A/Ns: Have I mentioned you guys rock lately? Well, you do. I loved the overall response to last chapter's quality check: "Yes, the writing is fine, it's great, now do more of it. Now now now now NOW." XD You guys make me feel all the warm fuzzies. All of them.

Review Milestone! You folks over on AO3 knocked it out of the park! You were like, she wants comments? FINE. TAKE THEM ALL AND GIVE US OUR CHAPTER. NOW NOW NOW NOW NOW. Did I mention you all rock? I think I might have said something... it wasn't loud enough though. Not by far. YOU ALL ROCK :)

Enjoy your double chapter, and the wrap up to our Baltimore case!

Chapter Warnings: Oh my Chuck, do we have a Chapter of almost entirely Sam and Andy!? Yes we do! What the hell, this story is supposed to be all about Dean (and Cas. Oh, wait, I'm totally failing on that front…) XD Maybe I can fix it at the veeeeeery end...

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The Road So Far (This Time Around)

Season 2: Chapter 39

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

When Sam Winchester opened the motel room door, he didn't look all that surprised to see Diana Ballard standing in the doorway. She, however, was surprised to see the person behind him. A familiar face, sans facial hair.

"The lawyer." Diana turned a baleful glare on Sam Winchester, who responded with an appropriately castigated expression. "Really?"

"You must be the lady cop whose boyfriend's trying to kill her," Andy said with way too much enthusiasm, sticking out his hand for a shake that was absolutely not returned.

Diana had to snap her jaw shut after an unacceptable amount of time letting it hang open. "Does everyone know about that?"

Sam raised his hands in surrender after a second accusatory glare was sent his way. "Yeah…Dean's, uh…something else when it comes to just knowing things…"

Andy snorted, but Diana did not have time (or energy, or the emotional bandwidth, or, really, any fucks left to give) to probe into it. The taller of the two men dug a folded up piece of paper out of his pocket, handing it over to her. The detective eyed it suspiciously, sending another look at the giant of a man (who had the smarts to once again look sheepish), as she opened it.

A note, in the same scrawled handwriting as the legal pad filled with anagrams back in Dean's interrogation room.

Hilts-

It's a street. Ashland. Our Omen's inside a wall.

Del Toro's dirty. Benson's next.

-McQueen

Diana huffed, a bitter smirk at the corner of her mouth as she handed the paper back with a caustically raised brow. "Hilts and McQueen? You two really are something."

"Hey, I helped, you know," the lawyer (that definitely wasn't a lawyer) piped up from the background, having wandered back over to the little kitchenette table that came with every room at the Aardvark Motel. He was flipping through pictures – what looked like mug shots from what Diana could glimpse – as he took a bite from a burger half out of its wrapper. The table was covered in a depressing mix of crime photos, weapons, and what apparently passed as dinner for Ghostbusters.

"Yeah? Why don't you tell me just how you did that." Diana levied the kid a look that had him gulping down the last of that burger, mouth too full to answer and a chipmunk-cheeked smile shown her way before he quickly ducked his gaze. "That's what I thought."

She turned to Sam next, who didn't look all that much more thrilled to be the center of attention. "I take it I'm Benson, then? I suppose I'm not completely insulted. What's with Del Toro?"

"Benecio," Sam supplied the actor's first name with a slightly more real smile as he took the note and tossed it on the table with the rest of the case. Dean must have watched Way of the Gun at least a dozen times, never shutting up about it for days afterward. It was one of those movies that just always seemed to be on TV and, back in the day before their lives had turned into horror movies themselves, Dean had enjoyed a flick with an ending where the main characters didn't pull through for once.

Sam had a feeling the version of his brother from 2016 likely had a different opinion of that kind of ending, now.

When Diana just gave him a quizzical look, the younger Winchester shrugged. "Yeah, my brother knows like a thousand movies, but they all star the same five guys. Consider yourself lucky Detective Sheridan didn't inspire a Jack Nicholson quote."

It wasn't much of an explanation, but the detective seemed to drop the question as soon as Sam mentioned her partner. She looked around, clearly uncomfortable with the fact that she was in the motel room of a fugitive and…whatever they called guys who impersonated lawyers and broke their fake clients out of jail.

Criminals. They just called those people criminals.

"How exactly does your brother know all of this? How does he know Pete's dirty?" Other than, you know, roughing him up and threatening to murder him in lockup. Could Pete use some anger management? Sure. But that didn't make him a murderer or a thief.

Diana moved closer to the table to see what it was Andy was flipping through. Those were definitely booking photos. And next to them crime scene photos these men should not have access to. She picked one of them up, unable to keep the incredulity – and accusation – out of her voice. "Where did you get these? These are crime scene photos. Booking photos!"

