The Edge of Winter

By: Ridley C. James, September 2008

Beta: Tidia

Disclaimer: Nothing Supernatural belongs to me.

AN: Remember, this story is about two people coming to a point where they can reconcile things they misunderstood about one another in the past, to what they think they know of each other in the present. It isn’t about being purposively cruel or maligning someone’s character. It’s about accepting that those we love aren’t always what we want them to be and that maybe our points of view are more biased and skewed than we want to admit and that we too have fallen short in their eyes also. It’s a journey of letting go, and grasping something new, of giving unconditional love. I’m very grateful at having the chance to try and tell it. The road to understanding is paved with pitfalls, but the final destination is by and far worth the bumpy ride.
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Chapter 6/9
“Forgivenss is not having to understand. Understanding may come later, in fragments an insight here and a glimpse there, after the forgiveness has taken place.” –Lewis B. Smedes

The banks of the Black Warrior River with its ominous murky water seemed an appropriate place to Sam for this part of their plan. Caleb found a deserted stretch, not far outside the city limits of Tuscaloosa, the glowing full moon and sparse stars their only witnesses. They left Bobby slumbering blissfully unaware in the locked and salt-encircled Impala while they made the short trek to the spot. He couldn’t get Dean out of his mind, guilt mixing badly with the fear and concern. Sam felt he was somehow letting his brother down by going along with Caleb’s plan, a plan Dean would never have agreed to.

“Are you sure about this?” Sam stood, discarding the stick he’d used to make the last line of the devil’s trap in the sand. He tossed it into the choppy waters wishing he could be rid of his misgivings as easy. “We can find another way.”

“No.” The older hunter shook his head, meeting Sam’s apprehensive gaze with one of certainty. “This will work. It’s the best way. The demon’s abilities will boost mine; I should be able to track Dean then.”

Neither of them had sensed Dean since crossing over the Alabama line, even coming into Tuscaloosa had garnered no psychic trace of his brother, no Triad link either and it was wearing on their reserves. Sam dusted off the damp knees of his jeans, wishing he could find a valid argument against what the other psychic was saying. “What do I need to do?”

“Nothing,” Caleb said. He looked in the direction they had come. “You helped prepare for the ritual, now maybe you should go back to the car and wait, make sure Bobby doesn’t wake up and come looking for us. I’ll call you when I have control and you can come break the trap.”

“I’m not leaving you alone.” Sam bristled at the coddling. Caleb didn’t want Sam to witness the transformation even though Sam had seen a bit of the process from his unexpected visit to Jessup’s. Sam was desperate enough to risk Caleb to assure his brother’s safety, but he wasn’t going to leave the older hunter alone to do it. It was time Caleb accepted him as an equal, not a child to shield. “You need me to watch your back.” Dean would never forgive him if he didn’t.

“That wasn’t what Jessup was doing,” Caleb growled. “If you stay, you need to accept that.”

“Then I’ll stand guard.” Sam felt his muscles tense at the idea of harming Caleb if things got out of hand. “I have the holy water and the Colt in case we need them.”

“Good.” Caleb nodded solemnly. “Use them if you have to.”

“How will I know if I need to?” Sam still felt he was lacking in details of the ins and outs of the process. “How long before you can take complete control?”

“I’m not sure. If the summons works, we’ll be playing with a pretty high level demon. But you’ll know if there’s a threat,” Caleb assured. “Keep a link open with me. You’ll sense its presence and realize if it starts to take over. Don’t break the trap until I tell you it’s safe.”

“What if I can’t tell when you’re in control?” Sam used his abilities sparingly because of how inept he often felt. The older psychic had much more faith in Sam’s talents, a fact both humbling and irritating.

Caleb sighed. “Imagine our connection like a beam of light. You control how strong it is by focusing on it. You do it to some degree when we communicate telepathically.”

Caleb did most of the telepathic communication, Sam usually listened. They had used it some in Wyoming and a little at Bobby’s when they were discussing things they didn’t want the mechanic to overhear. “I haven’t practiced.”

“Trust me. If something gets in the way, the light will become dimmer. I’ll seem farther away from you…if that makes sense. You’ll notice, practice or no practice.”

“Like the sun going behind a cloud, or an eclipse of the moon?” Sam remembered when he arrived at Jessup’s and reached out for the other psychic. “I couldn’t sense you in the houseboat when you possessed the demon.”

Caleb smiled. “Exactly. If the demon gets control, I go off the air.”

Sam propped his hands on his hips, setting his jaw at the other man’s crooked grin. “Did I mention how much I’m against this?”

“A few hundred times, but who’s counting?”

Sam licked his lips, feeling self-conscious despite the other psychic’s support. “What’s it like?” “It’s not as bad as you think,” Caleb replied with a tilt of his head. “It really hurt at first, but now… Actually, it’s kind of a rush.”

“A rush?” Sam took a step back, staring at his friend. It wasn’t the description he was looking for. He remembered little of his time when he was possessed by Meg, but he recalled enough to know it had not been pleasant in the least. “Are you trying to make me feel better?”

“I’m just being honest. Imagine getting an instant upgrade on your computer.” Caleb gestured to his head. “New improved hard drive complete with Bose speakers and HD plasma screen. Everything’s faster, sharper.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that, instant power boost.”

“I think considering how you look and feel afterwards, Bobby’s narcotic high assumption would be a better suited metaphor. Crack heads and heroin addicts feel good in the moment too I bet.”

Caleb shook his head. “It’s not like that, Sammy. In fact, it almost seems like my senses have been wrapped in cotton, and suddenly freed. Everything is clear.” He looked away. “Nevermind. It’s not important. I’m doing this for one reason and one reason only.”

Caleb’s words were sounding too much like those of his fellow ‘special children’ that taunted him in his nightmares about Cold Oak. A little voice in his head that sounded too much like Dean’s taunted that once lines were crossed, it was impossible to go back. They had come too far to go back now. “Let’s get this over with.” Sam pulled the wrapped amulet from his pocket and tossed it to Caleb. “Bobby won’t sleep forever and I for one don’t want to explain how we managed to get the necklace back.”

The other hunter caught the pouch, removing the amulet before tossing the velvet bag away out of the devil’s trap. Sam felt the palms of his hands begin to sweat as the chain transformed from ancient relic to jeweled treasure, even more alluring in the silver illumination streaming from above like a spotlight in a display case. Caleb slipped the chain over his head, and knelt beside the copper bowl, iron blade and other supplies before him. “I have to perform the ritual, repeat the summons, then it should only take a few moments.”

“What should I do?”

Caleb’s gold gaze met his, somehow brighter in the moonlight. His mouth tipped up slightly. “Stand guard, as you so optimistically put it, Skywalker.”

Sam nodded. “I can do that, Obi Wan.”“A quick prayer couldn’t hurt,” Caleb added.

