To The Victor Go The Spoils
By: Ridley C. James, April 2008
Beta: Tidia
Disclaimer: Nothing Supernatural belongs to me.
Timeline: Pre Season
Three; Follows directly after the story Temporary
Remedy. I suggest reading that one as well as the Prologue to this
Paper Tiger.
RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ
Chapter 11/11
December 29, 1840
“VENGEANCE IS MINE
sayeth the Lord. Perhaps I should have listened to Him. No amount of
bloodshed will bring them back. They are lost to me. There is no other
recourse but to let them go and move on. The Brotherhood remains,
battered and broken, but it still has breath. In the rebuilding I will
honor my brothers. By defeating their enemy, I will ensure their
sacrifice is not forgotten. We will be whole again.”
-Excerpt from
Samuel Colt’s journal
Dean wrapped the tarnished chain around his hand, absently running his
fingers over the dulled circle of small crystals. “You think they’re
okay?”
Mackland poured fresh coffee into Dean’s cup, slid it to him before
refreshing his own mug. “It hasn’t been long, Dean.”
Dean twirled the pendant, glancing towards the raised windows in Pastor
Jim’s kitchen. The last rays of daylight had vanished. Dean could hear
the crickets and frogs starting their nightly performance at the pond.
His thoughts turned to the last time they were all at the farm
together-the night they celebrated the yellow-eyed demon’s death.
Although only a few weeks, it seemed a lifetime ago. Dean didn’t know
what he would say when Sam and Caleb returned, how he would explain his
reasons for not coming clean then, but he wanted to see them just the
same. It was completely unnatural to him to sit on the sidelines. “I
should have gone after them. It’s already dark.”
“You boys grew up in these woods and there is a full moon.” Mackland
took a seat at the kitchen table. “Sam and Caleb will be fine. They
need to learn to depend on one another. Your father and I butted heads
for years before learning that particular lesson.”
Dean rubbed his thumb over the larger center stone, muted with years of
dirt and decay. “You’re right. When I’m gone, they’ll need to pull
together.”
“That wasn’t what I meant, Dean.”
Dean recognized the calm, patient tone, knew it was partially forced
and appreciated that Mackland was working hard to distract him. Still,
he found it difficult to pull his gaze from the darkness, even when the
doctor touched his hand to reclaim his attention. “You were telling me
about what happened when Rose had the amulet.”
“Right.” The younger hunter lifted the necklace in question. Being left
alone with Mackland meant he would provide the debriefing. It wasn’t as
bad as he thought. Most of the details concerning Gideon’s death had
been filled in by Elijah, some facts like Dean’s new found ability with
the silver Dean left out. He wasn’t sure if the twins had mentioned it,
Mac didn’t bring it up, so Dean tabled it for another time. It wasn’t
as if their lives needed one more complication or maybe that was an
excuse and it wasn’t something that The Guardian was supposed to
discuss in order to keep up the mystery. That only left the information
about Rose to report. “It changed when she touched it.”
Mackland held out his hand for the pendant. “Changed how?”
Dean passed it to him with a shrug. “Damn thing turned shiny and new.
Instant bling.”
The doctor closed his fist around the necklace. “Really?”
“It was bright gold when she was holding it; the jewels were as red and
brilliant as polished rubies, the center stone lit up like some
starlet’s diamond on the red carpet.”
Mackland frowned. “I’m not reading anything from it, which is odd in
and of itself.” He ran the discolored chain through his fingers. “Most
objects give me something, some memory, some sensation. This piece
emits nothing. It’s like a black hole, cold.”
“Rose said it was made for ‘her’ kind, that she would know how to use
it better than Noah Seaver.”
“That would make sense, I suppose.”
Dean lifted his coffee, pausing to look at Mac before he took a drink.
“You think she could have used it to bring back old Yellow Eyes?”
Mackland rested the antiquity on the table. “I think the more important
issue is that Rose believed that she could.”
Dean sighed, letting the hot liquid chase away the chill Mackland’s
words had stirred. “You think she’ll try to get her hands on it again.”
“Unfortunately for us, I believe so. She’s shown herself to be rather
like an old penny. Hasn’t she?”
Dean toyed with his cup. The bitch definitely had a way of getting what
she wanted, wreaking havoc in the process. “What should we do?”
“We’ll keep it in The Tomb for now.”
“Will it be safe? Won’t this be one of the first places she wrecks?”
Mackland ran a finger over his brow. “This farm is on consecrated land,
Dean, protected by other means as well. There’s a reason Jim wasn’t
attacked on these premises. Why we never worried about you boys when
you were here.”
Dean thought back through the years. Even though there had been trials
and traumas at the farm, none of them had been supernatural in nature.
“So it should still be okay for Old Man Taylor to keep an eye on the
place, take care of the animals?”
Mackland nodded. “I can add some extra security if it will make you
feel better. But honestly, Jim took precautions. That’s why The Tomb
holds its share of powerful objects.”
“And the journals,” Dean said. “The Tomb holds all of The Brotherhood’s
history.”
