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 5/7

"If you can’t take the heat, don’t tickle the dragon.” -unknown

John was out of the truck as soon as it rolled to a stop. They had passed the unfamiliar limo on the way in and his well-honed hunter’s sense was on full alert, rivaled only by the hard-wired instincts of a father. Something was wrong.

He almost breathed a sigh of relief when he saw both his boys standing by Jim’s truck, unharmed. But then his gaze fell on Caleb Reaves’ slumped form and his heart faltered a beat. "Damn it."

“Caleb!” Murphy called out the boy’s name as he hustled past him, quickly making his way to the downed hunter’s side.

“Dean?” John knelt next to his son, placing a hand on his shoulder. “What the hell happened?”

The twelve-year-old looked at him. “A man…somebody named Conner.” His bottom lip trembled, as he glanced to the pastor. "Is he okay?"

“He’s breathing,” Jim spoke up, ignoring Dean's question. He shot John a quick glance, and then looked off into the distance. “That ambulance sounds close.”

“Conner did this?” Winchester took in the obvious injuries littering Reaves’ body, worried at those not seen. John reached up and turned his boy's face to him. "Dean? Are you sure, son?” Charles Conner was many things, but physically violent wasn’t one of them. It was too unrefined for his tastes.

“Some goons with him,” Dean explained and his father let him go. His gaze went back to watching Jim’s ministrations.

“Caleb?” Jim was patting the hunter’s face. He glanced up at the younger Winchesters. “How long has he been out, boys?”

“Just a few minutes,” Dean told him.

“And humans did this to him?” Winchester was still in shock. He had trained Reaves himself. The kid could handle almost any kind of hand to hand situation. There had to be some explanation.

“He had a vision,” Dean snapped, as if sensing what his father was thinking. “He was out of it when they jumped him.”

“They were like giants!” Sam piped up in defense also. “Dean tried to help, but that bad man stopped him.”

John sighed. "Dean-go to the end of the drive-make sure that ambulance knows where to come."

The twelve-year-old looked reluctant to leave. "Now, son. Go!"

Finally, the boy took off and John focused on his youngest. “Sammy-go into the house and get a blanket.”

The seven-year-old hesitated only a moment before releasing his grip on Reaves’ hand. He gave his father a quick nod and jumped up, scampering towards the house with Scout nipping at his heels. “This gash looks bad,” John said, turning his attention to the deep cut just above Caleb’s hairline. “He could have one hell of a concussion.”

About that time, the psychic moved his head, groaned, and his eyes fluttered open. “Caleb?” Jim rested his hand on the young man’s chest to keep him from moving. “Are you with us, my boy?”

“That depends…are you in Hell, too?”

John snorted. “Somewhere in the vicinity, but I’m guessing not at the same level as you.”

“You’d be right,” Reaves tried to turn his head to see Winchester, but a sudden knifing sensation behind his right eye had him hissing in pain, and remaining perfectly still. “Ow.”

“Where do you hurt?” Jim asked, worriedly. “His hands ghosting over the young hunter’s body.”

“Easier to list places… I don’t, ” Caleb ground out, his mouth quirked. “Big toe, left pinky finger…”

“Caleb,” John reprimanded and the psychic sighed, coughing slightly.

“Kidneys are bad, ribs are worse… head is much…much worse.”

“Just hang in there,” Jim squeezed his arm. “The ambulance is here now.”

“No hospital.”

Reaves heard Winchester mutter something under his breath that sounded like ’stupid ass’, but his hearing was beginning to fade in and out so he wasn’t quite sure.

“Oh he’s going,” Jim assured, and Caleb forced his eyes open again, wondering if he’d missed part of the conversation. “And you’re going with him.”

“Me?” John snapped. “I can’t go-not with Conner around.”

“He’s coming…back.” Reaves reached out suddenly, grabbed Winchester’s arm. “Bastard…said to tell you he would see you tomorrow.” Caleb licked his lips… “I’m sorry, man.”

“It’s not your fault, kid.” John glanced up as the ambulance came to a stop not far from his truck. Sam came tearing out of the house at the same time, a pile of blankets grasped in his small arms.

