The Angel Of The Waters

Chapter 5 - Who Am I?

CALEB

Dean's presence felt safe. The mean pounding in his head was still crushing but the other's physical contact somehow grounded him and he was able to breathe and block the other noises in his head out.

"You okay, Caleb?," Dean asked as he saw that Caleb had calmed down a bit.

Caleb only nodded and shot the doctor, still in the doorframe a long thoughtful glance. Should he know the man? There was a buzzing when he concentrated on him. He sighed. It was just too hard to concentrate on more than Dean at the moment. He would go with what he had.

Doctor Ames looked at them before he said. "I'll bring the mattress from the guest room over. Neither of you should sleep alone if another reset happens. So you can reassure one another."

A few minutes later they were settled and the doctor left the room with the words, "We should all get a few hours of sleep. With a bit of luck Joshua will find a solution. Do you need anything else?"

Both shook their heads in unison and Dean answered, "Good night Doc." The doctor nodded and gave them a reassuring smile before he closed the door.

Dean yawned full heartedly next to him. "You should lay down before you collapse. Given the time, we probably haven't slept for 24 hours."

"That feels about right. I could fall unconscious right next to you, buddy," Dean said and slid from the bed to the mattress on the floor. "Uh. Damn this fucking rib hurts." It took him a few minutes until he was snuggled in the bedsheets. Then he turned and was fast asleep.

Caleb rubbed his tired eyes. He needed to clear his thoughts. It was hard to block out all the strange feelings that felt not like his own, but as all was finally quiet, he found a way to build a brick wall in his head and finally have peace.

He brooded over his situation. Reaching to the night stand, he grabbed his wallet and went through it again. On his arm was written that Mac was his father. Something felt strange about this thought. According to his ID he was 30. What man lived with his father at that age? Shuffling further through the cards, he fumbled a business card of an architecture company called TriCorp out. He turned it and found his name on it - the same name as his ID. Under it stood his position 'CEO'. So what; he was 30, had his own construction company and lived with his rich doctor father who had another surname? And why the heck did he have a gun in his drawer? Not to mention that everyone here was not surprised about it and knew how to handle it.

For sure he had an apartment or a nice beach house somewhere if his guess was right.

He sighed frustratedly, checking the rest of his wallet. He dug a few dollars and a golden Amex, a Hilton hotel card, and a very used Deuce of Spade playcard to light. At least he obviously had no money problems. Frowning over the meaning of the Deuce of Spades, he stuffed everything back.

Caleb heard Dean snort relaxed next to him. He should sleep too. Maybe, like magic, tomorrow he would remember. Fatigue wore on his body and mind and he was out in less than a minute.

He was at a beach. The seagulls let out a scream near the shore. He ran up a few stairs to a yellow beach house with poppies in front of it. A beautiful dark haired woman took him in a warm loving embrace.

"Caleb, where have you been? I called you several times."

"I was on a treasure hunt, mommy. Look!" He held green seaglass to his mother. "This is for you!"

His little hands reached up, offering the dark green glass that once had been a shard to her.

"Oh thank you, sweety. That will wander into my treasure chest. Now come. Your father will soon be here."

The scene got blurred and he was in a closet, hearing a scream, then a shot echoing through the room.

He came out. His mother lay unmoving on the ground - a letter opener stuck surreal in her chest. Blood was oozing from the wound; a man - not Doctor Ames - looked grimacing and broken-hearted at him. He said something that Caleb didn't understand and then he cocked the hammer of a gun, putting it to his own head and shot.

Bam!

He jerked upright in bed, breathing hard. There were city noises from the street and the room was illuminated in a slight orange from the street lights. Caleb tried to slow his breathing, when he felt there was someone else in the room. Glancing down to the side of his bed he remembered that his friend Dean was sleeping next to him. He calmed down surprisingly quickly, given the nightmare.

Caleb turned to the side. He didn't want to wake Dean. Staring into the corner of the room he tried to get rid of the still horrified feeling that constricted his heart. Probably it was a wild constructure of the few things he knew about himself. Maybe the gun he had found snuck into his dream of a beach house and a woman apparently his mother. But what did that mean? Did his mother die when he was a child? Caleb didn't want to think of it now. He felt so exhausted that he soon slumbered again.

A new picture flashed up.

