It Runs In The Family

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or any rights to Dark Angel or Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: Crossover with Dark Angel and Supernatural –AU. Dean, Sam and Alec's continuing adventures. No slash.

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Chapter 14 – What Matters Most – part 6

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Sam showed up first. Was suddenly ….there, crouched down by the sterile operating table Dean was strapped to. Dean bit harder into his lip, fought back more than a scream of agony as another needle sank into his spinal cord, refused to utter his brother's name, believe that Sam was really there, could be touched, wasn't gone. Knew that it was his dying body, deteriorating mind playing tricks on him, giving him what he wanted to see.

But it was the kindest thing, to see Sam's face, even if it was a hallucination. He startled when Sam spoke.

"You can't give up, Dean. You can't, alright, because I'm coming to get you out of here," steel as much as plead in the beloved rumble of his brother's voice, in the eyes that met his. "How many times do I have to tell you that you can't leave, that I won't let you leave until you get it through that fat head of yours. We're a team, a family, you, Alec, me. And you don't give up on family, Dean. You don't. Not ever. Don't start now."

Then Sam vanished.

"Sam?" Dean gasped out, even as he knew it would break the last stronghold he had on sanity, to call out for his brother, for someone who wasn't there, who was dead. Someone who wasn't coming to get him…but he was going to join Sam, soon. Wasn't giving up on his family, was saving it. One last time.

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Alec froze, had almost missed the presence of Sam in the room, kneeling, head bowed, maybe in prayer. Knew he shouldn't intrude but he couldn't move, didn't want to be far from Sam …or have Sam far from him, needed the physical connection so badly it was pathetic.

His heart tripped in his chest as Sam's quiet, entreaty of words reached him across the warehouse room.

"….We're a team, a family, you, Alec, me. And you don't give up on family, Dean. You don't. Not ever. Don't start now." The last words an order, a demand, a threat.

Raising his head, Sam opened his eyes, took in a shaky breath of air…and felt a familiar presence behind him, didn't need to turn around to know it was Alec, was the only family he had with him. For the moment. Clearing his throat, he explained, "One of the other psychic kids, he could project his thoughts across miles…states even," he clarified, though he hated to think of Dean that far away from him. Looking down to his hands resting in his lap, he opened his palm to reveal the Impala keys, the only thing of Dean's he had, the only thing left to him. 'Don't think like that! You'll get him back, you and Alec will get him back.'

Accepting Sam's explanation as an invitation to stay, Alec came to Sam's side, crouched down beside his brother. It hurt when Sam raised his head and he saw the red rimmed eyes that weren't half as hopeful as Sam's words had been. Gently he said, phrasing his words carefully, "You said your telekinesis kicked in, out of the blue, just in time to save Dean. I wouldn't be surprised if you have some latent abilities that …adrenaline might unleash," purposefully avoided the use of the word fear, though it was obvious that was the trigger, Sam fearing he was going to lose Dean.

"I didn't…" Sam swallowed, didn't want to admit this, to what it might mean. "…feel him."

Knowing that if they gave into despair, it would weaken them, would hamper their ability to save Dean, Alec, with herculean effort, pulled on a smirk. "You trying to feel up Dean, can't wait to tell Dean that." Felt victorious when Sam gave a snort, albeit a shattered one. "And if he was mad that I put an electronic leash on him last time, I can't imagine how he's going to react to you going all chick flick in his head. He's going to say you left behind cooties."

There was mirth in Sam's voice as he agreed. "Yeah, yeah he will."

But when Alec shifted, was on the verge of standing up, Sam's hand came to rest on his leg, stilling him without a word, without force, did it with the strength of their bond. Eyes meeting Sam's, Alec waited, would wait as long as it took until Sam marshaled together whatever words he wanted to say. But he wasn't expecting the ones that Sam, with his head bowed, softly said.

"Dean died before."

Alec's breath, his heart, his mind, they all stopped at Sam's statement, prayed for a disclaimer to follow. But it didn't.

"A…a Trickster he …he killed Dean. Killed him and then I woke up and Dean was there, alive, unhurt like it was just a bad dream I had. But it wasn't a dream. Would happen again and again, Dean dying, me waking up to him there only to ….to lose him again. The time loop happened for months until…" Sam broke off, didn't want to relive that Wednesday, of holding Dean in his arms as he bled out. Dean had been only three steps away from the Impala, from a cache of weapons, had only been out of his sight for two minutes. "…Dean stayed dead."

