Hidden Places
By: Ridley
Beta: Tidia
A/N: This was originally two chapters but since a couple of you pointed out that I missed my regular posting last week, I thought I'd double up. Thank you again for all the kind reviews, and it looks like I may rap this story up just in time for the new season to start, which I am optimistically, possibly foolishly, hoping will go well. ;-) Please note for those of you concerned, Lisa was just a very convenient plot device. In our AU Ben is Dean's son, so this timing worked out perfectly as Dean would have been 22 or 23 when Ben was conceived. It gave me a chance to plant the seed, and Dean as well. (I know that's bad, but it's been a long Monday). Anyway, having her pop up in South Amboy in a time in Dean's life when he was embracing a tiny bit of normal seemed so fitting, that Ben was a product of that, even better.
RCJ
Moose hadn't been exaggerating when he said there was nothing happening in South Amboy on a Thursday night. Downtown was deserted, the streets quiet as they pulled into one of the parking spaces allocated for the courthouse. Frank was waiting in one of the Tri-Corp work trucks, per the arrangements Caleb had made with the man over the phone. He climbed out of the cab as Caleb and John got out of the nondescript white van with the fake federal tags Bobby had scammed.
"How's Dean?"
Caleb read sincere concern in Farley's dark eyes and hoped John took note also. Dean had easily won over the work crew, carved out a place for himself in Tri-Corp, Caleb's 'make believe' world as John liked to refer to it. There was a part of him that longed to say 'I told you so' to his mentor, but now was not the time to one up John.
"He's hanging in there." Caleb gestured to John. "Frank, this is Agent Erskine with the EPA." They had decided to go with Bobby's story. "It looks like we might have some kind of asbestos issue in 303."
"Is that why you closed up shop for tomorrow?" Frank looked from John to Caleb. "Moose called to tell me the good news about the long weekend I mean. He said Dean was still in that surprise room."
Frank's look was skeptical and Caleb once again found himself lying to one of his colleagues. This would be something John would be assured to take note and use as ammunition at a later date. "Dean's fine, just riding out the Fed's over cautiousness. We're hoping the blueprints of the place may shed some light on the best way to proceed."
"We really want to keep exposure to a minimum until we can clarify and assesses the situation." John sounded knowledgeable and just a tad pretentious, which was perfect for his federal government cover.
Frank scratched his chin. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense."
"Did you find who owned the house in the twenties?" Caleb had asked on the phone, not surprised when Frank's reply was cryptic. Deuce was right. Farley wanted an audience.
"There's a slight problem. Computers only go back to the seventies."
"You couldn't have told me that over the phone." Caleb was not going to be pleased if Frank's grandstanding cost them time, cost Dean time.
"What about the paper archives?" John asked.
"That's what I've been going through for the last four hours." Frank shook his head. "Miss Shiny, that's the lovely ninety year old lady they keep chained to the desk down in the archives, and let me tell you she's not sparkly or bright as her name might lead you to think, forgot to mention that the archives here only go back to the fifties. Seems there was a flood due to The Great Hurricane of 1944, which I now know entirely too much about, the damaged records, those that could be recovered and restored that is, were moved to some township historical museum in Pennsylvania of all places."
"Damn," Caleb ran both hands through his hair. It didn't look like they were going to catch a break. "Did you at least get the record of who owned it in the 50's?"
"I did, and who owned it ten years later, and five years after that, all the way up to 2000 when it and the five tracks next to it got bought up by the developers we're dealing with today."
Caleb took the papers Frank held out to him, sharing a look with John. "Any hope the original owner might have been the one to sell in the fifties?"
"Doubtful," Farley answered. "I pulled the county clerk file on the men who were involved in that transfer of deed, both of them in their twenties at that time."
"Damn."
"We'll have to track down the original records." John gazed off toward the courthouse. "Did Miss Sunshine happen to give you a contact name in Pennsylvania?"
"Ms. Shiny said she could place a call to the museum for me tomorrow. It opens at 10, but maybe The Man can get someone to open up shop a lot sooner."
"I may know some people." The older man's sigh let Caleb know they were in for a long drive to Pennsylvania followed up with a last minute black bag job.
"Is there anything else you need me to do, Boss?"
"No, Frank. You might as well head on back to Brooklyn; surprise your wife with the long weekend." Caleb appreciated Farely's help, but would feel better when his nosiest employee was safely across the bridge in New York.
