Archive of Our Own ^beta

Wood splintered everywhere as Derek kicked down the door to the motel room. Prentiss quickly entered, scanning the room. Derek was right behind her but he faltered immediately. The supposedly empty motel room contained a prepubescent boy holding up a shotgun with rail thin arms. 

A glance Prentiss and they both flicked their safety’s on, spreading their hands. 

"Hey kid, we're not here to hurt you,” Derek assured. The boy’s expression didn’t change. “Do you know who this man is?" Derek held up a photo of the unsub. 

The boy glanced at it, his hold on his weapon not faltering, and then snorted. "Yeah, I think I would know what my dad looks like." 

"Dean?" Prentiss asked. 

Derek understood her shock. The last school records for Dean Winchester were from six years prior. Before they’d even gotten on the jet, the team had decided that Dean was likely dead, along with his younger brother Sam. 

"Yeah?"

Prentiss and Derek exchanged a look. 

Prentiss spoke slowly. Dean still had a gun pointed at them and if he’d been with John this whole time, there was no telling what would cause him to shoot. "Is your brother Sam here too?" 

Dean rolled his eyes. "FBI you said?" he taunted. He looked conflicted for a moment. "You got other agents out there?" 

Derek nodded. "Four more of our own and six officers from the local police department." 

"Drop the locals,” Dean directed. “File your agents through that door.”

Derek spoke the instructions into his radio, holstering his gun. Prentiss left to go speak to Hotch directly. 

It wasn’t lost on Derek that Dean had avoided her question. The protective instinct made Derek lean toward Sam being alive, nearby even. He scanned the room, sitting on the edge of the bed closest to the door when Dean told him to. There was a bathroom and closet, both of which were closed, no light coming through. Derek took the few minutes between Prentiss’ departure and Hotch’s entrance to study the room. 

There was nothing personal about the space, nothing that indicated that John Winchester had been staying there for nearly two weeks. Definitely nothing that would belong to two young boys living there as well. Both beds were unmade, but the desk and dresser were untouched. The curtains were drawn, but there was a white substance covering the window sill. The same substance was lining the doorway, but the line was broken with boot prints. Derek subtly reached down, touching the bottom of his shoe. 

“It’s salt,” Dean commented. “No need to get your holster in a twist.” He had planted himself between Derek and the bathroom, but his focus was flicking between Derek and the door. 

“Bad luck to spill that.”

Dean gave him an unamused look. “I wouldn’t worry about it.” His attention returned to the door and a moment later, there was a knock. 

“Dean? This is SSA Aaron Hotchner. I’m with Agent Prentiss, who you met before, Agent Rossi, Dr. Reid, and Agent Jareau. May we enter?” 

“I’ve got a gun pointed at your man. Don’t try anything when you come in,” he warned. 

“Our guns are in our holsters. Coming in.” 

The door opened slowly and Derek nodded to Hotch. True to his word, no one on the team had their weapon out. Hotch came first, hands displayed and moving slowly. Dean motioned for him to sit beside Derek on the bed. The rest of the team followed. 

They must have passed some sort of test, because Dean relaxed slightly when JJ crossed the threshold and nothing happened. Derek followed Dean’s gaze to the ceiling. There was a strange symbol, a faint, but complicated pentagram, painted onto the ceiling. 

The occult beliefs didn’t stop at John it seemed. Dean kept his gun trained on the team as he crossed the room to shut the door. He locked it, but seemed more concerned about the salt that had been further kicked around. 

Finally, he returned to his previous position in front of the bathroom door. "Alright, Sammy." Dean called. 

A head poked out of the bathroom and sure enough, there was a shaggy haired eight year old. The boy had a duffle bag on his shoulder and another one in his hand. He took in the scene with sharp, but unsurprised eyes. Dean shifted so that Sam was positioned behind him, to which Sam rolled his eyes. 

“Proof enough for you?” Dean challenged. Derek nodded placatingly. “Good.” His gaze swept over the six agents. He pointed his gun to Morgan. "You stay." He considered the others. "And you" he pointed to Reid. "Everyone else out." 

Nobody moved. 

"Kid," Rossi began. 

Dean shot the lamp in between the two beds without hesitation. "Out," he repeated. 

Derek and Hotch shared a look and then the four banished BAU members exited, pulling the door closed. 

Derek and Reid remained silent where they sat on the edge of the far bed. They seemed to be in agreement to let this play out how Dean wanted it to. The kid had been missing for six years. There was no telling what he thought of law enforcement or anything else. 

Dean motioned for Sam to stay put and handed him a gun, one which was hidden in his waist band apparently the entire time. Sam took it without hesitation. He immediately checked its safety but kept his finger off the trigger. In the meantime, Dean took one of the duffle bags, rifling through it. 

“How long have you been shooting Sam?” Reid asked softly. Sam opened his mouth but Dean cut him off.

“Can it,” Dean growled. He pulled out a box of iodized salt from the duffle and crossed to the door, pouring it in a line. He then checked the salt line on the window sill, but didn’t add anymore salt. He peeked out the drawn curtains. The team must have cleared out enough to satisfy him, because he motioned for Sam to join him on the other bed. “What do you want?” he asked as Sam sat. He set his gun in his lap, but the message was clear. 

