Author’s Note: My own request: I would ask everyone to please answer a question to help me decide the next step.

1. Is there any interest in the back story of Duran Hughes? (The man whom Caleb Reaves hated in “The Line” By Ridley C. James.) There had been some innuendo regarding how Duran viewed the fifteen year old…but, I’m not sure how it would be viewed by readers?

2. Is there anything else (Another storyline) you wanted to read in the ‘series’?

Please note: I’m not promising anything, request-wise, but if it’s an interesting storyline…I may be convinced to write it. Hint hint…

Also, I’ve decided, for my own sanity—I’m going to veer off the official time-line, if the need arises.

Chapter Note: Again, jumping around timeline-wise to Mid-In My Time of Dying.

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Chapter Five: In Your Time of Dying
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Middle of In My Time of Dying. Sequel to The Long Way Back & The Truth Shall Set You Free By Ridley C. James

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Caleb groaned. "I'm going back to Johnny's room before you break out in song."
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November 2006

Caleb Reaves left his best friend’s room before he lost it. He’d tried hard to keep himself from falling apart in front of the runt. By joking around, he could keep everything from crashing down on top of his head, as it had been threatening to do for the past few weeks. Tears stung his eyes, Deuce was going to die. When he’d touched his ankle, he knew that it would be only a matter of time. His spirit was weak, barely even there. Caleb walked towards his mentor’s hospital room with a broken heart, wondering how things had gone so bad, so quickly.

He’d been working on a hunt in Lincoln, Nebraska with Daniel Carey, not a member of the Brotherhood, but a friendly contact when he’d received a vision of that crazy demon bitch—Meg slitting Pastor Jim’s throat in his church. He’d tried to reach the older man by phone, with no success. He pulled out of the hunt last minute, leaving Daniel in Lincoln on his own. In his panic, he’d failed to warn the man of the demon threat. And now, Celeste Carey was a widow, and their six year old daughter no longer had a father.

Caleb rubbed his face roughly. If he’d known that Meg would try to hunt him… He took in a deep breath. Allowing himself to be emotional right now wouldn’t help matters. It wouldn’t bring Pastor Jim back; it wouldn’t heal Deuce; All it would do would reduce his ability to concentrate—stress all of his resources until he was exhausted. No, it surely wouldn’t help anyone. Not when the demons waged war against them.

He’d run to Blue Earth, Minnesota as if hell itself were chasing him—which it theoretically was. Fear flooded through his body as he’d approached the hidden tomb where Pastor Jim had his arsenal; the door was open. Jim never left the door open. Reaching out psychically, he knew that he was too late prior to even entering the room. The warm tingling sensation (a feeling of home) that he’d always seemed to feel from the old man was gone. He’d walked in, saw Jim’s prone body lying in his own blood, then screamed. He fell to the floor by the old man and cradled his body for what seemed like hours.

At that moment, he truly didn’t want to face anyone—not Bobby, not his father; no one. Caleb Reaves, their future Knight, was a failure; The Guardian was dead. And it was his fault.

Things after that were shaky; he truly didn’t remember much—it seemed like his mind was on auto-pilot. He’d tried to reach Johnny, but all he’d been able to get was that damned voice-message that he’d programmed into his phone prior to his disappearing act telling him to call Dean if it was an emergency. He swore in three languages before hanging up and then tried to reach his father. He’d called his office, his pager, his cell phone, and, as a last resort, even tried to call Esme Madrigal in hopes that they might be together; just this once, he’d be happy if that were the case. His heart almost stopped when he didn’t receive any answer. His father was always reachable. Always. Mackland Ames was a neurosurgeon who was required to answer every page and call; lives were on the line and that was a responsibility his adoptive father took very seriously.

Caleb wished for the power to teleport as he’d run to the airport and booked an emergency flight to New York City; a nine hour flight was too long! He was terrified that he’d been too late once again and that he’d come home to find his father’s body, as he had with Pastor Jim. He bit his knuckles to keep from screaming his frustration and terror.

One moment, he’d been on an airplane and the next, he was home. The time in between was forgotten as he kicked open the door, panic and fear overriding all rational thought. He frantically searched through the home, running from the kitchen to the living area, and then towards his father’s home-office.

“Dad!” Caleb screamed!

Dr. Mackland Ames laid face-down in front of the fireplace, not moving.

It like a scene from a movie. Time literally froze and he could hear the rush of his heart beating in his ears. He felt himself moving, but couldn’t think. He threw himself next to his father, praying to any entity out there for him to be alive.

“Dad. Dad. Dad.” He repeated it over and over as he turned the man over.

He felt the wetness against his skin, but couldn’t put the pieces together. Not until he heard the soft moan. Caleb wasn’t ashamed to say that he cried like a baby as he held his father against his chest.

