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— Day 150, continued —
“….and check in at HQ once an hour,” Dean continues, looking around the assembled faces of his brave (crazy) militia and fighting the urge to remind everyone about people skills: ie, interacting with people not Chitaquan. Though at this point, he’s uncomfortably aware he’s become hazy on that as well; Chitaqua Syndrome is definitely a thing. “Remember—”
“They may one day be allies, but they aren’t and can’t be friends,” Joe drawls, the fucker. “We don’t eat their steak and potatoes and hang with—wait, wrong speech?”
“You’re mowing all of Chitaqua,” he threatens. “Cas, write that down.”
“Yes, sir,” his loyal second-in-command says, leaning against a post beside him. “Joseph, mowing Chitaqua. When we have grass, that is. And less snow as well.”
Dean doesn’t even bother glaring. “Anyway—”
“Don’t scare the natives,” Christina says earnestly, and honest to God, you’d think being their leader would be good for say, respect, or at least faking it. “Question: are my confirmed kills awesome or scary? In case I want to hook up with a native, I mean.”
“I was about to ask about that,” Tara pipes up. “Protected sex, of course. I’m responsible, and the spread of STDs is a serious problem that we need to take seriously, here are the reasons—”
“Just wait until your next unexplained rash,” Vera says from the front of the crowd.
Sighing, Dean gives up anyone taking anything seriously this early in the morning. Enthusiasm—such as it is—can’t survive a fucking pre-dawn wake-up call, unless you’re James, whose default setting is ‘enthusiastic,’ or Alicia, who at the moment is standing apart from her team looking very awake in that way that implies not much sleep occurred beforehand and he really doesn’t want to think about that too hard.
It was surprisingly easy to decide who was going to Ichabod, since not that many seemed all that enthusiastic about an overnight party in another town. On a guess, it’s the ‘not at Chitaqua’ part that was the dealbreaker, because he just doesn’t buy the two TV’s and what looked like half a jeep of DVDs plus three days of extra leave were that much of an inducement to stay behind.
It’s not like he wanted this to be a draw straws kind of thing, but come on; the teams were picked by seniority, but the two most senior, Sarah and Mel, both opted to stay behind, so they ended up with Kyle, Alicia, James, and Sean, plus Joe (as half his team’s in Ichabod and Mike asked permission to stay with Sheila for their first New Year’s while wearing the most hideous orange mittens Dean’s ever seen: so it really is the thought that counts), Vera, and five people not on the patrol teams. Five.
On one hand, he gets it; it’s not only that Chitaqua was pretty isolated for over two years, but their initial attempts at being friendly often ended with passive-aggressive or just plain aggressive hostility (read: bullets). On the other, it’s a party with alcohol and what will definitely be a lot of potential indiscriminate sex with all new people, and drinking and sex are two of Chitaqua’s top three collective hobbies.
Dean waves a hand. “Okay, everyone has a copy of their shifts on patrol, and a copy will be at our headquarters in Ichabod; any problems, report to whoever’s on HQ duty, Cas, or me.” Cas clears his throat as loudly as possible, “Or not me because I have no idea, I’m just your leader.” Everyone laughs, but at least it’s sympathetic; they all live and die on Cas’s goddamn schedules, and Dean recently found out it’s also password protected (he was just looking, okay). “Any questions? Never mind, don’t care,” he adds quickly when several people start looking excited about that. “We head out two hours after dawn. Dismissed. Except Vera and Joe.”
Ignoring the disappointed sighs (yeah, that’s what he thought), Dean goes back inside, retrieving his and Cas’s empty cups on the way to the kitchen, and notes in relief Cas started a new pot before the meeting. “Anyone want coffee?”
“Please,” Vera calls as Joe ambles into the kitchen with an innocent smile.
“Not you,” Dean tells him, getting two more cups. “And fuck you, by the way. I was making a point with that.”
“With my blood pressure, you mean,” Joe retorts, rummaging through the silverware drawer for spoons before grabbing the sugar and creamer from the kitchen table. “Seeing myself marching across Kansas, sacking cities in your name—”
“That was Cas’s idea.”
“Could we really conquer Kansas in two weeks?” Joe asks, picking up one of the cups with his free hand.
“Probably,” he admits, just managing to get the other three without burning himself in a feat of coordination he’s pretty sure is goddamn impressive (and doesn’t spill any on the way to the living room, either).
He waits for everyone to get comfortable (and Joe to take a drink) before saying, “Congratulations; you both just got promoted.”
Vera freezes and Joe just manages to not spit out coffee, which is kind of disappointing, but his expression almost makes up for it. “What?” Vera asks while Joe manfully attempts to not look like he’s choking.
“We’ll be in Ichabod for at least five days to accommodate the Alliance meeting,” Cas says. “During that time, as our teams will be taking regular shifts with Ichabod’s patrol, someone needs to be authorized to act for Dean and I when we aren’t available. Amanda and Kamal will also be assisting, but Amanda’s students will take priority when instruction resumes.”
“Like when we’re sleeping,” Dean says, relaxing back into the couch and bracing a foot on the coffee table. “Maybe seeing the sights, whatever.”
Joe nods, wiping his mouth discreetly. “Yeah, I was going to mention that. You’re also going to need it during the Alliance meeting; not all of it’s open to the public, and I don’t think they’d appreciate us interrupting. Not to mention just because it’s supposed to be a three day meeting doesn’t mean it won’t be longer; this is their big one, and from what I understand, there’s at least one or two towns who’ve made some noise in Alison’s direction about joining up.”
Dean didn’t realize he could actually look forward to this any less than he already did: the more you know. “Great.”
“Cas, you made a schedule for us yet?” Vera asks, like there could possibly be any doubt.
