Paper Tiger

By Ridley C. James, September 2007

Beta: Tidia

Disclaimer: Nothing Supernatural belongs to me sadly. If it did I’d leave things along.

A/N: A shout out to Letting the rain in who mentioned in her story Forgotten how Dean might have first called Caleb ‘Damien’. It resounded so much with me that I stole it! I had to tweak the age to fit our timeline in the A.U. but I wanted to give her credit for that lovely idea.

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Chapter 10/11

Tiger

Once leader of the pride
Respect he could demand
Now sleeps amidst the grasses
Of dry and baron land

He thrives on what is left
From the pride he once belonged
His scars they show the battles
Of days when he was strong

The ruler of the jungle
With cubs now still at play
Will watch them grow and carry on
To take his place one day

Life was full of choices. Jim Murphy was fond of pointing that out to the boys. Quite often he’d say it to John with a look of desperate hope and more than a hint of wariness. John understood the pastor’s concern. The Knight did not always take the time to think things through; instead he reacted based on his feelings.

Case in point, John wanted to kill Griffin.

No interrogation, no time for deliberation. The man had betrayed The Brotherhood-betrayed Jim. He had dared to hurt John’s boys; caused his family more pain. It was reason enough to end the man’s miserable existence. John had killed for less and hadn’t lost sleep over it. Sometimes life called for gut instinct. Thoughtful consideration flew out the window when you were fishtailing on an icy road, especially if everything precious to you was sitting in the fucking backseat.

John didn’t know what Jim would do to Porter. Anything short of a painful death would seem too light a sentence as the words mild and moderate hypothermia were tossed out to John at the hospital along with the pneumonia and pediatrics ICU.

Choices had followed their arrival to civilization once more. John was torn between staying with Sam, who was being admitted for mild hypothermia and dehydration and staying with Dean who had a flurry of activity swarming him in a manner that set every one of John’s parental nerves on edge. Then there was Caleb to consider. The teen had regained consciousness once in the ambulance only to be restrained-bringing up Caleb's previous issues, more taxing than moderate hypothermia and physical trauma he’d sustained.

In the end John had left Bobby to deal with an alert Sam, watched as Mackland and a sea of hospital staff disappeared behind the ominous bay doors with Dean, and planted himself as sentry in the examination area where Caleb was being worked on. Sam was only a few curtains over. John could hear him badgering Bobby about his brother and Caleb. Sometimes it rocked John to his core that his children were so caring-so capable of giving emotions that often seemed lost to him.

“No more restraints!” John snapped, the current threat bringing him from his brooding.

Nurse Helen, despite her earlier kind and genial manner, frowned at Winchester. “Sir, we don’t want him pulling out the I.V. or removing the heated oxygen.” She gestured to the mask her co-worker had just placed over Caleb’s mouth and nose.

John stepped closer to the bed, ignoring the look of irritation the impatient doctor shot him. He met the older physician’s gaze. “And I don’t want to explain to you again that I don’t want him restrained.”

“Leave it, Helen.”

Winchester watched as Dr. Lyons continued his thorough exam of Caleb's arms and legs. “How’s he doing?”

“No signs of frostbite.”

“That’s good.”

Lyons glanced at him. “That’s luck.” He pulled the blanket up over Caleb with a scowl. “The condition he was in could have easily led to a more serious state. I still want to do an electrocardiogram to make sure his heart is fine and then we’ll move him to radiology to examine the abrasions and the ribs. All of this happened from sledding?”

John clenched his teeth. He had already heard the lecture about exposure, inappropriate dress in winter conditions and hazardous games without proper parental supervision. “The boys were out for several hours before we found them.”

“And the other boy-your son- was sick before he went out?”

John focused on Caleb again. “I didn’t know Dean’s cold had gotten that bad. Is my nephew going to be okay?” As usual John used the invented familial relation for their cover story.

“As I explained before his core body temperature was in the moderate stages of hypothermia. Although dangerous, most victims make a complete recovery. Like with your son Sam, we’re going to warm Caleb’s body slowly, adding a special IV and warmed oxygen to the heated blanket treatment due to his progressed stage.”

Caleb stirred restlessly as the nurse inserted the IV port into the teen’s hand. “D…ean?” He mumbled and tried to move away from the pain.

“Caleb?” John laid one hand on the teen’s head, and used his other to hold the kid still. “You with me?”

