#Detective Dean x Victim Reader

[confused-pyramid]

Tell Me Some Things Last | s3

pairing: aaron hotchner x childhood bsf!reader

summary: Hotch and his childhood best friend working together at the BAU: a slow burn across the seasons.

word count: 23.1k

warnings: canon!typical violence, mentions of abuse, mentions of death, specific episodes mentioned in this part are 3x01, 3x02, 3x03, 3x06, 3x08, 3x09, 3x14, 3x16, 3x17, 3x19, and 3x20

a/n: season 3! The slow burn continues:) This was really fun to write, so I hope you enjoy it! (and I promise the chapters won't keep getting longer, this one just got out of hand LMAO) Title is from Heal by Tom Odell

series masterlist

"Excuse me?"

Section Chief Strauss doesn't falter. "You can't expect me to believe you think Agent Hotchner has done an effective job leading this unit."

"You can't expect me to believe that you think I'd willing spy on my unit chief for you."

She sighs and you want to throttle her. "Agent L/N, I know you two share a history, but this is bigger than that. People have died on his watch."

You have been trying to remain neutral since you were called into her office, but every word that comes out of her mouth makes you see red. Yes, this past year has been tough, but none of it was in his control.

"I think you know my answer," you say coldly, straightening your back in her chair. "I have to go, we have a case in Arizona."

She holds your gaze for a second, before nodding and turning back to her computer. You stand up and leave her office without another word, hastening your pace to a light jog the moment you're out of her line of sight.

You want to talk to Hotch as soon as possible, but by the time you get back to the bullpen, the whole team and their go-bags are gone. Grabbing your own bag, you rush over to the airstrip where everyone is settled inside the jet.

He glances up with a thin smile when you take a seat across from him, and you return it, not wanting to raise his concern when everyone is around.

The Flagstaff police meet you at the airport when you land, and everyone jumps into the awaiting SUVs to get to the crime scene as soon as possible.

The victim is another brunette woman on the college campus, but luckily her body was found after curfew, so students aren't milling around.

You step closer to examine the woman's body as JJ glances down at her hand. "She had her Mace out, but she didn't use it?"

Morgan nods, looking around. "And it's well-lit. He's not afraid of being seen."

A bus stop sign catches your attention and you turn to Detective Griffith. "How often do the shuttles run?"

He answers immediately. "Every 10 minutes."

"Were all the other victims posed like this?" Reid asks, bending over to get a better look. "With their arms crossed."

Griffith frowns. "Yeah. Why?"

"It's a classic sign of remorse," Morgan responds, stepping in to take over the explanation. "The unsub kills the victim then immediately feels bad about it, so he poses them like this, so they'll rest in peace."

"You can tell that just by the arms?"

"It's why you called us here. To build a psychological profile of your killer."

After inspecting the crime scene, Gideon and Morgan leave to talk to the dean of the school, and JJ and Reid go to meet with the students living in the victim's dorm. Hotch is still back at the station, and you haven't gotten a chance to talk to him since meeting with Strauss, but you push it out of your mind as you accompany Emily to the coroner's office.

You're so lost in thought that the drive over is entirely silent, and it's not until you've parked that you realize she didn't say a word either.

When the coroner leads you to the victim's body, you notice how much clearer each of the markings and cuts are. Hotch doesn't assign you to speak with the coroners very often, usually sending Prentiss, because of her incredible attention to detail, but not that you're here, you appreciate the second chance to examine the victim.

"Did the other victims have this much overkill?" she asks, pulling out her camera as you flip open your notebook.

"Death was caused by a single, very forceful stab wound to the heart," the coroner confirms.

You lean in closer to see the insertion point and notice the lumpy discoloring on the victim's chest. "Yeah, it looks like he broke through the breastbone."

"And after that he just lashed out at random," he adds.

Emily hums in agreement before snapping a couple of photos. "Well, no defensive wounds. She didn't even hold her hands up to fight him off."

"The first two victims were the same."

A shudder runs through you as the two of you leave the cold room and emerge into the warm sunlight. "Why is it almost harder to look at the victims when they're cleaned up and no longer covered in blood?"

Emily considers your question for a moment. "Maybe it's because they look less human that way."

You remember Jeff's funeral, how lifeless he seemed in his casket, and how you could barely look at him during the proceedings. It was somehow worse than seeing him at the crime scene, blood everywhere. At least then, you could still see the warmth in his skin. Later, he just looked cold.

"I think you're right," you tell her just as her phone chirps with a call.

She stiffens imperceptibly when she sees the number, but you only notice because of how hyper-vigilant you have been about your own tells since speaking with Strauss. "I need to take this. Give me a second."

She walks away from you and answers the call, her tone hushed so that you can't hear her. You know it could easily just be a personal call about something private in her life, but there's something almost familiar about the look in her eyes when she saw the number.

"Everything okay?" you ask her when she returns, but she just sighs and starts walking to the SUV. "It's nothing."

You haven't known her for as long as the other members of the team, but it's not hard to tell that she's hiding something. She looks distracted as she avoids making eye contact, and when you remember how you did the same with Hotch on the plane, the pieces fall into place.

If Strauss gave her the same assignment she tried to give you, then you need to keep an eye on her. You don't believe that she would sell out the team, but you also know how terrifying you thought Strauss was when you first joined the bureau.

***

The profile leads you to take Nathan Tubbs, one of the campus security guards, into custody, and while Gideon interrogates him, you walk with Reid, JJ, and Emily through the quad to get back to the station.

"Everyone is so much younger than I remember being," JJ says, as you all pass through a crowded part of campus. Word must have spread that the team arrested someone, because you can't imagine why else there would be so many students hanging outside after dark.

"Yeah, it's a weird age," Emily chuckles. "You want to be treated like an adult, but you're still used to someone else solving your problems for you."

"All I remember is trying to figure out who I was."

That makes you laugh. "I had no idea what I wanted to do when I was in college."

"Didn't you go to college with Hotch?" JJ asks, her eyes twinkling. You expect she's hoping for an embarrassing, or at least interesting, story from those years, but your past with him feels almost like sacred territory: something you can't breach when he's not around.

"Not college," you correct, "just everything else before and after."

"What was he like then?" Emily asks, genuine curiosity in her tone. You still can't believe that she would spy for Strauss, but you also can't help your suspicions.

"He was completely different, but also the same." You smile as you think back to the early years of your friendship. "He was kind of a cool kid in high school, but he was just as focused and determined as he is now."

"Hotch was popular?" Reid asks in disbelief.

JJ snorts. "Why can't I imagine that at all."

"He was trustworthy," you shrug, "and kind. Even when people weren't kind to him."

The three of them go silent, and you suddenly feel extremely self-conscious, but you're saved when your phone rings with a call from Derek. "Hey."

"There's been another murder."

***

The case ends in a murder-suicide that a part of you believes Gideon should've seen coming. JJ calls the jet to take off at first light, and everyone looks exhausted when you arrive at the airport. You sleep most of the flight back, but when you step into the field office again, you know you can't ignore the talk you've been avoiding all day.

You go to his office in the hopes of having this conversation privately, but he isn't inside when you look through the open door. You turn back with a frown and are about to head down the stairs again when you see him leaving Strauss's office across the hall.

He spots you immediately, and before you can say anything, he says, "I just got suspended."

Your mouth falls open. "What?"

"Two weeks."

You blanche as you follow him into his office, where he immediately starts packing up his essentials into his briefcase. "Hotch...I have to tell you something. Something I should have mentioned yesterday."

"What is it?" he asks, his voice slightly distracted.

"StraussaskedmetospyonyouandIthinkshealsoaskedEmily!"

He blinks. "Can you say that again?"

You press your lips together, before trying again, slower this time. "Strauss asked me to spy on you, and I think she also asked Emily."

He closes his eyes for a beat, but it feels like years. You can feel the disappointment wafting off of him, but he doesn't say anything, giving you the time to explain in more detail.

"She asked me right before we flew to Arizona," you tell him, your chest aching at the defeated look on his face. "I told her I wouldn't do it, of course, and that you are the perfect leader for this team. But I was watching Emily the whole time we were there, and I think Strauss might have threatened her or made her some kind of offer."

His hands pause their packing and for a moment, you're worried that he's going to be angry you didn't come to him sooner, but then he just sighs, a deeply dejected sound. "I figured she would. It's basically in the FBI playbook."

"You knew?" you say, your voice almost like a gasp.

"I didn't know for sure," he amends, "but I believed so. And I'm usually right about these kinds of things. Anyway, it doesn't matter now. You guys will be fine without me."

You want to shake him; to reach forward and rattle his shoulders until he realizes that this is it. This is exactly why he makes such a great unit chief.

He doesn't get angry, even when he may have cause to be. He trusts his team so wholeheartedly that even under the suspicion of spying to the higher-ups, he still treats everyone the same. He puts the team above himself in almost every aspect, and the intermittent calls you get from Haley when you're in the middle of a long case prove that it may be to his own detriment, but he still does it. Because he cares so deeply, about each of you, and about each victim, and about catching each killer.

"We need you," you say, emphasizing your words as though that will make him understand you better.

"Morgan and Prentiss will be fine," he says pointedly, as though trying to prove a point. "I'm sure they'll even be better off. And Reid and JJ can look to you for guidance. It's practically what they do already."

"Fine," you sigh, throwing your hands up in exasperation. "They'll be okay. But what if I need you?"

He looks at you then, and there's a sadness behind the stern set of his eyes. "You'll be okay."

***

You have to drag yourself out of the house the next morning. The knowledge that Hotch (and most likely Gideon) won't be at the office sucks the motivation out of you, especially because you have no idea what will happen once the team is given another case. Will they assign you a new unit chief? Will they temporarily promote someone on the team?

You push your questions out of your mind as you mindlessly get through security and flop down at your desk. There's a palpable difference with half the team gone, especially since Emily doesn't seem to be anywhere in sight either, and the emptiness of the office somehow feels more claustrophobic.

You finished all of your paperwork the night before, because you couldn't sleep after hearing of Hotch's suspension, so sitting at your desk now, you have nothing to do until a new case arrives.

Reid and Morgan dive into their own paperwork the minute they sit down, and they don't look up except to grab a new pen or refill their mugs.

You can see the tension lining everyone's shoulders, the stress about the future of this team, with its two senior-most members gone.

When you can't take the lack of work anymore, you head over to JJ's office, where she is poring over a stack of case files so tall that you can't see her face until you step in front of her desk. "Hey, JJ."

"Oh, hey," she says, looking up at you. "It's been really quiet out there."

You nod, dropping onto the sofa across from her. "Half the team's gone. It doesn't feel the same."

"I wish I could come out there and sit with you guys, but I have so many new case files to look over."

"Need any help?"

She looks up in surprise. "Actually, that would be great. Can I leave you with a few of them? There's a checklist for what I need you to note down at the top of that stack."

"Of course," you say before she hands you a thick stack of files. "I'll get them back to you soon."

"Take your time," she says, waving you away. "I have like a billion more to go through anyway."

When you're back at your desk, you set down the stack with a small thud and open the first file. You're bombarded with gory images of men who have been brutally stabbed to death, and you read over the case history quickly before opening the next one. This time, the images are of live women, all of whom share a skin tone and hair color, and have been kidnapped in the last week.

You slam the file shut and close your eyes in an effort to keep your head from spinning. You don't understand how anyone could classify these cases. How they could decide that one of these unsubs is worse than another. But there aren't enough teams like yours to cover every case that comes through the door, so someone has to.

You glance up at Hotch's office again, a force of habit, and the darkness in his doorway reminds you of the emptiness in the office. It's the same with Gideon's office, and Emily's desk.

You miss them all.

***

The first week of Hotch's suspension is hell. Gideon still hasn't turned up, and you can see his absence clawing at Spencer, who hasn't gone more than an hour without glancing at his office since he left. Derek doesn't admit it, but you can tell he misses Hotch's leadership over the team.

Strauss has come by periodically to "check in" on your team's work, but with the other units available to take on any new cases, she hasn't assigned you anything. You know she doesn't trust your team, but you're surprised that even with Hotch gone, she's still treating all of you like extensions of him. Not that she's wrong about that.

Without getting called in, you stay at home for the first few days, and even get some use out of your Peloton for once. You've been missing him all week, but it's not until the following Monday that you decide to actually do something about it.

Grabbing the files JJ gave you to look over, you stuff them in your bag and drive up to his house. Both cars are in the driveway when you arrive, and you belatedly realize that you should have called first.

You knock on the door hesitantly, and are surprised to see Jack in Haley's arms when she opens the door. She looks excited to see you, but you still feel bad about just showing up. "I'm sorry, I should have called."

"Not at all," she says, opening the door wider for you to enter. "You know I love seeing you."

"Y/N's here," Haley announces as she leads you into the kitchen and sets Jack back into his high chair. She shoots you a pointed look. "And she's not here to talk about work."

"Of course not," you say with a laugh. "I just wanted to see how the suspension was going. The team really misses you."

He acknowledges you with a small nod, and you take a seat opposite him at the table, where he is feeding Jack his cereal.

"I miss everyone, too," he says, "but it's also been nice to have some extra time at home."

"This suspension has been a blessing in disguise," Haley jumps in, ruffling Jack's hair. You don't miss the way Hotch's jaw twitches.

You aren't sure what to say to that, but Haley just pulls Jack out of his chair and turns to the doorway. "I'm gonna put him down for his nap. It was nice seeing you, Y/N."

"You too, Hales," you say earnestly, before smiling at Jack. "Bye, buddy."

When she's out of the room, you shoot Hotch a look that makes him lean back with a frown. "What?"

"You miss work, don't you."

He huffs, and you take that as an admission. "I've loved being home," he says, his words slightly more emphasized than necessary.

You can hear the candor in his voice. You don't doubt that he loves spending time with his family, you just also know the pull of the job. The fulfillment of saving people from unimaginable horrors, and the desolate ache that comes when you know you aren't doing everything you can.

"You can feel both things," you whisper as he exasperatedly runs his hand through his hair. He got a haircut.

The thought pops into your head against your will, and you glance up at his hair as you realize this is the shortest it's been in a long time. It suits him, but it also emphasizes the hard furrow of his brow.

"Haley doesn't understand that," he says simply, no ill intention in his tone, "but I can't expect her to. I barely understand it, and it's what I'm feeling."

To the outside listener, his words could be construed as complaints, but there's nothing but deep empathy in his voice. He loves her so much, and even though they're having differences about his work life, she loves him too.

You spend the next half hour talking him through each of the cases that JJ left you with, and when Haley returns to the kitchen after putting Jack down for his nap, you pull out a chair for her and tuck the files away.

"We need to have you over for dinner sometime soon," she says as soon as she takes a seat. "I can't believe we haven't done it yet." She looks to Hotch with an earnest sigh. "I guess Jack has been kind of a handful, but I can't believe this is your first time coming to the house since he was born."

"It's been too long," he agrees, draping an arm over the back of her chair. The sight of their casual intimacy is a reminder of what you once had, but the usual mistiness doesn't come when you think about Jeff. Your chest just fills with a liquid-y warmth that feels like melted chocolate and syrup.

"Likewise," you smile, patting Haley's hand. "I don't know if I can handle another night out, even with the mid-evening interruption."

She laughs heartily, and you see Hotch's lips curve up involuntarily. "I think I'm partied out for the year."

His arm slips down to rest against her waist, but she doesn't lean into him like she usually does. You avert your eyes, glancing up at their kitchen wall clock and faking a gasp. "I've taken up too much of your family time. I should go."

"It's okay," Hotch assuages at the same time that Haley says, "I'll walk you out."

They share a small glance, and you suddenly feel intrusive in their home. "I'll see you in a week."

He nods and you follow Haley to the door, where she gives you a quick squeeze and another promise to have you over for dinner soon. The sun starts to set as you drive home, and before you can second guess yourself, you're turning into a local farmer's market that is about to shut down for the night.

You rush through the stalls and stop in front of the flower shop, where you buy a dozen pink carnations. The vendor ties the bouquet with a silky ribbon and you hold the flowers close to your heart as you walk back to your car and start driving.

This time, you're more aware of the direction you're headed. You don't stop your car until you're in the parking lot and you don't stop moving until you're past the front gates and up the grassy hill where Jeff's headstone sits stoically under the waning sunlight.

You take a deep breath as you sink down to your knees, blissfully unaware of the grass stains coloring your slacks. You set the flowers down in front of his headstone, which you haven't seen in months.

                                                 Jeff Adler

                               Beloved Son, Husband, Brother

                                        Until we meet again

The carnations look bright against the gray stone, and you arrange them neatly so that they don't get blown away.

He loved flowers. He knew they were impermanent and likely a waste of money, but he still loved all of the different emotions they symbolized, and how beautiful they could be for as long as they lasted.

He brought you a bouquet of heliotrope almost every week after you got married, and when you asked him what it meant, he insisted that it was something you had to find out in your own time. That time came a quick Google search later, and when the words 'eternal love' flashed on your screen, you knew you had picked the right man.

You brush your finger against the petals of the pink carnations you brought, remembering the rest of what the search yielded. Angelica for inspiration, calla lily for beauty, and pink carnation for gratitude.

You're so grateful you met him. So grateful he loved you as much as you loved him.

"I love you," you whisper, suddenly needing to say the words out loud. There's no one around, and the sun has set far enough that there's barely enough light to see, but your words feel strong as they come out of your mouth. "Thank you for coming into my life. Thank you for giving me 10 beautiful years."

You wipe away the tear that falls from the corner of your eye. "Goodbye."

***

He takes his time as he walks through the halls of the Virginia field office on Monday morning. He hasn't been inside in two weeks, and after he and Haley agreed that he should request a transfer, he likely won't be back again for a very long time.

When he walks past the glass doors of the bullpen, he spots you at your desk, pointing out something to Morgan in a case file. He hastens his pace so you don't see him. He still doesn't know how to tell you that he isn't coming back.

"Good morning, ma'am," he says when Strauss beckons him into her office.

"I was hoping you'd do the right thing," she says, her lips pressed into a thin line. "Have you given any thought to what department you'll request?"

He shakes his head. "I was under the impression that if I left the BAU, I'd have my choice of posts."

"Well, I'll consider it after I fully complete my investigation."

She pauses before looking at him again. "You were a prosecutor. What about heading up a white-collar crime task force? That'll get you home at night at a reasonable hour."

That sounds like exactly what Haley wants for them. They spent hours over the last week discussing what the best path forward would be post-suspension, and after countless late-night arguments, they finally agreed on a transfer. It would be best for the team, and best for his family. So why does he feel so guilty?

"Sorry to interrupt."

Prentiss barges into the office, as though she had an appointment. She glances over at him, and he can't read her expression. "Sir, I've decided to resign from the FBI, effective immediately."

"I don't understand," he frowns, taking in her rigid posture. He remembers your suspicions, as well as his own, but this can't be where it ends.

"I'm taking the foreign service exam. With my connections, I'd stand a good chance of landing in the State Department."

"Prentiss," he urges, trying to convey his understanding in his tone. "I think that's a mistake."

She shakes her head with a sigh. "Well, don't try to talk me out of it. Garcia saw my name on the list, and she already tried."

That makes him pause. "If she can't talk someone out of doing something, no one can."

"Sorry for the interruption, but, sir, it's good to see you back." She turns her gaze to Strauss, even as she continues speaking to him. "The team needs you."

She stalks out of the room after a quick "Ma'am", leaving him alone with Strauss, who looks like she's up to her last nerve. "I'll be overseeing this next case until I can assign your replacement."

"You don't have any field experience, do you?" He doesn't mean for the words to come out so critically, but his emotions are a jumbled mess that he can't decipher well enough to fix his mood right now.

"My job is to protect the Bureau. If I have to hold the team's hand for one case, so be it."

Hold the team's hand. He can't imagine that Strauss will be of much help in the field, but he keeps his mouth shut. He's been around enough authority figures to know when to keep his criticisms to himself.

"Ma'am," he says gently, hoping he can turn his thoughts into useful advice. "In order to function effectively, this team needs stability."

She clasps her hands together on her desk, and he knows it's done. There's nothing he can do to fix this for the team, at least not on this case. "The BAU has some very talented people, and they're Bureau assets, and I believe it's time that they were out from underneath the leadership of you and Jason Gideon."

***

Hotch was supposed to come back today. It's not until you're on the plane that Derek informs the team that he's requesting a transfer.

"What?" you burst out, unable to keep your composure even with Strauss seated a few rows behind you.

"He didn't tell you?"

You shake your head with a forlorn frown, and Derek jumps back in quickly to remediate the situation. "I only found out because I ran into him on the way to the jet. He didn't seem like he was in the mood for talking."

But he tells you everything. At least you thought he did.

"It's okay," you say, forcing your face into a neutral expression. "This isn't about me. I just can't believe he's leaving."

"Yeah," JJ grimaces, "and I can't believe we're stuck with her now. You know, from this angle, she looks almost human."

You all glance behind you, but thankfully, her face is still buried in the case file.

"Emily didn't come in today, either," you point out, turning to the empty seat next to you. "We're down two agents, and Gideon's MIA."

Reid blinks, and you curse yourself for being so cavalier. You know how hard Gideon's absence has been on him.

He recovers quickly and leans in to the center console with a raised eyebrow. "Has Strauss ever even been out of the-"

A chorus of shushes come from Derek and JJ and he shuts up as Strauss walks down the aisle and sits across from you all. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe it's protocol to brief everyone before we arrive at the crime scene?"

JJ turns red and she nods hastily, opening her file. "Yes, ma'am."

Strauss has only been here for ten minutes and you already want to strangle her. JJ explains the case details succinctly, and when the plane lands, you all head over to the crime scene to find Detective Wolynski, who called your team in when the murders got out of hand.

Within minutes of meeting them, Strauss manages to ruin your relationship with the local police by questioning their decision to wait so long to call in the BAU. JJ immediately takes matters into her own hands as she explains that we have to work with them if we want to be included in the investigation at all, but she doesn't seem to care.

You get a call from Penelope as you're heading back to the SUVs, and you step aside to get out of Strauss's earshot. "What's up, Pen?"

"I tried everything I could," she wails. You can hear the distinct clicking of her keyboard in the background. "I tried to convince him to stay, but he's so stubborn."

You sigh, glancing over at the scene, where Strauss looks positively nauseous. You can empathize with her emotions, because you know how hard it was for you to see your first crime scene in person, but this just further proves how unfit she is to understand what being on this team really means. "If he made up his mind, there's gonna be no changing it, unless he changes it himself."

She huffs, before audibly perking up. "I gave him the Milwaukee case file before he went home, and I also, uh, saw that his transfer hasn't passed through the system yet."

You're almost certain she had something to do with that, but your mind immediately starts going through the possibilities of what this could mean. If his transfer isn't in the system, then that means he technically still works on this team...which means him not being here is in dereliction of duty. If there's anything that can convince Hotch to show up, it's duty.

"You've been more help than you know," you tell her, before hanging up and hopping into the SUV.

***

When he arrived at his house with the case file Garcia gave him, he immediately stuffed it in his bag and tossed it onto the floor. He definitely didn't think about reading it the entire time he was changing out of his suit, and making a quick lunch for Haley and himself. When she went upstairs to put Jack down for his nap, he couldn't help himself any longer.

Reaching into his bag, he pulls out the file and flips it open slowly, being careful to angle the gruesome photos away from the stairs in case Haley came down without him noticing. Women taken in the afternoons and killed. Bodies dumped in the morning. Hearts cut out of their chests. The words pop out at him as he skims the page, and he's so engrossed in the material that he doesn't hear her until she's standing over him. "I thought this was over."

"It is," he sighs, closing the file. "I'm just curious." He doesn't know when he started lying to his wife, but he doesn't like it. The bitter taste of it in his mouth.

He can see her gearing up for a fight when their home phone rings. He picks it up and clicks the button to answer, but even after saying 'hello' a couple of times, no one responds. For a split second, his mind flashes back a year to the Fisher King and the secret message left on his home phone, but he pushes the thought away.

He clicks the phone off, looking up at Haley again, but then a shrill ringing sound starts again, this time from her purse across the living room.

An unfamiliar queasiness fills his stomach, and he maintains eye contact with her as her eyes flicker back and forth a couple of times. He promised himself he would never profile his family, but the analyses come before he can shut off that part of his brain. Shifting eyes. Rigid posture. All indications of lying and shame.

"What did the Section Chief say?" she asks, her hands going to her hips. Stance of power to overcompensate for-

He shakes the line of thinking from his head. "She suggested that I transfer to a white-collar-crime task force."

"Would you have to travel?"

"No, I'd have a nine-to-five life."

She nods, and he can see the finality in her stance. "Then, it's a no-brainer."

***

You haven't been able to focus as well as you'd like to with the knowledge that Hotch isn't coming back hanging over your head. When you get a spare moment at the station, you step out of the conference room where all of the evidence has been scattered around and press the first number on your speed dial.

"Hello?" It's Haley.

You stumble over your words as you say 'hello' back. You weren't expecting it to be her who answered. She clearly wasn't expecting you either, because she sighs dramatically when she hears your voice and you hear a quiet "It's Y/N" before the phone is handed over.

You can understand where she's coming from. When Jeff was about to start his undercover assignment, you were so angry at him for choosing to be away from you for so long. But then rationality won over, and you remembered why he was doing it...for the same reason you are.

"Hey."

He sounds guilty. You can imagine.

"Hey," you say simply, waiting for him to fill in the gaps. He owes you at least that much.

"I'm sorry," he says after a long pause, "but you knew this was coming. You know Haley hates what this job turns me into, and you know sometimes I hate it too."

That wasn't really the explanation you were expecting. Not willing to let him off the hook, you turn your face away from the conference room windows to hide your expression and lower your voice. "You should have told me, and you know it. That's why you're hiding behind this false justification...but I guess you know that too."

There's a small rustling sound over the receiver and you can imagine him running his hands through his newly cropped hair. "This doesn't change the fact that I'm leaving."

Sometimes you forget that he was once a young boy with an alarmingly developed moral compass that didn't always point in your direction. It's times like this that remind you.

"Fine." You feel like an irritable teenager again, but you can't contain yourself around him. Even when you want to hide a part of yourself, you can't.

"How's the case going?" he asks finally. His voice has gotten softer and you know he feels bad about how this call has been going, but with neither of you willing to concede, you decide to ignore it for now.

"Well, Strauss just offended the lead detective 45 seconds into her first crime scene."

He chuckles softly. "I'm not surprised."

"This isn't about to get any better, is it?" you ask, huffing out a forlorn sigh.

"I doubt it," he agrees. "I'll keep looking at the file from my end. Any idea how he's getting control of these women? Is he blitzing them or coercing them?"

"So far, we're coming up blank," you admit, glancing back at Morgan and Reid, who appear to be in a productive debate.

"All right. Keep me posted."

***

Another victim turns up and you're not any closer to figuring out who the unsub is. Derek steps away from the group a few minutes after you and you see him pacing the halls of the precinct, his phone pressed to his ear.

A break in the case comes when Garcia identifies school records of children who exhibit signs of perfectionism and co-dependence, leading you to a profile for the unsub. You're all listening to Garcia as she reads off the records when the door opens, with two figures standing in the entrance.

"Look who's here," Morgan grins, shaking Hotch's hand. Emily looks sheepish as she glances over at Strauss, who is downright fuming.

"How fast can you get us up to speed?" Hotch asks without another greeting.

Morgan scoffs. "How fast can you sit down?"

Strauss opens her mouth to say something, but Hotch beats her to it as he takes a seat next to you. You ignore the gesture. "We're only here to help."

She sighs. "We'll deal with this later."

With two more members back on the team, at least for the time being, the SUVs are split more evenly, and you join Emily, JJ, and Strauss in the first one as you head to the crime scene. Strauss is the first one to walk up to the scene, but the moment she sees the mangled body, she breaks down, her face contorting into a sob that she tries and fails to hold in.

You make a move to go and help her, but you're surprised when Hotch is the first to step in. "If you need a second, take a second. This is what it is. Just don't let the public see you break down."

He's so kind to her, even though she's the reason for all of his professional stress. You suppose she's not the only reason, but that isn't something you get to have an opinion on.

The devolution of the dump sites leads to an update of the profile, which gets you an address for a young boy who left school early with the nurse on duty. It doesn't take long to get to the house, and Derek and JJ coordinate some of the local police and SWAT as you strap on your kevlar vests.

After an initial argument about the probable cause of entering a house you don't know is dangerous, Emily pipes up with an idea. "Let me go in alone."

"Wait..." you start but she steamrolls over you, clearly needing to compensate for not being here before. "The boy's in the family room. He's looking for female authority figures. If he lets me in, I can signal as soon as I see anything that gives us cause."

"Technically, you're not even in the FBI," Reid points out.

She nods. "All the better."

Strauss steps in with a frown, to no one's surprise. "She's interfering with a federal investigation."

"Well, if I'm no longer in the FBI, then you have no authority over me." Emily shrugs and turns to Hotch for the approval she actually wants. "I'm just a civilian knocking on a little boy's door."

He nods and she pulls her hair back into a ponytail. Derek hands her his gun, and you suddenly remember that Hotch doesn't have his gun either. Reaching into your other side holster, you pull out your second firearm and hand it to him without a word. He doesn't lift his hand at first, but then he nods at you and takes the gun, his eyes filled with an earnest gratitude, and you know you've forgiven him.

Once she goes inside, you all wait in silence for the signal to breach the home. It takes almost too long, but eventually your earpieces fill with a loud beeping, and Derek yells "Go!"

You find her in a back room, where she's on the floor, her forehead bleeding from a thick gash. You enter just in time to see Hotch leap forward and take Emily's weapon from the little boy, before lifting him up and carrying him out of the house.

"I can't officially approve of how that transpired," Strauss says when you all come outside. You sit next to Emily and squeeze her hand as the paramedics patch up her forehead.

Hotch shakes his head, clearly done with the bureau politics. "The arrest was clean. It would be a mistake to break up this team."

She looks at him pointedly. "None of you will ever move up the chain of command, you know that."

"Why would I ever want to leave the BAU?"

You almost believe him. It's not that you don't think he wants to stay. You know he does. You just also know how much his family means to him, and how thin Haley's patience has worn.

Morgan asks if he means it, and he gives a vague answer that you expect, before turning to look at you.

"Here." He reaches into his waistband and pulls out your gun. "Thanks, I appreciate it."

His hand brushes yours when you take it back, and the warmth of his skin makes you shiver against the slight breeze. "You're welcome."

***

When he gets home, the lights are off.

"Haley?" he calls out into the empty silence. He tries to convince himself that he didn't see this coming, but after her last words to him before he left, it's a futile exercise.

"Make sure to give your son a kiss before you leave."

He left, even when she begged him not to. Now his wife has left, and she took their son with her, and once again, he is utterly alone.

***

Gideon's resignation comes through and you find yourself missing him more than you thought you would. If Hotch is the backbone of the team, he was the stoic foundation. He formed the roots of the BAU as a unit altogether, and you owe your life's work to his intelligence and foresight. But more than that, you can't help but remember the fact that out of all the members on the team, Gideon knew Jeff the best.

He attended countless lectures about past unsubs that Gideon put on at the academy, because he believed understanding why people do things was just as important as knowing how or what they were doing. He even went to Gideon's home for the occasional dinner, and he brought you along once after you got married.

You're not sure what the team will look like without his guiding hand, but you don't have to wait long to find out when JJ calls you with the notice that you're going to Portland.

Spencer is reading a piece of paper over and over again when you get to the office, and when you peek over his shoulder, you see the familiar scrawl of Gideon's handwriting.

Taking a deep breath, you reach forward to put your hand on his shoulder for a moment of comfort, but think better of it and pull back at the last second. Derek sees your indecision and cocks his head towards him.

You walk over to his desk and perch on its edge with a sigh. "I can't believe he would leave just like that."

"I can," Morgan shrugs, his eyes hard with contempt. When you shoot him a look, he softens. "I just mean that he's been showing signs of withdrawal for a while now. It still sucks for the kid, though."

You both look up at Reid across the aisle, where he is still scanning the letter. "At least he got a letter." You try to bring humor into your tone, but it doesn't work.

"It's not about us," Derek says gently, in a show of empathy for the older agent that is unfamiliar coming from him. "He did what he had to do to keep himself sane. We just have to let him."

You nod, just as JJ emerges from the hallway with Hotch on her heels. "We're starting the briefing."

***

"You must be the BAU."

A handsome man with a thick East Coast accent comes forward to introduce himself when you all enter the Portland field office. "Special Agent Bill Calvert."

"Hi, Jennifer Jareau," JJ smiles, extending her hand. "This is SSA Aaron Hotchner. This is Dr. Reid and Agents Morgan, Prentiss and L/N."

He smiles at each of you but his eyes linger on yours for a moment before he takes JJ's hand. "I appreciate your help on this case."

"You're from Boston?" you ask, trying to place his accent after having heard nothing like it since you landed. 

"The accent's kind of hard to miss in Oregon, right?" he grins, before reaching his hand out to you. "Agent L/N, was it?"

You shake his hand, shooting him a thin smile. You can already see Emily and JJ's smirks behind your back.

"We'd like to take a look around Jenny Wittman's apartment," Hotch steps in, moving forward to stand beside you.

Calvert nods. "I'd take you myself, but I'm waiting to meet her family, so I'll have another agent drive you."

"Thank you." Hotch rushes off with Reid and Morgan, and you stay back with JJ and Prentiss to work the victimology.

"Can we set up in here?" you ask Calvert as you start moving the boxes of case files and evidence onto the conference room table.

"Of course," he says, before leaving the three of you alone.

The first ten minutes of looking through the evidence is silent, and for a second, you nearly let yourself believe the other women won't bring up the elephant in the room, but then JJ lets out an involuntary giggle and they pounce.

"He's definitely into you," she says, making no effort to hide her gaze as she unabashedly stares at Calvert through the window. You want to retort immediately, but after seeing her check her phone about a dozen more times a day than she usually does, you suspect she may actually know what she's talking about when it comes to love these days.

Emily nods, biting her lip. "He couldn't stop looking at you."

"You're profilers," you argue, tossing the file in your hand onto the table. "You notice all kinds of insignificant stuff."

"So are you," JJ points out. "What do you think, then?"

They have you boxed in, and you can't think of any answer that would sufficiently appease them so you just groan.

"She's into it, too," JJ grins at Emily, who replies with, "I can't believe Y/N's gonna date someone from Portland."

Without thinking, you huff. "He's from Boston." All three pairs of eyes widen as you realize your slip in not denying her statement.

Emily laughs. "Ohh, it's so happening!"

***

When the men return from Jenny Wittman's apartment, Hotch instructs JJ to televise a statement warning possible future victims who fit the unsub's victimology. When Emily and Derek later find an ad hung up in a local laundromat that suggests he's been killing for longer than you'd previously thought, you decide to head back to the trail where the first bodies were found.

When you arrive on the scene, a dozen new bodies have been found further down the trail and near the water.

"How did we miss this before?" you think out loud, not realizing that Calvert has come up behind you.

"The trail's 40 miles long."

You jump when you hear his voice, and he apologizes after a small chuckle. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"Special Agent Calvert," you say, your voice slightly airy as you catch your breath. "No need to apologize."

"Okay," he smiles, turning to stand in front of you, "and you can call me Bill."

He's a good looking man, and you don't dislike the feeling of someone showing interest in you, especially as clearly intelligent and qualified as him.

"Sure," you say, returning the smile. "I'm Y/N, btw."

"That's a pretty name," he says, his eyes glinting with mischievousness, before he turns back to the scene before you. "They dug up eight new graves before you got here."

You frown. "So the unsub didn't stick to the pattern."

"Guy had a busy year."

You nod, pondering what this change in M.O. could mean, when Bill interrupts your thoughts. "I'm interested to hear more about how this profiling thing goes."

You give him a quizzical smile, and his lips quirk up. "I took a class in criminal psychology in college, but I don't remember enough to be useful in this area."

"We observe human behavior," you explain, ignoring the subtle smirk Emily is flashing you from behind his back. "Profiling is about making connections and predicting future actions based on history, victimology, and behavior."

He takes a moment to digest your words before huffing out a laugh. "Sounds to me like we called in the right team."

When another agent comes by to ask him about the crime scene procedure, you take your leave and walk up the hill of mulch by the open graves. You are nearly to the SUV when you spot Morgan beelining towards you.

"Not you too," you sigh, rolling your eyes dramatically as you stalk away from him.

He catches up to you easily and throws an arm over your shoulders with a grin. "I'm not gonna give you the giggly girl talk that JJ and Prentiss clearly have covered. I just wanted to say one thing."

You look at him expectantly and he brings you both to a stop by the cars. "You're a catch, L/N." You start to roll your eyes again, but he shakes his head. "You are, so if you want to have a little no-strings-fun, then I'll have your back through and through."

You have no idea what no-strings-fun would look like, but you glance back at Bill, who is speaking animatedly with another agent about the change in digging patterns of the graves.

"I don't know what I want," you admit as Derek drops his arm and turns to face you.

"That's okay," he says, before the corner of his mouth quirks up into a smirk. "But figuring that out can be just as much fun too."

***

He would be lying if he said he hasn't noticed you talking to the Special Agent on the case. Calvert, he remembers as he thinks back to the capture and subsequent suicide of the unsub from the roof of his old therapist office.

They were able to find the final victim before she died, so even with the unsub's death, the case feels like a victory, and the whole team looks light on the way back to the jet.

