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.
A/N: Warning for disturbing content. As usual I refuse to write anything graphically violent, but things will be insinuated in the next coming chapters of an unsettling nature. I am in no way encouraging our society's passive acceptance of violence or glorifying anyone who participates in horrific crimes-especially those against children. A big part of my life revolves around figuring out the ways in which the human psyche works; but I hope I never truly understand the workings of a true sociopath's mind.

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Chapter 3/11
The belief in a supernatural source of evil is not necessary; men alone are quite capable of every wickedness.-Joseph Conrad

He watched from the shadows, hoping-sensing- that his prey would arrive. They had told him tonight would be special.

The dream they sent was the same-an omen of his destiny. Of the chosen one's destiny.

This could be the one-the final sacrifice to satisfy all that hunger. Perhaps the test runs would end tonight. Maybe he would finally be given the one he was meant to find.

They may have decided to trust him, instead of continuing to toy with his desperation. This could be the one he would finally join with to become whole. His vessel had arrived.

And it might quell the voices demanding he continue to feed them. His torment would stop and he would be born again. It would work this time. He could feel it in the air, even as the rain began-soft at first, then pounding. Holy water to purify the act. It was a blessing and an anointment. A baptism. A foretelling of his rebirth.

This one was blond. His hair reflecting gold under the sparse light. The lightening flashing above them created a halo effect around him. Another sign of his purity. He was the right age-one on the cusp of manhood. Prime for the taking.

Even the stormy darkness could not dim his beauty. His face was almost angelic.

The predator felt his heart rate increase. A warmness spread through his abdomen, heat branching into his limbs, flushing his cheeks. His palms began to sweat and he found himself panting in anticipation of that first beautiful moment when their first touch would come.

Nothing was as sweet as the first touch. The excitement that would flow from one body to the other, lighting up the summer night like an electrical storm. Thoughts of it made him squirm, his body demanding a release that would be premature.

No, he wanted to covet this one-relish in the end of both their pains. They would be beautiful together.

Just a bit farther now, and the gap separating them would be closed. If he was still, patient enough, the butterfly would light on his outstretched hand. Just like when he had been a child. He had been a very patient child.

This one was would be his chrysalis. He had to be.
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Dean stepped out of the back entrance of the hotel, glancing across the darkened courtyard. There was a huge fountain in the center, a cement angel with her hands raised to the sky in middle of the pool of sea green water. Small spotlights illuminated her; the rain streaming down her face looked almost like tears. Benches framed by flowers that were bending and bowing under the onslaught of the downpour surrounded the meditation garden. Dean made his way to one bench before stopping.

The twelve-year old ignored the cold drops splashing on his own skin, shuddering slightly as thunder rolled and growled in the distance. He dumped his bag on the bench to check his money for the fare back to the city and only hoped he had saved enough. If not he was going to have to do the unthinkable and call Joshua to come get him. Of course as late as it was, his disappearing act had probably been detected, which meant his father and the other hunters would be involved.

Dean sighed when he unzipped his backpack to find the well-worn teddy bear peering up at him with one soulful eye. It was worth it. Seeing Sam had been worth what ever punishment he would have to endure.

Rain started to fall heavier as Dean grabbed WooBee, stuffing him under his arm to free up his hands. He pulled out the old Red Sox ball cap he had stuffed in on a whim and pulled it down on his head. At least it would keep the water out of his eyes as he tried to count the last of his cash.

The heavy, unexpected hand on his shoulder startled him enough to drop WooBee. He whirled around, his ingrained defenses kicking in. Dean was expecting a security guard at the worst, his unwanted grandfather at the least. But it was neither, and coming face to face with the startling white mask right out of one of the slice and dice flicks he and Caleb would watch and make fun of had his mind blanking out in a white hot panic. “What the…

Unlike the sloth-like, steadfast monsters in the slasher films, this thing moved incredibly fast. It struck Dean so hard across the face that he was spun around before his knees hit the cement walkway, the bone-jarring impact stunning him, sending his money scattering across the wet pavement.

Before he had a chance to recover, the thing's claws clamped around his wrist in a crushing grip, jerking him to his feet once more only to deliver another vicious blow he couldn't block. He almost screamed, called out for help. But Dean had been taught that such behavior did nothing but cause his own panic to rise, cloud his thinking, and waste valuable energy that he could use for his defense. His father would be disappointed.

