To The Victor Go The Spoils

By: Ridley C. James

Beta: Tidia

Disclaimer: Nothing Supernatural belongs to me.

Timeline: Pre Season Three; Follows directly after the story Temporary Remedy. I suggest reading that one as well as the Prologue to this Paper Tiger.

Warning: I thought I’d put a little language beware on this part, as things do tend to heat up. I think the swearing is very much in character, but I know some have more sensitive ears than others.
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Chapter 10/11

Mackland Ames studied the faces of the men waiting around him, finding the same reaction etched on all; no one knew what was happening. Missouri’s cryptic phone call alerted him they should go to The Rise, giving an order to be quick about it in her typical no nonsense manner. The Rise was beautiful. Limestone solid under his feet, water meandering, and then punctured by the trees standing tall over it all. A place Mackland would like to see under better circumstances.

Bobby told him they shouldn’t tell Griffin about Missouri’s warning, but Mackland was dealing in good faith for the sake of all the boys. He was trying to do what Jim would want. Silas tagging along was expected, the arrival of Harland Sawyer was not. He held a lantern in his hand, as did Silas. The trio stayed huddled together, distrust of the situation evident.

“What the hell is he doing here?” Bobby hissed, scuffing his work boots on the ground. “No goddamn body invited him.”

“His son is involved. He has a legitimate concern.” They had heard the deep rumbling from inside the mountain moments before, muffled like a movie soundtrack through a theater door.

“He hasn’t been ‘concerned’ about Slick since I’ve known him. I sure the shit ain’t buying the convenient Ward Cleaver act now. He’s sticking his nose in Triad business.”

Mackland ran a finger across his brow. Bobby was worried, the inability to act leaving him more volatile. “Ignore it, Bobby. Missouri said we needed to be here. The boys are our only concern.”

Bobby snorted.

The doctor returned his gaze to the deep trout pool, watched the moon serenely waver on its surface, giving the white limestone a luminescent glow. The thick vegetation and forest surrounding them offered an illusion of solitude, but Mackland’s gaze kept traveling, seeking out his boys. “Missouri is rarely wrong about these things. She knew about Jim.”

“Not in time for Caleb to get there.” Bobby's flashlight illuminated the ground in a haphazard pattern.

“Some things are meant to be.” Mackland had to remind himself of the cruel limitations of any psychic gift, his included. “By no means are psychics omniscient.”

“I wasn’t asking for a detailed account, a hint would have been nice.” Singer brought the flashlight up to shine in Mackland's face, then detoured it to Griffin when he spoke.

“Something’s coming."

Mackland was thankful for the interruption, watched Porter move around large wet rocks to the edge of the water, his head tilted in concentration. “The boys?”

“I can only sense a psychic presence.” Griffin looked at him. “It could be Elijah or Caleb.”

“Coming from where?” Bobby asked.

Mackland once again turned his gaze to the pool. There was no visible opening in the rock formations large enough for a body to pass through. That left only a watery exit, the boys swimming their way into The Rise from within the mountain.

“There.” Silas pointed his flashlight to the farthest edge, near the base of the limestone. The water began to ripple seconds before Elijah and Joshua broke the surface.

Mackland started forward, Bobby’s hand on his chest holding him back. “Easy.” Silver from Bobby’s gun glinted in the moonlight. “You’re the patient one, remember.”

His worry was making him reckless, concern for his son, Dean and Sam overriding his good sense. They had to be prepared for anything, especially with Griffin, Harland, and Silas in their midst. “Where are…”

The sight of the soaked sleeping bag held awkwardly between Elijah and Joshua as they found their footing in the waist-deep water stopped Mackland’s question, his throat closing. Ethan emerged, holding the other end of the bag, lifting it as he stumbled after Elijah and Joshua.

“Shit.”

Mackland turned to Bobby, recognizing the dread as his own. They both realized the camping equipment as a makeshift body bag. The doctor prayed for it to be Ian. “Joshua?”

Joshua met his gaze, seemed to understand what Mackland was asking. “They’re coming,” he said softly.

The vice released from around Mackland’s heart. Bobby and Silas trudged knee deep into the water, offering assistance with the heavy load. “We got it, boys,” Bobby said.

Elijah shook his head. “We’ve got him.”

Mackland wasn’t sure if the boy’s voice was tremulous from the cold submersion or emotion. He opened his mouth, but Griffin’s cry silenced him.

“Gideon. Where’s Gideon?”

Dean, Sam and Caleb surfaced. Mackland noticed Sam steadied between the older hunters, looking worse for wear but alive. Thank God the three of them were alive.

“Answer me.” Griffin was in front of Elijah, who along with Ethan and Joshua had made it to the rocky shore with Gideon's body.

Mackland ran a hand through his hair. “Griffin…”

“Did you hear me, Elijah? Ethan?” Griffin’s voice rose as he walked into the water. “Where the hell is Gideon?”

Silas reached out to put a hand on Porter’s shoulder. “Griffin, give them…”

“He’s dead!” Ethan shouted. He dropped his end of the load, the lapping water surrounding it, the hollow thump chilling the night air around them. “Do you want to see what that bastard did to him? Go ahead, Griffin. Take a look. Take a long, hard look.”

Griffin’s gaze fell to the green bag. He took a shaky step back, Silas's hand dropped from his shoulder. “No…that’s not possible.”

Mackland momentarily glanced to where Bobby was helping their boys from the water. The father in him ached to go to them. All three looked exhausted, injured. His duty to his position kept him where he was. “What happened?”

“The sonofabitch murdered him is what happened.” Ethan turned to Mackland, his voice breaking. “There was nothing I could do.”

“Of course not.” Mackland moved closer, never taking his eyes from Ethan’s. “You would have protected him.”

