Chapter 12.

John could feel sweat as it slid down the back of his neck and slipped beneath the collar of his jacket. He had known that one day things would come to this. But in all the dangerous situations that he had placed his children, he never quite imagined that one of his son’s demise would come like this.

The Brotherhood was sacred, after all. It had provided them a sort of shelter for over fifteen years now, even when they hadn't had a permanent, tangible roof over their heads. And even if John didn’t physically wear the ring, he kept it with him at all times-honored it for what it was.

Fifteen years ago Missouri Mosley had introduced him to Jim Murphy. The kind priest taught him things about the world that John only imagined existed in Stephen King books and science fiction movies. Jim had taken John under his wing and believed him about Mary, when even his closest friends had thought him insane. And his boys…they had taken an instant liking to the man, even Dean, who after watching his mother die, didn’t take to anyone.

Pastor Jim had told John that there were others like him who had been touched by the evil side of the Supernatural-- for Centuries brave men and women had hunted creatures that would bring harm to the innocents of the world. They had existed in primitive times, stood watch over religious figures throughout time, and protected special artifacts that if fallen in the wrong hands could bring chaos to the world.

The Brotherhood

Its actual beginning was unknown, but there were rumors that it could be traced to the Knights of the Round Table. Jim liked to wager that they were, in fact, the original Brotherhood. Mac would tease the man that he only liked that story because that would make him, Jim, Merlin.

Through out the years, the Brotherhood had become scattered, working more as independent agents for good, than as a cohesive group. It not only kept their identities and purpose secret from a world that was not ready to understand, but also from their enemies that would stop at nothing to destroy them if given half the chance. John liked the anonymity and the ability to run his own show. He had met others like him over the years, but had trusted few.

Apparently, the rings came to fruition as a way of acknowledgement when the band scattered. They were forged from a special ore, passed down through the ranks, and if worn, offered not only allegiance but protection.

Jim never spoke of how he came to possess the metal to make the rings or the responsibility to see that they were given only to those with the talent and heart for the job. Mac had told John once that every generation had a keeper of the rings. It was not only a great honor, but a heavy burden.

John Winchester had always trusted Jim Murphy’s judgment, accepted his authority without question, until that very moment. Until Duran Hughes had tossed everything The Brotherhood stood for into the wind, and tried to murder not only one of his sons, but both.

John had met other hunters before, some in the Brotherhood, some not. Mostly honorable men in the job to do the right thing-to protect people, others not so much. John figured he fell somewhere in the middle. He wanted to help others, but he mostly wanted to avenge Mary. In the beginning, he had accepted Murphy’s invitation mostly out of desperation, recognizing the group as a means to an end. But Dean? God. Dean represented everything a Hunter should be-was supposed to be. And Duran had pissed on that.

Over the years of hunting, John had never gotten close to many of his brethren. Bobby, Daniel Elkins, Joshua, and a few others had earned his friendship, garnered his respect and trust. And a few had slipped past his defenses to become more like extended family. Jim was like a father to him, Mac like a bossy, self-important older brother, and Caleb like the bastard son that he hadn’t planned or sure as hell wanted. But often times, John had been wary of forging alliances with other hunters, not able or willing to subject himself or his boys to the risk of depending on others. As a military man he understood the importance of team work, but he wanted his boys to be self-reliant. Because John also understood that putting faith in the wrong man, letting them watch your back, could cost you your life. And now, his poor judgment was going to cost him one of his boy’s lives.

Caleb watched John for any sign that he was going to lower the gun or blow Duran away. He risked a quick scan, wary of John’s feelings towards such invasion. A wealth of emotion flowed through him and he swallowed back the bile that sprung to his throat at the depth of agony and fury racing through his friend’s mind. The older hunter’s face was frozen in a mask of anger, and his dark eyes were vacant as if he were a million miles away, lost in thought, where reality couldn’t reach him.

Caleb cleared his throat, spoke forcefully. “John.”