Whether it was the thought of John Winchester, the bitter taste of blood, or the sudden realization he was alone and in real and mortal danger, Dean wasn't sure; but his well-honed instincts kicked in and he lashed out with this feet.

Dean felt the well placed kick connect with his target and was released, his body once again striking the unforgiving ground. Dean lifted his head, catching sight of a stand of trees in the distance. It might give him the camouflage he would need to escape the predator. Without a moment's hesitation he pushed himself to his knees and took off in a sprint towards the shelter.

The monster growled and moaned as he tried to regain his breath from the hot blinding agony the unexpected counter-attack had erupted in his groin. The boy was stronger than the others-a more worthy opponent. But he was still destined to be his. His resistance was just another sign that he was the right one.

With a snarl, the hunter watched the chosen one scurry towards the trees like a startled deer. He struggled to shove the pain away and recapture his focus. After all, he was an expert when it came to pain. And in moments he would relish giving his new found prize a lesson in the art.
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If there was a lesson to be learned in all this, Joshua Sawyer was sure it was the one about no good deed going unpunished. In a moment of weakness, he had tried to put himself in Dean Winchester's shoes. The kid had a shitty life basically and although he would never disclose his thoughts to anyone, he actually felt a certain kinship with the child in respect to their fathers.

Of course his own biological sire, Richard Harland Sawyer the third and John Winchester hated one another, but that was in part because both were selfish bastards at times and held impossible standards for those they claimed to care about. Contrary to popular belief, sometimes like repelled like.

But of course that line of thinking had landed Joshua in the current situation of ringing the doorbell of one Charles Conner. Not only a man of unimaginable wealth and power in the business world, but also a man capable of ruining his life, and the lives of most of the prominent members of The Brotherhood.

“Would you stop fidgeting?” Caleb growled, watching Sawyer rock back and forth on his heels.

The older hunter glared at him. “I do not fidget.”

Reaves sighed and reached to ring the bell again, but in a bold move Joshua grabbed his arm. “It is not polite to be so impatient.”

Caleb pulled away from him, gave him a slight smirk as he punched the lighted button and held it in. “Good thing I could give a fuck about being polite.”

“I don't see how your father tolerates you.”

“Do you really want to talk about whose daddy loves them more?”

Sawyer blanched. “Are you snooping through my thoughts?”

Reaves shook his head. “Not on purpose.” God. He really didn't want to go there. “My abilities are screwed. The concussion and Mac's drugs have given them, excuse the pun, a mind of their own.”

“Likely story,” Joshua snarled. “I should have never agreed to this.”

Before Caleb had time to reply the door suddenly opened and he quickly removed his hand from the doorbell as a harried-looking woman frowned up at him. “May I help you?” She greeted, irritation ringing clearly in her slightly accented voice.

“Is Dean here?”

Joshua sighed at his fellow hunter's subtlety. “We were hoping to speak with Mister Conner.”

“Who is it, Manuela?”

“Speak of the devil.” Caleb pushed past the woman, barging into the penthouse suite. “Where is he?”

Charles Conner's face twisted into a disdainful scowl. “How dare you come here! We had a deal.”

Caleb strode forward. “You and John had a deal. I had no part in it.”

“I would have to disagree with that, seeing as how protecting you was a very important piece of the agreement as far as Winchester was concerned.”

“Gentlemen, I really do believe this matter has already been hashed out, has it not?”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Bobby Singer,” Joshua answered quickly and Caleb shot him a heated look. “Please to make your acquaintance.”

“This isn't a social call,” Reaves snapped at him, before turning back to Conner. “I'm here to get Dean.”

“Dean?” Conner frowned. “Dean isn't here.”

“Like hell he isn't. I can sense him.”

“What are you babbling about?” Conner glared at the younger man. “I haven't seen the other boy since leaving Murphy's.”

“And you've been here all day?” Reaves questioned.

“No. I've just arrived home, but I can assure you…”

“Then let me talk to Sam.” Caleb cut him off.

“Should I call the police, sir?” Manuela spoke up, timidly from her sentry by the still open door.

“No,” Joshua answered before Charles could. “I assure you that won't be necessary. We've just come to collect the boy, and we'll be on our way.”

