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No Deal 02: High Price on My Head (PG-13) Dean, Ellen/Bobby (Gen) - Not a rock, I'm just Ruth
All Me, no apologies
just_ruth
just_ruth
No Deal 02: High Price on My Head (PG-13) Dean, Ellen/Bobby (Gen)
Title: High Price On My Head (No Deal 02)
Author: Just Ruth
Fandom: Supernatural
Characters: (Gen)Dean, Special Agent Henricksen, Michael Sorenson, Asher Sorenson, Original Characters
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: AU from the beginning of AHBL2,Violence
Spoilers: Skin, Something Wicked, Nightshifters, Folsom Prison Blues
Disclaimers: Supernatural is the property of Eric Kripe and the CW. Characters/Situations are being borrowed for entertainment purposes only. You think anyone would pay me for this?
Soundtrack: Renegade by Styx
Special thanks to:intrepidy the best beta ever
Summary: A series of killings in Fitchburg WI brings in Special Agent Henricksen to set a trap for Dean Winchester.
Symbols: _italics_
Notes: According to the Official Guide to Supernatural Season One, Michael and Asher's last name is Sorenson. It also states that the silver bullets for the Colt were numbered. Bobby Singer's opinions of former Attorney General Reno are not those of the author.
Word count: 4778
*****

THEN:

A seven year old boy huddled under the stairs, hugging himself with fear as the bloody man with his father's face straightened from the body of his mother. For a moment, his eyes seemed to glow golden.
****

The same little boy dressed in a painfully new suit and tie, sat on the witness stand in a courtroom.

"Now, son," said a strange man in a fancy suit. "Who did you see in the house?"

"M-My Daddy," the little boy whimpered.

His father, at the defendant's stand jumped up, screaming. "No, Victor, no! It wasn't me! It wasn't me!" The judge pounded his gavel and the guards dragged his father away as he still screamed. "It wasn't me! It wasn't me!"

Victor began to cry.
****

Missouri Mosley drew back from contact with the tall, harsh-faced man at her door.

"I understand now," she said quietly. "Dean Winchester has to be a monster, because if he's not then you put your innocent Daddy on death row."

Special Agent Victor Henricksen opened his mouth to say something, but the words died before Missouri's fierce, knowing eyes.

"Go away," she ordered. "I don't know where that boy is. I wouldn't tell you anyway. I'm not about to help you kill him."
****

NOW

"I'm worried about him," said Ellen Harvelle from her position on Bobby Singer's chest. She idly twirled some of his grey chest curls around her finger.

"Dean? He'll be all right," Bobby grunted, putting one arm up over his head. He ran his fingers through her grey-touched hair.

Ellen shook her head. "I don't know, Bobby, he's been so quiet since the pyre. Since the Rider spoke to him."

"She spoke to him? I only saw her ride away." Bobby frowned.

"I must've been meant to see it," Ellen mused. "Hear it. She told him to find a reason to live, Bobby."

Bobby nodded grimly. With his father and brother dead, something had broken in Dean and he had been drifting around the salvage yard as if he didn't know what to do with himself.

Dean Winchester threw open the door. "Hey, Bobby! I thought we were getting an early star. . ." He stopped in mid-word.

"Oh, Oh, my God!" He gulped. Ellen yanked the sheet up over her breasts. Dean immediately started blushing.

Bobby Singer sat up. "Were you raising by a pack of wolves, boy?" He roared.

"I'm sorry!" Dean dove back out as fast as he'd come in, slamming the door behind him. "I -," They heard him stammer behind the closed door. "I'm going to go find a knife and gouge my eyes out."

Ellen giggled, one hand to her mouth.

Bobby began chuckling. "That boy's going to be all right, darlin'."

They both started laughing.
*****

By the time Dean reached the kitchen he decided not to gouge his eyes out, but started breakfast with banana pancakes. Bobby's new guard dog whined at the door.