Recognition quickly returned, and Winchester stepped back from Hughes, lowered the gun slightly, but didn’t relinquish the offensive stance completely. “You know what you’ve done, Duran?” When he spoke, his voice was as calm and cold as Caleb had ever heard it.

“I’ve just made myself an instant millionaire, five times over,” Hughes quipped, glancing towards Kline, who looked like he might lose the contents of his stomach at any moment.

“You’ve broken the code. There’s no where you’ll be safe now.”

The man rolled his eyes. “Get off your white horse, Winchester. The only reason I have ever been in the Brotherhood is because my idiot father believed in Murphy’s insane crusade to recruit warriors for the fight against evil. He wore a ring, so he pleaded with Jim to include me also. Given my abilities and lineage, the old man didn’t have much choice.” Duran shook his head in disgust. “I only agreed to wear a ring because of the contacts it gave me-the nice, shiny armor it wrapped me in. But now money will offer me that same buffer.”

“You knew you could do what you wanted and get away with it as long as you had others to watch your back, to look out for you.”

Duran smirked at Caleb. “And let’s not forget how they offered me up such interesting and incredible distractions.” Hughes raised his right hand, the silver from the ring flashing in the light. “People trusted me, followed my orders, because of this.” His grin grew. “But you know all about that, don’t you, Caleb?”

“It won’t get you out of this room alive. Not if you kill my son.” John said, diverting the man’s attention from Reaves.

“I’m not technically killing Dean,” Hughes replied, “only borrowing his body.”

“Does that mean…I get it back?” Dean asked, sarcastically, bringing everyone’s gaze back to him.

“I’m afraid not.” Hughes replied, with fake sorrow. “I was never good at returning library books either, I’m afraid.”

“Don’t…let him do this, Dad.” Sam spoke, his voice still shaky, but bolstered by the adrenaline coursing through him.

“Shut up, Sammy,” Dean bit out, and Caleb winced as the kid’s hand tightened around his wrist in a crushing grip.

“You shut up,” he told the younger boy, giving him a hard look. “Save your strength.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “For what? So, Scotty can recuperate nicely from this bitch of a puncture wound.” The short tirade left the injured hunter breathless, but some of the shocked fog had cleared from his green eyes, now replaced with fiery indignation. “I’d rather not help him out…if you don’t mind.”

Caleb ran his free hand through his dark hair. “Damn it, Deuce, just listen to me.”

“Yes, Deuce, listen to him.” Duran mocked, and Caleb didn’t like the insane smile that spread across the man’s face. “He’s going to take good care of you.”

“Don’t talk to him,” Caleb growled, shifting so most of Dean’s body was blocked from the other man’s blue gaze.

“There are a few things that we need to do before the transfer takes place, but they don’t require talking.”

“What things?” John asked, his mind still reeling with a way to get both his children out of the maniac situation. The longer he stalled the better, even if he had to endure Duran’s taunting games.

“I want the protection amulet removed.”

“No!” Sam gasped, only to have Syria shush him, by applying more pressure to the knife she held against his already bleeding throat.

“Why?” John demanded, not missing the slight look of panic that crossed Dean’s features. “It’s just a pendant.”

Duran clucked. “Now, John, we both know that thing has power. Elkins wouldn’t have had it in the first place if it didn’t.”

“Elkins?” Dean asked, his face registering every bit of the pain he was feeling as well as his confusion about what his pendant had to do with the reclusive hunter.

Caleb looked away as Hughes continued. “Yes, didn’t you know that’s where your brother got it?”

Dean tried to glance at Sam, needing to have some kind of contact with his little brother, even if he was afraid of what he’d see. “I found it for Sam,” Caleb clarified, glaring at Duran.

“So you did.” Duran nodded, “I’ve done my homework and so did you. I’m not leaving anything up to chance.”

Hughes stared at him. “Now give me the damn necklace, before I come get it myself.”

Caleb hated the feeling-the control that Duran had over him at that moment-over all of them. It made him feel like a scared kid again. He’d been so young, and unskilled telepathically-barely Sam’s age, when Hughes had first manipulated his weaknesses, used his authority against him. And now the bastard was exploiting yet another weakness-Caleb’s feelings for Dean and Sam.

