"Goddamn, fucking, shit for luck, are you fucking kidding me, son of a bitch, bastard!"

Dean gripped the steering wheel hard enough to hurt but he kept his speed carefully controlled as he weaved in and out of the small streets of Malone. He hadn't seen anyone following him yet, and he'd about gone cross eyed trying to both watch the road and frantically check his mirrors for pursuit. The fed's phone was lost somewhere in the passenger foot well. He'd need to find some place to dump it. Or at the very least pause long enough to turn it off.

Priorities first. At the first stop light he got caught at he yanked out his own phone and hit speed dial. It only rang once before Sam answered, his voice distracted the way he got when he was up to his eyeballs in lore and ancient texts.

"Found something?"

Dean growled. "Yeah, you can fucking bet I have and it's going to screw us three ways from Sunday."

Sam paused. "Witches?" he asked.

Dean shuddered. "God, no." Man, he really fucking hated witches. "Feds."

There was another pause, this one long enough Dean started to get impatient. "Okay?" Sam finally asked. "We've worked around Feds before."

"Not these Feds, and not when they show up in the middle of my questioning. It's that fucking fruit cake again." He didn't have to specify any more than that. Those two had been a freakin' thorn in their side for weeks now. It was the kind of complication they really did not need right now.

Sam cursed. "Okay, okay," he said, trying to be the calm one. "Did he see you?"

"What do you think? He barged right while I was questioning Sharron Howard." It was a stupid question, but Dean could already hear his brother packing up the essentials and the quick reaction was somewhat mollifying.

"I assume since I'm talking to you that you didn't get arrested," Sam replied dryly.

"Just barely," Dean muttered back. "The guy wanted to talk. Or some shit. Got him to drag it out long enough no one was looking."

The rustling on the other end of the line stopped. "Dean. What did you do?"

Such faith. "I handled it."

"Yeah, I got that. How badly did you handle it?"

"Look, he's not going to be calling anyone any time soon. Just – pack up the shit and get ready to move. We'll just have to live out of the car for a bit."

Sam cursed again, the prima donna. He hated living out of the car. Though if he wasn't so gangly, it wouldn't be as much of a problem. Still it was going to be damn cold this time of year this far north, but they'd make it work.

"I'm not leaving this job," Dean told him.

"Great!" Sam snapped. "Why would we? Christ. Okay, okay, we'll figure it out. But, Jesus, Dean. How'd you get away from him? Please tell me you didn't shoot him."

Dean scowled. "A little credit here." He wasn't in the habit of shooting humans. Not unless they were shooting at him or had decided summoning some boogeyman was the way to deal with interpersonal conflict. Or witches. He made an exception for witches, but mostly because they courted that evil shit. "I just punched him. He was too busy yappin' to see it comin'."

More cursing but this time Dean smiled, quite pleased with himself for a job well done.

"Scully?" Mulder's voice called down the stairs.

"In here!" she answered back without pausing in her notes. It wasn't the longest write up she had ever drafted, but it was close. The sheer extent of damage done, and the meticulousness of each cut….there was a significant amount of detail to cover and that didn't even include her own personal theories. Theories she hesitated to put to paper. Ones that were perhaps better held back for a discussion with Mulder…

She hurried to finish her last thought, knowing she'd be distracted as soon as he made his way into the mortuary room. So far, the local authorities had left her alone to focus on her work and the peace and quiet had been helpful. She doubted things would stay that way for long.

Mulder shuffled his way in without a word. That was the first clue something was wrong.

She glanced up from her work and her eyes widened. Mulder had the beginning of a spectacular black eye on the left side of his face. He also had that slightly guilty look to him, as he shuffled about nervously near the door and wouldn't meet her eyes, that meant he'd done something dramatically stupid.

"Mulder, what happened?" she exclaimed, moving immediately from her desk to pull him into the light. The blow was still angry and red, but she could see where it would develop over time. It had been a solid hit. She immediately started checking him over for other injuries. His hands were scuffed but not his knuckles. He showed no other obvious signs of defend himself. He tilted his head obediently when she checked the rest of his skull and showed no stiffness in his neck and his reactions were all normal.

"I met some old friends," he finally answered.

That covered a lot of possibilities and she watched his face closely. He didn't seem as upset as she would have expected, so it likely wasn't as bad as it could be. Hopefully it was no one who had previously tried to kill them. Unfortunately that left a surprising number of other possibilities, including several people who actually were their friends but who would still not hesitate to punch Mulder in the face. He had that kind of effect on people.

"Which friends?" she asked slowly. Hopefully this wouldn't be another case of them both risking their careers to go against someone higher up in the food chain than they were.

"One of the Winchester brothers."

Scully inhaled sharply and checked him over one more time. She'd read the entire Winchester file after their last encounter. While she could see why it has sparked Mulder's attention, she was also much more alarmed by the level of violence described than Mulder seemed to be. "Where are they?" she demanded once she determined that he didn't appear to be bleeding from anywhere. "Why didn't you call?"