Sam snorted. Only in their world would asking God for a successful demonic possession be a pious request. Despite knowing Caleb meant no harm, Sam feared his friend’s unintentional blasphemy would incur some kind of wrath they didn’t need brought down upon them. “How about I cross my fingers instead?”

“Jim wouldn’t like it.” Caleb dumped the ingredients in the bowl, shrugging as he struck a match. But suit yourself. Just remember luck has never been our lady, more like a conniving, fickle bitch.”

Every break arrived at the last minute and came at a high cost. Chance and Destiny felt some minuscule amount of sympathy for their plight and tossed meager crumbs at their feet in pity or possibly mockery. Even when things worked out, Sam felt it was a little too late, and less than they deserved. New Mexico was a perfect case in point.
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Trinity, New Mexico, November 2002

“That was helpful, if we needed to know the complete history of Trinity and Wheeler’s Peak to find Deuce.” Dale, Tucker's friend had been more than willing to share with them everything he’d told Dean two days before.

“You’re the one who paid him a small fortune for this overpriced junk because tourists like the name- Holy Trail.” Sam strapped into his own pack, pulling the waist strap taught across his mid-section. “We could have brought our own supplies and still known exactly the same thing we knew when we left The Dream Catcher. Dean was on his way to Tucker’s place.”

“Sarah said she ‘thought’ Dean mentioned coming here. She wasn’t sure.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah. She was too busy deciding if Dean’s eyes were jade green or moss green. That conversation was helpful too.”

Caleb took a calming breath, trying to remind himself that Sam was worried, which equaled bitchy in Winchester land. “If you have a better plan, by all means…”

“It’s Sam, and I think we should have gone straight to your buddy Tucker as soon as Sarah told us what she knew. All Dale did was confirm Dean was here. The Impala isn’t in the parking lot. It’s obvious Dean made it off the mountain. We’re simply wasting time and your money.”

Caleb didn’t point out that the topographical map, water and climbing gear would make the trip to Tucker’s possible. It had been several years since he’d been to Tucker’s place and they didn’t need to waste more time by getting lost. “It’s just money and mine to do with what I please. Besides, we need to know what information Dean got from Tucker and we’ll be there before sundown.”

“Does that mean Dean will spend another night in God knows where?”

Caleb clenched his fist. “Not if we’re lucky.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Like that’s ever happened.”

Two hours later Tucker greeted them at the door of his cabin with a puzzled expression “Caleb Reaves as I live and breathe.” The big man extended a meaty paw in Caleb’s direction. “I thought for sure you’d had your fill of the place after Brother Jacob kicked you out of his yoga class all those years ago.”

Sam was staring at him, but Caleb ignored the younger man, grasping Tucker’s hand in a firm shake. “My fault for thinking the whole purpose of Tantric yoga was to encourage desires and uninhibited impulses.” Caleb grinned, recalling the beautiful woman from one of Tucker’s retreats who had inspired him to take the class in the first place. He had definitely learned some interesting poses from her.

Tucker laughed. “I don’t think you need any encouragement in that department, Brother Caleb. True?”

Caleb conceded. “True.” He gestured to Sam. “Tucker this is my nephew, Sam Winchester.”

“It’s good to meet you, Sam.” He motioned them into his simple home with a pleased smile. “Dean didn’t mention I would have the pleasure of meeting his brother when he was here earlier.”

“It was a last minute thing,” Sam said, slipping out of his pack and placing it on the floor by his feet.

“Are you also an aspiring journalist?”

“Journalist?”

“Dean was hoping to do a story on the area of Taos, specifically the ‘hum’,” Caleb explained hoping Sam would catch on. He removed his pack. “I explained how Tucker knew the area by heart. You remember. Right?”

“Right.” Sam quickly nodded. “Dean is always looking for some crazy mystery to throw himself into.”

Tucker scratched his bearded chin. “He did seem extremely focused. I offered to tell him about the history of Taos, the retreat even, but he was determined to question me about the humming phenomena. We had a very nice chat. That’s why I was surprised to see you. I told Dean as much as I know.”

“When exactly was Dean here?” Caleb asked.

“The day before yesterday, early, before lunch.” The big man studied Caleb. “Haven’t you talked with him? He said the two of you were meeting up later in the day.”

“No.” Caleb tried to quell his growing fear. “I wasn’t able to make it and he wasn’t at the bed and breakfast when we arrived earlier today.”

“Perhaps he’s out sightseeing or gathering more information for his story?”

“He won’t answer his cell phone. No one’s heard from him in two days,” Sam said.

“That doesn’t sound reassuring.” Tucker stroked his mustache thoughtfully. “I hope he didn’t take a trip in to Truchas alone. I encouraged him to wait for you.”

Caleb met Tucker’s gaze. “Truchas?”

“Yes. It’s a small settlement along one of the peaks of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.”

“Why would Dean have gone there?” Sam asked.

“And why do you hope he didn’t go there?” Caleb asked the more important question, knowing his best friend’s knack for selective listening. He would have discarded Tucker’s warning.

“Truchas is a very private community. They prefer to keep their town to themselves.”

“So they’re not exactly the open arms Mayberry type, that doesn’t exactly warrant concern.”

Tucker gestured for Sam and Caleb to have a seat on the couch. He took a seat in the straight-backed chair to the right of the sofa. “Truchas has the certain reputation for unfriendliness towards outsiders; at least it has in the past.”

Caleb continued to stand, folding his arms over his chest. “Unfriendliness?”

“Yes.” Tucker looked up at him. “Visitors may find themselves lured into a fight they are destined to lose at one of the local bars or restaurants, perhaps find the tires of their cars slashed, windshields broken. Harmless, juvenile things like that.”

“My brother wouldn’t consider an assault on the Impala harmless.” Sam sat on the edge of the couch cushion. “Our Dad loves that car; it’s like his first born.”

Caleb clenched his fists. “And juvenile isn’t exactly the word I would consider for a backwoods bar fight either. I’ve been in enough to know how things get out of hand.”

“I’m not insinuating that such things actually take place, or that Dean might have encountered that kind of trouble. As I said the rumors are often blown out of proportion, mostly because of The Sacred Brotherhood and its link to the hum.”

“What?” Caleb shot Sam a quick panicked look. “Did you say Brotherhood?”

Tucker nodded. “The Hermanos Consagrado, a religious lay society known not only for its acts of kindness, but also for its self-inflicted practices of harm. Truchas is their home.”

“Self-inflicted harm?”

“Yes. Canings, floggings...” Tucker waved his hand in the air as if the prospect was nothing out of the ordinary. “The occasional walking on hot coals, I suppose.”

“Why?” Sam asked.

“From what I understand, it is a means to better appreciate the suffering of Christ,” Tucker said. “To bring them closer to the Holy Spirit.” He grinned. “I prefer a quiet walk in the woods. Nature is my conduit to the Lord, but they have a temple outside Truchas where they supposedly practice their secret rites. Not even the family members of the brotherhood are allowed to know what takes place within its hallowed walls.”

