Dean looked up as the waitress set his and Sam's plates down on the small table and offered him a small grin. “Two Uncle Hershel's Specials. You boys enjoy.”

“Uncle Hershel must have been my kind of guy.” The oldest Winchester appraised the pile of eggs, meat, and pancakes. He winked at the girl, whose name tag read 'Darla'. “Did he have a thing for brunettes, too?”

Darla's smile grew, but she merely shook her head and walked away. Dean lasciviously watched her go, continuing to follow her trek around the small restaurant until his brother cleared his throat.

“Dean! All I've heard for the last week is that everything you've eaten has been frozen and nuked in a mini-mart.” Sam gestured towards his brother's plate. “Eat-before it gets cold.”

The blond hunter grabbed his fork and spoon and favored his brother with a raised brow. “Dude-good food is not the only thing I've been deprived of lately.”

The dark haired younger man held up his hand. “Don't ruin my appetite.”

“And here I thought you wanted us to share everything these days, Sammy.” Dean picked up some bacon and waved it at his brother. “So much for Mister Heart-to-Heart.”

“Just eat your breakfast,” Sam growled, shaking his head slightly as the bells tied to the diner door clanged loudly. However, it wasn't the noise that had him rubbing at his head and looking towards the entrance. It was the familiar tingling sensation at the base of his brain.

“Caleb,” he said, bringing his brother's gaze up from his food to also look towards the door.

Dean almost spit his coffee on the table as he took in the other hunter he'd just spoken to last night at the road house. Gone was the slight beard and disheveled hair. No typical faded jeans, black T-shirt, and leather jacket either.

Reaves was clean-shaven, sporting dress slacks and a jacket that most definitely had not come from a second-hand shop. His dark hair was slightly damp as if he'd just showered, but it was styled more than usual, losing the tousled, bed-head quality he and Sam seemed to share most of the time. Several of the patrons stopped eating to watch him cross the diner and it struck Dean as funny that even dressed differently the man still looked dangerous.

“Don't say a word,” Reaves warned, dropping into the booth beside Sam, and shooting Dean a deadly glare.

“About what?” Dean smiled innocently.

Caleb tilted his head. “I can read your mind, you know.”

The oldest Winchester's grin widened. “Oh, please do, GQ.”

“Cute.”

“What are you doing here?” Sam asked, with a slight grin of his own. “And where the hell are you going dressed like that?”

Reaves started to answer but Darla was suddenly glued to their table, looking at the psychic like she might ask him for his autograph or burst out in adolescent giggles at any moment. “Can I get you something?” She asked, brightly, favoring him with a megawatt smile.

Caleb grinned at her. “Just coffee, sweetheart.”

“How would you like it?” The girl practically sighed.

Dean rolled his eyes and Sam smirked at him, immensely enjoying his brother's dejection.

“Just black,” Reaves replied, catching the look Dean was giving him. “No need to add anything sweet, when you're serving it.”

“Oh God.” Dean made a gagging sound, but Darla didn't seem to notice. She was too busy blushing. “Kill me now.”

Caleb bobbed his eyebrows at the older Winchester when the waitress glided away. “Want me to get her number for you, Deuce? She really is too young for my tastes.”

“Fuck you.”

Reaves laughed, snatched a piece of bacon from Dean's plate. “Funny, but Darla had almost those exact same thoughts about me. Must be this new cologne.”

Dean pushed himself up from the booth. “I have the sudden urge to relieve myself.” He looked at Sam. “Keep Hunter Ken-doll out of my food.”

Caleb slid over into the younger man's spot once he was gone, snatching a piece of toast this time. “He's so easy.”

The younger Winchester shook his head. “What are you doing here, man? Dean said you were leaving town last night.”

“I decided to stick around. See you two off.” He tossed another piece of bacon in his mouth, giving Sam an appraising glance. “You look like hell by the way.”

Sam frowned, ignoring the comment on his appearance. “Meaning you wanted to make sure we left the roadhouse?”

