Ketch shared a long, reproachful look with Mick Davies, and the other man had the decency to look sheepish.

"What the hell have you been doing?" Ketch snarled. "Playing allies? That is not the objective, Davies. And why in the hell would you promise to keep Winchester updated on the boy's progress? It's none of his business how the boy's doing."

Mick quirked an eyebrow at his colleague. "It's none of Dean Winchester's business on the welfare of his son?" He asked to clarify. What had he missed in the past three weeks?

"It's not." Ketch slapped the clip into his Beretta 9 mm aggressively.

Okay then, backing off and changing the subject.

"You're working with Mary Winchester for the time being," Mick told Ketch, ignoring the growl from the other man. "I'm making great progress on Sam and Dean and their pet angel. I think I can get them to at least trust me a little bit if I go on some hunts with them."

The derisive snort was not a surprise but it still stung a little.

"Maybe I should hunt with Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum instead, and you can handle their mother," Ketch said, hiding a smirk. "We want to impress them, yes? Get them to see that we know what we're talking about? That what we're preaching is tangible and within their reach if they put the work in. That is our goal, right?" Mick nodded slowly, eyes narrowed in suspicion where Ketch is taking this. "Then I should be the one hunting. You hunting is the single most hilarious thing I've heard in a good while."

"Funny," Mick snarled, and Ketch chuckled cruelly.

Doubt filled Mick's mind. It's not like Ketch is wrong. Mick is better known for his skills at research and mediation. He's basically the person who does first contact, establishing a rapport with whomever they're meeting, and then handing it off to the, for lack of a better word, agent in charge. That is what Mick is good at. ...Unless it's Americans and he can't make any headway. They're a stubborn bunch, he'll give them that.

"You haven't even met Mary Winchester, and you're already writing her off. She's good, Arthur. Damn good. I think you'll like her," grinned Mick. With his back turned to his colleague, Mick could sense, could feel to the very bottom of his soul, that Ketch has his murderous/constipated face on and directed at him full force.

It's a good thing Mick isn't looking at him. That look even makes Dr. Hess hesitate. There is no way Mick could look and not be cowed.

Dean could. And Sam. They could meet Ketch's stare head on and roll their eyes at his attempt to intimidate them. They faced down Lucifer, Michael, Raphael, Gabriel, Alistair, Azazel, Abbaddon, Cain, Leviathans, and even Eve herself. And that's not to mention God and his sister. Ketch would not even make them blink.

"It's not going to work. I'm not looking," Mick said, still not turning around. "You can't scare me into changing assignments if I won't look."

Ketch growled in response, and Mick hid a smirk. He's surprised Ketch isn't bullying him into submission, but he's not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He still gets to work with the Winchesters and Ketch can assess just how good Mary Winchester is.

"I'd rather be with the boy. I was making real progress with him," Ketch says in an unusually soft tone. "If you hadn't've mucked about with the Winchesters, I would still be with him, and by the time we settled on bringing him back, he wouldn't even consider staying. He'd do his duty then come back home. A month, Davies, that's all you had to do to keep the Winchesters at bay. One fucking month and you couldn't even do that."

Stung, Mick whirled around to defend himself. "Hey! It's not like it's easy getting the Americans to be on board with our plans. We need the Winchesters. We need Mary. And we need the boy. If you had done your job, you could have brought him with you and the hunters would have at least listened to me."

Nostrils flaring, Ketch growled low in his throat, putting up a good intimidation of a pissed off Rottweiler. "The boy won't be ready in time, especially since I'm here with you. I knew the Council should have kept Bevell here. She would have gotten those hunters to listen." He straightened and fixed his tie. Any trace of anger disappearing from his face, and Mick envied the quick way the other man was able to hide his emotions.

"Fine. I got the mother, but you better make them trust you and have them convince the other hunters to, at the very least, listen to your spiel." Ketch rolled his shoulders and neck. "Where is the Winchester matriarch?"

Mick tried to emulate Ketch's business demeanor but fell short. He bet Sam would have pulled it off. Dean not so much. The elder Winchester brother is a hot-head. Sam is better at keeping his emotions in check. Case in point, the brothers dealing with him, the man who helped steal Dean's son away and hasn't let them talk to Ben since he relieved Bevell of her duty.

"Somewhere in Georgia. Checking out a possible hunt. Didn't specify what."

Ketch grunted. He checked his knives then placed them back onto his body. Mick watched him with placid interest, fascinated as always as the other man turned his body into a one-stop weapons cache that's strategically placed and easy to reach at a moment's notice.

