A/N1: It's been over a month. I do apologise. I do have the best intentions to post more regularly. I really, really do. Real Life doesn't agree with that apparently. I am sorry I haven't taken so long though ;) I hope you have all been well and I hope you enjoy this despite how pathetic I have been with posting. Thanks to Angelustatt, Mum (who enjoyed some imagery a little too much lol) and Ridley C. James for all helping with this chapter. I appreciate your help guys ;). Any other faults? Are all mine.

Chapter 4. No Time For The Blame Game.

"Jesus…" John gasped, cold water filling his mouth in the process. "… fuckingchrist!"

He had been waiting for it, suspecting it as he had stood the in massive wooden tub. But the shock of freezing cold water hitting his dry skin had him almost jumping out of it, injuries be damned. The cuffs – one end connecting to rings on the inside of the tub and the other encircling his wrists - put a halt to such action, keeping him locked in place and unable to move from the water's unforgiving path.

"You're lucky Father Brown isn't here," Tony commented from his perch on the steel arched ladder. "Cursing the way you are." He climbed down, the now empty bucket swinging from his wrist and clinking against the ladder.

"Do you think I give a …aggh!!" John growled, his response cut off by the pain spreading out through the break in his arm. It was constant and agonising in the raised position. John couldn't think, couldn't see or breathe.

"God …" John gasped as the bones shifted.

He was trying to hold himself still but that was virtually impossible in his position. If it hadn't been for the cuff holding his arm up? John knew he probably wouldn't have been able to lift it at all. He'd told Tony that he hadn't needed to cuff his injured arm. He wasn't getting away, not in his condition, not when he was chained to the fucking wooden tub, naked with an arm that exploded with any movement.

Shaking, John closed his eyes and tried to still his shaking. He could hear footsteps descending once more and Tony lowered himself to the ground to no doubt get more water.

The breeze hit John's skin and it rippled with goosebumps. Water was in his eyes, flattening his hair to his head; thin rivulets ran down his face from the last bucket of water that had been poured over him.

"I know you can't be comfortable but you'll feel much better once we get this over and done with," Tony's said. "Your part in this is almost over. Caleb's loss won't be in vain, Sir."

"Don't … Don't you talk about him," John snapped, trying to look over his shoulder. He didn't want a reminder about Caleb's fate and he didn't want to hear about it from Tony.

"He looked up to you, y'know," Tony continued, the ladder rattling again as he climbed it once more. "Painted you as some kind of hero."

"Your point?" John growled, squeezing his eyes shut before opening again and looking up at Tony who was now standing above him, the now full bucket poised over him.

Tony shrugged. "Hero's are supposed to save people, right? Like Kyle Reese and John Connor, Riggs and Murtaugh … uhhh John McClane … Batman…" Tony paused and then lowered the bucket, clicking his fingers together and pointed down at John. "Or Magnum PI … man, he had a great car…"

"Are you … g-going … somewhere with th...this?" John asked, his arm was throbbing and aching. He tried to keep his teeth from chattering but it wasn't exactly the warmest weather out in the open and he was dripping wet. His arm was in constant distress and he had this kid rattling off fictional characters to him.

"If you're the hero Caleb made you out to be then why are you fighting this? Why are you fighting Father Brown's mission?"

"Because Father Brown is a … ahh … he's a fake, you stupid son of a bitch."

Without warning water came cascading over his head and down his body, chilling him further. The shock made him jerk in his restraints, pulling at the broken appendage. He cried out hoarsely and almost allowed the sensation pulsating through him to force him to collapse.

His legs were shaking and it had nothing to do with the ice water they were 'cleansing' him in. His body wanted to drop, the pain overriding the power to hold his weight … but he knew he couldn't. "Fucking undo it … now …" He didn't care that it sounded like begging.

"I'm not allowed …"

"I don't c-care!" John shouted, his voice ragged like he'd been eating gravel. It hurt … that's all that his mind could process - It relentlessly fucking hurt.

He stumbled forward, water splashing around his thighs. The thought of dropping and just allowing himself to drown was enticing just to get away from the pain. But he couldn't. "I don't care … just do it … fucking hell..agghh."

