"You can never know about your destiny; are the people you meet there to play a part on your own destiny, or do you exist just to play a role in theirs?" –Libba Bray

RCJ

Caleb cursed Castiel not for the first time as one look at the plate of ribs before him had his stomach flipping around like the magic jumping beans Sam used to be so fascinated with when he was five. The ethereal travel had no doubt killed his appetite and made the prospect of him throwing up what was left of his breakfast quite likely, proving Dean's jibe that there was no such thing as a free lunch. If the angel to blame for his current misery hadn't disappeared with the excuse of rallying his troops after dumping them at the back of the diner Caleb would have had a target for his displeasure. As it was he took his frustration out on his roll, trying to at least appear to get some enjoyment out of winning their wager as Dean filled Sam and Joshua in on their afternoon.

"Please tell me the melody played was not Berlioz's "Dance of the Sprites." Joshua lifted his glass of water studying the looking for evidence of shoddy dish washing. Caleb might not have been able to eat, but he could take some petty satisfaction that Joshua was forced to lower himself to dining at The Silver Chariot. "That would be too ridiculous even for our lives."

"I know the idea of Pan's flute is almost as insane to you as a functioning restaurant not having Perrier and grilled prawns, Josh but it's true." Dean cleaned another rib, washing the barbecue down with a gulp of beer. "Raphael and his winged henchmen didn't know what hit them."

"These hunters just happened to have the one weapon that would incapacitate angels on hand?" Sam was sitting directly in front of Caleb and The Knight met his gaze, frowning at him when Sam scrutinized his untouched plate the way he had Pan's flute earlier. The Scholar was throwing down the skeptical card, as usual.

Caleb put down the roll he'd picked apart and wiped his hands on his napkin, resisting the urge to wipe at the fine sheen of sweat he could feel dotting his upper lip."You ever heard of a gift horse, Runt?"

"It rings a bell." Sam swept his contemplative gaze to Caleb's face, the wrinkling of his brow proving what the faint ache in Caleb's head was telling him. The kid was trying to read him.

"That's our theme for the day, Sammy." Dean nudged Caleb's arm, eyeing his lunch in a completely different manner than his kid brother. "You finished with those, Damien?"

"Help yourself, Deuce." Caleb slid the ribs in front of Dean, reinforcing his mental shields in a manner that Sam would experience much like a slamming door. The telepathy cost him. The rhythmic pounding behind his eyes kicked up a notch causing his mouth to water in an unpleasant manner that had nothing to do with the flavorful aromas filling the tiny bus-like structure, but at least Sam backed off. "Castiel's mode of travel makes the hangover from a three day tequila bender feel like a nervous stomach."

Sam was doing his kicked puppy imitation but averted Caleb's forced smirk, switching his attention to Dean. "If I remember right, Dad didn't give much credence to any unexpected breaks during a job."

"Coincidences are rare in our line of work." Joshua broke in, having finished the small salad he'd ordered. He disdainfully eyed the accompanying bowl of clam chowder, using his spoon to investigate the thick lumps bobbing on the surface. Caleb had to look away, a hand going to his gut. "It seems odd that these hunters were more prepared than The Triad."

"I told you they were SEALS," Dean started on Caleb's lunch, his lead-lined stomach obviously more accustomed to travelling angels. "Amateur hunters or not, those bastards don't go into any situation without contingency plans."

"Maybe we should take a page out of their book. Both of you could have been killed."Caleb felt a backwash of Sam's fear and a twinge of guilt hit him for shutting the kid out. It wasn't like Sam to play nursemaid, further proof they were all still screwed up and expecting the worst after the Lucifer ordeal, but he didn't need hovering. That was The Knight's job.

"They need me alive, at least until they get their hands on The Lance." Dean used the back of his hand to wipe his mouth, and Caleb couldn't hold back a grin when Joshua grabbed a stack of napkins from the empty table beside them, placing them in front of Dean with a huff. They'd managed to miss the lunch crowd, landing before the dinner rush. Except for two old men in the corner playing chess, they were the only customers in The Silver Chariot at 3:15 on a mid-week afternoon. Caleb wanted a refill on his third cup of coffee, but figured their waitress was grabbing a quick break in the lull seeing as she seemed to be the only staff, except for the cook, he'd caught a glimpse of in the kitchen.

"Still didn't stop Raphael from getting his point across." Caleb refilled his water glass instead; thankful their server had at least had the forethought to leave them a full pitcher. He briefly wondered if he could swallow a couple of Tylenol without warranting another psychic scan from The Scholar.

"I wish I could get Cas to teach me some of those tricks." Dean shot Caleb a sideway glance as he picked up another rib, licking sauce from his fingers. "Taking your ability to run your mouth could definitely come in handy."

"I imagine one would need access to miracles to accomplish that grand task." Joshua had apparently found the soup unfit for consumption. He'd moved it aside, doctoring his coffee with cream instead. "It leaves me feeling quite grateful that we have Pan's flute in our arsenal, no matter the way it fell into our hands."

"Do you think this Reagan Walsh knows what's going on here in Tennison?" Sam asked his brother.

Dean glanced up from his plate long enough to shake his head. "I don't think so. They were just starting to put the pieces together."

Caleb took a deep breath putting his full focus on the conversation, instead of the ache in his stomach that now mirrored the one in his head. "Connecting the dots between one town's extreme good fortune and a Biblical weapon as the culprit is one hell of a leap, Runt. Without some kind of psychic premonition, clue in a hunter's journal, or maybe a lucky blip in a widely cast research net, it would be unlikely as hell. If Castiel hadn't pointed us in that direction, it would have taken us weeks if ever to make the connection."

