Interrogation

It had been a stupid plan to begin with; Faith wasn't denying that. But at the time, it had seemed necessary.

The restless spirit that she and Toby were hunting was attached to an antique necklace, and the family who owned it had gotten so spooked by its apparent 'curse' that they'd sold it as quickly as possible to an antique jewellery dealer in Maine. Whoever bought the necklace next was going to die – that was a fact. And they couldn't let that happen.

"I'm a thief!" she'd reminded Toby eagerly. "I can do this!"

"Faith, you're a pickpocket," he'd said impatiently. "You can't rob a jewellery store."

"It's not going to be hard," she'd huffed. "I'll be in and out in under a minute. There won't even be time to know I'm there, let alone catch me."

He'd argued against it for a long time, but eventually she'd worn him down. He knew they didn't have any other options, and out of the two of them, she was the closest they had to a cat burglar. He was still not a fan of the plan, but he relented, and they managed to swindle their way into getting the blueprints for the building, and brief access to the security system under the guise of being repair agents.

The plan was simple enough – after the store closed for the day, Faith was going to slip inside using the basement entrance they'd found on the blueprints. The basement was attached to the neighbouring building's, which was a restaurant that had bathrooms on their sub-level, and – little known fact – they shared a ventilation system.

Honestly – it was like they were begging to get burgled.

That night, she and Toby went to the restaurant next door. Faith wore a fancy blue dress and a pair of ribboned heels that showed off her legs – toned and tanned from all that running Toby made her do every morning.

(She always knew it would be good for something.)

Toby wore a suit, and they held hands as they walked into the restaurant. Should anyone look at the security tapes for the night, they'd only see a young couple in love. They'd gotten very good at playing their roles over the last year. They almost had it down to a fine art.

They had their fancy entrées, making idle conversation, then straight after they ordered their mains, Faith excused herself to the bathroom with a wink at her friend and hunting partner. Toby stared after her dramatically, like he was watching her walk to the gallows, and she made a face in response, disappearing down the stairs to the sub-level.

The restaurant wasn't so busy that the bathrooms were crowded, so once the one lady still using the bathroom washed her hands and left, Faith climbed up onto the counter of marble sinks. The vent entrance was above the mirror, and she pulled the lock pick from where it was hidden in her hair, using it as a tool to unscrew the bolts keeping the cover on. She slipped them into her bra, then stuffed her pick back into her hair and hid the vent cover in one of the stalls. Hopefully if somebody noticed, they'd think it was just routine maintenance.

Finally, all there was to do was get inside the vent. It required a lot of upper-body-strength to pull herself up into the hole, and if she'd had to do it a year ago there was no way she'd have been able to. She only could then because of the rigorous training Toby had put her through.

(She'd known that would end up being good for something, too.)

Some part of her had thought it would be fun, sneaking through the vents like she was in a heist movie. But instead, it was hot and stuffy and incredibly uncomfortable. She regretted wearing the heels, but she was stuck with them now, and simply ignored the itch of the ribbons as she crawled.

It was easy enough to unscrew the bolts on the other end, but she had to push the cover outward to get it off, and it clattered loudly to the floor. Wincing, Faith carefully pulled herself out of the vent, sucking in deep gulps of fresh air. She somehow managed to avoid a broken ankle as she jumped to the concrete floor, pausing against the wall to wipe the sweat from her face.

She was careful as she tiptoed her way up the stairs to the main level, wiping the nervous sweat from her brow. There weren't any sensors down in the sub-level, so she was safe until she got to the main floor, which was where the real tricks came in.

She had to stay hidden from the security cameras, which were also triggered with motion-sensors that would sound the alarm if it saw her. But she'd studied the angle of the lens, and she was sure she could keep out of sight.

Crawling on the floor, it felt like a small age until Faith finally made it to the case where the haunted necklace was being held. There was a normal lock on the glass door, and it was so delightfully simple to just pull the pick from her hair and work the lock until it opened, presenting the treasures within for her to peruse.

There was an instinct – old though it may have been – to grab everything she could carry, and then stuff some more down her bra. Years ago, a haul like this would have gotten a roof over her head when she'd had none; a real mattress to sleep on; meals inside a belly that ached from hunger. It would have meant the difference between nearly dying from exposure and having a home to call her own.