“Do it now, Caleb!”

The younger hunter wanted to tell him exactly where he could stick his orders. He didn’t take them from anyone anymore, maybe John-and that was only on a need to basis. But the idea of Duran doing it himself-of him touching Dean-kept his mouth shut.

“Fuck him,” Dean said, harshly, trying to reach up and get the necklace from around his neck himself.

Caleb knew what the charm meant to the other hunter. Sam had given it to Dean for a birthday present, and he never took it off. Caleb had gotten it from Elkins for Sam which was pretty damn ironic now, but it was still a representation of everything the two Winchester brothers meant to each other-their dedication to protecting one another. It was a part of Dean, just like Sam was a part of him.

“I’ll do it,” Caleb finally said, emotion bleeding into his voice slightly when Dean winced with the strained movement. The kid was unable to lift his arms up high enough without causing more agony, so Caleb reached up and carefully slipped the necklace from over Dean’s head. Their eyes met for a brief moment, the intimate act making both of them uncomfortable.

When it was finished, Caleb turned and glared at Hughes, picking up on his thoughts, his tasteless attempt to sully a bond he could never begin to comprehend. He slipped the charm in his pocket, not about to let it fall into Duran’s hands. “Satisfied, you son of a bitch?” The hate wasn’t missed in the tone, but Hughes seemed to enjoy it.

“Not completely.” He held Caleb’s gaze, “now the ring.”

“No.” Caleb rebelled, shook his head vehemently. “No. Fucking. Way.” Caleb backed up from Dean, staying only as close as necessary for Dean to maintain his grip. “Only Jim can do that.”

Hughes laughed. “For all your bravado, young Caleb, you are still foolishly naïve. Jim Murphy has no special abilities. I assure you, if you remove that ring, you won’t be struck by lightening.”

“And you won’t absolve yourself by removing that ring either, Hughes.” John spoke up. “Dean is still protected. The silver is just a symbol. What you’re doing is still blasphemy.”

“Are you actually insinuating that what we do is God’s work?” Duran laughed out loud. “Oh, you are a riot, Winchester. Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord. Does that ring a bell?”

When John didn’t answer, merely clenched his jaw, Duran snorted. “I don’t care about the symbolic nature of that piece of jewelry, Winchester.” He glared at the other hunter and then looked back to Caleb. “Nor do I consider any of you my brothers. But I know of that ore’s uniqueness. I feel the energy that it contains-the protection it offers. And I don’t want to leave any unknown variables in this transfer-can’t afford to be sloppy. Its magic is old as the fires that rage at the center of Earth. Even I’m not brash enough to discount that.”

“I won’t do it.” Caleb continued to hold his ground. He knew that Duran wasn’t just ensuring a successful transaction. The man was enjoying the pillaging, stripping Dean of things that were a part of him. It was a form of psychological rape, and Caleb was going to kill him for it.

“You don’t have a choice,” Duran seemed to lose his temper suddenly, although John’s gun covering him kept him in place. “That’s the whole point of a hostage situation, is it not? Placing a threat on someone or something valuable, didn’t you learn that lesson years ago? Have you and I not been in this situation before? I have the control.”

“Shut up!” Caleb felt his pulse race even higher, his heart slam against his chest.

Duran’s smile returned. “Give me the ring, Dean!” He looked at Syria, who pressed the knife harder against Sam’s throat, eliciting a reflexive gasp.

Dean didn’t even hesitate as he struggled to slide the silver circle from his finger. “Don’t.” Caleb said, knowing that the younger man had no choice, but struggling with his own fears. Dean wasn’t the only one who was trying to protect a brother.

The older hunter watched him do it, winced as the younger boy achieved his goal. “Here…take it! Just…call off your psycho bitch.”

Hughes looked at the offering, his eyes raking over Dean’s pale, sweating face, his trembling hand holding out the ring to him for the taking. He smiled. “Give it to Caleb.”

