Blue Collar for faithburke 2/2

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Part two

“Hey, Sam!”

Sam stopped walking and turned around, surprised by his brother’s voice. Since he’d been out of prison, Dean hadn’t called him by his first name where people who didn’t know they were related could hear.

“Dean? Back from your lunch already?”

Dean caught up with him in a few strides, took him by the elbow and lowered his voice.

“Can I talk to you for a second?” He had a quick look around. “Like, privately?”

“What, why?” Sam grabbed his brother’s shoulder. “Dean, what did you do?”

“Not here, please.”

Sam gritted his teeth, forced himself to remain calm. Whatever this was, he could deal with it.

“Let’s go to my office,” he said, his voice strained.

Sam generally kept his office door half-open, but he carefully closed it behind him once they were in.

“Okay,” he said. He went to sit behind his desk. Call him petty, but he felt a need to assert his authority right now. “What did you want to tell me?”

“Well.” Dean thrust his hands in his jeans pockets. “You have to promise not to get mad.”

“I’m not going to get mad. Spill it.”

“You sound mad already.”

“Jesus, Dean, are you five or what? Just tell me.”

“Okay. Let’s say, hypothetically, that I randomly ran into Bela Talbot’s lovely assistant.”

“Rose?”

“Yes, the cute brunette. And then, still hypothetically, let’s say that we chatted for a while – she’s an Aquarius too, by the way, and she loves long walks on the beach – and that she handed me her phone and let me make a copy of the SIM card.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “She let you?”

The corner of Dean’s mouth went up.

“Since this is an hypothetical scenario we could say that I took it from her purse while she was in the bathroom. And now I hypothetically know where Miss Talbot was during the robberies, but also where she’ll be this whole week. Including an area where one of the targeted banks is situated.”

“Alright.” Sam closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “So you stole this girl’s phone.”

“Hey, stealing is kinda what I do. What you do is catch the bad guys – for once this works for you.”

“Dean.” Sam breathed deeply. “You can’t do anything illegal. Turner is watching us like a hawk right now, and he’s not the only one. My credibility is at stake here, my career too and…”

“If you catch the Dutchman your credibility will be stronger than ever! The info I got here,” Dean got something out of his pocket, probably the copy of Rose’s SIM card, “it will help you get her. Rub the smug smile off her face. Isn’t it what you wanted?”

“This isn’t just about me!” Sam hit the surface of his desk with the palm of his hand. “One wrong step, and you’re back in prison! And don’t tell me that I shouldn’t care because I put you there, I know I did, but I still fucking care. Fuck, it killed me to think about you in there.” He paused to catch his breath. “It killed me.”

Dean’s jaw was working, his lips pursed.

“Okay,” he finally said. “I’m sorry. But it’s done, can’t pretend I don’t have what I have. It would be fucking stupid not to use it, don’t you think? I can be your confidential informant. Your ‘source.’” Dean traced the quotation marks in the air with his fingers.

Sam sighed. “Okay, you’re right, we’ll…”

Someone knocked on his door. Dean and he exchanged a look.

“Come in,” Sam called.

It was Jo. She thrust her head between the door and the doorway and looked from Sam to Dean.

“Sir? Is this a bad time?”

“No, not at all, please come in.”

“I’ll go see who I have to kill for some coffee,” Dean said. He winked at Jo. “Always a pleasure, Agent Harvelle.”

She watched him leave in silence, before she turned to Sam.

“Here’s the information you wanted.”

She put the file on his desk, started to turn as if to leave, but hesitated, threw another look at Sam and bit her lip.

“Is there a problem?” Sam asked.

“Well, um.” She joined her fingers together and straightened up. “I have a lot of respect for you, sir, but I’ve been noticing some things that make me concerned and I don’t want to report you to Turner but…”

“Jo,” Sam interrupted her. “What is it?”

“Are you having an affair with Dean Winchester?”

For a moment, Sam couldn’t think of a thing to say. That was miles away from what he had expected to hear coming out of Jo’s mouth. Then the shock subsided a little and Sam burst out laughing.

“What?” Jo said, flustered. Her cheeks were turning pink. “If anything is going on between you two, your objectivity is compromised and he could be playing you.”

The words sobered Sam immediately. He wasn’t having an affair with Dean, but he couldn’t say that his objectivity was intact when it came to his brother. And as ludicrous as Jo’s assumption had first sounded to him, her observations were spot on and she wasn’t far from the truth.

“I’m not having an affair with him,” he said. He tried to smile. “I’d never cheat on my wife – she would have me castrated. And even if I cheated on her, and even if I was into men, Dean Winchester would be the last person I would sleep with, believe me.”

She looked at him for a moment and he held her gaze with as much confidence as he could manage.

“Alright,” she said. “I’m sorry if I offended you. It’s just… you seem to know each other very well.”

“We’ve played cat and mouse for years. This is an unusual premise for a relationship, but we do know each other pretty well. Listen, Jo, I know you don’t like Dean and I can’t blame you. He can be very infuriating.”

