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Reid dropped his bag over the back of his chair and sat down at his desk. It was still early – technically, he didn’t need to be at the office for another 47 minutes. But, like he often did, he was hoping that in the quiet of the early morning he’d be able to get in a little extra reading. Of course, there were a few people there already – the place was never empty – but no one that would interrupt him before the day really started. 

He had barely pulled out the latest edition of the Lancet journal of psychiatry when he heard a voice behind him. 

“Ah, good morning, Reid,” Rossi said, walking past Spencer and towards his own desk. “Reading anything interesting?” 

Not yet, Spencer wanted to say. But instead, “There’s a study on the brain development of bilingual children I wanted to get to.” 

“Good, good. I’ve got some reading to do myself,” Rossi replied, holding up a thick hardcover. 

“War and Peace,” Spencer said with a nod. “Leo Tolstoy. As a whole, it’s an interesting study of the motives for human behavior.” 

Rossi nodded. “That’s right. But, no spoilers,” he warned, pointing a finger. “I’ve never actually gotten around to reading it until now.” 

“Let me know when you finish it,” Reid said. “I’d discuss it with you if you’re interested.” 

“Sure, Reid.” 

They both turned to their reading material. Slowly, the rest of the BAU team trickled in, settling at their desks. Last in was JJ, who came in a couple minutes late, looking frazzled. 

“Wow, you okay, JJ?” Morgan asked her, chuckling a little.

“Sorry guys,” she said, letting out a breath and tucking her hair behind her ear. “Henry threw up on me right before I left the house.” She shook her head, looking amused and harried at the same time. “I swear, the timing on that kid.” 

Reid smiled, thinking of his godson, a kid who was too smart for his own good, and yet just as flawed as any little kid. Of course, he could relate to that. 

“Is he okay?” Prentiss asked from her desk. 

JJ slung her bag off her shoulder. “Yeah, he’s fine. He just managed to eat almost half a bag of chocolate chips for breakfast before we noticed.” 

“Industrious, isn’t he?” Rossi laughed. 

Their conversation was interrupted then by Hotch, who looked down at them from the upper level. “Gather up, everyone,” he said. “It’s time to get started.” 

“Here we go, then,” Morgan said. 

Reid grabbed his notepad and pen and followed the others to the round table room. 

As they took their seats, Garcia came into the room, her brightly colored heels tapping on the floor. 

“Alright, my lovelies,” she said, turning on the TV and queuing up the case photos. A young woman with dirty blonde hair and a pretty smile came up on screen. “This is Georgia Barnard, a 19 year old barista from Franklin, North Carolina. Three days ago, she was found in a shallow grave in the woods outside of town by a few hikers passing through the area.” Pictures of the body came up on screen. The woman’s blonde hair was streaked with dirt and blood, her eyes unseeing. “Apparently they found her by accidentally walking over her burial site,” she added with an uncomfortable grimace.

She quickly moved on, as always shaking off her discomfort to do the job. “She’s now the fourth body that’s been found in the area.” More photos came on the screen of other, similar looking women. “All of them young white women between the ages of 19 and 24, with similar stature and features. And the creepy part is, all of them have their jaws completely removed, and most of their blood drained.” 

Close ups of the gruesome truth were shown on screen, and Reid ground his teeth at the sight. 

“He must keep the jaws as a trophy,” Hotch said. “Something to remember the kills by.” 

JJ looked uncomfortable. “What about the exsanguination?” 

“Maybe there’s a ritual aspect to his process. Or it has something to do with an old trauma,” Prentiss offered. 

They all looked around at each other, with the understanding they’d be revisiting that later. 

“Any indication of sexual assault?” Rossi asked. 

Garcia shook her head. “Not according to the medical examiner. Cause of death for all four women is likely strangulation, with the exsanguination happening post-mortem.” 

“Likely?” JJ prompted. 

“The first two bodies were found in pretty advanced stages of decomposition,” Garcia explained. 

Morgan was looking at the notes. “They weren’t found too long after their estimated time of death for that to happen. Could the unsub have done something to speed up the process?” 

“It’s likely an effect of high humidity and rainfall in the area.” Reid offered. “The mountains of western North Carolina are actually a temperate rain forest zone, usually getting around 70 inches of precipitation a year. In comparison, the D.C. area usually gets less than 20 inches.” 

Rossi nodded. “And the shallowness of the graves wouldn’t protect their remains against the elements.”

“So, the hikers who found the latest body literally walked over the burial site?” JJ asked. Garcia nodded unhappily. “That means it must have been in a decently trafficked area.” 

“All the bodies were found in Nantahala National Forest. Georgia Barnard was discovered right next to a trail outside of town called the Bartram Trail.”

“With each kill, the bodies are hidden closer to town,” Hotch said. “He’s getting bolder.” 

“He’s escalating,” Prentiss agreed. “The time between his kills is getting shorter, too.” 

Hotch closed the file. “Then we don’t have any time to waste. Grab your bags, everyone – wheels up in ten.” 

Sam snapped awake, his hand unconsciously reaching for his gun under the pillow. The motel room was dark and still, though – Dean was still sleeping soundly on the next bed. 

He sat up, his breath still coming fast and unsteady for a moment as he rooted himself in the present. The nightmares – memories, his mind reminded him unwillingly – were always so vivid that it was getting harder to convince himself to sleep lately. With his mind relaxed, Lucifer was there in an instant, and so was the cage. And unfortunately, there were plenty of memories to relive. 

Sam settled himself with another deep breath and dropped his gun back on the bed, before glancing at the clock. 4:35. 

Well. That was late enough to go for a run. 

He grabbed his running clothes and changed as quietly as he could before slipping out the door. 

The air was warm and sticky even at this hour as he ran up and down the winding mountain roads. It had the sweat pouring off of him practically as soon as he started moving. 

The sun had risen by the time he got back to the motel, and Dean was awake. He glanced over at Sam as he made his way towards the bathroom to take a shower. 

“Geeze, you’re up early,” Dean said, looking at Sam a little too knowingly. “You training for the local marathon or something?” 

“Just trying to stay in shape,” Sam said simply, grabbing his change of clothes and a towel.

Dean nodded skeptically. “Right. Well, Forrest, you wanna go grab some grub after you shower? I saw a place last night as we were driving in that looked pretty good.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Sam said easily. He ignored Dean’s scrutinizing gaze and closed the bathroom door behind him. 

Objectively, he knew Dean had cause to worry. Lucifer and the cage hadn’t been making things easy for him up here. But he knew what was real, now. That was progress. Really, he was doing pretty good. He just got… tripped up, now and then. 

Either way, though, the constant vigilance from his brother was getting on his nerves, just like it always had. He knew there was nothing he could do about it, though. Dean just needed the reassurance that he was doing okay. And at the moment, he didn’t have the strongest argument in support of his sanity. So, he’d put up with it. But that didn’t mean he had to like it. 

~~~~~

An hour later, Sam and Dean were sitting in the breakfast place, a plate of eggs and bacon and a couple short stacks between them. 

“So, explain to me how this isn’t a normal serial,” Dean said through a mouth full of pancake.

Sam drank from his coffee cup. “Seriously? None of this sounds weird?” 

Dean raised an eyebrow. “The bar for weird is pretty high nowadays. But yeah, it’s weird. What I meant is it doesn’t sound like our kind of weird.” 

“Jaws removed, and drained of their blood.” He pushed the file of everything he’d dug up back over towards his brother. It wasn’t much, but it had the basics. “It’s enough for us to at least check it out, Dean.” 

“I hope so – we drove all the way out to the boonies for this, when there’s bigger fish to fry.” 

“There’s always bigger fish to fry.” Sam shook his head, and tried to sound reasonable.  “Look, the Leviathan haven’t made a big move in a while. We’ll use the time we’ve got to help out here.” 

Dean chewed around another bite, then shrugged. “Fair enough.” He gestured to the file. “When’d you have time to pull this together?” 

“Last night. Before I went to bed.” 

Dean squinted at him. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

“Yeah,” Sam replied, a little defensively. “Now, you wanna head to the station and ask about this, or what?” 

“‘Course I do,” Dean said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “What’s the play?” 

“FBI?” 

Dean shook his head. “No, wait – they were all found in the National Forest, right? So let’s use that. Better to attract a little less attention when we can, right?”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, okay.” 

A large woman with a kind face and a black apron stepped up to their table and refilled Sam’s coffee. “Y’all two need anything else?” 

Dean smiled up at her sweetly. “A million dollars, if you’ve got it.” 

The waitress huffed a laugh and rolled her eyes. “Honey, you think I’d be here if I did?” 

Derek sat across from JJ on the jet, the table full of papers between them. He looked out the window, clouds rolling by beneath them. They were on their way to Asheville Regional Airport, where they’d have to drive about an hour to get to Franklin. Luckily, there was a field office in Asheville, so they wouldn’t have to worry about getting a ride.

He had his headphones on, listening to an album Desiree had recommended to him. Like usual, she had good taste. Not that he’d admit it to her too often. 

Derek took a glance around the jet. Rossi was reading a huge book that he couldn’t quite make out the title on. Hotch was on his laptop, probably communicating with the field office or getting a head start on their paperwork. Prentiss was looking out her own window, a pensive look on her face. And Reid was flipping through the pages of some scientific journal, reading as fast as he always did. 

Across from him, JJ was looking down at the case file, looking troubled. These days, after all they’d seen she was usually rock solid. He paused. This was off for her. 

Derek pulled one side of his headphones off and lowered the volume. “You okay, JJ?” he asked softly.

She looked up at him, a little startled. “Uh – yeah, Derek. I’m alright.” She paused, glancing down at the papers again.

Derek slid his headphones the rest of the way off, sensing she had more to say. 

“Just… you know, it’s hard sometimes. When we seem so similar.” 

“You and the victims, you mean?” 

JJ nodded. 

“I understand,” Derek said. “It’s like that could have been you in another life, right?” 

“Yeah. I know it’s stupid, but…” 

He quickly shook his head. “It’s not stupid, JJ. It just means you still care. And it’s difficult, but that sounds like a good thing to me.” 

JJ gave him a small smile. “Thanks.” 

He nodded at her, and reached up to put his headphones back on. Before he could, though, Hotch spoke up. 

“Heads up, everyone. We’re half an hour out, now – let’s gather and go over the case again.”

Derek paused his music and put his iPod away in his bag. By the time he turned to face Hotch, the others were paying similar attention. Reid, who had been sitting in the back, stood in the aisle.

JJ spoke up, “Four women, all with similar backgrounds and physical features.” 

“Based on the victims’ race and age, we’re likely looking for a white male in his 30s to 40s,” Reid said. 

“The mutilation and exsanguination is the differing factor here,” Rossi said. “Our unsub obviously has a lot of aggression towards these women.” 

Derek spoke up. “Without any signs of sexual assault, that must be the part that excites him. I bet it started with a girl who matches the appearance of the victims. She denied him, and now he’s acting out his revenge fantasy.”

“Isabella Maryse is the first known victim.” Prentiss said. “So, she could have been the impetus of it all. Or it could have been one of the other girls.”

“Or she could still be out there. He might be acting out on strangers to avoid hurting the real target of his attentions,” Hotch said. 

“Either way, we’ll need to speak to all the families; find out if any of them knew of a man in their lives who fits the profile.”

Reid was looking at a map of the national forest with the drop sites marked. “He’ll be someone physically fit – you’d need to be, to get the bodies that far into the woods. Plus, he’s likely a confident outdoorsman. Or at least, he knows the area well.” 

“The shallowness of the graves shows a disrespect for the bodies, as well. Along with the mutilation, of course.” 

“That means that it’s unlikely he’s revisiting them,” Hotch said. “And if he has the inclination to revisit the memory, he has the jaw bones.”

“The blood letting,” Prentiss said, shaking her head. “That’s the part that’s hard to place.” 

“Hold on,” Hotch interrupted. “Garcia’s calling in.” He shifted his laptop so everyone could see, and the face of Garcia appeared on the screen. She didn’t look happy. 

“I’ve got bad news, unfortunately. Franklin Police called; another body just turned up. So far she’s unidentified, but she fits the profile. I’m sending all the details over to you now.” 

“He’s accelerating,” Prentiss said gravely. 

Morgan ran a hand over his face. They’d need to catch this guy fast – hopefully before he killed again. 

“Thanks for the update, Garcia,” Hotch said. “Alright, as soon as we get into town we’ll split up: Reid and Morgan, you two go to the new crime scene. Prentiss and Rossi, you’ll start with reaching out to the families. And J.J., you’ll join me to get things set up at the station.” 

Dean stepped into the air-conditioned cool of the Franklin Police Department, holding the door open for Sam behind him. They had on matching gray and green uniforms, hats under their arms. 

He stepped up to the front desk, where a middle aged woman with dark hair was typing on a computer. The noise of a phone ringing drifted in from the offices in the back. 

“Good mornin’, ma’am,” Dean said.

The woman looked up, a vaguely attentive look on her face. “Yes?” she replied. “Can I help you?” 

“I’m hoping so. My name’s Anthony Phillips, and this is Chris Stewart.” He gestured towards Sam, who nodded. “We’re forest rangers with Nantahala National Forest.” 

“And?” the woman prompted impatiently, after a beat of silence. “What do you need?” 

Dean glanced at Sam, who was fighting back a smile. “Uh, well, Officer –” He caught the name tag on her shirt, “Keller, as I’m sure you may know, the bodies that have been turning up have been on national forest land. We need copies of the case files here to add to our records.” 

“Can I see some ID?” 

They both reached into their pockets and handed them over. 

She looked at the IDs for a moment, then up at their faces again, before handing them back. “Well, Mr. Phillips, we’ve already sent y’all the case files. They should have been faxed to your office.” 

“Right, we know,” Dean reacted smoothly. “Thing is, we’re having some… tech difficulties, and the fax machine’s on the fritz. They’re working on fixing it, but in the meantime we were asked to come by and get the hard copies.”

Officer Keller didn’t look happy about that – although it seemed like she rarely looked happy about anything – but in the end, she nodded. “Alright. Take a seat over there, boys, and I’ll get some copies made. Shouldn’t take more than a half hour.” 

“Thank you,” Dean said, smiling. “We appreciate it.” 

As they walked over to the waiting area, Sam elbowed him in the ribs. “You’re losing your touch, old man.” 

“As if,” Dean hissed back. “It’s not my fault that woman’s joy left her body back in the Reagan Administration.” 

They took seats next to each other. The rest of the room was empty save for an old man by the window reading a newspaper. There was a TV in the middle of the wall playing a cooking show on a low volume, and they could hear conversation coming from the bullpen. Dean strained his ears to try and pick up on what they were saying, but he could only hear a scattered word or two. 

As they waited in silence for a few minutes, Dean watched the TV. It was one of those competition shows. One of the contestants opened their ingredients, and Dean snorted. “You see that? Fruit loops and pickles, man. They really just pick stuff out with the intent to hurt, don’t they?”

When Sam didn’t reply, Dean looked over at him. What he saw made his heart skip a beat. Sam was staring into the middle distance, eyes unfocused. 

Oh, no. Not here. 

“Sam,” Dean said, a little louder. His heart beat faster when Sam still didn’t respond. He nudged his brother with his shoulder, but didn’t lay a hand on him. That had gone badly before. “Sam. You in there, man?” 

Sam started, and snapped his head over towards Dean, his hands coming together to press at the scar on his palm. “What? What’d you say?” 

Dean just looked at him. He couldn’t exactly say what he wanted right now, not in this quiet office. If he could, he’d probably curse out the devil again. It tore at him every time Sam drifted away like that, or saw things he shouldn’t. Dean knew it must be happening more than just the times he’d seen it, too. 

Sam swallowed nervously, his eyes flitting around the waiting room before settling on Dean. “I’m good,” he said. It didn’t sound as confident as he probably intended. 

Dean’s mouth tightened. There was nothing he could do right now. Later, though – later, they’d talk about this again. They needed a plan, damnit. Or at least he did. 

“Alright,” Sam said quietly, hardening his tone as he blatantly skirted around the elephant in the room. “After this, I’m thinking we divide and conquer. You go talk to the families, find out if they saw anything strange. Drop me off at the library on the way, and I’ll see what I can dig up about any local legends.” 

Dean shook his head. “You don’t want to work this together?” 

Sam looked at him knowingly, and with a glint of frustration. “Really, Dean? It’s the library. I’ll be fine.” 

“Okay,” he agreed reluctantly. He looked down at the uniform Sam was wearing, and remembered something. “Shit, I didn’t think about going to see the bodies. I don’t think they’ll let us in like this.” 

Sam shook his head. “All the girls have been buried already, except for the last one. And apparently her funeral’s tomorrow, so she’s probably already been embalmed and everything. We’ll just have to get as much as we can from the autopsy reports.” 

Dean sighed. “Okay then. Hey, do you think –” 

He cut off at a burst of sound coming from the front doors. “Where is she?” a man’s voice said, blasting through the quiet space. “Where’s my daughter?” 

A woman who was most likely his wife followed behind, her face streaked with tears. “We know you found another one!” she sobbed, stepping close to the front desk. “Tell us – is it her? Please!” 

Dean looked at Sam, who had similarly snapped to attention, eyebrows raised. They both turned to watch the scene at the front. 

Officer Keller’s eyes were wide. She stood up, her hands raised placatingly. “Mr. and Mrs. Cohen, please lower your voices.” 

“We told you she was missing!” Mr. Cohen yelled, though he looked more gutted than angry. “Now, is it her?” 

Another officer, a younger man with short cropped hair, came in from the bullpen. “Mr. and Mrs. Cohen, come with me, please. We’ll talk with you, just not out here. Come with me this way.” 

“This can’t be happening,” Mrs. Cohen said, shaking her head in denial. 

“Is she here?” Mr. Cohen’s voice was unsteady. “Is she back there?”

The officer shook his head. “No, sir. Now follow me, and we’ll share everything we know so far. Okay?” 

The parents nodded, looking a little shell shocked, and followed the officer back into the bullpen and out of sight. 

Sam nudged Dean. “They must have just found another victim,” he said. 

“Sounds like,” Dean agreed. “I wonder if we’ll get what they have on that, too.” 

Officer Keller looked unsettled as she took her seat again. She tucked her hair behind her ear, then rearranged some papers on her desk. Then she looked up in their direction. “Mr. Phillips?” she called out. 

Dean stood up quickly, Sam following behind, and took the offered files from Keller when they got close enough. “They found another one?” he asked seriously. 

Still obviously a little shaken by the parents’ display, Officer Keller seemed to be in a slightly more sharing mood. “That’s right. Little over an hour ago. I hate to say it, but it probably is their girl. Mary Grace. She’s been missing since the night before last.”

“Poor girls,” Sam said sympathetically. 

Keller nodded. “I added what we have on it to the file there, but it’s not too much so far. Mostly just the initial write up and a couple photos from the scene. You’ll have to come back if you end up needing more than that.” 

“Thanks for your help,” Dean said. “Good luck here.” 

She nodded, and turned back to her desk. 

Dean tucked the files under his arm, and the two of them headed back out to the car, Sam in front of him. As they stepped out the door, a man and a woman, both well dressed and official-looking, walked up to them. Dean held the door open for them with a foot, slipping his hat back on and ducking his head as he did. “Mornin’,” he said. 

“Thanks,” the woman said, taking the door from him. Her bright blonde hair shone in the sun. The man, who had a very serious expression, just nodded at him. 

Once they were settled in the impala, Dean turned to Sam. “Dude, you know they’ve gotta be –” 

“The FBI. No doubt,” Sam said. He gestured across the parking lot. “Look, there’s their car.” 

Dean saw it, too. A sleek black Suburban. It was almost cliche. He shook his head. “This just got way more complicated.” 

Spencer, his messenger bag over his shoulder, hiked behind Morgan as they made their way towards the latest dump site. Sweat dripped down his back. “It’s currently… 95 percent humidity,” he huffed, fighting for breath in the muggy air. He highly regretted wearing a dress shirt today. 

Morgan looked back at him, amusement on his face. His t-shirt was annoyingly free of sweat. “It’s not even a half a mile walk, Reid,” he said. “I think you’ll make it.”

Spencer just let out an annoyed sigh and kept climbing, for once wishing that he’d joined Hotch at the station. At least there’d be air conditioning there.

The officer who’d met them at the trailhead, a woman named Eileen Combs, called to them from up ahead. “We’re not far now! Just a couple more minutes.” 

He wiped at his forehead, pushing away the sweat there. Almost there, he told himself. 

And sure enough, five minutes later they slipped under the crime scene tape and stepped up next to the latest body. A couple people from the forensics team were already there, taking photos and samples from the area. 

Reid knelt next to the girl and pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves, Morgan standing just behind him. He looked over the body carefully. Most of the dirt had been pushed away, though obviously her grave had been just as shallow as the rest. Her empty eyes stared up from a pale face surrounded by blonde hair that was speckled with dirt, and below it –

“It’s just awful,” Combs said, her lips pressed tightly together. 

“Do we have an ID yet?” Morgan asked. 

Combs shook her head. “Not confirmed, but it’s likely Mary Grace Cohen. Her parents reported her missing two days ago.” 

Spencer was still looking at the place where the girl’s jaw should be. “Look,” he said, pointing. “You can just make out where her throat was slashed. That must be how he drains their blood.” 

“I see it,” Morgan confirmed. “But her jaw looks… torn off. Not cut. How much force would it take to do that?” 

He looked up at Morgan. “A lot. More than most people could apply without artificial assistance. Though, it’s possible he’s using an extremely serrated knife – that would have a similar effect on the flesh.” 

“So… she wasn’t killed here, right?” Combs asked. 

Reid shook his head as he reached towards the girl’s clothes to check through her pockets. “No, these are dump sites. He kills the girls in another location. That must be where he drains their blood, as well, otherwise there’d be a lot more of it here.” 

“Right. That’s what we were thinking.” She looked a little pale, but neither of them commented on it. They both knew how hard it was to be at scenes like this, especially if you weren’t exposed to it as often as they were. 

He slid his hand into her jacket pocket, eyes skirting over her chest, which was covered in blood. He pulled out a couple of dollar bills and a receipt from a drug store, dated two days ago at 7:45 PM. He handed them to Morgan, who slid it into evidence bags. The other pockets were empty. “No wallet,” he told Morgan. 

“That’s likely only to hide her identity as long as possible; he wouldn’t care about stealing from her.”

Spencer nodded in agreement, then stood up, pulling off his gloves as he did. “She’s not laid out carefully, but… there’s some thought to it.”

“You’re right. And that could line up with our theory about a love interest,” Morgan suggested. “He’s sexually attracted, and that’s what leads the choice in his victims. But he must have had some emotional attachment to the woman he’s modeling them after, and that shows after their death.”

“Have you found any relevant DNA evidence at any of the crime scenes?” Reid asked Combs. 

She shook her head, pulling her gaze away from the girl to look at him. “No, we haven’t gotten any useful results back yet. We’ve had to outsource the testing – we don’t have those kinds of facilities here. The only matches they’ve found have been to friends or family members. We’re still waiting on them to get back to us about the rest of it.” 

“Friends and family can still assault each other, unfortunately,” Spencer said. 

“We know,” Combs replied, a little defensive. “We certainly haven’t ruled anyone out.” 

Morgan pulled out his phone. “I’ll tell Garcia to get the results expedited. We’ll need them as soon as possible.” 

Spencer was still looking at Combs, whose eyes were locked back on to the body. “Do you… know any of the victims?” he asked her carefully. 

The officer glanced back at him, obviously taken a little off guard. “No. Well…” she crossed her arms. “Not really, anyway. But, it’s a pretty small town. You run into everybody. I don’t know the Cohens well, but I’ve chatted with them once or twice at church. They have two boys as well as Mary Grace. She’s the oldest.” 

“I’m sorry,” Spencer said sympathetically. “This can’t be easy.” 

Combs’ eyes were troubled. “I’ve lived here my whole life. We’ve never had anything close to this happen before.” 

Spencer shared a glance with Morgan. Hopefully, they could make sure it didn’t happen again. 

As they drove to the library, Sam read through the case files. They were filled with gruesome accounts and even worse photos. 

“Could it be a werewolf? Or a vampire, maybe? You said their blood was drained.” 

He shook his head. “Maybe. But we’ve never seen a werewolf or a vampire take off people’s jaws. And the hearts aren’t missing.”

“Dude. Werepire!” Dean said, grinning.

Sam gave him an unamused glare. “Did you not just hear me about the hearts?” 

Dean grunted. “Fine. Killjoy. But they’ll be around one of these days. Mark my words.”  

“Marked,” Sam said wryly, rolling his eyes. “Now can we figure out what this thing actually is? Demons, maybe? It’s twisted enough to be something they’d do.” 

“No,” Dean shook his head. “That doesn’t add up.” 

Sam huffed, annoyed. “Well, nothing’s really adding up at the moment, is it?”

Dean shot him a glance before his eyes went back to the road. “I’m not trying to argue that point, Sam. Jesus. I’m just sayin’.” 

Sam ran a hand through his hair, and let out a sigh. “I – sorry, man. I’m not trying to be snappy. I’m just… tired.” 

“Yeah, I know.” Dean sounded tired, too. 

They were both silent for a moment, Boston playing softly through the car’s speakers. 

“What about a spirit?” Dean said eventually. “Somethin’ really nasty that’s come back. You know, like that – that serial killer in Philadelphia.” A shadow crossed his face, and Sam knew what he was thinking about. It was the first case they’d really worked with Jo. 

“Yeah, I remember,” Sam said. If Dean didn’t want to bring her up, he wouldn’t either. “You could be on to something there. They’re even all blonde again. I’ll take a look and see what I find.” 

They pulled into the library parking lot, and Sam gathered the files back together. He’d written out a list of the family on record and their contact information, as well as the people who’d found the bodies, and he handed it to Dean. “The families’ statements are pretty bland. I’d reach out to ask them the usual, but maybe ask around for more friends of the girls, too – maybe there’s a connection here we don’t realize yet.” 

Dean nodded. “Okay, sure.” He pointed at Sam with the piece of paper. “You, keep me updated. Just… every half hour, send a text my way. I’ll do the same.” 

Sam tried not to sound annoyed. “Right.” 

“It’s not just you, Sam. With the Feds out and about, we can’t take chances.”

That made sense, actually. “Okay. Yeah, I will. I promise,” he added, when Dean looked unconvinced. “See you in a bit, then.” He pulled open the door and headed for the entrance to the library.

Emily gave a solemn smile as she and Rossi sat down on a green couch opposite the parents of Georgia Barnard.

Their home was simple yet well decorated. There were pictures of the family all around the room they sat in – and by the fireplace, there was what looked like a memorial to Georgia. A framed portrait of her was surrounded by bouquets of flowers. 

“We’re very sorry for your loss,” Rossi was saying. 

“Thank you,” the husband, Peter Barnard, said gruffly. “It’s been a horrible week.” 

His wife, Denice, sat beside him. She looked like she’d recently been crying, and might start again soon. 

“I’m sure it has,” Emily said gently. “We heard that the funeral’s tomorrow?” 

“It is,” Peter said. He looked between the two of them. “Y’all are welcome to attend, if you’d care to. It’s only right, since you’re looking for who’s done this to her.” 

Denice let out something like a whimper at that, obviously fighting back tears. Peter gripped her hand tight between them. 

“Thank you,” Rossi said. “We’d be honored to pay our respects to Georgia. The search might keep us from attending, but if we’re able to, we’ll be there.” 

Peter nodded at that. 

“Now, we know this conversation will be difficult,” Emily said. “And we’ll try not to take up too much of your time here. But we’ll need to hear your version of events. From the beginning, if you would.” 

~~~~~~~~

In a different house, Dean sat across from Max, the widower of the first victim, Isabella Maryse. 

They’d already gone over the details of how Isabella went missing – she’d gone for an evening walk with their dog down to the river. The dog had turned up alone back at the house, and Isabella had never showed. Not until someone stumbled on her body a week later, anyway. 

“Nobody wanted to hurt her,” Max was saying. “I’ve gone over it in my head again and again. And I can’t think of anyone. It doesn’t make any damn sense to me.” 

“I hear you,” Dean said. “Was Isabella acting… differently, before she went missing? Did anything seem wrong?” 

Max shook his head slowly. “No. She was stressed, but not about anything important.” He looked up. “I mean, it was important to her. She was trying to start a yarn business.” 

Dean fought back a smile. “Was she working on that with anyone else?” 

“No, she’s doing it herself. Or – she was. We’ve got a lot of extra yarn now, if you want any.” 

“Uh… I think I’m good. Thank you, though.” Dean tapped his pen on his notepad. “Did Isabella know any of the other victims?” 

“Not really. I mean, we knew them, but not super well. Jenna Porter – she was my buddy’s cousin’s girlfriend. We’d see her at parties sometimes. Or around town.” Max let out a breath. “But the others… no.” 

~~~~~~~~

Slowly, they got the story from Peter. Denice didn’t seem to want to speak, and let her husband do the talking. 

A week earlier, their daughter had been home with them, safe. Then she’d driven over to a friend’s house for a night out. Except, she’d never made it there. 

Peter told them the names of all of Georgia’s friends, boyfriends – anyone who might have known her. Emily and Rossi wrote down everything they heard. What Emily didn’t say was that with a serial killer like this, it was more likely to have been a stranger than a closer acquaintance. 

“Was your daughter friends with any of the other victims, or their families?”

“Not that we know. All those girls are a little older than Georgia. We know their families through the church, but we’re not friends or anything.”

Emily nodded. “I see. Now, out of all the people you mentioned, is there anyone who could have had problems with her? Was there anyone she disagreed with, or who disliked her?” 

Peter shook his head. “I don’t know, really. I mean, the way I see it, everyone loved Georgia. But she’s – she was a young adult. She didn’t tell us everything that was going on with her.” He sighed. “I –”

“It was Tom!” Emily’s gaze snapped over to Denice as the woman spoke up for the first time. Her expression was livid. “Peter, come on. I just know it was that – that bastard. ” 

“Who’s Tom?” Rossi asked. 

Peter looked at his wife, then at them. Emily could tell that he wasn’t quite as convinced. “Tom Rayan,” he explained. “He’s Georgia’s biological father.” 

Emily blinked. This was new information. “Georgia was adopted?” 

“By me, anyway. Denice is her mother. Tom left them before she was even born. I married Denice when Georgia was about three, and adopted her the year after that. But I loved her like she was my own.” 

“Has Tom been involved in her life at all?” 

Denice swiped an angry hand under her eye. “He started coming around a few months ago, trying to talk to her. She didn’t want to see him, and we tried to keep him away.” She looked at Peter. “I knew we should have gotten that restraining order! I knew it!” She sobbed, and buried her face in Peter’s chest. He put a gentle hand on her back, and looked forward at Emily. His face was a mix of emotions. 

Obviously, the story didn’t quite add up to him. They needed to try and talk to him alone. 

~~~~~~~~

“Now, I’ve got to ask some general questions, so sorry if this seems unrelated,” Dean said, acting a little sheepish. “Just covering all the bases here, you know?” 

Max looked a little confused, but nodded. “Go ahead.” 

“Right. Before she’d gone missing, did you notice anything unusual? Around the house, maybe – or the neighborhood? Flickering lights, cold spots?” 

“What?” Max said. “No. I don’t know. Why do you care about that?” 

“Sorry,” Dean said, shrugging. “It’s just part of the paperwork, you know? The state of the house, and all.”  

Max seemed to accept that. “You know… now that I think about it, we were having some electrical issues with the house. It was always so cold in here,” he said, gesturing to the living room. “But our bedroom was sweltering. We thought the AC was fucked up. And – and the microwave kept turning on at weird times.” 

Dean nodded. Finally, they’d hit something. This, he could work with. “Thanks. Okay.”

“You don’t think the killer was in the house or something, do you?” Max said, suddenly anxious. “Do you think he was messing with us, before he killed her?” He looked gutted. 

“No, no, nothing like that,” Dean said quickly. “These are just procedural questions, really.”

Max sighed shakily. “Okay.” 

“One more thing – do you mind if I take a look around the property, before I go? Just an easy inspection; nothing in depth.” 

