Hidden Places

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

RCJ

Caleb Reaves cursed his shitty luck not for the first time that morning. Not only had he already taken two 'emergency' calls from the president of the South Amboy Rejuvenation Committee who hired Tri-Corp for the demolition, but Jan Bell, his office manager chose that moment to drop a stack of invoices and three bulging folders on his desk.

"You forget to bring your bifocals, JB, because this looks like paperwork. I don't do paperwork." Caleb raised his gaze to the auburn-haired woman glaring at him, noting her typical pinched scowl was in place. The hateful glower didn't take away too much from her angular features and high cheek bones, proof that in her day Jan had probably been one hell of a looker. She, however, was not known for her pleasantries, but her organizational skills, finesse with numbers, and ability to hold her own with any foulmouthed, tool belt toting construction worker was well worth the bad attitude. She had helped run the executive office of Ames Industries for thirty five years up until retiring to travel across country in an RV with her husband, Berry, but Caleb sometimes wondered if Cullen's suggestion to persuade his former employee to work part-time for Tri-Corp after the business took off wasn't some sort of payback for Caleb not following in his grandfather's footsteps to work at Ames Industries. "What exactly am I paying you the big bucks for?"

"I've already sorted through these, smart ass." The older woman shoved some blue prints out of the way, set a cup of coffee and two blue caplets in front of Caleb. "Believe it or not, my 'Caleb Reaves Approved' stamp won't work on certain items. And to answer your question, you are 'not' paying me enough to be your personal caterer and nursemaid. What next? Removing your shoes, rubbing your shoulders?"

God, if Caleb thought having the old bat work on the kinks in his neck would stop the horrible headache he'd had since waking that morning he might actually offer her a bonus, maybe even some stock options. "And risk compromising our completely professional relationship, Jan? Never."

"An Ames who adheres to proper business etiquette? That's doubtful. " Jan smoothed the front of her cream silk blouse, tapped her red lacquered nails on the desk. "Your grandfather used to send me to buy lingerie and perfume for whatever new woman was in his life on my lunch breaks. I picked up his laundry, penned personal correspondences, which would have left even a young Casanova like yourself red-faced, and once took dictations in the men's restroom after a rather unfortunate incident with rancid oysters."

Caleb took the two pain pills and washed them down with a grimace. Jan's coffee-making skill left much to be desired as well. "As if I didn't already feel like throwing up, thank you so much for those searing images of my sweet old grandpa."

Jan flashed her perfectly white dentures at him, looking unsympathetic to his plight, although she did move to close the blinds behind his desk blocking out the July mid-day sun. It cast the room in soothing shadows. "Serves you right, young man. Perhaps you'll learn to save your celebrations for the weekend. Your generation is all about doing what feels good in the moment, consequences be damned."

"I definitely should know better." Caleb rubbed his temples, offering the woman a practiced look of repentance. He only wished his pounding head could be accredited to the amount of alcohol he'd consumed at Yankee Stadium last night. Unfortunately, the hunter recognized the familiar telltale signs of a pending vision.

He knew better than to fight his psychic abilities, understood completely the ramifications but damn it just this once he deserved a freaking break. Caleb could hear the tiny voice in the back of his mind, like his own personal Mackland Ames recording reminding his son that resistance was futile. It only made the pain worse and rarely prevented the inevitable. Still, Caleb didn't have time for a supernatural interruption. He didn't have time to go on a hunt that the visions always precluded. He'd just have to learn to deal with the pain until he made his deadline in August.

The banging of the front door was like spikes through Caleb's skull. His makeshift office was located in what would have been the kitchen of the old single wide trailer they'd set up as temporary headquarters while on location. The master bedroom might have been a better choice considering the interruption factor, but Jan claimed first dibs on the secluded air-conditioned space, citing the need for quiet as she was being forced to commute from Manhattan. At the time Caleb didn't complain, the refrigerator had been a draw, the big bay windows meant for a dining area had called to his inner artist even if this wasn't the type of job that required many sketches. Now he was definitely reconsidering taking up residence in one of the tiny back bedrooms they'd used for supplies.

