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 6/11

“It is a fearful thing to love what Death can touch.” -Author unknown

Jim Murphy had finished carefully stirring the second scoop of flour into his secret pancake batter when the phone interrupted his humming rendition of Bob Dylan's The Times They Are A Changin'. It was seven in the morning and most of the house was still asleep, although he had heard John and Mackland moving about some time ago. Still, Murphy tried to move quietly and quickly to retrieve the ringing phone before the boys were disturbed.

He maneuvered around Atticus and Scout who were perched at their usual food pandering spots by the counter and grabbed the offending object before the third ring. “Hello.”

"Hi Pastor Jim!"

"Samuel, my boy.” Jim smiled, holding the handset slightly away from his ear. Sam still liked to speak loudly when communicating via the phone. “We've missed you."

"I missed you too! Can I talk to Dean? I had a bad dream about him. Mr. Conner says I can only talk for five minutes."

It was all said quickly, breathlessly, the sentences blurring together, but Jim caught the most important part. "He's sleeping, but I'll wake him.”

John chose that moment to stumble into the kitchen, heading blearily for the coffee pot. Jim reached out and snagged his sleeve. “In the meantime there is someone else who wants to talk to you."

Winchester frowned at that, his gaze going longingly towards the rich dark brew. “Jim…”

“It's Sam,” the pastor told him and watched the fog clear instantly from the dark eyes of the younger man.

John took the phone, a rare smile lighting his face and erasing some of the harsh lines caused from the sleepless night. “Sammy.”

“Hey, Daddy!”

Winchester winced at the loud greeting, but his smile held. It was so good to hear his boy's voice. “What's going on, Sport? Why are you up and about so early?” Sam usually slept in, his older brother being the one who would rise with the roosters.

“I was thinking about Dean. I had a bad dream about him. Is he okay?”

John sent a quick glance in Jim's direction, who pretended not to notice the 'what do I tell him' look. It was obvious the man was leaving him to fend for himself.

Murphy went to the other side of the kitchen and picked up the portable phone. He carried it upstairs, going into Dean's room and finding the boy and Caleb asleep with WooBee in the middle keeping watch.

The twelve-year-old was buried in a mound of blankets, his face towards the wall.

Reaves's lanky body was hanging half off the other side in a manner that could not have done his injured ribs any good. The one-eyed bear was perched carefully on the pillow in between. It brought a rush of warmth to Jim, like the morning sunlight streaming through the one lone window. The pastor smiled as he made his way towards them. It was the small things that sometimes made the insurmountable seem conquerable.

The pastor placed a hand on Reaves's shoulder, and was surprised when he had to give the boy a gentle shake to rouse him. Exhaustion was starting to take its toll on all of them.

“Wha…Jim?”

“It's morning.”

Caleb blinked up at Murphy, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “I just closed my eyes. What time is it?”

“A little after seven. Samuel is on the phone.”

The name worked better than any alarm clock and Dean began to stir. “Sammy?” He asked hoarsely, shoving the blankets away. He struggled to sit up, his unfocused gaze zeroing in on the phone in Jim's hand. “Is…he okay?”

Dean's voice was rough,but both Jim and Caleb's eyes were drawn to the vivid purple and blue marks marring Dean's neck. They stood out starkly against his pale skin as did the dark bruise on his cheek.

The pastor cleared his throat. “He wants to speak with you, my boy. Are you up to it?”

“I'm good.” The grating tone, like that of sand paper being scrubbed together, said differently. Murphy forced another smile and turned on the phone. “Your father's speaking to him on the other line.”

The twelve-year-old took the phone with his uninjured arm and quickly brought it to his ear, cradling it with his shoulder. “Sammy? Yeah. I got it now, Dad.”

Dean heard his father tell Sam goodbye and that he would talk to him soon then his brother's booming voice greeted him.

“Hey, Dean!”

Reaves shook his head when he clearly heard the younger boy's excited most definite 'outside' voice, which he often used as his 'phone and radio' tone too. Dean was explaining away his sore throat, reassuring his little brother he had just woken up. “I need coffee,” the psychic said. It was too early for 'Samsational' dialogue.

