Many of the transgenics were already in full relaxation mode; drinking, playing pool and darts, talking, some even flirting with each other as if they hadn't just beaten a mob and 'buried' some of their friends. The kids were nowhere in sight – probably already tucked in upstairs.

After claiming a room, Dean and Sam made their way downstairs to the bar and went their separate ways. At the counter, Dean was surprised to see a different kind of transgenic behind the bar. Kind of orangey in color, couple of spots. Dude was giving him a hard stare.

"What are you drinkin'?" came a voice from behind Dean. He turned to face Zack.

"Nothin' yet," Dean replied. "Chester's takin' his time."

Zack looked to Tony, who eyed Dean suspiciously.

"That's what Alec used to call me," the transhuman said, smiling. "It's Tony."

Dean nodded. "Dean. Whiskey."

"Dean Whiskey?"

"Winchester."

Zack sat down on the stool next to Dean. "So, Max tells me you're legit."

"Legit? Did you tell her the 90s called and they want their slang back?" Dean smiled, pleased with his joke.

Zack fixed him with a quizzical look. "What's that mean?"

Dean's smile faded. "I knew I should have gone with 'too legit to quit,'" he mumbled. "Nothing." He cleared his throat. "Sam and I been doin' this a while, much like yourselves."

Tony produced two tumblers of whiskey – one for Dean, one for Zack – and then walked away.

Zack leaned forward. "Somehow Tony's decided it's his bar and he controls the juice."

Was this guy a control freak or what? Dean wondered. This bar was already making his dreams come true after a very long day's hard work. "I'm just happy there's whiskey."

"I'll cheers to that," Zack said, lifting his tumbler and nodding his head.

As they clinked glasses, Dean took a long pull from his tumbler.

"So did Maxie fill you in?"

"On what?"

Zack eyed him suspiciously. "On why she tripped out on you back there. On what we are."

"Yeah, she mentioned it," Dean said, careful not to divulge too much. "Got attacked, but we're both fine."

That fact made Zack sit up taller, somehow on alert. "She got attacked? Is she okay?"

It was as though he hadn't just opened with the answers to these very questions. "Yeah, man, she's fine. Couple of stitches."

Zack looked toward the stairs in what would be the direction of the room Max was most likely using to shower and redress.

"Also, gotta give you props on that soldier's burial. Sorry you lost some."

Zack stared past Dean into nothingness for a moment.

Concerned, Dean took a sip of the ale. "Why'd she take it so personally?"

Pursing his lips tightly, Zack considered the question. Max never showed her emotion anymore. Once upon a time, he'd told her emotions were a liability, but ever since Alec, she'd cut him off from it, and closed her heart off. Soldier Max had compartmentalized, the likes of which astounded him.

He looked to the man sitting next to him. Dean was a hunter, and from the looks of it, a pretty good one. And if Max detected something in Dean – enough to trust him with a glimpse into the real Max (and he hoped it had nothing to do with Alec) – then he could respect that, no matter how jealous he was (and would never admit) that it was a stranger she turned to and not him.

Dean detected the odd vibe from Zack, but had no time to form questions before Zack divulged, "She's had it pretty rough." He took a sip before continuing. "So don't hurt her."

She was intriguing the hell out of him minute by minute, and the quasi-threatening only intrigued him more. The look in Zack's eyes was cold, calculating. Suddenly it hit him.

Zack was jealous.

Zack must have seen the recognition in Dean's eyes, because he looked away guiltily, slammed the remainder of his whiskey, and returned his stare to Dean. "We were in the same unit. We all called each other brother and sister, and no matter what I do, she'll always see me as brother Zack."

As the transgenic stood up, he clapped Dean on the shoulder, a kind of camaraderie suggesting how lucky Dean was not to be in the same category. "You break her heart, I break you."

Dean nodded, and as Zack walked toward the dartboard, an uproar came from the other side of the bar, where one of the dark-haired males had held a tawny-skinned woman against the wall and was – for a lack of a better description – making out with her neck.

What the hell, he wondered, as all the men and women hollered and hooted, some waving their hands as if rooting for them, others clapping. The dark-haired male moved up to her mouth and she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Alright Gabe and Leia!" shouted Krit. "Congratulations!"

Dean looked around to see if he could discern what congratulations were in order. The smiles of all the 'patrons' were infectious, and he felt the corners of his lips turn up.

Tony brought the whiskey bottle to Dean and poured him another.

"What's that about?" Dean asked, nodding his head in Gabe's direction.

Tony smiled. "Leia just told him she's pregnant," he said.

Dean was shocked anyone would decide to have a baby, to bring it into this world – well, the world as it was right now.

