A/N: Okay, gee, a life sign. *hangs head in shame* I know it's been ages since I've posted something and I'm so sorry for that. Big thanks to Ridley, slakalot, Muffy, Mish, Enkidu07, LovinJackson and Kritty for occasionally kicking my butt, trying to blackmail me or just convincing me to keep writing.
I never really stopped working on story ideas but life has a way of getting in the way of things. Though I know no excuses will make up for all the waiting so I just shut up on this part. Though this brings me to my next point – THANK YOU ALL so so so much for still sticking around. It means the world to me! So thank you!
(And the A/Ns go on…. I really need to write more, so that they won't pile up so much… lol)
This is an early bday story/snippet for Ridley C James. Honey, I can't say how much meeting you in person meant to me! :) It was great!
My hugest thanks go out to LovinJackson who beta'ed this baby and who made my day more than she could imagine. *g* All remaining mistakes are mine.
Someone told me once, that she'd reread one of my plotless Brotherhood h/c snippets more times than she dared to count. *winks* So I thought you might like this! :)
I really miss Pastor Jim. Listening to Bob Dylan always reminds me of the Pastor and this idea started to form. (yeah, yeah, I admit, I needed shameless Caleb whump and a caring Jim, sue me! :D )
Tiny tiny Spoiler. For the time line – this plays sometime close to the end of Season 1, when John and the boys were hunting together again.
Disclaimer: Sadly still don't mine. Everything belongs to Kripke, the CW and to Ridley C James. I just borrowed the boys, played with them and gave them back a little worse for wear. *bfg*
oooooooooooooo
Shelter From The Storm
I was burned out from exhaustion buried in the hail
Poisoned in the bushes and blown out on the trail
Hunted like a crocodile ravaged in the corn
"Come in" she said
"I'll give you shelter from the storm"
Bob Dylan – Shelter from the Storm
oooooooo
The red sunset cast a crimson shimmer over the light blue winter evening sky, reminding Caleb of a painting of his mother he had seen a lifetime ago.
Briefly he wondered why darkness was approaching so fast, the road blurring in front of him. He blinked, bringing the snowy lane back into focus and fought to steer the car back onto the right side of the road.
"Shit," Reaves muttered, running a hand through his sweat-drenched hair. The deep cuts on his chest and abdomen throbbing in time to his fast heartbeat.
Sweat, blood and the herbal-mix he had applied a couple of hours ago had soaked through the fabric of his shirt, making it sticky and uncomfortable.
Once again the Jeep swayed on the road. Caleb's head jerked, eyes flying open once more. He fought to get the car back under control.
Damn it, he needed to hang on a little longer, the farm wasn't far anymore.
"Focus, damnit." he swore, cracking the window open even wider. The biting cold air made him shiver. Pain was radiating through him and he hissed.
How he'd eventually made the whole drive to New Haven, Caleb couldn't say.
Night had settled in completely when he finally pulled up in front of the warmly lit house.
He turned off the engine but didn't get out. He just needed to rest for a second, regain some of his strength to make it to the front door.
He rested his aching head against the steering-wheel.
Just for a second….
"Caleb!"
He felt someone shaking him, leaning him back against the seat. Cold air brushed over him and he shivered.
"Caleb, my boy, wake up." The voice gentle, concerned.
Jim.
"Caleb!" Jim's voice more urgent now and he groaned, turning his head in the pastor's direction.
"J-Jim…?" Confusion was coloring his voice, the word weak and hoarse. He blinked, his eyes slowly fluttering open, squinting against the dim interior light of the Jeep. Memories slowly returned, together with the deep throbbing pain in his chest.
"I'm here." Jim said reassuringly. Cool fingers brushing Reaves's cheek, then resting against his forehead. "You're burning up. Caleb, what happened? Where are you hurt?"
Reaves shifted, trying to sit up straighter, but a new wave of pain stopped him. He gasped, doubling over slightly. "Shit,"
"Easy." The pastor said, putting a hand on the younger man's shoulder, squeezing it. "Alright, let's get you out of the cold first. Can you walk?"
