Great, Beautiful, Terrible Things

By: Ridley C. James

Beta: Tidia

Disclaimer: Nothing Supernatural belongs to me. All those lovely men are property of Kripke Enterprise and The CW.

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Chapter 3/4

And for just a moment Caleb thought he had died and gone to hell when he finally set foot in the current Winchester abode.

Luckily, Reaves had been right about Evans. The man got the charges dropped against Dean, writing it up as justified self defense.

After that, it had taken only about an hour for Dean to be processed and his statement to be typed up for him to sign. Later, Detective Evans had sent them on their way with a warning for the teen to keep his nose clean and for them not to leave town until the entire matter was taken care of. Both orders would be blatantly ignored, but it got them a get out of jail free card, and they were on their way.

They had all been exhausted and irritable and ready to go home, but after seeing home, Reaves had the immediate desire to load the boys up once more and book it back to Memphis. Only the twin looks of complete exhaustion on the Winchesters faces and the fear that John might show up sometime during the night convinced the psychic to stay put, at least until sunrise.

"Damn it, John," Caleb drew in a deep breath let it out slowly as he dropped his duffel onto the molded, puke green carpet. He looked at the squalor around him.

The trailer was structurally in shambles, stifling hot with only window fans for cooling. One wall had a hole punched completely through the paneling, and the young hunter imagined that in the brightness of day, light shone directly through it.

The floors were warped from water damage and bad set-up, and the tile ceilings were stained from leaks. Thank God it wasn't winter because he was guessing that insulation was non-existent. Sometimes he didn't understand John Winchester.

"Home sweet home," Dean said, as he dropped onto the striped couch that had probably seen it's last good day sometime in the seventies. Sam slid in next to him, and the older boy casually raised his arms in a yawn, dropping one over the younger boy's shoulders before looking up at Reaves.

Caleb had the sudden urge to yank them up from the offensive piece of furniture as his unwilling mind was flooded with images of things that had occurred there. He didn’t want them anywhere near it, or even around it. Then there was the living space, in general. "How about we go out for dinner, guys? My treat."

Dean looked at Sam, who seemed to be fighting a losing battle to keep his eyes open. "Can't we just fix something here?"

The older man shrugged and took the two steps that led him into the kitchen. He opened a cabinet, winced as something scuttled quickly across his field of vision. "Is there anything consumable here?" Even with all the dishes clean and the floors swept, the small room still seemed unsanitary, and the thought of Dean and Sam living in the place had a flash of heat surging through him that had nothing to do with the temperature outside.

"Hotdogs," Sam said, sitting up some. "We could roast them down at the tent."

"Tent?" Caleb raised a brow. At the moment, anything would be better than the hot box of salmonella.

"Dean and I camp down at the river when Dad's not here," Sam explained, rubbing at his tired eyes, wincing as his hand came into contact with the swollen one.

The dark-haired hunter opened the freezer, glad to find a couple of ice packs which he tossed to Dean. John might not have food in the house, but he was damn well going to have well-stocked medical supplies. “Sounds better than Hotel Winchester.”

Dean leaned forward, placing one of the packs on Sam’s face and guiding the boy‘s hand up to hold it. "It's cooler by the water, and mosquitoes are better than roaches any day."

"Yeah," The other hunter sighed, combed a hand through his dark hair. "Why don't you go get changed Sam?"

The younger boy looked at Dean who nodded. "Get the sleeping bags from the closet, too, Sammy."

"Okay," Sam handed him the ice and then pushed off from the couch with the first real grin Dean had seen since that morning. "But you get the marshmallows."

Caleb waited until the ten-year-old disappeared down the hallway. "Fuck, Deuce. How long have you all been in this shit hole?"

"Just about a month." Dean shrugged one shoulder, holding the ice to his jaw. He ducked his head slightly. "It’s not that bad, man." It was a lie and they both knew it.

Caleb gave him an incredulous look, but decided to let the rest of his rant drop, after recognizing the emotion in the green eyes. It wasn’t like the teen had any say in the matter. "And you called my last apartment a dump?" He snorted, with a shake of his head, and got the desired effect he was hoping for.

Dean gave him a cocky grin. "You don’t see any ladies of the night standing out under the lamp post, do you? And hey, at least the cops will come here when they‘re called."

"Lucky you," Reaves stepped forward, reached out despite Dean’s grunt of protest and roughly raised the boy’s chin so he could get a better look at his face. "Those bastards did a number on you, kiddo.” Caleb almost wished Detective Evans hadn’t promised to keep the men detained for at least forty-eight hours. He could have thoroughly enjoyed teaching them a thing or two about picking on people half their size.

