A/N: Updated on Dec. 6/09

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Chapter 10: The Winchesters

Celeste closed her cellphone, while chewing her bottom lip. She was second-guessing what she'd just told Reid.

"Who was that?" Dean asked, as he grabbed the phone out of her hand.

"He needs our help," she replied.

"Who?" he asked again.

"One of the FBI agents. His name is Spencer Reid."

Dean was livid. "You just told us to avoid the FBI and now you're inviting them to our room? You're bonkers!"

"Bonkers?" Sam repeated, surprised by his brother's word choice.

Neither Dean nor Celeste was amused.

"You have to trust me on this. Reid will lead you to the demon; he just won't know it. He's in as much danger as anyone now."

"How do you know that?" Dean demanded. "I'm still not convinced you didn't just Google us."

"Oh, please, Dean," Sam interjected. "How could she possibly Google us? We never use our real names!"

"Oh, Sammy, don't give me an 'I'm psychic too and I know she's telling the truth' speech! Your psychicness has only gotten us into trouble so far."

"My psychicness has saved a lot of people's lives, Dean!"

"Fine, but as far as I've seen, hers sure hasn't! Now is not the time to be defending her! You don't even know her!"

"I—this is different!"

"It's always different, isn't it, Sammy?"

The brothers were so intent on their argument that neither of them noticed the soft knock on the door. Celeste heard it, and went to answer it, knowing that it was Reid.

"Hey," he said when she let him in.

"Don't mind them. They've been under a lot of stress lately, and it's finally come to a head. They'll settle down in a few minutes."

"Who are they?"

"Private detectives."

"Awfully young to be private detectives…"

"Oh really, boy genius?"

Reid blushed. He turned his attention to the Winchesters.

"Oh please!" Dean shouted. "That was one time!"

"No, it's every time!" Sam shouted back.

Reid asked Celeste, "What are they arguing about?"

"Hitting on the waitresses at all the truck stops,"

"Really? That's unprofessional,"

Sam said, "And I do all the research! All of it! And what do you do? You drive. And listen to bad music!"

"Because it's your laptop! And it's my car! And it is not bad music! You take that back!" Dean retorted.

"Golden Earring isn't bad music? Please!"

"Maybe we should interrupt them?" Reid suggested.

Celeste laughed, which attracted Sam's attention.

Dean threw in one last shot: "It's better than those wusses Coldplay!"

"Actually," Reid said, "Coldplay are very good musicians. Chris Martin alone plays four instruments: piano, guitar, mandolin, and clarinet. His mother was a music teacher."

"Well, thanks Wikipedia," Dean said.

"I don't use Wikipedia,"

"How nice for you,"

Sam smacked his brother in the arm for being rude. This was, afterall, the same man who had found him lying on the sidewalk the night before.

"Supervisory Special Agent Doctor Reid, these are Detectives John Fogerty and Doug Clifford," Celeste introduced the Winchesters as their chosen aliases. She caught the flicker of recognition between Sam and Reid.

Reid shook hands with Sam first, then reluctantly with Dean. He was onto the game, though. "Like the guys in Creedence Clearwater Revival? You wouldn't happen to know Roy Neary, would you?"

Sam and Dean exchanged glances that did not escape Reid's keen eye. "Who are you really? Right now you're looking pretty good as our unsubs,"

"I'm more of a burger man myself," Dean smirked.

The younger Winchester glowered at the elder. He then turned to Celeste. She nodded subtly. "My name's Sam, and this is my brother, Dean. We are detectives, just not accredited ones."

"Hence the aliases,"

"Exactly,"

"I knew there was more to your story. What sorts of cases do you take on?"

"The supernatural kind," Dean stated, watching Reid's facial expression.

"You seriously think something supernatural is killing these people and taking their eyes?" Reid said skeptically.

"Yes," Sam said frankly. "Last night, when you found me, I'd been attacked by a man in a hoodie. Without using any physical force, he threw me flat on the ground. Then he bent over me, said he had a message for me, and electrocuted me."

"Come on—" Reid started to protest.

