Chapter Text
"Time to burn, bitch," Dean muttered and threw the lit match down into the grave, torching the old bones. He and Sam had gone for a simple salt and burn.
It was easy compared to a lot of the stuff they got up to. It was basically a restless sprit causing a bit of trouble; it was on their way so they took care of it.
The case was in a small, no-name town just off the highway. The woman had been buried in a graveyard which was in proportion to the town, meaning that they had been able to take care of it in the middle of the day without drawing any attention; there was no one there to see them.
"Well, that's that," Sam said, picking up the shovel, and brushing off dirt from his hands.
"Yeah, let's hit the road again."
"Put your hands where I can see them!"
"You have got to be shitting me," Dean muttered, dropping everything he was holding and putting his hands in the air, seeing that Sam was doing the same as they heard the commanding voice. It was just their luck to get stopped by a cop in the middle of nowhere.
"Turn around slowly."
The Winchesters followed the order. The voice which had given it brokered no argument, even though the words were spoken with a noticeable English accent, which just made them wonder why a British guy was there of all places, catching them doing something rather questionable.
They turned and in the broad daylight they could see the man. He was of average height, about their age, with glasses and dark hair. He even dressed like them, jeans, shirt and a leather jacket.
Dean's first guess, judging by appearance alone, would have been to say that the man was a hunter. He had the same haunted look in his eyes, but the whole police crap about putting your hands in the air blew that theory away.
"Sam and Dean Winchester," the man said, now clearing up the issue as to how he had found them, that is, by looking especially for them.
"You boys have been keeping busy. I could arrest you for impersonation of federal agents, theft, destruction of property, card fraud and have you had a look at that," he said dryly,"grave desecration."
"Yeah, thanks, we know what we did." Though Dean wasn't looking at Sam he could feel the glare. You simply did not talk back to a person holding a gun at you, a police officer holding a gun no less and of course little Sammy would be pissed when he went and broke the rules.
"Who are you?" Sam asked, trying to keep a calm tone. "You obviously know about us."
"How rude of me," the man said sarcastically. "I would show you my badge…"
"Then do so."
"Fair enough." The man took up a badge from his jeans pocket. "Agent Harry Potter, at your service." They couldn't see exactly what it said, but it looked authentic enough, not to say that the ones they had didn't, so it really wasn't any solid proof.
The man put the badge away, all without the gun ever wavering. "With that out of the way... may I just say that you were hard to track down? Never long in one place. Gotta go where the ghosts are, right? Demons, witches, what else is there? Dragons, werewolves, pixies? But you are the good guys, so it's all good."
Dean knew mockery when he heard it. "You've been talking to Henriksen, haven't you?" He asked recognizing the rhetoric.
"As a matter of fact I did talk to Agent Henriksen," came the reply. "Not that it helped any, he clearly didn't get the whole picture and he and no idea where I could find you."
"Why would you want to find us? What makes us so interesting?" Sam asked, wondering if they were going to have more feds running after them to add to all the supernatural beings that wanted their hides.
"Why wouldn't I? With such a track record! Anyway what allowed me to track you down was a nice little chat I had with one Bobby Singer."
Sam and Dean both felt worry and anger at that statement; they did not like the idea of this fellow getting to Bobby.
"What did you do to him?" Sam asked through clenched teeth still holding his hands over his head.
"We talked. He was very helpful."
"Bullshit." Dean spat. "Bobby would never give us up."
"I convinced him."
"And how did you do that?"
"I came clean with him, which I probably should have done with you too."
"Wait, what?" Sam said, not able to process what the man was saying
The agent lowered his gun and gave a huge sheepish grin. "Sorry."
"Huh?" Dean lowered his hands now, getting ready to pull his own gun, he did not appreciate getting tricked.
"Woah, no need to do that! It's just that you were so hard to get a hold on, so I decided to have a bit of fun, I thought I deserved it. This job comes with too much; death and grief, and you two have had me travelling across this continent, you should know that it isn't that much fun."
"You aren't here to arrest us?" Sam asked.
"Merlin, no."
"Merlin?" Dean muttered, exchanging a look with Sam. "Are you even an agent?"
"Yep." The badge was pulled out again, and the bespectacled man tossed it to Sam.
"Agent Harry Potter, IBSI," Sam read out loud. "What does IBSI stand for?"
"International Bureau of Supernatural Investigation."
"What kind of nut job are you?" Dean asked, taking a steadier grip on his gun. "What do you want with us?"
The agent smiled. "Gentlemen, I would like to offer you employment."