Dean sought out his friend’s eyes, confusion mixing with the pain and anger. It was obvious to him that there was more going on, even in his shocked and hurt state- but not understanding completely the sick game that Hughes was insisting on playing.

“I’m sorry,” Caleb breathed, even though Duran had pointed out his lack of control to everyone. He hated that he had failed to protect him and Sam, and now was even unable to stop Duran from using them.

The younger man frowned. “It’s…not important…doesn’t change anything.”

Caleb wondered for a second if he was that transparent, or if Sam wasn’t the only Winchester that had latent mind-reading abilities. The ring fell into his hand and he felt the loss, as if Dean were already dead, as his fingers closed around it.

“Now you give it to me,” Hughes snapped, mindless of John’s finger tightening on the trigger.

John knew that Duran understood exactly what was he doing.

Caleb didn’t have a blood bond to anything or anyone still breathing-anything but perhaps to a damn demon that could destroy them all. Biologically, he wasn’t a son, or brother, or uncle. But he did have the rings. The rings were his connection to everyone that mattered. Duran wanted Kline’s money, he wanted to hurt John for some fucked up reason, but he was hell bent on destroying Caleb. And just as John was helpless to save Dean, he couldn’t do one damn thing to protect Caleb either.

Sam hissed again and Caleb and Dean looked up. The kid had his eyes closed, obviously still strung out from the after effects of the poison, his breath quick and forced.

“Please.” Dean’s voice erased whatever hesitation Caleb had. He stood, felt cold when Dean’s sweat-slicked grip slipped from his skin. He walked to Duran and held out the ring. “You’re only sealing your own coffin,” Reaves told him calmly, as Hughes let his fingers fold around the silver in a caressing way before dropping it into the breast pocket of his shirt.

“Don’t worry. I’ll give it back after this is all over,” Duran taunted. “Maybe Jim can give it to Sam when he comes of age.”

“Or maybe he’ll give him yours.” Caleb said coldly.

“Can we do this now?” Kline demanded.

Caleb swung his gaze to the man. “You don’t care that you’re taking someone’s life. Someone else’s son. Someone’s brother!” He shouted.

“Scott is my priority.” The man defended, doggedly, dabbing at his sweaty brow.

“Meaning you don’t give a damn.” Caleb strode forward, long legs bringing him to tower over Kline in two steps. The man cringed as if he were afraid Caleb was going to strike him, but the hunter grabbed his arm instead. He roughly dragged him across the room to where Dean was.

Caleb reached down, let his hand rest atop Dean’s head, opening up a direct link to everything the kid was feeling.

Kline fell to his knees with a gasp as he was overwhelmed with fear and pain and Dean’s memories. “This is what you’re doing-what you’re stealing. This is who you’re killing.”

“Let him go, Caleb,” Duran warned. “I won’t have you wrecking my money train.”

The psychic roughly released the man, shoving him away from Dean, before Syria could retaliate by hurting Sam.

Kline fell back, his ass hitting the carpet. He glanced from Caleb to Dean, remorse or guilt welling his eyes. “I didn’t know.”

“You. Didn’t. Care.” Caleb snarled.

“I just want my son back.” The old man sobbed into his hands. “I just want the pain to stop.”

“And we’re going to make it stop,” Duran assured him, turning his gaze to Caleb once more. “Just one more thing stands in our way.”

“I’m so not stripping…in front of your…perverted ass,” Dean told Hughes, looking up at him through hooded eyes. “So just get it over with.”

“I want the bracelets.”

“What?” Caleb looked from Duran to Dean and back. “They’re nothing.”

Then Dean won’t mind handing them over.

Caleb looked at the twenty-year-old. He didn’t know the story behind the black, band bracelets. Just knew that Dean wore two, Sam wore one. They had for years. He imagined it was just many of the things the two shared in their own private world.

“Deuce?”

“Just take them,” He relented, some of the fight gone from his voice.

Caleb’s hatred for Kline renewed as he watched Dean’s eyes fill, seen him bite his lip to keep the emotions at bay. The older hunter knelt in the floor once more and Dean slipped the bracelets from his arm, balling them up in a clenched fist before giving them to Caleb.

