A/N: Same stuff applies as in the first chapter. Oh, and unfortunately I neither own Supernatural nor Dark Angel. Just this.
A/N part two: 48 days and counting till episode 11. Argh.
A/N part three: Specific episodes of Supernatural mentioned are: none. Specific episodes of Dark Angel are: "Pilot" and "Gill Girl."
Of Desire and the Status Quo
Chapter XI: Twice the Pleasure to Deceive the Deceiver
"Explain to me just exactly why this isn't working!" White commands to the lab tech that had supplied him with the chemicals that were supposedly able to coerce even a transgenic into spilling their guts. So far, all that's managed to happen is for White to get a migraine. "We've dosed him with all your little mind has provided, and he's not broken. You've got ten seconds to convince me not to kill you."
"I don't know, sir," says the tech, looking much like he doesn't. "I can't tell you why he hasn't shown more promising symptoms. It's like his brain is refusing to accept the drugs."
Furious, White pulls out a Browning from its holster and points it at the tech's head. "That all you have to say?"
"I-I don't know why!" the tech whimpers, his demeanor changing rapidly from the stony-faced torturer he'd been when handing various chemicals over to White to dope up Dean. "B-But I think he'll need some s-serotonin soon, or he'll start convulsing."
"Seizures," White states, familiar with the skewed wiring of the transgenics'. "Well, a little earthquake in his head ought to loosen his tongue, no doubt."
"All due respect, sir," says the tech, and White raises an eyebrow, daring the underling to counter him, "I believe that wouldn't be productive. It would delay any further chances of interrogation."
Much as he has distaste for the man in front of him, White accedes that he's right in this instance. Seizures would certainly be a form of torture that White would thoroughly enjoy, but it isn't like White has all the time in the world—especially, given that he's got (or thinks he has) the co-leader of the transgenic front currently on his lab table—and he needs "494" as conscious as possible.
Everyone cracks at some point. White just needs to have a little more patience until then.
Disregarding the tech, White strides into the lab, where he'd spent an aggravating amount of time in already, and used up some of every chemical—and physical torment as well, of course. Dean is limp in the restraints, and though his eyes register that White's back in the room, they're wet with uncontrolled tear ducts, bleary and bloodshot with rapidly dilating and contracting pupils, his muscles rippling with various spasms from now unidentifiable drugs.
"F-Frustrated yet?" Dean grinds out, his mouth one of the few things still working. He imagines White (for he'd finally figured out the guy's name) orchestrated it that way. "Or g-got some other f-fun in mind?"
White smiles indulgently at his charge, and he's itching to concoct a new amalgam of chemicals, but reminds himself that the tech was correct, so instead heads to the bottle of tryptophan, the one bottle he hadn't yet popped open.
Drawing the liquid into a new syringe and inserting it into Dean's overused IV, he remarks, "A little pick-me-up for you bottom-feeder. Don't want you dying on me just yet."
"G-Go to hell," Dean spits, knowing all too well the place is reserved for people just like this sadistic bastard.
White's saying something else, but the heightened dose of the latest drug starts coursing through Dean's drained system, and his neurons again backfire as he's thrust into whirling chaos once more within his own body.
Dean's not attuned to the fact that there are people on their way to try and bust him free (well, he's not attuned to much of anything currently), but it doesn't negate the fact. Granted, not that one of the pair is especially pleased about it.
"All right, so just for clarification," Alec says grumpily, adjusting the dagger sitting uncomfortably against his back, "the plan is to march straight into White's bunker, somehow disable an unknown amount of Familiar guards, locate Dean, rescue Dean, and drag his sorry ass forty miles back to Terminal City?"
Max's silent glance to him says everything.
"Has it yet occurred to you in these thirty miles we've so far run that Dean may not want to go with us?" he continues. His breath is slightly labored, what with their quick pace, but he hadn't yet emptied its reserves. "The guy did kick your ass, you know."
"Would you give it a rest already?"
Alec laughs heartily. "Can't, Maxie," he answers. "It's way too fun reiterating the fact that an Ordinary got the drop on you. It's pretty fucking hilarious, I gotta say."
"He's not just Joe Normal, Alec," Max gripes. "I didn't know his fighting style."
"Whatever helps you sleep," Alec replies. "But just because he's Dean Winchester doesn't let you off the hook. Seriously, you've battled Familiars. You'd think a dude who's not genetically enhanced would be a cinch."