"Damn, you sure my services aren't needed here?" Farley looked to John. "I don't mind getting my hands dirty. My granddaddy worked the coal mines in Virginia. A little asbestos doesn't really scare the Farley men."
"The less people involved the better." John shot Caleb a look that told the younger hunter that statement was a reminder for him and started for the van without another comment to Farley.
"Feds are full of personality," Frank harrumphed.
"You have no idea." Caleb shook Farley's hand and promised he'd have some overtime coming before starting after John. It was going to be a long ride to Pennsylvania. John was on the phone when Caleb got in. It didn't take much for Caleb to figure out Bobby was on the other line. He bit his lip to keep from asking about Dean as he easily picked up on The Knight's frustration.
"Well, damn, Bobby that doesn't exactly make our job any easier." John started the van, his free hand whipping the wheel to take them out of the parking lot. "What the fuck am I supposed to do now?"
Caleb heard Bobby swear, caught his disgruntled 'don't bitch out the fucking messenger' reply before John turned to relate the bad news. "Missouri thinks the coven we're looking for disbanded over fifty years ago, its members merging with other covens, some of them starting a different coven that later joined up with some of the witches that aren't exactly friendly with The Brotherhood."
Caleb leaned back in the seat. "Did she at least have anything to tell us about the spell?"
John kept the phone cradled between his ear and shoulder listening to Bobby's response as he reached over Caleb and pulled an Atlas from the glove box. Instead of relaying any further information Bobby might be sharing, he tossed the map in Caleb's lap, grunting at something Singer said. Caleb assumed he was supposed to work out the quickest route to Pennsylvania. The ringing of his own cell gave him an excuse to delay his task as navigator. It was Carmine. Caleb prayed the man had something better to report.
"What've you got?"
John leaned over and punched his finger on the atlas. Caleb rolled his eyes, but flipped the well-worn book open and began leafing through the pages as he tried to understand Vasquez's excited spiel about the whiskey.
"Slow down," Caleb was talking to Carmine, but from the way John was slinging him around in the van as they made their way into the city, he hoped his mentor took note to the directive as well. "Who the hell is Lily?"
"Lily's isn't a who, she's a speakeasy."
"A what?" Caleb pressed the phone closer to his ear to better hear Carmine over John's heated conversation with Bobby.
"An establishment that sold illegal alcohol in the twenties and early thirties, also called a blind pig, like the 21 Club and…"
"I know what a speakeasy is, Carmine." Caleb cut the antiquities dealer's prattling off as he turned on the van's interior light so he could read the map. You couldn't watch as many old gangster movies as he and Dean had as kids, and not daydreamed about walking into the Stork Club or Cotton Club dressed in Capone's signature suit and silk tie with a couple of hot broads in skimpy flapper dresses on your arm. "What does that have to do with anything?"
He heard Carmine sigh dramatically on the other end and wondered how the man had survived a hunt with John Winchester in one piece.
"Remember the fleur-de-lis on the label of the bottle? Fleur-de-lis literally translates to flower of the lily. It was the trademark symbol of the signature alcohol sold at Lily's, one of the most well-known speakeasies in Jersey. Unlike a lot of swill that was passed out in those days, Lily's had a reputation for the good stuff, the really good stuff, so talked about that it's rumored to have caught the eye of a prominent New York family, and by prominent I'm not talking the Vanderbilts."
"I get what you're saying." Caleb stopped fiddling with the atlas, realizing that John had hung up with Bobby and was now casting impatient sidelong glances towards him as they barreled down the lonely streets of South Amboy. He looked even unhappier than before, which made Caleb worry about what Missouri had told Bobby about breaking the spell.
"It was rumored to be a favorite of Bugs Moran."
"So the mob took a keen interest in this particular bootleggers operation, forcing him to take extreme measures to hide it?" Any other time Caleb would have jumped on the Bugs Moran connection, knew Dean would get a huge kick out of the fact he might have uncovered one of the most infamous mobster's favorite brew, but at the moment getting Dean free was Caleb's only concern, and Carmine's coyness was making him crazy. "Not many men are brave enough, or stupid enough to take on the family."
"The bootlegger in question, or should I say bootleggers, were the Lily brothers, a unique family in their own right as it turns out."
"You got the name of the guy who owned the house?" Caleb motioned for John to pull over, hoping their impromptu trip to Pennsylvania might just be cancelled. The Knight swung into a side street, stopping the van, but leaving the engine running. "Why didn't you just say that in the first place?"
