A/N: Sorry for any formatting errors in this. I write at work too much, and Notepad and e-mail fucked up the formatting, and it's way too late at night for me or Kouri my awesome proof-reader to worry about it now, heh.

I all so did a lot of research on this chapter. Most likely to much and more than you care about. I spend hours on Wikipedia looking up all sort of info on the USMC and fire arms. To the best of my knowledge the facts the Lydecker is giving about the fire arms is accurate except for the fact that the Marines have upgrades their rifles starting in 2000 (Which is long after John would have retired from service) I think.

The only other thing worth mentioning is that I did not invent Mia, though I did invent her designation number. She and her power are Dark Angel Cannon.

Chapter 2

By the time 494 arrived back at the facility with the Impala, he had immersed himself into the character of Dean pretty heavily. He wanted to make sure it was second nature by the time he had to face this guy's kid brother. In some ways, it was much harder than his role of Simon, because he had to keep the right persona twenty-four hours a day. Other ways it was a bit easier, because with Simon he had just filled in the space, which meant that a lot of his own personality came through. This time he was actively playing a role, putting on a mask. The mask was similar to his own face, but still a mask. And he sure as hell didn't plan to make any emotional attachments this time. Unless it was to the car. By this time he was wearing Dean's clothes, and had the swagger and the smirk down pat.

He was still getting used to the verbal quirks, and had yet to take Dean's ring and pendant, though he had had 852 take his wallet. There were some interesting surprises in it, such as a total lack of Dean Winchester. Everything had been for a Mr. J. D. Campbell Jr. Driver's License, a couple of credit cards, health insurance. The insurance card was fake, or at least fraudulent as hell. 494 was sure of that. He thought that, while the others may also be real, they were a crime waiting to be caught. He kept it in his back pocket anyway.

494 looked up after he had parked and locked the car. Locking the car was habit now, even if there was no one here to steal it. Colonel Lydecker and Madame Renfro were watching him from an observation window one story up. Mercifully, Renfro turned and left, and 494 didn't care where she went as long as it was away from him.

Lydecker turned the other way, to a staircase that led down into the garage. 494 stepped over and stood in front of the door at attention, waiting. Lydecker nodded in acknowledgement of 494's sharp salute. He looked his soldier up and down, noting how the stiff posture really was not in keeping with the clothing he was now wearing. It was very much like he was looking at the photograph he had provided 494 with at the beginning of the mission, though without the leather jacket.

"At ease, soldier," Lydecker commanded, and watched 494 fall into character. His posture relaxed but didn't slouch, and his thumb hooked into the pockets of his worn jeans, which was something 494 didn't do. He had been taught to keep his hands free in case quick action was needed. "I see the mission was successful. Did you have any trouble?"

"Yes, sir, it was. And no, not to much. Staying concealed was kinda tough. He's good. Knew we were there the entire time. 'Course we're better, and he never actually caught sight of us. 528 and 255 have some solid bruising. When capturing him, we decided to mimic a mugging, just in case there were witnesses. Anyway, he damned near took 255's arm out of its socket, and I think 528 may have a mild concussion. He knows how to fight better than the reports give him credit for. He also adapt damned quickly, sir. He knew after the first punch that he was dealing with something stronger and faster than an ordinary human. He didn't even blink, just changed his tactics. I eventually had to take him out with a tranq." 494 looked down a little and his hand came up to scratch behind an ear as he ducked his head, another new mannerism. "Kinda embarrassing, that it took three X5s to take down one ordinary."

"You still completed the mission within parameters. He was an unpredictable opponent." Lydecker found the slight changes fascinating to watch. He hadn't previously know that 494 was such a competent actor. "Is there anything else I should know about, soldier?"

"Uh . . . yeah. I need to learn how to play pool." He looked up at the colonel, who merely raised an eyebrow. "He hustles pool for money. And he's really good at it. I think I'll need to do the same, because I think that's how he pays his way. I'll need his jewelry, too. I hadn't bothered to take it from him yet."

"I'll see to your pool lessons, and we can go retrieve the rest of your wardrobe when we're done here. Have you searched the car?"

"Dude, sir, you have to see some of this." With that, he set off across the garage back towards the Impala, clearly expecting the colonel to follow.

Lydecker followed with interest. This Dean Winchester had to be a very confident person, if portraying him bred this sort of attitude into one of his kids. He also noticed that 494 had a gun tucked into the back of his pants under his shirt. He watched as 494 unlocked the front passenger door and then used a different key to unlock the glove box. Inside was bag of peanut M&Ms and a cigar box, which he took out and handed to Lydecker.