He gave Dean another concerned once over before swinging his jean-clad legs the rest of the way off the bed. Caleb winced as he sat up and found Jim favoring him with a worried look. “Caffeine will make me all better, Jim. I swear.” He tossed another look in Dean's direction. “Yell for me before you let him go. I want to talk to him.”

“He's fine too.” Dean said into the phone, nodding at Reaves's request. “He's right here. You can talk to him in a minute.”

Before Caleb could make it off the bed Dean huffed in frustration and caught his sleeve.

The phone was thrust towards him.

“What?” he asked as the younger boy covered the mouth piece and pushed for him to take the headset.

“He wants to talk to you now,” Dean rasped in a whisper. “Don't tell him anything.”

Sammy wasn't buying the 'I'm fine' routine. Caleb rolled his eyes. “Glad you told me it was a secret, Deuce. I would have given him the whole spiel about the serial killer who almost strangled his big brother to death.”

“I'll leave you two boys to take care of this little situation.” Jim wanted to stay and see what lie Reaves's created. He was always amazed at the elaborateness of the stories the hunter's created, not realizing simple was always best. Jim decided to start back towards the stairs. “Breakfast will be ready shortly, complete with caffeine.”

“Hey, Runt.” Reaves kept his gaze on Dean, watching the boy pick at the clip holding the ace bandage around his wrist.

“Hi, Caleb.”

“I thought we were going to talk to you last night.”

The psychic heard the youngest Winchester sigh heavily and his lip twitched as he imagined the look on the kid's face. It would be the same one of frustrations and consternation he always got when they were forced to wait in line at McDonald's or when he was trying to explain something that no one else was quite grasping.

“Mr. Conner wouldn't let me. He said it was impolite to make calls so late. So I got him up extra early.”

Reaves laughed. “I'm sure he appreciated that.” It did Caleb good to think about the business magnate being tortured by a whining Sam. Served him right. He hoped Sammy gave him hell every day.

“Are you and Dean okay? I had another dream.”

“What kind of dream?” Dean punched his leg and Caleb gave him a scowl. “Good or bad?” he asked the youngest Winchester.

“It was scary.”

“A dream about me and Dean? That doesn't sound too bad, kiddo.” Dean made a rolling motion with his hand for him to wrap it up. Reaves ignored it Caleb didn't think there was any harm in finding out what Sam had seen especially if it was possibly linked to last night. “Were you with us?”

“No. A monster was with you.”

That sounded about right. “What kind of monster?”

“I don't know. But he hurt you and ran away with Dean.”

Caleb sighed when he recognized the slight tremble of fear in the child's voice. Not much scared the seven-year-old and he hated that the boy was so far away from the one person that could make him feel completely safe. The psychic glanced at Dean. “I wouldn't worry about it too much, Sammy. I'll watch out for your brother. I promise.”

“Why does Dean sound funny? Does he have a cold?”

The boy was damn sharp. Reaves pinched at the bridge of his nose, feeling the beginnings of what promised to be a hell of a headache. “I think his voice is changing. Now, not only will he look like a girl, he'll probably sound like a girl for the next few weeks.”

Another punch and a grab for the phone had Caleb standing up out of Dean's reach. “Listen, Sammy, I'm going to give you back to him, but you do most of the talking okay. Let Deana rest her voice.”

The little boy's giggle was as welcome as the cocky smirk and go to hell look Dean shot him. “I'll talk to you soon.”

Dean didn't hear what his brother was saying on the other line, but Caleb gave his clipped “Ditto, Runt,” which was his usual way of replying when Sam turned on the whole love fest. Sometimes watching Sam lavish affection on the older hunter was hilarious. His brother had no hang-ups about telling the people he cared for exactly how he felt. Dean wasn't sure when he had stopped expressing his feelings with words, had never known a time when Reaves did, and he wondered if the same affliction would someday effect Sam. He hoped not.

Dean took the phone back from the psychic, and his brother began to ramble on about nothing. Dean was glad Caleb had left the room. He wasn't able to keep it together as Sam asked him when they would be together again.

He sucked in a hitching breath. “I'm not sure, Sammy.”

“I don't like it here. I want to come home now. I miss you.”

The happiness had been leached from his brother's voice, the excitement of talking with his family now gone. Dean tried to redirect, take his mind off of the hurt, like he did when Sam had a physical pain. “Is Mr. Conner treating you okay? How's the nanny?”

