Dean wasn't sure how they got there.

After putting up their dishes on the counter, Alec had snatched a book right out from the center of the stack next to the chair—the lamp barely rattling from the quick disturbance.

Dean's eyes widened from the table, as the transgenic slumped on the floor underneath one of the windows.

"C'mon kid," he had said, "You're not gonna use that excuse again."

He had been hesitant—who wouldn't? Because if that didn't sound like a punishment, then what did? But he made his way over anyway, reasoning that Alec didn't smell angry.

As soon as he slid down the wall, the transgenic propped the book up between their two knees—needless to say, it slumped heavily in Dean's direction, making the boy wince at the reminder of their size difference.

Maybe one day… he thought absently, realizing with a flared bit of hope that they did have the same genetics. So one day he'd be like Alec, right?

If you live that long.

He pushed the thought aside, curiosity burgeoning in him as Alec flipped to the first page.

"You said you know a little bit, right?"

Oh. Oh.

Dean stared up at the man, sunlight trickling in behind him—unknowingly adorable as his brow furrowed, blonde hair flopping onto his forehead. But his momentary confusion didn't stop him from glaring at the guy.

"Hey, cut it out," Alec nudged the boy's shoulder. "Work with me here. You said you know a little bit, right? Said you taught yourself a little bit."

He wasn't sure if it was the order or the little boost to the kid's deflated ego that made him hold out his hand, forefinger and thumb extremely close together.

Later, he would think back to that moment, and know—it was definitely the order.

"'Kay—you know the alphabet?"

Dean shrugged at his free knee, looking like he would rather be anywhere but there.

Alec sighed. Who would have thought that the great assassin X5-494 would be giving kindergarten lessons to a ten-year-old?

The voice sounded mocking in his head—sounded like Max. But he shoved it aside, ruthlessly. Not because it was harming him, but because in this situation, as soon as he started mocking himself, he was mocking Dean more.

And watching Dean curl up farther inside his hoodie, his face flushing in shame as he hugged his arms close to his ribs, Alec knew he had endured more than enough mocking for a lifetime. Enough to create a thick shell that required prodding to break.

He nudged him again. "C'mon, kid. We got the whole day here. How much do you know?"

Dean finally sighed, unfurling himself a bit, just enough to hold up his hand again, thumb and finger close together. He didn't look frustrated, like Alec would expect, just tired.

"Okay…" Alec drawled out, staring down at the fun-sized version of him. "You really gonna make us start from scratch here?"

Dean just twirled one forefinger in the air, the movement so sudden that it took Alec a moment to realize he was signing. Alone.

Leave it alone.

"Yeah—that's not going to happen."

Dean looked up at him, then, raising an eyebrow. The challenge clear. What're you going to do, then?

And yeah, the kid had him there.

He sighed. "Is it really such a bad thing, learning to read?"

He was expecting Dean to be annoyed—he wasn't expecting him to chuff in annoyance like some kind of reptile. Or wolf. The sound somehow sounded like it came from a little bit more than just his body.

But he didn't have a lot of time to think about it, not when Dean flicked two fingers against his forehead. Not this again.

"Dean…" the boy just looked away from him, sulking. And wasn't that just great? He nudged Dean, and when that didn't work he flicked him in the face with one of the hoodie's strings. That got him a glare—but more importantly it made the kid look at him. "You're not fucking stupid, okay? And I'd better not hear another fucking word about that."

Dean turned away. It was silent for a moment—then he flicked two fingers against his forehead again, raising an eyebrow at Alec. And the transgenic could practically hear the boy's voice in his head.

You can't hear me, dipshit.

Alec scoffed in disbelief, whatever expression he wore enough to make the kid smirk in self-satisfaction. He nudged him again. "You gonna work with me or not?"

When the kid acquiesced with a reluctant shrug, Alec felt a surge of relief. Not satisfaction—he was smart enough to know that Dean was just giving him what he wanted, because he wanted it.

"Okay… what d'you know?"

It took a while. Dean's hand motions and frustrated rumbles—which Alec couldn't get over, because really, what is this kid?—the only things that lent any credit to communication. But they managed to figure out that yes, Dean knew the alphabet, but he had forgotten a lot for lack of practice. It took even longer for the boy to get out that the words all ran together, the letters mixing up in his head. His face was heated to a humiliated red by that point, and he flicked two fingers to his brow again. Like his way of saying, See? I told you I'm stupid.

Alec shoved the hand down. "Will you stop that? It's not stupidity—it's dyslexia."