The little girl within her wanted to snatch up everything in sight, her sticky fingers wanting it so badly they flexed and curled.

Faith had to stop and take a deep, deep breath. She had a job now, a purpose. And an income which, although it may not have been exactly on the up and up, was enough to keep her clothed and warm and fed. And that job was making a difference in the world, helping people. It was bigger than just her, and it brought her more satisfaction than any jewellery store heist would ever bring.

It was that thought in mind that had her reaching into the case for the one, single necklace she'd broken in for. Made of pure silver and inset with real garnets, it was a beautiful piece. Or rather, it would have been, were it not completely haunted.

She hadn't brought anything to touch it with, so she grimaced as she grabbed it with her bare hands. Despite the danger, there was a sort of thrill in taking it – the exhilaration that came from a perfect lift – but it didn't last long.

They hadn't been aware of the weight sensors in the cases. If they had, they definitely would have thought up another strategy.

Faith had barely lifted the necklace an inch before the room was filled with the shrieking of alarms. She cursed loudly, holding the necklace tight to her chest and turning for the front door – because it was beyond too late to escape back into the restaurant bathroom unnoticed – but the roller shutters on the doors and windows had already been engaged, and they fell with a sound like a gun.

Standing there; alarms blearing in her ears, trapped inside the store like a rat in a cage, Faith shut her eyes and said quietly, but with feeling, "Fuck."

The cops were there in minutes. They stormed the store with their guns aloft, and Faith was quick to drop the stupid, haunted necklace to the ground and lift her hands high in the air. The cops seemed surprised to find a well-dressed twenty-six-year-old as the culprit, but they weren't charmed by her sweet smile or pretty face. They only shouted at her to get on the ground, and she wisely did as she was told.

The next five hours passed in a sort of daze. The cops arrested her, carting her outside like a common criminal while all the people in the restaurant came out to watch the show. Toby wasn't in the crowd, but she knew he was smart enough to get the hell out of dodge, and by then he'd have already been back at the car, cursing her name to the skies.

Faith was read her rights, taken to the local police station and processed. She didn't give them her real name, instead using an alias, and she also smiled for her mugshot. The guy behind the camera peered at her like she was a mental case, so she toned down how much she was enjoying it, after that. Especially when they deposited her into a small, windowless room and hand-cuffed her to a hook in the table.

It was cold and the chair was uncomfortable. Her feet hurt from the shoes, and she had bruises on her knees from crawling through the vents. Nobody came to see her for hours. She passed the time trying to think of a way out of this mess, and when that proved fruitless, she imagined what Toby might be doing to get her out of this mess, and what he'd need for her to do on her end to get it done.

At some point a stern lady cop appeared to give her a cup of water and an offer to use the bathroom. Faith said yes to both, peeing in a stall with the door open so the cop could watch her – awkward – and then greedily gulping down the water before being led back to her cold, windowless room.

Finally, as she was approaching what she was fairly certain was hour seven of her arrest and exhaustion was just beginning to get the better of her, the door to her little prison opened with a bang. She sat up straight like she'd been stuck with a cattle prod. The shock of the noise was quickly overtaken, however, by the shock of the familiar face that appeared in the doorway.

FBI Agent Victor Henriksen had a thick manilla folder tucked under one arm, a smug look on his face as he stared down his nose at her. She knew how she looked: dishevelled and tired, makeup smeared and caked, giving her an uncanny resemblance to a racoon. But despite all that – and the panic trying to claw its way up her throat – Faith plastered on the most sugary, confident smile she could possibly conjure.

"Henriksen," she said warmly, like she was greeting a dear old friend.

"Freya Austen," he said in the same tone of voice. "Attorney-at-law, Austen and Greenwood, right?"

She let her lips curl into a simpering smile. "You remember me."

"I do. Hard to forget a face like yours," said Henriksen smoothly.

Faith batted away the compliment as best she could in handcuffs. "Oh, you flatterer."

Henriksen took a seat in the chair opposite her, turning it around so he could sit in it backwards. Faith bit back a snarky comment and widened her smile.

