#Detective!Dean x Reader | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

doctorbitchcrxft · 2 months

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Heart | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader (Eventual ? ;) )

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, SMUT 18+ MDNI, elements of dom/sub, oral (m and f receiving), orgasm denial (m receiving), p in v, unprotected sex (don’t be stupid. wrap it up.), face riding (f receiving), begging, cockwarming

Word Count: 6046

A/N: Giving the people what they want. AGAIN. MINORS! GO AWAY!!! SHOO! TAKE A JUICE BOX AND A STICKER ON THE WAY OUT!!

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“Here he is, Detective,” the young mortician said to Sam as she pulled the body of a man out of a cold locker. The man had stitches running along his chest, stomach, shoulders, and throat; some reminiscent of deep bite marks.

“That’s a pretty nasty bite,” Sam commented. “You know what bit him?”

The young woman averted her eyes. “I haven’t quite determined that just yet.”

“C’mon, Doc,” you pleaded. “Off the record.” You left Dean back in the motel room once he promised you he’d stay put.

“Okay,” the mortician began, “way, way off the record—”

“Sure,” Sam nodded.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say the guy was attacked by a wolf. But unless I know that the zoo is missing one of their lobos, I’m going with pit bull.” She eyed Sam cautiously. “I like my job.”

“Yeah, I hear you,” Sam chuckled.

“One more thing. This guy, was his heart missing?” you asked.

She seemed surprised. “Yeah, how did you know that? I haven’t even finished my report.”

“Lucky guess,” you shrugged.

You and Sam left the morgue and began the drive back to Dean.

“How’ve your nightmares been?” you asked Sam while he drove out of the morgue’s parking lot.

He turned to you quizzically.

“What? I hear you up at three in the morning,” you smirked.

“I get up early anyway. How do you know I still have ‘em?”

“You don’t have a great poker face, Sammy. When something’s bothering you, I can literally see the wheels in your head turning,” you replied.

He sighed. “I’ll get over it.”

You shot him a look.

“It’s just— It’s not just Jessica anymore,” he explained. “It’s my dad, it’s what Meg did while she took me for a joy ride—”

“That sounds dirty, man,” you cut in.

He gave you a playful glare. “It’s like I told you. I’m scared as hell.”

You stayed silent for a moment. “Hey, you’re still you. And that’s all that matters.” You turned to face him in your seat, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You haven’t gone all ‘sith lord’ on us yet. And I honestly don’t think you will. You just… you don’t have that in you.”

His lips curled into a sad smile once more. “Thanks, (Y/N/N).”

“Any time.”

“Any update on you and Dean?”

“Oh, would you look at that, we’re here,” you smirked as Sam pulled into the motel parking lot.

He glared at you. “(Y/N)—”

“I know, I know, we’ll talk later,” you giggled. You headed into the brothers’ motel room. Dean was cleaning his guns on his bed, and you explained what you’d seen and found out from the mortician to him. The lawyer you’d examined wasn’t the first heart-free corpse, but he was the first man. Over the last year, several women had gone missing; their bodies washed up on shore, but were too deteriorated to make out anything besides the fact that their hearts were missing. The lunar cycle was exactly right for a werewolf killing as well.

“Awesome,” Dean grinned.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Dean, could you be a bigger geek about this?”

“I’m sorry, man, but what about ‘a human by day, a freak animal killing machine by moonlight’ don’t you understand? I mean, werewolves are badass. We haven’t seen one since we were kids,” the older brother protested.

“Okay, Sparky. And you know what? After we kill it, we can go to Disneyland,” Sam snarked, making you giggle.

“You know what the best part about it is? We already know how to bring these suckers down.” He held up a silver bullet. “One of these bad boys right to the heart. So, what’s our next move?”

“Talk to the girl who found the body,” replied Sam.

***

The girl who found the body had sharp, angular features and beautiful dark hair. You could tell Sam was slightly enamored by her from the second she let you into her apartment. The woman introduced herself as Madison. She showed an older man who’d come to check on her out of the apartment and motioned for you to take a seat at her kitchen table.

“You must be pretty shaken up,” started Sam. “You were Nate Mulligan’s assistant, right?”

“For two years, yeah,” she nodded.

“So, you knew all about him?” Dean questioned.

“Probably knew more about him than he did. Nate was…” she trailed off, smiling uncomfortably, “he was nice.”

“But?”

“Nothing, really. I— He had a few scotches in him, and he'd started hitting on anyone in a five-mile radius. You know the type.”

You looked over at Dean, given that was the one thing about him you disliked. “Yeah, I do, actually.”

Dean noticed your look, and he shrank a little at your apparent disappointment. “Did, uh, did he have any enemies?”

“What do you mean? It sure looked like an animal attack,” she said, shifting uncomfortably.

“No, yeah, we’re just covering all the bases. Anyone that might have had a beef with him – a former client, an ex?”

You noticed her discomfort and pressed further. “What is it?”

“Well, this is embarrassing, but my ex-boyfriend, Kurt—”

“Kurt have a last name?” Dean cut her off.

“Mueller,” she answered. After we broke up, he went kind of nuts. He’s… well, he’s kind of been stalking me. He got it in his head that something was going on between Nate and I. He showed up at my office.”

“What happened?” you asked.

“Kurt got into it with Nate; threw a punch before security grabbed him. I was lucky to keep my job,” she explained.

“When was the last time you saw Kurt?” Dean asked.

“A few nights ago. Actually, the night Nate died. We were all grabbing drinks at this bar, and Kurt showed up,” Madison replied.

“And?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. It was like he was watching me. Then he was gone. To tell you the truth, he scares me.”

“I can understand that,” you told her.

She gave you a smile.

Madison led you out of her apartment, and Sam wrote his number down for her to call you if she needed anything.

***

As night fell, Dean suggested you head to the ex-boyfriend’s house to investigate if he lived in a creature’s lair. Upon arrival, you discovered Kurt wasn’t home. However, you felt uneasy. You chalked it up to the fact that you were breaking and entering, but you’d never felt anxiety in a situation such as this previously. It almost felt like something was watching you.

“(Y/N/N), you okay?” Sam asked you upon noticing your discomfort.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s just… hurry this up. I got a bad feeling about this.”

“Okay, Skywalker,” Dean quipped.

“Anything?” you asked, ignoring his comment.

“No, nothing but leftovers and a six-pack. No human hearts behind the Haagen-Dazs either,” he replied. You suddenly heard a door open and close followed by a crashing sound coming from outside. You shared a brief look with Sam before running out to the balcony. Down the wall of the building, there were claw marks in the concrete wall, sliding all the way down to the ground.

You cringed at the sight. “That’s just great.”

Seconds later, you heard a gunshot. You ran down the fire escape and out of the apartment, heading toward where you thought you’d heard the gun fire off. When you arrived at a dark alley, you saw the boot of a person sticking out from the shadows. Cautiously, you approached, only to find the body of an incredibly mauled policeman.

“I’ll call 911,” Sam told you and his brother.

Dean bent down to the corpse. “I’d say Kurt’s looking more and more like our Cujo.”

“I don’t know, man, his apartment didn’t scream ‘creature’s lair’ to me. Aside from the fact that it’s a standard bachelor pad,” you remarked.

Dean eyed you unamusedly. “I’m gonna ignore the implication there that all men are animals.”

You grinned. “I’m glad you caught my drift.”

“Guys, if he’s out here, we better check on Madison,” Sam said, interrupting you.

***

When you arrived at her apartment early in the morning, the older man you’d first seen in Madison’s apartment when you initially visited him peeked his head out of his door. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“Police business, Glen,” Dean responded.

Madison opened the door, her face drooping slightly when she saw you. “What is it?”

You shot a look over at Glen.

“Well, maybe we should talk privately,” Sam suggested.

She nodded, still confused, and led you into her apartment. “Coffee?” she asked.

Sam accepted happily, as did Dean. You still felt uneasy, and thought you might vomit if you had something to drink.

“Has Kurt been here?” Sam asked her as she poured a cup for each of the brothers.

“Not exactly,” she replied.

“What’s that mean?” you asked.

“Well, he was outside last night. Just… looking. Just looking at me. Has he done something?”

“We’re not really sure,” Sam answered honestly.

“It’s probably nothing, but… we just don’t wanna take any chances. In fact, one of us should probably stay here with you?” Dean suggested. “Just in case he stops by. Where does he work?”

“He owns a body shop,” she replied.

“You mind grabbing that address for us?”

She nodded and started out of the room.

“Thanks,” Dean called after her.

“Alright, you go. I’ll stay,” said Sam once she was out of ear shot.

“C’mon, (Y/N),’ Dean said.

“What?” Sam questioned. “No pushback? You always wanna hangout with the hot girl.”

“Yeah, well…” the older Winchester trailed off, “Not this time, I guess.”

“You guess?” Sam scoffed. “Who are you, and what have you done with my brother?”

Dean just rolled his eyes, and a smile tugged at your lips. You thought you may have something to do with Dean’s change of heart.

“Bundle up out there, alright?” Sam said to you and Dean, shooting y0u a knowing look when his brother had turned away. You grinned back at him and followed Dean out of the apartment when Madison returned with the body shop’s address.

Dean started the drive to Kurt’s place of work, and you eyed him thoughtfully.

“What?” he asked without even turning to look at you.

“I wouldn’t have anything to do with your change of heart about staying with the cute girls, huh?” you asked, already knowing the answer. However, a large part of you just wanted him to say it out loud.

He flickered his eyes over to yours, never turning his head from the road. “No, ‘course not,” he replied.

You deflated slightly, although you knew vulnerability was difficult for him. You really and truly just wanted to hear how much you meant to him.

“Alright, fine,” he grumbled after a moment of silence. “It’s got everything to do with you.”

A smile spread across your face, heat rushing to your cheeks. “Good. I’m glad.”

*** Later that day, you discovered Kurt hadn’t been to work in a week. But because Dean was “really good,” if he did say so himself, he found out he was probably frequenting his favorite strip club.

You didn’t mind going; you enjoyed hyping the girls up. If you were a stripper, you’d much rather a girl stuffing ones in your bra than a creepy fifty-year-old man. Although, you were slightly concerned about the way Dean’s eyes were glued to the ass of the woman dancing in front of you. You couldn’t lie, though, she was hot. As long as he looked and didn’t touch, you were content.

The pretty girl in front of you bent down to take a ten dollar bill from your hand, wiggling her hips seductively as she did so. You held her gaze as she stuffed the bill in her bra with a few other ones she already earned.

Dean suddenly seemed slightly possessive. He threw an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side.

“Jealous much?” you asked.

He used the arm around your shoulders to push your face towards his, kissing you wantonly. You hummed against him just before he pulled away. You nudged his nose with yours, sighing happily. You turned back to the girl dancing only to see the man you knew to be Kurt taking a seat at the opposite side of the stage from you and Dean. You gave Dean a look, and he immediately took out his phone to call Sam.

