tw: implied depression, neglect

word count: 1,908

Caleb lay awake until he was sure Dean was asleep. Lucky for him, unconsciousness made the kid's heavily fortified mind barricade lasp just enough for Caleb to be able to tell that he was indeed asleep. He set an alarm to make sure he was also awake before the younger man, though he faked continued sleep long enough to get out of going to church. Dean, for his part, actually slept through the departure for service... and well into the morning while Caleb tossed the gifts he'd picked out for his family into brown paper bags and likewise tossed those brown paper bags under Jim's carefully decorated Christmas tree, then checked the news and the paper for any local hunts... the only kind allowed over the next week... and finally turned to watching baseball reruns until a groggy Deuce finally made his way downstairs.

"Morning, Sleeping Beauty," Caleb tossed his way, earning a tired eye roll.

"Can you shut up until I'm caffeinated enough to tolerate you?"

The older hunter smirked, jerking his head toward the kitchen. "Coffee's in the pot. Egg thing's in the toaster oven. Dunno what's in it, but it's good."

A grunt was the only answer he got this time, but Dean disappeared into the kitchen, emerging a few minutes later with a mug of undoubtedly black coffee in hand.

Caleb raised an eyebrow. "No egg thing?"

"You didn't exactly make it sound appealing."

The psychic scoffed a little. "I said it was good! What do you want, a Food Network review?"

"Not hungry anyway," the younger man muttered into his coffee cup.

Caleb looked him up and down, trying to mask the worry from his gaze when he realized under the layers of clothing, his friend was looking a little thin. "Sounds kinda girly, but okay."

"Shut up." It was a weak comeback, and they both knew it.

Caleb worked his jaw a long moment, trying to think of something to say to break the ice left between them by the stubbornly unmoving siege walls in his best friend's mind.

"So what's up with you, huh?" It wasn't much more original than shut up, but it was all he could think of that wasn't sure to immediately get the kid's hackles up.

"Nothing."

"Wow, Deuce, that was sure convincing."

"Would you just shut up?"

"Not until you tell me what your freakin' problem is."

"My only problem is you."

"Yeah, I've noticed," Caleb snapped back. "Except I didn't do anything, and you always get like this when something is wrong."

"Get like what?" The entire argument, the kid's eyes had stayed glued to the dark contents of his coffee cup.

"Like treating me like public enemy number one!" The older man spread his hands a little. "From the barricade in your brain to the punk attitude, you're acting like I'm the bad guy here, Man." He hesitated before adding, "You always do that when something else is wrong, and that something else is usually Johnny."

Dean's fist came down hard on the couch arm. "Damien, that is my problem, okay? I don't need to hear you go off on Dad! Trust me, I hear enough of it!"

"I love your dad and you know that, Kid," Caleb replied steadily. "But you also know he makes some really crappy decisions, especially when it comes to you and Sam. You know better than anybody, cuz you're always the one who has to clean up the messes he makes. And it hurts the runt. All he is, is hurt." Another hesitation. Then, "It hurts you too. You just don't wanna admit it, so instead you put on this brat routine with me. Every freakin' time."

"I know it hurts Sam!" The words seemed to have struck a chord, but not in the way Caleb had been hoping. "I know that! I didn't mean to make him leave!"

One of the psychic's eyebrows shot up. "What?"

Dean looked away, his jaw tightly set. "Nothing."

"No, what happened, Deuce?" the older hunter pressed. "Cuz that's not the story you told last night."

"Yeah, well maybe I didn't want everyone to know my own father can't stand the sight of me!"

The words came out a shout, and before Caleb could even open his mouth to answer, Dean had stood up, angrily blinking back tears, and stormed outside.

He stayed where he was for a moment, undeniably shocked by the outburst. Hot anger that he'd managed to somewhat push down since the night before reignited inside of him as it really sank in. He was going to kill his mentor the next time he saw him.

Caleb rose and started in the direction the teenager had disappeared, but stopped as more footsteps tromped up the porch steps. That was some fantastic timing.

The door opened and Sam shoved his way inside, coming at Caleb with a glare of accusation. "What did you do to Dean?"

The psychic ran a frustrated hand down his face. "I didn't do anything to him, Runt. But as soon as I go make sure he's not doing something stupid, you're gonna tell me what happened between him and your dad so I stop wondering the same thing about Johnny."

Mac came in behind the fifteen-year-old, his face worried. "Jim went after him," he told his son with a tired sigh. "I'd give them some space and see what he can do."

The younger man frowned, but reluctantly agreed, turning back to the junior Winchester. "Fine. Then spill."

Sam rolled his eyes as he brushed past Caleb and into the kitchen. "What do you think happened? Dad was being dad, Dean stood up to him for once, and so Dad left."