_"Reno?" Dean asked Bobby when he brought the large mixed breed back to the salvage yard. "Why Reno?"

"She's the ugliest bitch I've ever seen, that's why."

"I don't get it."

Bobby retorted. "You ever see what Clinton's Attorney General looked like?"_

"Shush," Dean let Reno in. "You're not supposed to be in the house and you know it."

Reno sat down at his feet, wiggled the stump of her tail and grinned lopsidedly.

"I know what you're after," Dean forked the bacon onto a plate and set it on the table. "Bobby says you're a guard dog not a pet." He poured three pancakes into the greased pan.

"Uhf!" Said Reno.

"Yeah, that's what I say too," Dean added slices of brown-sugared banana to each pancake. He took the end piece and held it up. "You want this? 'Course you do. You know what you've got to do to get it." He placed it on her nose, one eye on his pancakes. "Hold it for the countdown. Five-four-three-two-one, go!" Reno tossed her head and snapped down on the banana. Dean flipped the cakes.

"You're going to be in trouble if Bobby catches you doing that," Ellen chuckled as she came in the kitchen. "Are dogs supposed to eat bananas?"

"No idea," Dean served her the fresh pancakes. He was turning pink and couldn't look her in the eye.

"Thank you, Dean." Ellen grinned at him.

"Woof!"

"No more," Dean opened the door. "Get out before Bobby gets down here." Reno whined. "Don't give me those eyes." Dean snapped a piece of bacon in half. "Want this? Go get it!" He threw it into the yard and Reno ran after it.

"I didn't know you could cook," Ellen helped herself to coffee and poured Dean a cup while he fixed more pancakes.

"Self-defense," Dean shrugged. "Sammy and I started getting sick and this one teacher thought it was because we were eating too many meals of spaghetti-os and Lucky Charms. She was probably right. She got me a junior cook book and we started being more nutritious. Better at some things than others. Sam does the best spaghetti sauce. . . did. . ." Dean swallowed.

Reno barked at the door.

"Don't you let that mutt in." Bobby stomped into the kitchen trying to glower but looking more like he was about to laugh. "It's not a damn pet." He snapped on the small television set that sat on a stack of books facing the table.

The vertical hold jumped a couple of times before settling into the face of a newscaster.

". . .And in National News: the search continues outside Fitchburg, Wisconsin for two boys missing since their mother's death in a killing spree that is being called "the Rifleman Killings." Two school photos, one of a dark haired child and an older, sandy haired child stared solemnly from the screen.

Dean's cup crashed to the floor.

"Michael and Asher Sorenson were last seen leaving their school four days ago. The next morning the body of Joanna Sorenson was found in the office of the 2400 Court motel; victim of a gunshot wound to the head. . ."
****

A brown haired woman in police uniform was in consultation with the sheriff's canine unit when the tall dark man in an immaculate suit barged into the room followed by a shorter man wearing dark glasses.

"Special Agent Victor Henriksen, FBI, my assistant Agent McGee, I'm taking over this case." He flashed his credentials. "Take those dogs out of here; you're not going to need them."

"No," said the woman coldly. She was nearly as tall as he was. "We need these dogs to find those boys."

"Didn't you hear me? I'm taking over this case. Why don't you just call in your police chief and I'll explain things to him."

"_I'm_ the police chief," she snapped.

Henricksen did a double take. "_You're_ Dennis Bryson?"

"It's Denise," she retorted. ""I've received no word from the Madison Office about you coming here. And until I receive official word from Madison – you aren't in charge of _anything_!"
****

"Dean! Dean, you get back here!" Bobby chased after the younger man.

Dean was at the Impala. He'd already opened the driver's side door.

"Dean!" Bobby grabbed his arm and yanked him around to face him. "Use your head! They just said the FBI's come in to this. You know what that means! It's going to be a trap!"

Dean slammed his fist on the roof of the car. "I can't let those kids down, Bobby! I can't!"

