Mean As A Snake [Sean]

[Jesse Adams]

To say that Jesse Adams has issues is a bit of an understatement.

To try and define those issues, that’s a whole other fight. It’s best to say the kid is disturbed, and leave it at that.

Said ‘disturbed’ teenager was currently stalking down the hallway, muttering to himself in a not-so-nice way. Today was not a good day. And it had all started with one little itty bit of fun. While his teacher’s back was turned during history, he’d decided to have a bit of fun. Most of the time, abilities were not to be used during regular class time. But that was just too big a temptation. Jesse had resisted long enough, and his fingers were itching for the contact he needed.

A few twisted memories, and a frightened, shivering female classmate later, it was recommended that Jesse take a little trip down to the psychiatrist. The shrink. A little smirk was slowly spreading. One the one hand, he could let this get him down. He could whine and complain and throw a massive tantrum, which was always so becoming of a sixteen year old boy. Or, he could look the other way. He could have fun with this. He liked to mess with people. Especially authority. He liked the fact that his ability teacher was wary of him. After all, if he was expected to practice, he needed someone to practice on. And that someone was usually his teacher.

Really, it was wonder he hadn’t been sent this way earlier. What he didn’t know was that some of the institute staff were worried about him. Worried what he was capable of. Even a year ago, he couldn’t inflict the damage he was managing now, with his nightmares. There was no telling how much worse he could get. And it wasn’t like he could be expelled because he couldn’t behave. Where else could they send him? Other than into a government lockdown project. If that was even an option. (Sometimes, it was hard to separate the rumors from the truth.)

The blonde still wasn’t thrilled about the idea of seeing the shrink. Not by a long shot. It was easy to tell by the way he was hunched over ever so slightly. The sharp glint in his eyes. Most of the students knew to stay the hell away from him. He had a reputation as nasty as they come. He didn’t know exactly why he was driven to be bad. He just knew it felt good. Even if his memories were a little fragmented now, and he suffered his own nightmares. Whatever.

He jammed his hands into his pockets and came to a tentative halt near the door he’d been told to look for. Dr. Sean Neville. He didn’t like him already. Funny, how he can decide that, just like that. Without even thinking about the trouble he could get in (really, he didn’t care), he issued a kick to the bottom of the door. Screw knocking.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean knew what was to come before they'd paged him, warning him that young Jesse Adams was being sent to him for a "preliminary session," which was code for "he had an outburst, and we're nervous now." He passively scanned the institute when he was in, unless in a particularly vulnerable mood. After all, if the telepaths weren't paying attention, there was no hope for anyone else. That hadn’t always been his sentiment, but he’d seen the wisdom in that view over the years.

While waiting for the boy to arrive, he’d prepared his usual equipment, including the tape recorded in his desk, so he could review the session later. He had a pen and paper for additional notes and, of course, his prescription pad. After all, not everything could be solved through telepathy.

There was a kick to the door, and he knew this was going to make for a long afternoon. He was patient, yes, perhaps not as patient as the man who had trained him, but more than would befit a normal session. This wouldn’t be a normal session.

He mentally ran down the list of every psychological ploy he knew, because he wanted to minimize missteps. Decided on a course of action, he chose not to rise from the plush chair behind his desk. Instead, calmly, he called, “You can come in, Jesse.”

[Jesse Adams]

Outburst. Is that what they were calling it now? For Jesse, terrorizing his fellow students was more of a hobby, a way of life, than something as silly as an outburst. Okay, so he’d controlled himself in his normal classes up until today, choosing to use his ability in the halls, or in the dorms. (It was particular fun in his dorm room, if someone was dumb enough to sleep with their door unlocked.) But today he’d felt that itch, that need to do something. Unfortunately for the girl that sat in front of him, she had become his unwitting victim.

He had no idea that the shrink was, in fact, a memory manipulator, too. As far as he knew, he was special. At least, it was what he liked to think. Being special meant he was important. Unfortunately, in the wrong hands, he could be important. He’d make an excellent device for interrogations. One touch, and your most pleasant memories were turned into waking nightmares. Yeah, it might make you talk.