"I could get into just about any facility in the country with these," he said. The colonel opened the box and was presented with Dean Winchester's face, matched up with an impressive array of government IDs. All of them were expertly put together. Under those were a much smaller number with Sam Winchester's face. Lydecker mused that they must have been relying on his exceptional height to pass him off as an adult.

He closed the box and handed it back to 494 while looking into the glove box. "What's in that bag?" he asked. The bag in question had been hidden under the box and was gray, possibly made of undyed wool, and clearly hand sewn. It wasn't very big, about five inches, with a drawstring closer made of suede.

"More weird shit. Feathers, a little statue of a dog or something, something written in Greek I think, some weird thing in Egyptian hieroglyphs. There's stuff like that all over the car, under the seats. I gave up trying to understand these people."

Lydecker nodded, thinking that perhaps 494 was right. "What other surprises do you have?" he asked, and watched 494 grin widely.

"The trunk is awesome." 494 replaced the box and locked the glove compartment and then the car door, and circled around to the trunk. Inside there appeared to be the normal assortment of emergency car supplies, at least if you were a survivalist. A couple of Mylar emergency blankets, battery-powered lantern, a few food items, battery operated CB radio, and two large tool boxes. Lydecker noticed that there was no first aid kit, which seemed odd given the other contents of the car. He reached out and opened one of the tool boxes. It was filled with tools, most of them are geared to car maintenance. He closed it, then reached for the other one.

"This is the interesting one. These people are nuts." 494 pushed it closer to Lydecker, who opened it, and his eyebrows began to climb. This, then, would be the first aid kit. It was the most elaborate first aid kit he had ever seen. Along the top were three large zip-lock bags labeled 'Dad', 'Dean', and 'Sammy.' Each one had heavy duty painkillers, both pill and injectable, the kind one should only be able to get in hospitals. Each bag also had a full course of antibiotics. None of them matched; each little kit had clearly been put together carefully. Under those was the normal complement of bandages, over the counter painkillers, and anti-bacterial cream. Then came the several elastic bandages, the suture kits, butterfly sutures, local anaesthetic, surgical tape, burn creams, boxes of sterile gauze pads, syringes, saline, a bottle labeled 'sterile holy water compliments of P. J. M.', a few dried plants in smaller, carefully labeled zip-lock bags, a small kit of tools for removing bullets and the like, and latex gloves It was all topped off by a couple of washcloths and hand towels that, while soft and clean, had clearly spent some time in the trenches if one judged by the stains. "There's half an ER crammed into that thing," 494 announced. "These people are insane. I mean, who keeps holy water as part of a first aid kit, and what's with the dried plants?" He watched as the colonel closed and latched the box.

"I'm also curious as to who P. J. M. is," the colonel commented, more to see if 494 could answer him if for no other reason. 494 did not disappoint. He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket with a smug grin. Dean Winchester was a smug person.

"I think it's Pastor Jim. There's no last name listed, but it's a Minnesota area code. I figured it shouldn't be too hard to trace most of the numbers if we wanted. I haven't been able to hack the voicemail yet, though." He put the phone in the Colonel's hand when it was held out.

"We'll have X0-154 ask him for it."

"He's already a sucker for pretty faces," 494 said with a smirk. "She shouldn't have any trouble." With that, he leaned back into the trunk and shoved the industrial sized sack of rock salt to the back.

"This is the best part, sir." 494 shoved everything else to the back or sides of the trunk and then peeled back the upholstery to reveal another compartment. Its metal lid was held closed by a simple combination lock which 494 quickly removed. He lifted the lid and propped it open with a sawed off shotgun that seemed perfectly sized for the job. "Look at this stuff. He knows how to handle a weapon, or at least properly care for one, but man, there's some weird shit in here. Two crossbows. Two shotguns. There's a lot of weapons doubled like that. A cross or four, some pretty weird looking knives. And take a look at the boxes of ammo. Most of them just aren't normal." He watched as Lydecker poked at things curiously. The man looked into the obviously prepackaged bag containing a small box of salt, lighter fluid, and a dozen books of matches.

Colonel Lydecker ruffled through some of the other items. Some seemed pretty normal: a rifle, hunting knives, and the like. Some of it was more unusual for a civilian to own, but still not entirely unexpected, such as the sniper rifle. Lydecker picked it up and looked at it. "Dean must be an expert shooter. This is a Marine issue M40A1. There is no civilian model. This is what John would have been trained to use during his service." Still holding the rifle, he scanned the small compartment clearly set aside for ammo. "And here are the .308 Winchester cartridges that they would have used standard. His unit must have loved his last name."

"I'll familiarize myself with all of the standard Marine equipment tonight, Sir."

"That's a good idea, soldier."

