Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Joanna Beth Harvelle slammed out the door of the Roadhouse, rucksack slung over one shoulder as she headed for an old Toyota pick-up that had belonged to her father before his death. Her mother's voice was still ringing in her ears.

"You are not goin' Hunting while you live under this roof!"

"Then I'm gone, Mom, and you can't stop me."

And she didn't.

Yeah, it had been stupid of her to go and get herself nabbed by the ghost haunting that apartment complex over in Philadelphia, and yes, it was only her mother's determination and knowledge that had saved both their asses (but not either of those other girls), but now that she'd gotten a taste for it, Jo just couldn't stop herself from wanting to Hunt. She'd been the freak with the knife collection when she'd tried going to college, and she was the pretty girl who knew too much in her mother's bar. She'd had enough of trying to be something she wasn't.

Even better, Jo already had a case lined up over in Baltimore. A lawyer named Anthony Giles had died in his locked office, throat slit. His office was clean, and the security cameras had failed to capture the assailant. That meant someone had tampered with the tapes, or it was some kind of spirit. Either way, she was checking this one out.

"Sorry, Mom," she whispered before gunning the engine and pulling away.

"It's infected."

Sam sighed and leaned back in his chair. They were currently staying in a tiny motel just outside of Ilchester, Maryland. "We robbing a pharmacy tonight, then?" he asked.

"I'm going," Dean said, stepping back from Sam and dropping onto the nearest bed. "You're staying here, kiddo."

Sam couldn't help the scowl that crossed his face, even though he knew it would be better if Dean went alone. Dean's emotions told him he understood and he was sorry, but it was what it was.

Dean stood after a moment had passed and grabbed his jacket. "I'm gonna find food, and you're gonna sit there and do nothing to aggravate that arm of yours in any way, got it?"

"Yes, Dean," Sam intoned with a roll of his eyes. "Don't get distracted by anything with legs."

Dean gave Sam a light cuff to the back of his head and then he left. Sam stayed where he was, slumped in his seat and staring at nothing.

This sucked.

After some length of time, Sam's eyes were drawn to the research he had pulled up. The man they were looking for was named Fredric Lehne. He had once been a priest at St. Mary's convent, only a few minutes drive from where they were, and he had been possessed by Azazel, who disemboweled eight nuns inside the chapel. The once-Father was now located inside the Clifton T. Perkins Hospital Center in Baltimore and was considered one of the calmer patients.

The only thing that made him crazy was that he continued to insist that it had been demonic possession responsible for the death of those nuns, and not him. Dean had come across this information when helping their father try to track down everywhere Azazel had been between 1972 and 1983 in an attempt to find where he'd been holding Sam during his time in captivity. Amazingly, Lehne was still alive, so Sam and Dean hoped they could get in to see him and find out if there was anything else he remembered from the possession. This was the only way they had found so far to try and determine what Azazel's end game could be.

Sam's cell phone started ringing, and he picked it up, stared at the screen for a moment and then pressed the talk button. "Hello?"

"Hey, Sam? It's Ellen."

"Oh, hey," Sam said. "How are you? Dean told me you went to save Jo over in Philadelphia a few days ago."

"Yeah," Ellen sighed, "and then Jo decided she wanted to keep Hunting and ran off earlier this afternoon. Ash told me that Gordon was tracking you and that Scott kid?"

"Yeah, he was," Sam said.

"So, what happened?"

Sam sighed and ran a hand through his hair before remembering he wasn't supposed to move his left arm around at all. "Well," he said, dropping his arm to his lap, "Gordon was tracking us both, but there was a succubus in town along with one of the demons that I met back in L.A. and it got crazy complicated and ended with Gordon in jail along with Gerald Humphrey and his nephew, Thomas."

"Wait," Ellen said, "Hunter Gerry? In jail?"

"Well, he and Thomas managed to get out, but Gordon's still behind bars since the cops found evidence that he'd been tracking both Scott Carey and me along with his impressive arsenal."

"Wow," Ellen said after a moment. "I think you and Dean are gonna have to stop by sometime and give me the whole story."

"Yeah," Sam said.

"Anyway," Ellen continued after a moment, "the main reason I called is because I think Jo's headed to Baltimore to work a case. You boys anywhere near there?"

Sam frowned. "As it just so happens, we are," he said, sitting up straighter and opening his laptop. "Any idea what the case is?"

"Man had his throat slit in his office a couple days back," Ellen answered. "There's no prints or witnesses, and the security cameras didn't catch anyone, which could mean tampering or a spirit."

"Huh," Sam said. "Well, I don't think that has anything to do with why we're here, but I guess I could take a look into it."

"What are you two out there for?" asked Ellen. "You didn't find another kid, did you?"

"No," Sam said, "it's got more to do with Azazel." It wasn't something he really wanted to talk about. "Anyway, did you want us to keep an eye out for Jo or something?"

"Please," Ellen said. "I can't stop her from doing what she wants, but I can't stop from worrying about her, either. It really would mean a lot."

"All right," said Sam, "I'll let Dean know and we'll keep our eyes peeled."

"Thank you," said Ellen. "And Sam? You take care of yourself, you hear?"

"Yes, ma'am," Sam said with a smile. He ended the call and pulled up his web browser. Throat slitting was usually a demon's M.O., but he got the feeling that this was something else entirely. He resettled into his seat and began his latest bout of research.

Scott Carey was bored. He didn't mean to be, but celebrating Ryan Fulmer's nineteenth birthday mere days after his life had changed irrevocably seemed so mundane after everything.

He kept his gloved hands folded close to his chest as he watched other boys and girls around Ryan's age have a fun time socializing while they drank punch and ate pizza from his spot against the wall. It was so normal, everything Scott had ever known until he'd developed the ability to electrocute people, fry their insides until they were dead.

If it hadn't been for Sam and Dean Winchester, Scott was pretty sure he would have remained to total recluse who got stabbed to death by an insane Gordon Walker. As it was, life in general was just… different. Sharper. Bigger, broader, whatever. It was different, and so was he.

"You've changed." Scott blinked and focused on the blonde girl standing in front of him.

"Oh, hey Callie," he said, meeting her green eyes. "How are you?"

"I'm good," Callie Parker answered. "Mind telling me what happened to you?"

Scott raised his eyebrows. "What makes you so sure I'm a changed man?" he asked.

Callie shrugged, turning so she was leaning against the wall, as well. "You're quieter," she said after a moment. "I wouldn't say you were an extrovert a year ago, but you seem more cautious when you're not lost in your own thoughts. Plus, gloves in early September? It's not officially fall just yet."

Scott glanced down at his hands. "Fashion statement," was all he said, and Callie gave a soft chuckle.

"Still got the same sense of humor," she said. "But seriously, though, you all but disappeared these last few months. Why come out of the woodwork now?"

"Why not?" Scott shot back. "Big showdown in the middle of the street that makes sense to no one but the people involved can't be a life-changing experience?"

"So you were there that night last week," Callie said, giving him a shrewd look. "No one really seems to know what happened."

"Yeah," Scott said.

Callie stared at him for another long moment. "You're not gonna tell me?"

Scott sighed. The fact of the matter was that, after everything he'd been through, he was wary of trusting others. What if Callie was possessed by another demon? Sam and Dean had left, and he didn't know Thomas Humphrey well enough to just pick up the phone and start asking questions. He had Sam's number, too, but he wasn't about to go calling him just because he was feeling scared and paranoid about everything and everyone.

"My life was saved that night," he finally said. "That's the most important thing."

"You mean from that psychopath the police arrested?" Callie asked.

Scott nodded. "He was planning to kill me," he said, "and well… It's still pretty confusing to me, but the guy was caught and he won't be getting outta jail anytime soon." He looked down at Callie and smiled. "If it hadn't been for the events of that night, I'd probably be dead now."

Callie looked at him. "That's all I'm gonna get outta you, isn't it."

"Yep." Scott managed a grin and looked away. "Want some pizza?"

Callie grinned back. "Thought you'd never ask."

The rest of the party was more enjoyable, though Scott still maintained physical distance out of habit. Regardless, he found he was able to relax for the first time in almost a year. The world was different now, but he could still live a fairly normal life, right?

It wasn't until he was walking back across the street to his house that the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Scott paused by the front door, key in the lock, and looked around. Nothing seemed out of place, but the sudden wariness was something he now knew better than to ignore.

Someone was watching him, and he didn't like it.

Sam was still awake when Dean returned from the hunt for food and medicine. He rolled his eyes, dropping Sam's food and meds next to his laptop and glanced at the screen, fully expecting to see something about the other special children or maybe something on that convent they were going to visit in a couple days.

"Who's Anthony Giles?"

Sam glanced up from the bag of take-out. "Huh? Oh, he's a defense lawyer in Baltimore."

"A dead lawyer," Dean said, frowning at the laptop display. "Why're you lookin' at that?"

"Ellen called," Sam answered, grabbing the container of antibiotics with his right hand, left clenched in his lap. The trembling must've taken over it, again. "Said she found Jo and finished the job, but that Jo found something out here and took off again. I told her we'd keep an eye out for her."

Dean nodded slightly, reading over the article. "Sounds fine," he said, glancing down at Sam's left arm just in time to see his clenched fist relax. "Now eat up and take those pills. We've got a trip to make to that state hospital in the afternoon and I want you to at least try and get some sleep tonight. It was a bitch getting that interview set up so we need to be as focused as possible."

Sam nodded silently and started eating. Feeling satisfied, Dean turned on the TV and started channel surfing, pausing on the CW to scowl at the current show playing before moving on. Smallville had too much drama and never enough action for him. Why couldn't there be a cool show about Batman?

About an hour later, Sam was struggling to keep his eyes open and Dean smiled to himself as he rejoiced in the power of the antibiotics he'd procured for Sam. These particular ones caused drowsiness, and it looked like they were gonna knock Sam out real good.

"Okay, Sasquatch," Dean finally, heaving himself off the bed and walking over to his little brother. "I think it's time you hit the hay."

"Don' wanna," Sam slurred petulantly, and Dean was vividly reminded of a nine-year-old Sammy with the flu. It was almost too cute to think about.

"I know," Dean said, pulling Sam to his feet, "but I'm the big brother and I say it's bedtime. C'mon."

He helped Sam get ready for bed and even tucked him in. "M'not a kid, Dean," Sam sighed as he shifted into a more comfortable position.

"Yeah," Dean said quietly, "I know. Sleep well, little brother."

It was the first time in months that Sam slept the whole night through, suffering from only one mild nightmare that Dean was able to soothe away before Sam could wake up. It was the best sleep Dean had had in a while, too, and while he knew he should feel guilty for essentially drugging Sam, he couldn't. Not when they both needed this.

Dean's dreams were filled with happy memories of the times John had been their dad and Sam had been small and innocent, looking up to Dean with trust and love-filled eyes that didn't know the turmoil of the future that lay ahead.

Ava Wilson tried, she really did, but she couldn't stop herself from flinching when Brady touched her shoulder to get her attention.

"Okay," Brady said after a moment, moving into her line of vision, "that's it. Ava, we really need to talk."

Ava tried to smile innocently. "About what?"

The look Brady gave her reminded her an awful lot of her mother when she tried to lie about staying out late. Good thing her parents still lived down in Palm Beach.

"About whatever happened to you last week," Brady said, sitting down next to Ava at the kitchen table. After the events in Lafayette, Indiana, Ava had moved in with her fiancé, Brady Walker. It was something they'd been contemplating for a while now, so it wasn't a huge shocker to Brady when she made the choice to move into the house he was renting. However, it was more than obvious to her that he was bothered by the sudden paranoia.

The fact of the matter was that Ava was bothered by it, too. She watched as Brady ran a hand through his black hair and bit his lip, almost as though he wasn't entirely certain where to start. Ava bit her lip, as well. Would he believe her if she told him the truth? Or would he call her crazy and try to have her committed?

"Why'd you cancel that dinner?" Brady finally asked. "It was so sudden."

