"If you do not create your destiny, you will have your fate inflicted upon you."

-William Thompson

Caleb was gaining a new appreciation for the United States military. It seemed all those movies Dean loved about black ops and their impressive skill set for torture was pretty much spot on. John Winchester had firsthand knowledge of similar techniques from his time in the Marines,making sure to impart some of that wisdom on countering such tactics to his protégé over the years. Caleb glanced to the corner of the room where the apparition of his mentor had been standing perfectly still for the last hour or so, bearing witness to Owen's demonstration of his adeptness. He knew the man wasn't real, not even a ghost, more like some kind of trick of the eye, but he could practically hear John's voice, 'Physical pain can be your friend, kiddo.'

Caleb never called any suffering friend, but he quickly learned it could be compartmentalized, managed and shut away, even turned around and used for incentive if a man understood how to harness it. Mac would have never agreed with some of the previous Knight's training methods, but Caleb had found himself in a few predicaments that had left him appreciative of John's lessons. He'd only broken once, and that was when Griffin Porter was smart enough to find his Achilles' heel. Owen didn't hold such leverage, but he also wasn't asking Caleb any damn questions. Owen was merely having fun. Caleb was pretty sure the military had never meant for their training to be used as sport.

"Reagan is not going to be happy when he gets back." Jonah's voice was barely audible over the ringing in Caleb's ears. He turned his head toward the other psychic, not able to get a good look at him because of the blood and sweat stinging his eyes, and the fact Jonah had placed himself at a table as far away from the action as he could manage without being in another room.

"Maybe you should intercede on his behalf," Caleb's croaked suggestion brought a laugh from Owen, who had momentarily abandoned his game in lieu of a beer break. "Walsh did leave you in charge."

"The Knight is second in command." Owen kept his beer, but made his way in front of Caleb. He struck out with his free hand, pulling the punch at the last second with a mean laugh. Caleb couldn't stop the involuntary flinch, but recovered with a smirk for Owen's benefit.

"I'm not sure that's the case when said Knight is a fucking lunatic." This time Owen didn't hold back, and Caleb found himself hoping Walsh made his errand quick. Crazy or not, the SEAL could throw a hell of a punch, adding just enough force to cause damage, but not enough to bring about the release of unconsciousness. As it was he was pretty certain he had a concussion and some cracked ribs as proof of the man's dedication to his skill. He fought to keep himself from looking in 'Not Really Johnny's' direction. A crazy desire for his mentor to intercede bubbled inside. Not only was Caleb tired of being hit; he was sick of Owen's crazy ramblings about Mordred, and how King Arthur was a prick. Hearing Jonah throw out the insane mirror Triad theory on the ride from The Silver Chariot was painful enough without having his off his rocker teammate twist the details like a knife in Caleb's gut.

"That's enough, Owen." Jonah stood and made his way towards them. "You understand you can't kill him."

"So Reagan said." Owen took a long drink of his beer, giving Caleb another perverse grin. "Another part of the Merlin versus Mordred story, Reaves, but since you don't really buy into any of the bullshit…"

The threat was unsaid, although Owen's intention was quite clear. Caleb cleared his throat. "Forgive me for not feeding into your psychosis, asshole."

Owen lifted a meaty fist, but Jonah caught his arm in time. "Bullshit part of the story or not, this wasn't part of the plan."

"Plan's change."

"Like in Guatemala?" Jonah gestured to Caleb. "Is he worth a repeat?"

Caleb didn't know what happened in Guatemala, but it brought a deep growl from Owen, and a surge of anger and anguish that Caleb could sense even though Jonah had promised him the house was a psychic dead zone. Owen threw the remainder of his beer against the wall. The bottle exploded inches from Caleb's head, glass and beer showering The Knight.

"Get some air." Jonah's voice remained calm. He surprised Caleb by reaching out and squeezing Owen's shoulder. Caleb had a sudden image of a naïve zoo keeper, one stupid enough to pet his favorite tiger. He half expected Jonah to withdraw a bloody nub. To his disappointment Owen deflated at the contact, actually leaned into it. "Go. I'll clean this up."

Owen didn't give him another look, turning and making his way out of the living room like a bored domestic cat, instead of riled jungle beast. Jonah waited until they heard the slamming of the front door before turning to meet his gaze.

"I see you have a real death wish, Reaves."

"I see psychic divining for treasure isn't your only ability."

"Calming wild animals has more to do with being a Scholar than being a telepath." Jonah folded his arms over his chest studying Caleb, like so many frustrated headmasters had during Caleb's prep school years. "I would be glad to explain in greater detail so you could share the information with your own Scholar, but I'd be wasting my breath considering you seem bent on not returning to your Triad, at least not in any state outside that of a vegetable."

"This is my fault? Somehow I don't think keeping my mouth shut would have made this scene go down much differently." Caleb tried to move his hands, hoping to bring some of the circulation he'd lost from being tied to the dining room chair. His wrists hurt; the pain overshadowed by all the other parts of his torso screaming for attention. He couldn't help but glance to the corner where John had been standing sentry. The illusion was gone. It sent a ripple of helplessness to join all the other sensations battling for control. "Reagan sort of set the stage when he let his pet goon take my shirt, my boots and strap me to this fucking piece of furniture like a Guantanamo detainee. What's next, water boarding?"