“Samuel is not to see any of you until I deem it appropriate,” Conner told them, coldly. He pointedly looked at Reaves. “I have to say this is not helping your case as being one of those that will be allowed any visitation.”

“Fuck your visitation.” Caleb pulled the gun from the back of his jeans and leveled it at Charles. “Get. Sam. Out. Here.”

“For Christ's sake, Caleb. You said you weren't carrying!” Joshua growled, wondering why he hadn't questioned the man's wearing a jacket in June.

“Dios Mio!” Manuela wailed, pulling at her already disheveled hair.

“Just take it easy, lady.” Reaves snarled. “Nobody's going to get hurt if your boss does like I asked.”

“Fine.” Conner started for the hallway, but Caleb shook his head.

“No way. Tell Sawyer where to go.”

Joshua sighed at the use of his real name. “Must you drag me into this?”

“Last door on the left,” Conner clipped. “I will be talking to my lawyer about your blatant disregard to our contract,” he added as the blond hunter moved past him.

Caleb snorted. “I'm not here on behalf of John or The Brotherhood. This is all me. And last time I checked, I'm nothing to you.”

“I know your grandfather.”

“Then you know who he's going to believe when you go to him with some crazy story about his only grandson breaking into your nice hotel room and waving a gun around like some crazed lunatic.” Caleb grinned. “As far as Cullen is concerned, I'm damn near perfect. Grandfathers have a tendency of seeing only what pleases them.”

Conner didn't rebuke the statement as Joshua returned with a wide-eyed Sam Winchester.

“Caleb!” Sam pulled away from Sawyer and made a mad dash for Reaves, who quickly returned his gun back to his jeans before catching the boy.

“Hey, runt,” he whispered, tightening his hold on the kid, who had practically leaped into his arms. Reaves hadn't realized how much he actually missed the boy until the typical exuberant greeting. “Long time, no see, buddy.”

“I saw you last night in a dream,” Sam told him, squeezing him back and Caleb laughed.

“Let me guess, I was a dragon.” He reluctantly set Sam down and the little boy shook his head.

“Nope, you were just you.”

Charles made a move for the phone and Joshua shook his head. “Like I told your lovely employee, Mr. Conner, there is no need for that. We'll be on our way as soon as we have the other child.”

Caleb knelt in the floor in front of Sam and couldn't help himself as he reached out and pushed the little boy's too long bangs out of his face. “Good dream or bad dream, Sammy?” He was never sure how much to ask Sam about his dreams. After all, John was adamant the boy not be told about his latent abilities.

The seven-year-old shrugged. “I'm not sure.”

Reaves nodded, his mouth forming a grim line. “Speaking of dragons, Sammy, where's Dean?”

Another shrug and this time the kid looked down as his foot began the tell tale move that screamed a lie was on the forefront. “I don't know. I haven't seen him in forever.”

Caleb sighed and he gently squeezed Sam's arm, glancing down to the boy's hand that held a very familiar green toy. Reaves raised a brow. “It's important, kiddo. Is he here?”

“He's not here.” Sam looked up into the psychic's eyes. “Not anymore. He just left.”

“Manuela?” Conner growled.

“He brought me the dragons.” Glanced to his grandfather and then back to Reaves. “He didn't stay long. Please don't get mad at him.”

“I'm not mad, Sammy.” The psychic shot Conner a threatening look. “It's okay. No one is mad at you or Dean.” Caleb moved his gaze back to the boy and took the dragon from him. “I'm just…”

The psychic winced as a sharp pain knifed through his skull. He shook his head, trying to refocus on Sam's face that kept blurring in and out of his line of sight. Caleb gripped the toy tighter, hoping to fend off the impending vision. “I need to find your broth…”

Images flared to life, in typical movie projector fashion, and Reaves gasped as his mind rebelled from the intrusion. He felt the world tilt and was barely able to catch himself with one hand as the plush cranberry carpet suddenly rushed towards him.

“Caleb?” Sam tried to grab him as the psychic fell forward, one hand clutching his head. “Caleb!”

“Reaves.” Sawyer stepped closer to them, pinning Conner to his spot with a look that promised severe consequences if he dared move.

Sam's panicked gaze found Joshua's. “It's a movie! Something bad is going to happen.”