"Damien's right, Walsh and his buddy were following the more typical elimination. They'd worked themselves up to Crossroads demon, probably on their way to a genie or some other wish granting entity."

Sam frowned at him. "So you buy them just handing this gig as well as their only defense against angels over to The Triad and leaving town like good little hunters?"

"I didn't say that," Caleb countered only to have Dean interrupt him.

"Why wouldn't they leave, Damien?"

"Oh, I don't know, Deuce isn't there some kind of creed about them always getting their man?" Caleb snapped.

"That's the fucking Canadian Mounties, Dudley Do-Fus." Dean put down the last of the ribs. "Besides, Walsh doesn't know what he's looking for, or for that matter even who he's really up against. The average hunter doesn't usually have run-ins with Castiel's brothers, unless they happen to be working for us."

Caleb shook his head. "I don't trust them, Dean."

"That makes two of us, Caleb, but I think we have bigger issues than worrying about a couple of guys spending their free time playing intramurals on our major league field. Unlike them, hunting isn't a hobby for us. We need to find Longinus's Lance and get the hell out of here."

"You're preaching to the choir." Caleb rubbed his eyes, silently cursing the fluorescent lighting above them, which had cast everything with a weird glowing aura. He blinked, focusing on Sam. "Did you two dig up anything useful at Jameson's?"

"Besides a Pulitzer Prize winning interview with a future president of the United States? Not really." Sam tugged at the shirt he was wearing and Caleb noticed the dull brown stain splashed across the front for the first time. "While under the ruse of cleaning my shirt, I took leave of our interview on the enclosed patio and managed to search nearly every conceivable place in his home. There was no sign of The Lance."

"I take it your interview with Chief Carter shed some suspicion on him as a candidate considering you both ended up planning an impromptu sweep of his residence." Joshua let the fact he thought they should have regrouped beforehand remain unsaid. Caleb gave him credit for showing some restraint.

Dean picked up his fork and dug into his coleslaw."Let's just say he gave a stirring argument about how he was the catalyst for the changes in Tennison."

"But his place was a bust before the angels showed up," Caleb added, marveling at his best friend's ability to still put away the food.

"That brings up the question of how exactly the angels found you." Sam looked from his brother to Caleb. "Did you get any kind of warning before they showed up?"

"It happened too fast." Caleb pinched the bridge of his nose. "One minute I was rummaging through the pantry, the next I was being slammed face first into one of the metal shelves."

"They sure as hell didn't seem surprised to find us there," Dean offered. "But then again they aren't big on betraying any emotion."

"Unless you count extremely pissed off as an emotion," Caleb added. "They express that one quite well."

"They could have followed the same trail as Walsh and his buddy, drawn the same conclusions we have so far." Dean swapped his fork for his beer, taking a big gulp with a satisfied sigh.

"Which means they are probably drawing the same blanks and feeling similar frustration." Joshua took a drink of his coffee. "With Castiel making an unexpected appearance, I daresay patience is not a virtue Angel-kind embraces."

"See Damien's earlier point about anger." Dean took a few napkins from the pile Joshua had supplied him with and made a big show of wiping his mouth and hands. "At least we have some leverage to use against them now."

"Josh has the most hot air," Caleb pushed himself away from the table, resolved to his need to visit the bathroom where he could throw up and take his painkillers in peace. "I vote we let him play Pan."

"And here I was thinking you much more suiting in light of your affection for nymphs," Joshua replied.

"Pan was actually the god of shepherds, their flocks, and hunting," Sam supplied. "Maybe Dean should hold onto it."

"I'm not the good shepherd, Sam, besides he was also the god of the fields, wooded glens, and the season of spring." Dean was not going to be out shown by his little brother. "Sounds very earthy to me, and that's more The Scholar's element."

Caleb pointed a finger at Sam as he stood, making the move as casual as possible. "Let's not forget Pan's freakish looks. Have at it, Billy Goat Gruff."

"Fuck you." Sam growled, dismissing Caleb in light of the slur. It was exactly what Caleb hoped, a timely distraction.

"Where you going, Damien?"

At least for Sam. Caleb sighed. "To the bathroom if you must know. You need to come powder your nose, Deana?"

Dean patted his stomach. "Nope, just going to take your dessert if you're planning on being awhile."

"Knock yourself out, Kiddo. It's on, Josh."

"Dessert? I remember wagering lunch, not a five course feast."

Caleb made his way to the bathroom on the far end of the restaurant, catching Dean's rebuttal as to why no meal was complete without pie. Later he would blame his diverted attention along with his physical state for not performing a psychic sweep of the room before entering. There had been no new patrons since they arrived, and he hadn't expected company. He pushed the door in, latching it behind him before going straight to the sink. The room was divided by a half wall, separating the commode from the vanity. One harsh overhead light cast the room in a dull yellow glow, an exhaust fan whirring loudly. Caleb turned on the faucet, dipping his hands in the cold water, which he splashed on his face. It was when he went to reach for the paper towels that he caught movement in the mirror.

The man that stepped from around the partition was not on the surface threatening. He looked out of place; with a custom tailored suit Joshua would have given his stamp of approval to, and slick looks that would have made him a noteworthy opponent for Mayor Jameson in any political arena. For a snap second Caleb considered him some sort of apparition, like the ones of John and Atticus Finch, but then the psychic force the stranger emitted slammed against Caleb's mental shields.

"Stay where you are. Keep your hands where I can see them, and don't even think about reaching out telepathically." The man actually took a slight bow. "I'm Jonah Scott and as you well know by now, I will know if you do."

