The smell of death clung tightly to the air like a thick noose wrapped tightly around the neck of the thing. It was a smell that was completely unmistakable to the man who had happened across it so suddenly that he was not even sure what he was experiencing was real. How many times had he gone through this particular stretch of highway during his search for John, and never stepped foot in that general direction? But apparently, a few hundred feet in the other direction made a significant difference. Caleb's jaw tightened as he prepared himself to further investigate the stranger smell. There was no mistaking it was a body. The question on his mind, was whose body was it. What poor soul had met his end on this blacktop.

Wrapping one hand around his gun, which was tucked tightly behind him in his jeans, he took one cautious step foreward. He knew the implications of his find better than anyone. He knew the damage it would do to two innocent children if the body he was smelling, was the body of their father. And he also knew that his investigation would expand to another possible lead if the body was another victim of the spirit who was supposed to be targeting a certain kind of man. With all that running through his mind like an endless spider web, he stepped off the concrete and oto the grass that shielded him from the sharp drop below.

The drop was doable to overcome, but it was what he might see at the bottom that was making Caleb hesitate as his boots crunched over the various twigs and leaves that had been strewn across the landscape on the cool fall afternoon. Even though he could feel the acute coldness that was permeating the area, unusual for Dallas, he could also feel the sweat start to gather at the back of his neck. It was not sweat from the exertion he was putting on himself, it was the thought of finding his friend in that position. Until then, Caleb had been guarded in his optimism of finding John alive.

The air whipped past his face as he stepped right up to the edge of the hill-y drop that was hiding yet another unfortunate victim of this spirit. There was no question in his mind that it was a spirit who had killed whoever he was about to find, and not another player in town. The question of how sulfur had entered the latest victim's bloodstream was still swimming through his mind, but his main priority then was figuring out what he would find when he looked down, and also how he would manage it if it proved to be his worst fear. Caleb's mind was trying to warn him, trying to tell him to back off and not look down. He didn't want to know, his mind screamed.

But he had to know. He had to know whether he was going to be examining another stranger's body, or figuring out a way to tell two boys that their father was dead. The thought of not knowing was almost as worse as knowing the horrific truth. With that bracing thought in mind, Caleb took a gulp of air, and peered over the side of the cliff that was partially hidden by a forest of trees and rocks. At first glance, he did not see anything, even though his nose had given away the big secret already.

At first glance, there was nothing that called Caleb's attention to the fact that he smelled a dead body, but when he took a risk and stepped right to the very edge of the large side and looked down closer to the very beginning of the cliff, he saw something that made his heart drop into his stomach: It was a body. One that looked like it had been there for at least a few days, judging from its appearance, and also the sea of blood that looked both old and new. The problem was that even though Caleb could feel his heart splinter into several pieces, he could not positively identify the body from that distance. He had to go down.

There was no question in his mind that the body was John's, but another part of his mind was urging him to consider the very possible alternatives to what he was seeing. The spirit was on the prowl for anyone who she thought was guilty of harming their children, and she could have very possibly picked off another victim. But another, more pressing part of him, was already preparing for what he would say to Jim when he finally got back to a phone. There was no protocol in the hunters handbook for how to handle a death like this one. Not when two boys were at the center of this thing.

Delicately picking his way down the cliff, he narrowly avoided being tripped on weeds and other low-hanging branches that curled threateningly around his ankles, as though it was trying to keep him from seeing what was at the bottom of the cliff. His free hand that was not holding his gun, held a polaroid camera, ready to take as many crime scene photographs as possible so he and Jim could agonize over them later. It was always the part of the job that he dreaded the most. Having to go through the victim's personal belongings, and also play the part of crime scene investigator. This time, however, would be different, he was sure.

