Mistakes and Monsters

by lickerdysplit

Dean. Sam. Henricksen. A race against time to find missing kids...and deep dark woods hiding darker secrets. Rated T to be safe. Written before Jus in Bello aired, so kind of AU, but everyone you know is the same.

Like an arrow.

Marie turned off the television and looked at her brother and sister, sprawled on the couch beside her. "Hey, you two," she said, mock-sternly, "time for bed!" Brian looked at her sideways, smiled broadly and said, "Hey! Time for bed for you!"

Marie nodded, then nudged her sister gently in the ribs. "Claire? Claire, honey. Time for bed."

Claire mumbled something. Brian said, "Oh, she doesn't want to go to bed."

"Oh really?" Marie grinned. "Well, I guess we could watch another movie. I'm sure we can all stay awake for that, no problem."

Brian nodded yes and stifled a yawn without realising.

"Ha!" Marie poked him with a foot. "Yawner. Let the team down, Bri. Look at Claire, raring to go. You yawning. Terrible thing."

Brian looked at his little sister, clearly asleep, and then looked back at his big sister, stifling a yawn herself. "Yawner!" he retorted.

"Call me a yawner, will ya?" Marie launched into a full attack, tickling Brian's feet mercilessly. Brian wriggled out of her reach, giggling delightedly, then ran out of breath, stopped. Yawned again.

On the couch, Claire stirred slightly, reacting to the noise.

"Hooo." Marie relaxed back onto the couch. "Time for bed," she said again.

Brian just nodded this time, too tired to do more.

Marie carried Claire upstairs with ease, and slid her into bed, leaving a nightlight on as normal. She tucked the covers in tightly, like Claire always liked it, and Brian helped, yawning the whole time. Marie marched him to the bathroom and they cleaned their teeth at the same time, standing side by side at the sink. As they stood there, Marie thought how similar they looked, how tall Brian was getting, how much like Justin and Chris, how much like their Dad.

As if Brian had heard her, he suddenly said, through toothpaste, "Do you think they got there yet?"

"Well, what's the time?" Marie asked.

Brian frowned at the reflection of the clock on the wall behind them, turned around to see it better. "It's eleven oh seven," he announced.

"Then let's see," Marie thought out loud. "Boston is two hundred and sixty three miles away. They left at eight. So how long has it been since they left?"

"Three and a bit hours," Brian said easily, through bubbles.

"Okay. How fast does Dad drive?"

"Regular speeds, like sixty miles an hour, I guess," Brian said, still brushing.

"How many sixties in two hundred and sixty? Spit."

Brian spat into the sink, straightened up and said, "Um. Four and…a bit."

Marie smiled. "So, how many hours would it take Dad to drive to Boston?"

"Four and a bit," Brian said. "So they should be there soon. Like in an hour?"

"Good math skills, dude!" Marie waggled her eyebrows, and spat in the sink herself.

"Will they call when they get there?" Brian asked, yawning again.

Marie fixed him with a deadpan look. "Does Mom ever not call? Ever?"

"Mom would call from the moon!" Brian said.

"She would call from the moon," Marie confirmed, and swept her brother out of the bathroom, to bed.

Marie tucked Brian's sheets in tightly, like he asked, and was about to leave the room, when he asked, "Will you come tell me? When Mom calls?"

"You'll be asleep," Marie predicted, hand on light switch.

"Maybe. Will you tell me anyway?"

Marie smiled softly, and told him yes.

"Now go to sleep!"

"Night, Marie."
"Night," she said, and turned off the light.

Marie checked on Claire briefly, poking her head around the door. Claire was sleeping soundly, blonde hair splayed on her pillow, deep breathing noises coming from the bed, bed covers rising and falling in time with her chest. Mom had said something about bad dreams recently, probably to do with the news from Hanton, and to keep one eye on her little sister just in case. Tonight, though, she seemed fine. Marie smiled to herself and tiptoed away from the doorway.

Marie went downstairs to check the locks on the doors and windows. She checked every lock, and made sure that she turned off every light before she went upstairs. She took the phone handset up with her, to wait for the call from her Mom. Mom really would call from the moon, Marie thought, and grinned at Brian's astuteness. He might only be eight, but he was smarter than most grown ups most of the time. And Claire, too, Marie thought, as she walked up the stairs. Claire was seven years old, smart enough to be three grades ahead, and small enough to be two grades below. Marie poked her head in again on Claire, and on Brian, as she headed to her room. Claire was still sleeping soundly. Brian was making his usual nearly asleep noises, shifting in his bed and snuffling quietly to himself. Marie padded quietly on to her room, left the door open, just in case Claire did wake up from a bad dream.

Marie sat down on the edge of her bed, and sighed happily. Today had been a good day all round. She reached for the brush on her nightstand, and pulled it lazily through her hair a few times. She picked a few loose strands from her sweater, flicked them into the waste basket, and put the brush back where it had been. She stood up and stretched, then took off her sweater and wriggled out of her jeans, leaving just her vest and underwear on. She threw her clothes onto her chair and lay back on the bed, wondering whether she should try to get any sleep, or force herself to stay awake until her Mom called. She checked the time. Eleven thirty-three. She lay on the bed, enjoying the sensation of the cool linen on her bare arms and legs, enjoying the peace that reigned in the house. If Justin were here, things would not be so quiet. Her football-playing brother was not the daintiest mover, and could never get to sleep. He would wander from his room to the bathroom to the kitchen to his room endlessly, until he finally felt tired enough to sleep. When she had lived here all the time, she had grown used to it, but being away at school meant that she'd lost the rhythm of the house. Took her a while to get it back when she was home for the holidays, which meant that for the first few nights, Justin kept her awake with his wandering to and fro. Luckily, he was on some kind of football retreat – why did they need a retreat for football? Never mind, Marie thought. Retreat away, and let me get some… sleep. She checked the time again. Eleven forty-nine. Maybe she could get some sleep before Mom called. She grasped the phone firmly in one hand, and grabbed a pillow with the other, pulled it under her head. Started thinking about Justin and his retreating football, and Chris, and his – what was it? Not basketball camp. Basketball retreat? Why did all these sports have retreats? Weird. Marie let her head sink slowly into the soft pillow, and thought about the weirdness of sports retreats, and then nothing much.

And then Claire screamed.

Marie was on her feet and moving towards Claire's room before she knew she was doing it.

"Claire, honey, I'm coming, I'm coming, don't wo-" Worry. The word died in her mouth. She got to Claire's doorway, and saw a strange man standing in her sister's room. By her bed. Leaning over her bed. Saying something, holding Claire down. Pinning her to the bed.

Marie didn't say a word. She ran full tilt into the room, heading straight for the man by her sister's bed, fists bunched and ready. She got halfway there. Someone she couldn't see, tall and broad, grabbed her from behind, clamping one hand over her mouth, one arm around her waist, pulling her away.

The man by the bed turned his head slightly, but didn't move, didn't let go of Claire.

Marie struggled against her unseen enemy, scrabbling behind her to try to find his eyes. She found his face, and raked her nails across his cheek. There was a sound of pain, and the grip on her waist lessened. She twisted down and away from her attacker, turned away and ran for the phone in her room. She pelted down the hall and jumped across the room, found the phone, dialled the number.

"Marry?" The small voice at her door made her leap into the air.

"Brian!"

Brian rubbed his left eye, tired. "What's going on? Is Claire okay? Why did she slam the door?"

Fear rose like vomit in Marie's throat. "What?"

"She slammed the door. Is she okay?"

Marie scrambled out of her room and back down the hallway. Claire's door was shut. Frantic, Marie pressed her ear to the wood. She could hear voices, two male voices, speaking quickly but calmly.

"Brian," she said quietly. "Brian."

Brian appeared at her side.

"Take the phone," Marie whispered, "go and get in your closet. Call 911, ask for the police. Tell them your name and where we live, tell them that there are some men here, two men, in the house. Got that?"

Brian nodded, pale as ashes.

"Okay, Brian?"

"Okay," he whispered.

"Go," Marie whispered back, and watched as he disappeared into his room.

Marie took a breath, and ran at Claire's closed door, throwing her whole weight against the wood. The door didn't budge. She ran at it again. This time she heard louder voices inside. She kicked at the handle. She ran at it again, slamming her fists against the wood, hard. Her hands began to bleed. She ran at it again, and this time the hinges gave a little. She ran at it again, and the door gave way. She stumbled into the room, and saw both the men, one still bent over Claire, one waiting for her. He had livid red marks on his face. Marie went into a crouch, waiting for him to make a move. He didn't.

"Get away from my sister," Marie panted.

"No can do," the man by the bed said flatly.

"Get away from her!" Marie screamed.

"Just take it easy," the man with the scratched face said.

"Take it easy?!" Marie couldn't believe what she was hearing. "Get out of my house! Get away from her!"

"We can't do that." The man with the scratches began to move towards her, palms out.

"I called the police," Marie told him. "I called the police. Get away from her right now."

The man with the scratches paused, eyes giving nothing away. "You did."

"Yes. So you better stop whatever it is you're planning to do. Stop it now. You don't have to…" Marie trailed off as she realised what was really happening.

"Oh my God," she said quietly, "oh my God." Hanton. Marston. Crofield. The news story that Mom thought had been giving Claire nightmares. The kids going missing from their homes, in the middle of the night. Hanton. Marston. Crofield. Like an arrow on a map, pointing right here.

"Oh my God," she said again. "What have you done with them? What are you doing? Oh my God." Suddenly, she felt tears running down her face. "Please don't do this. Please don't."

The man by the bed said something inaudible. The man with the scratches nodded. He made eye contact with Marie for the first time, and she noted, abstractly, how deep his eyes seemed to go.

"We have to do this," he said. "I'm sorry."

All at once, Marie felt herself flying at him, fists raised, shrieking. She landed three or four good punches to his face, felt her hands make contact and the pain start up again, got a good knee to his groin and one to his ribs before he managed to overpower her. He pressed his whole weight on top of her and pushed her to the ground, hands on her arms, face to face with her. She spat in his face. He clamped his hand over her mouth like before, and said, "I really am sorry."

The man by the bed straightened up. "Time to go," he said. "Can't finish it here."

Marie began to sob helplessly, unable to move or scream. The man with the scratches looked at her and said heavily, "We can't just leave her. She's seen our faces."

The other man sighed. "Then we bring her too."

Marie was struggling to breathe, still sobbing, still pinned to the floor. Eyes locked on Claire, now seemingly asleep again, she tried to squirm free. The man with the scratches held her tightly, hand bruising her mouth, fingers digging into her arms, knees jammed hard into her legs. He said, "Then let's go."

Unable to breathe at all now, Marie felt herself spinning away into darkness. The last thing she saw before everything went black was the man with the scratched face, looking directly into her eyes, and she thought vaguely to herself how sad he looked. And then it was all dark.

Silent apology.

The older girl finally stopped struggling, and Sam breathed a sigh of relief. He rolled away from the now unconscious girl and groaned in pain.

"Dude," Dean said, picking up the smaller girl from the bed. "What's the hold-up?"

"Are you kidding?" Sam said. "This girl just tried her best to kill me." He stood up gingerly, holding a hand to his face.

"Yeah. The key word there would be girl." Dean shifted uncomfortably. "Come on, man, we gotta go."

"Dean…we can't take her. That's kidnapping."

"It's kidnapping anyway. Of a minor," Dean said, indicating the girl in his arms with a nod of his head. "Which is enough to get us the maximum penalty on its own. So, I suggest we split before the cops show up."

Sam looked at him in disbelief. "I can't believe you're being so calm about this!"

Dean raised his eyebrows and heaved a sigh. "Sam. If we leave her here to talk to the cops, she'll give them a damn good picture of the both of us. Then we'll have an even harder time finding this thing. The cops won't be able to find it. It's up to us. We need all the time we can get. Which means, we have to take both of them."

Sam just looked at his older brother, expressionless.

"Sam," Dean said, "You know I'm right."

Sam nodded mutely and picked up the older girl from the floor of the room.

"Besides," Dean said thoughtfully, as Sam lifted his girl onto his shoulder, "it might be a good idea to have a witness."

"You mean to all the felonies we're committing?" Sam paused and then said, "You mean to the felonies we're not committing."

"Right," Dean said, leading the way out of the room with speed. "That's one thing I don't ever want to be accused of."

The brothers hurried down the stairs and out of the front door, across the front yard and directly to the Impala, parked at an angle in the street. Dean laid the little girl carefully in the backseat from the road side, Sam opened the kerb side door and put the older girl in ahead of him, then slid in himself. Turning around, he thought he saw a curtain fall quickly back into place.

"Time to go, Dean," he said nervously.

"I know!" Dean half-shouted, as he keyed the ignition. "I wasn't the one wasting time getting beaten up by a girl."

"She punches like a pro," Sam protested, hand on his jaw, as Dean pulled away.

"Yeah, right." Dean looked at the girls in the rear view mirror. "She okay?"

