Strawberry Fields Forever [Deacon]

[Miles]

With his socked feet, Miles walked down the hall silently. He remembered right where the stairs were—if something happened with these crazy people in the middle of the night, he wanted to be able to get out. He was silent on the stairs as well, but paused when he heard the two talking. So Deacon did plan to stay true to his word, that he would be taken to his aunt’s house in the morning, or rather in a couple of hours. But he had a bad feeling about it? Frowning, he made his steps heavier as he went down the remainder of the stair case, feeling the brothers’ eyes on him.

He appreciated them letting him rant without interruption, he probably would have lost it if they hadn’t. But then again, they both looked as worn and confused at he did, maybe aside from the younger brother. Miles blinked a few times as the elder explained why he went to Glen Grove, but it confused him even more. So someone else, this Casey guy, knew what was going on? Casey knew it was a Pagan god? His brow wrinkled downwards as he tried to process the idea of someone giving orders through messages…that just wasn’t safe.

Miles glanced over at Art as he jumped off the stool. Before he might have rejected the idea that such things existed, that the townspeople had just gone insane due to some chemical, or plant, or something, but having researched it himself, and reading the history, it all made sense. It was eerie, it was confusing, it was impossible, it was plausible…but it wasn’t fake.

So…part of the god had been transported to South Dakota and it had thrived with the townspeople taking care of it for hundreds of years? He knew from the day that they moved to the community that they cherished the tree like nothing else, and that festival each year had always revolved around it and its fruit bearing. But now that it had been burned… “Your brother burned it down, so is it destroyed? No one else should die because of that thing, and if it isn’t destroyed…” What, am I going to do it myself? If I step foot into that town, I’ll be dead.

“I…I don’t know.” Miles said, sitting on one of the barstools. He shook his head at Deacon, eyeing the different machines behind the bar, and requested some soda instead. He had an addiction to dark sodas, especially a few in particular. With a sigh, he clicked the news tab on his browser to see the damage of the city, but what he saw on the main page made him feel like his innards had melted. “Can….can you turn on the news?” he croaked, his eyes darting over to Deacon.

When he did, the newscaster stood at the edge of town, an orange aura behind her. They had turned it on in the middle of the segment, so the dialogue was already halfway through.

The reports indicate that this fire is an arson case, and some of the surviving citizens have already identified the culprit, fifteen year old Miles Geiger. His parents are not anywhere to be found, and the citizens say that Geiger had someone drive him out of town when he’d been caught. Firefighters have been on the scene for a few hours now, but as you can see from behind me, the fire is still strong in some areas of the suburbs. Now the police are currently searching for the teen, and are forming some sort of reward for anyone who can find him and give the police information on his whereabouts. She paused, and the shot cut back to the anchors.

Thank you Stephanie. We have our correspondent Jonathan Little with the boy’s aunt, Meredith Geiger. The camera cut again to a tall man holding a microphone to none other than Miles’ aunt.

You know, I wouldn’t put it past him to do something like that. He always was a little strange, tinkering with electronics like some hacker. Probably dabbling in some sort of terrorist ring or something. It’s a shame that he killed all of those people, and burned all that down, but you know, it was his mother that supported him on all of that stuff. His father, my brother, was always a little soft on him too.

Never in his life did Miles feel so betrayed. This was the woman that he was going to seek refuge with, but hearing her talk about him like that, calling him a terrorist, he knew that if he went near her she would turn him in. Where was he supposed to go? His family would betray him…

His eyes were vacant, his mind was busy within the confines of his head, and finally, he snapped out of it, looking to Deacon. “I…is…can I stay with you? I…I’ll help, with your mystical stuff, and I’ll work or whatever you need me to do. I can’t go home,” he said, a little emptily. He looked at Deacon, waiting for his reply.

[Casey]

“Yeah it’s gone,” Deacon crossed his arms and gave a firm nod. If it wasn’t he mentally added, he’d make sure it was. Art caught the tight expression on his brother’s face and nodded as well. Deacon handed him a soda, caffeine free, hoping the kid wouldn’t mind, before turning on the news.

