Dragon Slayer
By: Ridley
Beta: Tidia
A/N: Thank you so much for all the wonderful feedback. I am so sorry that this chapter has been longer in coming, as this time of year is very busy in career, my job on the side, and family. Thank you for your patience.
RcJ
Dean knew from experience that a watched clock did not perform as it should, instead of speeding up under close scrutiny; it actually gave the illusion of slowing down. He imagined the moon face on the mantle over the fireplace smiling in satisfaction as its age old ploy tormented him.
"You're only making it harder on yourself."
Dean glanced from the clock to Sullivan sitting across from him at the small kitchen table. He picked up his cup of coffee to keep from lifting his middle finger in a gesture of how much he appreciated the older hunter's advice. The scowl he managed over the lip didn't discourage Gage from continuing.
"They'll be back when they get back." Sullivan leaned forward, tapping the table. "Concentrating on that book in front of you, the job, that will make time go a whole hell of a lot faster than you ogling the hour hand."
"There's nothing in here about displaced spirits dosed with demon blood." Dean slammed the cover of the journal he'd been reading, rousing Scout who had been sleeping by the chair Jim had pulled over for Dean to prop his leg upon. He winced when the Black Lab banged into it as she stretched and made her way to him, butting her broad head against his leg until Dean put his coffee down to pet her.
"I didn't figure there was considering your father said he hadn't come across anything like it. That's his journal you've been staring at for the last half hour."
"So I'm not the only one keeping time." Dean ran a finger over the spine of his dad's journal. He had been reading about magical charms and binding spells, not specific creatures. Pastor Jim had taken the one and only computer, using an ancient modem that was not making his job of research any easier. The Guardian had assigned Dean and Sullivan to read the few books on hand, declaring they might discover something useful. Dean believed it more of a ruse on The Guardian's part to keep the two antsy, injured men occupied and out of his hair. Tensions were running high in the cabin. Even with space, it seemed cramped with the restless occupants.
"You forget I have someone out there, too."
"Right." Dean opened his father's journal, choosing to look at one of John Winchester's crude renderings of a ghoul than face the raw pain in Sullivan's blue gaze. Men had died, men Sullivan knew and cared about. "I'm sorry about your team. Mac said you were tight with them."
"Phelps and I came through the ranks together as kids, both our dads were hunters. Jackson was a recent addition, not a legacy, but he was a good man."
"There's still a chance..." Dean started, knowing that scenario was unlikely.
Sullivan sighed. "I'm not holding out hope he'll come back alive, but I'd like to have answers to give to his family if that time comes."
Dean raised a brow. "You're not much of an optimist, are you?"
"I'm a realist." Gage picked up the whiskey bottle Bobby had left on the table and dumped a generous measure into his coffee. "I have a feeling you and I have that in common."
"I expect my friends and family to come back breathing." Dean would not let his imagination conjure any other ending. He might not be some naive Pollyanna, but when it came to those he loved, Dean had steel-like faith. Dean refused to lose anyone else.
"I had similar expectations when I started this job." Gage grinned, showing a row of perfect white teeth and deep set dimples that lessened the effect of the weathered lines on his tanned face. "Sometimes we don't get what we hoped. I thought you were one who understood that considering where and who you come from."
"You don't like my dad very much, do you?" Dean wasn't surprised. John Winchester was not likely to win any Mr. Congeniality awards.
"I wouldn't think twice about having him watch my back in battle. He's a hell of a hunter. Determined, driven; dedicated to destroying anything that crosses the line between good and evil."
"But you still don't like him." Dean sometimes wondered if even those closest to his father really liked him. He knew Jim, Mac and Bobby considered John Winchester family, loved him like a brother, but Dean had learned the hard way that sometimes family wasn't easy to stomach, and loving someone didn't make it any easier to accept it when they stepped all over you.
"I wouldn't go out of my way to share a beer with the sonofabitch if that's what you're asking, but your old man has served his country, been a good Knight, saved a shit load of innocent people along the way. Men fear him for good reason, respect him for the same, and that's more than what most men can say about their fathers."
Dean nodded, swallowing the lump at the back of his throat. He might not like his dad at the moment, but Sullivan was right, he had reasons to be grateful to the man, for the man. "So do you have a family? Out in California?"
"What makes you think I'm from California?" Gage propped his elbows on the table, leaned over the book of spells he'd been reading. "My golden boy good looks or surfer body?"
"Hardly, although the weird winter tan was a first clue, then there is your radio handle. Hollywood?" Dean had wanted to change the subject, but he was also curious. It wasn't often he got the chance to meet other hunters in their ranks, outside the small select group Dean encountered at Pastor Jim's and Bobby's. Plus, the idea of The Guardian's elite guard intrigued him.