Ava sighed and looked away. "You know how I started having nightmares about a year ago?" she asked, and Brady frowned, but nodded. "Nightmares that I couldn't really remember? Well, last week, I had one that was so realistic I almost thought it was really happening." After a moment, she forced herself to meet Brady's brown eyes. "It was like I was really there, watching this black guy kill some kid named Scott Carey because he was different."

"Different how?" Brady asked.

"Scott could electrocute people with one touch of his hand," Ava said, "and this black guy killed him for it." She dropped her head back and stared at the ceiling. "I couldn't help it, I was curious to know if the grocery store I saw was real, if the street name was real… And it was."

Brady blinked. "What?"

"The scene of my nightmare actually exists in Lafayette, Indiana," Ava said, watching Brady sadly. "And there's a guy named Scott Carey who lives in that city."

Brady didn't say anything for a long moment. "It was… a vision?"

Ava sighed and nodded. "I didn't want to believe it, but something in me didn't want to take the chance that I'd witnessed a murder before it could happen, so I cancelled on you and drove out to Lafayette. That's where I met Sam and Dean Winchester. Sam's the guy you saw with the uh… the blood on him," she added. "Dean was the one with the short hair, and Scott was the other kid with the curly-ish hair."

Brady was silent again. "You really had a vision?" he asked softly.

Ava nodded again and explained everything that had happened, everything she'd been told. Brady took it all in with very few questions.

"I know I seem really paranoid right now," Ava said, winding down, "and you're right. I'm freaked out that someone like Gordon could find me and try to kill me like Scott, or that another demon could possess someone I care about like Karena…" She shook her head and huffed out a laugh. "I don't know how to stop it," she told Brady, finally meeting his eyes. "I don't know how to live my life the way I used to when I half-expect my own shadow to try and do me in."

"Ava," Brady finally said, "it's okay. This all sounds so…"

"Crazy?" Ava suggested.

"Yeah," Brady said with a small smile, "but this Gordon never heard more than your first name, right? That means any fucked-up friends he might have, they have no idea where to find you. And as for demons…" He trailed off and shook his head. "I guess we learn to take the same precautions this Sam and Dean take. I've always wanted to learn Latin," he added with a small grin.

Ava smiled and pulled Brady close. "That's why I love you," she whispered before kissing him. "Just, be patient with me, okay? I think it's cool to know what's really out there, but I've been paranoid about it, too, and it could take me awhile to come to terms with that."

"I can live with that," Brady whispered before pulling Ava into another kiss. She forgot about her paranoia for the rest of the night after that.

Chapter Text

"You should call Thomas now that he's not in prison," Sam told Scott the next morning as he watched Dean throw away the remains of their breakfast. "It's one thing to be paranoid and overreact than it is to be paranoid and end up dead, anyway. If there's anyone watching you, Thomas or his uncle will figure it out."

"Okay," Scott said over the phone, sounding relieved. "How do I know it isn't a demon or something?"

Sam sighed and ran a hand through his hair, ignoring the waves of Dean's curiosity as he tried to focus on the issue at hand. "The main problem with knowing is that any demon Azazel sends your way is going to be blending in so they won't seem out of place in your life."

"But you knew that Mrs. Weston was possessed," Scott pressed.

"And I'm the biggest freak of us all," Sam deadpanned, and Dean's curiosity was now tinged with annoyance. "Look, there's really no way you'll be able to tell unless they slip up, start acting out of the ordinary."

Like Tyson Brady.

The thought came from nowhere and Sam felt his insides freeze. No. Not him, it couldn't be.

He's the one who introduced you to Jessica.

"Sam?" Scott asked.

"What? Sorry," Sam quickly said, turning away from Dean and staring at the nearest wall as his brother's curiosity and annoyance became concernSammywhat'swrong. "Look, you need to be cautious about the things you say to people, but don't let the paranoia take over. If there's anyone watching you, Tom or Gerald'll find them, I promise."

"All right," Scott said after a moment. "Thanks, Sam."

Sam ended the call and dropped his phone on his bed, still staring at the wall and trying to block out Dean's emotions. It wasn't working.

"Sam?" Dean said after a long moment.

"Huh?" Sam said, forcing himself to look over at his brother.

"Scott doin' okay?"

Sam nodded quickly and turned away, grabbing his bag and pulling out his "FBI" suit as his thoughts raced. He'd been able to go through his memories and identify various people that he thought had been possessed by demons on Azazel's orders to train him, sway him, but his best friend from Stanford had never once been on that list. Until now, anyway. How had Sam not realized that Tyson Brady was one of them? It was so painfully obvious now that he thought about it.

Dean suddenly stepped into his line of sight, a frown marring his features and concern in his eyes, which made the fruitless effort of ignoring his emotions become even more so. "What's got you all freaked out?" he asked, and Sam couldn't help but sigh at the question.

"Nothing, Dean," he answered, pulling on his button-up shirt, being mindful of the bandage on his left arm and trying to think of something he could say to distract Dean from what was really going through his head. "Is Gordon the type to call in for back-up?"

Dean blinked at the question. "I dunno," he said, "I mean, he didn't want our help with those 'vegan-vamps' until we showed up and saved his ass."

Sam didn't like remembering that Hunt, and especially not that night. "D'you think he would call in others if he thought he might not finish a job?" Sam asked.

Dean stared at him for a long moment. "You think Scott is being followed," he said, "and you think it's another Hunter."

Dean was distracted from the truth Sam didn't want to consider. He took a moment to feel relief before focusing and giving Dean a nod. "Scott's not going to be able to sense demons like I can," he told Dean as he headed over to the bathroom mirror to put on his tie, "paranoid or not. Besides, demons aren't watching him the way they tend to watch us."

That caused a pretty big emotional spike.

"Whoa, wait a minute," Dean said, grabbing Sam's shoulder and turning him so they were face-to-face. "You never said a thing about demons were watching us from afar, Sam."

"I didn't realize that I could sense more than Azazel until Mrs. Weston showed up last week," Sam said shortly, turning back to the mirror. "I guess Azazel's presence is stronger than all the others, so they just didn't really stand out to me before."

Dean sighed and took a step back. "I guess that explains some of your behavior lately," he said, the concern finally starting to fade a little as the need to break the tension rose to the surface.

"Only some?" Sam asked, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth in spite of himself.

"Yeah," Dean said, humor and sheer relief rising to the surface. "The rest is nothing but buckets of crazy."

"Gee, thanks Dean," Sam said sarcastically, though he was still grinning a little. "Nice to know what you really think of me."

Dean cuffed his shoulder. "Just makin' sure my little brother knows where he stands," he replied with a grin of his own, the concern fading back into the background once more. "Now, c'mon, the appointment's in three hours and I need more food."

Fredric Lehne was old. Old, tired, stiff, but never grouchy. How could he be? Sure, no one was ever going to believe him about what happened that day over 30 years ago, but despite the fact that everyone thought he was crazy, he was actually taken care of here. The women looked at him with pity while the men would just shake their heads, but the fact of the matter was that he was old and possibly senile. He wasn't a threat, not like that demon had been.

So being interviewed by the FBI was something he found to be out of the ordinary.

"Agents Schon and Perry," the shorter man said, holding out his hand as he and the taller man took their seats across from Fredric.

"Hello," Fredric said, taking the offered hand in the firmest grip he could manage with his aching arms. "What can I do for you?"

"We have some questions regarding the events of May 2, 1972," said Agent Schon. "You do recall what happened that day, right?"

Fredric sighed. It was something he wished he could avoid speaking about for what remained of his long life, but there was always someone out there who had to know, who thought they could solve once and for all whether or not he was crazy. He wasn't, and he knew it. If only he could convince anyone of the truth…

"I do," he finally said, rubbing at his chest to ease the tightness there.

"Could you tell us about the days leading up to the event?" Perry asked.

"It was the morning of the attack," Fredric said. "There was nothing suspicious at all, nothing until the black smoke came out of nowhere and crammed itself down my throat."

"Black smoke," said Schon, and the tone angered Fredric.

"No one believes me," he said, staring at the two men. "Why should you?"

Perry seemed to hesitate before speaking. "There are uh, similar cases to yours popping up in the Midwest, Mr. Lehne, so anything you can tell us…" He trailed off and his eyes dropped, but Fredric caught something in them, something that made him think at least this man might just believe him.

"The black smoke was a demon," he said after a moment. "I never thought demons could tread on holy ground, but it got into the convent and it possessed me." He hesitated. "It was the demon who killed those sisters, but it used my body to carry out its work."

"Do…" Perry paused before raising his eyes. "Do you remember anything about this demon or why it was there?"

Fredric sighed. "You've read the case report, haven't you?" he said wearily. "The demon's name was Azazel, and it — " He broke off, shaking his head just enough to get the point across without making his neck hurt more. "It wasn't me," he finally whispered. "I'd never —"

"I know," Perry said, voice uncharacteristically soft for an FBI agent. Fredric leaned forward slightly, taking a closer look into the eyes of the floppy-haired agent, and then he saw it: this man believed him, honestly and truly.

He suddenly felt lightheaded and the tightness in his chest began to become increasingly painful. "Mr. Lehne?" Perry said, tone changing to concern. "Are you all right?"

Fredric tried to breathe, but it was getting harder and harder and he felt his eyes bulging in their sockets.

"Oh, shit," Perry said, standing and moving around the table, "I think he's having a heart attack."

"What?" said Schon, also standing.

"Get help!" Perry shouted as the world lost its balance and tipped on its side. The tall agent caught Fredric as he slumped off his chair. "Mr. Lehne, hold on, we're gonna get you help and you'll be okay."

Somehow, Fredric knew it was finally his time, but he had to tell the young man holding him up what he remembered from that day. "Azazel," he gasped out. "He… said, he said…"

"It's all right, you don't have to say anything right now," Perry said hurriedly, eyes shining slightly as Fredric managed to meet them with his own again. "You're gonna be fine."

"No," Fredric wheezed, "finally done… But he said… cage, a cage that opened in the…" He gasped for air. "In the convent," he finally managed. "Whisper through the keyhole, need to free…"

The world was losing its focus, and Fredric reached out almost blindly to grasp at the agent's jacket. "Lilith, needs Lilith for Seals and…" His air was almost gone, but he needed to tell the believer what he could remember. "… and… special children… demon's blood… best one…"

And then it was all gone.

"Mom, would you just listen to me for a moment?" Ava all but shouted into her phone as she exited the local grocery store, three plastic bags on her left arm and another two hanging from her right. "We've already picked the date, March thirtieth, next year, and that's that."

"But Ava —"

"But what, Mom?" Ava snapped as she reached her car. "It's a perfectly reasonable time to get married. We've both already talked with our bosses and got it arranged so Brady and I can go to Hawaii for our honeymoon, learn to surf and make flower necklaces or whatever for two weeks."

"But it's not convenient for your father, nor me," her mother said in her reasonable tone, making Ava want to bash her head against her car repeatedly. "Couldn't you do the weekend after that?"

"No," Ava said firmly, pulling out her keys to unlock her car. "It's always been about what's convenient for you and Dad, never me, and I'm not putting up with it this time." She took a deep breath. "This wedding, Mom, it's about me and Brady, not you and Dad. I'm sorry if you can't make it, but it's set and we're not changing it." She clicked her phone shut and wrenched her car door open, accidentally dropping one of her bags in the process. "Dammit!" she growled, shoving the other grocery bags behind the driver's seat.

"Here, let me help."

The newcomer was so unexpected that Ava screamed and jumped away, startling an older-looking man who was slowly going bald. "Oh, God," Ava gasped, taking in the oh-so-normal-looking man. "I'm so sorry about that, I swear I'm not normally like this."

"Easily startled?" the man asked, picking up the bag and holding it out.

"Yeah," Ava said, taking the bag from his hand. "Just a little bit paranoid these days, I guess."

The man tilted his head to one side. "Really? You don't seem the type, shopping alone."

"My fiancé couldn't get off work early," Ava explained, "otherwise he'd be here with me right now. I really am sorry about that."

"It's fine," the man said, "everyone deals with trauma in different ways."

"I… I never said I was traumatized," Ava said, frowning at the man.

"My mistake," he replied after a moment of staring at her in a way that actually didn't make Ava feel uncomfortable. "I'm afraid it's the therapist in me, again. Always popping out when people want normal conversations."