“Burn them when I’m gone,” He told Reaves. “And make sure you kill that bastard while you‘re at it.”

“No problem.” Caleb slipped them in his pocket.

“Now come over here,” Duran ordered.

Caleb stayed where he was, the idea of moving, of giving up his post unthinkable, even if he wasn’t able to prevent anything that had happened so far.

“Don’t do this,” He heard John say, and it sounded so much like begging and so foreign coming out of the older hunter’s lips that he closed his eyes-felt Dean flinch.

“I didn’t want it to turn out this way,” Hughes said, condescension ringing in his tone. “I wanted it to be Caleb.”

Reaves whirled to look at him. “I’ll do it.” There was no question in his mind.

“No,” Dean objected. He weakly shook his head. “Not…happening, Damien.”

“I’m afraid Dean’s correct, my friend. Due to your mongrel status, the transfer won’t take place. Echnon made a provision for that. Seems even then they had a problem with our demonic counterparts.” Duran shook his head. “Even if it’s a faint link, you’re blood is tainted. And then there’s the whole psychic thing.” The medium added. “Psychics have natural abilities to put up barriers. I must say it narrowed my choices.”

“Glad…to know I wasn’t first string.”

“Oh don’t think I’m disappointed Dean. You’re an amazing specimen. Scott is moving up in the world. With your looks and his money, he should live an amazing life.”

“I’m happy for him,” Dean hissed, as he tried to shift, to sit up straighter against the bed.

“Dean?” Sam said his name again, the tone of it voicing a hundred questions and sentiments that the teen couldn’t verbally express.

“It’s okay, Sammy.”

Caleb reached out to help, his hand brushing against Dean’s. He looked down, caught site of the blood stained bandage wrapped around the other hunter’s palm, and his pulse quickened.

Hughes was talking to Syria now, telling her to get Sam up.

“Heck of a mess you and Sammy made out of Mac’s good china,” Caleb said softly, his thoughts whirling quickly, even as his hands moved sluggishly in picking up a discarded shard from the floor.

Dean frowned, licked his lips. “I…know you suck at conversation, man, but…is this really the last thing you want to say to me?”

“I could tell you what a royal pain in the ass you’ve been for the last fifteen years.”

Caleb could hear John behind them trying to reason with the medium, but he focused all his attention on Dean. He picked up the kid’s hand, squeezed it, and almost laughed when Dean shot him a worried look at the touchy-feely move. “Or we could talk about all those times you cheated me at cards.”

The kid frowned as Caleb deftly unwrapped his palm. He licked his lips, sensing what the other man was doing. “Dude, you suck at trusting people, too.”

“Oh, I trust you Deuce.” Caleb winced as he pressed against Dean’s wound enough to open it up again. He waited for fresh blood to well in the gash, before releasing his hold. He looked at the boy, lowered his voice. “The question is…do you trust me?”

Dean nodded. “Just don’t think…this means we’re freaky blood brothers or something.”

“Of course not, Kemosabi.” Caleb lowered his own hand so that it was hidden, blocked by his body. The psychic then slid the jagged chunk of glass across his own calloused palm, not even blinking as blood pooled.

“I won’t say it again, Caleb!” Duran snapped, and Reaves glanced over his shoulder, discreetly dropping the porcelain fragment to the floor.

Syria was now standing by the bed, and Sam had made it to his knees. The witch still held the tip of Dean’s blade to the boy’s jugular.

“I’m coming,” He growled , turning back to the younger hunter, holding his left hand up between he and Dean. “Just saying my good-byes.”

Dean weakly reached up and clasped it. “Take care of Sammy,” He said, knowing that nothing was guaranteed. “And Dad.”

Caleb nodded, tightened his hold on the other hunter’s hand.

A decent imitation of Dean’s shit-eating grin tugged at his lips. “And no matter what happens…don’t even think about trapping my soul… in that scary-assed head of yours. There are places worse than hell.”

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