Alec was trying to process what Sam told him, to fit it into the past he knew, the present he was certain of and the probability of what a Trickster could do. "I don't remember…you never told me…how…"

Sam shook his head, as lost as Alec, his eyes never touching upon Alec. "I tried calling you during the loop…but you never answered, couldn't even get your voice mail…or Bobby's. It was like I was cut off, that Dean and I were separate from the rest of the world."

Quietly Alec asked the unanswered question, "And after ..after the time loop?"

Sam inhaled, should have known that Alec would ask the one question he hadn't wanted to answer. Summoning the guts to look at Alec, he faced the prospect of Alec's anger head on. "I didn't call you. I figured you were better off without me."

It was betrayal and love, protection and rejection all tangled together.

Shoving Sam's hand off his leg, Alec surged to his feet, took a recoiling step away from Sam, found his stance shaky as his emotions threatened to tear him apart. "Dean died and you…you didn't tell me." He didn't know if there could ever be a betrayal more painful than this one, if anything could prove that Sam didn't think of him as family more than that exclusion.

Having dropped his gaze from Alec's, Sam focused on the Impala keys in his hands. "I…I couldn't."

"Guess I finally know how I rank with you," Alec bit out and curtly spun around, headed for the doorway, contemplating hotwiring a car in the lot outside and finding Lydecker, putting a gun to his head until he took him to Dean. Sam's quiet words halted his headlong pace.

"It was my fault," Sam admitted, voice raw. "The Trickster did it because of me. I couldn't make that better for you, Alec. That I let Dean be taken away from you, from the both of us. And I…I thought it was better, you thinking we were out there, somewhere, than knowing…"

"The truth," Alec bitterly filled in.

"Yes," Sam returned with resolve, knew about hopelessness, about revenge, about grief. Everything about where it took them, took Winchesters. Just to another funeral pyre.

Alec swung around, stalked back to Sam and shoved his shoulder, knocking him to the ground. Standing over his downed brother, he snarled, "That wasn't your decision to make! I'm part of this family, whether you like it or not!"

"I did it because we are family, because I wanted to protect you! So that the Trickster didn't realize I had another weak spot, go after you! He used Bobby, you know. Could change forms and cause visions and he had Bobby call me, had Bobby standing right in front of me telling me that I was breaking his heart, that I should back down from killing someone just to save Dean. And I…I …" Sam couldn't fight the memories anymore, felt the first tear slide down into his hair.

Unable to bear Sam's pain, Alec shook his head, looked away a moment and then sank to the ground, sat there Indian style and reached out a hand to Sam.

Seeing not only the offer of Alec's hand, but of his understanding, maybe even his forgiveness, Sam slid his hand in Alec's, allowed his brother to pull him into a upright position on the concrete warehouse floor. For a moment, his eyes met Alec's levelly, and then he revealed what he had never told another living soul. "I was pretty sure…almost sure…heck, I don't know, maybe I just wanted Bobby to be the Trickster. I…I killed Bobby, Alec. I wanted revenge so badly that I …I didn't worry about the small chance that it really was Bobby and I killed him."

"But it wasn't Bobby, was a …a vision, a mind trick," Alec insisted, wanted Sam to remember the true outcome.

"It might not have been! I would have killed Bobby to save Dean, risked his life to get Dean back. You really think being around some callous, insane person like me would have been in your best interest? After Dean…was gone, I …I lost it, man. I was my Dad, but worse. Dad …for all his focus on revenge, he had compassion. I …I didn't. All I had was my desire for revenge, my …pain."

"If you would have called me, you would have had me, Sam," Alec earnestly vowed, knew that, he would have waged through his grief, his accusation of Sam's guilt for the loss of their brother, would have come through knowing that he loved Sam, belonged at Sam's side. That Dean would have wanted them to be together.

For a moment, Sam's eyes were latched onto Alec, sought to judge the truthfulness of the other man's statement. Felt humbled and warmed to his depths to find no guile in his little brother's declaration. Sam nodded his head in acceptance, knew that, for all the crap thrown at their family, for all the hurt, and guilt and anger that they felt, their love for each other was always stronger.

Relieved that Sam accepted his words as truth, knew that, no matter what, they were sticking together, Alec couldn't help but ask one final question. "So how did you get Dean back?"

"I begged," Sam answered, unashamed of the tactic that had worked, had returned his brother to him. And he knew that, if it had the power to get Dean back now, he would do it all over again. Because pride, it had no place when Dean's life was on the line, when his family was at stake.