“Take it easy,” Sawyer told him, glancing back to Reaves, who was now bent over his knees, forehead resting on the floor. It was obvious he had checked out, caught up in whatever scene he was viewing from within the prison of his mind. “He'll be okay.”

Sam stepped closer to the psychic laying his hand on Caleb's shoulder. He repeated hushed reassurances, focusing on Reaves and ignoring Connor who had begun to once again rant about their intrusion.

The psychic felt Sam touch him, along with the electrical surge that came from contact with another with abilities. It actually bolstered his clarity, acting almost like the tracking on a VCR remote.

He tried to take a deep breath to keep from tensing, to ease the transition from one reality to another. The pain wasn't as bad as he expected, considering the lingering effects of the concussion, but the images he was suddenly immersed in gave him no cause for comfort.

It was the same as the earlier nightmare. The darkness was smothering and the rain was cold and relentless. But this time he wasn't running scared, fleeing from the hunter. This time he was stalking the prey.

He recognized the shift instantly. In this vision he was not frightened, terrified of being caught. On the contrary, he was jazzed, almost like a good buzz. Adrenaline still pumped through his veins but this time instead of leading him on a mad dash through the woods, it was propelling him on a quest for a kill.

The thing he was connecting with searched the surrounding area. Caleb could see a fountain lit from beneath the water, an angel jutting up from the blue-green pool, her arms raised heavenward. Flowers of varying shades were being pummeled beneath the heavy drops of rain and a brick path unfolded to his right. But the predator focused in on a stand of trees in the distance and Caleb could just make out the shadowy outline of figure darting across the grass.

Reaves felt the monster take off in a run, himself taken along for the ride. The ground was soft and giving beneath pounding steps. He felt heavy and bulkier than usual, this gate far from being as agile as his own. Still, it was fast, but not supernaturally so.

However, they seemed to eat up the distance quickly and once again, Caleb felt tree limbs tearing at his skin and clothes. It seemed to thrill the monster, increasing the feeling of urgency. The pain was feeding it.

All too soon, Reaves heard the sound of harsh breathing and that of another set of feet tearing through the undergrowth, and then they were upon him.

The boy was running full out when he seemed to trip over his own feet, going down hard belly first onto the unforgiving ground. Caleb felt the laugh bubble from within the beast and wished he could just free himself from the hold of the vision when the thing latched onto the kid and roughly jerked him to his feet.

Blood seemed to rush to his head as the child cried out, the voice unmistakable. Then the predator spun the boy around, backhanding him hard across the face. A face that was recognizable to Caleb even in the pitch black of the fortress of trees.

Reaves felt sick as the thing picked the boy up, striking him again. The victim's terror-filled green eyes locked with his and he heard Dean call out for him just before the thing's hands closed around the kid's throat. “Caleb!”

It was Sam's voice this time, and Reaves felt another jolt of electricity run through him. “Caleb, please wake up.”

“This is ridiculous!” Charles growled. “Is this some kind of trick or is he truly a freak of nature?”

“Caleb's not a freak!” Sam's head shot up at the accusation, his youthful face twisted in righteous indignation. “He's a hero. Just like my Daddy. They fight monsters.”

“Sam…” Joshua tried to cut the child's tirade but Sam was hearing nothing of it.

“Caleb can see the bad stuff they do before they do it.”

Conner shot Reaves a wary look, but then focused on his grandson. “That's not possible, Samuel. I will not have you repeating this nonsense. There will be no lying in this house.”

“I'm not lying!”

Before Charles could reply, Caleb let out another pain-filled groan and stirred beneath Sam's touch.

Joshua knelt by his side. “Reaves? You back with us?”

The psychic winced and pushed against the carpet to bring his head up. The room continued to blink in and out, his vision dizzily shifting between Sam's worried face and Dean's bloodied one. “Yeah,” he mumbled, finally making it to an upright position.

Scenes from the vision spiked through his head, propelling him to push himself on up to his feet. “Shit,” he growled as his stomach rebelled the movement. He swallowed thickly, keeping himself from making a mess on Conner's nice carpet and looked towards Charles. “Is there a fountain around here?”

The businessman continued to stare at Reaves with a mix of fear and loathing so he turned his attention to the woman. The psychic was beginning to feel more grounded in the present, the pain of the vision receding back to the recesses of his mind. But Caleb had a feeling the nightmarish images were permanently burned in his brain.

