A/N; actual Ice Ages have passed since I have updated this story. Sorry to anyone still following this piece, but I have finished and if my computer continues to be kind I will upload the last chapter ... as penance. :)
A huge Thank you goes to Lovin'Jackson who has helped and hauled me all the way through this. And of course to Ridley James for allowing us to play in her addictive Brotherhood Sandbox. Really hope it was worth the wait.
Sympathy for the Devil CH 13.
"Can you hear me, are you listening, has your programme disappeared? I can see you, I am watching you, I've been planning this for years." – 'The Devil's Eye' – Chris Deburgh.
The arrivals lounge at JFK Airport was teeming, alive with the happy sentiments and joyful reunions of loved ones, and it almost caused John to break out in hives. Grown men weeping for joy, and kisses flying like un-pinned grenades everywhere, it was just too much of an incursion into chick flick town and it made the Knight genuinely uncomfortable. He tried to settle his mind on the walking dead bitch he'd come to end, and it kind of made him feel better. He chuckled darkly at just how messed up he actually was.
"See John, its reactions like that, that make people nervous to be around you." Bobby commented flatly whilst scanning the area for the third member of their group. "There's Slick now."
Coming towards them was a young, well manicured blonde man in his early twenties. John nodded at Joshua Sawyer.
"I have scanned the area and the EMF is off the chart, I presume you or the Knight want to take the high ground while I wade in the crowds, fishing for our prey's psychic signature?" Sawyer asked briskly, not bothering with niceties. He had long since learned that he was on the outside of the inner circle of the Brotherhood and that his alcoholic, ass of a Father was only part of the reason for this.
"Is that how they say hello in L.A young blood?" Bobby teased his eyes roving the crowd.
"I surmised that as Reaves is in imminent danger you'd dispense with the usual hugs and kisses in favour of neutralizing the threat." the young hunter replied in a businesslike tone whilst unbuttoning his crisp white Armani shirt, revealing an amber coloured pendant on a leather thong.
"What's with the Joan Rivers accessory Sawyer?" John asked without looking directly at the blonde man. The irony of them needing Joshua's help to save Caleb was not lost on him.
"It's for protection, our target is no Carney fake – I could feel her aura before I entered this building. The amulet will buy me some time to warn you of her position."
"What happens then?" Singer queried.
Joshua turned his gaze to John Winchester and tried his hardest not to falter. "Then – I find out if you two are as fast as you boast you are."
John broke into the first genuine smile he'd held all day. He knew Josh barely saw his Father any more, and the receding influence of that slimy bastard was obviously helping the boy grow the beginnings of a spine. As they quickly divided positions and sectors up, Bobby took the high ground – John volunteered to stay on Sawyers six. A decision that seemed to surprise the well groomed hunter, briefly. But Caleb was foremost in all their minds; and business was all they had time for right now.
Joshua walked the crowd vigilantly. It wasn't the ordinary five senses he was relying on. The amulet was on loan from his Grandmother and if he'd understood her crash course on its properties and uses, it was both shield and detector of energies uniquely associated with crafting. The Witch they were hunting was infinitely more powerful than any he'd had dealings with. He received that message loud and clear when Jocelyn had all but demanded to come with him! He'd talked fast to get around that. His salvation had been in the fact that Le Harve's power was a legacy- it was the only way the line could be so clearly and reliably traced through historical accounts; no variations in ability or skill set. Her power was not hers to wield but bequeathed to her as the heir to the Le Harve name. So John's simple plan of killing the Witch and hence "de-jucing her", was crude but probably accurate. He was under no delusion that it would not be a straight forward task, but he'd thrown a few tricks into his bag on his dash cross country in the Ames jet. It might give Winchester the moments he'd need to take the Witch out. It was a hasty made, ill thought out plan, driven by desperation – but crazy was the only game in town; as Reaves would say.