"Dean, it's not your doing. . ."

"How do you know it's not?" He was shaking. "Michael helped Sam and I stop the Shtriga in Fitchburg when it was feeding on his younger brother. What makes you so sure it doesn't have anything to do with me?"

"There are four other women dead, son."

"But I bet their kids aren't missing!"

"Bobby," Ellen came after both of them. "If he wants to go, let him go. "

"El—"

"No, let him! But, Dean, use your head. If that crazy agent from Milwaukee shows up he'll be looking for the Impala." Ellen laid her hand on Dean's arm and drew him away from the car. Bobby shut the door. "You need to use another car."

"I don't have a spare, El," Bobby argued. "Unless you're going to let him use yours."

"You think I'm letting him get his hands on my Jimmy?"

"Hey!" Dean sputtered, reminding them he was standing there.

Ellen calmly lead him around one of the walls of cars that made up the iron labyrinth that protected Bobby's house. "I figure you can use Ash's." She indicated the vehicle.

Dean looked at it. "You've got to be kidding!"

"If you want to go, that's what you're going in."
****

In the blandness of the motel room on the boarder between Madison and Fitchburg, Dean dug into the bags of purchases he'd made at the twenty-four hour Wal-Mart . He'd showered; the cool water jolting weariness off for a while. He dressed carefully; khakis, loafers, button-down shirt and the final touch – a pair of dark rimmed glasses.

"Look," he jeered at the mirror. "I'm a geek who drives a Volvo!" He left behind his denim jacket and pulled on a sweater. Ash's car had been a taupe colored 2001 V6 Volvo – "a Yuppie box" he had complained. He couldn't fault the car for gas mileage, but it just wasn't as cool a car as the Impala.

He headed into the local diner for a cheeseburger with extra onions and to listen to the local gossip.

He didn't look at the quiet woman at the cash register as he slipped his coffee after giving his order and indulging in a light flirtation with the waitress.

"Liz," Chief Denise Bryson stopped the waitress and jerked her chin at the stranger. "Your new friend give a name?"

"Sam, he said." Liz grinned at the chief. "Sam Johnson. He's really something, isn't he?"

"Yes, I think so" She mused.
****

Asher shivered. He and Michael had been hiding for the last two days in the basement of a new townhouse development. Before that, they had hidden in the equipment shed at the high school.

"I want to go home," he whimpered.

"I know," Michael hugged him tight. "I know, but we can't. The monster that got Mom will be there."

"Where are we going to go next?"

"I don't know," Michael bit his lip. "I don't know Ash, but I'll take care of you. I promise."
****

"What makes you so certain this Dean Winchester is coming here?" Asked McGee as he and Henricksen left the fuming police chief and walked down the street.

"Doctor Heidecker disappeared from the hospital nearly two years ago. The Winchesters were in town then; handwriting samples taken at the motel the missing boys mother owned matched Dean Winchester's. " Henricksen opened a small notebook. "Dean has a habit of making friends with kids."

"You think he'll come here because the boys are missing?" McGee shook his head. "You're using these kids as bait?"

"That's right," Henricksen nodded. "Which is why we can't let the police find them. Dean will find them, I'm sure of that; they're two brothers. He finds them he becomes his Daddy and then I'll have him _exactly_ where I want him."

"What makes you so sure he isn't here already?"

"He won't go anywhere with out two things: the black 67 Impala he drives and his so-called "brother" Sam, the Bonnie to his Clyde – you spot one or the other and you'll know that monster is here."

Victor Henricksen would never know how close he was to death. Dean Winchester pressed his back to the bricks of the alley, muscle jumping in his jaw from gritting his teeth. He looked down at his right hand and willed his fingers one by one to release the throwing knife.
****

Chief Bryson went to the library with the sketch of Sam Winchester. The head librarian remembered him – "Such a polite young man, put everything back when he was done. . ."

