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 9/11

“We’re our own dragons as well as our own heroes. We have to rescue ourselves from ourselves.” -Tom Robbins

Mackland held the old Red Sox baseball cap in his hand, focusing his attention, praying he would pick up a feeling that would lead them to Dean. He had done the action many times before, relying on his gift of psychometrics to locate the owner of a special object that had been brought to him. Usually the haunted eyes of parents shadowed his ever move, desperately waiting for him to bring them a shred of news about their child. Often times his lead brought only pain, confirmation of a loss. At the most it delivered some semblance of peace.

It was always hard. Now it was his closest friend. He could feel John staring at him as well as Caleb, waiting on bated breath for him to give them some link, some strand of hope Dean was still alive. Mac would forever have a new understanding of the power he wielded-the responsibility he accepted with each case he chose to become involved with. Never again would he be able to see it as merely a job.

“Dad?” Caleb’s voice had him sighing.

“Son, could you please move back a few steps.” Mackland looked at him. “And stop trying to read me.”

Reaves paced around his father. “I don’t think you need to do this. Maybe I can track him.”

Ames shared a look with John.

The other hunter raked a hand through his hair. “Caleb, sit down or go outside.”

The doctor knew his son connected his work to death. “Son, sometimes I find live victims. This isn’t a death sentence.”

Caleb’s lips pursed and he looked at the ball cap. “But…”

“We don’t have time for this!” John snapped. “Mac, do what you need to do.”

Ames closed his eyes again, fingers traced around the B on the cap, letting go of his own worry and doubts. Emotions came to him first. Faint ones he knew from experience were old, then a stronger, predominant rush of fear.

It was the same with most victims, but then there would be a darkness, a deep hollow sensation when Mackland would know the person he was searching for was gone. The smile wasn’t appropriate but it came along with the strong surge of anger that suddenly flowed through him. Dean was alive and pissed.

“He’s alive.”

“Thank God.” John exhaled heavily and Caleb slumped into the pew beside him.

“Dad?” he questioned again.

Mac held up a hand, keeping his eyes closed. The flashes of images were coming now. A tree lined path. A fountain with an angel, arms outstretched. Then a room covered in photos. Children with blank staring eyes, bruised and bloodied bodies. Ames winced, blinking away the scene and the nightmarish pictures. He rubbed a finger over his eyebrow, taking a deep breath before facing John and Caleb.

“Was there a fountain at the hotel?”

Caleb frowned. “Yeah. But he wouldn’t go back there…”

“Was there an angel in the center? Trees around the courtyard?”

Reaves nodded. “He’s really lost it if he dragged Dean back to the center of town.”

“Apparently he’s either not as smart as I originally thought, or very clever.”

“Hiding in plain sight.” John stood, pacing. “Damn. That’s a fucking public place. Conner’s money would allow him private access to the penthouse. He probably has his own wing. We’re going to have think about this.”

“We need to make sure Sam is secure and that Manuela knows what’s going on.”

Mackland returned the ball cap to John.

John accepted the hat, and rubbed his hand along the brim. “Jim went to try to call her again. Joshua and Bobby are putting things in the Impala.”

“Can you call Conner?”

John folded the hat, and tucked it inside his jacket. “He won’t accept my calls. Fucker screens them through a service.”

Caleb’s dislike of the man was growing by leaps and bounds. “Sonofabitch.”

Mac placed a hand on Winchester’s arm. “We know he’s alive, John. We know where he is.” He shifted his gaze to include Caleb. “Let’s go get him.”

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The nightmare was supposed to end when you awoke, not get worse. Not only had Dean found himself in the hands of a psychotic killer, but his little brother was about to enter into the lion’s den. He mumbled loudly through the gag, fighting his restraints.

“Hush!” Peter reprimanded, pressing the knife close to Dean’s throat again. “One word from you and you’ll become an instant only child.” Marcus traced his finger down the boy’s cheek trailing one angry tear. “No one’s going to rescue you this time. Don’t forget what happened to your buddy Reaves.”

Dean jerked away, but kept quiet. Peter smiled. “I’ll be back. If you play nice, Sam will be fine.”

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The back entrance of the hotel was barely lit, but the cloudless night sky offered some illumination from the half moon. From the plans Reaves had drawn for them from memory, John devised a well-detailed maneuver. The hedge-lined path leading to the brick walkway would offer them cover most of the way to the door. Bobby would break off, moving to the stand of trees where Caleb had stopped the original attack on Dean.

John would position himself in the bushes by the door, probably in the same place Marcus had lain in wait for Dean. They were planning to flush the man out into the open, taking him with the least threat of danger to innocent bystanders- with the least risk to Dean and possibly Sam. Winchester was thankful it was late and the parking lot to the hotel was bare. If they were lucky, there would be minimal interference from civilians.

“Are they here?” John looked at Caleb.

The psychic was staring up at the building. He closed his eyes for a moment, took a deep breath. Reaves concentrated on Dean. His talent didn’t necessarily lie in the area of detecting another’s presence, but when it came to those he was close to, he could get a sense of their location. It came in handy on hunts, when he could keep a mental map of the players on the field. Every one had their own energy. His grandmother called it aura. It worked well with John and Bobby, but it was strongest with Dean and Sam. “Yeah.” He looked at his mentor. “He’s here. Sammy, too.”

“Are they together?”

“I can’t tell.” Caleb winced as he once again tried to follow the mental thread to the boys. Things were still out of whack. “It’s not clear.”

John nodded. “At least we know they’re here.” He turned to Sawyer. “Joshua, I want you to back up Mackland.”

“What?” Caleb asked, sidling closer to John who was now using the binoculars to watch the hotel. “I’m going up with Dad.”

“No.” John lowered the glasses. “Manuela is almost here. If we need more back up she’ll go. You’re going to watch the hallway into the main lobby.”

“Why?” Reaves demanded. “I’m usually on point.”

“No.” Winchester shook his head, dismissing the younger hunter‘s protests. “You know the plan.” He understood why Caleb wanted to be in the thick of things, but feelings couldn’t get in the way of the mission.

