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 7/7
A dragon lives forever, but not so little boys
Painted wings and giants' rings make way for other toys.
-Puff the Magic Dragon

“Since when did the castle get a dog?”

Caleb's deep voice could be heard as Dean approached the psychic's room. Pastor Jim had told him Sam had gone up with the older hunter to read him a story. He also suggested that maybe Dean would like to join them. Jim was a lot of things, but subtle wasn't one of them.

“Didn't you know that Dragons like dogs?” Sam sounded exasperated, but affectionate as always.

“As a snack maybe.” Dean heard the psychic reply seriously. And the twelve-year-old leaned against the wall by the cracked door, unable to bring himself to go in. “Didn't you know that's what started the whole roasting hot dogs over a campfire thing, Sammy.” He rolled his eyes. Big, bad, hunter his ass. Caleb was such a goofball when he thought no one was around.

“No way!” Dean listened to his little brother's protest, and bit his lip. “The dogs help the dragons know when there are bad guys around.”

“Seriously?” Reaves's tone was challenging, playful.

“Yeah.” Dean could imagine his little brother nodding, big eyes solemn as he made up some kind of plausible excuse. “Dragons have really small ears, and they can't smell very good. All that smoke from breathing fire stuffs up their noses, so they need good watch dogs.”

“I hear the big reptiles are pretty messy, too.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “There's always piles of ashes and shed scales laying around.”

“Then why not bring in Malibu Barbie and her hot plastic friends to help clean up the place?” Dean could almost see the silly grin on Reaves' face. “I think Belac would really like that.”

“Gross,” Sam scoffed. “Girls aren't allowed in the castle.”

“Who says?”

“Prince Samuel. He's in charge.”

Dean heard Caleb snort. “And who made that rule, Runt?”

It was now or never. Dean pushed off the wall, swaggered into the room. “Athewm.”

Caleb and Sam looked up, and even Scout raised her head from the pillow she was sprawled out on. His little brother smiled at him, then glanced at Reaves. “See.”

Dean stopped at the edge of Reaves's bed. The psychic was propped up against a pile of pillows, with Sam perched near his side. Barbie's gothic renovated castle was spread out near them, and Dean picked up the small black dog figurine guarding the draw bridge. “Where's Athewm, and all the other dragons?”

Sammy stared up at him. “They're taking naps.”

The older Winchester smirked at Reaves. “Did their daddy send them to bed, too?”

Caleb gave him the finger, but Sam answered. “No, they're just resting for the big battle.”

Dean raised a brow. “The big battle?”

The little boy nodded. “The evil King is coming to the castle soon. I was going to tell Caleb the story of how the dragons keep him from taking Prince Samuel. ”

He and the psychic shared a quick look, and Dean felt his resolve falter. He'd told his dad he could do this. He had to do this.

Caleb was being his typical nosy, mind-reading, self because what little color his face had seemed to be suddenly leeched away, the dark bruising around his cheek appearing more prominent. “Deuce,” he said softly, but Dean looked away.

He picked up the castle, moving it to the small bedside table. “How about I tell you both a story, Sammy?”

The seven-year-old shrugged. “I didn't think you liked the dragons anymore?”

Dean remembered how he had snapped at the little boy downstairs in the kitchen, when he was frustrated with Jim and the others. “I still like them.” He glanced at Caleb again, then back to his brother. “But I think they might have been wrong about some things.”

Sam frowned. “Like what?”

“Well scoot over and I'll tell you.” Dean motioned for his brother to move, and the little boy crawled closer to Reaves.

Caleb winced slightly as Sam's sharp elbow caught him in the side as he squeezed beneath the hunter's outstretched arm. Reaves sighed as Scout was also prompted to join them along with her slobber-soaked, stuffed mouse, which she proceeded to drop on Caleb's chest, before rooting beneath his other arm.

The older Winchester plopped onto the bed, falling back, his elbows propped behind his head as if he were relaxing under the sunny summer sky just beyond the window. It was a tight squeeze, and Dean had to leave one leg hanging over the side to balance himself on the precarious edge.

“We're ready,” Sam announced, after more wriggling. “What were the dragons wrong about?”

Dean looked at him. Sam was on his side, back pressed tightly to Reaves. His hands were in a prayer-like position, nestled under his cheek, as if he were preparing for bed, even though it was going on noon. So many times his little brother had assumed that position, waiting for Dean to lull him to sleep with one outrageous story or another. The idea that this could very well be the last time had Dean blinking furiously, trying to keep the emotions threatening to overwhelm him at bay.

“Let's hear it, Deuce,” Reaves deep voice cut through the reverie. The twelve-year-old swallowed thickly, before giving him a quick nod.

“Well, you know how Athewm rescued Prince Samuel from the terrible fire that killed his mother, the Queen?”

Sam nodded. “Oh'nathan Jay tried to save the Queen, but it was too late for her,” he added, gravely.

“Right,” Dean continued. “Oh'nathan Jay loved the Queen a lot, and he was really upset when she died. He didn't know what he would do without her.”