He has been trying to keep himself light too, but every time he gets a moment to himself, his mind reverts back to the silent darkness of his home after he returned from the last case. The reminder that he hasn't seen Haley or Jack in days.

When he reaches the tarmac, he spots you talking to Calvert again, but the conversation looks different than before. The special agent looks nervous, and he tries to gauge whether you seem comfortable, before realizing how relaxed you look.

When he gets closer, he catches the end of a question that likely started with "Can I have your number?" You smile at the man, and he turns away, trying not to eavesdrop.

He can't tell what he wants you to say. He knows it's been enough time since Jeff's death that real dating isn't out of the question, but he can't reconcile the protective instinct flickering in his gut.

Regardless of the distance he tried putting between you and himself, your voice carries over the tarmac, and he hears you say, "I'm sorry." before the rest of the sentence gets jumbled in the breeze. Something that feels alarmingly like relief settles in his chest and he frowns at the foreign feeling of it coursing through his veins.

He boards the plane and purposefully chooses a seat with an empty spot next to it, knowing you'll choose to sit beside him after he practically ignored you all day. He really wasn't trying to shut you out, he just doesn't know how to broach the topic of separation with anyone, let alone someone who had as stable a marriage as you did.

When you board the jet and take your seat next to him, he glances over at you sheepishly and murmurs, "I overheard the end."

He's surprised when you laugh lightly. "It's okay. Everyone was going to find out soon enough, especially with how excited Prentiss and JJ were about it."

He nods, glad that you aren't angry about his invasion of your privacy. Then, before he can stop himself, he looks at you and asks, "You didn't want to see him again?"

"I don't think I'm looking to just date for dating's sake anymore," you explain, your eyes flitting around the cabin at the sleeping forms of the rest of the team. "I had a true love...I don't want to settle down again for anything less."

He understands that completely, but he can tell there's something else bothering you, and not just because of the rhythmic bouncing of your knee that you don't seemed to have noticed. "What else?"

You shrug, not meeting his eye. "I used to have my usual excuse, but I can't really say it's too soon anymore, can I?"

He frowns as he notices the visible strain on you that this burden has caused. "You get to decide that for yourself."

"I know," you sigh, rubbing your eye with a loose fist. "I just worry sometimes that I use Jeff as an excuse to keep myself closed off." Your knee stills, and Hotch scoots closer, even with the armrest in the way.

"You don't seem closed off to me."

Your eyes crinkle with laughter. "I'm not sure if that means much coming from you. You're not exactly the picture of openness, Hotch."

He knows you're mostly joking, but your read punches him in the gut in a way he doesn't expect. You must see the shock on his face, because you immediately lean in closer. "What is it?"

He shakes his head, trying to delay for as long as he can. If he doesn't say it out loud, maybe he can pretend that he's still a happily married man. That he didn't fail his wife and son by being as absent as he had wished his father had been, early in his life.

"It's not about Gideon leaving, is it?" You scrutinize him for a moment before shaking your head. "No. Hotch, what's the matter?"

"We agreed not to profile each other," he sighs, gritting his teeth against the pain of having to vocalize one of the lowest moments in his life.

"Aaron," you whisper. Your voice is soft and gentle, and he breaks.

"Haley left."

Your mouth parts in surprise, and he looks down at his lap, taking a deep breath. "And I don't know if she's coming back."

***

You've been waiting in the arrivals lot of the airport for almost an hour. You're assuming his flight got delayed, and you're grateful for the time to get yourself ready to see him, but the wait hasn't made your jitters any better.

You haven't seen Hotch since you left for college last year, and with his pre-law internship that he somehow snagged as a first year, it was a lonely summer.

When he called you last week with profuse apologies for not staying more in touch and a somber tone that had to be about more than his regrettable phone habits, you had told him that you would love to see him, but your winter break doesn't start for another month. After a few hushed breaths and a second of thinking, he told you that he had bought a plane ticket out to California for the following weekend.

That's why it's Friday afternoon, and you're still waiting for his familiar mop of dark hair to appear through the exit doors. A boy walks out right then, with the same raven hair and fit stature, and your heart rate hastens for a split second, before you realize it's not him.

You look down at your car's radio and twist the dial to change the station. It's been playing the same Madonna song nonstop, and you shut off the volume when the other stations are no different. Your shift in focus takes your attention away from the airport exit, so you jump in your seat when a quiet knock sounds at your passenger side window.

He's here. Your lips curve up into a bright smile and you unlock the door, letting him get in.

"Hi," you say, your voice weaker than you'd like.

"Hey, Y//N," he replies, pushing his long hair back from his face. The simple motion sets off butterflies in your stomach and you turn back to your steering wheel to keep your emotions off your face. He could always read you so easily. "It's good to see you."

He grins at you and leans forward to give you a quick, awkward hug over the center console. You involuntarily inhale as he pulls back, and the scent of his natural musk mixed with whatever new cologne he's been wearing smells dreamy on him.

You said you were over it, you tell yourself in your head. He has a girlfriend who he's going to marry, and you are his best friend. At least you were.

You don't really know where things stand between you two now. A year is a long time to go without seeing someone, and you're sure college has changed him in similar ways that it has changed you.

"I have one more class today," you say quickly as you pull your car out of the lot. "It's criminal psychology, so I figured you wouldn't mind coming to the lecture with me."

"Sounds fun," he says, before leaning his cheek against the window to watch the scenery that zips by. "God, the weather here is crazy."

"It's definitely warmer than I'm used to," you agree, struggling not to glance over at him. "We never had 70 degree winters growing up."

"Which do you prefer?"

You grin. "Home, of course."

"Of course."

You look at him then, and his expression is one you don't understand. It's the same look he gets when he's in the library and he finds a book he's been looking for.

The drive doesn't take long, and you bring him to your lecture, where he proceeds to pay more attention to the information being presented than you do. The class usually feels too short for you, but today, the time ticks by, because you can't focus.

It's been so long since you've sat next to him in a class, and the sight of him jotting down notes on a scrap piece of paper takes you back to high school, when he was still the more attentive one.

After the lecture, you both grab a quick dinner in the dining hall and settle back into your double dorm room, which you painstakingly cleaned up before he arrived.

"So, how long have you guys been friends?" your roommate, Katy, asks him as he drops into your desk chair. You've been watching her ogle him since he arrived, and if he's still as perceptive as he was in high school, it hasn't escaped his notice either.

"Forever," he says, looking at you with a grin. "We met when we were eight. When she judged my taste in The Beatles, it was over for me."

You can't help the heat that flames in your cheeks, even though you know this story by heart. Katy keeps glancing over at you as he explains how you guys met, and eventually she gets up and flops down onto your bed next to you. "You're bringing him to the party tonight, right?"

Your eyes widen as you remember that was today. "Oh, I don't know. We might just stay in."

"You have to come!" she squeals, shaking your arm. She turns to him with a pointed look. "We already have outfits picked out."

"I guess we gotta go, then," he smiles at her, before looking at me with a small raise of his eyebrow. You okay with that?

You dip your chin into a nod, and he stands up. "I'll head out for a walk as you guys get ready."

"Sounds good!" Katy says, grabbing your hand and sliding off the bed. "We'll see you in an hour."

Once the door closes behind him, Katy turns to you, her mouth agape. "You never told me how cute he is."

"What?" you sputter, your cheeks turning a bright shade of pink.

"You also didn't tell me you're, like, in love with him."

You scoff involuntarily, your usual diversion technique when someone brings up a topic you want to evade. "What are you talking about?"

"Okay," she shrugs, reaching into your closet and tossing you the dress you were planning to wear. "If that's how you want to play it."

You go into your attached bathroom to change into your outfit, but after seeing Hotch, the mini sundress you picked out feels like too much. You hate how much you're overthinking something as stupid as an outfit for a party.

You turn away from the mirror and go back into your dorm, where Katy is applying her signature shade of red lipstick in her little mirror stand.

"He has a serious girlfriend," you whisper, almost too quiet for her to hear you. But she is more perceptive than you give her credit for. "Like eventual marriage-serious."

"Oh, honey," she coos, patting the bench seat next to her. You scoot in until you're side by side and she wraps an arm around your shoulders. "I'm sorry I brought it up."

"It's okay," you shake your head, leaning on her shoulder. "I just need to get over it. It's a stupid crush that I've had since high school, but it's time. Maybe this party will help."

"Yes, exactly!" she grins, turning her head to look at you. "Nothing that a little music and a few shots can't fix."

"A few shots?" you laugh.

She nods. "Each."

~

You down another shot of whiskey before tossing your cup onto the table and following Katy onto the dance floor. She grinds against her boyfriend as you dance beside them, moving your hips side to side with the rhythm of the music.

Being in Los Angeles, the temperature outside is already warmer than it should be in November, but inside the house, your dress is sticking to your skin from the sweat and body heat surrounding you.

You're feeling the alcohol enough to have a good time even in the sweaty throng of bodies around you, and you throw your head back as you close your eyes and feel the thump of the music vibrating the floor boards.

Meanwhile, Hotch can't find you anywhere. He's drunk enough already that he knows he won't be able to find you himself, but he doesn't know anyone else here, so he grabs a half empty bottle from the drinks table and makes his way to the dance floor, where the life of the party seems to be centered.

He's usually a lot more fun at parties, but lately he hasn't felt like himself. Ever since you left for school across the country, it has felt like something in his life was wrong, like he was missing a limb. Then, things started looking up with Haley, and he pushed you away in the hopes that he would forget about any of the doubts he had, but it didn't work. The more he missed you, the worse things got in his relationship, and suddenly he wasn't sure what his life was supposed to look like anymore.

He takes another swig from the bottle and leans back against the counter as he watches people dance against each other in the dim light of the house. His eyes flicker over the mess of bodies until they catch on someone he almost doesn't recognize.

Your eyes are closed and your hands are in the air as you move to the beat. It's not exactly graceful music, but you have managed to find some semblance of a rhythm as you slide your hands down your thin dress, which is sticking to your body in a way he can't take his eyes off of.

He doesn't realize he has lifted the bottle to his lips again until the liquid is burning his throat, and he tears his eyes away from you as his head starts to spin. Maybe he's had enough for tonight. He puts the bottle down just as your roommate spots him. Katy, he thinks, or is it Sadie?

"Aaron!" she calls, stumbling over to him as a man holds her up with an arm around her waist. "Where's Y/N?"

"Not sure," he lies easily, barely conscious of the way his words have started to slur together. "I may head out soon."

"Don't leave without her," she instructs, her voice suddenly getting serious. "I'm staying with him tonight." She pats the man's arm. "So I won't be going back with her."

He nods with a resigned sigh, and slumps down on a couch in the next room, leaning his head back to stop the room from spinning.

~

When you tire of dancing, you push to the back of the crowd and look around to find any familiar face. You can't see Katy or her boyfriend anywhere, but after exiting the room, you spot Hotch asleep on the couch.

You walk forward with a slanted smile and put your hand on his shoulder to shake him awake. "Hotch, get up."

He groans, peeling his eyes open slowly. "I'm awake. Just resting my eyes."

"Yeah, yeah," you tease, looping your arm through his to help him up. "How much did you drink?"

He shrugs and you wrap your arm around his waist to hold him upright as he stumbles forward. "Whoa there. Okay, let's get you back."

You manage to get him out of the house, and once the fresh air hits, he can almost stand up straight on his own. You keep your arm around him just in case, trying to ignore the way his tee shirt is slowly riding up around his waistband.

You make the walk back in silence, and he falls back onto your bed as you lock the door behind you.

"I'm sorry," he whispers when you perch on the edge of the bed next to him.

"It's okay," you say, huffing out a laugh. He looks so young with his hair falling onto his face, and you resist the urge to push it back off his forehead. "Happens to the best of us."

"No, not that." He rolls over with a groan, flopping onto his back and scooting back so he can lay on your pillow. "I'm sorry I stopped calling."

Your heart skips a beat and you tuck your hair behind your ear, needing to occupy your hands somehow as your mind races with a million questions. "It's my fault too."

"No, it's not."

He isn't slurring his words anymore, but you can still hear the earnestness that only comes when one's filter is completely shattered. He was never one to hide things from you, but you also know how truthful people can get when alcohol takes their mask away.

"Haley and I have been having problems for a while," he mutters, making you sigh. So that's why he flew here in the middle of the school year. "We haven't been seeing eye to eye on a lot of things, and we decided to take a break, but I haven't told anyone, because the only person I wanted to tell was you."

You can't look at him. His gaze is too much, his eyes too full of truth and intensity. "Hotch-"

"I miss you so much," he says, cutting you off. "You're the only person I've ever really been able to talk to, but you know that, don't you? It's the same for you, it has to be."

You don't say anything. The air feels thick with tension, and you're afraid that if you say something, the room will explode.

"She's the perfect girlfriend," he says wistfully, his voice tight with an emotion you can't decipher. "I know it's me who's fucking it up, and I hate myself for it, because she's trying so hard to make this work. But every time it feels perfect, and I think I've finally gotten what I wanted, I just remember-"

"Aaron."

You look at him and his eyes are already staring into yours. You have wanted him to love you the way you loved him for years, but not like this. Never like this.

"You can't fuck this up," you whisper, your voice stronger than you expect it to be. "Call Haley tomorrow morning. Tell her you're sorry, and that you love her, because you do. You know you do."

"I love her," he nods as sleep pulls his eyelids down. "Tomorrow..I'll call her."

You watch him as his limbs relax and his breathing evens out, but you don't fall asleep until the sun starts to rise and you physically can't keep your eyes open anymore.

***

"Happy All Hallow's Eve, folks."

Reid pulls his mask off as Derek looks at him with a frightened frown.

"Are you scared of Halloween?" you ask him, trying to keep the grin off your face.

"I didn't say I was scared," he corrects, glancing over at Reid, who drops his mask on his desk and pushes his hair back from his face, "I said I was creeped out."

"What creeps you out about it?" Emily asks, before grinning at you.

"I bet it's the candy," you joke. "Those muscles probably cower at the sight of anything that isn't meat or protein powder."

Emily snorts and Derek frowns at both of you. "It's the masks. I don't like people in disguises."

"That's the best thing about Halloween," Reid chimes in. "You can be anyone you want to be."

Derek grins. "No, I'm pretty good just being me."

You and Emily share a look. "Yeah, why is it that neither of those points of view surprise me?"

"Guys," Reid suddenly calls out, his voice hushed. "He's here."

You turn around to see Hotch walking down the stairs, accompanied by Agent David Rossi, who you've heard a lot about in your years at the bureau. He was one of the founding members of the BAU, and you can't help but wonder what made him want to come back.

JJ introduces him to everyone, before Reid starts spouting off a list of facts from one of the old cases he solved when he was the chief of the unit.

"Reid, slow down," Hotch says with an uncharacteristic smile. "He'll be here for a while. Catch up with him later."

He nods. "Right, sorry."

Agent Rossi doesn't seem fazed. "No problem, Doctor."

This pleasantly surprises you. It's all too often that new people who meet Spencer don't immediately treat him with the respect he deserves.

"Let's start the briefing."

***

The flight back from Texas is hushed. The case went about as well as you could hope, with them catching the unsub and saving the final victim, but the way Rossi went rogue over and over again has rubbed you the wrong way.

You watch him across the cabin as he pores over his little notebook, and you wish you could peek inside his head. You know that the team aspect of the BAU is a newer addition to the unit, but you don't understand how he can keep all of his thoughts to himself.

"What are you thinking about?"

"Gah," you fright, jumping in your seat. "When did you sit next to me?"

Hotch shrugs, his lip quirking up. "A few minutes ago."

"Well, you should really wear a bell or something, god."

"Y/N," he says, giving you a pointed look. He doesn't let you use your evasion tactics anymore. Given your penchant for aimless talking, you suppose that's a good thing.

"I was just thinking about Rossi," you sigh, glancing up at him again. "Lying to the press to get a reaction from the unsub? Taking over that phone call? I don't like how he works, Hotch."

"He's from a different time," he says, even though you can hear the agreement in his voice, "but he worked with Gideon, and if you remember, it took you a while to warm up to him too."

You heave out a breath but it's the only concession you're willing to give in this moment.

"He's used to an older way of doing things, but he's a great agent."

"He clearly has good ideas," you whisper, "but I just worry that you'll have to work over time to keep him under control."

Hotch ponders this, and you think that maybe he knows you're right. Your eyes shift up and you realize his hair has been shorter for a while now, but you're still not used to seeing so much of his forehead. Not that there's anything wrong with his forehead. It's a fine forehead.

"He was the team leader before he retired," Hotch says suddenly. "He may be tough as a subordinate now, but I'm still glad he's back. We needed someone to fill Gideon's spot, we were low on hands."

"Speaking of, why do you think he's back."

He looks at you with a quizzical frown. "Is it really so hard to believe that he may just want to help us out?"

You think for a second, before shrugging. He laughs.

"I don't know," you concede, with a small chuckle. "I think I'm just expecting things from him that aren't fair."

He turns his body to face you. "Like what?"

You press your lips together, trying to formulate your words properly, so you can clearly articulate the tornado of thoughts in your brain. "I know Gideon wasn't a father figure exactly, but he was someone that Reid and Elle latched onto."

Hotch exhales. "I don't know if Gideon is someone I'd want as a father."

You let out a surprised laugh. "Fair enough."

"How is your father doing, by the way?"

You blink in surprise. It's not that he doesn't talk about your family, it's just that the timing is uncanny. You haven't spoken to him in months. After your mom died, you two were almost inseparable, but then you left for school, and you realized how much bigger the world could be when you weren't always bogged down by your grief. "I haven't called him in a while."

"What did he say after Golconda?" he asks, his voice gentle. After Frank, he means.

You close your eyes, guilt flooding your body. "I never told him."

"What?" You don't look at him, but you can see the shock in the stiff line of his posture. "Did something happen between you two?"

You shake your head, your protectiveness over your family flaring up at the concern in his eyes. "Nothing happened. I just didn't want to worry him."

"That's his job," Hotch stresses, scooting his leg over so his knee bumps yours. "If something like that had happened to Jack, I wouldn't know what to do with myself."

"That's what I'm scared of," you tell him, your eyes flitting over to the window, where the clouds are dancing across the horizon. Sometimes, when you're on the jet, you like to pretend that the time up here isn't real. That as long as the world looks like a series of splotches and blinking lights, nothing can really hurt you. "My mom's death nearly killed him. I learned to cook when I was ten, because he couldn't leave his room for a month." Hotch knows all of this already, but he lets you vocalize your thoughts, obviously knowing how badly you need reassurance for the guilt you're feeling. "Then, when Jeff died, I stayed with him for a few weeks to have some company, but...but.. I was so glad when I left, because then I could finally let myself fall apart."

He reaches under the armrest and clasps your hand in his, extending the comfort you didn't know you needed.

"I've never told anyone that," you whisper, feeling your voice tighten with tears. "I love my dad, I love him so much, but I just needed the chance to recover on my own."

"He loves you too," Hotch says, finally breaking his silence. "You know he loves you. I still remember the themed sandwich baggies that he packed your lunch with all through middle school."

You choke out a laugh. "You would always steal the Spiderman ones."

He smiles, squeezing your hand once. "Maybe you just need to give him another chance to be who you want him to be. He might just surprise you."

You know he's right. Somehow, he's always right.

You nod, flashing him a small smile, and lean your head on his shoulder as the clouds float past your window.

***

He glances at his watch for the tenth time since he sat down in his office. The plane landed just over an hour ago, and he sent you home immediately with the instruction to get some rest. He probably should have gone home too, but ever since he got his new apartment, home hasn't felt the same.

He used to be able to look around any corner and see a memory: the couch where he and Haley made love on their first night at home, the soft carpet where Jack took his first steps, the doorframe where he measured his height on his first birthday as Haley held him up by the arms. He also remembers that he wasn't there to see Jack's first steps; he was in Pittsburgh, working a case and thanking his lucky stars that Haley had had the foresight to take a photo as his son stood upright all by himself.

He lifts the picture frame from the edge of his desk, running his fingers over the cool glass and looking at the blue drawing underneath. Jack had drawn his favorite cartoon character and left it for him on the kitchen table, a few nights before his suspension went into effect.

Putting it back down, he looks at the photograph of him holding onto Haley as she clutches newborn Jack to her chest in the hospital. He still has the photo of just him and her on their wedding, but he pushed it to the back, behind the pictures of Jack, and the one of you and him at law school graduation.

A knock sounds at his door and he looks up to see Dave standing in his doorway. "Can I come in?"

"Of course," he says, waving him in. He doesn't sit down, so Hotch stands up too, unsure of how he feels about the power imbalance in the room. "What can I do for you?"

"You said out there, 'The team shares everything.'"

He nods. "That's right."

"There is no 'I'?"

He nods again, not liking where this may be going.

Dave glances down at his desk, where his phone sits next to the picture frame of his family. "Seems a big thing to withhold. Separating from your wife, your child."

He freezes, unconsciously looking at the door to see if anyone heard. "What are you talking about?"

"You used to call Haley 10 times a day," Dave says, his voice not unkind. "We've been together 48 hours and I haven't seen you call her once. You haven't mentioned her, and you're not going home now."

He frowns, feeling his brow settle into place like it's a uniform he wears whenever he's at the office. "What's your point?"

"I guess you're just not used to sharing."

He doesn't say anything, but Rossi seems to interpret this the wrong way. "Or maybe it's something else." He looks out the window at the empty bullpen, but the implication is still clear. "Was it because of...?"

"What?" He doesn't know where this is coming from, but he can't stop the anger that rumbles through him at the connotation. Unable to help it, he looks down at your desk, and Dave tuts.

"I won't say anything."

"Dave," he shakes his head, trying to remain calm. "You have it all wrong. She's my best friend...since we were children. It isn't like that. It was never-"

It was never like that. That's what he's about to say, but that wouldn't be true. Rossi is a good enough profiler that he would be able to spot a lie from a mile away, so he shuts his mouth and shakes his head again. "It's not like that."

"Okay," he accepts, lifting his hands in surrender. "My mistake."

Hotch nods, and Dave leaves his office, but he can't get their conversation out of his head until later that night when his head hits his pillow and his eyes finally fall shut.

***

"Hey, Dad."

You called him when you got home from work that night, and he answered on the second ring. "Hi, sweetheart."

"How are you?" you ask, clutching the phone to your ear as you sink down onto the couch in your living room.

He doesn't answer for a moment, and you can hear him taking a breath. "I'm good, Y/N, how are you? Is work going well?"

"It's good," you tell him. "Really good. We were able to save a woman today, before the unsub could kill her."

"Unsub?"

"Unknown subject," you explain, quickly realizing just how long it's been since you've spoken to him. "It's what we call the bad guy before we know who he is."

"Right," he says, and you can practically see him rubbing a hand over his face, his nervous tic. "I knew that. Anyway, how is everything in your life? Do you still work with Aaron?"

"Yeah, I do," you say with a laugh. "He was actually asking about you earlier today."

"That's nice of him," your dad says, his voice brightening slightly. "He was always a good friend to you."

You tell him about your most recent case, and about Gideon and Elle leaving the team, but eventually you can't evade the topic you've been trying to avoid all night.

You're okay, you think to yourself. Frank can't hurt you anymore.

"Dad," you whisper, closing your eyes as you take a deep breath. In 1, 2, 3. Out 1, 2, 3. "I have something to tell you."

Then you tell him everything, and he just listens, exactly like you hoped he would.

***

"I met this guy." You didn't even see Penelope approach you, but here she is, looking at you like she's about to say something dirty.

"Hell yeah," you grin, trying to match her energy. "Where?"

"A coffee shop," she smirks. "He was having trouble with his computer, so I fixed it for him, and then he asked for my number."

"Look at you," you joke, giving her a side squeeze, "putting your technical analyst skills to good use."

"Thank you," she huffs, throwing an annoyed glance over her shoulder. "That's more of the response I was looking for."

"What do you mean?"

"Derek," she says simply, and you nod, already knowing where she's going with this. You know they have an uncommon relationship, so you're not surprised that he didn't react exactly how she hoped he would.

"He's an idiot," you tell her, patting her arm.

She laughs. "You don't even know what he did."

"Uh, yeah," you say, turning around to face the bullpen, "I definitely do."

***

The case takes the team to Florida, where an unsub has been feeding women their fingers, killing them, and then carving pentagrams in their skin.

The pentagrams suggest a religious element, so you go with JJ, Morgan, and Rossi to the local church to meet with the priest.

"Rossi, do me a favor," Morgan says just before you walk inside. "You talk to the priest, all right?"

You remember his agitation on the jet when Reid prodded him about his beliefs, and given the cruelty of his childhood, a crisis of faith wouldn't surprise you.

"Hi, Father Marks," JJ greets the priest when you enter the church. She introduces all of you to him, before shaking his hand. "We're sorry we have to be here under these circumstances."

"It's good of you to come," he says, greeting all of you. "Abbey's parents are upstairs in my office."

"We'll go up," Rossi says with a nod, "but Agent Morgan actually has some questions for you."

Your eyes flash to Rossi, but he doesn't return your gaze.

"I have some questions too," you offer, and Derek nods gratefully.

The priest answers the few questions Derek spits out at him, and you watch as his eyes wander around the hall, his shoulders raised with tension. You insert a few of your own questions before heading outside with him to wait for JJ and Rossi to finish up with the victim's parents.

"What happened in there?" you ask when he doesn't meet your eye. "Being rude to Father Marks? That wasn't like you."

"You know what happened to me, L/N," he says angrily, kicking his foot out at a loose stone on the pavement. "I went to church everyday, and I prayed for it to stop, but you know what God did? Nothing."

"I know what a crisis of faith looks like, Derek." You stand in front of him, forcing him to look at you. "But Father Marks doesn't know your story. He's not judging you, he's just showing his faith how he knows best."

His shoulders are still tense as his jaw twitches. "Who does Rossi think he is, throwing me under the bus like that?"

"He's an instigator," you shrug, letting the topic slide for the time being. You'll talk to him again later if he still needs it.

"I didn't love the way Gideon did things either," Derek says, his posture going from agitation to annoyance, "but Rossi might just take the cake. Even if he is better with the victim's families."

"I can't help you there," you almost laugh. "I had the same conversation with Hotch after the case in Texas, and he managed to convince me to give the guy a chance. So...if you can't bring yourself to trust him, just think of it as putting your trust in Hotch."

Derek hums, bumping your shoulder with his. "I guess I can do that."

***

The search party for Tracey Lambert only leads to the unsub taking another woman, and suddenly the ticking clock gets a lot louder. By the time you find his lair and the bodies he has been cannibalizing for years, you're already struggling to keep down even the water you've been drinking. When he reveals where Tracey actually is, you feel so sick, you can't breathe.

When the jet lands back in Virginia, you go home immediately, desperately needing some peace and quiet away from the team for the first time in a while. But that doesn't last long.

You're awoken by the shrill ringing of your home phone. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you check the number and answer the phone. "Is this payback for the last time I called you past midnight?"

"Y/N...it's Garcia."

You shoot up into a sitting position as Hotch explains what happened. "How bad is it?"

"I don't know."

"I'm on my way."

You change into a sweater and a pair of loose jeans before grabbing your keys and flying out the door.

"She's in surgery," JJ tells you when you find them in the waiting room. She pulls you into a hug before returning to her hunched position in an uncomfortable vinyl chair.

"There's no other word," Hotch adds, giving you a quick hug as well. With his cheek pressed against your temple, he whispers, "Police think it may have been a botched robbery."

"Where's Morgan?" Emily asks, standing up from her chair.

"He's not answering his cell."

Reid nods, stepping away. "I'll call him again."

He squeezes your hand before he exits the waiting area, and you glance down at JJ again. Her eyes are red from crying, and her chin is pressed into her palm as she stares at the floor. You watch as Emily sits next to her and pats her hand, before clasping it in hers.

You don't realize you've been staring at the same spot on the floor until Hotch stands next to you and nudges your shoulder. You okay?

"I will be," you say out loud, barely registering that he didn't actually ask you anything. "As soon as she's out of surgery." When you got the call that Penelope was shot, you had been hit by an intense feeling of deja vu. Only this time, the call didn't come from bureau leadership, because she wasn't killed at the scene. Because she's going to make it.

He doesn't seem fazed as he checks his watch again, his frown lines deepening. "It shouldn't take this long to get an update."

"Where have you been?" Reid asks suddenly. You look up to see Derek walking into the waiting room, his eyes wide with panic.

"I was in church. My phone was off."

"There's nothing you could have been doing here," Rossi assures him, before nodding at Hotch and pulling him aside to discuss something with the deputies outside. You use the momentary lull to approach Derek, putting your hand on his arm as an initial test. When he doesn't jerk back, you pull him into a hug that he returns gratefully.

The doctor walks in a few minutes later and explains that Penelope will be fine, but she needs to rest until the morning.

"David and I will go to the scene," Hotch informs, his eyes fixing each of you with an empathetic look. "I think the rest of you should be here when she wakes up. I don't care about protocol. I don't care whether we're working this officially, or not. We don't touch any new cases until we find out who did this."

When they leave, you pull Derek down into the chair next to you and lean your head onto his shoulder. After a beat, he relaxes in his seat, and lets out a long sigh. "She's okay."

***

Early the next morning, the doctor shakes you all awake with the notice that Penelope's up, so you rush into her room, trying not to crowd her as she blinks awake.

"Hi," she says softly, her voice small. She looks so innocent, laying in her hospital bed with her blonde hair a halo around her head. You can't imagine how anyone would want to hurt someone like her.

"No tears," she smiles as you swallow down your anger. "I'm afraid if I start crying, I'll come unstapled."

JJ presses a kiss to her cheek, before Derek and Emily start gently plying her with the usual questions. When it comes out that the man who shot her was the same man who asked her out at the coffee shop, your anger turns to anguish, and you reach forward to squeeze Penelope's hand in an effort to comfort her.

"I just thought he liked me," she whispers, the pain in her voice breaking your heart.

"We need a name," Emily asks abruptly. You can see her mentally kicking herself at how serious her words came out, but you know Penelope understands the gravity of this situation.

"James Colby Baylor."

She asks you and JJ to stay back for a second as the rest of the team leaves to investigate Baylor.

"What's up, honey?" you ask, smiling at her sweetly as she uses her other hand to take JJ's.

"I feel so stupid," she sighs, her breath turning into a gasp as tears fill her eyes. "Maybe Derek was right about all of it."

"No," JJ says sternly, reaching forward to brush some of her hair behind her ear. "None of this is on you."

"What she said," you echo, nodding at JJ, "and don't listen to Morgan. He loves you, and he's very protective over you, but he's also a man."

She sniffles out a laugh, before pressing her lips together. "One last thing."

JJ blinks. "Anything."

"Please don't talk about me like I'm a victim."

***

The case wraps up back at the office, where Baylor, whose real name is Deputy Battle, was shot in the head by JJ, who doesn't seem as plussed by the situation as you would expect. You tried to talk to her afterwards, but after telling you she was fine, she put all of her attention on Penelope, who has spent the last week recovering at home.

Now, you're sitting in the break room stirring your black coffee, just for something to do. Hotch finds you in there and walks inside, shutting the door behind him.

"It's been a long week," he grumbles, looking longingly at the spot next to you on the worn couch.

You lift your cup and nod your head at the full coffee pot. "That's what caffeine's for."

"We really should sleep at some point," he says, filling up a paper cup and carefully dropping into the spot beside you. The couch you chose is small enough that his thigh presses against yours when he spreads his legs even the slightest bit.

You snort. "Sleep's overrated."

You both sip your steaming coffees in silence as you watch the other agents shuffle back and forth across the bullpen, unaware of your watchful eyes. The break room is the one place in the office to go for a little bit of privacy, but the unobstructed view of everyone's desks isn't unpleasant either. You imagine this is how Hotch feels when he looks out his office window.

Your eye catches on the stapled wood planks that are currently replacing the broken glass door that leads into the bullpen. He must be looking at the same thing, because he breaks the silence and says, "I think we may need to get JJ out into the field more."

His tone catches you off guard and you crack a small smile. "She does seem remarkably well-adjusted, given that it was her first time."

He nods, turning his head to look at you. "Do you remember your first time?" Killing someone, is the part he doesn't say out loud.

"Of course." You take a deep breath and gulp back more coffee. "He was a serial rapist in Texas. One shot to the heart. I wasn't trying to kill him, he just ran at the last second."

"Serial killer in Florida," he responds simply. "Headshot. He died instantly."

"That was your first year at the BAU, right?" He nods and you sink back into the cushions. "I wasn't even in the field then."

He hums, a low sound that you feel as vibrations on your skin. "I worry that I brought you in here too early. Jeff had just died, and I assumed that getting you out of the house and in the field would take your mind off of things, but I wonder sometimes if I made the wrong call."

"You didn't," you assure him, turning your body to face his, even as he doesn't meet your eye. "First of all, you brought me in six months after he died, and by then, I definitely needed an excuse to leave my bedroom."

He sighs, a small concession, and you continue. "The first case I went into the field for after he died, I could barely hold my gun. Every time I pulled it on someone, I would imagine his body...with all of those bullet holes...and I would just freeze up. It took me months to pass my firearm certification again, but I still don't regret it."

"You sure?" he asks, his voice almost timid.

"Positive," you smile, nudging your thigh against his. "Besides, I didn't realize it until later, but it wasn't getting out into the field that helped me through my grief...it was meeting the team. These people became my family in the moment that I needed one most."

You turn back to your coffee and sip it again, though it's no longer as hot as you'd like it to be.

"How are you doing, by the way?" he asks suddenly. "With Garcia, I mean."

An involuntary shudder runs through you as you remember her pale face in her hospital bed last week, but the warmth of the coffee cup in your hands makes it pass quickly. "I'll never get used to it. But she's okay now, so hopefully it'll be easier this time."

***

You're jotting down notes in the margins of a new case file JJ asked you to look over when your cell phone rings. Hotch and Reid are at a nearby prison, interviewing a serial killer on death row for the Criminal Personality Research Project, so you're not expecting a call from either of them. The rest of the team, except for Rossi, is scattered around the bullpen, but you don't expect him to call you either.

After finishing the line you were writing, you check your phone and see a name you haven't spoken to in weeks.

"Haley," you answer after clicking open your cell. "Is everything okay?"

"I know you're busy," she sighs, her voice tight with what you can only decipher as irritation, "but I didn't know who else to call. Aaron hasn't been answering my phone calls."

You get up from your desk and step out into the hallway to get some privacy. "He and Dr. Reid are at a prison right now, interviewing a criminal for this research project. There likely isn't any cell service out there."

"It's not just today, Y/N," she says, her tone getting colder as she inadvertently directs her anger towards the only person she can get ahold of. "He hasn't been taking my calls for days."

"I can talk to him," you suggest, trying to keep your tone light in an effort to keep this conversation from derailing. "I'll tell him to give you a call."

"I appreciate that," she sighs, losing her steam. "I'm sorry for involving you, I just really need to speak with him about something."

"Is everything alright with you and Jack?" you ask her quickly, wanting to make sure that you aren't making the wrong assumptions about why she's calling.

"Oh!" she inhales sharply. "Yes, of course, we're doing great. Well, great maybe isn't the right word, I didn't mean- I just-" She sighs. "You know what I mean."

"I do," you assure her as your heart twists at the sound of her shallow breathing. You know how hard the separation has been on Hotch, but you know Haley too, and she has always been better at hiding her pain that she seems. "Where have you been staying?"

"With Jess," she says, her voice brightening considerably at the mention of her sister. "She's been a godsend. I feel terrible taking up so much of her space, but she doesn't seem to mind."

You smile, remembering the few times you met Jessica Brooks while Haley and Hotch were together. "She definitely doesn't mind. She always loved children. I bet she's already scheming on how to steal Jack from you."

Haley laughs, and the sound is like wind chimes twinkling in your ear. "She totally is."

Her laughter slowly fades, and you both stay on the line for a few moments in comfortable silence.

"I'll tell him to call you," you promise.

"I know," she sighs. "Thank you."

***

The prison was a bust, but Reid got a chance to use his intelligence to get them out of a tough spot without anyone getting hurt, so the day wasn't a total loss.

He is sitting in his office, drafting an email to the project coordinator, when you walk inside and take a seat in front of his desk.

"Thanks for knocking," he says sarcastically before finishing up the sentence he was working on. Once it's done, he saves the draft and turns off his computer. "How was Indianapolis?"

"Good," you say, leaning back in the chair. "Great, actually. Rossi got to close up the case that's been haunting him for a decade, and the three kids are finally safe."

"I'm surprised he wasn't more excited when he got back," he notes, watching your body language. You look wired, but not about this. Something else is bothering you.

"The unsub wasn't exactly the most gratifying arrest," you sigh, rubbing a hand over your temple. "We don't even think he committed the murders intentionally."

He frowns, shaking his head. "Those are the worst kind."

You're silent for a moment before you sit up straighter and look at him. "Haley called me this morning. While you were at the prison."

"Oh?" Something that feels like ice slithers down his spine even though he can probably guess exactly how the conversation went.

All week, he has felt an enormous weight on his chest in the form of a stack of divorce papers that Haley served him with. She had called him right after, with the explanation that they both should have seen this coming, but he really hadn't. He was a profiler, whose entire job was to notice and analyze human behavior, and he truly hadn't been able to let himself believe that this could be a possibility. That his marriage could actually be over.

"She said you've been ignoring her calls."

He had been ignoring them. He knew she would just tell him to sign the papers, and he couldn't bear to hear her say it again. Once was enough.

