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.

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Chapter 4/11

The human race's prospects of survival were considerably better when we were defenseless against tigers than they are today when we have become defenseless against ourselves. --Arnold J. Toynbee

Jim had been gone for a few hours to speak with Duran about the alleged ‘conversation’ with Julian Smith. Sam and Dean had been gone for over sixteen hours with no word. John was like a caged tiger, and pounced when Bobby's phone rang.

Mackland shot Winchester a look of irritation and was nearly pummeled in the Knight’s quest to answer the phone. Bobby was even more disgruntled since the phone was in his shirt pocket. “Damn it, John!” Singer snarled, swatting the other hunter away as he answered. “Singer.”

Bobby stepped further away. “Fisher? Where the hell are you?”

John and Mac exchanged looks.

“What do you mean he wasn’t there when you came to?” The mechanic ran a hand down his face. “Goddamnit, Fisher! I told you to watch out for him.”

Mackland stood, the color draining from his face. “Bobby?”

“How long ago? And when were you going to call me, Fisher? “Singer stepped further away afraid he would have both Scholar and Knight pawing at him. “Were there tracks?” He lowered his voice, turned his back on his fellow hunters. “Any blood or sulfur?”

Bobby exhaled heavily. “Nobody just vanishes. Get your fucking head out of your ass and search the perimeter until you come up with something better than his gear and his Jeep keys. Call me back in one hour with some news or else I will make it my personal quest that all you get is recon jobs.”

The mechanic took a deep breath and cut the connection. He turned to face the twin gazes, searing a hole in the back of his head. “Looks like we got another problem, boys.”

“For God’s sake, Bobby,” Mackland growled. “What’s going on? Did something happen to my son?”

“He’s gone.”

“Gone?” John stood up. “What do you mean gone?”

“Fisher said they were digging up a grave to get the shin bone of a holy man when…”

“What?” Ames asked, with a confused shake of his head.

Singer waved a hand in the air. “Do you listen to anything I say? I explained this to you earlier. To destroy a troll you need to pierce its heart with…”

“Bobby!” John snapped. “Spare us the long-winded details and tell us what the hell happened to Caleb.”

“That’s just it. The last thing that fool Fisher remembers is digging the grave last night. Then nothing. He came to a couple of hours ago with one hell of a headache, laid out by the half-dug tomb. All of Caleb’s stuff was there, but there wasn’t a sign of him.”

Mackland swallowed hard, his gaze going to Johnathan. “This isn’t a coincidence. Is it?”

John rubbed a hand over his mouth. “The Knight’s sons disappear, now The Scholar’s kid.” He growled low in his throat. “Somebody’s fucking with The Triad.”

“Damn it.” Mackland dug the palms of his hands into his eyes. “Get Jim. This changes things.”

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When Griffin returned both boys were asleep. Caleb’s eyes snapped open as Porter closed the bathroom door and turned the overhead light off. Only a lamp on the nightstand remained lit.

“You’re good with them.” Porter sat on the other bed, watching Reaves. “Not exactly what I expected from an eighteen-year-old kick ass hunter of all things evil.”

The young psychic shrugged. He usually bristled at the mention of his ‘talent’ for taking care of the Winchesters, having been called John’s glorified babysitter one too many times under some other hunter’s breath. But in the current situation the weight of their small bodies against his, the knowledge of them temporarily safe and under his care was somehow comforting. “I just watch out for them even though they're usually a pain in the ass.” He still had an image to maintain.

Griffin inclined his head. “As any Knight would do?”

“I wouldn’t know about that.” Reaves glanced away. “I just don’t want anything bad to happen to them.”

Porter reclined on the bed. “I suppose that is the beginning of any good Triad.”

Caleb felt his chest tighten. He got the distinct impression the conversation had just veered off the casual interest path. Porter was watching for his reaction.

“What do you mean?”

Griffin crossed his hands behind his head and yawned. “I mean it is obvious that James is attempting to restore balance to The Brotherhood. The proceeding Triad failed miserably in that respect. Look at our current circle of power.”

“The Triad is composed of great men,” Caleb snapped. He lowered his voice when Sam stirred against him. “Jim, Mac and John are the best hunters I know.”

“I didn’t mean it as an insult, only an observation.” Griffin looked at the teen. “They are not your typical set. Your father and Winchester are not even from hunting families.”

“Greatness has to begin somewhere.”

Griffin raised a brow. “Machiavelli?”

Caleb smirked. “No. Jim Murphy.”