Caleb blinked slowly, his head tracking Winchester’s voice. “Johnny?” The name was muffled through the mask.

“Yeah. Take it easy, Junior.”

Reaves glanced around, his gaze going to the nurse taping the needle in place and then back to John. With a wince he brought his free hand up to shove at the oxygen. “Where’s…Dean? Sammy?”

“Leave it.” John said firmly, securing Caleb’s forearm in his hand, avoiding the teen’s bandaged wrist. “Dean and Sam are okay.”

“No… they’re not.” Caleb tried to wriggle away. “We’re at the…hospital.”

John held firm, glaring at Lyons when the man added his own hands to the situation. “I got this,” he told the physician. “Just give me a minute.”

The doctor sighed, but conceded. “A minute is all we can spare.”

John lowered his voice. “Dean’s with your dad. They think he’s got a touch of pneumonia, but you know your old man. He’ll have him up and around before Christmas.”

Caleb ceased struggling. “Sammy okay?”

Winchester forced a weak smile. “Sam’s warming up a few beds down from you. Bobby's with him. He was just a little cold and hungry. You did good with him.”

“No, I didn’t.” Caleb shook his head. “You weren’t there…you don’t know.”

“You all made it out alive,” John countered. “That’s all that matters.”

“No…it’s not.” Caleb became agitated again. “I don’t want to do it anymore.”

“Do what?” John tightened his grip on the teen’s arm. “Watch out for the boys?”

“No.” Caleb glanced down at his hand where his ring should have been. It was gone. “Hunt.”

“I’ve got your ring.” John caught the teen’s glance and patted his pocket. He misinterpreted Caleb’s distress. “They removed everything. I’ll hold onto it for you.”

“Keep it.” Caleb looked away. “I don’t want it anymore.”

The older hunter frowned. Maybe the teen was still confused from the hypothermia. It made people act all kinds of crazy. “Kid…all I heard for four years was you wanting to know when you’d get your damn ring.” Caleb rarely missed any opportunity to question his mentor about the momentous day when he would be a full-fledged member of The Brotherhood.

“I…was wrong.” Caleb’s gaze was watery and full of more emotion than John was used to dealing with. “I don’t want to be a hunter and I don’t want to be The Knight. Just pick someone else. Pick Joshua. Ian. Anyone but me.”

“Caleb…”John shook his head, trying to understand what was going on with the teen. Despite his outward bravado Caleb was quiet when it came to his feelings. He wasn’t dramatic, nor did he play guessing games. He was straightforward, said what he meant-even when John didn’t want him to. “This wasn’t your fault. The boys will be fine.”

“This isn’t about them.” Caleb insisted, his fingers once more going to the mask covering his face.

John stopped him. “Then what is it about?”

“It’s about me…and what I am.”

John felt his anger rise again, wishing once more he had finished Griffin when he had the chance. “What the hell did Porter say to you?” he growled.

“Nothing.” Caleb closed his eyes, shivered. “Nothing… I hadn’t heard before.”

“We need to take him down to Radiology now, Mr. Winchester.”

John wanted to refuse, to reassure Caleb. He was a man of action, not heart to hearts. He would leave the discussion to someone better equipped. John squeezed the teen’s shoulder. “Everything’s going to be okay, kiddo.”

Caleb kept his eyes closed.

Dr. Lyons edged his way around Winchester. “You can wait with your youngest son. We're moving him to pediatrics. We’ll send someone in to get you when he's settled. '

"What about my other son?" He wanted to hear something, anything about Dean.

"We'll send someone to talk to you." The doctor dismissed John and hurried along with the gurney.

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“I’ve spent my entire life thwarting the forces of evil.” Griffin Porter’s voice rose over the crackle of the fireplace and Jim angled his body towards the other man. “To find myself in this terrible moment.”

Griffin’s back was to him as he sat hunched over, staring at the unmoving form of Jarrett Mathews residing on the leather couch. Silas and Harland had disposed of Sid and Mike, bringing their fallen brother back to Griffin’s cabin with them. Jim and Griffin followed John and the others to the cabin; Murphy staying to oversee things and deal with Porter despite his desire to see the boys at the hospital.

“I’ve watched so many good men lose their lives,” Griffin continued in monotone. “Jarrett deserved better.”