The kid looked up at that, the humiliation draining away to confusion, an open vulnerability. Like a wounded animal.

And all fucking hell. It made Alec want to kill somebody.

But instead, he just nodded. "It's ridiculously common. Even transgenics get it." They also got corrective surgery, but Alec wasn't going to mention that part. "And unless it's just ridiculous, there's some tricks for it—here."

Alec gave him a rundown, wishing belatedly that they had a book with bigger letters as he showed Dean how to run his hand across the words to help keep the letter jumping to a minimum. The kid just looked stunned by that point, and the transgenic somehow knew that there wouldn't be another problem with him listening.

It didn't take them too long before they figured out a method. Dean would run his hands across the pages, stopping at each word so the transgenic could spell it out, say it, and sign it. At the end of every sentence they would go back and run through it in its entirety, Dean's hands following him in the signing.

And the more they worked, as the minutes ticked by, the more Alec wondered,

How the fucking hell does this kid think he's stupid?

It didn't take him more than fifteen minutes of going through words before he started picking up on the signs, filling in the sentences mostly himself and jumping ahead of Alec in his signing. One simple sentence he translated all by himself, while Alec's hands sat frozen on the first word. Not because he didn't know it—but because he was enraptured by the sight of the kid. His hands flashing with confidence, green eyes lit with mischief—with life, a smile quirking the edge of his mouth.

"Now you're just showing off," he grumbled. He couldn't resist the temptation to ruffle Dean's hair, making him duck his head, ears tinting crimson. But he still caught the grin on the boy's face.

It was thirty minutes before Dean's brow started to furrow as they ran through the words, the kid looking totally oblivious to the fact that his lips were twitching as he sounded out the words in his head. And Alec knew a lot of people who would call him idiotic for the simple movement—but the transgenic knew kinetic-minded people always tended towards the habit, anyway.

Alec filed that information away for later, wondering vaguely if Dean and Fixit would hit it off, and how fast Dean would pick up on dismantling an engine.

Damn fast, if his current learning curve was anything to go by.

He was snapped away from the thought when Dean's hand froze on the paper, blocking Alec from continuing. He looked over at the kid, finding him frowning, staring steadfastly at the page.

"Dean?"

For a moment Alec didn't think he would respond, that he had checked out entirely. But then he raised a hand, pinching three fingers to his palm in a newly-learned word, his head canted to the side.

"Why? Why what?"

Dean chuffed in frustration, signing the word again.

"Yeah, same thing. I'm not getting it, kid."

He sighed, green eyes flicking across Alec's apartment. They latched on the book again, and Dean backtracked—his fingers running over the words in reverse. And damn the fact that the kid thought he was an idiot, with how fast he backtracked, even turning two pages before he finally landed on the word he was looking for. He jabbed at it. Everything.

"Why everything?" Alec cocked an eyebrow, "I think that's a little above my paygrade."

Dean sighed, looking around. He waved an arm at Alec's apartment, then clutched at the hoodie he wore, green eyes looking up at him in a silent plead.

He stared, unable to do anything else in the face of the sheer desperation shining out of Dean's eyes. From a kid that hadn't had an act of kindness in years, gripping at Alec's hoodie, in Alec's apartment, his stomach full of Alec's food.

And he understood, his own voice echoing back at him six months back, when he somehow managed to drink himself to a pleasant buzz that loosened up his tongue.

"Why do you want me here, Max? Why'd you even bother?"

He'd forgotten how many bottles he had drank to get to that point.

And with Dean it was different, the kid's eyes lit with a different meaning, but still the same. Alec couldn't help but understand that much.

"B-but… h'w c'uld he w'nt me? 'M a f-fuck up."

What was he supposed to say to that? Once again, he felt miles out of depth. A petty part of him wondered again why Dean had to choose him. Why him? He didn't know how to handle this. Was it just because they looked alike?

But that didn't matter, because that was about him. And Dean was looking away, a bitter tear finally streaking down one freckled cheek.

He didn't know what to do.

"We're living on borrowed time. And if you don't put your heart out there on the line, you're never really living at all."

His own words echoed back at him. He'd meant every one of them, his motives for wanting to take Asha home far beyond just for her body. Nothing had happened anyway, the woman passing out from sheer exhaustion. And afterwards, he realized a bit too late for it to be painless, that it was better for her if she stayed far, far away from him.

But Dean was different, wasn't he?

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

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

Alec tried to ignore the flinch when he touched Dean's shoulder, but it still made him hesitate.