Max growls, putting on a burst of speed, though not at all surprised when Alec joins up a moment later. "Fine, next time you be all knight in shining armor, huh?" she snaps. "Jesus, maybe I should've just done this thing by myself if you're just going to be a girl about it."
She expected him to lob a comeback at her, but when she hears neither that nor the steady footsteps that had matched hers since they'd left T.C., she halts and turns around, to see Alec fuming a few yards behind her, the rain that hadn't yet let up long since plastering his hair to his head. She wouldn't have to have known Alec for nearly a year to see that he's both angered and distressed, and as it is, she also knows that she needs to find out what it is. She has a very shrewd idea, but she is well aware that when it comes to Alec, there's no room for timidity. That, and they don't have time for dillydallying, which is what she's fearing at the minute.
"Alec, what's the deal?" she asks, squinting through the driving rain. (Honestly. Showers aren't necessarily commonplace back at Terminal City, but she'd rather no shower than a freezing cold and drops-like-knives one.)
"Have you ever stuck to one decision?" Alec says flatly. "'Alec, you're the only one who can help me.' 'Alec, maybe I should have just done this by myself.' Christ, make up your mind. Believe it or not, while I want to know why the hell some other dude has my face, I'm not raring to put my life on the line for it. This is a favor to you, and you're acting like it's a freaking expectation. Either you want me to help you bust open White's hold, or you don't. Choose one, would you?"
Max looks at Alec with an expression of affront. She's not unaccustomed to Alec's mockery or derision—his first actions to her were to oppose and nearly rape her, after all (okay, so that last she no longer holds against him, since it wasn't his fault, but still)—but this back and forth that she has to admit they both have is getting to her. It's clear that she doesn't think her potential, perhaps, maybe waffling is incredibly ruinous, and it's also clear that not only does Alec think it is, but he also possesses second thoughts about everything.
Which, okay, is understandable. After all, he is on his way to help retrieve his lookalike from the transgenics' sworn enemy's locked-down bunker. It's a little stressful.
"Here's the deal," Max says, peering up at Alec through the watery torrents. "Dean—and probably us as well—is a dead man if we can't even cooperate on getting into the bunker. We can go back to being at each other's throats when this mission is over, but for now, we need to be on the same page. Okay?"
Alec's emotionless for a second before grinning and punching Max in the arm. "Get your ass in gear then," he says, and surges forward, leaving Max to incense as she realizes she'd let Alec get one over on her again.
"Ah, hell no," she mutters, sprinting to catch up to him. Since Dean is their prime directive at the moment, she won't retaliate just yet, but mark her words, she's remembering that little insolence of Alec's.
They manage to make it the rest of the way without incident, owing likely to the fact that both transgenics are cold and unhappy and unsure about this whole thing, and even Alec has a threshold to where he doesn't have the drive to annoy Max for the time being. Max is pretty okay with that.
It's not so much the distance or time that lets them know that they've reached the outskirts of their destination so much as the sign they come across; the wood is rotted, and the post is lopsided, but the words "Fort Worden State Park" are readable enough. Since they hadn't passed any parks or forests of any real significance since now, not to mention this place looks fairly similar to what Dix had brought up on the satellite feed, they surmise this is their destination.
"Nice digs," Alec comments quietly, his and Max's eyes zooming into the park and catching sight of a large gray building. Max glares at him. "I'm just saying. Hiding out in a former state park and setting up a torture chamber. Kinda ironic, really."
"Let's just go," says Max curtly. "And pay attention."
"That mermaid thing was one time!"
Both know Alec's exclamation is not only true, but has been proven on many occasions succeeding the debacle with White and the two gilled transhumans, so Max decides not to object it just now. It was she, after all, who had said that they needed to halt their differences until they saved Dean; she doesn't like being a hypocrite very much. (Although Alec would refute that fact.)
For all Alec's faults, however, he does know how to be a fantastic soldier, and it's at times like these that Max sees just why Manticore had capitalized so much on Alec's skills at clandestinity and being the guy who shoots people before they even knew someone was watching. Those skills, she reluctantly notes, will come in handy for this particular mission. Oh, she wants to get in and out dropping as few people as she can—not because she wants to spare their lives, but because the more commotion the worse it would be—but she's not so naïve as to think there won't be more than one casualty tonight.
