A/N; Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read and review this, you don't know how much that means. A BIG thank you to Lovin Jackson for her Beta Super - Powers!!! To be lucky enough to have the help, support and evil genius mind of someone like Tara, makes this story even more exciting to write!!! (Yes even when the plot bunnies have me running scared!) her imput goes way beyond just spelling and grammer checks - thanks for everything Wing-chick!
Chapter Nine
"And I scream, I swear I'm not the devil – although you think I am. I swear I'm not the devil!" Stained "Devil".
"Go screw yourself Damien I actually am a kid, you spoilt, sanctimonious bastard!" Dean threw a heated glare at his former best friend.
Caleb rolled his eyes.
Oh this was going swimmingly.
Dean had not only clocked that Caleb had been hanging out on the roof with the Craig's and their groupies. He had given his School shadow the slip and come after Reaves when he had seen Seb head for the rooftop with his muscle. The Psychic had literally run into the kid at the foot of the stairs and then had to work very hard to usher him way out into the back playing fields, in time for hurricane Winchester to hit.
"If you had seen what I'd seen - what looked like a lynch mob heading in the direction of your piss poor hiding spot, with its lack of quick exit… you'd have come in after me. Don't bother to deny it – now if I'd known you were hooking up for some choice bored millionaire action – I wouldn't have fucking bothered! So don't tell me I'm over reacting Damien!"
"You know I could have handled them Deuce, hell I'm pretty certain Sammy could have handled Seb!" Reaves rolled off a shit eating grin.
"Don't patronize me asshole, I'm not new… and this is not fucking Prom night! You said Street Fight Caleb …. And I know you weren't talking computer games. Are you finally broken?!!! What if you and the golden geese get busted? What would that do to Mac… are you even sure your all there Lucifer? Should I be Christoing yo…?"
Dean faltered as he saw the look of genuine pain cross Caleb's face.
"What is going on with you Caleb… you're scaring me man… hanging with these douches, ragging on Mack… it's not you. It's like your on auto-asshole and someone else's driving."
Something cold and hard moved in the depths of Caleb's heart. So this was the level of faith his so called family held in him? Dean was … afraid, afraid of him?! He'd bled more times than he could count for the little snot and his overwhelming response was to run scared?! From the moment he'd met the silent midget he'd marked him as a kindred spirit, and some obviously misguided part of his soul had sworn in the dark, in the depths to protect Deuce, no matter what that cost. Over the years he had come to believe that, amazingly, the kid had returned that loyalty … but today, he wasn't as convinced. And as for pitying Mack… Dean had always envied his relationship with Ames. Well when you compared John Winchester's below par parenting skills, who could blame the brat?
On the fringes of the unexplainable heat and rage his mind was registering right now, Caleb swore he heard the sound of laughter, and though it was faint it was substantial enough to cause him to react to his clenched fist and spiking adrenaline. He forced himself to take two steps away from the anxious looking child in front of him.
With a grim expression he fought his ragging emotions for control. The seething need to do some damage was almost too strong to deny, and he pushed himself further back from Dean. His voice was frigid to his own ears and lay like a blanket of snow between him and Deuce.
"Maybe to your eyes, I am a little broken – Dean, but just maybe I'm a little sick and tired of explaining myself to my ten year old tag along and his hand-me-down baggage?"
Dean's whole face drained of color. His bottom lip actually quivered and the barely held moisture in his eyes threatened his hard fought for defenses with every half breath he dared to take.
"Stay the fuck away from me and my brother Reaves." Was all he could manage, and the voice it was delivered in was hollowed out from the neck up and impotent from the neck down.
From somewhere deep beneath the surface Caleb howled out his frustration and venom at himself, as he watched the younger child walk away stiff backed. He stood melancholy and marble rolled into one statue that would gladly never move another inch for the rest of time.