“Sure,” Max said, a little distractedly. “Yeah, that’s fine.” 

~~~~~~~~

“Maybe it’s time for you to go,” Peter said. “Unless there’s anything else?” 

Emily looked at Rossi, who shook his head. “That’s all we have for now,” she said. “We’ll leave you be. But, if anything else comes to mind, don’t hesitate to call us.” The two of them handed over their business cards, and then stood up from the couch. “Thank you for your time.” 

“Here, let me walk you to the door,” Peter said quickly. Softer, he added to his wife, “I’ll be right back, honey.” 

They walked together to the door, and Peter ushered them outside. When the door was closed, he stood before them on the porch and crossed his arms. “You should look into Tom,” he said. “But I don’t think it was him. And I don’t want you wasting your time on him thinking it’s him.” 

“Why do you say that?” Rossi asked.

Peter cleared his throat. “It’s… Denice, she’s never forgiven him for what he did. And she shouldn’t. But me – it’s easier for me to see a little clearer. Plus, I talked with him, when he started coming around again. All he wanted was to reconnect.” He shook his head. “He’s a wrecked man, to be sure. And an asshole. But he’s no killer.” 

Emily glanced over at Rossi, and then nodded to Peter. “Well, thank you for your help, Mr. Barnard. We’ll be in touch if there’s anything more we need from you.” 

They said their goodbyes, and walked the distance to the car. Once the doors were closed behind them, blocking the sound, Emily let out a sigh. 

“Well, I don’t think that was all that helpful, really,” she said, glancing through her notes. “But we’ll have to look into Tom Rayan. If only to cover our tracks, anyway.” 

Rossi shook his head, looking pensive. “There’s something we’re missing here. Some piece of the puzzle. I just don’t know what it is.” 

“I agree,” Emily said, starting the car. “But whatever it is, we’ll find it. Now – who’s next?” 

Whenever Sam got to do research like this, it reminded him of his pre-law days. Long hours spent in the library, looking for obscure sources and searching through clips to find what he needed. Of course, he’d only been good at it then because of his training as a kid. But he’d never been back in a library that was quite as nice as Stanford’s. 

The Franklin library certainly wasn’t much to speak of. The section of magazines was almost as big as the rest of the space. Thankfully, a little sweet talking with the librarian on duty had gotten him back in the records room, where they kept old newspapers. And now, he was sitting in the gloomy space, sorting through hundreds of dusty newspapers and trying not to sneeze. 

Out of the corner of his eye, a newspaper fluttered, and Sam looked over to see Lucifer paging through a stack of them. 

“God, how boring, ” he sneered. “And yes, I’m talking about you. Why don’t we make this interesting, huh?”

Sam tensed, his jaw clenching.

“Come on… I’ve got the knives right here.” 

Suddenly the table before him looked different, and all too familiar. The newspapers were gone, replaced with dozens of knives – everything from scalpels to butcher knives to hunting knives. They were shiny, sharp, and bloody. 

“What do you say, Sam? A little slicing and dicing? For old times sake?”

Sam looked away, his heart racing. Not real, he told himself as he pinched down on his palm. Not real. 

A flash of pain in his hand, and when he looked back at the table, he was relieved to see that the newspapers were back. 

He let out a sigh, settling in his chair. He tried so hard to keep the memories at bay – to keep Lucifer out of the present and back in the past where he belonged. But there was just too much of him. And too much that reminded Sam of where he used to be. 

He shook his head and breathed in a steady rhythm, staring down at the table in front of him. Slowly, his heart settled.

Then his cell phone rang, buzzing on the table next to him, and he didn’t jump at the sudden noise in the quiet room. He didn’t. 

“What’s up?” he said, once he’d picked it up. 

Like usual, Dean got straight to the point. He sounded excited. “I just got done talking to the husband of the first woman who died. And there was definitely a ghost in their house. The guy was talking about cold spots and faulty wiring, and EMF was spiking, even with how long it’s been since she died.” 

“Okay,” Sam said. “That answers that question, then.”

“Right. Now we just have to figure out who’s doing the haunting. You come across anything yet?” 

Sam looked back at his notes. “Not really. The closest thing I could find was this guy called the Taco Bell Strangler –”

A snort. “You’re kidding.” 

“I wish. Honestly, though, it’s fucked up. This guy spent the early 90s strangling black women he worked with at Taco Bell. In the end he killed 11 people. This was in Charlotte.” 

“Hm,” Dean said. “That doesn’t really line up with what’s going on here. Plus, we’re a couple hundred miles from Charlotte.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, I know. I was thinking the same thing: not our guy. But there’s just not a lot of serial killers from this area.” He let out a chuckle. “Now that I think about it, that’s kind of a strange thing to be complaining about.” 

“No kidding. Well, keep me updated. I’m gonna go try and talk to some more of the family, double check that we’re really looking for a ghost. I’ll come and pick you up once I’m done, and we’ll get some grub.” 

“Sounds good. Don’t do anything stupid without calling me first.” 

Dean laughed. “No promises.” 

Sam rolled his eyes and hung up, tucking his phone into his pocket. With a sigh, he looked at the stacks of papers he still had left to read. And then got back to work. 

JJ had just finished setting up their space in the police station when Reid and Morgan came back from the latest crime scene. She and Hotch had pinned up photos of the victims, as well as a map of the locations where the bodies had been found. Contact information for each of the families was hung up below each girl’s photo.

Morgan nodded at her as he stepped in the room, holding the door open for Reid behind him. The both of them looked a little sweaty and unkempt from the hike they’d taken to get to the body.  

“Hey, guys,” JJ said. “Did you find anything useful at the scene?” 

“It looks like they’re right about the ID,” Reid said, hanging up his messenger bag on the back of a chair. “We heard the parents are here?”

“They are,” JJ confirmed. “And they were shown a photo of the body a little while ago. They confirmed it’s their daughter.”

Reid huffed, shaking his head. He looked unsettled. “Why didn’t they ask for help sooner? We could have been here weeks ago.”

JJ shook her head. “I don’t know. But a lot of cases get sent our way. Are you saying we shouldn’t have been in St. Louis last week? They needed our help there, too.”

“JJ’s right,” Morgan said, looking between them. “And we’re here now. We’ll track this guy down.” 

Reid just nodded.

The door opened again, and Hotch stepped inside, looking characteristically unruffled. “I just got a call from Prentiss. Apparently there’s a man named Tom Rayan who deserves some looking into. He was named by the family of the last victim as a person of interest.” 

“Who is he?” JJ asked. 

“Georgia Barnard’s biological father, apparently,” he replied, with a quirk of his brow. “I’m having Officer Rhynard track him down and bring him in for questioning. In the meantime, we can work together and flesh out the profile. Hopefully we’ll be able to present it tonight.” 

“Right,” said Morgan. He pulled out a chair, looking at the evidence spread out before them. “Well, let’s get to it.” 

“Here ya go,” the server, an older man with a pen behind his ear, said as he put two plates down on the table. “Enjoy, now.” 

“You know, it’s the little things, Sam,” Dean said, smiling down at his plate. It was loaded with a bacon cheeseburger and thick cut fries. “This is what we’re doing it all for, right here.” 

Sam shook his head, amused, before raising his glass. “To cheeseburgers, I guess.” 

“Hell yeah,” Dean agreed. They drank, and then he picked up the sandwich in front of him. “Wait. You can’t say that, and then not get a cheeseburger.” 

“I told you, I’m not that hungry,” Sam replied, picking up a fry from his plate. 

“Well, that’s what you get for sitting in the library all day.” Dean took a bite of his burger and groaned. “Seriously, Sammy. This is what gets me out of bed in the morning.”

“Should I leave? You two seem to be getting a little intimate.” 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Shaddup. Now, did you find anything in all your library time, or what?” 

“Uh, maybe,” Sam said. “I know we’re thinking ghost, but – there’s a creature called the beast of Bladenboro –” 

“What now?” 

“Bladenboro,” Sam repeated. “I know. It’s a town, in North Carolina, which is why I thought it might actually be relevant. It was a creature that killed a bunch of dogs back in the 50s by ripping their jaws off and draining their blood.” 

Dean nodded. “Sounds kinda like our guy.” 

“Yeah, but now only girls are ending up dead. I looked into it – no reports of weird dog deaths.” 

Dean shrugged. “Maybe he’s leveled up. Or just taking inspiration.” 

“Could be. It’s enough to keep an eye on, anyway.” Sam agreed, before taking another sip of his drink. He looked around before his eyes landed back on Dean. “I did turn up something else though.” 

“What?” Dean said through a mouth full of burger. 

Sam leaned forward a little. “There was another girl that died. Earlier this summer. She fits the profile to a T.” 

“Then why don’t the police know about her?” 

“I’m sure they do, but they don’t think it’s related. She was found dead in her car down by the river. She’d been beaten to death; one of the hits got her too hard in the head, or something.” 

Dean swallowed. “And let me guess: they haven’t found the guy that did it?” 

Sam shook his head. “Nope. Everybody that got interviewed about it was sure that it was this guy Robert Freeman. They arrested him at one point, actually, but they couldn’t hold him. Not enough evidence. And now it looks like everybody got distracted by the serial killer in town.” 

“So you think this guy is the monster? And that girl was his first kill?” 

“I don’t know. But maybe.” 

Dean considered that. “But then where does the ghost come in?” 

“I didn’t say it explained everything,” Sam said, crossing his arms and leaning back. “But I think it’s worth looking into. We should go tomorrow, try and find out if anyone’s seen this guy lately.” 

Dean nodded. “Yeah, okay.” His eyes wandered across the bar before landing on a group that had just sat down. They were all neatly dressed in dark clothes, and they didn’t exactly blend in. “No shit,” Dean muttered. 

“What?” Sam said sharply. Years of practice meant he didn’t glance over his shoulder to where Dean was looking. 

“It’s the feds,” Dean said lowly. “I see those two we passed on the way out of the station. Barbie, and… I don’t know, the angry looking one. They’re with a few others in the corner back there.”   

“Do they see us?” Sam hissed, his body tense. 

Dean shook his head. “No. They don’t know who we are, Sam,” he reassured. 

“Yeah, well – we shouldn’t chance it. I’m going to the bathroom, and then we’re leaving.” 

“Fine,” Dean grunted, and took another bite as Sam got up from the table. He let his eyes wander around the bar, but always landing back on the group of FBI agents in the corner. They looked subdued, and were chatting to each other softly, a few files on the table in front of them. There were six of them: two women, and four men. They all held themselves confidently, and looked intelligent. Or at least official. Either way, he didn’t want to cross them. 

The blonde one got up and headed for the bar, and on instinct Dean got up at the same time, downing the rest of his drink as he did. 

Dean casually stepped up to the bar and ordered another beer. While he waited, he glanced to his right and nodded at the blonde haired agent. “Evenin’,” he said, turning to face her. 

A look of annoyance flitted over her face, and then she gave him a tight-lipped smile back. 

“You look like you’ve had a long day,” he said honestly. 

She gave him a second glance, looking surprised and a little amused at his comment. “Does that line usually work for you? Calling a girl tired?”

He shrugged. “I just call it like I see it.” The bartender came up and handed Dean his beer.

The woman looked over at the table where the rest of the feds were sitting, then back at the bar. “Yeah, well. You’re not wrong.” 

Dean tipped his drink towards the table she’d looked at. “Those your friends over there? They look tired enough to be.” 

She huffed softly. “Yeah. We’re just taking a break while we still can.” 

“I know the feeling.” He took a slow sip, then put his drink down on the bar. “What, are you guys police? FBI, or something?” 

She frowned. “How’d you guess?”

Dean forced a chuckle. “No girls from around here are wearing business slacks and heels to the bar.” 

“You got me.” She shrugged and Dean was relieved to see her smile. “Are you from around here, then?” 

“Nah, me and my brother are just passing through. We’re on a hunting trip.” 

She nodded, and Dean could tell from her face she didn’t care for hunting.  “Ah, okay. Nice.” 

Before he could stop himself, and before he lost the chance, he stuck a hand out. “The name’s Dean.” 

Still looking a little amused, she reached out and shook it. “Jennifer,” she replied. 

The bartender came up then, and handed her drink over. It was something fruity. 

“Well, good luck then, Jennifer, with whatever you’re here for,” Dean said, picking up his own drink again. 

“Thanks. You too.” Jennifer gave him one last smile, and turned to go back to her table. Dean did the same. 

Sam was back at the table already, and looked stressed when he sat back down. “Dean, what the hell?” 

Dean tried to look innocent and probably failed. “What?” 

“You know what. Why are you flirting with the hornet’s nest over there?” 

He took a sip of his drink. “That’s not a nice thing to call a lady.” 

“I’ll call you worse, dumbass,” Sam grumbled. “We shouldn’t give them any reason to look at our faces.” 

“We’re dead, remember?” Dean said cheerfully. “They took our wanted posters down years ago. They’re not gonna recognize us.” 

“We should go,” Sam said tersely. 

Dean sighed, knowing he wasn’t about to win this fight. Plus, he didn't want to admit it, but Sam had a bit of a point. “Yeah, I know. Just let me finish my damn burger, alright? Then we’ll go.”

Miles away, a mangled man wandered through the trees towards a row of houses lit by a single street light. As he walked by, the light flickered madly, and the muggy air turned cold. 

"Keep trying," he said, a grimace on his face. "There ain't nothing you can do, honey." 

A figure appeared in the closest window - a pretty girl with blonde hair, who turned and laughed at something someone had said. 

The grimace turned to a slow, wide smile. "There ain't nothing you can do." 

Chapter Text

When Morgan got into the precinct the next morning, Reid was already there, standing in front of one of the cork boards that was covered in case information and sipping a cup of coffee. 

“Morning,” he said. Reid nodded his reply. 

Hotch and Prentiss walked in just after him and settled themselves at the table. 

Morgan walked up to stand next to Reid, his eyebrow raising slowly as he took in the changes to the board. Reid had been busy. “How long have you been here?” 

Reid blinked, and looked over. “What time is it?” 

“Seven o’clock.” 

He paused. “A while.”

“...Right.” Morgan took a closer look at the board, and frowned when he saw a face he didn’t recognize. He reached up and pulled the picture down – a young, blonde haired woman, with startlingly blue eyes. “Who’s this?” 

“Yes,” Reid said with a nod. “Right. That’s Emma Crawford.”

“They found another victim?” 

“I did.” Reid spoke quickly. “Well, I think I did.” 

Prentiss spoke up from across the room. “What did you say, Reid?” 

Reid turned around. “I’ve… been doing some digging,” he said. “And by digging, I mean reading all the police reports from the last few months. That’s Emma Crawford, 20 years old. In early July she was found dead in her car by the river. She’d been beaten, and stabbed. Medical examiner’s report says it was a hit to the head that killed her.” 

“And you think what? That she was the real first victim?” Morgan asked, pinning the photo back up again. Then he looked at the one next to it: a photo of the body.

“That doesn’t sound like a very similar MO,” Hotch said. “What makes you think this death is connected?” 

“Well, we know that few serial killers’ first attacks are as well planned and considered as these murders. Emma Crawford fits the victim type. She could have been – a sort of trial run.” 

Prentiss considered that. “Okay. But our unsub’s kills are very premeditated. The beating? That looks more emotional.”

Morgan nodded. “No, that makes sense. He kills Emma as a crime of passion, then decides he likes it. Plans something a little more to his tastes for the next kill.” 

“Where did you find out about this?” Hotch said. 

“I read through the case files of any recent deaths and looked for victims who matched the unsub’s tastes. This was the only one that fit.” 

“Did they have any suspects?” Emily asked. “You say it’s been over a month since she died - that would have given the police time to try and find the killer before they were overwhelmed with the serial.” 

Reid shook his head. “There were a few people they had listed as persons of interest, but they didn’t have anything concrete on any of them. One man was arrested, but they didn't have enough evidence to hold him."

"If it was an emotional attack, his connection to the victim would be a lot more personal,” Derek said. 

“That’s true,” agreed Hotch. “Reid, good work. And keep looking into this. Keep us up to date on anything you find. Prentiss, you can work with him on this. Take JJ with you, too, once she gets in.” 

Prentiss gave Reid a nod. 

Hotch continued. “Now, we have a lot of ground to cover today –”

The door opened again, and Rossi walked in, a hubbub of noise from the bullpen washing into the room with him. 

“What’s going on?” Morgan asked, tensing up. 

Rossi looked alert, but not concerned. Morgan let himself relax a little with the knowledge that whatever it was, it wasn’t overly serious. 

Rossi shot Prentiss a loaded look. “They just brought in Tom Rayan.” 

Dean was driving, Genesis playing on the car speakers as they passed by miles and miles of thick woods. He held a cup of coffee in his hand, the warmth of it bleeding through the paper cup and into his skin. Beside him, Sam sat with some papers on his lap, his foot tapping in the footwell. When Dean had awoken an hour ago, Sam had already been up for who knew how long. Obviously the unknown amount of coffee he’d downed by that point was showing through. 

They were headed to Robert Freeman’s house, and they were bringing the works. It seemed like the guy was a part of what was going on, but as for what he was – they couldn’t be 100% sure yet. And they’d learned a long time ago that it was better to show up prepared. 

Sam cleared his throat a little awkwardly, and Dean looked over. “What?” he said flatly. 

“I’ve just been thinking, you know –”

“Careful. You’ll strain something.” 

Sam glowered, and pushed on, “I’ve been thinking, that maybe we should just give up this case - pass it on to someone else.” 

Dean raised an eyebrow, and took a sip of his coffee. “Pass it on? To who, exactly? If you hadn’t noticed, we’re a bit short on allies at the moment.” 

“I don’t know,” Sam shrugged. “We could ask Bobby. He knows everyone – surely he knows someone close enough to take this on.”

He shook his head. “I know you’re worried about the Feds, but come on. We’re here; we’re taking care of it. Weren’t you the one that sent us over here in the first place?” 

“Dean, we don’t have time to end up back in jail. It’s not worth the risk.” 

“First you say we’ve got to get to this guy’s house as soon as we can,” Dean grumbled. “Now we gotta leave.” 

Sam’s fist clenched on top of his leg. “I just… don’t want to deal with all that. You get me? So, can we at least not actively get in their way?” 

Dean paused, and frowned at Sam’s tone of voice. He sounded seriously stressed. “Alright, alright,” he agreed. “Sure, Sam. We’ll stay out of their way. Okay?”

Sam nodded, his lips a thin line. “Yeah,” he said shortly. “Okay.” Then his eyes widened. “Dean – turn here!”

“Shit!” Dean said suddenly, slamming on the breaks and turning them onto a dirt road, cursing again when coffee spilled on his pants. “Damn it. Sorry, dude – wasn’t paying attention.” 

“Can somebody tell me why the hell I’m here?” 

Aaron sat across the table from Tom Rayan, a man who was about his age but had been weathered a little harder by the passage of time. The guy had his arms crossed, and a sullen expression on his face. 

“As I’ve been trying to explain, Mr. Rayan,” Hotch said with forced civility, “We have some questions for you relating to the recent deaths in town.”

“So this is about Georgia.” Tom looked suddenly angrier. “Did Denice tell you to go after me?” 

Rossi, who was sitting to his left, cast him a glance. “If you mean Mrs. Barnard, we did –” 

“That bitch.” 

“Mr. Rayan. We spoke with Mrs. Barnard. Regardless of what she said to us, you’re Georgia’s father. That’s why you’re here.” 

“Oh yeah? I bet you didn’t bring Denice here in the back of a squad car.” 

Aaron let out a breath through his nose, and tried to redirect. This guy really was just as much of an asshole as they’d been told. “We’re trying to find your daughter’s killer. Now, if you’re interested in helping us do that, you’ll answer our questions.” 

Tom huffed. “Fine. But because I know you’re thinking it – no, I did not kill my daughter. And fuck you for asking.” 

Rossi ignored him. “When did you first hear about Georgia’s disappearance, and her death?” 

“I heard about it on the news. Apparently nobody could be bothered to let me know.” 

“Where were you the night she disappeared?” 

Tom slammed his fist down on the table. “I already told you, dammit! I didn’t –” 

“Mr. Rayan. Where were you,” Hotch said firmly, cutting him off. 

“It was last Wednesday, right?” 

“Tuesday,” Rossi corrected, unimpressed. 

Tom shrugged. “Tuesday, then. I… I was with my buddy Sean that night, in his trailer. Sean Goddard. His girlfriend showed up later – her name’s Holly. She had a friend with her. I don’t remember her name.” 

“Holly what?” Rossi was writing the names down on a notepad. 

“Blaise, I think. She’s a mess, I don’t –” 

“Thank you,” Hotch said sharply, before he could go off on a tirade. “Now, how would you describe your relationship with Georgia?”

Tom looked uncomfortable. “Well, you know – I did my best. Denice was the one – she wouldn’t let me see her!” 

“You never had any custody of your daughter, correct?” 

Tom stared at him, face stony. Then he nodded. “Like I’m saying, Denice never let me!” 

Aaron stared right back, unfazed. This was the kind of man who wanted so badly to be threatening. But really it just came across as weak. “Mrs. Barnard told us that you’ve never attempted to be a part of her life until a few months ago.” 

 “Yeah, okay. It’s true. I had a bit of a wake up call, okay? I was trying to shape up! I just wanted to get to know my daughter.” 

“Alright. And why did you show up at their house multiple times without warning recently, when you never had before?” 

“I was worried, you assholes. There’s a fucking killer out there, and my Georgia looked just like the others that died! And now look! I was fucking right!” He was fuming, now. “First Emma, then the others –” 

“Emma?” said Hotch sharply. 

“Yeah, Emma. They say Robbie killed her. Apparently they were seeing each other. But I know the guy; he ain’t a freak like that. This was somethin’ bigger.”

“Robbie? Robbie who?” 

Tom scowled. “Robbie Freeman, that’s who. But I’m telling you, it wasn’t him.” 

“Who do you think it was?” 

“It’s not who. It’s what. It’s a fucking monster.” 

“We know whoever did this was obviously a sick man. But is there someone you have in mind?”

“I mean literally a monster, you fuckwit! Ain’t you listening to me?”

Aaron looked over at Rossi, who had one eyebrow raised in his direction. This conversation was going off the rails. He let out a breath, and looked back at Tom. “Do you know where we could find Robbie Freeman?”  

“Sure," Rayan shrugged. "He’s my neighbor.” 

Dean peeled off his jacket and threw it back into the car. “Fuck, it’s humid here. How do people take it?” 

“I guess you get used to it,” Sam shrugged. Dean saw his shirt had similar sweat stains. 

“Well, it feels like we’re swimming. I’m sticky, Sam. Sticky.” 

Sam looked his way and raised an amused eyebrow. 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Oh, don’t even say it.” As he tramped past his brother towards the cabin, he heard chuckling behind him. 

“It’s just too easy with you,” Sam said happily. 

“Are you coming, or what?” Dean grumbled, gesturing forwards. 

Sam just quirked a grin as he tucked his gun in the back of his pants. As he walked forwards, he pulled his t-shirt out to cover it. 

Dean shook his head and stomped up the stairs of the cabin, the wood creaking under his boots. It felt like the beams were one bad day from breaking altogether. The whole place was run down, really, now that he was seeing it up close. There was a smell of rotting wood in the air. 

It seemed the humidity did more than just make him sweat.

He knocked loudly on the door. “Mr. Freeman? Sheriff’s office – open up!” 

Sam stepped closer and tried to peek through the screen door. He looked back and shook his head. “Doesn’t look like anyone’s home.” 

Dean knocked again. “Robert Freeman!” 

No answer. 

Sam pulled the door open, the spring creaking loudly, and the two of them stepped inside.

It took a moment for Dean’s eyes to adjust to the low light, and when they did, the sight that greeted him wasn’t pleasant. There was stuff piled up everywhere – clothes, trash, papers. Mold grew on the ceiling, and the smell of decomposing wood was even stronger inside.

“Yikes,” Sam said, grimacing. “Are those mice?” 

Dean followed his gaze and spotted the pile of furry bodies in the corner. “Oh, that’s nasty. He couldn’t even get them outside?” 

“I guess he’s a collector.” 

“A hoarder, more like.” Dean walked through the kitchen, which was covered in a layer of filth, and headed for the backroom. Feeling the hairs stand up on the back of his neck, he pulled out his gun as he reached for the door handle. He turned it slowly, and then pushed it open in one burst, his gun out in front of him. 

There was a dark blur of movement in front of him, and a creature raced between his legs. “Shit!”

Something clattered in the next room. He heard Sam curse, and then the squeak of the door. 

“What the fuck was that?” he called out. 

Sam sounded pissy when he answered, “A raccoon.” 

Dean huffed, and went to look through the room, feeling foolish. A god damn raccoon. 

He looked over the bed and the table next to it, both of which were covered in random papers and trash. He spotted one journal in the mess that looked a little out of place, and picked it up. The book was dark purple with shimmer on the edges of the paper – the kind of thing a girl would write in. And a pretty young one, at that. 

Dean peeled it open. The writing inside was a little messy, like it had been done in a hurry, but definitely feminine. He read one of the entries at random. 

05/13/2011: I’m so tired of living in this fucking town. You can’t hide anything from anyone. Joana found out about me and Robbie, and she says she’s gonna tell Mom. But I guess I don’t think she actually will – I’ve got enough secrets to bury her right back. 

He flipped further forwards. The pages stuck together a little. 

05/25/2011: We're all hanging at Connor's hunting cabin this weekend. Should be fun! Robbie says he'll shoot a deer for me. Which is kind of romantic, I guess. 

Dean huffed a laugh at that, and kept flipping forwards.

07/02/2011: It’s been a week since I moved in with Robbie. I don’t know if it was the right move. He’s been kind of off, lately. Plus apparently he's a total slob. But since Mom kicked me out I don’t exactly have anywhere else to go. Honestly, though, he’s really been grumpier than usual. I wish he could just chill out a little bit – it’s probably because it’s been so gross out lately. It’s hard to get horny when you’re sweating like crazy. This place doesn’t even have a fan. I could barely sleep last night it was so muggy. 

Another few pages ahead: 

07/10/2011: God, I really fucked up, didn’t I. I’m so fucking stupid. I gotta get the hell out of here. I’m gonna call Angie and see what she thinks I should do. She got out, maybe –

Dean tried to keep going, but the rest of the pages had obviously gotten wet, and were stuck together and illegible. He shoved the diary under his arm and looked for anything else in the mess of the room, but there was nothing that looked interesting. Just for good measure, he pulled out the EMF meter and waved it around. It glowed and beeped, but nothing too strong.  

He walked back into the main room, keeping the meter out in front of him. The space was empty. “Sam?” he called out. He was about a minute away from getting anxious when he heard a voice from outside. 

“Back here!” 

Dean let out a breath, and reminded himself that Sam was good. Most of the time, anyway. There was nothing to worry about. 

Easier said than done, as per fucking usual. 

He found his brother out back, looking through the tool shed. Sam emerged with cobwebs in his hair. 

“Anything?” Dean asked. 

Sam shook his head. “I don’t think anyone’s been here for a long time, man. And anyway, there’s nothing but junk around. This guy is a mess. I mean, did you see the bathroom? Rancid.” 

“Yech,” Dean shook his head. “Glad I missed that treat.” He held up the EMF meter, which had quieted since he walked outside. “EMF is around, but not super strong. And it looks like it’s true Robbie was dating Emma. She left her diary here.” 

Sam grabbed the journal from his hands, and looked at the front page. “Emma Crawford,” he read. “That’s her.”  

“Dude. Just from the vibes here, this could be our guy. Plus with the EMF…” 

Sam nodded. “Well, we need a body before we can burn it. He could be anywhere –”

Suddenly, the sound of spraying gravel came from the front. They looked at each other, alarmed, and made for the side of the house. Dean peeked around, then ducked back quickly. 

“Shit, someone’s pulling in up front.” 

“Is it Robbie?” Sam said quietly. 

“In that shiny car? No way in hell. Looks like the Feds.” 

“Shit,” Sam agreed. “We gotta get the hell out of here.” 

Dean looked at him sideways. “No kidding. Okay. Once they’re inside, we run to the car. Got it?”

Sam nodded, and they pulled out their guns. 

Reid slipped his sunglasses on as they stepped out of the car. It had been a long ride to this place, which was far even from the next house over. Robert Freeman was definitely a fan of privacy. 

He was surprised to see a nice looking classic car in the driveway. Next to the dilapidated house, it looked out of place. 

Emily was looking at it too. “Well,” she said. “You can tell what he cares about.” 

“Let’s go see if he’s home,” JJ said, closing the door to their car and walking closer, a file under her arm. 

Spencer frowned as he looked at the front porch. “The door looks like it’s open.” 

“Mr. Freeman!” Emily called out as they stepped up onto the porch. She knocked loudly on the wall next to the screen door. “Robert Freeman! FBI – come to the door!” 

There was no response; the house sounded almost unnaturally quiet.

They tried again, but when a few minutes later there were still no sounds of life, Reid stepped forwards and slipped through the open door. The others followed him, their steps squeaking on the wooden floor. In the shadowed room, the temperature was cooler than it was outside. 

“Eugh,” JJ said, covering her nose. “What’s that smell?” 

“Might be because of that,” Reid said, gesturing to a pile of dead mice in the corner. Disgusting. 

Prentiss stepped in front of him. “Mr. Freeman?” she called out again.

JJ glanced up as a lightbulb flickered above her. 

Spencer looked around. This place looked long deserted, from the dust covering everything, and the smell. They’d seen people living in horrible situations, so it was possible Robert Freeman was still coming back to this place. But his gut was telling him that wasn’t the case. 

And if that was true, how was it that that spotless car was outside? It just didn’t add up. “Hey,” he said, voicing his doubts, “I don’t think –” 

Reid turned on a dime at the sudden sound of an engine revving outside. Emily and JJ were right behind him as he sprinted out the front door and into the drive. A cloud of dust had been kicked up, and the classic car they’d seen when they arrived was already out of sight. 

“Shit!” JJ cursed. 

“I’m going after him,” Prentiss said, already climbing into the driver’s seat of the suburban. “You two stay here, try and get all the information that you can.” The door slammed, and she was gone. 

Reid shook his head. “I knew something was off with that car.” If he had just been a minute faster… 

“We should have known,” JJ agreed. “You remember the license plate number though, right?” 

“Of course,” Reid said.

JJ nodded at him, then put a hand on her hip, looking out at the dust cloud the cars had caused. “Well, hopefully she’s planning on coming back to get us. I don’t get any service out here.” 

Spencer huffed a laugh, then turned around and headed back to the house. “Come on, JJ. We might as well look around.” 

Sam held onto the door tight as Dean took every turn in the road at top speed. Behind them, they heard the sound of a siren picking up. 

“Great,” said Sam dryly, shooting Dean a dirty look. “They’re following us! This is just what we needed.” 

“Hey, don’t give me the stink eye!” Dean said, his gaze still on the road. “Do I need to remind you whose idea this was?” 

“I said we should leave town. Just this morning, I said that!” 

Dean glowered. “Okay, so maybe it’s both our faults, then!” he yelled. 

“Fine!” Sam yelled back. 

“Fine!” Dean took the next turn sharply, and Sam got flung into the door. 

Sam spotted a turn-off to the right. “There!” he pointed. “Dean, turn!” 

Somehow, Dean managed to turn the car in a frustrated way, and they shot off the main road. They sped past several houses, and a church, and then took another turn. The noise of the siren faded behind them. Finally, they pulled off of the road entirely and into a spot in the trees by the river. 

Sam let out a short breath through his nose. “Right. Well, what now?” 

“You know the drill. We’ll just hang here for a little and wait for the fire to die down in town. And we’ll change the license plates.” 

“Right,” Sam said. They looked at each other, and then forward at the dark green leaves covering the windshield. The sound of the river running reached their ears. 

The sudden rap on the glass of the window to Sam’s right nearly made him jump out of his skin. 

He turned, expecting either the FBI or the devil. What he saw instead was a furious young woman with bright blonde hair. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” she yelled, her voice slightly muffled by the glass. 

Sam rolled down the window, feeling incredibly confused. “Uh… what?” 

“What’s your problem?” Dean fired back. “We’re just – you know – parked here. You got a problem with parked cars?” 

The woman’s face was screwed up in anger. “I do when assholes like you park on my friend’s memorial!” 

Sam glanced at Dean, who looked just as confused as he did. Then realization washed over him. “Oh, shit.” 

“What?” Dean said. 

“Dean, back up,” he said quickly. “Back up!”

Dean put the car in gear. “Geez, okay.” He backed the car up back onto the road, and the two of them climbed out. 

Sam looked at where the car had been, and saw the blonde woman resetting a wreath of flowers and a small picture. 

Dean was looking at the picture, too. “Sam, isn’t that –” 

“Emma,” Sam confirmed. 

“Oh,” Dean muttered contritely. Then he spoke up louder. “Uh, so sorry. I didn’t see that there.” 

The woman turned sharply to look at them. Her eyes were red. “Yeah, well you came in here at about a hundred miles an hour. It’s a wonder you could see anything at all.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “My bad.”  

“Really, we’re very sorry,” Sam added. He hesitated, and then continued gently, “Um… isn’t that Emma Crawford?” 

The woman nodded. “Yeah. She was my friend.” 

“We heard about what happened to her. I’m sorry.” 

A shrug. “Thanks, I guess.”

Sam couldn’t help but feel like they were missing something. 

Apparently Dean felt the same way. He stepped forwards, his hands in his pockets. “Wait – what’s your name?” 

The woman seemed suddenly uncomfortable, and looked around like she was searching for an exit. “Uh… Angie.”

Dean blinked, and looked at Sam like he should know what that meant. “Huh.”

Aaron closed the door on the interrogation room, leaving the job of wrapping up Tom Rayan’s interview to Rossi.

They had asked plenty more questions, but the man hadn’t known much more than he had spilled at the beginning. He hadn’t even known the details of his own daughter’s case, much less those of the other girls. He knew the bare details, but other than that – no, this man was not their unsub. He hoped that at least the information about Robert Freeman would lead somewhere. 

Hotch walked into the bull-pen, looking for one of the officers who was in charge of the case. He found Officer Combs at her desk. 

“Agent Hotchner,” she greeted, spinning her chair around. “Just the man I wanted to see. How’d it go with Tom?” 

“It was alright,” he replied. “We’ve discovered something that might be connected, though. Can I ask you: what happened to Emma Crawford?”

Combs looked surprised. “Emma? She… that was a case we were dealing with earlier this summer. Horrible. Her friend found her in her car down by the river.” 

“Did you ever arrest anyone in connection with that case?” 

“Yeah. A man named Robert Freeman. We didn’t have enough on him to make it stick, though.” 

Hotch continued, “What made you think it was him?” 

“We heard that they were dating. That’s what her friends were saying. And we found his fingerprints on her. Doesn’t hurt that he’s an absolute asshole.” 

“Okay,” Aaron said. “Have you had any other leads on that case since?” 

Combs shrugged, looking a little uncomfortable. “Honestly, we haven’t had the time to deal with it, since these murders started. Horrible, I know. But we just don’t have the staff to look into it right now.”  

Aaron nodded. 

“Why are you asking about this? Do you think it’s connected?” Combs leaned forward in her chair, frowning. 

Hotch took a breath. “Let me put it this way: how many murders do you usually have to look into around here?” 

Combs shook her head. “None. I’ve been on the force five years. And in that time, none.” 

Aaron let that fact make his point for him. “Right.” 

“You’re what?” Angie said, looking at the two of them like they were crazy. Which, fair. 

Dean put his hands up placatingly. “We know what it sounds like. But it’s true.”

To his right, Sam was looking annoyed. It was obvious he didn’t quite agree with Dean’s tactics, here. But he would play along. Sure enough: “Haven’t you noticed anything weird going on recently? Beyond the fact that people are dying.” 

Angie looked cagey at that question. “No,” she said petulantly. 

“Look – you were friends with Emma, right?” Dean said. She nodded. “All we want to do is figure out who’s responsible for her death. Or what,” he added. 

“Or what,” Angie repeated. She shook her head. “Jesus. Can you two please just leave?”

Sam looked at her intently. “Have you noticed any flickering lights lately? Or weird cold spots? Anything else you can’t explain?” 

“What are you, a Ghostbuster?” She crossed her arms. “It wasn’t a fucking ghost that killed Emma. It was Robbie.” 

“Robert Freeman, you mean,” Dean said. “Her boyfriend?” 

“That’s right. How’d you know that?” 

“We’re good at what we do,” Sam said simply. 

Angie’s expression looked a little less angry. 

Dean pressed further. “What do you know about what happened to her? And do you know where Robbie is? We just came from his place – it looked abandoned.” 

“Yeah, he’s pretty much gone off the grid since it happened. Believe me, I’ve looked,” Angie said bitterly. “Even the police couldn’t hold him. But it was him. He was an abusive piece of shit long before he did that. Emma just didn’t have anywhere else to go. Or at least that’s what she thought, anyway.” She suddenly looked very sad. 

“You don’t have any idea where he might be?”

Angie shook her head. “No.” 

Dean frowned. She had to know something. “Well, when was the last time you saw him?” 

But Angie wasn’t looking at him anymore – she was staring at Sam, her frustrated expression shifting to something more concerned. “Uh… is he okay?” 

Dean’s gaze snapped over to his brother, who was staring with wide glassy eyes in the direction of the river. His mouth moved, but no sound came out. Then suddenly, he flinched, looking terrified. 

Shit. 

“Sam!” Dean said loudly, stepping in front of Sam’s gaze. He turned to look over his shoulder at Angie. “He’s – he’s fine,” he reassured quickly, waving his hand. He hoped it wasn’t obvious how freaked out he really was. “He’s just a little… off, these days. He’ll be fine.” 

Angie nodded, looking only slightly convinced. 

“Sam!” Dean said again. “Sam, listen to me. We’re in Franklin. North Carolina, okay? We got you out, do you hear me?” 

Sam just shook his head and looked away, still muttering to himself. 

Dean let out a sigh. He turned back around to Angie. “I’m sorry,” he said. “He’s been through a lot recently.” 

“It’s okay,” Angie said. “I know the feeling.” 

Dean gave her a small smile, and then pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket. “Just a sec,” he said. He grabbed a pen through the open window of the car, and scribbled down their address and phone number. He passed the paper to Angie. “Here,” he said. “Take this. And if you remember anything else, or if you need help –” 

“Got it,” she said, tucking the paper into her pocket. “Thanks.” 

Dean gave her one last nod before turning back to Sam, who now had his eyes closed, and was shaking his head. 

“Sammy,” Dean said firmly. “I know you can hear me. You’re not there. You’re here, with me. Can you open your eyes?” 

Sam hesitated, but like the brave man he was, he opened his eyes. 

“That’s right,” Dean smiled. “Hey. You with me?” 

Sam coughed. Looked away, and looked back. Then he nodded. “Yeah. I’m – yeah.”

Dean slapped a hand on his shoulder, and gave it a squeeze. A wave of relief ran through him. “Good man. Alright. Get in the car.” 

“We’ve officially got an APB out on a black Chevrolet Impala,” Derek confirmed as he walked into their room in the station. “Garcia’s got it taken care of.” 

Everyone was gathered – even Prentiss, Reid, and JJ were back. There was an air of seriousness to the room. They still didn’t know for certain that Freeman was their unsub, but he certainly fit the profile. 

Hotch nodded at Morgan, and then crossed his arms. “Now that we’re all here, tell us exactly what you saw at that house. Anything you think could be useful.” 

Reid spoke up first. “I’ve been thinking, actually… I don’t know if that car really belongs to Freeman.”

“What makes you say that?” Prentiss said. “It was parked in his driveway. And when we had our backs turned, he used it to flee the scene.” Obviously she still felt guilty that she hadn’t caught up with the car. Derek didn’t blame her, though. The twisty mountain roads around here weren’t easy to get around on. 

“The place was abandoned,” Reid replied, standing and starting to pace. “Save for some very recent disturbances, there were no signs of anyone stepping foot into that house in the last few weeks, at least.”  

JJ nodded. “It’s true. I looked through a pile of magazines he’d been saving, and the most recent one was from late July. There was nothing in his other collections that looked more recent than that, either.” 

“Other collections?” Rossi asked. 

“There was a pile of dead mice,” JJ clarified, her mouth twisting in distaste. “And any food left in the fridge had turned.” 

“No pile of jaw bones, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Prentiss added. 

Derek hummed. “So, the place is nasty and obviously abandoned. And there’s a shiny muscle car sitting out front? I get what you mean, Reid.” 

“But who else could it be?” Rossi said. “We need to look into his friends and associates.” 

“The first victim, as well,” JJ said. “Emma, right? Have we reached out to her family?” 

Hotch looked down at a piece of paper on the table in front of him. “From the report, she’s got a mother who still lives in town. As well as a brother who lives a few towns over. Officer Rhynard gave them both a call while you all were out at the house. The mother will be coming in this afternoon, but last I heard he wasn’t able to get a hold of the brother.” 

Morgan pulled out his phone when he felt it buzz in his pocket. “It’s Garcia,” he said to the group, and accepted the call. “What’s up, baby girl? You’re on speaker. Everyone’s here.” 

“Good,” Garcia’s voice said from the phone. “I ran the license plate you gave me from the car, Reid. Nothing came up except for the last time it was ran – two years ago, in Naples, Florida. Other than that, it’s definitely stolen. The plates, if not the car. They’re supposed to belong to a red 2004 Toyota Camry.” 

“Is there a name on that?” JJ asked. 

“Tyler Flores,” Garcia replied. “Although if it’s stolen the name probably won’t do you much good.” 

“Thanks, Garcia,” Hotch said. “Was there anything else?” 

A pause where they could hear the clicking of her keyboard. “Yes. Robert Freeman. He hasn’t ran his credit card since a day after he was released from custody.” 

“Could he – be dead?” Morgan suggested, shrugging. “From the state of the house, and that; what if someone jumped him after they couldn’t hold him on the charge?”

“That’s fair,” Prentiss said. “We might be chasing a ghost.” 

“I would want to agree with you, if it weren’t for the fact that he showed up on a security camera just a few days ago. Of course, my programs could be wrong,” Garcia added. “But they haven’t been before. And if this was him, it places him just a few blocks from Mary Grace Cohen’s house on the night she was last seen.” 

Derek looked at Reid, his expression mirroring Derek’s feelings. “Dang, Garcia. Nice work. Can we –” 

“It’s being sent to your tablets as we speak. And thank you. I live to serve, mon ami. Call me if you need anything else.” She hung up. 

“Well,” Rossi said, sitting up straighter. “This guy is looking more and more promising.” 

Hotch stood, looking about as excited as he ever got. Which meant he wasn’t quite as stone faced as usual. “We’re catching up,” he said. “But let’s stay focused. Remember, we’re on the clock. At the rate this guy is going, don’t be surprised if another body turns up soon.” 

At that morose reminder, they dispersed, each headed for what they knew needed to be done next. 

Dean let out a groan and shut his computer, feeling a familiar ache settling behind his eyes. They’d spent the last few hours looking into where they might find Robert Freeman, and researching the connection between the ghost signs and the mutilations and exsanguination. He’d much rather be out in town asking around for this guy, but when Sam had suggested they lay low for the rest of the day, he’d had to agree. He could only take so many close calls with the Feds in one day. So, they’d stashed Impala under a tarp in the back of the motel parking lot and settled in with the blinds drawn. 

To his left, Sam was typing away, staring intently at his computer screen. He’d seemed fine since the last episode before they’d parted ways with Angie. But he knew that didn’t mean too much. The kid was too good at hiding it. 

Maybe being locked up in this room could be good for something, after all. It was about time they had this conversation. 

“So, uh… how’s the old noggin’ doing these days?” Dean asked, leaning back in his chair and trying his best to look nonchalant. 

Of course, Sam wasn’t so easily fooled. The look that he sent Dean’s way was ice cold. “I’m fine, Dean,” he grumbled. “I’ve told you – I’m dealing.” 

Dean bit at his lip, pushing back his frustration. “But what does that mean?” 

“I know what’s real,” Sam said petulantly. “I know I’m not – there.” He swallowed uncomfortably, now refusing to look away from his computer screen. 

Dean nodded slowly. “Yeah, I know you do. But lately… there’s been those moments when it feels like you’re not here either.” 

A muscle jumped in Sam’s jaw, he was clenching it so tightly. 

Dean could tell he was headed in the right direction, and despite Sam’s discomfort, pushed forwards. “When you blank out like that, is it a hallucination? Or a flashback?” 

“Sort of… both,” Sam answered reluctantly. “I just get lost, sometimes. Random things remind me –” he cut off. 

Dean felt wildly uncomfortable, and stared down at the motel room’s stained rug. His own memories of hell always felt so close when he talked about this with Sam. That’s what made this conversation so difficult. He’d dealt with his experience down there by staying busy. It was only during the year he’d spent with Lisa that he’d been able to go back and sort through any of it. He’d had to. And objectively, he knew that Sam had to do the same, or whatever was going on in his head would just continue to fester. It was just that he had no idea how to do any of this. 

Sam’s hands slowly clenched and unclenched over his keyboard. The tension was palpable. “I don’t want to talk about this,” he said suddenly. “I’m getting on with it, okay? We don’t have to do this.” 

“‘Getting on with it,’” Dean echoed, perturbed. “Is that the best we can do?” 

A glance at his eyes, and then away again. “I don’t know what else there is.” 

Dean felt a sudden crash of sadness at the resignation in Sam’s voice. And as always, that turned around into anger; there was no helping it. “Jesus, don’t talk like that!” he snapped. 

Sam jumped and finally looked at him again, surprised. “Like what?” 

“Like there’s nothing we can do. Don’t you know by now – there’s always something!” 

 Sam just stared at him. 

“What?” Dean said irritably. 

“It’s just… yeah, there’s always something. But there’s a cost for it, too.” He crossed his arms, like he was cold, though that would have been impossible in the muggy room. “I – It’s – you don’t understand.” 

Dean threw his hands up, exasperated. “Then explain! As much as I’ve always wished for it, I can’t read your mind, Sam. Tell me what you’re thinking, man; whatever it is, I want to know. I can handle it.” 

Sam looked uncertain, and his words stuttered uncharacteristically. “Well – you know – I… gah.” he took a breath. “What I’m trying to say is: you already did it, Dean.” He swallowed, and there was a shine in his eyes that Dean didn’t quite understand. “You already did the impossible thing. You got me out. And fuck, am I grateful. I don’t know how to say how grateful. But… you know.” His voice wavered. “And this – whatever’s going on with my head – is the price. And yeah, it sucks. A lot. But it’s about a million times better than it was being down there.” 

Dean felt like he’d had the wind knocked out of him. He took a shaky breath. 

Before he could reply, Sam added softly, “At least here… it stops, sometimes.” 

“Shit, Sam,” Dean muttered. 

Sam frowned. “You told me you could handle it,” he snapped. 

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “I know, I know. I can. And I want to hear this. It just hurts. And it fucking sucks.” 

Sam snorted. “Yeah, you can say that again.” 

Dean shook his head, his mind stuck on what he’d heard. “I just… I have to believe there’s something more we can do. Something to get Lucifer out of your life. For good.” 

At the sound of the Devil’s name, Sam’s eyes shuttered, and Dean saw him squeeze his palm. “I’m done talking about this,” Sam said flatly. 

“Okay,” Dean said. “Okay.” He stood up, walked to the mini fridge, and pulled out two beers, passing one to Sam and popping open the other for himself. He took a sip, trying to steady himself. Then he changed the subject. “You find any leads on Freeman?” 

Sam cleared his throat. “Uh… not really. He’s not on social media, as far as I can tell. And he hasn’t used his credit card recently. All I’ve been able to dig up are some old tax documents of his.” 

“Really?” Dean said. “What kind of dough was this guy pulling in?” 

“About as much as you’d expect, given the state of where he’s living.” 

“Right,” Dean replied. He stepped over to the window, and pulled the drapes aside a bit to look out into the parking lot. A light rain was falling. It was dark out now, save for the one flickering street lamp, which reflected off of the puddles on the pavement. “So my question is – is this guy dead, or not? Because all signs point to a ghost. And we’ve seen ghosts do a lot of crazy shit, but this?” 

Sam didn’t seem to be listening. “Huh, look at this. It looks like he has –” 

A pale face burst into Dean’s line of sight, and he stumbled back, startled. “Holy shit!” 

Sam was up and at his back in seconds, his gun out at his side. “What is it?” 

A hand knocked at the window. The person’s hair was plastered down and darkened by the rain, so Dean barely recognized her. But then she spoke. 

“Let me in! It’s me, Angie! Please – I was wrong – you’ve gotta help me!” 

Chapter Text

Sam pulled Angie into the motel room, and looked both ways outside before he shut the door again. She was dripping wet from the rain, and looked scared out of her head.

“Angie!” Dean said. “What happened?” 

“I – I didn’t think – It was –” 

Sam placed himself in front of her. “Angie, look at me.” 

She was breathing too fast, but her eyes found his. 

“Take a deep breath, and tell us what’s going on.” 

She tried her best to comply, and after a minute she managed to speak. Her face was white. “I saw – I saw Emma!”

“Emma?” Dean said, sounding confused. 

Sam looked up at his brother, the truth suddenly striking him. “Dean, it’s her,” he said seriously. “She’s the ghost.” 

From the look on his face, Dean knew just what he meant. 

“This can’t be happening,” Angie said weakly. 

Sam directed her to the only chair in the room. “Just – here, take a seat, okay? It’s good you came here.” 

Once she had sat down, Dean grabbed his arm and pulled him over to the opposite corner of the room. 

“You think – all this is Emma?” he hissed. 

Sam shrugged. “It makes some sense. She was murdered – maybe because of that she got a fast track to being either a poltergeist or a violent spirit.” 

Dean bit at his lip, and glanced over at Angie, who had a hand covering her mouth. “I don’t know,” he said. “You think she’d go after men, not women. I feel like we’re missing something.” 

“Alright, you ask her about it, then.” 

Dean looked annoyed for a moment, but walked over to speak to Angie anyway. He took a seat on the edge of the bed, facing her. “So… you wanna tell us what happened? No need to skip details; believe me, we’ve heard it all.”

Angie’s hand ran down her face and landed in her lap. “Last night, I thought I saw something. A shape, outside my window. My mom told me I was being stupid. But now I know it was real!” She let out a long breath, and looked at them both, shaken. “Ghosts are real.” 

Sam shared a glance with Dean, who looked amused. 

“Yeah, well – we did warn you.” 

Angie frowned. “Not well enough, apparently.” 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Get to the story already, would you? What happened tonight that made you run over here?”

“My parents just left town for the weekend, so I was home alone. And then, all of a sudden – I saw her,” Angie said earnestly. “It was like – like she flickered in front of me. The lights went crazy. Then things started flying off the shelves! And I thought I heard something – a voice, but like I was hearing it from the other end of a tunnel. I couldn’t understand it.” She crossed her arms. “And then I ran. I recognized the address when you gave it to me; I don’t live too far away.” 

Sam nodded. “Alright. Sounds like a poltergeist to me.” 

“Don’t worry, kid,” Dean said. “This is our bread and butter. We’ll have her gone in no time. We’ll keep you safe.” 

“Wait,” Angie said, shaking her head. “I don’t want her gone –” 

But at that moment, the temperature in the room dropped like a rock, and their breath fogged in front of them. The lights flickered madly on the ceiling. 

“Oh, shit –” Sam said, diving for their bags. They always kept something iron on hand, just in case. These days it was an old poker they’d taken from a past job. He pulled it out, holding it in front of himself. 

“What is that?” Angie said hysterically. “What’s going on? Why do you have a gun?” 

Sure enough, Dean now held their shotgun full of rock salt cartridges. 

Sam grabbed the salt they’d left out on the table, and tossed it to her. “Here!” he said. “Draw a circle with this, and get inside!” 

It was none too soon, because just as he’d passed the salt, Sam felt an invisible force slam him into the room’s desk, cracking it under him. His head spun. 

“Get back!” Dean yelled, and Sam felt the poker be ripped from his grip before he heard the familiar hiss of iron going through ghost. Then Dean grabbed his hand, and pulled him up. “You good, Sammy?” 

Sam nodded, taking the poker back. “Angie, the salt! Do what I told you!” 

Looking frightened and bewildered, Angie did as she was told, drawing a circle with the salt on the floor and stepping inside of it. “This is insane,” she said weakly. 

“Yeah, welcome to the party,” Dean said, looking around for any more signs of the ghost. 

A flicker, and then the form of Emma Crawford appeared at the door. She was covered in bruises and blood, her bright blonde hair a mess. She reached out a hand, and picture frames pulled themselves off the wall and shot towards Sam and Dean. They only dodged just in time, the glass from the frames shattering behind them.

Then Emma’s ghost rushed forwards, screeching. 

A loud bang, and her form was shot full of rock salt. She vanished in an instant. 

The room was silent save for their panting breaths. 

“I think she’s gone for now,” Sam said hesitantly after a minute or two. He looked at Angie. “She must have followed you here.” 

Dean looked at the holes in the wall left by the shotgun. “Well, looks like we’ve got a couple more identities to burn,” he said. 

Angie was hyperventilating again. “I can’t believe this. I mean – last night, I thought – but – this – she’s a ghost!” 

“Breathe, Angie,” Sam said to her. “We know how you’re feeling, but you gotta breathe.” 

As she slowly got a hold of her breaths again, Sam turned to Dean. 

“We’ve gotta deal with this,” Dean said, voicing what Sam had been thinking. “That was definitely Emma. And if this is all her –” 

Sam nodded. “Angie, where is Emma buried?” 

She looked at him blankly. “Why do you want to know that?” 

“We’ll explain in a minute. Just – where is she buried?” he asked again. 

“Uh…” she shook her head. “It’s not far from here. Ten minutes, maybe? The graveyard next to St. Mary’s.” 

Dean propped the shotgun up against the dresser. “Okay. We go there now. Take care of this.”

“No, Dean,” Sam said. “What about Angie? We can’t leave her alone. Not with Emma after her.” 

Dean shrugged. “We take her with us, then!” 

Sam gave him a flat look. “We’re not doing that, either.” 

“What do you suggest, then?” 

Sam raised his chin. “I’ll do it. It won’t take more than an hour. I’ll get it done, and be back before midnight.” 

Dean was already shaking his head. “No way. Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on,” Sam groaned. “Dean, be reasonable.” 

“I am reasonable! I’m the most reasonable person here! And I say that this is a terrible idea!” 

Sam clenched his jaw. “Look,” he said lowly. “Somebody’s gotta stay here and watch Angie, and take care of the ghost when it comes back, which it will. A salt and burn? That’s the easy half of this equation.” 

Dean gave him a long look, and then slowly nodded. “Fine,” he said. Then he poked Sam’s chest. “Don’t make me regret this, though.” 

“Dean,” Sam said, frustrated. “I’ll be fine. We do this once a week.”

Dean glowered, but another glance at Angie sitting wet and pitiful a few feet away was enough to sway him. “Fine,” he said. “We can’t stay here, though. Twenty bucks says that the manager’s already called the cops.” 

Apparently Angie was listening. “We can go back to my house,” she suggested. “I mean, there was a ghost there a little while ago, but I’m starting to get the feeling that’s more of a me problem.” 

Sam and Dean nodded at each other. That would have to do. They started shoving their belongings in bags – there would be no coming back to this room after they left. 

As Sam was turning towards the door, his packed bag in his hand, Dean grabbed his shoulder. His mouth was pressed in a firm line. “Just – keep me updated,” he said firmly. “Okay, Sam?” 

“You got it,” Sam agreed. “And you – watch your back.” 

“Always, little brother.” 

“Great. Now, pass me the keys.”

Spencer stood in their room in the station, staring again at the photos on the board. Morgan and Rossi sat behind him, talking about the case. The station had fallen quiet outside of their room – most people were headed home for the evening. 

“I still can’t place the exsanguination,” Rossi was saying. “The jaws, I can rationalize. This man is playing out a revenge fantasy, and he’s using these women to do it. Women who look like someone that he once cared about. And something that she said is stuck in his head, fueling his rage.” 

“Right,” Morgan said. “Likely a rejection, or a condemnation.” 

Rossi nodded. “So, his removing the jaws is a manifestation of his rage, and keeping them is symbolic of him now being in control. The only way their mouths move now is because of him. But the blood… where does that fit in?” 

“It could be a form of torture. Bleeding to death is no picnic,” Morgan suggested. 

Reid was looking at the photos of the bodies as he said, “What about exsanguination as a form of cleansing? That would fit with the control narrative; he could see it as purging them of something.” 

Rossi scribbled in his notebook. 

“Reid,” Morgan said, “Didn’t you say that this guy would have to be a confident outdoorsman?” 

Spencer nodded. “With the placement of the bodies in the woods, he would have to be comfortable moving around out there, and knowledgeable of the area.” 

“Could he be a hunter? That’s a method of slaughter, right?”

“That’s right,” Rossi said, suddenly sounding more intense. He looked between Reid and Morgan. “Freeman’s house was obviously abandoned, right? So what if he has a hunting cabin that we don’t know about?”

Morgan held up a hand. “Hold on. We don’t know for certain that Freeman is our unsub.” 

“But he is our best fit for the profile at the moment,” Reid said. “We just keep working both angles – at the worst, Freeman is responsible for Emma Crawford’s death. There’s reason to track him down either way.” 

“Good thinking, Reid,” Rossi said, his pen moving quickly on his page. “Although, you’re right, Morgan. We shouldn’t let this cloud our judgment.” 

Morgan nodded, satisfied. 

Reid spun around. “I’ll look into it; see if there’s any record of hunting cabins or other property connected with Freeman. You should tell Garcia to do the same online,” he added to Morgan. 

“Got it. Let us know what you come up with.” 

Reid nodded at them, and stepped swiftly out the door, headed for the records room. 

Dean stepped out of the car and had to slam the door twice before it would shut. “Piece of shit,” he muttered, looking scornfully at the sad little vehicle. Since Sam had taken the Impala to drive to the cemetery, he’d had to hotwire a car in the parking lot. And apparently Angie didn’t own a car, so it looked like they weren’t about to switch it out for anything else until Sam got back. 

While swinging his bag over his shoulder, he looked up at the house Angie lived in, and couldn’t help his eyebrows from rising. “Whoa.” 

Angie shot him a look. “Yeah, I get it. We don’t exactly live in a palace.” 

“No, not that – looks like the place has been trashed.” He took a few steps closer, peering in through the open door. They had come here because it was the closest safe place for them to hide out. Although now that he’d gotten eyes on it, it didn’t look so safe after all. 

“What are you talking about?” Angie walked to the front door and pushed it the rest of the way open. Then she gasped. “What the fuck!” 

Dean walked in afterwards, flicking on the light by the door. It flickered and then stayed on, buzzing slightly. What it illuminated was a mess of broken furniture, smashed picture frames, and holes in the walls. 

“Oh, shit!” he heard Angie curse from the next room. She peeked her head back in to scowl at Dean. “What the hell am I gonna tell my parents?” 

Dean snorted. “Yeah, good luck with that one. I guess you could always say a murderous ghost was after you.” 

Angie crossed her arms. “Emma didn’t do this. It wasn’t like this when I left to come get you.” 

Dean raised an eyebrow. 

“Okay, yeah,” she conceded. “She did the picture frames, I think. But not the rest of this!” 

Dean rifled through his bag and pulled out the EMF meter. As soon as it turned on, it let out a chorus of beeps. 

Angie squinted at the device. “What does that mean?” 

“What it means is that there was a ghost here.” 

Angie threw her hands up, exasperated. “Well, no shit, Sherlock! I already told you that much!” 

Dean pursed his lips, and turned the meter off slowly, trying not to admit to himself that that comment had hit home. “Yeah, fair point.” 

She just gave him an annoyed look. 

Dean looked around. “You got anything iron around here?” 

“Why?” 

“It repels ghosts. That, and salt. They’re the most common things that do, anyway.” 

Angie glanced over at the kitchen. “Um… does cast iron count?” 

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, I think we can make that work.” 

Sam wandered the rows of gravestones in the dark, looking for the spot that Angie had described, a shovel over his shoulder. The rain had stopped, but the drips from trees splashed on his head every so often. As he walked, his flashlight illuminated bouquets of flowers, stuffed animals, and propped up pictures. He paused at one stone, which read: Georgia Barnard, Beloved Daughter and Friend. The dirt was still fresh, and there was an incredible amount of flowers and notes. 

Right. Georgia’s funeral had been today. Sam looked down at her grave. He hoped that the other victims of this would be able to rest peacefully. But if they didn’t, he and Dean would be back.

 In the end, it wasn’t too difficult to find Emma’s grave. The grass was still growing back in, and the gravestone, while a bit simpler than Georgia’s, was clean and new. 

Sam let out a sigh, propped the flashlight up on the gravestone, and sunk his shovel into the dirt. 

