In
The Company of Dragons
By: Ridley C. James
Beta: Tidia
Disclaimer: Nothing Supernatural
belongs to me. All those lovely men are property of Kripke Enterprise
and The CW.
RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ
Chapter 3/7
Concerning dragons-with
time and patience, it is possible to build up a bond of
trust.-Dragonology
Sam grinned wildly as he reeled in
the tiny squirming blue gill. “That's ten!” He shouted to his brother
who was on the other side of the pond. “I'm ahead of you now.”
“It doesn't count if you keep
catching the same one over and over again,” Dean hollered back.
Jim smiled as he caught the
floundering amphibian the seven-year-old swung in his direction. “And
just how does he know it's the same one?” he asked, winking at Sam as
he gently removed the hook from the fish's bottom lip.
“He doesn't look like the same one.”
Sam pointed to a row of scales. “I think he has more blue.”
“I agree. Definitely not the same one
as last time.” Scout barked and jumped out into the water as Murphy
tossed the fish back.
“Aren't we going to keep any to eat
for dinner tonight?” Sam asked, watching the puppy floundering through
the water in a vain attempt to retrieve their catch.
“That one wasn't big enough, my boy.”
The kid frowned. “He was big enough
for a fish stick. All ten of them were. We could have had as many as
comes in a frozen pack.”
The pastor chuckled. “How about we
stick to hotdogs, instead. Besides-you want to save some fish to catch
later on, right? I'm afraid it would deplete the pond's reserve to feed
our motley crew.”
“Okay.” Sam nodded. “But, can we make
the hotdogs over a fire? Like last time?”
Jim raised a brow and looked at the
child as if he had just sprouted a second head. “Is there any other way
to prepare them?”
The grin widened, dimples deepened.
“I love you, Pastor Jim.”
Usually the words put a slight skip
in the older man's heart, tightened his chest a little, maybe even
caused his eyes to sting. But today the ring of innocence was like a
bucket of cold pond water tossed onto his overheated skin. He roughly
cleared his throat. “I love you too, my boy.”
A small hand found his and Sam was
tugging him up the bank towards the big shade tree where they'd left
their things. “We'll need marshmallows, too.”
“Of course.” Jim acquiesced,
realizing that at that moment Sam could have asked for the moon and the
big preacher would have attempted to retrieve it from the night sky.
“And Graham crackers… and chocolate
bars.”
“Sammy, what are you going on about?”
Dean asked, catching up with the two as they collapsed on the grass
beneath the tree. Atticus situated himself on the ground beside the
older boy, and Scout viciously attacked the twelve-year child’s
dangling shoe laces.
“We're going to cook over a campfire
tonight.” He cast a hopeful look towards Jim. “And maybe even sleep in
the tent.”
“Dad won't go for that, kiddo. You
still have a cold.”
“Do not.” Sam sniffed. “Besides, it's
hot outside. Hotter than in the house.”
“He does have a point there.”
“Hey, I'm not the one you have to
convince.” Dean raised his hands. “Talk to the guy with the permanent
scowl.”
Jim nudged the younger boy with his
shoulder. “We'll work on him.”
The twelve-year-old glanced at the
priest. “Will Dad and Caleb be hunting tonight?”
“I'm not sure.”
“What are they working on, anyway?”
Even Reaves had been tightlipped about this particular hunt. He was
usually the first to spill the details anytime Dean wasn't allowed to
come along. Whether it was bragging rights, or just his way of rubbing
it in the younger boy's face, the twelve-year-old wasn't sure, but he
hadn't tried to torment Dean over the current hunt. “Is it another
werewolf? Or a banshee?”
“The moon's not right for wolves,”
Sam answered and both his brother and Jim looked at him.
The little boy just grinned. “I read
Mac’s books about them. He explained the Lunar cycle to me.”
“Freak,” Dean muttered, turning back
to Jim who was still staring at his little brother in wonderment. “So…”
Murphy cleared his throat. “I believe
it is something much more vile. Something best left to older hunters,
I'm afraid.” He patted Dean's shoulder, gave him his most winning
smile, the one that always reminded Dean of Santa Clause for some
reason. “Not young whippersnappers like you and me.”
