What you need to know: In legend, skin walkers are said to be able to dream walk. Also in legend, soulmates are said to have linked dreams

It was driving her fucking crazy.

Max had learned how to sit still and watch. She had spent what felt like hours in her memory waiting under a thick layer of ice, in freezing cold water during the escape. Waiting for the men to pass, for the way to be clear. Then longer in Hannah's car, waiting to see if she would rat her out.

But those times, it was her in danger. She was the center focus. And she had never learned how to just wait when someone else was the one who was in danger.

That was what she told herself as a justification as the petulant thought ran through her head: It should be me riding in the back. I wish it was.

But the kid had connected with Alec for whatever reason—Max was intelligent enough to not have let the 'smell familiar' comment slide out of her memory so fast. If she was being honest, the kid's voice sounded familiar, too. Like a ghost at the edge of her recall.

Which was beyond frustrating for a transgenic with an eidetic memory.

Even so, she liked to think that her and Alec had gotten past the point where she wanted to rip his head off. The times when she thought of him as Ben were growing fewer and farther between, the more she was able to let go of Ben. He still looked like him, but everything else registered as different. The way he carried himself. The way he smiled. His facial expressions. And even though his eyes were just as dark, maybe even more burdened than her brother's, there was also a lightness to them too. A sanity amidst the madness.

He was just Alec.

And he was surprising her, yet again. She wondered if he would ever stop.

"Hey, hey."

She had never heard that tone in his voice before. Not even when she overheard him saying goodbye to Rachel.

"That's it. Just look at me."

"Stay awake for me, kid. What's your name?"

Then she heard it. That familiar voice fluttering on the edge of her memory, bursting out in a twisted sob.

"D-Dean."

It was driving her insane.

"Dean. Hey, Dean. You got a last name?"

She had never heard him be so gentle.

"…Easy, easy tiger." Then when the kid started sobbing, choking on apologies so mixed up she barely made them out, "Shh… shh… Hey, it's alright. It's okay, Dean. You didn't do anything wrong."

"I've got you Dean, just go back to sleep."

"You're safe. We're gonna get you better, alright?"

"We're going to find your family."

"I'm right here."

"You're safe."

"I'm not gonna let anything happen to you, kid."

"I've got you."

She wasn't looking at the road anymore, her eyes focused instead on some middle space between her and the dash. Zoning out on one sense so she could focus more on another.

She was so caught up in her own thoughts she nearly jumped out of her skin when he leaned through the partition window.

"Hey, Maxie. How far out are we?"

God, she hated it when he did that. He probably knew it, too. She swallowed, glancing sidelong at him. All she caught was his profile. Orange and blue light from the dash reflected off of his fair skin, framing chiseled features and reflecting clearly off of eyes that looked black in the dim light of the cab. Eyes that were focused on the road in front of them.

"'Bout thirty minutes." This was as good as any chance to get answers, she suspected. "How's he doing?"

Alec glanced at her, his proximity uncomfortably close. "I gave him a transfusion. Might give him another. But enhanced blood or no enhanced blood… it's going to be a miracle if he pulls through this, Max. And you know what I think about miracles."

She stared at him. For a full year, since they had gotten out of Manticore, she had been trying to get him to stop being so flippant—so sarcastic—to actually take something seriously.

Now that it happened… it was like a canary in a coal mine that stopped singing.

"So, what? You're giving up already?" she snapped.

He glared at her. "Why don't you stop putting words in my mouth, huh?" His voice was low. More tired than dangerous. Then again, Alec himself was dangerous enough to make up for it. "Just… don't get too attached."

"I'm so sick of hearing that same speech—"

"You'll understand when you see him, Max," he warned, cutting her off. His stare was level, almost like a challenge. "When we get to Logan's… hang back, okay?"

She was about to snap back something about being able to handle herself. Maybe tell him that he didn't need to protect her from fucking grief, that he wasn't the only one who knew how to be professional. But something in his eyes stopped her. He was asking, his gaze turned soft like she had rarely seen.