~~~~~~~

On the other side of the graveyard, a truck pulled in, and Evan Wells stepped out. As night watch caretaker, he should have been there almost 45 minutes earlier. But in reality nobody cared if he was a little late. Not like there was anyone else out there to clock him in. Now that the rain had stopped, though, there was no excuse for him not to be out there. 

He shut the door of his truck and ambled towards the entrance, planning on taking his usual stroll through the rows to make sure all visitors had gone home for the night. He held out his flashlight in front of himself, the beam catching on the misty, humid air. 

For a while, all he could hear was the sound of crickets, and a toad or two from the pond on the edge of the graveyard. Then the harsh sound of metal on rock made him pause. It seemed like it was coming from the direction of the pond. Frowning, Evan turned around and started heading in that direction. After a minute he shut his flashlight off and strained his eyes, trying to pick up any dots of light that would give him a sense of where to go. 

“There you are,” Evan muttered when his eyes cleared enough to see a beam of light across the way. He almost called out to send the trespasser running. Usually it was teens who ended up there after dark, blowing off steam and getting off on just how disrespectful it was, and it was funny to watch them scramble off over the fences. This time, though, something in his gut told him to hold back. 

He crept closer to the light, keeping his flashlight in his pocket and just using the moon to see by. When he was only a couple hundred feet away, he paused and ducked behind a tree. For some reason he felt on edge, and the sounds he was hearing were only increasing his unease. 

Finally, Evan peaked around the tree. When he realized what he was seeing, his eyes widened, and his pulse picked up in his chest. “Holy shit.” He patted himself down for his phone, and then realized with a turn of his stomach that he had left it in the truck. 

