Outside New Haven, Kentucky, November 2001

“I hate bridges,” Dean muttered to himself. He dug through Caleb’s CD case and tried not to think of the death trap they were traveling across in the middle of bumfuck Kentucky. “Who in the hell put a bridge way out here anyway?”

Reaves snorted. “Probably the same people who got tired of taking the ferry across that big puddle of water beneath us called a river.” He glanced at the other hunter. “And what have you got against bridges, Deuce?”

“For one, they’re high. And I’m not much for the whole heights thing. Another-they ice over before anything else.” He gestured out the window where snow was flurrying around them. “Need I say more?”

The dark haired psychic shook his head. “First bridges and now you have a gripe against the white stuff. You’re just Mary Sunshine today, you know that?”

“Since I’m on a roll.” He raised a brow at the other man, waiting for him to shoot a quick look his way. “What the hell is up with your music?” Dean held up a case and shook it. “Where‘s the Metallica? Skynyrd?”

“In the Eighties where they belong, kid. Let it go.”

“Creed? Eminem?” Dean sighed. “Did you steal these from one of Sammy’s high school friends?”

Caleb looked offended. “I’ll have you know, Deuce, that Eminem is the Walt Whitman and Robert Frost of this generation.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Poe with a mommy-hating hang-up maybe.”

“Isn’t there some kind of road-tripping rule about the driver picking the music.” Reaves grabbed the Creed CD and slid it in with a smug grin. “Now I remember. Shot gun shuts his pie hole.”

“As long as it’s not Enya again.”

“I told you that was Mac’s.” Caleb growled.

Dean smirked. “Sure it was.”

Reaves shot him a look. “You could walk the rest of the way.”

“Jim would kick your ass if you showed without me.”

“I’d just tell him that Carmine took a liking to you-demanded I sweeten the pot before he would come off with the goods.”

“Shut up.” Dean snarled, remembering the way the freaky antique dealer had stared at him. “It was definitely you that he was checking out, Damien.”

The older hunter laughed. “Happens with women all the time, but I wasn’t going to point it out. Why take hamburger when you can get prime rib, kiddo.”

Winchester ignored the jibe, glancing out at the worsening weather again. “If they knew you liked Yanni, you’d never get any action. Although, Carmine might still be interested...”

“Do you really want to continue this?” Reaves shot him a look. “Because any conversation about music or weapons always seems to end badly.”

“You’re right.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back against the worn leather seat. “We could talk about the box.”

Caleb’s eyes unconsciously went to the package sitting between them in the bench seat of Jim’s old truck. The pastor had sent them to an old contact of his across the state line in a rural part of Tennessee to pick up an artifact that had been causing some trouble. Murphy was afraid others would be interested in it, namely Daniel Elkins, who had quite the 'antiquities' collection. Jim wanted to get his hands on it first, just to be on the safe side.

“Or we could just open it?” Reaves suggested, and garnered the reaction he was expecting.

“Are you crazy?”

“Are you afraid?”

“Of Jim?”

Caleb’s mouth quirked, lop-sided smile appearing. “Yes, the pastor.”

Dean shot him a challenging look. “That collar doesn't fool me for a minute. And like you're not scared of him.”

“Didn’t say I wasn’t.” He shrugged. “But really what has he ever done for us to be afraid of him? The man lets us get away with murder.”

The younger hunter thought for a moment. “Dad’s afraid of him.”

Caleb frowned, shot Dean another quick look. “Good point.”

“Mac and Bobby do what he says, too.”

“True.”

They had gone through the same conversation the night before when they had picked up the artifact. It and a few shots of tequila had even led them to brazenly remove it from its plain brown wrapping paper, revealing an intricately carved wooden box.

“We could just take a quick peek. What could it hurt?"

"Pandora probably said the same thing."

Dean rolled his eyes. "I mean, how will he know?”

Caleb agreed. “It’s not like he’s psychic.” He sighed, glancing back down to the rewrapped package. “Too bad Sammy’s not here. We’d make him do it.”

Dean’s cell suddenly rang and he groaned. “You just had to say his name, didn’t you.”

Reaves' grin reappeared at the exaggerated put upon quality in his friend’s voice. Dean had already mentioned his younger brother several times since they had crossed over the Kentucky state line. Caleb had no doubt that the older Winchester had his fill of alone time away from his annoying sidekick. “Ask him if he’s killed Tom, yet?”

Dean snorted and clicked the phone on. “Whatz’up?”

“God! When are you two going to get over that annoying commercial?”

“When it stops bothering you.” Dean shot Reaves a look, and the older hunter laughed. Sam had grown quite tired of the Budweiser imitations, which only made them more fun.

