Author's Notes and Acknowledgments:
I'd like to thank Ridley C. James for reading some parts of this and offering her feedback. The story is only better for her sharp eye. Not to mention thank her for answering all my stupid questions like 'Is Caleb left or right handed' through the years.
I'd also like to thank all my faithful reviewers and readers and wish them all a very happy and safe holiday season.
Magazine- The proper shooting term for 'clip'.
Warnings: I'm putting a warning up for gore and body counts.
******If anyone gets this twice I'm trying to work on formatting. I'm sorry.***********
Lives are measured in fractions of seconds.
The instant in time when intelligence fails and the body reacts is the moment that will determine if you live or die.
That's why John trained our asses off for years. Why we drill. Why we learned what our physical limits are and how to stretch beyond them. Why we got maneuvers memorized by muscle memory alone. So in that flicker of a moment where terror shuts the intellect down the body would know what to do.
You bust your ass and drag yourself out of bed on those cold winter mornings for times where you got to react to survive. So you respond before your mind can fully comprehend that sickening iron smell is a shit load of flesh blood and the oozing glob of flesh stew coming towards you was once a screaming human being. Where your body responds, flips over and crawls to get away from the gruesome awfulness without you even realizing your doing it.
Bad arm be damned.
Isn't adrenaline a wonderful thing?
Sometimes you hate when your brain is a little slow at catch-up processing.
Other times you're thankful you won't have this horror replayed in your nightmares in full technicolor.
The floor rumbled again.
"Oh James, you sneaky old fox," Nate threw his head back and laughed. "This is glorious."
Not the choice of words Caleb would have used.
Caleb looked briefly back at the pool of horror he was trying to edge away from and tried not to gag.
Nope.
Not the words he would have used at all.
With another rumble the silver lashed out from the floor again.
Another one of Nate's goons dropped the gun he was holding, grabbed his leg and screamed. The silver reached up from the floor and enveloped him.
Yuck.
Messy.
Somehow that gave Dean the opening he needed. Deuce broke free and dove for the gun. Then in one smooth move he rolled to his feet, and aimed. With eyes as cold and as dead as glaciers Dean pulled the trigger. A goon's head exploded in a gruesome mess of blood and bone.
Caleb noted with a certain amount of satisfaction it was his missing gun and it had been the goon that wielded the super-heated electrode to his shoulder.
Ha Ha.
Take that you Son of a Bitch.
Dean dodged a bullet fired in his direction and aimed the gun again. This time another goon's leg exploded right below the knee. The goon crumpled like a house of cards. The lower part of his left leg was lying a few feet away from him. Blood shot all over the walls like a fountain. The goon clutched where his lower leg should have been.
Caleb loved good armor piercing ammo. It was illegal as hell. It made a small hole when it entered and a huge one when it exited. Silver tip it and it may not kill all the baddies but it sure as hell could punch a big enough hole to slow them down.
"Plan A, Damien. Haul ass!" Dean commanded as he grabbed Caleb's shirt collar and started dragging him towards a triangle shaped corridor. Dragging Caleb in front of him Dean continued to lay cover fire. "We need to find a secure location before the Remnants over-run us. We got to get you out of here. Then we've got to find Sammy."
Remnants?
Sammy?
Dean thought they were back in Denver?
Ah, fuck.
Of all the God awful hunts to drift back too…
It had been a hunt that had gone straight to hell. What they thought had been a simple Yeti hunt had turned out to be a nest of Remnants. Remnants were animalistic Zombies with super-human strength, a taste for human meat, and a really bad attitude problem. They liked to rip their prey apart. Nothing short of fire would stop them. You blew off limbs and they'd still keep coming and coming and coming.
What had made that hunt even worse was Caleb had found out the hard way he was a sickle cell carrier. Being a sickle cell carrier generally was no big deal. It gave you an extra shot of resistance against contracting malaria. At least that's how Mac had explained it to him later. It was like the people of Northern European lineage that carried the Delta 32 mutation. Thanks to ancestors that survived the Black Death people that carried the genes in modern times were immune to not only the Plague but HIV as well.