He was broken – and only Dean could see that, that clearly and as always – Dean would reap the penalties. The rage that had him in its grip was from some untraceable source. He could feel it bleeding into him like an uncomfortable transfusion, going against the grain of who he was. What had just happened had been as much his will as dancing the frigging Ballet would have been. Clasping his head in his hands he fell to his knees.
"Get the hell out of my head! For the love of God – take what you need… just… just don't hurt my family!"
Is that an invitation Caleb? An unfamiliar voice that was rasping and indistinguishable as male or female, queried.
"Who THE HELL is that … your not Cecile, are you?" Caleb demanded tears springing to his eyes as his very worst fears seemed to be coming to pass,
No – not Cecile… not one so …weak… you know I can't stand weakness…
A loud groan escaped Reaves' lips, as his head bowed lower, touching the ground, his hands shaking and pulling fiercely at his hair. "No – it can't be…."
I thought you were done with pretenses boy? Your Fairytales haven't really worked out so far have they? I AM – your reality Caleb… I see you, in all your dark glory. And I know you feel me… I'm coming through loud and clear aren't I?
The cloying sound in his head drew a gag from him and before he knew what was happening, Reaves found himself purging his system of his fear and self loathing. The convulsive gagging burned his stomach and throat and left him breathless. It drowned out all else except a desolate and lonely truth that he clung to not for his sake … but for theirs.
"You will not take me – alive." It was more a moan than a battle cry, but for now it would have to do.
Verity Le Harve sat back in the deep tapestry chair, which was totally out of place in the derelict barn. But as with most things in her life – she remodeled. If things did not work out to plan – she'd simply rewrite the script. Such had been the case with Reaves … he'd been a tough nut to crack, she'd give him that. Him and his wayward ancestor, it was easy to see how deeply the stubborn streak ran in that bloodline.
She had been mistaken to trust such a challenge to a fresh colt like Cecile. Though the girl had been effective at tenderizing the target, Verity had always planned on closing the deal with the Pastor. Playing Caleb's very worst fears against him, what she had not counted on was the impenetrable deadlock Seaver's spirit appeared to be in. But still – Caleb didn't know that. With the memories of the victim's like Cecile, she was able to piece together a pretty convincing facsimile of the demented Pastor. As she stirred her tea and let the herbs swirl languidly round the metal teaspoon, she wondered where the little pain in her neck was sulking off to at the moment, for she had not felt her presence in the boy.
Glancing upwards, she waved her hand dismissively. "No of course I don't want you to fetch her – you can have your fun when the deed is done. Young master Reaves is still not down for the count yet, let her believe what she wants about Seaver … she is hardly a threat to us. We may have use for her yet."
Le Harve smiled twisting the million year old rock crystal at her throat.
"Almost end game. Griffin Porter will get the chink in the armor that Reaves' demise will cause and I will get a considerable addition to my arsenal … not to mention immunity from that dreadful Boys Club. Winners all round I'd say."
Who could have guessed that the Afterlife was as contradictory as Real life? Well – not that this travesty that animated her spirit with rage and an all consuming hateful fire was "Real Afterlife"; at least not in the Resurrection; Judgment Day sense. This was the black arts at work in the hands of a very powerful mercenary witch.
Cecile had taken to watching – like the shadow she was. Just observing was all she could do; because if she got any closer to Caleb Reaves than a few yards out, she almost lost herself to the irrational need to grind him under her insubstantial shoes.
She knew Le Harve was upping the anti – the witch had her own agenda, and it had nothing to do with the righteous justice the young spirit thought she had been brought back to deliver. Le Harve wanted to be rid of the Dark haired psychic currently sitting with his head bowed, hands resting on his knees not two arms lengths away from her. Verity had orchestrated an attack on the Reaves boy, one that was spearheaded by her – and apparently, one that held a contingency plan, in case Cecile had not been up to the task of finishing him. What a fool she had been. How easily she had let herself be used.
