"We are not here on earth to change our destiny; but to fulfill it." –Guy Finley

Caleb could almost give Griffin Porter credit, the man had taste, or at least the money and sense to employ people who helped him achieve the illusion. His house, like many of the others in the historic neighborhood of Grant Park, was a stunning tribute to the Victorian period. Griffin's home brought to mind some of Caleb's favorite haunts in New York, as well as the South End in Boston, and Cabbagetown in Toronto.

"Let me guess, Damien- you've got a hard on for Griffin's house?"

Dean came around from the driver's side, pausing at the passenger door where Caleb was still standing looking up at the grand structure before them. With its gable backlit by the early December sunset, the ornamental manor was not the place Caleb envisioned Griffin residing. Tucked into the neat corner lot, sporting patterned masonry, red brick drive, and stately wraparound porch draped in holly and crimson bows, it gave off a vibe of warmth and welcoming.

In Caleb's opinion, Griffin was more the type to dwell in a sterile condo or better yet, beneath a bridge suiting a troll. He shot Dean a grin. "It's Queen Anne, circa 1880. Not to be confused with some of the others we passed on the way in, which are clearly Gothic Revival. The steep roof, complicated asymmetrical shapes, and decorative spindles and brackets set it apart. She's a beauty."

"I knew it," Dean shook his head with a heavy sigh. "You've got that same glazed over look you had when you dragged me to look at all those jaded lady houses in New Orleans this summer."

"Painted Ladies, Deuce." Caleb stepped away from the car resolved to his fate. He rubbed his eyes, blinking a few times to relieve the blurred aura he blamed on looking up at the skyline for too long. "And it was only fair considering I'd let you hang out with all those naked ladies in that burlesque show the entire night before."

"If I recall, that exhibition held a mutual appreciation for us, unlike your little architectural tour, which was absolutely no fun for yours truly."

"Relationships are all about give and take, Dude. Try to rally some of the fake enthusiasm I mustered at the Baseball Hall of Fame." Caleb slapped Dean on the back, knowing his friend was trying to distract him from the reality they would soon be dining with Porter. Caleb understood on some level Dean's decision to give the man another chance, to embrace a new era after taking charge of The Brotherhood. Giving back a ring that Jim Murphy had taken was somehow poetic. Griffin had seemingly turned over a new leaf, and Dean understood second chances better than most but Caleb had a hard time accepting the man as a brother-in-arms and not the hated manipulative enemy he'd revealed himself to be all those years before. "And let's not forget that I'm agreeing to have dinner with the devil."

"I've met the Devil. Griffin doesn't hold a light."

Caleb forced a tight smile. Dean didn't remember much of what happened when Griffin had them kidnapped and tortured. Caleb couldn't forget the things Porter had done, or said. Until his taunts, Caleb's history had merely been the ramblings of one mad man. Daniel Elkins may have been a monster who stalked his nightmares, but Griffin Porter was all too real. At the time, Caleb had not met a man he deemed more evil. "Let's just hope Porter's good taste holds true on the inside, especially in the kitchen."

"His surroundings obviously meet your architectural geek side's approval, maybe you'll be surprised by how things go."

Caleb followed Dean's gaze over the immaculately trimmed yard, past the sculpted hedges to the road beyond where a flash of black caught his eye. The image doused any delight he took in a beautiful old house and drowned out Dean's attempts to make the evening seem somewhat promising. The dying rays of sun reflected off the shiny surface and at first Caleb was certain it was a trick of light, but then the outline of the vehicle solidified from the shadows, revealing the truck that should have been safely locked away in the barn at the farm. Even more surprising was the silhouette of the figure resting against the grill.

"What the hell…" Caleb muttered, taking an involuntary step backwards. He barely registered Dean's voice as his mind tried to process the fact John Winchester was standing not more than fifty yards from them. He blinked, fully expecting the ghostly form to be gone when he opened his eyes again. His mentor was still there, faded green coat, bearded face, and achingly familiar grim countenance intact.

"Deuce, do you see that?" Caleb's voice caught. He reached for Dean, gripped the sleeve of his jacket, his eyes not leaving the spot where John stood quietly observing them in the quickly fading light.

"See what, Damien?" Dean turned to scan the area where Caleb was staring. "If you're talking about some lame ass arch or column, then there's a good chance I could be standing on it and not know what the hell it was."

"What?" Caleb tore his eyes from John long enough to look at Dean. "He's right there!"

"Who?"

Caleb returned his gaze to the truck. The streetlight had flickered on, revealing a now empty street. The reply to Dean's question vanished from the tip of Caleb's tongue as assuredly as John and his truck had from the curb. "Never mind."

"If you two are done admiring the grounds, our gracious host awaits." Joshua called from the front steps where lights had also appeared flooding the portico and yard with soft yellow luminescence. A cold breeze picked up and Caleb blamed the sudden chill for the shiver that shook his frame.

"Caleb? You alright, man?"

The use of his name told him Dean was on the verge of worry over The Knight's odd behavior. He made a concerted effort to pull his shit together. He ran a hand through his hair, noting the faint throbbing behind his eyes, a promise of a migraine. "I'm good, just thought I saw someone on the street."

"Let me guess," Dean's sideways grin flashed, his voice losing its serious tone. "The ghost of Frank Lloyd Wright?"

"Fuck you, man." Caleb snorted, releasing his death grip on Dean with a slight shove to cover the uncharacteristic move. "See if I try to bring any culture into your very small unenlightened world again."

"Please don't, Damien." Dean shoved him back. "Stick to the lewdness and ill repute you've always brought to my life; and promise me you're not going to drool over Griffin's fluted molding or mahogany banisters? The Knight really shouldn't spout gay shit when on duty."

"I'll try not to embarrass you, Oh Great Guardian." Caleb gave another glance to the streetlight before following Dean. He chalked the apparition of his mentor up to little sleep the night before, the fact he was about to sit down with a man who had betrayed him and plotted his death on more than one occasion. It was natural to wish John was there, though it left him feeling slightly childish. "Besides, knowing Griffin the man probably gutted the entire structure, replacing everything with high-end tile, laminate furniture and gaudy chrome appliances."

To Caleb's slight disappointment the house had been painstakingly restored to the charm of its era, fixtures and even furnishings that if not original, were excellent replicas.

"Welcome, Dean." Griffin extended his hand as they crossed the threshold, gripping Dean's fiercely as The Guardian obliged. "I must say I'm glad to see the arduous task of gathering a roll of plastic and duct tape wasn't what detained you and The Knight." Griffin's gaze flicked to where Sam and Joshua had been relieved of their coats by a middle aged woman in a maid's uniform, who now came to offer the same service to Dean and Caleb. "Although I believe your Advisor was your chosen henchman the last time you graced my home."