Caleb only nodded, not trusting his voice yet. Help was here but it was getting harder and harder to hold on to consciousness.
The way to the front porch and into the house was slow and painful; with each new step Pastor Jim took more and more of Reaves's weight.
"Hold on, my boy. Almost there." Jim tightened his hold when Caleb's knees buckled. It was obvious that the stairs were not an option so he steered the younger man into the guest bedroom close to the kitchen.
Caleb sank down on the bed with a suppressed moan, doubling over slightly to ease some of the strain on the wounds, eyes clenched shut tight against the pain. "S-shit… this sucks."
"Caleb, what happened? " Jim kept a steadying hand on Reaves to keep him from toppling off the bed. Feeling the cold wetness on the front of the black shirt, the concerned frown on the pastor's face deepened.
"A hunt near Charlotte... Basilisk killing hikers..." Reaves blinked, trying to clear his blurring vision. The feeling of safety betraying his need to stay focused.
"Please tell me you did not go after it alone. These creatures are not to underestimate." Jim carefully started to lift the sodden shirt, eliciting a hiss from the younger hunter.
"Kinda noticed… that…" Caleb's voice was strained. He flinched when Jim started to peel back the stained bandages. "But it's dead."
"And you are hurt." Disapproval flashed for a second in the blue eyes before it was once again replaced by concern. "These cuts do not look good. Some of them need stitches."
"Figured."
Pastor Jim straightened, his brows drawing together worriedly.
Caleb felt himself sway slightly forward, darkness slowly eating away his vision. It didn't take much to push him down onto the bed and in a lying position, the psychic too exhausted and hurt to resist the pastor's gentle pressure.
"Get some rest, Caleb. I will take care of the rest. Not much we can do about the poison though but the herbs should take the worst of it."
-SFTS-
Sighing Pastor James Murphy hung up the phone, his gaze briefly going to the clock on the kitchen wall – almost ten PM. It would still be a few hours until Mackland would be able to arrive.
Understandably Ames had not been happy about the news concerning his son, promising to get the next available flight to New Haven.
Running a hand through his silvery hair Jim heard a pained moan coming from the room next door.
Looking at Scout who raised her head off her paws at the noise the pastor nodded slightly. "I think we should check on our young charge again, don't you think?"
Though he wasn't prepared for Caleb almost toppling out of bed in his attempt to get up.
"Caleb?" Pastor Jim was at his side in an instant, steadying him before he could fall. A frown appeared on his face at the heat he felt coming off of the younger hunter in waves.
"No… let me… I need t-to…" Caleb struggled against the pastor's restraining hands.
"Easy my boy." Jim pushed him back down, gentle but firm.
"Jim, no – we… we need to… They're in danger…" Panicked glassy gold eyes stared up at the preacher. Once again Caleb struggled to get up, the movement pulling painfully at the stitches in his chest, making him groan.
"Caleb, you need to calm down first. What happened? Did you have a vision? Or a nightmare?" Jim asked calmly though he felt the slight note of apprehension starting to grow inside his stomach.
The younger hunter just shook his head, eyes wide and fever bright. "John… the boys…" He gasped.
Once again Jim pushed him back down onto the bed, mindful of the recently stitched wounds. "You need to calm down." He felt Caleb strain against his hand. "Tell you what, you rest a bit more and I will call Jonathan, alright?" Murphy held the psychic's glassy gaze, feeling the fight slowly leaving him.
"Jim, please…" It sounded too close to a pleading.
Moving his hand from Caleb's shoulder to his forehead, Pastor Jim brushed sweaty strands away before resting his fingers for a moment there. He was burning up.
"I will call him in a minute. But first we need to do something about your fever." At Caleb's restless movements he added, "Believe me, I love your father, but I rather watch Jonathan or Robert getting lectured by Mackland than being the one receiving his medical wrath." Murphy grinned slightly, squeezing the boy's shoulder, though the tight feeling in the pit of his stomach remained.
