twentysomething

Title: Excerpts From Carver Edlund's Magnum Opus

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Dean/Cas

Summary: ""C'mon, Cas, it's like we're Mulder and Scully, this is totally X-Files," he says expansively, waving a hand around. It makes his tie flap and momentarily obscure the new and distracting belt buckle that just says "LUCKY" in huge, embarrassing reflective script in the early morning light. Castiel just stares blankly at him.

"I don't know what that means," Cas replies. Dean sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose under the bright yellow sunglasses."

Length: 27,000 wordsish.

Warnings: Gore, kids, questionable science, THE ONE AU TO RULE THEM ALL.

Notes: Okay. This requires a lot of notes. A little over ten months ago, I sent the first two paragraphs of this to rageprufrock being like "HA HA WOULDN'T IT BE FUNNY TO HAVE A BONES AU OF SUPERNATURAL WHERE THEY WORK IN A LAB AND DEAN IS A SEXY FBI AGENT AND CAS IS A SOCIALLY-AWKWARD FORENSIC ANTHROPOLOGIST? AND CHUCK WRITES GENDERFUCK FANFIC BOOKS ABOUT THEM." And then slowly but not really surely, I wrote this, which is also responsible for the birth of the nickname "wheatgoogler" because fuck everyone, I like to pretend to be factually accurate. But thanks and apologies to rageprufrock (who stayed up late to talk about Jack), merelyn (who still ate Chinese with me, even after I talked about dismembering for a lot longer than I should have), leupagus (who also had to listen about dismembering, but while we were watching David Attenborough) and for mklutz (who had srs bsnss FBI discussions with me).



"It is entirely implausible that there is some sort of supernatural element at the root of this case," Cas says stubbornly. Dean flails his arms around, and hopes that Cas understands they're in a crop circle shaped like a pentagram with a freaking exploded person in the center.

"C'mon, Cas, it's like we're Mulder and Scully, this is totally X-Files," he says expansively, waving a hand around. It makes his tie flap and momentarily obscure the new and distracting belt buckle that just says "LUCKY" in huge, embarrassing reflective script in the early morning light. Castiel just stares blankly at him.

"I don't know what that means," Cas replies. Dean sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose under the bright yellow sunglasses.

"Alright, whatever, let’s just get back to the Jeffersonian," Dean argues. Cas tells whichever put-upon field bitch sub-grad student that's out with them today to finish scooping up the vic into tupperwares and bring it back to the lab. Dean just tries to wipe his feet clean on the flattened wheat on the way out of the crime scene as Cas flails out of the dorky jumpsuit that usually means it's a splatter kind of week. He submits to Dean's spot check for bodily fluids before he can get into the Impala with the ease of long-standing indignity.

"I still cannot believe this is a 'government car'," Castiel argues as they're leaving Maryland and finally getting back into the District. Dean grins widely.

"It's black, isn't it?" he asks cheerfully. One of the guys in the motor pool had owed him a sizable debt from poker night. Cas just stares at him.

"Also, please do not forget that we have an appointment with Dr. Campbell," he eventually says. Dean rolls his eyes.

"Cas, we saw him yesterday. There's only so many feelings I can share and emotions I can paint before I have to throw up, or grow a vagina," Dean complains. Cas frowns.

"Sam has never asked us to paint," Castiel protests vaguely. "In any case, this appointment is to get background on satanic ritual and cult behavior," Dean raises both of his eyebrows. Cas blinks then continues. "Apparently, he's an expert and did his dissertation on the idea of demonic possession,"

"O-kay," Dean says, because he probably doesn't even want to know. "I thought you didn't believe in any of this "supernatural" stuff," Cas shakes his head.

"I am rationally aware that it is impossible, but that does not mean that other people don't believe in it- for example, you, and religion," Castiel says, which are fighting words, coming from a guy named for an angel. "As long as other people believe that demons are real, or that satanic rituals bring them power, they do have relevancy," Dean eyeballs Cas.

"Okay, one, do not lump religion and me in there with the satanists- I'm just saying there are things out there beyond what you can, you know," Dean uses the hand not on the wheel to wave a hand in what he thinks is an illustrative manner. "Explain in your lab."

Dean detours around the snarl of traffic immediately around the Mall in late summer, conveniently taking them past the diner. Cas just eyeballs him as he pulls into the spot that always appears mysteriously right as Dean pulls up.

"C'mon, Cas. It's Tuesday. That means strawberry rhubarb," Dean coaxes. Cas smiles faintly and just straightens his fair-trade organic field jacket as he opens the passenger side door. Dean grins widely and jumps out, because hell yes, he's getting his pie today.

Dean is about to break into the most beautiful piece of the sweetest damn pie ever and his mouth is already watering just looking at the giant crystals of sugar all over the crust. He's basking in the glow of Cas's indulgent smile creeping over a cup of coffee, when there's a giant looming shadow over him that can only mean one thing.

"Dr. Campbell," Cas acknowledges and Dean sighs as he automatically scoots over in the booth to let Sam sit down.

"Strawberry rhubarb, huh?" Sam asks as the blond waitress who totally digs him brings him his usual cream, no sugar. Sam, because he's a pussy, refuses to make a move on her, which- such a waste. He blinks up at her in that gangly psychiatrist way some chicks seem to dig.

"Thanks, Jess," he adds. She smiles at him widely before walking off again as the next table over asks for refills.

"Dude, you should be focusing on your piece of the pie," Dean says meaningfully, and again, because Sam's a giant girl, he just blinks before making a face.

"I don't really like strawberries," he says. Dean despairs of this kid ever getting laid. Cas frowns slightly.

"I like them," he admits, as though having a preference on fruit is somehow ruining his street cred as the most logically impartial in the land. Dean picks up a bite on his fork, making sure to drag a corner of it through the freaking blissful whipped cream, before holding it out across the table. Cas pauses for a second, but accepts the bite gracefully.

Sam looks like he's having an aneurysm.

"Look, man, it's not like he's got cooties, don't be so prissy." Dean snaps, because, whatever. Dean ate root vegetables straight from the ground in the Balkans for a month and he's not dead yet. Cas makes a cheerful noise.

"It's very good, thank you, Dean," Cas replies, licking his lips. Dean smirks.

"I'd only share with you," he says, and it's true, but Dean covers it with a leer, because Sam already thinks Dean's an indiscriminate slut, and he can deal with that. Just- not talking about like... true friendship and bromance and shit. Cas smiles back at Dean, like he knows, anyway, and Dean feels the back of his neck flush for no good reason. So, instead he takes a sip of his coffee. Sam's smiling at them like he knows something Dean doesn't know, which just makes him want to poke Sam in the ribs, hard, because that's what he always did when Adam was being a little shit.

"Look, whatever, Mr. Expert, tell us what you learned playing Dungeons and Dragons with the other nerds in the basement," Dean prompts, reveling in Sam's epic bitchface.

"I don't understand how people can believe that a demon will grant them wishes or power," Cas bats in from left field, but Dean agrees, more or less. Sam makes the scrunched-up face that means he's about to talk about feelings, so Dean takes a bite of pie to steel himself.

"Generally speaking," Sam starts off and Cas is already making a face like he's going to interrupt- Dean should just go to the mall and get him one of those airbrushed shirts with "I Think Psychology is Goddamn-Ass Useless" on it, but he's actually sort of afraid Cas would wear it. "Generally speaking," Sam tries again, this time with a pointed look at Cas- "Satanism is born out of feelings of powerlessness, of strangled hopes or desires. In the case of demonic possession, in the hope of escaping culpability." Sam has on his Serious Business face, which makes him look like a high schooler at a debate tournament in his giant suit and sneakers.

"Some people ascribe to the practice in order to spite or lash out at a God or positive forces they feel have marginalized them or left them behind, or simply for the shock and attention it garners for them from peers and family." Sam fiddles with his coffee cup. "However, reading the email you sent me with the preliminary crime scene photographs, if this is truly a satanic ritual, well," Sam ducks his head and takes a sip of coffee. "Strange." Dean eyeballs Sam.

"Seriously? What the hell part of that isn't weird, Sammy?" Dean asks because seriously, satan circle, exploded person(s)? Strange.

"Well, I'd like to see some aerial photographs before I really make a decision on whether this is legitimate," Sam hedges and Cas frowns.

