Chapter Four
"He tries to sleep again/ And he wonders when the pain will end.
The cuts, they may run deeper than his cracking outer shell." Stained "Devil".
At ten years old Dean Winchester counted himself lucky, he'd seen more in his short lifetime than many others would see well into their coddled Teenage years. He lived alongside real hero's who worked tirelessly to save the faceless, clueless masses from the true evil in this world. And though the price of initiation into this high minded fraternity was excruciatingly dear, he had the satisfaction of knowing his purpose and mission in life even at this tender age. With that knowledge came the security of his extended Brotherhood family. Their cause was his cause, their strength was his strength and as he had grown ever closer to them over the years – their pain was his challenge to solve. Unlike his chatty sibling, Sam, Dean saw more than he shared – he was even more vigilant when it came to the welfare of those he loved. Both Winchester boys loved being a part of Merlin's castle – the web of fairytales that Pastor Jim used to smooth out some of the harsher elements of the Brotherhood calling for young Sam. They thrived behind these walls, sharing their lives with the other "dragons" who lived there. Camelot was a safe heaven for all who lived there – no matter what hard case front they tried towear there – even Oh' Nathan Jay smiled more. But right now it was a withdrawn and brooding Belac that held Athewm's attention.
The eighteen year old Psychic was joining in with Jim's usual kitchen banter at a "get under the radar level", so he would not incur the curiosity of his Father or other's, especially after his bout of sickness last night. Caleb was nothing if not resourceful when it came to avoiding detection. Dean knew where the guarded teen had learned some of those skills; in the time he had spent bouncing around the New York Child Care system. They were simply not prepared for the traumatized, emerging Psychic with the smart mouth and well camouflaged guilt complex, following the death of his parents and then Grandmother. Caleb had been left with two choices, raise his guard or roll over. Reaves was a stubborn bastard, and the experience had only served to harden those defenses. But Dean saw through them clearly – the Psychic's gruff exterior and sometimes downright hostile attitude was a mask, and the elder Winchester brother knew a thing or two about masks. Question was – what was Caleb covering?
Reaves tried his best to ignore the scrutiny of his best friend, though the wash of worry directed at him from the boy was distracting. Trust Deuce to be on to him – in some ways this was potentially worse than his Father. Mac respected boundaries – Deuce, like Caleb himself, only sized them up to see how far a running jump he'd need to scale them. And the little shit was not above fighting dirty if he thought he was in the right. Normally he would feel touched (covertly), but all he wanted now was to forget the nightmares and the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach that what he was seeing was not just a snap shot of the past, but a forerunner of his future. He was not Noah Seaver, he was on the right side and he intended to cling to it. Reaves shifted uncomfortably, as he realized with alarm that the stinging sensation in his eyes could be a disastrous giveaway to everyone in the room, not just the Eagle-eyed member of the Winchester pack. He rose slowly and headed for the kitchen and some privacy as thoughts of his parents came crashing in on him. The acoustics in his head played a relentless symphony of waves crashing, and the rapport of a gun shot. A lone tear slid down his cheek as he saw his Mother's look of terror as she locked eyes with him … he was not his Father. It hurt to even think it. He tightened his grip on the fridge door till his knuckles hurt to stop himself crying out, as if he had been struck physically.
"I think I will take that drink please Damian." Dean's soft voice caught him off guard.
Schooling his features whilst savagely reining in his girly moment, Caleb stayed in the temporary safe heaven of Jim's classic 1960's double chiller.
"What can I get the discerning gentleman – a Coke, or Murphy's classic Ice Tea with its heavenly endorsement?"
Steeling himself with a grin that he neither felt nor (judging from Deuces face) passed for real, Reaves waited for the young boy's response.
"You can tell me what's up with you Caleb – I don't have your Super Powers, have I forgotten something important … an Anniversary…?"
Dean left it unsaid, like so many of their raw wounds, there was no need to specify. They both knew where the hurt came from; both had first hand experience of the ebb and flow of loss.
Caleb swallowed, his smile frozen on his face. "No, nothing like… I just need to get my head together."
