Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first thing Jessica Moore noticed was the smell. The putrid scent of charred fat assaulted her nostrils, masking all other senses for a few brief moments. Then, so suddenly that it was unfathomable she hadn't noticed it at once, pain flared from every nerve ending she possessed and Jess was certain she was burning alive. Panicked, her mind raced; she knew she could get to a faucet and quench the flames if she could just move, but try as she might, her body was immobile. The thrashing and screaming she had come to associate with violent deaths on television was conspicuously absent; her jaw had completely locked up and her limbs felt as though they were encased in a slab of concrete. Immobile and in excruciating pain, Jess stared down at her bed—and really, what an odd view to have while burning to death—and prayed that someone would save her. Her thoughts cycled through the same subjects, over and over again: Sam, her parents, a snapshot from her childhood, then the shocking white brought on by her sizzling flesh before the montage started again.

Sam, a voice in the back of her head, one that she thought would have surely been suffocated by now, hissed insistently. The man in the kitchen had said something about Sam.

And oh, how she wished Sam was here. Though it had surely only been a few minutes at most, Jess felt as though hours had passed since the initial flames. She hurt and she wanted someone, anyone to take it away.

Please! she tried to scream, still fighting for control of her own body. Please, help!

Suddenly, her view shifted to what she was used to; she was standing at the doorway of the room she shared with her boyfriend. The whole room was now ablaze and she could see the blistering mass of her own body pinned to the ceiling, but the young blonde felt curiously detached from the situation. In fact, the whole room seemed to be... fading. Rooms didn't just fade away, did they? But as far as Jess had been concerned, people didn't burn to death while pinned to their ceilings, either. She had been wrong before. Suddenly feeling incredibly tired, Jess closed her eyes and thought of Sam. Had he come home yet? She couldn't think. She couldn't remember. Where had he gone again? How long had she known him?

When she opened her eyes again, Jess was in a room so white, it glowed. A man was standing before her, appraising her. Was it Sam? What color hair had he had again? The man nodded to himself, apparently satisfied with whatever conclusion he had reached, and opened his mouth to speak. Whatever he had been about to say was cut off by a high pitched squeal, loud and intense and vaguely reminiscent of a hearing test. The young woman attempted to withstand the noise, curious to what the man wanted—and really, what had she been doing before then anyway?—but in the end, she was overpowered by the noise. Before she blacked out, Jess thought that she heard something along the lines of "Sam."

Who was Sam?

Chapter Text

Jess jerked awake to the insistent screech of her alarm. Despite the blackout curtains she had invested in, the sun still stubbornly peeked into her room. She grunted at the offending light and smacked the shrieking alarm before flopping back onto her mattress. She was uncomfortably sticky and sore, unpleasant side effects from the vivid dreams she had been having as of late. There had been fire, same as always, but this time... This time she could have sworn that she had seen a man. He had been... Jess scrubbed her face in frustration while warmth welled in the pit of her stomach. He had been fictional, she reminded herself fiercely. It was pointless to get so worked up over a dream, especially one as improbable as her most recent. Begrudgingly, she left the cocoon of soft blankets piled on her bed and headed to the bathroom to ready herself for the work day.

An immediate sense of wrong following her from the bed and, confused, she stopped and glanced around. Everything was exactly as she left it the night before—she clearly remembered placing her keys on her dresser and knocking a water bottle to the floor while trying to set her alarm—but everything around her felt foreign and new. Looking around again, she was once again reassured that yes, everything was exactly as she left it. The ominous feeling that the nightmare had left behind was obviously the instigator of such ideas, and it was quickly pushed to the back of the woman's mind as she took another look at the clock and squawked at the time. By the time she arrived at the Federal Bureau of Investigation, the dream was forgotten. The sense that something was off, however, was the same.

Jess made it to the Behavior Analysis Unit just in time. Morgan gave her a slightly mocking glance, nodding in the direction of the various analog clocks mounted on the wall, and Jess rolled her eyes in return before turning to smile at Reid. Said genius was too immersed in his overly sweet coffee for pleasantries, and Jess took one look at the dark bags under his eyes before she decided to leave him to it; a tired Reid made for a cranky Reid. Instead, she settled into her assigned desk and pulled the stack of paperwork left from Friday toward her, flipping one open and resigning herself to ache-y eyes and a cramped hand. Filing days were the worst part of working in the BAU, which made Jess feel a little guilty—some days she desperately wished for a few murders just to get out of this very task. Eyeing the amount of work she had, Jess noted that her stack seemed to have gained at least an inch in height. She sneaked a glance over to Morgan's smaller stack suspiciously. It was no secret that he hated paperwork even more than she did, and she had no doubt that the man had pawned off some of his work to her pile in her absence this morning. Rolling her eyes yet again, Jess pinched roughly an inch off of her case file stack, gathered them up, and then unceremoniously dumped them into Morgan's lap on her way to get coffee. She smiled when she heard a high pitched squawk from behind her, followed by a wet snort that could only be the product of Reid inhaling his coffee. Jess 1, Morgan 0.

By the time Jess exited the break room, a large cup full of tar-like coffee and a mouth full of stale donut, JJ and Hotch were already in the process of herding the team into the conference room. The look on both of their faces spoke 'serious' in a way that Jess was pretty sure she'd never manage. Jess frowned; that was the look that was always followed by a new case. Cramming the rest of the pastry in her mouth, Jess hurried to join her coworkers, eager to start working. It was abnormal to get cases so close together; the team had just closed a serial rape and homicide case in Louisiana a week ago. Sadly, serial killers, bomb threats, and kidnappings weren't exactly rare occurrences, but cases were usually at least three weeks apart. Patterns had to be formed, cases had to be reviewed, and, of course, the local police had to admit they needed help. It made for a little bit of a heads up before cases were given. 

As soon as she stepped into the room, Jess realized why the case had gone straight to them; gruesome images of decimated bodies were scattered around the projection screen, with Sam and Dean Winchester’s photos at the center. Jess grimaced at the brothers, looking incredibly smug in their mug shots, and resigned herself to her usual seat between JJ and Reid. They had caught cases concerning these two before, but before they even had time to compile the evidence, the brothers managed to perform a disappearing act and remain below the radar for months at a time. Most of her coworkers seemed to have similar feelings about the Winchesters—the odds of finding them before they moved on were slim, and the chances of keeping them in a cell were basically none. This case promised nothing but frustration.

Jess flipped open the thick file in front of her anyway.

Decapitation, removal of organs, violent stabbings, bombings, mass homicides, creative murder weapons... The Winchesters were clearly disturbed individuals that had a severe codependency issue. Dean was obviously the dominant partner, but the hasty ways he executed his killings hinted at a lack of patience and an abundance of self-confidence. That left Sam as the submissive partner, seemingly more comfortable planning the murders than executing them, but still very violent. Then there was the period that threw the FBI for a loop, when Dean was nowhere to be found for a year and Sam's brutality escalated. The brothers were spotted together after that year, however, and it seemed that it was Dean's brutality that escalated afterwards. The team had considered these escalations a by-product of the break from codependency, but when the brothers reconnected with no change immediate change in brutality, the theory of a genetic bipolar disorder was brought to the table. Quite frankly, the team was baffled by the differences in the Winchesters' attitudes and murder methods. Their behavior at the crime scenes hinted at disorganized killers, but their ability to take long breaks between their killings and the obvious planning put into some of the murders made it more likely that the brothers were organized killers. They obviously couldn't go long without each other, but Sam and Dean had gone separate ways enough times to shake the dependency theory. There were seemingly no connections between victims, and there were always murders committed before the Winchesters entered each city. The topic of vigilantes had come up, but the self-loathing that had been present in both brothers when previously interviewed had tossed that theory aside; narcissism was a common element in vigilantes and the Winchesters had enough self-doubt to bring a room down. 

"This time, the Winchesters have struck Richland, Virginia. Several decapitations were the result of their presence. As far as we know, they're already gone." JJ sighed. "Before they showed up, there were multiple suspicious deaths, where the victims were left in alleyways, drained of blood."

"Witnesses?" Rossi questioned. "Someone has to have seen them."

"That's the problem," Hotch responded. "A lot of people have come into contact with them. Sources have told us that the brothers were masquerading as FBI agents investigating the previous murders. Despite the assurances that they had come into contact with highly dangerous criminals, there was no reaction. No one will speak against the Winchesters."

"Just like the last case," Jess murmured, staring at a picture of Sam. Something bothered her about his profile. He was the kind of tall, dark, and handsome that a woman would take home to her mother, not the kind they would follow into alley ways. Test results showed that he was incredibly intelligent and had been on the fast track to law school. He had attended Stanford—Jess's alma mater—and she wondered idly if she had ever passed him on campus or talked to him in the library. She stared into his eyes, oddly flat in the inhuman way only a photograph could portray. He looked completely respectable, and Jess felt her gut twist. Sometimes darkness lurked in the unlikeliest of places.

"So that's it," Morgan grumbled, flicking his file shut and giving it a sour look. "They've moved on and dropped off the face of the Earth again. There's nothing we can do."

"That's true," JJ admitted, "but we're thinking about trying something a little different. In general, the Winchesters seem to choose places to strike based off of recent deaths in the area. Though we don't have any witnesses condemning those two, we do have various sources that talk about how out of place the deaths or suicides preceding the Winchesters' arrival were."

"So what?" Morgan demanded. "We look at every town with a pile of bodies and set a trap for the Winchesters?"

"Actually," Reid cut in, nose still buried in his own case file, "the investigations preceding the Sam and Dean Winchester's arrivals were quite strange. There were no leads, no evidence, and often, no probable cause for any of the cases. These people were disposed of in a myriad of ways, but all the cases have in thing in common: they’re all unusual deaths."

"Reid," Rossi cut in impatiently. "Have you actually looked at the crime photos we receive on a regular basis? Our UNSUBs are the very definition of unusual!"

"But he's right," Jess defended. "There are cases where things can't be explained by the police! What about that case in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, where every person in the town seemed to succumb to his or her personal vice? The couple that ate each other? The man that stuffed his hands and face into a boiling vat of grease to eat French fries? The man that stuffed Twinkies down his throat with a toilet brush handle? There was speculation that the Winchesters had visited that town, due to their pop culture pseudonyms, but they certainly weren't the cause of that catastrophe."

"Nearly everyone died," Hotch reminded. "Not suitable evidence."

