A/Ns: Oh my god. I made it. I finally made it, guys! It's only been about three weeks' worth of effort, but the muse and I finally did it! WE GOT A CHAPTER UP!

Now we just have to follow it with one more every week (maybe every two weeks?) from now until, uh….the end of season two. Sure. No problem. No pressure. Totally, totally got this o _ O

Okay…oh boy, lot's to cover and we all know how long you've been waiting to hear my oh-so-infamous author's notes (….let me pretend that's totally what you were waiting so long for :P) Well, it has been a crazy two months (and by the way, I am so so so so so so so sososososo sorry it's been two whole months) My dream job is going GREAT, which is just such a nice change. Really, really is. The move, on the other hand, has been pretty darn rough, but it is slowly getting better. Part of my delay has simply been focusing on getting my apt to a livable state, and part of it has been that two months of not writing kind of changed some brain patterns. By the time I finally sat back down to write, I was legit like…um…how do I do this again? This used to be as easy and natural as breathing….

Anyway, I will try to keep this short to get you guys your story ASAP. I just want to say THANK YOU so much to each and every one of you for your patience, your understanding, your comments and reviews, and your support. It means the world to me, and it is absolutely what helped me return, what kept me motivated every week, after so long off.

Alright, let's get this party back on track!

Last time on TRSF…Since it has been so, so, so long since my last post, let's get a basic recap of the last twenty chapters or so. The boys marched into Rivergrove to confront the Croatoan trap, but Azazel was ready for them. Dean, Sam, and Andy got captured, Andy was grievously injured and then zapped off to Cold Oak, Sam almost drank demon blood to get out of it (and still got some in his system despite his best efforts at resisting), Dean got a good beating before Cas showed up to save them. Azazel was ready for her, too, though. A trap took a lot out of Cas before they all managed to escape, exorcising Azazel on their way out. Cas took off for Heaven, worried the trap and banishing of the demons would draw Heaven's attention. She left, but only after dropping that she had partnered with Uriel and he would help heal her. Sam and Dean managed to hook up Angela's comatose body, Dean praying to Cas to get his ass back there and away from Uriel the entire time. Then they took off for Cold Oak to rescue their missing Jedi who, in the meanwhile, was fighting for his life among Azazel's first round of Battle Royale combatants. It didn't end well. Andy survived, but walked away with a slit throat and a lost voice. The boys got him to a hospital, where Victor Henriksen almost caught them. They made a daring escape, leaving a still-healing Andy with Bobby (who was determined to teach the boy Sign Language so he didn't give them all headaches trying to communicate with his new mental abilities), and then headed out to find Cas. Dean stumbled into that one quite literally, as Gordon caught up with the boys and sniped the hell out of Dean, sending the poor boy to Heaven. Right where he wanted to be. Sam, meanwhile, ran into another psychic named Ava. Gordon turned his sights on Sam while Dean scoured Heaven for their missing angel. Dean and a freshly-rescued Cas managed to flee Heaven, Uriel hot on their heels. Cue badass angel-on-angel fight, with Cas only barley winning, thanks mostly to Dean dealing the final blow with Uriel's own blade. Then the two busted up the fight between Sam and Gordon, getting Gordon arrested in the meantime. Cas, still needing time to heal, returned to Bobby's to enter a healing trance that would last several weeks. Dean got to have some quiet time with Chest-Cas, who may or may not be fading slowly away. After a minor intervention in which Ellen, Jo, Asa Fox and Bucky Sims got the down-low of time travel and an upcoming apocalypse, Sam and Dean left Bobby's and ran almost immediately into a familiar case, involving a jewelry heist, a bank robbery, and a conspiracy theorist by the name of Ronald Reznick…

Chapter Reference – Croatoan: Quick reminder that during the Croatoan fiasco, Sam spun a lie for the Sergeant that they were from a nameless agency that dealt such biological attacks. See Chapter 75, Season 2: Chapter 42 for a refresher.

Chapter Warnings: Ronald Reznick's about to get the accidental job offer of a lifetime, Dean needs to learn when to stop talking, Sam's throwing in the towel, and Time's right back at it making absolutely nothing easy (actually, pretty sure this one's on Dean this time, and Time's just sitting on the sidelines with a bowl of popcorn)

Actual Chapter Warnings: Uh, well, this chapter took weeks to actually get written, so I think it's a little up and down and all over the place. I definitely wrote a whole chunk of it after taking an edible, so it got a little loopy there for a min. There is a balance of silliness and realism I'm not entirely sure I kept on the right side of, but hopefully you all will enjoy the comedy after such a long absence.

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The Road So Far (This Time Around)

Season 2: Chapter 74

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"Number five. This is it," Sam announced as they pulled up outside Ronald Reznick's address, Dean putting the Impala in park and shutting of her purring engine. The younger Winchester closed the folder he was holding – a compilation of what he'd been able to find and Dean had been able to tell him to look for – and spared his brother a long glance. "So this security guard, Reznick-"

"Ronald," Dean corrected, almost as an afterthought as he pulled the key from the ignition and opened his door.

"-he thinks there's, a, uh...a what, robbing people? You said he thinks it's some sort of robot?"

Dean's smile was the kind Sam had grown up learning to be wary of. "Yeah," he bobbed his head, grin only growing. "A mandroid. Half man, half android. Mandroid."