When his feet finally landed on steady ground, the smell nearly overpowered his senses. As did the distinct sound of buzzing flies that had already become attracted to the body. Swallowing back the vomit that wanted to make its desired appearance, Caleb turned right and let the sound and smells lead him to where he needed to go. The area was strangely quiet. The traffic of the highway was muted by the trees, and he was sure his own heartbeat was doing a good job of keeping his thoughts centered on the one sound and smell that mattered.

Letting his feet lead him to the where the body lay hidden behind a few tall weeds and trees that almost encased it in a protective stance, the first thing he noticed was the blood, and the bits and pieces of ripped clothing that looked like they had come from a leather jacket. The kind that John almost always wore when he was on hunts. Taking a step around the weeds that were coated in dried blood, and also fresh blood, he took note of the trees around the body that had bloody imprints on them.

Raising an eyebrow, he stepped closer to the massive trunk, and noticed that the imprints were clearly that of human handprints. Either the victim had been injured and was trying to find his way back to safety, or he had fallen and had brushed his hands against the rough bark. Either way, it did nothing to soothe Caleb's fragmented heart. Pulling out his camera, he took a few photos of the suspicious tree trunk. Any small detal like that would likely prove to be helpful in the long-term as he investigated what took place in this secluded spot.

Stepping through the trees, the split just wide enough for him to fit through, as though the trees wanted him to find the person they were trying to protect, he closed his eyes for a minute and then forced them to open. At first glance, his brain went into overdrive as it sought to keep him from accepting the mind-numbing reality of what he was seeing. Every possible excuse was flying through his mind as he stared down at the body, unable to look away now that he was seeing it. Taking a step closer, his legs felt like Jell-O, unstable in their strides to get him there.

It was the outcome that he had feared since the moment he had received the call from Jim all those days ago, and it was the outcome that he was now trying so hard to avoid accepting as truth. The spirit, whoever it was, had killed his friend and the father of two young children. There was no denying what he was seeing, logically, but an illogical part of his brain was still scrambling for an alternative solution as he bent down to examine John's body and what was around it. Upon first looking at the body, there was nothing to indicate the trauma he must have gone through. His leather jacket was savagely torn in some places, but his body looked clean.

The blood that lay in various parts of the surrounding area was certainly John's blood, and that made Caleb's heart sink, and tears spring to his eyes. The hunter, as new as he was, was also stubborn as hell, and also capable of carrying himself through every situation possible. It was this situation, however, that proved to be his downfall. Wiping a hand down his face, Caleb held it there for a second and let himself feel the full weight of what was going on in his mind. For just a second, he let the tears fall down his face and the crushing awareness of what this would do to Dean, and to Sammy as he grew older.

They would never really know their father. Just fleeting memories in Dean's case, and the recollections of other people, in Sam's case. It was too cruel for Caleb to contemplate fully. This world had been too cruel and hard on those innocent children, and now they were about to know the fullness of a world that spared no mercy to the victims it sought with a vengeance. Caleb already knew that part of the world well. All he had to do was think about his pregnant wife, and the life they could have had if a demon had not broken into their home one night.

Turning his attention back to John, he grabbed his camera, and took a few steady shots of his body as it appeared. Once he was done after a minute, which was all the time he could bear to look at the body for that length of time, he ran his hands over his body, feeling nothing that immediately raised his attention. Taking a deep breath, he knew he had to go deeper in order to fully appreciate what he was dealing with.

Caleb felt sick to his stomach as he worked diligently, as though he was handling the finest piece of silver, to gently turn John over to inspect his back for any other injuries that might have been missed on the first look-through. It was there that Caleb began to understand the full burden of what he was dealing with. What had been missing on his front side, was clear on his back at first glance. Several deep slashes and gashes intersected with one another. The cuts had no real pattern to them. Just the appearance of anger and violence directed toward this man.

Noticing a particular cut that ran down from his back to his lower side, Caleb knew that what lay underneath his leather jacket, would prove crucial to what may have happened to him. Taking a second to take photos of his back, Caleb paused for a second, allowing himself to take a breather, before diving into the next phase of his examination process. The leather jacket had been full of mercy, allowing Caleb to operate under the illusion that the worst had been on John's back, but that did not prove to be the case. As he worked to get the jacket off, Caleb did not miss it when a few splatters of blood found its way onto his hands.

