Alibi

by Good Question

Destiel Crime AU : Dean Winchester is an FBI agent working for the Gang Unit in Oklahoma City. An explosion rocks the FBI headquarters and soon after the rubble clears Dean meets Castiel Novak, from the NCAVC unit. Neither of them thought that a national emergency would bring to light the deeper secrets behind both of their families. And what are the C.O.L.T. files?

19. Burning Holy Men

Chapter 19: Burning Holy Men

Sam's spine cracked and he sighed gratefully as he collapses back into bed. He rolled his head to the side to check the time and crawled out to the edge. He rubbed his hand over his face and let his waking brain catch up with him. He hadn't felt this good in weeks. It probably had something to do with the fact that he'd actually legitimately missed spending time with his brother. Sam sure as hell wasn't going to admit to it, of course. The amount of teasing he would have to endure wasn't worth it. Still, he hadn't expected hanging out with his brother and stumbling onto a crime scene to end up cathartic. Then again, maybe some of the stress that had seeped away from his tired bones was because he'd been 'back in action'. Sure he'd never been a field agent, never even wanted to qualify, but even as an intern he had been in the middle of the action back at OKC.

Suddenly he found the fact that his suspension investigation had been taking months to complete frustrating. They wouldn't even answer his phone calls. He'd been content to silently suffer out his punishment at first but he couldn't deny that there was an itch underneath his skin. His stomach grumbled and Sam told himself these were too heavy of thoughts to have so early in the morning and on an empty stomach.

"Mornin' sunshine!"

Sam blinked and yawned as he stepped out of his room letting the door slide shut. Dean was at the stove trying his hand at breakfast again. "Dude, did something happen?"

"Huh?" Dean stared for a little, a piece of toast hanging from his mouth.

"This," Sam pointed to the full breakfast meal Dean was cooking. "I mean I know you're a decent cook or whatever but humming tunes and the breakfast of champions? You've never had time for that. It's a glower and a coffee to go."

Dean shrugged but he couldn't turn his face fast enough to hide the small shift in his eyes. Surprised, Sam kept his mouth shut. It was an interesting reaction. He knew it was something Dean was embarrassed about, something he felt he would get teased over. It couldn't be anything awfully bad, or at least he couldn't think of a single scenario where Dean's reaction to catastrophe had been show tunes in the mornings and a sunny side up.

"Change of pace," Dean mumbled as he took out a piece of flat bread. He poured the egg he'd minced up onto it and then layered it with hot sauce and strips of bacon. Dean rolled it into a tight burrito and bit into it, juice dribbling down his chin.

"Not that big of a change of pace apparently," Sam mumbled. At least it wasn't a sit down breakfast, this seemed normal enough. "Gross."

"It's delicious."

"I wasn't talking about the food but the guy eating it. Seriously, at what point in your life did manners escape you? I know for a fact we were taught them."

"Oh shut up Sammy, I'm plenty classy." Dean took another huge bite and quickly moved his hand underneath the burrito to prevent it from dripping onto his suit. He fumbled with paper towels for a moment as his phone beeped. Sam couldn't see what had flashed up but Dean got a goofy smile on his face and momentarily abandoned his breakfast to respond. He hammered away enthusiastically at the keys.

"Someone's happy."

Dean's face immediately shut down but he couldn't hide how the corners of his lips kept trying to twitch back up into a smile.

"Shut up, jack ass." Dean grabbed the rest of his breakfast burrito and headed towards his car keys. "I'll be back later. Try not to get into trouble."

Sam sighed and rolled his eyes, watching amused as the second Dean turned his back to him the phone was back out.

Maybe he'd found some nice girl at the office.

Wasn't his business anyway and he put it under the category of 'things-Sam-won't-think-about-on-an-empty-stomach' .

"Might as well," Sam muttered to himself as he glanced at the clock and the still hot pan Dean had used. He had about an hour or so before his shift started. He deserved a nice, slow morning.

He hadn't expected his phone to start ringing the second a breakfast sausage hit the pan.

It was an unknown number. Frowning, he picked it up.

"Sam!"

"Bela." Sam turned the stove off and took the pan off of the burner. Certain luxuries, like a hot full breakfast, were just not meant for him. "What can I do for you?"

"I've got some good news for you. And oh! By the by, well done on that campus thing. Good to know your coffee shop days aren't softening you up."

"It's a bar-restaurant place," Sam countered. "How did you find out?"

"Sammy. For someone who's worked in law enforcement for so long it's cute how you keep underestimating people's resources."

"Whatever-fine. It doesn't matter. You said you had good news?"

"I do. I've managed to come across some information that you would be very interested in."

Sam felt his mood elate again. It sounded like progress. "Really?! Great- what've you got?" He paced a little in the kitchen, crossing his arms nervously. The more information and the faster he got it the better off Dean would be. He had a deadline he was rushing against but he hadn't expected information in just a few short days. Where was he going to get the money? He chewed on the inside of his cheek.

Bela laughed on the other line. "Sam, Sam, Sam. And here I thought you were the smarter brother. Stanford graduate and all." She gave a soft sigh and there was a small rustling sound. "Phones are very unsafe for passing sensitive information."

"Right right," Sam tapped his palm to his head. How could he have forgotten something so basic? 90% of the files he'd gone through at the office had been wire taps. He really needed to get back in the thick of it. Providing his brother survived and he got his approval. "Sorry, forgot for a moment. I'm just really skeptical of us being important enough for anyone to keep a line on."

"Have you so quickly forgotten Azazel and the special extraction team that was brought together for you? Trust me, he's killed plenty of men and women before and not one of them got task force entourage."

"What?"

"You'll find out soon enough I'm sure. You and your brother are quite the super stars. I'll be sending you a location and time sometime today. I expect my payment first."

The line went dead and Sam numbly let his hand drop. He stared at his phone for a moment, feeling unsure. If this had been any normal situation he would've dialed up Dean and asked him for advice. He'd been too busy with the field trip to the campus to have even taken time to look into her. Now it was too late. He couldn't risk her backing out or not trusting him if he needed more information. He needed to get money and somehow make sure he watched his back too. Anyone who knew that much information was dangerous.

"Damn it," Sam muttered as he snapped his phone shut and went to get dressed for work. He could at least get paid for worrying.

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

Dean smiled as out of the corner of his eye a little light on his phone started flashing. He was hoping it would be Cas. He'd appeased some of his worries the night before. Having a few beers before bed had not been his best idea seeing as he'd received enough liquid courage to drop him a random line. The messages had been short. It probably would've been better if he'd lumped them all together into one coherent sentence but he kept thinking of more 'super-quick' things to say, topping it off with a joke. Just before he could start feeling really stupid he'd received a text back from Cas. 'As impressive as that is I don't think you'll get paid overtime for it.' Dean had been nearly high with relief. He'd shot back another text saying that he should petition for it anyway and if Cas would have his back on it, to which he'd received; 'Dean I will always 'have your back', but some fights you must make on your own.' He'd spent the rest of the night trying to decide if that had been meant humorously or seriously. It was easier to tell in person. There were small twitches, gestures, movements that gave Cas away. If only the man would learn to use emoticons.

He'd woken up to a text from Castiel saying there was a surprise at work for them and to be good. Dean's mind had derailed itself far off the tracks and he'd worked himself up into a giddy mood in the morning. He'd sent a flirtatious answer back to which he'd been firmly told to keep his mind out of the gutter.

"im hoping my surprise will be u" he'd sent off right before getting into the car and driving to work. A few more days and it would've been a week that he hadn't seen him. Conferences couldn't take this long, could they?. Even the CIA couldn't be that inefficient.

To his great disappointment when he walked onto the floor Cas' door was still closed. He glanced around the room to see if maybe he'd missed him. He fought a frown as he flipped his phone open.

"I'm afraid not." Dean nearly sighed and read on. "Though if all goes well soon."

A smirk slipped onto his lips. He didn't have time to ask him if that meant just coming back to the office or if he could have Cas again soon.

"You're in a good mood."

Dean smiled at Charlie and shrugged. He winked at her and flipped his phone shut, "It's a good day."

"Good day?" Charlie said, frowning. She looked out the window as Dean walked past her. It was cloudy with the beginnings of a storm ready to brew.

Bobby stopped Dean as he made his way up the stairs to the conference room. "You still got your go-bag?"

Dean looked around confused, "Uh yeah. I think so. Why?"

"We're heading out." Bobby walked past him and sat down at the head of the table.

"I thought we were grounded," Dean said, confused. He accepted a cup of coffee from Ellen with a thankful smile.

"Well, top brass thought we might be getting antsy," Bobby gave Dean a pointed look.

He squirmed in his chair as Pamela leaned back in her chair and laughed. "Invite us along next time. Did you really get your ass kicked by stripper assassins?"

"I can't hit a half naked woman! And anyway, it was an accident we even ended up there," Dean muttered and crossed his arms over his chest. He gave Pamela a small glare.

"It was a very interesting case in the end I think. Hey, the FBI should put together a team to dig into that one guy's past," Charlie said. They'd agreed to forget about the bet, seeing as it had escalated into something far more serious, but she was still curious. Dean had promised to fill her in sometime later.

"Yes!" Dean gave her a nod of his head. "See, someone's thinking with their head on right. Who cares about some... naked women," Dean tried not to let his neck color as he remember how quickly the situation had turned from sexy to shameful. "The guy had serious influence."

