A/N; Thanks to all who have been reading along with this - I really appreciate your reviews and offer this humungoid chapter as penance for keeping you waiting sooo long!
Thanks as always to the Fully Awesome Lovin'Jackson for her beta skills but also the speed with which she slaps me into line (LOL) - no kidding, your amazingly patient Tara!!! All faults from here on in are mine. Hope you enjoy... running to hide now!!!!
Chapter Seven
"Just as every cop is a criminal, And all sinners are saints." Sympathy for the Devil – Rolling Stones.
Sammy couldn't ever figure out why the older people got, the longer they seemed to take choosing their ice-cream. Caleb had to be asked three times; and then he told Sam to pick for him. Sam didn't mind really, Caleb often did pretty cool stuff for him, so helping him out now was no biggie. Caleb's Green dragon, drawn on his plain backpack – had given him the coolest bag in his class last month when Dad had been down in Virginia. The psychic was always slipping him and Dean treats, and he never heard Dean laugh as much as he did with Caleb.
Sammy circled his triple scoop Banana Heaven, making it resemble the leaning tower in Italy a little less, while he watched his brother and Caleb. They walked slightly ahead of Mac and him, weaving their way through the New York crowds. And Caleb hadn't even touched the Rocky Road! What a waste! Maybe he should help him re-cycle?
"Sammy wants this, Deuce," Caleb stated passing the dripping cone to the blonde boy, "give it to him before his puppy dog look burns a hole in the back of my head will you?"
Dean laughed. "No way Damien, you don't have to share a room with the Nesquick Bunny after all that sugar. Why'd you let him pick for you anyways – you hate Rocky Road?"
"Didn't want to hurt the runts feelings – you know how he starts to rock in the corner if you correct him on one of his special fields of knowledge."
"I'll take 'Know It All-ness' for Five hundred please, Alex!" Dean chuckled. He threw his friend a side glance "Maybe you should finish it, you didn't eat much. I know you're not fond of pasta but it was a pretty fancy place, they could probably have rustled you up a pizza?"
Caleb barked out a laugh thinking how Mac would have loved ordering a pizza from one of the best Italian chefs in town. "Yeah maybe next time."
Dinner had been pleasant enough despite his wandering thoughts drifting to the dark side every now and then. Reaves used every trick in his arsenal not to give in to the fearful whispers fogging his mind. He'd tried to stay focused on the conversation as much as he could, given that his head had been pounding like a drum solo. What was helping him hold it together was that he hadn't heard from Cecile again. Maybe he had stumbled across a way of blocking her?
Light laughter cut through his musing.
Maybe not!
He didn't have to ask what she wanted – she had been pretty explicit in her wishes and language. In fact he would rather have had her call him any number of names on Pastor Jim's blacklist, than the profanity she settled on. Dead or not, the little bitch had called him…
"ciever…" Dean continued.
"What'd you call me?" Caleb growled, slowing and turning to look at his friend darkly.
Dean looked baffled, as he glanced at the towering teen with a raised eyebrow and frozen icy look.
"Uh – I … was talking about the Sox wide-receiver being well off the ball this season – you okay Damien… you look like someone just peed in your Cheerio's?
"Boys what's the problem? We are two minutes from the apartment? Mack interrupted catching up to them.
"Nothing, Mac," Caleb dismissed, speeding up "Let's get back; I got to hit the head."
"Charming, Caleb" Mackland returned sourly, putting a guiding hand on Dean's shoulder and steering him in the wake of comet Reaves.
Dean let himself be carried along. He was trying to recall what element of his commentary on the season had managed to get under his friends skin. He slung the thought aside immediately – what the hell could be offensive in Baseball?? Damien was tripping out to planet Head case again and this time Dean made his mind up to confront the older youth after everyone had settled in.
Something about Satan's reactions over the past few days had been triggering every alarm Dean had – he was withdrawing into himself, and for Damien that was not usually a good move.
Something struck Dean hard, causing his breath to catch. The psychic had accused him of calling him something. When he'd received the jaw realignment; it had been like Reaves was lashing out at some attacker … although he had the older boy's word that the nightmares had not been about him, Dean wondered what other subject could inspire the night terrors he had heard. He knew of only a few things that could twist his friend so visibly – usually Damien's shields were at a greater strength than his own – he'd practiced staying in control of his emotions till it was an art form, Dean admired. Something was cutting away at those defenses… or someone? Dean didn't understand a lot about the psychic talents his friend possessed, but he wondered if they were not the cause of all the out of character behavior. In the hospital Mac had mentioned unusual brain activity. It had to be pretty freaking out there, if it was allowing Lucifer to look like he was about to throw down, because Dean was slating a wide-receiver.