She lowered her head, looking very young suddenly, and Sam felt guilty for making her doubt her judgment.

“I’ll go back to work,” she said in a clipped tone.

The sound of the door closing behind her felt hollow to Sam. He buried his face in his hands, and wondered if his life would ever stop being complicated.

---

“How do you know they’re going to attack the bank anyway?”

Sam kept his attention on the screens showing in inside and outside of the bank.

“I have my sources.”

“What sources?”

Sam repressed a sigh of annoyance. He thought himself a patient man – he had to be after growing up with Dean – but Mark Simmons’ questions were starting to seriously get on his nerves. The little man had been wringing his hands for the past half hour and nagging him with repetitive questions. Sam could understand that as the person responsible for security, he was afraid of how one his banks being robbed would reflect on him, but between his whining and Jo’s insistent looks, Sam was beginning to feel like the space in the surveillance van was getting narrower with each passing minute.

Dean looked mostly amused – what could possibly be amusing in that situation was anyone guess – but Andy, who was generally unflappable, was showing signs of discomfort.

“Agent Wesson?” Simmons called. “Who are your sources?”

“It’s confidential, Mr. Simmons.” He carefully avoided looking in his brother’s direction. “Now if you could…”

He was interrupted by a shrill ringing coming from the inside of the bank.

“That’s the sound-activated alarm!” Simmons exclaimed. “This is impossible, how could they get in without the access codes? We did the changes you advised, we…”

“Mr. Simmons, please be silent,” Sam said through gritted teeth. Then he used the radio to talk to the SWAT team inside. “Talk to me, what’s going on?”

“We can’t see any intruders,” said Agent Henriksen, the leader of the team. “We’re making our way to the vaults.”

The tension in the surveillance van turned up a notch as they all held their breaths and stared at the monitors, trying to catch a sign of the robbers inside. But all Sam could see was the black uniforms of the SWAT team, and the confusion of the bank customers, panicked by the alarm.

“What the fuck?” Sam heard Henriksen exclaim. “Is this a joke? Agent Wesson, we found something but… We’re getting out. You better come and see it.”

“Andy.” Sam jerked his head in the agent’s direction. “Go see what it is.”

He kept his eyes on the monitors, but he couldn’t see anyone else inside the bank besides the customers. How had the robbers gotten inside? Where were they now?

“Boss?”

“Yes?”

Sam turned. It was Andy, who was standing outside the van by the open back door.

“They found this in a safety deposit box.”

Andy was holding something in his hand. Sam came closer to have a look, and saw that it was a big alarm clock.

“So that must be what triggered the alarm,” Dean said, looking over Sam’s shoulder.

Sam got out of the van and walked to Henriksen, who had taken off his helmet and was glaring at the bank like it had personally insulted him.

“Agent Henriksen? What was the name on the box where you found the clock?”

Henriksen frowned. “Samuel Wesson. Someone is making fun of you, Agent Wesson. I suggest you put an end to it.”

He nodded curtly at Sam, glanced one last time at the building, before walking away to gather the members of his team. Dean nudged Sam’s shoulder.

“Look who’s over there,” he said.

Sam looked in the direction Dean was pointing, and recognized Bela Talbot’s elegant figure walking a few hundred yards away. She stopped and turned, like she had felt Sam’s eyes on her. From the distance, Sam saw her nod at him.

“That bitch,” Sam murmured.

He felt the weight of his brother’s hand on his shoulder.

“We’ll get her, Sammy,” Dean whispered. “I promise.”

---

“C’mon Sam, this isn’t that bad,” Dean said.

Sam shook his head. He was slouched on a chair in his living room, his tie untied, his shirt unbuttoned. Jess was working on her laptop with the TV on a low volume, the way she usually liked to work. She had tried to make him feel better until Dean had arrived and had taken over.

“She’s playing us,” Sam said. “What was this about? Was it just a joke? Did it have any other purpose than pissing us off?”

“Pissing off the FBI is a worthy purpose on its own,” Dean said. Sam sent him a murderous look. “Sorry. Too early to make jokes?”

“You’ll be allowed to make jokes the minute Bela Talbot is in handcuffs. When we’ll be off the hook. Did I tell you that Jo thinks we’re having an affair?”

Surprisingly, Jess was the one to chuckle.

“Sorry,” she said to Sam’s look. “But you have to admit that this is pretty funny, honey.”

“I laughed too, at first, but then I realized she wasn’t that far from the truth.”

Dean arched an eyebrow and his mouth twisted.

“Dude, gross.”

“Don’t be an idiot. What I mean is that she’s noticing something between us. We need to tone it down.”

“Guys,” Jess called.

The strain in her voice caught Sam’s attention and he got out of his chair.

“What is it?”

“Something’s going on.” Jess grabbed the remote and turned up the volume. “Listen.”