He reaches into his desk and pulls out the manila folder that he hasn't opened since his initial read-through. He suspects you already know what he's about to tell you, but he also knows that it won't feel real until he says it out loud. And it's about time he came to terms with what his life would be from now on. "Haley wants me to sign the divorce papers, uncontested."

"She doesn't want to involve a lawyer?" you ask, your voice delicate as you walk him through the explanation with clarifying questions. It's the technique they use when interviewing the families of victims, to help them feel comfortable as they talk about the hardest thing they've ever gone through. He's surprised at how reassuring it feels coming from you.

He shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair. It has grown out a bit since he last cut it, but he doesn't think he minds. Haley wanted him to cut it short when Jack was in his grabbing and teething phase, but now, he likes how he can push it back when he wants. "I don't want to sign, of course, but she's adamant that we get this done soon."

"You'll be okay," you say, and he looks up in surprise. "You're a good man, Aaron."

"I'm not," he whispers, heaving out a sigh. "I'm not doing anything right. At home, I was an awful husband and an absent father, and at work, Strauss would replace me if she had even the slightest bit more ammunition. I can't focus in either place. Maybe Haley's right, maybe I'm just selfish."

You lean forward and grab his hand, even as he doesn't look at you. "You're not selfish. You're the farthest thing from selfish. You don't want to sign, but you will. You're giving her what she wants, even though it's the last thing you want."

He nods, but his heart isn't in it. He glances down at the folder again and takes a deep breath as you give him a small smile and stand up.

"I'll see you tomorrow, boss?"

He nods again. "See you tomorrow."

When the door shuts behind you, he flips open the folder, faster than he meant to, but he's afraid if he doesn't do this quickly he'll lose his nerve. Grabbing a random pen from the mug on his desk, he uncaps it and scrawls out his initials on all of the earmarked lines throughout the stack.

When he finishes the last page, he shuts the folder and leans back in his chair, letting out a long exhale. He did it. He supposes he should feel some sort of severing away of his old life, maybe an audible snap as the ties to his marriage get cut, but there's just silence.

His office suddenly feels stifling, and he loosens his tie before reaching forward and lifting the picture frame with him and Haley on their wedding day. Her smile still looks beautiful to him, and his content expression as he gazes at her doesn't make him feel anything different. Their marriage may be over, but he still loved her.

He runs his thumb over the smooth edge of the frame, and then opens his desk drawer, before sticking it inside and pushing it closed.

***

"Thank you for watching him," Hotch says, his voice slightly muffled over the phone.

"Of course," you smile, sitting down on your couch with the pasta you made for dinner. "It was my pleasure. Jack's a total sweetheart."

Jess was out of town for a couple of days, so he had asked you to watch Jack while he and Haley met up to finalize the divorce in front of an attorney. She had been adamant about finishing the process over the phone, but he wanted to ensure that she and Jack would be taken care of after the papers went through.

"Did he eat lunch?"

"Kind of," you say, quickly swallowing the bite you took. "He didn't want a full meal, but I got him to eat some fruit and bread with cheese."

"I'll make him a snack soon," he says quietly, but you can tell he's just thinking out loud. "Alright, I'll see you at the office. Thanks again."

"Always," you tell him, genuinely. "See you."

The phone clicks off and you scarf down the rest of your pasta before doing your dirty dishes and cleaning up your kitchen. You're considering whether to change into your workout clothes so you can crank out a few miles on your Peloton, but then you hear a knock on your door.

You're not expecting anyone, and with Hotch watching Jack, it can't be him. You peek around the corner into your foyer to see who's at the door, and relax when you spot a familiar mop of brown hair.

"I'm sorry I didn't call first," Spencer says when you open the door, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his book bag. "I just didn't know how to ask you this over the phone."

"Spence, what is it?" you ask, opening the door further to let him in. He doesn't step forward, and a pinprick of anxiety enters your system.

"If I come inside, I won't be able to do this," he says vaguely, before reaching into his bag and pulling out a flyer. He hands it to you and you read the title, the tension seeping from your body as the words sink in: Narcotics Anonymous for Law Enforcement.

"I know it's a lot to ask," he whispers, "but would you drive me to the meeting tonight?"

Your heart feels like it's about to crack open. Only a boy who was never looked after, never given the love and care he deserved, would think that something like this was too much to ask.

"It's not too much," you tell him, glancing down at the address. "I'll get my keys."

When he's settled in your passenger seat, you pull out of the driveway, not commenting on the fact that his car is parked on the street beside your sidewalk. You understand the need for company more than most people.

The drive to the rec center where the meeting is being held is mostly silent, but you don't press him. He stares down at his hands for most of the ride, and when you stop in front of the entrance, he unbuckles his seatbelt and turns to you. "Thank you."

"Of course," you smile. "I can wait, if you'd like."

He gives you a thin-lipped smile. "It's okay."

"You sure?"

He presses his lips together and looks at you, his eyes reflecting the question in yours.

"Go on," you say, patting his arm. "I'll be here."

He nods and steps out of your car, and you pull into a parking space to wait in while he's in the meeting. You turn on the radio and it's the same song they've been playing for the last week, so you turn the volume down low and close your eyes for a few peaceful moments.

You must have fallen asleep, because you're jarred awake by the chirping sound of your cell phone ringing. It's a bureau number, so you clear your throat and answer the call. "L/N."

"Hey, Y/N." It's JJ, and she sounds tired. "We have a case. It's urgent, so we're flying to Texas tonight."

You sigh louder than you meant to. "I can be there in 20."

"See you soon."

The line clicks off and you rub the sleep from your eyes. A quick check of your watch tells you that you were only asleep for about a half hour, but that's just half of the meeting time. You know Spencer will come back when he gets the call, so you turn the radio off and sit up in your seat.

A few minutes later, he returns to the car. You saw him just over 30 minutes ago, but he already looks lighter than he did when he got to your house.

"I'm proud of you, Spence," you tell him as you start the car.

He nods, a quick thanks. "This federal agent gave me his one year medallion after I left the meeting. I've only been clean for 10 months, but he still gave it to me."

"He believes in you," you say simply, glancing over at his confused expression.

"He doesn't even know me."

You shrug. "You don't have to really know someone to care about them, Spencer. You just have to see something of yourself in them."

"Is that what you see in me?" he asks, finally looking at you.

You consider this for a moment. Is that why you feel so protective over him?

"I don't know," you say eventually, not wanting to lie, even by accident. "I definitely wasn't as smart as you were, or as focused. I wasn't all that driven in high school at all, to be honest. I was lucky to have Hotch. He gave me the push I needed to get out there and focus on school."

He's silent for a minute and you worry you may have said something wrong. Then: "I didn't have anyone in school." He pauses for a beat, before speaking again, his voice quieter this time. "I was in the library one day, and this girl comes up to me, and she tells me that Alexa Isben wants to meet me behind the field house. Alexa Isben was, like...easily the prettiest girl in school."

You frown, already not liking where this story is going. "Did she not show up?"

"No, she was there." His voice sounds almost resigned, but there's a note of something darker underneath. Something raw and painful, that likely still hurts after all these years. "But so was the entire football team. They stripped me naked and tied me to a goal post. So many kids were there, you know, just watching."

"No one stopped them?" you ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

"I begged them to, but they just...they just watched. Then finally they got bored and they left." He clears his throat, and the sound is small, like a little boy's. "It was like midnight when I finally got home. And my mom didn't...Mom was having one of her episodes, so she didn't even realize I was late."

"You never told her what happened?"

He shakes his head. "I never told anybody. I thought it was one of those things that I thought if I didn't talk about it, I'd just forget. But I remember it like it was yesterday."

"You don't need an eidetic memory for that, Spence," you whisper, trying to stay focused on the road even as his words swirl into your memories and create an agonizing hurricane of emotions. "I was only ten years old when my mom was killed, but I can still remember every moment of her funeral."

The field office comes into view and you push forward as you scan your badge and slide into a parking spot below the upper garage. When the car is in park, you undo your seatbelt and turn to him. "I know how hard it can be to push away the painful memories, but there's something more important that I need you to remember."

"Remember what?"

He looks at you then, and you reach forward to squeeze his hand. "You're not alone anymore."

***

"Is it always this hot?" You look up at the beating sun through your shaded sunglasses and fan your face with both of your hands.

"Every day, all day," Emily huffs, running her fingers through her bangs to unstick them from her forehead.

Everyone is sweltering in the Miami heat, but then Derek gets off the plane with a wide grin, his skin glistening in the sun, and you resist the urge to throw your bag at him. "South Beach, baby."

He immediately shuts up when he spots the stunning Miami PD detective who called your team in for the recent string of murders. JJ shoots you a smirk before introducing her to the team. "Detective Lopez. We spoke on the phone."

"Tina," she corrects, before shaking her hand. "Thank you for coming down so quickly."

"Hey," Emily says from beside you, making you turn to see what she's looking at. "Isn't that..."

You spot the person she's referring to, and your face splits into a big smile. "Detective LaMontagne!"

"He's here to ID the cop they pulled from the bay last night," Tina explains.

You don't miss the flush in JJ's cheeks as she shakes his hand. "Detective, good to see you."

"How are you?" you ask, giving him a quick hug that he returns.

"Yeah, Charlie Luvet and I worked together for seven years."

Derek frowns. "Sorry for your loss, man."

Tina looks confused, and you don't blame her. "So, you all know each other?"

"Professionally," JJ is quick to add. Will whips around to look at her, and you turn to Emily with an eyebrow raise, feeling like you're intruding on a private moment. You aren't sure why she won't just admit that they've been together since New Orleans, but that's her business.

***

You join JJ and Will at the IDing of Officer Luvet, and you keep your distance as he glances down at the body and affirms the report.

"Yeah, that's him."

JJ looks like she wants to comfort him, but instead she sticks to the professional approach. "If you need help making arrangements, liaising with families is part of what I do."

Will nods, his voice choking up slightly. "I might just take you up on that. Excuse me, I'll be outside."

When he steps outside of the coroner's office, you can't help but notice the longing look on JJ's face as she watches him go.

"Let's go," she says to you softly, her eyes still on the door. You follow her outside, but by then Will is nowhere to be found.

"It's okay, you know," you blurt out. You weren't really planning on talking to her about this, but sometimes your mouth takes over before your brain can catch up. "I know you worry that being around a band of profilers all the time makes you vulnerable."

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," she says simply, not quite meeting your eye.

"JJ," you say seriously, trying to convey your pure intentions. "If you keep trying to hide it, you'll lose him."

She purses her lips, and you squeeze her forearm, hoping you aren't pushing past her boundaries. The whole team is sparing with details about their personal lives, but you like to think that you're someone people feel comfortable sharing things with.

"I know you, hon." You flash her a knowing smile, feeling a shot of satisfaction as her lip twitches. "I know that it's enough for you to know that you care about something, but it's not enough for everyone."

She exhales, tucking her hair behind her ears. "He's upset with me, but I don't know what to do. I'm still scared."

You sigh, understanding her predicament, but still wanting her to push past it. "You can let yourself be happy, JJ. You won't always get hurt."

She nods before glancing around the room again, searching for Will even though he's long gone. It's an instinct you recognize.

Later, when JJ finally acknowledges their relationship by pulling him in for a kiss at the police station, you can't help but take it as a win.

***

Your house feels emptier than usual when you get back from Miami. Seeing JJ and Will find each other again reminded you of how much you miss having someone to share your life with.

Deciding to take a night to yourself, you pop open a bottle of red, and pour yourself a glass, which you swirl around before taking a sip. It's drier than you tend to go for, and when you check the label, you realize that's because you didn't buy it.

How can you drink this stuff?

It makes me feel sophisticated.

Jeff would break out the fancy glassware every chance he got, because he didn't believe in special occasions. He used to say that people waste precious moments of their life waiting for the right occasion to come around.

The memory feels warm in the back of your mind, and you take another sip of wine before walking over to your cupboard and grabbing the fanciest wine glass you can find. You pour the rest of your wine into the new glass and place the other in the sink, before swirling it around again. No time like the present.

You bring the glass to the couch with you, where you turn on the television and skip through the first few channels. As the wine in your glass depletes, the loneliness sets back in. You're about to pour yourself another pity glass when your phone buzzes with a call from Hotch.

"Do your television channels suck as much as mine do?"

You smile, muting the television and pressing the phone to your ear. "Definitely not."

He chuffs. "I guess I'm not used to the new tv controls."

Right, his new apartment. After the papers were finalized, he gave the house to Haley and moved into a new place ten minutes away.

"We can share mine," you say, listening to the sounds of his breath over the receiver. "I also have wine."

That gets a laugh. "I'll be there in 15."

You hear a knock on your door exactly 14 minutes later. When you open it, you're greeted with the sight of Hotch in a tee shirt and jeans. "A little underdressed, aren't we?"

He snorts, taking the wine glasses from your hands and following you into the family room. "What are we watching?"

"You're the one with the broken tv," you grin, flopping down on the couch and taking your glass from him. "What do you want to watch?"

He thinks for a minute, before his eyes sparkle with an idea. You cut him off before he can suggest what you already know he will. "We are not watching Top Gun again, Hotch!"

"You asked," he shrugs, hiding his smile behind a sip of wine. "What do you want to watch, then?"

You can see him watching you over the rim of his glass, so you blurt out the first name that comes to your mind. "Footloose."

He looks at you blankly for a moment, before his brow twitches, and your jaw drops. "You haven't seen Footloose?!"

"It came out when we were in high school," he groans, taking one of the throw pillows off the couch and stuffing it behind his back. "Terminator and Dune came out that same year. I remember because you tried to get me to watch it then too."

"It's an amazing movie!" you exclaim, standing up to go dig through your movie cabinet. "We're watching it right now."

He groans and sinks back into the pillows as you find the DVD and start the movie. You've seen it at least a dozen times, mostly because it makes you nostalgic for your teenage years, but the opening still gets you excited.

As the movie plays, you keep glancing over at Hotch, trying to see if he's enjoying the scenes just as much as you did on your first watch. To his credit, he watches the movie faithfully, without checking his phone or straying from the television screen.

"Enough," he grumbles suddenly, startling you.

"What?" you question, whipping your head around to face the screen.

"I'm watching the movie," he huffs, fixing you with a pointed look. "You don't have to keep checking."

You frown, hugging a pillow to your chest. "I wasn't checking, I just like seeing people's reactions to my favorite movies."

"Either way."

You groan, reaching out to thwack his arm.

"Eyes on the screen," he berates you, pointing at the TV. "The dance scene is starting."

You sip your wine bitterly as you try to resist the urge to glance over at him. Eventually, the movie takes over your attention and soon it's the final town council scene where Kevin Bacon gives a speech to the whole town.

"'There was a time for this law'," you quote along with the movie, "'but not anymore.'"

The movie comes to an end, and you click the remote to turn off the television. When you turn to Hotch with an excited grin, you're surprised to see that he has fallen asleep.

His head has fallen to the side, resting on the armrest, and he looks so peaceful with his expression completely neutral. His characteristic frown is nowhere to be seen as he snores quietly through his nose.

Your lips curve into a smile as you stand up and grab a blanket from a basket beside the couch. You drape it over his body, being careful not to wake him, and take the wine glasses to the sink before heading up for bed.

***

"That's because you pick horses the same way you practice law."

You hold your breath as he glances into the crowd for a brief second.

"...by always taking the long shot."

Emily snickers under her breath, and you see even Reid crack a smile as the lawyer starts floundering. The rest of the day in court goes by quickly and you all wait for Hotch in the hallway of the courthouse as he finishes up inside.

"That was impressive," you grin, nudging his shoulder as he walks alongside you. "I can't believe that was my first time seeing you in full prosecutor mode."

"Hardly," he says, rolling his eyes lightly. "I was called to give testimony, it's very different."

"I'm just surprised that prosecutor is still walking after how hard you hit him." He shoots you a look and you raise your hands in surrender. "Metaphorically, of course."

"That was a straight knock out." Derek comes up behind you and throws an arm around your shoulder as he spins you both to face Hotch. "The crowd practically cheered when you cleaned the floor with him."

"Thank you," he concedes, flashing his eyes at you. "Now let's get back to work. We still have to get more evidence for the rest of the trial."

And just like that, everyone switches back into work mode. Derek drops his arm and jogs forward to catch up to Rossi and Spencer, while Emily calls Garcia to get the latest update.

Using the moment of solitude, you bump his shoulder again. "Do you ever wish you were still a prosecutor? Your life would certainly be a lot simpler."

He shakes his head, the answer coming quickly and firmly. "I couldn't do it then, and I still couldn't now. Seeing the murderers come in after they've finished killing...I needed to know I could stop them before they were done."

His sentiment sounds familiar. Your mind flashes back to the little boy who took matters into his own hands, because no one could stop the pain for him.

You blink and it's present day again. You loved your best friend who fought his own battles without asking for help, and, even though he's vastly different, you love your best friend as he is now.

***

"Five shootings in two weeks."

"It's about time we got the call."

The whole team, plus Garcia, flies up to New York, where an unsub has been shooting people around the city, seemingly at random.

"Kate Joyner heads up the New York field office," Hotch explains, glancing down at his cell phone. "She's running point on the case and called me directly."

You have heard of her, which isn't too surprising, but all you know is that she's British and seems to be very good at her job.

"You know her?" Morgan asks him, echoing your thoughts.

Hotch nods. "We liaised when she was still at Scotland Yard."

They liaised. You don't know what that implies, but you also know that he and Haley didn't take a single break during their relationship after graduating college, so it can't be anything too personal.

JJ and Emily share a look, but you don't engage with them, instead looking back at the case file and trying to focus on any of the words that aren't 'Kate Joyner'.

***

"Kate."

A pretty blonde woman approaches you all with a smile only for Hotch. "Aaron. How have you been?"

He nods. "Well, thank you. This is my team." He introduces each of you to her, but you don't miss how her eyes linger on you when he mentions your name.

"Thanks for being here," she says, before walking you all through the background of the case. Shootings in different precincts, seemingly random, FBI only brought in after the fourth murder.

After explaining the details and introducing you to the local detectives on the case, she pulls Hotch aside for a private word in her office. You turn back to the team, trying not to let your gaze linger on them as they walk away.

The NYPD doesn't seem happy that SSA Joyner has taken over their case, but even though she comes off as a bit brusque, you can tell she cares about catching this unsub just as much as they do.

"What's your partner's problem?" Reid asks Detective Cooper, the only local officer who has made an effort to meet any of you.

"We're glad the FBI was brought in," he explains with a heavy sigh, "but all of a sudden Joyner's taking meetings with the mayor and calling in you all without us knowing anything about it."

You can understand his hesitation, but you also need his cooperation if you're going to get anything done here.

"We're only here to help," Emily tells him as you turn around to find JJ.

"Has Garcia gotten settled in with the New York tech analyst?" you ask once you find her staring at a map of the various boroughs. She doesn't answer immediately, so you nudge her shoulder. "JJ?"

"Huh?" she startles. "Oh, sorry, yeah. She called a few minutes ago, she's all good."

JJ is usually the focused one who brings you back on track, so you're surprised by how distracted she seems. You nod in acknowledgement, scrutinizing her expression for another second, before heading back to the team. Your eyes involuntarily dart over to Kate's office, and you notice how close together she and Hotch are. You're about to avert your eyes when their body language becomes a bit clearer: each time she leans in to say something, he subtly pulls back.

The dynamic of their relationship is suddenly apparent, and you mentally kick yourself for daring to assume the worst when he first mentioned her. You can't say the same for your opinion of her, though. He's still wearing his ring, for God's sake. Based on how little you've heard about her from him (nothing, you mean), you doubt she even knows about the divorce yet.

Derek and JJ head out with the detectives to check out the last crime scene, while you stay back with Emily and Spencer to build the anti-geographical profile. When another victim is shot, you head to the new scene to see if you can build a working profile.

"It's a different borough again," you sigh after getting out of the SUV and joining Hotch, Kate, Derek, and JJ in front of the body. "Prentiss and Reid are back at the office still working the profile from a geographical angle. We're starting to think maybe we should get officers out onto the high-traffic intersections, and maybe even get some of us out there too."

"Uniforms are rounding up witnesses," Kate jumps in, ignoring you. "It doesn't seem like anyone got a clean look."

You see Derek glance at you out of the corner of your eye, but you don't entertain the look. If she has some issue with you that you aren't aware of, you won't give her the satisfaction of letting her get to you. "The unsub's probably gone before anyone even realizes it's happening,"

Hotch nods, turning to face Kate. "Is this what it felt like during the Son of Sam."

She returns his gaze. "First we realized that if the violence was truly random, there was almost no way of stopping it. Seems like these people have figured that out."

You look up, trying to see if there's anything in the vicinity you can use to ID the unsub. Your eyes catch on a security camera outside one of the delis directly behind you. "From the placement of that camera, odds are the only view they're going to get is the back of his head."

She frowns. "Let's not be too quick to decide what we do or don't have."

This time it's both Derek and JJ that glance at you, but you turn to Hotch, who is avoiding meeting your eyes. Kate steps away to speak with the detectives at the scene, so you grab his arm and pull him aside. "What is her problem?"

He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. "FBI brass has made it clear to her that if she doesn't bring this case home, she's going to be reassigned. And you are at the top of the list to replace her."

"Replace her?" you echo, trying to process what he's saying. "I haven't even been in the BAU that long."

"It's not about field experience," he says, angling his body so that you're separated from the others. "You've been with the bureau longer than I have, and your work speaks for itself. It's not a surprise that they'd want to promote you."

You still can't wrap your head around the fact that you could be leading a unit yourself, or that you may have to leave the team you love, so you focus on what you do know. "I thought the bureau was proud of the fact that they stole her from Scotland Yard."

"I don't know," he shrugs, glancing back at her. "Politics here are different."

***

After finishing up at the crime scene, the whole team heads to the hotel to get some rest for the night. You feel more alert than you usually do after a long day of building a profile, and you adjust your bag strap on your shoulder as you dig around the side pockets for your room key. You don't plan on going to bed for at least a few more hours, and you might as well use the time to work on the case, but you need your key if you're going to get any sleep at all.

When your fingers finally catch on the thin plastic card, you look up to see a familiar face that you've been seeing more often than not, as of late. "Wait, isn't that..."

JJ looks up with a start, and she doesn't look distracted for the first time all day. "Will."

He gets up from the lobby chair he was lounging in and approaches her. "Hey, I took a shot and flew to D.C., but when it didn't work, I figured a train ride to New York was only a few more hours."

"Detective." Hotch reaches out and shakes his hand, before glancing at you with a frown that says, Did you know he was coming?

You shake your head imperceptibly and turn back to Will as he looks longingly at JJ. "Look, I'm sorry for showing up like this. I know you're working, but I can't stand you being on this case and me not being near." He pauses for a beat. "Not with what's going on."

That makes you frown too.

Hotch echoes your thoughts. "Is there a problem?"

JJ takes a deep breath and turns around to face all of you. "I'm pregnant."

Oh my God.

"Oh, my God," Emily exclaims, pulling her into a hug, the first of you to regain her bearings after hearing the news. "JJ, congratulations."

"That's amazing, JJ," you grin, hugging her next.

You don't miss how stiff Hotch is as Will shakes his hand. "I've asked JJ to marry me."

"Will," JJ says tightly, a warning in her voice.

He chuckles. "Well, we're working out some kinks."

"We'll give you both some privacy." Hotch turns away from them, his face falling the moment she can't see him anymore. You know he's hurt that she didn't trust him with this information, but you're surprised by just how downtrodden he seems.

JJ rushes after him. "Hotch-"

"JJ, you could have told me," he says softly, his voice both confused and stung.

She looks down. "I know."

"Because I understand if you need to take some time."

"No," she shakes her head, without a look back. "I want to be here."

"Okay," he nods, not looking at any of you. "7:00 AM."

You try to catch his arm as he walks off, but he either ignores it, or he doesn't feel you reaching for him. You choose to believe it's the latter.

***

You all deliver the working profile to the police officers first thing the next morning. While you're explaining an alternate possibility, Garcia calls with an update that a possible unsub was caught on camera shooting someone on a subway platform at one of the intersections you suggested that your team patrol yesterday.

"We could have had that guy," you say, your voice fuming with anger as you turn to Kate with a glare you haven't used in ages.

She doesn't falter. "Even if we were on that platform, odds are he would have moved onto someone isolated."

"Maybe, but it was worth taking a shot."

She fixes you with a stare. "I had every available man on the street."

"And I suggested to you that you use this team." You can't believe that her decision to ignore your advice yesterday might have just cost someone else their life. You can see the rest of the team looking at you with some blend of concern or indignation on your behalf, but you don't care. You just need Hotch to back you up.

Instead he just looks at you. "L/N, second-guessing doesn't do us any good right now."

You're so angry, you can barely see straight. Emily reaches for your arm, but you shake her off. "Hotch, how are we supposed to look these cops in the eye and tell them that we're actually here to help them, if she won't let us do our job?"

"We're here to present a profile," he says simply, not quite meeting your eye. "That's what we need to do."

You gape at him, your back straightening as you get ready to stand your ground. You don't disagree on things like this often, but when you do, it's usually a civil conversation that gets resolved quickly. You've never felt this angry about his handling of a case before, but then again, he's never not had your back before. "We've got seven bodies, Hotch."

He looks at you then, and you can't discern anything from his expression. It's a blank slate that sends a shiver down your spine. "It's not your place to have this discussion."

"Screw you."

You spin around, shoving away Derek and Emily as they try to talk you down. You stalk past them and out of the field office, where the cool evening air fills your sinuses and clears your head for a moment of silence. You stand on the sidewalk for a few seconds, waiting, and when he doesn't follow you out, you just manage to convince yourself that you're not disappointed, but relieved.

***

You're sitting at the hotel bar when Rossi finally finds you. You only ordered a lemon water, still feeling like you're on the clock, even if there's a good chance Hotch won't let you back into the investigation.

"I know," you huff when he takes a seat beside you. "I was out of line."

"You got too emotionally involved," he says, turning to face you. "I know you and Hotch are friends, but that doesn't mean you get to be unprofessional."

You sigh, your body deflating as all the fight leaves you. "I just felt like he was taking her side. Like he didn't have my back."

"There are no sides here."

You nod. "I know."

"And he does have your back." You look at him then, and he flashes you a small smile. "That man will always have your back. Right now, he's just worried about how Kate is holding up, with the word on the street."

That surprises you. "You know about the promotion?"

He nods. "People talk. But if she were to get fired, it would be because we didn't solve this case."

You frown, lifting your hand in defense. "Rossi, I hope you're not saying you think I want her to fail."

"Of course not," he shakes his head. "I just hope you know what you're doing."

"I lost my head for a second," you acknowledge, taking a sip of water. "I think I just needed a minute."

"And you got it," he says simply. "But right now, I see someone who wants to get back on the job. Or is there another reason why you ordered a glass of water at a bar?"

You set your glass down, letting out a surprised chuckle. "Where is everyone now?"

You both stand up, and he leads you out of the lobby. "Joyner took your advice. We're spreading out across the city."

***

"Emily, what happened?"

You rush forward to where she is standing over the dead body of a young man. Detective Cooper was taken in an ambulance to a nearby hospital after getting shot, and you only just arrived on the scene.

"He was strangely calm," she whispers as Derek and JJ come up behind her. "It's almost like suicide by cop."

"Why?" JJ thinks out loud. "Why would he do that?"

Derek looks at you. "We need to walk back through this profile."

Hundreds of thoughts are swirling through your brain, but based on the look on everyone's faces, you can tell they're thinking the same thing you are: terrorism.

After the crime scene officials arrive, you head over to your SUV to get back to the field office. Derek heads out to brief Homeland Security, and Reid leaves to talk to the Port Authority police, while Hotch and Kate call with the update that they will be going to speak with the mayor's office.

You start your SUV and pull out into the street when a loud explosion goes off a few streets behind you, the plume of smoke and fire large enough that you catch the high end of it in your rearview mirror.

You screech to a stop, just as your phone starts to ring.

TAGLIST: @citrusiove, @sanayikes, @yiiiikesmish, @mdanon027, @alice-w0rld, @beata1108, @bakugocanstompme, @raely-study, @himboelover, @hermionegalathynius, @rousethemouse, @calif0rniadreamin, @tolerateit13, @delusional-13s-blog (message me to be added!)

[zepskies]

Smoke Eater - Part 6

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader 

Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real. 

That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.   

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 7,000 Tags/Warnings: Fluff, jealousy, angst, hurt/comfort

Part 6: “Just Casual”

A few days after the house fire that claimed the life of Paul Richardson, father of two, Chief Bobby Singer was joined in his office by Detectives Winchester and Novak, along with his resident Squad Captain and Truck Lieutenant, Benny and Dean.

“The Richardson fire has officially been determined an arson,” Bobby revealed.

“They found a time-delay incendiary device hidden in the attic. No fingerprints. But that’s not even the odd thing,” he said. “The medical examiner found a brand mark on his wrist that was inconsistent with his other burns. Which is why you’re here, I reckon.”

Bobby directed his gaze at both John and Cas, who didn’t look surprised to hear this news.

Dean raised a brow. His gaze shifted to his father, but John only met his stare for a moment before he answered Bobby’s unspoken question.

“We’ve been investigating a series of murders in the area over the past six months,” John said. “Each victim died in their home, with the same brand somewhere on their body. Typically the wrist, or the back of the neck.”

“So we officially have a serial killer turned arsonist on our hands,” Bobby concluded. His attention shifted to Benny and Dean. “Keep this close to the vest, but keep your eyes open.”

“Arsonists are hard to catch,” Dean said, looking to the detectives. “What do you know about this guy?”

Cas glanced at John. The older man could feel his stare, but had to ignore it for now.

“Not much as of yet,” John said. “Right now he’s a coil of smoke, if you’ll pardon the phrase. Our psychologist says he’s most likely a white male, statistically speaking. College educated, or at the very least intelligent, efficient, and so far, he thinks every step through. Like he said, no prints. But the brand is a message.”

“To who, and why, is what we’ve been trying to figure out,” Cas added. “We think that’s the key to pinpointing a suspect.”

“Really,” Dean said. He raised a brow and crossed his arms. “Six months, and that’s all you’ve got?”

“Dean,” John started, but the Lieutenant shook his head.

“Come on, Dad. I know you. Who is this guy?”

“Dean, this is the best I can give you right now, but believe me, we’re working on it,” John said, that tone that boded no further argument.

Bullshit, Dean wanted to shoot back. But he held his tongue for now. He knew that John wouldn’t budge. Instinct still told Dean that his father was holding something back though.

As the men filtered out of Bobby’s office, Dean held Cas back for a moment.

“Watch the old man’s back, all right,” Dean said. “He’s got a penchant for being reckless.”

Cas gave him a wry, pointed look. “I’m doing my best. Winchesters are a stubborn lot.” 

Dean smirked and walked out with him. Meg was headed inside, having just come in from an ambulance call. She smiled when she saw her boyfriend.

“Hey, lover,” she greeted. And she smacked his ass in front of God and the entire Rescue Squad, who liked to sit outside the firehouse and play cards at their table.

Ramirez and the others smirked and called out their customary whoops and cat calls. Dean smirked at the actual blushing discomfort that tightened up Cas’s face and shoulders.

“Dinner tonight at Casablanca’s, right?” Meg asked, unfazed by the catcalling peanut gallery.

“Right,” Cas said stiffly. But he still brushed her cheek with his thumb in affection. “See you later.”

“Yep,” she nodded, though she shot Dean a wry brow. “What? I stole your boyfriend. Get over it.”

She continued on her path back inside the firehouse, leaving Dean and Cas to stare after her in annoyance and begrudging fondness, respectively.

Dean turned to his friend and clapped him on the shoulder.

“Good luck and Godspeed, my friend. That woman’s fuckin’ terrifying.” 

Cas gave him a lazy salute as he walked away. He found that John had already started up their police car. He was in the driver’s seat, as always, with a hand resting casually on the steering wheel.

Dean typically sat in much the same way. Cas thought both men were more comfortable in a car than anywhere else in life. Except, maybe, the precinct and the firehouse.

Cas slid into the passenger seat and gave his partner a knowing look.

“I still think you should tell Sam and Dean what’s really happening here,” he said.

John looked over at him with an almost unreadable expression. But they had been partners for a few years now; long enough for Cas to get a read on the older veteran.

“I understand why you want to keep them out of this, but now this guy is starting fires. Here, in Dean’s district,” Cas pointed out. “Wouldn’t it be safer for him if he had clearer eyes walking into the next one?”

If, God forbid, something should go wrong on the next call Dean responded to, John would never forgive himself. Both he and Cas knew this, but John never answered his partner’s question. He didn’t want his sons getting their noses in this just yet, even if it meant the worry he saw in Dean’s eyes.

So he put the car in “drive” and peeled away from the firehouse.

Trying to match your schedule with Dean’s was a challenge you two were trying to figure out. Though you’d fallen into a pattern of talking on the phone to fill the void when you two couldn’t meet.

Even after almost two more weeks and a third date, you were pleasantly surprised that you and Dean still had plenty to talk about. You told him more about your childhood with your grandparents, while he told you funny stories about him and Sam growing up with their dad, though he was often gone while working on cases.

It was family friend and Fire Chief, Bobby Singer who looked after them whenever John couldn’t, or his old partner Jody Mills, or even Ellen Harvelle, owner of the Roadhouse.

The more you learned about Dean, the more invested you became. And he listened to you when you went on tangents about new recipes you wanted to try out (as long as he got to be your official Taste Tester).

You two argued, playfully and fervently, about music. And you’d been creating a list of old shows the other hadn’t seen, but absolutely needed to.

Dean had suggested Dukes of Hazzard, for example, while you suggested Smallville. You each only agreed to put up with this list if you two watched it together. (Needless to say, there would be some marathon binge watching in your future.)

You particularly took notice though, when Dean invited you to join him at the Roadhouse to meet Cas, one of his best friends, and his girlfriend Meg. You’d invited Andréa to come along, and even Dean’s friend Benny, who she’d also been seeing ever since that night at the Roadhouse.

Apparently, the couple had their own plans.

You tried not to feel some type of way about her brush-off, but your friend had been increasingly distant since she met Benny Lafitte. However, you supposed you couldn’t judge. You hadn’t been calling her as much either, ever since you met Dean.

You knew that if you kept dating him, some adjustments would have to come in your life. You also promised yourself that you’d never be someone who forgot your friends for a man…even for a man like Dean Winchester.

Tonight, however, you’d come directly from work to meet him at the bar. It made more sense than to make him come pick you up from your house, so you sat with a ginger ale while you waited. He’d promised you via text that he was on the way, just stuck in traffic.

Okay, drive safe. 😘 Don’t speed, please.

You knew how he liked floor the Impala with that damn lead foot of his.

No promises. 🏎️

You wanted to roll your eyes, but you were smiling unconsciously as you read his reply.

You were soon knocked out of your thoughts when a smooth voice said your name. You looked up and to your right, and there stood a familiar face. The man greeted you with an easy smile as he sat down next to you.

“I thought that was you,” he said. He reached out his hand and re-introduced himself. “Gordon Walker. Not sure if you remember me.”

“Oh, yes! Of course I do, Gordon,” you smiled and shook his hand.

“It’s good to see you again,” he said. His dark eyes subtly took you in from head to toe in your skirt, heels, and blouse. “Though I’ve gotta admit, I’ve never seen you here before.”

“Ah, right,” you said. “Well—”

Before you could explain, Gordon held up a finger as he noticed your drink of choice.

“Oh, wait a sec. Let me get you something stronger than soda,” he said. He started to flag down Jo, but you shook your head and made a cutting motion with your hand.

“Uh, no, that’s okay,” you said. “I’m waiting for someone.”

“What?” Gordon asked.

It was getting busy in the bar, making it loud enough that you could understand why he hadn’t heard you. You leaned over towards his ear.

“I’m good for now, thanks,” you said, raising your voice a bit. Gordon leaned in even closer and chanced resting a hand above your knee.

“You sure?” he asked. He gave you a smile that was all smooth sex appeal and confidence, without being arrogant.

It was undoubtedly attractive, but you were more shocked than charmed in your blush. You instinctively leaned back when you felt his hand on your thigh. Your hand clenched on the counter.

While your brain scrambled to figure out a response that would successfully remove it (without snapping rudely like you were itching to), a hand slipped along your lower back.

You jolted a bit in your seat with a flare of unease, until you turned your head and found Dean.

“Hey, baby,” he greeted, and dropped a kiss at your hairline. He also clapped a heavy hand on Gordon’s shoulder and squeezed. The other man graciously got the hint and leaned back, withdrawing his hand from your thigh.

“Hi,” you said, finally able to breathe a bit easier. You gave Dean a smile, and he returned it.

He looked over at his friend with a sharper smile. “Hey, Gord. How’s your night goin’?”

“Good.” Gordon nodded, now with a knowing gleam in his eye. “Though I’m sure your night’s gonna go better.”

You weren’t sure how to take that remark, considering the way Dean reacted with a tighter expression and pursed lips. Then, they flickered at a smile.

“Well, we’re meeting up with Meg and Cas in a minute. You should join us,” Dean said. Even though his tone wasn’t so very inviting. The two men seemed to have a wordless conversation between the lines that you couldn’t decipher.

Gordon shook his head, but raised his drink. “No worries, you guys hang. I’m leaving in a few.”

“All right. Let us know if you change your mind,” Dean said. He thumped Gordon once more on the back, more friendly this time.