Jess huffed at her boss. She knew he agreed with her and only berated her in an attempt to make her to build a better argument. She hated it.

"Okay," Jess said, voice a little strained as she tried not to snap. "Then what about those kids in Cicero, Indiana? They disappeared for almost a whole day and every parent swears that it was Sam and Dean Winchester that freed them. Even after they were caught on camera massacring those people, the police revisited old witnesses and still couldn't get any derogatory comments out of the children."

"So they aren't murdering kids," Rossi said. "That doesn't make them any less guilty of the crimes they committed previously or after the fact."

"But why would they be picky about children when they have no preference for victims! Men, women, teenagers, elderly, it's all the same!" Jess huffed. "There isn't a profile on these guys because we haven't found the link between victims! There has to be something we're missing. The length of time between the murders vary and they obviously plan the kill, so if we have any inkling on why they do what they do, why wouldn't we chase the lead?"

"But you're asking for an FBI presence at every murder and suicide that 'feels wrong' to the public. Can you imagine how many grieving families are going to request our presence if this gets out?" Morgan threw his hands in the air. "We can't just follow the beck and call of families that can't accept the harsh reality of death!"

"But we wouldn't be," Jess persisted before the rest of the team could say anything. "We'd be following the police reports. You have to admit, the towns that the Winchesters have visited before usually have victims that die under suspicious circumstances and, more often than not, completely baffled police forces. And as soon as the Winchesters have left, the murders usually just stop. How is that not probable cause for an investigation? If we can just pin them down--"

"With what man power?" Rossi argued. "There are seven of us, Moore. We can't just stake out every suspicious death in the United States and stay in the area hoping that two seriously disturbed serial killers pop up!" Jess sat back and huffed her displeasure, but the rebuke seemed to spur Reid into action.

"Actually, there was an incident in Black Water Ridge, Colorado, where two brothers posed as U.S. Marshals and went into the woods with a brother, sister, and tour guide. The descriptions certainly matched the Winchesters, and they were under suspicion for the tour guide's death; he never did return with the brothers, and he was found weeks later strung up in a tree. However, Sam and Dean had apparently found a man that had been taken captive, another brother to the family in the woods. When confronted, the sister refused to do more than identify the Winchesters as the two men that accompanied her and her brother into the woods. They seemed to be pretty fond of them, honestly." The young genius shrugged. "The case files have only a couple of things in common; they all have suspicious disappearances or deaths and most of the cases the Winchesters intervene in have been published in the paper."

"So we watch the obituaries in the New York Times," JJ said, nodding in approval. "Tiresome, but not as bad as it could be."

"No," Reid corrected, pushing up his glasses, then flipping another page in the extensive file. Jess had already given up her halfhearted perusal. "These stories weren't published in a common news provider. Not all of them, at least. The brothers must have an extensive number of subscriptions at their disposal."

"So we're back to looking at each and every murder in the United States that strikes the police or public as odd," Rossi snapped, pushing his file away from him. Hotch had more of a bitch face than normal, in Jess's opinion. Even JJ seemed a little downtrodden. Jess repressed the urge to pout; she knew there was something more to the case, but those codependent fuckers weren't giving her anything to work with. Even Reid couldn't find the link. She sighed deeply and felt her shoulders droop in response; it was time to give up. Again.

Just before Jess could suggest they move on to another case or adjourn the meeting, JJ's cell shrilled. She gave it a look of frustration, but answered in a calm, measured tone anyway. A few seconds of conversation had her expression melting into astonishment, then pure interest. She assured the person on the other line that they had followed procedure accordingly, gave them a hasty but sincere thank you, and then ended the call with a new glow.

"They've caught the Winchesters," she announced, beaming at the team. "And the brothers are already enroute." She was met with a flabbergast silence.

"What?" Jess finally forced out.

"Some park rangers in California found the Winchesters and immediately set up transportation to the BAU. The Winchesters are soon going to be in our custody."

Jess just gaped at her coworker. This all seemed too convenient. Hadn't they just been about to give up? When did things like that ever happen? Despite Jess's slight skepticism, the team was jumping into action. Hotch was snapping off orders with quick efficiency and JJ was rushing off to ensure their holding cells and interrogation rooms were equipped to handle the snarky escape artists. Jess, being the newest addition to the team, was placed with Reid. She would be helping the other agent compile enough crime scene photos and previous statements to create a menacing interrogation; hopefully that would be all it took for a confession with Hotch or Morgan in the room.

Commute was obviously going to take a couple of days at the earliest, due to the 32 hour drive from Yellowstone to Quantico. The agents used the time to organize enough evidence, statements, witness reports, and news reels to confront some of America's most wanted criminals. Jess, as a direct result of working with Reid and almost having the case file memorized herself, finished early that afternoon. She fiddled with a couple of the overdue reports that Mondays were usually reserved for, but the energy surrounding her workplace was so tense that she couldn't stay seated for long.

"Go home," Hotch finally told his team. Immediately, the team exchanged glances; it was rare to get a day off, but even more so to get out of work early. Any cut in their hours was a cause for concern. When Hotch added, "Get some sleep; we probably won't have much time at home for the next few days," the team was mollified and started gathering their stuff. Jess was the first one to leave, having packed and unpacked her things multiple times in the last hour for want of something to do. She waved to her coworkers and made her way to the parking garage.

Despite the relief she felt at getting off of work early, Jess was hesitant to return to her apartment. The nervous energy that had filled her at the office hadn't dissipated at the end of her shift and hours alone would do her no favors. Forty five minutes later found her still pulling into her complex, at a loss for things to do. Her family members were working, and several hours away on top of that; grocery shopping would be pointless due to the approaching late nights and the take-out food that would accompany them; and, to be honest, Jess didn't know anyone other than her coworkers in this area.

Sighing, the blonde exited her car and approached the entry way. She made a silent promise to herself that she would make more of an attempt to get to know her neighbors once this case was over, but she knew it was a moot point. The job made her much too suspicious of new friends and she was a workaholic on the best of days. Shaking her head at herself, she exited her car and mentally prepared herself for a sleepless night. From the corner of her eye, she saw a man that looked vaguely familiar. The tall frame, close haircut, and sand colored facial hair struck some sort of nostalgia in the young woman. However, when she turned to get a better look, the man was gone. Swept with a sudden wave of exhaustion, Jess staggered up the stairs to her apartment number and fumbled with her key before finally entering and collapsing on the couch. She was asleep within minutes, her dreams filled with brown hair and lonely eyes.

Chapter Text

Sometimes Jess really, really hated being the newbie. Though she had been on the team for a year and had proved herself a number of times, everyone she worked with seemed to think that she needed to be handled with kid gloves. She slammed another stack of files down on Rossi's desk—her current work station—sourly; the Winchesters were in the interrogation room a few floors down and she was stuck digging through all of their dirty little secrets. At this point, if she was ever actually given the chance to interview the brothers, she would probably wring both of their damn necks and deal with the repercussions later. Those two came with a hell of a lot of paperwork.

"They can't find him," Morgan continued, voice slightly distorted due to her phone's crappy speaker. "There were several sightings of the guy, and officers swear up and down that he was at the scene, but he got away as soon as they neared the Winchesters. What kind of guy can just disappear like that?"

"No kind of guy," Jess snapped, because it was true and she was tired of the constant storm of bullshit that seemed to surround this case. "I'm looking, Morgan, but there's nothing on here about an accomplice. I know he was with them," she stressed before the older agent could cut in, "but there is literally no paperwork for him. There are several statements about him and such clear shots of his face from the security cameras that I'm half convinced he's posing—I mean come on, what kind of criminal doesn't know about the cameras?—but as far as actually identifying him, it's a bust. The closest identification we've got is a Jimmy Novak that disappeared, came back, and disappeared again years ago. From what his family said, this guy looks like Novak's identical twin, but his personality is completely different. And yes, before you ask, I've already thought of a split personality, but that theory barely holds water with this guy. He's just... off. I've never seen anything like him."

Morgan sighed on the other line. Jess held back a wave of fury; if he was so frustrated with her lack of progress, he could come up here and sort through paperwork for a bunch of dead ends himself. All that he replied with was an "Alright, keep looking," so Jess just bit her lip and jabbed the 'End Call' button harder than necessary.

About an hour later, Jess finally found something that could stick; apparently after Novak had wandered off the first time, he was spotted a few times with the Winchesters. All the security footage from that time showed that he was seriously agitated with the brothers he was accompanying, and the distance between him and the pair spoke of his discomfort. After that time, Novak returned home, only to leave again after a day or two back in his normal life. His actions, compounded with his obvious discomfort, hinted at a manifestation of Stockholm Syndrome. Too excited at the prospect of having discovered something important, Jess bypassed the telephone and headed for the elevator immediately, evidence in hand. It felt good to walk with a purpose again, and Jess reveled in the feeling during the short elevator ride. When she came face to face with Hotch just outside the interrogation rooms, the young woman made sure to exude confidence.

"Hotch, I think the accomplice is afflicted with Stockholm Syndrome," she began, cutting off the reprimand she was sure was coming. "It's very possible that our third suspect is Jimmy Novak, but his behavior around the Winchesters pre-return home and post-return home is incredibly different. His body language in the early days of his association with the Winchesters shows discomfort and opposition, but after Novak leaves his home, he seems very comfortable—almost friendly—with the brothers. If they had taken him hostage in the beginning, then returned him after he developed a fondness for them, that could have caused the illness to manifest, forcing him to leave again." Jess took a deep breath and finished with, "And if that's the case, it won't be long before he shows up here. He has to be close to them."

Hotch stared at her for a minute, his expression unreadable, before nodding slightly. Before he could actually comment on her findings, however, one of the doors to the interrogation rooms flew open. JJ stomped out, followed by a lewd catcall. Her face was incredibly red and her eyes were squinted in such a ferocious glare, she could have rivaled Hotch. Both agents turned to look at the irate blonde in surprise.

"I'm done," she snapped immediately. "Dean Winchester is a snarky, misogynistic asshole with a severe brother complex. His daddy issues far outweigh his brain cells, and his cheesy one liners are absolutely grating. I'm not staying in there with him for another minute. Send me in with the other one."

Jess sneaked a glance at her boss, who was currently wearing his grouchy face, but she could see the worry lines crinkling around his eyes; it took a lot to get JJ in a mood, but Dean had managed it under an hour. Considering he'd nearly moved Morgan to violence before JJ stepped in and Reid was in with Sam, Hotch had to be considering his options.