She just hopes it's not she, Alec, or Dean who falls into that category.
Her suddenly darkened thoughts are shut off when she feels a pressure against her hand. Looking down, she sees Alec pressing the handle of an object she'd sworn never to use into her palm. She shies away, staring at Alec in betrayal—he hadn't seriously thought she'd accept that godforsaken thing?
"Take it, Max," Alec says, his eyes boring into hers. "You probably won't have to use it, but just in case…"
"Alec, I'm not touching that," she replies pushing away the gun forcefully. "Maybe you weren't there when it happened, but I thought you would've respected my decision."
Alec groans in frustration. "We could very well die going in there," he proclaims, gesturing broadly to the compound, "and neither of us is doing this without a weapon. Take it."
She sees the merit in his argument, knows it's sound, and for a few seconds thinks she sees concern in his face, the kind of concern that's not strictly fear-of-op-failure. Pursing her lips, she moves her arm past his hand holding the wretched device, and reaches around him to where she knows he'd stashed a dagger in his waistband. He makes noises of protest as she touches him, and then they turn to disgruntlement when she snatches the knife away and slides it into her own combat boot.
"Satisfied?" she snaps, briefly wondering just how much more armament Alec had managed to affix to his person.
"No," Alec responds, irked, and grudgingly keeps the gun for himself, its cool metal too familiar than Alec would like. "But then rarely anything you say does."
Before she can work up a rejoinder to his insult (and damn, it's already happened twice that he's had the last word; it's not supposed to go down that way), he's deadly silence as he moves through the thickening underbrush that hadn't been groomed for a decade. The pistol is held deceptively loosely but precisely at his side, the glinting silver highlighting all that she hates about it.
Alec doesn't look behind him to see if Max was trailing, and she hadn't yet, but hell if she's backing down now, let alone letting him do this by himself, so she promptly follows his steps, making just as little noise as he had. The complex reminds her eerily of Manticore, even if the actual design isn't very similar; she thinks it's the intent behind the two groups that causes the connection. She's also aware that she's more astute than when she was a kid, able to perceive all the bunker's defenses.
Better than that, this time she's got an X5 who knows the kinds of defenses even more intimately than she does, and one who she's positive she can count on to have her back. He may be a pain in the ass who doesn't do paperwork, but if it came down to it—and she really hopes it doesn't—she's certain Alec would rather get her out of harm's way (okay, them both out of harm's way) than Dean. She's not ecstatic over that, since Dean's important too, but the thought counts or whatever people say, right?
Her night vision allows her to spot the two bogeys doing their rounds, and though she starts to sharply whisper this to Alec, he's already motioning to her in the hand signals Manticore instilled in them how to avoid the cronies. There's no error in his plan, so she stays any discussion, and indeed, they skillfully avoid both Familiars, blending themselves in with the shadows. She's just glad the bunker doesn't have constant floodlights like Manticore had. They could get around them, definitely, but she'll take any good fortune she can.
They spot a door about a dozen yards from their current point, and on the count of three, they both move, black outfits camouflaging with the cover of night (she's really glad White had been kind enough to kidnap Dean while it's still dark outside). Max tries the handle, but their luck doesn't extend that far, a control panel to the right of the door glaringly telling them that a code is needed.
She'd be able to crack it, but Alec apparently isn't inclined to go that route. Pushing her out of the way and backing up himself, he aims the pistol and fires one shot, busting the panel with bright orange sparks. He'd shot before she could tell him the sound would be too loud, but he'd been one step ahead of her, having already appended a silencer to the barrel, and though it wasn't completely soundless, she doesn't hear any rapid footsteps and yelling from the guards yet, so that's a plus.
Alec doesn't waste any time in wrenching open the heavy—and unfortunately creaking—door, holding it open as Max runs through and then following her. They're faced with numerous pathways down which they could go, and unsure of the correct one. Dix had provided them with coordinates to the base, but not blueprints, which is really a detriment to them right now. It isn't like they'd thought this would be a cakewalk, per se, but they hadn't wanted it to be incredibly complicated, either.
Max and Alec exchange identical looks of dismay, realizing they've hit a major snag in Max's MacGyvered plan. "An idea would be nice," Alec hisses, anxiously listening for any imminent enemy attack. "Is it such a hard thing for the guy to scream or something? I swear, Max, if he's dead and we're risking our hides for a corpse—"
She slaps the back of his head sharper than usual, wishing she could outright yell at him, but knowing she can't without giving away their positions. "Just—come on. This way."
