"Sorry about the secretive behavior." I begin, batting away sleep. "You must be Cameron?"

She nods curtly. "May I ask who you are?"

"I'm Sam. Someone I know someone who said you could help me. I need to ask you some questions."

"Okay then." she says.

I pull my coat open, a tsunami of cool air hitting the damp heat of my chest. I barely contain a gasp of pained surprise.

My "FBI" badge that I've clipped inside the coat comes out and and I wave it at Cameron.

This badge, along with the matching one I made for Dean, is one of my prouder works of forgery. Dean was almost angry at how good a job I'd done when I first showed them to him.

"Ma'am," I begin. "Tell me everything you can recall about the murder of Kevin Tran."

She stares at me, her gaze hitting me in the pit of the stomach. I'm bothered that I can't even begin to read her expression, but I plow on anyway. "I understand that you're the one who found the body?"

Again, a poker faced response. "Yes, I found it."

It.

"It" was in advanced placement, a good kid, who innocently stumbled into the hell of Winchester life.

Of hunter life.

I try to convince my skin not to turn green as memories of Kevin flash through my mind. More vividly wild than anything else I remember about him is the memory of meeting him. He was terrified. It took me forever to catch him, and the tablet that he wouldn't let go of; and when I did catch him...

'Don't kill me', he said.

Don't kill me.

I want to throw up.

Worse than the memories though, is the complete blank sheet that follows them.

This is why I'm here. To fill in the pieces that my memory cannot. And maybe, to fill in why those memories are gone in the first place.

I'm pulled out of the trench of my mind by the impatient tapping of Cameron's fingernails on the table. Shaking my head, I continue with the questions that need to be asked.

"Was the body damaged in any way? Besides the obvious of his eyes being burned out? Were there any strange marks on him?" My agent voice is thin, faltering, less like a disguise and more like a frayed veil that can almost be seen through.

Almost.

Cameron hesitates, suddenly content to study her arm, or maybe its contrast against the deep crimson colored tabletop.

"There was...some sort of mark on his right shoulder." she finally says.

"Can you describe it?"

She bites her lip, staying focused on her arm. "It was weird..it almost looked like an eye, maybe. I've never seen it before, and it was a bit bloody."

I draw a total blank.

Two decades of supernatural research crammed inside of my brain, and nothing even remotely resembles what she's just told me.

I swallow again and again, forcing myself not to panic, reminding myself that this is more information than I had only moments earlier; this is something.

I scribble it down and force myself to continue. "Anything else strange about the body?"

"Other than his missing eyes, there wasn't anything else odd...although, I couldn't tell what caused his death..."

"Well, that's why I'm talking to you; so we can determine the cause of death and hunt down the guy who did this to Mr. Tran."

Guy. Or monster. Or spirit. Whatever carves eyes into the limbs of its victims.

"And there was no one around when you found the body?"

She shakes her head. "I didn't see signs of anyone."

"Okay." I pause and sip my coffee, groping desperately for a direction to take the interrogation. "What was the temperature like in the area? Did you notice any cold patches, any weird wind?"

She crosses her arms, giving me a you're-a-special-kind-of-stupid-aren't-you look. "Well, he was dead in an alley. They aren't usually warm."

"And the body? Did you touch it? See if it was still warm or not?"

"Yeah, and it was almost freezing cold."

I sigh and pinch my nose between my finger and thumb. "Okay." This is getting nowhere, besides the thing about the eye. Garth told me that this girl had useful information, so maybe I'm just asking the wrong questions.

She leans forward, lowering her voice. "Are you sure you're with the FBI?"

My heart leaps into my throat. I raise my eyebrows, attempting to appear nonchalant, but my heart is thudding. "Excuse me?"

She doesn't bat an eyelash as she repeats the question. "I asked you if you really work for the FBI."

If she wants to be stubborn and daring, she's going to get it thrown right back in her face. "I heard you. Ma'am, what would make you ask a question like that?"

