“Welp, we done here?” Dean asked, bored, scratching the back of his head, throwing nonverbal signs at Sam.

The werewolf and shapeshifter stood below, quietly embracing as they stood over the dead hunter's body.

“Yup,” Sam exhaled, slightly morose at the tableau, reached for his gun as the two broke apart smiling softly. Looked up at everyone.

Dean looked Sam.

Sam looked at not Dean. Not at Ennis, set his jaw, wondering how his life had come to this. Again.

Looked back down as the two reunited again.

Their heads exploded, brain and spatter spraying everywhere.

“HOLY FUCK!” Ennis vomited as the brothers dropped low, their guns raising toward the upper scaffolding. Watched as two sniper rifles disappeared back over the rim.

“Stand down! Don’t shoot!” a baritone voice echoed from above. “We need to talk.”

“So talk,” Dean rumbled, still aiming at the people over them.

A man padded softly on the metal stairwell, descended the stairs with his hands raised. “I’m coming down. We need to discuss things.”

Dean thought for a second. “Yeah, you said that. Why’d you kill them?”

The well-dressed man stepped onto their level, surveying them as they surveyed him back. “They’re monsters.” He explained, dismissing the dead below.

“And?”

“What do you know of Chicago?” The man asked.

“Great pizza.”

Ennis finally spoke up, trying to shape his world back into something sane. “There are five monster families that control the city. Like the mafia.”

“Excellent. They are like the mafia, but higher up. Parasites who think they’re predators. They feed on this city, on us. Those two were to be the most powerful families' leaders. We couldn't allow to create strengthen their family bonds. If they were to start interbreeding, the five distinct families would stop fighting each other. There’d suddenly be four, then two groups of monsters all interconnected along political allegiances and family connections.”

“Who are you?” Sam finally asked.

The man replied, “We’re hunters.”

“No. You’re too… clean.” Dean rejected the definition, looked at the man’s clean leather shoes, his ironed suit and tie.

The man smiled thinly. "I am definitely not clean," waved his compatriots down. “I promise you that Smith and Vincinno are simply going to clean up the scene below” he explained. “But no, we’re not… traditional hunters. Chicago require special tactics. My father started this fight, and it broke him. The families are too entrenched, too well connected. We’ve tried so many ways, but this has proven the most effective. We can’t hunt them individually, but I can control them. And I need help.”

The man and woman stepped onto the ground floor, dropped a duffel bag, and started retrieving tools. The woman unfolded a plastic tarp as the man pulled out spray paint cans, scrawling out “Blood purity” over the walls and floors.

“Is that necessary?” Sam asked, his nose wrinkling at the words.

“Crude, but yes,” Francis started up again, ignoring Sam’s bitch face. “They have to think that the other family killed them. It’ll factionalize everyone: the sirens with the shapeshifters, the ghouls with the werewolves. The Djinn have always been wildcards, but they tend to float with which ever group is currently in power.

“If we hit the werewolves hard enough in the right ways, they’ll lash out against their own allies. They’re the real powerhouse, but nobody really trusts them. So, no. We’re not hunters in the traditional sense. In fact, we’ve been discouraging others from hunting here. We have to keep this city isolated while the families keep fighting amongst themselves. This hunter not only endangered that balance, he had gone completely rogue … I’m sorry, Ennis, about your girlfriend. But she wasn’t the first human he has killed in the past month. His body will be disposed of, however.”

The dead hunter’s body had been wrapped carefully in a tarp and pushed to one side. The dead couple arranged subtly, but mostly left intact in their embrace.

“So you’re not hunting,” Dean started slowly. “You’re…

“We are fomenting a war.”

Ennis frowned, “People are going to get hurt. Good people.”

“They already are.”

“That’s not ethical.”

"This is about saving this city and its people."

Dean interrupted. “All right. Enough, Kissinger. We’re in.” He volunteered immediately. “I’m Dean Winchester. This is my brother Sam.”

The older man grew bright, unexpectedly grinned. “Dean Winchester. Dean. Winchester.”

“I know you?”

“No, but my father mentioned you a few times in his recordings. My organization has been fighting monsters in Chicago for decades now. My name’s Francis Xavier Ness. We’re the Untouchables.”

Dean started vibrating. “Sam! It’s the Untouchables! I knew his dad!! It’s the Chicago way!”

“Dean, Sam. I’m sorry, but I can’t use you. You don’t know Chicago.”

Dean’s face fell.

“I need insiders who grew up knowing all of the barbers and the aldermen and the prison guards. Two hunters from the sticks are not going to fit in. I need subtlety, not Dodge City gun battles.” Francis turned to the third man. “I need Ennis here.”

Sam’s brow furrowed. “We’re not from the sticks.” Ignored by everyone.

Ennis looked down at the tableau, at the man who was almost his friend. His body went hard. “I’m in.”

“Excellent.”

“And, Dean. Sam. I’ll contact you personally the moment we’re going to break the five families. But I first have to destroy their control from inside, and these two deaths just started a gang war.”