My friends, Pixel is like a god, and a pretty awesome beta too
Chapter 7
It wasn't a cage, or a cell—not really. It was a hole in the ground cleverly disguised as a door less room.
Oh 'cause that sounds so much better.
Dean had woken up there after passing out earlier. Unable to draw enough oxygen to keep awake after White's strong punch, he had clearly been dragged here unaware. Every now and again he would hear footsteps, look up and see a looming face of a man in a black suit through the grating above before they walked away once more.
He tried to shift into a more comfortable position but found it nearly impossible. His hands were tied in front of him, his ankles bound in the same fashion, and his entire diaphragm ached fiercely with each movement, and though he was certain nothing was broken, it still hurt.
When he touched the bruising tenderly, he found the skin cold and realized at some point the rag in the corner had once been a cold compress, placed on his skin to ease the tension there and make it easier for him to breathe. The man keeping Dean there, the reason he was having the worst few days of his life, obviously thought he had more information to offer. Even if Dean himself did not.
He shifted again and bit back a cry at the pain. He couldn't remember a time when he had been hit that hard; hell, even werewolves didn't pack a punch so precise, but still so brutal. What the hell was this guy on?
Footsteps above him, and the looming face was no mere agent.
"Awake, I see."
"Captain Obvious." Dean muttered.
"How much longer can you even last, I wonder?"
Dean made no move to reply.
"Don't worry, I'll show your brother the body, personally."
"You stay the hell away from my brother!" Dean screamed, shooting to his feet, breathing hard from the fury inside. "Or I swear to god—"
"I don't take kindly to threats Mr Winchester," White said, licking his teeth.
"What do you take kindly to?" Dean shouted in response, practically comforted by the knowledge that White wouldn't come down to get him any time soon.
Wait, isn't that a bad thing?
"Ridding the world of men like you, men in league of the transgenic filth."
"I'm so scared."
"You should be. Your last days alive, and you're stuck in a hole. You can't climb out, it's too deep, and believe me, up is the only escape. You're in there until I say otherwise."
"And I bet you're planning on doing that never."
"Believe me, Mr. Winchester, the day I decide you can come up, is the day you stop breathing."
"How's tomorrow for you?"
"A true hero—ready to die for loyalty. Is this your cross?"
Dean squinted and just caught the glint of gold on dark thread. He looked down and back up, realizing it was his necklace in White's hand. Taunting him.
"Just a pretty pendant, then?" White noted at the lack of reply once more. "They wouldn't you know, your friends, they wouldn't die for anything."
"I don't know what you're talking about but newsflash, I don't care!"
"But you care about your brother, don't you? He's younger, and according to the files, he hasn't had much luck with household fires."
"Go to hell."
"Funny that, your mother died in the same way, didn't she?"
"I'm gonna kill you with my bare hands."
"From inside of the hole?" White laughed, still dangling the necklace through the grating, before pulling it back, and pocketing it.
Dean glared and tried to calm himself down. The anger inside of him was bubbling to boiling point and all it was achieving was a pounding headache, making his breathing hitch and spots dance in front of his eyes.
"How is there a dead body with your name on it, Mr. Winchester?" White called down, but Dean made no answer. Truly, Dean didn't have the energy to verbally spar without lagging behind with his retorts that lacked the barb he'd prefer them to carry.
"Seems to me, Dean," White continued, aware that he was getting nowhere, "that you shouldn't even exist. Something you and 494 have in common."
"I just got a call from Matt Sung," Logan said quietly, creeping to Max's side for a moment and pocketing his phone, careful not to wake Sam on the couch.
"What is it?" Max asked, but Logan only shook his head.
"The line was bad. I'm gonna go have to go down there, you okay here?"
Max nodded, just as the beep, beep, beep of her pager tore through the air, and she fumbled to shut it up before sleeping beauty woke up.
She looked down and felt the vibrations beneath her fingertips that meant yet again her roommate was begging for a call. She sighed, showed the little black device, shining with a number, to Logan, who nodded absently allowing Max to reach for the phone. He checked the last bolts near his boots, which were attached to the mechanics that allowed him to even walk, before leaving the penthouse on his way to the police station, downtown.
