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.

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Chapter 5/11

“It’s best to have failure happen early in life. It wakes up the Phoenix bird in you so you rise from the ashes.” - Anne Baxter

“Where’s Caleb?” Dean asked Mackland.

The doctor noticed his young patient was not making eye contact with his father. He didn’t know if Dean believed his father was truly disappointed in him or vice versa. John continued to wrap the ace bandage around his wrist.

“Downstairs.” Mac smiled at the boy. The twelve-year-old had been the victim of an attack, and Ames wanted to remind John, and so repeated the question. “Does this hurt?” The doctor carefully prodded the marks on Dean's neck.

The boy’s gaze went to the door. “Is he coming up here?”

“Answer Mackland’s question, Dean,” John ordered.

The twelve-year-old nodded." A little.”

The doctor winked at him. “But you can swallow?”

Again Dean nodded and Mac patted him on the shoulder. “I don’t think there is any lasting damage, young man. Although talking might be a little painful for awhile and you'll need to stay off this knee too.” Dean hadn't been talking much to anyone except Caleb since Sam had gone with their grandfather.

“That won’t be a problem,” John growled. “He’s not going anywhere for awhile.”

Dean glanced from his father to the doctor. “Can…Caleb come up now?”

“No,” John answered, loudly. “You and your partner in crime have spent enough time together.”

Dean tightened his lips together. It seemed as if the child was making a silent promise never to speak again, never to voice his needs.

“John.” Mac shot his friend a look. “Could I speak with you a second?”

“Sure.” Winchester gave the doctor a frown, but stepped through the adjoining door to Caleb’s room. He folded his arms over his chest. “What now, Mackland?”

“Don’t push this thing with Caleb. Your son was attacked.”

“Your son’s the one that’s done the pushing, Mac. He lied to me.”

“To protect your son.” Ames pinned him with a frown. “Is that not what you’ve drilled in his head for the last seven years?”

“I’ve also told him to follow orders. Why couldn’t he have taken to that idea?”

The doctor raked a hand through his hair, thinking maybe the reason was because Caleb was a lot more like John than either of them wanted to admit. “This is not about your pride, Johnathan. It’s about Dean and what he needs.”

“And he needs to be babied by Caleb? I don’t think so. He needs to stand on his own two feet, Mackland.”

“He just lost his brother- the person he loves most in this world. He feels betrayed by you and probably every other adult in his life because of it. And now he’s been attacked. He’s hurt and frightened.” Mackland sighed heavily. “And in case you’ve forgotten…he’s twelve for Christ‘s sake. If he finds some sort of security in Caleb’s presence, don’t you dare deny him that.”

“I don’t want him to hate me, Mac.”

The doctor sighed. Sometimes he wanted to beat some sense into the man, but other times when John looked at him and the pain was so visible in the dark gaze he was overcome with a sudden urge to protect him…even if it was from his own stupidity. “He doesn’t hate you, John.”

“Right. He just can’t stand to look at me.”

“It will take some time, my friend. There are a lot of wounds to heal, and the physical ones are merely the beginning.”

Winchester rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m still pissed at Caleb. The boy is going to have to learn to listen to me.”

Mackland snorted. “He utilizes selective listening.” The doctor pointed a finger at the other hunter. “Not unlike you. I remember many a time when Jim was not happy with your interpretations of his instructions.”

“But I’m a grown-up.”

“That is also up to interpretation, you know.”

John shook his head. “Damn, Mac. I’m so fucking tired of all this.”

The doctor clasped the other hunter’s shoulder and squeezed. “We’ll figure it all out, John.”

“I hope so because I can’t lose the rest of my family.”

The door to Caleb’s room opened and Reaves limped in. “Is this a private conference or can I crash?”

“No rest for the weary, Kid,” John said, glancing from Ames to the psychic. “Dean wants to see you.”

The younger hunter by-passed his bed and joined the other two men. “Is he okay, Dad?”

“Nothing some rest won’t heal. I don’t think he’ll be getting around very well with that knee. In fact, you two will probably make interesting bookends.”