"I'll take him," Jess offered. She tried not to seem eager, but knew that it was pointless around profilers. Hotch raised an eyebrow and she did her best to look professional.

"I was actually thinking that maybe myself or Dave..."

"Oh no," JJ injected immediately. "He's definitely more... receptive to women. You were right when you said that he would respond better to me. While you and Rossi are seasoned profilers, he's a hard one to crack."

Hotch looked over at Jess again. It was no secret that she had an explosive temper, but her boss also knew how important this case was to her. Jess had put in a lot of time and energy to nail these guys, and she could only hope that Hotch would take that as a sign that she could keep it together.

After an intense stare down—which was kind of difficult in the face of the Hotchner Glare—Hotch sighed and made a shooing motion. Jess punched the air before remembering her professionalism. She walked briskly to the door before Hotch could rethink his decision, took a deep breath, and then opened it with a smile.

Dean looked up from his place at the table with a cocky smirk, but his expression faltered slightly when he saw her. Internally, Jess cheered; she had obviously caught him off guard, and that could only result in something positive for her.

"What happened to the other chick? It was just starting to get good." Dean waggled his eyebrows, back in character.

"I thought I'd take a pass at you." Jess winked, keeping her voice light and easy, and took great pleasure in the flash of surprise she caught passing over Dean's face. She leaned forward, allowing a peak down her button down shirt, and let an easy smile spread over her face. "You'll talk to me, won't you?"

Dean raised an eyebrow before leaning over and glancing at the cleavage she had put on display. His gaze raked up her collarbone and her neck before coming back to meet her eyes. He seemed a little conflicted; Jess would ponder the lapse in character later. Still, he responded with a cocky, "For you? Anything."

"How about a confession?"

"Ah! You wound me. You feds are all the same—only after one thing."

"Because I'm sure it was your sparkling personality that landed you in here." Dean looked surprised at the quip, then grinned.

"That's exactly it. But I don't think you're buyin' it. You probably think you know all about me." Dean leaned back in his chair, smirking and crossing his arms. The jingle of handcuffs that accompanied the movement seemed to trouble the man in front of her, but his expression cleared before she could comment on it.

"Well, you certainly did something to rile up the other agents that came in here." Jess could almost feel the Glare coming through the observation window. "But I'm not quite that easy. You're going to have to work a little for me."

"I do have very good stamina."

"I hear murdering people will do that for you." Jess smiled at the sour look she received. "Look, we can do this all day. We have video evidence showing you and your brother murdering various people, so any jury is going to find you guilty with or without a confession. What I'm curious about is your accomplice."

"Who? Sam?" The perceived mention of his brother had Dean sitting up and leaning forward. Jess tallied another point for the 'co-dependence' theory.

"No. I'm talking about tall, dark, and handsome. Pretty blue eyes, long trench coat, perpetual constipation face... Ring any bells?"

Dean narrowed his eyes and didn't answer. His frame was tense and Jess was aware that she had probably struck a nerve. Knowing what she knew from dozens of reports on Dean Winchester's behavior in interrogation, Jess was fairly confident that she had reached a dead end with that line of questioning.

"Okay, how about this," she relented, propping her elbows up on the table and slumping forward. "How'd you manage to convince a whole town that you were dead? Pretty impressive for two brothers."

At that, Dean grimaced. He recovered quickly, though—as he always did, Jess mentally grumbled—and gave her a cocky look.

"Did you get a number of how many broken hearts I left behind? I was really sorry to miss it."

"Sorry," Jess drawled. "Local news didn't seem to find it important enough to take a head count." Hurt flashed through Dean's eyes, but it was smothered down a moment later. Jess repressed a smirk. Dean looked tough, but he was obviously scared of going down as anything less than remarkable—remnants of his lingering daddy issues, surely. Something to pry at when he was off the defensive, the young agent mused. She straightened.

"As interesting as you are, Dean, I'm really not getting much leverage here. You know you aren't getting out of this one, right? You're right in the middle of FBI headquarters. Why keep secrets when you're taking the fall for all of this anyway?"

"Sweetheart," Dean replied, his smirk a little too casual to be natural, "I've got secrets that would make your nightmares look tame." Jess felt goosebumps raise on her arms and, inexplicably, thought of fire. She shook her head slightly, vowing to stop drinking caffeine before bed.

"I seriously doubt you know what my nightmares entail."

"Probably a shit ton of fire, if I had to guess." It was supposed to be a mumble, but Jess caught it anyway. She opened her mouth to respond, but a sharp knock on the door cut her off. Jess repressed a groan; an interrupted interrogation never meant anything good for the team. Sure enough, when Hotch opened the door, a pretty, petite blonde swanned in behind him. She was dressed sharply, a leather briefcase swinging from her hand, and Jess would bet money that she was the Winchesters' lawyer. She turned to Dean, fully prepared to see the trademark smirk back in place, but the older Winchester was staring at his representative with wide eyes and a slightly open mouth. Jess begrudgingly admitted she'd also stare dubiously at anyone with enough balls to represent her in this situation.

"I'd like time to consult with my client," the petite woman snapped immediately. Jess frowned, but left the room. It wasn't unheard of for the lawyers to dismiss agents while they consulted with their clients, and the woman would have to be either really naive or really stupid to miss the fact that the room was being surveyed. Still.... Something was off. She let herself into the observation room, sparring a glance to see a mildly interested Sam Winchester listening to what was obviously a monologue by Reid before stopping beside Hotch and looking at her suspect. The Winchesters' lawyer had moved in close, murmuring low enough that the microphones couldn't record what she was saying and angling her face away from the camera slightly so any attempt at lip reading was thwarted.

"She can't be a lawyer," Hotch murmured, eyes never leaving the two in the other room.

"Well, she was convincing enough to get through security," Jess countered. Still, she had a feeling that Hotch was on to something. As a former defense attorney, he would know the look.

"She's uncomfortable in her suit," her boss pointed out. "And she keeps fiddling with the briefcase; she's not used to carrying it, so she's not sure what to do with it. Not to mention her age. It's highly unlikely that she's high enough on the food chain to snag the Winchester case in her early twenties. Even if their chances look slim, lawyers will be salivating over the chance to represent these suspects. With crimes like theirs, the trial is likely going to be highly publicized."

"And the texture of her clothes gives her away," Rossi remarked. "The cloth of her suit is cheap, and the cut is outdated. It's a hand-me-down, and a rarely used one at that. The shoes have a buttery texture, and any woman that regularly dressed in business clothing would know to pair black shoes with a shine to that outfit. Not to mention the briefcase; it's soft with age. It could have sentimental value, but her age and the mismatch outfit she's wearing says otherwise." Rossi shrugged at the amused looks he received in response to his analysis. "I'm Italian."

"Okay, so maybe she isn't a lawyer," Jess sighed. "What do we do?"

Rossi shrugged. "Let her stay."

Jess looked at the supervisory agent dubiously, then over at her boss, who seemed equally relaxed with this idea.

"Excuse me?" she demanded. "A mysterious woman shows up, enters the FBI building while impersonating a defense attorney, angles herself away from cameras and talks low enough to avoid detection by the mics—which points directly to previous criminal activity, by the way—and could possibly be plotting an escape or something much more serious with mass murderers, and you're just letting it happen?"

"Even if we can't hear what they're saying, they're still under surveillance," Rossi pointed out, "which means escaping won't be so easy. If you'll recall, the last couple of times the Winchesters escaped, they were either left alone with case files within reach, which I'm assuming had a few paper clips, or they were approached outside their cells with keys easily in reach. Those are rookie mistakes, and we're smarter than that."

"Besides," Hotch injected, "if the fake lawyer is allowed to stay, then there's no doubt that the brothers will feel like they've pulled something off right under the nose of the federal government. There are few things that could make someone feel more confident. If they feel like they've got us, they'll let their guards down-"

“Which will, hypothetically, cause them to slip up," Jess finished with a sigh. She knew where her superiors were coming from, and it was probable that they were right, but it was just so frustrating to have such well known criminals in their clutches and unable to do anything about it. It was all but guaranteed that the Winchesters were going to jail, but Jess wanted them in there for the right crimes, for all their crimes, because that was the only way some families would get closure. Unfortunately, there was nothing to do but sit back and wait for a confession—which looked pretty improbable at this point—to tie them to all the cases they had been suspected of committing without leaving incriminating evidence. She glanced back at the faux-lawyer and her client before turning to stare at the brunet brother, who looked to be spacing out with a look of polite interest on his face to appease Reid.

"Look, I'm going crazy in here," she admitted, not breaking her view of the other brother. "Can I at least go help Reid? Sam looks like he's about to doze off, and that is so not the impression I want the Bureau to leave him with."

"The girl's going to want to speak with him too," Hotch pointed out. "She said she was here for the Winchesters, not just Dean. She could accuse you of trying to lead a suspect."

"And do what?" Jess snorted. "Take me to court? We've already established that she's a fake lawyer."

The young woman could almost feel Rossi and Hotch exchanging looks, but she fought to keep her calm. No matter how ridiculous this situation was, it would only make her look unprofessional if she lost her cool, and she really wanted to stay in this investigation.

"Sam seems to be more sensible," Rossi started carefully. "He's going to sound convincing when he pleads his innocence, and without a seasoned agent-"

"I've read his case file, Rossi," Jess snapped, calmness be damned. "I think I'm going to be able to remember that the guy's guilty, no matter how much mind fuckery he tries to pull." She whirled around to face her boss, who was wearing a very disapproving face. Must have been the use of 'fuck.' "Look, Hotch, I know that I'm the greenest one on the team, but I'm never going to get better if I'm not allowed to do my job. Plus, honestly, what's the worst that could happen? It's not like it's possible to get less out of them! We've got half of their crimes documented by security cameras! And I'm not so green as to forget basic procedure. There's not much I could do to screw up the investigation, and I'm too well-prepared for the rookie mistakes that would."

Hotch stared her down, eyes sharp and face stony, but Jess knew her boss well. She met his gaze defiantly, ignoring the resting bitch face, and tried to channel all of her dependability and amazing work ethic into a look. She was a damn good agent, and she was not going to be banished to the mountains of paperwork that followed events like this when she could be on the front lines.

"Be quick," Hotch finally responded. "Dean's consult will be finished up soon."

Jess exited the observation room quickly, then knocked lightly on Sam's interrogation room before entering.

