`` i'm not impressed... {DEAN}

[bunnybabi12]

Alison was in a parking lot. It was nighttime and the lot was sparsely filled and badly lit. In the ambient light from the full moon, the slightly melted snow on the ground seemed to be too white, it didn't fit in with the rest of the scene. Snow, in all it's white purity, didn't match the feeling this place gave her, the fear that clutched at her heart and made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. She knew this place, this scene, this feeling. She didn't know how, but she did. It was all very familiar to her, but it was like a word on the tip of her tongue that she couldn't quite recall. It was hazy, her memory of this place, but her fear of it was very tangible within her.

She turned around wildly, looking for a reason for her being there. She had no bags on her, so she couldn't have been shopping at the grocery store across the lot. However, she wasn't alone in the lot. A family, a mother and her two children, a little boy and girl, were walking toward her, their voices carrying toward her. She wanted to scream at them to go back to the store, that it wasn't safe here, but she couldn't find her voice. They walked past her, as if they couldn't see her, and the little girl asked her mother if they could make Rice Crispie Treats when they got home.

Alison moved after them, calling out to them. "Run! Run! It's not safe! Run!" She cried, trusting her instincts and doing her best to get the family's attention. They ignored her, either that or they couldn't hear her. Alison could see her breath as she yelled at them, coming up right behind the mother as she began to put her groceries in the trunk of their sedan. She felt like shaking the woman. Why couldn't they hear her!?

It was all coming back to her now. The parking lot, the full moon. The family. It was her family. Her mother. The night of her mother's murder. In the still of the night, she began to hear it. The deep, guttural and primal growl. Like a dog. Like a wolf. Her chest constricted in panic. No, she couldn't watch this. She couldn't see this happen again. She was frantic now, screaming at the woman, her mother, to get in the car and drive away. She still couldn't hear her. Alison felt like tearing her hair out. A cloud rolled over the moon and around them, the darkness seemed to close in as the growls got louder.

"Hey, Sis!" A voice from behind her caught her off-guard. She swiveled around and saw her younger brother, all grown up, carrying two plastic bags. He was a few feet behind her, walking backward toward the darkness. Toward the growling. She stared at him, "Riley?"

He stopped walking, "What're you doing all the way out here? Come on, Dad's waiting for us." He replied, smiling at her. Couldn't he hear the growling? Alison shook her head, "Riley, no... Mom is..." She turned around. The family was gone. The sedan was gone. All that was left of them was a Transformers action figure in the middle of the empty parking space. It was covered in blood.

She looked back at Riley. He was still smiling at her like he couldn't quite figure out what she was talking about, "Come on, let's go." He kept walking backward and away from her. Toward the dark and what she feared was there. She moved toward him, calling him back to her, but he wouldn't listen, he thought it was a game. Behind him, she could see something moving, a large figure that was crouched on all fours.

He laughed, "Al, come on, there's nothing out here, you're being parano-" It happened so quickly. There was a howl of rage, so inhuman and animalistic that if anyone had heard it they would have run for their lives for fear of being killed by a wild animal let loose in the neighborhood. Riley stopped in his tracks as something came at him from behind and a wet sound, a squishing sound reached her ears as red erupted on the front of his shirt and a clawed hand reached through his chest. Riley looked dumbfounded as he died, as if he didn't believe in his own death. Blood bubbled from his mouth and dripped down the side of his chin.

Alison broke into a run toward him, screaming his name...

"Riley!"

Her own scream woke her up and she bolted upright, her breathing ragged. She was hot and cold at the same time, her fevered skin covered in cool sweat. The blankets pooled against her wist as she sat there, trying to regain her composure. She felt sick and her head was pounding in time with her heart, fast and irregular. She reached up and pinched the bridge of her nose between her thumb and index finger, hoping that would do something for the pain. When it didn't, she sighed and wiped her eyes. She had been crying in her sleep. She would have had to have had a heart of stone if she hadn't been.