"Caleb!" Frank Farley's booming voice added to Caleb's misery. Jan seemed to take some mercy on her boss as she blocked the big black man from barreling into Caleb's space uninvited.

"Hold up there, Frank," Jan's voice was soft but firm. "Is there something I can help you with?"

Frank expertly danced around the woman, heading straight for Caleb's desk. "Boss, we got a problem in 303. Looks like some internal structure gave way and I think Dean might be trapped inside."

Caleb barely registered his best friend's name when a barrage of images battered his mind- bright flashes illuminated the face of a unfamiliar man, a glint of green and gold on wrinkled hands, those of a woman waving a smoking smudge stick in front of the stranger before placing it on a mantle, the very same unusual mantle Caleb had admired in 303.

"Caleb! Did you hear me?"

Franks voice broke the spell and Caleb pushed away from the desk, attempting to stand as he was released from the short lived vision. He'd not seen Dean, but felt him, their connection crackling to life like a tactile soundtrack laid to a silent movie. Adrenaline flowed through him, the typical endorphin release from the psychic burst, compounded by a surge of fear for Dean.

"Is he hurt?"

"I'm not sure, man. Moose sent me over here as soon as it happened."

"Should I call for paramedics?" Jan reached to pick up the phone.

Caleb stopped her with a shake of his head. His abilities told him Dean was alive, conscious. His best friend felt almost as strongly as Caleb did about medical aid, and it was not in their nature to bring in outside help unless absolutely necessary. He grabbed one of the portable radios, tossed the other one to Jan. "I'll call you if it comes to that."

Caleb and Frank jogged out of the vacant lot they'd cleared that first month to set up home base. Farley struggled to maintain Caleb's pace as he excitedly explained how he'd heard the commotion from the back of the house where he was working, as if the disturbance was coming from inside the walls.

"I don't understand what happened. They were going after that old mantle when I left them after break."

Caleb and Frank were half way down the street that led to the house Moose and crew had been working on the last two days when said construction foreman came barreling through a neighboring lot.

"Skid… you ain't going to freaking believe this shit." Moose slid to a stop in front of them, bending over with hands on his knees to catch his breath. "I ain't never seen anything like it...Little Dude..."

"Moose?" Caleb impatiently watched his former roommate fight for enough oxygen to continue. He twitched with the need to reach Dean, to see for himself the younger man was in one piece.

"Little Dude is trapped in a secret passageway, man." Oliver looked from Caleb to Farley. "I mean, I can't get him out."

"Secret passageway?" Farley propped his hands on his hips, frowning at Moose. "What are you talking about, Havers? Did you get smacked in the head with some of the falling debris?"

"In the mantle. Kid tripped a latch, just like in a movie. There was a hidden room. When he went in the whole place started to come down around him."Moose jutted a finger over his shoulder. "Come see for yourselves."

Farley gestured to the radio Caleb was carrying. "Should we call some more crews in from the other houses, Boss? Michaels and Evans are two streets over. We'll need to secure the frame before we start any kind of dig out."

Michaels and Evans were two of Tri-Corp's top engineers. Caleb would have brought them in for their expertise if the images he'd picked up from Oliver's racing mind hadn't confirmed his fears. Knowledge of structural integrity wasn't the kind of knowhow they were going to need for this particular job.

"No," he snapped. Farley shared a confused look with Moose. Caleb took a deep breath and tempered his tone. "Let me take a look first. Hidden rooms aren't exactly protocol."

When they reached the house, Caleb motioned for Farley to hold up. He liked and trusted Frank, but the man didn't know how to keep his mouth shut, was Tri-Corp's resident gossip. "Stay here, Frank. Don't let anyone else in here until we know what kind of structure breakdown we're looking at. We sure as hell don't want to bring the place down on top of us."

Farley didn't look happy about being left out of the action, but he stayed put while Moose followed Caleb in and motioned to the mantle. "I'm telling you, it's freaky, with a capitol F."

"How about grabbing me a flashlight, Oliver?"

"I'll get Frank's out of the back." Caleb nodded before making his way across the room, kneeling just outside the fireplace. Dean sat easily within his reach, propped up against the stone pillar. The younger hunter was covered in dirt, some blood streaked his cheek, but he smiled when Caleb met his gaze, proudly holding up a bottle of whiskey.

