Dean's feet hit the hard concrete of the Hartsdale building's roof. It had taken him much longer then he had thought it would to get here. When he had left Ireland he had been sure that he would end up somewhere north of New York; maybe Boston or Montreal. But when he had almost fallen into the sea, he had lost his bearings. He had continued west, straining his already tired eyes for any distinguishing marks in the distance. But he had started to fear that he was flying south-west and was heading straight towards the Bermuda Triangle. He personally thought that the legend was complete crap, but he had no desire to go anywhere near it, just in case.

His paranoia turned out to be unfounded, he had ended up somewhere near the US-Canadian border and half an hour later, he was in Hartsdale.

On that last half hour, he had thought a lot about what was going to happen. His initial rush of anger and worry had receded on his long flight and had been replaced with exhaustion. He was concerned about the fact that he had started coughing up blood. He wouldn't have been surprised if the events over the past couple of days had given him an ulcer. But he didn't think that was the cause. If he asked one of the Company techs about it and also mentioned what was happening to his abilities; they would tranquilise him and be on the phone to Bob before he even hit the ground.

Dean glanced around the roof, his eyes focusing on the entrance to the stairwell. He strode towards the door, rubbing his eyes with his fists. He still remembered what he had told himself when he had last returned here: It was best not to show any weakness in front of The Company members, they would eventually use it against you. It went for everyone, including himself. If someone showed weakness in front of him, he'd use it for his own advantage.

Dean stopped in front of the door and opened the door's keypad. He punched in The Company's security code and waited for the buzz signalling that his code had been accepted. He looked up at the top-right corner of the door and waved at the security camera. Security was a lot tighter now then it was four months ago. He had to wait for the people at the security desk to buzz him in. It wasn't enough to just have the code anymore.

Dean chuckled as he imagined what was actually happening at the security desk. They were probably on the phone to Bob – or whoever was in charge at the moment – to ask whether they should let him in. They always did what they were told or asked for permission; no matter what the circumstances. He smiled as the keypad lit up for a moment and the door clicked open.

He grabbed the door handle, pushing it down and opening the door. He stepped through, walking forward as the motion detector lights lit up as he passed. Barely anyone ever came up here. He himself hadn't for a while; the last time was when Bob had held this mock escort practice with him and Elle.

It had been a lot of fun for him, just for the chance to get out of Hartsdale without assignment orders. He hadn't taken it seriously at all. Bob had gone to visit Charles Deveaux, which meant that he had Elle had been given a free pass into the art exhibition downstairs. It had been quite an evening; Bob hadn't been there to monitor how much Champaign they had been drinking or anything like that.

Things had started to get really interesting when this woman came in and started yelling at the man who painted the exhibition; shouting that he had depicted her being hit by a bus. The man – Isaac Mendez – had no idea what she was shouting about. Isaac had followed her when she ran out of the exhibition and watched the painting's contents play out in front of his eyes.

Dean remembered his surprise when the entire event happened. He had wanted to stay behind and help inspect the other paintings; he had never seen a precog before. But Bob had ordered him to take Elle back to Hartsdale. He should have kept an eye on how much Champaign she had had during the exhibition. He had done as he was told and took her back. She had fallen asleep almost instantly; but he had come up to the roof to clear his head; the entire night's events had made him too restless to sleep.

Dean turned a corner and began to climb down a series of steps. He could hear ineligible voices echoing up from the lower level. "Probably warnings," Dean thought as he continued to descend; through the corner of his eye, he could see the lights wink out behind him, leaving the entire staircase in darkness.

Dean reached out and grasped the stairwell door leading out into the third floor. He pulled it open and stepped into the white corridors of the Hartsdale building. He continued to walk, his feet carrying him through the maze of corridors with the confidence that came from fourteen years of memory.

Most of The Company workers in the corridor didn't even look up from what they were doing; though the occasional few looked at him in wide-eyed surprise. He supposed that he must be a pretty startling sight with his bloodstained face and torn clothing, all of which were caused by his hasty escape from prison.

He paused at a corner, contemplating heading down to his room or carrying on towards the lab. He really wanted a shower and a change of clothes; but he also wanted whoever was in charge at the moment to be surprised when he barged his way in. That coupled with his worried feeling that something had gone horribly wrong somewhere made the decision for him.