Dean laughed and Caleb couldn't hide his own grin as he recalled the story Dean had recanted to him after his one and only visit to Griffin's house when The Guardian had gone all Godfather on Porter's ass, making the man an offer he could not refuse in true Corleone style. A small part of Caleb couldn't help but to wish Porter had provoked Dean to follow through on his threat. "No, not this time. Caleb was busy ogling your Queen Anne."

"Ah," Griffin turned his gaze to Caleb, offering his hand in a more guarded, much less exuberant manner. "I forget that you and I share an affinity for the art of structural design. I recently saw a write up on your merit award from the AIA for one of your buildings in Chelsea I believe. The work showed your affinity for the romantic era."

"Victorian is actually part of the machine era, sparked during the industrial revolution." Caleb steeled himself for contact with Porter, not remiss in remembering what else they shared. Flattery was excellent subterfuge. He had learned the hard way that the man was a powerful psychic. Caleb wasn't a seventeen year old boy anymore, his abilities probably far exceeded those of Griffin's now, but it was always taxing to ensure Caleb kept his guard up when around the man. Ring or not, Caleb didn't trust the bastard.

"Of course," Griffin nodded. "I'm sure you noted on your drive in that Grant Park is a testament to the talent of the architects of that period."

"They definitely don't make houses like this anymore." Caleb glanced at Dean, wanting to make sure his best friend took note of the effort he was making to play nice and keep up Triad diplomacy. Dean rolled his eyes, unimpressed by his poor attempt at schmoozing.

"This was my grandfather's home." Griffin let go of Caleb's hand with a slight frown that Caleb attributed to the amount of psychic energy he was probably emitting to ensure Griffin got no glimpse of his thoughts.

"Gentlemen." Porter gestured to the sitting room off to the side and waited for his guests to precede him before instructing the maid that they would like to take dinner within the hour.

"Your grandfather, Josiah Porter?" Sam asked as he took a seat beside Joshua on the high back couch near the bay window. Caleb was surprised to find a seven foot live fir with all the Christmas trim sparkling from the corner, presents stacked neatly beneath. The room smelled of fresh pine, winter in the countryside. Hissing and cracking from the fire overpowered the soft sounds of classic jazz coming from an antique record player sitting on a table near the back of the room. It had him longing to be at the farm. He wondered briefly if Griffin had family besides Eli and Ethan, who he doubted would be visiting the old man for the holidays.

"Yes." Griffin moved past the two chairs Caleb and Dean had claimed, going to a large mahogany desk by the fire place. The smile on his face made it clear he was pleased The Scholar recalled his grandfather's name. "It was rare for the time and sentiment of our nation, but he was one of the first black doctors with a family practice in the south, not to mention quite the accomplished hunter in his day, which I believe protected him from any backlash. The Brotherhood has always protected their own."

"His journal was one of the first to talk about a specific treatment ofAuloniad poisoning," Sam continued. Caleb didn't miss the pointed look the younger Winchester shot him, one which spoke of how irony tended to play out in their lives. "It was helpful a few months ago when Caleb was attacked by a wood nymph."

"My grandfather was a fine doctor and a good man. It's one of the reasons I chose to follow in his footsteps, though my path has lent more to research and drug therapy as I seemed to lack the bedside manner required of a good physician." Griffin lined five glasses in front of a crystal decanter filling each with a generous splash of brandy. "I'm glad to know his knowledge continues to prove valuable to The Brotherhood. I hope the same will be said of me. In fact, Joshua tells me that I'm being afforded that opportunity today by receiving this highly unusual visit by the complete Triad."

Joshua who hadn't spoken until now addressed Dean. "I explained to Griffin that The Triad had been presented a most interesting case that had ties to the former Guardian, Henry Seacor. We hoped that he might be able to shed some light on the subject."

Griffin handed Dean a drink. "I must say my imagination has been buzzing. I haven't heard Henry Seacor's name in quite some time, except in reminiscing with some of the old timers. His Triad doesn't seem to get the attention that some of the others do."

"So you did know him?" Dean took the glass, shooting Caleb a brief look before taking a drink.

"He gave me my ring." Griffin passed the other glass he was holding to Caleb before running a finger over the silver band on his hand. "The first time, that is." He moved back to the desk to procure the other glasses which he took to Sam and Joshua. "He also gave Julian Smith's Triad their rings. I know you boys are quite familiar with them. Needless to say there aren't many of Seacor's generation left. Julian, then James brought most of the hunters now in the field officially into the fold. As I recall, Seacor was a typical Guardian, foreboding, dangerous in his own right, from a long lineage of hunters."

"Do you remember him ever talking about his time in World War II and any hand he and his Triad might have had in taking down Hitler?" Sam asked, sitting his untouched drink on the table at the end of the sofa.

"His Triad was known for their bravery during the war, just as yours will be known for stopping the apocalypse among other things." Griffin claimed his own drink before strolling to the fireplace.

"But do you recall any specific details he might have shared, a spectacular find?"

Griffin chuckled, giving Dean a curious glance. "It seems your brother doesn't quite grasp the position you hold, Dean, his privileged upbringing having blinded him to the plight of the common man, I'm afraid."

"Privileged upbringing?" Caleb felt Sam's irritation flare and resisted the urge to send the silent message of 'who's the asshole now?' to his fellow psychic. "What do you mean by that?"

"I believe Griffin is merely pointing out that the average hunter doesn't exactly sit down and chat with The Guardian," Joshua replied. "Only a select few are found in his court, and even the rarer are those that grew up in close proximity. You knew Jim Murphy in a way most others could not fathom. The Knight is typically the only Triad member that most hunters have a regular tête-à-tête with, The Scholar running a close second."

"Joshua's correct," Griffin stood poised in front of the fire place like a speaker behind a lectern. Caleb was quite certain the man was enjoying his captive audience. He was reminded of the story Griffin had weaved for him nearly twenty years before. Caleb had been riveted by his first account of how Merlin created The Brotherhood. "Unless a hunter's lineage places him in the inner folds, or he is line for succession in The Triad, most men only cross The Guardian's path when they receive their ring and even that is akin to being knighted by the king, ceremonial and impersonal at the most."

"That wasn't always the case," Dean countered and both Joshua and Griffin frowned.

"There was a time when Guardians played a more hands on role, their homes a center for Brotherhood business and pleasure. I'm guessing it was the way Merlin intended, seeing as how he designed The Round Table without a seat of distinction." Dean glanced from his brother, back to Griffin. "Sammy knows I'm not the type of king to stay tucked up safe in the castle while I send my men out to die on the battlefield, in fact I don't really see myself as the king type at all-I'm more like a dragon, constantly circling the action."

As much as Caleb had always believed in Dean's ability to be a great Guardian, it still caught him off guard when the kid commandeered a moment and shone. This particular instance of Deuce greatness was made sweeter by the fact it rendered Griffin Porter speechless.