"Actually I grew up in the Portland area, but my old man was a stuntman by day. I worked in the family business during college. You've probably watched a few summer blockbusters with our handiwork in them." Gage took a gulp of his coffee, wincing Dean guessed as much from the burn of the whiskey as the heat of the brew.
"Like the Fall Guy?" Dean's interest was piqued further. He loved the old television show from the eighties with Lee Majors.
"Wasn't that a little before your time?" Sullivan laughed. "What were you? Like two?"
"You haven't heard of reruns?" Dean had discovered early on that television was great company when your dad was gone at night and your little brother's bedtime coincided with the sun going down, especially if the show involved fast cars, hot girls and guns. The A-Team, Thomas Magnum and Michael Knight had been excellent babysitters when Caleb wasn't around.
Sullivan shook his head. "My dad used to swear Glen Larson based that show on him. He even tried to claim he'd penned the lyrics for that god-awful opening song."
"Your dad sounds like an interesting guy."
"He was, right up until the night a werewolf tore his heart out." Sullivan added a little more whiskey to his coffee.
"I'm sorry." Dean knew those words meant little when compared to such a drastic loss, but offered them anyway. He couldn't help but to glance at the clock again, wishing like hell that his father and friends would make their way back.
"Like I said things don't always go the way we planned."
"Is stunt work still your day job?" Dean knew most hunters held some type of employment, though his own father chose to devote most of his time to the pursuit of all things evil.
"Actually, these days I'm teaching." Gage lifted a brow. "I'm an adjunct professor."
"Teaching? You're kidding right." Dean tried to imagine Sullivan in a dress shirt and bowtie. It didn't mesh. The guy was more Point Break Patrick Swayze.
"What? I don't look like a college graduate to you?"
"Not really." Of course Caleb didn't really fit the profile either. Dean had done a double take the first time he'd seen his best friend in suit and tie, getting ready to address a potential board of investors.
"That's the amazing thing about being a hunter, a guy can pretend to be almost anything and get away with it. Acting skills come in handy. My BS in Business is actually legit. It doesn't hurt that I started law school before taking my dad's place in The Brotherhood."
"Law?" Dean felt a tingling along the back of his neck. "You teach law?"
"Intro to Business Law, Ethics and Human Rights. That sort of thing."
Dean imagined they were the kinds of things Sam might be interested in taking. "What college did you say you worked at?"
"I didn't." Gage glanced toward the living room where Jim was absorbed in his work at the lone desk in the far corner.
"Stanford, maybe?" It made sense. Buzz had said it. The Guardian's task force typically guarded the man's family, did his bidding. When Sam first left, Jim had made it a point to reassure Dean that just because he was miles away, he was not far from their fold. Dean had assumed it was one of the Pastor's metaphors, a way to say that God was watching over Dean's kid brother, but now it seemed The Guardian had made certain provisions of his own. Dean was quite sure if he had such resources at his disposal, he'd use them.
"A man would be lucky to score that kind of gig." It wasn't a direct answer, but it was far from a denial. Sullivan took another drink of his coffee, avoiding Dean's gaze. "Stanford's a fine school and Palo Alto is a beautiful place to live."
"So I've heard." Dean didn't quite know whether to be pissed on Sam's behalf or grateful. He wondered if Caleb had any idea Sam was being secretly watched over, doubted it because he knew for certain his best friend paid his own secret visits to Stanford, checked in on Sam from the shadows, just like Dean did.
Dean was spared thinking further on Jim's surprising covert operations by the banging on the front door. His heart leapt, the others had returned. Scout's low rumbling growl was the first indication Dean's hopeful reunion might not take place.
"Stay where you are." Sullivan stood, lifting his hand to Jim, who'd started to get up from his desk. He swept his eyes to Dean, conveying that the order had been meant for him as well.
Dean might not have been exactly mobile, but he was far from helpless. He grabbed the shotgun Caleb had propped near his chair on the way out, foregoing the crutches Mac had found in the supply room. He scooted to the end of the chair, giving Scout the stay command.
"Password." Sullivan called through the door, one hand on the lock, the other on his gun.
"DiMaggio," was the reply. Dean reckoned the password for Mackland's pick. The famous Yankees player would not have been one John Winchester would have chosen. More importantly, it was not that day's codeword, which had been from Jim-Drear-Nighted December, an appropriate Keats poem, he'd said.
"That's from several days ago," the pastor's voice had Dean meeting The Guardian's gaze. Scout let out a high-pitched whine.
"It sounds like Jackson." Sullivan tilted his head, as if listening for some sign his teammate might be on the other side of the door. "Kyle, is that you?"
"It's me, Gage. I need help." The voice was hard to hear over the howling wind, but Dean figured it must have been familiar enough if Sullivan's relieved face was any indication.
Never one to accept an easy, impromptu miracle Dean kept his gun ready as Sullivan undid the locks that would allow him to open the door. To the older hunter's credit he maintained his own weapon and kept himself between the entrance and the outside, snow blowing in around him. Dean could make out legs and a shoulder of the man on the other side.