“I’m the better shot.”

Joshua grumbled his disagreement. “As well as being able to dodge speeding bullets and leap buildings with a single bound.”

“Shut up.”

John silenced Caleb with a look. “Sawyer is bringing up Mackland’s rear. Bobby is taking point with me. You are watching the hallway that leads into the front lobby.”

“But Dean…”

“You weren’t on the top of your game before being shot, Junior. You were hit in your dominant arm.” Winchester’s voice was sharp and commanding, a sure sign he was quickly losing patience. “I can’t risk you being one of the key players.”

Caleb looked away, flexing his left hand, feeling the burning sensation racing along his bicep. He hated that John was right. This was a hunt. No time for dissention. Dean and Sam’s lives hung in the balance. “Yes, sir.”

Winchester softened his tone. Mackland was right. Caleb had been hurt in this as much as anyone and he knew the guilt from being unable to keep Dean safe was eating away at the kid. “Hey.” He waited for the younger hunter to look at him. “I need you down there. We’re betting most of our money on him coming this way, but best laid plans and all… That bastard can’t get by us.”

Reaves nodded as his father stepped along side them, shouldering a duffel which he set at John’s feet. “I’m going to speak to Conner alone. Manuela told Bobby that Sam was getting ready for bed when she left to run the errand for Charles. We can hope he’s safe and asleep.”

“Charles isn’t going to buy into all this. He’ll think it’s a trick.”

“Then I’ll have to persuade him.” Ames checked his weapon and slid the gun into the side holster under his jacket. “We’ll need him to cooperate if we’re to get Marcus out in the open.”

John cast another look towards the hotel and then around their perimeter. “Jim?”

Mac met his gaze. “He said he was getting closer to God.”

“Good. We’re going to need all the help we can get.”

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“Hey, Sam.” Peter opened the door to his suite. He offered the seven-year-old a forced smile, waving him in. “What brings you down so late? It’s past your bed time, isn’t it?”

The boy moved into the room, glancing around. “Were you sleeping?” He asked, answering the question with a question, a habit that seemed to drive his grandfather crazy. The businessman’s reaction only encouraged the behavior.

“No. I was talking to a friend on the phone, actually.”

“A girlfriend?” Sam walked behind the small couch. “Caleb talks to girls on the phone sometimes.”

Marcus closed the door, following the kid’s perusal of the room. “Don’t have a girlfriend.”

Sam stopped by the coffee table he had used as a castle the night before. “Have you seen my white dragon?”

“I don’t think so.” Peter lied. “Did you lose it?”

Sam dropped to his knees and checked under the couch, using his hand to pat the places he couldn’t quite see. “Maybe.”

“I hope not. You had a nice collection.”

The boy sat on his bottom and looked up at Marcus. “I have one for everybody in my family, except for Bobby. But Caleb gave me a troll doll for him. Obbinger works in the royal stables.”

“I see.”

“But Astorim is the leader. He runs the castle.”

“I can understand why he would be important.”

Sam stood making his way towards the hallway. “Are you sure I didn’t leave him in one of the other rooms?”

Peter quickly moved in front of the boy as he neared the first bedroom door. “I’m sure. I would have found it by now.”

Sam frowned, tilting his head slightly. A familiar feeling washed over him, as gooseflesh covered his arms. He shivered. “A possum just crossed over my grave.”

“What?” Peter asked, practically leaning against the door now.

“Pastor Jim says that when he gets a funny feeling.” The child shrugged. “But I don’t really know how a person has a grave unless their dead. Or what possums have to do with it. Did you know they are marsupials?”

“Huh?”

“Like kangaroos,” Sam explained, his hand, brushing against the door Marcus was guarding. “Dean read me a story about them once.”

“Speaking of stories, I really think it is past your bedtime.” A part of Marcus was slightly charged by the idea of Sam bearing witness to his transformation. But if he were to become one with Dean, the less of those close to the boy to know the truth the better. It would allow Peter to step into the boy’s world completely. He could bond with Sam later.

Sam let his hand linger on the door, not quite understanding his desire to enter the room. Thoughts of his brother filled his mind, and his eyes began to sting. “I can’t sleep good without Dean.”

“Maybe Manuela could make you some warm milk. I bet she’s wondering where you are by now.”

“She’s at the store.”

Peter sighed. “Look, Sam. I really need to go to bed, if you don’t mind. I have to get up early in the morning.”

“Could we just look in this room?”

“Maybe tomorrow. Besides you were never in there.”

“But it could have gotten put in there by the people who clean up every day.” Sam pressed, reaching for the doorknob again. “Dean will be sad if I don’t find Astorim.”

“I said no.” Marcus snapped harshly, slapping the child’s hand away.

The seven-year-old recoiled, pulling his arm to his chest. He looked up at the older man in surprise. He wasn’t used to people yelling at him, maybe when his father was angry, but it was rare. And no one hit him. Ever. Sam suddenly felt very alone and very small. “I better go.”

“Yes.” Marcus made no effort to apologize. “I think that would be a good idea.”

Sam started towards the living area but turned and looked at the door again as the sensation from earlier grew stronger. The little boy didn’t know how to explain it. It was like waiting in the car while his brother and father were on a hunt. Even though he was separated from Dean, he could almost imagine where he was; feel an invisible rope connecting them.

Caleb had taught him how to do it while he and Dean were playing hide-and-seek and Sam was once again on the losing end unable to locate the older boy. Caleb had told him to think about Dean and imagine a piece of thread being tied to him. He said all Sam needed to do was follow the line and he would find Dean every time. It worked and his brother was never the wiser. That didn’t explain why Dean seemed so close now. Like he was only in the next room.

“Dean?” Sam said softly.

“What did you say?” Peter asked, his face paling. He heard.

Sam looked up at him, his dark eyes holding a hint of defiance Peter had witnessed when Conner would attempt to tell the boy something the child didn’t want to hear. “Is my brother here?”