"So can we skip the lesson on ancient Triad protocol, Professor Moriarty?" Dean placed his drink on the table between him and Caleb, leaning forward to study Griffin. "We all know you were big buddies with Julian Smith, who was in line to be the next Guardian. You had to cross paths with Seacor's Triad, and knowing your affinity for hitching your wagon to anyone with a chance at power, I'm sure you were privy to the good dirt. So, what can you tell us? "

Griffin surprised Caleb by emerging from his stupor with a bold laugh. "I have come to respect your unique direct approach, Dean, as James and Mackland often predicted I would."

"Then answer his question." Caleb growled; already weary of Porter's ability to talk around the truth, drawing out a simple explanation that of course would rob him of holding court. "Do you have information to offer us or not?"

"I'm not quite certain what intelligence you hoped I would afford, but I didn't know Seacor very well. He, as The Guardian so eloquently put it, like his direct predecessor and successor very much embraced the life of a 'king'. I did however know his Knight, having been trained by him." Griffin abandoned his invisible podium for the chair directly across from Dean. "William Horn had a knack for mesmerizing tales. As young impressionable boys, my friends and I were all enthralled with the Knight's exposition about his Triad's exploits in the War, and hung on every word during the fortunate hunt that often found us in his tutelage." Griffin glanced to Caleb. "William, as most Knights tend to be, was blindly convinced of his Guardian's astute leadership and uncommon bravery. He was quite willing to wax on about Seacor's virtue, his Purple Heart from the war as well as his contributions to The Brotherhood."

"You once told me that Merlin chose Knights for their bravery, strength and strict moral code of conduct." Caleb swished the brandy in his glass, before downing the drink in one gulp. He hoped it took some of the edge off of his growing headache, and calmed the hackles he could feel rearing their ugly head with Griffin's well-disguised condescension. "These days I've heard you refer to them as nothing more than pit bulls on a short leash, now brainwashed braggarts."

"So William Horn spoke of his Triad's time in World War II?" Sam broke in before Griffin could reply to the baited accusation, assuring the conversation did not take a nasty turn.

"More specifically, perhaps he mentioned a powerful relic they claimed in Germany?" Joshua followed up, with the briefest of disproving glances in Caleb's direction. Caleb picked up on the irritation from both Scholar and Advisor and relaxed into the leather chair with a snort, snatching the remainder of Dean's drink. He didn't know whether to be amused or alarmed that Sam and Joshua seemed to have formed a fledgling alliance.

Griffin's face lit up with recognition. "Ah? You're on a quest for The Holy Lance?"

"I take it you've heard of it." Dean arched a brow. "Maybe had it on your Christmas lists a time or two, Griff?"

"Admittedly, I'm not the first to be enchanted by its legend." Griffin chuckled, his dark eyes agleam with intrigue.

Caleb clenched his fist, easily recalling another 'legend' that had bewitched Griffin. "No, that list is pretty long, Hitler and Attila the Hun right on top," he muttered.

Griffin kept his eyes on Dean, a smile plastered on his face despite Caleb's unflattering insinuation. "In my time, Seacor's Triad, their ties to The Holy Lance and its dark origins generated as much speculation and heated debate in The Brotherhood as your Triad has concerning Noah Seaver's amulet and certain ties to demon kind."

Griffin's reference to Caleb's lineage didn't sting the way it had when Caleb was a boy. Porter wasn't able to twist the knife, playing on a scared kid's insecurities and weaknesses. The years had not brought Caleb peace but an acceptance of what he was that at least made the truth less of an effective weapon to be used against him. Still, he wished for not the hundredth time that he had no ties to fucking Noah Seaver and the man's amulet, that he wasn't a card-bearing member of the demon tribe. It made it worse that he had utilized the damn necklace himself, possessing demons and boosting his own psychic ability in a last ditch effort to save Dean from Hell.A plan that not only backfired spectacularly, but released the likes of Malachi Harris on the world. The fact he and Sam had destroyed the thing made no difference. It would be known for generations to come, even though like their predecessors, they had glazed it over, going so far as to leave gaps in their written history.

"That would probably explain why it's not written about specifically in any of their Triad's journals," Sam commented. "They probably wanted as little attention drawn to it as possible."

Griffin continued, ignoring Caleb's obvious displeasure at his own hostile comparison. "When rumors surfaced that Seacor's Triad had possession of the spear, many hunters of my grandfather's generation expected the tide to turn in the daily battle against the supernatural. When things remained the same theories ran the gambit from those who believed that the Lance was nothing more than an historical object, lacking the proclaimed power to those who thought that perhaps Seacor had deposited it in a secret hiding place to assure the balance of things continued."

"Let me guess which theory you latched onto?" Caleb couldn't help himself. It was too easy to make the short leap. After all, Griffin's desire to find the Brotherhood's treasure was what had put him on the direct collision course with their lives. "You and your band of merry marauders thought he might have placed it with the missing journals and stockpile of weapons collected throughout the decades? A weapon like The Spear of Destiny would definitely ensure victory to an underdog group set on mutiny."

"Damien." Dean sighed, sending Caleb a sidelong glance that communicated more than the silent explicative and demand for Caleb to keep his mouth shut his best friend made sure was broadcasting loud and clear in his thoughts.

Caleb stopped short of apologizing, going back to nursing Dean's drink as a gesture of compliance.

"I embraced the last theory as a young hunter." Griffin didn't appear insulted by Caleb's accusation, but rather resigned to his past deeds. "But I found it highly improbable as I later unraveled Samuel Colt's plans and the great pains he went to in making sure no one found his Triad's hiding place. I firmly believe no Guardian before Dean accessed the weapon store in Wyoming. Therefore, The Lance if indeed recovered by Seacor'sTriad, must have been secured elsewhere."

"We have reason to believe that Seacor might have hidden The Holy Lance in plain sight, that it might have even been mistaken for a part of his personal estate and not claimed for The Brotherhood by the next generation," Joshua inserted, and Caleb realized with a modicum of guilt that bringing up Griffin's betrayal of Jim Murphy might hit home for their Advisor, considering Joshua's father had a hand in it.

"It wouldn't be too surprising, however unfortunate. Julian and his Triad weren't quite prepared when their reign started. Julian was young, and although knowledgeable of the position he would hold, not exactly prepared to take on the wealth of responsibility it would require."

"Someone not so keen on being the Guardian," Dean shot Caleb a glance. "Imagine that."

"Don't mistake me. Julian wanted his Triad to take their rightful places, but they weren't expecting it when it happened. When Seacor died, his Knight and Scholar elected to step down. Like you Dean, Seacor's understudy, for lack of a better term, had been killed in the war and it seemed the better choice to instate a complete Triad than to allow The Brotherhood to go without a Guardian." Porter met Caleb's gaze. "I give Mackland Ames great credit in managing solo as long as he did. It's not an easy feat, especially in times of great unrest."