“He was so sad,” Sam added. “The whole Kingdom was.”

“They were.” Dean swallowed. “So much so that they forgot that the Queen had more family than just the Prince.”

Caleb felt the seven-year-old tense, and he instinctively let his hand drop to the little boy's head. He knew enough about Sam to know that touch was something he responded to. It would calm him faster than words.

“The King?” Sam queried, softly. “He was the Queen's daddy?”

“Yeah.” Dean replied, licking his dry lips. His gaze was back on the ceiling again, and he was focused on keeping his breath steady. “The King had been away from the Kingdom for a long time, and most people thought he was dead. But he was really living far, far, away and didn't know what had happened to Prince Samuel.”

“But Prince Samuel was fine. He was with Athewm and Oh'nathan Jay and his new family.”

“Yeah,” Dean nearly choked. “But the King found out about Prince Samuel and he wanted him to come live with him.”

“That's what Pastor Jim said.”

“Yeah, but Pastor Jim was wrong about him being evil, you see. The King wanted to give Prince Samuel all kinds of nice things that the dragons couldn't. The King wanted his grandson to grow up like royalty, not with a bunch of scruffy old dragons.”

Sam rose up on one elbow, glancing down at his brother. “Dragons aren't scruffy.”

“They aren't rich either, Sammy,” Dean snapped, his voice harsher than he meant it to be. “They can't…couldn't give the Prince everything that he needed. The King could give him toys and a fancy castle to live in, and even send him to a really nice school.”

“But Prince Samuel likes his school! He likes Ms. Murchison!” The little boy cried, and if Reaves wasn't certain the gig was up before, the use of Sam's teacher's name made sure he and Dean both were going to have to deal with reality.

Dean rolled over, facing his little brother. “I know he does, Sammy. But the King has a lot of power, and he runs the kingdom.”

“But he is bad, and the dragons stop everything bad.”

“Not this time, Buddy.”

Sam's eyes filled and Caleb felt his breath hitch before he heard it. Dean continued on, the words like salt in a wound. “The King's not really bad. He just wants the Prince to live with him, for them to be a family.” Dean couldn't let his brother go, thinking Conner would harm him. He couldn't let him leave being afraid. After all, their dad had promised Sammy would be safe.

“Can Athewm come, too?”

“No,” Dean choked. “I don't think so.”

“Why?” Sam cried. “If the King isn't bad then why doesn't he like dragons?”

Caleb felt his chest tighten as he watched Dean's eyes fill. Damn John to Hell. Why the man was letting his twelve-year-old son do this he would never understand. “The King doesn't understand about the dragons, Sammy,” Reaves answered, when it seemed Dean couldn't. “Sometimes normal people are afraid of anything different from them. They would rather not believe in magic than live in fear of it.” Or destroy it, if they could.

The seven-year-old shoved himself into a sitting position, staring at the older hunter. “I don't want to go,” he pleaded. Reaves felt his own eyes start to sting. Scout whined, sitting up to lick at her boy's cheeks which were now wet with tears. “Please, Caleb, don't let him take me. You stopped him before.”

“I…” Reaves started. Dean surprised him by bolting up right, grabbed a hold of his little brother's shoulders, and forced him to look at him.

“It's okay, Sam. It won't be as bad as you think.” Reaves watched the older Winchester pull himself together, trying to make it all better. But his voice was high-pitched and had a frantic quality. He didn't even need to touch the other's mind to recognize the fractures appearing throughout the pitiful facade. “It'll be fun, like an adventure. You'll get to meet new people and go to new places. And you can have a dog of your own, and a horse, and a bike.”

“No,” Sam shook his head. “I want to stay with you.”

“You'll still see me, Sammy. All the time.” Dean didn't know if that was true or not. He might never see his brother again.

“But who will take me to school? And help me with my homework? Who'll pick out my clothes or fix my lunch or breakfast? Who'll keep the fire monster away?”

“Our grandfather will, Sammy. He'll take good care of you. Just like me and Daddy.”

The seven-year-old continued to shake his head in denial. “But he's not you! He's not a dragon.” He wrapped his small hands in Dean's shirt, pulling his brother close to him.

It looked to Caleb like Sam was trying to climb inside his brother's skin, bury himself so deep that no one could separate them. God, he wished that were possible.

Dean let his arms come around the quaking body clinging to his own heaving chest. “It's okay, Sammy. Just breathe,” he whispered, into his brother's hair.

“Who's going to wait on me to go to sleep at night, Dean?” He choked, his breath hot on the older boy's neck. “I can't go to sleep alone.”

“I know,” Dean soothed.

“I won't have a big brother no more,” Sam sobbed, and Dean looked up at Reaves as he felt the older hunter's hand curl around his neck. “What will I do without you?”

Dean felt Caleb's warm grip on his skin and he let go of his own sob. “You'll always have a brother, Sammy. No matter what, I'll make it right.” He closed his eyes, holding tighter to the hysterical seven-year-old. “I promise.”
RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

Caleb woke with a start, his breath coming in harsh pants. He jumped when a hand rested on his chest. “Easy, son.”

