Part 2

Caleb chose the crowded Old Louisville tavern because it grated against his instincts. He didn't want to go in. He chose the specific area of Louisville for the same reason. While he wanted to head to the east end, he went west instead. Dean obviously knew him well enough to guess where he might run to. The city would provide some cover, but not if he chose familiar haunts. Caleb was pretty sure the Dean he'd gotten a brief glimpse of over the last twenty-four hours would not think to look for him here.

Woody's was a gay bar. The tables were brimming with men, the dance floor littered with women looking for some fun without the typical hunch and grind they'd find at a straight club. He drew stares as he crossed the room; not the kinds of glances he and Dean had gotten at Burt's Barbecue. These eyes lingered instead of quickly looking away. Their smiles weren't forced, but lascivious and hopeful. Caleb quickly made his way to the back, finding a table away from the center ring.

His server was young, possibly a college kid. He was sporting ripped jeans and a T-shirt with 'Ask me about my Woody' written across the front. He had a write-in name tag stuck in the center of his chest. 'I.M. Straight' was dashed across it in crude marker.

"What can I get for you, Rocky?"

Caleb subconsciously touched the row of stitches above his eye. He hadn't let Mackland redress the wound. The skin around it was warm and swollen. "Whatever you have on tap."

"Queer beer doesn't start for another fifteen minutes, but that can be our little secret."

"Excuse me?" Caleb cleared his throat.

I.M. gestured to the glowing neon sign over the bar. Tonight's midnight drink special was dollar draft, aptly named queer beer. "It's not our best import and Lou likes to add colored dye to give it some character, but it's cheap and gets the job done."

Caleb glanced to the bar where a woman with unnaturally large biceps and hands was slinging drinks. "Sign me up." He needed something to blur the edges.

"Anything else?"

Caleb pulled his bottle of pain meds from his jacket. "That's it."

He waited for I.M. Straight to start for the bar before dry swallowing two pills. The prescription called for one, but his skull was pounding, his ribs aching from the long walk to the bar. He'd parked the stolen SUV in a lot about a mile away.

Caleb drove for a couple hours after leaving the farm, using his credit card at a station off the interstate in the opposite direction of Louisville before doubling back. He wasn't sure how he knew how to lay a false trail, but it was serving its purpose now. He was away from the crazies.

I.M. returned with his beer, a basket of pretzels and a shot glass of amber liquid. "This is from the guy at the bar." He sat the whiskey down. "He said bourbon was more your style than cheap brew."

Caleb looked up. A guy about his age with dark blond hair, and a slight beard lifted his glass. He didn't recognize the face, but that wasn't anything new. The man gave a wink.

"You know him?"

"I don't know anybody."

I.M. took his statement philosophically. "I hear that, brother."

"Tell him I said thanks, but no thanks." Caleb shoved the drink away. "Where's the head?"

"Straight back through the beer garden."

Caleb returned a few minutes later, reclaiming his seat. He took a long drink of beer, scanning the bar. The guy who'd bought him the whiskey was gone. Caleb was relieved.

"You're not safe here."

He jumped, his sense of ease stolen by the stranger's sudden appearance. He expected the blond from the bar, but it was a different man. Dark hair, clean shaven, and looking out of place with his shirt, tie, and trench coat.

"Look, Man. I'm not exactly into this scene." Caleb put his beer down. "I sure as hell don't want any company."

"Dean sent me." Trench coat didn't wait for an invitation, taking the bar stool closest to Caleb.

"Right." Caleb stood, prepared to move. Dean worked quicker than he thought. He wondered if they had tagged him with some sort of tracking device. The last thing he needed was to draw attention to himself with a confrontation.

The guy caught his arm. "Wait."

Caleb weighed his odds. He was injured, tired, and out of his element. The guy was shorter and smaller. Walking out would be easier and quieter. He pulled his arm away. "I'm not interested."

