[Fic] The Wheel (1/3)
Title: The Wheel (1/3)
Fandom: The Covenant
Characters: Chase
Word Count: 1,800+
Rating: PG
Summary: Chase, now in another school, meets a young witch and learns that his actions have a price that has nothing to do with his power, and everything to do with how the wheel turns.
I.
It was bad enough that he'd had to go into hiding because a dickless rich-boy bastard who had everything just handed to him thought he'd gotten the better of him. Insult to injury was leaving him to rot in his own decay, his own failing power. He needed a recharge from somewhere. He needed to suck someone dry, and when the need was greatest he wasn't sure if it was need or revenge that gave him the desire to have Caleb on his knees before him, begging to give it up.
He moved slower than the rest of them down the halls and across the quad when the bells went, an exaggerated swagger that hid a tendency to get out of breath too quickly. Between that and the arthritic clench to his hands he was becoming more and more infuriated by Caleb's betrayal, daily. That power should be his. He should be young, healthy, alive. Not decaying in his grave and yet still walking around.
He should be all kinds of things that he wasn't, and maybe if he thought about it it went beyond dying, not that he wanted to think that word, dying. Even decaying was better than that. But it went beyond that, it was him being on the outside when everyone else was in that stupid little club. It was him, the lone outsider, the straggler, being punished for something that some jackass did centuries ago. Growing up in terror, in fury, punished for something he'd never done. And now he was under a death sentence for someone else's crime and it wasn't his fault. Goddammit. It wasn't his fault.
His hands curled into fists. It hurt, but not as much as the fact that he was totally alone in the world and that burned him so bad. He wanted to pound Caleb into the dirt for that. It was all fucking Caleb's fault. Caleb and Pogue, who he'd loathed from the first dirty look the long-haired boy had given him. Pogue, who had everything he could have wanted. It made him stop, sharp points of pain stabbing into his chest and into his feet, pinning him there. He had to remember how to breathe and walk all over again. Goddamn them, anyway. All he ever wanted was to live. To keep going. Why the fuck would they deny him that? What was so wrong with that?
A familiar fall of blonde hair knocked into his shoulder and for the first crucial seconds he was too startled to receive her startled apology. She flashed him a smile and was gone.
Class was forgotten as the students parted to give him a wide berth. The expression on his face was twisted, inhuman as his eyes flared up and started to slide to black. Power coiled in his fists until he unclenched them, wincing as they popped out loud. The fire corona was still around his pupils but that was less noticeable than black on black.
Sarah. It was? It couldn't be. It wasn't, she knew him, knew at least some of what he'd done, he was sure. Caleb was so damn honest he would have told her. Caleb could never have pulled something like this off. It took Chase Collins to lie. Something he'd picked up from his father. His real father.
He started walking again, straining to reach the blonde hair and streamlined figure, but most of the other students were in class now and she was probably with them. He had to struggle to keep up. A snarl curled his lip, hands clenching into fists and as he passed down the walk the bushes started to wither and die.
II.
History was taught by an old eccentric who enjoyed taking his classes outside when the weather was fine. Not that Chase minded, or even cared one way or the other. But the outdoors was a distraction to most of the rest of the class and today that meant giving him the opportunity to look for the blonde. He was pretty sure she was in this class. That blonde bitch who kept escaping him, who was around somewhere even if he couldn't catch her.
Not Sarah. But it was hard to think of her that way.
He surprised himself a little when he saw her, saw red, blood clouding his vision instead of black and power leaping to prickle the tips of his fingers. He wanted to choke the life out of her for escaping. Kill her, take her, leave her on Caleb's front door as a warning. He looked down so no one would see when his eyes finally went black. Least of all her. He wanted to be able to talk to her and he couldn't do that if she thought he was some kind of monster.
The teacher was lecturing about the history of spirituality. Buddhism, the Dao. Serenity, Chase thought, was all well and good when you had the luxury of time to contemplate your own navel. He neither had use nor need for serenity. Didn't even know why he was taking this dumb class, except that he needed an AP History for his college applications and this one looked like a snoozer. Maybe not for the blonde, though. Her voice cut through the air like church bells and drew his attention back.
