"Destiny is real. And she's not mild-mannered. She will come around and hit you in the face and knock you over and before you know what hit you, you're naked-stripped of everything you thought you knew and everything you thought you didn't know-and there you are!" –C. Joy Bell

RCJ

"You boys want some coffee?" Chief of Police Fess Carter gestured to a small break room off to the right of his office, gesturing Dean and Caleb ahead of him. The man had just finished providing the hunters with, in Dean's opinion, an overly informative, not to mention boring tour of his precinct, and was now guiding them through the bullpen where the newcomers were garnering stares from several of the officers. "We have an espresso machine and one of those fancy new one cup deals, makes any of that flavored shit you might like, along with hot cocoa and tea."

"More perks of being a blue ribbon city?" Dean and Caleb had already been privy to the new state-of- the-art Mission Impossible-like tactical computer center, complete with magical tables and wall mounted flat screens that would have had Sam drooling and making plans for The Tomb. Dean watched the chief grab a mug from an overhead shelf. Carter filled his cup from a pot of dark brew in the corner, before offering Dean and Caleb a couple of Styrofoam cups they filled with the same.

Caleb grabbed a handful of sugar packs. "We're lucky our ten dollar Mr. Coffee is up and running at the station."

Carter opened an adjoining door, leading them directly into his spacious, sun-filled office. "We've gotten a few incentives to keep up the good work since the tide started turning." He went around his desk, gesturing to the large highback black leather chair he was about to sit in. "This perfectly aerodynamic baby is the only thing I've counted as a perk. It has massage fingers for your neck and shoulders."

"Nice." Caleb nodded to the chair.

Dean took a seat in front of Carter's desk. "I'd go out on a limb and say the only special feature our Captain's chair has is the tightly coiled springs that I'm pretty sure he's had shoved up his ass for the last decade."

"Ain't that the truth," Caleb shot him a grin as he claimed the other chair and Dean picked up on the silent message that echoed in his mind. They should look into one of the special chairs for Bobby's Christmas present. "Maybe we should just skip the Chief's spiel on five year plans and grab a copy of the catalog where he got that bad boy."

Carter laughed at their antics. He had bought them as partners, even swallowed the lie that the administrative department on his end had screwed up their appointment, which had been made weeks ago. Dean sometimes marveled at people's gullibility, it made their work much easier. "I'll make sure Sheila gets you boys a copy on the way out. She'll be glad to do something to make amends for the mixup."

"It's not a big deal." Dean shifted in his seat, wincing slightly when the gold badge hooked on his jeans dug into his side.

"Your Captain has quite the way with words."The chief took a drink from his mug before placing it on a coaster on his desk. Dean noticed the framed pictures, one of a younger Carter in dress uniform, another of an attractive blond woman and two teen boys with curly heads the same shade of copper as Carter's hair.

Caleb laughed. "You should hear his rousing speeches at roll call. He can make a seasoned sailor blush."

"I can imagine," Carter folded his arms behind his head, leaning back in his chair. "But he tells me you two are his finest detectives."

"If by finest you mean we were the schmucks with the lowest conviction rates last month, then yeah." Dean rested his elbows on his knees, rolling the Styrofoam cup between his palms. "This wasn't exactly a fieldtrip those in the ranks were vying for."

"What? You boys weren't excited to visit the fine town of Tennison?" Carter's knowing grin belayed his feigned surprise as he turned his chair so that he could gesture to the city beyond his large window. "It's not exactly Vegas, but Atlanta is just a short ride away."

"It was either this or go back into uniform and traffic rotation for a month," Caleb explained with a mock shudder.

"Our traffic beat in the historic district uses bicycles," Dean added for effect. "Can you picture my partner here in those khaki shorts and socks to his knees?"

"That does seem extreme," Carter swiveled to face them once more. "I'll try my best to give you boys something useful to take back to Captain Singer, keep you in plain clothes and in four wheels."

"Like maybe you help us kidnap and gift wrap your Mayor Jameson?" Caleb threw out. "Sounds like he is the man behind all the magic."

Carter's smile tightened. "That's definitely what Jameson wants people to believe."

Dean didn't miss the way the chief's whole body stiffened along with his face. "But that's not the way it is?"

Carter took a deep breath, unclenching his fists, laying them flat on his desk. "Let's just say Mayor Jameson isn't the miracle worker his constituents have painted him to be."

"He took office about the same time the miraculous upswing started," Caleb pointed out. "The media sure does love him; talk about town is he's a sure thing for a Senate seat."

"What people seem to overlook is that I took over as Chief in this precinct six months before that pretty boy rode in on his white Mercedes." Chief Carter jabbed a finger at Caleb, his face reddening. Dean imagined there was a half empty bottle of Maalox tucked in Carter's desk for all matters concerning the mayor.