/
Caleb came to with a start. His first thought was to wonder why the hell he was on his back; his second was to wonder who was holding his hand. It was then he re-joined his own time-line and recalled his sudden, frightening shut down. Happily he could flex his fingers and that awful moment when the spirit or essence or whatever the hell it had been; of his Grandfather Noah Seaver had tried to throw him out of the driver's seat, had passed. He was about to haul himself up to a sitting position when he was assaulted by hell's own searchlight.
Reaves growled as he swatted his Father's ever present pocket penlight, none too gently, away. Mac let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. When his son had snapped back to consciousness but been utterly unresponsive for three minutes, Ames had been on the verge of commanding Dean to speed dial the hospital.
"Caleb?" the Doctor tried again watching the responses of his patient closely.
"Present – and wholly accounted for." the young man stated with a tired sigh.
After a few more basic response tests that the teenager suffered with a tight-lipped grimace, Ames helped his boy up to a sitting position. When Reaves made to haul himself to his feet the Dr objected.
"Where do you think you're going young man?"
"I think I am going to get off the floor and make it the two steps to my bed" Caleb griped stabbing in the direction of the inoffensive furniture with his thumb.
Mac took no notice of the tone as he carried on. "We'll take it slowly son; I am beginning to doubt my decision to..."
"Get off me!" Caleb snarled abruptly rising sharply away from Mac's stunned hands. "I bet these past few days have given you plenty to doubt right Mac?
Somewhere in his head Caleb recognised this response was loco. The unbridled hate and bitterness that rose in him overrode any semblance of sense, until he could almost taste it. The fear and panic morphed into anger. Anger at being targeted, anger at his real family- the cursed freaks he descended from; anger at his Adoptive Father's damned reasonable response to everything.
Mac's expression never changed, though his grip on Caleb's elbow was re-established more firmly.
"How many times do you want to have the same conversation Son? Your welfare comes before your approval of my methods …"
"I said move your fucking hands before I do Ames... don't you get it? Your henpecking won't work because your assuming there is something wrong with me... maybe it's just you that's screwed huh? Ever thought that the bastard son of a demon worshipper might turn out less like a musketeer and more like the Cardinal? Good on the outside, toasted on the inside?"
The dark haired psychic, turned away leaving his now stunned looking Father in his wake. His head felt hot, and though he was in control, something on the outside of his peripheral psychic vision was snarling at him. It was a noise that slowly dawned on him – Le Harve's pets from the pit! Their presence appeared to have a polarising effect on his emotions. They were like a magnifying glass, expanding his fear and the strain of holding his anxieties in check... his mental guards were not breeched as they had been by Seaver; they were submerged by the tidal wave of dark emotions those otherworldly creatures amplified and unleashed upon him. He had run out of time to remove those he loved from danger... He now needed to extract himself and draw those bastards with him.
"I think you've been through a lot son … stress presents itself in different ways..." Mac began to approach the teenager with the same demeanour a lion tamer would use with his cage mate, but over the Dr's shoulder Reaves spied reinforcements coming down the hall.
"Your right to call in the cell guards Mac." Reaves nodded approvingly, "I just told you I hear the voice of my dead Grandfather, a little self preservation would not go amiss on your part."
The Psychic kept backing towards the screen windows that lead to his bedroom balcony. He could just about scale the trim and make it to the top level of the building, and duck down the fire escape... he was pretty sure he could at least. What he could not afford to do right now was get pinned by Perkins. That was a showdown he was truly unsure of.
With his emotions off kilter he did not have full control of his abilities and did not want to risk any accidents. Controlling the wave of hostility that manifested itself as a tremor in his right hand, Caleb tried to breathe slowly through his frustration. He kept telling himself that "these people" were in fact his loving family and they were not "trying to control him" so much as trying to help him. Time was running out, he could now hear the otherworldly growls of the creatures in the room. They were all closing in on him. He eyed Perkins with suspicion, but directed one last attempt at his Father, with more than a note of pleading in his voice.
"You have to let me go Mac – they are here for me …. no one else needs to get hurt."