But there was a give and take to being different. People with Delta 32 were immune to HIV but West Nile tended to land them in ICU. Being a Sickle Cell carrier gave you extra resistance against malaria but it also had its draw backs. In some rare instances when you mixed over-exertion, dehydration, and high altitudes it could be deadly because your blood could start clotting.
Not a fact Caleb had wanted to discover as he puked blood and was surrounded ass-deep in remnants. It hit him hard and fast right out of the blue. No warning. It was kind of ironic. Caleb had spent so many years brooding about his father's side of the gene pool he never really thought about his mother's contributions much. That little over-sight had cost him his gall-bladder and a week in ICU.
Yeah, fun times.
Caleb didn't remember too much from that hunt. He remembered not feeling well and then later refusing to leave an injured unable to walk Silas Fox behind. He vaguely remembered pain like something was broken inside and later puking blood. Then Deuce with a group of hunters coming to their rescue Uzis and flame throwers blazing. The Hunters had fought tunnel to tunnel getting them out of here. Next thing he knew he was waking up in ICU. Tubes in place he never wanted to talk about EVER and Mac hovering at his bedside.
When he woke up Dean had been nowhere in sight.
Caleb had found out later that Dean had been called to stand before the Guardian after that hunt. A small group of hunters had argued going after Caleb and Silas wasn't worth the risk. That it was a suicide mission. Dean had listened to their story quietly. After they were done retelling their tale, Deuce had pulled out his gun and had made his point by blowing a hole through the leg of the hunter that had abandoned Caleb and Silas. Then Dean had looked at the group and stated, "The Brotherhood does NOT abandon our own. We bring them home or die trying. Is that understood?"
Funny.
No one had argued with the command.
The group of hunters had come back for them.
Afterwards, however, Dean had been summoned to stand before the Guardian.
The waste of a ring that Dean had blown a hole through had been from one of the older more powerful families of the Brotherhood. Seeing it as an opportunity Ian Hastings had jumped on it with both feet and publicly petitioned Jim. Hastings had claimed it was an unprovoked assault on another member of the Brotherhood. An offense Ian had argued that should cost Dean his ring. Backed in to a corner Jim really had no choice but summon Dean home. Dean had been given the dubious honor of the first hunter in three generations to essentially stand before a Guardian's tribunal.
Everything Caleb knew had been second-hand accounts Bobby had retold at his bedside.
Deuce gave Caleb's shirt another yank.
That snapped Caleb out of his thoughts. He'd been drifting off.
Shock, some higher functional part of his brain informed him.
Not good.
Dean dodged another bullet that went whizzing by them. It missed both them by centimeters and bounced off the stone floor. Then Dean practically threw Caleb in to the corridor. Throwing him around was a pretty amazing feat for Dean considering Caleb outweighed the skinny little shit by thirty, forty pounds of pure muscle. Dean had always been built for speed and not power.
Dean helped him sit up against the wall. Then he glared down at Caleb. "Your left-eyed sights are a pain in the ass. You know that?"
Caleb smiled at him weakly. "You're just jealous because Johnny is leaving me his armories when he checks out."
One nice thing about doing everything in mirror reverse and being left handed and left eye dominate was not too many baddies could use your own gun against you. Especially since Caleb had set the ejection port to smack a right-handed shooter in the face with the used shells and hot gas. It was an added little bit of spiteful insurance.
Being left-handed was one of the reasons Caleb had been assigned to be trained by John, and why his father, despite reservations, had agreed to it. John Winchester was one of the few left-handed hunters the Brotherhood had. Left-handed shooting was more an art. John was one of the few hunters that could teach Caleb the tricks he had needed to know to survive.
Dean smirked at him but it didn't meet his eyes. Then with competent hands Deuce slid the magazine out of the gun and counted the bullets left. Good call. They needed to know how many shots they had left. "You're getting Dad's guns because after all the years Dad smacked Sam in the face with his shell casing. Dad knows Sam has plans to cheerfully melt those bitches into scrap metal."
"Sam could never grasp the concept that we lefties got the outer seats at the table and the far end of the shooting range for a very good reason."