"And you'll do what?" Caleb straightened, turning slowly to face the man, his hand on the gun strapped to his side. The suit wasn't holding a weapon; it wouldn't take but a second for Caleb to have the upper hand.

"He'll let me give this pretty young thing a scar to match my own." Owen emerged from the barricaded section as well, dragging their waitress in front of him. He held a blade to her throat, one of his large hands cupped tightly over her mouth.

"What the hell is this?" Caleb ignored Scott's directive, drawing his gun and aiming it at Owen.

"This, unlike earlier today is a body snatch." Owen grinned. "In laymen's terms, a covert operation to capture high-value enemy personnel."

"It looks more like a suicide mission." Caleb's stomach spasmed and he fought the urge to double over. The presence of three grown men and a woman in the cramped space was smothering; reminding him of some of the club bathrooms from his college days when running into strange standoffs was a given, and typically not unpleasant. "Let the girl go and you might get out of here alive."

"Isn't that sweet how he's so concerned about your safety sweetheart?" Owen pressed his lips above the girl's ear, kissing her on the head. "He might not give a shit if he knew it only took Jonah here sliding you a couple of Ben Franklins across the counter for you to slip that nasty little concoction into his coffee."

"She's a struggling college student," the sharp-dressed psychic spoke up, running a hand over his tie. "I'm a very persuasive businessman when I need to be. Now put your gun on the floor and kick it away from you."

"Come on, Jonah, call a spade a spade. She's a conniving cock tease." Owen said as he pressed the knife harder against the girl's throat. It brought a line of blood and choked sobbing from the waitress whose terrified eyes pleaded with Caleb to do as they asked. "But knowing your type, Reaves- you really don't want to see this sweet young thing bleed out on this stinking bathroom floor just because she got a little greedy and dosed you with something that gave you just enough of a belly ache to get you in here alone?"

The only one Caleb wanted to see bleeding out was the crazy SEAL, but he had no doubts the man would slit the girl's throat if he didn't do what they were asking. He slowly lowered his gun to the floor, giving it a kick that sent it skittering over the linoleum. "So it was you who ruined my free lunch? I'm going to enjoy taking the money you own me out of your hide, Owen."

"It will be so fun to see you try." Owen grinned. "But Jonah here, being the irritatingly logical guy that he is, says I have to keep my restraint until we get what we want."

Caleb eyed the psychic. "Which is?"

"The Holy Lance of course."

Caleb silently put another check on the list of things he would hold against Castiel. "Never heard of it."

Jonah smiled at him. "Funny because my source says that's not true."

Caleb glanced at the door, for once wishing Sam's mothering had kicked into overdrive and prompted a bathroom visit of his own. Even if The Scholar did a telepathic check after Caleb's earlier response to his trying, he was quite sure Jonah could easily block it. "Maybe your source is faulty."

"No. My abilities have never led me down the wrong path." Jonah touched his head. "You see my gift is finding interesting things."

Caleb met the other man's gaze. Psychic abilities ran the gambit, but he'd yet to run across one who possessed such a refined talent. "You'd have me believe your mind is the equivalent of a psychic divining rod?"

Owen snorted. "Reagan calls him The Golden Compass."

"It's preferable to death visions, yes?" Jonah took a step closer to Caleb. "Although I do envy your ability to project, to inflict punishment on an opponent with just a thought. I hear you're quite good."

"Would you like a demonstration?" Caleb lifted a brow in challenge, well aware Owen was watching them closely, waiting for any reason to shake his restraint and demonstrate his resolve on the girl. John used to say an effective team was in sync with each other at all times, precognitive of the other's moves, and able to respond in kind. It was something he'd always shared with Dean and Sam, It was something he recognized in others, although rare to find. He knew without testing his abilities to read Jonah, that he and Owen had worked together a long time. Jonah was the platoon member Reagan spoke about earlier.

"Perhaps another time. I think we both know you're not exactly on your A-game. It's taking your best efforts to keep me out of your head. The drug we gave you isn't helping."

"What do you want?" Caleb resisted the urge to wipe the sweat threatening to drip in his eyes from his brow.

"We want you to be our guest for a little while, give your Triad a little extra incentive to lead us to the Lance," Owen replied.

"So much for Dean's theory about your buddy Walsh not having an agenda." Caleb kept his eyes on the psychic, knowing he was the one calling the shots. The lack of attention would annoy Owen.

"Reagan always has an agenda," Jonah admitted. "It's what makes him an excellent Commander."

"And he always gets what he wants," Owen added. Caleb couldn't help but to think about the Mounties. He cut his gaze to the overzealous SEAL.

"Sorry to disappoint your fearless leader, but my Triad doesn't have The Lance."

"But my vision says you will, more specifically Dean Winchester will." Jonah's gray eyes lit up with energy, an excitement that reminded Caleb of Sam when he happened on a piece of obscure research that fascinated him. "See, I usually get a clear image of a location, maybe a city or a specific landmark when hints of particular object come our way. Imagine my surprise when all I kept getting was a very clear image of one person-The Guardian of The Brotherhood. Dean Winchester is the key to The Holy Lance."

"And you are our leverage in making sure he turns it over like a good little boy."

"You really think you're going to take me out of here with The Guardian and Scholar out front?"

"We'll go out the way we came in." Jonah nodded to a small window on the wall closest to them. It was the roll out kind, just wide enough for a body to slip through. The screen was missing.

"You can't begin to wrap your head around the places we've gotten into and out of without anyone the wiser, banana."

"They'll know something is wrong."