The supposedly gentle giant scoffed lightly, though his expression suggested it was more self-deprecating than anything else, as he took the photo from her. "You have your job and…well, I have mine." His voice trailed off, and Diana looked at him to see what had caused it, but Sam was staring at her wrist. Specifically, the bruise there. "Where did you get that?"

Sam reached across the table to pull free one of the crime scene photos from Karen Giles' murder. He offered it to her, but Diana didn't need to take it to see the snapshot of a woman's wrist, with the exact same bruising. The detective pulled the sleeve of her blazer down to hide her matching mark, uncomfortable with the evidence of something she still wasn't quite ready to wrap her head around.

Diana glanced hesitantly up at the man her primary murder suspect told her she could trust. Little late to be doubting that, considering she was standing in his motel room. Still, this was all insane. "Your brother called it a… a death omen?"

"Yeah, he mentioned one in his note." The first Sam had heard of it, which meant Dean hadn't remembered before, but it was pivotal information now. If Sheridan really was dirty, and the death omen one of his victims, it would likely be the key to solving this case. "You saw it?"

Diana watched as the beanstalk of a man ducked his head her way, probably an unconscious attempt to make himself less tall – less looming – around her. She nodded, and Sam nudged Andy out of the way to take the photos he'd been going through and pass them to the detective instead.

"Here, look through these. I've been researching every girl that's ever died or gone missing from Ashland Street. Tell me if you recognize anyone."

The detective's eyes lingered – none too cheerfully – on him for another moment (and Sam may not have grown up with a mother, but damn if this woman wasn't trying to educate him in all ways of the patronizing mom glare), before Diana started flipping through the photographs. She stopped on the third page, hand stilling as she stared down at a blonde-haired woman in clear shock.

"This is her." She looked up, glancing between the two as Andy stepped away from the table to join them. "I'm sure of it."

Andy took the photo from her and reached blindly over to the table for a couple more sheets of paper. He shuffled through them before selecting one and scanning the lines of data. "Claire Becker. Twenty eight, disappeared eight or nine months ago. Was last seen on Ashland street."

"Ashland; that fits Dean's note. We got an address?" Sam asked. Andy handed him the paper even as he reached out to take it.

"Okay, but I don't know her," Ballard emphasized in the same beat, looking between the two like they weren't doing a great job of explaining something they both thought pretty clear. "I mean, why would she come after me?"

"It's probably not about you." Sam was scanning the missing persons report and talking at the same time. He paused long enough to meet the Detective's eyes, offering a sympathetic smile. "Death omens are warnings. Um…sometimes what they want is justice. If your partner killed her, Claire might be trying to lead you to the truth. Did Sheridan know her? Says here she was arrested twice for dealing heroin. Your partner ever work narcotics?"

Diana could only shrug one shoulder, crossing her arms in clear discomfort. "We both did. But I never booked her. Not that I remember."

"Doesn't mean your partner didn't." Andy smiled something of a grimace, which was probably supposed to be apologetic, but got stuck somewhere in between. Diana spared him an odd look (possibly wondering how this man had managed to convince an entire precinct that he was capable of practicing law…) before her face paled, realization hitting like a bag of bricks to the gut.

"Oh my god…"

"What is it?" Sam lowered the paper, reaching out a supportive hand, but Diana brushed him off.

"The heroin." She looked stunned, but more in the dreaded, just-realized-her-partner-was-a-scumbag sort of way. "Dean mentioned the drugs that went missing from lockup."

"Wait, what?" Sam glanced at Andy, but he shrugged. First he was hearing about it too. Dean hadn't said anything about drugs. Just that the dude cop was dirty and he'd killed his junkie girlfriend somewhere on Ashland street.

"About a year ago, some heroin went missing from an old bust. Obviously it was a cop." She dropped her arms, a look of frustration coming over her face. "We never found out who did it. But whoever did it would need someone to fence their product."

Andy's gaze dropped down to the mug shot of a drug dealer he was still holding.

"Someone like a heroin dealer," Sam supplied, a bitter grimace coming to his own face now as he stared at the picture too. "Somebody like Claire."

Diana tilted her head back with a deep, aggravated sigh. "None of this points to Pete, though." She looked back at both men, and while it was obvious she was truly starting to believe her partner was dirty, she wasn't wrong. "How do we know it's him?"

"We don't." Sam raised the missing persons report. "But Claire's our best lead for finding out. She was last seen entering 2911 Ashland Street. Let's start there."