Slowly, he realized that Mac was brokenly talking to him. “You have to go, Caleb. Please, son. You should move on; there’s no reason for you to remain here. You should be with your family again.” The words slurred and were almost un-interpretable.

Caleb blinked a few times. “What? Dad?”

He felt a wet hand touch his face and watched as tears rolled down Mac’s face as he cried. “Go-, Cal’eb. Your mom is wait’in for you.” The words were slurred and broken.

Gently, Caleb kissed his father’s forehead. “Dad, I’m alive.” He looked around the room, only now noticing the empty bottles of beer, wine, and brandy littering the floor. A bottle of brandy had spilled on the floor and they were lying in it.

“No. You’re dead. Jim’s dead.” Mac cried, unable to accept the truth, while grieving and inebriated. He fell back against his son’s chest and started sobbing. “My boy is dead.”

Caleb held his father for an unknown amount of time. Once his father had slightly calmed, he took Mac’s shaking hand and put it up to his throat. “Dad, feel.” He held his fingers against his carotid artery, “I’m alive.”

Mac blinked up at him, once the pulse registered under his finger tips. “You’re not dead? But, they told me that your—your –thro—at had been slit and you—you bleed to dea—th.” His breaths came out in gasps, hyperventilating.

“Dad, calm down. Breathe.” Caleb tried to coach him, but was too busy trying to keep his father from clawing him in his sudden frenzy. “Breathe, Dad. God Dad, how much have you had to drink?”

“Enough.” Mac cried, as he cupped his son’s face with both hands.

Caleb pulled his hands down and held them tightly. He stared into his father’s blood-shot eyes, then stood up, using his momentum to pull his father up with him. Gripping him by the arms, he guided the drunken man to the bathroom. “Dad, you need a shower. You smell like a bar. You shouldn’t have…” He let the sentence trail off; he didn’t know what to say. If their positions were reversed, he’d have done the same—probably worse.

Leading Mac to the bathroom was an experience. Especially since he kept trying to hold him, hug him and not let him go. The problem was that his balance was impaired and he’d nearly fall in all of his attempts. He’d literally never seen his father this drunk before. It scared him. He’d known how important he was to his adoptive father—he’d loved him as if he were his own and had been told that countless times throughout his life. But to see the man he’d loved as a father get drunk off his ass because he’d thought his only son was dead—it was like a shot in his heart. Caleb knew that his father would be devastated if anything would happen to him, but to see the man completely fall apart? Mackland Ames, in this state, wasn’t even recognizable. The man he held in his arms was broken.

Pushing him down gently, he sat him down on the toilet seat and helped him pull of the wet clothing that was saturated in tears, sweat, and alcohol. Mac stared at him with half-hooded eyes, as he swallowed against the rise of bile that had suddenly come into his mouth.

Caleb had been watching and quickly handed him the marble trash bin. He rest his hand against his father’s neck and rubbed it softly until his stomach had emptied, like he’d done for him—many, many times as a teenager. “Oh, Dad.” He whispered against his ear, “You okay now?”

Mac just gasped, then nodded. “Jim?” He asked, hoping that, since Caleb was alive, the report on Pastor James Murphy’s death was also exaggerated.

Biting his lip, Caleb’s eyes filled once again. “I’m sorry, Dad. Jim’s gone. I—I tried…” it was whispered, “But—I was too late.”

Mac wrapped his arms around his shoulders and held him—the news was sobering. “Did you—see him?”

Caleb nodded against the warm shoulder, trying to forget the sight of the older man lying on the concrete floor—his throat—and the blood. He moaned softly, a hand against his eyes as if to block it from his mind’s eye. Mac rested his hand against his hair and gently stroked him until they’d both calmed enough to wash up and start dealing with everything.

Mac went to take a shower, while Caleb got on the phone with Bobby. Bobby was the one that told him about Carey’s death—apparently, Meg disguised his voice so that they’d thought that he was the one that met his demise and used it to torture John into thinking he’d been the one who’d died.

He’d also been informed that John Winchester had been kidnapped by the demons—last he’d heard and that his boys were unreachable. Caleb swore; procedure would dictate that they call him. Bobby told him that they’d all thought he was dead. There was no way to let them know that he was okay or that he wanted to help kill those demon bastards.

His father had finished his shower, so he’d sat the Scholar down and informed him of the latest details. Mac paled even further and started rubbing his forehead, as if in pain. They were both completely stressed out to the point of burnout. But as long as the Winchesters were still out there—as long as they needed help, they would have to push past all of the pain that Pastor Jim’s death had caused, never-mind all of the demon crap haunting them, and help them.

“We need to find them, Caleb,” Mac dictated. “We have to find them now.”

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Things were bad; very very bad. There were times in his life where Caleb’s psychic abilities were a gift—it wasn’t one of those times.

He’d had a vision of the demon driving an eighteen wheeler into the Impala, but was impotent to stop it from happening. In his own mind, he’d watched the car as it was completely crushed under the weight and force of the four ton vehicle. He saw the blood; he saw death. There was no way to reach them—he had no idea where they were.