"I'm pretty sure that this is Marine issue as well." He pulled Dean's pearl gripped handgun from the back of his pants and held it out to Lydecker. 494 didn't actually know which branch of service Colonel Lydecker was part of, but it didn't surprise him that he seemed to have such knowledge. All of the X5s were trained to handle most weapons. Either they were specifically trained on it, or they were taught to be able to take in the specifics and adapt to use a weapon they were not intimately familiar with. Aside from that, no real importance had ever been placed on the background of the weapons.

Until the colonel mentioned the fact that Dean seemed to favor his father's military weapons, 494 could have cared less about the history of an M40A1 sniper rifle or what ammo was used with it, unless he needed to shoot it. He did find the Winchester ammunition amusing. Lydecker handed the sidearm back to 494 and watched as he efficiently tucked it away again.

494 stood quietly as Lydecker examined some of the other weapons. He had noted earlier that, despite the seemingly haphazard sorting and storage system, all of the weapons were well cared for. The guns were clean and well oiled, the knives were sharp. Hell, even the crossbows were unstrung and properly cared for. Lydecker shook his head as he saw the boxes carefully color coded and labeled for such things as silver bullets, iron rounds, blessed and consecrated rounds. All he could do when he got to the rock salt rounds for the shotguns was shake his head.

He looked up at 494 when he helpfully offered, "There's a sword and some sort of battle axe in the very back. And water guns. I think they go with the holy water." There was a pause, and then 494 continued. "I'm not sure I can act this crazy, sir."

Lydecker resisted the urge to tell him to get in touch with Ben to get some pointers. "You most likely won't have to. You're just retrieving Samuel. If all works out well, you can bring him straight here." He stepped away from the trunk and gestured for 494, who closed it up and locked it. "They should have Dean up in the interrogation room by now." He headed back for the stairs, knowing that 494 would be close behind. A couple of weeks mimicking Dean Winchester wasn't going to overcome an entire lifetime of training.

XXXXX

X5-494 and Colonel Lydecker watched as X0-154 walk down the hall towards them. Mia – she insisted that they call her by her chosen name, and Lydecker saw no reason to argue if it kept her happy – was dressed in civilian clothing. The outfit was a knee length flowing cream colored skirt with shin high, large heeled brown boots. Her blouse was a light brown and cut low enough to draw interest, but still tasteful. Her hair was swept back in a cloth headband, her makeup light but effective.

494 never saw any other X-unit wear makeup unless they were leaving for a mission that required it, but Mia always did. He had to admit she was pretty, but not in the same way most models were. She was more what would have been termed voluptuous. She had definite curves and was a bit on the short side. There must have been a lot of Italian or Sicilian in her genetic plan. She had large, expressive brown eyes. Those were her real weapon, and he knew it. She was designed that way.

This X0 was a telepath of sorts. She couldn't read someone's mind, but when she made eye contact, you'd answer her every question, or believe whatever she told you to. And you'd like it. That was the part that really fascinated 494. You'd like it. Though he did have to admit she was pretty fun to talk to, when one didn't make eye contact. She understood the outside world in a way most of the others didn't, and she had a sense of humor.

She stopped next to them and smiled up at them. "So, you think he'll like me? He likes pretty girls, right, 494? Does he like nice girls?"

494 smiled at her. "I think he'll like you just fine."

"The poor guy looks so bored," she said, as she stood between Lydecker and 494, watching Dean. It was hard to tell whether she really felt bad for him or not. She was right. Dean looked bored to tears. He was sitting at the table, tapping his fingers against the table to music only he could hear. 494 didn't recognize the rhythm, but after watching him for a while, it became obvious the Dean knew the whole album by heart.

At first he had prowled the room like a caged panther, going over every joint, crack, corner, screw, and wall panel with an expert eye. If there had been a way out, he would have found it. They had left him for a couple of hours, waiting for him to give up on escape, or at least to convince himself that there was no way available from the room. He had been stripped down to his T-shirt and jeans, so he had no weapons or tools other than what he could do with his bare hands, which was dangerous enough.

The first interrogation had gone badly. So badly, in fact, that they had learned nothing except that Dean Winchester's well of wit and sarcasm seemed never-ending, and he was not the sort of person to let things slip out of frustration or upset. The only thing you got out of him from frustration was a punch to the face. Honestly, 494 had found that sort of satisfying. He'd never like that questioner anyway.

The colonel had called a halt to things after two hours. They had two choices, he had said to 494. They could either try medication and physical pain, or they could bring in Mia. Mia seemed like the more expedient course. So now the three of them stood in an uneven row, watching Dean have his own private concert.

"What would you like to know from him, sir?" she asked of Lydecker with a smile.