"Sam was always more interested in having the prime spot to sneak off so he could go read. Being able to bitch at Dad was always his secondary motivator." Dean sighed. Then he slid down the wall. Caleb could tell the younger hunter was completely spent. "God, I'm cold." Deuce shivered. Even in the dim light Caleb could tell Dean's fever was making his eyes glassy and bright. "Damien have you seen Sammy and Dad? Are they okay?"
"They're fine." Caleb shot the younger hunter what he hoped was a reassuring smile. Caleb sighed inwardly. Dean still wasn't coherent. Which only made their circumstances all that worse. Caleb ignored his aching shoulder and got his feet under him. Then he used the stone wall as support and slowly made his way to his feet. "You did good back there. Now let me worry about getting us the hell out of here."
Junior, assess the situation.
In his mind Caleb could hear John Winchester bark at him.
Surrounded by bad guys. Dean was feverish and semi-delusion. He had a bum arm and was on the boarder end of shock. Minimum Ammo. No supplies. No help coming.
And Nate.
Overall appraisal: Ass-deep in alligators and sinking fast.
Not looking good for warm and fuzzy outcomes.
Advantages: They were in a defendable position and they had more bullets than Nate had bad guys left. The man munching silver was still out there lurking. It was an unknown factor. Plus Nate wanted Deuce alive. They weren't going to come in guns blazing.
Yet.
That only left the hit squad their psychic powers.
"Funny. The Pendragon showed me Orion too." Dean pointed drunkenly.
Pendragon?
What the hell?
Caleb looked up. On the wall over his head was an image of Orion the Hunter in his eternal guard over the Pyramids of Giza.
Wait a minute…
Giza.
The Brotherhood seemed to favor Egyptian floor plans in this region.
Something in the chamber's plan looked eerily familiar.
It mirrored the Temple of Hathor at Dendra.
"Deuce, do you have box cutter or a razor blade on you?"
Dean nodded. He reached in to his boot and handed Caleb a box cutter. "Here."
"I can always count on you and your Winchester-Hidden-Pocket-Everywhere mom purse," Caleb said with a genuine grin as he took the cutter.
Dean's only response was an extended middle finger.
"I think I might have a way out." Caleb informed the younger hunter. "If this place follows the design at Dendra, then at the far end of all these dead-end corridors should be entrances to a hidden vault that runs the entire length of the walls. I just need to find where the stone is loose."
"It should allow us to double back and get the hell out of here," Dean finished for him.
"Exactly."
Dean's eyes suddenly got huge. "Damien what's wrong with your shoulder? There's something glittering on it."
"Not now. Forget it." Caleb ordered as he made his way towards the back of the passage. He needed to find the way in to that vault.
Where was the damned joint in the stone?
Dean got to his feet unsteadily and followed Caleb. "But it looks like molten silver."
"Deuce," Caleb insisted as he fingered the wall. "We'll worry about it later.
Caleb figured if the silver wanted to kill him it would have done it already. If it was eating him slow. Fine. Whatever. Right now he didn't have time to worry about it. They needed to get out of here.
"Damien…" Dean softly touched the silver and it started to glow.
Shit!
Caleb heard the shots before the bullets flew by them. The glowing silver had acted like a beacon to the enemy. He grabbed Dean and hit the dirt. Caleb tried to soften the landing. In midair he twisted them so Deuce landed on top of him. It was a poor attempt at protecting Dean and Caleb knew it. As fragile as he was Dean could easily bleed to death internally from a simple bruise right now.
Dean blinked in shock.
"Deuce ten a clock!"
Dean shifted, pointed the gun in the direction Caleb indicated, and fired.
Their reward was a scream.
Trying to sneak up on a telepath was never a good idea.
"Anymore?" Dean asked softly.
Caleb did a quick scan and shook his head. "None in range." Caleb rolled Dean off of him gently. "Now stay down and let me look for that entrance."
It took him a few minutes but Caleb found where a stone joint was a little different from the rest of the wall.
Bingo!
"Deuce I found it," Caleb called as he started working at the joint trying to loosen it with the box cutter. "It's going to take a little time to loosen and move the slab."