"You're a therapist?" Ava asked.

The man nodded. "Henry Yeates," he said, holding out his hand. Ava contemplated for a moment before reaching out and shaking it.

"Ava Wilson," she said after a moment.

"You're not normally suspicious of everyone, I take it," Henry said.

Ava couldn't help but smile. "No," she said. "I guess that's just what happens when you find yourself on an unexpected adventure with a real potential for death."

Henry raised his eyebrows. "Death? There hasn't been anything that dramatic around here in years."

"Not here," Ava said. "Over in Indiana. Lafayette, actually."

Henry frowned. "You don't mean the capture of that psychopath, Gordon Walker, do you? I read about it on the internet just the other day."

Ava frowned again. She knew that articles had been written about the confusing circumstances that led to the capturing of a wanted criminal in five states, but Illinois wasn't one of them, so what interest would a therapist take in that? "Yeah," she said after a long moment. "My name was kept out of the public reports, but I was there for that."

Henry nodded. "I guess that would explain your current actions, then," he said with a small smile. "Here," he added, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a card, "if you find you need to talk about what happened that day, I can promise a listening ear and helpful advice."

"Thanks," Ava said softly, taking the card and giving Henry a small smile. "Well," she added after a moment, "I need to get going, I'm making dinner for my fiancé's parents tonight and they're super-picky about having home-cooked meals."

"Sounds like you've got your hands full, then," Henry said with a laugh. "You take care of yourself, Ava."

"You, too," Ava said, watching Henry walk away. Maybe she did need to talk to someone about everything that happened, apart from Brady. Should she call Sam or try trusting this therapist?

Shaking her head, Ava let out a heaving sigh and slid into her car. She had a fancy dinner to prepare and not enough time to do it in. She'd try to figure out what to do with herself after that.

Being a demon stuck taking care of the criminally insane was a suck-ass job, but Azazel had demanded it, so Tyler delivered. Still, he wished for the chance to go have some real fun. After all, what demon didn't want that? The most exciting thing to happen to him since taking this post was when one the patients lost it and tried to kill people using a plastic butter knife.

Tyler had been in the Clifton T. Perkins Hospital Center since the day one Fredric Lehne had arrived. Azazel wanted him to keep an eye on the man, so Tyler did just that. He also learned some very interesting things as the years went by, things Azazel probably didn't want anyone to know. Of course, keeping his mouth shut was probably the only thing keeping him on the surface and not sending him back down to Hell.

Then one day, word came that Azazel wanted Lehne dead via realistic causes, so Tyler did the necessary research to learn how to simulate a heart attack using only the drugs he was able to access. It was a little tricky, but he finally did it.

Only thing was, he was a little too late. Azazel told him to get the job done before any Hunters could come snooping about, and he thought he'd pulled it off until Dean Winchester suddenly ran towards him, yelling about Fredric having a heart attack and needing help now, goddammit!

Well, shit, Tyler thought to himself as Dean grabbed his arm and pulled him in Fredric's direction. He knew all about the Winchester brothers, including the knowledge that Sam could sense demons. In short, he was screwed.

Sam was on the ground, holding Fredric to his chest, but Tyler could already tell it was too late for the old man to be saved. There were unshed tears in Sam's eyes as he looked up at Tyler and Dean, but those faded the instant he locked eyes with the demon.

"You did this," he said, staring up at Tyler with a hard look on his face.

"What?" Dean said in confusion, but Tyler was already reacting, allowing his eyes to go black as he made Dean go flying across the room. Unfortunately, he was unprepared for Sam to do the exact same thing to him. He slammed against a wall, letting out a shout of pain and anger at being discovered.

"Sonuvabitch!" Dean swore from the other side of the room as Sam stood and headed for Tyler, hand still outstretched. That was when Tyler realized he was still flat against the wall he'd hit, completely unable to move. "Sam?"

"He's a demon, Dean," Sam answered his brother, eyes still locked with Tyler's. "I thought I sensed something when we got here, and it looks like I was right." He halted about seven feet away, hand still raised.

Tyler laughed. "Good for you, Sammy!" he exclaimed with a wide grin. "You gonna send me back to Hell now? Oh wait," he said after a short pause, "you can't, not without speaking a long phrase of Latin mumbo-jumbo and a Devil's Trap, which you don't have right now."

"What I've got right now works well enough," Sam said tightly, and Tyler got the sudden impression that Sam was doing more with his mind than just holding Tyler against the wall. "Your kind should know by now I'm not going to do that again."

Tyler grinned as he watched Dean stumble to his feet on the other side of the room. "Not without the right trigger, no," he said. "Want me to tell your daddy 'hi' if I make it downstairs?"

Both boys tensed up at once, Dean's eyes narrowed in anger as he stepped up beside Sam. "I'm sorry," Tyler said sarcastically, "did I strike a nerve with that one?"

"I got this," Dean said, pulling out a sheet of paper. "We might be a little paranoid," he added, looking up at Tyler as the straightened out the paper with an exaggerated flourish, "but keeping an exorcism close by is pretty helpful when you could be attacked by demons at any moment." He grinned and Tyler struggled, desperately wanting to escape his host and take off, but something wasn't letting him. Sam wasn't letting him, and he didn't understand how that was possible.

He wondered why no one else had come into the room after the way Dean had shouted for help mere minutes ago. In fact, why hadn't security been right outside the door to begin with? Why was nothing going right? Why the fuck couldn't he abandon this meatsuit? What was Sam doing to him?

"I bet you're wondering why no one else has shown up," Dean suddenly said, looking up from the paper in his hands. "Did you know Sam's a Jedi in the making? The guards left us alone with Freddie over there because Sam told 'em to. In fact, no one else has shown up because Sam's started learning how to command people with just his mind and no verbal commands. Kid totally got me to let him have the first shower without sayin' a word." He glanced at Sam with a grin. "Cheater."

Sam just shrugged in answer and Dean began reading the exorcism. Tyler cried out in pain as he came closer to being ripped from his host and shoved back into the depths of Hell and his screamed at the two brothers, promising vengeance when he found his way back out of the Pit. The last thing he saw before Hell consumed him once more was the intense anger in Sam's eyes.

Azazel could use that anger. It was only a matter of time before the cage opened, and then he'd have his revenge. They all would.

Chapter Text

Jo checked into a small motel on the outskirts of Baltimore and settled in to go over her notes on the case. Her mother had tried calling her a few times, but Jo was too angry to answer and hadn't been able to bring herself to listen to the voicemails all day.

"Let's see," she mused to herself, "dead attorney, married with no kids… worked with narcotics, so maybe a dead druggie getting revenge?"

Something about the idea didn't seem quite right, but Jo just didn't have enough to go on to support the instinct. She needed to look into the people Anthony Giles had worked with, along with the cases he had taken on over the years. If someone else turned up dead, then it could make the right connections stand out.

Jo also decided that she needed to talk with Karen Giles, see what information she could get out of the woman on her dead husband about the days before his death. It was more than possible that he could've seen the ghost doing this, if that was what it was, anyway. There was still always the possibility that this was done by the hand of someone living.

She spent another hour putting together a game plan before heading out to find dinner. Three handsy men later, she returned to her room, knuckles bruised from punching the last man who tried to touch her, but feeling a little bit better about being on her own. She could handle herself, she was gonna prove it this time.

It was only when she was about to turn in for the night that Jo remembered the voicemails her mother had left. She still wasn't too keen on the idea of listening to them, but she snagged her cell phone and flipped it open, anyway.

"Joanna Beth, you are not ready to be out on your own like this! Come back home right now or I swear —" Jo deleted that one.

"Jo, please don't go on this Hunt alone. You almost died last week, I couldn't take it if something else happened and I wasn't there to help you. Please, hon, come back home."

Jo blinked back tears, but also deleted the message. She had almost died, but that girl, Teresa…

There was one more voicemail left, and she almost didn't want to listen to it after the first two. However, she steeled herself, and then pressed the button to hear the final message.

"Jo, honey, Sam and Dean Winchester are in the same area, so if you need any help at all, they're only a phone call away. I love you, please be safe."

A small chuckle escaped before Jo could stop it. Trust her mother to find trustworthy Hunters in the same area she was in. Putting her cell phone away, Jo finished getting ready for bed and shut her lamp off before burrowing under the covers. She was asleep within minutes.

It was around dinnertime when Sam and Dean finally arrived back at their motel room, Sam clearly beyond exhausted from holding the demon in place and holding off all the hospital staff with his brain until the demon was back in Hell where it belonged. Because of that, Dean had skipped the diner he'd wanted to eat at and went through the first drive-through he could find, getting Sam a chicken salad bowl. As they entered their motel room, Dean allowed himself a moment to think back over their trip to the mental hospital.

The moment Dean had finished the exorcism and the demon was gone from its host, Sam had slumped to the ground, leaving Dean to explain why there were two dead men in the room along with the absence of security, plus Sam's sudden desire to stay acquainted with the floor. Somehow, he'd managed to convince everyone without being a Jedi Knight like his little brother was. Damn, he was awesome!

Dean didn't say anything as Sam slowly changed out of his suit, but he was really curious to know if Lehne had managed to tell Sam anything before he died. Instead, he focused on getting out of his own suit.

"You can ask, you know," Sam said after a moment.

"Huh?"

"Dean, you're practically smothering me with your curiosity," Sam said, turning to look over at Dean with tired eyes and slumped shoulders.

Oh. Right.

"Did he tell you anything?" Dean finally asked, and Sam sighed, running his right hand through his hair.

"It…" He frowned, clearly thinking over the old man's final words. "It was hard to make sense of, but from what I could make of it, that convent is located right over a cage or something, and Azazel needs someone called Lilith for these Seals as well as…" He trailed off again, but Dean got the feeling it wasn't because the kid was unsure as to what Lehne had told him.

"Sam?" he prodded gently.

"Children with demon's blood," Sam finally answered, and when he met Dean's eyes with his own there was a sort of resigned look in them. "Azazel needs special children, but I think that he's got the find the best of us." And I think he believes it's me went unsaid, but Dean heard it loud and clear, anyway.

Fuck, he thought, and Sam nodded his agreement.

"Tyler didn't report back."

Derrick looked up from his research on Devil's Gates to see Buck standing in the doorway of his current study. "The old man was supposed to die today, wasn't he?" he asked once he got his brain to shift from his work and into the present.

Buck nodded, scratching his bald head and looking a little worried. "Think the Winchesters are here?"

Derrick frowned. Last he'd heard, they had been in Lafayette, Indiana with special child Scott Carey and Azazel's assistant Tara. No one had seen them since they'd bailed out of town, leaving behind a pissed-off Tara and a patch of burnt ground where a succubus had once lain. Azazel hadn't been particularly happy with the results of that trial and trap, especially given that Thomas and Gerald Humphrey still lived. "It's possible," he said after a moment. "Although what they hope to find from an old man gone senile…"

"Should I check the area?" Buck asked. "He said that they might try to find Lehne."

"That he did," Derrick murmured thoughtfully. He wasn't going to deny that it was a more than plausible action for the brothers to take. "Not yet," he said in a louder voice. "There is a chance that Tyler is simply behind schedule."

"He was supposed to report in five hours ago. It's almost midnight."

Derrick shrugged. "Go check the news, then. If the Winchesters are here, then there'll be something about it. They tend to leave a trail of bodies behind them."

Buck frowned and nodded before leaving the room. Derrick sighed and ran a hand through his reddish hair. Tyler was already back in Hell, he was more than certain of it. The demon had never reported late before in the six weeks Derrick and Buck had been here, so it was this knowledge that made him think that the Winchesters were in the area. Only Sam could identify Tyler as a demon and send him back to Hell. Still, it was best to wait until they had proper verification before he dared alert Azazel that anything was amiss. If he was wrong, then his place on the surface could be put in jeopardy. Derrick wasn't about to risk his entire existence without secure knowledge.

