It was barely 5 AM when Max's deft hand snaked over Dean's hip bone and grasped his sex. He was already hard – such was the case with morning wood, and as she felt the naturally ribbed shaft and stroked him, she felt his hand caress her arm, down to the hand which squeezed him, and turned over to face her.

Fuck sleep, he thought, pulling her face toward his for a quiet but intense kiss.

She released his erection to pull at his shoulder, and with gentle suggestion, he crawled between her legs.

He broke off their kiss. "You have something?"

Max fingered his protection tattoo, eyes glued to the swirls, and plunged her free hand into her bag at the side of the bed, pulled out a handful of condoms, and smiled.

"Jesus, woman, I'm not a machine," he joked, then looked up as if considering. "Am I?"

She was already pulling him back down to her. "We hit a planned parenthood a week ago," she said, laughing.

Dean dipped down to her, his shoulder blades coming together as he slowly kissed her neck, her collarbone, her chin, the space between her breasts. He sucked a nipple into his mouth and swept his tongue along it, pressing the nub down.

Max's hands were busy getting the condom out and on him while taking the erotic abuse. Christ, this man knows how to use his mouth.

No sooner had she thought it than had he pushed into her gently.

She murmured against his earlobe, teething at the sensitive spot just behind it as Dean swiveled his hips, exciting the muscle at her entrance and coaxing a deep, wanting moan from the dark beauty's irrationally plump lips.

It was a welcome oblivion as he sensually slipped deep into her, the tip of him kissing at her cervix, then pulled back, making the rhythmic friction, urging them both to completion.

Max never thought she'd like it so sweet, but as they both came, it was as if the undertow of the crash took her anxiety away with it – all the bullshit bureaucracy of the group, the virus, the other virus, the way of the times, everything. She couldn't think of anything else while he stirred the sensuality so deep within her.

An hour later, Dean felt like a teenager who'd missed curfew and was attempting to sneak back into the house. Except he didn't have a curfew as a teen. Dad wasn't home often, so as long as Sam was up in time for school, they were golden. Dressed in his jeans, tee shirt and socks, he padded down the hall toward his and Sam's room.

Just as he'd almost reached the door, Zack's door flew open and the man in question strode out completely dressed, right down to the scowl. Zack took in Dean's state of dress and made a partially disgusted face, as if he knew what had happened last night, and maybe like he could smell it – why Dean was not fully dressed, why he was sneaking back to his room, and likely, that him sneaking back to his room meant it was not Dean and Max that'd kept Zack awake last night.

Dean, on the other hand, noticed how tired Zack looked. The bags under his eyes spoke to his lack of sleep. He glanced to his and Sam's door, then back to Zack. The soldier made the face again.

"Meeting downstairs in thirty," he said, making his way to the stairs.

Sammy, you dog, Dean thought, smirking. He placed a hand on the doorknob, pressed his ear to the door, and knocked lightly.

"Yeah?" came Sam's cracked, tired voice.

Dean pushed the door open and peeked in. His brother looked disheveled and hungover, and alone. Letting himself in the rest of the way, Dean closed the door behind him and sat on what should have been his bed last night – it was exactly the way he'd left it. "How was your night? And what happened to Gwen?"

Sam sat up and pulled on the shirt he'd hastily discarded the previous night. "Uh, already awake. She got up early this morning."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I kinda get the feeling they don't need much sleep," he said vaguely, remembering what he and Max had shared an hour ago.

Sam eyed his brother warily.

"Not like us, anyhow."

"Hey, I'm sorry for kicking you out last night," Sam began. "I didn't know Gwen and I…" He let his sentence trail. Not like Dean didn't know what happened last night.

"No problem," he responded, smiling suggestively. "Long as you got some."

Sam ran a hand through his hair, embarrassed, and asked, "Where'd you sleep?"

The same suggestive smirk split Dean's face as he bent to grab clothes from his bag. "Come on, there's an important meeting downstairs in twenty, and I don't know about you, but I'd like a shower."

"Uh, you go first. I'll catch up to you in a bit."

Dean regarded his brother a moment.

Sam waited nervously for him to gather the rest of his things.

