On The Wings of a Phoenix

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 10/11
The phoenix bird is said to regenerate when hurt or injured by a foe-thus being almost invincible and immortal.
It is a symbol of fire and divinity. Tears from the phoenix can heal the severest of wounds.
“Hope begins in the dark.” -Anne Lammot

Despite feeling the heat of the flames on his face, Dean sensed the darkness. It curled around him, promising pain and loss, trying to squeeze out any trace of comfort. The hiss of the fire beckoned, calling him back from the place where his worst fears were realized time and time again in the shadowy form of dreams.

Nightmares awaited him if he gave into the pull of much needed sleep. Dean knew how it would go. He had already screamed himself awake from two previous scenarios. Still, betrayed by his body and Joshua’s tea, he unwillingly entered the unknown garden again.

The grounds were overrun by Emma’s roses. The cloying smell was overpowering, sickening, not pleasant. He wanted so badly to turn around and run. Dean prayed for someone to come and get him, but it was too late. There was no one here but his demons.

In a breath, he was magically propelled forward. The crumpled crimson flowers at his feet matched the water in the two flowing pools in the center of the garden where he now stood frozen.

Cement dragons were bursting forth from each fountain, jutting towards the star-filled sky. Their wings were spread, massive heads thrust upwards in fierce snarls. Blood, not fire, spewed from their snouts, splattering on Dean’s skin like hot rain, soaking through his clothes, stinging like acid. Sam and Caleb lay, half submerged in the viscous liquid, their eyes vacant and staring.

“You’re all alone, Dean.” The wind howled.

“No.” Dean shook his head, trying to look away, trying to shrink back. “Please.”

“They’re dead because of you. You failed.”

The stone guardians began to shake and tremble, their cement scales shedding and falling over Sam and Caleb’s slain forms. Water lapped at edge of the fountains, splashing out on the flowers, soaking Dean’s bare feet.

“Death comes for you, but finds those you love.”

“That’s not true.”

The dragon’s wings were torn asunder by the force, crashing into the fountain under the assault. A roaring filled Dean’s ears and he wondered if the magical beasts were protesting their destruction. Then a warmth embraced him and the stone figures were consumed by a bright blaze.

Fire enveloped the fountains, taking what was left of the dilapidated dragon statues. Then the flames merged, forming a huge bird. Its blazing orange and yellow plumage spread protectively over Sam and Caleb’s bodies, blocking Dean’s view.

The Phoenix was there, glowing bright red in the darkness. It lifted it’s head and called out.

Dean awoke with a gasp.

“Easy.” Caleb said, catching the kid before he could slip from the couch. “It‘s okay.”

“Caleb?” Dean choked, looking wildly around the library. He heaved a relieved breath as he no longer smelled roses and death. He had just sat down for a moment, resting after Joshua rewrapped his knee. Dean hadn’t meant to fall asleep, already making that mistake on the ride home and paying a price for it. “You were suppose to keep me awake,” he said accusingly, and was too spent to feel bad when Caleb flashed him a guilty look.

Reaves sat on the edge of the heavy wooden coffee table, but kept his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I just stepped out to check on Dad. But Deuce, buddy, you can‘t stay awake forever.”

Dean was awake being checked over by Joshua when Caleb had gone to see if his father was settled for the night. It was so late when they made it to the farm, Jim had let Joshua take over the basic medical care of the rag-tag group at least until morning. Mackland didn’t like it very much, but he wasn’t in the best shape to protest. Sawyer on the other hand had loved it.

Caleb came back only a few moments later to find that Dean had drifted off. The twelve-year-old needed the rest and it was tempting to let him be, but the nightmare had started soon after.

Reaves had reached for Dean just as the world inside Dean’s traumatized psyche began to shake. He was cast into the morbid garden alongside the boy. But where Dean was held captive, Caleb was free to enforce his own will on the boy’s trickster of a subconscious, bending it to serve his own purpose of rescuing Dean.

“The phoenix…” Dean swallowed thickly, rubbing at his burning throat. He glanced towards the leaping flames of the massive stone fireplace in front of them. “You brought it…”

Caleb squeezed his shoulder. “Red firebirds kick ass.” He forced a smile. “But no more horror flicks for you, Deuce. You’re freaky imagination is way too vivid.”

The boy’s eyes watered, his breath hitched. “I’m so tired, Damien.”

It wasn’t the reaction Caleb expected and he was momentarily caught off guard. Dean’s face was drawn and dark smudges underlined his eyes. The bruises stood out in stark contrast to his pale skin, and Reaves once again thought the boy looked like an extra from a movie-this time one of those end of the world flicks.

“I can’t stay awake with that stupid tea Joshua gave me…” Dean continued, his gaze turned pleading. “Just make it go away. Please.”

“Dean…”

“Can’t you block out my dreams or something? Shut everything down?”

Reaves exhaled, heavily. “It doesn’t work that way, kid.” He wished it did. Caleb would do it in a heartbeat. “I can plant suggestions, but with all you’ve been through…”

“I’m screwed up,” Dean finished for him. The boy looked defeated and resigned to his fate. “It’s okay.”

Reaves ran a hand over his hair. “Try the sleeping thing again, okay? You’ll feel better if you get some rest. Trust me. I’ll stand guard this time. I promise.”

“I’m not a baby.” Dean shook his head, pulling back. Some of the normal fire ignited in his hazel gaze. “I don’t need you to hold my hand like I’m six again.” He croaked, his voice still raw and ragged.

Caleb moved to the couch, with a huff. “I didn’t say you were, tough guy.” He motioned for the boy to move over and he sat down, throwing an arm over the kid’s shoulder. “But I made a promise to Sammy. You wouldn’t want me to break it, would you?”

