Dean was in a daze. Time seemed to pass in slow motion. The sheriff and his deputies ran toward them with cuffs out and weapons drawn, but Dean could still see the nightmare creature galloping away through the gap between the cars. Mrs. Reid broke free of another deputy and ran past them, eyes streaming tears. Her lips moved, but Dean heard no sound. "My baby!" she mouthed.

One arm was wrenched behind his back, then the other, before he was lifted to his feet and pushed toward the car. The sheriff spun him around when they got there, mouthing the words, "Do you understand the rights I have just read to you?"

Dean nodded and was shoved into the backseat.

He saw Sam being forced into the other car, then suddenly Mrs. Reid was there again, pounding on his window with her fists, her face a mask of torture. He closed his eyes.

He saw the creature snap its jaws around Ilsa's head. Her blood drenched him. He opened his eyes again, but he was still covered in her blood.

A flash bulb went off. He was at the station, being processed. Someone ordered him to turn to the side, and he numbly complied. Someone swabbed the blood on the back of his hands, and on his face. He blinked, and in that pregnant instant he watched that creature dragging Archie's trampled remains. Someone processed his fingerprints.

"Dean! Dean!"

Dean shook his head, suddenly aware of a voice. It was Sam, calling to him, but there was something inbetween them. He touched it, and everything fell into place. They were the bars of his cell, and Sam was across the hall in his own cell. Dean shook his head again.

"Dean!" Sam called again.

"I'm here, Sammy. I'm here."

"Dean, snap out of it! We've got to do something!"

"I said I'm here, Sam. What do you want me to do?"

"Well, for starters, look around! You've been standing there for almost twelve hours!"

"Come on, Sam, that's not…" He saw a metal tray laying on the cot in his cell. Biscuits and gravy were cooling next to a cup of orange juice. There was a high window off Sam's cell, and sunlight was streaming in.

"Dean, you saw the headless horseman—"

"That thing wasn't headless," Dean said.

"Whatever. I couldn't see it. But the iron was useless against it. Dean, either the lore was all wrong, or this wasn't a horseman."

"You think?"

"But the hoof prints, the withered plants everywhere… What the hell was it?"

"I don't know! But I saw it. And that means it's after me next." Dean picked up his breakfast, decided he had no appetite, and dropped it back on the cot. "And we're stuck in here."

"Describe it to me."

"What? Sam, what does it matter now? Unless you've got a Get-out-of-jail-free card stashed in your prison purse, we aren't going to be hunting it any time in, say, twenty to life."

"What else are we going to do? We'll figure this out, we just need to keep focused on the job."

"Alright. Fine. First off, it only looked like a horse and rider. It was all one creature. Like a centaur, but the man part came out of the middle of the horse's back, and the horse still had a head."

"Okay, what else?"

"It was all black, and skinless. And it had these yellow veins running all over its body. The rider's head was huge, and it was just a mass of teeth. It just bit their heads off. God, I should have been able to do something."

"Keep it together, Dean, you did everything you could. We both did. Tell me more about this thing."

"Its eyes glowed red, both horse and rider. And its arms were long—I'm talking, it could reach you from here, long."

The Sheriff cleared his throat, announcing his presence. "So you boys have moved on from your headless horseman crap, and now you're talking nuckelavee."

"Knuckle-What?" Dean asked.

"Like you don't know. A nuckelavee. Still gotta be the stupidest story I've ever heard, but at least it's Scottish."

"Sheriff, this is really important. What can you tell us?"

"I can tell you that the feds are really interested in your fingerprints, Sam and Dean Winchester. I just got a frantic call to make sure I hold you until someone can get here tonight. Like I was going to let you go after killing four people. Now they tell me you two went on a killing spree, faked your own deaths, tried to assassinate the president, then you escaped federal custody by faking your own deaths—again."

"No, tell us about this creature. The Knucklehead thing."

"I just told you two murderers that the feds are coming to lock you in a cold dark hole, and you want to hear a fairy tale?"

"Humor us," Sam said. "We're not going anywhere, and you've probably been told to watch us like a hawk."

"That part at least is true. I have." The sheriff pulled a bench a little closer and sat down. "Like most stories, it's a monster meant to keep kids home at night. It's a sea creature that comes to land and hunts down people marked for death. The stories say it looks like a horse and rider, but it's all one creature—"

"Look, we know what it looks like, how do you kill it?"

The sheriff gave Dean a searing look. "You don't kill it. At least, none of the stories I've heard talk of killing it. It kills you. The only way to avoid it is by crossing running water where it can't follow. In one story, someone distracted it by accidentally splashing it with lake water, and that gave him time to cross the river."

