"The only way to ensure that opponents will not get to you is to harm what they care about."-Zhang Yu-The Art of War
“Ow!”
“Stop being a baby, Sammy.” Dean applied the antiseptic drenched cotton ball to his brother’s head once again. “Hold still.” Sniping at his brother was easier than letting any other emotion past his defenses. He hated seeing Sam hurt.
“Then stop calling me Sammy.” The younger Winchester pulled away from his brother’s ministrations. “It sets the tone.”
Caleb snorted from where he was laying on the converted table bed, holding a bag of frozen peas to his strained shoulder. “And I thought it was the fact we all catered to your every whim and petted your ass for the last twenty years.”
“Did not.” Sam’s countered, knowing it was weak. Caleb was right. The other hunters and Dean had worked very hard to protect Sam from the horrors of the job. But it was his nature to disagree with Reaves because he was the youngest.
“Did to.” Reaves’s eyes were closed but he sensed the rude body language.
“One time I’d have loved for Jim to catch you doing that.” He sighed. “It would have shattered the old man’s illusion but so made up for all the times I got busted.”
“Or Mac,” Dean added, placing the first butterfly bandage over the jagged gash on Sam’s forehead. “I’d give money to see it.”
Considering Caleb had saved his life and Dean was wielding alcohol and a suture needle, Sam didn’t point out the fact the older hunters were jealous. “At least we know the information I dug up about elementals being linked to psychic ability was right on.”
Dean winced with Sam as he placed the last bandage on the wound. He was so tired of the patch-up routine. He took a deep breath, channeling his anger elsewhere. “Would have been nice if Sawyer could have warned us about that when he was giving Damien the ghoulish greenhouse spill.”
“It didn’t come up,” Reaves murmured.
“Because it’s easy to forget that you and Sam have freaky powers.”
Caleb rose, shooting his friend a smirk. “Don’t be hating on the gifted, Dean. You’re special in your own way too.”
Dean waved the alcohol menacingly at him. “You’re next.”
“Why did it go after me?” Sam accepted the two Tylenol his brother handed him along with a bottle of water.
The older Winchester snorted. “My guess is the big bulls-eye tattooed on your ass.”
“I’m serious, Dean.”
“Then ask the Jedi Master over there.”
Reaves shrugged. “I don’t know for sure, but it could have sensed your defenses weren’t as strong. I didn’t even get a blip on the radar until it went after you.”
“So it targeted the weakest link.” Sam said, disgusted.
Dean squeezed his shoulder. “You’re not a chink in the armor, Sammy. That bitch just went after the better-looking head case.”
Sam rolled his eyes, despite the rush of warmth from his brother’s steadfast defense. “Thanks.”
“It could have also sensed your untapped potential.”
“Don’t try to make up now, Damien.” Dean moved towards the older hunter. “Sammy’s not that easy. You at least need to spring for dinner for your callous remark.”
Caleb ignored the oldest Winchester sibling. “You kind of stand out-your emotions betray you,” he continued, more to himself than the Winchesters. “It would have probably been drawn to you like a beacon.”
“Where are you going?” Dean asked with a hint of frustration. “You’re still bleeding on the Dolly décor.” The best way to deal with Reaves was to pretend that patching him up was a burden, not a necessity. “I’d like to take a shower before daybreak.”
“Anything I add to this room would be an improvement to the sensory nightmare.” Caleb grumbled as he one-handedly dug through one of his bags, removing a black pouch before gingerly making his way over to Sam. “Reminds me of the time Jim let Sammy choose the color for your bed room.”
“Sam.” The youngest Winchester corrected, half-heartedly. “And blue and orange go together.”
Caleb grinned. “Only if you’re a Gators fan, Runt.”
“You boys can discuss college ball after I’m done playing doctor.” Dean held up the first aide kit. “I’m charging by the hour.” All he wanted to do was put them back together and then tear that fucking elemental apart.
Reaves winced as he sat down on the bed near Sam. “Try this.” He turned the pouch upside down and a black stone fell out. Caleb handed it to him.
“Obsidian?” Sam frowned.
“Snowflake Obsidian. It neutralizes emotions that others put out, which can help if you’re empathic. But it can also shield a person’s abilities if they don’t want to go around like a neon road sign for the psychic hotline.”
