As he walked away from the newly handcuffed Neal, Peter's ears buzzed with the stranger's request for them to get 'reacquainted.'

This whole experience felt like the Twilight Zone. Like a strange dream that he'd stepped into. Maybe it was a dream. Maybe he hadn't woken up from the helicopter crash yet.

Yet he knew that wasn't the case.

He wasn't sure if it was the phrasing of the statement itself to 'get reacquainted' or perhaps its pairing with a residual concussion that impacted him more. While he was doing his best to ignore it, the headache permeating his skull made everything else, including listening, require more effort. His body also ached, the physical toll of the crash becoming more obvious. Perhaps adrenaline was wearing off.

The effort to stay lucid and calm was critical. Neal might have been frustrated at their lack of control in this situation, but attempting to strong arm the stranger would only put them at a further disadvantage, or worse, in danger. There was a psychological element at play here as well, and they just needed to bide time until help arrived.

In addition, now that they were out of the elements of nature and bestowed with indoor lighting, Peter knew he needed to focus on reigning in the increasingly faint feeling of distant familiarity with this mysterious, bearded man… He had to piece together whatever history they had together.

Who was he?

How did he know him?

Since they'd been inside, he had caught additional angles of the man's face under the hood, but it wasn't enough to identify him yet… It frustrated him, as an investigator, to not be able to readily place him.

"Reacquainted," he echoed out loud.

The man responded with only a deep chuckle as he took a few steps over to stand behind the wooden desk, a mere few inches from Peter. In the movement, he turned slightly away with his head tilted. Peter watched the movement carefully, but as the man changed his position, his features remained shadowed.

Peter could feel his brow knit together in frustration as he tried harder to think. Out of the corner of his eye, he also took a look back over at Neal, making sure he hadn't moved as well. It was blatantly evident that the stranger wasn't too fond of his CI and would take any possible chance to accuse him of transgression.

His stomach churned at the thought of his charge's recent impulsive tendencies. The vivid image of that split second that Neal took off running in the woods, followed by the gun going off without hesitation, was a jolting memory as it replayed in his head. It filled him with a sense of anger and a daunting sense of near loss. He wasn't sure which emotion was stronger.

It had been too close. Too damn close. Neal putting himself in harm's way was becoming far too common an occurrence. Did he not think? He was so damn smart, but why couldn't he actually think?

There was no time to focus on that now, except to hope that Neal would listen this time to his request, his order, to not do anything stupid. All he could do was think short-term at the moment. Neal's longer term need to learn self-preservation could be taught after they got out of here.

They had to get through this without event, and as soon as day broke help would be there, locating them for extraction. He was sure of that. There was no need to get into any altercations or life and death scenarios before then.

Peter felt only slightly appeased to confirm that Neal had remained seated on the floor in what appeared to be exactly the same position as a moment ago. Despite the cuffs, he didn't seem the least bit bothered by it. From a distance now, Peter could also take in the fact the man looked quite disheveled, clothing soaked, tangled locks of hair falling across his forehead. It was a contrast to the usual spotless presentation of his CI… Neal's expression was solemn enough that hopefully the stranger was duped by it, but Peter couldn't miss that glint in his eye that told him Neal's mind was still working overtime to figure out how to get the upper hand.

He suddenly reconsidered whether he should have made the cuffs a little tighter…

He met Neal's eye briefly, a flash of blue, before a jab to his arm made him turn from Neal back to the stranger.

"Sit," the mysterious man told him. "There." As the man steered him to take a seat behind the desk in the corner of the room, Peter acquiesced while also again focusing on the features of the hooded man out of the corner of his eye, trying not to make his scrutiny too obvious.

Was the face familiar? Was the beard?

From where?

And when?

The issue was he couldn't get a clear look at his damn face.

In his career and personal life, Peter had come across acquaintances in the thousands. While some of these interactions were meaningful, others were comprised of inconsequential or simply brief moments. In their relationship, El was the one better suited to remember names and places. She always teased him about it, since his memory for a case was impeccable, but his attention to mundane introductions, particularly the likes of the rounds at a cocktail party, was less persistent.

