A/N: Oh man, I'm so very, very sorry for the obnoxiously long wait, but it's finished (finally) and all that's left is Chapter 17 (the epilogue of sorts). Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed, I want to get this posted right away so I'm not going to list everyone, but really, all of your reviews and feedback is incredibly important to me. Also, Chapter 15 is updated with Part II, so if you want to go back and read that, I promise it isn't too sad. Bittersweet is a better word, maybe?

A quick refresher, because it's been a while: When we last left our heroes in the parking lot of Sal's D'er, Hardison has gone missing and that waitress what'shername Shelly has something to do with it! Parker has a hellhound whistle and John Winchester's journal, which she's trading for the Winchester brother's cooperation. Wow! (Also there's that whole hoodoo/rootwork thing in Sam's pocket that was mentioned that one time and is actually a good detail to remember for future reference *wink wink*) Anyway, that's about it. Onwards (finally)!

"Okay, which one of you basket cases is Harrison, again?"

"Hardison," Sophie corrected sharply. Parker nodded vehemently in agreement.

"Sorry," Dean retorted dryly. "You're all turning into one big blur of crazy."

Sophie pressed her finger tips against her temples and stared at the desktop of Hardison's computer. It moved back and forth in front of her like it was the rope in some kind of tug-of-war. Parker tapped anxiously at a few keys on Sophie's right while Eliot, on her left, tried to wrestle it away from the thief before she accidentally hacked the Pentagon again. Neither were very successful.

"No, you have to do this," Parker jerked the laptop back. "Whoops." The laptop let out a loud beep that caused the family walking out of Sal's to turn their heads towards the strange group huddled in front of a van in the parking lot of a diner. To say they looked suspicious would be an understatement.

Sam cleared his throat and made a motion for them to give him the computer. "Maybe I can help with that." Eliot scoffed, but Sophie gratefully shoved it into his hands before any more damage could be done.

He squinted at the screen and fought the urge to scratch his head; this was a little more complex than anything his buddy at Stanford had ever shown him. But he wasn't about to let the thieves standing across from him know that. Sam ignored the impatient glances directed at him and went to work. Dean peered over his shoulder at the hacker's tracking system for a millisecond, only to make a vague comment about "overcompensating" before going back to moodily leaning against the side of the van.

"This doesn't make any sense," Sam said, his brow furrowed. "The quarry… I must have done something wrong."

Eliot snorted. "No surprise there." Admittedly, he was more disappointed than surprised.

"Watch it," Dean warned, pointing a finger in the hitter's direction.

Sophie tapped her foot anxiously. "Well? Have you found him?"

Sam turned the laptop around so she could see the screen. "His signal… thingy is right on top of us. I don't know what that means," he admitted.

Sophie faced the diner. "It means that either his com fell out and is still in the diner, or…" her gaze fell on the abandoned motel next door. Eliot would have started laughing if the situation wasn't so dire.

"Or," he continued for her, "it means you two are the biggest dumbasses I've ever met."

The lot behind the motel was empty, though Parker half-expected blue genies to pop out of the shadows at any second. Dean jiggled the doorknob of the employees' entrance before roughly shoving his shoulder against it. "Locked," he said, quite unnecessarily. He knelt for a closer look, muttering something about smartass super-soldiers.

"Let me—" Parker frowned as the hunter began to pick the lock. On his own. She took it upon herself to hover over his shoulder and comment on his form. "I would've been done by now," she muttered darkly, glaring at the back of Dean's head. He looked back at her, eyebrow raised, and opened the door. She rolled her eyes. If he thought that was impressive, then he was hanging with the wrong crowd.

The Winchesters shared a look and drew their guns. They knew the drill.

"How's this going down?" Eliot crossed his arms over his chest.

That was not part of the drill.

Dean glowered, shaking his head. "Just stay out of the way." Sam rubbed the crease in his brow and sighed. After a short pause, he opened the pint of lamb's blood he'd bought from the butcher and held it in one hand. In his other: Ruby's knife. He owed them some kind of explanation.

He turned to the thieves like a teacher to a group of kindergarteners. "We're going to take this silver knife—" here, he wiggled Ruby's knife, "and dip in this lamb's blood. It's the only way to kill a Djinn. You'll hang back and get anyone who's still…" he coughed. "I mean, you'll get everyone else out. What are you doing?"

This was directed to Eliot, who was kneeling as if to tie his shoe. The hitter brandished a switchblade that Sam was ninety-percent sure was illegal in the United States and dipped it into the open container. Sophie tried not to gag.

"You said silver, right?" Eliot said, shrugging off Sam's startled look.

