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.

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Chapter 6/7

“So comes snow after fire, and even dragons have their ending.” -Tolkien

“Sammy, stop feeding Scout from the table.” Dean pushed his brother's hands away from the pile of biscuits he was reaching for.

“It's for me,” the little boy complained.

“Right. You already ate four all by yourself, huh?”

Sam didn't look the least bit abashed. “Pastor Jim says we should share.”

“With other people, Sam.”

“Dogs are people, too.”

As if on cue, Scout managed to claw her way into the empty chair by Dean, sitting up and looking very prim and proper. Only missing a napkin around her neck. She didn't seem to mind her own lack of a serving set, helping herself to the remainder of Dean's biscuit from his plate. “Dang it,” Dean growled, just as Pastor Jim bustled in a basket of eggs in one hand and the morning newspaper in the other.

“Dean, you know I don't let the animals eat at the table,” the minister clucked disapprovingly, patting the puppy on the head as he passed by. “It's not good to start bad habits young.”

He sat his basket down, scooping up two pieces of bacon from the frying pan still on the stove. He tossed them to Atticus, who was sitting at attention nearby, a string of shoe-lace like drool hanging from his smiling mouth.

The twelve-year-old rolled his eyes. “Yeah. You're a real stickler for the rules, Pastor Jim.”

“It pays to be tough.” The big man smiled, brought his own plate and newspaper over to join the boys and Scout at the table.

Sam giggled as Jim actually tore part of his own biscuit off and placed it on a saucer in front of the Lab. Scout gobbled it quickly. Dean frowned at the older man, who blinked innocently. “It is only polite to share.”

“Told you!” The youngest Winchester chortled, and Dean kicked him under the table.

“Ow! He shouted, shooting an accusing look at his older brother. “You did that on purpose.”

“Did not.”

“Did too!”

“Prove it.”

Jim sighed, carefully folding the newspaper so he could read the obituaries. It had become a rather morbid hobby that came along with his job. “Boys, it's not polite to fight at the table.”

“Please. It's like Noah's ark.”

The priest lifted his gaze from the fine print, his glasses hanging precariously from the end of his nose. He raised a silver brow, and Dean sighed. “Sorry, Sir.”

“Now, what would you two like to do this morning?”

“Go to the hospital.” Sam spoke up quickly and both of the other occupants looked at him. “We can, right?”

“Sam,” Jim shook his head slightly. “I told you that your father called late last night and said Caleb would be home today.”

The seven-year-old frowned. “But Daddy's a liar.”

“Sam!” Dean snapped, his eyes widening as his own words were parroted back to him.

“Why on earth would you say that, my boy?” Jim lowered the paper, his gaze searching the little boy's face. Sam shrugged, shoving the sausage lumps in his gravy around with his fork. “Dean said so.”

Jim now swung his blue eyes to meet the older Winchester's slightly panicked gaze. “I…I didn't mean it.” Not really.

“Is this about what Mr. Conner said to you?”

Dean suddenly found his scrambled eggs very interesting. “I guess.” It was more about the whole situation.

“Is it true, Pastor Jim?” Sam asked. “Is that man our mom's dad?”

“Samuel….” Jim started but was suddenly cut off by a knock on the front door. Atticus scampered towards the living room, barking furiously as if he might actually accost any unwelcome stranger. The pastor shot a thankful glance heavenward- saved by the proverbial bell.

“They're home!” Sam jumped from his chair, question forgotten. He shot off after the Golden Retriever before his brother could catch him.

“Sam, wait!” Dean's order went unheeded, and he shot the priest a worried glance. The minister must have been thinking the same thing because he stood and retrieved a rifle from behind the upright freezer.

Atticus bounded up onto the sofa, pawing madly at the large frame window, where two shadows could be seen through the curtains. Sam went straight for the door, jerking it open with all the enthusiasm he could muster. Morning sunshine flooded in, causing the little boy to shield his eyes. “Caleb!” he shouted to the back of the tall, muscular, leather-jacket clad form in front of him.