As he lowered himself to sit in the desk chair that the man pointed him to, he was cursing himself now for not having paid more attention.

Now in front of the computer monitor, he stared at the images on the screen, taking a deep breath and having no idea what to expect.

At first glance, it appeared to be a personal dossier of some kind. There were a few images of a woman, one that looked like a formal headshot, and a couple others that were less clear, candid as though taken from a distance without her knowledge. They appeared to be taken in different locations and based on the change in hairstyle, different time frames. Yet it was undeniably the same woman. He had an eerie feeling pass over him that there was a familiarity he felt to this image…

The rest of the page was filled with data. Last known residence. Background. Known allergies. It went on and on. He scanned the information and knew he wasn't reading it for the first time...

He read the name before looking at the image again.

Samatha Hagor. Nee Connell.

He frowned.

He knew that name.

He knew her face.

He reached for the computer mouse, scrolling down the page. He noticed then the FBI logo, clear as day, stamped upon the page with the words "Confidential" beneath it.

"Where did you get this?" he asked, feeling a sense of apprehension as he kept scrolling.

The next page was the same format. But this time it was a man. Niall Hagor. Stamped across the top of that page in bold letters was the word DECEASED.

He stared into the eyes in the image of the man's headshot. Niall stared back.

Peter swallowed, hand hovering over the mouse for a moment before he moved on.

He knew before he scrolled to the next page that it was going to be the children.

Wally, Jacob, and Lilian. There they were.

He felt a chill as he stared at the faces, the innocent eyes. Eyes that he hadn't seen in years.

He scrolled back up to Samantha's page. Remembered she said Niall used to call her Sammy.

The stranger had remained quiet.

"Where did you get this?" Peter repeated, voice sterner this time. He turned his head away from the screen to look up at the stranger.

The stranger chuckled yet again. "Think about it, Peter. Where would I get this? How could I possibly have this?"

"And why? I'm serious," Peter responded stiffly, trying not to lose patience and continue the essence of calm and compliance. Yet now, if possible, he was feeling even more uneasy with where this was going. "This is classified. Where did you get it?"

"What is it?" Neal asked from the other side of the room, clearly unable to remain quiet as his own curiosity piqued to know what was on the screen. Neal was inexplicitly drawn to shiny objects, and the shiny object was now whatever was on the screen out of his view.

Peter glanced over at Neal and caught the man shifting his position as though leaning to try to gain a view of the screen. "Not now, Neal," he warned.

"Hey!" the stranger barked across the room as he noticed Neal's movement as well. He pointed his finger at him, jabbing it into the air. "You agreed not to move, remember? Move again and I'll take out a kneecap. It's your friend I need to talk to, not you!"

An uncomfortable moment of silence passed over the room.

Neal looked frustrated but remained quiet and silent, posture stiff.

With a huff of irritability, the stranger turned back towards the computer.

"This was a case from years ago…" Peter spoke, giving once last look to Neal before looking back at the screen and continuing the conversation. "I worked this case."

"First clue is correct. This was ten years ago," the stranger confirmed. "I'll give you a hint. I knew you then." There was a hint of enthusiasm in his voice, as though he was looking forward to Peter finally cracking the code of his identity.

Ten years ago, Peter echoed in his mind. A decade. The length of his marriage… It really wasn't that long ago relatively speaking, but it was a period of time easily forgotten without a recurrence of reminders. With these images in front of him, he now recalled this case vividly. It had been a painful one. The experience of working it came back to him while staring at the photos of Samantha in front of him. He wanted to scroll back to the children but resisted. Niall, the husband, had already been a casualty before the case had even made its way to his team….

Peter tried not to reflect too deeply on the memory of the case.

"How did I know you? And where did you get this?" Peter demanded again. He broke eye contact with Samantha and turned back to the man looming over him.