Caleb took a deep breath, let it out slowly. As usual, their simple case had continued to snowball. “What does this brotherhood have to do with the hum?”

“Some believe theyare the ones responsible, channeling it through one of their rituals…of course that is if you believe as the Hermano Consagrado does about the true nature of the hum. That the hum is actually the voice of God.”

“The voice of God?” Caleb rolled his eyes. “You’re joking?”

Tucker’s forehead furrowed, his bushy brown eyebrows bumping together in a disapproving V. “You should know me well enough to know I don’t joke about such things. The Hermano Consagrado believes that those who hear the hum are being called upon by the Lord.”

Sam inched even further to the edge of the sofa, his knees almost brushing against Tucker’s. “Do you believe it’s the voice of God?”

“What he believes isn’t important,” Caleb said, not bothering to hide his irritation. He stepped closer to Tucker. “What he told Dean is.”

“I told him what I’m telling you. Some people, especially those native to this area, the old-timers, they believe the hum is sacred. Even naysayers of the theory claim to hear the hum more clearly near Truchas.”

Caleb huffed. “And the fact that it’s often annoying and painful?”

Tucker folded his hands together, giving Caleb a serene look. “No one said relating to God would be easy, Brother. Sometimes gifts are misinterpreted as a burden.”

“So you do believe it’s the voice of God?” Sam asked.

Caleb exhaled heavily, frustrated that Sam was now the one seeking trivial information and angry that Tucker was sounding like Pastor Jim. “What about this temple? The one near the village-you told Dean about that too?”

“Yes. I told him it was off limits to anyone but the elders of Consagrado.”

Caleb met Sam’s gaze. “He would have gone there first.”

“But why?” Tucker asked. “I explained to him that no one in the order would talk to an outsider, especially one linked to a newspaper. Taos may encourage tourism, but Truchas discourages any publicity that would bring more outsiders into their mists.”

“Dean would have found a way around that. He’s smart that way, and stubborn.”

“The local bar,” Sam said.

Caleb nodded. “Where his charm would undoubtedly catch the attention of any local yokel looking for a fight.” Dean could hold his own against men twice his size, but he didn’t wear a fucking cape, no matter what he liked to think.

“Where is this town?” Sam asked.

“Off the high road between Taos and Santé Fe.”

Caleb grabbed Sam’s bag and tossed it to him, his bad feeling increasing ten-fold. “We need to go.”

Tucker followed them to the door. “No one has been seriously injured in Truchas, nor has The Hermano been linked to anything nefarious.”

“There’s a first time for everything,” Caleb said, reclaiming his pack from the floor. “Dean doesn’t have the best of luck.”

“I hope he’s alright,” Tucker said. “Perhaps you should contact the local authorities?”

“No.” Caleb opened the door. “Let us look into it first. I’ll send word through your buddy Dale as soon as Dean turns up.”

“That would ease my mind, thank you.” He took Caleb’s hand and shook it. “Despite the circumstances, it was good to see you again, my friend.”

“Same here, Tucker. Take care.”

“You too, Brother Caleb and be certain I’ll say a prayer for young Dean.”

Caleb started off the porch, but hesitated when he heard Sam’s soft voice.

“Tucker, what do you think God is trying to tell those who hear the hum? Do you think it could be a warning, maybe an omen?”

Tucker’s tone was gentle, patient and Caleb remembered how he had instantly known from their first introduction the man was not the cult leader he had expected; his intentions were honest and true. It was the reason he couldn’t work up any real irritation at the man for telling Dean about Truchas or for tolerating Sam’s sudden curiosity.

“Well, the Hermanos think it is a call to arms in dark times…that the person is being asked to make a decision about something, or commanded to perform an act of sacrifice and that once completed the humming will go away.”

“But what do you think?” Sam asked.

Caleb swallowed the lump in his throat, clenching his fists as his eyes began to sting for no valid reason.

“I think that if it is the voice of God, maybe the hum is merely a reminder that He is always near, with us every day and that one only needs to be open to understand all that is being offered to them.”

“Like if you’re truly watching, miracles happen every day,” Sam said.

Caleb closed his eyes; Pastor Jim’s words propelling the faint ache in his chest. He just wanted one miracle today to find Dean, safe and unharmed.

“I believe it is the same.” Tucker sounded pleased by Sam’s comparison. “Some of us are more willing to believe than others. True?”

“True,” Sam said. “Thanks for talking to us.”

“Come again when you and your family can visit longer. We can discuss those mysteries your brother is so fond of.”

Caleb started walking again as Sam stepped onto Tucker’s porch. He cut his gaze to the teenager when Sam caught up to him halfway across the courtyard. “Curiosity killed the cat.”

“It’s called research.” Sam slung his pack onto his shoulders.

“Is that so?” Caleb raised a brow, remembering their earlier conversation about Dean’s hunting skills. “I’d say you’re a natural at it.”

The younger man rolled his eyes at the inference. “I should be. I’ve been doing it my whole life.”

“Maybe it’s a calling. One you should listen to.”

“I’m only doing this for Dean.” Sam shook his head. “So don’t get any ideas. I’m never coming back to hunting.”

“You don’t miss it? Not even a little bit?”

“The only thing I miss is my brother.”

Sam’s declaration took away any levity. Caleb focused on the path before them. “Maybe you should tell him that when we find him.”

“If we find him,” Sam grumbled. “If he showed up at that temple…”

Caleb stopped, turning to face the younger man. “Tucker told us that there’s no evidence these religious freaks have hurt anyone outside their ranks. And you know Deuce; he can hold his own against anything supernatural, let alone a bunch of humans.”

“Then where is he?”

“I don’t know,” Caleb said. “But I’m willing to lay money that one of the friendly locals in Truchas does.”
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The Divining Rod was like any number of joints he’d been in with John or Dean. Scuffed wooden floors, glowing neon signs on the walls, numerous pool tables and dart boards filled along with the typical patrons. All eyes were on them as they walked through the swinging batwing doors.

“I’m guessing this is one of the unfriendly establishments Tucker warned us about,” Sam said.

“Yeah. They’re not really happy to see us.” Caleb noticed the younger man was sticking close to his side as they made their way towards the bar. “Just the type of place Deuce would enjoy.”

“Something else he inherited from Dad,” Sam said.

Caleb took a seat at the corner of the bar so he had a clear vie w of the door. “He’s not the only one that takes after Johnny.”

Sam had been broodier than usual during their hike down from Tucker’s and short drive to Truchas.

“What does that mean?” Sam claimed the stool beside him.

“Nothing.” Caleb motioned to the bartender. The petite, dark-haired woman acknowledged him with a wary glance. He grinned at her. “Two of whatever is on tap, sweetheart.”

“Hold up there, Nena.” A tall man with a cowboy hat pulled low over his eyes took the empty seat by Sam. “I think these two gringos are lost.”