“But you're the oldest hunter, Pastor
Jim.”
Dean snorted at his brother's comment
and the priest shot him a mocking-warning glare.
“You make me sound like that
Crypt-keeper fellow your brother likes to watch on TV , Samuel.”
“You're the oldest person I know.”
“So it would seem.” Murphy's frown
morphed into another grin. “But I prefer the term weathered or wise.”
“How 'bout ancient artifact?” Dean
offered. “Or antique?”
“How about we talk about something
else.” Jim raised one silver brow, and both boys shared a knowing smile.
“Our camp-out?” Sam suggested.
“We could wait until Dad and Caleb
leave for the hunt,” the older boy said with a casual shrug. “I mean,
you are in charge when Dad's not around Pastor Jim.”
“Ahh.” Murphy rubbed at his chin.
“The old 'easier to ask forgiveness than permission' tactic, huh?”
The adolescent shrugged. “He's going
to yell either way.”
Jim chuckled. “True enough, my boy.
True enough.”
RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ
“Damn it, Caleb!” John yelled.
“Either you think it's a spirit or you don't.”
“Sorry if I'm not filling all the
blank spaces quick enough for you, Vanna White, but the visions don't
always work that way.” The younger hunter snapped back, rubbing at his
temples. It was too early in the morning for his usual rounds with
John, especially after the night he'd had.
“Maybe all the shouting is making it
harder to focus?” Mac offered from behind the daily newspaper. Without
looking, he could feel the twin gazes turn in his direction. He was
surprised the paper didn't start to smolder. “Honestly, I don't see how
the two of you ever get anything accomplished,” he mumbled.
“We have a system,” John defended.
“It works,” Caleb added.
“Of course it does.” The doctor
turned a page, continued to scan the print of the business section.
“Although, I think some civility wouldn't hurt.”
John snorted. “Yeah, manners, that's
what we need in our line of work. I don't recall that attribute ever
being taught in the military.”
Caleb looked at him. “Courtesy I can
live without. Honesty would be nice though.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“It means you expect me to come clean
about everything, Winchester. Spill all details. What about you?”
“I'm sorry. But the last time I
checked, I didn't have an inside line to the bastard behind the
disappearances.”
Caleb frowned. “I'm not talking about
the hunt.”
John pointed a finger at him. “But
you should be. Lives are at stake. Childrens' lives.”
“Believe me, I know. I've seen what's
happening.”
The older hunter rubbed at the back
of his neck, trying to release some of the knots of tension that were
winding tighter with every passing minute. “Just not enough to know if
the killer is human or not?”
“I've never had visions about
anything not related to the supernatural.”
“There's a first time for everything.”
“He's right,” Mac interjected,
thoughtfully. He put his paper down. “Your abilities could be
progressing. It might be something we want to look closer at.”
“Don't get any ideas, Freud.” Reaves
shook his head. “This isn't about my abilities. These freakin' visions
or whatever they are, don't feel the same. I can't explain it. It's not
like the usual gig.” For one, he'd ended up being the equivalent to a
telepathic punching bag.
“Then maybe this bastard is
human-just one sick bastard.”
“Maybe.” The psychic looked at John.
“But the ring. . . It's important. I know it is. That's one thing
that's coming across loud and clear.”
Mac rubbed his chin. “The symbol
you've been researching?”
“Yeah. Without any luck.”
The Doctor frowned. “Bobby wasn't
able to find anything on it?”
“No, but until last night, I haven't
been able to get a very clear fix on it. I just knew it was cross-like.
We thought it could be cult-related. Like those crazy sonsofbitches we
ran across in Fairbanks who were summoning the succubus demon.”
“Are the killings ritualistic or
sacrificial in nature?”
“We're not sure. The children have
merely disappeared. Until Caleb had the first nightmare and recognized
the little boy's picture, we weren't sure what was happening to them.”
John ran a hand over his beard. “The last two kids vanished from the
outskirts of Seattle. One three months ago, and another a couple of
weeks ago.”