Sam looked at him. “I’m that bad?”
Caleb smiled to soften the truth. “Remember Rudolph’s nose?”
The younger hunter groaned. “Yeah.”
“This will help. Make sure you keep it on you, at least until you can get enough control to tone it down.”
Dean recognized the pained look on his brother’s face and almost wished it had to do with forehead gash. He could put a band aid on that. “Could be worse, Sammy. Remember when Rudolph’s dad made him wear the black cover on his nose?” He looked at his brother and grinned. “You use to cry because it made him sound funny.”
“He cried because the other reindeer made fun of Rudolph.” Caleb shook his head. “He was a pansy even way back then.”
Sam recognized the distraction, appreciating it. He slapped Reaves on the side, smirking when the older hunter grimaced. “Maybe because somebody catered to my every whim and petted my ass.”
“He’s agreeing again.” Caleb glanced up at Dean. “He can’t be hurt too bad. He’ll be chanting before long.”
“What can I say? I’m a miracle worker.” Dean motioned for the other hunter. “Your turn.”
Caleb paled slightly. He really didn’t relish the idea of anybody working on him, especially Dean. It wasn’t so much the pain. It was the idea of watching the whole ordeal displayed on the younger hunter’s face. And no matter how hard the kid tried to hide the guilt he felt, Caleb could still read him like a book and sense his emotional turmoil. It was worse than any physical torture. “Just give me the kit, I can do it myself.”
“Come on, Damien. You’re worse than Sammy. I’ll give you a lollipop when we’re done.”
The psychic rolled his shoulders, resigning himself to his fate. He made to stand up when the ringing of his cell stopped him. “Saved by the bell.”
“No you don’t.” Dean grabbed the phone, pointing a finger at Reaves to stay put. “Yeah?”
“One message is sufficient, you know. Three was really overkill in my book.”
Joshua. Dean heard what sounded like classical music in the background and surmised that Sawyer thought he was speaking to Caleb.
“And was there really a need to get your father involved?”
Dean rolled his eyes as the blond hunter continued to ramble on. So Caleb had called in The Scholar. “I suggested we just come get your scrawny ass ourselves but Saint Sam was the voice of reason.”
“Deuce?”
Dean could hear the amusement in the other’s tone. Joshua wouldn’t have been so smug if they were speaking in person.
“I see you faired well from the encounter with the Paralda. Am I to assume that Reaves is still breathing?”
“Are you worried?”
“Of course not.”
“You should be.” Dean stepped out of Caleb’s reach as the older man made a grab for the phone. “And you can assume I’m not real happy about the lack of information that nearly got my brother and Caleb killed. That‘s like the third time your half-assed intel has gotten someone fucked up.”
“I suppose they are both in one piece?”
Dean thought the blond hunter almost sounded concerned. Almost. With Joshua you could never tell. “More or less.”
“It’s your own fault. I could have warned you about the sylph’s attraction to psychic frequencies but as you and the wonder boys are always pointing out, you’re quite the aficionados when it comes to our profession.”
“It’s wonder twins, you idiot, and…”
Caleb snatched the phone while Dean was busy picking up steam in what was bound to be an amusing and colorful conversation, but at the moment they couldn’t afford to be entertained. “Josh? We need a way to stop this thing so stop screwing around, go look into that crystal ball of yours and…”
“It‘s good to know you‘re well enough to be your usual distasteful self. And as in typical fashion you have insulted the one person who could probably assist you. I don’t have a crystal ball to consult nor would I…”
“I don’t care if you pull the information out of your ass, Sawyer,” Caleb interrupted. “I know you’ve dealt with the sylph before.”
“Yes and I explained to you about the bush we used to find its location. Check the area for the highest peak that the plant likes to grow in abundance and…”
“And we know all that, Josh. What we don’t know is how to contain it until we can read the banishing spell.”
“Yes, that has proven to be a problem.”
“A problem you fixed obviously or did you just leave that job unfinished.”
“No. I happen to take my work seriously. Ian determined a way to attract the elemental using a frequency not unlike that which psychic’s use. As you apparently found out they are drawn to those with ability.”
Caleb frowned. “That sounds uncharacteristically clever of Ian.”
“Well, I suspect he had input, but at the moment I was merely thankful to have a solution to the issue.”