“Mac,” he sighed, glaring up at his father. “Seriously, you have got to stop doing that.”

“Nightmare?” The physician sat on the edge of the bed, a familiar look of concern etched on his face.

Reaves frowned, partially relieved he couldn’t remember the dream, and slightly worried that it might be important. “I'm not sure. Your forced prescription drugs muck everything up. What happened to all that just say no crap you drilled into my head?”

“You needed the rest.”

That seemed to jar the psychic's memory some and he quickly looked to his right, seeing only Sam curled in a ball next to him. The little boy was still sound asleep. “Where's Dean?” Caleb carefully extricated his arm from beneath Sam's head, and pushed himself up higher in the bed. “Dad?” Sam had cried himself to sleep, Dean not far behind him. Reaves made sure they were both out before finally giving in to the pain meds.

Mac held up a hand, nodded towards the slightly ajar adjoining door. “He's fine. He's packing Sammy's things;” the doctor kept his voice quiet, “Jim's helping him.”

“Where's John?”

“He's down talking to Bart Cameron."

Caleb looked at Sam sleeping peacefully, one arm tossed across Scout, the other wrapped around a toy green dragon. “It's not going to help is it?”

“They are discussing some details about visitation and other legal matters.”

“Visitation?” The psychic rolled his eyes. “You don't make deals with the devil. He doesn't really think Conner is going to co-operate like some jilted spouse does he?”

“We have to try and…”

“Try nothing. We have to keep Sam and Dean together.”

“That's not going to be possible.” Mac wished it weren't true, but he didn't see it working out any other way. Not without bloodshed. He raised his gaze to his son, when the strong feelings emanating from the boy penetrated his senses. “Don't even think about doing anything stupid, son.”

Caleb looked down at the little boy, threaded his fingers through the mass of sleep ruffled hair. “You know I use to think someone would come and take me away from you.”

“What?” Mac asked, not expecting the shift in conversation.

Reaves continued to watch Sam sleep. “After you took me out of the hospital…before you went to court with Bird.” Caleb finally met his gaze. “Hell, even after you got temporary custody, after the adoption, I use to dream about it. I couldn't tell if they were visions or not. I was afraid to ask you.”

“Son…” Mac raked a hand over his face. “I never…

Reaves shook his head slightly. “Sam's always been safe. He's never been away from Dean. Please, Dad, you can't let this happen. They don't deserve it.”

“Caleb, what do you expect me to do?”

“The Brotherhood can fix this. We can just make it disappear.”

“You mean make Conner disappear.”

“I mean protect, Sammy.”

“And Dean.” Mac hedged, watching a myriad of emotions rush through his son's expressive eyes. Caleb would never admit it, but Dean was a weak spot in his otherwise hard-ass exterior.

Reaves glared at him. “He's twelve! His whole life has been about taking care of other people.”

“And you're going to take care of him?”

“Yes. Somebody has to.”

“So…you're going to kill his grandfather, salt and burn his bones, maybe.”

“If that's what it takes.”

“Caleb…”

“We'll lose him, too.” Didn't his father understand? “John might as well let Conner take them both.”

“John isn't letting Charles do this.” Mac's frown grew. As much as a little part inside of him would relish in the opportunity for his son to recognize some flaw in John Winchester, he wouldn't let it happen for the wrong reasons. “This is killing him.”

“Then he should fight.”

The physician sighed. Fight was always his son's first instinct. Fight the authority. Fight his gifts. Fight anything remotely evil. Sometimes Mac just wished for some peace in their lives. But that wasn't the road he chose for them. “He's fighting it the only way he can.”

“By the law?” Caleb scoffed, and Sam shifted against him. He returned his hand to the little boy's head. “What the hell has the law ever done for us?”

“ For one,” Mac held the boy's angry gaze, “they kept anyone from taking you away from me.”

Reaves sighed, looking past his father's shoulder, wondering for the first time how long he had actually been asleep. How long they still had left before the King came to the castle. His 'nap' hadn't helped him feel any more prepared for the battle.

“When?”

“He should be here anytime now.”

“Damn it! I hate this.” Reaves raked both hands through his hair, wincing as his fingers slipped over the gash in his head. “I don't know what to do for them.”

“We'll do what we can. We'll be there for them…for Dean…for John.”

Caleb gave him an incredulous look. “You going to bring a crazed grizzly to your little support group, too, Mac? Johnny doesn't do the whole touchy-feely thing. And in case you haven't noticed, neither do I.”

The physician grinned slightly, shaking his head. “I think you and the grizzly do it better than you realize, Damien.”

His son raised a surprised brow at the implication. Before he had a chance to come back with a quick rebuff, a vehement denial, Dean and Jim appeared through the adjoining door from the boys' room.

“Hey,” Caleb gave Dean a quick once over. “What's with not waking me up, Deuce?”

Sam stirred beside him; his tousled head popping up to also peer at his older brother. “What time is it?” he croaked, sleepily.