"Get a room!" Tony yelled out to them, laughing and turning back to the counter.

Sam sat at a table closest to the exit and next to a window, nursing his lukewarm beer and getting lost in his thoughts. Despite the fact that the rain was coming down in sheets and he couldn't see very far past the blurry window, he looked out anyway, searching for the distance he needed to understand the big picture. How long would it be before he or Dean would get bitten? Was it going to be like this for the rest of their lives? He couldn't wait for morning for the chance to discuss what they were all doing, what their objective would be.

"Too much thinking takes the 'hard' away from parts that might need it," came Gwen's velvety voice as she set her beer on the table.

Sam turned toward her and saw her raised brow. She smiled. "May I sit?"

He gestured toward the seat. "Of course. Sorry, I was just-"

"Thinking," she interrupted. "I know. I know that look well. You know, you really ought to consider decompressing. You know what they say about all work…"

Sam sat up straighter and looked around. No one else was having a thought-fest. They were all partying, drinking, conversing, playing games. He turned his attention back to Gwen. "You're right. Sorry."

Gwen smiled and leaned forward, the act of which pushed her cleavage toward him. "How's your ear doin'?"

"What?" he asked, leaning in. After her surprised look, he laughed. "No, I'm just kidding. It's fine. I've had worse."

"I hope I'm not worse," she flirted. She took a swig of her beer.

Sam eyed her appreciatively. "So tell me about training those kids."

Despite the pouring rain, Dean found himself out in front of the bar, under cover of its awning, staring out into the darkness, wondering about how Croats are affected by rain, wondering how many Manticorean transgenics really exist, wondering how they didn't turn when bitten, wondering how they could all party when all this shit was raining down on them, or always on the verge of raining down on them. And a part of him wondered what would have happened if he and Max hadn't been interrupted.

Okay, not so much 'wonder' as much as 'fantasizing.' As he finished the last sip of his whiskey, he leaned over the railing, resting his arms on it, and watched as little raindrops splashed into his glass.

The door to the bar opened, letting out the noise of the conversations inside, before a familiar voice asked, "Mind if I join you?"

He turned to see none other than the object of his fantasies. He smiled, half of it twitched higher on one side.

Just like Alec.

"All freshed up," Max said, giving an uncharacteristic twirl. She wore a black form-fitting v-neck sweater over a pair of jeans and her standard boot footwear, and held two beers in one hand by their necks.

"How was the water?" Dean asked, leaning on one arm.

"Hmm…" she trailed, looking for the right word. She settled on it. "Lonely."

Alerted to her obvious flirtation, Dean chewed the inside of his lip. Why did he have the feeling she could devour him and he'd beg her for more? "Can I get you a drink?" he joked.

Max joined him at the railing, leaning against the post, and definitely invaded his personal space. She handed him one of the bottles and raised hers in a mock toast, which Dean mirrored. "To the fallen," she said, and then they both took a sip.

The v-neck really drew attention to her stitches, he noticed. Grimacing, Dean reached out to lightly sweep his fingertips across them. She was right; he would need to take the stitches out soon.

A blush blossomed on her face as she watched his hand prod lightly at her injury, then she looked back up into his eyes.

That same hazel stare looked back at her, those same lips parted in anticipation, and as his hand lifted toward her face, she got that same feeling in her stomach she'd only felt once from Alec.

Confidently, he bowed his head the remaining distance and pressed his lips to hers, and that very instant, Max was struck by their biggest difference. Yes, Dean was as confident as Alec, but h didn't have years of unresolved tension riding on a simple kiss, which Max found freeing, and somehow, real. Raising one hand to Dean's neck, she parted her lips for him and tilted her head, allowing him access, allowing him to taste her.

Slowly caressing her tongue with his, Dean felt her hand at the base of his skull, urging him to continue. He slid his hand down to her side and pulled her closer.

Kissing Max was like fanning a fire. The more he kissed her, the more intense everything became. She tasted like an uncommonly exquisite mixture of beer and sweetness, and maybe cherries and the remnants of gasoline – and it only made him desperate for her.

The harsh bang of the front door against the exterior wall broke them apart, leaving them breathless and embarrassed to have been caught. The perpetrators – a couple of rough-housing transgenics – tumbled off the front steps and fell into the street.

"Hey!" Max shouted, concerned the two may have been in a serious fight, or possible even fighting over a mate.

One of the two, Poe, a dark-haired and dark-tempered X5, lifted his head up out of the tangle of limbs. "Hey, Max!" he called good-naturedly.

Under Poe's armpit, Max saw the scrunched up face of Hem, trying desperately to gain purchase on the wet asphalt.