“Still better looking than you.” Dean smirked, and the dark-haired hunter let him go.

“Right. Keep dreaming.”

“I’m ready.” Sam interrupted them, dragging two large duffel bags behind him. His other arm held a lantern, flashlight, and a first aide kit. The kid was a Winchester through and through.

Caleb grabbed the gear and grinned down at Sam. “Cute jammies, runt.”

The ten-year-old flashed Reaves a hateful look. He had changed out of the torn and bloody clothes and was now wearing an old ball shirt of Dean’s and a pair of gym shorts that had seen better days. “Shut up.”

“Wait,” Reaves glanced down at the supplies. “You forgot something.”

Sam frowned. “What?”

“Where’s Woo Bee?”

Dean laughed despite himself at the mention of his little brother’s faithful, albeit ragged stuffed toy, and Sam shot him a nasty glare. “Dick head,” he grumbled, pushing past the psychic and stomping out of the trailer, the screen door slamming behind him.

“He’s such a baby,” Caleb sighed, scooping up the bags, grinning madly.

Dean snorted. “He’s not the only one. What next? You two going to get into a pillow fight, or put shaving cream on each other in the middle of the night?”

“Dick head,” Caleb echoed the youngest Winchester’s sentiment, his cocky grin still in place as he headed out the same way Sam had, leaving Dean to lock up and gather the makings for dinner.

“So much for adult supervision.” The teen sighed, pushing himself up from the couch, hoping to rifle enough food to feed the kids.

Six hotdogs and a whole bag of marshmallows later found one of the children out for the count. Sam had curled close to Dean, one of his hands twisted in the older boy’s shirt even in sleep. The older Winchester absently ran his fingers through his little brother’s hair, hoping to lull himself into that same blissful oblivion where his mind would stop torturing him with what ifs.

But his eyes remained wide open despite the exhaustion tugging at his abused body, and he sighed in frustration at his inability to force himself to calm down.

“Deuce, you’re ruining the moment for me.”

Caleb was laying near them in the three-man tent, listening to the sounds of the summer night. The crickets and frogs were battling to outdo one another, drowned out only by the rushing of the river just beyond them.

Dean had been right when he said it was cooler by the water, and after a week in the bustling city of Memphis, the hunter had to admit that the illusion of wide-open spaces was a welcomed one. He could almost pretend that they weren’t on the outskirts of the hell hole that John had left his boys in.

“Do I want to know what kind of personal moment you’re having over there, Reaves?”

“Get your mind out of the gutter, kid. I’m just taking in the solitude, embracing Mother Nature.”

“As long as that’s the only thing you’re embracing.”

Reaves snorted, rolled over and pushed himself up on one elbow. “Why don’t you tell me what it is you can’t seem to let go of, so we both can join Sammy boy in dreamland.”

Dean took a deep breath, stared up through the mesh sky hatch in the tent, watching the wealth of stars winking in the midnight expanse above them. “Just studying the constellations.”

“Like you know Taurus from the Big Dipper.”

“Hey, ass wipe , I can name almost all of them,” Dean defended, pointing a finger to the cluster to their right. Jim taught me.” He glanced at Caleb and then back to the night sky. “There’s Cygnus, and Pegasus, the Little Dipper, and Sammy’s favorite, Draco, the dragon.”

“And let me guess, there’s your favorite.” Caleb gestured to the cluster near Sirius and Taurus. “Orion.”

“Yeah. The great hunter.” Dean dropped his arm, took another breath and sighed heavily. “That’s the first one Jim showed me.”

“Me too,” Caleb frowned thoughtfully, “But I always had a thing for Cassiopeia.”

The teen scoffed. “You would.”

“Hey, Jim painted a very vivid picture of her, especially considering the whole five star W-shape is a stretch if you ask me.”

“You’d prefer some kind of planetary aligned pasties and a garter belt?”

“Hell yeah,” Caleb laughed. “I might have been a better student.”

“Lucky thing Jim’s a good teacher.”

The teen’s voice had taken on the sullen quality again with the mention of the kindly Pastor who they both admired the hell out of though neither would cop to it. Caleb rubbed at his tired eyes, wondering how best to get through to the thick-skulled kid.

“Dude, just tell me what the fuck is on your mind so I don’t have to break the whole ‘no reading without permission’ rule and risk pissing off Kid Morality over there.”

“I’m never going to get a ring.”

“What?” Caleb had suspected a lot of things but that wasn’t one of them. “What the hell are you talking about?”

