In The Company of Dragons

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 3/7

Concerning dragons-with time and patience, it is possible to build up a bond of trust.-Dragonology

Sam grinned wildly as he reeled in the tiny squirming blue gill. “That's ten!” He shouted to his brother who was on the other side of the pond. “I'm ahead of you now.”

“It doesn't count if you keep catching the same one over and over again,” Dean hollered back.

Jim smiled as he caught the floundering amphibian the seven-year-old swung in his direction. “And just how does he know it's the same one?” he asked, winking at Sam as he gently removed the hook from the fish's bottom lip.

“He doesn't look like the same one.” Sam pointed to a row of scales. “I think he has more blue.”

“I agree. Definitely not the same one as last time.” Scout barked and jumped out into the water as Murphy tossed the fish back.

“Aren't we going to keep any to eat for dinner tonight?” Sam asked, watching the puppy floundering through the water in a vain attempt to retrieve their catch.

“That one wasn't big enough, my boy.”

The kid frowned. “He was big enough for a fish stick. All ten of them were. We could have had as many as comes in a frozen pack.”

The pastor chuckled. “How about we stick to hotdogs, instead. Besides-you want to save some fish to catch later on, right? I'm afraid it would deplete the pond's reserve to feed our motley crew.”

“Okay.” Sam nodded. “But, can we make the hotdogs over a fire? Like last time?”

Jim raised a brow and looked at the child as if he had just sprouted a second head. “Is there any other way to prepare them?”

The grin widened, dimples deepened. “I love you, Pastor Jim.”

Usually the words put a slight skip in the older man's heart, tightened his chest a little, maybe even caused his eyes to sting. But today the ring of innocence was like a bucket of cold pond water tossed onto his overheated skin. He roughly cleared his throat. “I love you too, my boy.”

A small hand found his and Sam was tugging him up the bank towards the big shade tree where they'd left their things. “We'll need marshmallows, too.”

“Of course.” Jim acquiesced, realizing that at that moment Sam could have asked for the moon and the big preacher would have attempted to retrieve it from the night sky.

“And Graham crackers… and chocolate bars.”

“Sammy, what are you going on about?” Dean asked, catching up with the two as they collapsed on the grass beneath the tree. Atticus situated himself on the ground beside the older boy, and Scout viciously attacked the twelve-year child’s dangling shoe laces.

“We're going to cook over a campfire tonight.” He cast a hopeful look towards Jim. “And maybe even sleep in the tent.”

“Dad won't go for that, kiddo. You still have a cold.”

“Do not.” Sam sniffed. “Besides, it's hot outside. Hotter than in the house.”

“He does have a point there.”

“Hey, I'm not the one you have to convince.” Dean raised his hands. “Talk to the guy with the permanent scowl.”

Jim nudged the younger boy with his shoulder. “We'll work on him.”

The twelve-year-old glanced at the priest. “Will Dad and Caleb be hunting tonight?”

“I'm not sure.”

“What are they working on, anyway?” Even Reaves had been tightlipped about this particular hunt. He was usually the first to spill the details anytime Dean wasn't allowed to come along. Whether it was bragging rights, or just his way of rubbing it in the younger boy's face, the twelve-year-old wasn't sure, but he hadn't tried to torment Dean over the current hunt. “Is it another werewolf? Or a banshee?”

“The moon's not right for wolves,” Sam answered and both his brother and Jim looked at him.

The little boy just grinned. “I read Mac’s books about them. He explained the Lunar cycle to me.”

“Freak,” Dean muttered, turning back to Jim who was still staring at his little brother in wonderment. “So…”

Murphy cleared his throat. “I believe it is something much more vile. Something best left to older hunters, I'm afraid.” He patted Dean's shoulder, gave him his most winning smile, the one that always reminded Dean of Santa Clause for some reason. “Not young whippersnappers like you and me.”

“But you're the oldest hunter, Pastor Jim.”