Marcus clenched his fists, his mouth setting in a grim line. Perhaps having a little brother would be more of a hassle than it was worth. He reached for the boy just as the doorbell chimed loudly, causing both he and Sam to jump.

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“My lawyer will be informed of these strong arm tactics, Ames.” Charles Conner stood outside Peter Marcus’s door, his face red with anger. “I am sick of these dramatics. First your pseudo son and now you. Winchester made a deal with me. If he is not going to stick with it, then neither am I. We will see what the police think of my files.”

Mackland shook his head at the man’s stubbornness. He tried to reason with Conner, telling him Sam and Dean were in danger. Ames told him about the murders how they linked with his travels and how Peter was a very sick man. But nothing had sunk in. Charles still believed they were playing games. “You shouldn’t make threats, Charles. You have been given a reprieve you don’t understand and obviously don’t deserve. If you push hard enough, John will push back. And he won’t be alone.”

“You mean this Brotherhood that you are a part of?” The man snarled his nose in disgust. “Men of poor measure such as Murphy and Winchester I can understand. But you…” He looked Ames up and down. “You’re from the finest of families. Your stature in your career was irreproachable. How can you lower yourself to associate with murderers and trash? Then there are the circus side shows like your son. He belongs in a cage, perhaps in a science lab, not a position of privilege.”

Ames reached out and pressed the doorbell again, trying to keep himself from using Conner’s head to beat against the door. “You have no idea how special my son is, Conner. Just as you obviously didn’t understand your daughter.” Mac waited for the man’s reaction, knowing it would come. Missouri had told him her suspicions about Mary Winchester in confidence. When Charles looked at him in surprise, her theories were given more validity. Mackland continued. “Nor will you ever understand Samuel. You don’t deserve the chance.”

Conner paled further, looking as if he wanted to come back with a justifiable repute-a denial. But instead he mimicked a fish out of water, its mouth opening and closing with no sound.

Mac smiled sadly. Fear blinded people. If Charles only knew how much he and John Winchester had in common. “The Brotherhood will not allow you the chance.”

Charles wasn’t given an opportunity to reply this time as the door was suddenly swung open and they were greeted by Marcus. Peter smiled. “Charles.” His eyes went from his boss to the stranger by his side. “I bet you’ve lost a grandson.”

“Ah, yes.” Conner swallowed, moistening his dry mouth. “I came to fetch Samuel.”

Marcus opened the door wider, revealing the seven-year-old by his side. “He was just leaving.”

“Mac?” Sam stepped forward as soon as he caught sight of the doctor. “What are you doing here?”

“Sam.” Ames moved around Peter, holding his hand out for the boy. He smiled reassuringly. “I’ve come for a visit. How about we go upstairs and you show me your new room?”

The little boy grasped the doctor’s hand, more relieved than he could voice that the doctor was there. “I can’t leave yet.”

“It’s time to go.” Conner ordered. “You have taken up enough of Peter’s time.”

“But Dean…” Sam looked up at his grandfather. “I feel Dean here.”

“What?” Charles shook his head at him, glancing around the room. “That’s nonsense.”

“No.” Sam looked up at Mackland. “I do, Mac. Like Caleb taught me. I followed the rope in my head. He’s here. I know it.”

“First the missing dragon, now a missing brother.” Peter laughed, discounting the little boy’s concern. “Seems Sam thinks my room is the place where all those socks end up after they disappear in countless dryers across the world.”

Mackland nodded. “Boys can have grand imaginations.” He needed to remove Sam from the situation as quickly as possible. Joshua was stationed at the end of the hall, waiting to take the child and Conner to a safe location until it was over. He looked at the seven-year-old. “I’ll help you look when we get back to Conner’s, Son. Let’s go.”

“But Dean…” Sam protested again as he was pulled forward. “He’s here, Mac. I know it. Just look in that room.” The little boy pointed towards the bedroom. “Please.”

Ames felt the moment Peter knew his gig was up. Sam managed to slip free of Mackland, started for the door he pointed to and Conner followed him. “Samuel!”

Marcus moved quickly, pulling the small handgun from the pocket of his jacket. “Stop!” he shouted at Charles.

The businessman and Sam turned to look at Peter, Charles’s face showing his confusion. “Peter! What is this?”

“Just take it easy, Marcus. This doesn’t need to go any further.” Mackland tried, his mind racing with the best ways to handle the situation. His own weapon was easily in reach, but he didn’t want to startle Peter, who was swinging the gun between Sam and his boss. If only he could draw his attention... “We’ll take our leave now.”

The words had the desired effect and Peter jerked the gun towards Ames. “No one is leaving!”

Mackland quickly made his decision, using a purposeful thought to send Peter careening through the air and crashing into the opposite wall. Unfortunately the force of the impact had Marcus’s reflexes reacting on the trigger as he crumpled to the floor. The explosion of gunfire filled the room and Ames felt fiery heat erupt in his side. Flaring pain disintegrated his concentration and he cried out as he staggered slightly before falling to his knees.

“No!” Sam screamed, dashing toward the downed doctor. “Mac!”

“Run, Sammy.” Mac ordered as the boy slid to a halt beside him. “Get him the hell out of here, Conner! Now!”

Charles was cowering, the loud noise and sudden chaos freezing him in his spot.

“Mac!” Sam clung to the doctor. “You’re bleeding.” He began to cry.

“Sammy…” Ames used his good arm to grab the boy. “Go to the door. Joshua…”

Before the doctor could finish, the door exploded open in a splintering of wood and Sawyer barreled in, his weapon held at the ready. “Mackland?”

“Get the boy out of here.” Ames shoved Sam towards Joshua, his gaze going to where Peter Marcus had fallen. The man was no longer there. “Damn it!”

Joshua stepped forward and took hold of Sam, dragging the resisting child towards the hallway. “No! I want to stay with Mac.”

Ames pushed himself up from the floor, glaring at Conner who had yet to move. “Where’d Marcus go?”