"Bullshit Reaves, I am the one you laid out remember?! You are wound so tight – you make Josh look cool!"
The Psychic barked out a laugh, scrubbing a hand over his face. "That's just cruel Deuce – kicking a guy when he's down!"
Dean didn't look like he was in the mood to let the older youth off the hook so easily. He held Caleb's gaze. "Your dreams were about you weren't they … are you in danger Damien?"
"No – I …" the psychic let out a hitched breath he hadn't known he was holding. "Can't do this right now Deuce… not even for you." Caleb shook his head and crossed his slightly shaking hands over his chest, as images of his Mother swam towards him. "It's not a vision – not me …"
Dean took a step towards him and Caleb instinctively moved away, gaining more room. The kids face fell, but he stood his ground. "Whatever you say man" Dean shook his head in frustration. "Dad was talking about running an exercise in the morning before we leave for your place."
"But after Mass, and I hope that both you gentleman have suitable attire? Caleb army boots are out Son, especially if your wardrobe includes fatigues … is something wrong?" Jim asked gently.
The Pastor caught the uneasy tension in the boys exchange. It was not their normal banter or even the bickering that sometimes marked their friendship. He scanned both members of his tribe more carefully, his instincts instantly flagging Caleb's slightly defensive posture and Dean's look of frustration. Caleb responded first.
"Dean was just breaking the news to me, that his Dad has one final devious goose chase in mind, before we head back to New York."
"Yes" Jim answered with a small smile noting that Dean didn't offer a response of any kind, to either Jim's concern, or Caleb's explanation.
Jim knew Dean hated to lie to him. The older boys often blamed the downfall of their schemes on Sam, but in truth it was just as likely to be Dean's conscience that gave them away.
"I guess you boys will have to take up my invitation depending on your prior engagement."
"Speaking of – I have a feeling John will pull out the stops tomorrow, so I am going to get some actual rest tonight… dinner was great Jim, thank you. In the A.M. Deuce?"
The dark haired youth left the kitchen and headed upstairs without pausing for a response. The abruptness of his departure had Jim searching Dean for answers.
The ten year old rolled his eyes in response.
"You know if I knew for sure what was up – I'd have come to you by now Pastor Jim." Dean supplied without waiting for the question.
"You care a great deal for Caleb son, he's lucky to have you." Jim smoothed.
"Yeah cause the blockhead really radiates that warm fuzzy feeling by all the trust he's putting in me right now." The boy couldn't help the large dose of hurt that went along with the biting sarcasm in his tone.
"It's not you he doesn't trust Dean, it's himself – I feel relieved that no matter what obstacle Caleb is trying to overcome alone, he now has you watching over him." Jim smiled reassuringly at him.
"Is this your attempt to get me to nark on him Pastor… cause unlike my brother, I don't sing for a five?!" Dean stated frankly.
Jim laughed "Understood son, but just remember, we are not the enemy here, we all have Caleb's best interests at heart. Now, by my math Caleb's early retirement leaves an extra portion of Miss Emma's Peach Cobbler, know where I can find that a home?"
Dean smiled at the grandfatherly figure in front of him. "Are you trying to get round me with baked goods? … 'Cause its working!!"
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Caleb sat dejectedly on the bed with his knees pulled in tightly to his chest. The headboard provided a brace for his body as he tried to push himself further into it, to back away from the relentless wash of the ocean in his mind. His arms hugged his knees fiercely, as if trying to hold himself together physically. Swiping a bead of sweat from his left eye he glanced at the bright red LED of his alarm clock, willing the numbers to slip by faster. There was no dreams tonight… because there would be no friggin sleep tonight! The Marine orchestra in his head played on relentlessly and for him the effect was like cat claws down a chalk board, his every nerve was strained. He had contemplated seeking out Mac about an hour ago. He then remembered the conversation with his Father when he had come up to wish him goodnight. Dr Ames had been called in on a consult by the NYPD and would be heading out early; he'd asked Caleb if he'd mind catching a ride in the Impala. Besides not wanting to deprive his Dad of his much needed rest, Caleb wondered sourly exactly what he would ask his Father to do for him.