“Who?” Griffin demanded, crouching down his hand ghosting the green sleeping bag. No one shined a light directly on it. “Who did this? One of the Winchesters? The half-breed?”

Joshua stepped back, away from the group, closer to this father.

Mackland glared at Porter, but didn’t need to speak as Elijah was suddenly stepping between his twin and Griffin. “No. They had nothing to do with this. It was all you, Griffin. You have no one to blame but yourself.”

“My fault? Have you lost your mind?” Griffin stood.

“No. We’ve lost a brother.” Elijah had a hand on his brother's chest, either for the contact or to keep Ethan away from Griffin.

“I would never hurt Gideon. He was a son to me.”

Elijah lowered his head. “You should have thought about that before you trusted the likes of Ian Hastings. You put him in the perfect position to wreak havoc on everything you’ve taught us to hold true.” Elijah shook his head. “You might as well have loaded the gun and aimed it for him.”

“Where is Ian?” Mackland asked.

“I killed him,” Joshua replied, turning to address his father, too. “Fisher is gone, as well. The demon escaped, but no secrets were compromised.”

“Ethan…” Griffin said.

Elijah held out a hand to stop Griffin’s attempt to maneuver around him. “Stay away from my brother. We don’t want to talk to you.”

“Elijah, you can’t seriously believe I would wish this upon Gideon. I am guilty of trusting Ian, nothing more. I have never colluded with demons. I was not in on this plan of his to thwart The Brotherhood.” Griffin's hands were out, palms up.

“Not like the last time, huh?” Ethan crossed his arms. “When you and Dad plotted to kidnap the Winchesters and Reaves, to kill Pastor Jim?”

“What?”

Mackland sent a quick glance to where Bobby was still tending to the boys. Sam was sitting on the rocky ground, his injured leg out in front of him. Dean was using bandages from Bobby’s med kit to dress the wound. Neither boy met his gaze, but Caleb looked up. The doctor read the guilt in his son’s eyes.

He sighed, returned his gaze to Griffin. “I don’t think now is the time to discuss the past.” Emotions were running too high. Gideon was lost to them. There had been more than enough hurt.

“You trust the Winchesters over me?” Griffin continued, raising his voice over the cacophony of the night sounds. “You have known me your entire lives.”

“Then tell me you didn’t do it,” Ethan fell to his knees, gripped the corner of the sleeping bag. “Just say the words. Tell me you didn’t talk Dad into helping you kidnap them. Say it. Now.”

Mackland realized Griffin was unable to do what Ethan was asking, not without Elijah detecting the outright lie. He almost felt for the man, would have if not for the hurt reflected in the twins' faces. “We need to go.”

Griffin ignored Mackland. “Things are not always black and white, Ethan. You weren’t old enough to understand.”

Ethan twisted the edge of the bag, ringing out some water. “You sonofabitch. You got Dad killed…and now Gideon. I fucking trusted you-loved you like a father.”

“But now it’s over.” Elijah, still standing, placed a hand on his brother's shoulder in solidarity. “We won’t be a part of your schemes any longer, Griffin.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means Gideon died to protect The Guardian-the true Guardian and we’ll not dishonor his sacrifice.”

“Let me make it simple for you.” Ethan gestured to Caleb, Dean and Sam. “We’re on their side.”

Elijah took a step closer to Griffin. “And if you go after them, you’ll have to go through us first.”

“You boys don’t understand what you’re saying.” Harland strode forward, ignoring his son. Mackland had almost forgotten that he was skulking in the wings. “You’ve both had a shock. You’re not thinking clearly.”

“On the contrary, I believe they were quite clear,” Joshua said, stepping closer to Ethan and Elijah. “They’ve made their choice, just as Gideon did. The same as I have.”

Harland met his son’s gaze, the lantern he was holding illuminating the surroundings. “That sounds like your mother talking, Son. You better try again.”

“You heard them, Harland.” Mackland made his move, edging out in front, staring down Griffin, Silas and Harland. “Now you all must choose. The war has begun.” He let his gaze go to Gideon’s shroud, travel from Silas to Griffin. “Casualties are mounting. We’ll suffer more. The Brotherhood must be unified if we plan to win, as in Samuel Colt’s time. You fight with us or against us. There is no gray middle ground.”

“Griffin, maybe we should…” Silas started only to have Griffin silence him with a cold look.

“We will fight our own fight, Mackland, but it will not be alongside you and your farce of a future Triad.” He turned to Ethan and Elijah. “I truly hope you both realize the mistake you’re making-the same mistake your father made- before you end up like Gideon.”

Ethan lunged for Porter but Elijah held him back. “Not now. Not here.”

Mackland glanced to Harland. “Do you feel the same?”

Harland looked at Joshua, his face hardening. “I’m not as foolish as my wife and son, Ames.”

“So be it. Any action you take against us from here on out I will consider treason.”

“There are hunters who will follow us, Mackland,” Griffin said with confidence.

“Those hunters will be considered traitors to everything The Brotherhood stands for. And when it is time for the new Triad, for the new Guardian, they will be dealt with.” Mackland moved so his back was to the trio. He moved his gaze from Ethan, Elijah, and Joshua to the future Triad. It was the beginning of a promising army. Gideon’s death would not be in vain.

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Dean startled himself awake with the echo of a gunshot and Gideon’s voice following him into the garish motel room as he relived the moment. A hand touched his shoulder, cool against his sweat-slicked skin.

“You okay?”

Dean looked up at his brother, tried to regulate his breathing. The early morning light streaming through the turquoise blue curtains had him blinking. “Yeah.”

Sam eased himself onto the corner of the bed. Dean didn’t miss the wince or the little hiss of pain. “You sure?”

“I’m fine, Sammy.” Dean shifted on the lumpy mattress, pushed to sitting, trying to recall how much time elapsed to them getting the room and him falling asleep. “How’s the leg?”

