“The Line” by Ridley C. James
Chapter 3.
“Tell me you have one of those with my name on
it,” Caleb
Reaves groaned as he limped through the door of his father’s
“Tell me you brought my son back looking better than your sorry ass.” John put the plate on the table and raked his eyes over the younger man. “I thought the job went off without a hitch?”
Caleb’s chin-length dark hair obscured some of the damage, but John could make out the deep bruising on one cheek, as well as a row of stitches across one brow. “Oh this wasn’t from the hunt.”
John shook his head. “Let me guess. A bar fight?”
Caleb grinned, lone dimple and white teeth flashing. “Don’t worry, your baby got out unscathed as usual.”
“That’s because I’m younger, faster, and a better pool shark than you.“ Dean added as he too entered the apartment, slamming the door shut behind him. The younger hunter dropped his bags and grinned cheekily as he passed Caleb. “Not to mention a whole hell of a lot better looking, Reaves.”
“Keep telling yourself that, Deuce.”
“Oh, I don’t have to. The ladies whisper it in my
ear
everywhere we go.”
Caleb glared at John. “Next time, I’m taking Sam
and leaving
him here, no matter what you say. Do you realize he never shuts up?”
“And Sammy would be a lot less competition for him, seeing as how he barely just started shaving.” Dean smirked, glancing around the room. “Speaking of which, where is the little guy?”
John snorted. “If you’re referring to the
six-foot-four
brooding life form you call a brother , he went to bed.”
“Guess I should go tuck him in, tell him about all the fun he missed." Dean pulled his coat off, tossed it on the back of the couch before rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "And give him all the gory details on how I saved Caleb’s ass from the psycho succubus.”
“Go ahead.” Caleb waved a dismissive hand in the
air as he
sank into one of the over-stuffed chairs, and placed his boots on the
coffee
table. “I’m sure he’s use to your outlandish, far-fetched bedtime
stories,
Captain Onehelluva Bullshitter.”
“Funny," Dean flipped him the bird. "But you only
wish you were Grimm worthy.”
Caleb rolled his head towards John once Dean disappeared down the hall. “Don’t ever make me do that again.”
“What?” John had retrieved his plate and resumed
his meal
during the typical banter. He took a bite of his dinner, and motioned
with his
fork. “You said you needed back-up.”
“No. You said that I needed back-up.”
“And was I right?”
Caleb grabbed John’s beer before the older man
could. He
took a long pull from it and sighed. “Was I right about Duran?”
John took the beer away from him. “Didn’t anyone
ever teach
you not to answer a question with a question? Or more importantly not
to mess
with another man‘s beer?”
“I’ve heard the one about not messing with another
man’s
woman.” The younger hunter smiled, and motioned to his bruised face.
“Just this
weekend, in fact.”
“I’m still in my prime,” Caleb grimaced as he
shifted and
his ribs protested. “And you’re changing the subject. Duran- he wanted
you to
play fast and dirty, didn’t he?”
“It was a waste of my time.”
“I’ll take that for a resounding 'yes' in John
speak.” Caleb
raised an eyebrow. “What’d the sick son of a bitch want?”
The older hunter sighed. “He’s got his hands in
some rich
man’s pocket. Poor bastard wants to bring his son back from the other
side.”
“Shit.” Caleb leaned forward, pushed his hair out
of his
face. “That’s pretty seedy even for Hughes.”
“Yeah.”
“Guess you told him where to put his necromancing
delusions?”
The older hunter nodded. “But he didn’t seem all
that
surprised.” John took a swig of the beer. “In fact, he didn’t act too
upset by
my refusal.”
“Which means he hasn’t given up.”
John frowned. “I made myself real clear.”
“Yeah, well, Hughes doesn’t like to be told no.”
“He knows me well enough to know I won’t change my
mind.”
“That’s what worries me.”
“You think he’d try something?”
“ I just think maybe you and the boys should cut
your trip
to the big city short.”
John snorted. “You just want the Ritz to yourself
again.”
Caleb grinned. “Mac’s not out of town very often
anymore,
and this place sure beats the hell out of two bit motel rooms. But as
tempting
as it is, that‘s not the reason.”
“You really think Duran would go against one of
his own?”
“Duran’s not loyal to the brotherhood. I have my
doubts that
he’s even human, and that’s saying a lot coming from me.”
“What happened between you two?” John asked,
trying to sound
casual.
Caleb shrugged, blinked quickly but John knew him
too well
to miss the swirl of emotion that swept through the clear greenish,
gold eyes.
“What makes you think something happened?”
“Because you don’t usually discount unconventional
methods
of hunting, especially if there is a big payoff.”
“Why John, are you trying to flatter me, or is
that your
round about way of calling me a savage.”
“I’m just saying that sometimes you put the end
before the
means.”
“True,” Caleb acquiesced. “But I don’t put gain
before
loyalty.”
“True,” John nodded. He licked his lips, picked up his beer again, and killed it, trying to decide if he should say what was on his mind. The idea of his imagination supplying its own answers convinced him it was a worthy risk.
“If there was something…I mean if Duran had done
something
to you…” He looked at Caleb, feeling like an idiot, but still needing
some kind
of reassurance. The man before him was a proficient hunter, a dangerous
killer
of all things evil, but sometimes, John couldn’t help but to see him as
the
scrawny fourteen-year-old kid that Mac had drug into their fold all
those years
ago. It was hard for him to reconcile that image with the twenty-nine
year old
currently in front of him. "Did... he hurt you?"
To his credit, Caleb didn’t laugh at John's
fumbling attempts
at the difficult conversation, but he did react in typical fashion. He
gave
John that half-assed grin that the older hunter's own son, Dean, had
somehow
inherited. “Would you kick his ass if he did?”
“Damn it, Caleb, I’m serious.”
The younger hunter shrugged. “I dealt with men
like Duran
before becoming a hunter, Johnny. I’m a big boy. And I’m psychic. Not
much he
could pull over on me.”
John recognized the evasion. “That’s not an
answer.”
It was as close to one as he was going to get,
because Caleb
suddenly pushed himself from the chair, motioned to the steak. “So, did
you
grill more of those or not? I’m hungry enough to risk your cooking for
a
change.”
Apparently John Winchester was not the only master
of
conversational subterfuge. “ There’s plenty.” John nodded, lifted his
beer with
a sigh. “Bring me another one of these while you’re at it.” He'd been
an idiot
to even attempt such a discussion.
Caleb took the bottle. “Mac’s going to kick our
asses if we
finish off his secret stash.”
“Since when are we afraid of Mac? What‘s he going
to do?
Lecture us to death?”
“Good point.” Caleb turned to go, but then stopped and looked at John, his smile fading.
“John?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t ever leave Sam alone with Duran. Okay?”
John held the other hunter’s solemn gaze, an
uncomfortable
feeling unfurling in the pit of his stomach. Maybe it hadn't been such
a stupid
move. “Okay.”
“Don’t trust the witch, either.”
“Caleb…” John started, but the other hunter’s
shit-eating
grin was already back in place, the haunted look gone from his eyes as
quickly
as it had come.
“I’d keep Dean away from that barracuda, that’s
for sure, ”
He joked.
The
other hunter laughed as he
made his way towards the kitchen. “Are you sure you even know your son?”