"And let me tell you, it's no wonder crime was rampant on the streets," Carter continued. "This place was a disaster, IA was all over our Vice unit, a whole neighborhood was protesting a shady shooting of a thirteen year old kid by a veteran detective in front of the federal building the day I came for my interview. Property values were down, the college couldn't recruit from the nicer towns. It's no wonder the Commissioner wanted an outsider to come in and clean house, considering the corruptions in the ranks, but the real miracle is that I didn't turn tail and run the other way after realizing what I was in for."

"Why didn't you?"Dean asked.

"My wife had a once in a career kind of job offer at the college. This was the best move for my family so you might say I took one for the team." Carter took a deep breath, raking his hands through his hair. His voice lowered. "I cut my teeth as a beat cop in Miami, worked my way up to homicide detective where my conviction rate was nothing short of damn impressive, even pulled time in vice before making it to Captain, then Chief of Detectives, a position I held proudly before stepping into run this hellhole two years ago. Not to toot my own horn, boys, but I have done just as much if not a whole hell of a lot more to spark the positive changes in Tennison than our fair Mayor Jameson, and no offense, but the only people I get wanting to knock my door down for an interview is a couple of homicide detectives from the bad side of Memphis."

"No offense taken." Dean glanced at Caleb. His friend was frowning, brows creased as he stared at Carter. Dean cleared his throat to get the Chief's attention. "Do you mind me asking what your secret was to turning this place and the city around?"

"Are you kidding? I'd be glad to share, in fact I'll do you one better." Carter pushed away from his desk. "I've got flow charts."

**sn**sn**sn**

"Who knew flow charts could make you want to stab yourself in the eye?" Dean stepped out of the police department with a deep breath of fresh air. The sun was high in the sky. His stomach grumbled, reminding him just how long he and Caleb had endured Chief Carter's detailed strategy for turning Tennisons police department into the finely oiled machine it was now.

"Not only did we suffer through Carter's two hour presentation, I doubt the stats on community outreach programs will win us any points in the relevant intelligence area." Caleb slapped Dean in the gut as he started down the concrete stairs that would lead them to the street. "I hate to break it to you, partner, but we're going to be eating thirty dollar salads and drinking Perrier at the first high end place Joshua comes across."

Dean rubbed his stomach, glaring at The Knight. "You didn't come up with anything from your psychic wire tap, Hutch?"

Caleb stopped on the sidewalk, facing Dean with a grimace. "You noticed that."

"You weren't exactly stealthy about it, man. I mean Carter probably just thought you were constipated, but for someone who knows you like me, I recognized the 'about to fry a few synapses' grimace."

Caleb ran a hand through his hair. "I thought I could gleam any thoughts he might have had about The Lance as he was regaling us with all his success."

"And?" Dean took the keys to the Impala out of his pocket, moving towards the parking garage.

"And mostly I only got surface shit about what he was already spinning to us, and what he wanted to have for lunch." Caleb matched Dean's stride. "If he has The Lance he doesn't realize what it is, or how it's tied to all the success in cleaning up the mean streets."

"That kind of sounds like info I could have gotten from amateur hour at the Psychic Network." Dean sent a sideways glance to his friend. "You can usually grab a guy's deepest darkest secrets without breaking a sweat. I thought you might have been plundering in his memory to see if he'd been to any estate auctions in the last couple of years since moving here."

Caleb stopped walking, forcing Dean to do the same. "I didn't realize you wanted me to ransack Chief Carter's psyche, Deuce."

"Would that have been a problem for you if I'd asked?"

Caleb crossed his arms over his chest. "You got something on your mind, Dean?"

Dean sighed, thoughts of his and Sam's earlier conversation pulling at him, making him itchy for pat answers and explanations. As much as he believed Sam was struggling with some shit of his own, he couldn't completely convince himself that Caleb was up to par. "What's going on with you, Caleb?"

"Besides the fact I'll be eating crow instead of Tennison's World Famous Ribs when we meet up with the dynamic duo? Nothing."

"You're telling me you feel right as rain?" Dean held Caleb's gaze, knowing despite the gift of subterfuge, the other man didn't lie well- at least not to him.

"Is this about your and Sam's conversation at breakfast? The one where he tried to convince you I was off my game? Because you know he's stressed over school, freaking out because things aren't falling perfectly into his ideal plan."

Dean sighed. Lying might not have been an option, but that didn't stop their old friend redirection from making an appearance. "Are you okay, Damien or should I be worried about both you and Sammy?"