“Manuela is nice. She reads with me, but Mr. Conner is grumpy.”

“Just hang in there, kiddo.”

Sam said something into the phone, but his voice was so low Dean couldn't hear what he said. “What? Why are you whispering?”

“I said I could runaway and come to the farm. I can take a bus, like we do sometimes in the city, like you did when you ran away to Caleb's school. I saw the station coming in.”

“No!” Dean snapped, a sharp twinge vibrating his raw throat. He knew all too well what that could lead to. “That's not safe, Sam. Promise me you won't do anything like that.”

When the boy said nothing, Dean tightened his grip on the phone. “Super swear, Sam. Now!”

“But we can't lock pinkies…”

“No buts. Swear it.”

“I swear.”

“Good. Let Dad handle this okay.”

“But Mr. Conner says we're leaving soon. He says we're going to live in some lady's vineyard.”

“What?”

“Some lady named Martha.”

Dean didn't know exactly what his brother was referring to, but he could hear tears in Sam's voice. The idea of his little brother leaving definitely resonated. “Don't worry. We'll figure it out. I promise.”

“Do you still love me, Dean?”

Dean's throat began to burn, his eyes stinging once more. “Of course I do, Sammy. Why would you ask that?”

“Mr. Conner says we're not brothers anymore. He says I won't be a Winchester for very much longer. I'm getting mommy's old name.”

“That won't happen, Sam. I don't care what anyone says. No matter what your name is, you're still my brother. Dad is still your dad.” Dean had tried to make his brother feel safe with Conner, but now he was beginning to think it had been the wrong way to go. He wasn't sure what he expected, maybe to wake up and it all to be a bad dream.

“The dragons will save me before it's too late. Right?”

God, Dean hoped so. But if the heroes he had grown up believing in couldn't stop a human killer then how were they going to stop Conner from running away with Sam for good. Maybe dragon magic only worked in the world of the supernatural.

Maybe his grandfather had been right when he said the two worlds were completely different. In this new world, Dean felt helpless and hopeless. But he refused to share this new information with his brother. “Of course they will, Sammy.”

“I have to go.”

The older Winchester heard Conner's voice in the background. “Okay, little brother. Remember your promise. No leaving the hotel. Got it?”

“Okay. I love you, Dean.”

The click was loud and ominous in his ear. He blinked, feeling the warmth of the tears on his cheek. WooBee was staring at him sympathetically. “I love you too, Sammy.”

When Dean came downstairs everyone else was at the breakfast table. He took the empty seat next to Reaves, offering Jim a faint smile as the man placed a glass of milk in front of him.

"One more day of resting for you both," Mac said, pointing a fork at Caleb and Dean. “I'm expecting nothing more strenuous than a game of cards, or channel surfing.”

Caleb shot Dean a conspiratorial look. “I think a second opinion is called for. How about you, Deuce?”

The boy shrugged, playing along. “Never hurts.”

Caleb turned to the blond hunter on the other side of him, who was hidden behind the business section of Jim's paper. “So-do you agree Josh? Or can that brew of yours have us on the healthy list any sooner?"

Sawyer peered around the print. “It has been known…”

Mackland reached out and snatched the newspaper so that Joshua had no where to hide. “As long as I'm the only one with letters after my name, there will be no consultations or collaborations of treatment in this regiment.”

“Does that mean I can't have some of Josh's magic tea?”

Caleb laughed at the look his father shot Dean, but quickly shoveled a forkful of Jim's pancakes in his mouth when Mac turned his accusing gaze on him.

“I don't like the pills either.” Dean said seriously, shoving his own food around on his plate. He really wasn't sure his throat could handle anything solid.

“You'll take what Mackland tells you to take, Ace,” John said, taking a drink of his coffee. “It's not up for debate.”

“But Caleb…”

“Is not twelve.” John gave his son a look that had him turning his eyes back to his plate.

Reaves cleared his throat. “So, Dad, did you get anything from the mask?”

“Yeah, you were feeling that thing up with all the care and concentration of your first fu…” Bobby's observation was cut off by a grunt when Jim kicked him under the table. He shot the pastor a hurt look. “What?”

“I think I got a pretty good reading.” Mac said, evasively, his eyes going to Dean.

