A/N: Okay, next chapter of Tuesday's Child is up and running. I know a whole lot of action doesn't happen in this chapter, but I'm still establishing the characters and story back ground, so bear with me. Any of my readers who are Whovian are welcome to play 'spot the reference', because there are plenty in this chapter. I am having so much fun with this, and BA Sam. Dean's going to be pretty awesome in the next chapter, he'll get a chance to shine.
Enjoy, and remember, reviews are love. It's October first, new month, and my poor chart is empty all over again, so I am trying to update all four open projects today, so keep reading and clicking and hopefully reviewing.
Let me know if anything doesn't make sense, so I can revise as needed, time travel plots are notoriously bad about plot holes, and I hate plot holes like Dean hates witches.
As Always,
EverReader
Disclaimer: Not my sandbox
Tuesday's Child – Chapter Four
"Cracks In The Wall"
Book was a natural linguist. Perhaps it was because Gabe provided him with care takers who spoke various languages, and because they traveled so much, by both choice and necessity. Six weeks in a villa in Tuscany, three months in Venice, a fortnight in Tokyo.
To some degree, it was also because of Sam's alternate memories. English was obviously his milk tongue, but he picked up both Latin and Spanish with an almost frightening ease. Italian and French soon followed, and perhaps that made sense also, as many of the Romance languages shared base linguistic roots and syntax.
It was when they were spending a month in West Africa that Gabe realized that two year old Book was already picking up the local dialect, not just repeating nouns and verbs, but beginning to structure actual sentences. It had been a game of sorts, until then, as Gabe had a working knowledge of practically every language ever spoken by man, and Book always seemed to love when Gabe would give him new, interesting words to say.
But now Gabe had to step outside of that mindset, and take a hard look at the situation.
Was this who Sam would have become in the other time line, had he been offered the same educational oppurtunities that Gabe provided Book with?
Was this brilliant intelligence natural, or the result of the demon blood, and Sam's original upbringing had simply been so slipshod that it had never truly been fostered?
Or was this a result of Gabe altering the time lines? Either answer was frightening, in a way.
If this was who Book was always destined to be, than he would be a dangerous weapon in the hands of the demons, as language was obviously only the tip of the iceberg.
Book was already demonstrating an advanced understanding of scientific and mathematical concepts. Again, some of this was perhaps on Gabe, as he would do rather desperate things to keep the child occupied, and really, there were no other children in the history of mankind who had been raised by an Arch Angel, so there wasn't exactly a handbook.
If Book thought the Pythagorean Theorem made for interesting dinner conversation, who was Gabe to complain, as long as he ate his food? (Gabe was now fairly confident that human toddlers needed to eat at least a couple of times a day, so what was the problem with drawing figures in mashed potatoes, as long as they got eaten?)
But that meant that were the demons to ever get their hands on the child, they could easily mold the child into a dangerous weapon.
Intelligence without kindness was a deadly combination.
But the other alternative was still more frightening, the possibility that whatever Book would have been had he been allowed to remain Sam had been literally thrown out the window when Gabe changed the time lines, that Book was now in a state of both free fall and flux, the center of two converging time lines and that Book had become a singularity, that he could become almost anything or everything, growing into unexpected shapes and strengths as the forces of two conflicting realities came to bear on one little boy.
If that were the case, Gabe might look up one day to realize that Book had grown wings, or that the sky line of London had changed overnight, because, to Gabe's knowledge, nothing and no one like Book had ever existed, and if it was that fact which was changing Book's abilities, than quite literally anything could happen.
Anything at all.
And as long as those two conflicting realities existed, there was always the chance that this time line would attempt to re-structure itself back to it's original shape, that events could 'echo' from one time line to another.
The universe had a nagging habit of bringing certain things to bear, for events to happen, for people to meet, for choices to have to be made.
And in the original time line, it was always meant to be Sam.
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Sam smiled as he looked around the small street fair, though, in reality, it wasn't that small at all.