"I think so, pretty much. She just panicked." Sam pressed his fingers to her throat. "Pulse seems fine."

"What about the little one?"

"Sleeping, as far as I can tell. Like before."

"Think we found her in time?" Dean's voice hardly shook as he spoke.

"Man, I hope so," Sam said. "I hope so."

They pulled up to the motel and scouted quickly around before unloading the car. Sam took the smaller girl this time, and then came back to help Dean with her older sister. Once safely in the room, they put the younger girl on a bed, to sleep, and after some thought, laid her sister next to her. Easing himself down into a chair, Sam said, "I think this is a mistake."

Dean shrugged. "You're probably right. But we couldn't have done anything else." He flopped down onto the spare bed and closed his eyes. Sat up, looked at Sam's face.

"Your face looks bad," he observed.

"Thank you," Sam said shortly.

"She really does punch like a pro." Dean stood up wearily, moved to the bathroom door. "What are we going to do now?" Sam asked.

Dean stopped. "One, fix your face. Two, watch the little one, get it out of her. Three. Get them back home, and get the hell out of Dodge."

"Easy, then?" Sam smiled lopsidedly.

"Oh, yeah. Plain sailing," Dean said, smiling back.

Dean patted Sam's face with the cotton wool as carefully as he could.

"Ow!" Sam complained.

"Oh, quit complaining."

Sam looked at the sisters lying side by side on the motel bed. "Is it normal for her to be out this long?"

"Big sis? I don't know. You're the brains of this particular operation. What do you think?"

"I think she might have really hurt herself, breaking down the door. Did you see it?"

"Yeah."

"Her hands…I think we should take a look at them."

Dean stopped dead. "I'm not running an emergency room. What we should do is make sure she can't go nuts on us again."
Sam looked at him. "You mean tie her up? No."

"We tie people up all the time."

"No, we don't."

"Yes, we do."

Sam opened his mouth to disagree again, and then stopped. "Actually, we do, don't we?" he said, quietly. He shook his head in disbelief. "Man. That's quite a thing to realise about yourself."

Dean picked up the cotton wadding again, frowning as he cleaned the scrapes on Sam's face. "Yeah. Well. This girl," he said, nodding towards the older sister, "needs to be tied up. At least that way she can't get at you again. Though I still think you're milking it a little."

Sam stared at him. "Do you see my face?"

"Do you see her?" Dean retorted. "She's half your size. And she's blonde."

"What does that have to do with anything?!"

Dean shrugged. "Don't know. Just figures they should be easier to handle."

Sam smiled grimly. "Fine. Next time we kidnap a blonde girl, you can show me how easy they are to handle. Okay?"

Dean put down the wadding and moved over to the bed, where the girls lay, perfectly still, side by side. He leaned over and inspected the older girl's hands.

"Hmm." Dean picked her left hand up gently, to see it better. "Her hands are pretty banged up. Pass me the cloth, would you?"

Dean turned back to Sam as he said this, and as he did, the girl wrenched her left arm away from him violently, and sprang to her feet, surprising him with a right hook as she did so. Stunned, Dean fell to the floor, but made no move to retaliate. Sam stayed where he was, waiting. The girl swayed slightly but stayed upright, eyes flicking from Dean to Sam and back to Dean, who remained on the floor, hand to his jaw.

"Wow," Dean muttered under his breath. "Never underestimate a blonde."

"Shut up," Sam hissed.

The girl's gaze was still flickering between them, as if she didn't know which one of them was the bigger threat. She made no attempt to attack again.

Sam cleared his throat. "Um. Your hand," he said.

The girl looked down at the hand she had just belted Dean with. Fresh blood was trickling from her knuckles and spotting the floor. She grimaced. Dean took the opportunity, and was up and on top of her in a second. He held her by her wrists as delicately as he could, and pushed her down onto the bed.

The girl said quietly, "Do whatever you want. Do whatever you want to me. Let Claire go. Let her go."

Dean looked at her in shock. "I'm not going to do anything to you. Or your sister."

"Let us go," the girl said, almost whispering now.

"I can't," Dean said, apology written all over his face. "Not yet."

The girl started to cry, silently. Dean looked across at Sam, face strained.

"Get the rope," he said.

*

Ten minutes later the girl was securely tied to one of the motel room chairs. She had stopped crying, stopped resisting - stopped doing anything except looking at her little sister, who was still asleep. She avoided looking at Sam and Dean completely.

The brothers retreated to the bathroom.

"How long do you think this is gonna take?" Sam asked, half-closing the door.

Dean leant against the wall, massaging his jaw. "A day? It can't go back in the house now, only just about got into the girl…we should be done in a day."

Sam peered through into the bedroom, where the older girl still had her eyes on her sister.

"What are we going to do with her? Can't leave her tied up all that time."

"It might not be that long," Dean said, moving to the mirror to examine his face.

Sam nodded in agreement. "If we get started now, we could be out of here before tomorrow."

"Sure." Dean angled his jaw toward the light. "Damn," he said, looking at the colourful bruise already beginning to show, "she does punch like a pro."

"Are you done admiring yourself?" Sam asked, hiding a smile. "Let's get this thing gone."

Back in the bedroom, Dean positioned himself by the door. Sam sat on the bed next to the younger sister, careful not to touch her at all, careful to put himself in the eye line of the older girl. She didn't take her eyes off her sister, didn't move or speak, just waited for him to begin.

Sam took a deep breath.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

The girl said nothing.

Sam shifted uncomfortably. "Listen to me," he said gently, "there is something wrong - really wrong – with your sister, and we're going to try to help her. But it's going to be a little strange."

*

The normally quiet suburban street was flashing red and blue. Curious neighbours pulled aside their drapes to get a better look at the activity outside the Marshall house. Mrs Freeman was standing on her front step, arms folded across her chest, shooting worried glances towards the house next door.

The cop interviewing her said, "Ma'am? Ma'am. Do you think you would recognise the men if you saw them again?"

Mrs Freeman's mouth set in a hard line.

"Yes, I would," she said. "Are we going to do that now?"

The cop opened his mouth soundlessly. Nodded.

"There's no time to waste, young man," Mrs Freeman said. "I know what's going on here. It's those same men as were in Crofield, am I right?"

The cop found his voice again.

"That's still being investigated, ma'am."

"Investigated my foot!" Mrs Freeman glanced at the Marshall house again. "Is Brian okay?"

"He's being looked after, ma'am."

"Have you called his parents? They're upstate…"

"They've been notified, yes ma'am." The cop checked his watch, picked up his radio. "Excuse me for one moment," he said, and stepped away to call in.

Mrs Freeman rocked anxiously on the balls of her feet, unwilling to take her eyes off the front steps of the other house. Thank God she had trouble sleeping. Thank God.

Sam finished talking and looked back at Dean, who shook his head, a wry smile on his lips.

"Do you understand what I've told you?" Sam asked the girl.

She looked back at him.

"You're crazy," she said matter-of-factly, and started to cry.

*

Still on her front step, Mrs Freeman squinted at the sheet of paper in front of her.

"Is this the man you saw?" The sketch artist held his breath while she thought about it.

"Yes. Yes, this is definitely the taller one. Maybe a little more hair? A little longer, I think."

The artist added a few more flourishes to the picture and showed it to Mrs Freeman again.

She nodded gravely.

"Great." The artist handed the sketch to the uniformed officer next to him, who then walked it over to the command centre.

"Suspect number two, then?"

"Yes. Fine." Mrs Freeman closed her eyes and took herself back to the moment when she'd seen the man bundling Marie into the back of the car. With her eyes remaining closed, she gave the most perfect description that the artist had ever heard. No hesitations, no doubts; just detail after detail. When she was done, the artist looked at his work and drew in a breath.

"I know this face," he murmured.

Mrs Freeman's eyes snapped open. "You know him?"

The artist looked up at her, surprised that he'd actually spoken aloud.

He gathered his thoughts and replied, "I don't know him. But I know the face. I've seen it before. The sketch. Somewhere."

A voice from the darkness said, "Is that a fact?"

Chief Byrne appeared on the porch, and took the sketch out of the artist's hand, looking hard at the face on the paper.

"Ah, yes sir. When I went on the course, we looked at sketches and real photos of, ah, suspects. This guy was one of them, I'm sure."

"So he has a mug shot." The Chief gave this some consideration.

"Alma," he said, turning to Mrs Freeman, "did you happen to notice if those boys were wearing gloves?"

"No gloves, Clem."

"You got a name to go with this face, Roy?"

"Sorry, Chief. None of them had names." The artist looked his apologies at his commander.

"Uh-huh." The Chief tipped his hat to both of them, and went back the way he had come, taking the sketch with him.

"That's quite a memory you've got there," Mrs Freeman said, approvingly.

"So do you ma'am," Roy responded.

She nodded slowly. "I just hope Clem can find them." She didn't have to say what would happen if he couldn't.

*

Back in the motel bathroom, Sam and Dean had another hurried conversation.

"Dude," Dean whispered, "you knew this wouldn't work. We just gotta do it and get it over with. Never mind what big sis thinks."

Sam sat down carefully on the edge of the bathtub.

"I know." Sam ran his hands through his hair, and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "But you know what it's going to look like to her."

Dean leaned against the tiled wall, hands jammed in his pockets. "So, we'll move her in here. Just for a while, 'til we get it out of the little one."

Sam snorted. "That's great. Just great. She's going to think we're…she's going to think…" He stopped speaking, overwhelmed by the thought of it.

Dean looked sick, but said, "Yeah. Probably. But at the end of it, she's going to get her sister back. So she can think what she likes about us. We know what we're doing."

Sam had no response to this.

Dean pressed the side of his face against the cool tile and waited.

"Okay," Sam said, standing up. "Let's get on with it."

They walked back through into the bedroom.

"Oh, crap," they said in unison.

The room was empty.

*

Chief Byrne drummed his fingers loudly on the desk in the command centre. He glared at the phone that lay, silent, unhelpful, on the white surface in front of him. He looked at his watch. He looked at the door. He stabbed his notebook with his pen. He drummed his fingers some more.

His deputies hovered in a cloud by the open door, waiting for something to give.

When the phone finally rang, the Chief snatched the handset up in record time. He listened with grim satisfaction and wrote down three names in his notebook. He replaced the receiver carefully and stood up, turning to his deputies.

"Winchester," he said.

*

The brothers burst out of the motel room and sprinted in opposite directions, Sam through the parking lot and Dean towards the road. As Dean ran, he saw a female figure outlined in bright headlights, holding a loose shape over one shoulder. Dean accelerated, the noise of his approach muffled by the traffic. He got to the figure in seconds, saw he was right, that it was Big Sis holding her younger sister, and slipped his arms around both of them. The older girl screamed. Dean wrenched the still-sleeping child away from her and backed off, panting.

"Give me my sister!" The older girl bunched her damaged hands into fists.

"Can't do it," Dean said.

"I'll call the police," the girl yelled above the roar of a passing truck.

"With what?" Dean countered, edging slowly away.

"I'm going to stop a car, and get a phone, and call them…"

"And we'll be gone by the time you do," Dean told her.

The girl started weeping uncontrollably.

"Here's your choice," Dean said flatly, feeling as bad as he ever had, "flag down a car, lose your sister. Or come back with me. And keep her safe."

"Safe!" The girl wiped away some of her tears.

"Your choice," said Dean, "but choose now."

The girl said nothing, but made no move to run.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked.

"Got to be done." Dean kept his face neutral.

"What are you going to do to her?"

"Told you."

The girl barked out a short, harsh laugh. "That bunch of crap your friend told me? I'm not stupid. I've seen the news reports. You've done this before." She seemed about to cry again but pulled back from it. "They never found the bod - bodies. Where did you leave them?" Her mouth started to tremble.

Dean felt his face harden.

"Look, sweetheart," he said roughly. "This is it. Decision time. Are you staying or going?"

"Where did you leave them?"

Dean lost his cool. "Nowhere!"

She narrowed her eyes. "So you…you still have them? Are they still alive?"

"This isn't an interrogation, blondie!" Dean exploded.

"If you want me to trust you, then you'll tell me. Are they still alive?"

"If you want me to tell you, you'll come back with me." Dean started walking backwards, fast, almost jogging.

The girl paused for a fraction of a second, and then followed him, as if pulled by an invisible string, all the way back to the motel.

Enough trouble already.

Chief Byrne waited impatiently outside his command post. His deputies were scouting the area, circulating with the sketches and the mug shots that they now had. The Chief wasn't with them. He was waiting for someone.

At last, a dark blue sedan pulled up in front of him, and four people climbed out. Byrne saw the man he wanted step out of the driver's side.

"Agent Hendrickson," he called, stepping forward smartly.

Hendrickson smoothed down his tie. "Chief Byrne."

The two men shook hands.

"Agents Reid, Lee, Weiss," he said, by way of introduction. Byrne nodded at them each in turn.