She had watched this devil with an Angel's instinct, most of the afternoon and into the evening. She'd been able to read his tortured thoughts as he kept his distance, at great personal pain to himself from his young friends … he believed – Deuce, would be safer away from him.
Reaves ensured the safety of the children by contacting his Father and arranging their return. True he had lied about wanting to go out with friends to "let out some steam", but in reality with every turn of the screw, the witch was applying, his falsehood was becoming truth. He took the punishment Le Havre's plan B was meeting out in his head in a stoic resigned fashion, almost as if he believed he deserved it.
By wrapping himself tightly in his own bleak thoughts and maintaining his distance from everyone, he sought to insulate them from what he feared he would bring upon them. Cecile knew that he still probably believed her to be his tormentor, and Le Harve's pull was still too strong for her to deny. If she tried to contact him directly, to spare him or warn him … Le Harve would have her trophy.
The more Cecile thought about the tentative plan that had been forming since she had gleaned the Witch's true intentions, the more she saw it as the only way to undo the situation. She had not lied – she could not if she had wanted to, Le Harve's hold was too tight; Cecile had every intention of putting the Seaver's to rights. In the form of Caleb that opportunity had arrived, just not the way she had expected. Thinking on how right Verity had been, Cecile threw Caleb's somber feature's one last glance before she set out to find the enemy of her enemy.
Glancing at the Tag Heuer watch Cullen had given him for his eighteenth, Caleb saw that it was a quarter to nine. He had chosen a secluded spot away from the milling crowd gathering in the nearby disused parking lot, in which to collect his thoughts. He wasn't entirely certain why he was choosing to continue with the stupid bet – except maybe … the fact that he had something to cling to as everything else fell apart. It was the way he dealt with the crippling fear that threatened to overrun him. The fear that stemmed from the fact that he appeared to be destined to be his Father's son.
He had always found solace in action… ever since that day by the sea, he had stayed so still, barely breathing as the fight ragged on outside that cupboard. And then, despite his hideout… evil had sought him out and trampled him underfoot. He could no longer stay still – he could not stand inaction… not because he thought it cowardly, but because if he stopped fighting, even for a moment, everyone would see that he was still that cowering little child, starring in shock from between the cupboard doors, as his world fell away.
"Hey there space cadet?" her voice registered along with her perfume.
Blinking upwards, he reached for her to steady himself. She laid her hand against his cheek trying to get him to focus.
"You shouldn't let your brother catch you near me Sophie… it would be worse than the Psychic stuff." He breathed softly, rising and moving to take off his jacket.
"I don't care what Seb thinks … you don't have to do this, not for me … this guy your up against, he's an animal, please just walk away. I can deal with my family, if they find out what I am …."
He gave her points for only letting her voice quiver marginally. "I can handle myself Sophie – once I'm done here, maybe I can convince Seb to …."
"Convince me to what?" the anger was barely contained in the low voice.
Sophie spun on her heel, Caleb merely sighed resignedly. This was so not his day.
"Convince me to what Sophie? Accept your freak boyfriend? I mean - Jesus! Slum it if you must, but bringing it home with you? Or maybe you mean the ungodly manner in which you and that bastard seem to be connecting? Do you hold something in common Soph?" Seb's voice spat his challenge, daring her to pick up the gauntlet.
"Don't – do it" Caleb breathes into her ear urgently. "It's me he's angry with."
"Yes – Caleb and I both share aspects of the same gift Seb, yes your sister is a freak… and yes you can run and tell Daddy what the hell you want. But call off this farce- you don't need to punish Reaves." Sophie declared all but waving the banner with the bull's-eye on it.
"Oh I don't need to settle with the guy that humiliated me – that made my sister a filthy lying whore? I don't need to punish the slur he's brought to our family? What the hell has he done to you?!"
"Hey – Seb lay off her." Caleb growled putting himself between Sophie and her advancing brother.
Although Reaves' glowering form effectively headed off Sebastian's angry intentions towards his sister – it only seemed to incense the blonde man more.