"How about we focus on a real case first?" Ellen said with a shake of her head.

"It was a real case!" Dean defended.

"Enough, enough. Castiel got the go ahead for us to take off and the head honcho's are game."

Dean smiled and ran his thumb across the phone in his pocket. That's what Cas had meant. "So, where are we going?"

"Rhode Island." Bobby gave the go ahead for Charlie to start the slides. "God killings."

"God killings?" Ellen asked sipping on her coffee.

Charlie clicked a button and a few more images appeared. Two victims along with two separate killers.

"Hold up, don't we already have them in custody? Why are they calling us in?" Dean flipped through the file he had in his hand. They were closed cases and the assailants were ready to be prosecuted. If this was an evaluation or a study they wouldn't be sending the entire team.

"An angel made them do it," Bobby said with a barely contained eye roll. He would never call himself a man of religion, and he certainly wasn't the type to belittle the dead, but he couldn't exactly take someone who claimed God made 'em do it seriously. It was a good enough reason to go in. "Usually it's just your random individual with a psychotic break or they're on something. The distance between these kills," Charlie pulled a map as Bobby spoke, "and the almost exact MO is strange enough to suggest something bigger going on."

"Alien and angels, huh?" Dean muttered to himself and chuckled a little. If this was supposed to be a cosmic joke it was a very morbid but well timed one. He still felt bad for chuckling, no one had gotten back to him if something had seriously happened to the boy or if he'd just been tripping. Still, for a two for two crazy, angels and aliens weren't a bad combination. "Rhode Island it is."

They gathered their belongings and Dean stayed behind a little, taking a moment to glance at his phone. He hadn't gotten another message from Cas yet but he sent a text anyway before hurrying to catch up to the rest of the team.

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

A strong gust of wind rattled the windows as Cas stared down to the ground below. He blew at his steaming cup of coffee and inhaled. The smell curled around his nose and he felt more awake just with that. The sun was still just barely creeping over the horizon and he wondered if Dean had gotten to the office. The time difference between their location and Quantico was a few hours. His phone buzzed and he thumbed the screen to the side to pull up the latest screen. Cas tried to bite back a smile as he read through Dean's texts. He seemed to be in a good mood. The world was a little better of a place when Dean was happy.

He'd heard about the case that the Winchester's had stumbled on. His gut instinct told him to be concerned; it seemed far too coincidental and a little too strange. Official lines had shut the case down and called it closed so there was nothing he could do about it. He'd have to bend to the will of his superiors. Besides the stranger was dead and Dean was safe. Sam too of course but his heart had beat a little faster when he'd heard about Dean's injuries. He'd just have to deal with the nagging in the back of his head.

" it going?"

Cas took a sip and sent back a short, 'good'.

"can't tell me more than that huh"

He smiled. 'I'm afraid not'.

"right, super secret agent stuff"

Castiel didn't bother to fight the swell of amusement in his chest. They'd had a little bit of radio silence since his departure and was glad to have picked up communications again. It comforted him. The down side was that the need to get back to Virginia was now harder to ignore than ever. Now, even his suit felt like it didn't fit him right and the bathroom soap at the location smelled all wrong.

"Your wife?"

"What?" Castiel's head snapped around to Uriel. He had his own mug of coffee and looked far too awake for so early in the morning.

"You seem to be in an exceptional mood," Uriel pointed his index finger to the phone in his hand. "I dare say even a little smitten."

Castiel fought not to bristle. Even if it had been Dean, he wasn't fond of bringing what he considered personal business into his work world. But especially since it was Dean he felt overly protective. Half of the conversations they'd had at the offices had revolved around the Winchester's and he wasn't about to let the implication get around that he and Dean were more than friends. Which, he supposed they were. They'd shared a heated kiss, hadn't they? That certainly made them something other than platonic friends. They'd have to discuss their parameters when he got back, although it seemed like a bad idea to get more personally involved. It would be hard not to reveal sensitive information to Dean; especially now that he knew about Dean's emotionally rash decision to put his head on the chopping block. It was very like him and just as infuriating as all of his other reckless actions. "Is Zachariah here yet?" Castiel asked instead of answering the question. He'd shut himself down but Uriel still gave him a kind expression and a shrug.

He didn't think the other agent was a bad man but some information was sensitive.

"Just arrived. I believe we'll be convening in the same conference room."

Cas nodded and followed, falling into step beside him. No further conversation passed between them as they made their way through the maze of rooms. It was one of the qualities he found he most enjoyed in Uriel; the ability to withstand silence and make it companionable. They approached the door and Zachariah was already there, gleefully discussing something on the phone. Castiel held in a sigh as he saw the images that had been left plastered on the walls. He hadn't slept well the night before and the reason for his insomnia was decorating the room. Azazel had never been so heavy on his mind before. It was a guilt that seemed to eat away at his stomach. Even more so than his past. Of course he'd always been concerned about national, and international security. Well, almost always. It wasn't as if before now he'd simply dismissed the real threat these people posed to the world. Still, what kept him awake at night was how personal it had gotten. Castiel had spent most of his night on the balcony of his hotel room, staring out into the city and trying not to call Dean to- well, he still didn't know what exactly he would've done. It was secure information not to be shared. He hoped he would be able to cover up his concern in person. He'd always considered himself an accomplished liar. After all, adopting a brand new identity wasn't easy.

"That faded fast."

"Excuse me?" Castiel blinked.

"That's an expression I'm more used to."

"Oh-right," Cas bit a small part of his inner lip to keep himself in check as they moved into the room. His eyes immediately flew to the autopsy images of Azazel. Maybe he had been too fast on the trigger. Wondering if he would've been so quick for any other agent had haunted his conscious the night before as well.

"Agent Novak?" Zachariah motioned to a seat and he let himself sink into it. "Something wrong?"

"No sir," Castiel responded as he dragged his eyes away.

"You acted as you should have," Uriel assured him with a stern expression.

"I'm... concerned. Azazel's death seems to way heavy on my mind."

"The consequences, although not to be made light of, is nothing to lose sleep over, Agent. We're more than capable of taking care of it."

Castiel ignored it and absently rubbed a thumb over his stomach, trying to ease the feeling of nausea. "What else is there do discuss?" He tried to keep his voice neutral.

"Not much more," Zachariah gave him a greasy smile. "I know you're anxious to get back to your team. I hear the Winchester's got into a little bit of trouble while you were here."

"It was nothing," Castiel countered, cool. "Stumbling onto a case is not unheard of. People stumbling onto crime scenes is generally how we get wind of them in the first place."

"Of course, true. And both of the boys are still in one piece?"

"They're fine."

"See! They're doing just fine on their own. Everything is under control."

Cas held in the impulse to argue. He still vehemently opposed letting Dean be an active agent and having Sam run around without protection. It almost felt like they were dangling bait.

"But, that's not important. The release papers for seven of the most influential criminals in their ranks have just been filed. Our team is trying its best to stall them from hitting the Justice's desk but there's nothing we can do." Zachariah passed out a few folders. "In addition to that the defense seems to have managed to get their hands on some sensitive information."

"Information?" Cas frowned.

"I doubt that Sam Winchester voluntarily gave them any but the incomplete C.O.L.T. files he pulled held some sensitive material."

"Sensitive material?" Castiel looked through the exact copy of papers that had been lying around in the Winchester's old apartment. He shook his head as he read some of the names. Prominent figures in the justice system and information on them that could compromise their old rulings. "These are-"

"Yes, records that were supposed to be expunged but of course we keep our own copies. Although at the moment they can't prove anything, it's not as if they can walk up to the jury and present them with stolen files. But the accusations-," Castiel held in a rude noise. They weren't accusations. They were ugly, nasty truths. Underhand deals that could easily lose them their job. "- are enough to get people poking. They've already started another suite against a judge that presided over a few of the most important cases. If they win, the decision could be over-turned and a re-trial demanded."

"Are we sure it'll get that far?" Uriel asked, grim.

"If there's one thing that Lucifer's ilk has in spades it's money and influence. We have some of his agents pinned, deep within our own systems, but not enough to make sure that we can take them away."

"Shouldn't we have had a fail safe in place for this?" Castiel rubbed a hand over the bridge of his nose.

"We did. Sam Winchester decided it would be fun to start dismantling it." Zachariah's voice held a resentment in it that made Cas pause. "That entire family." Zachariah shook his head.

"Sir?"Zachariah paused. "This is the second time you've mentioned the Winchester family as a whole."

"Is it?" he responded loftily.

"Is there more classified information that we should be privy to?" Cas felt irritation bubbling underneath the surface of his skin. "I believe an incomplete debriefing is what's helped escalate the situation along."

"You really should let that go, Agent Novak," Zachariah sighed. "I believe we've all been through the emotional conditioning? If not, you should go in for a reminder. You can't let this Azazel thing get in the way of your job. Now- onto more important matters. Most urgent criminals-" he pointed to a set of images along the wall "- they call themselves the Seven Sins."

The subject of the Wincheter's family wasn't mentioned again as they started isolating connections that needed to be terminated to prevent their release.

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

"So how are doing this? Rock-paper-scissors?" Dean held his hands out, closed fist flat on his palm.

"Really?" Ellen gave a lopsided smile and rolled her eyes. "I didn't realize they let children into the FBI."

"Or carry around a firearm," Pamela added.

"It's a fair way to decide who goes where." Dean stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets, scowling a little.