Mackland Ames prided himself on his skill at reading people even before he discovered his psychic abilities. His own son, however often proved the exception to the rule, and over time Mac had learned the hard lesson of restraint and patience, he allowed Caleb room to find his own way back. Today however, in a very short space of time, all the warning signs Caleb had been exhibiting were coming to a head with frightening speed. The steely resolve in his son's usually warm amber eyes was unnerving him. The boy's breathing was becoming erratic, the way patience did when they were under extreme stress. But apart from the arrival of Perkins in the room, summoned by their raised voices, Ames was at a loss to discern any other change that would account for his son's precarious perch at the brink of hysteria.
"Who are they son? Can you see something, a spirit maybe... one of Le Harve's...?"
"No!" the boy asserted vehemently, impatience and urgency making him short of breath, as he edged back further.
"No one is in danger Caleb, whoever – whatever they are, it only seems to be you they are affecting. Let's just sit dow..."
"God damn it! What the hell is it with you and sitting down? I don't need to sit down!"
"Settle down Reaves." Perkins ventured softly in a neutral tone, stepping steadily but firmly forward.
"Fuck you – why don't you take the fucking seat? Or better still do your job and get them out of here you blind son of a ..."
"Caleb! We are all here to help you and we are staying right here!" Mac injected, fanning out slightly, but closing the gap relentlessly between himself and the skittish teenager.
"You want to help Mac? Stop doing their job for them! Go now before... Don't give them any more ammunition, don't..."
Reaves knew his voice had a hysterical note to it, but he could do nothing about appearances now. As close as Mac was getting Le Harve's playmates were a hell of a lot closer, and their influence was devastating, ever nerve in him thrummed with the sheer need to do some damage, to light it all and watch it burn. He shook his head clearing that thought quickly. He was no puppet, he was in the driver's seat, and they would not use him against his family... against the brotherhood. Finding his back flush against the door, Reaves began formulating exit strategies. It was at this point that Dean and Pastor Jim entered the room, the clergyman holding Sammy protectively at his side. And the bottom fell out of Caleb's plans.
/
She was striking; Joshua had to give her that, with that mass of brown hair caught by two elegant combs and her soft white linen skirt billowing round each graceful step she took. Carrying herself with near courtly poise, Verity Le Harve appeared to know exactly where she was heading and though he was doing his best to keep up but keep far enough back, Sawyer had to wonder what lay at her final destination. The witch was moving with urgency and purpose, though not hastily, and the hunter sent up a prayer that this would lead her away from the crowded lobby they now passed through so the knight could neutralise this threat with minimal fall out.
In a burst of unnatural speed the willowy woman in front of him spun and grabbed his neck, instantly bruising his windpipe and forcing him back through the oblivious and unconcerned crowd. Her vice like grip matched the furious look she wore as she growled at him.
"Presumptions child, you and your subspecies family would actually try to draw me out with a cheap homespun bauble?" her eye cut to the amulet at his heaving chest.
Air was becoming an issue for the blonde hunter and he began to wonder if John was in mentor mode rather than protector – maybe he wanted a little pay back for Reaves after the hazing party Fisher had thrown him, and Joshua had been present at?
A figure large and looming slipped past the crowd on his right and followed them to the more secluded annex the witch had found.
"Get your filthy hands off him, or I'll drop you were you stand bitch!" Winchester barked levelling the sawn off at a point over Sayers right shoulder.
Joshua found himself spun deftly by his captor, and faced John with her hand still steadily crushing his windpipe. His vision began to haze and dark spots danced in front of his eyes.
"You boys actually thought you had a chance to – how do you say? Oh yes – gank me?" her velvet voice was thick with contempt. "I have come to claim my prize and we will be off. I'll give you gun toting fanatics one thing, you sure pick the pretty ones." her eyes sparkled teasingly as she drank in Joshua's muscular frame.
"Like hell, are you getting your hands on either of these boys." John stated flatly. "How you doing there Sawyer?"
The younger hunter could only gag his response and pray the Knight understood.
"Agm..ulitgh.." Sawyer gasped his eyes rolling slightly.
