"You're Spike."

Spike. The word - no, name -echoed amidst the corners of his brain as had become habit for any sort of information given to him the last few days. It was an unnecessary one; the name registered immediately. Spike. It settled into place. Spike. That was right.

But what did it mean?

That they had all lied, for one thing. The relief of finally learning such a vital piece of knowledge about himself became tainted by this realization. It had been a huge risk trusting them as he had; only now, much too late, did he understand the cost of allowing his vulnerability to guide his judgment. They had deceived him, gotten him on this plane, and lied. His mind began to turn over every piece of information given to him by them. Had any of it been true? Where were they taking him? Home, they had said, but was that indeed the truth? He was trapped.

So stupid- a stupid, stupid move! A low growl escaped his throat as the anger within his gut built. His - Spike's - eyes glared towards Davenport then to his own hand still gripping the older man's throat. All he had to do was squeeze... It would be so easy...

"Spike-" Davenport wheezed. The older man maintained eye contact with his assailant, his face blank, yet there was a spark of fear within his dark eyes. He - Spike- felt something within his gut stir. After days of confusion and fear, always a step behind, it felt freeing to be the one in control even just a moment. Spike felt his mind race, firing multiple directions with perceived outcomes he could achieve and calculating the varied degrees of possible success for each one.

"Don't!" Davenport's eyes suddenly widened. Spike felt himself bristle at the plea until Davenport spoke again. His voice while winded was still sternly authoritative. "Don't."

Shadows within the barely lit bathroom shifted, causing Spike to realize Davenport wasn't speaking to him. Someone else was there. Adam. Spike's head snapped beyond his shoulder. Indeed Adam was there within the doorway. Bree was there as well, both paused awkwardly mid-motion. Gotcha. A small smile tugged the corner of his mouth.

He gripped Davenport's throat tighter, causing the man to gag. Adam and Bree again shifted, this time backwards. "Give me a reason."

Neither moved and yet he still saw the beginning of panic enter both of their faces. They were afraid of him. Him. That was evident and had been from the moment Davenport had uttered the sentence verifying Spike's identity. The tension practically suffocated the room. Oh yes, beyond a doubt they were afraid of him. Good.

But what did it mean? Who was Spike to them? He had the name now, another to add to the scattered collection of pieces which he had, yet they were still so little of the puzzle. Yet this one, his name, it meant something to the others in the room, and based on their reactions that something wasn't good. Enemy was the first word to cross his mind, followed by threat. That it seemed was the logical conclusion.

"Don't move," he growled, bringing his voice as low as he could manage. Height was one thing he didn't have over either of them. But intimidation could be achieved in other ways. Again neither moved. Spike studied their demeanors. Neither seemed poised to lunge or offer any other form of attack.

Satisfied he returned his focus back to Davenport. The older man, while still held within his grasp, had managed to push away from what remained of the bathroom mirror. Spike's gaze briefly fell to the glass. A large chunk was missing and what remained was fractured at best, yet still he could make out the darkened shadows from the pair in the doorway. A red smear ghosted along the glass. Blood. Red... From within his mind something shifted.

Red. Lying on the ground, the taste of blood within his mouth. A pounding roar within his ears. Blurred vision- no. Not blurred, but obstructed by something. Words; ones he couldn't quite make out...

"Impossible," Bree breathed, her voice bringing him back to the present. Spike shook his head slightly. The movement brought back to focus the lingering headache from before. The dull ache had morphed into something more searing, radiating its way from behind his eyes.

It wasn't important. Again Spike darted his gaze between the trio who surrounded him.

"Don't move," he growled again, sneaking another glance towards Bree and Adam. His mind became a blur of activity. He'd figure out the specifics of their treachery later. Now all that mattered was how to get away from the situation he found himself in currently. Something deep clicked within him as the thoughts came to mind, something ingrained within his psyche.

A chain reaction of thoughts morphed from there. For the first time he felt right. He could handle this. There had to be a way out of here, away from the imminent danger it all presented. Disposing of Davenport would be easy enough, and he was fairly certain he could take on the other two... make a run for it off the plane...