Mulder flushed, something that made his condition look even worse. "I may have lost my phone. And by lost, I mean had it stolen."

Scully's thoughts raced. The suspect must have gotten close enough to take it, which was far closer than she would have liked. But the contusion on his cheek seemed to be the only injury, and that spoke to a brief encounter. Mulder seem embarrassed – which was both highly out of character for him and not the normal response for a person who had been assaulted. He was also much quieter than she was used to and that made her uneasy.

"Are you sure you're alright?" she asked carefully. The Winchesters were notoriously unpredictable. Her usual assumptions might not hold up under such pressure.

Mulder nodded. "More my pride than anything else," he finally said with an attempt at his usual sarcasm. "It wasn't – " He sighed in frustration. "I'm not sure if I trust my own theories on this one," he admitted.

Scully did her best to keep her face blank. She owed him that respect. It wasn't often Mulder admitted he might be wrong and it had the odd effect of making her want to play devil's advocate and argue the opposite (and usualy illogical) position. No wonder her objectivity had been called into question lately, though she doubted it was because they realized it was born out of her own stubborness more than anything else.

"Mulder. What happened to the two wanted felons?"

"Only one," he corrected her dully. "And they haven't actually been tried for felony. Not yet at least." When she continued to stare at him, he finally sighed and actually answered the question. "I don't know. He hit me and took my phone. I tried to pursue, but I guess I'm not as good at jumping fences as he is."

"We need to call this in. Contact the Sherriff and let him know he has at least one, if not two, very dangerous men on the loose." She started to move around him, intent on heading back up stairs and finding someone to get started on this mess. Mulder held up his hands, though, and moved to block her progress.

"Wait, wait, just – give me a moment, Scully. I got my brain pan knocked about fairly good. I just need a moment to gather my thoughts."

She stopped easily enough, staring back at him shrewdly. "Thoughts about what? The man assaulted you."

"True, but he didn't shoot me," Mulder replied glibly, sound a bit more like himself as he managed a weak looking grin. Moving his face probably hurt.

"Mulder," Scully replied. "I thought we just discussed how serious this is."

"Yes, well, I mean sort of. I do think Dean Winchester is dangerous. I just don't know if he's dangerous to us."

"And Mr. Haymond?"

Mulder flinched but held his ground. "I can't say. But Winchester seemed very concerned about the safety of Sharron Howard. He was very insistent that he was actually there to protect her."

Scully could think of several nefarious reasons for Dean Winchester to be in the general vicinity of Ms. Howard. None of them she would describe as protecting, though in whatever twisted logic the brothers had grown up with, it might seem that way to them. If so, that only made them more dangerous.

"He wasn't threatening her," Mulder continued. "And he was very cooperative right up until he punched me."

Scully arched one eyebrow and Mulder grinned back.

"He was armed, Scully. And he had a fairly good opportunity to shoot me, I'm afraid - don't ask. Not my best moment, I'll admit. But he showed no desire to actually harm me."

Scully shrugged. "Maybe you're not his type," she replied, only half joking. Most violent criminals did have a 'type' but part of what made the Winchester brothers such an interesting case was the seeming lack of any pattern other than the bizarre. And even that didn't hold up universally. A couple of the cases that Mulder had theorized were linked to them showed nothing more unusual than your average case of assault or murder. Nothing spooky other than Mulder's theory that the Winchester's were involved somehow.

"But your theory about them has changed."

Mulder waved one hand vaguely. It was annoying habit of his when he didn't like one of her questions. "Adjusted, maybe." He shrugged, his expression turning wry and a bit embarrassed. "They may in fact be completely insane."

Scully couldn't help it. She snorted. "You think?"

He huffed back but relaxed enough to move over to a nearby stool and slouch on it. "It was always a possibility. Just more likely now. Either he was completely full of shit and my ability to read people has greatly suffered – and no, this was before the blow to the head – or he honestly believes in demons."

Scully nodded along. It did fit the profile. "That would explain some of the markings."

"Or be exasperated by them," Mulder immediately counter argued. "Supposing he heard about it, however it is he and his brother find these things, it would appear to someone of that kind of mentality as the work of satan or a demon."

Scully sighed. "There's a great deal of dangerous territory between one or the other."

Mulder's sigh echoed her own and she was relieved to know he was just as torn. "I know. But I don't think we have a choice."

She glared at him. Of course they had a choice, it just might not be one he liked. He always thought it was them against the world and never wanted to admit they might need help from someone else. "We need to let the Sheriff know and contact our office. We're going to need more people if we're going to try and find them again in these mountains."

"But that's my point exactly!" Mulder exclaimed. "Think about it. They clearly have experience avoiding arrest. And I'm not just talking small town deputies here. Henriskson was after them for months before his death. If we call in the cavalry now, we'll never find them. They'll be gone before we even get started."

"And you think they're not already?"