Sam nodded once, still staring dubiously at the other man. Normal people – though Sam was starting to wonder if a crew of conmen counted as "normal"—didn't carry silver blades on them; maybe Eliot knew more than he was letting on.

"Hey you, Mr. Tall Dark and Handsome," Sophie's voice jostled him out of his train of thought. "Where did your brother run off to?"

"What?"

Eliot's grip tightened around the switchblade. "And more importantly, where's Parker?"

The simple answer, unknown to the three standing behind the motel: "With Dean."

During Sam's impromptu lecture, Dean had snuck through the door and entered the motel on his own. Parker had, of course, followed him.

Which is how she found herself perched on the hunter's shoulders, peering through a grate above the door to a boiler room.

Dean grunted and held a hand against the door for support as Parker shifted her position. "What exactly do you think you're doing up there?" he whispered harshly.

"Catch," Parker replied. Dean was only just processing the command when the grate fell in front of him. His hand shot out and caught it midair before it clattered noisily to the ground. Dean opened his mouth to scold the thief for her clumsiness but was distracted when Parker suddenly stood. She swayed. He quickly grabbed her ankles to stabilize her.

She smiled down at him.

"Are you crazy?" he snapped.

Parker just shrugged and dove through the open space where the vent had been.

"Stevie!"

Dean held his breath, waiting for the sound of a body tumbling down a flight of stairs. After a few moments of silence, he pressed an ear to the door.

It swung open and he stumbled into a confused Parker.

"Stop messing around," she frowned, looking over her shoulder impatiently as if she couldn't wait to run into a bloodsucking mythological creature. As if she was the experienced one. It was adorable, really.

Dean grabbed her arm as she started down the stairs. "You should head back. Get your pals." And Sam, who he left with the crazies… yeah, he'd be paying for that later.

"No way, this is fun!" she whispered giddily and practically bounced down the scary, creaky stairs into the boiler room where an ancient monster was probably sucking the life out of her friends.

She's gone freakin' postal, Dean thought before following her with more appropriate caution.

"Do motels even have boiler rooms?" Sophie asked as she tiptoed behind Sam. Eliot brought up the rear.

Boiler room.

That's all Sam had. A two-word text from Dean with no follow up explanation. Sam didn't even know if his brother was still alive. Or lucid. Could be that Dean was strung up by his wrists getting the blood sucked out of him by a tattooed genie.

"Does it matter?" Sam gritted his teeth and rounded a corner, knife at ready.

"Well, we could just be on a wild goose chase looking for this boiler room that doesn't exist."

Sam decided not to respond. Anyway, he didn't need her to remind him that they could very well be walking into a trap. After all, paranoid thought processes were a hunter's best friend.

Which made it difficult to trust his new… allies. Was it a little too convenient how they showed up and suddenly the Djinn got sloppy? The thought was worrying, but there was a part of him that couldn't believe Stevie—Parker—or her friends knew anything about anything supernatural. Except maybe that Eliot guy. He was kind of shifty, and he'd taken down that demon like it was nothing. Sam threw a glance over his shoulder at said shifty fellow, accidentally making eye-contact.

Eliot glared at Sam until the taller man guiltily looked away. The hitter pulled his hair back into a manly ponytail like he hadn't seen Sam's distrustful expression. He didn't care what the man thought of him as long as he got his people back.

From he'd gathered about the—the creature they were up against and the Winchesters themselves, his hopes for a quick in-an'-out rescue weren't exactly high. If he could have it his way, he'd just grab the team and leave Buffy and Co. to their monster slaying. Not that it didn't intrigue him, he admitted, but the "real" world gave him enough baddies to worry about even without ghouls or goblins or whatever the hell there was out there. Though, knowing what he knew now, some of the more… inexplicable experiences he'd had over the years were starting to look less like accidental drug trips and more like… maybe they actually happened.

Just then, something went bump.

Sam held up his hand in a gesture he must have learned from his father (or so Eliot assumed), signaling for them to stop. Eliot had to grab hold of Sophie's jacket before she ran into the hunter's back. For a moment, there was silence.

"Maybe it was the wind?" Sophie whispered hopefully. The other two shushed her.

Eliot locked eyes with Sam and pointed to the ceiling. Sam nodded; he heard it too. Slowly, they edged closer to the hallway walls.

Sophie could hear it now, a soft shuffling above her. She held her breath and eased behind Eliot (while keeping well out of his way). The muffled sounds paused, then moved closer, seeming to circle overhead. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Eliot and the hunky hunter share an understanding look. She had never known Eliot play well with others; she wondered if this was yet another change that had happened while she was, er, on vacation.

