Supernatural: Chain Reaction: Perspective

A/N The author does not apologize for the content of this story. Rated T for horror scenes and some language. For those who have not read my other story, 'Edge', this takes place post-Swan Song. Dean and Sam derailed the Apocalypse. But that doesn't mean there aren't other consequences. Upon Sam's return (from his three-and a half year tour) in Hell, the world is plunged into a Neo-Dark Age where creatures of myth exist alongside modern man. Fallen angel, Abaddon, attempted to open the Abyss and release a demonic army. The spell went awry and shattered Castiel's Grace. Now the fragments lie in several unknown locations. In order for Castiel to even return to Heaven, all the pieces must be found.

For Xenascully and Trinity Clewtician.

Chapter 1

Darby

...You were taken from Lucifer and given to Dean...

"Help me," Sam softly sobbed in his sleep. "Someone...someone..."

Marco yawned lazily and rolled onto her back. Early morning light pushed its way past dusty curtains. Sam spoke in his sleep until he moaned and wept again. The shiver along her spine warned the large rottie-shepherd mix of her charge's oncoming violent dream. With a snort, Marco trotted out the room and down the worn staircase.

Bobby's house sat in sleeping silence. Blue shadows from a lazy, pre-dawn sky fell through dirty windows. The large dog eyed the kitchen through the livingroom archway. The house, usually noisy with activity, rang quiet, stilled by unguarded occupants. Marco panned her gaze left into Bobby's study. She nosed her way past the door and sniffed for signs of human occupancy.

The strong scent of whiskey, gun oil and leather drew Marco to the familiar sight of Dean draped over Bobby's desk in the throes of a reluctant sleep. A laptop glared at Sam's brother while it waited his input. Marco sat beside Dean and waited five seconds before emitting a soft whine. Her ears lifted marginally as the sun hit the study windows, peeking round neglected drapes.

Marco panted twice and whined again. Her right ear twitched when Sam, a floor above her, whimpered in phantom pain. The rottie sat up on her haunches and nosed Dean's elbow. Dean drew a deep breath but did not move. Marco sensed Sam's slow descent to panic, trapped in his dream. She rose again, paws on the desk, and tugged Dean's sleeve with her teeth. She released him but he failed to respond. Marco repeated the contact and added a low growl.

Dean moaned. His lifeless body bitched of aches and pains, of a throbbing head and an unwelcome morning. He about jumped out of his skin when the dog barked sharp and loud.

"Bitch!" he snapped back.

"Rrrow, ow, raow!" Marco snorted and dipped the front of her body lower than the back half, as though ready to pounce on the desk. A hard thud followed by breaking glass called Dean's attention.

"Shit!" Dean leapt out the chair, out the room and half way up the stairs. "Sam!-" he froze mid-motion. His brother stood at the top of the landing and stared into nothing. Dean dropped his tone, "Sammy?" Dean cautiously approached his brother and guided him a few feet from the stair case. "How about we put you back to bed, okay? Coffee and Danish are available from eight to eleven A.M."

Sam drew the puppy eyes and swallowed hard. "I miss you, Dean," he said with a broken voice. "I will always miss you." he drew breath to stabilize himself.

Dean stared, torn between uncertainty and the awkwardness of his brother's painfully emotional moment. "Sam, can you hear me?" he tested. He waited for a response and when nothing came, Dean safely assumed Sam still slept. "Okay. Soul-bearing moment over. Let's tuck you back into dreamland before you get Marco even more excited." He led Sam back to bed and set the bed stand upright. The room's ugly lamp lay in too many pieces to glue back together. He picked up the shards and deposited them in the trash and tugged a small rug over the rest so Sam wouldn't cut himself later.

Roxi, their sweet border collie, padded in and hopped on Sammy's bed. Her eyes glued to Dean as though asking permission to sleep with Little Brother. When Dean did not object, she circled a spot once and plopped down, her head rested on Sam's legs.