"Hey Reid," she greeted easily, pointedly not looking at the mass murderer in the room. "I figured you could use a little help with this one. Dean's a little busy."

A startled gasp emitted from the other side of the table, but still Jess ignored him. Instead, she approached Reid and glanced over his shoulder at the crime scene photos he was using to try to provoke the younger brother. "Yeesh. Gross looking stuff, man." Snapping her head up and meeting Winchester's wide eyes, she finished with a cold, "Whoever did this must have been a real monster."

"Agent Moore," Reid greeted amicably. That was one thing she loved about Reid; he always picked up on her approach and jumped right in without prompting. "I was just asking Mr. Winchester here about the details. He wasn't too keen on talking to me, though."

"Maybe I'll have some luck," Jess suggested, smiling at her coworker. He stood and offered Jess his chair, moving back to stand against the wall as she worked. Oh yeah, he was totally her favorite. She took a seat and ran a hand through her hair before looking up at the man in front of her. "Evening, Mr. Winchester."

It wasn’t, of course. In fact, it was just about two thirty. Still, being locked in a room with no windows tended to screw with the perception of time, something that Jess intended to take full advantage of. Her interviewee, however, gave no response. He continued to stare at her, eyes wide, with an almost comical "deer-in-the-headlights" look. She held back a sigh. The whole point of her little entrance was to unsettle him, to make him feel the need to reestablish his presence and get him talking. It had worked before, but her technique had obviously succeeded in only turning the younger Winchester catatonic.

"I guess you're the quiet type," Jess murmured, and yeah, that seemed to fit; she could picture Sam in Stanford's main library, completely absorbed in thick tomes with startling clarity. She mentally shook herself and tried a different approach. "I heard you're a Stanford man. I actually graduated from there, too; I think we were there at the same time, maybe shared a couple of classes. Crazy, huh?"

Looking a little sick, Sam nodded. Jess frowned. That wasn't how someone was supposed to look when recounting their college days. She sighed out loud this time, then leaned forward. "I saw your transcripts. You were incredibly bright, and you were on the fast track to becoming a lawyer with a huge scholarship. As a fellow graduate myself, help me understand why someone would turn down that kind of opportunity."

The brunet was looking at her suspiciously, tilting his head slightly as if it would help his comprehension, and wow, this was totally not what Jess was expecting of Sam Winchester. Most of the witnesses she had spoken with were prone to gush about his down-to-Earth nature and how considerate he was; in fact, almost everyone who came into contact with the Winchesters was more likely to spend their time griping about the older brother than the younger. Apparently Dean had the vibe of a mass murderer, but Sam... well, supposedly he was different. Jess, however, was not impressed.

"Sam," she snapped, smacking her hands down on the table and jarring the man before her out of his stupor. She smiled disarmingly at his gobbsmacked expression. "Usually a conversation involves at least two people. I'm getting a little tired of talking to myself." His lips gave a small twitch, just up at the corners. It was gone immediately, and he was back to staring. Jess brushed off the sudden urge to switch places with Reid and sighed.

"Well, I guess you're more inclined to talk to Agent Reid after all. If you'll excuse me." She got up and made her way to the door in silence, more than a little irritated that this man hadn't deemed her presence important enough to comment. That was silly though, right? She was used to being ignored by UNSUBs. Still, this one seemed to rankle a bit more than usual. Just as she made for the door handle, though, there was a jingle of chains.

She turned back to find Sam Winchester staring down at his wrists as though he had forgotten he was handcuffed. After a moment, his eyes flicked to hers and he studied her for another moment. Then quietly, oh so quietly, "Jess?"

"Yeah?" And really, who had told him her name so casually? She was certain she had introduced herself as Agent Moore. But alas, the weird, distrustful expression that had overtaken his features moments after she walked in was back, and after a moment more of silence, she shook her head and exited the room.

And proceeded to almost collide with the faux-lawyer. The woman gave her a sour look, presumably because Jess had once again questioned her client without her presence. The smaller blonde lingered for a moment though; Jess saw her eyes rove, like the woman was sizing up the interrogator. After a few uncomfortable seconds, the woman pushed past Jess without a word. Thoroughly disgruntled, Jess stomped her way back to the observation room, her heels echoing her displeasure. Reid followed a minute later, shooed out with a curt look.

"Her name's Harvelle," Rossi commented casually as they rejoined their coworkers at the window. He held out a business card, eyes never leaving the window. Jess gave him a sour look, then snatched the card. It was pretty convincing, with small black font and minimal embellishment. However, Jess had seen the real thing before and there were subtle ways to prove authenticity; the cards were usually made of a thick, more expensive brand of card stock, the colors were bold, and the firm emblem was sharp with a primary color to highlight it. Most firms had their cards made for them by companies. This card was plain, printed on cheap card stock with standard ink, made by a home printer. Definitely not the sort to waltz in and take the Winchester case.

Jess glared out of the observation window, suddenly escalating from annoyed to angry. The faux lawyer was leaning in close, whispering something to a gobbsmacked Winchester. Sam was looking at her, eyes darting back and forth as though looking for some abnormality on her, while the woman frowned and smacked his arm.

"This is ridiculous," Jess snapped, watching Harvelle flip her hair over one shoulder and gesture at the door. "They could be conspiring, and we're just sitting here. These guys are high class criminals! We shouldn't take chances like this."

"We talked about this," Rossi soothed, looking at her strangely. "Meeting in the FBI building is a lot different than being locked up in Metro. By letting them think they've fooled us here of all places is going to boost their confidence, which will lead to mistakes."

"But we don't know what they're talking about," Jess insisted. "They could have already figured a way out of here! I think we should call them on their ploy and separate Harvelle from Sam before they have time to act."

"Actually," Reid cut in, sharing Rossi's expression, "Dean is the one that is more likely to act spontaneously. If we were going to separate Harvelle from the brothers, it would have been prudent to do so before she conversed with Dean. Sam is, and I'm using the term lightly here, a much safer suspect to allow contact with."

Unable to argue with fact, Jess turned back to the window and crossed her arms. She could feel her coworkers staring, and it somehow worried her that Hotch had yet to say anything. Still, she couldn't stave off the uncomfortable feeling that welled in the pit of her stomach as she watched the two interact.

When the pair had come to some kind of agreement, Harvelle stared straight at the agents through the reflective glass. Sam was glancing between the mirror and his acquaintance, looking very uncomfortable. Jess wondered what the two had talked about, moving towards the door to the observation room as Hotch did. The two had long ago taken the grueling job of dealing with lawyers. It was unpleasant work, but it was the fastest way to crack a case; Hotch had the courtroom experience and Jess had the factual knowledge to corner an attorney with a certain degree of ease. As she entered interrogation, she checked a sigh. She truly hated this part of the case.

"Miss Harvelle, Mr. Winchester," she greeted smoothly, letting Hotch stand closer to the door so he could hover and look intimidating. There was a noticeable difference in the temperature there; Rossi or Reid must have turned down the air. Her lips twitched. FBI interrogation tactic one: make your suspect as uncomfortable as possible.

Sam was staring at her with that odd expression of suspicion mixed with hope, and that made Jess a little uncomfortable. She'd been stared down by a lot of people, ranging from cold blooded killers to harmless flirts, and none of them had ever looked at her like that. Flicking her eyes down to her file, she silently griped at herself. This was important.

"It's been quite a while since we've seen you. Mind telling us how you escaped the last few agents that had you in custody?" Jess smiled sweetly, secretly reveling in the dumbstruck expression that overtook Sam's face. He worked to school his face quickly, but Jess was a profiler; she could see the effect she had on him and she would use it to her full advantage.

"Don't answer that!" snapped Harvelle, glaring ferociously. Jess raised an eyebrow and didn't even have to look at Hotch to know what he was thinking. This girl was way too defensive about general questions. Any doubt they might have had about her being a fake was immediately thrown out of the window.

Sam, interestingly enough, seemed to pick up on Harvelle's faux pas as well. He glanced over at her sharply, though his expression was stony. Heat rose to the faux lawyer's cheeks, but she continued to stare defiantly at Jess. The blonde investigator fought a smile; if this woman wasn't lying for and potentially aiding in the escape of a murderer, Jess would like her.

"Okay." Jess tried again. "There were some reports of a few nasty crimes a year or so ago. The funny thing is, the eye witnesses described a man that is strikingly similar to you." She flicked her hair over her shoulder, then leaned in a little. "That doesn't sound like your MO. What changed?"

Though the question would have immediately been shut down by any lawyer worth his or her salt, Harvelle was silent. Sam threw a sharp look her way, trying to be as subtle as possible. After a few moments of silence, Harvelle caught his glance and cleared her throat immediately.

"Sam, don't answer that." The amount of animosity was vastly different from before. It almost sounded as though she wanted it to be a question rather than a statement. Now Jess wished that Hotch wasn't skulking in the background. His face would've been priceless.

"C'mon Sam," Jess coaxed. "Give us something. We might even be able to strike up a deal for you if you tell us about your accomplice."

"Accomplice?" Sam questioned, sounding genuinely confused. "You mean Dean?"

Harvelle leveled a fierce glare at her client, but the brunet didn't even seem to notice it. He leaned forward a little, his interest obvious.

"No," Jess said slowly, studying the felon closely, looking for cracks in his innocent facade. There had been several eyewitness accounts and a couple of security tapes that had placed a third man with the group. Some even showed interaction between the brothers and the third party. There was no way Sam didn't remember him. "The third party that's been spotted with you two on occasion. Dark hair and a trench coat."

Recognition flared in the younger Winchester's eyes, prompting Jess to lean a little farther forward. His poker face was excellent, showing almost no reaction to Jess's description, but Jess could read the emotion in his eyes. She fought to keep her face straight, though satisfaction curled in her stomach. Check.

"You know him," she pressed. "I know you do. Who is he? Is he also in your line of work? A coworker of sorts?" Sam's lips twitched and satisfaction was replaced with disgust. Their department got a lot of psychos, but UNSUBs finding amusement in the murders they committed would never sit right with her.

"I don't exactly find this a laughing matter." Her voice was sharp, reflecting her anger, and Sam's smile dropped swiftly, replaced with a sort of awe again. She was really getting tired of that look.

"Look, Sam, giving information on your friend might help you. Why would you protect him now? There's no chance he's going to be able to help you out of here. The evidence of your crimes is overwhelming. Take the offer for a deal."