Dean gazed longingly down the corridor to his left before continuing his way towards the entrance of the lab. He pulled out his wallet as he walked, searching its contents for his key-card. He stopped in front of the door, pulling out his key-card and swiping it through the automatic lock. Dean's eyebrows rose in surprise as the door clicked open. He had been sure that Bob would try and keep him as far away from the lab as possible after leaving him to take the blame for the murders.

He pushed the door open and entered the lab. Most of the lab technicians stared at him as he walked by. He noticed that most of the lab's previous occupants had left. He remembered all of their names. One stood out especially in his mind: Niki Sanders. He had fully intended to kill her to stop her rampage. Her eyes seemed to burn into him, revealing her inner conflicts and heart-wrenching sadness. He had held back, but had still knocked her out-cold.

Dean blinked and looked around the lab, struggling to replace his mask of composure. He knew who he needed to look for; there was no way that Bob would leave without telling him. "If he's actually gone." Dean mentally corrected himself. It didn't really matter either way. Dean knew that Anderson would know what was going on; Bob told Anderson almost all of his plans.

He spotted Anderson talking to another doctor in one of the hallways. Dean grinned. The last thing Anderson would want was someone coming along and shouting Bob's plans in the middle of a crowded lab.

Dr. Anderson moved his head slightly, his eyes glancing over Dean. He turned back to the doctor before his eyes whipped back to focus on Dean. His mouth opened slightly in surprise. "Dean," he stammered, his mouth finally giving birth to words. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, you know," Dean grinned. Judging from the look on the other doctor's face, he had no idea what was going on. He certainly seemed surprised at Dr. Anderson's reaction to Dean's appearance. Dean nodded to him and continued loudly. "I just thought I'd stop by here and try and find out why I was left in Ireland."

"Now's not really a good time," Dr. Anderson replied.

Dean shrugged and addressed the other doctor, "You don't mind, do you?" He didn't bother waiting for an answer. "Of course you don't."

Dr. Anderson sighed in frustration and gestured at the other doctor to resume his work. He grabbed Dean's arm and pulled him into his office. "What do you want, Dean?" He asked as soon as the door was safely shut behind them.

"Oh, didn't I make that clear?" Dean asked as he shrugged his shoulders again. It always helped to be as obnoxious as possible when dealing with The Company doctors. If they got angry enough, they were likely to let something slip. "Well, first off, I already know why I was left in Ireland, so don't bother answering that. Having someone take the fall is the best way to cover for someone else. What I really want to know is where the hell Bob went."

Dr. Anderson sat behind his desk and began to shuffle papers about his desk. Dean felt his smile slip. The obnoxious technique could work both ways, it was especially effective on someone as impatient as Dean. And Dr. Anderson knew it too. "Bob said you'd show up here," he finally said. "Though I am curious how you managed to arrive here so quickly."

"I flew." Dean said, his smile returning to its former place.

It took a moment for Dr. Anderson to figure out that he was being serious. "I take it you're not talking about planes."

Dean said nothing, Dr. Anderson knew full and well what he was talking about.

Dr. Anderson looked through his papers again before pulling out a folder with a flourish. "We want you to have your old assignment back," he said, ignoring Dean's questioning.

Dean frowned and grabbed the folder from Anderson's hand. He flicked through it, his staring at Sylar's photo with open hatred. "What happened to the other team?"

Dr. Anderson shrugged, "We found them dead at the border, black gunk down their cheeks and clogging up their insides. They were by a dead civilian border control. You know, if you weren't pulled off the assignment, you'd be dead in their place."

Dean looked up at Anderson in surprise. He wasn't concerned about the black gunk. He was smart enough to keep a good amount of distance between himself and Sylar; just as a precaution. "Where's Sylar heading?" Dean asked, mildly interested.

"Here, to New York. We don't want you to stalk him however, we want you to capture him and bring him here. It is what you do best." Dr. Anderson said the last sentance with recognisable sarcasm in his voice.

Dean closed the folder and tossed it on Dr. Anderson's desk. "How about you tell me where Bob went. And after I finish with him, I'll go after Sylar."

Dr. Anderson stood up, slamming his hands on his desk angrily. "This is serious, Dean. We can't afford to have you go gallivanting after Bob and Elle. They can handle themselves." He moved out from his desk, walking to stand right up to Dean. "Sylar is a real threat, what if he takes someone hostage? Molly Walker is living in New York, if Sylar finds her--"

Dean cut him off by grabbing his collar and slamming him against a wall, "Where'd they go?" He said angrily. As soon as Anderson had mentioned Elle, Dean knew that whatever he had seen in the prison had happened or was about to happen. Bob would take care of her, but it never hurt to have someone else to help.

