Alec headed towards Bermingham, the jacket still clutched in one hand.

The streets were still pitch-dark, the cracked asphalt almost seeming to split more under his footfalls as he walked towards even darker territory.

And not just literally. The streetlamps were few and far between—harsh bubbles of illumination that only gave an impression of safety. In reality it only made people an easier target. Alec had walked by two muggings in progress—people being beaten into the ground, curse words slung around almost as fast as pulpy blood slithered into the cracks in the concrete.

By the time he had stopped one, the poor bastard was already dead. The marks of brass knuckles deeply inset into his broken cheekbone.

It only made him search faster. Frantic.

What the hell was that kid thinking?

Alec was reaching the precipice of desperation. Or maybe he had jumped off of it a mile back, and now it was just cracking through the thin barrier he had built around it. Like a thorny vine splitting through concrete.

Damnit!

Alec pulled up short, breathing heavy as he ran his fingers through his hair. In an alley off-shooting a side street off-shooting another side street off-shooting the main road branching off into dozens and dozens more.

And Alec suddenly felt so, so small.

"Dean!" It echoed as he looked around at empty space. Drawing the eyes of two passersby down the way. They just scurried by faster. "Dean!"

But of course he didn't answer.

That only made Alec jump more when his phone started ringing in his pocket.

"Damnit," he muttered, digging out his cell. He flipped it open—a drop of rain splatting on the screen the moment it lit up.

It just kept getting better.

Alec answered, pressing the phone to his ear with the hand not clutching Dean's small jacket. "What?" he snapped.

"Alec?" Max. "Is he okay? Did you find him?"

The transgenic sighed, closing his eyes. A siren wailed five streets down, the noise like sandpaper grating on his exposed nerves. "Max… if I found him, don't you think I would've let you know? I promised Josh I would. Now if you don't mind, I kinda need to focus."

"Do you want help?"

It was pure power of self-control that kept him from hanging up on her. He pressed the cell into his forehead, breathing deeply to try to get himself under control.

Two breaths. In. Out. He pressed the phone back to his ear, sniffing.

"No."

"Alec—"

"You're the only one he'd listen to, other than me, Max. The only other one he might just trust. And that's a real pain in the ass when you remember that it's your face that was plastered all over the five-o'clock news!"

He could almost see that little furrow appearing on Max's forehead. But then he got distracted—by a flicker of movement at the end of the alley, across the street. Max's voice sounded a lot more distant then.

"I'll be careful, Alec. Wear a hat. Sunglasses. Hoodie. Something. No one would notice me!"

He was only paying half his attention then, vision zooming in on what was going on down the way. An open door, a figure stepping out.

A much shorter one in tow.

"I hate to tell you, but you're kinda memorable, Max," he mumbled, not even really paying attention to what was coming out of his mouth. "I'll call you back."

"Ale—"

He hung up.

The rain starting coming down a little harder. More of a light shower than a drizzle. Alec barely noticed that either, his attention riveted on the exchange ahead of him as he walked silently closer.

He stopped when he reached the mouth of the alley, the only part of him visible the soft sheen on his leather jacket. He didn't twitch a muscle, even as rivulets of water trickled their way down his face.

The man across the street all but shoved the kid down the few steps leading to the—warehouse?—door. There was no sign on the building, no way of telling that it was more inhabited than any of the other buildings up and down the street. Except to Alec—his sensitive hearing picking up the buzz of activity inside. Too low to distinguish anything more.

The kid turned back to look at the man, and even in the dim light Alec knew it was Dean. That tuft of hair and the way he moved unmistakable, even in the dark.

"Get out of 'ere," the man growled. Even from across the street Alec could hear that. He definitely saw it when the man shoved Dean back, knocking him into a telephone pole.

He flinched, barely keeping himself from surging forward right then. But he couldn't. Not yet.

"Street trash," the man mumbled, before turning back inside. He slammed the door shut after him.

What the hell are you doing, kid?

Alec felt his gaze softening as he watched Dean straighten himself from the pole, glaring daggers at the door out of which he was pushed. He wanted to go to him right then. After that was questionable—it was a debate on whether he would shake his shoulders and demand to know why the hell he ran, or scoop his small form off the ground and refuse to let go. Maybe both.

But he couldn't do either. He had to figure out what the kid was up to.

Then again, his plans don't always work out the way he intended. The rain was coming down a little harder now. And as soon as Alec felt a soft breeze at his back, he knew he was busted.

Dean's head snapped around, his eyes lighting on Alec after that pert nose gave just one twitch of the air.

Apparently Alec had a one-of-a-kind scent too.

