Dean gathered all the gear out of the Impala that he thought that he and Sam might need to exorcise the demon when they found it. He tried to move as quickly as he could, not really eager to stay outside long enough to be seen by anyone that was infected. Of course he had Agent Barton with him, ostensibly acting as his backup for that very situation. But Dean was pretty sure that the real reason he had volunteered to help was because he wanted a look inside Baby's trunk.

Yeah, well, take a look. I don't care.

"So," Barton said, his voice surprisingly relaxed considering the situation they were in. "How long have you and your partner been hunting?"

Dean spared him a glance, but Barton wasn't actually looking at him. Instead he was scanning their surroundings, keeping a lookout for anyone that might be infected. "A while."

"Ever run into something like this before?"

Dean shoved the last of the supplies that he thought they'd need into his duffle bag and closed the trunk. "No, this is weird even for us. I mean, it's not our first demon, but targeting an entire town is a new one. Most monsters prefer to fly under the radar."

Barton nodded. "I see. Wonder why this one broke the pattern."

Dean shot him a look, because he was pretty sure that Barton didn't believe their story about a demon being the root of this mess. But whether or not he believed didn't matter, as long as he and Romanoff didn't get in the way.

Right. Like they haven't already gotten in the way with the Tanner woman.

But Dean didn't want to think about that, because then he had to think about Romanoff's words – we're in the business of saving people – and it made him feel sick.

Damn it, I am saving people! Sometimes you just can't!

"We'd better get back inside before something spots us," Dean said, swinging the duffle bag over his shoulder.

They'd taken all of one step and then a guy sprinted around the corner. Barton sighed. "You had to say something."

Dean was about to shoot back a sarcastic retort when Barton hopped up on the trunk of his car and then the roof. "Hey! No one stands on Baby!"

Barton ignored him. Dean didn't have time to complain about it, because the guy had noticed them and was now sprinting in their direction. "Please, you have to help me!"

Dean's free hand went to his gun. He didn't trust anyone in this town, begging for help or not. But following after the guy came four people, and judging by the knives they were waving and the blood on their clothes, they were infected. Dean pulled out his gun. He didn't care if the people weren't in control of themselves, he wasn't about to let them infect anyone else. But before he could even properly aim Barton let loose with an arrow. It arced over the guy's head and landed just in front of the infected. The arrow immediately hissed and released a cloud of gas.

"Do you have any normal arrows?" Dean asked.

"One or two," Barton replied.

Dean's mouth twitched. He could picture the smug look Barton was probably wearing. But he didn't take the time to look. He kept his eyes on the infected, who were slowing down and staggering after being doused with whatever gas had come from the arrow. The guy ran towards them despite their weapons being pointed in his direction, but he kept his hands in the air.

"Please, don't shoot!"

Dean didn't shoot, but he didn't lower his gun either. The guy didn't seem to be armed, but Dean wasn't taking any chances. The infected behind him fell over on the sidewalk and didn't move. The guy looked over his shoulder and slowed when he saw that he was no longer being chased.

"Who are you?" Dean asked.

He turned back towards Dean, and with a chill Dean noticed the distinctive scar on the guy's forehead. He knew the answer before the guy opened his mouth.

"Duane Tanner."

He's the one. The one that Sam had had the vision of. The one that Sam had seen Dean kill.

Barton hopped back down to the sidewalk, jerking Dean out of his thoughts. "We'd better get inside before anyone else comes along."

Dean hesitated for a brief moment, but then he nodded and slipped his gun back into place. "Right. Let's go."

"Who are you guys?" Duane asked.

Barton put his hand on Duane's shoulder to guide him to the clinic door. "I'm Barton. He's Gibbons. Short version, we're trying to keep people alive."

Dean didn't say anything, just let Barton lead the way back into the clinic. Varko opened the door for them, and Duane looked relieved at the sight of a familiar face. "Sarge, you're here!" he said. "What's going on?"

Varko didn't look as pleased to see Duane as the teen did to see him. He held his gun at the ready, and Duane's smile dropped. "Sarge?"

Varko glanced between Dean and Barton. "You sure he isn't infected?"

"No," Dean said.