"You mean because of your ring." Jonah lifted his hand where Caleb noted the dark silver band on his finger identical to the ones Owen and Walsh wore. "The drug we gave you, although not pleasant, isn't deadly. No one is physically threatening you at the moment. We understand quite well how the internal alarm system works, hence why we needed the girl for incentive. Now, you're simply making a choice to hear us out, to come with us. Coercion doesn't rate high enough on Merlin's scale I suppose. By the time you're away from here and you become truly at risk, it will be too late for your friends to do much about it."

"In other words, Reaves," Owen laughed. "Semantics are a bitch."

"You've put a lot of thought into this." Caleb clenched his fist, pressing his thumb against the cool silver of his ring hoping the logic Jonah was spinning wasn't true. Control was his friend, he reminded himself. The alarm sounded when he took a bump to the head, surely it would give some kind of warning when he was being kidnapped, coercion be damned.

To admit he was extremely disappointed when Dean didn't show up as he was climbing through the window after Jonah, who waited for him just below the short drop in the grungy alley behind The Silver Chariot, was a grandiose understatement.

"See, that wasn't so bad." Jonah waved him towards the very familiar van, ushered him inside where he made quick work of stripping Caleb of his knife and backup gun before handcuffing him to a metal bar that ran the length of the back carriage. Caleb tried to focus on the psychic link he held open to the waitress, telepathically keeping watch over her fate instead of the fact he was being led to a unknown end like a docile calf to slaughter, but the connection kept slipping from his grasp. Once Owen was clear of the girl he could reach out to Sam, warn his Triad.

"If you're thinking you can now contact your Scholar at risk only to yourself, I'll spare you the headache and point out the witch's purse hanging above your head." Jonah lifted his gaze to the medicine bag dangling from the ceiling. "Your Triad isn't the only one who appreciates the talents of crafters."

Caleb ground his teeth, recognizing the object hanging above him. A good witch, knowing their intended target, could render the strongest of psychics impotent. "Today is not my lucky day."

"Look at it this way. You've got one thing going for you, Reaves-you saved an innocent's life. The girl will be fine. Owen can be overzealous, but he listens to Reagan."

"Seeing as how Owen is obviously a psychopath, I find that hard to believe." Caleb couldn't resist trying to touch Jonah's mind, to at least attempt some kind of offensive, but his best psychic push rendered nothing, like shouting for help in the middle of a tornado.

"Owen has his issues, but trust me when I say that he is bound to Reagan. It's a special connection that at times amazes me, at others pisses me off, but he'll listen to him."

"Oh yeah," Caleb rolled his eyes, yanking at the cuffs that held him. "What makes Owen and Reagan's bond so special that it outweighs your pal Owen's obvious first nature for all things evil?"

Jonah smiled at him. "You're a Knight, you tell me?"

RcJ*SnsnsnsN*RcJ

Dean looked up at the sound of the clanking cow bell on The Chariot's front door. Reagan Walsh stood framed in the sunlight. He put down his beer, glancing to the bathroom door where Caleb had just gone, expecting his best friend to reappear as soon as he sensed the latest customer. He cut his eyes to Sam. "Speak of the devil."

Sam and Joshua turned to regard the newcomer. "That's one of the hunters?" his brother asked.

"Reagan Walsh." Dean nodded to the man who lifted a hand in greeting and made his way towards their table. There was an echo of the energy Dean experienced earlier when he and Reagan had shaken hands in the van. He looked to Sam again searching his face for any sign he was getting the same odd vibe.

"Dean." Reagan braced his hands on the back of the chair Caleb had vacated and Dean was grateful he didn't have to chance another physical encounter. "We meet again."

Dean forced a grin. If Sam had picked up on anything, it was overshadowed by his keen interest in the newcomer. "Looks like SEALS and hunters share the same taste in food as well as recreation."

Reagan laughed. "Whether in Istanbul or Hometown, USA, the little family run joints are always the best."

"I'm quite sure the quality of the meat is probably comparable as well," Joshua mused.

Dean looked past his Advisor to the door. "Where's your partner, Owen?"

"He's around," Reagan waved a hand towards the kitchen. "I'm just here for a special take-out order."

"Doesn't look like it's ready yet." Dean glanced to the empty counter, noting he hadn't seen their waitress in a while, or heard the cook and dishwasher banging about in the back. The two old men with the chess board in the corner didn't seem concerned about their empty coffee cups, too wrapped up in their game.

"You're welcome to wait with us." Sam's offer had Dean stifling a groan, and silently cursing his brother's inquisitive nature. He flashed The Scholar a look, letting Sam know he understood it wasn't manners that had prompted the invite. The meek smile and shoulder shrug his brother offered him in return let Dean know his brother had picked up on the silent message he'd sent about cats and curiosity.

"Don't mind if I do." Reagan took Caleb's chair.

Dean reached for his coffee to hide the discomfort he suddenly felt at having the man in suck close proximity. "Sam, Josh, this is Reagan Walsh."

"Just like with your brother there's no need for introduction on your part." Reagan extended his hand over the table to Sam. "I know The Scholar."

"Thanks for helping out this morning." Sam shook the man's hand, and Dean waited to see if his brother might flinch or look Dean's way. "It's appreciated more than you know."

Reagan dismissed the thank you, turning to Joshua. "I know you're Joshua Sawyer, though I've never quite grasped exactly what your position entails in The Triad or why The Guardian would need advisement."

"That's quite alright. The magnitude and burden I bare as Advisor is hard for any normal person to comprehend." Dean didn't miss the 'what the hell' scowl Joshua favored him with, or the fact Reagan didn't offer any courtesy greeting to The Advisor. "The Guardian rarely understands the value of my services either."

