“Shutupshutupshutupshutupshutup!”

  A litany, over and over and over, accompanied by screams of pain and the meaty sound of a body being stabbed repeatedly. The intensity of the auras made it hard to see the blood, but when it spattered on Dean's face everything came crashing in. Lia was on top of the twisted doppelganger, a hand around its mouth, a short knife in her hand flashing as she jammed it into the thing's stomach. With a final shriek, she jammed the dagger in its throat and pulled it out the side with a spray of blood.

  The pressure on his neck vanished and he took a deep, heaving gasp. The room reeked of gore, and the air was filled with the sound of agonized sobbing. Dean sat up and saw Lia had rolled to the side, aura all oily black and carmine betrayal. Betrayal? He shook his head, lack of sleep was getting to him. He stood and took the two steps over to Lia, reaching a hand out.

  She recoiled with a wordless scream, scrambling back and slipping in the pool of blood behind her. Lia fell and didn't rise, instead bringing her knees to her chest and hugging herself tightly. Dean sat where he was, looking at the thing Lia had killed. Jesus... He ran a shaking hand through his hair, getting too long now, needed a trim.

  “Lia?” It came out as a croak, and he winced as she flinched. “Sorry, I...thank you. You saved me.” Another flinch. “Are you...wounded?”

  “Fuck,” Lia swore. She pushed herself up, and vomit poured into the blood below.

  Dean gingerly grabbed the hair that had come loose of her hood and pulled it back. It was an awkward position, trying not to touch her but keeping it out of the way as she heaved. After a minute, Lia shook her head and sat back, breathing heavily. She peeled off her hood and turned her head, staring out the window at the rising sun.

  She looked like shit. A nasty observation, but accurate. Her hair was singed, and he could see blisters on her exposed skin, where it wasn't covered with blood. Falling in the puddle had left her soaked in the stuff down half of her body, with spatter decorating the rest. She was shivering, rocking slightly back and forth as she stared quietly out the window.

  “Fuck,” Lia swore again. “I...I'm fucked.”

  “What do you mean?” Dean asked hesitantly.

  “You heard what she said,” she continued flatly. “Didn't catch all of it but...I heard enough. The whole fucking story, I bet.” He couldn't suppress his flinch. “Yeah I fucking thought so.”

  “I understand it was probably lying,” he hedged. “Blowing things out of proportion to make you look bad. It...that seemed to be its goal, besides killing me.” Lia snorted and spat on its corpse.

  “It's me, and it wasn't.” She sighed and ran a bloodstained hand through her hair. “Just...will you let me explain before you arrest me?”

  “Arrest you?”

  “Sworn prediction made under false pretenses, punishable with a life sentence in the Birdcage, depending on how much damage results.” Lia stared out the window, eyes wide. “Caused a lot of damage...”

  “It's not...”

  He paused. Could he really say it wasn't her fault? Dean hadn't quite understood what the clone was getting at, talking about memories. But Lia talked about her predictions the same way, as 'remembering' it. He thought that had to do with her dying and coming back but... He stood and offered her a hand.

  “Come on,” Dean said. “Let's sit somewhere you aren't getting dirtier.” She looked down, shivered, then nodded.

  He gave her a hand up and slowly led her to the couch. She practically collapsed onto her side, staring sightlessly out the window. He draped a blanket over her, then limped into his bedroom and grabbed his phone. Dean made a brief call to the PRT, requesting a containment team. He didn't need backup, but neither he or Lia was in a state to sort out the body.

  Once finished, he returned to the living room and sat on the couch, giving Lia ample space. She still curled up tightly when he took a seat, scooching as far as she could. He let her be, taking a moment to snag a footrest and prop up his broken ankle. He held himself back from reaching out, barely. Lia had been responsible Gradually, the ugly storm of colour in her palette muted, greying out. It didn't right itself, Lia was still utterly despondent, but she sat up and managed to look at him.

  “So,” she said shakily. “You know.”

  “Know what?” he asked. “That you apparently read about all this in...in a book?” She sighed and shook her head.

  “It's...complicated.” Lia grimaced and plucked at a singed-short strand of hair. “You...I...what exactly did she say?”

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  “When you triggered, in addition to your powers, you gained knowledge of the future,” Dean said slowly. “And...you think you read it somewhere.”

  “No, I did, or not me exactly or...” She let out a groan. “I'm not Lia. My name's Amy, Amy...something, not Amelia D'souza. I'm a...I don't fucking know, time and space traveler? I showed up here May 13th and...” She trailed off, her voice shaking.

  “O...kay.” Dean was intensely confused. Was this a psychotic break? His empathic sight didn't give much insight into mental illness, beyond the feelings it caused. “So...Amy was it? That was two days before Leviathan, a day before you triggered right?”

  “Day after,” Lia corrected. “I...lied about that. Figured it out day two, but since I go back, well, yeah.”

  “And you read about all this?” He was doing his best to hide his disbelief.

