Chapter 23

"Tell me again what we're doing in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere at ass o'clock at night?" Dean demanded irritably.

I sighed. We were currently sitting on the shoulder of a deserted back road cutting through a forest about half an hour south of Gilette, Wyoming. It'd been past midnight when we arrived, and my husband's patience was running thin after waiting here for nearly two hours.

"Like I told you, man, I've been having the same dream for over a week now. The dream is always of us in the Impala on this exact stretch of road late at night, and then we hear some kind of commotion in those woods out there. And the dream keeps getting more urgent each night," I explained patiently. "I know this has to mean something important! The last time I dreamt like this was right before Jess died."

"I know, I know. Figured your precog thing would hafta move up from vibes eventually. And at least it waited until after your finals were done. But couldn't it have shown you something more specific?" he complained.

"Sorry, I always woke up after the noise started. All I know is that we have to be ready to leave quickly soon after it does. Now you need to be quiet so I can listen," I told him.

My brother grumbled under his breath and slumped down in his seat. About ten minutes later, he abruptly sat up and turned to face the forest. After a few moments, I heard what had caught his attention—shouting, gunfire, and the buzzing of snowmobiles. As the noise approached the road, he surreptitiously started the Impala's engine.

We sat in the idling car, waiting as the sounds of the chase grew louder. There was just enough light from the moon and stars overhead to make out a small shape bursting from the tree line towards us. As it began to pass in front of the car, I reached over and flicked on the controls for the lights.

The figure froze in the glare of the headlights, its face turned towards us. It was a young boy, perhaps seven or eight years old, dressed in a shapeless grey smock, his blond hair buzzed close to his skull. His large green eyes were squinted against the bright light, his full lips drawn back in a surprised snarl, his fair skin scarred and looking as if it hadn't seen daylight in some time. My breath caught in my throat as I recognized his features from the few pictures of our childhood and my own memories—this unknown boy looked exactly like Dean did at that age, even down to the placement of his freckles.

While I was frozen in shock, the other hunter shoved the door to the car open and darted around to the front of the car. As the boy turned to face Dean, his eyes briefly flashed silver. I couldn't make out what they said, but my husband took the child by the arm and led him to the back door. Dean helped him into the backseat and covered him with a blanket, then pulled out a piece of chalk and quickly drew runes on the fleecy fabric. I identified the symbols for a Notice-Me-Not spell.

He got back into the driver's seat and glanced at the boy huddled under the blanket. "Stay quiet and don't move back there 'til we get outta this area, kid. We ain't likely to get stopped, but if we are, we can handle the situation as long as you don't draw any attention to yourself. Got it?"

Without waiting for a response, he threw the car into gear and peeled away before the lights of the advancing snowmobiles could reach the road. As he drove, he exclaimed, What the hell, Sam! Who is this kid? There's no way he could be mine. I always used protection and made sure I was shooting blanks. Like I said before, I never wanted to leave a kid behind to the kinda shitty childhood most shifters go through.

I pushed down my own surprise and tried to sooth my husband's panic. I agree that he can't be your son. The resemblance is too exact—no child looks that much like one parent. He's obviously a shapeshifter, which begs the question of how a shifter child out here got your likeness. And why . . .

I guess we'll hafta ask the kid once we're far enough away. He sounded calmer. This has gotta be what your dreams were about, right? So we're supposed to get him outta here, away from whatever was chasing him.

I nodded. I agree. We'll find out exactly what's going on once it's safe to talk.

He looked up into the rearview mirror. "Listen, kid, we're gonna save the heavy-duty questions 'til we're far enough away to have shaken any immediate pursuit. But we do need to know now what kinda heat is after you—private security, police, military, or what?"

The boy hesitated for a moment before responding. "Military, sir. There's a covert army base hidden in these woods. Myself and several members of another unit attempted to break out of the facility at approximately oh-two-thirty tonight. Given the speed of your response, it's not likely that the forces after us can set up roadblocks in time to stop this vehicle. Sir."

Dean and I exchanged a long glance over his crisp words, which were more suited to a trained soldier than a young child. Dean then said, "Thank fucking God if that's true! But you said there are other kids there trying to get out?"

"Twenty of us escaped the barracks, but I don't know how many of the others were apprehended or eliminated while trying to leave the grounds." The boy paused briefly. "I'm the only one who ran this way, if you're concerned about rescuing anyone else, sir."

Whaddya think, Sam? my brother asked. Should we go after the others too?