Dean’s other hand slipped around your waist. He tapped you on the side.

“Come on, I’ve got us a table. It’s quieter,” he said.

You nodded and slid out of your seat. You offered Gordon a polite smile, even if you’d rather not.

“Have a good night,” you said.

The other man’s smile was less flirtatious and more polite this time as well.

“You too,” he said. 

Dean helped you onto your feet, like the gentleman he was, and he continued to lead you away from the bar with a hand on the small of your back. You instinctively pressed against his side to squeeze past the throng of patrons.

When you reached a high-top table in the corner, he pulled out your chair and held your hand as you climbed up in your skirt. You thanked him with a more genuine smile. Though once he was seated next to you, you leaned towards him and laid a hand on his arm, which rested on the table.

“I tried to tell him I was waiting for you. He took me by surprise,” you whispered.

Dean’s brows rose, but his face soon evened out with a smile. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Don’t worry about it. He didn’t know about us,” he said. “He was shootin’ his shot…a bit aggressively. Sorry about that.”

“Oh…it’s okay. Nothing I haven’t dealt with before,” you replied. Though butterflies ran through your belly when you considered what us meant.

You noted his frown at what you’d said though, and so you aimed to change the subject.

“But Cas and Meg know, right?” you asked.

Dean nodded. His frown started to lift. “Yeah. Cas is one of my best friends. Meg is…well. She’s the little sister I wish I didn’t have.”

You shook your head in amusement. Then you let out a squeal as Dean hooked a foot around the leg of your chair and brought you closer. He stopped you from becoming too unbalanced by wrapping an arm around your waist. You clenched your hands into the open panels of his plaid shirt, and his charming smile greeted you.

“Hi,” he said.

You laughed. “Yeah, you mentioned that earlier.”

“Well, I’m doing it right this time,” he said. And he dipped down for a lingering kiss.

Across the bar was Jo Harvelle, doing her job behind the counter. She poured five shots in succession and doled them out to a party of frat bros without even looking.

Her eyes were drawn to the back corner of the bar, where you and Dean sat closely together, exchanging whispers and the occasional steamy kiss.

“Mind your business,” came Ellen’s whisper in her ear.

Jo whipped her head to glare softly at her mother, but she saw Ellen’s point. It was both obvious and pathetic of her to stare.

Despite the unease making her feel a bit sick to her stomach, Jo went over to Gordon down at the end. His sympathetic smile bothered her; she knew then she hadn’t just been caught by her mother.

“Interesting, isn’t it?” he remarked.

“What?” Jo said. She began wiping down his area of the counter. “Would it kill you to keep it in the glass?”

Gordon gave her an amused look as he sat back in his seat. His tumbler of whiskey was drained.

“Look, I’m sorry, all right?” he said.

Both of them knew he wasn’t apologizing for the spill.

Jo’s brows knitted together, mostly in annoyance. “Again, for what?”

“I know it’s gotta be hard to see him actually moving on,” he replied.

Her lips pursed, and her eyes darted to the back of the room again. She stared for a moment at the side of your face.

“Knowing him, whatever it is won’t last,” she muttered.

Gordon hissed at the "burn," with a deep chuckle. She knew her words weren’t kind, but it was how she felt.

“That may be,” he allowed. “But he’s not just chasing tail anymore. That’s what scares you.” 

Gordon dropped a nice tip for her next to his glass. He grabbed his coat off the back of his chair and left Jo with the churning in her gut.

Cas and Meg finally arrived a few minutes later.

Dean knew you’d been to the Roadhouse before, but this was different. You were meeting some of his friends, and he realized how much he wanted you to. He felt…comfortable around you. And he wanted his friends to know you, and to like you.

“As you know, Meg’s our Paramedic in Charge over at 25,” he began, gesturing at the woman as she got settled in her seat.

You admired her long brown hair, tall boots, and black leather jacket. She seemed to ooze confidence and dark charisma as she tossed you a smirk.

“Guilty,” she said.

You smiled back. Dean gestured at her boyfriend next, clad in a beige trench coat, slacks, and blazer.

“And Cas, who bravely suffers being my dad’s partner on the job.”

Cas nodded wryly at the introduction. His dark hair and blue eyes were striking, you could admit. His tie was loose and slightly rumpled. Along with the stubble coating his face, he was handsome, if a bit scruffy. It was hard for you to believe he’d earned the top scores his year in the Police Academy, but you supposed that looks could be deceiving.

“What’s that like?” you asked with a smirk. “From what I’ve heard about John Winchester, he sounds like he’s a bit of a hard-ass.”

Dean barked with a dry laugh. “An understatement.”

“He has a crab-like shell,” Cas agreed. “But he has a soft center where it counts, not unlike his sons.”

You turned to Dean with a more teasing smile. “Aww…”

He rolled his eyes, even though his arm, which had been draped across the back your chair, now dropped to curl around your waist.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Columbo,” he remarked at his blue-eyed friend.

Always had to get the last dig in, it seemed, but you couldn’t help but laugh a little along with Meg at Cas’s expense.

“You guys all seem really close,” you said. It was nice for you to see.

Dean shrugged like it was no big deal. Or rather, like it was commonplace.

“Well, maybe family ain’t just about blood,” he said.

Meg rolled her eyes. “Ugh. What a friggin’ sap.”

“You love it,” Dean grinned. She smiled, begrudgingly.

Family ain’t just about blood.

You liked that sentiment as well. It seemed to be true here. 

Even Ellen Harvelle treated Dean like a son when she came over to greet your table. She kissed his cheek and gave Meg and Cas’s shoulders a squeeze. Even you got a warm hand on your shoulder when she introduced herself.

“Welcome, hun. I understand it’s not your first time here, but if you got any questions on the menu, you let me know,” she said.

Dean shot you a conspiratorial smile, and it got you wondering what he was about to do.

“I mean, I don’t know why you don’t put the order in for chili fries the second you see me come through the door,” he teased. “Come on, Ellen. How long’ve I been coming here? Since before I had a license?”

Ellen narrowed her eyes and flicked the side of Dean’s head, regardless of his flinching protest.

“Don’t you go sayin’ that so damn loud,” she reproached. “You never drank underage at my bar.”

His eyes averted with a smile, in a way that told you Ellen was a damn liar. You bit your lip to try and hide your smile.

“Anyway, I’ll get your damn fries—”

“And a beer,” Dean interjected. She rolled her eyes.

“And a beer. Four?” she pointed at the rest of you, and you, Cas, and Meg nodded in agreement.

“All right, four beers. Anything else, darlin’?” She looked at you with a mother’s charm.

You looked up from the menu and unconsciously smiled.

“Um, sure. Can I get the chicken sandwich?”

She patted your shoulder. “You sure can.”

Ellen then took the rest of their orders without writing a thing down. You were impressed by her memory. At the end though, Dean didn’t let her go without a hand on her arm.

“Thanks, Ellen,” he said with a more sincere smile.

“A-huh,” she replied, with all due sarcasm. But there was a fondness in her eyes that was hard to miss when she playfully grabbed the back of his neck. “Knucklehead.”

A giggle escaped you, and Ellen tossed you a wink before she went to put in the orders and get the drinks.

Conversation flowed easier when the alcohol came. One beer became two, and even three (four, for Meg). By then, you were sure it was one beer too many for yourself, but you didn’t want to be the odd one out. You were mostly listening to the three of them bounce back and forth between reminiscing with old stories and roasting one another mercilessly.

It was hilarious and entertaining, but you were trying not to get caught in the crosshairs of the volleying. Inevitably though, Meg’s attention turned to you with a certain sly smile.

“You must be real special,” she remarked, gesturing at Dean. “He usually doesn’t bring his girls around here, where he actually likes to hang out. Guess that’d mean he’d have to see ‘em again with the lights on.”

You blinked in surprise.

“Meg,” Dean’s voice cut like a warning.

Your eyes widened as you took in the change, his deeper voice, his more serious gaze, versus Meg’s nonchalance. Even Cas gave her a chiding look.

“Not sure I want to know what that means,” you tried to joke.

But you could guess. It was fairly obvious.

You glanced over at Dean, whose lips pursed. Before either of you could say anything more, Meg chimed in.

“Oooh, is this gonna be your first fight?” she teased.

Dean’s brows furrowed with a glare. “That’s enough.”

“And that’s our cue,” Cas nodded. He’d already slipped out his wallet as soon as his girlfriend started talking. He left a generous few bills to cover their half of the night, plus tip, and got up out of his seat. He claimed his coat and then encouraged Meg off her chair.

“What? I’m not done with my beer,” she protested.

“I think you are,” Cas said.

Meg scoffed, but she allowed his manhandling as he wrapped a supportive arm around her waist.

“You’re not the boss of me, Clarence,” she snipped.

“Certainly not,” he agreed. “But you’re a lightweight. Time to go home, before you insult the entire bar.”

“You’re no fucking fair,” she groused, hitting his chest over his jacket. Cas leveled you and Dean with a long-suffering look of apology.

Dean waved him off with a “no sweat it” look and a shake of his head. Meg annoyed the shit out of him sometimes, especially when she was drunk. He turned to you with a sigh.

“Again, sorry about that. I didn’t think I’d have to apologize for my friends more than once tonight,” he said.

You shook your head. “It’s...okay. Overall, they were really fun.”

Dean scoffed. “I don’t think Cas has been called fun even once in his life.”

You smiled in amusement, but Meg’s words still swirled around in your head like heady wine.

“Dean,” you began, but your attempt to broach the issue was cut off by his cell phone ringing. He gave you an apologetic look and fished in his pocket for his phone. His brows rose when he saw the caller ID.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I gotta take this,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

“Oh, okay—” You’d barely nodded when Dean was up and out of his chair, heading out of the bar. You could still see him through one of the faded glass doors as he held the phone up to his ear.

It was late, and quieter now. A blonde server came to take your plates, and you actually remembered her.

“Oh, hi! Jo, right?” you asked. She hesitated when you spoke, but she bobbed her head.

“That’s me,” she said. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No, I’m good. Thanks,” you said with a smile. “I met your mom. She’s really nice.”

Jo uttered a wry laugh as she stacked the plates and silverware. You helped her collect the silverware and empty beer bottles.

“Yeah, when you get her good side,” she replied. 

You smirked at that, remembering how Ellen snapped back and forth with Dean. You had no doubt that woman could be a pistol if you pissed her off.

“Well, it's nice here,” you admitted, once again taking stock of the décor. The music, the warm lighting, the good food… “It’s cozy.”

Jo’s smile quirked to one side as she paused.

“Well, it’s been in my family for three generations of Harvelles,” she said. “This was my father’s favorite place in the world.”

You caught the note of melancholy in her words, in her eyes.

“Was?” you echoed. She met your gaze and nodded.

“He was a firefighter,” she said. “He died on the job.”

You dimmed considerably. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Jo only nodded.

“How did he…” Your curiosity got the best of you, but you soon shook your head and backtracked. “Never mind, you don’t have to explain.”

“It was a fire that wasn’t properly vented,” Jo answered your half-spoken question. Her blue eyes were heavier. “He got caught in an updraft…but he actually worked at Firehouse 25. He was their brother. That’s why this’ll always be their place.”

You processed that with a slow nod of wonder.

“It’s good that you and your mom will always have that support,” you said eventually. “Even though…it might be hard too, to always be reminded.”

Jo’s lips quirked again. “It’s more the first one, but…sometimes the second one. A lot of these guys have known me since I had braces. It’s hard to shake that perpetual little sister thing.”

You smiled at that. “Yeah, I’d imagine that gets old real quick. A bunch of over-protective older brothers.”

“Overbearing, more like,” she scoffed. You laughed.

Unconsciously, you glanced over to the front of the bar, where you saw Dean still on the phone. You remembered the second date you were meant to have, when he was late due to a five-car pileup his team responded to.

You remembered that night he called you for the first time, after a long day he didn’t want to tell you about. He’d let you distract him instead. All the while, it had you wondering what he’d seen. What he’d responded to that day.

Had it been another car accident? A fire? What made someone as upbeat and funny and smooth as Dean seem to lose all the life in his voice?

Though while you were lost in your thoughts, Jo was watching you.

Jealousy roiled inside her, unbidden. She didn’t want to hate you, because unlike the girls Dean usually messed around with, you had some self-respect. Jo heard Meg’s snide clips at you earlier, and no one could fake the surprise in your eyes. Unless you were just that good a damn actor…

But no, she didn’t get that vibe from you.

It didn’t mean she had to like you though. 

“You’re right to think twice,” Jo said, earning your attention back with a swivel of your head. “What Meg said…she wasn’t wrong. Dean’s broken a few hearts, if you catch my drift.”

Just a few well-placed words, Jo thought. She realized then that she had the power to twist the wrench here, widening the gap between you and Dean. Feed your doubts.

She didn’t have to feel bad about it if it was the truth.

And yet…she saw the way your gaze fell. The disappointment setting in, the anxious clench of your hands on the table. You glanced over at Dean again out of the corner of your eye.

Jo realized then just what she was doing, not just to Dean, but to herself.

You’re not some petty bitch, she dully reminded herself.

“But,” she found herself adding. You raised your gaze back to her. Jo let out a subtle breath.

“It’s not always his fault,” she admitted. And maybe she was speaking a bit too much from experience. “The job demands a lot from him.”

Slowly, you nodded. You looked pensive, but not like you’d made up your mind.

Fine, Jo thought, as she collected the dishes and left your table.

She didn’t know if she wanted to sway you one way or the other on taking a chance on Dean Winchester.   

While you were talking to Jo, Dean was taking his father’s unexpected call.

“Hey, Dad. What’s up?” he said.

“Hey, son. How are ya?” John’s voice was gruff and tired. Dean frowned to hear it.

“I’m good. I’m out right now, but did you need something?”

“Have you responded to any fires lately?”

“You mean like the Richardson fire?” Dean asked pointedly. “No, haven’t had one since. And no cattle prod brandings either.”

“All right, good. Just checking in.”

Good? Dean thought. John would be chomping at the bit for a new arson. If he was “just checking in,” then he was worried about something. Is he worried about me?

“What’s going on? Is there something I need to know?” Dean asked in suspicion. This was why he had taken the call. “Seriously, you can tell me. I’m not even gonna bitch at you like Sam does.”

John chuckled. But then he hesitated. Dean knew he’d hit on something.

“Dad?” he pressed.

John’s sigh was a heavy one. “Okay. What I’m about to tell you, you don’t fucking repeat. Not to anyone, you understand me? Not even your brother.”

Dean’s brows furrowed in trepidation. “Okay, fine. What the hell is it?”

“Richardson, the father of two?” John reminded. “He was a lawyer, linked to a money laundering scheme through a company called Stull Storage. It’s an old company, dates back to the seventies.”

“Okay…” 

As John continued to explain, the more confused Dean became… 

About 30 years ago, John Winchester had been a young, but promising officer in the Narcotics division. He’d married young, and by then was just barely clearing the five-year mark. Already he had the house he’d inherited from his wife’s parents, a four-year-old son, and a newborn.

Stull Storage’s units were used by a drug ring that John had been trying to infiltrate, undercover. Those units had stored cocaine, illegal weapons, and other flavors of contraband, mostly from South America (and back).

“We got close to breaking that case, once, but after the fire…I transferred out of Narcotics, as you know,” John said.

Dean knew the real story there. After his mom died, his father went into a spiral, trying to find whoever set that fire—even after the Fire Department found no evidence of arson. John had eventually been forced out of Narcotics. He requested Homicide.

As he’d told Dean once when he was extremely drunk: I seem to do better at my job when the bodies are already dead.

“Now I know that I was right about your mother’s death,” John said.

Dean released a shaky sigh. “Aw, man. Not this again, Dad. For Christ’s sake.”

“There was something wrong about that fire, Dean,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over Dean’s objections. “I just didn’t find the connection…until now.”

Dean muttered a curse under his breath. His gaze fell to the ground. Sam was usually the one who drew a hard line at hearing any more about their mom’s supposed murder, but now Dean had reached the end of his tether. It was too much.

He glanced back through the glass doors to make sure you were okay. He saw you talking to Jo, and he frowned at himself.

Here you were, waiting on him back in the bar, and his dad was calling him in the middle of the night, chasing ghosts again.

“Look…it’s been my whole damn life with this.” Dean held the phone to his ear with one hand, and rubbed at his forehead with the other. “I just can’t do this with you anymore.”    

“Dean, listen,” John urged. “You wanna know what I’m digging into, this is it. I got Mary’s file unsealed.”

Dean’s eyes widened. “What? Thought you couldn’t do that without new evidence and a court order.”

“Well, I’ve got the evidence…maybe I was a bit impatient with the court order.”

Dean rolled his eyes. His father liked to play a little fast and loose with the rules.

“At the time, the medical examiner dismissed it. She’d been burned…” John paused on a deeper breath. “But I saw it. Mary had a burn on her wrist. It was the same brand found on Richardson. On Jerry Stillwell, CPA. Amanda Waller, journalist. It’s all connected, Dean. How they’re connected to one another, I’m not sure yet. We’re still digging…but I do know this. Richardson was a message.”

Dean’s back hit the wall of the Roadhouse. His brows furrowed as he struggled to digest everything John was saying.

“A message?” he asked. “To who?”

“To me, I think. Those kids, and their mother…you got ‘em out alive, but they weren’t meant to,” John said, his voice sounding heavy. "The wife told me her husband was erratic when he got home, holding his wrist. He'd been burned before the fire. He wouldn't say what happened...then they smelled the goddamn smoke."

"Shit," Dean replied. He leaned heavily against the wall, pressing a hand to his forehead. There was an ache starting between his eyes.

“Yeah," John agreed. "The drug ring I was investigating, when I was in Narcotics. I was getting close. And I mean close. I was about to get the Big Kahuna. The kingpin of the whole operation…and then the house fire.”

Fuck. Dean wiped at his mouth anxiously as he realized what John was saying. Fuck.

“He burned me, Dean. He must have,” John said. Meaning, the drug lord he was trying to pin down somehow discovered his identity. “Your mom paid the price of that.”

“Who is this guy?” Dean asked. His hand holding the phone was starting to tremble.

“I still don’t know his real name. Workin’ on that one too,” John said. “But they called him Azazel.”

When Dean eventually hung up with his father and returned to you at the bar, he saw you brighten. But you soon dimmed with a tinge of worry. Something of his thoughts must’ve shown on his face.

Shit. He tried his best to school his features.

“Hey, sorry about that,” he said, grasping your shoulder. “I’ll take you home.”

“I met you here, remember?” you asked.

Dean paused, then shook his head. Get it together, asshole.

“Right," he said. "Well, I’ll walk you to your car. Let me just pay real quick.”

After he sorted out the bill (he didn’t know that you’d slipped in an extra $30 in Cas’s stack for your part), he led you out, saying goodbye to Ellen and Jo while you went.

You hesitated when the two of you got to the car. Something wasn’t right with him. And both Jo and Meg’s words still rolled back and forth through your head.

“Dean, are you okay? Who was it on the phone?” you asked.

“I’m fine. It was just my dad, called to have me take a look at his car. We were just arguing about our schedules…I’m sure you can relate,” he replied, trying at a smile.

You weren’t sure if you believed him. Though he was nearly convincing, he was also shifting on his feet, hands in his pockets. His gaze roamed away from yours, above your head and over your shoulder.

“Um, I might’ve had a beer too many,” you said with a half-chuckle. “Could you walk with me for a bit? Just until my head clears enough to drive.”

“I could take you home,” Dean offered.

“And leave my car here?” you asked. In a public parking lot behind a bar?

You shook your head and pointed down the road.

“Just there and back…but if you need to go, I guess I could just sit in my car for a while.”

Dean shook his head with a frown. He couldn’t tell you that a damn serial killer was on the loose.

“No, it’s okay,” he said. “It’s a relatively safe neighborhood, but not so much at night. Not by yourself.”

He laid a hand on your back to start walking with you, but his hand soon fell back to his side. You glanced at him, but he looked straight ahead, unusually quiet and reserved.

It felt like he was checking out of this night with you. Like he just wanted to usher you into the car and leave. Did he just not want to deal with what Meg said?

“You must be real special,” she remarked, gesturing at Dean. “He usually doesn’t bring his girls around here, where he actually likes to hang out. Guess that’d mean he’d have to see ‘em again with the lights on.”

Letting out a breath, you tried to see if you could broach the subject.

“It was nice to meet some more of your friends,” you said, and with a nervous laugh, “even if it did get awkward there at the end.”

Dean finally looked over at you.

“We never exactly talked about what each of us was looking for,” you said. “What we were really doing here.” 

You stood your ground, but you tried not to look censuring. Just open to whatever he might have to say. Even so, unease churned inside you.

Dean sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “Look, she wasn’t exactly wrong about me.”

You considered that with a nod, biting the inside of your lip.

“When was the last time you were in a relationship?” you asked. Dean gave a humorless huff of a laugh. This really was the last thing he wanted to get into tonight, but he had a feeling he had no choice.

“A few months ago, for about a minute,” he said. “But uh, before then…never.”

Together, you began to cross the street while the cars on either side waited at the red light. Pedestrians had the right of way for the next 30 seconds. You looked over at him and steeled yourself.

“Dean, is this is something casual for you?”

“Define casual,” he attempted to joke (or to deflect). Though the bravado fell the moment he saw that look on your face: tight and disappointed…and hurt.  

He reached for your hand, but you weren’t having it. You slipped away from him and continued walking at a more brusque clip, even in those platform heels.  

“Okay, hold on.” He quickly followed after you and tugged you back by the hand. It had you both stopping in the middle of the crosswalk.  

Dean squeezed your hand and peered into your eyes.

“Look, I’m sorry. Don’t close up on me,” he implored. “…Please.”

Despite your better judgment, and your pursed lips, you waited. Something told you this man didn’t often say please.

“The truth is, I’m trying to do something different here with you. I don’t think we would’ve made it to date #4 if we were just casual,” he said. “I’m not playing games either.”

You wanted to trust that he was serious. Once again, your mind and your heart were at odds; the former told you to be wary, while the latter told you to trust the earnestness in his eyes.

Your heart won. “Okay, Dean.”

“Yeah?” he asked, with hopeful brows raised.

“Yeah,” you nodded.

You finally smiled. And you leaned up, resting a hand against his chest, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. His stubble was coarse, but familiar against your lips.

Dean turned his head and leaned in for a proper kiss. His hands found the curve of your waist and brought you closer against his chest. You both sunk deeper into it, your lips gliding as your head tilted into the kiss…

Until a horn honked loudly, making you both jolt at the sound.

The streetlight was green, and several cars were waiting for you to cross. You snorted in amusement, leading Dean to grin down at you. He tugged you back into step with him across the street.

Again, you hesitated at your car. Dean was more himself as he’d held your hand all the way back.

He now held your car door open while you threw in your purse. But when you turned back to him, you still saw something brooding behind his eyes.

You drew near and grasped the open edges of his shirt. This man wore a lot of plaid when he was out of uniform, always with an undershirt. Tonight it was green plaid on gray, complete with some faded jeans and a pair of boots. This was the only “casual” way in which you wanted Dean.  

“Hey,” you started.

“Hmm?” he replied, holding you by your arms.

“I get that we haven’t known each other all that long. So you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” you said. “But did something happen when you stepped out? When you talked to your dad?”

Dean paused. His eyes, a pale green under the streetlamp, flicked to yours.

“I just want to know that you’re okay,” you said. “And if you’re not, that’s okay too.”

After a moment to blink in surprise, your earnestness got to him. His grip moved down your arms, and he took one of your hands. His dad’s warning echoed through his mind.

What I’m about to tell you, you don’t fucking repeat. Not to anyone, you understand me? Not even your brother.

Dean knew his dad didn’t make demands without a reason, even if he wasn’t typically so forthcoming with them. But Dean drew enough courage to be as honest as he could be. You deserved that much, after everything you'd put up with tonight.

“My mom died...when I was about four,” he said. “It was a house fire.”

Your eyes widened. All this time, you’d assumed his mother had passed away. You hadn’t expected that, though. You squeezed his hands.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, and you meant it. Dean just shook his head.

“It was ruled an accident. Really they just didn’t have much evidence either way,” he continued. “But uh, my dad’s been obsessed with the idea that it wasn’t. That someone started the fire on purpose… Well, today, he might’ve found his proof.”

He held your gaze for as long as he could, but in the end, he just couldn’t. His chest was tight. Saying those words out loud made them real, and he wasn’t sure of how to handle it.  

“Oh, Dean,” you said, starting and stopping, as you struggled to formulate a response that wasn’t just “I’m sorry,” or “Are you okay?” 

He clearly wasn’t. You also didn’t want to give him platitudes like, “That’s crazy,” or the ever-inspired: “Wow.” 

Or some other variation of what you’re supposed to say. You wanted to give him something honest. Something real. 

So you curled your hands around his arms, earning his gaze.

“You must be reeling right now,” you said. “Do you think he’s onto something this time?”  

“I don’t know what to think,” said Dean. “I’ve been pressing him for answers, but…honestly? I wish he hadn’t told me a damn thing.” 

You didn’t know what to say to that. You were surprised that he actually confided in you with this. But the only thing you could think to do was lean up on your toes and slip your arms around his neck. You hugged him, warm and tight. 

You couldn’t even imagine what he was feeling, but you just wanted him to know that someone was there for him. You were there for him. 

Dean eventually hugged you back. He held you, reassuring you as well as himself. He blew out a cathartic breath, and his hand came up to cup the back of your head. His lips tugged upwards.

“You’re a sweetheart, you know that?” he said. 

A smile spread across your face. Your fingers soothed through his hair gently. You pressed your lips into his neck.

“I aim to please,” you said against his skin.

Dean smiled more fully at that. The new warmth in his chest warred against the roiling in his stomach. Despite his best efforts, his smile faded.

His mom’s killer was still out there.

The thought was haunting his mind, and he knew it probably would for many nights to come.

So for now, he’d just hold you a bit tighter.

AN: 🥲 I honestly didn't mean it to end so angsty, but Dean finally got some much-needed hurt/comfort there! What did you think of how Jo handled her jealous side? And Gordon "shooting his shot" lol.

Coming soon in Part 7, we finally get to a huge milestone between these two lovebirds, with a side helping of baking shenanigans. 😏❤️‍🔥

Next Time:

“Ey, ey!” he raised a warning finger with his free hand. “You’re about to take this to a new level.”

You met his gaze through your lashes with a playful smile. “So?”

Dean raised a brow at you. He could admit, you had audacity. All he could do was call your bluff.

He took one of your battered fingers into his mouth. Your eyes widened at the feel of his soft tongue swirling around your finger, sucking it clean. All the while, his eyes never broke from yours.

Lord have mercy, you thought. Really, it was the only coherent one in your head.

Keep Reading: PART 7

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[writings-of-a-demigod]

Meeting the Winchesters - Dean and Sam Winchester

plot: meeting the Winchesters while working on a case and you decide to work together.

character: Dean Winchester x hunter! reader + Sam Winchester x hunter! reader

a/n: I've been looking through my old writings and trying to fix them up and post them again in here :)

There you were at a bar reading a file for the case you were working on, you didn't have an office because you weren't a lawyer or a police officer, not even a detective you were a hunter. Yes, that's right hunting things that were barely human, even humans don't believe in them but that's not important you needed to solve the case and get out of this town.

You tried to list all the things that could be the cost of this like demons or werewolves even shapeshifters and the list goes on, while you were reading you heard a man's voice next to you talking to the bartender

"Two beers sweetheart"

You glanced at the man he was handsome and had short brown hair with green eyes and he was wearing a suit the tie was a little loose like he just got out of work. He looked at you

"Well hello" he said to you

"Not interested" you said going back to reading the file.

"I didn't say anything" he tried to defend himself but he didn't get a reply from you, he raised his eyebrow and tried to get a look at the case file "You're working on this new case, right?"

You looked at him again with dead eyes "Do you need something?" you asked because if he kept bothering you, you would punch him in the face.

"Here are your drinks sir" the bartender said putting the two beers in front of him, he smiled at her.

"Thanks" then turned his attention back to you "I'm working on this case too" he extended his hand for you to shake "My name is Dean Winchester"

You raised your eyebrow "Wait Winchester as in John Winchester's kid?"

Now it was his turn to raise his eyebrow

"You know who my dad is?"

You smiled for the first time day "Dude John is the coolest person I've ever met"

He looked confused "I didn't catch your name"

You put down the file and extended your hand to him "My name is Y/N Y/L/N nice to meet ya"

he shook it.

"Cool, listen my brother and I are working on this case wanna join us and share what you got with us?"

You got your things "Sure"

He took the two beers and led you to a booth where a man was setting there with his laptop doing some research. "Hey Sam this is Y/N Y/L/N she'll be working with us on this case" he informed him.

Sam looked up from his laptop screen and smiled at you. He extended his hand "Nice to meet you Y/N" You shook his hand "You too" You sat down on the opposite side of the boys and talked for 3 hours about what you got on the case. After discussing the case you guys started telling stories.

"So Y/n how do you know our dad?" Dean asked after taking a sip from his beer Sam looked at Dean first then you.

"Wait you knew our dad?"

You laughed "Yeah I did. He and my dad were friends and worked a few cases together when I was like 10 I looked over a case file that was lying around and told my dad about my theory but my dad didn't want me near anything he said 'I won't raise you as a hunter' but that didn't really stop me so when I told him he yelled at me for even thinking about it then John said 'Hey the kid is not wrong it won't harm us if we go according to her theory' of course my dad yelled at him for encouraging me but I just smiled at him. After the hunt, he told me that I was right about it and that I would be great at whatever I would be doing in the future".

Dean smiled "So you were a nerd since you were a little kid?"

You hit him on his arm playfully "Shut up"

He raised his hands in the air laughing.

"Don't worry he calls me a nerd all the time" Sam said smiling

"Ok so tomorrow we will talk to the victims' families" You said you all agreed on meeting outside the first victim's house.

~~Time skips to after you solved the case~~

Turned out that crossroad demons were behind everything and you and the boys solved the case you were in the bar to celebrate.

"You guys really made a name for yourselves in this career" you said looking at the boys

"Yeah, how could you not" Dean replied

"So Y/n if your dad didn't want you to be a hunter what would you be doing now?" Sam asked

"Oh well maybe I would've been a fancy lawyer you know the one who gives people the creeps just by looking at them and well a very good one." you said smiling.

You look at your watch "Oh well I gotta get out of here" standing up and taking your bag.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked

"I got another case and I need to visit someone in New York"

Dean stood up "Well good luck out there" he hugged you

"Yeah, you too Winchester" You hugged Sam next

"It was great meeting you" he said

"Oh I know" you smirked

"Hope I see you two around Bye boys" and with that you got out of the bar and into your car and drove to the state line.

[soaringeag1e]

Escape {70} Final

Detective!Dean x Victim!Reader

Warnings: Language, A Tad Bit of Sadness, Fluff

Words: 2,114

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Patreon

The cold weather wasn’t as extreme as it has been in the past, but today was definitely one of the nicest since the flowers had bloomed and the trees were filling out. A perfect day to have off work, especially with you.

You had wanted to go out and enjoy a nice lunch somewhere, preferably a place with outside seating so the two of you could enjoy the day, and Dean knew exactly where to go. It was a nice little place just up the street from the precinct, the balcony out back was blocked by trees, shielding everyone from the streets and giving a nice intimate setting. Plus, now that everything was filling out and the flowers were splashing the town with color, it was the best place to spend such a beautiful afternoon.

Between everything that has happened in the last year, from almost losing you to practically his own life ending in the hospital and then actually losing his best friend just to turn around and get married and then go back to work after calling it quits for awhile, this felt like the first time in a long time that Dean was able to take a solid breath and not have to rush off and do something else. Plus, looking across the table at you and seeing the way your hair shined under the rays of the sun and the way your eyes seemed so vibrant, he feels like he hasn’t been able to enjoy your beauty for awhile either. Something that tore at his heart a bit.

“You’re so beautiful.” he slips, saying it out loud when all he was doing was thinking it. When your eyes lock with his and your smile shines he has to remind himself to breathe. It’s like having a first date with you all over again, but now you’re his wife. Something he still can’t believe.

Your cheeks darken and your head ducks a bit as you try to hide the blush. You busy yourself with grabbing your napkin from the table and placing it in your lap and it seemed to be just in time too. Just as you did, the waitress came out with your dishes. You had ordered some pasta dish that Dean was now kind of regretting he didn’t get and he had fallen in his usual hole of ordering a juicy burger with extra onions.

“That looks good.” he comments, nodding towards your bowl before snatching a fry from his plate.

“You want to try some?” As you grab your fork and spear a bit of everything, Dean shakes his head, not wanting to steal your food from you. But you’re not taking no for an answer. Cradling your hand under the fork so as to not lose anything, you reach across the table so he can have a bite.

The second it lands on his tongue he’s in love. The flavor is ridiculous and he’s trying so hard to savor the bite. If his burger is half as good as your pasta, then he can’t wait to attack it.

“Good?” All Dean can do is make satisfied groans which of course makes you giggle, getting him to open his eyes again and look at you.

“So good.” he adds when he finally swallows the bite down. He takes another fry from his plate and then he is so ready to grab that burger and sink his teeth into it, but before he can pick it up, he catches another glimpse of you and it has him hold off for another moment. “You okay?”

“Yeah!” you answer with a bit of a startle, but you’re smiling. “Yeah, I’m fine.” A small chuckle comes from you, but Dean picks up the nervousness in it and his concern grows a bit more. “I um…I have something for you.” When you reach for your bag Dean is instantly trying to think of what you could possibly have for him, but the entire thing has caught him off guard. “I was going to wait until after we ate, but…” you pause as you struggle to remove whatever it is from your purse. “I just don’t think I can wait any longer.” you tell him as you hand off a thin square box.

He looks at it briefly before taking it from you, his mind racing on why you got him something. Did some special occasion pass? First date? Some new holiday that he didn’t know about? Was he about to be in the dog house for forgetting something important?

Slowly pulling at the ribbon, the string comes loose and he goes to lift the lid on the box. A card sits on top and it isn’t until he picks it up that he becomes even more confused.

Happy Father’s Day

He has to read over the words again, his heart racing a bit more as his brain begins to figure out why he’s getting this from you. He looks up to question you, but his eyes catch the next thing in the box before he can. 

His hand trembles as he sets the card aside and then grabs the soft material. Lifting it, it unfolds and falls open to reveal blue stitches. 

My Hero wears a badge 

I call him Daddy

The little shirt could seriously be worn on his hand, it was so little. But his heart swelled and without realizing, tears sprung to his eyes.

Again, before he can acknowledge you, he sees another object in the box. A small black and white, grainy picture. No perfect outline of a baby yet, but seeing as you don’t even look pregnant he can only assume you’re not too far along.

“I would’ve told you earlier but I just didn’t know how to. I’m sorry.” you finally speak, making his emotions a little more fierce. He nods lightly, gnawing on his bottom lip as he tries to hold it all in. “That’s why I’ve been so exhausted lately.” you giggle and that’s when Dean gets out of his chair and comes around to you. His hands lightly pull on yours and pull you up from your seat and that’s when he wraps his arms around you. His lips find your cheek and he just holds you for a minute before whispering.

“You don’t have to be sorry.” That’s when he pulls away, his eyes glistening but his smile beaming even brighter. He seems like he wants to say something, but it just doesn’t come out, so he just leans in and kisses you instead.

You’re not sure how long it lasted, but he rested his forehead against yours, telling you how happy he was and how much he loved you before his phone went off. He wanted to ignore it, but you could tell by the regret in his eyes that he just couldn’t.

“Just give me a sec, okay?” You give him a nod of understanding, taking your seat again as he steps away and giving himself privacy.

A heavy breath releases from your chest, one of relief since you’ve been holding this in for so long. At least it felt like a long time. You hated keeping it from him, but you just weren’t sure how to tell him and you just couldn’t stop overthinking it.

Watching Dean pace around while talking on the phone, you eventually get your own alert on your phone. You catch a glimpse of the text before it clears from your screen, smiling softly when you see that Sarah was checking in on you. She had been keeping up with you of course, being your confidant with all this and she knew how nervous you were for not only telling Dean but for what the future held for you now that you were pregnant. Being a first time mom and not planning on it, it definitely freaked you out. But she was definitely a great rock for you up to this point.

How’s it goin?

Another breath of relief leaves your body, taking some more stress with it as you text her back.

Wonderful 

-

2 Years Later

The chill in the air was almost comforting so Dean was in no hurry to get back to the car. Looking over the engraved letters and numbers, memories flashed in his brain. Some happy and others not so much. He tried not to think back to the last day Eddie was on this earth, but it was hard not to. Seeing that date, he just remembered looking for you and then knowing that while he was dying on the ground in the barn, Eddie was out in the woods, protecting you.

Little scuffles got him clearing his throat and quickly wiping at his eyes before looking over and smiling at the toddler waddling in his direction. Walking was a skill that was mastered about a year prior, but being so little, walking through thick damp grass was something the little one took a bit slower.

“Hey, buddy.” His little arms reached out for his dad, making all three smiles grow. But the little one only remained in his dads arms briefly before moving over to the stone sticking up from the ground. His little hands grabbed the rocky top and he held on for a minute before he laid his head down on it, almost like he was giving the stone a hug,

Dean's heart exploded with happiness and a small amount of heartbreak. There wasn’t a day that went by that Dean didn’t wish Eddie was there to work alongside him again and then after his son was born, he wished he was there to be another loving uncle in his life. But this was the closest the two would get to each other and that's what hurt him the most.