“I found him,” Dean said, eyes on the girl dancing in front of the two of you. “Oh, yeah, my eyes are glued. Look, Sammy, I gotta let you go. I, uh, I don’t wanna... don't wanna miss anything.” He handed a dollar bill to the stripper and smiled widely when he hung up the phone.

After about an hour of generously tipping the strippers and having a few drinks, Kurt got up from the chair across from you and Dean. When he’d gotten a significant distance away, you and Dean wordlessly got up from your chairs to follow him. However, not before you turned and said, “Bye, girls!” to the dancers. The one that had been predominantly dancing in front of you and Dean waved and blew you a kiss. You blew one back, grinning.

You followed Kurt back to his apartment and sat outside, waiting for him to make a wrong move. You readied your gun, jerking to attention when you heard glass shattering. You looked back up to see the lights in Kurt’s apartment were off.

Dean breathed out, “What the—?” and you motioned for him to follow you up the fire escape. You hurried into Kurt’s apartment through the shattered window only to find Madison over the top of Kurt’s mauled body. She turned her electric blue eyes toward you and growled, bearing sharp, bloody fangs. She lunged at you, throwing you to the ground. Dean shot at her and missed, and you used her distraction to get a knick in at her arm just above her elbow with a knife you had stored in your sleeve. She howled in pain and ran out the open window.

“Motherfucker,” you cursed, uncocking your gun. “Dean, start wipin’ down your prints, we gotta get outta here,” you told him. He tossed you a handkerchief and you took care of the floor where you’d been knocked down by Madison, the fridge from when you’d first gone to investigate Kurt’s house, the countertops; everything. When you were done, Dean helped you climb out of the window without touching the sill or knicking your legs on a piece of broken glass.

As the morning sun rose, you called Sam.

Sam’s immediate response to your call was, “You guys okay?”

“Yeah. It’s Madison, Sam,” you said, cutting straight to the chase.

“What?” he asked.

“Yeah. How’d she get out without you noticing?” you questioned.

“(Y/N), I’ve been here the whole time. She’s in bed, asleep.”

“Well, she wasn’t an hour ago. Check her right arm below her elbow. I nicked her with a silver knife,” you told him.

Sam hung up the phone immediately after. You instructed Dean to go to Madison’s apartment, and he did so. You knocked on the door of her apartment, and the door opened to reveal an upset Sam and Madison tied to a chair by her wrists.

“How you doin’?” Dean smirked bitterly, strolling into the apartment.

“We’ve gotta talk,” Sam told the both of you firmly. You eyed him questioningly as he led you and his brother into another room. “She says she has no idea what I’m talking about.”

“She’s lying,” Dean responded simply.

“Or maybe she really doesn’t know she’s changing, you know? Maybe— maybe when the creature takes over, she blacks out,” Sam argued.

Dean deadpanned, “Like a really hot Incredible Hulk. Come on, dude, she ganked her boss and her ex-boyfriend. That doesn’t sound rash and unconscious.”

“Yeah, but what if it was, Dean? I mean, what if some animal part of her brain saw both those guys as threats? Hell, the cop, too.”

The older brother scoffed. “What are you, the Dog Whisperer now?”

“Look, man, I just… I don’t know, there, there, there was something in her eyes.”

“Sam, don’t let your attraction to her cloud your judgment,” you stated.

He scoffed. “You know I don’t do that.”

“Do you? This isn’t seeming like a completely rational argument, dude,” you argued calmly.

“(Y/N), I just think it may be something she has no control over. You can believe me or not—”

Dean cut Sam off. “Even if she’s telling the truth, it’s not gonna change anything. She can’t control it. That’s bad news.”

“I’m not putting a bullet through some girl’s chest who has no idea what’s happening,” Sam argued, voice rising slightly.

“Sam, she’s a monster, and you’re feeling sorry for her?” questioned Dean.

“Maybe I understand her.” Sam paused, and his voice quieted down. “Look, there might be another way we can get the job done without having to waste her.”

“Are you thinking what I think you’re thinking?” Dean asked.

Sam seemed to understand and took his dad’s journal out of his jacket. “Dad’s theory – ‘lycanthropy might have a cure if you kill the werewolf who bit you, severing the bloodline’.”

“Might have a cure,” Dean emphasized. “Meaning ‘who the hell knows’?”

“I’m not sure about this one, guys—” you sighed, scratching your neck.

Sam shrugged. “It’s worth a shot.”

“We don’t even know where to start looking, all right? I mean, the puppy that bit her could be anyone, anywhere. It could’ve been years ago,” Dean replied.

Sam seemed to realize something. “No. I don’t think so.” He led you back into the room where Madison was still tied up. “Madison, when were you mugged?”

She seemed not to want to answer. Either she really had no clue what was going on, or she was a damn good actress.

“Please. It’s important, all right? Just answer the question,” Sam begged.

Reluctantly, she said, “About a month ago.”

“Did you see the guy?” the younger brother pressed further.

“No. He grabbed me from behind.”

“Did he bite you?”

Madison seemed taken aback. “How did you know that?”

“Where?” Sam continued, ignoring her question.

She still looked scared, but was honest anyway. “On- on the back of my neck.”

Sam showed her he was setting his gun down and slowly moved behind her. He gently brushed her hair away and exposed a scarred lump on the back of her neck.

“Oh, that’s just a love bite,” Dean snarked. “Believe me, that could have been a lot worse. Where were you at the time?”

“Walking home from a friend’s loft,” she said.

“Let me guess. Not too far from Hunter’s Point?” Sam questioned.

Madison nodded, eyes bleary in confusion. You could tell some of this was beginning to make sense to her, and agreed to sit with her while the boys went into another room to talk.

“So… you really have no idea, do you?” you asked, sitting in a chair across from her.

She didn’t answer you.

Your tone immediately shifted. “Look, lovebug, I don’t think you get what’s going on here. I’m gonna need you to answer my questions, okay?”

She scoffed. “What, about the fact that you guys think I’m a fucking werewolf? You realize you sound insane, right?”

“You’re a pretty good actress, I’ll give you that,” you said. “And… if you are telling the truth, I’m sorry. I’m sure you didn’t ask for this.”

She was silent for another moment.

“But you have to understand how this all looks, okay?” you continued. “People that are connected to you— Kurt, the lawyer that was creepin’ on you— they wind up dead. Then, you attack me after you kill Kurt, and things are just supposed to be all hunky-dory now? Just because you say you can’t remember?”

You seemed to have grabbed her attention. “Kurt’s dead? Oh, my god.” She began to cry softly.

You were conflicted. She seemed to be genuinely reacting to what you were saying, and you wanted to believe her. However, every instinct within screamed at you to put a silver bullet through her chest. “Madison… can you at least understand how this looks to me? Whether you think I’m crazy or not, do you at least see where I’m coming from?”

She laughed humorlessly through her tears. “You mean, if I was a deluded psycho who pretends to be a cop hunting for monsters? Yeah, I’d understand where you’re coming from.”

The boys emerged from the room. “Alright, (Y/N), you’re with me,” Dean asserted.

*** You and Dean went to Hunter’s Point, the werewolf that had “mugged” Madison’s assumed hunting grounds, and searched for the monster. You heard a woman scream, and the two of you ran in the sound’s direction. The woman, presumably a hooker, was being dragged across the pavement by her ankles toward the werewolf.

“Hey!” Dean called.

When the creature looked up, you and Dean shot at it multiple times; each hit landing in the center of the creature’s chest. The hooker immediately scrambled away, not even sparing a glance to you and Dean.

“Hey, don’t mention it!” Dean called after her.

“Take it easy,” you scolded. “She’s scared.”

The two of you turned back to the dying creature on the ground, and you discovered it was Glen, Madison’s neighbor.

“It happened... again,” Glen coughed.

You knelt beside him.

“Where am I?” He asked you. “H–help me. Oh, god. Oh my god.” He choked again, coughing up blood.

“Alright, easy, Glen. Just take it easy,” Dean told the man.

You and Dean watched as the older man’s eyes glazed over and his shuddering subsided. Your heart almost broke for him; he truly seemed to not understand what was happening to him.

***

The morning after laying Glen to rest, you and the brothers sat outside Madison’s apartment in the Impala. You planned to wait out there till the next morning to see if Madison transformed, or if you really had cured her.

Dean was explaining Glen’s death to Sam. “It was sort of sad, actually. Glen had no clue what was going on. Hey, why do you think he turned Madison instead of just killing her in the first place?”

“I don’t know. I mean, he kind of seemed to have a thing for her,” Sam suggested.

“Maybe his primal instinct did, too. Maybe he was looking for a little, uh, hot breeding action.” Dean wiggled his eyebrows.

“Yeah. Something like that.”

“So?” you questioned, leaning over the back of the seat.

Sam eyed you quizzically. “So what?”

“Madison…?” you urged.

“Oh, whatever.”

You lightly shoved his shoulder. “Don’t ‘whatever’ me, kid, you liked her.”

“(Y/N/N), she thought I was a stark-raving lunatic,” he deadpanned.

“Yeah, a stark-raving lunatic that saved her life,” you challenged.

“Yeah, but she doesn’t know that.”

Madison suddenly appeared at Sam’s rolled-down window. “You know, for a stake-out, your car’s a bit conspicuous. What are you still doing here?”

“Honestly? Uh, we’re pretty sure you’re not gonna turn tonight, but we’ve gotta be a hundred percent, so… you know, we’re… lurking,” explained Dean.

“I know this sounds crazy—” Sam began.

Madison cut him off. “Sure does. Well, if we’re gonna wait it out… we might as well do it together.”

She led you and the brothers back up to her apartment. Madison seemed to hesitate before she spoke once inside. “You were telling the truth, weren’t you? About everything. What you did— it was to help me.”

Sam nodded.

“I did all of those horrible things,” she said remorsefully, “when I turned.”

“You didn’t know,” coaxed Sam.

“So, when will we know for sure? Moonrise?” she asked.

“No, I don’t think so,” the brunet answered. “You turned middle of the night last night. I think we’ve gotta hang in until sun-up.”

You watched Sam carefully, and Dean gave a tiny nod. “Well,” the older brother began, “it looks like we’ve got ourselves a few hours to kill. Poker, anyone?”

“Always,” you said.

***

Several games later, the sun sank, and the moon rose. Dean laid his gun on the table, and Madison and Sam watched him with unease.

“Oh, no, you guys talk,” Dean chuckled awkwardly.

***

Hours later, the sun came up.

“Does— Does this mean it worked?” Madison asked hopefully.

Sam sighed in relief. “Yeah. I think so.”

Madison threw her arms around Sam. “Oh, God, thank you. Thank you so much.”

Dean cleared his throat, and you jabbed him with your elbow at his interruption of their moment.

Madison laughed. “You, too, Dean. Thank you. Same to you, (Y/N).”

You nodded. “Well, Dean and I have some, uh… stuff to go do.” You pulled on the older brother’s jacket, lugging him out of the room. “Bye, Sam, bye, Madison.”

“Smooth,” Dean commented once you were out of the door.

“Look, I didn’t wanna be in there any longer than necessary. Room stunk of sexual tension,” you chided.