"Take it from someone who knows, a good commander usually doesn't appreciate the suits reeling him in."

Dean leaned on the table, putting his coffee cup down. "Don't let Joshua's gushing modesty fool you. He's our secret weapon."

"I imagine The Triad has a multitude of resources at their disposal." Reagan looked at Dean. "Modest counsel ranking the least impressive."

"There are probably a lot of things about The Triad you wouldn't understand." Dean noted the change in Joshua's tone, a warning edge that was rarely there. Their Advisor's refined manner and slick speech could be misleading, letting one forget at his core he was a hunter whose family tree boasted not only former Triad members, but notorious crafters as well. "Even those who wear our rings aren't privy to all the details."

"You're probably right, Josh." Reagan gave an easy smile, a light chuckle. "I should really keep my mouth shut about things I don't know about."

"I prefer Joshua actually, and I find that in business and in hunting that's usually a good rule of thumb."

Dean sighed, noting that Caleb wasn't the only one who had taken an instant dislike to Walsh. He glanced at his brother, hoping to ease the mounting tension. "Maybe you should put out some kind of informational packet for potential hunters, Sammy? A recruiting catalogue about Brotherhood history, 'Be all you can be in The Brotherhood'."

"Don't go to the trouble on my part," Reagan kept his eyes on Dean. "I know all about Merlin and the gifts he bestowed to three orphans in hopes of protecting the order that Arthur's precious Knights of The Round Table held in such high regards." Reagan glanced at Joshua. "I even understand that Merlin himself acted as Advisor to those first fledging Triads, and that's why as a tribute to the old magician Advisors have always had some sort of crafting background."

The hairs on the back of Dean's neck stood at attention, his whole body stiffening. He slid his chair back slightly, turning so his body was facing Reagan. "Did your SEAL buddy, the hunter spout all those tales around the campfire? Because you didn't mention that your pal was in The Brotherhood."

"Jonah isn't in The Brotherhood, but surely you don't think that gag order all recipients receive upon getting their rings keep the legends completely hush-hush? Your secret order isn't exactly as well-known as the Masons, but word gets around."

Dean kept his voice low, but made sure to get his point across. "I'm not sure you've gotten the full story, or you wouldn't be sitting here acting like you were chatting it up with potential lodge brothers instead of pissing off someone who could very easily end you."

"Actually, I think it's you who hasn't gotten the entire story, Dean."

Whether it was the fact Reagan was used to facing imminent doom on a daily basis, or the fact he didn't buy what Dean was telling him, wasn't clear. What was crystal to Dean now was that the man had not only a death wish, but an agenda. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means that in all the times I've heard the story of Merlin and his great Brotherhood recanted to me, I've never once caught mention of Mordred."

"Mordred?" Dean was confused by the sudden veer in the conversation had taken. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Mordred was King Arthur's illegitimate son, or in some stories his nephew."

Dean glared at Sam for the unhelpful response. "I know who Mordred is, Sam." As Sam and Dean had gotten older, Jim had replaced the tales of The Dragons and their magic castle with the stories of Merlin and The Knights of The Round Table. Dean might not have been the geek his brother was, but as a twelve year old kid he'd read everything he could get his hands on hoping to make his way into that elusive inner circle that held not only untouchable heroes like Merlin, Arthur and Lancelot, but more concrete ones like his father, Mac and Bobby. Dean returned his focus to Walsh. "The reason Mordred's not mentioned is that he was killed after betraying Arthur."

"That's only one version of the story," Reagan declared, the first hint of anger coloring his words.

"And I suppose you expect us to believe there is another version," Joshua suggested. "One that somehow makes this extremely ridiculous and flagrantly dangerous conversation you are insisting on having with The Guardian of The Brotherhood prudent on your part."

"I'm not here as your enemy." Reagan ignored Joshua in lieu of keeping his gaze locked on Dean. "After meeting you today, I thought you were the kind of man that would want to know the truth."

Dean wasn't interested in anything else Reagan Walsh had to say. He wanted nothing more than to be rid of the man and get back to the real case at hand. "Actually I think it's time you be going on your merry-fucking-way before I lose my patience with you, Walsh. Rescue or not, I'm tired of your games. I have a job to do and I don't have time to play around with a bunch of groupies baiting for my attention."

"You are just as arrogant as Merlin." Walsh shook his head. "He didn't even suspect Mordred, like Arthur, was capable of making very powerful friends, that he might have a protector. A protector that didn't fear the great wizard Merlin."

"You're talking about Morgan Le Fay?" Sam spoke up, obviously more willing than Dean to hear Walsh out. Considering Dean couldn't afford to take his attention away from the mounting threat beside him, he settled for a silent curse he hoped like hell his brother picked up on.

"Your quick, Sam even though yourpsychic ability is a little lame and unpredictable for a Scholar." Reagan leaned his elbows on the table. He pulled Caleb's empty glass and the water pitcher towards him, obviously taking Sam's question as a stay on Dean's 'get the hell out of my face' order. "What if I told you Morgan le Fay not only restored Mordred, but taught him her magic, a gift that made him every bit as powerful as Merlin, the old man's equal."

"I'd say you're off your fucking rocker." Dean growled, feeling Sam and Joshua's intense gazes on him, waiting for a cue. The sense that something very bad was on the verge of happening had him looking towards the bathroom again, willing Caleb to come back to their table, whether to stop it or merely help pick up the pieces in the aftermath Dean wasn't sure.