As soon as he heard the invitation, the blonde twisted the knob and slipped inside, kicking the door shut with more force than really necessary. He already didn’t like this guy. Not one tiny bit. But there was no getting out of it. He knew if he’d run away, they would have tracked him down and dragged him here by force, in necessary. He eyed the psychiatrist warily. It always made him a little flighty, being around adults when he didn’t know what their powers were. It was no different now. He crossed his arms over his chest and stayed near the wall. “So. I’m here. Whataya want?” ... Well, he’s nothing if not charming.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

He was nervous; that Sean could tell without the use of his powers, through the simple art of people watching with a trained eye. Those with Jesse’s personality tended to hate authority, and so he already had a thumbnail sketch of how this would play out. There were some six different, viable scenarios, four of which he wished to avoid at all costs. They would see if he could steer this in the direction of the two acceptable possibilities.

He made eye contact with Jesse, slowly, deliberately; he wasn’t afraid of the young man, and he wished to convey that through the simple courtesy. He had no reason to be afraid; after all, this was his territory: his office, his profession, his rules...In that way, psychiatry was very much like war and chess. A doctor had to out maneuver his patient.

He also didn’t answer the boy’s question, because to do so would be to let him shape the conversation. To let him do that so early on would be to concede his authority and his control. One never conceded authority to a predator. Not unless one had a death wish or a deep-seated, subconscious desire to fail. Fortunately, Sean had neither.

Instead of answering the question, he turned his right hand over, palm facing upward, and gestured easily at the chair to the side, and somewhat in front, of his desk. The chair which Jesse would occupy for the duration of this session. Calmly, he said – rather, he passively ordered, “Have a seat, Jesse. You and I are going to have a chat.”

[Jesse Adams]

Much like a caged wild animal, Jesse was wary. He didn’t like being cornered, being trapped. Sean was right about one thing. Authority was one thing the teenager shied away from. Teachers, upperclassmen with attitudes, any of the officials. (He loved to goad the librarian, when he was really bored.) He didn’t know what he was expecting out of this, but it certainly wasn’t simply rolling over and taking whatever Sean planned to dish at him.

The moment eye contact was made, Jesse had two options. Sadly, he used both. When their gazes locked, he leered at the psychologist, just enough to show he wasn’t scared, either, before breaking the contact again. One thing was clear about him. He wasn’t going down without a fight. Sean could say what he wanted, but Jesse was a master at tuning people out. In other words, this was quickly going to become a battle of wills.

Chat. Normally, that wouldn’t sound so threatening. But in this context, Jesse found it very threatening. But flattening himself against the wall would make him look weak, rather than stubborn. He knew it, too. He eyed the chair. No way was he sitting down. Once he was down, he’d lost before the game had even started. Instead of obeying, he stalked forward and leaned against the chair. There. He was touching it. That was as good as it was going to get.

“Chat,” he snorted. “What is this, a tea party?” His blonde bangs were falling into his eyes. He didn’t bother to move them. “Did they tell you I was a bad little boy in class?” He was curious, yes. But only a little.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Ah, the leering; that was to be expected, and Sean didn’t so much as bat an eyelash. Best to let the boy get as much of this out of his system now, and then work with the leftovers. It would take some time; he had no false illusions there. After all, Jesse was willful, and they’d never spoken before; he had no reason to back down quite yet. Sean would wear him down, just as he always did. After all, he didn’t have anything better to do with his afternoon, while Jesse doubtless had somewhere to be and something he’d rather do. That was a point in Sean’s favor; perhaps not the biggest margin to win, but enough to momentarily tip the scales. He’d take it.

And then Jesse finally, without further cajoling, moved from the wall to the chair. But he didn’t sit down. Sure, he touched the back of the chair, the same way a stubborn child who thought he was clever would poke his food with his fork when his mother said he hadn’t touched his supper. Well, that had upped the tone of this a notch.

He’d give Jesse another minute to seat himself, before he pulled out his next tactic. After all, patience could go a long way, even if he had no particular expectations this soon.