"I've met many people from the FBI, and you don't act like them."

"I understand. I'm undercover right now, and I couldn't risk this conversation being overheard. Okay? If you would like to speak to my home agent to reassure yourself of my identity I can make that happen, okay? I don't want you to be concerned."

She cocks an eyebrow. "That won't be necessary."

She didn't call me out on my bluff, and I'm thankful.

I have no one to be my home agent anymore. Garth, maybe. Even Garth isn't 100% loyal to me anymore. I am truly alone.

A firm, female voice forces me from my selfish reverie. "So, do you have any more questions for me?"

I pull a folded sheet of paper out of my pocket as she stands up to leave.

"If you wouldn't mind filling this out, we need to have your information on file, if any developments in the case requires us to bring you in for questioning again."

Like the badges, this "official" form is a pride and joy for me. Maybe Dean and I don't ever have kids. We have forgeries instead.

That's depressing.

I hand Cameron a pen, explaining how the form needs to be filled out.

She stares at it for such a long time that I'm about to start explaining it all to her again, but then she moves, her handwriting slowly taking over the blank spaces on the paper. I lean back and stare at her as I finish my coffee.

It's almost intimidating that she's this smart, this poised. Everything inside of me is screaming to find out more about her, but my time is up. The corner of the pages bumps up against my hand, and she thrusts the pen out at me, tip first. I take it back, pretending not to notice the obviously threatening move. An essential, wordless, "I'm watching you."

"Thank you." I tuck the pen back in my pocket, then extend my hand and stand up. "We'll be in touch."

She takes my hand and shakes it firmly.

Her straight-to-the-point attitude allows her to quip out one word. "Alright."

"Thanks again for your cooperation." I smile professionally, a look I practiced for years at Stanford.

Bye-bye law degree, down the toilet you went.

"Anytime." She doesn't turn to leave, though. Just kind of stares at me. Like she's sizing me up. Again.

I sigh and cross my arms. "Is there something else? You seem tense."

She mirrors me, crossing her own arms. "Just curious, why are you asking about this so late? The bod was found two days ago, and I've already been asked what happened by several other people."

I cough. "This is a highly irregular case. I mean, do you think the FBI finds people with their eyes burned out every day?" I let my shoulders drop. Maybe that will make me look more vulnerable; although, I'm not sure that's the look I need to be going for right now. "Look, I'll be honest with you. We are in over our heads. We're just going over everything as many times as we can."

She hesitates. "Well, if you're in over your heads, perhaps you could use some assistance?"

My jaw feels heavy, and I realize that my mouth has dropped open. Maybe this is what Garth was talking about. I try to recall back to our exact conversation. He'd said,

Hey, Sam. This girl, Cameron. She could be really useful. Man she, is something else. I really, really think you should talk to her. She is special stuff, man.

And maybe she is special stuff. Or maybe she's just nosy and suspicious.

"That's why I just talked to you." I say gently. "Thank you, you've been very helpful."

"I'd like to be more helpful. I'm pretty good at investigations." she replies.

Okay. Stubborn and nosy. I'm calling this one. "Ma'am, please. I do appreciate your help, but this is official police business."

She actually goes so far as to roll her eyes at me. "Are you just going to keep that act up until I leave?"

"Ma'am, I'm warning you. I can arrest you for disrespect to a police officer." I say.

I want to tell her to quit being smart with me, and that she really wouldn't want to get involved with what we're dealing with. I don't want to have another death on my hands. Not this soon.

She pulls a full sass on me, crossing her arms and leaning forward. "Go ahead." she says flatly. "I dare you."

So she's got an impressive amount of bravery, I'll give her that. Bravery or stupidity. Maybe both.

"Look, lady. I will arrest you." I press a button on my watch and pretend to talk into it. "This is Agent Oswald. I'm going to need backup."

She snorts, raising her eyebrows at me, like she can see through all of this. Maybe she can.