Sam reached pleading hands through the bars. "Sheriff, think. There's got to be something more!"

The sheriff stood, tiring of the act. "There isn't anything else! Well, except something called the Sea Mither, another creature who confined it to the oceans during the summer. Nothing hurts a nuckelavee. If you're marked for death, it kills you, end of story. Come to think of it, it wasn't just people either. It killed plants too. It withered crops in its rage when people burnt kelp to make soda ash."

"Wait, why were they making soda ash?"

"As a soil amendment, I guess. It was a farming community."

"But that makes no sense. Why would this sea creature care if they put ashes on their soil? And what's the point of feeding crops that the creature is just going to kill?"

"You're not meant to question it, it's just a stupid story to frighten kids!"

"Wait," Sam said, "How did this Sea Mither confine it?"

"Who knows? It wasn't part of the stories! The Sea Mither doesn't really exist! None of this is real! And nobody but nobody is going to believe an insanity plea from you two!" The sheriff visibly calmed himself. "Now I'll be back with your lunch in an hour."

Sam and Dean waited until the sheriff was out of earshot.

"You thinking the Mither binds it with sea weed?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded. "And the peasants were burning kelp and spreading the ash in a protective line, kind of like a salt barrier or goofer dust."

"But how are we going to get any soda ash in here?"

"Hey!" Dean yelled. "We want to talk to our lawyer!" He turned back to Sam. "Do we know any hunters in New York?"

Sam and Dean were cuffed to a bolt next to the payphone. Sam examined the business card that Dean had handed him while Dean listened on the line.

"Yes! Hello! It's Dean, uh," he cleared his throat, looking around for any prying ears. "Agent Logan. We have a lead in this case. It can be killed with something called 'soda ash.'" Dean looked at Sam with that face he made when he was thinking up lies, and Sam's eyes narrowed in response. Dean looked away. "We've made some progress. But we've run into a bit of a snag too." He turned back toward Sam and gave him a thumbs up. "Well, the sort of snag we were hoping you could help out with, actually. Look, we've figured out how to trap the thing, only we're in jail right now."

Dean held the phone away from his ear for a moment, opening and closing his hand like the mouth of a sock puppet. "Yes, I know. No, I understand. But this thing needs killing, and we need someone to be our lawyer. No, you won't have to go to court. Okay, hang on. I'm going to hand the phone to Agent Preston. He's gonna tell you a few things in lawyer jargon."

"Oh, hell no, John," Sheriff Moore said, looking up from his crossword puzzle that evening. John André had just walked into the station with his hair combed, wearing a suit for the first time since the sheriff had met him, and holding a briefcase that looked like it might cost more than the sheriff's truck. "I don't care how fancy you dress, I don't have time to look at any more of your videos! I've got a couple murderers waiting federal extradition!"

"If you are referring to my clients, you will be careful to remember that they are 'alleged murderers' or 'accused murderers.'"

"Your clients? Since when does a Christmas tree farmer have clients?"

"I am a duly certified member of the bar of the great state of New York, and a practicing attorney for six years before moving out here, and I would like to see my clients."

The sheriff stood up and walked to the counter opposite André. "Now, I'm afraid I can't do that. I was told in strictest terms that I was not to let anyone in to see them until the Feds arrived, and that's just what I'm going to do."

The sheriff found himself looking at a tape recorder. "I would just like it on record that you are denying my clients their right to counsel. I'm certain that the Federal government will take an interest in your career once I get my clients off on a technicality because you violated due process."

"Due process? These boys killed four people, maybe six, and they tried to assassinate the president!"

"Allegedly, Sheriff Moore, practice saying it." He set down the recorder and patted his briefcase. "I'm prepared to file documents that you had insufficient Individual Suspicion at the point of your unwarranted Terry Stop."

"They were brandishing weapons and covered in the victims' blood! How much more warranted does it need to be?"

"Faretta colloquy, sheriff! Do you know what that means? It means the entire case the government has been amassing can be declared null and void if you don't let me see my clients!"

"Alright, alright," the sheriff said, holding up his hands. "But these boys have a reputation for escaping police custody. I'll let you see them, one at a time."

"That is agreeable. I'll see Agent Preston first."

"You mean Dean Winchester. They're all over AFIS. You should at least know your clients names." The sheriff walked back toward the cells, thumbing through the keys on his ring.

"Fingerprint evidence is not infallible!" André called after him.

The sheriff led Dean into the interrogation room and handcuffed him to a bolt on the table. André sat across from him with his briefcase in between them.

