Making a blanket statement here - this story segment gets really rough in places. Like... really rough in places. Trigger Warnings for violence, intense situations, and sexual assault.

NOW

It was quiet. Still. The heavy stench of stagnated air filled his nostrils, the lack of airflow taking in more and more of the cacophony of scents trapped inside the sewers. They lodged inside of his nostrils, choking him. But still he couldn't help but take one shaky breath… then another… then another. Fighting against the pain coursing through his entire body for every rise and fall of his chest.

He was sure he was bleeding out. Slowly but surely. The bruises were deep, leaking their black tendrils far into his skin. His wrist was broken… it might have been shattered, actually. And wasn't that a feat? No one had been able to shatter one of his bones since the training house years ago, when one of the more meticulous types dropped his usual fetishes and came at him with a silver rod.

Then again, he had never fought with a transgenic before. It wasn't so much a fight as it was a massacre. His injuries from the past few weeks all cumulating, along with the stifling fear from years of training.

You did not hit back.

You fought who they wanted. You killed what they wanted. You did whatever they wanted. Were whatever they wanted.

But you did not hit back.

Dean's bloody lips twitched up in some semblance of a smile from where he lay limp on his side, as he thought about the solid blows he had landed to the man's nose and torso. He was sure he cracked the man's sternum—the feeling of solid bone giving way under his palm, tension building and building and building all within a millisecond before it finally couldn't take the strain.

The crack had been audible. But it had only made the man go down for a moment.

But maybe it was better that he died here, he thought, as the shallow flow of the sewers trickled under him. Taking with it tendrils of crimson that wrapped and coiled in the oily water. Because if a lower-level transgenic fought like that… how bad would Alec be?

He was sure that was one beating he would never survive. And he wasn't sure if he would want to. If he ever disappointed the man—angered the man—that bad…

But he had. Alec just didn't know it yet.

Dean felt tears prick on the corners of his eyes, building and building in trembling pools before one finally made it out, tumbling down the side of his nose. He never blinked, the salty water joining the flow beneath him in drops when they just became too heavy for hydrogen bonding to hold together.

If Alec survived the next few days… maybe it was best that he didn't find Dean down here. That the water just carried more and more of Dean away until his lifeblood was drained. Scattered into the sewer systems of Seattle.

I'm sorry…

Dean let his eyes slide shut, let himself fall down into the Abyss for one last time. Had to see Sammy one last time.

He felt the tendrils of his brother's soft soul snake around him as he slipped under.

I'm so sorry.

—

Hundreds of miles away, a single tear slipped down a six-year-old's cheek. He paused in his homework, pencil frozen over the exceptionally neat handwriting for his age—at least that's what his teacher told him—as that sense of loss came over him. Slamming into him full force.

I'm so sorry.

"Sammy?"

Sam Winchester looked up, latching onto the concerned gaze of his father from where he sat across the motel room. The little boy forced a smile onto his face.

"I'm fine," he chirped, making his pencil go back to his paper. But the letters might as well have been Greek, just then.

He wasn't fine. He really, really wasn't fine.

Then there was that name again. That brush over his senses as he felt himself be enveloped. Warmth and steadiness and sweetness and brokenness and such raw pain.

Dean.

—

THEN

Maps were spread out across the table—arial views of a compound, blueprints marking the layouts, and a larger map to determine the distance between the compound and different landmarks. Both Max and Will were leaning over the table, while Alec was seated across from them. Listening.

Well, mostly listening. Listening enough to point out whenever one of them made a mistake or overlooked a possible setback. Several times now he had had to ask Will where they were getting their information. Was it just from the person who commissioned them? And how long had it been since the man had worked there, again?

But for the most part he didn't contribute. Max was perfectly intelligent and capable in her own right, and Will had just as much training as he did. In the end he would probably look over it, scanning his subconscious recording of the conversation for fallacies before putting forth his own suggestions. Besides, he had a lot of his own things on his mind. There was plenty to keep him occupied these days.

Dean was still adjusting. The kid had barely been there five days—but long enough that Alec's limit to focus solely on the kid had expired. And he had been doing a lot of watching, too. The first night Dean had spent in TC, they shacked him up in Alec's small two-room "apartment." The transgenic must have checked on him three times. At least. The rest of the time he had been listening through the walls, straining his ears to hear what was going on. But the kid was quiet. Far too quiet.

And like a damn puppy, too. Even after he had been cleaned up and given his own clothes, he still typically used one of Alec's jackets or sweaters as a pillow. The next day when Alec woke up, he found Dean sitting on the couch that was acting as a makeshift bed. Unmoving, and drowning in one of Alec's hoodies. One that Alec had put in a makeshift hamper to wash after he had gotten blood on the side, but it didn't seem to bother Dean.

But what did bother Alec? The kid still didn't move unless Alec told him to. He stayed ensconced in the corner, tracking Alec's movements, until he told the kid to come down to get food with him. Then he only ate what Alec gave him. Then he only spoke when asked a direct question. And even then, sometimes not.