She sat down in front of the microfiche and began to piece together the search he must have done. She paused for a long moment in front of a photo from over one hundred years ago. She compared it to a photocopy of the missing Doctor and frowned.

She made notes and put everything back. She pulled out from her notebook a photocopy of another suspect sketch. Taking her pen, she drew a pair of spectacles on it.

"So," she said quietly. "I thought so."

When she returned to headquarters there was a ballistics report waiting on her desk. She read it and immediately put it in a locked drawer and grabbed her helmet from the desk.

"Chief Bryson!" It took her a moment to remember the sandy-haired man running after her was Henricksen's partner.

"I don't have time, Mr. McGee," she said sharply, putting her helmet on as she ran down the stairs to her motorcycle.

McGee frowned as she roared away. Henricksen came out.

"Where's she going?" He demanded.

"No idea sir," McGee answered.

"Find out!"
****

He went back over his copious notes. He had to have read this right. Dean Winchester would come here. He had to.

_"You know, you're getting more than a little obsessed, Victor." The assistant director frowned at him._

_"No," said Agent Reid crossly, "I refuse to work another case with you. You came back from Greensboro with what? Three restraining orders against you? You're dangerous!"_

_"That man saved my life," said Detective Ballard stubbornly._

_ Missouri Mosley's eyes pierced into him. "Dean Winchester has to be a monster because if he's not then you put your innocent Daddy on death row."_

_"No, Victor, no! It wasn't me! It wasn't me!"_

"There are no such things as shapeshifters. There are no such things as ghosts. He's a killer; a mad man. He is. He is."
****

A small shadow slipped from the back of the closed motel office. Dean stepped quickly and carefully behind it. "Asher," he called softly. The boy started and turned at his name.

"Leave him alone!" Michael jumped up Dean's back.

"Oof! Whoa, tiger! It's Dean," Dean wrapped an arm around the boy and yanked him off. "It's Dean," he repeated as he set Michael on his feet.

Asher scooted to his brother's side. "Is he the one who killed the monster?"

"I did what you said," Michael blurted. "When I heard the shot. I grabbed Ash and we got under the bed. He – he came looking for us."

"God, I'm so sorry," Dean pulled them into a hug. "Come on, let's get you out of here."
****

Dean got the boys in through the bathroom window of his hotel room. The kids were scared and exhausted.

"Look, we'll just rest for now and I'll go get us something to eat, okay?"

"Where's your brother?" Michael asked.

Dean couldn't look at him. "Sometimes," he sighed. "Sometimes you just can't stop the monsters," he finished. Michael hugged him. They curled together on the bed; Dean on his back with Michael under his right arm and Asher under his left. He remembered doing this sometimes when Dad said there wasn't enough money for two beds. _Or if something went bad._

Dean closed his eyes.

_He was running through a foggy area; vague glimpses of nameless headstones and monuments briefly appearing only to vanish in misty greyness.

"Sam!" He shouted. "Sam!"

"Dean!" The cry was so faint he could barely hear it and couldn't tell where it was coming from.

"Sam!"

The Rider loomed out of the fog; her horse reared over him.

"Look to your own soul!" Her voice echoed._

Dean sat up with a jerk. He was sweating and his heart was pounding. He carefully untangled himself from the boys, went into the bathroom and splashed his face. He was dressed in his "working clothes" but remembered to take the glasses. Enough people had seen "Sam Johnson" so he put them on.

"And I still look like a geek," he grumbled.

He went over to the lounge, ordered a beer and take-out. He was half-way through his beer when the brown haired woman joined him at the bar. . .

"There you are," she said cheerily, setting down her own bottle. "I've been looking for you."

"I think you have me confused with someone else," he said, getting ready to bolt.

"I don't think so, Mr. Johnson," she slid a piece of paper towards him, her hand and arm keeping it hidden from others. It was the suspect sketch St. Louis had put over the airwaves with a pair of glasses drawn on it.