Max stepped back out of the kitchen and more into the hall to answer her phone, smiling as Cindy's voice came through from the other end. She racked her brain for ways to let her down gently, because there was no way she was going to Crash tonight, but before she had a chance, her friend's voice screeched down the other end.
"What the hell is going on?"
"What? What are you talking about?"
"You and your boy!"
Any sentence with that beginning surely couldn't bode well, because Max knew full well who Cindy had referred to as her boy, as of late. And considering the mild surprise and happy (surely not?) tone, she felt her ears grow hot. She looked over at Alec, who was leaning on the kitchen counter, his eyes far off, thinking about something—whatever it was his perverted little mind came up within these seconds of solace.
She cleared her throat as she turned back to the phone, asking for an explanation, and Alec—eyes now on Max—watched in curiosity as her face changed from mild fear to something very angry. She hung up, the phone snapping closed, and she whirled around to face the male transgenic, the picture of innocence.
Yeah, angelic my ass.
"What the hell did you tell Normal?" she asked, voice rising.
"Excuse me?"
"You heard, Alec, no games. What did you say?"
"I got us the time off didn't I?" Alec said, avoiding the question.
"You told him we needed time! You told him, we were together?"
"Max—"
"What the hell were you thinking? You can't just say things like that! I have a life, god, are you insane?"
Now she was screaming.
"Max—"
"You're sick, you know that? You're a perverted little man, who—"
"Max! Would you just shut up already?" Alec cried loudly, having finally managed to get a word in edgeways. Surprisingly enough, she complied. "White has this guy because of me. He could—Dean—could die because of me, and his kid brother is in the other room, waiting for us to save him."
"He's not a kid, Alec; he's twenty-two."
"Personally I think it's a little young to be dealing with his brother's death," Alec retorted dryly.
"What the hell has gotten into you?" Max asked, hissing somewhat in an attempt to lower her own voice. "You're barely older than him!"
"But Dean is, and every time Sam sees me, he sees his brother. His twenty-seven year old brother, who protects him, looks out for him. I can't be responsible for destroying that. I won't."
"Alec—"
"So big deal if you have to pretend to like me for a few days, Max. There are more important things going down."
"I know," she replied, quietly, allowing the leeway for Alec to simmer down. He sighed, almost afraid that his outburst would come back to haunt him some time later on, but at the same time he wasn't about to apologize for what was said.
"Let's just find him okay, and then I'll tell Normal it was a joke or something."
Max's gaze had softened considerably upon hearing Alec's explanation, and now she knew without a doubt the guilt inside of her former breeding partner that was eating him alive. Her frown returned when she heard the low whimpers and moans from the living room. The sounds were coming from the sofa where Sam was currently taking a few moments shut-eye after both Alec and Max had noticed the bags under his eyes only increasing with each hour.
She paroled in, Alec on her tail, to see Sam tossing, turning, and simultaneously trying to press himself back further into the leather seat, as though caught in some vain attempt to make himself smaller, though, god knew why.
"Should we wake him up?" Max asked carefully, and Alec sighed.
"We can't leave him like this," he said, and Max saw a definite spark of sadness in the transgenic's eyes that made her pause. He seemed so concerned.
"Hey," she said quietly as she touched Sam's shoulder gently, shaking it somewhat hoping to wake him.
"No," he muttered under his breath, steadily becoming loud and stronger as he thrashed from side to side, caught in the throngs of the nightmare.
"Please," the man begged, hurt and lying on the grass. They were so loud in his head—images pouring, screaming, repeating, repeating, god, all over again. He was speaking in hushed tones with his eyes casting looks all across the woodland. The leaves were illuminated in the sunlight streaming down on them. Tell me, tell me, tell me about the good place. Where no one ever gets hurt, hurt, hurt. Crack.
Alec edged closer just as Sam shot up, eyes wide, breathing hard and looking around frantically to re-assert himself of his current location, and when his eyes fell on Max, he backed away into the arm of the couch. She reached out, but he only flinched in return, stumbling completely over the furniture, and just as he was about to fall, Alec's arms caught him expertly. But the young man's eyes were still too wild for their liking.