"Reagan sometimes gives Owen a little too much leash." Jonah knelt on the floor to pick up the larger shards of amber glass from the drop cloth Owen had taken the care to lay across the plush carpet upon their arrival to the upscale house they were squatting. The methodical calculating move had gotten Caleb's heart jumping. It was far too similar to the ones in gangster movies when a living, breathing problem was about to be fitted for some cement shoes. He took as deep of breath as his bruised ribs would allow, pushing the thoughts of his demise from his thoughts. Dean and Sam would find him in time-the faith in his Triad unshakeable.

"So it's your job to keep him from hanging himself."

"Something like that." Jonah moved to the open kitchen which was separated from the spacious living room by a granite island. "As I said, a Scholar's role has a lot of facets."

"Please spare me the delusions of your grandeur." Caleb didn't have to fake the groan of pain, but was glad he could at least pass it off as disbelief instead of physical weakness. "Haven't I suffered enough at the hands of your buddy?"

Jonah returned with a glass of water and a towel. "Owen is merely overcompensating."

"Overcompensating?" Caleb would have laughed if he hadn't known just how much the act would have hurt. "And I thought Sawyer could put a spin on some fucked up shit."

"You're not exactly an easy act to follow." Jonah held the water up to Caleb, and despite his pride and suspicions Caleb didn't refuse the act of mercy, which just as easily could have been more treachery. Poison or not, the cool liquid was like heaven on his dry, burning throat. Between the side effects of whatever drug they had used on him earlier and the session with Owen, he was dehydrated and understood he needed the water more than he needed to appear invincible. Still, he was glad Johnny had dematerialized, unable to bear any look of disappointment his mind might have conjured from his mentor. He took two quick gulps before Jonah took the glass away. Caleb glanced up at him, clearing his throat.

"Owen is beating the shit out of me because he's jealous?"

"The psyche is a strange creature. As psychics we understand that better than most, and I'm sure your father, the notable Mackland Ames, could explain it much better than I." Jonah moved a coaster from a pile on the cherry coffee table, placed the glass on it before bending to begin the task of cleaning up the spilled beer. "Look at it from Owen's point of view. It's obvious I'm a far superior telepath than Sam Winchester. I'm also smarter, more versed in using the gifts I was granted as The Scholar. I also graduated Cum Laude from Brown. I finished my MBA at Harvard."

"A few framed diplomas and a way with animals doesn't make you half the man Sam Winchester is."

Jonah wasn't dissuaded from his explanation. He prattled on as he picked up glass shards. "Reagan's skills as Guardian are also further advanced than Dean's. He's an expert marksman, trained warrior and a highly decorated commander. Even Dean's short dispatch to Hell doesn't give him any real advantage over Reagan that I can calculate; in fact it's probably a deficit considering he was obviously unable to bring away anything valuable from the experience, minus a fledgling alliance with one lowly angel. At most it gives him a little character, but Reagan did three tours in Afghanistan, so they're pretty much even."

"You don't know anything about Dean." Caleb growled, no longer caring for an explanation of the pompous ass's earlier observation. "Your buddy Walsh isn't even in the same league. He can perform water illusions and parlor tricks all he wants, I'll never buy him as a Guardian."

"But you, you are something that Owen, despite his determination, cannot quite top," Jonah stood, making his way to the kitchen to dump the pieces of broken bottle. "You're part demon. Compared to you Owen will always be merely human, pure vanilla, if you know what I mean."

"Vanilla? Oh, I'd say your buddy Owen has a couple dozen unsavory flavors and is up to his eyeballs in every variety of nuts." Caleb waited until Jonah was once again in front of him, jerking on his restraints as proof of Owen's instability. "Never underestimate a good old psychotic disorder when it comes to bringing the evil."

Jonah picked up the towel from the floor and carefully folded it. "It's not that Owen can't bring the bad. Just the opposite. Despite not having your faults, he can't measure up. He hates that you'll always be at the table with Lancelot, Gawain, and Galahad while he can't even manage to get one foot in the castle. It was a fact I don't think Morgan or Mordred considered. Is a man lacking virtue, a black knight per say, truly a knight?"

"Owen hates me because I'm a good guy?" Caleb did laugh, excruciating as it was. Maybe these idiots did live in some bizarro universe, because most of the people in Caleb's world despised and feared him for their belief in his inability to ever succeed in being a true Knight, hell, even a decent human being. "That just proves that your buddy is, in your lingo, FUBAR."

"I never claimed Owen was rational, in fact I'm quite sure the reasons for his intense dislike of you are subconscious. He sees you as something he'll never be- painting him a failure, and therefore perceives you as a threat. As long as you're alive, he'll always be second-rate. Like the evil queen and the fair Snow White."

Caleb snorted. "I'll know not to take any apples or coffee from strangers anytime soon."

"Let's hope Reagan gets back soon." Jonah glanced to the large grandfather clock by the door. "Owen never fails at eliminating a threat, and my hold over him is minimal at best."

Caleb licked his lips, the copper taste of blood causing his stomach to roil. He took a shallow breath, wincing when abused muscles made themselves known. It would be par for the day for him to have some internal bleeding going on. "What happened in Guatemala?"