"Deuce, I'm telling you it's no big deal." Caleb took a deep breath, blew it out slowly, arms falling to his side in a way that told Dean it might have been a bigger deal than Caleb wanted to admit. "Fucking migraines are screwing with my abilities, throwing me off, that's all, and the only thing you should be worrying about is how to keep Juliet from seeing how extremely awesome your best friend is and deciding she might like to play doctor with me again."

And there was the inappropriate humor. Dean wasn't thrown. "I thought that usually went the other way around, your abilities giving you the headache." Dean arched a brow. "Like when all the demons were running amuck and you were on alert twenty-four seven."

"You really want to argue the whole, 'which came first the chicken or the egg thing,' or do you want to focus on this current hunt and hit Carter's house. Just because he doesn't realize what he's got, doesn't rule out the fact he might have The Spear. Like he said, he was here before Jameson and the decrease in crime rates was the first step in turning this place around."

Dean studied his friend a moment longer, realizing the conversation wasn't going anywhere. Once the irrefutable logic came out, needling Caleb was not the way to get him to open up. They were in the middle of a hunt, after all. Whatever was up with Caleb and Sam could save until they were back at the farm where Dean could pull out a bottle of Jim's finest and get his best friend and little brother good and drunk. "You manage to get Carter's address along with his lunch order, fugly?"

Caleb tapped his head. "I also know his wife, Kelly is working, boys are at school. The place should be empty except for their two Labradoodles, Molly and Jake, that Carter forgot to feed this morning."

"So we pick up some beef jerky on the way?" Dean started for the garage once more, Caleb following. He cut his eyes to The Knight, hoping to smooth over any ruffled feathers. "What self-respecting guy has a Labradoodle?"

"The same guy who makes colored flow charts, and has a secret fetish for tiny shrimp stuffed croquettes and asparagus."

Dean snorted. "My money is definitely on Carter having The Holy Lance, because I'm not buying his strong arm tactics and iron fist as what whipped all those men into shape."

"He's definitely no Captain Singer." Caleb shot him a grin that said the conversation from before was completely forgotten for the time being. "Maybe those ribs are still on the menu?"

By the time Dean had finished his sweep of the third bedroom he was beginning to resign himself and his grumbling stomach to Joshua's mercy. He looked over at the two dogs, who having finished off two packs of turkey jerky were now lounging on the bed. Dean regretted not saving some of the treats for himself since he doubted Caleb was having any better luck in the downstairs. "I'm guessing you two haven't buried a really long stick with a metal tip in the backyard, huh?"

The bigger dog let its tail swish across the duvet in response, the smaller one content to doze lazily at its friend's side. Dean briefly wondered if Boo would be so easily swayed by strangers bearing dehydrated meat. He rubbed the dog's head with a sigh. "I didn't think so."

Dean turned to close the closet door when twin menacing growls had the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. Dean squeezed his eyes shut, cursing under his breath. They couldn't get lucky just one damn time. Caleb's shouted warning echoed from below along with a loud crash and had Dean turning, gun in hand to find Raphael and two others he assumed were also angels standing in the center of the room. The dogs showed good sense, clamoring from the bed and scrambling out of the room.

"Fancy meeting you here, Dean Winchester." Raphael tilted his head and inclined his chin to the badge at Dean's side. "Or should I say Officer Starsky?"

"This is why I think all angels should be accompanied by harp music." Dean kept the gun trained on Raphael, though he realized it would serve no real line of defense. As Sam had pointed out earlier, the angels were immune to crude weaponry. Still, it made him feel less vulnerable. "What brings you silently fluttering into my breaking and entering in progress, Raphael? I have every right to arrest you, you know. Heaven doesn't hold any diplomatic immunity."

"Ever the smartass." Raphael's smile was as cold as Dean remembered. "I think we both know why I'm here, Guardian."

Dean's gaze was brought to the doorway as Caleb was pushed through by two more angels. "Look what I found in the kitchen, Deuce."

"Cherub bookends weren't exactly what we were looking for, Damien." Dean shook his head in mock disappointment. "What happened to the corned beef sandwiches and beer?"

Caleb laughed, running a hand under his bleeding nose. "Looks like lunch is going to be further delayed."

"Or perhaps this is a case where you both have already had your last meal?" Raphael lifted a brow.

Dean suddenly found it impossible to hold onto his gun as every bone seemed to disappear from his fingers leaving him with the equivalent of Gumby's hand. "Shit." He was unable to hold back the startled yelp, grabbing at his useless limb with his other.

"Hey!" Caleb barked, starting towards him.

"Stay where you are, mongrel." Raphael kept his eyes on Dean, "Unless you want to lose your feet."

"It's alright, Damien." Dean bit out, lifting his gaze to Caleb, trying to control the panic gripping his heart. The anger and frustration blazing in The Knight's eyes confirmed they were in deep shit. "Angel magic tricks are always a barrel of laughs, but I'd kind of like to keep you intact."

