Chapter two is up, people! Thanks to everyone who reviewed, favorited, and/or followed this story. I really appreciate that, and it's a great motivator. Don't worry, I have the rest of this story planned out, as well as a general idea for some of the other stories in this series. Enjoy :)

"We just gotta chill out, that's all. You know, if this was any other kind of job, what would we do?" Dean said to his brothers as the three of them were parked outside of a gas station a little while away from their old house, now occupied by Jenny and their family.

Sam sighed in resignation.

"We'd try to figure out what we were dealin' with." He said. "We'd dig into the history of the house."

Clint pointed at him.

"Right on, Sam. Except we already know what went down there."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, but how much de we know? I mean, how much do you guys actually remember?"

"About that night, you mean?" Dean asked him.

Sam nodded in confirmation.

"Yeah."

Clint sighed. He really didn't want to relive the memories of that night, but if it were to help with the case, if he could save their lives….

"I don't remember too much," he confessed. "It was pretty late at night. I woke up because of the smoke. It's all a blur, really"

Sam looked to Dean.

"And what do you remember?"

"Not much." Dean informed him. "I remember the fire, the heat. Clint woke me up, but I heard a scream. And then I carried you out the front door."

Sam looked a little confused at that, having not previously known that fact.

"You did?" he asked his older brother, his brows knit together.

Dean looked to him in surprise.

"Yeah," he said. "What, you never knew that?" he turned his head to look at Clint. "You never told him?"

Clint shrugged helplessly.

"I thought Dad told him," he said with honesty in his voice.

Dean looked at him for a moment longer before shrugging and turning back to look at the youngest Winchester to answer him.

"And, well," he continued. "You know Dad's story as well as we do. Mom was, was on the ceiling. And whatever put her there was long gone by the time Dad found her."

He looked pained as he recounted his tale. Sam frowned.

"And he never had a theory about what did it?" he asked, brows knitted together in confusion. Clint shook his head.

"No," he said, a little bitterness seeping into his tone. "If he did, he kept it to himself."

"God knows we asked him enough times." Dean added.

Sam pressed his lips together as he thought.

"Okay. So, if we're gonna figure out what's goin' on now, we have to figure out what happened back then, and see if it's the same thing." He surmised, and his brothers nodded in agreement.

"Yeah," Dean said. "We'll talk to Dad's friends, neighbors, people who were there at the time."

After a short pause, Sam said, "Does this feel like just another job to you?"

Dean said nothing for a moment.

"I'll be right back." He said finally. "I gotta go to the bathroom."

He walked away, and Clint and Sam watched him leave. Clint turned back to face the youngest Winchester brother. He still looked worried, but then again, he was right; this was most definitely no normal case for them.

"We're gonna figure it out," Clint said quietly to his youngest brother. "We always do, Sam."

Guenther's Auto Repair, the sign proclaimed boldly. Clint looked at it apprehensively.

"I think I'm going to sit this one out," he said, eyeing the building that they were currently parked in front of. "This guy worked with Dad, and he might recognize me, and I don't-"

"Clint," Dean cut him off, "You are a master assassin for a secret organization, and you're getting stage right about talking to this guy? Gimme a break, you're comin' in with us."

He scowled at his younger brother, even though he knew that he had a point. He shouldn't be so nervous about meeting with a guy that used to work with their dad. He probably wouldn't remember him, anyway. And even if he did, what did it really matter? He sighed.

"Fine," he grumbled, and Dean shot Sam a smug look, as if to say, 'See? I can make him do anything!'

They walked into the garage and found the owner, presenting themselves as police investigating John's disappearance.

"So you and John Winchester, you used to own this garage together?" Dean asked the man, his face expressionless.

The guy nodded.

"Yeah, we used to, a long time ago. Matter of fact, it must be, uh, twenty years since John disappeared. So why the cops interested all of a sudden?" He said, looking a little confused.

It was time for Clint to step in. His dealt with people asking questions on a daily bases, and he'd gotten quite good at telling them what they wanted to hear.

"We've re-opened some of the cases that were left unsolved. The Winchester disappearance is at the top of the list, and we just want to go over things to try and find anything that we might have missed before." He said smoothly, a polite smile plastered on his face.

The owner nodded in understanding.

"Oh," he said, seemingly buying into the story. "Well, what do you wanna know about John?"

Dean flashed a smile at him.

"Well, whatever you remember, you know, whatever sticks out in your mind."

The guy nodded, pulling a face as he concentrated on the memories.

"Well… he was a stubborn bastard, I remember that." He laughed a bit, though the laughter was tinged by a hint of sadness. "And, uh, whatever the game, he hated to lose, you know? It's that whole Marine thing." He added that last comment as if he needed to explain. "But, oh, he sure loved Mary. And he doted on those kids."