"Well, partially sure," Barton said. "Other infected people were chasing him. I wouldn't be against restraining him until Dr. Lee can confirm though."

"Restrain me – what's going on?" Duane asked. He looked between them, his eyes wide and panicked.

"Sorry, kid," Barton said. "It's been a rough day for everyone."

Barton put a hand on Duane's shoulder, steering him into the back room, and Dr. Lee paused in the middle of reporting inventory to Romanoff to look their way. "Duane! Are you okay?"

"No!" Duane said. "I come back from a fishing trip and people are trying to kill me, and now these guys are talking about restraining me, and infections…Dr. Lee, what's going on?"

There was banging on the door of the storage room Beverly Tanner was locked in. Duane jumped and turned, his eyes going wide when he saw her face in the door's narrow window. "Mom? What's my mom doing in there?"

Dean exchanged a glance with Barton, who nodded, and together they grabbed hold of Duane, muscling him over to a chair. He tried to struggle, but one teen was no match for the two of them, and they got him down and cuffed his arms to the chair.

"Duane, it's going to be okay," Dr. Lee said, but the way her voice shook probably wasn't all that reassuring.

"What's happening?" Duane asked, his voice cracking. He was pale and frightened, and Dean felt prickles of uncertainty.

What would make me kill him?

Duane was what, late teens? Not much more than a kid, really, and terrified out of his mind. What could possibly make Dean decide that killing him was necessary? The vision had to have left something out. There had to be something they weren't seeing yet.

"We're not totally sure about that," Dr. Lee said. She summarized what little she knew about the situation, which didn't look like it was having any kind of calming effect. "So, I just need to take a blood sample so I can test it, and if you're not infected, we'll let you go."

"This – this is insane," Duane stammered.

Barton rolled his eyes, leaning back against the table. "It's just a blood sample, kid, relax. The needle won't even hurt that much, Christo."

Duane flinched. For a second, his eyes were totally black. Dean moved on instinct, darting forward to grab Dr. Lee and drag her back. His mind was already buzzing, realizing that the demon wasn't in a demon trap, and those cuffs were no where near strong enough to keep him restrained.

The demon possessing Duane sighed, and with a sharp yank broke the cuffs that were supposed to keep him in the chair. "Well, this is annoying."

Shots rang out, Dr. Lee screamed, and Dean dove to the side dragging her with him. Duane looked vaguely annoyed as bloodstains bloomed on his shirt; Varko was unloading his gun into him, but it wasn't going to do any good. Duane raised a hand and made a shoving motion and Varko went flying, slamming into the wall and dropping to the floor.

Barton's bow was up, and an arrow flying. Duane caught it. "An arrow? If bullets can't kill me, what makes you think – "

The arrow exploded. Because of course Barton had freaking exploding arrows. Which also wouldn't kill the demon, but it would sure work to keep him distracted.

"Keep him busy!" Dean shouted, going for the duffle bag of stuff he'd brought in and dropped. He needed the book.

"I'm going to rip out your spleen," Duane started, then more shots rang out, and Dean didn't bother looking up to see if it was Sam or Romanoff shooting him this time, because the book was in his hands and he had to find the right page.

Someone slammed into him, knocking Dean to the ground and sending the book skittering out of his hands. It was Pam, who didn't seem nearly as cute as he'd first thought with her face twisted in a snarl as she tried to strangle him. Dean held tight to her wrists, trying to push her off of him, but she was stronger than she had any right to be.

"You're ruining everything," she snarled.

Romanoff loomed up behind her and pistol whipped her. Pam went limp, meaning she was just infected, not possessed. Dean shoved her to the side, and Romanoff dropped the book in his hands. "Exorcism, now."

He flipped it open to the right page and started to read. Duane whirled towards them. "No!"

Romanoff levelled her weapon and fired, slowing Duane enough that Dean was able to get into the exorcism. Duane shrieked, then black smoke billowed from his mouth and plunged into the ground. Slowly, his body toppled over to the floor.

"Is that it?" Romanoff asked.

"For the demon, yeah," Sam said. "For the infected…"

"What's going on?" Dr. Lee babbled. "What just happened? Why – why are you talking about demons, I don't understand?"