"Then you'll waste no time in telling me where Longinus's Lance can be found." Raphael gestured to the room. "Is it here?"

"What is it with you and the porn-sounding names, Dude? First you were on and on about Michael's Sword, now this guy Longinus and his Lance."

"Do I really need to explain how your disastrous interference in the apocalypse has left me with zero patience for your antics and with even more disdain for your kind, human?"

"Do I really need to explain how I could give a shit about how you feel for my kind after what you and your brothers tried to do to our world?"

The fact Raphael actually chose to take a personal approach to punish him caught Dean by surprise. The backhand to his face was quick and obviously restrained considering Dean's head didn't snap off like a brittle twig. They needed him in one piece, at least until he turned over The Lance. Still, the blow landed him on his ass and had him seeing stars. He might reconsider his typical mouthy tactics.

"I will kill you." Caleb's words were still clear over the ringing in Dean's ears, as was Raphael's amused laughter.

"Better of your kind have tried and failed at that, Mutt."

"I would like to see how long you'd last down in the pit with Lucifer," Caleb spat, struggling against the iron grip of one of the angels who had secured his arms. Dean realized with some dread that still left The Knight free to use his words. "I'm sure your little brother Michael could use some backup. He's Hell Hound chow by now, you know that right?"

Dean had no problem in figuring out where his suicidal tendencies came from as he slowly picked himself up off the floor. The look of amusement in Raphael's dark eyes was unmistakable, as was the spark of anger. "How about I send you to join them in the fun, Reaves? You'll be there soon enough as it is."

Dean's heart pounded at the threat. He took a menacing step towards Raphael. "Do that and I'll never give you The Holy Lance."

"So you do know where it is?" Raphael returned his focus to Dean. "Tell me."

"Right." Caleb snorted. "Dean hands over The Lance and you'll just let us go out of the goodness of your big cupid heart."

Raphael sighed. "Why is it so hard for humans and half-breeds alike to understand how your mouths are often your undoing?"

Caleb's face paled, his lips moving but eliciting no sound.

Raphael returned his gaze to Dean. "I'll take something more important than his vocal cords next, Dean. Perhaps his lungs, maybe his heart."

"Leave him alone." Dean's mind raced with scenarios of how this all could play out. His phone was vibrating from his jacket pocket, alerting him to the fact Sam had to know they were in trouble now, psychic bat signal from Caleb or Triad connection through their rings. Maybe both. That still didn't mean The Scholar and Advisor would make it to aid them in time.

"If you're betting on the rest of your Triad coming to the rescue, then don't. I happen to know their interview with Mayor Jameson has stretched longer than they imagined. He's quite the talker. They're too far away to be of any help."

Dean was considering a prayer to Castiel as his last option when the angel holding Caleb suddenly let go of his charge, both hands going to grasp his head. The others followed suit with audible groans of pain.

"What…" Raphael started only to succumb to whatever invisible force was assaulting his fellow angels. He clawed at his ears, curling into himself and Dean wondered if Castiel hadn't pulled out the the big guns. He searched out Caleb who seemed to be as thrown as he was.

The Knight rebounded quickly. "Move your ass, Deuce!"

Dean was glad to see his friend had recovered his voice as the angels were incapacitated, even more thrilled when he realized the bones in his hand had also been restored. He grabbed his gun and moved to follow Caleb who'd already reached the bedroom door.

"What the hell was that?" Dean jogged down the stairs two at a time. "Divine intervention?"

"Gift horse, Deuce." Caleb stayed at his side. "I'd rather know how in the hell they found us, considering Castiel's cloaking device."

"They reacted like I did the first time Cas tried to communicate with me after I clawed my way from the grave, only all the windows in the house didn't shatter."

"Angels shouldn't be affected by the voices of other angels." Caleb pointed out as he hit the landing and started for the door.

Dean beat him there, jerking it open. "Maybe it was the voice of God?"

"Not quite, but you're close."

They both came to a jarring halt at the sight of the man standing just on the other side. Dean raised his gun having never returned it to his holster and pointed it at the unexpected stranger who held what looked like a combat shotgun laxly at his side. The day was becoming worse by the minute. "Who the hell are you?"

"He's human," Caleb supplied, releasing the safety from his weapon as he moved slightly in front of Dean. "He has a buddy around the house. Both know how to keep their blocks."

"Self protection is sensible protocol in our line of work," the stranger explained.

Dean studied the guy as he stepped onto the small covered porch, hoping like hell the angels didn't rally while they were dealing with yet another twist in this hunt. He looked Dean's age, maybe a little older considering the hint of gray peppering the sides of his black hair. He was an inch or so taller, but not to Sam's sasquatch status, built for speed and agility with a hair cut that screamed military, which fit with the gun he was holding. "What kind of work is that?"

