The Enemy of my Enemy

By: Ridley

Dean shoved the barrel of the gun away from him, letting the rifle slip from his hand.

A euphoric feeling of relief spread throughout his body as the intense pressure in his head disappeared. He took a shaky breath, curling in on himself as he tried to get the adrenaline rush under control.

A cold sweat had him shivering in the darkness. He struggled not to let the bile, creeping up the back of his throat, make an appearance with his gourmet convenience store lunch in tow. He had nearly righted himself when the unexpected ringing of his cell was nearly the final straw for his trembling arms.

With much effort, the hunter managed to keep his face out of the dirt and pull the distraction from his jacket pocket. “Yeah?” he choked out.

“Stop! Don't you dare do it!” A frantic plea burst through the phone. Dean winced, pulling the cell slightly away from his ear.

“Caleb?” He managed, shoving himself up straighter, his eyes instantly going to the group of people below him. Damn it. Sam was still down.

The voice burst through the phone again, seeming amplified due to the abuse his overtaxed central nervous system had endured. “Deuce…So help me God if you take yourself out of the game, I will hunt your ass down into the bowels of hell and…”

“Dude…chill.” Dean brought a shaky hand to his aching head before bending over to pick up the discarded weapon. He struggled to his feet. “I'm not suicidal!”

“You telling me you're not on a ridge with a fucking hunting rifle?”

Winchester sighed, still trying to calm his racing heart, as he decided the quickest route to get him back to his brother. “Of course I'm on a ridge with a hunting rifle,” he muttered. “You're the fucking Hank Aaron of psychics, aren't you?”

“Deuce? What the hell is going on?”

He didn't have time to play twenty questions with Reaves, no matter how shaken the other man sounded. “Some freaky Jedi mind-control is what's going on. But it's over now. The evil Obi-wan is dead and I'm good. I'll call you back.”

Winchester hung up the phone and half ran-half slid down the dense foliage covered slope that would take him to his brother. Sam had made it to his knees by the time he reached him, his head buried in his hands.

“Hey,” The older Winchester skidded to a halt beside of him, laying a steadying hand on his back. “You okay, little brother?”

Sam lifted his head with a start. The look of all-consuming agony and grief, mixed with physical pain stole the blond hunter's breath. “Dean? Oh, God. I saw…You…I thought…”

“Hey…hey…,” Dean shushed him, moving his hand to the side of his brother's face. “Take it easy. I'm good.” He lied. Just watching Sam be clobbered by the mind-controlled Barbie was bad enough, but nearly committing suicide and leaving the kid alone had almost driven him over that proverbial edge. And now to know Sam's mental movie projector had apparently let him see the same thing Caleb had been privy to… “How you doing?” So much for watching out for Sammy.

Sam looked at him with watery, blood-shot eyes. He wrapped his hands in the front of his jacket, taking a deep, shaky breath. “You sure you're okay?” The recent grief was back with a vengeance and Dean sighed heavily.

He forced a grin, patted his brother's cheek. “Do you see a hole in my head, Sammy? I'm as handsome as ever. No harm done.”

The younger man winced, nearly collapsing against the older Winchester. He let his forehead rest against his brother's chest. “Thank God.” He tried to get his breathing under control, desperately needing to erase the image of Dean's shattered skull from his mind. What was with his brother and head shots?

“But what about you, dude? You're not going to puke on me are you?”

Sam laughed, tightening his hold on the other man. He had gone from listening to Andy's evil twin prattle on about an amazing plan the man with the gold eyes had for them all, to seeing his brother's death flash before his eyes. Yeah, he was doing just great. “I'm okay,” Sam finally replied.

Dean let his hands rest on his brother's shoulders, giving him a moment to pull it together, while he took the time to check the younger man out. There was blood seeping from somewhere underneath Sam's long hair and some nasty-looking bruising on the right side of his neck.

The older Winchester forced his eyes away from his brother long enough to focus on Andy, who was still holding the proverbial smoking gun Sam had lost. The poor guy looked shell-shocked, but his twin looked a whole hell of a lot worse. Webber's brains were painted across the side of his car, some of the gore splattered on Sammy, too.

Dean suddenly needed to get them up off the ground and away from the dead psychic. “Sammy, can you stand?”