"We need to know about Sam Winchester from a more personal level. Dean's attitude and opinions towards him. And how he would get Sam to leave school with him. We also need the password to his cell voice mail."

"All righty." She paused and looked 494 up and down in Dean's civilian clothes. "You look good, but I think sweaters would suit you better. And don't forget to spike your hair in front, honey." She gave 494 her bright smile and then headed for the door to Dean's little cage.

494 just blinked at her for a moment before turning to watch Dean. He stopped the tapping and looked up at the door opened, his irritated look melting into a wide smile. "Well, if nothing else, the view is improving."

"That's very sweet of you. I hope the conversation will be better too." She hit him with the eyes. "You do want to talk to me, don't you?"

Dean's smile quirked a little and took on a flirtatious hint. "Of course. What's your name?"

"Mia. You're Dean, right?"

"Yeah, Mia. So what's a pretty girl like you doing in a place like this? And what are the odds of us getting out to go somewhere more appealing?"

"Probably not good, but it was sweet of you to ask, honey." She sat herself on the table and kicked her feet back and forth, much like a child would, and made eye contact again. "I'm really curious about your family. You Winchesters seem like really interesting people."

"Well, I am. Dad's kind of a loner, and Sammy, well, Sammy wants to be normal." Dean smiled charmingly at her. He leaned his elbows on the table and looked up at her. Quite considerately, he didn't sit in front of her trying to get a view of her legs.

"You want to tell me about Sam? I bet you have a lot you could say about him."

"Well, yeah, it's Sammy, but he isn't here. You and I are."

"You're incorrigible."

"I know."

"Seriously, tell me about Sammy." She put him back on her topic of interest with another pointed look.

"Sam. No one gets to call him Sammy but me." His tone was still friendly, but entirely serious.

"All righty. Didn't mean anything by it. You gonna tell me about him?"

"If you really want."

"I do."

"The most important thing to understand about Sammy is that he's an idiot. I mean, he's got more brains than anyone knows what to do with, including his fancy school, but he's an idiot with the emotional stuff."

"Really? And he's away at college?" She had read the personal information available, so she knew just how to lead Dean through the conversation. She could make him answer her questions, but that would only give bare bones. This way, he wanted to talk, and people that wanted to talk would say more.

"Yeah. Stanford. He got a full ride. I told you he was a bright boy." The parental pride was obvious in his voice.

"So what's wrong? You don't sound happy that he's going to school."

"He and Dad argued. They don't see eye to eye. On much of anything anymore."

"So they don't talk?"

Dean shrugged, not liking the topic much. "Dad told him that if he was going to go, he should stay gone. And Sammy's an idiot, and for once he listened. The one time I want the little bitch to argue, and he doesn't. And where does that leave me?"

Mia looked at him, concerned. "Where does that leave you?"

"Pissed off, since you ask. And apparently kidnapped and stuck in whatever the hell this place is." He gave her a shrewd and very aware look. "What is this place? And what the hell do you want with my brother?"

Outside the room watching throw the glass, 494 looked at Lydecker, who looked a little startled. People could, on occasion, catch Mia in the act as it were, but usually not until after the fact. "I got some good shit from this guy," 494 said with a grin.

"So it would seem, soldier." He seemed to keep most of his attention on the conversation Mia was having. Privately, he thought that this right here might be one of the reasons that the reindoctrination never seemed to work very well on 494. Dean Winchester was far more aware of the workings of his own mind than most. It seemed to carry over to 494, and possibly Ben as well.

"We want him for his mind, of course." She tilted her head a little, capturing his eyes with hers.

"Well, I suppose if you're going to want him for something, his mind is a good thing to want him for. Unless you're going to put in a jar or something. I'll kill anyone who hurts him. I want you to know that."

He said it in such an off-handed manner that Mia was inclined to believe him. He didn't need to put conviction into it, because it was a forgone conclusion to him. "That's part of why I didn't want him leaving for school. I can't protect him if he's away from me. I think that's what Dad was thinking too, but Dad's kinda fucked up and doesn't . . . he never learned to handle Sammy. He thought he could keep Sam safe if he forced Sam to choose between school and us, because he thought Sam would choose us."

"Why didn't he choose you?"

"Because he was angry. Because he had worked his fucking ass off for something that he came by honestly and was his alone, and he got that acceptance letter. Dad just dismissed it out of hand. It wasn't safe, so he wasn't going. No negotiation, no discussion, decision made. But Dad and Sammy don't know how to talk to each other or listen to each other, they just . . . what the hell is this? Family therapy hour?"

Mia shrugged. "I'm a good listener. Maybe you need to get some of this out into the open."