“Speaking of which…” The doctor stood, going into the living room. He
returned carrying his briefcase, from which he pulled several items.
Among them were three worn leather bound diaries. He held the books out
to Dean. “Elijah thought you should have these.”
Dean hesitated, finally taking the tomes. “What are they?”
“Journals belonging to Daniel Wilmington’s Triad, including that of
Samuel Colt’s. Elijah decided you were the rightful owner, not Griffin.”
Dean ran his hand over the worn cover of the top journal. “Sammy will
have a field day.”
“Ethan also sent you one.” Mackland took his seat and Dean noticed a
weariness overcome the doctor. He watched with dread as The Scholar
handed him another book, this one dark crimson leather with a Celtic
cross embossed on the front. “It was Gideon’s.”
“Damn.” Dean rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Why did they think I should
keep it? I’m not The Guardian yet, Mac. Hell, I don’t even have a place
to keep them unless you count the trunk of the Impala.”
“That’s not true.” Mackland picked up a thick manila folder. “Jim saw
to that.”
Dean warily eyed the envelope, his thoughts traveling back to the last
time he’d seen the pastor. It had been during his coma after the car
wreck. Jim and Atticus had come to him in a dream. The preacher had
promised Dean would never be alone, and now it seemed the man was set
on continually surprising him posthumously. “I don’t understand.”
Mackland placed the parcel between them. “He left you everything, Son.
The farmland, the house, Harper Lee. His journal is in there, too. ”
The Beagle’s tail thumped against the linoleum at the sound of his
name. He was curled by Dean’s feet, under the table. The doctor smiled.
“Congratulations, you’re a homeowner and the proud proprietor of an
overweight, slothful Beagle.”
“What the hell am I going to do with a house, Mac? Or an old fat
hound?” Dean growled. Harper barked. “What was Jim thinking?”
“He was thinking of your best interests as always.” Mackland tapped the
package. “This is good news. I'm holding it in trust, but once we clear
your name it's all yours.”
“Really? Because it seems like one more thing Jim wasted on me.”
The Scholar shook his head. “Jim wanted you to have something to call
your own, Dean, a place to return to when all was said and done. This
isn’t some kind of string attached to the position of Guardian. Jim
would have left you the farm either way. He loved you.”
Dean met his gaze. “But what about Sammy and Caleb?”
The patient smile was back. Mackland squeezed his arm. “Son, you better
than anyone should know a house may put a roof over your head, but it’s
still merely a shelter. You’re their home, Dean. Jim knew that. He was
protecting their assets as well. He adored each of you, provided for
all three of you.”
“But the deal…”
“Doesn’t change anything.”
“It makes your job harder, Mac.” Dean knew the doctor too well. Above
all else Mackland was a pragmatist. He wasn’t a romantic like his son,
or a man of faith like Jim. He was a scientist, first and foremost. He
dealt in facts, and the facts about Dean were quite clear. “Don’t tell
me it doesn’t. Gideon’s gone and you no longer have a pinch hitter.”
“I won’t need one.”
Dean studied the books in front of him, the intimidating manila folder.
He didn’t want to read the doubt in the doctor’s gray gaze. “Is that
your heart or your head talking, Mac?”
“Both.”
The truthful answer brought his eyes back to Mackland’s. “I never
really let myself think about being The Guardian until this trip, you
know.” Despite the daunting aspects of the job, Dean felt a thrill at
the prospect of fulfilling the role, working alongside his brother and
Caleb as The Triad. It felt strange that he would have a destiny of his
own, one that went beyond his family’s need for revenge.
“It’s a huge responsibility. I know Jim believed he would have time to
spend with you when John’s quest was over. He was looking forward to
sharing all those mysteries he took great pleasure in keeping from us.”
A sad smile touched Mac’s face. “Besides his journals, he left you some
letters. They’re in the safe in The Tomb. I know it’s not the same, but
I hope it will provide some illumination that I can’t.”
“I appreciate everything you’ve done, Mac.”
“I wish it could be more.” The doctor’s gray eyes glistened. “When
Bobby called to tell me about Samuel…I’m ashamed to admit that I didn’t
know what to do. It was more paralyzing than Jim’s murder, your
father’s subsequent death." Mackland moved his hands to his coffee cup,
tightened his fingers around Miss Emma’s china. “Perhaps if I had acted
posthaste, called Caleb…”
Dean shook his head. “It wouldn’t have changed anything, Mac. Don’t
beat yourself up. This has nothing to do with you.” No one or nothing
could have stopped Dean from saving Sam.
“It has everything to do with me,” Mackland snapped. “It has to do with
Jim and your father. We were the adults in your life, The Triad, and
yet we failed you on some colossal level. Possibly failed you all.”
“You didn’t fail me. And you didn’t fail Sammy and Caleb.” Dean would
never see it that way. “You were always there when it mattered. You let
Damien hang out with us, even when I know you worried about Dad’s
tactics. You did more than you realize.”
Mackland looked down and swished the last bit of coffee in his cup.