"Chase the scary water noises away Pa?" - Not friggin likely!!!
No – he just needed to Man Up and beat … what ever the Hell this was. He tried to regulate his breathing, but the scream of a gull mirrored another scream and had him jumping up and grabbing his grey hoodie and sneakers on his way out the door. He needed air – he needed to be outside – he needed to stop himself from crying like a girl! In a house full of hunters he used every ounce of skill he had to sneak downstairs and out the back door.
Cutting a path in the opposite direction of Jim's pond, Caleb set a punishing pace as he began to run. The sound now had to compete with his hammering heart and soon his aching lungs as he pushed harder and harder, finding sweet release in the moonlight and the brisk air and the exacting exercise. The running seemed to be working. The more he forced his body to co-operate the louder the evidence of his organs trying to comply thrummed. He lost himself in the act of connecting with the ground and spiking away, kicking forward and savagely beating back all other consciousness. This would probably account for why he missed the set of worried Jade eyes, tracking him from the hidden tree line. But it didn't fully explain why the owner of the green eyes missed the fact that they were both being surveyed by a third smaller figure, with waist length blonde hair that shone in the moonlight. The young girl watched the running man with a small twisted self-satisfied smirk, but wearily eyed his watchman as something of a bump in the road she might need to circumnavigate.
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Verity smiled lazily as her eyes glimpsed some of what her ghostly charge was wreaking. Her concentration was held almost entirely by the circle of fire that surrounded her. She was after bigger fish. The last entity she was looking to resurrect was arrogant and unwilling to play, to say the least. But this was necessary as both the final step and her assurance. Another necessity was loosing Cecile Dupree on the world. Though there was a slim tether that she maintained, the angry child's spirit had free reign to punish the descendent of her murderer to her hearts content. It saved Verity some lengthy incantations and a lot of brainstorming – besides the girl had a real flare for torture. LeHarve mused that she might even have to make a few notes.
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Whither it was the end of a hunt or a training maneuver there was an order to be followed. On this particular maneuver John was sure as hell going to ensure some damn thing went by the numbers! As far as levels of difficulty went, this one had been middling – both boys were more than up to it. Maybe a push for Dean, but a sleepwalk for Reaves… fact was that Junior appeared to be sleepwalking for real! And as for his boy… hell, Dean all but held Caleb's hand round the damn course!
John watched Caleb as he cleaned the guns. Years of military training had made his actions fluid and graceful; in a deadly way. It also afforded him the ability to put only half his concentration into his work while the other half was able to plan, scheme, review or just take stock of his surroundings. Currently his "surroundings" was Reeves distracted form warming down. The kid had been off all morning. What natural ability failed to provide Caleb, his own hours of endless training filled in. And yet Dean had only just managed to grab a handful of Reeves' Tee in order to stop his face first fall to the ground twenty feet below.
"Your way off your game today kid – you planning a Wedding or something?" John asked in his most tactful manner.
Caleb grimaced. Of course the ex-marine had noticed his charge, slacking on the job.
"What can I say Johnny? Future co-eds keeping me up all night." Reaves drawled cracking a wide grin that would probably have broken itself if he fought to hold it much longer.
"What can you say Junior?" John bellowed, that famous Winchester temper igniting like a spark in a bone dry Californian forest. "Can you say drop and give me fifty?!"
Caleb looked incredulously at his Mentor – "You got to be kidding me … John…"
"What was that son?!" John's harsh tone rode rough shod over the young hunter's objections. "Fifty – not challenging enough for you … you feel more like 100? Well then son, knock yourself out!"
Caleb knew better than to voice the dark thoughts flowing free through his head right now – at times like these he was grateful that John wasn't Psychic. As he dropped catching himself easily on both hands, he began the grueling count.
"Sound out the numbers Junior – I'll need to be able to hear them from Jim's kitchen, where I'll be helping myself to some of his fine Ice Tea!"
The younger hunter gritted his teeth.
"Four … Five…" he growled half with strain and half with anger.