"You here to spring me, Agent?" she asked sweetly.

"Oh, quite the opposite," he replied, laying the folder on the table and opening it to the first page. "I'd like for you to explain to me, Ms. Austen, why your fingerprints flagged you in the system as a woman named Faith Bueller," he said, reading her name from the file like he didn't already know it by heart.

He lifted the page he was reading from, showing another mugshot of her, this one from when she was eighteen, picked up for jacking a car. She'd been let off with a warning, but her prints were put in the system.

Faith let none of her panic show, keeping an innocent smile fixed into place.

Henriksen made a show of looking between the mugshot and Faith, as if just now comparing the two. "Now, is it just me, or does this look a lot like you?"

Faith grinned sheepishly. "Would you believe I have a sister?"

Henriksen didn't smile. "Do you often impersonate attorneys for serial murderers, or is it just a side hustle?"

Faith said nothing. Henriksen sifted through his papers some more, pulling out a small hoard of photographs and laying them out on the table for her to see. She leant over the table, glancing down at the images, allowing only mild curiosity to pass her face.

They were images of her and Dean. Nothing incriminating – not that there was anything incriminating to be captured in the first place, of course – but rather just the two of them beside each other. Sometimes they were leant against the Impala, other times just walking somewhere, profiles ever-so-slightly blurred from movement.

"You're a good friend of Dean Winchester's, aren't you, Faith?" Henriksen pressed, laying down more photographs for her to see. "See, when I knew to look for you … you started to show up everywhere. In fact, I'd even put money on the two of you being more than just friends. Am I right?"

This time her smile was genuine, layered with amusement. "Couldn't be further from the truth."

The agent remained calm. "Is that so?" he asked, laying another photograph out.

It was an image taken from a shitty security feed, blown up so their faces were the centre focus. In the photo they were stood unmistakably close together, the crook of Dean's index knuckle tipping her jaw up towards him. Her lips were parted, eyes lidded, and Dean looked utterly transfixed, staring at her with a longing that stole the breath from her lungs.

She remembered that afternoon – out in the muggy heat of the Buffalo afternoon, when the tension had gotten to unbearable levels and Dean had been in possession of a cursed rabbit's foot that had made her act as she would forever swear that she otherwise wouldn't. She didn't, however, remember Dean's expression – the pain and the longing and the desire on his face; like he wanted nothing more in that moment than to kiss her, maybe as much as she'd wanted to kiss him.

All this flitted across Faith's mind in the span of a second, but she stamped down any of the expressions that would have given away how the image spooked her. She was angry at Henriksen for showing it to her, and even angrier that anyone at all had witnessed a moment of such private weakness between her and Dean.

In the now, she looked up at Henriksen, finding him watching her keenly. "That looks like a lot more than just friends to me," he said, tapping a finger against the printed photograph. She didn't look down at it again.

"Does it?" she asked breezily.

There was a tightening of Henriksen's mouth, just the slightest sign of frustration, but Faith clung to it like an oasis in the desert. She wasn't getting out of this with her words, but she could still control the conversation. He couldn't make her admit to anything she didn't want to.

As if sensing the stubborn avenue her thoughts had taken, he pushed aside the photos of her and Dean, instead laying out a bunch of documents that made her want to groan.

"Faith Bueller," he began to read, ignoring her as she fell back against her chair, handcuffs rattling loudly between them. She settled in like an eager child at story time. "Born on the second of September, 1981 to an Emily Jett. Father unknown. Poor Emily died, didn't she? A mass death at a barn in Wyoming. Terrorism suspected but never proved. You grew up in various foster homes until you were fourteen, at which point you ran away and lived under the radar until you were found again at eighteen, but by then you were grown enough that they couldn't bring you back in." He paused, looking up at her smugly. "How am I doing so far?"

"Kinda boring me, honestly," she pretended to yawn.

"Let me skip to the good part. You had various odd jobs, eventually meeting Nathan Chambers at twenty-one, and went on the straight-and-narrow, living in Baltimore and working for the longest stretch at a trucker's diner just off route 110."

"Yes, and the princess saved the prince from the terrible beast, and they lived happily ever after," she interjected, spinning her hands in a circle. "Wrap it up, Mr. Rogers."