"Afraid not," Bobby clapped him on the shoulder. "You and me are headed to the first vic's house. Carl Gully."

"The one that the woman stabbed to death?"

"Yes. She's been fully committed to the psychiatric ward which is where you're going," Bobby looked at Ellen and Pam and handed them a piece of paper with the address. "The other guy is still in the big house. Local chief said he'd give us a call when we were free to talk to him."

"Fair enough," Ellen tucked the address into her pocket and turned to Pamela, jingling the keys to their van with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm good. I'd like to read more carefully into her past anyway before we get there. Get a read on her." She turned to Dean, "See, this is how adults decide things."

"You're an adult," Dean mumbled back under his breath. She laughed heartily before winking and heading towards the other car. Bobby nudged him and jerked his head towards the second vehicle they had been provided. As they climbed into the car Dean read over Carl Gully's information. "What exactly are we looking for? Guy seems pretty normal." Dean paused himself and tilted his head to the side, "then again most of them do."

"Guilty to his deepest foundations."

"What?"

Bobby stopped at a red light and flipped through a few of the pages before pointing at a quote. "It's what-" he paused to read the assailant's name "-Gloria Sidnik gave as her reason for killing him."

"Well that makes a ton of sense," Dean muttered sarcastically. His phone beeped and he felt his heart flutter, hoping it was Cas. Instead it was Ellen and Pam telling them they'd arrived at the hospital and were waiting to be let in to see her. "That was fast," Dean commented.

"Ellen doesn't think she does, but she speeds," Bobby shook his head a little at that. It wasn't like they were the types to abuse the lights, but Ellen was naturally heavy on the gas pedal.

"Of course she does." Dean laughed a little and turned back to the file. "Seriously, this guy has a nice house, looks like his marriage was just fine too, a kid."

"Anything on his criminal record?"

"Uu-uh," Dean thumbed through the pages. "Worst he's gotten was a speeding ticket a few years ago."

The rest of the drive Dean spent flipping through the file trying to find a loose thread to start pulling at. The car rolled to a slow stop in front of the Gully residence. The police tape had long been taken off but there was another agent waiting for them with a key and a small forensics crew, just in case they'd missed something on the first sweep. Bobby stepped out of the car first and Dean stayed behind as his phone rang.

"Pam?"

"You guys at the house yet?"

"Just got here."

"We'll keep asking but other than her confession, which she's sticking to, she said that God gave her a sign?"

"A sign," Dean slowly opened the door, letting one foot dangle out of the car and onto the concrete.

"Yeah. She's got no clue who this guy is by name. So, we asked how she knew who to kill and she said the angel told her that there would be a sign at his house."

"So look out for some random object that triggered a psychotic episode?"

"Something like that. We'll keep asking and who knows maybe we'll find something similar at the other house too."

"All right, good luck with the crazy lady." Dean hung up and pulled his jacket off. The weather had heated up a little bit.

"Agent Winchester," the officer on scene held his hand out. They shook. "Deron Street, at your service."

"Awesome, thank you," Dean looked around the immaculate front porch. "So, Pamela called. She said that Gloria told her that she saw some sort of 'sign' that made her lose it."

"A sign?"

Dean shrugged, "Got no more information than that."

"Well it's a place to start." Bobby nodded to the officer who relayed it to his team. They'd have to comb the entire place all over again. "Focus on things on the outside. She caught him on the steps and there's no evidence indicating that she was ever inside of the home."

"'Round back?" Dean suggested. They left the rest of the team to do their work as they moved around the corner. There was cellar. "Do we have a key for that?"

"Officer Street!" It didn't take long for him to job around the corner. "We got a key for this?" Bobby asked pointing to the rusted lock.

"I believe so," Street said to himself as he started flipping through the various keys he had clipped onto his belt on a separate ring. "Should be one of these," he finally said, handing them over.

"Thanks." Dean took the keys and knelt by the ground, making a face at the mud that decided to cling to his knee. "She did say 'deepest foundations'."

It didn't take long for the lock to pop open and they pried the doors apart, laying them down gently instead of letting them slam by their own force.

"Ladies first," Bobby said with a quirk of his eyebrow.

"Very funny." Dean pulled out a small flashlight from the pack at his belt and turned it on. He held it out in front of him as he gingerly climbed down the steps. The house was old and he had no clue when the stairs had been last replaced. Not only would it be painful but also embarrassing if he ended up falling through a rotten plank. He swept his eyes across the stacks of random junk, flashlight following his movements. "Watch your head," Dean called out as he ducked a little under a rather low beam. He was surprised at how clean the floor was. It was strange too that for an area of the country that received very damp weather there wasn't a very heavy smell of mold.

"Recently refurbished," Bobby suggested, knowing exactly what Dean was doing as he sniffed the air. Cellars always carried a certain musk to them depending on how much they were used.

"I dunno," Dean admitted as he walked along the shelves. He ran a hand over one of them and dragged away a huge layer of dust. "Doesn't look like they've used any of this shit in a long ass time."

"Doesn't explain the floor. There's barely any wear and tear for what I'd expected. The cellar came with the house, right?"

"I think so. They might've done some remodeling." Dean walked back over to the stairs and jiggled the railing. "If they did it was just the floor, the stairs are old as fuck."

"Dean."

"Huh?"

"Over here."

Dean walked backwards from the steps, eyebrows scrunched. He turned around to see Bobby crouched by the wall. "Hand me a pair of tweezers would you?" Dean fumbled around for a little bit before finding and handing them to Bobby. He bent down next to him to try and see better what Bobby was trying to pull out of the wall.

"Oh ew," Dean mumbled as Bobby held up a full fingernail, blood tinted from being ripped off, up to him. He cupped his hands around his mouth and moved back to the cellar opening. "Hey! We got something!" He marched back to Bobby and looked around the wall to see if there were more. "It could just be a fluke?" he suggested, hopeful.

"I doubt it," Bobby sighed as they scanned the area.

"Hey, look at this," Dean said as he spotted an area of floor that had a clear drag line through the dust. He looked at the shelf next to it and saw that the trail matched. He put the small flashlight between his teeth and pushed the shelf a little to the side. Behind it was a large bag of cement. Staring at it he re-inspected the floor and felt a queasy feeling start worming its way through his stomach. Some of the floor had a different shade than the other. The color was brighter.

"I'm going on a limb here and saying that he probably wasn't trying to fix a crack," Bobby said, coming to the same conclusion as Dean had.

"I guess we're gonna start digging."

A few hours passed as they waited for the ground to be cracked open and carefully worked through. They'd gotten access to a GPR and an initial scan had suggested that there was something actually buried underneath it. By the time the excavation team was done they were left with a large gaping hole in the ground containing what appeared to be a woman's bones.

"I guess coo coo for coco-puffs was right about something," Dean muttered as they peered down.

"Damn it," Bobby cursed with a small sigh.

"What? Isn't this a good thing?"

"Depends on how you look at it." Bobby led them both out of the cellar, sending the rest of the team an update. "Gloria claims not to have known who Gully was other than that he was guilty. Pamela and Ellen are heading to talk to Zach Smitt right now to see just how well their stories match up. If it had just been, even if there are two of them, crazy folks killing a random that'd be fine. But if they both made hits on people they didn't know that are guilty of something that complicates things considerably."

"How?"

Bobby dialed Charlie on his phone and put it to his ear. "It means there's someone calling the shots."

"A group?"

"Or more-" Bobby stopped when Charlie came on the line, asking for every single piece of Gloria's and Carl's history. If there was at least even one overlap to where they could prove that they'd known each other beforehand it would make the case simpler, though they still had to grapple with how Zach and Gloria could be related to each other. Even then maybe they could work the mimic angle if the second victim came up clean.

Which, of course, he didn't.

While the house had been clean and the guy's record was clean enough; his computer hadn't been. Not wanting to leave a single stone unturned they'd had Charlie remote connect to Frank's computer.

"Oh ew!"

Bobby and Dean glanced at the speaker Charlie was connected to. "What?"

"Friggin' pedophile." They waited as Charlie pulled up e-mails onto their screen, watching as Charlie separated the most important ones. He'd been regularly chatting with a twelve year old and they'd been preparing a meeting.

"Fuck," Dean muttered and ran his hand through his hair. "I can't really feel bad for these guys. I almost feel like sending our friends in the psych ward a thank you card."

"Vigilante justice never ends well," Bobby muttered though he couldn't quite pity the victims either. "Charlie, any common ground with Zach or Gloria yet?"

"No, sir. But I'm looking, trust me. Other than the fact that they both lived unhealthy lifestyles and lived in the same area there's nothing else connecting them."

"Maybe not-" Dean said slowly as he spotted a flier on a board in Frank's office. He walked over and unpinned it. Dean turned it over in his hand. "Wasn't there one of these at the Gully house?" He handed the paper over to Bobby who huffed in agreement. "Our Lady of the Angels?"

"Gimme a second... it's pretty close by."

"It's something to go on, right?" Dean pinned the flier back onto the board and as they walked out he stopped. Maybe it'd been because the church thing had just been put into his head but he hadn't noticed the gigantic, cheesy angel figurine standing on their porch. "Hey Bobby."

Bobby turned to what he was looking. "Oh hell. You can't be seriously suggesting that?"

"Hey if you've got a better idea I'm all ears. But I know Gully's place also had half a nativity scene up."

"I'll bring it up to Ellen and Pam."