It would be like kicking a downed puppy.

She blew out an exasperated breath through her nose, never breaking eye contact.

"You owe me an explanation. Big time. And I owe you an ass kicking when this is over."

That smirk appeared—flashing for a brief moment at the corner of his mouth. Even if it didn't reach his eyes, it still held a strange comfort.

"Would expect nothing less, your highness," he sighed, more exhaustion than sarcasm as he turned back to the kid.

If she didn't know how serious it was before, she knew then.

Alec didn't say another word. The motion in the back settled into a heart pounding stillness as they waited. Keeping the boy—Dean—stable. Unable to do anything else without solid ground beneath them.

It's going to be a miracle if he pulls through this, Max. And you know what I think about miracles.

Twenty minutes later, Max had the door open and was jumping out before the ambulance stopped. One cursory scan of the street in front of Logan's house proved it to be clear of onlookers—the only light available being the streetlamp that cast a flickering glow across cracked asphalt.

She rounded the ambulance, pulling up short when she spotted Logan sitting on the front steps to the porch. He looked harried, blonde hair askew and phone clasped between his bobbing knees. But as soon as he spotted her, he shot to his feet.

"Max!"

"Logan…" He intercepted her at the corner of the vehicle, before she could get to the back. The doors creaked open, spilling Alec and Carr's silhouettes onto the aged tarmac.

"Are you alright?" His expression and tone read genuine concern, and it was beyond evident that the journalist had gotten no sleep. But he was standing between her and being able to help the sole person that they were able to save, and he needed to move. "What happened? Where're the others?"

"Table the Q and A, Logan," Alec said. He jumped down from the ambulance, a grey duffle slung over his shoulder. He eased the gurney out after him.

"Max," Logan started again, evidently unable to follow a command from the male X5.

"Move it, Logan." She had never heard that tone of voice before. Alec's commanding bark would have set Jack the Ripper on the move. But Logan still hesitated.

She opened her mouth to agree with Alec, when the X5 flashed forward, snagging the journalist's elbow and sending him stumbling up the path. "This kid is dying. Move your ass!"

"What the hell—"

"Alec…" She stared. It was all she could do as the stretcher was wheeled past. Carr had the IV bags held up in one hand, guiding the stretcher while Trint pushed it forward. He was rattling off instructions over the kid's still form, but that wasn't important.

What was important was that the bandage was gone, leaving the boy's features barred to the dim light of the streetlamp. But it was more than enough for it to be undeniable.

Ben.

Alec shoved Logan one more time, sending him after Carr. "Help them."

Then Logan was gone. And Alec was in front of her. Those familiar green eyes drilling holes into her own—forcing them back into focus.

You'll understand when you see him.

She drew in a shuddering breath, for the first time recognizing the weight of Alec's hands on her shoulders.

"Alec…"

"I know, Max."

She looked over Alec's shoulder, her gaze following the prone form as it disappeared into the house.

"Alec—"

"I know, Max."

She looked back, latching eyes again with Alec's steady gaze. Not Ben's. Alec's. Alec.

"H-how—"

"We'll figure it out." He gripped her shoulder, the touch further grounding her in reality.

That didn't stop her from pulling away, though, stepping back from the other X5 on the now silent street. Inside the house she could hear the clamoring—Carr rattling off instructions and the others' hustle to follow.

But it felt distant, like she was ensconced inside her own bubble of reality. She didn't even realize her breathing had sped up.

"Look, Max—" Alec sent an anxious glance over to the house, "—you can take the ambulance and stash it somewhere. We've got Trint—"

"What, you think I'm gonna leave because of a spook?" Her brow furrowed as she glared at him. "I can help!"

Alec spread his arms, his gaze still obnoxiously calm. "You're compromised, Max."

"Oh, and you're not? He's wearing your face!"