“It has some kind of statue in the middle of it.” Along with clarity came panic. “An angel, damn it?”

“Si.” The woman nodded, taking a quick step back as Caleb moved towards her. “It is in the back of the hotel.”

“A courtyard?” Reaves berated.

“Si.” The woman nodded again.

Caleb swung his gaze to Joshua, swaying slightly on his shaky legs. “Sawyer, we have to get down there. Now!”

“What's wrong?” Sam asked, a frightened look still locked on his young face. “Did you see Dean?”

Caleb laid a hand on his head, wishing he had time to reassure the seven-year-old but positive he didn't have a minute to spare. “It's okay, runt. Don't worry.”

“I want to come with you.”

“No.” Reaves glanced at Charles. “I promise you we'll talk to you tonight. Right, Mr. Conner?”

The man nodded and Reaves hurried towards the door, but the businessman's voice brought him up short.

“Take the service elevator. It's faster,” Conner suggested. “It's past the main elevator, at the end of the corridor. It will bring you to the back of the hotel.”

Caleb raised a hand to show he had heard but kept moving with Joshua right behind him.

“I'm guessing your interest in this fountain has nothing to do with tossing pennies for wishes?”

Reaves slammed his whole hand on the button that would bring the elevator to them. “No. It's the job John and I have been working on.”

“The missing boys?” Joshua watched the light make its slow process to the penthouse floor.

“Damn it!” Caleb slammed the heel of his fist into the wall again. “This thing or whatever the hell it is…it's going after Dean.

“What? Are you sure?” The car arrived and the two quickly boarded it.

Caleb rested his head back against the wall, shoving his hands through his hair. “Believe me, I'm sure.”

“You think it's here at the hotel?”

Reaves nodded. “I saw the fountain.”

Joshua started to reply but the doors suddenly opened and Caleb rushed out. The glass doors opening to the courtyard were across from the elevator. They led into a semi-lit patio-like area with several stone paths twisting away from it like the arms of an octopus. One path snaked its way straight to the fountain.

The rain was falling hard as Caleb and Joshua ran towards the pool of water. “Fuck!” Reaves swore as his eyes fell on the old L.L. Bean back pack Dean had inherited from him as well as the Red Sox cap discarded on the ground. Then Joshua was bending down picking up a very familiar sopping wet stuffed animal.

“WooBee,” Reaves whispered, eyeing the bear.

The other hunter held the dripping animal out at arms length with a disgusted frown. “Pardon?” Joshua raised a brow. “This escapee from the Island of Misfit Toys has a name?”

Caleb took WooBee from him. It had been a constant in the Winchester home since Dean had purchased it for his little brother from a yard sale. “It's Sammy's.”

Reaves lifted his eyes and recognized the stand of trees. He dropped the bear and drew his gun from the back of his jeans. Caleb took off at a dead run shouting Dean's name at the top of his lungs. “Dean!”

Joshua let out a string of expletives but removed his own weapon from the Mylar holster beneath his light sport's jacket. “So much for the element of surprise,” he muttered before chasing after Reaves.

Dean lay on the ground, dazed from the bad stumble that had landed him face first in a pile of wood chips and wet leaves. He didn't have time to recover his wind before his attacker's blow sent the rest of his breath rushing out of him. Through the ringing in his ears and the pattering of the rain striking the leaves he was sure he heard someone call his name.

The thing grabbed hold of him again before he could be sure. It jerked him up by his collar and this time it seemed immune to Dean's attempts to defend himself. But now he was sure he heard his name being called and recognized the voice through the pounding of blood in his ears. He managed to scream for help just as the monster's hands closed around his throat. “Caleb!”

Reaves heard Dean call out for him. Just like in the nightmare-the same as in the vision.

He knew it meant that time was running out. He opened his senses blocking out every thing except Dean. His vision narrowed, becoming black around the edges and he followed the intense feeling of fear and pain. It led him straight to a small opening where the man in the Michael Myers mask had Dean held up by the throat.