“Yes, but I’d prefer you and Joseph meet with Amanda and Kamal when you arrive in Ichabod before it’s finalized,” Cas says, opening his laptop (any goddamn excuse) and tapping impatiently before turning the screen. “Joseph, you’ve acted as de facto commander of Chitaqua several times, so you’ll take the first shift tonight; Vera—”
“Watch and learn,” she says, nodding. “Now, question: why me?”
“You have command experience from your time as a team leader,” Cas answers. “Like Joseph, your team isn’t taking patrol shifts—”
“I don’t have a team.”
“Technically, you do; Jeremy is still a member.” Vera rolls her eyes. “Our choice is limited to those without teams on patrol who are also going to be present in Ichabod and have no other duties, who include Rachel, Gary—”
“Who’s only going for sex with Laura,” Joe interjects. “Seriously, they’ll get a room and not leave it, probably until it’s time to come home.”
“—Evelyn and Natalie, who have never been on patrol or even out of this camp,” Cas continues, “Jeremy—”
“Also going to get laid,” Vera says with a sigh in her voice. “And seventeen.”
“—and last but not least, Sidney.”
Vera and Joe wince in unison, looking at Dean warily. He shrugs, taking another drink of coffee (Vera wasn’t even here for that).
“So basically, not being Sidney was the deciding factor here,” Vera says, nodding. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
“The shift schedule for Ichabod is on here.” Cas hands Joe and Vera each a jump drive (red). “It includes patrol’s and on-call at headquarters, which are hourly shifts, and a tentative draft for command, which is currently split into four six-hour periods, with the morning shift beginning at seven AM to coordinate it with true dawn as best we can.”
“Check it out,” Dean says invitingly. “I get a whole six hours tomorrow. One to seven.”
Vera leans forward, peering at the schedule that’s ruining Dean’s life. “Why’s your name in grey?”
“Because,” he says before Cas can answer, “I don’t take enough days off and going to Ichabod doesn’t count.”
“I showed you my documentation on your daily schedule,” Cas says dismissively. “This subject is closed. Vera, Joseph, you should both have time to review the Ichabod Schedule before we leave; copy it onto your hard drive and return these before we leave today. Please remember to save a copy with any changes you may have to your gamma drive in the appropriate folder and bring it with you to better coordinate with Amanda and Kamal. I’ll expect a final copy before two PM, as the first team goes on patrol at four.”
Vera looks at the jump drive with narrowed eyes, because Cas’s first order of business once they’d eaten lunch and Vera reported on Alpha a few days ago was to introduce her to her laptop, and it went pretty much like Dean expected.
(“Her name is Cecilia,” Cas told her, setting it on her lap reverently. “I’ve updated it with all the programs you require, as well as a primer on how to use the template for patrol reports, a copy of the patrol schedule for the next six months, and a copy of the report database. Currently, your privileges are limited to ‘user’ until you’ve completed the required four hour computer literacy class to gain limited admin access; we’ll arrange a time in the near future. There’s an additional four hour course in how to use Microsoft Office and a six hour course on database theory; it’s not mandatory, but it’s strongly recommended you take it so to better understand the template system, the patrol spreadsheets, and the structure of the database as well as learn the rudiments of VBA and SQL. Chuck will be happy to arrange it; he’s an excellent instructor.”
“Spreadsheets,” Vera echoed, looking at Dean helplessly. Like he could do anything here: come on.
“Please don’t save any personal files to the hard drive; you’ll be issued a jump drive for that. Speaking of, these are your five jump drives,” Cas said, presenting them to her a lot like a cat does dead mice; like you’re supposed to be happy about it. “Alpha is to be used for patrol reports only, beta for required updates and revisions to the patrol schedule and report database, which is updated every Sunday and you will need to acquire from me before dawn on Monday, gamma for any private documents, delta for regular backups of your system in addition to the automatic weekly backups, and epsilon for any intracamp data exchanges including pornography both visual and textual.”
“They’re color-coordinated,” Dean told her as she stared at the neatly labeled rainbow of anal-retentive colors in her lap. “Except red: that’s Cas’s special color no one else can use.”
“It’s for read-only files issued by Chitaqua’s commanders,” Cas said stiffly. “Laptops are to be presented for inspection on a monthly basis, but there will be random checks as I see fit.” Vera blinked at him. “It’s all in the primer located in My Documents. When would you like to begin class?”)
Vera hasn’t started class but has (or so Dean’s heard) tried to hack her laptop, which yeah, good luck there. Alison taught Cas all about encryption and how to make obnoxious pop-up windows appear with sarcastic messages when you forget to back up or try to change the wallpaper (soothing blue bubbles, to promote serenity or (this being Cas) fuck with everyone’s head). Dean’s starting to get nervous about the entire LAN thing in their future; he’s not sure what Cas can do with a live, all-access pass to everyone’s laptops, but Cas apparently does know (thanks, Alison) and is really looking forward to it. Like a lot.
Dean tries and fails to miss Vera’s significant look as she and Joe excuse themselves to review the next few days of their lives in Excel, and sure, he could just sit here drinking coffee and ignore Vera waiting, but he does live in this camp with her, one, and two—fuck his life, Cas has his laptop open.
“Be right back,” he says on the off-chance Cas is paying attention (he isn’t), and sighing, grabs his coat and goes outside to see Vera sitting on the steps before Operation: Salt and Burn becomes reality (it’s already a daily struggle). “So what—” and then gets a glimpse of her face.
Lowering himself down on the step, he frowns at her troubled expression. “Everything okay?” He hopes she didn’t break Cecilia; nothing and no one can protect her from how Cas reacts to—how’d he put it?—’willful and depraved misuse of camp equipment’ and one day he’s sure, Amber will move on from that discussion.