"So Julian would have been overwhelmed by his new duties," Sam said, thoughtfully. "His Knight and Scholar were ready to get out and not exactly in the state of mind to make sure all the things were in order."

"As a Guardian, James Murphy was actually the first in a long time to make it a priority to keep up with artifacts of a supernatural nature. He made it a sort of personal mission, which I assumed was brought about mostly by his first Knight's penchant for adding to his personal collection, but even after John had taken over from Elkins, Jim kept a close eye out for any object that might be of supernatural consequence, going so far as to spearhead hunts to retrieve them. If the Lance of Longinus had reared its tipped head, I have no doubt James would have found a way to procure it."

"But if it was stored away in Seacor's house where his daughter lived until a few years ago, Jim might not have even considered it," Dean looked at Caleb. "That makes our little scenario pretty plausible."

"And your scenario is?" Griffin inquired.

Caleb resisted the urge to tell Porter that information was on a need to know basis, and he sure as hell didn't need to know. Instead, he finished off the brandy, hoping it would relieve the rhythmic pounding in his skull.

"We believe someone purchased The Lance at the auction of Seacor's estate," Sam answered.

"Families of former Guardians are often treated like those of past presidents. It would be protocol for one of The Brotherhood, perhaps someone in a position like Joshua's new bride, to be in attendance of such an event preventing such a thing from happening."

"The auction took place nearly two years ago," Joshua spoke with the briefest of glances in Dean's direction. Caleb picked up on their Advisor's surge of emotion, felt his own wave of something akin to affection as he noted the careful way in which Joshua continued, obviously hoping not to incur his usual faux pas of saying the wrong thing at the worst times. "That was a time of great adversity and worry for The Brotherhood."

Griffin was not so considerate. "That's right. With both Guardians elect dead, the rest of the future Triad indisposed and their Advisor in extremely poor health, I suppose the mundane task of keeping track of a long since deceased Guardian's estate was low on the list of important duties."

"So our theory that The Holy Lance was picked up by someone in the dark about what they had holds water."

Caleb knew Dean's decision to address him directly was not haphazard and Caleb willed his muscles to relax, pushing thoughts of erasing the smirk from Griffin's face to the back of his mind. "Someone like Tennison's Mayor Jameson."

"Tennison? I know of it. It's not far from here," Griffin sat back in his chair, rubbing his chin. "The town's been in the news lately, along with their politically ambitious mayor who has his eyes set on a seat in the Senate; he's being touted as a young JFK and the city as one of the top places to raise a family, I believe."

"Which is an amazing feat considering Jameson was a no name and Tennison used to top the charts in cities with the highest murder and violent crime rate," Sam supplied.

"Hmm," Griffin's mouth twitched. "And here my Chess Club theorized Mayor Jameson was taking credit for the drastic turnaround when in fact we were certain it was due to a great influx of gay men into the area, as was the case in Midtown."

"Sorry to disappoint, but the angels believe it has less to do with the homosexual set's positive effect on property value and more to do with The Holy Lance's ability to grant great things to whomever possesses it," Joshua said.

"Angels, you say?" Griffin rubbed his chin, his eyes meeting Dean's. "Your friend, Castiel?"

Dean nodded. "Cas pointed us in this direction."

"Why would angels have interest in such a charged instrument as the one used against Christ?"

This time Caleb felt completely justified as The Knight to tell Griffin that it was none of his damn business, although in consideration to Dean he was thoughtful enough to use his diplomatic voice. He leaned forward, placing the empty glass on the table with more force than necessary. "That's not anything you need to concern yourself with, Porter."

If Griffin was rebuffed, the appearance of his maid announcing dinner kept him cordial, his most gracious host's smile in place as he stood. "Then I suppose we will have to find other stimulating conversation to tide us over during our meal."

"I'm sure Damien can offer up some Riley exploits?" Dean jerked a thumb in Caleb's direction. "He's thinking of starting a brand new journal just for new hunter mishaps."

"Ethan tells me that Boone and Kathleen's son is proving to be quite the challenge in training." Griffin grinned. "It reminds me of some of the things James Murphy did when he first began with us."

"Pastor Jim wasn't a natural hunter?" Sam asked.

"On the contrary, Samuel…" Griffin waved Sam and Josh ahead of him into the kitchen, then followed continuing to prattle on about the past and Pastor Jim. Caleb had heard the story from Griffin before. He stood, keeping his gaze on the Christmas tree twinkling at him from the corner where a blur of gold caught his eye amongst the stacked gifts of silver and blue. He blinked. His breath hitched as Atticus Finch materialized beneath the branches.

Pastor Jim's beloved pet didn't look at him, merely continued to work at his squirrel toy as if the destruction and disassembly of it was the most important task in the world. Caleb had witnessed such a scene many times at the farm, knew for a fact that it was a miracle the squirrel still existed to be toted around and gummed by an arthritic Harper Lee, passed down from Atticus who had died years ago.

Dean's hand on his arm had him jumping, an embarrassment made worse when his voice broke. "Deuce, do you think Griffin has a dog?"

"A dog?"Dean's grip tightened slightly. "Dude, you need to take it easy on the fifty year old hooch."

Caleb turned to look at his best friend who gave him a half-hearted grin. "Griffin is so the creepy, hairless cat type."

Caleb shook his head, blowing out a breathy laugh. "Yeah, you're probably right."

"Maybe even a reptile lover." Dean let him go with a look which let Caleb know that even though he wasn't making a big deal about it, he was worried. The quick once over usually reserved only for baby brothers and his beloved Impala was further proof. "I bet there are freeze dried crickets and mice in the fridge."

Caleb groaned, resisting the urge to return his gaze to the tree afraid their dog Scout might have appeared now, too. "You realize we're about to have dinner?"

"You forget how I grew up? If I let a few rodents and bugs destroy my appetite I would have starved long ago."

"Then you should have some consideration for others." Caleb raked his hands through his hair, bravely facing the tree to find only presents residing beneath its shelter once more.

"I'm considerate of your feelings, Damien. I was going to offer to take the bacon wrapped filet off your hands."

"Thanks for that." Caleb breathed a sigh of relief that had nothing to do with Dean's mock sacrifice. "It's good to know you've got my back."

"You know it." Dean inclined his head to the kitchen and Caleb for not the first time that night felt like a complete child. "I'll even make sure Josh and Sammy sit next to Griffin, and that Joshua trades plates with you. Who cares if he gets sick."

"That would be good." Caleb nodded, though the thought of having to share a table with Porter was suddenly overshadowed by the ridiculous worry that on par for the evening Pastor Jim might materialize in one of the vacant seats.