"I wanted to explain that the whiskey, which you thought of no consequence, turned out to be the key in breaking this job wide open. As the resident antiquities authority in The Brotherhood I feel my expertise is often…"
Caleb didn't get a chance to interrupt Carmine's self-promotion. The Knight grabbed the phone from him, snarling into the receiver.
"Damn it, Carmine, cut the crap. Who are we looking for?"
On a typical day Caleb would have bitched about the bulldozer move, John's tendency to take over whenever things weren't moving fast enough, but The Knight's tactic appeared to work with Carmine because John cut the connection only after a couple of minutes.
"Do you know where State Route 35 is?"
"Yeah, Deuce and I went to a pizza place out by the harbor a few times." Caleb motioned to the main road. "Take a right and keep heading south."
John turned the van around and started once more. "We're looking for a place called Lily's."
"The speakeasy Carmine was going on about? It's still around?"
"Carmine says the family owned place is still in business. You sure you and Ace haven't been there, too? It's a bar now."
"Doesn't exactly sound like our kind of locale, Johnny." Still, Caleb did a mental catalog of the places he could remember seeing on their numerous trips to Sciortino's. Lily's didn't jump out at him, but there were a lot of pubs and restaurants in that area. .
"Don't let the name fool you, Kid. Carmine says it's got a reputation as drawing in interesting clientele."
Caleb wondered if the place could still have ties to the mafia. If so, he and Dean might have to check it out after all this was over. "We've been renting a room over a pub, not exactly a lot of reason to go out bar hopping."
"Carmine said the original owners were the Lily brothers, hence the name. They were an Irish immigrant family and their father opened the place in the late 1800's. It hit its prime during prohibition when the old man started selling signature whiskey, an old Irish recipe."
"So did Carmine give you a name to go along with the history lesson?"
"He did in fact." John cut his gaze to Caleb. "Liam Lily, the oldest son, was supposedly the master brewer of the coveted and profitable whiskey."
"You think he owned the houses?"
"Makes sense, but I'm betting we won't find a real name on any paperwork. If you're trying to hide from the mob, you sure aren't going to advertise. Hopefully his great, great grandson, Garrett Lily will be able to tell us more. The kid still manages the place."
Caleb shook his head, looking out at the nightscape passing by them in a blur. "Carmine must have one hell of a contact."
"Vasquez might be colorful, but he's connected, Kid. Why else do you think I'd ride halfway across the country with that loon and Bobby?"
Caleb turned to meet John's gaze understanding the question was completely rhetorical. "I was thinking your enthusiasm for road trips and antiquing with close pals?"
The Knight frowned at him, his eyes going back to the road. "Intel is everything, Kid."
Caleb resisted a smart ass reply. Instead, he watched his mentor's face as the older hunter concentrated on driving. Sometimes the man was an enigma, like an incomplete blueprint. Just when Caleb thought he'd pinned down the exact schematics to his makeup, another hidden place presented itself, almost like a secret passage, albeit one more apt to be found in a fun house, littered with mazes and distorted mirrors.
John was obviously using Carmine for information, but Vasquez wasn't the only one connected. As The Knight of The Brotherhood, John had access to hundreds of sources, a vast network. He was methodic, verging on obsessive when it came to research. Whatever John was after was big and he wanted to keep it off the radar, away from The Guardian's watchful eye. That made it dangerous beyond the scope Caleb was used to. The thought sent a chill down his spine. He returned his gaze to the road, comforting himself with the link he had to Dean. For the first time since Sam had left for Stanford, Caleb wondered if the kid's distance from his family wasn't a blessing in disguise. That only left Caleb one son to keep out of the line of fire, one charge to protect from the fallout and flying shrapnel when whatever John was planning inevitably blew up in spectacular Winchester fashion.
RCJ
The entrance to Lily's was deceiving, looking more like the doorway to a private residence. It would have made good cover for the speakeasy in the twenties. It was probably why Caleb hadn't noticed the quaint bar when he and Dean had passed it on the way to Sciortinos, although the wrought iron fleur-de-lis over the door should have caught his eye. Lily's was written in flowing gold letters on the thick paned window, a twisting green vine like the label, flourished on the walls, climbing up the dark bricks to frame the door. There was no doubt they were in the right place.
