Dean grabbed his neglected bag from under his bed, plopping it on top of the covers and unzipping it. He immediately started loading it with an assortment of weapons. Far more than he needed, but he was excited, and it made him antsy. He tightened his tie then grabbed his coat from his closet putting it on, flipping down the upturned collar as a silhouette appeared in his door frame.

"Ready?" came Cas's voice. Dean glanced at the angel. He was back in his suit and beige trench coat, putting his fake FBI badge into his coat pocket. He looked good. Really good. But, for the first time in months, it was only a passing thought in Dean's head. The hunter slung the bag over his shoulder, walking out of the room with a determined step and a deep "Hell yeah" in reply.

Dean drove faster than the speed limit on every road they were on, simply smiling without acknowledging Sam's protests. He cranked up the music, rolling down the window as he drove. Freedom, he thought, feeling liberated. It's not that they hadn't been on hunts over the past few months. They had. But most of them had been small, and quite a few had panned out to be nothing. But this. This was promising. Dean was finally going to be able to get away from his head, and the notion of it thrilled him.

For months, his thoughts had been trapped in a constant loop of Cas. He was wound up, and his obsession had begun turning to anxiety. He was starting to feel like a different person. This isn't me, he thought. Gripping the steering wheel tightly, he wondered, not for the first time, why after all the shit he and Sam had been through, none of it seemed to have the affect on him that one awkward, unassuming angel could. The truth was, Dean wasn't even sure if before now he truly realized how much it infuriated him. He needed to take back some control. And tonight he would.

They pulled up to the police station, Dean slamming the door more loudly than he usually would have. The hunter adjusted his tie, not waiting for the other two men before entering the building.

Inside, the office had a cramped, stuffy feeling to it. A few people were coming and going, but, for the most part, the precinct gave off an air of inadequacy. Phones rang, unanswered while Dean spied a few detectives in the back room sneaking alcohol beneath the table.

The atmosphere didn't necessarily bother him. In fact, it was easier on the hunters if the police were inept; then they were far less likely to question their badges, and more readily let them take the lead. Still, it didn't hurt if the local cops were at least capable enough to gather useful details about the event. He looked around the room, doubting that this was the case.

He walked up to the man at the front desk, flashing his badge, nudging Cas to to the same. Briefly, he contemplated just how intense the three of them must have appeared. Sam and Dean had been an intimidating pair by themselves, purely in terms of height. And though he wasn't as tall as the other two men, Cas still wasn't short. Besides, now that Cas had been getting over his awkward learning curve when it came to investigating, he had gotten some of his edge back. Maybe we shouldn't have all come together, he mused. But, it was too late for that, now, he supposed.

"Back there," he heard the man say to Sam after his brother had asked specifics about the case. And, to Dean's surprise, the man pointed back to the two men passing a flask beneath their desks. So, the hunters strode toward the direction the man pointed, arriving at the brink of the detectives desk, Dean flashing his badge and introducing himself.

And neither officer got up. Instead, the older detective leaned back in his chair, whistling low before uttering a quick: "well, well, FBI, aint we lucky, Beau," Beau smiled weakly at his superiors remarks, not replying.

"Yeah, you won the friggin' lottery," Dean said, feeling himself getting annoyed. "Listen, is there a place we can talk? We're just here to get the update on our case, then we'll be out of your hair."

The older man sighed, putting his hands heavily on his armrests to push himself out of his chair. "This way," he said, his voice tired. Trent, Dean noted, reading the name plate on the man's desk as he stood.

Trent left his partner behind, leading the three men through a maze of desks to a small interrogating room in the back. They pulled in a few extra chairs, and soon they were all sitting around a small table.

"Alright," Sam started, looking at Trent. "What can you tell us about the case?"

Trent tilted his head, rubbing one eye with the tips of his fingers and letting his letting his palm slide down his neck, blinking. "Well. . ." he started, "To be honest, we aren't really sure what happened. There was only one witness, and he wasn't a very reliable one at that."

Dean's eyebrows raised. "And why's that?" he questioned.

Dean watched Trent's knee start to bounce as he talked and he noted the man unconsciously rubbing at his neck. "See for yourself," he said. "We called him in for one more official report before he leaves."

Trent nodded toward a small waiting room and Dean had to strain a bit to see where he was pointing, but when he saw the witness, he sighed, sagging a little. "Damn it," he said, shaking his head. Standing, he turned to Sam and Cas. "You two wait here," he said, his voice sounding tired. "it'll probably be better if all of us don't go."

Sam and Cas nodded in agreement while Dean stood, walking toward the waiting room.

"Hey there," said Dean, sitting down. Two small eyes peered up at him from a tiny six-year-old body swallowed up in a gigantic police coat. The boy had his feet up on his chair, knees to his chest. He didn't reply, but simply stared at Dean, looking exhausted.

"I'm Dean—" the hunter stopped. ". . . Detective Smith with the FBI," he corrected. And suddenly, the boys face went white, and he sat up taller.

"Dean Winchester?" the boy asked, pulling his knees in tighter. Dean noticed the dark circles under the boy's eyes, his hair matted and disorderly.

Dean stiffened, noting the boy's anxious demeanor with concern."Who's asking?"

The boy gazed deeply into Dean's eyes, his breathing quiet and small. His tiny arms were wrapped around his legs, forming tight fists with his hands. He blinked, his voice shaky when he finally spoke. "The demons," he said.