With his heart racing to the point that it might just beat out of his chest in its panic, John started to wonder if a heart attack was a possibility. If he died right then and there of a heart attack would that make the organ useless for the evil son of a bitch? Kill two birds with one stone. Kill the pain and ruin the bastard's self indulging master plan.

John pressed his wet face against his good arm, eyes closed and breathing heavy. Throwing up would be bad. He didn't exactly like the idea of bathing in his own vomit and it would kind of negate the reason for him standing in the oversized tub to begin with.

He coughed and whimpered. It was a sound he hated coming from his own mouth. He hated it with a passion. Weakness was not an option yet he had no control. Water trickled from the hair at the back of his neck and travelled down his back. He shuddered, his lips falling open in a silent cry and then suddenly his wrist was released.

His arm fell to his side, blazing with fire. On instinct John tucked his injured arm against his body and his knees buckled. Water splashed up and hit him in the face as he hit the side of the tub.

"I'm not stupid, John. I know Father Brown isn't really a priest … just like you're not really cooler than Batman … although you do have a pretty sweet ride."

John breathed in and out through his mouth, leaning on the arm still attached to the cuffs. The water was rippling around his waist now that he was able to sink lower and it was hard to tell whether it was colder under the water or outside of it.

John glanced up through wet lashes at Tony who was leaning with his elbows on the rim of the wooden circular walls. "You know he's a fake?"

"He's a fake priest … but his intentions aren't fake, John. He's doing what needs to be done and if his chosen role helps everyone feel at piece with the sacrifices? Then is that really such a bad thing?"

"You're a fool."

"It's been said … but in the end humanity will thank me."

"Is that …" John stopped as a spasm hit him, causing him to cough; the force rocked his injured ribs. Pulling himself together, John sat back on his haunches and caught the sight of red on his restrained arm. Blood … he'd just coughed up blood. "Oh that can't be good," John muttered to himself.

"Is that what, John?" Tony pressed from above.

"Is that going to make you feel better when you willingly take a human life?" John asked. He knew what it was like to take a life. He'd lost count during Nam and had again when the time called for it had to in his war against evil … but it had never been easy and it never would. John had always told the boys that the moment it became easy? That's when he would worry.

"I guess we won't find that out," Tony stated, lifting a wooden fold up ladder from his side of the tub and unfolded it to drop into the water.

"What does that mean?"

"It means I'm not the one that is going to kill you. Susan is the one that must prove her loyalty to the family. She's the one that will be cutting out your heart."

xXx

The midday sun shone down on his face, feeling like it was resting a warm hand on his cheek. He could smell gas fumes mixed with the aroma of lamb kebabs cooking. It was all smells that he was accustomed to when on the road – on a hunt.

It was odd and very unsettling to feel it, to know it was bright and sunny and not be able to see what he imagined was a bright blue sky … to not be able to see anything but inky blackness. He was standing there, leaning against the car – a rental – outside, breeze hitting his face and he felt like he was trapped, walls closing in.

He couldn't get used to it. He didn't think he could ever get used to it. How did normal everyday people dealing with this not go insane?

He was a hunter. It was all he had ever wanted to be once he had been taken in by Mac and shown the enchanting life of the Brotherhood. He had worked so hard to prove to John, Jim and Mac that he deserved a ring, to be a fully fledged card carrying member of their secret society. How the hell was he supposed to live with this? How could he hunt?

He couldn't.

He was useless. He'd had to argue until he was blue in the face to get his father to agree to him tagging along. He knew Mac was just looking out for him, that he was worried for him. But Caleb couldn't stop the taunting voice inside his head that kept telling him it was over. This was it. He was going to be a useless pathetic excuse for anything.

"This isn't permanent, y'know."

"What?" Caleb refrained from jumping at the sudden presence by his side. He should have felt the kid coming. Dean had been like a beacon of stress and fear since this whole mess started and it had just gotten stronger the longer they had been on the road.

Caleb didn't know whether he was grateful that Dean was keeping quiet about it or whether it frustrated him more. He deserved Dean's anger but as always Dean backed him up in his request come on the hunt, had continually reassured him. Caleb wasn't sure whether it was because he believed in him, trusted him or was just being his damn loyal self.