Once inside the bar opened up to a grand establishment that put some of the swanky places in Manhattan to shame. High ceilings boasted state of the art track lighting, reflecting on walls painted deep crimson, brightening the mahogany floors. A variety of framed black and white photographs decorated the walls displaying haunting scenes of a much older New Jersey shoreline and some of the city's famous residents of long ago. He briefly wondered if Bugsy Moran and Capone were somewhere in any of the scenes-another reason for him and Dean to visit the place again.
John didn't seem impressed by the décor or the artwork. He weaved in and out of the white marble high-top tables with their wrought iron stools, making his way to the center of the room where the black lacquered bar rose up like a stage. Caleb followed; grateful the place was fairly emptied of patrons. A mirrored wall behind the bar served as a backdrop for the hanging crystal glasses and decanters of whiskey, wine and tequila. There were several men seated at the far end watching a ball game on one of the two massive television screens above the bar, two women in a business suits sat at another. John took a chair in the center, huffing his impatience as the bartender mixed the ladies their martinis.
"Glaring at the back of his head isn't going to make him work any faster." Caleb spoke just loud enough to be heard over the bluesy music in the background. "Take a breath and try to remember Pastor Jim's wise words about getting more flies with honey than with vinegar."
"What happened to the guy desperate to get his best buddy out of this most current jam he got him into?"
Caleb didn't need reminding Dean was waiting on them. Thankfully the bartender greeted them before Caleb had a chance to respond to his mentor's needling. He didn't have time for a bar brawl with John.
"What can I get you two gentlemen?" The bartender couldn't have been much older than Sam, the crisp white shirt, black vest and bow tie he was wearing making him look like he might be headed to his high school prom.
"How about some information, Kid?" John tossed one of his many fake badges on the bar top, giving the young man his best drill sergeant 'tell me what I want to hear or drop and give me fifty' glower.
"And a pitcher of whatever you've got on tap," Caleb added smoothly, slapping a fifty on the bar. The bartender's gaze slid from the gold shield to the money, then he looked to Caleb who jutted his chin to one of the small booths that lined the far wall. "We'll take it over there if you don't mind."
The kid took the money with a sharp nod. "Pilsner okay, Sir?"
Caleb grinned, picking up the big glass bowl of nuts from in front of him. "You bet."
"What the hell was that?" John grabbed his badge and followed after Caleb who made his way to the farthest booth from the door.
"That's called finesse, Johnny. You should try it sometime." Caleb might not have time to argue with John, but that didn't stop him from getting in a few blows to the man's ego.
John slid into the opposite seat from Caleb, dropping his badge on the table. "Throwing money at a situation isn't always the answer, Junior."
"Neither is going straight for the jugular of the guy you're trying to pump for information, but that never stopped you, Mr. Subtlety." Caleb scooped up a handful of nuts, knowing drinking on an empty stomach would not bode well for his patience for dealing with John or the hunt at hand.
"For a guy struggling to stay in the black, you're playing fast and loose with your resources." John pulled the bowl closer to him, picking a couple of cashews out of the mix. His dark eyes studied Caleb. "Should I be worried about my investment?"
Caleb tried not to let the rush of emotion show on his face. He didn't know how John new about Tri-Corp's current cash flow problem, but suspected Mac had something to do with it. Caleb hadn't talked to his father directly, but he had gone to Cullen for some business advice. "Feel free to cash out your shares anytime. I'm sure I can liquidate enough stock to give you a nice return."
The prom king showed up with their beer before John could respond in kind to Caleb's challenge. He put the pitcher and two glasses on the table, staring at them expectantly. "What else, officers?"
"We're looking for the owner of this place," John explained as he poured himself a glass before pushing the pitcher towards Caleb. "Garrett Lily?"
"Rett usually comes in before the rush to work on the previous night's receipts, cover the bar when I take a break, that kind of thing." The kid glanced at his watch. "He should be showing up anytime now."
"Then I'm sure you'll let him know we're waiting to talk to him when he shows."
"You bet." Prom King nodded, his gaze going to Caleb. "Anything else? Some food while you wait. Our bar pies are off the chain, clam chowder was voted best on the shore."
"Give us two bowls," John answered for them both. Caleb shook his head at the man's presumptiveness when the kid walked away.
"I'm not hungry."
"That's why you're treating the bar snacks like your own personal entree." John slid the peanuts back into Caleb's reach. "I don't need you crashing from all the psychic energy you're expending."