"Please," Bree swallowed. Adam remained silent yet reached an arm to cross in front of her as if to keep her in place. "Ch- Spike, don't-"

Something jerked within Spike's gut at her words. A slip of the tongue; that's all it was, he told himself. Why would she need to correct herself? She thought he was still Chase? How was that possible?

The pain within his head increased as more contradicting thoughts came. If he was Spike, then who was Chase? Where was he? And why did they think he was Chase at all? So much was being conveyed within their faces as he looked each of them again in turn. They seemed confused as well. They had misled him and yet somehow had been misled as well. But how could that be? They had to have known. It was impossible...

"Impossible..." Bree breathed as if reading his thoughts. He glared her way; testing, checking to see if she made a move. She remained still, held back by the outreached arm of her older brother. Their older brother... right? His and Bree's.

No. Chase was the one who was their brother. They hadn't mentioned Spike before in their little family introduction. There was a reason for that, his mind offered before again returning to its usual silence. The way the pair looked at him now, the sudden change in posture and the tone they used, gave the answer. There was nothing familiar within the way they were reacting to him now.

An animal; that was how they were treating him. To them he was something dangerous. Another flash crossed his mind. Red was all he saw. Red and the words, still much too blurred to make out.

Red. Anger. Threat. A quick jump into action, to fighting, to clawing and punching and kicking his way until nothing was left...

Movement crossed the corner of his eye. Spike snapped his head back in the direction of the bathroom. Davenport had managed to push himself further from the mirror and was attempting to move himself into what was probably a somewhat more comfortable position. A twinge crossed Spike at the sight from somewhere within the back of his conscience and his grasp loosened. Davenport said nothing yet his gratefulness was evident even as the older man attempted to catch what breath was possible.

"I'm fine," the older man said. "Bree, Adam, go."

"What?" The pair nearly said in unison.

Davenport sputtered a cough before he spoke again. "It's fine. I'm alright. Go. Spike and I need to talk alone."

"Mr. Dav-" Bree began again.

"Now. That's a direct order." Davenport's face became stern as neither of the two made a movement. "I'm not asking; I'm telling you. Leave us."

Still neither moved.

"Now." While his voice was still rather weak the force behind that word was obvious. This time Spike could hear the pair move away from the doorway towards another part of the plane. Davenport let out a shuttered breath before shifting again. Light caught the shattered glass behind him, bringing more of the red smears into view.

Red. Confusion. The ever-pressing need to get away...

He looked back towards Davenport again. His teeth gritted. The headache intensified. It now pounded behind Spike's eyes, the pain radiating into a pinpoint right to the back of his skull. Still he kept the grip on Davenport's shirt. It was his leverage. "That was a stupid move."

To his surprise the older man's eyes gave way from the harshness of before to a sense of knowing calm. "Would seem that way wouldn't it? But I trust you."

He had to scoff at the absurdity of that statement, even as the look in Davenport's eyes didn't waver. The man was serious. "Why?"

"Because I know you. And I know you won't hurt me."

But he could. Oh how he could. Another smirk tugged the edge of Spike's lip.

Davenport sputtered a cough. Looking again at his face Spike felt another surge of emotion in his gut. The words Davenport had uttered mere minutes before came to his mind. 'I promise I will do everything I can to help you.' He had meant those words, and Spike in turn had believed them as well. But those words had been spoken when he had been someone else to the man. Did they still apply now?

The anger burned within him, rising with the headache. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't."

"I'm not a threat."

"Like hel-"

"Language." An eyebrow quirked at his bravado yet Davenport didn't flinch. His hand moved to where Spike's still rested on his shirt. "You're not in danger here. I promise."

"Liar!" It came out more forceful than perhaps he had been going for. Even so Davenport showed nothing but sincerity. His headache raged on; nausea was sleeping in. Spike fought the urge to rub his face. No sign of weakness... needed to keep control... "Who are you? What do you want from me?"

