Well, time for another chapter (this one's a bit longer, I promise!).

"I knew it!" Shawn cheered after gathering the needed information from Officer McNab and looking briefly through it in the safety of his own office, "the guy we met today isn't really an FBI agent. His name's Winchester."

"Like the rifle?" Gus asked, taking the paper from his friend's hand.

"Exactly like the rifle. And that partner of his? Really his brother. It's the same people, but different names."

"Are you sure that's really them?" Gus questioned, eyeing the paper in front of him in confusion, "because it says here that Dean Winchester's dead."

"What?"

"Yeah. He was shot in St. Louis about a year ago. He was wanted for murder. Shawn, we're dealing with a real criminal here."

"How is he still walking around if he's dead, Gus?"

Gus shrugged. "Maybe he had a twin."

"Only sibling's his brother. Why would a guy who's legally dead and his brother impersonate FBI agents and sneak into a crime scene?"

Gus shrugged again. "No idea, but those names they used, sounded familiar. It's been bugging me all day, but I finally figured it out. Baldwin and Skouris are the names of the NTAC agents in 'The 4400.'"

"You watch '4400?'"

"That Isabelle chick's hot."

Shawn nodded. "Yeah, she is, isn't she?"

Gus smiled. "Psycho, but hot. So, what do we do about Mulder and Scully?"

"Oh, I have an idea," Shawn replied, grinning slyly.

Dean sat on the bed, flipping through his father's journal. "Killer clowns," he muttered, glancing briefly at his brother, who was busily clicking away on the laptop, "what next?"

Sam sighed. "It's an urban legend, Dean. Most of the time, the girl gets out, though. And why the babysitter? Why not kill the kids, too?"

Dean shrugged. "Clowns like kids? It doesn't matter who the thing killed and who it didn't, we just need to find it before it has a chance to hurt anyone else."

"Yeah, I guess. Hey, you think we'll see that psychic again?"

"Hope not." Dean muttered just as someone knocked on the motel room door. He slid off the bed and crossed the room to answer it. He immediately wished he hadn't. "Well, if it isn't Psychic Boy. Funny, we were just talking about you."

"I know," Shawn replied, smirking, as he pushed his way past the hunter and into the small room.

"I'm really sorry about this," Gus muttered as he followed his friend.

"No problem," Sam smiled, quickly shutting the laptop and rushing to the bed to hide the journal, "we just weren't expecting anyone. What brings you out here?"

"Just a vibe," Shawn replied. Suddenly, he grasped at his chest and began gasping. "Ow! Owowowowow!"

"What is it?" Sam asked, alarmed.

"Gunshots," Shawn gasped, "the heart! My heart, it's like someone shot me. Twice now. The gun-"

"Maggie was stabbed to death," Dean pointed out, "guns have nothing to do with the murder."

"Not the girl. You. It's a certain type of gun… no, a rifle…there's a name… W-I-N…"

"Winchester?" Dean suggested, hardly buying the gag.

"Yes, Winchester. I'm seeing," Shawn continued, wiping at his brow and panting, "a fire. Deadly. It's… yes, an electrical fire. A baby, a boy, a man… They're sad."

Before he knew what had hit him, Shawn found himself pinned to the wall and looking into Dean's hazel eyes. "You know," the hunter hissed, "I don't think you're really a psychic."

"That's OK," Shawn smirked, "I don't think you're really an FBI agent."

Sam walked up and pulled the two men apart, letting Shawn drop back onto the floor. "We have our badges with us," he offered, whipping out an id, "take a look."

"That's fake," Shawn offered, "and not the best picture of you."

Sammy glanced down at his id and frowned as Gus walked up. "Listen," the darker man said, "we know you two were at Kinko's this morning and we know that Agents Baldwin and Skouris are characters on 'The 4400.'"

Sam glared at his brother, who shrugged. "That Isabelle chick looks kinda like Cassie," he defended, "besides, there's nothing else on Sunday nights."

"Just tell us what you're up to," Shawn said, standing up by using the wall to support his weight, "and we won't report you to our friends at the station."

Dean smirked. "You report us, and we'll report you. You're not really psychic."

