"Therefore no one is treated as familiarly as are spies, no one is given more rewards as rich as those given to spies, and no matter is more secret than espionage. Spies are useful everywhere.
-Master Sun, The Art of War
Dean Winchester was fourteen the first time he read the Art of War. It was a running joke amongst Bobby and Mackland. John Winchester believed the ancient book of battle philosophy and strategy to be the one and only true religious text-a concept Pastor Jim never found amusing.
However, Jessup Cooper, not John, had given the book to Dean. Jessup was a hunter who prided himself on many things, one of which was the idea he didn’t consider himself a hunter. He preferred the term teacher-albeit a reluctant one. Dean liked to think of Jessup as a cross between Jimmy Buffet and Master Kane from Kung Fu.
Most young hunters thought it luck to be in the tutelage of such a master, even one that begrudged their training. But, Dean had been pissed when the time came for his obligatory internship.
The martial arts were more Caleb’s thing. Dean preferred boxing or straight out street fighting. The swords and bows were cool. Guns were better. Living on Jessup’s houseboat in the middle of a gator-infested Florida swamp for three weeks was not his teen dream adventure. Dean would rather have been spending the summer at Jim’s with his brother and Reaves. All in all, Dean took away his skill with the Katana, an acquired taste for gator meat, and acute appreciation for The Art of War.
It made sense in retrospect that Dean would latch onto the two-thousand year old text with all the enthusiasm Caleb had for The Three Musketeers. The Art of War was a tool for understanding conflict. Dean’s life theme was conflict. Hidden within the novel’s roots were the secrets to resolution. Dean craved nothing more than resolution for his family.
At its heart, The Art of War was not about war at all, but how to find elusive peace. Even as a fourteen-year-old unable to put his subconscious feelings in words, Dean Winchester had yearned for peace.
Thirteen years later Dean wanted it even more.
Sun Tzu had said, “To win without fighting is best.”
Dean was tired of fighting. And damn, he wanted to win.
The Art of War spoke of knowing thy enemy. Griffin, Ian, Silas were enemies. Each time he watched his unconscious brother pull in another life-affirming breath, the hard-learned lesson was driven home.
It was almost as painful as Jessup’s knuckle-rapping bamboo pole technique. It definitely drew his focus to the task at hand, which had been Cooper’s intention. Now, Dean wasn't suffering the physical pain for his lack of attention. It was those he cared for.
Dean leaned forward, trying to find a comfortable position in the hospital chair. He folded his arms, positioned them by Sam’s bed and rested his head atop them. It had been a long thirty-six hours.
Dean wanted Sam to wake up. He wanted Caleb to wake up. And he wanted someone to pay for all the hours he had sat contemplating the alternatives to those wishes being fulfilled. As much as Mackland’s reassurances were welcome, nothing short of seeing and talking to Sam was going to quell the foreboding feelings of tragedy clinging to Dean. It was hard to be an optimist in the face of having everything dangled over a daunting precipice with no footing or handhold in sight.
Dean was so caught up in his misery he almost missed the brush against his hair. It was light as a feather. Then a heavier weight descended upon his head. He lifted his gaze to look at his sleeping brother. Sam was looking back at him.
“Hey.” Dean straightened, catching the hand that had slipped from his hair. He squeezed his brother’s fingers. “Sammy? Can you hear me?”
A slight frown turned to a full blown look of confusion, but Sam nodded and attempted to speak. ‘Yeah’ came out sounding more like a groan.
“Here, drink this.” Dean grabbed the glass of water from the table by the bed and carefully let his brother sip from it. “You’ve been out of it awhile.”
Sam took a few painful swallows, looked around the sterile white room, and then cleared his throat. “Dean…what happened?”
The older Winchester sibling grinned, reclaiming his chair by the bed. “The usual. I had to save you from the baddies, cart your limp ass down a mountain, and then sit here in this back-breaking chair feeling the gray hair sprouting while you took a two-day beauty nap.”
“Is that all?” Sam quipped, his eyes closing.
Dean placed his hand on his brother’s arm. “Stay awake, Sammy.”