“We’re looking for your father, Dean. We believe he may be connected to a few deaths that have occurred in the area.” Dean shrugged, unconcerned by Reid’s accusation. 

“Dean, do you know where your dad is?" Derek tried. 

“As of this moment? No.” 

Derek raised an eyebrow. “So he left you in this motel room how long ago? Didn’t tell you where he was going or when he’d be back.” 

“Earmuffs, Sammy.” 

“Dean-”

“Earmuffs.” 

Sam rolled his eyes before setting his gun beside him and putting his hands over his ears, laying back in the bed. 

Dean looked straight at Derek, his voice low, but steady. “My dad is out there ganking whatever killed those women. He’ll be back when it's dead and then we’ll be long gone.”

Reid leaned forward slightly. “Dean, what does your dad think is killing those women?” 

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m not at liberty to say.” He nudged Sam who sat up immediately, eyes darting around the room momentarily before settling. He retrieved his weapon once he was settled. 

“Dean, Sam, we’re going to take you to the station,” Derek answered finally. “It’s about ten minutes from here. We don’t feel comfortable leaving you here until your dad gets back, whenever that will be.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You don’t feel comfortable? I’ve got a pool thirty yards that way and a vending machine ten yards the other way. Sammy and I will be just fine here.” His grip on the gun tightened, but he didn’t raise it.  

“We can leave your dad a note,” Reid suggested. “About where you are. But Derek and I are both mandatory reporters. Do you know what that means?”

“It means you have to tell CPS if you think kids are being abused,” Sam answered softly, head down. “That’s why we don’t go to school anymore.”

“My math lessons not enough for you, Sammy?” Dean asked, although his tone said something more along the lines of, ‘Shut it’. 

“Sam, were you and your brother reported to CPS a lot?” Reid asked. Derek wanted to ask the more obvious question of ‘Sam, how did you go to school if no one’s heard of you since you were two?’ but didn’t want to indicate just how little they knew about this case. 

Sam shrugged, fidgeting slightly, but his gun safety didn’t waver. He looked at Dean, but Dean just raised an eyebrow. “Um, yeah. I guess. Probably once every few schools we were at." 

"Do you know why they would report you?" Reid continued, voice soft and unwavering. 

"Dad doesn't hit Sam," Dean interjected, back ramrod straight. 

An unreadable look filled Sam's eyes. Some amalgamation of sadness and guilt and horror and fear and rage. 

Derek felt an icy feeling settle around his throat. A flash of the stars outside that cabin was in Dean's dark eyes. The boys blinked and their expressions cleared in tandem. 

Derek cleared his throat. “Regardless, we would like to take you to the station to ask you a few more questions. I’ll buy you lunch if that will sweeten the pot.” As Derek suspected, the promise of a meal had enough sway on the gaunt looking boys. Thankfully, before they left the motel room, Dean switched out his shotgun for a smaller handgun from the duffles. Hesitating momentarily, he pulled the clips out of both his and Sam's guns and handed them to Reid. 

As they reached the parking lot, Dean said, "I've got five knives on me and Sam's got…" 

"Two," Sam supplied. 

"Two? Which two?"

"Um… silver and a switchblade."

Dean dug deep into his jeans and pulled out a moderate sized pocket knife and handed it to his brother. "I've got four knives on me and Sam's got three. Is that going to be a problem?" 

From the passenger's side, Reid glanced at Derek and then back at Dean. "Are you going to use them?" he asked, slipping into the vehicle. 

Dean shrugged. "Am I going to get attacked in the station?" 

"No," Spencer replied. 

"Then no," Dean echoed. He motioned for Sam to enter the car before circling the SUV and entering on Reid's side. It didn't escape Derek that Dean put them at diagonals, and thus with easier access to the perceived larger threat. He set both duffle bags in the seat between him and Sam. 

It was a quiet ride. Dean's attention bounced around the car and the small town Iowa traffic. Sam started to ask Reid a question, but Dean cut him off with a look. 

It was a different story at the station. The agents got Dean and Sam settled into the conference room. It was the same space that the department had given to the BAU team to work in for the duration of the case and was unfortunately filled with crime scene photos as well as the profile of their father. 

While Dean swiveled his chair back and forth restlessly, both unloaded guns tucked into his waistband, Sam studied the whiteboards. Derek sat across from the older brother, his back to the door so that Dean wouldn’t have to, having sent an officer to go pick up some lunch for the boys. Reid was on the phone with Garcia. Although it was normally Derek’s job, Dean didn’t seem to want the older agent out of his sight. On the ride over, Derek had called Hotch to inform him of the boys’ status. Hotch had sent half the team to the latest crime scene from the night before and the other half to canvas the area for anyone who may have seen John Winchester. Derek wondered idly how Dean would react to the others when they came back to piece the latest victim into John’s MO. He didn’t think either boy would leave the room if they knew their father was going to be discussed. 

“Sanguis est anima mea,” Sam read aloud. “Blood is my life.” 

