Goliath

By: Ridley C. James & Tidia

A/N: This story follows directly after The Spear of Destiny and Tidia's story Trespassing. Please note that in our AU, Sam never went to Hell, Dean never went to Purgatory. Bobby is still alive and well. And the boys still act like the brothers we new in the first couple of seasons. Goliath has been a difficult and exciting journey for us to complete, starting even years ago when we started weaving bits and pieces into other stories with this end in mind. It is a long story so please bear with us. We would LOVE to hear what you think, but if you have speculations as to what might happen, please share those privately as we don't want to ruin the tale for anyone. ;-) We have so enjoyed all those other authors who have contributed to The Brotherhood and hope this next and possibly final chapter in the AU lives up to everyone's expectations. If you need to catch up on Brotherhood verse, find the stories in chronological order at The Hunters Tomb.

RcJ&Ti*SnsnsnsnsN*Ti&RcJ

"Giants exist as a state of mind. They are not defined as an absolute measurement but as proportionality…So giants can be real, even if grown- ups do not choose to classify them as such." Edward O. Wilson

"Shouldn't I be the broody, pissed-off guy in this scenario?" Caleb Reaves asked. "I mean, I'm the one stuck in this suck ass bed, in this suck ass room with tubes shoved in places even the kinkiest of one night stands have never touched upon."

Dean Winchester looked up from his perusal of the chessboard and glowered. His queen was in extreme jeopardy. He'd already sacrificed his bishop, but it was worry for his Knight that claimed all his attention. It made the game more nuisance than the distraction he was sure Sam had intended.

"You have the patience of a five year old, Damien," Dean grumbled, making the only fateful move his careless regard for the board had left him. He gave a resigned sigh when it was finished; studying his friend's face with all the intensity he should have given the game. Caleb looked better than he had the night before, but the dark circles beneath his eyes still stood out against a sickly pallor. The yellow glow of the fluorescents wasn't helping, neither was the weak quality to Caleb's voice, the last few days taking a toll the older man was trying hard not to show.

"You've been staring at the board for ten minutes, Deuce." Caleb tugged at the faded blue hospital gown, the monitor beside the bed picking up his movement and frustration for the garment. Despite his attempts at charm, Caleb had not been able to convince the hospital staff his own sleepwear would provide them with the quick access they needed. He took Dean's queen without any of his typical enthusiasm or jeering. "I have livelier games with Sam, who dissects each of his moves with computer-like accuracy and doesn't let me win."

"I can always hand off to The Scholar. He's just down the hall and it's his turn for babysitting duty." Dean stretched, looking at his watch. They both knew he wasn't going anywhere, but Caleb feigned a look of over-eager anticipation.

"At this point I'd settle for the creepy old candy striper with the blue hair and walking stick." Caleb pushed the rolling tray holding the game away from him. Dean scooted his chair to make room for it to pass in lieu of having the dining cart bang against his knee. "She's a bundle of sunshine compared to you these last two days."

Dean leaned back in his chair, silently counting to ten so not to say something he might regret. He was under strict orders not to upset Caleb. So far the steady stream of medication from the I.V. had proved effective in keeping Caleb stable. However, Dean's hard fought restraint earned him an even more petulant glare from the unhappy hunter in the hospital bed who seemed hell bent on getting a rise out of Dean.

"I got to say this new, calm, kid-glove routine you got going on sucks ass, too." Caleb growled. "You're making me feel worse by acting like Pod Person Dean."

"You'd rather I bitch you out for my lack of decent sleep and good coffee these last two days?" Dean had plenty to be pissed at Caleb about, but it was hard to stay angry at him considering what they'd all been through. The memory of their frantic drive to the backwoods clinic in Arkansas when Caleb blacked out after their tangle with the unfriendly witches and the wendigo was enough to steal Dean's composure. The all too easily recalled image of Caleb's body twitching and jerking in the backseat with what they now understood were a series of seizures kept his voice calm."Or we could talk about how you've been lying to me for months."

"I wasn't lying." Caleb couldn't even meet Dean's gaze, his eyes travelling to his I.V. where he used his other hand to pick at the tape holding it in place over bruised skin. "It was more a need to know kind of…"

"Stop." The command came out harsher than Dean meant, bringing The Knight's glassy eyes to his. He took a deep breath, sighing the exhale. He gestured to the hanging ringers above Caleb's head. "You don't want another round with Nurse Bad-body if that thing comes loose. I thought you were going to cry the last time."

Caleb's fingers stilled, except for his middle one which he lifted in Dean's direction. "You couldn't have insisted on a hospital with hotter nurses?"

"If you'd been conscious to get a look at the staff back at that VA hospital in Middlesboro, you'd be grateful Mac pulled the strings to get you here to good old University of Louisville as quickly as he did." Dean leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He hadn't been happy about the unplanned med-evac ride, but at the time he wasn't willing to let The Knight out of his sight. "Their Chief of Staff was missing his teeth."

"Deuce, about the wendigo mess…"

Dean clenched his fists knowing what was coming next. It would be a repeat of the first conversation they'd had in Arkansas after Caleb woke up and was actually somewhat cognizant. "If you try to apologize one more time about the wendigo bite I will see to it personally that Randolf, the over friendly orderly with the bright pink scrubs, is in charge of your sponge bath."