He wasn’t expecting anything to be on this late, but he should have known vultures never sleep. His fists clenched at his side as he watched. Bits of what he had told the kid, it was his word against the towns, echoed in his head. Man he wished he wasn’t right sometimes. Worst part was the kids Aunt. Family wasn’t supposed to do that to their own. Deacon glanced over at Art who was paying more attention to Miles then the tv, making sure the kid was a okay as he could be. If he ever did something like that to his brother, God smite him where he stood that moment and not a second later.

“Yeah,” Deacon, “You can stay here as long as you’d like.”

“How-?” Art started.

“We’ll find a way,” He cut him off. Art simply nodded.

“As for the work, that’ll come later. After you’ve had a chance to find your bearings,” Deacon said calmly, “Now why don’t you two get to bed?”

“’Kay,” Art said weakly, he placed a hand on Miles’ shoulder, “Lets head up stairs.” He glanced at his brother and hoped he knew what he was doing because he knew when Deacon set his heart to something it got done. Come hell or high water.

[Miles]

Miles had realized from the start that his life was ruined. His happy, complete family with one on the way had been obliterated so fruit could grow. The grim fact he had found when researching himself was that his unborn sibling added some sort of fertility to the mix, something that made him sick. These people were so delusional that they would kill a child, a pregnant woman, and the husband and father to both of those people. He couldn’t go back to the way things were, not anymore. After all, who would believe that he was a near human sacrifice for some pagan god that would let fruit grow? They’d throw him in an asylum.

But it was gone, it had been destroyed in the fire and for that Deacon earned more respect. Glen Grove was gone too, so there was no chance of them returning to their normal lives either. It was almost slightly eerie how Miles was just taking the idea of pagan gods existing without much question, but maybe that was because there was nothing else that made sense. What else would explain why the townspeople had gone mad and tried to kill him? Not much else.

Miles couldn’t really care less about the soda, what he really needed was something in his system to keep him going. He almost lost it though when he saw his aunt on the news. He knew that his face must have paled, and he felt his stomach churning uncomfortably. He had never harbored the feeling for hate for anyone, but if anyone deserved it, it was that woman. He wasn’t even sure if he could even call her his aunt anymore, he felt betrayed, like he couldn’t step foot outside of the Wesson because someone out there would give him up.

He wasn’t aware of either set of eyes on him, he had tunnel vision and he was only focused on that woman. Then the report ended, and Miles’ eyes dropped to the surface of the bar, boring into it. He didn’t even realize that he was close to cutting himself as his fists clenched shut and stayed that way.

Within hours, Miles had grown an immense admiration for Deacon. Not only did he save him from being killed, he also would have taken him to his aunt’s house had she not ruined that. And now this man, who didn’t even know him, was letting him stay there virtually for free, and would find a way for him to stay. He was in great debt to this man.

Heading up the stairs ahead of Art, Miles returned to his room…a strange thought, because this room was bound to stay his. He pulled his clothes out for the following morning, stripped down to his usual outfit for bed, and moved beneath the quilt. He fell asleep, yes, but it was not peaceful. The whole night, images of his mother and father being killed next to him reoccurred in his mind. He felt the heat of the fire, the image of his aunt, the tree, the screaming from the tree…and when he finally awoke, he knew that he’d been tossing and turning for the sheets were a mess.

He grabbed the clothes, and wandered down the hallway until he found the bathroom with the shower. He rinsed away all the dirt, smoke, and other unknown grime that came from the tree, fire, and cellar, and changed into clean clothes. Then, returning to his room and grabbing his laptop, he moved downstairs.

The bar was empty, so Miles took one of the barstools—he wasn’t about to get this man in legal problems. He popped open the screen, and instantly started going into his…’borrowed’ programs. He smirked to himself when he found that Glen Grove hadn’t gotten around the firewall he put up on their electrical grid. He then clicked over, and increased the security on the internet connection from the Wesson—again, this man deserved his help and gratitude. Now no one would be getting into their files, hacker or not.

When Deacon wasn’t busy, and making sure that the bar was still empty, he looked up at him. “So you…you kill pagan gods? And shape shifters? How did you even find out they exist?” he asked, and then remembered the purpose of asking that question. “And I want to help you. Fight them, I mean.”

[Casey]

Deacon glanced up from his chores and raised an eyebrow at the kid. While he’d seen him come down Deacon had been a little out of it. He had slept like the dead without interruption for a number of hours but he probably need another two to pass as human. Rubbing the eyes with the heal of his hand he yawned before answering him.