“Between me and you, or Sam and Madison?” he smirked.

You scoffed, “Smooth,” mocking his earlier statement.

***

As soon as the door to the motel room was shut, Dean’s lips were on yours. You shoved his back against the door, pushing his jacket down his shoulders. You bit his bottom lip eagerly, and he moaned into your mouth.

“(Y/N), what are you doing to me,” he groaned.

“Shut up,” you ordered, tugging his hair harshly. You shoved him down onto the bed and teasingly ghosted your lips over his clothed chest all the way up his neck and stopped just before his lips. He tried to lean up to kiss you, but you wouldn’t let him.

“Stop teasing,” he growled, almost sounding pitiful.

You tsked. “You didn’t ask very nicely.” You rolled your hips over the hardening bulge in his jeans, and he groaned again.

“(Y/N), please,” he whined.

“There’s my boy,” you grinned, leaning forward to kiss him. His hands were all over you in an instant, and you kissed down his neck. You got his shirt off before taking his pants off and palmed him through his boxers.

“(Y/N), stop it,” he begged.

“Stop what?” You took your hand off, worried you’d done something wrong.

“Teasing,” he whined. “Just touch me, please.”

You’d never seen him so spaced out before. The shit-eating grin returned to your face, and you went back to dragging your fingers along the underside of his shaft through his underwear. “I am touching you,” you playfully said.

He thrusted up into your hand. “Oh, god, you know what I mean.”

“I don’t, actually,” you cooed.

“(Y/N), please suck my dick. Please, sweetheart. I need you,” he begged.

“Atta boy,” you said, happily taking his boxers down his hips. You began teasing the tip of his penis with your tongue before taking the whole thing into your mouth. You sucked on him earnestly, and his hips stuttered, trying to thrust up into you. You held his hips down firmly, but couldn’t keep his hand from winding in your hair. You felt he was close to ejaculation and quickly took your mouth off him.

“What the fuck?” he questioned, chest heaving.

You gripped the base of his cock harshly. “Watch your mouth,” you said lowly.

“Oh, god, sorry, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

You grinned at the thought of having such a tough and strong man turning to absolute putty in your hands.

��I-I wanna touch you. Please,” Dean heaved, clawing at your shoulders.

You slinked up his body, sitting gently on his stomach. Dean pushed your shirt up, running his hands underneath it to get to your breasts. He groaned as he squeezed one in each hand, and you threw your head back at the feeling of him tweaking your nipples.

“Sweetheart,” he started, “Ride my face. Please.”

Heat flooded between your thighs at the thought. “Okay,” you said, suddenly feeling nervous. You pushed your jeans off and hovered over his face. You were afraid to settle onto him completely, but that trepidation was quickly subdued by Dean grabbing your hips and pulling you down onto his lips, his large hands firmly keeping you there. You moaned instantly when his tongue immediately found your clit, sucking harshly.

You eagerly rolled your hips against him, half trying to escape the immense pleasure and half trying to move toward it. Your orgasm approached quickly, and you screamed his name as you came.

When he finally released you, you moved off him to reveal a shit-eating grin spread across his glistening face. You gathered up the slick that had collected on his mouth with two of your fingers and shoved them into his mouth, and he sucked them harshly. You got back on top of him, settling right over his hardened dick.

“You ready for me, baby?” you asked.

He responded by thrusting against you, catching you off-guard. You gasped and lined up with his cock before slamming down onto him. You rolled your hips in time with his, and he pulled you down to his lips to kiss you. Dean’s erratic thrusts were making you dizzy, and he soon rolled over on top of you to finish getting the both of you off. You dug your nails into his shoulders, and he buried his face in your neck as the two of you came together.

Gasps and moans filled the room around you as you both rode out your highs. Dean stayed fully inside you, even after he came, and adjusted the two of you to where you were lying on his chest with his dick still inside you. Completely content, you fell asleep on top of Dean.

*** The next morning, you woke up before Dean as usual. His cock had softened, but was still nestled firmly inside you. You gingerly slid off him and moved to go get showered and dressed, only to have him grab your hand as you tried to step away to get a fresh set of clothes.

He hummed, “Morning,” and pulled you back down to him.

You giggled and yelped as you came crashing down back to the bed next to him and pecked his lips. “Hi, handsome.”

He kissed you again. “Y’know,” Dean started, kissing you once more. “I’ve never—” kiss, “—let anyone—” kiss, “—besides you—” kiss, “—do that to me.”

“Well, good. I’m happy to be the one and only,” you smiled against his lips, standing once more.

Just as you and Dean had finished getting dressed and were going to head for some breakfast, there was a pounding on the door. You opened it to reveal a completely breathless Sam.

“ She— she turned,” he said.

“What?” you asked, shocked.

“I couldn’t grab her in time,” he continued sadly.

Dean came up behind you and put a hand on your waist to let you know he was there. “We’ll find her, Sammy.”

Sam continued to panic as you headed down to the Impala. He told you Bobby knew severing the bloodline wouldn’t work, and any other hunter he’d called said there was no way to cure a werewolf.

“How come she didn’t turn when we were with her?” Dean asked.

“Dean—” Sam began.

Dean cut him off. “So, what, you put her to bed and then she wolfed out? Maybe she’s gotta be asleep to turn.”

“What the hell does it matter, Dean? Look, we’ve gotta find some way to help her, some legend we missed or something.”

“Sam, I don’t think so, man,” you chimed in. “Somebody would’ve known about it.”

“Well, then we have to look harder! Until we find something,” he protested, welling up with tears.

“Sammy, I don’t think we’ve got a choice here anymore,” Dean sighed. “I hate to say it. She’s a sweet girl, but part of her is—”

Sam cut him off. “Evil? Yeah, that’s what they say about me, Dean! So me you won’t kill, but her, you’re just gonna blow away?”

Before Dean could argue, Sam’s phone rang. “Madison, where are you?”

Upon hearing that, you and the brothers quickly got to and into the car without needing to say a word to each other. “Alright, hold on, Maddie. We’re coming to get you, just stay where you are,” Sam told her before hanging up the phone.

*** Back in Madison’s apartment, she sat clad in a shirt Sam had been wearing the day before at her kitchen table. Dean’s favorite gun sat before her, and she eyed it, emotionless. “I don’t remember anything. I probably killed someone last night. Didn’t I?” she asked hesitantly.

“We don’t know that yet,” you reminded her.

The brunette looked up to Sam. “Is there something else we can try to make it go away?”

“We’ll find something. I mean, there’s gotta be some answer, somewhere,” Sam tried.

Dean’s voice rumbled through the air. “That’s not entirely true. Madison, you deserve to know. We’ve scoured every source. There’s just no cure.”

Madison turned back to Sam and then looked over to you. “Is— Is he right?”

The younger Winchester stood and turned away, choked up.

“We thought about tying you up, but one day, you’re gonna bust out,” you told her. “And then… someone else dies.” You paused thoughtfully. “I’m sorry. I am.”

“Me too,” Dean added.

Shakily exhaling through her tears, Madison resigned herself. “So, I guess that’s all there is to it, then.”

Sam turned back to her. “Stop it. Don’t talk like that.”

Your heart broke at the sight of Madison picking up the gun and walking it over to Sam. “Sam, I don’t wanna hurt anyone else. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Put that down,” he begged.

“I can’t do it myself. I need you to help me.”

A tear slipped down Sam’s cheek. “Madison, no.”

“Sam… I’m a monster.”

“You don’t have to be. We could find a way, alright? I can. I’m gonna save you,” he said, although you know he didn’t believe what he was saying.

“You tried,” she sighed, crying harder. “I know you tried. But this is all there is left. Help me, Sam. I want you to do it. I want it to be you.”

He shook his head. “I can’t.”

“I don’t wanna die. I don’t,” she continued. “But I can’t live like this. This is the way you can save me. Please. I’m asking you to save me.”

Sam shook his head again, and Madison watched him intently. Cautiously, Dean walked up behind Madison and gently took the gun from her. Sam immediately stormed off to another room.

You exchanged a look with Dean before following his younger brother.

“Sam,” Dean said, holding up the gun. “ I’m sorry.”

The brunet shook his head, still crying. “No, you’re right. She’s right.”

“Sammy, I got this one. I’ll do it,” Dean replied bravely.

“She asked me to.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Yes, I do. Please.” He held out his hand for the gun, tears flowing steadily now. Dean couldn’t seem to manage handing it to him, and you carefully took it from his hand. Sliding a hand up Dean’s back to comfort him, you held the gun out to Sam.

Standing with Dean, rubbing circles over the middle of his back with your thumb and tucked into his side, you watched Sam walk out of the room.

“Just wait here,” he told you. His whole body tremored, and his face shone with tears. He hesitated a moment before moving toward the other room.

Now that it was just the two of you, Dean clutched your hip harder and allowed a tear to roll down his cheek. You stood by him silently, allowing him to allow himself to feel for a brief moment. And then, you flinched at the horrible sound of a single gunshot coming from the next room.

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester #supernatural #supernatural series rewrite #spn #spn series rewrite

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confused-pyramid · 8 months

Text

Tell Me Some Things Last | s3

pairing: aaron hotchner x childhood bsf!reader

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

word count: 23.1k

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

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

series masterlist

"Excuse me?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He answers immediately. "Every 10 minutes."

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

Griffith frowns. "Yeah. Why?"

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

"You can tell that just by the arms?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The first two victims were the same."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hotch was popular?" Reid asks in disbelief.

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

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

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

"There's been another murder."

***

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

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

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

Your mouth falls open. "What?"

"Two weeks."

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

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

"StraussaskedmetospyonyouandIthinkshealsoaskedEmily!"

He blinks. "Can you say that again?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Need any help?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

You miss them all.

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You miss work, don't you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jeff Adler

Beloved Son, Husband, Brother

Until we meet again

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sorry to interrupt."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

"He didn't tell you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Would you have to travel?"

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

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

***

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

"Hello?" It's Haley.

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

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

"Hey."

He sounds guilty. You can imagine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"All right. Keep me posted."

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nods. "All the better."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

When he gets home, the lights are off.

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

"You must be the BAU."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

"The trail's 40 miles long."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Guy had a busy year."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Haley left."

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Which do you prefer?"

You grin. "Home, of course."

"Of course."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"A few shots?" you laugh.

She nods. "Each."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No, it's not."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Aaron."

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

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

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

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

***

"Happy All Hallow's Eve, folks."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods. "Right, sorry."

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

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

"Let's start the briefing."

***

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

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

"What are you thinking about?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nods. "That's right."

"There is no 'I'?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I won't say anything."

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

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

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

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

***

"Hey, Dad."

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

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

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

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

"Unsub?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you mean?"

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

"I don't know."

"I'm on my way."

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

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

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

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

"He's not answering his cell."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

"James Colby Baylor."

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

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

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

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

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

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

JJ blinks. "Anything."

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

You snort. "Sleep's overrated."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I'll see you tomorrow, boss?"

He nods again. "See you tomorrow."

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

"Did he eat lunch?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You sure?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"See you soon."