"I don't like having my feeling out in the open. It's drafty out there, you know. That's more Sammy's thing. Caring and sharing."

"Sam likes to talk things out?"

"Sammy likes to understand. He likes to know all the angles before he makes any choices. He likes to take his time. He's like Dad that way. Not like me. Give me the Reader's Digest version. I'm impatient. Sammy and Dad, they like to know everything."

"If they're so alike, then why don't they get along?"

"Because they're alike. They both need to be in control, but Dad doesn't share command. He's a need to know sort of guy. He needs to know and we don't. But Sammy, Sammy does need to know. He has to be able to do his own thinking, and Dad . . . Dad knows his shit, so he doesn't like being second guessed. Or at least, that's what I think he thinks Sam does to him. That's not what really happened. Or at least it wasn't. Sammy just needs to think things through and then make his own choices. He was a very independent kid. At least about some stuff. You want something from Sammy, you have to ask."

494 was glad he was watching and listening. Getting this from Dean was much more educational than reading it from a report. And if Sam – Sammy – he had to get into that habit – was a smart as Dean claimed, then he would need every advantage he could get.

Mia smiled, because Dean was warming to his topic, and that made the information just leap out. So far, Dean had been a tough nut to crack. He was smart enough to notice his own change in behavior pattern, and that made him focus on what was going on. That was strange for her; usually once she batted her eyes at someone, they were hers. It made conversations often very boring.

"He's got all those brains, and I think if he doesn't get to use them, they overheat or something, and turn him into an emotional fuckwit. But don't tell him I said that. He'd give me the cold shoulder for a month and I miss him enough as it is."

"You still talk to each other?"

"Yeah. He's my baby brother; I'm not letting him just leave. Someone's got to look after him."

She had finally hit the jackpot. "So you still take care of him?"

"Always will. Not that he needs a lot of it. Kid's got a good deal, they even feed him, he says. But we talk. I call and check up on him. He calls when he needs to. We talk about . . . you know, it's really none of your business what we talk about." Dean shifted in his chair, not liking this conversation much now that he thought about it. He didn't care how pretty she was; Sam's issues, of which there were many, were none of her business.

She let that line of questioning go. "So what's he in school for?"

"Geek boy wants to be a lawyer. Guess it would be good to have one in the family."

"Does he have a lot of friends?"

"Yeah, but none of them really know him. That's another reason I don't like him going to school. That can't be good for you. Pretending all the time like that."

"Do you think he'd go with you if you asked him to leave it?"

"A: why would I ask him to leave? He worked for this and he'll stay there as long as he needs to. And B . . . no, wait. What the fuck is going on here?"

Mia reached out and gently turned Dean's face so they were looking each other in the eye. "What would you have to do or say to get Sam to leave with you?"

494 grinned. "Finally, we get to the good stuff."

XXXXX

494 took a final deep breath before knocking on the dorm room door. As soon as someone answered it, he was going to have to be Dean Winchester for however long it took to snaffle this kid from Palo Alto, California, to Gillette, Wyoming. Unfortunately, it wouldn't be a straight shot, because his cover story was that John Winchester was missing and Dean wanted help looking for him. Dean had told them exactly what to say to get Sam to leave school; he hadn't told them willingly, but it was hard to say no to Mia. She was cute, and dangerous as hell.

The door had a large white board on it with the names Sam Winchester and Ken Harlow at the top. Under that, quickly scrawled were the words 'Movie Night', and he could hear more than two people in the room. It was at least five, his genetically enhanced hearing told him. Eventually, someone pulled the door open, and 494 could tell that it wasn't Sam simply by the fact that he had to look down by several inches. The kid blinked at him. "Do I know you? You sure you have the right room?"

"Yeah. I need to talk to Sam." He peered into the darkened room, lit only by the movie playing. 494's cat eyes had no trouble making out the sight of Sam's head whipping around at the sound of his voice.

"Dean?" Sam was already standing and heading over. "What are you doing here, man? What's wrong?"

"Dad . . . he's, well, hey, you might want to not have this conversation in the doorway." He waited while Sam stepped into the hall and pulled the door partly closed behind him. "Dad's missing."

"Dean." Sam sighed, because Dean worried. That was Dean's role in the family, and it had been for Sam's entire life. "He's probably just had one of his meltdowns. He's sorta been due for one. He'll sober up. He always does."

"He was hunting, and now he's missing, Sam." 494 was trying to be aware of the people he knew had to be listening in, because Dean would have been careful.

"Yeah, and here you are. So it obviously went okay."

"I was in New Hampshire. He was hunting here in California."

"You were hunting alone?!" It came out as an indignant squawk.