"Dean and I were both there, Dr. Campbell, the crime scene is legitimate," Cas protests. Sam shakes his head.

"That's not what I'm doubting, Dr. Meyer- I mean whether or not I think it's the actions of someone practicing ritual or someone possessed," Sam explains earnestly, obviously trying to forestall any offense on Cas or Dean's part and ending up in an entirely different kettle of fish. Dean starts to wave his hand wildly in preparation of the holy disdain to follow, only to have Cas gently put a hand on his wrist. Dean puts the fork down and tries again.

"Sam, you're not honestly telling me…" Dean tries, because today is just getting wackier by the second, "You think demonic possession is real?" Sam stares back at Dean.

"I thought you were religious, Dean?" he prompts and Dean snorts because going to church and thinking the Devil is making you rob banks and kill people are two totally different things.

"I believe in God, Sam, not demon worshipping," Dean argues and Sam tilts his head so Dean knows he's not going to like whatever happens next.

"Isn't that the same agreement? The same leap of faith? An unknowable, unseeable force that guides and protects you? You've mentioned in the past that you believe in miracles," Sam prompts with that blank expression that Dean knows full well means Sam is goading him into an epiphany or something else stupid. "Why is it so hard to believe that other people might feel the same way about the Devil, as you do about God?" Cas just watches them like a ping-pong match.

"That logic is fairly sound, if the actual premise is ludicrous," Cas butts in and Dean shoots him a look that says, "Stay out".

"It's not the same at all," Dean says, because faith isn't a bargain, it's a promise- which Sam and Cas can't seem to wrap their heads around. "These guys, they want, they take, they hurt other people. Religion- real religion? Is about saving people." Dean crosses his arms and Cas and Sam exchange a look that Dean is too irritated to parse. He shovels more pie in.

"I should go to the lab to help Chuck and Gabriel with the remains," Cas says quietly. He and Sam stare at each other in increasingly meaning-fraught ways as Dean chases the last bits of crust off the plate. Dean moves to get out of the booth, only to be faced with a contrite-looking Sam.

"Dean, I didn't mean-" he tries, and Dean just waves a hand.

"Don't get sappy, I know what you mean," Dean says, because- spare him the guilty-eyed puppy routine. It's going to work, anyway. Sam scoots back out of the booth, forlornly staring at his coffee and Dean contemplates leaving him to it, because he'd lay good money on it that Jessica the waitress-pre-med-student digs dudes who cry and have deep feelings and shit. But… it sort of feels like leaving a big, giant, retarded dog outside during a rainstorm.

"Dude, seriously, it's fine, man up," Dean adds with a firm push to the side of Sam's head. Sam hisses about his hair and Dean rolls his eyes, but Sam is smiling faintly and even Mr. Emotionally-Stunted 2010 looks vaguely approving.

"C'mon, Cas," Dean says, ushering him out with a hand at the small of his back. He figures Sam will know they're really okay when he realizes Dean left him the bill.

Dean slips his sunglasses on as they step outside into the bright mid-afternoon sunlight, cutting through the trees barely shading the statue of General Hancock.

"You shouldn't be so hard on him," Cas says, getting in the car. "He's a soft scientist. I've noticed they have a tendency to cry." Dean smirks.

"Cas, someone has to toughen him up," he says confidently. "Besides, I’ve made Chuck cry and he's a forensic anthropologist," Cas just shakes his head slightly.

"Chuck doesn't have his doctorate yet. He's still vulnerable," Cas demurs and for a second, Dean thinks he's joking, but he just turns to look at Dean, all honest blue eyes, genuine concern and furrowed brow. "Defending his dissertation will be hard for him." Dean raises his eyebrows curiously.

"Were you worried?" Dean asks and when Castiel looks puzzled, he elaborates. "About defending your dissertation." Cas just shakes his head slowly.

"No," he admits, then turns to look out the window. "I was already tough."

Dean just presses his lips together, realizing the subject is closed, and feels like an ass.

He drops Cas off at the Jeffersonian and heads back to his office for some quality time banging his head against a wall. He calls in for those aerial photos Sam wants and starts the slow, messy process of pinning. Sam and Jo have insisted time and again that Dean can do this on the computer just as well as the old, crusty cork board in his office, but Dean's a tactile person. He also strongly suspects that it makes the two of them totally crazy, which is certainly an added incentive.

But Dean remembers sitting stock still for hours so he could watch his dad pin photo after article after clue on to an old pin board in a dingy little cubicle in Kansas and can't seem to think any other way.

Dean sits back an hour later and thinks that something just doesn't add up.

His cell rings under two pounds of files, but he manages to answer right before the last ring cuts off.

"Winchester." he manages, scrambling to hold the phone right side up.

"Uh, hey, Dean," he hears Chuck say nervously. Dean sighs as he fidgets with a pushpin.

"Chuck, what have we said about calling me on the phone?" Dean asks, because this is a repeated offense. He can hear Chuck wince over the phone.

"I know- not to. But Dr. Meyer wants you to come to the lab right away," Chuck insists and Dean rolls his eyes.

"See, Chuck, this is why. The first thing should be Cas wants me-" There's a moment's pause as they both digest Dean's unfortunate wording, but press on. "Why didn't he call?" Dean is already shrugging his suit coat on.

"Uh, because he's up to his elbows in our victim," Chuck finally says morosely and yeah, Dean wouldn't want to be there, either. He sighs.

"I'm on my way," Dean replies, hanging up.

The scene that greets him on the Jeffersonian lab platform is a lot more familiar than he'd prefer.

"I don't want to know, do I?" Dean asks, because Gabriel has a huge fucking smirk on his face and Chuck looks like someone just murdered a kitten. Cas frowns.

"Dean, this is very strange." Cas says. The three of them are wearing shoulder length latex gloves, mostly covered in varying shades of red, chunky goop. Dean stares at Cas.

"Yeah, I thought we'd been over that, Cas, the whole damn thing is weird," Dean shoots back, but he thinks he sort of gets what Cas means. The whole scenario seems hinky.

"Most of the biological material in the field is actually animal, not human," Chuck starts off with, pointing to an unidentifiable container of goop, dripping forlornly. Dean raises an eyebrow.

"Let's cut to the point," Gabriel suggests, almost bouncing on the balls of his feet. "I wanna go." Cas frowns deeper, but doesn't say anything as Dean raises both his eyebrows at him.

"You wanna go... where? Disneyworld?" Dean asks. Gabriel scoffs.

"I want to go to the crop circle!" he insists. Dean pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Gabriel, I am not going to go into what happened the last time you came with us to a crime scene," Dean finally says. "Suffice to say, I am more than a little hesitant to do any such thing." Gabriel rolls his eyes.

"Look, it was just one lawsuit," he argues, waving a goo-coated hand loosely.

"Watch the hand," Dean insists, smoothing his tie down. Cas shrugs slightly.

"I do think it would be valuable to have Gabriel go to the crime scene," Cas provides. Dean sighs.

"Alright, Merry Christmas, he can be your nightmare," Dean tells Cas, whose face clearly says that he accepted Gabriel as his cross to bear years ago. "What do you need him for, anyway?" Gabriel grins.

"The crop circle/pentagram, whatever, it's fake," Gabriel supplies gleefully. "If you take me to the field, I can prove it." Dean looks at him.

"I mean, I figured it was fake from the get go because there aren't demons, or aliens, whatever," Dean says. Gabriel rolls his eyes.

"Of course, it wasn't made by aliens, I mean I can find out how it was made, meaning I can find out who made it," he says, with his usual I'm-right-you're-dumb inflection that makes Dean want to crawl up the walls. It also serves as further reason why he and Gabriel cannot go anywhere alone. Dean rubs his hands over his face quickly.

"Okay, whatever, you can go play in the field," Dean says, ignoring Gabriel's fist pump, and points at Cas. "You're coming with me to talk to the creepy pastor." Cas just nods and Chuck frowns.

"There's a creepy pastor?" he asks. "I thought some guy’s sister is missing?" Dean waves a hand, pushing Cas toward the sinks.

"Guy's sister goes missing, they organize a search party. Search party finds the crop pentagram with prerequisite freaky symbols and blood and gore in the creepy pastor's field. Because we're apparently in charge of anything gross or weird, FBI calls me, I call you, we solve crimes, I like it." Dean explains. "Now, what were you saying about animal blood before?" Cas is finally goop free, and slipping his jacket back on.