Jonah took a seat on the edge of the sofa, regarding him for a silent moment before answering. "Reagan and Owen had a disagreement during a very important mission."

Caleb couldn't get a clear reading on the other psychic, a quandary he was certain had nothing to do with his lack of abilities at the moment. Jonah seemed accommodating, even amiable, but Caleb had been around enough slick businessmen to recognize a good con-artist when he saw one. "Dean and I have our moments."

Jonah's smile held no hint of mirth. "And has Dean ever slit your throat?"

Caleb didn't have a chance to process the revelation, nor offer a comeback as the slamming of the front door had his self-preservation kicking in. He tensed, tugging at the ropes holding him in place in a fiercely pitiful attempt to escape before a calm, collected and rested Owen could return to resume working out his half-baked insecurities. He wasn't as relieved as he would have been only moments before when it was Reagan Walsh who entered from the hallway.

"What's going on?" He dropped a pizza and a six pack on the table, sending a frown in Jonah's direction.

"Reaves and I were just comparing Triads." Jonah's grin flashed genuine. "So far he still believes his superior in several ways. It seems you don't measure up in The Guardian department."

"Ah, well, the beast you know." Reagan came closer, shaking his head slightly. "I see Owen has been trying to convince him otherwise."

"What makes you say that?" Jonah made an elaborate show of tossing the soiled towel on the floor, popping his knuckles. "Maybe I decided to step up my negotiation tactics, exploring other ways to bring a man around to seeing my side of things."

"I doubt your new skills will serve you well in the boardroom, old pal." Walsh looked at Caleb. "You must really be an infuriating bastard for Jonah to risk getting his hands dirty."

"What can I say? It's a talent." Caleb thought it wise to play along with their game. Reagan knew exactly who was behind his current state, but doubted his pointing a finger at Owen would bring about the other man's untimely demise.

"How'd the meeting go?" Jonah spoke up in a blatant move to change the subject.

Reagan shrugged, keeping his eyes on Caleb. "Our buyer wasn't exactly happy about the delay, more than ready to get back to his lovely little third world compound I'd say, but he was willing to add another buck fifty for incentive."

"Ambitious dictators and their abundance of drug money," Jonah clucked. "Imagine how successful the cocaine trade would be if they weren't so clouded by power struggles and territorial disputes."

Caleb looked between the men, suddenly quite certain of John's belief that supernatural entities were far easier to deal with than the faults of mortals. "You're going to turn over The Holy Lance to some slimy arms dealer?"

"Did I say he was an arms dealer?" Reagan glanced at Jonah. "For all I know he could be a very passionate collector of antiquities from The Holy Land."

"In other words you don't give a damn as long as the color of his money is green."

"We actually prefer gold," Jonah replied. "Although, diamonds are nice too."

"Whatever his motivations, I've made a deal with the man." Reagan returned his gaze to Caleb. "A deal I intend to keep."

"Dean is not going to let you turn over a weapon like The Holy Lance to some would-be terrorist."

"Now he's a terrorist?" Reagan laughed, rubbing a hand over his mouth. "Damn you go straight to the worst case scenario, Reaves."

"I've learned to keep my expectations of humankind very low." He glanced down at his bruised and bloodied torso. "That way I'm not surprised or disappointed."

"And you've found the angels to be our superior?" Jonah tilted his head, sharing a quick look with Reagan. "Because from what we've heard, they have unsavory agendas as well, complete with power struggles and territorial disputes of their own."

"Come now, Jonah, I'm sure Dean's guardian angel wants The Holy Lance for purely unselfish reasons, perhaps sentimental ones."

"Dean is trying to do the right thing," Caleb growled.

"In the beginning, perhaps," Reagan touched the silver band on his finger. "But now he's trying to do what's best for him and for his own, and that puts us on the exact same playing field. Whether you want to see it or not, we're not so different, he and I."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Maybe I know your Guardian better than you. I have no doubt Dean will keep his part of the bargain we've made, even though I've already lost footing on my end." Reagan reached out and roughly grasped Caleb's chin, tilting his head so he could get a better look at Owen's handiwork. "I promised him that I'd keep you in one piece and he's going to be pissed that's not been the case, although I imagine he's more desperate than ever to find the Lance."

Caleb pulled away, thoughts of Dean and Sam sensing, if not knowing exactly what had been happening to him the last few hours provoking a reckless anger. "That's because we have a more traditional relationship, you know the kind where The Guardian tries very hard not to spill his Knight's blood instead of severing his carotid artery."

The look Reagan sent Jonah had the psychic standing, and Caleb hoped the bastard got a scar of his own for his lack of discretion. It would serve him right for turning up that awful opera music when the sounds of Owen's good time got too distasteful for him. "I'll go tell Owen dinner's served."

"It seems my Scholar hasn't painted us in the best light." Walsh rested his hands on his hips.

"You mean your mediocre psychic with the MBA?" Caleb wasn't about to capitulate to the impossible. "He's no fucking Scholar. Any run of the mill egomaniac can make a claim to greatness."

"Search your feelings, Luke." Reagan knelt, pulling a KA-BAR from his boot. Caleb tensed when Walsh moved behind him with the military regulation blade. He expected to feel cold steel against his windpipe, so the bite of tension on his wrists didn't quite register until his hands were suddenly free. "You may not want to know the truth, but it's there inside you. Yours is not the only Triad."