“Yeah, I….” She blows out a breath, giving him a frown. “Why me?”
“Why you what?”
“Is it because I saved your life?” she asks. “Because that wasn’t personal, okay? I’d do that for someone I hated.”
Oh. “That puts you ahead of Darryl.”
“There is that.” She slumps, resting her elbows on her knees. “Dean—”
“Come on, supervising the militia in Ichabod for a few days isn’t a reward for anything,” he says reasonably. “More like a really subtle way to fuck with you, if you think about it.”
“I wondered about that,” she agrees. “Yet, I’m not convinced. If this is your very weird way of showing your gratitude, then I don’t want it.”
“It’s not.”
Her eyes narrow. “Then why?”
Christ, it’s not even dawn. “It’s complicated—”
“Bullshit.”
“Wasn’t finished,” he says warningly, wishing he’d brought his coffee. “Look, for one, we don’t have a lot of people to choose from here, if that helps. I’m pretty sure the only person qualified to run this camp is Cas. Half the time, I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Vera’s suspicious expression softens into amusement. “You are so fishing.”
“Whatever.” He rolls her eyes at her faint grin. “Look, I trust you, and not just because of that. You did good at Alpha; shows leadership skills and diplomacy and shit.”
She frowns, which he takes as a win. “Yeah, okay, but—”
“If me and Cas are going to Alpha,” he starts, “we’re gonna be gone for at least a few months at minimum, and while we’ll technically be in regular contact, we’re talking a week or two turnaround.” She nods. “That means we need at least two people in command here who can keep things going; you and Joe are the best choice we have. Yeah, it helps you’re not on patrol, since Amanda’s kids are gonna be coming in and I need all the teams we have working with them and keeping up our schedule.”
“Two.” She cocks her head. “That’s the part I was wondering about.”
He knows Joe was wondering that, too, but he figured she’d be the one to actually ask. “You’ve had time to catch up on the gossip. If I—I don’t know—decided to do something really stupid, you think anyone would argue or just go do it no matter how crazy?”
“I would, and so would Cas.” She blinks, straightening. “Oh. What Joe said outside—”
“That was a quote, yeah.” He blows out a breath. “It’s habit, I get that, and it takes time. Me and Cas being gone: that might help speed up the learning curve. They’ll obey you and Joe because I said so,” that much he knows, “but maybe—just maybe—they’ll start working on their ‘thinking for themselves’ skills if someone shows ‘em how it’s done. Also,” he adds casually, “lowers the risk of you couping the camp—”
“What?”
“—which let’s face it, is something you’re kind of known for,” he finishes serenely.
Vera opens and closes her mouth. “You—”
“Keep your friends close,” he says wisely as he gets to his feet, “and your enemies closer. And people who can organize a camp-wide coup in under eight hours for someone else—who didn’t even know about it—them you put in command.” He grins down at her. “Anything else?”
Dean finishes packing, gets two cups of coffee, then gives up and surreptitiously closes the laptop while Cas is getting coffee (not like he didn’t save already). “I take days off.”
“You don’t,” Cas answers, dropping onto the couch beside him with only a faint frown at the to-be-burned laptop. “Just because you don’t currently go on regular patrol or have shifts in the mess or garage doesn’t mean you don’t do work and a great deal of it. It’s simply not physical, and admittedly also for the most part boring work.”
Dean sinks back into his corner, because Cas may (may) have a point, and he might be (is) sulking about it.
“When Amanda’s finished with her current class, I plan to select four of those coming to Chitaqua for further training,” Cas says out of the blue. “By the time we return from Alpha, the class should be familiar with patrol and their duties in Chitaqua, and it will be natural I’ll wish to evaluate them then. Your input will be needed both during the selection process and during their instruction.”
“For what?” Then he catches what Cas just said and doesn’t even try to stop the grin. “You’re going to try the teaching thing again, huh?”
“They’ll be advanced enough that the risk is minimal,” Cas answers evasively, folding an arm on the back of the couch. “Amanda agrees, and for the most part, I’ll be chiefly engaged in demonstration and supervise them while they practice against each other.”
Grin widening, he nods agreement. “Cool. So what do you need me for?”
“Compatibility,” Cas says. “While Chitaqua’s hunters are more experienced, none of Amanda’s class lacks experience, and several were regular patrol members in Ichabod before recruitment.” He hesitates, looking at Dean intently. “So while I review them, you can observe and tell me which you would feel comfortable having on your team.”
It takes Dean way too long to put that together. “My team.”
“I’ll be a member as well,” Cas adds, of course unspoken. “We’ll use the same formula as we do for new teams; in this case, it will be assumed to familiarize the new members with our—”
“My team.” Just to make sure. “Like—to leave the camp and go on patrol and do shit? When there’s shit to do, I mean.”
“You’ll be assigned at least once to all regular patrol routes,” Cas agrees. “After that, I assume you’ll wish for more individualized missions.”
“Right.” He needs to deal with this. “How long until Vera and Joe get back?”
“At least ten minutes if they return immediately, but no matter how often I explain—” Cas’s voice cuts off as Dean takes his cup and sets it on the coffee table before pushing him back onto the couch. “Joseph procrastinates a great deal,” he says hopefully, tugging Dean down with a grin. “Perhaps twenty.”
“Good,” he breathes, and feels the vibration of Cas’s laughter against his lips.
Scooping Lily up from the floor where she’s been waiting, arms raised in imperious command, Castiel sets her on the table, tapping her nose when her tiny face screws up in a warning frown of disaster to come should her will be denied (being held: she’s very demanding).
“A moment, Lily,” he says seriously as he sits down again. “All children who behave with discretion receive brownies as a reward for appropriate behavior. You’re very fortunate that I made several batches and Dean didn’t find them all before we left Chitaqua. It wasn’t easy to hide them.”