Mick had only one gun and one holster to place it. Easy to see. Easy to grab, and that's a two-way street. Other people, people who are good at pick-pocketing, could easily pluck it off of his person without Mick even noticing. Even Bevell kept her weapons hidden but easy to reach, and who knows what Dr. Hess has on her.

"Well, isn't that just bloody perfect," Ketch snarled. "Give me her number so we can meet up. I'd rather get this over and done with so I could get back to the boy."

"Fine, fine," Mick sighed, and texted Mary's number. "Happy?"

"Ecstatic."

BW

Ben hates the early morning swims.
He's excelling at learning Classical Latin & Contemporary.
He's settling in.

Mick's updates are not helping Dean dealing with Ben's disappearance. No. Definitely not helping. Sam seems to think it's progress that they are not getting news about Ben. Three weeks and Mick is finally talking about him.

Three. Weeks.

23 days since Ben got taken, and who is apparently getting brainwashed by the very people who kidnapped him. What's that syndrome called again? Stockholm Syndrome? Something like that. Whatever. That is what's happening to his son. He's identifying and bonding with his captors. Dean needs to get him back. Now. Screw the deal they made with Mick. Dean ain't doing shit until he gets Ben back. And Sam - Sam is distracted. He won't tell Dean what he's doing but he promises he isn't wasting time. Dean's believing him for now.

There's a lot of balls in the air and Dean doesn't know which one to catch first.

Lucifer? Mom? Ben? The annoyance that is Mick?

'He's settling in.' Not very comforting. More like a punch to the gut and a solid hit to the heart by a friggin' giant. A real proper giant. Not Sam level giant. Like Won-Won level giant. Besides, what does that mean exactly? Are they indoctrinating his son into their way of thinking? Of viewing hunting and researching as the British do?

Those sons of bitches! Ben is his son, dammit! His. Not Mick's. Not the Council's. His and Lisa's. ...More Lisa than him.

Lisa.

Closing his eyes, Dean leaned forward on the study table, his elbows on the surface and his face in his hands. Grief rose up inside him, clogging his throat, and hot tears tried to escape but he kept them at bay. He has no right to mourn her passing. She'd be so disappointed in him for not protecting their son. For not doing a lot of things right by them. If he had only gone back to them after he got Sam's soul back, then Lisa would be alive and Ben would be preparing for college instead of her being dead and Ben somewhere in London with the people who kidnapped him and are possibly brainwashing him into compliance.

He is fucking shit at being a father. His mom was wrong. Dean is not a good father. Just look at Sam. He's a prime example of Dean being horrible at parenting. The guy was called the Boy King of Hell, for crying out loud! His daughter wanted to kill him, and Sam killed her, and Ben is quite content living with the enemy. With those three shining examples of his parenting, is it any wonder why he thinks he's shit at being a dad? Not even Mom could find a happy spin on that. Or Cas.

Okay, possibly Cas, but that's only because the angel is biased to all hell concerning him.

"What would Dad do?" The question is asked and only silence answers. Figures. The one time he wants something paranormal to happen and it doesn't. He should grab a Ouji board and contact Jo or . . . Bela.

Dean's head came up. Bela.

Hope started to bloom in his chest.

Bela. Bela Talbot. She'd know where the British Men of Letters are. She'd have to. She knew people in Europe who had a penchant for collecting haunted and exotic items. What if she got artifacts for the those pompous asses? As much as Mick likes to boast about his chapter house, there is no way they couldn't have gotten all their artifacts by themselves. No. Bela had to have helped them out for a steep price. He'll even bet they're the ones that told her about the Crossroads Demon when she was a child. Instead of helping her, they told her to sell her soul to save herself.

And these people have his son, brainwashing him.

"Sam!" Dean bellowed in the Bunker, bringing Sam and Cas running to the library. "Bela!" he said excitedly as Sam skidded to a halt by him, gun raised and eyes searching for danger.

He paused, then blinked. "Bela?" Dean nodded. Sam frowned in confusion for a couple of seconds then his eyes cleared and he lit up, hope infusing his features and he reached out to grab onto Dean. "Bela," he breathed, his other hand grabbing onto Cas so he could be excited too. "Bela Talbot could find the Chapter house."

"How . . . do we get in contact with this . . . Bela," Cas said slowly, his mouth grimacing at saying Bela's name, and Dean hid a pleased smirk, feeling stupidly happy at Cas being jealous over someone else's name.