If Henriksen was irritated by her jeers, he didn't show it, reading calmly from his files.

"Except you didn't live happily ever after, did you?" he asked, looking up to meet her stare, an uncomfortable knowingness in his eyes. "Nathan died on May fifteenth, 2006. His remains were found in a mass grave in the basement of your apartment building, destroyed nearly beyond recognition by the fire that tore down the whole structure. That night, Faith Bueller officially became a missing person, and you didn't come up for air once – except to pose, for some reason, as Sam and Dean Winchester's attorney when they were arrested by chance, breaking into a museum in Arkansas."

Faith stared at him, expressionless and cold as the air around them.

"Well done," she said flatly. "You've really done your homework. Gold star for you, Victor."

Henriksen leant forwards over the table, and she humoured him, copying his awkward position. "Dean Winchester is manipulating you," he said in an urgent undertone.

Of all the things she'd been expecting him to say, that was the last thing she would have guessed was going to come out of his mouth. She betrayed her surprise, shifting backward with raised brows. Henriksen's mouth stretched into a smug smirk at the visceral reaction.

Faith could only laugh, the sound bouncing off the walls, making her sound half crazed. "Dean Winchester is manipulating you?" she echoed through her laughter. "That's weak, even for the FBI."

Henriksen narrowed his eyes, watching her giggle. "I don't know how you got caught up with the Winchesters, Faith, but you don't have to go down with them. They're bad guys. They've hurt a lot of innocent people, and they're gonna hurt you, too."

Faith's laughter petered off into nothing. She cocked her head, eyes going narrow. "You don't know the first thing about the Winchesters. Or me, for that matter."

"You know what I do know?" he countered instantly. "I know it was more than likely Dean Winchester who killed Nathan that night."

Every single cell in her body went cold as a glacier. "Excuse me?" she asked, deadly calm, as if there was a chance she'd misheard.

"Winchester is a cold-blooded murderer, and I can see why he'd want you, Faith," he said, using her name again, like they were friends. "You're a beautiful woman; young, athletic; clearly a very skilled grifter, pickpocket, thief. You've got to look at it objectively – why would you run off with him when you've still got Nathan at home? So, he kills Nathan, sets the fire to get rid of the evidence, and charms you just enough to get you on his side. Just another tool in his ever-growing arsenal."

Faith shook her head, both against the suggestion and the horrible imagery his words were bringing to her head. "You don't know a goddamn thing."

"No?" he hummed. "Then explain it to me, Faith. What happened that night, and why are you working with the Winchesters when you know they're bad people?"

"They're not bad people," she snapped before she could stop herself.

"They are, Faith. They're murderers and they're liars—"

"They're not!"

"They've got you brainwashed so badly, Faith, and you can't even see it," sighed Henriksen, shaking his head like it was such a pity. Her palms itched with the need to slap the sympathetic look off his stupid, smug face, but she curled her nails against the urge.

Henriksen leant forwards again, expression still the perfect mask of sympathy.

"Faith, if you work with me to get the Winchesters into custody, then I can talk to the DA, cut you a deal. If you're lucky, you might not even get any jail time."

Faith's shoulders slumped forwards as, just for a moment, she allowed her exhaustion to show. Curled in on herself, she shut her eyes and breathed. Behind her lids, she saw Sam's quiet smile as he told her about some stupid, batshit thing Dean had done as a kid, and then Dean's annoyance as he argued in his own defence. She used those images – those memories – to remind herself of exactly whose team she was on.

Because the truth was this: she'd betray the Winchesters the day Hell froze over.

When she opened her eyes and looked up at Henriksen, she found him looking hopeful and kind. But kindness meant nothing if it wasn't unconditional. And boy, did his come with strings.

"I'll tell you where they are," she said in a small voice that wasn't her own.

Even Henriksen looked surprised to hear that. "You will?"

She nodded. "But only if you do one thing for me first," she said quietly, and slowly Henriksen leant forwards, triumph glittering in his dark eyes. "All I want, Agent, is for you to … Go. To. Hell."