“Let him go you sonofabitch!” He yelled, moving closer to them and levering his weapon on the psycho. Dean was still weakly struggling and the man quickly shifted the boy so that his massive arm was across his throat. Dean's body was held protectively in front of him like a shield. “NOW!” Caleb demanded, releasing the safety on the gun, but knowing he couldn't attempt a shot without risking Dean.

He didn't have a chance to weigh his options further before the killer shoved Dean towards him and took off into the darkness. In hindsight Caleb would realize in that moment he could have pursued the evil, instead of protecting the innocent. He would have it pointed out to him that protocol would have called for him to continue the chase, to leave the hunter watching his six to account for the wounded. But even after mentally replaying it a hundred times, he would still come to the same conclusion. For him, there never was a choice.

“Dean!”

The twelve-year-old crumpled as soon as he was free of the man's hands. Only momentum and Caleb's quick reflexes kept him off the ground again.

“Reaves!” Joshua tore through the underbrush and his gaze landed on the limp form now held in the other hunter's arms.

“Go after the bastard!” Caleb growled, slowly sinking to the ground with the boy cradled to his chest. “Cut him down if you have to.”

Sawyer seemed to hesitate but then nodded and once again took off.

“Deuce?” Reaves choked, when Dean's head lolled off his shoulder. He couldn't tell if the kid was breathing and nearly panicked when his fingers brushed against the boy's icy cold skin. “Come on, kiddo.”

Caleb roughly patted Dean's face, nearly sobbing in relief when the twelve-year-old jerked in his arms and gasped loudly. “That's it,” Caleb dropped his chin to his chest. “Breathe.”

Every muscle in the boy's body seemed to tense and a delayed fight or flight reflex had him bucking against Reaves's grasp.

“Hey, it's okay. It's me.”

“No!” Dean rasped, shoving weakly at the hands trying to hold him down. He struggled to pull more air into his deprived body. “Don't!”

“Dean!” Caleb snapped. “It's me. Stop it.”

“Ca…leb?” He choked.

For a moment Reaves was terrified he hadn't reached Dean in time, worried the bastard had crushed something when he was strangling the kid. “Take it easy. You're safe.”

“Caleb…” Dean stopped fighting, settling back against the other hunter's chest, gulping in the air his body had been denied. “That thing…”

“Don't talk.” Caleb rubbed a hand up and down his back. “Just breathe slowly, okay?”

“It…hurts.”

Reaves remembered the feeling from his visions-like inhaling fire. He held Dean tighter, trying to keep as much rain from hitting him as possible as he felt the tremors start. “Shh, just keep doing it, Deuce. It'll get easier.” It took a while, but Dean's breath evened out, and he didn't seem to be struggling as much to pull air in.

“Did…you get him?”

“No.” Caleb rested his chin on the boy's hair. “But I got you.” Reaves raised his gaze to see if he could catch sight of Joshua or hear what might be happening. If his abilities had been at normal level he would have reached out for the other hunter, checked on his progress. But as it was he was afraid he might startle the man. “Sawyer went after him.”

Dean coughed a few times. “I'm… sorry.”

The psychic pulled away slightly, ignoring the apology. They'd have a little heart to heart later. “You okay? Where are you hurt?” Reaves ran his hand over the boy's head, wincing at the split lip and cut above his eye. He then ghosted his fingers across the raised red marks on the boy's throat. “Does it still hurt to breathe?”

Despite his gentleness, the kid still flinched. “I…I think I'm okay,” Dean replied, shakily.

Reaves sighed and reached out, taking the boy's chin in his hand. “Deuce, now's not the time to play superhero. Tell me what hurts the most.” After all he had gotten an up close and personal view of what the sonofabitch had done to the kid.

The boy blinked, still looking dazed and more than a little scared. “My throat…wrist...and knee.”

Caleb let him go and looked down at the boy's torn and bloodied jeans. He moved his hands to the deep, jagged wound running across Dean's knee cap and the kid hissed. “Does it feel busted or just banged up?” It was disconcerting that Dean had endured enough injuries to know the difference, but Reaves trusted his judgment.

“Nothing…broken,” he replied, hoarsely.

Reaves pulled him close again rubbing a hand up and down his bare arms, trying to warm him up. “That's good. Just hang in there.”

Pounding feet quickly approaching them caused Dean to jump and bury closer to Caleb with a whimpering noise of a wounded animal. It sent every one of the psychic's protective senses into overdrive. He cursed Joshua as the blond came into view and slid to a stop near them.

