Hi hello yes I'm not dead.
So sorry about that.
I certainly did not intend for a month hiatus but life happened.
My show (three performances) ended and then I was immediately pushed into final papers and then just finals. I was working and taking 10 classes all while attempting to have some form of social life So yes, I dropped the ball for a bit. But I'm now on break and home. And while there is still some life I have to do, I should be able to post still.
So I do apologize for leaving you hanging, but it was necessary for my sanity.
Anyway, this chapter touches on suicidal imagery and grief so if that triggers you, you can skip the first section and starts after the ~SPN~. If suicide allusions bother you as well, I'd just say to skip the chapter.
Please enjoy!
~TH~
Caleb knew better than most the pain of loss. He also knew better than to press his abilities. Especially on personally sensitive matters.
But it wasn't like not thinking about it was going to help.
When he was a child and experienced loss he hadn't truly been psychically connected to them. Not like this. There was the connection of love and care and family, but not a physical piece of his soul. Not a strong and intentional psychic link that had always been a lifeline.
And he should have known better than to push. But he had to find any answers that he had gotten glimpses before. He needed to know the rest. It was only fair.
What kind of Knight was he to let the Guardian die before he even knew he was the Guardian? He hadn't protected him. He'd failed.
Caleb couldn't wait to get back to the bar and tear that bartender limb from limb. He knew he'd have to stand in line. John Winchester's face let him know that the older hunter would have first dibs. Too little too late, Johnny. He thought once again. From all appearances, Dean had been taken by the people at the bar, he went in and that's where Mac lost connection, what else could it be? It could have been why Caleb got such a bad headache after being in the place. His brain knew something was wrong but he was essentially suppressing the vision to protect himself. At least that's what Mac thought. It made sense in a twisted kind of way.
But his father's vision didn't help answer what happened Dean was taken. By who? For what?
Some of Caleb's previous thoughts of the human trafficking rings and just twisted people in general were resurfacing. And what he hated most is that he could read the same thoughts from the Triad. Dean's psychic trail ended almost three weeks ago. He'd officially gone off line four days ago. And Mac was shielding himself from the horrors he would be forced to see-
Caleb had gotten a glimpse of a knife and the shock of pain associated with being cut.
But that was it.
Was that it?
Was it just sick humans enjoying seeing people in pain? Or was this somehow connected to the hunting world?
Not that it would matter. None of this mattered.
What were you supposed to do when your most important part was missing, never to be seen again? It was like when you were missing one piece of the puzzle, and without the one piece the entire puzzle meant nothing. Without that one centric piece nothing else made sense or worked the way it should have.
But he really didn't want to know what happened. He didn't want to know how Dean died. It would be too much. But he had to know. He deserted to see it in every painful detail. He'd failed and once again Deuce had paid the price but this time it was a mistake Caleb couldn't fix. Balec had failed in his sworn duty and now the castle was missing their most prized dragon.
He pressed against the wall blocking him from whatever was keeping him from knowing what happened. He wasn't his dad but he knew how to search for things. If he could reconnect with that threat from before-
Like a chain of fire had wrapped around his skull he cried out, dropping to his knees and clutching his head. He hadn't broken through the wall but he'd chipped a hole in it, enough to see. Enough to see what he didn't want to see. It wasn't clear but they rarely were on a good day. He saw Dean, the gleam of the knife in his own hand. There was a hesitation, a sickening fear and he tightened his hand around the blade. Then the knife came down on Dean's forearm. Caleb felt the spike of pain fueled fear mixed with acceptance and even some relief. Blood poured from the wound. A lot of blood. Then Caleb was pushed back by a force, the wall becoming whole again and the world around him going black.
He was back in the motel a gentle hand putting pressure on his neck. Shaking arms were the only thing keeping him from off the floor. He felt blood dripping from his noise and he closed his eyes against the swirling floor.
"Caleb? Son, can you hear me?"
Then everything hit him at once. What he had seen. What it meant.
He pushed himself off the floor, barely making it to the bathroom before he lost the contents of his stomach.
"Caleb?" It was Jim's voice this time. "What did you see?"
He wasn't sure if the tears were from the pain, the retching, or the images that kept flashing in front of his eyes.
They had been wrong. Someone hadn't grabbed him and tortured him to death. But was this any better?
He didn't think so.
He thought this was so much worse.
Maybe that was selfish but it was true.
"Caleb?" His father again. Cool hands eased him back and brought up a cloth to begin wiping away the still trickling blood. "Son, I need to know if you're alright. Are you with me?"
The youngest hunter was focusing more on his breathing than his father's words but eventually the question broke through.
How was he supposed to answer that?
No he wasn't friggin' okay.
He never would be again.
Eventually he cleared his throat, shaking his head. "I finally broke through- whatever- whatever it was."
He stopped, his breath catching a moment as his eyes closed. He was going to be sick again.