“You need to know…” Caleb’s grip tightened and Winchester looked back to the injured hunter. “He told them…Dean…about Mary. I…tried to stop him.” The psychic winced again, his breath hitching now with each inhale. “ I‘m sorry.”

John squeezed the kid’s shoulder. “Take it easy. We’re going to get you fixed up.”

They were swarmed by paramedics then, pushed to the side. John grabbed Sam before he could get in the way, holding him close against his chest, breathing in the scent of little boy and summer-night air. “It’s okay, Tiger,” he whispered, hoping his words didn’t sound as hollow as they rang in his own ears.

A light touch on his arm had him looking up into the solemn green eyes of his oldest son. “You did good, Ace.”

“What’s going on, Dad?”

There was a hint of anger in the tone, and the marine had to remind himself what his son had just gone through. “We’ll discuss it later.”

“Will Caleb be okay?” Sam asked in a hushed tone, as he followed every move of the paramedics.

“Sure he will,” John said, soothingly, tightening his hold on the small child. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

“Even when tomorrow comes?” Dean spoke up again, his eyes also glued to the paramedics working on Reaves.

The oldest Winchester glanced up. “Drop it, Dean.” His twelve-year-old son’s face was hard, his lip clamped firmly between his teeth. Both fists were clenched and his body looked primed and ready for a fight. This wasn’t how John had meant for them to find out. Of course things rarely ran the course that he wanted them to-especially where his family was concerned. “This isn’t the time.”

Dean shook his head, his eyes stinging despite his effort to redirect his emotions. His father wasn’t answering his question, just as Jim hadn’t answered his earlier inquiry about Caleb. Neither of them knew the answers-or else they were afraid to give the ones they did know. It sucked. “You’re a liar.”

Sam now looked up at the older boy, shock written on his expressive face. He felt his father tense behind him, tried to take a step towards his brother but found himself still caught in John’s grasp. “What did you say?” The older hunter growled.

Before Dean could reply, Jim was speaking. “Johnathan, they’re ready to go.”

Dean didn’t look at his father, although he felt his hot gaze searing through him. Instead, he watched as the stretcher was raised and rushed towards the ambulance, an empty feeling starting in the pit of his stomach branching out to swallow him whole. “Go, Dad. I’ll take care of Sammy.”

John stood, releasing his youngest son, who automatically went to Dean, burrowing his face in the older boy’s t-shirt. Winchester looked away, met the priest’s gaze. “Call Mackland. Tell him to meet us there. Call Joshua, too, he’s close by.” The marine raked a hand through his hair, “We’re going to need some back-up.”

Jim nodded, glanced back over his shoulder to where the medics were loading Caleb. “Take care of him,” he told John, moving to stand by Dean and Sam. “I’ll take care of everything else.”

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An annoying beeping and a hissing whir heralded Caleb to the waking world, a cacophony of other familiar sounds missing as he fought his way back to consciousness. There was no chirping of crickets, or crowing of Caesar, Jim’s favorite rooster. No laughter flooded from under the adjoining door to his room, and no classical music floated to him from the library where Jim usually spent his mornings reading.

The smell was different, too. Antiseptic-like and harsh instead of the aroma of hay, and brewing coffee. Reaves almost gave back into the tempting pull of blackness instead of facing the harsh reality of where he was, but a warm hand on his forehead kept him prisoner.

Fingers slid through his hair, and a deep voice said his name. He blinked, trying to get his eyes to cooperate, and the fuzzy image of his father’s concerned face came slightly into focus.

“Dad?” His voice sounded rough and weak to his own ears, and he winced at the burning rawness the simple word evoked.

“Hey,” Mac smiled, tightening the grip he had on his son’s hand when he recognized the disoriented look in his green eyes. “About time you woke up, young man.”

“What…happened?” Caleb glanced around the darkened room. The machines and bland walls and dingy tiled-ceiling filling in the ‘where’ part of his unspoken concern. Fucking hospital.

“You decided to add to my gray hair collection yet again.” Mac frowned. “If you keep this up, I’m going to begin to think this is some kind of self-destructive ploy for my attention. Or perhaps a way of getting out of our deal about school.”

Reaves tried for a grin, but only managed a wince when his attempt caused pain to radiate up the side of his face. “If I thought getting you to change your mind…about something was this easy…,” he rasped.