"I told you. I keep telling you. I want to help. But I need you to trust-"

"Shut up." He kept his voice level as he spoke yet increased the gravity of his tone. The last thing Spike needed was that other two to come back. Something told him it was with Davenport he would find answers. And he was set on getting those. "I'll give you one more chance. What do you want with me?"

To his surprise, Davenport's face softened. "If you keep asking, I'm going to keep giving you the same answer. It hasn't changed, and it won't."

Spike merely shook his head, an action he instantly regretted as the pain swirling within his head grew worse. "You lied to me. You've lied from the moment we met – all of you."

Davenport's expression remained calm. "I did. And I'm sorry. We did it unintentionally-"

"Stop lying!" That made no sense.

"You..." Now Davenport stumbled. Spike could almost see the inner workings of the man's mind, trying to find an answer. He wondered why that was. "You look just alike, you and Chase. That's why we didn't realize it until now."

Until now. Until he had attacked. Until he had shown a pure form of aggression. But what did it mean? A thought crossed his mind. "We're twins?"

"No." Spike frowned. Again Davenport hesitated, thinking. "It's - rather hard to explain."

"Then explain." Something nagged him again. "What did she mean? Bree, what did she mean about it being impossible?" His head was screaming now.

"We didn't think you would be here. Normally you aren't. Normally it's Chase, so that's why we thought you were him."

"Then where is he?"

"That's what we need to figure out. But first, I need a sign of good faith from you." Davenport motioned to his hand still next to Spike's grip on his shirt. "I need you to step back. I know it's not what you want to do, but you need to."

It was a simple request and yet Spike bristled as if being asked to move the moon. "And if I don't?"

"What are you going to do? Realistically, Spike. Kill me? Snap my neck I assume. Maybe pull out my spinal cord and play it like a banjo." It seemed an odd choice of words and yet a twinge of something sparked again. "Then what? Where will you go?"

Away from here, from the threat. Move!

"Something happened out there, didn't it? Someone tried to hurt you. They went after you. Spike, please listen to me. I won't let anything happen to you. I want to help you. Please let me help you."

Those words again, this time with his name attached. Maybe Davenport really did mean them. Or perhaps he was desperate. Spike shook his head, immediately regretting the movement as it brought on a pounding nausea behind his eyes. The usual wave of paranoia began ringing within his ears. It made no sense and yet he felt the familiar click within his brain telling him it was all the truth. Still the news was muddled by the still rampant questions and ambiguity.

"Then who am I?" He asked again. "You told me no one else is on the team."

"You're not technically."

"They never mentioned a Spike." His mind swirled. The male voices talking about shooting him. The sudden change of mood upon this group learning who he was. The absolute sense of them seeing him as an animal. Something to be controlled or caged in. Friends didn't act that way. Family certainly didn't. Right?

"Who am I?" He growled again.

"You're-" Davenport's voice suddenly became very still, thickening the air. Terror on the surface breaking away to something else. Sadness. His grip weaned. There was sadness in the way Davenport was looking at him. And something else. Regret, perhaps, yet something more, something tucked away. "You're my son, Spike. You're mine."

The words gripped into him, although as always he didn't know why. They felt important somehow, like a spell being lifted.

It didn't make sense. Any of it, no piece made any sort of sense. Yet there was no mistaking that Davenport believed every word he was saying.

The pounding of his head intensified. Spike resisted the urge to acknowledge it; no signs of weakness, not now. He needed to think. No not think; somewhere from deep within his mind he felt a stirring, an instinctual something awakening. It grew at an exponential rate, muscle memory urging him not to think, not to feel, to just do- Still his body rebelled as he winced and blinked rapidly in an effort to shake the pain. Nothing; if anything the action caused a new, more intense wave of nausea. Not now.

Davenport's face dropped. "Spike?"

"Don't-"

"What's- a headache?"