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In a small hick town fifteen miles from the Manticore facility Lydecker dropped quarters in a pay phone beside an old abandoned gas station and dialed the secure cellphone he had given Alec, felt foolish for being so nervous, for rehearsing his lines like he was in a grade school play. But when Alec's brusque, "Is Dean alright? What tests are they running on him? Could you talk to him?" he knew his nervousness wasn't for nothing. The double edged sword about training someone to lie for a living was that it made that soldier the best human lie detector in the world, more likely to believe you were lying than ever telling the truth. And right now, Lydecker knew he needed to avoid the truth like a virus, a deadly one.

Instead of answering any of Alec's landmine of questions, Lydecker gruffly advised, "Our time table's been moved up to Friday."

"This Friday?" Alec returned, surprise and suspicion in his tone and in the look he shot to Sam who had his head resting against his so he could also hear Lydecker's side of the conversation.

"Yes. I'll contact you again when I have the exact times."

"Why are they moving it up?" Alec demanded sharply, dread coming to him instead of relief at their "good luck". Manticore didn't deviate from their plans easily, would only abort or move up an operation if their success was in jeopardy. And since their objective was to harvest everything useful from his brother before he died or they killed him, Manticore's decision to move up the test, it ripped a black hole into his calm assurance that they would get to Dean in time, before Manticore could inflict too much pain…or irreparable damage.

"Boris is running this show," Lydecker sidestepped the question, knew that Alec was probably already formulating theories on why the test was being done this week instead of nearly a month away.

Recognizing the deflection, Alec inhaled heavily and tightened his grip on the cell phone. "It's Dean, isn't it? They don't think he'll last a month."

Knowing that whatever response he gave would give Alec his answer, Lydecker dropped the phone back onto the cradle, ended the call. Resting his head against the glass of the phone booth, he didn't startle when the phone rang, knew that Alec was persistent, and so perceptive that it had always been difficult forming viable mission situations that would convince the X5 that assassination was the only choice left open to them. "Sorry, kid. It's like the old days, we have to play the hands we're dealt as best we can," he murmured before he turned his back on the ringing phone. Sliding behind the wheel of his truck, he prayed that by Friday he wasn't going to be handing Alec a corpse of his brother.

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For as tired as Dean was, for as drained of energy as he was, sleep was elusive. The guards had been kind enough to drop him on his cot and that was the sole reason he wasn't on the floor now, waking up staring across the cement ground. Somewhere it registered with his internal clock that it was morning, that the tray of food and glass of water on the floor by his bed was meant to be breakfast.

Sliding his arm forward, it dropped off the cot like it was weighted. It seemed to take all his energy to simply move his hand, to purposefully pull the water glass forward. He watched as the water saturated the food tray, turned the toast into soggy bread, the eggs into sponges, was almost fascinated as the lines of water ran across the floor in multiple directions, as if in mockery of the thousand choices he could have made to undo this, to save Sam and Alec, to save himself.

He started to roll onto his back but agony stilled him, had him gasping out a whimper of breath. 'Your spinal cord being used as a pin cushion, that ring any bells with you?' he sardonically chastised himself for his forgetfulness. The pain, he remembered that, but what came to him, all through the hours in the room since, was Sam, the sight of Sam, how real his brother's voice had sounded to him. That Sam had almost repeated Dad's parting volley in their last argument before Sam hit the door, went to Stanford: "We're a team, a family. You don't walk out on family." But Dean remembered the rest, the words that Sam could never forget: "If you walk out on us now, don't come back."

And not coming back, not staying? For the first time Dean understood that need, that desire. He didn't want to stay here, wouldn't. Was going to walk out…or crawl to whatever came after this life. Could already feel the way his body was beginning to deteriorate at the absence of food and water, under the onslaught of agony Boris was gleefully dishing out in the guise of scientific discovery.

He didn't even feel dread when he heard the lock on his door click, when the door swung open, a prelude to another day of pain. Welcomed it because it was getting him closer to his goal, was leaving Boris with only a handful of days to use him. He smiled as the man of the hour walked into the room, as Boris' eyes betrayed him by flickering to the ruined food and wasted water and a scowl took up residence on his features.

"I was starting to think you didn't care about me," Dean drawled, eyes tracking up to Boris' even as he remained still on the cot, didn't waste energy trying to pretend moving wouldn't be too much effort. In fact, he wanted Boris to get that message, loud and clear. "So have you turned that deranged serial killer clone of my brother into a lap puppy yet? Does he get the paper and your slippers?" he taunted, knew that whatever Boris hoped to engineer would take time…and hopefully lots of data, data he wasn't going to give him time to get.