Porter laughed. “James has a poet’s soul. Sometimes I think Julian chose him more for that than any other skill he held. They would sit around during hunts discussing the works of Dickens, Wharton, Dreiser and Dostoyevsky. It drove me crazy.”

“You were close to Julian Smith?” Caleb had heard stories of the former guardian from Jim and Bobby. The man had died before his time after a long battle with cancer.

“I was.” Griffin nodded. “And to the Knight and Scholar, Maxim and Victor as well. We grew up together, our families having been hunters for generations.”

“How’d you meet Jim?” Reaves knew Murphy had not been a member of a traditional hunting family either.

“Father Solomon found James in an alley…like a stray cat.” Porter smiled. “I can’t believe it has been almost thirty years.”

“Father Solomon was a hunter?” Reaves knew Solomon O’Shaughnessy had been a mentor to Jim in his work as a pastor. Murphy had worked as an associate pastor under the man’s tutelage.

“Yes. A good one. He also dealt in weapons and antiquities, running a sort of home base out of his parish. God’s greatest work, he called it. He was all for saving lost souls. Jim Murphy fit in that category. I’m not sure what the Devil had in store for James, but he definitely was in need of a rescue from himself and his past demons.”

“What was Jim doing in an alley?” Caleb’s interest was piqued. Jim never explained exactly how he had been inducted into The Brotherhood, always replying the same way with the same enigmatic smile. ‘I was led into the flock like a lost sheep and fighting wolves became my life’s mission. Never once did I imagine myself the shepherd.’

“Bleeding to death.”

Reaves frowned. He found the thoughts of the invincible Jim Murphy being hurt even thirty years in the past somehow upsetting. “What happened?”

Griffin rose up on elbow, eager to fill in the blanks. “Jim couldn’t have been more than twenty-six, when his life took a turn for the worst. He’d been working as an associate pastor with Father Solomon for about a year, when he lost his wife Emma. James was mad at the world and God.” Porter shook his head. “You wouldn’t know it now, but the man was a one-man wrecking crew. He liked to fight and could drink most men under the table. The Irish in him, you know. Losing Emma gave him more than enough reason to do a lot of both.”

“So Father Solomon told him about The Brotherhood to help Jim get himself together?” Caleb did not think disturbing revelations of all things supernatural being part of reality would have been very comforting.

“Not in the beginning. Solomon tried to help James back to the Lord, but his anger was more powerful than any scripture the pastor could quote. After he found Jim drunk and beaten in that alley, he figured drastic measures were called for.”

Caleb thought history often repeated itself. The story sounding much like John Winchester’s without the fire demon and two small boys.

“Jim was not ready to get himself together as you put it. He had a lot of rage and hatred, the kind of dark fury that does things to a man’s soul. You see, he’d married Emma when he was younger than you before going to the war where I suppose like other good soldiers he did god-awful things to other boys all in the name of patriotism and freedom. He told me once that the thoughts of Emma kept him sloshing through the rice fields of Vietnam, even as his comrades fell around him.”

“He was a hero.” Caleb interjected, feeling the need to clarify. He and Dean had found the Purple Heart, the discharge papers in the attic at the farm. Dean had asked the pastor about it, but Jim had merely patted him on the head and said sometimes prizes were given for all the wrong reasons. He let Sammy wear it for the rest of that summer. Maybe they were all casualties of war.

“He went from one battlewar to another.” Griffin’s smile faded some. “Father Solomon merely utilized Jim’s talents as a warrior to give him a much-needed distraction. He told him about The Brotherhood, sent him to Julian to train. It gave James an outlet for his anger, an enemy he could fight against instead of that elusive villain who had taken his true love. Julian in turn sent him on hunts with me, Maxim and Victor.”

Reaves nodded. “I’ve heard stories about the jobs you all did.”

Porter snorted. “James can spin a yarn.”

Caleb brushed his fingers through Sam’s hair, thinking of the stories Murphy would tell the boys. “Yeah. He loves fairytales.”

“I’m not surprised he didn’t share his early years in The Brotherhood with you boys, but I do hope he has told you all about the beginnings of The Brotherhood…about how Triads work.”

Reaves shrugged. Jim had told him some and Caleb had read some in the older journals. None of it really mattered to him. He liked to hunt. He liked being a part of something bigger than himself. He liked the fact he could do good…when he was so obviously born of evil. Serving in The Brotherhood was the real honor. “I guess.”

“Then you understand why I said what I did about your father and Johnathan Winchester. Triads are generally raised together, as close as brothers. Many have been actual biological siblings.”