"Where do you want to start?" Byrne asked, ushering the group into the house.

Hendrickson kept in step with the Chief as they went up the stairs. "We have two abductees?"

"Yes. Sisters."

"Accidental. Weren't expecting the older one?"

"Home for the weekend."

Hendrickson paused by the damaged bedroom door and inspected the cracks in the wood.

"Tough door. Tough girl?"

The Chief nodded.

"Hmm." Hendrickson half-turned to Weiss. "Where are we with this profile?"

"Done." Agent Weiss pushed her blonde hair away from her face.

"Where are your deputies, Chief?"

"Knocking on doors. Motels and such – lot of ground to cover. Figured they'd be together, getting on with…whatever it is they do. If someone's seen them, we'll know about it pretty soon." The Chief looked carefully at the team of agents. "What is it they're doing, exactly?"

Hendrickson looked carefully back at him. "You know this family?"

"Yep."

"You're going to hear some things you won't like."

The Chief exhaled. "Yep," he said, "reckon so."

Hendrickson tilted his head. "Then let's get started."

Dean walked steadily back to the motel, carrying the child as gently as he could. All the time he was aware of the older girl's footsteps behind him, echoing as they came back into the parking area. Dean opened the door to their room and Sam sprang up from the bed. Dean flicked his eyes to the left to indicate that the other girl was behind him, and Sam moved out of the to let Dean place the sleeping girl on the bed.

Her sister hovered in the doorway.

Without looking around, Dean said, "In or out. Your choice."

The girl came into the room and shut the door behind her.

Sam's expression was a picture.

"What are you called?" the older girl asked.

"My name's Dean," Dean said.

"And I'm Sam," Sam added, and began to say, "We're b-", but Dean caught his eye and shook his head. Once piece of information at a time.

"My name is Marie. And my sister's name is Claire. She's seven. Her favourite colour is green, not pink. She likes the PowerPuff Girls. She hates math. Her favourite day of the week is a Wednesday." Marie sat down in the chair she'd been tied to before. "Claire thinks Santa is bogus, but that the Tooth Fairy is one hundred percent real, because last year she saw a firefly in her room on the day she lost a tooth."

Dean just looked at her.

Sam said, "We're really not going to hurt her. Or you."

Marie seemed not to hear him. "Dean," she said. "Are you going to answer my questions now?"

Sam frowned and looked a question at Dean. This is your distraction?

Dean swallowed painfully and nodded once, then gestured with his head towards the bathroom. Marie stood up, wobbling only slightly, and walked into the bathroom. Dean followed her in, leaving the door open.

Sam stood still for a moment or two, and then set about the real business of the night. He didn't have long, he knew.

In the bathroom, Marie perched on the side of the bathtub, where Sam had been sitting earlier, and waited calmly for Dean to say something.

Dean jammed his hands in his pockets again, more nervous now that she was calm.

"So, where are they?" Marie asked levelly.

Dean said nothing.

Marie waited for some time, watching Sam moving around in the other room.

"You don't want to talk about it," she stated.

Dean shook his head.

"We're going to talk about it," she told him, looking beyond him.

Dean cleared his throat noisily. "What, uh. What was the question?"

"Where are the kids you took?"

"Don't suppose you'd believe me if I said we didn't take them?" Dean raised his eyes to hers, hopefully.

She folded her arms and stared him down.

"Guess not," Dean muttered.

"Are they still alive?" Marie's eyes bored into Dean's. He found himself unable to look away, and unable to lie.

"No." He fumbled the word the first time he said it, and had to try again. "No," he said, more loudly. "They're not alive."

Marie blanched but asked her next question in the same calm manner as the others.

"How did they die?"

Now Dean was the one who grew paler. He breathed out. "We were too late."

"What?"

"The thing that's got your sister. It got them too. We were too late to save them."

"But how did they die?" Marie leaned forward.

"They, uh, they probably drowned."

"In water?" Marie asked pointedly.

Dean grimaced. Smart girl, he thought to himself.

"No," Dean said, "not in water. In blood; their own blood."

"And how does that happen?"

"It's from trauma. It rips them apart from the inside." Dean shifted his feet uncomfortably.

"I'm sorry?" Marie's voice became shrill. "It rips them apart? It rips them apart? You mean you do it?"

"No, not me," Dean said miserably.

"Your friend then? He does it and you watch? Or you both do it. That's it, right? You both do it?"

"Why are you doing this?" Dean asked, harsh again. "What good is this doing?"

Marie was suddenly quiet.

"I just want to know what you're going to do."

"For the love of…we're not going to do anything except save her! And then you're going home, both of you."

"That's ridiculous," Marie said, "I've seen your faces, I know your names. You can't possibly let me go. And why would you let Claire go? Your pal's just getting started in there."

"Oh, you know our names? Big deal."

"You're not worried about what I'll say?" Marie seemed genuinely confused at this.

Dean laughed, a real laugh, grim though it was. "We're in enough trouble already."

*

"Ladies and gentlemen, the Winchester brothers."

Copies of mug shots flashed up onto the screen at the front of the room. Dean looked cocky in his, Sam looked sad. Both of them looked capable of anything.

"You all know the faces. There's a lot we don't know about these men, but we do know some things. Crucially, we know that they're in the area and that they have hostages. What we're going to do right now is tell you some other things we know about them." Agent Weiss moved on to the next slide, a picture of a female murder victim, slumped against the wall, in her lingerie and covered in blood.

"As you can see, this woman sustained multiple injuries, throat cut, stab wound to the abdomen…partially flayed arm – done while the victim was still alive. She sustained a prolonged beating. We're confident that this was the work of Dean Winchester, the older brother."

Next slide: a male victim, also in his underwear.

"This is from the same scene as the female victim. We hypothesise that both brothers were involved in this one."

Next slide: a female victim, gagged and bound to a chair.

Agent Weiss paused and said, "This victim was one of a series. You can see the level of violence used against her." The assembled police workers regarded the image solemnly. One of them raised a hand.

"Yes?" Agent Weiss said.

"Uh, Deputy Marum, ma'am. If they've been killing women…and men, how come they suddenly switched to children?"

Agent Weiss nodded. "An excellent question. My answer would be: devolution."

She went back to the mug shots, and started to walk around the room.

"All killers go through a stage of evolution – they refine their methods, choose their victims more carefully…it's all connected to getting the maximum enjoyment out of the kill. Most killers develop alone. The Winchesters developed as a pair. Their father raised them to do this. He was paranoid and violent, and encouraged the same attributes in his children. He made them into what they are today."

Deputy Marum raised his hand again.

"Yes, Deputy?"

"Where is the father now?"

Agent Weiss smiled tightly, a smile echoed by her FBI colleagues.

"We have strong evidence to suggest that he is dead."

"Did they kill him?" Deputy Marum asked.

"Currently, we don't know for sure; but I'd say yes," Agent Weiss replied. "That murder may have been what set them off on this path. Having killed their father, they felt able to try new things. As negative an influence as their father was, he had most likely forbidden any crime involving children. With him gone, there was nothing to stop them. This is the devolution process."

A female deputy raised her hand.

"Yes, Deputy…?"

"Kincaid. Are you saying that there's nothing that they won't do? Because…the kids…do you think they were sexually abused?"

"Another good question." Agent Weiss stopped in front of the mug shots. "It's extremely rare for killers who are related to engage in sex acts with their victims. Generally speaking. However, as we've noted, things are changing quickly. We have yet to recover any of the child victims so we don't know for sure what's happened to them."

"Could they still be alive?" Deputy Kincaid tried to suppress the hope in her voice.

Agent Weiss half-smiled, sadly. "We don't know for sure; but as I'm sure you all know, the longer a child victim is missing, the more likely it is that they are, in fact, dead. As with the previous question…we just don't know."

"Are Claire and Marie still alive?" Deputy Marum spoke up again.

"Yes." Agent Weiss sounded definite.

A murmur went around the room.

"How can you be so sure?" Chief Byrne asked.

"Okay. First, things didn't go right tonight. They had to take Marie as well as Claire, which they weren't expecting. So they will have had to deal with her before doing anything else. We know that Marie is a smart girl. She will have tried to humanise her sister in their eyes…"

"Making her a real person, not just a thing," Deputy Kincaid said softly.

"That's right. Bearing this in mind, we're confident that both girls are still alive, and relatively unharmed." Agent Weiss paused and took a sip of water.

"Why didn't…" The Chief began to speak and then tailed off.

"What, Chief?" Agent Hendrickson asked quietly.

"Why didn't they kill Marie at the house? She was in the way. It wouldn't have taken them long, and would have made their lives much simpler. So why not kill her there?"

The whole room suddenly buzzed with this question.

"She's blonde," Agent Hendrickson said. "She's their type."

Agent Weiss nodded her agreement. "It's possible that they saw an opportunity. This actually helps us. If they're distracted by Marie, they'll be less focused on Claire, less focused on us."

Agent Hendrickson stepped forwards, and addressed the entire room. "Which means we can find them more easily. You know the terrain. You know the best places to look. They are conspicuous. Someone will have seen them. They've made mistakes already tonight. They'll make some more." He looked at Chief Byrne. "We can find these girls, and get them home safe."

Chief Byrne locked eyes with the FBI man. "Let's get to it," he said.

*

"Oh yeah," Dean said bleakly. "There's nothing you can say that will get us in more trouble."

Marie looked at him for a long time. Neither of them spoke. They could hear Sam moving about in the next room, and the occasional snuffling sound from Claire. Dean pushed off from the wall.

"So. I'm going to go in there now. You're going to stay in here."

Marie looked away and bit down on her lower lip, hard.

Dean shut the door and wedged a chair under the handle.

Sam turned around and said, "I don't think it's working."

"You're kidding!" Dean said, exasperated.

Claire was breathing in a ragged kind of way, wet sounds coming from her chest.

The brothers exchanged a meaningful glance.

Sam got the Bible out of their kit bag. Dean knelt by the bed and held on to Claire's arms.

*

Chief Byrne and Agent Hendrickson stood in silence outside the command post while the Chief smoked his cigarette with a vengeance. Agent Hendrickson didn't smoke, but he liked the atmosphere generated by smokers, especially angry ones like the Chief.

Byrne smoked down to the filter in silence and then said, "So. What are our chances? Really."

Hendrickson surveyed the night for a moment before replying. "Fifty-fifty."

The Chief nodded. "Is there any way of knowing what they'll do? Really."

"No," Hendrickson said shortly.

The Chief let the silence fall again and started another cigarette.

"You know cigarettes are bad for you," Hendrickson said, dead-pan.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Golly." The Chief smoked on.

After a while, he said, "Are you expecting to take them alive?"

"I'd like to. I'd like to find out where the kids are. I'd like to know how Dean faked his own death."

"I bet Agent Weiss would like to study them a little, right?" Byrne blew a contemplative smoke ring.

"Not just her. The whole BAU is very interested. Plus," here Hendrickson stretched, "there are other crimes they've been linked to that a lot of people want to talk to them about. If things went south here, I would not be popular."

"I'd still like you," said the Chief.

"Thank you," said Hendrickson.

The comfortable silence returned.

"If we get just one," said Byrne, lighting a third cigarette with the stub of the second, "will that do any good?"

"If we get Dean and not Sam, we'll be fine. If we get Sam, and not Dean…I think that would cause a problem."

"As in, 'sociopath on a killing spree'; that kind of problem?"

"Yeah."

"Hmm." The Chief inhaled deeply. "So what will they do now?"

"They will kill someone," Agent Hendrickson said.

"Someone?"

"They're geared up to it. Got to happen."

"Not necessarily one of the girls, though."

"Not necessarily. Not if we get to them in time."

Byrne picked a speck of tobacco off his tongue. "There's a motel about twenty miles out of town. It's quiet this time of year. Pair of guests like these Winchesters would stand out a mile. No telephones at this particular motel. What do you say you and me do some investigating?"

"I have to take Agent Reid. Protocol."

"Sure. He can come too. More the merrier."

Agent Hendrickson looked the Chief square in the eye.

"Chief. We ask questions first."

"Understood." Chief Byrne ground his cigarette out under his boot.

*

Sam had finished reciting the incantation and had helped Dean keep the girl on the bed. She was thrashing wildly by then, still apparently unconscious. She had flailed around so much she had bruised her face on the night-stand, and caught Dean in the mouth with her arm. They ended up both kneeling on her, hard, Dean on her arms and Sam on her legs, to keep her from hurting herself.

Eventually, the thrashing stopped, and Sam eased himself up off the bed.

He checked Claire's breathing, and said, "Hey, we're done."

"Yeah?" Dean stood up cautiously.

They stood there for a short while, just to be safe.

Claire's breathing was regular and deep. Her face was peaceful. Both brothers heaved a sigh of relief.

"Man," Dean said, touching a fist to his bleeding lip. "Is that it? It's out of her for good?"

"According to the stories," Sam said, sitting down on the chair barring the bathroom door.

