"I don't need to prove anything," Salem comments. "Facts hardly need to be proven. I simply..." he swings his hand around the air, looking for the right word. "Reminded him that a big ego doesn't mean a thing if you don't put your money where your mouth's at."

"Watch your mouth, Mister," Davenpore scolds. "There's only a certain amount of disrespect I take from you students, and you're bordering the line."

"Good," Salem mutters too quietly for anyone but Cas to hear. "Maybe if the Guild sees how troublesome I am, they might not want me."

"Doubtful," Cas responds. They're looking at the class while they talk, trying to make the side conversation as inconspicuous as they can. "The Guild doesn't really care what you can do. They care about what's theirs and how they're going to abuse it. Hardly matters what that thing can do."

"You think?" Salem asks, thoughtfully.

Cas shrugs, "Why not? It makes sense to me. My dad always told me that the Guild was a psychotic cult, trying to wrap innocent kids in their web of empty promises and fantastic lies. That was a long time ago, though, and my dad was a bit paranoid." Well, so is Cas.

Is paranoia hereditary? It would explain a lot. Then again, Cas' dad was more paranoid about society and bigger issues like taxes. Cas is more paranoid about how everything in the world seems to be out to get him. He still hasn't decided if it's true or just a symptom of not using his Ability.

In Combat Training, the kids are taught about defense and are told to pair up. Salem and Cas, obviously, are a pair, because Cas would rather eat his own foot than try to make friends with the people in this class. They all seem strong and insanely haughty, and even though he's more of a coffee guy, it isn't Cas' cup of tea.

"You do understand that I'm not the easiest opponent, right?" Salem asks as they square up.

Say's right. As far as Cas can tell, Salem looks like an awfully hard one to fight, and because Cas is stubborn and shy, he's just going along with it. I can't decide if Cas is clever to learn from one of the best, or too dumb to stop himself from getting his butt kicked two days in a row. Let's go with the former, just so we keep Cas' reputation up.

"Do you want to be defense or offense?" Salem asks.

"Offense."

Salem shrugs, then he gets ready for an attack.

Cas swings, but Salem brings his forearm up too fast, blocking his face.

"Nice hit."

"I missed."

"But it was on point and it had structure. Try again."

It goes on like this for another fifteen minutes; Cas trying his hardest to mark Salem, but every time, he's blocked. Salem compliments him for it, and I think that frustrates Cas the most. He's being praised for something his father would be complaining about.

At one point, Cas gives up entirely and throws his hands in the air. "If you say 'good job' one more bloody time, I swear I'm going to shove a stick so far down your throat, it'll be coming out your rear."

Salem relaxes his stance. "Why's that? You're doing well. Good work deserves to be acknowledged."

"How am I doing well if I can't even get a mark on you?" Cas huffs, gesturing to Salem's impeccable appearance. "Look around, everyone's got at least one bruise on their partner by now, and you're spotless."

"Well, everyone else doesn't have me as a partner," Salem responds, deafeningly quiet. "Guild's slave, remember? I've been thrown in the barracks since I was three because I'm supposed to be the perfect soldier, and news flash, I'm not bad at my job."

"Humility might do you good," Cas mutters.

"Humility? What's that?"

Cas can't tell if Say's making a joke or not. His face is almost completely neutral, and Cas hasn't gotten used to reading the snake-eyes. He could use his Ability and sea, but after the last time Cas was in there, he feels as though he's walking through a grave rather than a teenager's mind, and that's kind of petrifying. Cas has seen enough death in his life; he doesn't need to relive it through someone else's eyes.

Though, who died in Salem's life to make him how he is? As far as Cas knows, his parents are still alive. He doesn't talk about anyone else. Realizing this, Cas notices he knows very little about his companion. Cas is eager to learn more, but he has a feeling that if he asks, Salem won't answer.

Topher would, though, but it's only a very small chance that Topher knows much more than Cas. Topher has known him longer. That has to count for something, right?

"Sorry, man," Topher says as they walk toward the Culinary Arts room. Salem went to "grab something from his dorm room", and neither of the boys is expecting him back. "I know about as much as you do. Say rarely ever talks about himself."

"Yeah, but isn't there something in your dorm room that says anything about him?" Cas asks with an unseen enthusiasm. "A poster maybe? Some pictures? Some angsty emo poetry?"

"Nah, Man," Topher says his side of the room is as barren as the day he moved in. You wouldn't even know I had a roommate if there wasn't a second toothbrush in the bathroom."

"That sounds...kinda depressing, actually," Cas comments as he thinks about it. People usually begin Crowlland at age ten, and since Salem belongs to the Guild, he's been here since he was three.

Could you imagine living in the same room for fourteen years and not have a single thing in it that reminded you that that was your place? Your sanctuary? Cas loved his room when he was a kid. It had all his toys and little papers hung up from when he drew or painted something. When he was adopted, the first thing to do in his new room was to paint the walls a light shade of red. Afterward, he put a bunch of posters up and set a picture of him and his parents on his nightstand.

That picture is still there, right next to another picture of Cas giving Remy a piggyback ride at the park and another picture of all four of them with a Christmas tree in the background. Cas is pretty sentimental. It's a side effect of having things taken away from you and never getting them back, you begin to cling to the things you do have.

Has Salem never came to that conclusion?

No, because what he's learned is that if something can be so easily taken away, it's best not to get attached to anything. It's a continuous question, and no one yet has decided which teenager is right.