Nena hesitated in drawing their beers, her gaze going from Caleb and Sam to the newcomer.

“That didn’t take long,” Sam murmured.

Caleb laughed, giving the cowboy a once over. “I think you might be the one that’s lost, partner. The Silver Dollar Saloon is on the other side of town. Why don’t you mosey on down there so my friend and I can quench our thirst from the dusty trail.”

The man raised his chin and Caleb got a good look at his face from beneath the hat’s shadow. He was sporting two faint blackened eyes and had a bandage across his nose. “Your money’s no good here, boy.”

“That your way of saying you want to buy me and my friend the first round, Hoss?”

“That’s my way of saying get the hell out of our bar.”

“Sorry, but we’ve come a long way for these beers and if you don’t mind we’d like to drink them in peace.”

“Caleb,” Sam said, nodding to the group of very large men that had circled around behind the man at the bar.

“What’s this?” Caleb leaned back, gestured to the group. A few of the others had injuries like their goon friend, tell-tale signs of a recent scuttle. “Is this the Truchas welcoming party we’ve heard so much about?” He nudged Sam. “You think they’re going to give us the key to the town or show us a good time?”

“The only thing we’ll be giving you is a one-way trip to the city line, and the only thing I’ll be showing you is my fist.”

“And the bad movie dialogue continues,” Caleb said. He motioned to Nena. “How about those beers now before I have to re-break Hoss’s nose?”

“How about you get some sense and move along, son.” A different man spoke this time. He was older than their initial greeter at the bar, dressed similarly, but without the hat and bruises. Obviously he was smarter than his buddy. “We don’t want any trouble.”

“Then that gives us something in common,” Sam said with a half smile. “We’re just here to meet up with a friend of ours, and then we’ll be on our way. Maybe you’ve seen him?”

“You don’t have any friends here, boy.” The cowboy leaned in close to Sam. “So, I’d say that’s a big fat ‘no’ on me having seen him.”

Caleb edged around the younger hunter. “Are you sure about that, Hoss?” He focused his eyes on the cowboy. “Probably arrived a couple of days ago. Dark blond hair, green eyes, wearing a leather jacket and driving a black Chevy that gives grease monkeys a hard on.” Caleb smiled. “He has a mean right hook and a vicious left jab-the kind that snaps a man’s nose like a dry twig.”

“We don’t get a lot of visitors here,” one of the bystanders spoke up. “Maybe you got your locations mixed up. You should try Taos, or go onto Santa Fe. They like tourists there.”

“No, we’re certain he was coming here.” Caleb stood, continuing to stare at the cowboy. “Did you give him the same warm reception you honored us with?”

The cowboy grinned, showing off his tobacco stained teeth. “If he had your smart mouth we might have treated him to something a little more up close and personal.”

Sam started to get up, but Caleb put a hand on his shoulder as he read the man's mind. Dean had tangled with the man, but the cowboy and his friends had totally underestimated their latest victim. . “How about your buddies?” Caleb ran his gaze over the other men. “Any of you talk to our friend? Or maybe it was him that did all the talking?” It was easier to take certain information if the person you were searching had the idea on their minds like pulling up a specific folder from a computer. Dean had whipped their asses.

Caleb turned to look at Nena , who suddenly found getting their beer an imperative mission. “Or maybe Nena remembers serving him?” He didn’t even have to probe her thoughts before she told him what he wanted to hear.

“He was here way before the evening crowd.” Nena turned, sitting their drinks in front of them with a huff. She glared at the cowboy. “And what’s this ‘our’ and ‘we’ bullshit, Carl? My father owns the place and I can damn well serve who I please.” She moved her eyes to Sam. “I liked the looks of your friend so I sold him a bottle of Cuervo for way more than it was worth and let him buy me a couple of rounds of my favorite whiskey.” She winked at the youngest Winchester. “I like the looks of you too, Dimples, so I’m going to charge you and your friend double for those beers, and offer to cook you up the best hamburger this side of the Mississippi. Things have been slow this week.”

“Damn it, Nena, it ain’t polite to bite the hand that feeds you,” the cowboy said.

“Since when have I ever given a damn about manners, Carl?” Nena turned to Caleb. “He’s just sore your friend broke his nose, and then mopped the floor with his band of merry men.”

“Ain’t that a kick in the pants, Carl?” Caleb said in his best western drawl, giving the cowboy a crooked grin. “Women are a fickle lot.”

“You are one smart mouthed son of a….”

“Carl, you and the boys go back to your card game and stop running off my customers before you get your ass kicked again or I call the Deputy.” Nena shooed the men away with a towel. “You know how the Mayor feels about our new softer approach to community cultural awareness.”

“I guess that means they’re going to refrain from busting heads whenever someone tries to drop in for a visit,” Caleb said under his breath.

Sam nodded. “Let’s hope Dean was given the same consideration.”

Caleb met his gaze. “They didn’t lay a fist on him.”

Nena leaned on the bar as the other men grumbled and moved away to a table in the corner. “You’ll have to overlook those guys. A lot of the younger business owners really are trying to offer a new, more hospitable atmosphere, but old habits are hard to break. People are starting to realize Taos has the right idea, drawing on its heritage and art community to bring in tourism money.”

Caleb picked up his beer. “Does that feeling span to include the Hermano Consegrado?”

Nena picked up a shot glass and turned it up. “I’ll give you the same deal I did your cute friend, Sweetheart. Every question will cost you a drink.”

“I can see you’re definitely one of the modern thinking, jet-setting entrepreneurs.” Caleb pulled out his wallet, tossed a hundred dollar bill on the bar. “How about we just cut right to the chase, shall we?”

“I’m trying to pay my way through college so I can get the hell out of this backwoods town.” Nena glanced over their shoulders to the table of men who were once again absorbed in their card game. She picked up the bill and tucked it into her bra. “What do you want to know?”

“What did you tell our friend?” Sam asked.

Nena poured herself a whiskey and shrugged. “He asked about The Hermano and where they held their secret meetings.” She tossed back the drink, licking her lips as she lined up another. “I explained where the old mission was and chatted about the mysterious hum and some of the more unusual happenings, then he was gone.”

“Is this mission the sacred temple where The Hermano holds their ceremonies?” Caleb asked.

“Temple?” Nena laughed. “It’s more like a hunting lodge, but yeah they gather up there every month or so, to be closer to God.” She filled her glass and corked the whiskey. “If you ask me I think it has more to do with getting away from their wives and children than it does talking with their Savior. No girls allowed in their club. It’s archaic.”

Caleb shared a look with Sam. “Would they have had a meeting in the last couple of nights?”

Nena shrugged. “I don’t think so. You can usually see the torches from here.”

“Torches?” Sam asked.

The bartender nodded. “There’s no electricity up there. Since it’s the highest peak, it’s easy to detect the lights in the distance.” Her grin grew. “You can hear the screams sometimes, too. Of course it’s hard to tell the difference between a good flogging and a Catamount.”