“Obviously not enough.”
Dean moved his hand so that his fingers barely brushed against
Mackand’s. “You’re still here,” he said, softly.
Mackland gave him a watery smile. “For the long haul.”
Dean’s mouth twitched. “No running off to the land of eternal leis and
roasted pigs on a spit?”
The doctor’s brow marred in confusion. “Excuse me?”
“Hawaii.” Dean laughed, recalling the colorful description Caleb used
at Jocelyn’s when describing the retirement place of the previous
Scholar. “It has to be looking good right about now.”
Mackland shook his head, a smile returning. “Perhaps I’ll whisk Esme
there for a long vacation in a few years after you boys have officially
taken over as The Triad.”
Dean quirked a brow. “I hear it’s a romantic honeymoon spot.”
Mackland groaned. “Please don’t let Caleb hear you say that. I have a
feeling he won’t be speaking to me as it is.”
“He’ll come around, Mac.”
The doctor looked up. “You really believe that?”
Dean grinned, enjoyed throwing the doctor’s words back at him. “Yeah.
He’d do anything for you, even if it means suffering through something
as horrible as having Josh as a brother.”
“Caleb already has a brother. Two fine ones in fact.” Mackland pushed
the manila envelope Dean had avoided to the young hunter’s side of the
table. “I believe our family is quite perfect just the way it is. Don’t
you?”
Dean took the envelope, traced a finger over neat scrawl on the front.
It was his name in Jim’s handwriting. “Yeah. I do.” Now if they could
just find a way to stay together.
RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ
Caleb loved New York. The pulse of the city provided him an anonymity
he enthusiastically embraced. He could easily lose himself in the rush
of a crowd, one man wandering aimlessly in a hoard of people hotwired
to their Blackberries, hopped up on Starbuck’s finest, racing to a
thousand different destinations. It was so easy to disappear, to hide
in plain sight.
On the farm amongst the giant oaks and fragrant blue spruce he was
easily found. “Go away, Sam,” he said, before the kid could move into
the bubble of moonlight bathing the tree Caleb leaned against.
Caleb had sensed the other psychic before he heard him, the crunch of
pinecones under his feet a dead giveaway. A rookie mistake he knew Sam
made on purpose, wanting to offer him a moment to compose himself.
Leave it to Sam to be thoughtful, even as he planned an ambush.
“Are you okay?” Sam asked.
Caleb opened his eyes, his anger coming to the forefront of the
emotions rolling around just under the surface. “What the hell do you
think?”
Sam stepped into the light, hunched over with hands shoved in his
pockets. “I think you’re probably pissed.”
“Probably?” Caleb pushed off the tree. “Pissed doesn’t begin to cover
it.” He wasn’t sure there was even a word suitable for what he was
feeling. “You lied to me. All of you! ” His own family had kept him in
the dark. The two people he trusted most in the world…fucking lying
liars that lie. The lot of them.
Sam bit his lower lip, glanced down at the ground. “It was complicated.”
“Complicated?” Caleb moved closer to Sam, using all his restraint to
keep his hands from the younger hunter’s throat. “What’s complicated
about the truth, Sam?”
“Everything happened so fast. The demons were released, and then Dean
killed Yellow Eyes. We were here at the farm celebrating, then Vegas
and…”
“Vegas.” Caleb groaned, ran both hands through his hair. “What the hell
was Vegas?” He acted like an idiot by throwing booze, money and women
at the two younger hunters, giving them a vacation of a
lifetime-literally. “You and Deuce let me go on like some kind of fool.
I thought we were commemorating a victory for fuck’s sake. I thought
for once we’d come out ahead of those bastards. Made them pay for what
they did to our families. Was it some kind of sick last hoorah? A
twisted farewell? Were you just humoring me?”
“No. It wasn’t about you.” Sam stood straighter. “I thought Dean
deserved some time away, a vacation…”
Caleb laughed. “A vacation? You thought he deserved a vacation? Damn,
Sammy. Dean deserves a whole hell of a lot more than some flashy stay
in Sin City.”
“Don’t you think I know that? He gave up his life for me. I understand
all too well what Dean deserves.”
“Then why the hell didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t Bobby or Mackland
call me when you… I could have done something…anything.”
“I wish they would have called you,” Sam fired back. “I wish you would
have been there… stopped him. I wish I would have stayed dead. I wish
none of this was happening.”
Caleb felt the sharp sting of the words like a hard slap. “Shit,
Sammy.” He sank wearily to the ground, head in his hands. He hadn’t
begun to let himself think about the ramifications of what had truly
happened. Sam had died. It was too painful to wrap his mind around. Jim
and John’s deaths had been hard enough, but the boys were another level
of grief entirely. “I didn’t mean that. God, not the way it sounded.”
None of it was Sam’s fault. Not one fucking bit of it. “I’m so damn
glad you’re here…that you’re okay.” He couldn’t imagine losing either
of the Winchesters. Like he had told Dean earlier, it was his greatest
fear-failing John, failing them.
