Last chapter! Enjoy! :)

Chapter 7:

Ziva walked up to McGee and Sam, who were standing at the end of the walkway up to the house. "His wife saw it?" she asked, her voice quiet.

Sam swallowed and nodded. "Yea. I just talked to Dean. He told me what he was looking at up there."

"Yes. Gibbs is talking to the crime scene technicians and Tony is finishing the sketch," Ziva said. She paused, her eyes scanning over the lawn and the wooded area to the left of the house, as if in deep thought.

"What now?" McGee asked, looking to Sam.

"We missed something," he murmured. "There has to be someone else who would have a motive. We just didn't find them yet."

"Do you feel that?" Ziva asked, her eyes narrowed.

Sam brought his eyebrows together, looking around.

"You think someone's watching us?" McGee asked, sparing a subtle glance around. "Who?"

"The question is not who, but from where?" Ziva muttered. Her eyes had settled on the woodsy area.

Sam started walking toward the woods as he took out his cell phone, which was vibrating in his pocket. He flicked it open and held it up to his ear without moving his eyes from the trees. "Yea?"

"Police assumed the guy left the same way he came in," Dean said.

"He didn't?"

"Office down the hall, I'm standing at the window, there's a smudge of blood on the windowsill."

Sam slid his hand to the gun in the small of his back, glancing to Ziva and McGee, who were following him. "Outside the window, what do you see?"

"Ah…woods. Tall fence about three feet away, then woods. We're on the second floor, though, so even I could probably make the jump over it. But if I did, the landing wouldn't be pretty."

"But it could. Dean, I think it caught a bullet and it's hunkered down in the woods, hiding," Sam said, meeting Ziva and McGee's eyes as he said so. "Get down here."

"Are any of the crime scene techs working the perimeter of the house?" Dean asked, walking quickly down the hallway. "If it's hunkered down, it's like a rattlesnake."

In a horrible coincidence of timing, Sam heard a cry of surprise that turned into a scream of pain. Sam's careful, brisk walking instantly turned into a sprint forward, McGee and Ziva on his heels, as he snapped his cell phone shut and shoved it into his pocket, taking out his gun.

Sam got around the end of the fence, heading into the trees, his eyes peeled, as his other hand went into his jacket and took out a flashlight. He raised his gun, aligning it with his flashlight, as his sprint fell back to careful, quick steps so he wouldn't trip.

Ziva's well-trained eyes scanned the area, a silver blade in each hand, and McGee had his flashlight and Desert Eagle up, the same as Sam. Sam grimaced slightly as he heard the sounds of approaching policemen to back them up. His flashlight finally fell on a patch of weeds that were pressed down, and the light flickered slightly over the blood stains. Sam moved his gaze across the trees, stopping in his tracks, grateful that the two agents did the same, as he listened for any noises. He started quickly forward again, following the sound that he heard, the morbid sound of someone choking on his own blood.

It wasn't long before Sam's flashlight landed on the crime scene tech, who by now stared up at nothing with empty eyes, his throat nearly torn out. Anger, Sam realized. This wasn't instinct or survival; it was pissed someone came down in it when it was healing. The thoughts came within a split second as Sam raised his flashlight around to try to spot the creature.

There was a whoosh of air in unison with a harsh growl and Ziva cried out in surprise as something tackled her from the trees. She sharply turned, plunging her blade into its side as she shoved it off of her. It hit the tree with a smack, falling to the ground, and Sam and McGee both shot it several times. Two of the bullets pierced its heart and it collapsed to the ground. It shuddered, shifting back to normal, and Sam stared at the young man, his face illuminated with his and McGee's flashlights. He tried to gasp for air a few times, his eyes wide with shock, before he jerked once and lay still.

Sam turned to Ziva, helping her to her feet, as a couple policemen tried to take stock of the situation.

"This is Sam Nugent," McGee said instantly, putting up a hand to officers who he knew recognized everyone holding a weapon but Sam. "He's with us." He got a nod from a few of the cops as Sam turned to Ziva, tucking away his gun.

"You okay?" Sam asked, holding her back a bit to look her over.

Ziva's voice lowered just enough to be unheard by the cops. "Didn't bite me," she breathed, holding a hand against her chest, which was bleeding. "Just claws." Her wide eyes met his. "Is that bad?"

Sam shook his head quickly. "You're fine."


"McGee! Ziva!"

Shouts came as more flashlights flickered around. "What happened?" Gibbs asked as he arrived at their side.

"He's dead," Sam told him, keenly aware of the other officers in his peripheral vision who were examining the unsub's body as well as the dead crime scene technician. "Ziva got cut, but she's okay," he added, exchanging a glance with Dean.

Gibbs nodded once at him in understanding. "Tony, get Ziva over to one of the ambulances. Have them patch her up."

"Sure thing, Boss," Tony said quietly, motioning to Ziva. Ziva slowly followed Tony, tucking the other blade she'd been holding into her jacket.

