Chapter 8.

Bird Isbell hefted her bag up further on her shoulder and fought off an ear-popping yawn. She rang the bell again and tried to find the reserve of patience that she had worked very hard to accumulate over the years. After all, if there was any advantage to getting old, it was that time became more of a friend-a comrade that you wanted to leisurely walk hand in hand with, instead of an opponent that you were always trying to outrun and leave in the dust.

Still, it wasn’t in her nature to take to waiting. Her mama had always said that asking her to stay still was like asking a humming bird to come and sit on your finger. The sweet woman who had birthed her swore that her baby girl had fluttered around in her womb from the moment of conception, and had cursed her with the name Bird out of sentiment alone.

In fact, the herbalist was just on the verge of forgetting all her southern manners, and allowing her active nature to take over. She raised her fist, about to pound the living day lights out of the high and mighty Dr.Ames' door when it swung open and her virtue was rewarded with a sweet smile she hadn’t seen in much too long. “About damn time you let an old woman in.”

Caleb leaned out the door and looked around. “What old woman? You bring a friend, Birdell?”

Bird rolled her brown eyes at the attempted charm and the nickname. She shoved past the young man with a huff. “No need for the flattery, boy. I’m already up and out of bed and all the way across town at the godforsaken hour of eight o'clock.”

Caleb grinned and closed the door, leaning up against it as he did. "I really appreciate it, Bird. I promise I'll make it up to you."

She waved off the chatter and instead eyed the young man before her. He hadn’t changed much in the two years since she’d seen him last. That was if you discounted the nasty bruise on his cheek, and the small row of stiches above his right brow. But he had at least gotten a hair cut.

The dark locks now just grazed the edges of his chislled jaw line instead of brushing his broad shoulders like some modern day Indian brave. It was an improvement in her book, but she still thought he needed to see a real barber, although she was sure the current style had more than his fair share of the young ladies swooning at his size twelve boots.

“Let me look at you,” Bird said, sitting her things down in the entranceway for a better scrutiny. She lifted her glasses from the ornate chain from where they dangled around her neck and placed them on her weathered face. The herbalist then leaned in a little closer and propped her hands on her slim hips, as if she were about to study a rare work of art.

"Lost a little weight," She clicked off. "Still with the ratty black t-shirt and faded jeans." Bird raised a brow. "With all that Ames money, you can't find a decent wardrobe?" Caleb stood still for the inspection, not daring to comment on the catolouging, but Bird didn’t miss the little smirk, that reminded her so much of his grandmother. She did miss herdear friend, Ruth, something fierce.

Finally, she stepped back. “As handsome as ever,” Bird proclaimed, choosing not to comment on the injuries. She slid her glasses off again. “What in the world was the maker thinking? Good thing he put a hint of the devil in that smile, or the angels would have been mighty jealous of that face.” She picked up his left hand, purposefully stared at the naked ring finger. “I just don’t understand it. What woman wouldn’t want you? ”

The hunter ducked his head and groaned. “Bird, you know I blush easily.”

“Please,” The apothecary snorted, dropping his hand. “You’re as about as modest as a two dollar hooker, Caleb Reaves.”

“Ah, Bird,” Caleb smiled, affectionately, “As sweet and cultured as ever.”

Bird grinned and unable to resist any longer, pulled him into a strong hug. “You want sweet and cultured you call your old man.” She pounded him on the back a few times and then released him with a slight sniff. “You know I’m crusty and rude, and that’s what you love about me.”

He nodded. “That and your cooking.” Caleb glanced at the covered pan at her feet. “That for me?”

“No,” She replied, sharply. “I haven’t seen hide nor hair of you in over two years , and the first thing you want to know is if I brought your breakfast?” Bird shook her head in disgust, silvery ponytail swishing back and forth. “Just like a man. If the bedroom door is rusted shut, then they’re sure you should satisfy them in the kitchen.”

Caleb shrugged. “What can I say? It’s the nature of the beast.” He grinned at her then. " But I have a feeling your bedroom door is well-oiled."