This nightmare wasn't new. But, it wasn't old either. She'd had it many times before. This time was different though. Riley had been there, fully grown, happy and smiling just before his heart was ripped out of his chest. That had never happened before. In the dream it was her that was usually attacked. She always woke up not one second before the werewolf killed her. Before that tattoo she had burned into her retinas was covered in her own blood. But that just proved how personal this case was to her. It was too personal, and far too close to home.

Richmond, Indiana wasn't that far from Fort Wayne. It was about an hour or so away, maybe even less if there wasn't any traffic. She had gone through Richmond when she was on a road-trip with her father once when she was very young. And it had been years since anything that had to do with her mother's death came up. The police back then had said she was stabbed to death by a satanist. But Alison had seen her mother's death and had seen what killed her. A werewolf. She understood that most werewolves didn't even know they were what they were. It wasn't until the moon was full that they changed and it wasn't like in the movies. They didn't sprout hair in unsightly places, they didn't turn into wolves. Yes, they had claws and and fangs, but they didn't have snouts and tails. It was completely different.

And about three days ago, Alison had come across a story about the Full-Moon Murderer -as the killer had been so aptly named- who was operating in North Eastern Indiana (he had been for years but no one had seemed to catch it until now, the idiots) and working his way down. The police hadn't seen anything like him before, in fact, they only knew he was a man because of an eye witness who had seen a murder from the back entrance of her apartment building. Before that, they hadn't known what to think; a person mauled to death with just their heart missing? It was the same M.O. every time, and yet they had thought no human being could do that to another.

That hadn't been the part that had interested her though. The description of the killer was what had sent chills up her spine and what had got her up here so fast. The murderer had a tattoo of a green Chinese dragon on his right arm. The tattoo she was sure was seared into her mind. She would know it if she saw it. But now that she was here, she realized how close she was to this. With dreams like that, she knew she was treading dangerous water.

Alison sighed and looked at the clock.

8:53 AM

"Dammit..." It was earlier than she had hoped. She had just gotten in at four in the morning from a long night at the Historian's Society. She had been checking to see if there had been other murders similar to her mother's between Richmond and Fort Wayne since 1993. The results were depressing. More than thirty. That may seem like a low number to some, but werewolves weren't just killing machines. They killed either because they felt threatened or because they were hunting. Sometimes they just ran around naked and snarled at people. Whatever the case, though, over thirty people had died in Indiana by the hands of a werewolf, most likely the one that had killed her mother. Just thinking about it made her feel sick again. Then again, that could also be the sleep deprivation. She'd had a busy couple of days between going to the homes of past victims' families as FBI agent Spencer Morgan and doing research. She had a right to be tired.

However, Alison got out of bed -there was no way she could get back to sleep after that dream- and went to the bathroom to brush her teeth and freshen up a bit. After that she went over to the small table by the curtain-covered window of her motel room. The table was covered with papers, crime scene photos, manila folders full of print outs on older werewolf attacks and on lore. Her journal sat above it all, wide open on the last page she had been reading. Bet you could guess what that was about. She sat down and pulled her messy hair back into a twisty,self-holding bun and began shuffling through the papers. Tonight was the second night of the full moon phase, so she had to get her shit straight. Finding this thing wasn't going to be easy if she didn't map out it's usual target area in Richmond. So she sat, for a few minutes, sifting through papers ans folders, trying to organize them. As she did, she vaguely registered the sound of a car engine as it rumbled past.

The motel was one of those open motels where the ground floor rooms opened up to a covered sidewalk that ran along the parking lot. She had parked her Jeep right in front of her room for easy access. She tried to avoid getting rooms on any floor but the ground floor when it came to motels. It gave her more options for escape should she need to.

A knock at her door startled her. She looked up at the door, as if she was expecting it to burst open at any second. She stood up, leaving the messy table and walking the two or three feet to the door and looking through the peep hole. It was a man, one she didn't know. Her eyebrows raised and she turned to look at herself in the mirror above the short dresser. She wasn't dressed for company in any way, as she had not been expecting any. She was wearing an over-sized gray tee-shirt with the words “sarcasm is just one more service I offer” printed on it in fading blue font and rolled up black boxer shorts. Not that you could see the shorts though, the shirt came down to mid-thigh length on her, which was perfectly fine as far as she was concerned as it was longer than most skirts these days.