Now he was the one scrambling as he made his way back to his parking spot, his heart in his throat. 

~~~~~~~

Sam paused in his digging and looked up, alert. Had that been a stick breaking? He grabbed the flashlight and swept it over the trees, illuminating the dripping leaves. When the light didn’t reveal anything, he put it down again, shaking his head. Whatever it was, he should hurry up and get finished here. 

“Jumpy, aren’t we?” said a snide voice from off to his left. 

Sam couldn’t help the reactionary flinch, and then hated himself for it. “Fuck off,” he muttered bitterly, picking up another large pile of dirt with his shovel. 

Lucifer wandered into his line of sight and perched himself on Emma’s gravestone. “I guess I would be too, if I’d been through what you have.” He picked up the flashlight and ran his finger along the top. Where his skin touched, frost bloomed. “I try to be humble, but – I’ve got a reputation for a reason, you know.” 

Sam just dug faster, ignoring the sudden coolness to the air. 

“Father never understood my talents. Said they were wrong. But then, who created me?” A scoff. “The original hypocrite. Too bad your father was only an asshole, and not a hypocrite. We could have commiserated.” 

Sam dropped the shovel, and squeezed his palm roughly. Mercifully, Lucifer flickered, and disappeared. 

On the next stab with the shovel, he hit the casket. 

Hotch stepped into the room, looking around at his team. Everyone looked tired, but they were all still obviously working hard – either researching, or discussing. Reid was out looking through every page of the records room and their computer files that had anything to do with Robert Freeman. Morgan was listening to recordings of the conversations with the victims’ families. And Prentiss was poring over the crime scene photos again, a pen in her mouth. 

“Good evening, everyone,” he said, breaking the relative quiet. They all looked up at him. “You’ve all been doing good work, so just know that this isn’t a recrimination. But, with the rate at which the latest bodies have been discovered, it’s likely that another will be uncovered soon. We’ve already determined that our unsub is escalating, and it’s important that we do everything we can to keep the people in this town safe.” There were nods all around. 

“I just spoke with Officer Combs, and convinced her that they should implement a curfew starting tomorrow night. They’ll need to announce this in the morning. JJ – you have past experience; would you mind assisting their team on crafting a message for the public?” 

“No problem,” JJ said. “I still have blueprints for those types of announcements; I’ll give them whatever we have.”

“Good,” Hotch said. “Now, I’ve been thinking that we need to expand our line of inquiry, notably to more friends and acquaintances. The parents of the victims claim that their daughters never knew each other well, but we need confirmation of that. And it would come best from their peers.” 

“I’ll start gathering a list of people for us to reach out to tomorrow,” Morgan said. “I’ll get Garcia on it, too – she can sort through their social media better than I could.” 

Hotch nodded at them all. “Alright. Let’s try and wrap all this up by midnight, barring any new developments. That way we’ll be fresh for the morning. So everyone else, jump in where you can, or finish with your own interests.” 

There was a chorus of ‘yes, sir’s around the room. 

“Okay, we’ve got work to do.” 

Angie sat on a ripped chair in the living room while Dean poured salt lines on the doors and windows of her house. 

“I don’t understand,” Angie said morosely as she watched Dean work. “Why is she haunting me? She’s my – we were best friends.” 

Dean glanced at her, and shrugged. “When you die, especially in a violent way like she did, it messes you up. What she is now – she’s not the same. She might be following you because she knows you had a connection, but she forgets what that was.”

Angie sniffed, and Dean realized she was crying. 

“Uh… you okay?” he said awkwardly, putting down the salt. 

She wiped her eyes. “That’s awful,” she said. “I don’t want her to be like this. Isn’t there anything we can do? To make her remember?” 

Dean shook his head slowly. “It doesn’t work like that. Some ghosts you can convince to move on, cross the Veil, but only if they haven’t already gotten violent. There’s no turning back from that point.” 

Angie frowned. “She hasn’t been violent,” she said defensively. 

Dean gestured around at the torn up room. “Yeah? What would you call this?” 

“I don’t know… frustration? Trying to communicate? And I told you – most of this wasn’t her.” She looked up, suddenly excited. “You must have a Ouiji board, right?” 

Dean groaned. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.” 

“No, I’m not kidding. Come on, what is your problem?” Angie said angrily. 

“I don’t have a problem,” Dean snapped back. “I have experience. Experience that tells me that Emma is dangerous. We’re not gonna try and talk to her – that’ll just bring her right back here! Now just – wait, okay? Sam will be back soon, and we’ll know it’s safe.” He didn’t voice what else he was thinking – that it was likely Emma was the one responsible for the murders. The longer Angie could go without knowing that, the better, as far as he was concerned. 

Angie looked sad again. “So, when he burns her body, she’ll be gone forever? That’s what you said, right?” 

He looked at her with no small amount of sympathy. “Angie, she’s already gone.”

Huffing, Angie crossed her arms and closed her eyes before she started talking lowly to herself, though Dean could still hear everything she said: “Emma, I know you’re here. And I’m listening. I know you’ll find a way to tell me what you want me to know.” 

Dean just shook his head. “Civilians,” he muttered, and picked up the iron poker. 

Sam pulled upwards hard, and with a creak and a groan the casket opened. 

“Ugh,” he put a hand over his nose when the smell hit him. He never could get used to this part. It didn’t help that Emma had only been buried a few weeks ago.

Alright. Time to get this done, and then leave. 

Keeping his face covered, Sam sprinkled salt and lighter fluid over the grave. Then he pulled his lighter out, and flicked it on. He threw it down into the grave, and it caught instantly. 

He took a couple of steps back, and reached for his flashlight. 

“Freeze!” A voice came from the dark. “Put your hands up!” 

He looked up, and saw the red and blue lights coming from the parking lot. And then he saw the gun pointed at his head.

Oh, shit.

“Down on the ground, and hands behind your head!” Another voice said. “Now!” 

Double shit. There were two of them. Sam looked quickly this way and that, but there was no running here – not with multiple guns pointed at him from 15 feet away. 

He got down on his knees next to the flames, and put his hands behind his head. 

“Here, cuff ‘im,” the first voice said, and there was a flash of metal as he passed a pair of handcuffs to his partner. 

The second voice stepped out of the gloom into the beam of his flashlight. “No dumb moves, now,” he said. And with a click, the cuffs were on. 

Damn. Dean was gonna be pissed. 

It was silent in the house as Angie and Dean waited. Angie was curled up on her chair, hugging her knees to her chest, and Dean sat with the poker in his lap, alternating between checking for updates from Sam and watching out for Emma. 

Then there was a slow build of sound as the windows of the living room rattled in their frames. He stood up quickly, just in time for them to burst inwards, glass shattering across the carpet. 

“Angie, up! Get back into the kitchen!” he yelled, and she scrambled to comply, ducking for cover.

There was the unfortunately familiar feeling of getting pushed by invisible hands, and Dean tumbled over the couch and onto the floor, the shards of glass biting into his skin. 

He was on his feet again in only a moment. Dean looked this way and that, the poker held up high in his hands. He saw Angie doing the same with her cast iron skillet. 

“Show yourself, you bitch!” There was a high-pitched scratching noise, and Dean spun to see a tear forming in the wallpaper. “What the…” 

Slowly, a word appeared. And then another. 

“Emma…” Angie breathed. 

The scratching stopped, and the air stilled. Emma was gone. 

Angie took a step forward, staring at the wall. There was a message carved into it – three words. 

No more lies. 

“Hold on everybody,” Emily said to the team as she walked into the room they were using as their base. People were in the middle of getting ready to leave for the night. “Sorry, I know we were hoping to wrap up at midnight, but it looks like we’re not going home anytime soon. Officer Rhynard just picked up someone who might be our unsub.” 

“They found Freeman?” 

Emily shook her head. “They haven’t ID’d him yet. All we know is that the caretaker at the local cemetery called in a tip saying someone was digging up a grave. Turns out it was Emma Crawford’s.”

Morgan shook his head in disgust. 

“Where is he?” Rossi asked. 

“They’re bringing him to the station now.” 

“Huh,” said JJ, looking a little unsettled. “The unsub doesn’t have a history of revisiting his victims. This is new.” 

“Emily was his first kill,” Reid said, tapping a pen on his knee. “If it is Robert Freeman, he’s got a higher emotional attachment to her. Revisiting her could be a sign of remorse.” 

Morgan shook his head. “Visiting her grave, sure. But digging it up? That’s an aggressive act. And not an easy one. He’s got a lot of pent up energy.” 

“Whatever his motive, we’ve got him now,” Hotch said levelly. “But we only have the proof of him digging up the grave, not for murder. We’ll need his confession to move forward.” 

“I can try him first,” JJ said, looking up from the papers in front of her. “I’m a pretty good match for the victim type; it might put him off guard.”

Hotch nodded. “Do you want backup?” 

JJ looked over at Prentiss. “Would you join?” 

Prentiss smiled. “Of course.” 

“Alright then,” Hotch said. “Rossi, Reid – you two go to the cemetery. Take a look at what he did to the gravesite, and talk to the caretaker. We want to make sure to cover all our bases.” 

The two of them nodded at each other and headed for the door.

“I’m driving,” Emily heard Rossi say to Reid as they exited into the hall. 

Morgan sighed as he pushed himself to his feet. “Well, I guess we’d better get some coffee going.” 

Dean was about to lose it. 

He opened his phone again for about the 20th time in the last half an hour and hit the redial button, then paced back and forth across the motel room as he listened to the ringing in his ear. Angie stood in the door to the kitchen, her arms crossed.  

“This is Sam. I must be busy, so call again later.” 

“Shit!” Dean cursed. “God damn it, Sam.” 

He called his other number. No response. 

This was it. Sam had finally gone off the deep end. Satan had lured him back out to some warehouse and was tearing the marbles out of his head. 

“What’s going on?” Angie asked nervously. “You don’t think he –” 

“Yeah, I do think,” Dean snapped. 

Angie’s mouth closed quickly, and she looked chastened and scared. 

Dean raised one hand. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on. But we’re gonna figure it out, okay?” 

Angie paused, and then nodded hesitantly. “Shouldn’t we… what should we do? You know, about Emma’s message –” 

“Right. Uh…” He ran an anxious hand through his hair, then grabbed his gun and tucked it into his pants. He hadn’t even started thinking about Emma’s creepy wall message. He just knew that something was going on with Sam. He had been checking in like clockwork every 15 minutes, and now it was radio silence. Besides that, his Sam Is In Trouble Radar was going crazy. 

Okay. Okay. Keep it together. Cross off every other option, first. In a dumbass move, Dean hadn’t made Sam turn his GPS back on since he’d gone off to hunt that kitsune in Montana. And now he was paying for it.  

“Okay. We’re gonna have to go to Emma’s grave, and see if something happened. So, sorry, but we have to get out of here. We’ll work the problem from there. Got it?” 

Angie looked pale. “Got it.” 

Dean spun quickly around the motel room, grabbing everything he needed. He picked up a knife, and pressed it into Angie's hands. “Hold onto that.” 

She gripped it tightly. 

“Now, come on, let’s get it movin’, sister!” Dean gave her a little push towards the door, and the two of them walked outside. 

He barely waited until Angie had sat down and closed the door behind her before he ripped out of the driveway, the tires hitting the curb on the way into the street. His fingers tapped restlessly on the steering wheel, and he pressed a little harder on the gas. 

“I’m sorry,” Angie said after a minute. 

Dean glanced at her, then looked back at the road. “This isn’t your fault, kid. And Sam – he can handle himself.” He tried not to make it sound like he was convincing himself. “Odds are he’s fine. You’ll see.” 

Angie didn’t reply. She looked away, out the window. 

When they finally got to the entrance to the cemetery, Dean didn’t even stop – he just rolled right past. 

The place was filled with the blue and red lights of police cars, including a sleek black SUV like the one they’d seen at Robbie’s house. 

“Ah, son of a bitch,” he cursed bitterly. “Goddamnit, Sam. Fucking figures it’d be the Feds.” 

“Better than the alternative,” Angie muttered. 

“Fair enough,” Dean agreed. “But monsters are simple. The FBI? That’s complicated.”

Angie raised an eyebrow. “You know you sound crazy when you say stuff like that, right?” 

Dean gave her a wry grin. “Welcome to the life, my friend.” 

JJ watched as the man was brought into the station, his hands cuffed between him. He had long, brown hair that covered his face. His clothes were splattered in mud. 

Looking at him, a shiver went down her spine. He certainly looked like he was capable of murder. But it remained to be seen whether this was their unsub. 

Morgan walked up and nudged her with an elbow. “You sure you want to do this?” 

She raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Come on,” he said. “We all know you’ve got nothing to prove. I just know that you’ve connected with this case more than usual. So, if you don’t want to do this…” 

JJ gave him a small smile. “Thanks, Morgan. But I’m good.” 

He smiled back. “You know that’s right.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Well, I’ll be on the other side of the glass once you’re in there. Just knock if you need us.” 

While she waited for the man to get settled in the interrogation room, JJ grabbed a cup of coffee. She’d grown almost too accustomed to these long nights with no sleep, and knew that if she didn’t keep the caffeine going, she’d crash before too long. The consequence was being a little jittery, but she could deal with that. 

Emily walked up, holding her own mug. “Cheers,” she said dryly. 

JJ mirrored her by raising her cup. “Cheers. You ready for this?” 

“Yeah,” Emily nodded. She looked suddenly more serious. “You should know something, though. I just talked to Officer Rhynard. He said that the body wasn’t just unearthed; it was burned.”

JJ’s jaw dropped in horror. “Burned?”

Emily’s face was grave. “I know. Apparently they’re working on putting out the flames now. I’m just struggling with what the motive could possibly be.”

She shook her head, completely dumbfounded. “This… It doesn’t make any sense. This is totally different than anything else he’s done.”

There was a voice from the other side of the room. “Agent Jareau! He’s ready for you.” JJ turned to see Officer Combs walking towards them. 

“Thanks, Eileen. Have you identified him, yet?” 

Combs shook her head. “No. But we do know a couple things. First – he’s not Robert Freeman. But on the other hand, the car he drove to the cemetery matches the APB you put out to the letter.” 

“It gets better and better,” Emily said to JJ wryly. 

“Okay,” JJ said. “Well. We’re headed in.” 

Eileen nodded at them. “Good luck. Hopefully you don’t need it.”

Dean flipped open his cell, and pressed speed dial 2. They were still in the car, now driving back in the direction of Angie’s house. He needed somewhere to settle down and figure this shit out, and that was about as good as they were gonna get. 

“Dean,” Bobby greeted. “What’s up?” 

“Bobby, we got a problem.” 

Bobby scoffed. “If I had a nickel for every time I heard you boys say that. What is it this time?” 

“The FBI’s in town, and I think they picked up Sam.” 

There was a long pause. “Well, that’s not good,” Bobby said simply. 

“No shit!” Dean let out a frustrated huff. “What the fuck do we do here? We haven’t even gotten close to wrapping this thing up, either.” 

“What are you working on? Did you figure out what it is, at least? And where the hell are you, anyway?” he added. 

Dean looked over at Angie. “We’re in Franklin, North Carolina. Sam found the case – a few young women have been killed here recently with their jaws removed and their blood drained.” 

“Weird. That combo’s not one I’ve heard of before.” 

“Our thoughts exactly. But all signs are pointing to it being a ghost – the first victim, back as a vengeful spirit. She’s attacked us a few times.” 

“You burn the bones?” 

Dean took a turn, cursing as the tires in the stupid car he was driving skidded on the pavement. “You know what else? Sam was driving the Impala! My baby is probably gettin’ towed right now. Monsters.” 

“Dean, stay on topic, for god’s sake. I’m sure you’ll find a way to get the car back, too. Now – you burn the bones, or not?” 

He shrugged. “I think so. That’s what Sam was off doing when he got nabbed. We just drove away from the cemetery, and I think I saw flames back there.”

“I guess you’ll find out sooner or later,” Bobby said wryly. “Just remember –” 

“We gotta burn all of her, and any deeply connected objects. I know, Bobby,” Dean said, exasperated. Although he felt a little bad for his tone when he saw the expression Angie made in response to it. She looked deeply uncomfortable. 

“No need to be a smartass. You called me, remember.” 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Now – what about Sam? They must have found him digging up Emily’s grave – that’s enough to hold him, but they probably think he's   the murderer, too.” 

Bobby grunted. “Well, either way, you gotta get him out quick. Before they realize one of their most wanted is back from the dead. Again.” 

“Well, it can’t be Henrikson, anyway. Unless he’s back from the dead.” 

“Most people aren’t as lucky in that arena as you two fools.” 

“Right,” Dean said. “So, they probably won’t ID him. It was years ago, now.” 

Bobby sounded skeptical. “You two are also un lucky in every other arena, so I wouldn’t count on it, kid. Move your ass and get him out of there.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. Not that he was happy about it. “Okay. Got any tips?” 

“Use your head. You got one, don’t ya?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Great. Very helpful.” 

“Listen, you’re the ones who’ve broken out of lockout a hundred times. I’ll stay in my lane here, and try and do some research for you. Maybe you missed something. Meanwhile, you focus on yours.”

“Fine. Thanks, Bobby.” 

“You’re welcome. Now go get your brother, ya idjit. And keep me updated.” 

Dean slapped the phone closed and tucked it in his pocket.

Alright, then. Time to get down to business.

Derek stood behind the one way glass, his arms crossed over his chest, and watched as JJ and Prentiss sat down across from the man who’d been arrested at the cemetery. He had long, brown hair, and a tired, frustrated expression. Plus, he was physically imposing. Not extremely muscular, just tall, and with a physique to match. 

But JJ looked him in the eye, unintimidated. After all, she had faced all too many creeps just like him before. “I’m Agent Jareau. This is Agent Prentiss. We’re from –” 

“The FBI. I know.” 

Morgan frowned. He had assumed that it would take a while for them to get this man to talk, from his mannerisms. But apparently not. 

If JJ had assumed the same, she didn’t let it show. “Well, tell us. What else do you know?” 

The man shrugged. “Depends on what you want to hear.” 

“I’ll tell you what we know. We know you dug up Emma Crawford’s body just to burn it. And we know that you were at Robert Freeman’s house this morning.” 

The second piece of information made the man raise an eyebrow. 

Good, JJ, Morgan thought. Keep him on his toes. 

Morgan heard the door open behind him, and turned to see Reid walk inside. 

“Back already?” he asked. 

“There wasn’t much to see,” Reid said. “They weren’t able to stop the fire in time. Emma’s body burned completely.” 

Derek scowled. “Despicable. What did the caretaker have to say?” 

“Again, nothing helpful. He obviously feels terrible about it. I’m not sure if he’ll face consequences, but either way, he definitely wasn’t involved. Anything we learn from this, we’ll have to learn from –” 

Reid suddenly stopped talking as his gaze finally fell on the man behind the glass. His eyes widened, and his mouth slowly fell open slightly. 

Alarmed, Derek grabbed his shoulder. “Reid? Are you okay?” 

Reid shook his head. “It’s not possible,” he mumbled. 

Morgan’s anxiety only grew, and he glanced between Reid and the man they had in custody. Something had just changed. Something serious. “What is it? Reid? Come on, talk to me, man.” 

In a snap, Reid refocused, looking up at Morgan with clear tension in his eyes. “Morgan, that man is Sam Winchester.” 

Chapter Text

The entire BAU team was gathered, their faces serious. 

“Sam Winchester?” Garcia said over the speaker. “You’re kidding. He’s dead!” 

Rossi held up a hand, looking confused and slightly alarmed. “I’m sorry, can someone bring me up to speed? I don’t recall this case.” 

The others looked between themselves. JJ was sure none of them really knew the specifics of the case; they hadn’t been assigned to it. The only thing she remembered was what had been reported by the Bureau. How a horrible accident had led to the death of the agent who had been tracking them down. 

“Reid?” Hotch suggested. “Or Garcia. You two seem the most familiar with the case.” 

“You take this one, Reid. I’ll chime in if you miss anything juicy.” 

Reid nodded. “It makes sense you wouldn’t know about it, Rossi. The Winchesters’ worst crimes occurred in the few years before you came back to the BAU. But it’s true; they should be dead.” 

“You care to explain?” Prentiss said. 

“In February of 2008, both Winchesters were arrested in Monument Colorado by agent Victor Henrikson.”

Morgan perked up, frowning. “That was that case?” He pointed at the wall in the direction of where Sam was sitting. “That’s who that is?” 

“That’s right. They, along with Henrikson and the local police, died when a gas leak caused the building to explode and everyone inside was killed.” He tapped his pen on the table. “At least, that’s what we thought. Obviously Sam Winchester managed to escape.” 

“You said, ‘the Winchesters.’ There’s more than one?” Rossi said. 

“That’s right,” Derek said. “It was Sam and – and Dean. Dean Winchester. And Dean was the real sicko.” 

“I remember now,” Hotch spoke up. “Dean Winchester was the St. Louis killer. He tortured and killed three women, and even got caught on tape. That must have been… what, 2005?” 

Reid nodded at him. “October 2005,” he confirmed. “The case wrapped up when police shot someone they thought to be Dean. But that was disproved when he and Sam were identified while robbing a bank in Milwaukee. That was January 2007. Agent Henrikson was in charge of negotiations there, and after they escaped he led the efforts to try and track them down.” 

“Didn’t they get caught and escape?” Morgan said. “The one time I had a real conversation with Henrikson, I remember him talking about that. He was pissed.” 

“They got caught during a robbery in Arkansas in April of 2007, and got sent to a detention center to wait for their trial. They broke out less than a week later.” 

Garcia spoke up, “Looks like Dean was charged with mail fraud, credit card fraud, grave desecrations, breaking and entering, armed robbery, kidnapping, and – just to round off that lovely list – three counts of first degree murder.” 

Rossi raised an eyebrow. “He was busy, wasn’t he? What was Sam’s list of charges?” 

“Uh… looks like the same, but he’s only an accessory to the armed robbery, kidnapping, and murder.” 

JJ blinked, and shook her head to clear it. She was trying to follow the conversation, but her brain had stalled. Something about that name… 

Prentiss nudged her with her elbow, and JJ snapped her head up, startled. Emily looked concerned. “You okay, JJ?” 

Her heart was beating quickly in her chest. “Does someone have a picture?” 

“Here, I’ll send their mug shots,” Garcia said. “I hate to say it when this happens, but the two of them are definitely easy on the eyes.” A few moments later, a notification sounded from Hotch’s computer. He turned the screen so that the rest of them could see. 

JJ felt the blood rush from her face, and was glad she was sitting down. 

“JJ? What is it?” 

She swallowed, steadying herself. “I – I think I met him.” 

“What.” 

“Where?” 

JJ just stared at the photo, her certainty growing the longer she looked at it. “At the bar. Last night.”

“Well, there goes any hope for him to have actually snuffed it,” Rossi said. “Looks like the brother made it out of the explosion, too.” 

JJ caught Spencer’s gaze. He looked frightened. “You talked to him?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” she said. She thought back, trying to remember everything she could. “It was… nothing. Small talk. He –” her eyes widened. “He asked if we were FBI.” 

Morgan cursed. “This must be what we’ve been missing,” he said, slapping his hand down on the table. “There’s two of them.” 

“And from the sound of it, Dean is the dominant in their partnership,” Hotch said gravely. He looked around at all of them. “We need to get in there and talk to Sam. He’ll be our fastest way of learning where we can find Dean Winchester. I can speak to him next, hit him hard about all of this.” 

Emily nodded. “I can follow up with the friends of the victims – Garcia, you have that list finished, right?” 

“Right-o, my fair lady. It’s being sent to your tablet now.” 

Morgan looked over. “I’ll join you,” he said.

“Thanks.” 

“Right,” Hotch said. “Good work identifying Sam, Reid. That information has just changed the game. Now, we need to stay focused. With Dean still out there, the clock is ticking.”

Dean followed Angie into her house, slamming the door shut behind him.

She tossed him a glare over her shoulder. “Careful with that,” she snapped. 

Dean gestured around the wrecked room, expression flat. “You have seen this place, right?” 

“Doesn’t mean you have to make it worse,” Angie said, crossing her arms. 

“Yeah, whatever. Sorry,” he said grudgingly. He stepped forwards, kicking a broken frame out of the way before settling down on the couch. 

She just rolled her eyes, and followed him before leaning up against the door frame of the living room. “So, how are you planning to break your friend out of jail?” 

“He’s not my friend,” Dean said reflexively. “He’s my brother.” 

“Okay,” Angie allowed. “How are you gonna break your brother out of jail, then?” 

Dean paused, narrowing his eyes at her. “I’m working on it.”

“Right,” she said dryly, raising an eyebrow. Then she tilted her head. “That guy you called in the car – he said that you’d done this before. Broke out of jail, I mean.” 

Dean grunted in affirmation. “That’s right.” 

She scoffed, frowning. “Who are you guys?” 

“The Winchesters,” he replied, smiling despite himself. Of course, she didn’t get the joke. “Look, doing this kind of stuff… when people don’t think the thing you’re fighting even exists, they tend to assume the worst. Sometimes that means they assume we did it.” 

Angie nodded slowly. “So… ghosts exist,” she said.

“Yeah.” 

“What else exists?” She sounded both curious and scared. 

Dean gave her a long look. “You sure you want to know?” 

After a moment, she nodded again, faster this time. “So? Do vampires exist? Werewolves? Fairies?” she asked. She leaned forwards. “Magic?” 

He shrugged. “Yeah, all of that, actually. Just probably not the way you think.” 

“So what if it’s not a ghost that’s after me?” 

Dean shook his head. “Angie, what we saw earlier – that was a ghost. It was Emma.” 

“I know. But what if there’s something else?” Her voice and expression was insistent. 

Dean frowned. His gut had been telling him that they were missing something this whole time. He thought back to his conversation with Sam about whether or not Emma was responsible for all of this, including the murders. After she’d attacked them at the motel, he’d pushed those ideas aside. 

He gave Angie a long look, suspicion twinging. “Did you see something else?” he asked.

She shrugged, leaning back up against the door frame. “I – I don’t know. I don’t think so. It’s just a feeling.” 

“Okay,” Dean said slowly. “Well, it’s possible. Believe me, I know it is. We’ve seen a lot of weird shit.” He chuckled at that, trying to see if she would lighten up. Her face stayed stony. He hurried to continue, “But, uh – first, we have to wait and see if Emma shows back up. Until we know for sure, we should stick together. I can keep you safe.” 

“Right,” she said, swallowing. “Okay.” 

“Angie… Do you know what that message meant? That Emma left behind?” 

She shook her head. “No,” she said. “All – all I can think is that it’s about Robbie. And how no one knew how much of an asshole he was.”

Dean rested his chin in his hand, considering that. “Alright. But why would she say that to you?” 

Her gaze met his. “I was the only one that knew everything,” she said, her eyes flashing. “He was hitting her. But – she didn’t think it was that bad. Her dad beat her mom growing up. She thought it was normal, I guess. And you should’ve seen the shit hole he lived in. Disgusting. I tried to convince her to leave, but she wouldn’t listen.” She played with her necklace, agitated. “I’d just broken up with my boyfriend – it ended so bad he moved out of town. We could have moved in together, me and her.” A tear slipped down her cheek, and she brushed it away angrily. “She wouldn’t listen. And – well – you know what happened next.” 

Angie’s face was shining with tears now, and she looked away. “I’m – sorry,” she said, her voice hoarse. “You want some – water, or something?” 

“Yeah,” Dean said gruffly, giving her the chance to step away for a minute. Sure enough, she disappeared into the kitchen without another word. 

Dean looked around the room he was sitting in, at the ripped fabric, stray pieces of wood, and shattered glass. Emma had sure left behind a mess. 

With Angie out of sight, his mind went immediately back to Sam. He had half a mind to storm into that police station, guns blazing, and pull him right out. But the fucking annoying thing was that it wasn’t like the people in there deserved to get hurt. No, he’d have to be a little more subtle than that. 

It was times like this that made him remember how much he missed Cas. Not that he missed him only for getting them out of tough scrapes like this, but damn if he didn’t come in useful sometimes. 

Then his jaw clenched as he thought about just why Cas wasn’t there. A too familiar rage boiled in his blood, and he pushed himself to his feet, unable to resist pacing. 

Forget that asshole. He wasn’t here, and there was no use thinking any more about it. He had to focus on Sammy. Sammy, who because of that asshole was probably dealing with not only the Feds but Satan himself in lockup. 

Damn it, why the hell did he let that kid go off on his own?

Dean glanced at the clock on the wall – one of the few things that hadn’t been destroyed by Emma’s rampage of the house. 1:30 AM. No doubt Sam was being questioned by now; it wouldn’t matter the time, not with a serial murder case. And even if they didn’t want to pin that on him, they had enough with the grave desecration. Likely, he had a day, maybe two, before they moved him to a jail or a detention center. 

Angie came back into the room, her eyes red but her face dry. She hadn’t brought any water with her. 

Looking at her, Dean slowed, and then paused. “Listen,” he said. “You should… you know. Get some sleep.” 

She shook her head. “What about Sam?” 

“We can’t do anything about him right now, anyways,” he said grudgingly. “And I need to think. So, just get some shut eye, okay? You look like you’re about to fall over.” 

Angie looked at him for a moment, and then finally nodded. She settled herself down on the couch, grabbing a blanket as she did. 

Dean started to pace again. 

Sam was not happy. Not by a long shot. And by the looks of things, neither was the guy who’d just sat down across the table from him. 

“Evening,” the man said, putting his hands on the table in front of himself. He was clean cut, with gelled hair and a face that looked like it hadn’t smiled in about 30 years. “I’m Supervisory Special Agent Hotchner of the FBI.” 

“Good for you,” Sam said, letting his annoyance shine through.

“Thanks,” Hotchner replied easily, obviously unaffected by Sam’s attitude. There were long moments of silence as the two looked at each other. Then the agent crossed his arms over his chest, still holding his gaze. “I’ll be honest – we don’t know quite what to make of you, Sam.”

Sam blinked. He hadn’t told them his name – not even a fake one. And the fact they knew his real one definitely didn’t bode well for him. 

“That’s right. We know who you are.” Hotchner looked smug. “Sam Winchester.”  

There was chuckling off to his left, just out of sight. He brought his hands together slowly and squeezed down on the scar there. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. My name’s Chris.” 

Agent Hotchner just shook his head. “There really isn’t any use in lying. Denial won’t get you anywhere.” 

Sam just stared ahead. Sure, denial wasn’t going to get him anything. But he also wasn’t about to make this guy’s job any easier.

“Let’s make things very clear, Mr. Winchester. You were caught in the middle of digging up a grave and burning the body of a young woman. Not only that, we know about everything else, too. So you might as well talk.” 

Lucifer stepped into Sam’s line of sight, a smirk on his face. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.” 

He grit his teeth and squeezed on the scar again. Lucifer flickered, but stayed where he was. “What do you want from me?” he bit out.

“Just the truth,” Hotchner said. 

Sam couldn’t help but huff a laugh. Lucifer did the same from where he was leaning up against the one-way mirror.

The agent looked frustrated at his reaction. “What? Something funny?”

He let out one last chuckle. “It’s just, that’s not what you want. Trust me.” 

Hotchner just shook his head. “You don’t know me. Why would you say that?” 

“Because it’s the truth,” Sam said wryly. 

Lucifer made a faux-sympathetic face. “That’s right, Sammy. No one wants to know everything you know. Not even Dean. Not even you,” he added, his expression turning sinister. His tone brought to mind flashes of blood - of sharp, deep pain - of fear. “After all, that’s what I’m here for – right?” On the last word, he vanished and reappeared, his face only a few inches from Sam’s. 

Sam quickly shut his eyes, trying not to flinch, and pinched down hard on his scarred hand. He must not have been totally successful in hiding his reaction though, because the agent was looking at him strangely when he opened them again. 

Lucifer was gone, though. He’d take it. 

Agent Hotchner shifted in front of him, spreading out some photographs. Sam didn’t need to look at them carefully to know what they were; they were the same pictures from the case files. The faces of the girls with their jaws missing. 

“Tell me something, Sam – why’d you pull their jaws off? Was it something they said? Or… something another woman said to you? Did you get denied one too many times?” 

Sam frowned. “Are you serious?” He looked down at the pictures, his mouth tightening at the sight of what the monster had done to them. 

“Did they remind you of an old girlfriend? Jessica Moore, maybe. They look similar, don’t you think?” 

His head snapped up, and Hotchner raised one eyebrow slowly. 

“Well,” the agent said. “That was truthful, anyway.” 

There was a hum from Lucifer. “Jessica, Jessica, Jessica.” He gave a wolf whistle. “You know what I always say, Sammy. I do wish that little firecracker had been alive when the two of us started to play together. I would have had so. Much. Fun.” 

Sam grit his teeth so hard it hurt, and stared at the agent across from him levelly. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Hotchner continued, his expression still stony. “Maybe this time you got to choose the victims. Your brother let you take the lead for once, and so you picked a new place to target, but an old flame to remember.” 

His fury at both Lucifer and this situation burst out, and he blurted: “Man, you are way off base. We’re trying to solve these murders. Same as you.” 

The agent frowned. It seemed like this guy was hard to rattle, but obviously that statement had set him back a step. “Solve these murders?"

“That’s right,” Sam said. “We’re on the same side, jackass.” 

Hotchner stared him down, his gaze piercing. The guy obviously knew how to intimidate, Sam could give him that. 

But it was hard to be the scariest guy in the room with the devil standing right over your shoulder. 

Spencer walked with JJ to the coffee pot down the hall. His mind was spinning with all the case files, dates, and locations he’d been reading in an attempt to learn as much as he could about Robert Freeman, and now about Sam and Dean Winchester. 

When he looked over at JJ, though, his mind stalled at her expression. 

“Um… are you okay?” he asked quietly. 

She blinked and met his gaze, as if coming out of a brain fog herself. “Yeah,” she said quickly, and not all that convincingly. “I’m fine, Spence.”

They stepped into the kitchen area. “Alright,” he said. “Penny for your thoughts, then?” 

She rolled her eyes bemusedly, but she looked so tired that it didn’t land quite right. At Spencer’s continued attention, she shrugged. “I don’t know. Just… feeling foolish, I guess.” 

Spencer passed her a mug, and grabbed another one for himself. 

JJ shook her head. “I mean, how did I miss this? He looked me right in the eye. The guy was flirting with me, for Christ’s sake.” 

“JJ, don’t be so hard on yourself,” Reid replied. “These guys are supposed to have been dead for years. The only reason I remembered what Sam Winchester looked like is because my brain won’t let me forget.” The last part of what she said took a moment to sink in. “He was flirting with you?” 

She poured coffee into her cup and his, stubbornly refusing to look at him. “Flirting, talking – what does it matter? What he was doing was rubbing it in my face. He knew exactly who I was, and I had no idea.” 

Reid gave her a long look, concern making his chest feel tight. “JJ, wait - what if the reason you saw him is because he’s following you. What if you’re in danger?”

She shook her head in denial. “It’s weird - he was so friendly. I usually have a good radar for these kinds of people, but…”

“Yeah, and you also know just how manipulative those people can be.”

JJ leaned back against the counter, holding her mug close to herself. “This whole thing is just weird.” She considered his question, though. “I don’t know. I’m a little out of the age bracket, aren’t I?”

“I agree,” Reid said. “But JJ — just, promise me you’ll be careful, okay? It’s not worth the risk.”

She finally met his gaze again. “Yeah, okay, Spencer,” she said, obviously bending to the earnestness of his expression. “I promise.”

Spencer nodded at her. “Good.” 

“So, did your speed reading give you any new information?” JJ asked, obviously trying to change the conversation. 

Spencer grabbed the sugar and started adding it to his coffee. “Just trying to learn as much as I can about the Winchesters. I’ve never done a deep dive into their case before, and I have to say, their list of crimes is… confusing, to say the least. And their histories before all that make even less sense. Not to mention their stint in prison. I’m thinking of reaching out and seeing what the prison has to say about their stay there. I just finished reading about it, and it feels like something’s missing. There were a lot of conflicting statements.”

“Good idea. The last thing we want is a repeat performance.”

Reid took a sip from his mug, relishing the warmth and the sugar.  

“I can help with that, if you want,” JJ offered. “I just finished my plan for setting up the curfew, and there’s nothing I can do with it until Eileen comes back in a few hours.” 

“Sure,” Spencer accepted gratefully. “You’re better at the whole –” he waved his hand around, “- getting people to spill their guts thing, anyways.” 

JJ chuckled. “It’s called people skills, Spence.” 

“Right. That.” 

She smiled at him exasperatedly. “No more jokes until I get this coffee down. I’m too tired to laugh.” She headed back out into the hall, and Reid followed. 

He made to turn into the records room, which he’d basically turned into his personal study at this point. Before he could, JJ put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Keep me updated, okay?” she said, her tone much more serious than it had been a moment ago. “There’s something about these two that isn’t adding up for me.” 

Reid nodded. “Yeah. Of course.” 

He agreed. There were a lot of missing pieces, here. And he was going to find them. Adding things up was one thing he was good at, after all. 

Dean’s pocket vibrated, and he pulled out his phone to see that Bobby was calling. With Angie asleep on the couch, he stepped outside before flipping it open and bringing it to his ear. 

“Bobby,” he greeted. “Tell me you’ve got something for me.” 

“I do,” Bobby said, but Dean cringed when he heard that the man was already using his Bad News Voice. Sure enough: “But it ain’t good. Dean, I made some calls. Figured out who the FBI sent to Franklin. Turns out you’re in a deeper hole than you thought.” 

“What? What do you mean?”

“It’s this team they call the BAU – the Behavioral Analysis Unit. They’re profilers that hunt down serial killers, terrorists, and the like. And get this: they have the highest close rate of any unit in the whole FBI. So,” Bobby said, “I hate to say it, but they probably know who Sam is. They probably know you’re close by, too. What I’m saying is: watch your back.” 

Dean shook his head. “The FBI’s all the same, Bobby. A bunch of guys in suits pretending they know what the hell they’re doing. I bet this group is the same.” 

“No, Dean. Listen to me,” Bobby said, frustrated. “The BAU is notorious for being relentless. And they get results. Don’t think you’re gonna charm your way past them with a smile and a plucky attitude.” 

“Plucky?” Dean repeated. “Seriously?” 

“Yeah, I’m being serious, you little shit. Just – keep your eyes open, okay? Wider than you normally do.” 

“There as wide as they go, Bobby. Promise.” 

“They better be,” Bobby grumbled, then hung up. 

Dean brought his phone down and looked at it, shaking his head. “Cranky geezer,” he muttered. 

Even still, he knew that Bobby wouldn’t exaggerate about something like this. And it didn’t sound good. It figured that they’d walk right into the business of not only the FBI, but their best team. Good old fashioned Winchester Luck. 

He stared out into the street. The temperature had dropped, and he even felt cold standing outside in just his t-shirt. The air was absolutely silent in that way that only small towns could get in the early morning. The only sounds were crickets chirping in the grass, and the rustling of leaves in the wind. A touch of pink was just lighting the horizon. 

It reminded him of the kinds of small towns they’d lived in growing up. This could easily have been a stop on their family parade around the country. The kind of places that were big enough to blend in, but small enough to bore the crap out of him. The kind of places where nothing ever happened. 

Usually, anyway. 

So what he saw when he looked to the left had him frowning. The neighbor’s otherwise decently well manicured house had a broken window, the glass sprinkled out on the grass. 

Something wasn’t right. 

He checked that his pistol was still in his pocket, and ran inside to grab the shotgun and his coat before crossing the lawn silently, the dew from the grass soaking into his shoes. 

One look inside had him cursing, and his heart beat loudly in his chest. He listened, but couldn’t hear a thing, so he went ahead and opened the side door, stepping inside the house. 

He’d seen the living room through the broken window, and it was about as far from a pretty sight as you could get. Dean stepped carefully around the puddle on the ground, his gun out in front of him. He tried not to breathe in. 

The smell of blood was overwhelming.

Sprawled out on the floor was the body of an older man, probably around 50, with silver hair. His throat had been torn open, and his blood had formed a massive puddle on the ground. 

“Jesus,” Dean muttered. He looked around – the house was trashed, similar to how Angie’s was. Broken glass and bits of wood littered the floor. 

Keeping his gun out in front of him, Dean pulled the EMF meter from his coat pocket and switched it on. Obviously Sam’s burning the body hadn’t been enough. There must have been something left; an object she was connected to or another piece of her was still out there. 

But the meter stayed silent.

Dean hit the side of it, trying to wake it up. Still nothing. He stared down at it, his stomach sinking. 

“Well, shit.” 

Officer Nora Keller liked routine. She’d worked at the Franklin Police Department for thirty two years, and more than half of that time had been spent working the reception desk. It could be draining work, but it had its moments. And, hey – it paid the bills. 

After all this time, she had her day down to a science. She was usually up at four, with a cup of coffee passed to her by her husband by 4:15. Then she left the house at 4:43, which gave her just enough time to drive to work, park, and walk in by five. Usually, she could use the first few hours of the morning to catch up on paperwork, or on the crosswords. 

That morning, however, was not one of those mornings. 

When she stepped in the door, she was shocked to see that people were already there. Normally, it was just the skeleton crew that had to work the night shift. But now, she could see that those FBI folks were here, too. Had they stayed all night? Or had they just gotten here? 

What was going on?

Unsettled, Nora sat down at her desk, shooting furtive glances at the FBI behind her. Two of them were talking together, and their tired faces were enough of an answer to her earlier wonderings. 

Distracted, she almost missed when the phone started ringing. Or at least, it took her longer to realize than it normally would. She picked it up and brought it to her ear. 

“Franklin Police Department. Officer Keller speaking.”

“Yes, hello?” an older male voice said. “I just saw a man with a gun go into my neighbor’s house. Joe Bartlett’s place. I didn’t like the look of him. Not at all.” 

Nora was already passing on the message, alarmed. She heard voices pick up behind her when they received it. “Who’s calling?” 

“This is Phil Fry. I live on Dogwood Lane.”

“Dogwood Lane? Can you give me a number?” 

He did. 

“Are you in a safe place, Mr. Fry?” 

“I’m in my house. Please, send someone over here, quick. Something’s not right.” 

Nora nodded. “Officers are on their way to you now, sir. They shouldn’t be more than a few minutes. Stay where you are; do not intervene.” 

“I’ve got my shotgun here.” 

“That’s good, Mr. Fry. But don’t engage unless you have no other choice.” 

The man huffed. “I won’t have to if y’all get over here!” 

She stayed on the line with him until the officers arrived, at which point he hung up abruptly. Nora frowned down at the phone. She hoped it was just some misunderstanding. But something in her gut was saying otherwise… 

“Officer Keller?” 

She turned to see a woman with dark hair standing next to her, an intense expression on her face. One of the FBI women. Agent Preston, maybe? No, that wasn’t right.

She didn’t wait for Nora to reply. “I’m sorry, but did you just say Dogwood Lane?” 

Nora nodded. “That’s right. Some disturbance over there. A man with a gun.” 

The agent looked alarmed, and looked behind her at a black man – she remembered he’d introduced himself as Agent Morgan. “Derek, that’s the same street as the woman we were planning on talking to. Emma’s friend.” 

Morgan stepped forwards. He looked similarly uneasy. “We need to get over there.” 

“Can you give us the details?” the first agent said. “We’ll go assist.”

Nora passed over what she had on a notecard. “You think this is him? The killer?” 

Another glance between the two agents. “We’ll update everyone when we know more.” She held up the notecard. “Thank you.” 

And with that, they turned on their heels, and were out the door. 

Nora let out a sigh. 

Yeah, this was shaping up to be a long one. 

Hotch leaned over the table, Reid, JJ, and Rossi sitting around him. A phone was on the table in front of them. 

“The neighbor ID’d the man as Joe Bartlett,” Emily said over the speaker. “And his wife, who was also home last night according to the neighbor, is missing. Her name’s Martha.”

JJ shook her head, a hand on her chin. 

“We took some quick photos of the crime scene,” Morgan added, his voice coming in from a little further away. “I’m sending them your way.” 

Aaron looked around at the others. “You say his throat was slit?” he asked. 

“Ear to ear,” Prentiss confirmed grimly. “He must have died almost instantly.” 

“The wife,” JJ said. “What does she look like? And how old is she?” 

“We’ve seen photos. She’s white, and blonde. And also around fifty years old.” 

Rossi raised his eyebrows. “The throat slitting on the male victim sounds like it’s our guy. But she would be way out of the established age range of the victims so far.” 

“Not to mention that before now the unsub hasn’t killed, or even attacked anyone who he wasn’t specifically after,” Reid added. “He’s always been able to capture these women during times when he knew they would be alone.”

“He could have been caught off-guard,” Morgan suggested. “Maybe the husband was supposed to be out of town.” 

Hotch was studying the photos that had been sent to his computer, alarmed by what he saw. “Look at the state of their house. It’s been turned upside-down. Something is definitely different here – a sort of aggression that we haven’t seen from him before.” 

“Could this be in reaction to the fact that we brought in Sam Winchester?” Prentiss said. “He might be lashing out because his partner in crime is under our leash.” 

Reid nodded. “That’s certainly possible. From the reports I’ve been able to read about the two of them, it was noted that Dean displayed a protective anger for his brother.” 

“That fits with him being the dominant partner,” JJ said. 

“The neighbor said he saw the man who entered the house holding a gun,” Rossi said. “Why would he bring that and not use it? We haven’t seen him use one at any of the other crime scenes, either.” 

“It could be the method he uses to control his victims and keep them from running,” Aaron offered.

Emily spoke up, “It’s also true that the neighbor could have mistaken something like a large knife for a gun. It was barely sunrise when he reported the sighting.” 

“True enough,” Hotch agreed. “Though I do agree with the sentiment I think I’m hearing here – there’s something different about this attack. I’m inclined to agree with Prentiss: this might have something to do with Sam.” 

“Have you had any luck with him?” JJ asked. “Any clue on where we might find his brother?” 

Hotch shook his head. “Ever since he told me that he and Dean are investigating this serial, and not participating, he’s been mostly quiet. And no mention of any locations they’ve visited here.”

“Do you think he’s telling the truth?” 

Aaron pondered that. “I think he believes it to be true. We’ve established that Dean is the dominant partner here; it’s entirely possible that Sam is ignorant of his brother’s actions and motives.” 

“Even after doing things like participating in the robbery?” Rossi said. “I’m not sure that fits.” 

JJ shrugged. “Sociopaths are capable of convincing themselves of incredible things.”

“We need a location from him,” Morgan said. “There must be somewhere he’s taking these women. We have to find this one before it’s too late.” 

Hotch nodded. “Morgan’s right,” he said. “We need a new angle, here. Something Sam will respond to.” 

“Let me talk to him,” Spencer spoke up. 

JJ looked his way. “You sure?” 

“No, it’s a good idea,” Hotch said after a moment. “You have a better understanding of the details of their case than anyone else here. Besides, You two are basically the same age. Maybe he’ll connect to that.” 

Spencer nodded. “That’s what I’m hoping.” 

“Alright,” Rossi said. “Go get ‘im, Reid.” 

Dean looked this way and that before he raced from the edge of the forest, across Angie’s backyard and through her back door. 

“Holy –” Angie cursed, but stopped when she saw that it was him. Then she glared at him. “Where have you been? I thought you’d been picked up – the police is outside!” She pointed at the red and blue lights that were coming in through the windows. 

Dean fought to catch his breath, and tucked his shotgun up behind the couch. He’d heard the sirens not long ago, and had fled the neighbor’s house into the woods, hiding out behind some trees until a window had opened up for him to come back. “No shit,” he said dryly. “It’s probably for the best, though. Your neighbor’s dead.” 

Angie shook her head. “What? What do you mean? Who?” 

“I mean that I just saw your neighbor’s body. The guy next door. Middle aged guy, gray hair?” 

“Oh, my god. That’s Joe.” She looked gutted. “Was it – was it Emma? Is she back?” 

Dean shook his head. “No, she’s still gone. For now, anyway.” He looked at Angie. “Turns out you were right. There’s something else out there; it’s not just a ghost.” 

Angie looked somehow both terrified and relieved. “What is it?” 

He looked around the wrecked living room. There had to be something here that would tell him more. Likely the same creature had come looking for Angie, but when it couldn’t find her, had gone with a replacement. 

“I got no clue. But we’re gonna find out.” 

“Sam Winchester,” Reid said, keeping his voice level. He was seated across the man in question inside of the interrogation room, his back to the mirror. Winchester was looking at him steadily, his face tired but his eyes alert. “Your case file might be one of the more interesting one’s I’ve read.” 

That wasn’t really true, but it was Sam’s response to the statement that he was really interested in. 

Sam scoffed. “Bull,” he said. 

Reid raised an eyebrow. Alright, so it wouldn’t be ego that swayed this man to talk. “You think so?” 

“Yeah, I do,” Sam said. “I’ve seen my FBI file. It’s nothing special.” 

“Alright,” Reid allowed. “You’re not wrong. I’ve come across way more impressive rap sheets than yours.”

The large man across the table crossed his arms. He looked sideways, and then looked back at Spencer. “I’m not telling you where Dean is, Agent Reid. I know that’s all you want from me.” 

“It’s not ‘Agent’,” Reid said. “It’s ‘Doctor.’” 

“Dr. Reid, then. Whatever. Doesn’t change what I said.” 

Spencer placed his hands in front of himself on the table. “I went to school in California, too, you know. A little bit further south than you, though.” 

Sam frowned. 

“I went to Caltech,” Reid supplied. “I considered Stanford, but their math and science programs weren’t rated quite as high.” 

Sam didn’t reply, his gaze wary. As Spencer watched, his eyes drifted away again before they snapped back. 

“What I do know, though,” he continued, leaning forwards, “Is that not just any average student can get into Stanford. Especially not with a full ride.” 

“I guess I just got lucky,” Sam said softly.

Reid raised his eyebrows. “Lucky? From what I‘ve learned about you, you haven't been lucky a day in your life. At least, not until you started miraculously escaping prisons and surviving explosions.” 

Sam winced, and Spencer watched as he squeezed one palm with his other hand. An odd gesture; maybe there was an old injury there that pained him. 

“Well, you’re not wrong about that,” Sam said dryly. 

“How about now? Do you feel lucky now? Is this going to be another unexplainable escape?”

“I can’t say I don’t hope so,” Winchester replied wryly.  

Spencer studied him in silence for a moment. The other man’s eyes tracked away from his again for a moment. Nervousness, perhaps? Although that didn’t really fit with his general attitude. 

“My colleague says that you claim to be on our side. What side do you think that is?” 

Sam shrugged. “The side that wants to help people. The side that’s against evil – whatever that looks like.” 

“Would you consider yourself a good person, Sam?” Reid asked. 

Winchester’s jaw worked, and he squeezed his hands together again. Reid waited for a reply, but he offered none. 

“Would a good person hold innocent people hostage in a bank?" Spencer pressed. "Would a good person stand by and let his brother torture and murder innocent women?” 

Sam’s eyes lit up with a furious fire. “Leave Dean out of this,” he snapped. “I told you: I’m not giving up anything about him.” 

“That’s not my angle,” Reid said smoothly. His words were honest; apparently he would need to try this from another angle. “I’m just trying to understand your justification.”

Sam was quiet for a moment, but after the silence stretched out, he said finally, “Listen. We’re really not that different. The two of us, I mean.”

“How so?” 

“Well, we go after the bad guy, the same as you. Just… we have to use methods that are a little different than yours.” 

“A man who works outside the law, then. Would you call yourself a vigilante?”

“No – I…” Sam let out a breath, and then seemed to commit to his next words, saying them with an intensity that he hadn’t shown yet. “What I mean is, our bad guys aren’t human.” 

Spencer nodded. “I’ve thought that enough times about the people we go after.” 

Sam shook his head, still holding Reid’s gaze. “Well, I don’t mean it metaphorically. We go after literal monsters. Werewolves, vampires, ghosts. Demons.” 

Reid blinked. Honestly, he felt surprised. He hadn’t expected this level of delusion. But here they were. 

Winchester seemed to pick up the meaning of his pause. “I know you don’t believe me, Dr. Reid. But just go with me on this for a moment.” 

“Okay,” Spencer said slowly. “So… how would you go about taking care of a problem like that?” 

“Silver, for werewolves. For vampires, you gotta cut the head off.” Sam’s words were unbelievable, but his tone sounded as if he was talking about something as mundane as the weather. “Ghosts are vulnerable to iron, but to get rid of them you have to salt and burn the remains.” 

Ah. Puzzle pieces were coming together. “So that’s why you dig up the bodies.”

“Yeah – we’re not the freaks you think we are.” Sam paused. “Not in that way, anyway. We’re not in the business of hurting humans.”

“What about the women in St. Louis that your brother tortured?” Reid challenged. “They all looked human to me.” 

Sam shook his head. “As crazy as I know it sounds — that wasn’t Dean. It was a shapeshifter that only looked like him. When they found Deans body there, it wasn’t him. It was the shifter that we’d put down.”

Rarely had Reid looked a man with this level of delusion in the eye and seen them look so calm. Sam seemed totally in control, and yet his story was insane. 

“And the bank robbery?” Spencer asked. 

“Another shifter, actually,” Sam replied. “I mean, that time it actually was us holding people hostage. But only so the shifter wouldn’t escape.”

Reid considered what Sam had said, trying to see it from his point of view. “So, you think Emma Crawford is a ghost, and that she’s the one who’s been attacking the other women in this town. That’s why you dug up her body.” 

Sam nodded. 

“She’s gone, then? If you were right, then there should be no more attacks.”

“If we’re right, yeah.”

Reid squared his shoulders. “And what if I told you that another woman was abducted this morning?”

Sam’s demeanor changed at that. He looked suddenly awake again, his eyes alarmed. “Then we missed something.”

“And you don’t think it’s at all possible that your brother had anything to do with it?”

At that, Sam’s expression abruptly shut down, frustration taking the place of concern. He let out a long breath, his eyes locked on the table. Then his gaze slid back up to Reid’s face. 

“Look, Dr. Reid. I know you don’t believe anything I’m saying. I know you think I’m crazy. And I don’t blame you; I think the same thing sometimes.” His tone changed to something almost earnest and imploring. “But believe it or not, these things are real, and one of them is still out there. Your team is going after the same thing we are. If it turns out that we’re right, maybe something I’ve told you will save your life.” 

Dean paced this way and that across the room, studying the wreckage. He looked for something – anything – that would tell him what exactly they were dealing with here. There had to be something. But there was no sulfur, no leviathan goo, nothing. 

Then he spotted the dent in the wall by the stairs, and realized that the damage continued to the second floor. He raced up that way, Angie right behind. 

“Wait!” she called out. 

Dean paused at the top of the stairs, and turned to look at her. 

“Don’t go in my room,” Angie said quickly, sounding stressed. 

He frowned. “What – why? I need the full picture here, Angie. Whatever this was came up here, too.” 

She shook her head, flustered. “It’s just – that’s private! I barely know you!”

Dean didn’t understand why she was being so cagey. Maybe there was something kinky in there. On the other hand, he couldn’t help but be suspicious at Angie’s tone. She was definitely hiding something, and if he was a betting man he’d say it wasn’t just her vibrator that she was trying to keep him from seeing. 

“Angie, what’s going on?” he said, looking down at her and deepening his voice to just one shade shy of threatening. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing!” Angie said, her voice shrill. “There’s just nothing in there that you need to see, okay? Why would I hide something important from you? Something’s trying to kill me, after all!”  

Dean’s eyes narrowed, and he opened his mouth —

There was a loud knock on the door. 

“What – who the hell is that?” Dean said. 

Angie looked as surprised as he felt. “I don’t know!” 

“Angela Towns?” A loud, male voice said. “Open the door, please!” 

Dean cursed. “It’s the FBI,” he hissed. 

Her face paled, and she glanced between the door and him. “They know you’re here?” 

Dean shook his head. “They would have kicked the door down if they were looking for me here. They’re here for you.” 

There was another knock. “Angela Towns!” the man said a little louder. 

“Hide,” Angie said quickly, waving her hands. “Just – stay here, and don’t move. I’ll – I’ll deal with this.” She gave him one last anxious look, and then dashed down the stairs. 