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

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

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

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

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

"He doesn't even know me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You never told her what happened?"

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

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

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

"Remember what?"

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

"Yeah, that's him."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

How can you drink this stuff?

It makes me feel sophisticated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Enough," he grumbles suddenly, startling you.

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

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

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

"Either way."

You groan, reaching out to thwack his arm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

"Five shootings in two weeks."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

"Kate."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

That makes you frown too.

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

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

Oh my God.

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

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

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

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

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

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

JJ rushes after him. "Hotch-"

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

She looks down. "I know."

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Screw you."

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

***

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

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

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

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

"There are no sides here."

You nod. "I know."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

"Emily, what happened?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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deanbrainrotwritings · 9 months

Text

— DESIRE (THE WANTON SONG)

SUMMARY : dean looks delicious in a suit, that’s it.

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : castiel, jack kline

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), fluff, p in v, unprotected sex (21 years of prison), car sex, smut, teasing, funnies (but maybe that’s the coffee talking)

WORD COUNT : 2.8k

A/N : led zeppelin song title. y’all… YALL! Dean’s so hot and I actually had coffee and so that’s why I’m… you know, imagine that this is really, really quickly spoken in your head :D XXXXXX

Was anyone really going to lie or hide the truth about how absolutely ravishing Dean looked in suits?

One thing Y/n knew was that she wouldn't be making that mistake. The only problem with that was that Cas and Jack decided to join them while Sam stayed at the Bunker recovering from a stomach bug with Eileen at his side.

Should she feel bad for how turned on she was?

He was just… existing.

Still, he must know what he’s doing. Placing his hand on her thigh, mindlessly brushing his fingers along the inside as he drove. And he sang. He was singing, playfully. Making her laugh.

And every time she laughed, he’d squeeze her thigh, and grin at her boyishly. She’d bite her lip, unable to resist his happiness. When they stopped at a red light or a stop sign, he’d lean over, and kiss her cheek, then he’d murmur something sweet into her ear. Her heart would flutter, her breath would hitch, and then he'd press one soft kiss to her lips.

If Cas and Jack hadn’t been in the back seat, she would have grabbed Dean by his tie and pulled him on top of her. That would be dangerous—considering that he’s driving—but, hey, it’s just a daydream.

She just wanted him, everywhere, like… all over her body. His lips and his hands. His body above hers and his skin moving against hers. God… it was worse than normal, her desire for him.

He was just so… irresistible. Not just because of how insanely attractive he is. It’s a combination of everything that makes him who he is. Adorable. Kind. Selfless. Brave. Funny. Smart. The list was endless, but every little thing was there, blooming deep in her heart, weaved intricately into her soul, growing hot like a star. At the end of it all, at the farthest edge of everything that she was, it was love built entirely of Dean.

Her mind was elsewhere. She started to lag behind as they walked into the police station and Dean weaved his fingers through hers to keep her in pace with him. She subtly checked Dean out from behind, broad shoulders, firm ass, hot… all over. She had to resist slapping his ass and grinned to herself at the thought.

Cas went ahead and started to talk to one of the detectives on the case while Jack looked around aimlessly. Dean pulled her hand to stop her from joining the angel and nephilim. He leaned forward, his nose brushing against her cheek, his lips ghosting over her earlobe, warm breath hitting her neck.

“You okay?” He asked, pulling away slightly, and looked into her eyes. He held her jaw tenderly and his thumb brushed along her bottom lip, causing her to inhale sharply. A spark from his hand on her mouth made heat rise up her face, but she nodded anyway. “You sure? You’ve been quiet, spacey,” he murmured, leaning forward to brush his lips against her.

“I’m okay,” she whispered against his mouth. Dean placed a chaste kiss on her lips and kissed her cheek afterwards.

“Okay,” he conceded hesitantly, circling his arm around her waist. Dean lead the way to where Cas and Jack were waiting patiently, having quiet conversation with each other. Jack looked confused at whatever Cas was trying to explain to him while Cas looked adorably exasperated. “Let’s go,” Dean smiled at the two of them, walking to where the officers placed the woman they’d just arrested.

“Actually,” Cas stopped Dean with a hand on his chest. Dean lifted a brow and glanced down at Cas’ hand. “This would be a great opportunity for Jack to learn how to properly interrogate witnesses on cases. You two should take a look at the footage from the mini-mart,” Cas suggested firmly, but he waited for Dean’s approval anyway.

Dean’s lips parted, he looked down her before looking back at Cas. He crossed his arms over his chest and it was oddly arousing. “You sure it’s not ‘cause you suck at using technology,” Dean teased with a smirk.

The deadpan expression on Cas’ face made it funnier, somehow. He sighed and stepped closer to Dean, looking down at both their shiny black shoes. “I’m being serious, Dean,” Cas muttered, but Dean had a smug smile on his face that she knew Cas wouldn’t let slide when he looked up into green eyes. “Besides, you couldn’t figure out how to get Netflix to play on the television, Y/n had to do it.”

Dean might have actually gotten offended. He shut his mouth, a firm line of his lips made those adorable little dimples of his to appear at the upper corners of his mouth. She stifled a laugh, and looked down at her heels, but Dean noticed anyway. Jack was the only one looking away, his gaze fixed across the room where the vending machine was.

“Agents,” one of the detectives called from the interrogation room, staring at the four of them.

“Whatever,” Dean murmured, turning away from them. He left her there with their friends. She grinned up at Cas and he failed to resist a smile. Blue eyes looked down while she patted his chest as a goodbye before she jogged to catch up with Dean.

“So,” she tried breaking the ice, hooking her arm around his as they walked to the room where they could watch the footage, “wanna place a bet?” Dean grunted in response, to which she took as a yes. “100 bucks, it’s a shifter,” she offered, letting go of his arm when he opened the door for her to enter first.

“If it’s anything but a shifter… I get to call the shots on everything we do together for six months,” he said distractedly, beelining to the nearest computer.

“Uh, no,” she laughed, “one month.” Dean glanced at her, it wasn’t anger, but there was something fiery in those forest greens of his that made her pussy clench around nothing. Her breath hitched, but she hid it with a sniffle.

“Four months.” There was a finality to his words that made her shiver. She couldn’t disagree, and anyway, Dean’s ideas were never awful. Dean leaned over the table, and started to type away skillfully at the keyboard, giving her time to consider his compromise, before he pulled the video footage up.

Had he not been waiting for the deal to be sealed with her agreement, she would have dwelled on the wave of arousal flooding between her legs at the sight of him proving Cas wrong about his ability to understand technology.

She stepped closer to Dean, sitting on the table—very close to him.“Cheater,” she smiled playfully, he knew she’d never fold. Dean looked up at her, one hand on the keyboard, the other on the mouse. “Deal,” she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his.

Dean immediately let go of the keyboard and mouse to step between her legs and kiss her hard. He wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her to the edge of the table, and tangled his fingers in her hair. She moaned into his mouth, lewdly brushing her tongue against his when he pushed into her mouth. With a final, hot, firm suck of her tongue, he pulled away breathlessly with a rosy tint on his cheeks.

She blinked the daze of his hearty lips away, and smiled dreamily, swinging her feet, her heels slipping off her feet slightly as she watched him work. She needed to fuck him, but she forced herself to look away from the pinched concentration of his brows, and the way he chewed on his lip.

She analysed the video with Dean a few times before switching to other cameras around and within the mini-mart. A few people came in and out, no one remotely suspicious or dangerous, nothing supernatural about them either.

“I don’t see anything,” Dean muttered, replaying the last video of the inside of the store. He watched it again for good measure. It showed the woman the detectives arrested serving herself a blue raspberry slushie from the machine with a woman standing next to her, asking for a taste.

She leaned the cup over to her lover, or friend, or whatever she was meant to be. She took a sip and they walked together to the register, the man barely paid any attention to them as they spoke.

“Right there, look,” she told him, Dean raised a brow and rewinded the video. She mischievously ducked under his arms, and placed her hand over his on the mouse, bending over the desk like he was doing so her ass brushed against his crotch. Dean grunted softly, moving away slightly with his hands on her hips.

“You’re not wearing any underwear,” he whispered, squeezing her hip. She tried to remain composed, as much as she wanted to keep teasing and possibly do more, she genuinely found something.

Ignoring the throb in her clit, she teasingly asked, “uh, hello?” Dean’s hands flexed on her hip and then he pressed himself against her ass, to see what she saw. “You win the bet, it’s a siren,” she pointed out, pausing on the reflection of the monster’s terrifying face.

“Okay,” Dean whispered, letting her stand straight. “At least if it gets to me or you, it’s toxin won’t work,” he reassured her, kissing the top of her head.

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve always been perfect to me, the one person I could lean on, the one person I knew would never lie to me, or do what Sam did… you’re-”

“Reliable, boring,” she finished for him, crossing her arms insecurely.

“Kind, trustworthy, and good,” he corrected firmly, “you still are, there’s nothing I’m keeping inside, nothing… bad… because you’ve never failed me.” She turned to face him, stomach fluttering, flustered by his steadfast reasonings.

“I can be stubborn and repetitive,” she reminded him, they’ve been angry at each other a few times in the past. Frustrated is the more correct word for it than angry. She didn’t want him to be wrong, or to end up making him feel bad if it worked on either of them.

“Caring and empathetic,” he corrected again, his hands sliding into the pockets of his black slacks. He stepped close to her and narrowed his eyes at her self-deprecating words. Oh, wow, she felt small, and hot, and wet. “Stop arguing with me, I’m older than you. That makes me always right,” he tried to lighten the mood, she smiled softly at him, and laughed.

“You’re right, I don’t think it’s toxin will work,” she agreed despite her doubts. Dean smiled, but tilted his head inquisitively. “You trusted it… or whatever… because it gave you the one thing you wanted most, a family, but now, you’ve got most of what you wanted back then, Sam’s not doin-”

“I don’t pay for therapy sessions, sweetheart,” he dismissed bashfully, slipping his hands out of his slacks to reach out for her hips and tug her towards him.

“Uh, well… there’s always sex,” she suggested seductively, locking her fingers together behind his neck. Dean leaned forward, his nose brushed against hers, and her eyes fluttered shut.

“Sex is pleasure, not business, sweetheart,” he murmured. She felt one of his hands fall from her hip, then she felt a rough, arousing spank on her ass. She yelped while he laughed and lifted her back up on the table. “I love you, you know that?” He asked softly, pressing kisses along her jawline.

“Yes,” she whispered, hooking her fingers on his belt loops to tug him closer between her legs. She wiggled around and got the pencil skirt high enough to let her spread her legs wider for him. Dean finally kissed her, his fingers slowly ghosting along the inside of her thighs, moving higher.

She moaned against his mouth, impatiently waiting for him to touch her where she needed him most. Dean’s kiss became steamier, he pressed closer into her mouth, tongue slowly gliding over hers.

“Can you feel how wet I am for you?” She mumbled when he panted for breath against her mouth. His fingers finally grazed her wet heat and he groaned, roughly burying a hand in her hair. He tugged at the soft locks of her hair and drew circles around her entrance before sliding his fingers up to her clit.

