A/N: And the plot thickens. I've got spring break coming up, and honestly no clue what that will do to updates. You can ask me questions on here or on my work tumblr, goodquestionharlie, if you get confused. (There will be a full answer section and a bibliography when I'm done but for the ride.) Hopefully I've still got some of you interested!

Re-write published Dec. 16th.

Chapter 4: Apple Pie Life

After John had died, and things had settled down, they'd moved. They loved their old house; of course, and Sam had been dragged out of it kicking and screaming... but they simply couldn't afford it anymore. For a month or two they'd stayed with Missouri. Dean hadn't really appreciated how much she'd done for them until he had been older, but she'd been a blessing for their mother. For the first few weeks, while his mother laid in bed mourning with the blinds drawn, Missouri would get them ready for school. A healthy bowl of porridge (which Dean generally never ate) and a piece of toast. They took the bus to school. For the first few weeks Sam hadn't talked much either. He'd shut down. The worst part for both of them had to be going back to school. Dean was just grateful the bus route didn't take them by their old house, he couldn't handle seeing it.

About half a year passed; Sam started talking again and Mary got out of bed. Dean was eternally grateful for both and Missouri didn't even comment when he cried about it a little. Things started to get better, slowly but surely. Sam helped them with designs for the bakery they decided to invest in and Dean wasn't failing his classes too spectacularly. It was a goal that Missouri had helped Mary pick out while she worked around the clock. Something to look forward to.

The shop opened it's doors the day Sam started middle school. They moved into their new home the summer Dean entered his freshman year.

He could remember smiling for the first time in a long while, for himself, and not just because he had to make someone else smile. He'd been excited to be able to break away from the petty theft he'd been participating in. But then Dean had noticed bills piling up on Mary's desk. She hid them when she saw him looking. Of course that meant that he'd go searching for them.

Dean almost puked when he saw the number of zero's, bill after bill.

Dean kept it to himself, but kept a close eye on his mother, and asked for more hours on the stupid paper route that he'd taken up in middle school. The little extra helped, at least to the point where he was paying for his own lunches and was tentatively saving up to restore the Impala. Since his father's death and the slow climb up it had been left neglected. Mary didn't drive it, and Dean was only now getting old enough to have a permit. The shop picked up again and Sam picked out where he wanted to go to college. Mary's face had dropped. Stanford was a little expensive, but they didn't tell him no.

Instead, Dean got a job at the grocery store. His grades started slipping but all he could think of was how to make sure Sam got in. He already had a head start since he attended the private branch of their school system. He'd have an amazing list of programs and recommendations to build from. Getting in wouldn't be the problem just paying for it.

Dean took a third job.

On the morning of one of his paper routes he drove by the garage that his father had worked in as a young kid before being sent off of the war. He'd slowed down and bit at his lip to chase away his pride to beg. The papers were left hanging on the bike as he stepped forward and damn near got on his hands and knees, asking for a job. His dad had taught him some basics growing up and he was a fast learner. A hard worker.

For the most part; even with the new jobs money was still tight. The shop especially didn't do as well during the winter months, other than for a few of their specialties (and Mary's pie's were always in season). The house they'd started making payments on hadn't been in the best shape originally either. The water heater burst and flooded most of their floors their first winter there. A really bad snow storm knocked their TV antenna off the roof, taking half of the shingling with it. And the icing on the cake was getting a notice from the city to move the Impala somewhere else, since it's stickers were outdated and was now considered sitting junk.

Other than the memories of a harsh winter, he didn't remember much of the year he fell in with his new 'friends'. It had been surprisingly easy to do. Dean had long ago realized he couldn't even recall one of their names, no matter how hard he tried. It wasn't even like he'd started hanging out with them on purpose. He'd already dipped into his savings a little. He had to start getting the Impala as fixed up as he could, at least good enough to get the inspection stickers. He also had to help his mom pay for the repairs on the house. Mary spent most of her free time at the shop trying to make ends meet, and Dean had even taken over making Sam breakfast. It actually turned out convenient with his new sticky fingers habit he'd learned. She wouldn't be around to question where he was getting all the stuff.