"You think bad Star Wars' references are going to bring me on board?"

"How about a slice of pizza and a beer?"

"Try again, Captain Lone Starr." Caleb couldn't hold back the gasp of pain as his shoulders rotated into a more natural position. His wrists were bloodied from the ropes Owen had used, but the relief of being able to bring his arms around his midsection, lean forward to take some of the pressure off his ribs was almost euphoric.

"Ah, the ultimate parody." Reagan laughed, tossing Caleb's shirt at him. "At least you didn't go with Princess Vespa."

"Give me time." Caleb carefully took the shirt. "Star Wars is so out of your league, but Space Balls is definitely fitting."

"We're not complete opposites you know, more gray than black and white." The fact Reagan kept the blade in his hand didn't escape Caleb, though he was certain the man wouldn't have much trouble taking him in hand to hand considering Caleb doubted he could get out of the chair without ending up on his face. He kicked Caleb's boots towards him, staying out of arms reach. "The Trinity is very similar to your Triad."

"Except you have no problem turning on each other if provoked."

"Owen, Jonah and I are tight. We grew up together, much like you, Dean and Sam-trained together. Joining the Navy made us stronger, closer. We're family in every sense of the word. I did what I did in Guatemala to save Owen's life."

"I'm not so sure he remembers it that way." Caleb was proud when he managed to get his arms in his shirt without passing out. He looked down at his boots. Feeling vulnerable in his current bare footedness warred with the pain-filled prospect of bending over. The shoes would have to wait until the room stopped spinning.

"Whether he understood that at the time or not, we've since gotten past it." Reagan ran a finger over the edge of the blade. "You're really going to tell me you've never done something that hurt Dean or Sam in the name of the almighty greater good you all seem so hell bent on upholding?"

Caleb looked from the knife to Reagan, cold certainty numbing his pain and allowing him to put strength in his voice he couldn't afford. "Let's get something straight, Walsh. Our Triad is nothing like your team. I'd fall on my own fucking sword before shedding one drop of their blood."

Reagan snorted, replacing the KA-BAR in his sheath only to claim the gun from his side holster. "You know, Reaves I'm really beginning to understand why Owen hates you so much. Nobody likes a goody two shoes."

"Right."Caleb clenched his fist when Reagan pointed the gun at his head, counting on the fact the bastard wouldn't have gone to the trouble to untie him if he was planning to finish what Owen started. "Just call me fucking Snow White."

"On your feet, Princess." Reagan waved the gun for Caleb to get up. "I'll escort you to your chambers before the evil queen returns."

"Let me guess, you picked the one foreclosed on house with a dungeon?" Caleb managed to grab his boots and push off from the chair without face-planting. He didn't quite attain a straight posture, but he gave himself silent kudos for not toppling over when Walsh prodded him with the 9mm.

"No, but it does have a decent sized closet that locks." Reagan gave him another shove towards the hallway. "A big brave Knight like yourself isn't afraid of small, dark places are you, Reaves?"

"That the best thing you could come up with out of my file?" Caleb glanced over his shoulder, forcing a grin. "So much for the military's strategy for emotional torture."

"I considered securing a straight jacket, a few anti-psychotic drugs, but didn't have a lot of time to gather props." They reached a door at the end of the hallway and Walsh took a skeleton key from his pocket, dangling it in front of Caleb. " I could always let Owen and Jonah re-enact your parent's death to keep you from getting bored while we wait."

Caleb kept his smile in place as he took the key and opened the door. "Only if Owen kills himself for real in the grand finale."

Reagan held out his hand for the key before taking a step back so Caleb could enter the pitch black space. "Enjoy your solitude."

Caleb stared into the closet, giving Walsh another grin that made his face hurt. "I should be so lucky." 'Not really Johnny' was back, waiting silently for Caleb to join him. As The Knight was roughly shoved inside, the lock clicking ominously behind him; the prospect of being confined in close quarters, alone with his thoughts and their bizarre projections of his long-dead mentor had another round with Owen seeming the lesser of two evils. He slid to the floor, pulling his legs to his chest despite the agony of ribs grinding against each other. Caleb lowered his pounding head to his knees, trying hard to breathe through the panic threatening to overcome him. "Come on, Deuce. Get me the hell out of here."

RcJ*SnsnsnsN*RcJ

"Dean?" Sam touched his brother's shoulder when he didn't respond to his name the second time. Even with the contact Dean was reluctant to pull his gaze from the window of their hotel room, though Sam doubted the darkened parking lot was holding the focus of his attention. "You alright?"

It was a stupid question, one to which Sam wished Dean had responded typically, with a roll of eyes or an annoyed 'are you kidding me, Sammy' glare. The flash of rare helplessness in his green eyes was magnified by his rough, tired voice.

"I thought I heard him-just now." Dean gestured to his head. "Did you?"

Sam found it hard to swallow the lump in his throat, feeling slightly guilty he was relieved to honestly answer no. He twisted the silver band on his hand, still not used to the weighty feel even after almost of a year of wearing it faithfully. The burden seemed far greater after the recent unpleasant connection with Caleb and whatever he was going through at the hands of The Trinity. "I haven't sensed him in the last half hour or so. I think that's probably a good sign, right?"

