On
The Wings of a Phoenix
By: Ridley C. James
Beta: Tidia
Rating: T for language and intense
situations
Disclaimer: Nothing Supernatural
belongs to me. All those lovely men are property of Kripke Enterprise
and The CW.
A/N: This story is a continuation of
In The Company of Dragons. One will need to read that first to get the
most out of this one.
The Phoenix - The
Story
It is said that as early as 500 B.C.,
people believed in the phoenix, a legendary bird that would live for
500 years. Near the end of its life, the phoenix would build a funeral
pyre for itself. As it began to die, it would lay down on the wood; the
wood would burst into flames consuming the phoenix after the bird died.
The phoenix would emerge anew from the ashes of the funeral pyre
stronger and more beautiful than before living on for another 500
years. Thus, the phoenix, the ancient mythical creature that is
consumed by flames, only to be reborn anew, is another symbol of
transformation and a representation of the grief response. The
transformation phase is similar to that of the mythical creature the
phoenix, which after burning on a pyre, rises gloriously and
triumphantly from the ashes to live again.
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Chapter 1/11
“The phoenix hope, can
wing her way through the desert skies, and still defying fortune’s
spite; revive from ashes and rise.”
-Miquel de Cervantes Saavedra
Rain, icy cold despite the summer
night, fell in sheets from the sky. It pelted his face, breeching his
clothes to bite at his skin.
Smothering darkness closed in around
him, making it hard for his lungs to expand as he ran.
Branches, like gnarled claws, tore at
his clothes, slashed his face, and pulled his hair as he made it to a
grouping of trees. He knew the shelter was his only hope of losing the
predator closing in, but the panic welling in his chest told him it was
a useless battle.
The soft earth made traction hard to
find, his feet slipping in the wet leaves. It took away from his usual
speed. A root reaching up from the ground grabbed at the toe of his
sneaker, effectively breaking his stride and sending him to his knees
with a bone-jarring impact. Then the beast was upon him-covering the
child he was dreaming about. The boy was scared, already hurt. Caleb
wasn’t sure how he knew, but a pain in his wrist and knee told him the
injuries weren’t too severe. Yet.
He wasn’t given time to dwell on it
before he felt strong hands on the boy’s arms jerking him up right, the
fingers bruising the child’s flesh. The man or monster was speaking,
but the words were mumbled and his face was still blurred, whether by
the rain obscuring the kid’s vision or by Caleb’s own subconscious the
psychic wasn’t sure.
The unknown increased the fear,
giving the faceless being more power. Even though this child seemed to
fight harder, Caleb couldn’t help but to gasp with each blow dealt, and
he jerked when he heard the boy cry out. At first the child’s words
were as elusive as the attacker’s but suddenly the psychic’s muffled
hearing cleared and the cries became sharp and painful.
The sound of his own name being
called out sent a wave of shock through his body, like a volt of
electricity surging through his brain. He struggled along with the boy
as a cold crushing grip closed around the child’s throat, trying to
permanently silence him. In one final burst of strength the kid struck
out again, tearing at his attacker’s face. The monster faltered and the
boy found enough air to scream again. “Caleb!”
The psychic jerked to awareness with
a gasp, every muscle in his beaten body protesting the sudden, violent
movement. He blinked, trying to recapture his stolen breath,
momentarily not understanding where he was or what had just happened.
Darkness vanished, but the gray light of the cloud-covered day seemed
just as heavy as the pitch black permeating his vision. No rain or
forest assaulted him. On the contrary, the four walls of his room at
the farm offered shelter, squeezing out the lingering tendrils of
terror.
Clarity began to slowly push out the
familiar disorientation and the psychic took a shallow breath, trying
to reign in his racing heart which was threatening to beat its way free
from his chest. The exertion did little for his aching ribs, but he
mentally shoved the pain away as he physically tossed blankets aside.
Shakily making it to his feet, Caleb crossed the room to the boys’
adjoining door.
“Deuce?” Caleb called out as he
entered. No one answered and the double bed was made, making it seem
far too neat and empty. It was absent of its usual residents. No
clothes or toys were strewn about and nary was a dog lounging around.