"So?" Dean hedged.

Caleb mustered a half grin, clasping Dean on the shoulder and forcing his legs to move. After all, he was the damn Knight of The Brotherhood, and a few ghosts from his past, even one as corporeal as Griffin Porter wasn't going to keep him from fulfilling his obligation to Dean. "Let's eat, Deuce."

RCJ

"One meets his destiny often in the road he takes to avoid it." –French Proverb

"Tell me again why you and Caleb get to sightsee, and Joshua and I are going to visit the Mayor?"

Sam studied Dean over his plate of scrambled eggs, crisp bacon and toast from the complimentary breakfast bar their hotel provided. Travelling with Joshua and Caleb had its advantages. Neither man was willing to stay at a seedy place when one was not forced upon them by 'depravity of locale or monetary restraints,' as Joshua so eloquently explained to Dean when he insisted they stay at one of the nicer places in Tennison.

Dean shrugged. "You and Josh look the part."

Sam added more salt to his eggs. "We look like reporters?"

"Josh prefers 'columnists.'" Dean cut into his second self-made waffle and grinned at Sam. "Columnists from an uptight, right-wing rag, who hang out at Tea Parties in their spare time."

Sam snorted. "So you and Caleb look too much like liberal democrats?"

"Damien and I look like cops. Don't forget we're going into the city as two detectives from the seedy side of Memphis, sent by our concerned Captain, Robert Singer to check out all the work Tennison's finest have been doing to turn their dump of a city around. That way we can cover all our bases in case Jameson's not our guy."

Sam rolled his eyes at the cover story, picking at his buttered toast. "You made sure Bobby knows to expect a phone call from Tennison's Chief, because this isn't some backwoods set-up?"

"How long have I been doing this job, Sammy?" Dean shoved in another bite of syrup drenched pastry, eyeing the waffle maker on the counter with a contemplative gleam. "I have it all under control. Captain Singer is prepared."

"What about Caleb?" Sam hadn't missed the fact their Knight had been strangely quiet through dinner the night before. He would have chalked it up to deference to Dean's request to play nice with Griffin, but the uncharacteristic silence had lasted after their departure, extending throughout the drive to Tennison where upon arrival Caleb didn't even object to being roomed with Joshua.

"Don't worry about Damien. He won't admit it, but he loves playing cop. I think if he hadn't had a juvenile record as thick as the dictionaries Mac used to give us at Christmas, he'd ditched the architect thing and embraced the badge."

"I'm not talking about him doing the job, Dean. You don't think he's acting…off?" Sam couldn't put his finger on it, the sense he was missing something even stronger than before. He tried to blame it on a repeat of the annoying piano dream, the horrible feeling of being ill prepared still lingering over him like a dark cloud.

"Off?" Dean took the last bite of his breakfast, chewing slowly as he regarded Sam.

Sam wasn't sure his brother was purposively being coy or if he was truly overreacting. The trauma of their battle with Lucifer, how close they had all come to the end, haunting him in a way he wasn't even aware, stirring up old memories from a past he'd worked hard to put behind him. "Do you think he hit his head harder than he let on? Maybe I should have…"

"Dude, Castiel fixed Damien's head," Dean interrupted, putting his fork down with a slight smirk. "As much as it can be fixed."

Sam sighed, unwilling to be drawn out of his funk by his brother's sense of humor. He shoved his plate away. "Just forget I said anything."

"You really want to know what I think?" Dean placed his elbows on the table. "I think we're all a little off after what went down. Battling with Lucifer, taking on Michael, not to mention getting used to being The Triad after years of build up. Then there's you moving to New York, going back to school."

Sam groaned as Dean arched a knowing eyebrow. He shouldn't have been surprised his brother was shifting the focus. "You're really trying to make this about me and school. I love school. My life is great, just like I always wanted."

"And here I thought things might have been a little different than you imagined. Because you're different than you were back then. For one thing, you're not running away from something you hate this time, and there's no Jessica."

"This isn't about Jessica, Dean." Sam knew the snap in his tone, the way his fingers tightened into a fist around his fork was belaying his words. "I'm over that. New York isn't anything like Palo Alto." But in a very real way it was far too similar. His friends from Stanford had moved on with their lives long ago, were lawyers, doctors and business men and women, but he still saw them reflected in the faces of the kids he had classes with, heard their voices echoed in lectures, felt their haunting gaze on him as he walked the hallowed halls of a very different institution than the one in which they'd marked time. They had married, built homes, become parents leaving Sam behind with their ghosts. Sam who had been away at war, fighting monsters they would never understand, making sacrifices they could not appreciate-the rest of the world going on in his absence.

"I'll give you that New York's on the east coast. Your new digs, thanks to Damien, are a whole hell of lot nicer than your old crappy apartment, but your roommate is nowhere in the same league as Jess." Dean picked up coffee, took a drink. "I'm just saying that things aren't exactly what I expected, so I figured you …"

"You mean playing house with Juliet isn't all you thought it would be? Just because you suck at having a life, doesn't mean I'm destined to the same fate." Sam knew he was being a dick, the quick flash of hurt in Dean's green eyes a giant beacon pointing out just how much of an ass Sam could be, how much similarity he shared with their father.

"Believe it or not, Sammy, I like my life." Dean put his cup down, glancing over Sam's shoulder towards the doorway. Sam didn't need to turn around to know Caleb and Joshua had entered. Dean lowered his voice, the words more poignant due to their calm, matter-of-fact delivery. "Someday I hope you can say the same thing, little brother."

Sam was the first to break their stare down. He picked up his orange juice, taking a long drink to wash down the golf ball sized lump that had sprung to the back of his throat. He pulled his plate back in reach, digging into his eggs so he wouldn't have to look up at Caleb who would pick up on their emotions easy enough without Dean's kicked puppy look and Sam's guilt-ridden face.

"Someone take away your waffle making privileges, Deuce?" The Knight claimed the chair by The Guardian, glancing to the counter with a frown where a couple of old ladies gathered around the griddle and plastic cups of batter. Sam had a sudden image of Caleb shooing the old women away like some fanatical bodyguard. "I'll fight off The Red Hat Society if you want me to."

"Should I be concerned you know what a bunch of grandmas decked out in weird hats call themselves, Damien?" Dean forced his easy smile in place, flashing his best friend a crooked grin.

Sam fought back a tiny twinge of jealousy, and focused his irritation on something more rational when Caleb snatched the last piece of bacon from his plate.

"This your way of telling me you already worked your way through all the women in New York under sixty?"

"No, you can thank Esme for that bit of trivia. The last time she and Mac invited me to their place, Jocelyn and her chapter were visiting them before touring upper Manhattan."

