"Your dad isn't seeing anything," Chase informed Reid as he settled himself in the empty seat next to him.

"Big surprise," Reid muttered, slouching lower. Matthew Garwin was a two-sided war raging at all times – he had the Power on one side and the bottle on the other.

"Victor wants to talk to you after school today."

"I'm busy," Reid replied, pen tapping against the notepad in front of him and he struggled very hard not to think about why Victor wanted to talk to him.

"You need to talk to somebody," Chase pointed out, jaw tightening as he struggled with his own urge to throttle the stubborn blonde.

"I talk to Tyler," Reid bit back, more or less the truth.

"Tyler yanks whatever's bothering you from your head and the two of you bitch it out until you feel better," Chase corrected and Reid almost smiled at the scolding tone of the words.

"It's still talking," he defended his and Tyler's actions with all due loyalty.

"Yeah, well, you haven't been 'talking' to him lately," Chase replied. "And you have to talk to somebody, Reid, or you know what will happen."

"I'm fine," Reid reiterated the point for the thousandth time since the night before.

"I didn't ask if you were okay," Chase shot back. "I'm just reminding you of the consequences of your actions, Reid."

"I'll be fine, just back off, Chase." Reid scowled because Chase was genuinely starting to irritate him, mostly because he knew the older boy was right.

"Morning, sunshine," Pogue greeted with his usual gruffness as he slouched into the seat next to Chase.

"Fuck you," Reid replied good-naturedly, more relieved to see the most taciturn member of the Covenant than he'd ever actually admit.

"Who says I was talking to you?" Pogue replied, a grin edging at the corners of his mouth. "Maybe I was actually talking to the lovely Miss Taylor down there."

Miss Taylor turned at the sound of her name, one dark eyebrow cocking upright as she glance up at Pogue.

"Hey Bree," he greeted with a smile.

"Pogue," she returned the greeting, eyes skipping over the other two sons before returning to him. "Can I help you with something?"

"Just saying good morning," Pogue smiled guilelessly.

"Right," Bree eyed him with amused suspicion for a moment longer before shaking her head and turning back to the front of the room.

Reid snorted at the exchange.

"You're losing it, man," he informed Pogue contemptuously. "Used to be a time when all you had to do was say their name and they'd be putty in your hands."

"I've got a girlfriend now," Pogue replied virtuously. "My ways have changed. I've matured."

Chase snorted at that one and Pogue twisted to glare at the eldest son as Reid grinned in genuine humor for the first time in weeks.

"Good one."

"There's a party at the Dells tonight," Seth Anderson informed the Sons as they dressed after swim practice. "You coming?"

"I'll be there," Reid promised, lifting his head slightly as Caleb frowned at him over the top of Tyler's down-turned head.

"It's the annual back-to-school bash," Tyler broke in, straightening his head as he settled his tie around his neck, adjusting the lengths as he shot Caleb an indecipherable look. "We never miss this party."

"Cool, see you there. Later, man," Seth slapped hands with Tyler as he passed, heading for the door.

"You worry too much," Tyler stated softly, focusing on his tie as Reid's gaze narrowed slightly with the words.

"Somebody has to," Caleb replied, not sounding the least bit thrilled with his own position.

"Stop," Reid snapped, grabbing his own tie and shoving the rest of his stuff in his locker as he glared. "I have one mother already – I don't need another."

"Reid," Pogue protested as the blonde stormed after Seth, pushing past a fully dressed Chase who just barely managed to get out of the way in time.

"He's getting worse," Caleb spoke as Chase approached. "He was bad before but this…"

"He needs to talk to Victor," Pogue frowned.

"Grandad offered," Tyler finished his tie and carefully set his stuff back inside the locker before closing the door and spinning the lock, reaching out to spin Reid's as well. "Reid refused."

"And he'll keep refusing until he's out of his goddamn mind," Caleb scowled, anger in his words but full on worry in his eyes. Caleb and Reid seldom saw eye to eye on anything, but they were family, closer than blood.

Brothers.

"We'll ambush him if we have to," Chase stated.

"And you'll lose," Tyler snapped back. "Reid's stubborn and private – he's not going to let Grandad in his head, not if he can help it."

"He won't listen to reason – " Caleb started.

"And pushing him isn't going to help. It has to be voluntary, Caleb," Tyler reiterated his position, his powers as he faced off with the older boy. "If Reid fights Grandad could end up ripping his mind to shreds, anyway."

