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“The past is not dead. In fact, it’s not even past.” –William Faulkner

“You okay?” Dean tried to take more of his own weight on his right leg as Caleb fought off another round of brutal coughing. Bobby left them at the bottom of the wooden stairs to go with Dad to the cabin’s door and Dean turned to look at his friend. “Damien?”

Caleb stubbornly maintained the grip he had on Dean. He cleared his throat, standing up straighter. “I think that should be my question. You’re the one about to drop.”

It was true. What Dad called a short hike took them almost an hour. Dean was freezing and hot at the same time. Bobby, Caleb, and Dad had taken turns shouldering his sorry ass through the long haul. The pain in Dean’s leg was only a fraction of the problem. Hurt seemed to radiate from every part of his body, his head being a major source of misery. He licked his lips, forcing his eyes to stay open. “I know this sucks for you, man.”

Caleb laughed, shifting slightly so that he was blocking Dean from the cold wind that had picked up as the snow waned. His voice was hoarse. “Said the guy with the concussion and bullet in his leg.”

“I’m serious. I know how you feel about Elkins.” Knowing each other’s demons was a downside to spending so much time together. Dean knew Sam’s and Caleb’s nightmares as well as his own recurring ones.

Caleb stared at him. “It’s just…I would feel better if my abilities weren’t acting up, if I had more control.” He took a rattling breath and looked towards the door. “It’s like going on a hunt unarmed.”

“If worst comes to worst, you have your gun.” Dean glanced to his best friend’s side, knew he was wearing a holster and weapon.

Dean rolled his eyes. Leave it to Damien to feel honor bound to a man who tried to kill him because of the ring he wore. Funny when it came to Sam and Dean, Caleb had no such qualms with killing Duran Hughes. “You mean you wish you could read Elkins’s mind?” Dean forced a weak grin. “Cut off his oxygen with the Darth Vader grip if he thought about doing something you didn’t like?”

Caleb returned the effort with a rueful smile. “Johnny would have me thrown in the stockade for assaulting a superior.”

“Deuce, this isn’t your fault. You don’t need to explain or pacify me. Got it?” Caleb nodded to Dad and Bobby. “I know why we’re here.”

“Old habits,” Dean muttered. His mind strayed to Sam, something that had been happening more and more since Christmas. Dean had never been particularly nostalgic of the holiday, but this one seemed like the first one had after his mother’s death. Even though Sam was at school last year, Dean believed he was in shock then, expecting his little brother to return. Twelve months had given him clarity. Sam wasn’t coming back.

“We’re going to get you taken care of. That’s the most important thing.”

“I don’t want anything from Daniel Elkins and even if I did, I doubt if the man would oblige. He might not even let me in.”

Dean hadn’t considered the thought Elkins might not be willing to help them. “Then I’m not going in.”

“Yes, you are.” Caleb’s face was set in hard lines. “You’re The Knight’s son. As long as Elkins still wears a ring, he can’t refuse you care. Besides, he trained John. I don’t know what kind of falling out they had, but trust me those ties are hard to cut.”

“You’re The Scholar’s son, and you wear the same ring I do.” Dean reached out and gripped Caleb’s arm. “And don’t forget, Dad trained you. Elkins can’t dismiss that. Dad won’t let him.”

The sound of the door opening and a gun being cocked had them facing the doorway again. Damien pulled away from Dean, quickly stepping so he was between Dean and the front of the cabin. “It’ll all work out.”

Dean wasn’t sure if Caleb was talking to him, or trying to talk himself into doing the unthinkable. The stranger’s voice had Dean struggling to see past Caleb’s broad shoulders.

Dean knew the name dropping was similar to the password he and his brother used for years. Bobby wore a ring that identified him as Brotherhood, but some hunters like his father did not.

The other man still sounded unsure. “What on earth are you two chasing out in this mess? Why are you here?”

“It’s not what we’re chasing,” Dad said. “It’s what’s chasing us? My son’s hurt. We need shelter and medical supplies.”

“It’s just like you to bring hell to my door, John.” Elkins stepped onto the porch under the light, but kept his gun at the ready. “It’s not the right lunar cycle for a wolf, boys. So what is it? Wood troll? Vamp?”

The first thing that struck Dean was the man didn’t look or sound like the monster he had envisioned, which was some cross of Jack Torrance and R.P. McMurphy. Jack Nicholson worship aside, Daniel Elkins sounded normal to Dean, even a little shaky and looked more old and worn out than dangerous.

"I know the name." Daniel shook his head. "They won't be coming here. They know this is my property, and I take care of trespassers."

When Daniel stepped from the house, Caleb stepped back, pushing Dean against the cabin further into the shadows, nearly costing him his precarious balance.

“Dude, watch it.” Dean braced himself against the roughhewn wood, taking a quick breath to ward off a new wave of dizziness. The other voices faded into the background as Damien pressed against him.

“He sounds the same,” Caleb whispered. “I’ll never forget that voice.”

“He kept repeating a Latin verse. Even when I begged him to stop…” Caleb turned to look at him, but kept his voice low. “I didn’t even know what the words meant then, but I was terrified. He’s crazy.”

Dad called to them. Caleb tensed. Dean stayed silent, but unable to hide the shiver that ran through his body. He was cold, his leg and head hurt. He felt more than a little traitorous for wanting to go inside Daniel Elkins’s cabin-monster or not.