Caleb snorted. "So much for having my back."

Dean grimaced at the comment though it was obviously meant to lighten the moment. They had been conditioned to put others welfare first. Dean understood it was Caleb's complete belief in that priority mission that kept him from coming clean about what was happening with him the last few months, or longer.

"You should have told me." Dean should have trusted his gut. He'd known for a while his best friend was off. He'd blamed it on the showdown with Lucifer, the psychic backlash of having countless demons on the loose. Then there was the hunt for The Spear of Destiny-a gig which should have been a glowing beacon that something wasn't right with Caleb, despite The Knight's protests and assurances to the contrary.

"Like I explained before, I wasn't sure what was going on. I didn't think it was a big deal." Caleb held his gaze. "It's not something you should have picked up on, Deuce. Don't go down that road."

"You wanted to protect me." Caleb had confessed he was avoiding adding more to Dean's plate, a plate already full as the newly appointed Guardian before the unwanted surprise of The Trinity and Reagan Walsh. "I can understand not bitching about the extra migraines and the odd visions, that's old hat for you to some degree, but losing time, seeing dead people, seeing Dad. Those I would have liked to have known about."

Caleb had come clean with Dean that first night in ICU before Mac had arrived when the doctors in Louisville had managed to stop the seizures. Dean wasn't sure if it was the painkillers, or the uncharacteristic helplessness of the situation, but Caleb had promised he wasn't holding anything else back as he told Dean about the headaches, the problems with his balance, and the odd sightings of Atticus Finch, John Winchester and other people they had lost along the way.

"Speaking of being secretive, has Mac said anything to you?"

"Are you kidding?" Dean ran a hand through his hair, allowing the redirect because being pissed at Caleb could wait until his friend was out of the hospital and on the mend. "And risk violating patient confidentiality?"

Dean's cluelessness was not from lack of asking. Yesterday he had followed the good doctor around the hospital, demanding a rundown on what the battery of tests he'd put Caleb through was telling him.

"Dude, he won't tell me a damn thing and I'm the fucking patient." Caleb glanced to the doors, as if expecting Mackland to appear with his entourage of doctors. "He's dodging us, and it's getting old. I'm not some kid he can keep in the dark while he runs wild with scans and probes of my anatomy."

"At least you're getting pudding cups and the comfy bed." Dean knew Caleb was miserable. His best friend wasn't a good patient in the best of circumstance. Add in a continuous stream of tests and strangers subjecting him to up close hands on care and he became the patient most likely to be accidentally overdosed by haggard floor nurses. Dean withheld his worst case scenario theory about Mac's silence in lieu of trying to offer lame reassurances. "I think he's trying to put all the pieces together, man. Once a Scholar always a Scholar. I've got Sammy on the case shadowing the good doctor like an annoying stray dog hoping for scraps. He'll let us know as soon as he picks up any bits about what's going on."

"But why the hell call in Griffin Porter? The man's like some kind of mad scientist, not a real doctor." Caleb brought a hand to his head, wincing. "I don't like it."

"I don't know."Dean didn't like it either, any of it. They had already been through these questions when Griffin showed last night. They hadn't seen him in person, but Sam had alerted them to the fact Mac had asked the man to join him in some group consultation. Dean didn't have the same visceral reaction Caleb did to the hunter, but he was pissed Mac would make such a move knowing how his son felt. Dean hoped the doctor had a damn good reason. "Maybe he needed another psychic's opinion. It's not like Mac can talk supernatural shop with his brain trust of peers when it comes to you. Porter's more in your league."

Caleb made another face, this one having nothing to do with physical pain. "He wishes. The man can't hold a light to what I can do."

Dean understood his friend wasn't bragging. Even though Damien was prone to blowing his own horn when it came to his prowess with hunting and women; he did not take pride in waving his super psychic flag, on the contrary, he downplayed his capabilities.

"You and I both know he's missing the right DNA to play in my ballpark. Despite acting like a devil, Porter's human, a damn poor example, but still just flesh and blood."

Dean was not above some redirection of his own. "We both know Mac's doing whatever it takes to make sure you get out of here." That thought kept him from shaking the truth out of the infuriatingly secretive doctor.

"I think I'm good to go now."

"Of course you do." Mac was not the only one Dean felt like shaking.

"My head doesn't hurt that bad now and I haven't had any kind of event since yesterday."

"Seriously?" Dean rolled his eyes at the air quotes Caleb made when he said 'event', as if the hospital staff were conspiring to make-up his seizures or make the convulsions seem much more ominous than they were. From where Dean had been sitting there was no need to make them any scarier than the reality. They sure the hell weren't a figment of anyone's imagination. "You think the pain meds and other drugs they're pumping into you might have something to do with your miraculous recovery, Genius?"

"Only one way to find out. " Caleb eyed his I.V. Dean was quick to reach out and grip his friend's wrist.

"We'll find out when Mac finishes his tests." There was no way he was helping Caleb go AWOL. Their eyes met and Dean recognized the growing panic that had been building since his friend figured out this wasn't a 'few stitches and I send you on your way' kind of visit. Caleb didn't scare easily, but when his fears did rear their ugly head they were formidable and hard to beat back into the closet. "I know this sucks, but you're staying put, and that's an order."