"All of the samples taken from the symbols and sigils in the field are animal blood. It's only in the center of the pentagram that there were any human remains," Cas says, headed off the platform toward Jo's office, steadfastly ignoring Gabriel throwing his gloves at Chuck's face. If Dean had bitches like Cas has bitches, they would be so much better behaved than these freaking dorks. Cas taps on Jo's doorframe.

She's working on about four different screens with her feet up on her desk, hooked up to her iPod and she’s totally tuned in. Cas knocks harder to no avail, so Dean rolls his eyes, goes up right behind her and yanks on the headphones. Jo shrieks and scrambles, all flailing limbs and blond hair as she nearly falls out of her chair.

"Jesus, Dean, do you have to be such a dick?" she asks, rubbing at her ear with a faintly ink covered hand. Dean grins.

"I gotta be me," Dean says with a shrug. Jo sighs wildly in a way that only Harvelle women can. It conveys that you're an idiot- but not without affection, which is the difference between Jo and Gabriel. And why Dean can, you know, be in a car with Jo without wanting to crash it, unlike Gabriel.

"Jo, do we have the aerial photos for Dr. Campbell that Dean requested?" Cas asks when she's settled. Jo nods, grabbing her terrifying tablet remote that Dean is always worried he's going to sit on and break.

"Yeah, and I sent them to Sam, too," she says, pulling them up. Cas points on the giant screen.

"All right, everything here," he says, pointing to the various symbols and the painted star. "All the samples from those markings are all cow's blood and paint," He points to the mess in the center of the star. "That is the only place we found human remains."

"Sam sent me a bunch of links, I'm researching all the symbols," Jo adds. Dean nods.

"So these "human remains"- one? Many people?" Dean thinks back to the field. "Many people's parts?" Cas shakes his head.

"So far, all the parts of the human remains have been from the same victim," Cas says. "And from the DNA profile we're established, the same woman," Cas raises his eyebrows significantly, and he must be taking lessons from Sam about how to make facial expressions because it's just as ridiculous as Sam's variety of "Serious Display of Emotions" faces. However, the point is made.

"You think it's the missing girl?" Dean asks, because that is not a conversation that Dean wants to have- "Sorry some satanists blew up your sister in a field." Cas shakes his head again.

"I'm not prepared to jump to that conclusion. Judging from the amount of tissue brought back from the crime scene, there's no possibility that the victim could have survived, especially considering the extreme fragmentation of all the skeletal remains. I simply think that we should obtain a DNA sample from Mr. Caplun, to test against the samples we have here." Cas says calmly.

"Of course. C'mon, bud, back out into the wilds of Maryland," Dean says grimly, tugging on Cas's jacket. Jo waves sweetly as they head out. Gabriel is immediately in their faces.

"Are you going now? Are we going?" he asks, clearly way too excited. Dean gives Cas a look.

"Do you have a leash for him or something?" Dean jibes, because seriously, Cas must not let them out of the lab enough. Gabriel rolls his eyes.

"C'mon, daylight's a-wastin', I've got wheat to fuck with," he whines. Cas just shrugs slightly as if to say, "he was like this when I got him,” but there's a hint of a smile on his face like he finds all his lablings' eccentricities endearing.

The hour long drive is spent mostly with Gabriel explaining the tensile strength of wheat while Dean looks for a bridge to drive off, although there is a hideous moment when Dean realizes Gabriel is eating M&Ms in the backseat of his car- and not even sharing. Cas just sits there, absorbing, and Dean supposes that's the endearing thing about Cas- he listens and remembers even this useless shit- although he knows Cas would tell him it's not "useless," it's just "not always relevant."

So Dean keeps his mouth shut and lets Gabriel go on ad nauseum about wheat harvesting in like, the fourth century, and settles for tapping his fingers restlessly against the steering wheel as they push out of the city to suburbs to nowhere. Cas is gently leaning against the window, blinking slow and lazily, like he's about to fall asleep, bright blue eyes shadowed into navy by his eyelashes and- Dean needs to watch the road, and his intake of Bravo, apparently.

They pull off the highway onto smaller two lanes and Dean watches out of the corner of his eye as Cas shakes himself awake as the car slows at a stoplight, stretching slightly and cracking his neck. Dean wonders if he's been sleeping all right.

"So, let me make sure I've got the gist," Gabriel finally detours out of grain rot- back on track and Dean is listening again. "This guy, Caplun," he says, motioning out the window to a white farmhouse in the distance. "Wakes up around 10 am, realizes his sister isn't at home, calls some friends, calls the cops. They get a search party organized by about 11:30." He then points to the probably once white but now grey farmhouse looming in front of them. "They start walking through this guy's fields, find the pentagram, the blood, the chunks, the goo, etcetera, around 12:30." Dean nods.

"Sounds right. What's with the timeline?" he asks. Gabriel grins.

"It's still fairly early in the growing season for wheat- if I can test on an undisturbed area, I should be able to calculate the approximate time the pentagram was made." Upon seeing Dean's blank look in the rearview mirror, he sighs and continues. "It's still sort of springy, like grass. You step on it, tamp it down with boards, whatever, it'll eventually spring back up. I'm going to make a control, also taking into account everyone stomping everywhere all over it, and determine the amount of time it'll take to unbend. Jo and I can use the original crime scene photos and find out how long it had been since it was finished- which in turn will give you a time frame for how long the scene could have been tampered with." Cas nods.

"That sounds like it will work very well, Gabriel," Cas says approvingly and if Dean didn't know better, he'd think Cas kept a chart with gold stars for good nerd work back at the lab, because Gabriel smirks like he's king of the lab. They get out of the car and Dean flashes his badge around at the cops left at the crime scene to let them through. Gabriel has a giant duffel bag like he's going on a camping trip that Dean tries to ignore as best he can.

"What doesn't make sense to me-" Cas starts, stepping in to the tractor made path, avoiding some mysterious animal crap, "Is that, based off of the profile of satanic rituals Dr. Campbell sent, these activities are conducted in secret or in public places associated with death, graveyards, mausoleums," Cas weaves ahead on to an adjacent path. "Not in a fairly open area that is bound to draw scrutiny." Dean frowns.

"You think? I don't think that anyone would have seen this at all, if it weren't for the manhunt. No one is going to go traipsing through this guy's fields." Dean argues and finally they bust into the pentagram. He wrinkles his nose at the faint aroma of rot in the afternoon. Gabriel whistles and puts down his stuff, scanning with a hand shadowing his eyes.

"Mmm, no, look, there's a road crossing that hilltop- if anybody drove by and looked off to the right, they'd see it- the space is maybe, what- 600, 650 square feet? That's easily visible from that road," Gabriel says, pointing off to the west. "Probably see the pentagram design, not any of the symbols but, in a town like this- that's enough," Gabriel makes a much better significant face. Dean blinks at Gabriel from behind his sunglasses.

"You're saying you think somebody else put this here- what to ruin Pastor Creepy's reputation?" Dean asks skeptically. Gabriel shrugs.

"I'm saying one person couldn't have done this, and he certainly has nothing to gain from it. More importantly, why the hell is he "Pastor Creepy"?" Gabriel asks, using air quotes with extreme prejudice. "Oh, look, you can even see the plank marks, these are amateurs, whoever thought this was made by the devil is retarded," Gabriel trucks right on, huffing and tilting his head at the symbols.

"Pastor Creepy," Dean says, pointing at the sagging grey house. "He's an old guy, looks creepy, and he's a pastor, what more do you want?" Dean points at Cas. "Speaking of which, you and me, we got a date with Pastor Creepy himself, c'mon." Cas just nods thoughtfully, looking around the clearing. Dean sighs, grabs on to his cuff and tugs.

When they get to the house, the pastor is waiting for them.

"You two the FBI?" he asks. "I want you to know that I know who did it," he says, standing in the front doorway. Dean and Cas exchange a quick look.

"Sir?" Dean returns, looking up the porch steps. The old man sighs.