Dean snorted at his brother's comment and the priest shot him a mocking-warning glare.

“You make me sound like that Crypt-keeper fellow your brother likes to watch on TV , Samuel.”

“You're the oldest person I know.”

“So it would seem.” Murphy's frown morphed into another grin. “But I prefer the term weathered or wise.”

“How 'bout ancient artifact?” Dean offered. “Or antique?”

“How about we talk about something else.” Jim raised one silver brow, and both boys shared a knowing smile.

“Our camp-out?” Sam suggested.

“We could wait until Dad and Caleb leave for the hunt,” the older boy said with a casual shrug. “I mean, you are in charge when Dad's not around Pastor Jim.”

“Ahh.” Murphy rubbed at his chin. “The old 'easier to ask forgiveness than permission' tactic, huh?”

The adolescent shrugged. “He's going to yell either way.”

Jim chuckled. “True enough, my boy. True enough.”

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“Damn it, Caleb!” John yelled. “Either you think it's a spirit or you don't.”

“Sorry if I'm not filling all the blank spaces quick enough for you, Vanna White, but the visions don't always work that way.” The younger hunter snapped back, rubbing at his temples. It was too early in the morning for his usual rounds with John, especially after the night he'd had.

“Maybe all the shouting is making it harder to focus?” Mac offered from behind the daily newspaper. Without looking, he could feel the twin gazes turn in his direction. He was surprised the paper didn't start to smolder. “Honestly, I don't see how the two of you ever get anything accomplished,” he mumbled.

“We have a system,” John defended.

“It works,” Caleb added.

“Of course it does.” The doctor turned a page, continued to scan the print of the business section. “Although, I think some civility wouldn't hurt.”

John snorted. “Yeah, manners, that's what we need in our line of work. I don't recall that attribute ever being taught in the military.”

Caleb looked at him. “Courtesy I can live without. Honesty would be nice though.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means you expect me to come clean about everything, Winchester. Spill all details. What about you?”

“I'm sorry. But the last time I checked, I didn't have an inside line to the bastard behind the disappearances.”

Caleb frowned. “I'm not talking about the hunt.”

John pointed a finger at him. “But you should be. Lives are at stake. Childrens' lives.”

“Believe me, I know. I've seen what's happening.”

The older hunter rubbed at the back of his neck, trying to release some of the knots of tension that were winding tighter with every passing minute. “Just not enough to know if the killer is human or not?”

“I've never had visions about anything not related to the supernatural.”

“There's a first time for everything.”

“He's right,” Mac interjected, thoughtfully. He put his paper down. “Your abilities could be progressing. It might be something we want to look closer at.”

“Don't get any ideas, Freud.” Reaves shook his head. “This isn't about my abilities. These freakin' visions or whatever they are, don't feel the same. I can't explain it. It's not like the usual gig.” For one, he'd ended up being the equivalent to a telepathic punching bag.

“Then maybe this bastard is human-just one sick bastard.”

“Maybe.” The psychic looked at John. “But the ring. . . It's important. I know it is. That's one thing that's coming across loud and clear.”

Mac rubbed his chin. “The symbol you've been researching?”

“Yeah. Without any luck.”

The Doctor frowned. “Bobby wasn't able to find anything on it?”

“No, but until last night, I haven't been able to get a very clear fix on it. I just knew it was cross-like. We thought it could be cult-related. Like those crazy sonsofbitches we ran across in Fairbanks who were summoning the succubus demon.”

“Are the killings ritualistic or sacrificial in nature?”

“We're not sure. The children have merely disappeared. Until Caleb had the first nightmare and recognized the little boy's picture, we weren't sure what was happening to them.” John ran a hand over his beard. “The last two kids vanished from the outskirts of Seattle. One three months ago, and another a couple of weeks ago.”

“The vision I had last night…it was a strangling. The first one was a beating.” Reaves rubbed at his eyes. “Whatever it is, it's strong, and vicious.”