"Hey Max," Hem ground out between gritted teeth.

"Can you believe this guy thinks he can get away with cheating on darts?" Poe asked, elbowing Hem in the side.

Hem growled at the stab of Poe's bony elbow. "I'm drunk, Poe. It was just luck that I hit the bull's-eye while you were busy checking out Aurora, which is what you're really upset about."

Max's eyes grew wide. Aurora was an X5 Manticore had intended to be a social chameleon. She always got the best interrogation orders, and fro the past month, she'd been checking out Byron pretty hard. She'd even confided in Max how much she liked him.

Hoping this wouldn't blossom into a mate fight a few months down the line, Max spoke up. "Do I have to referee?"

Hem got an arm around Poe's neck and twisted him into a half-nelson. Poe punched him in the back. Hem grunted and loosened his grip. "No," he answered, looking up to Max.

Dean laughed. This was the type of shenanigans with which Max had to deal? Maybe things were different in the animal kingdom.

Something caught Hem's attention behind Max, and it caused him to release Poe entirely. Poe got to his feet, ready to continue their fight, when Hem patted his friend on the shoulder to alert Poe to what was going on in the bar.

Max turned to see what they were looking at. A mess of blonde curls belonging to the ruby-lipped Aurora were tangled haphazardly in Byron's hands.

"Shit, man," Poe said, watching Byron's hands dance all over Aurora's back.

Dean cleared his throat. "Is that Aurora?"

Hem nodded and turned back to Poe. "No hard feelings?" He stuck out his hand.

Reaching out to shake Hem's hand, Poe laughed. "Ah, broads…"

Heading back inside, Poe and Hem seemed to completely disregard the reason they were fighting to begin with.

Max turned back to Dean. "Those guys are a riot. Their whole unit." Her smile was infections. "Aurora's been crushin' on Byron for months. Guess she finally made her move. Poe didn't stand a chance."

Dean pieced together the situation and raised a brow. "Nevermore," he echoed the work.

Surprised, Max laughed. "You've read 'The Raven'?"

Mocking agony, he grabbed his chest. "What, I don't look scholarly?"

Max fixed him with a stubborn expression and Dean faltered.

"Someone told me poetry was invented to woo women," he ceded guiltily. "Plus, not hard to figure out. Poe, Hem – which I assume is short for Hemingway – and Byron? All poets, though Hemingway's are the funniest. We're in the rain in the rain in the rain in the rain right now…" He stared past her and saw Sam talking and laughing with Gwen.

Max chuckled and posted herself at her former location, and, following his gaze, realized they may not be able to get back to their previous activities. "Gwen likes him," she offered. "I know, Captain Obvious, but she's been in a bit of a funk. Like maybe the times are getting to her. She's seen some human kids die. Took it pretty hard."

Dean took a drink of his beer and turned back to her, a more serious expression on his face. "So regular ol' humans are not immune, but you said back at the hospital that you are?"

It was a downer to be talking about this on the heels of a kiss which might have led to some (in her opinion) much needed bump and grind, but she knew the topic would come back up again eventually. Her smile faded. "Yeah. Most of us are immune to countless terrorists' wet-dream, bio-warfare and viral agents, as well as your average run-of-the-mill diseases. Someone or someones played with our codes and made us all that way."

"But those Croats at the hospital, they were, what, defective?" He wasn't sure what term he was supposed to use, but judging by the look on her face, 'defective' was the wrong one. He felt the déjà vu-type feeling he sometimes felt, which only half the time led to anger. Why was he starting to feel angry?

Max saw the shift in his eyes and stood straight, no longer in a relaxed lean on the post. "The virus mutated in them, and maybe it's the virus' evolution, not some inability of your government's shamed, secret, genetically-enhanced army to render the strain incompatible."

Yep, she was pissed at him.

Something else was bugging him and hadn't quite made it to the surface yet. He studied her body language. She'd gripped the beer bottle in one hand tightly, which was an odd feat considering she'd crossed her arms. Her jaw was shut so tight, he knew she was practicing anger control. He took a deep breath. "Look, I'm sorry. This whole thing is all fucked up, and it's pretty new to me. I'm dealing."

Max softened a little, the ire in her eyes fading a fraction as he appealed to her compassion.

"But you can at least see why I'm confused, right? First you get bit and don't change. Then we have our run-in at the hospital with three Croats that attack us – as if they'd sought us out – and not only do you know them, but they were also created by Manticore, 'cept unlike you and all of your other comrades, they are not immune."