"Fuck you Reaves – this is not your business; that is waiting for you back that way." He indicated the noisy crowd behind them. "Money being the great motivator it is will make this hard to walk away from. Bets are non-refundable in these places – you'd be very unpopular Reaves." Seb slung his sister a filthy look. "So would your slut."
Caleb reached out and backhanded the other man.
"I warned you about that!"
Stepping over the sprawling limbs of Sebastian Craig, Reaves took Sophie by the elbow.
"He's right about this crowd – too late to pull out. But I need to know, the thing you "see" near me… is he …evil?"
Sophie bit her lip. "I'm sorry – yes… it's the darkest thing I've ever seen. And I only get a vague picture … it's like it's got its claws into you and…"
The crowd roared drowning her out as they glimpsed Caleb approaching them. The master of ceremonies was a five foot two, heavy set man with a glass eye and a scar running the length of his cheek. He seemed to recognize Caleb and announced him as the "new meat" to the heckling bystanders.
Caleb gave Sophie a small shove, moving her away from him as he was somewhat manhandled into the centre of the ring the crowd had formed with their swelling numbers. He also tried to put the "vague picture" that she could see – out of his head.
Clearing his thoughts was an improbable thing, but refusing to at least try to attempt to ready himself for this fight, was just foolish. Well at least he wouldn't need to fake the fall anymore.
A second, louder, more approving roar from the mob had him looking up from removing one of his favorite T-shirts, and into the face of the bearded, slab of a man who stood a head and shoulders taller than him – and sixty pounds heavier. Well maybe he wouldn't need to fret over faking his loss… no, now he'd just have to look out for it – for real!
Trying to make the best of this, Caleb reached out a hand to Meat Slab, whose name he didn't catch but sounded alarmingly close to "Meat Slab". The other man obviously had no sporting inclinations – he would rather tell Caleb, in a resonating, guttural growl, exactly where he was going to stuff his head when he was through ripping it off his body. Reaves took this as the first indication that he may have braved the deep end a little too far upstream.
It was not the fighting he was worried about, he had taken a beating or two in his time, and frankly he felt after his behavior of late; the Universe owed him a little payback … no his concern was about how seriously the other guy seemed to be taking this. He had planned to work out some of that pent up hostility, clear his head and figure out his next move … from Meat Slab's first jaw cracking contact, Caleb became acutely aware that this was no nickel and dime bare-knuckle fighter. As his blood sprayed onto the gravel and he managed to catch a brief glimpse of Sebastian's viciously grinning face, he knew he had been royally screwed over.
Seb watched Reaves make what for some might be a valiant defense, kicking high and hard, even landing a volley of punches on the Serbian heavy weight national champion, an acquaintance of his Father's. With any luck this wouldn't just wipe the smart mouth off Reaves face; the cocky Son of a Bitch might actually lose his face altogether.
Seb flinched slightly as the far bigger man managed to get inside the teenagers defenses and deliver a vicious uppercut to his kidneys, with a sickening crunch. Vaguely he wondered if Caleb could last till the appointed round. Still what was fifty thousand, when it paid for entertainment like this?!
He grinned broadly as Reaves let out a shrill cry when his opponent pulled his arms back at an unforgiving angle and slammed his knee into the other man's lower back. Apparently his Serbian colleague had taken his prior instruction to "Fuck Reaves up" quite literally. He watched the teen attempt to block a series of bone braking jabs angled at his nose only to succumb to a merciless volley of hits that all connected with his ribs.
As the wind seemed to have left him, the younger man was half doubled over and then kindly helped up … hell he was flipped up, and over like a flap jack, by the other man's boot. Watching Reaves flat on his back covered in sweat and blood and gravel, Seb felt a warm glow of satisfaction – he hated being misunderstood… and this was the price of screwing with the Craig's!