"You said a mouthful there son." John smiled menacingly even as his hand shot forward for Le Harve and his eyes traced the red mark that appeared on her forehead.
/
Tactically it had appeared a sound move. Caleb eyed the view from his balcony as he glanced back over his shoulder as another thud threatened the reinforced glass doors. Behind that barrier was his adoptive family; and that's exactly where they'd stay. He needed to keep them safe, despite their best efforts to make that basic mission of his life, impossible. He could just about hear Deuce screaming at him to unlock the door, whilst Mac and Perkins had taken to trying to smash the glass in with his computer chair. They would succeed eventually, but by drawing his pursuers with him onto the balcony, he was putting some distance between them and all those he held dear.
Is that what you believe? You really are as arrogant as your cursed ancestor! Noah did say he appreciated that about you. But truly your will means less than nothing to us, or our Mistress – and soon it will be a thing of the past; like you...
Caleb let out a scream that he could not hold in; he grappled with the side of his head. In the apartment, Le Harve's entities had been a formidable force, he could sense them. The fact that he was in close proximity to the guardian and still felt the creature's insidious presence should have tipped him off about the extent of their power. Out here – away from the protective sigils of his Father's house; which apparently dampened their influence, the malicious entities were overpowering. Reaves folded in half trying to breathe through the pain of having them in his head- they had smashed his barriers, and the resulting headache could easily have been one of those evil bastards attempting to push his eyeballs out of his head from inside his skull! Closing his eyes tightly he felt a tear slip down his cheek, as the maddening pain drove him to move forward physically, as if he could out run it.
Mac's heart jumped as he watched his boy, entirely unable to help him.
"There is something here Perkins." Mac growled grabbing for Caleb's nearest cupboard and the object he knew his son stored there. "Whatever the hell it is, it's targeting Caleb, we need to reach him!"
Perkins didn't bother answering the Scholar; he could hear the self recrimination behind the obvious statement. Ames and he had thrown everything they could heft against the glass, with minimal success, a few slight fractures held promise but would they pay off fast enough? From the looks of the hunched figure stumbling blindly towards the balcony ledge, Reaves time was almost up. The veteran hunter had tried his hand gun the instant the teenager had slipped out the doors, locking them behind him by tampering with the catch from the inside. Pretty clever actually, he had all of John Winchesters resourcefulness. The bullet had ricocheted dangerously, leading to the expulsion of the Guardian- because there was no way they were going to take that risk, and Winchester's youngest. The older boy had all of his Daddy's pigheadedness in spades and had screamed at Perkins to go fuck himself when he had been told to leave. Under other circumstances he may have taken exception, right now, he was hoping that the youngling's shouts were not going unheeded by Reaves. He had witnessed over the years what Dean meant to him. In the midst of his musings Perkins saw Reaves lift his head with apparent difficulty and mouth one word directly at him. Looked like "Run"?
Caleb didn't know when his screams stopped, they blended so nicely with the sound of the aggressive New York traffic far below, and the laughter of the vile sons of bitches in his head.
"If you want to kill me – go ahead you cowardly fuckers! What are you waiting for?"
Reaves hoped the voice sounded more challenging than the whimper that he heard through the maelstrom in his ears. But from their genuinely disturbing mirthful laugh... he guessed not.
We are not here to end your existence, we are merely waiting to take you on to your next life... the first task is reserved for you. It's how the Mistress will truly be sure of your fidelity.
"My what? Are you Kid...?"
The pain that swept him then, took his breath away, and brought fresh tears from his eyes. He found himself praying for the Siberian Bear again, because he was sure that they wouldn't need to wait too long- this drawn out pain was his end. He could feel it; he didn't have much more left to fight them with.
Still you insult the Mistress by believing you have a choice? Impudent wretch; we are not asking you to join us – we are telling you that if you do not, we will start taking from you that which you still have the puny power to save... your so called family. Tell us – who is the most dispensable?