Dean hadn’t been far from his side since Sam had been taken, and
despite the fact that it was unsettling to see the kid so clingy, Caleb
had grown use to it. Perhaps, he had even drawn comfort from it. Losing
the youngest of the Winchester’s had hit him even harder than he
imagined it would. Watching Dean go through it was a thousand times
worse.
Panic grew as the psychic remembered
in clarity the events from three days before, the feelings of loss
mixing with the remnants of fear from the vision. His mind scrambled
for plausible reasons for the child in his dream to have called out his
name even as he turned and started downstairs in search of Dean. Reaves
told himself that the sudden intense worry was due in part because Dean
had been so upset the night before. Any other considerations were
unthinkable.
But a part of him, the loud annoying
part that had a crappy way of always being right chided him in a voice
sounding a whole hell of a lot like his fathers. It whispered his
abilities were trying to tell him something, and that he should pay
very close attention-that maybe they had been trying to tell him
something all along.
The psychic pushed the absurd
thoughts aside and made his way down stairs, reaching out with his mind
but finding only fuzzy traces of his friends. That was the last damn
time he took the prescription drugs his father had ordered. Between the
freaky-ass dreams and the screwed psychic abilities he was sticking to
Jim’s herbal tea remedies.
“About time you got up.” John
Winchester’s deep voice greeted him as he entered the kitchen, and he
hesitated in the doorway everything still feeling a bit surreal. Maybe
it had all been a very bad dream. “You okay?”
He blinked, looking at the older
hunter, who put down the file he was reading to give Caleb a more
thorough once over. “I’m good.” Reaves finally replied. He made his way
towards the coffee pot, hoping the caffeine would take the edge off of
the hint of the headache he could already feel building. The drugs were
causing hangover symptoms without the preceding fun parts. “Where is
everybody?”
John raked a hand through his hair,
rubbing at his bleary eyes. “Mackland left early this morning. He went
over to Crossville to talk to the police about the latest missing
child. The parents were going to bring in a toy. He was hoping he might
get a reading.”
Caleb took a drink of the bitter
liquid. “All he’ll lead them to is a dead body.” Of that, he was
certain. He might not have remembered the last waking vision he had
been privy to, considering he was being pummeled by Conner’s goons; but
he was sure it had not bided well for whomever he had connected with.
Winchester watched the young psychic
as he made his way back to the table, wincing as he eased himself into
the chair across from him. “I told him you thought the boy was already
dead.”
Caleb nodded. “Our bad guy doesn’t
take time to play-finishes them quick.” Reaves shrugged. “At least the
ones I’ve been witness to.”
John frowned. “You still not getting
a feeling for what it is?”
Caleb pinched the bridge of his nose,
remembering the lack of his usual impression of the killer. “I’m still
not connecting to the bad guy,” he confessed, wincing when he felt
John’s fingers wrap around his wrist.
“What the hell is this?”
Reaves opened his eyes, glancing down
to Winchester’s hand, which still held his. Encircling his own wrist
were nasty-looking, finger-shaped bruises. The tissue was swollen and
hot, and throbbed from where John was prodding it. “I don’t know…”
Caleb frowned, remembering his latest nightmare. The boy’s wrist had
been injured.
“Did you have another vision?”
Winchester demanded and Reaves shuttered his own reaction before
glancing up at him.
“Yeah.” He pulled his hand away and
John let him. “Same kind of thing.”
“You’re still connecting with the
victim?” Winchester held his gaze and he realized the other man was
putting the pieces together. “Have you told Mackland about this?”
“No.” Caleb snapped. “I don’t even
know what this is. It’s never happened before.”
“Sounds like a damn good reason to
talk to him.”
“He’ll just want to do something to
stop it.”
John sighed. “Maybe that would be for
the best.” He didn’t know how much more loss his family could take.
“What?” Caleb gave him an incredulous
look. “We don’t have anything to go on as it is. This is our only good
lead.”
“I hate to break it to you, Kiddo,
but the only lead you’ve come up with hasn’t panned out worth a damn.”
Caleb assumed John was speaking of
the cross emblem. “I might get more.” He had begun to notice a pattern.