“Meaning you didn’t ask any questions.”
“He’s in the area if you want me to contact him. I believe he and Silas are in North Carolina. They could probably reach you and the Hardy boys by morning.”
“That sounds uncharacteristically helpful of you, Josh.” Caleb glanced at Dean. “Get in touch with them. Tell Ian to call me when he gets close to our position.”
“Ah,yes. Deliverance country.”
“Ian should fit in.”
“Play nice. It’s hard enough to find anyone to come to your rescue as it is.”
Caleb instantly recognized the look on Dean’s face. It was so John-like. He cut the connection with Sawyer and tossed his phone on the bed. Putting his hands on his hips, he sighed. “Look, Deuce, you’re going to have to deal with other hunters. Sawyer said Ian knows how to handle these sonsofbitches. So unless you have a better idea we’re going to have to team up.”
“I don’t have a problem working with other hunters, just hunters I can’t trust.”
Reaves held his gaze. “I didn’t say I trusted them either.”
“Considering your track record with Ian and Fisher, I’d say that’s a smart move there, Damien.”
“I should have never told Sam about the damn run-in with them.” He looked at the youngest Winchester. “And he wasn’t suppose to share with you. How many times do I have to say it? We were kids.”
“You were fifteen.” Sam pointed out. “But Ian and the others were nearly my age.”
“Exactly.” Caleb nodded. “You‘re still naïve and doe-eyed.”
“Last time I checked twenty wasn’t exactly the toddler years.” Dean couldn’t wrap his mind around why Caleb wouldn’t admit that what Ian, Fisher, and Joshua had done was unforgivable. They had nearly killed him. Yet, he was willing to let bygones be bygones, which went against everything Dean knew to be true about Reaves. “And don’t you find this last run-in with the merry band of hunters a bit of a coincidence, as Maggie would say.”
“You still don’t know Fisher had anything to do with that.”
“And you don’t know he didn’t.”
“Fine,” Caleb conceded. “We’re not sure about Fisher. But he’s not coming. Ian is. Sylas is.”
“Ian’s not your biggest fan either,” the older Winchester said.
Was Dean really trying to make his headache worse? “Yeah. Well, I imagine having your brother killed kind of sours a person. He thought it should have been me. Hell, I don’t begrudge him that. I’d have been pissed if that thing had eaten you or Sammy.”
Dean started towards Reaves with the medical kit again. “Just because that thing thought Rick might taste better than you doesn’t give him the right to hold a grudge all these years.”
Caleb shook his head, gesturing to Sam for some help. “Deuce, let it go.”
Sam waved off the rescue. “Hey, man, Ian was going to kill you on that hunt. If Joshua hadn‘t knocked him out, you would have been a goner.”
“Mercy killing.” Caleb countered. “I told him to finish it. Better than being left for dessert for that thing.”
“We would have never left you.” Dean said, fiercely. “I made that clear.”
“Maybe he didn’t realize exactly what stubborn pains in the asses the Winchesters were until that moment. Besides like I said, he just lost his brother. He was distraught.”
“Yeah. Well, he wasn’t the only one.” Dean tried not to let the memories resurface. He couldn’t understand why Reaves was being so pigheaded about the issue. “Why the hell are you defending him?”
Caleb glanced heavenward. Why couldn’t he just channel Jim and explain things to Dean in a way he would be able to accept. As the Guardian, the kid would have to be neutral. The prosperity of The Brotherhood depended on it. Their lives depended on it. “Why are you trying to alienate us more than we already are? We don’t need to make more enemies. As Josh so kindly pointed out, it‘s hard to find people to cover our asses now.”
“It’s kind of hard not to make enemies when we don’t know who our friends are.”
“I get that. But at the moment we need their help.” Caleb gestured to himself and Sam. “We’re walking targets and as you pointed out last night. I’m not up to watching anyone’s back.”
Dean frowned. He regretted bringing that up. “I’m not turning my back on them.”
“Fine.” Caleb finally sat on the bed, signaling his resignation to Dean’s treatment. “Sleep with one eye open. I just want to banish this thing and get the hell out of Dolly’s mobile museum.”
“Are you sure they’ll even come?” Sam spoke up. “When’s the last time either of you worked a job with them.”