"Why are you being so weird? We gotta get a move on."

Looking down sheepishly, Sam said lowly, "you seen my boxers?"

Amused, Dean laughed, shaking his head. "So irresponsible."

"Shut up."

The Winchesters made it downstairs just as the meeting began. They each took a stool at the bar, facing a little stage-type area where Zack and Max stood.

Again, Zack gave Dean the 'I'm-Not-Happy-With-What-You-And-My-Sister-Are-Doing' look, and took a deep breath. Max, on the other hand, caught his eye and nodded in greeting.

"Yesterday, Max had a run-in with Ty, Angeli and Vick," Zack began, rubbing his palms together. "She was attacked."

A little wave of chatter pushed through the loose army as they speculated what it meant.

"You may remember when they… died," Max said, trying to avoid the memory making its way to the forefront of her mind. She looked away a moment and shut her eyes at the painful picture.

Zack was immobile next to her, unsure of how to comfort her. "Well, they changed," he informed them. "As did some of the others we've lost form our own ranks."

"You knew about this and didn't tell us?" Poe asked, getting up from the stool he'd occupied.

Max raised both hands defensively. "We're telling you now," she said, and even from the bar, Dean could see the weight of the guilt on her. He couldn't blame them for feeling betrayed. Hell, he felt the exact same thing last night.

Again, more chatter, louder chatter, filled the room.

"What are they like?"

"I thought we were immune to this?"

"Did you kill them?"

Zack stepped forward, his looming scowl demanding their silence. "One at a time," he said. "First, the Croatoan virus – or maybe just a mutation of it – could infect us. We don't know what the markers are which makes any of us susceptible. So be vigilant with yourselves and your comrades."

Max steeled herself to continue. "Vick's gone," she said, eying Dean before returning her stare to her people. "Angeli's responsible for my wound." She gestured to her chest. "She bit me a couple of times and stabbed me before I was able to take her out."

A shocked silence fell among the crowd.

"What do you mean you were attacked?" asked Tony. "Like, on purpose?"

Max only nodded, letting the knowledge of what that meant wash over the army before her. "They sought us out, me and Dean, and coordinated an attack."

About twenty pairs of eyes trained on Dean as if his presence had something to do with it.

"How?" someone asked, drawing everyone's attention back to the stage.

"We don't know," Zack said. "Best guess is that when we… turn… we retain some part of our personalities, or training, or cognizance."

"They didn't speak to us," Max informed. "Just attacked."

"Why didn't you turn?" Mona asked, watching Max as if she was a soap opera.

Max bit her lip. "Because I'm immune."

It took another half hour for the makeshift army to calm down and listen to everything Zack and Max had to say, and another twenty to talk themselves out of continuing to drain Max's blood faster than she could replenish it. A few of their fellow soldiers, Krit, Mina, even Drew, were surprised to learn that when they'd been injured, it'd been Max's blood that'd been used to transfuse them, inoculating them in the process. There was a thin layer of gratitude resting above the betrayal of the lie.

A new grumbling sounded as Byram asked, "How did you know using her blood would inoculate them?"

Max looked to Zack worriedly. He almost reached out a comforting hand, but kept it back at the last second. "We had a test subject before we started any of that."

On the edge of their seat, they waited.

"Me," Zack said.

"But doesn't that mean you could've turned?" asked Aurora.

"Yes" he said with a straight face, letting the implication ripple through the crowd that he'd put his own life on the line to test the theory.

Finally, with all the questions and drama out of the way, Zack spoke again. "You all don't have to do this, but Max and I have already decided: we're going to Sacramento. Max's… friend has connections to scientists and government there, and maybe together, they can figure out what's in her blood and how to mass-produce a vaccination."

Sam smacked his brother on the arm and pointed at Max, as if to suggest See? I was right about mass-producing a vaccination, which was only sort of the case.

Dean nodded with a sarcastic smile.

"We're heading out around two," Zack said. "Decide amongst yourselves if you want to join us and get to the capital."

Without officially 'ending' the meeting, Zack split the crowd and headed back up to his 'room,' presumably to get packed and plot a course to Sacramento.