As he spoke, Reid entered the room. “You read Latin?” he asked. 

Sam shrugged. “Someone has to.” He returned his gaze to the boards. 

“Sammy, sit down.”

The younger brother ignored Dean. “Was this written at all the crime scenes?” he asked. 

“It was,” Derek confirmed, wondering where this was going. At this point, he’d take any lead on their nightmare of a case. A nomadic, Satanist serial killer who shed methods, victimology, and aliases like costumes. 

Sam hummed, clearly in thought. 

Reid stood at the boards beside the young boy. “What are you thinking?”

“Leave it alone, Sam.” 

“Blood is life is mine,” Sam answered. “It’s… clunky, but there’s a transitive property that is missing with the simpler translation. My dad always…” 

“What do you think it means?” Spencer probed. 

“What was Dad hunting?” Sam faced his brother, who had a frustrated look on his face. 

“Sam-”

“A vampire, right?” 

Dean scowled. The brothers had a minute long conversation through a raised eyebrow and a pout. 

It appeared that Sam won, because he continued his line of questioning. “He’s hunting a vampire, but the signs aren’t quite right. He can’t go to the crime scenes because the FBI is here. He can’t talk to witnesses. He can’t see these.” Sam pointed at four photos which contained small leather bags that had been left at each house. The victims’ families had swore up and down that they’d never seen the bags in their life. 

It was clear, however, that Dean knew exactly what the bags were. His face paled. “Sam, sit down.” This time, his brother obeyed. “Blood is life is mine,” Dean repeated quietly. “What, um.” He looked up at the agents. “What were the contents of those bags?” 

Reid rattled off the information and then paused for a moment. “The bag was also stiff with dry blood.”

Dean shoved his hands into his pockets. 

“Does that mean something to you?” Derek asked softly. 

Dean glanced at Sam. Slowly, he nodded. “Can’t be completely sure, but… those ingredients. Could be for blood magic. But everything else… This witch sure wants any hunter in the area to underestimate her.” 

Reid and Derek exchanged a look. “So your dad thinks that he’s going to kill a vampire.”

“But he’s up against a witch.”

“Do you know a lot about the supernatural?” Reid asked. 

Dean made a face. “Enough.” 

Reid tried again. “Did you learn about it from your dad?” 

Dean clenched his fists. “Why are you so obsessed with my dad?” he bursts out. 

“Dean,” Derek started softly. “After your mom died-” Dean grabbed his brother's arm, pulling him closer. “-your dad spoke to a lot of people, trying to figure out what happened. And he reported what he learned to the police. He had a lot of different theories, but the most common one was that a demon killed her.” Derek spoke slowly, watching every twitch on the boys’ faces. Neither boy looked confused, so their father must have told them a similar story. “But the fire department and an arson specialist from Kansas City investigated the fire your mom died in. It was just a gas leak.”

Dean set his jaw. Sam was glancing between his brother and Derek. These boys had been raised to believe in demons and vampires and witches. They’d been pulled out of school, leaving their father to be their only source of information. The 911 calls that Garcia had pulled from the Lawrence, Kansas archives depicted John as a drunk, deluded man. He’d once called in to ramble about how Sam had drank demon blood as a baby and was destined to release Lucifer into the world. Derek had no doubt that there were consequences to questioning John and that Dean did his damndest to ensure that those consequences never reached Sam. 

“There are no demons,” Derek continued after allowing the boys to process that information. “The last murder that happened in this town before your dad arrived was fifteen years ago. He didn’t come he looking for anything. He came to start something.” 

“Dean, is that true?” Sam asked quietly. 

His brother glared at the agents. “They’re just civilians, Sammy. They don’t know what they’re talking about.” 

“You’re been living in fear for a long time,” Reid responded finally. “Trust me, I know how it feels. Not knowing what parent you’ll meet when you get home. Not knowing what stories you’re going to have to make sense of. You don’t know us, you don’t trust us. I understand that. If you don’t want us to say anything else, we won’t. But I’m going to ask you one last question, and I really want you to think about it. Is your father’s care really the safest place you can be?” 

Reid stood and exited the room, leaving Derek alone with the boys. 

Sam’s gaze had turned glassy during Reid’s speech, the first real sign of vulnerability that either brother had shown. Dean’s eyes were still sharp as ever as he took in his brother’s confusion. He sighed, muttering curses under his breath. He dragged Sam and his swivel chair into the far corner of the room, Sam not responding to the rough movement. 

Before Derek could question Sam’s sudden dissociative state, there was a knock on the door. The uniformed officer that Derek had sent for lunch. She held up a greasy bag with the logo of the diner that they had passed on the drive over. Derek motioned her in. 

Dean ignored her, even though Derek doubted that he had eaten that day. Instead, he manhandled Sam out of the chair and leaned him against the corner of the floor. He then retrieved his duffle bags, setting one on Sam’s left and digging through the other. He pulled out the same container of salt from before. He poured it on the floor, forming a curve separating him and Sam and the rest of the room. Dean glared at Derek as he did, indicating that this was partially superstition and partially payback for Derek and Reid pressing him on those superstitions. Finally, he arranged the two swivel chairs so that they blocked Derek’s view of the boys. 