“That would be a definite no.” Joshua Sawyer turned and favored Sam with an insulted look. “Maybe John should see about getting you to the optometrist, shrimp.”

“It's you,” Sam said with a definite frown once the voice and face registered. He promptly proceeded to shut the door, with all the energy he'd used to open it. “And I'm not short.”

“Samuel!” Jim exclaimed, exasperated as he and Dean made it into the living room.

“That was not nice.” What had gotten into the child?

“Neither was calling me short,” he harrumphed, indignantly.

Jim rolled his eyes as he gently prodded the child away from the door, and guided him towards his grinning brother. “Well, I'll talk to him about that.” He opened the door and shook his head at the blond hunter. “Already starting trouble, I see?”

“All I did was knock on the door,” Josh defended, crossing the threshold, followed closely by Bobby Singer, who looked as if he were still half asleep. “Talk to the mini-Winchester about manners.”

Jim ignored the younger man, focusing on the older demon hunter behind him. “Bobby,” he greeted, but only received a grunt in return. “Coffee is in the kitchen.”

Joshua moved out of the junkyard owner's way in fear of being stampeded once the man got a whiff of the bacon he could smell permeating the air. He barely shot the Winchesters a glance as he met the priest's gaze again. “Next time, I'd rather not have to play chauffer to Bobby, if you don't mind.”

“He was on your way,” Murphy explained. “Would you rather I sent the company car?”

“Anything but my car.”

“You still driving that piece of crap foreign job you had last year?” Dean asked, collapsing onto the couch with a bored look.

“That piece of crap happens to be a Mercedes.”

“Okay.” The twelve-year-old shrugged. “You still driving that really expensive, pansy piece of crap you had last year?”

Joshua looked at Jim, who merely quickened his step towards the kitchen and waved to him to follow. “We were having breakfast. Join us.”

Sawyer glowered at Dean. “I'd almost forgotten how entertaining you are, Ace. Or is it, Deuce?”

The smile fell from the kid's face. “It's Dean.”

“Right.” Joshua rolled his eyes. “I'm not in the secret club.”

“Because you're a dickhead,” Sam informed him, as he started back towards the kitchen also. “And rude.”

“Yeah…well, you're short.”

“Good come back,” Dean snorted as he shoved off from the sofa and moved past Joshua. “What are you? Five?”

Sawyer watched the twelve-year-old as he followed after his brother. “Yeah, this is going to be so much fun.” He made his way into the kitchen, bypassing the table in lieu of the coffee pot on the counter. “So, when is Reaves being released from the hospital?”

Jim looked at Sam, who was sharing his seat with Scout now. “Today,” the seven-year-old said, his eyes locked with the pastor's.

“And?” Jim encouraged.

“And I'm sorry I slammed the door in your face, Joshua.” Sam sighed. “And that I called you a dickhead.”

The twenty-five-year-old picked up some bacon from the stove and shrugged. “Thanks for the apology.” He grinned then. “Now I don't have to turn you into a toad.”

“Can you do that?” Sam asked, sincerely intrigued.

“No. He can not.” Jim shot Sawyer a hard look before turning back to Sam. “Magic is never supposed to be used to hurt anyone.”

“Not even evil kings?” Sam queried, and Bobby stopped eating long enough to glance at Murphy.

“Not even, Samuel.” Murphy's gaze found Dean's. “Why don't you boys go out to the barn and feed One In A Million and Fat Chance? I'm sure they're ready for their breakfast.”

“Can I brush them?” Sam jumped up, the idea of working with the Morgans pushing aside his fears for the moment.

“As soon as I get there,” Jim cautioned. “And we might even go for a quick ride.”

Dean roughly pushed his chair back and stood up, knowing he and his little brother were being sent away so the grown-ups could talk. He didn't like it one bit. “Pony rides aren't going to fix anything!” He snapped and Bobby's head whipped up.