Caleb lifted his gaze when the younger hunter touched his shoulder.
“It’s okay,” Sam said quietly. “I know what you meant. It’s the whole
big brother dynamic. I’m glad you watch out for Dean. It’s obvious
someone needs to.”
“It is the big brother thing…but it’s not exclusive to Dean. I want to
protect both of you.”
“You didn’t fall down on the job. This is all my doing.”
“You didn’t do this, Sam. That yellow-eyed bastard did.” Caleb had a
fleeting thought of bringing the sonofabitch back just so he could kill
him again, this time much slower and more painfully than the bullet
Dean used. “But I am responsible. I’m supposed to be The Knight. You
and Dean are my priorities. I knew after Oliver was killed I was being
set up, pulled away for a reason. But there were no visions.”
There were a few nightmares, but he explained them away. The dreams had
made no sense. Caleb on the sandy shore of a beach, in the throes of a
violent storm, Sam and Dean called to him. They were in pain, needed
him. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t reach the water, the
wet coast providing mooring, holding him prisoner as the wrath of the
sea bore them away until Caleb could hear nothing but the pounding of
the waves, the hammering of his own heartbeat. He looked up at Sam. “I
thought I was just being paranoid after that bitch Meg murdered Moose’s
family. I should have paid more attention.”
Sam took a seat on the ground beside him, easing his injured leg out in
front. “I didn’t have a vision about Dad when…you know.”
Caleb appreciated the fact Sam was trying to let him off the hook, ease
his guilt. “Me neither. At least not until it was too late.” John had
sent him from the hospital like a glorified errand boy to fetch his
truck before the authorities could find it. But Caleb had felt his loss
the minute it had happened, one of the lifelines buoying him, suddenly
cut, gone forever.
“For a long time, I was so pissed. What good is it to be psychic if I
can’t save the people I love?” Sam tilted his head in a thoughtful
manner Caleb recognized. Tiny Einstein was taking over. “Then I started
thinking that maybe when demons are involved they can block our visions
or have us see what they want us to see.”
“Like we’re on the same wavelength and it creates a sort of blind
spot?” Caleb said.
Sam nodded. “Yeah. There was probably no way you would have known I was
in danger unless the yellow-eyed demon wanted you to know.”
“I guess that makes sense for me, Runt.” Caleb twisted his ring around
his finger. “Seeing as how my abilities are connected to theirs, but
you…your gift is different.”
“Why do you do that?” Sam’s voice edged up. “You find it so easy to see
yourself as one of them, but won’t even consider the possibility when
it comes to me - even though our abilities are so similar.”
Caleb frowned, not sure how the conversation had veered. “You're not
like me. . ."
"Maybe, I should be."
“What do you mean?”
Sam sighed. “Back in Cold Oak I knew there could be only one of us
left. That was the whole point of setting up the sick game. I knew it
had come down to me or Jake, but I…I was so afraid of becoming one of
them…I wanted to prove I was good, not evil. So I…I…”
“You what?”
“I couldn’t do it, Caleb,” Sam confessed. He lifted his hands in a
helpless gesture. “I had the chance. I could have killed Jake, but I
didn’t. I was weak, selfish and now Dean is going to suffer for it. ”
The older psychic took a deep breath, let it out slowly. “You wanted to
believe the best about Jake. You tried to do the right thing. That’s
who you are.” Caleb understood such honor could be a hindrance in a
war. Sometimes it didn’t matter how you survived, only that you did.
Kill or be killed. John had drilled him and Dean with that lesson.
Maybe they had shielded Sam from some realities too well. “Your
humanity sets you apart, Sammy.” Right or wrong, Caleb knew all too
well why they protected the other boy, keeping in him the things that
they couldn’t allow themselves-an emotional savings account. Dean was
stalwart in preserving the best of his brother - things like innocence,
kindness, and compassion. Sam was like a living legacy of what had been
stolen from Caleb and Dean as children.
“My humanity cost my brother his life. How screwed up is that?”
Caleb held his gaze, his chest tightening. Maybe they had made a
horrendous mistake, one Bobby had warned them about time and again.
This was their penance, Dean paying the ultimate price. “This deal…How
bad is it?”
Sam faced him, the moonlight casting a dark shadow across the planes of
his face. “Bad.” Caleb watched Sam’s eyes darken. “Dean said it’s
ironclad. If he tries to get out of it, I’m dead again. You know him,
Caleb. He won’t let that happen. He won’t risk me.”
He stared up at the night sky. “Yeah. I know him.” Captain One Helluva
Big Brother to the rescue. “He spent most of his life working up to
this finale.”
“Do you think we can stop it?”
Caleb was thoughtful for a moment, and then pointed above them. “You
see that limb?”
Sam was watching him carefully, as if he were afraid Caleb had reached
some breaking point. He nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
“I came out here for a reason.” Caleb licked his lips. “After Deuce’s
revelation … all I could think about was that time when he was about
nine. It was the middle of summer, hot enough to fry eggs on the front
porch, and Jim had the brilliant idea for us to pick blackberries for a
pie. Honestly, I think it was more to get us out of his hair for a
while than anything else.”