Jim wanted to point out that Mike and Sid were not the typical vessels of darkness they dealt with, but other words came out first. “And even more tragic-I have witnessed many good men lose their souls.”

Griffin laughed mirthlessly. “I suppose you think I am one of those victims-having started that short trip to hell.”

Jim wasn’t surprised by the watery, red-rimmed gaze. Griffin had grieved openly for Jarrett but instead of sympathy it evoked anger in The Guardian. “What would you have me think, Griffin?”

Porter looked away. “As if you would listen to what I have to say, old friend. I’ve been talking to you for years without much success.”

“So you decided to take things into your own hands? To betray me?”

“I am a man of great patience; but still just a man.”

“Not the man I thought you were.”

“We can’t all be perfect, James.”

“I am far from perfect, Griffin.” Jim moved towards the center of the room, stopping in front of the couch. He ran a finger over the silver ring on Mathew’s pale hand, feeling the faint thrum of electricity that still weakly pulsed through the priceless ore. “I make mistakes everyday. They come at a costly price.”

“Yet, you’re willing to cast stones…condemn me.”

Jim glared at the other hunter. “For Godsakes, man! You kidnapped children-hurt them. You and you alone have fated yourself to this sentence, Griffin. I have given you every benefit of the doubt.”

“Julian fated us to this years ago. He should have never chosen you.”

For the first time since leaving the mountain peak Jim witnessed anger flashing in Griffin’s brown eyes. “All of this could have been avoided if Julian had seen past his pet paper tiger to the real you-the pathetically weak mouse of a man.”

Jim knew Griffin harbored resentment towards him, but had held out hope that with time the man would come to terms with the choices Julian made, and the subsequent ones Jim had set in motion. Time had run out. “I am The Guardian, Griffin. It was not your decision to make all those years ago and it is not for you to judge presently.” Jim’s eyes narrowed, the blue blazing like fire. “How dare you go against The Code, betray your own in such a manner.” The pastor glanced to Jarrett, their silent witness. “You have brought destruction, dishonor, and death to one of your brother’s door.”

Griffin stood. “I violated The Code?!” Porter’s face twisted. “You brought the enemy to our table.”

Jim’s lips thinned and he took a step closer to Griffin. “You have no one to blame for Jarrett’s death but yourself. His children have no father now. Two other men have lost their lives. And don’t think I’m not aware that others have tainted themselves by supporting you. You couldn’t have pulled this off alone.”

“And for what? A coup. Did you truly think you could gain the position of Guardian by possessing a vein of silver, discovering a secret store of weapons? Guardians are not appointed by their predecessors alone, Griffin. They are ordained and accepted by a source you could never begin to understand. They have to be judged worthy by something beyond our realm.”

Griffin’s stance deflated with the revelation. “I don’t understand.”

“That’s only part of your problem.” Jim’s face grew grimmer. “A problem too large to be contained within our ranks any longer.”

“But I did what I did for The Brotherhood. It’s all I know.”

“The Brotherhood no longer knows you.”

“What?” Griffin’s stared at The Guardian. “I was born into The Brotherhood. My family has been linked to it for generations.”

“That ends now. From this day you and yours are stripped of all rights and privileges.”

Jim focused on the silver band on the psychic’s hand. He felt Griffin try to invade his thoughts, reach him telepathically. It was useless. There was a reason The Guardian was protected from such tactics. Jim had nothing to fear from Porter. Murphy closed his eyes as Griffin stared in disbelief.

Porter watched as the silver on his hand shifted, going from its icy platinum color to a murky green and then to blue. In seconds it was a clear as tap water and as pliable. It melted from Griffin’s finger, falling like a tear to the ground where it formed a small puddle at Jim’s feet.

“No!” Griffin hissed. “That’s impossible.”

Murphy refocused on the man before him. “I thought the same thing when I realized what you had done.”

“I saved Reaves from that heathen Sid.”

“A heathen you hired.”

“I didn’t know what he was capable of.”

“Yes, you did.”

“But I stopped him from doing the unthinkable.”

Jim’s solemn gaze returned to Mathews. “No, you didn’t. But it is the fact you inadvertently saved those boys that is saving your life.”

Griffin recovered from his shock, regained a hint of his smugness. “I have connections and friends in The Brotherhood beyond your scope, James.”