Both men were on the move like a starting gun had gone off that only they'd heard. Ballard blinked at the flurry of movement – Andy gathering up their evidence and the last of their dinner to take on the road, Sam going over to a duffel full of (oookay, Diana was going to ignore the bag full of guns sitting on the motel bed) …stuff – and waved her arms to get their attention, feeling a little silly and a lot left out.

"What?"

"Uh, well, we gotta find her body if we're gonna prove your boyfriend's a murderer and Dean's innocent," Andy supplied oh so helpfully, like he wasn't talking to a woman who solved murders for a living. It did not help that he spoke through a handful of fries half stuffed in his mouth. Sam spared his younger partner a look that definitely said 'You're not helping' and Diana wondered if she was looking at another brother in this insane family. Andy shrugged haplessly. "What? Dean said the guy bricked his ex-junkie-girlfriend up in a wall."

Related or not, the taller of the two men turned to Diana, who was now trying to process the ex-girlfriend bit, because she hadn't heard that piece of information yet. Sam tried for a calming smile as he paused in his gathering of (and nope, Diana absolutely did not see illegal firearms in the motel room. Plausible deniability) …stuff, to explain a thing or two about ghost hunting.

"We also need to salt and burn her bones." At the wide, blank look and single blink he received in response, the sheepish, apologetic look was back on Sam's face. "It's the only way to put her to rest."

Ballard just kept right on staring. Because of course it was.

-o-o-o-

Diana kept glancing between the road and her six and a half foot passenger sitting to her right. She, the beanstalk, and his fake lawyer were now on their way to what was apparently the scene of a murder. Because a ghost had told them. Or, well, left the breadcrumbs for them to figure it out.

"How exactly does Dean know all this, again?" The detective glanced at Sam – the brother – for the fifth time in half as many minutes. "You never really covered that."

"No, I guess we didn't," Sam hedged, and Diana knew a man avoiding a question when she saw one. The taller man glanced over his shoulder almost self-consciously to the kid in the back seat. Diana's hunch on a third brother grew worse. As did a seriously misplaced sense of humor; Sam checking in with his 'lawyer' before answering her question. "Dean's…uh… got a talent for knowing things."

Diana's look directly his way called absolute bullshit on that one, because, yeah, they'd said as much already, and it hadn't been any more true or enlightening the first time. Sam shrunk down like a chastised kid caught stealing a cookie.

"Like your lawyer buddy has a talent for starting fights and hypnotizing half my coworkers?"

The beanstalk managed to shrink down even further. Make that a kid with his hand stuck in the cookie jar, the thing so wedged in there they were gonna have to break the jar to get him free.

"Dean's psychic." Andy popped up between them, elbows propped up on the backs of each of their chairs, and Diana jumped. Sam's reproachful look didn't stop the kid from smiling congenially.

"Psychic." It wasn't a question. Hell, it wasn't even a statement. Diana didn't know what the hell it was, because…well, she didn't know what the hell kind of answer that had been to start with.

"Yep."

You know what? Sure, why not. Day she'd been having, Diana figured anything was possible. She flipped on a blinker and took the next right for Ashland street.

"Don't think we're not circling back to the part where you hypnotized half my coworkers." She glanced in the rear view mirror quickly enough to see Andy's sheepish, tight-jawed smile.

"Uh-mmm…I am pleading the fifth."

"Of course you are." Diana refocused on the road as the building numbers reached the first of the 2900s and she pulled over outside of an old supply store. It looked abandoned and was up for lease, sitting collecting dust.

Sam offered her an encouraging smile – it really wasn't all that encouraging – and climbed out of the car. Andy scrambled out of the backseat with a duffle bag of gear and weapons that was practically half the kid's size. Diana stared at the closed up building, dread somewhere between her stomach and her chest, and sighed. She checked the gun at her hip and climbed out of the car to join the two hunters on their search for a death omen.

-o-o-o-

Sheridan watched the three figures exit his partner's car from his own parked across the street. His partner, a fugitive, and the lawyer he was now pretty damn sure wasn't a lawyer, all entering the store where he had killed and buried Claire Becker. Together.

He hadn't wanted to believe it. That Dean Winchester was anything more than a conman blowing smoke up everyone's ass. He'd wanted to believe even less that he could have gotten to Diana. That Diana would take the word of a criminal and a scumbag over the word of her partner. Her lover. Him.

But when her car pulled up and she got out with Sam Winchester of all people, Pete's anger overrode the last of his hope. He reached into to the glovebox of his car, removed his gun from the compartment, grabbed the full gas can sitting in the passenger seat, and climbed out of the car.

As he crossed the street at a jog, Peter flicked the safety off with his thumb and entered the building after his wayward lover and two dead-men-walking.