Sighing softly, shaking his head, he worked harder to get the jacket off. This was one of the worst attacks he had ever seen that had been done by a spirit. Bobby had not been lying when he said this one spirit was like a mother lion protecting her cubs. This attack was vicious, and entirely unforgiving to the hunter hunting this monster.

Taking in the full weight of what was underneath the jacket, proved to be harder than Caleb thought as his mind struggled to process what was right in front of him. Where his back had been full of gashes and scars, the front of him proved to be much the same thing, but with a slightly smaller degree of brutality. It was as though the attack had happened from behind, and had stalled when John went down. Of course, that was one theory Caleb had, but he knew the real story would likely be a little different.

Standing up once he was through with his examination, he once again took out his camera. It felt like an invasion of privacy to document such a brutal crime scene. Especially when it was his friend that was the victim of this murder. His hands, already shaken from the cold breeze, went numb as his fingers clicked the button. Blowing some warm air on his cold body parts, he tried to figure out what his next move should be. He needed to get the police involved. Even though he had no clue what he would say to them. And he needed to get back to Minnesots.

Retracing his steps back up the enormous cliff, Caleb could feel his heart breaking into tiny pieces as he imagined the conversation that would have to follow with Jim, and then with his two sons. Sam and Dean would be much too young to understand death in the way that it really was, but he also knew that these two boys had gone through something that no one should ever have to go through. Their experience with losing their mother, had already altered their percecption of the way the world worked.

Finding a payphone that was conveniently located right next to the cliff, he paused before depositing the change, and calling 911. As a hunter, he never liked to work with the law, because they could never really understand where hunters like him were coming from. They saw a crime before them, and they did not stop to think about the supernatural aspect of why a hunter was digging up a grave. He couldn't blame them, because until he finally believed the story about his wife's death, he had a hard time believing it, too.

Reporting this crime was proving to be as challenging as finding the actual body of his friend. Taking a deep breath, he tried his best to relay the information to the 911 dispatch, while trying to maintain a cool facade, but it was difficult. There was no guidebook on how to handle this, and that was very hard for Caleb to accept. Once he hung up, he leaned against the telephone box, and tried to focus on breathing. He could call Jim, but he knew he needed to be alone with his thoughts before he involved anyone else.

He supposed he should not have gone into the hunt thinking that he would find John alive. That had been a mistake. Whenever a hunter went missing in action, it was probable that they had met their end bloody. Just as John had. Caleb had lived through enough of those stories to know how likely it was that John had died, but he had not allowed himself to dwell on it if he could help it. That would not have helped his search, and even though the end result had been tragic, he still knew he couldn't have gone into the search with any different mindset.

When the police got there, he plastered on his best face, and played a part he knew by heart. When he had received his training in the life from Jim and Bobby, one of those training sessions had been talking to the police. There was a fine line between telling the truth, and altering the truth for his own protection. That was what he was doing now, as he directed them to the spot where his body was. Of course, he could never tell them that a spirit had murdered this man. They would think he was crazy, and possibly look at him as a suspect in the killing.

It was very difficult for Caleb to get that unusually cold morning out of his mind in the day that followed it. He had arrived in Minnesota much faster than he normally would have, thanks to the sudden though he had that he could arrive there much faster if he simply flew. He never liked to fly in planes if he could avoid it, only because it was much more hassle than it was worth, and because he couldn't very well smuggle an arsenal of weapons on the plane. But he knew that he had to get there, and he had to help Jim pick up the fractured pieces.

They had still not told Dean and Sam about the death of their father. In Dean's mind, he was thrilled that his uncle Caleb was there to vsit them. From the start, he had shared a special relationship with the toddler, enabling the small child to open up to him in ways that he never really did with any of the other adults in his life. There was no suspicion on his end that anything was wrong with his father, and Caleb wanted to keep it that way for awhile longer.