“Perhaps we should…”

Dean shoved away from the table, interrupting Ames. Everyone was looking at him. “I get it! I'm twelve!” He snapped, picking up on the doctor's intent, standing abruptly to leave the room. His hand went to his throat as the anger caused it to flame. “Whatever.” He was sick of all of them.

“Dean!” John reached out to stop him, grabbing his bandaged arm by mistake. The kid yelped and Reaves slammed his fork down on his plate.

“That's enough.” Jim said sharply, bringing everyone's gaze to him. “Johnathan, let the boy go. Dean, sit back down.” He narrowed his eyes on Caleb. “And that's Emma's good China you're banging around.”

“Sorry, sir,” Reaves said contritely, ducking his head slightly.

Dean nodded his apology miserably as he sank back in his chair, sharing a quick look with Caleb.

John exhaled, heavily. “Apologize to Mackland, Dean.” He knew Dean was hurt. Talking to Sam had obviously not cheered him up any, but he wouldn't allow the boy to disrespect his elders, especially Ames.

“That's not necessary.” Mac raked a hand through his hair, feeling physically frazzled by the sudden tension in the room. “Let's just all start over.”

“Not all of us were being obnoxious brats,” Joshua pointed out, but by the look on his face it was obvious he hadn't intended to actually speak the statement out loud.

“If we want commentary from the chauffeur, we'll beat it out of you.” Bobby grunted still pouting over his smarting shin. “I for one would like to finish my damn breakfast.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea.” Jim agreed. “Then we will discuss Mackland's findings.” He looked pointedly at Ames and then to Dean. “All of us. We are in this together, after all. What is it the Musketeers say?”

Dean's mouth twitched as Caleb quickly supplied the creed. “All for one and one for all.” He could be almost as much of a dork as Sam. Sammy. His heart still ached from the conversation with his brother, all the emotions too close to the surface.

“You should have team shirts made.” Joshua smirked from safely behind his paper once more.

“Shut up.” Caleb growled.

Jim sighed, casting a quick glance heavenward. He wondered briefly if Emma was getting a good laugh at his expense. After all, Jim was the one who longed for a household full of children. “Eat your breakfast, boys, before it gets cold.”

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They had moved into the library, which allowed them access to the hidden room behind the movable book shelves. The secret alcove often served as a planning room. It was decorated in similar fashion as the library, painted in warm colors and furnished with large comfortable chairs and a large round oak table.

But instead of the shelves of classic novels, there were books on everything supernatural from A to Z. There was also a smaller section of personal journals from hunters long past. If it had ever been sighted or hunted, one could find reference to it in this room Caleb had affectionately named 'The Hunters Tomb.'

There were enough topical and geographical maps of the United States and bordering countries to make any geography teacher green with envy. A state of the art communication center graced one wall, complete with widescreen television, a shortwave radio and police scanners.

Intricate paintings of knights and mythical creatures along with a seaside landscape adorned the walls, as well as an oddly chosen oil portrait of Abraham Lincoln. Bobby had once told the boys the former president had been a member of The Brotherhood. Jim denied it, but Singer insisted it was true.

To complete the Hunter's hideaway, weapons of every nature were housed in a false closet. Jim also had a locked bullet proof display of antiquities of reputable power.

Once everyone was seated at the round table, Mackland took center stage.

He had brought a notepad with his unintelligible scribbling lining the front. Mac peered at it a moment before starting.

“As you know, we've figured out that the thing behind the recent disappearance and subsequent murders of the young children is not a thing at all, but a human.”

“That's using the term loosely,” Bobby pointed out and Mackland gave the mechanic a quick exasperated glance to let him know he should follow his own advice about the contribution of commentary.

“From what I can tell,” Ames continued. “The man is highly disturbed as his actions very well indicate. I got the impression that he has not been doing this for long. That leads me to believe that he is fairly young. If we assume he is a typical serial killer, it is likely he has been building up to these acts. He could have started by harming animals, other children when he was younger, and is just now moving onto what he truly craves.”

“So, he's just getting started?” John leaned back in his chair. “You still think he will come after Dean again?”

Caleb didn't miss the way the boy next to him tensed, how his eyes shifted from the table to Ames. Dean was going to read the doctor's face for any sign of deception. “I do.”