-o-o-o-

The partially obstructed light shining through the old lettering on the store window – Ashland Supplies – cast a gloomy picture on the opposite wall and gave them their little mystery word, complete with its extra letters. Ashland Sup. Dana Shulps.

Sam crossed the room, moving around dusty shelves and old equipment. The brick wall illuminated by the front window and their mystery word, looked different than the rest of the building. Newer. Sloppier. It didn't fit with the dust and disuse that had probably been a part of this building for at least a year now. He called to Andy, who tossed him an EMF scanner without needing the request verbalized.

"What's that?" Diana asked, joining the boys as Sam turned the thing on and started a slow wave across the brick surface.

"EMF," Andy answered, watching the more experience man at work. He'd used an EMF a time or two now, at least enough to understand the theory behind it. "Ghosts give off electromagnetic frequencies, so you can sort of track them with a meter, or at least know if it's a ghost you're dealing with."

"Some remains give off waves as well," Sam added as the beep-beep-beep of the machine started to grow more frantic, static growing with each increased beat. The two hunters shared a look and Sam turned the thing off, tucking it into his pocket.

"So, that thing's going crazy because Claire's body is in there?" Diana looked between both of them, but Andy had turned his attention to the bag they'd brought along, already rifling through it. Sam's smile, while grim, was encouraging.

"That's the theory at least."

Andy stood back up with sledgehammer in hand, passing it dutifully to Sam. Dean's note had said they'd find their body in a wall, so the two had come prepared. The taller hunter hefted the weight of the tool before he turned to the bricks. It only took a couple of good swings. The wall had been put together hastily, certainly not the work of a professional. Once he'd gotten a large enough opening, Sam stuck a flashlight and his head inside the hole. He drew back when he saw something a foot down, instead pushing his hand in and groping for what had looked like black plastic.

"Yeah," he muttered, hand grasping at what felt like a garbage bag wrapped around something hard and round. Probably a skull. "There's definitely something in there. Andy, see if you can find a crowbar."

He could probably take this thing apart with his hands if he had to, but since they were in an old hardware shop, there was no reason not to look. Sam pulled at a couple of the bricks in the meantime, just to see if they'd come loose without much trouble, while Andy shuffled about in the rest of the store. Two of the bricks came off with minor tugs, and Diana joined in widening the hole.

Sam was about to tell Andy that it wasn't worth it, they could get through the wall without a tool, when the kid cried out in surprise. Both Sam and Diana whipped around, the cop pulling her gun in half the time it took Sam to reach for his.

Peter Sheridan stepped out from behind a shelf, hauling Andy in front of him like a human shield and kicking a gas can into the aisle with his foot. The sloshing of liquid was loud in the suddenly tense room. Sheridan's gun and focus was trained entirely on his partner, fist full of Andy's shirt, rucking it up about his neck in a painfully tight hold. Andy had his hands up, eyes wide and a fresh line of blood running down the side of his face. He was going to have one hell of a shiner from the butt of Sheridan's gun.

Diana's eyes hardened at the sight of her partner, her lover, hiding behind a kid. A good kid, it turned out, even if the detective had some suspicions about these boys' pasts.

"What are you doing, Pete?" She took a step in front of Sam, who had a hand on his gun but hadn't yet pulled it from his side. Two drawn weapons were plenty already for this Mexican Standoff. Pete's eyes glinted at the move, a tick in his jaw saying her protective measure hadn't been missed.

"I'm not doing anything, Diana."

She scoffed. "It's a little late for that."

Her eyes flickered to Andy. The kid looked terrified, but he kept glancing at Sam. Diana didn't have the bandwidth to check, but she could almost feel Sam beside and just behind her, shaking his head. She didn't know what it was with these two, particularly their hypnotic little lawyer, but she could sense the play they were trying to line up. She needed to buy them time and distract her partner before he killed again.

"I know about Claire."

Pete's jaw clenched, his hand twisting in Andy's shirt. The kid fidgeted, raising his hands a little higher. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You telling me I'm not going to find the body of a drug dealer in that wall?" She countered, tilting her head to the hole in the bricks, but her eyes never left her lover. Her gun didn't either. "You killed her. You stole those drugs." She reached up with one hand and pulled the necklace he had given her free of her blouse. "Am I going to find one of these on that body, Pete?"

His eyes shuttered, his whole face turning to stone, and Diana had her answer. Her hand went back to the gun.

"You bastard-"

Behind her, Sam suddenly shifted his foot to the left. Pete immediately retrained his weapon on the movement. Diana's finger tightened on the trigger of her own weapon, mind having all of half a second to contemplate if she was really about to shoot her partner should he shoot Sam. Andy took that half second – a distraction, Diana's brain filled in – to open his mouth.