The nightmares came before the boys actually disappeared, and the
waking visions seemed to strike when the actual attack took place. “We
still have time for this last one.”
John gave him a puzzled look, but
didn’t ask any further questions. Caleb recognized the haggard gaze and
almost felt bad for snapping at him. The last few days without Sam had
been hell on everyone, especially John. “I’m not hiding this from
Mackland, Kid. He’s your father,” he finally growled and Reaves sighed.
“Fine. We’ll fill him in when he gets
back.” He raised a brow at the older hunter. “Satisfied?”
“For now.” John started to pick up
his paper again, but Caleb’s words stopped him.
“Where’s Dean?”
Winchester’s hooded gaze gave away
nothing and Reaves felt that nagging sense of fear start clawing at his
insides again, like nails on a chalkboard. “Is he out in the barn?”
“No. He went into town with Jim and
Joshua.”
“What?” Caleb’s brow shot up. “Do you
think that’s a good idea?”
John’s frown deepened. “He asked to
go. Which is more he’s said to me in the last two days combined.”
“So you let him go out of guilt?”
Reaves shook his head.
John’s dulled gaze suddenly came to
life and he leaned closer to Caleb. “Do we really need to have this
conversation again? You know the one?”
Reaves rolled his eyes. “Oh yeah, the
one where you remind me to keep my nose where it belongs.”
“Exactly.” John smirked. “See I told
your daddy that you do listen to me from time to time.”
“How about we have a different one?
The one where I remind you that I’ve been the one dealing with your
son.” Caleb pointed to his face that still held faint reminders of his
tussle with the twelve-year-old as well as the beating he’d suffered at
the hands of Conner’s men. “I’ve been running interference for you,
taken my share of shots for the trouble, too, man. You don’t get to
shut me down in the third quarter.”
“Look, I appreciate that you’ve been
there for Dean, Caleb, but I know what’s best for him.”
“Have you even talked to him?” Caleb
snorted. Because from where he had been sitting, John didn’t know half
of what was going through his son’s head. “Have you even mentioned
Sammy’s name since he left?” Reaves knew the answer to the question.
Since Conner had taken the boy, John had spent his days absorbed in the
hunt, his nights soaking in the atmosphere of the local bar.
“He hasn’t wanted to talk about it!”
John snapped.
“That’s exactly my point.”
“What? Are you turning into Mackland
now?” John growled. “You want me to have a heart to heart? Put all my
feelings on the table, tell him how I feel like another piece of my
soul has been snatched away and I’m just not sure if I have enough left
over to get up in the morning, let alone give anything to him?”
Caleb looked away, knowing he
couldn‘t hide his disappointment. “Damn it, John. He deserves more than
leftovers.” A whole hell of a lot more.
“And that’s exactly my point, Kid.
It’s all I’ve got at the moment.”
Reaves shook his head, looking at his
mentor again. The sad part was, it would have been enough for Dean. He
needed his father more than ever now. “So what? You just let him handle
it on his own? I’m not exactly the touchy-feely type myself, but he’s
twelve.”
“Last I checked he wasn’t on his own.
He was with Jim and Sawyer.”
Caleb growled in frustration. He
loved the guy, but sometimes he imagined shoving his fist into John
Winchester’s face would have been so gratifying. “Jim will be busy
doing church errands and Josh can be distracted by a strong breeze.”
“So what, Caleb? They’re in New
Haven, not the bustling streets of New York. The kid wanted to get out
of the house.”
Bobby chose that moment to come in
through the back door, Atticus and Scout trailing behind him. If he had
heard their shouting match from the porch he didn’t let on. “Mackland
called,” he told them, making his way to the coffee pot. “They found
the boy’s body. He thought we might want to check out the surrounding
area. You know, do the whole Riggs and Murtough routine.”
“Did he say if there were any hints
of our usual suspects?”
Bobby filled his cup and joined them
at the table with a slow shake of his head. He glanced at Caleb. “Not
really. Preliminary says the boy was beaten and strangled. There were
some other things he wasn’t privy to, but nothing supernatural. He
hoped me and John, being upstanding detectives, might get the scoop.”
