Chapter one

Metallica on the radio, a knife and whetstone in hand, Dean Winchester was going through the motions on auto-pilot. He'd been stuck in his own head a lot lately. Guilt-laden and grief-stricken he just couldn't shake the feeling that he was responsible for all this. The aftermath of their latest battle with the yellow-eyed freak had been far worse than almost dying. Burying his father had been bad enough…but knowing that night was directly responsible for the broken state everyone was in right now? It was killing him inside.

As if having to fight with his own emotions wasn't bad enough, he was warding off chic-flick moments by the hour. Sam, Fran, Cal…each trying in their own way to cope with the aftermath, each wanting to 'talk' and get their feelings out there. Well thank you Dr. Phil, but he wasn't ready to face it all just yet. So no he was not going to tear his heart out and expose it for the world to see. Hell, he felt awful enough already. There was just no need to have his guilt confirmed. He couldn't even bring himself to want to know whether Sam and Fran had lost the…or were still going to be…well, either way it was better he not know. Safer that way for everyone involved.

It was weird, you know? How even with all that hanging over his head there was still some good in his life. This was a day like any other in their home now. Dean had to smile when those words popped to mind. 'Their home.' Wasn't so long ago that 'home' had meant nothing more than the Impala, Sam and the open road. Now…well now the word just held so much more meaning. Things might've gone to crap courtesy of the yellow-eyed demon but as long as he had this he had hope.

Cal was upstairs, curled up in bed with a book or something. She was probably pretending to nap and fighting sleep just because he'd sent her up for one – a battle she'd been loosing often lately due to the concussion that hadn't quite gone away yet. It had left her too tired to argue much lately, and oddly he missed their little daily arguments. Turns out she wasn't as hard-headed as everyone thought.

The doc had said it could last up to six weeks. Said that when the exhaustion started to fade it'd mean she was getting better. Wouldn't be long now until she was back to her old argumentative, pain-in-the-ass self. The thought alone was enough to put a grin on his face. He couldn't wait.

As for Dean…well he might not necessarily be 'happy' but sitting at the kitchen table again, a plethora of weaponry spread out before him ready for his attention, he was as content as he'd ever been in life. It had been weeks since he'd been able to dedicate an afternoon to just sitting down and methodically cleaning the tools of the Winchester family trade. Sharpen a knife, clean and check the sights on a gun, pack rock-salt rounds…it was nice that he'd finally found some time to do just that.

He'd snuck in a tape deck a while back for such occasions. Well, that and because he knew that it would drive Cal insane just knowing it was hidden somewhere in the house. She'd been nagging him lately to update his cassette collection for CD's instead. Her excuse had been that she didn't have a tape deck in the house, but the joke was on her because there was an old record player set up in her mother's sewing room. So as an answer, he went out and bought a vinyl LP – Pink Floyd, Dark Side of the Moon – and made a big show of playing it, over and over for days on end, until he managed to sneak in the tape deck. Oh god! The look on her face when she'd seen his ancient beater of a tape deck for the first time…freaking priceless!

He was chuckling softly to the memory when he heard it; a faint sound that was just this side of out of place. The squeak of a door upstairs that wasn't Cal. Dean knew the sound of her moving around. Even in stealth mode in the middle of a hunt she was never that quiet. So what then…company? But of what kind? Could be that Jace or Maggie had snuck in; either one of them might be looking to play a prank (their new favorite pastime apparently), but he knew the sound of them better than he did Cal's.

So no…not family. Familiar though. He knew what it was, he just couldn't place it. Could be a demonic intruder, and after those last two encounters of the demon kind, he sure as hell wasn't taking any chances.

Eyes trained on the ceiling, following the barely audible shuffle/scratching sound as it moved, he loaded both of the guns he'd just cleaned and clicked their safety catches off. Whatever it was he was going to give it one hell of a surprise. No way he was going to let some evil supernatural thing just waltz into their home and get away with it.

Silently climbing the stairs two at a time, he held his weapons at the ready. Senses in overdrive, he was geared up for just about anything…except what he found, or rather was surprised with.