It was freeing and helluv-alot easier than any of the other jobs he worked. He didn't dare quit the mechanical job but toyed with the idea of quitting the grocery store. Dean had stolen from them one too many times for them not to notice. His friends had instead suggested he just move up to other stores. Electronics. They were harder to get but fetched a pretty price. He honestly wasn't even comfortable with the idea until Mary's car broke down.

Dean quit high school and stole a DVD player that night with them.

Mary had protested and nearly cried, telling Dean he couldn't sacrifice his entire life like that. Dean had promised her to get a GED and told her he thought he was doing really well with the mechanic thing, maybe make a career.

Dean might've actually stayed a mechanic too if his friends hadn't gotten rowdy. Electronics here and there weren't enough. They got violent. They started drinking. Dean's first taste of beer was awful. His next 20 he couldn't get enough of. One night when he was hammered they'd encouraged him to mug someone. He did. They'd cheered, and then when Dean had backed off, jumped in and almost killed the guy. Shame-faced, he'd run away with the rest of them to avoid getting arrested. He should've at least gotten the guy to a hospital. Or called 911. Dean never saw him again and hoped at least the guy was all right.

He snapped and cut ties when they'd started approaching Sam at school and trying to follow Dean home. He decided to get his GED and join the police force when one of their mugshots popped up on the news, dead in a failed robbery. Sam never said anything, and Mary never knew, but it put fire in his belly. He actually followed through with his promise of schooling. The pathway to his officer career ran well oiled too because of his father's connections. Dean was even was lucky enough to be able to take a break from training to see Sam's graduation. He'd gotten a scholarship and Dean had, just in case, extra money lined in his pockets just in case things got sticky.

Their mother cried when Sam left for California and Dean promised to take care of their mom. She cried some more when Dean said he's been accepted into the FBI Academy.

For the most part Dean kept busy after that, but always made sure to call. When he could get the free moment to fly down and visit; he would. Life had been been going well for them. He had almost forgotten how badly his gut could clench up. Dean spent a few weeks with cold sweat running down his back from his last visit home. 'People' there remembered his name, and they were none too happy about him forgetting about his "roots", or how much Dean had benefited from criminal behavior.

Half a year later, after Dean's graduation, the shop caught fire. Mary burned up in the foyer, on her way to run out the door.

Since then, Dean had made a habit of waking up clutching a bottle. Probably more often that his job should allow for.

It's how Dean wakes up now, lungs squeezing tightly, his body covered in sweat.

His heart hammered loudly and for a little bit he couldn't breathe. He hunched over, trying to relax his lungs into pulling open. He choked on a little bit of spit that gathered in his mouth and started heaving all over again. When the coughing subsided he ran a hand over his face and leaned back in the chair. To his luck he still had his fingers firmly wrapped around the neck of a bottle he'd been nursing. Dean craned his neck to try and get a look at the clock; it was almost mid-day. He thanked the gods for the blinds being closed and debated getting up.

First, he decided after running a tongue over his teeth, he had to get up and do something about the taste of ass in his mouth. On his way to the bathroom he noticed Sam's door open and peered inside. It looked like the bed hadn't even been touched. Dean huffed and felt a headache start brewing. He knew his brother wasn't dealing with Jess' death so well, hell, how could he be? But after giving it a month or so he'd really been hoping to see Sam passed out in bed more often, and not coming home at odd hours smelling like a dumpster. He brushed his teeth and then walked over to the fridge. Dean took a swig of orange juice without thinking and spent a good minute trying to spit it all back out.

The fridge was mostly except for a package of bacon. "Might as well," he mumbled glancing at the clock, after rinsing his mouth clean. Maybe by some powers that be, if Dean started cooking hangover food his brother would stumble in through the door. He almost felt betrayed when it didn't work.

He ate at the computer, idly going through the files he fell asleep trying to dig through. He hadn't found much, at least not much that was open to him. He knew Azazel was related to some organized crime circuit with Lucifer at the head. Everyone had heard at least a little about Luci. It had almost given him a chuckle when he'd read a description that used the word mafia. Despite being in the Force and knowing it was a real issue, he couldn't get the image of Al Capone out of his head. Most of the reports listed things about fire starting, vandalism, and money laundering but he couldn't access any more files than that. Not the right clearance level. It had agitated him a little the night before. Why would Cas have given him that name if there wasn't anything he could do with it?