"But if Krishna was so aware of his own mortality, shouldn't that…"
Hi eyes focused on her lips, how soft they looked. How they might feel. He barely heard her voice except how it intruded on his consciousness.
"… the death process …"
Her face was longer than Sarah's, he notied. Just a little. Her hair was less well kept, her clothes more exotic. More California hippie than New Englander. She was more unusual looking, fingers too thin and eyes too large. The teacher loved her. Literally, Chase wondered? For a second he looked at the old man and saw his hands all over her body.
He'd been staring too long. The teacher was off and running again and she looked around before turning back to her notes. He didn't unfocus his eyes or turn his face away quick enough. She mouthed something at him that he didn't catch in a moment of brain-fogged stupor. One petal of a cherry blossom took a decade to fall to the grass and landed with a gong chime sound. When he blinked again she had turned away and he was angry at himself for being caught out. He had gotten sloppy. Been sloppy? No wonder Caleb had kicked his ass.
The bell rang, startling him again. This time he would not be sloppy. This time he would get the girl, and the power, and every other damn thing he wanted. She might not have been Sarah but if he had been fooled, Caleb would be too.
III.
Lunch time was a cacophony of sounds, metal clattering against metal and plastic on the tables and people chewing too loudly. As if that wasn't bad enough, half the time the only seat he could find away from people was either across from the windows that had a blinding view of the sun or by the heat lamps that kept what passed as food warm.
His biggest and best defense was to smile at everyone. Chatter with anyone who would talk to him. The freshmen and sophomores who hadn't yet learned to avoid him were amazed at his charm and wondered why they felt just a little bit uneasy when he left. He moved through the crowd with just a little bit of a jagged edge to the grace they had all gotten used to. His energy crackled through them, giving everyone just a little bit of a faster step afterwards. If they weren't just running away.
More than a bit of a jagged edge. A year ago, if someone had knocked into his elbow, he would have kept a good grip on his tray. This time it went crashing down with enough of a splash that he couldn't fix it with power. Everyone had seen that.
"You ought to be a little more careful where you're going." That smile again, that shark-toothed smile that could rip a man's throat out as soon as gleam at him. Caleb hadn't know what the hell that smile meant. Dumbass.
"Hey, man, I'm sorry." The kid couldn't have been much more than fourteen or fifteen. Not that Chase was far off from that, but it felt like it these days. "I'm sorry, here, let me…"
He grabbed the other boy's wrist. "I think you've done enough." Fingers pressed into the fleshy part between the bones.
"You're hurting…" he whispered, then realized it wasn't manly enough and stopped. "Hey, it's cool. It's…"
"It's cool because you say it is?"
"How about you just let it be cool, okay?"
That was a girl's voice. Chase looked over his shoulder, eyes wide and startled. Blonde hair. Dark eyes.
His fingers unclenched themselves. "Yeah, man, sorry about that." Three hands picked up the spilled lunch quickly, dumped it back on the tray. "It's cool."
They had gathered a crowd, too. He wasn't sure why he was surprised by that, looking around at them as though this was some kind of joke. Hidden cameras popping out from somewhere, a laugh track playing in the background at his expense. No one else in the cafeteria noticed. The students went about their business as usual, and the blonde girl was starting to stare.
"What?"
She shook her head. "Nothing. Here, let me get you another lunch…"
"I'm fine," he almost snapped, shaking her hand off his arm. "I can get my own damn lunch."
Eyes between his shoulders as he got back in line, got the food that was warm by now only by the grace of modern technology. He didn't have much of an appetite, it had been worn too far away by curiosity and bile. There was a burning desire to know who she was and what the hell was going on, along with the resurging fury at his temper being thwarted. It was cool. He'd get his. And she didn't even have to know.
The boy's foot slipped out from under him on a patch of spilled milk. No use crying, but the snap of his wrist as he put his hand out behind him to break his fall, wound up breaking something else, now that was worth a scream. And more than a few tears. Two of the cafeteria ladies scurried forward babbling something while a crowd of vultures gathered in the empty space around him. For once, Chase got a table in the shade and the quiet. He smiled, biting into the apple and feeling the juice run gleefully down his chin.