The man didn’t have to respond because Marcus appeared from the bedroom, dragging a protesting Dean with him. The boy was held protectively in front of the killer like a shield. He was stumbling with each step, his injured knee unable to hold his full weight. To make matters worse one of Peter’s meaty arms was snug across the boy’s throat, forcing the kid to walk on tip-toes. In his other hand Marcus held the gun, shoved painfully against Dean’s temple. “Get the hell away from me!”

“Dean!” Sam yelled as he watched his big brother be dragged across the floor, arms bound in front of him, gag tied tightly across his mouth.

Dean’s heart quickened. When he heard the gunshot he feared the worst. Seeing Sam alive and unhurt Dean’s eyes stung, the huge lump in his throat joining forces with the gag to impede his breathing. Mackland was there and bleeding. Dean thought of Caleb and his vision swam in and out of focus. “..am.” He tried to speak his brother’s name but it came out weak and muffled.

Ames held his hands up. “Let him go, Peter, and we’ll get you help.”

“NO!” Marcus dug the barrel of the gun into the boy’s head and Dean winced, crying out, nearly choking on the dirty cloth.

Sam jerked free of Joshua moving towards the older boy and Peter. “Don’t hurt my brother!”

Mackland caught the boy, pulling Sam back behind him with a wince. He could feel blood sliding down his side, saturating the polo shirt he was wearing as well as the top of his pants.

Joshua stepped closer but still blocking the door. He kept his gun trained on Marcus. “Let the boy go.” His finger rested on the trigger.

Ames shot the younger hunter a quick look, a shake of his head telling Sawyer to back off before returning his attention to Marcus and Dean. “You still have a chance to end this-to walk out alive, Peter.”

The killer shook his head. “My life is over. There is no Peter. Dean is the beginning.”

Mackland maneuvered around keeping Sam behind him as he tracked the killer, who was pulling his prey towards the door. “Move out of my way or I finish it all here and now. I swear to God I will!”

Joshua held his position. He flicked his gaze to Dean momentarily, wondering if the boy could move if he could someone how communicate his intentions to him. Unfortunately that didn’t seem to be an option. Marcus was big and obviously strong. It looked as if Dean was barely able to breathe, and considering the previous injuries to his throat, Peter was already taking on most of the twelve-year-old’s weight. Dean going limp probably wouldn’t throw the psychotic bastard off.

“Move!” Marcus shouted again, Dean jerked in his grasp. Sam cried louder.

“Do it, Josh.” Mackland’s voice was soft, but unwavering. “Give him room.”

Sawyer backed away, but never lowered his gun.

“If you show your face in the hall…any of you…I will kill him.” Peter swore, backing out of the room.

Joshua looked to Ames once the man disappeared. “Mac?”

“Don’t let him get away!” Sam cried. “He’s going to take Dean.”

Ames pushed the boy towards Conner, not letting go of Sam until Charles grabbed his grandson’s arm. “Do not let him go.” He said pointedly, holding the man’s gaze until the businessman nodded.

“Dean!” Sam howled, fighting with his grandfather, but Charles held fast.

Mackland pulled the hand-held radio from his belt. “Target is in route.” He waved Joshua towards the door, where the younger hunter slipped a mirror attached to a slim metal rod from his sleeve and used it to peer into the hall without revealing his body.

“Service elevator,” he reported.

Ames spoke into the radio again. “Back entrance. Dean is with him. Sam is with us.”

John’s static-filled voice filled the room. “Copy that. Everyone hold your position.”

“Daddy?” Sam cried.

“Mackland?” Joshua remained at the door, waiting.

“Stay here. They need protecting.” Ames jutted his chin towards Sam and Conner. “Hold your post, no matter what.”

Joshua frowned. “What about you?”

Ames met his gaze, a slight grimace fleeting across his face. “I’m going to pass out now.”

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John was ready when the monster emerged. He stealthily stepped from the bushes just as the man passed by his position moving towards the nearby lit fountain nearby. It only took moments before Bobby emerged in front of Marcus, gun held at the ready.

Peter pulled up short, jerking Dean back against his chest.

“You’ve got no where to go but in the ground,” Bobby said.

Marcus swung around, obviously thinking he could retreat. But John was there waiting.

“Let my son go before I drop you where you stand.”

“I’ll kill him.” Peter threatened, shoving the muzzle of the gun against Dean’s head again.

The kid looked at his dad. He didn’t know how much more he could take. His throat felt as if it was being crushed. The pressure of the gun against his head had his heart racing, his breath unable to keep up with its demanding pace. He whimpered, ashamed but unable to stop the tears from coming.

John’s eyes flicked to Dean and he forced himself to remain calm. The boy looked terrified, rightfully so, and every protective instinct flared to life. “Let him go and I’ll let you walk away.” It wasn’t true. Marcus wouldn’t live past tonight. Of that, Winchester was sure.

“I’m not leaving here without Dean. You’ll get him back. We’ll all be a family. You’ll see. It’ll be better for all of us.”

Winchester noticed Singer moving in closer. They were trapping the animal, triangulating with the fountain as their apex. It was dangerous, but he couldn’t let the man take Dean. It was too risky. He’d seen the body of the last little boy. That would never be his son’s fate. “That’s not going to happen.”

Peter met John’s gaze, his eyes hardening. Winchester had seen that look before in the eyes of other enemies. The bastard was going to do it and neither he nor Singer could do anything to stop him. “Bobby…”

John never finished his thought.

Peter Marcus’s eyes widened, and his mouth opened but no sound escaped. His whole body went limp, his knees buckling. Then he fell backwards into the fountain at the stone angel‘s feet, dead before he hit the water with a splash.

Dean felt his captor jerk ever so slightly, a splatter of some thing hot and wet across his face and then he could breathe. He gasped, stumbling against the edge of the fountain as Peter’s collapsing form tried to drag him down with it. Dean felt himself falling when strong arms gripped the front of his shirt and jerked him forward. “Dean!”