Dean stared idly at the screen, bacon crunching between his teeth. Thoughts of his nightmare came crawling back as he stared at the few crime scene photos he had access to. He had to physically shake himself out of it. There was no time for trauma and he knew if he let the frequency of his nightmares slip, they'd send him to a hand holding sit-in with their resident therapist. So naturally, out of curiosity, and trying to convince to himself he was fine, he typed in the information he knew about the case back in Lawrence.

He frowned when he noticed they were all locked.

Dean typed in the password and higher up codes so many times, that the system started yelling at him to call the main office to get his account activated again; apparently suspecting someone was trying to (really poorly) hack into the system. Irritated, Dean got up and attempted to phone someone, only to be told that because of the recent attack all requests had to be made in person.

He had to remind himself not to lash out at the woman operating at the front desk when he finally drove himself to the station. No one was allowed back on active duty for another month and he really hadn't wanted to make wasteful trips to the station before returning to active duty. Dean told himself it didn't mean anything that he deliberately drove around the area where Victor had smashed his head into the side window and bled out.

The woman frowned at him when he gave her a snarky thank you after receiving his clearance and had to remind himself to smile. She blushed and Dean counted it as a victory. If nothing else he still had game.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

"Where the hell have you been?" were the first words out of Dean's mouth when he opened the door to their joint apartment.

"Where have you been?" Sam countered back. Dean paused in the doorway, not expecting his brother to sound so harsh. He let the door slam closed and walked fully into the apartment, finding his brother at the computer.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked. He shouldn't have left the laptop open.

"Who's Azazel?"

"No one, just some guy. Work stuff."

"Dean, you're on leave for at least another month. I know they wouldn't be giving you new cases. Now who's Azazel? Does this guy have something to do with Jessica?"

"Would you just drop it! And go take a damn shower, you look like crap," Dean ground out, taking in his brother's haggard appearance.

"Don't lie to me, Dean," Sam said, getting up and swaying a little.

"Dude... are you drunk?"

"Yeah, so?" Sam shot back, swaying like he was gearing up for a fight.

"It's like 2pm. Don't you see something wrong with that?"

"You do it all the time."

"Yeah, and that's what worries me," Dean said stepping forward, holding both of his hands out like he's dealing with a skittish animal. "I'm the functioning alcoholic, remember?"

Sam's mouth drew into a thin like and he took in a deep breath, forming a rebuttal. He closed it and clenches his fists. "Who... is... Azazel?"

"Sam-"

"No, Dean, just," Sam let himself drop back onto the couch, giving his brother a pleading look. "They won't tell me anything."

Dean sighed and pulled up on the of the chairs, settling to where he was facing his brother. "Not like I'm getting much more info anyway. And look-man- it'll, we'll figure this shit out. Just go to bed, sleep it off. Eat something bad for you. And please take a damn shower." He tried to lean over and give a light, friendly punch to his brothers shoulder. Sam barely reacted and seemed to sink further into himself. The staring lasted for a minute before Sam forced himself up with a sigh. Dean watched him walk to his room and a few moments later when he could hear the shower running, he relaxed. He eyed the laptop, wondering if he had enough time to at least look up a few names before his brother stepped out. With a sigh he closed the laptop and tucked it away, sprawling out on their couch.

He was prepared to attempt a little heart to heart with Sam, after having poured himself a mid-day glass of whiskey. That was all shot to hell when his brother walked out, sparing him barely a glance and marching back out the door. Half of Dean's body was already clenching, ready to spring off the couch and rush after him. Instead, he let himself sink into the couch with a glower. He'd give Sam a few more hours before angrily calling him and dragging his ass back to the apartment.

Determined not to waste his time, he pulled the laptop back up and brought up the case file locations. When he'd copied all the information down he set to finding a source.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

Bela Talbot did not end up being anything like Dean had expected her to be, or rather he hadn't expected her to be quite that much of a looker. Half of him was tempted to stand up and pull her chair out. Thankfully his other half informed him that would be retarded.

After finding no way to unlock the files by himself he'd done some personal snooping. It had taken a little around a week since he wasn't exactly tech savy to track her down. He sure as hell wasn't going to ask Sam about it. He was finally spending more time at the apartment again and Dean wasn't going to jinx that by asking for help on shit he knew his brother would figure out. So he'd outsourced. It had been hard as hell to track her down; jumping from article to article, and looking at her file on the network to figure out how to get in contact with her. She seemed to be very in the know on criminal activities and wrote some of the best articles around the circuit. Hell, sometimes she even managed to outfox the police officers on the case.

