He was in the cage again. The lighted bars casted an eerie glow around him. Through them appeared the man with the spiky hair. A name danced in his head… something with a D… yet it refused to come forward. The man gave him a smile and stepped back, shifting… was smaller somehow…

The crying returned, faint at first then growing as it echoed.

His mind flashed and he was back at the crash site, back at the plane. No not a plane, or at least not one which held passengers he saw now. Except someone was lying there. He saw it was a young man again. Everything blurred and he saw red, the color taking over his vision...

He jerked and was awake. Damn dreams. A strange hum filled his ears and he jerked again. Then his mind cleared and he remembered where he was now. A plane, more specifically one of Donald Davenport's private ones. The faintest of light danced through the small windows around him. It was almost night again. Bree and Adam were still in their own seats, both sleeping. In the light he could see Adam's face was now puffy, the skin having turned various colors. Even in sleep Bree cradled her arm, setting it across her chest. He imagined he didn't look much better. They had all pretty much crashed the moment they sat down in the plane, hours after the first contact with Mr. Davenport had reached them.

Or at least he had been attempting to sleep. He couldn't shake the feeling in his gut, the one which told him something was still wrong about it all. He was missing something. It was important. Yet as much as he tried, his mind wouldn't tell him just what. He rubbed his face and let out a shaking breath, attempting to calm his nerves.

"…Yes, I know it's… Well, we have a bit of a situation going on here and it's taken a precedence over that…"

He pressed his forehead against the window glass, relishing in its coolness. It provided some relief from the growing headache he had at the moment. The man speaking – Mr. Davenport - was attempting to keep his voice low yet in the small space of the plane it echoed. He didn't know who the older man was talking to, or even about, but he had a sinking suspicion growing in his gut about it. Something told him he ought to know.

"… Look, once we're back in the lab we'll make a plan on what to do next and move from there, alright?... Well if that's not good enough for you then you… Look, not now, not now…"

Davenport's voice faded, most likely having gone towards the front of the plane again. He sighed and closed his eyes. Sleep didn't come and worse the headache grew more intense as he did. With it grew the uneasiness. No, it wasn't just uneasiness, but something more. Something almost instinctual. They had told him repeatedly he was safe, and in his head he knew it was true. Yet his gut just wouldn't allow him to rest. Too much at risk, too much which could go wrong...

Maybe he had finally snapped. He opened his eyes again.

"Can't sleep?"

He looked up to find Davenport standing over him, leaned over the back of the seat. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "What was your first guess?"

"Your eyes are open."

"Whatever." He curled further in the chair, away from Davenport. "Much good it does me, anyway."

"Bad dreams?"

He let out a new string of curses. He hadn't realized how loudly he had said that last part.

A frown crosses Davenport's features as he moved away from the chair. He took time to check on both Bree and Adam before settling into an empty seat with a sigh. The older man looked his way again. He shuffled under the gaze. This is your father, he reminded himself. He's worried for you. He's your father…He waited, yet there was no click within his mind, no piece falling into place. There was only numbness and the underlining frustration he had been feeling since waking in the river.

"How you feeling?"

He shrugged. The truth was he felt better, headache aside. It was amazing what the little bit of first aid he had received and food had done.

"Don't worry. We're about an hour out, maybe less. Doctor Speight will meet us there."

Judy Speight, his mind offered. She had been treating them for years now and was one of only a handful of doctors Davenport did trust to treat them, although the reason escaped him. Something to do with the lab… with why they went on missions…

"Is that who you were talking to on the phone?"

"No, that was another associate of mine."

"About the mission?"

Davenport nodded. "The drone was carrying some very vital parts for technology I've been working on. But the cargo was lost."

"Krane?" Where had that name come from? Like everything else it had just popped into his head.

"Don't know."

"They were the ones to ambush us, weren't they?"

"Would seem like it." Davenport let out a sigh. "We'll get it back."

"It's important, isn't it?"

Donald was quiet a moment. "Yes, it is. But I'm more concerned at the moment with you."

He scoffed. "I'm fine."

He chose to ignore the look Davenport cast his way even as he would rather have slapped it off his face.

"What were your dreams about?"

"Why do you care?"

"Maybe they can help."

"They're just dreams." Dreams which had involved all of the three people he had thus far encountered. He rubbed his face, his mind playing back what he had seen. He saw the gun, the orange box, the young man lying in the rubble…

"Where's the other member of the team?"

Davenport blinked. "Who?"

"The other one at the crash site. The one with light hair."

He didn't like the look Davenport was giving him in that moment. "Chase, there's no one else on the team. Just you, Adam and Bree."

They stared at each other in silence. He felt the anger rising again, the frustration, yet in Davenport's eyes he only found sincerity. The man was telling the truth. It brought no comfort; rather, he felt it all slipping from him. If what Davenport was telling him was true, then what? Now his dreams were lies? His mind was betraying him?

He climbed from the chair and walked towards the cockpit, stopping at the small hallway just out of view from the main area. His hand formed into a fist and he banged it against the window a few times. He heard a yelp yet didn't stop, not until Davenport had grabbed hold of his arm and pulled it away mid-swing.

"What was- stop! Chase-"

"Don't call me that!"

Davenport paused. "What?"

He looked to his now-throbbing hand. What had he meant? How could he explain? Where to begin? "Chase Davenport, Chase Davenport... You know that means nothing to me, right? I'm not him. That name means nothing to me. It's wrong. I don't know who Chase Davenport is. I can't tell you anything about him. He's a complete stranger and- what!"

Davenport blinked. "Nothing."