John pulled his boy towards him, watched the upper part of the killer’s body strike the water, go under and then resurface baptismal-like. Unseeing eyes stared towards the star-filled sky, mimicking the cement guardian’s heavenward gesture. Winchester held his son against him, turning so the boy wouldn’t see the macabre sight. He’d had enough trauma for one night. “Easy.”

“John?” Bobby closed the gap between them. “He alright?”

“He’s good. Call it in.”

Singer nodded, lifting his radio. “Target eliminated. Clear to clean up.” He looked at John. “You need me?”

Winchester shook his head. “Go check on Mackland and Sammy. Then you and Sawyer get the body ready for transport. ASAP.”

Bobby glanced to the fountain, whistled at the accuracy it took to take Marcus out in a manner that ensured no danger to Dean. “Jim’s still the master.” He glanced towards the other hotel adjacent to them in the distance. “His walk in the clouds paid off.”

John grimaced, holding Dean a little tighter. “Thank God.” Things could have gone so much worse. He could have lost his son. Mary would never have forgiven him.

Singer snorted “And Murphy’s military issue sniper rifle.”

“Bobby.” John sighed.

“Right. Check on Mackland. Supervise Slick in the clean-up.” Bobby moved away, shaking his head.

John pulled Dean further from the fountain before kneeling in front of him. “Son?”

The boy was still panting and Winchester quickly reached up to untie the gag. “You with me?”

“Dad?” Dean croaked. He winced as his father ran a hand over his hair. “Is he dead?”

“Yeah, Ace. He’s dead.” John pulled out his knife and made quick work of the ropes around his son’s wrists.

“Good.” Dean choked.

“Hey.” John lifted the boy’s chin. “Are you alright?”

The twelve-year-old shook his head, feeling his eyes sting again. He bit his lip to keep from crying, but couldn’t stop himself from collapsing against his father. “I’m sorry.”

John held him. “This wasn’t your fault. Marcus was crazy. That’s all.”

Dean’s body shook against him. “He shot Mac.”

Winchester exhaled heavily. Another person hurt in this epic mess. “He’ll be okay. It can’t be too bad. He radioed in after Marcus dragged you out of there.”

“Sammy…”

“Is fine,” John told him. “We’re all okay. It’s over.”

Dean shuddered. It would never be over. “I let him in the farm,” the boy said miserably. “I thought Sammy was in trouble and …” He buried his face in father’s chest. “Caleb…”

“John!”

The impossibly familiar voice had Dean jerking his head up, his words catching in his throat.

An apparition was moving towards them.

“God. Is he okay?” Caleb had been stopped by Bobby, but Singer had been short on explanations. He glanced towards the fountain as he came alongside Winchester and Dean.

“He’s hanging in there.” Winchester stood, squeezing his son‘s shoulder. “Take care of him. I need to check on Sam.” John met the other hunter’s gaze. “Clean him up before his brother sees him.”

Reaves nodded. “We’ll be up in a minute.”

Dean still hadn’t said anything, was merely blinking owlishly up at the other hunter. Caleb thought the twelve-year-old looked like the star of some generic horror flick, the victim who barely got away. Reaves had the irrational need to empty a clip into the floating corpse behind them just to reaffirm he would be staying dead and not reanimating to finish the job he started. “Hey, Deuce. Snap out of it.”

Caleb watched the kid step back away from him, paling further. He reached a hand out to grab the boy afraid he was going to pass out, but Dean stumbled out of his reach. “Dean?”

“You’re dead.”

The pieces fell together. Reaves had spent plenty of time berating himself for letting Dean get taken, but he never stopped to consider what Dean might have been thinking. Instead, he’d been more concerned about any physical harm. It was a mistake they all made sometimes. Sam was the sensitive one, Dean the take charge one. When in reality, the older Winchester sibling felt things on a deep intuitive level he spent vast reserves of energy hiding. “Deuce…”

Dean shook his head, once again evading the older boy’s grasp. “I saw…him do it. He said…”

The boy’s voice was raw and painful sounding and the watery pain-filled gaze had Caleb’s stomach knotting. “He lied.” Reaves gestured to his bandaged left arm. “Barely a graze. Joshua’s a better shot. And besides, remember what I told you, dragons don’t die.”

The joke fell flat and Dean shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Caleb frowned, taking another step towards the kid. “I was the one who fucked up and got shot.”

Dean tensed, but stayed where he was. “I let him in. I trusted him.”

“Dude, you didn’t mess up. You were watching out for Sammy. He knew your weak spot and used it against you.”

The twelve-year-old glanced towards the fountain, shook his head in denial. “I couldn’t do anything. He was going to hurt him like he did you and I…”

Caleb didn’t miss the way Dean was starting to shiver. The adrenaline was wearing off and shock was an all too real danger. “Let it go, Deuce.”

Dean looked up at him, seeming surprised the older hunter had gotten so close without his knowledge, but he didn’t move away. “I want Sammy to come home.”

Reaves sighed, reaching out and pulling the kid to him. He closed his eyes and rested his chin on top of the boy’s head when he felt Dean’s hands clutching to the back of Caleb’s shirt. “I know, kiddo.”

“I want it all to be over.”

Caleb held him tighter. “Yeah.”

“I’m glad you’re not dead.” The words were soft and mumbled against Caleb’s chest but he heard them loud and clear.

Reaves laughed. “Ditto, Deuce.”

They stayed like that for a long moment, Reaves giving them both time to assimilate into their fractured psyches that the other was truly okay, that perhaps the most current crisis had ended. Then Reaves regained his composure, brought up the usual barriers that allowed him to walk about in his chosen world. He needed to get Dean away from Marcus’s body before Bobby and Sawyer came back down. Caleb pulled back. “We good?”

Dean silently looked up at him and Caleb ran a hand over his blond hair and sighed at the added bruises and gore. It was a stupid question. “Think we can patch you up a little, Frankenstein, before Sammy sees you?”

The twelve-year-old nodded, swallowing thickly. “As long as you don’t start crying or hugging me again.”