Alison made the split second decision to grab her gun from on top of the dresser and tuck it into the back of her boxers, making sure the shirt was down and covering it before she unlocked the door. She opened it a bit, a space large enough for her to see the person but not one large enough for them to get in without her express permission. She looked up at the man with a questioning look on her face, "Can I help you?”

[ZZZ - Dean - RETIRED]

There was something inherently wrong about getting up at the crack of dawn to put on a suit and go to work. To a person like Dean Winchester, nine-to-fiving it was just plain weird. Why anyone would willingly put on clothing this uncomfortable was beyond him. The tie alone felt like a noose, choking his throat every time he swallowed, bringing back bad memories with it. Yet, here he was, joining in with the morning rush hour traffic to go play FBI Agent for the day. The only reason he hadn’t dragged Sam along to suffer with him was that this particular hunt was a little bit too close to the heart for his kid brother. Ever since Madison, werewolf hunts hadn’t been the same.

Once upon a time, Dean would get over-excited at the prospect of tracking down a legendary badass such as the werewolf. Sam had even called him a geek for it and that was possibly the only time Dean could ever be called such a thing. The very idea of a human by day turning into a freak animal killing machine by night was just too cool to not get giddy over, but that was before Sam had fallen in love with one and had been forced to break his own heart by fulfilling her wish to die so that she wouldn’t hurt anyone else. A little piece of Dean had died that day too, seeing his brother losing another part of his innocence, growing up a little more. He liked Madison too, she hadn’t deserved to be cursed like that and he’d admired her strength to do what was right in the end. Somehow he didn’t think he could have done the same if the situation was reversed.

So now, a wolf hunt was just business, Dean didn’t get excited anymore. It was all just about finding the person who turned before they could kill again, or worse, could infect someone else. This particular trail had been brought to his attention by an article in a Richmond newspaper about the so called ‘Full Moon Murderer’. As clues went, that was a fairly big one for indicating there might be a wolf on the loose. In fact, after scouring through John’s journal, Dean found several more unsolved cases from decades ago in the area that his father had never been able to chase up. He ran out of time Dean supposed. Hunting down the yellow eyed demon had been a bigger priority in those days. There was only so much one man could do. Particularly one man with two young boys to look after too.

Dean did remember that a wolf hunt was one of the first that his Dad had really let him be a part of though. Probably because they were straight forward. Werewolves had a widely known method of dispatch - a silver bullet to the heart - and their habits were easy to predict. The week leading up to a full moon was when they’d turn and terrorise, though if you missed catching one by the time the moon was full, you were forced to wait another month before you could attempt to track it again. Hence why Dean was so eager to start chasing up leads such as this supposed FBI agent that had beaten him to the morgue and all of his witnesses, curiously asking almost every strange question to them that Dean had. Either Special Agent Spencer Morgan was a hunter, or he was one of the very rare, open-minded FBI agents in the country. Given that the only clue he had to go on was a business card with a phone number on it and the very unlikely suggestion that Spence was driving around on government business in a Jeep of all things, leant Dean to suspect that he was indeed a hunter, but until he actually met the guy and could ascertain that for himself, then he’d have to be careful.

His own fake I.D. was good and he always had Bobby to back him up in case anyone wanted to check his credentials, but Dean had been on the FBI’s most wanted list not that long ago. He had no idea if they’d taken him off it because he had supposedly died. They hadn‘t had a body to identify after all. Even if they had, it would certainly ring alarm bells if this guy recognised his face. But, the pay off for information would be worth the risk, especially since Dean was coming up with a dead end as far as the killer was concerned. All he had to go on was a description from a very traumatised woman who thought she was nuts for imagining that the murderer had fangs and claws.

Tracking down the Jeep wasn’t that difficult. FBI or not, Agent Morgan would have to be staying in a local motel and from there it was only a process of elimination, starting with the cheapest and working up. Fed’s didn’t exactly stay at the Hilton on a government budget. Hunter’s would be lucky if they got air conditioning in the kinds of places they stayed so thankfully, the second place he stopped at was a win. The first being the motel he had been crashing at.