Dean and Caleb shared a quick look. Reaves answered. “Silas helped us and Johnny out with some hell hounds a few years back.”
Dean studied the row of stitches on the older hunter’s side to see if they needed re-suturing. He could feel his brother’s gaze on him. They didn’t talk much about the ‘quiet years’.
“He saved Dean’s life,” Caleb added.
Dean made a point of placing an alcohol soaked bandage over the bleeding half of Reaves’s wound. He pressed harder than necessary.
Caleb hissed, jerking away from Winchester’s ministrations. “Damn, Deuce!”
“He saved your life?” Sam queried, undeterred.
“Damien pulled me from the river.”
“No.” The older hunter watched Dean warily as he applied the butterfly bandages. “I nearly drowned myself.”
Dean huffed. “Then he was following hunting protocol. It wasn’t some act of loyalty.”
“Just like we’re following protocol by calling in back-up.” Reaves decided to use some Jim Murphy logic. “We can’t let anyone else die.”
“I guess you’re with him?” Dean raised his gaze to meet his brother’s. “I’m outvoted?”
“It’s better than you doing the job alone.” Sam nodded. “Caleb and I could make matters worse.”
“And we don’t have a clue as to how to corral the Paralda, which is pretty much the most important thing,” Reaves studied the bandages.
“Fine.” Dean closed the first aid kit, shooting Reaves an exasperated look. “But I’m not above saying I told you so if this gig goes to hell.”
“Never thought you were, Deuce.” Caleb grinned, gave Sam a side-long glance. “In fact, Sammy and I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
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“That’s it?” Caleb studied the small silver box. “I was expecting something more like the trap from Ghost-busters.”
“This is a piece of highly sensitive state of the art electronic equipment.” Ian Hastings replied with a hint of rebuke.
“That you created?” Dean lifted an eyebrow then looked at Reaves. “Didn’t he come up with that black dog tracking device of Sawyer’s?”
“Yeah.” Reaves laughed. “Let’s hope this thing actually works.”
“Oh it works, Reaves.” Hastings’s face twisted in disdain and he straightened his shoulders. He was tall and fit, but didn’t measure up to Reaves’s or Winchester’s stature. “I might not have attended some fancy college but I do okay.”
Sam and Caleb exchanged looks and the older psychic grinned. “I think he’s talking about us, Einstein.”
“Can we get on with this?” Silas Fox asked, shifting from foot to foot. He was growing impatient with the bickering between the younger men. It seemed his fate to be partnered with hunters like Ian Hastings, never having breached the inner-sanctum of The Brotherhood.
The Winchesters and Reaves had met up with Fox and Hastings at Clingman’s Dome just as the sun rose. Besides being an incredible look out point, providing a breathtaking view of the Smokey Mountains, the popular tourist attraction allowed access to several hiking trails. One led to Andrew’s Bald, the third highest point in the United States-home to a lavish supply of catawba. Research had shown if an air elemental was in the area, Andrew’s Bald would be its likely lair. Fortunately, the early spring season and ungodly hour provided them privacy as they unloaded their gear. Continued solitude was not guaranteed. Still, the boys, caught up in exchanging barbs and snide comments, didn’t seem to understand.
It was too reminiscent of the horrible hunt he had once been forced to go on with John Winchester, Bobby Singer and Harland Sawyer. The contempt was as palpable then as now, the tension thick, like the fog surrounding them.
Fox had kept his frustration to himself all those years ago as was in his nature. But this time, Silas was ready to explode as he and the younger hunters worked their way through the bog-infested mile-long twisting trail. Perhaps age was wearing away his patience. “We don’t need any unsuspecting nature lovers joining us,” he pointed out when the boys merely stared at him without acknowledgement.
“What do we need to do first?” Sam finally asked since no one else was willing to concede.
“I have my part ready.” Ian gestured to the shiny silver box he placed in the ceremonial circle. “Have you all got the ritual?”
Dean nodded to the book Sam was holding. “I call your bid and raise you five.”
Silas exhaled heavily, shoving a hand through his hair. “The Paralda will know exactly what we’re up to when we start reading that verse. It could get ugly quickly. We need to be prepared.” He looked at Reaves. “You said salt seemed to repel it, if only momentarily?”
