Cht 4

Sam and Dean rolled into Boston in the early morning hours, opted for the first skeevy hotel they found, a four-floor walk-up with peeling plaster and ominous stains in the decades old carpet. Probably against health code, and probably rented by the hour. No matter. The boys wasted no time searching out the Interpol offices, as well as Sterling's high rise apartment.


Meanwhile, across town in a local pub, sat Nate Ford and for all intents and purposes, Sterling. They each sat, nursing their Irish, and ruminating about their IYS days and losing loved ones. Nate could not help but wonder what had made Sterling so contemplative and open lately. He wondered if his old colleague was not feeling his age, or Nate thought slightly worried, his mortality. What was wrong?

"Sterling," Nate began, placing his near empty glass on the table and motioning for a waitress. "What exactly is going on?" He watched as the waitress nodded and then moved to the bar for a refill. "You are never this reflective and we haven't just sat and discussed things in years."

"And that's wrong, isn't it?" queried Sterling, waving a hand. "We should have done this years ago, mate. You've been through the wringer; I've been through plenty too. Your son, my wife…" he trailed off, not missing the wince from his partner across the table. Judging the time as right, he moved in for the kill.

"We've been hurt in the past and have never been there for each other. I think the time is well past for us to start. I have a little concern and I would like for you and your team to find something for me. I would be willing to make it very worth your while and it would go a long way toward rebuilding what we lost."

Seeing the other shoe finally dropped, Nate sat back from the table. "So that's all this is, you just want something."

Sterling grimaced, "of course I want something. But I want something for you as well. We could be partners in this, just like old times, and we can help rebuild what we had together."

"Sterling, we never really had a whole lot of anything together."

"Just hear me out Nate, we have enough history for that at least."

Nate sighed as the waitress approached the table with his fresh whiskey. "Hit me."

Sterling hesitated only a moment before pressing on. "You're a good Catholic boy, Nate. How much do you know about Biblical mythology?"


While Crowley was seeding his con as Sterling, the Winchester boys forged Interpol badges and took their suits to the cleaners. Within an hour, they had gotten themselves a one-way ticket into Sterling's apartment thanks to flashing their badges at the apartment manager, and settled in to wait. One hour later they stood at the ready when they heard a key in the lock. A keypad beeped out the same code the manager had used, and a man let himself into the darkened apartment. Just as Sam flipped the switch, Dean moved with the Colt to a good firing position. The man in the doorway raised a hand to shield his eyes from the harsh light and Sam yelled at the same time.

"Dean wait!" Dean had just been set to fire and jolted at his brother's voice, but lowered the weapon when he got a good look at the man standing before them. There, in the doorway, was a man they had never seen before. Tall and lanky, with brown hair curling slightly around his collar. He lowered a hand and blinked before setting a cynical gaze on the two brothers.

"Hello boys," said Nate. "What exactly are you doing in my friend's apartment?"