Sam resisted rolling his eyes, but it was a close thing as he sighed, closing the folder and storing it in the glove compartment. Dean was already climbing out of the car and the younger Winchester followed suit.

"Alright, so the plan, then…" he started as he closed the passenger door, straightening his tie and jacket. Across the roof of the car, he watched Dean round the hood and head right up the walkway to Ronald Resknik's house. Sam was forced to follow after him again. "…is to tell this guy the truth?"

Dean didn't say anything as they marched up to the nondescript house with its glass storm door and – Sam did a double take – dual security cameras and flood light aimed right at the front entrance. The younger Winchester gave his brother a raised eyebrow even as Dean reached out and rang the doorbell.

"Seriously? That's our actual plan? Dude, that's a terrible plan."

Dean shrugged, pulling at the collar of his dress shirt and the tie he always hated wearing, no matter how many times he put the monkey suit on. He'd never understood how Cas could wear it all those years. His collar had itched the whole first year any time he so much as looked at the overdressed angel. It had been a physical relief for Dean once Cas finally lost it. "He's already got most of it figured out. And telling him to forget about it and fuck off sure didn't go well last time."

Sam huffed out most of a chuckle, having heard Dean's rendition of the last go around – including the two robbing a bank by mistake – and was in no hurry to repeat whatever events had led to that truly spectacular fallout. But the crook of his smile wasn't so much mirthful as it was sarcastic. "And you think telling him the truth and then telling him to fuck off is going to work better?"

He got a glare for that. "Look, we'll just…play it like the Croatoan job."

Sam's heart practically stopped, all mirth instantly evaporated like a flash fire had just swept through. The physical equivalent of which sent him lurching half a step forward in terror. He managed a choked out, "What?" that sounded a bit too much like a prepubescent boy than the fully grown hunter he actually was and Sam immediately swallowed down the second sound that tried to escape.

Dean immediately looked at guilty, sharing an apologetic grimace with his brother. "I meant the whole nameless, faceless government agency thing," he hurriedly said, reaching out to ring the doorbell again. "Not, uh, not any of the rest of it."

The 'rest of it' being Sam very nearly drinking demon blood voluntarily to save his family (again), Dean beaten within an inch of his life, and Andy both almost dying and going missing, culminating in the worst night of the Winchesters' lives to date, let alone Andy's. Yeah, no, Dean had just meant the lie they'd told the Sarge that night to cover why they knew what was going on and how Andy and Sam had been supposedly 'immune' to the virus.

Seeing how Sam had to take another stabilizing breath and physically shake himself out of the lingering alarm, Dean realized he definitely could have been more specific.

"Come on, Ronald. We know you're in there." The older Winchester, for lack of any better way to break up the barrel of awkward-snakes he'd just stirred, switched to pounding on the door with the side of his fist.

The security light flashed on a second later, flooding them in way-too-bright light. It was all the more ridiculous given it was full daylight out, being 2pm on a somewhat cloudy day. Sam squinted beneath it, unamused, and Dean rang the doorbell again, several times just to be as obnoxious as the spotlight they were standing under.

The older Winchester raised his hand to pound on the glass door again, rattle it in its frame real good this time, when Ronald's head poked out from the end of the hall they could see through the glass door. The larger man approached cautiously, brow furled in confusion with a hesitant tension in the rest his frame. Not that either Winchester could blame him. If they'd been normal citizens beaten within an inch of their life a month ago, they'd be a little wary too.

"FBI, Mr. Reznick," Sam announced, already pulling out his badge to press it against the glass pane. He was getting so much more confident with committing felonies, Dean thought with a smirk. His little brother was growing up. If they weren't on a case, Dean might have wiped away a fake tear.

"Yours too," Ronald demanded snappishly and Dean blinked at the man. "Badge. Let me see it."

Oh, right. Dean shook his head a little, trying to get it back in the game as he dug into his monkey suit pocket and pulled out his faked credentials to slap against the glass. Ronald approached a little closer, glancing between the two sets with squinty eyes. Finally, he pulled back, still staring a little skeptically between the two men but less out of mistrust and more confusion.

"I already gave my statement to the police."

"Uh, yeah, Ronald, we just, uh…"

Sometimes the déjà vu of words once spoken and events repeated was so spot on it was dizzying. But it also came with the benefit of having some clarity for what came next. Dean remembered a Ronald who was excited to see them, practically chomping at the bit to tell them his theories. And it wasn't hard to remember what had changed his suspicion into excitement, now that they were well into the script and repeating it word for word. The man from the future tried for a reassuring smile as he tucked his badge back inside his jacket, but he was pretty sure by the return of the squinty eyes that he didn't quite nail it.

"We have some follow up questions. About your statement. We read it, you see," he added quickly, recalling that the man in front of them wanted to tell them. Wanted to be believed. "And, we, uh, just have some more questions about your, er…theory."

"You read it?" Ronald repeated, tone suspicious at first but edging into hopeful. He reached for the door, already unlocking it.

"Sure did," Sam added as well, smile tight but still more genuine than Dean had managed. Although definitely less amused. "That's why we're here, sir. To hear what you, uh…what you have to say."

Dean managed not to roll his eyes over to his brother ('Could you try to sound any less convincing, there, Sammy?') and instead smiled widely at their 'witness'. Ronald seemed more receptive of it this time, at least.

"Well, come on in." The larger man opened the door outwards with enough enthusiasm he almost clipped Dean's nose right off his face. Sam was significantly more amused after that, following his brother into the house while Dean rubbed at the tip of his nose like he had an itch.