Sam still felt like crap the next morning, so Dean said they'd wait until later that day before going to check out the abandoned convent. In the meantime, he made Sam fill up on food plus more antibiotics, and Sam was too out of it after that to do any more of the research he had planned on. He needed to know what had happened to Tyson Brady, the man who was supposed to have been his friend. Was he still at Stanford, going for that medical degree? Was he still living the life of his best friend, or had he stopped trying the moment Sam had left to go back to Hunting with Dean? In the end, though, he had no choice but to relent to the medication, and really, it was probably better for him to actually sleep than it was to look up Tyson when his brain was still a muddled mess. Once he could think more clearly, he'd find out the things he needed to know.

Dean's cell phone going off later in the day woke Sam from a nap, but he wasn't in the mood to listen in, so he rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. He wasn't eager to do anything or go anywhere just yet.

"Oh, hey Jo."

Unfortunately, that got Sam's attention. He opened his eyes and slowly sat up as he listened to his brother talk to Jo.

"Really? And here I thought you were supposed to be all-knowing or something." Dean chuckled slightly at whatever Jo was saying back, his mood light and teasing for the first time in a long while. "Relax, Jo, I was only joking. We'd be happy to head over, see what we can find there." His emotions tinged serious after a moment. "Keep an eye on his wife, though, okay? If that lawyer did see something, then there's a chance she could see it, too, and then you'd have another dead person on your hands. What's the address?" He snagged a spare bit of paper from Sam's laptop case along with a pen. "Yeah, I'm ready… Uh-huh," he murmured, quickly writing, "yeah… Got it." He dropped the pen and righted himself. "I'll call you once we've checked it out."

"Jo having trouble with her case?" Sam asked when Dean shut his cell.

"Trouble getting into the lawyer's office," Dean answered, still grinning. "Not enough breaking and entering experience, I'm afraid."

"Oh," Sam said, standing up and stretching. "I guess going to the convent's on hold, then?"

"Yeah, looks like," Dean said, apologetic. "It's not like we're runnin' a tight time frame at the moment."

"True," Sam said, giving a small groan as his back popped. "No life or death situations right now."

"Give it time," Dean said with good humor. "Let's get dinner, wait for the office to close down for the night."

"A therapist?" Brady asked. "You sure?"

Ava sighed and continued washing the dishes. She'd been too tired last night after the dinner with Brady's parents to bother with them, so now she was cleaning them along with the dishes they'd had dinner on tonight. "Not really," she said after a moment, "but I'm still jumping at odd noises that never bothered me before, and I'm still not sleeping so well. I'm just not sure what I should do."

"You could call that Sam guy," Brady suggested, tugging a hand through his dark hair. "You said he and his brother have been dealing with this stuff their whole lives, so maybe he could help you."

"Yeah," Ava said slowly as she scrubbed at a particularly stubborn spot on her casserole dish. "I don't want to make him take time out of his own schedule just to deal with my issues, though."

"Wasn't he the one who told you to call him?" Brady asked.

"If I had any more visions, yeah," Ava said. "But this? This is just me being stupidly paranoid."

"There's nothing stupid about it," Brady said, placing his hand on her arm and stopping her movements. "I know I don't know the guy, but I really think he'd want to know how you're doing, and I hardly think he'd expect you to be dealing with everything just fine on your own."

Ava looked up at Brady. "You're right," she said softly, leaning against him. "Sam would want to know. I'll call him tomorrow after work, I promise."

"Good," Brady said, wrapping his arms around Ava's middle and pulling her even closer.

Dinner turned out to be a bad idea.

For one thing, it was very crowed and pretty noisy. Normally this didn't bother Sam so much, but the more he struggled with learning to control the empathy, the more he began struggling with going to public places like this. A headache was beginning to throb in his skull before they even got through the front doors, and it only got worse the longer they stayed.

Sam didn't want to say anything; Dean had eyed this particular diner the day before and Sam wanted him too have the chance to enjoy it, but damn his head hurt. There was a pulsating joy that permeated the diner along with spatterings of other emotions, from annoyance to disgust, light flirtations of like, deeper resonances of love and so much more.

"You okay, Sammy?" Dean asked, voice cutting through and startling Sam.

"What? Uh, yeah, I'm fine," he lied, looking away and staring around, resisting the urge to close his eyes and press his palms against his forehead with as much force as possible.

"You sure?" Dean said, and now Sam could feel his rising concern more strongly than most anything else in the diner. "Talk to me, man."

"It's too much," Sam finally managed, forcing himself to look at Dean. "I can't block it and there's just so much —"

There was a moment of confusion followed by painful realization and Dean was pulling Sam out of the diner moments later. "Dude, you shoulda said something," he told Sam as he led him back to the Impala.

"You wanted to eat there," Sam said with a small shrug.

"Well, yeah, but not at the risk of killing off your brain by overloading you with too much emotional shit like that," Dean lectured. "Stay here, I'll just get something to go and we can eat in the car."

"Dean —"

"It's fine, Sam," Dean cut Sam off resolutely. "You know you matter more than some old diner."

Sam smiled slightly as he looked up at Dean. "Thanks."

"No problem," Dean said. "Now, get in, I'll be back in a few. Salad? Sandwich?"

"Sandwich is fine," Sam said, waving Dean off and opening the passenger door. He sat down heavily and rubbed at his forehead. In all honesty, food just wasn't appealing at the moment, but he had to eat something or else Dean would freak even more. He dropped his head back against the seat and closed his eyes, breathing evenly and trying to focus on blocking everything out.

Of course, it never worked, but the headache had lessened somewhat by the time Dean returned with food. They ate in the car, saying very little. "I'm sorry," Sam sighed after some length of time had passed.

"Why?" Dean asked around his burger.

"For —" He gestured at the diner his one hand, clutching his turkey sandwich in the other. "It's like the longer I go without learning how to block things out, the more I can sense and it's… " He trailed off and sighed. "It's overwhelming."

"It's not your fault," Dean said after swallowing, and Sam could feel a sort of frustration that was aimed at the situation rather than at Sam himself. "You keep trying, and I'll just pick up food for us. We can eat in the car or motel, whatever you need until we figure this out."

"I hate this," Sam admitted.

"I'd be surprised to hear otherwise," Dean replied. "Now, eat, it's good for you."

Sam snorted softly, but did as he was told.

"That's strange," Dean said sometime later, picking up a piece of paper from Mr. Giles' printer and frowning.

"What?" Sam asked from over by the dried puddle of blood, marking where Giles had died, throat slit so deep part of his spinal cord could be seen. Yuck.

"It says 'Dana Shulps' on it," Dean said, showing the paper to Sam. "Over and over."

"So, someone's name, I'm guessing," Sam said, wandering over to Mr. Giles' desk. He paused, staring at the glass before leaning closer and breathing on it. 'Dana Shulps' was revealed once again. "That's definitely weird," he said.

"Maybe Giles knew her," Dean suggested as Sam sat down at the desk.

"She could be the girl Jo said the wife described," Sam said. "How'd she describe her again?"

"Uh, pale with red eyes," Dean said, moving over to the filing cabinets and starting to rifle through them. Twenty minutes later, he hadn't found a thing.

"There's not a single mention of a Dana Shulps anywhere," he told Sam, pushing the cabinet drawer closed. "There's not a D. Shulps or any other kind of friggn' Shulps." He glanced over at Sam, who was using Giles' computer. "Find anything?"

Sam shook his head. "No Dana Shulps has lived or died in Baltimore in the last fifty years, at least." He continued typing. "I think I'm close to cracking Giles' password. Maybe there's something in his personal files, you know?"

Dean watched Sam type away for a minute. "So, by 'close' you mean…?"

Sam glanced up at Dean. "Thirty minutes, maybe?"

Dean checked his watch and sighed. "I hope Jo's having more fun than we are," he muttered.

"I doubt it," Sam said. "I mean, unless the wife's got some connection to whatever killed her husband that we don't know about…"

Dean couldn't help but scowl. "Awesome." He was already bored and starting to wonder why Sam had to go and agree to keep an eye out for Jo. Sure, the girl didn't have the same amount of experience that they did, but she should've known enough to do this on her own.

"You could go keep Jo company," Sam said softly. "I've seen the way she looks at you, sometimes, and well…"

Dean whipped his head around to stare at Sam. "I'm not leaving you in the middle of the city by yourself," he said, incredulous at the idea. "Besides, Jo just asked for this one thing of us, nothing else."

"I can take care of myself," Sam said, and Dean was surprised by how frustrated Sam suddenly seemed. "Are you telling me that you honestly don't feel anything for Jo? 'Cause your emotions…" He trailed off and looked away.

Dean couldn't help but scowl. "She's pretty, I'll grant her that," he finally said, "but I don't… I can't, okay? Never could."

"Wrong place, wrong time?"

The quiet observation hit the nail dead on. After all, the first time Dean had met Jo was when he and John had been searching desperately for Sam, and then after John died… "You're way too observant, little brother," Dean groused, and Sam's lips quirked into a tiny smile as he continued to work. He thought for a moment about the other thing Sam had said. He knew his brother was capable of taking care of himself, but everything was still fresh enough that Dean didn't like the idea of leaving Sam behind. "I guess I could go check on her," he finally said, "but you call me the moment you're finished here, got it?"

The tiny smile got a little bit bigger and Dean knew he'd done the right thing by giving Sam the space to prove himself. "Of course," Sam said. "Now go, you're distracting me."

Dean snorted, reminded Sam to call him once he was done and left the office. He had just reached the Impala when his phone went off. He pulled it out. "Hello?"

"Dean?" It was Jo. "You need to get over here now, I think something's happening."

"I'm on my way," Dean said, pulling out his keys and snapping his phone shut. He quickly drove off, never noticing the dark shadow of a man, watching him before heading inside the building.

Jo knocked on the front door of the Giles' home. "Mrs. Giles?" she called out. "Mrs. Giles, are you there?"

There was no answer. Jo could have sworn she'd seen the beam of a flashlight from the upper level of the house, but the absence of activity for the last three minutes was bothering her a great deal. She tried knocking again just as the sound of the Impala reached her ears, and she turned to see Dean driving up to the house.

"What's happened?" Dean asked the moment he was out of the car, shoving his keys in his jacket pocket as she bounded up the front steps of the house.

"Where's Sam?" Jo asked in turn.

"Still at the office," Dean said. "Now, what's going on?"

"Karen was downstairs, watching TV," Jo began, trying to mentally keep her facts straight. "I heard a scream, but I couldn't tell if it was the show she was watching or if it was her, I couldn't see inside the house well enough to be sure. About a minute later, all the lights and TV turned off at once, that's when I called you. I saw a flashlight upstairs, but nothing for the past three minutes."

Dean frowned and reached out to the door handle. It was locked, so he pulled out his lock-pick set and had the door open a minute later. Jo stayed just behind Dean as he entered the house and tried a light switch, but there was no power. They quietly made their way up the stairs and into the bedroom, where they found Karen Giles was on the floor. She was dead and her throat was slit, just like her husband.

"Oh, God," Jo whispered as Dean ventured further into the room. She'd seen dead people before, but the brutality of it was a little shocking. It was just as deep a cut as Anthony's cut had been.

"What the hell?" Dean held up a piece of paper. "Dana Shulps," he said, sounding confused and a little annoyed. "Again."

"Again?" Jo echoed, looking at the page, which was covered with the name, over and over and over again.

"There was a paper just like this in the office," Dean explained before looking down at Karen. "That's strange." He knelt down and gently picked up her wrist.

"Is that a bruise?" asked Jo. Dean nodded, and Jo frowned, stepping closer until she was standing right next to Dean. "I didn't see anything like that on her this morning." They looked at each other. "This is more than just a vengeful spirit, isn't it?"

Just then, two cops burst into the room. "Freeze!" the woman shouted. "Both of you, on your knees and hands where I can see them. Now!"

Shit, Jo thought as she complied. This was not good at all.

Chapter Text

Buck knew it the moment he saw the bodies. The Winchester brothers were here, they had to be. The question was, where?

It wasn't so hard to search for the right car, seeing as how every demon out there knew the boys drove a black 1967 Chevrolet Impala. Finding it outside an office building seemed a little odd, but Buck knew the car was theirs. When Dean exited the building on his own less than a minute later, he knew he had to act fast.