“Had a run in with the shifter a while back, couple of hunters came through to deal with them,” he shrugged, “Ended up helping and getting dragged into it as well.”

He frowned at Miles request to help fight. Deacon opened his mouth to answer when he heard Art coming down the stairs. His brother still had his glass on, a sure fire sign the youngest Rook had the least amount of sleep out of all of them. His hair was sticking up on one side and his eyes were barely open.

“Didn’t take my advice last night?” Deacon laughed.

Art responded with a grunt and sat next to Miles. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes, “I was trying to figure out how to pull off your miracle.”

Deacon paused and looked as his brother, “That so? How’d you do?”

Art’s body slid and his head hit the bar. Holding up a hand with two fingers he said, “I only need two more till I’m up for Sainthood.” He paused and added, “but it’s up to Miles if he wants to go along with it.”

“Spill,” Deacon said patiently.

“Adoption.”

“I don’t think I can adopt some one that the nation thinks is a murdering arsonist,” he threw Deacon a slight look of apology.

“Well,” Art pushed himself off the bar, “You wouldn’t be adopting him, you’d be adopting someone else. Who happens to be whatever identity I manage to make up.”

“Why do I have to adopt him?”

“It’s you or mom.”

Deacon visibly shivered at Art’s statement. The kid had already been through enough already.

“Well that can wait,” Deacon finally decided, “As for the fighting, not so hot on that, not the literal kind anyway. Unless you have some hidden kung fu talent. For now you can help Art with research, he won’t admit it but he can’t do everything. I mean, case in point, his sleeping habits.”

Art threw his brother a look at the sleep comment. After his glaring was done he said, “Yeah, he can help. ‘Slong as he doesn’t get grease on my books.”

“Speaking of grease,” Deacon smiled, “who’s up for some breakfast?”

[Miles]

“You had a run in with a shifter?” he asked thoughtfully, trying to imagine what the creature could look like. Well, human, probably, but what about when it changed? Did it just morph into something, or someone else? And did hunters refer to those that killed the supernatural? So it was a profession, for some? That would explain why Deacon went out of his way to go find Miles, though he still wanted to know how this Casey person wanted to know what was happening to him.

He could tell by the look on Deacon’s face that he didn’t agree with Miles about fighting, but he couldn’t argue because in that moment, Art came into the room. He looked like hell, which was a surprise because out of everyone, Miles should have had the least amount of sleep. That wasn’t to say that he was all fine and refreshed; his wrists were still red from where he’d been bound, his eyes were red from exhaustion and smoke irritation, and he was sore.

Miles sat there waiting for Art to finally come out and say what his miracle was, listening to the brothers go back and forth. When the one word was thrown out there, it stuck in his mind. Adoption. Miles Geiger would become Miles Rook? No, apparently he had to become someone else first.

The argument about fighting the supernatural suddenly returned, and Miles frowned. Fine, he thought, hitting a few keys on his keyboard. Within seconds, the power went out, the backup generator connected to the building was shut down, and he looked up at Deacon. “You also have four cameras and other devices hidden throughout the building. I figured that they were yours, but looking at the IP address now, I’m tracing them back to Portland, Oregon.”

“You can’t just bench me!” he argued. “I have my own talents, and I’m pretty sure that I can pick it all up,” he said, looking at Deacon. “Research is too easy,” he grumbled, sitting back and clicking into the internet browser as the power, and therefore the router, came back on. Miles lazily raised his hand at the mention of breakfast, and went in, and deleted everything about him—his email addresses, social networking profiles, any other proof that Miles Geiger existed. He then turned to Art, and after a moment, sighed. “Alright, so…what do I have to do to change my identity?” he asked. Adoption…he wasn’t too big on the idea, he belonged to his parents after all, even if they were dead. But if he were to stay out of trouble, it was necessary.

[Casey]

Deacon just shrugged at the shifter bit. It was in the past and he had no reason to fixate on it other than to remember to use silver next time. That was the kind of guy he was, accept the impossible and move on. He watched as Miles hunched over that laptop of his again and narrowed his eyes slightly. The kid did not have a look that was by any means pleasant. He looked up as the lights turned off and frowned. Art just blinked rapidly and started to wake up more.