Caleb nodded, held up the shotgun he was holding. “Kept it from sending me and Sammy on an unplanned free-base jump.”
“Good. In case this doesn’t work, we’ll have something to defend ourselves.”
“Oh. It’ll work.” Ian quipped.
Dean rolled his eyes at the other hunter’s cockiness but nodded to Sam who had opened their father’s journal. “Go ahead, Sammy. I’m dying to see Pandora do her stuff.”
“One of us should do it,” Ian said to Dean. “Elementals like to feed off of psychics. All we need is for him to fuck up the ritual.”
Both Winchesters looked at Hastings. It wasn’t surprising that others knew about Sam’s abilities, especially members of The Brotherhood. But it was disconcerting just the same.
“There are no real secrets, Winchester.” Ian flicked his gaze to Caleb. “Just ask your good buddy there.”
“I know your Latin sucks, Deuce.” Caleb cut off any arguments from the eldest Winchester. “But it’s still probably a lot better than Ian’s grasp on the English language.”
Sam handed the leather book to his brother, accepting the salt-filled shotgun from him. “Let’s just get this over with, Dean.”
Dean gestured to the silver instrument sitting on the ground. “When does your magic box come to life?”
“I’ll turn it on when the sylph shows itself. We’ll only have a small window to work with after it senses the Siren.”
“The Siren?” Caleb raised a brow. “You named your gadget?”
Ian’s face reddened. “It puts out a frequency the Paralda is drawn to,” he defended. “It recognizes it as a sort of psychic being and wants to link up. But we finish it before it gets the chance. I thought the name was appropriate seeing as how it calls the elemental to its ultimate doom.”
“He probably pulled the wings off butterflies as a child.” Sam muttered to his brother, noticing the gleam in Hastings’s eyes.
“Go for it, Deuce. I got me and Sam covered now that I know what to expect.” Caleb turned to the younger Winchester sibling, tapped his head and grinned. “Just in case…shields to full strength, Chewy.”
Sam rolled his eyes, but mentally braced himself for any attack.
“Any day now.” Ian’s hand hovered over the box.
Dean glanced at the woods surrounding the clearing and began the passage. At first nothing seemed different but then a hush fell over them.
Birds stopped singing; the occasional creak and rustle of tree limbs silenced. Winchester’s deep voice rang out loud and clear in the early dawn like church bells on Sunday morning. Even the air around them stilled.
Then a strong breeze filled the bald picking up scattered piles of dead leaves pulling them from the ground in tornado-like spins.
“Here it comes.” Caleb picked up the presence before the wind started, the annoying whistling sound penetrated his mind. “And it’s not happy.”
Dean gestured to Ian’s Siren. “Now would be a good time, Hastings.”
Sam sensed the Paralda, a slight pressure inside his skull, like the beginning of a vision. He took a deep breath and pushed back, shooting an unsure glance to Reaves. The older man forced a reassuring smile, and Sam felt the extra surge of energy. Caleb was shielding him.
The wind rose, dirt kicked up around them as Dean continued to read the Latin verse. Ian knelt beside the box, glanced up at Caleb. “I think you’re going to like this Reaves.”
Caleb barely heard the other hunter over the roar of the gale force pummeling them, but the insect-torturing gleam was back in Ian’s eyes. It worried him.
Ian had never liked Caleb. As boys he excluded Reaves, shunning and ridiculing Joshua and the others if they dared to cross the invisible line he had drawn to separate the ‘real’ hunters from the mongrels. Ian started the fight that fateful day in October that landed Caleb in the hospital. His taunts about demon blood had fueled Caleb’s attitude, even though John had warned him to play it cool. His comments about the Winchesters and Reaves’s involvement in their mother’s death finally drew the younger man into battle. Ian had set a trap and Caleb was presently getting the same vibe. But like then, it was too late for Reaves to one damn thing about it.
The explosion of intense pain inside his head erased any concerns about Ian, replaced them with complete agony. He fell to his knees, Sam’s misery joining his from the link Caleb used to offer protection.
Reaves gasped, trying to regain control-to shield the younger psychic. Whatever blindsided them was too strong to be an elemental, but obviously linked to their abilities. Caleb fought to understand even as he felt his grasp on Sam and consciousness fading.
