Whiteclay I

Having been away for a few months, Irwin had missed quite a few spectacles in the life of the Winchesters. One of them was, of course, their first meeting with the Archangel Gabríel, whom Irwin was sure was now being bugged by his brethren seeing he had given them the secret to his ruse.

Irwin hoped that the fact does not bite him in the ass, but he would guess that he would. As such, it was instrumental that he garner enough force by the time Gabriel figured out that it was him that unmasked his masquerade.

Another that he missed was Sam and Dean's misadventure with a shapeshifter. Even now, there were wanted posters within the state of their bank robbery and killing of a corrupt Baltimore cop.

Since he would need the Winchesters' help in his next plan, he figured that a favor from them would be a good start. That was why he was adamant about reaching Congressman Brown, who, according to Archibald, had sent missives and couriers to the manor in the past few months.

Seeing the call be picked up, Irwinn put on a friendly voice and said, "Good morning. This is Richard Greythorne of the California Greythornes. I'm calling in response to Congressman Brown's massive amount of letters and calls. Is he free at this time?"

"Oh, yes, sir. Mr. Brown will be notified immediately. Please hold." The voice on the line quickly turned into a nice hold music before, not a minute later, the voice returned. "You'll be transferred now. Have a good day."

"Hello, Richard?" Brown's voice entered his ears. "Ah, yes, thank you, dear. No, I'll be having dinner with Linda."

"Mr. Brown." Irwin cleared his throat, earning the man's limited attention. 

Frankly, Irwin would rather not deal with the Congressman, but according to recent local polls, he was in the running for the next California senator. As such, it was better to invest in the man prior to his election and when he was still a neophyte in regards to the supernatural world.

"Yes, Richard. I've been calling you, young man, for the past month. How come you've only called back now?" Brown asked.

Irwin chuckled, "I've been quite busy, Mr. Brown. Hunting is a dangerous process and any sort of disturbance is… deadly."

"That I've seen and heard. I made contact with a few 'hunters' myself. Well, I say few, but only one of them really talked to me," Brown said with a scoff. "Apparently, most of them don't like my kind any less than the things they hunt."

"The demographics of hunters are biased on the ones that own guns and in rural areas with large swathes of uninhabited land, Mr. Brown. Don't worry, though. I'll let you hang out with the cool guys soon enough." The joke elicited uproarious laughter from Congressman Brown.

"I am eagerly waiting." He replied, "Now, I know this isn't just a social call, so what do you have in mind?"

Irwin went straight for the business at hand as he asked, "Before I tell you… is the call secure?"

Irwin swore he could hear a hint of smugness in Congressman Brown's voice when he answered, "Of course. I had to go down a path that I dare not walk, but it's one of the best there is currently. All for the greater good, son."

'Yeah, right.' Irwin rolled his eyes before continuing, "Do you know of the Winchester brothers? Sam and Dean Winchester? They've been involved in bank robbery and a dozen B&E charges…"

"Oh, yes, yes. I have a memo from the Attorney General here. They're the FBI's most wanted for a while now–Wait, are they… hunters?" Brown's tone turned a pitch higher.

"One of the best, sir. One of the best." Irwin replied. "They're in a bit of a tough spot. I was wondering how we can help them since the bank robbery was a botched Shifter hunt."

"A-a Shifter?" Brown asked with great curiosity.

Hearing his tone, Irwin was more than glad to give Brown a quick lesson, "You've heard of Shapeshifters, right? People who can change their appearance. Well, this is a bit more complex. They can molt their skin off like a snake, but they need to touch the person they want to impersonate first. They gain that person's memories, learn the mannerism and speech patterns, and basically become that person. It's not all good, though. Their molting is hard, slow and gross. It takes a few minutes or hours depending on the variety of the Shifter."

"Holy… mackerel." Brown went silent for a moment before speaking up, "H-How do we kill it or, crap, how do we even know that one is a Shapeshifter?"