Reaves nodded. “I figured as much.”

“He could probably use some company while I clean out the gash on his forehead.”

Caleb glanced at John. “That okay with you? Last time something like this happened I was banned from corrupting your son.”

Winchester frowned. “I’m still pissed at you, but we’ll discuss that later when you don’t look so much like a kicked pup.”

The psychic snorted. “Like that’s ever bothered you before.”

“Son, I suggest you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“Right.” He nodded and moved the rest of the way across the room, grabbing the book that lay on the dresser then entered Sam and Dean’s room.

“He does mean well, Johnathan.”

John sighed heavily. “So do I, Mac. So do I.”

Joshua followed in a moment later, placing his kit down. He pulled out a plastic bag, and handed it to Caleb. "You need to add this to some boiling water. It's a tea."

Mackland had taken his place again by Dean's bedside and moved his investigation to the bruises on Dean’s face and the gash on his forehead. "Joshua, can you tell me what's in that package you are giving to my son?" The doctor then flicked his eyes to John, who had gone back to working on Dean’s wrist. "Don’t wrap that so tightly.”

“I think I know how to wrap a sprain, Mackland.”

“And I think I have a medical degree, Johnathan.”

Winchester glared at him, but unwound the bandage and began to rewrap it.

"I have arnica for those bruises." Sawyer pulled out a container with white salve inside. "And the tea has kava, chamomile, and essence of poppy. . ."

"Poppy?"

"Not like I am going to the land of Oz." Caleb snorted. "I don’t know Dad, I think you should call Josh to consult on all your cases."

Sawyer perked up at that idea. "I can make myself available. I do believe there is a place for. . ."

"Go downstairs, Joshua." Ames dismissed the younger hunter.

"Very well." Sawyer quietly packed up his kit.

Caleb lifted the finely cut herbs in the bag towards Joshua in thanks. With Sawyer gone, Reaves took a seat on the other side of the bed. “You look like crap, Deuce.”

Dean glanced up from his inspection of his wrapped wrist and smirked at the younger hunter. “Pot calling the kettle black."

"You finally figured out what Jim means?" Reaves slumped down in one of the chairs in front of the bed. “I still pull it off better than you.” The psychic grinned. “And it took two guys to do this to me.”

“I’m twelve,” Dean pointed out. “And I don’t even know what it was that attacked me.”

Caleb’s smile faded. “They didn’t talk to you about that?”

“Not yet,” Mac explained.

“What was it?” Dean asked, glancing from Reaves to Ames. “Some evil spirit?” He finally looked at his father. “Dad?”

“It was a human, Ace. Just a very disturbed human being.”

“Like a serial killer?”

“That’s exactly what he is, Dean.” Mackland dug through his medical bag. “A very sick, demented person.”

Dean’s gaze went back to Caleb. “That’s what you’ve been having visions about?”

“Yeah.”

“That sucks.”

“Pretty much.”

“But I thought serial killers went after girls…I mean was he going to make a coat out of my skin or something?”

“I told you not to let him watch that movie.” Ames turned to his son, who shot Dean a frown.

“Why are you looking at me? John’s not exactly perseverant on the parental locks.”

“Why did this guy want to kill me?”

“Son, people are crazy,” John tried to explain. “They’re usually worse than anything we hunt.”

“Not all people,” Mackland was quick to correct. That’s all they needed was for John to pass his anti-social tendencies to his son. “Your father is speaking about those few who can’t function in the real world for one reason or another.”

“Conner said that about us.” Dean said softly.

“What?” John asked, stepping closer. “What did Charles say to you?”

“He said we lived in a different world.”

“It’s not the same thing, Deuce.” Caleb frowned. “That’s not what he meant.” There was no way in hell he wanted Dean thinking that he was some kind of freak.

The kid looked away from them. “Whatever.”

“We’re going to find him, Dean.” Ames assured, as he made quick work of cleaning the cut on Dean‘s forehead and the scratches on his cheeks. “And the police will handle him.”