"You been reading Mac's brochures on the proper care and feeding of freaks again?" From anyone else the reminder that using his abilities depleted resources might have still been irksome, but would have brought a rush of warmth, sort of like when a parent reminds you for the hundredth time to button your coat, or brush your teeth before bed. With John, however, whether it was intended or not, the nudge to eat felt more like needling, a poke at a particular weak spot.
"Speaking of your talents, how is Dean?" John expertly redirected the conversation, proving Caleb and Dean didn't spontaneously develop the ability.
Caleb took a moment to focus on pouring his beer, knowing it would irk The Knight. "You tell me. You're the one who talked to Bobby."
"I think we both know your link with Ace provides better information than any secondhand info Bobby might have relayed. I'm guessing you've kept it wide open since you lost visual."
Caleb's abilities didn't allow him an in depth analysis of his best friend's condition, only a sense of intense feelings. What he did sense was that Dean was hurting and scared. The distance didn't make distinction any easier, and Caleb wasn't truly sure how much of the anxiety and dread he was picking up on was possibly his own, after all being trapped was one of his personal nightmares. "He's hanging in there, but you need to cut him some slack on the super soldier shit."
"What do you think I've been doing this summer, letting him play construction worker with you?"
"I think you saw the perfect opportunity to get Dean out of the way so you could work on whatever gig you've got going at the moment. You put up just enough resistance to make it look like you were doing the kid and me a favor." It made sense the more Caleb thought about it. John had never caved so easily to his or Pastor Jim's pleas to let Dean have a little freedom, to give him time to expand his horizons, especially after Sam left. "I'm not sure what you're up to, but I'm guessing it has to do with the big bad demon, Noah Seaver's demon. You think you're getting close, at least closer than you ever have before, and you're making sure Dean is in the clear, Sammy too, considering you haven't stormed the gates of Stanford, and dragged him back into the folds kicking and screaming, especially when he blew off coming home during summer break."
John never averted from Caleb's gaze, never blinked as his protégé spoke. Only when Caleb was finished did he pick up his beer, taking another gulp. "So what do those amazing super powers of intuition tell you about how long we have until we need to get Ace to a hospital?"
Caleb shook his head. So Dean and Sam weren't the only ones John was maneuvering to the sidelines. "Damn it, John, I'm not a grunt fresh out of boot camp that you need to keep in the bunker."
"Last time I checked, Private, I'm the only one with stripes, which means I set the board." John picked a few more nuts from the bowl, his dark eyes narrowing. "You're exactly where I want you, and you'll damn well stay there until I change your orders."
Caleb would be no help to his best friend if he was unconscious. Instead of the rebuttal he ached to deliver, he reverted to John's previous question. "Dean needed a hospital run hours ago. As it is, sooner we get him out and force him to let a doctor poke, prod, and scan him, the better we'll all feel."
"If Missouri's right, we better hope this Lily guy has some answers for us."
Caleb waited until the server delivering their two bowls of chowder had placed the food and silverware in front of them before asking the question he'd refrained from repeating in the van when John evaded it the first time he asked. "What'd she say about the spell?"
John lifted a spoonful of creamy soup to his lips, but hesitated before eating it. "She said the spell created a supernatural lock, one that required a specific key to open."
"There's no way to break it, she can't..."
"No." John put the spoon back in soup, stirring it before scooping up another bite. "She can't."
Caleb looked down at his bowl, the faint smell of the sea stirring his gut, but not in response to his hunger pains. Still he picked up his spoon and forced himself to take a bite. They ate in silence, both he and John finishing the food and the pitcher of beer before Garrett Lily finally appeared at their booth.
"I hear you two officers are looking for me."
The bar owner looked nothing like Caleb was expecting. Instead of being tall, lanky and sporting fair skin and red hair, he was broad shouldered, of average height with spiky Smurf blue hair and several facial piercings. The designer black tee shirt he was wearing revealed colorful tattoo sleeves on both arms. Caleb wondered if maybe Prom King was trying to get one over on them by passing one of his college buddies off as his boss.
"You're Garrett Lily?" If John's tone of voice was any indication he was thinking the same thing as Caleb.
"The one and only." Lily grinned, looking a little too pleased to be entertaining officers at his bar. Caleb wondered if Carmine might have been right about Lily's connections to The Family. "How can I be of help to two of Jersey's finest?"
"I'm Agent Gaines. This is my partner, Agent Fallon." John tapped his badge. "We're with the ATF."