"None of the cops ever called me back," Ronald said over his shoulder as he led them down the hall. "Not after I told them what was really going on."

"And what's that, Mr. Reznick?" Sam asked almost absently – routine questions in their line of work, after all – as they followed him to a room at the end of the hall.

Dean didn't even blink as they turned into what was clearly a conspiracy theorists wet dream, but Sam stumbled at the door, eyes widening but hidden behind a cough and a quickly ducked head. There were newspaper articles for alien landings, UFO sightings, robots with – and Sam did a double take because yup, those were laser eyes – and dozens of other conspiracy theories plastered over every inch of available space. Sam kept his head ducked, eyes still the size of saucers, as he definitely started second guessing (translation: regretting) his brother's decision to include this nutcase in their case.

Why, oh why, couldn't they have skipped over him and just gone after the shifter themselves? If this was Dean's idea of a joke…

"They all, uh, they all thought I was crazy," Ronald continued, looking around the plastered walls with pride before turning back to the two 'agents' with an expectant expression.

Sam coughed to cover a muttered something that would not have been well received (yet was entirely too true). Dean elbowed his brother in the side, offering Ronald a way-too-wide-to-be-genuine smile that the man from the future had no idea was way too wide to be genuine.

The frenetic man didn't seem to notice. "First off, Juan Morales never robbed the Milwaukee National Trust, okay? That, I guarantee." He waved a finger at them, both energetic and almost a challenge. Dean glanced at Sam. Sam glanced right back at Dean. "See, me and Juan were friends. He used to come back to the bank on my night shifts, and we'd play cards."

The younger Winchester straightened at that, gears turning. The shifter would have known that, once he'd taken Mr. Morale's skin. Shifter's absorbed memories, too, so long as their victims were alive to absorb from. So he would have known the best way to get into the bank with the least amount of witnesses. "So you let him in that night? After hours?"

"What I let into the bank wasn't Juan!" Ronald immediately fired back, almost defensively if it weren't for his eyes. They were alight with something terrifyingly close to excitement. Sam resisted sending Dean another 'glance' and kept his eyes focused on their witness. "I mean, it had his face, but it wasn't his face. Every detail perfect, but too perfect. You know? Like if a dollmaker made it. Like I was talking to a big Juan-doll."

Sam had to choke back the fact that he practically choked on his own saliva there for a second. "A, uh…a Juan-doll?"

This time he did not spare his brother that glance, but Dean was just grinning like an absolute idiot. When he caught Sam's more-than-just-a-little judgmental glare, he just mouthed, 'Mandroid' with a little nod and eyes about as alight as Ronald Reznick's.

Sam instantly had the urge to knock his head into the nearest flat surface. Or possibly his brother's head. Instead, he just sighed and turned back to the security guard, smile tight. But Ronald was distracted, already launching into the next part of his rant, grabbing a folder off a nearby surface – was that a mini fridge? Dude, they were less than a dozen feet from the kitchen – and handing it to Sam, who accepted it with a look that was less than willing.

"Look, this wasn't the only time this happened, okay?" He nodded encouragingly at Sam, who cracked open the file. The hunter was surprised to see newspaper clippings from the first and second robberies, sewer system maps, and a page full of notes. Not unlike a case profile from any hunter worth their salt. "There was this jewelry store, too. But the cops, a-and you guys, you just won't see it!"

Sam closed the file, giving Dean another side glance, but his brother had been expecting it, waggling his eyebrows like he'd just proven a point. Sam glared. This was still a terrible plan.

"Both crimes were pulled by the same thing," Ronald insisted, eyes still alight as he grabbed a magazine off the nearby desk, covered in clutter several layers thick. He turned back around, tapping the front cover several times. Sam found himself staring at a robot man shooting lasers out of his eyes under a title that read, 'BIRTH OF THE CYBERMEN'.

Dean was nodding along in a way that wasn't helping.

"Chinese've been working on 'em for years," Ronald said, nodding his head in time with Dean's. Sam wasn't sure which one of them he wanted to smack upside the head harder. No, that was a lie. It was his brother. Definitely his brother. "And the Russians before that. Part men, part machine."

"Like the Terminator," Dean cut in with a wide grin, and Ronald matched it.

"Yes! Exactly like the Terminator! But, but the kind that can change itself. Make itself look like other people."

"Like the one from T2." The man from the future was still bobbing his head up and down, smirk growing, and Sam definitely wanted to hit him. Dean was playing this like it was a game, and not someone's life – multiple someone's' – on the line.

If Sam had voiced any of that out loud, Dean would have told him to back off; how often did he get to actually have some fun with his future knowledge instead of battling a never ending clock that was always several steps ahead of them?

"Exactly! See, so not just a robot." Ronald didn't seem to be picking up on the tension between the two agents. "More of a- a- a…"

Dean's smile could not be beat as he finished Ronald's thought for him. "A mandroid."

"Yes!" Their witness blinked after a moment of excited agreement. Then Ronald hesitated, drawing up a little as things started adding up that his brain might have been cataloguing all along, even if the man hadn't noticed. "Wait…how- how did you know that?"

Sam cleared his throat, deciding the time for this little cat and mouse game to end was well past. The mouse didn't even know he was being played with. "We're FBI, Mr. Reznick. We know everything."