“My dad and John are close. Sometimes it’s quality of time not quantity that builds a bond.” And most of the time it had nothing to do with blood. “Friendships forged in the fires of battle are sometimes stronger than family ties.” Jim said that all the time.

“I can appreciate such sentiment too, Caleb, considering I have no real family to speak of either.” Griffin gave the boy a sad shake of his head, but hurried on before Reaves could offer a comeback. “But I feel that Merlin would have disagreed with us.”

Caleb ignored the ache Griffin’s observation invoked. He tightened his hold on the boys and frowned. “Merlin?”

“Yes. You must know that The Brotherhood is purported to have been started by him. In his quest to find the perfect warrior to help battle evil on the mortal plane, Merlin inadvertently became the founding father of our kinship.”

“Merlin…the wizard?” Reaves had not heard this version of the story, although he had heard his father and John jokingly call Jim by the legendary wizard’s name. Maybe Porter was playing with his head. Knights of the Round Table were one thing…but Merlin?

Griffin cocked a brow. “You know of another Merlin?”

The teen rolled his eyes and gestured for Griffin to go on. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do. It appeared that Jim Murphy wasn’t the only one who liked to tell stories.

“Despite Merlin’s wisdom and diligence, the wizard soon found that most mortals were flawed and far from perfect. He would consider himself lucky to find a man with even one of the attributes his tasks would require. So in his brilliance he decided to choose not just one man, but three.”

Griffin paused for effect and then continued. “One would be of strong body and stronger conviction. This man would follow the honor code of The Knight. He would defend the weak and protect the innocent. To do his job, Merlin would present him with a sword of the likes the world had never seen.”

Caleb raised a brow. “Let me guess. Excalibur?”

“It is not out of the realm of possibility.”

Reaves snorted. “And you call yourself a scientist.”

Porter cleared his throat and continued. “The second man Merlin would choose would have a great mind. As a Scholar, he would use logic and reasoning to decipher any problem. Merlin would bless him with some of his own magic allowing him the ability to access another’s thoughts and to know the future.”

“Scholars are usually psychic.” Caleb knew that it was the one position of the Triad where abilities were actually praised. Over the generations the talents were wide and diverse, but the men who served were revered, not scorned. Unfortunately, that couldn’t be said for any previous Knight Reaves had read about.

Griffin smiled. “Throughout history that has been the way.”

“And what about the third dude? What did Merlin give The Guardian?”

“It’s not what Merlin gave The Guardian, but what The Guardian would be willing to give Merlin.” When Caleb frowned, Porter continued. “You see, the third man was the most difficult to find. This man had to have an incredible heart and inextinguishable spirit. He must be willing to give his life to the cause-to put the safety of others before his own.”

“But he got nothing in return? Like the gifts Merlin bestowed on the other two?”

“That’s where things are a little unclear.” Griffin shrugged. “One of the mysteries only Guardians are privy to. And they aren’t willing or allowed to share.”

Caleb frowned. “You don’t think these jerks who took us could have heard this story, maybe from an old hunter or maybe unearthed a journal? Maybe they’re crazy enough to believe it? Maybe they think that the gift Merlin gave the Guardian is to keep the silver?”

“That’s a lot of maybes, son.” Again Porter smiled enigmatically. “Jim should have considered you for The Scholar instead of The Knight, Caleb Reaves.”

Caleb shook his head. He was beginning to think Griffin was digging at him with all The Knight comments. “I don’t even know if I’m in line to be The Knight.” It was all a big mystery and almost as abstract an idea as Merlin.

“That’s also the way of The Brotherhood. Albeit, The Knight is prepared and exposed more than the other two positions due to the nature of his job. I mean to secure a safe position; he would need to be aware of the other players on the board.”

John had drilled into Caleb’s head the importance of remembering hunters, knowing their specialty and how to assess how much to share with them. Winchester encouraged him to hunt with others, but only the men John trusted. This latest hunt with Fisher had been a bone of contention between them.

Griffin’s voice interrupted Reaves drifting, anchoring him back to their bleak situation. “The Scholar and Guardian are often sheltered from interacting with other hunters besides a select few. It limits the possibility of favoritism and gives them an air of mystery. Sort of keeps the ranks in awe.”

Griffin let his gaze go from Reaves to the two boys sleeping curled against him. “You know Merlin found what he was looking for in three orphaned boys? He took them and raised them as brothers, fostering in each of them one of the traits he hoped to utilize in his sacred circle. Protection. Knowledge. Sacrifice. And every generation afterwards followed suit. Choosing three that would stand together as the next Triad.”