Reaves snorted. He appreciated the effort Dean was taking to return balance to their typical screwed up lives. Caleb had no choice but to return the favor. “Deuce, everyone knows that near death experiences by psychotic serial killers are green flags for momentary chick-flick scenes, right along with your favorite team losing the World Series and Old Yeller dying. It’s in the Hunter’s Handbook.” His mouth quirked when the kid rolled his eyes at the classic con. “But I never cried.”

“Okay,” Dean said, doubtfully.

Reaves tossed an arm around his shoulders and guided him towards the door. “I mean I might have gotten a little misty-eyed. But that was definitely because of all the incense Jim was burning at the church. You know how he goes overboard with the sage.”

“Right.” Dean leaned into the older hunter, taking comfort in the half-hearted denial. “Sage.”

“Then Jim let Josh play doctor and that was a bitch.” Caleb sighed. “But still, no tears.”

“That must have sucked.”

Caleb opened the door and looked at Dean, the bruises and blood standing out vividly in the glow of the lights from the entranceway. “You’re not buying any of this. Are you?”

“Do you want me to?”

Reaves dropped his gaze to the ground for a moment, before looking at Dean. His chest was tight, the lump in his throat making it hard to talk. Dean wasn’t the only one coming off an adrenaline rush. “You scared the hell out of me, Deuce. I thought…I thought I’d lost you. And there’s nothing about that kind of fear in the Handbook.”

“I won’t tell anyone you balled like a baby.”

Caleb laughed again, pulling the kid close to his side again. He gave him a hard squeeze, kissed him chastely on top of the head, and pushed him inside the hotel. “Do and you’ll never see thirteen, Deuce.”

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After a quick trip to the restroom to clean up, Dean and Caleb made it back to Marcus’s room without incident. Reaves felt the younger boy tense at the entranceway and wished John had moved the little party back to Conner’s penthouse. Hopefully if things worked out they would be on their way to the farm soon. “You alright with this?” the psychic asked, his hand hovering over the doorknob.

“Sammy’s in there.”

That was an affirmative in Dean speak, so Caleb opened the door and went in first. At least he could lead the way, despite his lack of ability to turn back time and fix everything.

Charles Conner was sitting on the couch, nursing a glass of scotch. Manuela was hovering in the perimeter, her alert gaze instantly covered the two newcomers.

Caleb recognized the tension and the reflexive relaxation as she recognized them. Her dark eyes met his and she nodded. “Your father is in the bathroom with Winchester.” She reported and Reaves didn’t miss the fact the heavy accent had disappeared along with the disheveled look from before. Apparently the nanny gig was up. “Mr. Conner has been so kind to call down to the front desk and explain the loud noises from before were caused by his grandson playing a game.”

Charles looked up at them, taking another long drink of the alcohol. “Reporting an attempted murder is not something I relish in.” He shook his head, looking rather shaken. “Then there is the business about the demise of my assistant. I can only imagine the inconvenience of explaining that to the authorities, not to mention having my name splashed across every morning headline.”

“Yeah. That’s a real bitch.” Caleb glared at the man. “Almost like being kidnapped and terrorized by a serial killer.”

Conner’s blue gaze moved to Dean and his face softened. He looked the boy over. “Are you alright, Dean?”

The twelve-year-old glanced up at Caleb. “I want to check on Sammy.”

“He’s in the bedroom...” Manuela explained but a panicked look from Dean cut her off.

“What? You let him go in that room?” The idea of his baby brother seeing Peter’s pictures and trophies set his heart pounding again. His frightened gaze swung to Reaves. “Caleb, there’re things in there…”

“No.” The woman shook her head, quickly allaying the child’s concern. “I didn’t send him into that room. Your father ordered him to the master bedroom. I put a DVD in for him, although he wasn’t too happy about the situation.”

“Take it easy, Deuce. Manuela’s on our side. I’m sure she knows her stuff.”

The kid frowned, looking at the woman again. “She’s not Sam’s nanny?”

Caleb’s mouth twitched. “Looks like The Brotherhood has started its own babysitting service.”

“Which from the looks of things has been needed for quite some time.”

The way in which it was said led Reaves to believe that Manuela had been privy to much more information about them than the younger hunters had about her.

“I knew I should have checked your references more carefully.” Conner grumbled, standing to refill his drink. “Playing me for a fool will not help John’s case.”

Dean watched his grandfather move towards the mini-bar. He wanted to say something, tell the man just what an ass he was, but Reaves pushed him to the hallway. “Let’s go, kiddo. We need to be ready to go when Bobby and Josh finish up downstairs.”

The twelve-year-old hesitated, but when Conner continued to inspect different liquors, the boy moved on. Caleb watched him step away from the first closed door they passed and the psychic felt a wave of emotion crash over him as he focused on the room. It was where the Marcus had held Dean.

Reaves concentrated on the other room, finding Sam. The boy was safe and he let that erase the negative sensations assaulting him. “I’m going to check on Dad and Johnny.” He nodded towards the door Dean needed. “He’s in there, Deuce.”

The boy swallowed thickly. “Thanks.” He picked up his pace to get to his brother. Reaves watched him disappear into the room and shut the door before continuing onto the bathroom at the end of hallway.

He could hear John’s heated voice before reaching the door and he took a quick breath before entering. “Since when did you two take up the girly habit of…”

The psychic’s voice trailed off as he took in the sight of his father. Mackland was perched on the porcelain-tiled tub, his bloodied shirt raised enough so John could work on the bullet wound. “Dad? What the hell?”

“It’s nothing,” Ames grumbled, glowering at Winchester when his friend snorted in derision. “John’s bumbling attempt to dress a superficial wound is making it look worse than it appears.”

“No one told me you were hurt.” Caleb felt another wave of anger at John for putting him out of the thick of things. “Where the hell was Josh?”

“In the hallway where I instructed him to stay.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” There was a lot of blood. Reaves felt bile rise to the back of his throat. He wasn’t use to being involved in a hunt with his father. It was unnatural and it brought back too many memories of his biological father covered in blood from the fatal self-inflicted gunshot wound. “It looks bad. We should take you to the hospital.”