It seemed to take an extreme effort, but the younger man did as his brother requested. “Okay.”
“I’ll buzz the nurse and have her get Mac.”
At the sound of Ames’s name, Sam’s eyes widened and more clarity entered the dark depths. A hand clumsily sought out Dean’s arm and fingers tightened weakly. “Caleb?”
“Is okay.” Dean assured, hoping he wasn’t being too optimistic. “He’s just down the hallway.” If Sam had woken up, then Caleb would too.
“That bad?” Sam asked.
Dean understood. They didn’t call Dr. Mackland Ames for the usual, rough and tumble, run-of –the- mill injury. “Yeah. Didn’t want just anybody cracking your skull open if it came to that. Which luckily it didn’t.”
Sam sighed. “Thanks.” The frown returned. “But…what happened?”
“Silas and Ian were hunting for other things besides the Paralda.”
“What did they do to us?”
“Not much. Their little box did all the work for them.” Dean leaned closer to his brother, peered closely at him. “What do you remember? Anything about what went down?”
“I remember the box was working…for a second I saw the sylph.”
“Yeah. It was a supernatural roach motel with added benefits. It takes out the elemental and in one fell swoop all psychics in a one mile radius.” Dean reached up and touched his brother’s forehead with a forced calm. “Speaking of freaky heads, how’s yours?”
Sam took a moment to take stock. “Feels like someone used it as a steel drum.”
“Steel lightning rod is more like it.” Dean ignored the perplexed look. “What else do you remember?”
Sam swallowed thickly. “I remember the Dolly mobile.”
“Probably burned in your brain for life.”
A look of concern crossed Sam’s face–a thought suddenly penetrated the fog around him. “Are you okay?” He looked his brother over with a critical eye. “They didn’t hurt you?”
“Dude.” Dean scoffed. “I could take Ian with one hand tied behind my back.”
Dean didn’t mention that this time Ian had metaphorically tied both his hands. He cleared his throat. “They just wanted to mess with you and Damien.”
“Why?”
Dean really hated that question. Why don’t we have a mom? Why do we have to leave? Why did all the dinosaurs die? There was never an easy answer when it was Sam. “They’ve signed on with Team Griffin.”
“They did all this on purpose? They set us up?”
“Yes, Sam.” Why did his brother have to look so hurt…so shocked. “They knew exactly what they were doing. Griffin wanted to let us know we have no advantages going into the game.”
“What are we going to do?”
Dean didn’t answer right away. He damn well knew what he wanted to do. Instead he patted Sam’s leg. “I’m going to call Mac to come check you out. I promised him I’d get someone as soon as you woke.” His brother seemed fine, but Dean wanted a doctor’s stamp of approval.
Sam touched his head with a wince. “You…sure Caleb’s okay?”
“Yeah.” Dean’s confidence wavered. He put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Are you alright?”
The younger hunter looked at him. “Something else wrong?"
Dean was spared a further explanation as a nurse entered the room. “Mr. Conner, your uncle…” She paused as her gaze lighted on Sam. “Johnathan? You’re awake too.”
Dean looked at her. “Is Caleb awake?”
She hesitated. “That’s why I came to get you. Dr. Ames needs your assistance.”
The older Winchester sibling glanced to his brother and then to the door. “Sam?”
“I’m okay.” Sam assured. “Go.”
Dean nodded, and then moved towards the door. He took the nurse by the arm. “Stay with him.”
Dean heard Mac and Caleb’s distressed voices from down the hall, as well as Dr. Jones.
“You’re lying to me!” Caleb tried once again to get out of the hospital bed he’d come to in only moments earlier.
“I would not lie to you.” Mackland tried to reason with his agitated son. “Not about that. You know better.”
Caleb pulled away from the unfamiliar doctor trying to hold his arm in place to keep Caleb from removing the IV. “I can’t sense them. Nothing.” The psychic held his free hand to his head as he once again tried to orient himself. “It’s just like with John.” Caleb had known the instant his mentor had died. It was the same with his grandmother.