It wasn't so hard abandoning his current skin in the alleyway. He could always come back for it later, if needed. Catching a security guard and hiding inside the body was a far trickier move, given that the boy could sense demons, but he had to pull this off.

About forty minutes later, he sensed movement from an office that was also a crime scene. He gave his host just the right push and…

Scott was paranoid. There was really no getting around it. He was currently sitting on the couch in Thomas Humphrey's apartment, gloved hands tightly clasped in his lap. Gerald Humphrey was sitting across from him on a LazyBoy chair, lost in thought.

"Sam sure has a lot of confidence in me," Thomas said, handing his uncle and Scott a cup of coffee before sitting down next to Scott. "Now, you're sure that you're being followed?"

Scott nodded. "It's like whoever's out there is just waiting for a chance to get me alone so they can finish me the way Gordon wanted to," he said. "I can… feel them watching me, sometimes."

"Did Gordon have any associates?" Thomas asked Gerald. "Anyone he'd call if he thought he couldn't finish a job?"

Gerald sighed. "Gordon preferred Hunting alone as much as possible, but he was friendly with other Hunters," he said. "Mind, these other Hunters tend to be the ones who are more obsessed with evil versus good and believe in Jesus and angels and what have you." He leaned back in the chair. "For example, there's Kubrick the religious nut, thinks he's on a God-given mission to rid the world of evil."

"Is he the type of man who would kill a human if Gordon told him the person in question was 'wrong' somehow?" Scott asked.

Gerald was silent for a long moment before nodding. "If he's here, then I can tell you right now that he won't leave without seeing the life leave your eyes first."

"That's great," Scott mumbled sarcastically, dropping his head against the back of the couch. "Any way to find out if it's him or someone else?"

"If it's Kubrick," Gerald began, "then there'll be an RV around here, most likely parked outside a cheap motel. I can take a look around town in the morning. In the meantime, you can't go anywhere alone, not until we know for sure that you're safe."

"Thank you," Scott said. "You have no idea how much I've been worrying my dad. Again."

Thomas smiled. "We'll find them, I promise," he said. "If Sam thinks there's a problem, then there's definitely something goin' on. Their family's got good instincts for this kinda thing."

Gerald nodded, eyes suddenly going distant.

It was decided that Scott wasn't to travel anywhere alone, sleep alone, or just ever be alone until Gerald could scout around the city, see who was here that shouldn't be. Thomas had been given a week of work off to finish sorting things out with Fulmer's over the whole "breaking and entering to save your son's life" thing, so he and Scott were pretty going to be attached at the hip for the next few days. Hopefully they could stop whoever was stalking Scott before anything really bad could happen. Scott didn't dare think of the alternative.

Sam sighed as he carefully exited Giles' office. He'd managed to break the password, but he still couldn't find anything that could tell him who Dana Shulps was. He ran a hand through his hair and started for the stairs, fully intent on calling Dean the moment he was outside the building.

"Hey!"

Sam whirled around to see a security guard. How had he missed the man? He didn't miss people when he could feel their emotions from several yards away. Backing up, Sam turned to run when an almost familiar sensation ran through him. He turned back to the guard in confusion. There was something about him, something that wasn't right, but Sam couldn't place it…

The guard suddenly choked and went rigid, and then his eyes were black and Sam was stumbling back toward the stairs, but it was too late.

"Hey, Sammy," the demon said, suddenly right in Sam's face. "Miss me?" He grabbed Sam's arm, but Sam managed to throw him off and then he was running —

The guard's body slammed into his, knocking him to the ground and forcing the air from his lungs. Sam gasped and struggled, but the demon had his arms pinned. He tried to focus, tried to use his powers, but then he felt the guard's baton whack across the back of his head, and everything went dark.

Detective Pete Sheridan was clearly the bad cop in this situation, Dean decided early the next morning as he listened to the smug man rattle off his various misdemeanors, from credit card fraud to supposed murder and assault. He wondered how Jo was doing, as well as Sam. The cops wouldn't find him, would they?

Dean sure hoped not. Sam was pretty much the only person who could get him out of this crap situation, now.

Jo was being held in some kind of waiting room down the hall, and Sheridan was saying she could be considered a possible "accomplice" or something, but Dean wasn't really listening. There was no way he was getting out of this place, handcuffed with no paperclips in sight, but if he could just get some message to Jo… He did manage to slip a paperclip into her shoe before being handcuffed at the Giles' house, but what if she didn't notice that he'd done it? What if the cops found it before she could?

Shit, Dean thought, gazing at nothing as Sheridan continued to prattle on, probably about St. Louis and how he was supposed to be dead right now. This entire situation was fucked up, especially given that he wouldn't even be in it if Jo hadn't called him for help. Once again, he wondered why Sam had gone and promised Ellen to keep an eye out on her only daughter. Oh, right. Winchester honor. Thanks for teaching us that, Dad.

Knowing the police, they should have already run Dean's prints through IAFIS, and he knew there had to be dozens of possible hits in the system. He wondered how much weight those would hold, given what he was already wanted for, like murder, although grave desecration was definitely his favorite one of the bunch. Ah, good times…

Just then, Sheridan said Sam's name, and Dean instantly tuned back into the one-sided conversation. "What'd you say?"

Sheridan was an average-looking guy, clearly in his thirties or so, but his eyes were sharp as he smiled coldly at Dean. "We know your brother's around town, somewhere," he said. "Sam's college friend, one Rebecca Warren, told the officials in St. Louis that the two of you were uh… 'road-tripping together'," he quoted, glancing briefly at the file in his hands. "Seeing as how you're not dead, I think it's a safe bet that Sam's still traveling with you."

"I didn't think you were a betting man," Dean said, plastering on the smirk he reserved for five-oh douche bags and clasping his cuffed hands on the tabletop. "Hardly seem the type, Detective."

Sheridan gave a smirk of his own. "Where's your brother, Dean?" he asked after a moment.

Dean shrugged nonchalantly. "Wish to God I knew," he said in his devil-may-care voice.

Hopefully Sam remembered the protocol once he realized that he couldn't contact Dean.

"He hasn't called your cell phone so far," Sheridan said after another moment had passed. "Any ideas why?"

Sam was smart, gifted, even, but there was no way he could have predicted something like this. If he hadn't called, it was either because he was still in that office, which was highly unlikely given that the cops here would have been thorough enough to go and check there after picking up Dean and Jo, or…

A small tendril of fear wormed its way into Dean's heart. Sam was a fuckin' magnet for trouble and he'd left him all alone in that stupid office to go and get himself arrested for something he didn't do. "Maybe he's out bangin' some hot chick," Dean suggested blithely, unable to think of anything else to say. "Kid hasn't gotten enough action since his girlfriend died last year."

Sheridan narrowed his eyes. "Right," he drawled, clearly not convinced by the idea, not that Dean couldn't blame him for it; no way would he believe the idea without seeing it firsthand. Not after everything they'd been through.

That left the question: where the fuck was Sam?

The first thing that crossed Jo's mind when Detective Diana Ballard entered the room was how disappointed her mother would be when she found out about this. She really just couldn't do anything right, could she?

"Joanna Beth Harvelle," Ballard said, staring at a file in her hands. Jo hated it whenever someone went and said her full name, especially when the tone it was said in almost matched her mother's. "You're 21 years old, your mother is Ellen, and your father is, well, was William, now deceased." She looked up at Jo from beneath golden-tinged bangs. "You attended college for three semesters before dropping out and going back to work in your mother's saloon in Nebraska." She leaned forward. "Joanna, what are you doing all the way out here?" she asked. "And why with a homicidal maniac like Dean?"

"He's very attractive," Jo told Ballard, which was true. "Oh, and he's not a killer." Also true, though she doubted the detective would believe her.

Ballard raised her eyebrows and lowered the file in her hand. "So what were you two doing in Karen Giles' house last night if he wasn't killing Karen and you weren't there to help him do it?"

Jo smiled. "Tony Giles was a friend of Sam and Dean's dad, back in the army or somethin'. Dean and I are dating, and when he and Sam heard Tony was dead, they wanted to go and offer their condolences."

"Do you know where John Winchester is?" Ballard asked abruptly.

Jo looked away. "No." She was pretty sure Sam and Dean didn't want the cops knowing that John was dead.

There was silence. Jo sighed and met Ballard's eyes after a long moment of silence. "We went to comfort Karen," she said, figuring it was best to continue with her story, "and later on she called and asked if Dean could go to Tony's office, pick up some things that meant a lot to her, gave him the key and everything."

"We have reports stating that two men went to that office," Ballard pointed out.

Jo rolled her eyes. "I thought it would be common knowledge to your kind that Sam and Dean travel everywhere together since Sam's girlfriend died last year," she said, making sure to sound vaguely insulted. "Sam only went over to the office with Dean because he had something else to do in the area while I waited at our motel for Dean to get back."

"What was Sam going to do?" Ballard asked.

"Don't know," Jo said. "I mean, Sam talks to his brother, but personal business with him is just that, personal. Sam's quiet these days, and I don't see him coming to me to talk anytime soon."

Ballard narrowed her eyes, but said nothing.

"Anyway," Jo said after another moment (and were those getting awkward or what?), "I was feeling worried about Karen, so I called Dean, asked if he could meet me at Karen's house, make sure she really was doin' okay, but when we got there…" She trailed off, secretly praying her act would convince Ballard.

"How'd you two get into the house?"

"Door was unlocked," Jo said quietly. "Whoever killed her was gone by the time we got there, and then we found her on the floor…" She allowed a tear to slip free and ducked her head, swallowing hard. "I've never seen a dead person before," she told Ballard, letting her voice choke up just a little. It wasn't true, she'd seen Teresa Ellis' dead body after the ghost of that serial killer had finished with her just last week...

"Why didn't either of you call 9-1-1?" Ballard pressed, leaning forward. "Why did Dean approach Karen's body, touch her?"

"There were bruises… Bruises on her wrists," Jo said, lifting her own hands to try and indicate, "and they weren't there when we saw her yesterday morning. Besides, it seems she already called for help before dying, didn't she?"

Ballard stared at Jo for a long moment before rising and leaving the room without another word. Jo sighed, dropping the act and leaning back in her chair, tugging futilely at her handcuffs. Thankfully, she was only in one of the waiting rooms, and that meant no cameras or observation rooms hidden by mirrored glass. She needed to find a way to escape so she could find Sam. He was the only one who could get Dean out of her mess. That's when she remembered Dean slipping a paperclip into the side of her shoe before raising his hands for the cops to cuff him at the Giles' house.

It wasn't perfect, but it'd have to do. The question was, when should she break out?

The first thing Sam was aware of was the pounding of his head where the security baton had hit him. He groaned and raised a hand, only to discover he was handcuffed. He cracked his eyes open and immediately wished he hadn't when everything started spinning. It seemed he had a concussion, or maybe something even worse than that. His senses felt off, but he could swear there was —

"It's about time," said an all-too-familiar voice from somewhere above Sam. "I mean, I've got you pretty dosed up so you won't be able to focus and use your powers, but I was starting to wonder if that meant you'd be unconscious the entire time."

Sam's mouth felt like it was coated in cotton, but he coughed and spoke anyway. "I didn't think knocking me out was ever a part of any orders Azazel might give you, Buck." He squinted up at the beefy, bald man above him. "Or are you just upset about that possessed nurse?"

"I knew it was you," Buck said smugly, though Sam couldn't quite make out the expression on his face. "The question now is, did you learn anything you weren't supposed to from that old man?"

"Like I'd tell you," Sam managed, rolling onto his side and tugging futilely at the cuffs chaining him to the floor.

"We know about the super-strength, Sam," said Buck. "They're reinforced, based on our observations of Jake Talley's super-strength." He knelt down next to Sam. "I think it's a safe thing to say that you're just as strong as he is."

So this Jake Talley was another special child? Good to know.

"Anyway," Buck said, standing again, "I think between the drugs and the torture I'm planning, I should be able to learn what you know. After that, I think I'll hire a witch, have her erase your memory or something. Should be great." He might have grinned before heading for the door in the small room. "I'll be back in a few with more drugs."