Dean raised his gaze to Caleb’s. “You’re not going in there alone, Dude. I got your back. I promise.”

He received a half smirk for his effort, but Caleb seemed to relax. “Said the guy with the concussion and bullet in his leg.”

Dean cocked a brow. “You don’t think I can still kick some crazy old codger’s ass if need be?”

Caleb looked towards the porch and Dean followed his line of sight. Elkins and Bobby had disappeared into the cabin. John was making his way towards them. Damien turned to face him again. “Nobody else I’d want watching my six, Deuce.”

Dean nodded. “If we hurry, there’ still a chance we could make it to Denver by midnight tomorrow.”

Celebrating was the last thing on Caleb’s mind, although he would have found almost any location preferable to where they were now. He avoided his mentor’s gaze, afraid John would see the fear in his eyes as he approached him and Dean. The telltale signs had to be there, because Caleb felt rooted in place, even knowing help for Dean lay only a few steps away.

Getting Dean inside meant Caleb would have to stand down so John could reach his son, who was currently tucked safely behind Caleb. It was irrational. John would never place Deuce in danger. Still, deep seeded fear didn’t respond well to logic. “Does he have a phone?” Maybe they could call out on a landline. Get Mac to come get them.

“He has a short wave.” John frowned, seeming to know what Caleb was thinking. “It won’t do us much good until this weather lets up. Nothing or no one is coming or going.”

Caleb felt Dean’s steadying presence behind him, but it was the surge of misery he picked up from the kid that forced him to turn over his charge. “You’ll be okay, Deuce.”

“You’re coming, too,” John said. He didn’t even look in Caleb’s direction, moving to Dean, pulling the kid’s arm over his shoulder. “Don’t even think about going AWOL, Private.”

The thought hadn’t crossed his mind. He wasn’t leaving Dean alone with Daniel Elkins. He took Dean’s other arm and helped John get the kid up the stairs and onto the porch.

Bobby met them at the door, sheepishly holding three cups. They were the small paper variety like ones from the dentist’s office.

Caleb shifted his weigh, letting go of Dean so he would at least be able to reach his weapon if he needed to. “I’m not drinking that.”

“Holy water.” Bobby sighed. “The sooner you pass his test, the sooner we can get on with this.”

“It’s harmless if you are who you say you are,” Daniel Elkins said from behind Bobby. He wasn’t visible to them, but the sound of his voice had Caleb once again considering his options. “Harmless if you are what you say you are.”

“Give me the goddamn cup.” John tossed back one of the paper shots, crumbling the container in his fist. “Satisfied, Daniel?”

“This is fucked up,” Caleb said. Being referred to as ‘the Reaves child’ had his gut twisting as more memories from his one and only encounter with the former Knight surfaced unbidden.

“Water is water, Damien. You’ve complained about being thirsty for the last hour.”

The weak tone, more than the truth of the statement, won out. Caleb sighed, reluctantly taking one of the paper cups from Bobby. He sniffed it suspiciously before swallowing it with a wince. It burned his raw throat, and he was sure his eyes watered, but he dropped the cup on the porch and watched Dean take the last drink.

“You can see they’re not writhing in agony, Daniel,” Bobby turned, allowing Caleb his first up close view of Elkins. The man was lingering just beyond the doorway, wrapped in a grey sweater. He had wiry gray hair and a weathered face. Daniel Elkins looked much smaller than he had that night in the psych ward.

John started forward and Caleb complied. The smell of a wood fire brought images of the farm, images that contrasted sharply with the inside of Elkins’s place. Where Jim’s home was open and inviting, Daniel’s was cramped and cluttered. The stacks of books competed with Bobby’s, but there was no Lazy Boy or widescreen television. There was a couch across from the stone fireplace, a coffee table covered with more books, two wooden chairs and a floor lamp, which was missing a shade.

Caleb didn’t like the fact Elkins used Deuce’s name, nor did he like it when the man put the shotgun down and moved towards them. Caleb scooted back, giving the man a wide berth. He was surprised when the old hunter didn’t even look at him, but instead shuffled to the door. Caleb watched him secure seven different types of locks from the slide variety to heavy duty deadbolts. It was no wonder it took the guy so long to open the damn door.

When he was finished locking up, he picked up a rusted can, redrawing a fresh line of salt in front of the threshold. He put the can down and repeated the process of checking locks two more times.

Caleb raised a brow and John gave his son a disapproving glare. “Daniel, where’s your first aid kit?”

Daniel turned. “Take the boy into the back bedroom. Bobby and I’ll get what we need.”

John led the way and Caleb concentrated on helping Dean make it down the narrow hallway, ignoring the eyes of the creepy photographs and pictures hung on the walls. John pointed him towards the last room as he disappeared into a smaller room Caleb guessed was the bathroom.

The bedroom was another depository, volumes stacked around the walls. There was a wooden rollback writing desk that reminded Caleb of the one that sat in Cullen’s office. The bed had no frame, merely a mattress and box springs sitting in the center of the floor, and on the wall was an austere wooden cross with Jesus lying crucified.

Caleb scrutinized the quilt draped over the bed and shook his head. “Deuce, I’ve seen you roll up like a human burrito with the bedspreads from Motel 6.” He picked up the pillow and repositioned it at the other end of the bed so Dean could lay on his right side and still face the door. “It’s a little late to be worried now.”

