Neal went back to the gallery after lunch, wearing what Peter termed his 'cat-burglar outfit'. Peter was making him get up in the ceiling, and it had taken all of his considerable powers of persuasion to convince him to let Neal change beforehand. Although vintage suits were fantastic in every other way, they were definitely not appropriate wear for crawling around in a ceiling. Peter had accused him of trying to get out of it because he didn't want to get his suit dirty, but that wasn't it. Not at all. Okay, maybe a bit. But mostly because vintage suits offered limited movement and he was probably going to have to wriggle through some small spaces.

He'd called Mozzie while he was changing to get him to take over tailing the guy in the 'I heart NY' cap who had been following him. June was watching him now under the guise of walking Bugsy. He wasn't doing anything particularly threatening, just lurking at the end of the road, but all the same, Neal would feel more comfortable when she was out of harm's way.

Moz rang him as he was on his way back to the gallery.

"The ship is currently becalmed," Mozzie informed Neal in his most meaningful voice.

"What do you mean, Moz?"

"I mean they aren't doing anything. He's just sitting on a park bench with the alien. They aren't even talking." Mozzie sounded disgruntled.

"Didn't get to use your Russian Military surplus bugged apple core, huh?"

"Oh, I'm using it. So far, Work-boots has said, and I quote, 'about time you started contributing to our finances' and nothing else in the last hour."

"Just keep watching them, Moz. They must be waiting for something."

"Tell me something, Neal. You know I'm loath to involve the Feds in anything, but why are we not telling the suit that there's a murderer sitting in the park?"

"They're involved somehow. There must be a reason the art thief involved them."

"You mean he drew them in."

Neal refused to acknowledge the pun. "Just call me back if something happens. And don't approach them."

XXXX

Peter looked up as Neal came back into the gallery in his cat-burglar outfit. He was dressed in loose-fitting blacks and greys and remained totally unaffected by the heat that was making most people drip sweat.

"What took you so long?"

"Style takes time, Peter."

"You're crawling around in a ceiling, not going to the theatre," Peter groaned, "Are you ready now? Don't need to do your hair first?"

"I'm ready," Neal said, pretending not to check his hair in the window.

Peter shook his head. "Up you go," he said, indicating the step-ladder that had been pulled under the ceiling trap-door in the back room.

It was worryingly quiet when Neal was in the ceiling. Peter knew from experience that when someone was crawling around in the ceiling it usually sounded like a herd of elephants were up there. He hadn't got a moment of peace while they were re-doing the insulation in his house. He supposed Neal had more practice than most from preparing for and pulling off his alleged crimes. Come to think of it, Neal had seemed a bit off when he'd come in. It made Peter nervous.

"Am I interrupting your reverie?" Neal's voice asked from behind him.

Peter jumped. "How did you get there?"

"We were right. There's a ceiling panel that can be removed from above, which is how he got in and out. There's also a false section of wall that leads next door, and a trapdoor out onto the roof from there."

"So he must have been planning this for months."

"He'd have to have access to the roof or ceiling, and it would take a while to install the false walls and ceiling."

"So we need someone with legitimate access, who no-one would think twice about..."

"Builders, electricians, maintenance workers, here or next door."

"And he had to know that the painting was going to be here. The owner gave me a list of everyone she told about the painting. It's short. She didn't want to advertise that she had it because of the history of violence associated with it. So either, one of them has to know the thief..."

"Or it was the thief that sold it to her."

"Exactly."

"I'm starting to think we should track down J.P. Collins. He probably painted it specifically so he could steal it back. No-one knows who he is, right?"

"Diana's already on it."

The thief had cleaned up after himself well. Nothing had been left behind. Not a fingerprint, not a drop of blood. All they could figure out about the booby trap was that some kind of pulley system had been set up in the ventilation shaft and it had sent something flying across the room and then pulled it back up, creating a distraction. It must have been on some kind of timer, so it would happen while the lights were cut and the cameras were taken out of commission with some kind of electromagnet that made them show grey static. They had found his entry and exit path, and limited the pool of suspects, but even if they found the guy, the evidence would be circumstantial at best. They were going to have to set a new trap.

XXX

Sam arrived at the park mid-afternoon. His morning was well spent. He'd got them all cheap clothes to change into, even Cas, who would probably refuse to change out of his trench-coat, thus putting them all in even greater danger of recognition. He'd also trekked around to various well-hidden little shops to find ingredients for the counter-spell. This part of New York was apparently not fashionable among witches, and he'd had to make do with some fairly questionable substitutes for ingredients, but the spell would probably still work. He'd also made them each a hex bag to ward off curses, which he knew Dean would protest about but eventually take just to keep him happy.