Reaves shrugged, waited for Darla to dole out his coffee, and a huge pastry he had not asked for before answering Sam. “You make it sound like I was spying on you, Sammy.”

“You said it, not me.”

“Yeah, but you were thinking it.”

“You're not supposed to read people without asking.”

“God.” Caleb sat back against the booth. “You still sound like that petulant little ten-year-old, who use to bust my chops every chance you got.”

Sam's mouth twitched. “Jim use to give me quarters when I'd tell on you.”

Reaves groaned. “I wondered how that old man kept such tabs on me. I use to wonder if he wasn't hiding his own psychic ability.” He shook his head. “You could of at least held out for a buck. Is loyalty nothing to you, runt?”

“Is this what all of this is about?” Sam raised a brow. “Loyalty?”

Caleb continued to eat Dean's breakfast. “If you're talking about me keeping an eye on you and Dean…yes and no.”

“Yes and no?”

“Yep.” Reaves took a drink of his coffee, wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“That's all the answer you're going to give me?” Sam growled. “That's bullshit and you know it.”

“Damn. Hangovers make you more pissy than usual.”

Sam frowned, picking at his own food. “Hangover?” He glanced up at the other hunter. “I only had two beers last night. Dean rushed us out of the roadhouse after his little romantic rendezvous with you.”

Caleb tapped his head. “I wasn't talking about that kind of hangover, kid. Synaptic overload is a whole hell of a lot worse than Tequila.”

“Oh,” Sam sighed, looking back down at his plate. “That.”

“Yeah, that.” Reaves watched him over the rim of his coffee cup. “Sucks doesn't it?”

The younger psychic met and held his gaze, wishing he could somehow voice everything he was feeling. “Yeah. It sucks.”

Caleb sighed, raked a hand through his hair, hating the kicked puppy dog look. “Listen, Sammy, I know it isn't easy. Believe me. But these are the cards you've been dealt. The sooner you start to make them work for you, the better you'll be.”

“Work for me?” Sam's face twisted into a grimace. “I can't control them. At all!” He looked conscientiously around the diner, and lowered his voice. “How the hell are they supposed to work for me?”

“You may never be able to control them, Sam.” Caleb glanced away. “But you can learn to give into them-not to fight them.”

“Not to fight?” Sam snorted. “All my life-everyone, including you, by the way, has told me I have to fight. And now you're saying that I should just give into the demon?”

“What?” Reaves eyes widened. He shook his head, adamantly. “I'm not talking about the demon, kid. I'm talking about your abilities.”

“Same difference.”

“No. That's where you're wrong.”

“How do you know? How do you know the demon isn't just waiting for me to figure everything out, so he can…” Sam faltered.

Caleb watched him, feeling the turmoil well up from inside. “So he can come and take you?”

The younger hunter picked his fork back up, stabbed a piece of pancake. “I don't want to talk about this.”

“That's a lie.”

“Stop reading me,” Sam growled, without much heat.

“Stop shutting me out.” Caleb took a breath tried to control his temper. He waited for the kid to look at him again. “I get it, Sam. Really. I do. Trust me. I spent my whole life thinking that I was some kind of freak-something evil because of what I could do. I resisted learning, too. But in the end, I only hurt myself.”

Winchester was barely able to swallow the syrup covered bite past the growing lump in his throat. He forced it down, glancing up at Reaves. “I'm scared.”

“Who wouldn't be?”

“Dean…you...” The kid gestured with his fork.

“You're kidding, right?” Reaves threw his hands in the air, in exasperation. “Sam, I was a freaking kid when I got my abilities. The first vision I can remember was of my Grandmother's death. God-I thought I had caused her to die. I ended up in a mental institution. If Mac hadn't found me, if there had been no Pastor Jim or John Winchester-no Brotherhood- then I'd be dead right now.” He looked at the kid. “I would have taken myself out.” Caleb couldn't help but to remember the all too recent image of Dean blowing the back of his skull out with a sniper's rifle, and he winced. “All of us are terrified of something, Sammy. No matter who we are.”