Dean returned to the study and found Bobby hacking away at the keypad. The grizzly man glanced up and gulped his coffee. "Morning," Bobby muttered through his beard. "Up late?"

"Sam," Dean replied simply.

Bobby nodded. "Sleepwalking?" he frowned at Dean's mute nod. "Must've been a rough dream." He watched as his surrogate son heaved a heartfelt sigh and stared out the south side window. "Something crawlin' around in your head?"

"Mm," Dean grunted. "Just... just that Sam's a full-time job, you know?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know."

Dean did not need to shrug; Bobby recognized the internal struggle. He took another swig of coffee and swivelled the chair to face Dean more directly. "You did mention some time back that Sam said somethin' 'bout taking him back to Abby and Mike if he got to bein' too much for you. Or, maybe all you need is a break. Nothin' wrong with needing a little rest, Dean."

Dean shot his eyes to the sky, defiant of his own weariness. "No. I wanted my brother back. I got him back. I'm not going to let go of him. I'm just... just need a change of scenery, Bobby. Been looking for Alex Stepford for six months now without so much as a cow patty to lead me in the right direction." A chill shot up Dean's spine. "It's nothing to do with Sam, Bobby. Need to be on the road." He faced his mentor with a set expression. "I need to do something other than fix cars, hunt a local rumor and catch my brother when he sleep walks. I know Castiel's asked me to help him look for his Grace..." Dean winced. "But it's not..."

"It ain't like a good hunt," Bobby finished. Satisfaction touched the old man's smile when Dean nodded. "Well, I do have something. But I didn't know if you'd be interested. It's all the way in Montana."

A knock at the door caught their attention and Marco barked once from the stairway. Dean lurked at the study doorway as Bobby passed into the dark livingroom and answered the front door. He grimaced at Sheriff Jodi Mills.

"'morning, Singer. Been up long?"

"Little past dawn, Sheriff. What's up?"

She left his porch one moment and returned, tugging a trench coat-wearing angel with her. "He said he belongs to you but couldn't remember how to get here. Collecting strays again, Bobby?"

Dean popped around Bobby and gave his friend a single worried glance. "Cass?"

Bobby offered Jodi an apologetic smile. "He's only been here a time or two-"

"Well, apparently he's drunk, but I don't smell anything off him. Get him tagged or chipped, would you?" Mills gave Dean's shit-eating grin a nod of acknowledgment before retreating to her car.

Dean dragged Castiel into the small kitchen and set him at the table. He poured a cup of coffee for himself and his friend and sat across the silent figure. "Cass, got anything to say?" he waited about three seconds before knocking on the table. "Hello, Earth and Dean to Castiel, come in, please."

Castiel's brows wrinkled. His eyes blinked before he wrapped cold hands around the coffee cup. He gingerly sipped and set it down, equally as cautious. "I guess I've been gone for a while." Cass voiced his words quietly, more to himself than Dean and Bobby.

"'bout two weeks, Cass," Dean confirmed. "What happened? You look either shocky or drunk."

Silence hung between them like a tangible ghost. The angel had himself another sip of coffee. He closed his eyes momentarily then rested his blue orbs on Dean. "I just returned from the past and almost did not make it back. I had hoped the lead given me turned favorably. It did not. And I am no closer to finding other parts of my Grace than I was four months ago."

Dean shrugged. "How about the Yellow Pages, Cass? Doesn't Heaven have telephone books? Maybe someone who can help you out?"

"No, Dean. Heaven does not use contact directories or business pages." Castiel ignored Dean's embarrassed nod. The hunter knew full well that Castiel was no longer on talking terms with his angelic brothers and sisters since they considered him an outcast for siding with the Winchesters. In spite of what Castiel did to stop Abaddon, the angelic majority refused to acknowledge Cass as anything more than a low-level drone.

With his Grace splintered, Castiel did not have the power to return to Heaven without assistance. Although his angel friend did not speak of it, Dean knew Cass missed his home.