"Well, don't wait down there all day, I'll get a crick in my neck." he says, motioning inside. Dean shrugs slightly and the two of them head into the house's dim, dusty interior. The curtains are all closed, the faded eyelet covered in the slow accumulation of wear and dirt that comes from neglect. Dean sits on the proffered couch with Cas, opposite the lone object in the room free of a slight film of dust- a rough-hewn rocking chair. The pastor claims the chair for his own, settling down gingerly, just avoiding rocking over the tail of one of those lazy, tired dogs of indeterminate breed and unwavering affection sleeping underneath.

"Now, like I said," the man says, taking off a hat and running a hand over the bristly white hair under. "I can tell you the idiots that done this."

"Any information you can give us would be greatly appreciated," Dean replies neutrally, but removed from behind a window and curtain, staring out at the traffic on and off his property, Dean sort of likes the old guy. He's kind of like Bobby, if Bobby was left alone on a creepy farm for 30 years and went crazy. The pastor snorts.

"They're trying to make a fool of Bill Jonas and it's harder than that," he jerks a gnarled thumb out the window. Cas has his head tilted, observing something, and knowing Cas, he'll Perry Mason something in about ten minutes that'll either completely condemn the guy or exonerate him, and Dean hopes it's the latter.

"It was those damn kids," Pastor Jonas mutters and Dean checks an amused smile, because this isn't Scooby Doo.

"Kids?" Cas asks quietly. Pastor Jonas makes an angry face.

"I can't get around too well on my own anymore," he admits. Cas frowns.

"The arthritis or the prosthetic?" Cas asks, and the old man makes a surprised face. Dean had noticed a limp, but it figures that Cas is two steps ahead of him.

"Dr. Meyer is forensic anthropologist, he's an expert when it comes to this kind of thing," Dean says, reassuring the startled pastor.

"A bit of both," he finally says grudgingly. "I hire during the planting season and harvesting, and I keep a man on year round to be my legs, so to speak. But the whole town knows I barely get out of the house now." Bill sighs. "There's a pond off on the back of my property. Damn kids in the town use it for skinny-dipping and all kinds of Lord-knows-what business. I finally had a fence put up and a security camera. If those kids get caught or hurt, it's my burden, because it's my property. The last time anybody came around, I sent the tapes to their parents." There's a hint of smirk on his face. Dean definitely likes this guy.

"Anyway, as you can imagine, they get in pretty big trouble, and I've had no damn end of crap from them since," Bill says with an expansive wave of his hands. "Just stupid stuff- rocks in the exhaust pipes, eggs in the air-conditioning unit. Petty. Guess they think ruining some crops and throwing some paint around is going to spook me or make everyone in town think I've finally gone 'round the bend." He snorts again. "I taught Sunday School to most of their parents and even some of their parents' parents. Nobody here is going to think I'm some kind of crazy devil worshipper."

"Paint?" Dean asks gently, because there's no way someone didn't inform him- it's almost 6, they found the body hours ago- Bill frowns.

"Well, Charlie didn't let me go see, but I heard there was all this red stuff," he says. Dean hates small town police. Hates them, hates them, hates them.

"Mr. Jonas, the markings in your field were primarily made with animal blood, but there were also human remains present," Cas says, as matter of fact as he usually is, but there's a certain care in his tone. Bill goes white as a sheet.

"What- you mean- you mean there's a body out in my field?" he asks, twisted fingers clutching at the arms of the chair. Dean has to go shoot some people when they leave.

"We took all the remains back to Washington early this afternoon," Dean assures him quickly. "I don't know why you weren't informed about the remains, we made it very clear to the police that your field was a crime scene, not just vandalism." Pastor Jonas looks earnest and terrified- Dean knows there's no way he had anything to do with it.

"I don't- who was it?" he asks. "Somebody from town?" Dean tries to make his smile as reassuring as he knows how.

"We're trying to figure out just that, sir." Dean promises. Bill nods shakily.

"Well, you just tell me what you need to know, what you need from me, you can have it- I don't want- I want to know what happened," he finally says and Cas nods in return.

"One of my coworkers will need to take some of your wheat to run an experiment," he says, a hint of an apology in his tone. Bill nods again.

"Sure, sure- nobody is going to want that wheat anyway," he mutters with a bark of humorless laughter. They extricate themselves as kindly as they can from the pastor's living room and Dean whistles low as they walk down the porch steps.

"What are you thinking, Dean?" Cas inquires softly. Dean shakes his head.

"He had nothing to do with it- the shock, the horror- it was all genuine," Dean says, as they start their way back into the wheat field- it's still summer enough that they'll have light for a while yet, but Gabriel needs to get a move on. "But I don't think it's a bad idea to check into what he said about the kids. And I'll certainly want a word with the good sheriff about why he didn't tell Pastor Jonas about the body," Cas tilts his head slightly to one side.

"You think some neighborhood teenagers had something to do with this?" Cas asks, jerking a thumb in the direction of the crime scene ahead. Dean shrugs.

"Maybe they found the body, maybe they stole it, who knows- kids make terrible decisions when it comes to their pride," Dean suggests. "I don’t really think so, though. But I think a fake crop circle, some vandalism is right up their alley." They walk into the clearing only to find no trace of Gabriel.

"Do you think the devil took him?" Dean asks, half-hopeful. Cas blinks.

"Dean, I thought we had completely agreed upon the absence of a supernatural or demonic element," Cas protests. Dean is about to explain when he hears a shout.

"Over here!" Gabriel calls. They turn around and he's suddenly about ten feet from them.

"Where the hell were you just now?" Dean demands. Gabriel rolls his eyes.

"I made a baby crop circle. I was laying down in it because you Chatty Cathies were taking forever," he complains. Cas frowns.

"Who is Cathy and why are we talkative versions of her?" Cas asks. Dean just pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Look, whatever, Gabriel, let's roll, I have to go shove my foot up like, a thousand people's asses, I don't have time for your arts and crafts projects." Dean bitches. Gabriel sighs and Cas looks like he's on the verge of almost a pout. "Look, seriously, I have to go yell at some teenagers and rip the sheriff a new one, let's get a move on." Gabriel frowns.

"But who will take my wheat home, then?" he asks plaintively. Dean stares at him.

"You are not putting part of a fucking field in my car," he says flatly. Gabriel makes a really unattractive whining face. "No." Dean stresses. Gabriel turns the face on to Cas.

"Gabriel, I do not think Dean will put it in the Impala," Cas says, shiftily refusing to meet Gabriel's eyes. "I will call Dr. Singer and have him send someone with a truck, instead," Cas lets him down gently- because Gabriel is going to be the one left in a field for an hour or more- but it's still nicer than Dean, who would have just left Gabriel to rot. Christ, a fucking field in the car.

It's shit like this that makes Dean think that if Cas ever has kids, they're going to be mercilessly spoiled. God knows that Jack gets the crusts nigh surgically cut off his PB&Js whenever Cas is around and free personalized tours of the awesome and actually interesting parts of the Jeffersonian, by like, the head of Paleontology. Which, Dean can't protest- it's educational, and well, his kid is lovable, so he can't blame Cas- it's not like he doesn't fold like cheap cardboard when Jack looks so much as put out, most of the time.

"Alright," Gabriel finally says, crossing his arms sulkily. Dean sighs and rummages in his pockets. Gabriel catches the Snickers bar with a rare surprised expression on his face.

"Just stay here and don't get into trouble," Dean says airily, but Cas is smiling faintly and Gabriel is clearly biting his tongue on something that would make Dean regret giving him his candy bar, so he figures score one karmic point for Dean Winchester, today. They leave Gabriel in the field and right as they're about to get into the car, their phones go off simultaneously.

"Chuck," Cas says, and predictably enough, the picture flashing up on Dean's caller ID is shaggy-haired and bitchfaced.

"Sam," Dean replies, and they both answer their phones in unison.

"Hello, Chuck," he hears Cas say as he gets an earful of Sam.

"God, slow down, Christ on a crutch, Sam," he barks into his phone.

"The symbols are fake- most of them are generic kindergoth and I think one is actually the symbol for Blue Oyster Cult. But guess what I found this afternoon," Sam chirps excitedly.

"Your first pube? Take it about an octave down, Samantha," Dean instructs, holding the phone about an inch away from his ear.

"Are you sure, Chuck?" Cas asks, frowning deeply. Dean mouths 'what' at Cas, who just shakes his head and covers the mouthpiece even as he pantomimes something that could be either an alien facehugger or, well, Dean doesn't even know.