“Catamount?” Sam frowned.

Caleb picked up the increase in the younger hunter’s heart rate as Nena leaned closer to him. “Mountain lion, panther, you know, handsome…a cougar.”

“You have cougars?”

She bobbed her head, her chin-length dark hair brushing her cheek. “Rattlers and bear, too. There are other reasons to be careful in these mountains besides the Neanderthals hiding behind their ignorant beliefs.”

“Where is this mission?” Caleb asked.

“There’s a trailhead that will take you to it on the south side of town, but I really wouldn’t suggest hiking up there tonight. It’s already dark, the trail is treacherous and steep in a lot of places, and I was serious about the panthers. Why don’t you two stay for those burgers and get a fresh start in the morning?”

Caleb tossed another twenty on the bar, with a shake of his head. “Did our friend ask about a place to leave his car?”

“Suit yourself.” Nena scooped up the twenty. “I told him there was a parking lot near the trail. It’s not exactly the safest of places if you want your vehicle in one piece when you get back.”

Sam shook his head. “He wouldn’t have gone for that.”

“What else?” Caleb asked.

Nena sighed. “My family owns an old garage not too far from there. It’s closed down now, but I told him he could probably stash his ride there without anyone the wiser.”

Caleb snorted. “How much did that cost him?”

“That was on the house. He promised to bring his buns back here and take me for a drive. Never showed though.” She pouted, holding out her hand. “I’ve learned my lesson.”

Caleb forked over another ten. “Where’s the garage?”

Nena grabbed a napkin, a pen from under the bar and scribbled a crude map which she tucked into Sam’s shirt pocket, letting her hand linger on his chest. “When you find him tell him I'm still open for that date.” She winked at the youngest Winchester. “We could make it a threesome if you like.”

Caleb held back a laugh as Sam nearly tumbled off the stool trying to scramble away from the bartender’s advances. “I think he’d like that, Nena.” He tossed another twenty to the girl. “Keep this between us if you don’t mind.”

Nena picked up the twenty and pressed her shiny pink mouth against it in a kiss. “My lips are sealed.” She tucked the twenty in the front of her shirt. “You boys come back now.”

“At least someone in the town likes us,” Sam said once they were out of the bar.

“I think she really liked you, which makes me wonder about her character.” Caleb grinned as the younger man’s face reddened. “After we find Dean maybe you should take her up on her offer. She was pretty hot, despite her taste in men.”

“I’ll be going back to Stanford after we find Dean. I don’t have time for a hook-up.”

“Yeah.” Caleb opened the door to their Sedan. “Jessica would probably frown on that extracurricular activity.”

“I told you Jess is just a friend.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Sammy.” Caleb patted the hood. “Still not going to make it true.”

“Why does it matter to you anyway?”

“I just want you to be careful, that’s all.” Caleb slid into the driver’s seat and waited for Sam to get in.

“Careful? Careful as in don’t get my heart broken careful, or careful in make sure I use protection careful. Because I’ve sat through the ‘black bras and strappy sandals’ speech more than once.”

Caleb turned to look at him, frustrated they had once again crossed some invisible line, wondering at just how much a buffer Dean had been between them all those years. “Careful as in we’re not exactly the most normal of people and having normal people in our lives at best can complicate things and at worst it can…”

“What?” Sam demanded.

“It can put them in danger.” Caleb shoved the keys in the ignition. “It can get them killed.”

“I wouldn’t put Jessica in danger because I’m not a hunter anymore.”

“You might change what you’re doing, but you can’t change who you are.”

“So I’m doomed, is that it?” The younger man shook his head. “I don’t believe you. You’re a real piece of work.”

Caleb started the car and jerked it into drive. “What?”

“This is just one more ploy to get me to come back to hunting. You want to make me think I’m some kind of freak, cursed or maybe that I something just like…”

Sam caught himself but not before Caleb gleaned his thoughts. Sometimes taking information was a bitch. Caleb arched a brow, a cold chill sweeping over him. “Go ahead and say it.” He tapped his head. “I already know what you’re thinking.”

Sam looked away. “You want me to think I’m like you…like Dean.” He turned to face Caleb again; his eyes wet and shiny in the streetlight glow streaming into their car. “But I’m nothing like either of you,” he said heatedly. “I am normal. I can finish school, I can have a career and a family…I can fit in the real world. That’s where I want to be, where I belong.”

Caleb swallowed thickly, pulling away from the curb. “Whether you believe this or not, Sam, I hope you’re right.” He wished like hell that Dean was in the car with them. “Nothing would make me happier.”

“Except having Dean get exactly what he wants.”

“Come again?”

“You can placate to me all you want, tell me how you want me to be happy, but you’re still Dean’s champion. You’d have me right back in Dad’s little army in a heartbeat if it satisfied Dean.” Sam challenged.

Caleb slammed on the breaks in the middle of the street, shoved the car in park. “You make it sound like Dean’s some favored child and you’re his favorite toy. Grow the fuck up.”

“A security blanket is more like it.”

Caleb ran a hand down his mouth, trying to remember his meditation breathing to calm himself. “Are you kidding me? Do you really think that? Or does all that bullshit just make you feel better about leaving, give you some kind of justification for ignoring him over the last six months like he was nothing to you?”

“That’s not fair.” Sam slammed his fist against the plush seat. “I haven’t done anything wrong!”

“Neither has Dean!” Caleb gripped the steering wheel, glaring at the youngest Winchester. “Goddamnit, Sam. He’s didn’t do anything wrong, but he’s being punished just the same. You tell me what’s so fucking fair about that.”

“Have you for once thought that maybe he wasn’t the only one hurting? That I haven’t been doing this to be cruel? That maybe I’m the one completely on my own, without my family? Dean has Dad; he has you.”

“Don’t pull that.” Caleb shook his head. “Mac’s called, so has Jim. Hell, even Bobby. I called you countless times and wrote.”

“To get me to come back.”

“No,” Caleb denied. “If you’d bothered to call me back, you might have been surprised.”

“As about as surprised as I was when you showed up at my dorm because of Dean. It’s never just about me.”

The older psychic shook his head, realizing the futileness in any reply he offered. He thought of telling Sam that Dean’s whole life had been mostly about him; that they had all spent years protecting him but he would have been wasting his breath and their time, Dean’s time. He turned away from Sam’s accusing eyes, calmly put the car in drive and started moving again. “Get the map your girlfriend drew us. I don’t want to miss that first turn.”
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The turn was easy to find. It was at the only intersection in the small town, but the garage proved a different story. Mother Nature had nearly reclaimed the dilapidated structure, vines and weeds obscuring the white block and smoky glass. If not for the old Exxon sign, hanging loosely from a rusted pole, they would have driven right past it.

“I can’t believe Dean left Dad’s baby here.”

