A/N: And finally I actually manage to update Tuesday's Child on a Tuesday morning. Okay, Prisoner of War updated last night, I'm hoping to update all the pretty monsters tonight. Remember, I wrote a one shot about chapter four's character, Ellie, called A Space Shaped Like Home, if your interested in reading it.
Reviews are love!
As Always,
EverReader
Disclaimer: Not my sandbox. Just playing with the toys.
Tuesday's Child – Chapter Six
"Nowhere Far Enough"
Book was only two when Gabe realized that he remembered. Not everything, thankfully.
But enough.
It was funny how the human mind worked, how it endangered and protected himself at the same time. Book seemed to remember things from his other life, but they were a child's memories. He didn't remember Lucifer or demons, at least not yet, though Gabe suspected that in time it would come.
No, what Book remembered a first was, naturally-
"DEAN!" Book said, giggling as he held up his drawing of their 'family'.
"Me." Book said, pointing to the shortest figure, "You." Book added, pointing to the blond figure, that was apparently Gabe.
"And...DEAN!" Book jumped up and down, please with himself as he pointed to the last man, standing on the other side of Book from the Gabriel figure.
"That's good, Book. You did a good job. You know what I was thinking? We've never been to China! You want to go shoot fireworks off the Great Wall of China?"
Book nodded happily, already adding fireworks to the skyline of his masterpiece.
Gabe swallowed uneasily.
China probably wasn't far enough.
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The rest of their meal passed in a kind of casual tension, as each man tried to get they answers they wanted without alarming the other one.
"So, you didn't grow up stateside, then?" Dean asked.
Book shook his head. "My older...brother traveled for work quite often, we didn't stay any one place for too long. What about you, how often did you move back and forth between the Road House and your Uncle's."
Dean shrugged, taking a drink of his shake. "Just depended. Dad would work one part of the country, and then move me wherever was more convenient when he was ready to move on. Then, when I was fourteen, I was able to start hunting with him."
"Fourteen..." Book said softly. "That's young."
Dean grinned. "I wanted to start when I was twelve, but Dad wouldn't let me. How about you? Your family obviously knows the business, but are you actually hunters?"
Book shook his head. "No, my brother tends to work wherever catches his fancy. But yeah, his family has always known about...well, everything. My being psychic was just icing on the cake after that."
Dean looked at him carefully. "You said 'his family'. Don't you mean your family?"
Book's mouth went dry. He eyed the door longingly. The space between them across the table suddenly didn't seem far enough.
Dean seemed to sense his agitation. "It's cool, sorry. I know better. It's just, those blades, you know? I'm wondering why your family knew about them when no one else did."
Sam swallowed, hard. "Uh, well." He picked his words with care. He hated lying to Dean, every word felt heavy on his tongue, and he did his best to phrase the truth as discreetly as he could as often as he could.
"I'm... adopted. So's my sister, Anna. Gabe's family...knew ours, knew about my...ability. He took me in, made sure I understood what I was." Book said finally, forcing down the urge to bolt.
Dean blinked. "Oh, I'm sorry. It must have been hard, losing your family. Is Anna your real sister, then?"
Book shook his head. "No, she joined the family later, when her birth family died. It's been the three of us for...well, forever, it seems like."
They paid their tabs, Dean insisting on paying for Book's even though Book tried to convince him it was unnecessary.
"I have money, Dean. I'm a wanderer, not indigent." Book said with a smile as he reached for his wallet.
Dean looked at him, an odd expression in his eyes as he waved Book's money away. "Nah, I got it. I cornered you at the fair and practically dragged you in here. Plus, you saved my hide the other night, and then you apparently loaned me a one-of-a-kind ancient weapon. I think I can swing dinner."
After a moment, Book smiled. "Well, it's not one of a kind, there are several others, but the people who have them tend to keep tight hold of them."
"Who made them?" Dean asked curiously, hoping the blades were a safer topic than Book's family.
Book seemed apprehensive now, skittish even, though with the people at the street fair he'd been easy going, confident, even.
Had he had a bad experience with another hunter before? Other than the asshole at the Roadhouse the other night, of course.