"Put the gun-"

Andy's words disappeared in a yell and the deafening crack of a gun discharging. Pete had lowered his Sig Saur in one swift moment and shot the ground less than an inch from the kid's right foot. The bullet ricocheted off the cement and Andy jumped about a foot in the air, hands raising practically to his chin. The cop shoved his still smoking gun into Andy's jaw. The kid cried out as his flesh sizzled beneath the smoking metal.

"Not another word."

He was shaking, but Andy didn't say a thing. The look in his eyes, scared as it was, was fierce, and Diana regretted not taking the shot the moment her partner had lowered his gun. She wasn't going to get another chance like that and she'd wasted it hesitating.

"Put the gun down, Pete!" she shouted anyway, arms straightening with resolve and the preparedness of taking the next shot the moment it came.

Pete just hauled the kid even further in front of him, gun deep his cheek. "Oh, I don't think so, Diana. You're fast. I'm pretty sure I'm faster." He turned to Sam next and gestured with his head. "Toss your gun over. Not you, Diana. You keep yours."

She could feel Sam's eyes on her, but the hunter did as he was told. He lowered his weapon to the ground in front of him cautiously, kicking it across the cement once he'd straightened. Pete kicked it further into the store and out of sight. Diana didn't lower her weapon, still trained on her partner, but she knew his demand for her to keep it was in no way good.

"Why did you kill Tony Giles?" Their once chance at this might still be their first play. Diana just had to keep Pete distracted long enough to find another opening. One that hopefully didn't get Andy killed. "What's he got to do with all this?"

"He scrubbed the money Claire brought in." Sheridan's voice remained cold, hard, and his fist in Andy's shirt seemed absolute. "He got skittish, wanted to come clean."

"And Karen?"

The cop rolled his eyes, as if it was obvious. "I'm sure he told her everything! She was a liability."

Diana's look was sour with regret, but Pete, the narcissist and psychopath that he was, saw it as something else entirely. He saw it as a flicker of hope, a flicker of understanding. Of sympathy.

"This doesn't have to be the end, Diana. I know it's a mess. I just panicked. But these guys?" He lifted Andy's fisted shirt, causing the kid to raise up on the balls of his feet with a gulp. "They're a gift. We can pin the whole thing on them." When his partner's eyes wavered in what he perceived as doubt, Peter continued, "Dean confessed; he told you where he bricked up the body. We came to investigate, only his fugitive brother attacked us. You shot him. It was self-defense."

Diana tensed as her partner wove his little tale. She could feel Sam at her back, exposed enough to be easily shot and killed, but staying impressively still. Diana regarded Pete with ice in her eyes, refusing to believe any more of his crap.

"So you can frame me, too?"

"No!" Pete's exclamation was desperate and his face morphed into that look he always gave her when he didn't get his way and didn't know how else to win an argument. She'd once found it endearing. Now it disgusted her. "We're in this together, don't you see? I'll kill this one, you take care of the brother. We'll deal with Dean when we get back to the precinct. An immediate transfer back to Sacramento. I'll drive him myself; he'll have an accident along the way."

Diana stared at him in growing horror. She startled, ever so slightly, at the pressure of a hand to the small of her back. It was nothing, so subtle and slow that Peter probably didn't see it. But Sam was signaling her.

She swallowed and looked back at her partner, gun shaking ever so slightly in her hand.

"I still love you, Diana," Pete confessed, a light smile on his face, and she could see it. She could see the manipulation so clearly, the mental instability, the thought wide open in his expression that he'd won her over. How she'd ever missed it before, she didn't know. Maybe she wasn't such a good cop after all.

Diana lowered her gun.

Pete beamed. "Thank you. Thank you."

He lifted his gun from Andy's cheek, leveling it Sam's way. The moment his eyes left hers to focus on the man just over her shoulder, Diana fired two shots in the interim, gun back up in a flash, no hesitation this time. Pete took two to the shoulder and neck. Andy dropped like he was the one shot, hitting the floor and scrambling away from the dirty cop as fast as he could.

"Then why don't you buy me another necklace, you ass?" Diana lowered her gun, the scowl on her face etched from marble. She turned towards Andy, who was only a couple feet away from them, clearly messed up. Diana opened her mouth to ask if he was okay when Sam suddenly moved in her periphery.

"Diana!" he cried out, and she instinctually spun back to her partner's body, gun back up but not in time. She could feel it. Pete had his gun on her, still on the ground, one hand clutching his bleeding throat. But he had her, and she knew it. She'd let her guard down around him again, and it was going to cost her life.

