A/N: Hey, how y'all doing? I just got back from New York, where we got multiple stares because my mother was being pure tourist material. Whatever. She's okay, at times. Anyway, celebrate everybody, the writers block has lifted! WOOOOOOOOT! Yeah, this next chapter is 7,588 words to make up for it. Hope it's okay, as I didn't have much time/focus to revise it pretty well. Meh, I'll do it later. Enjoy! Oh, and, by the way, I don't own NCIS. I got bored and wrote in a random scene. You'll see it. If you don't watch NCIS, that's okay, the thing is explained.

R&R!

Okay, so he probably deserved the comeback of Neal stealing the car while Bryce was caught up in his own affairs, but whatever. He didn't have to leave a note with a big fat giveaway of their mission lying around.

Burke followed him outside, Diana vaguely trailing, as he walked none-too-slow to where he had parked the Taurus. Sometimes, Bryce just wanted to punch his brother into oblivion.

This time warranted a slap, at least.

Bryce picked up the fluttering note from the ground, where it had been pinned under a rock posing as a shabby paperweight. A small smile crept up onto his face as he remembered the last time he had slapped Neal. A hand creeped up to cover the phantom pain as he felt Neal's retaliation smack echo back through the years.

Bryce clenched his teeth, staggering backwards from the well timed sucker punch Neal had given him. Ignoring the sore spot where a bruise was sure to form later, the older brother just smirked, suddenly pitching forward as the palm of his right hand connected with his brother's cheek, creating a resounding smack.

They both froze, Neal's mouth agape as he rubbed the irritated skin. He growled, and brought his hand back, which Bryce braced himself for. However, Bryce blocked for a punch instead of a backhand and felt it full on when Neal's knuckles hit his face with an even louder crack. Or maybe it was just the ringing in Bryce's ears that made it louder. Whatever.

"Dude, that actually hurt," Bryce complained as the two boys – more like men now, anyway – regained their circling motion, each waiting for the other to strike first. Neal shrugged, apparently taking this sparring session harder than usual as he ducked from Bryce's sloppy left hook, sending his leg under to sweep Bryce's out from under him, sending the bigger brother sprawling to the ground. Before his back connected, however, an arm snapped out to grab his and he was pulled vertical once more.

Neal's mistake.

Soon after Neal had straightened from spare momentum, Bryce sent a knee pushing upward, right into the other man's gut. As the younger man bent over to lessen the blow, Bryce's head slammed into his, and Neal didn't even realize he was falling until he was turned, stomach taking the brunt of the fall as Bryce pushed it forward and held his younger brother's arm behind his back in a very uncomfortable position.

Neal sighed, tapping out and rolling his shoulders as Bryce helped him up.

"You're getting better, bro," Bryce told him, slapping him on the back before taking the few steps to the porch fridge, helping himself and Neal to two ice-cold cokes. Neal glared at him, pausing the conversation as he took a sip of the refreshing liquid.

"Yeah. Few more weeks and I could take up your job," he responded, noting Bryce's raised eyebrow with an amused smirk.

"Yeah, right," Bryce retorted, "I'd like to see you take on a spy job."

Neal's face darkened, but Bryce's held no sympathy as he said, "I'm still going, man. There's no stopping me." Neal smirked again, remaining suspiciously silent. "Y'know, if you keep doing that, your mouth with get stuck like that," Bryce finally said to fill the silence. Neal laughed.

"Kind of like if you keep talking, your ego won't wither at all?" Neal said in a mock innocent tone. Bryce hit him with his now empty soda can. Neal ducked, looked back at the can, and said, "Now, now, what would the CIA say if they saw that? After all, no one likes a litter-bug – " Neal's sentence was interrupted by a hard smack on the back of his head.

"Shut up, you little Shit."

"Right back at you, you bigger Shit."

Bryce was snapped out of his reverie by a honking car horn, the owner clearly trying to find a suitable parking space before it was taken. Bryce waved it off with an annoyed gesture and moved onto the sidewalk, stuffing the note in his pocket as he roamed the street, more wandering than actually going somewhere.

He passed a few corners and dove through a couple of alleys until he was absolutely sure that no one was following him anymore. He glanced at the area around him, catching sight of a few targets, one holding his attention longer than the rest.

He crept up to the beaten, old Ford F250, probably from the eighties and not used that much, going by the almost clean interior and barely dirty exterior. Despite the cleanliness, however, the scratches, dents, and other imperfections told Bryce exactly what he needed to know – this car was safe for the taking.

He took out a key ring – one Ellen had given him before he began hunting once more – and searched for the right key, finally finding it. He pulled apart the two edges of the key and shoved them into the car door's lock, twisting his wrist and pickpocketing the door quite easily. Once inside, he hotwired it, making sure that no one was watching as he drove away with the snigger of an old engine and creaking of rusted metal.