Alec never thought himself as good with words. He was bred for it, in a way—charming and flirting the main weapons he was taught to employ in his arsenal. But they always felt cheap coming out of his mouth. The times where he felt anything were the moments when they came out clumsy, so inadequate for whatever was swelling inside of his chest.

"I like you a lot."

"I'm happy."

"I'm sorry, Max."

Dean sat in the shell of silence that he wasn't able to break. Another tear streaked down his face—he angrily swiped it away, sniffing the rest back. It was stupid—he was being a stupid child, asking questions, asking why.

He wasn't supposed to ask why. Not if they were beating him within an inch of his life, not if they were making his own body betray him in ways he didn't even know were possible, not if they left him in the dark with his own hunger and thirst for days, and not if they were actually being kind to him. It tended to forewarn of something bigger, something even worse. For one owner it had been a foreground, a prep-stage for some kind of fucked up attempt at Stockholm Syndrome. And he had gotten close—he didn't quite make it, but he had gotten close to molting Dean into what he wanted.

What if that was all Alec was doing? Would he turn the tables on him? When? He had already broken so many rules he didn't know where to start. What else could make him finally lay down the line that can't be crossed? What could Dean avoid to keep this?

What were the fucking rules?

He flinched when something landed on his shoulder, the weight of Alec's hand both relieving and confining at the same time. Years of experience warred with the feeling that maybe, this time, it was okay.

It didn't feel like it.

Dean could almost feel the wheels turning inside the transgenic's head. He would save the man the trouble—backtrack, pretend like it never happened. But his throat was closed off, and he felt heavy, like he couldn't even sign the words if he tried. Tears still tumbled down his face despite his efforts.

Pathetic.

God, he was tired. He was so tired.

Then that hand ran across his back, bumping over shoulder blades and his knobby spine to hold his other shoulder. He stiffened, expecting something more—he knew the man could throw him across the room if he wanted. It wouldn't be difficult, hell with Dean's scrawny ass it would barely be any effort for him.

But the hand just tugged him closer, so he was tucked under the man's arm, close to his side. He stiffened against the motion, his nose subtly twitching as he picked up all the scents in the air, looking for what wasn't there.

No arousal. Just a blend of confusion, worry, a jumbled ball he always attributed to helplessness, but something over that too. A steely determination he never found in anyone but Alec, like a constant mantra of protect.

And there was probably more. Hell, Alec was a transgenic, he probably knew all about scent manipulation. Involuntary body control. But Dean was only ten-years-old, surrounded by a scent that was like a fucking drug. And it was so much easier just to sink, accepting the man's hold and curling further into it, his wolf rumbling inside his chest despite the water that was still making occasional treks across the freckled map of his face.

He did his best to ignore them, allowing himself one sniffing inhale and one more swipe across his face with Alec's hoodie sleeve. Not that that did anything—more just fell.

Oh the joys of being hydrated.

Beside him, Alec blew out a breath. More than a little grateful that the small nudge hadn't turned out to be a total disaster. He couldn't help but smile a little at the low rumble that ran through the kid, the vibrations he felt running through Dean's chest and his cat DNA responsible for being able to hear the depth of the infrasonic sounds. A part of him still wondered at the noise, curious as to what the hell those people had done to make Dean so other. Post-conception it should have been entirely impossible. Hell, Dean's conception with a real mother and Alec's face should have been entirely impossible.

But for now, he pushed that to the side, holding Dean close with one arm and the other adjusting the book. He flipped two pages forward, to where they were.

"I think you got signing down for now, kid," Alec rumbled, reverberations of his voice echoing through the ribcage where Dean's ear was pressed. He ruffled the dark blond tufts sticking out haphazardly from under his arm, the gesture so casual but it made the kid relax a little more, leaning into Alec's touch like he was dying of thirst.

It wasn't difficult to find where they left off. This time Alec was the one who ran his hand over the lines, his voice heard more through the vibrations in his chest than anything else as he sounded out the words, spelling them as he went along.

If Dean was being honest, he was struggling to keep his eyes open. The reverb of the transgenic's voice combined with the ensconcing hold and soothing scent, with the huge breakfast warming Dean from the inside out, blood rushing to his stomach… it made it difficult. He hadn't felt like this in years, like it didn't matter if he had his guard up or not.

Well, it typically didn't. Defenses or no defenses, his alphas could do whatever they damn well pleased. But this was… nice, God forbid he think it. Even if it couldn't last.

But he still kept his eyes open—he was there to learn, anyway. And he didn't want to waste Alec's time, especially when the transgenic wanted to be at HQ.