~~~~~~~

Morgan crossed his arms and huffed out an impatient breath. “Prentiss, we can’t just sit here. Our unsub was right next door last night. What if she’s –” 

Emily held up a hand. “Just give it another minute, Morgan. We don’t have any real reason to suspect that that’s what’s going on.” 

Morgan shook his head, frustrated. But just as he was raising his hand to knock again, the door opened, and a pale face peeked out. 

“Hello?” the young woman said. 

Prentiss spoke up first. “Good morning,” she replied, her voice even. “I’m Agent Prentiss, and this is Agent Morgan. We work for the FBI. Are you Angela Towns?” 

She nodded. “Yeah. I – everybody calls me Angie.” 

“Okay. Angie, we’d like to ask you some questions. Is now a good time?” 

Angie looked back in towards the house, then back at them. She looked nervous.  “Uh, yeah. Sure.”  

Derek frowned. Something was off here, he could feel it. “Everything alright?” 

“Um… it’s pretty messy in here. Could we just do this outside?” 

Prentiss shot Derek a glance. He knew that she could sense the same thing – whatever it was, Angie didn’t want to be inside that house.  

“Sure,” Emily said easily. 

“Thanks,” Angie said. She pushed the door open a little more so she could step out, and Morgan couldn’t help but see the mess beyond. 

“Whoa.” 

~~~~~~~

Dean shook his head as he watched Angie rush down the stairs towards the door. Lovely. This wasn’t how he’d planned on seeing the FBI. If he was gonna see them, it should have been on his terms. Hopefully whatever they were there to talk to Angie about wouldn’t take them upstairs. 

He looked around, refocusing. There had to be something here that he hadn’t seen; something that could tell him more about what was happening in this town. And the sooner he figured this out, the sooner he could break Sam out. 

That was it. No more waiting around. Angie was hiding something; he was sure of it. And he was gonna figure it out. 

Dean stepped forwards, and pushed on Angie’s bedroom door. It swung open with a creak. 

~~~~~~~

Morgan spoke up quickly. “Hold on. What happened in there? It looks like your place got trashed.” 

Angie closed the door sharply, her eyes wide. “Just… I – I don’t know. I was out late last night, and when I got back, it was like that. I thought maybe somebody broke in, but nothing’s missing.” 

“You haven’t called the police?” Prentiss asked. 

She shook her head. “I was going to right before you knocked, actually. Sorry – that’s why I’m so anxious right now.” 

“It’s okay,” Emily reassured. “Could we look around inside?”

Angie hesitated before she said, “Yeah. Totally. Just – why are you here, anyway?” 

“Do you know Martha Bartlett?” Derek asked. 

Angie glanced at the house to the left, and gestured to it. “You mean that Martha Bartlett?” 

“That’s right.” 

“Of course I know her. She lives right there. She and my mom are friends.” 

Derek nodded. “Well, we wanted to ask a few questions about her. And about your friend Emma Crawford.” 

At that name, he saw Angie flinch back a little. “What about her? Did you find Robbie?” 

“We know about Robbie,” Prentiss replied, skillfully dancing around the question. “We’re part of the team that’s been looking into her death. And the deaths of the other women in town.” 

Angie stared at them for a moment before her face suddenly lost all color. “Wait. You mean… you’re saying – I – the guy who killed Emma. He killed all those other girls, too?” 

“We have been considering that possibility, yes.” Prentiss stepped closer, and put a hand on the younger woman’s arm. “Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?” 

“I’m – fine,” Angie said weakly. 

“Here, let’s go inside,” Derek said. “Get you a chair.” He barely waited for her nod before he opened the door and pushed them all in the house. 

~~~~~~~

Dean cursed to himself as he heard the door open, and people come inside. It sounded like Angie hadn’t been successful in shrugging off the FBI. Not that he was surprised. Not good, though. Not good. There was no way out of the house from up here. 

He quickly entered Angie’s room, walking forwards and wincing when his footstep made the floorboard creak.

Shit, shit, shit.

The voices from downstairs paused. 

“What was that?” he heard a man say. 

“Are you alone here?” a woman asked. 

His heart thudding in his chest, Dean rushed for the closet, pushing things aside as quietly as he could before hiding behind a row of coats.

Through the layers between him and the downstairs, he distantly heard Angie say, “It’s okay. We have a cat.” 

“Are you sure?” There were footsteps on the stairs. Footsteps in the hall. “I don’t see any cat.” 

Dean gripped his gun, his jaw clenched. 

“He likes to hide,” Angie said. “Doesn’t like visitors.” 

The door to Angie’s room creaked open. 

Dean stilled himself completely, keeping his breathing as shallow as possible, though his heart still beat loudly in his chest. 

But then the footsteps retreated, and he missed what was said next because of the rushing relief in his ears. 

~~~~~~~~

Derek walked back down the stairs. He hadn’t seen anything, but he still felt strangely uneasy. When Prentiss was in sight again, he gave her a meaningful look. 

“Angie,” Prentiss said, “We’re going to need you to come with us, okay?” She glanced at Morgan. “We’re concerned for your safety.” 

Angie shook her head. “I’m okay here, really,” she said, her voice high. 

Morgan raised his eyebrows. “Angie, we believe that your neighbor was abducted as a replacement for you. You could be in serious danger right now. It’ll be best for you to come with us. I know it’s annoying, but unless you cooperate with us, we can’t guarantee your safety.”

Angie’s face was pale as she took that in. “I – I don’t understand what’s going on.” 

“We know this is frightening,” Prentiss said, sympathetic. “But believe us when we say we will do everything in our power to protect you.” 

“How do you know that the guy who killed Emma killed those other girls?” Angie asked, her voice thin. “I thought it was Robbie who killed her?”

“We’re exploring every option. We can tell you more if you come with us back to the station.” 

Angie’s eyes widened. “Back to the station? You’re arresting me?” 

“No, no,” Derek said. “Angie, this is just for your protection. We want you in a place where we have better control.” 