Boris' walls weren't strong enough to conceal his raging irritation, his hatred for the man who couldn't see the bigger picture. "You can't fathom what you're a part of, how much of an honor it is, to be chosen, how remarkable it is that your DNA material managed to survive to harvest a clone to adulthood, let alone three of them."

"I'm so proud I'm gonna break down, put a "Proud DNA Donor for Clones" bumper sticker on the Impala. Course you're being kind, not mentioning that two of the clones turned out to be stark raving lunatics who like to kill. Someone once told me that killing was in my blood, guess I should have believed him," Dean bluntly said, remembered Gordon's words, even then he knew there was some truth in them, just didn't know how much…until now.

Boris nodded, pretended that Dean wasn't insulting his life's work, soiling all his advancements with 492. "Yes, it does seem that taking lives, it is an intricate part of your DNA." Walking closer to Dean, he looked down at the man he had come to hate. "Shame it was a part of 494's…I mean Alec's DNA. Early on, he showed great aptitude in the mechanics of murder, was really impressive, actually. But he struggled with the moral quandaries of taking a life. It forced us to use some of the same techniques that we are using on you to try and ….fix him, make him useful. After all, 493 was gone so we had to make due with what we were left with."

Furious at Boris' contempt for Alec, at the cold way the man spoke about hurting Alec, at the truth that his own bloodthirstiness had led Alec to be molded into an assassin, Dean found the strength to push himself upright. But as he sat up, dizziness swamped him, forced him to close his eyes, bow his head and curl his hands around the edge of the bed to keep from toppling off.

Boris stood his ground, wasn't surprised when Dean couldn't rise, knew that malnutrition, dehydration were grievously affecting even Dean Winchester's well-trained body. It was the reason he was there, that his expertly calculated time table was obsolete now. That he could no longer worry about contaminating the findings, had to simply get the data and worry about taking into account the drug's interaction later. Dean had left him no choice but to do a hack job where he preferred precision and rational.

"Do you know what happens to the failures in our world?" Boris posed as if he were talking to a scientific colleague.

"They are held back a grade?" Dean quipped, slowly rising his head to face Boris, fighting down the nausea that surged at his minuscule movement.

"We shoot them, sometimes even while they are chained in their rooms. That's what your defiance will lead to, more transgenics being put down like rabid animals. If you think you're saving them…you're condemning them. If we could get this vaccine perfected, you would be saving transgenic lives."

"Well, not that you put it that way…" Dean sarcastically murmured, a smirk fighting its way onto his exhausted features.

Though he hadn't really expected logic to sway Winchester, Boris still felt disappointment shoot through him. Meeting Dean's willful gaze, he knew that, if his next words didn't change Dean's mind, he was out of options, couldn't stand by and let the man take away everything that he had been working toward for most of his career.

Boris spoke his next words quietly, with sincerity, had learned enough about Dean to know this much about the man. "I think that you loved 494, though he was more a creature of scientific ingenuity than humanity." He noted the flicker of pain in the other man's eyes, knew that he wasn't off his mark. "You see the transgenics as people, think of the transgenics in Terminal City maybe even as friends." Seeing the straightening of Dean's frame, he smiled smugly, "Yes, I know you stayed in Terminal City, you and your brother. That you are doing this to protect them as much as to honor your brother's memory. But you are misguided."

At the word 'misguided', Dean chuckled. It was funny, Boris using such a mild word for him when he had been called so much worse, like insane, crazy, certifiable, evil. "Misguided, really?" he scoffed with a grin. "I'm the misguided one? Mister, I know about monsters. And me helping you create an army of them, it isn't going to happen. I would put a torch to TC myself before I let you corrupt them into something evil."

Boris could see the truth in Dean's eyes, understood what drove the man, felt a stab of jealousy that even half that conviction could not be found in his own reflection. But convictions, morals, values, they came at a cost, a cost he chose not to pay. A cost Dean would pay, ten fold. And he would be the instigator, would stand there and watch as the younger man suffered for all his righteousness, his beliefs, his standards, his vulnerabilities. Would see the proof that you should take what you want in life, not sacrifice your life for what you believed in. That you should kill to gain an advantage, not to right a wrong, and never to show mercy, to end someone's suffering. It was clear to him that Dean would not bend to his will, would not forsake his principles, not even to save his own life, to salvage the lives of the transgenics he would bend to his will or destroy. That Dean believed that death was kinder than some other fates.