"I guess it really is important to take your Christmas decorations down," Dean mumbled as he hoped down the stairs, heading to the car with Bobby.

"That still doesn't explain how out of a thousand houses with similar decorations they just happened to pick out the ones with criminal secrets."

Dean shrugged and climbed into the car. They arrived at the church and there was a man already standing on the steps to meet them. They'd called ahead to make sure they'd have someone to talk to.

"Father Reynolds?"

The man stepped forward with a smile and an extended hand. "Yes, how can I help?"

They shook and Dean pulled out the pictures of both victims. "Do you recognize these men?"

"Of course. They were a part of my parish. I've known them for years," he frowned and shook his head, "a shame about what happened to them."

"Right," Dean said slowly, glancing at Bobby. Apparently nothing about their crimes had leaked yet. A simple nod from him told Dean that he should probably keep that information under the wraps for now too. "Anything you can tell us about them? Any reason they would've been targeted?"

Father Reynolds sighed and paused as a cop car with its lights flashing blew past them. He shrugged into the vehicles direction. "The neighborhood hasn't exactly been doing well for the past few years. Violent crime has been on the rise. It's why I believe church attendance is even more important than ever. Muggings, shootings? They've started to become more and more common."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Bobby pulled out his card ready to give it to him. It seemed like they weren't going to get very far.

"Yes it is a shame. Not even church ground is sacred anymore."

"Excuse me?"

Father Reynolds point past them at a small gathering of flowers, a cross and candles. "One of our own. Father Gregory. He was shot and robbed on these very steps. They left him for dead. He survived but barely. I hear he's permanently injured."

"You hear?" Dean asked confused. He'd assumed that church people were closer to each other than that. Keep a watchful eye and all that junk.

"Yes. Father Gregory," the priest sighed, "I'm afraid he has turned in his robes and dropped contact with the church. I've tried to find a way to get in touch. No one should be alone when recovering from something so traumatic."

"Traumatic," Dean nodded, "right. Listen padre thank you for your time. Call us if you need anything."

They shook hands and went their separated ways, Father Reynolds retreated into his church while Dean and Bobby stopped at the memorial dedicated to the other priest. "He's got motive?" Dean ventured out as they watched the candles flicker in front of a picture of the man.

"That doesn't explain the 'angel's' though."

Dean sighed. "So we're back to nothing?"

"I wouldn't say nothing, but I wouldn't know about what else it could've been. Tell Charlie to double check again if either one of them had a history of mental illness? And to look into Father Gregory's shooting."

"On it."

Even with the new lead they all separated to their individual rooms at the end of the night not having gotten further. Their next step was to locate Father Gregory but he was proving hard to dig up. In the case of both Gloria and Zach, other than some drug and alcohol problems, neither of them had presented with any signs of mental illness or any type of mild psychosis. It was proving frustrating.

"What do I think of angels?"

"Yeah," Dean spoke into his phone, holding it with his shoulder and his cheek. "Like God and all that junk. Halos and fluffy wings."

"Why do you ask?"

"Would you kill someone if an angel told you to?"

The line was quite for a moment. "Does this have to do with the case?"

Dean struggled with getting undressed for a moment before leaning back in his bed and flipping the TV on. He nearly laughed at the timing as he saw the news finally headline with the case. 'Angels out for vengeance.' "Well I'm sure if you google Providence, Rhode Island you'll get all the information you need. It won't even count as me giving away information."

"Whatever." Despite the tone in Sam's voice Dean could hear shuffling and then a loud start up noise as Sam moved to his laptop. "Angels told them to?"

"Yup," Dean leaned over the side of the bed and ruffled through his bag for a small bag of chips. "We're stuck on what could've made them both hallucinate some big holy mission moment." Sam was silent on the phone. "Sam?"

"Well, religious experiences have never really been able to be explained." Dean sat up a little straighter in his bed, leaving his chips abandoned. "There's some real power there."

"Hold up? You really think there's a god squad out there that sends out a hit list?"

"I didn't say that." Sam's voice was petulant. "I'm just saying religious experiences have their worth."

"Religious experiences?" Dean let his voice carry a heavy mocking tone.

Sam sighed on the other end of the line. "Dean, you know I'm faithful."

"Yeah but like, the serious, believe in the Bible, angels on your shoulder, praying every night, faithful?"

"I think the Bible has it's issues but on the whole yes. I believe in God, Heaven, and Hell."

"You think you know a guy," Dean mumbled. Of course he'd seen the Bibles that Sam always kept tucked around the house and it wasn't like this was the first time they'd had this conversation. He just hadn't thought that his brother believed so strongly. It felt odd to him. "Whatever man, so you think angels really did tell them to kill these randoms?"

Dean could almost hear the shrug in Sam's voice. "I'm sure there's another explanation. But religious experiences can be very profound." Sam sighed. "Even if God wasn't real, and angels weren't real, the mind is a powerful thing, Dean. Like people who drink water and swear they're drunk as long as you tell 'em it has alcohol in it?"

"Power of suggestion," Dean agreed, nodding his head to himself. "Right, that's actually really good. Something plausible to work with." He changed the channel to something less depressing than news. "Hey, listen, I'll see you when I get back. I gotta hit up Bobby."

"Good luck."

"No crazy house parties." The line went dead.

Dean knew that the other agents would still be up and sent a mass text out. It was a hard angle to work but it was a better one than some magical figures up in the sky sending down messages. Power of suggestions also required a certain amount of devotion. You really had to believe in the whole Heaven thing for it to work.

Turned out that a crippled priest saving drugged up sinners out of a shack in the middle of down town held just the right amount of power.

There'd been another victim but this time the perpetrator had let slip that the angels spoke through a mouth piece. A man of god.

Getting shot and surviving something you shouldn't have was a pretty strong sign of God's will for some. Apparently that and Father Gregory's own influence in the community had been enough to send a few of his flock into a desperate tailspin to be saved. Especially with the long list of "sins" they'd racked up. Everyone wanted to be offered a second chance. The priest had given it to them in the form of a holy mission. Clean the filth off of the streets.

He'd taken the confessions of these men and turned them out.

"For a man of God this doesn't seem like a very holy thing to be doing," Dean remarked as they cuffed his hands behind him. Father Gregory's expression was mockingly patient as he stared up at them from his wheelchair, tubes coming out of his nose and connecting to a tank strapped behind him.

"Agent, tell me, have you actually ever read the Bible?"

Dean shrugged and shifted his eyes. He wasn't about to get into a religious debate with what he amounted to a cult leader.

"Give it a read sometimes. There's a lot more vengeance and violent righteous justice in it than you would think. You can't stop God's will, agent."

"Can't stop-?" Dean frowned as they wheeled him into the ambulance. The man had still been in bad enough of a shape that just cuffing and tossing him into the back of a regular police van hadn't been an option.

"I'm pretty sure there are better ways to react to being shot," Ellen groused as they watched the ambulance take off.

"Yeah..."

"Something wrong?" Ellen asked, nudging Dean on the side.

"'Can't stop God's will'."

"Talking about his preaching's?"

"No, no. I think. I think there's someone else out there tonight. He was way too friggin' calm, too pleased," he put in the number of the station that Father Gregory was being brought to. "My gut's telling me he was far too easy to bring in, far too happy. We've got one more to deal with tonight."

"How sure are you?" Ellen asked, immediately serious. Intuition wasn't exactly science but it didn't mean it should be ignored. Dean gave her a look as he talked to the officer on the phone, telling them to question Father Gregory and that it was important.

They didn't get very far with him until Father Reynolds had been requested as a consult. Despite having separated himself from the church it seemed that Father Gregory (would he still even be called a Father?) still held a massive amount of awe and respect for his mentor. He'd given them two names. Bobby and Ellen split to try and cut off the 'hit man' while Pam and Dean tried to get to the potential victim. Well, victim was putting it very lightly seeing as the confessions he'd spilled to was multiple rapes and fantasies to commit another.

"That him?" Dean asked as they saw a car pull out of a house. There were two people in it. Pam nodded, looking at a printed out picture.

They trailed behind him, keeping their lights off, almost losing him for a moment. It didn't last for long as they spotted the car parked to the side in a construction area. A fist smacked the window of the passenger side car and they leaped out of their vehicle. The passenger door opened as they raised their guns, announcing themselves and a young woman tumbled out, half of her clothing nearly torn off. The guy hit the gas, leaving the door swinging until it closed when he turned sharply. Dean called out to Pam to take care of the girl and jumped back into the car turning all the lights and the siren on.

The chase didn't last very long as it took a turn for the worst.

The "boyfriend" had nearly cut off an eighteen-wheeler carrying construction poles. It had swerved to avoid him and fell to its side.

Dean had watched the life leave the guy as he'd sprinted out of the car and stood next to shattered glass, hands shaking, watching blood spill from around the pole that had impaled boyfriend.

"What happened?" It hadn't taken Pamela long to catch up once back up had arrived to take care of the girl.

"I dunno," Dean said feeling shaky. He looked at the over turned truck and back at the pole. It had gone straight through the windshield and into the back seat. "He just-" Dean shrugged, helpless.

"Crazy world we live in," Pam muttered as she peered into the car.

"Oh come on, don't tell me you believe in this stuff too? Fate and shit."

Pamela simply smiled and shrugged. "I believe in a lot of things, Winchester. Some things, are best left to their own devices."