Sam snorted, though he kept his gaze locked with her. "Why, so I can have three life sentences instead of four? If I made a deal with you, it would only benefit your department. I'm going to be found guilty for these crimes whether I give you information or not."

"So you admit to knowing this third party, to working with him," Jess pressed. Sam looked slightly uncomfortable, but not exactly guilty. Still, his slip of tongue gave her something to work with. "Talk to us, Sam. There's no reason to keep your secrets now."

Sam's expression twisted into something suspicious, but before he could reply, Harvelle rejoined the conversation.

"Objection!" she snapped with conviction. Both Jess and Sam turned to look at her, twin expressions of disbelief on their faces. Harvelle leveled them both with a hard stare, deliberately avoiding the gaze of the gruff agent in the corner of the room.

"This isn't a court room," Sam told her, caught between trying to whisper to his defender in the complete silence of the interrogation room and speaking normally, recognizing that the agents would hear him anyway. His comment therefore had a strained sound to it, like the slip had physically pained him. Harvelle turned her gaze solely on him, then seemed to let the issue go. Jess continued to stare. Hotch cleared his throat, then exited the interrogation room. Jess followed, just as he intended.

"I'm not getting anywhere," Jess told him, frustrated. She felt like she should be able to read the brunet better than she was.

"No," Hotch agreed. "You didn't get much." Jess glared.

"Hey! I don't see you helping! Are you just going to stand in the corner and glower the whole time?" "He's more receptive to you," Hotch commented, his tone a little condescending. Jess took a deep breath. She really should have figured that out earlier. "I'm letting you do the talking because he remains interested as long as you do. And he's letting things slip." Hotch gave the younger agent a queer look. "How did you know he knew the other man? Other than the videotapes, I mean. Were you guessing?"

"What do you mean? Jimmy Novak? It was all over his face! As soon as I described the guy, he knew exactly who I meant." Jess looked up at her boss, the irritation from mere moments ago already gone. "Didn't you see it?"

Hotch hesitated, then shook his head. "He has a hell of a poker face. You have good intuition, Moore." He sighed. "Still, he's a Winchester. Maybe we should try the other one for a while. It might be a little easier this time; Harvelle is losing confidence in her defense skills quickly."

"She learned from daytime drama," Jess agreed. "It's obvious in the way her answers are so hostile and the misuse of courtroom terminology. Sam obviously knows a bit more, he's looking a little pained. If we can press those two enough that they say Novak's name, we've sealed him as an accomplice. We need more than just those videos to lock in our case."

Rossi was sent in to alert Harvelle they were moving on to Dean while Jess made her way to the other brother's room. Hotch veered off to get some coffee for both of them, giving Jess time to settle into her own rhythm before he started his brusque interrogation of the older Winchester. She opened the door, mind still on Sam, to be met with a face full of water. Sputtering, she stepped back and fixed a glare—slightly less intimidating than normal due to the makeup running down her face, she was sure—on the flummoxed man in the room. He had his hands cuffed in front of him still, but had somehow gotten the cuffs around the latch underneath the table. The water bottle another agent had obviously brought him was lying on its side, the little bit of water still in it sloshing around as it rolled across the flat surface. A rosary was gripped in Dean's fingers, and Jess raised an eyebrow at it. Just what the hell was he doing?

"So I see we're going for assaulting a federal agent now," she snapped, pushing her wet hair out of her face. "Because God knows you didn't have enough charges earlier." JJ and Morgan hurried over to her, looking torn between concern and amusement.

"Just water," she assured them. Any sort of drug Dean may have had on him would have been taken when he was patted down—thoroughly, she knew, because of their infamous escapes—so the rosary was likely the only thing he had been left with before he entered the room. Morgan and JJ looked doubtful, obviously about to shoo her out of the room, but Jess made her way to the table, knocked the water bottle to the floor, and took a seat.

"You gonna explain that?"

Dean remained silent, suspicion heavy on his features.

"I was having a really good hair day," Jess prompted.

The suspicion remained, as did the silence.

"And women's business clothes are really fucking expensive."

"It's just water," the brother snapped. Then he blinked. "Are feds even allowed to swear?"

"A serial killer threw water in my face roughly sixty seconds ago. I think I'm entitled to a curse or two." She narrowed her eyes, trying not to think about runny mascara. Dean smirked a little, but didn't reply. She sighed. "Winchester, I have eyeliner running down my face. What the hell was with the water?"

"Just checking something," Dean replied. He tilted his head slightly, studying her intently. "You wouldn't happen to have any silver on you, would you?"

"Really? Are you going to rob me too?" Jess fiddled with her charm bracelet, a nervous habit that she had yet to break. The movement drew Dean's gaze to her wrist, and the silver chain made his frown deepen. His gaze flicked back up to her face.

"You aren't feeling, I don't know, particularly snarly or wolf-like, right?"

Jess gave her suspect a deeply unimpressed look. He pressed his lips together, brows furrowing. Harvelle shuffled in, but she took her seat quietly. The quiet snort that came from her direction did nothing to calm Jess's nerves.

"Since you're so chatty, Dean, let's talk about the six girls you decapitated last month. Or all the decimated graves that have been attributed to you. Or how about that middle aged lady you chased around a supermarket and wrestled a baby from a couple of years ago? That's one I'm deeply curious about."

"She actually took the baby from me," Dean pointed out. There was a minute wince after he spoke, like he regretting giving her an answer at all. More plausibly, it was probably a response to Harvelle's sharp slap on his thigh.

"Right. Because there are plenty of people willing to hire you as a babysitter. You know, you do look like the mothering type." Jess stared pointedly at Dean's ratty leather jacket, doing her best to ignore Harvelle's glare.

"Just call me Super Nanny," he sassed back, the handcuffs jangling in response to his easy shrug. Jess barely refrained from grinding her teeth, settling for smacking her hands down on the table.

"You took a child," she snapped. "A child that was never seen again. What did you do with the kid, Dean?"

"Don't answer that." Dean gave Harvelle an unimpressed look, but she just shrugged back at him. Jess rolled her eyes heavenward.

"Fine," the agent snapped. "Rot in here. I can guarantee you won't be so lax when you go to prison." Jess rose from her chair, pointed not reaching up to alleviate the itch of her slowly drying make-up, and swept out the door. Morgan and JJ were waiting for her. JJ's look was incredibly sympathetic.

"I have make-up wipes at my desk," the fellow agent offered. Jess smiled gratefully and followed her coworker.

"You got more of a reaction out of them than the rest of us," JJ assured her while digging through the organized mess of her desk drawers. "If we give them a break for a little while, I'm sure they'll be ready to open up again." She pressed the package of wipes into Jess's hand with a warm smile. Jess felt her own lips curl up despite her sour mood and thanked JJ quietly before picking up her make up bag from her own desk and retreating to the ladies' room.

When she emerged, her makeup was immaculate once again and she felt refreshed. A steaming cup of coffee was sitting on her desk, Reid lounging in the chair behind it. His nose was buried in the case file, once again, but he dropped the folder as soon as Jess reached him. She took a deep gulp out of the mug, perfectly doctored to hide the god-awful taste of office coffee, then grinned at her coworker. Reid nodded towards the case file with a small grimace.

"Difficult case." Jess blew out a sigh, then snagged Morgan's chair and wheeled it over to join Reid.

"You'd think the video evidence would make it easier, but it seems like it's more difficult than usual," the blonde sighed.

"It's the unanswered questions," Reid answered at once. "The worst part is knowing that the crimes were committed by the Winchesters, but being unable to provide the closure for grieving families."

"Like the baby," Jess mumbled.

"Like the baby," Reid agreed. "You know that somewhere, there's a parent missing his or her child, yet there's not enough evidence to identify who the child is or where it may be. Without their cooperation, we may never know."

There was a moment of heavy silence before Jess took another giant gulp of coffee.

"This sucks." Reid snorts, and despite the gross oversimplification of how utterly unfulfilling this case was turning out to be, he nodded his agreement.

"Yeah, it really does."

Chapter Text

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. The agents took turns interviewing the brothers, but after their morning with Jess, they seemed tight-lipped. Even Jess herself wasn't able to coax them into conversation, and by the time it hit nightfall, the team was tired and overly frustrated.

"You should go home and sleep for a few hours," Hotch told the team at large. Jess and her coworkers exchanged uneasy glances; it was unusual to have down time during cases and no one was eager to head home while the Winchesters were in their custody. Hotch didn't wait for an answer, heading for the elevator in an attempt to grill Garcia for more potentially incriminating information.

Jess exchanged a look with Morgan. "Chinese?" she asked.

"I'll order," Morgan agreed.

"Get a plastic fork for me!" Reid called. He tossed Sam's case file at Jess, flipping through Dean's once more in an attempt to flesh out an already detailed timeline. Jess rolled her eyes, knowing the genius had already memorized everything within the folder anyway, but she simply flicked her file open without comment.

By the time Hotch returned, the team was sitting in a semicircle in front of Reid's timeline, sharing theories and gesturing to specific events with various eating utensils. An empty chair and unopened container of food were perched innocently beside Jess, and Hotch heaved a sigh as he settled himself in.

"You could have gone home," Jess tells her boss, half listening to Morgan and Reid's bickering. "We're just a little restless."

"Jack's staying with his aunt," Hotch admitted lowly. "I was going to spend the night here anyway." Jess leveled the older man with an unimpressed look, grinning when he buried himself in his chow mien container.

Despite the extra hours the team put in, there wasn't much progress. When it neared eleven pm, the team decided to break until morning. Jess began gathering her things, eyes itchy and dry and her movement sluggish, when the power flashed. The array of windows kept the room moderately well-lit with moonlight, but Jess tensed up anyway. There was no storm outside, no construction nearby, and no scheduled maintenance for the night. The loss of power was unnerving in general, but doubly so when the Winchesters were locked in the building. Jess dropped her bag at once and started toward the doors, but a hand on her arm stopped her. She turned to find Reid looking oddly serious and shaking his head.

"The stairs are going to be too dark," he explained, "and if the Winchesters managed to get out, you really don't want to go down there without back up. Wait for the back-up generator to kick on before you stomp your way in."

Jess glared at the younger man, but she stayed where she was until the power flickered back on. Reid matched her stride to the elevator, the rest of the team close behind them. She jabbed at the button for the interrogation floor impatiently, causing Rossi to snort and Morgan to grab her elbow. The tense mood remained, though, and Jess shifted uncomfortably. She knew exactly how they would find the interrogation rooms, but she wasn't ready to admit defeat yet.