_Oh, shit,_ Dean looked at her.

"I'm Denise Bryson, Mr. Johnson, I'm the police chief of Fitchburg." She leaned towards him. "I do not want a crusade here, Mr. Johnson. Innocent people get hurt in a crusade."

"I understand, ma'am," Dean nodded. "None of this was my idea."

"Michael and Asher Sorenson have to be found, Mr. Johnson. I am certain they ran away because they were eye-witnesses to their mother's murder. I need your help to find them before our chief suspect does."

The bartender brought over a large bag. Dean drained his beer in one swallow. "Let's go. I can take you right to them."

They had barely started across the lot when Dean grabbed her arm and pulled her into the shadows of a van. "You've been followed," he breathed in her ear.

"Where?" She was smart enough to play along and put her arms around his neck.

"Three cars from the light pole. Light hair, maybe five-eight to five ten, the hell--? He's wearing dark glasses."

"McGee. He's with Henricksen." She whispered. "Damn it."

"Down," They ducked. Keeping low, they wove a zigzag pattern until they were crouched by the Volvo in front of his room.

"Stay here," Dean stood up. He had his key out.

"Winchester," McGee came from around the corner as he pushed the door open. "I need to talk to you."

"Yeah?" Dean threw the bag of burgers in his face. "Chief!" He shoved her into the room. "Michael, Asher, this is the police chief." He whirled to face McGee, blocking the door. "She's got them. You can't use them against me."

"I'm not –" Another figure stood up behind McGee and struck him down with the butt of a rifle.

"Get out of the way," growled the man in the police uniform.

"No." Dean snarled back.

Bryson stepped to his back. "Tomlinson," she stated.

"Your suspect?" Dean kept his eyes locked on Tomlinson. The man was looking panicked.

"Yes," her voice was cold and grim. "His wife was leaving him. He shot the other women to hide that murder. The ballistics came back, Jeff, your service pistol was used on the first three women. I'm getting a warrant for your rifle for the other two."

"They were helping her!" he burst out. "That bitch Sorenson and that lesbian teacher! They were helping her to leave me. _Me!_"

"Put the gun down, Jeff."

"No," He lifted the rifle. "No, see, I can blame _him_ . The FBI guy wants him and if I kill him I'll be a hero."

"You think so?" Dean kicked the barrel of the gun aside and charged. The two grappled over the rifle. Dean heard Bryson order the boys under the bed. Dean slammed Tomlinson against the Volvo. Tomlinson kneed him savagely. It weakened his grip and Tomlinson twisted free.
He raised the rifle and fired.

McGee dove into the doorway, knocking Bryson aside. Clips flew from the doorframe.

Dean yanked his gun from the back of his jeans and fired twice. Tomlinson toppled backwards.

"Everyone all right?" He turned.

McGee had his gun out. "Give me your gun, Winchester."

"Son of a bitch," Dean growled. He handed it over.

"Nice gun." McGee pulled out a handkerchief and wiped it down. "Here, take mine."

"Huh?"

"You were never here, Mr. Winchester. Chief Bryson located the children staying in an empty motel room; Tomlinson followed her to eliminate two eye-witnesses. Henriksen sent me to tail the Chief. Tomlinson attempted to murder the Chief and I shot him in the act. It's the way it has to be." He turned to look at Bryson. "You understand Chief?"

"I understand," She looked at Dean and frowned. "I understand, but I don't like it."

"Your people will come soon. Get the children ready to go with you, Chief." McGee closed the door.

"Ok, what's going on? I thought you were with. . ."

"I simply told Special Agent Henriksen I was Agent McGee. He assumed I was also with the FBI." McGee faced him. "Let's just say I represent other interests." A siren whooped. He shoved a disposable cell into Dean's hand. "I'll contact you soon."