Henriksen sat back, shaking his head in disappointment. "When I walk out that door, Faith," he said slowly, using her name again, as if he had any right to it – to her, "the deal's off the table. You're throwing your life away. This is your only chance."

"Is it really?" she asked callously, leaning back just the same, turning her attention to her nails like there was nothing better to focus on. "Shall we make commemorative T-shirts?"

He shook his head, looking darkly amused. "Is he really worth it? I know he's … dreamy," he said the word with thick derision, and though it was meant to wound her, it only made her grin, "but Dean Winchester's a murderer. He's not a good guy, and he doesn't deserve someone like you."

"You're right," she agreed calmly. "He deserves a lot better. Which, upon re-examination, is probably why we're barely even friends."

Henriksen shook his head again and began to gather up all the photographs spread across the table like the confetti of her life. "Well, I'll tell you one thing," he said, "whether he deserves you or not, you're certainly perfect for one another. Now, how sad is it when two psychopaths like you can find love, and the rest of us are left out in the cold?"

She slashed her usual knife-edge grin. "We must be doing something right."

"Goodbye, Faith," said Henriksen, tapping the rest of his papers into a neat stack, and sweeping from the room just as abruptly as he'd entered it. The door clicked shut after him and despite the fact that she was probably still being watched, Faith allowed herself to droop until her forehead hit the cold metal of the table.

Her head was swimming with everything they'd said. Henriksen had meant to cast doubt on Dean, but it hadn't worked. He didn't understand how things really were, and he probably never would. But although she didn't actually believe Dean had anything to do with Nate's death, he succeeded in disturbing her, getting cleanly under her skin.

She felt sick and dirty, and she brought her legs up onto the chair, so she was curled in a sad little ball.

She sat there for at least an hour, the cold of the table slowly warming with her body heat. Faith even fell asleep at one point, and her dreams were filled with the hazy memories of that job she'd worked with Jo and the boys. When Faith woke up, she knew exactly what she had to do.

Another female cop appeared eventually, offering her more water. "You'll be transferred to the prison in the morning to await your trial," she told Faith softly. "Are you okay to spend the rest of the night in here? Our jails are overcrowded at the moment."

"I don't mind," Faith said, a plan coming to her in a flash. "But could I grab a blanket? It's so cold in here."

"Of course," said the woman, disappearing again. Faith had to act quickly.

She'd never summoned her strength on call before, never accessed it in a moment when she hadn't been flooded with panic and adrenaline. But she shut her eyes tight and focused on it now. She couldn't force herself to panic, but she could try and isolate that kernel of power within her, the one she still didn't really understand; even knowing now where it came from.

"Come on, come on, come on," she muttered to herself over and over, hoping it would help centre her, or whatever. That was what religious people did, right? Chanted? It seemed to work for monks.

Heart in her throat, Faith curled her hands into tight fists, sucked in a sharp breath of air, then wrenched her hands outwards. It hurt her wrists like a bitch, but the handcuffs didn't snap entirely. They only groaned loudly under the pressure.

When Faith looked down, the metal around her wrists was bent out of shape. Now ovals where there had been rings. Her grin was a real, powerful thing, bursting to life on her face with all the heat and force of a wildfire.

With only a little more manoeuvring, Faith managed to wriggle her wrists out of the clasp of the cuffs. She rubbed at her raw wrists, but before she could do anything heard footsteps on the floor outside her temporary cell.

Faith hurried to grab hold of the cuffs, positioning them so it looked like her hands were still bound. The lady cop reappeared, a patchy and itchy-looking blanket held in her arms. "I hope this will do," she told Faith apologetically. "It's all I could find."

Faith smiled a small, unthreatening smile. "That's okay."

The policewoman made her way over, unfolding the blanket and settling it carefully over Faith's exposed collarbone, making sure it was wrapped around her just so.

"Thank you," Faith said as she fussed a little. "I'm really sorry," she added, and meant it.

The policewoman, easily the kindest person Faith had met for hours, frowned at the unexpected apology. "For what?"

Faith winced. "For this."

She took out the woman's legs first, and she fell to the floor in a heap. Before she had a chance to shout and alert anyone, Faith was already there, pushing back just far enough to get the leverage to clip her hard in the head with the edge of her fist.

