"Where have I seen that kid before?" Henricksen sat back at his desk in the rented office space the Bureau had found for this operation. He had his feet propped up on the desk, and twirled a pen between his fingers.

He couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something. He knew he had seen the young intern-Winchester-before. He hadn't realized it until the inquiry hearing, when the boy had pushed just to see where his boiling point was (deliberately, Henricksen was almost sure). He'd seen that annoying eye-roll before.

It didn't add up, none of it. Winchester was clearly familiar with anti-interrogation techniques, it had been the boy's temper that had gotten the better of him, but he had let nothing slip. No new information or anything that would point to his past or implicate himself or others. Nothing to explain how a 22-year old, skinny as a scarecrow with puppy dog eyes and a polo shirt, had managed to kill one of the most effective hit-men Chicago had ever produced.

Sam Winchester was a puzzle, and Victor Henricksen did not like puzzles. He liked clear patterns of behavior. Everything should fit into a tidy line of logic, but he couldn't connect the dots here because there were too many of them missing.

"Roseville, Illinois."

Henricksen dropped his feet from the desk, tucked his pen behind his ear, and stared at his partner. The other agent, Brian Morris, had the look of a man who had just reached into the cookie jar and come out victorious.

"What?"

"You asked where you had seen Sam Winchester before, sir. Roseville, Illinois." Morris held up the file in his hands. "Ten years ago. Sam and his brother Dean were interrogated in relation to a credit card fraud case involving their father, John Winchester."

"Credit cards?" Henricksen buried his head in his hands. "Ten years ago?"

"Yes, sir." Morris hesitated a moment. "When you were in white collar, after that fiasco in Michigan. You-"

"Yes, I know why I got put on white collar for three years. You can spare me the highlight reel."

Morris coughed, in that quiet way of his. Henricksen was never sure if he was laughing at him, silently lecturing him, or both. Leave it to the Chief to partner him with a silent cynic as a nanny.

"You don't remember?"

Morris was nearly equal to Henricksen in rank. Which meant that Victor could not discipline his fellow agent himself. Any complaints would have to go through the Chief. Who had set up the match in the first place. On purpose.

"I tried to block that entire three years from my memory." White collar had not been a pleasant place for Victor, who lived for the thrill of the chase and the adrenaline rush. At least, that's what his wife had said, as she walked out the door with all of her possessions in hand, never to return. He'd been assigned to white collar while in the middle of his first divorce. Coming home to an empty home after dealing with the humiliating demotion; Henricksen had lived in a fog for a few years. He didn't care to look at those memories too closely.

"You interrogated them yourself, sir. Without waiting for child services. You were only suspended for a week; not too bad, considering." Morris flopped the file on top of Henricksen's desk, scattering his paperwork.

Henricksen stared at the pictures in the file. One was of a boy in his late teens with a roguish grin, winking at the camera. They had never been able to pin down exactly how old Dean was, he had switched between 16 and 18 depending on whether it was most convenient for him to have the immunity of a minor, or the authority of an adult. He had been a pain in the neck, but in the end, Henricksen had to give the boy a grudging respect for handling a tense situation extremely well.

The second picture told a very different story. Sam Winchester had been only twelve at the time, and small for his age. His shaggy hair, baggy clothes, and puppy-dog facial expressions had the female agents on the team, and half the men to boot, melting. It was one of them who had ratted Henricksen out to the boss, he was sure. That should have been an easy interview, but it had gone sideways very quickly. Henricksen remembered the vicious fire and dismissive eye-roll, as effective as a cattle prod in making big, tough guys really, really angry.

"That kid. Sammy, he went by Sammy then. That little ****." Henricksen shook his head. "Oh, Sammy. I knew your daddy was into something more than credit card fraud."

"Grave desecration, sir." Morris flopped another file onto the desk. "Among other things. ATF has been after him for years, he's a regular customer with some of their arms dealers. Never knew we were both working the same case until we got that new fancy online database you hate so much."

Henricksen glared at Morris. The other man was never going to let him live that debate down.

"Does that answer your questions, sir? Can we close this case now?" Morris held up a hand to forestall any argument from his partner. "The Sheriff was right, this isn't relevant."

"Fine." Henricksen pushed the old Winchester file off of the paperwork for Strickler. "If you'll let me finish my forms. The paperwork for killing a man-"

"Yes, sir. Far more tedious than if you brought him in alive. I think they make it that way on purpose." Morris paused, hovering.

Henricksen tapped his pen against the desktop. "Yes?"

"When you get the paperwork done, you're suspended. Again. For putting an untrained civilian in the field."

Henricksen threw his pen across the room as Morris beat a hasty retreat. Proper procedure had always felt like more hindrance than help, and Henricksen held the agency record for suspensions. He also held the record for successful arrests, so he was in no danger of being fired. But his wife was not going to be happy to have him underfoot during yet another 'unpaid vacation.' Winchesters brought him the worst luck.

He hoped Sam was telling the truth, that he would really stay 'out' of whatever he'd been raised 'in'. Then there would be not reason for Victor Henricksen to see Sam Winchester ever again.

Henricksen eyed the file on John Winchester. He would need a project to fill his time, what with a week of suspension coming his way.

End Note: Yes, I am writing a story about Henricksen and the young Winchesters. It is called Corn, Pie and the FBI. Please check it out!