"Sam? Everything cool out there?" Someone called.

"Yeah, dude, fine."

"I'm twenty-three, dude. Two jobs needed to be done, so we split up."

Sam sighed. "Okay, so . . . explain things to me."

"We were supposed to meet at this place in Mesa, AZ, just sort of a mid-point. You know, if you suck at geography. And he was two days late. He's not answering his cell." "How do you know he's not just . . ." "Sam." 494's tone was exasperated.

"Why are you coming to me? I've been out of the game."

"Because you're on the way. The only other thing I could do was go and check it out and then cool my heels waiting for back-up."

"Dean, man, I have like 3 tests tomorrow." He started to open the door to his room again. "You know you'll get there and he'll be fine. He doesn't even want to see me."

494 did not want to have any of this conversation in front of witnesses, but somehow he thought it might have more impact on Sam if he did just say it. "Sam, he told you to leave. I didn't. I haven't asked anything else of you." He watched as Sam turned and took another step back into his room. "Please. I'll drive you back as soon as we have Dad found." 494 was very aware of the audience. "I promise." And it was one he wouldn't have to break, because they wouldn't be finding John Winchester. "Please, Sammy."

Sam held still for a moment then sighed. "All right. Give me ten minutes to pack." And with that, Sam set about gathering up his things in the light of the TV and ignoring the strange looks he was getting.

"Sam?" It was one of the others. "What's going on?"

"Just some family drama." He was stepping over someone to pull a military duffel out of his closet. As he took it down, it was obviously not empty. His friends were staring. Apparently Sam didn't talk about his family, nor did he do things impulsively like suddenly taking off.

He set the bag onto his bed and reached around someone else as he yanked some clothes out of his drawers and rolled them for travel like it was second nature. Once the clothes were in the bag, he dropped to his knees beside his bed and felt around underneath. 494 noticed that he was still holding a T-shirt, which was wrapping around something, most likely a gun, when he pulled his arms out and tossed the bundle into his bag. Then came a small box from which he picked a couple of books from, and the rest were shoved back underneath. After that, he took a moment to pack up his laptop into a leather satchel along with its cord and other useful bits. He pulled open a drawer and pulled out a leather bound journal, which went in with the computer. Moments later, he had his shaving kit in the pack and his sneakers on. He had packed in less than ten minutes and could most likely live out of that bag for a month or more.

That same kid spoke up again, as another put the movie on pause. "Sam, we have a test in Poli-sci, tomorrow and you know how Thurson is about that stuff."

"She'll just have to get over it. I'll call her tomorrow." He shouldered the duffel bag, and ignored the clunk and rattle it made as the weight in it shifted.

"Sam, who the hell is this guy?" A couple of the kids peered around Sam to look at 494 as he leaned on the door post. He waved at them.

"My brother, Dean. We shouldn't be gone very long. We're only going to . . . Dean where are we going?"

"Jericho, charming little town about four hours north of here."

"There. I should only be gone a couple of days." And with that Sam plucked up his satchel and turned to follow 494 out the door.

XXXXX

494 followed Sam out of the dorm building and then took the lead towards the car. As they reached the car, Sam ran his fingers over the trunk and along the side of the car as he stepped to the passenger side door. 494 could have sworn that it was more of a caress than anything else. He unlocked his door and leaned over to unlock Sam's door, only to have it pull away from him. "Dude, did you forget I have keys for her?" Sam asked in amusement. He settled in and then lifted his two bags over the back of the front seat and dropped them onto the back seat. His arms were that long.

The stereo came on as the engine turned over, and Sam was greeted with the sounds of The Eagles of Death Metal, and was thankful that at least they had started with a group he didn't much mind. Sam settled himself comfortably into the seat that had molded itself to his body years ago. "God, I missed this car. I have to fold myself into a pretzel to fit into any of my friends' cars." Sam gave 494 one of his bright smiles, and the X5 smiled back, but when Sam eye's lingered on him for a second too long, he felt that maybe he had somehow missed something. He shrugged it off, because, honestly, what the hell was he going to do about it? "Any idea what Dad was hunting?"

"No," 494 said, which has true, but Lydecker had managed to give him a few of the details which would have drawn John in. "But he was looking into a bunch of disappearances along the same five mile stretch of highway." They spent the next few minutes going over what 494 knew of the case, which wasn't much, but that didn't seem to surprise Sam at all. Dean had said John Winchester was not big on sharing.

About a half an hour away from Stanford, the tape came to an end. Sam popped it from the player and tossed it back into the shoe box it had come from, then settled back into his seat. "Sammy, you could put something in, you know." Sam gave him a strange look. "What?"