Angie swallowed, looking between the two of them. She looked torn. Finally, she said, “Okay. Okay.”

~~~~~~~~

From his position in the closet, Dean heard the agents convince Angie to leave. The front door opened, and then closed. And then the house was quiet. 

He let out a sharp breath. “Jesus, fuck,” he muttered. 

Dean turned, adjusting himself so he could push the clothes out of the way again and get out of the closet. As he did, his elbow knocked something down, and he heard a crack. 

Frowning, he turned around. He hadn’t even realized the closet went back any farther; it was too dark to see in there. He quickly pushed the clothes aside, stepped out, and let the light shine in, illuminating the back of the closet. 

What he saw made him stop in his tracks. 

“Oh, no,” he said to himself, staring. Suddenly, everything made a horrid kind of sense. “Angie, what have you done.”

The fluorescent lights above him were buzzing. One of them flickered on and off. 

Sam stared at the wall. His heart beat quickly in his chest, and his thoughts spiraled. 

He wondered where Dean was. Whether he was closing in on him, or not. They hadn’t told him anything. He didn’t know anything beyond these four walls. They’d always been able to get free from lockup in the past. But what if this time was different? What if their luck was running out?

He knew how to deal with these situations, though. So, why was he so anxious?

Sam wasn’t sure how long it had been since Dr. Reid had left the room. Had it been only a few minutes? Or hours? 

He wasn’t sure why he’d spilled the beans on hunting. There was no way that the scientist mind of Reid’s believed him. But there had been something there… he’d taken a chance. And especially with another woman abducted, he was glad he’d done it. 

Sam tried to focus on the present moment. The light looked dimmer, somehow, and the color flat. The bulbs were still buzzing. Or were his ears ringing?

He felt heavy, and slow. Maybe all those sleepless nights were catching up to him. He pulled slowly at the cuffs that connected him to the table. The edge of the cool metal bit at his skin. 

Sam felt a shiver go through him, goosebumps prickling his skin. Then there was a voice at his ear. 

“Feels familiar, doesn’t it, Sammy?” Lucifer said softly. 

He jumped in his seat, turning his head to look. But there was nothing there. 

Quickly, he squeezed down on his palm, hard. The pain that sprung up there settled him for a moment, but it didn’t last. 

He heard a dripping sound, and his eyes widened as he saw what hit the table in front of him. Drops of blood fell from the ceiling, forming a puddle on the table. His heart raced as he stared at it, horrified. 

There was a whisper at his other ear: “Remember when I said I wasn’t going anywhere? Well, now you aren’t either.” 

Sam’s jaw clenched, and he fought to control his breathing. Slowly, he felt a scratch going down his back. His vision narrowed. 

Lucifer sat down on the table right beside him, a smug look on his face. “Wouldn’t it be funny? If you worked so hard to get out of one cage, only to end up in another.” He leaned in closer. “You’d fit right in, though. After all, old habits die hard, don’t they?”

Sam refused to acknowledge him, staring resolutely down at the blood on the table. A drop of sweat fell from his forehead. 

“But maybe you don’t remember correctly? After a while things tend to muddle together, don’t they? Believe me, I know. The years do blur after a while.”

He shook his head. The memories that he tried so hard to stay away from were circling closer and closer. 

“Don’t worry though, Sam,” Lucifer whispered. “I can do something about that.” He raised one finger slowly, a smile spreading on his face. 

Sam couldn’t help it – he pulled away. But it was no use – and as the finger touched his forehead, his body exploded into pain. 

Dean raced down the road to Franklin’s police station, his heart in his throat. 

“Fuck!” he cursed. How could he have been so stupid? He should have known. There had been something off about Angie this whole time. He knew that they were missing something. And now it was about to blow up in his face. 

No More Lies. That’s what Emma had written. Dean had written it off at the time; ghosts didn’t always think logically, and they’d had more pressing things on their plate. But now he was kicking himself – he should have known from that moment. 

Angie was a witch. And Dean had no doubt she was behind this. Before he’d left the house, he’d quickly taken pictures of everything on her altar and sent them to Bobby. Hopefully he could help, because at the moment there was a bigger problem: 

Angie was being escorted to the police station. Right to Sam. 

He pressed down harder on the gas.

A minute later, he peeled into the station parking lot, the tires squealing as he slammed on the breaks. He threw himself out of the car, and ran across the parking lot, pulling his gun out along the way. 

He slammed the front door open, the glass cracking with the force of his push. 

Dean pointed his gun at the blonde haired woman who had his back to him, ignoring the gasps and shouts from everyone in the room. 

He opened his mouth, and shouted out: 

“What the fuck have you done, and where is my brother!”

Chapter Text

Spencer stood in the observation room, looking in through the one-way mirror at Sam Winchester. The man confused him. At this point, Reid considered himself to be pretty good at reading the motivations and psyches of the people they investigated. He had to be; it had saved his life more times than he cared to think about. But Winchester – there was something different about him, something that didn’t match up with the story that they knew about him. The delusions were a new piece of the puzzle that he couldn’t seem to make fit, especially since Sam seemed so level headed in all other aspects. 

Sam shifted, and Reid paused in his ruminations to watch a little more closely. As Spencer watched, Sam pulled his hands together and squeezed down on his palm, something he’d already seen the man do a few times now. Spencer wasn’t sure if it was some kind of tell or tic, but he had a feeling it was something more.

There was a cornered look to his eye, and suddenly Sam Winchester looked the opposite of the composed figure he had been until that point. 

Alarmed, Spencer stepped forwards towards the glass. Sam was breathing heavily, his eyes tracking something around the room that only he could see. 

“No, no, no…” Sam muttered. “No!” 

Then suddenly he let out a scream; a tortured sound. 

This. This is what they had been missing. Reid had seen this before – he should have recognized the signs earlier. 

Sam was hallucinating. 

Reid slammed on the speaker button. “Sam! Sam Winchester. This is Dr. Reid.” He tried to speak as calmly as possible to the terrified man. “What you’re seeing isn’t real. You’re at the Franklin Police Station. If you can hear me, take a deep breath.” 

Sam just stared forwards, his eyes wide and filled with fear. 

Spencer was about to go for his phone, or to leave the room – to do something to let people know what was happening, when he heard yelling from through the door that set his heart racing. 

“What the fuck have you done, and where is my brother!” 

“Mr. Winchester,” Aaron said steadily, his gun pointed at the man who had invaded the station minutes earlier. “Put down your weapon. You’re surrounded; there’s no good way out of this for you.” 

In his heart, he knew it was a long shot. People didn’t charge into police stations with loaded guns because they were susceptible to reason. But if they could solve this without any shots fired, he had to try. 

“I just want my brother, okay?” Dean said in a menacing voice, somehow sounding both furious and level-headed. His gun was pointed right back at Hotch. “Hand him over, and I’ll walk out of here.” 

There were several officers in the room, but only one of them had their weapon raised: Officer Keller, the woman who was in charge of the front desk. Morgan and Prentiss stood across the room, having gotten back to the station only minutes before Dean had shown up. They stood in front of a desk that was currently hiding the girl that they’d brought back with them. Angie, they’d called her. 

“You’re not walking anywhere except a cell,” Morgan snapped. 

Angie’s head poked out from behind the desk. Her eyes were wide. When she caught sight of Dean’s face, her jaw dropped, and she ducked back out of sight. 

“We can’t give you your brother,” Hotch said, keeping his aim level. “And you know it,” he added.

Dean’s face twisted in frustration. “FBI,” he muttered. “You guys are the worst. You know that?”

“Well aware,” said Morgan. 

There was a long moment where Dean stared at them, eyebrows furrowed. Then, to Aaron’s surprise, he lowered his gun. Prentiss swooped in with the others’ weapons still held steady, and snagged his gun before she clamped on a pair of cuffs. 

“Dean Winchester,” she said, “We’re arresting you on 6 counts of murder. You have the right to remain silent. Everything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.” 

As Emily continued to speak, Dean kept eye contact with Hotch the whole time, his expression dark. 

Prentiss finished, and started to lead Dean towards the hall when the man stopped short. 

“Angie,” he said loudly. 

Hotch shared a glance with Morgan, who looked just as surprised as he was. 

“I know you’re here,” Dean continued. “And I found out your secret,” he spat. “As soon as we get out of here, your little reign of terror is over, chica.”

With that, he let Prentiss push him down the hall and towards the only other open interrogation room. 

There was a beat of silence. 

“Holy shit,” one of the Franklin police officers said. 

Keller nodded, and lowered her pistol. “That’ll be the most action this place has ever seen.” 

“Hopefully it doesn’t see any more,” Aaron said. 

Derek reached behind the desk and pulled Angie up, setting her in a chair. She looked absolutely spooked. 

Aaron holstered his gun. 

Morgan looked Angie in the eye. “What was that?” he asked accusingly. “Do you two know each other?” 

Angie swallowed, and looked between Morgan and Hotch, sweat on her brow. “I – I don’t know what he’s talking about.” 

“C’mon,” Derek said. “Work with us, here. We want to help you. It’s obvious you’re hiding something.”

“I’m not,” Angie said defiantly. Her face was pale. “I’m – I’m not! I didn’t do anything!” She shook her head, tears suddenly pooling in her eyes. “There’s no way I did anything. I wouldn’t!” 

“It’s alright, Angie,” Aaron said, stepping closer. “Take some deep breaths for us, okay? We’ll figure this out.” 

Angie nodded, and took a few shuddering breaths. Slowly, she calmed, and swept away her tears with her sleeve. 

“Angie, we need to hear your side of this. It’s extremely important. Dean Winchester is on the hook for some terrible crimes, and we believe he may be responsible for the murders here, as well.” 

“What?” Angie said, eyes widening again. “No! No way!”

Hotch shared a loaded look with Morgan. Obviously there was more going on here than either of them expected, and they needed to get an understanding of this as soon as they could. Another woman’s life was in the balance.  

“C’mon, Angie,” Morgan said. “We have a room in the back; I’ll get you some coffee.” 

Angie cast an anxious look at Hotch, and then nodded reluctantly. “Fine.” 

Morgan cast a look down the hall, surely checking that Dean was already behind closed doors. Then the two of them headed towards the team room. 

There were footsteps behind them. “Was that the brother?” Reid asked, sounding tense. 

JJ was there, too. “What just happened?” 

Hotch turned to look at them. “It was Dean. Prentiss is taking him back now.” 

“Yeah, I just passed them in the hall,” JJ said. “Is everyone alright?” 

“We’re okay,” Officer Keller said, sitting herself back down at her desk. 

Aaron nodded at JJ. “No casualties. He surrendered his gun pretty quickly, actually.” 

Reid glanced down the hall. He looked unsettled. “We shouldn’t let our guard down.” 

“We won’t,” Hotch reassured him. He and JJ shared a glance. 

JJ studied Reid carefully. “What’s going on, Spence?” 

Reid’s eyes darted between JJ and the hall before he noticed her concerned expression. “It’s Sam,” he said, voice low. “He’s having a flashback of some kind. I couldn’t shake him out of it.” 

Aaron frowned. “A flashback?” 

Reid nodded. “Either that, or he’s hallucinating. Both, maybe.” 

There was a sound of a commotion from down the hall, and they all looked towards it, alarmed. 

As they walked to the back of the station, the FBI agent keeping hands on him, Dean tested the limits of his cuffs. There was a sting as he pulled against the cold metal. 

He would have one chance at this – he’d need to time it right. He kept his eyes on the doors around him.

Then, there it was: 

Interrogation Room 1. 

The door was closed, and there was no way to see into the room, but Dean knew for sure that Sam was back there. There was another room down the hall with an open door – Interrogation Room 2. That was surely where he was headed. 

There was no time to think. 

Dean tensed, and then lifted his elbow and threw it into the face of the woman behind him. She cried out, and her grip loosened. He spun out of it, the sound of a curse following him. Paying no attention to the commotion he was causing, he used his foot to open the door and rushed into Interrogation Room 1. 

What he saw sent the air from his lungs. 

“Sam!” he said roughly. 

The kid was curled up as well as he could be with his hands still cuffed to the table. His gaze was wide and unseeing. And the look on his face – it was horrifying. Something Dean had only seen on Sam in their darkest days: pure terror. 

Dean grabbed the free chair from the opposite side of the table and used it to bar the door. Then he dropped on his knees beside his brother. 

“Sam,” he said again. There was no sign that he even knew Dean was there. “Sam, I’m here. It’s Dean.” 

His voice was rough; he didn’t even know what to say. Even with all the bullshit they’d been going through since Cas had brought down Sam’s wall, Dean had never seen him like this. The closest was the times he’d shaken Sam out of a nightmare; the short time before Sam knew he was awake. 

There was noise from outside the door, and the chair rattled against the force put against it on the other side, but he barely noticed. 

Dean couldn’t help it – he reached out and put a hand on Sam’s cheek, as best he could with the cuffs on. “You’re not there anymore. Okay? We got you out. Sam, can you hear me? I –” 

Sam did look at him then, but it was with no sign of recognition. Instead, he cried out and pulled away, flinching. “No,” Sam moaned. His breaths came quick – too quick. “No, no.” 

Dean felt like a hand was clenching his lungs. “Sam, stone number one, remember?” He knew his voice sounded slightly desperate, but he didn’t care. He reached out again and grabbed Sam’s hand. The kid tried to pull away, but Dean wouldn’t let him, and squeezed down hard on the slowly healing wound there. 

Dean thought he saw a spark, then – something in Sam’s eyes. “Come on, that’s it –” 

There were hands on him from behind, and he had to let go of Sam. 

Dean fought back. The FBI had made it through the door. They were yelling at him. 

He got to his feet, kicked out and threw elbows as best he could. Then he saw the flash of something metal pointed at him. The taser shot out, attaching to his chest. 

“Agh!” he groaned, and fell back to his knees. He couldn’t move. Then they were dragging him away. He got one last look at Sam – 

The door slammed closed. 

Sam was in the pit. 

It was a world of darkness, and ice. A jail made for the devil himself that contained every part of him. 

He knew that somewhere out there, Michael was there. With Adam. Michael rarely came over to speak to Lucifer – maybe once every dozen years or so. Mostly they kept to their own, Michael barring off their side of the cage. And Lucifer didn’t bother trying to get over there; not often, anyways. 

He had Sam, after all. To entertain him. 

It was a world of pain, and horror, and loneliness. There was a smell to the air, something that Sam had grown used to, but every now and then it would hit him: blood, and feces, and decay. The smell of death. It drifted over from Hell, but it came from him, too. 

He shifted slightly, and pain flared anew. He was being held aloft by a hook that was speared just below his collar bone. If he moved too much, or was moved, he could feel the metal scratching the bone. 

It was agony. 

There was a cold hand on his face, and he couldn’t help but close his eyes and flinch back, which only made the problem worse. 

“Sammy…” Lucifer said, his voice saccharine and twisted. “Sammy…” 

Sam just breathed, fighting for control. But he never could hold onto it for long. 

Lucifer’s voice suddenly shifted to a scream, achingly loud and harsh. “Look at me! Look me in the eye!” 

He couldn’t help but comply, his eyes snapping open and looking for the only other eyes he’d seen in a long, long time. Crystal blue, and lit up with a fire. 

“You’re nothing,” Lucifer spat. “Less than the shit under my boot.”

Sam just stared. His heart threatened to beat out of his chest (and it had, once or twice now). 

Lucifer reached out, and yanked.

Sam heard the snap before he felt the pain. Then he was screaming, and crying. Everything he prided himself on not doing when he was alive. But then, there was no one here who wasn’t already judging him. 

“Oh, Sam,” Lucifer said, laughing. “Sam.” 

“Sam…” 

“Sam Winchester…” 

There were voices that didn’t belong. Who was that supposed to be? He felt overwhelmingly confused. 

Suddenly there was light; a fluorescent light. It was buzzing. 

“Sam,” the voice said again. 

He realized that he was sitting on the floor, his hands awkwardly held up above him by the cuffs on the table. The floor was cold beneath him. But the smell… it smelled like antiseptic. 

Sam looked up, and immediately flinched back at the face that he saw. 

“Woah! Back up, back up!” a voice said.

He breathed heavily, and focused on counting. In and out. 

After some time, he looked up again. The faces were farther away. And what’s more, he recognized them. It was the FBI agents: Reid, and Hotchner. And Jareau. 

Shit. 

Emily backed out of the interrogation room where she’d secured Dean Winchester, closing the door behind her. 

Immediately Rossi was next to her. “Are you okay?” he asked, looking at her face. 

She nodded, stuffing her hands into her pockets. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

Rossi gave her a long look. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get that cleaned up.” 

Confused, Emily put a hand to her nose, where Dean had struck her. When she pulled it away, there was blood. “Oh,” she said. 

“Yeah. Come on,” he said again. 

Emily followed him, and accepted the gauze and the ice pack when he handed it to her. She pressed it to her face, wincing. 

“Hey,” Rossi said. He waited until she looked him in the eye before he added, “We got them both, Prentiss. Well done.” 

She nodded. 

There were footsteps behind them, and Emily turned to see Officer Keller. 

“Can we help you with something?” Rossi said. 

“Uh, yeah,” Keller said, a little uncertainly. “Do you think I could get a good look at him?”

Emily frowned. “At who?”

“The man who just pointed a gun at all of us? The one who just knocked you in the face.” 

“What do you want to see?” 

Keller shook her head. “I just can’t shake the feeling that I’ve seen him before.”

Emily and Rossi shared a glance. 

“Alright,” Rossi said. “Let’s get you in the observation room.” 

They walked together to the door, and pulled it open. The room with the one-way mirror was behind it. Inside, they could see Dean sat behind the table, stewing, throwing glances towards the door every few seconds. 

Keller stepped up to the glass, her brow furrowed. After a minute, her eyes widened. 

“I remember him!” she said triumphantly. “I was thinking it over, and I knew I remembered that face. He and – it must have been Sam with him – they came around yesterday morning dressed like Forest Service Rangers. Asked for copies of the case files.”

Rossi looked at Emily. “And did you give it to them?” 

Keller looked suddenly uncomfortable. “Uh… I did, yes. They – they had badges! If they’re fake, I’ve never seen better ones.”

Emily lowered the ice pack away from her face. “How much did you give them?” 

Her face looked slowly more and more horrified. “Everything,” she said. “I gave them everything we had.” 

“Dean Winchester.” Morgan said, sitting down and setting the files down in front of himself. 

“In the flesh,” the man replied with a tight smile. He looked tense, and weary. And there was an underlying current of something that felt like anger. 

Derek raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “You have a lot to answer for.” 

Dean leaned back, crossing his arms. “You don’t know the half of it. But you’d be better off knowing that in this town, I am the answer.” 

“Can you explain –” 

Dean held up a hand. “Yeah, lemme stop you right there. I have no interest in talking to you until I see my brother.” 

Derek frowned at him, incredulous. “Why would we let that happen?” 

“Out of the kindness of your hearts?” Dean said, bleeding frustration. “I don’t fucking know. Just… he’s a got a thing, alright?” he added, somewhat reluctantly. 

Morgan felt an importance to the statement that belied the casual words. “A thing?” 

“Y’know, he gets flashbacks. That’s why I had to get in there. I need to talk to him.” 

There it was. “What does he get flashbacks about?” 

Dean flashed him a dirty look. “None of your fucking business, that’s what.” 

“Touchy subject, huh?” Morgan said, raising an eyebrow. 

Dean scowled further, and leaned forwards, his eyes flaring. “Jesus, come on – just let me in there! Let me help him!” 

Derek decided to tell him the truth. “We talked him out of it. He’s coherent, now.”

There was naked relief on Dean’s face. “Oh, thank God. How long? How long was he like that?” 

Morgan shrugged. “Fifteen, twenty minutes, maybe?”

The relief bled back into something more pained. 

“Does that happen to him often?”

Dean shook his head, and opened his mouth to reply before seemingly remembering himself, and snapping it shut. 

“How long has this been going on? And does he always respond with violence?” Derek pressed.

“If you’re implying what I think you are, fuck you.” 

Derek leaned forwards, using his large frame to his advantage. “You think you’re tough shit, soldier boy. But you’re here for keeps, now. No more miraculous escapes. So you might as well get off your high horse and tell the damn truth.” 

The man gave him a long look, scowling. 

“So,” Dean said finally. “What’s it gonna be, huh? When are we headed to prison?” 

Morgan ignored the question. “How about you tell me this: Why are you in Franklin, Dean?” 

Dean looked at him dryly. “Well, we just heard you could get some good fried chicken here. You got any leads on that? I’d really appreciate it.” 

“Did you come to town to get your kicks killing young women?” 

“You’re just a bucket of laughs, aren’t ya?”

Derek looked at him levelly. It never failed to satisfy him to take evil men like this to task. “So I’ve been told.” He opened up the file in front of him and pushed forward a photo. “How about this? Can you explain this?” 

Dean looked down, and seemed a little surprised at what he saw. “That’s our trunk.” 

“And what does anyone need with this kind of arsenal?” 

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Uh… woodworking?” 

“Well, that explains the saw,” Derek allowed. “What about the rest?” 

There was a long pause. Dean looked down, and up again. “I think I’d like my phone call now.” 

JJ sat next to Spencer and Officer Combs in the BAU’s room in the station, the three of them pouring through the box of evidence that had been pulled from the Winchesters’ car. There was a wide assortment of weapons, each more hair raising than the last; a box full of various high quality fake IDs, including the ones they’d used to dupe Keller; and a random assortment of their personal effects – cassettes, books on ritual and the supernatural, a computer.

Spencer picked up a worn looking leather journal with what looked like dozens of photos and papers sticking out of it. He glanced inside the cover as he said, “This is incredible. With all of this, we’ll have no trouble getting enough evidence to make a conviction stick.” 

JJ nodded, similarly impressed, and slightly overwhelmed, by the pile in front of them. “Hopefully this time it holds them for good.” 

Combs, wearing nitrile gloves, pulled out a glass jar. “Jesus,” she said, looking at JJ with wide eyes. “Is this – this is blood!” 

JJ nodded, her mind whirling at the implications. “We’ll need that sent in immediately.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Combs agreed. She stood and walked to the door. As she walked out into the hall, they heard her call out to one of the other officers, who’d been serving as an evidence tech: “Brady! I need you over here!” 

As JJ’s gaze left the closing door, she caught sight of Angie. 

The young woman was sitting in a chair against the wall, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. She looked about as uncomfortable as a rabbit in a fox’s den, her eyes watching every move made in the room. 

“Um, I’ll be back in a minute, Reid,” JJ said. He didn’t do more than nod in reply, already absorbed in what he was looking at. 

Slowly, JJ went over to the little coffee station in the room, and filled up a cup before she walked over to Angie and sat down in a chair next to her. 

Angie glanced over at her, and only hesitated for a moment before she accepted the cup JJ offered her.

“How are you feeling?” JJ asked gently.

Angie pursed her lips. “Well. I’ve been better.” 

JJ gave her a smile. “It’s been a long day, hasn’t it?” 

“And it’s not even noon,” Angie agreed dryly. She went to take a sip of her coffee, but then brought the cup down before it made it to her mouth. “Is it really true? That whoever killed Emma killed those other girls, too?” 

JJ paused, and then nodded. “That’s what we suspect, yes.” 

Angie’s face paled a little, and her jaw clenched. “I just – I didn’t think – but she didn’t die like them. So, why?” 

“It fits in with what we know about the killer,” JJ said, trying her best to speak vaguely while also giving the truth. “I’m sorry for your loss.” 

Angie didn’t acknowledge her condolences. “What do you know about him, then? The killer, I mean.”

JJ shook her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t say more than that. Not right now.” 

Angie just pressed her lips into a thin line. 

After a moment, JJ pressed a little further. “I heard about what happened when Dean Winchester came in the door. I think we all have some questions about what he said to you then.” 

Angie looked up. “Emma was my best friend,” she said fiercely, though JJ could sense the fear behind the tone. “I would never hurt her. Never!” 

JJ held up a hand. “Whoa, Angie. That’s not what I’m trying to say. Not at all.” 

“Then what are you trying to say?” Angie said desperately. “I just – I don’t know how all this happened! It shouldn’t have happened!” 

“Look,” JJ said. “We can tell you’re hiding something. If you really cared for Emma, you need to tell us what you know. As it stands, Dean Winchester is going to be charged with the murder of these girls, including your friend. If there’s something you know – something that we’re missing, we need to hear it. Do you understand?” 

Angie looked at JJ for a long moment, the sounds of a busy police station rising up behind them. Her expression was tortured; a mixture of sadness, fear, and – guilt. She put the coffee down, still untouched. 

“Angie?” JJ encouraged. 

A look of determination fell over the young woman, though it still took her a few false starts before she said: “Whoever did this – it wasn’t Dean. or Sam.” 

JJ saw only honesty in Angie’s eyes. “Then, who –” 

A sudden chill swept through her, and she shivered. Her breath fogged in front of her face. 

Angie gasped. “Oh, god. Emma.” 

The lights flickered above them, before going out completely. JJ pushed herself to her feet, feeling incredibly ill at ease. Angie did the same beside her. Something was wrong here. 

“What is this?” she heard Reid say distantly. But there was something in front of her – something she couldn’t quite see —

“Emma, I’m sorry,” Angie said, her voice breaking. “This was never supposed to happen. I – I – I’m sorry!” 

The papers around the room rustled. Somehow, the room got even colder. There was a cracking sound, like ice when it froze. Angie whimpered. 

JJ’s eyes were drawn to the window. It was completely fogged over, ice spreading out from the center. All except for two words that were drawn in the frost. 

You’re next.

Sam had his head in his hands, rubbing at his temples in a vain attempt to ease his pounding headache. The only mercy was that he knew for sure it was a normal, white bread, every day kind of headache. Not the kind that happened down there. 

There was a sandwich and a cup of water sitting on the table in front of him. They’d undone his cuffs for the moment so that he could eat. Across the table, Agent Hotchner watched with a stern expression. 

“You should eat,” the man said. “It’ll help you feel better.” 

Sam raised his head. “What I’d really like is a drink, if you’ve got it.” 

Hotchner nodded his head at the water. “Drink up.” 

Sam rolled his eyes, and then regretted it when that sent sparks of pain through his head. “Great. Thanks.” 

“What happened, Sam? Where were you?” 

He knew what Hotchner was referring to. “What’s the point?” he said, feeling exhausted. “Even if I wanted to tell you the truth – you wouldn’t believe me.” 

Hotchner nodded. “Do you get flashbacks often?” 

“More often than I’d like,” Sam admitted. He reached for the water, and took a small sip. It felt cooling on his tongue. 

“That must be difficult.” 

Sam fixed his gaze on the agent warily. “Sympathizing with the villain, are we?” 

Hotchner held eye contact, unflinching. “Honestly, Sam, I’m not sure you are the villain.” 

Sam frowned, and sat up a little bit. 

“You should know we have your brother in custody.” 

Ah. There it was. Sam let out a huff, and pushed the sandwich away from himself as he leaned back. “Shit,” he muttered. 

“The two of you are looking at life sentences, at least,” Hotchner said seriously. “At least, your brother is. But if you’re willing to talk, we can make a deal for you, Sam.” 

Sam considered that for a moment. The offer was predictable, but if they already had Dean in custody… “You don’t have enough evidence yet, do you?” 

Hotchner tilting his head was the only evidence that that statement rang true. 

“Have you thought for a moment,” Sam accused, “That the reason for that is that we didn’t do this?”

“We know enough. The two of you –” 

“Like I’ve said. We are here to solve this. To make sure that no other women in this town are killed. And you focusing on us – keeping us locked up in here – you’re making a huge mistake! Now, would you listen to me for one second?” 

Hotchner opened his mouth to reply when the temperature in the room suddenly dropped like a rock. Their breath fogged in front of them. The lights above flickered in warning. 

“Oh, no,” Sam breathed. There was only one thing that this could mean. Obviously, burning the body hadn’t been enough. 

Emma was back.

Without thinking, without hesitating, and ignoring his pounding head and aching body, Sam stood and ran for the door. He burst out into the hall, following the flickering lights to a room a few doors down. 

When he opened it, he was hit with a wave of cold air. The window across from him was covered in frost. And between him and the two women he saw across the room, hovered a nearly transparent form. 

Sam spotted a food cart to the left, and grabbed the salt shaker from the top. Then he opened it, and flung the contents at the ghost. 

With a wail that sounded like nails on chalkboard, Emma disappeared. 

Sam had only a moment to take in the scene – it was Angie, standing with Jareau, the two of them looking white and scared. And the message on the window… 

A body slammed into him, sending him to the floor. He was pinned. 

“For Christ’s sake,” a woman’s voice called out. It was one of the Franklin police officers. “After this man is back in handcuffs, I need an officer at each door! They aren’t getting out of this station, so help me God!” 

Morgan walked up next to Reid. They had moved from the team’s room into the bullpen while Sam Winchester was being secured again. “What happened? Did he try to attack anyone?” 

“I don’t know what happened,” Reid said, shaking his head. He looked agitated. 

Derek frowned at the words. He felt unsettled at how unsure Spencer looked. “What do you mean, you don’t know what happened? Talk to me, Reid.” 

“It doesn’t make sense,” Reid muttered. “It shouldn’t make sense.” 

Derek looked over at JJ, who was standing next to them, her arms crossed in front of her chest. “Seriously, what happened in there?” 

JJ had a similarly disturbed expression on her face, which didn’t make him feel any better. But at least she answered the question: “Someone wrote a threat in the window. Before Sam came into the room.” 

Morgan frowned. “I didn’t see anything.” 

“It was… condensation, or something. It must have evaporated.”

Reid glanced over at JJ, but Derek wasn’t quick enough to catch what it meant. 

“Well?” Derek pressed. “What did it say?” 

“‘You’re next.’”

Rossi stepped up to the three of them. “Sam’s been put in a cell in the back of the station,” he said. “And they’ve put extra officers to guard each of them. They won’t be getting anywhere.” 

“Oh, uh – good,” JJ said. 

Rossi looked between all of them, and seemed to realize that he had interrupted something. “What’s going on?” 

Reid summed it up: “It’s possible that there’s another unsub out there. There was a threat written on the window of our office before Sam burst in.” 

Morgan shook his head and tried to make sense of the facts. “It must mean that whoever killed Joe Bartlett, and kidnapped Martha – we were right to think he was after Angie. She’s still in danger.” 

“We’ll let her know she should stay here, then. Nowhere’ll be safer than here.”

JJ cut in, “Are we sure about that? In the last few hours both of the Winchesters have managed to at least attempt an attack.” 

Morgan nodded. “Well – true. But we’re not gonna let that happen again.” 

“Throwing salt…” Reid frowned. His voice was so low that it was almost as though he was only talking to himself. “He wasn’t trying to escape.” 

“No, he was just trying to get to Angie,” Derek said. 

“How would he have even known that she was here?” JJ questioned. “This whole thing feels weird. Not to mention the hallucinations – or flashbacks, that he was having.”

Morgan frowned, an idea occurring to him. “That couldn’t have been faked, could it? Maybe he was just trying to throw us off so he could try something like this.” 

But Reid shook his head. “No. That was real.”

“So there’s another accomplice?” Rossi said, circling back. “That’s what I’m hearing, here.” 

They all looked at each other. “We don’t know,” Derek said. “But there’s something we’re missing.”

“Angie told me something a minute ago. Before all of this,” JJ said. “She says that she doesn’t think either of the Winchesters are responsible for what’s happening here.”

“So she does know him,” Morgan said. “We have to find out what she’s hiding. There’s just too many coincidences here. And not enough of an explanation.”

There were footsteps behind him, and Hotch walked up with Prentiss. Both of their faces were grave. 

Hotch looked between them all. “Two things, everyone. First, I have to apologize for what just happened. It was my responsibility to watch Sam while he had his cuffs off. I didn’t anticipate him trying to run in the state he was in. Still, it shouldn’t have happened.”

“It’s okay, Hotch,” JJ assured him. 

“No, it’s not,” Hotch said. “So, I’m sorry.” 

“Well, no harm no foul, right?” Morgan said. “Everyone’s okay. Now, what’s the second thing?” 

Hotch glanced back at Prentiss, who said: “There was a body on the edge of the forest. Based on the description, it’s likely Martha Bartlett.”

“We’re sending a few officers, including Combs, to go secure the scene,” Hotch said. “Rossi, I’d like for you to go with them. In the meantime, with Sam and Dean in custody, I think at least some of our team needs some rest. Reid, JJ, and Morgan – you head back to the hotel.”

There were nods all around. 

“Oh, a third thing,” Hotch added. They waited a moment in anticipation, before he said, “Good work, everyone.” 

“Hotch,” Reid started, but Rossi cut him off. 

“I’ll explain it, Reid. Don’t worry.” 

Derek nodded. “Well, with permission then, I’m gonna head back to the hotel. If you two want to ride with me, let me know.” 

“I’d take you up on that,” JJ said gratefully. 

“Me, too,” Reid agreed. 

“Alright then,” Morgan said, nodding at them. “I’m rolling out in five. See you in the parking lot.”

Dean, guided by the hand of a police officer and bound up in hand and leg cuffs, shuffled through a door in the back of the station. 

The room he entered was slightly dimmer, but once his eyes adjusted, he saw that it was a row of cells. There was someone already in the one on the end, laid out on the cot with his arm over his eyes. 

Of course, it was Sam. 

They put him in the cell furthest away from Sam’s, and undid the leg cuffs before locking him inside. Then they left the room, the door making a final sort of sound as it slid closed. 

Dean rushed to the edge of his cell, and put his hands on the bars. “Sam!” he hissed. “Sam, can you hear me? You awake over there?” 

Sam sat up suddenly, looking over at him. “Dean!” It looked like his body didn’t appreciate the change in altitude, though, and his face paled. 

“Are you okay?” Dean asked, feeling a familiar anger rising at the state of his brother. “Did they hurt you?” 

Sam shook his head. “I’m okay. I just have a killer headache, is all. What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be breaking me out?” 

“This is me breaking you out,” Dean said dryly. 

Sam raised an eyebrow, and looked around the room. “Flawless execution.” 

Dean just huffed. “There’s a lot going on here, okay? Dude – Angie’s a witch!”

“What?”

Dean watched as Sam sat up straighter, placing his feet on the ground. He still looked a little unsteady. “Sammy,” Dean started, and then hesitated. 

Sam frowned at his change in tone. 

“I know what happened,” Dean finished. 

“What are you talking about?” Sam asked unconvincingly. 

He sighed. “Come on. I know you had a flashback. When I got here, I tried to help you…” 

Sam looked pained. “What? You were there?” 

“In the interrogation room, yeah. For a minute, anyways. Before they freakin’ tased me.” He hoped the admission would bring some levity to Sam’s face, but no dice. 

“Dean,” Sam said, his voice low in warning. “I can’t talk about it right now. Okay?” 

“I just wanna know if you’re okay,” Dean said. 

His heart twisted at the expression on Sam’s face. “And I can’t talk about it. Not right now. Can we just… go back to the case, for now?” 

Dean nodded numbly. “Yeah, okay.” 

Sam coughed, a little awkwardly. “So, Angie’s a witch?” 

“Uh… yeah. Yeah, I – I knew there was something wrong, something we were missing. And I was right! It’s more than just the ghost. It’s her, Sam. Somehow, she’s responsible for this. I know it.” 

“Did you know the ghost isn’t gone?” Sam said. “There must be something more holding her here than just her body.”

“You saw it?” Dean accused. 

Sam nodded. “That’s why they put me in here. You didn’t feel it? The lights went shaky, and it got cold. I followed my gut, and I was right. Sent her packing with some salt.” 

Dean shook his head. “Must not have made it as far as my room.” 

“You know, that fits, though,” Sam said, with that expression on his face that meant he’d just put something together. “I mean, there was a message Emma wrote out on the window – ‘you’re next.’”

“A threat?” 

“No,” Sam said. “Not a threat. A warning. Emma’s not a violent spirit.” 

Dean’s eyebrows raised as he understood what Sam was saying. “Oh. She’s a death omen.” 

Back at the hotel, Spencer sat with JJ in her room. He knew they should be resting, but his brain felt like it was on overdrive; there was no way he was sleeping until he at least sorted some of his thoughts out. 

“Talk to me, Spence,” JJ said. Her face was weary, and she looked concerned. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen you this wound up. And that’s saying something.” 

He couldn’t even muster up the smile that he knew she was trying to inspire. “JJ, I just…” he shook his head. “What happened today, I can’t explain it. I’ve never… it’s impossible!” 

JJ sat down across from him, her arms crossed tight across her chest. “I know,” she said softly. 

“I mean, since I’ve been working for the FBI I’ve seen – we’ve seen a lot,” Spencer continued, the words coming almost too quick to make it out of his mouth. “But not – nothing like this.” He looked up as a thought struck him. “JJ, what if they’re telling the truth?” 

JJ frowned, obviously confused. “What if who’s telling the truth?” 

“Sam and Dean,” he said earnestly. 

“Spencer…” JJ looked at him carefully. “You don’t really think that.” 

Reid pushed himself to his feet, feeling a wild anxious energy inside of himself. “I know,” he said. “I know! It’s crazy. They’re crazy, I mean. Mentally disturbed. Killers. Or at least one of them is. But this whole time, I’ve felt like there was something that we were missing. Don’t you agree?” 

JJ sighed. “Sure, I agree. But there’s a big leap from thinking that to agreeing with Sam and Dean Winchester.” 

Spencer paused in his pacing, yet his mind still raced. “JJ, I’ve always been drawn to logic. You know that. But… what happened earlier wasn’t logical.” She opened her mouth to speak, but Reid just kept going, speeding forwards, that anxious energy driving him. “I’ve been going over it in my head every second since it happened. And now I’m standing here and telling you: I think… I think they may be telling the truth. If not the whole truth, part of it.” 

He turned to face his friend. JJ just looked at him, searching his expression. After a long moment, she nodded. “Okay,” she said. 

Spencer blinked. “Okay, what?” 

She sat up straighter. “I promise, Spence. We’ll get to the bottom of this. Whatever it was that happened today, we’ll figure it out.” 

Reid nodded slowly back at her. “Thanks, JJ. This is just –” he paused, frowning. 

JJ noticed. “What is it?” 

Spencer didn’t know what to say. Then he suddenly had a strange feeling; like they were being watched. His hand went to the gun at his waist. 

Then, in a split second, three things: 

A creak behind him. JJ’s face, terrified. And a sharp crack against the back of his skull. 

There was a flash of something red, and then –

Darkness.

Chapter Text

Morgan lifted his leg, and with one powerful kick, the door exploded open. 

What he saw inside had his heart in his throat. 

“Reid!” He yelled, and rushed forwards, the others right behind him. The younger man was laid out on the floor in an awkward position, his eyes closed and his forehead covered in blood. 

“Jesus,” Rossi said, sounding horrified. “What the hell happened in here?”

The room was totally trashed, with splintered wood from the furniture and shattered glass littering the floor. 

Morgan landed in a crouch on the floor beside Reid, and put a hand on his shoulder. “Hey!” he said loudly. “Reid!”

He looked back, ready to tell someone to call for help, but Hotch was already on it, his phone to his ear as he stepped back into the hall. 

“Where’s JJ?” Prentiss asked. No one had an answer. 

Morgan had been sleeping. He’d been sleeping, and just down the hall, this had happened. How the hell had this happened? The others had shown up looking to swap shifts, and when they hadn’t been able to get a hold of Reid or JJ… 

Derek turned back to Reid, and put his fingers on the side of his neck, searching for a pulse. After a moment, he let out a sigh of relief. “He’s alive,” he said. 

“Oh, thank god,” Prentiss breathed.

“Good,” Rossi said. “But we need to move. This happened recently. It’s possible the unsub – and JJ – are still on the property. Morgan, you stay here with Reid. Emily, help me case the building.” 

Prentiss immediately nodded, and the two of them ran out of the room, their guns out in front of them and looking this way and that for signs of the intruder. 

Derek looked down at Reid, his pulse beating loudly in his ears. He couldn’t think about JJ right now – the others had it taken care of. He needed to do what he could here. 

“Reid,” he said again insistently. “Can you hear me?” 

His eyes stayed closed. 

Morgan reached a hand up and brushed Reid’s bangs out of the way to get a better look at the wound. Below was a cut about an inch and a half long, but it was impossible to tell how deep it was because of the blood that was still seeping out of it and dripping towards the floor. The area around it was already swollen and discolored. He’d seen much worse head wounds, but there was no doubt that Reid would be in a world of discomfort from this. 

He reached out and grabbed a clean-looking shirt, folding it up before pressing it down firmly over the wound. Maybe he could at least get the bleeding to stop. 

At the pressure, Reid’s eyelids fluttered, and then opened. He squinted against the light. “Morgan?” Reid said hoarsely. 

 “Reid,” Derek replied, smiling. “Hey, pretty boy. Welcome back.” 

But Reid wasn’t listening. Instead, he was squirming, trying to look around the room. His breathing picked up. “JJ,” he said, his voice slurring. “Morgan, where’s JJ? She – she –” 

Derek didn’t know what to say. His chest strained at the pain in Reid’s voice. 

Then Reid’s gaze locked onto his. “His eyes,” he said intensely. There was a fear in his voice that Morgan had rarely heard. “Morgan, his eyes. They were red.” 

“What?” Derek said, alarmed. “What are you saying?”  

Reid grasped his sleeve, staring wildly at Morgan. “He’s not human.” He was shaking slightly. “I don’t think he’s human.” 

Morgan shook his head. “Reid. Spencer. Take a breath, man. You’re not thinking straight.” 

“No. I – no, no, no –” 

“Calm down,” Derek said, giving his voice a steadiness that he didn’t feel. “Look at me. Breathe, Reid.” 

Reid swallowed roughly, and looked around frantically. “JJ… Something happened to JJ… Where is she –” 

Morgan wanted to console him, but there was no truth he could say about JJ that would do that. “Deep breaths, c’mon kid. Work with me here. Deep breaths.” 

Slowly, Reid calmed down, and Derek was able to get him into a sitting position propped up against the bed. He closed his eyes and breathed purposefully, holding the makeshift bandage Derek had grabbed to his forehead on his own. 

There was a noise behind him, and Derek spun quickly, pulling his gun from its holster. 

“Morgan, it’s me,” Hotch said, his hands up in front of himself. 

Feeling a little foolish, Derek put his gun away. “Sorry,” he muttered. 

Hotch just stepped up beside him, looking down at Reid. “The paramedics are almost here. How is he?” 

Morgan was about to answer when Reid turned to the side and vomited, just barely missing throwing up in his own lap. 

“Oh, geez, Reid,” Derek said, bringing his hand up to cover his nose. “Warn a guy, why don’t you.”

Hotch, staring at the mess, brought his phone back up to his ear and asked for an update on the ambulance. 