“True.” Dean offered a tired smile. “With the places I’ve lived I’m probably impervious to cooties.”

Caleb helped Dean off with his jacket, which was soaked from the snow and then his over shirt, which was also wet. The sopping jeans needed to go too, but they would have to be cut off. They could wait. “Dad used to discreetly check you and Sammy for head lice.”

It wasn’t true, but as far as distractions went it was decent. Dean only gasped a little when Caleb helped him onto the bed and then carefully situated his legs on the mattress.

“Did too. You had scabies once.” Caleb removed the kid’s boots and checked the bandage around Dean’s thigh. It was stained with blood, but seemed to be doing its job. He pulled the other side of the quilt over Dean and tucked it around the younger man before sitting on the edge of the bed. “Johnny had to fumigate the Impala and Mac quarantined you.”

“Bullshit,” Dean said. The denial didn’t hold the strength Caleb hoped and he could see Dean was struggling to keep his eyes open.

Caleb put the back of his hand to Dean’s forehead, frowning at the heat radiating from his friend’s brow. “Don’t get too cozy. Doctor Strange and Nurse Ratchet should be here soon.”

“I can’t wait,” Dean said. “Bullet extractions are one of Bobby’s specialties.”

“How’s your battering ram?” Caleb moved his touch to the side of Dean’s face where dried blood had survived the sweat and snow. He traced it to a nasty looking knot and gash above Dean’s ear.

“My head feels like it did when we spent Cinco de Mayo in that little border town. Remember the bar with the human slingshot and Velcro wall?”

“I think I’d feel better if everyone forgot about the bullet in my leg and just went the decapitation route.”

“No can do.” Caleb leaned back, rubbed his hands on his jeans. His fingers were starting to tingle now that the feeling was coming back. “I wish Mac were here.” Caleb’s breathy confession had Dean looking at him with the clarity he hoped his levity would garner.

“Dude, this isn’t the same kind of thing. Elkins didn’t kidnap us and drag us through a freaking blizzard.”

Caleb hadn’t consciously recognized the similarities of what happened to them in North Carolina to bits and pieces of their most recent debacle. Maybe he had been picking up on the subtleties all along. “I know what Elkins is capable of Deuce. I can’t risk that.”

Caleb knew Dean wasn’t thinking straight when he suggested he have a conversation with John as if they were on equal footing. He sensed his mentor returning and sat up straighter. “Speak of the devil.” Caleb smiled at reusing the familiar phrase, patting Dean’s shoulder before standing.

John entered the room, still carrying their lone duffel and an arm full of dry towels. Caleb noticed he had changed his clothes and washed his face. “You need to get out of those wet things, Junior. The last thing we need is a case of pneumonia.”

Caleb took one of the towels with a shake of his head. John had practically called him a pussy for complaining about the sniffles three days ago, now he wanted to play nursemaid. “I’m okay.”

“It wasn’t a suggestion.” John dropped the duffel at his feet. “The bathroom is one door up.”

Caleb looked at Dean, who smirked. So much for conversation. “It was a nice thought.”

As if John understood the real reason for Caleb’s hesitation, he lowered his voice. “Elkins and Bobby are still in the kitchen. They’ll be a while.”

Caleb chose to pick up his mentor’s bag instead of looking at John. “I hope you at least packed something without grease or blood stains.”

Dean watched Caleb leave the room before shifting to face his father. "Dad, you need to watch Elkins."

Dad pulled back the quilt, checking Dean's leg for himself. "Daniel's an old man, Ace. Trust me. He's harmless."

Dean endured the exam, gripping the blanket as his father peeled away the pressure bandage. "Snakes don't lose their venom."

"I think you're underestimating Caleb's ability to take care of himself."

"I think you're underestimating how he feels about Elkins."

"I'm not exactly thrilled to be here either." Dad sighed. "Daniel and I didn't part on the best of terms."

"Think how Damien feels. Elkins tried to kill him."

Dad laid his palm against Dean's cheek and frowned the same way Caleb had earlier. Dean knew his body's shaking had as much to do with a fever as the cold. "That was a long time ago. It was a misunderstanding and Daniel's loyal to Jim, to The Triad."

Dean was pretty sure Jim had thought the same thing about Griffin Porter at one time. "He made you drink holy water."

"I didn't say he wasn't a paranoid old bastard." Dad took a seat on the bed. "But we didn't have any other options."

"I'm sorry," Dean said. He knew it wasn't his fault, but those two words seemed primed on his lips these days. He couldn't help feeling that his father's frequent absences were somehow linked to something he had done, or not done.

"For what?" Dad leaned forward, rubbed a hand over his beard. Dean noticed he'd put a couple of butterfly bandages on the cut on his forehead. "None of this is your fault. No one to blame but me, kiddo."

"Who was that guy back at the bar? Connely?"

Dad straightened. "A Marine."

"Yeah. I got that much."

His father usually talked about his time in the service, maybe not in specifics, but in general. Not like Pastor Jim, who always changed the subject. "He was under my command for a while. We saw a lot of action together. One mission went down badly."

"He blamed you?"

"It was my fault. We had bad intel, not enough specifics."

Having your facts straight, research in hand, was always one of Dad's top five rules. Yet, Dean knew no unit consisted of one man. Dad would have had a commander to answer to as well. "War comes with risks. Every soldier accepts that."

