A/N: Okay, here it is, two weeks after I promised I'd have it up within two weeks. Been editing the bejeebers out of it, and then I realized it was too long for one page, so it's turned into a 2-chapter one-shot, if such a thing is possible. I think it's tame for an M, but my OC's occupation blows it out of the water, and I'd rather be safe than sorry. I wrote this before I ever found this site, so I'll already have a bigger audience than just passing it around to friends and coworkers, M be darned, like socks!

Disclaimer: Anything to do with The Sorcerer's Apprentice 2010 is not mine, of course. Everything else, especially Shevvy, has been mine, mine, mine for literally years, and I'm not letting go, ever!

July, 1979 - Caravan

It was Summer, and he just felt like driving. He'd wandered for centuries, scouring the globe, but had basically finally settled in New York City nearly a hundred years ago. Not that he was ever really 'settled'. His quest was always on his mind, so if he got the inclination to travel, he would, just like that. Maybe his mind was playing tricks on him, but he didn't care. He had the money and, if he stayed within the continent, the car, the Phantom. It was a perfect name, especially considering the way he'd been ghosting in and out of children's lives for ages, looking for the one. He traveled light, and instinctively. Whatever he needed, he could buy, or perhaps barter, like ages past. Or conjure, though he tried to avoid that unnecessarily. He did that more when he wanted to avoid people; but being on this quest meant that he really shouldn't avoid people, especially children.

The Rolls Royce was following the southeastern coastline down towards Florida, a benevolent reverse hurricane filled with magic. It wasn't in a hurry, and took no direct route or highway, just as many side roads as possible. Traffic jams didn't appeal to its owner, and actively scanning other cars would be a distraction both to him and other drivers: Too frantic.

The car slowed as its owner sensed something odd up ahead. Very odd. Not supernatural odd, but very humanly odd. There were five huge mobile homes parked side-by-side about 30 feet from where the road turned into sand, and they reeked of sex. There was also a van, a station wagon, and a Porsche that connected, not literally, to the trailers. It was a private stretch of beach, with a very clear 'NO TRESPASSING' sign attached to a telephone pole. It was maybe a quarter mile from the vehicles to the water, and there was a gathering of about 15 people near the edge, including a boy. The car pulled up behind the vehicles, unable to be seen from the water's edge. The owner shut off the engine, intrigued. Brothels were illegal, not that anybody cared, but a traveling brothel?

He exited the Phantom curiously, but didn't plan to leave it just yet, wondering just how strictly these people were enforcing their privacy, and why a traveling brothel would want privacy in the first place. Kinda against the whole point of running a business. He stretched absentmindedly and laid his right hand on the first trailer. Three people lived there, but no one was in there now. The second one had a kitchen, a bar, and living quarters for one person. The third was three more people's base. The fourth a repeat of the third, but he cringed as he felt the boy's presence: He'd been afraid of that. Moving on to the fifth: An infirmary, an office, and two bedrooms. The owner lived there, and he was definitely approaching. Everyone else was on the beach. He casually leaned back on the Phantom, waiting with arms folded in front of him: This oughta be good.

Hearing what Marcis had to say about the boy had exhausted him, for some reason. Not that it was bad, or that he was being abused . . . Well, not any more abused than the whole situation called for in general. Marcis had shown him a picture, part of the gallery in his main office, men and women to suit every taste. Fringy, silvery blond hair, sapphire eyes, well-shaped lips and nose, pale, and thin, almost painfully so. He had stood out on the beach, and not just because he was the youngest. Money had gotten the man so far, but his genuine interest in the troubled teen had gotten him farther. Once Marcis had established that he wasn't in cahoots with the police, everything became very easy. A former Marine, he was armed, but he wasn't in any rush to actually use the weapon.

"I could call Shevvy up from the beach, if you'd like," he offered.

"That won't be necessary."

"I'll take you to his room, then, so you can get some rest."

"I'd really like that." He followed Marcis out of one trailer and into another. Shevvy's room was all the way at the back, on the other side of the wall he had palmed.

"I won't charge you extra if you decide to—"

"I just want to talk to him, is all."

"Shevvy's not even completely aware of how seductive he is," Marcis practically scoffed. "Don't be surprised if you find yourself doing things out of character." He closed the door, turning on a room light in the dark space.

"Interesting color scheme," he commented at the dark grey walls, shimmering blue pile carpet, and black furniture.