~~~~~~

Forty-five minutes later, Reid had been admitted to the ER with a concussion, his face bandaged but still bruised. 

Derek pulled back the curtain dividing Reid’s bed from the others in the room, and looked down at his friend. Despite the doctors’ care, he still didn’t look good. But at the same time he couldn’t help but be grateful; Joe Bartlett hadn’t been so lucky. 

“Morgan,” Reid said urgently. He looked about a minute away from throwing up again. Backing up that idea was the emesis basin in his lap. “Tell me what’s going on. Have they found her? Do you know what’s happening?” 

Morgan shook his head, and pulled a chair close to Reid’s bed before sitting down. “We’re trying, Reid. We don’t know anything yet. But we will, okay? We’re gonna find her.” 

Reid shook his head. He looked scared out of his wits. 

“Reid?” Morgan said. “Take a breath, okay? We still have time.” 

Spencer fought to steady his breathing, and then gagged. On the next breath, he was throwing up again. Morgan winced. Damn, he must have really hit his head good to be feeling this bad. 

“Shit, man. Take it easy, now.” 

Reid spit once more into the bowl and then took a few long, deep breaths. “When can I leave?” he said. “We need to be looking for her.” 

Derek shook his head. “Hey, no. I know you want to help, but you need to take care of yourself. I mean, look at you.” He gestured to the emesis basin. “You’re not okay.” 

“I can still help,” Reid argued, grabbing the bowl and putting it angrily on the side table. 

There was an opening in the curtain, and Hotch stepped through. “Yes, you can,” he said. “But only after the doctors say it’s alright for you to leave.”

Reid protested, “But –” 

“No,” Hotch cut him off firmly. He glanced at Morgan, and then back down at the bed. “I just spoke to your doctor, actually. They want you to get an MRI to make sure you’re not bleeding into your brain.” 

“Yeah, okay,” Morgan said. “No way in hell we’re chancing that. You’re staying.” 

Reid frowned, and crossed his arms over his chest. But finally, he nodded. 

“Good,” Hotch said with finality. “Now, we will be doing everything in our power to look for JJ; you know that. But before we leave, we need to hear from you: can you tell us what you saw? Did you see your attacker?” 

Reid swallowed, his face pale. The fight had drained out of him, and now it looked like he was barely keeping himself upright. The bandage on his forehead was a stark reminder of what happened.  Morgan was tempted to push him back down on the bed, but he knew the kid wouldn’t appreciate it. “I didn’t see anything. He got me from behind.” He shared a glance with Morgan. “I mean I thought – I thought I saw red eyes. But it must have been a trick of the light.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I should have realized what was happening faster –” 

“This isn’t your fault, Reid,” Hotch said firmly. “You two are both competent agents. You were caught off-guard. It could have happened to any of us.” 

Morgan nodded. “He’s right, man. We’re just glad you’re alive. We’ll find JJ.” 

Reid looked between them, and nodded shakily. 

Derek considered his friend. “How are you feeling?” he asked gently.

“I’ll be fine,” Reid said, only half convincingly. “Just a concussion – nothing I haven’t worked through before.” 

“Just don’t push yourself,” Hotch said. “You’re no use to us, or to JJ, out for the count. Stay here, get the MRI. When the doctors clear you, you can leave. Not before. Understood?” 

Morgan couldn’t help but notice something in Reid’s eyes – the sort of stubbornness that the kid was famous for. Nevertheless, Reid nodded. “Yes, sir.” 

Morgan just hoped this moment wouldn’t come back to bite them. 

They all sat together in the station, light from the sunset filtering in through the blinds. Except there was one chair that was noticeably empty. 

“This is awful,” Garcia said over the phone. “Can we all just agree on the fact that this is horrifying? Oh, God – JJ.” 

“We know, Garcia,” Hotch said sternly. He looked around at all of them. “She deserves our focus right now. When we find her, we can give her our care and support. Does everyone understand?” 

Nods all around. 

“Now, Reid is alright. He has a concussion, but he’s getting the treatment he needs. He’ll join us if and when he can.” 

The others accepted this information, too.

Hotch gestured to the folders in front of himself. “Well then. Some new evidence arrived in the coroner’s reports for Joe and Martha Bartlett, and the lab results from the blood found in the Winchesters’ car.”

He passed the folder to his left, and Prentiss opened it. 

“It looks like the time of death for both Joe and Martha doesn’t match up with our arrest of Dean Winchester. The neighbor who reported the crime said he saw a figure that matched Dean’s description at Joe Bartlett’s house at dawn, around 6 am. But the coroner report lists the time of death for Joe Bartlett between midnight and 2 am that morning.” 

“From what we know about the unsub, he wouldn’t stick around that long,” Rossi said. 

“Exactly. Additionally, Martha Bartlett’s time of death was estimated to be around noon today.” 

Morgan looked between them all. “Both of the Winchesters were already in custody by then.” 

“What about the blood?” Garcia asked. 

Hotch looked over at Prentiss, who raised her eyes from the lab report. She glanced at Hotch, and then back at the rest of them, incredulous. “The blood wasn’t a match for any of the victims. And the reason it came back so quickly was that it wasn’t human blood at all – it’s sheep’s blood.” 

Rossi shook his head. “So we’ve been following a false trail this whole time? The Winchesters… could it really just be a coincidence?” 

“Regardless of why they’re here,” Hotch said, “They no longer factor into this investigation. We need to go back to the drawing board; disregard any connection to the Winchesters. Beyond them, what do we have?” 

“We have the profile,” Morgan said. 

“Robert Freeman,” said Prentiss. “He was the most likely suspect before the Winchesters turned up.” 

“I’ll look into his connections in town,” Rossi said. 

Morgan spoke up. “And I’ll focus on Emma Crawford; it’s possible her family haven’t come forward with information on where he could be hiding.” 

“I’ll scour any security footage,” Garcia added. “There’s no way they just vanished.” 

“Alright, good,” Hotch said. “Besides that, we should get some feet on the ground. Prentiss, you work with Combs to organize a door knock search and set up checkpoints at every exit out of town.” 

Prentiss nodded. 

“Right. Let’s get to work. Based on when Martha Bartlett was killed, we have a time frame of about twelve hours.” Hotch looked at all of them. “Now, let’s get JJ home safe.” 

Reid winced against the sun as he punched the key-code into the back door of the police station. His head hurt worse than the migraines that he still got, making his stomach churn with nausea. But there was no way – there was no way he could have stayed in that ER for even a minute longer than he had. 

So, he’d signed the papers he’d needed to sign and walked out. And if there was anything wrong with his head (which, not like that was anything new), it could wait until all of this was over. 

Still, the dark cool of the back room was a relief to his pounding head. He slipped inside silently, the door shutting with a click behind him. 

He looked around carefully, making sure there was no one around to see what he did next. 

Spencer slipped into the mercifully unmanned computer room, the monitors showing feeds of the entire police station. His gaze landed on one that showed the room the BAU had been using as their base. He could see grainy footage of Prentiss and Hotch, deep in discussion with one another, pointing at various photos and documents on the case board. 

But, with the flip of a switch, the feed went dark. All the other cameras were turned off soon after. 

Because what happened next couldn’t be recorded.

Spencer stepped away from the computers, his heart beating loudly in his ears. What he was about to do… it wasn’t right. It wasn’t smart. And it certainly wasn’t legal. When word got out about this, he’d be done. He’d be removed from his position in the BAU, fired from the FBI, and likely locked up on criminal charges. 

But somehow, he still knew this was the only way. If they were going to find JJ, and get her safe before it was too late, he needed to do this. He’d been circling towards the answer since he’d woken up on the floor of the hotel room. And now he knew. 

They needed the Winchesters. 

The door to the cell room slammed closed behind him, the sound echoing through the quiet space. Dean and Sam looked up at him warily from their respective cells. 

Reid looked up at the camera in the corner, checking to see that the light was off. He was relieved to see that what he’d done had worked. 

Dean broke the silence. “What happened to your head?” 

Spencer’s hand twitched, but he stopped himself from reaching up to touch the bandage. Still, he knew the anxiety was rolling off of him in waves. 

“Dr. Reid…” Sam was looking at him carefully, like he could tell that something had changed. “What’s going on?” 

Spencer steeled himself, and looked Sam in the eye. “You said salt would stop a ghost. What stops a demon?”

Sam’s eyes widened, and he shot a serious glance at his brother. “What did you see?” 

“I saw you use salt to protect us from that – that thing.” He double-checked the camera again. When he looked back at Sam, the man was staring at him intently, his brow furrowed. “Sam,” he said, speaking a truth that was both necessary and terrifying. “I believe you.” 

“Shit,” Dean said loudly.

Spencer and Sam turned at the noise. 

Dean just raised an eyebrow. “Sorry. Just – Can’t say I expected this one.” 

Reid leveled at gaze back at him. “Neither did I. But I can’t deny what I saw.” 

“You saw a demon?” Sam said. 

“I –” Reid shook his head. “I don’t know what I saw. But whatever it is, it moved without making a sound. And its eyes… they were bright red. It attacked me. And it took JJ – Agent Jareau. She’s missing.”

Dean stood suddenly. “See? We’ve been locked up in here. This wasn’t us. None of this was us.” 

He pushed the words from his mouth. “I know.” He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a set of keys. Wordlessly, the Winchesters watched as he unlocked first Sam’s cell, and then Dean’s. 

The two men stepped out slowly in disbelief. Reid saw Dean step closer to his brother, giving him an obvious once-over. Sam was looking at Reid, his face wary. 

“Don’t make me regret this,” Reid said to him. “And help me find my friend.” 

Sam looked at Dean, and the two of them nodded. 

“Alright,” Dean said. “Let’s get this mother fucker.” 

Angie sat in the police station break room, looking down at the stains on the table in front of her. Her mind was swirling, and she tried to focus. But it was a little hard to do that when her life was crumbling down around her, and she had absolutely nothing to do in the meantime. 

She wondered when they’d burst in here and arrest her. She couldn’t believe it hadn’t happened already. Because, if they did – they wouldn’t be wrong. 

Angie shook her head. No. She didn’t mean for all this to happen. Things never should have gotten to where they were now. 

Still, the anticipation was killing her. She was sweating madly, and kept downing cups of coffee just to have something to do with her hands. At this point though, the caffeine was making her heart jump like a jackrabbit. 

A buzzing sound split through the silence, and she nearly leapt out of her skin before she realized it was her phone. She picked it up off the table and looked at the number. Not one that she knew. But… she answered it, and held it to her ear. 

“Angie,” a deep voice said. 

Angie’s jaw dropped. “Dean?” she hissed. “How the hell are you calling me?” 

Unsurprisingly, he ignored the question. “Are you alone?” 

“Yeah. I’m holed up in the break room.” 

“We’re out back, in a dark blue pick-up. You’ve got sixty seconds, or we’re leaving without you.”

Angie blinked. What. “What?” 

“You heard me. Fifty-five seconds, now.”

She heard the dial tone in her ear. He’d hung up. 

She stood, and pushed open the break room door a crack. There was no one in the hall; she knew something had happened recently, because everyone seemed to be very focused on their work. It had been more than an hour since anyone had even checked in on her. 

Basically, it was now or never. 

Angie steeled herself, took a deep breath, and slipped out. 

Rossi pushed open the door to their room in the station to find Prentiss and Hotch deep in discussion. They looked over at him as he entered. 

“Any updates?” Hotch said. 

Rossi nodded. “I just got off the phone with Emma Crawford’s mother. She didn’t have much useful to say. She didn’t seem to know her daughter all that well, from the sound of it.” 

“But?” Prentiss prompted. 

“But,” David continued, “She mentioned that before Emma moved in with Robbie, they would go on hunting trips together in the national forest. Said Robbie had a cabin out there.” 

Hotch looked properly intrigued by that. “A cabin off the grid? That sounds like an excellent place to hide out.” 

Prentiss shook her head. “Reid looked through every inch of his files, though. If there had been mention of a cabin, he would have found it.” 

“Then it must be owned under a different name,” Rossi said. “A family member, maybe?” 

“Widen the search,” Hotch agreed. “Let’s see where that lead takes us.” 

Sam slammed on the gas again, egging the old truck on and trying to get them all as far away from the police station as possible. 

“Hey, you got a name, man?” Dean said, turning around to look in the backseat. 

The FBI agent met his gaze. “Reid,” he replied. 

“Dr. Reid,” Sam corrected wryly. “Right?” 

Dr. Reid raised an eyebrow. “Right.”

“Can somebody tell me what the hell is going on?” Angie said crossly from her seat next to Reid. 

“No,” Dean snapped. “We’ll get to you soon enough. You’ve got a lot to answer for. In the meantime, keep your trap shut. Got it?” 

Angie’s eyes widened, and she nodded dumbly. 

“Great. Now – Reid, a quick question for you.” 

“What?” 

Dean cocked his head. “You seem like a pretty quick guy. I’m sure whatever we tell you, you’ll remember. Is that right?” 

Reid nodded. 

“Well then – do you want the whole truth, or just part of it? Because once you know this stuff, there’s no going back.” 

Reid looked back steadily. Sam could see his eyes in the rearview mirror, and what he saw in them left no doubt in his mind – the man had seen some shit. 

“Everything,” Reid said, and Sam wasn’t surprised. “Tell me everything.” 

Officer Keller might not have been able to contribute much to the search for that missing FBI agent, but she could do her job. And right now, that meant delivering dinner to the Winchester brothers. 

She walked down the hall to the room of cells in the back of the station, two trays of food balanced in her arms. 

From what she’d overheard, the two brothers were no longer considered the prime suspects in the investigation. Still, they had enough dirt on the boys to press charges on them anyway, so they weren’t going to be going free for a long, long time. They’d probably be transferred to the county jail by tomorrow. But in the meantime – food. 

Keller carefully held both trays in one hand, and reached for the door handle with the other. She pushed the door open with her shoulder, and stepped inside. 

In a moment, she took in the room. Six cells, all where they were supposed to be. 

But no Winchesters. 

“Oh, good Lord.” 

They pulled the truck over down next to the river, the tires kicking up dirt as they came to a stop. 

All of them piled out, and Sam turned the ignition off. Doors slammed. 

Then Dean stalked forwards suddenly and reached out to grip Angie’s upper arm. “Alright, Angie. Tell us what you know. Tell us what you did.” 

Angie shook her head. “I – I didn’t –” 

“Cut the crap,” Dean said. “I know you’re a witch. I saw the altar in your closet.” 

“Witch?” repeated Reid quietly. He met Sam’s gaze, looking more than troubled. 

Angie suddenly had tears sliding down her face, and she pushed them away with the back of her hand. “I – Look, I never meant for any of this to happen, okay? None of it. It just did.” 

“We’re gonna need you to be a little more specific than that, honey,” Dean said cuttingly. 

“Okay! Okay. It started with Emma,” she said roughly, moving away from Dean. “Well… I guess it started with me and her.” She ran an anxious hand through her greasy blonde hair. “We’ve always been best friends. Growing up, we used to play pretend. We’d play like we were in Harry Potter, you know? And that we could do magic.” She shrugged. “Then, we grew up. Graduated. Both ended up with asshole boyfriends. And that’s when I found the book. And realized that I could do magic for real.” 

“Book?” Sam cut in. “What book?” 

“I saw it,” Dean said gruffly, keeping his eyes on Angie. “When I found your altar. A manual for witchcraft 101.” 

Angie looked ashamed. “We found it in the woods, in this place I thought must have been an old Geotagging spot or something. Back when we all used to go to Connor’s hunting cabin together.”

“Connor?” Reid asked. 

“My ex,” Angie explained. She crossed her hands over her chest. “And then… after I figured out it worked, you know, I used it to get Connor to move out of town.” 

“How?” Reid said. 

“Found a banishing charm. And it worked. Maybe a little too well, in retrospect.” She looked uncomfortable. “He moved all the way to Sacramento.” 

“So once you knew it’d done the trick for Connor, you wanted to help Emma out, too,” Sam said. 

“Yeah. Except Emma didn’t see it. She didn’t want him gone, you know? No matter what he did to her. She liked him too much.” Her mouth twisted in anger. “That asshole didn’t know how good he had it.” 

Sam and Dean shared a look. “So what’d you do to him?” Dean asked. 

Angie looked up. “Made him show his true colors, basically. I just wanted him to take it a step further. Just a step! So she’d wake up, and see that she had to leave him.” Tears welled in her eyes and slipped down her cheeks. When she spoke again, her voice was thick. “But it worked too well, again, I guess. And he killed her.” She let out a sob, covering her face. “I didn’t believe it at first. But… yeah. When he disappeared, I thought it was over. Like the spell had made him leave town, too. But – but – those other girls –” She whimpered. 

Dean let out a disbelieving scoff. “Shit,” he said. 

“You turned him into a monster,” Sam agreed. He shook his head. “You were playing with fire. Spells like that, they don’t do what you want them to. They take what you want, and twist it. Make it their own.” 

Angie just cried into her hands, her shoulders shaking. “I didn’t know!” she sobbed. “I never meant for this to happen! I’m not – I didn’t –” 

“But you did,” Dean said coldly. “And now, you have to help us fix it.” 

Reid shook his head, looking stressed. Sam couldn’t blame him. “How would you even do that to someone? I’ve read studies about hypnosis being partially effective, and seen some evidence for myself, but not to this extent.” 

Dean turned to Reid and explained. “Witchcraft can do a lot of wild shit. And it’s unpredictable even if you know what you’re doing,” he said, casting Angie a searing look. “Obviously Angie here didn’t set the terms of the spell right, or perform it correctly, or something. And one mixed word in a spell can do a hell of a lot of damage.” 

Reid just made a face that conveyed just how unhelpful that explanation was. 

“Look, man,” Sam said. “You can’t try and rationalize any of this with any of the laws you think the world follows. You’ve gotta rewrite your rulebook, here.” 

Reid frowned, and pointed at Angie. “But somehow, she’s responsible for killing those girls? Even though she wasn’t the one holding the knife.” 

“If you follow the chain of events, I’d say yes,” Dean said sharply. “She altered reality. Twisted this guy’s mind.” 

“Robbie is an asshole!” Angie snarled. “He would hit her. He was mean to her!”

Sam shouted, “Enough! None of this is helpful. We can work out the blame game later – right now we need to focus on finding Robbie, and the missing agent.” 

Dean huffed, but stayed quiet otherwise. Angie stared resolutely at a spot on the ground, her chin wavering. 

“Great,” Sam said flatly. “Thank you. Now. There’s the other half of this we still have to figure out. Emma.” 

Angie looked up at him sharply. 

“Emma’s what we call a Death Omen,” Sam continued. “That means she’s a ghost, but not a violent one. She’s only been trying to communicate with us, and warn the victims who she knows are next.” 

“I knew it,” Angie said hoarsely. “She would never hurt me.” 

“She still might,” Dean said. “Ghosts who are death omens mean well, but they can’t control themselves. Plus, they’re not meant to be here; they’re meant to move on. The longer they stay on Earth, the more unhinged they get. Not to mention the message she left you about your lies. She could be in the process of turning into a violent spirit.”

“As far as we know though, she hasn’t hurt anyone,” Sam said. “Not yet, anyway. She’s just been giving out warnings.” 

Angie’s jaw dropped. “When she came to my house… I knew it wasn’t her that trashed it!” Her face went pale. “Oh, my god. He must have been coming after me. She – if I hadn’t met you guys – she saved my life!” 

“You fit the victimology,” Reid said. “If the monster you created from Robbie is after women that look like Emma, the fact that you orchestrated his destruction might not even factor in.” 

“So he went for the closest next best thing,” Dean agreed. “The neighbor.”

Reid nodded. “Martha Bartlett.” 

“And when we thought she was warning you in the station,” Sam continued, “She was really warning Jareau.” Reid’s face pained at the name. “She fits the victim type, too.” 

“You did burn the body, right?” 

Sam nodded at his brother. “Yeah, managed it just before the feds nabbed me. Obviously it didn’t take.” 

They turned to Angie in sync. She refused to look them in the eye. 

“Hey,” Dean said to her. “Do you have something of Emma’s? A lock of her hair, maybe. Or a gift she gave you. It would have to be something meaningful.” 

Angie clenched her jaw, and shook her head. “No,” she said, still not looking at them. 

“Angie,” Sam warned. “We told you to be honest with us.” 

“And I am,” she said stubbornly. “Maybe she just… didn’t want to leave yet.” 

Dean looked irritated. “Yeah, it doesn’t work like that. Now give it up.” 

“Ghosts can be tied to Earth by an object?” 

“Every case is different,” Sam said. “But they can.”

Reid studied him. “How many ghosts have you seen?” 

Sam huffed a laugh. “At this point, we’ve lost count.” 

Angie still sat with her mouth closed tightly, eyes on the ground. 

“Okay, fine, keep your secrets,” said Dean frustratedly, deciding to just move on. “Emma’s a potential problem, but Robbie is the real problem. So where the hell is he? No one’s seen hide or tail of him since he was arrested, as far as I’ve heard.” 

Sam asked Angie, “Is there any place he would go, that you know of? Does he have someplace to hide?” 

Dean scratched the back of his head. “Shit, if he’s gone crazy he could just be out there prowling the woods or something.”

“He does seem to like the woods,” Sam mused. “That’s where he leaves the bodies. Maybe that’s where he kills them, too.” 

Reid sucked in a breath, and they all turned at the sound to look at him. “Earlier. You mentioned a hunting cabin,” he said to Angie intently. 

She nodded, a little confused. “Y-yeah. But it’s not Robbie’s cabin. It was Connor’s. He inherited it when his dad died.” 

“Connor,” Reid said, “Who’s now in Sacramento.” 

Sam looked at Dean just in time to see him slowly raise a single eyebrow. He turned back to Angie. 

“Where is this cabin, exactly?” 

“I can’t believe this,” Hotch said, looking around at the other agents. Everyone looked similarly shocked and furious. “How did they get out?” 

Officer Combs shook her head. “I have no idea. They told me the security cameras had been tampered with – there’s no footage of anything from the last hour. The box of evidence from their car is also missing.” 

“Didn’t you put extra guards on them?” Morgan asked. 

“I did,” Combs said. “But we moved them to have men for the checkpoints you asked for.” She lifted her chin. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t Quantico! We just don’t have the manpower here. I made a call with the resources we had.”

Rossi raised a hand and cut off Morgan’s likely angry response. “No, she’s right. We can’t waste time assigning blame, here.” 

“So what’s our next move?” Prentiss said. 

“We already have a police presence on the streets and checkpoints are being set up as we speak,” Combs said. “They’re not going to be able to make any big moves without us seeing it.” 

Morgan shook his head. “These guys are slippery little fuckers.” 

Hotch raised an eyebrow at the language, but nodded in agreement. “I say we stay the course. JJ is our main focus right now. If we’re lucky, the Winchesters will end up in our crosshairs; they’re interested in the case, after all.” 

“That’s true,” Emily agreed. 

Officer Keller stepped up to them. “Uh, sorry to interrupt, but has anyone seen Angela Towns? I put her in the break room a couple hours ago but she’s not there anymore.” 

“No one was watching her, either?” Morgan cursed. 

After a quick search, it was determined that Angie was nowhere in the station. She was gone, too. 

Rossi shook his head. “Wherever she is, it’s where the Winchesters are. We all heard how she talked about them. She’s not afraid of them.” 

“It’s not like she was here against her will, anyways,” Combs said. “We hadn’t charged her with anything. If she really wanted to leave, we would have had to let her.” 

“I hate to say it, but we can’t focus on them right now,” Morgan said heatedly. “We’ve established that the Winchesters aren’t our killers – we need to get back to finding JJ!” 

People started talking over one another, the tone stressed and confused. Everyone had their own theory, their own ideas, their own –

“Everybody, quiet!” Hotch’s voice snapped across the bullpen, and every voice fell silent, their faces turned towards him. 

“We have one main goal here today: to catch a killer. Let’s not get distracted. In the meantime, Combs, you should set aside a few officers to try and track down the Winchesters.” He raised a hand as Combs opened her mouth to protest. “I know you’re spread thin right now. All I’m asking for is two or three people. Everyone else will stay on the serial case.”

After a moment, she nodded. “Johnson. Shaffer. Congratulations: you’re in charge of a manhunt. And for God’s sake, someone call Asheville. We need their support here, and we need it now!” 

“Dean?” Bobby said as he answered the phone. “You got out?” 

Dean nodded, glancing over to the stolen pick-up. Sam was showing Reid through the box of their stuff and explaining the purpose of different weapons. “Yup. Didn’t have to shoot anybody, either.”

“Well, ain’t that a relief. When I got that call from the station I was sure I’d have to come spring you myself. Sam’s out, too?” 

“Yeah, he’s here.” Dean hesitated. 

Of course, Bobby noticed. “What is it?” 

Dean tried to figure out how to say it, and lowered his voice so Sam wouldn’t hear, even though he was already a hundred feet from the car. “He – he had a flashback. It was bad. I couldn’t even shake him out of it.” 

“He’s still like that?” Bobby’s voice was tense. 

“No, no. He’s okay, now. Just – it scared me, a bit.” 

Bobby sighed. “I hear you, Dean. It scares me, too.” 

“I –” Dean cut himself off. “Sorry. We don’t have time for this right now. I just –” 

“Hey. We don’t have any idea just what Sam went through.” 

Dean frowned. “Yeah, you don’t think I know that?” 

“Calm down, boy. I ain’t accusing you of anything. I’m just saying: how are we supposed to know how to help the kid when he won’t tell us how? You gotta figure out how to crack that shell open, Dean. Or Sam might just get lost in his memories for good.” 

“Right,” he said. “Just say that like it’s easy.” 

“I never said it was, idjit. Don’t mean you can’t do it, though.” 

Dean sighed, and then cleared his throat. “Okay. Well. Moving on. Got any updates for me?” 

Bobby moved on smoothly. “Yeah, I’ve been translating the pages you sent me. Looks like an obscure edition of an old witchcraft book I’ve seen before. The spell basically turns someone into the worst version of themselves. But it looks like your witch organized some of it incorrectly, too, so it made it go even fouler.” 

“How do we reverse it?” 

“Not sure you can. But it’s possible just killin’ this guy the old fashioned way will work.” 

“And if it doesn’t?” 

“If it doesn’t, I’ve got something else here you can try. A counter-curse that should neutralize the worst parts of the spell.” 

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Okay, sounds great. Why didn’t you start with that?” 

Bobby sounded grumpy. “Because it’s got a couple of heinous ingredients, including remains of the victims.” 

Dean winced. “Eugh. Right. Well, give it to me anyways. With our luck, we’re gonna need it.” 

“Fine. You got something to write this down?” 

Emily turned away from Mr. and Mrs. Townes, Morgan following her to the door. 

Angie’s father was close behind them. “You’ll find her, won’t you? Angie, she’s a good girl. She –” 

“We understand, Mr. Townes,” Emily said patiently. “Now, if you hear from her, let us know right away. You have our cards.” 

“Just – figure out what the hell is going on. Please.” 

“We’re doing all we can,” Morgan said. “Your daughter is a top priority to us.” 

“She wouldn’t do this,” Mr. Townes said emphatically, gesturing around the ruined house. “We need to know where she is. We need her safe!” 

Emily stepped out the front door and Morgan did the same. “You’ll hear from us when we know something,” she said. 

“In the meantime, remember – don’t leave town again,” Morgan added. 

Mr. Townes nodded. “Okay. Okay. Chloe,” he called, turning back towards his wife. “Sit down for a second, let’s just –” he closed the door. 

Morgan let out a long breath as they walked back to the Suburban. “What a mess,” he said bitterly. 

“You can say that again.” Emily was checking her phone. “Speaking of, have you heard from Reid? I know he was supposed to get an MRI, but that should be done by now, right?”

“I haven’t,” Morgan confirmed, opening the driver’s side door. They sat down in the car, him looking through his own phone. “Not a damn thing.” 

Emily shared a worried glance with him. “You don’t think he’d do anything stupid, do you?” 

Morgan shook his head. “Let’s hope he’s sleeping. You should have seen him in the ER; he looked terrible.” 

God, what an awful day. They hadn’t had one this bad in a long time. Still, it hadn’t been long enough. 

Morgan put a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, you know Reid. I’m sure he’ll be okay. He – he can take care –” 

He cut off when the phone in his lap buzzed and rang. Emily saw his eyes widen when he saw the name. “Oh, speak of the devil!” He hurriedly pressed the answer button and held the phone out in front of himself. 

“Morgan, listen carefully.” 

“Reid!” Emily said, looking at Morgan excitedly. 

“Reid, good to hear from you,” Morgan said, a little more reserved. There was something about Reid’s tone of voice. “Now, you mind telling us what you’re up to?” 

“Sorry, I… can’t tell you much, right now. But – I know where to find Robert Freeman. And I know he’s our unsub.” 

Emily frowned. “You sound certain. You know this for sure?” 

“I do. His friend had a hunting cabin on the border of Nantahala National Forest. He’ll be there.” He rattled off an address, and Emily quickly pulled out a notepad to scribble it down. “I’m going to find JJ. Can you meet me there?” 

“Wait for us,” Morgan said sharply. “Don’t go alone, Reid.”

There was a pause. “I’m not,” Reid said cryptically. “I’ll see you there.” 

He hung up. Morgan looked at Emily, then turned the key in the ignition. Emily was already looking for Garcia’s number to get everyone else looped in.

