Daylight, and we’re at the bank the clerk was watching on TV. Very Special Agents Morris and Valente (wasn’t that the name of the Sheriff on Roswell?) are there and Valente, blond, semi-good looking, preppy, is hyped up by the thought of actual serial killers. Morris, older, more practical, and the stunt-man version of Kevin Spacey (what? he was!) is basically like, serial killers = paperwork. Paperwork = bad. Valente gets a text that the Winchesters were spotted at a gas station – roughly 1,000 miles from the crime scene they were currently investigating.
Valente: That was fast. Must’ve flown.
Morris: That, or the Batmobile.
Good pick on the super-hero, dude, but our girl is much cooler than the Batmobile.
It’s night and the boys are pulling up in front of Devereaux’s place. It looks abandoned, but they go up, knock on the door, call out for Frank. Entering, they continue to call out, Sam in the lead, asking if anyone is home.
Behind them, Frank turns on the light and the boys turn as one. Frank has a hand cannon pointed at them (again, big, dangerous looking, automatic weapon…not in the know on type).
Frank: Spider caught some flies.
I gulped. So did Dean. Sam just went pale.
Frank: Well, I’ll be damned. Psycho Butch and Sundance. (BWAH! Love it – oh, and I have thoughts about this…I’ll get back to it). You’re on CNN right now.
Sam: That’s not us!
Frank: Can’t be. Unless you have a teleport. (pause) Do you have a teleport?
Dean shakes his head silently. Sam, swallowing hard, says, “No. Sir. We don’t.”
Frank: My condolences on the doppelgangers. Who sent you? NSA? The Feebs? March of Dimes?
Yep. Definitely a friend of Bobby’s. Another paranoid bastard.
Dean: Uh…Bobby Singer sent us.
Frank stands up and cocks his gun, pointing it at Dean.
Dean (hurriedly, shoving his hands back up in the air): Or not! (stuttering laugh) Who?
Sam (quickly): He said you could help. You owe him. From Port Huron.
Frank: Guy saved your life one time and what? You owe him the rest of yours?
Dean (shrugging with his hands): That’s usually…how it works.
Frustrated, Frank points his gun at the floor in a silent tantrum, then gives in. In some room in Frank’s house, Frank is shredding what I can only assume were the boys’ fake credit cards (I couldn’t see it very well) and he has the clone vids playing on about five different TV’s. The boys are looking around. Sam looks slightly shell-shocked, Dean just looks resigned…maybe a little pissed. Franks rambling about how the government has been cloning people for years and Sam moves to correct him. Dean hushes his brother, whispering, “He’s rolling.” Hee.
Frank ‘helpfully’ points out that they’re on the Most Wanted list.
Sam: What should we do?
Frank tells them to hide. Dean’s like no can do.
Dean: Get us further off the grid…but keep us on the board.
So, Frank says they have to burn their old aliases – no more rock stars (aww, man!). From now on they are Tom and John Smith. No more plastic, cash only. As soon as he said this, I groaned out loud and whimpered, “He’s going to make them ditch the Impala.”
The hubs was like, “What is with you and that car?”
I just looked at him. He raised his hands in surrender and went back to his soccer stats. He wouldn’t understand anyway. *smiles sadly*
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