"Shevvy picked it," Marcis sighed. "I find it horribly depressing." He shook his head, "But it's not my room." The small, attached bathroom was all white, but the carpet continued. "Come and go as you please, and stay as long as you like, but you will need this key." Marcis reached under the top desk drawer, pulling out a single key, opening the door to let himself out before handing it over. "I won't tell Shevvy he has a visitor until he starts to leave the beach."

"Thank you."

"No; thank you." As soon as Marcis left, the key was back under the desk drawer. Of course he wouldn't need it. Then he went out to the Phantom to get some things. "We'll take good care of your car," Marcis had promised, but the man just couldn't see how!

"There's someone in your room, Shevvy," Marcis announced suddenly, abruptly taking hold of the teen's arm as he was about to leave the gathering at the beach.

"Ah thought we were still on vacation," he grumped in reply, trying to pull away in annoyance, the grip tightening in response.

"I didn't say you had to fuck him."

"Whah would someone be in mah room, otherwahs?" he demanded, trying to comprehend.

"He's been traveling a long time. He's looking for someone, and you're the youngest person here, though he thinks you're still too old at 14—"

"Too old fer what? A pedophahl?"

"Get away from the sex talk, Shevvy; this isn't about that."

"Fergive me, Marcis, but that is what we do." He eyed his imprisoned arm, "You can let go, now, 'cause ah'm intrigued," and the grip instantly released. "What, exactly, do ya want me ta do?"

"He'll probably be sleeping, so let him, as long as he wants. You can lay next to him, but keep your clothes on, or you'll make a fool of yourself. Don't come on to him—"

"Ah git it, Marcis," he snipped.

"He'll talk when he's ready, Shevvy. He may have some things laying around, and you can look, but he will know if you've touched them."

"How long is he stayin'?"

"Maybe a few hours; maybe days; it depends on what he sees in you."

"Maybe days?" the teen repeated in exasperation, the man nodding. "How much is he payin' you ta git all this leeway?"

"Let me put it this way: I've rearranged the trailers to encircle his car 'cause, god forbid, it disappears."

Marcis motioned up the beach, now, patting the boy on the back as he left him behind, trudging up the sand. Must be some car. Probably some rich fuck who thinks he can buy everything and everybody. Shevvy didn't like the guy, already. Oh, fuck: He forgot to ask what his name was, or Marcis just forgot to tell him, or maybe he was so rich that he didn't need a name. Maybe his name was Rich! Shevvy snickered and lit a cigarette as he got to the trailers, all five circled around, not four feet apart from each other, and made his way in between two to see what the big deal was, stopping short, as the car almost seemed to have a force field around it, preventing him from getting closer. Okay, now he really was intrigued. For one thing, it was seriously, seriously, old. Ridiculously shiny. Mainly black, with grey sides, and tons of chrome. And it wasn't American. It was some kind of Rolls Royce, but a two-seater, with right-hand drive, and door hinges on the wrong side, but that looked so right. He approached it slowly, seriously impressed. But only really old people usually had cars like this; right? No wonder he wasn't supposed to fuck him; he'd probably die from the exertion! The inside looked like the outside; ridiculously well preserved: Obviously, the guy didn't smoke, so Shevvy trashed his own cigarette, suddenly feeling more reverential.

Shevvy's desk was nearly covered by lit white candles, he noted as soon as he entered, filling the room with a soft, flickering, dim light. He'd been wondering how he was going to enter the windowless room without turning on a light and possibly disturbing the man, but now that was a moot point, and he was glad. He was in the bed, under a single cover, facing the air conditioner, and if he was sleeping, he wasn't a snorer. Now that his eyes were adjusting to the light, Shevvy noticed other objects that must belong to this stranger, including an old black leather trench coat hanging on the main door, a faded red velvet bundled cloth and gold-rimmed reading glasses on the desk, and a faded black fedora hooked on the chair. All of his possessions looked aged, but surprisingly, the man, or at least his wavy, shoulder-length dirty blond hair, did not. The teen longed to go around to the other side to see his face, but he did not; he didn't want to be disrespectful. There was a sad but peaceful aura surrounding the man, and it was permeating the room.

"Ah guess ya wan' me ta git some sleep, too, huh?" Shevvy found himself whispering as a sense of weariness began to overtake him, his eyelids growing heavy. The man didn't move, and the boy shrugged, moving for the other side of the bed, still dressed in faded jeans and a loose white silk button-down long-sleeved shirt. He pulled back the cover and the sheet so that he would be under a different layer than the man, and slipped in, facing the opposite direction, his head sinking into the pillow as he immediately fell into a deep sleep.