Song Remains the Same

Chapter 137: State of Grace

"Man is not what he thinks he is... he is what he hides."
— André Malraux

A Few Days Later
Round 'Em Up Roadhouse
Pacific Junction, Iowa

The Impala trundled up into the gravel parking lot of a derelict roadhouse bar. The local boys in blue had already roped the place off with yellow crime scene tape. Sam took quick visual inventory of the scene outside the cabin-style building: a handful of officers, a forensic photographer, a news truck, and a few curious locals clustered at the perimeter of the scene.

Dean parked and Sam straightened his suit jacket, clearing his throat and willing himself enough energy to do this. He felt tired sometimes without real explanation, just a wave of fatigue out of nowhere—today was one of those days. On the way here, he'd experienced another significant gap of memory. Dean said it was the trials aftereffects and insisted brusquely that it couldn't all last forever. Basically, he brushed off Sam's worries each time they came up. Sam just had to hope that these brain fog episodes were temporary. That his brother was right.

Speak of the devil: Dean's gruffly playful voice cut through his worries. "You ready, Agent Morrison?"

Sam put himself into performance mode and allowed a brief rueful grin at The Doors reference. "Sure thing, Agent Krieger."

The boys exited the car in near perfect sync and approached the entrance to the bar, flashing their fake badges in tandem at the officer standing at the door. He frowned curiously. "FBI really sent the whole crew out today on this one huh?" he asked, immediately alerting the Winchesters that something was up. "Your other two are inside already." He stepped aside, gesturing that they were free to enter.

Playing it cool the brothers moved past him, but once out of the cop's line of sight, Dean shot Sam a supremely questioning look. 'Other two?' he mouthed. Sam shrugged, but his nerves had increased. Real feds did sometimes pop up on cases... or it could be other hunters.

Inside, they found disarray. Signs of intense struggle were everywhere—busted glasses and bottles, broken furniture, destroyed windows—and there were numerous bright yellow plastic markers on the floor beside blood stains to indicate where the victims' bodies had been. Sam saw enough immediately to conclude that this hadn't been just a few murders... this had been an extermination. As Sam glanced around with a tense expression, he spotted the other two FBI agents a millisecond or two before Dean did: Alex and Cas, both in polished outfits that screamed 'feds.' They were speaking with the sheriff. Alex spotted her twin right as he spotted her. She nodded a thank you to the sheriff and wrapped up the conversation. Surprised, Sam tried not to show how much so.

"Ah, great," Dean muttered under his breath. "What're they doing here?" But he sounded more nervous than anything else, standing up a little taller like he was bracing himself.

Cas and Alex wore snappy suits, hers more tailored and fitted with hair swept back into a neat, low ponytail. Cas approached first, appearing glad to see them and even sticking his hand out to shake Sam's... probably for show. "Agents," he greeted coyly, leaning in covertly.

"...Agent," Sam returned in similar fashion, hiding an unexpectedly amused smile as best he could.

Alex arrived on Cas's heels. "So they'll let just anyone in here, huh?" she joked. Then her eyes slid to Dean and her expression changed, shifting into something harder to read. Pensive, maybe. It was the first time in two months the two had seen each other. "Dean."

For a tough guy, Dean sure did squirm under her gaze. "Alex," he greeted gruffly. Sam watched the brief dynamic passing between them: nervousness, aversion, wistfulness, sadness, hurt... all in the span of a few seconds. Dean nodded at Alex's husband. "Cas."