Dean turned to his brother. "So, what do you say, Sammy? Sacramento?"

Before Sam could muster a response, Gwen sidled up to him, interrupting them. She smiled lasciviously at him and curled her fingers around his bicep. "Hey."

Sam hesitated, almost stuttering. "Hey." He looked between Gwen and Dean a moment.

Dean watched Gwen, waiting for her to speak, but the stare with which she pinned Sam spoke volumes all on its own. "I'm gonna make a quick run to the department store. Need anything?"

Sam pursed his lips, knowing exactly what his brother was about to say. He shook his head as if trying to convince himself Dean wouldn't attempt to embarrass him in front of her.

"Like, maybe, replacement boxers, or…?" Dean smiled, proud of his joke. "No, seriously. I'm gonna take a quick ride. I'll be back in an hour. Two, tops."

Smiling magnanimously at Gwen, Sam waved his brother off.

Dean stood and turned back to the crowd, only to see Max standing before him. "Can I go?" she asked, the desperate need to not feel like a science experiment gone bad leaking through her shifty eyes. "You can take out my stitches."

"'Course. You know where they have weapons around here?" he asked as they walked toward the door.

"Be careful," Sam called after him.

Dean and Max found themselves wandering the garden and power tools section of the store, getting creative with possible future weaponry. In one aisle, Max wielded a metal rake, holding it like a bow staff, and waiting for Dean to round the corner of the aisle to surprise him with her find.

Dean was in the next aisle over, electing a hand trowel and gardening fork. He held the pieces, one in each hand like sais, and quietly tiptoed to the end cap, planning on a surprise 'pounce' of his own.

He jumped into her aisle, brandishing the weapons and yelling 'hah,' but he reeled back immediately, narrowly avoiding the tines of the rake. "Shit!"

Max laughed and lowered her weapon. "I feel like this may not be the best weapon for killing Croats," she mused.

Dean twirled the tools as if they were throwing knives. "Unless you were looking forward to Pasta Croatoan."

"Ugh." Max's noise of disgust was comical. His phrase reminded her of the doomed date with Logan so many years ago, and she really didn't want to think about that. "No, thanks. You really know how to make a girl never want to eat again."

"You're always saying I never take you anywhere nice," he joked, tossing the two gardening tools aside.

"And you said you would if I dressed up nice once in a while," she responded, hanging the rake back up.

They walked into the next aisle filled with pneumatic tools. He picked up the display of a multi-purpose shop vac/blower hose, which was still corded for security purposes, and held it up. "Think you could kill a Croat by blowing off its skin?"

Max looked over his arm to study the tool's specifics. "I don't know – what's the voltage?"

Amused and impressed, Dean swung his head in her direction, smiling.

"What?"

"At the risk of sounding like a 'tween, that was so hot."

Max smiled but didn't laugh.

Dean set down the blower. "Are you blushing?"

Max caught sight of the store's floor directory. "Guess what?"

"What?"

She stood next to him and put her finger on one of the department names on the directory.

"Oh yeah," he said, eyes lighting up at the word: Automotive.

Gwen straddled Sam on the chair in his and Dean's room, inching his chin to the side with her thumb and forefinger so she could inspect his ruptured ear drum. His hands rested on her thighs comfortably. He held back the urge to caress up to her hip.

It'd been her idea for him to sit in the chair. Because he was 'too tall' for her to be able to see his ear canal standing. But he wasn't complaining.

"So, uh… I heard Zack and Mona before talking about making others immune. How is that possible? When they spoke, it wasn't about Max's blood."

Gwen let go of his chin and stared into his eyes. "It's like a live strand injection from someone who's immune. Like Max."

"But they were talking about this prior to today's meeting."

Gwen worried her pink lower lip. "You think Mona knew about this before?"

Maybe, Sam thought. He pushed both hands up the tops of her thighs, remembering the way those thighs felt squeezed around his waist last night, as hard as he could take, his vision teetering on the edge of bright stars. He shook his head as if to shake away the distracting thoughts. He still had other questions. "Hey, can I ask you something?"

Grasping his hands, she stilled him and he looked up to her.