Dean watched her leave, feeling more off-centered than he had in days. It wasn't a feeling he liked.

It was only made worse as when he finally got back to the apartment, looking forward to a glass of whiskey and hours of building a plausible case for denial, that Sam wasn't there to greet him.

He hadn't started to panic until he still hadn't seen his brother as the next day came and went. He knew from experience that it was too early to throw in a missing person's report. It wasn't until three am that night, while he nursed a bottle of Wild Turkey, that his phone rang. Sam's timid, scared voice echoed through the phone.

"Dean. I don't know where I am."

His heart plummeted to his knees.

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

Sam had woken up disoriented several times before. Usually the cause was a heavy night of drinking and generally Dean's fault. This time, when he woke in a strange motel room, he knew it wasn't. A small bit of resentment filled him. This was the second time he'd woken up in a strange place without any recollection on how he'd gotten there, in a year. It wasn't anymore pleasant the second time. When he looked at his bloody hands his stomach heaved and he held back the bile in the back of his throat.

It had taken him a few hours to calm down enough to dial Dean's number. He hadn't even been able to make it to the bathroom to clean off the blood on his hands. They were still coated in it as there was a knock on his door, hours after he'd been told by Dean to stay put.

Sam's legs shook as he walked to the door. He glanced through the peep hole and nearly collapsed when his brother's face swam into view. He opened the door and let out a relieved sigh, nearly in tears in his panic. He'd done something bad, he'd just had to. Even though he'd been catatonic for the most of the hours he'd waited for his brother, he'd had enough sense to check himself for injuries.

The blood wasn't his.

"Sammy." Dean strode forward and wrapped him in a tight hug. Sam for once couldn't complain at his ribs feeling like they were being crushed. It was comforting. Dean pulled way, eyes wide with fear as he took in his brother's appearance. "Sammy! Are you ok-"

"It's not mine." Dean relaxed and Sam shook his head, wanting to get the point across. "No, Dean. It's not mine."

"Okay okay," Dean took in a deep breath and rubbed the back of his neck. "Let's just sit down for a moment, okay?" He tried to hide the shake of his hands as he led Sam to the bed. He looked around the motel room, movements frantic. "Can't leave you alone for two seconds, can I?" The joke was strained and didn't do anything to mask the anxiety rolling off of him in waves. He paused at the bathroom door glanced in and then back at Sam. "Let's get you cleaned up, okay?"

Sam shook his head ready to protest. That would be disposing of evidence. If he'd done something... if he'd hurt someone he wanted to pay the full repercussions for it. While it didn't sound like him on a usual basis... the complete black void in his memory terrified him. He didn't even know what day it was. At the very least he should've known how he'd gotten here. Something nagged at the pit of his stomach. Hadn't he had something important to do? "Dean- I can't. What if I-?"

"Don't say it," Dean snapped at him. He helped Sam up, hands tight against his shirt and pushed him into the bathroom. "Clean up. I'll be right back."

Sam couldn't take his eyes off of his hands as Dean left, the door slamming his wake. His hands trembled as he turned on the faucet and tried to scrub at the dried blood. It wasn't until Dean walked back in with a little sheet in his hand that he'd realized that without soap the process was hopeless.

"Clerk says you checked in about two days ago and he hasn't seen you leave once."

Sam frowned, eyebrows coming together. "But how?" He indicated the mess on his shirt with both hands. "The room's clean; it had to come from somewhere else."

"You probably just ran over a cat or something and tried to fix it," Dean rasped out. He licked his lips and turned to go sit on the bed. "You really don't remember anything?"

"Nothing." Sam's fingers shook as he tried to curl his hands into fists to regain some amount of control.

"We need to get you a blood test."

Sam shook his head and sighed. "Even if it is roofie's it'd be out of my system by now."

"You don't know that," Dean bit out, hands clenched tightly on his thighs. Sam knew how he felt. It was like something out of a horror movie.

Maybe if he could just remember what he'd been doing beforehand... Sam watched his brother curiously as Dean suddenly sat up, moving to the window. Dean's shoulders tightened as he pulled the curtain aside. There was a bloody hand print along the window and the latch. Dean cursed and and shrugged off his over shirt, throwing it at Sam.

"Put that on, and keep your hands in your pockets." Sam followed the instructions, his mind numb. Dean dragged him out of the motel room, locking the door and finding the window to see if there was a trail. Sam tried to insist that they call the cops, or someone, but Dean gave him a stern look. "Leave it alone, Sam."

His stomach churned, feeling like a black, inky mess as they followed a small trail of bloody puddles to the parking garage attached to the motel. Dean crouched along each one, checking to see if any of them had bloody print to match. Sam nearly threw up when Dean looked up, eyes wide, pausing at one of them. "You wouldn't happen to have the key for this?" His voice was horse as he lifted the pad lock.

"I don't know- I-" Sam sighed, shaky and started to dig through his pockets. His heart froze for a moment and he knew his brother could see it in his face as his finger tips brushed against something metal in his pocket. He swallowed thickly as he pulled out a key.

"It probably won't even fit," Dean tried as he took the key from him. Sam attempted to protest, one set of finger prints was enough but his brother wouldn't have it. "There's no crime here, Sam. I'm sure it's just-" Dean licked his lips, a nervous habit he couldn't seem to stop, "- just."

The garage door screeched and rattled loudly as Dean pulled it up.

"Really?" Dean asked, looking at the broken down car. He shook his head. "Any other keys in those magic pockets of yours?"

Sam steeled himself as he slipped a hand into his jean pocket and pulled out a set of car keys. "Oh god, Dean. Dean-"

"Shut up, this doesn't mean-" Dean shook his head and snatched the keys from Sam's hand and opened the car. "-so you stole a car. Couldn't have gone for a classic?" He swung the doors wide.

Sam's heart stuttered to a stop when he saw the bloody knife in the back of the car. He knew Dean had seen it too when the keys dropped to the ground, rattling loudly in the otherwise empty garage.

"Dean, we need to call someone," Sam insisted, moving backwards until his back hit the wall.

"We don't have to," Dean started babbling, frantic. "There's gotta be some mistake. You would never-" he swallowed thickly and stared at the bloody stains on the upholstery. "No one's noticed-"

"Dean!" Sam stared at him, shocked. He knew his brother would do anything for him but he wasn't about to let this be covered up. "Either you call someone or I will." He started reaching into his pocket when Dean lurched forward, grabbing a hold of his sleeve.

"NO-no. Fuck. Fine," Dean sighed and fumbled for his own phone. He cursed his way through his phone book before putting it to his ear. Sam peered his brother from behind his bangs as he gathered himself. He heavily leaned his head back against the wall as Dean's voice threatened to waver closing his eyes.

"Cas?"

There were muffled sounds over the phone.

"I need you."

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

Cas felt the blood in his veins freeze as he stood in an abandoned room. The moment Dean had called he'd excused himself, needing a break from the issue at hand. He'd expected to feel relieved. He'd been elated even as he'd noticed who it was that was calling him. He hadn't heard his voice in far too long.

"Dean," he waited until he had the other man's attention. "Just..." he paused, not knowing what to say. There was protocol of course. Something he would've recommended immediately if he hadn't been been at the CIA and very well aware of the shady history that did surround the Winchester's. Having met Sam he didn't think that he could've been capable of this on his own. Especially from the halted descriptions Dean was giving. Too violent. Still, Azazel's tape hung heavy in the back of his mind as well as the other 'children' he'd influenced into crime."Is Sam unhurt?"

"Sam Winchester?"

Castiel nearly jumped out of his skin. At some point Zachariah had followed him from the conference room. He cursed himself for having let his guard drop so much that he'd been snuck up on. "Dean-hold on for me." There was slight cursing on the other line as Dean tried to stress the importance of the situation.

Zachariah would find out about it anyway, there was no reason to hide it from them. "It appears that Sam Winchester has found himself in trouble."

Zachariah made a thoughtful humming noise and his face grew serious. He nodded once before clasping his hands together, fingers interlaced. "You may go. Keep a constant line of communication open with us. You have, of course, all of the CIA's sources at our disposal." Cas looked at him, a little suspicious. Zachariah hadn't even asked what sort of trouble. It sounded like Sam might very well have found himself in the middle of a homicide, there were rules to be followed. Zachariah patted his shoulder and smiled, "See, Castiel. I told you we take care of our assets. I'll arrange for transportation."

Cas watched as Zachariah left the room, barking out a few orders as he went. He lifted the phone back to his ear, eyes never leaving the balding man's back. "Dean?"

"About time!"

"Dean I'm coming back."

"You need to-wait, you are? Really?"If the situation had been different Castiel might have smiled at the relief in the other man's voice.

"Yes. I've been given permission to use CIA resources as well. It appears that they are very concerned about... Sam since the last incident that he was involved in." He bit his lip, wondering if he'd shared too much.

"CIA- isn't that a little exce-" Dean sighed "-just get here. Please."

Cas hung up the phone and took in a deep, grounding breath. It felt like he'd held that breath in until he was standing in the lobby of a motel, heading towards the room number Dean had given him. He was alone. The CIA had taken jurisdiction, at least that's what he'd been told as Zachariah led him out. It would be up to their discretion on whether or not to call the FBI in. They wanted to handle it as internally and quietly as possible.