“Thank you,” Derek addressed the officer. 

She smiled at Derek and then the boys. “Not a problem.” She slipped out of the room and disappeared behind the closed blinds. 

“You wanting to eat over there?” Derek asked. To himself, he had to admit that he was impressed by Dean’s fort. 

Dean pulled the still non-responsive Sam to his chest. If Derek had to guess, this was a pretty common trauma response for the younger brother. 

“Fine,” Dean grumbled. He made no move to retrieve the food, so Derek brought it over, telegraphing his movements. He was still very aware that Dean was armed with several knives. He hadn’t even searched the duffle bags, not that he thought Dean would have let him. There was no telling what weapons the boy had within his reach. 

Derek handed over the food and then retreated to his previous seat, letting Dean riffle through it in peace. 

Dean seemed to get sucked into his own little world, sorting through the food, dividing it between the pair, and making sure Sam ate. It didn’t escape Derek that he squirreled away some of the items for later, even though they’d probably go bad within the next few hours if they weren’t refrigerated. 

“Is Sam okay?” Derek asked finally. 

Dean tensed, grip on his brother tightening. “He’s fine. Your partner scared him. He’ll be back when he’s thought through it all.” 

Derek wondered how much of that statement was Dean’s filtering and how much was what he actually believed. 

“We didn’t mean to scare you,” Derek apologized. “We just want to tell you the truth.” 

Dean scoffed. “The truth? What? That you think my dad’s a murderer? That you think that everyone he’s ever saved is just- just a lie? That he’s crazy?” Dean wiped at his eyes, more emotional than Derek had ever seen him in this short time. “My dad isn’t crazy. I’m not crazy, okay?”

“Okay, kid,” Derek agreed. He racked his mind on how to further placate the boy, but before he could generate any ideas, his phone rang. “Morgan,” he answered, not bothering to check the caller ID. It was his work phone, so it was a short list of who could be calling him.

“Morgan, are you with the kids?” It was Hotch. 

“I am,” Derek confirmed. 

“I need you either to get clear or keep a straight face. The front desk clerk from the motel the Winchester’s were staying at just called. He said that John had returned to the motel room and then came right back out. I have two squad cars tailing him, but he seems to be heading directly to the station. You need to get the boys to a safer location immediately. John is only five minutes out.” 

Derek cursed himself. He should have pocketed the note that Dean had written to their dad. It had seemed coded from the brief glance he’d gotten of it. At the time, he’d been more concerned about getting the boys to the station than thinking about John finding them there. 

“Understood. Call Reid, tell him what you told me,” Derek responded, and then hung up. He returned his attention to Dean, who seemed very interested in his call. 

“Dean, the note that you left for your dad. What did you say?” 

Dean blinked once in confusion and then smiled. “He’s coming, isn’t he?” 

“Dean, what did you write?” 

The boy cocked his head. There were gunshots outside of the conference room followed by screams. “I just gave him this address.”

Derek didn’t have time to process the innocent response however. He drew his weapon, keeping it pointed at the ground as he peeked through the blinds. The local LEOs all had their weapons pointed at John Winchester, who had two hand guns of his own. The civilians had crawled under their desks. Reid, however, was nowhere to be seen. 

Derek let out a breath, allowing adrenaline to surge through him. 

"Where are they?" John screamed. He kept one gun aimed at the desk where he must have seen the civilians drop under. The other he waved around. If anyone shot him, his bullet could end up anywhere. With Reid MIA, Derek only knew of one other person trained for this situation close by. Himself. He needed to get out there. He couldn't risk one of the LEOs taking matters into their own hands. 

He holstered his weapon and knocked on the door to warn John and then slowly pushed it open. He kept his hands raised, eyes locked on John. 

"No one leaves until I get my boys," John threatened, focusing his second gun on Derek. 

"Put down your weapons and then we can talk," Derek instructed. 

John's gaze and grip hardened. 

Derek took a step forward and then-

"Dad!" Dean screamed, racing out of the conference room. 

Derek grabbed him before he could get any closer to his father, pulling him to the ground behind a desk. 

He breathed heavily, but no one fired a shot. 

"Dean?" John called. "Where's Sam?" 

The boy struggled against Derek, stronger than he looked. "He's- Same place I was. I told him to stay put until we got this sorted out." 

Derek knew it was a lie before it had left Dean's mouth. Sam was likely still dissociating in the corner, unaware of the events outside of the conference room. Derek had known that Dean was protective of his brother before, but that Dean would put his brother over this father? Derek placed that information in the back of his mind. Dean would have to make that choice today. Derek just hoped it wouldn't break him. 

Derek got Dean into a simple restraint, crossing the boy's arms and keeping him in Derek's lap so he wouldn't be able to kick out. "Let me go!" Dean screamed. "I want to be with my dad! Let me go with my dad!" He continued to struggle against Derek. 

"Sir, stay back," one of the LEOs demanded. 

Derek cursed himself. "Dean," he whispered. "I need you to be quiet, okay? I don't want anyone to get hurt. This can all end peacefully, but you need to let me do my job." 