"Hunting, of course." The guy looked from Dean to Caleb. "The name's Reagan, the guy around the back is Owen, no introduction needed on your parts."

"You know who we are?" Dean shot a quick glance to Caleb, then back to Reagan trying to assimilate the face and name. He couldn't claim to know every hunter in the field. Reagan was wearing a ring, but the silver was dark, almost black and it didn't resonate with the same energy that Dean picked up from the hunter rings past Guardian's had given. This man wasn't a member of The Brotherhood.

"Any hunter worth their weight in rock salt knows Dean Winchester-sort of like a kid and Santa Claus." Reagan glanced over his shoulder to where the Impala was parked. Dean noted the late model black van behind his baby. "Your car's hard to miss. The four disintegrated tires make it stand out even more."

"No, no, no." Dean growled taking in the damage the angels had inflicted on his baby. He glanced skyward. "Castiel is so replacing those."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Caleb demanded, ignoring Dean's tirade.

"Saving your asses with a hot extraction?" Reagan's tone was light, reasonable. "Unless The Triad takes objection to non-union rescue missions."

Dean lowered his gun, cutting his gaze to Caleb. They needed a ride, unknown variable or not. "Gift horse, Damien."

"Trojan horse, Dean," Caleb's stubborn glare and the absence of 'Deuce' let Dean know his friend was in full on Knight mode.

"Can you two continue this conversation on the way? My partner's getting a little breathless." Dean refocused on Reagan, noticing for the first time the small black device in his right ear. Reagan brought his hand up to touch it, rolling his eyes at whatever conversation he was picking up from the other end. When he spoke again Dean understood he and Caleb were not the intended recipients. "Keep blowing on your flute, Owen. Arthur and Lancelot are having a roundtable meeting."

Dean wasn't sure what euphemisms the flute represented, but it didn't take a genius to catch their parts. He decided he might like Reagan. "Meeting adjourned. Let's go."

He didn't need to look Caleb's way to know the executive decision would be rehashed later. Dean also knew if he got in the van, bad idea or not, Caleb would follow.

Reagan nodded, speaking into the two-way. "Birds are in hand. E and E in progress, Pan."

"You heard the man, Damien. Escape and evade. We'll figure the rest out later." Dean slid his gun in his holster, starting towards the van. They would have to come back for the Impala, a fact he was not happy about considering it would be hard to explain if Carter happened home, but another encounter with the angels was not something they could risk, not without a plan.

"I don't like this plan." Caleb growled, making it known that he knew exactly what Dean was thinking. Dean wasn't sure if that was by use of his abilities or just the fact they knew each other so well, but he wasn't surprised when his best friend reached the vehicle first and turned to block his way.

"That's turning into a common theme on this hunt, man." Dean stepped around him, grabbing the handle to open the sliding door. He met Caleb's frown with one of his own, realizing why Pastor Jim probably didn't spend a lot of time in the field with John Winchester. "You got a better one? I'm all ears."

The pounding of feet drew both their attention to the second man as he came tearing around the side of the house. He slid to a halt in front of them, shoving a green duffel at Caleb, never mind the fact The Knight was still holding his weapon.

"Move your ass, banana. I've got pissed off angels on my six and unless that pea shooter you're holding has some magical bullet I'm not aware of- we need to get the hell out of here."

Dean climbed in the van followed by a grumbling Caleb who threw the duffel in the floorboard, but kept hold of his gun. He slid the door closed. "This day fucking sucks."

"Tell me about it." The new guy agreed as he jumped into the passenger's side, shooting the driver what Dean could only interpret as a look of extreme annoyance. "What the hell, Reagan? What happened to the five minute timeframe?"

Reagan gunned the motor, the van letting out a mean growl that told Dean the engine wasn't standard issue. The squealing of tires spoke to major horsepower and Dean took a moment to study the inside of the vehicle as he kept his ears tuned to Reagan's reply. It was a custom job. The area behind the two swiveling leather chairs he and Caleb filled looked similar to the computer room at Carter's precinct. High-end surveillance and communication equipment filled the space along with a small table and benches that struck Dean as ideal space for concealing weapons.

"Come on, Owen," Reagan spoke as he gunned the gas, throwing Dean and Caleb back into their seats. "It's not like you have any shortage of hot air. I know you can hold your breath for at least a couple of minutes."

"Funny. But I doubt you would have been laughing if I'd missed a few notes and you found yourself scooping up my ashes."

"You two want to cut the married couple routine and explain to me how exactly you pulled that off?" Caleb had leaned forward, choosing to focus on their rescuers rather than the sweet ride.