“But I don't know what to do.”

“You'll learn,” he said with a conviction that left no room for doubt.

The younger psychic still didn't look convinced. “But in the mean time, I keep letting people die, letting people get hurt.”

Reaves sighed. “Sam, even when you get good at it, they'll be people you can't save-ones you aren't meant to save.”

“How do you know the difference?”

Caleb forced a weary smile. “You don't.”

“Wonderful.” Sam shook his head. “Did you get all dressed up to come tell me that?”

Reaves snorted. “Hell, kid, I could have told you that with my boxers and a t-shirt on. I got dressed up to eat your brother's breakfast.” He grinned wickedly, taking another bite of eggs.

Winchester took a deep, calming breath, let it out slowly. “Really, man, why are you looking like you're about to hit the red carpet?”

“Business,” Reaves evaded in typical fashion.

But Sam wasn't having any of it. He was tired of all the macho bullshit he got from all the big bad hunters in his life.

Reaves frowned when he felt the mental equivalent of a wire tap being placed. “Sam,” he warned.

Winchester ignored him, and Caleb didn't have the heart to put up the blocks he could have. The lines of pain already present around the kid's shadowed eyes were guilt-inducing enough. He'd let the kid play Joe Hardy.

“You're selling Tri-Corp?” Sam's frown deepened, but Caleb actually looked impressed.

“See…you're getting better already.”

“But why?” The kid leaned against the table. “You started that business. You love it.”

Caleb shrugged. “I haven't got time to build buildings anymore, Sammy. Or to even remotely oversee other people building buildings. She's become more of a neglected mistress than anything else. It's no big deal.”

But the younger man knew it was. His father and Pastor Jim had helped Caleb get the small architectural consulting and construction business off the ground years ago when he graduated college. It might not have been hunting-but it was important. “What about the bridges?”

Reaves laughed. “Now those…” Yes. There were still a lot of bridges to build-the proverbial kind, not of the steel design.

Dean chose that moment to return, shoving Caleb hard. “Scoot over, mooch.”

Reaves grinned, thankful for the change in subject. “Thanks for the breakfast, Deuce. I owe you one.”

“One?” Dean snorted, snatching the bacon right out of Caleb's hand. “Try about twenty.”

“I bought you an awesome Christmas present…you can't buy me a meal?”

“Christmas is still two weeks away, and I thought that was for Geek boy?” Dean shot his brother an amused glance. “To keep him out Joe Dirt's back room.”

Reaves grinned, dimple flashing. “I was more concerned about keeping you off the sex-offender's list.”

Dean let a hand gesture suffice as his reply as he finished off what was left of his eggs.

Caleb looked to the younger Winchester. “But I got something for you, too, runt.”

He reached into the inside of his jacket and withdrew a thick, black, leather-bound journal. “It's not as good as one on one training, but this might help.”

“Hey!” Dean intervened, making a grab for the book. “That better not be your little black book, Damien. You promised that to me.”

Caleb held the journal away from Dean. “Chill, Deuce. This is not that black book.” Reaves frowned. “For one-it's too small. For another…why the hell would I give it to Sammy? He's still got training wheels on.” He gave the blond a hard look. “And most importantly…I'm not dead.”

“I'm sitting right here!” The younger Winchester growled, hating how he seemed to instantly digress to the age of five when the two older hunters got together.

“Then what is it?” Dean asked, relaxing back against the bench seat, shooting the other hunter a puzzled look.

Caleb sighed. He had made the decision last night, but now it seemed like the wrong one. Kind of like selling Tri-Corps. Another part of himself gone. But this was the Winchesters…“It's the journal Mac kept on me when I was learning to use my abilities. Every little detail about those years is in here. From the time he pulled me from the institution until the time I turned twenty-one.” The psychic fingered the worn leather, remembering the day his father gave it to him. He'd been so pissed in the beginning, hurt and angry that he'd apparently been nothing more than a lab rat to Mackland Ames.