"Including," Dean picked up his brother's lead, even if a little of that grin lingered despite his attempt to pull on more of the Fed persona, "mandroids."

It was, after all, not the easiest thing, keeping a straight face while saying the word, 'mandroid' in all seriousness.

Ronald's eyes near doubled in size. "You…you believe me?"

"Sure do," the older Winchester answered smoothly. "Only it's not a mandroid."

The ex-security guard blinked, confusion clouding his face for a minute before it cleared with something a step shy of awe and muddled up with hope. "Then what- what is it?"

"That's classified, Mr. Reznick," Sam stepped in efficiently, the two hunters pulling on the full force of the FBI disguise like a well-worn role. Dean avoided looking at his brother, but he couldn't quite hide the smile that played at his lips. Little Sammy, growing up to impersonate federal agents and commit felonies. He was so proud.

"But- but- I-"

"Now," Sam continued, drawing on every inch of his ridiculous six and a half feet to tower over the poor guy, "you've done some great work, and you're onto something. But we'll take it from here."

"What? No!" Ronald protested immediately, eyes wide but in such a way that Dean just knew they were going to have a hell of time getting this guy to back down. Not that he needed Ronald's eyes to tell him that. He remembered the guy chaining the front door of the bank closed and then not-robbing it just to prove a point. Getting him to back down was always going to be a challenge. "I can help! I can help catch the mandroid-"

"It's not a mandroid," Sam practically snapped and, beside him, Dean flinched. He remembered a much angrier version of his brother practically shattering this man's soul by telling him such things didn't exist. This Sam was, thankfully, a lot less bitter, but no less harsh when it came to protecting innocent civilians from getting involved in the kind of life the Winchesters' led.

"But-!"

"No buts, Mr. Reznick," he interrupted again, but this time Sam managed to keep his tone a little more professional. He waved the folder Ronald had given him as if it was his closing argument. "We will take it from here."

"Why?" Ronald was glaring now, meaty fists balled up at his sides. He glanced between the two agents, both hurt and anger in his eyes. Dean was getting a bad feeling about this. The kind of bad feeling that was time planning to repeat itself all over again. "You say I did all the work finding this thing, why can't you tell me what it is? Why can't I help catch it!"

He didn't say it out loud, but the unheard 'This thing beat me unconscious, I earned hunting it down' was very much heard by the two hunters. Dean cleared his throat, remembering that same face staring at him, bloodied and grey and a ghost in Bobby's house, accusing him of getting him killed.

"Because your plan ends with you dead, Ronald."

The conspiracy theorist blinked, then frowned, definite guilt causing him to shift his weight and look anywhere but at the two FBI agents standing in his house. "P-Plan? What plan, I'm not planning anything."

Dean gave him a single look, then started scanning the room around him, almost nonchalantly. "So, you're not planning to rob the bank – Milwaukee National Trust, right? It's the only other bank on that sewer line – with…" The hunter pointed to a duffel bag shoved hastily under a couch strewn with dirty clothes, an empty Doritos bag, and several more files like the one Sam was holding. "…chain, padlock, and, I'm going to guess, assault rifle that's in that bag?"

Ronald's mouth flapped open and closed like a fish stuck on dry land. Then his eyes got real squinty. "How- How do you know that? Have you been spying on me?"

"We're the FBI, Mr. Reznick," Sam cut in, tone almost bored but expression damn near ready to leap right off his face and walk out the door even if the rest of him couldn't. "We spy on everyone."

"What my partner means to say," Dean said in a loaded tone, sending Sam a 'cool it' look followed by a tight smile Ronald's way, "is that we're always keeping tabs on all, uh, potential…er...agents."

The slow turn of Sam's head – and just his head – in Dean's direction was not the first clue of how badly he'd just stepped in it. No, his tongue gave the first clue, his brain the second, and Sam the third.

"Uh, recruits, I mean. Not- not recruits! No, uh, definitely not…those. Uh, I meant, um, people who, erm…can help us. Do the leg work. Like, um, like you've done. Great work, Ronald."

Dean gave the guy a thumbs up while Sam's eyebrows disappeared well into his luxurious hairline and he rubbed at his forehead, eyes sliding closed. The older Winchester's rough smile definitely turned into a grimace as Ronald straightened up in surprise, shock overtaking his features for a second before the blank expression was wiped away by a slow, dawning smile.

"Are you- is this- A-are you recruiting me?"

The single eyebrow Sam somehow managed to raise in Dean's direction, despite both eyebrows already being clear and gone from his forehead, very much said, 'What the hell, Dean?' Dean tried to return it with an equally expressive, 'I don't know, man, I'm winging it here!' look. Despite his best efforts, it was chump change compared to Sam's face, and Dean turned back to Ronald, the clear loser here.

Time for some damage control.

"Yes," Dean said, even as Sam, very sternly, said, "No."

The glaring and silent-but-most-definitely-yelling-yes-lots-of-yelling exchange resumed between the two of them.

"Maybe," the older Winchester practically growled out in some very skewed concept of a compromise. He stared daggers at his kid brother, demanding with eyeballs alone that Sam get on the same page.

Sammy's return look told him with equal vexation to pick a damn page, then, and stick with it. And maybe, while he was at it, he could pick a page that wasn't insane!

(It was possibly a new bitchface worthy of categorization and a number all its own. Dean would have to see if it repeated itself enough times to make Official Bitchface Status.)