“Awe. You giving uncle Eddie a hug?” you say with a smile, walking up to the two boys. Dean looks up, his smile growing as he looks you over. Your hand runs over your slightly swollen belly as you grin at your son who is now wrapping his little arms around the top of the stone. “That’s so sweet.” It’s then that the boy pulls away, but only enough to now kiss the rock. It was definitely hard for Dean to hold himself together then, but he did. “Yep. We love you, huh?” When you squat down next to Dean, your son walks up to you, letting you take him in your arms while the three of you visit your fallen friend. A few minutes go by when your hand runs over Dean’s back and you smile at him.

“We’ll wait for you in the car?” Dean slowly nods, smiling at the two of you. “Okay. Come on, sweetie. Let’s give daddy a minute.” As you get to your feet, the boy leans over your shoulder, watching his dad while you both walk away.

“I wish you were here.” Dean finally whispers. His eyes still on you as you buckle your son in his carseat. “It’s weird because he reminds me of you.” he says as he turns back to the stone, a soft chuckle escaping him. “At first I thought it was just because we named him after you, but…that’s not it. Makes me wonder if you’re watching over him more than I think.” he laughs again and then takes a breath. “Well,” he says, wiping the dirt off the base of the stone. “Happy birthday, man.” 

Looking over his friends name one more time, Dean gets to his feet, holding onto the stone for balance at first, but for comfort after the fact. His hand pats the rigid rock, taking another moment before walking away and heading for the car.

Dean made it a priority to go and see Eddie’s grave every week. It’s just what he thought his friend deserved, especially after what he had done for you. But if a holiday rolled around, sometimes that one trip would turn to two. 

Dean felt like that’s the least he could do. He felt like he owed him his own life because if it wasn’t for him Dean would have lost you and he would have never gotten married, never had his gorgeous son and never would be living the perfect life he was right now. He had everything he ever dreamed of and it was because of Eddie that he had it.

There was no way he could repay Eddie for saving you that terrible night, but he definitely didn’t let a day go by where he didn’t talk to his friend and thank him for what he did and he never would.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Hey, Michelle! I'm a night owl, which is why I'm still up at 1 a.m. 🦉

I have a question for you, and it may be a tough one considering how many awesome stories you've written, but...

Which story are you most proud of? If it's easier, one series, one one-shot. 😆💕

I'm a night owl too! Which is why it's so unfortunate I have to start my workday at 7am 😂

Stories I'm most proud of, hm? Well that is definitely not the easiest question, especially considering the volume of them! So I'm going to cheat juuuuust a little bit and keep the list to under 10 (you may want coffee, wine and/or snacks cause this turned into a novel):

The Daughter!Reader Fic With More Timestamps Than Parts (😂)

Probably the one series I'm most proud of because of the impact it's had on my readers is A Place to Call Home (or APTCH as it's been affectionately dubbed around here). And it's a funny little story to me to have that special designation because it really shouldn't be so popular. It's a Jensen x foster daughter!reader story which is so niche in the first place. I don't really read daughter!reader stories myself so I really have no idea why I wanted to write this one. I held onto it for almost a year after it was written because I thought I'd get such a negative reaction to it for being weird, disrespectful, you name it. Yet, it's turned into this never-ending saga that I get told over and over is one thing: comforting. It's such a simple story, a girl who needs a family but has been so hurt she's given up on the idea of one and a man who will do whatever it takes to show her she's worthy of love. And it's that story over time from a scared 17 year old high school kid to a young woman falling in love, figuring out her own career, navigating her own family, her own adulthood and how overtime that relationship with Jensen grows and changes as it does for all of us with parents as we grow up. Having people who were actually in foster care/were adopted/are foster/adoptive parents themselves reach out and say it captures a lot of those real life feelings and desires is still probably the best compliment I've ever gotten. For every situation there is, good or bad, I've been told it's a pick me up by so many and for that I will always be proud of this one.

The Canon-esque, "Hey this is like a post-show movie"

Staying in canon is fun. Staying in canon at a point beyond the show? That's even more fun for me. Beautiful Loser was really my first crack at, "hey what could a post series finale pickup look like?" Bring in some kids, bring in good ole fashioned hunter paranoia, bring in a creepy little kid...this one felt like writing an episode of SPN and I'm SOOO happy with how it turned out! The lore, the ups and downs, damn it still gets me.

The Arranged Marriage Political Thriller

I mean, Unconventional originally was supposed to be a fun little ABO quirky arranged marriage story and then...then it became "this idea of being lesser is the shit women have to deal with even in the real world". I didn't intend to write that story but it ended up going there and I'm incredibly proud of the message it puts out there that change is hard, change requires sacrifice sometimes, but not everyone is bad and if you fight for it, sometimes you can make a real difference.

The Fast Paced Detective Story

39 Hours was the first story I ever wrote based on the aesthetic and one of the first cop!Dean stories I did. I wrote it like a good thriller mystery. The clock is ticking down faster and faster. The protector is a grump with maybe a soft side? The victim isn't weak and some threat is looming in the air. This was such a departure for me to write a long condensed story like this too but it broke open that avenue for me and I still consider this one of my favorite stories I've done.

The Body Issues One

It's such a trope of women having body issues but what about if the guy had them too? Because we know they do they do, they just talk about it so much. And we all always call Jensen that male model SOB so a model Dean was faaar too tempting. Now give the reader some physical scars from an accident Dean's own dad caused, a father who's disowned Dean for his career choice...we've got two people who very much seem themselves as broken yet can't see it in one another. This was a heavy topic on a lot of fronts to work in Broken Like Me but I'm really happy with the messaging that comes through.

The Jensen Shower Pics Inspired One

Thank god for Jensen Ackles cause this one wouldn't have existed without those shirtless late night pics. ABO has always been an interesting world I like to push the boundaries of but this was my first real attempt at going big, adding my own rules and boundaries. Coming up with the new science, adding the mystery elements, adding that growing sexual tension...yeah Feral is my favorite ABO story I've ever done hands down.

The Best RPF I'll Ever Write

RPF isn't for everyone but if you only ever read one by me, it's got to be If I Fell For You by a landslide. A Jensen x nanny!reader fic can be, let's just say, really easy to screw up. They can go down routes I don't like to go. But this story deals with so many themes that are worthwhile. Grief. Loss. Learning to love again. Parental love and when it's lacking. Forgiveness and pain. It hurts so good is the best way to put this one. And the safety net analogy I came up with in Part 4 is something I'm particularly proud of.

Making You Forgive The Asshole

I know you in particular will understand this Zep but writing a redemption story for Soldier Boy is fucking hard. It's really easy to watch the show and go he's awful but he's so cute, he can do whatever he wants. Throw in an actual reader and suddenly him being walking sin ain't gonna cut it. Writing character growth realistically can be hard. It can be ever harder when we got like a grand total of 15 mins of screen time with that character. I was nervous as hell to write Thunder In Our Hearts quite honestly. So when I got the reaction that I didn't screw it up felt so, so good. Now I can't wait to do it again with The Villain's Protector! 😉

I'm quite proud of myself for narrowing this down to 8 fics lol. There are many more I could list but these are the big hitters! And thank you for the trip down memory lane! 🥰

[holylulusworld]

Cocky matchmaker

Title: Cocky matchmaker

Request fill for @hannibals-favourite-meal​ for my 16.666 followers celebration

Rating: Mature

Summary: Dean takes matters in his hands.

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Plussized!Reader

Warnings: fluff, flirting, idiots in love, mutual pining, mentions of deaths (no description)

16.666 followers celebration masterlist

“So, get this, Y/N,” Sam tries to get your attention. He doesn’t need to try, though. Your head immediately snaps toward the hunter and your eyes become glassy as Sam smiles softly at you. “I found this old mansion they turned into a motel. They call it the murder mystery motel because almost twenty people got killed at this place.”

“Sammy, your fetish is shining through again,” Dean smirks as you get up to move your chair closer to Sam. “Do you remember the last time we ended up at a serial killer’s place?”

“It’s not a fetish,” Sam makes a face. “I’m just interested in the history of crime and violence.”

“Who killed all the people?” you ask, wanting to turn Sam’s attention back toward you, not his cocky brother. “Sam?”

“The better question is, sweetheart,” Dean snickers as his brother grunts, “what do you mean with almost twenty?”

“Eighteen bodies got found…and a half,” Sam shrugs. “One person is still missing. The detectives are not sure if the man killed his wife and ran, or if he fell victim to the mansion too.”

“You mean he fell victim to some crazy serial killer or a ghost, not the mansion.”

“After everything you saw Dean you still think a house cannot kill a man,” you ask.

“A house doesn’t kill you, Y/N,” Dean explains, “it’s a ghost or a monster. Never the house. Except it falls on your head and squishes you. Then it was the house.”

“DEAN!” Sam mutters. “Y/N was about to eat her lunch.”

“Oh-I’m no sensitive, Sam,” you softly speak while patting his hand. Your touch lingers until Dean clears his throat.

“If you want me to leave for a while, tell me so,” the elder hunter grins.

“What? I—” you nervously shift on your seat as Dean watches you pat his brother’s hand. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

Dean sighs deeply. He’s just done watching you and his brother pine for each other.

“If you say so, Y/N. Maybe you and Sammy should check that mansion out. Together.”

“We should?” Sam furrows his brows. “You don’t want to tag along, Dean? I thought you love creepy places.”

“I got a hot date,” Dean lies. “Trust me, checking out a creepy place is the last thing I want to do this week. You got my number. If anything happens, give me a call.”

“Hmm…this can’t be right,” Sam looks at the address scribbled on a piece of paper and back at the motel in front of him. “Honeymoon Hearts?”

“This doesn’t look like the motel you were talking about,” you feel your cheeks heat up as you look at the motel. “Sam, do you want to tell me something?”

“I—” the hunter frowns. He thumbs through the search history on his phone, huffing as the address is not the same as he noted on the piece of paper. “I don’t know what happened, Y/N. I looked the address up and noted it. But we are…I don’t know where we even are.”

“It looks nice,” you squeal. “Look, they have buffet, a whirlpool, and uh… I bet they got all this romantic crap. Maybe even soft pillows. Don’t you think? I knew you wouldn’t forget about Valentine’s Day. Dean was right!”

Sam smiles softly as you excitedly look up at him. “What did Dean say?” Sam watches you hurriedly walk toward the motel to get the best room. “Y/N? What did he say?”

The hunter sighs. He unlocks his phone again to call his brother. Sam closes his eyes and counts to ten.

“What’s up, Sammy?” Sam can hear the smirk in Dean’s voice. “Did you already make a move? I hope so! I booked the most expensive room for the two of you including a hot tub.”

“What did you do, Dean?”

“Sammy, you are pining for Y/N for almost a year now. It’s Valentine’s Day. Love is in the air,” Dean snickers as Sam groans deeply. “Do I have to give you the talk about bees and flowers again or do you know how to make a move on her?”

“I know how to make a move,” Sam bites his tongue as you walk back toward the hunter. “Which name did you use this time?”

“Mr. and Mrs. …” Dean laughs loudly, “Pine,” the hunter hangs up the phone before Sam can yell at him.

“Sam, that guy said we got a reservation. Dude even got a picture of us,” you say. “Why did you use the name, Pine?”

“Dean tried to be funny,” Sam tries to explain his brother tricked you and him. “I’m sorry. I know you wanted to visit the creepy motel.”

“Dude, they got a whirlpool and heart-shaped boxes of chocolates ! I bet they got vibrating beds too. I love a good back massage,” you nod to yourself.

“You do?” Sam licks his lips. “I can give you a massage. My hands are…uh…”

“Your hands,” you stare at Sam’s large hands, whimpering as you imagine feeling them on your body. “Do you…do you like using your hands?”

Sam would like to tell you he dreams of putting his hands on you for months.

“How about we go to the room Dean booked and find out if I’m good at giving back massages?”

“Sam?” you whisper.

“Yeah, Y/N?”

Sam watches you step closer to place your hands on his chest. “It’s Valentine’s Day and I want you to know that I…”

“I like you a lot,” Sam hastily says before you can admit your feelings. “It’s more than that. I mean…would you like to go on a date with me?”

“Sammy,” you giggle, “we are standing in front of a romantic honeymoon motel. I think we can call this our first date.”

“Y/N, I want our first date to be special. I’ll take you out to your favorite restaurant and we can have ice cream. Or we can go and watch a movie.”

Sam looks you up and down, biting his lower lip as his eyes land on your chest.

“Sammy, do you like what you see?” You grin as Sam roams your body with hungry eyes.

“Very much, baby girl,” he cups your face with his large hands, making you shiver. “Can I show you how much?”

He swallows your answer with his lips, taking away all the doubts you had. You wanted to confess your feelings for so long, always afraid Sam doesn’t like your body.

“I like what I see too.”

When you come back from your short vacation, holding hands with Sam his brother smirks like the cat that got the cream. He proudly puffs his chest, waiting for his brother and you to thank him.

“About time you put your hands on that girl! I feared I must lock you in the dungeon together…”

“Thank you, Dean,” you blow your friend a kiss. “You were right…”

“Sweetheart, I’m always right,” the cocky matchmaker leans back in his chair and puts his feet on the table. “My job here is done. Just use protection…”

Tags in reblog.

[layce2015]

Supernatural (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader)

Red Sky At Morning

Masterlist

Dean was driving the Impala; Sam was in the passenger's seat and I in the backseat, the usual. There was a silence in the car and it felt very tense. The tension in the air felt so thick, you could cut it with a sword, but, eventually, Dean speaks up. "So, I've been waiting since Maple Springs. You guys got something to tell me?" He asked us and Sam and I glance at each other then at him.

"It's not your birthday." Sam said, playing dumb. "No." Dean said and I give a confused look at him. "Happy...Purim?" I said, shrugging, and Dean looks up at the rearview mirror, an eyebrow raised. "Dude, we don't know. We have no idea what you're talking –" Sam started to say but Dean talks over.

"There's a bullet missing from the Colt. You want to tell me how that happened? I know it wasn't me. So unless one of you were shooting at some incredibly evil cans...One of you went after her, didn't you? The Crossroads Demon. After I told you not to." Dean said, anger rising in his voice. "Yeah, well..." Sam mutters and I shrug.

"Both of you went after her?!" Dean said as he looks between us and I quickly look away from his glare through the mirror.

"You two could have gotten yourselves killed!" Dean yells. "We didn't." Sam growls. "And you shot her." Dean said as he looks at Sam. "She was a smartass." said Sam and Dean growls then looks up at the mirror. "And you didn't stop him." He said. "It happened so fast, Dean." I said and Dean scoffs.

"So, what? Does that mean I'm out of my deal?" He asked us. "Don't you think we might have mentioned that little fact, Dean?" I said, annoyed, and Dean rolls his eyes. "No. Someone else holds the contract." 

"Who?" Dean asked. "She wouldn't say." Sam said. "Well, we should find out who. Of course, our best lead would be the Crossroads Demon. Oh, wait a minute..." Dean said and I let out sigh. "That's not funny." Sam said. "No, it's not! It was a stupid freaking risk, and you shouldn't have done it." Dean yells.

"I shouldn't have done it? You're my brother, Dean. And no matter what you do, (y/n) and I are gonna try and save you. And I'm sure as hell not gonna apologize for it, all right?" Sam said to him, firmly. "Agreed." I said and Dean shakes his head as we keep on driving.

The next day, Sam, Dean and I were impersonating officers of the law to interview a witness. She was holding a framed photograph of the victim, who mysteriously drowned in her shower. The witness' name is Gertude Case, and she is elegant and well-groomed and approximately 70 years old. 

"But I don't understand. I already went over all this with the other Detectives." She said to us. "Right, yes. But, see, we're with the Sheriff's Department, not the police department – different departments." Dean tells her.

"So, Mrs. Case..." Sam started to say but Gert smiles up at him. "Please. Ms. Case." She said as she eyes Sam. "Okay. Um, Ms. Case, um...you were the one who found your niece, correct?" He asked her. "I came home, she was in the shower." She explained.

"Drowned?" I asked. "So the coroner says. Now, you tell me, how can someone drown in the shower?" She asked. "How would you describe Sheila's behavior in the days before her death? I mean, did she seem frightened? Maybe she said something out of the ordinary?" Sam asked then Gert gives us a look.

"Wait a minute. You're working with Alex, aren't you?" She asked and the three of us look at each other before Dean nods. "Yep. Absolutely. That's Alex and us, we're like this." Dean said, laughing.

"Why didn't you say so? Alex has been such a comfort. But I'm sorry. I thought the case was solved." Gert said, confused. "Well, no. No, not yet." Sam said and Gert looks him over while Dean and I exchange a look. "I see." She said as she gives Sam a flirtatious look.

"So, anyways, we were talking about your niece." Sam said, uncomfortable, and I bit my lips, trying not to smile. "Well, yes. Sheila mentioned something quite strange before she died. She said she saw a boat." She said and we give her a confused look.

"A boat?" I said, confused. "Yes. One minute it was there, then it was gone. It just disappeared right before her eyes. You think it could be a ghost ship? Alex thinks it could be a ghost ship." Gert said and the boys and I give each other another look. "Uh, could be." Sam said. 

"You let me know if there's anything else I can do for you." Gert said and she traces a finger slowly along Sam's hand; Sam looks uncomfortable, while Dean and I try not to laugh. "Anything at all." She said.

Dean, Sam and I walk along the docks, where the water is crowded with pristine, moderately sized boats. "What a crazy old broad." Dean said. "Why? Because she believes in ghosts?" Sam asked and I chuckled. "Look at you. Sticking up for your girlfriend. You cougar hound." I joked.

"Bite me." Sam grumbles and Dean chuckles. "Not if she bites you first." I remarked and Sam scoffs. "That's my girl." Dean said to me and I wink at him while he continues to chuckle.

"So, who's this Alex? We got another player in town?" Dean asked once he stopped laughing. "Maybe, maybe not. Doesn't change our job." Sam said. "And what looked like a ghost ship, right?" I said. "It's not the first one sighted around here, either." Sam said.

"Really?" Dean and I asked. "Yeah. Every 37 years, like clockwork, reports of a vanishing three-mast clipper ship out in the bay. And every 37 years, a rash of weirdo, dry-land drownings." Sam explains as we keep on walking along the dock.

"So, whatever's happening is just getting started." I said and Sam nods. "What's the lore?" Dean asked him. "Well, there are apparitions of old wrecks sighted all over the world. The S.S. Violet, the Griffin, the Flying Dutchman – almost all of them are death omens." Sam said.

"So, you see the ship and then a few hours later, you pucker up and kiss your ass goodbye?" Dean asked. "Basically." Sam said. "What's the next step?" I asked him. "We gotta I.D. the boat." Sam said. "That shouldn't be too hard. I mean, how many three-mast clipper ships have wrecked off the coast?" Dean asked. "I checked that too, actually. Over 150." Sam said.

"Wow." Dean mutters, shocked.

"Yeah." Sam said.

"Crap." I grumbled as we approach an empty parking space; Dean looks around, confused. "This is where we parked the car, right?" He asked as he points at the empty parking spot.  "I thought so." Sam said as I nod. 

"Where's my car?" Dean asked, getting agitated. "Did you feed the meter?" I asked him. "Yes, I fed the meter." Dean yells. "Guys, where's my car? Somebody stole my car!" Dean growls, angrily. "Calm down." I said to him, calmly.

"I am calmed down! Somebody stole my ca–" Dean shouts then he begins hyperventilating. "Whoa. Dean. Hey, hey, hey. Take it easy." Sam and I said to him as we go and I put an arm around him.

"The '67 Impala?" A female British voice asked and we look over and see it is Bela as she saunteres her way to us. "Was that yours?" She asked, a smirk on her face. "Bela." I growled at her. "I'm sorry. I had that car towed." She said.

"You what?!" Dean yells. "Well, it was in a tow-away zone." She said. "No, it wasn't!" I said to her. "It was when I finished with it." She said.

"What the hell are you even doing here?" Dean asked her, angrily. "A little yachting." She said, flippantly. "You're Alex. You're working with that old lady." Sam said and Bela's smile grew bigger. "Gert's a dear old friend." She said.

"Yeah, right. What's your angle?" I asked her.

"There's no angle. There's a lot of lovely old women like Gert up and down the eastern seaboard. I sell them charms, perform séances so they can commune with their dead cats." Bela said.

"And let me guess, it's all a con." Dean sneered. "The comfort I provide them is very real." She said.

"How do you sleep at night?" Sam asked her. "On silk sheets, rolling naked in money. Really, Sam. I'd expect the attitude from him or from her, but you?" Bela said, curiously. "You shot me!" Sam yelled at her. "I barely grazed you." She said and Sam glares at her while Dean shrugs a bit.

"Cute. But a bit of a drama queen, yeah?" Bela said to Dean. "You do know what's going on around here. This ghost-ship thing, it is real." I said to her. "I'm aware. Thanks for telling Gert the case wasn't solved, by the way." Bela said, annoyed.

"It isn't." Dean said.

"She didn't know that. Now the old bag's stopped payment and she's demanding some real answers. Look...just stay out of my way before you cause any more trouble. I'd get to that car if I were you...before they find the arsenal in the trunk. Ciao." She said and she leaves.

"Can I shoot her?" I asked the boys as my fist clench and I glare after her. "Not in public." Sam mutters to me. "Damn it." I growled.

The next day, after hearing about another drowning, the boys and I approach the victim's house, all three of us wearing suits. There we see a man talking to Bela, who was pretending to be a reporter. As we got closer, we heard the man mention that his brother, the victim, had saw a ship before he died.

We walk up to Bela and we flash our badges. "Ma'am, I think this man's been through quite enough. You should go." Dean said. "But I just have a few more questions." Bela said and I shake my head. "No, you don't." I said and she glares at us then turns to the man. "Thank you for your time." She said and she walks off.

"Sorry you had to deal with that. They're like roaches." Dean said to the man. "So, we heard you say your brother saw a ship." Sam said and the guy nods. "Yeah, that's right." The man, Mr Warren, said.

"Did he tell you what it looked like?" Dean asked him. "It was, uh...like the old Yankee clippers. A smuggling vessel. The rakish topsail, a barkentine rigging. Angel figurehead on the bow." He said. "That's a lot of detail for a ship your brother saw." I noted.

"My brother and I were night diving. I saw the ship, too." Mr Warren said and I turn my head and noticed Bela is talking to the real uniforms and pointing in our direction. I was really beginning to hate this bitch. I turn to the boys and nudge them and nod towards Bela. "All right. Well, we'll be in touch." Dean said to Mr Warren. "Thank you." Sam and I said and we leave.

Later, we were loading shotguns at the trunk of the Impala, when we heard footsteps behind us. "I see you got your car back." Bela said. "You really want to come near me when I got a loaded gun in my hands?" Dean asked her, angrily. "Now, now. Mind your blood pressure." She said to him and he glares at her.

"Why are you even still here? You have enough to I.D. the boat." Bela said as I close the trunk and walk around the car.

"That guy back there, saw the ship." Sam said to her. "Yeah? And?" Bela asked, not understanding. "Do we have to spell it out for you? He's going to die, so we have to save him." I said, annoyed. "How sweet." She said, smiling.

"You think this is funny?" Dean asked her. "He's cannon fodder. He can't be saved in time, and you know it." She said. "Yeah, well, see, we have souls, so we're gonna try." Dean sneered at her.

"Well, I'm actually going to find the ship and put an end to this. But you have fun." She said and I turn and walk up to her. "Hey, Bela, how'd you get like this, huh? What, did daddy not give you enough hugs or something?" I asked her, snidely. "I don't know. Your daddy give you enough?" She spat back at me and I clench my jaw in anger, I could feel my blood boiling. 

"Don't you dare look down your nose at me. You're not better than I am." She said. "We help people." Dean said. "Come on. You do this out of vengeance and obsession. You're a stone's throw from being a serial killer. Whereas I, on the other hand, I get paid to do a job and I do it. So, you tell me – which is healthier?" She asked.

"Bela, why don't you just leave? We've got work to do." Sam said, annoyed and exasperated. "Yeah. You're 0 for 2. Bang-up job so far." She said and she leaves. "You sure I can't shoot her? I have a clear shot." I said to the boys as we watch her leave. "As much as we would love for that to happen, can't let you." Sam said and I sighed and we get into the car.

That night, we were staking out Mr Warren's house and Sam was doing research. "Anything good?" Dean asked Sam. "No, not really. I mean, both brothers are Duke University grads. No criminal record. I mean, a few speeding tickets. They inherited their father's real estate fortune six years ago." Sam said.

"How much?" I asked him. "$112 million." Sam replied and Dean whistled. "Damn." I muttered, astonished. "Nice life." Dean said. "Yeah. I mean, nice, clean, aboveboard. So why did they see the ship? Why Sheila, too? What do they all have in common?" Sam asked.

"Maybe nothing." Dean said, shrugging. "No. There's always something." Sam said.

"Hey, you!" A voice shouted and we look up and see Mr Warren walking out of his house and onto his walkway. "I think we've been made." Dean said and we get out of the car and approach him. "What are you guys doing?! You watching me?" Mr Warren asked us. "Sir, calm down. Please." I said to him.

"You guys aren't cops! Not dressed like that. Not – not in that crappy car." He shouts at us. "Whoa, hey. No need to get nasty." Dean said to him. "We are cops, okay? We're undercover. We're here because we think you're in danger." Sam said.

"From who?!" Mr Warren asked us. "If you just settle down, we'll talk about it." I said to him. "Look, you guys just stay away from me!" He shouts and he turns and walks away. But as we start to get closer to his gate he runs to his car.

"Wait." Sam shouts.

"Stop!" I said as he gets into his car.

"Hey, you moron! We're trying to help you!" Dean shouts as Mr Warren starts to drive off. But before he makes it to the gate, the car shudders and dies. "That can't be good." Dean said. "No. Get the salt gun." Sam said and Dean runs back to the Impala as Sam and I dash to help. 

"Peter!" Sam shouts as we make it to the car but he doesn't  respond. We make it to the driver's side window and see the spirit in the passenger seat, glaring straight at us. Dean arrives on the other side and aims the salt gun at the spirit.

"Guys!" Dean shouts and we duck as Dean fires. The spirit disappears, and Sam yanks the door open. He pulls Peter back and checks for a pulse, but after a few seconds his shoulders slump and he shakes his head at Dean. Dean kicks the door in frustration and I slammed my fist on top of the roof in annoyance.

Later, we were driving along in the Impala with the radio going, talking about the incoming weather. But then Dean turns the radio off. "Do you wanna say it or should I?" Dean asked us. "What?" Sam and I said. "You can't save everybody, guys." Dean said.

"Yeah, right, so – so what, you feel better now or what?" I asked Dean. "No, not really." He replied. "Me neither." I said. "Same here." Sam and Dean said. "You gotta understa–" Dean started to say until but Sam talks over. "It's just lately, I feel like I can't save anybody." Sam said and I frown over at him.

Outside the house we were staying in, Sam and I were reading and Dean was on his phone when there was a knock at the door. I set the book down and check the door and see that it is Bela; I share a long look with the boys before I open the door. "Dear God, are you actually squatting?" She asked once she walks in, no one replies.

"So how'd things go last night with Peter?" She asked and we don't respond. "That well, huh?" She said. "If you say I told you so, I swear to God I'll start swinging." Dean growls at her. "Look, I think the four of us should have a heart to heart." She said. "That's assuming that you have a heart." I spat at her.

"(Y/n), please...I'm sorry about what I said before, ok? I come bearing gifts." She said. "Such as?" Sam asked. "I've ID'd the ship." She said as she holds up the file in her hand. Then she pulls out a picture from the file and hands it to Sam. "It's the Espirito Santo, a merchant sailing vessel, quite a colourful history. In 1859 a sailor was accused of treason. He was tried aboard a ship in a kangaroo court and hanged. He was 37." She explains.

"Which would explain the 37 year cycle." Sam said. "Aren't you a sharp tack?" She said and Sam glares at her. "I have a photo of his somewhere...here." she said and she pulls out another picture with a few men standing on the deck of the ship.

"Isn't that the customer we saw last night?" Dean asked us as he points at the man who was standing prominently. "You saw him?" Bela asked him. "Yeah, that's him, except he was missing a hand." I said.

"His right hand?" Bela asked. "How'd you know?" Sam asked. "The sailor's body was cremated, but not before they cut off his hand to make a hand of glory." Bela explains. "A hand of glory – I think I got one of those at the end of my Thai massage last week." Dean said then he laughs. "Dean, the right hand of a hanged man is a serious cult object and is very powerful." Sam said.

"So they say." Bela said. "And officially counts as remains." I said. "But still, none of this explains why the ghost is choosing these victims." Sam said. "I'll tell you why, who cares. Find the hand, burn it and stop the bloody thing." Bela said.

"I don't get it. Why are you telling us all of this?" Dean asked her. "Because I know exactly where the hand is." She said. "Where?" I asked her. "At the Sea Pines Museum. It's a carp bit of maritime history. But I need help." She replied. "What kind of help?" Sam asked and she smirks.

Later on, I was waiting in the living room of the house; no one else is around as Sam, Bela and Gert were heading at the museum. I was looking myself over at the long mirror, staring at the black dress that was hugging my curves. 

"What is taking so long? Sam and Bela are already halfway there...with Sam's date." I shouted at Dean, who was upstairs. "So not okay with this!" I hear Dean growl from upstairs. "Dean, c'mon. It can't be as bad as me wearing this...thing." I said then I hear footsteps. I look over at the staircase and my breath hitches in my chest.

Dean walks down the stairs in a tuxedo, even wearing a bowtie, and I felt my heart race as I run my eyes over him. Once off the steps, he stands a few feet in front of me then his eyes widen once he sees me. Seemed like both of us were checking each other out.

"Wow." He mutters as he looks me over. "Not so bad yourself." I said as I look him over. "You look amazing, I look ridiculous." Dean grumbles. "Not the word I'd use." I said as I roam my eyes over him. "You know, I have half a mind to say screw the museum and take you back up to the bedroom." I said, giving him a smile.

"Hey, don't objectify me." Dean said, trying to sound disgusted but I know he was kidding. "Oh yeah, like you don't objectify me." I said and I could see a small smirk on his lips. Then I go and lean up and kiss him which started to turn passionate.

Then we break apart and leaned our forehead against each other, trying to catch our breathes. "C'mon, horndog. The faster we get this done, the faster we can come back and continue this." I said and Dean let's out a groan. "Not soon enough." He mutters and I chuckle before I kiss him once more. "Let's go." I said and I take his hand in mine and we head out.

Later, we pulled up into the museum parking lot in the Impala then made our way inside. "There you are! What took you two so long?" Bela asked us as we meet up with her at the bar. "Oh, someone was just being dramatic is all." I said as I glance over at Dean, who rolls his eyes.

She scoffs at this just as Sam comes up to us, obviously annoyed. "Exactly how long do you expect me to entertain my date?" He asked us. "As long as it takes." Bela said. "Look, there's security all over this place, alright. This is an uncrashable party without Gert's invitation, so..." Dean said to him, shrugging.

"We can crash anything, Dean." Sam said. "Yeah, I know, but this is easier and it's a lot more entertaining." Dean said, smiling. "You know there are limits to what I'll do, right?" Sam said. "Ohhh, he's playing hard to get, that's cute." I teased and Sam glares at me. "Come on." I said to Dean and Bela as I take Dean's arm and and we grab a glass of champagne. 

"We want all the details in the morning!" Dean said to Sam as we walk away.

As we walked around, we noticed some men in uniforms standing around in all parts of the building. "Private security?" Bela asked us. "I don't think so, look at the way they're standing, they're pros. Probably state troopers in mood lighting." Dean said. "Posted at every door, too." I pointed out. "Yeah, I don't think we're just going to be able to waltz upstairs." Dean said.

"What do you suggest?" Bela asked us. "I'm thinking." Dean said and he goes silent as he thinks. "Don't strain yourself." Bela said and Dean turns to her. "Interesting how the legend is so much more than the man." She said as she smirks at him.

"You got any bright ideas, we're all ears." I said to her, annoyed. "Okay." Bela said then she groans and falls to the floor. Dean and I kneel down next to her.

"Hey, hey, are you alright?" Dean asked her then I turn to the waiter, who comes up carrying a tray of food. "Waiter, my sister has a severe shellfish allergy. There's no crab in that?" I asked him. "No, ma'am." He replied and Dean takes one of the little cakes. "They're excellent, by the way." Dean compliments and the waiter nods and walks away as a guard comes up to us.

"What seems to be the trouble?" He asked us. "Ahhh, champagne, my sister, she's a lightweight when it comes to the sauce. Is there somewhere my husband and I can lay her down till she gets her sea legs back?" I asked the guard, sweetly, and he looks between us then rolls his eyes slightly.

"Follow me." He said. "Right. Thank you." I said and Dean and I go to pick her up. "Come on, you lush." Dean groans as we lift Bela up, her left arm around my shoulder and her right arm around Dean's shoulder.

Later, the guard leads us to a library where there was a lounge couch in the middle of the room and we go and set Bela on it. "You think she's a pain in the ass now, try living with her." I said, chuckling, to the guard. "Thank you very much." Dean said and the guard walks out and Dean shuts the door.

We turn and see Bela starting to sit up. "Maybe next time give us a little heads up with your plan?" Dean said to her, annoyed. "I didn't want you thinking, you're not very good at that." She said, making Dean sigh. "Oh, look at you searching for a witty rejoinder." She said to him.

"Screw you." I spat at her. "Very Oscar Wilde." She sneered and I clenched my fist. Dean and I exchange a look before he shakes his head slightly then heads towards the door. "Room 235, it's in a locked glass case wired for alarm, I'm sure that won't be a problem." Bela said as Dean turns to her. "I'm sure that won't be a problem." Dean mimics her and he walks out and shuts the door.

I sighed and walked around the room as I look over the bookshelves. "You know for a man like Dean, who is not as bright, he is quite the catch. Especially him in that suit." Bela said and I try to ignore her. "Maybe when we finish here, he and I can go and have angry sex." She said and that made me turn and glare at her.

"Do you ever shut up?" I asked her, angrily. "Just trying to make some conversation. You know between us girls." She says. "Yeah, well don't." I spat at her as I look back at the shelf. 

"Am I striking a nerve here?" She asked and I could hear the smile in her voice. "Oh, honey, you strike my nerve everytime I see and hear you." I sneered as I look over my shoulder at her and she smirks a bit at this. I scoff then looked away from her as I look through these books.

Eventually, Dean comes back in. "Did you get it?" I asked him. "Yeah." He said. "May I?" Bela asked as she walks up to him. "No." Dean said, firmly. "It might be more inconspicuous in my purse." She said and I give her an unimpressed look.

"Nice try." I said.

"Just trying to be helpful." She said.

"Well, sweetheart, we don't need your kind of help." Dean said and we head out of the room.

"Well, having a nice time?" Bela asked Gert as we come up to her and Sam dancing. "He's delightful..." Gert said with a smile and she walks over to Bela. "...he wants me!" She whispers and I bite back a smile and hold in a laugh. "I'm going to get Gert into a cold shower. See you at the cemetery." Bela said and her and Gert leave. Then Dean turns to Sam and said. "You stink like sex." 

"You got it right? Tell me I didn't get groped all night by Mrs. Havisham for nothing." Sam said to us as we head back to the Impala. "I got it...Mrs. Who?" Dean said, confused. "Never mind, just let me see it." Sam said and Dean starts to reach in his jacket pocket but then started to pat himself down in a panic. "What?" Sam and I asked as Dean takes a ship in a bottle out of his jacket pocket.

"I'm gonna kill her." He growls.

"Not if I get to her first." I said.

"You know what, you're right. I'm not gonna kill her. I think slow torture is the way to go." Dean growls after we made it back to our house and changed into normal clothes. "Dean, look, you gotta relax." Sam said to him, calmly. "Relax, oh yeah, yeah, I'll relax." Dean grunts. "I can't believe she got another one over on us."

"You." Sam said.

"What?" Dean asked.

"I...I mean she got one over on you, not us." Sam corrected. "Thank you, Sam. Very helpful." Dean said, loudly, then there was an anxious knocking at the door.

"Hello, could you open up?" Bela's voice shouts and Dean opens the door. "Just let me explain..." she said, almost panicked, then Dean let's her in. "I sold it, I've had a buyer lined up since I knew it existed." She said.

"So the whole reason for us going to the Charity Ball was...?" I said, annoyed. "I needed a cover. You were convenient." She replied and I rolled my eyes.

"Look, you sold it to a buyer, just go buy it back." Sam said to her. "It's halfway across the ocean. I can't get it back in time." She said. "In time for what?" Dean asked and she looks at us, and I could see fear in her eyes.

"What's going on with you, Bela? You look like you've seen a ghost." I said. "I saw the ship." She replied. "You what?" I said, shocked, and she gives us a look of worry. "Wow, you know, I knew you were an immoral thieving con artist bitch but just when I thought my opinion of you couldn't get any lower –" Dean sneered at her.

"What are you talking about?" She asked.

"We figured out the spirit's motive." Sam said and he hands her the photo of the spirit and another man. "This is the captain of our ship. The one who hung our ghost boy." Sam said.

"So?" Bela said, shrugging. "So they were brothers. Very Cain and Abel. So now our spirit, he's going after a very specific kind of target – people who've spilled their own family's blood." Sam said and Bela's eyes widen a bit. 