After a moment, Dean shook his head. He relaxed back on the cushions, leaning slightly against the older hunter. “No. I promised too.”

“Then it’s settled. You play the part of Sleeping Beauty and I’ll be Prince Charming.”

Dean snorted. “More like one of the seven dwarves.”

“Cute.”

They settled in companionable silence for a few moments, the pop and crackle of the fire filling the darkened room. In the background the sounds of faint classical music could be heard coming from Jim’s room. Dean wasn’t the only one dealing with the events of the last twenty-four hours.

“Hey, Caleb?”

“Yeah?” Reaves mumbled, continuing to watch the dancing flames. He dug deeper in the sofa, shifting to prop his feet on the coffee table. Jim would bust him on it, but what the pastor didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

“What did you mean about my mom?”

The psychic felt his heart skip a beat, his stomach clenching. “Your mom?”

“You said Conner sent her away…that she tried to tell him something about his wife?”

“Yeah, well I was pissed. And you know how my mouth gets ahead of my brain sometimes.”

It was true. Caleb hadn’t meant to blurt it out the way he had. When he first picked up on the man’s thoughts, he meant to keep quiet-perhaps to use the information against him later. If Mary were psychic, if she had premonitions, a lot of things about Sam would make sense.

Dean turned his head to look up at him. “Was she like you?”

Reaves shrugged. “Maybe.”

The boy frowned. “Is that why the demon killed her?”

Sometimes the boy was too smart for his own good. Caleb mentally cursed himself for opening the proverbial Pandora‘s box. “I don’t have those answers, Deuce.” No one did but the hell-spawn bastard who had ruined all their lives.

Dean watched him, unblinkingly. “How did Sam know I was in that room?”

Caleb sighed, let his head fall back against the couch cushions. “I thought you were really tired.”

“Will the demon come after Sammy if he thinks he’s like my mom?”

Caleb lifted his head, staring hard at the boy. He was not going to be the reason Dean had one more thing on his plate to worry about-one more thing to protect his little brother from. “Nothing is coming after Sammy. Got it? And your mom could have merely been sensitive. A lot of people have feelings when someone they love is in danger. That’s why Sam felt you were in that room.”

Dean didn’t say anything for a long moment, but then he nodded. “Sammy is pretty girly.”

Caleb’s mouth twitched. “Totally. He’s always telling us how he feels and pouting when he doesn’t get his way.”

The twelve-year-old rested back beside the older hunter. “Kind of reminds me of you. Maybe he is psychic.”

Reaves snorted. “Nah, he’s all Winchester.”

“I hope it stays that way.” Dean’s voice had grown quiet again, gone was any trace of the teasing quality from before.

“He’s your brother, Deuce. Nothing is going to change that. No one can take that away from you-from either of you.”

Once again crackling and popping with a backdrop of Beethoven were the only noises in the room, and Caleb wondered if Dean had finally given in to the trauma and herbs from Joshua’s tea. But then the twelve-year-old shifted against him, burying closer.

“Goodnight, Damien,” Dean whispered.

Caleb felt the warmth of the fire, the glow of the flames offering a slight reprieve from the darkness that the light of dawn might bring. “’night, Deuce.”
RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

It was nearly morning, the first hint of the light of day coloring the large windows of his bedroom. Conner awoke from his fitful doze, needing to stretch his legs-wanting to clear his mind. Even in slumber dark memories and troubling thoughts had found him.

He hadn’t dreamed of his wife or daughter in years. Tonight he had encountered both. They were as beautiful and whole as they had been before death, yet both appeared so sad-so disappointed. That was nothing new. Charles had a knack for creating that sentiment in those he cared for most.

Samuel had been very disappointed in him when he ordered the child to his room after his father and brother left. The boy was stubborn like his father; a trait Conner hoped had not been inherited. He speculated at the other distasteful characteristics strung through the boy’s DNA helix. And what of Mary’s influence?

He wonderd at the child’s words concerning his brother. Samuel had been adamant about his feelings. Mary had used almost the exact same words when she begged her father to call her mother. 'I have a bad feeling, Daddy? I dreamed what was going to happen.’

Conner shook his head, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. Coffee would wash away the nonsense. Or at least give him strength to once again wage war with the seven-year-old.

He faltered slightly as he passed his grandson’s room, the faint sounds of an unknown melody calling to him. The tune, despite the hard rock quality was hauntingly beautiful. Conner pushed the door slightly ajar.

Sam wasn’t in bed and Charles felt a hard tug from his soul-the place where he buried all feelings of hope and happiness. He preferred to feel nothing, a dark void, because with joy came pain. “Samuel?”

The seven-year-old emerged from around the door, all sleepy-eyed and rumpled. He was wearing a pair of worn Chip-n-Dale Rescue Rangers pajamas, even though Conner had ordered Manuela to purchase new sleeping attire. “Yes, sir?”

“What are you doing up?” Conner stepped into the room with a frustrated sound. “You should be asleep.”

Sam shrugged, moving back to the corner where the stereo Conner had purchased for him sat. “I’m not tired.” He yawned.

Charles sighed, his hands going to his hips. The boy was not looking at him, obviously still upset. “Yes. I can see that.”

Sam crawled into the large chair near his dresser. On top of the bureau the boy had arranged several shoe boxes. Five dragons stood sentry by some hand-made cut-out trees and a cereal-bowl of full of what appeared to be blue Koolaid.

“Is that a castle?” Charles shoved his hands into the pockets of his robe and watched as the child continued to do his best to ignore him.