"Gr-Great!" Ronald exclaimed, clutching that Cybermen magazine to his chest like a well-earned carnival prize and he was a twelve year old girl. "I'll go with you then!"

Dean's head whipped around faster than a whore hearing the expensive rumble of a loaded John's vehicle approaching her corner. "Uh, no, now, uh, wait a minute…"

But Ronald wasn't listening. He was busy grabbing papers and blueprints like a crazed chicken with its head cut off, if that chicken had also made plans to rob a bank. "I know the layout of Milwaukee Trust! All- all the exits. And I-I've got everything we need!"

At this point, Sam had given up all pretense and actually buried his forehead into his hand, his last look at Dean a very clear indication that the older Winchester had gotten them into this and it would be his job – and only his – to get them out of it.

"Um…" Dean racked his brain for a solution that would keep Ronald from running straight to Milwaukee National Trust with that duffle bag and a death wish. But as he was trying to run through every possible idea his preoccupied brain could come up with, his eyes just stayed locked on the frenzied man, ready to rob a bank – to throw away his career, his life – to find a monster and stop it from killing again.

Dean remembered the look in Ronald's eye – the crushed devastation, the determination, the surefire will to carry through if only to find out if he was actually crazy – and suddenly knew that nothing he said here was going to stop the man. Ronald was going to show up at that bank. It wouldn't matter if Sam and Dean beat him there. Hell it wouldn't matter if they beat him there, found and killed the shifter, and got back out before Ronald ever showed up. He'd still go, thinking there was something in the bank that needed to be taken down, and he'd still get himself killed.

If they took him with them, they wouldn't waste time having to re-earn his trust when he showed up on his own. They could do this job like they'd planned the first time, find the shifter on the cameras then follow him home and take care of him where it was quiet and deserted. No bank robbery, no cops, no feds, and no snipers. Just an extra tag-along who would walk away alive at the end of it.

The solution, then, was obvious. Dean caved, totally and completely.

"Yeah, sure. Why not."

The hunter yelped as Sam punched him not-so gently and less-than-subtly right in the bicep.

"Ow, dude! What the hell!"

His little brother towered over him, brow furled, dark, and stormy. "Can I have a word with you, agent Simmons? Alone?"

Dean grimaced at his brother's gritted teeth, words squeezed past in obvious anger. He gave Ronald a nod and a smile, the still-somewhat-nervous man now eyeing between the two of them with a roller coaster of hope, then doubt, then hope again.

"What the hell, Dean?" Sam hissed the moment they were far enough away to do so without Ronald hearing them. The two brothers could still see him from their spot in the hallway, listless in the little conspiracy room they'd left behind, poking at his own files and glancing their way not-so discretely.

"I don't know, okay!" Dean shrugged both irritably and self-consciously. "Why not, Sam? He's gonna go to that bank, no matter what we say to him. You can see it in his eyes, man!"

His brother glanced away, a sure sign that Dean wasn't missing the very obvious mark in the next room, even if he hadn't already lived through this all one time already.

"Tell me I'm wrong," he challenged, Sam looking back at him sullenly and Dean knew he wouldn't. Couldn't, because Dean wasn't wrong. "At least this way we'll be there to keep him from getting shot. And maybe he'll actually listen to us this time, because we didn't lie to him!"

At Sam's blatant stare, Dean shrugged, looking away guiltily.

"Okay, we lied…less this time."

The man from the future knew the look that crossed his brother's face. Sam wanted to roll his eyes and was doing everything in his power not to. (Dean just thought he looked constipated whenever he did that.)

"He's still going to get himself killed, Dean," his brother argued back, practically hissing it. They both glanced Ronald's way. The man who was not-so-subtly trying to listen in very abruptly turned and studied the article-covered wall. Sam closed his eyes, and Dean knew he was doing everything in his power to remain the adult in this conversation. Sucked to be him. "Only this time, we're going to be responsible for it."

Dean immediately looked away, the grimace of knowing his brother was right spread tight across his mouth. "We'll watch out for him. Come on, man. If we do this with him, maybe we can give him some pointers. Put him in contact with some hunters who can teach him how not to get himself killed."

Sam's scoff could have shaken the damn house. Dean glared to cover the flinch. He hated that stupid sound Sam made when he thought Dean was being an idiot and was about to prove it with law-speech and college-boy verbs.

"You want to turn him into a hunter?" The younger Winchester's stare was both incredulous and pissed the hell off. Dean shrugged.

"What's so bad about that?"

"Everything, Dean. Our lives suck!" Sam threw his arms out and this time Dean did flinch, but pulled his head back and double-downed on the glare. "Being a hunter is a shitty career path! You can't have any friends-"

"Hey, we have friends-"

"-almost everyone we know is going to die a horrible, bloody death at some point-"

"That's not-"

"-including us. Hunters end up miserable and alone, Dean, or they end up dead." Sam dropped his arms, something haunted crossing his face for only a second before it smoothed out, buried down deep. "Why would you want to push anyone into this?"

Angry and defensive – this was his life after all – Dean shrugged, throwing his own arms out if for no other reason than to be on the same level of angry and defensive as his brother. "What else do you want to do with him, then, Sam. Huh? Because if we lie to him and tell him nothing's happening, he'll go to the bank to prove us wrong. If we tell him he's totally onto something, he'll go to the bank to prove he's right. Either way, he's going to that damn bank, and if we don't help him, it's going to look like he's robbing the place, and he will get himself killed!"