“Seems like a total of thirty-six alarms had gone off in banks throughout the city,” the reporter on TV was saying. “According to the FBI…”

“What the hell?” Dean said. “What’s she doing?”

“She’s not going to rob thirty-six banks,” Sam said. “Not even five. Only one. This is another red-herring.” He turned to Dean. “Why is she doing this?”

“The cops must be all over the town, no one knows where he real threat is. Divide and conquer.”

“And what about the business cards? Why send them in the first place? Only to taunt the FBI?”

“What was your first move when you got the cards?” Dean asked.

Sam’s eyes widened. “The security test! That’s it, the security test just revealed all the banks’ weaknesses to her.”

His phone rang before he could say anything else.

“Wesson,” he said.

“Boss, it’s Andy. Are you watching the TV?”

“Yeah, I saw. But it’s a mislead, I’m pretty sure Talbot is going to go after on the initial banks, the ones who got the business cards.”

“But their alarms are silent.”

“That’s exactly the point, I think.”

“What do I do, boss?”

“Call Jo, both of you find me a SWAT team for each of the initial banks. And meet me…” His eyes met Dean’s. “What do you think? Which bank is she going to target?”

Dean frowned, brought his hand to his mouth in a thinking position that was so familiar, from another time, that it made Sam’s heart ache a little.

“The one we thought she was going to attack before. The one with the alarm clock in the safety deposit box.”

“Really? Isn’t it a little obvious?”

Dean snorted. “She’s full of herself, Sammy. She thinks she has the FBI running around the city chasing their own tails. How could she resist this last ‘fuck you,’ robbing the bank we watched uselessly for hours?”

Sam nodded, finally convinced, and barked the address to Andy before he hung up. He grabbed his jacket, went to kiss his wife goodbye. She looked at him with serious eyes.

“Be careful,” she said. Her eyes flickered to Dean. “Both of you.”

“We will,” Sam said.

---

At the bank, they found Jo, waiting outside her car, leaning against the door with her arms folded across her chest.

“Andy’s still trying to get those SWAT teams,” she said once Sam was close enough.

Sam looked in the bank’s direction. There was no light inside and despite the glass doors it was difficult to see if anything was going on.

“Anything?” he asked, and Jo shook her head.

“The bank is closed so there’s no customers; I think I saw Mark Simmons inside but that’s it. Are you sure of yourself?”

She shot a look at Dean, like she knew it was his idea and that made the whole thing doubtful. Dean ignored her.

“Simmons has the access codes,” he said to Sam. He grabbed Sam’s elbow. “They need those codes to get into the vaults.”

“Jesus, you’re right.”

Dean’s hand fell from his arm and Sam turned to Jo.

“Call Andy again, see how those SWAT teams are coming.” He scratched an eyebrow, deep in thought. “We need to figure a way to get inside the bank – the basement was sealed after Dean did his test…”

“Boss!”

Jo’s sharp tone snapped Sam out of his thoughts. She had her phone against her ear but she was looking somewhere over Sam’s shoulder.

“Where’s Dean? Where did he go?”

Sam turned around and she was right – Dean was nowhere in sight.

“Shit! That fucking idiot.”

Frustrated, Sam passed a hand through his hair and let it rest there, digging in his scalp with his fingernails.

“What?” Jo said. “What do you think he did?” Her brow furrowed. “Do you think he’s in it with Talbot? How could these two even know each other?”

“What? Oh, no. I don’t think Dean and Talbot are working together. I think he’s gone into the bank. Because he’s an idiot and he always has to show off.” Because he wants to prove himself to me.

“How could he get into the bank? He can’t access it the way he did before.”

“He always has at least two possible routes in mind…”

Sam’s eyes were traveling over the building, his mind working fast to figure how Dean had done it. The basement was a no go, and all the doors would be secured by the robbers. What else was there? Sam raised his head.

“The roof,” he said. “He went by the roof. I have to go in before that moron gets himself shot.”

“Wait!”

Jo grabbed him by the jacket before he could run across the street to the bank.

“This is crazy, you should wait the SWAT team before going in there alone with no back up!”

“Dean is in there, he doesn’t have any weapons and he’s going to get himself killed if I don’t go! I have to… I can’t…” He shut his mouth, afraid of what compromising thing he might say under the influence of emotion.

But it looked like it was too late – Jo let go of him, and said, “You love him, don’t you?”

Surprisingly, her voice was soft and not accusing like Sam would have thought it would be. She looked sad and worried.

“It’s not what you think,” he said. It sounded too much like he was in denial, but he didn’t know how to explain it to her without actually saying it, and he couldn’t. “Jo, it’s really, honestly not what you think. But I can’t tell you…”

She took a deep breath, looking like she was reaching a decision.

“I won’t report you. You’re a good agent, one of the best, and Dean… He’s been helpful and if you think he’s really trying to make amends…”

“Thank you, but I can’t. Maybe later. Please, I have to go.”