There was a loud creaking noise, almost as if the ceiling itself was protesting, and the thin tiles above them broke under the weight of the three lumps now free-falling towards the ground.

Eliot stumbled back, pushing Sophie to the floor, as plaster dust, rotten wood, and imaginative cursing filled the air between him and Sam.

One lump raised its head out of the debris and glared at another. "That is never happening again, you hear?"

Dean dragged Parker back against the wall into the shadows. They were so close, he could clearly see the dark, swirling patterns on the Djinn's pale skin. It was eerily familiar. He shook himself. Now was not the time for flashbacks.

He heard the thief gasp, and followed her gaze until he saw the corpse strung up by his wrists, swaying slightly. But wait, he looked closer.

There. A slight rise and fall of the chest—not a corpse at all.

"Nate," Parker breathed, starting forward again. Dean grabbed her before she stepped into the light. The Djinn turned his head and moved slowly in their direction, like a feral cat stalking its prey. Dean adjusted his grip on his handgun, kicking himself for not bringing a silver, well, anything. Honestly, he'd only gotten this far on impulse, mostly. He could only hope the Djinn hadn't seen them yet.

Luck was in their favor.

Just as the creature was taking a closer look at the shadowed staircase, a familiar voice groaned. The Djinn immediately switched modes, going from silent predator to glowy, blue Lite-Brite. With hands haloed by blue flames, the Djinn cast light on another body strung up in the same way as Nate.

Dean watched Parker mouth the hacker's name, and felt her tense in his grasp. He understood.

He didn't think he could have stayed still if it was Sammy hanging from his wrists with a needle stuck in his neck.

While Parker was transfixed by what the Djinn was doing to Hardison, Dean scanned the rest of the boiler room. If the local news was correct about anything, there should be two more—oh.

He closed his eyes briefly out of respect then turned his back on the drained bodies of two boys. He'd found them too late.

The Djinn seemed to finish whatever he'd been doing (Parker got the vague impression of blood and needles, and was that thing drinking Hardison's—whatever, it was gross) and went off towards another section of the boiler room. She crept forward, this time with Dean, and went immediately to Nate. He was so… pale, nearly blue. It wasn't right. She opened her mouth, turning to Dean, but was cut off by an abrupt gesture that could only mean: "Don't speak!"

She was so caught up with Nate's deathly pallor that she didn't notice Dean cutting Hardison down until the hunter grabbed her by her elbow and dragged her back to the stairs.

"But—"

On the other side of the room, the Djinn appeared in a doorway. And no shadow was so dark that it could conceal a man's body slung over the shoulder of another man and a petite blonde standing in the middle of the room.

"Run!" Dean commanded, sprinting for the stairs. Parker followed a few steps behind.

She heard the Djinn roar behind them, and snuck a glance. The genie's eyes glowed unearthly blue. It reached for her.

Dean pulled her through the door and slammed it shut, hoping the lock would give them a head start. He urged Parker forward, but she refused.

"Look, sister," he growled, Hardison's weak groan agreeing with him, "now really isn't the time for your crazy."

She rolled her eyes at him—the silly!—and pointed to the ceiling. "Gimme a boost, Dean-o."

Dean looked between the thief, the shuddering door, and the unconscious man draped over his shoulders and made a split-second decisions. "For the record," he said as he dropped Hardison, not too roughly, to the floor, "I think this is a terrible idea." He cupped his hands and braced himself.

Parker stepped onto the platform he created and used the extra height to move one of the thin ceiling tiles. She lifted herself onto a sturdy(ish) beam and held out her arms. "Now Hardison." She struggled a bit with the hacker's dead weight, but managed to pull him up next to her. The boiler room door was beginning to splinter. Hardison moaned beside her. "And you." She gestured for the hunter to hurry up.

Dean raised an eyebrow at her. "I don't know, Steves—"

"Parker."

"Whatever. I'm a whole lot of man, and you're a tiny little thing. I don't think you thought this one through." A tattooed arm burst through the door.

"Shut up and jump!" Parker hissed.

So Dean jumped.

Parker felt herself falling, because, yes, Dean was a tad bit heavier than Hardison, or Eliot, for that matter. She let out a yelp, knowing she was about to join Dean on the floor.

But she didn't.

Strong arms, although a little shaky, wrapped around her waist and helped hoist both Dean and herself to safety. She replaced the tile just as the Djinn made wood chips of the door, then turned around and latched herself to Hardison. Dean awkwardly patted the hacker on the back.

"Nice timing," he said. Hardison raised his eyebrows, but figured it was as close to a "thank you" as he was going to get. "Now let's get this show on the road." The hunter waved his hands in a shooing motion. "Ladies first?"

