AN: This is like my other "five" stories in that it is five unconnected, nonchronological vignettes that all focus on the same thing. I just couldn't find a way to incorporate the word "five" into the title without it sounding totally awkward and contrived. All are outsider POV. They vary in length and none are terribly deep, but hopefully together emphasize that there is truly something unique and special about the Winchester boys.

I expect all five chapters to be posted today.

Thank you for reading!

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If these two were feds, Paul Edwards would eat his badge. They had the IDs, and the confidence, especially the shorter one -- Townsend. But there was plenty that didn't quite fit. Their suits for one, and that black beauty of a car they'd driven up in. Paul had chosen the office that gave him a view of the station parking lot and was observant enough to figure out why most people were coming before they ever made it inside.

He couldn't put his finger on these two though. They moved like long term partners who trusted each other implicitly to watch their backs. They also exchanged a few glances that Paul could just tell communicated a lot. And their eyes said they'd seen some shit. All of that spoke to the truth of their story. And who else would be so interested in the maulings, even going to see the most recent bodies? They weren't reporters, that was certain. They were used to a dangerous life, and carried themselves in a way that communicated that they could handle themselves.

Paul had it on good authority from his most reliable gossips that they'd spent the evening before expertly hustling pool, and even Big Burt had known better than to mess with them.

They seemed more like criminals than feds. So why wasn't Paul independently verifying their status, not from the number they'd provided?

For one thing, his gut told him they weren't there to cause trouble, though he'd just bet both had the capacity to cause a lot if it. And Daltrey practically radiated sincerity, the kind you couldn't fake. The optimist of the two, then. And both gave the impression that they were there to do a job. They weren't surprised by the grisly story but they weren't indifferent to it either. Both men had looked downright pissed to hear about the youngest victim, who'd never see his 13th birthday.

They had a purpose. A goal. And Paul had no idea what it was. Yet...there was something about these two...

The previous sheriff, who happened to be both Paul's father and his mentor, didn't give advice often, so Paul remembered every word of the advice he'd given the day Paul took office.

"Trust your instincts. And when you're not sure about someone, give 'em more rope. They might hang themselves. Or they might surprise you."

So Paul waited.

Two days later, Paul saw the two men coming out of their motel room looking significantly rougher than they had in his office. Of course, it was 3am.

They were aware of Paul's presence immediately, which didn't surprise him, but they didn't stop loading the trunk.

They were dressed in jeans, flannels, and heavy boots, and looked more at home than they has in the suits. Townsend had a nasty looking cut above his left eyebrow, already purpling around a pair of butterfly bandages. Daltrey had a bandage peeking out from under one sleeve and marks across the back of his hand the looked very much like the strange claw marks on the victims.

Paul suddenly knew that there weren't going to be any more deaths. Townsend took Daltrey's elbow and helped him ease his long body gingerly into the passenger's seat, then looked over the roof of the car and met Paul's eyes. He was clearly asking, what are you gonna do?

His town was safer because of them, and Paul decided that was all he cared about. He nodded, one protector to another, and drove away.