Book could obviously handle himself, but Dean knew that while most hunters were respectful of any genuine psychics who they encountered, some were so single minded that they didn't care if they endangered the people helping them.
Dean always made a point not to get anyone involved in his case unless he was willing to give priority attention to keeping them safe.
He had no interest in seeing someone hurt because of him, but he knew some hunters who didn't care as much about collateral damage.
Had Book encountered someone like that, and that was why he was so reluctant? But then, why go to a Hunter's bar?
Perhaps it really just was like he said, he was used to wandering by himself, and any kind of attention unnerved him.
Dean could certainly understand that.
He wondered where Book's brother and sister were. He had a hard time understanding their being okay with him just...wandering, like some kind of vagabond.
If Dean had ever had a brother, he certainly wouldn't have just let him wander off, especially knowing what he knew about the real world.
Ellen certainly never let Jo stray like that, and even John, until now, had checked in with Dean routinely, making sure Dean had cash and cards and insurance. When Dean had been Book's age, he had usually hunted with John or Bobby.
Didn't Book's family worry about him?
As they approached the car, Dean looked at Book in realization. "You don't have a car, do you?"
Book shrugged. "I could, I guess. My sister drives sometimes. My brother would get me one, if I wanted. I like it better without, though."
Dean looked at him in consternation, thinking of all the gear he had stored just in his trunk alone.
"How do you get places? Don't tell me you hitch?" Dean asked.
Book smiled a little. "Buses, trains, sometimes I hitch rides, yeah." He admitted.
"Dude, you know how dangerous that is? What if some psycho picked you up?" Dean said sternly.
Book laughed. "Again, psychic, remember? And armed. And my brother made sure I received good training. I can handle myself."
"But...you don't have any back up?" Dean asked again, surprisingly alarmed at the idea of this lanky kid just wandering from town to town.
"Don't need it, usually. I'm not really a hunter, Dean. I wander because I like it. I know enough to see a hunt and recognize it for what it is, but I only get involved if no one else is." Book said.
"So, what do you do?" Dean asked.
Book shrugged again. "Mostly I just...wander. Meet people, see places. Read good books. Sometimes I'm able to help people, like today, with Lena."
Dean just shook his head again. In his opinion, Book's older brother should be shot for not watching out for him better, but he kept his mouth shut.
Book wasn't his brother, after all.
"So, where are you staying tonight, then?" He asked.
Book chewed his lip thoughtfully. "Well, I hadn't been planning on staying the night, so I guess I'd better grab a room, if I can find one, as full as the town is, with the showcase coming up."
"My motel still had a vacancy light up when I left." Dean offered, and after a long pause, Book nodded cautiously.
Dean waited just inside the office as Book reserved a room for himself.
He hadn't wanted to say anything unless it was necessary, but he had been worried about Book having enough money for a motel.
His own room was a double, a habit from traveling with John, and he'd considered offering to share with Book. He'd shared with other hunters, Caleb and John and Bobby and even Jo, with the threat of Ellen's wrath hanging over his head. Money was often tight for hunters, and it was easier to secure one room rather than two.
But, as skittish as Book had seemed, he'd decided against it,afraid Book would think he was some kind of creep, instead making sure he was available to help Book if he'd needed the money getting a room of his own.
He wasn't sure where "a wanderer" would normally sleep, but he had visions of abandoned houses and park benches and old warehouses swimming through his mind.
Not that he hadn't ever squatted, or even slept in the Impala when money was tight, but the Impala was easily as good as many motels, it was practically Dean's home.
To his surprise, however, Book pulled a platinum card out of his wallet.
Leaning forward discreetly, Dean read the name.
Daniel N. Lyons.
Huh.
Kid didn't look like a Daniel.
Dean had a sneaking suspicion that that card was as legitimate as the one he had used, with the name Steven Tyler on it.
Curiouser and curiouser.
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Book hadn't wanted to use the card.
He had two others in his wallet, too, and they were all good. Book was adamant that the accounts Gabe set up for him contained real money, and didn't hurt anyone else via identity fraud. He knew hunters like Dean and John had few other options, but he did, so he made it a point not to involve anyone else in his life, even as a name on a credit card.