“Easy?” Mac shook his head, ran his fingers soothingly through his boy’s hair again. “Nothing about seeing you hurt is easy.”

Caleb blinked, worried by the haunted look on the doctor’s face. “Dad…are you okay?”

No. He was not okay. Mac shook his head, forced a weary smile. “I should be asking you that-don’t you think?” The physician overrode the father and Mac let his hand slide from his son’s head. “How are you feeling?”

“Is that a trick question?” The psychic closed his eyes for a moment when Mac gave him the ‘cut the bull’ look.

He felt his father squeeze his hand and he forced himself to open his eyes and take stock. “My head…hurts. Bad.” His voice broke slightly and he silently cursed the stupid drugs they must have given him to have him sounding like such a pussy.

Mac sighed in empathy. “I’m sure it does. You have a concussion-but nothing that some rest and time won’t cure.”

“What else?”

“Well,” Ames took a deep breath, let it out slowly, “you have some pretty impressive contusions and a couple of cracked ribs. Not to mention, a bruised kidney.”

“My face?” Caleb raised a brow. After all, a guy had to have his priorities, and if the way it hurt was any indication of how he looked-his libido was going to take a beating.

Mac laughed. “No need to worry. You won’t be disappointing any of the lovely co-eds. Although, it may be a good thing Fall term is still a couple of months away.”

“Great,” Caleb groaned.

“But you’re going to be fine, son.” Mac was back to being a father again. The same father who had bullied his way into the examining room and paced like a caged tiger until the wet-behind-the-ears intern finally assured him that Caleb did not have any internal bleeding. He let his hand rest on Reaves’ hair again, warmed by the thought the young man didn’t shy away or rebuke the physical contact.

It was rare that he accepted any such coddling. Not that the Ames family was famous for demonstrative affection. But having missed out on the early years with Caleb when he might have had an opportunity to form such a bond sometimes ate away at him. Especially when he interacted with young Sam who was so open and innocent in his ways of expressing his feelings. After all, if John Winchester could have sired such a warm and sharing child, then surely Mackland could have done the same, before hormones and societal views on manhood interrupted him. Then there was the whole issue of the Brotherhood…

As if Mac’s thoughts had heralded him, the door to the room suddenly swung open and in walked John Winchester, ruining the rare Hallmark moment-as Dean would have called it.

Caleb moved away from him, pulling his hand free from his grip also, in an effort to push himself up in the bed. Obviously he didn't want to appear weak or defenseless in the presence of greatness. Mac rolled his eyes, and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Hey, kiddo.” Winchester stepped towards the bed, offering Ames a Styrofoam cup and a sheepish smile, as he made his way to Caleb‘s side. “You’re awake.”

“Unfortunately.”

John shook his head. “You feel as bad as you look, huh?”

“Yeah,” Caleb smirked, but then frowned suddenly. “Why are you here? Where are Sam and Dean? Did Conner…”

“Take it easy,” Mac nudged past John, to put a restraining hand on Reaves’ shoulder as several machines registered the change in the patient’s heart rate. “You’re in no condition to get worked up. We can discuss all of this later.”

“But…the boys,” Caleb again tried to shrug away from his father, even going so far as to attempt to get out of the bed. “We need to…get a plan together…”

“Hey,” John snapped, leaning against the rail of the bed, physically blocking the younger hunter without actually touching him. “Stop it. The boys are fine. Jim has them, and I just talked with Bobby. He and Joshua are on their way there.”

“Joshua?” Caleb growled. “What the hell can Joshua do? He‘s an idiot, and Dean won‘t listen to him.” Dean didn’t usually listen to Caleb either, but at least he knew how to work the kid. Joshua wasn’t a match for Sam-let alone his big brother.

“Caleb.” John’s voice left no room for rebuke and the young hunter finally rested back against the pillows.

“Fine,” He sighed, his arm protectively guarding his aching ribs. “When can I get out of here?”

“You just woke up!” Mac snapped, harsher than he meant to and both men gave him with a curious look. The doctor ran his fingers along his eyebrow, feeling his own headache starting to blossom, his blood pressure steadily climbing. “I assume your attending will want to be notified of your change in status. There will be an observation time and…”

“And you can do it back at the farm,” Caleb offered, weakly. “I want out of here.” He wanted back in the game.

