God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman
By: Tidia, December 2007
Beta: Household Six
Disclaimer: I don't
own Supernatural—just borrowing. And Ridley C. James created The
Brotherhood AU
Timeline: Comes after To The Victor Go The Spoils
(taking place May 2007), and two other stories we have
planned—Offerings and Takings set in late summer and The Edge of Winter
set in the fall. So there are some mentions of these, and they will be
written in time.
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Chapter 2/4
Mackland came to a few conclusions. He was in some sort of dream state,
which was twisting his current reality to have all the players of his
life fit in a non-Brotherhood world. He must have been struck on the
head and was therefore unconscious. For a while, he believed it was
demon-instigated and Joshua was his demon guide. In this place, Joshua
was a lingering annoyance, but Mackland figured he needed to be patient
in order to see his real son, Caleb, who he figured would be a part of
this dream.
So he stayed in bed and learned too much about Joshua, who waited with
Mac while Esme returned home to shower and grab some of Mackland's
things.
"Dad?"
Joshua interrupted Mackland's reading of the New York Times. The doctor
hoped he was able to stop himself cringing at the use of 'Dad' by
Joshua. "Yes?"
Esme’s son was sitting in a chair, a magazine opened on his lap. "I
should have said something a long time ago, but when stuff like this
happens, it's a real wakeup call. Thank you."
Mackland automatically responded with "You're welcome." He hoped Joshua
would take it as a cue that Mackland wanted some silence, but Joshua
continued his longwinded explanation.
"I always felt like your real son— you’re the only father I've known. I
know you love Mom, but it must have been hard with an infant involved .
. ."
The doctor's interest was piqued. He assumed, distastefully, that he
was Joshua's biological father. "Your father—" Mackland started.
"Harland Sawyer ran off with the secretary at the dealership he worked
at when he found out my mother was pregnant. I will never refer to him
as a ‘father’."
Mackland smiled. It was nice to know that in this reality Harland
Sawyer was still a slimy bastard. He had given him a fitting profession
as a car salesman. "Don't you need to go back to work?" The sooner
Joshua left, the sooner he could possibly see Caleb, Dean and Sam, the
sooner he could then wake up.
"It is a busy season, but all holiday donations are usually in by this
time. Although, as you say, the unexpected can happen."
"You work for a non-profit?" Mackland wanted to know why he created a
Joshua that was a sterling example of a generous, kind-hearted human
being. These were words he would never use to describe the real Joshua
Sawyer. "Did you ever think of for profit? Public relations?"
"That job?" Joshua crossed his arms. "I was flattered, but I can make a
difference with helping the needy."
He was baffled. His one thought was that maybe Joshua represented The
Brotherhood, defending the meek, but it was a strange characterization.
Joshua was the wrong choice for that. Caleb was always the epitome of
The Brotherhood.
Then, as if Mackland needed further evidence that his subconscious was
playing some sort of game with him, it came when the door opened.
Mackland brightened immediately. "Caleb!"
Caleb gave a quick nod and grin, shifting the wrapped, large flat
package under his other arm.
Joshua stood up, came forward, his hand outstretched. "Josh, Josh Ames."
Mackland silenced a snort at the introduction. He understood its place
in his dream state: he wished both boys could accept that their parents
were having a relationship. And he had always wished Caleb had taken
his name.
"Nice to meet you. Caleb Reaves."
Caleb's hair had been long when he was younger and pulled back into a
ponytail, which was the style this current Caleb was wearing. Mackland
never knew why he had cut it. One day he saw his son and noticed the
longer hair was gone. Mac missed it, thinking it fit in more with
Caleb's personality than his short hair.
Caleb rolled up one sleeve of his gray hooded sweatshirt. "I went to
your office to deliver the painting and found out what happened. The
nurse said it was safe to come in. The painting is still a surprise for
your wife, correct?" Caleb lifted the package up.
Mackland was excited. He had seen few of Caleb's paintings, and mostly
at his prompting. His son kept quite a few secrets, like the room in
his home filled with his mother's artwork. "Yes, a surprise. Can I see
it?"
"Dad, I'm going to get going, since you have company." Joshua was at
the door and lifted his hand up.
Mackland waved back and added a sincere "Thank you, Joshua."
Caleb removed the paper carefully, and there before Mackland was a
beautiful oil painting of the ocean. The different hues of blue were
represented. It was a tumultuous piece.
"A Caleb Reaves original," Mackland said with awe. His son was painting
seascapes without the dark ramifications the water always brought up
for him. "Please sit, sit," the doctor prompted.
Caleb did as he was asked, carefully wrapping the picture up again.
This was a moment Mackland couldn't resist— to talk to his son without
the encumbrances of a tainted childhood. "How did you become an artist?"