Sam nodded; let his brother help him to his feet. He wobbled like a newborn foal for a moment. Dean kept a hold of him until he was steady.

“Andy?” Sam moved his gaze to the other kid, and then to Tracy, who was sitting curled into herself, crying.

“I'm okay,” the boy finally answered, letting the gun drop from his hand to land with an ominous thud on the ground.

It wasn't the safest option, but Dean still felt relieved the psychic was now weaponless.

“Damn,” Sam hissed, his eyes landing on Webber, lingering on the bloody mess.

“Hey,” Dean turned him around. “This wasn't your fault.”

The twenty-three-year-old looking at him was suddenly five again. “He killed his brother.” Sam said quietly, and the older hunter wished he could turn back time, protect them all from what had happened.

“No, he killed a monster.”

The dark haired hunter frowned. “He was his brother.”

Dean knew what he was saying. Understood exactly where his baby brother's guilt-susceptible mind was taking him. He moved so he was blocking the view of Webber's body and squeezed his brother's shoulder again.

“Not like us, kiddo.” He glanced back over his shoulder, watching as Andy spoke softly into his phone. The kid looked so calm, so detached. His eyes went back to Sam's glassy-gaze. “You're nothing like Webber. They are nothing like us.”

His brother finally seemed to see him, not some visceral mess. He slowly nodded, swallowed thickly. “I'd die first.” Sam said, softly, and Dean knew exactly what he was talking about.

Although he was touched by the sentiment, the idea his brother could ever be faced with such a choice terrified him. “Forget about it. Nothing bad is going to happen to you.”

Sam let his gaze drift back to Andy's brother, and then to his own once more. “I have an edge.”

Dean let a small smile creep onto his face. “Damn straight.” He gave Sam a small shove.

“Now let's get you cleaned up before the cops show.”


The last place he had wanted to return to was the roadhouse, but Ellen had said it was important…about the demon. And Dean hadn't been able to resist.

Now, he wished he had listened to that little voice telling him to drive as fast as he could in the opposite direction, to get Sammy as far away as possible. Later, he would look back on that moment as the beginning of the end. Still…the booze was free.

Jo had just leaned across the bar to pour him another shot, when his cell rang. Sam gave him a questioning look, and he shrugged. “Reeva,” He mouthed loud enough for the girl to hear. She huffed and backed off, but not out of ear shot, Dean noticed.

The phone rang again. He bobbed his eyebrows at his brother, before answering. “Hey, sweetheart.”

“Sweetheart?” The voice that came through was definitely not feminine or friendly. “Are you wasted?”

“No. But I was thinking about heading that way later, actually.” Dean rolled his eyes as Jo actually began to pout. “Where are you, babe?”

“I'm outside this miserable shack masquerading as a bar, darlin'. So get your weird ass out here. It's fucking cold.”

“Need someone to keep you warm, huh?”

“You sure you don't have a head wound, Deuce?”

Dean kept the smile plastered on his face, although he was silently kicking himself for not remembering to call the psychic back. “No, I'm good, cupcake. Hold on and I'll get us some privacy.”

Sam was looking at him as if he had just grown a second head, but he continued to smile as he motioned to the door. “I'm going to take this outside, Sammy.”

“Right,” his brother watched him go, feeling the twin gazes on him before he even turned back to the woman and her young daughter.

“What's with him?” Jo asked.

Sam shrugged “Young love.” He picked up the shot his brother had abandoned and tossed it back. “May it always be a mystery.”

Reeva was right. It was fucking freezing outside.

The wind stung Dean's face as he exited the roadhouse. He pulled his jacket in tighter around him as he caught site of the haunting truck parked near the Impala.

It was still weird to see his Dad's vehicle, and not find his father behind the wheel. But watching Caleb Reaves slip from inside the cab sent a wave of something close to safety washing over him and suddenly it wasn't quite as cold.

The big hunter slammed the door, stepped to the front of the black beast. He rubbed his hands together, gave the blond a hard look that spoke volumes. “Deuce, what the hell are you doing here?”

“Ellen called us.”

“Yeah? I called you, too. You didn't call me back.” Reaves looked around. “I told you to stay away from this place.”

Dean's brow furrowed. “Are you keeping tabs on us now?”

Caleb glared at him. “Not more than six hours ago, I saw you put a fucking sniper's rifle under your chin- scatter your brains all over the fucking woods.”