"How the hell should I know?" Dean stepped away from the window, running his hand over his hair. He favored Sam with a scowl, before starting a small tight pace between their double beds. The more characteristic action had Sam releasing a held breath as his brother continued his rant. "Apparently Merlin left a lot out of the fucking instruction manual-a whole bunch of shit Jim or any other Guardian before him didn't see fit to cover in their journals."

"You mentioned Jim saying something about a test." Sam hadn't been particularly surprised by the revelation. The ins and outs of being The Guardian was one of the few things Dean didn't share with his brother, or Caleb. He'd asked Mac about it once, the former Scholar confessing he'd peppered Pastor Jim with questions in the beginning of his term, only to have his old friend placate him with parables and platitudes over iced tea and pie. Sam doubted his father, The Knight had taken time to contemplate the ins and outs of Jim's many facets or cared to know, but Mac had made sense when he'd told Sam that he'd finally come to understand that part of what made The Guardian, The Guardian, was the complex mystery that shrouded the position. "Can you tell me more about that?"

Dean snorted. "Don't you mean 'will I'?" His brother rubbed at his eyes. "Trust me, Sam if Pastor Jim, Julian or anyone else had given specifics on The Trinity, I'd be spilling my guts."

"But The Lady of the Lake…"

"Is a bitch." Dean growled and Sam was smart enough to drop it, despite his curiosity as to just what his brother knew firsthand concerning the legendary witch.

"Okay."

"Besides, this was different than the stuff with the rings." Dean sat down on one of the beds, holding his head in his hands. "I heard him-like when we were kids and one of us was in trouble."

Sam took a seat on the other, facing his brother. "I haven't been able to contact him telepathically. I've tried over and over again." Admittedly, Sam was not the most adept at using his ability, especially since he'd stopped practicing after his mistake with Ruby, but his link with Caleb had never required much effort, access to the other psychic was as natural as breathing.

He waited for Dean to look up at him. "I think they are using something powerful to block him. They obviously know what he's capable of."

"It's what Owen's capable of that worries me, Sam." Dean stood once more, resuming his pacing. "This had nothing to do with his abilities, damn it."

Sam held his tongue, remaining on the bed and bolstering his patience. Who was he to deny his brother any twinge of reassurance despite the logical little voice in his head protesting that between the two of them Sam should be the one open to any communication from Caleb.

Dean stopped and stared at him as if he had read his thoughts. "Damien and I have our own connection, you know, one that goes beyond being psychic."

Sam could not refute, despite the twinge of jealously that usually followed such a declaration on Caleb's part. After all, the rush of protectiveness he felt for his big brother in that moment was a silent testimony to his all too concrete understanding of the link Dean shared with Caleb. Sam would always believe Dean capable of doing the impossible. "I know, man. If Caleb could make anyone hear him, it would be you."

Dean sighed, his glassy gaze going from Sam to the connecting door between theirs and Joshua's room. "Josh got anything yet?"

Sam shook his head. "He's tried scrying for a lost brother, even used the spell Caleb used to pull us back from Hell."

"Did he use Damien's journal and the bracelet I gave him?"

Sam nodded. "Nothing's working."

Dean started to move around the bed but Sam reached out and caught his sleeve.

"Having The Guardian watching over his shoulder is not going to make his job any easier."

Dean pulled away, but didn't move closer to the door. "So my Advisor said repeatedly right before he slammed the fucking door in my face and locked it. I should have blown a hole in the mother."

Sam raised a sharp brow and Dean sighed. "The door, idiot, not Josh-at least not yet."

"He's worried about Caleb too, Dean." Sam forced a smile, hoping to find some comfort in his brother's sense of humor. "You understand how a guy can get when someone picks on his little brother."

Instead of eliciting mirth, Sam watched the green of Dean's eyes harden to stony jade. "Josh has no clue how to be Caleb's brother."

"He's doing the best he can with his limited experience in the position." Sam didn't point out the fact Dean was not above tormenting both Joshua and Caleb with their unwanted sibling status when it served his purpose. Obviously, the teasing might have also been a way for Dean to assure himself that neither Knight nor Advisor was happy with the arrangement. It seemed Sam wasn't the only one with some jealousy issues, but he bit back on his instinct to throw fire on gasoline.

"Are you talking about Triad magic or being a brother, Sam?"

"Both." Sam hated a lot of things about their lives growing up, but he'd learned never to take for granted the valuable lessons it had taught him-ones he didn't fully appreciate until it was almost too late. "Not everyone is as lucky as you, me and Caleb."

"Yeah, some luck we three have." Dean gave a final glance to the door before moving to the opposite side of the room which held a table and his lap top. "Did Josh at least get through to Missouri?"

"He was on the phone with her when I stepped out to take a call from Eli." Sam had been allowed to stay and assist Joshua in the spell work that showed no promise for a quick solution to their current situation.

"What's the professor know?"

"He's never heard of anything like The Trinity, but he's going to have a heart to heart with Griffin." Sam made his way to the table. "Did Ethan turn up anything on Reagan Walsh?"