Dean winced. This was not a great way from someone to find out the truth. Sam moved her way, hands up in a placating gesture, tone soothing as he tried to calm her down. Dean decided to let him do his thing and turned to glare at Barton.

"What the hell, man? You couldn't have waited until we had him trapped to drop a Christo?"

"I did wait," Barton said. "You didn't mention the super strength!"

"How was them being super strong not obvious?"

"Easy, boys," Romanoff said. She holstered her weapon and went to check on Varko, who wasn't conscious yet but seemed to be breathing.

Dean grumbled, but didn't keep pushing. "How'd you even know that was the demon?" he asked instead.

Barton shrugged. "The way he showed up was too convenient. Seemed a safe bet it was the demon trying to get in with us for some reason."

The logic tracked, but it made Dean uneasy.

Why would he do that?

There had to be a reason, a point to all this madness, but for the life of him, Dean couldn't figure it out.

"If you can't save Sam…you'll have to kill him."

The memory of his father's last words sent a chill through him. No. No, this has nothing to do with Sam.

Except lately, it seemed like everything the demons did had to do with Sam, even if Dean didn't understand why. He glanced Sam's way; Dr. Lee was calming down, still looking frightened but no longer panicking as Sam explained things to her.

This has nothing to do with him. Nothing.

Guess getting rid of the demon did magically fix the infected people, Natasha mused. She didn't understand how that worked, but it apparently it did, so she wasn't going to argue with it.

All told, the day could have gone much worse. In the end, only a small handful of people had died. Which was still more than she had wanted, but sometimes there was no way to save everyone.

Beard and Gibbons had left as soon as Dr. Lee had confirmed that the infected were cured. Natasha wasn't concerned about it. They didn't know it yet, but she'd be seeing them again.

A dark SUV pulled up to the curb where she and Clint were waiting, and the door swung open, letting Coulson out. He eyed the two of them. "I'm assuming from the lack of details in your initial report that this is going to be a strange one."

"Oh, you have no idea," Clint said.

"Sir, I believe Director Fury is going to want to hear about this one," Natasha said.

Coulson raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

She nodded. "We need to report the discover of a new species, possibly magic, and make recommendations for new recruits."

As a rule, most agents were good at deadpan stares. But no one could do it quite as well as Coulson. Finally, he sighed. "Alright. I'll make a call."

The man stood out the moment he walked into the diner. Between the eyepatch, dramatic trench coat, and wary looks sent his way, it was clear he wasn't a local. Which made it all the more alarming when he moved deliberately towards Sam and Dean's table. Sam tensed at his approach.

"Evening, gentlemen," the man said. "Mind if I join you?" He didn't wait for an answer before claiming on of the empty seats at their table.

"Looks like you're not giving us a choice," Dean said, eying the man with as much distrust as Sam felt.

"Not about whether we have this conversation, no," the man agreed. "But you want to talk to me."

"Why?" Sam asked.

"My name is Nick Fury," he said. "I'm the director of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division."

Sam immediately recognized the name of the agency that Romanoff and Barton worked for, and a glance at Dean confirmed that he did too. But it had been two days since the events at River Grove. "How'd you find us?"

"Finding people is a part of what we do," Fury said.

"Okay, then why'd you find us?" Dean asked. "What do you want?"

Fury folded his hands together on the table. "First, I'd like to thank you. Then I'd like to offer you two a job."

"…Come again?" Sam managed. That was so far outside what he had expected, he didn't know how to respond.

Fury looked faintly amused, but the expression lasted only a moment. "Romanoff and Barton are two of my best, and they had no idea what they were walking into. If the two of you hadn't been there, that situation could have gone very poorly."

"You're welcome," Dean said, "but I still don't get the job offer bit."

"Our organization was founded to protect people," Fury said. "Usually from things that are too difficult for others to handle, things it's usually better that your average citizen doesn't know about. Only it seems there's a whole host of things out there killing people that we never knew about. I intend to fix that."

He shrugged. "We're going to deal with these monsters with or without your help. But I figure if we have a couple of experts help us get started, we'll be much more effective, and fewer of my agents will die in the process."