"Am I dying and you just haven't found a way to tell me yet?"

"Yeah, you have leukemia, now put a damned tape in."

"You're the driver," Sam said, and shrugged. Then he popped a tape in and continued to man the stereo for the rest of the trip.

XXXXX

Dean was laying in the middle of the cell floor just for a change of angle as he stared at the concrete ceiling. He was still kicking himself for everything he had told Mia. He'd pretty much done everything except protect Sammy. And that was just fucking killing him. Unfortunately, there wasn't shit he could do about it until he could get free.

Currently he was singing, and was halfway through his third Blue Oyster Cult album when his guard apparently snapped. "Would you shut up?!" The words were snarled from the other side of his door, filtering in through the tiny barred window.

Dean grinned; finally he had some sort of entertainment to distract him from his guilt. "No way, dude. If I have to go stir fry nuts in here, I'm at least going to take some of you with me."

"Why am I being punished?" It was clearly a rhetorical question from the guard, but Dean chose to answer anyway.

"Because you're a bad person."

"I'm just following my orders."

Dean thought the guard sounded sort of young. "And that makes you a party to my kidnapping and the kidnapping of my baby brother. So you're a bad person. Besides, I can't think of anything else to do to amuse myself."

"Try exercise."

"Been there. Done that. I've also counted how many cinder blocks make up this shitty little room. And I can't jerk off anymore. I think I'm going blind."

There was a long pause, then, "I don't understand."

"Don't understand what?"

"What are you jerking?"

". . . you don't know what jerking off is?"

"Apparently not."

"Whacking off, dealing with being male, greet the bishop, having a visit with Polly Palm and her five sisters, just you and your right hand man," Dean paused here, waiting for a reply and when none came added one more, "pulling the pork. And I swear, if you know that last one and none of the others, I'll go back to singing. I can cover the entire career of Metallica."

"Pork, si . . ." The X6 cut himself off before the whole word 'sir' could escape. The prisoner sounded exactly like X5-494.

"Thank God. Masturbation. Do you live under a rock? No wonder you're all so tense."

"There's no cause for it. It's a sign of mental weakness and lack of self control," was the stiff reply.

"That just explained everything about this place."

XXXXX

It was nearly three in the morning when they pulled into the rat trap motel. It wasn't John's, but they decided that they didn't want to get caught snooping around their father's room in the dead of the night. They could go over first thing in the morning. If they went for seven a. m., they wouldn't lose much time, and two hours of sleep was a hell of a lot better than none.

It amazed Sam how easily he fell back into the old hunting patterns of treating skuzzy motels like home and getting very little sleep, though that was a college thing as well. He was the reigning king of all-nighters among his circle of friends. After getting his two bags from the back seat, he unlocked the trunk, shoved his brother's bags out of the way and opened the weapons locker. He grabbed the empty bag that had long ago been dubbed simply 'the Overnight Bag' and started placing things into it. "Dude, you want anything in the Overnight Bag besides the old usual?"

494 was starting to realize that a whole lot of what the brothers said to each other was some sort of code. It wasn't deliberate most of the time. Just a way of having a perfectly normal conversation to cover things the rest of the world found alarming. Overnight Bag really meant 'Arsenal in a Sack.' And the 'old usual' meant 'which array of deadly implements would you like to bring home with you this evening.' What was worse was that if there was an 'old usual', then there were most likely variations on the theme. Was there an 'extremely paranoid' version and a 'we don't need to kill anything today light' version? "Nah. Same old's fine."

Sam settled two shotguns into the bag, along with Dean's favorite knife, some other knife that was just as mean, a box of salt shells for the shot guns, and a box each of the bullets he and Dean routinely used in their hand guns. On top of that, he tossed two small and manageable boxes of rock salt. He zipped the bag closed, slung it over his shoulder, then closed and locked up the locker.

As soon as it was closed, 494 ducked in next to Sam and grabbed Dean's bag and then closed the truck. "Room fifteen, dude," he said, and he tossed a key to Sam, who caught it and went ahead while 494 double checked to make sure the Impala was locked up safely.

Sam dumped all of the bags he was carrying onto the first bed without much thought, like he always did when he was the first one in the room. Either he'd get around to moving his bags once the room was secure, or Dean would toss them on the second bed. He then went and did a quick walk through, noting the air vents and the window in the bathroom. By the time Dean came in, there was already a half circle of salt about the entrance, just outside the reach of the door, because it scraped the carpet every time it opened or closed. Sam was busy salting the large window in the main room.

494 looked at where Sam had dropped his own bag, and with a shrug, dumped his on the other bed. He didn't really notice how this caused Sam's hand to stop moving or how the pile of salt where his hand stopped mounded and then spilt on to the floor. Sam was jerked back into action when 494 spoke. "Any other windows or anything in here?"