"I don't think hospital stays fall under Guardian Mandate territory."

"Then consider it a heartfelt request from your best friend."

Caleb shook his head, a flicker of amusement c coloring his eyes, chasing away some of the desperation. "If I knew you were so eager for us to spend some alone time together, Deana, I'd have visited the farm more."

"Please." Dean snorted. "You were there every time I turned around. I barely got a free weekend without you and Sammy flying home. What's the use of finally having a bachelor pad of my own if the kids are always underfoot?"

"I told Sam his college boy homesick routine was going to encroach on your fledgling love life, but the kid has no sympathy when it comes to a guy's libido."

"My love life is none of your or Sam's business."

Caleb perked up. "So, you're admitting you have a love life?"

Dean blamed lack of food on the fact he'd walked into Caleb's trap. It was worse than the chess game, his relationship with Juliet playing the role of the forfeited queen this time. He was spared a costly and embarrassing defeat by Mackland and Porter's timely entrance.

The two men could suck up air in a room without their typical physician garb; but decked out in twin stark white coats, carrying computer tablets, and sporting matching grim countenances the doctors made it hard for a guy to breathe easy, especially the guy in the hospital bed. Dean felt Caleb tense from where his hand still gripped the older hunter's wrist and he gave a quick eye roll to dismiss the scene as overkill. Caleb did his best to return the silent communication by mimicking the gesture.

Dean let go of Caleb as he stood, but placed himself between the patient and the men moving towards them. "Don't tell me the lovely Doctor McCroy has asked you two to join her staff?"

"Elizabeth has been very accommodating." Mac moved to the computer monitor at Caleb's left. Dean didn't miss the half smile he attempted for his son's benefit.

"Accommodating or not, she's going to be pissed when she finds out you've stolen some poor resident's coats." Dean moved his eyes to Griffin. "If Mac didn't tell you he and the Chief of Staff here have quite the history. I'm pretty sure Dr. McCroy brought her disdain for his enormous ego with her from our little medical clinic in New Haven where she used to work."

"I've met the lovely Chief of Staff in question. She seemed to like me just fine." Griffin moved closer, joining Mac by the monitor. "Perhaps we share similar views on Mackland's outlandish ego."

"Or it proves her taste in men hasn't improved with her promotion." Caleb grunted. "She thought Johnny was a well-refined gentleman, too."

"Don't listen to him." Dean took a seat on the mattress by Caleb's hip, keeping his eyes on the two physicians as they made silent exchanges while studying the print out. "Damien's just pissed Liz vetoed his request for real jammies."

"I'm more concerned with who she lets practice in her hospital." Caleb frowned at Griffin. "I always thought the MD after your name stood for Mentally Deranged."

"Caleb." Mac looked up from the readings long enough to give his son a disapproving glance. "I asked Griffin to come here as a favor, as I explained to you this morning. Please show some respect."

"Actually, you were a little lax on the explaining." Dean bristled at Mac's tone. He folded his arms over his chest feeling uncharacteristically petulant himself. At this point, a full blown Damien-like temper tantrum wasn't out of the question. "Maybe Caleb would feel a little more welcoming if you, as his father, remedied that. I know I, as The Guardian, sure as hell would."

"I brought coffee." Sam's timing as he blew into the room was both impeccable and annoying. A part of Dean understood that Mac had slipped on his hat of renowned neurosurgeon Mackland Ames for good reason, but another side fumed at the man for being able to be so clinical when it came to their fucking family. His brother seemed to read his mood, moving quickly to stand beside him with the drink carrier, practically shoving the cups under his nose. The fact the coffee was obviously not from the cafeteria took away some of Dean's ire.

"Did you happen to bring breakfast?" Dean met Sam's gaze, taking one of the steaming drinks.

"Best apple and cinnamon muffins in the five state area." Sam shook the brown paper bag he was holding in his other hand, shooting Caleb a sympathetic glance. "Sorry, man. I promised your nurse nothing from the bakery she sent me to would find its way back to you."

"Traitor," Caleb said with a longing look at Dean's coffee. "I'd almost kill for some caffeine."

"Maybe Mac will arrange for you to have a ringer of some warm milk and sugar added to your I.V., Damien." Dean took a drink of the dark brew with only a twinge of guilt. He gave a large satisfied sigh for Caleb's benefit. "Seeing how that pretty much constitutes what you pass off as coffee."

"I'd be happier if Mac would just give me the all clear to get the hell out of here." Dean took another gulp, watching Mac's face as Caleb gave him an imploring stare. "How about it? Can we move this forced vacation to the farm like we usually do? We'll even lift the wards against insufferable bastards so Griffin can come over to play doctor with you."

Dean set the drink down on the chess board not caring that he knocked over several pieces when Mac's expression revealed what would be the answer to Caleb's question. The fact Sam moved closer to him, his shoulder almost touching Dean's increased the bad feeling Mac's silence stirred, and he wondered what information his brother had picked up and had been holding back from his spy mission.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Son," Mac finally responded.