"So we just gotta find the nest and kill it, then?"

"Yeah," Sam said tiredly, "and the nest could be anywhere. And would take us days to find even if we weren't being chased by every law enforcement agency known to man."

Dean thought about this.

"The nest," he said eventually, "it's going to be somewhere close, right? They work back towards the nest. So we're going east from town."

Sam saw where he was going. "This motel is east from town."

"There is a handy patch of woods just across the highway. Can't hurt to have a look."

Sam heaved himself up.

"Okay. And then we're going."

"No argument from me," Dean said.

Something primal.

Agent Reid drove the sedan, with Agent Hendrickson riding shotgun and Chief Byrne smoking again in the back. Each man felt in his bones that this was a good lead.

"Agent Reid," Byrne said, catching his eye in the rear view mirror, "How is it that these two aren't higher up on the list? The list you fellas run?"

Reid wrinkled his upper lip for a time.

"The list is hard to get into. Very exclusive club."

"So bank robbery, kidnapping, serial murder… these things don't qualify you anymore?"

Reid shook his head.

Byrne looked out of his window. "Man. Times do change."

"This latest set, though, that might do it for them. Men who kill women are dime a dozen. Men who kill children, now, that's a different story. With them being brothers…some people are getting very interested in the whole thing. If we can tie them to this, solidly…"

Reid looked across at Hendrickson.

"We can chase them for real." Hendrickson twisted in his seat.

"What have you been doing up 'til now?"

"We've been limited. Just me and him." Reid shrugged.

Byrne thought about this.

"And now there's four of you."

Reid dipped his head and said, "Yup. Higher profile case this time."

"More pressure on you, though, right?" The sedan passed out of the town limits and headed out into the country. The darkness descended, with only stars to light the sky.

"Ah, pressure,"' said Reid dismissively.

"We love pressure," Hendrickson chimed in.

"Who doesn't?" The Chief pursed his lips. "You two got families? Wives?"

Both the agents shook their heads; no.

"Better." The Chief stretched his arms out wide. "Better like that."

They all watched the dim shapes of trees appear and disappear by the side of the road. Agent Reid started to hum.

"Agent Lee," the Chief said presently. "What is it that he does?"

"The same as Agent Weiss." Reid caught the Chief's eye in the mirror again. "He just doesn't like talking in front of people."

"Kind of a handicap for an FBI agent, ain't it?"

Hendrickson grinned. "Don't let him fool you, Chief," he said, "both those shrinks are great at what they do. They play this game with each other."

"Hmm." The Chief seemed to have something on his mind.

The FBI guys just waited.

"Is the Bureau expecting you four to be on TV?"

"Why do you ask, Chief?" Hendrickson asked, mock-innocently.

"Weeeeellll," said Chief Byrne, drawing the word out, "seems to me that you all are remarkably varied, ethnicity-wise. Seems maybe the Bureau might be using this case as a public relations opportunity. 'See how we represent all facets of our society.' That type of thing."

"Look, we have women!" Reid said.

"And, golly, people who aren't white!" mugged Hendrickson

"Uh-huh."

"The Bureau would never do that, Chief," Hendrickson said.

"Not our Bureau. Our Bureau is colour-blind."

"Glad we cleared that up then."

They all burst out laughing.

They were still chuckling when they pulled up to the motel office and bailed out of the car. Agent Reid went and badged the clerk, while Byrne and Hendrickson took the time to scout around. The clerk looked at the photos Reid showed him. The men standing outside could see how vigorously he nodded; Reid turned to them and mouthed the number '17' through the glass. Hendrickson and Byrne were off before he had a chance to get out of the office. Reid motioned that he was going around back, and disappeared. Hendrickson banged hard on the door of No. 17 and Byrne stood by, weapon drawn and ready.

Hendrickson kicked the door once and the cheap wood splintered inwards. Byrne ducked in and Hendrickson followed, going to the left. Both of them clocked the girl on the bed, the disarray in the room, the door wedged under the bathroom door handle. Hendrickson worked towards the chair while Byrne covered him. Hendrickson swung the door open to find Marie, intact, waiting patiently for them to come inside.

"They're gone," she said, as they took in the scene, "they went across to the woods for something. I couldn't hear what they were saying. They've gone to the woods."

"You okay here?" Hendrickson said to Byrne.

"I'll call this in," said the Chief. "You get after them."

Hendrickson bolted out of the room.

As he approached the road, he thought he saw a familiar shape ahead of him.

"Dammit, Reid," he hissed, and ran faster.

*

Sam and Dean were standing in the ruins of an old hunting shack, in what was left of the creature's nest, and slightly in what was left of the creature, in Dean's case.

"Ah, God, that is disgusting," Dean groaned, shaking his foot and moving to the right.

Sam produced some lighter fluid and a book of matches. Dean rummaged in his pocket for the salt. Sam set fire to the remains on the floor, and Dean prepared to use the salt. Just before he did, the light from the flames illuminated something previously hidden by the gloom.

"Oh, no," Sam said.

"Oh no what?" Dean asked, and then followed Sam's gaze.

In the corner of the ruined room, Dean's eyes lighted on a blanket, with some all-too-identifiable shapes underneath it.

"Oh, man," Dean said.

As one man, the brothers walked slowly towards the heap in the corner. Dean crouched down and tweaked one corner of the blanket aside, revealing what they both dreaded and expected to see – the face of a child, pale and still.

"I count three," Dean managed to say.

"Yeah."

"Means there's another nest."

Sam felt his heart drop. "And another one of these god-awful things."

And then, above the crackle of the flames, they heard the cold metal noise of a gun being cocked.

"FBI. Stay where you are."

The brothers twisted around to see Agent Reid pointing his gun at them, disgust and horror etched onto his face.

"Hey, listen," Dean began.

"Shut your mouth," Reid told him. "Hands behind your heads, now."

The brothers complied, slowly.

"Any ideas?" Sam mumbled.

"One, but you're not going to like it."

"When do I ever like your ideas?"

Taking this as approval, Dean said to Agent Reid, "What's the matter? Never seen it before?"

"Dean," Sam warned.

"Seen what?" Agent Reid trained his gun on Dean.

"Beauty," Dean said simply.

"What?"

"Don't you think they're beautiful?" Dean's voice had gone flat and icy.

"Stop talking right now," Reid told him sharply.

It was at this moment that Sam would have gone for the bag of weapons that they had, just out of reach. It was at this moment, too, that Agent Hendrickson, having heard every word exchanged between Agent Reid and the brothers, would have rounded the corner and covered the brothers from behind. However, it was at this exact moment that the thing, the creature whose nest it was, sat up and screamed. Agent Reid's eyes fairly popped out of his head.

"She's still alive?!" he gasped, and made to help the thing.

"No!" Sam lunged for the agent while Dean went for his salt, but they were both too slow. The thing got its claws into Agent Reid and tore into his throat. Dean threw all of his salt at the burning monster and it screamed again, for the last time, staggering towards the second entrance and collapsing there, where it effectively blinded Agent Hendrickson. He winced sharply and wheeled away.

In the ruined cabin, Sam pulled Agent Reid away from the monster, trying desperately to halt the flow of blood with his hands. Blood coursed between his fingers and spilled down his arms. Dean skirted round the blazing creature and helped to lay the agent down on the ground.

"Wh-?" Reid spluttered.

"Don't talk. Don't talk." Dean bundled his shirt into a ball and pressed it to Reid's neck.

"Who…"

"Shh," Sam said.

The brothers exchanged a look. The thing had done too much damage.

Agent Reid looked puzzled.

"Why…you…help?" he asked, indistinctly.

Dean looked steadily into Reid's eyes. "It's what we do."

Reid whispered something else that they couldn't hear.

"What?" Sam asked softly.

"Won't believe." Reid began to shake.

"Don't matter," Dean said. "Lie still."

And with that, the shaking stopped. Agent Reid died there on the dirt floor, with Sam and Dean still trying to save him.

Dean stood up first, shaking Sam's arm.

"Come on, Sammy. We gotta go."

Sam looked up at his brother, bloodstained and panicky.

"We can't just leave them here…"

At this Agent Hendrickson came into view, and saw precisely what was in front of him. A shrine to dead children. A blazing corpse. His partner, dead. And the Winchester brothers, soaked in blood and sweat, in the middle of it all.

Hendrickson roared something primal, gun hand wavering not an inch.

Dean feinted left and then dropped to the floor, as the gun fired somewhere to his right.

Sam said, "Sorry," and threw the rest of the lighter fluid in the direction of the smouldering monster, ducking as he did so.

The container exploded. Agent Hendrickson grunted as the blast flung him into a wall.

Sam scrabbled to his feet, pulling Dean with him.

"Let's go. Let's go, Dean. Now."

Dean gestured hopelessly at the mess they were leaving. "He heard what I said. He's going to think…"

"They already think it, Dean." Sam tugged harder at Dean's arm. "Let's go!"

Dean looked around at the horrific scene one more time. He darted to the blanket and covered the child's face. Agent Reid's eyes were staring, unseeing, up at the North Star.

Agent Hendrickson was already stirring.

They went.

************************************************************************

Chief Byrne had heard the shouts and screams from the woods. He had maintained his position inside the motel room, just inside the open door, well hidden by shadows. He flicked occasional glances back at the bathroom door, behind which he had installed the sisters. Marie had said nothing else since he'd been there.

He smelled the stench of burning meat. He knew things had gone south for the FBI guys. He didn't move. He knew it was only a matter of time before the Winchesters came back for their hostages. He knew they would think that the FBI guys had come as a pair. So he stayed where he was, waiting, alert but oddly relaxed.

Before too long, he heard the sound of running feet pounding up to the room. He forced himself to relax some more.

The running feet pattered to a stop and the brothers arrived in the room, breathless. He could see even in the bad light from the motel sign that they were covered in blood. He let them move further in, going for the keys on the night stand, he figured. The Chief raised his weapon and aimed it carefully.

"Hold it there, fellas," he said calmly.

The Winchesters span around, faces falling.

"Are you kidding?" Dean said.

"You are under arrest on suspicion of murder," the Chief said, "for a start. Now get down on the floor, face down."

They made no move to comply.

"Think I won't shoot you?" Byrne asked, keeping the gun trained precisely between the two men.

"No. You most likely will," Dean said, not moving an inch.

The Chief frowned.

"So you don't care if I shoot you?"

"Not really. Been shot before."

"What happened in the woods just now?"

Dean laughed bleakly. "You really wouldn't believe me."

"What about you, little brother?" The Chief turned his head fractionally towards Sam, gun not moving. "You feel like telling me who's dead out there?"

"What?" The brothers said this together.

"Someone's dead. Who is it?"

"Why would anyone be dead?" Sam asked nervously.

"Weeeeellll," the Chief drawled, "you're both up to the elbows in blood."

The boys looked down at themselves.

"Huh," Sam grunted.

"Plus. You know. You kill people."

Sam could feel Dean's temper rising.

"We…it's Agent Reid," Sam confessed, before Dean could say anything.

Byrne took this news without flinching.

"And that's Agent Reid's blood you're soaked in?"

Sam nodded. Dean just gawped at him.

"But that's not what you really wanted to know about, is it?" A strange smile spread across Sam's face.

"No?" The Chief's voice stayed level.

"No. What you want to know about is…the kids."

The Chief said nothing.

"I can tell you where they are. But you have to make a choice."

Dean started to smile the same grim smile as his brother.

"If you leave now, you can take them back to their families," Sam said, in a reasonable tone.

"If you don't," Dean chimed in, "those people are going to have a bad last memory of their children."

The Chief didn't move.

"Let us leave, and you can go get them," Dean offered.

"And Agent Hendrickson."

"Oh, yeah." Dean cricked his neck. "Him too."

Byrne appeared to consider this.

"No."

"What?" Sam couldn't help but say it.

"No," the Chief repeated. "It's more important to take you in."

"More important than a man's life? More important than parents' memories of their children?" Dean demanded.

"Yes. Because you won't stop. You can't stop. If I let you go, I'll be responsible for everything you do from now on, and I can't be responsible for that."

Sam tried again. "There's a fire over there…"

"I know that."

"And you don't care?"

"Didn't say that." The Chief still did not move.

The parking lot beyond the doorway began to flash red and blue, and the three men in the motel room heard brakes, car doors and running feet getting louder.

"Down on the floor," said the Chief. "Or do you really want to get shot?"

The brothers swapped identical looks. They got down on the floor.

Agent Weiss appeared in the doorway alongside Deputies Kincaid and Marum.

"Chief Byrne," she said. "My God."

"Get to the woods," the Chief said. "Find Hendrickson. The kids are there. Follow the fire."

Weiss and Marum vanished. Kincaid and Agent Lee moved forwards into the room. Lee moved to stand behind the Chief, and the Chief went forwards to cuff Dean's hands behind his back. Deputy Kincaid did the same to Sam.