Lily Dale was gearing up for it's annual Psychic Showcase (two of the murdered psychics had, in fact, been headliners, a fact Sam hadn't overlooked.) The Showcase was still over a week away, but tourists had already started trickling in, and for the next several days, Lily Dale would be hosting a series of street fairs to keep the tourists entertained.
Vendors selling charms and amulets (most of which didn't work), Tarot card readers, crystal ball gazers, spoon benders, even a few belly dancers and fire eaters. Tables and booths dotted the streets and side walks, and of course, carts selling carnival fare, everything from funnel cake and curly fries to sushi and vegan meals.
It was exactly the kind of place Gabe would have gleefully taken Anna and Book to visit, and as Sam walked down the sidewalks, he mind moved wistfully over memories of his surrogate brother/father/guardian, and their last, almost bitter fight.
Book was pretty sure Gabe had never meant to come to care for him, but care he had.
It wasn't a crazy notion, as Gabe had always had a soft spot for little lost things, and the Arch Angel had been alone for centuries until Book, and then Anna had entered his life.
Book had only been an infant when Gabe had intervened, entirely dependent on Gabe for everything, and the interaction between the two of them was probably more than Gabe had encountered since he went into hiding. Angels were no more solitary by nature than humans, and just like a human caretaker, Gabe had come to care for his charge.
When Book grew old enough to start facing the difficult choices that came from being who he was, Gabe had faltered at the idea of Sam facing off with the other Angels and the demons.
Gabe's entire master plan had always hinged on the idea that a knowledgeable and well-trained Sam Winchester could take on Azazel, stopping the entire plan in it's infancy.
After all, no one but Gabe and Book remembered just how well the plan had worked before. It had taken hundreds of years of planning for the angels and demons to arrange for a pair of brothers like Sam and Dean to be born, and if Sam just made the right choices, the entire plan would hopefully unravel.
But the older Book got, the more hesitant Gabe became to put the plan in action. Instead, he began to lean towards the idea of Book simply continuing to hide, not wanting to risk Book's life in a possible showdown with Azazel, Michael, or worse yet, Lucifer.
Sam had agreed, on several levels. Even though he knew now that he had enough information to make better choices, he was frightened of what he had become, a blood addict, a monster, who had sprung the cage of Satan, leading to hundreds upon hundreds, perhaps thousands of deaths.
A part of him still remembered the pain of watching Dean die for him, of watching Joe and Ellen die because of him, remembering the crawling, insidious craving for demon's blood, and the endless pain, blood, gore and darkness that was a hunter's entire existence.
Had he not began to have the visions of Dean being killed by the demon, perhaps he would have simply gone along with Gabe's plan, remained Book, the tricker's adopted child, as most of the supernatural community viewed him.
He might have let Sam Winchester, with his guilt and pain and yearning simply fade away, a little lost thing in a world that too easily forgot people anyway.
But nothing is ever really forgotten.
Little bits and pieces remain, echos, like cracks in the wall that let in light, letting you know that beyond the walls you build up to protect yourself, there's another entire world out there.
And sometimes, there are things beyond the wall that want in.
Sam paused as he came to a booth with an agitated young woman inside it, phone held to her ear with one shoulder as she bounced a crying toddler on her other side.
Reaching out with his senses just a little, he quickly ascertained the child had an inner ear infection. He needed to go to the doctor, as it was already well established.
Pushing out with his abilities just slightly, he did his best to calm the child, to dim the awareness of the pain. Book often lamented that he was unable to actually heal, the way Gabe could, but his gifts worked more subtly. In this case, he was able to blur the child's sense of pain and fear, so that he didn't suffer quite so much, but the actual problem still existed. Like a metaphysical pain killer, Book was able to mask the pain for the child slightly until his mother could get him help.
"Hey, Jenny, it's Lena." The woman was saying on the phone. "I need help. Casey has a doctor's appointment in twenty minutes, I swear it's another ear infection. But I'm scheduled to have a booth here on Second Street until the carnival closes. You can keep anything you make, just as long as you man the booth. The city charges me $200.00 dollars an hour for a closed booth once I'm registered, empty booths look back to the tourists. You can't? Your grandmother? Okay, no, sure, I understand. It's fine, I'll try Marla." The woman hung up dispiritedly, and Book guessed that she had tried Marla first, and had just said that so Jenny wouldn't feel so bad.