My intuition or precog or whatever is shouting to get out now. If we linger to search for more escapees, we risk getting caught ourselves, and we aren't prepared to take on a whole military base. I think we're meant to only get this one kid tonight, I replied.

He sighed. I don't like it, but you're right. It ain't safe to stick around here 'til we know more 'bout what the hell is going on. I just hope the kid's right 'bout us getting out faster than these army dudes can block us.

We drove in relative silence—if you discounted the mullet rock blaring from the radio—after that. I glanced at the backseat periodically and saw green eyes staring back watchfully each time, with the same guarded expression I remembered Dean wearing when we were around adults we didn't know. Dean in turn was mostly focused on putting as much distance as possible between us and the military facility, but he still radiated confusion and anxiety.

Eventually we pulled into a small rest stop about an hour west of Gillette. The stop consisted of a small building for restrooms and vending machines, a couple of picnic tables, and space for overnight drivers to park and catch a few hours rest. We were currently the only car in the parking lot.

My husband got out and stretched, then looked at me. "You and the kid go snag a table. I'm gonna hit the head, and then we'll talk."

While Dean headed to the building, I opened the back door. As the boy swung his legs out, I realized he was barefoot, so I scooped him and the blanket up and carried them to the nearest picnic table. He glared at me indignantly but didn't say anything as I set him down on the bench and sat across from him. I in turn frowned at what looked like a barcode tattooed on the back of his neck.

The other hunter soon returned with bottles of water and sat next to me. "Alright, let's start with the basics. I'm Dean, and this is Sam. What're you called, kid?"

The boy sat up at attention. "My designation is X5-494, sir!"

Dean and I gave each other confused looks, and then I said gently, "I'm afraid we don't know what you mean by 'designation.' What's your name?"

"All the subjects in the projects are assigned designations denoting our series and specific makeup. We don't have names." Seeing our shock, he added hesitantly, "A girl in another unit, one of the other escapees, used to call me Alec because she said I was a smart-aleck."

"We'll go with that, 'cause I ain't using that other thing. Now, you mind explaining how you're wearing my face from 'bout twenty-five years ago?" Dean asked. "You ain't my son, 'cause I made damn sure I couldn't get anyone pregnant. I know you're another shifter, but I ain't got a clue how you found my appearance."

Alec replied, "I don't know what a shifter is, sir. I look like you because I'm your clone."

Dean looked confused. "Clone? Like some Bladerunner or The 6th Day thing?"

"That's not possible. Genetic science is nowhere close to successfully cloning an entire human being right now, let alone eight or nine years ago when you were conceived," I said flatly.

The kid shrugged. "Guess the government's been keeping secrets—big surprise! We were created as part of a project called Manticore, which is designed to produce super soldiers. They started with the genetic material from superior people, selected their best traits, and mixed it with the DNA of different animals to add their abilities. The X5 series are meant to be officers and infiltration units, and we have feline DNA in our cocktail for enhanced senses, strength, speed, and agility. Most of us were created from a mix of donors, but a few are clones of a specific individual. The 490's are apparently clones of you, sir."

"Wait, you mean there more mini-me's running around? And how the hell did those assholes get my DNA in the first place?" the other man demanded.

"I only know about one other, X5-493, who was in that other unit. He was one of the others who ran tonight. And I wasn't ever able to break into their files, so I'm not sure how they got the genetic material for the project," Alec said.

Dean stared at the child intently for a moment. "Well, you certainly believe what you're saying. Gimme your hand for a sec, kiddo."

Alex cautiously extended a small hand, and my brother wrapped his fingers around it and concentrated. After a couple of minutes, he turned his head toward me.

I think the kid's telling the truth, Sam. He is an exact copy of me, but he didn't get that way from shifting—he's been dosed with something that's blocking his shapeshifting talent. His body's been seriously tweaked—it's like when I intentionally enhance my physical abilities, 'cept he's set like that all the fucking time. Didn't see any cat DNA, but what he was told were feline traits could be innate shifter capabilities that the program cranked up. Then there's all the scars and that fucking tattoo.

Huh! So now what? How do we take care of him?

He smiled at me gratefully. First we get outta here. I wanna get across the state border, then we can stop at the first big town and crash. We can figure out what to do next after we've gotten some shut-eye.

Dean then directed his attention back to the boy. "Alright, Alec. Unless you got other plans, you're coming with us. We're gonna put some more distance between us and the army douchebags and then find a hotel. We can discuss our options after we've slept. Any questions?"

Alec's brow furrowed. "How did you know to be there tonight, sir?"