The twelve-year-old continued to stare at them, Jim's hand on his shoulder. Caleb wasn't sure if the gesture was to keep him from bolting or just a morale boost. He was afraid to reach out and brush against the younger boy's thoughts due to the foggy drug effect. It would be easy to use too much force. Still, Dean's unnatural silence was unnerving, too reminiscent of the first time they'd met all those years ago.

“It's almost four, my boy,” the pastor finally replied, with an obvious forced smile. He patted Dean's shoulder and then gave him a gentle shove to get him moving.

The adolescent stiffly made his way closer to them. It was then Caleb noticed the backpack slung over his shoulder with a familiar-looking one-eyed bear poking out. WooBee. “I got all your stuff, Sammy.”

Sam looked at his brother and then down at the bag. Caleb felt him tense and a sharp pain lanced through his skull like a warning bell. “I thought it was a bad dream,” Sam whispered.

Reaves didn't even have to look at him to know he was close to tears again.

Dean met the psychic's gaze. “Can I talk to Sam alone for a minute?”

The psychic didn't get a chance to answer before Mac did. “Of course, son.” Ames reached out to assist Caleb but one glare had him stepping back with an annoyed sigh.

The dark haired hunter held his ribs and made it to his feet. He bent over and scooped the Lab puppy up with him. “She probably needs to hit the head as bad as I do, runt,” he explained when Sam gave him a panicked look.

“Okay,” the seven-year-hold's lip trembled and Caleb felt bile rise to the back of his throat.

“We'll just be down stairs,” Reaves explained again, wishing he could take the look of abandonment off the little boy's face.

He felt his father brush against his arm, and Jim's warm voice rushed over him. “I'll have some apple pie and ice tea waiting when you come down.”

Again Dean looked at him. Caleb couldn't resist rolling his eyes at the sweet, albeit ridiculous attempt by Jim to make it all better with comfort food. The pastor might as well have been serving broccoli and prune juice. He was rewarded with a barely visible smirk from the twelve-year-old.

Once the older men were gone, Dean slumped down on the bed beside his little brother. “How you doing, tiger?”

Sammy shrugged, his lip protruding.

“No silent treatment, Sammy. Talk to me.”

“I have to go with Mr. Conner.”

“Yeah.”

“Forever?”

“No.” Dean shook his head. “We'll figure it out.”

“You and the dragons.”

“Sammy…” Dean sighed.

“I know you don't think they're real, Dean. But I believe in them. I believe in you.”

“I won't stop trying, Sammy. None of us will.”

“I'm scared.”

“Don't be afraid, geek boy.” Dean forced a cocky grin. “You have to be brave. You're a Winchester. Don't ever forget that.”

Sam smiled through his tears. “Dean Winchester's little brother.”

The twelve-year-old hugged him. “Always, kiddo.”
RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

Conner had honored his agreement not to bring his muscle this time. John had warned him he couldn't be held accountable for what might happen to them if they showed themselves after the beating they had given Caleb. And Sam didn't need to be frightened anymore than he already was. So, Charles had shown up with only his driver and his lawyer, a weasel looking fresh-faced kid with a thousand dollar suit.

The two attorneys had spoken briefly, ironing out a few details the law would never consider binding. John was forfeiting his rights. It was plain and simple. If Conner so chose he could leave with Sam and never look back.

Sam looked up at Mac, who gave him a reassuring smile. “It'll be okay, Samuel.” The little boy leaned into his leg slightly, watching his father speak to the two attorneys. He was holding Scout, and much too quiet for Ames's liking. The physician patted his arm, wishing he had some kind of magic wand that would put it all back together again.

In his early years as a surgical resident he'd watched families be destroyed by losing a member of their close-knit structure. But he had been young and ambitious then-untouchable. So driven that he'd been able to brush aside their pain, so anxious was he to play God that mere mortals were the least of his worries. But then fate and an ill-timed drunk driver had left him paralyzed and brain damaged.

He had nothing to do but think about such things. And when the experimental surgeries repaired not only the damaged pieces of him but awoke unused areas of his brain, bringing bonus abilities that scared him beyond comprehension, he made the most important choice of his short life. He vowed to make a difference in the world. If not by mending people's physical bodies, then by healing their emotional wounds.

For a while, his new found empathy had seemed like a curse. But eventually, with control, came satisfaction as he discovered amazing ways to help people-to end a suffering far beyond any physical impairment. He used his new gifts to work with the police to return missing children, to find long-lost loved ones. He continued neurosurgery, but began to teach and research for cures, instead of following the daunting quest for fame.

But still, family and a love of his own beyond his work remained an elusive concept to him. That was before meeting Jim Murphy and Missouri Mosley. Until then a silver spoon and a cashmere blanket were the only concrete experience he had of love. They brought him to Caleb-a beautiful, but fractured child to call his own. And along came John Winchester and his pitifully broken, heart-stealing family. The brother he had never realized he was missing.

Mac attempted to do what he did best-put things back together. But this was a synaptic pathway he could not bridge, a fracture he could not knit. It was shattered beyond his skill. Even his old fall back of money and privilege couldn't make it right.