"Your beloved TC inhabitants may wish you were there to show them that mercy….but you won't be," Boris concluded. Stepping back, he beckoned for his two guards and doctor to enter the room. He watched as the guards grabbed Dean, latched onto him brutally as if they thought the man had the strength to fight them but he knew that there was only strength in Dean's eyes, none in his body. Dean had fortified all that away and so much more.

Dean didn't struggle against the guards hold or tense at the sight of the needle in the doctor's hand. "So much for going all naturale, huh?" he goaded, knew that this was a good sign, meant that Boris' plans weren't going well, that hopefully the drug would corrupt their experiments. "I guess I should admit this isn't the first time I've experimented. I did this African dream root, that, man, it was funky. I had an argument with myself face to face, literally. And honestly, I'm not sure who won."

There was almost regret in Boris' expression. "I have admired your spirit. It is a shame that you have forced me to resort to such measures. But your refusal to eat, to drink, your unwillingness to honestly answer any of our clinical questions, has left me little option. You will be quite compliant under the drug's effects, and truthful to a fault. Unfortunately, the side effects are extreme. You can expect hallucinations, vivid ones. And in a few days, there will be no reality, will only be the hallucinations until your brain forgets to perform its assigned tasks, like breathing and telling your heart to keep beating."

"Wow, don't know why the drug isn't popular with the college kids," Dean snarked back, unemotionally watched the doctor approach. He didn't try to elude the needle as it sank into his neck nor did he flinch at the bite of pain. When the doctor stepped back and he was released from the guards' hold, he resighted his rebellious gaze on Boris. "It's pathetic really, that you don't get it."

"What do I not get?" Boris questioned amicably, his German accent evident in his marked pronouncement of each word. Eager to engage in conversation with Dean, to get as much insight into the man as he could before it was too late, before the man's mind was beyond reaching.

"That you've done the impossible already, created life. And it's not good enough for you. You actually want to undo the miracle that you have on your hands. Want to break all the things that made Alec, made each transgenic, human and turn them all into machines. You should have started with bolts and belts and electric wires if a machine was what you really wanted to end up with," Dean snapped, wondered how someone so brilliant could be so stupid.

It was the strangest thing, to hear such clear rationale come from someone as irrational as Dean Winchester. To have some…some kid that was on the FBIs Most Wanted list for murder lecture him on miracles, on taking on impossible tasks, on achieving his life's work. "But a machine, it has no instincts and worse still, it has no fear of death, can not be coerced into obedience by that threat."

"Obedience is something earned, by some fear of consequences, yeah, but there also has to be love, be devotion or else, it's just a temporary submission until your back is turned, until the upper hand shifts. You really think you'll ever be able to trust 492?" Dean challenged incredulously. "He may 'yes sir' you with his every breath but, buddy, I've seen into his soul and no chemical mojo is going to temper that evil. You've been dosing yourself too much with your own drugs if you believe that."

"Like you said, we're in the miracle business," Boris boldly returned. "I guess I should thank you for your contributions before you lose all touch with reality. We really owe you for a lot of our advances in making our….machines."

"Bite me," Dean growled and then he leaned back against the wall behind the cot, watched as Boris smirked, bowed his head in thanks and then left the room.

Pulling his feet unto the bed, Dean rested his forehead onto his raised knees, knew that soon, everything would be out of his hands. 'Or out of my head,' he joked, knew that he and sanity had always been on tenuous terms but soon they would be strangers in the night. His ability to make conscious, defiant decisions, to screw Boris was now a closing window of opportunity. Clenching his fist, he felt the bite of the guard's keys that he had pickpocketed sinking into his palm.

The keys wouldn't open his room door as there was no lock on his side and he was too weak to knock out a guard and make a break for it. Besides Sam and Alec weren't waiting for him on the outside. Yes, he loved Bobby like a father but honestly knew the man was better off without him bringing hell and high water to his front steps every month. The world at large? It wouldn't miss him.

He had to believe that he had done some good …enough that his surrendering now wasn't a failure. That there were enough hunters in the world to make up for his absence. That he wasn't letting anyone down, wasn't disappointing his Dad after all he had sacrificed so he could live. 'You taught us to do whatever was necessary to save people, Dad, to defeat evil. This is the only way I have left to do that, hope you can see that.'

