Three months later

"FBI you say?" the deputy asked. He was still looking at Dean and Sam's badges, which identified them as Harrison Hamill and Mark Ford. The crime scene was marked off with enough tape to go around the entire state park twice, which was more than enough for the shallow ditch and its small bridge that made up the crime scene. Local law enforcement was out in mass, along with the park rangers and freakishly enough what looked like the CDC. Sam and Dean didn't like to overwork the FBI angle, but with this many civil servants running around, the FBI was about the only thing that was guaranteed to pull rank.

But the deputy didn't look that impressed. He didn't look defensive either. He just looked bored. Like dismembered, partially gnawed on bodies were an everyday thing for him. Though who knew, maybe that was the kind of problem places named Chester had.

"Do you mind?" Dean asked in his best snotty, you-are-lower-than-dirt-to-me voice. It didn't take a lot of effort to fake.

The deputy shrugged and handed their badges back. "Whatever. The other two are down there, looking at some weird leaves or something like that."

Dean and Sam shared one quick look. It was possibly other hunters. They weren't the only ones in the business to play this trick. But most of them worked through Bobby as their 'confirmation' and Bobby was the one who had sent the brother's out here in the first place. "Other two?" Sam asked politely.

"Moldy and Skully, or something like that."

"What the fuck!" Dean exclaimed.

It echoed through the deep greenery of the forest.

The deputy's eyes went wide and his mouth dropped open. Sam grabbed his brother's shoulder and hauled him back so hard he was in danger of dislocating something. "Excuse us!" he called back cheerfully as he got them the fuck out of there.

Two weeks after that

They were halfway across Tennessee when the phone rang. It was Dean's personal phone and not one of the burners, which narrowed down the possibilities to about one. Which was just more proof for how sad their lives really were. Dean fished it out with one hand, making Sam wince as they made their way around the curves of a back country road.

"Talk," Dean declared. They were coming off of another failed attempt to put a hold on this whole starting the apocalypse thing and Dean was angry at just about everything. Demons, humans and angels alike. What they needed was a little bit of friendly help. Maybe a nice easy job. Just enough to remind them why they were fighting this in the first place. So Bobby had already found them what sounded like a skinshifter. Which also said something about their lives these days that Sam ranked that kind of monster as easy. But there must be more to the case if Bobby was calling back.

Dean had the phone up to his ear, so Sam didn't hear half of the conversation, but Dean's side was easy enough to understand. He slammed on the brakes hard enough to make the seatbelts lock. "Goddamn, fuckin' fuckity shit bag!" he shouted.

Sam had himself braced in place and had a few choice words of his own he'd like to add.

"How the hell did that happen?" Dean demanded and Sammy's heart sank a little further. There were a lot of bad things that could happen these days. He didn't really want to start listing them in his head, but he couldn't help it.

"Well, how the hell did he even find out about this?" Dean argued. The car was at a complete stop, sitting in the middle of a blind curve and Dean didn't seem to care at all. "What do you mean you don't know? I thought this guy was supposed to be clueless? How the hell is he getting there before us?" Bobby must have said something insightful because Dean switched to cussing him out instead.

He disconnected the call with as much force as a grown man could when using a cell phone. He jerked the car to the side, then shifted gears to do a three point turn.

"No hunt?" Sam asked carefully.

"Goddamn fucking Feds!"

A week after that

"I cannot believe this shit!" Dean snarled as he yanked the suit jacket off and flung it across their small hotel room.

Sam followed him in more slowly but with the same feeling of frustration. He shut the door and threw all of the locks before collapsing in the room's one chair. The beachside town they were in had lovely views, tasty soft-shelled crabs and expensive tourist hotels. Even the little out-of-the-way joint they'd found still charged like the ritz and this tiny, tight little room with its cheerful seventies-pastel walls and scratchy-as-sand towels was all the boys could afford on their current budget. Guarding seals had taking up much more of their time these days than normal hunting did, and the cash funds were habitually low. But they didn't really have a choice. One of the seals was here and so the Winchester boys were too.

"I mean really? What the fuck!" Dean continued, not looking for an actual answer. "Who the hell are these bastards? What, did the spook put a damn tracking device on us? I swear to god, if one of them touched my baby…"

"The Feds got here before us," Sam supplied helpfully.

"What the fuck?" Dean replied, ignoring Sam's logical input and sticking to his old favorite refrain. "We only found out about this one through Cas."

Sam slouched in his chair, staring up at the popcorn ceiling. "It is kind of impressive."