“Do I look like the Mad Hatter to you?” The question was posed calmly, coupled with the barest quirk of his eyebrow. He wasn’t fazed.

“And actually, I’d prefer to hear you tell me what happened in class, and why you think you’re here.”

[Jesse Adams]

Leering was a lifestyle for the young blonde. If Sean was waiting for him to get it out of his system, he’d be waiting a long time. Jesse seemed to have an endless reserve of catty, biting comments, and he’d go down fighting. If he went down at all. If he had to, he’d attempt to use his ability to get the psychologist to back off. He’d rather use it offensively, but it made a good defence tactic, as well. But Sean was right about one thing. Jesse would rather be anywhere, even back in classes, than here. And with almost anyone but one Dr. Sean Neville.

The Mad Hatter comment made the teenager sneer slightly. Okay. So the bastard had a sense of humor. Great. Just great. He shook his head. “Cute. Not.” He gripped the back of the chair, leaning over it. He just wanted to get out of here. In his mind, the more of a fight he put up, the less time he’d have to spend trapped in hell. AKA, the office.

But the request threw him, just for a moment. Wasn’t this guy’s job to sit here and pick him apar – wait... oh no. No way. That wasn’t going to work. “Nice try.” He let go of the chair and crossed his arms again. “So I used my ability in class. Big. Fucking. Deal. What are you gonna do about it? You can’t kick me out. I’m a ‘danger’ to society.” That was the one thing he knew for sure. He couldn’t be kicked out. Which was like a free ride to be as wicked as he wanted to be. “Fuck. I dunno why I’m here.” Oh, he does. He just doesn’t want to own up to it.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

“Sit down,” Sean told him, a more affirmative statement, although his tone didn’t change. He was patiently, slowly, ticking off a list of chances that this young man had. He never liked to come across too harsh unless it was necessary, and their little encounter hadn’t reached that level. “I’m sure your back will like the chair as much as your hands seem to.”

Then with Jesse’s assessment, they reached the crux of the matter. The boy understood why others might have a problem with his behavior, but didn’t personally have a moral problem with it. That meant he was sane, which was an important distinction; it also meant that his moral compass needed some fine-tuning. One might argue that it wasn’t a psychiatrist’s job, but given an absence of parents and the general uselessness of religion, there were few ready options. It was something to keep in mind for later.

And he thought that his untrained nature made him untouchable, rather than inspired him to work harder. Yes, he understood why the teachers were uncomfortable with this one. Steadily, calmly, he replied, “Theoretically, you could be isolated. There are medications, of course, and we could always call on the good Mister Kilbourne for his assistance. But those would all be a bit extreme at the moment, wouldn’t you say?”

Sean didn’t give him the opportunity to reply, as it had been a rhetorical question. He continued, “I think you do know why you’re here, Jesse, and I want you to say so.”

[Jesse Adams]

“No.” Yes, he really was that blunt about it. Being told what to do was one of the things on his list of things he did not like. He rolled his eyes and scoffed slightly, his fingers digging into the fabric. “I like it just fine where I am.” He was doing this on purpose, because this was one of his greatest forms of entertainment. Poke the bear until it snaps and bites.

Oh, Jesse was as sane as they come. He knew damn well what he was doing was wrong, but it didn’t stop him. He liked it. If you looked as his parental influence, you might understand why his moral compass was a little out of whack. He was a lot like his father, and, as much as he hated that fact, he still went along with it. His father had gotten places by being merciless, vicious. Why couldn’t he? Easy. Michael Adams was a highly paid, powerful defence lawyer. Jesse was just a teenager with an attitude problem, and a potentially dangerous power on his hands.

Isolation didn’t scare him. ... Okay, it did, but that was only because in isolation, he wouldn’t have distractions, or the means to stay awake, in an attempt to escape his own nightmares. Medications wouldn’t bother him, though. He’d just cheek them, hide them, sell them. He was clever. But the mention of his trainer made him twitch, just a tiny bit. It wasn’t a secret that he didn’t like the blonde man, nor what he could do. He wanted to reply, badly, but he wasn’t given the chance. And that ticked him off just a touch.