Dean had gotten interested when he found out she'd written a blurb on the Lawrence shop fire. It had been heavily edited and cut down, almost refusing to be published. Which meant there was something more to it. He hadn't even given his full name when he'd set up the appointment, just a promise for some easy money for information. Called it a job.

"Dean Winchester," she said, her mouth rolling around the vowels.

He also hadn't expected her to have an accent.

"Miss Talbot," he responded, his lip quirked, "I guess there was no reason to try and hide my last name."

"No, there really wasn't. And honestly, this fire you asked about, happened, what? Ages? I forget. You don't look that much different from then. Very easy to recognize," she smirked and then ordered herself a cup of coffee.

"Right," Dean responded, feeling awkward.

"Now, Mr. Winchester," she said leaning her elbows on the table, "what can I help you with?"

"I want to know what the rest of the article for the Lawrence shop fire said."

Bela's face seemed to shift in surprise but it didn't reach her eyes. Dean made a mental note of it but didn't give himself time to focus on it. She collected herself and tapped some of her fingers on the table. "I'm not sure I'm allowed to do that. I do believe it was censored for a reason."

Dean sighed and pulled out the few hundred bucks he'd promised for a satisfactory job. He slid them over to her and she smiled.

"The article said that that there was a chance it wasn't an accident. I can guarantee you it wasn't. The fire was set with purpose and orchestrated in a way that your mother had no chance for survival."

"Who set it? Was it-?"

Bela cut him off and accepted her cup of coffee from the waiter, "Those brats you hung out with? God no. Although I'm sure you either already know, or are happy to know that most of them are either in jail or dying of liver poisoning, jobless and homeless. I'd say you got the better half of the deal on that relationship." She toasted her cup of coffee.

"How do you know that?" Dean asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Bela shrugged her shoulders and ran an idle hand through her hair. Dean grumbled a curse and reached into his wallet, pulling out another hundred. Bela raised her eyebrow and Dean set out another one. "You're gonna have to do better than that. I'm good with information, Dean. Trust me when I say I know exactly how confidential this is. Top ranks."

By the time Bela reached over to grab the stack, Dean was out almost a grand total.

"It has something to do with your mother. She was the specific target, although why, I still could not tell you. I was locked out of the information channels when the feds cracked down. Oh yes, the feds-" she said with an amused tone at Dean's shocked look- "bet you didn't know that. They found rather low ranking members of some gang, you'll get a laugh out of this, loosely translated and commonly called; Demons." She gave him an entertained look and continued when Dean didn't react. This wasn't funny for him. "Fine fine, really depends on which faction or clique you're talking to. I'd venture to say they're bigger than MS-13. They're a little more organized, probably closer to the Mafia families, but MS-13 would be a good example to use. International, home-grown with Lucifer at the top."

"Lucifer?" Dean said leaning forward, nerves buzzing. He'd wanted a few answers for his own curiosity; not to shell out a grand and feel like his life had just been tossed upside down for funsies. "You're bull shitting. That guys in jail or whatever and he's the head of a-" he trailed off a little.

"You're catching up! I see you've already done some of your own research. Yes, the very same group."

"That's fuckin' stupid. 'Cause I got a call from the bureau, and Azazel is a part of, Demons or the devils or whatever the fuck they call themselves, and his MO showed up at the bombing-"

"Very clever, Dean. You know when I walked up, I really hadn't expected you to be this quick. Looked a bit more of the brawn and no brains type," she said setting her untouched coffee cup down. Bela glanced at her watch. "Your hour is up-" Dean started to protest "- I can promise you my information comes from... reliable sources. Now, I want you to go home and think about... common denominators."

She thanked him for the coffee. Before Dean could respond she had marched her way through the crowd and disappeared. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach. He'd already started to make the worst assumptions and was panicking. He couldn't handle this by himself. "I don't wanna be a common denominator."

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

"You look like hell,kid."