“The vision I had last night…it was a
strangling. The first one was a beating.” Reaves rubbed at his eyes.
“Whatever it is, it's strong, and vicious.”
Mac thought for a moment. “Did you
sense that the attacker was excited? Or angry?”
His son looked at him. “How the hell
should I know?”
The older man's face softened. “Son,
your visions are usually sensory in nature, and you connect with the
attacker, more so than the victim.”
“Exactly.” Caleb nodded. “Because of
the supernatural aspect. That's what you always said. My fucked up DNA
makes me a kindred soul to anything evil.”
“That's not what I said,” Mac's voice
hardened. “You are nothing like the things you hunt.”
John interrupted the stare down. “So,
you think the thing is some kind of spirit, or maybe a human possessed
by a demon.”
“I don't know!” Caleb shouted. “I
didn't sense anything from him. The only thing I was feeling was sick
and …” He faltered, frowned.
“And?” Mac raised a brow.
Reaves sighed, looked down at the
table. “Scared. I felt scared for the kid.”
“That's what you meant by different?”
Ames postulated. “You don't usually empathize with the victim in the
visions.”
Empathize was a very weak word for
what had happened. “Right.” Caleb glanced at John out of the corner of
his eye, wondering if the older hunter understood what Mac was saying.
Reaves' visions were horrible,
terrifying, and made more so by the fact that in the moment they were
happening, Caleb was neither horrified nor terrified. He was captive to
the act in every possible way, including whatever sense of pleasure the
perpetrator was experiencing.
If he were honest with himself, it
was one of the reasons he became so obsessed with a hunt when his
psychic abilities were involved. He wasn't only killing the monster, he
was killing any part of himself that might be linked with the very
darkness he had taken an oath to destroy.
“But you still didn't see the thing?”
The psychic turned on Winchester. “I
was a little busy trying to escape, and then I was tied up with the
whole being beaten and strangled deal.”
“You mean you were watching the
escape and death?” Mac questioned, sharply, waited for his son to meet
his gaze. “In a third person sense? Right?”
“Leave it, Mac!” Caleb growled. “God!
Both of you are impossible.”
He pushed his chair back and stood.
“I'm going to the library to do some more research.”
“No.” John shook his head and stood
also. “I need you to stay here with the boys.”
“Not happening, Johnny.” Reaves shook
his head. “I told you yesterday. I'm not your fucking nanny. They can
stay with Jim.”
“Jim is going into town with us,” Mac
explained.
“Am I not on this hunt anymore?” His
green eyes searched John's face. “I've done all the research…and I'm
the one who called you in the first place. What can Mac and Jim do that
I can't?”
“This is not about the hunt, kid,”
John sighed. “You can call Bobby again while we're gone, now that you
have a better image of that cross he might be able to find something...”
Reaves looked between the two men.
“What the hell is going on?” When neither replied, the young hunter
shook his head. “Since when do you let anything interfere with a hunt?
You're the one who pointed out that lives were in danger. You were
completely obsessed with this until you got that phone call yesterday.”
“It's not your concern.”
“Are you kidding me? I'm the one with
the ring-side seat for each show. If you're not into saving some kids,
just tell me and I'll do this one on my own.”
“I'm trying to save my kids, Caleb!”
John snapped and had his hands wrapped in the boy's shirt before he
could stop him self. He shook him. “My kids, damn it!”
“Johnathan,” Mac said softly as he
stood. He took a step towards the two hunters and Winchester released
the younger man with a shove. He raked his fingers through his dark
hair.
“Dad?” Caleb felt his heart quicken,
an unfamiliar feeling of dread swept through him.
“He needs to know, John. He is a part
of this, whether you wish him to be or not. Conner ensured that, I'm
afraid.”
“A part of what?” Reaves questioned.
“What am I a part of?”
“None of you should be a part of
this!” Winchester bit out. “This is my family. My problem.”
“The Brotherhood says differently,”
Mac countered.
“The Brotherhood is part of the
reason I'm going to lose my son.”
“You know that's not true…” Mac
started in again but Caleb interrupted him.