"What the hell, Jackson?"
"I'm hurt, I need help."
Dean pushed himself to standing, his hand tightening on the shotgun as Gage lowered his own weapon, slid it into the holster at his back. Just as Gage was moving forward, Jackson's legs gave way.
"I need…" Jackson's eyes rolled back in his head and he started to collapse.
Dean gripped his gun, made a hobble forward as the hunter's body doubled over. Dean caught the flash of gold at his throat. "Sullivan, wait…"
It was too late. Dean didn't get the words out of his mouth before Gage was stepping across the threshold, hoping to catch his falling teammate. His boot breached the salt line as he did. Jackson recovered swiftly, grabbing Sullivan's outstretched hand, he whipped him around, pinning the older hunter against him. In one swift move he had Sullivan's gun in one hand, his other arm wrapped around the struggling hunter's neck. He moved into the room unimpeded once the protective barrier was broken, the door slamming shut behind him.
"Let him go." Jim moved forward. The Slayer pointed Sullivan's gun at the pastor. Dean cursed, raising his own weapon as The Guardian held his ground. "You will not harm any more of my men."
"There's only one man I'm interested in." The Slayer inclined his head to Jim. Dean got a better look at the suspect gold necklace when he did. It was a large oval locket, on a thick woven chain, gold braided with something that might have been hair. "My mission is very specific."
"Stay back, Jim…" Sullivan gasped out, struggling to get free as his face went from a fierce shade of red to a light purple, eyes bulging.
Scout lunged forward between Jim and The Slayer before Dean could grab her. She never reached The Slayer. Her lithe body lifted and tossed by an invisible force. She bounced against the wall with a yelp, landing stunned in a very still heap at its base.
"Sonofabitch!" Dean's finger tightened on the trigger.
"That's enough!" Jim growled, lifting his hand to The Slayer.
"I agree." The Slayer released Sullivan who was either unconscious or dead, shoving him towards Jim.
The Guardian managed to catch the other hunter, both of them going to the floor with the impact. Before Dean could get a shot off, the shotgun was wrenched from his grip, sent clattering across the floor to land well out of reach in the kitchen.
Dean launched himself at The Slayer with a loud shout, only to suffer Scout's fate. He was flung across the room, colliding against the wall with enough force to knock the breath out of him. Instead of dropping to the floor, Dean was pinned to the logs like an insect on a display board.
"Stop this!" Jim demanded, picking himself up to face off with the creature sent to kill him. "Let him go."
The Slayer moved towards The Guardian with a grin.
"Touch him and I will fucking rip you to pieces, you body snatching piece of shit." Dean roared, struggling against his impossible restraints. He could not watch Jim die. It would not happen like this. Dean prayed for a miracle, that his father and Mac would come. He sent out a silent cry to the universe, one he hoped to hell Caleb would pick up on despite the blocks in place.
"Leave my men out of this," Jim ordered, facing off with the creature. "It's me you want."
"If I wanted you, Pastor, I would have taken you out at the church." The Slayer gave a flick of his wrist and Jim went flying.
Dean winced as the pastor slammed into the bookcase, the heavy wooden shelves turning over, toppling on top of him after he landed prone in front of it.
"You sonofabitch!" Dean fought to get free when Jim didn't move, The Slayer stepping around the mess to move directly in front of Dean.
"I didn't kill him."
"Is that supposed to make me grateful?" Dean snarled. "It won't keep me from separating your head from your body and staking you to your grave I can promise you that."
"He isn't my target." The Slayer was unaffected by Dean's threats.
Dean was the one shaken by the unexpected answer. "Then why the hell are you here? Why attack him at the church?"
"I needed to draw out the prey." The Slayer put Sullivan's gun in the empty holster at his side. The action would have been second nature for Jackson, but Dean took note that The Slayer's movement was less animated, forced and a little jerky, almost like the zombies Dean had joked about earlier. The Slayer's quickness, strength and psychic ability had to be linked to the spell and if Mac were right, the locket around its neck. "A threat to The Guardian is a call no Knight can refuse, even one with his own personal crusade."
"Dad." Dean's gaze shifted back to The Slayer's face. He felt the twist in his gut, the punch of the truth stealing his breath as easily as slamming into the wall had done.
"He has something I want," the creature came closer to Dean.
All Dean's calculations of the enemy's possible weaknesses were abandoned in wake of the confession. "You used Jim to flush him out. You knew The Triad contingency plan. This was all a set up to draw him into the open."
"John Winchester is a very hard man to find when he decides to go off the radar."
No one knew that better than Dean. Anger surged through him, white hot and fueled by years of deep seeded fear. "If you want my father, you'll have to go through me."
"Funny." The Slayer grinned as he lifted a hand towards Dean. "I was thinking the exact same thing."
TBC