Once the sheriff stepped out and closed the door, André popped the locks on his briefcase, turned it around and opened it.

The briefcase was filled with a white, powdery substance. "I use this stuff around my trees. Who knew it was monster repellant. Exactly how do you intend to get this back to your cell?" the former lawyer asked.

"I tucked my pants into my socks. It may be uncomfortable as hell, but we're going to have to fill my pants," Dean said.

"I'm pretty sure this stuff is caustic. I hope you don't sweat…"

"Well, I will now. But first, we need to ward this room. Roll a piece of paper into a funnel and scoop some of that up." Dean yanked on his cuffs. "I don't suppose you have anything for these?"

"I'm a criminal lawyer, Dean, not a criminal," André said, filling a paper funnel with the soda ash.

"Okay, whatever. Now, make a line of that across the door threshold, and on the window sill."

André looked up at the window, seven feet up and about the size of a Kleenex box. "You think that monster can fit through there?"

"Rule number one with monsters. You don't take any chances."

André left the room half an hour later, careful not to disturb the line of dust as he closed the door. He walked around to the counter and set his briefcase down next to an oscillating fan that did little to alleviate the oppressive heat of the evening.

The sheriff looked up from his dinner, sighed, dropped a half eaten biscuit into a mound of succotash and stood up. "I suppose you'll be wanting to see Sam now."

"Agent Preston. Yes, in good time. But first, as defense counsel, I have the right to view all evidence you have against my clients. I would like copies of everything."

"What, now?"

"I understand there is an extradition order for tonight, so there is no other time if I am to forestall it. Yes. Now."

"But my office girl Esme's gone home! I'd have to do it all myself!"

"And I greatly appreciate your cooperation in the matter. My husband makes a mean apple pie that I'll be sure makes its way to your desk."

The sheriff sighed again and walked slowly to a bank of filing cabinets.

Before he got there, the doors to the building flew open. They both turned in surprise, and in stepped the nuckelavee, arms dragging the floor behind it and eyes glowing red. The lights flickered and died, to immediately be replaced by red emergency lighting.

"Oh my God, it's real! The nuckelavee!" the sheriff yelled.

"Where is it? I can't see it!" André yelled, backing away and holding up the briefcase defensively.

The sheriff was too awestruck to respond. He stood there with his mouth hanging open, watching the creature walk through the lobby. A machete was embedded in the creatures neck, and other implements protruded from it's belly, side, torso and haunch. It seemed oblivious of their exisitence. The horse head just seemed to be sniffing the air.

"For Judas' sake, use your gun, sheriff!" André said.

The sheriff pulled his gun from his holster in one practiced motion, but his hand shook as he brought it level. "It doesn't die, it just kills," the sheriff said in a far away voice.

It stepped into the corridor that led down to the cells, but paused at the interrogation room door. The horse head sniffed and snorted, then the rider let out a shriek. The sheriff's gun went off, putting a hole in the wall next to the nuckelavee, as he covered his ears.

André ducked. "Where is it? Tell me sheriff, where is it?"

The creature reared back and struck at the interrogation room door with its front hooves. Dean stood behind the table, yanking on the long chain of his cuffs and staring down the creature. It took a step forward, then paused, sniffing at the ground. The rider screeched again, then it reached one of its long arms forward.

As its claws crossed the threshold, the tips sizzled and glowed like coals. It snapped its arm back, the tips falling like ash to the floor. It stared at Dean, a hate filled gaze. It curled its claws into fists and slammed them against the walls on either side of the door. The plasterboard cracked and fell away, revealing the cinderblock underneath.

"It's in the hallway, but is it all the way in?" André shook the sheriff. "Is it all the way in the hallway?" he yelled.

"Yes! Yes, it's in there!" the sheriff said, he circled around to get a straight shot of it, keeping his gun leveled at it the whole time.

André pulled his funnel of paper out of his pocket and drew a line of soda ash across the hallway entrance.

The creature seemed to notice this and turned toward him.

"Hey, Sea Biscuit!" Dean yelled. He reached down into his pants and pulled out a handful of soda ash. He stood as close to the creature as his cuffs would allow, and threw the powder at it. "That's for Ilsa!"

A fine mist of ash peppered the nuckelavee's flank, burning, eating through it wherever it hit. The creature screeched again and leapt into a gallop. André and the sheriff backed away, but it skidded to a halt before it hit the line at the end of the hallway.

It turned, facing the other end of the hallway with the cells and the exit door between them.

"Sam, it's coming your way!" Dean yelled.

"You were supposed to come back with the soda ash, Dean! I've got nothing!"