Watching the stars from the flat of his back was a strangely peaceful contrast to the painful screams of most of his body. Caleb hazily registered a horn that had to be putting an end to the ass kicking he was enduring. In a blink Sophie was at his side gingerly helping him up alongside someone else; the ringing in his ears and his fuzzy vision would not allow him to put an identity to his other Samaritan. He heard Sophie's slightly clipped and raised voice respond to the stranger.
"No of course I had nothing to do with this set up – believe what you want … yes I, I think I may be able to stop it…. Wait with him?"
He felt Sophie leave and allowed his murky friend to haul him into a sitting position.
"You really need to get up son; they don't have medical experts at these things to call time." The older voice informed him. "That there is the Serbian Bear – and he is going to make good on his threat to rip your head off … what are you doing here, and how the hell did you piss off the Craig's?"
Caleb turned his head a little ignoring the ringing, and pulling focus with difficulty on the older guy with the helpful advice. He gave the other man a sarcastic grin that exposed his bloodied teeth and mouth.
"Hey – whose corner are you working? Mine or his?"
The old man laughed out loud, shaking his graying head.
"I like you kid, but I gotta be honest the only part of "the ring" you own right now, is the ropes! I suggest you use them, cause Master Craig… well he hates losing, and this guy has not lost a single fight in four years."
Caleb grimaced adding a hand to his side as the other man helped him to stand.
"Master Craig? That makes you…?"
"The butler, actually I'm retired …I was Sebastian and Sophie's … well I kinda filled in as their nanny back when their Mom passed and I can't seem to shake 'em I guess."
"Whoa dude … you just gave me a scary image of my future." Caleb shivered.
The horn sounded again and the Craig's butler gripped his shoulder and nodded.
"Hit the ropes son there is no shame in living to fulfill your dreams."
Caleb grunted and stepped forward steadily. "Huh – depends which dreams."
Sophie watched Caleb put up a more convincing show in the second round, driving the Bear back with a ferocious round of windmill kicks. Even as she watched the younger fighter step into a heavy roundhouse she knew that Reaves would go down fighting, but would inevitably go down. She flinched as he cried out following a boot to the chin coupled with a punch driven home with the downward force of the other man's bulk and some heavy gold rings. The Bear was a sore loser, if Caleb survived this in one piece – the leftovers would not be pretty. Sophie tapped her shoe impatiently waiting on the sharply dressed individual mulling over her offer.
"Come on Dixie." She ground out, trying to keep the pleading from her voice as she watched Caleb face off against the Siberian giant and come off worse. "You've never been one to pass up a sure thing."
The bleach blonde in the tight fitting Armani suit drummed his black painted manicured nails on the ornate wooden chair he lounged in.
"Sophie… hunny child… when you and your pansy assed sibling came to me for your kicks, did I turn you away and tell you that we don't trade in pennies?"
"Yes" she answered simply, frowning as Caleb spat blood following the Bear's latest assault on his kidneys.
"Uh-huh" Dixie watched the line of her gaze with a broad grin. "Well I meant it – what your brother laid down is chicken shit compared to what I got ridding on your friend the Big Bad Bear over there… thanks for the loan by the way. And what do I care if he messes up the pretty white meat … though I do see what's got you hot and bothered Cherie… cause he is a fine drink of…"
"It's not like that Dixie… I can get more money …. My Father has many contacts, you could go legit…"
"Now why would the famous Damien Craig go sullying his hands with the likes of me and mine? And what makes you think he'd go for your proposal over his Golden boy Sebastian?"
"Cause the one thing that my Dad understands better than making money, is how to safeguard his precious family name – and as you'd say Dix… I pack the thunder."
Dixie took in the look of utter conviction on her face.
"Damn girlfriend … I think I've been a bad influence on you… But you screw with me Baby girl, and not even Daddy will be able to put you back together again."
Dixie's face became less menacing as he smiled sweetly at her.
"C'mon now, let's go save your Romeo while he still has some working parts?"