He smiled into the wind, thinking just how hard that was before realizing – and promptly ignoring – the fact that he had stolen the Taurus in the first place. It didn't matter now.

He had a date with the CIA in a few hours.

Neal was having a much harder time where he was.

Despite Bryce having done all of the research to confirm it was, in fact, the hunter that was the ghost, he hadn't done anything that would lead Neal to find where the poor guy was buried. Or, if he was even buried at all. In short, Neal had no idea where to look next, and was therefore stuck in an old police station, reading musty old books telling him where most of the bodies were buried, and all of the new deaths in the area.

Why couldn't they use computers, like normal people in the 21st century?

He wondered this for about three seconds before taking in the general appearance of the town through a grimy window, after which he began to wonder why this town seemed to be stuck in the 60's. He ended his drifting train of thought there.

Opening the dusty, leather bound log book for any recent deaths in the area, Neal briefly entertained the thought of beating his head on the table. They had to be kidding. He was afraid he was going to hit somebody if they weren't.

The book was written by a nine-year-old.

Or, at least, that's what it looked like, as the author had obviously attempted to write the entire thing in cursive. Emphasis on the 'attempted'. At best, Neal knew it would take him about five hours to decode the whole thing. Thankfully, he only needed the last few deaths, and any and all contact numbers and/or addresses. He slipped out a few sheets of paper and a pencil from his suitcase, getting to work.

It was only about five minutes in when he noticed him.

A man, looking to be about five feet tall with a suit and trench coat, was watching him like a hawk from the other side of the room, icy blue stare piercing through his own gaze, and not shifting or wavering for one moment. The guy didn't even blink.

Slightly disconcerted, Neal turned his back to him, memorizing the guy's features and odd clothing even as he felt the man's eyes on his back. There was no way he wasn't going to tell Bryce about him at their next meeting.

He went back to the list, sighing as he flipped through the pages to try and find the correct name when his gaze flicked over something else. He froze, frantically turning back a few pages until he found the scribble he had thought said … He quickly deciphered the name and jumped up from the table, practically sprinting to the Taurus outside as he hastily dug his phone out of his pocket, the log book falling open in the passengers seat. Neal shot anxious glances over at it from time to time, splitting his attention between the street, his call, and the name staring him down in night-black ink.

Fergus MacLeod Crowley.

Burke was tailing him.

Bryce had thought the man to be a simple annoyance before now, but now he was becoming too much of a nuisance. Growling in frustration, the spy took a sharp left, ignoring the blare of car horns as he ran the red light. Burke took a smooth right.

Eyes narrowing in suspicion, Bryce's frustration only grew when he turned off onto another road only to find Burke's car a few feet behind him. He was almost too grateful when his phone rang – yelling at a few people and venting his anger would do him some good right now.

"Hello?" He greeted between gritted teeth, swerving in another sharp turn in yet another attempt to throw Burke off his tail. He was slightly surprised and more than slightly suspicious when he noticed that Burke's car suddenly took a U-turn and began driving back the way they came.

"Bryce. Thank goodness, you picked up. Look, I need you to stop what you're doing and go to that coffee shop right across from the office," the familiar voice over the phone said. Bryce frowned at the hurried tone.

"Uh, I'm kind of in the middle of something – " Bryce started, but was quickly cut off.

"It's really important. And it involves something the others around here wouldn't be too … keen to know about, if you get what I'm saying." Comprehension dawned on Bryce, and he too took a U-turn, taking a different route from Burke back to the office.

"Why are you talking like that?" Bryce asked after shoving the phone against his ear to take a two handed turn, fixing it with his right hand and letting his left hand control the car. "I'm all alone over here."

"Because said others are wandering through the halls that I'm trying to get out of." Bryce laughed at the irritation in his voice.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll be right there."

"You'd better," came the dry response.

"Alright, relax. I'll be there soon. See you in like five minutes," Bryce said, ignoring the threatening tone in the man's voice.

"And if you're not – "

"Goodbye, Agent Crowley," Bryce shut the phone, giving an exasperated sigh.

Agents could be so pestering sometimes.

"Damn it, Bryce, pick up your damn phone!" Neal shouted into the receiver, continuing to shout several profanities at the phone even when the second beep signaled the voice mail had been sent. He was going to full on throttle the man when he caught sight of him.

Throwing caution to the wind, he kicked the accelerator to the floor and dialed a number with movements too fast to be considered anything less than rushed. He didn't let up on the pedal, despite running several right lights and stop signs. His brother was in trouble, and he wasn't going to let anything get in his way when he helped him.

Nobody would lay a finger on Bryce while Neal was still alive and kicking.