Dean continued stripping, throwing clothing left and right in a way he normally wouldn't with one of his suits. Regular clothes, sure. Sam was forever finding socks in odd places and tripping over t-shirts. But their suits were another tool and one they couldn't easily replace. Dean usually carefully folded his away with the same care he showed any of his pistols. At least, he did when he wasn't having a temper tantrum.

"It's a goddamn problem we've gotta fix," Dean muttered darkly.

Sam lifted his head and leveled a glare in his direction. "Can we not screw with the FBI again? That didn't end well for anyone last time. Jail time is seriously going to hinder stopping the apocalypse."

"Yeah, well, don't be an idjit and get caught."

Sam sat up. "Dean, I'm serious. Whatever you're thinking, no."

Dean huffed. "How the hell can you know what I'm thinking? I don't even know what I'm thinking."

Sam raised one eyebrow.

"Shut up."

Sam did, only because he thought that was the end of the conversation. With the FBI running all over their hunt, there wasn't a lot of options except for them to back off. If they got lucky, the Feds would cause enough disturbance to foil whatever the demons had planned. It was the best they could hope for at this point. There were still other seals. Sure, this one had been promising, but they'd manage. They'd have to. They didn't have any other choice.

Or at least, that's what Sam understood. Dean apparently missed those little details.

"Dean."

"I'm thinking."

"Not reassuring, Dean."

"Look, we can't work the job while these FBI guys are here, right?"

Sam closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I'm afraid to ask."

Dean was already moving. He had his bag out and was yanking on street clothes as fast as he could. He tossed an extra t-shirt at Sam. "Don't be such a drama queen. I've got this."

"Still scared."

"There was a drug store up the street, right?"

Sam scrambled to his feet. "Getting more scared!"

"Relax, Samantha," Dean replied, flash his best shit-eating grin over his shoulder. "Remember Alex Park?"

Sam paused, his hands wringing nervously at the t-shirt. It's not that he thought his brother would do something immoral, it was just - things had been a bit weird lately. What with Dean going to hell and Sam's little blood drinking problem - basically neither of them were probably making very good life choices these days. "Who?"

"Alabama. Your first year of high school. Remember that dickwad?"

There had been quite a few dickwads at different schools over the years. Sometimes the dickwad was Dean. More often it was Dean getting some jerk to lay off of Sam, at least before Sam's growth spurt hit. And while Sam didn't really remember most of them - hard to make a lasting impression on a kid who dealt with monsters on a daily basis – he did remember Alex. The kid had had a streak of mean that made the hair on the back of Sam's neck stand up. He'd mostly left Sam alone after the time he saw the knife Dean and Dad insisted Sam take with him everywhere. Apparently despite being a grade-A asshole, the guy had had some self-preservation instincts. That didn't stop him from terrorizing most of the other kids at school. Dean hadn't even been bothering to enroll at that point, but even he heard about some of the nastier pranks and abuse.

"What about him?" Sam asked, trying to work out the connection between an over-compensating school bully and the very real threat of the two hovering FBI agents. Sure, they were annoying, but mostly because they were actually doing a fairly good job of investigating the crazy shit that the Winchesters were used to dealing with on their own.

"I'm thinking we've been missing a very simple solution to this problem," Dean announced proudly. "Sure, it'll probably only work one time, but we need this win and I ain't willing to leave it to dumb and dumber."

Sam scowled. "Name calling, really?"

"Yes, really, Samantha. Now put on your big girl panties and let's go buy some laxatives."

Sam's eyes widened. "You wouldn't."

"The hell I wouldn't. Getting between me and a hunt," Dean muttered. "Worked well enough on Alex-the-douche didn't it? Now let's go put a couple of FBI agents out of commission for the night and take care of real business."

"Oh my god."

"Stop whining. It's brilliant."

"We're drugging FBI agents."

"Only a little bit."

"I hate you so much sometimes."

Soon after

"You need to go to Owls Head"

"Jesus H. Christ on a cracker!" Dean screamed, jerking back and flailing one arm out in what he would swear was a defensive maneuver and not just him freaking out. Though in his defense, Cas the angel had just freakin' materialized outta thin air behind him in the men's restroom of a Biggersons in Gatlinburg.

Castiel frowned. "Why would my father's son be on a cracker?" he asked. And yeah, the robot routine was kind of annoying and he still wasn't sure why he was the one who had to do all of the angel communicating when Sam was much more enthusiastic about the idea. But Dean had to admit, Cas and his stupid ass literal questions were kind of part of why he sort of liked the weird-o a bit more than his creepy, foul tempered brethren. Sure, Cas could do the I-will-smite-you routine with the best of them, but at least the guy listened when Dean talked. He wouldn't ask stupid questions otherwise.

