RK9 - No, well, probably, but the reason he's going bald is because his "brother" is pulling it out! It is a SN term - basically something capable of keeping a demon within it. That's really cool - as you can probably tell, I'm something of a fan of the supernatural! And I think you have the right idea there!

Madison Bellows - You should definately download, ahem, I mean, acquire SN by legal means! My weekend has consisted of rabbits and trying to make the flat look like it hasn't been inhabited by a tramp (it was sadly that bad) but it's sparkly now so I'm happy!

demolished-soul - I have plans for them to reappear later, but as for now, it's only another chapter after this one and then they're gone!

meadow567 - I did have to stop there - I'm scared no one will keep reading if it's not left on a cliffhanger!

brttmclv - lol, I was in stitches, but the funniest episode they've done was the groundhog day one where Dean kept dying - I was struggling to breath in some points!

princessg - It's alright, I could ramble over them all day - I think I do, sometimes. And it's only been a day - is this quick enough?

sparkyCSI - Ha ha! Yeah, off and spent cleaning! I think something is wrong in the world! lol - love that the lips are sealed. I think there's only you who really knows what's going on, although Aphina knows a bit

Well, nothing but thanks to my marvelous beta, sparkyCSI!

What The Eyes Can't See

Chapter 178: Keeping it inside is killing me

Flack stared stormily at the screen in front of him.

'Son.'

He looked up and sighed. 'What's the matter, Dad?'

'What are you looking at?' his father asked as he walked around to the back of the desk to inspect what was on the monitor. Flack made no effort to minimize the page. 'Dean Winchester's arrest warrants? Do you know something?'

Flack stared at the page.

It was late. Not late enough that most normal people would be in bed, but certainly late enough that most would be at home, rather than work. Feeling the need for a caffeine pick-me-up, Flack headed down the street to the Starbucks and grabbed a large cup of their black stuff.

He was walking back, thankful for the temporary reprieve in rain, sipping the drink, when he heard a familiar voice travelling up the alleyway. Peering down the barely lit alley his eyes picked out his fiancé. His fiancé who was standing a little too close to someone for his liking.

Flack was nanoseconds away from heading down the alley and yanking him off her and into tomorrow, when the male figure leant over and kissed the female.

It took his brain an instant to realize the person she was kissing was Dean Winchester.

Too shocked to do much else, he backed away and walked into the precinct, sitting down heavily at his desk. He sat there for quite a while, staring, dumbfounded, through the coffee cup. Finally, long after the coffee had turned cold, he turned, almost robot like, to his computer and ran a search on Dean Winchester.

What he found troubled him. He was firstly considered dead after being wanted for a murder in Baltimore, but that charge was just added to a long list (including credit card fraud, breaking and entering, grave desecration,, impersonating a police officer Flack added mentally) when he was deemed the number one suspect in a bank robbery in Wisconsin not so many weeks ago.

And yet, the only thing Flack could see was this guy making out with his girl in, what was effectively, his back yard.

Taking a deep breath, Flack rose to his feet. There had to be a reasonable explanation to this. Evidence in context. Mac was always prattling on about that.

He hopped into his car and headed home, calling Taylor as he went. But she wasn't answering – the call was going straight to voicemail – and there was no one at home.

Trying desperately to not let his imagination get the better of him, he refused to sit around at home moping. Instead, he turned the car around.

He was almost back at the precinct when he just happen to see her drive past, sitting shotgun in an all-too familiar Chevy Impala, the elder Winchester driving whilst the youngest was nowhere in sight.

Flack did a u-turn in the road so suddenly; it was a mercy that the streets were empty. Putting all his police training to the test, he followed the Impala and its occupants at a safe distance to a motel. He pulled over, just out of sight to be noticed and watched as the pair exited the car and made their way to door. They stood in the threshold for a few moments until Dean opened the door.

Feeling sick to his stomach, he watched as Dean extended his hand, Taylor accepting it, and then led her into the room, closing the door behind him.

Completely at a loss as to what to do, he pulled away and returned to the precinct.

'Son?' His father's voice broke his thoughts again.

Flack sighed heavily. 'Leave it, dad.'

Sgt. Flack grabbed a chair from one of the many vacant desks and pulled it over. 'You know you can talk to me, Donnie.'

Flack brought his eyes up from the mug shot of Dean to meet his father's. 'Dad, I haven't been able to talk to you for a long time.'

'I don't see why not.'

Flack's eyebrows quickly knitted together. 'Six and a half years ago, you told me that Danny Messer was no good and that becoming friends with him would screw up any chances of promotion. And then-' he added, stopping his father from speaking. 'You tell me that a friend of his is no son of yours. That's why I haven't been able to talk to you in a long time.'

'I never-'

'Yes you did,' Flack cut him off again. 'Easter dinner. Mom had cooked goose, Paige had made pecan pie for desert, and you told me that it was time I moved out.'

'Donnie,' Sgt Flack started softly. 'I only ever wanted what was best for you. Messer is trouble. I've proven that time and time again, but that Taylor is too stubborn to listen. He'll be the downfall of the lab.'