"Dean and Sam are worried, Caleb."

"I suppose I know you." Caleb stepped back to put some distance between them. There was no reason to run. He was in a public place, amongst a crowd of people. He hadn't done anything wrong.

"You do."

Caleb leaned against the high top, picking up his beer. "Let me guess? We're great friends-practically family."

"Actually, we've never met." The stranger frowned. "I have held off revealing myself to you."

"That's a new one. Someone I shouldn't remember." Caleb took a drink of his beer.

"I'm Castiel."

"Castiel." Caleb smirked. The guy looked like a stock broker, not someone he'd place with the Winchesters. "You work with Dean and Sam?"

"Yes."

"They sent you to find me?"

"Dean is very concerned."

"Your buddy Dean should worry about himself." Caleb took another gulp of beer. His purported best friend had weaved an amazing tale, one that could have come straight out of a fantasy thriller. "He's crazy."

Castiel continued to stare at him. "Dean is atypical for a human."

Caleb snorted. Dean believed what he was saying about the things 'behind the curtain'. All that crap about Merlin. Caleb didn't know how to explain the nightmare, the way he'd felt when he discovered the desecrated grave, but Dean's explanation was too farfetched. "That's one way to put it."

"You need to go back to the farm. You're not safe here." Castiel glanced toward the bar, where the guy who'd bought Caleb the whiskey had been. "They know you're unprotected. Someone has already come for you."

"I may not be thinking straight, but I think I can handle myself with this crowd."

"Things aren't as they seem." Castiel pointed to Caleb's hand. "You're not wearing your silver ring."

"So Dean's a jealous husband?"

"I'm not the only one looking for you. The silver offers you protection."

"From other hunters?" Caleb scanned the crowd. "They usually hang out in gay bars?"

"I'm not a hunter."

"Then what are you?"

"I'm an angel of the Lord."

"Of course you are." Caleb waited for the guy to crack a smile. Maybe he was a wise guy like Dean. Caleb killed the rest of his beer, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He pulled his billfold from his pocket, dropping a ten on the table. "Who's going to show up next? The Easter Bunny? Bigfoot?"

"Lucifer would be my best guess."

The flat tone and deadpan expression had Caleb hesitating. "The devil's looking for me?"

Castiel nodded. He moved closer, his blue eyes searching Caleb's gold gaze. "He may have already found you."

Caleb brought his hand up to rub his temple, a bizarre buzzing making his ears ring. He gritted his teeth. "I think I'd remember that encounter."

"Or you would be desperate to forget."

A jolt of irrational anger shook Caleb. "Are you saying I did this to myself on purpose?" He pointed to his face, the evidence of the hit and run undeniable. "That I wanted to forget who I am?"

"Or what you are."

"You're crazier than the rest of them." He was on the first plane back to Texas. He'd take his chances with the vice cop and Dr. Stanton. Caleb made for the door, intentionally crossing the dance floor. The sea of people swallowed him, offering cover. He waited until he was deep in the undulating wave before he pivoted. Caleb shoved past the bodies gyrating to the annoying beat of Beyonce's Single Ladies to make it to the kitchen entrance.

He didn't look back, or acknowledge the protests of the cooking staff. He hit the back door running. An alley greeted him, cool air clearing his fuzzy head. He looked left, then right, weighing his alternatives. The SUV was most likely compromised, which left him with hoofing it or a taxi. Caleb's aching ribs made the decision for him. He started around the corner to hail a cab. Castiel was waiting for him.

"There's something you should see."

Caleb couldn't move quickly enough. Castiel reached for him, a bright light exploded behind his eyes as the other man made contact.

The music was the first thing he became aware of, softer and a different genre than what was playing at Woody's. It definitely was not Beyonce. He thought Cannonball Adderly or John Coltrane, something Mac would like. "Shit." Caleb was caught off guard by the thought. He was suddenly aware of what musicians his adopted father liked. That wasn't the only thing.