Winchester had not pulled the drill Sergeant Routine with Caleb since the last time he had screwed up royally, two years ago. Though Reaves knew he had not been velvety smooth on this maneuver, he had hardly been laying back and taking it easy either.
John had not made his way to the house; in fact he stood not two feet away from Caleb. As he risked a glance upwards with a grunted count of "Ten"; he saw the barely shielded concern in John's face. The minute the Knight caught the boys eye, it was like someone called a lockdown and all emotion drained from his face leaving that detached, calculating look that had scared the shit out of him and Dean when John had been given the disciplinary duties. Johnny gave a disinterested huff and stalked away. He believed his Mentor's hard case act less than his own attempts at deflection. Jim, Dean, Bobby and now John… they were all looking at him differently – with worry, doubt … maybe even fear?
How long does it take a rabid animal to turn, exactly? And now the young hunter knew that, alone with his thoughts was the last damn place, he wanted to be. The tight lock he kept on the memories of his dark dreams and this new waking nightmare was waning and though Caleb practiced his mental barriers and defenses, there was just something about this dream that set it apart in force and intensity.
"Noah Seaver's Abomination!" the voice rang out – clear, and outraged and way too young to have that word in her mouth.
Caleb gasped as he saw two small black patent leather shoes right under his face. He would have fallen forward onto them, if the automatic recoil at the mention of his demon possessed Great Grandfather's name, hadn't propelled him backward on to his ass. And then he saw her. Cecile Dupree, aged six, standing in front of him in the singed Violet church dress she died in. She stood at an angle but gave the impression of being more than capable of going toe, to toe with the hunter. He could read the waves of rage coming off her, indignation at a life stolen, and a terrifying thirst for…
She blurred and moved at flickering speed till she was right in his face. She tilted her head towards him, a savagely, satisfied smile, crept across her lips, as he beheld her burned and horribly scarred head. Caleb heard himself whimper as the girl continued her tirade.
"What right have you to live, you filth – when my Mother died, my Father burned with his arms still around her?! What in the name of all that is holy do you think you achieve here? Redemption for you Damned Bloodline?" she scoffed.
The smell of her seared flesh wrought a gag from him.
"Do you know how many futures your tainted blood has blotted out? Can you possibly fathom, the overwhelming good, ending your cursed Family Line would achieve? You hunt and you fight, battling the dark things in the night – what about the evil that lies slick and heavy round your heart… will you destroy that for the greater good too?" She smiled purring malevolently at him. "You are only in the position you are in, so that the latent darkness within you can gain access and extinguish the light. You know this Demon spawn… you fear it when you look at them… the Pastor and…"
Caleb had begun shaking his head furiously.
"No!" he grated "no, no, no …"
"Really?" Cecile crooned as she stroked his forehead leaving a harsh welt where her searing fingertips contacted his skin.
He flinched but dared not look away, denying right down to his very soul that he was capable of harming Jim, let alone …
"What happened to the original Deuce, Caleb… do you recall?"
"No!" he howled, skirting away from her like an upturned crab.
Her grip on his shoulders were vice like and pinned him still. She lowered her face to mere inches from his. "We'll talk again soon, Lucifer."
Slowly, painfully, his head stopped snapping back against the ground. His teeth stopped clenching against the leather belt someone had slid between them. The arms that gripped his shoulders were John's and Bobby's strong grip claimed his feet. The gagging continued and tears ran freely down his face. He was powerless to stop the aftereffects of the seizure he seemed to have endured. Caleb caught sight of Jim gripping a distraught Dean tightly by the shoulders, white knuckles straining to keep the boy at bay while his Father saw to the fallen Psychic.
Reaves realized with a start, that the harsh gasping noise he could hear was the sound of his own struggling breathing as his throat constricted. He wanted to tell John to get that fucking, foul tasting belt … which had better not be the one Bobby sometimes used to keep his dog put … from his mouth. But then he caught sight of her small, cracked, withered face, standing next to Dean. Choking loudly on his own cries, his Amber eyes rolled back into his head and he was finally still.