Some people were kind like that.
"Okay, baby. Okay. Mommy just has to break down her tent." The woman said, and Book could tell she was near tears.
Sam glanced up at her sign. 'Magdalena, Palm Reader Extraordianire'. He shrugged to himself.
Why the hell not?
"I might be able to help." He said, and the woman glanced up sharply.
Book smiled disarmingly. "I have a bit of a...knack with this kind of thing. You just need a body in the booth, right, so the city doesn't charge you?"
"Um, well yeah. Have we met?" She said slowly.
Book shook his head. "I'm new in town, and honestly, I'm a little low on cash. You take your own cash box with you. I'll man your booth and give readings. When you come back in a few hours, you can take back over. I'll take my money, and you don't get charged. What do you say?"
The woman chewed her lip, but then nodded quickly. "Anything's better than paying those ass holes on the city council $600.00 dollars. That's my rent."
"No problem. Honestly, you're doing me a favor."
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Dean dodged and weaved through the crowded streets, looking for the address of the antique shop one of the murdered psychics had bequeathed her belongings to.
Unfortunately, Second Street was hosting a street fair, and the street was so crowded he could barely see where he was going.
Fake psychic...fake psychic...fake crystal ball reader...fake tarot card reader...
Dean freaking hated Lily Dale.
A woman at a nearby booth was talking loudly on her cell phone.
"I'm telling you Susie, you have to check out the eye-candy Lena has manning her booth while she's taking Casey to the doctor. He's gorgeous. Well, I mean, he's practically twelve or something, but god, he's gorgeous. And tall, I swear, he looks like a six foot four puppy dog, he has these big eyes. His name? I didn't ask, how awkward would that have been? Maybe he's a cousin or something, he has high cheek bones like she does. What's he doing? Reading palms, and he's not half bad, if his tip jar's any indication. That's right, he just put a jar on the table, and people pay him after if they think he did a good job. It's pissing Tracy off, I can tell you that, she's charging twenty bucks a customer..."
Dean had stopped in his tracks at her description of the palm reader, mind mentally flashing back to Book, the way it had repeatedly over the last few days. Starting to walk again before his bad knee could stiffen up, he continued up the street.
Not a moment later, he passed a gaggle of giggling teenagers.
"I can't believe he knew Brad was going to ask you to homecoming, and then, like, Brad totally called three minutes later. And he said the admissions counselor was going to call me about the news anchor internship I submitted an application for, I am so totally psyched!" One girl practically shrieked and Dean grimaced.
"Did you see those dimples?" Another girl said, and the other three all nodded in unison.
"The shaggy hair was kind of cute on him." A third one added, leading to another round of giggles.
Dean shook his head and pushed on.
As he passed another booth, he heard yet another woman talking on her cell phone angrily. "I am going to give Lena a piece of my mind. That kid in her booth has a line half a mile long, I haven't had a customer in forty five minutes, and not only is he undercharging, but I think he's actually a little psychic. Lena's about as telepathic as a tea cup, what is she thinking, hiring an actual Talent to work her booth, it's unfair to the rest of us."
This time, Dean was forced to re-evaluate his plan. The deaths he was here to investigate were hinky, to say the least, and the witnesses swore they were paranormal.
An actual psychic (not that Dean could think of a single reason why an actual psychic would be in Lily Dale) might have the mojo to pull something like that off, or at least they might be able to point Dean in the right direction. Dean had been thinking along the lines of 'cursed object', and most real psychics knew enough about the supernatural world to help out a hunter.
Bobby had a friend, Pamela, who helped on occasion, when she wasn't traveling for her work.
He began to scan the signs on the various booths, before realizing that if the kid was a fill-in, the booth's sign would be a little use.
Hadn't the woman said there was a line half a mile long?
Lowering his eyes, he soon spotted a relatively plain booth with an impressive line winding in front of it.
Pushing through the crowd, he fought for a spot that would allow him to observe the pan handler for a few moments, in order to judge whether or not he really was legit.