Just as expected, both interrogation rooms were empty, handcuffs laid neatly on the tables. The cameras in both rooms were badly broken; the dark, circular coverings were shattered, and the small, rotating cameras were twitching, occasionally letting off sparks. The sound of heels clicking wildly signaled Garcia's arrival, and she let herself into the observation room, muttering lowly to herself the entire time. By the time Jess had surveyed the surprisingly minimal amount of damage, Garcia had already gotten the computer system up and running again and was just clicking her way through hours of film.

"Are these guys even real?" She asked the room at large, looking frazzled. "They've sat in the same position almost all day!"

Abruptly, the film cuts off. Garcia let out a grating screech of indignation, attacking the film with a new fury. She pinpoints the exact time of the blackout easily, cursing the blackness on the screen. Rewinding it back a couple of minutes reveals both brothers, sitting calmly behind their tables. Garcia had been right when saying they didn't move much. Their postures were relaxed and their minds were obviously elsewhere. It was strange to see suspects so at ease with their surroundings, yet the Winchesters seemed to pull of perfectly nonchalant expression with ease. Jess narrowed her eyes at the recordings. They looked like they were waiting for something.

"Where's the lawyer?" Rossi asked. Jess scanned the film and noticed that he was right. The petite blonde was nowhere to be found.

"She signed out a couple of hours ago," JJ told him. "I saw her taking the elevator down. I figured she had just given up for the day."

"That's strange," Jess muttered to herself. Harvelle had been sticking to the Winchesters like glue throughout the day. It was plausible that she was the one that tripped the power, but how would she get access to it? Pretending to be a lawyer wouldn't give her a valid excuse to get near the FBI controls. Maybe she had come in for the sole purpose of mapping out the building? That would make sense, considering she had been completely ineffective as an attorney. Or maybe she was meant to serve as a distraction. The BAU had been busy keeping an eye on her, so it was possible that someone else could have snuck past them. Highly unlikely, but possible.

"Ugh!" Garcia grunted, bashing her hands against the table holding the security monitor. Jess focused her thoughts back on the videos, then glanced quizzically at Garcia.

"Penelope, it's just static."

"I know!" Penelope groaned. She started tapping away on the keys again. "Which shouldn't be possible. I mean, maybe if someone had a device to jam the frequency, but everything is hardwired back to this computer, so it isn't as easy as just hacking the wifi. I think our boys are still in the background, but they're caught in the snow and there's not much that can clear it. I'm trying to define it, but it's proving difficult."

A few more minutes passed, filled with the clacking of keys and grunts of indignation from Garcia, but eventually the image sharpened. Garcia pushed away from the computer, victorious, then shoved herself back behind the table when the image dissolved into snow again.

"Garcia," Hotch started.

"Sorry sir, it's the best I can do. The camera's must have malfunctioned there, there's no way I can get it any clearer." Garcia rewound the tape, then froze it a split second before the static took over. Jess leaned forward, then shoved away from the computer, beyond frustrated.

Frozen on the screen was Sam Winchester, looking up at a man whose face was distorted with static. From his state of dress, though, it was easy to recognize him as Jimmy Novak. Novak had a hand around Sam's wrist one minute, then the camera showed a completely empty room before dissolving into static, followed by the blackness of the power outage. Dean's camera showed nearly the same thing, marked a few seconds after Sam's disappearance.

"How?" Jess raged at Rossi, when he too stepped out of the observation room. "They're there one minute and then gone the next! And it's Novak that gets them out! There's no time skip to indicate tampering with the tapes, no sign of a forced entry, and hell, there's not even a split second that shows the Winchesters getting up from their seats! People don't just disappear, Rossi, but I honestly can't figure out how they managed to Houdini their way out of this one!"

Rossi sighed. "I can only guess that Harvelle had something to do with it."

"How?" Jess demanded again. "She didn't seem like much of a hacker, and she didn't have any electronics on her. It's highly unlikely that she would have been able to get to the building's control panel. There's no way to explain why there's no skip in the video. How did Novak get in without being seen? How did Harvelle leave and still manage to kick-start something like this?" The blonde agent took short, shallow breaths, heart and mind racing with anger. They had been so close to capturing these guys, and their releases most likely meant many more murders to follow.

Rossi shrugged at her, equally confused and frustrated. Jess stormed out of the room, knowing that her sour attitude and preoccupied mind would only hinder the investigation.

She rode the elevator up to the bullpen, tapping her fingers against the silver railing surrounding her to alleviate nervous tension. Her desk was still a mess, her belongings only half packed away, but the first thing Jess did was snatch up Sam Winchester's case file. Pure rage flared in Jess's stomach, causing her to drop the case file and snatch a pen. She chucked the pen at Sam's mugshot, only slightly mollified when it smacked the printed face dead center and bounced its way off the desk. She crossed her arms and stared at the pen for a moment, then sighed and stalked over to it, snatching it off the floor and slamming it back down on her desk. Sighing again, she ran a hand roughly through her hair.

"Feel better?" Jess started badly, then whirled around to snap at her coworker. Rossi just grinned at her. "Your surveillance skills need some work, kid."

"I'm not a kid," Jess grumbled back. Rossi raised an eyebrow.

"And that little show you just put on?" Jess flushed. "Look, Jess, I get it. We were close and we lost them. It's enough to make anyone sour."

"I feel like there's some kind of life lesson coming up," Jess sighed, slumping down in her desk chair.

"But," Rossi stressed, "sometimes you have to take a step back. Put down the case file and go home. It's been a long day, and it's going to be even worse in the days to come."

"We're never going to get them back," Jess told him. She flipped the case file closed and let her head lull back. "It was a miracle that we managed to get them here, and now that we've lost them, it's going to be impossible to get them back."

"We have to have faith," Rossi responded, his tone light and easy. "This job will never be easy, kid, but we have to believe that we have the means to make a difference. If we don't believe that we can get these guys, we might miss the chance." Rossi turned back toward the elevator. "There's not a lot of evidence in the interrogation rooms. The rest of the team will be up soon to collect their things and head home. I suggest you do the same. Come back tomorrow with a new perspective."

Jess felt a little insulted, but she did her best to shake the feeling off. Rossi wasn't wrong; she seriously needed a new outlook if she was going to catch these guys. She finished gathering her things, deliberately leaving Sam's file on her desk before making her way to the elevator.

The late night air was cool and Jess welcomed it. The chill woke her up and calmed a bit of her anger as she walked briskly to her car. She checked her tires, the backseat, and her surroundings before unlocking her door and sliding in, too conscious of the attacks that could take place in a parking garage. The ride home was uneventful, and Jess only stopped to lock her door and shed her clothes before she crawled into bed. Despite the many questions rattling around in her mind, Jess drifted off quickly, once again met with brown hair and sad eyes.

Chapter Text

The BAU lost track of the Winchesters. Despite the long hours of work that the team put in, the duo seemed to just melt away. After scanning the interrogation videos, the only point of interest was Dean, seconds before the snow took over. He was muttering quietly to himself, his head ducked and his hands clasped. His words were indiscernible, but his posture hinted at prayer.

"He doesn't seem like the religious type," Jess had murmured to Rossi as they rewatched the video.

"Well," the older man replied, "someone seems to have answered his prayers."

At a loss for what to do, the team placed the Winchester case on the backburner and focused on the other cases that had requested their assistance instead. Months passed with no sign of the brothers or their accomplice, despite the high priority of the case. It was January, six months after the arrest and subsequent escape of Sam and Dean, before Jess finally tucked her case files away. She did so with a sour expression, slamming the case files in her drawer and shoving it closed with unnecessary force. Morgan and Reid gave her knowing looks, but both wisely refrained from commenting.

"Five victims ranging from age sixteen to twenty have been reported missing in the last three months.  The cases are... not pleasant."

They were back in the conference room, staring at the projection screen with varying levels of disgust. It was no secret that the BAU often handled the most grisly murder cases, but there were still some crime scenes that caused them all to pause. JJ took a breath, steeling herself, and then continued clicking the small remote in her hand to display each body that had been found.

The images were horrific. Each picture displayed a headless victim, splayed out on a stone bench. Arms and legs were lopped off and neatly placed beside the torso, with blood flooding the surrounding area. The scene was circled with black, triangles peeking out around the puddle of red. Jess felt her stomach flip, and suddenly she was glad that she had forgone breakfast.

"Damn," Morgan muttered, clearly audible in the tense silence that had fallen over the team. Though carnage was something that they were used to, the depravity of the cases never got any easier to swallow. Jess glanced back down at her case file, then glanced up at JJ.

"This happened in Chicago?" Jess thumbed through the crime scene photos again. "Somehow, that wasn't what I was expecting."

"It's hard to picture any place that would be fit for something like this," JJ agreed. She sighed, then shook herself. "In each picture, the blood's covering what appears to be a pentagram. The stone is an altar, engraved with a Latin incarnation glorifying Satan. It looks like we have an occult on our hands."

"An occult with a hell of a violent streak. Human sacrifices are pretty rare. Every two weeks is ridiculous." Morgan glanced back at his files again. "Are we sure it's a group? It could just be some lunatic capturing and killing on his own."

"Different fingerprints," Reid answered, pointing to a lab report a couple of pages in. "None in the system, which is abnormal. You would think that whoever had escalated to this gruesome of a killing would have been at least brought in for public disturbance before."

"How do you figure?" JJ questioned.

"Overzealous speeches," Rossi answered. "These religious fanatics usually go to public places, like parks or college campuses, and they attempt to recruit. Something about 'sharing knowledge of the greater power' or something. It's very similar to the promotion of homophobia among radical Christian groups, such as Westboro Baptist Church. If these people are really religiously motivated, someone should have heard about them by now."

"But they haven't," Reid pointed out. "At least, they haven't done anything on a scale big enough to warrant arrest."

"And they usually do?" Morgan asked, eyebrows raised.

"Think about it," Jess said. "You're at the park with your kids and there's this creepy guy preaching about Satan. What would you do?"

"Call the police," JJ answered immediately. "Kids are impressionable; it would make the parents feel threatened."

"Right, but freedom of speech would protect him," Jess replied. Her eyebrows furrowed together. "I think I just disproved my own point."