After his vision, Mac had coached him to try and use his abilities as a substitute for his lost eyesight. It made sense. It helped him have a sense of who was around him at least but it took a lot of concentration … and gave him one hell of a headache, especially when everyone was so wired.

"Your vision."

"Not if we get there on time it won't be." He'd seen John die. Had seen them take his heart and he had felt the satisfaction from his murderer. Having death visions had never been a picnic … in fact it sucked. But it sucked a whole lot more when it was the people you cared about falling victim. "He's not gonna die, Deuce."

"I know he won't," Dean replied with conviction that most would believe if they didn't know Dean, if they couldn't feel the inner turmoil. "He's too stubborn to be taken out by some lousy cult."

The smile in Dean's voice almost made Caleb's lips twitch. "You're not wrong." But the shakiness in his friend's voice sobered him, reminded him of what he had cost Dean by his own stupidity.

"Of course I'm not. But that's not what I was talking about."

Caleb turned his head in the direction of Dean's voice. "What are you talking about then?"

"Your eyes, man. It's not permanent. The doctor said …"

"The doctor said …"

"… that time will tell. You just have to be patient, dude." Dean leaned back against the car next to him, nudging his arm with his own.

Caleb crossed his arms over his chest. "The doctor couldn't promise anything."

"And naturally you have to head straight for the negative," Dean answered his voice clipped and annoyed. "The doctor said there was a good chance you'll get your eyesight back."

Caleb sighed. He wanted to believe. He wanted to believe so badly that this was just temporary. "It's dark in here, Deuce."

"I know."

"No you don't," Caleb said shaking his head.

"Damien …"

"Close your eyes, Deuce."

"What?"

"Humour me."

Dean huffed and shifted next to him. "Okay … they're closed."

"What do you see?"

"Nothing."

"No … what do you see? What colour?"

There was silence for a good few moments before Dean answered. "It's kind of a dark reddish colour."

"That's the sun against your eyelids. Just like when you shine a flashlight against closed fingers. Me? I've got nothing … and no matter how much I know that? It doesn't stop me unconsciously trying every minute of the fucking day … so I think I'm entitled to be negative."

"You're right. I'm sorry." Dean moved away from him, anger sky-rocketing and Caleb felt it like a punch. "I don't know how you feel but you know what? Feeling sorry for yourself isn't going to help Dad, Damien, so cut out the girly emo bullshit. I don't …"

"You don't what?" Caleb snapped back, brows dipping in a frown; he felt the need to push. "You don't need me screwing up again? Getting Johnny killed? I know that's what you're thinking."

"What are you talking about? You think I blame you for this?"

Caleb laughed, the sound unpleasant, even to his own ears. "You telling me you don't?" he countered, pushing away from the car and turning in the younger man's direction.

"I don't …"

"Don't." Caleb ordered quietly, cutting Dean's denial off. He didn't want any more lies. He deserved whatever he had coming … especially from Dean and Sam. "Just don't. You've been broadcasting so loud that I can barely hear myself think. Hell, I don't blame you."

There was silence. No immediate rebuttal, no more denial … just silence and it was almost worse than the idea of hearing Dean admit that what he was saying was right. Caleb swallowed hard, suddenly realising that in his anger and burst of self recrimination he had moved away from the car … he'd lost his base.

The hands on him made him gasp, breaking him out of the panic that came with not knowing where things where around him. Familiar hands fisted in his shirt and pushed him back against the car again.

"Fine!" Dean hissed. "You want to hear that I blame you for what's happened?"

This was it. This is what he had been pushing for. Caleb brought his hands up and grasped at Dean's wrists as the boy shook him hard against the car. The touch was electric, emotions high and brought to the surface.

"I told you I didn't trust Tony … I told you. Dad told you. But did you listen? No … and now my Dad is about to play the main board piece in a very real fucking life size game of 'Operation'. You were stupid, Damien … you fell into his trap without him even breaking a fucking sweat and you're damn right I'm pissed at you."

He had thought he would feel better when it was out in the open. It hurt … and it hurt even more because he knew Dean was right. Everything he'd just said was right. He had been an idiot. He had fell for a trap that he had been warned about, that he should have seen coming and now John was paying for that.