The policewoman went down like a sack of potatoes, and Faith glanced down at her own bleeding knuckles with a grimace. "I really am sorry," she whispered even as she quickly stripped the woman of her uniform.

The trickiest part was undoing her zipper without any help, but after that it was a simple matter of slipping out of her delicate, chiffon dress and pulling on the woman's worn police uniform. She hastily fixed her hair in the mirror and slid on the shoes that were two sizes too big, then strolled confidently from the interrogation room, trying to look like she belonged.

Nobody looked at her twice, but she kept her head down all the same, walking calmly towards the station's front doors. It was impossible to say how long she'd have before someone found the poor unconscious policewoman, so she had to be quick.

The halls all looked the same, but she managed to get to the reception desk without any issues. However, when she rounded the corner, she saw an unexpected figure at the front desk, arguing quietly but firmly with the receptionist.

"And I've told you, I demand to speak with my client," Toby was saying passionately, tugging at the tie of his usual FBI getup. "She has a right to council—"

He cut off abruptly when his eyes caught on her stood in the doorway. He went still, cleared his throat once, then looked back at the young receptionist and said, calmly, "I'd like to speak to whoever's in charge."

Faith ducked her head and walked directly for the door. Nobody stopped her, nobody even gave her a second glance. Faith slipped out into the morning light without so much as a suspicious glance. The sun stabbed at her eyes, and she ducked her head, walking a straight path down the street. It was pure chance – or maybe even fate – that she spied Toby's car parked in a side street a block from the precinct.

When she tried the door, it was locked, but Faith simply crouched down behind it, where she couldn't be seen from the street. The morning was cold – almost unbearably so, considering all she had between herself, and the chilled pavement was a thin pair of stolen pants.

By the time Toby made it back to the car, she was a shivering, sniffling lump. But there was no time to whine about the cold – Toby was walking as fast as he could without it turning into a run, an urgent look on his face. As he turned into the side street, he hit the button on his keys and the car unlocked with a click.

Relief sharp in her belly, Faith grabbed for the door handle, only for Toby to shake his head once. "Get in the trunk," he snapped. Faith complied without question.

The trunk was cramped and cold, but it was out of sight, and that was all that mattered. Toby laid a blanket over the top of her, then started the car and drove calmly out of the street the precinct sat on. As they drove past, Faith could hear the distant shouts of people trying to organise a search, and she smiled to herself, even folded over and cramping as she was.

Toby didn't stop until they got to their motel – thankfully paid for under a very different alias to her real name. He opened the trunk for her, and Faith breathed the fresh air, keeping the blanket wrapped around her to hide the stolen uniform she still wore.

"Inside," muttered Toby, guiding her into their room.

She doubted anyone was watching them in the small, gravel parking lot behind the shitty motel they were staying at, but all the same she felt a dragging relief once the door was shut behind them, and Faith knew without a doubt that she was truly hidden from any prying eyes.

"Toby—" she began, unsure what she was going to say, but knowing it was likely going to be some sort of apology. But before she had a chance, he pushed her gently in the direction of the bathroom.

"Go shower," he ordered her. "Quick as you can. We've got to get the hell out of Dodge before they come looking for you."

Faith didn't argue, she just shut the bathroom door and peeled off her stolen uniform before sliding into the blissful heat of the shower. She could have spent hours under the hot spray, but there wasn't any time to indulge. Toby was right; the sooner they left this place in the dust, the better.

Scrubbed clean, she opened the bathroom door wide enough for Toby to thrust a handful of clothes through the gap, then dressed hastily. Despite her aching limbs and the exhaustion pulling at every muscle and bone in her body, it was less than ten minutes before they were packed and on the road.

Faith wore a beanie to cover her hair and a pair of sunglasses over her eyes, but thankfully she wasn't quite Wanted enough for there to be any roadblocks or checkpoints out of the city. Toby took backroads just to be safe, but half an hour later they were coming into Portland and they both knew they were in the clear.

Faith let out a loud sigh, slumping in her seat and shutting her eyes against the unwelcome sunlight. "Toby, I'm sor—"

"No apologies," said Toby sternly, an edge of frustration to his voice. She looked over at him in surprise, and he sighed as well. "Just get some sleep," he tried again, much softer than before. "You need it. We'll talk when you wake up."