Bird fought off the slight blush that creeped in her cheeks, and quickly cleared her throat. “Speaking of the beast…what kind of monster did you bring me here to deal with this time? I thought you ghost busters had an exclusive club?” She frowned. “In fact, the last time I tried to help, your father told me in no uncertain terms to butt out.”

The hunter sighed. “Mac didn’t want you getting hurt, Bird. What we do is dangerous.”

“All the more reason not to do it.” She raised her hand when she saw the building argument brewing in the deep hazel eyes. “I know, I know. It’s none of my damn business.”

“I wasn’t going to put it that way.”

“Sugar-coat it all you want, it still means the same thing. So…” She raised an eyebrow, weary of the very old argument. “You told me to bring something for a fever and pain, but you look as healthy as a horse?”

“It’s not for me,” Caleb’s grin faded, his gaze darted towards the hallway behind him, and Bird easily read the uncharacteristic worry and concern. “A friend of mine…”

“One of your gang?”

Something akin to a hurt look crossed his handsome face and Caleb frowned. “Gang?” He tried to imagine what Jim Murphy would think of that description. “Birdell, I don’t belong to a gang.”

“Then ‘Brotherhood’,” She made exaggerated quotes in the air, while rolling her eyes heavenward. “My daddy was a Mason, I get the whole secrecy thing, son. It’s a boy’s club. No women-folk allowed.”

Caleb shook his head, twisted at the silver ring he always wore on his right hand. “It’s not like that, Bird, ” He said. “He’s family.”

Bird didn’t miss the way he sort of flinched at the word, as if it were a shameful confession, or maybe as if it were merely foreign to his lips, and difficult to pronounce.

It shocked her. She had to admit.

Caleb had always struck her as a loner, even more so after his grandmother passed away, leaving him completely alone at thirteen. When he’d agreed to live with Mackland Ames all those years ago, she had imagined it was more out of the desire to avoid juvenile detention, than the need to belong to somebody. Told herself that it might have something to do with all of Ames’ money and pull, and not the fact that he was a better fit for her best friend’s grandson than she, herself, had been.

But the surly teen had surprised her by staying with the man, by not running the first chance he got. If she were honest, she’d admit that it even made her a little jealous because he’d run from her plenty of times, choosing the streets over any protection she could offer. After all, she, Bird Isbell, had been chosen by his own grandmother to watch after him. A shallow side of her had always resented Mac for it, even after she saw how Caleb had blossomed, become the man Ruth had wanted him to be.

And now…Caleb had claimed someone else as family.

A gift she had always wanted to give him. “Bird?” His soft voice brought her back from her selfish musings and she silently chastised herself. One look at his face and she knew he was taking a risk. The vulnerability in that usual aloof gaze had her a little weak in the knees. Ruth’s boy was obviously taking a big chance bringing her here, trusting her with something so precious. She'd be damned if she let her stubborn pride screw it up.

“Where is he?” Bird picked up her bag, steeled herself to meet this person who had somehow done what she had failed at so many years ago.

The hesitant grin returned. “He’s in the guest room.” Caleb picked up her bags, and the coffee cake. “Follow me.”

Bird wasn’t sure what she had been expecting to find, but the sight that greeted her wasn’t quite it.

A man, boy really, stood as they entered the room, his sharp green eyes going to Caleb’s before settling on her in a way that let Bird know right away that she was being assessed for any threat she might offer. Bird didn’t have to be a parent to recognize the protective look of one.

Of course that wasn’t possible considering the good-looking blond kid in front of her couldn’t have been a day over twenty and the object of his concern had to be at least fifteen, maybe older. That left one other option. Brothers.

Bird stepped towards the bed, well aware that she needed to tread softly. That same look that she’d seen in Caleb’s eyes earlier now reflected back in the jade gaze watching her with such intensity. Again, she was taken at the trust being warily afforded her.

“Dean Winchester, this is Bird Isbell, the friend I was telling you about. Bird, this is Dean.”