Unfortunately, Neal's promise of protection did not extend to himself, and he almost screamed in frustration as lights flashed and sirens blared behind him. He swerved to the side of the road, tapped impatiently on the wheel of his car, and, as the police officer finally sauntered over to Neal's window, he decided he had had enough of the slow, sloppy work.

He punched the officer in the face through the window and drove off, leaving deep skid marks and a groaning official in his wake.

Neal had only made it a few blocks away from the office when he saw the next sirens blare behind him. A menacing growl tearing from his throat, Neal swerved into a labyrinth of alleys and ditched the car somewhere he was sure the cops wouldn't find in more than ten minutes. He crept out and walked casually out onto the normal city blocks until breaking into a sprint, whipping out his phone and checking the GPS on his brother's cell.

The coffee shop. Oh, how he had despised that place from the beginning. The workers always seemed to be crazy people. Or maybe that was just the style of the shop – one of those diners with the tacky checkered floor and red leather seats. It looked like a place from the eighties, despite the fact that it was the 2010, and it wasn't even a diner, but a coffee shop. Neal ducked his head, cupping his hands and peering into the dirty shop window to see what was going on inside, his eyes immediately raking the place to find his brother sitting in a corner booth with – ah, Hell. Or, at least, a resident of Hell.

He didn't dare go near, despite his instincts telling him to act on his impulsive behavior and beat the demon into the next century. Instead, he calmly strode to the door, yanking the entrance a bit more forceful than necessary when it didn't budge. Neal growled again, his voice making an embarrassing yelp as suddenly the cashier was at the door, head tilted to the side, keys in hand and eyes as dark and glossy as obsidian. The smirk on his face only succeeded in fueling Neal's proceeding rage.

But, instead of waving the key in front of Neal's face and hiding behind a mask of mock-innocence just to mock him, the cashier demon glanced over to the same corner booth (or, Neal thinks he did. His eyes were still as black as coal, but he turned his body towards the table with Bryce) and began to twist the key in the lock. However, before Neal could step inside, the demon held up a hand, saying, "Now, now, we wouldn't want you hurting us on such a small visit, would we?"

Neal glared. The demon sneered.

Neal risked a glance upwards to check if Bryce was okay (and weaponless, also) but the cashier-demon was blocking his line of sight. The twin knelt down, hooking a hand into a holster positioned directly above his ankle-sock but also right below his tracking anklet. The demon raised his eyebrows. Neal sighed, unstrapping a line of iron-silver alloy throwing knives on his opposite leg, dislodging a packet of salt from his shirt cuff, and retrieving another gun held by his hip.

The demon smiled as he took the offending weapons and handed them off carefully to a passing waitress, the grin on his face more feral expression than anything. Neal returned the gesture, making sure to straighten up to his full height and broaden his shoulders as much as possible. With demons, sometimes dominance is everything.

Obviously, this demon wasn't having any of it, and the grin dropped from his face as he clenched his fist, Neal's airways mimicking the motion and suffocating him on air. "You think you're better than me, you little – " He never got to finish, because there was a large snap, and the cashier's body crumpled, a short hesitation before Hellish smoke began billowing out from the poor guy's mouth as the demon attempted to flee out the back door. It didn't make it that far, dissipating and thinning out until it was only a darker shade than the normal air around it.

"Pesky little thing, he was. More annoying than helpful at times. Still, what a waste," a voice sighed from across the room, and Neal's gaze trailed from the cashier's broken, disfigured neck to the tacky shop floor to Crowley's disappointed face. "It's just so hard to find good grunts, though." He looked up from where he was looking at the cashier's body to find Neal's gaze. His voice was no longer tainted with fake disappointment. "They're all idiots." Neal growled, the sound becoming more and more of a natural reaction of annoyance and anger.

He pitched forward, hoping to catch Crowley by surprise, to no avail. Crowley simply sighed, waving his hand in a lax 'come and get it' gesture, and Neal felt his body move unwillingly forward, almost crashing into the table when Crowley held up a 'stop' gesture.

"Oh, come on. I only came to talk. It's not like this body is going to be able to hold me much longer, anyway. Might as well make the best of it," Crowley said, an odd lilt in his voice. Slowly, painfully slowly, Neal was dragged into the booth seat opposite to Bryce and adjacent to Crowley.

"You just murdered an innocent boy – I think the time to talk has passed," Neal hissed, barely noticing Bryce's uncharacteristic silence for the matter. Crowley simply rolled his eyes, and looked lazily over at Bryce. "What d'you think, Brycey-Bu? Should we talk?"

