Sam was being followed. He could feel eyes on his back all the way back to the hotel, and now there was a guy asking questions about him at the reception desk. Sam hid as well as he could behind a pillar while the guy flashed his badge at the receptionist. Sorry, Dean. Guess we're switching motels. He slipped up to their room, grabbed the two laptops and the weapons bag, wiped the surfaces quickly, and hustled out of there. The cop was still in the lobby, accepting a key card from the receptionist. Sam slipped down the ground floor hallway, looking for an open door. There wasn't one. He cursed the invention of electronic locking, and took the only available way out – the fire exit.

The alarm blared the second he opened it, and he knew there was no point in trying to sneak around now. He ran, slipping down an alley between buildings, winding through back streets until he saw a crowded shopping street. Pulling t-shirt and jeans he'd stuffed in the weapons bag out, he hid behind the enormous garbage bin of an Italian restaurant to change. He tossed his suit in the garbage, strapped a knife to each ankle, stuffed a gun into his waistband, shotgun and salt rounds into his laptop bag, shoved the weapons bag and Dean's laptop behind the garbage, and walked calmly out into the busy street.

He hailed a cab, telling him a random address. From the cab, he texted Dean one word: cops. When the driver pulled up at the destination, Sam thanked him politely, paid him, and waited until he'd moved off before he began to double back to the part of town where Dean and Cas were still staking out the gallery.

XXXX

Neal climbed out of the van on the next street over from the gallery. Doffing his hat to Peter, he made his way back to the gallery to spend the afternoon honing his powers of persuasion by getting people to buy terrible paintings. Practice never hurt.

As he rounded the corner, Elizabeth darted out of a clothing boutique. "How's it going?" she asked, smiling infectiously at him, "Do you think it'll be ready in time?"

"Of course," he replied. The painting he was doing for Peter's birthday was going well. It was an original, and he was quite proud of it. "Just a few finishing touches to go."

"I've found a nice frame for it. Can you come to the store and tell me what you think? Maybe tomorrow?"

Neal agreed to try to come in his lunch break the next day, and broke away from her to enter the gallery, while she went on to talk to Peter before heading back to work.

Neal had not been back at work long when Sara turned up for a surprise visit. He kissed her on the cheek, and allowed her to make fun of him for working somewhere that so clearly offended his sense of beauty. With a surprising thrill of nerves, he invited her to Peter's birthday dinner. She accepted with a flirtatious smile that she tossed over her shoulder as she left.

Neal's afternoon went well after that. He had a string of impressionable customers who responded well to his sales pitch, selling two pieces on the spot to a pretentious young businessman who wanted 'art that made a statement', and receiving several orders not to sell pieces to anyone else until people came back with someone for a second opinion.

Another two people asked questions about Rivers in Flood, but neither seemed suspiciously interested. One was an art student, while the other was a well-dressed man in his mid-thirties who seemed mostly interested in why the price was so high for such an ugly painting.

The idea hit him a little before closing, and he wondered why he hadn't thought of it before. Every time the painting was stolen, the trail was lost for at least six months while the thief found a buyer. Clearly, the only way to hold onto the original and keep Melinda safe was to paint a reproduction and hang it in place of the real thing. They would even label it as a reproduction – Peter tended to get upset about forgeries even when they were being used for good. The thief would see the sign saying the painting was a reproduction and the original was kept elsewhere due to the history of violence surrounding the painting, and would come after it at the FBI building, where of course he would be caught. It was brilliant. And Rivers in Flood was not exactly a masterpiece. Neal was pretty sure he could replicate it in a couple of hours, and they could have the paintings swapped by morning.

Peter was on board with the idea, and had a probie buy art supplies and bring them in for Neal through the back entrance. Copying the painting took surprisingly little time, after the gallery closed for the night. It consisted mostly of paint dashed on the canvas in thick, haphazard swirls as quickly as possible, with apparent disregard for any form of pattern. The reds didn't look quite right, but it would serve its purpose. It didn't have to be exact, anyway, just close enough to draw the thief in until the FBI got there.

Neal replaced the original with his still slightly wet reproduction, and he and Melinda left by the back way with an FBI escort, being sure to set the alarm.

XXXX

Cas sipped his water and continued to watch the gallery as Dean drank his third cup of coffee. They watched the shiny man walk down the street towards the gallery, a pretty brunette on his arm. They smiled broadly at each other as he went into the gallery and she continued down the street. Cas couldn't help feeling a pang of something he couldn't identify when he saw the way they looked at each other and realised he had never had someone look at him that way. Like they genuinely liked him, without an undercurrent of despair and loss. Not even Dean.

He looked at Dean, who was looking sad again. Cas thought the woman might be reminding him of Lisa, but he didn't know how to help, so he said nothing.

They sat in silence. Cas kind of liked it. Sitting in silence with Dean.

When the red-haired woman in the expensive clothing kissed the shiny man on the cheek and left the gallery half an hour later, Dean let out a snort.

"This guy's living a charmed life," Dean commented.