"He's wearing Ben's too."

Max paused, breathing heavily. She stared at him.

"So're you."

Even before hurt flashed in his eyes, she knew it was the wrong thing to say. But she didn't take it back. Not even when Alec cast another glance at the house, this one almost desperate. He threw up his hands.

"Look, Max, I can't keep one eye on you and help the kid."

"Who says I need you to?"

"What. What says. The fact that you're gonna be seeing Ben."

"Oh, yeah, and what do you see?"

"I see a scared kid!" he growled, "A kid that for whatever fucking reason, wants my help. And I'm going to give it to him!"

They had gotten close somewhere in the yelling, and now Alec was standing less than a foot from her face, seething.

He looked away.

"Stash the ambulance, Max. Please. Come back when you're done."

"Alec—"

But he had already turned away. He hefted the duffle bag further up on his shoulder, eyes fixed on the entrance.

Max barred her teeth in frustration, red flashing in front of her before reason took over.

They couldn't leave the ambulance out in the open. And if she tried to get Trint to do it, all it would do is result in a blow up that would take precious time to smooth over. No. Both Trint and Alec were capable. And Logan, for all of his lack of training, was an impassive third party. Between the four of them, Max and Alec were the most questionable.

And the kid hadn't been clinging to Max.

"Fuck!"

She punched the ambulance in frustration, leaving a baseball-sized dent on her way to the driver's side.

Back to the waiting game.

Back to the waiting game.

It had taken what seemed like hours to irrigate the boy's wounds, using sterile saline to flush out specks of dirt and globs of blood that had coagulated around foreign material, trying to keep an infection from forming. Hell, in the wound over the boy's shattered ribs, Carr had dug out a pearl-sized chunk of metal. The instant it was pulled out, Alec saw the boy's entire body relax—hidden tremors in the muscles slumping back into nonexistence. After that, the bandaging—their stores of antibiotic and gauze taking a hit to be able to pack all of the burns.

Alec had kept the piece of metal, slipping it into his pants pocket. Why, he couldn't say. There was just something wriggling in the back of his mind, a faint suspicion and a little voice telling him that none of this added together. Like he was looking at an old wheel without the rims or the center piece, just the spokes.

He was missing something big. He just didn't know what.

Alec leaned on the open archway leading into the dining room. Hands shoved in his pockets, keeping watch. The rickety table and chairs had been shoved aside, leaving room for the gurney to sit in the center of the room. The kid was still hooked up to two different IV's, keeping a constant flow of antibiotics and fluids into his system. The softest blanket Alec could find was the only protection of his dignity, pulled up to his sternum with Alec's jacket folded underneath his head.

He was still filthy, grime smeared over his body and so far ingrained into the creases of his skin that Alec suspected it would take weeks for it to be cleaned away. They had done everything they could to clean the wounds… but he was still fighting multiple infections so far developed that if the transgenic was being honest, it was a miracle that he had survived as long as he had.

A scuff behind him made him turn his head, just far enough to see Max standing behind his shoulder.

"I stashed the ambulance outside the city," Max said, keeping her voice soft. Not that Dean was likely to wake to anything less than a fire alarm, but there was something about the silence that stretched too thick to break. "Where's Logan?"

Alec looked back at the kid, watching the shallow rise and fall of his chest. "He drove the doc back to the hospital. Said he'd be back with more supplies. But, for now, we're in the waiting game."

Max scoffed out a dry chuckle. "Right. Late for the action, early for the wait. Lucky me."

A beat. Max seemed hesitant to step past Alec into the room, instead just staring over his shoulder. For a long moment the only sound was the dripping of the IV. Audible only to their ears.

"How is he?" she asked softly, switching her gaze between Alec and Dean.

"About as good as can be expected. Kid's a fighter. But right now it's just coming down to whether or not he can outlast that infection."