"You're just in time for happy hour, Damien."

"Damn, Kiddo." Relief flooded through Caleb, and he gave a slightly hysterical chuckle. "If you needed a day off so badly, you could have just asked."

"You'd think so, but you see my boss is a real hard ass." Dean shifted, wincing when he brought his knees up to his chest. "He expects me to start early and stay late."

"You alright?" Caleb felt an echo of Dean's pain, let his gaze run over the kid again worried there could be unseen injuries.

"I'm a little banged up, but nothing a shower, a Coney Dog, and a beer wouldn't fix."

"Then I take it there's a reason you're just hanging out?" Caleb reached for him, experiencing the same phenomena Moose had explained. His hand was blocked from touching Dean, though they were only inches apart and nothing visible separated them from one another. They weren't the touchy-feely types, but at that moment Caleb felt a sick twist in his gut that he couldn't make physical contact with his best friend, which meant he wouldn't be getting him out anytime soon. "Well, fuck."

"My sentiments exactly." Dean pointed above his head. "I'm guessing that Cocobolo wood you were jonesing over wasn't a random choice by a local artisan. It got me to thinking about that enchantress who kidnapped me and Sammy when you were at Auburn. Remember that special box Bobby said you had to have for her heart? It was made of the same shit, right?"

"Yeah, it was." Caleb cursed a blue streak, running his hands over the entire length of the fireplace, finding the barrier had no weakness. He should have thought of that sooner, made the possible connection instead of just seeing the skilled artwork. They might not be in this mess. After all, this was par for the course considering the lives they led. "I've never seen it used on this grand of a scale. We've used wards to block things out, like with the wendigo, but…"

"Maybe it's like a devil's trap?" Dean offered, not making Caleb feel one bit better.

Caleb shook his head. "Did you see any markings? How did this happen?"

"Moose and I were trying to get this bitch down when I hit one of those engravings you were admiring in the wood. The passageway opened."

"And you thought it was a good idea to check it out?" Caleb frowned at the younger hunter. "Without your hard hat, I might add."

Dean rolled his eyes at the reprimand. "What would you have done, Damien?"

Caleb knew with certainty he would have done the same damn thing, but Dean's safety had a much higher priority than his own. "I'm the boss. The same rules don't apply to me."

"It's not like I was expecting anything supernatural. After the stash of sex toys we uncovered, I was at most expecting to find a secret S&M dungeon complete with a sweet torture chamber to trump Moose."

"Expecting my ass." Caleb knew his best friend all too well. "More like hoping like hell you'd stumbled into some pervert's play room."

"This is definitely not the kind of screw over I had on my mind." Dean bobbed his eyebrows, grinning. "Damn witches."

"Did you say witches?" Moose slid in beside Caleb, holding out the flashlight.

"Sonsofbitches," Caleb clarified, barely shooting a glance to his construction foreman as he took the light and shined it past Dean, getting a look at the destruction inside, the downed shelf and broken bottles. If the place was hexed, they're would be no coming in the back way either. "We figure this is the work of bootleggers."

Dean lifted the bottle of liquor he'd taken in a mock toast. "Hats off to their ingenuity."

"Moose, we're going to need to keep the other crews out of here and double team number 200. We should pull the men out of 306 and out of 309." There were similar mantles in those houses, and Caleb didn't want another trapped man.

"So the mantles are no longer a priority?" Moose suspiciously eyed the fireplace. "What the hell is going on, Skid?"

Caleb felt his gut turn with something more than fear and worry for Dean. He met his old roommate's gaze and tried to come up with a plausible lie. It was hard not to look away as he forced a half grin. "Like I said, looks like some bootleggers got creative in protecting their stash and you and Deuce sprung their trap. The fancy mantles must have been some kind of marker."

"Yeah," Dean joined in. "Like an 'X' marks the spot on a pirate map."

"That doesn't explain this." Moose made a move to reach towards Dean, his hand easily blocked. "I've never seen anything like it. It's like a force-field-something out of Star Trek."