Dad's dark eyes met his. Dean couldn't help but to think of Sam. "His best friend took a sniper's round to the head. It blew away half his face." Dad raised one brow. "One minute they were a couple of kids laughing about how they were going to celebrate our return, who was going to treat the first round of drinks, and the next minute Terry was holding a corpse." Dad never blinked. "Would you be so forgiving?"

Dean licked his dry, chapped lips. He tried not to think of how fragile humans were. How a well-placed bullet or an unexplainable house fire could change your life in an instant. Dean was sure his father obsessed on those things enough for both of them. He thought of how his father was out of line for making Caleb go on the hunt, the bitterness he still sometimes felt towards Dad because of Sam's leaving. "But you weren't the enemy."

"Sometimes the enemy's face becomes blurred."

Dean was sure that was how it had been for Sam. Hunting was what Sam hated, the type of life they lived. His brother's resentment took on a life of its own, and their father became the physical embodiment.

Caleb cleared his throat, bringing Dean from his contemplations and both Winchester's gaze to the psychic. He was standing near the bed, holding a pair of Dad's old sweats. The look he gave Dean said he'd been privy to the last part of their conversation even if they hadn't heard him come in. "Bobby and Elkins are coming."

John nodded. "Good. The sooner we get this taken care of the better."

"Easy for you to say." Dean offered his father a half grin, despite his nervous stomach. He wasn't looking forward to being taken care of.

"Look John, maybe Bobby should do this," Caleb said. Dean wasn't the only nervous one. "He's pulled a bullet out of me before."

Dad crossed his arms over his chest. "Maybe you should wait in the other room?"

Dean shifted his gaze from his best friend to his father, feeling the energy change.

"No way." Caleb moved closer to the bed, but didn't take his eyes from Dad. "I'm staying."

"Again, that really wasn't a suggestion."

Dad didn't sound angry, only tired. Dean could have been wrong, but there seemed to be a hint of pleading in his voice, a hopefulness that maybe Caleb would simply back down. That wasn't likely because as much as Damien would deny it, he and Sammy had a lot of things in common.

"Why should I leave?"

"Because it's not a good idea for you to be in here when Elkins is working on Dean."

"I won't interfere," Caleb said. "I'll keep my mouth shut, but I need to be able to see what's going on."

Dean didn't know if Damien's need to stay in close proximity had more to do with the fact his senses were offline or the lack of control the separation would represent. He sounded uncharacteristically desperate; the hoarseness of his voice making it worse and it struck a chord in Dean. He'd made his best friend a promise to watch his back. "Dad, I want him to stay."

"It's not about what you want."

Dean gripped a fistful of sheet to keep from spouting back. It was never about what Dean wanted.

His father lowered his voice. "Elkins doesn't feel comfortable with the situation."

"Because he thinks I'm not worthy to be in his presence?" Caleb said.

"No, damn it!" Dad huffed out a heavy breath. "Because he's afraid of you, Caleb. Daniel is afraid of you."

"You're kidding?" Caleb took a step back. "He's afraid of me?"

"Just do what I say, Caleb."

Dean recognized the stalemate. Even The Knight was powerless against some fears. Caleb may obediently throw himself wholeheartedly at any hell beast Dad could conjure, but he could not willingly abandon post when the one thing he thought more valuable than The Brotherhood was at stake. Dean understood that mental-tug of war all too well.

"Dude, I really don't want Elkins trembling in terror if he's coming at me with a scalpel. Do you?"

Bobby and Elkins entered the room before his best friend could answer. Caleb strode towards the door, stopping in front of Daniel, who cowered under the scrutiny, studying the floor. Damien wasn't thwarted by the submissiveness. "If something happens to him, whatever kind of monster you think I am, whatever you imagine I'm capable of, will seem like child's play compared to what I do to you, old man."

"Caleb." Dad's voice was stern, holding all the more warning for its softness.

Caleb looked at Bobby. "Don't forget about the concussion or the penicillin." He turned to meet Dean's gaze. "I'll just be outside the door, Deuce."

Dean nodded, understanding in that moment for as much as Sam and Caleb had in common, he and Damien shared a very distinct similarity-the knowledge brotherhood really could suck, especially when you couldn't cover all the variables. Speeding bullets and college scholarships were so far out of guy's control. "I'll be okay."

RcJ*SnsnsnsN*RcJ

Caleb's head was pounding. Every time he tried to establish an open link with Dean, his vision darkened around the edges, his knees threatening to give way. He shoved away from the wall, pacing in the narrow hallway outside Dean's room.

The pictures he ignored before gave him a minor distraction now. They were religious pictures. Eastern Orthodox icons of the Virgin Mary and other saint he couldn't recognize. An austere picture of a man who's eyes seemed to look into Caleb's soul. Another painted picture of a woman wearing a crown of thorns was next to pictures of Hindu deities reaching out to him. There were also faint carvings in the moldings, which he tried to study to figure out their relevance.

"Bullet's out."

Bobby's voice startled him. Caleb whirled around to face the mechanic, the sudden motion not mixing well with the weakness slowly invading his body. He rocked on his heels, glad the wall was there to steady him. "Damn it, Bobby! That's a good way to get shot."

Bobby smirked. "As John said earlier, you're not that fast, Junior."