"You're shitting me?" Garrett bounced on his toes, his grin fading as he hooked his thumbs in the front belt loops of his jeans. "What does the Department of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms want with me? All my licenses are in order and I can assure you my staff cards everyone."
Caleb shoved his empty bowl of soup out of the way and propped his elbows on the booth table. Garrett's thoughts were racing despite his calm demeanor. Caleb easily gleaned the cause of his nervousness. They'd had an incident a few months back with some sorority pledges. "The prom king behind the bar didn't card me. I mean, my partner I can understand, but I still have that baby face thing going on."
"We're not here to talk about serving infractions." John shot Caleb a withering look. "We want to talk to you about Liam Lily. I believe he was a relative of yours."
Garrett laughed again. "Don't tell me the feds are still trying to pin something on my dear old great granddad? I think Elliott Ness had a file on the old man back in the day."
"I doubt it," Caleb said. "Ness worked the Chicago beat."
"You know what I mean; my dad's pops was a legend, but I can't believe he's still stirring up heat. Don't you guys have something better to do?"
"We just want to ask you about a property he might have owned, a couple of properties to be exact." John picked up his badge, slid it in his pocket as if he were ready to go. "We can do it here or down at the station."
Garrett looked around the bar, which had begun to pack in more patrons as the hour grew later. He returned his gaze to John. "How about we move this to my office upstairs?"
John nodded, waving Lily on to lead the way. Caleb tossed another twenty on the table before following after The Knight. Liam led them to the back of the bar where an iron spiral staircase took them to a loft above. The room was small, the front made of a two way glass that allowed the person sitting at the desk a perfect view of the front door of the bar.
"Nice set up." Caleb moved around the room, leaning against the mirror. "Great vantage point to keep an eye out for raids."
"Maybe back in Grandpa Liam's day," Garrett took a seat at the desk, his cockiness returning full force with the illusion he was on home turf. He looked to John. "You mentioned property?"
"Some houses out in the old neighborhood along the waterfront." John picked up a small model of Yankee Stadium, giving a roll of his eyes before returning it to its spot. Dean got his hatred for the Yankees from his father. "Liam would have more than likely owned them in the twenties."
"The places they're tearing down for the new and improved South Amboy?" Lily leaned forward to straighten the paperweight.
"Those would be the ones."
Garrett kicked back in his seat, propping his hands behind his head. "My sister still lives in the house my old man grew up in out in Perth Amboy. His father died when I was a kid; if our family ever owned a place out on the water my dad never mentioned it."
"Is there any way we could talk to your father?" Caleb asked, moving around the room to study a black and white portrait hung over a book case.
"Only if you're one of those psychic mediums that talk to dead people."
Caleb crossed his arms over his chest, liking Garrett Lily less and less. He concentrated on the photo to keep from explaining that mediums might be psychic, but not all psychics were mediums. He blamed that stupid movie Sixth Sense for perpetuating ignorance.
"Anyone else in your family left?" John continued.
"Dad was an only child. I have some distant cousins, but they live out West."
"That why Lily's came to you?" John asked. "You don't really seem like the Irish 'pub' type."
"My old man spent his life working here, just like his dad and his grandfather Liam before him.. I guess all fathers want to leave a legacy for their sons. Who am I to break tradition?"
"Is this Liam?" Caleb pointed to the picture on the wall. In it a familiar man in a dark suit posed behind the bar. He was holding a bottle of whiskey like the one Dean had found. The same fleur-de-lis decorated the label.
"That's Pops. He passed when my dad was a kid, but my grandfather told him stories about the guy."
"We hear he made the best bootlegged whiskey around." Caleb took the picture off the wall to study it closer, his eyes drawn to Liam Lily's hands.
"That's what they tell me, but I guess he took the recipe to his grave. Lily's hasn't served original brew since the sixties and even then it was a bastardized version my grandfather concocted from memory."
A spark of pain flared behind Caleb's eyes, bright light flashing before him like something had reflected off the glass of the frame. The same images he'd seen earlier of the old man in front of the mantle at the cape assaulted him. A woman's hands were before him, the flash of gold and green from before materializing into a ring on her right middle finger. This time the vision included sound, an incantation that grew louder, morphing from a soft melodic chant to a shrill high pitched ringing that had Caleb grasping his head in his hands. The smashing of glass broke the illusion and Caleb found himself back in Garrett Lily's office, the black and white framed photo shattered at his feet.
