Disclaimer: I don't own anyone and am not making any money.

A/N: Reviews are great. However, I have only seen up to the end of season 3 of the Mentalist, so please, if you are kind enough to review, no spoilers for season 4 of the Mentalist. Go nuts for SPN though.

"That man killed my wife and child!" The blonde-haired man in the neat grey suit was protesting. Dean recognised the tone; the raw note in his voice that said the memory of the murder of his family was as fresh to him as the day it had happened. He'd heard it in his father's voice every day since the fire. He recognised the look in the man's eye, too. The one that begged the world to let him have his vengeance, the strained look that said he was only just holding back the crazy. Dad had looked like that whenever he'd felt like someone was standing between him and his revenge. Dean had seen it on Sam's face after Jess had died. The worst part was that Dean understood. He knew how that man felt, because he'd felt it himself. It made it so much harder to turn the guy away.

"I'm sorry Sir, but you'll have to leave," Sam was firm but gentle, using his size to block the man's way.

"Jane," The tiny brunette woman beside the blonde man warned. She watched her colleague from the corner of her eye to make sure he backed off while she spoke to Dean. "I'm Agent Teresa Lisbon of the California Bureau of Investigation. This is my colleague, Patrick Jane. We weren't informed of FBI involvement in this case. I'm sure it's just a misunderstanding, but Red John is a CBI case, so I'll need to speak to a superior."

Dean was impressed. For such a small woman, she was very authoritative. Calm, assured and confident, yet still polite. And amazingly, only the second cop ever to ask for confirmation about why they were there. He dug in the pocket of his suit jacket for Bobby's fake FBI card and handed it to the woman. She examined it closely before pulling out a cell phone and entering the number. Dean crossed his fingers and hoped like hell that Bobby was home.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the faint sound of Bobby's gruff voice of the other end of the line. He snuck a look across at Sam.

Patrick Jane seemed much calmer, now. He was talking to Sam in a soothing voice. "Listen to my voice… can you hear how calm I am? I'm breathing slow and evenly. Listen to my breathing. I'm calm. I'm relaxed… and you are too. Relaxed and calm…"

Actually, now that he thought about it, Dean was feeling relaxed. Huh. He hadn't felt this relaxed for ages. Years.

"Everything seems to be in order," Agent Lisbon's voice jolted Dean back to reality. "Although I'm disappointed that this new information wasn't shared with us, I understand that you have a job to do. We'll help in any way we can. All I ask is that you keep us in – oh no – Jane!"

Dean followed the agent's gaze past the slightly swaying, glazed-eyed form of his brother, to where the perfectly quaffed blonde hair of Patrick Jane was just visible as it disappeared into the narrow hallway.

"Sa- Agent McCready, what the hell?" He hit Sam discreetly on the shoulder. He could already feel the tension creeping back into his muscles.

"Dean?" Sam looked around, blinking confusedly. Dean winced, glancing up at Teresa Lisbon to check if she'd noticed, but she was already out of earshot, striding purposefully after her consultant.

"Oh, just come on," Dean shoved his brother in the direction the CBI Agents had gone.

The crime scene was in one of the bedrooms that came off the hallway of the small house. By the time they reached it, the yellow crime scene tape that had been criss-crossing the door had been torn down, and Patrick Jane and Teresa Lisbon were already inside.

Dean had seen a lot of sick stuff in his time, but that didn't stop a shiver passing down his spine at the sight of the smiley-face smeared in blood on the candy-floss pink wallpaper above the child-sized bed, now stained rust-coloured with blood.

"What have I said about hypnotising people?" Lisbon was saying to the man beside her, but she didn't sound mad. Not really. Mostly she sounded long-suffering, and probably more sympathetic than she meant to.

Patrick Jane was scrutinising the bloody image intensely, his right hand moving absently to the ring on his left ring finger, turning it slowly. "This one's different." His voice was hollow. "It's all the same, but it's different. Where's the mother?"

The mother, or at least the mother's meat-suit, was a pile of ash in a field in Oregon. Dean and Sam had burnt it after stabbing it with Ruby's knife. The way that woman had been treated she was definitely going to come back angry. Dean decided not to share that piece of information with the CBI.

"Sir, do you have information you would like share about the case?" Sam asked, in his hard-ass FBI Agent voice. Apparently, he was not happy that he'd let himself be hypnotised.

"Not with you," Jane turned away from the smiley-face, crossing the room to peer at the cans of lighter fluid and salt that the Winchesters had been forced to leave in the corner when they'd gone to cut off the law before they made it to the room. Crap. Dean was getting a bad feeling.

"Sir, I apologise for my colleague's behaviour. Jane, why is it different? Is it not Red John?"

"Oh no, it's Red John. Look at the face, of course it's him." He sniffed. "It smells different. Did you fart?" He looked sideways at Lisbon.