She nodded sharply and he didn’t waste any time crossing the street. He ran around the building, looking for roof access until he found a ladder. Climbing it as fast as he could without being too noisy, he had a flash to the army training their dad had submitted them to – crawling on their elbows, running, climbing ropes, all while he was timing them. It was like his dad was breathing down his neck, barking orders, and it had the familiar, nauseating fire of resentment burn anew in Sam’s chest. He ignored it and kept climbing.

When he reached the top, he slowed his movement and just raised his head enough to see what was going on without being seen. His eyes quickly took the scene in – Dean was crouched behind a vent, while a man with a white mask was standing a little further away. As the man moved Sam could see the gun in his hand. Then he turned his head and Sam didn’t duck quickly enough. The man raised his gun.

“Shit, shit.”

The gunshot was loud but Sam didn’t feel any shock or pain so he probably wasn’t shot. He heard some footsteps running across the roof and he reached for his own gun, raised and shot, ducked again. He was ready to shoot one more time, but he heard muffled cry and a commotion, like there was a fight.

“Sammy, you can come in, it’s safe.”

It was Dean’s voice. Sam climbed the last rungs of the ladder to get to the roof. There he saw that the man with the mask was on the ground, seemingly unconscious.

“Did he have time to warn anyone?” Sam asked.

“No, I don’t think so.” Dean grinned. “Nice timing, bro, I was just trying to figure how I was going to get inside without this dude seeing me.”

“If you had taken the time to tell me what you were going to do, you wouldn’t have had to figure out anything.” Dean opened his mouth, looking genuinely stricken by Sam’s bad mood, which only infuriated Sam more. “No time,” he snapped. “We need to get inside that bank.”

“You’re the boss, boss,” Dean mumbled, but didn’t make any more comment as he followed him.

---

The inside of the bank was dark and silent. They made their way quietly – Sam had his gun out, and Dean had reluctantly agreed to stay behind him. When they approached the lobby Sam was quick to flatten himself against the wall to glance inside. On the other side of the door, he could see Dean doing the same.

There was only one man, pacing inside the lobby with a gun in hand, wearing the same white plastic mask than the man on the roof.

“The others must already be inside the vaults,” Dean whispered. “I need that man’s gun.”

Sam shook his head with force.

“Why not?” Dean’s voice was still low, but there was a hint of whining in his tone. “You know I know how to use a gun.”

Of course, Sam knew. Their dad had made sure of that, preparing both of them for his insane crusade against all evil. That wasn’t the issue.

“I can’t let you have a gun, Dean. You’re a felon.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t trust me?”

“It’s not about me, it’s about everyone else. Look, we don’t have the time to…”

The words died in Sam’s throat. The man in the lobby was coming in their direction – with the mask on, it was difficult to say if it was because he had noticed their presence or if it was just part of his surveillance’s tour. Sam’s grip on his gun tightened.

Then the man stopped and turned, looking like he’d seen something outside. He brought a radio to his mouth.

“The FBI is here. There’s a SWAT team outside of the bank. Hurry up.” There was muffled reply. “Got it,” the man said.

His back was still turned to them, as he focused on what was going on in the street. Sam thought about the brief conversation he had overheard – the man hadn’t sounded overly concerned, so they must have an exit route planned. Sam didn’t know the layout of the bank as well of his brother did, but he guessed there must have been some kind of backdoor exit to the building; the question was: what were they going to do with Mark Simmons? Speaking of his brother – Sam barely had the time to see Dean raise his arm before he threw something.

“What the fuck?” Sam mouthed.

The noise made the man turn and walk in their general direction again. Sam held his breath and watched the man bend over and pick up the object Dean had thrown – a lighter, from what Sam could see. Before the man had the time to stand up straight again, Dean jumped out of his hiding spot. The fight was brief and effective – Dean was as quick as Sam remembered him from their teenage years. Once the man was down Dean dragged him and sat him propped against a wall. He picked up the man’s gun and grinned at Sam.

“Can I have it, mom?”

“Dean.”

“No one has to know.”

Sam wanted to argue, but voices were coming closer and there wasn’t time. With a curt gesture, Sam signaled for Dean to hide behind a pillar, and Dean didn’t argue. Sam placed himself behind another pillar and waited.

“Rogers?”

Probably the man Dean had knocked down. Sam took it as his cue.

“FBI!” he shouted. “Put your guns down!”

Gunshots answered him and Sam retreated behind his pillar. Dean started shooting and there was a cry of pain.

“Move it! Leave him here!”

The same rough voice kept barking orders, hurried footsteps resonated.

“They’re taking the backdoor exit!” Dean shouted, and left the safety of the pillar to run after the robbers.

“Dean, don’t!”

Cursing under his breath, Sam ran after his brother. Behind him he could hear noises that told him that the SWAT team had entered the bank, probably because of the gunshots, but he didn’t wait for them.

Sam found Dean standing by the exit, alone. The street was empty and there was no sign of the robbers. Dean turned to Sam, a dejected expression on his face.