Reaves bit his lip, trying to fight the irrational fear that confession caused. Dean was safe where he was. No one could breach their sanctuary. Of course the aching absence of Sam taunted that wasn't exactly true. “What makes you so sure, Dad?”

“He picked Dean for a reason. I get a strong reading of purpose, a plan. He's not killing out of randomness. There's something he's seeking.”

“Like any predator.” Joshua interjected. “Some animals will stalk their prey for hundreds of miles once they have targeted them.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wild Kingdom.” Caleb glared at the blond hunter. “But I'd really like to hear from the man with the letters after his name.”

“He's right. This man's desires, whatever they may be, are almost intrinsic. It's like his very life depends on fulfilling his plan. ”

“And you're sure he's not possessed, or some kind of monster?”

Mackland shook his head at Bobby's question. “I truly don't get that feeling. This is a person. A very sick and twisted individual, but a human nonetheless.”

“Which is not something we are use to dealing with.” Jim scratched at his chin. “Of course the rare occasion has arisen where humans have been involved in supernatural hunts, but we have contacts with the appropriate authorities to deal with that.”

“But this involves one of our own,” Caleb was quick to point out. “We have to act.”

“So did the thing with Sammy,” Dean added, a slight hint of anger coating his scratchy words as he looked at the men gathered around the table. The whole thing with his grandfather had definitely involved one of their own and the Brotherhood had chosen not to act.

John exhaled heavily. “We have not fed your brother to the wolves, Ace. I miss him, too, damn it. We all do. He's fine. He’s living it up in a penthouse suite. He's protected.”

“He's not here.”

“But you are, my boy.” Jim met Dean's challenging gaze. “You are at the center of this storm, and we must deal with it before you or any other innocent child is harmed. I swear I have not forsaken Samuel.”

Dean slumped back in his chair, his lips pressing tightly together. Mac gave him a sympathetic look but continued on. “What worries me most, to borrow Joshua's analogy is that now our predator is going to behave like a wounded, starved animal. He will more than likely be unpredictable and feel even more desperate to get what he wants.”

“Meaning he's a hell of a lot more dangerous.” John glanced down at his opened journal.

“We had the boys disappearing at monthly intervals, then weekly. You think he's going to kick it up another notch?”

“He's spiraling quickly. Whatever is driving him is becoming more insistent and his pathology is worsening.”

Jim pointed to the mask, lying ominously in the center of the table. “Did you pick up any images of where he might be, Mackland? Like you do when you are searching for victims?”

“Some.” Mac shook his head. “I saw a building, like a warehouse. It wasn't abandoned, but well-kept. Then there were the propellers?”

“Propellers?” Bobby's mouth twitched. “Like the pasty kind?”

“And I wonder where my son gets his lascivious view of intimacy.” The doctor sighed.

“I was speaking of the aviation sort. I believe there were planes.”

“A hangar?” Caleb asked. “Like in a private air strip?”

“Perhaps.”

Jim stood going to the wall of maps where he pulled down one of New Haven and the surrounding areas. “The closest landing strip that I know of is in St. Spears, which is just on the outskirt of Cookeville. There is another in Morristown.”

“There are also private holding spaces at the larger international airports,” Joshua added. “I have associates that choose to provide their own transportation instead of relying on public means.”

“If he's taking the bodies there to…” Caleb found himself brought up short as he thought of what the bastard did to the boys, unwilling to say the unthinkable in front of Dean. “To perform his sick ritual, then he's going to want privacy.”

“I agree.” John nodded. “Mackland and I could check out the strips on the outskirts, work our way to Louisville.”

“What should me and Slick do?” Bobby jerked his chin towards Sawyer, who seemed resigned to his fate as the grizzled hunter's sidekick.

“I want you to take that sketch that Junior did of the ring.” John motioned towards Caleb's sketch pad. “See what you can dig up now that it's clear.”

“And what if those two avenues turn up nothing?” Jim challenged being what the boys liked to call 'the professor'. “Have you two come up with a back up plan? I want this man off the streets.”

The Scholar and Knight shared a look. “We thought we could set a trap.” Actually it had been John's idea, but as much as Ames didn't like the particulars he had to agree it might be their only alternative.

“A trap?” Jim frowned. “Lure the animal into a cage.”