His insides began to boil. There was something about the way Davenport had been looking at him in that moment. It had been a strange look, like someone realizing something unpleasant. "Go to-"

"I'd rather not, thanks." A stern look crossed Davenport's face. "And watch your language."

He looked back at his hand. The throbbing had intensified and was already swelling in size. Great; add that to the laundry list of injuries. "How did I get myself into this mess?"

"You tell me."

"I can't! Do you have any idea what it's like not knowing who you are? I hate this!"

"Then why aren't you trying to remember?"

Was Davenport playing with him? He felt the near irresistible urge to punch the man. "What do you think I've been doing these last few days?"

"Feeling sorry for yourself it seems like."

"You calling me a liar?"

"No," Davenport answered gently. Again he saw the flash of something, yet it faded again.

"Then what do you want from me?"

"I want to help you." Davenport sighed and rubbed his hands through his hair. "Chase, what were your dreams about?"

His hands balled into fists again yet this time he turned away.

"The whole series of my life appeared to me as a dream; I sometimes doubted if indeed it were all true," He looked to see Davenport not looking towards him but to the window. His voice was low as he continued, as if reciting from memory. "for it never presented itself to my mind with the force of reality."

The words seemed strangely familiar.

"Mary Shelley," he said. "Frankenstein."

Davenport nodded. "Was always one of my favorites. Well until Douglas brought back Herman... actually that explains so much…" he shook his head. "Chase, I can't make you believe me. I can't make you trust me. But I promise I'll do everything I can to help you."

He snorted.

Davenport sighed, more burdened than frustrated. "I'll get some ice for that. You go take a seat again."

Wordlessly he followed the direction. He heard Davenport shuffle towards the cockpit but paid him no real mind. Sinking into sink his mind began to swirl again; he felt the headache intensifying. Closing his eyes he sighed and tried to relax without thinking.

It was no use. All he saw was the plane, the motionless person, the gun. Red. Rubbing his face he stood. Adam and Bree were still asleep. He fumbled his way out of the seat and looked around. Surely a plane, even one small like this, had some form of bathroom in it. He stumbled his way around and eventually found it towards the front.

It felt strange, wrong almost, to be stepping toward a mirror with no real clue as to what he would find. He stepped before the glass and almost immediately recoiled. That face, the one looking back towards him, giving him the same wide-eyed look he was giving to it. Impossible, yet he stared again at the green eyes and pale skin, bruised and bloodied.

He was staring at the face of the young man from his dream.

"What the-" he backed away from the mirror, his eyes not leaving the glass. The reflection stared back as he did, eyes wide and panicked. "What the-"

"Chase, what-"

He couldn't think, he couldn't breathe. He could only react. In one swift motion he turned and grabbed the older man's shirt, pulling him into the small space of the bathroom and against the mirror. Davenport could only manage a small noise of protest. Instinctually his arm went for the man's throat, running across it. Pressing, if only slightly. "Who are you?" he demanded. Davenport looked surprised to say the least. "What do you want from me?"

"Chase, what-"

"I said-" he pressed the man's back into the mirror. It rattled from the force. "What do you want from me!"

"I told you, I'm here to help-"

"Don't lie to me!" The anger was rising again. This time he let it, felt his vision blurring into red. Just like his dream. It was guiding him, leading him in the moment. He wanted answers. He needed answers. "No more games! Tell me the truth!"

"Chase-"

"Who is that?" With one hand still across the man's throat he pointed towards the mirror. How stupid he had been to come here on the plane, where he couldn't escape. His thoughts began to swirl again.

"I don't understand your question."

"Do you think I'm playing with you?" His tone was even yet there was no mistaking his seriousness by the graveness within his voice. Davenport's eyes widened. Good. He wanted the man scared, wanted him to be powerless, wanted all control in that moment. "I will ring your neck. I'll rip out your spine and use it to-"

"No, no, I don't think that at all."

"Who is that!" Davenport raised his arms, trying to push him away yet he was there, each time slapping them down. He inched closer, closing in and pinning Davenport into the wall. He held the power. It felt good. Natural. Right. "Answer me, you little-"

A figure appeared in the mirror; Adam most likely. He kept his eyes on Davenport, grapping the man's shirt and pushing him against the wall. From behind someone made a noise yet Davenport shook his head. He pushed the man's back against the wall again. From the corner of his eye he saw Davenport raise an arm, motioning. Stay back, he was telling whoever had entered.

"That's you, Chase. That's your reflection."

It was the answer he was expecting and yet it felt wrong. So very mixed up. He didn't know why though. His mind swirled again and the purely unadulterated anger growing. He was so angry... so very angry...

"You-"

A hand gripped his shoulder. He spun around again, grabbing hold and forcing Adam away and into the far wall. Even having more than a few inches on him, strangely Adam was no match and went down fairly easily. That threat gone he returned his attention back to Davenport. The man hadn't even gotten the chance to get off the floor. He grabbed hold and pulled Davenport to his feet, shoving him back into the broken mirror.

This time however he found no fear on the man's face. The fear slowly melted as realization crossed his face. It was the look from before, only much more pronounced this time. Davenport tilted his head.

"What!"

"You're not Chase," he whispered. Shock and something else was in his voice. Ramblings; it had to be. The man was making no sense. Yet he said it again, stronger this time. "You're not-"

"What are you babbling about!" he demanded, giving Davenport another quick shake.

Davenport only stared. He pushed himself slightly off the wall. "You're not Chase," he said again, louder this time. He blinked, a knowing look crossing his face. "You're Spike."