“We need to ditch Cas and Jack,” Dean murmured desperately, pulling his hand out from between her legs much to her dismay. Dean kissed her forehead softly.

“That’s mean,” she pouted jokingly, leaning back with her hands flat on the table.

“Okay, maybe I won’t ditch them, but… I’ll drop them off at the motel, there’s a place on the way,” he informed her, then sucked his fingers clean of her wetness.

“God, you look fuckable,” she giggled, gazing at him flirtatiously.

He flushed red—well, redder. “What?”

“It’s not a secret.” She shrugged casually, playing with his bright red tie. It only made him look hotter. Wickedly so.

“What isn’t?”

“That you look hot in suits,” she laughed, pulling his tie to bring him down for a quick kiss to emphasise her feelings.

“Really? You think so?” He laughed softly against her lips.

“Everyone knows that.”

“I don’t care about everyone, I’m asking about you.” He bit his lip, amused, and squeezed her thighs.

“Yes.”

“I’m ditching them, they’ve got wings,” Dean gave in. He took her hand, pulling her off the table. She quickly fixed her heels and skirt, following him as a zap of excitement coiled up her spine.

“Let me text them first!”

“Seriously? Here?” She laughed, unbuttoning her shirt as fast as she could while Dean fumbled and removed his belt. Dean stared up at her, smiling from ear to ear, and she rolled her eyes at him halfheartedly.

“It’s an abandoned mall’s parking lot,” he reasoned, lifting his hips up to shove his boxers and slacks down all at once. “No one’s finding us here,” he reassured her, hands impatiently roaming up her thighs to lift the tight pencil skirt.

“Like you care,” she teased him, moving forward on her knees. The cotton blanket he placed covered the leather booth-seat, silencing the typical squeak of leather beneath them. Dean spluttered and shrugged indifferently, pulling her shirt out of her skirt to shove his hands inside her bra, and pulled down so her breasts spilled out. She held the door of the Impala, squeezing hard beside his head, and started to lower herself down on him with her fingers curled around his cock.

Dean’s mouth fell open, and he closed his eyes, moaning her name softly. Her pussy clenched around him as she gazed down at his face, her heart stuttering in her chest. His eyes fluttered open, and he bit his plump lip, smirking at her—like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“Fuck,” she shuddered. Dean brought her closer, depositing wet kisses along her sternum and cleavage, all the while he gazed up at her from beneath his lashes. She could feel herself get wet around him, getting tighter, her breath hitching as she sank down lower and lower, taking every inch of him.

“You’re hot, too,” he whispered, “in heels, or naked, or in my bed, or… in my car, especially on my dick.” Dean grinned playfully, and cupped her breast, squeezing gently, his calloused palm created delicious friction against her nipple. “You make sexy faces, like the one I just made-”

“Oh, shut up,” she laughed, circling her hips once she’d sunk all the way down on his cock, his blunt fingernails digging into the flesh of her thigh.

“Really?” He teased breathlessly, bringing his two hands to her ass to squeeze and then slap roughly. She gasped and dropped her forehead on his, circling her hips excruciatingly slow. “I thought you liked it when I told you dirty stuff when we have sex. You know… like how badly I wanna cum when I see you every morning? It’s true, by the way,” he teased quietly, kissing her jaw, and bucked up into her pussy when she pushed herself up with her hands pressed against the window of the Impala.

“Drives you crazy, doesn’t it?” He asked, brushing her hair away from her face lovingly. “Sure drives me crazy. Ya know… your hot face, the… pretty sounds you make—all of you. The way you taste… all of you. The smell of your skin and your hair. All the dirty things you say.” She moaned softly, and Dean scooted up slightly, panting against her lips as she started to lift herself up and down again on his lap. “You have no idea how much I love you,” he whispered, his hands travelling along her sides.

“You have no idea how much I love you, Dean,” she laughed softly, cupping his cheeks. She tilted his head up and kissed him long, lips pressed firmly against his to pour every ounce of tenderness and love that flowered inside her heart, connecting the strands of her soul to his, and fusing her burning adoration for him like two colliding stars.

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soaringeag1e · 11 months

Text

Escape {69}

Detective!Dean x Victim!Reader

Warnings: Language, Fluff, Secrets

Words: 1,945

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist - Patreon

9 Months Later

A couple of quiet knocks gets Dean to look up from the picture frame in his hand and he smiles at the man in the doorway. Feeling even more at home with the familiar face.

“You settling in, okay?” Dean slowly begins to nod as he looks around the room. “Feel like you never left?” It’s then that Dean’s eyes look through the window to Bobby’s right, his smile fading a little.

“Kind of.”

“Yeah.” The elder breathes before taking a few more steps into the office.

“I’m surprised you never gave my office up.” he admits, setting the picture he was holding down on his desk.

“Well,” Bobby shrugs. “There was a part of me that knew you would be back.”

“What about the part that didn't know?” His father figure remains silent for a moment, seeming to think about the answer though Dean is sure he knows exactly what he was feeling.

“I thought that maybe you needed the out and that you might go and find something else that made you happy.” Hearing that warms Dean’s heart.

“What if I did?” he asks, just curious on what would happen if the last option actually happened.

“Well, then I would give your office up. Eventually.” They both share a light laugh. “That or turn it into a storage room.” Dean grins at his boss before setting another picture on his desk and then reaching back into the box to grab the next frame that needed a home in his office. "Well, you know where to find me if you need something." Bobby informs him as he slowly backs out of the room. "And uh…" he pauses, getting Dean to look at him. "Let's try not to get shot on our first day back, huh?" Despite the darkness of the past year, Dean’s able to chuckle at the joke. Grateful, Bobby grins and then leaves Dean to finish getting settled.

His smile grows a bit as he looks down at the picture in his hand, his thumb gently brushing over the woman in the white dress as he lets that good memory play in his head. Not long after, he sets the frame down, right where he knows he'll always be able to see it.

Continuing to empty his box, he gets everything set up the way he likes and then he takes a seat in his chair, the familiar comfort almost feeling new for how long he's been gone. As he looks across the office and his eyes land on his former partner's desk on the other side of the glass, Dean has to take a minute. He knew coming back wouldn't be easy but he also knew that Eddie wouldn't want him to give up his career because of what happened. Dean was good at what he did and he knew this is where he belonged despite losing an amazing partner and friend.

Deans eyes gently close and he inhales deeply through his nose. His attempt to push away his emotions isn't the greatest but it's enough for him to carry on with his day.

As his computer wakes up after its long slumber, Dean's surprised to see that everything was the same as he left it. Files were sitting in the same spot on his desktop, his background picture was still that of a Zeppelin concert he attended years before he got his badge. Bobby really left his space untouched.

Clicking on a few links, Dean waits patiently while some documents get uploaded on his computer. It's then that he catches his phone lighting up out of the corner of his eye, the notification getting him to grab the device and investigate more.

Movement was detected at his front door, the new doorbell camera working to its full potential. Though, after finding out that Cassidy tampered with the previous camera, it isn't that it didn't work, it's just that he had skills that Dean never knew about. It turned out that the day you had heard someone knocking on the door was in fact Cassidy testing out his plan and clearly it worked way too well.

As the little camera shows his front porch, Dean grins. His brother Sam stood there in a loose shirt and his infamous jogging pants. A few seconds later you had come into view wearing your jogging pants and a hot pink workout top, locking the door before looking into the camera and blowing a kiss.

"Love you."

His smile growing, Dean lightly presses the speaker button on his phone. "Love you too." You smile brightly knowing he has an eye on you and then the two of you turn to step off the porch. Sam takes a second to look into the camera himself, waving to his brother before he takes off jogging to catch up with you.

Knowing that you're safe with Sam, Dean is able to relax a bit more before he dives into his first day back at work.

The two of you would usually spend an average of thirty minutes on your morning jogs. It didn't happen everyday considering the fact that Sam had to work most mornings, but when you both had some free time, it was definitely on the to do list. Another must have was a pit stop on the way back home. A nice little coffee shop run by a sweet older couple that have lived in town since they were kids. You and Sam felt like family going in there every time you were able to go out and you loved it.

“Oh! And can you make that decaf, please?” Sam looks at you a little confused, though you don’t notice as you’re paying for the two drinks. But as the barista nods and then steps away to start your drinks, Sam clears his throat, watching you put your card away.

“Decaf?” As if you didn’t hear him, you then pulled your phone out checking to see if you’ve heard from Dean at all, but everything seemed quiet. “When do you get decaf?” After slipping your phone into the pocket on the side of your pants, you look up at your friend, shrugging softly.

“Since I don’t need the extra kick.” your smile widens a bit before you step around him, waiting at the far counter for your order to be done. But Sam? He’s stuck in his spot for a few more beats, his mind fast tracking through his years of knowing you before he spins on his heel and moves to the end of the counter with you.

“Hold on,” Placing his palm on the counter, he looks at you with doubt in his eyes. “I’ve seen you wired off your ass before and you’d still take some extra shots over decaf.” A soft sigh falls from your lips and you look away, watching the barista make your drink. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Sam.” You say with an annoyance already in your tone.

“Y/N…”

“Shit, Sam, I’m fine!” The little outburst has him pull back a bit, looking at you with concern and slight disbelief and that clearly deflates you. “I’m sorry. I’m just…I’m a little tired and I think when I get back home I’m going to take a nap, so I just don’t want any caffeine right now. It’s not a big deal.” It’s then that Sam’s drink is set up on the counter and he reaches for it, but none of that takes away the concern he has.

“You feeling alright though?”

“Yeah.” you answer in a whisper before reaching for your drink and thanking the team behind the counter.

“Hey,” Lightly grabbing your elbow, Sam’s face is soft, his expression even softer, almost heartbreakingly so. “You can tell me anything. You remember that, right?”

“Of course I do.” your voice is as gentle as his touch. Despite that response and the fact that you leaned in and kissed him on the cheek, something didn’t feel quite right. But he didn’t want to push you anymore than he already did. “Is it okay if we start heading back?”

“Sure.” Though still concerned, Sam nods and gives you a soft smile. One that disappears as you start to head for the door.

Unfortunately for you it wasn’t only Sam that could see something was going on with you. Over the next few days Dean had picked up on the slight differences in your behaviors as well. You expressed to him and Sam both that you were just tired. Maybe you were coming down with something or maybe you had some kind of bug that just knocked the energy out of you. Either way, Dean took care of you as such. He tried to let you rest as much as possible, even brought you food in bed to keep you from exerting yourself too much. He begged you to go see a doctor multiple times and it wasn’t until just the night before last that you had told him that you in fact went to see someone. The only thing he didn’t know now was the fact that you knew what was wrong with you. You just weren’t sure how to tell him.

So as the sun slowly rose, the bright orange beams coming through the blinds in the bedroom, Dean's fingers worked the buttons on his dress shirt. His eyes kept lifting to the mirror, catching sight of you sleeping peacefully under the covers behind him. He used to close the bathroom door while he got ready for work in the morning, but you usually couldn’t be disturbed, and if you were, he loved the sight of your sleepy self sitting up and smiling at him from the bed. Though that was always dangerous in itself because he would just want to call in on those days and climb back in bed with you.