'Who?' Flack asked, rolling his eyes. 'Mac, or Danny?'

Sgt. Flack eyed his son. 'Clearly this isn't about Messer. So what's troubling you, son?'

'Dad, you can't ask me that,' Flack told him, rising to his feet. 'Not anymore. Not after what you've put me and my friends through in the past few weeks.'

'So this is what this is about?' Sgt. Flack asked him, also standing.

'Believe it or not, this isn't actually about you,' Flack told him harshly. 'Not everything is.'

'Donnie, that's not the way to talk to your father.'

Flack swiped his hand through the air, inadvertently sending his cup of cold coffee flying. 'You don't get it, do you? Dad is just a word.'

Sgt. Flack's eyes showed hurt for the briefest of seconds before they blackened with anger. 'Then that's no way to talk to a superior officer.'

'Yeah, but you're not my superior officer, are you? You're just an interfering old man who has nothing better to do than arrest innocent people.'

'You are out of line,' Sgt. Flack snapped, jabbing a finger at Flack.

'No,' Flack snapped back. 'You were. Maybe retirement was the best place for you.'

Sgt. Flack brought himself up to his full height. 'Maybe it's you Internal Affairs should be looking at,' he told his son, nodding his head in the direction of the computer monitor.

'Well maybe you should,' Flack told him, grabbing his jacket and brushing past him.

--

Taylor walked nervously over to the bed and perched down on the edge of it.

'Something isn't right,' Dean said, staying by the window.

Taylor glanced up at him, swallowing. 'What?'

Dean turned slowly to face her. 'This.'

Taylor smiled nervously. 'I'm sitting on a bed, alone in a motel room with a guy I'm not engaged to.'

'Exactly.'

Taylor rose to her feet. 'Maybe this isn't such a good idea,' she mumbled, taking a step to the door.

The next thing she knew, she was lying flat out on her back on the bed, Dean standing over.

'This isn't you, Taylor,' he told her.

Taylor blinked, trying to get upright, but he was holding her down. 'Dean? What are you doing?'

Dean withdrew a deep breath. 'You know, I always could tell when you were lying,' he said softly, gently caressing her face with his free hand.

'I don't know what you're talking about,' she told him, a hint of pleading to her tone.

He slapped her. 'Don't try to lie to me, Taylor.'

Taylor squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block the stinging sensation. She didn't open them until she heard a click and Sam's voice.

'I think it's about time we got you out of that body,' Sam told him coldly, a gun pointed to the back of his brother's head.

Bringing his hands up off Taylor, holding them in the air, Dean swiveled around so that he was kneeling on the bed next to Taylor.

With a gasp, Taylor leapt of the bed and dashed behind Sam. As soon as she was clear, Sam lowered his gun.

'Idiot,' Dean/Craig snarled, leaping forward. Then he stopped suddenly, as though hitting an invisible wall.

'What the hell?' Taylor and Dean/Craig both asked at the same time.

'And that would be a Devil's Trap,' Sam explained calmly, pointing at the ceiling above the bed.

Taylor stared up at the elaborate circular design. 'And that can hold him?'

Sam nodded as he walked over to a chest of drawers and pulled out a dog-eared book, flipping it over to a specific page – the action suggesting it was a familiar thing. 'Crux sancta sit mihi lux. Non draco sit mihi dux,' he read, as Dean/Craig began to scream in pain. 'Vade retro satana. Nunquam suade mihi vana. Sunt mala quae libas. Ipse venena bibas.'

Taylor watched in horror as Dean's head tilted right back and a gush of what looked like black smoke poured from his mouth. Finally, as the smoke disappeared into the ceiling, Dean's limp body fell back onto the bed. 'Is he alright?' Taylor asked him.

Sam nodded, relief filling his features. 'He's gonna wake up with a killer headache, but he'll be fine.' He turned and eyed the journalist who was watching the pair anxiously. 'I'm not trying to get rid of you, but it's late. Isn't that fiancé of yours going to worry?'

'More than likely,' Taylor agreed. 'Just do me a favor and call me, or even drop me an email, just so I know he's alright.'

'Alright,' Sam told her. 'And Taylor?'

Taylor paused by the door. 'Yeah?'

'I'm sorry about Craig.'

Taylor gave him a small smile. 'Thanks Sam.'

Timeline wise, for all you Supernatural fans, we're looking at it being nearly the end of Season 2 – probably around the time of Roadkill and Tall Tales, but as this is a CSI:NY fic, we won't worry too much about that!

On a slightly different note - ya'll will like this. It turns out my vet is stupid (glad she's not my doctor). Let me explain... After being told that my two remaining baby bunnies were boys, I pulled them out of the cage away from dad, and in their own. And then it transpires that one of them is pregnant. So I am going to be a great grantmother at the age of 23! Oh, and the reason why Snuffles is going bald - because "Dylan" was telling him to back off and stop humping "him".