He'd just barely lifted his feet off the top step when two, yeah two, FBI agents in full SWAT gear stepped out of the bathroom and had their much larger hi-tech automatic rifles pointed right at him. One more had somehow materialized out of nowhere behind him and had positioned his 35mm right behind Dean's ear, making it clear that if he so much as twitched he was dead.

Black gloved hands reached for and relieved him of his guns as he was shoved down to his knees, with his hands behind his head, and read his rights. That's when Cal's voice finally rang out, loud and angry in the unearthly quiet that had settled over the farmhouse.

"What the freaking hell is going on here?! Get your filthy paws off of me dammit, and what the hell is the FBI doing in my house anyway? Sneaking into an innocent girl's bedroom - while she sleeps no less - in Canada! Last I heard you Feds were American. Are you boys really that bored that you're resorting to home invasion in foreign countries? Aren't there international laws against shit like this?" Two more agents, also dressed all in black, had their hands on Cal and were literally dragging her out of the bedroom. She was all sleep mussed, a little drowsy, and obviously mad as hell. The sight of those black gloves contrasting milky white skin was all Dean needed to lose it completely.

He was back up on his feet before anyone even realized he'd moved. Hands clenched tightly into fists at his sides and a murderous warning glare shooting like lethal daggers out of hazel eyes, he spoke slowly so the idiots who'd had the nerve to invade their home would understand him perfectly.

"Get your goddamned hands off her or I will personally kill you all." He just barely got the chance to register the look of complete terror on the FBI agents' faces, before something came down on the crown of his head hard sending him into dark oblivion as he fell to the floor.

Well, that had gone well, hadn't it?

Sam's eyes followed a small finger as it dragged lightly across the brightly colored boxes on the shelf in front of him. Alright, so the finger wasn't really that small considering it belonged to an eight year old boy. In Sam's defense, the only fingers he had to compare them to were his own.

"Hey Sa-am? Can we get this one?" Jason's hesitant, slightly whiny tone made him want to smile. Of course that would never do because then he'd have to give in and buy the kid these 'Cocoa Puff' things that Fran would definitely not approve of. Instead he made a big show of rolling his eyes and frowning. Man, he was getting pretty good at this parenting thing. Judging from the look Jason shot at him it was a pretty safe bet that he might have almost looked believable. You know, except for the part where they both broke out laughing.

"I don't think so pal. You heard the lady's orders: Cheerios, Frosted Flakes or those mini Shredded Wheat things."

"Awww! But that stuff is, like, all healthy and stuff." And yes, the kid had actually made it sound like the biggest tragedy in the universe. Jason was pulling out all the stops trying to get his way, right down to the pouty bottom lip and the big 'kicked puppy' eyes.

Too bad for him Sam had practically invented that particular look. "Sorry dude, I'm not interested in putting my life on the line over a box of sugar. You want contraband go hang out with Cal and Dean. You want cereal for breakfast you get Cheerios, Frosted Flakes or Mini Wheats." Sam the Immovable had spoken and Jason acted accordingly - by picking out the Frosted Flakes, probably because they looked like they had the most frosting. He tossed it into the cart Sam was pushing.

"Okay Sasquatch, what's next on the Drill Sergeant's list?" Apparently Sam was gonna have to talk to Dean about watching what he said around the kids.

"First of all, its Sam thanks, and 'the Drill Sergeant' is Fran…and next we hit the soup aisle."

"Sure thing sasquatch." Sam gritted his teeth; Jason had definitely been spending way too much time with Dean. "Hey, does this mean we're getting more of that awesome chowder stuff Maggie made for lunch last weekend?"

"Yeah, it does." Because that girl could make a chowder like nobody's business and it had quickly become their house favorite.

"YES!" One word spoken with the kind of enthusiasm that only a child is capable of, and Jason was running down the breakfast food aisle as if intent on finding that soup before they sold out.

"Jace! This is a grocery store, not the hundred yard Olympic dash! Slow down, will ya?" He heard the satisfying squeak of sneakered feet stopping abruptly and knew the boy had listened. It wasn't until he rounded the corner to meet Jason where he'd stopped in the next aisle, that Sam realized something was wrong. A couple of men dressed in what looked like all-black riot gear each had one of Jason's arms in hand.