“I lost him in the parking garage.” The older hunter panted, bending over and bracing his hands on his knees. “Slippery bastard managed to get into one of the security doors. But I managed to get this.” Sawyer held up the Halloween mask.

Reaves rolled his eyes. “Great work, Starsky.”

Joshua nodded to Dean. “Is he okay?”

Caleb sent a glare to the other hunter. “I can't believe you lost him?” He shook his head. “You couldn't even get a shot off?”

“Excuse me if I didn't open fire in a public arena. Plus, I didn't see you running through the treacherous darkness in this godforsaken monsoon.”

Joshua was right about one thing. The rain had picked up, and thunder was rumbling louder in the distance. “We need to get him out of this storm.” Reaves managed to make it to his knees, Dean still clinging to him. The twelve-year-old was obviously in shock and possibly hurt worse than he seemed. As it was, he would not be walking out of there on his own.

Sawyer rolled his eyes and stepped forward. “We as in 'me', I suppose? You can barely move about freely on your own. If you were a horse, Jim would have put you out of your misery by now.”

Caleb hated to admit the other man was right, but the vision and his adrenaline-fueled run through the courtyard had taken almost all of his reserves. His healing ribs were starting to make themselves known, and he seriously doubted he could hoof Dean back to the hotel. “Still could have moved ass quicker than you.”

“If you're quite done with the critique, I'm sick of this rain.” Joshua reached down to take Dean, but as soon as he touched the boy, Dean clutched tighter to Caleb.

“Don't!” The twelve-year-old flinched, his voice filled with panic. “Don't go.”

“Hey.” Caleb held him closer for a moment, speaking into his ear. “I'm not going anywhere. It's just Josh. He's going to help get you back to the hotel.”

Dean shook his head. “No.”

“I'll be right here and…”

“No hotel,” Dean rasped. “Sammy….I…don't want him to see. He'll be scared.” And he sure the hell didn't want to see his grandfather in the condition he was in. He didn't want to look weak. It would only give the old man one more thing to use against his father.

“Just…take me home-to Jim's.”

“Un-uh, Deuce.” Caleb shook his head. “No way.”

“Please. I'm okay.” The boy gasped, still not letting go of the psychic. “Please.”

“Okay, I'm tired of this drama.” Joshua exhaled loudly. He frowned at Reaves. “You know you're going to cave. He knows you're going to cave. Please get on with it, so we can all get out of this godforsaken weather.”

Caleb lifted his gaze to Sawyer. “You're not helping.”

“On the contrary. I'd say I'm trying to be expedient in getting help.” His voice lowered. “The sooner we leave, the sooner Mackland can examine him for any serious injury.” Joshua was no expert, but the boy was shivering and the marks on his neck were already turning an ugly and garish purple. “For all we know his esophagus could be on the verge of collapsing.”

The psychic gave him an exasperated look as Dean once again clung to him. “Nice, Josh.” Caleb stood the rest of the way up, ignoring his screaming ribs. “You're okay, Deuce. You've had worst than this from a pesky poltergeist. Mac will fix you up in no time.”

“Can we go now?” Joshua asked, petulantly.

Finally, Reaves nodded, but felt his own moment of panic when Joshua easily took Dean from him.

Apparently, the kid felt the same way because he lifted his head to search out the psychic.

“You're fine,” Reaves told him, wincing as his body protested the effort to match Sawyer's pace.

“As long as he doesn't bleed on me, that is,” Joshua added, and Reaves was almost impressed with the man's diversionary tactic. “The rain has done enough damage but I'm afraid even my miracle worker of a dry cleaner won't be able to remove sanguineous stains.”

At least Caleb hoped it was a tactic. “Make an effort to clot, Deuce.”

Dean didn't give his usual grin at the bantering, but he did lose the deer in the headlight look, dropping his head back to Sawyer's shoulder. “Don't forget WooBee, Damien,” he whispered.

Joshua shot the psychic a glance, and for a moment Reaves almost thought he caught a look of understanding in the blond's blue eyes. But then Joshua was reprimanding Dean for his penchant for trouble and how rude it was to stand someone up after making specific plans.

Caleb sighed. If nothing else, the droning should put Dean out like a light.
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