Bryce looked up, his eyes narrowed, but said nothing. Crowley seemed to take this silence considerably well. He laughed. "Aw," he cooed, his face screwing up in an odd sneer. "Has the big brother finally figured it out?" The façade dropped suddenly, something Neal found must occur often, as this was already the second time this had happened. "Good. It's time we've got this whole shebang moving – never mind the small plans that the grunges are waiting for, we've got dynamite compared to them!" Neal's eyebrows furrowed, confusion littering his features as he turned his gaze to Bryce and his now guilt-ridden expression, his refusal to meet his eyes.

Something was really, really wrong.

Crowley snickered, and Neal would've laughed at the odd noise, had the situation not been so dire. The demon glanced between the two of them, and seemed to realize something. "Oh, wow, am I quite rude. I didn't even introduce myself." He reached over the table on both sides, grabbing both Bryce's then Neal's hand.

"Nice to meet you," he said. "My name is Lilith." There was a pause in which Neal and Bryce's expressions both morphed into disbelief.

"Lilith?" Neal stuttered. "Isn't that a girl's name?"

The ever-present smirk on Crowley's – Lilith's – face disappeared, and formed into an expression of pure distaste. He – she? – shrugged. "Like I said earlier, this body isn't going to be able to hold me for much longer." She – he? Oh, Screw it, It glared over at one of the demons on the other side of the counter, and Neal could feel it's terrified gaze stretching over to them. He didn't blame him, much, as Lilith's face went from vague distaste to pure disgust. "A lot of the lower level demons have been messing around in here, driving this man insane. You don't want to see the mess that's in here, right now."

Neal grimaced, thoughts and escape plans running through his mind until a thought came to him. "Hold on," he said, looking up at Lilith. "I thought Crowley was dead?" Bryce looked up in confusion, the gears working in his mind, working without a puzzle piece to find out how Neal knew. And Neal knew the exact moment when Bryce decided to go with it, and trust Neal's research skills. A warm feeling covered Neal's chest, until Lilith's slightly-crazed laugh broke his train of thought.

"Of course," she said, and Neal had to backtrack a moment to remember his question. "But trust me – as bad as Hell can be, you'd be amazed what kind of people they'll hand over with a bit of … persuasion." Neal dreaded to know what types of persuasion a demon like Lilith would use, especially as she was now zoned out, looking quite pleased with herself.

Lilith shook herself out of whatever sort of happy daze she had been stuck in, and Neal felt a shiver wrack his spine. She blinked in his direction and smiled a trademark demon smirk, standing from her leather seat and pushing past Neal with an air of confidence – but that's not what caught Neal's attention. She brushed past him with an acrid scent of sulfur, and the puzzle pieces began forming a picture – or at least part of one.

Neal wasn't sure what he was doing, thinking of the crime scene at this time, but now he understood. Sulfur was found at the crime scene, which meant a demon. He wouldn't doubt for a second that the case was simply a distraction from their new lives to suck them back into their old ones. Figures.

His attention was dragged back to Lilith as she stood by the doorway, turning back only to say, "Well, this is where I must go. But, just in case, good luck. You're gonna need it." She was gone.

There was silence for a moment, until various workers that were moving around and blocking the exits suddenly snapped their heads to the sky, black clouds shooting out and flying out of the doors and windows, disappearing in the sky, unseen by any bystanders. And now, Neal and Bryce were alone.

"… So. You want to tell me what that was about?" Neal began bluntly, not caring for sugarcoating right now. However, Bryce only shrugged.

"I have no idea … " Neal sighed. Clearly, Bryce did have an idea – he just wasn't going to share it with him. And Neal could tell, because when you grow up with a twin, you learn to know when they lie, when they tell the truth, and when they've been doing something behind your back.

"Yeah. Okay," Neal said, sliding out of the seat and stretching his limbs before reaching for his weapons by the counter. Bryce looked back at him. "What does that mean?"

Neal looked up, a low growl coming from his throat. "'What does that mean?' Dude, something obviously happened back there, and you're not telling me. You honestly think I'm just going to take it? Just like that?"

Bryce frowned. "That! Right there. You're doing it right now!"

Neal scrunched up his face in incredulous disbelief. "What are you talking about?"

Bryce sighed, "I'm talking about you. You've been on edge ever since I've called you, and you keep making that weird … growling noise."

Neal threw his hands in the air, advancing toward his twin. "Yeah, well, that's what happens when your twin brother suddenly calls out of nowhere and tries to take your job and suck you back into the life you never wanted to be in in the first place!" Neal yelled. Bryce didn't miss a beat, his calm body language and tone settling Neal, if only a little bit.

"Yeah, except I don't think that's it. Or, at least, I don't think that's all of it. You see, I think this is just everything finally catching up to you, first the getting me out of the CIA, then the running away, and everything following up to this."