“It’s okay. Mac redressed it before he left.”

Dean frowned, looking at the clock. It was after eight. He hadn’t meant to sleep so long. “You should have woken me up.”

“You needed the rest.” A dimple flashed. “Scholar’s orders.”

“Where’s Caleb?” Dean looked around the lived in room. It only took a few hours for their belongings to be strewed throughout the room in the quest for warm, clean clothes and care of their injuries.

Sam jutted his chin. “Shower.”

Dean listened to the running water for a moment. “Everyone else?”

“Ethan and Elijah…they were taking him home. Bobby and Mackland headed out with them to talk to Gideon’s family.”

Dean swallowed hard, rubbed at his weary eyes. “That won’t be a fun road trip.” He hadn’t talked with Ethan or Elijah after the drawing of battle lines at The Rise. What was left to say? Their loyalty was an advantage, but at what cost? Their best friend was dead. Another person on Dean’s conscious.

“It wasn’t your fault, you know.” Sam placed a hand on his brother's leg.

“Caleb mentioned that.” Dean moved his leg so that Sam would remove his hand. “But he is the eternal optimist.”

Sam frowned. “Ian killed Gideon.”

“I was there, Sam.” There was no consolation for what had happened. Dean had taken away Gideon's last moments. Time he should have had with Ethan and Elijah, his family.

“But being there doesn’t keep you from twisting it into something it wasn’t.” Sam plucked at the hideous floral bedspread.

“He died for me.” No twisting was needed. The facts spoke for themselves.

“You would have done the same for him.” His brother spoke in a hushed tone. Dean didn't know what emotion to attach to it.

"But I can afford to." Dean was dead man walking. “The boy scout would have been a good Guardian…I think I could have trusted him to watch out for you and Caleb.” At least as much as Dean could trust anyone with that aspect of the job.

“You’re the next Guardian, Dean.”

“That’s not going to happen and you know it.” He lowered his voice like Sam had done. He recognized what the emotion was – dejection. “Mackland’s choice of a replacement just got a whole hell of a lot narrower.”

Sam looked up, his face set in stubborn lines. “No one can replace you.”

“Sammy…I know this sucks.” Dean knew all too well what his brother was feeling. “But this hunt is over and it’s time to face facts. No more vacations, no more distractions.”

“You ready to tell Caleb that?” Sam gestured to the bathroom, the water still running.

“Not here.” Not where the all too recent memory of watching Caleb drown and Sam being shot lingered. Not when the feel of Gideon’s blood on his hands was too fresh. “The farm.” At least there Dean would feel as if he had some control.

Sam held his stare, finally breaking eye contact. “Joshua is coming with us. We’re dropping him at his grandmother's in Arizona, near Flagstaff.”

Dean shrugged. It was still better than the fucking trip Ethan and Elijah were making. “The least we can do seeing as how he took Ian out and gave Harland the big kiss off.”

“He seems out of it.” Sam stood, taking a seat on the other bed.

The last person on Dean's mind was Joshua, however it was easy to deduce what was bothering the other hunter. “I’m willing to bet it was his first kill…first human anyway.”

Sam nodded. “Like with me with Madison?”

Dean shook his head-his brother still needed to be reminded he had performed a mercy killing, one Dean wanted Sam to avoid. “No. That was different. Ian deserved everything he got. You were helping her.”

“It’s still the same kind of gut-gnawing guilt.” Sam licked his lips. “He and Ian were friends at one time.”

“Josh is a big boy. He’ll get over it.” Ian hadn't been so friendly to Joshua, and if it had come to it, Ian would not have hesitated to kill his one time friend.

“He’s trying, Dean. I believe he wants to work with us, that he’s on our side.” “Yeah. Well, I’m not ready to smoke that peace pipe, Kemosabi.” Dean sighed. Joshua would never fully be redeemed in Dean's mind. “But I will let him ride in the Impala. In the back.”

Sam grinned. “My fresh leg injury trumps his.”

“Exactly.” Dean glanced over his shoulder. “He and Damien can bond.”
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The bonding his brother predicted consisted of grumbling, arguing, and a bountiful exchange of insults. Sam was consoled by the fact there was no swapping of licks, and mollified by the knowledge Caleb was only retaliating half-heartedly, obviously recognizing Joshua’s mood. Sam supposed the hunter was avoiding the events from the previous day by lashing out in his typical condescending fashion. Sam preferred it to the silence, which gave him too much time to think about what would happen at the farm once Caleb knew about Dean's deal.

“So your grandmother lives in a retirement village?” Sam asked. Extended family was foreign to him, he only had Jessica as a reference point and Caleb's grandfather Cullen. He liked the idea of a big family, people caring for each other.

Joshua moved his gaze from the passing scenery to Sam. “Jocelyn prefers condominium community for those with a vast maturity.”

“Sounds like one of your PR spiels,” Caleb said with an elbow to Joshua's ribs.

“Is she hot like your mom?”

“Dean.” Sam shot his brother a reprimanding glare and sent Caleb a matching one when the psychic laughed. “She’s a grandmother.”

Dean grinned. “So, I’ve seen some fine cougars in my day.”

“Jocelyn is unique.”

Sam found it disconcerting when Joshua didn’t admonish Dean or retaliate with some crude comment about his decorum. “She’s a witch, right?”

Joshua returned his gaze to the window. “She’s an expert at the craft.”

“She helped Maxim out of some tight spots," Caleb added.

Sam recognized the surprise in Joshua’s eyes as he redirected his attention to Caleb. “And how would you know that?”

Caleb folded his arms across his chest, leaned against the seat. “John made me read every past Knight’s journal in The Tomb-twice.”

“My grandfather was more open-minded than most hunters.”