“Sammy, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Give me that gun before someone sees it.”

Dean handed it to him without a word, looking more somber than Sam had seen him since their dad had been arrested.

“That’s it,” Dean said. “I’m going back to prison.”

Sam was going to tell him that no, he wasn’t, there was no way Sam would allow that, but the words caught in his throat. He couldn’t make that promise. Maybe he should never have tried.

“Wesson?”

Sam turned and saw Henriksen walk to them. He looked as unhappy as Sam felt.

“Agent Henriksen, hey. Did you find Simmons?”

“A little man with glasses? He’s in shock, but he doesn’t look hurt. Wesson, what happened here?” He paused to glance at Dean. “And why is Winchester is on the field with you? He’s no FBI.”

“Well the FBI doesn’t seem to have much chance with the Dutchman so I guess it’s time for fresh blood, no?” Dean said, chin up.

“I don’t see anyone in handcuffs, do I?” Henriksen looked pointedly at Dean. “Only someone who should be, but there’s nothing I can do about it for the moment.”

“Maybe if you’d fucking move a little quicker they wouldn’t…”

“Hey, mind your tone, Winchester. It’s fucking crazy outside, the whole city is on alert, so don’t blame my team.”

Henriksen took a step forward and pressed his forefinger against Dean’s chest. Sam saw Dean’s lips press together in rage – he had to do something before the situation got out of control.

“Dean, hey.” He pressed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Calm down.”

“Yeah. Sorry,” he said to Henriksen, his mouth twisted like the words pained him.

Henriksen had the good sense to step back and get out of Dean’s personal space.

“This has been a long day for all of us,” he said.

Sam felt Dean relax at the unspoken apology.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “And it’s not over.”

---

They came back to the office, and Dean’s low curse told Sam that something was wrong.

“Shit.”

Sam followed his look and through the transparent door of Turner’s office, could see that Bela Talbot was in there, shaking hands with his boss. When she came out she walked passed them and nodded in greeting.

“Agent Wesson, Mr. Winchester. I would love to be able to chat with you but I’m in a hurry.”

In his office, standing by the door, Turned scowled at them and made a short, come in, gesture. Sam swallowed. Dean pointed to himself and mouthed, me too? Turner’s glare became murderous.

“Dean, stop it.” Sam nudged his brother in the ribs. “Let’s just see what Talbot wanted.”

“This is bad, Wesson,” Turner said after they’d pushed open his office’s door. He went to sit behind his desk. “Bela Talbot is suing us.”

“What? What are the charges?”

“Harassment, defamation. She said you stole her secretary’s phone.”

“That bitch,” Dean murmured.

Turner’s focus went on him.

“Winchester, the sole reason you’re standing here in my office and not in a prison cell is because I authorized it. And I authorized it because I thought you could be of some use to us. So watch your goddamn mouth, because you could be back there as quickly as you got out.”

“We were in the right bank!” Dean protested. “The FBI was all over the city chasing their tails but we were right there where the robbers were!”

“And it doesn’t matter because they got away! And now Talbot is on our back and it could cost us millions.”

“Sir,” Sam said,” she’s playing with us, she’s behind the heists and…”

“She has an alibi.”

“Of course she does, she’s smart, she thought of everything. But…”

Turner smashed is fist on his desk.

“There’s no but! There’s no evidence! No money, no one to arrest. Wesson, you have very little time to make it right. If you don’t have anything by the end of the week, Winchester is going back to prison, and you’re off the case.”

Dean paled and Sam’s heart skipped a beat. They were so screwed.

---

“Thank you, Andy,” Sam said, taking the documents Andy handed him.

“No problem, boss.” He twisted his mouth. “Need anything else? Uh, like, coffee or something?”

Sam raised his eyebrows, looked at Andy in surprise. When Andy had been a probie, he had bitched endlessly about coffee duty.

“Do I look that bad?”

Andy shrugged. “You look like you could need some caffeine boost. And Dean, too.” He gave a jerk of the chin to where Dean was staring intently at the TV in Sam’s office, watching the video they had from the robbery.

“I guess coffee would be very appreciated,” Sam said. “Dean will have his black. Thank you, Andy.”

Andy nodded and left the office. Sam went to sit down next to his brother.

“Anything?”

“I don’t know… How much was stolen?”

Sam looked down on the document Andy had brought. “Apparently, $8.2 million.”

“And the brief cases they had, how big?”

“I’d say, sixteen by thirteen, height about four or five inches. Why, what are you thinking?”

Dean pointed at the screen. “The suitcases, look. The bills were all hundreds, right. The packs were a little less than eight inches.”

“So, it wouldn’t work,” Sam said, rubbing his chin. “We’re missing some of the money. The robbers didn’t take it with them but it’s not in the vaults either.”

Dean clapped his hands on his thighs.

“And I have an idea where it could be. Think about it, Sam. Who knows everything about this bank?”

There was a knock on the door.

“Come in,” Sam said.