Sam, being only one, was much too little to know what the fuss was all about. He liked Caleb, and always laughed when Caleb would tickle or blow on his stomach, but he did not enough to be worried like his big brother always was. Their innocence was what Caleb was trying to keep hidden for as long as he could.

It was not easy, though.

Standing up with a sigh, he stretched out his sore back muscles, a product of sitting for too long as he studied the crime scene photographs, and went over to the over-used coffee maker. Sleep was an impossibility when he was as jumpy as he was from pouring over this deeply personal case. Dumping as much coffee as he could in his mug, he mixed in a liberal amount of cream and sugar, and returned to the table that was beginning to disappear under the mountain of paperwork he had to deal with.

The process for getting custody of John's body was almost as ridiculous as anything else he had to deal with on this case. The coroner was not done with his autopsy, and the police still haad more questions about what exactly had been found at the scene, and how Caleb was at the center of it all. He was used to questions like these. He had dealt with them his entire hunting career, but he was frustrated that he and Jim and Bobby had to wait in order to give John a proper send-off.

Looking down at the list of witnesses and numbers he still had to call, he palmed his face, and looked out the window that was behind him. The sun had long since set, and a peaceful night had taken its place. The only sound he heard, was the occasional car horn, or a barking dog. It was optimal time for research and study, but his mind had never felt so restless. Kicking back in his chair, he drank his coffee, and tried to settle himself before he resumed.

There was no room for error in this case. Caleb would not allow it.

"Caleb?"

Snapping his head up, he noticed Dean standing only a few feet from him. His small frame was partially hidden by the thin sheet of darkness that had fallen over the room. In an effort to minimize distractions, he had dimmed the lights, and shut off the electronics. So far, it had only increased the noise that was happening in his own heart.

"Hey, bud," Caleb said, smiling softly, as he motioned for Dean to come closer. Moving the pictures away so Dean would not be able to see them, he brought the small child into his lap. Dean was tired, he could tell, and fighting to stay awake. "What are you doing up?"

Dean shrugged, suppressing a yawn. "I couldn't sleep."

Caleb arched an eyebrow. "Why is that?"

"Because my eyes can't stay closed."

Dean was also so blunt. It made Caleb laugh to himself. For that moment, he was grateful for the distraction that Dean had provided. It was obvious to him that no amount of silence would be able to help him in his fruitless search for the answers he craved.

"Do you want me to tuck you back into bed?"

Dean thought about that answer for a minute, before nodding. "Yes."

Smiling softly, Caleb took Dean in his arms, and walked with the child across the kitchen, and through the living room to the stairs. It was a nice layout to the house that allowed him to move from one place to the next without a problem. Dean was content in his arms, laying his head on his shoulder, and playing with his shirt while they walked. His peace was palpable, and Caleb was relieved that he felt it.

Once they reached the second floor, Caleb knew right where to put him. Whenever they stayed with Jim, the pastor made sure to give them a room where they could be together. That was always where Dean felt safest, where he could be close to his brother to make sure nothing happened to him. Their bond was precious, and Caleb knew it would carry them both through the next few weeks, months, and years to come.

"Is Sammy sleeping?" Caleb asked, rubbing Dean's back.

Dean nodded. "He didn't want to."

"Why not?"

Dean thought for a minute. "Because he wanted to watch TV."

Caleb smiled. "He likes that, huh? Almost as much as you do." He tapped Dean's nose.

"But my eyes are tired!" Dean stressed. "I can't keep them open."

Caleb laughed softly, as he walked down the hallway. It was mostly dark upstairs, except for the faint hallway light that Jim left on for the boys to feel safe. Their room was right next to his, which was a smart move. Walking into that room, Caleb softly laid Dean down on the bed, before teasingly throwing the blanket over his head. Dean laughed.