Caleb gave him a dazzling smile of true happiness. Smiles were
something Mackland wished he saw more often. "For a while I thought I'd
be an architect— my dad's a builder— but art is in my blood, too. My
mother is an accomplished painter."
"Amelia Reaves," Mackland said, bringing a picture up in his mind of
Caleb's mother.
"Yes." Caleb nodded.
The doctor wanted more information. He wanted to know what brought
happiness to his son. "Where are you spending the holidays?"
Caleb wiped his hands down his jeans. "I'm taking a flight to North
Carolina tonight. Real family Christmas—my mom, dad and brother."
Mackland was surprised, but shouldn’t have been. According to Caleb,
Amelia Reaves had been pregnant when she died. "Brother?"
"Lucas, not an artist." Caleb shook his head and smiled. "He's an
engineer, but he tries to understand the whole artist thing." Reaves
gestured with his hands.
With a soft knock, Dean entered the room, head down, reading notes. He
shifted his head up and noticed another person in the room. Mackland
made the introductions.
"Caleb Reaves, this is Doctor Dean Winchester."
Mackland wanted to witness this moment between the two, but he was
disappointed. It was a brief handshake with no recognition of a kindred
spirit. There was, fortunately, no common link of a dark demonic past
compromising their families.
"I can come back." Dean backed up.
Caleb shook his head. "No, I should get going. Feel better, Doctor
Ames."
He wanted to tell them they could be fast friends, but it would sound
like the ramblings of a lunatic. Instead he jutted his hand out.
"Thanks, son." He shook Caleb's hand, then placed his other hand on
top. "Be happy."
Caleb cocked his head and glanced at their intertwined hands. "Thank
you. Merry Christmas."
Mackland watched Caleb leave the room. He then diverted his attention
to the other doctor. "So Dean, since you chased away my company, then
you'll have to spare a few minutes."
"I — " Dean looked at the door. "Okay."
Mackland shifted in the hospital bed. A discussion with this Dean was
awkward, although all their most recent conversations in the real world
seemed to be that way, too. "What are you doing for the holidays?"
Dean fidgeted, adjusting the sleeves of his white lab coat. "My brother
is here visiting. Mom and Dad are staying home, but I'll visit them in
January for a week."
Mackland smiled. He would have an opportunity to see Sam. "Your brother
is here?"
"Sam, yes. He just got here." Dean gestured towards the door.
"What does your brother do?" Mackland had mentored Sam, encouraging him
to use his mind.
"Sam's a teacher."
Mackland was expecting lawyer, but teacher fit, too, especially with
Sam being the next Scholar. There was a pause in the conversation as
Mackland tried to find other points of discussion. "And your parents
are well?" He wanted to find out about his friend, John, and if he was
with his one true love, Mary. It would be fitting.
"Yeah, my dad owns a garage. My mom is his book keeper." Dean smiled at
the mention of his mother. "Hardest job there is, deciphering my dad's
writing. Makes doctor script look neat."
"And you didn't want to be a mechanic?" Mackland asked. His Dean
Winchester wanted to be just like John and was in many ways—especially
mechanical abilities and hunting.
Dean frowned. "Doctor Ames, I know you are always questioning my
decisions. . ."
"No, no. I am making polite conversation." Mackland waved his hands in
surrender. He had inadvertently insulted the younger man. "I am sorry I
gave you that impression."
Dean seemed to accept the apology. "Well, I am a mechanic in a way. I'm
just helping people instead." The young doctor shrugged his shoulders.
"But I work on cars to relax."
Mackland was glad Dean still wanted to be like John. "Invite your
brother in. I would like to meet him."
Dean's eyebrows rose in confusion. "Ah, sure. He's right outside; we're
supposed to get a cup of coffee together. But I wanted to check in with
you." Dean stepped a little closer and lowered his voice. "Sir, the
reason why I came by was to tell you that Pastor Jim Murphy is back."
Mackland had to commend himself on his dream state. John was happy in
Kansas, and he would get to see Jim again. "He's here?"
Dean nodded with a sigh. "It's his heart. We don’t think he'll make it
this time. He's been asking for you."
Mackland felt his eyes well up. Jim had been the true heart of The
Brotherhood, and without him the hunters seemed to be lost with
infighting. "Let me meet your brother first, and then one of the nurses
can take me to Pastor Jim."
Dean rubbed the back of his neck then exited the room. The door was
slow in closing so that from where Mackland was sitting he could hear
and see Sam.
Sam was thinner, ganglier, but still tall. He was leaning over the
nurses' station.
Dean pulled at his shirt, towards the room. "He wants to meet you."
"What? No way—" Sam pulled away.