  “And this is why I never told anyone, because it's insane.” Lia chewed her lower lip, and he saw a bead of blood glisten in the early morning light. “I'm insane, or I feel like it because like...all of this is impossible Dean. The fact that I'm talking to you is impossible, because you're fictional and you died. Or you didn't because I saved you but I shouldn't have been able to because--” She cut herself off with a barely stifled sob.

  “That's...a lot.” He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to ignore the oily stain at the edges of her goldenrod-terror palette. “But you did save me Lia, I'm here.”

  “You shouldn't be,” she snapped. “We shouldn't be. Dean I know I'm not Lia because I didn't read about her.”

  “Okay.” He cocked his head. “Can I ask about...Amy then?” She turned her head and stared.

  “Why the fuck would you want to know about he-- me?” His lips twitched down at the stutter. “Ruined my fucking life.”

  “Your life?”

  “Or Lia's life,” she corrected herself. “I...the only reason I can think that I didn't read about m-- her is I wasn't in it. I...I think I was supposed to die to Leviathan, like you.”

  “But here you are.”

  “I shouldn't be Dean, I shouldn't be.” Her aura flared with a burst of vicious fury and she threw herself off the couch, aiming a brutal kick that made the clone's neck twist with a wet 'snap'. “Fucking bitch, ruined my fucking life! Fuck you!” She screamed and kicked the corpse again, panting heavily. Dean felt a bead of sweat slowly slide down his back.

  “Lia.” She flinched. “I hear you, okay? It sounds...awful, but I want to help.” Despite everything, he found he meant it. “Come sit down. If you want to talk, I'll listen, if not, I'll leave you alone.”

  Her return to the couch was agonizingly slow, but she did come back. Her aura was...a mess, he couldn't even begin to make sense of all the feelings she was feeling, beyond they were all bad. Despite that, he found the faintest shade of something resembling hope under it all. Lia slowly turned her head and looked at him with a gaze that weighed a thousand pounds.

  She told him, not all at once, certainly not coherently, but Dean could finally piece together some kind of picture of Lia. Thirty years of memories jammed into her head at her trigger event. He'd never heard of anything like it, and Lia wasn't wrong that it sounded insane. But Dean worked with a guy made of living metal and had heard of twins being fused; just because he hadn't heard of it didn't make it less of a parahuman phenomenon. Victoria would be better at handling that.

  Her constant switching between first and third-person made things difficult to follow. Sometimes her 'Amy' memories were Lia's and sometimes they were 'hers'. And she wasn't lying, but he could see how she was even confusing herself.

  “Do you remember the day before you...came here?” Dean asked during a long pause.

  “No.” There was a certainty that hadn't been there before. “I don't and that terrifies me. I just...I remember the night before and going...getting powers. I wish I didn't.” He nodded.

  “Okay.” His phone buzzed in his pocked and he checked it, then pressed a few keys to buzz the team in. “The PRT is here.” She sighed.

  “Alright.” Lia held out her arms, wrists pressed together. “Get it over with.”

  “I'm not arresting you, Lia,” Dean said, too tired to keep the exasperation from his voice. “They'll handle cleanup and take us back to headquarters. You need to rest.”

  “I...” She trailed off, staring at the floor. He saw tears dripping. “Why?”

  “Why am I not arresting you? I haven't heard that you committed any crimes.” Dean held up a hand as she opened her mouth. “Just because you weren't forthcoming about how you experience your power doesn't mean you did wrong; and that's not my job to determine. Right now, all that's going to happen is you're going back to your quarters, cleaning up, and resting. Everything else...it can be decided later.” She hung her head as bootsteps echoed down the halls.

  “Okay,” Lia whispered, total defeat colouring her palette. “I'm sorry Dean I'm...I'm sorry.”

  “Apology accepted,” Dean replied, rising and offering a hand. She took it and stood. “And this time, I think I can forgive you. Second time you saved my life and everything.” He began walking towards the door.

  “Doesn't count,” she retorted glumly as she trailed behind him. “Since it was me putting you in danger.”

  “All the more reason to call it square,” he replied, flagging down the first two officers that entered. “Go with them, I won't be long.” She glanced at each man then back at him.

  “Fine,” she sighed. “I...goodbye Dean.”

  “Goodbye Lia.” He turned to the squad's sergeant as his men led her away. “One body, a mutant I think from the recent threat.”

  “Echidna, sir,” the man replied, holding out a paper mask. “We're burning them.”

  “Make sure the face is covered,” he said, covering his own. “Situation's bad enough as is.”

  “Understood. Percy?” An officer with a red-cross armband came over. “We'll take you back with us; she'll make sure you're alright in the meantime.”

  “I'm fine,” Dean replied, frowning as Officer Percy pulled out a penlight and clicked it on.

  “Those bruises don't look 'fine', if you don't mind me saying,” she said. “Just take a seat, relax; the cavalry's here.” He snorted and looked out the window at the rising plumes of smoke.

  “Charge of the Light Brigade.” The sergeant raised an eyebrow.

  “A bit grim,” he said.

  “I just watched a kid kill an evil clone of herself, I'm not feeling optimistic.”

  “We did win, sir.”

  “I hope it was worth it, sergeant.” A beat.

  “So do I, sir.”