"Caleb?"
"Hey, man, that picture's one of a kind." Lily jumped up from the desk, but one look from John stopped the man in his tracks. He hung back at the desk, a scowl etched on his face.
"Junior?" John gripped Caleb's arm, grounding him. "You alright?"
Caleb took a deep breath to clear his thoughts, the pain receding as quickly as it had come. "I'm okay."
"Too bad I can't say the same for my picture." Garrett made a move forward.
John jabbed a finger at him, touching the holster on his side with his free hand. "I. Said. Stay."
"I'm sorry." Caleb bent to pick up the picture, John following him down to the floor.
"It's okay." John picked up some of the glass tossing it in the trash can by Lily's desk as Caleb gingerly turned the picture over hoping it wasn't damaged despite his dislike for Garrett. The Knight bent his head closer. "What did you see, Kid?"
Caleb was glad to see the picture wasn't torn. He now recognized the old man from his vision, but it was the ring on the bootlegger's finger that drew Caleb's attention. "The ring; I saw this ring."
"You think that's important?"
Caleb lowered his voice to match John's. "The witch was wearing it when she cast the spell. Could it be the key Missouri was eluding to?"
"It would make sense that she used something of his for the binding."
"What the hell are you two going on about?" Lily was losing his patience as well as his illusion of charm. "What does any of this have to do with some old houses you think my great grandfather owned during prohibition? If my family and I are coming into any cash..."
"Do you know anything about this ring?" John took the photograph from Caleb stepping to Garrett. He towered over the man, tapping the picture.
"It was some kind of family heirloom brought over from the old country." Garrett shrugged. "My old man always wore it, told me it was mine after he was gone, but it's not really my taste, you know."
"Where is it now?"
"I buried him with it."
Caleb touched his thumb to the silver band on his hand, the ring John had given to him years ago. He couldn't imagine discarding something drenched in history. "So much for keeping family traditions."
"What's the big deal? The piece wasn't even gold."
John stepped in front of Caleb just as Caleb decided to take out a little of his pent-up frustration on the bar owner. The Knight shoved the photograph towards Lily. "Thanks for your help, Mr. Lily."
Garrett took the picture. "That's it? What about the houses?"
"We'll be in touch if there are any more questions about the property."
Caleb followed John out, not relishing the fact their trip to Pennsylvania would now be replaced by digging up a grave. "I noticed you didn't bother asking him where his old man was laid to rest."
John stopped at the bottom of the stairs. "What good is a psychic sidekick if you can't avoid asking those burning questions that are going to give away your game plan?"
Caleb had picked up the location as Garrett's thoughts turned to his father's service, but John didn't have to seem so pleased with the fact he knew exactly what Caleb would do. "I'm nobody's sidekick. I'm Batman."
"Keep telling yourself that, Boy Wonder." John started his way through the tables, making his way back to the entrance.
The familiar verbal sparring, the words almost identical to those Caleb had exchanged with his best friend earlier, caused Caleb's chest to tighten as he trailed after his mentor. It was hard for Caleb to be angry with John when the man did or said something that reminded him of Dean. It drove home the fact that there was a reason Caleb cared so damn much what happened to the pigheaded bastard. He all too easily found himself transformed into the teenage kid who had been transfixed by the former Marine, the same one prone to tugging on Superman's cape. Mac and Pastor Jim might have pulled Caleb out of the psych ward, given him a home, but it was John Winchester who'd pulled off the real rescue, given Caleb a purpose, a reason to fight.
Caleb waited until they were outside, nearing the van at the curb before trusting his voice. "I guess that means I get to do the majority of the digging?"
John's smirk was classic Winchester. "Those super powers are serving you well today, Junior." He waited for Caleb to climb in before tossing the atlas in his lap once more. "Too bad they couldn't have kicked in a day earlier and saved us all a big pain in the ass."
And just like that Caleb was reminded of all the ways Dean was not his father's son. Deuce could be cold and calculating when it came to the enemy, much more lethal than Caleb in many ways, but he damn well knew how to draw the line when it came to waging war with those he loved. He didn't aim to maim, and, unlike his brother, he sure as hell didn't understand how to stand down and abandon post. For that reason alone, Caleb bit his cheek to keep from returning fire. He opened the atlas and mapped the quickest route to Liam Lily's resting place.
To be continued...