With a sigh he looked at Miles, “You mind turning those back on? As for the camera’s block ‘em if you can. There’s a very short list of who they can belong to.”

Deacon reached across the bar and caught Art’s shoulder after Miles’ research comment. “Easy there,” he said as he forced his brother back into the sitting position with one hand. How was the kid to know he just said when of the few things that made Art go from his quiet to self to homicidal? Art didn’t seem to sympathies as he sent Miles a glare full of venom. The fact he looked like a young Grizzly Adams probably didn’t help matters.

“I’m not benching you,” Deacon said.

“And research is not easy,” Art added giving Miles another glare.

Deacon reached across the bar, thwacked the back of his brother’s head and a brief nonverbal conversation continued, “Not this kind anyway. This ain’t a school project, sure we still use the computer and library but there’s more. Art’s got stacks of old books upstairs he has to go through by hand and translate, sometimes for languages older than dirt. You can’t get a B in this class either, it’s life or death if not for you the hunter who needed your help.”

“Look it’s obvious you have talents,” he said jumping over the bar, “I got that the second I saw you tapping away at that thing, but you aren’t a hunter. Not for a long while any way. If you think I’m wrong, prove it.”

He set the dish rag on the counter and stepped away. Deacon held out his empty hands at his side and gave a little head tilt, “Hit me.”

Art decided the adoption question could wait until after whatever it was that was going to happen and kept his trap shut, eyes on Deacon.

[Miles]

Deacon didn't really talk about the shape shifter or his introduction to hunting, but if he was new to it, that meant that Miles could pick it up pretty quickly too, right? He was a smart, capable kid, what was so hard about fighting supernatural creatures?...aside from the physical part. Miles had height, but he didn't quite have the muscle or strength, which was one of the main reasons that he stuck to electronics. It was safer to be at a distance, but then again, he would fail when it would come to close combat, at least for the present moment.

His little trick wasn't all that appreciated by the two brothers, Deacon just staring at him and requesting that he turned them back on--if he tried the switches, it wouldn't work--and Art just blinking in what he took for confusion. As for the cameras, it was an interesting find, and while Miles acted like he blocked them, he made sure to remember the locations of each; he quickly opened up a screen and flipped through all the channels, finding all the feeds, and feeling content that his room wasn't being watched.

Not sure what exactly he had said or done to piss Art off, he looked between the two as the brothers both went off on him, Deacon talking about benching him, or rather how he wasn't, and Art going off about how research wasn't easy. Sure, they had a point, research took time, but Miles on the other hand was a computer genius. "Sure, you do have a point, but you also realize that ninety percent of the content in those books is online, right? How do you think I figured out about the Pagan god so fast?" He furrowed his brows, looking between them.

Deacon's proposition was...interesting. He rose off of his seat. What was he doing? He wouldn't do any damage, and he was being hot-headed when he was usually was calm and collected. But Deacon was ridiculing him, in a way. Drawing in a breath, he pulled his arm back, and took a swing, knowing outright this would result in a pretty epic fail.

[Casey]

“Uh,” Art drew out, “Not these books. You may have found it was a Pagan god but do you know which three of the translations of it’s name was carved on the tree? And even if you could get in the ball park and even if ninety percent of what was in my books was online, the ten percent in details is probably what you need on a hunt. The internet isn’t for hunters, it’s for enthusiast interested in mythology and history. No offence, I’m a net junky just as much if not more so than the regular teen but I’ve yet to find a site that not only has all the information I need but is also accurate.”

Deacon just smiled at his brother as he rambled on. Poor Miles was either going do some serious backtracking or something else major to get back in Art’s good graces. True Miles wasn’t at risk of being lit on fire, yet, but he wasn’t Art’s most favorite person either. Worst case it would prove to make an interesting dinner conversation, okay debates but that was what his family did most of the time.

He didn’t know what Miles had expected him to do, probably step out of the way or redirect the punch, which was crappy by the way. Deacon caught Miles by the wrist and spun him around so he was pinned with bis back against Deacon. Before he could get a chance to recover Deacon slid the switchblade he always carried in the bar out of his pocket and flicked it open. He put his thumb between Miles’ neck and the blade, briefly thinking he should start carrying it with him everywhere.