Caleb closed his eyes, fighting off the momentary vertigo. Bobby's cool fingers on his forehead grounded him and he blinked, frowning at the mechanic who quickly removed his touch. "You both are lucky I'm off my game."

"If you were smart you'd realize your game is completely shot to hell and stop trying to push yourself before you end up in there with your wingman. You have a fever and you look like shit."

"Elkins isn't playing doctor with me. I've had his treatment before." Caleb ran a hand through his hair, but remained resting against the wall. "No thank you."

"He did a good job with Dean. He's stitching him up now."

Caleb looked towards the door. "So, Deuce is okay?"

"The kid should be fine as long as the infection stays under control. He's feeling no pain at the moment. Daniel has a good stash of pills."

"Good." Caleb licked his lips. "You sure he didn't say anything…out of the way to Deuce?"

Bobby lifted one eyebrow. "You're worried about the kid's delicate virtue? I think he's heard just about everything he could from you."

Caleb looked past Bobby's shoulder to the picture of the man with the fierce eyes. "No…I mean, did Elkins say anything about me?"

Bobby grunted. "Is that what's got you jumping around like frog legs in a hot skillet? You were afraid Daniel would start spouting his crazy theory about your supposed great grand daddy?"

Caleb folded his arms over his chest, frowning at the incredulity in the older hunter's voice. "Dean and Sammy know he tried to kill me because of my abilities and the death of that foster family. No one's ever talked to them about the specifics as far as I know. I don't want them to misunderstand."

Bobby stepped closer to him. "And what is there to misunderstand?"

Caleb wasn't going to be forced into saying it out loud. "You know what I'm talking about. The connection our families have."

"Could have," Bobby corrected.

Caleb shook his head. "I remember the time first time I recognized that damn Latin verse he was trying to use on me." He held Bobby's gaze. "I was fourteen and you were teaching me the exorcism to cast out a demon."

"I remember." Bobby took his baseball cap off, toyed with the bill. "You went as white as a ghost."

Caleb refused to be pacified by the 'Daniel is disturbed' spiel. Pastor Jim and Mac had no other choice but to explain Elkin's entire 'Noah Seaver' theory. "I don't want Elkins handing out specifics he has no business relating."

"And you think those 'specifics' would make a difference? If Dean knew what Daniel Elkins thought about Noah Seaver it might change how he sees you?"

"It sounds worse when you say it out loud." It made Caleb sound like an insecure basket case. "I just don't want him bringing up painful shit. Dean has been through enough the last year."

Bobby's gaze went to the closed bedroom door. "Sam's leaving really did a number on the kid."

"Exactly," Caleb said. "I just don't want him to lose anyone else." Caleb wasn't up for the possibility either. One family a lifetime was enough.

"It's been my experience that Dean is awful damn accepting of anyone with flaws. He's lived with John Winchester all these years and still worships the ground the man walks on. I thought Sammy leaving might be the tipping point, but the kid surprised me."

"John's his father. That's different."

"He ain't your daddy, but you seem willing to give him the benefit of the doubt more often than not."

Caleb snorted. "Trust me, I recognize John's faults, and keep score when I need to. Driving Sam away hasn't gone unnoticed on my part." He missed the kid, knew the feeling was compounded exponentially for Dean.

"What about that stuff John's buddy was spouting back at the bar?"

"What about it?"

"It could be true." Bobby continued to reshape his hat. "John could have gotten that man killed. Hell, knowing how the best laid plans turn out, it probably is true in some context."

Caleb had overheard John concede the same thing to Deuce. "So what if it is true? That doesn't change anything."

"That's exactly my point, kid." Bobby slapped him hard with the cap. "Ain't a single one of us perfect. We all have our dirty secrets, sorted pasts, and dark sides. We wouldn't be human if we didn't."

"Ow." Caleb rubbed his arm, his mouth from twitching. "Does Fiona know how passionate and philosophical you can be?"

Bobby pulled his hat on and pointed a finger at him. "One day you're going to learn it takes more than a quick smile, smooth tongue and a pocket full of money to win the heart of a real woman."

"One day you're going to realize I have no real interest in women's hearts. I'm more of a breasts and legs man."

"You're an idgit is what you are." Bobby grabbed his arm, tugging him towards the other end of Elkins's cabin. "And I'm not willing to endure one of Mackland's tongue lashings because of it."

Caleb resisted, pointing towards the closed bedroom door. "But Deuce…"

"Dean's taken care of, now it's your turn."

"My turn?" Caleb did not like the sound of that. "But I'm fine."

"You will be as soon as I give you Doctor Singer's homemade flu remedy."

"But I don't have the fucking flu."

"That's okay. I'm not really a doctor."

Dean blinked, trying to bring his blurry vision into focus. He wasn't sure where he was, the room's unfamiliarity starting a slow building panic. Dean moved his head, catching sight of a dark haired blob resting on the bed to his right. "Sammy?"

Even as he said his brother's name he knew it wasn't right. The syllables always present in his mind sounded unfamiliar when spoken. How long had it been since he'd said his brother's name out loud. Fear gripped his heart and he tried to push himself up, searching for his father. Dean blinked again, the fuzzy image taking the shape of his best friend.

Caleb was sitting by the bed, his upper body draped uncomfortably over the side, arms and head resting on the mattress near Dean's arm. "Damien?"