Dean grabbed his brother's arm. "He's my boss. You'll meet him and
pretend to like him."
Sam huffed but went along with his older brother.
They both turned around and noticed the door had not fully closed.
Mackland waved at them. The Winchester brothers had overly toothy
smiles, trying to make up for their overheard statements.
Dean cleared his throat as he re-entered the room, brother in tow. "Sam
Winchester, Doctor Mackland Ames."
"Nice to meet you, Sir." Sam extended his hand.
"Nice to meet you." Mackland accepted the handshake. "Dean tells me
you're visiting from Kansas."
Sam shrugged, and it looked like a familiar posture for Sam. This Sam
didn't worry so much, had a more charmed life. "School break, so it was
the perfect time to see my big brother and catch the ball dropping in
Times Square."
Mackland remembered it was last year when the boys had decided to stay
in New York City for New Year’s Eve. How quickly a year passed with so
much happening . . .
He appraised the two young men in front of him. "Your parents must be
very proud. Although somehow I think they must be asking about
grandchildren."
Dean rolled his eyes, and Sam snorted. "I stopped bringing Jess by the
house because I thought that Mom was going to propose to her."
Mackland chuckled. Sam had found his Jessica, and they were together.
The Winchesters were the picture perfect family they should have been
destined to be. He knew he was keeping them from their brotherly time;
although once they left his presence, Mackland still wondered what
would happen with them. Was this a dream state or truly another reality?
He didn't want to ponder it too long. A part of him knew he had to
leave this place, and soon. Time was elapsing quickly, but a lengthy
unconscious state would mean he had been gravely injured. "Well, you
two should go and get that cup of coffee. I'm going to visit Pastor
Jim."
"Nice meeting you." Sam gave a nod, and Dean placed an arm around his
shoulder, guiding him towards the door.
"You too, Sam. You have a hard-working big brother. Take care of him."
"I will," Sam replied and wrapped an arm over his brother's shoulders
with a laugh.
A nurse came in soon after with a wheelchair. Mackland frowned at the
protocol, bringing up too many memories. He decided to exert some
control. "I would rather walk. What room is Pastor Jim in?"
The nurse told him and backed out of the room. Jim was on the floor
above him.
It was dark in Pastor Jim's room with only the reading light on. Jim
was sleeping, his glasses on his nose, the Bible opened on his chest.
He should have known the pastor was not really sleeping. Jim opened his
eyes and gave Mackland a warm smile.
Jim gently closed the book, placing it on the nightstand. "I thought it
would be at least two months between hospital stays, but my heart
wasn’t into it."
Mackland smiled at the poor health joke but caught his eyes welling up
at seeing his old friend. "I've missed you.”
"You'll find another favorite patient soon enough— hopefully, one who
challenges you more on the chess board." He sat up, pushing away
Mackland's assistance.
The doctor wanted this time with the pastor. He had been so brutally
taken away from them. Mackland’s own heart ached when he remembered how
he had spoken to him that morning about some inconsequential
Brotherhood business. However, their underlying concern had been for
John and his sons. He should have been worried about Jim. "If you had
to do this all over, would you change anything? Would you choose this
life?"
That was the important question. He didn't have to talk in terms of The
Brotherhood, although that was his direct meaning. He had stressed to
the younger hunters to have another life away from the hunt. Maybe the
reason why was because he wanted options for himself.
"The life chooses you, Mackland." Jim gripped Mackland's forearm. "You
know that." Jim lessened his grip, became wistful. "Perhaps a little
more time to put my affairs in order and see things come to fruition."
Jim chuckled, "We all want a little more time, don't we?"
Mackland just nodded. The truth about their plans for the next Triad
would surely break Jim's heart.
There was a soft knock at the door before a man entered. He came closer
into the meager light.
"Bobby?" Mackland barely recognized the cleanly shaven, suit-wearing
mechanic.
Singer laughed haughtily. "I haven’t been called ‘Bobby’ since college.
Are you a fellow Beta Gamma?"
Mackland rubbed his mouth. This was not Robert 'Bobby' Singer. "You
could say a fraternity was involved."
Bobby seemed to accept the answer. "Your young resident asked me to
check on Jim Murphy. I can't believe I was recognized, but being a
famous doctor. . ."
"Dean Winchester sent you in? He's a good boy," Jim said, showing his
partiality toward Dean, his choice as the next Guardian.
"Recognized? Famous?" Mackland didn't understand. Those were
descriptions usually given to him.
"It seems I have a fan club after creating an artificial valve . . . ,"
Bobby began to explain, but Mackland stopped listening.
"Doctor
Singer?" He sputtered. "Oh no, absolutely not. . ." Mackland willed
himself to wake up, fearing he had descended into hell.
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