The stubborn part of her wanted to argue, to dig in her heels and insist they spoke about it now, but she really was exhausted, so tired her eyes were burning with the need to keep them shut. So, she put aside her stubbornness and let herself succumb to sleep.

Toby drove straight through, no real destination in mind, just knowing they had to put distance between them and Henriksen.

Faith woke up in the early evening when Toby stopped for gas. As a silent apology, she went inside to pay and steal enough snack food to last at least a few days. They drove off in silence, but no longer did it feel calm. Instead, it was loaded with tension. Faith didn't know what to say, but Toby spoke before she could figure it out.

"I caught wind of some mysterious deaths in Ohio," he said casually. "I figure we'll pull into a camping ground for the night, sleep in the car, then wake up early and get there by midday tomorrow."

Faith hadn't been expecting him to just begin organising their next job. "We're abandoning this job?" she asked in shock, even as they continued to drive west at a furious pace. "Toby, that necklace could kill dozens of people over the next few years—"

"Relax," he ordered her. "I already made a call. Garth's going to take care of it."

She frowned. "Garth?"

"He's only in Connecticut. He doesn't mind taking this one."

"But it was our job—"

"And you went and got yourself caught by the police," Toby cut her down before she could really get her argument going. Faith fell silent. He didn't sound angry, exactly, but he certainly wasn't pleased. "It's okay, it happens to the best of us," he continued quietly. "But if you get charged for something, there aren't enough strings for me to pull to spring you from prison. So, we're playing it safe and moving on."

Faith felt terrible – like a complete and utter failure. Was Toby disappointed in her? She couldn't imagine he wasn't, considering she was plenty disappointed in herself.

"It was a bad plan," she muttered contritely.

"Yes," he agreed. "I know."

She frowned. "Then why didn't you stop me?"

"Because sometimes, Faith, you need to fail to learn."

Faith didn't know what to say to that, so she said nothing. She meekly picked at her nails, trying not to think about everything Henriksen had said. But no matter how she tried to distract herself, his words spun like a twister in her skull.

"It wasn't just the police," she eventually told Toby, who glanced away from the road long enough to frown at her. "I'm on the FBI's radar, now," she confessed. "They've seen me with Dean – got pictures from security cameras of us together. They know we're … associated."

Toby sighed heavily. "That could be a problem."

She rehashed her conversation with Henriksen, pausing in between words to chew on some beef jerky. Together she and Toby decided there wasn't much they could do about it now, other than make sure she kept her head low.

"The 'States are big," he said confidently. "So long as you don't try to rob any more jewellery stores, we should be able to go about our day job and still stay under the radar."

They pulled into a campsite a little later than the manager would have liked, but he let them in when Toby waved a wedge of cash under his nose. They found an unoccupied spot at the back of the grounds where nobody could see or overhear them, and then Toby got out to stretch his legs and use the complimentary logs to start a fire.

Faith didn't feel like going back to sleep, and as she sat by the fire Toby was patiently stoking, she realised her partner wasn't the only person who needed to know what had happened in that interrogation room.

With great reluctance – and maybe a flicker of nerves – Faith pulled out her phone, kept safe in Toby's possession because even she wasn't stupid enough to take her cell phone on a jewellery heist. Reception wasn't great, but there was enough to make a call.

It rang three times before Dean answered. There was no background noise, which probably shouldn't have surprised Faith but somehow did. She realised she didn't know how Dean spent his time – aside from hunting – but she supposed she'd half expected him to be at some bar or club at this time of night. Or at least not wasting away the hours somewhere quiet and alone.

"Hello?"

"Winchester," she said lamely, suddenly wordless.

"Bueller," he replied, but he didn't sound surprised. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Her tongue felt strangely dry, and Faith swallowed back whatever unwelcome feeling was swelling in her throat at the sound of his deep, husky voice. "I caught up with an old friend of ours, yesterday," she told him casually, ignoring the side-eye Toby was shooting her from across the flames.

Dean paused. "An old friend?"

He sounded genuinely befuddled, but Faith refused to smile.