After parking up a couple of spaces down from the Jeep, Dean leant over the empty passenger seat to dig out his very authentic FBI badge from the glove box. Sliding it into the breast pocket of his suit, he then headed over to knock on the door the Jeep was parked in front of, all the while keeping an eye out for trouble. Willingly approaching anyone in law enforcement made Dean nervous. Run in's with suits typically ended badly for him in the past and there was a possibilty that this meet and greet would be just as disaterous.

Just keep your cool, act like you got a stick up your ass and everyone will believe you're a Fed....

”Can I help you?”

A young woman answered the door and Dean couldn’t help but notice that it seemed she was only wearing a long t-shirt. Considering he’d expected to find a stuffy looking guy in a suit on the other side, it kind of threw him off for a moment.

“Uh…”

Either I’ve got the wrong room, or Special Agent Morgan got lucky last night…

Tearing his eyes away from her legs, Dean glanced back to the Jeep and then back at her with a slightly confused expression on his face.

“I’m looking for Spencer Morgan? Agent. Agent Spencer Morgan.” He asked hopefully, distracted by the logo on the woman’s shirt.

[bunnybabi12]

There were just some days that bad luck started early. Those days where you just wake up on the wrong side of the bed -or wake up falling out of bed- and after that, the whole day just goes to hell. The moment Alison got a good look at the man standing outside her motel room, she was certain this was going to be one of those days. He was good looking, with a bit of a rugged appearance that some men couldn't pull off well. It worked for him though. What didn't work was the suit he was wearing. It looked entirely out of place on him, and if that wasn't enough, it was ill-fitting and a bit wrinkled, as if he hadn't worn it for a while. He seemed uncomfortable in it and she didn't blame him. She always felt that way when she had to put on a suit herself. Though, he was much luckier; he could wear trousers. If she wore a pantsuit people looked at her as if she was Hilary Clinton. She didn't like being compared to a woman who was twice her age, so 'trendy' pencil skirts and blouses it was. And those skirts were hard as hell to run in. Especially with heels on.

At the moment, however, Alison thankfully wasn't wearing a skirt, or heels for that matter. And -she figured- as a result of this, the man was staring at her as if she had fallen from Mars. "Uh..." He seemed at a loss or words as he looked her over, his eyes lingering on her legs. She raised an eyebrow as he looked away from her and at her car. Why was he looking at her car? The likeliness of it having been reported stolen was low, as it was her car, so what was he looking at? Her eyes did a sweep over the parking lot (purely for the sake of her feeding her own paranoia) from her vantage point and she noted the presence of a car that definitely hadn't been there before. A black muscle car gleamed in the morning sun from a parking spot across the lot. When had that gotten there? It was then that she recalled hearing it while she was going through her research less than two minutes ago. Alison's eyes returned to the man's face as he turned back to her. The confused look on his face was not missed and if she hadn't been paranoid about this seemingly-not-so-random visit then she was sure her face would have mirrored his.

His eyes moved down from her face to focus the writing on her shirt and stayed there as he spoke again, “I’m looking for Spencer Morgan? Agent. Agent Spencer Morgan.”

Alison blinked and stood a bit straighter. Good posture was part of her act. Not that she didn't have good posture on a daily basis, she just had better posture when she was pretending to be a Fed. You know, because they all had sticks up their asses, so they couldn't help but stand straight.

"Up here," She commented as he stared at her chest before she folded her arms across her chest, "I'm Agent Morgan, who might you be?" Her voice was more authoritative than it had been when she first spoke. Which was good, it made her seem like she wasn't one that someone would mess with. And that was true. She had to make this look really, because for all she knew, this guy could actually be a Fed. If that was the case, then she was be in deep shit. Then again... His car wasn't exactly standard-issued. Neither was hers, mind you, but at least from far away it looked like it was. Alison wasn't sure what exactly was going on, but her BS meter was detecting something, she just wasn't sure what.

[ZZZ - Dean - RETIRED]

Shifting his gaze up to her face, away from the details of the services she offered on her shirt, Dean raised an eyebrow in stunned surprise when Agent Spencer Morgan introduced herself. After a moment of open mouthed goldfish mimicry, he finally got his brain to function long enough to form actual words.