The seven-year-old shook his head. “It’s Pastor Jim’s farm.” He pointed to the bowl, picking up Athewm and skirting him across the water. “That’s the pond where me and Dean go fishing.”

For all of John Winchester’s flaws, the man had taught his children to respect their elders. Sam was polite most of the time, even when it was obvious he did not want to be. “I took your mother fishing once. She was not a bit squeamish. I didn’t even have to bait her hook for her.” Conner rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Mary was always brave. I‘m sorry you did not get to know her.”

“I know things about her.” Sam looked up at him. “Dean told me.”

“I see.”

The seven year-old began to list them, as if he had picked up the hint of disbelief in his grandfather’s voice. “She liked to tell jokes and she laughed a lot. It sounded like the wind chimes on Pastor Jim’s porch. She sang to me when I couldn’t sleep. Dean does that sometimes, too. She smelled like daisies and sunshine and she loved the Boston Red Sox and anybody who beat the Yankees.”

“That’s quite a list of things.” Conner felt his eyes sting, and quickly cleared his throat of the huge lump. “What else did your brother tell you?”

Sam set the dragon down, taking on a faraway look as if he were about to share an important story he had memorized. “She liked Daddy’s car, rock music, and birds. Her and Dean used to collect feathers. She wasn’t a very good cook. Dean said Daddy used to say she could burn water and they had to soak her peanut butter cookies in milk before they could eat them.” A faint smile revealed Sam’s dimples. “But Dean says they were the best cookies in the whole wide world. Pastor Jim makes peanut butter cookies for Dean every year on his birthday. But he doesn’t burn them.”

Conner nodded. There were so many things he had forgotten. Mary’s mother was never the culinary expert either. “I’m quite sure your mother did not get to your father’s heart through his stomach.”

“No.” Sam shook his head. “Through his eyes. Daddy told us it was love at first sight.”

Charles swallowed thickly. “Yes. Mary was quite lovely.”

Sam picked up Athewm again and began a fake battle with Belac. “Dean looks like her. Everybody says so. I look like my daddy. Bobby says I didn’t even fall off the tree limb. But I‘m not sure what that means.”

“You do look like your father.” Conner tilted his head to study the little boy more closely. He was a beautiful child, but undeniably John’s, down to the dimples. “But you remind me of Mary.” Charles pointed towards the toys. “She loved her stories also. She was always spinning fairytales about one princess or another. But instead of dragons there were horses, ones with wings and those with horns. Lots and lots of horses.”

“I like horses, too.” Sam glanced up at his grandfather. “Jim lets me ride Fat Chance and A-Millo. They used to be racing horses, but Jim rescued them.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t let your mother have a horse. They were far too dangerous.” There had been so many things Charles had tried to protect his daughter from-John Winchester being the biggest threat.

“I’m not afraid. I can ride fast. But Dean doesn’t let go of the lead. He worries, too.”

“I bet not a lot scares you, though. You’re brave like your mother. I’m sure you keep your brother on his toes.”

Sam returned to the dragons, his shoulders slumping. “I’m scared about Dean,” he said softly.

Charles pretended not to notice the boy deflate. “He seems very capable.” It was true. Most children who endured what his oldest grandson experienced would have been catatonic. But Dean seemed completely in control.

“He wants everyone to think that he’s tough. But I know him.” Sam traced his fingers over Athewm’s shiny green scales. “He has lots of armor but the biggest part of him is all mushy like a dragon’s underbelly.”

Conner knelt down beside the child. “Samuel, how did you know your brother was in that room?”

The seven-year-old shrugged. “I told you. I felt him.”

“Felt him?” Charles’s frown deepened. “How do you mean?”

“I just knew. Mac says I have to trust things I just know. Caleb calls it listening to your gut.”

Conner didn’t want to continue this line of questioning, but he had to know. “Caleb is different?”

“He’s a hero.” Sam’s chin jutted, defiantly. “Like my daddy and Bobby and Mac.”

Charles nodded, hoping to gain his grandson’s trust, instead of garnering his wrath. “He knows things? Like you just know things.”

Sam’s brow furrowed. “I guess, but I don’t see movies in my head. Not when I’m awake.”

“But you have dreams. Don’t you? Nightmares?” Mary had them. The one about her mother was not the first. Charles had discouraged his wife from talking about them. He brushed away her concerns about her own mother, who she claimed had been endowed with special abilities. After all, the woman had ended up in a mental institution. “Do they come true?”

“I don‘t always remember them.”

It was the same with Mary. Night terrors plagued her. But it wasn’t until she was older she began talking about them. “Does Ames talk to you about these feelings you have?”

“Mac teaches me things.” Sam pointed to a stack of books. “I learn a new word every day.”

That wasn’t what Conner wanted to know. He knew Ames did research into such ridiculous things as psychic ability. The man even tarnished his reputation by working with police in finding missing persons. In some circles he had become little more than a joke. “But does he talk to you about things you might do with your mind besides learn things?”

“Yes.” Sam nodded. “He tells me not to shrink my brain cells by watching inane television shows like Caleb and Dean do. Oh and to never, ever do drugs because that fries your brain, too.”

Conner sighed. “But what of this Brotherhood?”

Sam turned away from his grandfather, returned to playing with his toys. He had been taught not to talk about what his family did. What their friends did. It was one of the first rules he learned, right along with never putting his finger in light sockets or putting small objects in his mouth or up his nose. “I think I’m going to sleep now.” He got down from the chair and started for the bed. “I’m tired.”

Charles watched him go, pushed himself back to standing. He moved sluggishly across the room to stand by the boy who already had his eyes closed. “Samuel?”