But when he finally saw the man sitting behind the table, he felt like he'd been punched in the stomach.
It was the kid from the bar, the kid who'd saved him.
It was Book.
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Book forced himself to remain calm as he felt Dean's presence coming closer. The crowd and the presence of a few other genuine talents on the street had masked his presence at first, and Book hadn't felt him until Dean was nearly on top of him.
A part of him wanted to jump up and flee, just head for the hills.
He'd come to see whether or not this was a hunt, because he hadn't thought a regular hunter would, but Dean being here obviously disproved that theory. That meant there wasn't really anything holding him in Lily Dale, now.
Nothing but his decision to help Lena and Casey.
Book made it a point to keep his promises, and so he forced himself to remain sitting, doing his best to give genuine, upbeat readings to the remaining customers.
The afternoon was winding to a close, and as he graciously accepted the ten dollar bill from an old lady, he felt the stare of the older hunter, who had taken up watch at the corner of a building across the street. He hadn't come any closer, but Book knew it was only a matter of time.
His last customer came up to him, and he looked at her in the fading light. She looked a little battered and worse for the wear, and as Sam took her hand, he caught a glimpse of her in his mind, frightened as she ran out of a small apartment, a drunken man yelling obscenities at her as she went. Sam guessed she was younger than him even, barely nineteen, perhaps, and she was obviously on the run.
She held out a few crumpled bills with her other hand. "I only have three dollars, is that okay?"
Book smiled gently at her. "Let's see what we can do. What's your name?"
"Ellie." She replied softly.
Book nodded. "Okay, Ellie. I take it you need a little direction, and...a job, a place to stay?"
She gasped softly, and nodded.
Book closed his eyes, reaching further than he had all evening.
It was hard to describe, what he was doing, what he was looking for.
If you were willing to work with the universe, though, sometimes it...opened doors.
Book was looking for a place. A safe place, with an Ellie shaped space inside, where Ellie could plant herself and grow.
Book believed that people should get help if they asked for it.
There.
He opened his eyes. "Okay, Ellie. Here's the plan. Now listen closely. Keep this." He gently closed her hand around her last few dollars. "And take this..." He reached into his own jar, drawing out several tens and twenties.
"This..." He held up three tens "You are going to use to buy another bus ticket. I know, you're sick of buses, but I promise, this is the last. You're going to go south, and get off at the third town the bus stops in. Whatever town that is, that's where you get off. Look for a cafe with red geraniums in a big, blue pot. Take this..." He held up another twenty, "And buy yourself a decent breakfast, and when the waitress offers you a second cup of coffee, you take it. And then you wait."
"Wait for what?" She asked, wide eyed.
He grinned, dimples flashing and she smiled back reflexively. "For the universe to line up one hell of a shoot for you. And when it does, say yes, Ellie. Say yes, and then use these..." He counted out three more twenties, "To rent the apartment you will see advertised on the bulletin board."
"This is insane." She whispered, eyes locked on him. "I can't take all your money."
Book glanced down at the money he'd laid out, one hundred and ten dollars in all, and shrugged. "Money's just money, Ellie. But some chances don't come twice. Some day, someone will come into your work, and they'll look scared, and broke, and their going to need help. And then your going to take some money out of your own pocket, and pay it forward."
She looked at him questioningly. "Did someone help you once?"
Book shook his head. "I've been given more chances than anyone deserves."
After a moment's hesitation, she gathered up the money and left, with a last, curious look at Book.
A moment later, Dean had come to stand before him.
"Funny, I never figured you for a 'Magdalena'. No wonder you go by Book."
Book stood, stretching. "Lena should be here any second. Just let me start breaking down the tent for her. Her kid's sick, and she's going to have her hands full."
He moved his tip jar to the side, quickly counting out the remaining money.
A little over three hundred dollars remained in the jar, and Sam pursed his lips in thought. Snagging out two twenties, he folded the rest neatly, putting it in a different pocket than the other forty.
He quickly starting breaking down the tent and table, and after a moment, Dean joined in.
Only a few moments after that, Lena and Casey rushed up.