A/N: Ahhh! Sorry I took so long to post this, people! I couldn't get on my account for three days, so... yeah! I was mucho upset!

This is another Dylan Point of View chapter, so excuse the possible suckiness of it. :P Dylan irks my writing process.

Anyway, thanks to everyone who reviewed so far on "Swapped"! You're the reason Swapped has five chapters, now! Enjoy the newest!

Also, I do not own Maximum Ride. Meh.

Dylan POV

For a while, Dylan just sat there on the carpeted ground, staring at the blank wall that Gazzy's eyes had so recently been scrutinizing as well. Funny, really, how both of them had lost someone important to them today. Heck, Dylan had lost two people that he cared about. Sure, Max was still alive, and she would still talk to him and plan with him, but he knew now that nothing he ever did would make her love him as she'd loved Fang.

Sighing, Dylan pulled himself to his feet, suddenly feeling like he was eighty years old instead of eight months. Just as he was about to get back into bed, something caught his eye.

A tube marked, 'Fang' in miniscule letters was sitting on his bedside table, its contents pink and blue and fizzy.

"Why would this tube be Fang's?" Dylan wondered aloud, suspiciously eyeing the strange tube. Iggy stirred in the bed next to him, and Dylan decided to move his investigation into the bathroom.

Flipping the light, the clone sat on the closed toilet lid and turned the tube over and over. This led to absolutely nothing, yet Dylan was still confused. Why would someone leave Fang a tube of fizzy mixture? He hadn't been part of the Flock for months. Of course, Dylan wasn't officially part of the Flock either… but still.

"I wonder…" he murmured aloud. What if the mix was poisoned? Max was sure to want to try anything with Fang's name on it, anything that could have been Fang's at one point. Then, whoever poisoned it would have weakened the Flock to an unimaginable point. Dylan shuddered; he couldn't let anything bad happen.

"It's not like I have anything to lose, after all," Dylan whispered harshly under his breath, popping the lid of the blue and pink fizz. He quickly swallowed three drops before he lost his nerve.

Nothing happened, at first, anyway. Then Dylan found himself shrinking a few inches, his hair growing longer, and, looking in the mirror, Dylan saw his blue eyes turn to almost black, his hair darkening to the same tone.

"Oh, God," Dylan said, bringing his hand to his face. The Fang in the mirror did the same. Dylan stuck his tongue out. Mirror Fang copied him.

"I-I'm Fang." Dylan spun around and raced out of the bathroom, throwing the door to the balcony open. One final test, he thought sharply, and with that, Dylan threw himself over the railing and into the air, pushing his wings out.

At first, Dylan refused to look at his wings, but curiosity got the best of him. Slowly, the used-to-be-blond turned his head, peered at his wings… and almost had a heart attack. Because where his wings should have been, midnight-black ones were flapping to keep him aloft. The very tips of his feathers seemed to gleam purple in the starlight from the Parisian sky.

"Holy shi-" Dylan began, but stopped to marvel at what had happened to his body. He was, in every way possible, Fang. Shoulder-length black hair, midnight wings, slender and lithe body… all Fang. The only things remotely Dylan's now were his clothes, which had decided to stay the same when everything else had changed.

He looked himself over again, ogling at how easy it was to maneuver through the air without all of his extra muscle-bulk. Dylan slid through the air for countless minutes, enjoying the ease of Fang's strokes, the way one flap could coast him for twenty seconds.

And then, it hit him. He realized how Max would finally appreciate him, really love him for the first time. He was Fang. Fang could come back. Well, at least Dylan could make him come back. And not only that, but Dylan would disappear when Fang made his reappearance, and at the moment, Dylan could really care less. He'd figured out how to get Max. This was his shot.

Dylan continued swooping through the air until his body became heavier, and light began to seep over the horizon. Sighing, the boy turned around in the air and headed back into the hotel room.

Dylan quickly retreated into the bathroom after his flight and turned toward the mirror. He was himself again, blond hair and all.

"Hmm…" Dylan murmured, mulling everything over. He'd been out flying from about 2:30 a.m. maybe, until about 5:30 a.m. So, about three hours. He'd taken three drops of mixture…

"Each drop is worth an hour of Fang!" Dylan exclaimed earning a moan of, 'Shut up!' from Iggy in the boy's room.

Pocketing his savior, the fizzy, blue, and pink mix, Dylan flung open the bathroom door and beamed in on Iggy's floppy form.

"Ugh, Dylan… I can feel the enthusiasm vibes from over here," the blind boy muttered. "It's too early for emotion, turn down the volume a little, or get a room." And with that, the gangly teen flipped over and went back to bed.

Dylan laughed. "Okay, Igs, I'll take my vibes away." And with that, Dylan grabbed the hotel key, and left the room, whistling.

Shutting the door, he fingered his pocket, and smiled again, even larger this time. Dylan felt happier than he had in hours, no, days.

"Max is as good as mine."