Dean's face softened, he raked a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Sorry for the horror show.”

The psychic looked him up and down, making sure he really was in one piece. He shook his head, shoving his hands deep into his coat pockets. “You should be.” The dark haired hunter grinned slightly, leaning back against the front of the truck. “If you could have seen the brunette I was with when your death interrupted me…”

Dean joined him, letting the residual warmth of the engine chase away more of the chill, the companionship killing off the rest. “Hey, at least I saved one poor girl from your advances.”

Reaves laughed, but it rang hollow. “Do I need to save you from someone else's advances?”

Dean cut his eyes to the older hunter, recognizing the mask of indifference for the concern it was. “I'm playing it cool, man.”

Caleb looked towards the bar in the distance. “Make sure you do.”

Dean raised his hand. “Scout's honor. I'm not that stupid, or desperate.” When Reaves favored him with a skeptical look, the younger hunter groaned. “What? You want to come in and see for yourself?”

“I'm not going in there.” Reaves shook his head.

“You afraid of Ellen, too?”

The psychic raised a brow. “Maybe. I hear she's rough.”

“Sam seems to like her.” He let his gaze go back towards the road house. “She says she wants to help.”

“Help who?” Caleb growled. “And what the hell does Sammy know? He once tried to make friends with a werewolf.”

“True.” Dean sighed. “But she seems legit.”

“Are you sure about that?”

He eyed the psychic. “She says there's a war coming.”

“She's right.”

“She says that we all need to work together. No secrets.”

At that Reaves laughed again, but this time it was filled with mirth. He raised his head to the night sky. “And you choose 'this' woman to be upfront with, kid. What the hell are you thinking?”

“I'm thinking that the enemy of my enemy is my friend.” Dean looked earnestly to Reaves. “Sun-tzu.”

Caleb frowned at him. “Yeah, I've read John's Bible, too, kid. Try this one out,’ Warfare is the way of Deception'.”

The younger hunter sighed, looked away.

Reaves angled his body, and leaned into the grill. He reached out, wrapped his fingers around the other hunter's forearm, giving it a slight squeeze. “That whole mutual alliance thing only works if you know who the 'enemy' is, Deuce.” The psychic waited for the younger man's gaze to travel from his hand to meet his eyes again. “We've yet to see his true face.”

“Or faces?” Dean asked, hoping his friend wouldn't give the answer he didn't want to hear.


“You really think they're involved.” Dean jutted his chin towards the road house.

Caleb sighed. “All I know is there was a reason John stopped coming here-cut off all contact. He never brought you or Sammy here.” The psychic shook his head. “Hell, the one time he brought me, he ordered me to sit in the fucking truck.”

The younger hunter frowned. “Been that long ago?”

Caleb snorted. “Dude-I was thirty.”

Dean laughed then, a familiar ache pounding in his chest. His gaze fell to the ground, he scooted his boot around in the dirt. “Maybe he was afraid of what Jo would do to you.”

Reaves snorted. “Maybe. He sure was pissed when I sauntered on in, asked for a beer.”

Dean looked at him then. “Do you think Dad had a thing with Ellen?”

“What?” Caleb's smile faded quickly. “No fucking way. Your dad never got over your mom. And, plus, he could do a lot better than her.”

Dean nodded. “That's what I said.”

“Although…I think Bobby had a running tab here once.”

Winchester cut his eyes to Reaves. “That's scary.”

“You're telling me.”

A comfortable silence surrounded them for a long moment, but finally Dean asked the million dollar question. “Why do you think Dad didn't want you to go in?”

“The other hunters, maybe?” Caleb shrugged. “The fact that I was a freak? Take your pick.”

Sometimes the way their minds worked in similar fashion scared the shit out of Dean. He didn't want his own fears confirmed, especially since that meant he had already screwed up. “But a lot of hunters are psychic. In the Brotherhood…”

Caleb cut him off. “Deuce, these people aren't exactly card-carrying members of the Brotherhood.” He lifted his hand, silver ring flashing in the moonlight. “They're hunters, and that's about it.”

“I don't get it.”

“It's complicated-like I explained about Gordon. Just don't let your guard down. Don't let Sam go all smiling, Golden Retriever on them.”

Dean looked away. “He hasn't has he?” Reaves demanded, a cold knot of dread unfurling in the pit of his stomach. “Deuce?”