The look of indignation and embarrassment on Lisbon's face would have been funny in different circumstances. "No!"

"How about you two?" Jane looked at Dean and Sam for the first time since they'd entered the room. They shook their heads awkwardly. Something about this man made Dean really uncomfortable. He was starting to think they should just leave and come back when he was gone. Oh great, now Lisbon was sniffing the air, too. Less noticeably, perhaps, but definitely enough to pick up the faint smell of sulfur that still hung in the air.

"This is a message for me," said Jane.

The demon possessing the murdered girl's mother had let slip a few things before Sam had stabbed her. Most of what she'd said had been snide jabs at Dean, with a few taunts specially designed to poke at Sam's most sensitive areas thrown in, but she'd said something about a boss and a game. They'd decided to come across and check it out, just in case it was something big. Dean was getting the feeling that it was going to be way bigger than they'd bargained for. He resisted the urge to clasp his head in his hands. Was it too much to ask that once, just once, a case was just a case?

"What kind of a message?" Lisbon asked.

"We can go now," Jane answered, standing up from where he was crouching to examine the fluffy cream carpet, which to Dean's eyes appeared completely normal, if an impractical colour for a child's bedroom floor.

Dean breathed an inward sigh of relief as he watched them go. In the old days, he might have enjoyed working a case right under the noses of the police, but right now, they couldn't afford to go to jail, and anyway, they had way bigger things to think about. He waited until he heard the car pull away before reaching for the lighter fluid.

"Let's burn this mother."

XXXX

"You can't just hypnotise people when they won't let you run wild over their crime scene, Jane. That stunt you pulled back there could get us written up for interfering in a federal investigation and failing to co-operate with other departments." Lisbon repeated the lecture she'd given Jane a thousand times with no real hope it would have any effect. "I know what catching Red John means to you. And we will catch him. But we'll do it the right way." She kept her eyes on the road ahead of her as she braked for a red light.

"Oh, come, Lisbon," Jane said, his usual good humour coming back into his voice. Without looking, she could see the too-bright smile that masked him. "It's not like they were real FBI agents."

This time Lisbon did look at him. "What are you talking about?"

"Those two have clearly never worked for a law enforcement agency in their lives. They didn't have the right bearing. Their speech patterns were wrong. And anyway, no FBI Agent carries his gun tucked into the waistband of his poorly-fitting suit pants. They all have those leather things. Holsters."

The light turned green and Lisbon looked away from Jane to watch the road as she pulled out. It would have been easier to judge if he was lying if she could watch his face, but there wasn't that much point in trying. She was a better judge than most about when Jane was lying, but he could still fool her, particularly if it was something that made him crazy, like Red John. She thought about it. They had seemed a little off.

"If they aren't feds, who are they?"

"Two options – one: associates of Red John, there to do clean up. That would mean something went wrong, maybe something to do with the missing woman or the strange smell in the air. They reacted when I mentioned the mother. But they didn't make any veiled threats or William Blake references, and there was no smugness or hidden glee when I mentioned Red John, so they would be hired help or way at the bottom of Red John's chain of command."

"And what's option two?" Lisbon put her blinker on for a right turn to take them towards the highway.

"No, wait, we have to go back and see what they were doing. They were just waiting for us to leave."

"And why should I take your word for this?"

"Have you ever seen lighter fluid at one of Red John's crime scenes? He's a showman, he doesn't destroy the evidence."

Lisbon flicked her blinker off and her police lights on, swinging a U-turn in the mercifully quiet street. "What's the other option?"

"They're looking for revenge. Maybe relatives of a previous victim. They definitely knew each other well. Did you see how protective their body language was? They stood much closer together than two men with just a working relationship would. They're either very close or related, probably both. And they had the look of people who've lost someone."

Lisbon couldn't say she'd noticed deranged grief in their faces, but then, Jane was more likely to be able to recognise hidden despair than she was. Crap. The last thing she needed was two more Janes running around. These ones had no one even attempting to control them, either. Jane tended to do whatever the hell he wanted when it came to Red John, and damn the consequences, but at least if he thought one of the team was going to get hurt he'd back off. And at least he didn't walk around with a gun in his waistband.

As they turned into the street with the Heller house, the scene of the murders, in it, Lisbon knew with a sinking heart that they had turned around too late. Black smoke was billowing from the building, red and orange flickering in the window of the bedroom. By the time they got there, the whole room and probably more would be on fire. "Call the fire department," she ordered Jane, putting her foot down.

They screeched to a halt in front of what had been Marnie Heller and her daughter Mary's home. Jane shoved his phone into her hand, and before she could stop him, was leaping out of the car and running towards the house.

"Jane!" She shouted, sprinting after him. "Jane, stop!"

But he was already inside.

XXX