Neal paused. "Kate's death?" he whispered. "You think I'm 'on edge' because of Kate's death? Let me tell you something, Bryce. Maybe this time, you'll actually get it, because I'm not saying it again. I. Am. Fine!"

There was a moment of silence, the lack of noise a broad contrast to Neal's loud voice. Bryce looked sadly at his brother, the eye contact only making the onslaught of emotions harder on both parts.

"Yeah, well, you're not going to be fine after I tell you what I found."

Neal had agreed with Bryce, after a few ideas were thrown around and information shared. They had also traded colored contact lenses, their eye colors being the key piece of information on the shared note that could have crashed the entire con/mission/whatever the Hell they were calling it. Either way, they both decided that they would go ahead and finish up what needed to be finished and then they would meet and Bryce would inform Neal of whatever news he needed to give.

And, in all truth, the ghost problem didn't prove to be that hard to solve. After contemplating this and realizing that Bryce might've done this simply to get him back into the flow of hunting with something easy, he dismissed the thought, remembering that Wes was one of the only hunters that actually appealed to Bryce's odd quirks and references to his missions with the CIA. He was one of the only hunters that seemed to realize, hey. They're children, but they've also grown up in the life. He was a good man.

So, all in all, Neal only had to find where Wes was buried, dig him up, and burn his bones. No problem, really.

Except for that weird guy that didn't seem to let him out of his sight.

It was the same guy, he noticed, that he had seen in the police station – brown trench coat, dress pants, backwards tie, and the same piercing blue gaze. The man followed him, from the police station again to his car, and he even thought he saw him on the side of the roads as he was driving. When he looked for a second time, however, he would never see him. It was as if he disappeared whenever Neal looked at him twice. Neal put it down to paranoia. Yeah – he had confided in Crowley, and he – she – it turned out to be a very powerful demon. He had a right to be wary. The caution was just going a bit far, into paranoia. That's it.

Finally, he arrived at the grave site – some lonesome graveyard in the middle of nowhere – and fetched a shovel from the side of an old abandoned warehouse, walking over and beginning to dig. As he was digging, he glanced up and saw the man staring at him beside the warehouse by the grave. Neal refused to blink, instead watching as the man tilted his head to the side, not blinking, his gaze never wavering. Finally, after the thought chorus of 'What the Hell?' turned to 'I really need to blink' inside Neal's mind, he finally closed his eyes for a split second.

The man was gone.

He looked around wildly, searching for anywhere the man could be, and found that one of the only logical explanations would be in the warehouse looming over the graveyard. Neal elected to ignored it, and he did.

For about ten seconds.

After scooping two shovelfuls of dirt, curiosity finally got the better of him, and Neal walked up to the rickety warehouse. There was one lamp near the front of the building, and Neal looked in apprehension as the bulb flickered and brightened to unnatural brightness until finally dying for good. Bathed in darkness, the shadow of the warehouse was only accentuated by the weak moonlight, rather than a blinding light, creating a much less intimidating figure on the dying grass. Neal found his confidence rise a little, but it didn't overshadow his caution. He wasn't an idiot, after all. He pushed open the doors that squealed in protest and let out a breath he was holding.

The warehouse was empty.

Boom! Lightning cracked outside of the warehouse, and Neal whipped around as the doors shook and slammed behind him, shaking the entire building as the windows and walls shook with tremors, as if it was frightened of what was coming – and, therefore, so was Neal.

The warehouse had been brightly lit by lamps hanging by cords on the ceiling when he stepped inside, though no lights shone through the windows near the top when he was outside.

The sky had been clear, the stars' glittering shine sharp against a black coating of night sky, not a cloud in sight, and no chance of a storm.

Something big was coming, and Neal wanted to run, despite the fact that the only entrance and exit in the warehouse was currently being manipulated by some very powerful force, which was also making the entire structure shake.

And, finally, it all abruptly stopped, and Neal was left in the dark.

Then, a few seconds later, just when Neal thought it was over, with another crack of lightning, both of the doors blasted open, the door on the right smacking Neal on the back and sending him sprawling to the ground. The door on the left banged on the wall it was connected to, while the one on the right creaked back, pushed away as Neal saw the man from earlier hold it to keep it from slamming into him.

"Wow," Neal remarked, groaning at the pain in his spine. "Thanks for that. That was wonderful."

"Oh. My apologies, I did not see you." The man's voice sounded … disconnected, disused, as if he didn't exactly know how to use it, or hadn't in a long time. After a moment of silence, Neal looked him over. He just seemed awkward, apologizing for making a big entrance without making sure the only observant was out of the way of stray flying doors. And yet, even though the man was apologizing, he made no move to help Neal, instead staying stock still, not moving a muscle.

"Great," Neal said, finally pulling himself up and facing his offender. They both stood there for a moment, until Neal decided to screw it and stick his hand out, saying, "Hi. Neal Caffrey."