The main contact phone rang and broke the sad moment. Bobby reached from the sink and grabbed it at the second ring. "Singer Salvage." Pause. "Hey, Rufus. No. Just got up. Well what the hell do you think I do all night?" Bobby's face scrunched with irritation. "Yeah, of course I got one. Hold on." He held the receiver to a shoulder and laid eyes on Dean. "TV. Now."

"...where four children have mysteriously disappeared in as many days. While investigators have found open windows, no traces of DNA have been located. If you have any information leading to a suspect, please contact the FBI in your region. Liz Sarpens, CBS news. Darby, Montana."

Dean shrugged. Why's that so strange? Maybe the kids heard the Pied Piper and took a walk."

Bobby eyed him with a sliver of annoyance. "'member that job I said 'bout Montana? Not more than a week ago a group of marines camped outside the town. They lost contact with the group. Went out, found all the adults dead. Three kids are still alive. But according to the grapevine, they ain't talkin. I didn't think much of it; serial killer or other. But I looked into it anyway."

Dean nodded. "Okay. So why are we interested in it?"

Bobby swept a book off the coffee table and opened a marked page. He laid it on the table for both Dean and Castiel to see. Pointing a calloused, stained finger at the image of a half-goat/half-human figure, he tapped the same finger on the staff held by the image. "Something exactly like that was found thrust into the ground nearby one of the cabins."

"A staff?" Dean lifted his eyes from the page to his friend.

Castiel answered for him: "No. Not exactly. It's a Thyrsos, a staff used by satyrs in celebrations. The rod itself is made from the stem of a giant Fennel. But that kind of plant is not found here in America. Usually the Fennel is wrapped in ivy leaves. Depends on the tribe, I suppose. Some Satyr tribes have been known to wrap the staff with intestines, mammal brains or tapeworms. But those are the more barbaric tribes."

Dean dipped his head slightly. "Okay. So this was found at the campground and you think maybe a satyr is responsible for the disappearances?"

Castiel pinned both men with his blue eyes. "It's not characteristic of satyrs to openly attack people. Usually they're what you call 'party animals'. They prefer to dance, drink and fornicate."

Dean knew he did not need to remind Castiel that many of the behaviors governing monsters and other creatures have changed post-apocalypse. "Well... I think I'll head out there, take an eyeball. Come back in a couple days. Been dying for a good drive, anyway."

"What about Sam?" Bobby immediately asked. He read uncertainty in Dean's subtle expression and slightly shook his head. "I got work that needs to be done, Dean-"

"I'll keep an eye on him," Cass offered. "I have no leads at this point. Ao Ji said he is still looking for missing pieces of my Grace. The only thing I can do is wait."

Dean nodded but made no eye contact. His idea of a road trip rarely excluded his brother. But Dean decided to caution on the side of error rather than risk exposing Sam to anything that over stressed his fragile sanity.

Sam emerged from sleep later that afternoon. He found his brother checking the Impala and packing her trunk for a few nights' stay. Roxi followed Sam to the side of the car. He greeted his brother with a neutral expression. "Bobby told on you."

"That so?" a twinkle lit Dean's eye.

Sam nodded. "You'll be gone more than a day or two, Dean."

Big brother paused as guilt burdened his face. "I'm sorry, Sam-"

"Don't be sorry," Sam intervened. "I get it. You don't do well in cages and frankly, I'm tired of looking at your ugly mug."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah." Sam furtively glanced at the front door then back to his brother. "I'd feel better, however, if you didn't go alone."

"It's a recon, Sammy. In. Snoop. Leave. Nothing more. I'll be back before your pumpkin carriage comes for you."

Sam squinted his eyes before skewing his brother with a bitch face. "I'm sorry, Dean, you still have my glass slippers-"

"Hey! Don't go there! I already told you they were too small for me."

"Take Castiel." Sam raced to say before Dean started on a tirade.

"I want Cass to stay here in case something happens."

Sam stared in disbelief. "I'm disabled, Dean, not helpless. Besides, I have Marco and Bobby. Camila's working on a case the next town over. I'll be fine. Go. But take Castiel."