Dean turned his computer so Sam could see the screen. "Just some juvenile records, grave desecration, vandalism; typical stuff you'd find with most hunters. His military records are high clearance, but E's going to try and pull in a favor from a Homeland Security contact."

"What about Carolyn and the Geek Squad?" Sam looked up from the screen to his brother. "You called her?"

"Yeah." Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. "Carolyn got that high-pitched trill to her voice that I've come to realize means she's super excited and on to something way too geeky for me to comprehend. She didn't give me a chance to ask what it was before she blurted something about Riley's new graphic novel and talking to some dude named George."

"George is a girl, Dean." Sam never failed to be amazed by his brother's narrow focus when it came to The Brotherhood. The hunt always took precedence over the bigger picture. "She's a fact checker for The Geek Squad."

"We have fact checkers?"

"Several." Sam sighed, understanding Mackland's warning that details were never The Guardian's forte. "George is a grad student at NYU. Carolyn introduced her to me last summer before I moved to New York."

"George, huh?" The mention of a woman did what Sam's earlier attempt at humor had not. Dean's face twitched, a hint of mischievous grin tugging at his mouth. "Damien's never mentioned you hanging out with anyone named George."

"That's probably because I am smart enough to meet her in places Caleb is sure never to show up, like the NYU library and the Natural Museum of History."

"Is she hot?"

"She's 5'2, covered in tats, piercings, and has a love for all things anime." None of that was true, but Sam wasn't about to encourage his brother and Caleb's butting into his love life by sharing the fact, Georgia was blonde, 'girl-next-door' pretty, and so reminiscent of Jess it hurt to look at her for very long, like staring directly into a solar flare. "Drop it."

"Don't be so quick to judge, Sammy." Dean's full on smile appeared, lifting some of the weariness from his five o'clock shadowed face. "I once had a life changing three night tryst with an Asian trapeze artist whose whole body was a work of inked art. She had bars and rings poked in places you cannot begin to imagine. The things she could do with that little spiky thing in her tongue…"

"Dean!" Sam snapped his fingers, derailing one of his brother sordid tales. "I think Caleb would probably appreciate us concentrating on the problem at hand, instead of your desire to besmirch my honor."

"Besmirch? Forget I said anything." Dean shook his head. "You are far too lame for this chick, George-maybe any woman under seventy, and I'll have you know Damien appreciates that story every time I tell it."

Sam was saved from defending himself when Dean's cell started to ring, vibrating across the table beside the computer. His brother picked it up and grimaced.

"Why the hell is Bobby calling?"

"I didn't tip him off." Dean had been adamant about not checking in with the older hunter, knowing he'd tell them to call Mac, a conversation Dean and Sam agreed Caleb would not want to take place unless absolutely necessary.

"I'm afraid Missouri could be the likely culprit." Joshua appeared in the connecting doorway, looking as disheveled as Sam could recall.

Dean jabbed a finger at him. "Meaning you're the one to blame."

"You told me to contact her." Joshua crossed the room. "In fact, you insisted."

"I didn't tell you to blab all the specifics. Did you tell her Caleb had been kidnapped?"

"How was I supposed to explain the need to call for a lost member of The Triad, oh great one in the skill of subterfuge? It's not exactly wise or easy to lie to a psychic."

"Especially one who wields a mighty spoon," Dean growled. "You spilled your guts on purpose, Missouri's Boy."

Sam pulled the phone away from Dean, stepping in between his brother and Joshua. He answered it with an overly chipper voice that had Joshua rolling his eyes and Dean groaning. "Hey, Bobby. How's it going?"

"Don't hey how's it going Bobby me, Stretch. What the hell have you three idgits gone and done now?"

"Here's Dean. He'll explain everything." Sam pushed the phone back to Dean who lifted his hands and attempted to dance out of range. Sam latched onto his brother's arm and hissed. "You're The Guardian."

Dean grabbed the phone, teeth bared. "A position which is proving to be nothing but a pain in my ass."

Joshua waited until Dean had moved across the room before turning to Sam. "Neither Bobby nor Missouri will be able to reach Mackland until tomorrow. When I spoke to Mother last night, she said their wine tour would be taking them into the Italian countryside today, and out of cell range. Perhaps we'll have better news by then."

Sam nodded, thankful for the fact Bobby nor Missouri would have a chance to hearken their former Scholar. "The last thing Dean needs is to feel like he's got an audience overseeing his every move."

Joshua snorted. "Of course no one wants to have his actions scrutinized, especially by parties extremely vested in the outcome of said ventures."

"He trusts you, Josh." Sam glanced over his shoulder at his brother. "He's just worried about Caleb and thrown by this whole Trinity business."

"Rightfully so." Joshua ran a hand over his hair. "I found myself wishing Malachi was still around so that I could fleece him for any knowledge he might have had to impart in his devilish manner on the subject."

"Because Malachi was so trustworthy." Sam understood the temptation, wondering himself if Ruby would have had any such secrets she would have been stockpiling for the perfect time to use them to her advantage, like she had with the Triad trap she'd used against them. "We're better off sticking to our own resources."

"None of which seem to be very helpful currently." Joshua took a seat on the bed, looking towards Dean who was red-faced and highly animated in his discussion with Bobby. "Reagan Walsh seemed to be telling the truth when he said The Order had managed to keep a tight lid on their existence."