"The name Henriksen ring a bell?" she asked. On the other end of the line, Dean gave a colourful curse. "Yeah," she murmured. "That was pretty much my reaction."

"What happened?" he pressed. "Did your cover as our attorney hold?"

She snorted. "I think considering I'd been picked up for burgling a jewellery store, my cover was shot from the start."

Dean's beat of silence betrayed his surprise. "You burgled a what?"

"Not important," she said dismissively. "Point is, he knows I'm a fraud, and he knows we're connected somehow. Actually, I'm pretty sure he thinks we're some sort of Bonnie and Clyde duo."

This time it was Dean who snorted. "And where exactly does Sam fit into that picture?"

"Didn't Bonnie and Clyde have a dog?"

Dean's easy laughter surprised her, and she wilfully ignored the way it made her heart squeeze.

"But anyway," she continued smoothly, "now he knows my real name; he pulled my prints from a car-jacking charge when I was eighteen. And even besides the whole attorney thing, he's also got evidence that we know each other. Just thought I'd let you know. You might wanna keep your head down for a few weeks. After my miraculous escape, I think Henriksen's on the warpath."

"Yeah, how did you escape?"

Faith hesitated, lies and truth tangling together on her tongue. "How d'you think?" she managed. "Toby sprung me."

"Pays to have a partner."

She glanced across the fire at Toby with a hint of a grin. "Don't I know it?"

"Well, thanks for the heads up." He paused, listening to something on his end. "Gotta go; Sammy just got back with food. See ya later."

"Yeah. See ya."

They hung up and Faith was left was a strange dissatisfaction, like he hadn't given her something she'd been looking for. But she couldn't have named it if she'd tried.

"I sprung you?" Toby asked, still prodding at the young flames with a stick. She looked up from where she was staring distractedly at her cell. "Seemed more to me like you sprung yourself. How exactly did you get free, Faith?"

She sucked in a breath, reaching for another packet of jerky, wishing they had some beer to wash it down. Keeping her eyes on her hands, she shrugged. "Bent the handcuffs."

For a moment Toby could only stare. "You bent the handcuffs? The steel handcuffs?"

"I've had outbursts of strength before – and after what I just learned from Dolos…" she said like it was a simple matter, stuffing a handful of jerky into her mouth and chewing.

Toby had taken the news of her potential god-spawn-ness with amazing calm. Although Faith shouldn't have been surprised. Toby wasn't exactly the type to panic in the face of such revelations.

"We knew there was something, Faith," he'd said calmly. "At least now we know where to start looking for answers."

"You're not going to kill me?" she'd asked, only half kidding. He'd just rolled his eyes and ordered her another chocolate martini.

In the present, Toby frowned. "Risky," he said. "But, I mean, if it worked…"

She shrugged again.

"So, you can bend steel," he muttered, more to himself than to her.

"Well, not on command," she confessed, tearing at a stubborn piece of jerky with her teeth. "The strength kinda flickers on and off. Sometimes it works, sometimes it's not so accommodating."

"…That doesn't make any sense."

She scowled. "Welcome to my life."

"Besides the weapons and the strength, I wonder if there's anything else…"

"I don't want to know," she muttered.

"Or you're just not ready to know."

"Can you stop enjoying this?"

"Sorry," he winced. "It's the academic in me."

Faith rolled her eyes. "So, these mysterious deaths in Ohio," she began, eager to get the attention off herself. "Tell me about them."

Toby sent her a look that said he knew exactly what she was doing, but Faith didn't care.

The less time they spent focusing on the fact she was less than human, the better. Because when they spoke about it, then she had to confront the elephant in the room – loud and unpalatable as it was:

If she really was god-spawn, then that meant her father was one of the Greek gods; ergo, not dead; ergo, still alive and seemingly, completely ignoring her since her mother's death, and not appearing to care.

Faith didn't know for sure which so-called 'god' she came from, but she was going to find out, and when she finally came face to face with him, she was going to get some gods-damned answers of her own.

A/N: Thanks for the responses guys, your messages and reviews give me life!

Up next: We have an extra-long chapter, where we cover the events of Dream a Little Dream of Me – and also, so much more…