"Sam," Alec commanded sternly, and Sam spun around, relaxing as soon as he saw the hazel gaze staring him down.
Sam's breathing return to normal as he whispered, "Dean," with relief.
A feeling, short-lived, as he saw the eyes cast downward; the transgenic's face was showing the stricken emotions beneath the surface at hearing the name. Alec hadn't even met this Dean, and he was already blaming himself for his disappearance.
That's because it's your fault, he told himself.
White was after a transgenic, and he'd gotten an innocent bystander instead, someone who didn't even know about Manticore. Someone whose gene pool appeared to be somewhat unlucky but nothing more. He made to leave, guilt weighing him down more than it had done in a long time.
"Alec," Max began, but he was already out of the room, excusing himself with something less than a curt nod in Max's direction. She sighed and realized how they had switched places. When last White had a transgenic in his hold, she had been the one assuring her mate that they would find her, help them. Now Alec was doing it, he was the one being an anchor for Sam, letting the guilt hold onto him but with more strength. Sam watched him as he left, realizing his mistake and trying to hold onto the waking world with a tighter grip. Blinking away the last of his dreams.
"And nobody disappears, and when you wake up in the morning you can stay in bed as long as you—"
"No," he whispered, quieter this time, so that Max, with her enhanced hearing, barely caught it.
"Sam?"
"Ben, I can't."
He blinked. "Yeah?"
"Don't beat yourself up about it, he's always like that," she said, in an attempt to lighten the mood, but Sam only swallowed before looking up at the woman. Her hair was straight, but he couldn't stop thinking of another version, one with curls...crying as she held—
"Who's Ben?" he asked suddenly, out of the blue enough to startle Max, leaving her no time to gather herself. Wondering where the hell that question had come from and trying desperately to think of an answer.
"What?"
"That's Alec, my brother's called Dean. So who's Ben?"
"Still not asleep?" White asked, some hours later, voice echoing from above and reverberating around the close-knit four walls of Dean's prison. "Now, now, you need to conserve your strength. Don't think I'll go easy on you just because you can barely stand up. Surely the ropes aren't that much of a hindrance?"
Dean scoffed.
"After all," White continued, "it seems you've evaded police custody quite a few times. The ones in your file are only the ones where you used your real name."
"Forgive m-me if I not completely safe with closing my eyes right n-now," Dean replied, glaring ahead of him, refusing to look up and let White take the advantage of being higher up. The agent in question didn't miss the stutter in his prisoner's speech, and even from so high up, he could see the shudder running down Dean's spine.
"Don't worry, as soon as your little friends try and rescue you, you'll be worthless to me."
"Yippee."
"All the same, I'll make sure you suffer just as much as they will."
"How—?"
"I have these dreams, but they're more than that." The crack rang through the air, filtered with sobs of the woman. Of Max. "I saw you, holding him. Before you killed him."
"We were being chased."
She closed her eyes as she remembered fighting with him, blocking hits, and taking too many, landing some...before her kick. Vicious and hard, it had broken the bones in his leg, leaving him immobile on the ground. She could still see him lying there, trying to push himself up, trying to rectify the situation, to get up and fight even when it was clear he was done.
She had knelt next to her brother, held him despite it all, and she still remembered how his skin seemed to tingle at the mere touch; they had gone from enemies to siblings in the space of a second, but he was still wary and so different to the storyteller of her childhood.
"He was hurt. I had to."
In the end she had done what he had asked of him. One last request, and he was gone. His life ended, destroyed. His existence, vanished before Lydecker could hurt him any further.
She had left him and not seem him since until Renfro at Manticore had shown her the pictures, the photographs of her brothers and sisters, including Ben. His dead body, his neck at an impossible angle lying in the woods, with a trail of blood running from his nose down his cheek... Dead.
"Don't you see 452? You're poison; you destroy everyone that you love. Zack, your brother Ben, your sister Tinga, and him...Eyes Only."