"Dean, this is just like in Cheyenne," John interrupted. Based on the steady aim of the LEOs, he'd stopped moving. 

Dean slumped suddenly against Derek, the force of which jostled his grip on Dean's wrists. He yanked himself free and took Derek's firearm from its hostler, jumping to his feet and pointing the weapon at Derek. He flicked the safety off. 

"I'm coming to you," Dean replied. 

Derek held up his hands, "Dean," he started. 

“Dean!” Another voice, younger. Sam was back with it, it seemed. “Dean, just stop it!” he insisted. Dean backed up so that his brother was directly behind him. 

“Sammy, not a drill.” Terror flashed across Dean’s face. “Get back.” 

Derek gestured for the LEOs to keep their aim on John. There wasn’t a world where Dean would consider hurting his brother. 

Sam’s face hardened, but he didn’t move. “I talked to Bobby.”

The look on Dean’s face told Derek that Sam was not longer operating on whatever protocol they’d been drilled on. 

“Sam-”

“No, Dean, just listen. I talked to Bobby and he told me the same thing that the agents did.”

“When?”

Derek glanced over at John. The father seemed angry with the direction of the conversation. 

“Three times now. Whenever you and dad are gone.”

Over John’s shoulder, Derek saw a flash of movement. 

“I don’t want to do this anymore, Dean,” Sam begged. 

Dean glanced back at his brother. In his brief moment of hesitation, Sam disarmed him, ejecting his gun’s clip. At the same moment, the rest of Derek’s team burst through the entrance of the station. Hotch tackled John and Prentiss retrieved his weapons. 

Hotch nodded to the boys. Derek understood. Sam easily returned his weapon, which Derek handed off to the LEO who had gotten them lunch. He ushered the boys back into the conference room. 

Dean seemed in a daze, but he immediately returned to his salted corner, pulling Sam along behind him. 

Derek shut the door and confirmed that the blinds were drawn. He did not want John to see his boys while he was booked. 

The older sibling kept an arm around Sam as he asked, “Did Bobby really say that?” 

Sam nodded, fiddling with his sleeves. “We could call him,” he offered, glancing at Derek. 

Derek thought a moment. Whoever Bobby was, he clearly seemed to matter a great deal to both boys. That, combined with his outreach to Sam, made him seem trustworthy in Derek’s book. “I’ve got a couple conditions,” he hedged. 

The boys gripped each other tighter. 

“You let me look through your duffle bags. You can keep the knives you have on you, but any other weapon, I’m confiscating. And you let my friend do a quick background check on him first.” Ideally, the boys would have no weapons on them, but Dean was quickly becoming more distressed and he seemed the type to use a knife as a comfort item. 

The siblings had a silent conversation, but eventually agreed to his terms, rattling off the information he needed. 

Derek called Garcia. “Hey baby girl,” he greeted. Dean rolled his eyes. 

Garcia immediately started verbally vomiting her worry, but Derek cut her off. “Yeah, no. we’re okay. Suspect is in custody, I’ve got the boys here with me. Nobody’s hurt.”

“Okay, okay,” Garcia took a few deep breaths. “Then what can I do for you, my most esteemed babysitter?”

Derek snorted. “Can you check out a name for me? Robert Singer. He’s a professor of anthropology at USD.”

He could hear her clacking away at keys already. “Of course. Anything in particular that I should be looking for?” 

Derek studied the boys’ hopeful faces. “Anything that would prevent the court from granting him custody.” 

“Oh, do you- On it!” She ended the call. 

“She’ll get back to me probably in the next half hour,” Derek informed them. “In the meantime: duffle.” He held out his hand. Sam lobbed them at him. He raised an eyebrow but the younger boy just smiled back. 

He sifted through the bags. The first was mostly clothes, the salt, and the food that Dean had stashed away earlier. The second was… less cohesive. There were flasks, wooden stakes, two more handguns and their (thankfully unattached) clips, a rosary, several more knives, and a mortar and pestle. They were very lucky this station didn’t have a metal detector at the door. He tossed the first bag back, arching it over the swivel chairs, but had one of the LEOs take the second bag to the evidence lock up. A child endangerment charge was the least of John’s worries, but Derek was more than happy to attest to it when his trial got to the top of the docket. 

JJ and Reid stopped by after that. JJ stayed with the boys while Reid updated Derek in the hallway. 

John was booked and would be going into interrogation with Prentiss within the hour. His car had been searched, revealing more weapons and a laptop filled with files about the murders he’d committed, more than anyone had dreamed of connecting to him. His phone was being sent to Garcia so that she could get a look at his contacts. The brief analysis that Reid had done on his laptop showed a handful of concurrent cases. It seemed that John was connected to at least one other killer. 

“You sent it off yet?” Derek asked. 

Reid shook his head, giving Derek a curious look. 

The older agent poked his head into the door. “Hey, Sam, what’s your dad’s phone pin?” 

JJ looked over her shoulder disapprovingly from where she sat on the conference table. 

“Twelve ‘oh’ five five four,” Sam replied. Dean shot Sam a dirty look, but didn’t disagree. 