“It’s more Dean’s car than John’s these days.” Caleb opened the rental car door, stepping out in the pitch black parking lot.

“Dad trying to make up for running me off?” Sam got out of the car, hands propped on his hips. “He turned my care over to Dean when Mom died, so that makes sense.”

Caleb shot him a look, but refused to rise to the bait. “That discussion is tabled until we find Dean.” They both needed clear heads and senses.

“Fine by me.” Sam strode past him, going to the first garage door. He rubbed his hand over the grime covered window, pressing his face against the cold glass. “I can’t see anything.”

Caleb kneeled down and grabbed hold of the bottom of the door, putting his legs into it as he lifted. The metal groaned and grated in protest but finally slid up, rolling into the rusted grooves above with a deafening clang. He pulled a flashlight from his pocket and turned it on as Sam took a step into the darkened structure.

The Impala’s black paint and chrome reflected the luminescence, sending a cold steel spike through Caleb’s chest. Seeing the car brought home the fact that Dean was out there somewhere alone unable to make it back on his own. He faltered as Sam rushed forward. The younger man’s hands brushed reverently over the trunk, and Caleb didn’t miss the hushed greeting.

“Hey there, Old Girl.” Sam looked at him. “Too bad Mac isn’t here; he could find Dean using the Impala.”

Caleb forced himself to move, making his way past Sam to look in the driver’s window. Nothing out of the ordinary and he was relieved that at least Dean’s prized possession was unharmed. “We can find him just as easy now that we know exactly where to look.” The car’s presence confirmed what Caleb feared. Dean had hiked to the mission in search of answers about the hum, but had got sidetracked along the way. Dean had spent two nights in the mountains, in God only knew what condition and it was Caleb’s fault.

“What happened to not hunting alone? Why would Dean not wait on you?” Sam asked.

“Because Dean’s not exactly ‘Dean’ these days,” Caleb snapped before he could stop himself. He vowed he wouldn’t give Sam the satisfaction of knowing just how much his leaving had affected his brother; how it had sucked the life out of his best friend until only a shadow of the Dean they knew remained. Dean had withdrew, but at the same time become more reckless, uninhibited in his hunting. He didn’t give a damn either way if he lived or died.

“What do you mean he’s not himself? Weren’t you telling me back at the Dragonfly how he was on top of his game? Is there something going on I should know about?”

“The only thing you need to focus on at the moment is finding your brother.” Caleb brushed past him, fists clenched at his side. “Let’s go.”

Sam grabbed his jacket sleeve, stopping him. “Wait. Do you sense something?”

“No,Sam, I’m not getting any kind of reading.”

The teen bit his lip. “What about hearing? Have you heard anything like humming since we got here? Back at Stanford you said you felt some kind of presence, too.”

“No.” Caleb growled. “It only happened that once when I was at the art…” He roughly pulled away, moved out of the garage. “Never mind.”

Sam followed behind. “You think you heard the humming when whatever happened to him…happened don’t you?”

“I don’t know, Sam! Just get in the damn car and drop it.”

“What if it is the voice of God? That would explain the presence you felt…you said it wasn’t like anything you’ve experienced before.”

“Sam!” Caleb jerked the door open. “What part of drop it don’t you understand? How is all this speculation and theorizing going to help Dean? We need to find him, that’s the only thing we should be thinking about.”

“Right. Because it’s always about Dean.”

“Fuck!” Caleb yelled. “Do you want to find your brother or not? Or is it like it seems and you really don’t give a shit about him anymore?”

Caleb knew he was being cruel but his own guilt was compounded by the terrible helplessness tearing at him. He lashed out at the closest person to him.

“What?” Sam faltered. “I love my brother, nothing’s changed that. Nothing ever could. I’m just trying to understand…”

“That makes two of us.” Caleb interrupted before the teen could finish. “Except I’ve been working at it for six months.”

Sam started at him for a long moment, their harsh breathing loud in the silent night. When Sam spoke, he barely contained the slight tremor in his tired voice. “Never mind. Now’s not the time.”

Caleb offered a half-hearted grin, running a hand through his hair. “Shit. Knowing Deuce’s luck, he’s probably fallen off the fucking mountain.”

The teen snorted. “Or been captured by The Hermanos for some weird sacrifice ritual.”

“Nah.” Caleb shook his head. “I’m pretty sure they’d need a virgin for that.”

Sam attempted to return the smile. For Caleb seeing the hint of dimples was almost as painful as finding the Impala. “Good thing Dean’s luck actually runs the other way when it comes to women. He’s as far away from a virgin as they could find.”

“And Pastor Jim preaches that chastity is the way to save your soul.” Caleb’s grin widened as he got into the car. “Who knew Dean being a man whore would someday save his life.”

“Yeah.” Sam joined him. “Who knew?”
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“Too bad big brother’s charm with the ladies worked adversely for him this time.” Sam blinked, his thoughts torn from the past by the unfamiliar voice and the cold chill that the malice-laced words brought.

He blinked again, his mouth going dry. Black eyes stared at him from Caleb’s slack face. “Caleb?” The possession had taken place, much quieter and less spectacular than ridding a body of a demon. Sam wondered at how much of that was due to the amulet’s power.

“I find it amusing that sex has such a hold over humans. You do follow your passions. "Caleb shot Sam a crooked grin that was nowhere near familiar. “Maybe we aren’t so different, after all. But that’s what you’re worried about, isn’t it Sammy?”

“Caleb!” Sam gripped the holy water in his hand. He reached out with his thoughts; found no dim connection like his fellow psychic predicted.

“Though not the brightest bulb, I have to say The Dark Knight has balls. I’ve been impressed with his efforts.” Caleb rolled his head, his neck popping loudly. “And he’s a fighter. With more practice he could be a formidable enemy…or ally. Perhaps he should have considered his amateur status before challenging me. I’m not one of the young ones he’s tamed so easily.”

“Who are you?” Sam demanded, sliding the Colt from the back of his jeans and pointing it at Caleb’s chest.

“We both know you’re not going to shoot me.”

“Who. Are. You.”

“I could be your savior if you allow.”

“I don’t need saving.” Sam threw the holy water, feeling nauseous when Caleb’s voice cried out in pain.

“Don’t you?” The beast growled. Caleb had gone to his knees, but black eyes still glared at Sam. “Both of you are damned, just like your brother. Only by accepting what you are do you stand any chance of saving him. I can help you.”

“We’re going to save him.” Sam was tired of promises from demon kind, sick of putting his faith in their help. From now on he was counting only on family. He threw more holy water, smoke rolled off Caleb’s back as he curled in on himself.

Caleb cried out again, the sounds of anguish ending in raucous laughter. The demon looked at Sam, straightening as if his suffering had been mere acting, a depraved smile curling Caleb’s lips once more. “Even now I feel the struggle in you, Young Skywalker.”