Dean nodded. “Mam,” He said politely, before re-taking his seat at the boy’s bedside once more.

Bird’s eyes went back to Caleb, who had come to stand on the other side of the bed. For the second time that morning, the herbalist was somewhat shaken as she was granted another completely unexpected view of Caleb Reaves.

He gently rested his hand on the sleeping boy’s forehead, his face registering something very similar to pain, before glancing up to meet her brown eyes. “This is Sam. He’s why I brought you here.”

Bird was still trying to remember a time when she had ever seen Caleb initiate physical contact with another person when the other boy’s voice invaded her musings.

“Can you help him?” Dean spoke up, and the herbalist pulled her eyes away from Caleb only to find herself captured by this boy’s helplessness.

She took a quick breath and steeled herself against the quick wave of anxiety that battled against her. “Well now, why don’t one of you explain what’s gotten young Sam in this state, and then tell me why in the hell one of you hasn’t called a doctor, or Mackland for that matter?”

Bird caught the look Dean shot Caleb out of the corner of her eye and she would have grinned if the situation hadn’t been so dire. “It’s kind of a long story about the doctor, Birdell.” Caleb said in a huff, as Bird positioned herself on the bed so she could get a better look at the sick boy. “Besides, you’re practically a doctor, yourself.”

She snorted as she laid a hand on Sam’s face, feeling the heat radiating from the parched skin. “Your father would quickly discount that little piece of flattery. And honestly, he’d be right in doing so. I dabble in homeopathic remedies, Caleb Reaves. That’s not a replacement for professional help, especially when someone is as sick as your young friend seems to be.”

“It’s a spell,” Dean spoke up and Bird glanced at him in surprise. The hesitancy was easily read in his young features, as if he wasn’t use to being truthful about such things, but she was willing to wager that he'd do almost anything to help the young man in question.

“A spell?” She queried, trying not to sound condescending or naïve. “As in magic?”

“Yes,” Caleb answered. “Voodoo.”

Bird sighed, having lived too long, seen too much to discount something that sounded so absurd. She focused on Sam once more, her quick mind trying to imagine what kind of situation had landed a child in the center of a world where magic and voodoo could put his young life in danger.

His face was almost angelic in sleep, all sharp angles and well-defined planes. He had long dark hair that was sleep-tassled and messy looking, even though she would wager money that he wore it similar to that on a daily basis. She didn’t see much physical resemblance to the brother that stood guard so valiantly at his side, besides the fact they were both striking. In fact, Sam shared more physical characteristics with Caleb. An ironic twist that she might have found amusing under other circumstances. It only took one look at the way the other two men were looking at him though to assume that this Sam was something quite special.

Bird ran practiced hands over the boy’s lymph nodes and then raised each eye-lid, frowning at Caleb when she’d finished her quick exam. “Who drugged him?”

“I did,” Caleb said, a hint of defensiveness in his voice. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“What did you give him?”

“Morphine,” Came the hesitant reply and Bird shook her head.

"Damn, Caleb."

“Is he okay?” Dean asked, his eyes searching the sick boy’s face as if for some clue that he was afraid he’d missed, that Bird might have seen.

The doubt in his voice had Bird quick to reassure him. “Yes, he’s okay. But I don’t like using something so strong. People often act too quickly, too forcefully, to quell the body’s first line of defense.” She glanced at Caleb. “I especially don’t like to see it used on children.”

“And I don’t like seeing people I care about suffer,” Caleb snapped slightly and Bird arched a brow.

“Don’t be pissed at me, young man. I’m just trying to assess the situation. I’m not pointing fingers.”

“Sounds like you are.” Caleb mumbled, sounding much more like the sullen teen Bird was use to than the caring man she’d been privy to that morning.

“Tell me about this spell,” She looked at Dean, wondering yet again at what kind of life Mackland Ames had pulled Caleb into.

The young man licked his lips. “We don’t know a lot. Just that it’s called Fire of the Blood. And it’s some kick ass strong magic, probably sealed with the witch's blood, maybe even a sacrifice.”