Sam leaned more into him and Mac pulled himself from his thoughts. The lawyers were finished and John, looking older than his years shot him a glance that spoke volumes. It was time. He took a calming breath and knelt beside the child. “I put all your books in the car, Samuel. And I expect you to keep up with reading every night.”

“A new word every day,” Sam recanted their deal about the dictionary Mac had bought him for his birthday.

“Exactly.”

“I won't waste my brain on video games and inane television shows.”

Mac shook his head at the latest word they had worked on, and the boy's precise use of it. “I know you won't, Sam.” The physician pulled him in for a quick hug, careful not to mush Scout who was still held in the child's arms. “You'll be quite the scholar some day.” Hopefully that would not change. “We'll see you soon.”

“Okay.”

He let Sam go and Jim was there. The little boy didn't give the big pastor time to bend down before he latched onto his legs with one hand, almost losing his grip on the squirming puppy. “I'll miss you so much, Pastor Jim.”

“Oh, my boy, I will miss you more.” Jim's voice hitched. He pulled the seven-year-old tight against him. “I don't know how I'll run the farm without you.”

Sam looked up, reluctantly holding the little Lab puppy out to him. “Take care of Scout,” he whispered and then stepped back.

Caleb's eyes stayed fixed on the horizon as Sam talked to Jim and his father. Mac had wanted him to say his goodbyes in the house but he wasn't going to let Dean or John do this without back-up. He didn't give a fuck if Bobby and Josh were there. It wasn't the same.

The warm fingers on his own brought him from his reverie and he swallowed hard, steeling himself before meeting Sam's gaze.

The seven-year-old tugged on his hand and he knelt on one knee. “Don't even think I'm going to say some sappy good-bye. Real men don't do these Walton's moments, John's Boy.”

Sam grinned at the typical display of bravado and the silly nickname. “Did you know elephants cry just like people do? And they're the biggest, strongest animals on land.”

“They're afraid of mice, Sammy.” Caleb pointed out, wrapping his fingers in the little boy's shirt and giving him a little jerk forward, so they were almost nose to nose. “Do I look like I would be afraid of a mouse to you?” Reaves growled menacingly.

It garnered the desired effect and Sam giggled. “You're afraid of spiders.”

“Am not."

“Are too.” Sam leaned his forehead against Caleb's. “You scream like a girl.”

“Look who's talking. Ronald McDonald sends you into fits, Samantha.” Caleb swallowed hard when the little boy's arms came around his neck and his head dropped to the older man's shoulder. He was pretty proud he wasn't falling apart like Jim and Mac. “Don't forget me.”

Reaves felt his eyes start to sting. Damn it. “Never, kiddo.”

“And protect Dean for me.”

“With my life.”

It was a dragon's answer. The only one a Prince would expect. “I love you, Belac.”

The psychic pushed him back a little, grinned crookedly. “Trying to trick me into it, aren't you?” He was not going to lose it.

“You don't have to say it.” Sam smiled back, reaching up and brushing the one lone tear off of Caleb's face. “I know the truth.”

“Yeah. Well.” Reaves quickly cleared his throat, letting him go and standing up. “We don't call you Tiny Einstein for nothing.”

Sam stepped in front of his father. “Be a good boy, Sammy.” John ran his fingers over his son's hair, praying it wouldn't be the last time. “I know what a handful you can be.” His face felt like lead as he tried to manage a grin, every muscle rebelling as he managed a twisted imitation.

Apparently, it was as grotesque as it felt, because Sam suddenly clung to him. The kind of clinging that comes after an unexpected fear, like being separated in a large department store, or seeing Santa for the first time at the mall. It was desperate, like awaking to an empty, dark room. He couldn't help but to wonder at the dark, emptiness his son might find in the morning. “Hush, baby, it's okay.” He peppered kisses, against the boy's hair.

“I don't want to go, Daddy. Don't make me,” the child howled. Sam had promised his big brother he would be brave. But he couldn't do it. He didn't want to leave his family. “Please,” his voice broke on a sob and he felt his father's chest heave against his.

“I'm so sorry, Sammy. I'm sorry,” John continued, unable to keep the tears from his voice or from his eyes. “It won't be forever. I swear.”

Dean wanted to scream, but even if he would have allowed himself the luxury, his chest was too constricted to oblige. The tension around him was suffocating. Mac and his fancy lawyer friend were exchanging heated looks with Conner. Jim was running his hands absently over Scout, shifting from foot to foot as Atticus whined and nudged at his legs.

Caleb was standing rigid sentry by his father and Sam, his gaze fixed on something Dean couldn't see.

But he heard his thoughts as clearly as if they had spoken aloud. “We'll fix this, Deuce. I swear to God, we will.”

Dean looked at him, but Reaves didn't meet his gaze. He continued to look past the limo, distancing himself from the moment. Dean wished he could join him. He wanted to run as fast and as far away as possible, but he wasn't going to let Sammy do this alone. He had to be strong for his brother.