Sam’s finger tightened on the trigger of the Colt as the demon used Caleb’s thoughts, their long-running Star Wars dialogue driving home just how much access the thing had to the other psychic’s subconscious. For a brief agonizing moment Sam was cast back to the night when he held his father’s life in his hands, along with The Yellow Eyed Demon’s. So much suffering could have been avoided if he had just pulled that trigger, did as his father begged. Countless lives could have been saved, including his and thus ensuring Dean’s soul.

“Sammy!”

The voice was Caleb’s, but Sam didn’t relax his stance, or lower the gun until the gold eyes locked with his gaze, and the familiar link assuring him his friend was once again in control shown through like a beacon. “Caleb?”

Caleb struggled to stand, keeping his hands braced on his knees. “It’s me. I got it.”

Sam started to step forward, breaking the trap, but Caleb straightened, lifting a hand to stop him. “Give me a minute to make sure. This son of a bitch knows what he’s doing.”

“A point we should have thought about.” Sam growled, throwing the holy water to the ground, shoving the Colt back in his jeans. “I almost shot you!”

Caleb nodded. “Thanks for that.”

“What?” Sam was incredulous. He was starting to shake, the adrenaline fleeing, leaving him only with the dark revelation about killing his friend to destroy the monster beneath. Sam couldn’t even imagine trying to explain that to Dean. His brother already thought he was on his way to being dark side.

Caleb looked at him; rubbing his arm where Sam was sure the psychic’s shirt hid the worst of the holy water burns. “I think the bastard knew you were about to do it. He might be a cocky fuck, but he wasn’t ready to take any chances.”

“That’s all you’ve got to say? I almost put a bullet in your chest.”

“The key word being almost.” Caleb shrugged. “Would you rather I say I’m proud of you, Runt? I was holding back on that one because of the ‘girl on the verge of crying’ look you’re currently sporting.”

Sam needed no more proof that Caleb was truly ‘Caleb’. “Fucking jerk!” He grumbled, kicking at the marks in the sand, effectively releasing the other psychic from the trap. “I hate this plan and at the moment I’m not too fond of you.”

Caleb pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s no picnic for me either.” He met Sam’s gaze. “But if it will make you feel better, you can take another swing at me.”

Sam snorted. “And ruin your awesome high, I wouldn’t dream of it.” He studied the older hunter, frowned. “What happened to the Plasma TV and hi-def stereo system upgrade?”

“Having to use every ounce of psychic energy to keep the bastard stamped down takes some of the fun out of it.” Caleb huffed. “But the power’s there. I can fucking feel it.”

Sam felt some of his anger and aggravation melt, replaced by concern. “Can you handle this, man? That thing said…”

“Forget what he said!” Caleb snapped.

Sam took a step back and Caleb ran a hand over his mouth, softening his voice when he spoke again. “Forget all of it, Sammy. He was doing what demons do best, turning our fears against us. It’s like your dad used to say, fear is the direct path to defeat.”

Sam’s mouth twitched, despite the increased gravity of the already unbearable situation. “You sure that wasn’t Yoda, dude?”

Caleb laughed, surprising Sam when he reached out and squeezed his shoulder. “Could have been. Johnny, Sun Tzu, Yoda…they all start to blend together after a while.”

“No wonder you’re so fucked up.” Sam patted his arm, moving away to retrieve the rest of their supplies.

“Yeah.” Caleb rubbed at his neck. “But Sammy…”

Sam stopped, turning to look at the other man again. “Yeah?”

“Keep your connection to me open. Understand?”

Sam nodded. “You’re coming through loud and clear.”

Caleb held his gaze, touching his mind. “And don’t let the Colt out of your sight.”

“But…” Sam started.

“Understand me?”

Sam wanted to believe Caleb was right about whatever was lurking inside of him. It was all lies…all twisted insecurities. But that didn’t explain the overwhelming sensation they were in need of salvation. Sam swallowed thickly, feeling the steel of the gun cold against his skin. “I understand completely, Obi Wan.”
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“What’s Heaven like?”

Dean wasn’t quite sure why that question sprang to mind when there were countless others he wanted to ask the former Guardian. Until his deal, Dean wasn’t even sure he believed in an afterlife. He’d let himself hope his mother was somewhere better, Jess too. Dean was never a religious person, never one to jump on the bandwagon of angels and such, but if there was such a place as Hell, then maybe there was a Heaven. Not that he would get to see it, but he could take comfort in knowing his family would have a peaceful end.

Dean searched Jim’s face, expecting to see perhaps surprise, wonderment, but not the sudden look of pain that shadowed the pastor’s face. He wanted to withdraw the question, but Jim was already setting his pole aside, drawing his shoulders back. Dean heard him take a deep steadying breath, in his experience never a good sign.

“You’re so sure I would know?”

“If you don’t, then I’m not quite sure who would.”

“I’m not the saint you boys seem to think I was.”

“Close enough.”

Jim looked off in the distance for a moment before focusing on Dean once more. “What makes you think this isn’t Heaven?”

Dean frowned. “For one, you told me I wasn’t dead.” He managed a tremulous smile, hoping to erase some of the seriousness from the Pastor’s gaze. “Then there’s the part where I’m being tortured by demons as we speak. Definitely not the streets of gold, cherub on every corner kind of picture you painted over the years.”

Jim scratched his head. “Is that the impression I gave you boys?”

Dean shrugged. “Caleb slept a lot, and Sammy usually sneaked a book in, but I actually listened on occasion when you forced us to go to church with you.”

The pastor didn’t smile. “I don’t believe any scripture can quite define Heaven, Son. It’s one of those concepts we can name but can’t quite define or explain, top of the list along with love, faith and hope. ”

Dean licked his lips. “But you’ve got firsthand knowledge now.” He gestured to the lake. “This can’t be it? Right?”

Jim leaned forward, his blue eyes never leaving Dean’s face. “Do you feel safe here?”

“Yes.” Dean swallowed thickly. “I always have.”

“Was the farm like a home to you?”

Dean nodded. After his mother was killed the farm was the only place he knew.

Finally, Jim smiled. “ You are at peace in a place where your heart feels at home and loved. That sounds better than any pearl studded gate and string harp serenade.”

The pastor sat back, looking extremely pleased with himself. Dean smiled. “Isn’t that blasphemy coming from a man of the cloth?”

“Hog wash.” Jim waved the thought away with a derisive snort. “I’ve never liked that cookie cutter version of the after world. It has little imagination and makes no sense in the grand scheme of things.”

“I’m not sure I understand…”

Jim ran a hand through his silver hair, only managing to scatter the wild silver strands in various directions of disarray. “Tell me about the best day of your life.”

Dean arched a brow. “What?”

“Don’t question.” Jim patted his knee. “Just do as I say.”

“You’re starting to sound like Mac...”

Jim folded his arms over his chest and the young hunter recognizing a directive when he saw one. “I’m attempting to explain my earlier statement.”