Dr. Ames shared a look with his colleague, who was frowning at him as if he were indulging a spoiled child. “I told you there was an accident, Son. It’s normal to be confused.” He couldn’t exactly discuss Caleb’s abilities or present lack there of in the company of strangers. “You need to calm down. I can’t sedate you and I don’t want to restrain you.”
“Where are they?” Caleb searched his father’s face. “Did they bring them in with me? Damn it. What aren’t you telling me, Dad?”
“His disorientation and agitation are typical of this type of trauma, Dr. Ames. Perhaps we should…”
Caleb didn’t give the man time to finish. “Perhaps you should get the hell out of my face.”
“Caleb.” Mackland flashed Jones an apologetic look, nodded for him to give them a little space. “Stop.”
The other doctor moved away with a heavy sigh of impatience. Ames placed a firm hand on his son’s shoulder. “Can you sense me, Son?” He lowered his voice, made sure Caleb was holding his gaze. “I’m right here in front of you. You can see me, hear me, but you can’t get any kind of reading, can you?”
Caleb blinked, took a deep breath. He winced as he tried to make some kind of telepathic contact with his father. It was just a dark empty void.
It was a disconcerting sensation. Suddenly everything that tethered him to his reality had been cut loose. His abilities were woven in his being like the most intricate of fabric. Every person he cared for was a thread, one he could touch anytime he wanted. Now that had all been torn away and Caleb felt as if he was falling into a great abyss.
“Mac?” Dean moved around two nurses waiting in the wings. They seemed unsure of what to do, although one was poised with a hypodermic needle. “What’s going on?”
“Dean. Thank God.”
“What’s going on in here?”
“You’re okay?”
Dean made his way to the bed, usual smirk in place. “I’m not the one flat on his back in the hospital. This is getting to be a habit with you, Damien.”
“Sam?” Caleb ignored the attempt at levity. He reached his hand out, grasping hold of Dean’s jacket. Once his mind accepted Dean was whole and concrete he released the breath he had been holding. “Is Sammy alright?”
“Yeah, he's awake.” Dean flashed Mackland a concerned glance. “He’s just a few doors down.”
Mackland squeezed Caleb’s shoulder. “That’s good. Did he mention anything being out of sorts?”
Dean frowned, looked at Reaves again. “No. Just a headache.”
“I can’t sense him.” Caleb willed himself to let go of his friend. “I can’t sense you.”
“I’m sure it’s only temporary.” Mackland gave his son’s arm another reassuring squeeze. “I’ll go check on Sam and leave Dean to catch you up on the accident.” He nodded to the other physician. “Dr. Jones won’t you join me?”
The man seemed reluctant to leave. “Shouldn’t one of us assess your son further?”
Mackland looked at Caleb who was still staring at Dean as if he were some kind of mirage. “Let’s give Caleb a moment to orient himself. I’ll schedule a full battery of tests for both he and Sam.”
Jones shrugged. “Very well.”
He moved towards the door and Ames returned his gaze to the boys. “Make sure he stays put.”
Dean grinned. “No problem. I have The Scholar’s proxy.”
“Deuce, what the hell happened?” Caleb asked once they had the room to themselves.
Dean claimed a seat on the edge of the bed, angled his body towards his best friend. “I have four words for you, Damien. I. Told. You. So.”
Caleb swallowed, licked his dry lips. “Ian’s responsible?”
“Yeah. He’s working for Griffin.”
“Damn.” The psychic remembered very little of what happened after they left the RV to meet Silas and Ian. But when he awoke there was an impression of danger lingering and a sense of urgency he couldn’t quite grasp. It was all smoke and mirrors and it mixed badly with his absent abilities, nearly sending him into a panic.
“Yeah.” Dean raised a brow. “You remember anything?”
“The box?” Caleb rubbed his pounding forehead as images swirled through his thoughts like bits and pieces of confetti. “That damn box did something.”
Dean nodded. “Griffin’s psychic death ray.” Winchester explained Ian and Silas's mission and future plans. Dean added Mackland’s conjectures as well as a few of his own.