"What do you mean Dean stood up to him, Sam?" Caleb asked as he followed the boy, arms crossed over his chest. "What did John do? This is serious."

"After we hunted that werewolf, Dad wanted to move on again. But he promised me we'd stay through midterms to get me to go on the stupid hunt. His excuse was he had a new lead on the demon, but he woulda come up with something no matter what. And Dean took my side. Said he promised. Dad said fine, he was sick of Dean's stupid mistakes almost getting us all killed anyway. Told him to make himself useful for once and babysit me while I took my stupid tests. And then he left." He hesitated before adding, "You'll be shocked to find out he was drunk at the time."

"I don't care how intoxicated he was." Fury had turned to hot rage inside of Caleb as Sam repeated the words. "I'm gonna kill him."

Mac opened his mouth to say something, but he didn't wait to hear it, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket and pacing back into the living room as he found John's name. Just as he was getting ready to unload the full force of his anger in a voicemail, the Knight's voice clipped his way.

"Junior."

"Where are you?"

"Louisiana. Why?"

Caleb's grip around the phone tightened as he held himself back from losing it on the older man with an intense effort. "Because it's three days til Christmas and you're supposed to be here."

John's heavy sigh of annoyance made Caleb want to strangle him. "I'm busy. I hate to rob you of a Hallmark moment, but I have a real lead here."

"John, if you don't start driving this way right now..."

"Did the boys make it?"

"Yes, the boys made it, and they're expecting you, so you're gonna get your sorry..."

Once again, his mentor cut him off, his tone infuriatingly superior. "Tell them I was held up and to meet me in Baton Rouge after New Years. Have fun singing kumbaya, Junior."

"John!" He yelled the word, but it fell on a dead line, countered by the clip of a cell phone being snapped shut and then silence.

Caleb flung his own device across the room, only hitting the couch out of sheer luck, as his hands came up and pressed against the sides of his head hard.

He was going to kill him. The next time he saw him, he was going to kill him.

"Let me guess," Sam's voice carried to him as the kid swaggered into the room and picked up the thrown phone with a small scoff. "He's not coming. Big surprise."

"No," Caleb sighed as he sharply reclaimed the cell from the teen. "He's not. God, what am I gonna tell Dean?"

"That he doesn't have to pretend that he showed up while I was sleeping this year?"

"Sam, I'm serious!" the older man snapped. "He's gonna... I don't know. That's what freakin scares me."

Sam frowned, a little fear entering his eyes behind the hair falling into him. "What do you mean?"

If Dean found out he'd made Sam worry about him even a little bit, he'd murder him before he could murder John.

"I don't know, Sammy." He exhaled heavily, once again rubbing the bridge of his nose to fight the headache he could feel coming on. "I just... I don't know."

Before the teenager could answer, the door opened yet again, and two sets of feet entered the little house. Dean was first to enter the living room, his eyes on the floor and Pastor Jim close behind.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you, Reaves," the teenager said without looking at him.

It was better than his first name, but the term of address still seemed purposefully not Damien, and Caleb didn't like it. But he didn't comment, just exhaling slowly.

"You don't have to apologize, Deuce. I'm not mad." He wanted to push further and continue their prior conversation, but knew better than to do it in front of everyone, particularly Sam.

It was the runt himself who spoke up now. "Dad's not coming."

That finally brought Dean's head jerking up. "What? Did you talk to him?"

"Caleb did."

Those green eyes snapped to the psychic's. "And he's not..."

Caleb shook his head slowly, his jaw working in frustrated helplessness. "I'm sorry, Deuce."

The fortress in the boy's mind couldn't hide the guilt and self-hatred from his eyes the moment before they squeezed shut.

"'M sorry, Sammy," he said at last, barely restrained moisture in his voice.

The teen sighed. "Yeah, whatever. Saves me money on a Christmas present." He hesitated a moment before asking, "Speaking of which, can you drive me back into town sometime? I need to get something to send to Katy."

The older brother took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and nodded a little. "Yeah. Yeah, of course I'll drive you, Sammy."

"Not until after lunch, though," Jim put in with a smile in his voice.

It was the first time Caleb had really looked at him, and now he noticed the unmistakable flat boxes he was carrying.

"Oh, yeah." Sam brightened, smirking up at his older brother. "I convinced them to get pizza."

Dean conjured up a small smile for the kid. "Those puppy dog eyes of yours, Sammy."

His gaze came back up to Caleb's, and he spread his hands a little, mouthing, What? in response to the attention the older man was giving him.

Caleb just shook his head a little and forced himself to look away, thinking heavily as he did, Those broken eyes of yours, Deuce.

I know that was really rough, but please let me know what you think! Love ya.

- Line