The man slowly reached up for his hood, taking the edge of it in his hand and slowly pulling it back to finally reveal his face.

"I was skinnier back then," the man said slowly. "And didn't have a beard. But surely you remember my face, Peter. After all, you always said I was an easy pick out of the lineup…"

Peter stared at him.

Dark hair, a narrow and gaunt facial structure with eyes that appeared gray, and a beard that looked like it was rarely trimmed. But the most noticeable aspect of the man's face was a scar, deep and jagged, running from above the man's left eye down his cheek, nearly to his chin.

It was a face from the past, but a face he had never forgotten. It brought back a series of memories like a punch to the gut. "Dean," he said slowly.

There were aspects of their interaction in the woods, his mannerisms, the way he spoke… It now all clicked.

The narrow mouth of the individual-that-was-no-longer-a-stranger slowly turned upwards into a smirk. "If I had game show music handy, I'd play it now," Dean responded, seemingly pleased that he had now been identified. "It's been a while, Peter. I'm sure you thought you'd never see me again."

"What do you want?" Peter responded, shaking his head. "I thought you were locked up. With time added even for that stunt you pulled six months in." He let out a frustrated breath of air. "Why are we here, Dean? What are you trying to do?"

"Obviously I'm no longer locked up," Dean replied. "No doubt that's a disappointment to you. You were never very supportive, even back then."

"How do you have this?" Peter replied, waving his hand at the computer. "And what do you want from me?"

"I need to know where she is."

Peter looked at him incredulously. "Who? Samantha?" he scoffed. "Is that what this is about?"

"I helped you with that case, Peter. It's because of me you saved her life."

"That's widely debatable," Peter replied stiffly. "I—"

"You know it's true!" the man interjected, voice gruffer. "She and I had something. I gave everything to that case, and I'm the reason she was saved! And then you guys stabbed me in the back. Threw me back on the inside."

"You know why that happened," Peter answered stiffly. "You had every chance. You didn't take it. You made your choice."

"I need to know where she is," the man replied. "You're going to find that out for me. Or else you're never getting your own life back."

Peter shook his head. "You're insane. This stops now."

"This is just starting!" Dean responded. "You coming here, to this place. That's because of me. I knew you'd be the one to take this particular clue, to see what was here. It was obvious. But your other agents…. There were plans for them as well…"

"What plans?" Peter demanded, feeling suspicious but also uneasy. He was astounded by this flash from the past in front of him, and the case details brightly lit on the screen in front of him.

"Plans. I had plans for every part of this… You know I worried at first. That it would too easily be seen as a setup… But apparently not. It wasn't too good to be true that you got so many locations to investigate…" Dean continued. "My colleague, singing like a bird, was just what you wanted and you lapped it all up… He must have given quite a performance… I mean, he better have… It was months in the making."

Peter was in disbelief. It was impossible. To have something like this orchestrated would be unbelievable. And yet he had to believe it, because here they were in the middle of nowhere and Dean had way too much information for it to simply be coincidental.

"What about my other agents?" Peter persisted, the unspoken threat grating on him. "What did you mean by plans for them?"

"Let's just say there's been a couple incidents…"

Peter suddenly felt defensive. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Oh don't worry, Peter. Nothing deadly yet," he replied. "I knew I'd have an opportunity to talk to you, and that you deserved a chance to make the right decision before it came to that."

Peter shook his head. "Well, I'm telling you right now, Dean, that you made a bad call. I have no idea where Samantha is. That's not even her name anymore. That case was closed ten years ago, and she's been invisible ever since. I don't even know if she's still in the U.S."

"That's bullshit," Dean replied. "No one is invisible."

"She is. That's the way it works. So bringing me here, threatening me, killing the pilot… You're wasting your time, and you're going to find yourself back in prison at the end of it."

"Let's cut the games, Peter. Seriously. You find out where she is, and no one else gets hurt. You don't, and then people will suffer. My plan will play out. I got you here, didn't I? That was the hardest part. The rest? It's easy now – it's a press of the button. Unless you cooperate."