When the story was completed, Caleb’s headache had grown exponentially. What was that old adage about the plot thickening? “Fucking Ian. Sonofabitch!”
“Again.” Dean smiled to take some of the sting out of his jab. “I told you so.”
Caleb glared at him. “Damn it, Deuce. I didn’t think the bastard was screwed in the head enough to go against The Scholar-to commit outright mutiny. He grew up in the fucking Brotherhood.”
Dean gave him an incredulous look. “He beat you within an inch of your life. That kind of screams sociopath to me.”
Caleb cursed the day he shared that little tidbit of information with Sam. It was done in warning to keep Sam wary about sharing his ability with just anyone, especially those at the Roadhouse. Reaves knew Sam would tell his brother. He just never imagined both Winchesters would pick at the old wound with such fervor. “I know he’s a goddamn asshole, Dean. But some of the things he did back then...I could understand.”
“Understand?” Dean tilted his head. “Seriously?”
“They didn’t know me. I was a newbie-John’s pet, Jim’s Golden Boy. It was like hazing.”
“Hazing?” Winchester shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t get you, man. Are you justifying what Ian and his boys did? Is this because of your freaky-ass grandfather? Because you think he conjured old yellow-eyes?”
“What?” Caleb pushed himself up in the bed. “Did Ian tell you that?”
“Yes.” Dean softened his voice, which only seemed to drain even more of the color from Reaves’s face. “The secret’s out. So you don’t have to protect Hastings anymore. You never needed to. None of it matters. Not to me. It won’t to Sam either.”
Caleb slumped against the mattress. He brought the heels of his hands up to dig roughly at his stinging eyes. “Fuck, Deuce. I wasn’t protecting that bastard.” He looked up at the younger hunter. “And it doesn’t have anything to do with my family lineage.” That’s what he told himself. “I figured you would hear that theory sooner or later.” Never was preferable, but no longer an option.
Dean threw his hands in the air. “Then why all the forgive and forget shit, Damien? Why’d you lie to Dad? Pastor Jim would have tossed Ian, Fisher, and Josh out of the club faster than they could have said blackballed.”
Caleb bit his lip. God. He just wanted the kid to drop it already. “Does it really matter? All of this stuff going on now...Griffin...the plot against the new Triad...shouldn’t that be where we focus our attention?”
“You and Sammy almost had your brains seared. I was left with no choice but to work with those sonsofbitches.”
“Did they hurt you?”
Seeing the stricken look on Caleb’s face had the cartoon light bulb over Dean’s head flashing. It all became suddenly clear to Dean. What had seemed completely out of Caleb Reaves’s character now fit perfectly with everything Dean knew to be true about his friend. “They threatened me and Sam? All those years ago, that’s how the kept you in line? Isn’t it?”
“Deuce, drop it.” Caleb growled.
“I’m right. Ian, Fisher and Josh promised to do something to us if you didn’t cover for them.”
Reaves met Dean’s gaze and exhaled heavily. “Just Ian.”
“And you believed him?”
“As you pointed out he had just pretty much beat the hell out of me. It seemed like a good bet at the time that he wasn’t above torturing little kids. I wasn’t willing to take the chance.”
Dean raked a hand through his hair. “Do you remember Maryland?”
Caleb frowned at the shift in subjects. “State next to West Virginia if I recall.”
“Good to see the brain scrambler didn’t put the smartass lobe of your brain out of commission.”
Reaves crossed his arms over his chest. “I remember you getting your ass kicked there by a bunch of bar flies, Deuce. But that’s happened in a lot of our fair states.”
Dean snorted. “Right. I was thinking more about the ass-kicking you dished out.”
Caleb’s mouth twitched as he recalled the incident at the ‘Hole in the Wall’ bar. He had wiped the floor with the bastards who had ganged up on a sixteen-year-old Dean. “Good times. But those idiots weren’t hunters, Dude. They didn’t wear a ring that we’re honor bound to.”
“Would it have stopped you if they did?”
Reaves glanced away. “I’ll take the fifth on that.”
“That’s what I thought. I know you believe in The Brotherhood...”