Lily looks distinctly unimpressed, but Tony’s observed that her intelligence is unusually high, especially considering her age, and he finds himself in full agreement.
“You get,” Alison says in amusement from the side of the table, “that she’s two and change, right?”
“She’s a very precocious two.” He smiles in satisfaction as Lily bursts into giggles when he pokes her stomach experimentally (Tony’s suggestion, should she become displeased). “Her last physical exam?”
“Five days ago, and same as the other kids,” Alison answers indulgently as he catches one wandering hand, tiny fingers locking around his thumb triumphantly. “Now, you ready?”
Angels are incapable of making mistakes, but the human mind is complex, and being subject to change itself—both at the demands of its own processes as well as environmental and those related to the children’s development—he thought it prudent to check regularly over the next year. There’s no danger, of course—at worst, he’d simply need to adjust the neural pathways that connected individual memories—but it’s best to catch such things early to avoid any potential distress. Alison explained the process to all the parents very thoroughly, and he’d answered their questions this morning in the daycare’s common room after they’d arrived in Ichabod.
“What’s worst-case scenario?” Tony asked him as Dee climbed determinedly into Castiel’s lap (proof of her excellent motor control and almost uncanny sense of balance; she needed very little assistance).
Settling Dee (and picking out a leaf from among her braids), he shrugged. “At worst, the dissonance would be expressed during REM sleep. The memories no longer exist as such, but—do you remember all your dreams?” The parents as a group shook their heads. “You still have the memories, of course, but the brain was designed not to prioritize and save those in the same way as events you actually do and accomplish. When I unmade the symbol, I was able to erase it as well; it doesn’t exist in their memories at all, and the space it took was removed from the linear chronology altogether, which the brain’s inbuilt prioritization would interpret as the equivalent of ‘dream’ and not a terribly interesting or important one.”
“I’m hearing a ‘but’,” Njoya remarked, one arm wrapped protectively around Jessica’s shoulders and Ayuk, her and Eyong’s second youngest, asleep in her lap.
“That’s because there is one,” he answered, adjusting his hold on Dee as she started to fall asleep against his chest (which looking around the room seemed common for those under six). “The human brain should ignore that space as it does anything in the general category of ‘dream,’ subcategory ‘boring.’ However, it will—for its own ineffable reasons—sometimes recreate neural pathways despite its own inbuilt system of prioritization, much like it does with dreams you experienced years or even decades ago. I can’t speculate on the contents of REM dreaming when that occurs, but as there’s nothing to remember, I suspect imagination would create something to express the concept of ‘nothing there.’ Which could be anything, but considering the children’s history, abandonment would be a valid interpretation: an empty home, an empty daycare, perhaps even the entire town abandoned.”
Deepika nodded. “Nothing else?”
“No,” he told her, aware Dee had started to drool against his shirt but unwilling to wake her from what seems like a very pleasant nap; Dean enjoys those, too. “Generally, this level of monitoring would be considered unnecessary to members of the Host, as there’s no danger of damage to neural integrity and the human brain, especially with children, can adjust to almost anything. However…” He frowns, aware of the warm, comfortable weight of Dee on his lap, the soft, regular sound of her breathing. “They’ve been through a great deal in their lives already, and very little of it can be helped with other than support. This is not one of those things; what happened to them in the daycare and what they were forced to carry in their minds would have no benefit to their development and I see no reason for them to be forced to retain any part of it. Over the next year Alison and I will verify those memories continue to degrade appropriately so they won’t be troubled by them either now or at any point in their lives. Threshold should be reached at a year; with very few exceptions, at that point the memories will have degraded to the point that for all intents and purposes they will cease to exist.”
“I’m ready,” he tells Alison, taking her hand and watching in fascination as Lily’s mind opens for them. Doing this is very different now, but not because he’s using a telepath as the medium or any lack in his inborn abilities; he still possesses the full range of an angel’s skill without exception. He can still read and interpret the massive amount of data that makes up a human mind, and careful evaluation has verified there’s been no change in his ability to alter, change, and erase individual engrams as needed without damage to neurological integrity.
It’s different, however; for all his existence, human minds—while complex beyond imagining—were all very much the same with very few (and usually traumatic to the species) exceptions. He can’t imagine now why he thought that; the set pattern of human thought and behavior is applicable only up to the point that it isn’t (at all), careening off-course in baffling directions in defiance of instinct, logic, common sense, self-preservation and often, the confines of perceived reality. The Host understood (though he can state now, not very well) that the development of the human species depended on these fluctuations as they achieved sentience and full sapience and their brain development superseded primal instinct.
Perhaps, he reflects, observing the ordered chaos of a toddler’s mind, they should have spent more time with children.
Ignoring the bright jumble of surface thought—even at this age, privacy is to be respected—he examines the changes he made in her memory, searching for any sign of rejection or dissonance and assuring no new pathways were formed in relation to them. Alison observes carefully; this kind of examination is beyond her skill but well within her potential, and at this stage, she learns most easily from watching him.
Once he’s certain of Lily’s neurological integrity, he repeats the process more slowly for Alison’s benefit, watching as she absorbs what he shows her. At this point, ‘why’ is not necessarily important for her to know and might even be counterproductive. Like reflex training, the point now is for her to memorize the process itself, each step familiar in action if not reason; this method will assure perfect safety for the mind in question even if Alison should make a mistake, and at the early stages of learning, sheer uncertainty as to her own skill guarantees there will be mistakes. Understanding ‘why’ will come when the skill is brought into practice. In a month or two, when they repeat this with the children, he’ll have her do the second check herself and simply observe.
Alison’s alarm ripples across his consciousness as he finishes the demonstration. Sitting back, he lets go of Alison’s hand and pulls free of Lily’s clinging fingers before tickling the outraged look from her face.