Dean moved his gaze back to Mackland’s, wincing slightly at the stinging the antiseptic brought. “Before he hurts anymore kids?”

“Yes.” John and Caleb spoke at the same time.

Ames smiled at the twelve-year-old. “I think you can be sure of that.”

“Good.” Dean hissed, as Mackland pushed at the edges of the gash to place a butterfly bandage across it. Then suddenly a horrible thought passed through Dean's mind. He backed away from the doctor's ministrations. "What about Sammy? What if he hurts Sam?" The twelve-year-old tried to move off the bed, but was kept still by Caleb and John. “There’s no one to protect him.”

"Nothing's going to happen to Sam." Reaves said, trying to hold the struggling child.

"Ace, you need to calm down.” He noticed his son's wild looks and how he started to gulp in air. “Sammy's protected. I promise." John had made sure of that. Besides, Conner had his youngest son hidden from everyone.

Dean shook his head. He needed to go back to Sam, save him from the monster. Then he felt the prick on his arm. He looked at the doctor and gave him a sad, accusatory look.

"Relax, Dean. It'll be okay. I promise." Mac placed a hand on the adolescent's head, and waited for him to give in to the sedative. They lay him back on the pillows, and the doctor finished applying the neat row of butterfly bandages. "He'll be fine," he said to the two silent hunters watching his steadfast progress.

John cleared his throat. "Why don’t you two fill in Jim. I'm going to sit with him for a minute."

Ames ushered his son out of the room and down the stairs into the kitchen. Joshua had boiled some water, and Caleb threw the herbs at him. Bobby and Jim were seated at the table.

"How is he?" The pastor asked.

"He'll be fine. John's sitting with him right now." Mackland replied.

Murphy’s gaze went back to Caleb. “Perhaps something you saw in the vision this time can aid in stopping this killer from hurting anyone else.”

“I didn’t get much of anything new. I didn’t even try. I was too focused on Dean.”

“As the killer obviously was.” Mac rubbed a hand at his weary neck. “As he probably still is.”

“What?” Caleb looked up at his father.

Ames exhaled heavily. “The killer has yet to lose a victim. I doubt he’ll be happy about this defeat. Most follow strict patterns and yet when they are forced off course, they can become unpredictable-even more dangerous.”

“You think he’ll come after Dean again?” Caleb slowly shook his head. “Don’t you?”

Joshua placed the fragrant cup before him. He crossed his arms, waiting for the younger hunter to take a drink.

In the meantime John entered the room. He heard the comment. He took a seat next to Ames.

“I don’t know.” Mackland looked at John. “But I think keeping him within sight at all times would be wise. At least until I can get a lock on this man’s motive. The FBI has yet to find anything of his at a crime scene. I tried to get a reading from the victim's clothing, but that’s never an effective way. I read too much from the victim.”

“What if we have something of the killer’s?” Joshua asked and Caleb met his gaze.

“Damn. I forgot about the mask.”

“Mask?” Mac asked.

“The bastard dropped his disguise when Josh was trailing him.”

“I left it in the car.”

The doctor’s brow furrowed. “It could give me a reading, especially if it was a part of his pattern in the other attacks.”

“Speaking of patterns, I want to take a look at where the attack happened,” Bobby spoke up, glancing towards Sawyer. “Especially since we didn’t notify the local authorities about this latest attack.”

“I think that would be very responsible of you, Bobby,” Jim told him. “Seeing as how you took advantage of your role of detective earlier today.”

Singer nodded. “It all comes full circle, Jim.” He looked at Joshua. “That means me and Slick need to take another trip into town. He can play the clueless rookie to my veteran cop.”

“At this godforsaken hour?” Joshua protested. “Why do I have to go?”

“Because,” Singer snarled. “I’m not psychic and I’m sure as hell not carrying the pretty boy here after he passes out on my ass.”

“Take Atticus with you,” Jim suggested. “He still has a nose of a five-year-old and I’m sure he would like the chance to play Rin Tin Tin. After all, why should you and John have all the fun impersonating police officers?”