The psychic was horrified. He could feel as well as hear their meaning, it dripped with disinterested malice; theirs was a form of communication that was more a violation of the mind and spirit than any other Supernatural foe he had faced. And he groaned as he ran over Seaver's words in his head. He wasn't strong enough. They had him, but there was no way he was going to let them hurt anyone else on his part.
Little idiot! The question was not whether or not we would snuff out the existence of one of your weak group, merely who you considered least important – we see your answer despite your pathetic efforts at bravado... too late you've made the choice.
"Run!" Caleb howled. Forcing his head up – he had to warn...
Even as he met Perkins eyes, the dark haired hunter screamed out in horror as he saw the older man's head spin to the right snapping his neck. Turning away hurriedly Caleb somehow found himself across the warm stone of the balcony wall and peering at the small streaks of cars many miles below. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe – he had killed Perkins... he had, had a daughter and... and …. he was dead because Caleb had been too weak to man up... just like his Dad. The real one... who had waited too long and had taken out his wife and unborn child in the process. Caleb knew now – knew it for a damn fact, that this was his Swan song, and he was going now, before these evil Sons of Bitches had the chance to take anyone else. Damn them – and damn himself to hell!
Dean's gasp was audible as he heard the horrible cracking sound and witnessed the unnaturally fluid turn of Perkins head in his direction. The moment he made eye contact with the older hunter's already vacant, glazed eyes, he knew the other man was dead. Time slowed in that way his Dad had described on the brief occasions he spoke about the war and the effect allowed Dean to view several things all at once. The young blond watched Mac dive frantically for his downed fellow hunter, he heard Pastor Jim order Sammy to "stay put" loudly from some point further up the corridor. But what took centre stage in his attention was the haunted grimace on Damien's face. He was familiar with that emotion in the teenager; it usually preceded some foolish plan to make amends when Damien felt he screwed up. Guilt played a big part in all their lives, but as the dark haired psychic flung himself towards the wall protecting him from the magnificent New York skyline, Dean felt utter dread wash over him. Damien could be his own worst enemy at the best of times... this was bad, Dean knew in his heart that his best friend was in trouble. Acting as if on auto pilot the boy crouched down to where Mac hovered over Perkins, in a deft move he claimed the dead hunter's gun and before Mac could piece together what was happening, he fired one shot at point blank range into the network of cracks Mac and Perkins best efforts had produced.
Without any further thought for the shards of glass melting round him, some catching his forearms and face Dean Winchester walked through the breaking door. He was drawn to his best friend like a magnet and as fast as he was moving he was acutely aware that he would not reach Damien fast enough.
"Caleb?" Dean hollered his voice torn and heavy with fear.
The Psychic paused and seemed to register him.
"He's dead right? I killed him Deuce, I'm a kill..." the end of the sentence was snatched away by the hitch in the older boy's voice.
Dean eyed the posture of his friend wearily. Everything about his body language screamed fight or flight, with flight seeming to win out. He needed to get Reaves away from the ledge before his dark thoughts dragged him down, figuratively and literally. For the first time in a long time Dean felt his age – what could he do? He was no expert, he didn't even have a full grasp of whatever evil son of a bitch was assailing his friend … he had nothing, his friend was too torn and fragile right now for his clumsy attempts at a rescue, who was he kidding?
The young boy shook his head, as the shiver of utter defeat rolled over him. Digging his fingernails into his palms he tried to reach out to Damien because that was his job – this was more than his best friend this was his brother, and no emo charged whiny bitch moment, was going to allow him to screw this up.
"Damien, you need to step towards me. There is something out here, I feel it – I feel off, and I only got the ten second intro. Man if this is what's been stalking you … Dad is on it, but we need you to come towards the house, you're exposed out here. You know the rules – no hunting alone."
With shock Dean watched the dark haired youth's shoulders shake and a sob escape him.
"Back off Dean! We aren't the hunter's here... Don't you get it? I can't risk anyone else... I won't lo...loose anyone else..."
Caleb's voice was so choked with pain that Dean took an instinctive step forward wondering if the psychic was suffering from a physical wound from one of his earlier misadventures. Reaves growled tensing further and hunching into the wall like it was his only means of staying upright.