"Sam Winchester?" An official, sober sounding voice came from behind him as a black gloved hand settled on his forearm.

"Uh…" Did he really want to answer that? He was running through several different escape options, trying to figure out a way to get Jason the hell out of that store, when the first of two handcuffs was placed on his wrist.

"Leave him alone! Why can't you cops, or feds, or whatever the hell you people are, go after actual real crooks? Let him go, he never did anything wrong!" Sam heard Jason's voice crack with the force of his emotions as he fought to get his arms back.

"Jason, stop." He did, but Sam knew it was only because he was the one to tell him to. "Let's just go with these guys. You're right, I haven't done anything wrong. That's why they'll have to let us go when we get there, okay?"

The kid didn't say a word. He didn't have to. The anger and distrust were clearly written all over his face, right along with the same bone deep fear that gripped Sam. He didn't want to lose the family he'd only just found, or the home he'd only just settled into. He wouldn't either, not if Sam had anything to say about it.

"Don't worry, we'll be home for supper just like we told the girls we would be."

He just hoped he wasn't lying.

They'd finally caught up with him. Damn. He'd known it was just a matter of time; Dean had just kind of hoped there'd be a little more of it before past sins came back to haunt him.

When he came to in a grungy little five by five cell god-only-knew-where, he wasn't alone. Sam was there, which was a little disturbing considering he was on Dean's side of the bars. Still, it was good to see Cal wasn't…though on second thought, maybe that was more disturbing than waking up to Sam across the cell from him. If he was here and she wasn't then…where the hell was she?

"Sam, you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Dean gave him a long, considering once-over through squinting eyes before he was satisfied with Sam's answer. Okay then, that was one accounted for, now on to the next: the one most likely to get herself into trouble.

"Where's Cal? Is she okay? Do we even know if she's okay?"

"Cal's okay; I called her about an hour ago. She's at home doing some of the research. They couldn't arrest her, didn't have anything to hold her on, and international law says they can't touch her. She's safe."

Dean tried to smile but only managed a wince, grabbing his head as the effects of the blow he'd taken made themselves known. He didn't even want to try sitting up. He knew full well that if he did his stomach would let him know exactly how it felt about head trauma and possible concussions due to asshole FBI agents and police brutality.

"What about Fran and the kids?" Because that was all Jason and Maggie needed; to be taken away from the first real home they'd ever known because of this crap.

"They're all at Cal's, Dean. Everybody's okay."

Yeah sure, everybody was okay. Everybody except them.

"How'd they know where we were, anyway?" The only time they'd had to use any kind of fake ID in Canada had been at the hospital a few weeks back, and even then it had been brand new stuff. Stupid Feds shouldn't have been able to trace them back here.

"Stay in one place for too long and things have a habit of catching up on a person Dean."

The scowl he wore had very little to do with pain as he arched a brow in Sam's direction. Since when was he so damned philosophical? "Dude, we were careful! They shouldn't have been able to find us so easy."

"I heard them talking Dean. It wasn't easy. That's why they're so pissed actually. This Henricksen guy and his partner have been hunting us down for about a year now. They're insulted it took so long to finally track us down. Apparently we're the big black X on their otherwise spotless records."

Well, wasn't that fabulous! The Feds that had just caught them were already holding a grudge. Wonderful. What else could possibly go wrong…

"Oh shit! Dude, I had all my gear spread out all over the kitchen when they…aw great! They probably have it locked away somewhere as evidence or something." A lifetime of weaponry and tools to use against evil supernatural beings gone in the space of an afternoon. What was that question he'd just been asking himself about things getting worse?

"Relax Dean. International Law dictates that because they apprehended us in Canada and that our homes are literally owned by Canadian citizens, they can't touch anything inside unless it's directly related to the crime they picked us up for committing. Cal told me that the second they went near your stuff she told them it was hers. She said she threatened to get the government and the press involved if they started nosing around in her stuff."

They wore matching grins at the visual of the looks that must've been on those guys faces when Cal took out that old 'won't back down' attitude of hers. Unfortunately just the thought of her was enough to bring home to Dean just how real and how desperate this situation of theirs really was. The burning ache in his head intensified until his vision blurred. He was pretty sure he was going to pass out again soon and that knowledge only served to frustrate him more.