"Maybe not." Sam took a seat beside him, watching Dean also. His brother was saying something about involving others and them getting themselves blown to bits. He imagined the reference was to Ellen and Jo, two losses that had torn pieces out of Dean-pieces Sam wasn't sure he could ever reassemble in a way that would allow Dean to let himself off the hook. Sam cleared his throat, pushing thoughts of those they had lost out of his mind as he met Joshua's gaze. "Carolyn might know something."

"Of course." Joshua laughed, rubbing his eyes. "Because my lovely wife is quite full of earth-shattering surprises these days."

"She mentioned something about Riley and Georgia Slocomb."

"Not surprising." Joshua met his gaze with a tired but genuine smile. "The three have been assisting Bradley with his current thesis concerning Brotherhood genealogy."

"She mentioned Riley's Graphic Novel."

"I prefer to believe Carolyn's expert research skills are being put to more educational pursuits, ones such as Bradley's lofty goals to obtain a degree and not Riley's childish exploits to memorialize us all in the comic book genre."

"No matter the end goal, that's quite a think tank at our disposal." Sam sometimes wondered if his father had exposed him to the more academic side of The Brotherhood more often, let Mackland introduce him to the complex hierarchy of men and women that worked behind the scenes, if he would have felt differently about his destiny. Maybe he wouldn't have tried so hard to escape a future which he saw only stacked with violence, hopelessness and despair, a place his dreams and talents would be wasted.

"Carolyn will apply herself completely, I have no doubt." Joshua looked towards Dean once more. "Caleb is not the only one who has her unwavering loyalty."

"Dean didn't tell her about the kidnapping, only that we had encountered The Trinity."

"He's right about things staying on a need to know basis, but Missouri needed to know if she was going to be of any assistance. Unfortunately, I had already tried every spell she suggested. She also encountered the same telepathic black hole that you did. She believes a powerful spell is behind the interference, along the lines of a very complex totem called a Witch's Purse."

"I've seen one of those before." Sam took another glance at his brother as memories of the New Mexico hunt gone awry filled his thoughts. They'd almost lost Dean then, and all Sam could think about at the time was how the entire messed up job was destroying his chance to be free of their father. "Caleb and I destroyed one that was blacking out a whole protected area."

"The bad news is, without actually physically dissembling the purse and scattering its contents, there is no means to counter it. The good news is such spell work requires the talent of a powerful witch, several in fact."

Sam met Joshua's gaze. "Meaning we could possibly determine who's helping The Trinity?"

"Meaning it gives Missouri a strong lead that may or may not turn up anything helpful." Joshua touched his side, the place where Sam knew the mark of his coven lay. Their Advisor preferred not to mix Brotherhood business with his other allegiance, but Sam knew all too well how lines often blurred when it came to keeping separate lives. "Crafters are also extremely discreet."

"Too bad for me ours isn't so tight-lipped." Dean rejoined them, his voice more resolute than angry. "Bobby is heading this way."

"That's not exactly a bad thing, Dean." Sam knew his brother didn't want to involve the people they cared for in angel business, but now that The Trinity was a factor, they could use all the help they could get. "We may need back-up."

"Has Bobby heard of anything such as The Order?" Joshua asked.

"Par for the course tonight, no." Dean stuffed his phone in his jacked. "He did have a little piece of friendly advice for me and Sam, though. He said instead of sitting around with Josh's magic wand stuck up our asses, we should be out doing what we came here to do in the first place, what will bring Walsh to us-which is to find the fucking Lance."

"He could have a point." Sam shrugged when his brother favored him with a fierce glower. "I'm not saying we give it to The Trinity, only that it could also bring Castiel back into the picture and help us find Caleb."

"I take that except for the miraculous reappearance of the Impala restored to her pristine condition, your prayers are being ignored." Joshua nodded to the bedside. "Pastor Jim might have suggested you take to bend and knee?"

Dean's glare intensified as it moved to his Advisor. "If Cas could be here, he would."

"I just find it odd that he chooses now not to answer your heed. Perhaps, like Reagan Walsh he realizes the impact of a good dose of desperation."

"Are you suggesting Cas knows what's going on and is ignoring me so I have more incentive to track down The Lance?"

"He's not saying that, Dean." Sam favored Joshua with a look that he hoped expressed the fact that Sawyer's 'foot in mouth' disease, as Bobby often referred to it, was rearing its ugly head. "That would be extremely insensitive of him, and completely uncalled for."

"Right, because we all know Josh is Mr. Couth." Dean took a deep breath and blew it out. "Bobby's right. I've wasted time. I should have stayed focused on The Lance, and not some long shot to find where the bastards stashed Damien."

"Bobby means well, but he's not the one wearing a ring that allows him a ringside seat to what's going on with Caleb." Sam held his brother's gaze, sensing the shifting emotions beneath Dean's stalwart surface. He hated that Dean was so quick to doubt himself, hated it more that he knew he, like their father, had played a part in feeding those insecurities over the years when it suited him. "You made the right call, the same call Caleb would have made if the situation was reversed."