"I think that either way, no matter what's really going, the Winchesters are obsessed. They won't walk away from this unless they feel they have to. I say we give them a chance."

"A chance, Mulder? Do you realize the kind of risk that would be? What if they repeat what was done to Haymond?"

"And what if it helps us catch whoever did this to poor Mr. Haymond, hm?"

She stared at him. "You think they could actually contribute to this investigation?"

"I think they want to," Mulder replied immediately, his voice growing louder and more confident as he warmed up to the topic. "I think that's exactly why he was at Howard's just now. He wants to know what evil thing did this to Haymond and he thinks it might come after Howard too. Well, I also want to know what evil thing is behind this, even if it's not the same thing Dean suspects. But you've read their file. How often have witnesses argued vehemently that the Winchesters saved them? Maybe they are on to something we can't see."

"Because we're not insane."

Mulder grinned. "Wouldn't be the first time. Come on, Scully. I'm asking you to trust me."

"You're asking me to risk people's lives based on a hunch."

His grin turned impish and she kind of wanted to wipe it off his face. "I've asked you to do the same before."

And damn it all, the worst part was he was right and she had the unfortunate insanity of often giving in and listening to him. She huffed, knowing this was already a fight she had lost. At least for now. "Usually your hunch is based more on you suspecting someone of foul play than of innocence," she pointed out. Already she had a heavy, unpleasant feeling settling in her stomach. It was one thing to take a risk accusing someone and being wrong. It was a very different thing to hope a violent man wasn't a murderer.

She sighed. "I suppose now would be the time to tell you I have my own doubts about this case."

Mulder straightened up, long gangly limbs jerking in as he lost the tired slouch of just a moment before. "What is it?" he demanded, eager.

And it was times like this that reminded Scully of why she stayed. Mulder was always eager to hear her arguments and theories. No matter how wrong he thought she was or how wild his own were compared to hers, he always listened. He might do his best to tear it apart afterwards, but if she was honest, that was part of what made it satisfying.

"I've studied the markings on Bill Haymond's body."

"And? What do they say?"

She huffed in what may have been a laugh under other circumstances. "As for what they say, I can't be sure. We'd need a linguistics specialist to take a look. But I can tell you what they mean in forensics."

"And?"

And now it was time to sound just as crazy as him. "Mulder," she started quietly. "I think Bill Haymond carved them into his own skin."

Mulder stared back at her. "You're sure?"

"No. I'm not sure of anything. I rarely am. That's not the way this works, Mulder," she reminded him. It would be nice to say that science and medicine could explain everything, but the reality was it was more about confirming what was not true than proving what was. She rubbed the spot between her eyes. "But yes, there's strong indication, based on the angle and pressure used that at least some if not all of the wounds were self-inflicted."

Mulder stared back at her and she shrugged helpless. It was an observation. She didn't know if it was accurate or not, but she was responsible for reporting what she saw.

"That – would be difficult," he finally said.

"All but impossible without the assistance of some very potent drugs. I've sent bloodwork to be tested, but it's going to take it a day just to make it to the lab even by the speediest of means. Testing it will take longer. Meanwhile, there are no visible physical indications that he was dosed with anything."

"Would the drugs have caused memory loss?"

"With the amount he would have had to take to stay conscious through that much pain? Yes, absolutely. What it doesn't explain is how he kept such a steady hand. Mulder, I checked the symbols. Most of them aren't roman, but a few are similar enough I could do some basic comparisons. Nothing official, mind you. But the penmanship is very similar to how Bill Haymond wrote."

"Christ."

She nodded. "We'll know more when the blood work comes back. And I've uploaded a few photos to send to some specialists I know. Medical ones. I want their opinion on the cuts. I don't know a linguist. Not one I would show this to, at least."

Mulder was nodding, his mind already racing on. "And your notes?" he asked calmly.

She winced. "I would like to review them some more. Before I share them."

"You mean you're hoping to come up with a better explanation than a man carving himself up enough to exsanguinate."

"Something like that, yes."

"Still think it's the Winchesters?" Mulder challenged, suddenly sounding much more like himself.

"It would match the St. Louis case," she pointed out.

"You mean the one where they supposedly caught Dean Winchester in the act, shot, killed and buried him?"

Scully rolled her eyes. "We really ought to exhume that body," she muttered.

"I've always liked the way your brain works, Scully," Mulder replied proudly, as if digging up bodies was a fun pastime.

"Alright. Alright. For argument's sake, say it's not the Winchesters. Despite everything."

"Very generous of you," he interjected.

"What do we do now, Mulder? Obviously," she drawled looking at his face. "Dean Winchester is not eager to talk to us."

Mulder grinned brightly, the look very much at odds with the damage to his face. "Sure, he is. We just have to convince him that he does."

"And I take it you have a plan for that?"

"Well, I do know where he's likely to be in the foreseeable future. Like I said, he was very worried about Ms. Sharron Howard."