A doctor. A needle. He fought tooth and nail to get free. Others holding him down while the doctor brutally rammed the needle in his arm. Blackness. He couldn't move. Panic. White lights. White walls. Panic. Doors opened and closed again. Hands on him. Panic. Blurrs. He couldn't move. Floating. Panic. Hands on him. Dr. Ames face. An unknown man. Panic. A cellar. Candles. A ritual. Tied down on the ground. Fear. He couldn't breathe. Pain. He couldn't breathe.

Again he jerked up. Desperately trying to suck the much needed air into his lungs. Finally he was able to breathe in and let the air out with a shallow tremble of his lungs. It was cold here - so cold. And the lights were so much like in the cellar. Shaking all over, he glanced to the side. There was Dean. It had been another nightmare. He had to calm down.

Eyeing his friend, he saw him toss and turn in sleep, soon also a whimper was heard. Caleb watched him with concern. Then his friend opened his eyes and jerked up. Hissing instantly, he held his rib. "Ah, damn it!"

Caleb reached out for him. "Easy Dean, you had a nightmare."

Dean sucked in a short-lived breath and held it, paralyzed by the touch of him. "What the hell! Argh." He held his rib again, unable to give his outburst the force it would have had if he was not in pain. "Where am I, and who are you?"

Caleb switched the light on the night stand on. "Just fucking great!" he mumbled to himself then turned to Dean. "Easy dude, try to stay quiet and check your arm. We had an accident and you lost your memory…."

Dean was brooding over their situation like he himself. The last dream had been even more frightening than the first one, though it could be perfect stuff for a Stephen King movie. No matter what the friendly doctor told them, he felt like a lab rat. He needed to get out of here - needed to find out who he really was. And he wouldn't leave his friend here either. They would find a way to get their memories back - alone.

It took him some time and effort to convince Dean that he was safe with him, not so much convincing was needed to tell him that they needed to leave this apartment immediately.

There was an uncertain feeling but Caleb's guts told him not to trust anybody, with the exception of Dean. He felt responsible for him. His last nightmare had given him the rest and he was not willing to stay with someone who had appeared in his nightmare - not to say a doctor.

Caleb had found several knives in hidden spots; he had no idea why he knew the locations. He must have hidden them all himself here and subconsciously found the spots. Dean had grabbed a baseball bat from a corner behind the door.

Armed to their teeth, they now opened the door to the hallway silently. The apartment was quiet. From the room across the hall, where the door stood open a crack, came a loud snoring. Caleb went over and carefully closed the door to Dr. Ames' room. The less he could hear from their departure the better. Then he nodded at Dean and motioned with his head to follow him.

They made it down the hallway without any noise. Dean was on edge, he could feel his raw emotions getting the best of him. He couldn't explain how or why he knew but he did. With the raised bat for his protection, Dean followed him. Caleb turned to him. "Dude. This is not war! Put that down! I'll tell you when we need it, okay?"

Carolyn chose that moment to come sleepily around the corner. "What? You… "

Dean let the bat fly towards the woman. Caleb ducked down and could feel the wind from the swing. Dean brought the bat down, hitting her on the head. Though not full force, given the narrow room, she fell like a tree. Caleb was quick to slow her fall but Dean had knocked her out and she went limp in Caleb's arms. "Dean!" He hissed suppressed and accusingly.

"I'm sorry. She surprised me."

Caleb lowered her to the ground, checking her pulse and head. She seemed fine as far as he could tell. They did not have the time to care for her now. They must leave! And as long as that other guy with the long blond hair was not here they had a chance to get away unnoticed. The doctor would find her and care for her. And who knows, maybe she was the head of the whole freakshow and they were indeed lab rats.

"Come on. We need to get out of here."

Dean shot the woman a last pitiful glance and followed Caleb.

*** Bro AU ***

MACKLAND

The phone startled him awake from what felt like ten minutes of rest. Mackland opened his mobile phone. "Yes," he groaned.

"Mac, it's Johsua. I found them. It was some kind of an accident. They're some campus girls playing Charmed."

Mac frowned. "Charmed?"

"It's a TV show about witches. I'll explain it later. It means no actual danger. I think we could reverse the ritual, but there is a rub to it. We need the blood of the toad. Plus it is nearly dawn and we can not hunt a giant toad down in the middle of Central Park in broad daylight. We need to wait until night," Joshua explained.