Castiel looked up at Ellen and gave her a 'look' as he accepted the steaming cup of coffee. She settled next to him in the conference room. He thought he'd covered the circles under his eyes better but he wasn't about to go slap on some make-up. It'd been months since they'd made any headway on the FBI bombing. They were stuck, and via their own suggestion, there was only one way to link things together. Back combing through anything with relations to Azazel. He'd been shocked when older cases had been opened and Charlie had sent him a file with Dean's name in it. It's why he'd called Dean and then spent the next few weeks, digging into it himself. It was a pity the files were locked, he was sure Dean would've liked to have seen them. Perhaps even been able to give them more information. He'd have to wait for an official interview once the OKC field office got back on its feet. With every new name that came out, they would have to go through and do interviews again. But, for now, they were being assigned back to regular cases and Charlie was still combing through new applicants to the BAU.

Other than the bombing headache, the incident had given him unpleasant memories that kept him awake. He was grateful when Bobby walked into the room, distracting Ellen and Pamela from him. They shared a brief look but he waved the concern off with a small shake of his head. He was fine, tired, and anxious, but fine.

Well, if you could call 'fine' being kept awake most nights by the expression on Lucifer's face, 'fine'.

He hadn't been involved in the arrest and hadn't even been consulted originally. At the time Lucifer's threat value was not high enough for people to have discovered his actually identity, and he hoped it would never come to that. As a part of the the BAU team he'd been later called in for consult. Even then Castiel never actually had any face time with him. But, he had eventually, curiosity getting the better of him. He'd been there when they put him in the van to bring him to lock up. Castiel's body had attempted to turn itself inside out when they shared eye contact. His brother's eyes light up and he smirked, then winked at him, and gave a relieved sigh as he let himself be rough handled into the cell. That's when Bobby had gone digging.

After being confronted by Bobby he'd told most of the bits of truth. Bobby had made enough links together for himself, and from bits of files, that they were related. How, he didn't know, or how one of them ended up on the U.S. Wanted list while the other worked at one of the top branches of the American Justice System.

He'd explained about his mother and father moving away from Russia, taking only him with them. While it wasn't wide spread across the system, and few people had clearance to the information, Lucifer was from a family of organized crime background in Russia. A family that had been thriving well before the perestroika; with some influence of power traced back to before the fall of the Romanov's. He only knew most of these myths second hand.

Castiel had a large family though most of the people that carried the last name he was born with he'd never met. For a man in his 50's Lucifer looked about the same age as Castiel. He was the one brother he never heard too many stories about, even growing up. He had siblings; Mikhail (the eldest), Rafael, Gavriil, and Anael. With a heavy heart his mother had taken him and his unsuspecting father (he was a professor who'd met her on an educational trip to St. Peters-burg. She'd fallen in love). By the time Castiel had been born she had been getting antsy. She'd successfully kept her husband away from her criminal background, but she couldn't do the same for her children. That was one thing that she couldn't have control over. Her husband wasn't family. But her children were.

When Castiel had been around one, she'd taken him and fled to England, where his father was from. They moved to Suffolk and he had a happy childhood there.

That is, until the family found her, and decided to make her pay for the insult.

Castiel had been over-seas on a mission at the time, emergency UK troops sent out to Saudi Arabia.

His handing over of all of his mother's private possessions( diaries, pictures of her childhood, and sharing of his own childhood stories) had gotten him into protective custody. A new passport, citizenship, and a recommended transfer to the Marines before he found himself interested in the BAU. The protective service had complained about him keeping his first name, but he'd refused to take away the last thing he had left of his mother. So it remained.

"Boss-man, you in there?"

Cas pulled himself out of his thoughts and fully focused. He turned to Pamela and nodded, "Just thinking. We'll want to be especially careful with this one when we land. I've had to consult with the office before. Their men have rather colorful ideas about FBI agents."

Ellen groaned as they all stood to get their go bags and meet at the jet. Castiel was paused at the door by Charlie. "Oh, sir, before you go," she handed him a pile of files, "whenever you get back, the OKC office has requested that you and any other agent you can spare go back down to conduct a few interviews. They've found a few people they felt you should look at but were told to cross-reference with us before they started the investigation."

"Thank you, be sure to let them know I'll be flying there after this case is over."

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

Castiel touched down at the airport with a cramp in his back. He'd finished off the case and Ellen had volunteered as the second, having the least paper work left to file on her field report. She'd teased him about being an old man and he let her indulge in it. They'd done well. Of course, they hadn't been able to do anything for the first two victims, but they managed to save the third. And the killer was captures alive. All in all that could be chalked up to a victory in their books.