Sam turned away, jaw clenched and vein popping just below his temple.

"Either we lie to him and take him with us, gank the son-of-a-bitch shifter, and convince Ronald that was the only one. Maybe he drops it and lives out the rest of his life chasing, I don't know, aliens or something else safe." Dean shrugged self-consciously, lowering his arms and resisting the urge to rub at his chest for no other reason than to feel a little less alone in this argument. Cas would have his back. Cas always had his back. "Or we tell him the truth – the real truth – and we point him towards the Roadhouse. He spends the rest of his life as a hunter, but maybe he doesn't get dead."

Sam, for all his grinding teeth and popping veins, also knew a lost argument when he saw one. Especially with his brother. Especially with his brother and the crazy they had waiting for them in the other room, now just blatantly watching them with no attempt at subtly.

"For the record," the younger Winchester ground out, "this is a terrible idea."

"Totally noted," Dean agreed, not even fighting Sam on that one. Then the younger Winchester grumbled something not entirely discernible but definitely unpleasant, and turned back into the Conspiracy Theory Wet Dream Room with a grimace stretched so tightly across his face it was no wonder Ronald didn't accuse him of being a mandroid right then and there.

"So…I'm in?" Ronald asked, the hope clear in his voice, as his eyes darted between the two agents.

Sam looked like he'd rather swallow razor blades, but begrudgingly conceded with, "You're in, Mr. Reznick. But there are some ground rules-"

However, their new favorite conspiracy theorist wasn't listening. He dove for the couch, Dean having to scramble to the side not to be taken down with him as the man grabbed his duffle bag. Sam threw his arms out to the side and Dean offered his best, apologetic, work-with-me-I'll-handle-this smile. Then Ronald straightened up, assault rifle in hand and the kind of excitement in his eye that made even Dean think twice about this plan.

"No," the hunter said immediately, like a master barking at his dog for obedience. Ronald blinked, glancing down at the weapon in his hands then the man denying him it. Dean pointed his finger at the floor, chin jutted out, and gave that finger a firm jerk downwards. "Just no. Leave the gun."

"B-but…" Ronald glanced down at the rifle again, then turned those big eyes right on Dean. "I don't go anywhere without Betsy."

Sam dropped his arms, pinched the bridge of his nose, mouthed the name Betsy to himself, and then promptly announced he would be in the car. He left the room without looking back.

Dean turned to Ronald, eyebrows up and expression clear: Now look what you've done.

Ronald looked down at Betsy with nothing short of mourning, fingers curling around her sweet, dark metal. It was Dean's turn to bury his head in his hand and question everything that had brought them to this moment.

-o-o-o-

"So…you want to look at our camera setup?"

The woman in front of them, the first employee of Milwaukee National Trust that they'd run into once inside the doors, was staring at them with bored, skeptical eyes while she chewed gum that definitely wasn't professional but certainly served the sarcastic-and-also-couldn't-care-less attitude she was definitely rocking. Sam's smile was so tight Dean was worried it might actually split his face in two in the not-good way.

"Yes, ma'am," Dean said in lieu of making Sam deal with it. Sam had been dealing with enough today, including the crazy who had driven over here with them in the back of the Impala and not stopped talking once. "We just need to do a routine system update. Make sure this branch's monitors are good to go."

The woman popped her gum loudly. "We haven't had any problems. Security would have flagged it to us."

Dean felt his own smile getting tighter. "Yes, we understand that. This is a glitch in the overall grid. Just want to make sure everything's kosher."

Her bored eyes slid over Dean's shoulder, between the two brothers, to a twitching Ronald, who was pulling at his Securiserve Guard service technician uniform in the most obvious way possible. Dean wanted to groan. Instead, he kept his eyes forward on the not-so-helpful woman helping them.

"And that takes three of you?" she asked, that tone growing more skeptical but no less sarcastic and definitely no more interested than before.

Sam's smile really was going to split his face in two in the not-good way. "He's in training," the younger Winchester offered, something off in his voice.

The woman raised an eyebrow, looking like she was about to start asking more questions, but instead just shook her head. "Whatever. I don't care. Come with me, I'll get Roger. He's head of security. He'll show you the monitors."

With that, Ms. Bubble Gum Pop turned and escorted them past the row of tellers and towards the back, where a security guard was standing beside a hallway marked for employees only, hands on his belt.

"Roger, these men are here to check the monitors. Something about a glitch in the system." The woman was already turning and walking away practically before she'd finished speaking. Apparently, they were Roger's problem now.

Dean turned his ever-weakening smile on the poor security guard, who offered them each a handshake and a far friendly, actually invested smile.

"Howdy, there. I'm Roger, head of security. What's this all about?"

Sam repeated the spiel they'd come up with about the tech company that maintained the bank's video monitoring equipment having a temporary glitch over the weekend that might have effected the branch's monitors and recording abilities. Dean assured him it would get them in the door, since it already had once before.

"Huh. Well, we haven't had any flags go up on our system yet," Roger said, even as he escorted them down the hallway without further question. He did give Ronald a second glance, the man still pulling at his uniform as discreetly as possible (which was to say, not discretely at all)

"Yeah, this is an overall glitch," Dean reiterated, following after and glaring over his shoulder at Ronald, who looked guilty but didn't stop, either. "Might not effect this branch at all, sir. Just want to be sure."