Raising his head, he resolutely pulled off the bandage on his left arm, ran his fingers over the stitches that held together the flesh that 492's garrote wire had sliced. Decisively, he gripped the key in his hand and viciously dug it into the garrote wire's path, tore out the stitches and reopened the wound. Then he lifted his chin, tore free the bandage around his neck and fingered the stitches there, had to blindly gouge the key into the stitched wound around his throat, felt the warm stickiness of the blood seep into his hands, making the key too slick to keep hold of. He let it drop to the cot as he leaned his head back, felt the severed skin on his throat pull at the movement.

'I never thought I would take myself out, maybe get myself killed by pulling some crazy stunt during a hunt, but never voluntarily. Course Dad would have never thought he would make a deal with Yellow Eyes in a suicidal pact either. It just goes to show that fate's got a sick sense of humor when it comes to us Winchesters.'

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"You're quiet," Sam gently stated, had worriedly watched Alec's rampage after Lydecker's call, had winced at the curses, had flinched when Alec sent a wrench through a window. But he had intervened when Alec seemed ready to punch a wall, had grabbed Alec, pulled him back against his chest and hissed in his ear "Hey, you need to calm down, right now." Then Alec had gone limp in his grasp, bowed his head, and fell silent except for his ragged breathe. And as terrifying as Alec's energy had been, his stillness, it was even more frightening.

Sitting on a workbench, staring out the window, Alec barely registered Sam was speaking to him. Knew his brother had to say his statement twice before the words reached him through his walls. "What do you want me to say?" he numbly asked, eyes unseeing and his body immobile.

Alec's dead tone chilled Sam, made him step closer, lean against the work bench, study Alec's face. "I know you think the fact that they are moving up the test date means something bad is happening to Dean and I…I trust your judgment, Alec." This earned him Alec's eye contact but he wasn't strong enough to hold the disheartened gaze. Biting his lip he looked to the floor instead of his brother. "But we can't do anything but prepare for Friday and wait. Lydecker didn't give us any other option than that."

"You're putting a lot of trust in a guy that used 8-year old Dean's near death experience as an opportunity to make a science experiment," Alec grumbled, refocusing on the world outside the warehouse window.

Sam shrugged. "Ends up that I like the science experiment. Figure if Lydecker can mix up a pretty awesome little brother he might just have some other redeeming qualities." He sneaked a sideways glance at Alec and smirked when Alec's lips curled up a smidgen. "Besides, I think Lydecker really doesn't want to die. He knows that if Dean…his fate's wrapped up with Dean's. He'll fight for Dean's life as hard as he would for his own survival."

Begrudgingly, Alec nodded in agreement but his voice was low, held little hope. "They wouldn't have moved up the test unless they feared…." He rolled his shoulders, bit his lip, couldn't voice what Manticore might fear, what he feared.

Not oblivious to Alec's dark lines of thought as his own were already traveling that path, Sam tried to be optimistic, as much for Alec as for himself. "They don't know Dean like we do. They think they are the scariest thing Dean's ever come up against," Sam scoffed but Alec's eyes remained without humor.

"Dean thinks you're dead, Sam. I don't think either one of us forgets what he did last time that happened. And him believing I'm alive, messed up by Manticore, it might not be enough. He was….hurt. The clone, you said he tried to garrote him. It might not be a matter of Dean giving up."

"You don't think Lydecker would tell us if Dean were in bad shape physically?"

"I think you're right, that Lydecker knows that if we lose Dean, his life is forfeit too. And that means he's bound to keep stuff from us, isn't likely to admit if Dean isn't doing well," Alec stated, didn't like to think about Dean 'not doing well', but knew he had to be ready to react, couldn't be too squeamish to face the facts, couldn't afford to be caught off guard, to let Sam down.

"Makes me wish for a good old ghost adversary," Sam mumbled.

Alec couldn't help chuckle at Sam's wish. "See, there are advantages to being a hunter rather than a cloned soldier."

Sam smirked and nodded but the humor drained away as the worry returned. "You know Lydecker, Alec. What's your heart telling you, can we trust him?"

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It was dumb luck that Lydecker chose that moment to slip into the monitoring room, that his worry for Dean's health led him to hunch over the video tech's shoulder and cue up another closer angle of Dean. It took him a moment, a squinted eye inspection of the black and white picture on the monitor before he realized what the dark patch on Dean's clothing was: Blood.

Leaving the monitoring room at a run, Lydecker pelted down the hallway, shoulder checking two guards and three transgenics in his haste. Turning into the right corridor, he yelled to the guard outside Dean's room, "Open the door! Open the door now!" Flustered, the guard obeyed without waiting for the proper protocol, barely had the door open wide enough when the Colonel slid inside.