"Dammit…can't be here…need to go home." Great, thanks to his head injury, he was starting to sound like a homesick five year old. He couldn't help it though. Now that he finally knew what home really was and had found one for himself, he felt like if he didn't get back there fast, it wouldn't be there for him to go back to.

"I know man, me too. We'll figure this out. I mean come on, we're Winchesters right?

Can't do much right now though so just…try to rest."

"Yeah, whatever." A muffled response as Dean turned towards the wall, away from the light. The thought occurred to him as he pulled the pitiful excuse for a pillow over his head that he'd never in all his life felt this pathetic. Wow. That was probably a clear sign right there that it was time to suck it up and find them a way out of this mess…you know, as soon as his head stopped feeling like it was going to implode.

Seriously, what exactly was going to be the next thing to go wrong? All they needed now was for him to sprout those wings right there in the damned cell. Sleep claimed him finally on the tail end of that last thought, filling his dreams with evil yellow eyes, thick muddy puddles of blood and the burn of enormous black wings sprouting out of his back.

The next time Dean woke, there was a man in a monkey suit at the cell door. "Mr. Winchester, you're free to go." Ha ha! Now that's what he was talking about!

"So nice to see you people finally got your heads out of your asses long enough to figure out I'm not one of the bad guys," he crowed as he stumble-fell off the bed he'd been lying on and made his way slowly to the door where Sam was already standing.

"I'm sorry," the man said, an obvious gleam in his eye "There seems to be a bit of a misunderstanding here. Let me rephrase that last statement. Mr. Samuel Winchester, you're free to go. We can't hold you without proof of illegal activity." Yeah, you couldn't say the guy didn't enjoy delivering that little bit of news now could ya?

"What?!?" It was Winchester in stereo as both brothers spoke at once.

"Well, it seems there's no actual concrete proof that you were involved in any of your brother's illicit ventures. You are free to go home. He, on the other hand, is not."

"What proof do you have that Dean's been doing anything illegal?" Sam's Stanford education hard at work.

"I'm not at liberty to say Mr.Winchester. Now, if you'll please step away from the door I'll let you out and you can be on your way. There's an angry looking woman waiting at the front desk to take you home."

Dean smiled then because there was only one possible woman that could be. Fran would've been worried, angry was more Cal's style.

"You better go on ahead. If you don't hustle she'll start tearing the place apart to find us." The way he was starting to see it there would be a couple of advantages to being the one behind bars, the most attractive of which being relieved of the need to field the Dr. Phil type conversations…if only temporarily.

"What? No! I'm not just gonna leave you here…" Sam was very obviously shocked that Dean was apparently going to just sit back and accept this.

"Look Sam, we're running a little low on options here. They can't keep you here and they're not about to just let me go. Do you see any other way for this to go?"

Pressing his lips together Sam shook his head in resignation and stepped back from the door. A moment later he was stepping through the open door and it was clanging shut between them. Despite the scruff of beard that earned him the sasquatch nickname Sam somehow managed to look incredibly young. He'd always been terrible at hiding things from his brother, especially when he was worried.

Sam and Monkey Suit guy were about halfway down the hall when Dean finally called out to him. "Hey Sam, do me a favor will ya? Don't let Cal drive my car."

He'd said it to lighten the mood and it seemed to have worked. Sam turned and smiled, if only just a little. "Since when is anyone able to stop Cal from getting what she wants?"

"Are you kidding? The challenge is half the fun."

Even Sam was surprised by the short bark of laughter he responded with. Challenge was definitely a good word for Caitlin O'Sulivan.

"Alright, fine. I'll keep her away from your car on one condition."

"What, just the one?"

"Yeah smartass, just the one. Stay out of trouble 'till we get you out of here."

Dean took a good long look at his current surroundings. A really small cell with two tiny cots metal cots and a toilet. What the hell kind of trouble could he possibly get into in a place like that? "Yeah, uh, dude? I really don't think that'll be a problem."

Sam didn't look so sure about that though.

In any case neither one of them got the chance to say anything more. Sam was ushered through the door that led to the office and Dean was left alone with the bump on his head and his own thoughts.

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