“You did very well,” he tells her (and Alison, who snorts), catching Lily easily before she tumbles from the table in pursuit of his thumb. “Derek will now give you your reward. Derek, if you would—”
“Got her,” Derek answers cheerfully, already beside him. Plucking Lily from his lap—an offense apparently on par with dismemberment from her expression—he tosses her in the air before she can begin more vocal forms of protest before bracing her against his hip and taking her to the other side of the room, where the other children from the church are enjoying their afternoon snack. “Jessie, you’re up.”
Standing up to turn his chair, Castiel waits for Jessica to seat herself between him and Alison. As the eldest of the children from the church and now thirteen, she was well above the age of reason during the initial events, and with the addition of puberty, memory adjustment can sometimes have unexpected consequences. Looking into the clear grey eyes, he smiles reassuringly and is rewarded with a shy smile in return.
Unlike some of the younger children, her history is better known due to her age at the time of her rescue as well as the efforts and support of her adoptive parents. Eyong and Njoya, though already raising two children by birth, were among the first to offer homes for the children from the church, and unsurprisingly, were an excellent choice for a girl that, like them, had lost so much and so traumatically.
Like Mercedes and Antonio, Jessica’s parents were migrant farmers on circuit in Kansas and were among those shot by soldiers stationed at the western border of Kansas during the rush after the state was zoned. The Sisters of Mercy—having been warned about the possibility of Kansas being zoned—were patrolling the borders to offer sanctuary and help to those who couldn’t cross and found her wandering near the deliberately oblivious checkpoint in shock and took her back to the convent. For it is beneath the border patrol to shoot children (sometimes) but above reproach to simply watch a ten year old child in severe shock slowly succumb to potential dehydration and starvation for two long days within sight of her parents’ decomposing bodies.
Eyong and Njoya worked tirelessly to help her recover, the result of which is a very healthy and happy young girl who is (according to Njoya) already fluent in three languages, including the native French of her parents, and is showing extraordinary potential for linguistic studies.
(Though it must be noted, in Ichabod, adequacy in at least two languages seems to be the rule with no exceptions. Even Alison—who by her own admission and his verification has no talent for secondary language acquisition whatsoever—has achieved near fluency in Spanish and Hindi, but in her case, the manifestation of her psychic abilities was the catalyst, and the results—unusual and not entirely under her control. Alison sometimes unknowingly has carried on an entire conversation in colloquial Nahuatl as spoken by Teresa’s grandmother pulled wholesale from Teresa’s memory, and Neeraja swears more than once Alison sounds exactly like her great-grandfather.)
During the meeting, to give him better context for their children’s developing minds, the parents were extremely forthcoming regarding their individual personalities. To his surprise, it was fascinating; he had no idea how interesting humans could be before they reached maturity.
For example, Paul, Claudia’s youngest son and Derek’s brother, is already an accomplished tactician with above-average motor control, able to locate and steal pastries wherever they might hide them, and Barbara, Deepika reported with perfectly understandable pride, is already fluent in Telugu, her own mother tongue, and has a startling talent for mathematics far above what would be expected of any ten year old. Tony told him that Dee (barely five years old) is already reading and writing well above something known as ‘grade level,’ knows all her colors on sight, can sing the alphabet song forward and backward (she demonstrated), and has far above-average accuracy when throwing blocks at persons who displease her, a habit that is not to be encouraged, of course, but he agrees with Tony that it shows extraordinary hand-eye coordination and obvious potential genius. (And excellent survival skills as well: small children, he’s noted, are surprisingly dangerous in groups.)
They were also in agreement with him that Jeremy’s hunting skills—learned at age fifteen—are extraordinary, which is a fact he never realized how much he wanted to share with others. He looks forward to speaking to them further; from what he understands, the daycare’s mid-year examinations have yet to all be graded, but there’s no doubt in anyone’s minds (including his) that all the children passed far and above any possible expectations for their various ages.
“You understand what we’ll be doing?” he asks Jessica. “Alison and I will be examining your mind for any potential problems related to the events that occurred at the daycare.” He tries to remember if she’d looked uneasy at the earlier meeting. He doesn’t think so, but he may have misinterpreted her surprising interest. “Your privacy will be respected, of course; all we’ll be evaluating is your general memory functions in relation to recent events. You have no reason to be concerned, but if you have any questions before we begin, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
She shakes her head adamantly, but the silence is worrying.
“Are you certain?” Baffled, he watches the sudden spread of hot color across her cheeks as her eyes flicker down before looking at him again and nodding firmly. Even more inexplicably, Alison is smirking at him, though what that look is supposed to convey is beyond him. “Very well, give me your hand.”
With reassuring alacrity, Jessica extends it, cheeks reddening further. Before he can ask, however, Alison shakes her head almost frantically, reaching across the table to close a hand around his wrist and informing him in a single laughing thought she’ll explain when they’re done.
As it turns out, that’s not necessary; this, he supposes uncertainly, would be what Vera was trying to describe regarding teenagers, and Jessica is indeed one of them. Suppressing startlement, he examines her mind carefully, repeating the process for Alison’s observation, and pauses for an infinitesimal moment to convey to Alison how very much he would have appreciated a warning before gently easing back and arranging his expression to impassivity.
“Thank you, Jessica,” he says seriously, letting go of her hand and fighting down a smile at her faint disappointment. “You did very well.”
As soon as Jessica joins the other children, Alison tips her head toward the door questioningly. Nodding, he follows her into the hall while the children are immersed in Derek’s inspired decision to screen Toy Story 2, an intriguing Pixar movie that he promised to copy for Chitaqua.
Closing the door carefully behind them, Alison smirks up at him. “What?”