“And you think Jim is raising us to be the next Triad?” Caleb didn’t like the turn Griffin’s tale was taking. Sam and Dean were children. They weren’t anyone’s pawns. The man was making Jim, his father and John sound underhanded- scheming.

“I’m just pointing out that it would be wise of Jim to make sure his Triad is prepared for the worst…that they are returning to the old traditions. A war is coming.”

“So I’ve heard,” Caleb growled. He was tired of the story. “But the only battle I’m concerned about now is the one we’re going to have to wage to get out of this situation.” Reaves looked down at the boys who slept temporarily oblivious to what was going on around them. “I want them away from here as soon as possible.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you.” Griffin looked repentant; though Caleb got the feeling it wasn’t very sincere. “I was only explaining my earlier comment.”

“It’s alright.” Maybe he was reading too much into it. Caleb ran a hand down his face. “I think we need to focus on getting out of here.”

"I didn't want to say anything, but sooner is better than later. Dean is very ill."

Caleb placed a hand on Dean's forehead in concern. The boy was warm and his cheeks flushed. He bent his head. "You couldn’t have built a tunnel or something?"

“Is that your only brilliant plan?”

Caleb shifted, his right arm tingling with numbness. He didn’t want to move it in fear of waking Dean. Instead he sighed. “No. But John and Mac will think of something.”

“You have a lot of faith in Knight Winchester and Scholar Ames.”

Reaves shot him a look. “They’ve earned it.”

Griffin was spared a reply by the ominous click of the lock on their door. Reaves tensed, but wasn’t given time to react as Sid and Mike entered the room like police performing a raid.

Sam and Dean awoke with a jerk in response to the door slamming against the cabin wall and Sid’s bark of a laugh. “I told you boys not to get too comfortable. No rest for the weary and all.” He looked at his bald-headed baboon of a partner. “Maybe they think this is the freaking Hilton, Mikey?”

Sam rubbed at his eyes, scrunching closer to his brother. “Dean?”

“It’s okay, Sammy.”

Dean’s voice sounded worse. He raised himself to sitting, putting a protective arm around his brother. He looked at Reaves.

Caleb edged to the end of the bed, securing both Winchesters behind him. “This your idea of a courtesy call? Because neither of us rang the front desk.” Caleb recognized the tactic. John had told him how the enemy would not allow captives sleep, how those in control would do things to keep their victims off guard and on edge. It was effective.

Sid smiled. “You could say that. Call it a pick-up service.”

“I don’t have any dirty laundry. Sorry.”

Griffin interrupted the verbal volley. “Is there a point to this, or did you just want to give the boys nightmares?”

“The boss wants to talk to the boy.” Sid swung his gun towards Reaves and the Winchesters. “That’s hard to do if he’s sleeping.”

Caleb felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise. He hoped like hell that ‘boy’ was Sid’s way of talking down to him.

Dean must have thought so because he felt the ten-year-old’s fingers tighten in the folds of his shirt. “Caleb?”

Reaves glanced behind him and tried for his most reassuring smile. “I’m not going anywhere.” He then returned his gaze to Sid. “Tell your boss we can talk in here.”

“It’s not you he wants to talk to. You already had your chance to sing, pretty boy. We’re going to chat with one of the little parakeets.”

Caleb stood up. Both boys followed, flanking the teen. “Like hell you are.”

“Do you really think this is some kind of democracy, kid?” Sid asked in his wannabe-mobster tone.

“You’re not touching them.”

Mikey stepped forward, hands out as if he were trying to calm a cornered animal. “It’d be easier, kid, if you just let the older boy come with us.”

Caleb pushed Dean further behind him. “He’s not going anywhere.”

“Says the boy without a gun.” Sid shook his head pointed his weapon at Sam. “Now back off and send blondie over here or I’m going to ventilate the little ankle biter.”

Despite the poor imitation of one of Al Capone’s flunkies, Reaves was afraid Sid was actually serious. He’d hurt Dean. Caleb doubted if he would hesitate in doing the same to Sam. The man had no boundaries. He moved so Sam was completely shielded from view. “I’ll go with him. Take both of us.”

“He don’t need a chaperone. I’ll watch him.”

“He doesn’t know anything!” Caleb growled. “I told you none of us know anything about any fucking silver or lost journals.”

Sid shrugged. “Funny, but we don’t believe you.”