"I understand. Where are you now?" Mac asked.

"I sent you my location earlier via SMS. It's in Hell's Kitchen as we assumed."

Mac switched on the bedside lamp to get awake. "Ah, okay. We have been sleeping for a while. Do you need me there?"

"No, not at the moment but maybe in the evening. First we need some ingredients and a plan. I'll call again when we get everything from the witchcraft store."

Mac rubbed his burning eyes. "Yes, okay. I'll check on everyone and we'll wait for your call."

They ended the call. Mac had an uneasy feeling as he slid into his dressing gown and his slippers to move sleepily out of the room.

He frowned when he found his door closed. He had left it open intentionally to hear if something was wrong. Caleb often suffered nightmares and since his head was messed up he feared they could recur. Having these dreams with no way to interpret the horrible things he had suffered in early childhood and youth, it would scare anyone, adult or not. He had planned to be there for him.

He opened the door and strode to the opposite room but stopped abruptly when he saw a figure sprawled at the end of the hallway. He switched the light on and spotted Carolyn unmoving on the floor. "Carolyn! My goodness!"

The doctor hurried over to check on her. She had a huge bump on her head and he had been examining her for quite some time before she opened her eyes, grimacing. "Uhagh…"

"What happened?" Mac asked.

"I heard a noise and walked out in the hallway. Dean and Caleb looked as if they wanted to leave. They knocked me out."

Mac sighed frustrated. He didn't need to check if the two were still here. Helping Carolyn up to stand she swayed heavily before she threw up on the floor. This looked like a concussion. As much as he wanted to follow his son and Dean, Carolyn needed to be checked over in a hospital.

DEAN

They passed a front desk in the entrance hall where they were thrown a friendly greeting by a middle aged man. "Good morning, Sir."

Caleb nodded reluctantly before he went over to the man, talking to him. Dean took the time and glanced around. Everything here was clean and looked expensive. The pictures gracing the spacious walls were soothing. Fresh flowers and rich green plants were placed in the corners next to a small sitting area with magazines on a dark walnut table, like in a mini hotel lobby. His worn out shoes and old jacket were a harsh contrast to the clean, expensive surroundings. He didn't belong here, that much was certain.

Caleb came over. "Alright, I called us a cab, we better wait outside in case the others notice we're gone. Come on," he said, guiding Dean towards the door.

The morning air was fresh when they exited the building. Dean was unsure about their next step but being outside felt better than being trapped in an unfamiliar apartment. He glanced around and found them in an entrance way with a black fence. Parked cars lined the street as far as he could see. He found no landmarks other than the street and endless houses, some higher some lower but all spoke of the big city he was in.

Caleb had walked ahead looking for the cab he had spoken of. Dean hurried to grab his new, or old, friend, whatever, by his leather jacket. "Where the hell are we?"

The guy, Caleb, turned to him. The nearly golden brown eyes searched for something in his before he answered.

"We are probably somewhere in New York City."

Dean frowned. "How can you be sure, you said we both had an accident and lost our memory."

"Most of the plates on the cars have the Statue of Liberty on it. My address on my ID says NYC so I guess we are in the City."

Dean pulled his wallet out and checked his ID while Caleb came closer, interested in the information he would find there.

"My address says Kentucky. Why does it say Williams and not Winchester like the name on my arm?"

"I don't know, Deu… Dude. But I know that one of these keys will probably open my door for us." Caleb turned and walked to the now arriving yellow taxi."

Unsure, Dean got into the car. Assuming Caleb was right and they could enter his home, what would they find there? A wife or even children? He glanced at his ID again. His age was 23 if the dates were right. Glancing at Caleb he looked older than that. Though his short yet black hair was not grey by any means, the man next to him looked worn out and tired as he massaged his temples as if he was in pain. Dean gave him a closer once over, spotting some faint scars on his forehead and his cheek.

Dean sighed and put his wallet away. "Do you think we'll remember again? I don't know if what I remember would be good or bad but to be totally clueless sucks."

"Yeah, it totally sucks. And this headache is driving me nuts."