"Dean, are you listening?" Sam complains. Dean had a girlfriend once that sounded just like that, and Dean is not going to examine that thought.

"No," he replies, truthfully, but that was probably why she broke up with him, anyway. Sam sighs loudly.

"I'm sending you a link to a YouTube video," Sam tells him. Dean frowns.

"Sam, if this is the baby ripping the paper and giggling, you've already sent me that one, and really, we're kind of busy," Dean says. Sam sighs louder and more affronted.

"It's case relevant, Dean," Sam promises. "Okay, I'm texting it to you now, watch it." Dean frowns again.

"I don't have a computer, Sam," he explains. There's a thump that distinctly sounds like Sam letting his head bang against his desk.

"Dean, you can watch it on your phone," Sam says and he sounds one step removed from amusement or horror, Dean isn't sure which. "Call me back after you watch." The link bloops up on to the screen, and skeptically, Dean clicks it with the trackball. Sure enough, though, the web browser pops up and a video starts playing and- well, damn.

"Cas, come see this," Dean insists, because, seriously, they can't be this stupid. Cas frowns.

"Alright, Chuck, I'll verify it as soon as I get back to the lab," he says and hangs up, then gets right up in Dean's space- which- the screen is pretty small- but Cas smells kind of... good. You know, probably just compared to the wheat/outdoors/nature smell.

"Is this a video of teenagers making a crop circle?" Cas asks. Dean nods.

"Does any of this look familiar to you?" Dean returns. Cas blinks.

"Is that the crop circle?" he says, with a hint of disbelief in his tone. Dean nods again.

"Sam found it on YouTube this afternoon," he confirms. It's silent, but the kids on the screen are horsing around, tamping down the wheat and one of them is splattering what is clearly a can of Glidden paint- Dean spares a second to think that if they can match the paint samples to one he's pretty sure is sitting in the back of some kid's truck in town, that'll be a nice tied up loose end. "What did Chuck want?" Cas turns to look at Dean instead of the phone, and whoa- their faces are kind of… close.

"Apparently, he found abnormal bone cells in the remains," Cas says. "They're severely deteriorated. He thought it was field debris originally," Dean blinks, because he can see the flecks of darker blue in Cas's eyes, and they're sort of distracting.

"Deteriorated," He murmurs. "Better than no bones," Cas tilts his head to the side for a second.

"Perhaps not for the victim," Cas argues, but there's a smile playing around his lips that suggests he knows he's being obtuse, and Dean cannot help but notice if he were to lean- Dean takes a step back quickly.

"Well, weird," Dean says, and he doesn't just mean the bones, he means the whole shebang, and maybe the field is cursed or some other ridiculous shit, because he swears he doesn't normally think about how Cas smells and that his eyes are really blue or that Cas uses rosebud salve because his lips get chapped easily. Dean tries to amend 'no homo', in his mind, but it's really not covering this train of thought. "Well, let's go do some sleuthing, huh?" Cas blinks slowly, but nods serenely as if this is just par for the course- get up in partner's grill, think gay shit, move on.

"You should call Sam," Cas says, and for an insane second, Dean almost blurts out 'but we didn't even kiss, how can I tell' but somehow stops himself at the last possible second.

"What?" he manages faintly, when he can trust himself to not say something psychotic. Cas stares at Dean.

"To confirm that you saw the video. He may have further information about the creators," Cas prompts. Dean takes a big deep, cleansing, not crazy breath.

"Right," and punches the speed dial.

"Did you watch it?" is how Sam answers the phone. Dean makes a face.

"Yes, hi, Sam, good to talk to you, too," Dean grouses, although he can't help but feel like their lines have been reversed.

"I had them trace the username- the IP is from an internet cafe in town- and there's a link to his myspace in the YouTube profile- you're looking for a Thomas Wainwright," Sam says, impatient with success. "There are also comments suggesting the identities of his accomplices- I think I have three of the other four. Sandra Johnson, Donald Williams and Peter Finch,"

"Thanks, Sam," Dean says, ending the call. He turns to find Cas typing rapidly on his phone.

"Dr. Singer says that there will be a car here for Gabriel and his wheat in a little under an hour," Cas says when he finally looks up. Dean makes a hand motion vaguely.

"Do you- do you need to go back to the lab sooner? I can go do this stuff on my own, I know you want to look at the bones, especially if they start to deteriorate," Dean offers, because he could probably use the time to clear his head and he can browbeat small town cops and teenagers with or without Cas. Which is, of course, why Cas demurs that no, he'll go with Dean, it's no problem.

Cas plucks Dean's blackberry out of his hands, works some kind of magic and tells him he forwarded the link for Gabriel to watch- and Dean figures that's fair, Gabriel might as well be productive or something while he's out there. When Dean gets his phone back, he dials the county lock up.

"Yeah, this is Special Agent Dean Winchester, FBI, I was out here this morning, you know, pentagram, corpse, ringing a bell?" he asks, because he's more than a little put out, to say the least, with the whole police department here. The secretary on the end of the line says something along the lines of agreement. "Yeah, I need you to round up some people. Yeah, Thomas Wainwright, Sandra Johnson, Donald Williams and Peter Finch," Dean rattles off the names and judging from Cas's expression, Dean looks about as pissed as he feels.

"Yes, I know those are teenagers." Dean says, rolling his eyes. "I'm not at liberty to discuss case details, I just need the four of them brought in for questioning." Cas raises his eyebrows slightly. Dean makes a face back that says he knows he's being a dick, so what. "

Yeah, thank you. And where is Sheriff Hanks?" Dean bites back a hostile smirk. "Great. No, you go ahead and tell him I'd love to have a word with him." Cas just sort of eyeballs him for a second and finally just sort of makes a face and walks toward the car.

"What?" Dean finally asks, jogging over to open the car. Cas stares at him.

"Aren't you usually the one advocating temperance in dealing with other law enforcement members? That it's unwise to alienate someone you may have to depend on?" Cas says quietly and it sort of sounds like a reprimand, which instinctively makes Dean bristle a bit- but he sees what Cas means- and it's nothing he hasn't said when Cas complains about improper crime scene handling and evidence being ruined right in earshot of everyone. Dean sighs and runs a hand over his face.

"Okay, Cas, alright. I'll only yell a little bit." Dean mutters and Cas just smiles this little wisp of a pleased smile. When they finally pull up outside of the police station slash fire station slash bingo hall, there's a big, brassy neon green truck that makes Dean's soul hurt. Cas frowns.

"Dean, stop the car," he says, getting out before Dean's put the car in park.

"Geez, what, Cas?" Dean asks, hurrying out, locking the car. Cas points into the bed of the truck, and well, well- Glidden paint in 'Cherries Jubilee'. Dean whistles low and slow. "What do you want to bet that this truck belongs to one Thomas Wainwright?" Cas and Dean exchange a look- a perennial favorite of Dean's: gotcha. However, all feelings of smug victory go out the window when they walk in to a veritable riot scene.

The four kids are sitting sullenly on the bench, two of them loudly complaining about constitutional rights, and there are at least 10 people standing around aimlessly murmuring to each other, most holding cups of coffee and watching avidly. Dean can see though the Plexiglas cube walls around Sheriff Hanks' desk, where there are about four more useless people and Jeff Caplun yelling at the Sheriff himself, who is obviously trying to placate the younger man. Dean raises his eyebrows, because seriously, what is this fresh hell.

Cas sort of shrugs at him, as if to say "this is your bed, please feel free to lie in it" and Dean sighs, and runs a hand over his face.

"Alright, you two, shut up," he says, pointing at the kids, whose jaws remain open, but at least no sound comes out. "You guys, out of my way, and ma'am," Dean looks directly at the secretary who, presumably he had been talking to earlier. "I need some sort of office, anything, where I can talk to these four in private." She nods and mutely ushers them back to what looks like the saddest break room ever. Dean watches the kids- the boys are still trying to look cocky and tough, but Sandra is clearly starting to crack, her eyes darting from side to side, like she's looking for escape routes. Dean smothers a grin.

He's found, through hours of practical experience, that Cas has this uncanny skill of staring at you, especially if you don't want to talk about it, and Cas will stare until you break and tell him about Cassie and not getting custody and totally vague parental rights- Dean is talking hypothetically here, of course- so he might as well use it for good instead of emotional bonding.