He glances back at the closed door. “You could have warned me.”
“I can’t figure out how you missed it,” she answers as they start down the hall. “Blushing, stammering, and giggling whenever you look in her direction since you got here….might as well have drawn you a big glittery sign.”
“A sign,” he answers patiently, “would have been very welcome, yes.”
“What did you expect?” she asks, laughter in her voice as they reach the staircase. “You’re older—”
“Than Time.”
“—tall, mysterious, fight demons, have superpowers, and kind of hot. For a guy anyway,” Alison says as they descend the stairs. “And personally saved her and the town from Croatoans. Most importantly, you’re not from here and part of a cool militia, so you’re interesting. She’s a teenage girl: it was kind of inevitable.”
He glances down at her uncertainly. “Vera explained the concept of a ‘crush’ as it applies to adolescents. Provided the object is not a sleazy douchebag who takes advantage of their vulnerability and immaturity, it’s a healthy and safe way for adolescents in early puberty to contemplate their developing sexual and romantic feelings.” Alison raises her eyebrows as they turn on the landing. “It was in one of her books on child and adolescent development. She highlighted the appropriate passages for my edification.”
“Jeremy, right.” He nods. “Dean already grilled me about the teen party, yeah. Kid’s first time around girls and boys his age?”
“He and Dean had a very thorough discussion of what is and is not appropriate behavior on the way here,” he says. “I had no idea how many potential pitfalls there were in adolescent courtship behavior.
“You have no idea how much I wish I could have heard it live,” she says sincerely as they reach the first floor and start toward the kitchen-slash-breakroom. “You should see when Dean takes a shift, and I don’t mean just the teenagers.”
“They have excellent taste,” he says as they emerge into the thankfully-empty kitchen, smelling of coffee. “He’s very attractive.”
“Coffee?”
“I’ll get it,” he offers, noting her very slight limp and steering her toward the chair before she has the opportunity to become stubborn. The kitchen is exceedingly well-organized, he notes in satisfaction, finding the mugs to the left and taking down two before pouring them each a cup from the imposing coffee maker, far larger than any at Chitaqua and made entirely of metal.
“We haven’t had time to talk since I was last here,” he continues, returning to the table and setting a cup in front of Alison before seating himself across from her. “How are you doing?”
“Practicing your small talk?” she asks disbelievingly, reaching for the sugar.
“Sincere interest,” he assures her as he adds cream to his own cup and waits impatiently for her to finish with the sugar. “That cast will be very uncomfortable tonight if you wish to dance, which I was told is a feature in large celebrations.”
Alison frowns, spoon pausing mid-stir. “What cast?”
“The cast you’ll be wearing in roughly one hour. After I take you to the infirmary to have your ankle examined by Vera and she tells Dolores that in her opinion she removed the last one far too early,” he answers, taking the opportunity to retrieve the sugar. “Otherwise, the damage to your ankle will be permanent.”
She sits back, eyes narrowing as she gazes at him over the rim of her cup.
“They’re getting along very well,” he adds, adding four spoonfuls of sugar and stirring thoroughly, verifying the color is correct before removing his spoon and taking an experimental sip. “Dolores is very excited to have a colleague with so much experience in treating the injuries of recalcitrant patients.”
“Dean?” Alison asks with a ghost of her usual malice.
“Me, and if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to avoid the infirmary today so as not to hear exactly what stories are being shared at the moment.” He studies her critically, looking for signs of insomnia, but while there are signs of strain, they’re all very much current. And her expression…. “You’re listening for the new arrivals.”
She grimaces. “Big party, lots of visitors.”
Of course. “Teresa’s wards will catch Croatoan and demons—along with anything else supernatural—but not those who might be hostile to Teresa should they know what she is.”
“The Alliance knows her,” she answers, taking a long drink and looking as if she might benefit from alcohol. “Individuals, though…not so much. At least, not more than ‘person who comes and stares at the fields for fertility blah blah blah’.”
He takes another sip. “Has it been a problem before?”
“No, but last year this time it was us, Harlin, Noak, and a few locals who weren’t scared of being killed on the way to the party,” she retorts. “And a lot less people, period. Five towns—and one militia camp—plus exponential population growth, no monsters—at least, none attacking them—and free food and trade equals popularity. At least, more than last year.”
He reviews his last glimpse of the official entry point on Third an hour and a half ago; there were people already arriving, though most Claudia classified as of the merchant persuasion, along with a startling amount of livestock. “I assume you now know it’s not simply a matter of selective filtering.”
“Yeah, thanks.” She glares at him. “I can mostly tune out my people, but it takes a lot of concentration and did I mention I’m not good at that kind of thing?”
“You’ll get better from practice.” That doesn’t help now, he knows. Leaning his elbows on the table, he tries to think. “You realize, of course, that those entering the town now are unlikely to be thinking at that exact moment about their homicidal tendencies toward witches in general and a detailed plan of how to kill them should one appear?”
“You’re really not helping.”
Which means she knows that. “And you realize that you have no natural right to invade the privacy of their minds to discover that lacking casus belli?” Alison’s expression doesn’t change, but he suspects she knows that as well. “As you start, so shall you go on. An argument could be made—and you could make it—that anyone who enters your town for any reason is a potential threat, but I think you can see why an exercise in advanced sophistry in this case would be a problem, especially for you.”
“Because I’m too powerful?” she says bitterly.
“Power doesn’t corrupt,” he answers patiently. “People corrupt themselves, and the strength of the tool neither slows nor speeds its advance. You could be as psychically null as the most mundane of humans and neither mayor of Ichabod nor leader of the Alliance, and you would still be dangerous in Teresa’s defense. Everyone is dangerous when it comes to those they care about; the only difference in this case is the scope, which yes, is worrying in a general way, but not more than anyone with an arsenal at their disposal and the ability to use it.”