Sam turned, pulling Dean with him, and faced Cas, eyes bright. "She's dead." Cas blinked, confusion in his eyes. "A Ouji board. We can contact her through that. She's in Hell," Sam adds when Cas' confusion does not give way. "We don't need you to go to Heaven and deal with your brothers and sisters -"

"Dick-heads," Dean muttered darkly.

"-and we don't need to contact Crowley for his help either. No one will be put in danger or favor owed. God, why didn't we think of that before?" Sam asked Dean, a frown on his face.

Dean holds up his hands. "Hey, you're the genius, Stanford boy. Don't blame me." He has the biggest smile on his face, and it's a damn good sight for Sam and Cas to see. The exhaustion, anger and hurt that has weighed Dean down is gone, even if its for a moment. Dean looks at them expectantly. "Well? Go buy a Ouji board!"

Sam jolts into action, grabbing his coat and is out the door before Cas can even ask what Dean wants him to do while Sam is off getting the board. Dean grabs Cas and drags him along to the kitchen to make some snacks. Cas goes willingly, pleased that Dean is no longer so angry.

Cas' arms are soon ladened with junk food piled high enough that he could barely see over them. He didn't complain, allowing Dean to pile even more food because his hunter is finally showing some hope at their situation. They still have no trace of Lucifer after he left Vince Vincente's body. Castiel is grateful that Mick Davies is know sharing information about Ben and his situation in London, if nothing, they now know that Ben isn't being hurt or tortured. Not that Dean would say that it's any better. He seems to think they're using that time to brainwash Ben into their way of thinking by offering up "training" as a way to get Ben to trust them.

Sam seems to think Dean's being paranoid, but Castiel has known Dean long enough to trust his instincts concerning his family, and Castiel knows that Sam also believes this as well. He thinks Sam is just trying to be optimistic about the whole situation. Castiel can understand that. He wishes Dean would too, if only for his sanity.

"Let's go," Dean says, pulling Castiel out of his thoughts and out of the kitchen to the library. They pile the goodies on to a table, leaving space for the Ouji board. Dean carefully places their favorite snacks in front of their designated chairs.

Then Dean spent the next ten minutes getting everything perfect and situated, takes a step back, frowns a bit, then goes back in and rearranges everything until he's happy with it. Castiel merely stepped back and let Dean do his thing. He held snacks that Dean shoved into his arms while the hunter rearranged yet again the food piles. Sam returned from town, and watched his brother move snacks around for a couple of minutes, sharing a fondly amused look with Castiel.

There's no hurry to do the seance. They could let Dean move the snacks around to his heart's content.

And they did.

Thirty minutes go by in amiable silence. Dean finally looks up to see them standing there staring at him. Red stains his cheeks and he can't look them in the eye but he defiantly crosses his arms, waiting for them to laugh or make a joke. They don't. Of course they don't. There's little reason for them to ruin the small amount of happiness Dean found.

Well, maybe happiness isn't the right word. Contentment, perhaps?

"Don't. Say. A. Word."

Sam and Cas nod simultaneously, Cheez-its in Cas's hand. Dean walks over and plucks the red box out of the angel's hand and shoves it into Sam's, exchanging for the Ouji board.

"Let's get this party started!" Dean grinned.

"Dean," Sam and Cas sighed at the same time. Dean's grin widened, green eyes sparkling, and they end up smiling back. Anything to keep Dean's mind off of Ben and Mary.

Castiel watched curiously as Dean set up the board, picking up the planchette to inspect. He wanted to ask why is it triangular but was afraid that he might ruin Dean's good mood. Placing the planchette back on the table, he picked up next the description and read to see if it explains why there is a triangle and discovered it's called a planchette. Huh. Humans. They never cease to amaze him.

BW

Ben leans heavily against Crassus, exhausted and bored. A dangerous combination when one is on watch. If Ketch was still around, he'd smack both of their heads together and make them do PT until they're throwing up and their legs feel like jelly. It's the only plus side he can think of his mentor being gone. Marcus Braughn is his new mentor, and he is nowhere near as good as Ketch. His fighting techniques are sloppy, and he's as stealthy as an elephant in a glass factory. How he's qualified to teach up and coming hunters and Men of Letters is beyond Ben. He should talk to Dr. Hess. This is blatant incompetency. Braughn can seriously put any of the younger recruits in danger for not knowing how to be quiet.

The cool wind shifts direction, sending icy fingers up their shirts, clawing at their skin. Shivering, Crassus tucks himself under Ben's arm, the bastard - that was Ben's plan - sighing contentedly.