“Come on, Sammy.” As if in a hazy dream, Dean reached out and gently pulled his little brother away from his father, taking his smaller hand in his. “It's going to be okay, remember.”

Sam looked up at him through wet, dark lashes. “I'm sorry. I tried to be brave.”

Dean swallowed thickly, feeling his father's eyes on him. He couldn't look at the man, instead he held his brother's gaze, never wavering. “You are brave, Sam. You're a Winchester. Remember?”

Sam nodded, and for a moment it was only the two of them, no one else existed. “Dean Winchester's little brother,” he said, softly.

Dean grinned. “Always.”

The little boy looked up and lifted his free hand towards Bobby and Joshua who were standing on the porch.

They waved back and Sam looked at his father again. “I love you, Daddy.”

John reached out and let his hand rest against his son's face. “I love you, too, Sammy. I'll call you tonight, okay.”

The seven-year-old nodded and Dean led him to the limo, as if it were the gallows in a Clint Eastwood spaghetti western. Conner smiled at them and opened the door.

Dean looked up at him, glanced over his shoulder to his father, and then returned his cool green gaze back to his grandfather. “I need to talk to you.”

Conner watched Sam slide into the big expanse of the back seat and motioned for Dean to the same. “Of course.”

John started to step forward, to stop his eldest, but Caleb caught his arm. “He needs to do this, Johnny.”

Winchester looked like he wanted to refuse, like he wanted to punch something, maybe even Caleb, but finally he acquiesced. Reaves wasn't sure what Dean had in mind, was slightly afraid it wasn't good, but he knew the kid had to face it, whatever it was.

Dean felt his brother's hand tighten around his as their grandfather climbed into the opposite, leather, bench seat in front of them and closed the door, secluding them in the darkness provided by the extremely tinted windows. “I wrote down a bunch of things,” Dean started, pulling several sheets of paper from his pocket, “there all about Sam. Important things that you should know.”

Conner reached for the notes, but Dean held onto them. “There's a lot I didn't get to put in there…” the kid licked his lips, “so…I was thinking that maybe you should take me, too.”

He sensed Sam's gaze on him, but he continued to stare at the older man. Dean had watched The Godfather and Scarface hundreds of times with Caleb. He knew how to go to the mattress. Deals were made with a steady eye, steadier hand. “I look like my mom, you said it yourself. Dad's always saying I have her eyes, and her smile.”

Charles swallowed thickly, nodding slightly. “You do.”

“I can do things, too. I can cook and clean. I mean you probably have someone to do that for you, but Sammy's a picky eater. I know how to fix all his favorite foods, how to wash his clothes. I know how to get him to go to bed and what to help him with in school.”

“Dean knows everything,” Sam piped in and Dean gave him a look that told him to let his brother handle the negotiations.

“I'm sure he does, Samuel, but your father and I have an understanding. You will come to live with me and your brother stays with him.”

“But Dad doesn't need me,” Dean snapped. “Sammy does.”

“Samuel will be well taken care of. I can promise you that.”

“I'll listen to whatever you say. I'll be good. I'll even do better in school. I'm smarter than it shows on paper. Mac says that all the time.”

“I'm sure you're very intelligent, Dean, but…”

“But what? I won't cause any trouble. You won't even know I'm there. I'll make you proud. I swear.”

“Dean,” Conner held up his hand, shaking his head slightly. “You have to look at this from my point of view.”

“I am. Two grandsons are better than one.”

Charles looked out the window, watching the men peering intently at the car. The boy did look so like Mary…those eyes... Maybe he could… “You see that pup out there?”

Dean frowned at the odd question, and then followed the older man's line of sight out towards Jim who was still holding Scout. “Yeah.”

“It's a baby, a blank slate-trainable.” Conner met his gaze. “The other dog is a lot older. Already set in its ways-already effected by the hand that raised it-tainted.”

“Atticus is a good dog,” Sam said again, not really understanding the metaphor his grandfather was attempting to make, but picking up on the idea that Atticus was being somehow insulted.

And so was his brother. “I'm not tainted!” Dean snapped. “My dad is a good father. He taught me and Sammy how to act right.”

“I'm sure he tried.” Charles said, his posture stiffening. “But John and I do not see things the same way. We are from different worlds.”

“Sammy is from our world.”

“Not anymore.”

“Yes I am!” Sam demanded, and Dean squeezed his hand. “I'm a Winchester!”

“I think it's best you go now, Dean.” Charles reached for the door handle. “Before you upset your brother further.”

“You're the one upsetting him,” Dean choked, unable to keep a grasp on his aloof, bargaining manner. “Please.” He dug his fist into the leather seat, as he felt the first of many hot tears slide down his face. “Please let me come, too.” He had never thought about his grandfather turning him down. It was his last life-line.

“No.” Charles Conner had made up his mind. The sins of the father were always expressed in the son. His contacts and the inside man he had paid handsomely had told him all about Dean. “You're too old. I'm sorry.”

“Dean,” Sam clung to him. “Don't go. Please don't leave me alone with him.”