The transgenic's heart weirdly started to beat faster, half expecting the boy to make a run for it as he stepped forward. The shadows slithering off his form.

Neither of them moved for a moment, the street like a cavernous gap between them as they both stared. Dean wide-eyed. His fear-scent noticeable even from that distance. Alec calm. Watching. The adrenaline of the last twelve hours seeping away through the soles of his boots. The buzzing of the city and the distant sounds of shouts and sirens the only break in the stillness.

Alec was the one who cracked it open further. One deep breath, and he was striding across the street, the anger and frustration and desperation welling up in him even faster than the adrenaline faded. Dean ducked his head at his approach, breathing so heavy his shoulders visibly rose and fell. But he didn't move.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Alec growled out when he pulled up in front of the kid, who still wouldn't look up. "I was looking everywhere for you! Joshua nearly killed himself trying to find you."

He didn't touch him. But Dean still flinched as if he had been struck. Alec didn't slow in his tirade, throwing out his hands, jacket still clutched in one grip—

"You gonna explain yourself?"

Silence. Dean seemed fascinated by Alec's feet.

"Dean?"

The kid sniffed, lifting his head to look up at Alec. His eyes were glistening, a kaleidoscope of green as his compressed mouth trembled.

Five pin-point bruises lined his jaw.

Alec was stunned into silence, the rest of his rant forgotten. Dean wasn't done. To the transgenic's ever-growing nonplus, the kid lifted up his fisted hand—and rubbed a circle over his heart. Signing, I'm sorry.

The transgenic sighed, eyes sliding closed. Dean sniffed in the silence, his breath hitching in what sounded too much like a sob.

He opened his eyes, the buzz of rainfall coming back into focus around him.

"Dean…" Alec stared at the kid. The kid he had spent the last twelve hours looking for. Standing in the rain with rivulets of water dripping off of his hair and running down his face. Soaking into his shirt. Pooling around his bare, filthy feet. He wanted to say something else—something on the tip of his tongue that he hadn't put into words yet. Somehow 'I was worried' didn't cover it. And he tried to say it, he did. But what came out was, "Where are your shoes?"

The kid ducked his head again, curling up his shoulders to make himself smaller. The action made him look even more vulnerable. He shrugged.

Alec sighed, running a hand down his face. "Okay…" He crouched down in front of the kid, flicking out the kid's coat. "I found your jacket at least."

Dean obediently let the transgenic thread his arms through the sleeves, standing there in some kind of twisted impression of a doll as Alec zipped it up to his throat. But Alec's hands kept going higher, to cup Dean's face. The smooth skin was cool under his touch as Dean finally looked him in the eye.

"Are you hurt?"

It was obvious the question made the kid uncomfortable. He hunched further in on himself, one filthy foot awkwardly folding over the other. But he shook his head, the movement small but unmistakable when Alec was holding his face.

He blew out a breath of relief, forgetting their surroundings and the weather for one moment. Just long enough to pull Dean toward him, resting their foreheads together.

It was like resting his head against a mirror. Wet dark blonde locks scrunching against each other, eyes closed and features perfectly aligning, younger to older. Streams of water ran down both, catching light from distant streetlamps and glowing in hues of red and blue.

Alec sniffed, pulling away. But he didn't let go of the kid.

"You know you've got to explain yourself, right?"

Dean grimaced. And it was such a normal expression, like a boy caught with his hands in the cookie jar, that Alec couldn't help the smile that split across his face.

He laughed, "God, kid. You are in so much trouble."

It might have scared the kid, but his actions softened the words. He pulled the kid close once more, long enough to press a quick kiss onto his hairline. Then he was turning, scooping Dean around and slinging him across his back like the monkey the boy was. Those slim arms slid around Alec's neck, fitting perfectly into the groves of his collarbone. He hiked the boy's legs closer up around his ribs, bare feet safe off of the ground.

He started back off towards home, after casting one last glance at the building Dean had come out of.

He would deal with that later.

—

It was ten minutes down the street when the air blowing past his ear decided to form low words.

"I didn't mean to lose the shoes."

Alec shook his head. Of all the things that could be the first thing to come out of his mouth. "Don't worry about those, kid. Max got the five-fingered discount anyway."

"M'still sorry," he mumbled, before leaning his nose and mouth on Alec's trap muscle. The transgenic could almost feel the force of the boy's gaze peering over his shoulder and into the asphalt.

And that reminded him—

"You signed at me back there."

Nothing. Dean clung tighter to Alec's back.

"How come you didn't do that before?"