“You are a neurosurgeon,” John added and the glare Ames shot him spoke volumes about his appreciation of the helpful comment.

“So what, Johnathan?” Mackland demanded. “I can open him up on Jim’s kitchen table if need be? Perhaps Bobby could scrub in as my nurse. After all, he is a mechanic-an engine isn‘t that different from the human brain.” The doctor clapped his hands together. “No worries, then. I’ll go secure the AMA. If Caleb has a sudden hematoma or aneurysm, I can just patch him right up so you can get him back out in the field as soon as possible? Lord forbid one of your key players be benched in the middle of a game.”

“Mac…what the hell…” John tried, but Ames had already gotten on a roll.

“Don’t ’Mac’ me!” The man snapped, stepping toe-to-toe with Winchester. “This is my son we’re talking about. My son, Johnathan! Not your goddamn soldier.”

“Dad…” Caleb’s voice was hesitant, unsure. He’d never seen his father so angry and if the look on John’s face was any indication, neither had he.

“You’re right,” John spoke up, and Reaves was shocked for the second time in so many minutes. “I’m a selfish bastard.”

“That goes without saying.” Ames agreed.

“Caleb should stay here. You stay with him. I’ll go back to Jim’s and handle things.”

“No.” Reaves interrupted. “I don’t want to stay here.” He looked at Winchester, attempting to steal one of Sam’s patented moves. “Please.”

The door to the room suddenly opened and an attractive, older woman with dark auburn hair strode in. She gave each of the older men a wary once over before her green gaze focused on Caleb, a genuine smile lifting years away from her lovely face. “It’s good to see you awake, Mr. Reaves. I’m Doctor Elizabeth McCoy.”

She stepped closer to her patient and glanced at the monitoring equipment. “How are you feeling?”

Caleb shifted himself in the bed. “I’m good, Doc.”

“No you’re not.”

The young psychic glared at his father. “Yes. I. Am.”

Mackland stepped forward, extending his hand. All signs of his previous anger had fled. “I’m Mackland Ames.”

“Yes, I‘m aware.” The woman shook his hand, then looked at Caleb once more. “Is there a problem, Doctor Ames?”

“Yes.” "No." Caleb and Mac answered simultaneously.

The physician raised a brow, crossed her arms over the chart clasped against her chest. “I see.”

“My son seems to think that he is quite capable of leaving the quality care you are providing here, Doctor McCoy.” He inclined his head. “And please, call me Mac. We’re colleagues, after all.”

Reaves rolled his eyes, having witnessed his adopted father’s charm on several occasion. Smoozing was as genetically hard-wired in the Ames family as pissing people off was in the Winchester’s. “I’m talking about going home, Mac, not running a freakin’ marathon.”

McCoy’s smile faded and her brow furrowed as she turned her gaze back to her patient. “Mr. Reaves, you have a severe concussion, and several fractured ribs, not to mention numerous contusions. You’ve been in and out of consciousness for the past four hours. I could not ethically recommend you leaving the hospital at this time.”

“That’s exactly what I told him.” Mac nodded, rubbing his chin. “Excellent work by your staff, by the way. Seems like a sharp group on top of their game.”

John snorted, having been the unfortunate one to endure his old friend’s earlier tirade about mediocre care, snot-nosed residents, and bogus on-line medical degrees. But Ames favored him with another withering glare, and he quickly moved away, making his way to the head of Caleb’s bed.

The woman gave Mac a cool smile, and this time it was impossible to mistake thinly veiled hostility for flattery. “That’s funny, Doctor Ames, but some of my staff was under the impression you were quite dissatisfied with the care your son was receiving. One even told me you demanded to see his credentials. I think you made another first-year resident cry.” She shook her head, disapprovingly. “There was no need to inform everyone of your connections at John’s Hopkins and Duke. You’re reputation proceeds you, and I would dare say that your perfectionist attitude and condescending air makes younger, more inexperienced physicians rather insecure. I on the other hand am not that impressed.”

Caleb grunted. “Try being his son.”

“Well…yes,” Mac stammered, but Doctor McCoy cut him off.