"Then you're really going to find the next part of my tale very hard to swallow." Reagan kept one hand wrapped around Caleb's glass as he slowly tipped the pitcher to fill it.

Dean was prepared to shut Walsh's mouth for him before he could spout one more word of insanity, but the SEAL's sudden bumble distracted him. Reagan dropped the pitcher he was pouring, knocking the filled glass over as well as he stood. Water splashed across the table and plates in a small wave, splattering the occupants seated around it. Sam and Joshua reacted instantly, scooting away from the table even as their hands reached for the napkins in front of Dean to stop the flow from reaching the floor. Dean understood a second too late what was going to happen, his own hands automatically going to the table too, not to clean up but to keep Sam from touching the water pooled there.

"Sammy, don't." The words were barely out of his mouth when the water glimmered, tensed. Dean could feel the molecules aligning shifting form from liquid to quick silver as physically as he felt the cohesion that had taken place the moment his fingers touched the cool substance. His body thrummed with the familiar energy, every nerve-ending in his body singing with the process that was happening-a transformation he was not initiating.

"You see, Morgan didn't just hand Mordred his life back to him and dole out some of her powers out of the kindness of her heart. She hated Arthur and Merlin and wanted nothing more than to see the old wizard taken down a notch, all his noble works foiled."Reagan continued to talk though his words were diluted by what was taking place. Even though it was instantaneous, Dean felt as though he were watching the alchemic process in a cheesy movie slow motion reel. What had once been harmless drinking water in a pitcher was now a menace snaking around his fingers, wrapping around and clamping tightly over his wrists to solidify into dark smoky silver effectively pinning him to the table.

He heard the startled gasps from Sam and Joshua, the struggle as they tried to wrap their minds around what was happening. Dean lifted his gaze to seek out Sam just as Reagan announced what Dean had subconsciously understood from the moment he had shook Reagan Walsh's hand. "With her help, Mordred formed his own Triad-a Triad that has existed in every generation since then."

"He's a Guardian," Dean said, watching a reflection of his own realization dawn in Sam's dark eyes.

"What?" Sam shook his head, attempting to pull his hands free. "That's not possible."

"Yet, the silver effectively making you my prisoner says differently."

"Dean Winchester is the one and onlyGuardian of The Brotherhood," Joshua growled, continuing to struggle though Dean knew all too well the effort was wasted.

"I don't refute that fact. I want nothing to do with The Brotherhood." Reagan leaned against Caleb's chair once more, looking to Dean. "I prefer my own brothers, The Order. It's why Owen took offense at your offer of a ring. I have the same ability as you to create my own, to bestow them on others as I and The Lady see fit."

"The Lady?" Dean felt the blow as sure as Reagan had struck him. It was one thing to wrap his mind around the fact there was another guardian, but to consider that The Lady of the Lake was aware of Reagan's existence, had visited him in the ways she had Dean was quite another. "You're lying."

"Am I? How else could I do this?" Reagan gestured to the table now marred by the tarnished silver snarled around their hands.

"It's the Guardian's gift from Merlin," Sam spoke up. "The silver contains his blood."

"And our silver the life force of Mordred," Reagan explained. "But even the magic of Merlin had its limits. Incredible alchemist or not, he didn't rule over the elements. He needed help, which he got from The Lady of the Lake, Viviane."

"But why would she help Morgan le Fay?" Dean couldn't wrap his mind around the betrayal. The Lady of the Lake was still an enigma, had always offered more questions than answers in her visits to Dean, whether in his dreams or at the pond. Her motives might not have been clear, but she had always seemed on his side, especially since the coronation of his Triad. He'd kept her secret, just as he vowed, even from his brothers. The fact that she had shared the same with someone else, with a dick like Walsh, tore at him and in his mind made his promise to her null and void. He was beginning to believe the stories in which Merlin was enchanted and betrayed by the witch.

"Why would she eventually seal Merlin's doom? Maybe our Lady understood what most mortals are unable to grasp-things are not black and white. The dark and the light need each other. There has to be balance in the universe, Dean. That means the guys who think they're wearing the white hats can't go unchecked. If one becomes too powerful the whole universe might spin out of control."

"So you're Dean's darkside, his bizarro?" Sam's comment sounded like something Damien would say; proof his brother had spent too much time with his best friend, and also a painful reminder of who was missing the show. "You have the same gift Merlin gave him, yet you possess the opposite intrinsic qualities that make him the man he is?" The Scholar continued in more Sam-like form, but Dean's head was buzzing with a much more important question.

"Where's Caleb?" Dean demanded. His heart picked up a notch, a coldness settling in his gut as Walsh smiled. Another glance towards the bathroom revealed no one. Their waitress and the cook had to have been compromised. The two old men in the back were either deaf, completely entranced with their chest game or paid off by Walsh in advance. "What did you do?"

"I made sure he'd need the services of the bathroom." Reagan touched a finger to Caleb's discarded coffee cup. "He's with my Knight and Scholar."

"That bastard Owen is your Knight." Dean found himself tugging at his restraints, attempting to stand despite the fact his hands were bound to the table. The Guardian's gift were the rings, the role of leader, but his elusive qualities of sacrifice and heart were hard to quantify and pin down, therefore hard to conceptualize the results when twisted. Maybe Walsh was a selfish sociopath without a care for anyone but himself, but The Knight brought more tangible traits to the Round Table. Honor, a duty to protect those around him, and an inherent goodness that Caleb would heatedly deny existed in him, but that did tenfold. If all the fucked up shit Walsh was feeding them was true it meant that what Dean had sensed about Owen was on the money. He was a psychopath that thrived on destruction, a monster without one ounce of conscience or remorse, and now Walsh was telling him that the evil sonofabitch was armed with the gifts of strength, a 'never say die' fortitude, and that he had his hands on Dean's best friend.