Dean fixed his sweet green eyes on his brother. Sam's been back in his life for the better part of a year. But for Dean, it's been a lifetime since Sam dropped into the Cage. It's not often things go their way, that they actually get a lucky break and something goes right. But this, having Sammy back, was like having the entire universe handed to him on a silver platter. Dean thought he could lose his legs, arms and eyes and if he still had Sam, he had everything.

He nodded. "All right... bitch. But you'd better promise me you'll not forget to take your meds and make an appointment with that doctor, since the Imprixil's been giving you night-"

"Dean!" Sam tried to suppress his laughter. "I appreciate the mother hen complex. I really do. But if you don't get going, you'll end up laying eggs!" Dean opened his mouth, pointed a finger to say something. Sam grinned, "Cass!" He called and disappeared into Bobby's house.

Dean dropped the tough-guy routine long enough to hug Sam good-bye. With Cass riding shotgun and Black Sabbath blasting out the speakers, Dean escaped South Dakota for the first time in several months.

Accordingly, the drive from Sioux Falls to Darby is a long seventeen hours; Dean made it in twelve.

"Population 921," Dean said smoothly. He maneuvered the Impala into a small mom-and-pop motel and scouted the area for surveillance, tell-tale signs of drug use and general disrepair. To his delight, the motel was well-kept. Outdoor pool, Internet access and satellite TV offered a better than usual stay. Leaving Castiel, Dean exited the car and spotted two fast food restaurants and a hole-in-the-wall Chinese nearby.

An elderly man greeted Dean at the check-in counter. "Need a little coffee there, young fella?" he offered.

"No, thanks. Uh, one room, two beds, non-smoking please." While he waited for the gentleman to check him in, Dean scanned the office and found nothing spectacular or out of the norm. He signed the form and silently thanked the guy for his change.

"Hey," the old man said before Dean turned away. "You with them investigator folks?"

"Investigators?"

"Yeah, them NCIS folks? Pulled in here late last night. Said they're expecting someone else t' come along."

Dean mutely nodded, not so much to say he was part of their team, but that he recalled from his dad who and what NCIS was.

The old man pointed out the large lobby window. "They said something about breakfast at Denny's then to meet them at this address." He produced a piece of scrap paper and gazed at Dean hopefully.

Dean gave him a respectful smile. "Thanks! Oh, uh, there might be someone else to come along, too." He memorized the address then handed the paper back. "Might want to give this to them."

The old man reflected Dean's expression. "I'll do just that."

Dean and Castiel labored for two hours setting 'shop' in their room. The town map stretched along one wall; names, dates and incidents poked holes around it. As soon as they secured all the weapons and tucked reference books under the beds, Dean phoned Sam.

No answer.

Dean phoned Bobby.

Bobby's voice grunted over the line. "Yeah?"

Dean tempered his voice, "How's Sammy? He didn't answer his phone. Was he in the shower?"

"No. Otherwise, it'd make more sense than what he's doing right now."

"Oh, God," Dean softly swore. "What's going on? Do you need me to come back?"

Bobby picked up his coffee and reentered his cluttered office, phone connected to his ear. He peered round and under his old wooden desk where Sam slept in a tight fetal position. "No," he kept his voice soft. "We're okay. But I gotta say that new stuff you have him on doesn't seem t' hold too good."

Dean half-laughed. He considered Sammy's occasional quirks a never ending source of amusement. "Lemme talk to him, Bobby." Dean tossed Castiel a confident smile. "Heya, Sammy," he greeted his drowsy brother. "How you doin?" Dean peeked out a curtain, taking visual account of the traffic and their general surroundings while Sam talked about a customer. As far as Dean was concerned, Darby, Montana could not be a quieter town.