Caleb blinked. It all came flooding back. He recalled the car hitting him in Texas, Dean and Sam picking him up at the hospital, and the overwhelming feeling of not knowing who he was, or even worse, who they were. He remembered his and Dean's talk at the pond, his decision to flee the farm and ending up at Woody's. "Castiel?"

"Your memory has been temporarily restored because we are in the past."

Caleb looked at the angel. He was just as Dean described, yet smaller than expected. "Temporarily?"

If Castiel noticed the tremor in his voice he didn't let on. "Whether it remains intact when we return to present time depends."

"Depends on what exactly?" Caleb looked around them. They were at a different pup, dark floors and walls, with sports memorabilia spread about. A smoky glass ran the length of the wall behind the mahogany bar, opening the space up. Liquor bottles of every kind cast colorful reflections giving the room a warm incandescence. He recalled Dean's experiences with angel time travel and returned his eyes to Castiel.

"It depends on you."

Caleb gripped the bar, thankful for something solid. He glanced down at his right hand, feeling nausea at the sight of his bare ring finger. He'd never taken his band off willingly since John gave it to him. "Where are we?"

"North Carolina. 1978."

Caleb grimaced at the date. "Why?"

"Because this is what Lucifer showed you. Something triggered your amnesia. I believe whatever that was occurred here."

Caleb swallowed hard. "Lucifer showed me this?" He knew he had forgotten a whole lifetime of events but meeting the devil and not recalling it still seemed unlikely.

"Yes."

"How do you know that?"

"I've retained some of my gifts."

Caleb rubbed his head, his abilities tracing the angel's intrusion, showing him the trail like a psychic footprint. "I remember having a nightmare, that's it."

It happened on the plane ride from California. Caleb hadn't planned on taking a nap, too irritated by Victor's revelations concerning his Triad. He'd slipped his ear buds in and closed his eyes to dissuade conversation with the old guy beside him. When he awoke he was shaken, left with a feeling of wanting nothing more than to get off the plane and make it to the farm.

"Lucifer understands weakness. His strategy is never going to be a full frontal assault."

"Sam told me what happened to him with Jessica in Oklahoma. Was it the same sort of thing?"

"Do you remember what he showed you?"

"Not really." Caleb looked around them. The bar was crowded with people. Looking closer, he could see the slight differences in clothes, hairstyles. "It had to be something bad, though. Right?"

"Your abilities attempted to protect you."

"By blocking everything related out?" Everything relevant included his family. Caleb was frustrated by the thought. He liked to believe after all these years he was in control. He turned on the angel. "Could Lucifer have done some kind of mind trick? Fed me a bunch of his poor me propaganda and lies?"

"Lucifer doesn't need to lie when manipulating the truth is much more effective."

"What is the truth?"

The question was barely out of his mouth before the music stopped, the dull roar of people talking and laughing silenced. They were sitting in a booth with two men. One was easy to recognize. He hadn't changed from the few pictures Caleb had kept of him. It was Isaac Reaves.

His father was wearing jeans, a red shirt and a brown suede jacket. The other man looked to be Isaac's age. He had blond hair and was dressed in a bad tan suit, the kind you might see a perp sporting in a Starsky and Hutch repeat.

"Oh God." Caleb leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table to study his father's frozen features. "That's my dad."

The men weren't moving, frozen in place as if they were trapped in a movie that had been paused amid an intense conversation.

"The other man is Keith Hartman," Castiel said. "He's a contractor who works at the construction company where your father is employed. He's possessed."

"What?" Caleb studied the man across from him. There were no telling signs. Keith looked a little like one of those creepy wax figures but otherwise appeared completely human. "By a demon?"

"Not just any demon. Azazel."

"Yellow-Eyes?" Caleb sat back. It just kept getting better. If this was what Lucifer showed him, Caleb was beginning to understand why he wanted to block it out.