At the sound of his name, Caleb stirred, slowly righting himself to look blearily at Dean. "Deuce, you're awake."

"Where's Dad?"

Caleb rubbed a hand over his eyes. "He was here just a minute ago. At least, I think he was."

Dean smirked. "Dude, are you drunk?" He looked towards the window, noticing it was still dark outside, but the howling storm was no longer lashing against the cabin. He guessed he had only been sleeping a few of hours.

"No." Caleb sat up straighter with a groan and a rattling cough. "Although Bobby's flu remedy had more whiskey than any other medicinal ingredients."

"You took one of Bobby's cure-alls?" Dean frowned. "I guess that explains why you still look like shit."

"Right back at you." Caleb touched the bandage on his head and Dean batted Damien's hand away.

"You managed to keep your head, but the bruising is still fugly. Some wing man you'll make. Neither of us will be scoring on New Year's Eve."

Dean rolled his eyes. His whole body felt like one big bruise. By the way Caleb was moving his friend was beginning to feel the effects of their car crash as well. "I say we stay at some swanky hotel, watch a game, order room service and send Dad and Bobby out on the town."

"Anywhere but here sounds good."

Dean shifted, raising himself higher in the bed. The pills in his system were still holding off the worst of the pain from his leg. Even the throbbing in his skull was at a tolerable level. "Elkins keeping his distance?"

"Yeah. Maybe he and Johnny are catching up on old times."

"Dad's on your side. You know that, right?"

Caleb looked at him for a moment, before turning his attention to the silver ring on his right hand, moving the band around with his thumb. "I don't know about you, but sometimes I get really sick of their always being a side to be on-always having an enemy to face."

"I know what you mean." Dean had tried to play the middle ground for far too long with Sammy and Dad. Trying to be Swizerland sucked. "But sometimes knowing where you stand, and who you stand with is the only thing that's real-the only thing that's right."

Caleb clasped his hands together, leaning his elbows on the bed. "What if you make the wrong choice? What if you mistake the enemy for something else?"

Dean licked his lips, not quite sure of the motivation behind the turn in conversation. "That's simple. You make sure that you don't."

Caleb raised a brow. "That's very black and white of you, Grasshopper."

Dean raised his middle finger. "You'd rather I say something very Jim-like and tell you the murmurings of a man's heart will never lead him astray."

"No." Caleb shook his head. "Bobby's already waxed poetic. I don't need you going down the Hallmark path. I prefer somebody on our team keep their balls about them."

"Okay." Dean reached out and gripped Damien's wrist. "Then stop your brooding, Reaves. Nobody who matters thinks you're the enemy. A whiny ass, bellyaching, drama queen, yes, but a bad guy?" Dean released his friend with a wink. "No way."

"That's what I love about you, Deuce. You always know how to cheer a guy up while simultaneously slaying his ego."

"I wouldn't want you to get a big head." Dean grinned to soften the sting. "You're nearly impossible to live with now."

Raised voices from somewhere in the front of the cabin interrupted Caleb's retort. Dad's shouting was easily recognizable. "What now…" Dean tried to make it out of the bed, but Caleb laid a restraining head on his chest.

"Stay put. I'll check it out."

"No way." Dean shook his head and regretted it as the room spun. "Help me up." He fought through the dizziness, giving a pathetic last effort to evade Caleb's hand. "I'll come with you."

"No." Caleb didn't budge. The shouting continued. Damien took his gun from his side holster and handed it to Dean. "Take this."

"Damien…"

"It wasn't a suggestion."

"Now you sound just like Dad."

Caleb stood. "Now you're just being mean." He pointed a finger at Dean to emphasize his order and slipped out the bedroom door, quietly pulling it closed behind him.

"Sonofabitch." Dean collapsed against the pillow, gripping the gun in his right hand. He had no problem recognizing his current enemy. It was gravity, but Dean was never one to say die.

RcJ*SnsnsnsnsN*RcJ

Caleb wasn't sure what he was expecting, but finding Johnny held at gunpoint by Elkins was not even in the ballpark. He met Bobby coming from the kitchen. Singer didn't seem as shocked.

"Ah hell." The mechanic put down his plate of scrambled eggs and cup of coffee. "What have you done now, John?"

"What the hell is going on?" Caleb asked.

"None of your business," John yelled. "Go back and stay with Dean."

"First you bring the enemy to my home and now you try and steal from me." Daniel held his shotgun higher, gesturing from John to a wall safe. The colorization of the wall suggested a painting had been removed. Caleb glanced to John's feet finding a black velvet rendition of da Vinci's The Last Supper. "I trusted you."

The old man's hands shook and Caleb took another step into the room, fearing Daniel might accidentally pull the trigger. "Bobby?"

Singer held up a hand for him to stop. "Stay out of this, Kid."

"I'm only looking for what's rightfully mine," John's voice thundered and he took a menacing step towards his predecessor. "I did the research, put in the hours of legwork only to have you steal it out from under me. You made me believe all these years that it was all a wild goose chase and you've had it all this time. In my book that makes you the enemy."

"You don't know what you're talking about!" Daniel said.

"I read your journal!"

Daniel lowered his gun, seeming to deflate before Caleb's eyes. "Ramblings of a delusional old man." Elkins glanced in his direction. "Just ask Pastor Jim or Doctor Ames. My theories have no foundation in reality. Isn't that right, boy?"