"Why the hell not?" Caleb's frown morphed to an attempt at a half smile, a tactic that often got him his way. "I mean, come on, Dad. I'll promise to keep up the bed rest. Deuce has proved himself an adequate nursemaid."

"You can trust me to make sure he stays put." Dean spoke up, hoping his words might magically change the doctor's mind. "New Haven isn't that far from Louisville if there's an emergency."

"I prefer Caleb stay here." Mac glanced at the monitor again. "His condition warrants that he remains in the hospital at this time."

"Until when?"

"What condition exactly?"

Dean and Caleb's simultaneous questions were different, but both demanded Mac do what he had not done thus far. He pulled up a chair and faced The Triad.

"I don't feel as though I can give you an exact time frame, Caleb." Mac looked from his son to Dean. "It would depend on what course of action we take."

"Course of action?" Caleb shook his head. "Maybe you should go back to Dean's question about my condition."

When Mac hesitated, Griffin responded. "Caleb, you have a massive growth in the temporal region of your brain, spanning the medial and ventral lobes." Griffin didn't give them time to digest what he had said before tapping a few buttons on his tablet, flipping the IPad around so they could see the screen. It revealed a colorful picture of a brain, labeled for their benefit. "Here." Griffin tapped the image, enlarging the lower section. "And here."

"I have a brain tumor?" Caleb laughed. "You're kidding me, right. Is this some kind of sick joke?"

"Son." Mac reached out to cover Caleb's hand, but Caleb was quicker, pulling away, pushing himself up higher in the bed.

"You're fucking serious?"

"Is it malignant?" Sam's question had Dean pulling his gaze from the tablet in Griffin's hand to his brother's face. Sam was watching Mac, brow furrowed in concentration, eyes bright and focused as if he were waiting some crucial detail of intelligence for a hunt. It struck Dean that Sam did not seem surprised at the revelation.

"Yes," Mac responded.

"Caleb has cancer?" Dean's voice didn't sound like his own as it echoed in his head, the words strange and foreign on his tongue. Cancer was one monster that had never dared cross into their realm of reality, almost as fantastical and elusive as big foot.

"No." Caleb was the one to answer. "No fucking way, Deuce. Don't be ridiculous."

"In the truest essence of the word, that is exactly what you have," Griffin contradicted, turning the IPad so he could pull up another screen. Mac stood, pacing to the lone window in the room. When Porter showed them the IPad again a video was playing, a laboratory slide came to spectacular life. Dean thought it looked more Disney Pixar creation than molecular biology, the two colorful wisp-like structures splitting becoming four before splitting again thanks to time-lapse magic. It was strangely beautiful and completely terrifying. "The term cancer basically indicates an incidence of rapidly reproducing abnormal cells. That is currently what's taking place in your brain."

"How do we stop it?" Dean looked away from the screen to Mac whose back was turned towards them.

"There's surgery right?" Sam spoke up. "Drugs?"

"Wait, just hold on," Caleb sputtered. "There's been some kind of mistake."

"There isn't a mistake," Griffin countered. "Your father has been overly thorough, calling in several specialists including myself and some of his fellows from Johns Hopkins, the Mayo Clinic, even conducting a Skype consult with The Tianjn Cancer institute in China. The Ames name and money has allowed your condition to baffle some of the greatest medical minds in the world, Caleb."

"That's why you've taken so long, been so tightlipped?" Dean continued to watch Mac, who was staring at something beyond the window. Dean doubted it was the spectacular view they were afforded of the parking garage. He wondered if the doctor had even slept in the last forty eight hours. It was unlike the former Scholar to let anyone speak for him, especially someone like Griffin Porter, who in the past had always proven to be more adversary than contemporary.

"I wanted to be disproved." Mac's voice broke slightly, as he ran both hands through his hair, finally turning to face them. "I've never wanted anything more."

"Dad…" Caleb started, but Dean cut him off.

"So now we fix it." Dean glanced at his brother. "Like Sam said, there's surgery, medicine."

"Wait-"Caleb tried again, but Dean plowed on.

"I mean people beat cancer every day."

"Cancer, yes." Mac sighed, looking much older than he had at Christmas when he and Esme had acted more the parts of the twenty-something newlyweds than Carolyn and Joshua. "But this is very different."

Dean turned on Porter. "But Griffin said…"

"I said that in the most elementary sense Caleb has cancer. The abnormal cell growth in his temporal region is remarkable, but he doesn't have the protein markers, the elevated white cell count that one would expect to find in a stage four growth such as his."

"Stage four?" Sam choked. Dean didn't dare look at his brother, this last bit of news was obviously not something he'd managed to pick up and keep to himself until now.

"It's my abilities, isn't it?" Caleb's voice had lost the shocked tone, replaced with a note of resolution that had a lump forming in Dean's throat. "Genetics coming back to bite me in the ass?"

Mac seemed to collect himself, morphing once more into the physician, Scholar and father that was etched into most of Dean's memories. He moved to take the chair by Caleb, putting down the tablet, resting a hand near his son's. "The temporal lobe is the region most notably linked with psychic ability, so that is something we're looking at. Most of my early research in telepathy involved persons of interest who had sustained trauma to that region, or suffered from temporal epilepsy."