Then there was Alec. Footsteps on in a corridor, a visitor to her cell, but his entrance was nothing like her brother. So different to Ben. His attitude seemingly more human.
"His designation was 493."
She had sobbed on the grass, stared at her hands, and buried her face in his chest...
She looked up at Sam then, expecting judgment and finding nothing but a neutral mask. She realized that to him, it must have been as though she had killed his brother in front of him, and it hurt her to think that he saw Dean when he saw that body. She opened her mouth, maybe to excuse her actions, maybe to apologize, but he got there first.
"It wasn't a vision of the future. It was the past," Sam realized, breaking through her momentary reverie as the thoughts collided in her head. "Who was he?"
"My brother," she said quietly, and Sam frowned.
"You have brothers? I mean, siblings? You're related?"
"No. We were in the same division. We were kids, we made our own family."
Sam nodded, and he and Max sat in silence on the couch. Neither knowing that Alec had overheard their conversation and was currently berating himself in silence. Every day he reminded Max of her brother, and now he was reminding Sam of his? Why couldn't anyone look at him and see Alec? Meanwhile, those who did see him as Alec hated him. Or at least, he wasn't on their list of favorite people in the world.
He sighed, clenching his fists at his sides.
He couldn't bring back the dead, and Ben was long gone, but all hope was not lost for Dean Winchester. Sam could still get his brother back, safe and sound. It was up to Alec to make sure that happened sooner rather than later, and he was determined to do so.
Even if it did mean the world would implode...
"Steelheads?" Logan repeated, unenthusiastically. "That's what you were trying to tell me about on the phone?" he asked, having met Matt in the doorway nearly as soon as he had entered the downtown police station.
"Getting more and more complaints—"
"They're brutal criminals, it's no wonder they're getting complaints."
"Exactly. We never get complaints about them because the only people who have the guts to say something aren't exactly comfortable with police officers."
"Matt, it really wasn't what I meant," Logan began, but Matt cut him off, slightly irritated.
"Then what did you mean?"
"It's nothing." And it was as good as muttering never mind.
"You said that yesterday, but it sure as hell doesn't look like you've gotten any sleep since."
"I told you, it's a missing persons, personal business—that's all."
"So why don't you make it formal, let me help."
"You can't Matt. I appreciate the offer, but you can't."
"Logan, if this gets over your head I can't turn a blind eye, if this gets illegal—"
"How long have we known each other? How likely is it, that I can't handle this?"
Matt sighed. "If this gets—if things get bad—just let me know, I can help."
"You can't, but thanks," Logan said, his words stern and showcasing the end of the conversation as he finally left once more. They knew the factory had to be in Sector Twelve, and yes—they would have to figure out which one—but they had to do so soon. After seeing that photograph sent, the threat clear, he couldn't help but fear they were running out of time.
With the added aid (or hindrance) of darkness, Alec crept along the edge of the small river surrounding most of Sector Twelve's more prominent abandoned warehouses. Hiding behind one of the skips lining the floor where water met land, he crouched down into the ground, using his accelerated eyesight to look around him.
He had ignored a lot of his training to simply be there. This charge wasn't in his division, his group; he'd never even met the man and yet here was, putting his neck on the line to rescue him. Not to mention his lack of recon and blatant disregard for backup of any kind.
He was so focused, in fact, on proving to himself that his feeling that perhaps the factory labeled with a four was the one he had been looking for.
When he had gone there with Max the guards had been too scattered for them to discern exactly which one they needed. But now they seemed to crowd around the one factory in particular. As though they were trying to look inconspicuous but failing each and every time their eyes strayed to the door of number four.
Alec was so focused on convincing himself that the factory labeled with a large four was the right one—out of pure instinct on his part—that he never saw the shadows moving behind him. Not until it was too late, and just as he had his cell phone ready to call Max, the strong arms came out of nowhere and pinned him down.
The stars shone brighter with each blow to his head, until the night descended completely, and the darkness won. Not one of the guards noticed the flashing screen of the cell phone, discarded as they dragged another prisoner back to their boss.
TBC
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