His nerves thrummed and he had a bad feeling crowding around him as he raised his hand to knock on the room door. "Agent Winchester?" he called out, using the formal to be safe. He didn't know who else was in the room. He was here as an agent of the CIA. Not as Dean's... well, Dean's something. That didn't stop his breath from stuttering and his soul filling with a heavy weight as Dean opened the door. He looked utterly destroyed. It gave him unpleasant flashbacks.

"Cas." His name came out almost like a prayer and Dean threw the door open. Dean moved forward a few steps and wrapped his arms around him. Castiel took in a deep breath, nose filling with the smell of Dean's cologne, and lifted his own arms slightly. His fingertips gently brushed at Dean's waist as Dean buried his face into Cas' collar.

"I'm here."

Dean stepped back, laughing a little and his cheeks tinted with embarrassment.

"Where is Sam?"

Dean tossed his head backwards to indicate the bathroom; he could hear a sink running. Cas looked around the room, quickly taking in all the things that were out of place. "I need to be filled in."

"Right. Yeah," Dean wrung his hands together and went to sit on one of the beds, knees splayed apart. He let his arms rest between them for a moment before he needed to fidget again. His eyes bounced around the room, resting on the window with the blood on it, before making their rounds across the room again. "He doesn't remember anything, I want him to get his blood tested for roofies-"

"If it was rohypnol there's more of a chance that he wouldn't have gotten up to much. It generally affects the muscles to where it's difficult to move. I doubt he would've been able to get up to much."

Dean cursed and Cas could see his anxiety and worry quickly forming into frustration. "Fine then! GHB or Special K or something. That's not the damn point."

Cas held in his comments. They both knew that the drugs would've left his system by now. "What's the last thing he remembers?" He glanced at the bathroom door briefly, it didn't seem like Sam was going to be coming out anytime soon. He took a few tentative steps forward and let his hand brush against Dean's shoulder. His heart hammered just at the small touch and he had to chastise himself for being so affected by it in light of the situation. His body tingled as Dean relaxed and he let his hand trail a little further up, rubbing gently along the tense line of his shoulder and neck. Dean sighed and his body slumped, head lolling to the side. On instinct Cas lifted his hand, brushing a finger against Dean's ear and then along his jaw to his cheek.

The sink turned off and Cas withdrew his hand, both of them jolting out of the moment. Dean's back went rigid and his nerves returned.

"Dean I-" Sam paused and Cas took in the rumpled shirt he had in his hands. It was covered in blood. Sam coughed and looked frantically between them. Out of his peripheral Cas saw Dean give him a nod of the head. "Agent Novak."

"I'm here to help," Castiel clarified before Sam could work himself into a bigger panic as well. They both seemed like they were barely holding onto to their last threads of sanity. "For now we're keeping this small scale. There are powers at the CIA that have made this into an internal investigation." He took a breath and moved towards the window, examining the outside of the motel room. "First, we will get you tested-" Sam attempted to protest for a moment but Dean smacked him on the arm, giving Cas a thankful look "- and then we will begin to retrace your steps. We've got forensics from the CIA arriving once we've cleared the area and we'll go from there." He turned to the Winchester's, both staring at him, pale and shaky. He fought to put a smile on his face, or at least some expression of re-assurance but found that he couldn't. "We'll figure something out."

Dean tapped his brother on the arm and made to gather their things, herding him out of the room. Cas waved them ahead as he pulled out his phone to give an update to Zachariah. He knew there were local agents nearby who could take care of the footwork without making a bigger deal out of it than necessary. He still wasn't sure how smart of an idea it was to have both Dean and Sam with him as they retraced their steps but Zachariah had insisted. It was a bad idea as they could contaminate evidence, making anything they found completely useless. Uriel had stayed behind to "run point". That hadn't made much sense either with how "invested" they claimed they were in the Winchester's lives.

A tendril of anger uncurled in his stomach.

This was the furthest thing from safe the Winchester's could be.

As predicted, Sam's system was clean but they took a hair sample anyway. It wouldn't show anything immediate, only prolonged use, but Dean had insisted. He found himself unable to deny him; of course it helped that the CIA was paying for it. Zachariah had wanted to be thorough. The car in the garage had been brought in as well and the clerk re-questioned. They'd seen Sam coming in on his own but couldn't comment on the status of his sobriety. Castiel wasn't surprised. It wasn't exactly a high end place, as long as they paid they tended not to care what happened in their rooms.

Sam and Dean were waiting in an interrogation room as specialists came up to Castiel with a ziploc bag of items they'd found in the car. He knocked on the door to announce his presence before sliding in. The water cup had been untouched. He raised his eyebrow.

"I keep telling him it doesn't matter if he gets his finger prints on it," Dean tried for a joke, "they're already in the system but the guy just won't take a sip."

Castiel hummed a little and pulled his own chair out and gave a lopsided smile. "Speaking of," he slid the bags across the table for them to examine. "Your prints are on these."

Dean frowned and picked up the bag before Sam could examine it. "What the hell? Since when do you smoke?" He opened the bag before Castiel could protest and sniffed. Dean winced, "Menthol?" Dean shook his head and dropped the baggie back on the table. "Can't be."

Sam shrugged and rubbed at his throat. "I think I might've had a bit of a sore throat this morning? And a cough?"

"Come on, Sam. That doesn't prove anything. You're probably just projecting symptoms onto yourself," Dean ground out, sitting at the edge of the table.

"We didn't find any smoked ones, in the car or in the garage, so we can't do a saliva test."

Sam nodded, head bent towards the table as he fingered the bag. He moved to the other one, frowning. "A receipt?"

"We were thinking of going there next. Does the name of the gas station sound familiar?" Sam shook his head. "We were originally going to go by ourselves but it seems that the majority opinion is to take you there yourself to see if we can trigger your memory. Sometimes," Cas held in a sigh, "sometimes when under the influence of certain drugs there are memories that push through. Afterward."

"Right, of course," Sam stood up, adam's apple bobbing.

"We have a car waiting." Castiel stood to the side and opened the door to let them through. Dean brushed a hand down the length of his arm as he passed and Castiel held his breath. He just hoped this would end well.

The gas station had given them a small clue. The clerk working had threatened to call the cops until Dean and Cas had pulled their badges out, assuring him that they were the police.

"They didn't even pay for any of the stuff!" The clerk barked out, glaring at Sam's figure outside of the window. He'd been banished from the store. Dean waved his hand at Sam to indicate he leave all the way to the car. A pout graced Sam's face but he made his way back to the van.

Dean's shoulders drew in and he went digging for his wallet before Castiel could protest. "This should cover it." Dean slid a a fifty across the counter.

"Do you have a store recording we could watch?" Castiel asked, reasonably. The clerk shut up and seemed to draw into himself. His eyes flew up to the camera at the edge of the store. It wasn't on.

"I-uh- the system. We just haven't had the time-"

"Right, of course," Dean snapped and Castiel had to inch closer and in front of him to make sure he didn't slam his fist on the table. It seemed like something Dean would do. He almost felt like grabbing onto his arm to make sure he didn't go after any of the small items on the displays either.

"If it helps they went north. Route 71."

They thanked him for his time, Castiel more sincerely than Dean, and stepped out. Now, he did draw his hand out and pause Dean in his angry march back towards the van. "When you first entered the motel and found Sam, was there any evidence of a second person there?"

"What?"

Castiel glanced behind him and gave the clerk staring at them a grim look. The boy turned back to his work quickly. "The clerk said they not he."

"Shit, you're right." Dean's eyes flared wide and when he reached the van he ripped the door open. "You didn't tell me you were with someone."

"I was?" Sam looked bewildered. He scrunched his eyebrows together and tried to remember. Castiel watched as his back went rigid. Sam had remembered something and judging by his expression nothing pleasant.

"Sam," Dean growled his name out. His knuckles were white from where he was gripping the car frame.

"Dean- I," he glanced at Castiel, then back to Dean. "It's not-" Sam sighed and muttered something under his breath.

"Bela?!" Dean drew himself upright and huffed out a breath from between clenched teeth. "What the hell were you doing with her? Better yet, how the hell did you get her contact info!?"

"I wasn't- I," Sam looked down, ashamed. "I was going out to meet her. I think maybe," Sam seemed to try and dig through his pockets. "Maybe we were supposed to meet at the motel or- Dean, I got a call, about-" Sam's eyes quickly glanced to Cas and his voice quieted and he stopped talking completely.

Confused, he watched as Dean's shoulders sank before he let his head rest on the edge of the roof of the car. "Bela?"

Dean's body snapped around, his eyes wide. It didn't take long for Dean to school his expression back to neutral. At least some part of what Dean was about to tell him would be a lie. "She's uh, someone I knew back in OKC. She was," Dean licked his lips and Cas saw him searching for words to use, "good with information. Helped us catch some big bads."

"And what would Sam want with her?" Cas asked, skeptic.

Sam's hand twitched a little and his shoulders steadied. Castiel almost wanted to call him out on his tell. They were both lying to him. "I-I uh." Sam swallowed, looking distraught. "I wanted more information on Azazel and the bombing that-that killed Jess." He watched as Sam winced and wondered if it was because he was using her death to fib. Some of the things that Sam was saying had truth backing them, or at least they registered as half truths with him. There was only one thing he could image that the brother's would not be forthright with him about. Something so important that Sam would be willing to bring in Jess.

Dean's deal.

Cas' stomach roiled but he made sure he didn't react outwardly. He wondered if Zachariah had suspected this. If this was why he'd kept it internal. "I see," Castiel replied, evenly.