"Asshole," Ben hisses into the other teen's ear, but he doesn't shove Crassus off. There's a puff of laughter against his skin, goosebumps raise at the temperature difference. It's not entirely unpleasant, reminding him of a cold night with Krissy and that's an odd mental link to make between the two because that's the night he worked up the courage to kiss Krissy for the first time. He'd been so certain she'd kick his ass, but instead kissed him back. It was a good night.

The sensation is the same though. Again, weird mental link.

Three more hours and then he can sleep. Why they have a watch in the first place is confusing. This place is warded up the ying-yang. No creature can get in here, and the security is top notch. No human can get in here either.

"Watch is stupid," Ben grumbles loud enough for Crassus to hear. "Why are we even doing this? We could be sleeping in our beds, warm and not on the verge of frost bite."

Crassus snorts, lifting his head up to look Ben in the eye. "Because we're supposed to be learned how to depend not only on each other but building up routines and techniques that would help us in the long run. We're learning how to run our bodies on limited sleep and to push them to their maximum endurance level. This is for our own good."

"That sounded quite rehearsed." Crassus hit Ben, laughing. "You practice that the entire time we've been on watch?" teased Ben, pinning Crassus's hands to his chest to keep him from hitting him again. He grinned when Crassus mashed his face into Ben's shoulder to keep from laughing loudly. They'd surely be punished if they were found laughing while on watch for next four hours. Not even Ben's "lineage" would protect them from that. Dr. Hess might even think of her own form of punishment, disappointment written all over her face.

"Shut up, Winchester," Crassus mumbled, and Ben's grin grows. "Let me go."

"Only if you promise to quit hitting me. What kind of friend are you? Hitting your best friend over any little thing I do that annoys or embarrasses you. That's a long list of things I can't do, man. That's not very fair of you," Ben said. His eyes scanned the perimeter, debating about them getting up and going on their rounds now instead of when they're too cold to move.

Crassus snorted eloquently.

"We should go patrol." Ben yawned, and shoved Crassus off of him and got to his feet. Swaying slightly from having Crassus on him and for sitting so long without moving, Ben shook himself awake, jumping up and down on the balls of his feet to get his blood pumping. Crassus did the same, only with more complaining.

Wind rustles the grass around them, playing with Ben's hair and trying to slip under his shirt to chill his skin with a vicious bite, probably as punishment for sitting on his ass for the past hour. The wind is working for Dr. Hess, Ben just knows it. He can feel it in his bones. She probably has some wind spirits under her control and she sends them out on nights like this to test the newest recruits.

How does one get wind spirits under their control? Is that advanced magic? Will he be here long enough to learn that type of magic? He'd like to, but he'd also like to get back home.

Crassus grumbled then slapped Ben on the shoulder, jolting him out of his wandering thoughts.

"Let's go. I don't wanna be caught sitting on my ass."

He took off before Ben could say a retort, legs moving quickly as he did his rounds. Ben let him take the lead. He's been here longer and Ben shouldn't be showing him up as Dr. Hess's favorite. The dirty looks Ben gets on a daily basis is enough to last him a lifetime. He doesn't need Crassus to join them in hating on Ben for things beyond his control.

Braughn is waiting for them once they finished their second circuit around the training grounds. An unhappy expressions pulls at the older man's face, high-lighting the wrinkles on his youthful face, making him a living juxtaposition. Not exactly a good look on the man.

"You have a solo mission," Braughn told Crassus, "and you have lessons with Dr. Mortonson." He nodded at Ben, and Ben nodded back. "Bed, Winchester."

"Yes, sir," Ben said, pulling Crassus in for a bro hug, and whispered, "Good luck. You'll kick ass."

Crassus grinned before turning his attention back to Braughn, his brow furrowing as he listened to his mission parameters. Neither boy noticed the uneasy look in Braughn's eyes as he relayed the information Crassus would need to complete his objective. Easy grab of a needed artifact the Chapter house needs. Something first years handle with no trouble. For someone of Crassus's training and skills, he should get it done quickly, and if Crassus were to be asked how he felt about his mission, he'd say he felt insulted at doing something so easy as a solo mission.

Crassus forgot the most important lesson taught at Kendrick's: over-confidence can get you killed.

Getting shooed away to bed, and it's not like he's going to argue against sleeping in his bed after freezing his ass most of the night, Ben walked away without looking back, not knowing that would be the last time he saw his friend for a long time.