“And you don’t?” Caleb cut him off. “You going to tell me it’s not the same for you as it is for me? I know you, man. Our reasoning might be a little different, but it’s not just a job for you. It’s who you are. We’re born soldiers, whether you want to admit it or not.”
Dean nodded. “I’m not denying anything, Damien. I’m just saying that sometimes the enemy is wearing the same uniform, saluting the same damn flag.”
Before Caleb could reply a young nurse stepped into the room. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we need to take you to radiology now.”
Dean could see the protest building in Caleb’s eyes and quickly stood up to make room for the technicians entering with a gurney. “Don’t pout, Damien. Be good to the nice nurse and I’ll bring you back a treat.”
Caleb ignored the people buzzing around them trying to prepare him for transport. “Where are you going?”
“Out.”
“Out?” Reaves wrinkled his brow, forgetting he couldn’t easily take a peek at what Dean was thinking. “Out where?”
Dean could hear the concern in the other man’s voice. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to any bars with a pair of brass knuckles and a Louisville Slugger for back up.”
“Why don’t I believe you?”
“Because you’re cynical.” And Caleb knew him too damn well. “Really, fresh air is all I’m after. And maybe a change of scenery from all this sterile white. I’m starting to feel like the walls are closing in on me.”
Caleb smirked. “All that vibrant Dolly décor has ruined you for the mundane.”
“That must be it.” Dean grinned, squeezed his shoulder and started for the door. “Promise to kill me if I start wearing sequins or fringes.”
RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ
The long hike up to Andrews Bald had given Dean the fresh air he needed. He sorted through the tangle of thoughts, planning their next step in the deadly game of cat and mouse.
The clearing looked harmless this time around and despite the lateness of the day, he encountered no hikers. No gale-force winds greeted him either, only a slight breeze. He was surprised to see the Catawba plants were no longer blooming, their vibrant flowers shrunken and wilted. Things were back to their natural state. Al Gore could rest assured.
Dean sought his peace of mind. And tripped over it. One corner of Ian’s magic cube lay awkwardly in the undergrowth. Despite the stumble, Dean exhaled a sigh of relief. He was afraid Hastings and Fox had returned to retrieve it. Obviously they hadn’t thought it worth the risk of being caught at the scene of the crime.
That was smart of them.
Because no matter what Dean told Caleb, he wanted nothing more than to exact revenge on Ian Hastings and Silas Fox. He wanted them to suffer like Sam and Caleb. He wanted them to be afraid-to experience gut-gnawing, consuming fear. The same kind of fear Dean had endured. But Dean was far from dumb. A smart warrior was proactive-strategic.
As Dean freed the box from its vine-wrapped prison and turned it over in his hands. The slightly charred weapon was no longer menacing. Its structure, although simple on the outside, probably held intricate workings inside. Hopefully it hadn’t been compromised by the Paralda’s assault.
His plan evolved. Step one: Methodically take it apart one piece at a time just as he would dismantle Ian at a date yet to be set. He had figured out how an EMF worked and built his own. He would discover the secrets of Griffin’s toy.
Step two: Build something to counteract it. He had a lot more motivation this time, not just shear curiosity and boredom. He needed to protect his family…and The Brotherhood. No one was going to mess with either, whether they wore a ring or not.
Dean slid the box into his pack and stood to start the hike back down the mountain. His ringing cell phone stopped him. He’d been gone several hours and expected it to be Sam or Caleb checking on him, but the call wasn’t from either.
The name sent a wave of heat from Winchester’s head to his toes. He clenched his jaw, his hand tightened around the cell. “Joshua.” He ground out, reading the display screen. “Or should I say Judas?”
Dean looked from the ringing phone to the bagged weapon. Sawyer had been all too happy to send Ian and Silas to their aid, or had he delivered them into the enemy’s hands?
A part of Winchester wanted to give Sawyer the benefit of the doubt. After all, he’d spent time with them over the years, with Pastor Jim. As much as it irked Dean, Joshua had been a part of their life at the farm to some degree. He knew them better than outsiders like Ian and Silas.
It made him ten times more dangerous.