“Yes?” Sam reluctantly looked up at him.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

The little boy didn’t hesitate. “A dragon.”
RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

Jim moved quietly through the library, glancing towards the couch where Caleb and Dean were sleeping. The older boy was slumped in the corner, a book resting over his chest and Dean was sprawled, his legs thrown haphazardly across Caleb’s lap.

The pastor frowned. Neither looked very comfortable, but he supposed some sleep whether sound or not, was better than none at all. Honestly, he was quite thrilled and relieved either could find momentary solace. Peace had escaped him and after checking on Mackland he decided to try and get some work done.

Upon reaching The HuntersTomb, it became obviously clear he wasn’t the only one suffering from insomnia. Light shone from the small crack between the false bookshelf and the opening leading into the room. The sounds of some old Allman Brothers song played in the background.

With a faint smile Jim slipped through the space pulling the heavy door closed behind him so not to disturb the boys. “Must you resort to hiding in here when you want to listen to your music now? It’s almost like when Caleb went through that horrible punk/metal stage and I constantly sent him to the barn to save my sanity.”

Scout came tearing out from beneath the table at the sound of Jim’s voice and Atticus lifted his head in greeting from one of the overstuffed chairs. John looked up from the pile of papers he was studying. “It’s disturbing that you know what punk is Jim.”

“I try to keep in the know.” The pastor nodded to the work piled on the table. “Is that your attempt to do the same?”

Winchester slid a hand over his bearded face. “No. I just needed something to keep my mind occupied and off all the ‘could have been’ scenarios.” He jutted his chin towards the door where Dean and Caleb slept. “And I wanted to be close just in case.”

Jim bent down to scoop up the wiggling puppy, holding the baby close to his chest. It was reassuring to embrace something so alive-so fresh from God. It reminded him of Sam. “I take it you and Bobby handled Mr. Marcus’s tragic accident.”

John put down the pen he was holding. “We salted the body before giving him a fiery send off in Conner’s rented limousine over that bitch of a cliff down in Potter’s Gap. Bobby wanted to put a stake through his heart just to be on the safe side but I told him it was overkill.”

“And you’re sure that nothing will be left of the body for a telling autopsy?”

Winchester sighed at The Guardian’s questioning. He was tired and the casual inquiry was sounding like an inquisition. “I know what I’m doing Jim. I know how to make a death look accidental or suicidal. I used the right incendiary for the job-untraceable. Nothing substantial of that bastard will survive that blaze.”

“And Joshua handled the suicide note?”

“Yes.” John leaned back in his chair, popping his back as he did. “Peter confessed to everything in writing thanks to our personal forgery expert. Mackland is sure the evidence at Marcus’s hotel room and the private air hanger will close the case. Hopefully the authorities will be able to find the other missing bodies with a little help from Mac, once he‘s back on his feet.”

Jim set Scout on the floor and the Lab curled herself around John’s feet, resting her small head on one giant boot with a contented sigh. “Good. I could not imagine letting those families suffer without some knowledge of what became of their boys. Or without feeling that some small bit of justice had been doled out.”

“I don’t know what good it will do them.” John glanced up at the older man. “Their children are still dead, Jim.” Nothing could ever make that right-ease that pain.

Murphy moved to the dark wooden bookcase near the back of the room. Its shelves were filled with journals from previous hunters, those long gone, their spirits still alive in each new hunt. He ran his fingers over the well-worn spines. “It’s important to know the fate of those we love. Even if tragic, their end leaves record they were real.” He glanced to John. “To not know the how or why of someone’s death is sometimes as torturous as their actual absence.”

“If you say so.” John returned to his books, unwilling to go where Jim’s words were leading him. “They’re still gone. But at least the bastard who took them is in hell where he belongs. Maybe that will give them some sort of comfort.”

Jim took the seat beside him. “I can’t say that I’m sorry for Peter Marcus’s death, although I wish we could have handled things differently.”

“You mean you wish you hadn’t been forced to kill him?”

“No.” Jim answered quickly, surprising John with the matter of fact tone. “I had no problem with killing him. He was a child murderer-a monster who preyed on all that is innocent in our world. I only wish Dean had not fallen into his hands in the first place or been made to witness the man’s death. He’s seen far too much for his short years. Sometimes I worry what it will do to him.”

“Dean’s strong, Jim. He’ll be fine.”

Murphy sighed as again. John seemed to take his words personally. The pastor was reminded of the minefield any discussion with Winchester or his protégé could become. He ran a thumb over his silver ring. “We all count on him to be fine.” The pastor met John’s gaze. “I fear I might have misjudged the effect of Samuel’s temporary fate on all the boys.” It wasn’t John that Jim was disappointed in this time. All the blame was focused inward. “I was wrong to let him take Sam from you-from Dean.”

“You were trying to do what was best for everyone.” John pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled heavily. It had taken some time and he still didn’t like it, but he couldn’t blame Jim for not siding with him. “I was pissed as hell at first, but I never thought you would feed Sam to the lions. Still don’t. You’re The Guardian.”

Murphy nodded solemnly. “I am.”

And after all, John was the one who signed on for the whole Brotherhood deal. He wanted to be trained; he needed guidance to find vengeance for his wife. In all fairness he didn’t quite understand it all, was still in shock from the loss of Mary. But maybe on some level he had known even then that part of the penance would call for the sacrifice of his children. John preferred to believe he knew the powerful men he would come to call brothers would offer protection to his boys-give them a life he couldn’t guarantee. Unfortunately, sometimes it was hard to believe the best of himself. “I don’t blame you, Jim.”

