AN: Hey there! So this is my first fanfic for Maximum Ride. Never did I think it would be Dylan-centric. Like any other loyal Fanggirl, I hated Dylan from his first introduction. But now that I've finished Nevermore, I have a better understanding of why he was included in the series, and I have a better understanding and more empathy towards him. So here is my sort of apology to Dylan. It's nothing personal, dude. You were just messing with my 'ship.
This takes place after he tries to kill Fang and before he goes to warn Max. If you just read that and haven't read Nevermore, sorry for the spoilers, but I did warn you.
Disclaimer: If I were James Patterson, I could never have thrown a wrench in Fax and upset Fanggirls everywhere. Obviously, he did. So I'm not him.
Dylan dropped to the ground, overwhelmed with pain to the point where he could no longer ignore it. It was not the pain from his fight with Ari that overwhelmed him. Oh no, there was another, much worse pain consuming him. In fact, it had been for a while. It was contorting his brain and driving him to do things he did not understand. It was making him insane; it was making him a monster. It had started with his rampage on the town upon seeing Fang and Max make up, seeing that she still loved him. Still! Even after he had left her – and for her clone, no less! Dylan just could not comprehend it. He would never leave her like Fang did. He had done so much to win her over: the kisses, the dates – were they not enough? How could she choose the one who betrayed her over the one created for her? Fang didn't deserve her. Not after what he'd done. Yet, he'd just swooped in and swept her off her feet, just as Dylan was starting to make some progress on getting her to love him. It just wasn't fair.
He looked around. Until that moment, he hadn't realized where his wings had taken him. Now he saw the tree where he had had that dream date with Max. Where for the first time, he felt like his task could be accomplished: that he could make Max fall in love with him. And where that hope had been shattered.
He pushed himself up, pain shooting through his body. He could see his injuries starting to heal, but the pain, he knew, would not go away so easily – quite likely, would never go away at all. There was one job –just one job – the scientists who created him had given him. And he had failed. Max was off… somewhere… in another man's arms. What part of "perfect other half" did she not understand? Why was she so insistent upon being with Fang – Fang, who left her, who betrayed her, who put her in danger time and time again?
What did Fang have that Dylan didn't?
Well, she had known Fang her whole life. They knew each other as well as they knew themselves. They had lived and fought together; they had a silent understanding that they would have each other's backs come what may. But Fang was a closed book. He would never wear his heart on his sleeve the way Dylan did; it took Fang a long time to admit his feelings for Max. They knew each other well, sure, but too well – more like they were brother and sister. Fang had protected her, sure, but he also put her in danger. Dylan was fully devoted to protecting her, and so much more reliably than Fang. Dylan was always there for her and would always be there for her. Protecting her was his first priority, even over his own life.
But Max doesn't need protection, Dylan thought. Sure, the Voice had said that his job was to protect Max. But she always held her own in a fight – certainly in the one they had just been through – better than anyone else – Dylan especially, who was relatively new to the whole "fighting-mutant-science-experiments-designed-to-kill-him" thing. His job was meaningless. His whole purpose in life was for naught. And unlike most people, he had someone to blame. He was purposely created for Max, but Max didn't need him. Anger surged through his veins, similar to that which fueled his rampage earlier on, as the injustice of it all came clearer, as he realized that he was designed for a life of pain. Maybe scientists weren't so great after all.
Bracing himself for the expected pain, Dylan stood up and started pacing manically. Thoughts were racing through his head faster than he could process them. Fang... Max... the scientists... the Voice... the flock... all of the questions he had so long avoided. Where did his loyalties lie? Did he really have any choice in his life, what with how the scientists had created him? Was he designed for a lost cause?
Who the hell was he without Max?
Max. Would he even love her if he wasn't designed solely for that purpose? She was beautiful. She was tough, strong. Her guard was tough to get past, but in the end, she fiercely loved her flock and would do anything for them. Sure. Sure he would still love her. But what did it matter: he had no choice. He was created to be a lovesick puppy, trailing after her wherever she went. His emotions were always clearer to him than his own name, and he left them unguarded, for others to either exploit or pity. He was not Dylan; he was Dylan, the guy designed to be Max's perfect other half - Dylan, another fine example of scientists playing God - Dylan, the new guy who hangs out with the flock. Though it felt like he had at times, he had never really belonged with them. He was just filling the void left by Fang; when Fang came back, he had no further use. Was it any wonder no one had come looking for him once he had taken off? No. No wonder at all. He never meant anything to any of them - not even Max.