"You seriously want a fucking debriefing?" Owen turned in the seat so he was facing them, giving Dean the first good look at his face and a better view of the object he was holding, which Dean had mistook as some sort of weapon. Instead, it was a delicate wooden object made up of five pipes. It looked incredibly out of place in the man's large scarred hands. He was tall and lean like Reagan, but the similarities ended there. Though probably close in age, Owen's dark hair wasn't shorn like his buddy's, but long and unkempt in a style similar to Sam's. He wasn't clean shaven, his beard rough and haphazard in an 'I've got better things to do with a blade than run it over my face' kind of way. His eyes were flint gray, but it was the thick jagged scar lying just above the collar of his blue t-shirt, that ran the circumference of his neck that drew Dean's attention. It gave Owen a look of someone who had survived more than his share of bar room brawls. He reminded Dean of one of Bobby's junkyard dogs, Mauler, a pit bull the mechanic had rescued from a life of cage fights. Although Dean got the feeling Owen wasn't as good-natured as the reformed canine that might let you rub his belly one day only to put your ass on the run the very next.

"They have a right to be curious," Reagan took the next right turn that would take them away from Carter's street. "For all they know we could have just performed a Body Snatch."

"I'd say what they have is a serious lack of manners. How about a fucking thank you?"

"How did you know we'd be there?" Caleb continued. "Or who or what was in there with us?"

Owen jabbed a finger towards the equipment behind Dean. "Heatsignautes, asshole. Nine total. Two animals, two normal, five of them like solar flares."

"We've seen readings like that before," Reagan added. "It didn't end pretty for the guys we were hunting with."

Owen grunted. "Enough explaining, how about we just bounce the ungrateful bastards at the next intersection? See how long it takes the guys they were tangling with to track them down."

"Not exactly the best way to go about getting an invite into the club." Dean spoke up before Caleb could. He nodded to the metal ring on Owen's hand, identical to the one Reagan wore. He imagined it paid for a hunter to at least look as if he were aligned with the big boys. A hunter's ring offered protection on many levels, but it came with responsibilities. "You two play your cards right and you could have one of those for real."

Owen laughed, his gray eyes darkening as he regarded Dean. "You think we pulled your asses out of the fire because we were hoping The Guardian of The Brotherhood might grant us one of his magical rings?"

"You'll have to forgive Owen," Reagan spoke up, meeting Dean's gaze in the rearview mirror. "He gets a little testy when a plan is interrupted. Surprises never go well in combat."

"You two are former military." Dean had no doubts. He'd been around enough of his father's Jar Head buddies to recognize the swagger, the particular slang.

"SEALS." Reagan nodded to Owen. "Retirement just isn't in our makeup."

"So you left the Navy and joined the ranks of hunters?" Caleb snorted. "We don't exactly advertise in the career centers."

"Had a hunter in our platoon back in Iraq-a guy who'd grown up in the business, your business. He liked to sit around the campfire and talk about all the shit that goes bump in the night." Owen shook his head. "I thought the bastard was ape shit crazy, brain damaged from drown proof exercise gone wrong maybe, or just fucked up by one too many tours."

"Until we pulled a job in Haiti a few years back and saw some hoodoo up close." Reagan took a turn out of the suburbs, headed for the main highway that would take them back into Tennison. Dean felt an irrational sense of safety as they quickly gained proximity to the rest of their Triad. "He saved our asses, and we started paying attention."

"So he made the job sound so good you decided to pick up the wooden crosses and rock salt?" Caleb glanced at Dean. "You buying this?"

"The three of us started a private security firm when we got back stateside,"Reagan explained. "Hunting started out as hobby, just a way to blow off steam after a day at the office. It kind of took on a life of its own."

"Like golf?" Dean quirked a brow at Caleb, trying to envision what it would be like to come at what they did as something as mundane as a favorite sport. "Equipment's probably cheaper, Damien."

"Right." Caleb rolled his eyes. "Callaway clubs and MAXFLI balls are far pricier than your garden variety shotgun and silver bullets. I'll be sure and let my grandfather and his countryclub set know."

"What can we say? Fortifying mansions, hunting down rich cheating spouses, embezzlers and the likes pays good, but it just isn't as satisfying as putting a bullet in some evil sonofabitch." Owen grinned at Dean. Dean decided Owen definitely wasn't in the same league as Mauler. Dogs attacked out of fear, fought for survival. Owen was some other animal entirely. "You guys jumpstarting the apocalypse last year gave us a lot of opportunity to get our jollies."

"Glad we could do the favor and help keep your skills sharp." Dean didn't miss the fact Caleb had abandoned his gun in lieu of rubbing his temples. He wondered if his friend had found evidence the two wannabes were telling the truth, or had just given himself one hell of a headache for nothing.