“I love those boys, John.” The pastor said firmly as if he could somehow sense the other’s morose thoughts. “I could not feel more for them if they had been born to Emma. I have only their best interests at heart.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?” Jim leaned back in the chair. “Because sometimes I believe all this talk of the coming battle, the preparation of the future Triad, and the parts we all must play shadow those important things like love, family, and loyalty. Fear, hate, vengeance, and desperation make quick and easy work of blinding us.”

John’s mouth twitched at the fiery tone his friend’s voice. He picked up the glass decanter of amber liquid in front of him and topped off his barely touched glass of whiskey. “If you’re going to launch into a sermon, Jim, I’m getting shit-faced first.”

Murphy rolled his eyes. “It is no mystery where Caleb gets his talent for redirection and avoidance. I can barely talk to the boy on a serious level anymore.”

John snorted and tossed back a quick shot, relishing in the burning sensation as it trailed down his throat to slosh in his empty gut. He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten. “If you wanted the boy to spout philosophy and morality to you, Jim, you should have let his daddy train him.”

“And have him miss learning to flawlessly quote Sun Tzu and the Jar Head survival hand book?” Jim shook his head. “What kind of Knight would he be then?”

John poured a shot in his glass again, shoving it towards Murphy. “He’s going to be the best damn Knight The Brotherhood has seen. Better than me, better than Elkins could have ever been.” He met Jim’s gaze. “Better than any blood heir of Maxim Madrigal.”

Jim took the offered drink and smiled sadly. “Daniel Elkins was not always the man we know now, John. Julian was pressed for time in the end, but he made the best choices he could. There was no one else. The last Triad was caught with their pants down so to speak.” Murphy lifted the glass and toasted it towards John. “And Joshua will have a part to play in things to come, but he was not right to follow in his grandfather’s footsteps. Julian would have thought the same and I have no doubt he would have been enamored with Caleb and his skill.”

The pastor took a drink, wincing. His homemade beer was as hard core as he got these days and Tennessee’s finest seemed anything but smooth to him. He shot Winchester a look, some of the familiar mischief dancing in his blue eyes this time. “Although, he might have frowned on a scoundrel such as you as Daniel’s successor.”

John attempted a look of reproach. “Because I don’t have a family tree full of vampire hunters and werewolf killers? If you’ve forgotten, Mackland’s pedigree is a whole hell of a lot more Puritan than mine. He’s more Rhodes Scholar than Scholar of The Brotherhood. I think I would seem like a prize compared to him.”

Murphy laughed. Perhaps past Triads were rolling over in their graves at the colorful array of men he had compiled. “I have always believed God to have a wonderful sense of humor.”

“You seriously believe all this…” John gestured around the room. “Is some sort of clandestine ordained prophecy? Don’t you?”

“I believe we were destined to meet, to be a part of one another’s lives.” Jim looked down to his silver ring once more, remembering the powerful words etched inside. “But I also hold true to the idea that we all made choices to bring us here. And that the next generation will be faced with even harder decisions. I only hope whatever path they travel leads to the greater good and ties them together, as it has done for us, old friend.”

John took the glass once more, tossing back the remainder of the whiskey. He sighed. “They’re good boys. All of them.”

Jim raised a brow. “Even the blood heir of Maxim Madrigal?”

John rolled his eyes. Murphy liked to give him grief where Joshua was concerned. It might have worked if John hadn’t been there when Caleb came back from his first hunt with Sawyer, Ian and Fisher. “It’s not that side of his family tree that I have issues with.”

Jim continued to stare at him for a moment longer, taking on one of his familiar fatherly expressions. John knew some story or parable from the past was about to resurface.

“Joshua helped me build this room. Did you know?”

John looked skeptical, slightly surprised at the revelation. “You don‘t say?”

Jim nodded. “He stayed here a few weeks one summer during the nastiest part of Harland and Esme’s divorce. His mother thought he would enjoy some time away from all the fighting.” Jim was sure that Esme had also preferred Jim’s tutorage to that of Griffin Ellison.

“And did he?”

Jim laughed. “I think the boy would have rather had bamboo shoots lodged under his fingernails.”

John snorted. “That sounds about right.”

Murphy let his eyes travel around the room. “Although I think he enjoyed working on this project. It was the first time I saw a bit of his mother in him.”

John leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “He has a lot of his father in him, too. Sometimes you can’t overlook the family tree, old man. Sense of humor and preordained destiny be damned.”

Jim smiled. “I still have hope.”

John was not easily swayed. “But you never saw him as The Knight. That says something.”

“No.” Murphy had to admit Joshua would never wield that kind of power in The Brotherhood. “Only two people have entered my thoughts for that position. And I believe I chose wisely between them.”

John glanced toward the hidden door again. If his sons were to be involved in TheTriad, then he wanted someone he knew and trusted watching their backs. He wanted Caleb. “No argument from me.”

Jim always touted the future was sill unclear, but he had eluded Sam and Dean had been brought into his life for a reason. Kismet, he called it. In the beginning it had sounded like a fairytale, as unreal as the dragon story Jim loved weaving. John had been able to ignore it.

But now as they grew older and Jim grew older, John often felt as if he were on a speeding train with no way to get off. At least Murphy had offered him a position where he had some effect on their futures. “I can’t imagine anyone being better for the job than Junior.”

Jim didn’t miss the hint of pride in John’s voice or the flash of emotion he couldn’t quite read in the man’s dark eyes. “You could tell him how you feel, you know. He has serious doubts about whether he is worthy for what you are training him for.”

“Again, if you wanted him snuggled in warm fuzzies, Jim,…”

Murphy raised his hand in surrender, cutting Winchester off. “Forget that I mentioned such a thing as civilized conversation and well-deserved praise.”