"That's the area of your brain that was damaged in the car crash that brought on your abilities," Sam said knowingly and for the first time Dean considered what it might have been like for Mac who was completely normal for most of his life only to awake from a coma not only broken, but with psychic abilities that made him a good candidate for the X-men.

"Damaged, stimulated-maybe both." Mac nodded. "Most likely it occurred during the surgery to relieve the intracranial swelling, but yes, Samuel as we've discussed before, I believe that's how my abilities began, in contrast to psychics like you and Caleb who were born with gifts."

"My research in natural psychics shows that those with extra sensory abilities typically have very active temporal lobes," Griffin added.

"So do artists, musicians, and incredibly altruistic persons," Sam replied, proving he had done his own bit of research in the area. "They don't end up with cancer because of it."

"That's true," Griffin hedged, glancing first at Caleb, then resting his gaze on Dean. "But those people do not usually have the kind of increased cerebral activity that creates a psychic such as Caleb."

"Because I'm a complete freak of nature."

"Meaning your gifts go far beyond the range of anyone we typically have the chance to study," Mac reframed, braving another tactile move. He placed a hand on Caleb's blanket covered leg, and though Dean suspected Caleb would have been up and half way across the room if he'd had his choice in the matter, his friend endured the contact, but twitched like a tethered horse.

"Meaning you haven't dissected many demons," Caleb insisted on being belligerent.

"Actually," Griffin cleared his throat. "I've performed vivisection on several demons."

Dean looked at Porter, a sudden image of Griffin as the mad scientist Caleb proclaimed him to be earlier, locked in his secret lab beneath his neat mini-mansion in Atlanta filling his mind. "Why doesn't that surprise me, Dr. Jekyll?"

"I assure The Guardian the experiments were carried out on only those humans fatally wounded during their possession, ones who would not have survived after the demon was done with them." Griffin glanced at Mackland, and Dean guessed this was not the first time the former Scholar had heard this news. "The knowledge I gained paved the way for the progress I've been able to make in psychic research and in the oncology pharmaceuticals field."

"That's why you called him?" Caleb demanded. "Because he's the resident expert on demon lobotomies and chemical psychic castration?"

Mac didn't even bother with a defense. He leaned closer to Caleb. "I won't dismiss Griffin's research because I find his obsession or techniques distasteful, especially if it gives me a better chance of understanding what is taking place with you and even a shred of hope that we might stop it."

"And does it?" Dean didn't like the idea of humans being used in Porter's quest either, especially if he manipulated Brotherhood connections to collect his specimens, but if it helped Caleb, he might be tempted to let the indiscretion slide at least until their purposes were suited.

"Dean," Caleb started.

"Shut up, Damien." Dean continued to look at Mac. "Do you know what's causing this?"

"Caleb is showing signs of the type of cerebral breakdown a host shows after a long period of possession by a high level demon," Griffin answered. "In theory all humans that die of prolonged possession, much like acute radiation poisoning, actually succumb to cancer of one kind or another, again in its most simplistic definition of rapidly multiplying abnormal cells, but still. Caleb's mostly human brain can no longer compensate for the steady growth. There is no surgery or known chemotherapy that's going to remedy what's taking place."

"But why now?" Sam asked. "Caleb was born with his abilities, he isn't possessed."

"We have a couple of theories." Mac looked at Caleb.

"Like?" Caleb asked, pinching the bridge of his nose with a wince.

"That perhaps your DNA held recessive and dormant traits that your human side suppressed until an unknown event triggered them."

"Have you experienced a recent progression in your abilities or talents?" Griffin inquired.

"Besides my ability to tolerate your presence?" Caleb growled. "No."

"What kind of event, Mac?" Sam asked.

"It's hard to say," Mac hedged. "But by the size of the growth, the amount of damage to the surrounding area. . .This has slowly been taking place for some time, the effects just now causing serious damage."

"Like a year or more?" Dean asked, a knot of dread unfurling in his gut.

"Perhaps."

"Noah Seaver's amulet." Sam sat down in the chair Dean had vacated earlier, head dropping to his hands. "The whole time Caleb was using it, I kept saying it was like he had flipped some kind of switch."

"Sam!" Dean and Caleb said at the same time.

Mac paled, his hand moving from Caleb's leg as if he were burned. "What are you talking about, Samuel?"

Sam looked up and Dean saw the instant regret in his brother's eyes. Sam had spoken without thought of their company, guilt for his own part in the idiotic plan overshadowing his common sense. Mac had never discovered the details of the lengths his son had gone to in hopes of sparing Dean a trip to Hell.

"I took Noah Seaver's amulet from the farm and learned to use it. At the time it seemed like a good idea." Caleb shrugged. "It boosted my abilities, gave me access to other demon's talents, too."

"Caleb, how could you…"

"If that's true," Griffin interrupted Mac and for once Dean was grateful for the man's desperate need to be the center of attention. Rehashing the past would not help anyone. "Then it would definitely explain what's taken place. Samuel's reference to a flipping of switch would be quite appropriate."

"But that was so long ago." Caleb shook his head.