Dean got out of sight, completely confused. Chief Bryson led the boys out and climbed into a black and white van with them. Henriksen showed up as well. Dean could see him shouting at McGee. Dean gave the man points; he'd have punched Henriksen long before the man finished and clearly ordered McGee back to the station. He left the Volvo and went back to the lounge. The Chief would probably be mad as hell but he couldn't resist tripping the starter on her bike and swinging his leg over it.
****

He was nice enough to park the motorcycle in the Chief's spot. He slipped inside and stood off to one side, watching the chaos until the phone in his pocket vibrated.

"McGee?" He answered.

"Yes. Where are you?" He could see McGee on the other side of the room, with his back to him.

"Look behind you."

"You idiot!" McGee hissed after he looked. He crossed the room, shooting glances from one side to the other. He grabbed Dean by an arm and dragged him into a file room. "Are you trying to get killed? Henriksen is close to going berserk. The Chief won't let him anywhere near the kids and he's still convinced you're somewhere around."

"Sorry," Dean winced. He hadn't thought about that. "How are they doing?"

"Scared but the older one, Michael, is a good witness. The Chief is getting him on tape so he won't have to go to court." McGee smiled. He glanced around the corner. "She's coming with them now. Just as well you're here." He stepped out and signaled.

"Dean!" Michael ran to him and he hugged them both.

"Things have gone as well as can be expected, Mr. Johnson," Chief Bryson sighed. She handed Dean an index card. "This is the address of their uncle in Toledo. Social Services would have separated the boys until someone could be found to take them. I hope I'm not making a mistake in asking you to do the honors?"

"What's that mean?" Dean scowled.

"According to Special Agent Henriksen you've come for the boys to take them with you and become your father again," said McGee.

Dean wasn't sure how to react. He settled for a short, rough laugh. "My Dad was great. He did the best he could but. . ." He looked away. "I've never had a home and these guys deserve better than that."

Bryson nodded. She started to say something but stopped as they heard a bellow from the hallway.

"McGee! Where are you?" Henriksen shouted.

"Be quiet," Bryson grabbed McGee and dragged him out the door. Dean could see through the frosted glass that she then had McGee against the door and was kissing him.

"Well, that's not fair," he muttered before turning back to the boys.

"What is this?" Henriksen sputtered when he found the Chief and McGee.

"Just saying thank you to the man that saved me, Special Agent," Bryson purred.

"This is not a joke, Chief Bryson. I'm telling you Dean Winchester is out there! You are letting a monster. . ."

"Monster! You keep calling him that!" Bryson flared. "He's not the one who disrupted my investigation. He's not the one who put those boys in danger! If there has been one monster throughout this whole experience it's been _you_! You're the monster!"

Henriksen stared at her.

_He was standing before the funeral parlor where his father's body lay in state. His aunt barred his entrance shouting at him.

"You're the one who really killed him! You killed your father! You're the monster! You're the monster!"_

"No!" McGee yelled.

Dean flung open the door to see Henriksen throttling the Chief. McGee was trying to break his hold.

"Henriksen!" Dean yelled. When he turned his head, Dean punched him in the jaw with every ounce of anger he'd been building up since the first announcement on the news. Henriksen landed sprawling.

McGee shoved him back in the room. "Get back to the motel when it's quiet!"

Other personnel descended. Henriksen was dragged off screaming "I knew he was here! I knew it!"

McGee sighed. He had been ordered to divert Henriksen but he suspected his superiors didn't intend for the Special Agent to throttle the police chief!

There was a mountain of paperwork. It was early morning before McGee was able to get away and head over to the motel.

He was half-afraid Dean wouldn't be there. The Volvo was in front of another room. McGee knocked quickly twice, paused, then knocked twice more.

"Shh," Dean looked as exhausted as he felt. McGee saw that the boys were asleep on the bed before Dean closed the door. "How's the Chief?" He hopped up on the hood of the Volvo,

"Bruised, hoarse – and pressing assault charges. The boys?" McGee leaned against the grill.