He'd expected to find a gory scene born of torture, but this was different kind of torture born death scene.
"Do you know where he is?" The Guardian's voice was soft. It was reminiscent of the tone he would take with a frightened five-year-old Sammy.
Caleb shook his head. "I didn't get a location. It was like… watching through a crack in a wall. I couldn't see much."
How was he supposed to tell them what he did see? He didn't know if he could verbalize it without being sick or breaking down.
He could feel the Guardian and the Scholar exchanging glances behind his back. He was very glad that Knight hadn't returned from dropping Sam off in the town where they had been staying when everything went down. The kid didn't realize that this was less of a punishment and more for his own sake. Especially now. He was so glad Sam wasn't here. Dean would never forgive him for letting his brother see that.
"I'm sorry, son." Mac said, pulling a hand through his son's hair. It was odd yet comforting. He'd never been big on physical contact, especially now that he was a grown adult. But he couldn't help but find comfort in it on this day that had to be the worst of his life. "But is there anything you can tell us that might help?"
"He did it to himself."
The words left his lips without conscious thought. If he thought about it he'd lose all resolve.
"No one did it to him. And he felt… relieved when he did it. At peace about the whole situation. He-" trying to let the words come without thinking didn't work as the images once again flashed through his head. He lost the battle with his stomach, pulling away from his father. There was no comforting hand this time. When he finally pushed away from the toilet and looked up at Mac, his father looked in shock. He'd gone nearly completely white, his mouth slightly agape as if wanting to refute it but unable to form the words.
He glanced towards the Guardian and looked less ill and more… broken. Tears were running unchecked down his face.
It was a broken whisper when he finally said, "Don't tell Jonathan."
~SPN~
John returned from dropping Sam off and Caleb snatched the keys out of his hands before he was fully in the door.
A hand grabbed at him, but he evaded it, ignoring the shout of his name. The door slammed behind him as he headed straight for the impala. It didn't matter that it was technically John's car, it was really Dean's. It had been since the kid could drive. Maybe before then. It should have been his a long time ago.
It was probably just another way for John to keep control. If Dean had his own car then he could leave when he wanted. As it was, John had control. John often left the car with Dean when he went on longer hunts, but in the end, complete control rested with John.
But to Caleb, the impala was Dean's. It was the last piece of Dean available to him and right now he needed it.
He sat in the driver's seat, feeling wrong and out of place.
The desire to break down sobbing on the steering wheel warred with his desire to drive away. As far away as possible from the Triad. Maybe he'd go back to Wickford and visit the bar himself.
He wished he could get a better hold on what he had saw.
He knew what it looked like. And wasn't sure how else to interpret it. There was… there was a lot of blood. And it was definitely self-inflicted. But there had to be more involved. There had to be. Because… because he knew the kid had a screwed up head and that it had gotten worse ever since Sam started talking about college. But this… this was...
And Caleb couldn't help but blame himself.
If he had been there. If he had answered his dang phone-
Logic warred with his thoughts as he knew there was nothing he could have done. He was on a hunt and off the grid. It wasn't his fault.
But it was.
Because he never should have let John kick him out of the Winchester household. It didn't matter if John was their dad, he didn't have a right to cut off contact. Dean was an adult. He could call who he wanted. He could hang out with who he wanted. And Sam was not his responsibility.
And John had hit Dean. Again.
Caleb had meant what he said all those months ago. No one had the right to hit Deuce. Especially not John friggin' Winchester. His own father.
Caleb had had his share of "dad's" who leaned into the fist. But Mac never had and never would. That was such a distant part of his life that he tried to focus on his family now and forget the bad of his past. It didn't always work, but he'd gotten better at it.
He couldn't stand the thought of someone treating Dean like that.
And to know what had happened-
Maybe he should just go back in and tell John what he really thought of his parenting skills. Drunk or no, it's not an excuse. Worried or not, it's not an excuse. This was John's fault and he deserved to know that he'd driven his own son to-
Caleb leaned his head on the steering wheel, taking deep breaths, trying to keep the tears at bay. If anything deserved tears it was this. He knew that. But he also knew that if he let himself break down again he wasn't sure he could pull the pieces back together.
A sudden pain spiked through his chest. It stole his breath, causing him to curl in on himself. The pain persisted, spreading throughout his entire body. He gasped, reaching for the door handle with numb hands. Was he having a heart attack?
The door opened and he'd barely managed to spin himself sideways when the pain culminated in his skull. There was a bright flash of light and he felt himself falling but could do nothing to stop it. As the pain began to ebb away into blackness, one final shock overrode all of the pain.
Dean was back online.
~TH~
And so am I!
The next chapter is Dean's pov of the same day. And it's written (I wanted to have it written before posting this chapter just out of curtesy). So idk if I'll go back to once a week or if I'll post sooner as an apology. Regardless, you'll get it within the next week.
Please let me know any thoughts you might have!
Much love and God bless,
Jamie
