Caleb leaned back stretching his tall frame in the hardback chair. It was around midnight but soulful blues music could be heard coming from the house next door.
The neighbor had come over to find out if they'd heard the gunfire earlier. Mac apologized about the entertainment system being too loud. The gunfire was from a television show they had been watching. Reaves smiled remembering the woman thinking his father was ever so handsome.
The rest of the day hadn't been so pleasant. The drugs in Dean's system kept him combative late into the evening. Dean accused his father of killing his mother and abandoning Sam to the same fate. Caleb was seen as his father's lackey doing whatever John said without question. Mackland was the know-it-all, busy body who was always trying to interfere. Caleb knew Dean wasn't in his right mind but some of things he said stung.
Reaves sat up rubbing his hands over his face. The drugs wore off a few hours ago and Dean was now quiet. He was also exhausted and sleeping soundly. The dark haired hunter turned towards the door as he heard it open.
"When did you get back?"
"You don't have to watch him all night," John said, stepping into the room.
"I know." Reaves sighed. "I just wanted to make sure he was alright."
"Yeah."
Caleb watched as John sat on the bed next to his son. His mentor was never demonstrative with his sons. It was odd for Caleb to watch as the older Winchester ran his hand gently over Dean's hair. He saw John check the binding that kept Dean's left arm immobile.
"He's going to hate that."
"It's what he gets for dislocating his arm." John smiled. "He needs to learn not all pretty faces can be trusted."
"I think he learned his lesson." Caleb smiled. "So did you take care of her?"
"Yup."
The psychic could tell John didn't want to talk about it so he didn't push. "We might as well get some sleep."
The younger man suited actions to words and stretched out in the second bed in the room. John pulled the blanket higher and tucked them around his son. He stood and walked towards the door.
"What? I don't get tucked in?"
John turned glaring. "I might come over and do something you'll regret."
Caleb laughed as John shut the door.
SNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSNSN
The noises weren't familiar. The sounds of birds chirping along with something else he couldn't identify was confusing. Dean opened his eyes, taking in the unfamiliar room. When his fuzzy brain finally woke up he realized he did remember the room, but not how he got back there. Last thing he remembered was the spirit. He raised his right hand to rub his forehead, wincing when he hit the stitches. Sighing, he decided to take stock. Stitches weren't his only injury when he realized his left arm was strapped to his chest. He knew what that meant and silently cursed. Now fully awake he could hear a god-awful racket coming from the other bed. Turning he saw Caleb sprawled on the other bed snoring. Dean reached behind his head pulling out one of the pillows and throwing it. It barely made its mark, but it was enough to make Reaves bolt up.
"Do you mind?" Dean grumbled. "Some people are trying to sleep."
"Ungrateful jerk."
"What the hell happened?" Dean asked.
The psychic swung his legs over the side of the bed. "What do you remember?"
"We playing twenty questions?"
"Humor me." Caleb watched as Dean chewed his lower lip.
"That bitch had me pinned against the wall," he said. "She knew about Sammy. That I should watch the ones closest to me. But it didn't make any sense."
"That all?"
"Hell no." The blond glared. "She threw me against the damned wall!"
Caleb laughed. "That's when I found you. Out cold. Had to carry your sorry ass out to the car."
"You're all heart, Damien." Dean knew something else happened. "What aren't you telling me?"
Before Caleb could answer, John opened the door. "Thought I heard voices."
"Hey," Dean said.
"How you feeling?" John said, stepping into the room.
Dean noticed the bandage on his fathers arm. "What happened to you?"
"You shot me." Caleb could kick John.
"Come again?" Dean was bewildered.
"You heard me," John said, sitting on the bed by Dean's feet.
Dean scowled, trying to remember. Images came to him. Tackling his father, pulling the gun. Then a blank until he was in this room tied down screaming at his father, Mac and Caleb.
"What the fuck happened!"
"Watch you mouth," John warned. "You were drugged."
Dean's eyebrows shot up to his hairline as he stared at his father.
"Do you remember the shelves in that room?" Caleb asked.
"Yeah," Dean said. "I also remember slamming into them. What's that got to do with me being drugged?
"It was the priestesses work room," Reaves said. "All sorts of fun herbs and other things in those jars."
"You weren't thinking straight," John said. "Thought we were holding Sammy. Got a hold of my gun and shot me."
"Look, Dad…"
"Wasn't your fault," the older Winchester said. "Got something that might cheer you up."
John tossed a key ring at Dean's chest.
"What are these?"
"What do they look like?"
"The keys to the Impala." Dean shrugged and winced.
"Wouldn't do that if I was you," Caleb offered.
"Thanks," Dean said, sarcastically. He turned back to his father "So I shoot you and get the Impala."
"Shit, if you had known that a few years ago you would have shot him," Caleb pointed out.
"Damn straight." Dean smiled.
"What makes you think you could have?" Winchester asked.
"I did it this time."
"With a little help from some truly potent drugs," John pointed out. "You up for some breakfast?"
"I am kinda hungry."
"I'll bring something up," John offered.
"I'm going to hit the shower," Caleb said, heading for the door.
Dean watched both of them walk out. As they were talking Dean remember more about what happened. He couldn't believe some of the things he said to his father and the two people he thought as family. They didn't deserve that, didn't matter if it was the drugs talking. Some how he'd make it up to all of them.