"Don't change the subject!" The words were no sooner from his mouth before Davenport had stepped forward. Paranoia swept over him again and he reacted, trying to shift away and gripping the man's shirt tighter. Davenport however would not be deterred. The older man's hands went up in a sign of humility before he motioned towards Spike's shoulders. There was no aggression in his motions.

"How long?"

"Don't-"

"How long Spike?" The authoritative tone had returned. Spike blinked as his gaze fell in line with Davenport's, light eyes finding the older man's dark ones to be filled with only concern. He was struck by this; even in pain, so obvious from the way Davenport winced as he moved, the older man seemed more concerned for him, the one who was trying to attack him.

"Spike." Something stirred in his gut as Davenport's hands gently took hold of his shoulders. He didn't resist this; he no longer had the energy. What was going on? "Easy..."

"Don't- tell me - what - ," he gritted out, trying to sound forceful yet with no success. "Don't-"

"Easy." Davenport it seemed was completely ignoring him. "You need to relax-"

"Don't- tell-"

Davenport's eyes narrowed. "I am going to tell you what to do, and you are going to listen to what I say right now. How long have you been having this headache? Since we first talked?"

He didn't want to admit it. He really didn't, and yet Spike found himself letting out a nod.

"And it's getting worse now? Nausea?"

He nodded again.

"Okay. Deep breathes. It's an overload-"

"What the hel-"

"Language!" Davenport twisted his body towards the sink. Moments later he turned again, a soaked wad of paper towels in hand. Spike recoiled as the man made a motion towards his neck. "This will help."

Spike hesitated, yet finally shuffled back towards Davenport who laced the towels around the younger man's neck. With the other he reached to feel Spike's forehead. Davenport actually let out a curse. In spite of himself Spike's lip curled. "Language."

Davenport gave him a look. He pressed the wad of towels harder to Spike's neck. "God you're burning up. I should have known. Easy... Relax-"

Relax?! The nagging in Spike's head insisted. There is no relaxing! Not now! - that part of him screamed again. Don't think - just move-

No, another, stronger part of him countered. Spike felt himself nearly physically recoil at the word, and yet he felt it again. No; he needed to think. He needed to process and consider before he acted. He needed to – to - his mind offered nothing more by way of words, and yet he understood.

It was risky, and went against all the instincts within him, although Spike didn't understand why. But he needed to go against them, against the part of him screaming to pull at the arm Davenport had on his shoulder and twist it, break it as quickly as he could manage. The part of him just aching to fight and claw and just – do something. It was the part which needed – craved – for control.

"Easy-" Davenport said again, this time applying another wad of soaked towels to Spike's forehead. Only when he felt the coolness against his skin did Spike realize the heat searing there. His eyes closed as again the urge within him grew, demanding he grab something - anything- and neutralize the threat. It was excessive, like the anger and the feeling of ever present danger, that overbearing sense he just needed control.

Could he give up his own control? What then? He could overtake Davenport and the others. He still could too, the moment they landed. But Davenport was right in asking what he would do after that. Where would he go? At least two others were out there intent on causing him harm. What if there were more?

He thought back to the first day when he had been in the river. The two men shooting at him. The questions he had asked himself then. Could he be the bad guy? Would he even know if he was one? Spike gaze fell back to the mirror and the face which stared back. Again he was struck by just how young it looked. A kid he had been called. Could someone so young be capable of such things? Be worth being hunted down? Shot? Thrown down a waterfall and left for dead?

No. He couldn't be the bad guy. As always the insistence injected itself into the doubts. He wasn't evil, he just... What? It all was muddled. His thoughts and logic, the actions and reactions of those around him, his own memories - if indeed they were memories at all - none of them meshed together.

'You're my son.' Spike's gut lurched at the words. There was no click within his mind, no piece coming into place. And yet, there was something there, a lock within him being opened. Spike again looked towards Davenport. The man's eyes stared back, totally unafraid. So far he was the only one Spike had encountered who wasn't. It had to mean something. Right?

But what? There was only one option to find out. He just hoped it was the right one. With that thought, Spike allowed himself to sink to the floor.