Once his buttons were done and he fixed his collar, he doused himself with a little cologne and then turned to leave the room. Slipping his dress jacket off the hanger, he slowly makes his way towards the bed, smiling softly as your face comes into view.

“I love your cologne.” your voice barely makes it out of the blankets, but it’s enough for him to hear.

“I didn’t think I put that much on.” A low moan escapes as you stretch under the covers. “Is it too much?” You disagree with a light shake of your head and a low grumble.

“It’s perfect.” you smile up at him as he sits at the edge of the bed and leans over you. A deep gravelly hum rolls up his chest just as his lips meet yours.

“How are you feeling?” he asks in between kisses and you answer in the same way.

“A little better.”

“Yeah?” Kissing you once more, this one lasts a little longer before he pulls away and just looks into your eyes. “Have you heard back from the doctor yet?”

“Not yet.” you lie as best you can, feeling guilty for not telling him the truth, but you aren’t ready to tell him. You can see how much it’s bothering him, especially after that last answer. He’s clearly concerned and of course looks worried which makes you feel worse.

“Maybe you should call them? Check in with ‘em.”

“I can try.” you lie again, hoping it’ll make him feel a little better. You can tell he’s pleased with your answer but that fear won't go away until you tell him what’s going on. The unknown is always a scary place, but sometimes the known can be just as scary.

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ninii-winchester · 3 months

Text

Deepest Desire

Pairing : Dean Winchester X Reader

Word count : 2k

Warnings : angst, heartbreak, feelings of betrayal, alcohol, strong language, spoilers. Unedited.

A/n : This is a Supernatural x Lucifer crossover fic. I’ve only ever watched a few episodes of Lucifer. This is a work of fiction, I don’t own Supernatural or Lucifer. They belong to CW and Netlfix respectively.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO COPY MY WORK, TRANSLATE IT OR POST IT TO ANY OTHER PLATFORM. REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED.

Another day, another hunt. But it was nothing crazy. With Chuck being gone things are as normal as they could be. Y/n's friend had called in for help and she was happy to go. On her way back to the Bunker, her car stopped abruptly and wouldn't start. She slammed her hand on the steering wheel before calling Dean, filling him in on the situation.

"If only you'd let me take baby I would've been home by now." She groaned over the phone and she heard him laugh on the other side.

"My bad, sweetheart. You can take it next time." He chuckled before he added, "I'll be in an hour tops okay? Get some place safe."

"Yeah I see a bar its uh.. 'the tipsy tavern' I'll be there."

She hung up the phone and made her way towards the bar. It wasn't too far from where her car stopped, just a walking distance. She went inside and it was, well, typically how a bar is. She scanned the place thoroughly, her eyes landing on a woman with blond hair. She seemed troubled. She kept looking over her shoulder, continuously fidgeting with her hands.

Y/n walked up to her and slid in the stool beside her. The woman slightly jumped at the action and it didn't go unnoticed by her.

"Hey are you okay?" Y/n asked her, the woman eyed her cautiously before nodding.

"I'm fine." She replied curtly.

"Are you sure? You seem distressed." Y/n pressed hoping she could help somehow. The woman sighed, looking at her.

"You’d think I’m crazy."

"Try me." Y/n said mentally scoffing, what could this woman tell her that would be more unbelievable than what she deals with on a daily basis.

"I'm not from here."

"So you're a foreigner, are you lost?" Y/n questioned.

"No you don't understand." The woman seemed frustrated. "My name is Chloe Decker, I'm a detective." She said and Y/n nodded, urging her to continue. "I'm from LA. But this isn't my world." Chloe didn't know what it was about the woman infront of her that made her want to trust her.

"Your world?" Before Chloe could answer a man in a black suit takes a seat on the side side of Chloe.

"Well hello there. Made a new friend, did we detective?" The man spoke in a British accent.

"This is uh.." Chloe trailed off not knowing her name so Y/n quickly told her name. "This is Y/n." The man opened his mouth to say something but Y/n interrupted him.

"What do you mean this isn't your world?" She questioned.

"Well you see darlin' we were on a case, an then an explosion went off and we were here. I can feel the change in the cosmic energy around us." The man spoke.

"How do you feel the cosmic energies?" Y/n questioned the man.

"My bad lady, I didn't introduce myself. I'm Lucifer Morningstar." He said with a smooth voice.

"You're Lucifer? Like the devil Lucifer?" She questioned.

"Yes." He replied. "The devil Lucifer."

"That can't be." She said mostly to herself.

"I know it sounds implausible but-"

"You're dead. We killed you this isn't possible. You're not Lucifer. You can't be." She whisper yelled at the man who claimed to be Lucifer.

Chloe looked back and forth between Lucifer, the smirk on his face was long gone and it was morphed into a serious expression,

"Can we rewind back to when she said we killed you'." He said looking at Chloe who seemed even more troubled. "Who even are you?"

"God, this day couldn't get any worse." Y/n sighed. The trio had now shifted to a table for four. Chloe sat beside Lucifer and Y/n infront of him. She had foregone the glass and was now directly drinking from the bottle of whiskey. She needed as much as alcohol she could to process this.

"So, you're telling me, you hunt monsters and Lucifer of this universe was locked in a cage in Hell and then your..boyfriend's brother let him out and he wreaked havoc so you pushed him back inside and later killed him when he came back?" Chloe asked tasting the words on her mouth because it sounds absurd when said out loud.

"I know it sounds weird when you put it like that but yeah." Y/n said with humorless chuckle. "You weren't locked?" She asked Lucifer.

"No, Father just kicked me out from Heaven, I ruled Hell for a while but then I got bored so I came to Earth and I'm detective's partner now."

"Wow, so you're not a dick like he was. Our universe's Lucifer should've learned a thing or two from you." She scoffed. "Anyways, so if you have your mojo you can't teleport yourself back to your universe?"

"Mojo?" Chloe questioned.

"His powers." Y/n clarified and the former nodded.

"You I haven't actually tried if they're working." Lucifer admitted.

"Bit slow, aren't you?" Y/n sassed Chloe snorted, she found it amusing, this woman is sassing the devil himself.

"You seem so unbothered it's like it's just another Tuesday for you." Chloe commented and Y/n muttered a small 'tell me about it'. Her phone buzzed in her pocket and she answered call the call. It was Dean.

"Hey I'm almost here. I saw your car and I'm heading to the bar now." He said.

"Alright cool. See you soon." She said hanging up. She looked at the couple infront of her. "Dean's here, I'll ask him if we can help you somehow."

"Thank you so much, Y/n." Chloe said gratefully smiling at her. The former nodded and mumbled a quick, 'I'll be back' before leaving the bar.

She waited a few minutes before she saw the black Impala pulling up. She watched her boyfriend get out the car and she made her way towards him.