Byrne hauled Dean upright. Kincaid kept Sam on the floor. Agent Lee stayed where he was, with his gun firmly trained on Dean.

Byrne propelled Dean to the door and out into the night. More police officers stood ranged in the parking lot, marking a path to the cruisers. A deputy opened the back door of one of the cars, and the Chief gently nudged Dean in. He shut the door with an air of finality.

Dean looked out of the reinforced window back to the motel room. He saw Sam being led out by Deputy Kincaid. She pushed him into a different cruiser, slammed the door, and then pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. Another deputy put her arms around her. They walked away from the cruiser, back to the room. Dean saw them come back out with the sisters huddled between them. He stopped looking.

Dean tried vainly to make eye contact with Sam. Too far away. Wrong angle. He sighed noisily and settled back into the car seat. Well, this was too far by a long way. They really were screwed this time. And on top of that, there was another demon somewhere.

"Oh, crap," Dean said out loud.

Mistakes.

Seven hours later, the FBI had descended on Goodwin in force. Agent Reid's body had been shipped back to Washington. Agent Hendrickson had been hospitalised briefly, but everyone knew it was only a matter of time before he was back on the case, so it came as no surprise when he returned to head the investigation.

The town's police buildings were a hive of activity. Deputies and FBI agents shared information and office space with the minimum of fuss, mainly due to the quiet advice given to the former by Chief Byrne, and the loud instructions given to the latter by Agent Hendrickson.

After half an hour's sleep, Chief Byrne walked into his office, bringing coffee to the three agents clustered round his desk.

Agent Weiss nodded her thanks and started drinking immediately. Lee set his down and concentrated on reading his notes from the previous day. Byrne handed a foam cup to Hendrickson and sat down in his ancient chair.

The station was bustling. There was a tangible atmosphere of excitement, mixed, Byrne thought, with not a little anxiety. Everyone knew that the interrogations were their best chance of finding the still-missing children. The longer they waited, the more likely it was that the boys might succumb to exposure – if, that is, the Winchesters had left them alive.

No one was vocalising this thought yet.

Lee looked up from his notes and addressed Byrne directly.

"Chief. If you want to lead the interviews, no one is going to have a problem with that."

Byrne looked at his hands, spread on his knees.

"Sure. But I think maybe that's not the best idea?"

Agent Lee arranged his features carefully.

"What makes you say that, Chief?"

"It's about time you all started calling me Clem. I figure."

"Okay. Clem. Why do you say that?"

"We were the ones who caught up to them. So I'd say they're pretty mad at us. Whereas you two," here Byrne indicated Weiss and Lee, "they don't know you. Only your faces. Better for you to do it. Does that make sense to you, Agent Hendrickson?"

"It's about time you started calling me Victor," Hendrickson said. "Yeah. That makes a lot of sense. We can observe at will?"

The Chief nodded. "Yeah." He rubbed his eyes with his right hand.

"Uh, Chief? We might be able to use you. If you agree." Weiss sipped her coffee again.

"How's that, Agent?"

"Dean is the bigger problem." Hendrickson said. "I can't interview him, there's too much history. He thinks he knows me."

"And I can't really do it, being a woman." Weiss looked unfazed by this. "Lee's going to talk to Sam. Which leaves you, sir."

"Me? We got a whole building full of suits and uniforms here." The Chief blew on his coffee, meditatively.

Hendrickson relented. "I don't trust anyone else outside the four of us to be able to keep their cool with Dean." Victor looked at his fellow agents. "You seem like the calmest man on earth, which Dean is gonna hate. Better still, you arrested Dean personally. He's going to hate you for that, too."

Lee and Weiss nodded their agreement.

The Chief said, "Okay then."

The four of them rose as one. Weiss and Lee made the briefest eye contact as they stood up. They walked together down to the interview rooms, each one containing a Winchester brother. The party stopped outside the rooms and paused, taking in the view through the one way mirror. The clothes that the brothers had been arrested in had been removed from them, and they were wearing blue jumpsuits. Traces of Agent Reid's blood were still visible on their forearms and faces. They were both shackled to the table and to the floor. Dean looked angry. Sam looked sick.

"Start with this one," Hendrickson offered.

The other three nodded their agreement. Agent Lee studied his shoes for a moment, then opened the door and went into the room.

*

Sam looked up hazily as the door opened. It had been three days since he slept properly and now he was really beginning to feel it. The lights in here were purposely too bright, and it was cool in the room; the chair he was sitting on was hard. He had been on his own in this blank room for the best part of two hours, he reckoned. No one had spoken to him since that local cop had surprised them in the motel room. He was frantic to talk to Dean. He knew this was an interview technique; isolate the suspect, so that when the interviewer starts asking questions, it's harder for the suspect to stay quiet. He knew all this. He also knew that knowing about it wouldn't stop it from working. He had blood under his fingernails still. His cheek was sore from where Marie had clawed at him earlier. He knew this was going to be a long day. He wanted to be smart about this. He wasn't sure that he was going to be.

The Asian FBI guy came into the room, and closed the door gently behind him. Sam was not surprised to see him.

The FBI guy sat down in the other chair and delicately placed a thick file on the table to his left, no writing visible on it at all. He proceeded to ignore it.

Sam squinted at him but said nothing.

The agent clicked a button on the tape recorder and reeled off the time and date.

Sam coughed.

The agent ignored it. "This is Special Agent Lee of the FBI, interviewing the suspect Sam Winchester. Have you been advised of your rights?" Agent Lee said in a monotone.

Sam nodded.

"Please speak up for the tape."

"Yes."

"Would you like me to remind you of your rights?"

Sam shook his head.

Agent Lee did so anyway.

"Would you like to ask for a lawyer at this time?" he finished.

"No."

"What did Dean mean, about beauty?"

The agent's words were a shock.

"What?"

"In the cabin, when you and your brother were talking to Agent Reid, your brother referred to something in the cabin as 'beautiful'. What was he talking about?" Agent Lee folded his hands on his lap and waited.

The silence grew and grew. A full two minutes passed before Sam said, "That's hearsay. You can't question me about something you didn't hear."

"We have an audio recording of that conversation," Lee informed him.

Sam let the silence return.

Lee let him sit there, patient as a monument.

Sam knew he was going to speak first. The light and the temperature and the weirdness of the hour were making him sloppy. He tried to think of something misleading to say.

"Himself."

Lee slowly focused on Sam, as if he had been meditating. "Pardon me?"

"Dean was talking about himself." Sam was fairly pleased with this. This could sidetrack them for quite a while.

"You mean to imply that your brother is a narcissist?" Lee chewed this over. "No dice."

"No what?" Sam asked, alarmed.

"No dice," Lee repeated, and went back into neutral mode.

Sam thought furiously. He had to engage this guy in conversation for long enough to make the point that they were five hundred miles away the night the first child went missing. But the guy wasn't going to believe a word he said, not yet. So maybe now was the time to start telling the truth.

Sam made up his mind. "He was talking about the children," he said, "but he didn't mean it."

"Then why did he say it?" Lee asked, hands still folded.

"To, uh. To distract the guy."

"Agent Reid?"

Sam flinched at the sound of his name.

"I guess."

"Why would Dean want to distract Agent Reid?" Lee's voice was level and unemotional.

Sam shifted marginally in the chair, rattling as he did. "So that we could escape."

"Why would you need to escape? What had you done?"

"Nothing. We hadn't done anything."

"Then why did you need to escape?" Lee's voice had taken on an odd lilting quality now.

Sam looked at the glass window/mirror for inspiration, and found none. He raised his eyes to the ceiling.

"Because," Sam sighed, "people think that we've done things. But we haven't."

"Oh." Agent Lee took this on board. "So you didn't fake your brother's death in St Louis?"

"No," said Sam, after a split second.

"How do you explain the fact that someone else came to be buried under his name?"

Sam grinned lopsidedly. "I can't explain it."

"And by can't you mean 'won't'." Lee unfolded his hands. "Why did your brother kill your girlfriend?"

"What?!" The grin disappeared abruptly from Sam's face.

"Shall I repeat the question?"

"You're…you're wrong," Sam spat.

Lee remained unperturbed. And silent.

"How could you think that? That's…you're talking about things you know nothing about."

Agent Lee raised his eyebrows a fraction. "Oh. And you know all about it?"

Sam opened his mouth to reply but the agent carried on.

"And he didn't kill the woman in the bank in Wyoming? And you didn't kill a woman in Los Angeles?"

The last question caught Sam like a slap. He couldn't catch his breath.

"Shot to death in her apartment after a severe beating." Lee finally showed some emotion. He looked at Sam, head on. His eyes couldn't disguise the revulsion he was feeling. "That's the important part, yes? The beating?"

Sam felt completely exposed. "That's not what…" He stopped himself from speaking with some effort. "I don't know what you mean."

Lee smiled a broad, toothy smile, revulsion still bright in his eyes. "You know exactly what I mean," he stated.

"I'm not what you think. We're not what you think."

"How would you know what I think, Sam? You're not listening to me."

"Okay then." Sam banged his cuffed wrists down onto the table, adopting an attitude of intensity. "Educate me," he said, angrily.

Agent Lee looked at Sam's hands, still stained with red, and said, "You are your father's sons. He made you. Now he's gone, you're lost. Things are spiralling out of your control. You feel that time is running out. You feel that you are becoming something you don't want to be. Dean doesn't have this problem. He knows what he is and he embraces it. You do what he tells you to do because you long to have that kind of certainty. He isn't always kind to you. Most of the time, you're afraid of him. He's done some terrible things to you. You tell yourself that you don't mind. When you were younger he protected you. He's still doing it."

Lee stopped speaking and took in a deep breath.

"Educated enough?"

Sam couldn't say anything. He noticed that his legs were trembling.

"You want to feel normal," Lee continued, "but you know that you can't. Things have gone too far. You've done some awful things. To please your father, when he was alive. To please your brother. If you could get away from Dean, you might be okay. You wonder what your life would be like if he wasn't in it."

Sam looked numbly up at him.

"You were trying to build a life for yourself at Stanford. Dean took it away from you. He's trying to make you more like him. Every day you feel your old self just ebbing away a little more. He scares you more every day. Every day it's harder to leave.

"And you don't mind."

Agent Lee folded his hands once more.

"That's what I think," he said quietly.

Sam felt sick. The room seemed to be spinning. How could this man be so wrong about him, and so right?

"We didn't hurt those children," Sam mumbled.

Lee let his shoulders drop. "Okay."

"I would never hurt a child." The sick feeling wouldn't go away.

"Okay."

Sam's left eye flickered in irritation. "Okay? Just like that?"

Lee moved his head minutely to one side, and said, "If you're telling me that you didn't, then I'll believe you."

Sam waited for the other shoe to drop.

"But here's the problem."

There it was.

"If you didn't take them, how did you know where they were?"

"We didn't. Didn't know. It was a lucky guess."

"You were looking for them?" Agent Lee seemed much more relaxed now.

"Yes."

"Why?" The agent touched his nose briefly.

"To help them. To get them home."

Lee ran his hand over his mouth and jaw.

"And what about Agent Reid?"

"What about him?" The sick feeling intensified.

"What happened to him?"

Honesty, Sam told himself. Just be honest.

"He got killed," Sam said.

Agent Lee nodded. "Yes. Who killed him?"

Honesty, Sam reminded himself again.

"Not me. And not Dean." Sam touched his mouth with his left hand, clinking the chain on the table.

Lee went very still.

"Was there someone else in the woods?"

"Yes."

"Someone that we didn't find?"

"I don't know. I think you found them."

Lee opened the file for the first time and took out a photo of a blackened corpse.

"Is this the other person who was there?"

Sam looked down at the picture. "Yes."

"Who was this?"

"The person who took the kids." Slightly less than honest, since it wasn't technically a person.

"Do you know this person's name?"

"No." Honest enough.

"Was this person a man or a woman?"

Damn. Sam reached around in his mind for the best answer.

"Uh. A man."

"What happened to this man?"

And now Sam had a problem.

"Uh. It looks like he caught fire." Truthful.

"Can you tell me how that happened?"

"No," Sam said. Not without telling too much truth, he added silently.

"What would you say if I told you that this body is the body of a nine year old girl?" Lee laid this one out like he was suggesting a late dinner somewhere romantic.

"I'd say you're wrong."

"No."

"Then you're mistaken." Sam was trying to keep calm.

"No."

"Then you're lying to me."

Lee cracked a genuine smile. "Me? Lying to you? That's pretty funny, Sam."

Sam frowned deeply and said, "I haven't lied to you."

Lee smiled wider.

Sam was getting annoyed now. "I've told you the truth," he said loudly.

"Mmm." Agent Lee tapped the brown file with the fingers of his right hand. "No you haven't. But never mind."

"Never mind?!" Sam echoed incredulously. "What kind of…what are you doing?"

"What do you mean, Sam?" Lee tapped the file some more.

"You're making me mad on purpose."

Lee tapped the file louder.

"Why would I want to make you mad?"