John and Mackland shared a quick look. Caleb hated hospitals. “He’s good, kid. Your daddy always was a bleeder, and he bitches worse than Bobby.”

“I prefer to keep my body from ending up like a patchwork quilt.” Mackland snapped. “Your twelve-year-old son has a more skilled hand at suturing than you do.”

“You’re just sore Esme isn’t here to kiss it and make it better this time.” Winchester placed the last piece of tape over the bandage and slapped Ames on the stomach. “I don’t have time for fancy in the field, Mac. You can have one of your plastic surgeon friends fix you up later.” John tossed the bloody supplies in the trash and glanced to Caleb. “Where’s Dean?”

The psychic frowned. “He’s in with Sammy.”

“How is he?” Mackland pulled his shirt down, wincing as the new stitches pulled. “That room Marcus had him in was horrifying.”

Reaves nodded. “Yeah. I got as much.”

“He’ll be fine.” John stood, ignoring the twin looks of doubt cast in his direction. “Because Sam needs him to be fine,” he explained.

Any other time Caleb would have called bullshit on John’s twisted logic, and he was surprised when Mackland didn’t do it for him. His father didn’t even start one of his psycho-babble lectures about how Dean would need to talk about the trauma. Instead, they both remained quiet. John Winchester knew his oldest son, and whether it was right or wrong, Dean would do what needed to be done to protect his brother. For once it might be a saving grace.

Dean quietly opened the door to the bedroom, finding his brother not in front of the small television but staring out the darkened window on the far side of the wall.

“Hey, Sammy.”

The kid whirled around, a look of relief crossed his young features. “Dean!” Sam darted around the large bed, nearly tackling the older boy. “You’re alive.”

“Of course.” The twelve-year-old returned the exuberant embrace seeking momentary solace for himself. “Nothing can hurt Captain Onehelluva Big Brother.”

Sam continued to hold on to him as if he might vanish if he dared to loosen his fierce grip. “Are you okay? Daddy promised me you were, but when you didn’t come…”

“I’m good. I had to take care of some things.”

The seven-year-old pulled back, keeping one hand wound tightly in his brother‘s shirt. “You don’t look good. You’ve got blood on you.”

Dean sighed as the younger boy picked out the few spots Caleb wasn’t able to scrub off. “It’s not mine.”

A myriad of emotion swam through Sam‘s dark eyes. “Peter?”

The older Winchester easily recognized the flash of fear, like lightening racing across a black sky over choppy waters. “Peter isn’t coming back.”

Sam frowned. “But he wasn’t a ghost or monster. Where did he go?”

Dean moved towards the bed, pulling his little brother along with him. “He was a monster, Sammy. Just not the kind that we’re used to.” Dean sat down and Sam climbed up beside him. “He‘s going to the same place we send spirits.”

Sam looked like he often did when he would bring home less than perfect papers from school “I thought he was nice.”

Dean hated to see the small hint of guilt and self doubt on his brother‘s face. He wouldn‘t allow it. “It’s not your fault, Sam. He was really good at fooling people. I believed him too.”

Sam nodded, accepting what his brother was saying. Just like when his brother would brag on his papers, no matter what the mark. “Why did he want to hurt you, Dean? Did Mr. Conner tell him to?”

Dean sighed. As much as he wanted to blame Conner, it appeared the man was as clueless as the rest of them. “No, Sammy. Charles didn‘t know about Marcus. He would never have let him get near you if he had.”

“Then why did Peter do it?” Despite the things Sam had seen, his family had worked hard to shield him from the atrocities the real world held. In that way, he was as innocent as any other little boy.

“He was sick.” Dean pointed to his own head. “Up here. He was all mixed up and didn’t know right from wrong.”

The seven-year-old seemed to ponder that, then nodded knowingly. “Like Cruella Deville and The Joker?”

Dean smiled, taking some comfort in the fact his little brother could still see things in ’kid vision’-compare the really evil guys to the likes of comic book and cartoon villains. “Yeah. Like all those bad guys.”

Sam scooted closer to the older boy, reaching up to touch the outline of dark bruises on his brother‘s throat. “Did he do that?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s why you’re talking funny?”

“Yeah.”

“Like the other night?”

Sam was watching him now, gauging him in the way he did when he wanted to see if Dean was being completely truthful. “The night I came to see you I had a run in with Peter when I left. We didn’t know who it was then. But I should have told you. I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Jim says we should never lie if we can help it. Especially to each other.”

Sam had the gift of shame. Dean had seen him even guilt Caleb into a heartfelt apology. “I know. It was wrong. Will you forgive me?”

Luckily, his brother’s ability to forgive and forget were as notorious as his ability to call seasoned hunters to the carpet. “Okay.”

Dean threw an arm over his shoulder. “How about you, little brother? Are you okay?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. But I don’t want you to leave again. Bad things happen when we’re not together.” The little boy buried closer. “I get really scared.”

The twelve-year-old squeezed him tighter. “Me too.”

“Boys?” The deep voice of their father had both Sam and Dean jumping slightly, their gazes going to the doorway.

John moved into the room, taking a seat on the bed near his sons. “You two hanging in there?”

“Yes, sir.” Dean replied automatically.

Sam let go of his brother and crawled into his father’s lap, one arm going around his neck. “Can I go home with you, Daddy?” Sam twirled his fingers around his father’s hair, a comforting motion he hadn’t done in a couple of years. “Dean needs me. He’ll have nightmares without me.”

John reached up and pushed his little boy’s too long bangs away from his face. “We’ll try Sammy. I promise.”

“We can take him.” Dean spoke up, softly. “Conner is outnumbered.” They were already getting rid of Peter. Why not add Charles to the list? How hard would it be?

“Dean…”

“Johnathan.” Mackland appeared in the doorway, unknowingly sparing his friend a tiresome battle. “We need to go. Joshua and Bobby have everything ready. Jim is on his way up.”