Gibbs' tight face looked over the dead young man lying in the bushes, following the glow of his flashlight. "Don't recognize him."

"Well, he's someone," Dean muttered, staring at him. "We'll figure out who."


"So it must be nice to not have to do paperwork," Tony grumbled as he typed away on his computer.

Dean smiled wryly at him. He sat, leaning back in a rolling chair, staring at DiNozzo filling in blank after blank in the forms on his screen. Sam was sitting next to McGee, talking what Dean assumed was shoptalk for geeks, while Gibbs and Ziva handled the forensics end of things down in autopsy. "Well," Dean sighed, "paperwork lets you bill the government for motels, fast food, and bullets, which I would love to be able to do. Plus, you get paid on top of it all. So don't be bitching to me about paperwork," he told him.

"Fair enough." He stopped typing, looking over to Dean. "How do you pay for all that?"

Dean paused for a second. "Think part Rounders, part John Connor from T2."

Tony considered what Dean had said before grunting in affirmation, sitting back and turning the chair slightly to face him more. "Well that explains the fraud charges on your record, but what's with the kidnapping, armed robbery, and murder charges?" Tony asked.

Dean quirked an eyebrow. "Really?"

"You didn't expect me to check up on you once I got your last name?" Tony asked.

"You're a cop," Dean said. "I expected nothing less. What I was asking was do you really want to know how I got those charges?"

Tony stared at him for a long moment. "You dodged the monsters question before too," he murmured. "You really think I shouldn't know."

"What I really think is that if I tell you, you're gonna be second-guessing yourself constantly as an agent and wondering if something that doesn't make sense to you would make sense to me or Sam," Dean told him. "You don't just learn the basics of this stuff, DiNozzo. That's not how it works. That's why Gibbs called us in on this. You've lasted this long on what you know through homicide and NCIS. And…you're a stand-up guy. For a cop."

Tony smirked. "But you're still not gonna tell me."

Dean paused. "No. I'm not. But I think you've spent enough time around me and Sam that you know the charges you found…aren't the whole story."

Tony pursed his lips and nodded once. "Ya."

"DiNozzo, why aren't you typing?" Gibbs asked, walking into the bullpen with Ziva.

"Not my fault," Tony told him, turning back to the computer. "Winchester distracted me."

"Uh huh," Gibbs grunted. "Ducky's starting the autopsy. Did you fill out the papers for the Nugent brothers here?"

"Yea, those are done," McGee replied. "The registered weapon that Sam fired is fully logged and documented."

"McGee," Abby said, walking around the corner and over to the screen between his and Tony's desks. "Check your email."

"What'd you find?" Gibbs asked.

"I got an ID on our John Doe," she sighed, waiting in front of the screen for McGee to pull up the info.

"And?" Dean asked, standing and walking up to stand beside her.

"Charles Bankman, age twenty-nine, resident of Washington DC," McGee said, his voice thick as he put up the information on the screen, "step-brother of Rachel Whitmore."

"Damn," Sam muttered, staring at McGee's computer monitor. "She told him."

Dean let out a long breath and turned to Abby, taking her in a hug. "It's been real," he said.

"Already?" she whined, hugging him back. "You just got here."

"You know I'm not the type to stick around," he said, giving her a shit-eating grin. Abby smiled back as she went over to give Sam a hug. Dean walked over to Gibbs, holding out a hand. "Consider us even."

"I do," Gibbs replied, shaking his hand firmly. "But I'm assuming I can still call you in on a consult if I ever need it?"

"We're not the types to turn down a job," Dean said with a nod. He looked to Ziva. "There's a full clip of silver tipped bullets and a clip of wrought iron rounds for your Desert Eagle in your desk drawer if you ever need them."

Ziva narrowed her eyes. "I keep my desk drawers locked."

Dean smiled and looked over to McGee, giving him a nod, as well as DiNozzo.

"Bye Abby," Sam said with a smile.

Abby gave him a small wave as he and Dean left, walking over to the elevators.

"Abby," Tony said a moment later, rotating his desk chair a bit so he was facing her. "Question."

"Yea?" she replied.

"Dean wouldn't tell me about the stuff they usually go up against. Thought it would throw me off my game," he told her.

"You want me to give you the inside scoop on hunting?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"At least…tell me what movie your life was most like as a kid," Tony negotiated.

Abby sighed, staring at him for a few seconds. "You really want to know?"

Tony blinked. "Yea."

Abby walked over to him, putting her hands on the armrests of his chair and leaning in close, prompting him to narrow his eyes and lean back slightly, as she shifted her expression to deadly seriousness. "Think The Omen. And I'm Damien." At that, she stood up and walked off to the elevator to go back to her lab.

"Oh. Oh very funny, Abby," Tony called out to her. He paused. "You're joking, right? Abby?"