"So that I'll make mistakes." Sam flicked an irritated glance at the agent's drumming fingers.

"What kind of mistakes?"

"Like telling you about hun-" Sam bit his tongue mid-sentence. God damn it.

Agent Lee stopped drumming and leaned forward, aggressive all of a sudden.

"About hunting?"

Sam was too surprised to say anything.

"Yeah. You and your brother and your 'hunting'. And how your Dad taught you all about it. Those kinds of mistakes?" Lee banged his knee deliberately into the underside of the table. The noise wasn't loud but it did make Sam jump.

"I'm not interested in hunting, or your Dad, or whether you tell me lies, or not. We've done the hard part. We caught you. All this-" Lee gestured at the file, the tape machine, the room itself, "all this is just filler."

"What?" Sam hadn't seen this coming. He couldn't seem to get a handle on this guy at all.

"You were pre-law. You know we have you dead to rights. Both of you, not just Dean this time. It must have been easier, before, right? Dean was the bad one. You were the good one, the high achiever, the college student; the average citizen. Even with the mistakes you made, in the past two years, you were only flagged up twice. That's pretty good."

Sam braced himself for what would come next.

"But this time, Sam, you're in it up to your neck. There's no coming back from this. You tell me you were looking for the kids, to try to help them?"

Sam nodded.

"How did you know where to look? You knew where to look because you'd put them there."

"No," Sam said quietly.

"You tell me you were trying to save them? Why did they end up dead?"

"We weren't fast enough," Sam said, unable to lie.

"You said you'd never harm a child. So did Dean do it?"

"No."

"Did Dean do it while you watched? He makes you watch a lot. Though maybe he let you help a little this time?"

"Shut up," Sam growled.

"Did you lay hands on Claire Marshall?"

Sam started to say no.

"Don't lie, Sam. Did you touch Claire Marshall?"

"I don't like what you're implying."

"I'm not implying anything. Did you touch her? Will we find your fingerprints on her skin?"

"You can't lift fingerprints from skin," Sam scoffed.

Lee grinned the toothy smile again. "Oh, yes we can. You're behind the times on that one. Will we find your fingerprints on her skin?"

"It's impossible to do."

Lee spread his hands in a gesture of victory. "So you did touch her." He gave Sam no chance to deny it further.

"How did the children die?"

Sam said nothing.

"Did you beat them to death?"

Sam struggled to keep his cool.

"Did you take it in turns?"

Sam closed his eyes.

"How did you choose them? Was it random? Was it hair colour? Was it vulnerability?"

Sam pressed his hands flat on the table.

Lee banged his knee again.

Sam jumped clear off his chair, opened his eyes, saw the pictures now covering the table. Pictures of maybe a dozen kids, laughing in silly hats, on the beach, blowing out candles; just being kids. Pictures of kids from missing persons bulletins. Some kids he recognised from the news. Some of them he'd never seen before. He couldn't look away from them. Sam felt his eyes becoming hot and scratchy. He blinked furiously. There, a girl with pigtails smiling up at an older boy. There, a pair of twins holding hands, surrounded by fallen leaves. Here, a picture of two brothers.

Sam knew that there was another demon out there still, stealing children; it had probably taken the children whose photos he was looking at right now. He knew they needed to find it and kill it before it could do any more damage. This was going to be tricky. Sam was aware that the agent was staring right through him.

Sam stayed looking at the table, but at a clear space. He didn't want to look up. Tears were making their way down his face. What the hell were they going to do?

"Where are the others?" Lee's voice was quiet now.

Sam rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. "What?" He still didn't look up.

"This is a huge mess. You are in a lot of trouble."

"Yeah?" Sam asked humourlessly.

"The maximum amount of trouble."

Now Sam raised his head.

"You're not supposed to talk about that," he said blackly. "That kind of talk puts people off." He wiped his face some more.

Lee chewed his bottom lip. "You'd rather I lied to you?"

Sam waved a hand from side to side.

"There's a way out of this. Or, through it, at least. A way that doesn't end in a lethal injection." Now it seemed that Lee was trying to keep sympathy out of his voice. Sam listened more closely.

"If you were to tell me what you know about these other children, that would help you a lot. Judges always look more kindly on people who co-operate."

Sam covered his face with his hands, and snorted derisively.

"What have you got to lose, Sam? At this stage you can't make things any worse."

This was a good point, Sam had to admit.

"Good point," he said, shakily, moving his hands back down to the table.

Agent Lee exhaled carefully.

"Let's start by talking about the children in the woods." Lee paused and looked at Sam for confirmation.

"Okay," Sam said, hardly believing what he was saying. A plan was beginning to crystallise in his mind.

Agent Lee continued. "We were expecting to find five, but instead we found three. I'd like you to tell me where the others are."

Sam swallowed and looked away to buy himself some thinking time. This was going to be tricky. He had no idea where the children were. Given a map and enough time, he could have a rough guess, but right here and now, he had no clue. But he needed to say something to Agent Lee. He thought he'd made a breakthrough – well, he had, more or less. Sam needed to tell him something, anything, to reinforce the idea that he was going to co-operate.

An idea struck him. He didn't like it much. But that was par for the course.

"Uh. I can't." Sam whispered, forcing fresh tears from his eyes.

Agent Lee sat imperceptibly closer. "Why not?" he asked gently.

Here we go, Sam thought to himself. He hunched over in his chair.

"Why not, Sam?" Lee repeated, still in the same gentle tone.

"You don't know." Sam was talking into his own chest now. Lee had to lean forward to hear him.

"I don't know? What don't I know?" Lee's voice was encouraging and calm.

Sam shook his head rapidly.

"Sam. If you don't tell me, I can't help. What don't I know?"

"When you said…" Sam broke off and then shifted backwards in his chair.

Lee shifted forwards in his chair, leaned in. Waited.

Sam stayed where he was for a long time. Not speaking, not moving. He thought of Jess. New tears budded in his eyes. He waited and waited, and then, when he thought it was right, he said, "I can never get away from him."

"From your brother?" Very quietly, Agent Lee leaned back.

Sam nodded once.

"But you tried."

Sam nodded again. "But he came and found me. Every time. He doesn't stop."

There was a loaded silence. Sam could feel the concentration coming from behind the glass. Gotcha, he thought.

Delicately, Lee asked, "Stop what, Sam?"

Sam shot a misery-filled glance at the agent. "When you said…that stuff before. How did you know that?"

"About you being afraid of him?"

"Yeah. And…the other stuff." Careful, now, Sam told himself. Don't overdo it.

"That's my job, Sam. To work things out."

Touching the scratches on his face, Sam said, "After this, when we go to jail. Can I go somewhere different?"

"That depends on what you tell me now, Sam."

Sam left a good gap before he spoke again.

"I don't know the name of the place. Maybe it doesn't have one."

Oh-so-cautiously, Lee said, "The place where the children are?"

"He always drives, I don't know where we're going until we get there." Sam looked at Agent Lee's tie.

"Would you recognise the place if you saw it again?"

Sam shrugged minutely, wiping his face again.

"Would Dean tell you the name, if you asked him?"

Starting in panic, Sam half-shouted, "You can't make me talk to him! I don't want to see him!"

Agent Lee paused fleetingly and then said, "If you want me to help you, Sam, you have to help me. And that includes talking to your brother, if that's what we need to do."

Sam shut his eyes. "Then I won't help you." He offered up a silent prayer.

Lee brushed a speck of dust off his lapel, and said calmly, "It's not up to you, Sam. If I put you and Dean in the same room, he's going to talk to you. And you're going to talk to him."

Sam's eyes opened in a flash. Thank God.

"You can't do that!" Sam exploded. "You know what'll happen. He's going to blame me for everything. He…he's gonna…" Sam let his expression finish the sentence for him.

Lee remained unruffled. "Nothing will happen to you. We'll be watching the whole time."

Sam let his shoulders slump, as if defeated.

"Can't you ask him?"

"Would he tell me?"

Sam sighed. "No."

Lee nodded, satisfied. "Okay, then. This is what you're going to do…"

*

Five minutes later, Agent Lee stepped out of the small room, leaving the file and the photos on the table.

Chief Byrne, Agent Hendrickson and Agent Weiss were standing exactly where he's left them Byrne and Hendrickson looked amazed, but pleased. Agent Weiss smiled broadly. As Agent Lee came to a stop beside them, Weiss brushed her hair out of her eyes.

"Not exactly textbook," Weiss said, smile widening.

Agent Lee matched her grin, and loosened his tie.

Chief Byrne looked back through the window at Sam, who was now repeatedly running his hands through his hair, and seemed to be talking to himself.

"Did he think he would convince us? 'Not me, not Dean'? Why did he bother to lie?"

Agent Weiss tilted her head to one side. "Because he's afraid of his brother. If he lets him down, gives too much away, he's going to be in trouble."

"He's been arrested for murder. How much more trouble can he get into?"

They thought about this.

"When Sam said about the other stuff, and then stopped talking, do you think he meant…do you think he meant…rape?" Agent Weiss asked tentatively.

"Yes," Lee said.

Byrne and Hendrickson looked at each other.

"So do we talk to Dean first?"

"Yeah."

"And then they get to have their reunion. What are they really going to be talking about?" the Chief wondered out loud.

Agent Lee's smile tightened. "That's the question. But whatever they do talk about should give us some insight into where the kids are."

Hendrickson nodded. "Dean just loves to run his mouth. Give him the chance, and he'll give us something we can use."

Chief Byrne raised his eyebrows.

"Along with the usual amount of bullshit," Hendrickson added

The four of them lapsed into a contemplative hush. Hendrickson turned and went to the other window, and stared hard at Dean. Dean looked angrier than ever. He was trying to hide it. Hendrickson narrowed his eyes.

"Chief," he said.

Byrne ambled over.

"How do you feel about going in there?"

The Chief gazed in at Dean.

"How do you all feel about that?" the Chief asked.

"I still think it's an excellent idea," Hendrickson replied, mouth twitching in amusement.

"It will work," said Lee.

"I think it will," Weiss concurred.

"In that case," said the Chief, "I'm going to need a cigarette."

Monster.

In the second interview room, Dean was going out of his mind. He'd never known an interrogation to take this long to start. They'd been here for hours, and nothing had been said to them since the customary fingerprinting and mug shot routine when they'd first arrived. He was aware of the looks he'd been getting though. Oh, yeah. He looked across at the one-way mirror at his own reflection. He looked terrible. Unshaven. Dirty. His hair was a mess, and there was crusted blood still under his fingernails despite the forensic guys and their funky scraping tools. He had a bruised mouth from where Marie had caught him out.

He started looking harder, like a cop would. Did he look like a criminal?

Yes.

No. Wait.

He looked like a monster.

He knew this was what Hendrickson thought. What the FBI thought. Hell, that was what everyone in this building thought, apart from Sam.

Dean knew that he wasn't just going to be able to walk away from this. There would be no lax security to take advantage of this time. He doubted he could talk any of these cops round, given what they'd seen, the things they thought he'd done. He was going to have to think his way out.

Nothing came to mind at present.

He sighed and rocked back into the chair, which was bolted to the floor. The chains he was wearing were looped through a ring on the metal table and through a similar ring on the floor. He tested the handcuffs. No wiggle room there.

Dean gave up on the great escape and looked around the room, tired, scared, but mostly angry. How had Hendrickson caught up with them this time? The guy was unbelievable, but surely they hadn't been that sloppy. Damn it. Had they?

Suddenly, Dean heard a very faint noise coming through the wall. Sounded like…sounded a lot like Sam. All other thoughts made way for this one: they were interrogating Sam first. And Sam was getting aggravated.

Dean strained to hear as much as he could. He thought at one point he could hear someone crying. He thought he made out the words 'I don't want to talk to him' and 'He'll blame me…' Pretty soon after that it all went quiet. He was sure he heard a door open and close.

Dean's face stayed immobile but inside he was singing. Good work, Sam. Confuse the enemy at all times. Sam was playing the victim, then. Dean started to get into character.

He looked at his reflection again. They all thought he was a monster. Well, he never did like to disappoint.

When the door opened he was steeling himself for the sight of Agent Hendrickson's hard, satisfied face. He was fairly shocked to see the cop from the motel come in, carrying nothing but two cups of coffee. No file. Despite himself, Dean was interested.

The cop sat down and pushed some buttons on the tape recorder.

"Okay," said the cop, "this is an interview between Chief Clement Byrne and Dean Winchester, the date is…the fourteenth of April. The time is six forty-five am, here we go."

Dean thought: what?

"Have you been advised of your rights, Mr Winchester?" The cop looked him straight in the eye.

"Yes."

"Would you like me to remind you of those rights?"

Dean said, "Ah, no."

"Would you like a lawyer at this time?"

Dean thought about this. It would only slow things down. Lawyers tended to do that.

"No," he said.

"Are you sure, sir?"

What? Dean thought again. Out loud he said, "Yes. No lawyer." He felt completely wrong-footed.