"We're good, Sam." he answered confidently. "Me and Cass just pulled in 'bout an hour ago. I'm starved. You'd like it here, Sammy," Dean reported, "It's a one-horse town, complete with a bitty library, a post office and a park. I'm guessing the residents live in Hobbit holes around here." Dean grinned when Sam laughed. "Say, look. I'm gonna catch a short nap before snooping around. The computer's up and running. You can toss me stuff as you find it... you know... directions, porn, that sort of thing. Okay? Eat something, Sammy. I'll catch you later." he snapped the cell off and let out a deep breath, relieved. His head knew his little brother was in good hands. And he knew this trip was a good thing. Still, Sam's vulnerability left Dean uneasy.

"Hey," he said to Cass. "How about you take a walk while I crash for a while?"

"Why would I want to do that?" Castiel asked innocently.

"Cuz I don't want you to sit here and watch me sleep. Creeps me out. Just... just go take a look around for a couple of hours, see what you can find or listen to."

Castiel nodded in concession and departed. Dean turned the TV on, the shades down and flopped on the bed.

Dean woke late afternoon. He stretched worn muscles and decided a hot shower was next in the order of things. He stood, stretched again then hit the floor for thirty push-ups. He and Sam now took time to retrain their bodies and sharpen skills Dean lost during his time in domestic life. He missed the military discipline required for hunting. And while they did not hunt, per se, he and Sam still stayed in the mainstream, looking up cases and appointed them to hunters on Bobby's list of contacts. Dean had taken a few hunts on his own; simple, one-man jobs. But he never strayed far from home.

The shower reinvigorated him and prepared Dean for a night of I-Spy. He gathered as little gear as he dared and left in search of his angelic friend.

Just like most other American small towns, Dean's eye caught sight of more antique stores than restaurants. A clear sky greeted him as he ventured down the walkway. The Golden Waffle promised exactly what his stomach needed. He found Castiel casually strolling toward him from the other side of the street. Dean nodded his head at the restaurant but did not wait for Cass to catch up.

The waitress gave him a table for two and set two cups of coffee just as Castiel entered. Dean did not even take notice of his waitress' flirtatious eyes and sipped the coffee. "Hey," he greeted his angelic friend as she moved along.

"Sam was wise to ask me to accompany you, Dean."

Dean fingered his cup, now sitting half full. "Why's that?"

Castiel produced a sheet of paper from his pocket and wordlessly handed it to Dean. He waited until his friend had time to look it over. "Those are the homes where the children disappeared. Currently they have two K-9 units searching the woods."

Dean leaned back as the waitress brought his breakfast with an extra plate of pancakes. He shot her a quick grin then returned his eyes to the paper. "What's with the map here, Cass?"

"The campground. Currently investigators have it taped off."

Dean nodded. "So, all we need are a few names. But first, I need my Wheaties. And that plate is yours."

The angel's expression did not change. "I have no need of food, Dean-"

"Appearances, Castiel," he almost sang. "Blending in, remember?"

Dean tipped the waitress well in case he needed information from her later. He and Cass returned to the quiet motel for the Impala and toured the small town before heading toward the campground.

Seventeen miles into the national forest, Dean wondered how he and Castiel were going to find the children and interrogate them. With all suites and Government letters walking around, staying low gave them few options. Dean reminded himself they were here only to look around.

Yeah. Right.

He carefully tucked his baby into an off-the-road clearing and picked out Sam's digital camera from the trunk. "Cass," he called softly, "you didn't see any investigators on the grounds out here, did you?"

"No. It does not mean there's no one here, now."

"Well, they have other details in town. We'll try to make this quick." Dean and Cass hiked the last hundred feet into the campground.

Police tape flapped in the north wind as though human policies tried to hold back a tide of impending danger. Dean ducked under, paused and scanned. The area hung dead with such quiet it made him extra wary. Not so much as a bird or a breeze affected the crime scene. A forensic examiner's vehicle stood without a driver or other occupants. Peeking into shotgun side, Dean found the entire dashboard suffered damage as though someone took a sledgehammer to it.