“Where are you? You were supposed to be back hours ago.”

“If you haven’t noticed, Nags-a-lot, it’s snowing outside.”

“I’ve noticed,” Sam harrumphed. “I’ve been chopping firewood all morning.”

“That's a good workout. Dad’s idea?”

“No. Dad’s not here. He’s gone with Bobby to check out some possible possession.”

“Sounds like fun. You not up for pea soup surprise?”

“Dad said I needed to stay here and research.”

“What would we do without our girl Friday?”

“So are you guys close by?”

“You miss us?”

“That would be a ‘no’. But Jim said you both could start getting things together for Thanksgiving when you got here.”

“By getting things together do you mean, getting the axe together with Tom‘s neck?”

Caleb laughed and he could hear Sam growl into the phone. “Change in menu. We’re having ham.”

“Oh really. Since when?”

“Since Tom got loose.”

“You let him go you little shit, didn’t you?”

“Prove it.”

“Turkey and pumpkin pie are the only things I like about Thanksgiving, Sam.”

“And here I thought you hated the whole holiday.”

“Well, now you’ve ruined it for everyone.”

“Everyone, except Tom.”

Caleb grabbed the phone away from Dean. “Tell me you did not set that bird loose, runt. I traded Bobby a perfectly fine blade for that stupid deep-fryer and I picked that monster gobbler out myself-paid a ridiculous amount for him, too.”

“One of Farmer McCrary’s daughters gave him to you.”

“Yeah…and you have no idea what I had to do in trade. Farmer’s McCrary’s daughters are healthy, Sam. Corn-fed healthy-kind of like old Tom, himself.”

“Maybe you and Dean should get back before dark then so you two can go out and look for him, if you have your hearts so set on turkey.”

“Maybe we’ll have your scrawny little ass on a platter instead and …”

Dean took the phone back from him. “Sam, Dad is so not going to be happy about the bird.”

The teen snorted. “Dean, Dad will be fine as long as there’s some whiskey or brandy to wash everything down with.”

Caleb sensed the moment the playfulness left the conversation. He glanced over at Dean in time to see the younger man flinch. He sighed. Sam had gotten really good at hitting those nerves lately.

“Bye, Sam,” Dean ended the conversation and stuffed the cell back in his coat pocket.

“ So…” Caleb took a deep breath, trying to think of something to say. “Looks like that whole conversation we had about what weird things Jim would cook out of left-over turkey this year was for naught.”

“Naught?” Dean cracked a hint of a smile. “Did you just say naught?”

“Shut up.”

“Wait till I tell Mac. It will be like an early Christmas. His dreams of having a geek son fulfilled.”

“Or you could just tie Sam up, stick a bow on him and put him under the tree.”

Dean nodded, looking out the window again. “It’s an option. The tying up part sounds fun.”

The next words were privately thought, but seemed so loud to Caleb’s in tune senses that he almost thought they had been spoken aloud. ‘Maybe we’d all be happier.’

His reply was automatic and obviously unwanted. “Dude, you don’t mean that.”

Winchester turned his gaze from the snow to glare at him. “Privacy-look it up.”

“I’m not trying to get in your business, but…”

“Then don’t.”

Caleb shrugged. “Fine.” If Dean wanted to talk to him, he’d do it on his own time-in his own way. “But I for one was really looking forward to Jim’s famous deep-fried turkey cakes, not to mention the turkey omelets.”

Dean laughed slightly. “You’re sick, Damien.”

“This from the weirdo who puts gravy on his corn.”

“It’s good.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that Mikey.”

“Why don’t we just have hamburgers for Thanksgiving this year?”

“Hamburgers?” Caleb snarled up his nose. “Next you’ll be suggesting we have…”

“Deer!” Dean shouted loudly, causing Reaves’ eyes to dart back to the road. In front of them, just off to the side, stood two does and an eight-point buck. Three sets of brown eyes focused on the tiny fawn that had just darted out into the center of the snow-covered road.

“Shit!” Caleb cursed, jerking the wheel hard to the right to avoid the baby deer that had frozen at the first sight of the truck's headlights. He instinctively threw his other hand out in front of Dean.

The old, heavy ford would have held to the road just fine if not for the fine layer of icy precipitation clinging to the pavement. Reaves was grateful the country lane was deserted as he crossed the center line, then back over to their side before barreling completely off the road, towards the dense wooded area around them.

Tires hit the end of pavement. They were airborne, bouncing across terrain, then plummeting thought trees at an accelerated rate until an abrupt meeting with a huge oak stopped them with an impressive shattering of glass and crunching of steel. The last cognizant thought Caleb had was Bambi had gotten off a lot luckier than he and Dean. A whole hell of a lot luckier.

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