Sam knew there was a great number of their kind who frowned on anything supernatural, and some like the vampire hunter Gordon who sought to destroy anything they didn’t understand. “She must be excited about your visit.”

He was pushing to make small talk. Dean’s soft snort and Joshua’s raised brow said they realized it as well. But Joshua humored him, clasping his hands in front of him. “I got the impression she was more ecstatic over the future Triad’s impending stopover. She’s serving lemon duck for lunch.”

"That sounds great,” Sam said. He had never eaten duck before; he supposed it tasted like chicken. Hoped it tasted like chicken, or at least turkey.

“Maybe I should stop for takeout.”

“Maybe you should stop with the commentary and drive faster so we can get this whole forced affair over with,” Joshua said, a hint of his usual bark seeping through.

Dean glanced in the rearview mirror. “You could have taken the Greyhound or hitchhiked.”

“Dean…” Sam tried to remind his brother to show a little bit of kindness.

“Sam.”

“How about some music?” Caleb said. He leaned forward and reached his hand to the front seat. “Something with one of those loud screeching way too long guitar montages you’re so found of, Deuce.”

Dean smacked the psychic’s hand. “I could put on some Yanni for you, Damien.”

Sam gave Joshua a sympathetic half-shrug when Caleb thumped Dean on the back of the head. “I bet you’re glad you were an only child.”

Joshua returned to watching the scenery. “Only a fool would wish otherwise.”

Sam didn’t purposively pry, but he couldn’t help the wave of emotion he picked up from the other hunter. The moment with Harland at The Rise replayed in vibrant clarity through his mind. The eldest Sawyer insulted both Joshua and Esme, discounting his own son as if he were no more than a fellow hunter. As Sam turned in his seat to finish the ride in silence, he couldn’t help but to wonder at how dysfunctional families seem to be the norm for The Brotherhood.

They were stopped at the gate of the retirement community. Joshua spoke from the backseat, and they were allowed entrance. All the houses looked the same, but they were guided in, and Dean pulled into the stone paved driveway.

There were chairs outside on the porch of the one level house. Sam was tempted to take a seat after they rang the doorbell and were kept waiting.

“Are you sure she’s home?” Caleb asked, shifting his tall frame to lean against the porch railing.

Sam could hear a dog barking next door as Joshua once again pushed the doorbell.

“I just talked to her on the phone,” Joshua said. “She’s expecting us.”

Dean bumped Sam’s shoulder and pointed to two women who had exited the neighboring townhouse. “Cougars,” he said, quietly. He tossed his hand up, offering with it a charming smile. “It’s a rare opportunity to study them in their natural territory.”

Sam watched the women flutter about, pretending to water the geraniums and straighten patio furniture. “Maybe we should ask them if they’ve seen Jocelyn?”

“Maybe they’ll invite you over for some sweet tea and cookies, Runt?” Caleb said, shoving off from the railing. “That sounds better than lemon duck.”

Dean smirked. “Better yet, maybe they’ll make themselves a Sammy sandwich.”

“That’s disgusting,” Sam said, wondering why he attracted elderly woman.

“And exactly the kind of barbaric comment I wish you would refrain from while in the company of my grandmother.” Joshua had his face pressed to the glass of the door, trying to see between the blinds.

Dean snorted. “A grandmother who obviously knew you were coming and hightailed it out of here.”

"Hello, boys." A woman came from around the side of the house. She was wearing a pale green flowing shirt with matching loose pants. Sandals adorned her feet, a wide brimmed straw hat was on her head, but Sam could still make out the silver hair pulled back. She wore dark sunglasses, but Sam knew she looked a lot like Esme. "I was out back getting some herbs." She held up the greenery in her hand.

She moved first to her grandson, kissing him on each cheek. Sam felt himself blush as she did the same to him, "You're Sam, Caleb, and Dean." She stood in front of the door, blocking their entrance.

Joshua frowned. "Grandmother, are you going to invite us in?"

"In a moment. Meredith is still looking over. Be a dear, Caleb, and wave to her."

Caleb’s brow furrowed before a knowing grin spread across his face and he turned to give a much exaggerated greeting to Jocelyn’s neighbors. “I’m guessing not much goes on around here.”

Jocelyn motioned them in, taking Caleb’s proffered elbow as she passed. "Oh, they'll be talking about the handsome men on my doorsteps for months."

“I bet you keep things stirred up around here,” Dean said.

Sam didn’t miss the pleased look as Jocelyn removed her hat and glasses, placing them on the bar top dividing living room from dining area. “I have my moments. But nothing so exciting as having The Guardian, The Scholar and The Knight plus my grandson in my home."

"We’re not exactly The Triad, not yet." Caleb stood next to Dean, his eyes taking in the spacious room.

Jocelyn squeezed Joshua’s hand as she guided him to a chair. "Soon enough, although you all look worse for the wear.” She gestured to the sofa. "Sit down, and I'll make you some tea before lunch."

Dean and Sam sat, but Caleb moved across the room his eyes transfixed on a colorful print adorning the adjacent wall. “El Paseo.”

“Bless you,” Dean said.

Caleb tossed a frown over his shoulder. “The painting is called El Paseo, Deuce.”

Jocelyn nodded. “You’re a Jose Royo fan?”

Caleb traced his fingers over the print. “Who isn’t?”

“Me for one.” Jocelyn gestured to the young woman captured in swirling pastels. “Maxim on the other hand adored the man. Although I think it had less to do with the artist’s genius brush strokes and more to do with his taste in subjects.”

Caleb grinned. “Maxim obviously had an eye for beautiful women. You can’t fault him for that, now can you?”

Joshua groaned. “Please.”

Sam watched as Jocelyn patted her grandson’s shoulder. “I see the future Knight shares your grandfather’s silver tongue.”

“He’s a devil alright,” Joshua said.