Mac thought for a moment. “Did you sense that the attacker was excited? Or angry?”

His son looked at him. “How the hell should I know?”

The older man's face softened. “Son, your visions are usually sensory in nature, and you connect with the attacker, more so than the victim.”

“Exactly.” Caleb nodded. “Because of the supernatural aspect. That's what you always said. My fucked up DNA makes me a kindred soul to anything evil.”

“That's not what I said,” Mac's voice hardened. “You are nothing like the things you hunt.”

John interrupted the stare down. “So, you think the thing is some kind of spirit, or maybe a human possessed by a demon.”

“I don't know!” Caleb shouted. “I didn't sense anything from him. The only thing I was feeling was sick and …” He faltered, frowned.

“And?” Mac raised a brow.

Reaves sighed, looked down at the table. “Scared. I felt scared for the kid.”

“That's what you meant by different?” Ames postulated. “You don't usually empathize with the victim in the visions.”

Empathize was a very weak word for what had happened. “Right.” Caleb glanced at John out of the corner of his eye, wondering if the older hunter understood what Mac was saying.

Reaves' visions were horrible, terrifying, and made more so by the fact that in the moment they were happening, Caleb was neither horrified nor terrified. He was captive to the act in every possible way, including whatever sense of pleasure the perpetrator was experiencing.

If he were honest with himself, it was one of the reasons he became so obsessed with a hunt when his psychic abilities were involved. He wasn't only killing the monster, he was killing any part of himself that might be linked with the very darkness he had taken an oath to destroy.

“But you still didn't see the thing?”

The psychic turned on Winchester. “I was a little busy trying to escape, and then I was tied up with the whole being beaten and strangled deal.”

“You mean you were watching the escape and death?” Mac questioned, sharply, waited for his son to meet his gaze. “In a third person sense? Right?”

“Leave it, Mac!” Caleb growled. “God! Both of you are impossible.”

He pushed his chair back and stood. “I'm going to the library to do some more research.”

“No.” John shook his head and stood also. “I need you to stay here with the boys.”

“Not happening, Johnny.” Reaves shook his head. “I told you yesterday. I'm not your fucking nanny. They can stay with Jim.”

“Jim is going into town with us,” Mac explained.

“Am I not on this hunt anymore?” His green eyes searched John's face. “I've done all the research…and I'm the one who called you in the first place. What can Mac and Jim do that I can't?”

“This is not about the hunt, kid,” John sighed. “You can call Bobby again while we're gone, now that you have a better image of that cross he might be able to find something...”

Reaves looked between the two men. “What the hell is going on?” When neither replied, the young hunter shook his head. “Since when do you let anything interfere with a hunt? You're the one who pointed out that lives were in danger. You were completely obsessed with this until you got that phone call yesterday.”

“It's not your concern.”

“Are you kidding me? I'm the one with the ring-side seat for each show. If you're not into saving some kids, just tell me and I'll do this one on my own.”

“I'm trying to save my kids, Caleb!” John snapped and had his hands wrapped in the boy's shirt before he could stop him self. He shook him. “My kids, damn it!”

“Johnathan,” Mac said softly as he stood. He took a step towards the two hunters and Winchester released the younger man with a shove. He raked his fingers through his dark hair.

“Dad?” Caleb felt his heart quicken, an unfamiliar feeling of dread swept through him.

“He needs to know, John. He is a part of this, whether you wish him to be or not. Conner ensured that, I'm afraid.”

“A part of what?” Reaves questioned. “What am I a part of?”

“None of you should be a part of this!” Winchester bit out. “This is my family. My problem.”

“The Brotherhood says differently,” Mac countered.

“The Brotherhood is part of the reason I'm going to lose my son.”

“You know that's not true…” Mac started in again but Caleb interrupted him.