Fandom: The Covenant
Characters: Chase
Word Count: 1,800+
Rating: PG
Summary: Chase, now in another school, meets a young witch and learns that his actions have a price that has nothing to do with his power, and everything to do with how the wheel turns.
I.
It was bad enough that he'd had to go into hiding because a dickless rich-boy bastard who had everything just handed to him thought he'd gotten the better of him. Insult to injury was leaving him to rot in his own decay, his own failing power. He needed a recharge from somewhere. He needed to suck someone dry, and when the need was greatest he wasn't sure if it was need or revenge that gave him the desire to have Caleb on his knees before him, begging to give it up.
He moved slower than the rest of them down the halls and across the quad when the bells went, an exaggerated swagger that hid a tendency to get out of breath too quickly. Between that and the arthritic clench to his hands he was becoming more and more infuriated by Caleb's betrayal, daily. That power should be his. He should be young, healthy, alive. Not decaying in his grave and yet still walking around.
He should be all kinds of things that he wasn't, and maybe if he thought about it it went beyond dying, not that he wanted to think that word, dying. Even decaying was better than that. But it went beyond that, it was him being on the outside when everyone else was in that stupid little club. It was him, the lone outsider, the straggler, being punished for something that some jackass did centuries ago. Growing up in terror, in fury, punished for something he'd never done. And now he was under a death sentence for someone else's crime and it wasn't his fault. Goddammit. It wasn't his fault.
His hands curled into fists. It hurt, but not as much as the fact that he was totally alone in the world and that burned him so bad. He wanted to pound Caleb into the dirt for that. It was all fucking Caleb's fault. Caleb and Pogue, who he'd loathed from the first dirty look the long-haired boy had given him. Pogue, who had everything he could have wanted. It made him stop, sharp points of pain stabbing into his chest and into his feet, pinning him there. He had to remember how to breathe and walk all over again. Goddamn them, anyway. All he ever wanted was to live. To keep going. Why the fuck would they deny him that? What was so wrong with that?
A familiar fall of blonde hair knocked into his shoulder and for the first crucial seconds he was too startled to receive her startled apology. She flashed him a smile and was gone.
Class was forgotten as the students parted to give him a wide berth. The expression on his face was twisted, inhuman as his eyes flared up and started to slide to black. Power coiled in his fists until he unclenched them, wincing as they popped out loud. The fire corona was still around his pupils but that was less noticeable than black on black.
Sarah. It was? It couldn't be. It wasn't, she knew him, knew at least some of what he'd done, he was sure. Caleb was so damn honest he would have told her. Caleb could never have pulled something like this off. It took Chase Collins to lie. Something he'd picked up from his father. His real father.
He started walking again, straining to reach the blonde hair and streamlined figure, but most of the other students were in class now and she was probably with them. He had to struggle to keep up. A snarl curled his lip, hands clenching into fists and as he passed down the walk the bushes started to wither and die.
II.
History was taught by an old eccentric who enjoyed taking his classes outside when the weather was fine. Not that Chase minded, or even cared one way or the other. But the outdoors was a distraction to most of the rest of the class and today that meant giving him the opportunity to look for the blonde. He was pretty sure she was in this class. That blonde bitch who kept escaping him, who was around somewhere even if he couldn't catch her.
Not Sarah. But it was hard to think of her that way.
He surprised himself a little when he saw her, saw red, blood clouding his vision instead of black and power leaping to prickle the tips of his fingers. He wanted to choke the life out of her for escaping. Kill her, take her, leave her on Caleb's front door as a warning. He looked down so no one would see when his eyes finally went black. Least of all her. He wanted to be able to talk to her and he couldn't do that if she thought he was some kind of monster.
The teacher was lecturing about the history of spirituality. Buddhism, the Dao. Serenity, Chase thought, was all well and good when you had the luxury of time to contemplate your own navel. He neither had use nor need for serenity. Didn't even know why he was taking this dumb class, except that he needed an AP History for his college applications and this one looked like a snoozer. Maybe not for the blonde, though. Her voice cut through the air like church bells and drew his attention back.