“It’s true I cannot cut you off completely.” Jim glanced to Jarrett once more. “Ethan and Elijah need not be further traumatized by this tragedy.” Murphy closed the space between himself and the psychic. “I will not tell them how their father was disgraced by joining in with you. In their minds he will die a hero-and you will be safe from scorn. But if in my lifetime I hear tell of you or any of your ‘friends’ contemplating such a move as this again…I will not be so tolerant. I will take more than your ring.”

“You’re threatening me?”

“I just wanted to make one thing clear. I’m no paper tiger, Griffin. I’m a dragon.” Jim curled his lip in disgust. "I need not waste any more time with you. There are others far more important than you can ever dream to be."

He left to go to the boys, his boys, the future and hope of The Brotherhood, ceremoniously shedding the old guard.

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Caleb was hot. Not the pleasant feeling of warmth like falling asleep on the bank of Jim’s pond in the fall sunshine either; but rather the kind of heat the pastor preached about while in one of his fire and brimstone rants. He forced his eyes open, hoping to find some relief, but instead found his father staring anxiously at him. “Hey,” he croaked, his throat feeling as if he had swallowed a few charred embers.

“Hey yourself.” Mackland smiled at his son. “How are you feeling?”

“A little like a pig roasting over a spit.”

“Some overkill is called for in your case.” Mackland laid a hand on his son’s forehead with the preamble of checking his temperature. “You were nearly frozen.”

Caleb frowned. “How are Dean and Sam?”

Mackland stood and retrieved a glass of water from the nightstand. He waited for Caleb to take the offering. “Sam had charmed several of the nurses into playing a rousing game of Candy Land with him when I last checked in.”

“And Dean?” Caleb took another cooling sip and then handed the drink to Mackland.

“Is stable.” Ames replied. “He’s still in ICU, but he’s conscious and responding to treatment.”

“I want to see him.”

“Son, you’ve just been upgraded to stable. I don’t think…”

“There’s no difference in me sitting in here and sitting with him.”

“John’s with him.”

“Please, Dad.”

“Fine, but I want to talk to you first.”

“About what?”

Mackland favored him with a mildly tolerant look. “Caleb.”

“You’re not The Scholar for nothing, Dad. I’m sure you’ve got it figured out.”

“Indulge me.”

“There’s not much to tell. Griffin wanted to make a move on Jim and he used me and the boys to do it. I guess I could tell you about the chummy chats we had concerning my lineage. Or maybe you want to hear about how his hired goons hurt Dean so I would tell them something I had no clue about.”

Ames took a seat on the edge of his son’s bed. “That must have been quite awful for you.”

Caleb rolled his eyes. “Really, Dad? You’re going to go all therapist on me?” He shook his head. “The only one it was awful for was Deuce.”

“You are not to blame for Dean getting hurt. I’m sure the things Griffin said were conjecture and speculation fueled by his dislike of me.”

“Right.”

“Griffin is a disturbed, sociopathic individual, Caleb.”

“You said that about Elkins after he tried to kill me.”

“And I was telling the truth.”

“Are you going to have everyone who isn’t as much a Pollyanna about my future certified as a loony, Mac?”

“If they insist on hurting those I care about and disregarding the very essence of The Brotherhood, then yes.” He frowned at his son. “And you know I don’t like the term ‘loony’.”

Caleb’s eyes pleaded with his father to understand. “It wasn’t just me this time, Dad. Dean and Sammy almost died too.”

“Is that why you gave your ring back to John?”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Son…”

“Dad.”

“I want to help you.”

“Then let me see Dean.” There was nothing Mackland could say to make it all better. The truth was the truth. For better or worse. Caleb was what he was. A tiger was unable to change his stripes.

Mackland sighed, a look of resigned defeat on his weary features. “All right.”

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Dean still looked cold. Caleb pulled the blankets up over the boy and claimed the chair by his bed in the ICU unit. John had vacated the seat, using the time to be with his youngest son. Mackland had told him he could stay for twenty minutes only. That was after a quick visit to check in on Sam, who begged tenaciously to come with him. Children were not allowed in ICU, so Caleb had pinky sworn to come back with news after his visit with Dean. If Dean wasn’t moved to a regular room soon, then the psychic would find a way to reunite the boys on his own. Rules were pointless. Especially when they could so easily be broken.