Sam looked down at the floor, "I- I know I'm still suspended so I couldn't get information anywhere. No one would tell me anything!"

Pity flooded him. That had been an earnest statement. Perhaps whatever reason Sam had left to meet with this woman, this Bela, had brought back more pain. The lack of information could drive anyone insane. It was a great shame. Her files suggested her to be a lovely and vibrant woman. For a brief moment, Cas had to wonder. If under the influence and faced with delicate and unsavory information on what had happened to her, he could become so violent as to murder someone. "I understand, Sam. Though at the moment it doesn't particularly hold precedence. I wish there was something I could do." Castiel paused and looked around before continuing. "Would we be able to get in touch with this woman?"

Sam sighed and shrugged. "I don't remember meeting her. I remember being given a location and then getting in the rental and then," he sighed and spread his hands, "then finding myself bloody and calling Dean and here we are."

"Damn it, Sammy." Dean shook his head and his fists shook in an effort not to hit something. Without another word he slid into the passenger seat, knowing he was far too emotional to drive.

With no other option Castiel drove them down route 71 for awhile. The sun was starting to set and he almost suggested turning back when Sam leaned forward, eyes wide. "Go back!"

Castiel slowed down, watched in his rear-view mirror to make sure that no one was coming up behind them and reversed. There was a dirt road to their right.

"Remembering something, Sammy?" Deans voice was tired.

"I-I think so."

"Flashbacks?"

Sam shook his head, "Just a feeling."

Since they had nothing better to go on, they turned down the road, pausing at the end of it so that Castiel could radio in their location and give another update call to Zachariah. Depending on what they'd find, back up was getting gathered together. Castiel passed out a flash light to each of them before they stepped out of the car. They proved to be futile as bright lights illuminated the entire driveway when they stepped closer to the gate. There were security camera's everywhere though none of them seemed to be on. Just like at the gas station.

"Must've been your lucky day," Dean said with morbid humor.

They approached the steps to the house, looking around. Castiel knocked on the door and announced themselves as FBI as Dean and Sam looked around.

"Cas!"

Castiel abandoned the front door and followed Dean. There was a broken in window with glass shattered everywhere. "I don't understand," Castiel mumbled, "it appears he has a state of the art security system. Someone should've been called."

"That wasn't an option." They both turned to Sam to see him standing in front of a tampered with electrical box.

"Maybe you just stole something," Dean tried to joke. "I bet that ugly ass car is his."

Sam glowered at him as Castiel tested the door. It had been left unlocked. He wished he'd had the foresight to tell Sam to stay outside as they crept into the house only to find a body in the office.

Sam sank to his knees as Dean tried to support him. Castiel cursed and pulled out his phone, calling for an ambulance and back up. He gingerly reached out with a gloved hand to turn the body over. The neck had been slashed open and there were other stab wounds decorating the man.

"I killed someone." Sam's horrified whisper was the only sound in the room.

"We don't know that for sure," Dean tried but there was no more conviction in his voice.

"Please remove Sam from the premise," Castiel instructed, trying to pull the sadness from his eyes. It didn't make sense, Sam wasn't a violent person as far as he knew, but the evidence was piling up and he was a professional. Cas' body moved on auto-pilot. He called Zachariah with an update and went to the man's desk. Castiel ruffled through the man's papers until he found something with a name on it. The victim had been an agent.

"Can you get the computer started? I believe we can access the security footage."

Castiel frowned and felt like snapping his phone shut. Zachariah sounded almost excited by the possibility. Admitted it would be beneficial for the case to find the footage but no one should sound happy about having to see someone's murder. Especially one that considered Sam. The screen in front of him flickered to life. It jumped around a few scenes, parts having been cut out, blank, before finally stabilizing. There was blood all over the ground.

It showed Sam kneeling over the agent and another person next to him.

A woman.

Castiel leaned in further, heart pounding. She had to turn around or this was worthless.

He felt his knees go weak and knew he would've collapsed if he hadn't been sitting.

The hair was different, darker, longer. The face a little rounder, she didn't seem as malnourished as the last time he'd seen her. Then again it was always easy to look better when you weren't bleeding out on the floor.

Meg Masters. It had to be. He'd never forget those eyes.

"I thought you said you had it under control," Castiel hissed out over the phone before he could stop himself.

"Now now. Calm down. We don't have conclusive evidence that it is her."

He watched as the woman on the screen gave a cheerful wave. How could it not be her? Then again, he supposed she moved different, and perhaps Sam had only seen her that once before. There was no logical reason for him to have followed her knowingly.

"So?"

Cas' head snapped up and he closed out of the screen. Dean was standing at the doorway, hands clenched at his sides. He was biting his lip and it looked like all he was able to do to keep himself from collapsing. Words stuck in his throat. Technically the video hadn't shown anything conclusive. It had simply showed Sam kneeling over the fallen figure and there had been a lot of tampered with video before that.

Dean's face dropped; he'd taken too long to answer. "He- he had a good reason right? Self-defense or something?"

Cas found his mouth dry, everything he could've said sticking to his tongue and the roof of his mouth.

"Fuck," Dean cursed. He looked seconds away from breaking apart.

"Dean-"

"Is Agent Winchester with you?"

Castiel froze, having forgotten he was still on the phone. His mouth made a clicking sound as his mouth opened. He licked his dry lips. "Yes sir."

"Let him see it."

"Excuse me?" Cas sat up straighter in his chair. There wasn't a single part of this that would be a good idea. Dean eyed him, curiosity distracting him from how bad the situation was.

"Let him see the video."

"With all due respect, sir, I'm not sure that would be the best idea." He eyed Dean warily and almost felt like putting his hands over the screen just in case the video flared to life on its own.

"That's an order Agent Novak. Let him see it."

"Dean."

Dean moved from the wall, marching forward, careful to step around the blood so as not to track anything anywhere.

"The rest of the team will be there shortly." The phone went dead and Cas sighed, resting his head in his hands.

"What's going on, Cas?"

"He-this man. The victim. He is one of us."

"An agent?" Dean's voice cracked a little.

"Yes, and," he took in a deep breath, "the footage is incomplete but I've been instructed that it would be a good idea for you to watch it."

He moved out of the chair and let Dean sit down, hitting play and scooting behind him. He wasn't sure he could watch Dean's facial expressions. Guilt tied his insides into knots. This could've been prevented.

"Sammy-fuck." Dean leaned in closer to the screen. "Who the hell is that?" Dean asked, looking behind him at Cas.

Maybe he wouldn't be able to tell. He'd only seen her briefly. Maybe everything wouldn't go to hell.

"The female companion that was with Sam," Castiel answered. It was an honest, neutral answer, and hopefully it would be left at that.

"We should get Charlie to look at this," Dean said, getting up from the chair. His stance changed completely to one of stubborn determinacy. "I'm sure they came here for-for some reason. Maybe she lived here-" Cas shook his head. Since the daughter had moved out Stefen Wandell had lived alone. "- and she went nuts or something. Sammy tried to save him."

Cas nodded. The theory had credibility, especially considering the person involved. It still didn't explain why Sam had gone willingly. Perhaps under threat? He spoke slowly and careful. "I do believe, that every angle should be exhausted."

"You honestly think he could've done this?!" Dean pointed at the dead man on the floor, angry.

He held out his hands, attempting to placate him. "Dean," the other man set his jaw, stubborn and frustrated. Cas tried again, "It is my job not to make assumptions. For or against your brother. Every explanation must be exhausted." His eyes glanced back at the screen where Meg's blurred face stared at him. He felt sick.

"Well then get on it!" Dean snapped as he shoved the chair completely out of his way and stormed his way out of the room. His boot grazed a splotch of blood and Castiel watched it smear, knowing there was nothing he could do about it. He remained in the office, fingers around his temples to massage his headache away until the rest of the CIA team had arrived and he was shooed out of the office.

Dean wouldn't even look at him as he slid into the car to drive them back to the station. They were done for the night. The silence was nearly maddening and for the first time Cas wished it were customary for him to be playing music in the background while he drove. He dropped them off at their apartment.

His heart ached as Dean only gave him a passing glance, an arm wrapped protectively around Sam.

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

Dean let the door slide shut behind him as they entered their apartment. He locked the door and let his head rest against it for a moment. His head spun and he felt dizzy and off balance. Every time he thought he had a single thought, a single emotion pinned it would shift and change. Dean wobbled, even feeling physically disoriented as he tried to straighten and follow his brother down the hall. He tossed his keys into a bowl in the foyer and let his jacket drop to the floor. He didn't have the energy to put away anything properly.

Even the apartment smelled a little weird.

Sam dropped onto their couch and Dean stood in the doorway, staring blankly ahead. It was too much information to go through at once. He needed to break it down and take care of it one step at a time.

"Dean."

"Don't."

Sam looked up at him, eyes wounded.

"I did it, didn't I?" Sam's voice wavered and his expression wobbled. "I murdered someone?"

Dean shook his head, refusing to relate to him what he saw on the footage.

"Don't lie to me, Dean."

"What, like you did?" Dean snapped back. He felt his anger focus him. "What the hell were you trying to do!"

Sam flinched and sank back further into the couch. Dean cursed and tried to reel himself in. He needed to go punch something before he took it out on his brother.

"I'm remembering bits and pieces."

"What?" Dean froze.