Caleb picked a few blades of grass, twined them around his finger.
“Dean bugged the piss out of me until I agreed to go. Traipsing through
the woods wasn’t exactly high on my teenage list of cool things to do.”
“I’d guess not,” Sam said.
“But we lucked out and found a couple of bushes that the bugs and birds
hadn’t beaten us to,” Caleb continued. “I turned to get the bucket,
took my eyes off of him for just a second, and when I turned back
around he had this huge ass rock in his hand.”
Sam looked up at the tree again, sudden realization dawning on his
face. “The hornet’s nest. This is where the bees stung Dean.”
Caleb tossed the remains of the shredded grass. “I’d told him to leave
the damn thing alone just seconds before. But there he was leg cocked,
arm drawn back like he was on a fucking pitching mound, eyes locked on
his target with fierce determination. My mind made the connection but
not soon enough. The instant I realized what he was about to do, was an
instant too late. He’d already went and done it.”
“I couldn’t even get a word out…just stood there frozen watching that
rock leave his hand, hurtle towards the intended target like a loaded
missile.” Caleb dropped his head. “The damn nest was on the ground,
cracked open like a smashed melon, bees swarming all around us, all
before I could even reach him.”
“But you saved his life then,” Sam said.
“That’s not the point, Sam. The point is, I saw it coming and didn’t
stop it. He got hurt. It’s like I’ve been watching this moment take
shape in slow motion for the last twenty years, and just like that
second with the bee’s nest, I was completely helpless to stop it.” He
met the younger man’s gaze. “And now he’s going to be hurt again, only
worse.”
“You can’t control everything.”
“I don’t want to control everything. I just want to be able to keep my
family safe.” Caleb wondered if that was how it was for Isaac Reaves,
and Thomas Reaves before him. He knew John Winchester had struggled
with the same overwhelming battle, and feared their failure was a fate
he couldn’t escape. “Is that asking too goddamn much?”
“No. I mean I hope not, because I want the same thing.”
“Yeah. I know you do.”
“We can’t lose him, Caleb.”
That went without saying, but the older psychic didn’t have a chance to
reply because a snapping of a twig in the distance had them both alert,
on their feet and in defensive positions. “Do you sense anyone?” Sam
asked.
Caleb moved in front of the younger Winchester, searching the shadowy
forest around them. “Mac and Dean are still in the house. Nothing
human…”
“It’s a dog,” Sam interrupted, moving around Caleb. “And it’s not
Harper Lee.”
Caleb grabbed his arm. “Then may I suggest we proceed with caution
seeing as how this place has wolves and wild dogs as well as your run
of the mill idle Beagle.”
Sam frowned as a loud whine echoed from a stand of pines to their
right. “Since when do rabid canines sound like that?”
“It could be a ploy.”
Winchester snorted. “Why don’t you reach out to it, see if you can get
a reading?”
“Why don’t you?” Caleb said. “Experience has taught me that the less
mind melding I do with our four-legged friends, the better.” He had
used his abilities with both Atticus Finch and Scout on occasions when
necessity demanded it. Animals were open conduits, more attuned than
children. Unfortunately, once you opened that door, they rarely forgot
how to find their way back. It could be inconvenient to say the least.
There were some things Sam was inevitably going to have to learn on his
own. “But, hey, knock yourself out Tarzan.”
Sam tilted his head, a sudden frown marring his face. “He’s hurt.” He
turned to the other hunter. “But I can’t actually sense anything else.”
Caleb sighed, gesturing to the trees. “Let’s check it out.” Like any
skill, Sam’s abilities still needed fine tuning. Then there was the
aspect where Caleb knew Sam held back. It was a struggle Caleb still
dealt with concerning his own gift. “We’ll work on the Jedi stuff
later.”
They didn’t have to go far before they found the dog. The overgrown pup
was beneath the spruce, sitting on its haunches. It stood as they
approached, tail swishing furiously, unafraid of their advance.
“Hey there,” Sam said, softly. More whining followed, the dog tilting
its head slightly to study the newcomers.
“I think he’s reading us,” Caleb said with a soft laugh.
Sam lifted a brow. “It’s a boy? Did you get that telepathically?”
“No.” Caleb pointed to the animal. “Anatomy class, freshman year.”
“Smart ass,” Sam grumbled, easing another step towards the dog, his
hand held low, open palmed.
“He looks starved.” Sam pointed out the concaved ribcage and rangy
body. “Some idiot probably dropped him off on the road.”
Caleb moved alongside Sam, mimicking his actions. “Check out the trap.”
The older psychic gestured to the dog’s left paw. “Fucking hunters
after coyotes or the few rogue wolves still around.”
“Jim used to sweep the place for them. I guess since he’s been gone no
one’s taken the time.” Sam stopped short of touching the dog, instead
letting the pup stretch his nose out to him. When a wet pink tongue
slid across his fingers, Sam assumed it safe.