"Well, better to be safe than sorry, I guess," Roger agreed as he opened the door to a small room – little more than a closet – full of monitors actively filming the bank lobby, vault door, and teller stations. Dean and Sam went ahead into the room, Ronald following a little too enthusiastically, still pulling at his jumpsuit. Roger gave him another look and Dean wanted to smack away Ronald's hand until it stayed by his god damn side. "All righty, you guys need anything else?"

"Oh, no, no we'll be, uh, we'll be in and out before you know it," Sam said as Dean dragged Ronald further into the room and all but shoved him into one of the seats in front of all the monitors. Sam had to forcefully pull his gaze off the live train wreck and smile encouragingly at the poor security guard, who was still glancing back at Ronald with less than assuredness. "Just a routine check."

"Well…" The guard sent one more questioning look their way before smiling and nodding at Sam. "Okie-dokie."

He turned to leave, closing the door behind him and Sam and Dean both let out a breath of relief as soon as the latch clicked into place. The slight déjà vu that came from Mr. Okie-Dokie (Dean remembered liking the guard for no other reason than he said things like Okie Dokie) wasn't enough to derail him from his current source of frustration.

"Will you stop pulling at that thing?" Dean hissed at Ronald now that the three of them were alone.

Ronald, still tugging at the back thigh of his jumper like he had a wedgie, despite currently being seated, made a face that was both sheepish and annoyed. "Sorry! It's just, this thing's kinda tight. You guys couldn't have gotten a bigger size?"

"Sorry, last minute disguises aren't exactly sold at Big and Tall!" Dean snapped back. Ronald frowned, the look nothing short of a pout on his round face, knowing an insult when he heard it.

Sam sat down in one of the two chairs stationed in front of the monitors, deciding to ignore his two 'coworkers' and get to work, since he was pretty sure it would be a while before either of them actually did.

"Why did we have to wear disguises at all?" Ronald asked, tone at least dropping some of the whining as he glanced at Sam to see what the other man was doing – searching the feeds for the laser eyes – before copying him. His attention lasted for about three seconds before he was back to looking over his shoulder at Dean. "I mean, why couldn't we tell them we're FBI and- and we're looking for a, a you know-" Ronald glanced between the two 'agents'- "mandroid?"

Dean did not manage to stop his eyes from rolling despite giving it his best effort (which was to say, really no effort at all). "Gee, I don't know, Ronald. Maybe because, one, you aren't FBI, and B, that's going to call a hell of a lot of attention to us? Not to mention the shift- the, the thing would run and we'd lose him. And it's not a mandroid, so stop calling it that."

Beside him, a little more calmly despite being annoyed for his own reasons, Sam added, "It would raise a lot of questions we don't have answers to, Mr. Reznick. Trust us, people do a lot better if they get to keep living their lives, oblivious to the things we hunt."

The larger man frowned, still pouting, as he looked between the two men again and then turned back to the monitors. "But you're the FBI," he mumbled.

"Yeah," Dean agreed easily enough, even though they were lying through their teeth about that. "And the reason we're able to do what we do is because people don't know about it. Now, let's just find our, uh, perp, and get the hell out of here before we get caught."

"If it's not a mandroid-" Ronald leaned forward in his seat, eyes narrow slits as he squinted at the different monitors, bank employees and customers going about their everyday lives, just as Sam had said. Utterly oblivious to the danger they were in. "-then what is it?"

"Classified," both Sam and Dean answered at the same time. Ronald frown-pouted with a huff.

"Thought I was a potential agent," he muttered grumpily.

Dean, leaning over his shoulder to watch the monitors as well, glanced at the guy with a hell of a look he, thankfully, didn't see. It was nothing compared to the look he just knew Sam was giving him.

Ronald, meanwhile, was still whining. "I can help, but you guys gotta read me in!"

Dean tried not to roll his eyes again at the dramatic wording. He'd been the one to go the whole FBI-slash-secret-agency route. Couldn't exactly get mad that the excited nerd he'd gone and fed that to was running with it. The older Winchester turned back to the monitors, looking for the tell-tale sign of a shifter. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Ronny. You're doing great, but we're the professionals. Let us handle the big stuff, yeah?"

Ronald was still pouting, but eventually he gave a one shouldered and mumbled, "Yeah, okay."

"There," Sam announced only seconds later, pointing to the upper most left monitor. It was on one of the teller stations, where two employees were talking, one a young woman smartly dressed, the other a man in a suit. His eyes were glowing.

"Laser eyes," Ronald breathed in, voice both awed and excited.

"Shit," Dean muttered, staring at the image. "It's the Bank Manager."

Which he only now remembered was spot on with the last time this went down. Sam glanced over and up at him, and Dean gave a subtle nod to indicate it was the same.

"Okay," Sam breathed out, leaning back in his seat. "So we watch him, make sure he doesn't change skins again, then follow him home. Take him out there."

Beside him, Ronald mouthed, 'change skins?' while gaping a bit like a fish, before he glanced over at Dean. "It can do that?"

"Told you, you weren't far off with the T2, mandroid theory," Dean answered with half a shrug, still watching the monitor.

"What if he tries to rob the bank today?" Ronald countered, glancing between the two of them, then to the monitor where the Bank Manager was still discussing something with the teller. "Shouldn't we stop him now?"

"No, Ronald," Dean practically growled, hanging onto his patience with a single thread labeled 'you got yourself into this' and not much more. "Because that would call a lot of attention to us. Remember?"