Sam lifted up his shirt to show them his new scar.

"Sammy—" Dean gasped.

The perfectly formed hand print was still raw and angry on Sam's chest. "This didn't happen by accident. And I can assure you, I didn't do it myself."

"No, that would be impossible. The intense heat required would have probably melted the skin off your hand. And since I shook your hand, I know that the skin is intact."

Sam smoothed his shirt down. "Both Celeste and I have had dreams about…being attacked."

Reid's breath hitched in his throat. "Wh-what do you mean?" He was looking from Celeste to Sam and back again.

They both had sympathetic looks on their faces.

"In my dream, a man comes to see me at the shop. I let him in because I know I can trust him. And then he takes my eyes, before he kills me," Celeste said slowly.

"In my dream, it was Dean," Sam confessed, nodding toward his brother.

"I—the dream wasn't about me…until last night. Last night I dreamt that Morgan came after me while I was asleep."

"If this is supposed to make me feel left out, it's working," Dean said, folding his arms across his chest.

"What did you dream about before that?" Sam asked, ignoring his brother.

"Things—zombies, I guess—coming out of the cemetery, and asking me why I didn't help them. But I've had dreams like that before. Gideon told me it was part of the job," Reid explained.

"Dreaming about zombies? I thought our job was bad, eh Sammy?" Dean punched Sam in the arm playfully.

"Dean, c'mon. You're not helping,"

Dean scowled at Sam, then asked Reid: "What is it you do exactly, Special Agent Doctor Reid?" Dean asked.

"I'm with the BAU—the Behavioural Analysis Unit. We're profilers. The local PD called us in to help them with this case."

"Are you very religious, Special Agent Doctor Reid?"

Reid scowled at Dean. He was definitely annoyed by both his tone and being called 'Special Agent Doctor' every time Dean addressed him. "Reid's good enough. And no, I'm not particularly religious."

"And how do you feel about the Occult? Supernatural things? Have you ever seen a ghost?"

Reid shook his head.

"So, I suppose if we tell you that a demon is possessing these poor folks, you'll roll your eyes and say that's impossible,"

"That is impossible," Reid stated flatly.

Dean looked at Sam expectantly.

Sam sighed. "What if it isn't?"

Reid knit his eyebrows together. "I'd need a lot more proof than your word."

"Would you?" Celeste asked.

Reid's eyes met hers, and the skeptism melted away. What was it about this woman that put him so at ease? Why was he so willing to trust her every word? He hated being so confuddled. Then he remembered that the BAU had arrested Celeste's brother mere moments before he had called her.

Celeste's eyes went as wide as pie plates. "Paige?"

Reid nodded slowly, his eyes locked on hers. He reached a hand out to touch her cheek, then stopped himself.

"Why do I feel this way around you?" he whispered.

"Who's Paige?" Dean broke in.

"My brother," Celeste answered. "He was seeing Steph Morrow at the time of her death. He knew Ryan. He lives down the street from the Romanos." Celeste was nodding, as she sat on the edge of Dean's bed. "The demon knew what it was doing. Moving from person to person, and keeping Paige in the middle."

"Hang on a sec, Celeste," Dean said. "How can we be sure it hasn't been inside your brother the whole time? It wouldn't have to jump from person to person if Paige is that convenient. The question is, why did it come here in the first place? What's this demon's game?" Dean went to the laptop on the table. "Look, Sammy, I'm doing research," he said snidely.

Sam mock applauded.

Reid smirked at the brothers' behaviour. "Sometimes I'm glad I was an only child," he said to no one in particular.

Sam heard him, and half-smiled back. He went to read over Dean's shoulder. Reid sat next to Celeste on the bed.

"How come you didn't mention that you were the sheriff's daughter?"

"Does it matter?"

Reid shrugged. "No, I guess not,"

"What did Paige say when you found him in the field?"

"Just that he didn't know how he'd gotten there."

Celeste nodded. "Did he seem drunk to you?"