The man stared at his hand as if it was a rotting piece of flesh, so Neal retracted it and hung it by his side. The man stared somewhat defiantly into Neal's eyes – for reasons Neal had no idea. He hadn't even met him before, never mind give him a reason to dislike him – and said quite boldly, "I am Castiel. I am an Angel of the Lord."

Neal just looked at him for a moment. "… Okay … hello."

'Castiel' looked at him strangely, his head tilting to the side like it had when they were both outside. "… Hello."

Neal shook his head, wondering what the Hell he was doing as he attempted to break the ice and said, "So. You come here often?"

Castiel furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "No, why would I visit a place like this more than once?" Neal sighed, undeniably conceding the point. Okay. He could deal with this.

"It … It's just an expression – what are you doing here? And why is a … what, an 'Angel of the Lord' doing following me?" Neal said, rubbing his back where the collision with the door still ached.

Castiel tilted his head to the side. "You and your brother. You two are in serious peril."

For a moment, Neal could only think who on Earth said 'peril' anymore, and then caught up with what the angel had said. "Oh, thanks. That doesn't make me feel special at all."

When he saw Castiel's face contort into the same confused expression as before, Neal sighed and interrupted before the angel could start. "You know what, never mind. Look, I've gotta take care of this ghost and get back to my brother. Apparently, he's got something that – "

"I have taken care of the ghost. Mr. Madison has passed on, and is resting peacefully in heaven." And if only Neal knew what to say to that …

"Uh, okay. Thanks. But, I've still got to drive back to New York, and that's gonna take a while – "

"That will not be a problem," Castiel stated, advancing toward Neal, who took an equal amount of steps backwards, holding his hands up in a defensive gesture as the angel reached out with two fingers. "Woah, woah, woah, what the hell?"

However, the angel didn't respond, only moving forward and tapping Neal's temple. In turn, Neal's eyes snapped shut from the sudden churning feeling in Neal's gut, like he's gonna throw up 'cause there's a pressure on his throat, behind his eyes, in his stomach, the back of his neck, and he opens his eyes –

They're in an empty elevator, slowly moving upwards, pinging at the eighth floor, and the doors slide open. Neal looks to the back of the elevator for an explanation, has the words on his lips, except no one's in the elevator with him.

But people are looking at him, irritated, from the outside of the box, so he strolls out of the elevator and into the FBI office, looking around until he catches the gaze of Bryce, whose wild eyes rapidly widen, body language stiffening in a message: "What the Hell? Get the Hell out of here!"

Neal mouths, "Conference Room." Bryce shoots him an incredulous glance and rolls his eyes when he realizes Neal was being serious. Neal can see him talk with Peter, Diana, and Jones, and Neal starts to walk a little too fast to the elevators, shuffling into an empty one and hitting the 'close doors' button. He's sure Bryce has seen the elevator he's gone into, and delves into an old memory while he's waiting.

"Who dat, By?" A young Neal asked, pointing unnecessarily at the TV screen as an old balding man appears in the middle of the box.

"That's Agent Fornell, Neal," Bryce said quickly and shortly, quite annoyed at the repetitive questions from his younger brother. Neal paid no attention to his brother's irritation, instead watching intently as 'Agent Fornell' yelled to another man with silver hair, "Conference room. Now."

Before Neal could even form the question, Bryce said, "That's Agent Gibbs. The conference room? That's the elevator. That's where they can talk without anybody listening."

Neal's eyes widened. "Rally?" he whispered, his young tongue unable to pronounce most words correctly, really being one of them.

Bryce, finding Neal's amazement amusing more than the show than the moment, turned to his brother, and said slowly, as if he was also amazed, "Yeah. It's like, one of the only places no one can see, or hear whatever you're doing. It's the coolest thing ever, 'cause it's where spies always go to change into different spy outfits."

Neal was now looking at Bryce with rapt attention, whispering, "Coool …"

Then, their mother suddenly walked through the door, and Bryce hurriedly switched off the TV, about to pretend to continue a conversation about fighting techniques with Neal, but Neal beat him to it.

"Mom! Mom! I know want I want for my bird-day!" the young boy shouted, and their mom glanced at him, her eyes narrowed. He continued. "I want a El-Vader!"

Their mom approached the faded, flowery-patterned couch, a small frown marring her face. "You want an elevator?" Neal nodded vigorously, and Bryce made sure to intervene before this got out of hand.

"Hey, Neal, you wanna see that one karate move I learned from one of my friends at school?" he quickly changed the subject. Neal's attention was switched immediately, and he cheered as Bryce dragged Neal outside into their backyard, Bryce looking back to make sure their mother wasn't following.

