My apologies for taking forever to update. In truth, I'm not very motivated and I did this entire chapter in one day. I'm sorry if any characters are OOC. Also, do not expect me to update until at least Monday because I need to know if Bobby lives in order to write it from Sam's POV. David Rossi is not in this story because he is taking a vacay, and I find his character very hard to do. Anyways, enjoy!

Dean growled impatiently, annoyed at the fact that it was taking his brother forever just to grab some food. From the distance, he heard police sirens rapidly approaching. He turned on the T.V. and then sat down on the filthy large brown chair that was smoldered with dust and who knows what else. He began channel surfing when he saw something on the news network that might help them on their hunt.

"—made altar in the basement of the most recent crime scene." A female news reporter with dark skin and hair said, bobbing her head with every single word she spoke. "Neighbours of the victims claimed that they heard screaming coming from the house moments before the murder, and one person even claims that he heard a demonic voice coming from the basement. What's most disturbing though, is that the murderers are said to have been none other than Dean Winchester and presumably, his brother Sam, who were said to have been dead, and faked their deaths at least twice now." Pictures of Sam and Dean's mug shots were shown on the screen, blocking out the almost everything else asides from the headline.

Dean sucked in his breath and turned off the T.V., his heart felt like it dropped into his stomach. "No," he whispered. "No, no!" He fell back into the chair, his arms dangling off the armrests. "Come on!" he bellowed almost angrily. Just then, he thought of Sam. If Sam wasn't caught already, than he was almost certainly spotted and reported. Dean raced for his cellphone and quickly began dialing Sam's number. After a couple of rings, Sam picked up.

"Yeah, what's up?"

"Sam, where are you?"

"On my way back. Why, what's wrong?"

"No, don't come back! You need to leave, now! Apparently, the Harpe Brothers came back from the dead, and now were on the list again!"

"FBI's most wanted?"

"No, Luna's Hot Spot V.I.P. list. Of course the FBI's most wanted list! Toss out your phone, lose our plate and get the hell away from here!"

"Wait, what about you?"

"I'll try to catch up as fast as I can." Dean didn't wait for a response, but instead just hung up. He smashed his phone and tossed it in the garbage. Then, he reached for his duffel bag and stuffed all of his belongings in it before heading for the door.

From the other side of the door, an unfamiliar voice said, "Dean Winchester, this is the FBI! Open up!"

"Shit!" He cursed under his breath. He moved away from the door, and slowly began backing up towards his bed.

A few moments later, the door flung open. In its place was an African-American man wearing a bulletproof vest that read 'FBI', and the S.W.A.T. team, along with a few more FBI agents.

"Drop the bag and put your hands up where I can see them!" The man demanded.

"Wow, all this for me? You guys, you shouldn't have." Dean said, not about to give up his coy demeanor.

"Put your hands up where I can see them! Now!"

Dean reluctantly dropped his duffel bag and placed his hands in the air. The man quickly emerged, still pointing his gun at Dean. He moved behind Dean, then roughly grabbed his hands and forced them behind his back and handcuffed him.

"Boy, you are one sick S.O.B." The man hissed in his ear before pushing him towards the door.


Hotchner stared at the young man in the interrogation room, making no attempt to try to approach him. He turned around and began walking towards the deputy. "How did the press find out that the unsubs were the Winchesters?"

The deputy cocked an eyebrow at Hotch. "Unsubs?"

"Just answer the question," Hotchner said, irritated.

"The sheriff told 'em," he replied, slightly taken aback by Hotchner's growing intolerance.

"You do realise that what you did may have cost us our chances of finding them?"

"But you already did find 'em." The deputy replied.

"We found Dean because of his alias, and we did not find Sam. Thanks to that little report of yours, he's probably going to drop off the grid and not be seen again for the next few months, maybe even years."

"Don't look at me! The sheriff is the one that did it!"

Hotchner glared at him, before turning around and walking back towards the interrogation room. He stood beside Emily, who was watching Dean Winchester attentively.

"I don't think that Sam would just drop off the grid like that." She said. "Hendrickson stated in their file, that they are both dangerously co-dependant." Emily stated flatly, not bothering to look up at Hotch.

"Is he talking?" Hotchner asked.

Emily shook her head. "Morgan was at him for about 20 minutes, and asides from his wise-ass remarks, we've got nothing."

Hotchner nodded and then said, "See if you can try to get him to talk. Talk about him and try to get him to open up about himself."

Emily nodded and then opened the door and stepped inside the interrogation room.


Dean smiled as he saw a young attractive brunette step inside the interrogation room.

"Hi, I'm special agent Emily Prentiss." The lady said.

"You know, you're not the only FBI agent I've met, but you are by far the prettiest."

Emily smiled and then sat down in the empty chair on the opposite side of the table.

"I take it you're not the bad cop?" Dean said with a smirk.

She smiled again and shook her head. "You've already met him. Morgan."

Dean nodded slowly. "Ah yes. He was loads of fun."

"Can I offer you something? Coffee maybe?"

Dean shook his head. He knew this game. She was send here to try to get him to open up, to trust her. And then she would try to convince him he was bat-shit crazy in the nicest way possible and try to get him to sell out Sam.

"Why don't we just get to the point?" He said.

Emily looked genuinely confused. "What're you talking about?"

Dean shrugged. "You know, the part where you pretend you actually give two shits about me so that I will suddenly grow the conscience you don't think I have and then I'll tell you were Sam is."

Emily looked at him, slightly surprised.

Dean leaned forward. "I'm not who you think I am. I don't kill people for kicks. I think it is just as sick and delusional as you think it is. More so, even. My brother and I fight monsters, in the actual sense. I know you and everyone else think that we are buckets of crazy, but there are also things about our case that strikes you as odd, isn't there?

"Like how I managed to fake my death in St. Louis. There was even a body. Shapeshifter. Oh, and how Sam and I managed to fake our deaths again. Victor let us go the moment he realised that we were telling the truth. Then Lilith came along and killed everyone in the station. Oh, and let's not forget a few weeks ago. Leviathans pretending to be us. We sprayed them with Borax though, and we even managed to chop off their heads."

Emily just stared at him.

"I see," she said. "Why don't you tell me more about these monsters?"

Dean sighed and fell back into his chair. "Oh sweet lord, now you're playing my psychiatrist."