Gabe had gone along easily enough, actually having quite a bit of fun with Book's aliases.
The problem was, for a centuries-old arch angel, Gabe was surprisingly tech savvy, and now he knew exactly where Book was. Book didn't think he'd show up, and Book wouldn't change his mind if he did, but he knew Gabe could be...unpredictable when he was upset.
Gabe had little use for Dean, instead focused on Book and Anna. Gabe had opted out of the coming war, and he wanted Book and Anna out of dodge also.
As far as Gabe was concerned, Dean was dangerous.
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Dean half-expected Book to be gone the next morning when he awoke, vanished into the night like the vagabond he apparently was. But when he opened his motel room door, he saw Book next to the car, kneeling down trying to offer a raggedy ally cat a can of what looked to be tuna.
"Making friends?" He said, amused by Book's efforts to tame the feral, unwashed creature.
Book smiled softly as the cat slowly oozed forward, sniffing the air. "Getting there."
"I get the feeling you have a thing for strays." Dean muttered, as Book stood, coming over to stand beside him.
"Okay, where too?" Book asked.
"Breakfast." Dean said decisively, and Book chuckled, shaking his head as he got into the passenger seat.
Dean glanced over, frowning for a moment. "You got enough room over there, smalls?" He asked.
Book looked over, startled, and Dean got the impression that he was so used to not having enough room that it didn't even register with him any more.
"I'm cool." He said easily, and Dean rolled his eyes, reaching down for the lever that scooted back the passenger side of the bench seat.
Book didn't say anything else, though his eyes seemed to laugh at Dean for a moment, and Dean felt the stupid urge to grin at him.
They returned to the cafe from the night before, and Dean prayed silently that they got a different waiter.
After breakfast (of which Book didn't seem to eat enough of, in Dean's personal opinion, but, whatever), they decided to head over to the antiques shop. Neither one of them still thought it was a matter of a cursed object, but they had no better place to start.
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Book wrinkled his nose as they entered the antique store, though he doubted it actually contained many real antiques. It did, however, contain copious amounts of incense, and a low level buzz that signaled that something or someone in the store other than Book was hot, so to speak.
"How can I help you gentleman? Antiquers?" The man behind the counter asked. Dean choked back a huff of surprise, and Book started to smile, before his eyes met the eyes of the man behind the counter, and he felt an electric shock trail down his spine.
Another psychic, and a not half bad one, if he had to guess.
Book didn't go out of his way to avoid psychics, but they were a rare breed, most having only low level talents, requiring boards or cards or pendulums to act as a medium between them and the metaphysical world.
But with Dean in the picture, he had to be more careful. One carelessly spoken word could send Book's whole house of cards crashing down, and despite the fact that he knew it was for the best, Book wasn't ready to walk away from Dean just yet.
So he settled for walking away from the other psychic instead, ignoring Dean's startled expression as he quickly let himself out of the store front.
Outside, in the fresh air, it was a little easier to breath, though Book suspected it was less the incense in the store than it was the whole damn situation.
What the hell was he thinking?
What was he playing at, befriending Dean, agreeing to help out on a case. Dean could never know the truth about Book, which meant that practically everything Book said had to be a lie. He knew many things about this Dean were different, but he was certain that Dean's hatred of being lied to wouldn't have changed.
If Dean ever found out the truth, he'd be furious with Book for lying to him, for toying with him like this.
Book didn't mean to tell so many lies, he just found it too hard to walk away from Dean. He waited his whole lifetime (this one, anyway) to meet his brother, and, if Book were honest, Dean was better than he remembered.
This Dean was...strong, tough. He was confident, he didn't seem to need John's praise. He exuded strength and capability...
And he made Book feel safe.
Book hadn't even realized he hadn't felt safe, until the mere presence of Dean seemed to chase away the literal demons that haunted him sometimes.
Sometimes, when Book was around Dean, he felt himself relaxing into the old memories, memories that made him feel protected, cared for. Memories that made him feel wanted...
Memories this Dean didn't have, would never, could never have.
Book knew he should go.
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Dean looked up in surprise when Book had bolted out of the store, senses suddenly on red alert for anything that could have threatened the kid, something that could have frightened him.