“Exactly.” John nodded. It was a good strategy. Offensive maneuvers were more John's style. He was sick of being caught with his pants around his fucking ankles. “Bring the bastard to us, on our terms and then take him down.”

“But what the hell are you going to use as bait?” Bobby asked. “Sick fucker ain't going to wander up on the porch like a possum out for a stroll.”

Again Scholar and Knight shared a silent communication and Mackland glanced to the twelve-year-old. “We were hoping Dean could help us with that.”

“What?” Caleb demanded feeling as if his father had delivered a hard right hook. He fired a disbelieving look to Ames and then to Winchester. “You're joking, right?”

“I don't know if that is such a good idea,” Jim said quietly, studying the other members of

The Triad with the same intensity as Caleb, but without the judgment. “I would prefer not to take such a risk.”

“He wouldn't be in any danger, Jim.” John glanced to his son, who was sitting up straighter now, watching the exchange. “We would be there the entire time.”

“And we would only do it if our other ideas do not develop to fruition. It would be a last resort.”

“Are you kidding me?” Reaves noticed his father was purposefully avoiding his eyes.

“What are you going to do? Set him out in a dark, deserted park and hope to attract the right killer. Isn't that a little like tossing a bloodied fish into the ocean and hoping the right shark will swallow it?”

“We have a plan, kid,” John snapped, falling back on his usual impatience at having his orders questioned. “We'll set it up like his last trip into the city. Have Dean retrace his steps in going to see Sam. The man obvious tracked him there. We just want him to do exactly what he did last night.”

“You want him to what?” Caleb could not believe what Winchester was suggesting. “You practically tore both our heads off for that little stunt. Now you're going to encourage him to do it?” He turned on his father. “Is this some kind of reverse psychology shit?”

“Damn it, Caleb. It might be the only way.” John replied before Ames. “It won't be the first time one of us has been bait.”

“One of us!” Reaves snapped. “Adults. Grown-ups.” He pointed to his ring. “Members of The Brotherhood. Not him.”

“You want to point out my age too?” Dean turned a traitorous gaze on the psychic, finally speaking up. “I'm sitting right here and I'm not a baby!” His voice cracked at the end, not being able to keep up with the heated exchange.

“You're also not a carrot to dangle in front of some sick freak.” Caleb growled. “You really want to give him another chance at you, Deuce?” He shook his head. “Because I got the impression last night that was the last thing you wanted.”

“I don't want anyone else to get hurt.” Dean was tired of feeling helpless, of watching things spiral out of control. And if he got to see his brother then that was a bonus.

Caleb wasn't sure if that was code for Dean didn't want Sam to get hurt or he didn't want to disappoint his father and the other older hunters. There was also the idea Dean just didn't give a shit since his brother was gone. No matter the reasoning, it wasn't going to fly. “And I don't want you to get hurt, goddamnit!” Was everyone willing to overlook that possibility? “This isn't right and you know it.” His accusing gaze went to John. “You already sacrificed Sam. You willing to do it again?”

“I didn't sacrifice Sam!” John yelled. “I had no choice but to let him go with Conner, and trust me that battle is far from over.”

“It's my choice,” Dean spoke up, stronger this time. “I want to get this guy. I might not have a ring, but I'm still a hunter. I've helped Dad lots of times.” His voice faded in and out on some of the hard consonants of certain words.

Caleb looked at him for a long moment, neither of them saying anything. Then Reaves blinked, his voice softening. “Would you want Sam to do this?”

The mortified stare was all the answer the psychic needed. “That's what I thought.”

“It's not the same.” Dean stubbornly refused to acknowledge he might need protecting.

“Fine. Do whatever the hell you want, Dean. But I won't be around to watch.” Caleb started for the door, the little voice in his head niggling at him that he was being childish. He felt the boy's fear, knowing the twelve-year-old didn't want him to go. His instincts screamed for him to stop, but he continued on. It served the little shit right. Turnabout was fair play.

“Where are you going?” Mackland asked, wearily.

Caleb kept on going. “Out.” He slammed the door behind him.

“He won't go far.” Mac told Dean, seeing the slight deer in the headlight look. Sometimes Caleb didn't realize just how close he was following in John's shadow.

“How do you know?”

Ames smiled, reassuringly. “Because you're still here, and despite what he said he won't let you out of his sight for long, especially now.”

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