Dean nodded. His eyes never left the direction of the entrance.
"I am getting very tired of this," Nate's voice echoed out of the darkened gloom. Dean rubbed his forehead. Caleb could feel Nate's telepathic push behind it. "Surrender now and I'll allow you both to live." If all else fails use the old telepathic glamour.
Yeah, right.
Caleb didn't believe that one for a minute.
"This stubbornness is going to get you both nowhere, Hound" Nate called. "I will win. You and Decanus are already conquered. You are simply too obstinate to realize it."
Caleb continued to work on loosening the stone slab in front of him.
There was a sound outside the entrance to the corridor.
"Damien where is he?" Dean yelled from the doorway. He scanned the gloom. "Guide me in."
Caleb looked up from what he was doing and threw his powers out in a net. He had once described it to Deuce as something like internal radar. Psychic powers had different flavors or feels to them. Telepaths felt different from other kinds of talents. Whoever Nate had sent in this time was a telepath. The stupid bastard thought he could cloak himself.
What came next always reminded Caleb of fencing, the angling of power for advantage, the trust and parry looking for weakness in your opponent's mental defenses. Caleb felt his enemy gather his energy. It was comparable to that peculiar feeling as static gathers right before lightening strikes. As his opponent lashed out, Caleb pictured a wall shielding him and Dean and cast his energy out. His adversary's energy bounced off like a rubber ball on a stone wall.
His foe dodged the backlash and struck out again. This time he aimed for Dean. Dean grabbed his head. Caleb gathered his powers and let them go. Caleb's power shattered his challenger's shields like lightening shattering a tree truck. In some part of his mind Caleb could see that unique spark of consciousness that was the very essence of his enemy.
For an eternal moment in time Caleb held everything a human being was in his hands.
Then without hesitation Caleb snuffed it out.
Caleb realized he blew it when Nate laughed.
"Very good, Hound. I knew you had it in you." Nate's voice called from the gloom. "But it once again demonstrates exactly what a miserable failure Missouri is as an Advisor. She forgot to instruct you that through your bond I can pinpoint Dean."
"Deuce back of the cave!" Caleb shouted.
No!
The gun went flying from Dean's hand.
With one powerful jerk Dean flew toward the entrance.
God damn, fucking telekinesis.
"Damien!" Dean shouted as he got dragged toward the door and disappeared in to the gloom of the main chamber. "In your boot…"
Caleb started kicking the stone slab he loosened. He didn't have much time. Now that Dean was out of the crossfire Nate was going to cover this place with a barrage of bullets. Dean was who he wanted. Caleb was expendable.
Caleb heard the click of weapons priming.
Son of a bitch!
With a final strong kick, the heavy stone slab gave. It tumbled inward to the hidden vault. With one smooth move Caleb grabbed the gun Dean dropped and climbed in to the crypt. Behind him he could hear the rain of machine gun fire as it bounced off the stone walls of the chamber behind him.
Nate wasn't taking any chances.
He heard footsteps coming.
Caleb leaped to his feet and ran.
He sprinted down the long narrow passageway. He was happy the triangular ceiling of the place was high enough he didn't have to stoop as he ran. He took quick stock of the layout of the T-shaped passages in front of him. He hoped to disappear in to the gloom.
Caleb heard in the distance the sounds of Nate's men climbing in after him.
Wonderful.
You gotta love those days at the office when the baddies are determined to kill you.
When he had distance between him and his pursuers, Caleb ducked in to one of the side chambers.
He needed to come up with a plan.
Fast.
Caleb listened to the darkness and heard nothing. He had managed to slip his hunters for the time being. Caleb reached into a secret pocket in his boot and pulled out a red glow stick. He gave it a good shake and snapped it to let the chemicals release.
As the dim, red light pierced the gloom, Caleb smiled.
Weapons of various sized and designs were hung and piled along the walls with great care.
Halleluiah!
He had found an armory.
Then he reached in to his other boot and pulled out what Deuce had slipped to him earlier.
Yup, MacGyver came through again.