The challenge was met with a murderous glare. Jesse’s nails dug into his arms. “Because the teachers around here have sticks in their asses. Can’t take a fuckin’ joke. I wasn’t even that mean to her.” He kicked the chair leg and looked away. “Just give me the drugs, keep Kilbourne out of it, and let me go.”

[Dr. Sean Neville]

There was the flat refusal to sit; Sean couldn’t say that it came a surprise, but it simply wouldn’t do. Patiently, though affirmatively, he responded, “That’s quite unfortunate, Jesse; I don’t. Now sit down, as I don’t want to make you, and I’d prefer not to conduct this session on my feet.”

Sean could see that his short list of possibilities had their proper effect. A boy who had issues with power wouldn’t want to be alone, and a boy with the drawbacks to the power that Jesse had would have double the reason to have others around. The drugs were simpler, because Sean preferred to work with injections for that reason, and he could always conduct daily medication checks. It wasn’t as though he was up to his eyeballs in work every hour of the day that Jesse would slip through his fingers so easily.

And as for Kilbourne...Sean’s respect for the other man’s work, and his fondness for his personality, aside, he was a useful ace in the hole. Few people were comfortable with what Chase could do; in fact, Sean was fairly certain that Chase was precisely what the anti-meta groups had in mind when they spread their propaganda.

“You’re not leaving yet. Tell me what you did, and then we can talk about whether it could really count as a joke.”

[Jesse Adams]

In case Sean hadn’t noticed yet, Jesse was no a cooperative young man. On the contrary, he was doing just about all he could to avoid following the psychologist’s demands. He could tell the older man was getting the tiniest bit annoyed with him. That much had changed in his tone. And that was the game. “That’s quite unfortunate,” he mocked. “Because I do.” Yes, he was going to go there.

If injections were involved, drugs became a whole different ballgame. Oral drugs were easy to deal with, get rid of. Injections would have him fighting, and fighting hard. If that became the case, maybe he’d just run away. He tormented others because he didn’t particularly like it at Hammel. Even the training. He was only in to learn just how far he could extend his powers. When he’d first come, all he could do with nightmares was inflict a bit of physical pain. Now, his victims (which, unfortunately, include himself) would wake with cuts and bruises. He liked this fact. A lot.

Jesse was included in that majority vote against mind control. He didn’t like it. He’d learned to watch his conduct a little more around the trainer, but that respect didn’t go very far. It was just preferable to his mind being put into lockdown. A lot more preferable. All the more reason he wanted Kilbourne to stay the hell out of this.

“Fuck. There’s no point. You already know what I did.’ If he didn’t, well, that was fair enough. He’d tell him. And he’d see the humor in it. Hopefully.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

Sean smiled, but it was an expression bereft of amusement. He’d known this would not be easy, although hope did spring eternal. Laying each of his large hands on the surface of his desk, he pushed his chair back enough to maneuver and he stood. He had some nine and a half inches on the boy, and if he had to use height to set this off-balance, he would. He then stepped to the left his desk, so that he was essentially in Jesse’s personal space – close enough to touch him surely.

He knew Jesse’s powers; he had a copy of his records down here, but he banked on an assumption and a fact. The assumption that Jesse wouldn’t be cocky – or blind – enough to try anything in this setting given the situation and his very real threats regarding one of the three options to control him. And the fact that he had the same ability to the young man – rather, the same ability that Jesse could use right now – and he had forty years of experience and strength over him. He didn’t like revealing his powers for a point of strength, but he could, and would, mentally flip him off if necessary. “If this were entirely about what you liked, you wouldn’t be here. Now sit down.”

And yes, he did know, but his knowledge lacked the boy’s perspective, and that was what he wanted in this moment. He wanted the common frame of reference and the insight into Jesse’s thoughts. Spoken, rather than gleaned from his mind. That was how sessions worked best. “I know generalities; I don’t know specifics. Walk me through it.”