"But do I blame you? No."

Caleb's head was spinning at that declaration. "You should. This is my fault."

Dean shook him again. "You're a victim in this too, dickhead. Maybe you should have listened, maybe you should have been more careful but you're not the only one that got caught here. Jim let you go to the meeting, Dad managed to get himself caught … should I blame them too?"

Caleb pulled his head back and tried to shift out of Dean's grasp but the damn kid just held on tighter. "What? No!"

"You've spent time with Tony, you gained trust … somehow … you tend to think the best of people until they prove you otherwise. It doesn't make this any better, by a long fucking shot, but it's not a sin, dude. You got fooled and … and you should have taken me more seriously, but no way do I blame you."

"I blame me." Those three words almost got caught in his throat.

Dean's hands un-fisted and he patted him on the chest before removing his hold. Caleb could still feel his close proximity. He was still standing there but back a tiny bit as if knowing that Caleb needed room to breathe.

"I know you do. You wouldn't be you if you didn't. You're worrying me, Damien. You're in a dark space right now …" Dean paused and coughed slightly and Caleb wondered if Dean had caught the pun.

The kid had been apologising for a lot since he'd woken up in hospital and had tried to avoid using words like 'see' and 'look' like he hadn't wanted to remind Caleb of his predicament. It just served to frustrate Caleb further. How could Dean be worried about him while his father was about to have his heart ripped out?

"You're not alone here, man. It might seem like it in that freaky head of yours but you're not. You're eyes are going to get better but until they do you have us to lean on. I need you to be okay … Dad needs you to be okay. He needs you with your head in the game. I need …"

"Are you boys ready?" Mac's voice interrupted the conversation.

Caleb looked away from his friend, turning completely around, resting his hands flat on the roof of the car. He needed to feel grounded. Glad to have that base back again.

He could hear three sets of footsteps and instantly recognised Mackland's out of the two. His time living with the doctor had made him accustomed to the small things that he took for granted.

He clung to the sound of Mac's footsteps and was glad that he couldn't see Dean's face. He couldn't bear to see the disappointment and even worse? He couldn't bear the concern. He didn't deserve it. "I was ready three minutes ago."

"Car won't run without fuel, kid."

Caleb rolled his eyes behind the dark sunglasses. "No shit, Bobby," he snapped, not being able to stop himself from lashing out.

"Dude …" Dean started, placing a hand on Caleb's arm. He shrugged away from his best friend, keeping one hand pressed against the roof while he felt down the window and door until his fingers brushed against the handle.

"We're wasting time." Caleb wrenched open the door and slid into the car before anyone could respond and shut the door behind him.

No-one immediately followed him but Caleb was braced for a lecture anyway. None of them deserved to deal with a blind tantrum throwing psychic. John was missing, possibly well on his way to loosing his fucking heart. He didn't need to remind them how serious this was.

Caleb clenched his fist and pounded the arm rest. His vision played on repeat in his mind; it had since he'd had the damn thing. Unclenching his fist again, Caleb trailed his fingers along the armrest of the SUV and then up along the head rest of the seat in front of him. He liked to feel his surroundings, to try and get a clear grasp of what was around him. It was all he had.

Finished with his inspection of the immediate area, Caleb lifted his hand up to his face and brushed the sunglasses up, shoving them out the way as he rubbed at his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to calm down. Dean's sympathy and worry was harder to take than the blame he had been going for … he wasn't ready to forgive himself yet.

When the door opened Caleb dropped his hand and turned to where he was pretty sure the window was. It was fruitless to 'look' away from anyone … but he did so, on principle. He had acted like an ass and wasn't ready to relinquish the anger he was holding at himself.

He felt someone slide across the seat towards him; a familiar aroma of coffee followed the intruder. It was someone lighter in weight which ruled out everyone but Sam.

The thirteen year old took his hand and Caleb felt a spark of connection … or maybe it was just static electricity. He didn't know and he was too wired to concentrate on the difference. Sam uncurled his hand and wrapped Caleb's fingers around something warm. The smell of the coffee invaded his senses. It was strong and was probably going to taste like crap … but Sam's silent offer was welcome.