"You can't do it," Chase stated, watching the youngest son for a long moment before speaking. He knew Tyler and Reid were closer than the rest of them and that Tyler was the only person Reid ever let inside his head without due cause but Tyler couldn't do what needed to be done – Reid's mind was too strong and Tyler's powers were still developing.

"I know," Tyler replied and there was such a wealth of pain in those two words that none of the other Sons tried to stop him as he walked away.

Reid wasn't really angry. He was hotheaded and pigheaded and all other sorts of complete dumbass at times, but he wasn't angry.

"You look like shit." Reid came to an abrupt stop at the words, lifting his head to stare.

"And you don't," he replied with interest, cocking his head to the side as he stared at the welcome distraction that was Bree Taylor.

She was dressed in jeans and some lacey gray camisole with a beige cardigan that really made her hazel eyes pop. Her brown hair was softly curled around her face and her toes were freshly painted peach in a pair of low-slung heels.

"You're out of uniform awfully early," Reid spoke, grateful for the welcome distraction her appearance had brought him.

"Places to go, people to see," she replied lightly, smiling softly as her eyes took on a far away gleam for a moment before refocusing on him. "Rough day?"

"Same shit, different day," Reid replied, gaze drifting up to her face.

"Really?" The eyebrow arched again in cool disbelief and Reid found himself scowling slightly.

"Really," he repeated to emphasis his point, feeling annoyed now. "Why do you care, anyways?"

"I'm having a good day," Bree replied with a flash of a smile. "I feel the need to spread the joy and don't even try to perv that up."

"But it's such a great opening," Reid grinned as Bree rolled her eyes at his badly worded pun before stepping past him, pausing to place a hand on his shoulder as she stared him dead in the eye with a twinkle of amusement in her expression.

"Cheer up, Garwin," she stated, too chipper for his liking. "There's always the next girl."

"Promise?" He asked, but she was already moving away from him towards the parking lot.

"Always the bridesmaid, never the bride," Reid reminded himself, shaking himself away from Bree's ass as he turned to head back towards the main campus. "Man, I need to get laid tonight."

Maybe the sex would help him sleep.

It didn't work before, his subconscious reminded him.

Shut up, he shot back, a brief vision of Bree's smile conjuring itself up in his brain. It's supposed to be a good day.

Tyler retreated to the one place none of the other Sons bothered to go.

His head still hurt, a vague ache from the night before, and the constant bombardment of Caleb and the other Sons acute worry coupled with Reid's full on stress was kicking the proverbial shit out of him.

When he passed Kira Snider in the hall and felt a near overwhelming wave of pity at the large amount of self-loathing emanating from the bitchy red-head, he decided enough was enough.

Contrary to what he knew the others perceived, he didn't actually mind being empathetic most of the time. It was nice not having to guess at what other people were feeling. But there were days where he wished he could just turn it off for a while – to not be Tyler the 'sensitive guy' or Tyler 'the understanding one' and just be Tyler – a moody teenager.

Ipswich Cemetery was older than the town itself – it used to be a burial ground for a trapping settlement before it became a town. It was rustic now, an antique location that was rarely ever used anymore which made it quiet, out of the way, and blissfully free of complicated emotions.

Flickers brushed over his senses as he walked through, hands in the pocket of his coat. They were faint echoes of the dead, emotional imprints that simply were.

The back of the Cemetery held the Covenant's Mausoleums, one for each family. Tyler's hands strayed from his pocket as he passed the Simms family crypt, his fingers brushing over the names, mind mentally conjuring up pictures of the ones who came before. Some had died of natural causes, a lot had died from Using. There were men and a few women – sisters, wives, and daughters buried alongside the men who more often than not destroyed them. His hand hovered over the last daughter's name, Annabelle, breathing out a quiet sigh as he stared at the dates.

Annabelle Simms O'Connell

b. 1883

d. 1901

She'd died of heartache, his grandfather had said of his late aunt. Her husband had taken ill and she'd begged her father to help him. Her brother had been too young, not fully ascended, and she'd been desperate. And her father had refused, her husband had died, and she had followed shortly thereafter. There was speculation amongst the families that she'd killed herself, but nobody had ever really thought to examine the matter closely.