"Silver can kill it. Like werewolves and most creatures, it is allergic to silver, with its skin burning at the touch of the metal. Also, cameras show their eyes glowing with light. Remember the bank robbery? The Winchesters were able to figure out who the Shifter is by looking at the bank's cameras." Irwin informed Brown with patience, treating the information as a trade for the favor the man was about to do for him.

Heavy breathing came out of the other side, which was replaced by Brown's unsteady voice. "Thank you for the information. That-this world sure is dangerous."

"It sure is." Irwin replied, "Now, about the favor."

"Ah, yes. Well, I can't do much at the FBI's level, but I'll see what I can when I turn up in their office. For now, tell them to lie low and you call me if they pinched. Maybe I can drop the charges on the cop killing since the guy's dead and no longer teflon." Brown sighed.

"That's good enough for me." Irwin said 

He prepared to end the call by saying his thanks, but before he could, Congressman Brown called out an invitation, "Why don't you visit LA for dinner? That bit of information about Shapeshifter sated a deep curiosity of mine. I would like to pick your brain more… I mean, my wife is a good cook. She's from Kuwait, so–"

"I appreciate the offer, Congressman, but I'm heading to Nebraska at the moment." Irwin politely rejected, hiding the amusement in his voice. "But I'll give you a call if we're heading to or near LA. I know I still haven't repaid you for the favor in Portland."

"That's already been forgotten, but I suppose that would incentivize you to taste my wife's cooking," Brown joked.

"That would do it. Well, thanks for the favor, Mr. Brown. Call Ella, my secretary, if you're in a tough spot and need some hunters." Irwin ended the call before Congressman Brown responded.

He gazed towards Scott, who had just returned from the bathroom and asked, "Did you get the tickets?"

Scott nodded, waving it around before grabbing Irwin's luggage and his own. They traversed the airport, heading towards their gate with guarded ease.

Although Irwin had gotten over his fear of another ghost fetus attacking his airplane, there were still a number of monsters that could make this flight the one that hit the front page of the newspapers. More so if the son of a semi-famous philanthropist Archibald Greythorne was found amongst the wreckage.

"Where are we going, sir?" Scott asked hesitantly.

"We'll land in Central Nebraska. Then ride down to a roadhouse where Garth is staying." He replied.

Scott cleared his throat. "This Garth… is he kind of like me and Andy and Ansem, sir?"

"No, but if we get the timing right, we'll meet one of them." Irwin said.

It had surprised Irwin when Scott had been deferential to him, which was backed by the Child's sudden change of personality as Scott began following after him like some lost puppy. When the moment ceased to be amazing and amusing, Irwin the thought of the implications of the matter.

If the oath scroll Scott had taken caused his shallow endearment to Irwin to be magnified to this degree, what else would have magnified if he had allowed his loved ones to enter the same contract?

That was a dangerous line of thinking, he had thought then. But it kept popping up whenever he saw Scott, and that thinking led to Brunhilde's actions during their brief stop at Germany. She kept calling him 'Sir', even when he had told her to stop. He knew that her usage of the term came from a deep-seated wrath, from killing her friends and binding her to servitude, but what if was not? What if she had a modicum amount of respect or acknowledgment before she signed the contract and that, too, was magnified to an inordinate degree?

Much like Brunhilde, Scott and Ansem had a predilection to call Irwin some form of title befitting of his rank within the group's hierarchy. He didn't like it, but at this point, he would have to be accustomed to such treatment, and many more so in the coming months.

That was, of course, if his plans were to work.

'It'll work.' He hyped himself as he boarded the plane. 'If not, then we go to plan B.'

He turned towards Scott, who had sat beside him. If all else failed, then he would have to make do with what he got.

Plan B was simple. Turn Scott, Ansem, Garth, Gordon, Andy, and Brunhilde into super-soldiers. Strip them to bare essentials and plant as many magik and mystic he could, equip armor and weapons and accessories, and, if that weren't enough, force feed Lucifer's experimental Angel Grace.

'Last resort scenario, of course,' He soothed himself. 'Last resort.'