"Thanks," Sam called sarcastically, wincing at how dry his throat was. "How about you bring some water while you're at it?"

Buck may have shot Sam another grin, and then he slammed the door behind him, the sound reverberating in Sam's skull.

Letting out a sigh, Sam rolled onto his back again and stared at the white plaster ceiling. Or tried to, anyway. Nothing would focus the way he wanted, and Sam knew it was all down to whatever Buck had given him. Terrific.

Where was Dean? Was Jo all right? What about her case? If only his head would just quit pounding, then maybe he could figure out what to do next.

After a few minutes, the door opened again and Buck came back in, carrying a water bottle and a syringe. "Drink your water and then I want you to hold still for your shot," Buck told Sam, actually handing him the bottle and settling himself next to him. "If you don't, then I'll go track down your brother and kill him, got it?"

Great, more death threats. Still, Sam remembered what Buck had been like back in L.A., so he slowly drank down the water and laid docilely on the floor while Buck injected him. "Next time you wake up, we'll get started," Buck said, standing and leaving the room.

Sam watched him go and allowed his head to drop back onto the concrete floor, which made the pain in his head spike again. What did it matter, though? Until he could figure out how to focus…

The world was spinning again, and Sam had no choice but to succumb to darkness once more.

"Their stories match," Diana told Pete when she entered the observation room looking in on Dean Winchester. "Neither one knows where Sam is; Anthony Giles was, apparently, an 'army friend' of John Winchester's; and Dean's dating Joanna. All the same details."

"They've gotta be lying," Pete said, staring hard at Dean with a small scowl. "There's absolutely nothing that connects Joanna to this apart from her presence at the scene. She left no fingerprints that we can find, she's got no rap sheet…" He ran a hand through his hair. "Maybe if we find Sam, convince him to flip or something…"

"Joanna gave me the impression the brother's are too close to betray each other," Diana said. "That even matched Rebecca Warren's statement in the report from St. Louis." She shook her head. "Something… there's something that's just off about all this."

"Hey," Pete said, placing his hands on Diana's shoulders and turning her so she faced him, "Dean's a murderer and his life is over, we know that. All we've gotta do is convince Joanna of that fact, then find Sam and do the same with him. Joanna didn't have any prints anywhere and no gloves, so we should be able to get her to admit to accessory to murder, get her off on a lighter charge. She doesn't have any criminal records, and we can use that to convince her. Same thing with Sam."

Diana sighed. "I just don't know…"

"It'll work," Pete said firmly, squeezing her shoulders. "Trust me."

They shared a quick kiss and Diana left the room for her desk. She needed to get started on her report, make some calls and put out and APB on Sam. No one could hide form the law forever, not even the Winchesters.

If only she knew…

Chapter Text

Scott startled when the doorbell rang.

"Gettin' a little jumpy there?" Thomas teased as he passed Scott in the kitchen.

"Shut up," Scott grumbled, reaching for his cup of coffee.

Scott had been staying at Thomas' apartment while Gerald went out in search of a stalker. They hadn't heard anything yet, but maybe…

"It's Kubrick," came Gerald's voice the moment Thomas opened the front door. "Found his trailer, and he's not alone, either. Got one of his friends with him, Finn Carlton." He entered the kitchen, Thomas just behind him, and stared hard at Scott. "Kubrick's not goin' anywhere so long as you're still alive," he said.

"Fantastic," Scott dead-panned, taking a long sip of his coffee and wondering when he'd started drinking it black. Oh, right, when his ability developed and he became a hermit. Suddenly wanting sugar, he reached for the appropriate container and added in three cubes, stirring vigorously before taking another sip.

"So what do we do?" asked Thomas, heading to a cupboard to snag another mug, which he filled with coffee and handed to his uncle.

"We take them out," Gerald said, and Scott choked on his drink. "Kubrick and Carlton."

"Excuse me?" he managed to say after a liberal amount of coughing.

"Like I said," Gerald told Scott, hazel eyes hard as he stared at him. "He's not goin' anywhere until you're dead, kid, and Carlton'll follow his lead."

"But killing, are you serious?"

Gerald nodded. "Deadly."

"Isn't there anything else —?"

"You asked for my help, kid," Gerald cut Scott off before sighing and rubbing his chin. "Look, these are dark times, Scott, and like it or not, Kubrick ain't the only Hunter out there who thinks psychics and the like are wrong. Chances are he's already contacted those other Hunters, so killing him and his buddy is the only way to make any others back off. 'Course, you and your dad'll have to move after this is done, and I'll help lay a false paper trail so no other Hunters can find ya without makin' a real effort out of it, but this is how its gotta be. There's no other way I can think of doin' this that won't end with you dead."

He was caught between a rock and a hard place. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. Scott wondered how many other analogies he could think up. "Fine," he finally said, feeling resigned to the situation. "Just — you know this isn't the kind of thing Sam or Dean Winchester would do."

Gerald nodded solemnly. "Their daddy would've done it in a heartbeat if it meant keeping his boys alive," was all he said in response. Scott didn't know whether to be encouraged by the thought or scared shitless, so he just nodded and continued drinking his coffee in silence.

Working as a secretary was normally a pretty engaging job for Ava. Today, however, it was just annoying. She hated every phone call, detested all the colorful sticky notes framing her computer screen, groused at the sound of the filing cabinet every time anyone used it…

Yeah, she wasn't in a good mood.

Ava figured this mostly had to do with the anticipation of her promise to call Sam after work. Who wanted normal life when Sam could be firing silver bullets at werewolves or decapitating vampires? For all her paranoia, Ava couldn't help but want a more exciting life than the one she led from day to day, even though the thought terrified her at the same time. Brady would never understand it, of that she was more than certain. Would Sam?

"What's wrong?" It was Karena, Ava's best friend and co-worker at the office. She had been possessed by a demon for a little over a month until Sam and Dean had come along and freed her. Thankfully, the possession hadn't done any physical damage, and Karena was able to keep coming to work and even seemed normal. Well, most of the time, anyway.

In a way, they were both damaged, weren't they?

"I just want today to be over," Ava sighed as she unpacked her lunch, "that's all."

Karena smiled sadly and sat down next to Ava. "Not dealing as well as you thought you were?"

"Something like that," Ava said softly. "How are you doing?"

"Today's been good to me so far," Karena said, pulling her blonde hair into a ponytail before unpacking her own lunch. "I still wish there was a therapist out there who I could talk to without sounding like a nutcase, you know?"

"I hear ya," Ava said, smiling a little as she opened her can of soda. "Got any plans for the weekend?"

"Nope," Karena said. "Just hiding in my place with the new security system."

That meant salt lines on the windows and Devil's Traps under the carpets, Ava remembered, watching as Karena gently tugged on the necklace she now wore. It had a protective charm on it, one that would keep her from ever being possessed again so long as she never took it off. It was another gift from the Winchesters, and one Karena seemed eternally grateful for.

"We should watch a movie at your place," Ava said on a whim. "Brady's already promised George he'd go golfing with him this weekend, and I can't stand an empty house these days."

"I'd like that," Karena said softly.

"Good," Ava said, suddenly feeling happier, "then it's settled. Lemme guess, chick flicks?"

"You know it," Karena said, her entire demeanor just a little brighter than before. Ava couldn't help but feel proud of herself for helping her friend, and she managed to keep their conversation light and upbeat through the rest of their lunch break.

"You what?"

Buck flinched slightly, but it seemed he was determined to hold his ground. "Azazel didn't want any Hunters talkin' to Lehne before he croaked," he said as though it fully justified his actions. "We need to make sure the kid didn't learn anything!"

Derrick held back a groan and turned away, running both hands through his hair. Of all the demons to be partnered with… "I thought Azazel made it clear that none of us are to touch the Winchesters without his express permission." He whirled around and gestured to the small room Sam was in, currently unconscious. "Call me crazy, Buck, but I don't think that this is something he would approve of! At all!"

Buck just glared at him. "I'm doing this," he said as though it settled everything.

"No," Derrick retorted, growing angry. "You're not. The last thing we need is Dean Winchester coming down on us. No, strike that." He stepped closer to his bald companion. "That last thing we need is Azazel coming down on our asses, Buck. Let him go."

"But —"

"NOW!"

Buck jumped a little at the shout. Derrick wasn't surprised, he wasn't one to shout, normally, but this… This went beyond stupidity. "I'm going to let Azazel know that Fredric is dead," he told Buck, "but that the Winchester's got to him before he died, and that the brothers also took out Tyler before he could report back to us. Now let Sam go."

Derrick glared at Buck until the other demon scowled and nodded. "Fine," the bald man bit out and Derrick stalked away.

He really needed a different partner.

"Dana Shulps," Dean muttered, frowning at the tabletop. "It's a name, right? What if it's not a name?"

He sat in the interrogation room alone, and since he didn't have a way to communicate with Jo or find Sam, this was the next best thing he could do. Of course, it was hard to try and think of different words that "Dana Shulps" could also spell without anything to write on. Thankfully, however, the door to the room opened and a thin, balding man in a suit entered, carrying a briefcase.

"Mr. Winchester?"

"Yeah?" Dean said.

"I'm Jeff Krause," the man said, snagging a chair. "I'm with the public defender's office." He sat down, setting the briefcase on the table. "I'm your lawyer."

"Oh," Dean said, blinking. "Thank God, I'm saved. Hey," he added after a moment, "can I steal a pen from you? Some paper?"

"Sure," Mr. Krause said, handing over a pen and a small notepad. "Well, the police haven't found a weapon yet, so that's good. But, they've got your prints and, literally, blood on your hands. And your police record —" He broke off as he finally seemed to realize that Dean wasn't paying attention. "Mr. Winchester? What are you doing?"

Dean was on his fifth word combination, using the letters from "Dana Shulps" to help him. "I think it's an anagram," he muttered before working on combo number six.

"A what?"

"An anagram," Dean said, unable to hide the sarcasm in his voice. "Same letters, different words."

"Oh."

Whatever, Dean didn't have time for this. "Could you do me a favor?" he asked, sliding the notepad over to Krause. "See if you recognize any of these words, you know, local names, places, anything like that."

Mr. Krause stared at Dean. "Do you understand how serious these charges are?" he asked in a disbelieving tone of voice.

Dean couldn't help but chuckle. "I'm handcuffed to a table," he said, demonstrating with one hand. "Yeah, I get it. Humor me." He tapped the notepad with the pen. "Take a quick look."

Mr. Krause sighed, but looked at the word combinations Dean had written. After a moment, he took the pen from Dean and tapped "Supash Land" before crossing out the "Sup" and leaving the rest untouched. "Well," he said, "S-U-P, I don't know about that, but Ashland is a street name. It's not far from here."

"A street?" Mr. Krause nodded. Yahtzee!

"Let's start with where you were the night that Anthony Giles died."

Dean ignored him. "Can you get in to see Jo, the girl that was with me?"

"Mr. Winchester, you could be facing the death penalty here."

"Yeah," Dean snarked, "thanks for the law review, Matlock." He quickly wrote a note to Jo, praying that she'd understand it. "But if you wanna help me, then I need you to take this to Jo right away," he said, handing the lawyer the note.

Mr. Krause sighed, but took the note and stood. "Fine, but as soon as I get back, we're going over your case," he said.

"Sure thing," Dean told him with a disarming smile. "Now go, seriously."

Mr. Krause frowned at Dean, shook his head and left.

Jo stared at the note from Dean.

Hilts-

Dana Shulps: anagram for a street. Ashland.

-McQueen

"I hope that was meaningful," Mr. Krause said, though his tone suggested he thought it was anything but. The lawyer set his briefcase on the table, never noticing Jo's lack of handcuffs. "But I'd like to discuss your case now, Joanna."

Jo smiled up at the man with fake cheer and gestured to the chair opposite her even though she had a strong desire to punch him for calling her by her full name. "Sure thing, Matlock," she said.

"You really are dating him, aren't you?" Mr. Krause sighed as he sat down and Jo had to hide a grin. What were the chances that Dean had said something similar to the man before her?

Of course, the poor man didn't realize it, but the note from Dean was meaningful. Jo had seen "The Great Escape" many times growing up, so she recognized the names and felt thankful that she was able to understand some part of how the Winchester brothers worked. The question was, what kind of distraction was Dean going to give her to use?