"Speaking of demons." Owen glanced at Caleb. "You really related to them, pretty boy? Because I somehow expected you to be bigger and uglier."

"So you two just happened to be at Sheriff Carter's house on a potential job?" Dean used a Sam tactic, knowing he'd be called to the carpet for it later. He couldn't explain it, but Dean didn't want Caleb trading barbs with Owen. Not that he didn't think Damien could hold his own, SEAL or not, but Owen was not the kind of man to mix it up with on a bad day, maybe not even on the best day.

"Yes," Reagan explained. "We finished a poltergeist gig in Moorehead a few days ago where we saw a news report about Tennison. It peeked our interest."

"In our experience little towns don't do 180's unless someone's assassinated the dictator or paid off the press." Owen rubbed a hand over his beard. "Not that that would ever happen in our great country."

Reagan searched out Dean in the mirror once more. "We put in some research and decided to check it out since we were so close."

"We make it our business to know who's in town so imagine our surprise when the legendary Triad rides in on our coattails yesterday. We'd definitely heard stories about you three, but until now you were kind of like Big Foot." Owen directed his eyes to Caleb.

"You three showing up confirmed we were onto something big," Reagan added, quickly. "We've crossed paths with plenty of other hunters, but never you three."

"You mean two super SEALS didn't have the gig all figured out from the get go?" Caleb asked, keeping his eyes locked on Owen. "Of course it did take your boys ten years to track down bin Laden."

"We'd been here long enough to check out Mayor Jameson, seeing he seemed to be reaping the most rewards from Tennison's sudden liberation from crime. Carter was second on our list." Reagan was just as quick as Dean on trying to head off what promised to be a bloody showdown between his partner and The Knight.

"When Jameson came back squeaky clean, we thought the bastard sheriff might have made a deal with one of your boys, Reaves." Owen licked his lips. "Crossroad demon or something similar."

So much for diplomacy. Rescue or not, Dean had taken all of Owen's mouth he was going to. He leaned forward, gripping the hilt of his favorite blade tucked in the sheath stitched in his boot. "Listen up, Tadpole, show some respect, before I take that Cracker Jack ring and your finger with it. You're speaking to The Knight of The Brotherhood, in company of The Guardian, and in case someone didn't fill you in on the chain of command I'll explain it in terms you should know. Me," Dean hitched a thumb towards himself. "Commander and fucking Chief. Him," He jabbed a finger in Caleb's direction. "Admiral, which I believe is the Navy's equivalent of a six star General, or even more fitting General of the Armies." Dean was out of his seat and had the blade dangerously pressed against Owen's throat before the man had a chance for a smart ass comeback. "You and your boy, in my book,not even midshipmen yet." He pressed just hard enough to draw blood. "Understand, soldier?"

"Yes, sir." Owen replied, waiting until Dean had taken the blade from his jugular, and edged back into his seat before letting out a loud Hoo Yah. He ran a finger over his neck, a wild grin lighting his eyes. "Now that's more like it." He slapped Reagan on the shoulder, then used the dash as a drum. "This fucking gig is looking up!"

"You're one crazy sonofabitch," Caleb shot Dean a look that said maybe he should have just finished the bastard off when he had the chance.

Reagan took his eyes off the road long enough to glance at Caleb. "A little bit of crazy comes with the territory. Someone who's been through a war should understand that."

"We get it." Dean wasn't a hypocrite, although he liked to think most hunters had at least one foot in reality and did what they did for noble reasons. "But even the best soldier doesn't get away with talking shit to his commander. You don't want me to have to explain The Brotherhood's version of a court martial."

"Owen will behave." Reagan shot his friend a look. "He's just big on testing boundaries, like a toddler."

"Or a Jack Russell Terrier." Owen rubbed his neck again, smiling at Dean. "Give me another chance, Commander?"

"What did you use on the angels?" Caleb asked before Dean could respond. The Knight was a dog with a bone.

"Pan's flute." It was Reagan who replied, catching Dean's eye once more. "You weren't too far off on the rescue being courtesy of The Almighty's voice."

"Except that it came from the music of the gods." Owen handed Dean the instrument, which on closer inspection Dean could see was fashioned out of dried reeds instead of wood. "A little something we picked up on a mission to Tripoli. The Greek Peninsula truly is a treasure."

"Let me guess. You took it from the Arcadian water nymph, Syrinx?" Caleb took the flute from Dean, running his fingers over it.

Owen nodded. "Some days it really pays to be able to swim like a fish."

Caleb snorted, handing the object back to Dean. "The images I'm picking up say it's genuine."

"How did you know it would work against angels?" Dean turned the instrument over in his hand, marveling at the fact yet another legend had revealed itself to be true.