“You’re Spencer Morgan?”

Dude…she just said she was, wake up…

“I mean..I wasn’t expecting him to be a woman. You to be a woman. Not that a woman can’t be in the FBI, but…”

What do I mean again?

“Spencer’s an unusual name for a chick.” He cleared his throat and amended his statement quickly, hoping she wouldn‘t notice.

“A woman.” People who worked for the government didn’t call fellow agent’s ‘chick’s’, even when they were familiar with them. He really did need to pull it together if he was going to avoid getting a door slammed in his face, or a pair of cuffs slammed on his wrists.

“Anyway…. I’m from the D.C. office. Just looking into this ‘Full Moon Murderer’ case that’s hitting the headlines in the area.” He explained as he fished out the fake I.D. from his jacket pocket, flipping it open and holding it up for her to scrutinise just long enough to read that he was going under the alias of Agent Dean Murdoch, but not long enough for her to have doubts about it’s authenticity.

“Since you’ve already beaten me to all my witnesses, I figured I should talk to you and see what else you’ve found out. Save me a little work.” The leather wallet holding his credentials was flipped shut and returned to his jacket.

[bunnybabi12]

When Alison had chosen the name Spencer Morgan, honestly, it was because she wanted shit like this to happen. Spencer was a unisex name, which was what she loved about it, but without knowing she was a woman, those who heard the name would automatically think she was a man. And when she walked in, the look on their faces was definitely something she laughed about later. However, as she was cranky as hell right now, Alison could hardly appreciate the humor in the situation right now. If it had been around 10:30 in the morning it might have made a difference, but it was happening now and that's what mattered.

The man seemed genuinely shocked that she was in fact a woman and stared at her once again in confusion. Alison did her best not to look phased by his mistake, as if it happened all the time and leaned against the door frame. In all reality, she was frustrated that this was happening now of all times. Of course, she would get side-tracked by a Fed on a job this important, this crucial to her. The Universe really had it out for people like her, didn't it? Either that or it just had a really bad sense of humor.

“You’re Spencer Morgan? I mean..I wasn’t expecting him to be a woman. You to be a woman. Not that a woman can’t be in the FBI, but…”

Alison raised her eyebrow at him, the smallest of smirks on her face. He just kept digging himself deeper, didn't he? He seemed frazzled and she didn't blame him, she doubted Feds knew how to really deal with most situations without referring to a protocol of some sort so this poor bastard must have been completely lost in this situation. Another agent homing in on his case! He must have consulted the 'book' one hundred times before tracking her down. Then again, this guy didn't exactly look like the "by the book" type.

“Spencer’s an unusual name for a chick.” And that proved it. He hurriedly cleared his throat and said “A woman,” to cover up his mistake, but she had very clearly heard him.

Something was definitely fishy about this guy. Never in her life had she heard a serious law enforcement official say the word 'chick' in reference to a woman while on the job. Either this guy hadn't been an agent for long or...

“Anyway…. I’m from the D.C. office. Just looking into this ‘Full Moon Murderer’ case that’s hitting the headlines in the area.” Alison scrutinized him as he spoke and reached into his suit jacket pocket to pull out his badge and I.D. He flipped it open and held it up for her to see. It looked real enough at a first glance, which made her paranoia spike even more, but there was just something about him, this Dean Murdoch character, that made her both paranoid and skeptical at the same time.

However, before she could really get a good look at his badge, it was flipped closed and stuffed back into his jacket. “Since you’ve already beaten me to all my witnesses, I figured I should talk to you and see what else you’ve found out. Save me a little work.”

"DC, huh?" She inquired, moving away from the door frame, "I thought only us Quantico folk went on out-of-state cases. Shouldn't you be knee-deep in some Bureaucratic scandal right now?" It was something of a joke -she supposed- between two coworkers who really weren't coworkers, but she was testing the waters with Agent Dean Murdoch, just to see what he would do. After all, she knew how Feds acted around civilians, but other Agents? That was a whole other story. And on top of that, keeping him talking was definitely a way for her to by time and figure out what the hell she was going to do. He wanted to talk to her about the witnesses she had interviewed and as she wasn't exactly decent to go out, that meant he would probably want to come. And when he did come in and got a good look at the mess of folds and the articles pinned to the walls, he would either think she was psychotic or... well, she didn't want to think about what else he would think.