Bird shifted her brown eyes back to Caleb. “Sounds like something your grandmother would know a lot about. Too bad the old broad croaked on us.”

The young man favored her with a half-smile. “At least she taught you some things,” Caleb pointed out, hopefully.

“About herbs, not magic,” Bird ran her fingers through Sam’s soft brown hair and looked to Dean again. “Who did this?” And where the hell are your parents?

Dean glanced to Caleb, and Bird realized that she was only being tolerated because of her connection to the other man. “Let’s just say they weren’t nice people,” Caleb answered, and as if he had read her mind he looked right at her and said in a cold voice. "Their father is looking for something that we need to fix this whole mess."

He looked away from her then and he and Dean seemed to share a silent conversation before Caleb was kneeling in the floor beside of her. “Can you do something about the symptoms, Bird? I’m not asking you to cure him. Like I said, John's taking care of that, but we just need to help him hold on in the mean time.”

“John, huh?” Bird frowned, the name tickling at her memory. A John had testified in court for Mackland, back when she had contested the foster arrangement. And Caleb had mentioned the name in passing more than once over the years. In fact, he had asked for a John once, while caught in the throws of a fever not too unlike the one Sam was now suffering. She had asked Mackland about it, only to be told the less she knew about their life, the better. The man was obviously another member of this secret family Caleb had kept hidden.

“Please.”

Yet another word she’d never heard from Caleb’s mouth startled her from her reverie, and Bird bit her lip. She let her gaze roam from Caleb to the boy on the bed and then to the other young man. She could feel the tension in the room; her shoulder’s tightening under its weight. Finally, the herbalist sighed. “I have some things I can try, but I can’t promise anything.”

Caleb’s smile widened, and he patted her knee. “I have faith in you, besides a bird in hand is worth two in the bush. Right? ”

Bird snorted, rolled her eyes. “You have your grandmother’s strange sense of humor.”

“And here all along I thought he had Mac’s,” Dean spoke up, a hint of a familiar grin tugging at his lips. For the first time, Bird was certain she might have to allow herself to like him. She'd be safe from the other one, as long as he didn't regain consciousness.

“Better strange than dry and stale,” She told the kid, with a wink. “But it’s still a good thing he’s easy on the eyes.”

The kid feigned a look of sympathy, and pointed to the thick bifocals still dangling from around her neck. “You might want to try wearing those things, instead of using them for jewelry.”

Bird laughed. “You may be right.” She ignored the grunt from Caleb. “By the way, do you like Coffee Cake?”

“Great,” Caleb growled. “Him, you’ll feed, but not me? You've known me practically my whole life, Birdell.”

"Which probably explains why she already likes me better," Dean jabbed.

"Shut up, Deuce." Caleb shot back.

“You,” Bird pointed at Caleb, “Are going to be too busy to eat. I need some water boiled and some herbs ground.”

“You couldn’t do that?”

Bird shamed him with a shake of her finger. “I could, but then I’m the guest here, now aren’t I? Have you forgotten all the manners Ruth tried to drill in that thick head of yours?”

“No, mam,” Caleb cowed, and again Bird was drawn to the kid who snorted at the older boy’s chagrin.

“I could use some coffee, too,” Dean added, and then motioned to Bird. “ Bring some for the pretty lady, while you’re at it.”

“Black, no sugar,” Bird added with a conspiratorial smile in Dean’s direction. “Better bring some plates and forks also.”

“Anything else?” Caleb stood, rested his hands on his jean-clad hips.

Bird dug in her bag, pulled out two pouches and handed them to Caleb. "Make sure these are fine as powder when you're finished."

The hunter rolled his eyes, mumbled something about respect, and left the room with a rather rude gesture in Dean's direction that he apparently thought Bird couldn't see. "I saw that," She called after him, turning an exasperated look on Dean. "Ames might as well flushed all that money he spent on prep school right down the toilet."

The young man shrugged. "At least he learned Latin."

Bird scoffed. "Like that's ever going to come in handy? "

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