"Hey, Annabelle," Tyler murmured into the stillness of the afternoon. "It's nice to see you again. It's been a while, hasn't it?"

The sun was making its way down towards the horizon by the time Tyler had finished talking to Annabelle. He left with a promise to see her again soon, thanking her for listening before turning to walk back towards his Hummer. The party at the Dells didn't start for another couple of hours but Reid would want to hang out before hand – shoot the breeze, play some video games, and do whatever other shit normal guys did.

He was halfway to his truck when he felt the first faint tugging at his mind. He paused, hands in pockets, as he studied the threads reaching out towards him. They were tinged blue – sad – with hints of orange and red – hope and anger.

They weren't from the dead – the dead had colors to their emotion, but nothing this vibrant, this alive.

He was curious to their source, his gaze wandering the cemetery until he discovered the only other lone occupant of the area.

Long coat, a red scarf and a black hat. Small, most likely female. Tyler was prepared to walk on, deciding it was probably an old spouse coming to pay respects to a deceased loved one, when a breeze stirred.

Her hair was long and dark – dark enough that it had blended in with the coat, making it impossible for Tyler to see it until it moved.

She turned towards the breeze, her hair dancing lightly in the wind. He couldn't make out distinctive features of her face from this distance, but her profile was delicate, soft, and distinctly youthful.

It was such an oddity to find another young person in a place like this that Tyler found his feet carrying him in her direction out of sheer curiosity.

She caught sight of him as he approached and rather than turning and walking away, she turned towards him and waited patiently for his arrival.

"Hello," he greeted her carefully, his previous curiosity turning into rabid fascination as he eagerly drank in the lines of her face.

Smooth and unblemished, she reminded him of a little tiny fairie – tiny and perfect with almost surreal soft features.

"Hello," she returned the greeting, blue eyes lighting with humor at his apparent interest.

"Come here often?" The line was lame – if Reid was here he'd be hitting him right now – but Tyler was actually curious. He visited the Mausoleum's often enough that if she made her own regular visits, he was fairly certain he would have run into her before.

"No," she replied, her lips smiling lightly now as she pushed a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. "This is my first time."

"Oh." Tyler blinked once before peering around her at the gravestone behind her.

Darren Winterborne.

b. April 11th, 1988

d. December 30th, 2005

"Friend of yours?" He asked, immediately wincing at the somewhat callous manner of his words.

"No," she replied, expression saddening once more as she turned to face Darren's grave once more. "I never met him."

"Oh."

The question of why lingered in his mind, but she'd become so sad that he felt immeasurable guilt over his words.

"I'm Tyler," he offered in an effort to distract her from whatever it was that put the sorrow back in her emotions.

"Morgan," she returned his greeting solemnly, extending her hand.

Tyler reached out to touch her skin before he could think not to.

His gift was largely inherent – he didn't need skin on skin contact for it to work – but sometimes when he touched people, their emotions were magnified. He could block, raise the walls of his mind against the intrusion of emotions, something he did often enough, but he wasn't thinking.

Her emotions punched through him in a vibrant ray of colors – blue, orange, yellow, red, green, violet – everything in one hard blow that had him staggering back.

"Are you okay?" She asked, blinking up at him, genuine concern coloring the spectra.

"Fine, just late," he shook his head, feeling disorientation and desperation as he turned. "It was nice meeting you. Maybe I'll see you again sometime."

"Maybe," he heard her say, and then he was gone.

"Morgan!" Bree was waiting at the car on the opposite side of the cemetery from where the mysterious Tyler had disappeared.

"I'm starving," Morgan smiled at her sister as she approached, expertly ignoring the wealth of concern that had been behind that one word. She wasn't alright, not even, and someday she'd tell Bree what was bothering her, but not now. Right now she needed to process things.

"Nicky's?" Bree asked, naming the most popular hang out in town. Morgan made a face as she slid in the passenger seat.

"How about someplace quieter?" Morgan didn't think she was up to handling the noise that Nicky's invariably produced.

"Sure thing, babe. Whatever you want." Morgan smiled at Bree's light tone, but it was bittersweet cause the thing she wanted most now was forever out of her reach – you couldn't change the past any more than you could bring the dead back to life.

A/N: I think I was partially inspired to write this after watching 'Uninvited' with Emily Browning, though I'm not sure why. Just everytime I think of this fic, I think of that movie. Weird.