“Good thinking, Captain.” Bobby winked at the man, totally ignoring the subtle reprimands. It was no secret that The Guardian did not approve of the underhanded tactics sometimes needed in the name of the hunt. Although Singer knew for a fact that when Jim himself had been in the field he was legendary for the things he could come up with in a pinch.

“Great. Just great.” Joshua stood up, grumbling. “First, I have wet, bleeding hunters in my car and now wet, smelly, flea ridden mutts. What’s next?” He grabbed his keys from the table. “I’m beginning to feel quite like the glorified chauffer in this little establishment.”

“We all have our place, Kid,” Bobby informed him, tossing a knowing smirk to Jim and Caleb over his shoulder as he followed the still grumbling Sawyer out the kitchen.

Jim stood up. "Mackland, I prefer if you did nothing with that mask until the morning. It has been a long night for all of us." The pastor was going to sit with Dean for awhile, and say his evening prayers.

"I don't think I could concentrate on it if I tried." Ames replied. He stretched his arms. "Son, I think you should rest."

Caleb drained the last of Joshua's brew. He studied the remnants at the bottom of the cup. "You know this wasn’t that bad."

John chuckled.

Jim waited for Caleb to join him. "Good night, gentlemen." The pastor allowed Reaves to go first up the stairs, then made sure he went into his room. "I promise you can do the next watch." He added, knowing the psychic would want to watch over Dean too.

Joshua's tea worked well, allowing Caleb a few hours of sleep before he felt Jim's hand on his arm, waking him. He moved into Dean's room, a pencil, sketch pad and The Three Musketeers in hand.

The twelve-year-old still slept, turned on his side, facing the door. Caleb wasn’t surprised that Scout had sneaked her way into the bed next to the boy and was snoring softly. Jim was a sucker for anything with four paws and a tail. It reminded him of Sam and he wished Conner had followed through on his word and let the boy call them. He expected that if things did not change, it would be the first of many disappointments for all of them.

The psychic sat in the chair at the edge of the bed, and began to sketch the ring he had seen so clearly in the vision when the killer’s hands had been wrapped around Dean’s throat. He lost himself in the repetition of the design until he heard the kid's whimpering.

Reaves knew Dean was having a nightmare, reliving the attack. His first instinct was to wake the kid, but that little hunter’s voice taunted him with the opportunity to get closer to his prey. He took advantage of the situation, banishing the guilt he felt, and allowed the images to come to him.

He was immersed in the dream when the twelve-year-old surprised him by jerking straight up in bed with a scream. “No!”

“Easy.” Reaves caught his shoulders, gripping them reassuringly. He shouldn’t have let the nightmare get so far. “It was just a dream.”

Dean was shaking, his breaths coming in harsh pants. One of his hands fisted in the material of Reaves’s shirt. “Caleb?” He asked, blinking blearily up at the psychic.

“It’s me.” Even in the darkened room, Caleb could tell the kid’s pupils were dilated and he understood all too well the disoriented feeling the pain pills could produce. Maybe they should have given Dean some of Joshua’s tea. “You’re okay.”

“The guy…” he croaked, his voice still strained and raspy and way too painful sounding.

“Is gone.” Caleb cut his thoughts off, squeezing his shoulder before letting him go. “I promise he won’t get near you again.”

Dean blinked, struggling to swallow past the burning rawness. The man had been strangling him. He could still feel his fingers around his throat, their crushing strength. “But…”

Caleb intercepted the kid’s hand before he could touch his bruised neck. The psychic reached for the glass of water on the nightstand and offered it to Dean. “Here. Drink this.”

He made sure Dean had a hold of the glass before he let it go. The twelve-year-old took a drink, winced as he forced it down, and then pushed it back towards Caleb. “It…hurts.”

Reaves sighed, but took the cup back with a frown. “Do I need to get Mac?” He made to stand up but Dean grabbed hold of him, a haunted look of terror returning to his glassy green eyes.

“No! Don’t leave me.”