Silence. But by now Alec was used to it. He waited, the only noise the distant sounds of the city and the almost inaudible crackle of loose debris under his boots. The dull buzz of rain set the background.

"I didn't think of it, okay?" Dean finally griped out, the near-petulance in his voice refreshing after the stressful day. It made Alec chuckle.

"Seriously, dude. Where did you learn to sign? I'm just kinda doubtful any of those bastards would think it was worth it to teach you."

For a moment Alec thought Dean might've taken that the wrong way. The silence stretched for long enough that Alec was readying himself to apologize. But Dean beat him to it.

"I think my dad taught me."

Alec was honestly so stunned by the sentence that he nearly pulled up short. As it was, the break in his stride was unnoticeable. Maybe.

"You think?"

He felt the kid shrug.

No, don't clam up on me, kid. You were doing so good.

"Sometimes it just happens," Dean started softly, "I want to talk, but the words just stop in my throat. 'nd I can't get 'em out."

Alec stayed quiet, practically willing the kid to keep talking. He was talking to him.

"But I think it happened before…" he tapered off.

"Before the training house?" Alec prodded. Gentle. He wanted to stop, to drop the kid to the ground. Or turn him around so Dean would know he was paying attention. But he kept walking.

Maybe that was what the kid needed—a distracted ear. Or what he thought was a distracted ear. But Alec was sure Dean knew he had his attention.

Alec felt the kid nod into his back, the small torso pressed against him locking up. And damn it all if Alec pushed him over the edge. He felt something in his chest clench, a grimace of pain fixing itself on his features. Once more he opened his mouth, an apology on the tip of his tongue, but Dean kept surprising him.

He sucked in a shaky breath, the inhale locked up and rigid. The exhale was no smoother. Alec wasn't surprised when the boy's voice dropped volume.

"I remember… Dad was really sad." He could almost feel the boy thinking. Hard. "Mom—" he coughed, "M-mom was dead. And I couldn't talk. Signing's still hard but—" Dean started fiddling with the hem of Alec's shirt collar, "—but it was kinda easier too."

For the first time in a long time, the transgenic had no idea what to say. Partly because the conversation was drifting so far into uncharted territory. But mostly because there was just this… bubble. Like a bright light welling inside of his chest.

Pride.

Dean was talking. Not just passing comments—'yes' and 'no,' or the even rarer snark. He was talking. In a conversation.

The poor kid was probably exhausted.

Alec hitched Dean's legs further up into his elbows. "You still remember how to?"

"A little," he whispered.

"Well, I can teach you a little more if you want. Everyone at TC knows how to sign. It'd give you a way to talk. And a pen and paper would do in the meantime."

A beat. Then in the smallest voice he had ever heard—

"I can't write."

That did make him pull up short, scuffing to a stop in the street.

Bad move.

"No one taught you how to write?" Alec's voice was near monotone, as he struggled to keep it level. The training house wouldn't. He knew that much. But he only got into that mess when he was seven. Surely by then…

Dean clutched his back so tight Alec could practically feel the humiliation coming off the kid, even through all the layers of clothing between them.

"It doesn't matter," he mumbled in a rush, more to Alec's jacket than to the transgenic himself, "By the time I was old 'nough to learn, we were already movin' 'round. I started learnin' a lil bit… so I could teach Sammy. But then those men came 'nd—" Dean cut himself off. "D'sn't matter. 'M too stupid anyway."

Alec sighed, his eyes sliding shut—blocking out the light-speckled street. There was so much to work on just in that one little group of sentences.

You got your work cut out for you, 494.

He hitched Dean up further on his back, and filed away the name 'Sammy' for later. Started walking again.

"You're not stupid."

Nothing.

"You hear me?"

Still nothing. Dean just clutched him a little tighter.

"You're not stupid, okay? I don't know how, but we've got the same genetics. We're pretty much the same person, kid. And I can tell you for a fact—I am not stupid."

Yeah. That came out totally wrong.

He tried again, "I mean—"

"I get it," Dean gritted out. "I'm highly intelligent and a perfectly lovely individual. Now will you please stop the stupid fuckin' motivational speeches?"

The boy froze. Like he couldn't believe what just came out of his mouth. And to be honest, Alec was having a hard time believing it too.

Alec blew out a breath through his nose. "I'm teaching you how to write." And he sounded almost as petulant as Dean had.

The kid didn't give him a damn thing. Just buried his face in Alec's back, holding onto him so tightly that the transgenic was more likely to be seen as a hunchback than a transgenic giving a piggy back ride to his doppelgänger. And somehow Alec knew, without needing any confirmation, that Dean had shut down.

Just perfect.