"Don't worry; Owen is under my orders not to harm your Knight as long as you cooperate."

"Forgive me if I don't look relieved considering the scenario you're describing is similar to you throwing my Knight in a tank with some chum and a starving shark and telling said shark to stand the fuck down."

"Knights take orders from The Guardian, Dean. That's what they do, it's ingrained." Reagan smiled. "Besides, Owen is my best friend. You know how that is."

Dean snorted, knowing just how well Caleb being his best friend affected hisability to perceive an order, Knight or not. "Again, your words bring little comfort, ass hole. If Owen even thinks about…"

"What did you mean by cooperate?" Sam interrupted Dean's threat. "What do you want from us in exchange for Caleb?"

"I want what you want, to see The Holy Lance in rightful hands."

Joshua had given up trying to escape, though he was still perched on the edge of his seat. "You'd have us believe that your Triad's mission is an honorable one when you've already explained that you were created for the express purpose of unjustness-to thwart Merlin's goal to help the helpless?"

"We prefer The Trinity actually, and I consider our mission quite praiseworthy if you consider the five million dollars we've been promised to retrieve The Lance."

"That's what you do?" Sam spoke up. "You hunt in the supernatural world, but it's not to help anyone or protect people. You hunt for things of value, like scavengers. That's why you had Pan's flute."

"I don't give a shit what the bastards do as long as I get my Knight back in one piece, Reagan. Do you understand what I'm saying Walsh- one fucking piece."

"Bring me The Holy Lance and Caleb will be fine."

"Why not get it yourself?" Dean growled. "If you are what you say you are, and your sole mission is collecting artifacts, this gig should be a piece of cake."

"We prefer not to entangle ourselves with certain parties that have become interested in its whereabouts."

"Meaning you wish not to call attention to yourselves, especially from the angels," Joshua surmised.

"Their appearance was unexpected and ours is truly a secret society," Reagan explained. "We prefer to keep it that way."

"But five million dollars is worth the risk of crawling out from under your rock, putting your Order in Heaven's crosshairs?" Dean once again felt blindsided by the impossible. If this Order had indeed co-existed with The Brotherhood for centuries, complete discretion would have to have been their top priority.

Reagan looked down at his ring, ran his finger over the dark band before returning his gaze to Dean. "There was the fact my Scholar had a vision of you, the great Dean Winchester. I couldn't resist. After all it was unavoidable we meet at some point, fate. Why not an advantageous, planned encounter where I have the upper hand, instead of a clandestine one?"

"What do you mean it was fate?" Sam asked.

"He means every man eventually has to face his dark side." Dean recalled the references in the past Guardian's journals that he had taken the time to read, the ones he had mistaken for metaphor. They all talked of a great task-of facing the 'worst of themselves' in some form or another, even Pastor Jim. He wrongly inclined it to his battle to forget what had happened to him in Hell, to overcome the deep scars his time there had left. Now he was prone to believe differently.

"Or the possibility of a road not taken." Reagan nodded, confirming Dean's speculation. "My predecessor warned me about you, but so far I think his great concern was ill-advised."

Dean's anger flared and he jerked against his restraints, the table sliding closer to him, dragging Sam and Joshua with it. "That's because you haven't seen what I'm capable of."

"And you've only witnessed the tip of the iceberg of my talent." Reagan gestured to the silver encased table. "It's obvious I've had more practice, am better prepared. I'd say this is definitely win number two in my favor, Winchester."

"We'll see who comes out ahead in the end, Walsh."

"I look forward to it." Reagan grinned, touching a hand to his ear. "That's my cue to leave. It seems Owen and Jonah secured special delivery of our takeout order in the back. We're big tippers, don't you know."

"We want check-ins with Caleb," Sam said. "Every two hours."

Walsh shook his head. "You have your rings, you'll know how he's fairing."

"How do we find you when we have The Lance?" Joshua asked. "I gather you're not leaving us your business card?"

"We'll find you after the job is finished and your angel buddies have dispersed."

"The job will be a whole hell of a lot easier without us dragging a table with us." Dean glanced down at his hands and back to Walsh. "Are you going to leave us like this?"

"You're a Guardian; I expect you'll figure it out eventually."

"Damn it." Dean stumbled after Walsh, dragging the table, Sam and Joshua towards the exit with him.

"Dean, calm down."

"Don't 'calm down' me, Sam." Dean made it to the door, straining his neck to catch a glance of the tail-end of Walsh's van as it peeled out of the alley. His breath caught, the prospect of failing Caleb felt like a lead ball settling in his gut. He lifted his arms and the table with them, slamming it back down with a huff. "Fucking, sonofabtich."

"This table is ill designed to fit through that door," Joshua pointed out. "And I hate to be the one to point this out, but severing our wrists from our arms or dislocating our shoulders will not help Caleb at this point."

"He's right, Dean." Sam sighed, and Dean felt an echo from his brother of the same panic he was experiencing. "We just all need to take a minute and focus."

"You haven't met Owen, Sam. We don't have a fucking minute to spare."

"All the more reason for you to get us free from this insane trap."

"Sorry, Josh, but my shop teacher glazed over the chapters on wielding a blow torch with my feet."

"He's talking about using your abilities, Dean."

"I know that, Mr. Obvious." Dean growled at his brother. "The only problem is there is about as much a chance of that happening as there is of Joshua having a magic wand stuffed in his fancy loafers."

"We've seen you work with something larger than this before at the cave in Wyoming."

