"What the HELL is going on here?"

The female officer walked angrily into the station, her flats thudding incongruously hard against the ground. The station itself had turned chaotic in the hour she'd revisited the crime scene. Policemen were questioning other policemen, two criminals were comforting each other and there were scorch marks on the floor and the ceiling, but suspiciously clean walls. The only person who wasn't too wrapped up in their own hysteria to notice her was a young African American sergeant, Don Sallows, who still looked a little shaken.

"There's been an incident, officer Trebuchet."

"I can see that" Trebuchet snarled. "Was anyone hurt?"

Sallows stepped aside so that Trebuchet could see the white outline of the body on the floor, complete with a smaller circle inside it where the hole had been. Exactly like the other three murders.

"Officer Jeong." He confirmed, looking down.

"And I'm guessing it was the Winchesters' fault?"

"We don't know yet."

"You don't know?"

"No. There was this music, and then Jeong's chest started smoking, then they escaped, and then they came back in. They went to the evidence locker and then they left again. It was all rather confusing"

"Well let me make this simple for you. Did something strange happen?"

"Yes"

"While they were here?"

"Yes"

"And I suppose they're not here anymore?"

"No."

"Well I'd say that makes them prime suspects. And what do we do with prime suspects? We hunt them down." Trebuchet grabbed him by the ear and made her look him in the eye. "These men have murdered three civilians, and now they've gone and killed a cop. You and I are getting in a car and giving chase. You're going to get on that radio and find them. And when you find them, you have my permission to use deadly force. Am I understood?"

Sallows nodded.

"Good. I'll drive. Fill me in as we go. I want to know exactly how they got out. I suppose they just danced away, did they?"

"Well…"

…

The Impala's engine roared as Dean's foot slammed the accelerator. The road was nearly empty, and Dean had no problem ramping up speed. Beside him, entangled in an unfolded road map was Sam, tracing his finger along a road with a puzzled look on his face.

The puzzled look was suddenly replaced by alarm.

"Dean! Left!"

The wheel spun and tyres shrieked, but Dean narrowly managed to slide into the exit on the other side of the road. A splutter of mud was pulled up by the wheels and clung to the speeding Impala.

"A little more warning next time, Sammy!" Dean grunted.

"Well maybe if you slowed down a little…"

"We don't have time to slow down! We just ran from a crime scene when we're already wanted criminals, in a beautiful but conspicuous car, and now we've got to find a psycho ghost before he kills again. What part of that makes you think we have time to relax?"

"Okay, but we still need a plan."

"I've got a plan. Salt it, gas it, burn it."

"And if the ghost's not there?"

"Then corpse number five is on us. Trust me, it's there."

"Because you have a hunch about where the toilet seat is?"

"You saw how it wasn't in the evidence room. Someone took it. And I know who."

"But if…"

"You know the lore, you've seen the evidence. Wherever the seat is, that's where we'll find the King. He's anchored to that toilet seat like you after taco bell."

"And you're certain he has it?"

"Has it? He started it! Come on, you know it makes sense."

"I guess, but we've only got one shot at this. If it's not there, who knows what that ritual could do?"

"I don't know and I'm not gonna find out."

"We couldn't find out anyway…" He pulled open the impala's glove compartment. "All the spare cells we got were fried at the station. Ghost doesn't want us talking."

"Looks likes it's a little less conversation and a little more action."

"God, you're such a dork. Turn here."