And now, he was a murderer. Certainly now, Max would never forgive him for trying to kill Fang, let alone love him. The flock would never welcome him back. His battle was over; he had lost. If what the Voice had said was true - that the 99% Plan was in effect - he had no place in the 1% with the flock. And if he had no place with the flock - with Max - he had no place in the world.
Dylan sighed in frustration. With the little reason he had left, he formulated a plan. He would find Max and apologize, tell her she was right: he didn't want to kill Fang; they were the ones making him do it. And that was the truth. If not for the situation he'd been forced into - created for - he might have liked Fang. Truth be told, Fang was everything Dylan wished he was - not just because he had Max, but because he was strong and mysterious. He could hide his emotions. And, alright, he was pretty badass. Maybe Max and Fang did deserve each other.
Maybe Dylan just never should have been added into the picture. Maybe he should have never been created.
He looked up at the sky, using his power to see far out into the atmosphere, farther than anyone could see with the naked eye, as though looking to a God he had nothing to do with and, he felt, no business in believing in, for consoling. What he saw confused, then shocked, then horrified him. It looked as though hell had torn a hole in the atmosphere. Flames licked the sky, coming closer and closer to Earth - to the vantage point of any normal-sighted person. This was not the 99% Plan in action. No, this was something no scientist could have planned. It appeared nature had its own 99% Plan, as though to show those scientists who really was boss.
Dylan sprang into the air, to the highest branch that could support his weight. He had to go - had to warn people. He used his sight to look back to the cabin, but found it deserted. Frustrated, he scanned the world, quite literally, until he saw a jet over the ocean, approaching a tiny island he could not identify. He saw it land, and nearly collapsed with relief when he saw Max and the others get off – including Fang, who, to both Dylan's relief and disappointment, was alive and well. Could he get there in time? Well, he would die trying.
He took off at his top speed, keeping his eyes transfixed on Max all those miles away. He watched her look around in awe as she saw other mutants and houses in the trees, the latter making him grimace with contempt at the memory of their failed dream date. She found her house, made especially for her, and her eyes lit up. She was happier than Dylan had ever seen her. In any other situation, he would have been ecstatic to see her so happy, but given the circumstances, he could not dwell on any positive emotion. Nonetheless, he, too, couldn't help but feel wonder at seeing such an incredible place. So those 99%-ers at least had the 1%'s best interests in mind for a comfortable, post-apocalyptic life. Evil and maniacal, sure, but had quite the eye for paradise decor.
He faltered for a moment, as a thought occurred to him. Max was happy - happier than she'd been maybe in her whole life. This thing out in the atmosphere - could anyone really escape it? He could just let her be happy for her last moments - and he himself could be happy to see her so happy - before the world came crashing down. He looked around the island for himself, as the flock and a few scientists had a meeting. There appeared to be a whole underground part of the island, with tunnels and more than enough space to fit all of the people he had seen on the island. Maybe they had a chance - maybe. It was worth a shot, he realized.
He returned his gaze back to Max and found her, much to his contempt, kissing Fang. But his contempt softened as he realized how happy she really was - to be on that island, to be with Fang. Who was he to stop her from being happy? He'd already done enough of that. But what he could do - what he had to do - was make sure she survived to experience as much more happiness as there was left in the world.
He was lovesick and emotionally weak. He was designed for a lost cause, and in such a way that the inevitable failure would lead to a life of pain. But Dylan saw for the first time a new goal for himself that no scientist would have planned on: keep Max safe - keep her alive even through the apocalypse - not for himself, but for her and everyone else who loved her - yes, even Fang. He would swear to it that the stubborn, strong, and defiant Maximum Ride would survive anything and everything to live the best life she could under the circumstances. For the first time, Dylan felt content to not fulfill his mission, and that maybe he could find in himself what scientists could never create: his own, self-determined identity.
Bless your face. If you sneezed while reading this fanfic, bless you. Peace off. BOOP!
Dodododododododo, RE-VIEW!
Anyone? Tobuscus reference? No? Okay...