Dean took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. He'd been practicing, but it was obvious that Walsh knew something he didn't. "Don't you think I thought of that, Sammy? I've been trying the whole damn time that Walsh was holding court. If I could have gotten my hands on that sonofabitch, and kept him from taking Caleb, I would have."

"Perhaps you were not focusing properly, calm and clarity has never exactly been your forte, especially when your family is threatened."

"Perhaps you can advise on the appropriate technique, Josh? Oh wait, you have no fucking clue as to how I create the silver. I'm starting to see Walsh's point about the need of your position in a Triad."

"In light of the fact Caleb's life is in danger, and that such circumstance instantly detracts from what little social skills you've managed to retain from your barbaric upbringing, I will pretend you didn't mean that."

"Guys!" Sam snapped. "Now is not the time to start fighting with each other. We need to hold it together if we're going to get The Lance and find Caleb."

"Screw The Holy Lance." Dean had no intention of looking for it until Caleb was back with them. "SEAL or no SEAL, I'm finding Walsh and showing him exactly what happens when you take on The Brotherhood."

"That requires getting free first."

Dean looked at Joshua. "Do you have any ideas?"

"Walsh had to use a similar method that you wield when changing the water."

"It's not the same silver." Dean nodded his head to the table. "It not only looks different, but it feels different. There isn't the same energy I get from ours."

"If you and Reagan are opposites, then in theory the ores would be mirror versions also."

"So, if Dean could somehow flip his spell then it might change the base of Walsh's work."

"I don't cast spells, Sam."

"It's still an alchemic process," Joshua asserted.

"And don't tell me you don't have some kind of weird word or limerick you use when changing the water into silver-your own little abracadabra," Sam quirked a brow at his brother. "I know you too well."

"Fine." Dean huffed. He might have had a little ditty he silently spouted, but he sure as hell wasn't going to share it with Joshua and Sam. The first time he'd attempted to use the Guardian mojo had been while standing in the middle of a rushing stream, surrounded by both his enemy at the time, and his soon to be Triad. He was convinced nothing would happen, unable to grasp the idea that he contained within him some kind of mystical special ability. The overwhelming feelings of inadequacy and self doubt had brought unbidden memories of those first months caring for his baby brother after their mother was murdered. Dean was terrified of doing something wrong, of failing his family. Sam would cry for what seemed like hours, nothing Dean could do able to comfort him. Then he'd found the old tapes of his father. At five, he'd never heard of Motor Head, but he recognized one word, the nickname his father gave him in a track that would later be very ironic, Ace of Spades. He was surprised the guitar and drum solos appeased Sammy, but it was the words that stuck with Dean, and the chorus that echoed in his thoughts as he performed his first feat of alchemy. He held Joshua's gaze. "You really think me rolling the track in reverse is going to reveal some kind of evil spell that will undo Walsh's handiwork."

"Sometimes the best magic is the simplest." Joshua encouraged. "It won't hurt to try."

Dean took another deep breath and closed his eyes. He let the words roll through his mind, then made a concentrated effort to silently repeat his favorite bridge in reverse. It only took repeating the chorus for Dean to feel the sudden rush of power starting in his trapped hands, rippling through the rest of his body like a small quake. The silver reverted to water, washing over the table and dripping onto the floor.

"You did it," Sam shook his hands of the water, looking at Dean with the same awe he'd offered that day in the cave.

"And without fainting this time," Joshua added.

Dean started for the bathroom, but not before letting his middle finger speak to The Advisor's unnecessary reminder that using his ability used to drain him, leaving him feeling boneless and foggy as if he'd run a marathon out of shape. The reaction had changed after he officially became The Guardian. Manipulating the silver now brought a surge of adrenaline, a high not unlike a good buzz. It made Dean wary of using the power, except for creating rings, knowing too well that there were always repercussions to supernatural gifts. Dean suspected abusing the silver would bring about things much worse than a hangover. Reagan Walsh obviously held no such restraint.

He burst into the small room, a sense of disappointment and the slumped body of their waitress waiting for him. Despite knowing Caleb was gone, he'd expected his friend to be there, a childish hope the scene with Reagan was a mistake. Dean supposed finding the girl unconscious; yet still breathing a plus, though picking up Caleb's discarded gun stole any comfort.

"Is she alive?" Sam asked from the doorway, letting out a breath when Dean nodded. He stepped into the room, moving to Dean's side. "Joshua went to check on the kitchen."

"My guess is the cook's probably the same." Dean stood, checking the safety on Caleb's gun before slipping it into the back of his jeans. "They used the window, more than likely threatened the girl to get Damien to cooperate."

"That's why we didn't know he was in danger." Sam ran both hands through his hair in frustration. "He went with them willingly."

"Fucking rings." Dean rubbed a thumb over his silver band. "Fucking Merlin."

"We'll find him, Dean." Sam promised, "He'll be fine."

Dean appreciated what his brother was trying to do, but was tired of the broken record. How many times did they have to face the loss of each other, or another person they loved? Being The Triad wasn't supposed to ensure their safety necessarily, but it sure as hell wasn't supposed to bring a whole new bag of trouble.

"The Trinity?" Dean growled. "Really?"

"We'll figure it out. Just like we always do."

Dean wanted desperately to believe his brother, but recognized the hint of fear and doubt in Sam's gaze, despite the brave front his brother was trying so hard to project. The need to soothe Sam was stronger than any pain of his own. He gave a sharp nod. "Those sonsofbitches won't know what hit them. When we find them I'm going to make damn sure I finish what Merlin started."

Next part. . .