Griffin Porter had violated every rule Caleb had drilled in his head over the last five years. Psychic abilities should not be used against humans in any harmful manner or manipulated in such a fashion as to garner an unfair advantage. Human life is valued above all else. The Brotherhood and its members are to be respected, honored, and protected by each brother. All of it pointless. Especially when people were so easily broken.

Caleb ran his finger lightly over the back of Dean’s bandaged hand. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and opened himself up to all the feelings stirring within the child. Dean’s sleep was light despite the drugs coursing through his system. His breathing although aided by the oxygen canula was hampered and strenuous. He wasn’t well and it disturbed Caleb on a level he wasn’t comfortable with-too close to the gut-wrenching sensation of grief…death. He couldn’t help himself.

“Deuce?” He said quietly while mentally brushing against the younger boy’s mind, trying to stimulate his awareness. His desperation to see Dean awake, hear his voice, grew and he pressed on more insistently. “Wake up, Dean.”

“Ca…leb?” The kid mumbled, turning his head, but not opening his eyes.

“It’s me, Kiddo. Open your eyes.”

Dean slowly obeyed the request, blinking blearily at the psychic. Caleb felt guilty for his selfishness, but not so much that he would allow the boy to drift off again. He moved his hand to Dean’s head. “Hey, stay awake.”

Dean licked his lips, wincing when he swallowed. “Where…”

“We’re at the hospital.” Caleb forced a grin. “And Sammy’s fine. He’s torturing Bobby as we speak.”

“Dad?”

“With Sam, Mac said I could visit you for bit. He might have dragged your old man to get some coffee too.”

“You…okay?” Dean eyed the I.V. pole Caleb was sporting along with the unattractive medical attire.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m getting the anti-freeze treatment.” Reaves bobbed a brow. “I’m slated for some hot towel time with a cute nurse after I finish this check-up with my second-in-command.”

Caleb gave him a scrutinizing once over again. Dean hadn’t been completely conscious since their time in the cave. “How you feeling?”

“Warm.” Dean frowned.

“That’s saying a lot seeing how close you came in looking a little like Frosty.” Caleb felt the kid’s apprehension. Dean wasn’t used to vocalizing his fears. “You’re going to be just fine by the way. No toes or fingers falling off. And Mac has his legion of drugs working on taking care of the nasty cold. You’ll be good as new by Christmas. Just think of how you can milk this for extra presents.”

“What…happened?”

The teen cleared his throat. “The cavalry arrived in the nick of time-just like in the movies.” Caleb didn’t want to rehash the events. He didn’t even want to remember them himself and hoped Dean would stay oblivious to the finer points.

“The bad guys?”

Reaves let his fingers trail through the kid’s hair and then removed his touch all together. “Dealt with. You’ll never have to see those bastards again.”

Dean blinked, obviously fighting hard to hold off the tug of sleep. “Did you kick their asses?”

Caleb looked down at his hands, to his naked ring finger. “Not really.” If it had been left up to him they would all be dead. “Deuce…” He met Dean’s gaze. “I’m sorry. I know I promised to watch out for you…”

“You do.” Dean spoke up. “Me and Sammy.”

“I just think…” He thought there had to be someone better at it than him. Someone who wasn’t a demon. “I screwed up.”

“Did Dad get mad at you?”

Caleb shook his head. For once John had not dressed him down for his shortcomings. Of course the man couldn’t really order him to rearrange his DNA, undo his lineage. In all honesty, his mentor never made him feel anything but completely human. “Johnny’s not pissed. He’s just worried about you and Sammy.”

“And you. He worries about you… just doesn’t say it.”

Caleb looked away. He’d come to make sure Dean was okay, to tell him goodbye, not to be reassured by the sick ten-year-old. It was really pathetic.

“Damien?”

The softly spoken nickname stirred memories of the first time the kid had called him that-an innocent way of understanding what Caleb had in an unguarded moment confessed to the then six-year-old. ‘I think I’m a demon.’

Reaves lifted his hooded gaze, raked a hand over his mouth. “Yeah, kiddo?”

“Will you be here when I wake up?”

Despite Dean’s great effort, Caleb could tell the boy was losing the battle with the drugs and fatigue. But it didn’t surprise the young hunter that the kid could gage the situation even in his weakened state. He laid a hand on Dean’s chest and winked. “I’ll be around.”