Dean pulled his brother tight to him, feeling his heart trying to pound its way from his chest. “It's okay, little brother.” He shushed him. “It'll be okay.”

The twelve-year-old heard the door open, and swallowed back the rest of his words. No amount of talking would fix this. There was only one thing left to say. “I love you, kiddo.”

“I love you, too, Dean.”

With that, he gently pried Sam's hands away, and Dean did the one thing he never thought possible, he let his brother go. He wiped a hand over his eyes, clearing his face of traces of his distress. His green gaze bored into his grandfather and he handed him the list of instructions. “Take care of him.”

Conner didn't like the tone, or the implied threat, but he held his tongue. “I'll treat him like my own son.”

The giant pit in Dean's stomach grew. He forced himself out of the car, and shut the door behind him, leaning against it for only a moment before straightening his shoulders and stepping away.

He heard Sam shouting his name even through the reinforced steel, and he closed his eyes for a moment, before turning back around and watching silently as the limo turned around and slowly started down the long drive away from Pastor Jim's.

Atticus barked and across the field One in a Million and Fat Chance ran along the fence as the car disappeared out of sight.

“God damn it!” John yelled, after the retreating vehicle. He clenched his fists throwing his head up towards the sky in a primal, pain-fed scream. “Damn you!”

“Johnathan,” Jim said softly, his eyes on Dean, who was still staring at the last place he'd seen his brother. “Don't.”

The hunter's glare fell on the pastor. “What, Jim? Do you honestly think I could make this worse?” He gestured to his son. “He watched his mother burn to death, and now he's seen his brother carted off by the devil. I don't think I can really add any other trauma.”

“Damn it, John.” Mac stepped closer to his old friend. “Stop it.”

Reaves was watching Winchester, but his attention was focused on Dean. He felt every pain the words inflicted on top of the devastation of letting Sam go. “Shut the fuck up! All of you.”

At the sound of his voice, Dean took off in a dead run towards the pond. John started after him, but Caleb stepped in front of him. “Don't.”

Anger mixed with hurt and John shook his head slightly. “Move, kid, before I go through you.”

“No,” the psychic shook his head, “let me do this.”

Mac made to move forward, but Jim stopped him with a gentle hand on his chest. He shook his head and the physician halted, but kept his eyes on his best friend and his son.

“Why the hell would I do that?” Winchester stepped forward, moving into Reaves personal space. “I'm still his father.”

The psychic held his ground. “Yeah, and he loves you, man. But right now he hates you more. ”

John seemed to deflate, like a balloon with a slow leak. "What if I say no?”

Caleb gave him a slight grin, dropping his arm from its protective pose across his busted

ribs. “Then I'll just have to kick your ass, Johnny.”

“That would be some trick, private, considering you just got out of the hospital, and look like you're about to collapse at any moment.”

“I'll do it if I have to.”

“Yeah,” John took a step back, slid his hands through his hair, across his face. “You'd probably give it a good try.”

“Damn straight.”

After a moment, he sighed in defeat. “Go check on Ace.”

John watched him go, turning to face Mac and Jim. “I'm going to get a drink.”

“You're leaving?” Mac asked, incredulously.

“Unless Jim's put a new bar stocked with Tequila in the barn then yeah…I'm going out.”

“But Dean…” Mac gestured towards the directions Caleb had just gone, “He needs to talk about this.”

“He's my son, Mac!” John snapped. “Not your god damn patient.”

The familiar words delivered a sharp punch and Mac bit his lip to keep from saying anything he'd regret. After all, turn about was fair play. “Then I'll come with you.”

“I don't need a fucking babysitter or a therapist.”

“Good, because I'm not offering either service. I am however offering my skill as a designated drive.” No matter how much of an ass John Winchester was, he was the closest thing to a brother Mackland Ames would ever have. “We've all lost enough family for a lifetime.”

“I'll stay with the boys.” Jim looked out towards where the pond lay beyond the hill, and then back to the Scholar and Knight. There was a dangerous glint in his light blue eyes. “But I better not have to pull your hides out of jail this time. I swear to all that is holy that I will leave you in there to rot-or worse- if you do anything else to upset either of them.”

Mac nodded, jutting his chin towards the porch where Bobby and Joshua were still watching them. “We'll take Bobby with us.”

Jim sighed. “And why doesn't that make me feel any better?”
RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

Finding the kid exactly where he expected to, didn't make Caleb feel one bit better. He was at the edge of the large pond, skipping stones over the water.

“Leave me alone!” Dean growled before the psychic even made it to his side.

He continued his quest. “Not happening, Deuce.”

The boy turned to glare at him. “I don't need any of your crap, Reaves. I've got it under control. I'm fine.”

“Sure you are.”

Dean rolled his eyes, threw another stone. “So what are you going to do about it, oh great Belac?”

Reaves stopped near him. “I don't know.”

“Exactly.” Dean yelled, turning to face the older boy. “You don't know!” He stepped forward. “You don't know anything!”

“We'll get him back,” Caleb replied, quietly.