Castiel nodded, and the men came to life. Caleb found it similar to watching one of his visions, only stranger because what he was witnessing had happened over thirty years in the past.

"I didn't expect a warm greeting." When Azazel spoke Keith's eyes briefly flashed bright yellow. "The only way I could get you to have a drink with me was by extending the invitation through your pal, Keith."

"If you hurt him…" Isaac clenched his fist, leaned across the table.

"You'll what, Isaac?" Azazel picked up the beer, looking way too amused. "Kill me? That wouldn't be too healthy for good old Keith here. We both know you're not armed and your abilities aren't exactly going to be much help either considering I've already found you. Besides, we have a deal."

"Why are you here?"

"You didn't honestly believe that was the end of us; that you could hide from me forever?"

Isaac ran a hand over his mouth. "A man can hold out hope."

"We both know you are a poor excuse for a man, Isaac." Azazel yawned, relaxing his arm across the back of the booth. "A carpenter? Really? Were you trying to be ironic? You should embrace your destiny."

"And I told you the last time that I was finished with your kind. As you pointed out, we had a deal."

"Don't you mean our kind?" Azazel grinned. "That deal was good for one son, a free ride for your first born. How is Caleb by the way?"

"Don't speak his name." Isaac growled.

"The path you've chosen for him is such a waste. He's practically from nobility."

"He's going to have a normal life. You can't touch him."

"That may be true, but perhaps the second child will be just as gifted."

Isaac's jaw twitched. "How did you find me?"

"Our blood is strong. You should have thought to cloak the fetus, too." Azazel pointed to the gold band on Isaac's left hand. "Turns out I didn't make a mistake by letting you marry that Louisiana tart. Our line mixes well with hers, just as it did with your grandmother's. Amelia's family talents make her a good breeder, and by talents I'm not talking about her lousy art."

"You leave her out of this."

"So you're not going to acknowledge the good news?" Azazel patted the lapel of his suit, sliding his hand over the plaid shirt beneath. "Weren't you going to offer your buddy Keith a cigar? Ask him to be godfather?"

"You are not getting near my family." Isaac growled coldly. "I'll die before that happens."

"I'm your family, Isaac. The last thing I want is your death. That has never been my father's intention."

"I don't give a shit about his intentions. Stay away from me." Isaac pulled his billfold from his jeans, threw some bills on the table. "Let Keith go, and get the hell out of town or I'll be back in touch with Daniel Elkins. I'll give him what he wants this time."

"And receive a bullet in your head for the trouble. Their kind can't be trusted." Azazel shook his head. "The time on your own without my instruction has made you reckless."

"I just see things clearly now," Isaac said. "I know what I have to do to protect my family from you."

"You can run, you can even cloak to your heart's content, but you can't hide from what you are. I will always win."

"We'll see about that." Isaac scooted out of the booth, disappearing into the crowd.

Keith/Azazel was captured mid-laugh as Castiel worked his angel DVR magic again, capturing the moment.

"My father had abilities?" It wasn't the most mind reeling revelation. Caleb didn't want to even touch on the fact his father had made some kind of deal for him, or that Isaac apparently knew Daniel Elkins.

"Cloaking is a coveted talent among Azazel's kind. One of the reasons demons breed with humans is they like the variety it can yield. He would have kept an eye on his prodigy from an early age for just such a reason."

Caleb ran a hand over his mouth, feeling bile rise to the back of his throat. He thought of Malachi Harris, who also had that particular talent, and how it had felt to wield power when he possessed the demon. "He used it to hide from Azazel."

"He must not have realized your mother's pregnancy was a threat."

"And once Isaac knew, he ended that." Caleb pinched the bridge of his nose. His headache was back in full force. "God. He killed her and the baby so Azazel couldn't get his hands on them."

"It certainly appears that way." Castiel frowned. "Lucifer would have wanted you to think that, that your father betrayed his family. Betrayed you."

