

Dean spun on his heel and slammed his fist into the wall. A shower of old plaster fell down to land in white chunks around his boots and the noise brought the twins running into the room. Alec came to a halt and raised an eyebrow.

“Something we should know about?”

“Why don’t you ask smartass here?”

Dean wiped debris down the side of his jeans, anger visible in the tight lines of his face and the angle of his shoulders.

“A way out of here,” said Sam hurriedly. “For all of us. Back home.”

“Your home.” Ben’s voice was mild.

“Yes, our home. And yours, if you want it to be.”

Sam, used to reading Dean’s expressions, saw the minute change pass across Ben’s face, the more obvious conflict on Alec’s.

“We can’t just leave them to face this shit alone.”

“Yeah, Alec, you can.”

Max was in the doorway, chin up and determination on her features.

“What we have here is an army of trained super soldiers. More than that, we’re close to finding the answer to the runes.”

She gestured to herself with an impatient wave.

“If they’re what we think they are, we got a chance to save the world.”

“White has other plans.” Alec glared at her. “Maybe you could use a little help.”

“You could help, yeah. But what we need is public opinion on our side and we’re not gonna get that while Ben is here.” She waved off the protest before it was audible. “Do ya think the ordinaries care if it’s you or Ben or Dean they get hold of? ‘Cause I’m tellin’ ya, it’s not gonna make a bit of difference to those morons.”

“You want rid of us that bad, Max?”

The sneer failed to hide the underlying hurt in Alec’s eyes.

Max stepped up close, staring up at him with defiance.

“No, I don’t want rid of any of ya. But you gotta do the right thing here, for you and for everyone else. And you’re gonna do it or I’m gonna slap your bitch head!”

Alec stared at her, his face suddenly shuttered. “Well,” he murmured. “You got me shakin’ in my boots here, Maxie.”

“Look,” said Sam desperately. “It’s not that we want to go, but if we’re seen leaving then maybe things will cool down. Let’s give Terminal City a chance.”

"And it has a chance, with White at the gates?” Ben eyed him, giving nothing away of his feelings.

Max spoke up.

“White wanted me, ‘cause of the secret hidden in the runes. But it’s too late for that now, and he knows it. There’s copies, being worked on at the highest levels. Any day now, we’ll have a solution and it’s gonna be something White and his familiars can’t handle. That’s why they’re waiting outside; it’s not me they want any more, it’s the Winchesters and you twins. They get you, they got a ticket to another world, one where no-one can stop ‘em. You all have to leave, now!”

“Doesn’t sit right,” said Dean. “Leavin’ you all to deal with those asshats.”

Mole slipped through the doorway, Joshua at his heels.

“Way I hear it, you got some trouble back in your own world you need to take care of. Ain’t like y’going on some vacation. You Winchesters ain’t meant to be here anyhow, and Ben ain’t even meant to be alive.” He jabbed a finger at Alec’s chest. “You didn’t do so good last time you got left behind.” His gaze softened. “You remember though, what can travel one way can travel back, and you got family here too.”

Alec swallowed, hard, his eyes shunting from Mole to Max and on to Joshua.

In the end there was no arguing with the logic of any of it. All that remained were the finer details. It was decided they would attach themselves to each other, to avoid anyone drifting off to another place or time. Sam would stand outside the Impala and reach in to the vent. That way they should arrive in the same position, not all piled up on the seat.

“You’ve been a pain in the ass,” Mole told Dean, dropping a scaly wink.

“Right back atcha.” Dean grinned at him, gripped his hand and added in a serious tone, “I’ll look after him.”

“Know y’will,” Mole acknowledged gravely. “Or I wouldn’t be lettin’ him go.”

Alec missed the exchange, barely escaping with unbroken ribs from Joshua’s hug.

“Big fella…” he said helplessly, unable to find words to meet the occasion.

“Medium fella, be free.”

Joshua slapped him heartily on the back, wiped away a trickle of moisture from his own cheek and gave equally hearty back slaps to the Winchesters and Ben. By the time Alec got control of his features enough to turn around, Joshua had gone.

“Alec…”

Max was in front of him, her familiar and annoying pout aimed in his direction. Alec didn’t want to tell her it was endearing, but he guessed from the way her eyes softened that she knew anyway. He wanted to say something smart and all Alec, but couldn’t get anything past the lump in his throat.

“I know,” she said simply, her fingers playing with his cuff. “Been through some stuff, huh?”

“So, you’re gonna save the world, Maxie?”

She laughed. “Looks like you got one of your own to save.”

Alec hugged her, felt the brush of her lips against his own before she slipped away to fold Ben in a hug. She whispered something in Ben’s ear and he nodded, eyes big and dark in his sad face as she stroked his hair.

“You betta blaze.” Max stepped away. “OC and Normal are out there doin’ their thing. By the time they’re finished there ain’t gonna be a news channel in the country doesn’t know the fugitives have been seen leaving the state.”

Then it was a flurry of thanks and good-byes and suddenly they were standing, linked together, outside the dusty Impala.

“Sammy…”

“Yeah, Dean. I know.”

Sam reached out, his fingers fastening over the cool vent. He closed his eyes…

.

“Stop right there, y’son of a bitch, ‘fore I blast y’all full of buckshot!”

It’d be a shame, Bobby thought. If those asshats made a move, the Impala was going to get a load of shot too.

The low chuckle was warm and unmistakable.

“What’s eatin’ at ya, old man?”

Bobby hit the light switch and the yard was flooded with light. Sam, Dean, Alec and…

“Balls!”

…..