He wasn't exactly sure what to make of the kid's speech patterns. One moment he was fully capable, with even the possibility of snark. Full of wit. The next moment he would be dead silent, and when asked anything he seemed to struggle to even shrug. Something triggered him in-between, but he wasn't sure what. He heard from Max—one of the few people who actually interacted one-on-one with the kid, since most of the time he was just glued to Alec's side like a leech—that the kid hadn't spoken to anyone else. He hadn't uttered a single peep, apparently. Except to Alec.

And he still wasn't sure exactly how to feel about that. But then again, why did he have to feel anything about it, anyway?

He knew the answer to that question, too. It came when Dean came out of the bathroom on the third day. When his burns were mostly healed up, and he could actually take a full bath. The kid still wouldn't let him anywhere near the bathroom when he was about to take a bath. Or even wash his hands. Not even when the water was filling. If Alec walked up, he instantly shut the water off, or tried to move away. Which Alec got. It wasn't like he didn't have his own horror stories from Manticore, situations that he avoided with an eye to detail that surpassed all else. But his were different, plain and simple. Manticore wanted their soldiers functional, able to blend in in every situation. He was sure they spent months developing disciplinary programs that would make sure they didn't become squeamish over anything normal. Making sure they associated their discipline with the people who ran the place. Not lasers, or restraints. Or water.

Dean's so-called 'owners' apparently hadn't had the same level of forethought.

But he had come out clean. With a fresh pair of clothes that were only slightly too large on his overly-concave frame. A pink flush had lit in the boy's cheeks, backlighting his freckles and sending those big-eyes sparkling with a kaleidoscope of green and gold. And that was the first time Alec really saw himself in the kid. That was why he couldn't help but feel something, even if it was totally against his nature. Because Dean's eyes were just far too heavy with experience, weighted with years of pain that no ten-year-old should have to know. That no adult should have to know. Then those full lips gave a hesitant twitch, almost like a grimace, and Alec realized he had been staring. Open mouthed.

The kid was him. Different. But oh so similar. And what was he supposed to do with that?

"Alec!"

"What?" he looked up, finding both Max and Will staring at him, with Joshua's imposing figure standing in the doorway with all the bluster of a crazed elephant. That snapped him awake real quick.

His feet were on the ground, and he didn't even remember slipping them off of the table. "Joshua?"

Because if Joshua was here—that meant that Dean wasn't with him. Dean was supposed to be with him.

Joshua was stunned, his bluster shoved behind a veneer of calm that made him stare with wide-eyed looks around the room. To Max, Will, then landing on Alec. The dog-man swallowed.

"Uh, uh—Tiny fella… tiny fella gone."

Alec frowned. "What? Dean? Dean's gone?"

Joshua nodded his head. His whole upper body more like. "Poof. Vanished."

Alec turned back to look at Max. The woman looked as wide-eyed as Joshua did. "Go," she said.

He needed no other encouragement, practically shoving Joshua out of the room in his hurry.

HQ was quiet today. Transgenics were still in the area—Dix holed up at the computers and a few X5's and Mole going over the weapons inventory and food supplies on the tables beneath the balcony. But Dix barely even gave them a parting glance, too entranced by whatever he was working on.

"What happened, Joshua?" he pressed, fighting with himself to keep his voice calm. The imposing transgenic was exactly like… well, a dog. Powerful and capable of ripping somebody's lungs out, but skittish and easily silenced.

"Alec mad?" he asked, and fuck but the guy looked heartbroken at the thought.

"No, Josh. Just tell me what happened."

He fiddled with the hem of his shirt, "Joshua go to look for books. Tiny fella quiet… Joshua thought he'd stay put."

"I know. I know, Josh." Alec ran his fingers through his hair. It was too early for this. And shit, but Max should have let him stick around the kid. He should have fought harder. He knew he was a flight risk, dammit! "Dammit!"

That garnered a glance and a raised 'eyebrow' from Dix. But Alec ignored him.

"Tiny fella in trouble?"

"If I have anything to say about it," Alec snapped back. But then he focused, trying to get himself under control. Joshua was the best tracker they had. It wouldn't do to make the man so skittish that he couldn't help.

"Something wrong, Chief?" Dix piped up. But Alec continued to ignore him.

"You think you could track him down, Josh? I mean, he couldn't have gotten far, right?" But that was a false hope. He could have gotten far. And Alec definitely wouldn't put it past the kid.

It was always the quiet ones. Why was it always the quiet ones?

"Alec and Joshua look for tiny fella?"

"Yeah! Yeah, exactly." He clapped him on his shoulder.

Joshua's face brightened considerably at that, splitting into a toothy grin. "Alec not be mad no more. Joshua make it better."

"Yeah, you do that buddy." He turned around, snagging his jacket from the railing on his way to the stairs. "Let's get the lead out. I want to find the kid before nightfall."