She hoped it wouldn't cost Sam and Andy's too.

The gun went off with a crack at about the same time Sam's body collided with hers, but the bullet never hit flesh. Diana blinked in shock, her and Sam still upright but a tangle of limbs and precarious balance, at the back of a woman now standing between them and her partner. She wore white, the clothes more rags now than the dress they had once been. Dirty, bloody blond hair fell in waves down her back.

Standing there, no more than a foot in front of the hunter and detective, Claire Becker looked as solid as any body Diana had ever seen. She'd apparently taken a bullet for them as well.

Claire garbled and bubbled, fresh blood flowing from her neck as she stared down at the man who had killed her. Who was bleeding out from the throat as well, so similar to her own demise. Justice. Peter Sheridan stared up at her with wide, horrified eyes. He thought he was hallucinating. That was fine. Claire did not care if her murderer believed this to be real. All that mattered was that she was the last thing he saw. The last thing he'd know in life before he was dragged down to Hell for his sins. For killing her, among others.

The death omen stalked towards her last victim. The last person she'd ever need to warn. Her slow, bloody smile left Peter Sheridan shaking, as he gargled and gurgled his own denial. Claire Becker's ghost faded away inches away from the dying detective's body as he took its last, drowning breath. The finalizing silence left behind two corpses, one in the wall, the other soaked in his own blood.

Sam let out a haggard sigh and Diana lowered her gun with a truly shaking hand now.

"It's over?" she asked hesitantly, glancing at the hunter as he backed off a couple of steps to give her space. He nodded.

They could probably skip the salt-'n-burn, too, Sam thought, as he glanced back towards where the body was still in the wall. Claire had found her own peace, and her remains would be paramount evidence in the case against the deceased dirty cop.

"Oh, thank god," Andy practically gasped, doubling over with his hands on his knees to heave a couple deep breaths. The poor kid. Sam crossed over to him as Diana holstered her gun. He put a comforting hand on the shorter man's shoulder. Andy looked up at him, something pained but knowing on his face. He nodded reassuringly, and Sam shared a sad smile with him.

These boys. The stories they must have. The horrors, too. Diana didn't envy them.

Staring at the growing bruise and burn on Andy's face, she moved over to the two and offered her own hand on the kid's shoulder. He didn't look built for this kind of crazy, and Diana could not help but feel responsible. It had been her partner, her lover, who'd blindsided the both of them. "You alright?"

"Yeah," he reassured her, though she could still feel the slight shake of trembling muscles beneath her hand. "Just, let's not do that again, okay?"

"Sounds good to me." Diana couldn't agree more, actually. She turned to look at her partner's body, at the hole in the brick wall, and the entire mess her life had become in forty-eight hours. What on earth was she supposed to do now?

"So what now, detective?" Sam asked, the prodding in his voice a mirror to her own uncertainty. But, she supposed, she could start by helping to clean up the most recent mess Pete had made. She turned back to them, a hand on her waist, and chewed on her lip for a second of thought.

"Well, Pete did confess to me. He screwed up both your cases royally." She sighed and passed a hand though her hair. "I'd say there's a good chance we could get them dismissed."

Sam straightened in surprise, his face lightening, though his furled brow remained concerned. "You'd take care of that for us?"

"I hope so." Although, she had a feeling whatever the heck the kid in front of her actually was (and she did not want to know. Andy was a good old human in her book, and he was staying that way, so help her), he could probably 'take care of that' with a whole lot less paperwork. Diana grimaced, realizing that, honestly, these boys might not have a choice. They weren't the only police department looking for them, after all. "But the Sacramento kidnapping charges? That's another story. I can't help you."

Sam shared a look with Andy, the growing disappointment on his face tempered by what she knew was an already forming plan.

"Unless… I just happened to turn my back." Two sets of eyes locked on her, blinking owlishly. "And you walked away. I could tell them the suspects escaped."

Again. After all, it wouldn't be the first time with these guys.

Andy looked completely and utterly fine with that, just about ready to collapse where he was standing, but Sam hesitated. He turned a pair of puppy dog eyes on her, full of worry and appreciation. "Are you sure? You could lose your job over something like that."

Diana drew in a deep breath, but she'd been sure of her answer well before she gave it. "Look, I just want you guys out there doing what you do best. Trust me, I'll sleep better at night." She paused for a moment, then turned towards Pete's body, already reaching for her cell phone to call it in. "Just, go get your brother and get out of here."

Andy practically grabbed Sam's arm like a child tugging a parent along at the sudden permission to leave the boring-ass-store-their-dad-had-dragged-them-to. Diana raised her hand to stop Sam from opening his mouth again, probably to protest good naturedly one last time.