He smiled as he turned back to Neal, taking a fighting stance. "Alright, first you start like this … "

Neal smiled wistfully at the old memory, wishing he could go back and fix everything, get their mother off of their backs about hunting and training, get Ellen to let them play with Jo instead of training, and getting them a proper education, not only every few days in a public school only to transfer again because WitSec holdings demanded it.

He was broken out of his musings by a four-knock rap on the elevator door, and he hit the 'open doors' button, pulling Bryce into the elevator with a quick glance around to make sure no one was looking or following.

Bryce stumbled, shouting, "What the Hell, Neal! I was in the middle of a conference and you show up by the glass doors looking like you wrestled a sandstorm, you don't know who could have been watching - what are you doing?"

Neal held a finger up, flipping the 'elevator on/off' switch so that the doors wouldn't open, and the elevator wouldn't move until they turned it back on. After this, he looked at his finger, then down at his suit, and laughed, the unexpected noise startling both of them. Neal was covered in head to toe with dust and grime and dirt from the graveyard and warehouse, and he didn't even notice, too preoccupied with the freaking angel messing with his head. Then, he realized that he wasn't saying anything, and must have looked pretty crazy.

"Sorry," he said, looking up at Bryce's face. "It's just … You are never going to believe what just happened to me."

"Okay, just hold on a second. First of all, why the Hell are we in an elevator?" Bryce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Neal immediately blushed, looking away and mumbling sheepishly, "It's the place where no one can see you or hear you."

Bryce's head shot up, and a smile stretched his face. "You remembered that?"

Neal rolled his eyes. "Duh. I was so disappointed when you guys didn't get me an elevator for my birthday." Bryce looked concernedly over at him. "Don't you remember … "

"We made one out of cardboard at Christmas? Yeah, I remember that. I loved that Christmas, even if most of the decorations were fake and stolen." Bryce laughed, flapping a hand. "Yeah, well, everyone has fake and stolen decorations," he said flippantly, and Neal found them drifting too far off topic, despite the warm feeling spreading through his veins.

"Yeah. Sure. Anyway, I was just over at this police station, doing the job" – he didn't miss Bryce's slight flinch – "when I saw this guy. And … thing is, I saw him last time I tried to do the job. Except this time, the guy followed me, and, I was digging when I saw him again. And I just realized, I never told you about him when we met last time. I swore I would talk about him. That's weird." Bryce looked up from his gaze on his fingers, which he were entwining through the entire conversation. He urged Neal on, saying, "Okay. Are you going anywhere fast with this?"

Neal scoffed, his words tumbling out of his mouth faster than he could keep up with. "Yeah, gimme a sec. So, I saw him. And, I blinked, and he was gone. So I decided to check out the warehouse he was standing by, and the weirdest thing happened. I went in, and this voo-doo stuff happened, the entire building started shaking, lightning flashing despite the sky being absolutely clear a few seconds ago, and I was standing near the door when the doors shot open, and one of them hit me from behind.

"And I looked up, and it was the guy. And we … talked. And, turns out, he came to tell me we're in danger, and that he took care of the ghost. And I told him I needed to get back to you, and he said okay, and he touched me on the head with his hand and voo-doo stuff and suddenly I was in the elevator, and it opened, but the guy was gone, and I found you, and now we're here," Neal said in one breath, panting by the end of it. After he caught his breath, he said, "That fast enough for you?"

Bryce scrunched up his face. "Wait … so, what was he?"

Neal shook his head, forgetting he left out that part. "Well … He said he was … an Angel of the Lord." Bryce's eyebrows shot up near his hairline, "You believed him?"

Neal shrugged. "Why not? We've already met demons, why not angels?" Bryce nodded, processing this. "Okay, there are angels. What the Hell have they been doing all this time?" Neal shrugged, saying, "I don't know, but judging by this guy, I'm pretty sure they haven't been keeping up with the times, much."

"Hm." Bryce thought for a while, and finally looked up slowly. "Hey, Neal. I … uh … I think we might need to go somewhere you can sit down, if you want to hear what I've found out."

Neal looked at him questioningly, saying, "Okay … Why?"

Bryce shuffled uncomfortably. "What I found, it's kind of … sensitive." Neal's eyes widened. "You found something on Kate? What is it? What did you find? Did you find her killer?"

Bryce sighed, saying, "I'm not sure, Neal. But … I think we need to go somewhere better for this conversation." Neal rolled his eyes exasperatedly, replying, "By, I can handle whatever it is you're hiding. Trust me."

Bryce only looked at him warily, before sitting cross-legged on the floor of the elevator. Not saying a word, Neal joined him. The spy turned to open his bag, and took out a Classified manila folder, hesitating before taking a paper out of it, and handing it to the conman.