“That doesn’t make sense. Why would I
be connecting with something that has nothing to do with the
supernatural?”
“That’s a good question.” John took
another drink of his coffee, glancing down at Caleb’s bruised arm and
then back up at the psychic. “One you need to talk to Mac about.”
“Fine, I’ll go get dressed.”
“Don’t even think about.” John stood,
staring down at him. “You’re not going to the scene.”
“Yes. I am. I might pick up on
something.”
“Or you could have another vision.”
“Which would help.”
“I don’t think so.”
“John’s right, Kid. Your dad said for
you to stay here. Doctor’s orders.”
“And since when do I need Mac’s
permission to leave the house. I’m twenty years old.”
Bobby scoffed as if Caleb had just
pronounced himself ten. “Don’t make me take advantage of your delicate
condition, smart ass.”
Reaves glared at the mechanic. “Mac
told you what would happen if you tried anymore of your demonic traps
on me, Bobby.”
“Oh, so you’re fine with tattling to
your daddy just not minding him when he’s trying to do right by you? I
think that’s called being a hypocrite, Son.”
“Bobby.” John held up a hand,
signaling the other man to shut up and let him handle things. He met
Caleb’s fiery gaze. “I want you to stay here and wait for Dean.”
“Now who’s being a hypocrite?” the
psychic asked.
“Look, he’ll expect you to be here.”
“I guess guilt tactics are genetic.”
Caleb shook his head, leaning back in his chair. “Fine. Whatever.”
John exhaled, loudly, feeling the
effects of his latest hangover more profoundly. “We’ll talk when I get
back.”
The younger hunter scoffed. “Can’t
wait.”
Winchester sighed. “I mean I’ll talk
to Dean.”
Caleb glanced up at him, doubt
clearly written in his amber gaze. “And you’ll talk to Mackland,” John
added, pointedly.
“We’ll see.”
Bobby and John had only been gone
close to an hour when Caleb’s cell rang. He was in the process of
dressing after a much needed shower and nearly missed the ringing.
“Yeah?” he said, after slipping a t-shirt over his head.
“Is that really a greeting?”
Caleb rolled his eyes. He’d been
hoping it would be John with some news from the site. News that would
clear up all the little doubts nagging away at his Swiss-cheesed mind.
“Sawyer? Where are you?”
“Well, there is a large plaque
declaring it as the home of America’s best apple pie, but it appears to
be little more than a mobile home with a rather large cooking bay.”
“You’re at Mel’s?” Caleb raked a hand
through his damp hair. “Where’s Deuce?”
“That is the million dollar question.”
Caleb’s mouth went dry, his heart
rate kicking into overdrive. “What the hell does that mean?”
“That means that your resident
sidekick, who said he would meet me at this questionable eating
establishment, has stood me up.”
“Goddamnit, Josh. You let him go off
by himself?”
“You make it sound as if I set him
off in Hell’s Kitchen, instead of dropping him at the local library in
this carbon-copied Mayberry.”
“Yeah, well, Dean isn’t exactly Opie
Taylor.” Caleb stood up from his bed. “What exactly did Dean say? And
how late is he?”
“Pastor Jim had work at the church.
He asked me to entertain the boy and Dean insisted on going to the
library. I offered to go with him but he asked to be alone. Apparently,
he wanted to commune with Sam via the child’s beloved books. I was
trying to be sensitive, but have gotten over that nonsense in the
forty-five minutes I have been waiting on him.”
“Right.” Reaves rubbed a hand over
his fresh-shaven face and then a thought occurred to him. “Josh, did
you say Deuce wanted to go to the library?
“Yes. I didn‘t stutter.”
“Damn it.” Reaves hissed as he once
again rushed into the boy’s room and found it tidier than usual. Now he
realized what was missing. The dragons.
Dean had freaked that first night
when they returned to the farm house and he realized he hadn’t packed
the toy sentinels Sammy loved. He begged Pastor Jim to take him to
Louisville, to track down where Conner was staying, but that wasn’t to
be. Charles had made himself clear about such visits, and established
he would make first contact once Sam was settled. Apparently Sammy was
still yet to get comfy with grandpa because they hadn’t heard one damn
thing from him.