Dean frowned, opened his mouth to say something else, but Caleb stopped him.

“Go to sleep, Deuce. Mac’s going to kill me for bothering you as it is.”

Dean lifted his hand and placed it over Caleb’s. “Tell him I needed you to stay,” he said softly, his eyes finally closing.

“He’s not the only one who needs you to stay.”

“Jim?” Caleb wondered how long the man had stood unnoticed in the small room.

Murphy moved to Dean’s bedside, his face as unreadable as his closed off thoughts. “Children are very perceptive. Dean especially.”

Caleb gently removed his hand from beneath the ten-year-old’s, feeling as if Jim was suddenly capable of reading his mind. Sometimes he wondered what the Guardian was capable of. Caleb could never get a true fix on the man-his thoughts completely unreachable.

"Your father and John are worried."

Caleb exhaled loudly in frustration. "You said we had choices, Jim. I'm making one. I want out."

Murphy sat down at the edge of Dean's bed. He placed a hand on the sleeping boy's leg and rubbed it for a moment. “I want to tell you a story.”

Caleb didn't realize Jim was talking to him at first. He rubbed at his weary eyes, wincing as the motion tugged on his IV. “If this is about the whole wolf thing again …”

“Actually, it’s about Merlin.”

The teen grimaced. “Too late. Griffin already beat you to that punch line.”

Murphy frowned. “Griffin’s recollection of history is selective. I suspect he left out some vital information.”

“No. He was really into sharing.” Reaves picked at the IV insertion point for a moment, then stopped.

“Did he tell you that Merlin himself was half demon and half human-a product of the union between incubus and a Godly virgin.” Jim waited for the boy to look at him. “They say Merlin struggled with that epic battle of being torn between both worlds. As a child he was almost destroyed by a group of men who did not understand what he was capable of-feared what he might bring about.”

Caleb understood where Jim was going. The irony hard to dismiss. “I’m no magician, Jim.”

“You’re not a monster either.”

Frustration edged to anger. He was tired of those closest to him being blinded by their loyalty. It was going to get someone killed. “You don’t know that. Griffin said you were betting on a losing team.”

“Porter is a narrow-minded bigot who understands nothing of what makes an honorable hunter.”

“He was right about my father, Jim!” Caleb snapped. He lowered his voice when Dean shifted in his sleep. “I saw him kill my mom. He loved her and he murdered her.”

“But he didn’t kill you.”

Caleb sighed. “Maybe because that was part of his plan…to carry on his evil seed. What I might do could be a hundred times worse.”

“Or maybe he found it within himself to fight whatever was controlling him. Maybe he saw you as his last hope.”

Caleb looked at Dean and then back to Jim. “I can’t take that risk. And neither should you.”

“I would have never have suggested you to John for the position of Knight if I had not had complete faith you would do great things in The Brotherhood…things that have nothing to do with whatever skeletons may be lurking in your family’s closet.”

Jim held out Caleb’s ring. “This belongs to you.”

“I don’t want to dishonor you or The Brotherhood.”

“Caleb, you could never dishonor me.”

The ring winked at Caleb under the fluorescent lights, beckoning. He recalled the conversation with Jim after the incident with Ian, Fisher and Joshua. More than anything he wanted to be a part of The Brotherhood, some thing larger than himself so he could undo the damage done by his family.

He met Jim’s gaze once more. “What did you do to Griffin?”

Murphy didn’t blink. “The worst that I could do.”

Caleb nodded, understanding what the pastor was telling him. His gaze returned to the ring and he fought past his fears.

The ring was a promise to be better. He picked it up, clutched it his hand. He would be better-better than Griffin or any other hunter. He would protect his own. Caleb slipped the ring on his finger.

"The best hunters are hunters because they make choices when their faith is tested. But when they return-if they return- their faith is always stronger." Jim placed his hand over Caleb's. The teen felt a strange tingle.

Caleb swallowed. He wondered if there would be other times in the future when he would lose his way along the path. "We don't make this easy for you. You sure you really want us to be a part of The Brotherhood?" Reaves gestured to Dean. "God knows what he and Sam are going to put you through."

Jim smiled a wide, bright grin. "The Brotherhood needs some rabble rousers. Merlin would have expected nothing less. He was an architect, also you know. Designed Camelot himself.”