Caleb looked up. "Are you saying that's not the case?"

"I'm saying this conversation could be misleading."

He met Castiel's unflinching gaze. "Do you think I need to see the rest of it? Their deaths?"

"If you want to know the truth."

"Will it bring my memory back?" Caleb was filled with dread at the very thought of witnessing his mother's murder, Isaac's subsequent suicide. The only thing that frightened him more was the idea of losing his current family. Without his memories of Dean, Sam, Mac and Bobby there was no reason to go back to the present. They were as lost to him as his parents were.

"I can't make that promise."

Castiel seemed to understand Caleb was consenting. He lifted his hand, and this time Caleb didn't attempt to move away.

The shift was instantaneous. One minute they were in the booth, the next they were in Amelia and Isaac's bedroom. This setting Caleb did remember.

Everything looked the same, from the honey oak floors with thick braided rugs to the pale blue wallpaper dotted with sea gulls. French doors opened to the balcony where a warm sea breeze blew in from the night, lifting the lace canopy from his parent's bed like a ship's sail. The air smelled of salt and brine. The sea glass wind chimes tinkled from the porch below.

Amelia was sitting in the window seat, her journal, pen and a stack of letters spread in front of her. She was frozen with a smile on her face, a note in her hand.

When Castiel hit play, Amelia dropped the letter she was reading. Isaac burst into the room.

"You're home early." She brought a hand to her heart and gave a shaky laugh. "I wasn't expecting you."

"Where's Caleb?" Isaac glanced wildly around the room.

"Playing pirate with my treasures." Amelia glanced to the closet, tucking her black hair behind her ear. "It's not even dark. I thought you and Keith would celebrate…"

"Plans changed." Isaac crossed the room, going to the bureau they shared.

"What's wrong?" Amelia unfolded her legs, standing. Her long cotton skirt billowed around her legs, brushing over her bare feet as she made it to Isaac's side. She laid a hand on his arm. "Did you two have a fight? Not the basketball thing again?"

"You need to get Caleb and pack both of you enough things to last a while. I don't know how long we'll be gone."

"What?" She stepped back as if Isaac had struck her. "Why would we need to pack?"

Isaac pulled a box from the top drawer taking it with him to the bed. Amelia followed. "You heard me," he said. "We're leaving. Tonight."

"Since when? Where are we going?"

"To Colorado."

"Colorado?" Amelia let her arms fall to her side, the letter opener she was holding caught on the soft material of her skirt. "But why? What's in Colorado?"

"A man I need to see. He's expecting us."

"About work? I thought you and Keith were certain about the new job on the island? You said we'd be fine through the winter."

"Amelia!" Isaac's voice was loud and sharp. The closet door creaked. Isaac softened his tone. "Look. I'm sorry, but this is important. Just do as I say."

"Is this your family business again?" Amelia backed out of his reach. "You promised after the last time that we wouldn't have to move around anymore. We built our dream house here. Caleb has a home."

"I know what I promised." Isaac lifted the lid of a box, emptying it of its contents. He pressed down on the bottom, a lever clicked. Isaac removed the false panel taking a wrapped parcel from inside. "Things don't always go as planned."

He unwound the cloth, revealing the antique six-shooter nestled inside. "What are you doing with that? You know how I feel about guns," Amelia said. "Isaac, what is going on?"

Isaac lifted the tail of his jacket, shoving the sidearm in the back of his jeans. He bent to retrieve an old green duffel from beneath their bed. "We'll talk about it on the way."

"No." Amelia stood firm, anger making her voice shrill, contrasting sharply with her warm laugh from before. "We'll talk about it now."

Isaac grabbed her arm, and dragged her toward the closet. "Pack your things! Caleb! Come out now!"

"My mother was right about you," Amelia hissed. She wriggled in his grasp. "You're crazy! Her visions were right."

"What?" Isaac let her go, hurt, not anger racing through his gold eyes. "You don't mean that."