"See first there was Shelia who killed her cousin in a car accident, and the Warren brothers, who murdered their father for the inheritance, and now you." I explained. "My God." She whispers.

"So who was it, Bela? Hmmm? Who'd you kill? Was it daddy? Little sis, maybe?" Dean asked her. "It's none of your business." She growls at him. "No, you're right. Well, have a nice life – you know, whatever's left of it." Dean said to her then he looks over at us. "Guys, let's go." He said and we start to gather our things.

"You can't just leave me here." She said, panicked. "Watch us." I said to her. "Please. I need your help." She pleads to us. "Our help? Now how could three serial killers possibly help you?" I spat at her. "Okay, that was a bit harsh, I admit it, but it doesn't warrant a death sentence." She said. 

"That's not why you're gonna die. What did you do, Bela?" Sam asked her. "You wouldn't understand, no one did. Never mind, I'll just do what I've always done, I'll deal with it myself." She said. "You do realise you just sold the one thing that could save your life." Dean said to her. "I'm aware." She said. "But, maybe not the only thing." Sam said.

We make it to the graveyard where Sam is setting up a kind of sacrificial circle. "Do you really think this is going to work?" Bela asked us. "Almost definitely not." I said when an angry storm starts. "Sammy, you better start reading." Dean said and Sam nods as he opens the book and reads it outloud.

As he reads the winds starts to pick up and starts to rain. "Stay close!" Dean shouts. "Behind you!" Bela shouts and Dean and I turn around to see the ghost. Dean and I go to fire at him but the ghost throws both of us through the air before we could pull the trigger.

I shake my head then see Bela begins to cough up water. "Sammy, read faster!" I shouted and Sam reads faster while Bela begins to weep.

Suddenly, the storm calms down and the sailor ghost turns around and sees his brother. "You...hanged me." The sailor growls. "I'm sorry." His brother said, apologetically. "Your own brother." The sailor said, angrily. "I'm so sorry." The brother said then the sailor screams and charges at his brother. They clashed together, looking like a splash of water hitting each other in mid-air, and disappeared.

The next day, we were packing up, getting ready to leave our squatted residency, when the door opens and Bela walks in. "You three should learn to lock your doors. Anyone could just barge in." She said. "Anyone just did. Have you come to say goodbye or thank you?" Sam said. "I've come to settle affairs. Giving the spirit what he really wanted, his own brother – very clever, Sam. So here." Bela said and she hands the three of us a stack of cash.

"It's ten thousand – that should cover it. I don't like being in anyone's debt." She said. "So ponying up ten grand is easier for you than a simple thank you? You are so damaged." Dean said. "Takes one to know one. Goodbye." Bela said and she turns and walks out of the building.

"She's got style, you gotta give her that." Sam said. "I suppose." I grumbled as Dean looks over the stack of cash. "You know, guys, we don't know where this money's been." Sam said and Dean smirks. "No, but I know where it's going..." Dean said then he laughs.

Later on in the Impala, Sam is looking at a map from the backseat while Dean is driving and I was in the passenger seat. "Seriously, Atlantic City?" I said to Dean. "Hell yeah, play some roulette. Always bet on black." Dean said, smiling, and I chuckle and shake my head as Sam does the same.

"Hey listen, I've been doing some thinking. Um, I want you two to know I understand why you guys did it. I understand why you two went after the crossroads demon." Dean said and Sam sighs. "And if the situation was reversed I guess I'd done the same thing. I mean I'm not blind, I see what both of you're going through with this whole deal, me going away and all that. But you guys are gonna be okay." Dean said and I look over at him.

"You think so." Sam said. "Yeah, you two'll keep hunting, y'know, both of you live your lives. You guys are stronger than me, you are." Dean said and Sam and I clear our throat at the same time. "You are...you guys'll get over it. But I want you two to know I'm sorry, I'm sorry for...putting you through all this, I am." He said and I give him a look of disbelief.

"You know what, Dean, go screw yourself." Sam said and I nod. "What?" Dean asked, confused. "Sam and I don't want an apology from you – and by the way, we're adults now, Sam and I can take care of ourselves." I said, firmly. 

"Oh, well, excuse me." Dean grumbles.

"So will you please quit worrying about us? I mean that's the whole problem in the first place. We don't want you to worry about us, Dean, (y/n) and I want you to worry about you. We want you to give a crap that you're dying!" Sam yells and Dean says nothing.

"So, what, that's it? Nothing else to say for you?" I asked him, annoyed, as he keeps his eyes on the road. "I think maybe I'll play craps." He said and Sam sighs while I scoff, fold my arms across my chest and look out the window.

@rach5ive @kitsun369 @itzabbyxx @cevans-winchester

[thsillystringbeanscribbler]

Bunny Slippers: Chapter Eight

Summary: Sam, Dean and Julia take on Louisiana to investigate a case, when they reunite with one of Julia's old friends. The four get to dress up in some snazzy clothes for a gala they fandangled their way into.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader [ OC: Julia Blackburn ]

Warnings: Mostly flirting and a decent amount of disappointment

Word Count: 5, 039 words

Author's Note: I dont know what New Orleans is like but this is just on vibes. Also hope everyone enjoys it. Kinda made myself sad if thats even possible.

Chapter Six; Chapter Seven

As the trio ventured into New Orleans, they found themselves enveloped by the city's vibrant tapestry. The streets buzzed with energy, a mix of historic charm and lively contemporary culture. Colorful buildings with wrought-iron balconies lined the streets, and the air carried the tantalizing scents of Creole cuisine, intermingled with the distant melody of jazz and the buzz of lively conversations. Sam directed Dean through the bustling streets towards the French Quarter, the heart of the city's ancient allure, where Julia was scheduled to meet Chelsea.

Pulling up in front of a quaint restaurant nestled among the vibrant tableau of the Quarter, Julia leaned forward to address both Sam and Dean. "I'll catch up with you guys at the Four Seasons Hotel this afternoon. Have fun doing your detective thing," she quipped, her voice light but laced with a hint of anticipation for the day ahead. Without thinking, she pressed a quick kiss to Dean's cheek, a spontaneous gesture of affection.

Realizing the intimacy of her action, Julia swiftly turned to Sam, mirroring the gesture with a kiss on his cheek as well, her face flushed with a mixture of surprise and embarrassment at her own boldness. Sliding out of the car, she paused before closing the door, a playful seriousness taking over her tone. "Oh, and don't forget—we need you two looking sharp tonight, so make sure you've got your suits ready," she reminded them, then quickly turned and disappeared into the restaurant to meet Chelsea.

Dean, momentarily stunned by Julia's kiss, watched her leave with a mix of amusement and a hint of something deeper. As the door closed behind her, he turned to Sam, a smirk slowly forming on his lips, his earlier surprise morphing into his usual confident demeanor. "Well, looks like we've got orders to dress to impress tonight," he said, the smirk evident in his voice as well. "Better make sure those suits of ours are up to the gala standard, huh, Sammy?" His tone was teasing, yet there was a clear undercurrent of excitement about the evening's potential. The day in New Orleans was shaping up to be anything but ordinary, and Dean was ready to embrace whatever the city had in store for them.

Sam and Dean made their way into the heart of the vibrant city, their mission leading them to the local sheriff's office. Inside, they were greeted by the sheriff, a man whose weary eyes spoke volumes of the mysteries and burdens that came with his badge. He briefed them on the recent string of disappearances, noting the victims were all from wealthy, high society backgrounds, yet the details of their vanishings remained elusive, shrouded in uncertainty.

"Do any of these disappearances have a connection to the Cartwrights?" Sam inquired, his tone serious and probing. He leaned forward slightly, indicating his keen interest in finding a link that could unravel the mystery they were diving into.

The sheriff sighed, a hint of frustration in his voice as he responded, "Most likely. The Cartwrights are an old, wealthy local family. Been around for centuries." It was clear from his tone that the influence of the Cartwright family was both well-known and pervasive, a constant undercurrent in the town's social fabric.

Dean, picking up on the lead, pressed further. "Any idea where we can dig up more on the Cartwright family history?" he asked, his question sharp and direct, aiming to uncover any information that could lead them closer to understanding the family's potential involvement.

"The local library has a section on the old families around here, including the Cartwrights. That's probably your best bet," the sheriff explained, his tone indicating resignation to the fact that the Cartwrights, like many of the town's elite, remained an enigma to those outside their circles. "They don't really mingle outside their high society groups," he added, underscoring the challenge Sam and Dean faced in penetrating the closed world of New Orleans' upper echelon.

Sam and Dean exchanged a glance, a silent communication that spoke of their next move. They offered their thanks to the sheriff, their minds already racing with the possibilities that awaited them at the library. As they stepped out of the sheriff's office and back into the bustling streets of New Orleans, the weight of their task loomed ahead. Yet, the prospect of uncovering secrets hidden within the pages of history invigorated them, propelling them forward in their quest to unravel the mystery surrounding the Cartwright family and the shadowy disappearances.

* * *

The Impala glided to a halt in front of a charming, somewhat antiquated library. Its facade, adorned with the gentle wear of time, whispered tales of the countless souls who had passed through its doors in search of knowledge. Sam and Dean exited the car with a purpose, their strides full of the confidence that came from years of navigating the unknown.

Approaching the library, they pushed through the heavy doors and were greeted by the quiet, sacred hush that envelops all such repositories of wisdom. Their boots echoed softly on the polished wood floor as they made their way towards the front desk, where an elderly librarian sat, her presence as much a part of the library as the books themselves.

Dean took the lead, leaning slightly on the desk with a disarming smile. "Excuse me, ma'am, but could you point us towards the section on the history of the local area's old families?" he inquired, his voice carrying a blend of respect and charm, the latter honed to perfection over years of dealing with all manner of people.

The librarian peered up at them through her glasses, a flash of curiosity crossing her features before she rose from her seat. Without a word, she led them into the heart of the library, navigating the labyrinth of bookshelves with a quiet assurance. Eventually, she halted before a specific shelf, her hand waving gently towards the collection before she retreated, leaving Sam and Dean to their investigation.

The brothers scanned the titles, their focus narrowing as they sought anything related to the Cartwrights. When they finally located the book they needed, they exchanged a glance of silent understanding and moved to claim a table in a secluded corner.

As they settled down, the pages of the book open before them, the library around them seemed to close in, the outside world fading away. They were now fully immersed in the task at hand, piecing together the puzzle of the Cartwright family's history and its potential connection to the mysterious disappearances. The quiet rustle of pages turning was the only sound that accompanied their research, a testament to their unwavering determination to uncover the truth hidden within the library's serene confines.

In the hushed confines of the library, Sam and Dean pored over the ancient tome they'd found, its pages heavy with the weight of history and secrets untold. As they delved deeper into the legacy of the Cartwright family, a series of aged, grainy photographs caught their attention. Each photo depicted individuals who bore a striking resemblance to each other, yet the captions indicated they were generations apart.

"Dean, look at this," Sam said, his finger tracing the lineage of faces that seemed to defy the passage of time. "These photos... these people look identical, but they're supposedly from different centuries."

Dean leaned in, his eyes scanning the images skeptically before realization dawned on him. "That's not normal. You thinking what I'm thinking?" he asked, the gears turning in his head.

Sam nodded, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place. "Vampires. It's the only explanation that makes sense. The Cartwrights could be an old vampire family, hiding in plain sight, using their wealth and status to cover their tracks."

The idea seemed far-fetched, yet the evidence before them was compelling. Dean flipped through more pages, finding references to lavish parties thrown by the Cartwrights that coincided with mysterious disappearances in the area.

"Look at this," Dean pointed out, his finger landing on a passage describing a grand ball from the late 1800s, after which several prominent guests were never seen again. "History's repeating itself. The Cartwright galas... it's like they're hunting grounds."

Sam's expression grew grim. "And with another gala happening soon, they could be planning to feed again. We need to stop them before it's too late."

The brothers shared a look of determination, the kind forged in countless battles against the dark. In the silence of the library, surrounded by the musty scent of old books, they found a new resolve. The Cartwright mystery was unraveling, revealing a sinister truth that had been hidden for centuries. Now, armed with knowledge and a sense of urgency, Sam and Dean were ready to confront the ancient evil lurking within the Cartwright lineage. The hunt was on.

* * *

Late in the afternoon, the Winchester brothers found themselves once again navigating the vibrant streets of New Orleans. Their mission had taken them to a tailor shop, where they'd picked up gala-ready suits, a necessary armor for the night's impending confrontation. Now, they were on their way to the Four Seasons Hotel, a luxurious accommodation arranged by Julia's friend Chelsea, signaling the next phase of their plan.

Pulling up in front of the hotel, Dean faced a moment of reluctance as a valet approached, his instinctive protectiveness over the Impala kicking in. It took some persuasive coaxing from Sam, but eventually, Dean surrendered his beloved car keys, albeit with a wary glance back at his cherished vehicle.

Duffel bags and suit bags in tow, they strode into the hotel's lavish lobby, exuding the quiet confidence of men on a mission. Dean led the way to the front desk, his demeanor shifting to one of effortless charm as he addressed the receptionist. "We have a reservation under Ms. Blackburn," he said, flashing a smile that had disarmed more than its fair share of adversaries.

The receptionist, momentarily caught off guard by Dean's charm, quickly regained her composure, cheeks tinged with a blush as she handed over the room keys. "Your rooms are ready. Enjoy your stay," she managed, her professionalism intact despite the fluttering in her chest.

As they made their way to the elevators, Dean's phone buzzed with a new message from Julia, instructing them to get ready in Sam's room. She explained that she had the room key for the room she was sharing with Dean but was currently with Chelsea getting ready. Understanding the logistics of their preparation, Dean pocketed his phone, a sense of anticipation building.

"Looks like we're bunking with you for the prep, Sammy," Dean remarked, a grin spreading across his face at the thought of their makeshift dressing room scenario. "Let's hope your room's got enough mirrors for all of us."

The brothers continued towards the elevators, their steps synchronized, a silent testament to the countless times they'd faced challenges together. Today, the challenge was not monsters or demons, but the social battlefield of a gala filled with the city's elite—and possibly, a coven of ancient vampires. Yet, the Winchester resolve remained unshaken, their readiness undimmed by the setting sun over New Orleans.

* * *

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, Sam and Dean stood poised in the opulent lobby of the Four Seasons, their black tuxedos and bow ties epitomizing classic elegance. The anticipation was palpable between them, a silent acknowledgment of the night's significance.

The moment the golden elevator doors glided open, their attention was captured by the emergence of a statuesque blonde. Her hair, styled in an immaculate French twist, added to her high fashion allure. Unlike Julia's gentle curves and softness, this woman was all sharp angles and striking presence. Her gown, a masterpiece in dusty pink, whispered against the marble floor as she approached.

Her smile was both confident and enigmatic as she extended a hand adorned with pink manicured nails towards Dean, mistakenly addressing him, "You must be Sam, I'd recognize tall, dark, and handsome anywhere. I'm Chelsea," her voice rich with the melodious lilt of a Louisiana accent.

Dean's response came with a cheeky grin, an easy charm that had disarmed many. "Actually, I'm Dean. And this," he said, stepping slightly to the side to introduce his brother with a flourish, "is Sam, your tall, dark, and handsome date."

Chelsea's momentary surprise was quickly masked by a practiced smile of excitement, though a flicker of amusement danced in her eyes as she corrected her assumption. The brief falter in her confidence was a rare sight, quickly smoothed over by her poise.

The exchange, brief as it was, set the tone for the evening, hinting at the layers of intrigue and performance that awaited them at the gala. As they prepared to step into a night of high society and hidden dangers, the Winchesters and their companions were fully aware of the roles they had to play, their outward appearances just the first layer of their elaborate masquerade.

The lobby of the Four Seasons held a wealth of opulence, but all of it paled in comparison when the elevator announced its arrival with a soft ding. Dean turned, his gaze immediately captured by the vision that emerged. It was Julia, her auburn curls masterfully gathered into a low bun, with delicate tendrils caressing the contours of her face, adding a softness that contrasted with the grandeur of her attire.

She stood there for a moment, framed by the golden elevator doors, and then stepped forward. Dean's breath caught as she moved gracefully across the floor, her gown a statement of elegance and boldness. The dress was a striking emerald green, its fabric flowing like the cascading waves of a verdant sea. The bodice clung to her in all the right places, its strapless design accentuating the graceful line of her shoulders and the gentle curve of her neck. The skirt was a masterpiece, cinched at the waist and flaring into a full silhouette, with a daring slit revealing a glimpse of her leg with each step she took. The dress's structure was both timeless and daring, much like the woman who wore it.

Her eyes, a mesmerizing green to match her dress, were fixed on Dean's, and in that instant, the bustling lobby seemed to dissolve into nothingness. Time stretched, elongated by the intensity of their connection. She glided toward him, her presence commanding the room without a word, each step a note in the symphony of the moment.

Dean, usually so guarded and poised, found himself at a loss, his usual quips and banter silenced by the vision before him. He could only watch, utterly captivated, as Julia approached, the world around them fading into a blur—all noise, all movement, all thoughts secondary to the woman who held his undivided attention.

Julia halted her approach mere inches from Dean, her fingers deftly pushing up her glasses with a delicate touch to her cheek. “I would've gone for contacts, but I’m pretty much blind without these,” she admitted, her voice carrying a hint of vulnerability as a blush crept into her cheeks under Dean’s intense gaze.

Dean, who had been momentarily breathless at her entrance, let out a silent exhale. His hand found its way to the small of her back, a gesture both protective and tender. “Sweetheart, you could wear ski goggles, and you'd still look stunning,” he murmured, his voice low and sincere, eyes never leaving her face.

Julia's blush deepened, her delicate hands rising to straighten Dean’s bow tie, her touch light but full of affection. “And you’re not looking too shabby yourself,” she replied, her eyes lifting to meet his, a soft smile dancing on her lips.

Their intimate bubble was gently burst by Sam’s voice, clearing his throat to signal his presence. “Alright, it’s time to head out. Wouldn’t want to miss the grand entrance,” he said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he observed the pair.

Chelsea, who had been quietly observing the exchange, felt a fleeting shadow of envy pass over her before she brightened up with a practiced socialite’s smile. “And to make our night even more special, I've arranged a limo for us," she chimed in, her cheeriness as polished as the evening ahead.

With a roguish tilt to his smile, Dean offered his arm to Julia, bending it with a flourish of old-world gallantry. "Shall we? Your chariot awaits, m'lady," he quipped, the tease in his voice softened by the warmth in his eyes.

A giggle, light and genuine, bubbled from Julia as she looped her arm through his, her touch feather-light against the strength of his arm. Together, they made their way to the sleek black limo that stood poised to whisk them away into the night.

Reaching the limo, Dean's movements were smooth and practiced as he held the door open for her. He extended his hand to assist her, a silent testament to his ever-present protective nature. Julia gathered the rich emerald folds of her gown with grace and ease, her fingers brushing against Dean's as she settled into the plush limo seat.

After ensuring Julia was comfortably seated, Dean slid into the space beside her, the soft leather welcoming them both. Across from them, Sam opened the door for Chelsea, who, with a nod of polite indifference, opted to glide into the limo unassisted, the light from the setting sun catching the highlights in her blonde hair.

* * *

The limousine whisked them away from the city’s heart, toward a realm that seemed untouched by time. The road unraveled like a ribbon through an ethereal tunnel formed by ancient trees. Their heavy boughs, veiled in the soft glow of fairy lights, arched above, creating a celestial canopy that twinkled like a sky of stars just within reach. The fairy lights cast a gentle luminescence that danced across the vehicle’s sleek surface, imbuing the journey with a sense of enchantment.

As the limo proceeded down the enchanting path, the awe-inspiring sight that awaited them at the end of this verdant aisle took their breath away. The house, grand and imposing, stood as a sentinel at the road's end, its white facade a striking contrast against the deep greens and the twilight's gold. The elegance of the classical architecture, with its stately columns and expansive porches, was accentuated by the setting sun, which bathed the entire scene in a warm, golden light.

"The Cartwrights sure know how to pick a location," Dean remarked, his voice low, filled with a mix of admiration and the hunter's ever-present vigilance.

"It's like something out of a storybook," Julia whispered, her face alight with the beauty of it all, yet shadowed by the knowledge of what might lurk within.

Sam nodded, his eyes scanning the surroundings with a strategic mind. "Perfect for a gala... or hiding secrets," he mused, his thoughts already racing ahead to the night's mission.

As the limo glided to a stop, the quartet readied themselves, each aware that the night would be as much about wits and courage as it was about waltzes and wine. The house before them was more than just a venue; it was a chessboard, and they were about to make their opening move.

* * *

The limo's gentle purr subsided, giving way to the evening's quiet splendor as it halted at the gala's entrance. Dean was the first to emerge, stepping out with the ease of a man both sure of himself and alert to his surroundings. He then reached back into the limo, offering his hand to Julia. Her fingers slipped into his like the final piece of a puzzle, the luxurious fabric of her dress whispering secrets as she rose from the car, the color of deep forest leaves after rain.

Sam and Chelsea joined them, rounding the vehicle to unite as two pairs ready to face the night’s intrigue. Together, they made their way toward the imposing front doors of the mansion, their steps synchronized on the red carpet that welcomed them.

The gala greeter, poised in a tuxedo that mirrored the event's elegance, offered a smile that was both professional and warm as they drew near. Chelsea stepped forward, her confidence echoing the grandeur of their surroundings. "We're with Blackburn and Sterling," she announced with the clarity of someone accustomed to these events.

With an acknowledging nod, the greeter ushered them inside, extending the hospitality of the Cartwrights. "Welcome, please enjoy the evening," he said, his voice a smooth melody over the soft buzz of conversation that escaped from within.

As they crossed the threshold, the gala unfolded before them like a scene from a gilded age. Crystal chandeliers cast a constellation of light across the room, their brilliance reflected in the polished marble floors. Waiters in crisp uniforms glided through clusters of guests, offering flutes of champagne and delicate hors d'oeuvres on silver trays. The air was alive with a string quartet's lilting harmony, the music weaving through the laughter and chatter of the assembled elite.

Opulence dripped from every corner, from the ornate moldings on the walls to the lavish floral arrangements that adorned every table. The guests themselves were a swirl of silks, satins, and sparkling jewels, each moving in the intricate dance of socialite pageantry. As Dean, Julia, Sam, and Chelsea joined the flow, they were swept up in the spectacle, their senses attuned to both the beauty and the hidden dangers of the Cartwright gala.

As a waiter navigated the throng of guests, Julia deftly plucked two flutes of champagne from the passing tray and turned to Dean with a glint of mischief in her eyes. Dean accepted the glass, his eyebrows arching playfully as he caught the mirthful sparkle in her gaze.

"What's the game plan, huh? Trying to get me tipsy so you can take advantage of me?" he teased, the corner of his mouth lifting into his trademark smirk.

Julia's giggle was a light counterpoint to the rich timbre of the string quartet filling the room. "No, just embracing the role of a gala attendee," she quipped back, a mock-serious bob of her head punctuating the words 'gala attendee' as if they were a title she had studied for.

Dean, his glass poised halfway to his lips, took a deliberate step closer. His free hand found the small of her back, resting there with familiar ease. "Oh, is that so? And what exactly does the role of 'gala attendee' entail?" he inquired, his tone laced with flirtation and a hint of challenge, inviting her to continue their playful banter amidst the grandeur of the gala.

Julia's smile was an upward curve of shared secrets as she regarded Dean. "Well, they discreetly uncover where the Cartwrights whisk away their 'special guests'," she whispered, her hand lightly touching his chest as though to anchor herself in the whirlwind of their covert operation.

Dean was about to respond, the words forming with the ease of a man who lived on the edge of danger, "Sounds like a perfec–," when Chelsea's voice cut through, diverting their course.

"Come on, let's blend in. We can start with a dance, maybe? Anything's better than just loitering here," Chelsea proposed, her fingers lightly pressing against Dean's upper arm, urging him into the flow of the gala.

Dean glanced at Sam, who seemed content to observe from the sidelines, before turning back to Chelsea with a nod. "You heard the lady. Let's see if the Winchester charm works on the dance floor," he said, a playful note in his voice, ready to slip into the night's rhythm, where every step was a measure of their investigation.

As the evening wove its way through laughter and clinking glasses, Sam leaned in toward Dean and Julia, seizing a moment when Chelsea was drawn away by the swirl of the gala.

"I'm going to take a look around while everyone's distracted," Sam murmured, his voice a low frequency meant only for his brother and Julia. Without waiting for a response, he slipped away, merging with the sea of guests as he vanished into the mansion's grandiose interior.

Dean and Julia continued to converse, their dialogue an effortless tennis match of wit and insight, until the distinct vibration of a phone interrupted their rally. Julia's expression shifted as she reached into the hidden pocket of her dress, a testament to its practicality. She pulled out her phone, and her forehead creased with concern.

"Uh–" She locked eyes with Dean, a silent apology in the look. "I need to take this," she said, her voice threaded with urgency. With a fluid grace, Julia threaded her way through the crowd, leaving Dean to watch her go, a slight crease of concern mirroring hers as she sought a sliver of solitude for her call.

Dean's gaze followed the trail of Julia's auburn hair as she weaved through the gala's crowd, disappearing from sight. He took the opportunity to survey the room, a hunter's instinct to always be aware of his surroundings. Suddenly, he felt the familiar pressure of a hand on his arm. Turning, he found Chelsea standing closer than before, her presence insistent.

"Where did Julia and Sam wander off to?" Chelsea inquired, her voice carrying a note of curiosity, almost too close for casual conversation.

Dean kept his cool, the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Sam's off doing his mingling magic, and Julia had to take a call," he explained, his attention briefly following the trail of Chelsea's hand as it drifted from his arm to rest against his chest.

"So, that leaves just us... alone together," Chelsea intimated, her voice lowering, eyes locked on his.

Dean glanced around at the sea of people, the hum of conversation surrounding them. "Not really alone, we've got about a hundred chaperones," he quipped, gesturing to the guests around them, trying to maintain a light-hearted atmosphere.

Chelsea hummed, a sound that seemed to hold more than mere agreement. She leaned into Dean, her body language shifting as she guided him with gentle pressure, away from the crowd and toward a secluded part of the wall, her hands exploring his chest with an unspoken intention.

A flicker of discomfort crossed Dean's face, his brows knitting together as he tried to navigate the situation with diplomacy. "Chelsea, I think we should–" But his attempt to diffuse the advance was interrupted when Chelsea, bold and unyielding, placed her hands on his face and drew him into a kiss.

Caught off guard, Dean's first instinct was to pull away, but he also knew the importance of keeping up appearances. He had to handle the situation without causing a scene that could jeopardize their mission, all while maintaining the respect and boundaries he held for Julia. It was a delicate dance, even for a seasoned hunter like Dean Winchester.

* * *

The brisk Louisiana winter air wrapped itself around Julia as she stepped outside, its chill a stark contrast to the warmth of the gala inside. As the call ended, leaving her with a tangle of emotions and unanswered questions, she let out a sigh that mingled with the night. Her fingers trembled slightly as she tucked her phone away, and she removed her glasses to press weary fingertips against her eyelids, willing strength into her resolve.

In that quiet moment, she allowed herself to feel the weight of the call, to acknowledge the ripple of distress it had sent through her. But she knew she couldn't let it consume her—not tonight. With a fortifying breath that turned to vapor in the cool air, she replaced her glasses, her vision clearing along with her determination. She was ready to return to Dean, to let the night's earlier enchantment wash over her once more.

As Julia re-entered the opulent mansion, she wove through the throng of guests, their conversations a distant hum in her ears. Her gaze scanned the room, seeking the familiar form of Dean, craving the comfort his presence promised. But when her search finally ended, the sight that greeted her was a piercing jolt to her heart.

Dean was pinned against the wall, ensnared in an unexpected embrace with Chelsea, whose hands cradled his face, lips pressed to his in a kiss that stole Julia's breath. A sharp pain clawed at her chest, a mixture of shock and an inexplicable sense of betrayal. She had no claim over Dean, no vows had been exchanged, but the sting of seeing him with another was undeniable.

Turning away, Julia forced herself to refocus on the mission. There were clues to be found, secrets to unearth—this was no time for the distractions of the heart. With a swipe at the tears that dared to spill, she started her silent quest through the mansion, each step a message to herself that she was more than what she felt in this moment. She was a hunter, and tonight, that was all that mattered.

* * *

Dean's reaction was immediate, his voice a low, controlled growl that barely concealed his shock and discomfort. "Chelsea, what the hell?" he demanded, the firmness in his tone not quite masking the undercurrent of confusion. His eyes darted around, conscious of the eyes and ears that might be privy to this unintended scene.

Chelsea retreated a step, her expression faltering into one of wounded pride as she absorbed the rejection. Looking up at Dean, she saw the residual crimson mark her lipstick had left on him, a vivid contrast to the pale annoyance etched across his face.

As the realization dawned on her, her voice took on a bitter edge, tinged with jealousy. "It's Julia, isn't it? I mistook your charm for something... less serious. But you're actually in love with her," Chelsea accused, her disappointment morphing into a disdainful sneer.

Dean fixed his gaze on her, the lines of his face hardening. "This isn't the time or place. Let's just get back to the party," he said, his tone final, leaving no room for further discussion. He sidestepped her, putting physical distance between them as he reoriented himself toward the throng of guests, eager to put the discomfort of the moment behind him.

To Be Continued...

Tag List: @deanwinchestersgirl87

[wayward-dreamer]

Reluctant Renegade - Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire!Dean x Female!Detective!Reader

Summary: After the night that saw his transformation into a vampire, resulting in the death of his wife, Dean spends his lifetime seeking revenge on the one that turned him. Reluctantly living outside the law because of what he is, he finds his niche as a bounty hunter, hired by families looking for someone, anyone to avenge the deaths of their loved ones. He doesn’t play by the rules, finding justice for the victims by any means necessary.

But as dead bodies rack up and catch the attention of a young, naive but by-the-book detective, she won’t stop until she finds out who's responsible for them. Dean knows he has to convince her of his innocence, but can he do that while maintaining his secret? And when the alpha that sired him finds him first, can he keep Y/N safe?

Based on the song Blood Like Lemonade by Morcheeba.

Warnings: Angst, violence, blood, pinches of fluff.

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Epilogue

This series is complete!

[wilbur-rabbit]

We are Soulmates Chapter 3

Criminal Minds/Supernatural Crossover

Summary: Both teams find themselves on the same case and it doesn't go how either would expect.

Paring: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Word Count: 6070

Warnings: descriptions of crime scenes, CM and SPN related gore and death, angst

A/N: Chapter 3 is finally here! I'm sorry this has taken so long to get out. There will still be at least one more chapter in this series but I'm not sure when it will be out.

Thank you for the support! Please like and reblog if you enjoy it!

Chapter 1

Chapter 1 - Sam/Dean/Cas' POV

Chapter 2

Chapter 4

Walking onto the crime scene made you cringe. There had been another killing upon your arrival in Clarksburg and the scene was brutal. The four of you had decided to split up to cover more ground. You and Dean opting to head to the fresh crime scene, while Sam and Cas go to talk to the M.E about the previous murders.

Dean lifted the yellow tape for you as you ducted under it, both of you dressed in your FBI garb. You both were pulling out your fake FBI badges as you walked up the lead detective on the case, Detective Moon, which you thought would have been fitting if the killer were a werewolf. Flashing your badges, Dean introduces both of you.

“Agents Nicks and Page, FBI,” he said. The rock aliases seem to go over Detective Moon’s head, which you are grateful. At least those are a little more inconspicuous than some you have heard the boy’s use.

“What do you have?” you asked Moon after you and Dean shook his hand.

“Carly Whitlock twenty-two, she was walking home from her shift at the Social Tap, got off around midnight. She was found this morning by a jogger.”

Detective Moon leads you down the alley behind the bar that the victim had worked at. Next to the dumpster was Carly Whitlock. Her chest was splayed open, the perfect size for a male fist to have fit in and blood pooled on the ground under her. You felt a pang of sympathy. Carly had gone painfully.

“Missing heart?” Dean asked.

“Yup, just like all the others,” Detective Moon replied with a shake of his head. “I’m really glad you guys are here. This case is the strangest I’ve come across.”

“Wish we could say the same,” you joked as Dean knelt next to the body looking for something that could help us, and you worked to keep the Detective distracted.

“Yeah, I’m sure you’ve seen some pretty crazy stuff,” he said turning towards you.

“You have no idea,” you said. You glance down at Dean, who was now crouched down over the body. He looked up at you and shook his head, your signal that he was going to need some time.

“Hey, think I could talk to the witness?” you asked Detective Moon. It was easier to look for signs of the supernatural without a detective breathing down your neck and talking to the person that found her still needed to be done.

“Yeah, of course,” he said, glancing at Dean, who didn’t acknowledge him. He looked back to you. “She’s rights this way.” He motioned towards the building to your right. Upon reaching the front of the building you realize that it is the Social Tap, the bar the victim worked at.

“She didn’t make it far, did she?” you said.

“No,” Moon said with a shake of his head. “We think the murderer might have been waiting in the alley for someone to leave. All the employees use the back entrance, which leads to the alley.”

You nodded, as the two of you came up to a woman sitting on a bench outside of the bar. She was dressed for a run and as you walked up you could see the faraway look in her eyes.

“Excuse me, Miss Blanchette,” Moon said gently, not wanting to startle her.

The woman, Miss Blanchette, slowly lifts her head to look up at the two of you.

“This is Agent Nicks; she is with the FBI. She has a few questions for you.”

You walked around and attentively sat down on the bench next to her. You had found that people were more willing to help if someone they think of as being an authority is on their level. “Hi, Miss Blanchette. Is it okay if I ask you a few questions?” You said keeping your voice soft.

She nodded. “You can call me, Stacy.”

“Okay, Stacy,” you gave her a small smile. “What can you tell me about this morning?”

“I was on my morning jog; I go every morning. I usually run through the park but decided I wanted a change of scenery,” one of the other murders took place in the park, so you couldn’t really blame her for the change, “so I came downtown. I stopped in front of the Tap to take a drink of water, and I stretched some on the bench. And then–,” she cut herself off, taking in a shaky breath.

You placed your hand on hers, “It’s okay. Take your time.” You reassured her.

She took in a deep breath, trying to calm herself before continuing. “I started running again, but I looked down the alley and I thought I saw something laying by the dumpster. I thought maybe it was a homeless person sleeping or something. I wanted to see if I could help.” Tears started pooling in her eyes, and you gave her hand a squeeze. You knew how hard this must be for her.

“It was still dark down the alley, so I couldn’t clearly see her until I was about five feet away. There was so much blood–,” A sob broke her off and you felt a pang for making this woman relive through one of the worst moments of her life. “That was when I called 911.”

“Do you remember what time it was when you found her?” you asked.

Stacey wiped at her face before pulling out her phone. She brought up her most recent calls. “I called 911 at 6:17.” She told you.

You nodded, she had been dead for hours then, before continuing to your next question. “Do you remember smelling anything bad? Like rotten eggs?”

She looked up at you with furrowed brows. “Um, I could smell the trash from the dumpster if that’s what you mean.”

You gave her a smile even though that wasn’t really what you were hoping she would say. “Is there anything else that you can remember from this morning?”

She bit her lip and looked down at her lap. Her eyebrows pulled together as she thought.

“There was one other thing.” She said, looking back up at you. “I’m sure it’s nothing. I’m probably just being paranoid but while I was waiting for an officer to arrive, I could have sworn I felt eyes on me.” She shook her head, breaking eye contact. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“Every detail matters. Thank you for your time, Stacey.” You pulled out a business card and handed it to her. “If you have any questions or think of anything else don’t hesitate to call.” After she took the card from your hand, you stood up and walked back towards the alley with Moon.

“She didn’t tell us the part about feeling like she was being watched,” Moon told you.

“Sometimes females feel better telling other females those things. Like there is a mutual understanding.” You told him. There had been many times a female victim or witness had opened up and told you more than they had Sam or Dean.

“Do you think the murderer was still here?” he asked. The two of you had stopped in front of the opening of the alley. You sighed, “Maybe,” you turn your head to see Dean heading your way, giving you a slight nod. He found something. “These sickos sometimes like to come back to the scene of the crime to see how it unfolds. See peoples’ reactions to what they have done.”

Moon shook his head and scrubbed his hand down his face. Dean had now reached the two of you. “Thank you, guys, for coming as quickly as you did. Never had to call in the FBI before.”

Both you and Dean froze. Shit. That means there were going to be other agents in town. That would have made trying to investigate hard on its own but given your current situation it put a damper on things to put it mildly.

Dean luckily recovered before you did. “Of course, we are happy to help.” He said, extending his hand for the detective to shake, which you mirrored when the detective turned to you.

“If you need anything just let us know,” you told him, blatantly not giving him a way to contact you before you and Dean headed back to the Impala. Once we were outside the yellow tape you looked up to Dean.

“We are so fucked.”

“You can say that again,” he replied.

“We are so fucked,” you repeated with a smirk. You had both rounded the car to get in and you caught a glimpse of his eye roll, but he couldn’t hide the smile on his face either. He was glad you were joking around again.

“Yeah, we are going to have to cinch the FBI act,” he said.

Once you were both seated and pulling out of the parking spot you asked Dean what he had found.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a massive black feather. You took it from his hand, examining it. The feather reached from your elbow to your fingertips and the black gleamed in the sun, reminding you of an oil slick.

“This didn’t come from a normal bird,” you said, still turning the feather as you examined it.