Cursing, Lydecker sprang to Dean, hands clamping on the young man's bloody throat and wrist, felt small relief that blood still welled under his brutal pressure, an indicator that the man's heart was still beating. So far. "Help! Go get help!" he shouted over his shoulder, heard the scrape of the guard's boots as he left the room at a run.

Alone with Dean, knowing the cameras were in place, that the microphones in the room would pick up all but the softest whispers, he leaned close, spoke in the unconscious man's ear. "They are alive, Sam and Alec. You hear me, Dean. Your brothers are alive. They're going to come for you in two days, kid. Two days. They aren't giving up on you. You can't give up on them. You can't die, kid. For their sakes and mine."

And then he wasn't alone with Dean anymore, two medics and three nurses were there, replacing his hands with pressure bandages and pushing him aside. As they loaded Dean unto a gurney he followed it out the door, stood in the corridor as the kid was taken out of his sight. Unexpectedly, he felt like he had when he had seen Tinga in Max's arms, dead, like he had been betrayed, had undeniable proof that someone had purposefully hurt someone he cared about, that was under his protection.

It was personal now, saving Dean, stopping the experiment, making Boris pay for giving Dean Winchester no way to fight back but to surrender, fully. Running his hand through his hair, he realized too late that his hands were coated in Dean's blood, that he had now smeared it into his hair, onto his forehead, was drenched in it, both literally and figuratively. He wasn't surprised that when he held his bloody hands out, they shook. Fear and rage, the combination was volatile and he wasn't inclined to temper either emotion. Wouldn't deny his fear for Dean any longer, or tolerate Boris' cruel means to an end any more.

'Boris you're going to give the order for Dean to be moved to the Houston facility for the test today, either by your own free will or at gunpoint. Personally, I'm hoping you give me a reason to put a gun barrel to your temple.' Then the scientist would know, firsthand, how, once you provoked someone into wanting to kill, the real challenge was getting them to not kill.

He relished the idea of giving Boris over to Alec or Sam, knew that there would be nothing in the world that would stay their hands from taking his life. That there wasn't a drug that could ever be concocted that would temper the rage for revenge when someone you loved was hurt. That love was at the heart of taking a life as much as it was at saving a life, that what you did to protect the ones you loved, to avenge them, it far exceeded what you would do to save yourself.

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Alec was furious with him, even the hallucination of him was making that clear. "Trying to finish off the clone's handiwork, that's the best you could come up with? Were all your brain cells siphoned off in the DNA strand that was given to me?"

As Dean was being wheeled down the hallway in the gurney, Alec, the real one…well the real one in his head, paced him, his eyes alight with anger, but not evil, not like 492's. Dean wanted to defend himself but between the dehydration making his tongue swollen and the drugs running rampant in his system, forming audible sounds was out.

The hallucination of his brother had no problems communicating. "I can't believe I actually took advice from you. Just because you're older doesn't mean you're smarter, I'm starting to see that. But I'm still relatively new to this brother thing. Didn't know that the second I go and get myself killed you would turn all angsty suicidal on me. No wonder my cloned brothers went psycho, it was a fault in the original DNA."

Internally Dean railed at the insult, threw out a "Screw you Alec," and it was if Alec heard his thoughts because Alec smiled, happy at his spirited comeback.

"So you're not dead yet," Alec patronized. "Thought you were going to lay down and die. No wait, you did one better, almost killed yourself. What were you thinking!"

'I was trying to stop Boris from turning the rest of your family into monsters, that's what!'

"Rest of my family? What are you talking about?" Alec demanded, leaning down over Dean, pacing the gurney as the ceiling lights flashed overhead as they progressed down the corridor.

"Everyone at TC: Max, Josh, the rest…your family. He's trying to create a vaccination to make them obedient to orders, to be cold hearted killers."

"Let him try. The one you're supposed to worry about saving is you!"

"Why? I didn't save you…or Sam."

But when Alec spoke again, it wasn't Alec's voice Dean heard, was the man from before, the sandy haired man that had barked "Careful!" when they jostled him roughly to the gurney when he first arrived at Manticore. That man's voice came out of Alec's mouth, and the words, he thought he had heard them before. "They are alive, Sam and Alec. You hear me, Dean. Your brothers are alive."

Then he blinked his heavy eyes and Alec was gone. Finding himself in a confined space, he rolled his head right, saw the metal walls, recognized them as the sides of a van, like the one that had brought him to Manticore, had taken him away from Sam. A van that was moving.