Dean was distracted by the human like howl of the wind that echoed around them, whipping twigs and debris across his exposed skin. He continued reading and watched in fascination as the Paralda reacted immediately to the box. Once the Siren was turned on, it produced a funnel and the Paralda took a sort of corporeal form above.
Ian scampered backwards, grinned in smug satisfaction as the sylph twisted and bounced around his creation.
At first Dean thought the elemental was trying to flea, but then it became clear the Paralda was attempting to get inside the gadget. It was drawn to it like a magnet. A psychic magnet.
“Keep reading,” Silas commanded as the wind once again died down to a strong breeze. “We’ve got it where we want it.”
“Dean!”
The gasped plea from his brother had Dean faltering. He glanced towards the younger Winchester. Sam was on his knees cradling his head in pain.
“What the…Sammy?”
It didn’t make sense. The elemental was focused over Ian’s gadget and even the chaos around them was quieting. From their previous encounter they had discovered the Paralda could not focus its energy in more than one place for very long. It shouldn’t have been able to attack Sam.
“Go on!” Ian shouted again, breaking Winchester‘s reverie.
Dean stumbled through another word, but shifted his attention to Caleb hoping the other hunter could take care of Sam.
But Reaves was down too. The older psychic was slumped forward, his forehead touching the ground.
Dean stopped reading. The Paralda continued to thrash about in Ian’s instrument. “Caleb?”
A pain-filled growl was his reply. Dean quickly moved to Sam’s side. “Sam!” He placed a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Hey?”
“You need to finish the ritual.” Ian gestured towards the tumultuous cloud suspended above the box “If it penetrates the steel, it will fry the circuitry.”
“What the hell is wrong with my brother and Caleb?” Dean demanded when Sam continued writhing beneath his grasp. It was worse than any of his brother’s vision episodes. Silas and Ian looked far too calm. “What the fuck is going on?”
Ian shrugged, giving Fox a sidelong glance. “I guess we should have mentioned the side effects.”
“Side effects?” Dean pulled his gaze from his brother and glanced at Caleb, who was curled in a fetal position, his head covered with his arms. He shook, his body jerking in a convulsion.
Dean turned murderous eyes to Ian. “What the hell did you two do? The box is hurting them?”
“The Siren discourages the use of psychic ability.” Silas answered. Both of John Winchester’s boys were quick-witted. There was no need to carry the charade any further. “Griffin discovered the effect when testing it. The more a psychic fights, the worse the effect.”
“Griffin?” Dean growled, slowly standing up as dark realization set in. The sylph wasn‘t the only one being led into a trap. “You two work for Griffin? This is some kind of weapon to use against hunters?”
“Not just any hunters…” Ian started, but Silas cut him off.
“It‘s not a weapon, Dean,” Fox corrected. “It merely levels the playing field. As long as a psychic doesn’t use their abilities then they’re not harmed. If they would just let go…”
“Too bad your boys don’t know the meaning of backing down,” Ian interrupted. “And they sure were all gung-ho to pull out the super powers.”
“You sonofabitch!” Dean snarled. “They were defending themselves!” He pointed to the metal box. “You set them up! This is some kind of sick demonstration of power.”
Ian stood his ground. “It is a sort of demonstration, but it has little to do with them.” Hastings jutted his chin towards the leather journal in Dean’s hand. “Finish the incantation, Winchester.”
Sam was whimpering now and it tore at every protective instinct Dean had nurtured over the last twenty-three years. Caleb had stopped moving all together. “Turn it off!” Dean dropped his father’s journal to the ground, pulled the weapon he had hidden in the back of his jeans. He pointed the gun at Ian’s head. “Now!”
Hastings was almost as quick, pulling his own gun and aiming it at Reaves. “Finish the verse or I’m sending your buddy back to hell where he belongs.”
“Ian!” Silas reprimanded. “Put your gun away!”
“No.” Hastings shook his head. “He’s going to finish the damn thing. People’s lives are at stake. If that thing gets loose, it will be on his head. Either way, we’ll have our answer once and for all.”
“The only thing I’m going to finish is you, Hastings!” Dean flicked the safety off. “Turn the fucking box off!”
“What? You going to murder me, Dean? I wear a ring.” Ian smirked. “What would Jim Murphy think?”
“What would he think of you?” Dean shouted, gesturing to Sam and Caleb. “They have rings. They’re part of the next fucking Triad!”