Caleb grinned. “Yeah, yeah, me and old Merle are practically twins.”

“He did have that fatal flaw of being swayed by beautiful women. His lust did him in, you know. Some believe the Lady of the Lake has him trapped somewhere to this very day.”

Caleb rolled his eyes. “Just another weapon in your chastity sermon, huh?”

“I’m practicing on you so I will be prepared for the real trouble.” Jim patted Dean’s leg. “He’s bound to be worse.”

“What about Sam?”

“Sammy?” Jim feigned horror. “Samuel is going to be a saint.”

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“Why doesn’t Santa Claus and Mrs. Claus have any children?” Sam Winchester asked from his perch beside his brother. Sam was covered in Christmas wrapping paper and sporting a bright green bow on his head.

“I don’t know. Why?” Caleb asked. He was sitting stretched out in front of the fireplace with Atticus, watching the boys tear into their Christmas presents from Bobby Singer.

“Because Santa Claus has cotton balls!” He roared, banging loudly on the new set of bongos Bobby had purchased for him.

Caleb laughed and Dean groaned. “Sammy, that’s awful.”

“I have to agree with that.” Jim Murphy entered the room along with John and Mackland. The pastor was carrying a tray loaded down with eggnog and cookies Sam had helped him bake. Dean was only released from the hospital that morning, making it to the farm in time for Christmas Eve, much to his little brother’s delight.

“So much for sainthood.” Caleb flashed the pastor a knowing grin.

Jim frowned at him before placing the tray on the table near the couch where Dean was resting. “Please tell me you did not hear that joke at school, Samuel?”

“No.” Sam said innocently. “Bobby told it to me.”

“Bobby?” John turned towards the mechanic, sitting in the recliner closest to the fire, sporting a Santa hat.

“Hey, I was just trying to keep the kid entertained and out of trouble like you said.”

“Hence the new set of drums.”

Singer’s smile broadened. “Every kid needs to explore their talents. Mackland covers the books; I’m covering the other areas.”

“That explains the lock-picking set and BB Gun you bought Dean?” Jim shook his head in disappointment. “Stealing and thievery are not talents.”

“They are in our line of work.” Singer refuted.

“And have you never watched The Christmas Story?”

Bobby snorted. “Are you kidding? I have a replica of that leg lamp. It’s priceless.”

“Priceless junk.” Mackland muttered under his breath. “You know, you do share some similarities with the next door neighbors on that movie though. What were they called? The ones with all those beasts barking and destroying things.”

“Bumpuses.” Caleb said around a mouthful of cookie he had snatched from Jim’s tray.

Mackland took a cup of eggnog and moved around the melee of paper and packaging. He ignored the rude body language Bobby was offering and flashed a curious glance to his son. Caleb was wearing a new shirt.“Architects do it with models?” Ames read the bold writing across the front. His frown grew as he took in the illustrations on the back, and he raised a disapproving brow. “Let me guess…another tasteful gift from Uncle Bobby.”

Caleb bobbed his eyebrows suggestively as he tugged at the front of the black tee. “Pretty cool, huh?”

“For a geek.” Dean snorted. The kid was still heavily medicated and not his usual cocky self. So the comment was welcomed.

Caleb threw a wad of discarded Christmas paper at him. “You’re just upset he didn’t get you a matching one, Deuce. We all know how you like to dress like me.”

“Dean might cry.” Sam giggled.

“Shut up,” Dean growled, bumping shoulders with his little brother. “You’re going to end up on Santa’s bad list if you’re not careful” Dean's hand flew to his mouth as he gave a rumbling cough that came deep from his lungs. Mackland had said the cough would linger.

“I already got what I want,” Sam said sincerely. “So I’m not worried.”

“Really?” Dean smirked as he recovered from the coughing fit and leaned against the couch pillow. “What was that?”

“For you to get better and come home to us.” Sam snuggled closer to his brother. “I said my special prayer to Santa and he listened. Just like the angels do.”

Jim sighed. “A saint I tell you.”

“Please.” Caleb groaned. “That was so not on the list you rattled off to Santa at the mall yesterday, Runt! A very long and detailed list by the way.”

Sam shot the teen a hard look. “That was not the real Santa. The real Santa is still in the North Pole getting ready for tonight.” The boy looked at Jim. “Pastor Jim says the real Santa sees the list in our heart-not the one on paper.”