"Please Dean- Stay back; they have already picked you next... God I'm... I'm begging you man... can't hold them off much lon, longer..."
The older boy glanced over his shoulder at his young friend and effectively stopped Dean Winchester like a freight train. Caleb's eyes were streaming as he openly wept with the strain of battling against some unseen force. There was blood lazily trickling from his nose and the level of anguish he saw in the teenager who had become big brother and protector to him since he was six years old, was unbearable.
"Damien" Dean breathes the name out exhaling the prayer "Walk to me. It's me man, after all this time and all your three musketeer bullshit, all those lectures about trust... Caleb, move away from the wall, you don't need to be there man. You belong here with your family Caleb, walk to me!"
Dean felt a feather-light touch on his shoulder and looked up into Mac's suffering face. The Scholar was allowing Dean to take the lead in this rescue at deep personal cost Dean realised. Talking people through extreme emotional situations was part of Mac's real world job, but the Doctor recognised a life preserver when he saw one. Mac was acknowledging that Dean was their best chance at saving his son. That pressure right there, made Dean want to hurl up every morsel of junk food he'd ever eaten. But that would come later; right now he had a job to do.
/
Joshua scrambled out from under the dead woman like he was being burned with acid. Part of him wasn't entirely sure he wasn't being marked in some way on a spiritual level being this close to her as it was. Her skin had begun to blacken when John had driven his knife in her throat but between Winchester's silver blade and Singer's brass tipped salt filled bullet... it was a close call. Sawyer glanced down at his right palm at the crushed glass embedded in his skin where he'd broken Le Harve's pendant in his own hand and mused. A very close call.
John watched the long haired young hunter closely. He thought to reach out and help Sawyer up and out from under the dead bitch, but the ashen pallor of the other man held him back. The knight wanted to assess his fellow hunter's status. He didn't understand magic and he liked it even less, that it had played as large a part in this hunt as it did, but for Caleb's sake he had to be through. As the younger man went to straighten up and immediately proceeded to fold in half it was only the ex-marines quick reflexes that saved his pretty face from becoming acquainted with the floor. John cursed as he took pretty much all the kids weight and gently lowered him to a lying position, before he could holler to the third man in his team; Singer appeared at his side.
"Come on Slick" Bobby grunted slapping the side of the sweating man's face. "No place for a power nap!"
John watch the man on the floor throw Singer an evil look but the venom was distilled by his profuse sweating and increasingly loud laboured breathing.
"Hey, hey …. Josh, what's going on with you?" John asked in a rising voice tinged with concern.
Sawyer lifted his right hand to Singer gasping out the words, "Blood,d m,mag,gic..."
Singer nodded grimly understanding as he watched the dark stain under the skin of Joshua' palm spread. Looking around gratefully the mechanic noted that the architecturally decorative pillars that they had chosen to take the Witch of Endor down behind were concealing their drama.
John slapped his shoulder.
"What'ya hitting me for ye idgit?" Bobby groused taking firm hold of the downed hunter's arm.
"What the hell is he rambling about – is he ok?" John growled as if it was the most stupid question he'd ever had to answer.
"Hurry – Winchester... he, her hounds have Ca, Ca...leb." Joshua sucked in air like a fish out of water.
Bobby shoved something between Joshua's teeth and flicked out his hunting knife.
"Bite hard Slick, I don't know how deep this glass goes or how many pieces ..."
Sawyer half heard Bobby but was rapidly beginning to view another in his mind's eye. He knew the figure instantly; he felt the utter desolation of this miserable soul and shuddered as he clearly saw the two hounds that were drawing so close to the man near the ledge they were practically breathing down his neck. With a determined growl he twisted his hand up and into Singer's knife pulling his limb towards himself and effectively slitting his own palm as he went. The last words he got out were a half breathed; "Too slow". The last sound he heard as he began to succumb to blood loss induced blackness was Bobby's Singer's startled oath. Joshua hopped they were in time.