"Battle of the Titans ringing a bell?" Reagan slowed the van and Dean realized with some relief they were in the middle of Tennison. "Pan used his flute to let out a horrible screech that sent them scattering in terror."

"Apparently Titans and angels have similar energies," Owen added. "Go figure."

"They share frequencies that can be distorted and scrambled by the right tone." Dean had used similar science to create his ghost grenade and psychic scrambler. "Smart."

"We're not just muscle." Reagan pulled the van over to the curb, directly in front of the Sheriff's office. He put it in park and turned to look at Dean. "Both Owen and I graduated top of our BUD/S class. We'd be an asset to any team."

"I thought you didn't perform that hot extraction to get a ring?" Caleb asked, his gaze going from Reagan to Owen. "Besides, The Brotherhood doesn't recruit."

"It's more like special appointment." Dean offered the flute to Reagan. "Consider this rescue mission your application."

Reagan shook his head, slapping Owen's wrist when the man reached out to take the instrument. "Consider the flute a token of our appreciation for The Brotherhood's service in saving the world."

"But Reagan…"

"Drop it, Owen. It's not like the angels have a reason to come looking for us." Reagan met Dean's gaze. "I have a feeling that whatever this gig is, it's a little over our heads. I'm sure The Triad has it covered."

"We do." Caleb was quick to answer, grabbing the handle and sliding the door to the van open. "Grunt forces not needed."

"And now The Guardian has a reason to track us down after the hunt to return our toy and buy us a round of beers." Reagan nodded to the flute. "Don't forget what else Pan was known for, Winchester. That thing draws women like flies, which is why my partner is so fond of it."

"With his looks, I can understand why." Caleb climbed out of the vehicle. "Let's go, Deuce. I'm starving."

Dean tucked the flute in his coat and held out his hand to Reagan. "I didn't catch your last name?"

Reagan gripped his hand and Dean felt a surge of energy spark from his ring, tingling through his hand to blossom like a spray of cold sea water against his chest. He glanced at Caleb, his first thought of Sam being in trouble, though the sensation was not the same as the Triad warning signal, but The Knight's face showed nothing but impatience for Dean's lingering.

"It's Walsh. Reagan Walsh."

Dean refocused on the hunter. The tingling faded as Dean released the other man's grip, but Dean still needed to take a deep breath before responding. "Thanks for the ride."

"Any time." Reagan grinned. "I really hope you find what you're looking for."

Dean nodded, catching Caleb's need to be out of the van. He jumped out and slid the door close with more force than necessary.

"See you around, banana," Owen gave Caleb a mock salute as the van pulled away from the curb, disappearing into the midday traffic.

"What the fuck with the fruit insults?" Caleb groused. "I expected so much more from a Navy Man."

"Don't be so disappointed, Damien." Dean slapped his friend on the back. "In SEAL speak; banana is right up there with shit for brains and moronic bastard."

Caleb rolled his eyes as Dean pulled out his cell phone. "I forgot you've watched every military film made, and if you're texting Sammy - I already sent him a message via the psychic hotline letting him and Josh know we were okay and to be on the lookout for Raphael."

"Don't be jealous because Dad said you wouldn't last a day in the marines." Dean continued to tap on his keyboard. "And I'm telling Jimmy Olsen and his right wing conservative partner to meet us at that awesome mobile home turned culinary delight on the edge of town. After all, rogue angels on our grid far outweighs any intel they could have dug up at Jameson's interview."

"Just because I didn't always see the importance of taking orders, doesn't mean I wouldn't have made a damn good Green Beret, or Navy SEAL." Caleb pointed to the phone. "Don't forget to mention the psychopath Special Forces duo turned wannabe hunters. That scores us not only the locale of our choice, but a free lunch on Sawyer. I'm ordering two racks of ribs."

"You say that as if your problem with authority is in the past." Dean finished his message and stuffed the phone back in his jacket. "Should we get a cab?"

"Why not blow on your new buddy's flute and call us up a couple of hot chicks in a convertible?" Caleb ran a hand through his hair, searching the streets for a taxi. "It's not like this is Manhattan where you can't step off a curb without being hit by a fucking cab."

"I can take you where you need to go." The voice behind them, accompanied by the hand on his shoulder had Dean whirling to face his grim faced friend in the trench coat.

"Damn it, Castiel. That's a good way to give a guy a heart attack."

"Scaring you wasn't my intention."

"Intentions aren't exactly your strong point, man."

"Sort of like your timing-it sucks." Caleb growled.

"I know Raphael is here. There was no need for me to make myself scarce any longer, as you say."

"You couldn't have figured that out an hour ago?" Caleb threw his hands up.

"Gift horse, Damien." Dean pointed out, his mouth twitching at the look and hand gesture his best friend shot him. "Besides, I thought you were starving?"

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