But then he'd read the carefully penned notes, the well-thought out theories and ideas to help with the pain and the fear. Then there were the personal entries. The ones about Mac's feelings and the inner-workings of the Brotherhood. They were a father's words…a Scholar's concerns…not a scientist's conjectures. It was one of the few intimate things that Caleb possessed-that he allowed himself.

Unfortunately, Ellen had been right about one thing. This was not the time for secrets. He glanced up to see both Winchesters watching him, worried expressions written on their young faces. Reaves forced a cocky, crooked grin. “Just don't even think about selling it to the Enquirer. Mac would so kick your asses.”

“Are you sure you…” Sam started, but Caleb tossed him the book, effectively cutting him off.

“I'm sure. After Mac gave it to me…when I got over being pissed about it…I started adding my own stuff. It's all in there.” He swallowed thickly, watching as Sam traced his fingers reverently over the cracked spine. “You might want to do the same thing.” He'd made the right decision. John would have understood.

“Why are you doing this?” There was a hint of anger in Dean's voice and both of the other men looked over at him.

“Because he'll need it.” Caleb explained. “You'll need to read it, too, Deuce.” He tried his hand at levity. “Most of it will be on your level, although you might need to keep a dictionary handy.” When the kid continued to glare at him, he tried another tactic. “It will give you ideas on how to help with the less pleasant side of being the brother of a freaky psychic. It'll help you take care of Sam.”

“You said you were going to help.” The older Winchester countered. “What's with giving all your crap away?”

“Excuse me?”

“You trying to tell us something?” He should have guessed. People were good at one thing-leaving.

Reaves shook his head, attempting not to let his temper get the best of him. “What is your problem, Deuce?”

“My problem is that you're beginning to sound a whole hell of a lot like Dad. You going to stop answering your cell phone, too? Send us coordinates out of the blue? Hiding things from us for our own good?”

“Dean,” Sam said, shooting his brother a hard look. “Cut it out.”

Reaves held up his hand in mock surrender. “You're way off base, Deuce.”

“Stop calling me that!” Dean snapped, and several of the patrons looked there way. “It's Dean.”

“Right.” Caleb shook his head. “Dean. I got it.”

“Good.” Dean stood up, threw a wad of bills on the table. “I'll meet you outside, Sammy.”

With that he was gone, and for a moment, neither man said anything.

“Caleb…” Finally Sam broke the silence.

“Save it, Sam.” Reaves offered the younger psychic a weary smile. “It's no big deal.”

This time the younger man didn't even have to use his abilities to know Caleb was lying. Just another piece of him tossed away.

Reaves looked at his Rolex. “Look, I have a plane to catch.” He pointed a finger at Sam. “Take care of that book, runt.”

“Can I call you?”

“Anytime, kid.”

“When will we see you again?”

Reaves sighed. “I'll be in Los Angeles for a few days, and then I told Boone I would look into a job for him, in North Carolina.”

“Okay.” Sam looked down at the journal, and out the window to the parking lot. “He's still all tore up over Dad…you know.”

Caleb nodded. “Yeah. Aren't we all.”

Sam met his gaze. “He's just afraid you're going to get yourself killed, too.”

Reaves laughed. “Did you get that from reading him?”

A hint of a dimple showed, and the youngest Winchester shook his head. “I'm still not ready to go there, yet.”

“Smart boy,” Caleb told him, as he started to slide out of the booth. He stopped at the edge and faced Sam again. “And Sammy…”

The kid looked up. “Yeah?”

“About the roadhouse…just be careful about who you let into your world. You understand me?”

Sam frowned. “You mean keep my mouth shut about my abilities?”

Reaves nodded. “It sucks. But there are people out there who will only see the supernatural side of it. Even those who we count among our friends…I learned the hard way.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean some of the other hunters…never mind,” Caleb waved it away. “It was a long time ago.”

A familiar stubborn scowl etched into the angular face, and Reaves felt the pang of grief like a swift punch to the gut. The kid could look just like John. “Tell me.”