Is he serious?

Sam glanced Dean's way, and saw the incredulousness echoed on his face. "You actually believed the report about a demon?" Sam asked. He couldn't get over that; people who hadn't seen monsters never truly believed in them.

"Sam, when you've seen the thing that I've seen," Fury told him, "monsters and magic aren't that much of a stretch."

There was a pregnant silence. "How do you know my name?" Sam asked. "We never told your agents our real names."

Fury smirked. "I'm a spy. It's what I do."

That was alarming in and of itself, and Sam still had no idea how to respond.

"The offer doesn't just benefit my organization," Fury said. "We have a lot of resources that you'd find helpful. Like teams of analysts that could spot patterns for monsters, if they knew what they were looking for. An R&D department that would have a field day designing new weapons to use against monsters. A real badge with enough weight behind it to get you in on FBI cases if you needed. A paycheck. Health insurance. It even includes dental."

"And what's the catch?" Dean asked sharply.

Fury considered. "You'd have to write reports. And there's a dress code."

"Say we agreed," Sam said. "What if we changed our minds later?"

Fury leaned back in his seat. "Then you quit. It's a job, not a prison. You're allowed to walk away." He reached into his coat, making Sam tense again, but he just pulled out a manila envelope and tossed it onto the table. "Your official offers are in there. Take your time and read through it, think about your answers." He stood and nodded at them. "Nice meeting you two, Sam, Dean. I'll find you for your answer later."

As soon as Fury left, they paid their check and hightailed it back to their motel. "What the hell is happening?" Dean demanded.

Sam was reading through the contracts that Fury had left them. "Uh, based on this, it looks like he's actually offering us jobs."

Dean shook his head, pacing around their small hotel room. "There's got to be a catch. This kind of thing doesn't really happen."

"I…think it is happening."

Dean stared at him. "You can't be serious."

Sam gestured at the paperwork. "This stuff looks pretty real, Dean."

"It's some kind of trap," Dean said.

Sam shook his head. "I don't think so. I mean, if they wanted to arrest us or something, they could have just shown up with a team to try and take us, but they didn't."

"There's got to be something bad in there," Dean said.

Sam shrugged. "There's a line that talks about arresting us if we shared classified information, but that's about it. They, um. They offer paid vacation days."

"Paid vacation," Dean repeated.

"Uh huh. Two weeks. Two weeks unpaid as well. And the pay is, well…" He pushed the contract Dean's way.

Dean leaned over the table and let out a low whistle when he saw the number. He looked over at Sam. "You think we should do this, don't you?"

"I kind of do," Sam said. "I mean, think about what he said. Whole teams of analysts looking for monsters. Dean, we scan newspapers, and yeah, I search online too, but I'm one guy with a laptop. I miss stuff, stuff they'd catch. And the point of what we do is saving people. Imagine how many we could help with their resources."

He didn't say anything right away. Just studied Sam. "Okay. And what'll they do if they find out about you? About your visions?"

That stopped Sam cold. What would they think of that? Would they still think he was one of the good guys, or would they lump him in with the monsters? "They don't have to know about those," Sam said. "We can keep it hidden."

"That's a big risk, Sam," Dean said.

"I know," Sam said. "But I think the trade off is worth it." The number of lives they could save it they just had the resources to do it…it was staggering. Sam didn't know how they could walk away from this offer without at least trying to see if it would work.

"This is insane," Dean said, running his hands through his hair.

"Are we doing it then?" Sam asked.

Dean sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, we'll do it. We'll work for the Strategic Homeland Whatsit Division."

"If we're going to work for them, you should probably learn their name," Sam said dryly.

"Or maybe they should get a name that's less dumb, have you thought of that?"

Sam just grinned. His gaze dropped down to the paperwork, studying the stylized eagle at the top. Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division.

Here we come.

AN: Guess who had the nerve to update after a year and a half? This is more or less the ending I had originally planned, Sam and Dean becoming agents of SHIELD. I hope it's been worth the wait. I confess there's a part of me that would like to keep going with this, but I think I'm going to mark it complete for now. I hope y'all enjoyed!