"Would you like to make a phone call at this time?"

What the hell is going on? Dean really couldn't work this one out.

"Ah, no."

"Coffee?" The cop pushed a cup over the table towards Dean, far enough so that he could actually reach it, chains notwithstanding.

Dean reached for the cup with both hands – inevitable, since they were cuffed together. The coffee was good, not too sweet. He took a long drink.

Chief Byrne looked at him as he drank. Dean was acutely aware of his stare. It wasn't hostile but it was intense. He shifted in his seat as he put the cup down.

"Good?" Byrne took a sip of his own drink.

"Yeah," Dean said, not liking this chit-chat at all. Horrified accusations he could handle. Aggressive questioning didn't bother him one bit. Even good cop/bad cop was good for some amusement. This…he didn't even know what this was.

The Chief didn't seem in a rush to start. Dean, though, didn't have any time to waste. He needed to get to see Sam as soon as possible. What was the best way of doing that? He mulled this over. Sam had told them some lie that would get them into the same room. But what?

The Chief carried on sipping his coffee in the same laidback way.

Dean decided he'd just have to get the ball rolling.

"Uh, Chief? Any chance of losing these?" Dean rattled his handcuffs.

Byrne blew on the surface of his drink. "Nope."

"Fair enough," Dean said, unsurprised.

Byrne carried on drinking. Dean was unnerved by how much this was winding him up. The guy wasn't even doing anything. How could that be affecting him? Now he was just sitting there again, drinking his coffee like he was sitting on his front porch, taking in the sights. Dean had no idea what the man was going to do. He felt totally unprepared. And then he realised – that was the point. To throw him off, so that he couldn't do his usual question-dodging routine. Well, okay. No question-dodging. He would answer every question he got. He would answer every question he got as if…as if he really was the animal they took him for. That should get him closer to Sam.

Okay, it was a terrible idea. But what else could he do?

Dean looked at his reflection a third time for inspiration. Hendrickson and the others were behind there, he guessed. Time to put on a show.

The Chief finished his coffee and smacked his lips.

"Good coffee," he remarked.

Dean tensed for the question he could feel coming.

"So, Dean. Why is your brother so afraid of you?"

Think monster, Dean told himself.

"Because he's afraid of everything," Dean replied.

"Did he help you kill the children?" Byrne's gaze was level, meeting Dean's head on.

It doesn't matter, Dean said to himself. You can take it all back later. Go for maximum shock.

"Yes," said Dean, hating the sound of his own voice.

The Chief didn't miss a beat. Dean was impressed.

"How did you kill them?"

Here Dean baulked slightly. "You know how," he said, "or if you're any good you do."

"What did you beat them with?"

My God, thought Dean. This guy is astounding.

"Bare hands," Dean said, knowing this to be basically true.

"How did you choose them?"

Dean leaned back in his chair, affecting nonchalance. "If there was a big car in the driveway of the house." This was close to what the thing had done, and would ring true. He was happy to see that the cop was not expecting him to be this forthcoming. He was enjoying himself a little.

"Who killed Special Agent Reid?"

"Oh. That was Sam." That's gonna surprise the gang outside, Dean thought.

"Why did Sam kill him?"

Dean smiled horribly. "Because I told him to."

"What did Sam use as a weapon?"

Think. Think. The thing used its claws. "His bare hands," Dean said, like it was obvious.

Now the Chief paused.

"I don't believe you," he said.

"Check the body," Dean said. "Call me a liar."

"Who was the fourth child in the woods?" The Chief moved on.

"What child?" Dean was genuinely confused by this.

"The burned body that we found."

Ah. The monster.

Dean bit down on his revulsion and said, "I don't recall her name."

"Where are the other children?" Byrne said, gaze still steady.

Jackpot.

"The other children?" Dean said innocently. He could feel Hendrickson's rage growing on the other side of the glass.

"There are two boys unaccounted for," said the Chief.

Dean laughed mirthlessly. "Taken you all day to come up with that number, has it?"

Byrne's face went taut. Ah-ha, Dean thought.

"Are we wrong on that number?" The Chief's voice was still mellow.

"You're really very good, Chief," Dean said, smiling appreciatively. "I mean it. Smart. Fair. Paternal. The whole thing is really very good." He scratched the back of his head, double-handed. "But I'm kinda bored with this particular topic. Can we move on?"

"Nope," said Byrne. "Tell me where the other children are."

Dean showed his teeth. "Nope."

"Sam will tell us."

Dean laughed for real. "Sam doesn't know."

The Chief changed tack. "Do you love your brother?"

"Yeah."

"Did you kill his girlfriend?"

You can take it all back, Dean reminded himself. Answer all the questions. Get back to the kids.

"Yeah."

"Did your father beat you?"

"No."

"Is your father dead?"

Oh God.

"Yes."

"How did he die?"

"Stroke," Dean said, knowing that they would think he was lying.

"Did he abuse you in any way?"

"No," Dean said, stifling his first response.

"Did he abuse Sam?"

"No."

"Did you abuse Sam?"

Now that was an unexpected question. It stopped Dean in his tracks. He was so shocked he forgot to answer, and then realised, with a jolt, that this would be taken as his answer.

"Was that abuse sexual?"

Oh, man. Dean said nothing.

"Is that still going on?"

You're a monster, remember, Dean shouted internally.

"Everything we do, he likes," Dean said slowly. He wanted to throw up.

The Chief wasn't looking too peachy, either.

"Did you sexually abuse the children you took?"

All of a sudden, Dean couldn't meet Byrne's eyes. He looked away from the cop completely, and examined the featureless wall of the interview room. He took a deep breath, tried to stay calm. It's just talk, he told himself. You can take it all back. But this was one lie he couldn't tell.

"No," Dean said eventually, bringing his eyes back around. He could tell by the look on the Chief's face that he didn't buy it.

"Are the missing children dead?"

Dean was immensely relieved to get back on topic. But what would a monster say now?

"Which children are these?" Dean asked lazily.

"The boys you took from Hanton and Crofield."

Thank God, Dean thought. Some information.

"Maybe," he said.

"What?" The Chief's voice was getting louder.

I'm touching some nerves, at least, Dean noted.

"Maybe," he repeated. "I don't know."

"Were they alive when you left them?"

Dean just smiled at him. Get on with it, Chief. Get Sam in here.

"Maybe," Dean said for the last time, and then refused to say anything else.

*

When Chief Byrne came out of the interview room, there were twenty people standing there, waiting for him. No one said a word. Agent Weiss shut off the video camera. Byrne joined the group, staring through the window at Dean as if looking at him would explain the things that he had said.

"Okay, let's move on," Byrne said after a minute or two.

The crowd dispersed. Byrne and the three agents went back to his office, where they took up their original seats. Hendrickson took his jacket off and hung it on the back of his chair. Lee reclaimed his notes. Weiss pulled a band out of a pocket and started to tie her hair back with it. Byrne laced his fingers together and put his hands behind his head.

"Well," Byrne said. "That was unexpected."

"Pfff," said Weiss.

"Thank you for that pertinent contribution to the discussion, Agent Weiss," Lee said.

"Pfff!" Weiss said again, finishing her hair.

Hendrickson rubbed his ears. "What the hell…what the hell?" He let his hands drop into his lap. "What. The. Hell."

Lee looked up from his notes and said, "Well, it worked. You really pissed him off, Chief."

"Yeah, I did, huh." Byrne bobbed his head. "But why did he tell me so much? Why'd he incriminate himself like that? He all but signed his own death warrant."

"Yeah," Hendrickson said. "Why would he do that?"

Weiss said, "He's not stupid. He knows we caught him, red-handed. Literally. We have a boatload of evidence against both of them. And he likes to play games. If he can't have any fun out there, he's going to have it in here."

Lee added, "He figures he's going to get the death penalty anyway. Why be coy about the things he's done?"

"What's that?" Byrne looked over, interested.

"They don't bury their victims. They make no effort to hide them, really. They want them to be found."

"So – does that apply to the children who are still missing?" Byrne twirled a pencil on his desk.

"Yes," Weiss said. "They want us to find them. Or, rather, Dean does."

Hendrickson looked troubled.

Lee asked, "What's up, Vic?"

Hendrickson grimaced and said, "I never thought. That there was that kind of abuse there."

Weiss cleared her throat. "It's not always a given."

"You thought of it," Hendrickson said.

"Yes. But that's because I'm a pessimist." She smiled sunnily.

Lee chuckled.

The Chief sat back in his chair. "Okay. Are we wise to put them in the same room together? Will that actually work?"

"I think so." Weiss said. " Dean wants us to know where the kids are but he doesn't want to tell us. Sam would tell us if he knew but he doesn't, and anyway, he lies. He would tell us a lie to make us feel better. Dean doesn't really bother to lie."

"So, hopefully, if they're allowed to talk to each other, the subject will come up." Lee put his notes back on the desk.

"Great." Byrne fished his cigarettes out of his pocket. "Who needs some fresh air?"

A remarkably bad idea.

Dean waited impatiently in the blank little room. He was fairly sure they were going to bring Sam in here, in an effort to discover where the missing boys were. He had thought they would be quicker than this, but in a way, he was glad of the extra time. Lying to Byrne had been hard. Not just the things that he had said, though they were appalling; no, it was something else. Was it because the guy was older? Is that all it was?

He was starting to think he was wrong, and that they weren't using Sam that way, and then the door opened. Dean heard the tinkling of chains and knew he'd been right. He got his game face on. Think monster, he said to himself.

He didn't recognise the cops that led Sam into the room. They guided him to the side of the table and placed a plastic chair there for him to sit on. One of the cops had to apply pressure to Sam's shoulders to make him sit down.

Nice touch, Sammy, Dean thought.

Then one of the cops said, "Shouldn't be long. Just 'til we get the cells cleared. Play nice." The uniforms left and shut the door with a bang. Sam twitched nervously.

The brothers regarded each other warily. They knew perfectly well that this was not procedure. This meant that the cops and the feds were rattled and, crucially, that they thought they had a chance of getting the kids back alive.

Sam winked almost invisibly.

Okay, Dean thought, monster time. He leaned towards Sam and whispered, "What have you told them?"

Sam shivered and made no reply.

Dean leaned closer in. "What did you say about me?"

"I didn't say anything, Dean."

Dean leaned back and bit the tip of his tongue, so that it showed between his teeth.

"You're lying, Sammy."

"I swear Dean," Sam looked over with watery eyes, "I didn't say anything about Ha-"

"Shut up, you moron!" Dean hissed.

Sam shrank in on himself.

Dean shook his head, fuming. "You told them something. What did you tell them?"

"I didn-"

"Are you saying I'm wrong?" Dean interrupted. "You're saying I'm stupid?"

"No, Dean," Sam mumbled.

Dean muttered under his breath for a while. Sam avoided looking at him.

Eventually, Dean stopped cursing and looked at Sam, sitting there, trying to make himself as small as possible.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said, gently. "Are you okay?"

Sam nodded.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you. I'm just tired."

Sam sniffed loudly. "It's not your fault."

Dean accepted this with a dip of the head. He leaned into Sam again.

"Come here," he said in a low voice.

Sam leaned towards his brother.

"Car," Dean whispered lightly. "Draw it out. Doing great."

Sam leaned closer, so his lips were almost touching Dean's ear. "Did they ask you…"

"Yes. I said you liked it," Dean breathed, and then, louder, "I said you liked it."

Sam took this as a cue, which it was. "I do," he said.

"Do you? Prove it," Dean said.

Sam seemed at a loss. "How?"

Dean nodded at the mirror. "Think they're not listening to us? They are. Taping all our conversations. I want you to tell them what you did to Agent Reid."

Sam looked at him, dumbfounded.

"Tell them," Dean commanded.

"I, I saw him coming in. You talked to him. I surprised him. I killed him."

"How?"

Sam grasped for the first answer that presented itself. "My hands."

Dean smiled. Well done, little brother.

"It don't seem exactly fair that you had to do that and I don't," Dean mused. "What shall I tell them?"

"You could tell them about St Louis," Sam suggested.

"Nope," Dean said, exaggerating the word.

"You could tell them about Atlanta," Sam tried.

"No." Dean suppressed a chuckle. What about Atlanta? Hoo, boy.

"You could tell them where the boys are," Sam finally said.

Dean chewed on this. "Yeah, I could. I could do that. But I think I'd rather tell you." He leaned forwards again and Sam came to meet him.

"East of Crofield," Dean whispered. "Woods again."

At this precise moment the door opened and Weiss came in, flanked by two other agents.

"You," she barked, pointing at Sam, "up."

Sam stood up instantly.

"Out," she ordered. The other agents bundled him out. Weiss paused and looked at Dean a while longer.

Dean looked her up and down without meaning to. She gave him a look that he couldn't decipher. She strode out, and slammed the door so hard Dean's ears rang.

"Ooh. I like her," he said to the mirror.