"Okay, you three- in there," Dean barks, pointing to the break room, "You, Miss Johnson, stay right here, a moment, please." The guys look a little disconcerted at this, but go readily enough with another sharp glare. Sandra looks panicked- she practically has unwilling accomplice written all over her face. As soon as the door closes behind the other kids, Dean crouches down, smiles at her.

"You know Sandra, you look like you could use a glass of water," Dean says. "My partner here, Dr. Meyer, is going to take you right outside," Dean points to a bench outside, paint flaking across the middle. "And I'll be right back with that drink." He watches Sandra's eyes flick over to Cas, who has his most generic, non-threatening academic face on, the one that faintly suggests he thinks reading National Geographic is thrilling. She relaxes just a fraction, and Dean knows he was right- she'll tell Cas everything they need to know. Dean knows- unfortunately, also from personal experience- that when you're done, Cas just sort of cocks his head at you and smiles, and it feels like ripping off a bandaid over something infected- absolution. Which is funny for a guy who thinks confession is useless, but Cas has a 'one of those faces'. Dean straightens up and offers her a hand, which she takes hesitantly, but stands. Dean leans into Cas's side for a moment.

"I'm going to let the boys cool their heels for a bit. I'll ask Caplun for your DNA sample, right before I have some nice, friendly words with the sheriff." Dean whispers into Cas's ear. Cas eyes Dean, clearly meaning 'be careful', but nods.

"Sandra?" Cas asks, and she nods jerkily. The two of them walk outside, and as they perch on the bench, Sandra pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps her arms around them. Cas folds his hands in his lap, quiet, ready to listen, face impartial. Dean reflects for a second that Cas is always looking for the truth- Dean is the one looking for justice. He shakes his head slightly. He has work to do.

Dean dislikes a lot of aspects of his job- the paperwork, informing families that their loved one is gone forever, putting Cas in danger all the time- but Dean fucking loves bossing other people around. He strolls into the middle of the argument in Sheriff Hanks' office.

"Gentlemen," Dean says, tucking his hands in his pockets. "This seems counterproductive. Mr. Caplun, right?" The younger man nods angrily, face flushed red. "What seems to be the issue?" Caplun jerks a thumb at the sheriff.

"He's calling off the search for Megan," he growls. The sheriff raises his hands in a placating gesture.

"Now, Jeff, I didn't say that," he replies. "I just said that I can't keep supplying my officers to continue the search. You are more than welcome to keep searching." Dean sort of wonders what else it is they have to do in a town this size, but luckily, Caplun says it for them.

"That's bullshit, Charlie!" Caplun yells. "You know Megan would never run away!" Dean raises both his eyebrows, because this is new and lucrative.

"I'm not saying that, Jeff," Hanks insists. "It's just not standard protocol. Technically, she's not even missing yet," Caplun looks furious.

"She was kidnapped, Charlie, she didn't leave!" Caplun yells again. This is really not Dean's can of worms, but it looks like he's going to have to open it anyway.

"Mr. Caplun, calm down. This isn't getting you anywhere," Dean instructs sharply, and Caplun gapes for a moment, but stays silent. "Now, your sister is what, 19 years old? She's a legal adult. The Sheriff is right- she's not missing. However, I understand your concern completely, which is why I am asking for a DNA sample for your sister- hair, toothbrush, anything," Dean watches the man nod mutely. "We can at least verify whether or not the remains found in the field are your sister's," Caplun snaps his head up.

"Remains?" he asks, going white as a sheet. "You found a body?" Dean smothers his irritation. Not volunteering information about a case is one thing, but did the sheriff tell anybody why the FBI was in a goddamn field all morning?

"There were some human remains in Pastor Jonas' field, disguised as part of the vandalism discovered by your search this morning," Dean confirms. "However, they may be entirely unrelated, but we'd like to be able to definitively be able to rule your sister out of any involvement." The sheriff opens his mouth to say something, but Dean silences him with a swift glare.

"You mean, out of that place, you could find DNA?" Caplun asks. "That looked like a pile of scraps at the butcher's," Dean frowns slightly- this wasn't exactly the reaction he expected. "You- you think it's Megan?"

"Until we do a DNA comparison, it has to remain a possibility," Dean replies.

"But it was chopped to pieces," Caplun mutters, then sort of shakes himself and looks at Dean. "I'll get you your sample, Agent...?"

"Winchester," he supplies. "Should I come by your house to pick it up?" Caplun starts.

"No! No, that's fine, I'll bring it right back here for you in a moment," Caplun insists. Weirder and weirder. Dean stores his totally bizarre reaction away, making a mental note to figure out why Jeff Caplun wouldn't want Dean to come out to the house. As if noticing Dean's concern, Caplun leans in. "If the kidnappers are watching my house, I don't want them to see the FBI," Dean raises his eyebrows, but nods. Weird. Caplun leaves the office in a hurry, and Sheriff Hanks must figure realize that he's in a crap-ton of trouble, because he puts his hands up in the same placating gesture as before.

"Now, Agent Winchester, I looked around that house myself, there were no signs of forced entry or nothing. And everyone in this town knows Jeff Caplun is a pushy bastard, you saw yourself. She was always sort of… frail, and Megan has been cooped up in that house with mono or something for months- I can't blame her if she did run off, and that's just what I think she did. The two of them were always going some place, driving out all day, coming back late at night, Jeff always said it was to visit a "friend". She sent letters all the time, but Jeff would get real mad anytime she got one back- I think she had some beau he didn't like, and the two of them finally ran off together." Dean files that conjecture away for later examination, too.

"Regardless, Sheriff, is there some reason you didn't tell Bill Jonas that there were human remains on his property? Or Jeff Caplun?" Dean asks, irritation clear in his voice. "And for that matter, not that it's really any of my business, but why you would send men out to look for Megan Caplun if you think she ran away?" The sheriff chuckles nervously.

"Well, Bill's an old man, Agent Winchester, no need to frighten him. And if he did do it, all of it, he might trip up and say something about a body, right? Nobody tells him there's a body out there, we know he had something to do with it. Besides, wouldn't do to, you know, start a panic. One person says there's a body in a devil thingy, next thing you know, people are at the Town Hall with pitchforks, starting a hysteria." The sheriff waves a hand loosely. "It's a small town, Agent Winchester, you have to do things differently here. You have to be careful with people, because you have to live with them." This is why Dean fucking hates small town cops- all heavy-handed, I-know-better school yard arrogance, Christ.

"Sheriff Hanks, you were legally bound to inform Pastor Jonas that a crime had been committed on his property, when you served the warrant to search his property," Dean argues, and it's probably not fair, but Charlie Hanks is about four inches shorter than Dean, so Dean looms like a motherfucker. "Did you even obtain his permission?" Sheriff Hanks goes ashen.

"Bill said we could look wherever, I- we didn't-" he starts and Dean shoves down a snarl.

"I find your handling of this case to be unprofessional and incompetent. You could have completely ruined this case's admissibility in court, and believe me, I'll be following up to make sure that disciplinary action is taken," Dean says, low and dangerous, and he gets a sort of satisfaction from the look of fear that runs across the sheriff's face. "I'll let you know if I require anything further from your department." Dean blows out of the office, still totally pissed. He takes a deep breath and pulls his cell out.

"Yeah, Ash, can you get me Judge Harvelle?" Dean thanks God pretty much every day that when he'd moved to DC after getting out of the Rangers, fucked up beyond belief, it had been three doors down from a loud art student named Jo, whose mother was a judge and had adopted Dean like one of her own. He's certain Ellen's recommendation is what got him into Quantico.

"Yeah, hi, Ellen. Yeah, you might say I'm in trouble again. Local PD's effed this all up to high hell, and I think I need a warrant." He pauses. "You and Dr. Singer have got to stop gossiping. Yeah, they at least got consent to search further, but I'm sure they were technically trespassing when they first saw it. Yeah, a search party. It's a damn mess down here, Ellen. Anyway, I'm sure the owner would sign off on whatever is necessary to legitimize everything. Damn sheriff didn't tell him about the body. But I've got a feeling these cases are more connected than we thought- yeah, I'll have someone swing by your office. I've got a bad feeling about the whole thing." Ellen sounds vaguely amused about the whole thing, if her "hmms" have been any indication, which is lucky.