He heard Dean sigh again. “The Brotherhood, man. I don’t deserve it. I’m not the person Jim thinks I am.”

“Did you hit your head or something?” Reaves reached over and placed a hand on Dean’s forehead. “Are you running a fever?”

“Cut it out,” The teen shoved his hand away, and Sam shifted in his sleep, mumbling something that sounded like Dean. “I’m being serious.” The fourteen-year-old lowered his voice.

“You’re being an idiot,” Caleb huffed. “Why would you think that?” The kid had all the attributes of a hunter, including a few, like undying loyalty and faith in his family, that Reaves was pretty sure he, himself, was lacking in.

He heard Dean’s hair brush against the sleeping bag as he stubbornly shook his head. “I would have killed him…Brewster. He wasn’t a monster or a spirit, or even a demon, but I would have wasted him in a heartbeat. I‘m a murderer.”

Caleb watched the teen’s profile in the darkness, feeling his heart clench. “But you didn’t kill him, Deuce.”

The teen’s eyes locked on him, and even in the inky buffer of the tent, Reaves could see the pain reflected in the green pools. “Not because I didn’t want to. I never thought…I mean, Jesus, Caleb, if I had a gun in my hand I would have…”

“Protected your family.”

The teen choked on what sounded like a sob poorly disguised as a laugh. “I would have crossed the line, Caleb.”

The older hunter had rarely heard Dean sound so morose, and he didn’t like it. Not one bit.

He could remember the first time he’d found himself staring into the abyss, observing a skewed fun house image for his trouble. The reflection that was cast back from that place could shake a person, leave them questioning the very core that held their soul. He wouldn’t let Dean face that yet, maybe not ever, especially because of some piece of shit hillbilly who got his jollies beating on little kids.

“I want you to listen to me, Deuce, because I’m only going to say this once.”

The fourteen-year-old went back to his perusal of the heavens, the uncharacteristic concerned tone of the other hunter making him feel claustrophobic. “Okay, but just so you know, if this is the birds and the bees speech, you’re too late. I’ve been reading Hustler since I was Sammy’s age.”

Caleb ignored the attempt at humor. “There isn’t a fucking line, kid.”

The teen frowned, his eyes glistening in the light of the moon, as Reaves took a breath, then swallowed hard and continued. “There isn’t good, bad, and evil. There’s only doing what needs to be done.”

Dean looked at him, but remained silent. “You hope like hell that you’re doing it for love…that it’s coming from the right place.” Caleb licked his lips, gestured towards the unknown planets light years away from them. “But in the end, it’s that whole great, beautiful, terrible deal and most of the time…we‘re powerless before it.”

“Even you?” Dean had thought many things about the man talking, but powerless was never one of them.

Reaves laughed then, rolled back onto the hard ground. “Hell, Deuce, if I wasn’t, I’d be getting all hot and bothered with one sweet red-head not sweating in this G.I. Joe tent with you two goofballs, fighting off mosquitoes the size of bats.” He sighed. "So listen to me when I tell you that you're not a murderer. You're a good brother," Caleb glanced at the kid out of the corner of his eye, " And when the time comes you'll be a damn fine addition to the Brotherhood."

The teen was quiet for a moment, and Caleb was beginning to worry that the little speech had gone right in one ear and out the other. After all, Dean was a whole hell of a lot like he’d been at that age.

“Thanks for coming, man,” The teen finally spoke up.

But maybe he was salvageable. “Just don’t make a habit of it.”

“Right.”

“And kid,” Caleb raised up on his elbow again, and pinned Dean with a hard look. “When I do decide to impart my knowledge about the fairer sex, you’ll want to be sure to take notes because you can’t get what I know from any two-bit smut magazine.” The dark haired hunter grinned. “And they’ll be a field trip because it’s definitely a hands-on subject, not lecture material.”

The familiar gleam returned to the younger hunter’s eyes. “When might this imparting of wisdom take place, Master?”

Caleb laughed. “When you grow up, young Jedi.”

“I am grown up,” Dean defended. “I shave…sometimes twice a day.”

“Go to sleep, Deuce.” Reaves relaxed back on his sleeping bag, a satisfied smirk on his face.

The teen closed his eyes, felt the knots in his stomach loosen some, the taught muscles in his lithe body give just a little. He grinned to himself. “ ‘night, Uncle Caleb.”

“Don’t ever call me that again,” Reaves growled, and Dean laughed.

“Keep it up, kid. Enjoy yourself while you can. Because you won’t think anything is very funny tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah, why’s that?”

“Because your dad is so going to kick your ass when he gets home.”

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