Alec rolls his eyes, but since he doesn't have any ideas of his own, he goes along with her decision, choosing a random hallway and running down it with purpose, like they actually know where they're headed. Alec thinks their prosperity won't stretch to the point that they'll hit wherever Dean's being held on the first hallway, but he just hopes that it won't be the last hallway, either. He'd like to conserve as much energy as possible, considering they've not only got a forty-mile return trip, but they'll be accompanied by a psychopath, too. Awesome.
White's leaning against the wall of the lab, watching Dean exhibit signs of duress, and doesn't do anything about it. He's interrupted from his observation by the same tech that had suggested the tryptophan, the man walking in with more displeasure than trepidation.
"Now what?" White demands, wanting to get back to injecting Dean with countless chemicals.
"Sir, we've got a situation," he says.
White groans, but follows the tech into the surveillance room, peering at cameras. The tech presses some keys, bringing up a feed from a few minutes ago. At first White doesn't see anything in the grainy video, but then he catches the minutest of movements by the bunker entrance, a sharp blast, then tiny pixels of light, followed by a tinny squeaking that, accompanied with everything else, can be none other than that respective door.
"Care to tell me how we were infiltrated? And by whom?" White seethes, planning to terminate more than one guard for their incompetence.
The tech doesn't want to inflame White's ire any more than it already is, but dishonesty hasn't gotten him any further in White's graces than honesty has. "That's unclear," he says flatly. "We haven't picked them up on any of the internal feeds, but we're working on it."
"You won't," White bites out, knowing it's the truth. "452 is too good for that."
"You think she's one of them?"
White scoffs. "If it wasn't for your medical expertise, I would have shot you days ago," he says tiredly. "You think I was lying to 494 in there? Of course she'd come after that scum. I had hoped she'd take longer, but then, Manticore did make them perfection."
"What do you want to do with them, sir?" asks the tech.
"The only one anyone needs to be concerned about is 452. The other is expendable. Take it down," White commands. "Try to bring back 452 alive, but at this point, she's been tiresome for too long. Kill her if you must."
"Yes, sir," replies the tech. "Um…and regarding 494?"
Smiling, White regards Dean through the observation glass. "Leave him," he says. "He still has use."
"Yes, sir."
"I know we've been down this hallway before," Alec comments in a whisper, he and Max having undeniably gone down several corridors already. "Yeah, I specifically remember this smudge reading We're never gonna find Dean."
"Shut up," Max says, though she's not sure Alec's not wrong that they've stepped down this way. "He has to be here somewhere."
Alec pauses, sighing. "Does he?" he asks. Max turns to look at him inquiringly. "Think about it. Just 'cause we assumed White took him here doesn't mean he actually did. Maybe we were mistaken."
"Oh great, you choose to be indecisive now?" Max retorts, beginning to walk again, trying to quell the feeling of unease that there hasn't been any commotion whatsoever so far. She's glad there hasn't been, but…no alarms raised isn't always a good thing.
"Stop attacking—" Alec begins to retaliate, but cuts himself off, his eyes wandering and head quirked slightly to the left.
Max looks at him in confusion, knowing the expression, the one that says clearly he's sensed something (and she can't help but think it also resembles a cat sensing an electrical storm or earthquake or something, a notation she's not happy with). She hadn't necessarily, but despite their quarrel, she can see in his face that he's not joking about this, the faint laugh lines around his mouth no longer etched in humor.
"What is it?" she asks quietly, traipsing lightly over to him.
"I don't know," Alec replies slowly. "Just…" Immediately, his eyes widen a little, and he throws himself at Max, tackling them both to the ground.
"What the hell, Alec?" Max wants to yell, but is stopped by a sudden barrage of gunfire that lands right where their heads had been. She looks up at Alec from her position on the floor, and stoically says, "Oh. Thanks."
"What do you say we move?" Alec suggests calmly, like they're not in the middle of being surrounded.
"Great idea," Max agrees without a second thought, and Alec gets into a low, defensive stance, and pulls Max along with him as they race along the hallway, Dean still their objective, but their urgent one being to not get decapitated by carefully aimed projectiles.
"I don't suppose you have an actual plan, do you?" Max asks hopefully, ducking as another bullet flies above her. (This is why she hates guns. Pesky fuckers.) "Besides this, I mean."