For once Dean didn’t insist on being brave beyond his years. He clung to the back of Caleb’s shirt, hiding as much of his body behind the older hunter as possible. It wasn’t like him and it pulled at all of Reaves’s protective instincts. “Ask him your questions here, then.”

“Come with us.” Mikey gestured to Dean. “Now.”

“NO!” Caleb refused when he heard Dean’s breath hitch. Sam started to cry.

“Caleb, I don’t believe there is a choice here.” Griffin stepped alongside Reaves. “If you resist our friend Sid will enjoy making a very messy point.”

The psychic looked at Porter. “Do you know anything? Anything at all. Maybe something you didn’t even think was important? ”

Griffin frowned. “What?”

“If you do, tell them.” Caleb gestured to the men. “Jim will understand. He would give them whatever they wanted. Don’t let them take the kid. Please.”

“Son, I don’t have the answers they want.”

“Neither does Dean!”

“Then he’ll have to tell the boss that himself,” Sid said.

Caleb focused on the blond henchman. “I swear to God if you hurt him again I will make your death slow and painful.”

“No, Caleb!” Sam said forcefully as Reaves turned around resolutely and bent eye-level in front of the boys. “Don’t let them take Dean. You’re supposed to watch out for him. Daddy says so.” Sam pleaded, bouncing on his toes. “No. No.”

“It’s okay, Sammy.” Dean shushed his brother, rubbing his hand up and down the little boy’s back. “They just want to ask me some questions…that’s all.”

“But they hurt Caleb and Griffin when they asked them questions.”

Sam had not mentioned the bruises on Caleb’s face or the split lip, but the five-year-old had an uncanny way of blocking out things he didn’t want to see. Reaves grasped Sam’s arm, stilling him. “They won’t hurt, Dean. I promise you.”

Caleb met Dean’s gaze as he whispered the words to Sam. He and Dean knew Caleb couldn’t guarantee such a thing; even Sam was sure to understand on some level, but they all needed to hear them just the same. “Deuce...”Caleb cupped his hand on the side of Dean’s face. “It’ll be okay. Just answer their questions the best you can. If you know something, tell them. Don’t go trying to imitate some cartoon super hero.”

Dean stepped closer to Caleb, his shoulder brushing against the teen’s. He dropped his head slightly. “Okay.”

Even though he was trying hard to sound confident and fearless, the body language gave Dean away. Reaves let his hand slide to the boy’s neck and squeezed. “Nothing’s going to happen to you. Got it?”

Dean swallowed his voice hoarse and low. He looked up at the psychic. “Because you said so?”

Caleb appreciated the kid’s attempt at normalcy, the ever-present hint of cockiness no matter how forced. “Yes. Because I’m older, better looking, and way smarter.”

“And taller.” Sam piped up, needing the moment of lightheartedness. He clung to his brother’s hand. “But don’t worry, Jim says you’ll catch up in tallness.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I guess that’s something.”

Sam hugged his brother. “I love you anyway.”

“Me too,” Dean replied.

Caleb forced himself to release Dean. “Be brave, Deuce.”

The kid nodded. “You know I will.”

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Dean didn’t feel brave as he was dragged into the kitchen of the cabin. The tall, dark-haired Mathews was sitting at the table, a cup of coffee and a scattering of papers and books in front of him. There was another man sitting with him. Dean recognized the shorter, smaller-framed man from the first night he and Sam were taken. Mathews had called him Louis.

“Here you go, boss. Dean-o was so excited to come chat.”

“Jerk off,” Dean growled, pulling away from Sid. He gave Mathews a glare. “This vacation sucks.”

The ten-year-old watched Mathews glance at Louis with a look of part amusement part exasperation. Adults often found Dean both funny and forward.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have asked you and your brother on that first night to consider this situation as such.”

“You think?” Dean croaked. “Sammy was at least expecting a pool.” He knew Caleb warned him about the attitude, but it seemed to come natural when Dean was scared or mad. At the moment he was both, the former emotion was however gaining ground as he contemplated just how alone he was.

Mathews leaned forward, studying Dean. “Hopefully if things go as planned you and your brother won’t be with us much longer. You’ll be home in time to enjoy the holiday with your family. In fact, you’re going to have the chance to help speed things along.”

Dean swallowed thickly. “And if I say no?”

Mathews looked down at his hands and then focused his intense gaze on Dean again. “If you value the lives of your little brother and Caleb Reaves you won’t say no.”

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Onto Chapter 5

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