“Looks like your new friend has a nose for trouble,” Caleb said,
bending down to study the steel jaws.
“Or just wanted a meal.” Sam kicked at a piece of rotting bait lying
near the trap.
“At least it’s rubber-lined. The bastards weren’t completely heartless.
Looks like he’s done more damage trying to get it off than the trap
actually did.” Caleb jutted his chin to the dog. “Make sure Cujo
doesn’t take my hand off while I work on the spring coil.”
“He made out better than Dean did that time,” Sam said. He ran his hand
over the dog’s head in a soothing manner. “Those steel claws did a
number on his ankle.”
“I’d almost forgotten about that.” Caleb pressed the lever to release
the trap, smirked at Sam. “Thanks for the reminder of yet another time
when Deuce ran headlong into a disaster.”
Sam smiled. “Would it help to point out that you saved him then, too?”
“I think you were in on that particular rescue, Runt.”
“I guess we make a good team,” Sam said.
“We’ve had our moments.”
“We can save him again, Caleb. I know it.”
“We don’t have a choice.” Caleb refused the alternative. Imagining John
in Hell had been torturous. The thoughts of Dean suffering a similar
fate were beyond him. “But what about this guy?”
Sam studied the dog, who upon being released had wormed his way under
Sam’s arm. “We have to take him home with us.”
Caleb shook his head. “Do you remember that you live out of a black
muscle car and my apartment poses as more of a weigh station than home?”
“I mean the farm. Jim would want us to.”
Caleb refrained from pointing out that Jim was no longer there to offer
sanctuary to every stray in the area. “I suppose Jim would want us to
pick a name for him too, something from To Kill a Mockingbird perhaps?”
“That’s a great idea.” Sam nodded. “How about Boo? Boo Radley?”
Caleb laughed at how quickly Sam thought of a name as if he had been
waiting for just such an opportunity to get a pet. He’d only been half
serious, but the look on Sam’s face was so earnest and childlike that
he couldn’t recant now. “It’s a hell of a lot better than Dill.”
RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ
Dean heard the bang of the porch screen door followed by Caleb and
Sam’s voices. He closed his eyes briefly, a relieved sigh escaping him.
Mackland had retreated to the library, leaving Dean alone with the
‘what ifs’ and the ‘should haves.’ He turned in his seat, picked up one
of the journals, trying not to look like a nervous parent waiting for
the kids to return home.
Sam entered first, but Caleb wasn’t on his heels. Instead a large beast
of a dog sauntered in after the younger Winchester. The animal looked
like a cross between a Labrador and Golden Retriever, maybe something
else thrown in for good measure. His fur was dirty and matted, but
appeared to be the color
of wheat underneath all the grime. The eyes were chocolate brown, clear
and anxious to please. Despite the size, Dean guessed he or she was
more pup than grown.
Dean turned in his seat, grabbing Harper Lee’s collar as the Beagle
growled low in his throat, hair standing up along the ridge of his
broad back. “What the hell is that?” Dean asked, voicing Harper Lee’s
sentiment.
“Not a that,” Sam said. “He’s a who.”
Dean tightened his hold on the Beagle as Harper bared his teeth. “A
who?”
The pup whined, limping towards Dean and the other dog with front paw
held high. He was dripping blood on Jim’s clean floor.
“Actually, it’s Boo.” Caleb stepped into the kitchen. Dean watched him
kneel beside the dog; murmur something to the pup before pointing to
Harper Lee. “Don’t worry, Harper. Dean will get him a pillow of his
own.”
The Beagle growled again, lowering his head protectively over the lump
of a squirrel squeaky toy passed down from Atticus Finch to Scout then
bequeathed to Harper.
“And a furry fake friend to slobber on as well,” Caleb said, reaching
out to tug on one of the Beagle’s floppy ears.
That seemed to satisfy Harper and Dean let him go to sniff out the new
dog. “What did you two do? We don’t need another…”
“Boo,” Sam supplied. He kept his hand on the pup’s head. “Not as in a
ghost ‘Boo,’ although that’s also kind of fitting. But Boo as in Boo
Radley-from To Kill a Mockingbird.”
“I know who Boo Radley is, Sam,” Dean said, instantly recognizing yet
another name from Jim’s favorite book. Boo Radley was the mythic
reclusive neighbor, who became a reluctant hero in the end of the tale.
He looked at Caleb. “Which one of you literary geniuses came up with
that original concept?”
Caleb shrugged, continuing to pet the dog. “We thought Jim would
approve.”
Dean snorted. “You went out for a walk and come back with a stray dog.
Yeah, Jim would have found that amusing.” It had ‘Sammy’ written all
over it.
“We saved him,” Sam said.
The older Winchester folded his arms over his chest, his brother
confirming his assumption. “Saved him? From what, Samantha? A large mud
puddle?”
Sam gestured to Boo’s paw. “No. He was tangled up in a fox trap.”
Dean clenched his jaw, kneeling down to inspect the damage.