“Watch the attitude, Dean,” the gruff hunter growled.

The twelve-year-old bit his lip, clenched his fists. “Sorry, Sir.”

Pastor Jim sighed, dropping his napkin in his plate. “No harm done. We all had a rough night. Our tempers are bound to be shorter than usual, our tongues a little sharp.”

Something about the words had Dean's eyes stinging. He bit his lip harder, determined not to give into his emotions. Things had to be bad if his father had called both Joshua and Bobby. He wanted this all to be over.

“Don't worry about the King, Dean,” Sam spoke up. “The dragons will take care of him.”

That was his breaking point. “Shut up, Sam!”

“Dean…my boy…” Jim started, only to have the kid shake his head and take a step towards the back door.

“Don't.” He didn't want to be placated-to hear any more fairytales. “Just leave me alone.” All of them were liars.

Dean shoved through the door that led onto the screened in back porch, turned and started for the steps. In his rush he ran head long into Caleb, who had just carefully made it up the wooden planks.

“Whoa!” the psychic grunted, catching hold of the boy's shoulders and barely keeping them both from tumbling to the ground.

“Let me go!” Dean tried to jerk away, but Reaves held firm, despite the twinges of pain it sent racing through his ribs.

“Deuce, hold up.”

The twelve-year-old seemed to realize who had a hold of him and stopped struggling. A few of the tears of frustration slipped past his well-honed defenses and he ducked his head. “Damn it.” He hated feeling helpless like a stupid kid.

“Hey?” Caleb released one shoulder, bringing the arm back to cradle his side. He gingerly knelt down so he could see the boy's face. “What's going on?” It didn't take psychic abilities to know something was wrong. His first thought was that something else had happened with Sam, but Dean seemed more pissed-off than worried. “Talk to me, Deuce.”

“I'm sick of this shit!”

“Okay.” Caleb waited for more.

Dean met his gaze and then glanced off in the distance. “Nobody's telling us the truth. I want to know what's going on.” He wiped the back of his arm across his eyes, cleared his throat. “That Conner guy showed up here thinking he could talk to me and Sam, which means Dad knew about it. And Jim told us a story about an evil king wanting Prince Samuel to live with him.” His glassy green gaze met Caleb's again. “And now Joshua and Bobby show up and Jim tries to get us out of the way so they can talk. This is about my family. I should be included!”

Reaves squeezed the kid's shoulder and then let him go. “I know it sucks, Deuce. Grown ups don't always go about handling things the best way.”

“You knew, too. Didn't you?” Dean accused, and Caleb nodded. He wasn't going to lie, even if it meant the kid would give him hell.

“But not until yesterday. They weren't exactly sharing the info with me either, Dude. Seems I still have a place card at the kid's table, too.”

Dean glared at him. “You should have told me.”

Reaves snorted. “And have your dad kill me? What good would I have been to you then?”

“You weren't much help anyway.” Dean lashed out; getting the response he was looking for. But somehow seeing pain and misplaced guilt race through the older man's eyes didn't make him feel better. Instead, it made his eyes start to sting once more. “You said I could trust you.”

“Yeah, well, even red dragons aren't invincible, Athewm. And I'm not fucking perfect.”

Dean bit his lip, looked down at the planked porch. “What's Dad going to do?”

The wooden steps squeaked. “I'm going to do the best that I can.” John Winchester's deep voice brought both Caleb's and Dean's gaze to him as he crossed the short distance to stand alongside them. “And I'm sorry if you felt like I lied to you. I was trying to protect you for as long as I could.”

“I don't need protecting!” Dean glared at his father, but his bottom lip trembled slightly. “Sammy does.”

John raked a hand through his hair, and glanced at Caleb who straightened himself. “I'll head on in.”

“Straight to bed,” the former Marine said, tiredly. When Reaves rolled his eyes, John frowned. “I promised your father, so, by God, you're going to do it.”

Caleb finally nodded, shooting Dean a quick smirk. “Told you. I might as well still have my name written in magic marker inside my jacket.”