Sam wrung his hands together and then brought both of them through his hair, obsessively brushing through it. "Flashes. Small ones. I- I think I remember, holding the knife- the blood." Sam took in a deep breath. "I think I remember the gas station and breaking into the house. He- that guy."

"Come on, Sammy. Stop. You were probably trying to save him- or- shit he was a dirty cop?" Dean marched over to the couch and sat on the coffee table, facing him. He took a deep breath. "Besides, there was someone else with you. There was this girl."

"Girl?" Sam's head snapped up. He figured he would've remembered if it had been Bela.

"She looked like a nasty piece of work too," Dean tried, nudging his brother on the shoulder. "I bet," he swallowed, "I bet you were trying to keep an eye on her or something. You could never do something like that."

Sam shook his head and tried to sink further into the couch. "That's not- that's not true."

Dean felt his heart slow to a stop. He couldn't handle anymore hard blows and surprises.

"I've been," Sam sighed, "really angry."

"Everyone gets mad."

"No, Dean." Sam's voice grew stern. "Really really angry. And furious. At the world, at Azazel, at our situation. Everything. And it won't stop. I," Sam's head dropped into his palms. His voice was muffled. "The things I've imagined doing to the people who killed Jess. Who- who killed those other kids in the town?" Sam's voice dropped to a whisper. "The things I'd do if anyone came near you."

"Sam."

"I think I could've. Done something." Sam's hands shook a little. "If- I wasn't in my right head. I know-drugs and alcohol they bring out demons in people. And I've got pretty big ones." Sam lifted his head and Dean had to look away. He couldn't handle the raw pain them.

"Look-"

"Dean, you're not listening. Look at me!" Dean stubbornly refused so Sam kept going. "This is bad. Dean. And you didn't even want to turn me in! I'm apparently willing to kill people, probably innocent people, and you're willing to cover up for me. You weren't even going to call anyone." Dean couldn't argue and he wasn't about to respond. He remembered the shot he'd placed squarely into Meg's gut, not caring if she bled out, once he'd figured out what she's tricked Sam into. The deal he'd made with Azazel to keep his brother alive.

Maybe people had a point when they called them co-dependent. He hadn't thought it was that bad.

"I need to be locked up."

"No you don't."

"He's right, Sammy. You don't."

Dean jumped off of the table, whirling around, patting his pockets for a gun that wasn't there. He found it pointed straight at him by the woman who'd been on the video.

"And trust me. He wasn't innocent. Plenty of dirt under his feet, rotten and filled with skeletons." She smiled and tutted as Dean tried to move backwards to try and pull a gun out of the compartment under the coffee table. "Now, Dean." She shook her head and walked a few steps backward, pulling a drawer open with one hand. She pulled it out enough so he could see all their concealed weapons neatly collected. Dean cursed.

"Who are you?"

Dean didn't take his eyes off her to look at Sam. Something about her seemed familiar.

"I'm so offended!" she said as she smiled. "We had such a good time together!"

"You drugged me!" Sam stood up from the couch, angry. Dean held his hand out to stop him from going further.

The woman shrugged, "Well you know. Those pesky morals can get in the way. Which, was really weird considering how far off the reservation you've been going lately. Black market help? Really Sam? I thought you'd know better. Getting in real over your head."

"Shut it, bitch." Dean moved his hand further back, trying to put Sam behind him.

"Just as feisty as I remember you."

"Remember me?" Dean frowned. He took in her features carefully, cataloging them and matching them to faces he'd encountered in the past. His face drained of all color. "You're supposed to be in jail." He still had trouble believing it was her. He would've recognized her anywhere and instantly. He knew that for a fact. There was no way-

"Heya Dean-o."

"Meg."

Sam went rigid behind him as he put the dots together too. Dean could feel him trembling behind him.

"I would've never, never accepted help from you," Sam snapped trying to move past Dean again, rage fueling his voice.

"Uh-uh," Meg pulled back the hammer to the gun. She turned to Dean, "I look good! I know! Barely recognize myself either. Certainly better than I looked locked up. Bloody isn't a good look on me. You'd be surprised what money and a good hair stylist can accomplish." Her eyes sharpened and Dean swallowed, nervous. Why the hell had he taken his hip gun off? Oh yeah, because if there was any place that he was supposed to feel safe at that would be his own damn home. "It's good to know though," she glanced between both of them, "that you can be manipulated."

"We're not gonna play your damn game! Get other puppets, whatever the hell Azazel's master plan is, we don't want a part of it!"

Meg started laughing. She clutched at her stomach and then stopped suddenly. "Azazel's plan? You think I care about Azazel's plan?" Her face dropped and her eyes hardened. She stepped forward and both of the boys had to fight from taking a step back on instinct. There was gun pointed at them but there was also a couch ready to trip them. Maybe if they moved quickly...?

"You know," she hummed to herself a little, in thought, "where people like me get sent?" Neither of them answered. "It's not a nice place, Dean. They like to parade around the 'no torture' rule, right? We have a kind, caring government. No black market deals at all. No illegal swaps of prisoners. No corrupted officials and the things that get them off. Let me tell you where I went." She stepped forward again, eyes blazing with anger. "Hell. And you put me there."

Dean licked his lips, keeping an eye trained on her. "Oh come on, you didn't even get sent to Guantanamo or anything. Maybe you've just got a weak constitution."

Meg let her finger twitch on the trigger and Dean quieted. "Oh~ Dean. The place I went?" She smirked and glared at him through half closed eyes. Narrow dancing lights of anger. "It's cute that you think that's the worst place they can send a person." She glanced to the side and Dean wiggled his ankle to make sure that he still had his Wesson in his holster. He did.

"No, I don't care about any damn plans. The dead remain dead," she spat out with a little more fire.

"What? Daddy's gone so you're throwing a tantrum?" Dean hissed as he moved forward, posturing so that it wouldn't look out of place for his leg to swing a little. He needed to get to his gun.

"Don't you know a woman is the most dangerous thing on the planet?"

Dean swallowed and gently nudged Sam with his other leg. His brother knew better than to look and he hoped that years of working together, although not always in the field, would let him know what Dean was trying to do as he smoothed his hands down the side of his leg. Both to wipe off sweat from his palms and to make his movements seem natural. He repeated the action, only going as far down as his thigh.

"What do you want with us?" Sam asked, inching forward a little bit and moving part of his body to cover Dean's.

"I want you to suffer."

Dean counted seconds.

"I want to pick you apart. I want to rip you into pieces like pulling wings off an insect."

Three.

"I want to make you pay for every second I spent in that place."

Two.

"I'm going to ruin you, like you ruined me."

One.

Dean reached down and grabbed for his ankle, knocking his knee into the back of Sam's to bring him down and flipping the table up. It wasn't much for cover but it anything was better. Dean crouched, hands steady on his gun and cocked it.

Sweat dripped down his back as Meg just stared. Then she smiled.

"Don't be so dramatic," her hand slid into her pocket. Dean fought the urge to shoot her immediately. Depending on what she had in her hand things could go horribly wrong. The gun was also still pointed towards Sam. If her finger twitched on the trigger as she fell... His heart slammed itself repeadetly against his ribs as Sam panted on the floor beside him, trying to make himself as small a target as possible (even if that was almost impossible at his size).

Dean felt a chill run up his spine as she pulled out a zippo and lit it. "You've been a great sport." Dean's finger twitch on the trigger as she dropped the lighter. It hit the floor and flames spread out from the spot.

If Dean hadn't been so preoccupied, if he hadn't been so exhausted, he might've noticed that the strange smell he'd caught walking in was reminiscent of gasoline. He fired off one shot, straight towards Meg's chest and she flew backwards. The fire roared higher, spreading around the couch and to the windows. He knew better to fire off another shot, it could hit something and spark a bigger flame. The fires were starting to eat at his vision too.

"Sam!" he yelled out, moving back from the flames and reaching for his phone, dialing 911 and trying to find an escape route. He grabbed his brother's forearm and yanked him up. Dean was almost too busy calling the Cas, he knew the fire department had already been alerted by their system (he could hear it screeching over the rumble of the fire), to see Meg standing up, groaning. He blinked owlishly. He knew he'd made his shot. He didn't miss. She grinned at him and moved across a little opening in the flames, probably left intentionally, and stripped off her shirt.

A vest.

"I don't fall for the same thing twice, Winchester!"

She yelped as a flame caught onto her undershirt and stripped that off too, making a break for the door.

"Blanket!" Sam yelled into Dean's ear as the sprinklers inside of the apartment finally kicked on. What the hell had taken them so long?

Smoke started to collect along the ceiling as they made a mad dash for the door, wrapping themselves and sprinting through the flames.

They were greeted in the hallway by their confused and screaming neighbors.

At least they'd brought fire extinguishers.

A/N: Shoutout to Inkpot Satsuma for being a good sounding board. (And thanks to all my regular reviewers. Whenever I start writing a new chapter I read through the previous chapter's reviews). Sorry for the delay, again updates on progress are on my goodquestionharlie tumblr and I've had a shit week. But hopefully 33 pages of content will make up for it. We've got about... 10ish chapters to go before the "mid" finale, aka end of Section 1. Unbeta'd again because it's been so long since I updated and my beta got busy with school. Review please!

Edit; By the by, going through the cases. How often Sam get's drugged, kidnapped, somehow incapacitated by some evil force. Jesus he gets into so much trouble. It's like every other episode he's getting kidnapped.