"If I recall, Mother said you dropped by uninvited, as usual, then took it upon yourself to woo my grandmother's traveling set with your ridiculous attempt at chivalry." Joshua slid out of his overcoat, placing it over the chair closest to Sam. "She told me you provided a guided tour of the Met, dazzling them with your pretentious knowledge of the Renaissance artists I believe, as well as using one of your sordid contacts, no doubt a former sexual conquest, to secure tickets to a highly popular Broadway show the tour company was unable to provide."

"Josh is just jealous I live only a few blocks from our parents and that his grandmother likes me best." Caleb smirked at his stepbrother. "Did Esme happen to mention Jocelyn introduced me as her 'youngest' grandson to all her red-hatted friends?"

"I need coffee." Joshua turned on his heel, moving towards the buffet line with a clip.

"Bring me a cup, and a couple of Danish, Bro," Caleb called after him, a self-satisfied grin gracing his features.

Sam had to give The Knight credit. He was handling his family status with Joshua much better than expected.

"He's far too easy."

"We'll see how you feel when your grandfather Cullen introduces Joshua as a newest shareholder in Ames Industry at the next board meeting." Sam couldn't help himself. The look of panic on Caleb's face was priceless.

Caleb leaned forward. "Did Josh tell you that?"

"Sam's yanking your chain, Damien. Don't worry. Your plan to turn the whole step-sibling thing to your advantage is right on track." Sam stifled a yelp, nearly choking on his last bite of egg when Dean kicked him hard under the table. "I guess that means you're back to your old self and done pouting about spending the evening with Griffin."

"I was not pouting," Caleb defended, claiming Dean's coffee as his own until Joshua returned with his. "Which is more than I can say for The Scholar. What have you two been arguing about that's sent the Runt spiraling into one of his brood fests?"

"I'm not brooding," Sam growled, shooting Dean a look he hoped would implore pity. He didn't think his brother would give a play by play recap of their discussion to Caleb, at least not until Knight and Guardian were alone, but wanted to make sure Dean didn't take their pledge to be completely honest within The Triad to a new level.

"Sammy's pissed because he's playing Jimmy Olsen with Josh while we shakedown the city like Starsky and Hutch."

"I call Hutch," Caleb quickly claimed. Sam didn't bother denying his brother's explanation, considered himself lucky The Knight let it drop in lieu of calling first dibs on what he perceived the better choice between the two 70's cop show stars. "He was the ladies man, and by far the better looking one."

"Starsky had the hot ride," Dean conceded, reclaiming his coffee before Caleb could taint it with his usual three packs of sugar. "So I'll let you have your fantasy that you're the pretty one in this partnership, Damien."

"I knew you'd see it my way." Caleb tossed a gold shield in front of Dean. "Ethan gave me these as an early Christmas present a few weeks ago when we working that gig in Jersey. He has a contact where they commission shields and she did him a favor after he said he wanted to authenticate his and Eli's Halloween costumes. They came complete with false computer files which Riley made sure were implanted in all the important data bases."

Dean flashed the gold detective's shield in Sam's direction, revealing the black lettered name of Starsky and a serial number. "Don't worry, little brother, I'll call Captain Singer and give him our badge numbers."

"Don't feel left out, Sammy. I got one for you, too." Caleb handed over an official looking plastic press pass. "Don't tell him I said so, but Josh morphs into the fucking Picasso of fake ID's when he crosses the threshold of a Kinkos."

Sam took the badge and groaned. "Seriously, man?Newt Romney?"

"What?" Caleb grinned. "You want to inspire confidence with the mayor, right?"

"I tried to get him to go with something less conspicuous, not to mention ludicrous," Joshua returned to the table, bearing only one cup of coffee and Danish, which he quickly marked as his own by licking his tongue across the top of it before Caleb could lay one finger to it .

"Dick head," Caleb growled, pushing away from the table, forced to get his own breakfast.

"Way to throw all Esme's years of table manners and girly etiquette right out the well-bred window, Josh." Dean actually sounded impressed. "Admit it. You watched the movie 'Step Brother's' I bought you."

"Why waste two hours of my life that I would never get back viewing assuredly cinematic rubbish when I have spent years in the company of two overgrown man children such as you and Caleb. I have come away with nothing if not a vast repertoire of childish sibling antics." Joshua took time to unfold his napkin and place it on his lap. "I have a complete arsenal at my disposal. I daresay my mother having been raised in a hunting family, as well as knowing the both of you quite well by now, realizes a soldier, even one as refined as I, must sometimes embrace their enemy's tactics, no matter how vile and disgusting if one hopes to emerge the victor."

"Just beware of paybacks, Sun Tzu," Dean stood pointing to Joshua's cup of coffee. "I'd guard everything consumable for the next few days. Nobody does revenge better than Damien."

"Where are you going?" Sam asked, hoping his voice didn't convey the slight panic he felt. He suddenly found himself almost desperate to make sure things were right between him and his brother. Arguing with Dean was the last thing Sam had wanted for this visit, even if said visit had morphed into an insane hunt.

"Waffle maker." Dean rubbed his hands together, no hint of their earlier discussion or offense to Sam's slight outwardly evident. "The sea of blue hair and red hats has parted and they just brought out more batter."

Sam watched his brother go, joining Caleb at the bar where their heads bent together in quiet conversation. He allowed himself a moment to imagine Dean tattling to The Knight, but knew a more likely exchange involved a wager involving how many chocolate and peanut butter chips Dean could actually add to the waffle mix before it became a gooey disaster.

"It takes so little to amuse them."

Sam turned his attention to Joshua, watching as the older hunter stirred a generous amount of cream into his coffee. "It's like Pru and that little piece of plastic from the milk lid."

"Huh?"

"My cat."Joshua put the spoon on the saucer, picking up his cup. "Never mind."

"Sorry." Sam sighed, his eyes finding Dean and Caleb once more. They were huddled over the waffle maker. "I'm just a little distracted."

"If you're distressed about the ID, never fear. I made you an extra while Caleb was distracted with the Kinko's clerk, who was easily fifteen years his junior, quite possibly a college student, which did nothing to deter his embarrassing flirtation. It is a character flaw however that worked to your advantage." Joshua pulled another pass from his pocket and offered it to Sam.

Sam's mouth twitched when he saw the name, William H. McCarty beside his picture.

"It's a historical falsehood that Billy the Kid's real name was William H. Bonney, you know. In actuality he was born William Henry McCarty." Joshua used a knife and fork to cut his Danish, which Sam found ironic considering his actions only moments before. "The fact few know the true moniker makes it a suitable alias."

"Thanks for having my back." Sam pocketed the pass, along with the one Caleb had made him. The Knight could be irritating, but Sam found it hard to stay mad at him especially in light of his concerns for Caleb's health.