"Best they can, I guess." Dean shrugged. "Called Uncle Eric last night; he's anxious for the kids to be there."

"You up to the drive?"

"Yeah, get me some caffeine and I'll be fine." He covered a yawn.

McGee opened his wallet and handed him a credit card. "I'm authorized to give you this. You've got ten days unlimited credit to get those kids to Uncle Eric's in style. The purchases are going to be tracked. Any charges from Vegas or Atlantic City and I'll have to come looking for you."

"Why the hell are you doing this?" Dean frowned at the card.

McGee sighed. He put his dark glasses back on. "Like I said; I represent other interests." He paused. "In 1864, John Wilkes Booth was shot in the heart with a silver bullet. A silver bullet that had an number two etched into it. I see you know what I'm talking about. Unlike the FBI, other branches of government security have had the occasion to bring in "special consultants." It's something that could never be made public."

"My superiors found Henricksen's obsession disturbing. Bluntly, he was endangering a veil of secrecy no one wanted punctured. I was ordered to find a way to divert him."

"Oops." Dean smiled.

"Not really. He's shot himself in the foot. Assuming he doesn't go to jail, he's going to be ordered into counseling."

"What was his problem?"

McGee looked at him. "When he was seven years old, he witnessed his father murdering his mother. His testimony sent his father to prison where he was killed by another inmate. There's evidence from . . . other sources that suggest his mother was killed by a shapeshifter."

"Christ, I pushed all the wrong buttons, didn't I?"

"And made him look stupid as well."

"Oh, hey, that wasn't the hard part."

"Yeah," McGee pushed off the Volvo's bumper. "Get some rest before you hit the road. When you get the Impala back; hit the redial on that phone I gave you."

"What for?"

"Hey, I want to see that car! You won't believe the stories I've heard."

Dean laughed, "It's a deal." He stood and stretched.
****

It was surprising how good it felt to be driving up to the house in the middle of the salvage yard. Reno ran up yelping and wagging. "Hey, mutt!" He rubbed her ears. "Hey, Bobby! Ellen!"

"In here!" Bobby bellowed. "And don't let that dog in!"

They were sitting at the kitchen table with the lap top _Sam's lap top_ open there was a frozen image of Ash on the screen. Ellen was dabbing at her eyes.

"What's happened?"

"Ash left a message for me on a disk in the safe," said Ellen. "I've got to deliver his things to his brother in Boston. I want you to come with me, Dean."

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Comments
mre_quecky From: mre_quecky Date: January 14th, 2008 01:06 pm (UTC) (Link)
Liked that story^^ And I loved Chief Bryson :D
just_ruth From: just_ruth Date: January 14th, 2008 01:36 pm (UTC) (Link)
Thank you! She might make a comeback, I'm not sure. I don't think Dean's seen the last of McGee either.
randomstasis From: randomstasis Date: January 14th, 2008 02:22 pm (UTC) (Link)
ooh, conspiracy in government and great take on Henrickson's obsession- but what happened to Sam? i think I missed a segment there?
just_ruth From: just_ruth Date: January 14th, 2008 11:06 pm (UTC) (Link)
This is part of a story arc I'm calling "No Deal" - the crossroads demon made no deal, Sam's dead; Dean's surviving.

The first story is here:
Wayward Son - No Deal 01
randomstasis From: randomstasis Date: January 15th, 2008 12:09 am (UTC) (Link)
Thank you!
arliss From: arliss Date: January 17th, 2008 10:57 pm (UTC) (Link)
Well, I was going to say something along the lines of nice story. Good how you used Michael and Asher to re-engage Dean. Kids do it every time, don't they.

Now of course, all I'm saying is, "You can't *leave* it there!"
just_ruth From: just_ruth Date: January 17th, 2008 11:32 pm (UTC) (Link)
*grin* Glad you liked it - and no, I didn't leave it there. There's more to come.
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