"Wait, what?" Dean managed to ask after shaking himself off and getting everything tucked back away and not hanging out while they had this conversation. "An owl's head? God, I don't want to fucking know, do I?"

Cas frowned. It varied from his normal face by adding more lines to the already pissed off expression. "This is important work, Dean Winchester."

Dean cut him off before he could get started on that rant. "Right, got it. We talking a seal here? And please don't tell me I have to find a particular owl."

Cas's face didn't change much, but Dean was familiar with the look people got when they wanted to punch him. "What do you need an owl for?" Cas demanded.

Which really, what the hell? "Um, you just said something about an owl head."

"Owls Head. New York. In the mountainous northern region of eastern United States of America."

"Oh. Right," Dean drawled. "Why didn't you just say so?"

"I did."

Dean smirked back, ignoring his own confusion and enjoying the game of try-to-make-the-angel-lose-his-temper. Which, okay, maybe not the smartest thing he'd ever done, but Cas was just too tempting. "So. What's going down in good old upstate New York? It's been a while since we passed through that part."

It wasn't a complicated question, but Cas didn't answer right away. He kept staring at Dean like he expected Dean to automatically know. Or maybe not so much expected, as wanted. Which, okay, he and the angel were not developing some kind of telepathic bond. Nope, no siree. Dean's life was weird enough already. And why Cas couldn't just come out and say things was frustrating. Especially since Dean had a feeling this had to do with some shady angel business. And honestly, those guys were getting more dubious each time they crossed paths.

The door banged open, a heavy-set man in a red polo and wrinkled, stained khakis stood outlined in the doorway. He stopped as soon as he saw Dean and Castiel and stared. Then he took one step backwards and let the door shut between them.

"Guess he didn't really need to piss," Dean quipped. It fell a bit flat, however, since Cas gave no indication of even noticing that they'd had company or that they'd freaked out said guest.

"You must leave immediately," Cas announced.

"I thought I might wash my hands first," Dean countered, just to be a little shit. Being a smartass was a natural state for him, but there was also something about Cas that brought it out in full force. Like poking something with a stick, he just couldn't resist.

Cas unbent enough to step to the side, though his body language all but screamed 'well? hurry up with it!'.

Dean bumped into him as he walked by before making a long production out of getting his hand clean. Hell, he could spend a good hour just rubbing at oil stains and still claim they weren't clean yet. "So what's in Owls Head? And who the hell names a place that."

"It is named after a local rock formation, by a man called Lauren Jameson who built himself a habitation on the site in 1822. He was an avid ornithologist. You must go there immediately and prevent its destruction."

"Well, that escalated quickly," Dean commented. But he dried his hands and turned all of his attention to his own personal messenger. "What's happening there?"

"Demons."

Dean waited a moment and when nothing else came forth groaned. "Come on, dude. You got to give me a little more than that. What are we getting into? Sam and I can't burn demons out the way you can. We gotta plan ahead. And for that matter, why aren't you and the rest of the feather brigade taking care of this one?"

"Angels cannot interfere in this matter."

"Okay. How come?"

"We cannot interfere."

"Can't or won't?" Dean demanded. Goddamn them and using him and his brother as their whipping boys. Sure, Dean maybe owed the guy one or a lifetime's worth of favors, but Sammy didn't and Dean didn't like dragging him into this shit.

Cas frowned some more then muttered, "Can't."

Dean squinted at him. "Legit can't? Not just it's not part of our programing?"

Cas huffed. "There is something preventing us from entering the area or from receiving a clear picture of what is happening. We just know there is a large concentration of demonic energy there and we have reason to believe it maybe relate to a seal."

Dean groaned. Okay, he couldn't really ignore something like that. Anything big enough to stump the angels was likely to kick their asses too, but was also something big enough that they couldn't just ignore it. "That's all you got?" he asked, already feeling a little desperate.

Castiel went back to frowning, any hint of hesitation or embarrassment erased as if it never existed. "Need I remind you that you and your brother are the start of all of this. We have given you the information you need to do something about fixing this. I suggest you leave immediately."

Dean scowled. "Fine. Got the message. You know, just when I'm starting to think you're - You know what? Nevermind." He pushed passed Cas once more. "Wouldn't want to inconvenience ya or anything. Wouldn't expect any different."

"Dean Winchester."

"What?" Dean snapped back, pausing at the door of the stupid Biggersons restroom. What the hell was his life anyway? Conversations with angels in the damn john.

"Be careful. Whatever this is, the truth of it will be hidden."

Which almost, sort of, sounded like he maybe gave a crap. And how pathetic was Dean for responding to that? "Yeah, sure. Whatever. Sam and I are good at finding the truth, then ganking its ass. Don't worry, Cas. We won't let anybody stop us."