Looking left, he drew in a sharp breath. His Mother sat there, looking like she had in the world the Djinn had made him believe was real. And he wondered if he were dead, if his Mother was there to lead him to heaven. As if hearing his thoughts, his mother smiled that gentle loving smile that made him feel like he was loved more than any other son ever had been.

"No, sweetheart, you're not dead," her voice as melodious as he remembered, her touch feather light as she stroked his cheek. "I wouldn't take you away from Sam like that."

"Sam's dead, Mom," he painfully told her, wondered if he spoke aloud, if he had to.

"Is that what you really believe, here?" and her other hand came to rest on his chest where his heart lay underneath. "Sam stole your heart the first time you saw him, he smiled for you the most, you know. And Alec, I would have been as proud to call him son as you are to call him brother. He's got your best qualities, your fierce loyalty …and your stubbornness. I can't believe you would think about leaving them, Dean."

"I didn't leave them, they left me. Just like you did, just like Dad did. Everyone I love leaves me. They do the leaving not me, not me."

"Then don't start now," came the commanded and he saw him then, his Father, sitting beside his Mother, his stern but loving eyes focused on him. "You think I sacrificed my soul so you could give up, so that Sam could lose you two and half years later? I wanted you to have a full, long life, Dean. I did what I did to protect you, to save you, did the only thing I could and I wouldn't undo it. But you have to fight, son. You have to remember why you wouldn't surrender your life into the hands of that pretty Reaper in that hospital, how you beat Lilith and managed to survive a hell hound attack."

"Dad, I know why, I know how. Because of Sam, and then Alec came into my life. But they are gone…and so are you. Why do I have to stay, be alone, be the one to carry on when there's no reason to, not anymore." But his Dad didn't answer. He was gone, as was his Mom, they had again left him alone.

Shivering, his teeth began to chatter and he knew that warmth was never going to be something he felt again. He tried to open himself up to the coldness, to let go, to shut out the hallucinations, to accept that Sam, Alec, his Mom, his Dad, they were gone and if he let go, he would be with them again. All he had to do was give up, do what every instinct he had clamored for him to not do.

He was envisioning the tendrils of his life slipping away, of moors being untied, of being left adrift, felt himself beginning to sink, not into a lightness but into a void when Sam's shout of his name snapped him back into the outer regions of awareness. Then he felt warm hands cradle his face, wondered if his Mom was there, was going to take him home now that she knew Sam was gone, that he wasn't abandoning his brother but was seeking him out. But the voice that reached him again wasn't his mother's, was Sam's.

"Dean, what did they do to you," and there was heartbreak and sorrow in the familiar tone and one of the warm hands slid through his hair. He felt breath brush across his face, like a warm breeze after a chilly month out in the open.

"I'm here, Dean. And so is Alec. We're both fine, we aren't hurt. Your family is right here with you, Dean. We're going to be alright," Sam promised and Dean wanted to believe him. Opening his eyes, he saw Sam there, close, his brother's eyes tortured, worried but determined, relieved. Wished that it was real, that it wasn't just another hallucination, that his mind wasn't already beyond the point of telling reality from fantasy, just like Boris had predicted.

Surprisingly gentle hands slid behind his legs and shoulders. But when he was picked up by strong arms, his tortured vertebra jostled, he gave a weak cry of pain and let his head loll limply back against the arm that he knew wasn't Sam's, stared up at the face that looked like Sam's but wasn't. Couldn't be. Sam was dead.

He could feel the chest he was drawn against hitch as if a sob was about to burst forth, but it didn't. "That's my Sammy," he murmured, proud that his brother, even this imaginary version of Sam, had its pride. The illusion gave a choked laugh that almost unleashed the sob and then bowed down until his forehead rested against Dean's.

'Count on even my hallucination of Sam to go all chick flick on me,' Dean thought, smiled thinking of the way Sam would have protested his words.

Closing his eyes, Dean slipped, not into the darkness but somewhere just under the surface of consciousness. Stubbornly he stayed where he could remain tethered to the mirage of Sam because he couldn't bear to fail even this facade of Sam. He would not leave, not until Sam let him go, until Sam beckoned him to his side. Knew he would know no peace until they were brothers again, him, Alec and Sam, brothers no longer in this world, but the next.

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TBC

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Thanks to the wonderful people who gave me support for last chapter! Every time I get road blocked on any story I'm posting, it's the encouragement in the reviews, the knowledge that just maybe there is one person reading the story who might be disappointed if I don't finish it that makes me risk sharing another chapter. So to everyone who's ever given me a kind word about my writing…thank you!

Have a great day!

Cheryl