Dean and Cas were sitting on a park bench. Dean was eating a popsicle and had another pressed up against his ribs. Sam silently cursed himself for forgetting to buy pain medication. Cas was eating vanilla ice-cream from a paper cup, looking more cheerful than he had for months. Sam took a deep breath and told himself he wasn't annoyed that he'd been doing all the work while they hung out in the park and ate ice-cream.

"Oh, my apologies," someone said as they bumped into him lightly. Sam looked down at the short, balding man who had continued walking without waiting for him to reply. It seemed odd that someone would walk into him in such a sparsely populated area of the park, but then the guy was reading his newspaper as he walked.

"Did you get everything?" Dean asked.

"Pretty much. As close as I could find, anyway. How're your ribs?"

"I've had worse. I found out where he lives. Want a popsicle?" Dean held out the still wrapped ice block he'd had against his ribs."

The need for something cold won out over the weirdness of eating something his brother had been rubbing over his body, and Sam took it. He sat beside his brother on the bench. "Do we have a plan for tonight?"

XXX

"What's up, Moz?" Neal answered his phone. Peter had just dropped him off and he was setting up to finish off the painting he was giving Peter for his birthday.

"Meet me at Monday in half an hour." Mozzie hung up.

Neal made it to the safehouse (deliberately chosen to be just inside his range) in twenty minutes, first carefully covering Peter's painting.

"They're breaking into your house tonight," Mozzie said without waiting for the usual pleasantries.

"How do you know?"

"Because they said so."

"Did they say why?"

"You have to call Peter and get June out of there, Neal. This is serious."

"I know, Moz. I called him on the way here. He's got a team stationed outside, and June's staying with her daughter."

"These are not our kind of people, Neal. Look at this." He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it on the table in front of him.

"What's this?" Neal picked it up to examine it.

"A spell. I picked Sam Winchester's pocket, am even more dangerous feat than one might imagine. They're planning to put a spell on you."

"That's ridiculous. Spells don't work."

"Oh, I beg to differ. Witches are very real. How do you think half of those people get into the government? And they think you're one."

"They think I'm a witch?"

"Oh yes. And you know what the Winchester brothers do to witches? Oh, that's right, they kill them. And probably burn them."

"That seems a little hypocritical."

"Oh no, this is a counter-spell, which is apparently alright because it's to reverse a spell they think you did."

"Why would they think I'm a witch? And more importantly, what happens when their spell doesn't work?" Neal asked.

Mozzie opened the laptop that was sitting on the table and plugged a small device into the USB port. "This should answer a few of your questions."

The audio control screen came up and the recording from Mozzie's apple core bug began to play. There was a short period of silence, and then Dean Winchester's voice came through, slightly distorted.

"Take your coat off, Cas. You look like a homeless person."

"I don't want to take my coat off."

"Come on."

"No."

There was a moment of silence.

"You'll be more comfortable."

"No."

"Look me in the eye and tell me you aren't too hot in that coat."

Mozzie clicked fast forward. "It goes on like that for a while. Do you want to hear it?"

"Just skip to the good bits," Neal said. "But wait, who won?"

"Cas won. There was a stare-down." Mozzie informed him, "Ah, here we go."

The recording began to play again.

"Dean?" Cas asked.

"Yeah?"

"Why are you so insistent on completing this job? I'm beginning to think you want to go to prison."

"I don't. I just wanted a normal case so we could save some people and maybe Sam could go to a few museums. I just want everything to go back to how it was."

"Before I messed everything up."

"It wasn't just you, Cas. I mean it was partly you, but there's all the other stuff too."

"Do you remember when we sat in the park after the rising of Samhain? You told me that all this, the trees and the children playing made everything you did worthwhile."

Mozzie pressed fast forward again. "There's a lot of that, too. There's definite tension in the ranks. It seems like they're staying because Dean wants to and making Dean happy is Cas's sole purpose in life."

"Can we skip the soap opera and get to the important stuff?" Neal asked impatiently.

"Oh, here we go. This is when Sam arrives and they start planning." Mozzie pressed play.

Sam was talking. "You found out where the witch lives, then?"

Dean replied. "Yep. All we have to do is get in, destroy his altar, set up the counter-spell – why is there a teddy bear in this bag?"

"That is not a bear, Dean. It is a rabbit."

"Why is there a soft toy rabbit in this bag?"

"Excuse me for not wanting to sacrifice a live rabbit."

"Why the hell do so many spells call for sacrificing bunnies? I friggin' hate witches, man."

Sam continued, "Let's hope this will do instead. Have you got a plan for getting the witch out of the way?"

"Tie him up and interrogate him until he tells us why and how he's murdering these people, and if there's a way to stop it without burning the original painting."

Mozzie stopped the recording.

Neal called Peter. He still didn't understand why they thought he was a witch.