His father got a call from the hospital a few hours after their car crash. Sam was alright—just a few cuts and bruises, nothing serious. John had been shot in the leg and had a broken arm. He would need surgery, but it was nothing like Dean. Dr. Ames forced himself stoic as the doctor re-iterated the young man’s condition. It had broken Mac’s heart to tell his son that his best friend, a little brother to him, was close to death.

Mac had sent him to the hospital, while he starting making Pastor Jim’s funeral arrangements and made frantic calls to all of the Brotherhood members, warning them of the severe increase in demonic activity and their attacks on the Triad.

The first thing he’d done was to check up on John. John had been happy to see him—alive. He’d told him about the possession, what the yellow-eyed-demon had done to his son. John had asked him to please check on his boys, as he’d always asked him. He’d gone without hesitation, he’d felt Sam’s earlier attempts to reach him with his mind. The kid definitely needed to practice.

He’d spoken to Sam and stared at the broken body of his best friend. Sam had been feeling guilty—he didn’t need to be psychic to know that. He was crying over his brother as he’d told him the stories that Pastor Jim had made up for them, when Sammy was a baby. Stories about the magical dragons that would protect Prince Sammy…the dragons couldn’t even protect their own, Caleb thought depressingly.

When Sammy was little, he used to climb into his lap and would ask him to take care of his big brother—as if that was the sole reason Caleb Reaves existed. ‘That’s what Caleb’s do,’ Sam’d tell him childishly, ‘You draw dragons and bring pizza and watch out for Dean.’ As they grew older, his job had gotten harder; the small boys who used to follow him around and bother him had become men. Sam was—he was Sam: the protected. The spoiled one—the smart one. And Deuce—he needed help. The things that he told Sam were true. When Sam had left Dean to go to Stanford, he’d watched Deuce fall apart. He’d helped hold the pieces together—that was until Johnny decided to stick the knife in further and just took off on his remaining son; the son who’d stayed by his side loyally. One thing that Caleb could understand was that overwhelming fear of being alone. John had counted on him to be able to help Dean…

And now, he’d have to face John Winchester again, and tell him why he’d failed in protecting his sons.

Caleb rested his head against the door frame, he was shaking slightly. A nurse had come up to him and asked if he was okay. He nodded, then straightened. It was time. He had to face his fears—he had to face John.

He opened the door, and found the room empty. “John?” He called out, “You in here? You better be decent in there…” Peeking his head into the small bathroom, he realized that John had left.

“Shit!” Immediately, Caleb knew. “He’s going after it.”

He’d moved to try to find the Knight, but was sidetracked when he’d heard Sam’s screams for help coming from his brother’s room. He’d tried to push past the medical staff, but was forced away.

A few seconds later, Sam had come out smiling. Dean was going to be alright—he was awake. The doctors and nurses ordered an array of tests, so they’d wheeled Dean away before he’d been able to talk to him.

He wrapped an arm around Sam’s shoulders and smiled.

Finally, things were looking up.

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Later, hours later—after John had been pronounced dead.

After Dean had passed out in his brother’s arms in that hallway as they’d watched the medical team shock their father, over and over. As they’d listened to the frantic alarms of the ECG machine go off as John Winchester flat lined. As the team gave up and declared the only remaining member of their family dead.

And after Sammy cried himself to sleep in his brother’s arms…

After all of that, did Caleb finally let himself feel.

He left the hospital hours later… Sam was filling out paperwork, making arrangements. Dean was sleeping, under heavy sedation—after his collapse, the doctors worried about his blood pressure and stress level. They’d pumped him full of sedatives and told him to sleep.

Finally, Caleb stepped out of the damned hospital. He never wanted to go to a hospital again—the memories of being strapped down and drugged as a child had always left him fearful, but it was nothing like watching the people you love die. He just started running. The cold feel of the keys that John had slipped into his pocket as he spoke to him that final time shocked his system even more than the chilled air.

How was he going to tell them that John had known he was going to die? That he’d planned it, that he’d sacrificed himself for the life of his son. Dean was screwed up as it was—to give him that knowledge…it would kill him.

Caleb ran until he’d reached a grassy plain—deserted. He fell to his knees and screamed.

His screams echoed throughout the park. The sound was pure pain and agony.

Caleb was so wrapped up in his anguish that he didn’t see the shadowed figure hiding in behind the trees.

He didn’t see the sly smile of the orderly who’d just made the deal of a lifetime.

Or the flicker of his yellow-eyes.

It spoke, but he didn’t hear it.

“You’re time is coming, Mr. Reaves…”

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The End: Chapter Five

(7 pgs)

So, what do you think?? I’m a little unsure about this one…so, I desperately need feedback. Did you hate it? Like it? Good or bad, I’d like to hear it.