"Leave him out of this," John said. "This is between us."

"Believe what you like." Elkins shook his head. "There is no Holy Grail at the end of your quest, Johnathan. You are not right about this."

"You expect me to swallow more of your lies?"

"You've already proven to be selective in your truths. Why change now?" Daniel walked past John to the safe. He rolled the dial, opening the small steel compartment. "Look for yourself, and then be gone with the lot of you."

"John," Caleb said. "Dean can't travel yet."

"Yes, I can." Caleb turned to find the younger Winchester behind him. Deuce was leaned against the wall, looking three shades paler than he had moments before, but he had a white knuckled grip on Caleb's gun.

"Stubborn sonofa…"

"I'm good to go. What's going on?"

Caleb reached out and took Dean's arm to keep him steady on his right leg. "Johnny is working through some issues."

Caleb turned to watch his mentor go to the safe. With barely a glance inside, John turned on Elkins. "You're too dodgy of an old bastard to put it somewhere that logical."

"And you're too stubborn of a young bastard to listen to sense." Daniel pointed a knobby finger at John. "Be careful of your pride. What you seek will only get you killed faster."

"You know my son is hurt." John gestured to them. "You're really going to kick us out?"

"Made your bed, haven't you."

"Fine." John clenched his fists. "I won't beg."

"So this won't be like Echnon's Blade, which you never returned by the way."

"Bobby, get our things."

Caleb stepped forward. "But Johnny, Dean shouldn't…"

"Not now, Caleb." John gave Elkins one last seething glare before starting for the door. "We're leaving."

"It's okay, Damien." Dean's soft voice brought Caleb's gaze back to his best friend. "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. You didn't want to be here in the first place."

"I also don't want to carry your half-frozen bleeding ass off this mountain." He ran a hand through his hair. "Shit. With the extra snow it'll take all night to walk to the road."

Dean cleared his throat. "Who said anything about walking?"

When Caleb looked at him Dean held up a set of keys, keeping them hidden between them. "I don't think Elkins will mind if we borrow his car."

Caleb took the keys with a slow grin. He kept his voice to a whisper. "Living up here, he has to have something all terrain."

Dean grinned. "You up for a joy ride?"

Caleb clasped his fingers around the keys. "The way I see it, that's the least the old bastard owes me."

RcJ*SnsnsnsN*RcJ

"Was it completely necessary to steal Daniel's vehicle?" Pastor Jim stood in the center of the living room, hands propped on his hips as he looked from Bobby to Dad.

Dean watched the two men from the couch where he had been resting since their arrival earlier in the afternoon. Dad was in the corner chair, and briefly met Jim's gaze before returning to cleaning his gun.

Bobby, along with Harper Lee, staked out the fireplace upon their return. He answered Jim, "As necessary as keeping all our fingers and toes. You want your boys missing limbs when we brought them back?"

Jim met Dean's gaze and the pastor winked at him. "I believe the injuries from the car wreck, Dean's gunshot wound and Caleb's bronchitis were quite enough, thank you."

"I don't have bronchitis." Caleb's scratchy voice was muffled by the cocoon of blankets he was buried beneath somewhere on the recliner. "It's a cold, or at least it was before Johnny made me go hunting in the Colorado Mountains during a blizzard." The last part was grumbled, but said loudly enough that everyone including Pastor Jim heard it. "On my birthday."

Dean rolled his eyes at the psychic's tattling, looking to Pastor Jim once more. "If this is how whiny a cold makes Damien, I think you should say a special prayer he doesn't get pneumonia. He'll become a complete ten-year-old girl."

Jim stepped over Scout to take a seat on the edge of the couch. The big black Lab shifted, rolling on her back, four paws thrust towards the ceiling but didn't wake. "I pray for you boys every day." The pastor's warm smile faded as he reached out a hand to brush his fingers over the bandage on Dean's head. "Perhaps I should be more specific in my requests."

"You might want to throw in an extra Hail Mary for me." Dean glanced up at the pastor, hoping to erase the man's worry. "I was the one who lifted the keys to Elkins's vehicle."

Damien's head emerged from beneath a quilt. "Only after the bastard left us no choice." He coughed. "And just so you know, Pastor Jim, Johnny drove."

"Anything else you want to rat me out for, Junior?" Dad put down his gun, picking up the Irish coffee Jim had brought him. "Or you want to hold out on the rest until your dad gets here so Mackland will have more ammunition for the speech Bobby and I will have to endure."

"There's no Bobby in this, Knight Winchester. Superior rank says you're flying solo for the good doctor's ass-chewing."

"I'm sure you all acted with honorable intentions," Pastor Jim said. "Daniel isn't sociable or hospitable at the best of times."

Dean agreed with Jim, "He's definitely missing some cards from his deck."

Jim pulled one of Miss Emma's afghans from the back of the couch and spread it over Dean. "Funny, but when Daniel called, he said the exact same thing about your father."

"I can see the similarities," Caleb said."Johnny did torture me, minus the exorcism."

"Shut up, Junior."

Dean laughed when his father launched a throw pillow at Caleb. It was good to see Dad coming out of his funk. He looked up at the pastor. "I get your point, Jim. It's all a matter of perspective."

"Always keep that in mind." Jim patted Dean's shoulder. "Now we can focus on more important things like what shall we have for New Year's dinner? I was thinking black-eyed peas for some much needed luck."