"Yes, I do." Amelia pointed the letter opener at him. She was yelling now, her breath heavy. "You've done nothing but bring me misery. I gave up everything for you, my family, my art."

"What are you talking about?"

"I gave you a beautiful, talented son." Amelia's free hand went to her belly where she was barely beginning to show. "I am carrying another gifted one. But you give nothing back to me. All you do is take! You are a terrible husband, an even worse father. You are a poor excuse for a man, Isaac Seaver."

Isaac stumbled back. He shook his head at the familiar words and the tainted last name. "No. That's not right."

"Yes!" She thrust the silver blade at him again. "You and I are over. Go to Colorado, but your sons and I are staying here as a family. We'll be just fine without you!"

"Amelia?" Isaac took the Colt from his jeans, bringing it in front of him. He grasped the hilt with both hands, but kept the muzzle pointed to the floor. "Amelia!"

Amelia brought a hand to cover her face, her body shaking with intermittent bursts that could have been mistaken for sobs.

She wasn't crying.

She was laughing.

"Sorry, sweetie, Amelia's left the building." The overhead light flickered, the hinges on the closet door squeaking once more. When Amelia took her hand away, her dark eyes glowed yellow.

"You!" Isaac raged. "I knew it was you, you sonofabitch! You get the fuck out of her."

"Now, now. Don't be rash." Azazel waved the letter opener about. "Same situation as with Keith. Your pretty little bride wouldn't fair so well." He patted his belly. "Then there's the deuce card to consider. I hear Caleb's counting on a baby brother. "

"What do you want, Azazel?" Isaac lowered the gun. "I'll do it. Just don't hurt them."

Azazel's gaze went to the closet. "I want the boy." His gold eyes went to the gun. "Samuel Colt's peacemaker, too."

"No!" Isaac lifted the barrel again. "Never."

"Then I guess we have nothing left to talk about." Azazel stepped away from Isaac. "I can't risk that gun falling into enemy hands again."

Isaac wasn't quick enough. Amelia's right arm lifted, the letter opener arched down, entering the left side of her chest.

"NO!" Isaac screamed. "Amelia!"

Blood splattered over the floor, across the closet door as Azazel jerked the blade free. He was intent on bringing it down again, but Isaac lifted the Colt, aiming at his wife's head. "I have nothing to lose."

Azazel didn't hesitate. Amelia screamed, black smoke erupting from her mouth to crash against the ceiling before dissipating.

"No. No. No." Isaac caught his wife's convulsing body. He lowered her to the floor, his hand going to the spurting wound in her chest. "Jesus. Hang on, baby. Just hang on."

She jerked and twitched against him, choking as blood trickled from her mouth, coating her lips. "Somebody help me!" Isaac pulled her to him, burying his head against her neck. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. Amelia!"

The sudden stillness of her body preceded the quiet of her gasping breath. Isaac slowly pulled back. His wife's dark empty eyes greeted him. "Oh God. No!"

The closet door slowly opened, the squeak like shattering glass in the silence.

Isaac's body shook. He clenched his eyes shut, his hand fumbling across the floor. Amelia's head lolled lifeless against his arm as his fingers closed around the gun. Isaac choked on a sob, his gaze going briefly to the now half-opened closet. His smile was tremulous. "I'm so sorry."

The echo of the gun shot heralded the retching. Caleb found himself on his knees in the sand, throwing up the last of Burt's blueberry barbecue.

He could hear the waves lapping not far from him as his body reacted to the trauma. The whole scene couldn't have lasted more than a few minutes, but to Caleb it seemed drawn out, as if Castiel was using his DVR trick to slow things down frame by frame. He lifted his head, catching site of Cas's loafers beside him.

"Are you all right?"

"That's a stupid question." Caleb shoved to his feet, wiping his hands on his jeans, trying to rid them of the sand.

"I'm sorry."