"I'm working on it," Alec says and, spying a large indent running along the top of the walls, Alec alerts Max's attention to it.
Like they'd choreographed it ahead of time, Alec clasps his hands together, creating a foothold for Max to gain extra height and hoist herself into the indent. (She would have jumped, the ability well within her range, except this required more finesse than simple vaulting.) Having some inches on her, Max only has to reach her hand down for Alec to gain his own place in the depression.
"Now what?" Max gripes, grateful to be out of the direct line of fire, but also quite cognizant that they're still trapped, regardless of the precious time Alec had bought.
"We see where the gunfire is coming from," Alec answers. "Theoretically it'll lead us to where Dean's being held."
"How do you figure?"
"What else would they need to protect in this joint?" he counters. "They must've caught us on some camera, figured we're here to get Dean out, which, you know, they're sorta right about. Unless White's got some super special weaponry or something that no one's supposed to know about—which I doubt, since he seems hell bent on eliminating us through cruder means—Dean's the only thing he's got worth anything. Or, rather, supposedly worth something."
Max lets the jibe pass in favor of accepting Alec's conclusions. "Okay, it's something to try, I guess," she says.
It isn't exactly a lead, but it's the best they've gotten so far. Her body as concealed as possible, she closes her eyes and tries to cut out the ricocheting of bullets, her and Alec's breathing, and the dull patter of rain outside in order to isolate best she can the source of the gun triggers, the initial click-echo of cartridges being discharged from their housing.
It's difficult, but ultimately she's about eighty percent sure she's got the direction, and God knows they've gone on much less. "There," she says, pointing away and off to their right.
Alec trusts her deduction, and they simultaneously drop from their quasi-hiding place, dodging their way over to the hallway where Max had guessed. To cement that fact, as they move closer, it does seem to get louder, and though there's guns going off in other directions, this is at least a place to start.
Max begins to run down the corridor, but Alec puts a hand in her chest and ducks around the corner instead. There's three precisely placed shots, and then Alec motions for her; as she does so, she sees three men lying on the floor, guns beside them and being quickly invaded by pools of sticky blood. She doesn't bother to comment—she's vehemently adverse to using guns, but she can't argue that they're effective, not to mention that she'd probably have had a hard time avoiding three rifles worth of ammo since she's armed only with a dagger.
Hurrying across the tiling, Max quickly scans Alec's movements to see if he'd been hit by anything, and gratefully doesn't see any obstruction to his kinesthesia. Either he'd evaded everything, or only suffered a graze, both of which are circumstances she's fine dealing with. They'll have a difficult enough time trying to rescue Dean without worrying about blood loss. With Alec's luck, it'd probably be in the shoulder, too. Again.
There's two more guards they meet within the next minute, this time Max getting the opportunity to incapacitate them, given that they were looking the wrong way at the time, and Max doesn't doubt Alec has more magazines and weapons on him, but it's better to prolong the ammunition they have. The two soldiers join their dead comrades, Max not wanting to have killed them, but knowing they're Familiars and even if she did punch them into unconsciousness, there's no way of telling how long they'd be out. So her knife—well, technically Alec's knife—is now lathered in blood, but she can't bother to pay it any notice right now.
They round the next corner, and Max sighs in relief: through a large glass window, they see a metal table and a body lying prone on it. It doesn't take Alec's wide eyes and good amount of shock to infer that it's Dean. "Wait," Alec says, finding his voice. "Where's White?"
"Probably gone," Max says with a certain amount of regret. "Him and whoever else was torturing Dean."
Alec would also like nothing more than to put lead through White's skull, but he's also thinking that Max may be right. They still don't know White's motives for kidnapping Dean, but right now even Alec will say that they need to get Dean out of here. Preferably before they all become captives of White's creepy factions.
Max darts over to the door and yanks it open, running over to the table. Alec looks both ways down the corridor and drops one last guard before slamming the door closed and throwing the deadbolt into place. He's willing to bet the glass is bulletproof, and they'll need to open the door sooner or later, but for now, until they unlatch Dean from the table, he'd much rather they don't get shot at.
"Let's hurry this up, shall we?" Alec asks impatiently, coming over to Max's side. "Oh. Shit."
As he looks down at Dean's form, he has a feeling this may not be as easy as he'd hoped.