Derek closed the door and Reid raised an eyebrow. “His mom’s birthday. How’d you know he’d tell you?” 

Derek shrugged. “Kid’s stubborn, doesn’t seem too fond of his dad.” 

Reid finished his update, a few odds and ends of the investigation, and then sent Derek back in. JJ started to take down their pin board when he entered. 

“Hey, um, the hex bags.” Dean nodded to the board. “How do you think they got into those women’s houses?” 

Derek settled down in his previous swivel chair on the opposite side of the table from the boys. “We found the ingredients for them in the trunk of your dad’s car,” he explained. “It’s likely that your dad planted them there himself.”

Dean didn’t answer, deep in thought. 

The boys seemed content to stay in their corner so long as Derek didn’t block the door or get too close. Derek offered for JJ to replace him, but Dean glared at the suggestion, so Derek stayed put. He knew that a social worker would be by eventually. In the meantime, he kept watch. 

“You boys need anything to eat or drink?” he asked. 

Dean considered Sam, his protective instincts overshadowing his crumbling world view. “Sure.”

“I’ll have someone get you something from the vending machine. Any requests?” 

Dean shook his head, already retreating back into his mind. 

The moment Derek opened the door, he regretted it. 

“... and John will only speak if Dean is there,” Hotch informed the team where they gathered around one of the LEO’s empty desks. 

Derek shut the door, but the damage was done. 

Dean was on his feet when Derek turned around, his face full of emotion that Derek hadn’t witnessed on him yet. “My dad wants to talk to me?” 

“Dean-”

“No, my dad wants to talk to me. He- where is he?” Dean stayed in his corner, but Derek had a feeling that had more to do with Sam’s grip on his ankle. 

“It’s a powerplay, Dean,” Derek answered calmly. As much as what he was about to say would hurt, he needed to be honest with them. “He doesn’t really want to see you. He just wants to see if he can get the FBI to obey him.” 

The older boy shook his head, unconcerned with the implication that his father didn’t care about him. He hesitated and then changed tactics, his previous emotion being colored as an act. “I know, okay?” he said quietly, but much more true to the Dean Derek had gotten to know in the last few hours. Practical and sure. “I know. You think this is the first time he’s been arrested? I just… this is the last time I’m going to see him right? You’re going to take me and Sam and put us in the system. Maybe we end up with Bobby, maybe we get separated. I just- I want to say goodbye.” 

With how Dean and Sam carried themselves, it was easy to forget that they were just twelve and eight years old. Of course Dean wanted to see his dad. As much as he tried to hide it, he was scared. His world had just turned upside down. Derek sighed. He wanted to give this to Dean, except… “Kid, you’ve already pulled a weapon on me in defense of your dad. How do I know I can trust you?” 

Dean reached into his pockets and tossed out their contents. Seven blades. Either Dean had lied before or he’d taken Sam’s weapons at some point. “I’ll- I’ll leave those here. I’ll. You can come with me, or- no, you should stay with Sammy. Your- the other one, long hair, he can come with me." His tone had reached a middle ground between the emotion he’d put on previously and his stoicism. This was a bit more believable, but Derek couldn’t discern if the boy was being truthful or learning what Derek would accept. Sam, however, must have seen something the agent didn’t. He pulled Dean back to the ground with a single yank, allowing his brother to hold him again. He looked worried but unsurprised by the turn of events. 

Derek's phone rang. "Morgan," Derek answered, keeping an eye on the boys but knowing that his comfort wouldn't do any good. 

"Derek, my sweet, how are those boys?" Garcia demanded. 

He smiled briefly. "They're shaken up, but they'll be alright." 

Garcia sighed in relief. It seemed that someone else on the team had given her a true update since they'd last called. "Well, I looked into this Robert Singer fellow and he's legit. Teaches a handful of religious studies courses at USD and researches modern day paganism. He's lived in South Dakota his whole life, never arrested. Nothing I could find that would prevent a judge from granting custody, which he's very much interested in." 

Derek raised an eyebrow. Dean had his back to him, covering Sam with his body, but the younger brother studied Derek with interest. "And you know this how?" 

He could hear Garcia's grin. "Because I just put him on hold. He'd like to speak to the boys, if possible." 

"Patch him through?” Garcia worked her magic, and then, “Hello?”

“Hello, who is this?” The man on the other line had a rough voice. “What happened to that Garcia girl?”

“She patched you over to me. This is Derek Morgan. I’m with the FBI, part of the team that just arrested John Winchester.” Derek tried to speak quietly, but he knew the boys would be more suspicious if he took the call into another room. “I’m with his sons now.”

“Well put them on the line,” Robert insisted. 

“One moment.” 

Robert grumbled, but allowed Derek to put him on hold. 

“Hey, boys?” Derek asked. 

“Who are you talking to?” Dean responded. 

“I’ve got Robert Singer. He’s wanting to talk to you both, is that alright?” 

Dean turned to face the agent. His eyes were red but filled with determination. He nodded and Sam followed suit. 