“I will however let the board know that you offered to update our radiology room with a generous donation from the Ames Foundation.”

“I don’t think that is exactly what I said.” Mac’s face had lost some of its color and John was finding himself liking this doctor more by the minute.

Winchester scratched his head. “Yeah, I think it was more along the lines that you could have bought better equipment than the prehistoric crap they were using with the spare change in your pocket.”

“Thank you for clarifying that, Johnathan,” Mackland growled.

“I’ll be excited to see that check then, Doctor Ames.” McCoy dismissed him with another quick smile and focused her complete attention on Reaves. “As for you, young man, if you agree to stay the night for observation, then I will see about having you released in the morning.”

“Sounds like a good deal, kiddo.” John nudged the younger hunter’s shoulder. “Better agree to it before your dad ends up springing for a new pediatrics wing.”

“Whatever,” Caleb sighed, “As long as I’m sprung first thing tomorrow.”

“Believe me,” McCoy shot another glance over her shoulder towards Ames, “ We want your release as expedient as possible. And considering we are sending you home with a living legend in the medical field, I don‘t think that will be a problem.”

“Do you do house calls, Doctor McCoy?” John asked suddenly, showing his own capacity for charm. “Because I know people who would pay to see this.”

McCoy smiled, and there was no false pleasantry involved. “Please, call me Liz. And I have been known to drop by and check in on patients from time to time in the past.”

“How Dr. Quinn of you,” Mac grumbled. “And do you employ the barter system also? Because I’m sure Johnathan could scrounge up several chickens and some can goods.”

“Actually, dinner would be sufficient.” Liz once again favored Winchester with an appreciative glance. “As long as the company is above par.”

Caleb laughed, and covered it with a painful cough that had all eyes on him. “Hate to break up this General Hospital moment , but shouldn’t I be getting some rest.”

“Of course,” Doctor McCoy patted his leg as she turned to go. “I’ll prescribe some pain relief now that you’ve been conscious and coherent for a while.”

“Yes, don’t bother with any further diagnostics. I’m sure I can handle any inter-cranial hemorrhaging if need be.”

McCoy stopped at the door, and cast an apologetic glance at Reaves. “On second thought, maybe I could just have Prince Valium come visit your father so everyone could get some rest.”

John grinned, dimples flashing. “Sounds like a happy ending to me, Liz.”

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“Once upon a time in a land far, far away, there lived a young prince named Samuel.” Jim pulled the patchwork quilt higher up on the little boy’s shoulder and smiled. “As you know, Samuel was a very special boy with many amazing gifts. He lived in a very magical world, surrounded by amazing friends that protected him."

“The dragons,” Sam sighed, his dark eyes sparkling in the lamplight.

“The dragons.” Murphy nodded, running two fingers over his white mustache. "These fearsome creatures protected young Sam from a very great Evil."

"The fire monster," the seven-year-old added, with an exaggerated shudder. "I really hate him."

“Me too," Jim agreed, and then continued in his story voice. "Unfortunately, the dragons were so unusual and Sam was so special that he drew the attention of a very powerful King.”

The priest cast a quick glance to the bed’s other two occupants. Dean was watching him intently, and Scout was busy rooting her way into a comfortable spot between the boys. “The King decided that he must have the boy for himself, that perhaps the dragons were not the ones to raise young Samuel. He wanted Sam to live with him in his castle far away-to be a part of his family.”

“But Samuel likes living with the dragons.” The boy pointed out, his fingers absently brushing through the little lab puppy’s hair. “He loves them.” Sam glanced to his brother and then to Jim. “A lot.”

“And the dragons loved the prince very much, too. But the King refused to see reason.”

“I bet Athewm was mad at the King?” Sam asked around a yawn.

“Oh yes,” Jim nodded, solemnly. “Athewm took the job of being Samuel’s personal protector very seriously. Green dragons are guardian dragons. They are incredibly loyal and protective, you know.” Murphy met Dean’s eyes, then glanced back to Sam. “And Athewm had taken care of young Samuel since he was a baby.”

“They were family.” Sam looked up at his brother again when he felt Dean’s hand come to rest on his head, his fingers sliding through his long baby-fine hair. “Like me and Dean.”