They both fell silent after that, glancing out of the window as they rode along the crowded and busy streets of what was supposed to be New York City. The drive took around 20 minutes before the driver stopped at the end of a tree lined street. Before them, across the crossing, lay a park entrance with a lonesome high white arch decorated with an eagle, angels and statues of some long old-fashioned coat wearing dudes, one with a tricorn hat the other with a wig.

Caleb turned to the driver and paid him. "Which one is it?" he asked the man.

He pointed to the brownstone house to their left. "This one. The entrance is just around the corner."

Caleb nodded and they both walked around the corner closer to the arch where Dean spotted a sign that declared the place as Washington Square Arch. "Nice area. You seem to have money too."

His friend only gave him a short nod at the statement and pulled his keys out, deciding one could fit into the lock of the front door. The second guess was right and they entered, closing the door and noises of the city out with a relieved sigh.

"So far so good," Caleb said, checking the room they were in. There was no noise here, no 'hello' from a wife or the laughter of children. There were some moving boxes unpacked in the corners. The first level held a kitchen and a kind of office room with architectural sketches and little house models and a bathroom. The second level was a spacious living room with a big sofa and a coffee table graced with an empty pizza box in front of a large TV. Otherwise there was not much furniture in this room.

"Either I just moved in or I'm not here often," Caleb stated, beginning to check the other rooms.

Dean just dropped onto the sofa. It felt inviting and he was so tired. Maybe if he slept a bit longer he would wake up from this nightmare of cluelessness. Stripping off his leather jacket, a mobile phone dropped onto the floor. He grabbed it and flipped it open. The frontpage stared at him demanding a password to unlock the screen. Nothing came to mind and so he put the phone on the table and layed down.

He heard Caleb walking from room to room talking to himself. He had pity for his friend. His mind drifted to the address on his ID. He didn't know if it was a real address but he pictured it wild and romantic, in the countryside with not much traffic. Maybe a farm with lots of fields around. If he thought of coming home from a long day at work, he would be welcomed by warm surroundings with mixed furniture, but all chosen with love. A loving welcome of his family. And a much more comfortable bed. But until he finally remembered if he had this, or would have this sometime in the future, he would take what he was given. For now it was a sofa in an empty apartment apparently belonging to his rich friends. It could've been worse.

CALEB

Caleb had checked every room in the house. There was no threat and not a living soul either. On the other hand he had found a carved five-pointed star under a carpet, salt lining every window and strange looking herb bags in some corners. Who was he? The only rooms that seemed settled were the kitchen and one of the bedrooms. He returned to the bedroom and checked a leather bound journal on the nightstand. He found Dean's name in the book and closed it again. It looked like Dean was living with him. He moved to what seemed to be the master bedroom. The room itself was sparsely furnished but seemed to be his, judging by the name on the half packed, or unpacked, suitcase standing next to the bed.

He opened some drawers of the closet. It was filled with the necessary but not over crowded. In the bathroom he finally found some painkillers for his headache that had continued to increase. Keeping up his blocks to keep out the noises in his head cost him a lot of strength and he soon felt as if he had written a Maths exam or something.

He would go through the things in the suitcase after he had checked up the small winding staircase that led to what he assumed was some sort of loft or attic. There didn't seem to be anyone here other than him and Dean but he had to be sure before he could rest like his friend, whose light snoring confirmed he slept.

Climbing up the stairs felt strange. The slant of the ceiling suggested he was nearly at the roof already and he suspected the space would be small, dark and dusty. He turned the door knob and found it locked. "Let's see if you will open…," he mumbled to himself while he pulled out the keyring, soon finding the right one.

The door swung open. The first thing he noticed was the smell of oil paint and brush cleaner. It was a studio.

The walls to the left and right were filled with canvases stacked five or six deep but all reverently separated from each other. The front ones showed dreamy seascapes and coastlines with seagulls, lighthouses and small coastal towns. Warm rays of sunshine usually kissed the gentle waves of the sea surfaces.

Caleb walked among them, carefully running his finger along the top edge of those he passed. He stopped at one with a yellow beach house. It looked like the one from his nightmare. His eyes looked for the painter's name and he found 'Amelia Reaves' signed in the corner. Who was she? Maybe the mother from his dream? He felt his heart clench painfully at the thought.