Andy entered with two cups of coffee in his hands.

“Here’s your coffee.” He looked at them and there must have been something on their face because he added, “What? What happened? Something on my face?”

Sam and Dean exchanged a look, and Dean’s face broke in to a smile.

“Something better than that, kid.”

---

“Thank you for helping us, Mr. Simmons,” Sam said as they walked down the bank’s hallway.

Simmons cleared his throat. “That’s not a problem, Agent Wesson, anything to help you stop those men.”

“How are you doing, by the way? I heard you weren’t hurt but it must have been quite an experience.”

“Oh, yes.” Simmons slid the barred door leading to the deposit boxes room. “I have never been held at gun point. I can’t say it’s an experience I’d like to repeat anytime soon.” He shut the door behind them. “So here we are. Why did you want to check this room? The robbers never came in here.”

“I know that,” Sam said. “I just wanted to check on a deposit box.”

“Oh.” Simmons fumbled with the knot of his tie. “Do you have a warrant, Agent Wesson? Because as much as I want to help you, I can’t let you access one of our customers’ boxes without a warrant.” He glanced at Dean, who had been standing behind Sam, uncharacteristically silent. “I’m not sure what Mr. Winchester is doing here with you. He was only supposed to test the security of the bank.”

“It’s none of your concern, Mr. Simmons. And it’s not actually one of your customers’ boxes I want to see. It’s yours. 125 is under your name, right?”

Simmons started to chuckle, though it sounded more like a nervous cough. He shook his head.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why do you want to look in my deposit box? How can that have anything to do with the robbery?”

“Why don’t you open the box and I’ll tell you?

Simmons pushed back his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Fine. I’ll open it. But your superior will be hearing from me, Agent Wesson.” He turned a key in the box marked 125. “I don’t think this is acceptable FBI behavior.”

He took a step back and let Sam open it and draw the box to him. Sam and Dean both looked inside. Dean whistled.

“Fuck me, that’s a lot of money, Simmons.”

“Don’t move,” Simmons said, his voice slightly trembling.

They turned and saw he was pointing a gun at them, holding it tightly with both hands, knuckles white.

“Look at that, Sam,” Dean said, his eyebrows raised in mock surprise. “What an unforeseen turn of events!”

“I know, right? Where do you think he kept the gun? In his pants?”

Dean shook his head slowly and clicked his tongue. “Bad, bad idea, Simmons. You can blow you balls off that way.”

“Shut up, both of you!” Simmons turned his gun to Sam. “Agent Wesson, hands up! Winchester, get the bag behind you and fill it with the money.”

Dean complied without any more smartass comments, for which Sam was grateful because Simmons had his gun on him and looked slightly too trigger-happy for his taste. Dean started to fill the bag.

“So, Simmons,” Sam said once Simmons seemed to be a little calmer. “What happened? I imagine Talbot came to you and offered you a share if you helped her rob the bank?”

“It was more than eight million! And they would have done it anyway, it would have just been more unpleasant for me. I couldn’t refuse.”

“Man has a point, there,” Dean said.

“Shut up!”

Simmons’ gun turned to Dean briefly, before pointing again to Sam. His eyes were wide and his breathing fast. The man was obviously out of his depth, here, and Sam could probably take him easily; Dean too. But fighting in such a narrow space with a gun and a man who didn’t know how to use it was how you got accidentally shot. They just needed to buy some time.

“Hey, I’m done with the money, man,” Dean said. “What do you want me to do with it?”

“Give it me to me.”

He snatched the bag from Dean’s hands and threw the strap over his shoulder.

“Don’t move a muscle.”

He started to walk backward, not letting go of his gun and not letting them out of his sight, until his back hit the door. He opened it, slid it close again once he was out. He looked at them through the bars of the door.

“Stay there.”

Then he lowered his gun, and ran away.

“Well,” Dean said after a few seconds of silence. “That went pretty well, didn’t it?”

Sam huffed. “I could have done without a gun on me but otherwise, yeah, it went okay.”

“Oh, details.” Dean waved a dismissive hand. “This guy was more likely to put holes into himself than into you.”

“I was kinda worried about him putting accidental holes into me. I…”

Dean raised a hand. “Shh. Listen.”

Sam strained to hear and indeed, there were some muffled shouts. No gunshots, though, which was good. Sam didn’t especially wanted Simmons dead.

“Now we wait,” Sam said.

They didn’t have to wait long before the footsteps and the voices came closer. Sam pressed himself against the door and shouted through the bars, “Hey, over here!”

“Hey, Agent Wesson.”

It was Henriksen smirking at him, looking somewhat amused by what he was seeing.

“We meet again,” he said.

“You know what they say,” Sam said. “Third time’s a charm. I take it by your cheerful look that everything went smoothly with Simmons?”

“Yeah, I got to arrest someone this time. I call it a good day.” Henriksen looked at Dean and his smile grew wider. “Those bars look good on you, Winchester.”