“Anything I need to worry about from Chitaqua? Breaks-ups, new relationships, incipient triangles ending in a blood-soaked showdown over ribs and chicken curry?” she asks curiously.
“Sean still feels threatened by Zack’s previous relationship with Nate, and Kyle exists,” he admits. “But neither have the temperament for mass murder without extreme duress, and I doubt that will be a problem tonight.”
Alison frowns. “Nate’s the resident evangelical who likes to pray the morning after for the sins he wants to regret doing the night before?” She waves a hand. “Amanda said something after getting a letter from Sean.”
“I’m still reflecting on our past interactions—though in my experience, prayer can occur almost before one has a chance to enjoy the afterglow—to discover how it should be dealt with.”
Alison lowers her cup. “He prayed to your Dad about sex with you?” He nods, wondering at her expression, and she sits back. “Holy shit, I thought I was bad with Clarissa’s parents, and I had the excuse of being a freshman going through a thing where I used the word ‘breeders’ without irony.” She shakes her head. “I was actually surprised we broke up after, too. What was I thinking?”
“I don’t see—”
“Cas, Nate did the equivalent of calling your dad to tell him how terrible you and he are for having sex,” she explains. “One—who calls your hook-up’s parents after sex? No one. That does not happen. Two—your dad is God. If you’re going to call—and again, this does not happen, but okay—and it’s God, that’s when you talk about…not sex ever, but…” She trails off, looking baffled. “I can’t even unpack how much is wrong with that. It’s everything.”
“My Father and I don’t have a relationship that can be mapped onto the human concept of parental,” he argues, feeling uneasy and not sure why. “Or paternal, for that matter. It’s complicated and unfathomable….” He pauses. “It does seem like strange behavior for a human, yes.”
“Would you call up Dean’s dad and tell him how you’re banging his son and regret it because evil?”
He puts down his cup. “I can’t imagine talking about Dean to John Winchester while armed. Ever. His mother, however….oh.”
“Exactly.” She shrugs. “Gonna say, Nate’s issues are probably the kind that come in layers. There’s internalized homophobia and then there’s banging an ex-angel and denying reality with added ‘calling God to complain about his kid’—Jesus,” she adds, struck. “I keep finding new things wrong with that every time I think about it.”
“You’re avoiding the original subject,” he points out, because she is, and not from a profound desire to abandon this subject as quickly as possible. People use his Father’s name during sex all the time. It’s not…whatever this is.
She sighs. “Acting like everyone’s after you, you may start believing it, yeah, Cas, I know.” She huffs an annoyed breath, finishing her cup in a single rebellious swallow. “If it were Dean, you wouldn’t be paranoid?”
“I am paranoid,” he corrects her. “However, it’s not a state of being I wish to cultivate, as like you, when I feel my partner’s threatened, I can dispose of the suspects before they can do anything to stop me with depressingly few exceptions. Hence, I try to set a personal standard somewhat higher than ‘vaguely suspicious’ so as to avoid outright genocide of the human race.”
Alison’s eyebrows draw sharply together. “On behalf of the human race, thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” he states, finishing his own cup and getting up. “More coffee?”
“Yes, and before you ask, no, there’s no alcohol in the daycare, I checked.” He doesn’t sigh on his way to the pot, filling both their cups with truly excellent coffee from the most sublime coffee maker he’s ever seen. It must hold at least twenty cups, and despite the period of time since the coffee was probably made, the flavor doesn’t seem to have become stale at all. Surely James can find them one; he’s very good at that.
“I’m not reading them all, just—getting a mood,” she says, taking back her cup. “I like being sane, thanks, and listening to that many people thinking would end that for good.”
Finishing his additions to his own cup—slightly more sugar and cream—he shrugs. “If you want me to tell you what limits are required for ethical use while still protecting Teresa or your town, I can, but it won’t help.”
“Don’t become a monster,” she says gloomily. “That’s really all you got?”
He turns his cup between his hands and remembers the expression on Dean’s face when he realized who’d drawn the Devil’s trap on the ceiling of Dean’s cabin.
“The worst sins,” he says slowly, “are those you commit for which payment, when it comes due, will not be made by you. Be very sure what you do is worth what other people will pay for you, even if they do so freely and without regret.”
Alison winces, looking away. “So sayeth Castiel of Chitaqua.”
Her pensive expression makes him curious. “You can’t possibly be pondering the nature of good and evil as it relates to strangers; this is more personal.”
She straightens. “You think I don’t care about strangers and their privacy?”
“No, or at least, not enough to consider your potential for being a monster, especially simply for examining them on the level of ‘mood’,” he retorts, raising an eyebrow at her scowl. “Personal, but not too personal, something you haven’t done but may want to: please, stop me when I’m wrong, and I notice you haven’t.”
“Christ,” she mutters, setting her half-empty cup back on the table with a muted thump. “You’re gonna be here for a few days after the party, right? The big meeting and everything.”
“Yes.” They’ll actually be staying two weeks, but Dean has decided for his own ineffable reasons that this would be an excellent opportunity to see how well Vera and Joseph work together. The plan, such as it is, is to tell them that they’re in command of Chitaqua just before they leave for Chitaqua and then quickly wave goodbye. He’s absolutely certain that will work very, very well, at least until he and Dean return to Chitaqua. “Why?”
“I think I need a consultation,” she says, resting her head on one hand. “Kids.”
“The ones left here by the human infiltrators.” She nods grimly. “You’re having problems with them?”
“This is more…theoretical. Or something, I don’t know.” She looks at him hopefully. “Day after the meeting good for you?”
He nods, curious. “Of course. Can you be more specific, at least?”