"I don't want to know how you're going to do it. Just go." Diana offered a crooked smile as Sam's shoulders sagged, in both relief and regret, and he nodded. As he turned to follow Andy, she stopped him one more time. "Sam, you need to watch your back. They're gonna be looking for you now – all three of you. And get your gun on your way out. I've gotta radio this in."

Sam thanked her again, a farewell smile both sweet and bittersweet across his handsome face. Then the two headed deeper into the store for his dropped weapon and the back way out. Diana really hoped it was the last she'd ever see of those boys, a wish meant with only the best of intention and promise for them. Staring at her partner's body and the shattered remains of both her career and life, she sure as hell didn't have a great amount of either for herself.

-o-o-o-

Dean was long gone by the time Diana got back to the precinct. It was chaos. The organized chaos of trained professionals now trying to get a handle on a very fucked up situation, but still chaos. Diana had called in Pete's death, along with the murder of Claire Becker and what the disastrous truths her partner had confessed to. CSU and a whole band of officers, led by the Captain himself, were on scene within a half hour. Diana didn't touch a thing, in part to preserve the scene and give herself the best chance at a corroborated story, but more than anything, because she didn't want to see the remains of Claire Becker bricked up in that wall. Didn't want to confirm the necklace she knew hung around a skeletal neck.

She couldn't even look at Pete's body, so she sat outside on the stoop of the warehouse and waited for her coworkers.

The Captain took her statement, an air of authority, complete disbelief, and stunned disapproval wrapping up what was a half hour of exhausting misery. By the time Diana got back to the precinct, the news of Dean Winchester's disappearance was wide-spread, and the news of her and Pete – their relationship, Pete's crimes, her self-defense killing, him attempting to kill multiple suspects, you name it – was just as known. Diana kept her face like stone, ignoring any look sent her way, sympathetic or judgmental, and followed the officer escorting her to the very same interrogation room Sam had escaped from twenty-four hours ago.

All she wanted to do was sleep for a week and never think of the man named Peter Sheridan again, but Diana knew that wasn't how this would go. She had responsibilities, and they included interviews, interrogations, and paperwork for what was likely to be days. The next week, at a minimum, would be spent trying to prove her innocence in all this (based almost entirely on ignorance and being completely and utterly duped by a man she'd thought loved her) so that maybe, just maybe, she'd still have a job at the end of it.

If she even wanted it. Which, given the looks most of her coworkers were sending her way, she likely wouldn't.

Internal Affairs was called in, and Diana spent most of that first day with them and the Captain. Over and over and over again, she told and retold the series of events that had led to her shooting Peter Sheridan. No, she didn't know where the drugs were, if there were any left. No, she didn't know where the money was, but Anthony Giles had been responsible for laundering it. No, she didn't know if Karen had been in on it. One could only assume from the tone of Pete's voice that Mrs. Giles was an innocent bystander caught in the crossfire. No, neither of the Winchesters were involved in the money-making scheme, to her knowledge. No, the Winchesters did not play a part in Karen or Tony Giles' murder. No, Sam Winchester did not kill Peter Sheridan. No, she didn't know how either of them had managed to escape custody. No, she didn't know who the damn lawyer was outside of his first name. No, she didn't god damn know where they were now.

The second day was an exact repeat of the first, only with different IA agents, the Chief of Police, and the Mayor. Who, frankly, had no business being there, was pretty much useless as part of the conversation, and only drove Diana to further frustration.

The third day was worse. On the third day, the FBI showed up, called in by the Mayor who had clear plans to make an example of the precinct as part of his campaign promises to clean up corruption. Probably all a part of that rumored gubernatorial bid next year. The FBI were somehow worse than IA, something Diana had not thought possible, as she found herself going over every second of those fifty-six hours with a comb that 'fine-toothed' was too loose a description for.

On the fourth day she was called back to the precinct, yet again, for another chat with the FBI. She couldn't imagine what else they could possibly hope to gain after yesterday's six straight hours of grilling. Whatever it was, she simply didn't have it for them. She didn't have much of anything left for anyone, at that point.

Diana entered the precinct and headed to her oh-so-favorite interrogation room for the fourth day in a row. With what few hours she had not spent in interrogation, Diana had gone home, which was only filled with reminders of how truly screwed up her life now was. Pete's toothbrush next to the bathroom sink. His shaving cream, razor, and shampoo in the shower. His clothes in her closet, his scent on her sheets. Diana had slept on the couch for those first two nights, if one could call it sleeping. Clean sheets hadn't been enough, even when she'd finally found the energy to change them. She'd thrown all of the rest of his things in the trash.