"You have to think of the profile, kid," Rossi instructed. "The cops get enough complaints that they come to check this guy out. They go up to ask the guy to move somewhere else—“

"But he's driven by a religious purpose, one he thinks the people are attempting to silence," Hotch finished. "He gets defensive—aggressive, even—and begins to argue with the police. The policeman can either respond with aggression or with patience, but either way—"

"The guy's going to get more and more irritated." Morgan leaned forward, intrigued. "Then this policeman has this guy all up in his space, which makes him a little edgy, and his commands get more impatient. The guy senses the change in mood, which serves to fuel his irritation, and before you know it, he puts his hands on the officer."

"Which counts as assault." Jess blew out a breath, finally understanding what the more seasoned profilers were hinting at. "And because he threatened and assaulted a police officer, he's arrested, which would at the very least result in a little bit of time in a holding cell to teach the guy a lesson. Therefore, they'd take his prints and put him in the system."

"But he isn't in the system," Hotch reminded her. "Which doesn't support our profile of the guy, whether he's part of an occult or not."

"Guys, look at these bodies." Reid gestured to the screen. "The first body has rough edges surrounding the wounds. It's messy, even more so than the rest of the bodies. The cuts get progressively cleaner for the second and third victim, then messier with the fourth and fifth. Also, compare the cut that separates the right arm on each body to the cut on the left. They're similar, but obviously not the same."

"What are you saying, Reid?" Morgan prompted, impatient.

"I'm saying that each body was cut by more than one person. They weren't seasoned killers either. You can see that the group gets better at it, up until the fourth victim, then it's sloppy again. It looks like a completely new group tried to cut up the body."

"So they're trading out murderers?" Jess grimaced. It was bad enough to have a group of religious enthusiasts promoting violence. Having multiple killers to convict within the group would mean a lot of extra evidence to test. She sighed, then looked back at the medical reports. "Okay, the organs were removed, so there's not much hope for any stomach contents. The coroner's report said that the bodies seemed to belong to teenagers. Three females, two males. Why the difference?"

"Satanic rituals often have a preference," Reid piped up. "Either young children are used to ensure purity, or elderly women are overpowered for convenience. However, virginity is highly valued in human sacrifices, so it's possible that these victims here were assumed to be virgins."

"Okay," Rossi said slowly. "I can see that with the girls, but how do you physically determine virginity with a boy?"

"You don't," Jess answered. "Unless you're close enough to ask." Hotch gave her his classic bitch face. She took that as an invitation to expand on her theory further.

"Look at the bodies. They're gross and bloody, yes, but they aren't marred by anything other than their missing limbs. The torso and the limbs themselves show no evidence of torture, so these victims weren't questioned about their virginity. It's too ambiguous for the occult to just assume that the teenagers are virgins, so that information has to come from somewhere. It's a hot topic in high school; everyone wants to know if you've done it and who you've done it with. It isn't completely impossible to assume that the unsubs were capable of getting close to the victims if they were high school aged themselves."

"This?" Morgan questioned, gesturing at the screens. "Committed by teenagers? No way."

"It sounds awful," Jess agreed, "but I think it's possible. The murders are too sloppy to be done by experienced killers. Fingerprints were left on the body, showing inexperience. There were no prior religious outbursts from this cult, which would fit in with the age group; they're busy with school during the day, and they're monitored enough to inhibit any attempt at social outbursts. It's not uncommon for teens to act secretive and to spend the night away from home. They're the most impressionable age group. It would make sense for our killers to be young."

"Where would they hide a body?" Rossi challenged. "Last time I checked, teenagers couldn't lease sketchy warehouses."

"Abandoned buildings are pretty common in Chicago," Reid supplied. "So that's a possibility."

Morgan opened his mouth to argue, but JJ's phone dinged first. She spared it a look, then sighed.

"The police have just reported a kidnapping, fitting within the age range of the victims. We should go soon; the victims never live longer than two weeks after abduction." The team scooped up their files and headed out of the office to grab their go bags.

"Hey," Morgan said lightly, "this definitely classifies as weird. Maybe we'll see the Winchesters there."

Jess smacked him with her case file.

"Mrs. Tran," came the irritated growl of the police chief. "We will call you when we hear any news. Until then, we're just as clueless as you are."

Jess traded looks with Reid, then scooted around Morgan to get a better look at the scene. The team had just arrived at the station, disgruntled after a long flight of continuous arguing. Police Chief Roberts had greeted them just before he disappeared with a deputy, uttering nothing more than a curse of complaint before taking his exit. Feeling much younger than her twenty-seven years, Jess peaked around the corner and caught a glimpse of a petite Asian woman that seemed to be doing her best to intimidate the resigned police chief before her.

"Very mature," came a whisper from her right. Jess whipped around and glared at Reid despite the blood she felt rush to her cheeks. He nodded towards Mrs. Tran. "It sounds like they've been having problems with her dropping by."

"Can you blame her?" Jess replied. "Her child's just gone missing. With the crazy murders around here, and the high likelihood that Kevin could be among those victims soon, I'd be surprised if she didn't." She pursed her lips and looked over to their small work area. "We have to catch this group, Reid. This is going to turn ugly quick if we don't."

"They're young," Reid reasoned. He was the first one to seriously consider her theory about a teenaged cult, and Jess was incredibly relieved. It was nice to have some sort of support. "They're sloppy and they're desperate for something. It'll be relatively easy to track them down."

"I hope so," Jess murmured, more to herself than her coworker. Such gruesome deaths so close together would set the city on edge. Luckily, the police had managed to find the victims before any of the press, which had greatly minimized the chaos. The exact details hadn't been released to the public, but it was only a matter of time until someone let something slip. Any hint of devil worship would no doubt throw the city into a frenzy.

"Here." Reid handed her a coffee with a thin smile. "I have a feeling that we're going to need this."

Reid was right. Morgan and JJ were sent to talk to the victims' families shortly after the team's arrival and Reid was assigned the task of a geographic profile. Rossi and Hotch were setting off to explore the crime scene with the chief of police, and Jess was left to interview Mrs. Tran about Kevin's possible association with the cult.

"If you're suggesting that my son—" began Mrs. Tran, voice shrilly.

"Mrs. Tran," Jess interrupted as politely as possible. "I'm not suggesting anything. I just want to know more about your son, to see if he has any connections to the previous victims. Same school, same church, same part-time job...?"

"Kevin didn't attend school here," Mrs. Tran answered automatically. Then she winced slightly, as though she hadn't meant to answer.

"Kevin is seventeen now, right?" At Mrs. Tran's hesitant nod, Jess pursed her lips and attempted to look disapproving. "His records say nothing about graduating high school. In fact, his records say that he formerly lived in Wisconsin. What was he doing in Chicago, Mrs. Tran?"

The petite woman wavered a bit, then sat up straighter and pulled a stern face.

"You will not guilt me into saying that my son had associations with those other children! He had nothing to do with anything that would result in this!" Reid looked up at the exclamation, then looked over at Jess. He must have seen something in her face, because he swiftly stood and approached the table that she and Kevin's mother were seated at.

"Mrs. Tran, my name is Dr. Spencer Reid. I'm also a member of the BAU. I'd like to clarify that we don't think that Kevin had any sort of involvement in dangerous activities. We just want—"

"Yes we do," Jess interrupted, narrowing her eyes. Mrs. Tran, who had focused her attention on Reid, whirled around to gap at Jess. "You're hiding something. Something that concerns Kevin."

"I'm not!" the woman snapped. Reid was staring at her strangely, but Jess wasn't ready to give up yet.

"Yes you are!" she exclaimed. Mrs. Tran flinched at the raised voice, and Jess internally patted herself on the back. Now that she had shaken the woman, she might be able to get through to her. She softened her voice. "Mrs. Tran, we want to help you. It's obvious that Kevin is a bright kid. We know, we've read about all of his accomplishments. I just want to know what's scared you so badly. You and Kevin are obviously running from something. We want to help."

Mrs. Tran wavered, obviously conflicted.

"Please," Jess finally pleaded. "Let us help."

"I..." Mrs. Tran swallowed visibly, then let out a shaky breath. "I need to go make a phone call."

Jess watched the woman go with a twinge of regret and a lot of frustration. She knew she was pushing too hard, but Mrs. Tran knew something. She had to figure out what it was before any more kids were killed.

"I know you're worried," Reid stated, reading her expression, "but you can't just press the families like that. The grief is hard to overcome, and your aggressive pursuit won't help."

"I know that!" Jess snapped. Then she sighed.

"I know," she said more quietly. "I just want to do everything I can to... I don't know, get this case over with. It freaks me out, Reid. How can people just do things like this?"

Reid sighed, then took a seat. Jess had to repress the urge to smile. It was inappropriate, but it was rare that Reid ever took the opportunity to act like her superior.

"One of the things about this job," he told her quietly, "is that you learn a lot of things about yourself. Sometimes you don't know there are lines that you never wanted to cross until you get to them. This is one of those cases. Reading about human sacrifice is a lot different than being confronted with crime scene photos and grieving families because of it. You're doing all you can with what you have right now. We knew going into this that the families might not be much help if this was an issue of sexual experience."

"I know," she admitted. "It's just difficult. I mean, we knew there were going to be barriers, but I didn't realize how helpless I would feel when we reached them. I just want to save this kid, Reid. He feels important." Jess glanced at the board with the victims' pictures posted to it and felt guilty. All of those lives had been important, but she just didn't get the same feeling when confronted with them.

“Because he’s one we can save,” Reid said wisely, as though he’d dealt with this sort of dilemma before. Taking in his serious expression, Jess realized that he probably had. It was difficult to remember how long he’d been on the team sometimes. “The loss of the other victims stings, but it wasn’t attributed to us. Now that we have this case, we’re responsible for this boy.”

Jess swallowed thickly and nodded, suddenly feeling a thousand times heavier than she did a moment prior. She picked up Kevin’s file again, flipping through without reading it.

“I feel helpless,” she admitted, not looking up from the small print in front of her. “I’ve never experienced that before. Not to this degree.” She looked up at Reid, who was still giving her his full attention. That made her feel a little better. “I just… I can’t describe it, Reid, but it’s really important that we keep this kid alive. All hell will break loose if we don’t.”

Instead of laughing, Reid gave her a solemn nod. The knot building in her chest immediately loosened, and she took a deep breath before trying to focus on her work again. She was immediately distracted from it again when a hand came to rest on her shoulder. She glanced up at Reid in surprise; he avoided physical contact like a plague most of the time, and his sudden change of heart was a little disturbing.