Dean's head shot up where he'd only half been paying attention he now realized that they had re-entered the apartment and Caleb had made tracks for his bedroom.
Mac and Sam were deep in discussion about the supplies that had already been packed and the two backpacks that lay waiting for the morning's school run. Mac had offered to "supply" new bags too but Dean had turned him down knowing his Father would already be pulling faces at the stationary trip that had occurred on Sammy's say so. When Mackland saw how upset Dean was at his well intentioned underhanded maneuver, he had apologized and offered the pasta dinner as a peace offering. Dean would never have held it against Mac. He knew how much the Doctor cared for him and Sammy. Besides Sammy was having the time of his life here, and Dean had to admit that, freakish Damien behavior aside, it was nice to be here. His thoughts of his best friend had him moving towards his room practicing his speech. He kept trying to come up with an alternative to;
"What the fuck, Damien?!!"
"Dean." Mack halted him in his tracks. "I wonder if I could garner your help getting Sam off to sleep, I know I don't stand a chance without the expert!" Ames grinned warmly.
Dean's smile was only a little stretched. He appreciated the Scholar's efforts at making them feel at home. Sam however had other idea's – he had Mac wound round his little finger and wasn't going to give up that kind of power easily.
"Ah com'on, Mac – you were going to tell me the history of Saint Martin's – so I'd have four arms?!!!"
"That's fore-armed, Samuel," Mac laughed and glanced inquiringly at Dean.
"Sure I'll help if you'd like, Mac, but I think Sammy just gave you the green light."
"Is that right, Samuel - are you going to take it easy on me?" Mac asked as he and the younger Winchester headed off down the corridor to the other end of the enormous New York brown stone.
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Caleb reached the safe haven of his bathroom. Safe was a relative term these days – he was safe from having to fake an answer for Deuce at the moment for why he went Jack Torrence on him back there. What he was not safe from was the unwanted squatter currently talking up a storm inside his head. His best blocks could only keep her at a muffled buzzing, he couldn't make out what she was saying but she was behind his eyes now- under his skin; and there was no getting away from the wave after wave of hatred and blame washing over him. He ran some water over his face and looked at his reflection in the mirror. A lone thought drifted to him – wafer thin, holding together tenuously – but holding.
What if she's right? What if I am going Kujo?
Drawing his eyebrows down sharply, he glared at himself in the mirror. That did it – he had to get out of here! Fresh air and some distraction might shut the voice up. He exited the restroom with a determined gate, snagging the door handle and jerking it open in time to almost trip over Duece.
"Jesus – Dean!" he barked barely keeping his balance.
"It's not my problem you have all the stealth and balance of Mr Wheeble, Damien!" Dean snapped back.
Caleb looked at him with an unreadable expression, before barging past him and heading for Mac, leaving Dean in his wake. If he had turned he would have seen the torn look of hurt and worry that the younger boy wore, or the way he swipped hastily at his eyes before loosing a few choice oaths and stalking away. But Reaves' full time efforts to block out Ceciel also effectively muted some of the other psychic impressions around him.
The teen found a soggy Mac reading to Sammy from the Saint Martins brochure for a bedtime story. The Doctor looked up from the pages throwing his son a boyish grin.
"This is our Samuel's version of taking it easy on me" he chuckled indicating his damp attire.
"Yeah well, if I were Sammy, I'd be getting a few shots in too; if I knew the horror story you were going to try to put me to sleep with." Caleb remarked dryly, indicating the school prospectus.
Mackland frowned at the unnecessary harsh edge to the teen's voice, but before he could voice the mild rebuke that rose to mind Sam beat him to it.
"Your school rocks, Caleb – thank you for sharing it. You must be sad to be leaving it right?" Sammy gushed earnestly, wide-eyed and utterly solemn.
Caleb's face drew into a scornful grimace "Oh it's just tearing me up inside, runt."
"Caleb!" his Father barked sharply "may I have a quick word?"
"Let me save you the trouble, I am sure Sammy knows I am joking." Reaves glanced briefly at the six year old who looked anything but sure, before carrying on. "I think I have a few pre-school nerves I'd like to turn in early, Dad, okay?"
"Sure Caleb, is there anything I can…."
"No," Caleb dismissed quickly "I think the sleep will set me up for tomorrow."