Prints from heavy boots scuffed the dirt road. To Dean's trained eye, that was standard issue for investigators. Just for giggles, he tried his cell phone. Static with a twinge of strange noises. He changed channels; same thing. What a surprise.

Dean clicked his phone shut and scanned the tree line. "You sense anything, Cass?"

"Death." the angel reported. "But not strictly human."

"Yeah." Dean traced the road through the camera's eye and still found nothing. "Okay. I guess the next sign post will give us what we're after."

Forty-eight feet further gave Dean what he was after. The three cabins they encountered leaned one way or another. In spite of their modern touches, the cabins appeared old. Their walls buckled inward. Refuse littered the ground, and blood stained the front porch. Investigators tagged images and debris for evidence. Dean turned to Castiel. "This isn't right," He took three shots. "The cops should have photographed everything and taken it home."

"What do you mean?"

"Cops usually pick up the keepsakes for their geek squad to examine so they can figure out what happened. But all the stuff... those tags with numbers on them... they shouldn't be here-what's that?"

Cass followed Dean who beelined for a professional camera. Before touching it, Dean flashed a photo. He crouched for a better view. "Cass... see if you can find anything else like this. Look for plastic gloves, name tags, stuff like that."

As Cass rounded the immediate area, Dean approached the ground's central fire pit. He took a few other photos before realizing the Thyrsos, the satyr's staff, was missing. Dean slowly rounded the fire pit, searching for pieces of the staff or clues to its whereabouts. He found footprints and then a small hole in the ground filled with blood.

Castiel caught up with him and crouched beside his friend. "I found three name tags, a pair of shoes and someone's left hand with a wedding ring intact."

"Someone's left hand?" Dean repeated. "Just the hand?"

"No. The wrist also had a watch on it. It must have stopped working at the person's time of death. This happened just a few hours ago. I also detect something watching us from a distance." the angel watched Dean's eyes brighten with heightened awareness.

Dean pointed to the bloodied hole. "I'm pretty sure this was where the staff was."

Cass nodded. "Satyrs are half-sapient, if that can be applied. They are as much creatures of nature as they are humanoid. Most likely the Thyrsos was ripped from its place like a tree from the ground."

"Well, that explains why everything's so quiet here," Dean deduced. Whatever attacked this place intended to stake it as personal territory. The cops were killed because they trespassed."

"The investigators were gathering evidence when the satyr or something similar attacked them." Castiel, ever so calm, followed Dean as he traced the footprints. They found pieces of skin and bone. One man lay face-down, his back devoid of his spine. Another guy lay face-up, completely disemboweled. Having seen enough gruesome, Dean traveled to the next-nearest cabin: Number Three. Its broken wooden steps displayed signs of a fight. The fragmented door lay inside. The walls yawned with large holes. "Dean," the angel peered into the indoor darkness. "I don't see how could one entity do all this damage. It's as if..."

"Maybe it was more than one," Dean replied. "Sammy's going to go ballistic over this. I don't know if I should show him these photos-"

"He will be fine, Dean," Cass assured him.

They examined cabin Number Four then Number Five where Castiel found the tail of a small animal.

"Okay," Dean stared at it, uncertain. "That's a weird keepsake."

"Cat," Cass confirmed.

"Kitten," Dean corrected. "You don't think someone was sacrificing animals and woke something they shoulda left alone, do you?"

"Difficult to say."

"Yeah. Let's look over the other cabins."

They found cabin Number Six in the same state of disrepair. One exception for cabin Number Six, however: a glowing blue tint affected the windows. Dean held the camera to the strange phenomena and winced at the bright light displayed through the camera's lens. He said nothing and took three more photos before tracking the angel downhill to cabin Number Nine.

Dean counted three bottles of whiskey, two wine coolers and a shattered Crown Royal scattered across the cabin's front porch. Blood marred the doorposts. The name "Minerva" scrawled across the damaged door in blood. Dean toed the door open and peered into the dark. He fished for his maglight and with a glance at Cass, entered the place of desecration.