He rewetted the now dry cloth in the bowl on the nightstand and placed it back on Caleb's forehead. Adrenalin had completely left the younger hunter, though he still stubbornly fought against the pull of sleep, blinking heavy lidded eyes open.
"Get some rest, my boy." Jim squeezed his shoulder once more before removing his touch altogether and heading back into the kitchen for the phone.
Murphy released a breath he didn't even know he was holding when John finally answered his phone after the eighth ring.
The gruffness in Winchester's tone eased some when Jim told him about Caleb. A warm feeling washed over the preacher when he heard Dean's muffled voice in the background. So it seemed that John had finally seen reason. They were always stronger as a family.
Though his face darkened when he heard about Daniel Elkins's demise. It was true they had their disagreements and fall outs concerning Triad business and Daniel had been sick for a long time, more paranoid and mistrusting than usual even for a hunter but still he had been a member of The Brotherhood.
-SFTS-
Pastor Jim placed Daniel Wilmington's journal he was reading down and his glasses on the nightstand, rubbing at tired eyes before he made his way over to the window on the opposite wall. The inky blackness of night was slowly fading into the lighter shades of gray and blue of dawn, the pale light of a thin decreasing moon reflecting in the calm waters of the pond.
His back popped, the pressure that had been building in his muscles releasing some of its tension. He was slowly getting too old for these bedside vigils.
Rubbing his eyes once more he went back to the chair he had been sitting in these past hours, once again grabbing for his glasses and the journal.
John had asked him about Samuel's colt a few weeks before. It seemed that Winchester was on to something though Murphy couldn't be sure these days. John had always been driven, obsessed with certain things, especially everything concerning the yellow eyed demon, but these past months it felt like the other hunter was slowly slipping away, distancing himself from his family, friends and The Triad.
Deciding against another read through the journal for now Murphy grabbed for the now warm cloth on Caleb's brow. He replaced it with his hand for a moment before rewetting it in the bowl.
Caleb's sleep was still restless though the fever had gone down some, his desperate calls for his father, John and Dean had stopped a couple of hours ago. The worst of the poison was finally leaving his system.
Still, the hoarse mutter startled Murphy in the silence of the wee hours of dawn.
"Dad?" The younger hunter's eyes moved under closed lids. A pained frown appeared on his pale face.
"No, it's me, Caleb. But your father will be here soon." Jim placed the now cool cloth back on the younger hunter's forehead.
"Jim?" Reaves blinked heavy lidded eyes open, squinting against the brightness of the nightstand lamp.
"I'm here. Take it easy, my boy." Jim sat down on the edge of the mattress, keeping a reassuring hand on Caleb's arm.
"What happened?" Reaves forced his eyes open to half-mast. His gaze still glassy but clearer.
"A solo-hunt we definitely need to talk about when you are feeling better." Jim handed Caleb a glass of water, helping him drink when his hands shook too much. "John and the boys are alright. I called him like I promised. They are hunting a nest of Vampires in Colorado." A twinkle appeared in the pastor's blue eyes. "And I am supposed to tell you that Dean will kick your behind for this stunt."
The frown was back on Caleb's face. "I don't remember asking for them." His eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he blinked them open again.
"You were pretty out of it for a while." Jim squeezed the psychic's shoulder, "Get some more rest, Caleb. Everything will be better come morning."
Murphy waited until Caleb once again lost his fight against sleep than he made his way back into the kitchen. He desperately needed some coffee.
Scout lifted her head at his entrance, yawing at him sleepily.
Jim smiled tiredly, his gaze briefly going over to the clock on the wall – almost 4 AM. Maybe a couple of hours more and Mackland would be here.
His hands worked automatically, his thoughts a million miles away. Something was going to happen – he could feel it not only as The Guardian but also as the hunter he still was. Dean called it spidey-sense.
A storm is coming, Bobby had said to him a few days ago on the phone after discovering more and more demon signs. And Jim couldn't shake the feeling that all of them, The Triad and the whole Brotherhood were right in the middle of it. Maybe it was time to officially start preparing the next generation.
oooooooooooooo
End
Thank you so much for reading! And like always reviews feed the muse. *g*