[Jesse Adams]

The smile didn’t scare Jesse. Not at all. Neither did the fact that the psychologist was now towering over him. Stepping back would be weak, and from a very young age, Jesse Adams had been taught not to show weakness. Though he felt somewhat shorter, that didn’t matter. He wasn’t backing down.

The sad thing about Jesse was that he was cocky enough to try something as stupid as use his abilities on an official. He’d done it before, when backed into a corner. He scowled up at the man and, before he knew what he was doing, his hand snaked out, and he made contact. Looking determined, he began to sift through memories, trying to find something happy, something he could use. And once he did, he would begin to twist it. Change it. Whatever he did, it was never permanent. His victims might have faint memories of the changes, but their memories would be intact once the contact was broken. Whatever he did was more like a dream afterwards. But during the time he had contact, he could, and would, make happy memories turn nightmarish. And that was what he was doing now. Stupid, hell yes. But he was doing it. “This is what I like, right here.”

He didn’t want to stop until he found something useful, but he was sure he’d be forced off before then. “I’m not walkin’ you through anything.” He felt his message was very clear. Don’t mess with him.

[Dr. Sean Neville]

There were brief moments when Sean wondered what made today’s teenagers differ from those of his youth. After all, he’d never been this way. He’d simply wanted himself in and everyone else out; he hadn’t gone out of his way to torment people. The instant that Jesse touched him qualified as one of those moments. Never would he have pushed his trainer, his doctor, his teachers, in the way that Jesse was trying to push him now.

Then he felt it – Jesse trying to burrow through his memories like a worm. Possessing mental abilities himself, he was sensitive to the sensation. Perhaps Jesse was too young to develop a feather-light or undetectable presence. Perhaps he didn’t care to learn, as there was more than a hint of sadism in the young man.

Either way, he felt Jesse flit around the edges of Kathleen, saw her younger self merge into the bitter woman he never saw now, and his expression hardened. He concentrated, and she melted back into the adorable red-haired girl she’d been and never would be again. He kept a wall between what she was now, and what she once was, kept his thoughts and memories ordered. And then, for good measure, he tossed Jesse from his mind.

He didn’t break the physical contact, because he didn’t care, once he was mentally secure. He’d never minded being touched, and it was best to let the boy break the contact of his own free will, once he realized that he’d lost this round. “I wouldn’t try that again, if I were you. And if you won’t walk me through it, I’ll have to make a note in your file, and walk myself.”

[Jesse Adams]

Jesse had been raised to be, for lack of a better term, a jackass. He’d learned from the best, and he’d been pushed to succeed from an early age, by any means necessary. He found a special kind of thrill in pushing people. And authority figures were the most fun to push of all. Especially those that thought they knew everything. (At least, that was how he was perceiving Dr. Neville at the moment.)

When Jesse dealt with dreams, his mental stimulation naturally more gentle, so as not to wake his victims. And if he bothered, he could be gentle when dealing with memories. But his style was aggressive, and that’s what Sean would be feeling now. That awful sensation of someone else in your mind, digging through filing boxes full of memories, good and bad. Oh, he could pull a nice memory, and just let it sit there and be viewed. But that wasn’t him. Not now.

It shouldn’t have surprised him that he was thrown out. Locked out. However you wanted to say it. Jesse shook his head, the sudden severing of the connection a bit of a shock to his still untrained mind. So this guy had something to do with mental abilities, too. His hand snapped off of Sean, and he balled his fists in anger. That wasn’t what he’d expected. He’d expected a touch of control. This was not control. Despite knowing it would look weak, the teenager took a half step back, away from Sean. Trying to regain some sense of personal space.

... Walk himself? Wait. Did that mean they had the same ability, more or less? That wasn’t good. And now Jesse was cornered. No matter what he did, Sean was going to find out what had happened. And if he went wandering into his own memories, he’d find things Jesse did not want found. Ever. “You stay the fuck outta my head.” Funny, how the idea of someone doing it to him didn’t go over so well. “I told you, just give me the drugs and let me go.”