"If you're thinking of transferring, I'll tell you now, it's a lot less glamorous than Pennsylvania Avenue; I mean, look at the place they set me up at." She continued offhandedly, gesturing to the motel outside her door, "You'd think they could at least spring for a Holiday Inn or something... Anyway, what are you looking for -specifically- with my witness statements, Agent Murdoch? I'm very thorough when it comes to debriefings."

[ZZZ - Dean - RETIRED]

“You’re from Quantico?” Dean asked, playing it cool and deflecting her question, as though he was only mildly curious. Inwardly, he was crapping himself that at any minute, she could see right through his cover and would arrest him for impersonating a government agent. And then, after he’d been hauled back to Washington on Federal crime charges - without Sam having any clue what had happened - he’d really be in the shit. It wouldn’t take long for his fingerprints to reveal the truth that he was Dean Winchester and not Dean Murdoch. Someone who was wanted for murder and bank robbery (neither of which he had actually done), as well as a hundred other crimes (that he actually had) not to mention the fact he was also supposed to dead. That would definitely ring a few suspicious alarm bells.

"If you're thinking of transferring, I'll tell you now, it's a lot less glamorous than Pennsylvania Avenue; I mean, look at the place they set me up at. You'd think they could at least spring for a Holiday Inn or something... “

“What can you do though, right?” Dean shrugged, playing the role of sympathetic and equally put-upon fellow agent. If only she’d seen the dump he was staying in. Really, she should have been grateful that the roof over her head was paid for with someone else’s money all though, technically, so was Dean’s. Hustling pool and credit card scamming wasn’t exactly what you’d call earning money, no matter how much he insisted it was.

“Anyway, what are you looking for -specifically- with my witness statements, Agent Murdoch? I'm very thorough when it comes to debriefings."

“I bet you are.” Dean blurted out before he could stop himself.

“Look, perhaps we should be discussing this inside?” He suggested, taking a half step closer to the door in the hope that doing so would prompt her to let him in. Standing on doorsteps was not his favourite past time and having a conversation about werewolf theories on one would just draw too much attention. Inside was better, more so because then less people would see him standing around wearing his ridiculous suit and tie. However, he sensed her reluctance to invite him over the threshold so he opted for a different line of persuasion.

“Some of the witnesses said you were speculating on the idea that our killer could be some kind of monster?” He said in all seriousness. If she believed that such a thing was possible, then maybe she would be open minded enough to help him out.

“Do you want to elaborate on that, or shall I call your office and verify your reports with them?” Yeah, that was a line Sammy would have used if he’d have been here. Quoting the rule book or threatening to make someone look foolish in front of their boss usually worked for getting to the truth. Generally, people didn’t like to be made to look incompetent.

[bunnybabi12]

It had taken Dean Murdoch less than a second after she had spoke about being thorough with debriefings – a sentence she had worded like that specifically for fun- to say something slightly inappropriate in response and damn her if she didn’t like him despite herself for it.

“I bet you are.” Was what he had said and it took a lot of her will power not to snicker a little because of it. Instead, she let one side of her mouth tug up into a smirk. Just that, because while he was funny, he was kind of in the process of blowing her cover. Which, even though she kind of liked the guy, was not cool. At all. And the fact that he was doing it so friggin’ early in the morning too, well, that was just annoying.

And so, the smirk slid off her face. But, not due to annoyance. Well, not really. No, it was the words that came from Dean Murdoch’s mouth next that had her, once again, paranoid.

“Look, perhaps we should be discussing this inside?” He took a step toward her and Alison instinctively moved back a bit, pushing the door forward slightly as she did. She had to keep him out. Freakin’ feds had to ruin everything, didn’t they? Couldn’t leave well enough alone, couldn’t let Hunters do their jobs… That last one was mostly because a lot of Federal Agents didn’t know Hunters existed though. And if they did… Well, the government never made anything easy for anyone except themselves. And even then, it was only certain people in the government. She knew that was a fact; her father was on the force, a government worker and that didn’t make anything easier for him.