“Lose your son?” Reaves had the
irrational desire to find Sam and Dean at that very moment. His eyes
unconsciously went to the kitchen window, as if he could see past the
trees and fields to catch sight of the pond. Where vision failed, his
sixth sense excelled. A sense of contentment-joy-washed over him. No
fear. No pain. They were safe. “What does that mean?”
“It means that…” John hesitated,
finally meeting the younger man's gaze. “It means that I'm going to
have to give Sammy up to his grandfather.”
“What?” Caleb shook his head, held up
his hands in confusion. “Wait…you have a father?”
The older hunter rolled his eyes.
“Yes, genius, but it's not my father. It's Mary's father. He wants
custody.”
“And did you tell him to go fuck
himself?”
“Among other choice words.”
“Then did you kick his ass?”
“Unfortunately, son, your and John's
special brand of mediation skills doesn't always work. Especially with
the rich and powerful.”
“I don't understand.”
Winchester looked away. “Conner has
me over a barrel.”
“A barrel! This is Sam you're talking
about. You've taken out werewolves, wendigos, and poltergeists. You're
going to cave to some Donald Trump wannabe?”
Mac rested a hand on his son's arm,
but the twenty-year-old stepped away from him.
“Son, you don't know what Charles
Conner has planned.”
“I know he's not a fucking match for
the Brotherhood.” He looked at John, didn't say what he was thinking.
There was no way some old man was a match for John Winchester, money or
not. “You can't let this happen.”
“You think I want this to happen?”
John exploded. “The man is a cold-hearted bastard. Mary was a fucking
miracle. She turned out the way she did mostly because of her mother
and the fact that she spent so much time in boarding schools away from
that man's influence. You think I want my sweet, trusting, little boy
in his hands?”
Caleb didn't blink. “Then we'll take
him out.”
“Caleb Thomas Reaves!” Mac snapped,
bringing both hunters' gazes to him. “You will not speak of killing a
human being. Do you hear me?”
Reaves shook his head. “He's no
better than the things we hunt.”
“You will not put the end before the
means.” Ames stepped forward, gave John a withering look as if he had
spoken the words to the other hunter instead of his son.
“You both will let me handle this
from my end. Is that understood? We will explore every avenue to block
Mr. Conner by playing his own game, but we will not resort to
treachery, or sully the hard work that generations of hunters before us
died to accomplish.”
He looked to Reaves. “The Brotherhood
is about protecting the innocent. We do not punish the guilty, nor do
we take matters into our own hands when feel we are at a perilous
junction with our backs against the wall. We will do this my way.”
“Said like a true Scholar,” John
sniped. “But things don't always fall in a damn rulebook.”
Mac's face twisted in anger. “And not
all things can be handled with a sword and a bad attitude.”
“So, you're going to lecture him to
death, instead?” Caleb rolled his eyes, hiding the slight amusement he
always felt when his father got on a tangent. He looked at John. “I
don't think you have anything to worry about, Johnny.”
“Yeah, your daddy is a sharp-tongued
bandit.”
“Don't encourage him,” Mac growled,
glaring once more at Winchester. “You have already had far too much
influence in his education.”
“Hey, I'm not the one that trusted me
to baby sit all those times when you were off cracking skulls open.”
“I never needed a babysitter.” Reaves
protested. He had always looked at his times staying with the
Winchesters as training sessions-educational field trips.
Mac smiled knowingly at his old
friend. “Just remember those words when one of your own children ends
up smart-mouthed and incorrigible.” He nodded to Reaves. “Good nannies
are just as hard to come by these days.”
The young, dark-haired hunter sighed.
“I'm not a fucking nanny.”
“No.” John glanced at him, his
expression serious once more. “But I know you can protect my boys. I
trust you. After all, as Mac pointed out, I trained you myself.”
Caleb faltered, not quite sure what
to comeback with. Praise from Winchester was rare and often very
subtle. For just a moment he was tempted to whisper 'Cristo'. “This
your way of trying to butter me up, Jar Head? What next? Hearts and
flowers?”
The older hunter snorted, ducked his
head, and rubbed at the back of his neck again. “But damn if you aren't
a smart-ass.” He glanced back up. “How about I just give you ten
dollars, like the good old days?”