John didn‘t have to feign insult this time. “I treat him like my own boys. It’s the only way I know.”

Jim sighed as another mortar round exploded, cutting him off at the knees. Tread carefully, old boy. “Sometimes we have to step outside our comfort zones. There are moments when our first instinct might not be the best for the situation.”

Winchester raised a brow. “Are we still talking about me?”

Perhaps Jim had bird walked, finding himself at the point where he had meant to begin in the first place. “I’ve spoken to Missouri and some of the senior members of The Brotherhood about the situation with Conner.”

Winchester straightened in his chair unsure if he liked the idea of others knowing his business. He had good reason not to trust everyone who wore the ring. The kidnapping a few years back proved that. “You said you wanted The Triad to handle Charles.”

Jim combed his fingers through his mass of silver hair. “Maybe I was wrong.”

“What does that mean?” John leaned in closer; his voice lowering despite the fact the room was basically soundproof. “For Sammy?”

“It means that if Charles does not agree to our terms and return Samuel he will be dealt with-for the greater good.”

John stared at the man before him. In the years since meeting Murphy he never failed to be surprised by the many layers the man could reveal. But cold and calculating was never a side that had even been hinted at. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Murphy’s face reddened, showing a rare demonstration of his frustration. He was usually unflappable. “The man will not see reason. He allowed Caleb to be injured in front of Dean and Samuel. He denied his grandsons what they needed, choosing his own selfish desires over their best interests. And even though he apparently knew nothing about Peter Marcus, I cannot risk anyone else getting hurt because of his ignorance.”

“But the Brotherhood deals with supernatural evil. We’re in the business of protecting people, saving lives. Tonight with Marcus was an act of self defense.”

Jim frowned as his own words were tossed back at him. It was usually the pastor’s job to play devil’s advocate. “You don’t think I have worried and prayed over this situation for days? I see no other alternative, Johnathan, but aggression. You may have been correct when you said it was the only thing a man like Conner respects and understands.”

John rubbed a hand over his bearded face, not quite sure how to assimilate this new side of his friend into the picture he held of him. “I didn’t want to be right, Jim.”

Murphy exhaled heavily. “I know.” He forced a smile. “Maybe the morning will shed some much needed light on the situation.”

John’s mouth twitched at the more typical optimistic response. Jim had an eternal well of hope and faith; reserves Winchester hoped were never tapped. But, still, it was his job to keep him on his toes. “Or daybreak could bring swarms of locusts and news of a widespread plague.”

“True.” Jim laughed, whole-heartedly this time. “I did warn you that God has that wicked sense of humor.”
RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

Someone was laughing. The sound melodic and reassuring. Mackland felt the need to turn his head in hopes of determining who might be in the room with him. He had the fleeting thought he might have left the television on the night before, but then a familiar cadence rumbled through his subconscious and he groaned before he could stop himself.

“I think he’s coming around, Doc!” Bobby barked, his voice bouncing off the walls of the small guest room.

Bright morning light from the many windows seared his corneas as Mackland tried to force his eyes to cooperate. He groaned again when pain rushed through his side from his attempt to roll over and escape Bobby.

Warm hands found his face then, halting his struggle. A hint of jasmine touched his nose and then something soft and silky tickled his face as it brushed over his cheek. He reached up to shove it away, his fingers curling around what he instantly recognized as hair. Without opening his eyes he smiled. “Esme.”

Bobby hooted, nudging John’s shoulder. “Esme!” He mimicked in an exaggerated sugary tone much to Joshua and Caleb’s displeasure. “My dear Esme.”

“You truly need to discourage him.” Joshua snapped, shooting a glare in Caleb’s direction. “This schoolboy crush is highly inappropriate and unfathomable considering my mother’s irrefutable taste.”

“You don’t think my dad is good enough…” Caleb started, but another voice cut him off.

“Sorry to disappoint, Dr. Ames, but I’m not your Esme.” Dr. Elizabeth McCroy leaned over her patient and frowned. “Whatever the hell an Esme is.”

Mackland flinched as one of his eyelids was physically pried open and a pen light assaulted him. “What…wait…” He weakly batted at the unwanted touch.

“Dad?” Caleb moved towards the bed, hovered close by, but stayed out of the doctor’s way. He had already been reprimanded by the fiery redhead when she examined Dean. The thorough cleaning she had given his own bullet wound made him wary to cross her again. “You with us?”

The welcomed voice of his son propelled Mackland the rest of way to consciousness, clearing some of the mental fog. He would most definitely have to study the contents of Joshua’s tea more closely. “Caleb?”

“I’m here.”

Before Ames could say more, hands were on him again, pulling up his shirt, searching his abdomen with deadly accuracy. “Ow!” He complained, glaring at the now familiar auburn-haired woman in the white coat leaning over him. It was the modern day Doctor Quinn Elizabeth McCroy and she was looking way too satisfied with herself. “Take it easy.”

Elizabeth ignored him, continuing to poke around the wound on his side. “I must say whatever you used on this wound is quite amazing, Joshua. There are no signs of infection.”

Sawyer stepped forward, studying the patient as if on a consult. “I can give you the ingredients. Dr. Ames doesn’t see the benefit in holistic medicine, but I’m sure a physician of your stature is quite open-minded to a more Eastern philosophy.”

“Wiccan philosophy is more like it,” Caleb said under his breath, but Joshua still shot him a reproachful look. Reaves rolled his eyes, laying a hand on his father’s shoulder. “You okay, Dad?”