With the phone still ringing, Dean turned if off and tossed it in his bag.
RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ
Caleb and Sam had been moved to a regular room by the time he returned. Dean had stopped by the RV, picked up their things, and squared things with Maggie, promising to send her a copy of the article he would write about the strange events in Cosby.
Dean would stay at the hospital as he had done the night before. Mackland had scored them cots in the doctor’s quarters, which was more like a big closet with bunk beds and a mini-fridge. But it beat the hospital chairs any day.
The two patients were watching a replay of the NASCAR Bristol race, both looking better than earlier.
“Told you.” Sam shot Caleb a triumphant look as Dean entered their shared room. “And you bet I couldn’t pick him up from the parking lot.”
“Show off.” Reaves grumbled. “You’re just lucky I had the Sammy shield at full force or your abilities would be fried too.”
“He still flying without his freaky side?” Dean asked as he sat on his brother’s bed.
“Yep.” Sam grinned. “He’s telepathically impotent.”
Caleb threw a pillow at the younger man. “I’ve never been impotent. Ever!”
“That’s Mac’s diagnosis.” Sam glanced to his brother, an evil glint in his dark eyes. “He said it was temporary and that perhaps some visualization and mantra work might be beneficial.”
“Great.” Dean groaned. “Two New Age freaks. I don’t care what Mac prescribes. There will be no Yanni playing in the Impala.” He held out the brown paper bags he brought. “Besides Doctor Dean has the cure-all right here.”
“A gag and duct tape?” Caleb asked, shifting a gaze towards his roommate. “Because if I have to stay cooped up with the runt for another night, not much else is going to make me feel better.”
“Not even a cheeseburger, extra grease, ketchup and hold anything green?”
Reaves sighed. “Okay. That might make my pain a little more bearable.”
Dean tossed him one bag and then handed his brother the other. “I made sure they put extra rabbit food on yours and I even got you one of those girly coffee drinks, Sammy.”
The younger Winchester rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Bro. You’re all heart.”
Caleb unwrapped the burger dripping with processed tomato puree. “You clear your head, Deuce?”
Winchester grinned, knowing Reaves was dying to know where he had gone to. “Something like that.”
“He went to see that woman, Maggie.”
Dean glared at his brother. “You reading me without permission, bitch?”
Sam smirked around a big bite of his burger, pointed to the smear of red-lipstick on his brother’s face. “No. It’s called deductive reasoning, jerk. You reek of cheap perfume.”
“You abandoned us at the hospital to score a piece of…” The last of Caleb’s indignant inquiry was lost in the mouthful of fries.
Dean grinned. “I waited until you both were awake.”
“Your tact is amazing.”
“Speaking of tact…” Dean dug in the last bag he was holding with flourish. “I thought you boys might be getting a little homesick.” He produced two picture frames dotted with sequin butterflies, which he placed strategically on the nightstand.
Dolly Parton’s brilliant smile beamed at the boys from the glossy photos.
Sam looked at his brother as if Dean had just committed armed robbery. “You stole those.”
“And you confused tact with tacky,” Caleb added with a disappointed shake of his head. “You could have at least snagged the one with the landscape-like cleavage.”
Mackland entered the room. He frowned as he saw the food laid in front of his son and Sam. "Dean. . ."
Dean shrugged. "At least I brought gifts."
Ames walked over to his son, and plucked a fry from Caleb's hand. "And so did I. As long as you both continue to improve then you will be released tomorrow."
"That beats a burger." Sam replied as he finished the last bite, and crumpled the paper wrappings.
"Bet you wouldn't have said that if I brought you a Chicken Cesar salad." Dean retorted, and sat on the edge of his brother's bed. He placed a hand on Sam's ankle, seeking the comfort of the contact.
"But, I don’t want you boys back on the road for awhile." Mackland advised, using the fry to point at his son.
"Guess it's back to Jim's." Caleb snatched the French fry from his father. "We have to figure out what we're going to do about Griffin."
"We will. You can count on that." Mac winked at Dean.
"Dean might not have had it all figured out when it came to who
their enemies were, but he had no doubts about his friends.