"Why does everyone think my brother looks like this 'Alex' guy?" He searched her light blue eyes, imploring her to tell him the truth. He could take it, even if it was weird, even if it was shameful. Even if… "Is Dean a twin?"

Gwen hesitated, trying to figure out how to tell the man who Max swore her to secrecy against that Dean was the genetic donor for this 'Alex' guy – and that Max and Alec were kind of a thing. Eventually, she said, "I don't think so. Has he ever mentioned anything weird?"

Sam huffed. "We're hunters. Our whole lives are weird. But to answer your question, no, nothing weirder than our 'normal.'"

Gwen pretended to think about it. "Maybe something happened with your dad…?"

He hadn't considered that possibility. Was Dad involved in something with a military operation? "Yeah, maybe." Sam stared into the distance past Gwen's concerned face, thinking.

The brunette beauty leaned forward and pressed her lips to his neck. "Sam," she murmured against his jaw. "Have I told you how sorry I am about your ear?" She started to unbutton his flannel, revealing defined pecs with dark hair ghosting over them.

"What," he joked. Sam's attention focused on the matter at his hands. He stared at her lips as she placed them at intervals along his torso on her way down, backing off his lap as she trailed further down.

Quickly, she unbuckled his belt and unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, dragging the edges of her nails down the indentations at his hips until she freed his straining erection.

His eyes darkened to a forest green as her head bobbed lower and her lips caressed the crown of his sex.

Dean and Max had no issues parking the Impala inside the store's onsite auto repair shop. They had yet to encounter a Croat, which was good news.

They completed the oil change and were partway through installing new tires when Max started to open up a little more. "So did you hear all of my conversation last night with Zack," she asked, rolling a new tire toward Dean.

They'd both had their fair share of grease rubbed on their skin and clothes. Dean had taken off the flannel, leaving him in what must have been, at one point, a white V-neck tee. Max had changed into a white ribbed tank top she'd found in the men's department after they'd discovered the repair shop had tools, fluids, everything needed for a tune-up. The previously pristine garment had also been smudged, wiped, and stained with grease.

Dean looked up to receive the rolling wheel and stuttered out a "yeah." He wasn't sure if there was something in particular she wanted to talk about.

"Well, we're going to Sacramento where my…" she hesitated. "Friend Logan is. He has the government and military connection there with some of scientists that never got the virus."

Fitting the tire into place, Dean said, "So you think they already had a cure and they're not administering it?"

"I think if they had one, Logan would try to make sure everyone had access to it as soon as possible."

Dean nodded. "A real activist, huh?" He didn't get the best feeling about the guy for some reason. Maybe he was just picking up on something Max was projecting.

Max let the silence permeate.

"So this friend who has these contacts… you trust him?" As soon as he asked, he could see the way she took a moment to consider it. She was off in that faraway place, like when he'd patched her up. "'Cause it seems like, what with everything, you'd have an inherent mistrust of authority figures, governments, militaries."

She pursed her lips before settling on an answer. "He was a vigilante. He helped us all."

The hunter didn't miss that she hadn't committed to whether or not she trusted the guy. He also hadn't missed the lost look in her eyes, tinged with a bit of sadness. He thought about asking her about it, but instead, she piped up, changing the subject.

"You mentioned your dad was away and left you and Sam to fend for yourselves a lot. But you didn't mention your mom," she probed as Dean started putting the lug nuts in place.

It was his turn to hesitate a moment. "My mom, uh… well, she died when Sammy was a baby."

Max watched his face, reluctant to speak if Dean seemed like he was about to go into detail. He stared into the black of the Impala as if it held the answers to his longtime questions. "A… a demon."

Now it all made sense to her. His family was a family of hunters who'd gone after the thing that took their mother. That's why their dad was usually on a hunting trip; that's why Dean looked after Sam; that's why they helped people.

"I'm sorry. What's her name?" Max handed him the power tool and caught the still-haunted gaze of a young boy staring back at her.

"Mary. Her name's Mary." He felt the nostalgic wave of love wash over him and looked away, remembering how his mom's ghost saved Sam when they'd returned to the site of their childhood home years ago, when Sam had those visions. She was glorious.