"I dreamt of it, of us waiting at that spot and hearing the snowmobiles approaching. I'm a psychic," I explained. "We weren't sure why we were there at first, but as soon as you appeared, we knew."

"Huh. I'd heard some of the X4's could do stuff like that, but I didn't know other people could too."

"Well, neither of us are exactly normal people ourselves," I said.

"We can talk more later, but now it's time to get going." Dean moved around the table and briefly rested his hand on Alec's head, before picking him up and carrying him to the Impala.

We drove for a couple more hours before stopping at a hotel in Billings. Alec had curled up and fallen asleep early in the drive, and I found myself nodding off too after a while. Dean eventually shook me awake, and I grabbed our bags out of the trunk.

"I can walk, sir. The snow and asphalt aren't a big deal," Alec insisted when Dean reached for him and the blanket.

"First off, you ain't wearing shoes, so I ain't letting you walk through that shit. Second, we're trying not to attract attention, and people are gonna remember if you walk in barefoot and wearing only that smock thing," my husband told him. "Put your head on my shoulder and pretend to be asleep when we go inside."

Dean hoisted the boy up and wrapped the blanket around him. Alec laid his head on Dean's shoulder and closed his eyes as we entered the hotel lobby. I approached the front desk and got the keys to a double room, and we then carried boy and bags down the hall and into the room.

Alec squirmed free the moment the door closed and began casing the room. We exchanged amused glances as Dean unpacked what we'd need for the night and I warded the room. Alec stopped his examination of the windows to watch me curiously.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Protecting the room. These wards will prevent anything dangerous from getting in," I said.

"Wards? Dreams? Who are you guys? And what's a shifter, and why do you think I'm also one?"

"Short explanation—monsters are real. We're talking ghosts, vampires, demons, you name it. And then there are hunters, who get rid of the ones who hurt people. Some are raised to be hunters, but most become one after losing someone to a supernatural creature," I explained. "We're kind of both—my mother and older brother died because of a demon when I was a baby, and my father found Dean to take my brother's place a few months later. Dad spent the rest of his life tracking down that demon, and he trained us to be hunters too. As for what a shapeshifter is—Dean, why don't you show him?"

Dean smiled, and his form shimmered as he first became Alec's age, then turned into me, and finally resumed his normal shape. He said, "Shifters can change their appearance, even take the shape of other people or creatures. Most of 'em hafta shed their skin to do it, kinda like a snake but a hell of a lot messier, but I seem to be different.

"Since you're basically a copy of me, you should be able to shift like me too. But you got something in your body right now, some kinda drug, that's blocking your ability. Which might not have been a bad thing before, 'cause shifting does have a . . . side effect.

"Making small changes, like altering your age or coloring or giving yourself claws, is okay. When you take on someone's shape though, you can also get their thoughts, memories, and emotions if you've touched 'em before. Good for mimicking 'em better, but problem is all that additional baggage starts filling up your head after a while, makes it hard to remember what's you from what's them. Most shifters end up going bonkers 'cause of that. I know how to get rid of the extra mental crap, but I still avoid shifting into another person unless I absolutely hafta."

Alec's eyes widened. "That must be what started all this! The guards took me and Ben—that's what his unit called X5-493—down to the basement a few days ago. They were saying he'd become unstable, and they needed me for the tests as a control. They also brought down Max—she's the one who called me Alec—because she developed the shakes. We're supposed to be perfect specimens, so anyone with a flaw is taken down there for experiments before being either destroyed or locked up with the 'nomalies.

"Anyways, the rest of Ben's and Max's unit broke out of their barracks after lights-out and came to get them. I asked them to let me loose too—I didn't want to get hurt anymore or thrown to the 'nomalies. I went with them as they looked for a way out of the facility. But Colonel Lydecker and a couple of guards found us, and the colonel shot one of the girls. Before they could do anything else, we broke through a window and scattered once we were outside."

"So you think you were given something to prevent you from shifting but Ben wasn't, and he started to lose control as a result?" I asked. "Poor kid. We'll have to see if we can track him down."

"Lydecker . . . Why does that name sound familiar?" Dean looked at me.

I thought for a couple of minutes. "Wasn't that the name of one of Dad's buddies from Vietnam? Huh! Well, that might explain how Manticore knew about you, man."

"Sonofabitch! Last time I saw him was not long after you left for Stanford, when he stopped by to visit Dad while we were dealing with a vettala in Colorado. The timing fits if Alec here is around eight or so." He paused thoughtfully. "They might not have your DNA though, 'cause I think he hadn't seen you since you were fourteen, before your first growth spurt. So he'd only know you as the midget you were back then, not the ginormitron you turned into."