Just then, the door opened and Detective Ballard stuck her head in. Jo quickly dropped her hands low enough to make it appear that the cuffs were still attached. "We need you," the older woman told Mr. Krause. "With Winchester."

Mr. Krause gave another sigh and stood up, following Ballard from the room while Jo sat docilely in her seat. The moment the door shut, however, she sprang into action. She was getting out of this place and she was gonna find Sam and then they were gonna save Dean from deathrow and whatever else the cops might try to throw at him. Jo owed him that much after getting him into this mess.

Diana was not having the best day. Joanna wasn't willing to turn on Dean, her computer screen had freaked out on her — and what the hell was with that whole "Dana Shulps" thing over and over and over again before it vanished, leaving her screen perfectly normal? And now Winchester was saying that he actually wanted to confess?

Jeff Krause was urging Dean to not do this while Pete was setting up the camera and Diana just didn't know what to make of it, any of it.

"Start by stating your name for the record," Pete told Dean before stepping back.

Dean cleared his throat and gave a tiny smirk as he stared at the camera. "My name is Dean Winchester. I'm an Aquarius. I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach, and frisky women."

He wasn't full of himself at all, Diana thought sarcastically.

"And I did not kill anyone," Dean continued, voice suddenly serious. "But I know who did. Or, rather, what did. Of course, it can't be for sure because our investigation was interrupted, but our working theory is that we're looking for some kind of vengeful spirit."

Diana stared at Dean. "Excuse me?" she said.

"You know," Dean said in a way that suggested she had heard him right the first time and was being deliberately stupid, "Casper the bloodthirsty ghost? Tony Giles saw it. I'll bet you cash money Karen did, too."

Diana couldn't believe the words coming out of the man's mouth, let alone the seriousness in which he spoke them. "But the interesting thing is the word it leaves behind," Dean was saying. "For some reason, it's trying to tell us something. But communicating across the veil ain't easy. Sometimes the spirits –- they get things jumbled. You remember 'redrum'?" The man was just full of references to pop culture. "Same concept. It can be word fragments, and other times…" here Dean pulled out a piece of paper with several word combinations on it, "it's anagrams. See, at first, Jo, Sam and I, we all thought this was a name — Dana Shulps."

Diana stared at Dean, stunned. He'd come across the name, too? "But now, we think it's a street — Ashland. Whatever's going on, I bet it started there." Dean smiled like he was a genius, except he'd seen the name. Had Tony and Karen Giles seen it, too? What the hell was going on?

Pete was seething beside Diana. "You arrogant bastard," he snarled. "Tony and Karen were good people and you're making jokes."

Dean's smile dropped and he turned hard eyes to Pete. "I'm not joking, Ponch," he said, sounding almost dangerous.

"You murdered them in cold blood," Pete all but shouted, "just like that girl in St. Louis."

Dean blinked and turned back to the camera. "Oh, yeah," he said to it, "that wasn't me, either. That was a shapeshifter creature that only looked like me."

Pete snapped. Diana gasped as he flew forward, grabbing Dean by his jacket and slamming him against the wall.

"Pete," she yelled, "that is enough!"

"You asked for the truth," Dean said softly as Pete finally let him go.

"Lock his ass up," Pete snapped before striding from the room. Diana glanced at Dean in time to see him give her an incredibly cocky-looking smile before she hurried out after Pete.

"Pete, wait up!" she called, and thankfully he slowed down enough for her to catch up. "That was unprofessional of you," she told him in an undertone as they walked down the hallway.

"Well, so is this," Pete said, stopping long enough to lean down and kiss Diana on the lips. Thankfully, no one saw them, which meant their relationship was still a secret, but Diana blushed, anyway.

"Dean Winchester is arrogant, yes," Diana told Pete as he started walking again, this time in the direction of Joanna's room, "but you cannot let him get to you."

Pete didn't say anything as they reached the door to Joanna's "interrogation" room, and when he pulled the door open —

Joanna wasn't in there. The handcuffs were laying innocently on the tabletop next to a bent paperclip and a note. Diana picked it up. "How about that," she said as Pete looked out the window.

"What?" he asked, coming over to look at the note. "Hilts? McQueen?"

"Hilts is Steve McQueen's character in 'The Great Escape'," Diana told him. "My, they must be dating."

Pete growled angrily and stalked from the room, but Diana couldn't but feel impressed with the couple. Would Sam have given her this much trouble?

Yes, she decided, setting the note back down on the tabletop. More than likely.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Sam scrunched up his face, the sound making his head pound with pain, but it wasn't stopping just yet, so he fumbled with his jacket until the offending noise was revealed to be his cell phone.

Wait, what?

Sam cracked his eyes open and was startled to find himself inside a supply closet. No wonder he felt cramped. He lifted the phone to his face and pressed the "talk" button. "Hello?" he rasped.

"Sam? Did I wake you up?"

It sounded like Ava. Sam closed his eyes tightly and used his right hand to slowly push himself upright.

"Kinda," he said, "but I think I might've been unconscious."

"Oh," Ava said. "Are you in the middle of something?"

"No idea," Sam said, leaning against the nearest wall and rubbing his forehead. "What day is it?"

"Thursday," Ava answered.

"The date?"

"August sixteenth," said Ava slowly. "Sam, are you sure you're okay?"

"No idea," Sam repeated. "At least I haven't lost that much time. Wait, is it morning or afternoon?"

"It's just after four o'clock. This is a bad time, isn't it?"

"Depends," Sam answered. "What's up?"

"I uh, I just wanted to talk," Ava stammered after a moment. "About last week."

"Oh," Sam said. "Yeah, this is a bad time, then, sorry."

"What's going on?"

Sam frowned. "I thought I'd been kidnapped by demons again, but I'm in a supply closet and I'm not sure where it's located. I hope I'm still in Baltimore."

"What d'you mean?"

"Huh?" Sam said, distracted as he managed to stand up. "Oh, I uh…" He huffed a small laugh. "It's a long story. Can I call you later when I figure out what's going on myself?"

"Yeah," Ava said. "Yeah, definitely. You be careful, okay?"

"I'll try," Sam said before hanging up. He shoved his phone back into his pocket and opened the door to the closet. Strangely enough, he found himself on the ground floor of the building he had been in just last night, when he'd been hacking into Mr. Giles' computer.

"That's weird," Sam muttered, closing the door behind him and heading for the front doors. Thankfully, he didn't run into anyone, and he staggered outside, blinking in the blinding sunlight. Just then, his phone started ringing again.

"What now?" he muttered, feeling irritated as he pulled it out once more and pressed the talk key. "Hello?"

"Sam? Where are you?"

"Oh, hey Jo," Sam said. "What's up?"

"What's up?" Jo sounded incredulous. "Where the hell have you been, Sam? Dean's at the police station, they think he killed Karen Giles —"

"Whoa," Sam said, making his way to the nearest wall and leaning against it. "What?"

"Where are you?" Jo asked again. Sam rubbed his forehead.

"Just outside the building Giles' office is in," he answered.

"What? How the fuck are you still there, the cops said they checked the place out after they caught us —"

"Caught you?" Sam echoed. "Jo, can you slow down? I'm so lost right now."

"Clearly," Jo sniped before sighing. "Just — hang tight, okay?" she said, her voice softer. "I'm on my way to get you right now. And don't call Dean, I couldn't get him out with me."

"Right," Sam said. "I'm waiting, Jo, but just so you know, I think I've been drugged, and I might have a concussion."

Jo didn't say anything for a moment. "I don't think I wanna know," she finally said in a resigned tone of voice. "Wait there, seriously."

Sam ended the call and carefully started probing the back of his head. He found where the baton had hit him and hissed, pulling his hands back to find congealed blood on them. "Terrific," he sighed, dropping his hands and closing his eyes against the too-bright sunlight. "This sucks."

And wasn't that an understatement?

Chapter Text

Dean barely glanced at Detective Ballard as she slowly entered his interrogation room. "Can we make this quick?" he sighed, feeling very irritable. "I'm a little tired. It's been a long day, you know, with your partner assaulting me and all."

Strangely, Ballard didn't rise to the bait. In fact, she didn't seem angry at all. "I wanna know more about that stuff you were talking about earlier," she said.

Dean stared up at the detective. "Time Life," he deadpanned. "'Mysteries of the Unknown'. Look it up."

Ballard took what seemed to be a calming breath. "Let's pretend for a moment you're not entirely insane." Which he wasn't, at all. "What would one of these… these things be doing here?"

"A vengeful spirit?" Dean asked, beginning to suspect that this might be a serious conversation, after all. Ballard nodded, looking a little bit panicked at the idea of a spirit taking vengeance. "Well, they're created by violent deaths," he said. "And then they come back for a reason, usually a nasty one, like uh… Like revenge on the people that hurt 'em."

"And… these spirits," Ballard said hesitantly, "they're capable of killing people?" She reached a hand up to her neck, probably to rub it or something, but Dean was distracted by the dark marks on her wrist. Just like Karen.

"Where did you get that?" he asked, and Ballard started before pulling up her sleeves. Shit, they were bruised exactly like Karen's.

"I don't know," Ballard said softly. "It wasn't there before."

Shit, shit, shit! "You've seen it, haven't you?" Dean asked, keeping his voice steady as he stared up at the detective. "The spirit."

"How did you know? It only happened a few minutes ago —"

"I thought Jo would've told you," Dean cut her off, "about Karen's bruises? They were exactly the same, and I bet if you looked at Giles' autopsy photos, you'd see he's got 'em, too." He leaned forward, watching the emotions that flickered over Ballard's pale face. "It's got something to do with the spirit," he told her quietly, "but I don't know what."

Ballard turned away and Dean began speaking a little bit faster. Clearly, she was the one in danger now, and he couldn't let her get killed, too, cop or not. "I know," he told her. "You think you're going crazy, but let's skip that part, shall we? Because the last two people who saw this thing? They died pretty soon after. You hear me?"

There was a long moment of silence.

"You think I'm gonna die," Ballard whispered.

"You need to find Sam and Jo. They can help."

"You're giving them up?" Ballard asked as she turned around, and Dean swallowed hard. He knew this was a big risk, but he couldn't let this woman die. Also, he had to believe that Jo would find Sam and that his brother would adhere to their protocol.

"Go to the first motel listed in the yellow pages," he said after a moment. "Look for Jim Rockford. It's how me and Sam find each other when we're separated, and you can bet that Jo's already with him." He swallowed before continuing. "You can arrest them if you want," he told her. "Or, you can let my brother and my uh, girlfriend save your life."

Ballard stared at him. "You're not really dating Joanna, are you?"

Dean shrugged. "Kinda more like a good friend who needed a hand," he said. "Unfortunately, that led me here." He rattled his cuffed hands to make his point.

Ballard snorted and gave him a small smile. "Hang tight," she said, "this doesn't prove your innocence."

Dean smiled. "Of course," he said lightly, and Ballard rolled her eyes before leaving. Dean slumped in his chair the moment she was gone. It was up to Sam to figure things out, now.

Scott was waiting anxiously in Thomas' apartment while Gerald went out to kill a man or two. "Relax," Thomas told him, handing him a soda and joining him on the couch. "Gerry's got a lot of experience, he'll do this just fine and then you and your dad will be safe again."

"But what if Gerald doesn't do it?" Scott asked. "What if this Kubrick guy kills him, instead?" He shook his head and stood up to pace around the room. "I never shoulda gotten you guys involved."

"Too late," Thomas said, snagging his arm and pulling him back onto the couch. "Sam sent you our way, and this is how it's goin' down, like it or not."

"Have you ever killed before?" Scott asked.

Thomas' face went blank. "My body has," he said.

Scott frowned.

"I was possessed by a demon a little over two months ago," Thomas sighed after a long moment, and Scott remembered Dean telling him that.

"Oh," he said. "Sorry."

Thomas shrugged. "It wasn't me," he said. "Not that it makes the guilt any less, but that's what I keep telling myself."