“That took me, what?” Deacon raised an eyebrow, “Less than five seconds?” He let the boy go and flicked the knife back closed, “Miles, I gave you time to set up and I’m a lot nicer than most of the things I have to face, not to mention I’m a lot weaker. You learn how to get past me or Art, I’ll give you a chance. Until then we’ll do some training when you’re not helping Art. That is if you’re up to it and don’t think you don’t need to learn anything because you can google anything you don’t know.”

[Miles]

Glaring at Art as he tried yet again to take the upper hand in the argument, Miles decided to knock him down a few pegs as his insides burned. "No, I was a little busy watching my parents be killed right in front of me, thanks. Why the hell would I be looking at the tree for some carved in name, when you guys said that it was probably only a piece that was transplanted which means the name isn't likely to be there? Better yet, why would I be looking at the tree when my pregnant mother died and I was next?" The scene flashed again in his mind, and he was reminded of his lack of sleep. A small yawn was stifled so it wouldn't give away the fatigue that still plagued him.

"I think you guys mistake me for some normal kid," he said finally. "I'm the top of my class, or I was at least. I don't just sit there and veg and dawdle on social networking sites, I actually make use of all the functions of a computer," he said. "Nevertheless, you'd be surprised at what websites hold, if you know what to look for. Steer away from dot coms and cheesy stuff like 'ghostsexist.com'." No, Miles wasn't too happy at the moment, Art was trying to tell him that he knew nothing, when the Internet was clearly overtaking books in the world, and these things were being transferred into online files at an alarming rate.

He hadn't expected the punch to go well, but he also hadn't expected that his body would be thrown around so easily. He made a mental note to bulk up some, so that he could at least keep his feet in one place if that move was ever repeated on him. He heard the flick of the knife, and knew what it was, but instead of metal against his neck, he felt flesh.

"I already said that I would train, that I would pick it up," he shot back. He crossed his arms, and then raised a brow at Deacon's words. "Google is for noobs," Miles said simply. He sat in front of his computer again, and hit a few keys--again, something that brought up a program that the usual public wouldn't have access to. A small box appeared on the screen, and Miles typed in the words 'shape shifter.' Suddenly, various windows were pulled up, his eyes scanning them all quickly. He closed three out, leaving four. "Shifters...this one says that you behead them, this one says that they can be identified by misbehaviors, asking facts the person would know but the shifter wouldn't, and something about their eyes flashing, but it doesn't really explain it. This one," he pointed to the third window, "explains their history, and this one comes from an old German text, saying that they 'melt their skin, shed their nails, pull their teeth and change."

"By the way," he shot at Art, "various libraries world-wide are uploading their books online, even translating them, and having a membership helps loads," he said matter-of-factly. "That's where I read about the Pagan god."

[Casey]

Art looked away when Miles mentioned his family. He was also temped to mention he was using a logical fallacy but that would have rude. The kid had been through a lot no need to be called out for a stupid thing like that. Or that was his thought process until the subject was shifted back.

“Evidence you don’t know us very well,” Art half smirked, “Anything that falls in our lap isn’t normal. And if you can cut the power you more Zero Cool than Leeroy Jenkins. Sidewise, I’m not a complete idiot and I don’t need the C.R.A.P.P. test to tell me to avoid those posers.”

Deacon reached out and rustled Miles’ hair trying to either cut down on the tension or take it away from his bother. “I was kidding dude,” he smirked, even though he wasn’t sure what the teens were talking about, “and it looks like Art may have competition for the smart kid spot. He’s not only top in his class, he’d top in district and is graduating a year and a half early with college credits..” He smiled at himself, one because he was proud of little brother, but also because Art was sending him an embarrassment induced glare. Kid was to freaking modest.

He leaned against the bar and sighed, “Well, I may not be a baby genius like you two but I can tell you that shifter bit is barking up the wrong trees and just walking by the right ones. You can’t kill them by cutting their heads off. Okay, maybe you can but it’s a hella hard. I’ll save that for class time with Arty.”

Art shot him another glare before turning back to Miles with a more civil face,
“These books aren’t in libraries, University or otherwise. I’ve checked, hell I checked the ones affiliated with the local universities around the world. Also books don’t need a power source and aren’t afraid of magnets.”