Why the hell can't he be like other parents and just loose interest?! The Psychic fumed silently.
I doubt you would understand normal Fatherly instincts mongrel, so I won't waste my breath… you have no room to judge – you would likely devour your young!!!
Cecile's wretched voice sliced its way through his distracted defenses before he could put a lid on her. He turned on his heel with a brief goodnight to his Father and Sammy before all but fleeing to his room. Plugging his headphones into his sleek streamlined sound system he cranked the classic rock till his ear drums begged for mercy, and resolved to wait out the other occupants of the apartment. There was no way he could risk going to sleep tonight. And just like that… his body betrayed him.
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He jerked as he fell back into himself. Painfully folding to fit into his own shell, he registered the smoke and the popping noise of the flames. The fire dominated his vision but he managed to hear… No actually taste, the fear of the small unit of people cowering behind the disheveled pews - three of them, hearts pounding, ducking lower than was physically comfortable…
As he advanced towards the pathetic hideout with every intention of making it the last resting place of the Dupree's, he caught sight of his reflection in a framed picture of the child Jesus. The hair was a dirty blonde and brushed the nape of his neck, resting lightly on the white collar that had once marked his salvation and now flaunted his pending damnation. An insolent grin split his face in two as he cast his amber eyes over the cherub features of the child in the painting. To others it was a serene expression, to him – with the new eyes his benefactor had lent him, it seemed submissive and weak. He was breaking his final tie with his old ways today. This was an offering to his new ally – to show that he was not to be counted amongst the sheep. The thought of his new power source brought his attention back to his reflection and for a brief moment his irises shimmered giving way to a burnished hard gold. His smile became one of renewed fervor.
One should always face their fears – only the strong survived.
He was about to go clarify this concept – it would be the final word the Dupree's received.
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An electric bolt connected his knife hand directly to his waking mind. Both came alive with a jolt, snapping like a pair of ravenous jaws driven by pure instinct and coming to rest with a near deadly finality against his Father's jugular. He was as taught as a tight rope, struggling to catch his breath, to get his bearings as the world shifted round him.
I share that Bastards eyes… I have his eyes, I have his eyes, I have his eyes, I….
Old memories, foreign memories, shared thoughts that made his skin crawl and his hand shake, drawing a scarlet crayola etch across the sweat glistening canvas of the older man's neck. Blinking his eyes repeatedly he banished the hazy water color of his Fathers image – his waking nightmare.
Caleb took sharp erratic lungful of air through his nose as he continued to battle for control. Finally he heard the sound of his anchor, his Father's voice as he knocked at the door, telling him the time like some congenial talking clock. Reaves nearly wept as he relinquished the razor edge he had been balanced on, crumpling back onto the bed.
Dream, it had been a waking – seriously fucked up – D.R.E.A.M. And Mac was not in fact staring with horror at the Viper he had taken in and raised, who'd tried to give him a Columbian neck tie!
His Father knocked on his door again. Even his show of manners sounded pissed. Reaves groaned shakily as he tilted out of bed.
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"Caleb, you're going to make the boys late, I know your timing is subject to the Winds of change – but I thought we'd agreed…"
Ames was halted by the swish of a door being flung open and the tenant stepping out, parade style with a slightly disheveled look to his marginally rumpled blazer. The dark glasses hid the expression but the undone white shirt cuffs, army boots and loosened tie gave the finger almost as loudly. The Doctor's jaw dropped. He managed to regain enough composure to snag the Ray Bans off his son's face as he strode by.
"You're not exactly dressed according to…" Ames had begun to chide on autopilot but found his reprimand choked off by the dark circles round his boys eyes,
Caleb felt the cresting wave of concern washing towards him; it was more than he could deal with right now. He didn't deserve Mac's pity – hell he didn't deserve Mac, and the more he had to deal with his adoptive Father's feelings of love and compassion, the greater the anger that was building in him. He had to put some distance between them. Snatching the shades back from his mute parent, he slammed them on moodily.
"Fuck sakes, Mac – make your mind up, either you want me to fit in with Richey Rich and Vulgar Veronica or not?! This is how all the cool kids dress!"
He didn't break stride as he scooped Sam hurriedly, but gently by the hand and ploughed out the door.
"You coming to the circus or what, Deuce?" he demanded of a dumbstruck Dean.
Mackland was about to follow the high strung teen out into the corridor and drag him back inside – Winchester academy or not, when his phone went off.
"Yeah, Ames?" he answered more than a little rudely.
