Dean straightened his tie before stepping out of his classic Impala. The last ten hours had been strange. Never in his life had Dean experienced anything like it. He had so desperately hoped that what he saw had just been a bad dream, but the vividness of the scene convinced him otherwise. Somehow Dean had witnessed a murder moments before it had happened. How?

Last night, he'd shot out of bed and pulled on a pair of blue jeans before sprinting to the door.

"Dean! Where are you going?" Sam made to follow. Dean held up a hand.

"Don't follow me, Sam. Just stay here. I'll be back in a few." He flashed his baby brother a cheeky grin and slipped out the door.

Instinct led him to the police station. Well, instinct and the wailing of an ambulance siren. Dean stood with the growing crowd outside the station. A few onlookers gasped in horror as a blanketed body strapped to a gurney, was extricated from the building. A wavy-haired blond was close behind, being led by an escort. Her eyes were moist with tears, her expression blank. She appeared to be in a state of shock. Not so surprising for someone who had just watched a man bite the dust. It was obvious she had some sort of relationship with the victim. Girlfriend, maybe? Not that it mattered. Dean was more concerned with the fact that he had had a real premonition. Visions were supposed to be Sam's freaky little gift, not his. For a moment a terrifying thought crossed his mind. What if I'm part demon? What if there is demon blood flowing through my veins? No. He would know. His father would have known. He dismissed the theory as quickly as it had been formulated.

Dean needed to get back to Sam. It was as he was driving away that he saw a woman dressed in a sharp pantsuit dash towards the ambulance. The same woman who had crushed a man's heart into dust.

That morning, Dean and Sam had paid a visit to the morgue. The man was Graham Humbert, Storybrooke's sheriff. Dr. Whale had ruled that the cause of death was a heart attack, yet Graham had no prior heart problems.

"Just a terrible tragedy," the doctor shook his head sadly. "Graham was very well liked by everyone. It's hard to think that he's gone. Just like that." Whale eyed Sam and Dean suspiciously. "So you two are from the Boston office, huh? What did you say your names were?"

"We didn't say," Dean smirked. Jerk.

"I apologize for my partner. His sense of humor can often be-well, not funny. I'm agent Carroll, this is agent Andersen. Please, if any further information becomes available, do give us a call." He offered his hand to Whale, and they shook on the agreement. Sam was so much better at this than Dean. The former gestured towards the door, and the two made their exit.

In the Impala they discussed a quick game plan. "Alright, so we have school teacher Mary Margaret, Mayor Regina Mills and her son Henry, and deputy Emma Swan. They were the last few people to see Graham alive. Emma was the last." Sam read off the notes he'd taken during their talk with Dr. Whale. "I think we should split up. It'll get the job done a lot faster."

"I agree. I ain't taking on the town's mayor by myself, though. I'll talk to deputy Swan." Dean made an attempt to hide his smirk but Sam caught it.

"Didn't you see her last night?"

"I dunno, may have. Why?"

"Let me guess. She's hot." Sam said pointedly.

Dean shrugged his shoulders, "if we have to do this, we might as well enjoy ourselves, right?"

His brother laughed. "I guess I'll take the school teacher, then."

Dean lifted an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? Well make sure to be a naughty boy. Maybe she'll teach you a lesson."

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up and drive."

When Dean arrived at the Sheriff's office, Emma Swan had her face in her hands, elbows propped up on her desk. She looked exhausted. Well of course she is, her boyfriend just croaked.

Dean politely cleared his throat. She didn't stir. Louder. This time her head whipped around and she blinked at him anxiously. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm sorry, did I startle you?"

Emma narrowed her eyes. "Who the hell are you?"

Dean put on his best poker face. "Mind losing the attitude, Ma'am? Federal agent." He held out his counterfeit badge.

"Oh? And what pray tell is a federal agent doing here in Storybrooke?" Emma eyed Dean's badge suspiciously.

Dean tucked away his ID, strolled over to Emma, and leaned casually against her desk. "The death of Mr. Graham Humbert." He watched Emma's eyes widen and paused. For dramatic effect, of course. "We believe his death was…premeditated."

"Premeditated?

Dean nodded grimly.

Are you suggesting he was murdered?" She whispered harshly.

"Miss Swan, I need you to tell me if Graham had any enemies. Do you know anyone who might have held a grudge against him? Anyone who was upset with him for any reason?"

Emma shook her head. "No. Graham was…" she bit her bottom lip and bowed her head. Dean waited patiently for her to regain composure. Finally she looked up at Dean with fortitude. "I was with Graham when he died. One minute he was alive, everything was wonderful." She shrugged her shoulders and smiled slightly. "Then he was gone. Just like that."

Dean pursed his lips. "Did you notice anything strange before his death? Did he seem alright?"

"Well, he was convinced that he didn't have a heart, and he was seeing a wolf everywhere. Does that sound alright to you?"

Dean blinked quizzically. "A wolf? Like, a wolf wolf?"

"Yes. But that part was real. I saw it too. A grey wolf, with one bright red eye, and one blacker than coal."

The eye coloring was odd yes, but other than that, a wolf sighting in a heavily forested area wasn't Dean's idea of strange. But what is totally strange...