"Nope,"

"If he was possessed, it would explain the gaps in his memory,"

"You believe that? In demon possession? It seems…farfetched to me,"

"Spence, there are some things that can't be explained yet by science. Yes, I believe in demon possession. I believe in angels. I believe in ghosts, and monsters under the bed. I believe in these things because I've dreamt about them. And because Sam and Dean and many others like them—average people, like you or I—have dedicated their lives to hunting down the monsters in the dark, and sending them back where they belong."

Reid considered her words. He knew she was being deadly serious, and he realized that he believed her. It was crazy; he knew that someone didn't have to be possessed by a demon to inflict unspeakable horror on another. He had seen enough horror in his few years with the BAU to know that was an infallible fact.

"Here we go," Dean announced. "In 1931, Flloyd Rogers murdered his wife, Melinda, and gouged out her eyes and…ate them. Gross. Eleven more victims were found with their eyes removed before the police found Rogers in the process of killing someone else. They were forced to shoot him in order to save the intended victim, Justin Baker, who, luckily, only lost one eye."

Celeste joined the Winchesters at the laptop. "My grandfather," she breathed. "I never knew him, except from what my dad told me: he was a mean drunk, and worse when he was sober."

"That explains why your clients are so special," Dean said.

Reid joined them, as well.

"The demon could've jumped from Rogers to Baker after the police shot him," Sam concluded.

"There were—you guessed it—thirteen more murders in '44 by some dude named Ethan Hollander, in '57 by a Martin Stevens, again in '70 by Lisa Rivers, and so on. Every thirteen years this bastard comes back to kill thirteen more people who were born on Friday the Thirteenth. This demon's good, though. Each of his hosts was gunned down by police. He wised up and probably used your grandpa as shelter in between his sprees."

"It's impossible that no one saw that link before," Reid said. "Anyone with access to the police files could have seen a pattern so obvious."

"Yes, but only a hunter would know why there was a pattern in the first place. As far as local PD knows, each suspect died, right? People have an uncanny ability to turn a blind eye to the things they can't explain. That's why there's hunters in the first place. We can't afford blind eyes. No puns intended."

"How long can a demon stay in one body?"

"As long as it wants, if it knows how," Dean shrugged.

Reid looked at his watch. "I'd better get back. They'll be looking for me,"

"What will you tell your team when they ask you where you've been for the last hour?" Celeste asked.

"What should I tell them? The truth won't go over well, since Prentiss thinks Sam and Dean are in on the murders. Then again, if your brother really is that well connected to the victims, the team might be happy to keep him in custody for awhile, and forget about the black Impala that's been cruising around the crime scenes."

"We'll try harder to lie low," Sam replied.

"Just tell them that you came to see me," Celeste suggested.

"They'll know I'm lying,"

"Then you'll have to try extra hard to be convincing," Dean stated, glancing at Reid over his shoulder.

"It's not that easy. We're profilers. We know when someone's lying—especially if we're lying to each other. It's like living in the smallest town you can think of. Everyone knows everyone else's secrets. It's just how it is," Reid tried to explain. "And this case has us all on edge, so we're even more attuned to each others' subtleties."

"Well, you wouldn't be lying, per se, just leaving us out of it," Sam reasoned.

Reid nodded. "How do I tell if Paige is possessed?"

Sam moved across the room to a knapsack tucked away in the closet. He fished around in it until he found a bottle of Holy Water. He offered it to the FBI agent. "Splash this on him. If he's possessed, you'll know right away."

"How?"

"He'll react," Dean said. Reid didn't like the look on his face.

Celeste squeezed Reid's free hand. "Okay," he sighed. "And then what?"

"Run," Dean stated matter-of-factly. "You do not want to be near an angry demon."

Reid held up the bottle to the light, as if expecting there to be more floating in the liquid. "This is crazy,"

"Yes," Sam agreed. "It is."

"Be careful, Spence."

He gave her an unconvincing smile, and then he left.

She watched him through the peephole as he got into the SUV, and pulled out of the motel parking lot. She sensed Sam behind her. "Will you follow him?"

"Sure."

"We all will," Dean said.