“I thought the same thing,” Dean told you, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Was this the only one?” You asked, handing him back the feather so he could put it back in his suit jacket.

“No, there were four. At least that I saw,” he glanced at you. “I left the other ones there. See what the actually FBI thinks of that.”

You chuckled, knowing the FBI would probably overlook or not see the importance in it. Maybe they would think the perp had been wearing something with feathers on it when he committed the murders.

You turned towards the window staring out at the buildings that were going by. A thought tugged at the back of your mind and try as you might to keep it shoved back, it sprang forward. What if Aaron had been called into the case? You hated the hope that burst through your chest at the thought, and you pushed the feeling down. The odds that Aaron’s team was called into the same investigation that you were working had to be close to none. Other agents had to have been put on the case. You also hated the disappointment that burned through your chest at that. You just couldn’t win.

When the team landed in Clarksburg, West Virginia, Hotch split everyone up. Rossi and Prentiss were to go to the M.E., Morgan and JJ got the crime scene and Hotch and Reid were setting up at the police station to start victimology. Before everyone split up, he reminded them that this could be something that they hadn’t dealt with before and to keep their eyes peeled for things that didn’t add up.

Once arriving at the police station, Hotch and Reid were greeted by Sheriff Hopps. Hopps had been part of the sheriff’s department for fifteen years and crimes of this magnitude had never happened to the small town.

“I’m really happy you guys are here,” he told the agents. “This is way above our heads.”

“Of course,” Hotch said. “We are happy to help. Is there a place where we could set up?”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” The sheriff replied, before leading them to a conference room at the back of the station. “If there is anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Hotch and Reid nodded before getting to work. Reid started on the geographic profile, trying to pin down a common theme, or location for each murder. Hotch started looking into each victim, looking for commonalities they might have missed from the initial walk through of the crimes. After a few minutes though, Hotch started to have trouble focusing, his eyelids fighting to stay open. Usually not getting enough sleep wouldn’t bother him. Lack of sleep came with the job, but with the stress of the last couple of days, the exhaustion was hitting him hard. Deciding it was time for caffeine, or more caffeine that is, Hotch left the room in search of the station’s coffee machine.

Upon finding it he poured himself some in one of the small Styrofoam cups the station provided. Right as he was about to take his first sip of the caffeine he desperately needed; his phone started going off. Sighing, he set the cup down and fished his phone out of his pocket.

“Hotchner.”

“Hey Hotch, it’s Morgan. We have a situation down here.”

At that Hotch stiffened, “What is it?”

“The detective down here, Moon, says that there were already two FBI agents here this morning. Nicks and Page. I sent the names over to Garcia and neither are agents with the Bureau.” Morgan told Hotch.

“So, we have two FBI impersonators,” Hotch stated.

“Looks like it,” Morgan said. “There is one other thing. I asked Detective Moon about the two agents, and their appearances. I could be wrong, but the description sounded a lot like Y/N and Dean.”

Hotch’s breath froze in his lungs at the news. Was it possible for the two of you to end up on the same case? If it truly was you, Hotch couldn’t believe his luck.

“I’m having Garcia run through any cameras that are up and running around town. She says there isn’t many, but she should be able to find where they are.” Morgan said and Hotch was grateful that he already had Garcia looking.

“Thanks Morgan,” he said. “Head back as soon as you are done.”

“We will,” Morgan said before hanging up.

Hotch scrubbed a hand down his face. This case just got more complicated.

When Rossi and Prentiss got back from the M.E they had a similar story except the team believe that the two agents that had gone to the M.E were Sam and Castiel. The people they had been looking for landed in their laps.

Once everyone was back at the police station, in the conference room, Hotch addressed the situation. “We are going to keep working on this case like we would any other, we are here to do a job. If Garcia confirms who the imposters are we will go from there. Understood?”

Everyone gave a nod and Hotch turned towards Morgan and JJ, “What did you find at the crime scene?”

“It was just like the others.” JJ said. “Heart appeared to be ripped out of her chest. No defensive wounds. She wasn’t even given the chance to fight.”

“The witness said she found her around six am and Detective Moon told us that she told the other female agent that she felt like someone was watching her while she was waiting for the officers to arrive.” Morgan shared. Hotch ignored the hope that bloomed from the thought of that ‘agent’ being you.

“Maybe the unsub came back to the scene,” Reid hypothesized.

“Could have,” Prentiss agreed. “He could get off on seeing people reactions.”

“Like a second high from the kills,” Rossi added. “A sadist then.”

“There was something else at the crime scene that we found odd,” JJ began. “We almost didn’t bag it but since we aren’t really sure what we are dealing with we figured everything is important.” She turned to Morgan who gave her a nod. JJ went over and grabbed an evidence bag she had set down chair next to the door when she had walked into the room. She gently laid it on the able that was in the middle of the team. Everyone leaned into get a better look.

“A feather?” Hotch asked, looking back up at JJ and Morgan after examining the evidence.

“I know it’s weird, but we are in the business of weird now, right?” Morgan said. “I checked with Garcia and there are no bird species that are home to this region that have feathers like this. Especially this big.”

“With a feather this size a bird would have to be–,” Reid paused for moment to think before focusing back on the team. “An eagle of some kind and a large one at that.”

While Reid was talking Prentiss had picked up the evidence back and moved it around in the light. “There is no way this came from a bird or normal one anyway,” Prentiss claimed. “This thing almost shines in the light, reflects the rainbow.” She said as she moved the back so the team could see what she was referring to.

“I think it’s safe to say we have our second clue on our first supernatural case,” Rossi said eyeing the rest of the team. The team looked around at each other, wonder what they had gotten themselves into.

When you and Dean got back to the motel, Sam and Cas were already there. After laying his suit jacket down on the back the chair by the door, Dean got straight to the point.

“The FBI are in town,” he said. “The detective at the scene, thanked us and said he ‘never had to call the FBI in before.’ So, if they aren’t here already, they will be soon.”

“You have got to be kidding me.” Sam said, scrubbing his hands down his face. “Should we hit the road then? It would be risky to be working this even without there being man hunt on us.”

“If we leave more people will die,” you contradicted. “They aren’t going to know how to work a case like this. The agents could get hurt too.”

The three men knew who you were thinking of when you worried about the agents, but they didn’t comment on it.

“I think we stay,” Dean said. “If things get tool sticky, we get the hell out of dodge.”

The group agreed before going over what they found.

“The last victims didn’t have any defensive wounds, so Cas and I were thinking that the creature either caught the victim of guard or was strong enough to stop them from fighting back. If it went for the kill right away, they wouldn’t have been able to fight back,” Sam said. “All other organs were still in tacked and they still had some blood left in their veins so we can rule out a vampire.”

“The M.E. did find something unusual,” Cas cut in. “There was a broken fingernail found in the chest of one of the victims. They had run DNA on the fingernail, and it came back 80 percent human and 20 percent was unidentifiable. The M.E believed that it was due to a malfunction in the machine.”

Sam and Cas waited while you and Dean thought that fact over. We had never had the opportunity to look up the DNA of a monster before.

Dean broke the silence first, “Yeah I have no idea what that means.”

“I don’t either,” you agreed. “Maybe that is normal for monsters. Especially ones that start off as human. A lot of the times they still look human. Like vampires, or werewolves before they transform.”

“I don’t know,” Sam muttered pulling out his laptop from his bag and flipping it open. “Call it a gut feeling but I think this has to mean something.” He said as his fingers started to fly across the keyboard.

“Okay,” Dean said. “I’m starved and in need of a shower,” Dean always preferred to shower after a crime scene. You always assumed it had to do with his aversion to germs. “While wonder boy is looking for answers do you guys want to go get food while I shower?” he asked you and Cas. You and Cas looked at each other and you gave him a shrug before turning to Dean.

“Works for us,” you said and walked up to Dean with your hand out. He pulled his keys out of his front pocket and held them above your outstretched hand. You went to grab them, and he lifted them out of your reach. You sighed and waited for his speech.

“If there is one scratch on Baby–,” you cut him off snatching the keys from him.

“You will kill us.” You finished his sentence. You turned to walk towards the door. “We know,” you tossed over your shoulder before heading out with Cas to get some much needed food.

The team had pondered for a while on what could be ripping the hearts out of these victims. Hotch was nearly dead on his feet from exhaustion. The two cups of coffee he had at the police station doing nothing to starve off the tiredness that was seeping through his body. He let the team go early that evening, telling them to recoup and that they would get started early the next day. They weren’t making any head way on their mysterious case any way.

Usually, the team would get dinner together or bring something back to the station, and for all Hotch knew the other members of his team were doing exactly that. He didn’t have the mental capacity to sit through a dinner though. He wanted to eat and then crash. He really hoped he was able to sleep.

On his way back to the hotel that had been booked for the team, he stopped at a sandwich shop that was on the way. The shop appeared to be locally owned, the paint fading on the sign above the doorway. He didn’t mind though. Local places always had the best food. He and the team always tried to hit those places up in the different cities that they worked.

Opening the front door, a bell chimed that was hanging from the inside handle. Hotch surveyed the inside of the establishment; something he did no matter where he went. He noted the two employees behind the counter. One called out to him that they would be with him in a moment as they helped the women in front of him, which he gave a nod to. There was a group of teenagers in the back corner talking as they ate their meal. There was a man, women and child sitting towards the front of the shop. The man and women were taking turns feeding the child.

No one appeared to be a threat as his eyes drifted to the left side of the shop where he noticed a man and a woman who were waiting on their food to be ready. Their backs were to him the woman was wearing a brown and green flannel and the man was in a trench coat. As he turned back to the counter he did a double take, recognizing the trench coat as the one that the supposed Castiel was wearing when he came for you. The man’s dark hair matched up too. His eye moved over to the women and Hotch took her in, her hair that was the same shade and length as yours. She stood at the same height you do and as she turned to say something to the man, the view of your profile solidified that it was you and that you had both somehow ended up in the same sandwich shop working the same case.

He started walking towards you before he could stop himself. He had to get to you before he lost you again. Your name fell from his lips as he made his way to you causing you to turn towards him. Your eyes widened at the sight of him; your mouth agape as you took him in. The man next to you turned to see who had called your name. Upon seeing Hotch standing there he moved in front of you, taking a protective stance.

“She isn’t going with you,” the man blocking you said, power ringing though is voice. Hotch could have sworn the man’s already blue eyes shined brighter for a second as he spoke. You were looking at Hotch from over the man’s shoulder and Hotch couldn’t keep his eyes off you. Hotch knew he should say something, but he was at a loss for words. Which didn’t happen to him often.

Before Hotch was able to think of something to say, all the words he had wanted to say to you before going right out the window with you now in front of him, the employee from the shop called out your name for your food. You had jumped slightly, but then went to grab it from the worker and Hotch’s mind cleared for a moment. He kept his eyes on the man, presumably Castiel.

“I just want to talk,” Hotch murmured to the man. “I would never hurt her, and I am not going to arrest her. I believe her.” The man stared at Hotch; his head tilted to the side. Hotch fidgeted under his scrutiny, the man’s gaze unnerving. He felt like the man could see inside his soul. Maybe he is an angel.

You were walking back up to them, bag in hand and the man turned to look at you.

“He would like to speak with you, if you are okay with that,” he told you. Hotch noticed your eyes widen slightly before turning to look at him. Your gaze held, both of you taking in the other before you sighed.

“We should talk outside.”

You and Cas had led Aaron over to the Impala. You didn’t think you would need it, but you wanted a fast get away if this turned sideways. You had set the food in the back seat and you, and Cas were now standing next to Baby with Aaron across from you. His hands were shoved into the front pockets of his black slacks, and you could tell his shoulders were tense. Dark circles created shadows under his eyes, and you could see the weariness in them. You wondered if this ordeal had been as hard on him as it had on you.

You crossed your arms over your chest. “You wanted to talk.” You said to him.

He glanced at Cas, who was standing next to you his eyes narrowed watching Aaron’s every move. Aaron looked back to you.

“What you told me before… I believe you,” he said.

Your eyes widened, “You do?” you asked. “Everything I said?”

He nodded. “The M.E. found fangs on the victim from the barn. Him being a vampire makes more sense than anything my team could come up with. Then you disappeared and I knew the rest must be true too.”

The two of you stared at each other for a moment longer as you took in his words. You hadn’t expected him to believe you so easily, but there was one thing that he hadn’t brought up.

“What about the last thing I said to you?” you asked him, not able to say the words again. When you had told him that the two of you were soulmates, the words had slipped out. Prior to going into the confession with Aaron you hadn’t planned on telling him about that part. You had wanted to prove your innocence, but you had thought that telling him about what the two of you were to each other would complicate the situation. Plus, at the point you still weren’t planning on sticking around. Though, when you were sat in front of him, staring into his eyes and dredging up your tragic story, the words had flowed out of your mouth. For that moment before Castiel come through the portal, you had felt such happiness and relief that you were finally able to share that with him. As soon as you were back at the bunker another feeling took over. Guilt.

“That we are soulmates?” he asked, clearly not having any reservations about saying the words that made your insides flutter. “I believe that too,” he murmured taking a step towards you. “I felt a connection to you from the moment I walked into that interrogation room. I was so confused at first,” he looked away from you and ran his fingers through his hair, causing the ends to stand up, becoming disheveled. You wanted to run your fingers through the dark strands.

“When I saw you sitting in that interrogation room and our eyes met, I couldn’t look away from you. When you started to cry, I took everything in me not to comfort you. I have never felt that instant connection to anyone before and when you told me that we were meant to be together I felt like something had clicked into place. I knew you were telling the truth no matter how crazy it sounded.”

At this point, tears were streaming down your face. Hearing that he believed you, wasn’t something you expected to hear.

Aaron took a step toward you before he continued, “I know this situation is not normal and I’m okay with taking things slow, but I want to get to know you, I want to try this if that is what you want.”

You tense at his words. Terror tightening your muscles. Images from your nightmares flashed through your head of Aaron, dead, the life gone from his eyes caused by monsters that lurked in the shadows and pain exploded through your chest. You couldn’t let that happen no matter how much you wanted to be with him.

You take a deep breath looking away from his warm inviting eyes and prepare yourself for the pain you are about to cause him. You know you should look back at him, give him the decency to look him in the eye when you tear each of your hearts out of your chests, but you can’t bring yourself to look.

“I don’t want that,” you push out, your eyes on his polished shoes. “That’s why I ran away with Cas. I don’t want a soulmate. I don’t want you.” Your eyes at their own command look up to Aaron and the look on his face brings the tears choking your throat up to your eyes and you must turn away before they fall.

“I’m sorry,” you murmured before you opened the door to the Impala, running away like you always do. Cas takes the cue from you and goes to the passenger side to get in. You start the engine and pull out of your parking spot so quickly that the tires squeak. You don’t look back at Aaron who is still standing frozen where you left him.

You drive far enough to be out of the line of sight from the restaurant before the tears take over and you start to sob. Cas takes the wheel from you and guides you to the side of the road before pulling you in his arms. He murmurs reassurances that you don’t hear and rubs a soothing hand down your back. You don’t know how long the two of you sit there. Time doesn’t matter as you struggle to breathe, and the pieces of your heart lay at your feet.

Aaron doesn’t remember getting back into the government issued SUV. He doesn’t remember pulling up to the hotel the team is staying at. He doesn’t remember going up to his room or undressing to put his sleep clothes on. He doesn’t remember passing out from exhaustion. But he does remember the emptiness radiating from where his heart used to be, and he remembers wondering how he was supposed to move on from this.

The following days for the BAU are spent researching and hoping that another body doesn’t pop up. When the BAU finds out that Aaron ran into you and what you said to him, they are livid. Rossi had to practically yank the information out of Hotch when he had pulled him aside the day after the incident. Hotch had a blank look on his face for the entire morning and hadn’t contributed to any of the discussions. His head was clearly miles away.

When the team found out what had happened, of course Rossi told them, Morgan was ready to march out the door to find you. Hell, they all were. Morgan was just the one they had to physically stop from doing it.

The team had also decided it was time to fly Garcia down to be with them. This case involved mostly research since they weren’t even sure what could have committed these crimes and it made sense to have her with them. Garcia's search for the four of you had also stopped upon her arrival. The team already knew where you were.

While they are sitting in the conference room testing different theories on monsters that they can’t believe might exist, one of the police officers popped their head in.

“Agents, there’s a man out here wanting to talk to you. He’s specifically asking for Agent Hotchner.” The officer said and the agents in the room glanced around at each other wondering who the person could be. Hotch rose to his feet, to head out to the lobby. He followed the officer out to find he one and only Dean Winchester standing in the center of the room with his hands shoved in his front pockets.

Aaron stiffened at the sight of him but continued walking towards him.

“What are you doing here?” Aaron asked, skipping the pleasantries.

Dean doesn’t seem put off by Aaron getting straight to the point. “We need your help,” Dean told him. Aaron noticed the dark circles under his eyes and his disheveled clothes. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

“With what?” Aaron asked, confused.

“You haven’t seen Y/N the last couple days, have you?” Dean asked, sounding hopeful.

Dread filled Aaron’s stomach at the question, “No, I haven’t seen her since that day at the sandwich shop. Do you not know where she is?”

Dean sighed looking down at the ground as his jaw clenched; this is what he was afraid of.

“She has been missing since the night you too saw each other. We think she went on a walk after we all went to bed. She didn’t come back.”

Aaron’s world tilts on its axis at the words and he must reign himself in to hear the rest of what Dean says.

“We think we know what happened and we have been trying to find her but we were hoping we were wrong and that she was with you.” Dean said looking back up at Aaron, seeing the panic flashing in his eyes and he knows that coming to him was the right decision. Sam, Dean and Cas had argued about if coming to the FBI was the right choice or not. They had figured they could find you on their own, but after two days and no sign of you, Dean knew he had to pull in reinforcements.

Aaron had to keep himself pulled together as he answered Dean, “We will help you find her,” he said. “Come back and meet the team.” Aaron stared to heading back to the conference room, but Dean interrupted him.

“Is this a truce then?” Aaron turned back to him with his eyebrows pulled together. “I’m assuming you know who we are at this point. We don’t have the best track record with you guys, and I want to know if you are going to arrest us as soon as we find Y/N.”

Aaron honestly hadn’t even thought of that, but he understood why he was bringing it up.

“My team and I believe everything that Y/N told us during her confession. Finding fangs on the victim helped solidify what she said. We aren’t going to arrest you. I won’t let that happen.” Aaron told him. Dean nodded to him then pulled out his phone.

“I’m going to call Sam and Cas to get them here then, I’ll be in there in a minute.”

Aaron nodded then turned to go back to the conference room. Him having a moment to tell the team what was going on was probably a good idea.

“Hey Aaron,” Dean called out.

Aaron turned back again, looking at Dean expectantly.

“We are going to find her,” Dean said.

Aaron’s throat closed, but he managed to choke out, “I hope so.”

He didn’t know what he would do if they didn’t.

[hiddlesbummmm]

Thank you sweet anons for being so patient as I got this written. I know it’s been awhile!

I have been doing some thinking, and I have decided that at this time, I’m going to close my Supernatural requests. I’m starting to feel a little burned out and just am not getting the inspiration I was previously. I will still keep all the supernatural fic requests on my upcoming fic page, but will most likely not write them very fast.

Sorry for all my Supernatural fans💕 I love you all so much. This is nothing permanent, I just need to give myself some time to be more creative again💕

For now, my prompts will stay closed as I finish my Marvel fics, but will hopefully open up soon!

Without further ado, here’s my newest fic. I hope you all enjoy 💕

Original prompt ideas - here, here, here, and here!

Warnings: SFW Tickles

Word count: 2746 Ler Dean X Lee Reader

Down in the Dumps

The Men of Letters library. One of the only quiet places in the bunker. You were typically never one to read. The only time you did sit down with a novel was when you were feeling low. It was your way of escaping the hardships of life and drowning yourself in a fantasy world. And lately, you had been feeling defeated almost every day. 

The library was a safe space where you could be surrounded by complete and utter silence. Occasionally, Sam would burrow up in the library when he was researching, but even still he wasn’t a distraction. Sam was like you in the way that he also enjoyed sitting in silence while reading or researching. 

Your boyfriend Dean, on the other hand, was almost always a distraction, no matter the circumstance. You loved him dearly, but his energy could sometimes be overwhelming especially when you were feeling low. Luckily for you, he avoided the library like the plague. Dean claimed the library was filled with nonsense and reading made his brain hurt. You loved Dean more than anything else in the world, but you were the type of person who needed to take a mental break during hardships before you could talk about it. The two of you had an unspoken agreement that if you were in the library, it meant you wanted some alone time. 

Reading was your one way to escape reality and dream. Your favorite genre of book was mystery. This often made you laugh because your entire life of based on the mystery of not knowing. 

Books with monsters didn’t usually pique your interest because you saw and dealt with enough of them that you didn’t want to fill your mind with more. 

Even though hunting was a job where money was hard to come by, Dean always graciously saved enough for you to buy new books every once and a while. Obviously they were thrift store finds, but the thought is what counted and you were grateful nonetheless. 

This last week had been nothing but a shit show. The only positive thing that had happened was killing the stupid witches that had hexed an entire neighborhood. 

But of course, it hadn’t ended well. Nothing that involves witches ever ends well. 

It was your first time dealing with witches. Dean was hesitant to even let you go because he was afraid you would accidentally come home with a hex bag and lose all your teeth or something. 

Castiel swore he would use his angel grace to help detect said dark magic and protect you, so Dean budged and allowed you to help. 

The two witches you were looking for were posing as nice retired widows who participated in all sorts of community service and strived to help others. 

Obviously, this was all a lie. 

Who would dare mess with the sweet elderly widows down the street? 

No one except for the Winchesters. 

According to Sam, the 2 women had been secretly placing hex bags inside their neighbor's houses and cars. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason for it either. But unfortunately, each victim died a horrible death. 

The group of you decided that the witches were just sadists who wanted to hurt people. These were by far the worst because everyone was a target for no reason other than being human. 

Dean decided that before you could successfully kill the witches, you had to find the remaining hex bags in the neighbor's houses. If the hex bags remained after the witches were killed, it could trigger them to go off. 

Since Cass can sense the dark magic, he was able to point out what houses were dangerous and needed to be checked. You, Sam, and Dean threw on a local Gas company attire and knocked on the doors claiming there was a gas leak and their house needed to be checked. It was an easy enough ruse, and the neighbors gladly let you all in. It was decided you all split up to cover ground the quickest. It was also decided that it was safest if Cass went back to the bunker because if he could sense dark magic, you didn’t want to risk the witches sensing Castiel’s grace. 

Once Cass was gone, Sam and Dean quickly gave you the crash course on how to find hex bags. You were to look in all crevices, noting any changes in smell or mood. Important places to check included cabinets, drawers under beds, on the couch, etc. Feeling confident, you searched your assigned houses. 

The first couple of houses had a couple of hex bags hidden. You nearly exploded when you found one under a baby crib. Vampires used to be your most feared monster, but now witches were on the top of your list. 

When you finally got to the last house, something just didn’t feel right. Castiel had mentioned that hex bags can change the energy or mood of a house, and you understood what he meant. This house felt heavy and depressing. The only problem was you searched and searched and ended up empty-handed. You were frustrated because you felt like one had to be here, but the family was starting to get suspicious the longer you lingered. 

As you met up with Sam and Dean, the three of you had found a total of 13 bags. Which meant you had potentially saved 13 lives today. You felt a wave of relief fall over you. Recently, all your hunts had gone south, so it felt great to finally get a win. 

Sam and Dean left you in charge of destroying the bags while they killed the witches once and for all.  You waited anxiously in the car for a couple of hours. You started to get nervous until you saw the brothers running down the street. They were both pretty bloody and beat up, but were successful. Cass couldn’t stay away, so he helped the brothers fight them off.

You gave Dean a long kiss in celebration and may have also whispered some sweet nothings in his ear to celebrate later. But then the worst happened. 

Just as Dean pulled down the street, there was a huge explosion from one of the houses. It took only seconds for the house to explode into flames. 

You screamed out in a panic as you realized that was one of your houses. Your last house to be exact. You balled your eyes out as Dean kept driving. You must have missed a hex bag. 

It was hard to talk about it the next couple of days. You had isolated yourself in the library and only talked to the brothers when you said goodnight or thanked them for bringing you dinner. 

Dean respected your need for grieving and kindly snuggled you while you cried late at night. Dean had told you it wasn’t your fault. Witches were creative and it might have been hidden in a really out-of-place spot. You knew you couldn’t entirely blame yourself, but you were still down in the dumps about it. 

Four days after the incident, the unexpected happened. 

You were in your usual spot, curled up in the library reading a book. You were so lost in the pages you almost had a heart attack when Dean grunted to get your attention. 

“Holy Shit Dean! You can’t sneak up on me like that!” You said with an eye roll. 

Dean smiled kindly at you, a soft twinkle in his eye. This was the look he gave you when he knew you needed space but also wanted to check in on you. 

“I just came to see if I can put Humpty Dumpty back together again”. Dean teased. 

You gently closed your book and placed it on the nearby end table signaling to Dean that he had your full attention. 

Dean sat down on the couch next to you and put his hand on your thigh; caressing it gently as he started to talk. 

“You know I hate seeing you mope about”

“I know Dean. I just wish I could go back in time and find that damn hex bag. That was a family of 4 and they all died because I couldn’t find one stupid hex bag.” 

As you finished speaking, tears started forming in your eyes. 

Dean pulled you closer to him and gave you a chaste kiss on the forehead. 

“Baby, you know you are not to blame for that. Those damn witches are the ones who did this. The longer you mope around carrying around their guilt, the longer it will take for you to recover.”

You gave Dean a weak smile. As much as you hated to admit it, he was right. It wasn’t your fault. Sad as it was, you couldn’t blame yourself for what the witches did. 

“You are absolutely right. I’m not to blame. I guess I just still feel sad about it. At least I have you to cheer me up, especially with that goofy face of yours” you said teasingly. 

Dean gave you a look that you knew meant “You’re in trouble now”.

You giggled as Dean looked at you very mischievously. 

“Well, In that case, this goofy-faced SOB has a job to do. Are you still ticklish by chance Y/N?”

You immediately giggled and blushed when he said that dreaded word. 

Dean smirked. 

“You see Humpty Dumpty, laughter is the best medicine and I miss your laugh! So I’m going to make you a deal. I want to tickle you because I miss your laugh. If you don’t let me, I’m going to have to hold you down and do it myself. But if you play nice, I’ll reward your laughter with pie and ice cream. How does that sound?”

You were stuck in a catch 22 and Dean knew you knew it too. You loved his playfulness and enjoyed being tickled. But being able to just sit there and take it? Impossible. 

You decided to take the hard road. Instead of answering him, you jumped from your spot and attempted to leap over the back of the couch and escape. 

Unfortunately, Dean suspected that might happen, so he was up in an instant, grabbing you by the waist and tackling you back down onto the couch. 

“I was hoping you would do that” Dean said with a snarl. 

“I knew you just wanted to be pinned down and tickled until I give you mercy! Now where to begin?” 

You were already giggling at your boyfriend. Dean wasn’t lying when he said you were going to be pinned down and forced to take it. 

Dean had wrestled you down to where you were on your side with him pressed firmly against your back. Your right arm was pinned between the couch and your hip, and your left arm was held tightly by Dean. Dean had also wrapped his legs around yours which pulled you taught. You were very much stuck and exposed. 

“I’m all cheered up now Deahehehen!! No!”

Dean didn’t want to hear you complain, so he had started ghosting over your belly when you started talking. 

“Now it’s been a while since I’ve tickled you, but I do remember that this cute little belly of yours is ranked number 1. Especially this little hole in the middle of it.”

You shrieked as Dean dipped a finger inside your navel, relieved that it was only for a second. 

“But unfortunately, I seemed to forget the rest of your spots. Care to share your top ten worst spots, or do I need to find them myself?”

You shook your head “No” and frantically tried to wriggle out of his grasp with no avail. If he was going to torment you, he might as well work for it. 

“Fine. If that’s how you want to play, I’m game.” Dean sneered. 

“I think I’m gonna start up here with your neck. It looks mighty tasty!”

You barely had enough time to breathe before Dean started nibbling on your neck and blowing raspberries. 

Your neck did not make you fall into deep belly laughter, but it sure made you giggle like a schoolgirl. 

You wiggled and tried to scrunch up your shoulders, but the position you were in made that impossible. Dean was able to fend off your shoulders and rubbed his stubble on your exposed skin. 

“I think I’m gonna rank this spot a 6. You sure squirm a lot, but it’s the laughter that I want. Where to next?”

Dean mockingly tapped his fingers on your arm, right above where your ribcage was. That bastard knew how bad a spot your ribs were too. 

“Oh! I know! I think I ought to count these ribs and make sure none are injured!” 

Before you could brace yourself, Dean quickly shifted his position to roll you onto your belly with your arm pinned beneath his knees. 

You cried out in protest as you realized he now had full access to your rib cages and both hands to tear you apart with.

“De-Dean no!! I’ll tell you! My ribs are a 2, please don’t do this! I’m happy now see!?”

You turned your head to the side and gave Dean the biggest cheesiest grin you could muster. 

Dean laughed and leaned down to plant a kiss on your lips. 

“A 2 you say, sweetheart? That means your ribs are really bad. As much as I would love to give you mercy, I need to make sure you aren’t lying to me and have another bad spot you are hiding from me.”

Dean winked at you and you prematurely started giggling in anticipation. 

And it was just as bad as you imagined it would be. Dean was merciless. 

He clamped all ten fingers on your ribcage and methodically pinched, poked, prodded, and wriggled his fingertips into all of your sensitive spots. You didn’t stand a chance!

You immediately started cracking up into loud booming laughter intermixed with shrills and squeaks. Dean noted that you were most likely spitting out profanities too, but they were completely unrecognizable. 

All you could do was lay your head on the couch cushion and take the ticklish sensations. Dean’s tickling only got worse when he decided to also slip one hand onto your belly, which was pinned to the couch. 

He couldn’t form a full claw, but he was able to vibrate his wrist and fingers making the sensation nearly unbearable. 

His weight on your back made it impossible to arch away from him, so you were left to your ticklish demise. 

Thankfully Dean was only able to extract a few ticklish shrieks from you after dipping his finger into your navel again because Sam walked in just in time to save you. 

“Woah Dean! It doesn’t take a genius to see that she is feeling better!”

Dean immediately ceased his attack at the sound of his brother's voice. He climbed off your back and pulled you into a side hug, so you could catch your breath and rest on his shoulder. 

“You better have a good reason to interrupt us, Sammy, because I was conducting a good science experiment.”

Sam rolled his eyes and mocked embarrassment. 

“Sorry to interrupt, but I think you will want to see this.”

Sam pulled out a newspaper article from behind his back and handed it to Dean. Reading over his shoulder, it said

BREAKING NEWS

“Local gas company hero saves family by warning them of a potential gas leak. The family evacuated the home minutes before their house erupted into flames. Authorities are still looking for this anonymous hero….”

Your breath hitched and the world around you went quiet. 

The family had survived. 

Even though you were exhausted from all the tickles, you jumped from the couch and gave Sam a huge hug, thanking him over and over for finding the article. 

Sam left the room soon after delivering the best news ever as you stared at your devious little boyfriend. 

“You tickle the daylights out of me for no reason! What do you have to say for yourself?!”

Dean chuckled and slowly stood from his seat. 

“All I got to say is….. I still have more spots to rank!”

Within moments, Dean had you pinned again and the dreaded tickle monster started his work again. 

You wouldn’t trade this life for anything.

Especially now that Humpty Dumpty was indeed put back together again. 

[blackholelynn]

Your Protection - Part Four

<- Read Part Three

Summary: You work as a cashier in a small convenience store, and your days are completely, painfully normal. After a particularly bad run-in with a rude customer, your life gets flipped upside down, and the only one who you can count on ends up being a complete stranger – Dean Winchester.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of drowning, loss/grief, rude/abusive customer interaction, swearing – these warnings are for this series of parts as a whole, so while some of these warnings may not apply on this part, they will apply for future parts

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: This chapter is a bit shorter than the others, but I hope that you all still enjoy! 😊

Series Tag List: @leigh70

Supernatural Tag List: @hobby27

Also cross-posted to my AO3 account, you can read it here!

~~~

You bolted out of the car. CSI units and police officers were conducting their parts of the investigation outside, and you sprinting directly towards the crime scene did not go unnoticed. Several people yelled out to you to try and either stop you or discern your intentions, but you ignored all of them in your haste.

But you were stopped just short of the front door by bright yellow crime scene tape and an unenthused detective. “Ma’am, what do you think you’re doing?”

“I live here!” It was all you could think to say, and technically, it was the truth.

Then recognition seemed to flicker in his eyes, and suddenly you were being looked at with even more scrutiny. “You were at the last crime scene.”

“Yeah…” You shifted nervously. You shouldn’t feel guilty for being there, considering the victim was your friend, but the detective’s tone of voice had all but instilled you with nervous guilt. “We were meeting up at the party. She was my best friend.”

“So you knew her then?”

“Of course, I knew her! I’m the one they had to notify when she died.”

“Do you mind coming down to the station for questioning?” His suspicion was evident, and he was doing a terrible job of hiding that he believed you to be a suspect. If you had been a criminal, you would’ve been tipped off right away, but instead, you’d accidentally made yourself even more suspicious by admitting your connection to the previous victim.

Before you could say anything, you felt a hand reassuringly grip your shoulder, and Dean stood behind you, staring the detective down. “Actually, she’s a federal witness for this case.”

“Agent,” the detective said, nodding towards Dean in greeting. He looked between Dean and you, and it was clear that his doubts were not assuaged in the slightest. “She’s a federal witness now?”

“That’s what I just said, isn’t it?” Dean decided not to entertain the conversation anymore and instead pulled up the crime scene tape, urging you forward and following close behind. “And she should be allowed to go into her home.”

“It’s a crime scene.”

Dean didn’t spare the detective a look back as he replied, “Then it’s a good thing she has an FBI agent to accompany her.”

Once you were in the building and there were no more obstacles, Dean stopped following so closely, something you were highly grateful for. You realized that your brain wouldn’t function if he stayed in such close proximity. You led the way to the elevator, a rickety machine that you swore would cause a lawsuit one day.

When the doors shut, you couldn’t help but try and piece together why he acted the way he did. “You ripped that guy a new one.”

“He deserved it.” That was a weak response, and Dean knew it. He plunged his hands into his pockets, looking up at the flickering lights of the elevator. “This is really where you live?”

There it was again – the snark that so quickly got onto your nerves. You were living on a cashier’s salary alone in a city; it wasn’t going to be the best. At least the apartment itself was nice. All you had to deal with was the less-than-ideal neighbors and the deathtrap of an elevator to get to the lobby. Taking the stairs could fix the second issue with relative ease.

You crossed your arms, leaning against the wall to glare at the ground. “And to think I was going to thank you.”

“You still can,” Dean pointed out, and when you looked back up at him, his usual smirk was placed on his lips. You so desperately wanted to wipe the smug look off his face; it was infuriating.

“Are you always like this?”

“Like what?”

“Annoying.”

His smile grew wider, and he even dared to laugh at you. “Always, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that,” you pouted, and as soon as the doors to the elevator opened, you were already wading through the crime scene personnel to get to your apartment. However, once you turned down the hallway you lived in, you were stopped in your tracks.

Your next-door neighbor – a nice, quiet college girl that rarely left her apartment – was face down in the hallway. She had just started a part-time position at the store too. The water stained the already ratty carpet in a large, dark pattern, and the sight sent you back to the night of the party. You could feel Laurie’s ribs cracking under your hands as you did chest compressions. You could smell the river water in the air. Your legs wobbled as you took a step back, suddenly feeling your stomach churning like you were going to get sick.

Dean stepped in between you and grabbed your attention. “This your apartment?”

“Yes,” you managed to say through the bile rising in your throat.

“Okay, come on.” He gently ushered you into the doorway and acted as a shield so that you could no longer see the body.

Your entire body felt like lead, and although you managed to take a few steps inside your apartment, you couldn’t manage to get your limbs to move any farther. You were left standing just inside the entryway trembling, and you couldn’t tell whether you were too hot or too cold. Your brain seemed to shut down and get stuck in a loop, replaying the night of the party over and over and over again.

You hadn’t even realized that Dean had led you to the couch until he sat down beside you, the couch cushions dipping under his weight. “Are you alright?”

You didn’t answer – couldn’t answer – and he gently said your name, coaxing you out of the spiral you’d gone into. When you finally turned and looked at him, he could still see the slight vacancy in your eyes. It was a look he’d seen on many hunters’ faces, and that was the moment he realized that you’d been thrown into this life the moment Laurie died.

“Does it ever get easier?” You finally asked. Your eyes searched his face for any sign of hope, any shred of light in the darkness you were feeling.

“No.” His eyes were sincere, and the slump of his shoulders told you that this was a burden he always carried. “But you can at least find the son of a bitch and kill it.”

You nodded, finding at least a shred of solace in that. “Just gotta figure out how.” Your bag sat at your feet, and you remembered the book, pulling it out and leafing through the pages to get back to where you were. “This is as good a place to start as any.”

“I have to go out there and talk to Sam, see what he found. Are you going to be good in here until I get back?”

No, don’t go. I don’t– “Yeah, I’ll be alright in here.”

You could tell Dean was studying you for a moment, trying to see if you were telling the truth, but your expression was unchanging as you continued reading. You didn’t want to be stuck alone in your apartment for any length of time, but you also didn’t want to have anyone around when you inevitably broke down. When Dean stood up, albeit reluctantly, it was decided for you and left to talk to Sam in the hallway.

As soon as he was gone, you felt the weight of all your emotions completely crush you, and you ran to your bathroom, locking the door behind you. You slid your back down the doorway, relishing in the feeling of the cold tiles against your skin. Sobs wracked your body as you curled up on the floor, stifling the sound of your crying with the sleeve of your cardigan. The book was clutched tightly to your chest as though that would provide any relief.

Is it always going to feel like this? Am I always going to be in so much pain?

It felt utterly overwhelming despite knowing that the sadness and grief would eventually fade. Maybe killing the nixie would make you feel better. Maybe it wouldn’t. Either way, you had to try something. Sitting in your apartment had led to a breakdown on your bathroom floor, so you were determined not to have this happen again.

A gentle knock vibrated the door against your back. “You in there?”

“Yeah,” you called out, hoping that your voice wasn’t too raspy. You quickly stood up and wiped the tears from your face, and splashed some water from the sink on your face. “Are you already done talking with Sam?”

“There wasn’t much to talk about. Everything is the same as the last crime scene, so we’ve hit a dead end. I just wanted to let you know that we were leaving to grab some food.”

“Wait!” You turned and swung open the door. Due to your haste, the handle banged loudly against the wall, but you didn’t care. “I’ll come with you. We have to talk about what I found in this book anyway.”

Dean took in your appearance, and you could tell by the crease of his eyebrows that he put two and two together; you hadn’t hidden it as well as you thought. “Alright. If it makes you feel any better, no stolen car this time. Sam has our car parked out front.”

He isn’t going to say anything?

You weren’t sure if you were relieved or hurt that he didn’t mention it, so you just nodded and followed him out of your empty apartment. At least you were getting a few more hours away from this place and your mind.