Caleb looked at the angel. He wasn't sure Castiel understood the concept, his solemn face a constant. The beach was expansive behind him; a full moon completed the back drop. It looked like one of Amelia's paintings. "You knew about the Colt's connection to my family."

"It was one of the theories I've been exploring recently."

Caleb turned away from Castiel, facing the black sea running parallel to them. The moon cast a glittering path over the vastness like an inviting trail Caleb could easily lose himself on. Castiel had insisted to Dean that they needed to track down the weapon, that it would be their only chance at turning the tide in their favor. He wondered who the angel had been talking to.

"Samuel Colt made that gun for Cole Tanner, the Knight of his Triad," Castiel said. "Tanner was in love with Noah Seaver's wife. He helped her and her son escape the church fire."

That was old news. Caleb growled. "You can skip the angel 411, Cas. I know the story about my murdering great great grandfather and his whore of a wife." He pressed the back of his fist to his mouth. It all made a sick sort of sense. "Tanner couldn't go with her and the baby. He wouldn't abandon or endanger his Triad so he sent her away with the Colt for protection."

"I suspected it might have resided with your family for some time."

"Until my father used it on himself." Caleb hadn't understood as a child. He knew his parents had argued. The one clear memory that stuck was of Isaac cradling his mother's body, covered in her blood. The sad smile on his face as he pulled the trigger that took his own life. It turned out Isaac wasn't the monster Caleb had hated all those years. He wasn't an evil man, he was just a coward. "How the hell did Elkins get his hands on it?"

"It would seem likely that your grandmother Ruth gave it to him."

Caleb looked at the angel. "In exchange for not killing me and ending Noah Seaver's line for good." Caleb could see that. Elkins would have come looking for Isaac when he didn't show up, would have picked up on the news. Ruth was wily. She would have used whatever means to protect what little family she had left. "When she died and my foster family had that run of bad luck, Elkins considered all bets off."

"Possibly."

Caleb rubbed his right ring finger where his band should have been. "Why are you helping me, Cas? You're not exactly up on the whole demon and human half-breed thing. What's in it for you?"

"Dean asked me to help you."

"For Deuce's sake, I want to buy the whole 'guardian angel' thing; that you've got his back. Really, I do. But you've never revealed yourself to me. You said it back at Woody's. Dean's played it off as bad timing, but I know a definite blow off when I see one."

"Demons repulse me."

Caleb had to laugh despite the tense situation. "Deuce also said you were a little retarded in the social grace department."

"Technically, you're only a sixteenth demon."

Caleb raised a brow. "I hate to break it to you, but if the demon nation had some reservation land and a casino, I'd be raking in the royalty checks. I'm still a card carrying member of their tribe. Try again."

Castiel shrugged, and it seemed oddly familiar. "I'm learning to be more accepting. Things aren't as black and white as I first believed." He pulled at the cuff of his sleeve. "Dean says you have great faith in my Father-that you're a good man."

"Deuce always sees the best in me-in everyone he cares about." Dean wasn't a pushover by any means, but once someone earned his loyalty, it was unyielding. Sometimes to his own detriment.

"He does seem to have an innate sense about these things."

"He trusts you," Caleb said. He met Castiel's gaze, giving a slight nod. "That's good enough for me, usually, but I've been his wingman a long time. I'm not giving that up, unless I know you're on the up and up."

"There is this-"

Before Caleb could say anything Castiel stepped forward, placing a hand on his chest. There was a sharp burning pain, one that stole his breath. "What the hell?"

Castiel removed his hand. "Now Lucifer or no other angel including myself can find you. No demon has ever been bestowed such a mark."

Caleb rubbed his sternum, remembering the freaky ass X-ray Dean had shown him of the angel-glyphs decorating his rib cage. He supposed it was Castiel's version of a white flag. "Thanks. I think."

"You're welcome."

"I'd really rather have just had my memory back."

"I can't give you something I didn't take."