“What’s going on?” Mackland demanded, pushing himself to a seated position. He pulled the sheet away from McCroy and covered his exposed chest. “Why is she here?”

“Believe me, I’m here in an official capacity, six pack.” The doctor roughly patted Ames muscled stomach. “Father Murphy called this morning explaining your little ‘hunting’ accident.” Liz smirked at Ames. “Who knew the great Mackland Ames would be such a duck fanatic.”

“Jim thought it would be a good idea for a real doctor to check over everyone.” Caleb explained, tossing his own smirk at Joshua.

“Excuse me?” Mackland glared at John and Bobby, who were grinning like fools from the corner of the room.

“You can’t really call him a duck hunting fanatic, Doc,” Bobby spoke up, ignoring Mackland’s demanding gaze. “First time Mac was in a blind. Stood up just as I was taking a shot from the other side of the pond.”

“Funny this doesn’t look like a wound from buckshot, Mr. Singer.” Elizabeth countered. These men were pulling nothing over on her. “And was Caleb also in the same duck blind when you opened fire? And how exactly did poor Dean come about his injuries? Ducks must have become much more vicious than I remember them to be or was he also in a bad end of a bar room brawl.”

It was the excuse the men had used when they brought Caleb to her ER in New Haven a few days earlier. Obviously there was more going on than any of the men were willing to speak about. Murphy had beseeched her not to report any of the injuries to the police, explaining how Dr. Ames was already bombarded by press and he didn’t want the boys interrogated or hounded. Despite Jim Murphy’s good reputation, it was the pleading look in young Dean Winchester’s eyes that convinced her.

“You know boys.” John stepped closer to the bed. He flashed the woman an easy smile which had a different kind of effect on her than his son’s. “They roughhouse all the time. I warned them about it. Someone was bound to get hurt.”

“Thank goodness there is a voice of reason.” Elizabeth smiled at John and then flashed Mackland a disdainful look. “Young men need appropriate role models-not someone cold and irreproachable.”

“Are you quite finished, Doctor?” Mackland groused. “I’ll have Bobby fetch you some eggs from the hen house and a slab of ham for your troubles and you can go about your other house calls.”

“Liz can’t leave yet.” John stepped forward, holding his arm out to the woman. He purposefully looked at Ames. “I believe I promised her a free meal if she ever visited.”

Mackland looked at his best friend, quickly reading the amusement he was getting from the situation. John Winchester could be quite charming and vindictive when he wanted to. “Aren’t you concerned with my prognosis?”

“I did those stitches myself. You’re good.” John looked at Elizabeth. “I was trained in field triage, so I’m sure they’re not up to your standard. But they kept the idiot from bleeding to death.”

“I’m sure nothing I could have done would have suited a living legend in the medical field either.” The doctor stood, closing her bag. “Breakfast sounds lovely, though.”

“Wait until you taste Jim’s pancakes.” John told her as he led the doctor out of the room. “They’re mouthwatering.”

Bobby leaned in the doorway, watching them go down the stairs leading to the kitchen. “Dr. McCroy is rather mouthwatering herself.” He waggled his brows at Mackland. “If you fell off your high horse you might have noticed.”

“Shut up.” Ames growled, pushing blankets aside to throw his legs over the side of the bed. “I can’t believe you two let Jim call someone-a colleague who knows me of all things.”

Singer snorted. “I guess we could have had Josh call up Esme, but where would the fun in that been?”

“Would you please refrain from speaking my mother’s name in that tone, Bobby?” Joshua asked.

“What tone?” The mechanic asked indignantly.

Sawyer waved a hand in the air. “That whispery tone like one might use when speaking of some ethereal movie star siren. It doesn’t suit her.”

“Shows what you know about women, Slick.” Bobby grinned. “But aren’t you trying to shame the wrong guy. Mac here is the one having naughty dreams about your mom.”

“I was not…” Ames stuttered. “I woke up disoriented…there was a woman nearly on top of me…” Mac stopped speaking when all eyes fell to him.

A look of horror crossed Joshua’s face. “You are not suggesting…”

“No!” Mackland cut him off. “I mean…I don’t mean that Esme has ever been or will ever be on top of me.” Ames held up his hands. “Not that the thought isn’t appealing…I mean in a completely respectful, fellow vested party of The Brotherhood kind of way.”

“You dream about a lot of The Brotherhood being on top of you, Mac?” Bobby started laughing. “Maybe I should call the lovely Elizabeth back up here to check to see if you hit your head on something.”

“Maybe you should go downstairs before all the food gets gone, Bobby?” Caleb suggested. Any other time he might have enjoyed his father’s discomfort, but after the fear he felt last night, he was willing to cut his dad a break. “You know Jim’s second batch is never as good as the first.”

“I get it.” Bobby nodded. “You guys need some family time.” Singer’s gesture included Joshua in the mental picture he was framing for them. “I can’t wait for the group Christmas card.”

Joshua took a seat on the edge of the bed, his face pale, his hand holding his stomach. “I think I might be sick.”

“Join the club.” Caleb agreed, flashing his father a look. “Can you try to can the whole schoolboy crush thing, Dad? It’s embarrassing.”

Ames frowned, then glared at both boys. “My feelings-or lack there of-for Esme are none of your business.” Joshua started to open his mouth but Mackland stopped him with a fierce look. “Go downstairs, Joshua.”

“Fine.” The blond hunter stood with a huff. “But my mother would never date anyone who wasn’t completely open to the products she creates through her art.”

“And my dad doesn’t date witches.” Caleb tossed back, sounding much more Dean’s age than his own twenty years. “No matter how hot they might be.”

“Shut up.” Joshua snarled.