“Sonofabitches give hunting a bad name.” He knew firsthand what it felt
like to step into one of the barbaric things. Boo licked his hand as
Dean ran his fingers along the pups leg and paw. “He’s lucky you two
found him.”
“It appears Sammy and I make a pretty good team.” Caleb met Dean’s
gaze. “Boo seemed to be in a bad spot and we thought the farm could use
some new blood. That the new Guardian might need a new guard dog.”
The pup moved from bathing Dean’s hand to licking his face in a slow
deliberate pace. “Yeah. Because Boo here seems pretty vicious.” Dean
moved the dog’s head and gently let go of his paw. “This looks like a
job for Dr. Doolittle.”
Caleb stood. “I was thinking the same thing.”
Sam frowned. “Mac hates it when anyone calls him that.”
“That’s why you’re going to ask him, Runt.”
“No way.” Sam raised his hands, backing away. “You’re his son.”
Dean pointed at his brother. “But he likes you best, Sammy.”
Sam narrowed his eyes. “But he’s your dog, Dean. We’re giving him to
you.”
“Surprise, surprise, but I already have a dog.” Dean pointed to Harper,
who had quickly bored of the sniffing and was now softly snoring, head
resting on his squeaky squirrel. “However geriatric and lump-like he
is. And besides, you talked Mac into patching up that overgrown rat
when you were ten. This thing should be a piece of cake.”
“It was a baby possum,” Sam clarified. “His name was Splinter. And your
new dog’s name is Boo. Boo Radley.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Tell that to Mac. Maybe he’ll give you a mutual
Scholar’s discount for creativity.”
Sam opened his mouth to argue further, but Caleb cut him off. “Just do
it, Sammy. You and Boo both turn on the wounded puppy looks and Dad
will tumble off his renowned neurosurgeon’s pedestal and do his lowly
veterinarian imitation. I need to talk to your brother.”
“Whatever.” Sam patted his leg for the dog to follow him. “Come on,
Boo.” The pup happily limped off behind the young hunter, Harper Lee
waking long enough to join them, mound of gray knotted fur clasped
firmly in his teeth.
“So.” Dean looked at Caleb once they were alone. “You’re still talking
to me?”
Caleb made his way to the table, took a seat without answering.
Dean sighed, pulling out a chair for himself. He flipped the seat
around, straddled it, resting his arms on the back as he regarded his
best friend. “Or not.” Dean wasn’t used to Caleb being angry at him, or
whatever the hell Damien was feeling towards him at the moment. He
wished not for the first time that Caleb had embraced his inner bastard
and decked him when he had the chance.
“She was pregnant.”
It wasn’t even in the same ballpark as what Dean had been expecting.
For a moment he worried his confession had sent his best friend over
some invisible edge. The unfamiliar, gut twisting look on Caleb’s face
told him it was something else entirely. “Say again.”
“My mom was pregnant when he murdered her.”
Dean’s chest tightened, his mind taking an unwilling detour into his
own past. A flash of his mom on the ceiling, the echo of her terror
filled cries had him blinking. “Oh.”
“I was only six, but I remember it. The sound of the waves-the smell of
brine. The look on her face as she went down.”
Dean cleared his throat. “You don’t have to do this now, Damien.”
Caleb held his gaze. “Yes, I do. I should have told you a long time
ago…after the whole Wendigo incident.” He took a quick breath. “My Dad
and I were building this house of cards, which is pretty damn ironic if
you think about it now, huh?”
Dean didn’t say anything, unable to find any humor or mirth in the face
of Caleb’s pain.
“Anyway,” Caleb continued. “We built this house and my mom decided it
needed a family to be complete. So, I used cards from the deck to do
the job. The King and Queen of Hearts for her and Dad, the Jack of
Spades for me...”
Caleb hesitated and Dean struggled to help him along. “Black’s a good
color,” he said.
Caleb’s mouth twitched. “It’s a mixture of all the colors actually.”
“Good to know.”
The psychic licked his lips, started the story again. “So Dad proceeded
to dig through the pile, telling me I forgot one. He pulls out the
Deuce of Spades...” Caleb studied his hands, twisted the silver ring on
his finger. “I thought I was getting a dog for Christmas.”
Dean watched him place his palms flat on the table, stopping the
fidgeting motion. “But it turns out it was something even better.”
He lifted his gaze to Dean. “They didn’t know if Mom was having a boy
or girl, so Dad picked the Deuce card, because it’s always wild,
anybody’s guess. I slept with that damn card under my pillow,
hoping…praying I’d get a little brother.” Caleb swallowed thickly. “But
instead everything was taken away.”
“Caleb…”
“But then you showed up, and it was like another chance to get it
right. I swore I’d watch out for you-that I wouldn’t let anything or
anyone hurt you.”
Dean shook his head, hearing the guilt between the lines. “Dude, you
didn’t do anything wrong the first time. There was nothing you could
have done to save your mom or the baby. You were just a little kid.”
“You were just a little kid and you saved Sammy.”
Dean opened his mouth unsure of a rebuttal, but desperately needing to
say something to change the look on Caleb’s face.