Instead of looking concerned, her colleague was staring down at her with a small smile.

“We all have those special cases that affect us differently.” Jess relaxed slightly, at both his words and his gentle tone. “We’ll do everything we can to find Kevin.”

“Yeah.” Jess turned back to her file, but she didn’t make a move to flip through it. “Thanks.”

Reid wandered back over to his whiteboard, mind already back on task, but Jess stared at the double doors leading out of the station. When Mrs. Tran returned, Jess would be ready for her. She was going to do everything in her power to save this kid, and not even the kid’s mother could stand in her way.

Chapter Text

Kevin awoke slowly, with a pounding headache. Despite his discomfort, he kept still and silent; he’d learned from his last two bouts of consciousness. Loud whispers assured him that his captors were nearby. It was strange, though; when Crowley had kidnapped him before, he hadn’t bothered whispering. He hadn’t even blindfolded Kevin. Why the hell would he start now?

A girlish shriek pierced the room. Several loud shushes followed it. A distressed whisper of, “I’m sorry, it was a spider” echoed around the room.

Huh. Not Crowley then.

That made sense, though. He and his mother had been constantly moving cities since Crowley had killed Channing, taking extra care to hide themselves in their surroundings and arm themselves against demons. Running into Crowley or his goons wasn’t impossible, even with their precautions, but it was pretty damn close at this point. Still, if it wasn’t Crowley, who the hell had him?  

“Guys, we should probably feed him…”

There was a murmur of consent, then some quiet shuffling.

“I think I have a Hot Pocket here somewhere… Ah, got it!”

There was a light slap at his cheek.

“Hey, dinnertime. You awake?”

Kevin tried to make a scathing comment, but the words got lost somewhere between his brain and his lips, and all he managed was a weak sounding “Murgh.”

That was all the consent that the person needed, because a moment later there was a lukewarm pastry shoved in his mouth. Kevin tongued at it half-heartedly, too distracted to chew.

“Hey, he’s not eating. Is this some kind of freaky side effect of the drugs?”

“Dave, we’re giving him NyQuil.”

“My mom always says that too much NyQuil—“

“It says four to six hours on the packing!”

“I’m just saying—“

“God, can we all just shut up?”

“Dave started it.”

“Look,” Dave said, his voice high and nervous. “You know the conditions. We can’t have an imperfect sacrifice.”

“Fine,” a deeper voice snapped, closer to Kevin than he had been before. “Take off the blindfold and check his eyes. If he doesn’t respond, we’ll get rid of him.”

The Hot Pocket was hastily ripped from Kevin’s mouth, but the boy was too busy registering the implications of “sacrifice” to notice much of a difference. Then the blindfold was ripped off and Kevin found himself under the scrutiny of five teenagers.

The silence was thick as they examined each other. Then, a stern, solidly built boy reached a hand out and whacked a small blonde girl upside the head.

“Ouch!”

“This isn’t Jacob, you idiot!”                                              

“That’s not my fault. You said to grab the Asian kid that walked into the library at precisely three pm. It’s not my fault all Asian kids look the same!”

“Leah, that’s racist.”

“Shut up, Dave.”

“It is!”

Kevin wearily surveyed his surroundings. He was in a warehouse, which he had inferred from the room’s echo, but there was a startling amount of night filtering in through the window. He heaved a sigh, then let his eyes flutter closed, trying to block out the sound of bickering around him.

He had had irregular contact with the Winchesters since the incident with Channing, but they had given him a sure fire way to get through to them during emergencies, and Kevin was more than willing to try it out.

Castiel, if you’re listening…

Kevin waited for a moment.

Two.

Five.

Nothing.

Kevin heaved a sigh, then tried again. Nothing. Of fucking course.

Kevin gave into the urge to lull his head back, staring up at the ceiling as the teens around him continued to fight—something about virginity?—and studying the white scribbles that covered the surrounding walls.

Actually, those looked kind of familiar.

Kevin sat up a little straighter—putting more stress on his shoulders, since his hands were securely tied behind his back—and squinted at the squiggles.

Then promply allowed to his head to thump back against the chair he was tied to. Angel warding. The idiots around him had managed to put up angel warding.

Son of a bitch.

Chapter Text

“What do you mean you can’t find him.”

Sam sighed, kicking the motel door shut behind him and dumping the greasy paper bags on the mess of newspaper clippings scattered across the room’s small table. Dean was across the room, attempting to cow the angel into the small space between the grimy looking wall and the moth-eaten bed, looking distinctly unimpressed. Castiel was his usual stoic self, seemingly unbothered by the lack of space or the extra growl in Dean’s voice. He gave the irate man in front of him a very stiff looking shrug.

“I have attempted,” he said, looking slightly offended that Dean might have implied that he hadn’t, “but Kevin Tran isn’t here.”

“Cas, you can teleport!”

“Dean, he isn’t here.” The angel’s eyes narrowed slightly, obviously tiring of Dean’s admittedly piss poor attitude. “I can’t sense him anywhere. If he’s on Earth, he’s well-hidden.”

“Is he dead?” Sam raised his hands in surrender as the two turned their glares on him. “I’m just saying, we’re not the only ones after him, and we’re sure as hell the friendliest. I don’t know who’d be stupid enough to off the only prophet we’ve got, but if Cas can’t sense him…”

“He is not dead,” Cas retorted, sounding a little testier than he did a few minutes ago. “I have checked.”

“Well, obviously you missed something Cas!” Dean pushed out of the angel’s personal bubble and moved toward the fast food bags instead. “If he’s not here, and he’s not in Heaven or Hell, I have no idea where to check. How the hell does he get away from an angel and two Winchesters?”

“He was in AP,” Sam muttered. Dean cast a furious look his way, and Sam raised his hands up again. “Christ, fine, I’m sorry. Chill out, Dean.”

“Me? You want me to chill out? What the hell is wrong with you, Sammy? You’re usually the first to lose your head in a crisis!” Sam opened his mouth to respond, but Dean had no intentions of stopping for an answer. “If this is about Jess, I told you to drop it. So she wasn’t a demon. There’s a hell of a lot of other things she could be, and I can’t have you losing your shit over some chick that’s wearing her skin. We’ve got serious issues to deal with here!”

“Gee, I’m sorry Dean! I didn’t realize how much it would inconvenience you when the girl I watched burn to death on my apartment ceiling started strolling around in the land of the living again!” Dean looked a little more sympathetic at that, but their tempers had switched, and now Sam was the one that had no intentions of backing down. “Look, Mrs. Tran has already called in and told us that the FBI is all over this, so I’d say now is a pretty great time to start thinking about my dead girlfriend popping back up, since she’s, you know, a full-time employee. Besides, what about Jo? She comes in, gives us both a quick "Hey, I'm not dead after all!", and we put her up in the next room like nothing ever happened!”

"Jo's different and you damn well know it. We've tested her, Sam! Every trick we know. Now I'm not saying this whole thing doesn't give me some sort of bad touch vibe, but we've lost too many damn people to be turning away allies when they pop up. We came back! Why the hell shouldn't she?"

"Why the hell shouldn't Jess?" Sam shook his head as Dean opened his mouth; they'd had the same argument at least five times. "I know, Dean, I know that Jo was raised by hunters and that Jess wasn't, but it's not like Jess is stupid! We could have helped her, we could have explained things to her! Jo said that she had a hard time figuring out where she was when she first came back, and Jess probably isn't any different. It can't be a coincidence that they both came back, Dean! You said that we've lost too many damn people, but you won't give me this? The girl I was going to marry? The one I've mourned for years? What the hell is wrong with getting to be happy every once in a while?"

A terse silence followed Sam’s tirade. Dean, loathe to admit that he had fucked up such a sensitive conversation, tore into his burger and glared at the ‘70s décor around them. Cas shifted, looking uncomfortable, but ultimately lacking a reason to leave. Sam crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the chipping paint of their front door, appetite gone and mood just as piss poor as Dean’s had been.

“Look,” Dean sighed after a few bites. “I’m not saying we won’t look into it. I just think we need to think about Kevin first. For one thing, we’re down a prophet, so that’s an epic punch to the balls. Then we’re going to have the king of Hell out for blood—not that he really needs a reason, but I’m sure this will keep things fresh—because we managed to lose a hot commodity, and then we’ll have a furious mama bear unleashed on us, because Mrs. Tran thinks Kevin’s shit is all our faults anyway. We’ve got a lot on our plates, Sammy.”

“Yeah.” Sam uncrossed his arms, then looked around the room. Then he sighed, and really focused on the task at hand. “But Cas already said that Kevin’s not dead. It’s just a matter of finding him.”

Dean waved his half-eaten burger around, looking murderous all over again.

“Okay, but how do you hide from a—son of a bitch.”

“I beg your pardon?” Cas questioned, looking between Sam and Dean. Dean turned to stare at his brother, wide eyed.

“Um,” Sam said. “What?”

“Sam, how do you hide from an angel?”

“Son of a bitch.”

“Our job just got a hell of a lot harder.”

“Angel warding.” Sam smacked his palm to his forehead, then began to pace. “Okay, so using Cas’s GPS is out of the question. How do we find him?”

“Locator spell?”

“It’ll take a few days to round up the ingredients.”

“Interrogate demons?”

“We don’t know if Crowley’s the one that took him. We definitely don’t want to be the ones that give him the heads up if he doesn’t already know that Kevin’s gone.”

“Fuck, I’m out.” Dean dropped into the tattered desk chair, taking a savage bite of his food. Sam considered him for a minute, then sighed.

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Sam, I don’t like half of the things you say. Spit it out.”

“You said Mrs. Tran called.”

“Yeah?”

“You said she called because Kevin’s supposedly the newest victim in a string of murders.”

“Gruesome ones, with some kind of ritualistic vibes. So?”

It took Dean a minute, but the rapidly developing scowl told Sam that he’d reached the same conclusion that he had.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

“Sam, there are a shit-ton of ways that this could blow up in our faces.”

“They’re already looking into it, Dean. We can tail them for a few days, use Mrs. Tran to figure out what they know. If they’re right, they could lead us right to them.”

Dean considered for a minute, but it was obvious that it was the only viable answer.

“Three days. If they don’t have anything in three days, we’re using the locator spell.”

“Fine.”

Dean finished off his burger, then sighed. “Alright, I guess it’s time to go stalk the FBI.”