They were alone however, the store empty except for the proprietor and the junk he was claiming to be "antiques".
Dean glanced nervously out the door, suddenly sure that Book was about to bolt any minute, something he'd been waiting for the past hour to happen, if he were honest.
Book seemed genuinely distressed, though whether or not it was because of the case or Dean or both, he didn't know.
But he disliked it none the less.
Something about the kid, more than his seeming familiarity, pulled at Dean, fanned to life protective instincts in him he'd honestly had no idea he had.
Now, as he glared the proprietor into hurrying up with the necklace he was wanting to examine, he glanced over and over again out the glass doors, where he could see Book standing, anxiety clear on his face.
A moment later, cheap necklace in hand, he pushed through the doors, moving quickly to the younger man.
"Book, you okay?" He asked gruffly, feeling awkward, yet also needing to know if the kid was okay.
Book glanced up at him, distress clear in his large hazel eyes, and Dean felt...something.
Panic, anger, distress, fear.
Something.
Something about Book's eyes, the way he looked at Dean like he hoped Dean had the answers.
"Book, talk to me!" He ordered, wondering if the kid's blood sugar was misbehaving again. Maybe he had a candy bar in the car...
"I have to go." Book said anxiously, now looking everywhere but at Dean and Dean frowned, not liking the evasion.
Something had obviously spooked the kid.
"Hey, what is it? Did you have a...I don't know, a vision?" Dean asked, moving subtly to block Book's exit.
Book was breathing in deeply, raggedly. He shook his head. "I'm fine. Everything's okay." He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.
"Sorry, I'm sorry. That guy's a real deal, like me, and it caught me by surprise. It's a little like static shock, I guess, but in my mind." Sam said finally.
Dean glanced back at the man through the windows, frowning. "That guy? How come he seems fine?"
Book shook his head. "I'm more...sensitive, I guess. Look, I'm not sure I can be of much help."
Dean frowned, then nodded. "Sure, I get it. You gotta do what ya gotta do. Can you just take a look at this first?" He held out the necklace that had belonged to both the women.
Book studied it in it's case, an unwilling smile curving across his lips.
"What?" Dean asked, smiling back in reluctant response.
Book's lips twitched once more as he held out the pendant for Dean to see the writing on the back.
'made in china'
"Oh, man, I freaking hate Lily Dale!" Dean groaned, and now Book was laughing.
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"This case is the worst, Christ! Stupid, stupid psychics!" Dean was really on a roll now and Book laughed harder, because this is exactly how he'd always pictured Dean reacting if he had to deal with a place like Lily Dale.
"Book, man, throw me a bone. Apparently you and Antiquer dude are the only real deals in down. You got nothing, nothing at all?"
Book sighed as his laughter subsided. Dean looked genuinely distressed now, and it pulled at his heartstrings.
Why was it okay for him to help strays and runaways but not his brother? Surely he could keep things simple enough, easy enough to work one stupid case.
Didn't Book owe Dean that much?
Book nodded, thinking for a moment. "Well, I think you're just going to have to work this case like a cop, from the ground up. There may not be a whole lot of natural talent in this town, but there is a lot of crystals, books and artifacts. This necklace is phony, but even a ten year old can make mischief with the right spell book. There are simply too many supernatural options to pick our favorite flavor."
Dean was nodding, eyes narrowed in thought. "Yeah, yeah, you're right. Start with the victims, find the motive, see who fits the profile. Okay, come on!"
"Huh?" Book asked,looking up in surprise.
Dean grinned at him innocently. "Oh, come on, you're not going to abandon me now? A town full or liars and fake psychics? You're my secret weapon, kiddo."
Book heard Dean say the word 'kiddo' and he could have sworn, for a moment, that everything stopped. His mind, his heart, time itself, because he'd forgotten that.
He'd forgotten that Dean called him that, in their other life that wasn't.
Dean had called Sam kiddo and now memories were flitting across Book's minds eye like butterflies.
He swallowed. "Yeah, okay. Let's do this. Where are we going, anyway."
Dean's grin widened. "The first victim's granddaughter is due beck in town today. She's the only living relative. I figured we'd start there. Who knows you better than family, right?"