[Miles]

His eyes were heavy as he stared at Art after mentioning his family. His body felt tired, like every single joint and ligament was aching. His eye lids wanted to close again, needed sleep, but he couldn’t. There were things to do, matters to take care of like creating his identity. He let a long breath out through his nose, and then they were right back into it.

Miles blinked at Art as he attempted to try and use language and names of those…wanna-be computer nerds. Did any of them know how to take apart and reassemble the core of a computer? No, not really, that was when they called Geek Squad. Miles just remained silent and let Art make him sound like a fool.

He didn’t have much of a choice in letting Deacon tussle his hair; the man had totally owned him seconds ago, it wasn’t like he could just swat his hand away. Miles shrugged, and looked at Deacon. “Glen Grove’s school wasn’t as…cooperative as that, but if it was, I’m sure I’d be ahead too,” he said. “Though I do…did have college credits too,” he added. That whole tense thing was getting annoying.

“Well the point was to show you that I can find stuff, alright?” Of course he wouldn’t know how to kill what right now, he’d just been saved the day before. Arty? He grinned, knowing that you couldn’t really make a nickname out of Miles, and thus he was in the clear for that. Unless they got creative.

“You’d be surprised,” Miles said, his face actually taking interest in his comment. “I know that this university in D.C. found some original manuscripts of…oh, what was it? Some great, great, great story,” he said. “Only staff had access to it online, they were taking pictures to preserve the integrity, or so they thought. A little coding never hurt anyone, right?” Another grin. “I can show you how to get in if you want.”

“Books are afraid of fire, water, brute strength, writing utensils,” he countered, “so both have their weaknesses, alright?” Neither were going to win the argument at this rate. “You stick to your books, I’ll stick to my computer, and if you realize that we’d be better off pooling our resources, maybe you’d realize books aren’t everything,” Miles shot, and then closed his laptop. He glanced over at Deacon, his stomach grumbling quietly as he remembered the concept of breakfast.

Finally, out of nowhere, he looked at Art. “Michael.” He stared at the other teen for a moment longer before realizing that he wouldn’t understand a random name. “For the name change. Michael Rook.”

[Casey]

Art found himself smirking despite himself at Miles. If the kid was willing to stand his ground now maybe he had a chance to pass as a Rook. Insanity and stubbornness, now he just had to work on the crazy bit. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose he smiled again.

“As long as you don’t diss my books, I won’t diss you web,” he reasoned, “It’s a valuable tool but it isn’t the only one. And just a note computers are afraid of all the things you just list too.” Art stuck out his tongue and hoped it would show that his prior hostility was almost gone.

“Hopefully KSH will be more accepting off your intellect,” Deacon chuckled and walked into the storage room and left the door open. “How’s eggs and bacon sound?”

“Good for me,” Art answered for himself.

“Michael huh?” Deacon mussed, “How about Michael Alan Rook?” He lit the gas stove and set a skillet on it to warm up before walking back to the door way.

“Why Alan?”

“It has a nice flow.”

“Isn’t Alan the name of the guy that-?”

“No,” Deacon cut in, “And that was ‘Allen’ spelled with an ‘E’, Alan was our Grandpa’s name.”

Art frowned slightly, “I don’t remember having a grandfather named Alan.”

Deacon scratched the back of his neck, “You know him as Grandpa Starry.”

“Ah,” Art nodded, “mom’s side.”

“Anyways,” Deacon rolled his eyes, “How are you going to be able to fake an adoption?”

His brother shifted slightly, “Remember Sasha Tomes?”

“The paternity test, the fact I was in the Czech Republic and I never had sex with her proved the baby wasn’t mine.”

Art stared at him for a moment and gave him a slow blink, “As I was saying. She listed you as possible guardian if something happened to her.”

Deacon shook his head, “No ones heard from Sasha in years Art.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay what about that Miles is older than Sasha’s kid?”

Art shrugged, “I was worried about that too. I mean he’d be nine right, but remember that kid she had with her when she came back in town?”

“He nephew I think.”

Art nodded, “At least that’s what she told everyone.”

“So you want to lie and say that, that kid was also her son, that she decided to make me his guardian too, and somehow the kid is Miles? He had a name you know.”

“Which was what exactly?”