Caleb groaned. "Couldn't we just have pizza?"

"What happened to 'water-just water'?" Dean tried to mimic his friend's pitying tone.

Caleb threw the pillow at him, but Pastor Jim caught it, fluffing it up before place it behind Dean. The clergyman tossed a frown in Damien's direction. "You will be having soup, young man. I'm not listening to one of your father's sermons, either."

Bobby snorted. "Maybe his partner in crime, the ladies man, won't end up wearing it this time."

Caleb sniffed. "Did I mention Bobby forced me to drink one of his homeopathic ninety-proof remedies, Pastor Jim?"

"I was trying to make you feel better, ingrate."

"I'll tell you what would make me feel better." Caleb's voice grew suspiciously weaker. "Birthday cake."

"Give me a break," Dean groaned.

"Actually, that sounds like a splendid idea," Jim said. "Dean's birthday is in a few weeks. Who knows where he may be when it rolls around."

"But my birthday was only a couple of days ago." Caleb sat up, tossing the blankets aside. "I was in the in the snowy woods on a hunt."

"This is New Year's Eve, my boy." Jim pushed to his feet. "I know for a fact you don't like to share your birthday with any other holiday. Besides, it's time to let go of the past and embrace the future. Auld Lang Syne and all."

Caleb slumped in the chair. "Forgetting old acquaintances sounds good."

"I'll drink to that." Dad stood. Dean caught the flash of dimples as his father shot a grin at Bobby. "Want to help The Knight scrounge up some of The Guardian's homebrew for the celebrations?"

"Why not?" Bobby rubbed his hands together. "Nothing better to warm old bones than Jim's finest." He bumped Caleb's feet when he walked by. "Besides, it won't hurt to have a good buzz going when The Scholar finally blows in here on his high and mighty horse."

"Save some for me and Deuce." Caleb kicked at the older hunter. "We should at least get to enjoy something on New Year's Eve seeing how the company sucks."

"Alcohol and antibiotics don't mix," Jim said. He fixed his gaze on Dean. "Ginger ale will have to do."

"I'm not even going to complain," Dean said. His father's return of a good mood was enough to lift his own spirits. "The dry socks and fried chicken will suit me just fine."

"Who said anything about fried chicken?" Jim asked, the twinkle having returned to his blue eyes.

"It is almost my birthday and we missed Christmas."

"Fair enough."

"Fair enough?" Caleb said as the others filed out of the room. "I get no sympathy at all and you get three magical wishes. What's next? A strip-o-gram and party hats?"

"Is that sour grapes I hear?" Dean shifted so he could see his best friend. "Not a good look for you, Damien. Besides, I was shot."

Caleb snorted. "It was barely a graze."

"I'm the youngest," Dean countered.

"Sam's the youngest."

"Yeah, well, Sammy's not here." Dean tried to bolster his smile as he saw the regret flash through Caleb's eyes. "Gives the middle child a taste of the high life."

"Sorry," Damien apologized. "I didn't mean to twist the knife."

"It's okay." There was a long moment of silence, the popping and crackling of the fire filling the void. Dean looked towards the flames. "Wonder what he's doing tonight."

Caleb snorted. "That depends on whether the library is open."

Dean laughed, despite the pang of longing. "I hope almost two years of college has taught him girls are much more interesting than your average book."

"I'm sure Sammy's learned a thing or two."

"He's always had his smarts going for him."

"He's always had more than that," Caleb said.

Dean cast a glance to his friend. "It didn't keep him from leaving. It doesn't look like it's going to bring him back."

Caleb sat up straighter. "Doesn't mean he doesn't miss it-that he doesn't miss you."

Dean shrugged, turning back to the fire. He tried not to think about what his brother's motives were for not calling or keeping in contact. "I don't even know who to be mad at any more. Him or Dad."

"Sometimes the enemy's face becomes blurred."

Dean glanced up, recognizing his father's words from before. "Yeah. I guess it does." Maybe Sam wasn't sure who the enemy was either. He winced as he shifted higher, the stitches in his leg pulling.

Caleb pointed to the television. "I know it's not a swanky hotel, but we can still watch the game."

Dean recalled their readjusted plans from earlier. He smiled at the other man's efforts. "Jim's food is better than any room service."

"Says the guy who gets to eat fried chicken and birthday cake."

"Let it go, Damien. You're just pissed no hot chick was around to blow on your candle."

Caleb crossed his arms over his chest. "Would it have killed you guys to say Happy Birthday?"

Dean smirked. "Happy Birthday, Caleb."

"Too late." Caleb held up his hand. "The moment's passed."

Time had a habit of doing that-flying by taking important moments with it. "Then how about Happy New Year?"

"That sounds good." Caleb pulled the blankets up around him once more. "Happy New Year, Deuce."

RCJ

Author's Note:A couple of readers asked about Caleb’s relationship to Daniel Elkins. In Brotherhood AU Daniel Elkins was The Knight after Maxim Sawyer died. He had research linking the death of Caleb’s foster parents to Caleb’s own parents and also to the stories of Noah Seaver. He attempted to exorcise and kill Caleb while the thirteen-year-old was being held in police custody on a psych ward because he believed him to be possessed by the yellow eyed demon. Williamson Scott wrote a story called "Stranded" based on those events.