"Hey gorgeous." He cupped her cheeks and pulled her in for a kiss. "I could've come get you inside. You didn't have to wait outside." He said against her lips. She pulled away and bit her lip. Dean groaned as he recognised her expression.

~~~

"So you're telling me this Lucifer is British." Dean said looking at his girlfriend incredulously. The two of them had went inside and Y/n took her previous seat while Dean took one beside her.

"That's all you gathered from what I've told you?" Y/n asked her boyfriend and he shurgged. "Anyways, they need our help and i think we should help him."

"Really? You want to help the dick that possessed Sam and almost killed all of us twice?" Dean snapped. Lucifer seemed offended but he didn't comment.

"De, he's not him. That asshole is dead." Y/n added. Dean rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair, his gaze scrutinising Lucifer. He then looked at Chloe who seemed helpless and then at his girlfriend who was sporting a pout.

"Fine." Dean sighed. "We'll help, but that doesn't mean I trust you." He warned the devil who raised his hands in surrender.

"Lucifer why don't you see if your mojo works in this universe as well?" Y/n suggested. Lucifer closed his eyes doing God knows what.

"Woah woah stop." Dean said to Lucifer, then turned to Y/n, "What if he's as juiced up as the one we encountered and blows up the place?"

"You're right, I guess." Chloe chimed in and turned to her partner, "why don't you do the thing?" She said to him and he smirked, it's clearly something he loves doing.

"The thing?" Y/n questioned.

"It's nothing harmful. I promise." Chloe replied.

"Y/n dear." Lucifer calls her and she looks at him, he leans a bit towards her making Dean's protective side take over.

"Hey back off." Dean growled but Chloe put a hand over his arm.

"Its okay." She reassured him.

"Tell me Y/n, what is it that you truly desire?" Lucifer asked but his smirk dropped.

"Am I supposed to feel anything or should I just tell you?" She questions.

"This usually works." Lucifer says. "I think I don't have my powers here."

"What were you even trying to do?" Dean questions.

"He can read into people's heart, find their deepest darkest desires." Chloe answers. "Things that you never tell anyone."

"Well maybe it didn't work because I don't have a secret desire." Y/n commented making Lucifer and Chloe look at her in disbelief.

"Everyone has something they desire." He retorted. "Things they never tell anyone."

"I agree but mine isn't hidden or a big secret, for me its Dean." She shrugged. "My deepest desire is to have a normal life with him a house, family, kids, the whole nine yards." She spoke as if it wasn't a big deal and Dean swore he felt himself fall for her all over again. He pecked her temple and Chloe gushed at them.

"Interesting." Lucifer commented.

"If you can feel the cosmic energy around here I'm sure you have your powers. Why don't you try it on Dean?" Y/n suggested.

"I think she's right." Chloe added.

Lucifer faced Dean and the latter shifted a bit under his observing gaze. "Tell me Dean, what is it that you truly desire?" He questioned the Winchester and Y/n watched in anticipation awaiting his answer. A few seconds passed before he answered and nothing could've prepared her for Dean's answer.

"Amara." That one was enough for Y/n's world to come crashing down on her. She felt herself tear up but she cleared her throat before speaking.

"Well at least your still have your powers." Chloe could hear the heartbreak in her voice and gave her a sympathetic look. Lucifer, who found this situation amusing, asked,

"Who's Amara?" Dean sucked in a sharp breath, glaring at the man in front of him, who just smirked in return. What could you expect from him, he's the Devil after all.

"Your Aunt." Y/n snapped unintentionally.

"Why, must you be this childish?" He asked, feeling offended.

"No literally. Amara is God's sister, the darkness. She was here a while back before we locked her up." Y/n explained her voice void of any emotion.

"I've never heard of her. She didn't exist in my universe." Lucifer replied. He pinched the bridge of his nose before adding, "one thing I've realised you lot's universe is way fucked than ours."

"I'll call Sam and ask if we know a way to open a portal to another universe. Excuse me." Y/n said getting up from her chair and walking out the bar. Dean immediately trailing behind her.

"Baby, Y/n." He called out for her but she didn't stop. She let tears fall free now that she wasn't in front of a crowd. "Sweetheart listen to me." He caught up with and turned her to look at him. He hated seeing her cry and hated it even more when he was the reason for her tears. "I can explain, please just..-"

"What's there to explain, Dean?" She cried. She harshly wipes her tears. "Do you want to add salt to wound, tell me it's pitiful that you don't want me as much as I want you?" She let out a sarcastic laugh. "You know what I realised?" She asked rhetorically. "It's always something before me, your car, Sam, Amara, hunting. I'm probably the last thing you need in your life." The moment she said that Dean felt like someone had shot him in the heart.

"No baby, don't say that." Dean begged holding her close. "It's not true. I want you more than anything in this entire world." She scoffed before pulling away from him.

"I need to call Sam. Even if he's been harmless until now, we don't need another Lucifer prancing around our world." She put some distance between them before calling Sam.

"Harmless, my ass." Dean muttered as he kicked the dirt on the road.

He needed to make this right, he wouldn't be able to live if he ever lost her and he needs her to know that. He has to make it right and he will be damned if he didn't.

Part 2

244 notes · View notes

zepskies · 9 months

Text

Smoke Eater - Part 18

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader

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

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

🔥 Series Masterlist

Word Count: 4,000 Tags/Warnings: Angst, fluff, brief mentions of the events of Part 13, some ADA Sam, Detective John, and a cliffhanger…

Part 18: “V for Vendetta”

After that first rocky month, Dean started to improve physically, and so did you emotionally, as he tried his best to let you help him when he needed it.

In turn, you did your best to gauge his moods; when he truly did need help, and when it was best for you to just be his girlfriend, not his caretaker.

January rolled onwards, and the resulting winter cold snap brought a kind of calm before a storm. Nick Savage still hadn’t been found, but that didn’t mean your worries were over.

Dean knew that this would hang over all of your heads until both Nick and his father were caught and exposed.

Today Dean walked with Sam on his day off, doing a few laps around the neighborhood as part of Dean’s rehab. They knew a police car was stationed nearby, watching them for their safety. It was a bit unnerving, but necessary.

They were walking back into the building when Sam stopped to check the mail. The box for their unit was along the wall in the corridor with several other locked boxes. Sam unlocked theirs and pulled out a rolled-up newspaper, some coupons, and a stray folded note addressed to Dean. Sam’s brows furrowed.

“What’s that, a love note?” Dean asked dryly. He took it from Sam and unfolded the scrap of paper.

20579. Your badge will join your dad’s on the wall.

Both the Fire Department headquarters and the 84th Precinct had a wall to commemorate firefighters and officers who had given their lives in the line of duty. Each of their badges had their own display plaque hung on the respective walls.

In short, the note was a threat.

Sam’s worried frown deepened as he watched Dean’s good mood evaporate. He crumpled up the note and pocket it, before he met his younger brother’s eyes.

“Keep this between us,” he warned. As in, don’t tell you.

Sam shook his head. “Dad needs to know, at least. And you two need to be careful.”

“That goes for you and Eileen too,” Dean replied. He reached for Sam’s shoulder and squeezed. “Don’t matter that you’re an ADA. Azazel goes after cops and their families. He’s gonna be gunning for an opportunity to get to one of us.”

Sam’s lips pressed together, but he acknowledged that with a nod.

They went back upstairs together, where you were dressed casually and gathering up your purse.

“Heading out somewhere?” Dean asked. Sam shot him a glance, which Dean silently answered with a short nod. He looked back at you when you offered him a smile.

“Yep, we need a few things. Milk, eggs, more Twizzlers, apparently,” you quipped, lightly smacking his stomach. Dean quirked a smile.

“Give me a sec. I’ll go with you,” he said.

You made an uncertain sound. “Didn’t you just get back from a walk? You sure you don’t just want to shower up and relax?”

“I’m good,” said Dean. He knew you didn’t like the idea of him overexerting himself, but he didn’t feel comfortable letting you go out alone. He could tell by the look Sam once again threw his way from the kitchen that he didn’t think it was a good idea either.

Dean slid a hand up your arm. “How about this. I’ll stay in the car. I just want some more fresh air.”

You tilted your head at him, but you conceded. He followed you to the door and held it open for you.

“Can I drive?” Dean hedged.

You chuckled. “Don’t push it, Lieutenant.”

On the way back from the grocery store, you discreetly eyed Dean’s profile. His knee was bouncing as he stared out the window.

Sometimes he checked the rearview mirror of your Camaro. Sometimes he fiddled with the radio or checked his phone.

It was all nervous behavior you took a catalogue of. By the time you pulled back into the parking lot of Dean’s apartment building, he finally seemed to relax a fraction. You parked the car and turned to him.

“Okay, what’s the matter?” you asked.

Dean gave you a curious look, but there was an unmistakable tension in his demeanor.

“What do you mean?”

You tried your question a different way. “What’s got you all on edge?”

He didn’t seem to want to answer at first.

“Dean,” you prodded. “Does it have something to do with why you insisted on coming with me, even though I can see that you’re tired?”

His face tightened, but he reached over for your hand. Your fingers curled around his. Now you were getting worried.

“We’ve got the police watching us here, but anything could happen out there,” Dean said. “Until this blows over, I don’t think you should go out by yourself.”

Until this blows over. You wanted to ask when that would be, but you knew he wouldn’t be able to give you an answer.

“Zachariah called me this morning,” you admitted. “He’s standing in for Nick as CEO. He said I have a job waiting for me when I get off medical leave next week. Everyone’s been working from home since the fire, but we’d be going to a new building the company owns downtown.”

Dean tightened up, just like you knew he would. His eyes closed as his head tilted back against the headrest. He let out a long breath through his nose. You stayed quiet, both waiting for what he might say and preparing for him to get upset.

He surprised you by calmly looking over at you again.

“It’s not a good idea. If Nick’s still alive, it means his dad probably knows you know who he is,” he said. “And not for nothin’. Even with Nick out of there, that place’s probably been built on blood money.”

Both were fair points.

“I know. I’m going to find something else, as soon as you’re better,” you said. Dean shook his head and held your hand tighter.

“Don’t let me be an excuse,” he said. His gaze was firm and direct meeting yours. “I need you to start taking care of yourself too, all right? Please.”

Faced with his earnestness, you couldn’t help but soften. After everything he’d done to save you, to protect you, was it fair of you to keep making him worry?

In the past, you’d felt justified. You couldn’t quit. You needed the money. You could handle it, whatever came next. You would deal with it because you had to.

But maybe this time, you didn’t have to. It wasn’t worth all this.

With that resolve, you let out a breath.

“I’m going to call Zachariah,” you said, “and tell him that I’m working from home, or I quit.”

Dean stared back at you with a measure of surprise.

“I’m not going back,” you said, squeezing his hand. “If he has a problem with that, I’ll use whatever I have left in my savings. Hopefully that’ll be enough until I find a new job.”

After a moment, Dean expelled a breath of relief. He beckoned you over, and carefully as you could over the upholstery, you leaned over and caressed his cheek before you went in for a kiss. He welcomed you, with his hands slipping up your sides and around your back, pressing you into him with a heady warmth.

He paused against your lips after a while. His forehead rested against yours.

“You don’t need to drain your savings. I can help you,” Dean started to say, but you pulled back and held your fingers to his lips.

“You’ve helped me enough. You’re already letting me live with you rent free,” you pointed out. “Let me figure out the rest.”

After a moment, Dean wordlessly agreed. He wanted to argue that you wouldn’t have had to move in with him if not for Azazel putting you in his sights, but at the same time, Dean understood that you’d been providing for yourself for a long time. He respected you for it.

So he just guided you back to him for another slow kiss.

John Winchester owned a condo approximately 20 minutes from his sons’ apartment. It was the home they’d grown up in after the house fire, over thirty years ago.

John had learned a lot since then. In fact, some might say that he’d become a paranoid bastard.

Aside from a professional alarm system, he’d installed hidden cameras inside and out of his home, and at every window. It meant that even when he was asleep, his eyes were never truly closed.

When the intruder took his first steps into John’s bedroom, the man himself was waiting with a gun cocked and loaded. The safety clicking back made a small sound, but in the silence, it might as well have been a gunshot.

The masked man swiftly turned and ducked, throwing a punch. The scuffle that followed was quick and covered by darkness.

The cameras on “Night Mode” picked up every moment.

And that was how John later showed video evidence of Alastair Rolston breaking into his condo, and subsequently getting his ass handed to him.

Both men had their fair share of bruises, but at the end of the day, Alastair was the one cuffed to a chair in the bowels of the 84th Precinct. He sat beside his court-appointed lawyer.

Meanwhile, Cas watched the scene from behind the one-way glass window of the interrogation room. Rufus Turner, their Lieutenant, was beside him, along with ADA Sam Winchester. He watched the man his father questioned very carefully.

“Well, I think you know what this means, Mr. Rolston,” John drawled.