Deacon opened his mouth then closed it, “Okay, you have a point.” If he couldn’t remember the kids name it was unlikely anyone else in town would. Also the rest of the town would totally believe Sasha had another kid squirreled away.

Art held up his hands and smiled, “And I’ve got the paper work from when you agreed to take custody of Sasha’s bundle of joy. All I have to do is make one just like it for her now other kid, a Michael and then fake an adoption certificate, approved, let’s say yesterday and say you just picked him up from his Grandmother’s last night.”

“It appears we have a plan,” Deacon laughed, “whatcha think Squirt?” He smiled at Miles before walking back into back room. Deacon set half a pack of Bacon in the skillet and stepped back the grease began to crackle.

“If you’re up to it,” Art set his hand on his wrist, “I could use your help pulling it off. Things would go much faster if the files existed electronically, then if I had to go through and con the local cps into uploading the info on accident. Also decrease the likeliness of us getting caught.”

[Miles]

Miles sort of sat back and just let things happen. He was aware and conscious of what the brothers were talking about, but at the same time he was zoning out; it was starting to bother him how he would have the energy to carry on a conversation, and then dwindle back to feeling exhausted to every individual nerve fiber that ran through his body. At least he contented himself with knowing that the headache that was coming on would be gone soon thanks to the food that was about to be cooked--something tangible in his stomach, something tasteful and packed with some minimal level of nutrients after being soaked in grease sounded amazing.

Finally the brothers finished their dialogue, and Miles blinked a few times, trying to absorb it all. "So what you're saying..." he started, trying to get everything right in his head, "is that I'm the son of some woman that might have "supposedly" bore your child, and you want me to play the part? What if, by some random happenstance, she comes back around and starts some drama?" he asked, giving them a look that told them there was no way he'd be able to cover and continue the lie in that case.

"I think," he began, looking at Deacon, "that making the electronic files will take maybe half an hour, an hour at most. And I think that you shouldn't call me Squirt," he said, sending Deacon another look, "old man."

[Casey]

“Not supposedly,” Deacon called from the back room as he finished cooking the bacon, “She never did and I have the papers to prove it! Judge said so!”

Art just rolled his eyes and turned so he was facing Miles, “I know it probably doesn’t sound like a good plan, and it may not be but it’s the best and disturbingly most plausible one we got. If Deacon just randomly adopted a kid and one that’s about my age, it would raise eyebrows, if he inherited one, still got the raised eyebrows but people shrug and get over it. We’re in a small town dude and people get bored. Mysterious kid shows up, the gossips start digging.”

“And as for Sasha,” he yawned before continuing on, “She left officially six years back for the Peace Corps. With a restraining order or few on her back and a foreign fling she was going to get citizenship in another country with. If she’s coming back, we’ll see the storm far enough out to come up with a back up or just make a run for it. Besides we don't have to tell anyone you're her kid. It's just for the records and if someone does get to nosy we have yarn to spin”

Art frowned at the next comment to his brother, “Dude you just solidified the nickname, my apologizes in advance.”

“And why does everyone think I’m old?” Deacon set a plate of Bacon on the bar for the boys before walking back to cook up eggs.

[Miles]

This time the exhaustive state that had been fluctuating back and forth seemed to stay; his eyes grew heavy and ached, as did his head. The occasional trickle of pain still bit at his wrists, which were still red from the bindings that had been placed on them. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that this was all surreal, like it should be in a movie, or some work of fiction. He was zoning out more seriously now, and the conversation was becoming a dull murmur that wasn't really making any sense anymore. The thought of that bed upstairs was becoming more distracting...

...His head snapped to Art, who had been speaking to him, and he sighed. "Look, I'm not here to try and nitpick your plans. You're trying to help me, and I appreciate that, so just do what you need to do for now, and maybe try talking to me again when I'm actually...you know, here. Right now the fact that I'm an...an orphan is starting to hit again," he said, picking up a thin piece of bacon and holding it between his fingers.

"And if the name sticks, more will keep coming for dinosaur over there," he added, jerking a thumb in Deacon's direction and flashing Art a grin. "It's not that you're old, it's just that you're older than me," he said, watching the eggs fry in the pan. "By the way...again, sorry for seeming like I don't think you guys are doing what you think is right...but...how do we know that we can trust this Casey guy?"