“Hey.” The psychic slowly sat back down. “Deuce, chill.” He pried the boy’s fingers from around his wrist but kept a grasp on the cold hand. “You’re safe.” Caleb wasn’t used to this reaction from the twelve-year-old. There had only been a few times before when Dean had ever been so clingy, and those situations had been extreme. All of those times had left Caleb feeling helpless, powerless and more than a little humbled by it all. Now was no different, except he was more determined than ever to fix it.

“Sammy?”

The question caught him off guard, and for a moment he was worried Dean was asking where his brother was. “Dean, Sammy’s not here.”

“I know.” The boy swallowed again, pain registering on his pale, sweat-slicked face. “I…mean is he safe?”

"Of course," Caleb answered without hesitation.

“That guy…”

“Is not going after Sammy.” Reaves didn’t know how, but he was sure of that. Dean had been the target. “I would know,” he added, with a tap of his own forehead when the boy looked up at him with doubt in his watery gaze.

“But you didn’t know…it was after me?”

It wasn’t said with any hint of accusation or malice, but it still sent a stab of guilt lancing through Caleb’s gut. He pushed it aside, understanding Dean’s need to assure himself of his kid brother’s safety. In fact, the psychic had worried about the same thing. “I…” He shook his head, trying to explain what he could understand now in hindsight. “I think I did know, Deuce. I just didn’t want to know it.”

The kid frowned. “I don’t get it.”

Reaves smiled, shakily. “Me either. You know how when you have a really bad dream about something that scares you more than you want to admit, and you wake up terrified, but you can’t remember what you’ve been dreaming of…only that it was really, really bad.”

Dean nodded, his unblinking gaze not leaving Caleb’s solemn face. “Yeah. Sometimes…I think I dream about my mom dying.”

Caleb nodded. He couldn’t recall one single nightmare about his parent’s death in clarity, but he knew he had had hundreds of them. “This was kind of the same thing. I’m sorry. I should have known before you got hurt. You have to believe me. I would have done anything to stop that.”

“It’s…not your fault,” Dean told him. “You saved me.”

“Barely.”

The kid’s mouth twitched. “So, losing me scares you, Damien?”

Reaves rolled his eyes, secretly thankful the boy knew exactly when to pull out the inappropriate humor. “Telling Sammy that Belac fell down on the whole watching Athewm’s scaly ass scares me.”

“Sure.” Dean shivered again. “Sammy’s really scary.”

Caleb took him by the shoulders, gently pushing him back down on the bed. He pulled the covers up over Dean’s chest. “Wait until he’s bigger than either one of us, and tell me that.”

The kid yawned, feeling the tug of the drugs calling him back to oblivion. “Where's WooBee?”

“Josh brought it in with your backpack.” Caleb slid his hand over the boy’s hair. "You want it?"

Dean nodded.

Reaves retrieved the much loved stuffed toy. He sat on the bed and placed WooBee on Dean's pillow. “Try to get some more sleep without the dreams this time.”

Dean nodded, his eyes drifting closed. “Stay…okay?”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good.” Dean forced his eyes open again, glancing up at Reaves. “Because…losing anybody else scares me too.”

Caleb winked at him. “We’re both a couple of pansies.”

“Yeah.” Dean grinned back, his eyes closing again. “Holding my hand… like some kind of girl.”

Caleb shook his head. “Goodnight, Deana.”

“’night, Reava.”

It was a moment before the kid’s breath evened out, and only then did the psychic remove his touch and move back to his chair. He’d no sooner got there when the bedroom door squeaked and Caleb looked up to find John leaning in the doorway. “He okay?”

Reaves frowned, wondering how long the older hunter had been standing there. He had a feeling it had been Dean’s scream that brought his father and that meant Winchester had been outside the door the whole time. His abilities were still too whacked to alert him to such things. It bothered him to think anyone could be lurking about and he would not sense it.

“Caleb?” John inquired, quietly stepping into the room where the small night light illuminated his weary features.