"Are we headed straight to the Field Office?" Ellen asked as they slid into the company provided car.

Castiel nodded, "They will not be closing for another few hours. We still have another two days before the weekend so there is no rush, but it never hurts to get as much work done as we can. Unless you would prefer to rest first?"

Ellen shook her head, "Bring it on, big guy. I've got plenty of energy left." Castiel shook his head, pleased, and started the car.

The reconstruction work on the building exceeded both of their expectations. Large blue tarps covered certain sections but at least ¼ of the damage had already been repaired at the base. Castiel estimated that maybe in five to six more months the building would be completely repaired with the exception of internal wiring and furniture.

"Impressive," Ellen commented with a soft whistle.

"I would have to agree," Castiel mumbled as they grabbed their files and strode into the building, after pat downs and scans of course. They were about to turn down the hallway when someone called out his name.

"Castiel?" He turned around to find Dean Winchester staring at him. "I mean, Agent Novak," he quickly corrected himself.

Castiel found himself smiling a little. Ellen gave an amused snort and said she'd go ahead, muttering something about spending time with his boyfriend. He would've given her a glare if he'd had the chance to. Dean strode forward and they shook hands, one of them perhaps holding on a little longer than was professional. Then again, Castiel didn't exactly have stones to throw, he'd made a personal late night phone call to the man in question.

"What brings you back?" Dean asked, cockiness spreading through his skin, filling him up. "Couldn't stay away, huh?"

"That sounds about right," Castiel responded, trying to keep amusement out of his tone. "We're here to supervise and conduct interviews of subjects your department has identified related to the bombing."

"Speaking of," Dean replied, back straightening a little. "I need to talk to you." Cas raised an eyebrow. "It's related. But uh, maybe in private-" realizing how it came out he raised a hand and backpedaled- "I mean it's just... theories and I don't want to go forward with it until I get a second opinion."

"I'm sure you have other qualified agents to share your thoughts with?"

"Yeah, well, you're here and you're NCVAC, figuring out if something makes sense is your job right?"

Castiel chuckled a little, "I believe that's most of our jobs."

Dean rolled his eyes, "I mean that profiling stuff, getting into heads, figuring out why and then making predictions?"

"That is true."

"So that's a yes?"

Castiel contemplated it for a minute. "Before I leave, I believe I can. We will be here until Friday working, our flight out is Saturday evening. I'm sure I have room for a consult between then."

"Good," Dean dipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a card, "Just in case. My number. Although you apparently already have it." And with a wink he was gone.

… … … … … … … … … … … .. .. .. .. .. . . . . . . . . .

"Is there a reason I'm keeping tabs on this guy?" Charlie asked Cas, as she pulled up Dean Winchester's file. She stared at the screen.

Dean had shocked him with the amount of information he'd gathered by himself, and just how many strings he had looped together. Castiel had hesitated to ask him for his sources, some of the information being confidential to certain eyes only, but Charlie hadn't been able to detect any breaches in the system to suggest a hacking. Dean had even provided acute insights into motives, asking probing questions. Why set fires? There's plenty of evidence left behind from half of these so it can't be that. It's common in all the cases but doesn't even always cause destruction? Is fire like a thing for this guys? And the explosive? They're not always there either- Castiel had been so impressed with some of his deductions he had casually thrown out a suggestion to transfer to the BAU, and that there was a job opening. It seemed as if Dean had thought over his suggestion seriously as he asked Charlie to see if there had been any new requests for information on a transfer.

There had been one.

"Tho', he is cute for a guy."

"He has potential," Castiel replied with a clipped voice as he stood up to step out.

"Potential, right," Charlie muttered under her breath as she closed out of the file.

A/N: BACKGROUND INFORMATION REVEAL. BAM. I'm sorry for those of you who think Destiel isn't evolving fast enough but I personally hate stories where they don't build up to it. It's coming, I mean we're already at Dean wanting to transfer to the BAU so. Good progress. There's... I can't actually say how many more chapters before Dean transfers. 2? 3? There's some stuff that happens in Oklahoma before that happens.

Please, please review! It's my bread and butter.