"But if Krishna was so aware of his own mortality, shouldn't that…"
Hi eyes focused on her lips, how soft they looked. How they might feel. He barely heard her voice except how it intruded on his consciousness.
"… the death process …"
Her face was longer than Sarah's, he notied. Just a little. Her hair was less well kept, her clothes more exotic. More California hippie than New Englander. She was more unusual looking, fingers too thin and eyes too large. The teacher loved her. Literally, Chase wondered? For a second he looked at the old man and saw his hands all over her body.
He'd been staring too long. The teacher was off and running again and she looked around before turning back to her notes. He didn't unfocus his eyes or turn his face away quick enough. She mouthed something at him that he didn't catch in a moment of brain-fogged stupor. One petal of a cherry blossom took a decade to fall to the grass and landed with a gong chime sound. When he blinked again she had turned away and he was angry at himself for being caught out. He had gotten sloppy. Been sloppy? No wonder Caleb had kicked his ass.
The bell rang, startling him again. This time he would not be sloppy. This time he would get the girl, and the power, and every other damn thing he wanted. She might not have been Sarah but if he had been fooled, Caleb would be too.
III.
Lunch time was a cacophony of sounds, metal clattering against metal and plastic on the tables and people chewing too loudly. As if that wasn't bad enough, half the time the only seat he could find away from people was either across from the windows that had a blinding view of the sun or by the heat lamps that kept what passed as food warm.
His biggest and best defense was to smile at everyone. Chatter with anyone who would talk to him. The freshmen and sophomores who hadn't yet learned to avoid him were amazed at his charm and wondered why they felt just a little bit uneasy when he left. He moved through the crowd with just a little bit of a jagged edge to the grace they had all gotten used to. His energy crackled through them, giving everyone just a little bit of a faster step afterwards. If they weren't just running away.
More than a bit of a jagged edge. A year ago, if someone had knocked into his elbow, he would have kept a good grip on his tray. This time it went crashing down with enough of a splash that he couldn't fix it with power. Everyone had seen that.
"You ought to be a little more careful where you're going." That smile again, that shark-toothed smile that could rip a man's throat out as soon as gleam at him. Caleb hadn't know what the hell that smile meant. Dumbass.
"Hey, man, I'm sorry." The kid couldn't have been much more than fourteen or fifteen. Not that Chase was far off from that, but it felt like it these days. "I'm sorry, here, let me…"
He grabbed the other boy's wrist. "I think you've done enough." Fingers pressed into the fleshy part between the bones.
"You're hurting…" he whispered, then realized it wasn't manly enough and stopped. "Hey, it's cool. It's…"
"It's cool because you say it is?"
"How about you just let it be cool, okay?"
That was a girl's voice. Chase looked over his shoulder, eyes wide and startled. Blonde hair. Dark eyes.
His fingers unclenched themselves. "Yeah, man, sorry about that." Three hands picked up the spilled lunch quickly, dumped it back on the tray. "It's cool."
They had gathered a crowd, too. He wasn't sure why he was surprised by that, looking around at them as though this was some kind of joke. Hidden cameras popping out from somewhere, a laugh track playing in the background at his expense. No one else in the cafeteria noticed. The students went about their business as usual, and the blonde girl was starting to stare.
"What?"
She shook her head. "Nothing. Here, let me get you another lunch…"
"I'm fine," he almost snapped, shaking her hand off his arm. "I can get my own damn lunch."
Eyes between his shoulders as he got back in line, got the food that was warm by now only by the grace of modern technology. He didn't have much of an appetite, it had been worn too far away by curiosity and bile. There was a burning desire to know who she was and what the hell was going on, along with the resurging fury at his temper being thwarted. It was cool. He'd get his. And she didn't even have to know.
The boy's foot slipped out from under him on a patch of spilled milk. No use crying, but the snap of his wrist as he put his hand out behind him to break his fall, wound up breaking something else, now that was worth a scream. And more than a few tears. Two of the cafeteria ladies scurried forward babbling something while a crowd of vultures gathered in the empty space around him. For once, Chase got a table in the shade and the quiet. He smiled, biting into the apple and feeling the juice run gleefully down his chin.