'Standing by the wall,
The guns shot above our heads
As though nothing could fall—
And the shame was on the other side.'

"Heroes" ~ Gang of Youths (David Bowie)

This is the most insane thing Jules has ever done, hands down.

And that's saying something.

It even rivals the time she got drunk at a frat party and woke up with a butterfly tattoo, passed out on a pool table, which created her instinct to sleep on high surfaces that she still carries to this day. Or the time she shoplifted a pair of no name brand high heels on a teenage dare.

She gave them back within the hour but still.

Her stomach is a rollercoaster swirl, up and down the crests of anxiety and anticipation in equal measures. Because this isn't just jeopardizing her life and career.

They're all on the line.

The only thing keeping Jules' foot on the pedal, even speeding a little, is the mental image of Spike or Ed driving this same car.

They'd do the exact same thing if it was her missing in another country. Without hesitation.

Green Trans Canada signs appear, warning of the upcoming border crossing station. Speed limit signs change from kilometres to miles. She glances in her rear view mirror at the little camping trailer hitched to her car, bought at a junkyard that very morning.

The curtains are all drawn.

"You ready?" Jules asks.

Looking across to the passenger's side, she immediately regrets her choice of words.

Not for the first time, she has to remind herself that this isn't a co-worker. He isn't an equal, not yet anyway. He needs reassurance, not cold shop talk.

Dean scrubs at his eyes in that shared Parker tic. "I can't believe we're doing this."

"There's still time to back out," Jules offers, also not for the first time. She almost wishes he'd take her up on it. "You have the most to lose out of all of us, a whole career ahead that you don't want to throw away."

"You sure it'll go down the way Dad predicted?" Dean's voice is young, unsure. "CSIS really has a bulletin out on you?"

Jules flexes her hands on the wheel. They ache with tension already. "Yes. We're going to have to act fast before they try to detain us for questioning and send us back."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

"If you've got a better idea," says Jules, keeping her tone light, "I'd love to hear it."

Dean is dressed in a jacket and jeans, casual. The look of a young, college age man on his day off and heading to the States for a camping trip. He fiddles with both their passports in sweaty hands.

Jules raises a brow at him but lets him think it over.

"No." Dean makes eye contact with her. Determined, brown irises sparking like Greg's do sometimes. "I don't want to come home without them."

"We tried it the legal way," says Jules, in a bid to bolster his nerve. "Director Hartford said he had a tip for the FBI and they wouldn't listen. CSIS didn't either, thinking they were long gone, not in our backyard."

Something shifts in Dean's eyes. He still looks scared, terrified even. But there's a hint of the mature man lurking underneath the teenage boy.

"What if they're right?" Dean asks. "What if Spike and Ed are long gone? What if my hunch is wrong?"

Jules reaches across the stick to run her fingers through curls just beginning to regrow at the back of his neck. "Then we'll find them. You hear me?"

The vengeful outlaw look softens into something human. Dean smiles gratefully at her. Heaven help the men who dare get between Dean and his brother. Jules wonders what he'll do when they find the men responsible, if there will be anything left after the team gets through with them.

Their checkpoint appears ahead.

"Do you wish you had your service weapon?" Dean asks, catching her off guard.

Jules lights up in a wicked smirk. "I don't need a gun for this."

Dean slips his earbuds in to play the bored teenager part. "Showtime."

"You remember the plan?"

He scoffs. "We have a plan?"

Jules quirks her head and can't help but grin. "Touché."

There's a lineup at Customs with the Canadian Thanksgiving weekend approaching in a week and families commuting to be with each other.

Jules shows no outward sign of distress, but she feels a thick line of sweat collect in the hollow of her spine. Dean bops his head to music that isn't there.

He's pale.

The border agent, a burly blond, waves Jules forward. Their turn.

Jules rolls down the window, trying on her most charming smile. "Hey there!"

The woman nods without looking up from her clipboard. "Identification?"

Harmless Canadian routine will not work—duly noted.

"Hon?" Jules prompts Dean.

Dean pretends not to hear her and she taps his shoulder.

"Oh." He pulls out one earbud. "Sorry. Here."

Jules hands their passports to the border agent. She doesn't look impressed or smile, which is par for the course at these stops. Jules taps her thumbs on the wheel. She's keenly aware of the rifle propped inside the gate door and a Glock strapped to the agent's hip.

Out of the corner of her eye, Jules watches the woman step back inside her booth and swipe their passports. She's staring at the clipboard and her list of questions more than anything, not the screen, and it's a huge blessing that Jules can't believe is being dropped in their laps.