"If it gets out that door, Sammy, it's gone!"

The nuckelavee galloped. Dean leapt up on top of the table, wrapped his hands around the chain on both sides, and pulled.

Sam looked around his cell for anything he could use. He spotted the metal toilet attached to the cinderblock wall. He got into a sitting position with his back against the side wall and kicked with both feet at the toilet. The metal ripped free of the bolts, exposing the pipes behind it. Sam kicked again, and the pipes split, spraying water in an arc across to Dean's cell. Water ran across the concrete floor.

The creature sat on its haunches, skidding to a stop.

One of the chain links snapped, throwing Dean to the floor. He quickly got up and ran into the hall. He saw the water pouring across the floor, and the nuckelavee struggling to right itself and turn around.

Dean looked around, assessing his situation. The creature screeched again. Dean turned to see it facing him. He stood purposefully inside the ash barrier. The sheriff and André stood just on the other side.

The nuckelavee charged. "André, pop the locks," Dean said. The nuckelavee barreled down on him.

Pip, pip went the briefcase. Dean spun, grabbed the briefcase by the handle. He continued his spin and picked up the oscillating fan with his other. The briefcase dropped open, and the soda ash fell into the blades of the fan, filling the hallway and engulfing the creature in the cloud of caustic powder.

The nuckelavee burned and writhed, sparks drifting upward from its ashen body, a pool forming below it, of yellow and black drippings. Its heads collapsed inward as it half crumbled, half melted, dropping chunks into the spreading pool of foul ichor. As the body of the beast was consumed, the legs kept moving as if trying to crawl away until they too sank beneath the bubbling soupy yellow black mess.

Sam and Dean sat in the interrogation room while the sheriff paced, an inscrutable expression on his face. They decided to look on the bright side: They weren't in cuffs.

Sam tried to explain. "I can—"

"Shut up," the sheriff said, continuing to pace.

"You see—" Dean tried.

"I will shoot you," the sheriff countered.

The brothers lapsed into silence. A clock on the wall ticked loudly, marking the passage of time.

"I saw that thing," the sheriff finally said, stopping his pacing. "It was real."

"That's the thing—" Dean said. The sheriff's hand went to his gun.

"Only, everyone who sees it ends up dead."

The boys watched him silently.

"But you two killed it, so now it can't kill me."

Sam decided that nodding was his safest bet. Dean gave him a thumbs up.

"But it was real. And if it was real, it's what killed all those people, not you."

Sam pursed his lips and shrugged and nodded again.

"So I've got no business holding you."

"I like where you're going with this," Dean said. The sheriff removed his hand from his holster.

"But that killing spree across six states…"

"Wasn't us," Sam said. "A couple doppelgängers working for Dick Roman." Dean nodded vigorously.

"And the president?"

"Possessed by the devil," Dean said.

"The *actual* devil," Sam added.

The sheriff went back to pacing. "I kind of always thought he might be," he said.

"So, where do we go from here?" Sam asked.

"I'll tell you what. Those black helicopters aren't getting here fast enough for my tastes. I'm pretty sure you two just saved me from a monster, and when I think about that, it makes the world a whole different place than it was yesterday. I want you two gone so I can forget about that world first chance I get."

He leaned across the table toward them. "So you put this town in your tail lights, and you never come back. When the Feds do show up, I'm going to tell them that friends of yours rolled up in a tank, and I'm going to point them toward the only road out of town, so you'd better be gone by then. This world I'm no part of seems to need people like you. It'd be a shame if they caught up."

A minute later, the Impala was crossing the covered bridge out of town, doing ninety in a twenty-five zone. Dean kept leaning close to the wheel, watching the skies.

"Hey, Dean. You never did tell me. What else is on this bucket list of yours?"

Well, there's mermaids, sphinx, lake monster, Hitler — oh, right. I got that one, didn't I. headless horseman—"

"Wait, still?"

"That thing did not count. Alright? It's my bucket list, and horseman is still on it."

"Fine. Horseman is still on it."

"What about you, Sammy? What's on your bucket list?"

Sam purses his lips, thinking it over. "You know, I'm good."

"Really? You've got nothing?"

"I don't know what to say. Opera phantom, maybe?"

"Figures it would be something girly."

"You know, maybe this is why I don't have a list."

"You can have a list. You just have to put real monsters on it."

"Yeah, like mermaids?"

"Pulling sailors to the ocean's depths? Yeah, that's pretty real." Dean got a far away look. "Half-naked, kissing them the whole way down…"

"Hey, do you hear helicopters?"

Dean panicked, looking out the windows before realizing Sam was teasing him. "You're a dick."