"You were always full of shit, Dean. And that hasn't changed. This ends. Now."

"You'll regret saying that," Dean replied, eyes narrowing. "The more time you waste, the more consequences. I'm talking hours here. And if you waste time, ultimately you'll regret it unless you give me what I want. I'm not asking for anything other than information."

"I don't have that information," Peter answered with an edge to his voice.

"Then you're going to find it," Dean snapped. "Unless you want to see a similar case file for your own wife. Elizabeth, right? She was always a pretty one… It would be a shame if she became a little less pretty…"

With that comment Peter got to his feet, pushing back his chair angrily and facing the other man in fury. The chair fell onto its back with the force of the movement. He stood unsteadily for a moment as the blood rushed from his head, anger and adrenaline fueling a counter attack to the dizziness and weakness he felt.

Instinctively Neal jumped to his feet as well, as the risk of a physical altercation between Peter and Dean presented itself, preparing himself to potentially offer assistance to his handler and finally take control of the situation.

Catching the movement behind him, Dean spun away from Peter and immediately moved towards Neal. Without even a hesitation and before Neal could even prepare to defend himself, Dean struck him, a heavy blow to his temple, and one that immediately returned Neal to the ground onto his knees with a choked intake of breath followed by a grunt of pain.

Neal felt his vision blur and a wave of disorientation come over him as he tried to get his balance. The floor spun beneath him and he saw a white flash of pain. He couldn't even think of getting to his feet before the next blow came, knocking him out completely.

Neal slumped down to the ground, a fresh cut of blood dripping down the side of his face, his handcuffed hands draped listlessly over the floor.

It had happened in seconds before he could react or prevent it, and now Peter moved in the direction of Neal, feeling a sense of urgency and protectiveness above and beyond the anger he had for Dean. This was escalating too quickly.

Dean caught Peter's arm roughly before he could cross the room, holding him stationary with a tight grip. "Leave him," he said curtly, shaking out his other hand as though the blow had injured him as well. "I warned him."

Peter glared and shook his arm free. He looked the few feet across the room at the lifeless, prone shape of Neal and resisted the urge to force his way over to check on him. He'd been thankful Neal had been completely quiet since he'd last been rebuked. He knew Neal was jumping in only to be at his defense and couldn't fault him for it. Peter would have done the same in his position, but now he felt his head spinning with the situation they were in.

"He's fine," Dean told him brusquely. "In fact, he's better off this way so I don't have to shut him up again."

Peter glowered at him. "Do not touch him again. Leave him out of this."

"If he minds his own business, I won't have to keep correcting him," Dean snapped. "But trust me when I say he won't be left out of this. Like I said, there are consequences if you don't listen to me."

Peter remained silently, mouth a thin line as he radiated with anger.

"I also see I hit a nerve with Elizabeth…" Dean continued. He folded his arms over his chest. "You always were such a good husband. Which is why you better listen to me. Fighting me won't help you, Peter. You have no way out of here except to give me what I want."

"The latest this lasts is until tomorrow morning," Peter said through clenched teeth. "You can threaten me all you want until then, but it ends tomorrow."

"So you think they'll find you tomorrow morning?" Dean replied, raising his eyebrows. His expression was more of feigned wonder than true surprise.

"I know they will."

"Good," Dean replied, shrugging as though it was inconsequential. "I'm glad you're so sure. But that's what I planned for anyway. That's why it's in your best interest to take action tonight. If you don't, I hope when they come tomorrow morning they bring two body bags."

Peter narrowed his eyes at the other man.

"You're trying to decide whether to believe me," Dean answered. "How about this. I let you make one call. Ask how your agents are doing. Particularly in…." he paused to look at his watch, "….in two locations."

"Two locations…"

"Correct. In a few hours, there will be a third incident. Don't look so surprised, Peter. I told you. I have this all planned out."

Peter felt a cold wave of dread wash over him.

TBU