After the first round of questioning by IA, Diana had been suspended without pay for two weeks, pending their investigation. Following the results, she would either be charged, or her suspension re-evaluated. Diana's lawyer was confident she would be cleared of any wrong-doing, other than falling for the wrong man and being an oblivious and frankly pathetic detective. Her words, not his, but there wasn't much he or anyone else could say to the contrary. At least, not that she'd really listen to.

Diana sat down in the now-familiar and still-uncomfortable chair across from a man she didn't recognize. He was dressed like FBI, had the stony expression befitting of a Fed, and there was a thin manila folder on the table in front of him with the FBI logo stamped on it. So, likely a Fed. Diana could hardly gather the energy to wonder why yet another agent needed to talk to her when there were now multiple written accounts and every single detail, down to the least significant, had been pulled from her like a bad tooth.

"Look, whatever you want to know, you can find it any one of the reports," she stated, voice as hard and cold as it was drained. "There's nothing left to tell, agent."

"Henriksen," the dark skinned man introduced himself with a shark-like smile that put Diana instantly on edge. Not because it was aimed at her in any real way, but because this was a man with a bone, and Diana didn't know who – or what – that bone was. "And I'm not here about Detective Sheridan or your precinct's corruption scandal, though I can say it is an impressive one."

Diana stared at him, uncertainty and unease pulling her face into a stony frown. Agent Henriksen pulled out two pictures from the folder, passing them over. They were both from the precinct interrogation security footage. One was Sam Winchester being escorted out by Andy, the officer manning the door standing there with it wide open, hand over his eyes.

Officer Miller had not been able to explain his actions. He had not been able to explain anything about those one hundred and twenty seconds, only that they had happened and afterward he'd been left standing there, blinking, and asking himself if he'd dreamed them up. Because he wouldn't have done such a ridiculous, careless, and illegal thing.

None of the seven officers and two civilians who'd started a fight in the precinct that night or blatantly turned away from the escaping suspect could explain their behavior. And Diana never had gotten an answer out of the "lawyer."

The second picture was of Dean, having just stood from the chair, rubbing at surprisingly free wrists, handcuffs and chains pooled on the interrogation room table next what was clearly a set of improvised lock-picks. But what surprised Diana was who he was smiling at. She frowned at the second person in the picture, someone she didn't know. It was a woman, mostly turned away from the camera. She had dark hair and was wearing a trench coat. Diana had heard that an unidentified person had assisted in Dean Winchester's escape, but she'd just assumed it was Andy again. This woman, she didn't know.

The detective looked up to meet Agent Henriksen's bright and fierce eyes. He was watching her, likely to gauge her reaction to the two escaped fugitives. Two criminals who, before this case blew up in the Baltimore P.D.'s face, had only been a set of fingerprints and rough eye-witness sketches, sitting in a thin folder mostly forgotten on an FBI agent's desk.

"You see, Detective Ballard, I have no interest in you or your partner." Henriksen nodded his head at the two photos as Diana set them stiffly back on the table. "I'm here for the Winchesters."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

A/Ns: And the FBI are now on scene! Okay, so fifty eight pages, twenty nine thousand words, and four friggin' chapters all so Andy could have a lip caterpillar *and* so we could get Henrikson on scene. Fine, Muse, you win; I guess that's kind of important.

Dean's note: If you don't remember from the episode, Hilts is Steve McQueen's character in The Great Escape. Benson is a reference to Det. Olivia Benson from Law and Order: SVU. I would have used an exorcist line for Linda Blair instead, but since she was a kid in that movie, nothing about that was going to come across as not-forced-as-hell, sadly. Benecio Del Toro was the first actor that came to mind when I tried to think of one who looked similar to the actor who played Peter Sheridan (who did not play anyone recognizable enough for Dean to quote, unfortunately).

Cas: Did I spend fourchapters with absolutely no angel only to have him be the one to get Dean out of the precinct without actually writing the scene? Yes. Yes I did. I figure if Dean grumbling in his head at Cas was enough to make you all happy, him smiling at a little jail break was gonna flat out break hearts ;) Plus, I kinda want Henrikson going after Andy and Cas too this time around. Or at least have them on his radar.

Castiel will be making a legitimate appearance in upcoming chapters. Like, a big, big, big, oh shit, oh crap, you are a mother effing dirty rotten author, Silence, you jerk, level appearance. It'll be over the span of, like, nine chapters because I am fucking verbose and it's *Croatoan*, but I promise it's coming ;D

And now I have to go get on a flight. Like, they're legitimately boarding and I'm sitting on the floor next to a plug typing like mad... Adios, until next time, all my lovely readers :)