Derek took a seat a few feet away from the boys, then put his call on speaker phone, setting the device beside the salt line on his side. “I’ve got you on speakerphone with Sam and Dean now.” 

“Boys, I’m in the car right now, I’ll be there in two hours. Dean, we haven’t talked like I have with your brother, but when I get there we’ll talk, alright?”

“Yes, sir.”

“In the meantime, you listen to those agents until I do.” 

Dean nodded, shooting a look at Derek. “Understood.” 

“Bobby, do you think- could we go back to school.” 

“Yeah, Sam. I’ve already called Jodi. We’ll get you in school.” 

Sam chattered happily to Robert, or Bobby, as the boys referred to him. Dean seemed to turn his attention inward until there was a brief pause in the conversation. 

“My dad wants to talk to me,” Dean interjected suddenly. 

“Do you want to talk to him?” 

Dean looked down. “I don’t know.” 

“What happened last time he got arrested?” 

“They didn’t search me. I walked in with a lock pick set and a gun. I distracted the detective after I got him loose and he walked right out.”

“What did he do after, Dean? Thank you?” 

The boy looked suddenly uncomfortable. “He hit me. Said I took too long.” 

“And you don’t know.” Bobby sighed. “Dean, he has hurt you. He will continue to hurt you.”

“I know.” 

“I’m not going to let him. Not anymore. You stay put, you listen to the agents until I get there. Then we’ll talk.” 

“Is it really not real?” 

“It’s not Dean. They’re just stories. We’ll talk, Dean. Soon as I get there.” 

Sam took over the conversation, sensing that Dean and Bobby were done. They spoke for another hour or so. 

JJ and Reid both poked their heads in at some point, but Derek waived them off. 

Dean was relaxed as long as he and Sam remained inside of the salt ring. It wasn’t long until Bobby was pushing his way past reception and into the conference room. 

“Where’s Agent Morgan? I was just talking to him!” he shouted. 

Derek laughed. “Give me a head start?” he asked the boys. 

“Sure,” Dean assented. 

Derek waved the gruff looking man over. “He’s with me,” he informed the LEO up front. Hotch raised an eyebrow from where he was hunched over doing paperwork at an empty desk. 

The rest of the team was likely packing up the hotel rooms. With John in custody, there was only one loose end left to tie up. And that loose end had just walked through the door. 

“Robert Singer?” 

“It’s Bobby. You got the boys?”  

“Bobby!” Sam called, a step behind Dean. Derek watched as Dean scanned the room. Once he’d decided the space was safe, he nodded to Sam, who immediately bolted to Bobby. 

“You did good, kid,” the man praised, ruffling Sam’s hair. He glanced at Dean. “Well? You gonna stand there all day?” 

“No, sir,” Dean answered, startling into action and crossing over to where the professor stood. 

Bobby rolled his eyes, but didn’t touch Dean like he did Sam. Derek felt himself relax. They were going to be good for each other. 

With that ease, Derek motioned over Hotch who motioned over the social worker. They had work to do. 

It should’ve been downhill from there. The case was closed. John had confessed to the murders in town while a judge was granting Bobby temporary parental rights over the boys. The boys packed up into Bobby’s car and rode off that afternoon and then Prentiss stopped making progress with John. 

The team went back to Virginia. The prosecution would have enough to put John Winchester away for life. 

It should’ve been downhill. But then Derek got a call from the South Dakota State Penitentiary. 

“Hello?” 

“This the man who took my kids away?” 

“Hello John.” 

“I want to see my son.” 

“That’s not going to happen.” 

“I want to see my son and you want to know the names of the people I allegedly killed. I think we have a thing or two to discuss.” 

Derek ended the call. 

Derek let himself forget about the call, no reason to entertain the thought. John Winchester was never seeing those boys again. 

It should’ve gone downhill from there. But then Derek got a call from a number with a Sioux Falls area code. Derek couldn’t stop thinking about the contents of that call. 

A week later, he had a voicemail from the same number. 

“Derek, this is Bobby. Dean, uh, locked himself in the bathroom today, screaming about a ghost. There were some lights flickering, I guess, on the porch. He took the bag of ice melt I had outside, filled the tub with it, and sat there for about two hours until Sam convinced him to come out. Had some nasty rashes on his arms. He’s okay, but I’m keeping him home from school for the next few days. Now, you know I wouldn’t ask this if I wasn’t positive it would help. Dean’s losing touch with reality. I think he needs to hear it from his dad that this supernatural crap ain’t real. Do you- Hey, Sam, what’s wrong?” 

Derek had Garcia play the message at the round table. 

JJ cocked her head. “I can't imagine the stress that family is under right now." 

Hotch nodded. "I understand that Mr. Singer wants to help Dean. I am not sure this is the best way to do it.” 

“I think he’s sincere,” Derek noted. “He wouldn’t be asking if he wasn’t desperate.”

“What does Dean’s social worker think?” JJ asked. 

“I don’t know. I called her, but it went to voicemail. I asked her to call me back.”

“Garcia,” Hotch directed. “Try her again.” 

Garcia nodded, tapping away at her keyboard. A moment later, the call connected. 

“Hello?” 