Sam was glad Caleb at least waited until Jocelyn’s back was turned before giving Joshua the finger. “So, I hope you boys like duck?”

“We love it,” Sam said.

It turned out that Sam wasn’t lying. Lunch was delicious. The duck didn’t taste like chicken exactly, but it was close enough. Jocelyn followed the meal with oatmeal cookies which she admitted were bought from the bakery down the street, and another round of her herbal tea with healing properties. But it was the conversation and Jocelyn’s company that Sam ate up.

Like the one time Esme had visited the farm when he was a boy, Sam couldn’t help but be struck by the idea of Jocelyn’s role, at least the role she played in Joshua’s life. After they finished eating, she took great pleasure in pulling out old photo albums much to Joshua’s embarrassment, proudly showcasing her grandson’s formative years.

Dean and Caleb took almost as much pleasure in mercilessly teasing the other hunter, which if nothing else seemed to transform Joshua into his sardonic caustic self. Sam sensed that Jocelyn planned it that way, that she instinctively knew her grandson was upset. Throughout the trip down memory lane, she touched Joshua, a hand on his arm, fingers brushed through his hair. It reminded Sam of the one holiday he spent with Jessica’s family. The ease in which they showed affection, it was unsettling at first. Sam felt almost like a foreigner, adjusting to a secret culture, a lifestyle he quickly grew to covet.

It wasn’t as if Sam wasn’t loved when he was a child, because he was. He knew that, never doubted it. But growing up with a father, brother, surrogate uncles and one doting pseudo-grandfather didn’t exactly provide the warmth of a mother or a grandmother. Then there was the whole lifestyle of a hunter to contend with. Hugs became sparse after about the age of eight, replaced by punches to the arm, noogies, and the occasional headlock. Jessica called his discomfort in normal social settings a ‘resistance to casual intimacy.’ Sam called it survival.

Joshua’s gaze brought him from his thoughts. The other hunter was staring at him, a look Sam understood. One he’d found himself guilty of giving Joshua over the years when he caught the other man looking with envy as he observed him, Dean and Caleb.

It was sympathy.

Sam cleared his throat, refocused on the pictures, pointing to a photo in the corner. It was of three young men. Arms thrown over each other’s shoulders, devil may care grins. “That’s your husband’s Triad.”

Jocelyn squeezed Joshua’s knee as she leaned forward. She slipped the picture from its bindings and offered it to Sam. “It is. They were something to behold in their hay day-a handsome bunch.” She looked up over the rim of her slim silver glasses and flashed Dean a smile. “Almost as handsome as you three.”

“Grandmother.”

Jocelyn leaned back with a throaty laugh, kissed Joshua on the forehead. “I’m old, Joshua. Not dead.”

Sam took a better look at the taller man in the picture. He was dark-skinned with a wide toothy smile and intense eyes. “Is that Victor? The Scholar?”

“It is.”

“The one who retired?” Caleb raised a brow.

Jocelyn nodded. “His leaving wasn’t exactly as casual and flippant as it seems. Many people frowned on Victor’s decision to leave The Brotherhood at such a time of upheaval. Others had done it in the past, although it was rare, especially for those chosen for The Triad.”

“Maybe he didn’t want to do the job without Julian and Maxim,” Sam said. All eyes turned to him and he suddenly felt extremely transparent. “I mean…he was the last one left. Right? It had to be hard.”

Jocelyn smiled at him. “I think you are exactly right, Sam. It is always hardest on those left behind. Victor loved Maxim and Julian. He was by far the most quiet of the three and lacked some of their…let’s say… enthusiasm for the work, but he was loyal as the day is long. When they were both gone, he changed. Perhaps a part of him was also lost forever.”

“So he went to Hawaii, the land of perpetual leis and roast pork to find himself?” Caleb shook his head. “Sounds like a cop out to me. He had a duty to fulfill. You didn’t see Samuel Colt quitting, when Tanner and Wilmington fell.”

Sam noted that Jocelyn didn’t appear offended by Caleb’s observation, instead she seemed amused. “That’s exactly what Maxim would have said.” Her eyes shimmered as she shared a knowing look with Dean. “Knights and their valiant Code of Honor.”

Dean returned her grin. “Tell me about it.”

“There was also the fact The Triad was unprepared for such an upheaval in the structure of power,” Joshua said casually. “My grandfather’s Triad, however successful, failed to grasp the importance of preparing a future generation. I suspect Victor found the repercussions quite daunting. Not everyone enjoys the prospect of being left hanging in the wind.”

“They weren’t purposively grossly negligent.” Jocelyn leaned forward and took the photo from Sam. She traced her finger over her late husband’s face. “I tried to warn them of the disturbances, but like most men in their prime they believed themselves unconquerable, thought they had all the time in the world.” She lifted her gaze and met Sam’s once more. “We all like to believe we have limitless time together.”

“Yeah.” Sam swallowed thickly, knowing without even a glance that his brother was watching him. He pointed to another picture of the Triad, a fourth man joining them in the shot. He was a tall black man and at first glance Sam thought it might have been Griffin Porter, but on closer inspection he realized the man was too old to have been the scientist. “Who’s this, Jocelyn?”

Jocelyn’s face altered, a frown marring her delicate features. “That’s Benjamin Mosley.”

“Mosley as in Missouri Mosley?” Dean asked, also leaning forward to study the picture.

“Missouri’s father.” Jocelyn pointed to another picture of Julian Smith and Benjamin. “Benjamin was consult to Julian’s Triad.”

“What happened to him?” Sam asked. He didn’t exactly understand the role of ‘The Consult’ to the Triad, only that like The Scholar they tended to be gifted, typically either psychic or with ties to the natural crafts like alchemy.

The smile returned, but didn’t quite reach Jocelyn’s blue eyes. “That is a story for another time, young man. If I don’t retain some mystery, how will I ever lure you three back to visit me?”