"Well, Dean, you just let me know. But you know I can't give you a warrant on a hunch," she says, but not without some affection in her tone. Dean grins.

"Wouldn't ask it of you, Ellen. Well, not more than once. A month." Dean promises and Ellen snorts and hangs up on him. Dean remembers his earlier promise, grabs a little waxed dixie cup out of the holder, and fills it with cold water from the deposit bottle. Dean glances through the glass doors outside. Sandra is waving her hands vehemently, and Cas is nodding solemnly. Sounds like his party is well under way.

"And I mean, it's not fair, Dr. Meyer. I told him maybe after Prom, but Donny keeps saying that it'll back up, and I mean, it probably hurts, right? So, maybe I should?" she asks Cas, almost frantic sounding. Cas shakes his head.

"There is no permanent physical damage done to a man by not ejaculating, Sandra, Donny is lying in order to try to guilt you into sleeping with him. And for that matter, were it even true, he could seek release by masturbating," Cas insists quietly. "Based off of the things you've told me, I don't believe he has your best interests at heart," Dean resists the urge to laugh or cry. He just hopes that Cas actually talked to her about the crime before giving her advice about her love life.

Dean coughs quietly, and Sandra freezes. Cas places a hand lightly on her arm.

"Sandra, will you please tell Agent Winchester what you told me?" Cas asks gently. Sandra stares at him incredulously, her face turning beet red.

"About Donny?" she hisses. Cas smiles, but it's not really amused, just nice.

"About last night," Cas says. Sandra goes "oh" and scuffs her sneaker against the edge of the bench. Dean hands her the cup of water and she wraps her hands around it like a safety blanket.

"Go ahead, Sandra," Dean prompt, crouching down to her eye level.

"Okay, so, I didn't want to go, but Donny said that Mariah Foster would go, maybe he should ask her, instead, and I couldn't say no after that, Mariah Foster is a skank." Sandra says vehemently. Cas sort of nods, as if saying, yes, he knew Mariah Foster was a skank and Dean feels kind of like he's dying inside.

"So, he said that Tommy was mad, because his parents grounded him because Pastor Jonas gave them a tape of him and Susannah Miller in Pastor Jonas' pond, and they were going to pull a prank on him. I didn't want to," Sandra stresses again, fidgeting with the water cup. "I know everyone thinks Pastor Jonas is kind of weird, but he's just a lonely old man, my mom says, and I knew it wasn't right, I knew, and I'm sorry," Sandra stares at him until Dean nods.

"I know, Sandra," Dean says, and Sandra nods, too, slightly mollified.

"Well, they found this video about how to make crop circles, whatever, and all these websites with instructions, and printed out all this stuff about devil worship and evil symbols, because they thought it would freak him out. And I didn't want to do any of it, but Donny said I had to help, so I did some of the painting, but that's it, I promise, the guys were the ones to push all the wheat down and Mark Phillips taped it all. I told him it was dumb to put it up online, too," she continues. She winces slightly. "Is Pastor Jonas really mad?" Dean smiles at her.

"Pastor Jonas seems like a forgive and forget kind of guy, Sandra. I think if you told him you were sorry for what you did, he would forgive you." Dean tries and Sandra smiles weakly back.

"I guess you have to tell my parents, huh?" she says meekly. Dean shrugs.

"Well, that's up to Pastor Jonas. He may choose not to press charges." Dean answers her honestly. "But Sandra, we need to know more about what happened and when. You didn't see anyone around, did you? Hear anything strange, tell anyone else about what you had done?" Sandra shakes her head.

"I mean, the whole thing was weird. But I didn't see anyone. Tom made Mark give him the video up at like, 3, after we got out of school and he put it on YouTube. But I didn't tell anyone." she swears, then makes a face. "Mark wasn't at school today, though and the guys were all saying he was probably chicken and hiding out at home, freaking out about what they did." Dean nods, and points to the green truck.

"Tommy's," she says, nodding, confirming what Dean had guessed. She peers into the truck bed. "Yeah, that's all the stuff they used," Sandra makes a disgusted face. "This is so not worth dating the captain of the football team," she mutters. Dean fights a smile.

"Sandra, can you tell us when you went out to the field?" Dean asks. She nods, pulling out her cell phone. She scrolls through several texts.

"Donny was outside my house at 2 am, which means we must have gotten there at maybe 2:15? We must have been done by 5:30, because I was freaking out about sunrise coming- I wanted to be back home before then, my dad gets up really early." Sandra rolls her eyes. "The boys all thought it would take, like, an hour." Dean nods again.

"They just used, paint, right?" Dean asks carefully. Sandra wrinkles her nose.

"No, it was insane gross, Pete brought like, blood, Agent Winchester. His dad's a butcher, and throws it out a lot, so he said he thought it'd be useful. They flung it everywhere. It even got all over my shoes, I had to throw them out." Dean watches her closely.

"And he didn't bring any scraps with him, any animal parts?" he asks. Sandra stares back at him.

"Oh my God, no, that's like, the grossest thing I've ever heard," she says emphatically.

"So, when you all left the pentagram, it was just animal blood and paint," Dean confirms. Sandra stares at him, looking even more freaked out.

"Yeah, I mean, what did you guys find there?" she asks, and when Cas and Dean exchange a look, Sandra's eyes nearly bug out. "Wait, are you saying that someone, like, mutilated an animal there? Is that why the FBI is here?" Dean sighs slightly.

"This afternoon, human remains were found there," he says and Sandra flips out.

"No way, no way, no way, oh my God, Agent Winchester, we had nothing to do with that, I swear to God, I had no idea, none of us did, oh my God we're going to go to jail," she wails. Dean grabs her shoulders.

"Sandra, calm down. Drink your water," Dean instructs. Sandra immediately sips at the water, eyes huge and terrified.

"You're not going to jail," Dean says first. "I believe you. But I need you to be totally honest with me so that if someone thought you did know about it, I can tell them that's not true." Sandra clutches at Dean's hands.

"I swear, Agent Winchester, I told you everything." she promises and Dean nods. "I am so breaking up with Donny Williams, I promise." Dean chuckles.

"That's probably a good idea, anyway, Sandra, but not a court-mandated order," he says and she smiles at him widely. He fishes out a business card. "Call me if you think of anything else. And do apologize to Pastor Jonas,"

"I promise, only men on the right side of the law," Sandra says, starry-eyed and oh, crap. Dean stands up quickly.

"Well, I'd better go interview those boys," Dean scrambles three steps back and opens the door. "Cas, you got this?" Cas nods solemnly. Dean swears, as the doors close behind him, he hears Cas say, "Sandra, Agent Winchester is not a replacement for Donny." Dean shakes his head and breezes back into the "interrogation room".

"Alright," he barks, and the boys jump. "I already know all I need to know, and I already have all the evidence I need. You're all going to apologize to Pastor Jonas, he'll decide whether he wants to press charges. You just need to tell me whether you heard or saw anyone while you were there." Two of the boys look sufficiently cowed and freaked, but one just scoffs. Dean has a strong suspicion this is Tommy.

"What evidence? The word of a crazy old man?" Tommy asks. Dean rolls his eyes.

"I know you don't think that anyone over 30 can use the internet, but you put yourselves up on YouTube," Dean says. "Duh."

Tommy folds his arms, but looks a little concerned.

"You don't know that's us," he mutters. Dean raises his eyebrows.

"No, I'm pretty sure I can prove it," Dean whips out his cell and glances at the screen. "BroChill92." Tommy looks totally betrayed by the anonymity of the internet. Dean smiles, his biggest asshole-bully smile.

"So like I said, apologies to Pastor Jonas. You do whatever he or the court requires and you leave him alone," Dean instructs. "Now, what I need to know is who did you tell about it?" The boys all look at each other and Dean just stares until one of them snaps.

"I didn't tell anyone," This guy is obviously the baby of the group. "Nobody," Dean stares and makes an educated guess.

"Look, Pete," Dean says, and they exchange a look of "he fucking knows my name, man" that warms the cockles of his heart. "If you're dicking me around here, I'm going to be pissed. Who did you guys tell?" Pete shakes his head.

"I didn't tell anyone," he tries again, staring at Donny and Tommy. "You guys, he's the freaking police, you have to talk to him," Donny frowns, and starts to open his mouth, when Tommy smirks.

"We don't have to. Not until a lawyer gets here," Tommy says. Dean raises his eyebrows.