“That’s exactly right, my boy.”

“Then why did I have to spend three hours in that freakin’ line with all the crying babies and their stressed out parents?”

“You got that elf’s phone number.” Sam shot back. “And you ate my candy cane.”

“Still-I always get the shitty jobs.”

“That’s because you’re the junior hunter.” John spoke up. He glanced to Bobby. “Speaking of that, aren’t there some things that need to be taken care of in the barn before we can eat dinner?”

Bobby nodded. ”I believe there is.” The mechanic stood. “And I need to finish spreading my Christmas cheer seeing as I won’t be around for the big celebrations tomorrow. The lovely Fiona has asked me to Christmas dinner.”

“Lovely?” Caleb flashed Dean a grin. “In the same way The Grinch is cute and cuddly.”

“Caleb,” Jim reprimanded. “The Holidays are the time to be kind.”

“Sorry, sir.” He glanced to Bobby. “I’ve got a blindfold in my pack, Sanford.”

Singer pointed a finger at him. “Next year, Junior, you’re getting coal.”

“Is Daddy getting coal this year?” Sam asked. “That’s what he had in his stocking last year.”

“Thanks to some mischievous elves.” John shot a glare to Caleb and his oldest son. “Santa definitely marked that one on his list. Now move you’re ass, Reaves.”

Caleb grumbled in protest knowing that both the boys had new bikes that needed to be put together for tomorrow. Last time it had taken John, Mackland, and Jim to put Dean’s together. “I know you all just keep me around so you’ll have someone to feel superior over.”

“He’s figured us out.” John offered the teen a hand up, roughly jerking him to his feet. “You won’t be getting out of this job for a very long time.”

“I think I’ll come and supervise,” Mackland offered, finishing the last of his eggnog.

“Talking about somebody needing to feel superior.” Singer grunted. “It’s not like we need a consultation, Doctor.”

“But it is likely you’ll need a chaperone.” Mackland grinned. “I know Jim’s stash is out there.”

Jim looked at both boys once the men were gone. “I daresay our tree would be bare of gifts in the morning if not for you two.”

“And you, Pastor Jim.” Sam offered. “Santa will bring you lots of gifts.”

Jim’s eyes misted over and he cleared his throat before patting both boys on the head. “Oh, he has already brought me what I wanted, Samuel.” He winked at Dean and handed the boy the plate of peanut butter cookies. “Three times over.”

“Thanks, Jim.” Dean took the plate and watched as Murphy made his way towards the kitchen.

Atticus waited for his master to leave before sauntering over to the couch and crawling up on the sofa with the boys. He smiled at the boys in anticipation, his tale thumping along with the soft tunes of Silent Night playing in the background.

Sam and Dean exchanged looks. “One won’t spoil his dinner.”

“It is Christmas.” Dean sighed. “Pastor Jim says we should be kind.”

Sam grinned and scooped up two cookies, offering them to the Retriever who devoured the chewy creations with unabashed rapture. “Do you think we should give him one more?”

Dean shook his head. “Nope. Santa and his reindeer should get in on the good stuff too.”

Sam nodded. “You really think he’ll come, Dean?”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“Because those men died.”

The reply shocked Dean. His brother hadn’t spoken about the incident. “Sam, that wasn’t our fault.”

“Lots of bad things happen around us, Dean.”

There was no denying it, but his brother didn't need to know the truth for a long time. He still had years to believe in Santa Claus. "But lots of good things too." Dean held up a cookie and split it in half, sharing with his brother.

"Like Pastor Jim." Sam was smart and picked up on what his brother was referring too.

"And Mac, Caleb, and Bobby too." Dean smiled thinking about his new gun and lock picking kit. "And a pretty cool little brother and dad." Dean ruffled Sam's hair.

"You know, I think Santa really likes us."

“I think you’re right.”

“Want to hear another joke?”

Dean groaned. “Did Bobby tell it to you?”

“No. “ Sam paused. “Somebody else.”

“Okay. Out with it.”

“What do you get when you cross a tiger and a snowman?” Sam agreed with his brother. Sometimes you needed to focus on the good things, and let go of the bad.

Dean hesitated. “What?”

Sam grinned. “Frostbite!” The five-year-old banged on his bongos.

Dean laughed. “Kill me now.”

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