He forced himself to walk further and found a canvas with a black stormy sea on the easel. The style was completely different. Beyond the work area, more paintings were stored; all dark and depressing. Some showed monsters lurking under the sea. Others held shocking demon faces with horns and glowing eyes. They were all signed with 'T. Seaver'. Caleb had no idea who this Seaver was. Since the other pictures were from someone of his family given by the last name; maybe it was an uncle or another artist he liked? He went to the easel in the back where an unfinished canvas rested. He walked closer studying the blackened canvas with already added hues of red and a rocky landscape.

A sketchbook lay next to the easel on a desk. Flipping through the pages, revealed a hell like scene with fire, dragons, and rocky edges half covered in smoke. A chill ran down his spine at the sight. Desolate rocks with sharp edges stretched across the sheet. A little color had been added here and there shades of brown, red and grey. Above everything circled a red dragon with long winding black horns and fiery eyes. Its mighty wings were stretched far across the sheet, and his watchful gaze eyed the battlefield below which was littered with charred bodies.

Caleb turned away and studied the canvas again. He didn't need more for his imagination. The sketch was meant for the canvas on the easel. In full color and detail it would be a gruesome and impressive sight. Some details in pencil were already there, leaving no doubt that it showed the essence of the sketches.

He frowned. If this was his house and he had the key to it in his pocket, shouldn't he be the one drawing here? Only a shattered and broken person could paint things like this.

He tried to think what that person must be like. Maybe someone who had vast numbers of weapons stashed in every conceivable hiding place. Someone who also painted devil symbols on his floor and kept voodoo bags everywhere. Someone who had never even bothered to properly move into his own home, scattering salt and God only knew what else, instead of rugs and family pictures.

He glanced back to the pictures signed with T. Seaver trying to recall the name. Caleb grabbed the pencil next to the notepad and scribbled the name T. Seaver under the sketch. It was similar. He wrote it three times more and walked to the picture behind him, comparing them critically. They matched nearly perfectly.

He sighed and closed his tired eyes for a moment. Did he even want to remember?

This was all too much. He put the notepad away and spotted an inviting old sofa in a corner across the way from the easel. The headache had not lessened at all with the painkillers. Clearing the sofa of the few cloths and boxes containing paints and brushes, he laid down, trying to find peace in his mind for a moment.

DEAN

Dean woke up three hours later according to the clock in his phone which was the only useful thing on the device at the moment. He still couldn't remember more than in the morning but he didn't feel as tired as before. With a sigh he got up, looking for Caleb.

He made it back to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, he decided to give his friend a bit more peace and prepare breakfast. He found beer cans and an opened orange juice. So much for breakfast. His stomach growled. Well, so be it. Dean uncapped a beer and took a sip. He would find Caleb and they could go out for something to eat since there was nothing in the bachelor fridge.

Carefully he called for him, "Caleb?" while checking the other rooms.

He found a spacious bedroom with an opened suitcase. On the floor lay some free weights and a treadmill and more unopened moving boxes. He turned to the other bedroom on this level. It was an inviting room with posters on the walls. A duffle was on the floor and a book on the nightstand. He opened the latter and saw it was his own. Curious, he peeked inside. It didn't make much sense. His book, or whatever that was, read quite strangely. Maybe it was some kind of game or notebook for a novel he wanted to write? It held descriptions of monsters, ghouls, vampires, werewolves, and ghosts; notes about rituals, incantations, witch bag ingredients, and spells. Strange looking symbols were neatly drawn with all the instructions for or against what they might be.

Shaking his head he put the book down and turned to the duffle. Pulling out blood stained clothes, he frowned but continued to dig through his things. Some music tapes, a huge amount of knives, clubs, ammunition, and a 1911 Colt went onto the bed. He looked at the gun from all sides in awe over the beauty of it. Who was he?

In a secret pocket on the side he found some documents and photos. One of what he assumed was his mom, pregnant. Another one of a younger boy, Caleb and him in front of a farmhouse. At the bottom of it all he found a very old document about a baseball scholarship for Dean Matthew Winchester. Something about it made him sad. He didn't understand that at all.

Then he heard a key in the front door lock and instantly grabbed for his Colt. It might be Caleb coming home with breakfast, since he hadn't found him yet, but it could also be the doctor or a monster from his book. Anything was possible and he wouldn't leave it to chance.

TBC