“Triad!” Ian laughed. “The Knight and The Scholar?” Hastings shook his head. “That’ll happen over my dead body.”
“You’re trying to take them out?”
“No!” Silas barked. “We are not in the business of murder. We’re trying to do what is best for The Brotherhood.”
“And we’re trying to prove a point.”
“What fucking point?” Dean demanded.
“That you can’t do your job,” Ian answered.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“You’re too caught up in taking care of your so called family. And for what? A brother who is destined to switch sides, to turn against you and all that you and your father have fought for. Then there’s your so called best friend.”
Hastings snorted. “His fucked-up cult leader of a grandfather summoned and let loose the very demon that screwed your life to hell. Caleb and little Sammy are both tainted by the thing you and you’re father spent every stinking minute hunting and deep down inside you know it.”
“Shut up!”
Ian continued, enjoying both the physical and mental anguish he was causing. “Didn’t you ever wonder why their abilities are so similar? Why they’re so powerful? Jim Murphy did. He knew. And he tried to use it to his advantage. Griffin warned him over and over again, but the old pastor thought he could harness their ‘gifts’, stack the deck on our side. Pull a quick one over on the demon. He thought it was an ingenious plan to raise demon spawn to run the next Triad.” Ian jerked the gun harshly towards Caleb again. “You should be begging me to finish Reaves.” Ian’s finger tightened on the trigger. “I won’t tell anyone, if you don’t.”
Dean’s grip tightened on his own weapon. “Do it and you’ll be dead before you hit the ground,” he promised.
“Now is not the time for this!” Silas reasoned. “Griffin told you about your personal agenda Ian.” Fox momentarily gazed at the sylph wildly pummeling the Siren. “We have to focus on the task at hand.”
A popping and crackling noise from the box heralded the accuracy of Fox’s declaration and drew the three hunter’s attention to the Paralda.
“Time’s running out, Winchester,” Ian said. “You going to finish the job or was Jim Murphy as much of a loon as I think he was.”
Dean kept his gun leveled on Ian, his eyes going to Caleb. He still hadn’t moved. Dean wasn’t sure he was still breathing.
“Dean,” Silas tried. “Sometimes the good of the many must come first.”
“Fuck you, man.” Dean swung the gun towards the box. Sam had collapsed completely to the ground, his body jerking and twitching in pain. Only one choice made sense to Dean. Stop the thing hurting his brother and Caleb.
Silas stepped forward, his hands held out in a placating manner. “Jim Murphy once told me you were special because you had not only the heart of a fierce warrior but the head of a brilliant general.”
Again the box snapped and blue sparks shot out it. It was bounced off the ground by the undeterred Paralda, bent on absorbing more of its enticing energy.
Silas’s voice rose, his tone harsher, more commanding. “If it’s released, it will go after the next best thing.”
Dean raised his gaze to meet Silas’s. The man was playing his trump card.
“No more cheering from the sideline, Fox,” Ian chided. “Who’s side are you on?”
Silas glared at Hastings. “If he fails, we all could die.”
“Or not.” Hastings snorted. “I figure we can make our getaway while the sylph gets it belly full of the pretty boys.”
“Damn it, Ian!” Silas snapped. “That still doesn’t protect the innocents in this area. That is our main objective.”
Dean ignored the battle of wills. He cast an unsure glance to his brother and Caleb and prayed he was doing the right thing. He reset the safety lock on his gun, shoved the weapon into the back of his jeans, and bent to retrieve the journal.
It was the decision Jim Murphy would make. Dean’s chest tightened and there was a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He was living one of his worst nightmares.
The words were not as confident this time and not piercing as before, Dean’s voice catching several times as emotion threatened to overwhelm him. But with the last sentence, a bright flash filled the area of Andrew’s Bald and the Paralda vanished. The Siren fell to the ground with an unsatisfying clunk, where it smoked and sizzled unimpressively.
“Good work, Winchester.” Ian shook his head. “I guess we could make a pretty good team.”
Ian bent down to turn the box off but jumped back when a bullet kicked up the dirt in front of him.
“You idiot!” he bellowed, whipping his head in Dean’s direction.
The younger man once again held his gun at the ready. “I don’t trust you, Hastings. Let Silas do it.”