“Both of you shut up!” Mackland was afraid if he didn’t soon call a stop to the sniping he would end up being caught under two strapping boys with first blood on their minds. “Save your energy for the pancakes. Jim’s pancakes make everyone feel better.”

“Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?” Caleb stared at his father. “People count on you everyday to fix their problems…and that’s the best you got? Emotional eating?”

“My mother would have come up with a much better solution.” Joshua was closer to the door, but not ready to leave the room just yet.

“By peering into her crystal ball, no doubt?”

“Boys!” Jim Murphy’s voice wafted up the stairs. “Breakfast is ready!”

Joshua sent one final heated glare in Caleb’s direction before spinning on his heel and starting downstairs.

“Joshua?”

Mac’s voice halted him and the younger hunter stopped with a huff. “Yes?”

“Thank you,” Ames said, sincerely. “I appreciate you taking care of everyone, myself included.”

The blond nodded, a slight smile crossing his face. “Hold your praise until you see my bill, Dr. Ames. I’m quite expensive.”

Reaves shook his head once Sawyer was gone. “Huh. Josh has a sense of humor after all?”

Mac frowned at his son. “You shouldn’t say things about his mother. It isn’t polite and I sincerely doubt you would take kindly to him returning the favor.”

Caleb exhaled heavily, the reprimand causing him to feel slightly guilty. “I don’t have anything against Esme, Dad. She’s always been nice to me.” He gestured towards the stairs. “But she has baggage.”

“Baggage?” Mac raked a hand through his disheveled hair. “Son, I’ve not spoken to Esme in over a year. We’re friends. That’s it.”

“Good. Because I’m too old for any kind of Brady Bunch scenario. I like being an only child and I prefer to keep your inheritance to myself.” He grinned to hide the sincerity in his words. It wasn’t the money he was unwilling to share.

Ames smiled. He was reassured by his son’s jealous behavior. Sometimes it was nice to feel needed. “What happened to wanting John and the boys to come live with us?”

Caleb rolled his eyes. “I was fifteen and you wouldn’t let me have a dog. They were the next best thing.”

Mackland grinned, squeezing his son’s shoulder. “Speaking of the boys, how’s Dean?”

Caleb shrugged. “Dr. McCroy checked him out first thing this morning. She said he was okay.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I don’t know, Dad.” Caleb swallowed thickly. “He won’t really talk about it.” He met his father’s concerned gaze. “I’m afraid he’s going to close himself off. From all of us.”

Ames shook his head, a stubborn look crossing his face. “We won’t let that happen, Son. I promise.”

“Can you also promise that Joshua will never be my brother in any way shape or form except in the loose reference that applies where the rings are concerned?”

Mac laughed, wincing slightly as the sutures in his side pulled. “I think you’re safe.”

“Then I’ll bring you some pancakes.”

“Are you kidding? I’m coming with you. I want to watch Bobby make a fool out of himself in front of Dr. McCroy.”

RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

“Thanks again, Liz, for your help.” John Winchester told the doctor as he, Bobby and Jim walked the woman out. “It’s appreciated.”

“You’re welcome.” The doctor moved her gaze from Murphy to Singer. “The delicious breakfast was a more than adequate thank you. Although I hope you will come up with a better cover story the next time. A mugging would have been much more believable.”

John shifted from foot to foot, shooting Jim a baleful glance, but the minister remained silent, his ever-present smile in place. “Yeah. Sorry about that,” he said sincerely when it was obvious neither of his friends were going to help him out.

“Perhaps you can make it up to me next time you’re in town.” Liz reached out and squeezed Winchester’s hand. “Dinner out.”

“Maybe.” John conceded, ducking his head slightly as Bobby made what sounded like a kissing noise behind him. It would never happen but the woman had gone out of her way. “I’m never in one place very long,” he explained.

Elizabeth smiled knowingly, letting her fingers slip from John’s skin. “Maybe I’ll get lucky.” She nodded to the others. “Tell Dr. Ames I expect to be hearing from him soon also.”

“Mackland would make a much better dinner date.” John told her, opening the car door. “He knows all the right forks to use.”

The doctor shook her head. “No, I was thinking more along the line of a written correspondence from my colleague.” Liz dropped into the seat of her sedan, sliding her sunglasses on. “Tell him to make the check out to the hospital. The plans for that new Radiology suite should be ready soon.”

Winchester laughed. “Will do, Liz. Take care now.” He patted the roof of the car, stepped back, and watched the car as it started down Murphy’s drive. When he turned around, Bobby and Jim were both grinning at him. “What?”

“She likes you.” Bobby shook his head. “I don’t understand it because damn I made it clear I was single, but she definitely was giving you the vibe, Winchester.”

“You make it sound like one of those miracles Jim is always preaching about just came to pass, Singer.”

“In my book, it did.” Bobby looked at Murphy. “What about you, Jim?”

“I think the woman obviously has good taste,” Jim replied and John laughed.

“What does that mean?” Bobby grumbled. “You think John’s a better catch than me?”

Murphy turned to start back to the house, the other two men trailed him when the sound of an approaching car stopped them. “Perhaps Dr. McCoy is coming back to rectify her mistake, Bobby.” The pastor teased as he raised a hand to shield his eyes so as to see the car. “She has seen the error of her ways.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Singer looked down the drive, but frowned when he caught the flash of black. Liz’s car had been silver. “Who the hell is that?”

John frowned as the dark car pulled into the drive and Manuela climbed out of the passenger’s side. He was even more puzzled when the person in the driver’s seat exited. “Conner.”
RcJSnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsnsNRcJ

Onto Chapter 11

Home



Uploaded by Majs