“It’s impossible to narrow down to just one.” He knew his justification wasn’t playing when Jim only continued to stare at him. “Okay.” Dean held up a hand in surrender. “But is this a PG moment in time or a late night HBO episode of my life, which I will definitely not share out loud with you?”

“Bring to mind a time when you were truly happy, content and safe, not simply satiated by the pleasure of the body and I’m sure discretion on your part will not need to be an issue.”

“You don’t know me as well as you think you do, Skin Horse.” Dean said, retreating to his nickname of Pastor Jim from the Velveteen Rabbit.

“Humor an old man.”

“Fine.” Dean grumbled halfheartedly. He had asked for it, after all. “When Sammy was born, or maybe his first steps.”

“No.” Jim shook his head. “This has to be about you. A stellar moment in the life of Dean Mathew Winchester.”

Dean rolled his eyes at the pastor’s tenacity. The qualifier made it a little harder, so many of Dean’s best moments were wrapped up in his brother. Even now he could easily recall the sound of Sammy’s first word, the day he walked him to the first day of kindergarten, even Sam’s graduation from high school had been a red-letter day, though Dean had a good idea of what it was leading up to. “Okay. My sixth grade year, I was eleven and my baseball team took the title when I hit a home run, bringing two other runners with me.”

“I remember that.” Jim stroked his chin thoughtfully, a smile lifting the tension from his face. “In that little town of Greeneville. Mackland, Bobby and I all attended, along with Caleb’s friends and his roommate, Elk.”

Dean laughed. “Moose. And yeah, you were all there. Even Dad made it for the last two innings.”

“Caleb and Sam instructed me to bring cow bells from the farm,” Jim said. “And Bobby insisted we all go to Shoney’s for dinner to celebrate even though Mackland nearly balked at the idea of eating from a buffet. He ranted about health hazards and substandard service until the very end when he inhaled nearly an entire strawberry pie.”

Dean nodded. He could almost hear the roar of the crowd, his own cheering section embarrassingly loud. Sam, Moose and the rest of Caleb’s college buddies even did the wave. “That was a great day.”

“It was,” Jim said.

Dean’s hopes of the pastor’s game being concluded were dashed when Jim leaned forward yet again. “What else?”

Dean sighed. “There was the day I got my ring,” he offered. “That ranks up there.”

Jim frowned at that. “If I recall, you were injured and in the hospital on that day.”

“Still,” Dean looked down at the shiny silver band. “I waited a long time for this baby.” He flicked the circle with his thumb. “How many eighteen-year-olds earn the equivalent of a Super Bowl Championship Ring?” It had long since lost its sparkle.

“Not many, I imagine.” Jim was quiet for a moment. “Aren’t there any others that stand out, perhaps ones without so much drama?”

Dean shrugged. “My whole life has been pretty dramatic, Merlin.”

“I know, but just try.”

“Sam’s sixteenth birthday.”

The pastor started to hold up a finger, but Dean beat him to it, stopping his interruption with a shake of his head. “Not so fast. It’s important to me for other reasons than Sammy being legit to drive.”

Jim didn’t seem convinced, but he gestured for Dean to continue. “Carry on.”

“We had dinner at the farm.” As Dean spoke the words, time seemed to magically fall away, taking his senses back to the moment he was recanting. “Do you remember? You made your famous fried chicken and apple pie, even though Caleb bought that huge cake.”

“How could I forget that cake.” Jim groaned. “It was made to look like parts of well-endowed young woman’s anatomy.”

Dean grinned, not even thinking about the embarrassed expression on his little brother’s face when he and Caleb had presented the pastry, complete with sprinkle-covered pasties. “The whole kitchen smelled like fried dough, simmering butter and cinnamon.”

Jim nodded. “You boys insisted on that same meal, no matter what the occasion, and I never quite had the heart to deny your requests.”

Dean’s chest tightened as his memories wrapped around him as comforting as the heat of the sun seeping through his t-shirt. “It was a warm spring night, and you had all the windows open, the crickets and frogs at the pond in performance mode.”

“Nature’s serenade was by far preferable to any attempt by us to sing to Samuel.”

“Then there was all the arguing.”

Jim’s brow furrowed, his smile fading as he seemed to try to recall the event as Dean was describing, but Dean continued to smile. “Only it wasn’t Dad and Sammy battling it out.”

“I see,” Jim said.

“Mac and Dad were going at it over the latest Yankees and Sox game. Remember how they would get heated up every season?”

Jim nodded. “Oh yes. I remember quite well how Scholar and Knight could be. I once allowed them to watch a game at the farm and had to referee armed only with my authority as The Guardian and water hose.”

“They weren’t the only ones that night. Sammy and Caleb were about to come to blows over the last drumstick.”

“I never did find a chicken with a third appendage, much to Samuel’s chagrin. As you three grew older, and more apt to pound one another, I was tempted to cook two birds just to keep the peace.”

“Even you and Bobby were sniping because he couldn’t keep his hands off the dessert until you got it to the table. The dogs were the only ones not fighting about something.”

“At least Scout and Harper Lee pretended at manners. Robert, on the other hand, felt no such need to keep up such pretenses. I swear the man was raised in the wild.”

“Dad and Sammy ended up doing the dishes. I don’t think they even argued over who was going to dry.” Dean ran a hand over his mouth. “We all played cards, listened to Dad, Mac and Bobby talk about who screwed up what hunts. You even brought out some of your secret stash to toast the evening. One of the most normal nights I can remember us ever having.”

Jim winked at him. “Sure sounds like Heaven to me.”

Dean’s own grin faltered, a sudden wave of sadness rushing over him as grim realization set in, stealing the happy time from his thoughts. “So Heaven is like going home, every perfect moment magnified. It’s a place where nothing bad can hurt you and all the people you love are safe and together. That’s why no one’s idea of Heaven is the same.”

“Yes.” Jim’s smile faded too, as he seemed to understand where Dean was heading. “That’s exactly what I believe about Heaven. To me, it’s the first snow fall of the winter, the first time I kissed Miss Emma, laughter drifting in with the smell of fresh mowed hay through the open window as you boys played at this very pond. Heaven is everything light and good and promising within each of us.”

“Then Hell is the complete opposite.” Mac had given Dean a file filled with research about the place, from countless theologians and theorists. None of it quite drove the idea home like understanding what Hell wouldn’t be.

“Possibly,” Jim said.

Dean ran a hand over his mouth. “I’ll be as far from the farm and safety as possible…and every bad thing I’ve experienced or imagined will be multiplied to infinity.”

“Dean…” Jim tried to derail his train of thought, but Dean had gone too far. He needed to say it.

“And I’ll be alone, surrounded by those who hate me and want to hurt me. I’ll never see my family again.” He held Jim’s gaze, despite the tear that escaped his wet lashes. “That sound about right to you, Pastor?”

Jim nodded slowly. “Yes, my boy. That definitely sounds like Hell to me.”
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