"What? No the boys are fine they have just gone … you're almost done? That was fast – are you sure…? No damn it – is it a Knight thing to assume an implied challenge in every enquiry?! Is it catching, Winchester?!"
Ames took note of the important details but his mind had already wandered to his son. Something was going on with his boy, the spilt second reading he'd gotten from the sunglasses was panicked and disjointed and very like the lost little boy he had first taken in. It worried Ames that despite the tough guy persona the teen was desperate to keep up he was… petrified.
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Saint Martin's was exactly how he imagined it to be. Tall, imposing, old and it smelled like money. Dean was grateful that Damien had flat out refused the Ames Rolls and opted for the far more modest bus option. When they jumped off, they faced a fifteen minute hike up the school's well landscaped drive. Since arriving, the barely lukewarm reception the three of them had received had Dean all but praying for the homeroom bell and Dean did not pray.
Damien assured him that it had to do with his black sheep status, but Dean was too worldly to fall for that. He saw the full gauntlet of expression from the Social- worker-esque, look of pity that his teacher gave him, to the wrinkled nose look of contempt the snotty kindergartner Sammy sat next to threw him. They were dressed like any other student at Saint Martin's except for the important difference – the cloth didn't fit them.
As Dean approached Damien's back in the hallway by the senior home rooms – which as far as he could tell was better kitted out than his last school classroom – his defenses bristled; Damien was in Mother Hen mode. It was a stance Dean could pick out a mile off – and Reaves was in full on Lancelot armor … defending their honor or some such shit.
From the looks of the four taller, uglier youths gathered round Damien and his fair-haired sparing partner; she was no Gwenivere. As he approached the stunning blonde, he marveled at her perfectly styled hair and flawless complexion – the girl was hot, and under any other circumstances Damien would be hitting on her so fast her head would spin, but instead the slight grate to his friends tone told the younger boy that he was barely resisting the urge to do something drastic. From the scraps of conversation that had reached him, the girl, Catherine, was just getting started. He stopped just out of eye line but near enough to Damien for him to lend a hand if necessary.
"Oh my God, Caleb, were your little friends bussed in?" Catherine giggled. "I mean did anyone see that hideously oversized jacket?"
Caleb gritted his teeth as her light musical voice sawed through his last nerve.
"Well sweetheart – what if they did? It sure beats the short bus you, appear to be ridding these days."
Reaves couldn't help grinning cockily at Sebastian Craig, who had been draped over his girlfriend feigning disinterest. The waiflike heir to a major shipping fortune had begun to turn redder, until his face threatened to clash with his orange cashmere sweater scarf.
"We got this, Seb." the biggest of Craig's entourage stepped up.
"Don't strain yourself there, Mungo," Caleb sneered "maybe your boss, the King Pinhead, should explain one or two possible consequences of the course of action you're contemplating. Your fingers all move now, right … Seb?"
Seb Craig rolled his eyes, dramatically turning his back on Reaves in a dismissive manner.
"Leave the Freak." He ordered haughtily over his shoulder, steering Catherine with him.
"What'd you say?" Caleb growled in a flat dangerous voice, even as the peal of laughter ghosted in his head.
He could tell Cecile's voice easily from the sniggers going on round him; hers ran red hot and scalded his senses. He felt a small hand grasp his forearm, and for a split second was afraid to look down and face her sharp accusing gaze. But he realized the touch did not burn on contact. He looked down and registered Deuce's urgent grip.
Dean clung to his friend. Caleb had turned to stone under his touch, he noted almost subconsciously that the older boy had taken up an offensive first position – his right foot was delicately balanced and poised to strike out. Craig may not have realized how lucky he was to have obeyed his survival instincts and just keep walking, ignoring the challenge Caleb issued. When the teen met his gaze, Dean increased his grip on Damien's wrist, afraid of the murderous look in his slightly glassy eyes.
"What are you doing, Damien?" Dean hissed "I don't give a shit what they think about my Goddamn dress sense! Stand. Down. Caleb!"
Slowly the metal melted and Reaves seemed to come back to himself.
"I need to hit the head." He growled shaking off the boys grip and glaring at the braver passers by.
With out explanation the Psychic took off. From the little he had learned of the Schools vast complex, Reaves had not in fact taken the most direct route to the restrooms, but was beating a swift path for the stairwell to the main roof access. Dean, like his friend, always ensured he knew two things about any location he was at – all the exits, and how to gain the high ground.