“Easier to show than tell, and I need them for that,” she explains, drawing absent circles on the surface of the table. “Glenn asked me for an evaluation last week, and between what happened to them and them grieving for their parents, it’s a mess. I don’t want to invade their privacy, but some of the older ones….”
“Glenn is worried about them,” he finishes for her. “They’re hostile?”
“That’s a word for it,” she says wryly. “Pissed as hell, can’t blame ‘em for that. The oldest two….they’re kids, I have to keep reminding myself of that. Way too much, Cas.”
“Mood?” She nods, mouth tight. “What are you sensing?”
“If they were adults, a long drive with a ration pack anywhere but here,” she answers, unconsciously echoing Dean when talking about Cynthia. “And instruction to patrol with pictures attached to give one warning if they see them again.” She closes her eyes. “Thirteen and twelve, Cas, and I still have Glenn and Serafina doing random checks to make sure they don’t have—or haven’t made—any weapons. They think I’m crazy. I think I’m crazy.”
“Being here probably isn’t helping.”
“We’ve been talking to the other towns, but I don’t want them to feel like we’re throwing them out, either. If they go, it has to be because they want to, not because they think that they’re not wanted. The last thing they need is more people treating them like they’re disposable.”
“Are they wanted here?” he asks, watching Alison carefully. “Before you answer, I have every confidence in your town’s treatment of the children, but how you feel about them isn’t under your control. You, of all people, must be aware of how much disparity there is between what is done and what is felt.”
Alison considers her answer. “Yes and no, and that goes for both the adults and the kids, by the way. Especially with the younger ones—no one sane can hold a grudge there. I think they’ll be okay, we’re giving them all the time and attention they need. The older ones, though—I think it might be better, for them, not to live in the place their parents died, along with seeing—seeing the people responsible for their deaths.”
“You mean Dean.” While Dean’s aware of his actions preceding his encounter with the demon in the courtyard (and for that matter, has read the reports), his memories aren’t entirely clear either in content or chronology, and the ones involving the demon missing altogether. “Alison—”
“What was done in defense of the town is shared, Cas,” she interrupts. “Dean avoiding the daycare isn’t gonna change what happened. Which from your expression you didn’t know about.”
He hesitates. “He’s currently at the headquarters you gave us for our time here, assuring everyone is aware of their responsibilities.”
“And last time he was here, it was lack of time.” Alison raises an eyebrow, not without sympathy. “Bet he believed it himself. You can tell him—when he’s ready to listen, because no way will this not come up—that we’re not making any decision without a lot of thought for all involved. If we send those kids to Harlin or Noak or Andale or Mount Hope, it’ll be because it’s best for them, and to people they know want them. Glenn and Serafina have been screening potential permanent guardians, and I checked them myself before we even got to the introduction phase.”
“Have you had many volunteers?”
Alison’s stern expression softens. “That’s never been a problem; we like kids. We should have most of them placed by the end of next month if not earlier. The older ones, though….” She stares at the table, expression darkening. “I get it—I mean, making a deal with a demon, that part I get, but not using their kids like this. There were no guarantees of anything once they infected themselves with Croatoan, and best case scenario was their kids would survive and have to live with what they’d done in the same town their parents betrayed. What the hell is worth that?”
“That may be the only part of this that makes sense,” he answers after a moment of thought. “This town—by your own efforts—is known to take in children who need homes. It’s the reason that they came to this town in the first place, because you’d taken in the children from the church. Their actions were execrable, but at least they could be certain that after they died, their children would be safe.”
“Hoisted on our own petard, you mean.”
“Being people,” he replies, thinking of Dean. “You’re very good at it.”
She rolls her eyes, but the set look fades. “In the spirit of continuing as we began, then. I could use your help to figure out what to do about the older kids, give Glenn some insight on what they need. I don’t want to be invasive, but I’m at the end of what I know that’s not, and maybe you can give me some ideas of what to do next. If there is anything.”
“Are they a threat?” Alison doesn’t pretend either shock or surprise: a relief. “Just because they’re children doesn’t mean they’re not dangerous, and adolescents combine emotional instability with poor impulse control. Their grief and anger are understandable and allowances made for that, but that doesn’t mean steps shouldn’t be taken if they are or will become a danger to themselves or others.”
“What would you do?”
“Increase supervision, assure there’s always a responsible adult with them that understands what to watch for, and don’t let them leave the daycare or their current homes unaccompanied. I’d also consult with Naresh.” He sees by Alison’s expression that’s exactly what she wants to do. “He handles the town’s internal conflicts, and this would fall under his responsibilities, I assume.”
“We call him ‘sheriff’.” She gives him a thoughtful look. “So, clarification: I’m reasonable or we’re both crazy?”
“Which will reassure you enough to take the appropriate action?”
“Oh, I’m doing it either way.”
“Then I’m not sure and don’t care,” he answers. “Speak to their caretakers regarding your concerns as well, though I can’t see how they could be unaware of potential problems. I assume Glenn and Serafina are closely supervising whoever they live with at this time?”
“They are,” she says. “Which is probably the only reason Glenn hasn’t told me to fuck myself on top of thinking I’m crazy. He likes kids, but he’s as worried as I am. Just not the same way.”
“Good,” he agrees, finishing his coffee reluctantly. “So—”
“Got any plans for the afternoon?”
“I should go assist Dean in terrifying our soldiers more,” he admits. “But he enjoys it so much, I hate to interfere, and apparently uncontrolled laughter counts.”
“Blow it off,” she suggests, getting to her feet. “Come back to my place, we’ll do our thing, then you can pick up the thing that you asked Amanda to find someone to fix for a present for someone—can’t imagine who—and she asked me how to do that.”
He straightens. “You found someone?”
“I know people,” she says smugly. “Wanna see?”