“Caleb? What is it?” Joshua asked,
and Reaves moved to the dresser in the corner where he quickly jerked
one of the drawers open.
“Fuck!” he snapped, finding the empty
metal box that usually held Dean’s allowance stash as well as any money
he could manage to cheat Caleb out of playing poker. They had been
playing a lot of poker the last few days and Reaves hadn’t had the
heart to put much effort into holding his own. He had inadvertently
opened the door for Dean to find a whole shitload of trouble. “He’s
gone.”
“Hello?” Josh groaned. “Have you not
been listening to me? I know he’s gone. So what else are you going on
about?”
“He’s not just gone from the diner,
Josh. He’s gone from New Haven.”
“What? But that’s not possible. I
only dropped him at the library a few hours ago.”
“And I’m willing to bet that there’s
been a bus out of there since that time.”
“A bus? This hick town has a bus
station?”
“It’s not too far from the library.
Imagine that.”
“But he‘s twelve. Surely he would not
take that form of transportation alone. Nor, as a minor would he be
allowed to purchase a ticket.”
“Yeah. That shows how much you know
about Dean. He’s done it before.” Caleb moved into his own room,
gathering his shoes and his gun.
“Great. Just great.” Reaves could
almost imagine the color draining from the other hunter’s face. “Should
I call Pastor Jim? Or John?”
“Neither,” Caleb snapped. “I’m coming
to get you.”
“Why does that not sound like the
smarter plan? I truly think John should be informed.”
John would go ballistic. The last
time the kid had went off half-cocked and done something this stupid
did not turn out well. Caleb had promised he had his back then, but had
failed miserably at protecting him. It wasn’t that the psychic honestly
thought John would hurt Dean, but he’d witnessed a few punishments in
his years with the Winchesters and he could honestly admit he would
have rather taken the licks himself than watch Dean suffer through
them. Besides he had promised Sam that Belac would be on the job. “Just
don’t do anything, Joshua. I’ll fix this.” And he would fix Dean, too.
The little shit had played him like a violin.
“But…”
“Who do you think John is going to be
pissed at for letting his little boy out from under their watchful
eye?” Caleb grabbed his coat, and started for the stairs. “Do you
remember the new one he reamed me over the black dog?”
“Well, yes, but…”
“And he likes me, Josh. Hell, I’m
practically like the little brother he never wanted. You on the other
hand are more like a third cousin removed by marriage-a redheaded
step-cousin at that.”
He heard the other man sigh. “Fine. I
see your point. Where should I meet you?”
“Just stay there. Eat some pie, and
see if you can use some of your contacts to track down the hotel that
Conner is staying at.”
“I didn’t think he wanted anyone
privy to that information.”
Caleb tightened his hold on the
phone. “I know John knows.”
“How can you be so sure? Is it a
psychic thing.”
More like a Knight thing. “The man
would not let Sam go like that without knowing where he was.” Caleb
knew John Winchester too well.
“But he said…”
“I know what he said.” Reaves sighed,
knowing that John had lied to Dean that first night. Apparently Deuce
knew his father pretty damn well, too. Caleb could have taken the
information, but honestly he wasn‘t on top of his psychic game, and he
wasn’t sure if he could trust himself with the knowledge. If he had
known that first night when Dean had woken up screaming with the first
of many nightmares, he might have driven straight there and strangled
Charles Conner.
But apparently Dean had found out. If
he had to guess how, he’d bet John had written it in his journal. A
journal he had seen the man carry out of the house with him. Joshua
would have to pull it off. “Are you saying that you can’t get intel,
Josh?”
“It’s Joshua, and I happen to deal in
the intel business. I however feel that we will only be making matters
worse by an impromptu visit. John obviously kept it to himself for a
reason.”
“Maybe you should have thought about
that before you practically bought Dean a ticket there.”
“Fine.”
Caleb picked up his keys from the
counter and after making sure both dogs were inside, locked the
farmhouse behind him. He glanced towards the sky which was gray and
angry looking, then to the pond. A foreboding feeling of dread seemed
to blow in with the breeze off of the water. “Damn it, Deuce, you
better be okay.”
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