"I hope you're right, because the last thing we need are clones running around with my abilities! And I assume Yellow-Eyes or Lucifer would've gone after them too if any existed." I stretched. "You two go to bed. I'm not as tired at the moment, so I'll run to the Walmart across the street to get some clothes for Alec."

He nodded, and I left the hotel and crossed the street. Once inside the store, I went to the boys' section and picked up shirts, jeans, underwear, sneakers, a jacket, basic toiletries, and a backpack to put it all in. I didn't know what Alec liked—assuming he even knew enough of the outside world to have an opinion—so I chose the sort of colors, characters, and flavors that my brother liked as a child. I got enough to last for several days, knowing that we'd buy more for him later. When I was back out in the parking lot, I called Frank Devereaux to start the process of setting up a false identity for the kid to go along with ours.

Because I knew Dean, so it wasn't even a question of if he wanted to keep the boy. He'd always been wonderful with kids, from raising me far better than our father ever did, to handling every child involved in a case with gentleness and compassion, to befriending the various youngsters in our current neighborhood. I remembered the wistfulness that lingered for weeks after he met Ben Braeden, and the yearning that underlay his words when we briefly discussed the possibility of having kids of our own nearly a year ago. And even though it'd only been a few hours since we'd met Alec, I could already see the tenderness and protectiveness in how he looked at and held the boy. There was no way I could deny my husband something so important.

For myself, I'd never really thought much about having children before. It hadn't been feasible with how our lives used to be, since there was no way I'd put another child through how we'd been raised. And even though we were mostly settled down now, kids seemed like a development for the distant future at best. But there had to be a reason my dreams sent us to find this boy. And despite his unorthodox creation, there was no denying that Alec was our blood, and we never turned our backs on family.

When I entered the room, the boy's eyes opened immediately, took in who was at the door, and closed again. I quietly set the bags down by the desk, stripped down to undershirt and boxers, and slipped into the other bed. Dean rolled over and tucked his head into the space between my neck and shoulder.

Everything good? he asked drowsily.

I put an arm around him. Yeah. I got him enough to last a week, and we can pick up more when we reach Sioux Falls. I also talked to Frank to get the ball rolling on getting Alec the IDs and paper trail we'll need to establish him as ours. I told Frank we'd call him back later with the details.

A wave of love and gratitude washed over me. You're awesome, Sammy! And you're sure you're okay with taking him in? You've never been as interested in kids as me.

Positive, Dee. I might not have been expecting to have a child right now, but I always knew they'd be a part of our life eventually, I assured him. And we can't leave this kid to fend for himself. He's family.

You're the best, man! Though we're not heading to Bobby's from here.

Why not? It's a lot closer than home. And we need to give Frank time to do his thing.

Because if there's any chance those Manticore asshats suspect Dean Winchester had something to do with Alec's successful escape, then Bobby's house is the first fucking place they're gonna look for us. But they won't know to search for Dean Smith-Wesson in Veneta, Oregon, he explained.

How can we be sure of that?

If those fucktards knew 'bout our new lives and where I really was, they woulda grabbed me by now. They got Ben and however many other kids crashing and burning before the age of ten, and yet I'm still doing fine. I'm sure the sonsofbitches would love to know how, so the fact that they haven't tried to get their damn hands on me yet tells me they don't know where to find me.

Dean continued, And we can work around Alec's new history not being ready yet. We can persuade Frank to put a rush on the essentials, and the rest probably won't be needed until we hafta enroll him in school. Which I think we should hold off on for a bit anyways. The kid really has no fucking clue 'bout the real world, and he's gonna stick out like a sore thumb if we send him to school right now.

Huh, I hadn't thought about that, I said. Well . . . we could say that his mother kept him isolated, and we'll homeschool him for the rest of the school year. There's only about three months left before summer break, and hopefully he'll be better prepared by the time the next year starts.

Sounds like a plan. Now get some sleep. We'll talk to the kid when we wake up.

It was close to noon by the time we both woke up. Alec was still fast asleep, so we quietly washed up and got dressed. Dean then sat on the edge of his bed and gently shook his shoulder. The boy's eyes shot open.

"Hey kiddo. Why don't you get cleaned up and changed outta that fugly smock? Sam got you some new clothes, a toothbrush, and all that crap. We gotta talk after that, and then we'll go get some lunch." Dean handed him a pile of clothes and toiletries.