For as long as Caleb could remember Dean had been working on an electro magnetic pulse or "Ghost Grenade". Dean had a theory that ghosts rode a certain specific EMF frequency. If someone could find that specific frequency or mix of frequencies a ghost tapped into, the baddie could be scrambled. Dean hoped to create an EMF weapon that a hunter could use to create a feedback loop and jumble the electro-magnetic frequency long enough for a hunter to clear the area of a spirit safely.
So far the attempts had been miserable failures.
Its results on psychics on the other hand….
It had taken Caleb two days to wake up after he had been accidentally caught in the weapon's wake during a hunt. Instead doing what it was originally designed to, it caused a nasty bio-electrical feedback loop in anyone that happened to be the least bit psychically gifted. Dean realized immediately what weapon implications the device could have. Not risking it could fall in to enemy hands Deuce had even gone so far as to rip out pages that had the mere mention of the gadget out of his hunter's journal and burn them. After Caleb had gotten out of the hospital he and Deuce had gotten in to one of their few rare screaming matches when Dean had told Caleb he was giving up on the project completely.
The device Caleb held in his hands now wasn't the original prototype. Apparently Dean hadn't quite given up on his ghost grenade completely. That made Caleb very happy. If Deuce ever managed to perfect the device it could save a lot of unnecessary Hunter injuries. This prototype was in the body of one of those stupid electronic pet key-chains. Dean had wired in the small battery that powered the light he'd taken apart. The battery acted as a power source for a little added juice.
Caleb pushed a button.
A scrolling message read: Push red button to arm. Two minute countdown. All psychics get clear. This means you Dickhead!
Ah, wasn't that sweet.
Deuce gave him his own idiot warning.
Caleb heard a shuffling noise coming in his direction. He looked around and grabbed what looked like a dagger off the wall. Right now he needed stealth. A gunshot would relay his position to the enemy. The dagger still looked razor sharp. Caleb was betting his life on its sharpness. He slipped the glow-stick in to his boot to snuff the light and Deuce's ghost grenade in to the other. Then he ducked in to the shadows and waited.
Caleb didn't wait long.
Two armed men slowly made their way down the corridor.
They weren't even trying to disguise their approach.
Caleb peered in to the gloom trying to distinguish if these two men had back-up or not.
Nope.
Man, these were cocky bastards.
Amateurs think hand-to-hand is about ability and honor.
It's not.
It's about killing or maiming another human being. Hand-to-hand is about learning the weaknesses of the human body and using those weaknesses to destroy it. It's the reason Jim and John stressed self-control so strongly growing up. Once you learn these skills it's like carrying a loaded gun around with you all the time. Losing your temper and letting loose isn't an option any more. Hand-to-hand combat is ugly. It's brutal. Doesn't matter if it's Supernatural or normal human beings, any person that says differently is a moron. There is nothing admirable about watching the light fade from another person's eyes. It's just horrifying.
Caleb waited in the shadows for the perfect moment.
Then he struck.
Leaping from the shadows Caleb stuck the dagger in to the first guy's neck and carotid artery. Blood sprayed. The enemy was dead before his body had a chance to hit the floor. The remaining man swung his gun in Caleb's direction. With one smooth move Caleb grabbed the arm and hit a pressure point. His attacker's arm went limp and the gun dropped to the floor. Then before his enemy could get a warning shout off, Caleb crushed his windpipe.
The guy laid there clawing at his throat, last instincts trying to desperately draw a breath in through his demolished airway. The guy's wild eyes looking up at Caleb pleading for help. Caleb grabbed the dagger out of his companion's cooling body. Then he looked down at his dying foe. Their eyes met and Caleb nodded.
Then Caleb ended it.
He put the dagger right through the guy's heart.
Caleb granted him a quicker and more merciful death than suffocating on his own blood.
This was Caleb's personal code of honor.
The day he stopped being able to meet his dying opponents eyes was the day he hung up his guns and left hunting forever.
He pulled Dean's ghost grenade out of his boot.
Now he had a plan.
It was time to kick Nate's sorry ass back to the cesspool of Hell that spawned him.