“Oh, haha, you’re a riot Henriksen. Are you fucking gonna get us out of here?”

Henriksen looked like he was considering it, and Sam almost laughed at the way Dean gritted his teeth like he was holding back from saying something very insulting. Finally, Henriksen unlocked the door and let them out.

“Thanks,” Sam said.

“Yeah.” Henriksen’s gaze flickered from Sam to Dean. “Good job, guys.”

He patted Sam’s shoulder. It felt a little patronizing to Sam, but he was giddy enough about their success that he didn’t care. All that mattered was the look that would be on Bela Talbot’s face when they went to arrest her. His eyes met Dean’s – his brother was smiling widely, and for the first time since Dean had gotten out of prison, Sam felt that they were exactly on the same wavelength, just like when they were kids. That they were family again.

“Good job, Dean,” he said.

---

Sam’s heart was pounding so hard it felt like it was trying to break through his ribs, so loud it was muffling every other sound. He was waiting in a visiting room, waiting for his dad to be brought to him, and he wondered one more time if he was right to do this. If he was going to be able to handle it. He had asked himself that for the whole three hour drive to the hospital, and again during the security procedure to get inside. He still had to cling to every ounce of courage he possessed not to run away.

He distracted himself first by looking around him. But the naked room painted in white, furnished only with tables and chairs, the guards in the corners, the sight of visitors hunched over to keep their conversations with their loved ones private, only served to make him more depressed. It was like visiting Dean in prison; this room represented everything that was wrong with his life and with his family. So instead, he tried to recall the memory of Bela’s arrest. They had gotten her at her apartment, and for once she hadn’t been ahead of them because she had welcomed them with a smile that was just on this side of smug. She had handled the arrest with dignity, Sam had to give her that, but watching that smile fade had still felt damn satisfying.

“Mr. Wesson?”

It was a guard. He left quickly, and Sam focused on the man who sat across the table. Sam’s first thought was of how old his father looked. There was gray in his hair and beard, new wrinkles on his face, and he just looked so pale, so… washed out. He was looking at Sam and for a moment it looked like he didn’t recognize him.

Then he said, “Sammy?”

His voice was low and deep, rougher than Sam remembered.

“Yeah,” Sam said. He didn’t know whether to call him “John” or “Dad,” so he said neither. “Yes, it’s me.”

“He called you Wesson.”

For a few seconds Sam’s throat was so constricted he couldn’t utter a sound. His dad didn’t look mad or hurt, only distantly curious but it didn’t make Sam feel any less like a horrible person.

“Yeah, it’s.” He cleared his throat, rubbed his forehead. “Ah, it’s my name now, I uh, I had to…”

“Good,” his father said. His voice was getting stronger. “It’s good, you have to lay low, cover your tracks. You shouldn’t have come here.”

“Dean told me you were asking for me.”

“Dean?” His dad’s eyes lost their focus, like he was trying to get to a distant memory. “I haven’t seen Dean in a very long time.”

“Yes, well.”

Sam was going to tell him that Dean had been in prison, pushed by some obscure need to hurt his father, to show him what their childhood had done to his brother. But the look on his dad’s face was so confused that the thought died almost as soon as it had come. He probably wouldn’t get what Sam was trying to say anyway.

“Dean’s been very busy, lately,” Sam said. “That’s why I came. To see how you were doing.”

“I’m alright.” He looked around the room and leaned forward across the table. “Listen to me, Sammy,” he said, low and urgent.

That didn’t sound good; Sam recognized that gleam in his father’s eyes and it chilled him to the bones. He still bowed his head to listen.

“What?”

“I know what killed your mother.” He lowered his voice even more, until it was barely more than a murmur. “It was a demon. And I know how to kill it.” He raised a hand. “Yes, I know, you can’t kill demons, but there’s this one gun, made by Samuel Colt and it’s supposed to be able to kill anything.”

Sam shook his head with force. “No, John, Dad, please stop it. I don’t want to hear this.”

Sam started to rise, needing to get out of there, but his dad grabbed his wrist.

“Let go off me. John, let me go.”

He tried to shake off the hand holding him, but his father was surprisingly strong, his grip so tight it was maybe going to leave a bruise.

“Sammy, please listen to me, it’s important.” His father looked so pleading, Sam stopped struggling almost in spite of himself. “This demon, it’s after you. You need to be careful. Just tell you brother about the gun, okay? Tell him to find it and kill that demon. And be careful, alright? Line the doors and windows with salt and…”

“Okay, Dad,” Sam said, trying to modulate his voice to sound soothing. “I remember how to protect myself from demons. I will do all that.”

“You’ll be careful?”

“I’ll be careful.” Sam rested a hand over where his father was holding him. “Now let go of me, please? That guard is looking at us.”

“Oh, okay.” His dad let go of his wrist, and there was a fleeting smile on his lips. “It was good seeing you, Sam. You got so tall.”

Sam half-smiled. “Yeah. It was good seeing you too, Dad. Bye.”