"Dean!" Sam rushed forward, hauling his brother out of the rumble. "You're alive?"

"What the hell kind of a question is that?" Dean snorted, smiling a bit, 'cause hell yeah, he was alive!

"Parker?" Sophie sat up, blinking away the dust from her eyes. "Hardison too? Thank God. I thought you were dead for sure."

Eliot counted heads and noticed they were one short. "Where's Nate?" The happy reunions stalled, and four pairs of eyes fixed themselves on Parker and Dean.

"We didn't have much time," Dean said defensively. "And I don't have time for the Spanish Inquisition so let's move before I Dream of Jeannie shows his ugly mug." He stilled. "Speak of the devil."

The Djinn stood at the end of the hall, deceptively beautiful flames curling around his fingers.

"You know," Sophie sighed, breaking the tension, "I was really hoping you two were just certifiably delusional." With that, Sam passed Dean a bloodied knife and gave Eliot a terse nod. They faced the creature, waiting for it to make the first move. And it did, just not the move they were expecting.

It ran.

"Are you kidding me?" Dean groaned, throwing his hands to the air. But Eliot was already after the Djinn, sprinting full speed through the motel halls. Sam took off in the opposite direction, meaning to cut off the creature on the other side, and Dean followed hot on his heels.

Eliot surged forward, closing in on the Djinn. Just a few more paces and—he tackled the fleeing creature to the ground. There was a moment of doubt when he heard the Djinn's breath forced from its lungs. It was almost too human. All it took was the creature to lunge for him with its fiery hands and hypnotizing eyes to fix that problem. Eliot batted away the genie's arms and pined them to the ground. The creature struggled for a while longer then went limp as if it had given up. The blue flames died and Eliot was left staring into dark eyes. Pleading eyes.

This was the part where Sophie, if she had been there, would have gently placed a hand on his shoulder and told him to let it go. All his rage would calm and he'd just knock out the creature beneath him. But he wasn't even sure if Nate was going to make it out alive and Sophie wasn't here. There'd be no calming hand.

Resolve hardened, Eliot raised the silver switchblade (the sheep's blood now thick and tacky) and swiftly brought it down again.

He waited a moment to see if it worked (it had) and then stood, pulling the switchblade from the Djinn's chest. His hand absently wiped the blade clean on his jeans then returned it to its proper place in his boot. A strong hand came down on his shoulder and Eliot tensed; he hadn't noticed anyone approaching.

"You good?" Dean asked, glancing only briefly at the genie's body. Sam looked like he wanted to say something sympathetic. Something about the hitter's cold expression must have stopped him but Eliot still hoped he wouldn't say anything; it would just be embarrassing for everyone involved. Not to mention unprofessional.

Eliot nodded. "Where's Nate?" Business as usual. Mostly.

Ultimately, it was Hardison who cut down Nate and took out the IV needle. The mastermind's limp body fell into Sophie's arms and sagged there, motionless.

"He needs a hospital," she said, face pinched with worry. Sam agreed as he and Dean cut down the bodies of Vinnie and David. They would have to torch the motel, but Sam wanted to give the boys some semblance of respect before all evidence of the Djinn (and its victims) were erased. It was the least they could do.

"He's kinda cold," Parker murmured, lightly touching Nate's forehead. "That's not good, is it."

"No, Parker," Eliot relieved Sophie of Nate's weight, "it's not."

Hardison gingerly touched his own throat where the needle had been and winced empathetically. He'd been drained for a fraction of the time Nate had, and he was still shaky. He couldn't imagine how Nate was feeling.

"Shouldn't he be waking up? Hardison woke up right away," Parker closely followed Eliot as he made to leave.

"He'll be fine," Sophie said, looking at Sam for back up. "Right?" Sam smiled tightly, but didn't answer.

Dean coughed and looked away. "You should, uh, make yourself sparse for a little while after the motel goes up in flames. A van sitting outside the scene of the crime's going to look pretty suspicious."

"Now, that," Hardison said, trying to lighten the mood, "is something I'm familiar with. Give me a minute with my laptop and I'll have the street cameras wiped clean. There won't be a trace of us left."

"Can you wipe memories too?" Dean asked, deadpan. "Like I said, hang low for a while. Then we'll meet up for that payment of services rendered." He directed the last part to Parker. "Mrs. Franklin's B'n'B. Two days from now. Got it?"

"Got it."

"Good."

The Leverage crew, carrying their mastermind, headed for the stairs. They were halfway to the door when Hardison stopped and leaned over the railing.

"You got both of them, right?"