With each piece of the puzzle stated outright as Dean's litany confirmed, Max became more worried, worried that she'd have to reveal things about herself that would endanger her life, that would make it harder for everyone to do what they needed to.

"So you wanna tell me what's going on here? I know you went through some shit, and you got some secrets, but come on. Help me understand. 'Cause I'm freakin' tired of trying to figure it out on my own."

Max huffed and set her beer on the railing. "I call them X5 Croats," she said, staring out at the street, watching the rain coat everything in sight. "I knew them. They were in Alec's unit back at Manticore."

For a minute, Dean stood still, the only sounds coming from the bar, and the rain splashing on the pavement, the wood railing, the rooftop, the cars.

"I don't know how they all managed to have genes that allowed the mutation to occur, but somehow it allows them to retain part of their training, their strategies, their," she paused, "former associations."

Turning her back to the rain as if avoiding the memory, Max propped the base of her palms on the railing.

He understood two things from explanations so far. One: Manticore's super soldiers were not all immune to the Croatoan virus, and when infected, do not become mindless, ferocious cannibals; no, they become ferocious cannibals with access (in some part) to their super soldier roots; and two: the virus could mutate based on some set of circumstances, which also meant that normal non-genetically-engineered people were twice as susceptible.

"I've been bit by an X5 Croat before," she said. "For some reason, my blood is resilient. It wouldn't let the virus in."

"What's an X5?"

"It's the type of soldier I am, the type of soldier most of us in there are," she nodded to the group inside the bar. "My series. There are X1s all the way through 8, I think. Plus they had some other series for transgenics, not to mention the transhumans, like Tony."

Understanding crossed his features. "Cheetah in his DNA?"

Max pursed her lips almost angrily. What, did he think this was funny?

He saw her incredulous look. "Just curious." He paused. "So how many X5s are there?"

"I don't know. My designation's 452, and some of the others are in the 900s, so at least a thousand? I'm not sure, there could be more facilities."

Dean scoffed on her behalf. She really was government property with a serial number and everything. He looked into the bar windows, seeing all of the soldiers fraternizing, drinking; he'd seen them act as one arm, he'd seen them go through the same things as regular humans – kiss, hell, even get pregnant. How could they be so cavalier about celebrating if they know the X5 Croat threat is imminent? Unless…

"They don't know, do they?"

Max stared at him, hating him for drawing the conclusion he did, because it meant he knew she deliberately withheld it from them. She shook her head in the negative.

Now he was angry. "Shouldn't they know the threat they're facing?"

She crossed her arms again. "Zack and I haven't told them yet – we haven't figured out how to."

"Seems pretty easy to me," he sassed. "'Hey guys, we're being hunted by our own. Be careful.'"

"It's not that easy, Dean," she began. "They may not know X5 Croats exist, and they don't know they're capable of hunting us, but we outnumber them. Since they are smarter than the average Croat, they won't attack unless they have tactical advantage."

Dean grinded his teeth, a motion which did not go unnoticed by Max.

"What?" She'd seen this look on Alec before. Pissed. "What?" she repeated.

"Me and Sam, we're sitting ducks the longer we're with you and yours. We can ward off the supernatural, but not biological warfare, viruses, and not the Croats. We are not immune."

She thought he was coming to a point.

"I gotta tell Sam."

"You can't! Not around the X5s. Not yet."

Taking an intimidating step closer, Dean asked, "How do you not see this as a death sentence? For us and for them?" He waved indiscriminately to the bar's occupants.

"You don't understand!" Max said, raising her voice.

"Damn right, I don't!"

Max closed her eyes and thought back to the last time she saw Alec. Raining, in the desert, unable to distinguish tears from rain. It wasn't fair. They'd fought this together, so what made her so special?

"Explain it to me," Dean said calmly.

Max flashed back to Alec's watery eyes. It's you, he had said. You're the one.

When Max opened her eyes again, they were thick with unshed tears. "I can't," she pleaded.

Dean sighed in frustration. It was a tense minute before either of them spoke again.

"They die," Dean began, looking to the soldiers inside, "that's on you, but I'm not risking our lives to keep your little secret." He looked at Sam, who seemed to be relaxing well. He hated to take anything away from his brother. "Sammy and I are out of here come morning."

Dean set his beer down and walked toward the door.

"Wait," Max said, desperate for him to understand.

Dean turned to face her. "Unless the next words out of your mouth are 'You're right, Dean' and 'I'm gonna go tell them,' then I need some shuteye before tomorrow."

He waited for her to speak.

Paralyzed, Max stood there, staring into his peppery, expectant glare. She couldn't find the words.

"That's what I thought," he said, pulling the door open and walking inside, leaving Max standing alone on the patio.