“It’s getting late,” Joshua said. He folded his hands together, turned so he could see his watch. “I’m sure you expected to be on the road by now.”

“Meaning you expected us to be gone by now.” Dean smirked. “Tired of us monopolizing your grandmother?”

“Only child syndrome,” Caleb said. Sam noticed the other psychic holding his side as he attempted to move to the edge of the couch. “Josh doesn’t know how to share.”

Dean stood and offered a hand to help Caleb up from the overstuffed sofa. “Like you have any room to talk, Richie Rich. You used to padlock your bedroom when we came to visit.”

“There’s no hurry,” Jocelyn said. “You three are more than welcome to use the extra guest room if you’d like. The Triad is always welcome in my home.”

“We appreciate it,” Dean said. “But Josh is right. We should be heading for Kentucky. Mackland is expecting us.”

Sam felt the twinge of his own injuries as he shifted most of his weight to his left leg and stood. The car ride and inactivity of their visit had left him stiffer than he thought. Jocelyn steadied him with a hand on his lower back as he wavered. “You are a tall one,” she said. “My Maxim was about your height.”

“Watch her hands, Sammy,” Dean said. “That’s the oldest trick in the book.”

Despite her grandson’s disapproving scowl, Jocelyn laughed. “I promise your brother’s virtue is safe with me.” She winked at Sam. “This visit, at least.”

Caleb hesitated in following Dean out. Sam watched him stop in front of Sawyer. “If I didn’t say it before, Joshua…thanks for what you did back in the cavern. I won’t forget it.”

“It’s nothing I shouldn’t have done twenty years before.”

Caleb smiled. “Better late than never.” He turned, giving a slight bow to Jocelyn, before taking her hand and kissing it gently. “My lady.”

Sam grabbed two more cookies. Jocelyn escorted him to the door and Sam felt his face heat up as the woman gave him another peck on the cheek. He ducked his head in time to see her slip something into his hand. It was the black and white picture of her late husband’s Triad.

“Jocelyn, I can’t accept this.”

Her fingers were warm on his as she pressed the photograph into his palm. “Yes, you can. I insist.”

Sam looked at faded photograph of the three young men. They looked happy, untouchable.

“It’s important to hold onto the best moments, Sam. Gets us through the tough times.”

Sam met her gaze, nodded. “Thank you.” He motioned behind her. “Joshua’s a lucky guy.”

Her eyes narrowed, growing sadder. “Not today, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sure you can help with that,” Sam said. After meeting Jocelyn, Sam was certain it was no act of convenience that Joshua asked they drop him at his grandmother’s. He was coming home, just as they were in going to the farm.

Jocelyn patted his hand once more before releasing him. “That’s what families do. Isn’t it?”

Sam glanced towards the Impala where Caleb was leaning against the door tapping his watch. Dean was making kissy-faces. He might not have had a mom, or a grandmother, but he was blessed in other ways. “I guess.” He chuckled. “If you can put up with them.”

Jocelyn laughed, a genuine smile returning to light her face. “There’s that Scholarly wisdom I’ve heard so much about.”

Sam ducked his head in embarrassment of the praise. He wasn’t sure if he was as smart as people were always claiming, but if he had ever needed his intelligence, now was the time. Sam was determined to outsmart the demon who had made a deal for his brother’s life. Dean was not going to Hell.
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Dean rested his head on the steering wheel. “It’s good to be home.”

They had driven straight through from Oklahoma where they had spent the night after leaving Jocelyn’s in Arizona. The twelve hour drive at least got them to Pastor Jim’s before dark. He lifted his gaze when neither Sam nor Caleb responded, or hurried to exit the cramped quarters. His brother was staring out the window towards the wraparound porch, looking all of six again. Caleb’s face reflected the same downtrodden expression.

“What?” Dean surveyed the farm. Mackland’s SUV was there alongside Bobby’s car. Everything else appeared normal.

Sam sighed heavily. “I keep expecting Scout to come out to meet us.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Caleb replied. “Jim too, in those stupid overalls he’d wear every summer, Atticus Finch grinning at his side, stinking of his latest skunk adventure.”

Dean pulled the keys from the ignition. He hated the sense of loss permeating the car-knew that this time next year his death would only add to the list of things missing at the farm. “Harper Lee’s probably hanging out inside, waiting for his usual belly rub.”

Sam’s mouth tipped up. “He never was big on curbside greetings.”

“And Bobby never smells great.” Dean glanced up in the rearview mirror. “If you ask really nice Damien, he might brush up against you.”

“When did you become Mr. Sunshine?”

Dean opened the door, the southern summer air coating his skin. The aroma of honeysuckle and Miss Emma’s roses tickled his nose. “Somebody has to keep you two emo-chicks from going all macabre. We haven’t even started drinking any of Jim’s stash.”

Caleb exited the back with a stifled yawn. “That doesn’t sound like a bad plan, Deuce.” He looked up at the clear sky where the sun was starting its decent. “Give it a few hours and it’ll be perfect setting for an all-nighter at the pond.”

“I wouldn’t plan the party too soon.” Sam stood, leaning against the car. “Some of us are on pain medication, Caleb, and Mac may have other things in mind.”

Caleb and Dean shared a look. “Debriefing.”

“Sounds about right.” Dean felt his stomach twist. “I guess we have to face the music sooner or later.”

“You look like you’re about to face the firing squad, Deana.” Caleb punched Dean in the side as he passed him. “Dad’s lectures are boring, but rarely painful.”

Dean glanced over the roof of the car to his brother. “Here’s hoping.”

The smell of pizza greeted them, not the typical food any of them expected at the farm. Even more surprising was finding Mackland and Bobby spread out in the living room, opened bottles of Jim’s brew strewn about, ballgame turned on. Dean rested against the doorway from the kitchen, studied the two men before him. “What the hell’s going on?”