Mac sighed. "It's possible there is a connection, but there's also the more recent demon activity, your run in with Lucifer when he erased your memory, then the subsequent time-travelling with Castiel to when Isaac and your mother were killed. It could be any number of things, perhaps a combination…"

"Castiel." Dean latched onto the name like a life ring. He couldn't believe he hadn't immediately thought of the angel who had healed all of them on numerous occasions. Dean scooted off the edge of the bed, standing. "He can fix this."

"I hadn't considered that an option," Mac stated. "Castiel could literally be a saving grace."

"Don't hold your breath, Dad," Caleb reached out and caught the end of Dean's flannel shirt, temporarily halting his move to the door. "You forgetting we haven't seen or heard from your buddy Cas since Tennison, Deuce? We don't know how that whole war with Raphael is fairing, man."

"I've not forgotten anything, but I'm pretty sure since life as we know it has continued to carry on, Cas and company are alive and holding their own."

"Then he owes us for helping their cause by turning over The Holy Lance," Sam pointed out.

"You bet he does and I'm going to the chapel to collect my Guardian marker." Dean glanced to Mac and Griffin. "Hold off on torturing the patient any further until I get back."

Dean moved for the door again, but Caleb still had a hold of his shirt. Dean looked down at the hand wrapped tightly in the flannel fabric, then up at his Knight. "I'm just going down the hall. Sam will be here."

Caleb frowned. "You know Castiel's not my biggest fan. The feeling is mutual."

Dean grit his teeth, trying to conjure some of Pastor Jim's patience, a feat made almost impossible by the fact he'd just been told his best friend was succumbing to some supernatural malady that was masquerading as stage four brain cancer; the same best friend who was being a pain in the ass. "You're really going to let Cas's lack of social tact and your wounded ego gets in the way of some angelic healing?"

"I'm just saying it might not be as cut and dry as you think."

Dean leaned his hands on the bed, eyes locked with Caleb's. "You prefer the alternative where we let Mac and his buddies and their scalpels have a go at you, or better yet, Griffin carts you off to his sinister lab to fulfill his dreams of becoming a legitimate doctor by getting published in The New England Journal of Medicine?"

Caleb let Dean's shirt go, paling at the suggestion. "Tell Cas I'll lay off the trench coat and loafer jokes if he'll do it. Hell, I'll even consent to sharing best friend status with him when he's earthbound. I mean, as long as that's not a routine occurrence."

"Don't worry, Damien. He'll do it." Dean reached out and patted Caleb's shoulder with a smirk. "You won't even have to share me."

RcJ*T*SnsnsnsN*T*RcJ

"What the hell do you mean you won't do it?" Dean was grateful the small hospital chapel was empty as he quickly bridged the distance between him and Castiel. The angel had surprised him by appearing quickly, stepping from behind the statue of Christ almost before Dean had finished speaking his name. Dean's relief at the speedy appearance rapidly vanished when after explaining the most recent crisis Castiel's face grew grim, and he quietly informed Dean he may not be the answer to their prayers.

"I didn't say I wouldn't," Castiel corrected, face as solemn and devoid of emotion as ever. Dean couldn't help to think the bronze statue looked more sympathetic to his cause. "I said that I couldn't."

Dean growled. "Semantics, Cas."

"No, Dean, not when one response means I have no desire to help, the other that I have no ability to do so."

Dean slid a hand over his mouth, feeling the rough stubble that covered his usually clean shaven face. He was afraid if he caught a glimpse in the mirror the reflection might look a little like John Winchester. "What do you mean you don't have the ability? You're an angel."

"Which is part of the problem."

"Is this about Caleb's ancestral issues? Because that hasn't stopped you from healing him in the past." Sure the angel complained about the up close contact with what Castiel viewed as something completely unholy. Dean could easily argue there were countless humans and even some angels much more evil than Caleb.

"I have healed Caleb of physical ailments that could befall any human. Nothing I took or changed was directly related to his demonic heritage. This is different."

"Wait," Dean held up his hand. "I didn't tell you Caleb's condition was linked to his demon DNA, only that he was sick."

"I know the illness he is suffering is resistant to my influence because I already attempted to heal it, first at the farm, and then again in Tennison."

Dean stared at the angel, recalling the moments when Castiel had taken care of Caleb's concussion when he'd come to ask their help in finding The Holy Lance, and then the beating he'd suffered at the hands of Reagan Walsh's psycho Knight, Owen. "Sonuvabitch, you knew? You knew all this time."

"I sensed he was suffering from a grave condition, yes."

"And you didn't think that was important to mention?" Dean had never trusted easily or counted on those outside his family to come through for him, but Castiel had proven the exception time and again. He believed the angel had his back, the backs of those he loved.

"I did all that I could and didn't think bringing up my inabilities to affect something you and Caleb were unaware of at the time…."

"Damn it, Cas. Don't play stupid. You knew he was sick and you didn't tell me because you wanted me to go after The Lance."

"I made a carefully weighed decision to serve the greater good. Sometimes the one is sacrificed for the benefit of the many."

"Don't you dare preach the greater good to me! You lied to me to get what you wanted."

"I chose to shield you from the truth for your own good."