Jim swallowed hard. “Yes. Just like you and Dean, Sam.” The preacher cleared his throat. “But none of the dragons were happy with this King. Oh’nathan Jay was beside himself trying to come up with a plan to stop the King. And Cam and Asotrim were busy making sure he did not make matters worse with that dark temper of his.”

“Because black dragons are the most fierce,” Sam pointed out, sleepily.

“Yes.” Murphy sighed. “I’m afraid their dark countenance is not a happy one in the best of times.”

“What about Belac?” Sam asked, barely able to hold his eyes open now.

“Well you know how Belac is.”

“He’s an idiot,” Dean mumbled, and Jim frowned at him.

“No he’s not,” Sam defended, his eyes widening against the heavy burden of exhaustion. “He’s just a red dragon. And red dragons let their feelings get the best of them. Right, Pastor Jim?”

“I'm afraid so, Sammy.” Murphy nodded. “Belac was so upset with the King because he was threatening the prince and upsetting everyone, especially Athewm,” Jim pointedly stared at Dean, “that he attacked the King’s army, and landed himself in a peck of trouble.”

“But didn’t he read the King’s mind? Couldn’t he tell what was going to happen?”

“Well, Sam, even smart, psychic, dragons like Belac make mistakes.”

“And nearly get themselves killed.” Dean spoke up again, quieter this time.

“Yes,” Jim rubbed at his eyes. “Scales are not impenetrable.”

“Was Belac okay?”

Dean and Jim shared a look over the little boy’s head. “Of course,” the priest said confidently. “Oh’nathan was able to rescue him in the nick of time, and Cam used his magic claws to heal him like new. He was fine, my boy.”

Sam glanced up at Jim then, some other emotion besides weariness clouding the usual bright gaze. “Is Caleb going to be okay? He was bleeding really bad.”

The priest patted the boy’s chest, wondering not for the first time if the child was finally outgrowing the land of dragons story he’d weaved for him since he was barely old enough to talk. “Caleb is going to be fine, Sam.” The pastor raised his gaze to Dean, feeling the need to reassure the other boy also. “He should be home from the hospital tomorrow. Mac said he was already harassing the doctors and flirting with the pretty nurses.”

“Did he get hurt because of me?” There was a tremor in the little boy's voice.

“No,” Murphy stated, emphatically, determined to erase any hint of guilt. “There is only one person responsible for this, Samuel, and that would be the Kin...I mean, Charles Conner.”

Sam rolled towards his brother then, his brown eyes filling. “I don’t want to live with the King. I don‘t want to go with Mr. Conner.” He curled himself into Dean. “I want to stay with you and Daddy.”

The older boy’s own eyes shone brightly as he pulled his brother closer to him, and glanced up at Jim. “Don’t worry, Sammy. No one’s taking you away from us. I promise.”

Jim watched the boys for a moment, wishing he could spin some ending that would make it all better for them.

But he was afraid tonight was only the beginning of the story, spiraling out of his narrative control, and he was quite certain there was no fairytale ending in sight. “Get some sleep, my boys.” He turned off the light and slipped out of the room, trusting Dean to take care of the soft sobs still emanating from his younger brother. There were some things best handled by Athewm.

“Don’t cry.” Dean continued to rake his fingers through his little brother’s hair. “It’s okay.”

“But…wha…what if I have to go?”

“Then I’ll come with you,” the ten-year-old promised, sure that it would never come to that.

“But then Daddy would be alone,” Sam muttered, miserably.

There was nothing more important to the older Winchester than family. He never wanted to choose between his brother and his father. Even the thought was crazy. But if it did come to that, Sammy needed him more. “Don’t worry about, Dad. He can take care of himself.”

“I’m scared, Dean.”

Those words sometimes came after a nightmare, but usually nothing frightened the seven-year-old. In fact, sometimes his fearlessness got him in trouble, and had his big brother terrified. “Nothing to be afraid of, Sammy. As long as I’m around nothing bad is going to happen to you.”

Sam looked up at him then, his dark eyes shining with unshed tears, long lashes glistening with trapped droplets in the glow of the nightlight. “Because you’re Athewm?”

Dean grinned, shaking his head. “No, dork. Because I’m your big brother. That beats a bad old dragon any day.”

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