He was about to turn to leave, but his dad called him, “Sam? Will you be back?”

Sam took a deep breath. “I will, Dad. I promise.”

---

It was dark when Sam got to Castiel’s apartment. Once again it was Castiel who answered the door, but when Sam asked for his brother he said, “He’s in his room.”

Castiel showed Sam to Dean’s room and left him at the door. Sam knocked.

“Cas? Is dinner ready?”

Sam pushed the door open.

“I’m not the fucking cook,” he said, and grinned.

“Hey, Sammy! What’s up?”

Dean was sprawled on his bed, just like when they were kids, with papers and pencils surrounding him.

“What are you drawing?” Sam asked, walking closer to have a look.

It took him a split of a second to see that it was a naked woman. And just a few more seconds to recognize who it was.

“Is that Bela Talbot?”

“Dude, she’s hot.” Dean pushed himself up. “How did her arrest go, by the way? I’m still bummed that Turner didn’t let me go.”

Sam sat on Dean’s bed. “It went fine, nothing much happened. She’s already called an army of lawyers. She did have a message for you, though.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, it was something like: ‘Tell Dean Winchester I’ll see him in Hell’.”

Dean let out a chuckle. “That’s a bit melodramatic.”

“She probably didn’t appreciate that you helped the FBI catch her.”

“Yeah, I still can’t believe I sold my soul to the FBI.” Sam arched an eyebrow. “No offense, bro.”

“I don’t know,” Sam said. “If you think of working with me as ‘selling your soul’ then maybe you don’t wanna hear what I came to tell you.”

Sam shifted on the bed like he was about to get up.

“Hey, wait, what?” Dean threw his legs out of the bed so that he sat on the edge. “What did you come to tell me? Did you, uh, did you talk to Turner?”

“Yes, I talked to Turner. He grumbled a lot about some of the initiatives you took during this case.”

“Aw, I know he likes me.” Dean’s tone was light, but his voice was a little strangled. “What else?”

“He said I needed to keep a tighter leash on you, but the arrangement is permanent. You’re officially a consultant for the FBI until the end of your sentence. Congratulations, man.”

“Oh, Jesus fuck.” Dean buried his face in his hands. “Thank you, Sam.”

“You’ll still have your anklet and your two miles radius.”

“Okay, it’s okay, no problem.”

“And you won’t be able to carry a gun.”

“I can live with that.” Dean breathed in deeply and let his hands drop on his lap. “Do I get to have a badge?”

“You’ll get it tomorrow.”

“Hey.” Dean looked thoughtful for a moment, and his mouth curved up. “That’s kinda cool.”

“Yeah.” Dean looked so relieved and happy it was painful. Sam thought of their dad, locked up forever, and the next words escaped him, “I went to see Dad.”

Dean’s head jerked up. “What was that?”

“Yesterday. I drove to the hospital and I visited Dad. I stayed maybe like five minutes but I did it.”

“Okay. And how did that go?”

“I, uh, I don’t know. As good as it could go, I guess.”

“Did he talk to you about the demon?”

“Yeah, he said a demon was after me, and that we needed to get some kind of gun, I don’t know.”

Dean huffed a laugh. “Oh, yeah, the Colt. Almost forgot about that.”

“He told you about it too?”

“Oh, yes, that’s all our old man’s thinking about.” Dean scratched an eyebrow and sighed. “Listen, Sam, I know it’s probably hard to understand but this, what he told you, that’s how he shows he cares about you. And he’ll never be normal, as much as we can wish he was, and we’ll never have family Christmases or Thanksgivings with him, or whatever normal families do. This is it. This is all we got.”

Sam swallowed. “I know that.”

“Will you go back to visit him?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I said I will.”

“I’m sorry, Sammy. I’m sorry I can’t give you more than a crazy father and a brother,” Dean waved to his ankle, “with this.”

Sam forced a smile. “Don’t forget a very hot wife.”

“Yeah, how can I forget that? It means that I have a very hot sister-in-law, which isn’t quite as cool but almost.”

There was a light knock; the door opened and Castiel’s head popped in.

“Dinner’s ready.”

“Awesome,” Dean said, rubbing his hands together.

“Sam, do you want to join us?” Castiel asked.

Sam was so surprised by the offer that he couldn’t answer right away.

“Cas is an awesome cook,” Dean said.

“Well in that case. I’ll give Jess a call and tell her not to wait for me.”

“Tell her I said hi.” Dean got up from his bed and walked to the door, but he turned before he reached it. “Hey, Sam. We’re gonna be partners. How cool is that?”

Sam felt himself smile, wide and genuine.

“It’s pretty awesome,” he said.

For the first time in a long time, things felt as simple as that.

---

Prompts: Sam and Dean are in New York City on a case.  White Collar or Castle crossover, do not care which one, with a side of Wee!Sam is convinced he's a selkie. As you can see, I took a lot of liberties with the prompts. I hope my recipient enjoyed the fic anyway!