Hotch nodded to Derek. 

“Hi, Janette? This is Derek Morgan. We spoke previously about the Winchester boys.”

“Yes, what can I do for you?” 

“Their guardian, Bobby, gave me a call and asked if Dean could see his father to help him get closure with the faith he gave Dean. I wanted to consult you, to see what your thoughts are.”

The social worker hummed. “Yes, Bobby called me about this too. Based on the behavior that both Bobby and Sam have described to me and the paranoia that Dean’s expressed, at this point, I think it would do more good than bad. Dean’s incredibly confused. He’s had one information source for most of his life. He needs to hear from John that he lied. This isn’t unlike cult deprogramming,” she added. 

Derek nodded. “Alright. With your go ahead, I’ll start marking arrangements.” 

“Thank you. I trust we’ll be in contact.” 

They gave the usual pleasantries and then hung up. Derek glanced at his team. “I think we’re doing this.” 

The team agreed. 

Derek thanked them for their input and then got back to his office. He had another call to make. 

“Hey, Bobby,” Derek greeted. 

“Thanks for returning my call,” the foster father replied. “Your team thought about it?” 

“We have. We’re obviously concerned, but if you and Dean’s social worker agree-”

“Which we do.”

“-then I’ll get it arranged.” Derek turned the conversation to logistics and then the boys’ wellbeing. 

It was another week before he saw the professor in person again, both boys in tow. 

Derek frowned, eyeing Sam, who was supposed to be with a friend of Bobby’s at the moment. 

Bobby noticed his confusion. “Thought we’d had it sorted out, but the boy wouldn’t back off until I agreed to let him come.”

“Not a problem,” Derek promised, already shuffling in his mind how to make this work. 

John had been denied bail in alignment with the BAU’s recommendation, so the only way to speak with him was at the prison. There was no way he was letting Dean close to his father with at least a plexiglass barrier. Bobby was originally intending to join Dean and Derek in the visitor’s section, but Derek hoped he would wait in the hallway with Sam instead. Though he knew Dean needed as many people on his side as possible. 

“Is Dean really going to see Dad?” Sam asked. 

Derek smiled. “If he wants to, we’re going to give him that option,” he promised. 

“Can I see my dad?” 

“Do you want to?” 

“No.”

Derek saw Dean squeeze his younger brother's hand, even as his eyes darted around the prison entrance. 

“Do you Dean?” Derek asked. 

The boy nodded, pulling Sam toward the door. The adults exchanged a look, but followed after. Derek’s badge made quick work of the remaining red tape and then they were being escorted further into the prison. 

Bobby confirmed that he would wait with Sam in the hall, although the boy looked conflicted about it. 

“Ready?” Derek asked. 

Dean shrugged, but turned toward the door. The guard opened it up and Dean froze in the doorway. 

John raised an eyebrow from behind the glass. He leaned back in his chair and gestured to the seat in front of him. 

“You can leave anytime,” Derek reminded Dean. The boy nodded, slipping into the seat across from his father. Derek sat beside him. The three of them let the moment sit and then John picked up the phone. Dean and Derek did as well. 

“Took you long enough, boy,” John drawled. 

“Did you kill mom?” 

Not… quite where Derek was expecting Dean to start. 

“Don’t speak about her. You don’t know anything about your mother.”

“I know she died in a fire. And that after her death, we started driving around the country, looking for the thing that killed her. But it was you, right? You killed her." 

"I didn't kill her. And I never found what did." 

"John," Derek interrupted. "You know why we're here. Tell Dean a name." 

The father smiled. "Son, there was a nest of-" 

"No. Tell Dean a name." 

"Jenny Collins. Akron, Ohio. 2003." 

"I- I remember Akron. There was evidence of a vamp nest," Dean responded slowly. "I- I let Sammy sharpen a machete before you left. He's- you-" 

"I killed a vampire or two. Ugly little goth girls. I was doing that town a favor." 

"No. I don't- Why did you lie to me? Why?" Dean screamed. Derek was glad they'd decided to clear the entire room. The kid was shaking, his anger and confusion rolling off him. 

John smirked. "I cleansed this world. But you and your brother, your souls are still filled with darkness." 

Derek reached for Dean's phone. "That's enough." 

"No." Dean pitched his body away. "Give me a name," he demanded. "Give me the name of someone you saved, someone we saved." 

John hung up his phone. 

"No!" 

Derek guided the boy away, hating how much satisfaction John was receiving from watching Dean's distress. 

"Just keep walking. It's okay, Dean. Let's go see Bobby. He's just outside.” 

Dean struggled to look back at his father, but Derek continued to shuffle him forward. 

In the hallway, Sam was immediately on his feet. 

“Dean?” he asked. 

“Let’s go, Sammy.” 

“Dean, what’s wrong? What happened?” 

“He lied. Okay? He lied and he probably killed Mom and a hundred other people and we never saved anyone.” 

Sam latched onto Dean’s side, glancing over at Bobby. 

“I’m sorry, Dean.” Bobby knelt down beside the pair. “I’m really sorry.” 

Dean sniffed, holding back tears. “So am I.”