Caleb sighed, knowing he'd opened the proverbial can of worms. “Ian, Fisher…Joshua-they found out what I could do.” Reaves shrugged. “Freaked them out. Long story short -they beat the shit out of me.” Caleb looked down at the silver ring on his right hand, twisted the metal around his finger. “I learned really fast who my friends were. I could count them on one hand.”

Sam’s frown deepened, even as his dark eyes softened. “Did Dad and Mac know?”

The psychic looked at him. “I told them some lame story about being tossed around by a nasty poltergeist. I don’t think they bought it, but they didn’t push it either.”

“That's why Mac kept you away from most of the Brotherhood-away from the other hunters?”

Caleb nodded. Among other reasons. “Yeah. And sometimes, even the ones he trusted didn't understand.”

“That's why Dad kept us away, too. Isn't it?” Sam asked, already knowing the answer.

“He knew about my abilities a long time ago, didn't he?”

Reaves nodded to the book. “It's all in there, kid. I'm not the only one Mac studied.”

The kid looked at him, and this time it was all Sam. “Thank you.”

“Just take care of yourself, runt.” Caleb stood, glancing towards the window. “And keep an eye on your bitch of a big brother.”

Sam nodded. “I will. Just make sure you stay out of trouble.”

Reaves grinned, a shit-eating, cocky grin that was so familiar it hurt. “Kid…this is me we're talking about.”

“That's what I'm afraid of.” He motioned towards the Impala, where his brother stood, fuming, and then glanced back to Caleb. “Sometimes you two can be your own worst enemies.”

Reaves rubbed at his brow, laughed. “Know the enemy, and know yourself.”

“And that means…” Sam gave him a curious look.

“That means I've got it covered.”

“Or that you've been reading too much Sun-Tzu.”

The psychic grinned, tugged at his jacket as if he were still trying to get accustom to the fit. “There is that.” Sometimes his whole life seemed to be a study of one type of war or another. And now he understood why.

“Why don’t you spend Christmas with us?” Sam stood also, hoping he didn’t sound as young as he felt.

Reaves raised an amused brow. “Are we going to have a twinkling tree and stockings hung by the fire, Tiny Tim?”

Sam sighed. “Did we ever?”

Caleb laughed, reached out and quickly squeezed Sam’s neck. “As long as we don’t have to watch The Christmas Story and there’s no singing. I refuse to sit through Deuce’s twisted version of Jingle Bells.”

The younger man knocked the hand away, but he was grinning. “I think we can handle that.”

Reaves nodded. “I’ll bring the eggnog.”

“Jim’s recipe?”

“Of course.”

Sam held his gaze for a moment, before he finally nodded also. “Christmas, then?”

Caleb shook his head. “Yes, Sam-Christmas.”

“Do I have your word?”

“For crying out loud…” Reaves rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Why don’t we just spit and shake on it. Or better yet-we could pinky swear?”

Winchester crossed his arms over his chest. “A promise will do.”

“Fine,” Caleb sighed.

Sam continued to look at him, no mercy in the clear hazel depths. “I promise,” Caleb mumbled, feigning complete annoyance. He then glanced at his watch. “Now I really have to go. For some reason airport security always stops me.”

“Go figure,” Winchester replied with a snort, and Reaves cuffed him on the side of the head as he passed by.

“Study that book, Sammy. There’ll be a quiz.” He turned around, walking backwards across the diner floor. “And help Deuce with the big words. Make him some flash cards if you have to.”

Sam waved. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll tell him you said good bye, and you love him, too.”

Reaves returned the goodbye with his own hand gesture, which had nothing to do with a greeting. At least not in civilized cultures. “I owe you one,” he mouthed, as he finally escaped through the door, the bells ringing long after he was gone.

The youngest Winchester watched him go, before turning to glance out the window to where his brother was. Dean couldn’t lose not one more person. Not Caleb…and especially not his little brother. Sam sighed heavily, glancing down to the book in his hands. “No…it’s definitely me, that owes you.”


THE END

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