He disappeared into the bathroom and emerged twenty minutes later freshly scrubbed and wearing jeans, a long-sleeved Transformers t-shirt, and green and black Nikes. By that time we had everything packed up, with the bags waiting by the door. I was sitting at the desk, searching on my tablet for any news of military activity in the area, while Dean was sitting in the armchair with a mug of coffee.

"Sit down, kiddo," he said, indicating the nearer bed. "Clothes fit okay?"

Alec sat and shyly fingered his shirt. "Yes, sir. I . . . I've never had anything like these. We only ever wore the smocks or fatigues."

"Yeah, well, you're done with that shit. Now, I'm guessing that you didn't really have a plan 'bout what to do or where to go after you busted outta that shithole, right? So Sam and I want you to come home with us and . . . and be our son. Whaddya think?" Dean set his mug down and nervously laced his fingers together.

The kid looked confused. "Why? Why are you doing all this for me? You barely even know me!"

"Our jobs—our whole lives—are all about helping people, most of whom are complete strangers, and we don't expect to get paid or receive any kind of reward for doing it. We'd never leave any kid in a situation like yours, and you can be sure we're going to do what we can for the other escapees and the ones still trapped back at Manticore. But it's more than just that in your case." I looked over at Dean.

"Sam's right. You might not have been conceived in the usual way, but you were created from me, and that makes you my kid. Family means everything to both of us, whether it's by blood or by choice, and there ain't nothing that we won't do for them," my brother added. "We'll do our best to protect you, take care of you, and give you the kinda life you shoulda had before. And the Winchester best ain't nothing to sneeze at."

Alec bit his lip and then nodded. "O—okay. So now what?"

Dean leaned over and extended his hands. "Gimme your hands again. I'm gonna clear that drug outta your system, and then I'm gonna change your appearance a little, just so you don't look so much like an escaped military experiment. I'll start showing you how to use your abilities later, but for now I'll keep control of 'em. It's something I remember my shifter parent doing with me when I was real little."

Alec laid his hands on Dean's palms, and the other hunter concentrated for a couple minutes. The child's shape rippled briefly, leaving his hair a couple inches longer, his complexion a healthier color, and his skin free of scars and the barcode tattoo. Dean then sat back but didn't let go of the boy's hands.

"Lemme make a few things clear right off the bat. First of all, X5-494 don't exist anymore, you got that? Your name is Alexander Jonathan Winchester, and I will beat the shit outta anyone who tries to make you use that goddamn 'designation.' Our dad's name was John, and he'd be proud to have you using it too.

"Next, you ain't a soldier anymore either, super or otherwise. You're an eight-year-old child, and you're gonna enjoy doing all the shit other kids like from now on. That means going to school and playing sports and having fun, not running drills and learning to kill people and whatever fucked-up crap they made you do. You can join the military when you grow up if you really wanna, but only if it's your choice. Or you can become a doctor or an artist or whatever the hell you want, not what those Manticore douchebags say you hafta do.

"And we ain't your commanding officers, so you don't hafta call either of us 'sir.' You can call me Dean or . . . or Dad, if you'd like. And he's just Sam, or Uncle Sam or Papa if you're gonna call me Dad. After we get home, we'll start introducing you to the rest of the family—you've now got a grandpa and a whole buncha uncles and aunts who'll love to meet you," Dean concluded.

"You should be aware that only a few people—mostly other hunters—know who we really are or what we really do. Most people don't believe the supernatural is real nor have a clue about the existence of hunters," I explained. "We recently settled down near Eugene, Oregon, but our neighbors and co-workers know us as Dean and Sam Smith-Wesson, a mechanic and graduate student respectively. So you'll be Alec Smith-Wesson to them, and we have someone creating a false identity to go with that."

Dean stood and said briskly, "Okay, that's enough deep talk for now. I dunno 'bout you, but I'm starving! I remember passing a decent-looking diner a coupla blocks from here, so let's get some grub!"

I went to the door and handed Alec the filled Batman bookbag. "There are additional clothes for you in there, enough for a few days, and we'll buy more when we get home. Put your toothbrush and stuff inside before we get going. Oh, and there's this." I pulled something else out of a plastic shopping bag and gave it to him.

The boy looked wide-eyed at the large plush dragon in his hands. "Wha—what's this?"

"Every kid needs toys, so that's your first," I said with a big smile. "His name is Toothless the Nightfury, and we'll show you the movie he's from really soon—it's one of Dean's favorites. And we'll be getting you plenty more toys too!"

As Alec hurried into the bathroom, bag and toy clutched tightly in his arms, Dean pulled me into a hug. I'll say it again—you're the best, Sammy!