"I was merely trying to save us an awkward moment of explanation when we met with the good mayor this morning. Despite what Caleb thinks, satirical humor is not an appropriate icebreaker, nor does it inspire confidence. How he and Dean continue to get away using such nom de plumes is beyond me." Joshua glanced at his watch, picking up the napkin from his lap to dab at his mouth. "Did you make our appointment with the good mayor?"

"It's at 10:00." Sam nodded, glancing to his watch to make sure he had time to change. It would appear odd if Joshua was dressed in a thousand dollar suit and Sam in torn jeans, NYU tee and flannel. "We have a taxi coming to take us. Mayor Jameson was quite excited to be interviewed by The Conservative. He didn't even question when I explained we would rather conduct the session at his home to get a better feel for his personality and background."

"Everyone is anxious for their fifteen minutes of fame." Joshua pushed the remainder of his Danish away, claiming his coffee. "It seems likely that if he had The Lance it would be at his residence instead of at his office. Providing the right distraction, one of us should be able to search the house fairly thoroughly. It's not like a lance can be tucked away in a drawer."

"We can always schedule a follow-up interview at the municipal building if we don't turn up anything on this preliminary casing." Sam knew that even if they were lucky enough to locate The Holy Lance, there would be decisions to be made. If history proved true, taking the Spear from Jameson could prove as good as signing the man's death warrant.

"My money's on Jameson having it." Caleb reclaimed his seat, offering his opinion on the matter.

"I'm guessing he doesn't even know what he has." Sam shook his head when Dean rejoined them, his plate bulging with a waffle that looked more like a puffy chocolate chip cookie than breakfast fare. Dean didn't seem to notice, pointing a fork at the concoction, bobbing his eyebrows at Caleb. It only proved Sam's theory about the earlier conversation between Knight and Guardian.

"Wonder if that will save him from dropping dead when we relieve him of it?" Caleb asked around a bite of cherry-filled pastry.

"Perhaps we should pose that question to Castiel beforehand," Joshua suggested. "After all, the man has committed no crime or injustice against humanity that we know of; on the contrary it seems he's improved life for those who voted him into office."

"Unless you count being a republican as a crime," Caleb smirked at their Advisor.

"As if you'd have us believe someone from the Ames family would dare hold allegiance to any other party? I'm quite certain Mackland, per Cullen, would have made converting to the Republican Party a condition of your adoption. Bringing a juvenile delinquent heathen into their respectable family was one thing, a democrat quite another. "

"I wasn't talking about me." Caleb shifted his eyes to Dean, who pretended to be focused solely on his waffle.

"You're a registered voter?" Joshua nearly choked on his coffee.

"Don't sound so shocked, Josh. I'm surprised my voting record hasn't been pillow talk between you and Carolyn." Dean shot his Advisor a half grin. "Considering she told me about the huge crush you have on the Second Lady, Jill Biden."

Sam decided he owed Joshua a save. He tapped the table. "There's one thing we haven't talked about."

"Don't worry, Runt, we'll get around to mentioning your embarrassing first love, Chelsea Clinton eventually." Caleb nudged Dean with his elbow. "Remember that coloring book he used to carry around?"

"I'm talking about Raphael, you asshole." Sam found his concern for Caleb wavering.

"What about him?" Dean put his fork down, giving Sam his full attention.

"What are we going to do if he shows up? It's not exactly like we've had any luck in protecting ourselves against angels in the past."

Dean pushed his plate away as if Sam's topic of conversation had killed his appetite instead of the previous waffles he'd consumed. "If we're quick enough, and we get lucky, maybe that won't be an issue."

"And since when have you three ever had luck in your corner?" Joshua arched a brow. "It's like an impoverished family counting on winning the lottery to pay their mortgage."

"We got you for an Advisor, didn't we, Mr. Sunshine?" Dean quipped.

"Not that I'm as paranoid as the runt, but maybe we should kick it into gear." Caleb picked up what was left of his Danish, intent on taking it with him, and stood before Dean could give his two cents on the matter. "We've got a chief of police to talk to, and some local haunts to shakedown. Let's roll, Starsky."

"Hold your horses, Huggy Bear." Sam watched his brother take one more bite of his waffle, washing it down with the last gulp of coffee before pointing a finger at him. "You two stay sharp, and check in after your visit with the mayor."

"How long have I been doing this job, Dean?" Sam took the grin his brother flashed at having his earlier exasperation tossed back at him for a truce. It would have to do until Sam could find some better way to apologize. He briefly wondered if Tennison had a good bakery. "I have it all under control."

"Sure you do, Newt ." Caleb snorted. "How about hunter with the biggest lead buys lunch?"

"You're on." Sam nodded, thankful for the typical levity.

"Hunters with the most pertinent intel also choose location of said lunch," Joshua chimed in.

"Way to join in, Mama's Boy." Dean grabbed his jacket from the chair, slipping it on.

"I refuse to eat at that chrome covered mobile home some ill-advised philanthropist converted to a diner that you two were eye-balling on the way in."

Sam couldn't hold back a laugh at Dean's feigned look of suffering. "And here I thought you were finally coming around, Josh, really becoming one of us."

"I prefer to maintain some healthy boundaries where our relationship is concerned, as well as unclogged arteries, thank you very much."

"You don't seem to mind sidling up to my brother." Sam was surprised when Dean switched his attention to him. "Don't think I haven't noticed the budding Bromance you two have going on."

"Leave him alone, Deuce. Carolyn's probably put him on a strict diet and given him orders to align himself with the one member of The Triad who's turned off by all things fun. With a friend like Sam there's no reason to worry about gambling, booze or attention from the ladies."

"Seeing as how she couldn't exactly choose his family, who could blame Carolyn for wanting to be more selective with his friends." Sam snarked back, finding himself feeling more and more foolish for thinking Caleb was off his game.

Caleb grinned, tugging on Dean's jacket to get him moving. "What woman doesn't want her husband being best pals with a geeky, asexual recluse who thinks there's a place for vegetables on pizza and sprouts and cucumbers on a sandwich?"

The look Caleb shot Sam over his shoulder as he and Dean took their leave was proof The Knight had meant for his comment to be loud enough for Scholar and Advisor to hear.

"I heard that." Sam felt all of twelve again, but couldn't help himself. He turned to Joshua. "Your brother is a complete ass."

"No need to remind me of the unfortunate side affect of my mother's betrothal. I'm quite aware."Joshua stacked his plate on top of Caleb's, adding them both to Dean's in an attempt to tidy their mess. "At least intent on a mission, whether that be to thwart rogue angels or annoy you, Caleb is more himself."

Sam met Joshua's gaze. "What do you mean?"

"I mean Caleb seems extremely determined to make himself more maddening than ever."