The stench of old blood and spoilt food left hints of former occupants. Dean didn't think the investigators reached this far before they met their end. The floor creaked with age and damage. Great gashes in the walls left indications of non-human invasion. The mini kitchen laid wasted. A butcher knife on a small table pointed toward the sink with a blood encrusted blade. A kitten's head sat immersed in a glass of booze.

"God, I don't get people," Dean muttered. He pressed forward and up the stairs leading to the bedrooms.

The first bedroom waited patiently for an occupant. The bed sat unmarked, unused. A suitcase lay open on the nearby table displaying women's clothing. A grocery bag slumped on the floor nearby. A bottle of vodka, another of red wine and two cans of Sink the Bismark, a high-alcohol beer, snuggled in the bag's creases.

Dean traded the clean room for the next one over and found it trashed. The tattered bedding littered the room. High-velocity blood splatter colored the walls. The table lay in three pieces. Little girl's clothing covered the floor in several piles.

Dean winced when he spotted a pile of feces on a pair of jeans. "What the hell?" Not far from the jeans lay three dolls; one with a missing head and split stomach. Another doll lay face down, a knife protruding from its back. The third doll lay in scattered nuggets. All the dolls lacked clothing. Swallowing his reaction, Dean clicked more photos before he found the head of another kitten. He squatted in front of it and wracked his brain for theories. But the only equation that explained the senseless killing of a harmless creature was human behavior.

He scanned the room one more time. "Kitty," he said to it, "where's the rest of you? Did the big bad bag lady decide to share your DNA with everyone else? Mean old bitch."

"Dean!" Castiel's voice indicated something was wrong. Dean rushed down the stairs and outside as two NCIS agents approached them, weapons drawn, faces bordered on anger. Dean swiftly hid the camera in a pocket inside his jacket sleeve before joining Castiel. He tugged on a game face and kept his hands up.

"Heya!" he greeted.

"Are you blind or stupid?" Came a reply from the lady agent on the left.

"Uhh... well, my brother usually-"

"Shut up!" the man with her answered. "Hands on your head." he cuffed Castiel first then Dean. "Come here for a good photo shoot, huh? Did you enjoy all the blood and gore? Tell me, Alex Tarney, did you find anything in the nude?"

Dean stifled a wince when the officer clamped the handcuffs a little too tightly. "If I did, would you buy it from me?"

"Shut up!" He nodded toward his lady partner. "I'll go ahead and run Dick Tracy and Junior back to the car, Ziva. Don't stay out too late."

"Or at all," Dean advised. "There's a cat killer on the loose here." Dean kept his footing as the cop shoved him forward. They retraced their steps up the hill but rather than return to the path leading to cabin Number Five, they approached cabin Number Six. Dean spotted blood trailing down the cabin's front windows. An investigator's partial remains lay in pieces at the cabin's front porch and again Minerva's name, written in blood, dripped down the front door.

They passed the fire pit on the way to the car. "You know," he said to the cop, "you might consider putting the staff back where you found it. It's not a good idea to take something that doesn't belong to you."

The cop stood nose to nose with Dean. "You're a real wiseass, you know that? You think you're the first wiseass I've dealt with? Huh? Listen here, Case Morgan, you don't wanna mess with me. I know how to give you wedgies you've not even experienced in your nightmares. Now get in the car!"

Castiel calmly joined Dean in the backseat. They watched as 'Ziva' returned and pointed to cabin Number One. Castiel did not look at Dean when he spoke: "I believe Sam was right by insisting I join you on this investigation, Dean. I hope they'll still let you make the one phone call."

"They'll want to interrogate us first, Cass. Just don't mention the camera, okay?" Dean wondered why the agents did not frisk them for weapons. Not that he had anything more than his silver knife with him, but according to procedure, they should have searched for weapons.

Dean covertly looked for the Impala as they passed her hiding place. Still tucked away, undisturbed, she waited for his return. Dean released a quiet sigh of relief. Sam was going to kill him.

18