"I can't tell you, Dean." Anderson replied through shaking teeth. Dean noticed he was trying desperately to grab a taser at his waist. "Bob ordered me not to; I don't care how much you shock--"

Dean cut him off again by slamming him even harder against the wall. "Where are they?!" He shouted. Through the corner of his eye, he could see other technician's stop and stare through the office window.

Dr. Anderson shut his mouth tightly, staring defiantly at Dean.

Dean's eyes narrowed. He removed his right hand from the Anderson's collar while tightening his grip with his left. He raised his free arm wide. Anderson's eyes widened in fear as Dean's hand disappeared in a burst of fire. "Where?" Dean repeated, holding a burning finger near Anderson's left eye. He struggled to keep the flames burning, it seemed like whenever he forced them out, they fought to die back down.

"They went to California." Dr. Anderson said, completely terrified; struggling even harder to get away from the flames. "A place called Costa Verde."

Dean smiled and dropped Dr. Anderson. He started to run, bursting through the office's door and smothering the flames with his clenched fist. He straightened his body, feeling for that familiar rush that signalled his flight.

As soon as his feet left the ground, he felt that familiar pain. He winced as his insides felt like they were twisting. He coughed, tasting blood in his mouth. He hit the tiled white floor heavily. The coughing was uncontrollable. He chocked on the blood in his mouth, struggling to draw breath. He could hear shouts from behind him along with heavy footsteps.

Black spots danced in front of his eyes from lack of oxygen. He slumped against the ground. he felt a hand press him tightly down on the floor, restricting his struggles. The last thing he was aware of was something sharp being jabbed into his neck.


Bob spread the bandage of Elle's arm, feeling her wince as the bandage applied pressure over her gunshot. He smoothed it over softly and stood up. Elle glanced at the bandage briefly before turning away. Bob noticed her solemn and distant attitude. He wondered what had actually happened when Elle was held hostage.

He started as his cell-phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and began to walk away. He held the phone to his ear and spoke, lowering his voice so Elle couldn't hear. "What is it?"

"Dean showed up, sir." Dr. Anderson replied. His voice sounded strained, it was obvious that Dean had done something stressful over in the lab.

"What'd he do?" Bob asked, glancing back at Elle, checking to see if she could hear him.

"He used two different absorbed abilities." Dr. Anderson said. "Flight and pyrokinesis. It resulted in the same negative effect as it did fourteen years ago."

"His lung collapsed?"

"Yes, he was coughing up blood before that too. It'll only get worse if he keeps switching between his abilities. We sedated him and repaired his lung, but you'll have to explain it to him when you get back."

"Good work. Make sure you keep him dosed." Bob said. "Oh and contact Lily, she'll be able to fill in the gaps for Dean." He removed the phone from his ear and replaced it in his pocket. He looked back at Elle. She looked deep in thought, a troubled expression on her face.

Bob frowned and tried to ignore his fatherly concerns and focus on Dean's apparent power development. He knew that when a person's power grew, the change was almost instantaneous. But when it did, it was unreliable, dangerous to the wielder and everyone around them. From what he heard about Dean's, it seemed like he was skipping the need to reabsorb other's abilities.

He remembered what had happened fourteen years ago. Dean couldn't handle the rapid changes to his DNA, causing his body to shut down. Bob had hoped back then that if Dean's ability developed, his body wouldn't be affected when his DNA changed to match the absorbed ability. It was obvious there was no such luck.

When he got back to Hartsdale, there would be more tests performed on Dean. Bob shook his head and smiled. If Dean was there to test; something that had quickly become apparent to him when Dean grew up was that he was both smart and resourceful. He didn't think that anyone would be able to hold Dean if he wanted to get away.

Bob glanced at Mohinder. He was staring at the gun. He was shaken by what was obviously his first kill. Bob was pleased by Mohinder's reaction. It proved that he still cared, that he felt guilt about what he had done. If it were Elle or Dean that had killed Noah; they wouldn't give it a second thought.

Bob looked at his daughter again. If Noah had even mentioned the testing preformed on her when she was a girl; it would unravel everything that Bob had fought to keep hidden. It would tear everything apart.

The first seed of rebellion is distrust.