"Uh . . . yeah, one in the bath room and I think you'll be disappointed to find that there's no cable. But maybe you can find Oprah on a basic channel tomorrow. I know your day wouldn't be complete without it."

"I don't watch Oprah, dude." He snatched up the other box of salt, whapped Sam in the head with it, and went to line the bathroom window.

"Sure you don't!" Sam called as he put the box away and pulled out one of the shotguns, loading two shells in. They never traveled with a loaded gun unless it was on their person. He gave the bed with Dean's things on it a long, confused look, but brought his eyes back to what he was doing when the older man came out of the bathroom. "You wanna load the other shotgun? Or are you planning on making me do all the work?"

"Sammy, college had turned you into a whiner." 494 picked up the second shotgun and loaded two shells in. He set it by the head of his bed the way he'd seen Dean do every night. He picked Dean's knife out of the bag and dropped it onto his pillow.

"Shut up, jerk," Sam sniped back, and fished some loose sleep pants and a Marine issue .45 out of his own bag before setting all of the bags onto the floor at the foot of his bed.

"Hey, aren't you going to put the spare ammo in the drawer?" 494 pointed with his chin to the night stand. Dean always put the spare there.

"Yeah, sorry," Sam said with what might have been a relieved sigh. He grabbed the bullets and shells and dumped them into the drawer next to the ubiquitous Gideon Bible. After that, he yanked the covers down on his bed, checked the gun to make sure it was properly loaded, and shoved it under his pillow. With the unselfconscious efficiency of someone who had grown up in very tight quarters with two other men, he stripped off his clothes and pulled on his sleep pants. "You wanna set your watch for seven? That'll give us at least two hours of sleep," Sam asked as he crawled into bed.

"Sure, dude." 494 set the alarm on Dean's watch, because the place was too crappy to even have a room clock. He stripped to his boxers, turned off the light, and crawled into bed.

XXXXX

Sam's eye snapped open and he was looking into a sterile white room. At first he though he might have been hurt on a hunt. It happened more often than any of the Winchesters cared to think about, so he turned his head to look for Dean or Dad, but saw neither. His head was killing him, and he raised a hand to rub at his head, but it didn't obey. He could feel his muscles willing to do the work, but there was something holding his arm down. Absurdly, he noted that his feet were bare, and that he was back in those pale blue scrub pants again.

It was then that he realized that he was fully strapped down, and that this was not a hospital bed. He struggled to get free, but gained nothing except strained muscles and bruises. He opened his mouth to question what was happening, or maybe just to yell, but found it too dry to say or yell anything.

He could hear people talking about him, but was too panicked to make out what they were saying. Then his panic spiked even further as someone approached with a filled syringe. He struggled harder, knowing somehow that if he didn't get away, things would only get worse. He couldn't get away, though, because they injected the drug through an IV that was already running into his arm. He wondered why he hadn't noticed that before.

Strangely, he could feel the exact moment the chemical hit his system. It seemed to burn its way straight to his brain. His eyes fell closed.

When they opened again all he could see was fire. Eyes wide with fear, he backed away from it until his back hit

the headboard of the motel bed with a thump. He sat there, panting harshly in the suddenly cool air for a long moment.

"Sammy? You okay?" 494 asked in what he hoped was a concerned brother voice, from the other bed.

Sam had to swallow several times to convince his mouth that it had enough moisture to speak, though he wasn't sure if he was trying to overcome the cottonmouth of the first part of the dream or the fire and heat of the second. "Yeah. Just . . ." He rubbed a hand over his face. "Just a bad dream."

"You're sure?"

"Yeah." He wasn't sure at all.

"Try and get some more sleep." And with that, 494 settled back into his own interrupted sleep.

Sam sat there, staring into the dark room, until Dean's alarm went off.

For the couple of reviewers to whom I could reply to in the response area:

Liz-Personally I think they are both geniuses. I mean, they've lived this long haven't they? I do think that Sam has more social know-how but I also really doubt Sam could rebuild an entire car the way Dean can. And thanks for saying that I write Dean well. Sam is easy but I have to really work at Dean to make sure he's witty and smart-assed enough. It's hard to keep him from going soft, but still not forget that he does have a soft spot for Sam bigger than the Grand Canyon. I consult with Kouri (my proof-reader and co-author on other projects) a lot.

Morgaine-I totally dig the having-not-seen-Dark Angel thing. I started reading the crossover fics before I saw it. The fics are really what made me want to see it. I mean how can you go wrong with a Jensen Ackles character with cat-like reflexes?