Neither man said anything for a few minutes. Scott was about to ask if Thomas minded watching something on the TV when the front door burst open and Gerald stormed in, covered in blood and looking angry and panicked all at once.

"We've all gotta bail," he told him, heading for the guest room as Scott and Thomas leapt to their feet. "Now."

"What happened?" Thomas asked as he and Scott followed the Hunter.

"A flood of demons is what happened," Gerald said tersely as he started shoving his things into his bags. "Pack up, Tom, you're leaving, too."

"Demons?" Scott asked.

"How many?" asked Thomas at the same time.

"Near a dozen," Gerald answered. "Carlton died, but Kubrick managed to bail." Scott suddenly noticed a bad blood stain on Gerald's jacket along with a cut in the fabric that could only be caused by a knife.

"You're hurt," he said, but Gerald brushed him off.

"Call your dad, Scott," he told him, "none of us can stay here, anymore."

"The demons, they want you and me dead, don't they?" Thomas said, and Gerald paused before he nodded.

"That succubus was just the beginning of our problems, son," he said to his nephew, "and you can bet that Kubrick will try to come back for you, kid," he added to Scott, gesturing to him to grab up his things. Scott complied and pulled out his cell phone, dialing his dad's number as Thomas hurried off to his own room to pack up. He shifted impatiently as he waited for an answer.

"Hey, son," his father said over the line. "Are you safe now?"

"None of us are safe, Dad," Scott answered tersely. "The plan went south, so we've all gotta bail as soon as possible."

"What happened?"

"I'll tell you later," Scott said hurriedly as he shoved his things into his bag, "but right now you've gotta pack up your things and we've gotta go. We'll be there in —" He broke off and looked over at Gerald.

"Twenty minutes," the Hunter answered, and Scott repeated that to his father before hanging up. "I'm sorry about this," Gerald added after a few moments of tense, but silent packing.

"It's fine," Scott said, trying to sound nonchalant about the situation when his heart was racing faster than a jaguar could run. "I was never too fond of this town, anyway. Will Tom's parents be OK?"

Gerald sighed. "I dunno," he said, "but their lives are a little too rooted in the community to just up and run. I'll call them, though." He headed out of the room, bags slung over his arms and his own cell phone in one hand, body stiff as he clearly did his best to ignore his injury.

Scott couldn't believe this was happening, but he finished packing up what little he had brought to the apartment and headed out to Thomas' car, a green '02 Ford Explorer. Gerald and Thomas were already outside, putting bags into the back. "You and your dad'll be with me," Thomas told Scott as he approached, "Gerald's gonna follow in his car."

Minutes later, Scott and Thomas were barreling down the road to Scott's home, and Scott was relieved to see his father already standing outside with a few bags.

Thomas screeched to a halt and Scott leapt out of the car. "Is there anything else inside?" he asked at once as Gerald's car stopped right behind the Explorer.

"Anything you didn't take to Tom's," his father answered, and Scott rushed through the front door as Thomas helped him get his things into the back of his car. Pounding up the stairs, he slammed open the door to his bedroom —

"Hey, Scott."

A tall girl with dark hair and blue eyes was lounging comfortably on his bed. "Who are you?" Scott asked, stiffly eyeing the girl.

"Tara," the girl answered, eyes going black. "We need to talk."

A demon, here? Now? Could this situation get any worse?

"No," Scott said tersely to the demon, "we don't need to talk. Excuse me."

Tara raised her eyebrows. "You've gotten more ballsy since Sam and Dean came through last week," she said, scooting so her feet rested on the floor as she stared up at Scott.

"Thanks," Scott said sarcastically, moving to his closet and pulling out another two duffel bags.

"You really think you're leaving?"

Why hadn't Scott thought to put salt on the windowsills? He couldn't deal with this right now!

"I do," he told Tara, grabbing clothes and shoving them into the first duffel bag. "You gonna stop me?"

"I'm not allowed to touch you, special child," Tara replied. "Thomas and Gerald, on the other hand…"

"You leave them alone," Scott snapped, turning to face the demon. "They're only trying to help me."

"It's not my problem that Hunters are interested in killing you like I'm interested in killing those two," Tara drawled, a lazy smile on her face. "You wanna know a secret?" she asked after another moment had passed.

"Not really," Scott said, dread beginning to well up in him. Tara's smile became a wicked grin, and she slowly stood. She's tall, Scott thought absently.

"My father only needs one of you crazy kids alive," Tara said softly, and Scott froze, duffel bags slipping from his numb fingers. "You and Ava caused me a lot of problems last week, whether you meant it or not, and all this?" The demon spread her arms wide. "Survival of the fittest."

There was yelling outside, and the sound of gunshots. Scott jerked away, about to run from his room, check to see what was going on, but then a tall, thin man with short but curly blonde-ish hair stepped into the doorway. There was utter silence, both inside and outside the house.

"Scott Carey, meet Kubrick the Hunter," said Tara smugly. "Bye-bye." And she was gone.

"You made a deal with a demon?" Scott asked, backing away from Kubrick as he stepped into the room.

"Nope," Kubrick said. "Got knocked out earlier and woke up in the bathroom just now, gun and all." He moved closer and Scott felt his legs hit his desk. He was trapped. "I did take a quick look outside. Pretty gruesome." He shook his head, a creepy smile growing over his face, and he raised the gun in his hand.

Scott was terrified, and he knew he only had once choice left. His hands, thankfully, were already behind him, grasping the edge of his desk, so he slowly reached for one glove and carefully pulled it off. He only had one shot at this. "Is my dad still alive?"

Kubrick shrugged. "Don't know, don't care." He let off the safety on his gun and aimed it.

Scott took a calming breath and dove forward.

The gun fired.

Jo broke into the first nondescript car she found after calling Sam by payphone. How was he still at the office building and not in police custody? She shook her head, trying to focus. They didn't have a lot of time; Dean didn't have a lot of time.

She pulled up at the front of the office building to see Sam leaning against a wall. Leaving the engine running, she stepped out of the car and hurried over to him. "Are you OK?" she asked.

Sam shrugged and Jo noticed dried blood towards the back of his neck. "Well, we need to regroup," she told him. "I don't think they know what motel I've been staying at, so we'll go there."

Sam started to follow Jo to her car before stopping and shaking his head with a wince. "No," he said, "not there. Need to follow protocol."

"What?" Jo said, watching as Sam practically staggered to the nearest phone booth and grabbed out the phone book, flipping through the yellow pages. "Sam?"

"Here," Sam said, pointing to the first motel listed in the yellow pages. "We're going there."

"OK," Jo said as she grabbed Sam's arm and led him back to the car. "Why there?"

"It's what we do when we're separated," Sam explained, carefully lowering himself into the front seat of the blue Honda and carefully buckling up his seatbelt.

"I don't think Dean's breaking out without our help," Jo told him.

"Doesn't matter," Sam replied. "That's where we're going."

Jo stared at Sam for a moment before heading to the driver's side and clambering in. "Fine," she said, pulling back out onto the street. "Now, tell me, what the hell happened to you?"

Sam didn't say anything for a moment. "A demon jumped me," he finally sighed, and Jo slammed on the brakes and turned to stare at the tall man.

"What?"

"I know," Sam said, and now that Jo thought about it, he did sound tired and a little out of it. "I can sense demons — figured that out last week — but only when they're in the same area that I am. I think this one was hiding inside its host, so I could sense something, but I couldn't identify it until it took over the body and literally tackled me." He reached to the back of his head and winced again. "Hit me with the security guard's baton and knocked me out."

Jo started with someone behind her honked her horn, but she started driving again. "Then what?" she asked.

"Woke up, some holding room," Sam replied. "It was a demon from L.A."

Jo understood enough about Sam to know he was talking about the period when he'd been held prisoner by the demon who had killed his mother nearly 23 years ago. "How'd he find you?"

"We came here to find some information, and we had to exorcise a demon during that process," Sam answered. "The other demon figured out it was us, and he wanted to know what I'd learned, injected me with something and promised torture, but the next time I woke up, I was in a supply closet on the first floor of that building." He shook his head again with another wince. "I don't know what's going on, anymore."

Jo sighed as she pulled up to the motel. "Any other part of this protocol I should know about?" she asked, and Sam blinked at her before pulling out his wallet and handing over a card.

"Check in under the name Jim Rockford," he told her.

Jo nodded and headed into the main office, doing as Sam said and making sure to get a room on the other side of the motel on the ground floor. She headed back to the car and moved it to the correct spot. "Let's get you inside," she said, "I need to check out your head, make sure you don't need stitches or anything."

Sam lumbered out of the car and followed her into the room, dropping onto the bed nearest the door and rubbing his forehead. Jo shut the motel room's door and headed into the bathroom to grab a washcloth. After soaking it in hot water and wringing it out, she headed back over to Sam, carefully sitting down behind him.

"This'll probably sting," she said softly as she probed for the right spot. Sam hissed and jerked away. "Found it."

Sam was tense as she washed away the blood and gently moved his shaggy hair aside to get a better look at the wound. "It looks like it'll scab on its own," Jo told him, sitting back and tossing the washcloth onto the nightstand. "Any idea what you were injected with?"

"No," Sam said, shoulders slumping slightly as he dropped his head into his hands. "All I know is that it's made it really hard for me to focus, so I can't do anything or really control any of it."

That had to mean that he hadn't been able to use his powers, still couldn't if Jo was understanding him right. That really had to suck after everything else he'd been through. "Got a flashlight?" she asked, trying to stay focused. "I need to check your eyes."

Sam dug into his jacket and pulled out a small light, which Jo carefully shined into his eyes. "Pupils are equal and reactive to light," she muttered, turning it off and handing it back. "I think you got lucky there. Headache?"

"Yeah," Sam said softly, slowly standing and heading over to the bathroom. Jo watched him grab a plastic cup, unwrap it and fill it with water before he sat down and slowly drained it.

"I take it you're a little dehydrated, too."

"Uh-huh. Was your car impounded along with ours?"

Jo nodded. "The cops think Dean and I are a couple."

Sam snorted. "Dean has never dated anyone with any amount of regularity…" He trailed off, glancing at Jo before dropping his eyes. "You probably didn't wanna hear that."

"Not really," Jo sighed, "but I figured that out after enough time passed."

"It's not you," Sam said quietly. "It was just… timing."

It sounded lame, but Jo thought she could understand. Between Sam's captivity and their dad making a Deal… She gave Sam a sad smile. "I get it," she told him. "Are we gonna just sit around now?"

Sam considered the question for a moment, but before he could say anything there was a knock on the door. "What the…?" Jo stood up and headed over to the door, opening it and freezing.

"What?" Sam asked, and Jo could hear him standing up.

"Is that Sam Winchester in there?"

"How'd you know where to find us?" Jo asked, finally stepping back to allow the woman passage into the motel room.

"Dean told me," Diana Ballard answered, slowly stepping into the room. "He said you could help me."

"Help you?" Sam looked so confused. "What's going on?"

"I'm Detective Diana Ballard," the older woman told him, "I'm working your brother's case. And Joanna's."

"It's Jo," Jo ground out, shutting the door forcefully and leaning against it. "Why'd he send you to us?"

Ballard seemed slightly put off by the attitude, but Jo found she didn't much care. After a moment, the detective raised her wrists, pulling up her sleeves and revealing bruises that were exactly like Karen Giles.

"You've seen the spirit," Jo breathed, and Ballard nodded.

"Dean thinks I'm going to be the next to die," she said. "Please, I need your help."

Jo looked over at Sam. "Still confused?"

Sam nodded and winced again, reaching up to the bump on his head.

"Don't touch it," Jo snapped at him, moving forward to pull his hand away from his head. "I said it'd scar on its own, but you've gotta leave it the hell alone."

"You have a horrible bedside manner," Sam remarked, blinking down at her.

"Are you hurt?" Ballard asked.

Sam smiled. "Had some troubles of my own," he answered, "but it's not important. Tell me everything that's been going on since Dean headed to the Giles' house to meet you," he said to Jo.

"It's a long story," she sighed.

"I think we have enough time," Sam replied, finally looking every bit the Hunter that Jo knew him to be. So, heaving another sigh, Jo sat down and began to tell Sam everything.