Behind the mirror, Agent Hendrickson snorted down his nose.

*

Ten minutes later, back in the Chief's office, back in their customary seats, Weiss and Lee compared notes on the exchange while Byrne resisted the urge to smoke and Hendrickson tapped his foot on the floor.

"So what we're saying is that we have to put both brothers in a car and drive them around the middle of nowhere looking for a wooded area that one of them can only just remember and the other one doesn't want to talk about?" Hendrickson tapped his foot once more and stopped abruptly.

"Yes," Weiss agreed.

"Does this strike anyone else as a remarkably bad idea?"

"Yes." This time they all said it.

"We need to think of another way," Hendrickson said.

A voice from the hall interrupted their trains of thought.

"That's not your call to make, Agent Hendrickson."

A tall man in a nice coat swept into the room.

"Good morning, Assistant Director," the agents chorused, standing up.

Chief Byrne remained seated.

"Good morning. This investigation is now under my command. What progress has been made with locating the missing children?"

Weiss and Lee wore identical expressions of studied neutrality. Hendrickson answered the AD's question. "We have a doubtful lead, sir-"

"Guiding us to the bodies?"

"They may not necessarily be bodies as yet," Byrne chipped in, tone as mild as milk.

The AD scrutinised the Chief. "Hmm. Maybe. You don't like this lead?"

"Nope," said Byrne.

"Agents?"

"No, sir," they all said.

The AD seemed not to even hear them.

"Any other leads?" he asked.

No one bothered to answer him.

"That's what I thought," he said, and swept out.

Ten seconds after he left, someone in the office used a very bad word.

*

Four hours later, Dean and Sam were shackled together and sitting in the back of an unmarked car sandwiched between two cruisers. A dozen new FBI types flanked the cars, while Chief Byrne and Hendrickson stood back and watched.

"This is going to be a disaster," Hendrickson said grimly.

"Granted." Byrne tapped his top pocket for comfort. "But it won't be your disaster."

Hendrickson's mouth stretched wide across his teeth. "No, no it won't."

"But that won't matter if they make a break for it."
"No."

"You think that's likely?"

Hendrickson rolled his eyes. "It's pretty much guaranteed."

"Does your AD know that?"

"I told him. Not sure if he heard me."

The Chief nodded. "So what can we do?"

"Wait it out. Wait for them to come back. Or wait for the call to tell us that they've gone."

"Uh-huh." Byrne stared at the unmarked car. He could feel Hendrickson getting wound up, and gave him the space to do it.

"Goddammit," the agent breathed. "They're going to disappear. Again. And do God knows what when they do. They won't stop."

"Don't think they will, at that," the Chief agreed.

There was a meaningful silence.

"Would you have any unmarked vehicles handy, Chief?" Hendrickson said absently.

"I have my station wagon," the Chief replied.

"It strikes me that I haven't seen much of the countryside while I've been down here," the agent said, "which seems a shame."

"Wouldn't want you to leave without seeing some sights. Since we have a free

afternoon now, why don't we go have a look-see?"

Hendrickson smiled in response.

*

Inside the unmarked car, Sam and Dean sat in rigid silence side by side. Two FBI agents sat stolidly in the front seats, separated from the brothers by a tough wire mesh, occasionally using the mirrors to eyeball their prisoners.

Dean flicked a glance to his left, out of the car, to where Hendrickson and Chief Byrne were chatting, facing the line of cars.

"He looks mad," Dean commented.

Sam leaned forward to get a look. "Oh. Yep."

"Sit back," one of the agents commanded.

Both the brothers ignored him.

"Sit back," the agent repeated.

"Or what? You'll arrest me?" Sam quipped.

Dean guffawed in spite of himself.

"Do it now," the other agent suggested mildly.

Sam sat back, clanking as he did.

There was a sudden flurry of movement around the other cars. Agents bustled around, while deputies stood watching sceptically. A tall man in a nice coat strode out of the building and towards the car that held the brothers.

Hendrickson and Byrne watched the AD climb into the front seat of the unmarked car.

"He's going himself?" Hendrickson asked the air.

"Seems ill-advised," the Chief commented.

"Ready for that tour, Chief Byrne?"

"In fact I am, Agent Hendrickson."

The tall man in the nice coat settled himself in the shotgun seat and the agent sitting in the driver's seat tensed visibly. Dean raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Sam's mouth twitched in a fleeting half-smile.

The tall man pressed a hand to his right ear and said, "We're ready," and made a 'let's go' motion with his left hand. Dean looked out the window again as the engines of the cars started up, noted that Hendrickson and the Chief had moved. He frowned slightly, and nudged Sam with his knee. Sam made the same face when he saw they were gone, but said nothing.

*

Fifty silent and tense minutes later, the three police vehicles were deep in the woods outside Crofield. Sam and Dean were pulled out of their car and pushed none too gently to the side of the road. FBI suits surrounded them.

The tall man said, "Start walking."

Dean looked at him neutrally and gestured to his shackles. "That's going to be difficult with these things on our legs."

The tall guy shook his head. "They stay on."

"Then we stay here," Dean rejoined.

There was a moment when Dean thought they really were screwed. If this FBI guy didn't free their legs, they had no chance of pulling this off. He let his gaze wander off into the woods, as if he couldn't care less, and was rewarded with a terse cough from the tall man.

"Unshackle their legs," the boss said.

Dean suppressed a grin and waited for Sam to be unshackled too.

"Then it's this way," he said, and set off into the trees, Sam at his side.

It took them twenty minutes of scrambling up and down steep banks to get anywhere, and by that point it had started to rain. Dean knew that the agents were irritated, and tired, and he hoped that this would be enough to make them careless, even just a little. He trudged on up a new incline, Sam breathing steadily next to him. As they got to the top of the hill, Dean made a signal with his right hand, and Sam responded at once, stopping dead in his tracks.

"Keep moving," growled the agent nearest to him.

Sam stood still.

"Move," the agent insisted.

The tall man manoeuvred his way over to them.

"Are we close?" he asked quietly.

Sam nodded, and pointed through the trees ahead of them. All the agents looked as one, and saw a large hunting lodge, green with age, indistinct in the rain.

The tall man barked out orders to his team, and three agents, including the tall guy, set off towards the shack. This left three agents guarding Sam and Dean, which Dean took to be pretty good odds. He counted to seventy in his head, and then flicked a glance at Sam.

Sam pressed his hands to his face and sank to his knees, drawing the attention of the remaining agents. Dean threw back his head and threw himself bodily at the nearest agent, slamming him to the ground, temporarily stunned. Sam rose up and smashed his head into the nose of his agent, incapacitating him. Dean span a kick at the third agent, which he blocked easily, but Sam took the opportunity to deliver a kick of his own, which connected with the agent's left knee. He let out a grunt and fell on his back, and Dean gave him another kick, this time to the head. Sam turned back to his guy, and gave him another forehead smash to the nose. Dean's agent got the same treatment.

"Sorry," Dean offered, and set to searching him for a set of keys, Sam doing the same with the other two agents.

"Disco." Sam held up a set of keys and opened his own locks, then threw them to Dean so he could do the same.

They used their shackles to hogtie the downed agents to each other, and gagged each man with his own tie. They took a gun each, and began to run back the way they had come; to the other hunting shack they had spotted, to the north. The whole thing had taken less than a minute.

*

Hendrickson and Byrne pulled up to the empty line of cars in Byrne's old station wagon and paused.

"You think we'll do any good, going in here?" Byrne asked.

Hendrickson thought it over.

"No."

"We doing it anyway?"

"Naturally." Hendrickson flashed a toothy grin.

*

Approaching the other shack, Sam and Dean slowed to a walk. They tiptoed around to the window, and Dean peered through.

"I see something," he whispered. "Bunch of rags, in the corner. Could be the demon."

"Okay." Sam took a deep breath. "Let's go."

They stole in through the open door, careful not to make any sound, guns ready, making straight for the pile of rags that Dean had seen from the window.

Sam got there first and slowly reached out a hand to twitch the rags aside to reveal two small boys – dirty, bruised, but undeniably alive.

"Oh, my God," he exhaled.

Dean moved closer, one eye on the door. "That's…talk about lucky."

And then, from outside the shack, they heard the sickening sound of irregular footsteps. The brothers flattened themselves against the walls and waited.

In through the door shuffled an exact copy of the monster they had killed the day before.

The tall guy stamped out of the abandoned shack and prepared to give the Winchester brothers a piece of his mind.

And then he saw three of his agents, cuffed and gagged and bloodied, with no sign of the prisoners, and then he knew what Agent Hendrickson had meant.

Sam and Dean ran away from the shack, each carrying a sleeping child.

"Do you think it's really dead?" Sam coughed.

"Dead enough," Dean replied, breathing hard.

They ran on, away from the shack, and the monster, and the FBI.

And straight into the path of Chief Clement Byrne.

"Ah, come on!" Dean groaned.

Sam said nothing.

The Chief looked them up and down, gun drawn on Dean. "Is anyone dead this time?"

"No." Dean shifted his grip on the boy in his arms.

"Where are you taking them?" Byrne asked.

Dean grinned wildly. "I have no idea."

"Put the boys down, please," Byrne said, eyes locked on Dean's.

"Ah, don't think we can, Chief. You look kinda agitated."

"Put them down now."

Sam looked from Dean to the Chief and licked his lips nervously. "Ah. Chief. How about we give you one? And we'll let the other one go when we're clear of the woods."

"Pretty good offer," said Byrne. "But I don't think so."

Dean's face went tight. "We're leaving, Chief. That's the best offer you're going to get."

Byrne shook his head once, seemingly calm. "I can't let you go."

"Not this again!"

"Dean, wait," Sam said quietly. He lowered the boy in his arms to the ground gently, and stood with his hands out to his sides. "Listen, please. We're not what you think we are."

"You'll understand if that's hard to believe," Byrne said wryly.

Sam nodded. "I do. But I'm telling you the truth. We haven't hurt anyone. These kids – all we've been trying to do is save them."

There was a short silence.

"If that were true," said Chief Byrne, "then why did you kill Agent Reid?"

"We didn't," Sam said.

"But you confessed."

Dean rolled his eyes skyward.

Sam nodded again. "Yes, I did. But I didn't kill him."

"So why say it?"

"Because I told him to," Dean said. "Stupid idea."

"In a week of stupid ideas," Sam added.

Byrne looked at them speculatively.

"If you really wanted to save these kids," he said, " you would leave both of them here with me. If that's all you wanted to do."

There was another pause.

"Can't do it," Dean said to his brother. "We'd have no insurance."

"And we'd be faster," Sam pointed out.

"And probably deader."

"Dean! We're running out of time."

Dean sighed and then, very slowly, leaned down to put the child in his arms down. He did it with such care that he didn't notice the strange expression that chased over Byrne's face.

Dean straightened up and looked wearily at Byrne. "There. All yours."

Byrne's face was unreadable once again. He looked from Sam to Dean and back, then fixed on Dean.

"Not making a run for it?" Byrne asked.

Dean laughed bleakly. "Why bother?"

Sam looked anxiously behind him, shifting slightly.

"Don't you care what will happen to you?"

"Not really."

Byrne tilted his head to one side, listening hard.

All three men could hear the approach of angry FBI agents. Dean thought he could make out Hendrickson's voice above the others. He carried on just standing there, and muttered something under his breath.

"What?" Byrne moved fractionally closer, all his concentration on Dean.

Sam stepped smartly forward and belted the chief on the back of the head with the stolen gun. The chief slumped forwards into the leaf mulch.

Dean looked at Sam in total shock. "Sammy!"

Sam smiled lopsidedly.

"Nice hit," Dean said approvingly.

"So let's go," Sam said.

*

WANTED

Dean Winchester

Sam Winchester

For Resisting Arrest, Assault with a Deadly Weapon, Kidnapping, Kidnapping of a Minor (multiple counts), Murder (multiple counts), Murder of a Federal Agent.

Dean and Sam Winchester are considered to be armed and extremely dangerous.

Sam stopped reading there.

"All in all, not one of our successes."

Dean smirked as he took a sip of his milkshake. "I don't know. Got you on the boards, didn't it?"

"Ass." Sam pushed his hair out of his eyes.

"Notice they didn't include 'screwing over the FBI big style'."

Sam just looked at him.

"And they missed 'best actor in a prison drama'."

Sam's upper lip started trembling.

Dean saw his chance and pressed on. "They also missed off 'getting pummelled by a tiny blonde chick'."

Sam's face broke into a wide smile. "That happened to you too, you know."

"Yeah it did." Dean grinned back.

They lapsed into a brief silence.

"So what number are we?" Dean asked, stabbing his milkshake with the straw.

Sam looked back at the computer screen.

"We are number 11."

"You're kidding me! Eleven?" Dean wrinkled his lips. "What does a man have to not do to get into the top ten?"

Sam browsed the rest of the list. "Blow something up, I think."

"Well. We'll see what we can do about that."

- Fin -