The bigger guy didn't look happy about it, scrunching up his mouth, but he kept his eyes on the monitor, watching as their not-mandroid nodded at the teller and then walked out of the camera's range. They tracked him across two more screens as he headed back to his office.

"Look, the bank closes in twenty minutes," Dean continued, glancing at the watch on his wrist. "We'll track him till then, then follow him home like Sam said."

"Mr. Okie Dokie may come back before then," Sam muttered quietly, not looking away from the monitors. Beside him, his brother shrugged.

"Then we'll deal with it. Say we're just wrapping up and will be done before closing time."

"We could wait for him outside," Sam suggested instead, though his little half-shoulder shrug said his heart wasn't really behind the suggestion. Dean shook his head.

"If this thing shifts while we're not watching, we'll never know about it until it's too late." Plus, his new victim would probably get killed in the meantime.

"So…" Ronald glanced between the two of them again, eyes a little wide but a little less enthusiastic than they had been a minute ago. "We just wait?"

Dean cocked a half smirk his direction. "Job's not all gunfights and glory."

Ronald sighed, looking ridiculously downtrodden considering what Dean had just told him usually ended bloody, but he went back to looking at the monitors with a studiousness that the real FBI probably would have appreciated.

-o-o-o-

They waited until just three minutes before closing time to start packing it up. The bank manager was still reading the glowing laser eyes in the monitors when Roger the Security Guard came to check on them. They wrapped up and headed back out with Mr. Okie Dokie leading the way, thanking them for their time and for double checking their system.

The group was almost back to the lobby when the absolute worst thing that could have happened did. The Bank Manager walked out of his office, practically colliding with the group of hunters and their tag-along recruit.

Ronald froze, eyes so wide there was no way he wasn't giving them away immediately. The shifter froze, half-formed apology on his lips when he met Ronald's eyes and paused. He glanced between the other members of the group, immediately dismissing Roger, who had switched from his discussion with the service technicians to say hello to his coworker (whose name was apparently Thomas), and focused on the two hunters. The way the Bank Manager's eyes widened and then turned hooded – dangerous – told both Winchesters immediately that they'd been made.

Dean tensed, itching to draw the silver blade he'd stashed in his ankle (no way he was coming in here unarmed, no matter what Sam had suggested about leaving their guns in the car), but he was too late. The bank manager suddenly surged forward, shoving both hands into Sam's ribcage hard. The beanstalk toppled backwards, taking the security guard with him to the floor.

"Hey!" Ronald yelled suddenly even as their shifter took off running for the front of the bank. Dean started after him, leaving Sam to disentangle himself and Ronald to do whatever it was he was doing. Which, turned out, was a drastic mistake.

Dean was a dozen feet behind the shifter, nowhere near catching the much faster creature, when he heard Sam's cry.

"Ronald, no!"

It was quickly followed by the loud, sub-bass pops of an automatic rifle. Instinctually, Dean hit the floor, covering his head. At the same time, he watched the shifter stumble, blood splattering from a fresh whole in the back of his suit. The creature hit the ground on one knee, but managed to stumble up and disappear behind the row of teller stands, blocking him from view.

Dean spun onto his back, staring with wide, horrified eyes at Ronald, holding Betsy, which he'd somehow, somehow managed to stash in his 'too-tight' jumpsuit this entire time.

Ronald's eyes were wide, maybe not quite believing he'd shot someone, or that that someone had gotten right back up and kept running. But the shifter wasn't even their main concern right now, as the bank had erupted in screams and chaos. Customers ran for the front doors, others hit the floor. Employees ducked behind their stands, and Dean knew, without a doubt, that one of them had already hit the silent alarm.

He stared at the unfolding scene in complete shock, still lying on the floor, almost unable to contemplate how, once more, they'd landed themselves in the same god damn situation as last time.

Time really did fucking hate them.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

A/Ns: First, sorry for any typos. This was kind of speed edited. I thought I did pretty good, but I'm sure I missed something (I always, always do!) Second, hopefully you can suspend some disbelief for some of the funnier bits. There's no way Ronald could have snuck Betsy in, but I just couldn't resist. It was too funny, especially with him pulling at his jumper the whole time. Anyway, as I said, probably not my finest work, but I decided to surrender to the comedy. I hope you all enjoyed the ride!

Next Update: I will aim for next Sunday, but not gonna lie, I have nothing written yet, so it may be a two week delay. I'm doing everything I can to get back into a schedule where I write everyday, but CovidLand is killing me on that front. Still, going to try my absolute best! I want to get this story back on track and moving forward! We have so much to cover and so much coming!

Reviews: I know this has been a lengthy wait, but we're back! Please share your excitement, your thoughts, your anything! I'm itching to hear from you guys - I have missed you all SO MUCH!

Up Next: Dean's got a tough choice to make. The shifter's still in the bank, but so are a dozen innocent civilians, and the cops are already on their way. They could run and probably make a clean break, but they'd leave behind a shifter who'd no-doubt be in the wind before the night was over. Or, they could stay. But if they stay, they can't just let those innocent civilians go; without hostages, the cops won't hesitate to storm the bank and they would need time to find the shifter again. Damnit, Dean was really hoping to stay off the FBI's most wanted list this time around.

Stay safe until the next update, and thank you all again for your support! It's soooo good to be back!

Cheers,
Silence