"How would you know?"

The brother's glanced at each other. "We know psychic," Sam grinned, "just tell us why you're doing this."

Shawn and Gus stared at the two men, one of whom was supposed to be dead, then glanced briefly at each other. They had no idea if the guys were dangerous or not, didn't even know whether or not to trust them. It was, as usual, Shawn's leap-first-ask-later attitude that had gotten them into the jam, and Gus was more than happy to wait for his long-time friend to start explaining.

"Come on," Dean coaxed, "it's good to tell your secrets, just as long as you do it with discretion." Shawn raised an eyebrow. "By the way, Psychic Wonder, your shoelace is untied."

Shawn gaped at the man standing before him. "You remember that?"

"I have a better memory than you might think. Now, come on, out with it. Why pretend to be psychic?"

Shawn sighed. "My father was a cop. He wanted me to be a cop, so he trained me all my life to notice details. The photographic memory helped. Well, I got in trouble a while back for phoning in a bunch of tips that led to arrests, and they thought I had something to do with a string of murders. To get out of being thrown in jail, I told the cops I was psychic and I started working cases. Now you. Aren't you supposed to be dead?"

"You pulled my file?"

"I didn't think you were really an agent. So, tell me, what do a dead guy and Stanford drop-out have to do with a nutso clown?"

The brother's again looked at each other, mentally debating whether honesty was truly the best policy. "Have you ever heard the urban legend about the clown doll?" Sam finally asked after a long pause.

"Yeah," Gus nodded, "it's always been one of my favorites. The babysitter wants to watch a channel they only get on the TV in the bedroom, but she gets creeped out by the life-size clown doll in the room and calls the parents to ask if she can move it. Turns out, they don't have a clown doll. She gets out and calls the cops. Why?"

"It's exactly like this murder," Sam sighed.

"You think someone's impersonating the legend?"

"We think it's the actual legend," Dean stated, "we think it's supernatural."

"Supernatural?" Shawn asked, "sounds like a generic title for an awesome TV show. What's it got to do with the Stenson girl?"

"You might want to sit down," Sam advised, "both of you. Have either one of you ever experienced something you can't explain?"

"I have," Gus nodded, "I heard voices in my house, telling me that it sat on an ancient burial ground. Turns out Shawn had just stuck a walkie talkie in the wall."

"I know how you feel," Sam sighed, "Dean put one under my bed once. He regretted it, though."

"How was I supposed to know you would shoot it?" Dean demanded, opening the journal again and flipping through it for references to killer clown dolls. "You gonna tell them what we're doing here or not?"

Sam grinned. "When I was a baby, our house burned down, you read that in the file. It wasn't an electrical fire, though. It was a demon, one we're still chasing. That's what my brother and I do, we hunt things that most people don't know exist. We've taken down urban myths before, and now we're after the clown. Any questions?"

"That's it?" Shawn asked, fidgeting in his chair.

"The abridged version of the 'truth is out there' speech," Dean nodded, "that's it. Now, if you boys would excuse us, we have a house to check for demonic activity."

"You're going back to the house?"

"Shawn," Gus hissed, "these people are crazy. You can't tell me you actually believe them."

"Can I come along? The police haven't got any leads and if I could take a longer look at the crime scene-"

"You don't get it, do you?' Dean asked, "it couldn't have been a person. It's something paranormal."

"Just let me come with you and see."

"Shawn," Gus whispered urgently, "I think we should get out of here."

Shawn held up a finger to quiet his nervous friend. "Hold on just a minute. These guys might have something. I mean, weird things happen, right? Why isn't it possible for an urban legend to come to life and start killing people?"

"Can I talk to you outside?" Shawn let himself get pulled out the door and into the parking lot. "These guys are crazy, you know that, right? They probably escaped from some insane asylum and are thin king up ways to kill and eat us!"

"Gus, Gus, Gus," Shawn sighed, "you underestimate me, as usual. I have a plan. See, we play along with them, help them catch their little ghosty or whatever, then turn them in. They might be able to help us solve the crime, then we get credit for two major accomplishments."

"But what if they kill us before we get a chance to turn them in?"

"You just let me worry about that."