"And in Tennison? When you had your precious Lance? You couldn't have pulled me aside long enough to tell me to get Caleb to a hospital? That was months ago, Cas. Months we've lost in helping him." Dean couldn't wrap his mind around the betrayal. He knew there was no love lost between Castiel and Caleb, but the ideal the angel could show such disregard for a human life, Caleb's life, seemed completely out of character.

"I've seen what you are capable of doing in your quest to help those you care about."

"So you were afraid of what I might do to save Caleb?" Dean moved closer to Castiel. "This was about protecting me?"

"To some degree, yes." The angel nodded thoughtfully. "You have showed time and time again that you have no sense of self preservation; that hasn't changed much with the position you now hold."

"So you lied to me because you didn't want to lose The Guardian in your pocket!" Dean was sick of being lied to for his supposed benefit.

"I didn't want to lose you-my friend." Castiel explained without remorse. "I couldn't risk you sacrificing yourself for a demon."

"You meant to say a brother, right?" Dean countered with a steely glare. "Because that's what Caleb is to me."

"I know that."

"Of course you do." Dean shook his head, running his hands through his hair with a shaky laugh. "You just don't fucking understand it."

Castiel shook his head. "Isn't that semantics, Dean?"

Dean met the angel's gaze. "Not when one reply means you're family, and the other means I have nothing else to fucking say to you."

"There is more at stake here than you realize, more than I can explain."

"Ditto, Cas."

Castiel matched Dean's glare for a long moment before disappearing without another word. The small chapel grew eerily silent with his absence and the vestiges of hope he took with him. Dean released a heavy sigh, frowning at the statue of Christ.

"So much for the guardian angel thing. You might as well have sent a hungry wolf to watch over your sheep."

His crude observation garnered no response, not counting the twinge of guilt in his gut which he blamed on years of enduring Pastor Jim's enforced reverence for the house of God, even if said sanctuary was tucked away in the bottom floor of a bustling hospital so close to the cafeteria that it wreaked of French fries and coffee.

Dean took a seat on one of the red cushioned pews, hoping to be granted some divine grace or inspiration despite his bold disrespect- if only in the form of a spin he could put on Castiel's inability to help them that wouldn't make their situation appear bleaker. His temptation to go to the altar on his knees was curtailed by the opening of the chapel doors behind him, the hushed voices of a man and woman.

He might have stayed where he was if not for the hair on the back of his neck. It prickled, alerting well-honed hunting instincts that whoever had entered was most likely not there for prayer. Dean stood slowly, still facing the statue of Christ. He made a devout sign of the cross with one hand, as he discreetly reached for his weapon with the other.

"There is no need for violence in such a holy place."

"That why you thought it the perfect spot for an ambush?" Dean kept his hand where it was as he turned to face the newcomer. The guy was over six feet, built like a linebacker, with dark skin and shaved head. He was wearing dress pants and a sport coat. The blue shirt beneath his jacket was open enough for Dean to catch a glimpse of the tattoo-like design that crept from the beneath his collar, trailing over one side of his neck. It revealed a half moon, peeking between the intricate outstretched limbs of a large tree, some type of dark bird perched on one of the barren branches.

"We seek your counsel, Guardian," the woman at his side spoke. "Not a confrontation."

She was dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. The casual attire as well as her shorter stature, long red hair and pale skin made the two strangers look like very mismatched bookends. The identical half moon and tree mark on her forearm told they had more in common than appearances would suggest.

"Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Lawrence and this is Marta."

"You're witches." Dean wasn't up on all the different logos, but he recognized a mark of a coven when he saw one. The one on the man and woman was familiar. It wasn't the same as the one his Advisor bore with the five pointed star and intricate circle, but he'd caught a glimpse of it on Sida's wrist, when she was treating him only a few days before. "Sida's coven, if I'm not mistaken."

"Have you seen her?" Marta's hand went to a blue crystal pendant resting at the base of her throat. Her breathy question had her counterpart glaring at her. Dean got the distinct impression she had been allowed to attend this meeting by agreeing to stay silent.

"Not since we were asked so nicely to leave your coven's territory." He glanced to Lawrence. "I'm guessing you aren't here to check up on how I'm fairing considering I got the boot as soon as my imminent death was avoided."

"Sida went missing the day after you and your Triad left."

"And you think we had something to do with her disappearance?" Dean couldn't exactly scoff outright. When Caleb had first collapsed he'd worried the witches were behind it, though Joshua assured him that there were no signs of dark magic. Now, Dean almost preferred that was the case. Witches he could tackle, Caleb's illness was proving to be a much larger challenge.

"It seemed an unlikely coincidence when we found her gone after your departure," Lawrence explained. "We don't trust outsiders and..."

"How the hell did you track me down?" Dean asked before the large witch could continue his train of thought on the sanctity of coven life.

"By one of the witches in your trust. Several covens have reason to know what is taking place in The Brotherhood these days, considering your atypical association."

Dean sighed. Joshua's coven was the one he was most familiar with, but he realized The Brotherhood's pact had been made with several interconnecting covens, ones he had no personal relationship with beyond that as The Guardian. It was not something he was thrilled with, the allegiance had been to his and The Brotherhood's advantage during the pending apocalypse, and was possibly one of the few good things to come from the war.