“Lose your son?” Reaves had the irrational desire to find Sam and Dean at that very moment. His eyes unconsciously went to the kitchen window, as if he could see past the trees and fields to catch sight of the pond. Where vision failed, his sixth sense excelled. A sense of contentment-joy-washed over him. No fear. No pain. They were safe. “What does that mean?”

“It means that…” John hesitated, finally meeting the younger man's gaze. “It means that I'm going to have to give Sammy up to his grandfather.”

“What?” Caleb shook his head, held up his hands in confusion. “Wait…you have a father?”

The older hunter rolled his eyes. “Yes, genius, but it's not my father. It's Mary's father. He wants custody.”

“And did you tell him to go fuck himself?”

“Among other choice words.”

“Then did you kick his ass?”

“Unfortunately, son, your and John's special brand of mediation skills doesn't always work. Especially with the rich and powerful.”

“I don't understand.”

Winchester looked away. “Conner has me over a barrel.”

“A barrel! This is Sam you're talking about. You've taken out werewolves, wendigos, and poltergeists. You're going to cave to some Donald Trump wannabe?”

Mac rested a hand on his son's arm, but the twenty-year-old stepped away from him.

“Son, you don't know what Charles Conner has planned.”

“I know he's not a fucking match for the Brotherhood.” He looked at John, didn't say what he was thinking. There was no way some old man was a match for John Winchester, money or not. “You can't let this happen.”

“You think I want this to happen?” John exploded. “The man is a cold-hearted bastard. Mary was a fucking miracle. She turned out the way she did mostly because of her mother and the fact that she spent so much time in boarding schools away from that man's influence. You think I want my sweet, trusting, little boy in his hands?”

Caleb didn't blink. “Then we'll take him out.”

“Caleb Thomas Reaves!” Mac snapped, bringing both hunters' gazes to him. “You will not speak of killing a human being. Do you hear me?”

Reaves shook his head. “He's no better than the things we hunt.”

“You will not put the end before the means.” Ames stepped forward, gave John a withering look as if he had spoken the words to the other hunter instead of his son.

“You both will let me handle this from my end. Is that understood? We will explore every avenue to block Mr. Conner by playing his own game, but we will not resort to treachery, or sully the hard work that generations of hunters before us died to accomplish.”

He looked to Reaves. “The Brotherhood is about protecting the innocent. We do not punish the guilty, nor do we take matters into our own hands when feel we are at a perilous junction with our backs against the wall. We will do this my way.”

“Said like a true Scholar,” John sniped. “But things don't always fall in a damn rulebook.”

Mac's face twisted in anger. “And not all things can be handled with a sword and a bad attitude.”

“So, you're going to lecture him to death, instead?” Caleb rolled his eyes, hiding the slight amusement he always felt when his father got on a tangent. He looked at John. “I don't think you have anything to worry about, Johnny.”

“Yeah, your daddy is a sharp-tongued bandit.”

“Don't encourage him,” Mac growled, glaring once more at Winchester. “You have already had far too much influence in his education.”

“Hey, I'm not the one that trusted me to baby sit all those times when you were off cracking skulls open.”

“I never needed a babysitter.” Reaves protested. He had always looked at his times staying with the Winchesters as training sessions-educational field trips.

Mac smiled knowingly at his old friend. “Just remember those words when one of your own children ends up smart-mouthed and incorrigible.” He nodded to Reaves. “Good nannies are just as hard to come by these days.”

The young, dark-haired hunter sighed. “I'm not a fucking nanny.”

“No.” John glanced at him, his expression serious once more. “But I know you can protect my boys. I trust you. After all, as Mac pointed out, I trained you myself.”

Caleb faltered, not quite sure what to comeback with. Praise from Winchester was rare and often very subtle. For just a moment he was tempted to whisper 'Cristo'. “This your way of trying to butter me up, Jar Head? What next? Hearts and flowers?”

The older hunter snorted, ducked his head, and rubbed at the back of his neck again. “But damn if you aren't a smart-ass.” He glanced back up. “How about I just give you ten dollars, like the good old days?”