“He told Ellen about his abilities. Jo was in there, too.”

“What the fuck were you thinking?” The psychic exploded, sounding way too much like John Winchester.

The younger hunter glared at him. “Me? I told him to keep his mouth shut.” He shook his head, when Reaves continued to stare at him. “You know Sammy. You pegged it yourself…big, goofy, warm brown-eyes, mop-like hair. I'm surprised he hasn't licked one of them yet.”

“Goddamnit, Dean!” Caleb palmed his eyes, raked a hand over his slight five o'clock shadow. “Your dad would…”

“What?” It was Dean's turn to snap. “What would Dad do, Damien?”

Reaves closed his mouth, dropped what he was about to say as the feelings Dean was experiencing pierced his defenses. “Because he's not here, and I would really love to know what brilliant plan he would come up with. I wish to hell he was here to tell me what to do about Sammy, because I don't have a fucking clue, man.”

“Dean.” It came out sounding as loaded as the weapons they both were packing.

The younger man glanced up, curious at the completely unfamiliar tone, and the rare use of his given name. “What?”

“Don't feed me that line of bull. You never needed your dad to figure out how to take care of Sam. Not even when you were a kid. I'm not sure you ever trusted anybody with that job.” Caleb licked his lips, studied Dean for a moment. He was picking up the anxiety the younger hunter was feeling, the uncharacteristic sense of insecurity, and he wished like hell you knew how to fix it. Dean was afraid for his brother. “I know the old man dying has shaken you. I know you miss him, but this…” He looked at the bar. “These people are not the answer.”

Dean thought he saw a hint of something he recognized as hurt flash through the amber eyes, but it was gone too quickly. He had no fucking doubt the other man was reading him. So much for secrets or the game face. “I can't do this alone, man. ” Winchester shook his head. “His visions are worse. I can't do anything for him…the pain.” The blond clenched his jaw, fisted his hands. “It's killing me to watch it.” He'd never been able to stand seeing his brother hurting, and since losing their dad, it was worse.

Reaves nodded. “He can learn to deal with it, Deuce. You know that. I did. It'll take practice, but he can learn not to fight it. Sam's not alone in this.” Caleb glanced away, cleared his throat. “Neither are you.”

“Does that mean I can expect more of these late night rendezvous?” The blond hunter cocked an eyebrow. “Because people are going to start to talk.”

Caleb snorted. “Let's just say that I have it on good authority that you and Sam are being watched after.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Another premonition?”

Reaves rolled his shoulders, straightened to his full six-two height. “Hey, you hit it on the head when you called me Hank Aaron.” He shot the younger man a cocky-grin. “Although, I would have said Ryan Howard.”

The younger hunter gave him a ‘you wish’ smirk. “I better get back; this was supposed to be a quickie.” Dean pushed off from the truck.

Caleb nodded. “Five minutes, damn, you better practice your phone sex.”

Dean snorted, and lifted his middle finger in response. He started to walk away when Reaves called out to him, held up a hand for him to hold up.

The psychic circled around to the passenger’s side of the truck, opening the door. He pulled out a plastic bag and started back towards Dean. “Here.” He shoved the package towards the younger man. “Christmas is just around the corner and I might not see you guys.”

Winchester took the gift, but looked at Caleb as if he were possessed. “The last time you got me something for Christmas I was six and Mac made you give me one of your presents.”

Reaves rolled his eyes. “Maybe I’m getting in touch with my sensitive side.” He watched as Dean tore the paper away to reveal a new lap top computer. The psychic glanced towards the bar again. “Tell Geek Boy he can stay away from that freak with the really bad mullet now.”

Winchester looked at him, not really sure what to say. “Thanks, Damien.”

The psychic nodded. “Remember what I said, Deuce, there can only be victory when we know the enemy.” Caleb grinned at him. “And I sure as hell don’t mean ‘know’ in the Biblical sense.”

Dean shook his head as he watched his friend return to the truck, flicking the headlights on as he backed out of the lot. The young hunter covered his eyes from the shine, and moved his gaze to the roadhouse. A feeling of wariness engulfed him. It was damn unfortunate Sun-tzu had never given advice on psychic brothers, demons and the whole supernatural craziness. He could sure use a guidebook right about now.

Onto Chapter 2
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