She felt like she was intruding on such a personal memory from the sheer look of sadness and love in Dean's eyes, but she couldn't bring herself to look away. Was that how children looked when they knew they had parents who loved them unconditionally, when they knew what it meant to lose that love? To know the sacrifice? Suddenly very aware of her lack of parents, Max finally tore her eyes from him, her cheeks burning from the jealousy.

His parents informed everything he did. Who he was. Brave in the face of danger, because that's what a hunter was. A good hunter because he learned it from his father. Protective of Sam, because that was a brother's job. Helpful to others, because he learned that if he could help, he should.

"She used to sing us to sleep. Sammy first. She had the sweetest voice." Dean's voice was so broken, she wouldn't dare interrupt. "I always felt like I got extra, because I got to hear her sing to him. I'd lay there and her voice would float into my room and wash over me." He closed his freckled lids to savor the memory.

Alec didn't have freckled lids, she realized with a start. Maybe because he didn't make it eight extra years. Or have the love from a mother and father. Max's brows creased, remembering why he didn't make it an extra eight years.

Neither had Ben, she thought, unable to concentrate wholly on Alec. Two clones, one a broken brother, the other an awakened soldier. She wished Ben could have had a chance at normalcy. She wished she hadn't had to be the one to enforce his decision.

Max squeezed her eyes and looked away from Dean. Could Ben have been saved? Could he have become more like Alec or Dean?

The hunter watched her face as her memories twisted it into beautiful chaos. He knew that emotion – painful regret. And for some reason, he just knew who it was about. "Ben," he asked gently. So far, she'd only referred to him as her brother, and there Dean was talking about his family. He felt a pang of guilt.

Twitching back to him, Max nodded. She scrubbed a rag against her hands and balled it up. "I, uh… wasn't exactly honest about Ben before."

Dean set the tool down and stood. She was so sad, and it gave him an inkling as to the seriousness of whatever she was about to confess.

Max was beside herself with grief. She'd once told Alec about what happened to his clone, and now she was telling Alec and Ben's DNA donor about Ben. It was a weird feeling, but she kind of felt like she owed it to Dean. "Ben was… messed up. From Manticore, from the experiments. It was like some wires crossed in his brain – Manticore crossed them. And they didn't uncross them." She took a deep breath and felt Dean's reassuring touch on her elbow.

"My unit – we broke out in '09. Had committed plenty of atrocities before then, and some of us since then – recaptured, reindoctrinated-"

Dean's mind raced with what this meant. The kids escaped, and some had been recaptured, likely tortured as punishment by the way it sounded, and made to do terrible things. That was no life for a kid.

"It was too much for Ben. He knew what he'd done, and he knew what they'd make him do if he was recaptured." She tilted her head up a moment as if to keep the tears at bay, then took a breath and fixed her chocolatey gaze on him. "We were in the woods, Manticore was on us, and he just… begged me."

Her lower lids lined with tears and Dean couldn't help but sweep a thumb under one of her eyes to catch and smear the evidence of guilt. He understood now. Why Zack said she'd been through a lot: Max blamed herself for Ben's death.

What would he do for Sam? Could he be so merciful to make sure Sam didn't end up worse? Instinctively, he knew he would do anything to prevent Sam from feeling pain. Anything.

Dean understood that Max had only once choice, and she did, too. But she hated it.

She brought her eyes to his and they shared a moment of silence. They were more alike than they knew.

Yeah, he understood the demons they kept hidden, the ones they were ashamed to be. They'd glimpsed hell, and it'd stared right back into them, searing into them, burning its brand. That's how he knew she'd carry the weight of it for the rest of her life.

"I'm sure you don't need anyone else telling you you didn't have a choice," he started, sweeping his greasy thumb over her other cheek as a tear started to streak down. "But I will say it was the most merciful thing you could do for him, and not many would have enough heart to be so brave." A warrior's heart.

She tried to look away ashamedly, but he brought her face right back to his, hoping she could see in his eyes the respect he had for someone who was capable of all of the things of which she was capable - empathy, mercy, kicking ass, love.

Max tilted her head and took another shaky breath, sniffing her tears away.