Bobby, feet up on the coffee table, plate of pizza resting on his stomach flicked his gaze from the television. “Dinner, Genius. What does it look like?”

The Scholar lifted a piece of pizza in greeting. The doctor was kicked back, baseball hat turned around backwards, looking completely un-Mac like. “There are two pies left. Join us.”

Caleb’s shoulder brushed against Dean’s as he considered his father. “Cristo.”

Mackland ignored the insinuation that he was acting completely out of character. “Suit yourselves.”

Sam shoved between them, limping his way towards the offered food without a second thought. He grabbed four pieces, two bottles of beer and claimed the prized recliner near the TV. Harper Lee hefted himself from his pillow to make a b-line for the youngest Winchester.

Bobby gestured with his drink to Sam who had already devoured half a piece of pizza. “You can sure as hell tell the kid’s had to fight you two for food most of his life.”

Dean and Caleb stared on as Mackland laughed. “Do you remember that year at Thanksgiving when Jim proudly unveiled his succulent prized turkey only to find the two drumsticks missing?”

Bobby chortled. “The preacher nearly blew a gasket.”

Dean shoved away from the wall, stepping into the room. “He blamed me.”

“For good reason,” Caleb said, finally joining them. “You were the one who ate half the apple pie for breakfast.”

“You put me up to it, and if I remember you ate some of it yourself.” Dean grabbed one of the boxes before Caleb could reach it and chose a place on the floor by the fireplace. “But I didn’t touch the turkey.”

“That was all Sammy.” Caleb scooped two pieces from the last pizza box and claimed the other end of the couch by his father. “The runt had the legs wrapped in paper towels and stuffed in his backpack.”

Dean grinned as he watched Sam’s face shift to an indignant scowl. “It was the only way I was going to get one around you two. It’s not my fault your greed forced me to be resourceful.”

Mackland laughed. “If I remember right Atticus Finch was the only one enjoying a drumstick that Thanksgiving.”

“Jim caught him trying to drag the Spider Man pack down the stairs from the boys’ bedroom.” Caleb opened a beer, ignoring the look his father shot him. “It was the only time I ever saw the pastor lose his cool with Sammy.”

Bobby rolled his eyes, scratched his beard. “And by losing his cool you mean that he didn’t let the kid have an extra helping of dessert that night, because that’s as about as hardcore as he got with you three.”

Dean rested against the stone mantle, grinning as Caleb defended their honor by ticking off numerous punishments, none of which validated his point, all of them increasing Bobby’s gloat. The next couple of hours passed quickly as they recanted stories of Jim, his tolerance for the boys’ antics, and uncanny ability to smooth the worst of ruffled feathers, even John Winchester’s.

Dean basked in the reminiscing, an unexpected reprieve from reality. He could feel his father and Jim with them, Atticus and Scout, too. If only for a moment, his family felt whole, his problems a world away. A world in which Dean wasn’t living on borrowed time and Gideon Lane’s death never took place.

He wasn’t sure what led to Mackland’s declaration, wasn’t paying close enough attention, but it quickly brought a halt to the levity. Dean’s temporary sanctuary crumbled beneath the doctor’s breathy confession.

“I never understood the ramifications of being a general. I have to say I prefer the job of right hand man.”

Bobby rolled a bottle of beer between his palms. “You did good, Mac. Jim would have been proud of the way you handled everything with Gideon’s family.”

Dean barely managed to swallow as he watched Mackland rub his watery eyes. “Did you see the look on his father’s face? I might as well have handed him a folded flag.”

“He died a hero,” Caleb said. “I know that probably doesn’t mean a damn to them now, but in time when the war is over it’ll bring them solace.”

“Or not,” Dean countered. He wasn’t in the mood for Damien’s ‘Good will prevail’ speech. At the moment, self pity was feeling appropriate. “Especially when they know it was all in vain.”

Caleb leaned forward, one arm folded protectively across his stomach. “How could it be in vain? He saved you, in turn saving The Brotherhood. His sacrifice was for the …”

“Don’t you dare say greater good, Damien.” Dean stood. “If you do, I will so kick your ass, injured or not.”

“Go ahead and try.” Caleb stood, too. “But I’m not going to discount what he did. I’m grateful for his sacrifice…more than I can say.”

Grief flared to anger. “Like you were thankful for Dad’s sacrifice?”

For a moment Caleb looked stunned that Dean was using words from a private conversation against him, but the hurt was quickly camouflaged by the other man’s temper. “I understood what John did. I hated like hell that it came to him making that choice, but I won’t lie and say I wouldn’t have done the same thing in his shoes.”

Dean stepped forward, aware of Sam moving out of the chair to shadow him. Mackland and Bobby also rose. Dean could feel the tension pulsing, knowing the situation was going to escalate, but unable to find a way to stop it. “Like you made the choice to shove me out of the way back in that cave, Damien drowning for your effort?”

Caleb ran a hand through his hair. “Goddamnit, Deuce. That’s my fucking job.”

“It had nothing to do with your job.” Dean moved closer, getting into the other man’s face. “Admit it.”

“You’re right.” Caleb poked a finger in his chest. “I would have done it whether I was The Knight or not, no matter if you were destined to be The Guardian or a foot soldier. Sue me. It was you, plain and simple. And I wasn’t about to let you die. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Dean nodded. “Yes,” he said softly. It was exactly what he wanted to hear, what he needed to hear.

“Why?” Caleb threw his hands up. “Why the hell does it matter if I did it for The Guardian or for you? We’re talking fucking semantics.”

Dean felt his heart pounding against his chest, could have sworn the room seemed to shrink around them. “I’m not going to be The Guardian, Caleb. It’s not going to happen, man.”