"Then you're probably also aware my Triad has had their hands rather busy these last few days, and we haven't had time to hatch any grand kidnapping schemes."

Lawrence bowed his head. "We have since ruled out Brotherhood treachery."

"Then why are you here? Maybe you should check into some travel agencies, or go to the police? There's a novel idea." Dean ran a hand through his hair, glancing at the watch on his wrist. He didn't have time to play private detective with these people.

"Because as the leader of an ultra secretive organization steeped in mystery and fraught with intricacies that are often misunderstood by the average citizen do you opt to utilize your local police force?"

Dean glared at Lawrence. "We actually have members on the police force, and in other stations of power. You should consider initiating some municipalities into your coven."

"This is not a laughing matter. Our coven is dependent on Sida's leardership. She would not have left without good reason."

"Nor would she have left without telling me." Marta once again voiced her thoughts and Lawrence growled with impatience. "She's my best friend, and sister. Surely, you understand, Guardian. "

Whether it was the woman's desperation, tear-filled eyes, or the empathy she was hoping to invoke by mentioning her relationship with Sida, Dean wasn't sure, but he felt bad for her despite the cold treatment he and his Triad had received from the coven.

"Look, I'll put out some feelers, assign a few people…" He started, only to have Lawrence interrupt him.

"We don't want worker bees, Winchester! You made a vow to us, to Sida, and we're calling in that promise. We want The Triad to find Sida. Immediately!"

Dean had come to call in a marker with Castiel, a plan that had blown up in his face spectacularly. Instead, he was being called on the carpet to repay a debt much sooner than expected for the favor Sida had done them by saving his life. The irony pissed him off.

"As I pointed out earlier my Triad is not in any position to take a job."

"And my coven is not in the position to wait patiently, nor will we."

Lawrence was obviously used to getting his way, to having his bidding done without question. Dean had a lifetime of experience dealing with just such men. "Is that a threat?"

"I'm only pointing out that there could be dire consequences to breaking our covenant, both personal ones and professional ones."

"This is not the time to mess with me or mine, Larry." Dean poked a finger in the big man's chest... "Parlor tricks and potions have nothing on the kind of wrath I'm capable of bringing down on you and your people."

"I think what Lawrence is trying to say is that we hope you 'all find a way to get to this matter as soon as possible, before anyone else is hurt." Marta's hand rested on Dean's chest. "We understand your hesitation, but we all know that Sida's trail grows colder as we speak."

"Then you'll be grateful for the men I'll assign to start the investigation immediately." Dean growled, gently removing Marta's hand. "You can expect a call from Ethan Matthews before the afternoon is up, not only is he a veteran detective, he's like a lieutenant commander in my army, nowhere near a worker bee."

"And we'll expect you and your Triad to join in the investigation as soon as this situation permits." Lawrence folded his arms over his chest. "Because no matter what differences we may have, Sida assured our council that The Guardian of The Brotherhood was a man of his word before we agreed to offer you refuge and the benefit of our magic. She said you could be trusted."

Dean clenched his fists, feeling the strum of energy coursing through his silver ring, reminding him that his actions no longer reflected solely on him. "I'll be there when I'm able."

Lawrence held out a business card. "This has my home number and my cell."

"Glad to know we won't need a cauldron and some eye of newt to contact you." Dean's comment prompted dual nasty glances as well as a quick exit by the unwanted party. He watched them go, returning to his pew to have the door open again.

"What now?" He growled.

"I hope your sour mood doesn't mean the meeting with Cas went bad." Sam's voice had Dean sitting up straighter in the seat, meeting his brother's weary gaze. "Griffin's started talking experimental drugs, bringing up more pictures on his I Pad and Caleb's freaking out. You need to get in there."

"Damn it." Dean exhaled heavily, his gaze going once more to the statue of Christ, hoping Jesus might provide some last minute rescue before he had to break the news to Caleb. "Castiel won't be helping us."

"What? Why not?" Sam sat down beside him.

Dean looked at his brother. "Because apparently angels can't help demon kind even if they wanted to."

Sam took a moment to digest what that meant, licking his lips before speaking. "Did he give any suggestions how we might fix it."

"I didn't exactly ask." Dean clenches his fists, as he recalled the look of guilt in Castiel's eyes. "I was too pissed at finding out the bastard has known about this since before Tennison."

"When he healed Caleb's concussion at the farm." Sam guessed correctly, sitting back in the pew, his hands coming up to run through his hair. "If I'd insisted on the hospital run back then…"

"Don't do that, Sam." Dean had already had the same thoughts, but they didn't have time for self flagellation. "I okayed the non-hospital run. Besides, you know what dad always said about Monday morning quarterbacking."

"We have to find a way to fix this, Dean."

"I think I have an idea."

Dean didn't miss the confusion or the doubt in his brother's eyes. It was probably a reflection of the same kind of dread that inspired Castiel to keep the truth from them. He slapped Sam on the knee.

"Don't worry, Little Brother I promise it doesn't require you wearing a bird costume."

RcJ*T*SnsnsnsnsN*T*RcJ

To be continued….(Don't forget to tell us what you think!)