"Yeah, well, red dragons are notorious for letting their emotions get the best of them." Sam found it somewhat comforting that his brother referenced Pastor Jim's story, a favorite way the former Guardian had of explaining away Caleb's impulsivity when they were younger. Dean moved to his bed where his duffel lay open. He took his fake badge and slipped it on his jeans, tossing the other Caleb had worn that morning to Sam. "You're filling in for Hutchinson. We're going to check out Tennyson's night life."

"Did Bobby suggest calling in any further back up, Officer Starsky?" Sam noted that Joshua was smart enough to pose that question with a bed in between him and Dean.

"He might have, but I think it's a bad idea." Dean checked the gun at his side, adding Caleb's to the holster at his back. He picked up Pan's Flute and handed it to Sam. "I don't want more people than necessary finding out about The Order. The last thing I need is for my very new Triad to appear weak or vulnerable, touchable. If Sam and I don't check in within the next hour, call Ethan and Eli."

"What about Silas?" Sam asked, thinking of one of the few men from Jim Murphy's reign that Dean trusted.

Dean shrugged. "Silas is on a well-deserved vacation in the Italian countryside."

"You sent him to watch over Mother and Mackland?" Joshua took a step out from between the beds, meeting Dean as he moved towards the door.

"See if you can keep that little bit of information to yourself, Mama's Boy. I know it's hard for you, but I don't want to ruin my chances at getting some of Mac's famous souvenirs because he thinks I'm wasting man power."

"Thank you." Sam's mouth twitched as Dean rolled his eyes at Joshua's sincere look of gratitude. He knew his brother had made protection for those in their inner circle a priority, but wasn't quite aware of the steps he'd taken. Perhaps it was a byproduct of Dean's misplaced guilt and responsibility for those they had lost, but it also a showed how he was a different Guardian than Jim Murphy.

"You really want to thank me? Figure out something to help us get Damien back in case this hunt for the Holy Lance is a bust."

Joshua nodded. "I'll leave no stone unturned."

"Reinforce the wards." Dean pointed to the symbols preventing angels from entering without invitation. "Stay inside until we get back, or until backup arrives."

"I'm quite capable of handling myself." Joshua folded his arms over his chest.

"So are Mackland and your mom. Humor me." Dean started for the door. "Let's go, Hutch."

"Wait," Joshua followed after them. "Does that mean I have some sort of secret detail? Because I take issue with being shadowed without my prior knowledge and find it quite unsettling that you..."

Sam closed the door on Joshua's untypical use of foul language as Dean ignored his Advisor's inquiry, and headed for the Impala. "You do have someone assigned to him."

Dean opened the driver's door, smirking at Sam over the roof of the Chevy. "You think I'm going to leave my Geek-girl Friday vulnerable? The woman knows all my passwords, and she's my only good competition in Words with Friends. All those years of Mac making me read dictionaries and thesauruses in a hope to make me a better student has left me untouchable."

"Seriously?" Sam frowned, not sure if his brother taking time to play games on his smart phone or the fact he apparently had an intricate network of spies at his fingertips perplexed him more.

Dean swung the car out of the parking lot, turning onto the road that would take them back into Tennyson. "You don't remember how I used to cream you and Caleb at Scrabble that one summer Pastor Jim enforced Friday Family Game Night."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm just wrapping my mind around the fact you've got Joshua and Carolyn under surveillance."

"You make it sound sinister." Dean took his eyes off the road long enough to glance at his brother. "I'm just protecting my interests."

"Like The Godfather?"

"They don't call me Corleone for nothing."

"Ethan is the only one who calls you that." Sam shifted in his seat. "Do you have people shadowing him and Eli too?"

Dean turned his eyes back to the darkened road instead of answering Sam's question. "You do," Sam accused. "How far does this thing extend?"

"Only to the people closest to me." Dean flashed Sam a look that said the conversation was quickly coming to an end. "Creating a crack notch Security Team was the first assignment I gave to Silas, sort of a supernatural Secret Service. They give me eyes and ears, and some extra hands."

"And me and Caleb? Are we on their rotation?" Sam wasn't sure how he wanted his brother to answer, but Dean's reply had Sam's chest clenching.

"You think I'm going to live states away from you and Damien with no way to reach you two after the hell we've been through the last few years."Dean clenched his right fist. "If Merlin wanted his alarm to be truly useful, it should have come with a fucking teleport system."

Sam shook his head. "There's no way. We would know if..."

"The scary part is you would have never known if I wasn't telling you right now, little brother."

"But how…"

"Let's just say I know you and Damien better than you know yourselves." Dean reached out turned the radio on, effectively ending anymore questions on Sam's part. Sam silently appraised the man beside him in the glow of the street lamps now appearing more frequently as they entered town. It was easy to see flashes of the protective older brother he had always known in The Guardian Dean was becoming.

Sam was surprised that the latest revelation didn't have his old friend anger and resentment bubbling up, causing him to mouth off about control and the need to live his own life at least in New York, free of the clutches of his family. Instead, the idea of Dean's priority being to watch over him, even with all the changes they had undergone filled him with a sense of peace and buoyancy he couldn't explain. Maybe Pastor Jim had been right all those years ago when Sam had left for Stanford. Love was only a chain when one was trying desperately to pull away, any other time it was an anchor that kept you from being lost at sea.

Next part. . .