"You doing okay?" Caleb asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, watching as Dean righted himself to a comfortable position.

Dean nodded. "Yeah." There was something else on his mind, and Caleb knew it. "I miss Daddy." Dean was silent for a minute. "When is he coming back?"

Caleb paused before answering, and he hoped that Dean did not notice the quiet sigh that came from him before he could stop it. There was no real plan for when or how they should tell Dean about his father. Whenever the moment was right, or when Dean questioned them again about where his father was. Staring at that moment now, Caleb knew there wasn't a right way to tell a child that his last living parent had died.

Dean was only five, but he had managed to gain an understanding of death that no child his age should ever be able to understand. In a way, it helped Caleb with the enormity of what he was about to tell him. In another way, it opened the child up to a pain that he did not need to have on his shoulders.

Pulling Dean close, the child obediently slid out from the covers, and crawled into Caleb's lap, before leaning his head on his chest. It was clear that Dean understood that something was going on that he had not been privy to before. His heart was constricted in his chest as he tried to form the words to say to him.

"Dean? You know what heroes are, right?"

Dean nodded slowly. "They take out the bad guys."

Caleb nodded, holding Dean tighter. "That's right. And that's what your Dad was. A hero."

"He took out bad guys?" Dean whispered, completely awestruck at the image it presented.

"That's exactly what he did." Caleb took a deep breath. Here went nothing. "But sometimes, the heroes get wounded in battle."

Dean turned over his words in his mind. "What does that mean?"

"It means they get a big owie," Caleb explained.

"Did Daddy get an owie?" Dean whispered, almost as though he was afraid to speak louder.

"Yes." Caleb rubbed Dean's back comfortingly, knowing he would need all the comfort in the world in the next few moments. "And sometimes, those big owies can't be helped."

"Why?"

"Well, because sometimes their body just can't keep fighting anymore. Sometimes it wants to go to sleep and go to Heaven."

Dean fell silent for a minute. "Is Daddy...in Heaven? With Mommy?"

Caleb nodded. "Yes, Dean. He is. I'm so sorry."

There were not enough words in the world to communicate how sorry he was that he had to be the one to tell Dean that his father was gone, and that his father was no longer with them. It was a cruel thing for the small boy to have to go through, and Caleb felt an overwhelming anger at the world for what it had done to Dean and Sam. They did not deserve this fate. Not at all.

Once Dean's silence had stretched into several minutes, Caleb gently looked down at the boy that was still resting against his chest. Dean was not saying anything, but his eyes were full of tears that he was afraid to shed. In that instance, Caleb's heart broke for him. He had been taught by his father to put his emotions on lockdown, to not do anything that would put his safety, or Sam's safety at risk, and now he was doing the same thing.

Kissing the top of his head, Caleb let Dean know as much as he could without words, that it was okay to cry and feel the emotions that he was feeling. It was a natural thing, and Caleb hoped that Dean would soon realize that before he completely exploded.

"Sammy," Dean said, his voice breaking, even though he was holding onto his composure with a razor-like grasp. "He won't know Daddy."

Caleb shook his head, completely astonished at Dean's ability to put his own self last. His own heart was broken for his loss, but his first verbal thought was for his brother. In a big way, it reminded Caleb of his own love for his brother, and the way he would defend him to the moon and back if it came to it.

"He'll know him, Dean. He will."

"How?" Dean looked up at him.

"Through our memories of him. Through your memories of him, bud."

Dean considered that for a second. "Can you stay with me tonight?"

Caleb nodded resolutely. "You bet.

AN:

I swore to myself I would not give up on this story and delete it. Even though I went through weeks of writers block, I finally got it done. YAY! Sometimes when trying to write a chapter, I go to write a sentence, and it's like a big wall is in front of me. That's what it feels like to have writer's block and trying to push through the wall is nearly impossible sometimes. Anyway, here is the new chapter!