John stood, scooping Sam up in his arms. “Let’s go boys.”

Caleb and Pastor Jim were standing near the door when they made their way to the living room. Manuela and Conner resided by the couch.

The minister smiled at Sam. “There’s my boy.”

John set the seven-year-old down and Sam rushed the pastor, who greeted him with a warm hug. “I have something of yours, Samuel.”

The boy lifted his head from Murphy’s chest and looked at Jim’s outstretched hand. “Astorim.” He fisted his fingers around the silver dragon, a smile lighting his face. “I thought I’d lost him forever.”

Jim slid his fingers over the boy’s hair and winked. “The dragons are never far from sight, my boy.”

Charles cleared his throat. “I think it’s time you all take your leave.” Conner seemed to have regained a modicum of his air of superiority. “Don’t you have issues to take care of concerning this incident?”

“I explained to you that I would handle things with Marcus.” Mackland met the businessman’s gaze. “I have contacts at the FBI. If I’m correct about your private hanger, then they should find all the evidence they need there.” The doctor had questioned Charles about a connection to planes that Peter might have had, still feeling that the flashes from his earlier vision were important. Conner had explained how Peter was not only his assistant, but a licensed pilot also, allowing the businessman the luxury to travel at will.

“As long as I am not implicated in any way. I had no idea what the man was capable of.”

“Funny how monsters can walk around right in front of us, isn’t it?” Jim said, solemnly. “Sometimes it is extremely hard to tell the good guys from the bad ones. Lucky for those blessedly ignorant souls that there are diligent heroes fighting the good fight.”

“I suppose.” Conner brushed away the comment as well as the subtle sentiment. “We should go also, Samuel.”

“No.” The little boy turned on his grandfather. “I’m going home with Dean.” To prove his point, Sam ran to Dean’s side, clutching the older boy’s arm.

“Nothing has changed.” Charles met the child’s gaze and shook his head disapprovingly. “Your home is with me now.”

John felt Dean lean in closer to him. “He needs to come with us, Charles. He should be with his brother, especially after what happened tonight.”

“No.” Conner frowned. “I won’t allow it. You’ll run the first chance you get.”

“If I was going to run, what the hell would stop me from taking him now?”

Charles took a step back as if he suddenly feared an attack. “I still have the files. If anything happens to me…”

“Forget the files!” John bellowed and Sam clung tighter to his brother. “This is about the boys. I’m just asking for a fucking night.”

“No.” Conner said again. “They have to learn that that this is the way things are.”

“I need to go with Dean!” Sam begged. “He’ll be scared without me. I told you before that something bad was going to happen.” The child yelled at his grandfather. “But you didn’t believe me and Dean got hurt.”

“I’ll stay here.” Dean offered, not wanting to see his brother upset anymore. All eyes went to him. John started to speak, but Conner beat him to it.

“No. I’m sorry.” Charles shook his head. “That’s not an option.”

Dean felt his brother trembling beside him and he swallowed his pride. “Please.”

Conner met the oldest boy’s pleading gaze and sighed. “We’ve had this conversation before…”

“The one where you told him he wasn’t good enough to be your grandson?” Caleb snapped, breaking the gag order his father had placed on him. He started forward after the man, but Jim caught his arm. “You don‘t know anything about him.” The psychic growled, satisfied with thrusting a finger in the man’s direction. “But I know about you.”

“You don’t know anything about me.” Charles turned to John. “You all should go before I change my mind and call the police.”

“No!” Sam howled. “Please don’t go, Dean!”

“Sammy…” Dean choked, feeling his heart being ripped out for the second time in so many days. “It’s okay.”

“No…no…no…” Sam chanted, and John knelt in front of the boy.

“Sam. Stop! Now!”

The boy quieted, his little body continuing to jerk with each stifled sob. “Please.” He whispered.

John continued to stare unflinchingly. “Stop crying. You’re going to be fine. Nothing bad is going to happen. Understand me?”

The child nodded, but leaned into his brother once more. Dean slid his arm back around Sam’s quaking shoulders. “Shh, Sammy. It’s okay.”

“Jim?” Caleb looked at the pastor. “Don’t tell me you’re going to let him stay here unprotected.”

“Manuela will stay.” Jim met Conner’s challenging gaze. “That’s not up for debate. Until I am one hundred percent sure the danger has passed, neither you nor the boy should be alone.”

“Fine,” Conner relented, begrudgingly. “The woman stays. For now.”

“That’s bullshit!” Caleb shouted. “Why not let Dean stay. I’ll stay with him. There’s no fucking difference.”

“Your kind is not staying in my home,” Conner countered, heatedly.

“My kind?” Caleb moved towards Charles again and this time Jim didn’t stop him. He got in the man’s face. “Is that why you sent your daughter away?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Reaves lowered his voice. “I told you I knew about you.” And the psychic did. He had read everyone of the man’s thoughts, knew his fears. “You didn’t listen to your own daughter. Mary tried to tell you about the car crash that would kill your wife. You lost them both.” Caleb felt only a moment of guilt when the man’s face paled, his hands trembled. “If anything happens to Sam or Dean, you’ll have to deal with more than a guilty conscious.”

“Caleb.” Mackland called his son off. “That’s quite enough.” Ames stared at his son and brought Reaves’s line of sight to the boys and John.

Caleb regretted making the private statement in front of the Winchesters. He gave a curt nod and bent down in front of Dean and Sam. “Hey, Sammy, what if I promise to watch over Dean for you?”

“You’ll make sure he doesn’t have any nightmares?” The seven-year-old sniffed.

“Promise.” Caleb vowed, though he wondered how it would be possible.

Dean leaned into his brother, dropping his head so his cheek lay on Sam’s head. “I won’t have any nightmares, Sammy.”

Sam gave his brother another hug. “I love you, Dean.”

John placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder. He didn’t want to have to pry the boys apart. Dean broke the embrace. “Don’t forget the dragons, Sammy. Don’t ever forget about them.”

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