On that note, Dean Murdoch seemed intent on making life harder for her, especially at the moment it appeared. He seemed to realize that she wasn’t about to just let him in because they were ‘co-workers’ and changed up his game because, in all honesty, he didn’t look too comfortable standing on her doorstep talking about a case. If she were in his shoes, she’d have probably felt the same way. However, until she knew if this dude was really a friend or foe, she was being cautious about this.

“Some of the witnesses said you were speculating on the idea that our killer could be some kind of monster? Do you want to elaborate on that, or shall I call your office and verify your reports with them?”

Alison’s eyes searched Dean’s face for a moment, not quite sure what to say. She was good at her job, damn good, if she could say so herself, and not likely to slip up and make the mistake of mentioning the word monster to anyone of the victims’ families in the context of what it really meant. However, she knew that she had been hasty when it came to this job, she was too emotionally invested in it. The thought of catching her mother’s killer and blowing a silver-lined hole into his forehead was one she had entertained for a long time. And now that it was within her grasp, she wasn’t about to let it slip from her hands because some D.C. dick decided he was going to home in on her case.

She composed herself and raised an eyebrow at him. “Of course I think he’s a monster,” Alison replied, mirroring his seriousness, “Did you see what he did to his victims? Only a man with no conscience could do such a thing… However, it’s a matter of opinion, I’m not a profiler.”

She mentally patted herself on the back at that moment because that was an excellent save. And them, she surveyed Dean’s face again, chewing on her cheek while she thought. “Tell you what, Murdoch,” She began, leaning forward a bit as she spoke and looking him in the eye, “How about, you go get your files on the case from that swanky car of yours and we’ll compare notes?” She eyed the black muscle car again and leaned back into the room again.

Hopefully he just said yes because then she could try to clean up a bit… Maybe hide the knife and gun collection a bit and her journal too. As far as she knew he was a Fed –a somewhat laid back Fed who called women 'chicks' and responded to dirty humor- but a Fed nonetheless and if he saw what she had, he’d definitely want to confirm whether or not she was an agent… Or an escapee from a mental institution. And actually being an escapee –which could definitely be an outcome of this if she was found out- did not sound fun.

At all.

Too much planning, and effort, not to mention calling in favors… It would just be a mess. A mess, she very much wanted to avoid, like so many others in her field.

[ZZZ - Dean - RETIRED]

Casting his eyes back over his shoulder to the gleaming black Impala parked behind him, Dean did a mental face-palm. This whole conversation was not going as easily as he had planned and now she wanted to see his files on the case. If anything was going to blow his cover, it would be the total lack of anything remotely professional being in his car.

He had files, of a sort, but handing over a journal full of his father's unintelligible scribbles about supernatural creatures was the best way to identify himself as a nut job, not how to gain the trust of a Fed.

"I...don't have my files with me." He admitted, turning back to face Agent Morgan with a sheepish look.

"Not really one for paperwork, y'know. That's more my partner's field of expertise and he's following up a lead at the moment."

Well, it wasn't strictly a lie. Sam was his partner and he was better at the boring, mind numbing researchy paperwork side of things. It probably held true that he was following up on a lead too, just not in this town. Or on this case.

"Look, I'll level with you." Taking a step back away from the door, Dean held his hands out, palm up, to show he was being honest with her, opening up a little in the hope that she would give him a chance. If it didn't work, he would be forced to cut his losses and walk away. Busting in on her with a gun just seemed a little over the top to get to files that may or may not have useful information in them. Not to mention the whole 'attacking a Federal Agent' side of the scenario was probably going to get him hunted down by all of Quantico. He'd have to come back when she'd gone out and break into her room instead.

"Everyone else thinks this is just some regular whack job offing people on full moons because he's watched The Wolf-man one too many times. I think maybe there's more to it than that so I'm looking into it on my own time. I swear, I'll be out of your way if what you've got turns out to prove me otherwise. I just need five five minutes of your time."

[ZZZ - Dean - RETIRED]

**This thread is closed**