Don't check the name. Don't check the name. Please don't look.

The woman comes out and Jules breathes a silent sigh of relief. Dean's fingers uncurl from their clamp around his phone.

"Any firearms or alcohol to declare?" the agent asks in a bored voice.

"No, ma'am."

The woman jots that down and then looks up. "Reason for visiting the States?"

"Camping trip," says Jules. "We're meeting up with Dean's family. They're flying in from Dallas."

The woman squints.

Jules holds her breath.

"That's right," says the agent. "You're a dual citizen, Mr. Parker. Relation to Ms. Braddock?"

"A family friend." Jules pats Dean's hand for effect. "I'm passing through anyway and volunteered to drop him off."

The agent is quiet for a moment. Then something in her face clears. "The Academy let you out of classes early to be with family, huh?"

Dean gives her a thumbs up and Jules wants to slap the cheesy motion down. "Perks of your father being Greg Parker."

The woman's brows rise up lightning fast. Jules wonders for the first time if Greg's notoriety in law enforcement circles may not be to their benefit.

"You're both cops!" The woman actually smiles a little. The knowledge seems to relax her so Jules nods. "Well, I'll be. We get your Organized Crime team through here all the time. Nice guys."

Jules wants to collapse in a puddle of relief. No daring feats needed today. "I'll be sure to let them know when I get back."

The agent walks away and Dean lets out a wailing kind of sigh when she's out of earshot.

Jules is just about to shift out of park when a uniformed man comes running to the agent. He speaks something in her ear.

The woman's eyes go huge and she steps in front of the car. "Officer Callaghan, we're going to have to search the camper for drugs! Strictly procedure, don't worry."

It's the most bald faced lie Jules has ever been on the receiving end of. Even Dean gasps, white as a sheet.

They want to get us out of the car.

It's the name. They called Jules by her maiden name. Only a federal agency would know that. It's not anywhere on her current passport. They slipped up and filed her name as Callaghan on the bulletin.

"We've been made," Dean whispers. "CSIS and the FBI are never going to let us through."

Both the agents' hands go to their weapons. Agents at the desk inside also stand, guns in hand, talking on radios and holding up printed photos.

Photos of Jules and Sam. Canadian and American agents alike spill out the doors. The woman keeps waving her arm to a parking lot on the side, trying to get Jules out of the vehicle.

Tough luck, lady.

Jules places her fingers down on the wheel, one by one. Adrenaline floods her system, heart rate increasing by steady degrees.

"Dean, do you get motion sick?"

Dean closes his eyes for a beat. "Oh please…you're not actually going to—"

"Dean, I need you to get down on the floor, okay?" Jules unbuckles his seatbelt and presses his head down. "Right now, please."

Dean complies, but he's groaning. "When we made this stupid, shoe string plan, I thought this part was made up. Like, a joke."

His fright still sounds shaky, as if they're at a particularly good horror movie or he's in the hospital for a fender bender case of whiplash. Scary, but not nearly at the level of what's coming.

He doesn't know.

Jules yanks the stick back into drive. "Nope."

The agent is red faced now, her gun drawn and aimed at the windshield. Aimed at Greg's son. It's the final straw.

Jules bares her teeth in a feral growl and her foot hits the floor.

The car squeals to life, leaving a rubber fumed cloud. Their border agent leaps to the side, swearing.

CRACK!

A bullet hits the passenger's side mirror, shocking Jules—they're firing on us! That was never part of the plan, just that they would speed away before anyone could get inside the vehicle or roadblock them. Even if their refusal to cooperate spooked agents enough to try and stop them, these shots aren't at the tires or her grill. These are head shots, aimed right at the windshield! She can't even remotely think of a reason for why they would use lethal force.

Dean screams and that sends something inside Jules into overdrive. They're threatening her family, one of their kids.

CRACK!

The next one hits a camper tire. It lists to the left, orange sparks flying into the air. Jules shoves the stick into reverse. She backs up until she sees the Canadian border agent, a huge man, lower his smoking rifle and jump out of the way.

After that, Jules keeps her eyes on the open road. "Hold on!"

Dean's arms cover his head but he looks up at her and he's strangely calmer. "Drive! Now, now!"

"As you wish, my good man." Jules floors it for the second and final time. She's at a disadvantage with the camper's added weight but it doesn't matter. Surprise is on their side. "Just stay down."

CRACK!

Dean's window explodes in a shower of glass.