Turning away from the window, Caleb glanced to the side where he knew Sam to be and still felt a rise of irritation at the black void in the young Winchester's place. He managed a smile … or at least he was aiming for one. Mac was always telling him it was the effort that counted. "Thanks Runt."

"No problem, Caleb," Sam replied, his voice edged with a concern that Caleb was sure would have been masked with a shrug of nonchalance if he had of been able to see the him.

He patted Sam on the knee as he heard the other doors open, the car dipped as it took everyone else's weight.

xXx

John tripped over the long black robe they had given him to wear. Tony caught his arm and kept him upright and John growled. He was kind of grateful that he wasn't going to be sacrificed in his birthday suit … but the robe? It was so cliché.

He had been washed and dried and robed and then taken back to the basement where he had been given water to drink. His mind's natural instinct had demanded he not take a damn sip … his bodies need overpowered his instinct.

The robe he'd been given might have been long – covering ever inch and of him and more – but it did nothing to keep the chill getting right through to his bones. Making his broken and cracked bones ache just that much more. To ad insult to injury, the water had been laced – with what? John didn't know – and soon severe muscle cramps had attacked. For a moment he'd almost forgotten the other sources of pain.

Now that he was back out in the open, with the sun losing its bite, John decided he wasn't all that much happier to be outside either. This was it. He was being lead to his death … forced was a more accurate term.

He winced as rocks and twigs bit into the soft skin of his bare feet. He wanted to dig in his heels, halt the process further. His arm felt like it was being sliced with a white hot knife. It stole his breath away and it had only gotten worse the longer it had been left unattended.

John had always held the belief that there was always a way out, that there was always an answer. He was running out of time to find one here. The sheer numbers against him made him feel weak. In his condition he knew damn well that he would find it hard fighting one man off, let alone a whole group of misguided idiots.

John coughed, doubling over with the strength of it. It forced him to his knees and he was slightly surprised that he had been allowed to get that far down.

"Winchester?"

"Your … boss wants … m-my heart? He better make it … quick …" He could taste the bitter, coppery taste of blood on his tongue and tried to mentally conclude what that meant. He was in trouble … that's what it meant. Either Brown was going to kill him or his body was going to revolt against him. Both scenarios were dangerous for John's health.

"Get him up, Michaels, we're wasting time." John felt the boy tense at the sharp, irritated tone from the man behind them. One of Brown's older 'followers' … the one that John had discovered had less patience.

"We're moving, keep your pants on," Tony snapped back and then pulled on John's good arm. "Come on, this will all be over soon," the younger man assured him.

"How comforting," John mumbled as he was helped upright again and followed along with Tony holding on tight to his good arm. It was probably a big reason why he was still on his feet.

"If you would just understand …"

"Never … gonna happen," John interrupted and flinched as he felt someone grab the back of his robe, pushing him on.

The owner of the hand on his shoulder was not as conscious about his injuries as Tony. John gasped but kept his feet going, one foot in front of the other. He could see a cluster of trees coming up. What was beyond that? He didn't know and he was pretty sure right now? He didn't want to know … but he was about to find out.

TBC …

A/N2: I hope you enjoyed this but I would love to hear your thoughts on it. I am pretty sure there is just one more chapter to go. One big ending that I hope will do this 'idea' justice. I am aiming for the 22nd of November. Wish me luck!

Recently, I went to the Melbourne Armageddon Expo with my family, friends Shelley(ephiny63), Catherine and Stacey. I had the pleasure of meeting Joe Flanigan, Jason Momoa, Paul McGuillion (also from the Paris Hilton sp ep) from Stargate Atlantis. All very awesome guys, all very hot … and cuddly.

I also had the pleasure of meeting Christopher Heyerdahl who played Todd the Wraith in Atlantis but also more recently the demon we all love to hate Alastair! He was amazing. Funny, sweet guy.

If anyone is interested in my accounts? (addy spaced out for FanFic)

Day 1 – http : // lovinjackson . livejournal . com /48173 . html#cutid1

Day 2 – http : // lovinjackson . livejournal . com /48607 . html#cutid1

Hope everyone has had an amazing weekend :)

Tara x0x