"More like invisible bullet proof glass," Dean supplied, and both Caleb and Moose looked at him. Caleb gave the kid credit for trying. "The pane must have been retrofitted into the wall, some kind of pulley system and slid into place after I picked up that bottle of whiskey."

"Invisible glass?" Moose's brow furrowed. He rubbed his buzzed blond hair, a drip of sweat trickling off the end of his crooked nose.

"Probably encloses the whole place," Dean continued. "Like a cage. We'll be lucky if I don't run out of air."

Oliver looked up as if asking for divine assistance. "You two must really think I took too many hits on the field, that I'm truly some dumb jock?"

"There was that Iron Bowl when you got knocked unconscious." Caleb arched a brow.

"Those assholes at Alabama never took Moose Havers out of the game and you damn well..." Moose stopped mid rant, appearing to realize Caleb's tactic to throw him off the trail by playing on his hatred of all things Crimson. "Just cut the crap, Reaves and tell me what's really going on."

Caleb glanced at Dean. He felt the rush of empathy flood the psychic link he had open with the younger man. His best friend was the one trapped, hurting more than he'd admit to Caleb, yet was worried about Caleb having to come clean with Oliver. Caleb took a deep breath, let it out in a sigh, and returned his gaze to Moose. "Don't ask me to do that, Moose."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because I don't want to lie to you, man."

"Then don't." Moose gestured to the mantle. "Try telling me the truth for a change."

"I'm sorry." Caleb clenched his jaw. They did what they did and shut up about it. It was the favored motto of his mentor John Winchester. Caleb abided by the rule because he'd found out the hard way what being different brought. Even good people turned on things they couldn't understand. If someone didn't fit inside the box called normal, they tended to wrap them up in strait jackets, tossed them in padded rooms and threw away the key. "I can't."

Moose's face reddened with more than the stifling heat of the house. "Can't or won't, Dude?"

"Both, I guess."

"Well, shit." Moose was the first to break their stare off with a disappointed shake of his head. Caleb, not for the first time, was very aware of John Winchester's warnings about mixing hunting with his other life, one mistake and lines were easily blurred.

"I'm going to need your help, Oliver." Caleb looked at Dean again, desperation to get the younger man free overriding the fact the two worlds he'd so carefully constructed, and kept separate for over a decade, seemed hell bent for a collision course.

"We both need your help," Dean added.

The younger man's declaration had Moose refocusing on him. He offered the kid a shrug. "Just so you two don't think you can treat me like I'm an idiot. I mean, invisible bullet proof glass probably wasn't even invented until sometime in the eighties."

Caleb snorted, shooting Dean a wink. "Guess that will teach us to try and pull one over on Oliver, Deuce."

"What do you need to get Little Dude out of here?" Moose's face remained grim, letting Caleb know he was not off the hook. It was going to take more than a beer and trip to Coney Island to fix what was banged up between him and his business partner.

"We need Bobby or Jim," Dean answered before Caleb could.

"The guy that owns the junkyard that you told me about, he's your uncle or something, and the church pastor from Kentucky. He was at graduation, right?"

"Yeah," Caleb ran a hand through his hair, thinking of who he should reach out to first. He didn't even completely understand what they were dealing with.

"A mechanic and a cleric know a lot about secret passageways and bootlegging?"

"Let's just say they have a diverse skill set and leave it at that, buddy." Caleb stood, glancing towards the door. He didn't want to leave the kid, but his cell phone was back in the office along with the supplies he'd need to fortify the house before dark. They couldn't be caught off guard again. He also needed to come up with a plausible story for Frank.

"Go." Dean motioned to the door, seeming to understand his hesitation. "The sooner you call them, the sooner you can get me out of here."

"I'll stay put until you get back." Moose settled on the floor, folding his arms over his chest. "Not even Crimson's offensive line could get past me."

Caleb met Oliver's determined blue gaze, finding understanding for his plight if not absolution. He gave a sharp nod, knowing that the other man deserved better than the poorly construed half-truths, but he'd accepted long ago that life rarely dealt a guy a fair hand. "Thanks, Moose. I owe you one."

End of Part 2