Clint felt his chest tighten slightly at the mention of his adoptive mother. He remembered how John had always looked at her, as if she were the only thing in the world that kept him sane. In retrospect, that was probably closer to the truth than Clint had initially realized. When Mary had died, John had gone a bit loony, blaming the paranormal almost immediately. Clint remembered the long hours he'd spent either with his brothers or waiting in the car while John had talked to anyone and everyone whom he'd thought could give hi the answers that he'd craved. Hell if he'd remembered any of them, though.

"But that was before the fire?" Sam asked the garage owner, and Clint was snapped back into the moment.

Another nod.

"That's right." The man said, looking a little morose at the mention of the disaster.

"He ever talk about that night?"

"No, not at first." The owner confided. "I think he was in shock."

"Right," Sam said, and Clint could feel that even though he was trying to be polite, Sam would start getting angry if he didn't get any real answers soon.

"But eventually?" Clint butted in. "What did he say later on? Y'know, once he was talking."

The owner eyed him for a moment before he finally continued, "Nothin' did it. It was an accident, an electrical short in the ceiling or walls or somethin'. I begged him to get some help, but-" he shook his head.

"But what?" Dean pressed the man; ignoring the look Clint shot him.

"Oh, he just got worse and worse." The man said.

Clint sighed. Did people enjoy being vague when it came to important details?

"Sir, this could help the investigation," he said. "Would you please explain what you mean by 'worse'? How, exactly, did he act?"

The man pursed his lips.

"Oh, he started readin' these strange ol' books." He said. "He started goin' to see this palm reader in town."

Finally, Clint thought. We're getting somewhere.

"Palm reader?" Dean said with curiosity. "Uh, do you have a name?"

The owner scoffed at him.

"No."

Clint sighed. Never mind, then.

"You guys try to find this palm reader," Clint said to his brothers as they left the garage. "I'm gonna call a couple of my people, see if they can help us in anyway."

Sam eyed him curiously.

"I thought you said you were keeping us out of their files," he said. "How's asking about your missing dad going to help with that?"

Clint waved him off with a roll of his eyes.

"I'll just say that I'm looking for someone with a lead on one of my cases," he said. "No big deal, and no reason to raise any suspicion. Nice and easy."

Sam huffed a little bit.

"Fine. Don't do something stupid."

Clint chuckled at him.

"Now, when have I ever done that, Sasquatch?" he said, climbing into his rental and started the car. He could hear Sam spluttering as he did so, as well as Dean's laughter and comment of, "Sasquatch? I am so using that!"

"Hey, Coulson," Clint said easily after the older man answered the phone. He could imagine his handler's face now, all purple and angry.

"Stop hanging up on me!" Coulson fumed angrily, and Clint snickered a bit at that. "I'm swear, I'm going to report you and send you somewhere where no one will ever find you again!"

Clint rolled his eyes. There was a chance that Coulson – ever the dramatic – could also be completely serious. He could never really tell…

"So," Clint said. "I need you to do something for me. It's for a case."

Coulson grumbled a bit on the other line.

"Fine. What am I doing?"

"I need you to look up everything on one John Winchester from Lawrence, Kansas, starting from November second, nineteen eighty-three."

He could hear Coulson telling some techie to look up the information before speaking into the phone again.

"And why do you need to know about this guy, Agent Barton?" The other agent asked, sounding cool and collected, unlike a few moments ago.

"Mm, just some research for something. Don't you worry your pretty little head about it."

Coulson actually growled a little bit, but said nothing.

"Just have Nat or someone meet me at a diner in Lawrence. I'll send you the name of it through the phone, I don't want anyone or anything to overhear us."

Coulson sighed on the other line, and Clint could tell that the older man, while annoyed, would do what he asked. He gave a small smile at the thought.

"Alright. Agent Romanoff will be dropping by."

Clint frowned. There was no way Nat would leave him alone about the case, and he wasn't able to lie to her. If she came, she would eventually find out about his brothers. However, if he refused to meet with Natasha, instead asking for a different agent, that would raise Coulson's suspicions greatly. He sighed. Natasha it was, then. Besides, she already knew about Laura and Cooper – only she and Fury knew about them - it's not like this would be too different.

"Yeah," he said. "Okay. Tell her to be there within an hour. I'm on a bit of a tight schedule."

"Alright," Coulson replied. "I'll get on that. And Clint?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't do anything stupid?"

Coulson ended the call, and Clint looked at the phone in annoyance.

"Why does everyone keep telling me that?" he asked it, not at all surprised when he received no answer.

Word Count: 1,883 without A/N