“This again?” Caleb’s voice rose. He reached out and wrapped a hand in the front of Dean’s jacket, giving him a slight shake. “What does it fucking take to get through that thick skull of yours? You’re the goddamn Guardian, Dean. Get over the self-deprecating shit already and step up to the fucking plate.”

Dean met his gaze, feeling his eyes sting. “I made a deal, Caleb.”

The words didn’t seem to register, or maybe they simply made no sense. Dean waited for the moment of realization-to witness the collapse of Caleb’s safe haven in the confused gold gaze. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

“He made it for me,” Sam said.

Dean felt Caleb’s fingers tighten in the folds of his jacket, as his best friend turned to look at Sam. “What?”

“Son…” Mackland cleared his throat, but a look from Dean stopped him from interceding.

“Back in Cold Oak when the demon took Sam and the other kids.” Dean reclaimed Caleb’s attention, steeling himself. “Bobby and I got there too late. That kid…the soldier, Jake, he stabbed Sam.”

“Yeah.” Caleb slowly nodded. “You told me that.” He glanced at Sam, flicking his gaze to Singer who was looking as unsure. “But Bobby patched him up, used some of Joshua’s funky mojo.”

Dean watched Bobby shake his head. “There isn’t any mojo for that kind of wound, Junior. Severed spinal cord, quick kill.”

Dean felt the moment Caleb accepted what he was saying. The psychic released him, taking a quick step back to put some distance between them. “You…you made a deal. What kind of deal? With who?”

“A life for a life to set back what was supposed to happen.” Dean licked his lips. “The cross-roads demon.”

“Oh God.” Caleb paled, bending slightly. “I can’t fucking believe you would…”

“It was Sam. Sammy.” Dean lifted a hand to steady Caleb, winced as his friend stumbled back another step to avoid his touch. Dean clenched his fist. “You understand. I know you do. You said it yourself, Damien. You couldn’t let me die. I couldn’t let him die. He’s my brother.”

Caleb ran a hand across his mouth, took a hitching breath before straightening to his full height. “How long?”

Dean opened his mouth, but Sam’s voice cut him off.

“We can find a way to stop it, Caleb. It’s not a death sentence, not by a long shot. We won’t let it happen.”

Caleb ignored Sam. “How fucking long, Dean?”

“A year.” Dean easily remembered saying the exact same words to his brother. Had it only been a few short weeks ago? “I have a year.”

Caleb’s reaction was different than Sam’s, but not unexpected. The future Knight shoved him hard, slamming Dean against the fireplace. He drew his fist back to deliver a vicious blow that Dean would relish. In Dean’s mind it was deserved, completely understandable. Dean caught himself silently whispering the mantra, ‘just do it.’

Caleb hesitated. Dean read the turmoil and struggle warring in the other hunter’s gold gaze. He knew Caleb better than anyone, realized even before Caleb did that the man didn’t have it in him to do it. God. Dean wished he had.

It hurt a hundred times worse when Caleb choked, when he clenched his eyes shut, briefly rested his forehead against Dean’s chest. “Goddamn you, Deuce. What the hell have you done?”

Dean tried to think of something…anything to say to make it better. Words were useless, like that made up ‘mojo’ Bobby used on Sam. This was a wretchedly slow kill.

“He died in my arms, Caleb,” Dean said, softly. “I couldn’t let him go. I just couldn’t do it.”

Caleb lifted his head. “Back in my apartment when you asked me what I was afraid of. You remember? That gut-wrenching, breath-stealing, piss your pants kind of fear? The kind real nightmares are made of?” Caleb shoved him again, but this time it held no heat, only resolution. “This is it, Deuce.” He released him, took a slow step away. “This. Is. Fucking. It.”

When he turned and stormed out of the room, Dean tried to go after him. Mackland stopped him with a strong hand and a shake of his head. “Let Sam go, Son. Give him some time.”

Dean looked at his brother; realized Caleb wasn’t the only one in pain. “Take care of him, Sammy.” Maybe they could offer each other the solace Dean seemed incapable of providing.

Dean watched his brother go, unsure of what to do next. He glanced at Mackland, forcing a smirk. “That went well.”

Mackland agreed. “Better than expected.”

“Really?” Dean snorted. “Because I was being sarcastic.”

“He could have broken your nose,” Bobby stated. “Knocked some teeth out.”

“Didn’t you say you were supposed to meet Ellen, Bobby?” Mackland gave the mechanic a pointed look. “It’s getting late.”

“Right.” Bobby clasped Dean on the shoulder, giving it a hard squeeze. “I’ll be going then.”

When they were alone, Mackland removed his ball cap, ran his fingers through his salt and pepper hair. “He’ll understand, Dean. Trust me.”

“You really believe that?” Dean felt they would never reach an understanding- he had irrevocably changed everything with Caleb, although in reality he was just putting things in their right places- he should have been dead, Sam alive.

“I do.”

“Why’s that?” He didn’t understand how he was going to get Caleb’s amnesty.

“Because however painful it was to watch my son blindly fall into it, your circular logic was infallible.” Mackland reached out, set his cap on Dean’s head giving it a sharp tug so it rested low over Dean’s eyes. “You not only stepped up to the plate, Slugger. You hit it out of the park. Reminded me of some of the pitfalls Jim laid out for your father.”

Dean pushed up the bill of the NYPD hat, giving the doctor a hard look. “Meaning Caleb’s going to come around because there’s not anything he wouldn’t do for me…even if it’s not in his best interest.”

Mackland sighed. “Unconditional love… a blessing and a curse.”

He pulled the hat off, the bill in his hand as he tried to bend it to have more of a curve. “For who? The receiver or the giver?”

“Both, Son.” Mackland tossed an arm over Dean’s shoulders, pulling him in for a quick hug, crushing the hat between them. “Both.”

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