“I know it’s not the same,” Caleb said. “I know I’m not your brother.
But you have to understand, Deuce, for the last twenty years, in every
way that matters to me, you’ve been mine.”
Dean didn’t get a chance to refute Caleb’s belief, an opportunity to
tell him that it was the same for him. Before he could speak Damien’s
gold eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched. “It’s why I’m so fucking mad at
you for lying to me. You should have told me that first night we were
back here at the farm. Hell, you should have called me when Sam first
disappeared.”
Despite the wave of guilt the words brought, Dean was grateful for the
more familiar ‘good and pissed off’ look Caleb was now sporting. Anger
he could deal with, hurt he could not. “It wasn’t a lie, exactly. More
like need to know information.” Surely Damien couldn’t refute the code.
“If it concerns you and Sammy, then I need to know. If you don’t
respect the time we’ve spent together the last two decades, the
friendship I thought we had, you better damn well respect my position
as The Knight.”
Dean shook his head. Besides Sammy, Caleb was the most important person
in his life. He held their relationship sacred. “Dude, I didn’t know
how to tell you.”
“You didn’t want to tell me, Deuce. There’s a difference.”
“You’re right,” Dean said. “I didn’t want to tell you.” He might not
have known the exact details of why Caleb called him Deuce, but he
understood perfectly how Caleb felt about him. He’d used it to his
advantage over the years, but never once did he doubt it or take it for
granted. “I didn’t want to disappoint you.”
“Shit, Deuce.” Caleb exhaled heavily. “You could never disappoint me.
I’ve always been proud of you, fucking idiot. Nothing could change
that.” He reached out and wrapped his fingers around Dean’s forearm.
“You should have trusted me.”
“I do trust you. I was afraid if you came…”
“That I would have stopped you.”
Dean nodded. “That you would have at least tried.” He had lost Sam and
was in a dark place. He didn’t want to lose Caleb too-to put him at
risk.
Caleb ran a hand through his hair. “I sure as hell would have bargained
for a better deal.”
Dean quirked a brow. “It was better than the one Dad worked out. At
least we still have a year together.”
“You mean we have a year to get you out of this mess.”
“Caleb…”
“Don’t.” Caleb held up a hand. “I won’t risk Sammy. But you can’t
expect me to sit back and do nothing after what you did to save Sam.
I’m not above using a little Jim Murphy logic either, Kiddo. From one
big brother to another, you have to understand that.”
“I can’t be a part of it. I can’t know anything about it.”
“Like I said, Sammy and I make a good team.” Caleb tightened his
fingers, squeezing Dean’s wrist. “You're going to be okay. I promise.”
Dean wanted to believe that, but if losing his father and Sam, watching
Gideon die had taught him anything, it was that there were no
guarantees for a tomorrow. “Damien…about what you said earlier, about
the whole ‘Deuce’ thing…”
Caleb released his arm, withdrew his touch as if he had been burned.
“Enough confessions for tonight, Deana. I’m over the chick-flick drama.”
“But…”
“You should go on upstairs, before Sammy tries to give Boo a bubble
bath, or worse gives him your bed. I might have just proclaimed my
undying fraternal love, Dude, but I’m not sleeping with you.”
Dean stared at him, amazed that in one smart-assed comment, Caleb could
return their equilibrium. “You let him bring the beast home. If he’s
taking anyone’s blankets, it should be yours.”
“I’m the oldest.”
“That’s so lame.” He stood up, flipped the chair backed around and
tucked it back under the table.
“But a classic.”
“Whatever,” Dean said, mimicking his little brother’s acquiescence from
earlier. He gestured to the pile of things Mackland had left. “But I
have to put these in The Tomb first. Mac’s already cracking down on The
Guardian gig.” Dean stretched out for the amulet and the journals.
Caleb waved him on. “Go ahead. I’ll put them away for you.”
Dean put his hands up, unable to resist the grin that slid across his
face. “Is the big bad Knight going to come tuck me in too?”
“It’s tempting; but so is the leash and tracking device.” Caleb piled
the journals neatly, placing a hand on them as if they were Bibles.
“Careful, Damien. That whole ‘super sibling’ mojo can make you do some
crazy shit.” Dean patted his chest.
“You would know, Captain One Helluva Big Brother.”
“Damn straight.” Dean nodded. “I wrote the book.”
RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ
Caleb watched Dean go, waited until he heard the first stair creak
before focusing on the items in front of him. He zeroed in on his
great-grandfather’s amulet. “That’s why I hope you’ll understand,
Deuce,” he said softly.
Caleb picked up the pendant, watched with resolve as the mottled metal
turned new again with his touch. Clouded crystals glistened wet and
shiny as fresh blood. Blackness rolled off the center stone like fog
from a river, revealing the pulsing diamond below.
“I have to save you.” Caleb fisted his hand over the amulet, wincing at
the icy burn. He shoved it deep into his pocket. “No matter what it
takes.”
RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ
ETA: This story will be continued in Offerings and Takings by Tidia.
Home
Uploaded by Majs