“Really?” Dean's lip trembled. “By 'we' do you mean Belac and Athewm? Astorim and Cam? Or maybe the fierce, indestructible Oh'nathan Jay? Because I didn't see any dragons back there, man. The King walked right into the castle and took everything.”

“Dean…” Reaves took a step closer, but the younger man shoved him back.

“Don't!” The boy didn't stop there. He shoved him again, and Reaves let him. “You didn't do anything to stop him, Caleb! None of you did!” His father had signed papers!

Dean struck out then, hitting the psychic with a vicious right cross. The psychic staggered back, his hand going to his mouth. He tasted blood. Damn it.

He avoided the left hook, but the punch to the mid-section, nearly stole his breath. “None of the big, bad Brotherhood did one damn thing as that bastard took Sammy!” Dean was choking on sobs now, his swings not even having any real direction. “No dragons! No heroes! Nothing!”

Caleb took the punishment as long as his abused body would allow, but then he grabbed the kid's arms, restraining him the best he could. “I hate you! I hate all of you!” The kid yelled at him.

Reaves held on to him even as Dean continued to struggle, pummeling the other man with moves Reaves could have blocked in his sleep. Hell, he'd taught half of them to the pre-teen. “Deuce, stop it.”

“He trusted you all. He trusted us…” Dean finally collapsed against the older man, and Caleb barely kept them both on their feet. “He trusted me…”

“Kid,” Caleb sighed, gripping the boy's shoulders. “You did all you could do. Sammy knows that.”

Dean looked up at him then, his eyes as pain-filled as Reaves had ever seemed them. “What's wrong with me?”

“What?” Caleb frowned. “Nothing's wrong with you.”

Winchester shook his head. “I tried to get him to take me, too, Caleb. I would have done anything. But he didn't want me. I failed my brother…because I'm not good enough…”

Reaves cut him off with a hard shake. “Stop it. There is nothing wrong with you, Dean.” A wave of fury rushed through the psychic. The idea of killing Conner once again seeming such a reasonable and satisfying solution to it all. “Do you understand me? Nothing. Is. Wrong. With. You.”

The boy looked at him, his breath hitching, but he remained quiet.

“That old bastard doesn't even know you…or Sammy. He doesn't know shit.” Dean was one of the bravest, most fearless, and self-sacrificing people he had ever known. “He doesn't deserve to have a grandson like you. You got it?”

“But he has Sammy.” Dean took a deep breath, his voice breaking again. “I don't have a brother anymore.”

Caleb swallowed thickly, pulling Dean against him, “Fuck, Deuce, you'll always have a brother.” He squeezed the kid's neck, resting his chin atop his hair. “We'll get Sammy back. Whatever it takes.”

“You swear?”

“I swear.” Reaves pushed him away, holding him at arm's length so he could look him in the eye. “But if you ever hit me again, I will make you wish you were never born. Got it?”

A faint grin tugged at the kid's mouth. “Got it.”

Reaves shook his head, wrapping one arm around his ribs and tossing the other across Dean's shoulders. “I should have let your Dad come and get his ass kicked.”

“He would have seen that sucker punch coming from a mile away,” Dean told him as they made their way towards the farm.

“Yeah, he'd have tossed your ass in the pond, too.”

The kid nodded, going quiet for a moment. When he did speak again, Caleb had to strain to hear his words. “I'm really pissed at him.”

Reaves sighed. “Join the club, kid.”

Dean glanced up at him. “I guess even black dragons can be slain?”

“We all meet our St. George, kiddo.” Caleb met his gaze, hating that emptiness he could see taking hold. “But didn't you know that old dragons come back? They rise from the ashes like a Phoenix, taking revenge on anyone and anything that hurt them or those they were trying to protect.”

Dean raised a brow. “A black phoenix, huh?”

Reaves nodded. Why not? When one story was over, there was always room for a new book. “Yeah. Pretty fierce. And I hear those red and green fire birds are a force to be reckoned with, too.”

A faint smile played at the corner of Dean's mouth, and a spark of hope ignited in his jade-like eyes. “I think Sammy would really like this new story.”

Caleb laughed. “True. But where the hell are we going to find toy phoenixes?”

Dean shrugged, and his grin grew. “Not to mention making Barbie's dungeon dream home fire-proof. That'll be a bitch.”

“Yeah, but you're forgetting that I'm a top-notch engineering student.”

“Right.” Dean met the other man's gaze again. “Now we just have to get your architect back and we'll be set.” Nothing would be right again until Sam was back with him.

Reaves swallowed thickly, looking towards home. “Oh we'll get him back, Deuce…and burn a few bridges while we're at it.”
Long ago, when man was young and the dragon already old, the wisest of our race took pity on man.

So he gathered together all the dragons, making them vow to watch over man always.

And at the moment of his death, the night became alive with those stars.

And thus was born the Dragons' Heaven.

But when we die, not all dragons are admitted to this shining place. No, we have to earn it!

And if we don't, our spirit disappears as if we never were.
-Draco in Dragonheart
RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

Continued in On the Wings of a Phoenix

Home



Uploaded by Majs