Alastair’s stance in the chair was relaxed, almost unfazed. He gave the detective a wry smile.

“What’s that, John?” he asked.

“I’ve got you dead to rights on attempted murder of a cop,” said John. “It ain’t a good look, my friend.”

“Don’t answer that,” said the lawyer. Alastair glanced at the man, unimpressed, to say the least.

“No fucking shit,” he replied.

“I’d say you’ve got two options,” John pressed forward. He leaned on the table between him and Alastair.

“Did Azazel…excuse me, Daniel Savage, put you up to this? You can answer that question, or I could just skip to the part where you sit in a cell for 20 to life.”

Alastair’s face gave away nothing but calculation and amusement. John nodded, with a grim smile.

“I’ll bet you set the fire at Savage & Co. Trying to get Nick to look like a victim in all this—the consequence of doing business with the likes of Azazel,” he said. “Better yet, I think you’re his favorite hitman. Clean, precise, no tracks left behind, no traces of evidence. Perfect kills. I’ll bet you consider yourself a goddamn artist.”

Alastair lifted his gaze, and John saw the familiar depths of a killer.

“I don’t like setting fires,” said Alastair.

John was nonplussed. “I’m sure you don’t.”

The other man rolled his shoulders.

“It’s all very…messy, you see. Unpredictable.” A smile graced his lips. “But I know someone who does.”

“He’ll give you his employer,” the lawyer said. “The person who ordered the hit.”

“Which hit?” John arched a brow. “I can’t be the only special one. What about Paul Richardson, Jerry Stillwell, Amanda Waller?”

The lawyer shared a look with his client. Alastair rolled his eyes and leaned over to whisper in his ear. After a moment, the lawyer nodded and met John’s gaze.

“He’ll tell you what you want to know, but only for a blanket deal of immunity.”

John could’ve guessed. Alastair smiled once more and leaned back in his seat.

The detective held up a finger and exited the interrogation room. He met Sam’s gaze, and the latter already knew what his father was thinking.

"Give me a minute," Sam said. He went into the room and tried to negotiate with Alastair and his lawyer, but the man wouldn't accept a plea of 20 to 25 years, even to serve all the murders they could charge him with concurrently. Nor would he accept 15 to 20, or even Sam's best deal: 10 to 12.

Sam exited the room and hid his discouragement. He met his father's waiting gaze.

“We can’t give him immunity,” Sam said. “He’s likely the one who committed Azazel’s hits. Not just for the past six months, but for God knows how long, and how many bodies.”

“At this point, it’s the only way we’re getting a chance at Daniel Savage,” John said. “Not just finding him, but pinning him as the mastermind behind the whole operation. Drug trafficking, arson, murders…the whole thing, Sam.”

Sam didn’t like it. No one did, for that matter, but even Rufus heaved a sigh.

“You can’t move forward without a trigger finger willing to testify,” he said.

“Yeah, because hitmen make notoriously credible witnesses,” Sam retorted.

“Do think he set the fires as well?” Cas asked John. “He seemed to imply that he committed the murders, but not the arson.”

John hummed in contemplation.

“We’ll find out. But first, I want a confirmed name from the horse’s mouth,” he said, shifting his attention to Sam. “Can you get me that, son?”

Sam’s lips pursed.

Within an hour, the paperwork was drawn and the plea deal was arranged. Father and son sat side by side on one side of the interrogation room, while Alastair and his lawyer sat on the other. Alastair finished signing the final document as the cuffs on his wrists jangled.

“All right,” said John. “Tell me what I want to know.”

Alastair smiled and spread his hands as wide as he was able.

“I’m an open book, Johnny. Ask away.”

John leaned forward.

“Let’s start with this,” he said. “Who ordered you to kill me?”

Nick Savage was unearthed from a luxury apartment in the south of France. He was extradited back the United States and hauled into a courtroom in Lawrence, Kansas for arraignment.

Sam Winchester was the prosecutor on the case. As luck would have it, one of his favorite judges was also assigned for this docket.

“What do we have here?” asked Judge Devereaux. He was a portly man, short and graying, with square black glasses that framed his perpetually surly face. The man now adjusted his glasses so he could read the slip of paper the clerk had just handed to him after reading off the docket.

The charges included four counts of murder in the first degree: the murders-for-hire, enacted by Alastair Rolston.

Followed by attempted murder in the first degree, ten counts of murder in the second degree (those who had lost their lives in the most recent building fire), conspiracy to commit murder, arson, and if that weren’t enough, a charge each of attempted sexual assault and sexual harassment.

When the last two charges were read out loud in the courtroom, Nick looked visibly angry.

Sam glanced over at the defendant with thinly veiled satisfaction. Some days, it was difficult for him to come to work.

Today was not that day.

“All right, that is a laundry list of potential misdeeds,” Judge Deveraux remarked. He looked up at Nick Savage. “How does the defendant plead?”

At the prodding of his lawyer, Amelia Richardson, Nick spoke up.

“Not guilty,” he said. Though he rolled his eyes, as if this was a waste of his time.

“What’s the deal here, Mr. Winchester?” Judge Devereaux asked.

“The primary charge is a murder-for-hire, your Honor,” Sam replied. “Mr. Savage hired a hitman to murder at least five people, and succeeded with four. He also masterminded several arsons. This includes a fire at his own company building, which claimed the lives of ten people and injured several others. This is all part of a larger connection to organized crime, which the People intend to prove in our case. Due to the nature of the charges, and the defendant clearly being a flight risk, we seek his remand to custody without bail.”

The judge raised his brows. He turned to the defendant’s lawyer.

“What about it, Miss Richardson?”

Amelia shot Sam a glance, but she replied to the judge.

“What we have here is a conflict of interest, your Honor,” she said. “Detective John Winchester has a vendetta against my client. Therefore, Mr. Winchester should recuse himself. It’s a family affair, Judge, and they have no evidence for any of these charges, except for the testimony of a confessed murderer.”

“It’s called prosecutorial discretion,” Sam cut in. “Our evidence goes beyond Mr. Rolston’s testimony and will more than support our case. I’ve also tried my father’s cases before, your Honor. This defendant is no different.”

The judge peered closer at the docket with incredulous eyes.

“Except for the fact that one of the attempted murders was on your father. John Winchester?” Judge Devereaux actually chuckled. “Oh, Mr. Savage. Many have tried and failed on that regard.”

“Judge,” Amelia tried, but Devereaux waved her off. Sam took in that small victory without giving anything away outwardly. The fact that John was on the docket as a “victim” was easily Sam’s biggest challenge in this arraignment, but he just couldn’t hand this off to another prosecutor.

“And what’re these last charges about?” the judge asked.

“Mr. Savage attempted to sexually assault one of his employees at a company Christmas party in the defendant’s home, your Honor,” Sam replied. His gaze once again cut over to Nick, who glared back at him with a sneer.

“That’s a goddamn lie!” Nick shouted.

Amelia grabbed his arm and tried to shut him up, but Nick jerked out of her grasp.

“Put a gag on your client or I will, Miss Richardson,” Devereaux warned with a deepening frown.

“Hey,” Amelia hissed a whisper, grabbing the sleeve of Nick’s suit jacket this time. “Get it together and shut your mouth. Remember where you are.”

He ignored her to try and speak to the judge himself.

“That bitch tased me. Did she tell you that?” Nick levied Sam a look, before he turned back to Devereaux. “Yeah, she assaulted me, Judge. So that charge is fucking bogus.”

“I’ve heard quite enough!” Devereaux snapped. He raised his gavel and slammed it down loud enough for Nick to flinch. “The defendant is remanded to custody, without bail.”

It was more satisfying than John would admit.

While the development wasn’t exactly what he had expected, having Daniel Savage’s son dragged out of his new prison home to sit in another musty holding cell was the highlight of the new year.

This was the poor excuse for a man who’d given him such a headache these past few months. This was the little shit that nearly got his son killed, and who’d been terrorizing you for months, if not years.

But he would be a means to an end.

“I’ll tell ya what, Nick. You don’t look like a man that could organize a handful of murders and arsons, but here we are,” John said.

He scratched the back of his head and sat on the corner of the desk. Sam was seated across from Nick, and Cas was hanging back within the cell, watching the exchange (and watching Nick’s reactions for any tells).

On the other side sat Nick himself, dressed down in his gray prison garb. It was a far cry from the $5,000 suit he wore in the arraignment. Next to him was his lawyer, Amelia Richardson.

“Is there a question in there somewhere?” she asked. She shot Sam a glance.

They had dated in law school for a few months. It had ended abruptly when her husband returned from Afghanistan. It had been a shock to both of them, since the man had been presumed dead.

Clearly, Sam had moved on since then. He was happier with Eileen than he ever was, but he could tell that Amelia had never quite recovered from the “what could’ve been” of their relationship.

Still, Sam had set all that aside the moment he stepped into this room. He watched his father work.

“Why did you set fire to your own building?” John asked.

He’d expected Nick to be more explosive with his denials, but the man was quietly simmering, like he just wanted the questioning to be over. It reminded John of when his sons were teenagers. Maybe he hadn’t been the perfect father, but intuition was telling him something…

“You didn’t do it, did you?” John mused. “At least, not that fire.”

It was interesting, however, that Alastair had pinned the Savage & Co. fire on the son—that Nick had started it himself, along with the other arsons. Alastair had just been the muscle, committing the murders and the brandings on the victims.

John wasn’t so sure he believed that. He leaned in a bit and gave Nick a wry smile.

“Did Daddy do that one for ya?” he asked.

At that, Nick held firm. “My father has nothing to do with this.”

Hmm, a bit of familial loyalty? Maybe trying to prove himself, John detected. How far is he willing to go to protect his dad?

“So you did do it, along with the other arsons,” John said.

“Are you trying to get him to confess without a plea deal?” Amelia snarked.

“I’m trying to figure out how badly this kid wants to stay out of jail for the rest of his life,” John said.

“I’m not a fucking kid,” Nick grumbled.

“If you have something for us on Daniel Savage, then we’re willing to listen,” Sam added. “Do you really want to spend the rest of your life in jail?”

Nick crossed his arms, clearly uncooperative.

Sam narrowed his gaze. “This is your last chance, Nick.”

“You don’t have anything on me except for the word of a murdering felon,” Nick retorted. “I’ll beat this trial in a few months and I’ll be out free…but if you really want to know, I’ll let you in on a little something.”

He leaned in, meeting John’s eyes.

“Dad retaliates,” said Nick. “I think you know that best of all, Detective. This time, I think it’s one son for another. And you’ve got two to pick from.”

“Nick,” Amelia warned, but he ignored her.

He glanced at a carefully stoic Sam before he smirked in John’s face, which had become devoid of all humor and revealed the stoniness underneath.

“If I were a betting guy, I’d put my money on the one that had a fucking building fall on him.”

After leaving the county jail, John drove Sam and Cas back to his sons’ apartment. They couldn’t treat Nick’s warning as an idle threat.

Sam was the prosecutor on the case. He wasn’t willing to step down, so the best they could do for him was give him a police security detail that would have to be with him at all times. However, all three men agreed that you, Dean, and Eileen needed to be put in protective custody during the trial.

“Damn it, Dean,” Sam muttered. His brother wasn’t answering his cell.

“Try him again,” said John.

“Is Eileen still at work?” Cas asked.

“Yeah, but she’s talking to the principal now about a temporary replacement for her classes,” Sam replied. He was worried about her safety, but he was also worried about you and Dean. Neither of you were answering your cell phones.

He later let John and Cas into his apartment, where all looked normal and clean.

“Dean!” Sam called out. He was just about to search the apartment when the man came out of his room, looking freshly showered.

“Hey, what’s up?” said Dean. “The gang’s all here, huh?”

“I’ve been calling you for an hour. Where’ve you been?” Sam asked in annoyance, though it was edged with a hint of more that tipped off Dean.

He sensed the tension in the room between his brother, his father, and his friend. He frowned.

“I had a doctor’s appointment. Why?”

John explained the latest round of questioning with Nick Savage, and his most recent threat. John asked where you were right now, if not in the apartment. Dean’s expression shifted to one of worry as he went to find his cell phone.

“She had a job interview,” he admitted, scrolling through his phone to find your name. “She couldn’t reschedule it, else she would’ve gone with me.”

He’d been uneasy about you going to the interview by yourself, but you hadn’t wanted him to change his appointment, and you had assured him it was only a few minutes away…

Dean held the phone to his ear and waited what felt like an eternity as it rang.

Pick up. Pick up, damn it.

Finally, the line connected.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted…but you didn’t answer.

“You there?” he asked. There was a pit forming in his stomach when he glanced up at John. His father met his gaze with furrowed brows that betrayed concern.

The line was silent for one more painful moment. Dean opened his mouth to call out to you again, but a smooth voice interrupted.

“Dean, Dean, Dean,” a man replied. “Forgetting something?”

AN: 🫣 Sorry lol.

But the next chapter will bring the final showdown...

Next Time:

Dean’s heart began to pound. His mouth parted, but for a moment, the words wouldn’t escape.

“Who is this?” he said. His voice was a hint unsteady.

“I think you know, son,” the man replied.

Keep Reading: PART 19

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

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