“He’s fine,” Reaves finally answered, his eyes unconsciously going back to Dean’s sleeping form. “Nightmare.”

John moved towards them. He lifted the Three Musketeers book and sketch pad from the seat of the chair Mac had pulled close to the bed when he was examining Dean and sat down. “I kind of figured that much out from the whole shouting thing. At first I thought it was Sammy.” He met the psychic’s gaze with a hint of a sheepish grin. “I’m so damn use to Dean handling those things.”

Caleb nodded. “I should have woken him up…but I was hoping to get a look at the man…find something that I might have missed.”

Winchester frowned, not understanding what the younger hunter was apologizing for. “I don’t understand.”

Reaves lifted his hand, waggled it. “I was watching, and didn’t pull out in time.”

John leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Did you see him?”

Caleb was almost surprised John didn’t reprimand him for failing to protect Dean from the killer for a second time that night. “No. He was wearing that fucking mask the entire time. That’s why I didn’t see him in the other visions.”

“Anything else unusual about him?”

“No.” The psychic pointed to the sketch pad where he had drawn the emblem. “But I did get a better look at the ring. It’s definitely a cross with letters in the four corners.”

John looked down at the paper he was holding and studied it. “This is good, Kid. We can get Bobby and Joshua on it first thing in the morning.”

“You think it might help?”

“It’s more than we had before and if Mackland can get a reading on the mask, then maybe we’ll get lucky.” John handed the sketch pad back to the younger hunter and nodded to the book he still held in his hand. “Three Musketeers? You’re really trying to fill his head with more ideals, aren’t you?”

Caleb shrugged. “Mac use to read it to me.” He remembered the first time the doctor had brought it with him to the institution where Caleb was being held for assessment. “It always made me feel safe.”

John’s brow furrowed, slightly surprised the younger man had revealed that last part. “Mackland’s a good father.”

Now it was Reaves's turn to be surprised. “Yeah.” Caleb swallowed thickly, held the other man’s gaze. “You aren’t so bad yourself.”

John laughed, giving his head a shake. “Oh, Kiddo, you suck at lying to me.” He didn’t give Caleb a chance to object. “I’m good at a lot of things, but not that.”

“That’s not true. You love them.” John was a good father in his own way. He tried his best and was as dedicated as Mac only differently. “I know you’d do anything to protect them-to keep them safe.” Even let them be taken by a greedy, self-centered bastard like Charles Conner.

“That’s only part of being a good parent, Caleb.” John exhaled, heavily. “Besides, I thought you were just chewing me out this morning for sucking at the job.”

Reaves snorted. “What the hell do I know, Johnny? I’m twenty. Mac wouldn’t even let me have a dog when I was kid.”

John grinned. “That’s because your daddy is a neat freak, not because he didn’t think you could handle taking care of something. Hell, I let you take care of Dean and Sam all the time.”

“But you’ve already pointed out that you're not the most responsible parent in the world.”

John laughed again, and Dean stirred slightly in his sleep. Caleb reached out, touched his arm, and the kid quieted.

“But that was one of the things I did right.”

Caleb glanced up at him, not sure how to take the rare praise. “Didn’t you just chew me out for sucking at the job a little while ago?”

“You should have called me as soon as you knew he was missing.”

“But…”

John held up a hand to cut him off. “But you didn’t want him to get in trouble. I get that. But he can’t go running off by himself, Caleb. Look where it got him.”

“I know I screwed up.”

“And I screwed up.” Winchester placed a hand on the back of his neck. “We’re both still learning. But between Jim and your Dad, we’ll get straightened out sooner or later.”

Caleb snorted. “Or drive them insane in the meantime.”

“Either way, it should be interesting.” John patted Caleb's leg, leaving the psychic still sitting on the bed.

“Never do have to worry about being bored, that’s for sure.” Reaves yawned, watching John go before letting his gaze travel back to Dean. The kid looked peaceful but Caleb decided to stay another minute just to make sure no more dreams came. He wouldn’t fail him again. He wouldn’t fail any of them.

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