"You're going to want to save your phone call for a doctor, if you don't start cooperating," Dean says, looming, and Tommy starts to falter.

"You can't hit me," Tommy insists, but he and Pete are looking a little green around the gills. Dean smiles, his nastiest, meanest smile and lets his eyes go flat in his best "I've fucking killed people" face. Tommy flinches.

"I didn't tell anyone," Tommy finally says. "Neither did Donny. I got the camera from Mark right after school and I put the video up. Lazy bastard was still in his pajamas." Dean smiles and backs up and Tommy starts breathing normally again.

"Great," Dean says. "Don't go anywhere." He breezes out the doors and faintly hears Pete go, "Fucking hell, Tommy, that dude was going to fucking knife you." Dean grins cheerfully and stops in front of the secretary.

"Mrs. Hutcheon," Dean says, eyes flicking to the name plate on the desk. She watches him warily, like he's going to bite her. "Sorry about all that earlier, it's a rough day for everyone, isn't it?" Dean smiles his most charming smile. She smiles back nervously.

"Well, yes," she says timidly. Dean smiles even wider.

"Those boys in your break room were the ones who vandalized Pastor Bill Jonas' crops, can you let him know? And tell him that Sandra Johnson really is sorry, but I suspect she'll tell him herself. Unfortunately, I still have a murder to solve, but at least that's out of the way, right? No satanists, nothing, just some kids, playing a prank, in poor taste of course, but just a prank. I imagine the Pastor won't press charges, but you never know," Dean says cheerfully and she just nods at him.

"I'll do that," she promises. "Is... the FBI going to be back tomorrow?" Dean grins and she smiles back a little more confidently.

"I would say so," he says. "Now, this is all very hush hush, okay?" She nods vigorously. Dean grins and walks outside. By full dark, the whole town should know what really happened in the field had nothing to do with Bill Jonas. Cas is alone on the bench.

"I thought you said you were only going to yell a little bit," Cas chastises him. Dean smiles a shit-eating grin.

"I hardly yelled at all," he says blithely. Cas tilts his head to the side.

"Is that why the sheriff left and went straight into the bar across the street?" Cas asks mildly. Dean laughs and offers Cas a hand up, pulling him to his feet.

"I gotta be me, Cas," Dean kids, but Cas just smiles softly.

"I know," he replies and Dean's left feeling sort off-kilter and too warm for late August. Dean realizes he's still holding Cas's hand, warm from the sun, when a beaten up truck rattles up, and Dean starts and looks down the street. Behind the wheel, Jeff Caplun waves something in a ziploc bag that Dean can only assume is their DNA sample. Dean crosses his arms, hand still warm, as Caplun parks his truck haphazardly and climbs out.

"Agent Winchester, here's your sample, you said you could get DNA from hair, right?" Caplun says, almost out of breath, holding out the baggie. Dean thinks this guy is getting weirder and weirder, but Cas just nods.

"Yes, this sample will be fine, Mr. Caplun." Cas affirms, taking the bag by the corner. Caplun smiles and pats his pockets suddenly, making a face, and pulls a tissue out of his pockets just in time to sneeze loudly.

"Bless you," Dean instinctively replies, just as Caplun mumbles an "excuse me." Caplun makes an apologetic face.

"Sorry, allergies, what can you do," he explains. "When do you think you'll, you know... know?"

"We should have the results by morning," Cas replies, and Dean frowns, because they should have the results a lot earlier than that, but keeps his mouth shut and doesn't contradict Cas. Caplun nods.

"Well, I guess I'm off then, going to see if I can't call around some places, now that it's getting dark," he says, sort of waving goodbye, tossing the tissue in the trash as he climbs back into his truck. As he pulls away with a final wave, Dean raises an eyebrow at Cas.

"What was that about?" Dean asks. Cas just sort of absentmindedly hums as the truck takes a corner, out of sight, and then pulls an evidence bag and some tweezers out of one of his terrible Anderson Cooper journalista pockets on his jacket. Cas peers into the trashcan and puts what Dean can only assume is Jeff Caplun's used tissue in the bag. Cas smiles at Dean, carefully putting both bags in yet another pocket.

"Business or pleasure?" Dean asks him sarcastically, but Cas just smiles.

"Hunch." Cas replies. Dean raises both eyebrows, but forbears to comment. He'd never call Cas 'cryptic', but irritatingly- or endearingly- obtuse fits the bill.

"Okay, c'mon, get in the car, one last stop before we're calling it a night," Dean says, unlocking the Impala. Cas just looks at Dean expectantly. "We're going to Mark Phillips' house. Apparently, he missed school today. Maybe because he was up all night making a crop circle, but I don't think so." Cas makes a faint noise of amusement. GPS takes them halfway across town, which is still only about five minutes, outside of an unassuming ranch house with a sad looking gnome in the front garden.

A knock on the door doesn't result in any action inside and Dean rings the doorbell twice. He cranes his head around to look at the open carport, and there is an old, beaten up Subaru station wagon there with just enough band and radio station bumper stickers to hold the car together. Dean shakes his head.

"I'm going to guess the little bastard's home, then, and just choosing not to answer the door," Dean mutters and hears some clanking inside. Dean brightens. "Well, that's probable cause for me- you? Yes? Great," Dean immediately prowls around the side of the house to see a dirty sneaker clad foot easing out a window.

"Freeze, FBI," Dean calls, and the foot stops, mid-descent and Dean hears an "oh, fuck" clearly through the open window and he smiles. "Mark, get back inside the house and let my partner in the front door." Dean waits for a long moment, making sure Mark doesn't double back around, until he hears the snick of the front door opening. Cas is waiting with Mark in the open doorway.

"Mr. Phillips, I'm Special Agent Dean Winchester, with the FBI, and this is my partner, Dr. Castiel Meyer, with the Jeffersonian Institute, we have a couple of questions to ask you?" Dean says cheerfully. Cas shoots him a look that says he enjoys the parts of his job that are harassing people way too much, but Mark just looks caught and guilty as he lets them inside.

"What do you want to know?" Mark asks slowly, slouched on the couch.

"Well, whether or not you're going to apologize to Pastor Jonas for vandalizing his property," Dean says and Mark flinches, playing with the thick band of his watch.

"I was planning on it," Mark says and he sounds truthful enough. "Look, I know it was a dick move and I feel pretty crappy about it, so you guys don't have to arrest me or anything." Dean smiles.

"So crappy that you missed school today?" Dean asks. Mark shrugs and looks away.

"I have a conscience, okay?" he mutters. Cas frowns.

"Where did you get those bruises, Mark?" he asks quietly. Dean hadn't noticed them before, but Mark flings a hand up to clutch at one of his biceps, then drops it- sure enough, red and purple around the edges, in bands across his arms.

"I'm on the wrestling team," Mark replies. Dean smirks.

"Had a match recently?" he asks. Mark stares back.

"Some of the guys grab hard," Mark replies. "They're old bruises, it's not like my folks beat me." Cas quirks his head to the side.

"I would like to take pictures of them, if you wouldn't mind," Cas finally says. Mark stares at him for a moment, like he's trying to think of a reason to say no, but finally shrugs.

"Can't really stop you can I? It's a free country, or something," Mark complains, but lets Cas roll up his sleeves and take a number of pictures.

"Mark, you didn't see or hear anyone else while you guys were out there last night?" Dean asks, after Cas is done. Mark shrugs. "Mark," Dean starts.

"No, I didn't see anyone, no." Mark bites out, shrugging viciously. Dean frowns.

"Mark, I'm going to guess that it's not guilt, and it's not the guys on the 'wrestling team' that kept you out of school today. And when you're ready to talk about what did stop you, call me at this number, any time," Dean says, offering Mark his card.

"Uh huh," Mark says, looking at it for a moment, then tossing it on the coffee table. Dean shrugs philosophically.

"Okay, just remember you owe Pastor Jonas a phone call and then some," he replies airily. Dean jerks his head to the door, and gestures for Cas to head through first, with a sweep of his hand, and a light press at the base of Cas's spine. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Mark pick up the card again and Dean fights a triumphant grin.

"Alright, Cas, we are dropping evidence off at the Jeffersonian and then we are done for the day," Dean enthuses, but no sooner does he sit down in the car than his cell goes off.



PART TWO.