Silas cautiously did as Winchester said, aware the young man could kill them both if he so chose. He hissed as his hand came in contact with the hot metal, but quickly took hold of the main switch and shut off the Siren. “It’s off.”
Dean cast an unsure glance to his brother and Caleb. “It’s not affecting them now?”
Ian was the one to answer. “I’m sure they’ll come around soon.”
“I should kill you.” Dean swung his gun between the other hunters. “Both of you.”
“You have more reasons not to,” Silas told him.
“Yeah. Name one.”
“I can name two.” Fox gestured to the downed men. “You’ll need our help to get them down the trail. They may need medical assistance.”
“Like you have their best interests at heart.”
“Perhaps not,” Silas conceded. “I believe they both may be better off if they were put out of their misery. But that’s not my choice. Wiser men than myself have said otherwise.”
“He’s telling the truth,” Ian piped up, realizing his life was in jeopardy. “They were exposed for longer than any of Griffin’s test subjects.”
“You’re not helping your case, Hastings.” Dean flicked his eyes to Ian. “I only need one more pair of hands. What’s to keep me from killing you?”
“People know we are here. Helping you on this hunt.” Again Silas tried to be the voice of reason. It would have been more effective without the stuttering and unsure cadence.
“I talked to my good friend Joshua this morning,” Ian added. “I mean he sent us here. It’s not going to look good if I turn up missing. I have powerful allies in The Brotherhood. Can you say the same? And really, how many dead hunters can you explain away, Winchester?”
“One more shouldn’t be a problem.”
Muffled voices coming from the trail behind them took the decision from Dean’s hands. Silas jerked his chin towards the box. “Get rid of that thing.” He glanced to Dean. “And put your gun away. We can’t risk exposure.”
Ian picked up the box and slung it towards the woods. It disappeared in a tangle of catawba and undergrowth.
The bark of a dog preceded the entrance of two men and a young woman into the Bald. A Golden Retriever whined and pulled at it’s leash as the three hikers took in the scene around them.
A blond guy wearing a bright orange UT shirt and faded ball cap stepped forward. “What the hell happened, Dude? Are you guys alright?”
“Craziest damn thing,” Ian said, his voice taking on the perfect inflection of awe. “Freak thunderstorm came out of nowhere. I think our buddies might have been struck by lightning.”
Dean blocked him out. Silas had quickly hid the ceremonial artifacts and shotguns in their duffels. Dean put their father’s journal away as he knelt next to his brother. Besides the fact two of their party were lying prone on the ground, they looked like any average nature explorer. “Sammy?” He placed a hand on the side of the younger man’s neck and was relieved when a steady beat of a pulse greeted his sensitive fingers. “Stay with me, kid.”
“Is he breathing?” The woman’s voice had Dean looking up. Ian was kneeling next to Caleb and the hikers were leaning over them studying the injured psychic.
“Yeah,” Ian answered, with feigned relief. “Thank God for small miracles.”
“Get away from him.” Dean stood, reluctant to leave his brother, but unwilling to let Ian put his hands on Caleb. He should have Hastings when he had the chance.
“Easy, Son,” Silas soothed, placing a hand on Dean’s shoulder. “I’m sure your brother will be fine.” The older hunter smoothly slid into a stellar performance, as he turned a pleading gaze to the newcomers. “My boys and I would really appreciate it if you guys could help us out.”
“No problem.” The other man in the hiking party replied. “I’ll call 9-1-1. They can probably have medics waiting for us at the Dome. We’ll help you get them back down the trail. ”
Dean started to open his mouth to object, but two thoughts stopped him. He couldn’t explain denying medical treatment to a bunch of strangers and he had no idea how badly his brother and Caleb were hurt. Physical injuries he could deal with, but this was definitely in Mackland Ames’s territory.
The thought of the doctor filled him with hope and dread.
He could call Mackland and have him hop the next flight to Tennessee. Sam and Caleb would be in the best possible hands. But that meant he had to call Mackland…and tell him how he had failed.
“This is like the third or fourth freak natural disaster in a week!”
Dean heard the woman tell the boy in the UT cap, and he wanted to voice that she should try living in his world for a while.
“It’s weird, alright.” The blond guy replied. “Wonder if Al Gore
knows about this?”