Sam frowned, glancing over his shoulder to the door where Caleb and Dean had exited. He thought about the conversation he'd had with Dean, and the likelihood that Caleb gleaned more than Sam had suspected. Subterfuge was a skill both Guardian and Knight excelled in. "Does that mean you've noticed Caleb's been off?"

"If by 'off' you mean did I find it odd he didn't throw his typical temper tantrum when you insisted on his coveted position of 'shotgun' last night when we left Griffin's, or that I wasn't subjected to a dramatic outpouring of how he was being forced to room with me instead of his best buddy, Starsky, then yes, I've noticed something was somewhat amiss." Joshua finished the last dregs of his coffee. "What did Dean say on the matter?"

Sam sighed. "Dean thinks we're all a little bit off-he's blaming the near apocalypse."

"We did defy impossible odds." Joshua seemed to entertain the idea, rolling it around in his mind as if considering the potential spin as plausible.

"So you think Dean's right, that we're all suffering from some sort of post trauma."

"Not all of us, of course. After all, you and I concluded just last evening that our lives are quite perfect."

"Right." Sam smirked, wondering if he was completely transparent. "I forgot."

"But for the sake of argument, if we were by chance off our game, as The Knight so obviously is, the lingering distress may be not so much from the horrors we endured, but quite possibly from the futures we are now free to consider."

"I'm not sure I'm following you."

"We've all gotten if not what we've always wanted, at least more than we could ever have hoped." Joshua pulled at the sleeves of his dress shirt, running a finger over one silver cufflink. "Perhaps we've fallen victim to that whole 'be careful what you wish for' dilemma. We have been granted a gift, an entirely new lease on life, and there is no one to blame but ourselves if we screw it up. The pressure to succeed our predecessors is mindboggling."

"You think Caleb's worried about fulfilling his duty as The Knight?" Sam couldn't even begin to consider Joshua's suggestion, would have laughed at The Advisor if not for his look of complete sincerity, as if perhaps he'd lost sleep pondering the explanation. "I hate to break it to you, Joshua, but Caleb has never doubted his ability or his destiny to be The Knight, not once since I've known him. I think he instinctively knew what his role in The Brotherhood, hell, in his life, was to be before anyone even gave him a clue and he's never faltered. No one is more confident, more satisfied or more hopeful in how things have turned out, or how the future will go."

To Sam's surprise, Joshua ceded his postulation without further argument. "You're right, of course." He gave a heavy sigh. "Lucky bastard."

Sam's mouth twitched, his burden feeling somewhat lighter despite the fact Joshua hadn't offered any helpful insight. Maybe knowing he wasn't the only one concerned was enough. He once again wondered at the circumstances that drove Joshua to join them on the hunt. "Have you ever heard of a little thing called projection?"

"Perhaps I should ask you that same question?" Joshua snapped and Sam could practically feel the other man's defenses reinforcing.

Sam frowned, his own insecurities flaring. "Now you sound like Dean."

"Believe it or not, I have had worse things said of me."

"I don't find that hard to believe, but I thought we were talking about Caleb."

"Fine." Joshua lifted his hand in surrender. "If my suggestion is so ludicrous and self incriminating, Dr. Freud, then I am quite anxious to hear yours."

"I think he hit his head." Sam shrugged when Joshua's look of indignation turned to one of incredulity, making him feel every bit the moron. "I mean, I know he hit his head. I was there."

"You're postulating that a concussion is to blame for this peculiar behavior?"

"Well, Castiel fixed the concussion," Sam grudgingly admitted. "Dean made him."

"Then why are we even considering it as a factor?"

"Also a point Dean made," Sam growled. This conversation was going nowhere. Sam wasn't about to launch into how his concerns were mostly based on a foolish dream about a piano recital and memories from a long ago hunt. Nor would he entertain the idea that perhaps he was imagining Caleb's issues as a way not to focus on his own. Sam was the logical Scholar after all.

"And I'd have to maintain Dean's point a valid one considering the factCastiel as we are all well aware can accomplish such feats as liberating a soul from Hell, and manipulating time travel."

"You really know how to make a guy feel stupid, you know that right?" Sam glanced at his watch; thankful time was demanding he head back to his and Dean's room to change for the meeting with Jameson.

"Missouri has assured me it's a useful talent when it comes to working with obstinate men in power." Joshua seemed to take Sam's not so subtle hint. He pushed his chair away from the table and stood, waiting as Sam did the same. "As far as I'm aware an Advisor's helpful criticisms aren't limited to The Guardian."

"Missouri's spoon didn't seem to have a bias." Sam found himself fighting back a grin despite his frustration as an image of Joshua wielding the former Advisor's instrument of correction filled his mind. "I guess your biting sarcasm shouldn't be any different."

"I remember Missouri using her unique methods on your father and Bobby, have gleefully witnessed countless interventions with Dean and Caleb, yet I've not once felt the sting of her recrimination." Joshua lifted a challenging brow. "You?"

"Never." Sam smiled, understanding he was at least being offered a unique white flag from The Advisor, yet another reminder of their unforeseen commonality.

"Another validation that I obviously made the right choice in which Triad member to partner with."

"You mean my lack of knowledge of all things fun wasn't what sold you?"

"I'll admit your conservative, burgeoning on prudish nature is somewhat of a plus in my book but I'll admit it's your above average intelligence that sold me."

Sam wasn't sure if Joshua was kidding, until the Advisor favored him with a rare grin. "However, I must warn you that if I'm forced to eat at that moving health violation I may have to reconsider and take Carolyn's sentiments under advisement."

"Carolyn doesn't like me?" Sam drew up short.

"She likes you." Joshua motioned him along, passing the registration desk. "But in her own words, you're a bit too much Mr. Darcy for her taste."

"Huh?" Sam sputtered, following after Joshua as he led the way to the elevator.

"One of her Pride and Prejudice analogies, of which there are a great many I assure you." Joshua entered the open car as several more ladies wearing red hats exited with a round of laughter and a cloud of perfume. He stabbed the button for the seventh floor. "I had to break down and read the damn novel, as well as several other Austen sagas in hopes of making since of some of our more recent discussions."

"I'm still not following you."

"What it means is that unfortunately, Carolyn, like my grandmother, like your brother and like Caleb himself, find Caleb's virtues many. She's enchanted, bewitched really." The elevator stopped, the doors opening with a ding. Sam started forward but Joshua blocked him from exiting. "I'll consider it an unforgivable transgression of Brotherhood if Caleb ever hears I admitted such folly on her part."

"Really?" Sam shook his head. "The last thing I need is for Caleb's idea of how awesome he is to be validated and worse inflated."

"Of course." Joshua nodded. "One more reason I chose you."

Sam snorted. Maybe Dean was right. If this weekend was any indication, Sam's life was most definitely not turning out how he expected. "So much for all my hard work to become an asexual recluse who likes vegetables on his pizza and sprouts on his sandwich."

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