 “Well, I guess this answers your question,” Derek said as they peeled off down the road. “He would do something stupid!” 

“You sure this is the right way?” Dean asked, continuing forwards on the bumpy dirt road. It felt like they’d already passed through the middle of nowhere at this point.

Angie shrugged. “Uh… pretty sure, yeah.” 

Dean cast her a sharp look. “Pretty sure? We get all the way out here and you’re only pretty sure?” 

“I’m sure,” Angie said again, firmer this time. “Jesus. I haven’t been here in a while, okay?”

Reid leaned forwards in his seat. “What exactly are we going to find here?” 

“Basically, we’re fighting a curse,” Sam said. “So, we kind of have to be prepared for anything. Hopefully, Robbie can still die like any other person. But if the curse altered him enough, it’ll take a counter-curse to knock him down.” 

Reid considered that. “When you do research, how do you know what’s – real, and what’s really just myth?” 

Sam turned a little to face him better. “A lot of trial and error, honestly. That’s why the best way to learn is from other hunters.” 

“We tend to face a lot of bullshit nobody’s seen before, though,” Dean added. “So improv is a requirement most times.” 

“Many classic fairy tales use virtues to undo a curse, like love or forgiveness. Does that ever work, or do you always just have to go for the kill?” 

Dean raised an eyebrow at Sam, who cocked his head. “It’s worked a couple times, actually. But monsters and demons don’t usually care about virtues.” 

“It ever work for you?” Dean asked. 

Reid actually nodded. “I find that deep down, most of the people we encounter want empathy, or to be understood. I can tap into that for them, and it can do a lot to slow them down or even get them to surrender themselves.” 

“Huh,” Sam said. “Go figure.” 

Dean dodged a particularly large hole in the road. “Do you even know how to handle that gun you carry, doc?” 

“Better than I need to,” Reid replied. 

“Good.” 

“But,” he continued, “If we can solve this without firing a weapon, I’d say I would prefer that.” 

Dean just looked between Reid and Sam and shrugged. 

“Wait, holy shit – turn there!” Angie said suddenly. “That’s the turn!”

Dean turned the wheel hard, and they hit another pothole before making it onto the side road. Another minute later, he slowed down before pulling over entirely when they caught a glimpse of an old cabin. 

“Yeah, this place isn’t creepy at all,” Sam said. “You guys would come here to hang out?” 

Angie swallowed nervously. “Yeah.” 

Reid fumbled for the door handle. “Let’s go,” he said. 

“You said it, doc,” Dean agreed. “Sam, you ready?” 

Sam patted his pocket, then pulled his gun out. “Yeah. Angie, you’re staying in the car.” 

“No she’s not,” Dean said. 

Sam looked at him like he was crazy. “What? Yes, she is.” 

“No, she’s not,” Angie repeated, voice firm. “I’m not. Sam, I started this thing. I need to finish it, too. If you need someone to read that counter curse, I’m there.” 

Sam gave her a long look. “Fine. But stay behind us. And – take this.” He handed a knife to the young woman, and she took it, her fingers wrapping around it nervously.  

Dean nodded at Sam, then pulled his own gun out in one hand, and his silver knife in the other. And they headed for the house. 

Reid’s heart beat fast in his chest, and his head pounded. These moments were always stressful, but the idea of facing something he had no idea how to counter was even worse. And with JJ caught in the middle of it all? 

He took a deep breath, and pushed down his fear. It would only slow him down, here. And they didn’t have any time to spare. The sun was already setting, the shadows from the trees long and dark.

The Winchesters led the way to the house, their footsteps dead quiet even on the shifting gravel. They moved in sync with each other, each moving around the other with the familiarity that only came from time and experience. Reid was reminded of how he felt approaching crime scenes with the other members of the BAU. 

Sam gestured for Dean to move forwards, and the man ducked towards the house, holding his gun out in front of himself. The cabin was deceptively quiet, the only sounds coming from the rustling leaves. 

Then there was a noise like creaking wood. They all froze, Sam holding out a hand behind himself. Reid pulled out his gun and held it at his side with two hands. 

After a tense moment, Sam and Dean nodded at each other, and they all began moving forwards once again. Spencer followed Sam onto the rickety front porch, the warped wood bending underfoot, while Dean ran around to the back. Angie followed close behind him. 

Sam pushed the door open slowly, and the inside of the house revealed itself in dust and shadows. A stream of golden light from the sunset pouring in through a screened window was the only source of illumination. And in its glow…

Spencer let out a strained breath, taking an unconscious step forward. Because in the light was JJ tied to a chair, her blonde hair spilling over her face. She wasn’t awake. Was she even –? 

Sam held out a hand without looking back, barring Reid from entering. He almost pushed through it, but managed to contain himself. Then they stepped through the doorway, looking this way and that. There were bookshelves, a small kitchen, and – Reid grimaced – a table, covered in six bloody jawbones. 

But the monster was nowhere in sight. 

“Where are you?” Sam muttered. 

With the room they were in cleared, Spencer rushed to JJ’s side. When he got closer, he could see easily that she was breathing, and the sight sent relief buzzing through him. However, blood dripped from slashes at the crooks of her elbows, and the chair she sat in was positioned above a spot of floor darkened with dried blood. Obviously, not all of it could be JJ’s; the other women had been murdered here, as well. 

He put a hand on the top of her head, pushing it upright. Her hair fell out of her face, revealing a bruised eye and bloody forehead. 

“JJ?” Reid said, his voice sounding like a shout in the quiet room. 

There was no response. 

Then the front door slammed closed, and the room went dark. 

Reid looked up, alarmed. He held his gun out. “Sam?” he hissed. 

Bam! Bam! Two shots fired, the sound tearing at Reid’s ears. 

“Spencer, hide!” Sam cried out, sounding out of breath. There was another loud noise, this one like the sound of a body hitting something. The wall? 

Spencer turned, keeping his body in front of JJ and pointing his gun into the dark. 

That’s when he saw it – two red orbs in the shadows. His breath stopped in his chest, and he felt his body freeze. He couldn’t move; he could only stare. He knew what he had seen. But somehow, he had hoped that he’d been wrong. 

“Eat shit, asshole!” A woman’s voice cut through the dark silence along with the beam of a headlamp, and Reid turned to see Angie throw her knife at the glowing red eyes. The flashlight illuminated the whole of Robert Freeman. He looked like something past dead, his red eyes sunken in his pale face, a scraggly beard below them. His clothes were tattered, and his skin was littered with slash marks and dark blood. Whether it was his or not was hard to say. 

The knife Angie threw flew through the air and sunk improbably into Freeman’s face, point first. 

“Shit!” Dean said, stepping to her left. “Good throw.” 

Freeman sunk to his knees, a keening whine coming from his throat. The knife stuck out of his forehead. 

They watched him, but he didn’t fall. Instead, in horrifying slow motion, Freeman raised a hand and pulled the knife from his head. The blood that stuck to it was black as night. 

Before Freeman could make another move, Dean raised his gun and shot the man – monster – creature, whatever he had become – five times in the chest. Freeman fell back at the force of it, but then picked himself up and got to his feet. The gleam in his eye was murderous. 

“Well, fuck,” Dean cursed. “I guess that answers that question.” 

Freeman pointed the knife at Reid, and bared his teeth. They shone with blood. “You’ll regret interrupting me,” he growled, his voice sounding like rocks in a blender. 

Spencer somehow managed to speak. “Robbie, how long did you think this would last? You had to have known we would catch up to you.”

“I can’t be stopped,” Freeman rasped, his eyes locked on Reid. “I’m not – human, anymore. This is my purpose.” 

“No. It was intentional, the escalation,” Reid continued, unwavering. His mind raced. “You knew what you were becoming. You were trying to help us catch you. And now, taking an FBI agent – you want to be stopped, don’t you?” 

Robert bared his teeth, stepping forwards, the knife raised threateningly –

Then, two things. Freeman slammed to the ground, Sam Winchester tackling him down. And the front door slammed open, shards of wood flying. 

Derek stopped the car in front of the ragged hunting cabin, gravel spraying up from the wheels. A similar SUV pulled in behind them, and they all piled out, guns already drawn. The skies had turned to night, and they pulled out flashlights to see by.

Morgan was in front, Prentiss, Hotch, and Rossi right behind him. He looked at all of them. “Stay sharp, people,” he said. 

Hotch gestured to the third car in the drive. “There’s someone here already. Reid, I assume.” 

“That, or it’s Freeman’s car,” Prentiss said reasonably. 

Voices came from inside the cabin, and they all turned, alarmed. 

“That’s Reid!” Rossi said. 

“Come on,” Morgan said. “Let’s go!” 

They ran for the door, and with one swift kick it flew open. 

The house was dark and dusty, but the scene before him was clear. Morgan saw JJ, tied up and unresponsive. In front of her, Reid stood protectively, his weapon held out in front of him. In the corner there was another blonde girl – Angie. And in front of them, three bodies grappled: Sam and Dean Winchester, and another, bloodier figure. It must have been Robert Freeman. 

Morgan caught Reid’s eye. He looked like he was barely keeping his feet. 

Hotch’s voice rang out, strong and bold. “FBI! Freeze!” 

The wrestling men didn’t stop, though. And as Derek watched, Freeman threw his arms out with a rage filled cry. He could barely believe his eyes as the two Winchesters flew through the air, crashing through shelves and landing in heaps against the wall. 

With Hotch pointing his gun at Freeman, Derek ran for JJ and Reid, passing a table of jawbones as he did. So, this was the killer that they had been searching for. 

The two of them worked at the ropes that held JJ down. Out of the corner of his eye, Derek saw Dean help Sam to his feet. 

“Reid. The Winchesters – was that you?” Morgan said, the realization coming to him suddenly. 

Reid didn’t look at him. “You saw what just happened. This isn’t our case. It’s theirs.” 

“What?”

“Morgan!” Rossi’s voice called suddenly, alarmed. “Watch out!” 

Derek turned at the warning, and all he saw was a pair of red eyes before Freeman was on him. 

“She’s mine!” Freeman screamed, his voice rattling the cabin. Morgan fought, but inhuman strength held him down. And the eyes – the eyes – 

Morgan felt the weight lifted off of him at the same time that a wicked cold swept through which chilled him to the bone. 

As he fought for his breath, he also fought to understand the sight in front of him. There was a woman there, holding Robbie back – or at least, he assumed it was her. He was pinned to the wall with nothing visible holding him up. A few feet away, the translucent form of a blonde haired woman held out her hand towards Robbie, her face twisted up in rage and pain. 

Robbie let out a snarl, blood dripping down his face from several open, festering wounds. He fought against the invisible hold keeping him in place.

The ghost – because while it made no sense, there was no doubt as to what the figure was – of Emma Crawford clenched her outraised hand into a fist, and let out a cry, her beautiful face twisted in anguish. “You will not – touch – anyone – else!” She screamed hoarsely. 

Derek managed to look away from the scene long enough to catch Hotch’s eyes. The man looked similarly shocked. 

Dean yelled from across the room, “Do it, Angie! Say it now!” 

But Angie was staring at the ghost, her eyes wide and full of agony. “Emma,” she gasped. 

Sam reached her side, pushing a piece of paper into Angie’s hands. “Read it, Angie,” he said gruffly. “Now!” 

Angie held the paper, but her eyes were locked on Emma. “I… you’re… Emma…” 

Emma’s gaze turned to Angie, though her hand still kept the killer aloft. “I can’t hold this forever, Angie. If you’re going to stop this, do it now.” 

Angie swallowed roughly, and made up her mind. “Okay. Okay.” She opened up the paper. 

“Wait,” Sam said. “Don’t we need –” 

Angie paused, and nodded sharply. “Help me set it up.” 

Sam and Dean walked across the room and reached for the jawbones sitting atop a small table. 

“Wait, what are you doing?” Prentiss said. “Leave that alone!” 

“Sorry,” Sam said, and to Derek’s ear he really sounded regretful. “There’s no other way.” 

The jawbones were pushed together, a few other things added from pockets, and Dean held a lighter up to the pile. They caught easier than they should have, and the flames leapt up. 

Derek pushed himself to his feet, but Reid held him back. “No, let them work,” he said. 

Emma’s ghost let out a groan, her hand shifting. Freeman writhed against the wall. “Quickly!” she said. 

Angie held up the paper in her hand, and spoke, the words coming out of her mouth twisted and strange. He recognized a few, and then realized: it was Latin. 

At the chanting words, the flame that lit the jawbones rose higher, and Freeman cried out in rage and pain. “Noo!” he screamed. 

Emma let out a gasp as she could hold onto him no longer, and Freeman fell to the floor. 

Sam stepped in front of Angie and fired his weapon at Freeman, the shots knocking him back but not stopping him. Dean joined him, but it was only moments before the killer was on top of them, throwing them apart. 

He landed awkwardly against the table where the jawbones burned, and they knocked off onto the floor. They were all stuck together now, one burning lump of flesh and bone. 

The smell – the burning, sickly smell – it was the same. It pulled at memories in the front of his brain, and he could almost see it – feel it, on himself. 

He pressed a hand on his scarred palm, and pulled himself back to the present harshly. There was no room to slip, now. 

Sam looked up, and saw Freeman had almost reached Angie. 

More shots rang out, but the monster didn’t stop. He reached out a bloody hand for Angie, and then – 

She stopped speaking. The fire next to him burst high, and then went out. And Freeman froze. His angry face smoothed to confusion, and then pain, and he fell to his knees, the blood seeping out of him now red instead of black. 

The ghost of Emma Crawford appeared in front of him, and put a hand on his cheek. There were words whispered between the two of them, but they were too soft for Sam to hear. 

And then Freeman fell through Emma’s hand to the floor, his eyes staring vacantly.

Emma let out a long breath, the air fogging in front of her. And she vanished. 

The cabin was silent for a moment, and then they all seemed to move at once. 

Morgan and Reid turned to JJ, freeing her from her chair and carrying her to the door. Prentiss and Rossi knelt down next to Freeman’s body. And Hotchner turned to face Sam. 

“Well,” Hotch said, surprisingly steady. “Apparently we were wrong. You two were capable of another miraculous escape.” 

Dean had come up beside him. “Are you gonna try and arrest us again?” 

Hotchner looked at them stonily for a long moment. “No,” he said finally. 

Sam raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t seen this one coming. 

“What… what happened here?” Agent Hotchner asked, unsteadiness finally coming to his voice. 

Sam looked at Dean. “Ask Dr. Reid,” he said. “You’ll believe it better from him.” 

Hotchner raised his eyebrow, and then nodded. And without another word, turned to help the other agents with Jareau. 

“Okay.” Dean gestured with his chin to the door. “Time to blow this place, huh?” 

“No kidding,” Sam agreed. He felt the weariness settling on him. “I think I could sleep for a week.” 

“Same here. There’s no way we’re crashing anywhere in this town, though. It’s time to go get Baby out of lockup.”

Sam shook his head. “Yeah. With our luck they’ll turn around and arrest us again anyway.” 

“Angie,” Dean turned and called. “Come on, let’s go. We’ll drop you home.” 

Angie was still standing in the same spot across the room, her eyes on where Freeman had been; where Emma had been. Her face was pale.

“Just… give me a minute,” she said softly. “I’ll be out soon.” 

Sam nodded. “Okay. We’ll wait for you outside. Just… we don’t have a lot of time, okay?” 

Her gaze flickered to them in acknowledgement.

He and Dean walked outside, the air colder than it had been before. It was completely dark out save for the light from a crescent moon. 

The FBI agents were loading Jareau into the back of one of the SUVs and Freeman into the other. They walked past them, headed for the truck. 

There was a patter of feet behind them, and Reid’s voice called out, “Wait! Hold on!” 

Surprised, Sam stopped, Dean slowing beside him. Reid ran up to them, looking worried but calm. 

Dean was looking back at the Suburban. “Everything okay?” 

“We’re taking her to the hospital now.” 

Sam nodded. “I hope she’s better soon.” 

Reid looked at the both of them, and they waited expectantly. “Sorry,” Reid said eventually. “I just – don’t really know what I’m supposed to do now.”

“I’d recommend having a drink,” Dean said wryly. “Believe me, it helps.” 

“Seriously. What if I come across something like this again?” 

He shrugged. “Try your best.” 

“And,” Sam added, “If you need help, call us. We’ll swing by.” 

Dean nodded. “Sure. As long as we’re not busy keeping the world from ending or something,” he agreed. 

Reid paused, as if trying to decide if Dean was being facetious or not. 

“Here,” Sam said, scribbling down a few numbers on a piece of paper and handing it over to Reid. “If you get the voicemail it won’t sound like us, but it is.” 

Reid took the slip of paper. “Thanks.” 

“So… we’re not gonna have a manhunt on our asses as soon as we leave, right?” Dean said. 

Reid shook his head. “You’re free to go. And I’ll get Garcia working on covering your tracks. She’s our computer whiz,” he explained. “If you get arrested again, though, I’m afraid you’re on your own. We’re already going to have a lot to smooth out as it is.”

“Don’t worry about us,” Sam said, reaching out his hand. After only a moment’s hesitation, Reid reached out and shook it. “If you couldn’t tell, we’re pretty experienced in getting out of scrapes like this.” 

Reid pulled his hand back, and nodded. He gave Sam one last searching look. “Good luck,” he said. “And… thank you.” 

“Can’t say we hear that too often,” Dean said. 

“See you ‘round, I guess,” Sam said. 

Reid raised an eyebrow. “Honestly, I hope not.”  He gave one last nod, and then turned back to the SUV. As they watched, he climbed into the car, and the two Suburbans tore away down the dirt road, their red tail lights disappearing into the trees. 

Sam looked at Dean, who shrugged. 

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Fair enough.” 

Angie stood in the empty cabin, staring at the spot of blood on the floor where Robbie had fallen, illuminated by the flashlight in her hand. Then she looked at the even larger stain where she knew those six girls had met their end. 

All this death… all because of her. 

The air went cold around her, and her next exhale was a cloud of fog. 

A shape flickered in front of her, but Angie wasn’t afraid. It was Emma. 

Emma’s form solidified, and she looked at Angie, her expression flat. 

“Hey,” Angie breathed. 

Emma drifted forwards. Angie’s flashlight flickered in her hand. “How could you do this?” Emma asked, her voice echoey despite the small room. “Angie… how?” 

Angie swallowed past the lump in her throat. She clutched at the bracelet on her wrist. “You needed to get away. Robbie – he wasn’t good for you! He hit you, Emma,” she said roughly. 

“I know,” Emma said. “But he wasn’t this. He wasn’t evil.” 

Tears spilled down Angie’s face. “I know,” she whispered. “I’m sorry. I’m – I’m so, so sorry.” She let out a sob. 

Emma reached out a hand, and it felt like Angie’s cheek had been dipped in ice water. She leaned in. 

“I’m sorry, Emma. I never meant for this to happen. I just wanted…” her face twisted against the agony. “I just wanted you to be happy.” 

Emma looked into her eyes, her gaze softening. Their faces were close together now. “You were always stronger than me.” 

Angie soaked in those eyes. Emma still looked so perfect. She shouldn’t, should she? As a ghost. But there she was, as beautiful as she’d ever been. All that was missing was the warmth. And Angie knew at that moment that after she left this cabin, she would never see her again. 

Without stopping to think, she leaned in. Her lips touched Emma’s, and there were sparks of cold, and pain. She gasped, and pulled back. 

Emma’s eyes were wide. But after a moment of shock, she smiled and laughed. “Stronger than me – and braver, too,” she said. Her breath was cold on Angie’s face. “I always wondered…” 

“Me too,” Angie said, feeling joy mixed in to her broken heart. 

Emma’s face sobered. “You’ll have to keep being brave, to get past this.” 

Angie nodded, tears running down her face again. “I will. I promise. I’ll make up for this. I’ll spend my whole life making up for it.” 

There was a light behind Emma, and it slowly grew, flickering and nebulous. Emma let go of her, and turned to face it. 

“What is that?” Angie said. 

Emma was staring at it. “I – Angie, I was only holding on for you. To protect you. And the others, if I could. But now… it’s time for me to go.” 

“No!” Angie blurted, reaching for Emma’s hand. Of course, they couldn’t really touch, and she passed right through her. 

Emma looked over her shoulder, and met Angie’s eyes one last time. “You’ll be okay, Ang,” she said softly. And with a soft smile, she walked forwards. The light brightened, and brightened, and – and Emma was gone. 

The room was too warm without her, and too dark. 

Angie took a steadying breath, and walked outside. Sam and Dean were waiting for her, leaning up against the truck. 

“Everything okay?” Sam said. 

Angie nodded. “Yeah. I mean, no. Not at all. But – yeah.” 

“Right,” Dean said. “Well, let’s get you home.”

JJ pushed to the surface, pulling her eyes open with a monumental effort. It felt like every part of her was weighted down. But she knew she shouldn’t be asleep. There was something… something wrong. She –

Brightness hit her retinas, and she winced. 

“JJ!” A female voice said to her left. It was Emily. “You’re awake!” 

It was immediately obvious she was in the hospital. She was in bed, with an IV in one hand and the sterile setup of a recovery room around her. 

She thought back, and her memories were blurry. But she remembered being afraid. She remembered — that face —

There was a beeping noise that was growing faster behind her. 

“What happened?” she tried to ask. But her mouth was so thick and full of cotton there was no way the words came out like that. 

“JJ,” said a voice to her right. She turned her head, and saw Reid. He looked worried, but not scared. There was a bandage on his forehead. “You’re safe,” he said calmly. “We got you out of there.” 

The beeping slowed down. 

“What… what do you remember?” 

JJ shook her head. “I – I don’t know,” she rasped. “I can’t –” she coughed. 

Emily held up a cup with a straw. “Water?”

JJ nodded. The few sips she got were heavenly on her tongue, and afterwards she found that she still had the power of speech. “What happened?” she asked, and this time it came out right. 

“We found you,” Emily said. “In a hunting cabin. It was Robert Freeman.” She shared a glance with Reid. “Or at least, what was left of him.”

JJ frowned. “What do you mean?”

Reid gave her a long look. “There’s a lot to tell you.” He took the cup from her and put it back on the side table. “I promise, we’ll explain everything. After you get a little more rest.”

“…Okay.” His reticence made her a little anxious. “Is everyone else alright?”

“Yeah, everyone’s fine,” Emily assured quickly. “It’s nothing like that.”

“Right. Okay then,” she said slowly. Her thoughts still weren’t coming fast enough to make sense of any of what they were saying. “Can I get my phone, then? I want to call Will.”

“Oh, of course.” Prentiss reached for a bag at the end of the bed and pulled out a phone. “I think it still works; it got a bit banged up.” 

JJ took it from her hand, pausing when she noticed her hand shaking.

There was a touch on her shoulder, and she turned to see Spencer’s pained face. “JJ…” he said. “I – I’m sorry. I should have stopped him; I should have seen it coming. I just couldn’t think straight, I –” 

“Spence!” JJ said firmly. He stopped, looking her in the eyes. “I’m okay. I’m okay,” she said again, letting it sink in for herself, too. “It’s not your fault,” she added. “And, thank you.” She looked at Emily as well, her voice thick. “Thank you.”

At the tone of her voice, Reid pulled her close, hugging her tightly. When he pulled away, he looked a little more settled, just as she felt. 

Emily grabbed her hand, and gave her a soft smile. “You’re as strong as they come, JJ. We – we’re so glad you’re okay.” 

JJ smiled back. Then she quirked an eyebrow. “And you’ll tell me what it is you’re hiding?” 

Emily and Spencer looked at each other. “Yeah,” said Emily. “Just… like we said. Sleep first.” 

“‘Cause you might not be able to later,” Reid muttered, ducking his head. 

“What?”

“What?” Spencer said back, expression unconvincingly innocent. 

Emily stood suddenly. “Let’s give you the room, huh? Let you call Will.” She raised her eyebrows at Reid.

“Right,” Reid said quickly. “Yeah. Let’s do that.” 

JJ watched them leave, her phone gripped tight in her hand. Whatever they had to say, it could wait. But what couldn’t wait… 

She held the phone to her ear, and couldn’t help the tearful smile that came to her face at the voice on the other side. 

Dean and Sam sat on the hood of the Impala fifty miles outside of Franklin, the dark sky above them clear and smattered with stars. Fall was starting to make its way into the area, apparently, because the night was cool enough that Dean had pulled out his jacket from the back seat. 

Still warm enough that a cold beer felt heavenly, though.

They had dropped Angie off at her parent’s house. They’d left her their number and wished her luck. Somehow though, Dean didn’t think she’d need it. 

It felt good to sit and revel in the success of a finished case. They didn’t get a lot of wins these days – he had to take them when he could. No matter what other bullshit was thrown their way, it was good to know that they could still help people. 

Too bad it was harder to help themselves. 

Speaking of… “How you feeling, Sam?” Dean asked bluntly, breaking the silence. “And be honest with me. Because I know you’re not great.” 

Sam cast him some predictably annoyed side-eye. “If you already know, why bother asking?” 

Dean didn’t take the bait. He just took another sip, and spoke honestly. “‘Cause I’m worried about you, man.”

The admission seemed to take Sam by surprise, and he paused with his beer halfway to his lips. 

“Yeah, I know,” Dean said. “So humor me, here.” 

Sam took a long sip, then lowered the bottle, jaw clenched. “You know how I am,” he said roughly. “I’m not – hiding anything.” 

“Sure. But you’re not sharing anything, either.”

He stared up into the stars, his face obscured in the dark. “There’s just too much,” he said after a long pause. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.” 

“You need to sort through it,” Dean said, grabbing on quick to the inch Sam was giving him and trying to make a mile. “Sam… the memories are crushing you.” 

Sam shook his head, and when he turned to Dean his gaze flat and dead. “I’m 28,” he said. His voice was lifeless. “I lived five times that long in the Cage.”

Dean’s heart twisted. “Time is different down there,” he said stiffly. “It only felt like that long –” 

“It felt longer.” 

The words were stolen from Dean’s mouth. 

“I was there for so long, I gave up. I never – I never thought I’d be back here.” He looked into Dean’s eyes, his eyes haunted. “I never thought I’d see the sun again, or the stars. I never thought I’d see you again, Dean. Not for a second.” 

Dean couldn’t look away from Sam’s tortured expression. 

“I was – trapped. It was dark, and cold. So cold.” Sam was sitting next to him, but it felt like he was a million miles away. “It was so cold it hurt. I didn’t even have a body… it wasn’t like the cold here, though. It was like the cold and dark had come together and made something new. Something that sucked your spirit from you. And I… I wasn’t strong enough.” 

Dean shook his head, and then, when that wasn’t enough, wanted to shake Sam too. “No! Don’t you fuckin’ say that.” 

“I’m not supposed to be here,” Sam breathed. “It – it doesn’t make sense. It’s not right.” 

“What? Of course it’s right. What isn’t right is that you had to spend even a second in hell.”

“I was born to serve him.” His eyes were blank. “I never would have ended up anywhere else besides hell. I know that now. So… I k-know that he’s coming for me. He would never let me escape like that. I know what I see of him isn’t real. I know. But. It’s just a reminder that one day, it will be. After all, Dean – I was never supposed to escape. It should have been impossible. So if I can escape… why can’t he?” 

Dean fought for words. “It was Death that pulled you from the Cage. You need more than an Angel’s power to get out of there.” 

“There are creatures out there nearly as powerful as Death. Ones who aren’t as neutral. It’s only a matter of time.” 

Dean gripped Sam’s arm, trying to anchor him to the here and now. He could see the fight for control in his brother’s eyes; how he kept glancing away and then back again. 

“Dean –” Sam choked. 

“Sam, he’s not getting out. And I’d never let him touch you even if he did. We’ve faced him before, we can face him again.” 

Sam’s face flickered with terror. “Exactly. And the circle would start all over again.”

“No. It’s not a circle,” Dean stressed. “Just because something happened before doesn’t mean it’ll happen again.”

“See, you – you can’t know that for sure,” Sam stuttered. “And there are some things that are meant to happen. Things Destiny makes sure we come back to.” 

Dean let out a breath like he’d been kicked in the chest. How could he not have seen this until now? “Destiny? Sam, don’t you remember? This is Team Free Will, dude! We choose our own path. Heaven thinks they know the future. But that’s just because they’re a pretentious bunch of self aggrandizing mother fuckers who wouldn’t know empathy if it kicked them in the balls.” He looked imploringly at Sam. “Man, we got you out of there. It’s over.”

Sam watched his face. After a moment, he breathed, “Dean, I’m scared. I’m scared all the time. ” 

Dean’s chest cracked open completely at the words, and before he could stop himself he pulled Sam close. He knew he’d done the right thing when Sam hugged him back just as tightly. He could feel the younger man shaking against him. 

“I know,” Dean said. 

“I’m sorry,” Sam said thickly. “I’m not strong enough. I can’t –” 

Dean squeezed harder, as if he could stop the words from being true. Then he pushed back, and looked Sam in the eye. “Sam, don’t say that. How can you think that?” 

Sam shook his head, his eyes wet. “I gave up. And now… Now that I’m back, I have to focus. But I’m not strong enough. I keep slipping back there. He keeps dragging me back!” He pulled back, crossing his arms over his chest. Anxiety bled from him. “You need me here. And I’m trying, but I can’t.”  

“You can,” Dean growled. “You are.”  

“N-no.” 

“You are! And even if you weren’t strong enough to do this by yourself, you’ve got me. Stone number one, right? Because, as experience shows, there’s nothin’ that can stand against two Winchesters.” 

“How – how do you know?” 

Dean spread his arms, gesturing at the world, and the two of them in it. “Well, we’ve made it this far, haven’t we?”

Sam stared at him for a long moment, his breathing slowly settling down. Then something in his expression shifted, and he nodded. “Okay. Yeah.”

Dean chuckled in pride as he saw his brother’s eyes calm. “That’s it, Sammy. Tell Lucifer where he can stick it.” 

“Don’t worry,” Sam said, raising an eyebrow. He still looked unsettled, but also like he was finding his feet again. “I had plenty of opportunities to make sure he knew that.” 

Dean knew why, of course, but he still smiled. “Damn straight. If anyone could back talk the fuckin’ devil, it’s you.”

Sam smiled back shakily, and Dean felt his own heart settle at the sight of it. “Well. I learned from the best.” 

“Yeah, you did, little brother.”

Sam chuckled softly. Then he paused, shifted, and his smile fell again. 

Dean frowned. “What? What are you thinking?”

“It’s just… You need someone to watch your back, too. I get distracted. I can’t always do that right now.” 

“Sammy,” Dean said firmly. Sam looked back up at him. “Don’t worry about me, okay? I’m fine.” 

Sam scowled. “Bullshit. There’s no way you’re fine.” 

Dean gave a frustrated sigh. “I know. I’ve got my own shit to deal with, for sure. But really – I’m okay right now. I can stand on my own two feet, at least. And – I’ve got Bobby. The best thing you can do for me right now is be a little selfish. You’re doing enough just by being here, soul and all.” He raised his eyebrows at Sam. “Focus on yourself, for once, dude. Let me focus on me.”

“I – I don’t know how to fix this.” 

“One step at a time, that’s how. Just like always.” 

Sam cocked his head. “You’re getting sappy in your old age, you know that?” 

Dean rolled his eyes, and slid off the hood. “Try it sometime. It’s good for you.” 

“What’s the next step, then? Track down the Leviathan?” Sam grabbed the cooler and shoved it into the backseat through the window.

“Yeah, that’s on the list. Bobby said he’d found something that might be them, actually. All the way out in Oregon.” 

Sam nodded. “I guess we should go, then.” 

“I know. But – before that…” He let a smile curve onto his face, “you wanna go to Dollywood, first?”

Sam smiled, and laughed. “Dollywood?” 

“Yeah, you know – Dolly Parton’s version of Six Flags, or whatever.” 

Sam was a little too amused. “I knew you were a fan.” 

“Sam, everyone’s a fan of Dolly Parton. I mean, come on. 9 to 5? Jolene? She’s an icon.” 

“Just when I think I know you…” Sam shook his head, and climbed into the impala, the door creaking open and shut. 

Dean walked around and sat down next to him. He started the car before reaching behind the seat and into one of the evidence boxes that held all their stuff. He rifled around for a minute, pulling out a few cassettes before he found – 

“Aha!” he pushed the tape into the deck, flashing Sam a wicked grin. Sam just gave him a long-suffering look. 

And as Dolly’s voice came over the speakers, he pulled away from the curb, fingers tapping on the wheel. And there they were, the two of them. Taking it one step at a time. 

Because fuck the devil. 

The road opened up before them, and Dean pressed on the gas.

~~~~~~

"We can only know that we know nothing. And that is the highest degree of human wisdom." 

- Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace 

THE END