Dean watched him go; still stung by the idea Reaves hadn't talked to him. Sure, Caleb was a lot older, but for some reason Dean had always felt they were on the same level about most things. Maybe that's why it was easier to be pissed at him than it was to be mad at Jim or Mac, or …

His father's touch brought him from his musings and he swung his gaze to the older man. “It was my story to tell, Ace. No one else.”

“Then why didn't you tell me?”

“Because I didn't want to believe it myself.”

“But it's not going to happen, right?”

John's face twisted as if he were in physical pain. “I've got to go back into town…meet with Mac's fancy lawyer again.” But it wasn't going to change anything. It sounded hollow even to him.

“Screw that, Dad! We can just get out of here. We've run from things before-from the police.”

“Not like this, kiddo.” John shook his head. “He has us dead to rights. There's no where to go that he won't find us.”

“What?” Dean shook his head. “We haven't done anything wrong. He can't hurt us if we don't let him.”

John heard 'if you don't let him' and it cut him to his core. “Dean…it's not just about us. Other people are involved. People we care about. Conner knows things…about the Brotherhood…”

“Screw the Brotherhood! This is Sammy!”

“I know that.” John grabbed the boy's arms, shook him once. “But you can't throw everyone else to the wolves, son. We're not talking about some faceless group of hunters. These people have been good to us. They're our friends. They've taken us in when we've had nowhere else to go-saved our lives.” And he had a job to do…the Knight protected the Guardian and along with him the rest of the Brotherhood.

“I don't care.”

“You don't mean that.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You going to tell me you don't care if Conner destroys Mac's career…ruins all the good he's tried to do all these years. And Pastor Jim…you think they will let him keep the church? They'll crucify him, Dean. Bobby will be hurt and Joshua and Missouri and any other hunter that has ever had anything to do with us.”

The kid looked down at the porch, trying to avoid his father's piercing gaze. “And Caleb.” John shook him again. “Look at me, Dean.”

Dean did as his father said, realizing the man was laying his trump card. “He'll put Caleb in jail…or worse, back in some kind of institution like a lab rat.” And then the final blow. “And me, son. I won't be far behind him. I'll go to prison for a very long time. And where's that going to leave you?”

“I don't care,” Dean said, brokenly. He understood what his father was saying. He didn't want anyone to get hurt. He didn't want to lose Mac or Jim, or Caleb. Losing his father was unthinkable, but losing his little brother… “We can't lose Sammy, Dad. I can't. I won't. I promised him.”

John felt his voice betray him, knew the instant his eyes filled, because he saw a shimmering look of complete fear reflected in his eldest son's imploring gaze. “He won't be hurt, Dean. I would die before I let that happen. He will be safe. Conner is many things, but he won't physically harm him.”

God, saying those words out loud was more painful than the silent mantra he'd been telling himself for days. He felt his stomach rebel. He had to swallow hard to keep from losing the cold pastry and stale coffee he'd choked down on the drive over to the farm. “He'll have the best of everything. Things I could only imagine giving you both.”

“He won't have us!” Dean cried. “He won't have me to watch out for him! He won't have his family.” Prince Samuel would have no dragons. The castle would be empty. What would a green dragon do without any charge to guard?

“You can't let this happen, Dad. Please!”

Dean's hands were clinging to the front of his jacket now, and John felt the first tear slide down his cheek. He covered his son's fingers with his own. “I'm sorry, kiddo. I can't promise I can fix this. I'll try, Ace. I swear on your mother's grave, I'll try everything in my power to stop it…or get him back, but…”

The twelve-year-old shook his head, let go of his father. “Don't say it, Dad.” Please.

“You're going to have to let your brother go, son. Conner will be here this afternoon.”

And there it was-that was the elusive truth Dean had been searching for. The evil king had conquered them.

Charles Conner was going to destroy his family.

And just like Saint. George with his mighty sword, Ascalon, he would leave slain dragons in his wake.

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