He felt her nod behind him. He could practically smell the hesitancy coming off of her in waves. It was almost fear.

Alec smirked half-heartedly. "He won't bite, you know."

Her glare—oh, he could definitely feel that. It made his smirk widen a little.

"He's not a transgenic, is he?" Max stepped around Alec, closer to the cot.

"No," he agreed. Then sighed. "What the hell is going on here, Max?"

"You mean other than an underground operation that deals in humans?" she muttered, coming even with the side of the stretcher. Her face softened as she stared down at the familiar face for the first time up close. "No idea."

Alec shifted, clothes rustling in the quiet as he came to stand at the foot of the gurney, looking down the length of the kid. "Great."

Max reached out, her entire posture screaming insecurity as she ran a thumb over Dean's brow. Her touch smoothed out the furrow on his forehead.

"He's dreaming."

Alec stared at her, watching how all the rough edges she set up crumbled as soon as she was around the kid. He would almost feel like he was intruding—if Dean wasn't wearing his face.

"You think he has a family?" she asked, without looking away from the kid. She kept stroking his brow, but Dean's eyes kept flitting under his lids. "I mean, he looks just like you and Ben…"

He sniffed. "Dunno. Guess we'll have to ask him when he wakes up." The 'if' went unsaid. They had done what they could—now, it was just up to him. "You gonna be staying?"

In answer, she snagged a chair and pulled it close, not breaking her gaze from Dean's face. "I figure TC can get on without me for a minute."

Out of her peripheral, Alec smirked. They both knew that wasn't entirely true, but he wasn't about to call her on it. "So… we've got all night to kill." He waggled his eyebrows. "What'cha want to do, Max?"

She sighed. "How 'bout we play a game? Truth or dare."

"Ah," he rolled his eyes, "fine. Dare."

"I dare you to shut up until morning."

He clutched his chest. "Ouch, Maxie. That hurts. That really… really stings."

"Starting now."

Alec sighed. He snagged another chair, dragging it over to Dean's other side and slumping down. He crossed his arms, shooting a glare at Max from across the still figure on the gurney. "You're no fun."

—

Dean felt him. Hovering at the edge of existence within the dark. Usually he would run to him, stretching his awareness until the delicate threads of his being wrapped around him. He wanted it, longed for it. His sole reprieve.

But he was so tired. He felt the pain even in his sleep, even in the relief of the dark. It was all he could do to just be curled in on himself, feeling the tracks of silent tears running down his face in the real world. In the Outside. In the Inside, it was still, quiet, as the only other person in the dark waited for him to come.

He always came to him. Never the other way around. He didn't think he knew how, not really. And he had never had to learn. But it was easy for Dean, to move in the stillness. Noise might be his shield, but he lived in the quiet. It came naturally to him; stretching his awareness, moving what he knew to reach him.

But he couldn't.

—

"He's crying," Max whispered.

Alec's chair creaked when he straightened, his mouth splitting open as he watched silent tears track down the kid's lax face.

—

Dean sobbed into the darkness, broken cries erupting from the gaping hole in his chest. He couldn't stop, each one torn out of him without consent or permission. They echoed in the dark.

He curled in further on himself, trying to protect what he could from the black abyss that stretched all around him. This place was always a sanctuary for him, the place where he knew he wasn't alone. But what if he wanted to be alone? What if he needed to be alone? He was never alone. There was always someone there, to snap an order. To poke and prod. The only time he was ever left alone was when he was shoved in that fucking cage. What if he wanted to be alone?

Dean?

It felt like a whisper, as the other presence drew closer. He stretched near, reaching out with tentative fingers that brushed Dean's shoulder, spreading warmth down to his bones and tearing another sob from his frame.

Dean.

He didn't stop crying. Just finally giving in to the release as he wrapped around him, warmth and concern and love radiating from his small form.

Dean.

—

Those busted lips split apart as Alec watched, air leaving in a heartfelt sigh.

"S'my…"