“Twenty-five and you have a deal.” Caleb crossed his arms over his chest. “Inflation you know, and I am a starving college student now.”

“Fifteen,” John countered. “Sam's out of diapers. There's not that much to it anymore.”

Reaves laughed. “Have you met your sons? Dean reeks of testosterone. I should charge you fifty.”

“Twenty… and you make sure they eat, and stay out of the fucking bathroom.”

The psychic nodded. “Done.”

“See?” Mac grinned, slapped a hand on each man's back. “Civility. Compromise. It all has its place in the grand scheme of things.” The doctor started for the hallway. “I'll make a few calls, Johnathan, and then we'll head into the city to see Bart.”

Winchester nodded, watching him go, before turning back to Caleb. “He thinks he can fix this with the law and by throwing money at it.”

“It's the Ames way,” Caleb said. He'd only been a part of the Ames family for seven years, but he'd learned that first rule immediately.

John sighed. “I hope to hell he's right, and this does work.” He swallowed thickly. “If not…I'll lose them both.”

Caleb knew what he meant. John hadn't mentioned Dean, and the younger hunter didn't know the details of what this Conner had in mind, or what he'd used against John to gain the upper hand. But if Sam was lost to them, then his brother would be, too. At least the part of Dean that made him Dean. That wasn't an option.

“I assume Mac's talking about Bart Cameron?“

John nodded.

“He's one of the top criminal lawyers in the country. He and Mac went to college together. They were in the same Fraternity.” The words didn't ring with the confidence Caleb had planned. Instead, they sounded hollow.

“I've heard his name before.” John ran a hand over his mouth, taking the offering for what it was worth. “But this kind of war isn't fought in a courtroom. You know that.”

Caleb Reaves did know that, and he also knew in that moment his father's fears were founded. He and John were cut from the same cloth in more respects than Mackland Ames would ever be comfortable with. “Jungle warfare.”

John nodded, cleared his throat. He pointed a finger at Caleb, as if he were suddenly the mind reader. “But that doesn't mean that you're going to be in the trenches. Get my drift, private?”

When the younger man rolled his eyes, John continued. “I mean it, Caleb. This is my fight.”

“But I've got your back. That's how it works.”

“It works the way I say it works.” Winchester put his hands on his hips. “You're not to get involved in this, except for watching Dean and Sam. That's an order.”

“An order?”

“Right. An order. It falls under the rules of command. That thing where someone in charge tells you what to do and you do it, without talking trash. I'm in charge.”

“Never heard tell of it.”

John tilted his head, gave the other hunter a look, and Reaves relented. “All right. I'll be a good soldier, sir.”

Winchester sighed, motioned to the papers on the table. “Just keep your nose in the current hunt. I need to go tell the boys bye.”

“Give them that speech on following orders while you're at it, why don't you?” Caleb called after him. “Make sure they know who's in charge while you're gone.”

The ex-marine shook his head. “Why don't you all look it up in that huge dictionary your dad bought Sammy? Write the definition fifty or so times. It might actually soak in that way.”

“Homework duty will cost you an extra ten dollars, Winchester.”

“Add it to my tab, Junior.”

Reaves watched him go, heading in the direction that would take him out onto the screened in porch. A wave of fear crashed into Caleb as he let his guard down momentarily, like releasing a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

The room crackled with built-up tension, sending chills up the young psychic's arms. Hairs on the back of his neck stood at attention, and his stomach twisted in reaction. The twenty-year-old clenched his fist, closed his eyes for a moment, before taking in a shaky breath, erecting his defenses once more.

His gaze went to the kitchen window again. He wasn't going to let some rich man mess with the Brotherhood. Screw with John and hurt Dean and Sam.

Fuck a bunch of orders and lectures. He'd fix it. If not by the Ames way, goddamnit… then by the Hunter's way.

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