He was about to follow Reaves when the bell signaled a mass exodus to fourth period classes, and his designated School Buddy turned up out of nowhere to escort him to his next class. From the pronounced dimples and glowing school spirit she was literally possessed by- he was pretty sure that Blair's dictionary didn't contain words like "tardy" or "cutting" or "exorcism" for that matter. As he threw her a charming full watt smile he wondered how long before all the sugar in Blair could force him into a diabetic coma?
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Slamming the door leading to the roof outward with more force than necessary, Caleb had anticipated it being locked. The noise that accompanied his entrance to the roof was masked by the warning bell so would not attract attention. He wondered idly why the roof had been left open. Greg, the head of maintenance was a pretty solid guy; he'd lent Caleb the keys a couple of times, when he needed a refuge or a hideout. Rounding the corner he expected to find Greg or one of his co-workers taking a breather away from all the stuffiness below. He stopped short as he came upon the last person he expected to find there.
"Sophie." He nodded by way of greeting and question.
The dark haired girl raised her slightly unfocused gaze and tilted her head to the side, hazel eyes reading his lean frame like a book.
"You've run into Seb already." She asserted tipping the silver hip flask in his direction.
Walking over to the spot she was leaning over and shook his head politely as he leaned on the rail beside her.
"You got all that from the way I walk? And your Brother thinks I'm the freak!" he snorted.
Sophie looked panicked, as if he'd threatened something crucial to her and he growled in disgust. "Oh give it up Sophie – if I wanted to out your dirty little secret to your inbred brother I wouldn't have handed him my head on a platter – or taken the suspension!"
She relaxed visibly. "Screw you Reaves – I didn't ask you to go throwing round your Superman cape… besides my Daddy isn't a Saint in training like yours… it would NOT be alright for a Craig to be anything other than normal. And Seb has already called me to Bitch about you."
"There is nothing wrong with you for Christ's sake, Sophie – you're a medium, and as far as those Superpowers go, yours are never going to get in the way of all that Daddy and Big Bro has planned for you."
"So you're insulting my puny abilities and mocking my family in the same breath, you have some nerve." She glared at him but there was no heat in her voice. "How have you been anyway – you look like shit, thought your Daddy was a Doctor? Shouldn't you get him to check you out?"
Reaves grabbed her hand and took the flask she had offered earlier.
"Why you talking to me, Sophie? Didn't you get the internal memo about hanging out with the 'New Money'?" his voice was bitter as he took a healthy swig.
"You and my brother were always more interested in the label game, me I'd just like to get full nights sleep again." She sighed wistfully.
He pressed his hand against his forehead. The burning liquid dulled the sharpness of the constant chatter and his temper was deflating by degrees.
"Yeah well if wishes were ponies – right, sweetheart?" he groused taking a more convincing swig.
"You know you think you are so fucking different, Reaves, but lets face it your just as screwed in the head as the rest of us – we all have our own family billing to live up to"
Caleb laughed in that way that scared himself and made Sophie take a step back subconsciously. "For all our sakes? I hope not," He snarked. "We are even, Sophie dearest – you wouldn't understand why I did what I did, and I won't be making the same mistake in a hurry."
Sophie Craig looked beyond wounded. Reaves had unexpectedly taken the fall for her so to speak, after she had treated him like dirt for the better part of the year. It was the one event in her miserable life that had actually given her cause to hope that there was a way other than the 'kill or be killed' route through life her Father laid down and her brother followed as scripture.
"Oh no Darlin,' that there is the Gospel truth," Reaves chuckled, reading her morose thoughts. "One should always face their fears. Only the strong ..."
Caleb blanched and felt the liquor mix badly with his churning stomach acids when he realized he was quoting his Great Grandfather. He barely caught the tail end of the girl's tirade, where "fuck you, Caleb!" appeared to be the central theme, as she stalked away.
His knees gave and he slid down the wall actually grateful for the strong liquor, that when administered seemed to leave Cecile dumbstruck.
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Cecile Dupree watched the folded youth hunched against the wall from a distance. He appeared so brittle now compared to the cocky irreverent youth she had first encountered. The only problem was? Caleb Reaves' undoing was no longer her work alone. From the words the boy had just spoken, the ones that had served to send her own spirit reeling, she had a feeling she knew where the other influence stemmed from. The link was whisper thin, but it was undeniably there. The stench of that Monster's touch was an affront to her. The question being; was this merely the Seaver's unnatural fate playing out, or was she actually being double crossed? Was Verity LeHarve plotting to bring down a monster, or raise one? She knew of only one way to find out.