“Twenty-five and you have a deal.”
Caleb crossed his arms over his chest. “Inflation you know, and I am a
starving college student now.”
“Fifteen,” John countered. “Sam's out
of diapers. There's not that much to it anymore.”
Reaves laughed. “Have you met your
sons? Dean reeks of testosterone. I should charge you fifty.”
“Twenty… and you make sure they eat,
and stay out of the fucking bathroom.”
The psychic nodded. “Done.”
“See?” Mac grinned, slapped a hand on
each man's back. “Civility. Compromise. It all has its place in the
grand scheme of things.” The doctor started for the hallway. “I'll make
a few calls, Johnathan, and then we'll head into the city to see Bart.”
Winchester nodded, watching him go,
before turning back to Caleb. “He thinks he can fix this with the law
and by throwing money at it.”
“It's the Ames way,” Caleb said. He'd
only been a part of the Ames family for seven years, but he'd learned
that first rule immediately.
John sighed. “I hope to hell he's
right, and this does work.” He swallowed thickly. “If not…I'll lose
them both.”
Caleb knew what he meant. John hadn't
mentioned Dean, and the younger hunter didn't know the details of what
this Conner had in mind, or what he'd used against John to gain the
upper hand. But if Sam was lost to them, then his brother would be,
too. At least the part of Dean that made him Dean. That wasn't an
option.
“I assume Mac's talking about Bart
Cameron?“
John nodded.
“He's one of the top criminal lawyers
in the country. He and Mac went to college together. They were in the
same Fraternity.” The words didn't ring with the confidence Caleb had
planned. Instead, they sounded hollow.
“I've heard his name before.” John
ran a hand over his mouth, taking the offering for what it was worth.
“But this kind of war isn't fought in a courtroom. You know that.”
Caleb Reaves did know that, and he
also knew in that moment his father's fears were founded. He and John
were cut from the same cloth in more respects than Mackland Ames would
ever be comfortable with. “Jungle warfare.”
John nodded, cleared his throat. He
pointed a finger at Caleb, as if he were suddenly the mind reader. “But
that doesn't mean that you're going to be in the trenches. Get my
drift, private?”
When the younger man rolled his eyes,
John continued. “I mean it, Caleb. This is my fight.”
“But I've got your back. That's how
it works.”
“It works the way I say it works.”
Winchester put his hands on his hips. “You're not to get involved in
this, except for watching Dean and Sam. That's an order.”
“An order?”
“Right. An order. It falls under the
rules of command. That thing where someone in charge tells you what to
do and you do it, without talking trash. I'm in charge.”
“Never heard tell of it.”
John tilted his head, gave the other
hunter a look, and Reaves relented. “All right. I'll be a good soldier,
sir.”
Winchester sighed, motioned to the
papers on the table. “Just keep your nose in the current hunt. I need
to go tell the boys bye.”
“Give them that speech on following
orders while you're at it, why don't you?” Caleb called after him.
“Make sure they know who's in charge while you're gone.”
The ex-marine shook his head. “Why
don't you all look it up in that huge dictionary your dad bought Sammy?
Write the definition fifty or so times. It might actually soak in that
way.”
“Homework duty will cost you an extra
ten dollars, Winchester.”
“Add it to my tab, Junior.”
Reaves watched him go, heading in the
direction that would take him out onto the screened in porch. A wave of
fear crashed into Caleb as he let his guard down momentarily, like
releasing a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
The room crackled with built-up
tension, sending chills up the young psychic's arms. Hairs on the back
of his neck stood at attention, and his stomach twisted in reaction.
The twenty-year-old clenched his fist, closed his eyes for a moment,
before taking in a shaky breath, erecting his defenses once more.
His gaze went to the kitchen window
again. He wasn't going to let some rich man mess with the Brotherhood.
Screw with John and hurt Dean and Sam.
Fuck a bunch of orders and lectures.
He'd fix it. If not by the Ames way, goddamnit… then by the Hunter's
way.
RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ
Onto
Chapter 4
Home
Uploaded by Majs