"Why would he think he didn't have a heart?"

"He was sick. He had a high fever. He was uttering nonsense that he earnestly believed was true. I tried to tell him everything was fine, of course he had a heart. But he wouldn't listen. He kept insisting it had been taken."

"Taken. By who?"

Emma rubbed her brow and frowned. "I can't believe I'm having this conversation," she muttered to herself. "Mayor Mills."

"Mayor Mills. Does she happen to be a brown-eyed brunette with a fondness for red lipstick and pantsuits?"

Emma nodded slowly. I assume you've met her, then?"

Now everything was starting to come together. Dean shook his head. "Just a lucky guess. So, did she and Graham get along, or was there some hostility?

Emma rolled her eyes. "Look, his autopsy report states he had a heart attack that killed him instantly. There was no "foul play" involved Agent Anderson. Just a sucky situation that couldn't have been prevented."

Dean nodded. "So…no enemies?"

Emma narrowed her eyes. "Graham was well-respected and loved. By everyone. No one would have wanted to hurt him. So who the hell are you to come in here with the audacity to suggest otherwise? You didn't know Graham and you sure don't know anything about this town. Now please, leave." She buried her face in her hands once again.

There was something she wasn't telling him. Not helpful. Dean couldn't stand when people withheld information from him. Can't you see I just want to help you?

Emma's dark eyes met Dean's. "Help me?"

Did he really say that out loud. Crap.

"You're just a suit, who couldn't care less that a good man is dead. I'm sorry you're disappointed it wasn't homicide. Makes your job a lot less exciting, I'm sure." She stood from her chair.

Double crap. "Emma, it's not like that!" He got to the office door before she did.

"Get out of my way!"

"I will!" The girl may have been gorgeous but man, was she a pain.

She folded her arms across her chest and glared up at him. "Well."

Dean, exasperated, rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "Listen, if you think of any details that you forgot to mention, I want you to give me a call."

Emma put her hands up. "I already told you what happened. No one has been murdered."

Keep it up with the attitude, Emma and someone might be. Dean fought the temptation to say that out loud, figuring real FBI agents probably didn't usually threaten the people they interrogated.

"I understand that, Miss Swan. It's just protocol." He held out a card with his cell number. Emma took it from him, reading it silently to herself.

Without looking up she asked "why are you so sure Graham was murdered?"

Why? Because I saw the murder in a dream, of course! "I just have a hunch. I have a knack for this sort of thing. Intuition. It's my superpower."

He was hoping to coerce a smile out of her, but instead she simply looked up at him, deadpan, and said, "well Agent Andersen, just so happens I also have a superpower."

Dean chuckled, "Oh yeah, and what's that?"

She smiled slyly. "I can tell when anyone is lying."

Crap Crap Crap.

Sam begrudgingly tossed a twenty-dollar bill onto the table for Dean.

Dean snatched it up and waved it in the air victoriously. "Ah, Sammy. Don't be a poor sport. Guy convinced his heart was removed and held captive by the town's mayor, totally trumps a curiosity for past lives. I won fair and square!" He planted a kiss on the bill and grinned.

Sam looked disgusted. "Dude, money is filthy. Twenty dollars is not worth getting some strange disease for."

"With the zero dollar salary I make from this hunting gig, I'll take anything I can get. Ninety percent of our money has cocaine in it, you know?"

"So I've heard." Sam agreed. After a moment's pause he added, "Dean, how long are we going to avoid talking about the vision you had?"

Forever.

Dean groaned. "Sammy, I'm fine."

Sam shifted irritably in his chair. "Yeah, Dean. That's what you keep telling me."

Why did Sam have the occasional need to play therapist? The last thing Dean wanted to discuss was his feelings. "I don't know why it happened, no, but it's the first and only time I've experienced anything like it, so I'm not overly concerned."

"But don't you want to know why?"

"No."

"Why not?"

Why not? As a hunter, Dean had had his fair share of bad days, but none had been as unbearable as the day his father died. So much had happened, too fast. His own life was saved at the last moment, his father died after trading Azazel his soul for Dean's, and then there was his father's warning. The last words he ever heard his father speak were about Sam. Turned out Sam's visions were a side effect of demon blood; Azazel had fed some to baby Sam the night Mary Winchester was killed. Dean's father told him that if Sam was to ever let the demon in him take control, it would be Dean's responsibility to kill him. But that never happened. Because Sammy was strong. What if Dean's veins pumped with demon blood too? It would certainly explain the vision. But telling Sam he might have to kill him one day was not something Dean was ready to face. The possibility of needing to destroy Sam had made Dean ache. Why apply that same burden to Sam when it wasn't yet clear what may have caused Dean's premonition? Besides, I have less than a year left anyway.

"Dean, are you okay?" his younger brother's eyes blazed with concern. If there was anything Dean couldn't stand, it was Sam worrying about him. He was the older brother, it was his job to protect Sam. Not the other way around. So he insisted everything was fine.

"Yeah, Sammy. I'm great. Can you pass me the ketchup?"

To Be Continued...

A/N: As always, thanks for the reads, favorites, and follows; you guys are awesome!