After a few moments of reading, Neal looked up in confusion, replying in a small voice. "I … This is the Witness recount of the accident with Kate's death. … I've already read this dozens of times, Bryce. I've got it memorized by now." Bryce didn't reply, only nodding, taking out another paper and handing it to Neal, who jerked back in surprise as he read.

" … Why do you have Dad's folder – " he broke off as he noticed one paragraph in the report. His eyes widened, and he met Bryce's gaze with a turmoil of emotions coursing through his veins and bursting in his irises as he looked from one page to the other, back and forth a few times. "He … This man … He's a witness in both of these. Do you think he … "

"Yeah," Bryce said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But … there's also this."

Neal took yet another paper from Bryce, this time reading it out loud.

"'Zelaza = Azazel'. The Witness' name is Zelaza, in both reports. Who's Azazel?" Neal asked, still confused.

"Azazel, from all of the word I could find from demons, is apparently one of the demons working on a really big project to find something called the Colt. But, that's not what's important." Bryce paused. "He … He has a specialty."

"Specialty? You mean, the way he kills … people?" Neal said, a lump forming inexplicably in his throat and making his voice small.

"Fire," Bryce choked out, obviously suffering from the same throat condition and regretting saying it as soon as the word left his lips.

For a moment, Neal didn't get it. Okay, this guy was at both places. Okay this guy's a demon. He's looking for a Colt, whatever that is. He kills people with … with …

"No …" Neal whispered, and Bryce flinched. "No, a demon did not kill Kate." He said, denial sinking in, only to be fueled further by a boiling rage, bubbling in his stomach and rising like the bile he swallowed down thickly. "A normal, real person killed Kate," Neal snarled, baring his teeth as he leaned forward, towering over his older brother, despite their cross-legged positions. "You're wrong."

Bryce just shook his head, his eyes glued to the floor. "Neal … "

"No! No, you don't get to do this," Neal roared, jumping to his feet and pointing an accusing finger at his twin. "You don't get to come here, tell me – lie to me, to get me away, to find out a way to drag me back into this life – you don't have the right to tellme that the one person I fell in love with, the only person who managed to love me for who I really was, was murdered by a demon. Do you hear me? You don't have that right!"

Bryce looked up with steadying sapphire eyes, calm and steady as always in bad situations. "Neal, listen to me. I'm not trying to drag you back in. I'm trying to tell you, I'm giving you a choice. You can come with me, and try and find Kate's killer on the road, or you can stay here, and find him using the help of the system," Bryce pressed, looking honestly up at his brother as he paced, then paused.

"What?" Neal asked faintly. "Are you kidding me? What the hell kind of question is that? Go out there and search for Kate's killer, gun the son of a bitch down myself, or stay here and coordinate the search? You know that's not a choice, Bryce. That's blackmail. How am I supposed to stay here, with this life, now? You've left me without a choice, Bryce. You're sucking me back into the life, just like everybody else has. Just like mom did."

Bryce stood up at that, his calm façade faltering as he came to his own defense, his height winning over Neal's as they stretched their legs. The older twin shoved a finger in Neal's face, seething, "No. You don't get to compare me to her. You know I tried as hard as I could to protect you from her, from this life. I'd like to remind you, Neal, that I left the life as well! I left mom behind, I left Jo behind, I left Ellen behind, I left my entire life behind!" His voice lowered to a self-loathing whisper, his eyes straying to the floor again. "I left you behind. And I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry." He breathed, and made steady eye contact again, saying, "But I made my choice, Neal. And I'm catching Kate's killer. I wouldn't dare kill him, because that's your job, no matter the circumstances. But by God I will catch him for you. And it's up to you on whether or not you think you'll be of more use here, or in the field."

Neal took a deep breath, slowly finding himself nodding. After a few minutes, only shown by the impatient ticking of both brother's watches, Neal blew out a deep breath, running a hand through his hair and looking into his twin's eyes. "Yeah … Alright." He regarded his brother's wary but firm body language, determination gleaming bright in his naturally sparkling emerald eyes.

"When do we start?"

A/N: Alright! So, that's Cas and Lilith introduced, they'll come back sometime soon. Azazel has got some Shit coming to him, but we'll get to that later. If there's anything you missed, something that could've used clarification, some spot that bothers you or something, tell me and I'll try to revise it. Oh, and, yes, I know Bryce and Neal's eye color should both be blue, but whatever. I wanted them different as a plot convenience, you've caught me. It was also simply because I love thinking of Neal with green eyes, but you didn't actually need to know that. In case you're wondering, I (badly) Photoshopped one of the White Collar pics and changed the eye color and the words. I was bored, gimme a break. Hope you liked, and would love if you R&R!

I love you all, and I'm starting the next chapter soon!

~IsomorphicTARDIS