~~~

Continue on to Part Five ->

[daydreamingintheimpalax]

The girl who didn’t speak.

Prompt: Write about someone who went missing that no one seems to remember.

Dean x Reader

Summary: Y/n Y/l/n went missing from her abusive adoptive home when she was 5, she has always been the easy target, after years of lazy police work and barely there investigations to find her with no success, she was officially pronounced dead and eventually, people moved on and grew up and forgot she even existed. The worst part? She hardly made an impact on anyones lives or memory, Dean Winchester seems to be the only person on earth who seems to remember the little quiet pigtailed girl who always sat alone in the playground, and now that he’s a detective, he’s determined to reopen her case, he knows she’s not dead, and he needs to prove it.

Chapter 1

The local cafe was buzzing, early risers hustling around to grab their morning coffee before heading to yet another grueling day of work. Dean knew most of the locals, waving and making small chit chat to some regular faces as he waited for his order to be made, his usual, black coffee with a breakfast sandwich that consisted of what Sam would call too much bacon and not enough substance, not that he gave a shit, his job kept him in shape, the least he cared about was worrying about his bacon intake. 

“Dean Winchester?” the barista called, Dean shooting her a smile before thanking her. He made his way out to his sleek chevy impala, setting his breakfast on the passenger seat as he sipped his coffee. 

Just as he hit the road, his junior detective in training called, his phone blaring the familiar tune of back in black, “Detective Winchester.” 

“Detective, i got some info on that case you asked me to look into, it’s not much, but i’m sure youll find use for it. Remind me, sir, why are we looking into a 25 year old case? it’s been closed for years, she’s probably dead, you know that right? there was barely any media coverage on this case, i had to dig deep just to find anything on her, this girl didnt have family, she wasn’t a high priority case, the world doesn’t care about some lonely foster kid.” He spoke, sympathy in his voice, Dean knew he was right, but he remembered her, even if no one else did, for some reason, he just couldn’t let this go, He needed to find her, she needed to know someone in this ugly world remembered her.

“Just do what i ask kid, alright. You’re not going to get far in this line of work if you don’t learn that every victim matters, it’s not just about the fancy spoiled rich kids, foster kids matter to, i knew her, i went to school with her, i can’t continue peacefully as a detective if i don’t figure out what really happened to her, even if she is dead, her soul needs peace, she deserves a real investigation, no matter how late it is.” 

The young trainee sighed, Dean could tell he didn’t agree, but he was going to go along with it. These new detectives didn’t have the same passion and drive like the ones Dean’s age did. They hadn’t experienced the true gruesome truths of being in this business. 

Dean set his phone back on his dashboard, continuing on with his coffee, after all these years, he remembered her, he was determined to really find out what happened to Y/n Y/l/n, even if they wouldn’t let him reopen the case, he would do his own personal investigation, whatever it took to find out what really happened that crisp fall afternoon, he was determined, he would find Y/n, Dead or alive. 

You sat at your desk, staring at the stack of paperwork your boss had piled onto your desk, you didn’t know why your boss seemed to dislike you but she always had you do most of the paperwork, she claimed it was because she trusted you to get it right the first time, but you knew deep down she disliked you. 

You sighed, another night of wine, take out and checking over the companies financial records. This was becoming routine, so routine you were starting to think being in the finance business wasn’t for you after all. You had struggled for years to find a career path you enjoyed, and this wasn’t any better. Truth was, you didn’t really know who you were, your parents claimed they had adopted you when you were five, and you’d remembered being with them at that age, you had vague memories of the orphanage you stayed in before, the abuse, the sexual assault, and then suddenly, you had a home, parents, truth be told, you didn’t remember much from your time before them but, at the time, they were your heroes, rescuing you from the bad place you’d been in before, not that you understood much from that time, you were 5 after all, and sometimes, a few memories crept into your head, but in comparison, your parents seemed like angels. 

Both of them had passed in the last 10 years, and now here you were, 30 years old and doing a job you hate. Your parents had always been super protective, for reasons they never explained, whenever you’d ask if you could go out and play with other kids, they always got defensive and protective, claiming they would hurt you and it was safer to be inside. Aside from school, you hardly ever left the house, while at school, you barely spoke a word to any other kids, warned by your parents they would find out if you spoke to anyone too much, at the time you thought nothing of it, in the end it had earned you nothing but the title of the loser weird kid at school, so you stayed quiet, speaking to no one unless necessary. The older you got, the lighter the protectiveness got, but they still kept close tabs, kept you as shielded as possible. 

You reached home, paying the cab fare before unlocking the door, Kicking your heels off to the side, you sighed heavily. Those fucking things killed your feet. You set the stack of paperwork on the table, reaching for your wine, pouring a glass as you turned the tv on. You turned towards the tv at the sound of the news, Detective Winchester’s face popping up on the screen.

You smiled warmly, he was the towns most handsome detective, and every woman you interacted with had reminded you of that, constantly fawning over the man anytime he was on television. The desperation stench rubbing off them like perfume. 

You didn’t blame them, he was a handsome man, you found yourself gazing at the tv, trying hard to focus on what he was saying. 

“So, Detective, word around the street is you’ve been prying into a 25 year old case, is this true?” the reported asked, Dean’s grin visibly making her blush. 

“Well, yes, sort of. The county judge refuses to let me reopen the case in full, but i am determined to find out what happened to miss Y/N Y/L/N, she went missing when she was five, and she was never found, no body no information, the orphanage refused to give any info, its as if the little girl just disappeared. Foster kids deserve the same time and energy on finding them just like the normal wealthy kids do. All i want is to know what happened to her, even if i have to use my own resources. She deserves to be found, she deserves to know at least one person knew who she was and looked for her.” He smiled softly. 

You watched them babble on for a bit more, frowning at the screen. 

“Man, that’s rough, can’t imagine getting kidnapped and no one caring enough to find me.” you mumbled to yourself. You hoped and prayed Detective Winchester would be able to find the little girl, hoping by some miracle he would find her alive, though after all this time, you knew chances were slim. 

You decided tomorrow you would go down to the station and offer up any help you could. Detective Dean was right, this little girl deserved to be found, from one foster kid to another, she deserved a real investigation, she deserved people who cared to find her. 

You didn’t have much to offer, but if the other police and detectives wouldn’t help him, then you would, after all, who knew the in and outs of the foster care system better than you.

[devildom-dedicated-daydreams]

After Story (Leviathan)

Arc 4: The Black Sheep (Leviathan x Reader)

Children with tubes on their noses and sterilized stuffed animals sat around Maya as she read the final scene of her latest novel, book four of her series Yuki the World-Hopping Detective: The Shadow Under the Waves. 

“And then,” Maya read, pushing back a streak of indigo hair behind her ear, “the detective gave the sea serpent a tight hug, it was the tightest, gut-squeezing, bubble-expelling hug the creature has ever known, and Yuki smiled as they explained, ‘I finished my job here and cleared the misunderstanding with the sea folk.’” Maya flipped the page. “Jordan the sea serpent asked, ‘Can’t you stay?’ But the detective shook their head and somberly said, ‘I can’t stay here forever. I don’t belong here.’ The sea monster frowned but the detective patted his head. ‘You’re stronger than you think you are. Have faith in yourself, even if it’s fake, so that others will have faith in you too.’ With these parting words, Yuki swam inside their Submarine, which then flashed a brilliant white before disappearing. ‘Do you think he’ll be all right?’ questioned the Sentient Submarine. Yuki shed their wetsuit and oxygen tank and changed into warmer clothes before sitting in the control room. ‘He’ll be fine,’ the detective reassured, ‘He’ll make lots of friends and no one will accuse him of eating sailors ever again!’ Yuki then opened the quantum synchronizator and prepared to hop to their next adventure.”

Maya shut the book and the children cheered and cried. Boba, now a full grown dog, barked. A little girl wearing a loose powder blue headscarf shyly approached the writer and asked, “Miss Maya, do you think the sea monster, no, will Jordan ever meet Yuki again?”

“Who knows, Akane,” Maya said, reaching over to fix the girl’s headscarf, “Our detective only looks forward. What do we always say?”

Akane and the others recited in unison, “Always appreciate the present and never dwell on the past.”

“Exactly,” Maya chuckled. She then noticed the clock and rose to her feet. “I have to go now, you kids be good.”

“Aaaw,” they chorused. 

A nurse wearing teddy bear-printed scrubs entered and thanked Maya for visiting. “Ever since you started coming here to play and read to them, they’ve been recovering faster than ever. And thank you again for the donation, you have no idea how much you’ve helped Yuuei.”

“It’s my pleasure.” 

Akane tugged on Maya’s blouse. “Miss Maya, what’s the next book gonna be about?”

Maya knelt down in front of her. “There’s a more important question here, Akane-chan: why would I spoil you?”

Some of the boys booed and Maya laughed, patting Akane’s shoulder. “I really do have to go now.”

“Of course. Please take care on your way home, we’re expecting heavy rain today.” The nurse gently led Akane away. “Come now, kids, say thank you and goodbye to Miss Maya.”

“Woof!”

“And to Boba, too.”

The small patients bowed their heads. “Thank you, Miss Maya! Thank you, Boba! Please take care.”

Maya waved at them, put on her mask and walked out of the pediatric floor with her dog and two bodyguards, greeting everyone she passed as she made her way to the hospital parking lot. Every single staff, from the janitor to the dean, knew who she was, not just as the remaining heir to the [Lastname] Corporation, but more from her very personal contributions to the hospital. In addition to playing with the kids here, Maya spent time with every patient who didn’t have families or visitors, and she donated half her earnings from Yuki the World-Hopper to Yuuei (the other half was for Sanctuary, her charity organization dedicated to helping victims of abuse and bullying). 

“Where to, Miss?” The chauffeur asked as she buckled up in the backseat. 

“Black Sheep.”

“Understood.”

The Black Sheep was Maya’s first independent business after she graduated college. Her grandparents insisted she used the best materials, though, so instead of a modest brick bistro by the beach, The Black Sheep was a wood-and-glass café built on a cliff overlooking the ocean.

When she arrived, she greeted her employees and smiled at the customers. She found her favorite table, set right near the balcony. Maya closed her eyes and breathed in the salty air. She loved the smell of the sea, but the number one reason she wanted to build a shop by the beach was because Swim in the ocean was one of several things she never had the chance to do with her brother. 

“Woof, woof!” barked Boba as a young man rubbed his belly.

Maya beamed and rounded the table to give her friend a hug. “Levi! Oh, I thought I kept you waiting.” Leviathan was taller than he was back in college and fitter, too. 

“Please, it’s an honor to be graced by the presence of the saintess of the sanctuary. 

“Stop it, you know I hate that nickname.” After years of charity work and an unfailing dedication to helping everyone she encountered, the Japanese media had branded her as the “Saintess of the Sanctuary.” If her brother were here, he’d be rolling on the floor bawling. 

“Come on, sit, sit.” Maya pulled a chair for him and sat herself down. “Tell me, how was New York? I hear your gallery sold out on the first day.”

“Well, yeah…” He scratched his nape, blushing. 

“Congratulations! I wish I could’ve been there to see your pieces. Maybe even buy one for the café.”

“Haha, well, don’t sweat it. They’re just paintings.”

Maya rolled her eyes. “When someone is recognized worldwide as the Next Van Gogh, he does not get to call his artwork ‘just paintings.’”

“C’mon, you know I don’t like that nickname.”

“Can you blame them?” Maya only discovered half of the ugly truth of Levi’s family the night of her brother’s death. While Maya was screaming and sobbing for a doctor, Levi did his best to perform CPR. Levi’s cousin came to the party and the guy demanded he come home because “the invitation wasn’t for him.” Everything that happened afterwards was more or less a blur. Leviathan was dragged back to his family car as the ambulance arrived. Maya’s brother was pronounced dead at the scene. Maya was in shock for at least a year. Everything she did was mechanical and pre-programmed, and even then, the only reason she moved was because her brother would’ve gotten upset with her for not taking care of herself and their grandparents. She didn’t see Levi for years, but at some point, she saw a news report about Leviathan getting disowned. It was then did she first reach out. Levi refused financial help, though, and insisted he worked for his money, mostly by having part-time jobs and taking art commissions. And the rest, as they say, is history.  

“Van Gogh died,” Levi pointed out.

“Speaking of death, how’s your family?” No one associated with the Orochis died, otherwise it would’ve left a huge power vacuum. However, when Leviathan rose to fame, he refused to speak of any family members, but a month or so ago, hardcore fans and journalists dug up his past. 

“Oh, well, y’know,” he mumbled, stirring his coffee, “they keep reaching out to me.”

“No way, even now?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “Dad’s facing criticism as prime minister, mom’s friends apparently talk crap about her, and my cousins have been…”

He didn’t have to finish. Maya’s been keeping an eye on Levi’s ex-family members to ensure that they didn’t do anything exceptionally stupid to her first friend. 

Leviathan wasn’t only tall and good-looking, he was also a talented but humble artist. “A pretty face can enslave a whole world, kid, and people will kill each other over a beauty’s smile” - line 22, page 103 of her Big Brother Observation Diary No. 33. And Maya was here to witness the phenomenon with Levi. His supporters bashed his family members when the truth of his family life came to light. His cousins, that dirty girl and her bully brother, were currently facing fire for their harassment of Levi. It didn’t help that an… anonymous source leaked photos, videos, audio recordings and unburied testaments of their crimes of bullying less financially stable schoolmates and multiple affairs with teachers fueled the flames. 

Maya sipped on her tea. “That’s a shame.”

They ordered dinner and talked more about Leviathan’s career, Maya asked if he wanted to visit the hospital with her some time (little Akane wanted to be a painter too when she grew up) and he agreed, then Levi inquired about Sanctuary. Then they discussed the spaghetti and the pizza, followed by the chef’s special dessert, a chocolate lava cake topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream.

“So, Levi,” Maya said, looking at him, “any romantic prospects I haven’t heard about?”

Levi choked on the ice cream. Maya laughed and pushed his water closer and motioned for a waiter to close the balcony doors as the drizzle from outside was getting blown in. 

“Maya…urgh, don’t ask me that when I’m eating.”

“You’re getting up there in age, old man.”

“Please, if you’re gonna ask me that you should do it when you’re already in a relationship and free to judge us singles.”

“I’ve already told my grandparents that I’ll never get married, my work is my life, but you? I know you’re lonely.” 

Levi poked at the cake. “I’m not lonely.”

“I’ve seen your paintings.” Maya put down her spoon and leaned in, leveling her eyes with Leviathan’s. “You have to let go.”

Leviathan sighed. His paintings ranged from fantastical, telling stories of fire-breathing sea dragons, to grounded images of families and children with their grandparents. However, if a viewer saw them up close, their chest would weigh with inexplicable longing. 

“He died in my arms, Maya,” Levi said. “My arms and I couldn’t help him.”

“You couldn’t have known. No one did. He was as carefree as the first day I met him. Not even the doctors knew what happened.” They said that there were no signs of disease or condition or deterioration of cells, like the soul just left a perfectly healthy body. 

Maya brushed the corner of her eye and Boba whimpered, rubbing against her leg. She scratched his ear and turned back to Levi. “Nii-san wouldn’t have wanted you to stay frozen like this.”

Levi said nothing in return. They finished their food in silence.

“Be careful on your way home.” Maya escorted him to his car, her bodyguard holding an umbrella for her. 

“I will. Thanks for the meal.” 

“No problem.”

“You take care, too.”

Maya nodded and watched Levi drive away. Lightning flashed and Boba barked from the entrance. Maya touched her chest.

“Is something wrong, Young Miss?” 

“No, I… I’m fine. Let’s get back inside.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

But as she returned inside, Maya couldn’t help but look over her shoulder.

Levi’s car was a few miles away now.

He can’t believe it’s been years since he bought this thing from a second hand seller. 

When his parents kicked him out, he had nothing but the clothes on his back and a bag full of art materials. He was in a mess. But at the same time he was grateful. If he had stayed in that house, who knows what would’ve happened to him. Juggling two part-time jobs and accepting art commissions kept him busy and on his feet, and when he was busy he couldn’t dwell on the memory of your last breath on his lips, or how it felt when his hands broke through your ribs but didn’t feel a single heartbeat. 

He was thankful for the opportunity, and he was glad when he was recognized by the world. However, he had forgotten what it was like to be happy. He was content with his life. But he wasn’t happy even when he finally saved up enough money to buy this car or when he finally moved out of that rat-infested flat in the city and moved into a villa with his own pool. Fans asked him frequently if he played basketball or volleyball, mostly because of his height. But no, those things reminded him of you, so he taught himself to swim, the one sport you didn’t train him in. 

He liked the peace of mind the water offered. The way it carried him when he grew tired. It was calming.

Leviathan rubbed his nose and switched on the radio. A guitar played an unfamiliar tune, followed by English lyrics that Levi has never heard before:

Take me down to the paradise city, 

Where the grass is green and the girls are pretty.

He narrowed his eyes. “What is this song?” It wasn’t Japanese so maybe a new American song? But he’s been in New York for weeks preparing his gallery and he hadn’t heard this song.

He changed the channel, but the same song came out.

He changed it again.

Rags to riches or so they say 

Ya gotta keep pushin' for the fortune and fame 

You know it's all a gamble when it's just a game

“The hell?” He hit the head unit and turned the dial, but the song just continued through the different channels. 

A truck honked in front of him and Levi grabbed the wheel. “Shi—”

The car swerved sideways, barely scraping against the truck. 

The other vehicle honked angrily as it drove it away and Levi leaned against the wheel. “That was close,” he breathed.

That song continued to play, uncaring of his troubles. 

I wanna go, I wanna go 

Oh, won't you please take me home

Levi was about to shut it off when he noticed that the fog was clearing up. The rain was reduced to a drizzle. He then glanced out the window and at the sea.

He hit the accelerator and drove down the beach, expectedly, there was not another person here.

Leviathan breathed in the salt and exhaled.

He shrugged off his shirt and pants then waded into the water. He’s never actually swam in the ocean before, but today his body was pumped with adrenaline right now and he needed to cool his nerves.

He dove into the waves, loving the brush of the waves on his skin. 

“Hey, Leviathan…” He heard your voice in his head. “...the moon is beautiful, isn’t it?”

Levi kicked, his heart ached and he needed to breathe. 

His arms knifed through the water and he swam upward, reaching for the surface—

“Leviathan?”

He gasped, sitting up. 

“Are you okay? I told you not to mess with the time warps without a spotter,” said his sister Lilith, shaking her head as she knelt down to check up on him. She furrowed her brows as he regarded her with befuddled eyes. 

“Levi?”

He shook his head and offered a small smile. “I’m okay, just…confused. All I remember is walking up to a warp and then waking up like this.”

“You shouldn’t have been pulling mangas from these things without me or Mammon watching you.”

“I know, I know, but I finished the last issue and had to find the next one!”

Lilith giggled and her wings fluttered behind her as she flew up. “C’mon, we’re gonna be late.”

“For what?” 

“The Devildom envoy is coming here, remember? They want to discuss a peace treaty and assist the humans in settling their wars.”

“Oh, yeah. I can’t believe they’re actually serious about that.”

Lilith gestured for him to follow her and he quickly unfolded his wings to join her, but as he neared the portal leading outside the Hall of Time, he looked over his shoulder.

“What’s wrong?”

“I feel like I’m forgetting something.”

“That’s how everybody feels when they pass out and wake up here. Don’t worry about it.”

Leviathan stared at the multiple time warps, each one resembled a swirling underwater vortex piercing through the ocean of spacetime. He found himself lingering on one found near an actual ocean, a full moon shining on the surface of the sea, and he held his chest.

“Levi, let’s go. Michael’s gonna be mad.”

He turned to Lilith and nodded. “Yeah, okay.” 

A/N:

FINALLY.

Jeez, I thought I'd never move on from this arc, but yay, another arc done.

No, I don't know when I'll be updating and no, I don't know who's the next LI, but feel free to ask questions for any clarifications. I will answer what I can hehe.

[soaringeag1e]

Escape {64}

Detective!Dean x Victim!Reader

Warnings: Language, Fluff....Then a Ton of Angst {Sorry, not sorry}

Words: 2,124

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Patreon

After making a breakthrough with the security footage at the convenience store, Styles and Dean followed a few leads. With some luck on their side, they were able to pin who the suspect was that attacked the clerk and took his life. They were even able to get an address and to both of their surprise, their man was home. Within just a few hours of finding the body they had their suspect in cuffs. That chalked up to a good day.

“Great work, Styles.” 

“Same goes for you, boss.” The two men share a smile as they descend the stairs outside the precinct. “Tell Y/N I said hi.”

“Will do.” After giving him a nod, Dean pats his friend on the shoulder and then they split, both heading for their cars at different ends of the parking lot. 

As Dean makes his way towards the car, he pulls out his phone and clicks on one of the most recent contacts before bringing the device up to his ear. When he makes it to his door, Eddie is driving by, already on his way out of the parking lot, so Dean sends him a wave and that’s when the ringing ends.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey! How was dress shopping?” 

“Good. How was your thing?” Dean smirks as he slips into his car.

“Really good actually. I’ll tell you about it later.”

“Okay.”

“But first…did you find a dress?” The silence makes him a little nervous. He begins to think that maybe it turned out to be harder than you expected and that you were disappointed with the entire thing.

“Maybe…” you tease, getting him to light up in the drivers seat.

“Man…you have no idea how bad I want to see you in it.” He tries so hard to picture you in a wedding dress, but he’s sure that whatever his mind is coming up with is nothing compared to what you really look like. That’s what Sam had told him anyway. 

“You still have a few months there, cowboy.” you giggle over the phone, getting Dean to smile even bigger. “Are you coming home?”

“Uh…yeah. Just got in the car. But I wanted to see what you wanted for dinner. I figured I could pick up something on the way home.”

“Hmm.” You hum quietly, clearly thinking about what you might want to eat. “How about Chinese?” The way you ask him makes him chuckle. The cute innocence always got him to adore you more.

“You got it, babe.” With that, he turns over the ignition and the car rumbles to life. “Do you need me to grab anything else on the way?”

“Nope. Just need you and food.”

“I love how you put me before the food.”

“It was a close one, but you just barely edged it out.”

“Is that so?” he laughs as he pulls out of his spot and heads for the main road.

“Yep. I’ve been missing you longer than food. But, if you take too long and my stomach starts to eat itself you may be bumped out of the running.”

“Then I better hurry then, huh?” The sound of your laughter makes him feel like he’s already home. Between the score with the case and the fact that he’s heading home to you, he felt like today couldn’t get any better. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too.” Dean focuses on the road but stays silent for a minute and just admires the sound of your voice, replaying what you just said over in his head like one of his favorite songs.

“Alright, I’ll let you go. I’m going to grab food and I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

“Okay. Love you.”

“Love you.”

-

The chatter down the hall had died down telling Bobby that it was getting later. The night crew at the precinct were starting their shifts and the morning crew had either already left or like him were on their way out the door. He was just taking a few more minutes to file a couple reports and clean up his desk a bit, because he knew that if he didn’t take the time now he would have to deal with it in the morning.

Just as his computer was shutting down for the night, he grabbed his keys from inside the top drawer and stood from his chair, pulling his jacket off the back of it.

“Captain?” 

“What is it?” Bobby gave a little attitude because this always seemed to happen. Right as he was heading out for the day he always seemed to get stopped for something.

“There’s someone here that’s asked to see you and Detective Styles.” Huffing as he slides his jacket on, Bobby then glares at the officer at his door.

“Sampson, I’m on my way out the door, can’t this wait?”

“Well…I don’t know.” As the officer seemed conflicted, Bobby decides to give the newbie a break. But just this once.

“Who is it?”

“He said his name is Robert Thare.” And that’s when Bobby was grateful he cooled his head. The name instantly clicked and he couldn’t have reacted faster.

“Let him in.” Thankfully Sampson was quick to show Mr.Thare into the office. The tall man peeks his head in before stepping through the threshold and nodding to the officer before he walks away.

“Hi, Mr. Singer. I’m sorry it’s so late. I almost waited until tomorrow, but…”

“That’s alright.” Bobby grins, stepping around his desk. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, I uh…I found that tape I was looking for. You know, the one that shows Norman coming home and then his friend showing up?” As he tells Bobby, he hands the tape over to him and Bobby treats the VHS as if it’s a precious diamond.

“So….this has that footage on it? You’re sure?”

“Yes. I um…I forgot that I had some stuff put away in a storage unit in town and when I found more tapes I went through them.” he says, looking from the tape to the captain, an uneasiness taking over his expressions. “I uh…I can’t believe that I didn’t turn it in sooner, honestly. After watching it again…I don’t know why I didn’t find it suspicious earlier. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. When you’re not used to spotting those types of things, it’s harder to believe when you see it for yourself.” Mr. Thare nods faintly, looking a little sick.

“Well I uh…I found the footage and then rewound it for you, so you should just be able to pop it in and play it.”

“Thank you.” Bobby tells him sincerely. “You don’t know how much we appreciate this. I’m glad you caught me before I left.”

“Me too.” Mr. Thare says after a few nods. “I um, I don’t know if I’ll be of any help, but if you need anything else….let me know.”

“We will. But I think this might be the extent of it. Hopefully we don’t have to bother you anymore.” The two share a nice chuckle and then Bobby shows the man to the door. He is deeply appreciative of what that man has done for them, but once he was heading towards the front of the precinct, Bobby couldn’t have moved faster. He rushed over to the TV in his office and popped the tape in the VCR and he couldn’t have hit the play button any quicker either.

It was only a few seconds between him hitting play and when Norman's car pulled into the driveway, but for Bobby those were the longest seconds ever, and even then, that’s not what he wanted to see. He knew that Norman was responsible for bringing Cassie back to his house. It was the next car that he was anxiously waiting to see cross the screen.

Then finally, the moment came. The second car whipped up to the house and as the man climbed out of the drivers side, Bobby’s jaw dropped.

-

Getting food took longer than expected, but now that Dean was finally home he felt himself becoming more relaxed. He couldn’t wait to go inside, share a good meal and tell you about their slam dunk. It’s been a long time since they’ve been able to close a murder case that fast and it seriously made his day.

Hearing the garage door close behind him, he enters the house and goes for the coffee table in the living room to set the bag of Chinese down.

“Babe!? I’m home!” he yells out when he sees you’re not on the main floor anywhere. Figuring you jumped in the shower before he got home, he glances up the stairs before moving towards the front door where he drops off his keys and wallet and then takes off his suit jacket.

“They had some of your favorite egg rolls so I grabbed a couple of them!” He continues talking as he climbs to the second floor. He hopes you’ll hear him coming so he won’t scare you in the process. “I also stopped and grabbed a bottle of wine! Thought that sounded like a good way to celebrate!” 

His smile is literally from ear to ear as he enters the bedroom, but sadly it doesn’t stay that way. Because when he does enter the room he’s met with darkness. The bedroom light is off and as he moves further in, it’s clear that the bathroom is vacant as well.

“Y/N?” he turns, his eyes scanning the room as if you’re going to pop out and scare him. But nothing. It’s silent. 

“Y/N!?” he calls out as he moves down the hall to your office and he even peeks into the spare bedroom. But again, nothing. There’s no sign of you upstairs.

“Babe!?” Rushing back down the stairs, his heart is now racing from fear. This wasn’t right and the more his mind tried to figure out what was going on, the more scared he got. “Y/N!” he runs into his office, even with nowhere to hide he searches top to bottom. Nothing.

Running back into the other room, he quickly enters the empty kitchen and that’s when bile begins to rise in his throat.

“Y/N?” he calls out weakly, his eyes darting around the house as he leaves the kitchen and enters the dining room. The living room is quiet, only the food sitting there waiting for him. He tries to take a few breaths before he pulls out his phone, but just as he’s about to call you something on the dining room table catches his eye.

His feet slowly take him towards the objects waiting for him. His heart is beating so fast that it feels as if it’s already broken a rib or two. He doesn’t even realize tears have filled his eyes until he stands over the table and a water droplet falls onto the ripped piece of paper in front of him.

Play Me

The words took up the little torn sheet and now shared the space with the tear that had fallen from his eye.

Dean swallows as he picks up the recorder, his recorder, and his thumb shakes as it hovers over the play button. But when it finally pushes it down, he has to fight to keep the contents in his stomach.

Detective

The voice is distorted, as if the atmosphere didn’t already feel like a horror movie.

We both know that I have something precious to you, so listen carefully.

Dean’s jaw locks, his body trembling as he listens to this horrible robotic voice.

If you contact any law enforcement including anyone at that station of yours, she dies. If you reach out to that lawyer brother of yours, she dies. If you do anything other than what I’m telling you to do….well, you don’t need me to go into specific details of what I’ll do to her. So, I hope you’re listening.

Dean screws his eyes shut, his fingernails digging into his palm as his hands clenched into fists. The thought of you in this guy's presence is unbearable. He can’t think straight let alone breathe.

Now, take the phone with you. I’m going to send you an address to where you are going to retrieve a tape. When you get it, I’ll send you another address. Dean glances down at the table, seeing a prepaid phone sitting next to the note. 

If you come with any type of backup, wanted or unwanted, I’ll slit her throat. Understand?

I am watching you detective. So if you get any of those brilliant ideas of yours along the way, ask yourself, is it worth her life?

See you soon.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

SWAT Guy (Part 1)

Summary: The reader tags along with her brother Sam to a party for work and runs into Dean Smith, finding him to be much more pleasant than her brother implied...

Pairing: SWAT officer!Dean x reader

Masterlist

Word Count: 1,300ish

Warnings: language, minor scary situation

A/N: For the purposes of this story, Sam is the reader’s brother. Enjoy!…

______

“Sorry,” you said, bumping hands against the guy that was going for the last jalapeño popper on the tray.

“It’s all yours,” he said with a smile. You picked it up and took a bite, the guy looking you up and down. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around the office before.”

“Oh, I’m not a cop,” you said. “I’m my brother’s plus one. He hates going to this crap.”

“Me too. Police functions are a bit...boring at times,” he said. “I’d rather jump right to the after party.”

“You a party guy?” you asked.

“Not what you’re thinking,” he chuckled. “I’m on SWAT. We normally get together, have a good time in somebody’s backyard.”

“That’s nice. My brother works kind of solo. Well, he has a partner but it’s just them,” you said.

“He a detective?” he asked.

“Yeah. Sam Weston,” you said.

“Oh,” he said with a laugh.

“What?”

“Me and your brother do not get along,” he said. “Dean Smith.”

“You’re the dick!” you said with a laugh.

“My reputation precedes me,” he chuckled. “Well. I won’t tell Sam how to do his job as long as he doesn’t tell me how to do mine. I have SWAT training. He doesn’t.”

“I can get that. Sam’s a know it all on occasion,” you said.

“Difference between being a know it all and putting my people in danger,” he said, flexing as he straightened up, staring behind you. “Speak of the devil.”

“Smith,” said Sam. “Come on, Y/N. I want to get out of here.”

“I was just talking to your work bestie,” you said. Sam rolled his eyes and Dean laughed.

“See you around, Y/N,” said Dean.

“You better not,” said Sam, Dean stopping in his tracks.

“Or what, Weston?” asked Dean. “She can talk to whoever she wants to.”

“Boys, I think that’s enough,” you said, grabbing Sam’s arm. “Come on. You wanted to go anyway.”

“Stay away from my sister, Dean,” said Sam.

“Sam. Go get the car. Please,” you said, pushing on his arm. He grumbled but left, Dean letting out a huff.

“Sorry about that,” said Dean. “Still not too happy with him over that incident.”

“He is human, like you,” you said. He nodded and put his hands behind his back, offering a soft smile. “He’ll kill me.”

“No he won’t. You’re cute. I like you. One date. If you’re single that is,” he said.

“One date,” you said, handing him your phone.

“Knew you thought I was hot,” he said.

“Don’t flatter yourself, SWAT guy,” you said, taking it back after he put his number in. You started to walk away when he cocked his head. “I’ll text you. Saturday?”

“Anytime’s good with me,” he said.

“Good. I’ll text tomorrow. See you soon, Dean.”

Saturday Night

“Hey,” said Sam, popping down the stairs. “Want to go do...you look nice. Have a date?”

“I did with that SWAT guy until he stood me up. I was at the restaurant for over an hour. I can’t believe he ghosted me,” you said.

“Well it is Dean. He’s not the most reliable guy,” said Sam.

“Yeah. I guess you were right about him,” you said.

“Why don’t we go out and have some fun? My treat,” he said.

“Alright,” you said, grabbing your purse from the end of the couch. “Better than sitting around. I am starving by the way.”

“Weston,” said Sam, answering the phone in his truck. “You’re shitting me...well get him out...who the fuck didn’t secure...hey, I don’t like the jackass but he’s the best officer we have, he didn’t fuck up...check surveillance...yeah, no shit the rookie fucked it up...send in the team again, I’ll be there in ten.”

“So, I’m guessing we aren’t going out to eat?” you asked, Sam getting off the highway quickly.

“Sorry. Emergency situation,” he said. “We’ll go later. Dean didn’t stand you up by the way.”

“He didn’t?”

“He was on a call that went bad. The normal spotter is out sick so a new guy took over and miscounted. Dean went in for a person that didn’t exist and now he’s stuck in there apparently,” he said.

“Oh. That sounds...not good.”

“He’s no dummy. They haven’t found him yet. The problem is that means it’s hard for us to find him too for an extraction,” said Sam.

“What was the thing you did that got you guys so pissed at one another?” you asked.

“I went into a hostage situation without confirming it with SWAT. Some of Dean’s people were in there. There was no time to waste or get me suited up so I just went in a backdoor. It worked out and saved the victim but...I did potentially put those other officers in danger. Dean was not happy about it,” he said.

“Why don’t you just apologize for it then?” you asked.

“SWAT guys are so full of themselves. They always think they know everything just because they have extra training. I’m the one out solving real crimes,” he said.

“Maybe you should work as a team. I think the general public would like that,” you said, looking out the window.

“I’ll apologize when I see him,” he said. “Just stay put in the truck for me for now.”

“Hey,” said Sam, rattling his knuckles on the window thirty minutes later. You flashed open your eyes, Sam nodding for you to get out. “I got somebody that wants to talk to you.”

“Hey, Dean,” you said, getting a smile from him as he hopped up from a stretcher nearby.

“Hey. Sorry about our date,” he said.

“It’s fine. You alright?” you asked.

“Oh, I’m fine. I snuck out the back,” he said. He looked over to Sam and nodded. “I got an apology from someone.”

“Good,” you said, looking at Sam.

“I got one too,” said Sam.

“He broke protocol but I overreacted very publicly. We’re on the same team after all,” said Dean.

“Might as well try to get along,” said Sam.

“Next time, wear a vest at least. Or I’ll call your little sister to get on your ass,” said Dean.

“I hope there’s not a next time,” said Sam.

“Me too,” said Dean. “Hey so I know it’s late but there’s a diner I know that’s open 24/7 if you can give me an hour to write up my report and get out of my gear.”

“Alright,” you said with a smile, looking him up and down. “You are kind of like, extra hot in it though.”

“And we’re leaving,” said Sam, grabbing your arm.

“I’ll come pick you up in about an hour then?” asked Dean.

“Yeah, sounds good,” you said. Sam pulled you back to the truck, shaking his head at you. “So the SWAT guy isn’t as bad as you said, hm?”

“Oh, he’s still cocky. It doesn’t mean he’s a bad guy though,” said Sam with a smile. “Come on. Let’s go home so you can get ready for your date again.”

“Thanks, Sammy.”

“Yeah, yeah. Love you too.”

______

A/N: Read Part 2 here!