"Suspiciously charmed," Cas agreed.

They continued their stakeout. Cas wasn't hungry, but he ate a piece of quiche because Dean said it looked weird if you sat at a cafe for hours and didn't eat. It was surprisingly tasty.

"We should find his apartment," Dean said, when the young man in the suit left with two paintings, "I bet there's a bunny strung up in there somewhere."

"Powerful spell-work could control a spirit associated with the blood in the painting," Cas said, "I think we should take care of the painting first, though."

"Burning it should destroy the spirit and buy us some time to deal with the witch."

They didn't get the chance to see where the shiny man lived, because the cafe closed soon after that and the waitress made them, along with the only other customer, a woman wearing headphones and pretending to read a magazine, leave.

The woman in the headphones followed them discreetly when they left. They kept an even pace in order to not look suspicious, and lost her in the park when they cut through a copse of trees and split up, meeting two streets over.

They met Sam at their new motel just as the sun was going down.

"We have to get this done tonight," Sam said, "The cops must be staking out the gallery. They've got my face and they probably have our prints now. We salt and burn and then we leave and go underground."

XXXX

Peter made sure the original painting was securely locked away in an evidence room in the FBI building before heading back to the surveillance van. Neal's copy was securely in place, and Neal, Jones and Diana were all waiting in the van.

"The credit card was a fake," Jones informed them. "One thing's for sure, Samuel Angus is not his real name. He left some belongings in the room when he left. Prints are being run now."

"Uh huh," said Peter, "Diana, did you learn anything about the two you were tailing?"

"They've been on the run from law enforcement before, I'm sure of it. They gave me the slip in the woods. Just disappeared. I don't think they're our guys, though."

"What makes you say that?"

"Firstly, they were more interested in Neal than in the painting, and secondly, they were talking about needing to break into the gallery to burn the painting, which doesn't fit our thief's M.O. at all."

"Why would they want to burn the painting?" Peter queried.

"I can think of a few reasons," Neal quipped, "Why were they watching me?"

"I couldn't get close enough to hear every word, but Work-boots said something about you having dead bunnies. These guys were not normal."

"That's a little creepy."

"I don't like these guys," Peter said, "Even if they aren't our original thief, they're dangerous. If they interfere tonight, we take them in."

The computer beeped at them. Peter turned to read the report on the prints. "Oh crap," he said.

"Do you want to elaborate?" Neal prodded.

"Well, they're not our art thieves, but it's not good news. Now apparently we'll have our murderous art thief converging with the Winchester brothers tonight."

"Who are the Winchester brothers?" Neal asked.

The three FBI agents stared at him.

"What? I don't know every criminal in America."

"Dean and Sam Winchester. They were reported to have died in an explosion several years ago. They aren't really your type of criminal. They tend more towards extreme violence and grave desecration. Their list of crimes covers several pages, and that's only the ones they could be linked with. They've been known to run a few good cons, though. Mostly multiple counts of low grade fraud and impersonation of law enforcement. And Dean appears to have faked his own death. Twice. Took Sam with him the second time."

Neal paled. "So I was talking to murderers today? And I didn't pick up on it?"

"Oh no," said Peter, "Just the one. Dean is the only one who was ever wanted for murder. The other guy with him is apparently one James Novak. He went missing not long after the brothers were reported to have died, after suffering an apparent psychotic break. His wife told the police he believed angels were speaking to him."

"Oh, that makes me feel so much better."

"Novak's not a known associate. He must have joined up with them after the explosion. Interesting how he's changed the dynamic."

"I can't believe I couldn't tell he was a murderer. I don't like this plan anymore, Peter."

"Don't feel too bad about it," Peter said, "They're smart con-men. And ruthless. No-one's ever figured out how they faked Dean's death the first time. He was shot dead at the crime scene and identified with fingerprinting."

"Why weren't you on the team? I thought they would have wanted the best."

"I was busy chasing you."

"I bet you were glad you got me. I'm sure they've never sent champagne to a surveillance van."

"Anyway, the agent chasing them thought they might be vigilantes. And they believe in monsters. There's a statement where Dean blames a ghost for a murder he was arrested for, and a shapeshifter for the others."

"So they're insane."

Diana broke in. "Dean and Novak were certainly doing a good impression of it with some of the things they were talking about. They seemed to think a ghost was attached to the painting and burning it would stop it killing people."

"Sam was always said to be subordinate to his brother, but from what I saw today I don't think he is," Jones said, "He obviously wasn't relying on his brother's instructions when he gave us the slip. And he's bulked up like crazy since his last sighting."

"Great," said Neal, "So we have a group of violently insane people, at least one of whom is a murderer, attempting to burn a painting they believe to be evil inside a gallery we have set up to be burgled by a separate thief who is also a murderer. And we've taken away the painting they're after?"

"In short, yes."

"Well, this should be a fun night." Neal sighed.

The computer pinged again. The back door of the gallery had been opened.

"Let's move," said Peter.

XXXX