#spencer just wants a dilly bar for fucksake

[beware-of-you-98]

Ice Cream (BAU Family Fluff Fic)

BAU fam getting ice cream on a road trip featuring Hotch being a disgruntled dad, Emily being a rebellious little shit, Derek being an annoying big brother, Spencer just existing (seriously, all he wants is a Dilly Bar for god sake!!), Penelope egging them on, JJ being a sweet baby angel and Rossi being the only sane one in this entire fic

ao3 link

Aaron Hotchner loosely grips the wheel of the SUV, briefly looking in his rear view mirror to check on the rest of the team and ensure they're ready for the nearly two hour drive back to the jet (and to make sure they're buckled because, well, it's the dad in him that wants to check.)

Derek sits directly behind him, buckled up and lounging back comfortably in his seat. His earbuds are in, and no doubt his music is on full blast to drown out the rest of the team crammed into the van.

Penelope sits in behind the passenger's seat on her iPad, a set of thick, chunky headphones plugged into the device. She's buckled, immersed in whatever game she must be playing.

Directly behind her in the very back is JJ, who has her chin resting on her palm as she looks out the window even if the van isn't in motion yet.

Buckled.

Spencer sits in the middle at the very back, his long legs stretched out between Derek and Penelope. He has a thick, worn book in his hand, his finger gliding quickly down the pages as he takes in the words. ("Yes, he really can read that fast," Hotch often has to tell skeptics. "Yes, he can really process all that information. No, he's not a robot.") By the speed the young profiler is reading, Hotch knows that he'll be done with that book by the time they make it to the jet.

Buckled.

Sitting just behind Derek is Emily. She leans her head against a pillow she must have somehow smuggled in the back (Hotch also thinks it's entirely possible JJ gave her travel pillow to Emily, but none of that really matters.) The brunette is struggling to keep her eyes open, will probably be out as soon as the van is in motion.

Not buckled.

"Emily, put your seatbelt on," Hotch reminds her patiently.

Emily grumbles, grouchily reaching behind her. "You put your seatbelt on," she mutters, laying her head back down on the pillow.

Hotch let's the comment slide because he hears the click of her belt buckle.

He turns to briefly check on Rossi, whose sitting beside him in the passenger's seat. He's designated himself as the  map reader, the large square piece of paper folded out on his lap. (Hotch doesn't really think they need a map because they have a GPS right there but whatever. He'll let Dave do what the hell he wants.)

"Everyone ready to go?"

A chorus of "yes" and affirmative hums (and a disgruntled grumble from Emily) is all the motivation Hotch needs to start up the van and head out for the long trip they have to make back to the jet.

The highway is lit up harshly under the bright, unforgiving Arizona sunlight, heatwaves practically radiating from the asphalt. The air conditioning is on full blast in the van, providing semblance of relief from the harsh  and unforgiving heat. The van is sandwiched between the desert landscapes, long, green cacti and orange canyons towering like giants in the sand. Despite the time of day, the flat roads are virtually clear, sparse amount of other vehicles littering the highway.

Spencer looks up from his book after forty-seven minutes of straight reading, using his finger to mark his place. He brings up his other hand, uses the back of it to wipe his eyes as he yawns. He stiffly stretches his limbs, blinking hard as he stares out the bright windshield.

He focuses his attention up ahead on a blue highway guide sign, eyes scanning through the fast food and gas station logos without much thought. His eyes light up, though, when he spots a white square, signature red lip shaped logo stamped in the middle. "Hotch, there's a Dairy Queen at the exit coming up in the next five miles!"

"I saw that," Hotch says with a nod, using a tone much like he would with Jack when his son would bring him something the boy deemed really interesting. It's a tone that suggests the unit chief is listening, but has other things preoccupied on his mind. Probably getting the team to the jet on time.

But Arizona is hot. Unbearably hot. Like, if Spencer didn't consider himself a very logical man of science, he would swear his skin would melt off his bones hot. Even with the air conditioning on full blast, the sun's rays are completely and totally unforgiving and heat up the inside of the van like it's a god damned toaster oven.

A frozen treat from Dairy Queen, honestly, a Dilly Bar, sounded so perfect right now.

Spencer's mouth waters at the thought. "Can we get ice cream?"

"Reid, we're on a schedule," Hotch reminds the young profiler patiently. "We have to be on the jet to go home in a little over an hour and we're making great time."

Spencer can't help but pout a little. "But, Hotch, it's Dairy Queen!"

Derek pops out one of his earbuds. "Did somebody say Dairy Queen? Are we getting ice cream?"

With extreme patience, Hotch replies. "No, Derek, we're not getting ice cream."

"Ice cream?" JJ perks up from the back, lifting her head off her hand.

"I wan' a Blizzard," Emily mumbles with a start, sitting up in her seat and rubbing her eyes with both of her hands.

Hotch sighs, looking at Rossi. "Dave, tell them we can't get ice cream."

Rossi stares down at the map in his hands, flipping it over to read the facts printed on the back about the desert dwelling horned toad. (It shoots blood from its eyes. Gross.) "Why not?"

Hotch scowls, feeling betrayed that the senior profiler wasn't on his side. "Because we have to get to the jet!"

"Actually, if we take a quick five minute ice cream break, get back on the highway and maintain the speed you're going, we would make it back to the jet with ten minutes to spare," Spencer calculates, leaning around to look at the speedometer.

Emily reaches over and ruffles his hair with a sleepy grin. "And that's why we keep you around, wonder boy!"

Penelope slips her headset from her head and hangs it around the back of her neck. "What's going on?"

"Dad's getting us ice cream," Emily fills her in.

"I'm not getting you ice cream!" Hotch declines, sounding a bit more firm. He shoots Emily a glare from the rear view mirror.

She sticks her tongue out at him childishly in response.

Penelope pouts at Hotch's answer. "Why not?"

"Because I said so!"

"Mom, dad won't get us ice cream!" Emily whines in a pathetic tone.

Rossi looks up from his map in surprise when he realizes he is in fact "mom" in this situation. Glancing at the "kids" in the back of the van, he turns to Hotch with a shrug. "You're on your own for this one, Aaron."

"Gee, thanks, Dave," Hotch scowls.

"Wait, now I'm confused," Penelope starts up. "Are we getting ice cream or not?"

"We're not getting ice cream!" Hotch says in a louder tone, trying his best to put on his "chief voice", the one that let's everyone know that what he says goes.

"I just wanted a Dilly Bar," Spencer quietly says, pouting as if Hotch just killed his puppy or something equally as serious occurred.

"A chocolate milkshake sounds so good right now," Derek agrees with a hum. "Come on, Hotch. It's hot as hell out. You're telling me you don't want any ice cream?"

"No."

"I say we take a vote," Emily pipes up rebelliously.

"Emily, no," Hotch says firmly.

Emily ignores him, because of fucking course she does. Pain in the ass. "All in favor of ice cream, say I!"

"Emily Elizabeth Prentiss! Do you realize you are way too old to pull this childish sh—"

"I!" Emily cries out over Hotch's scolding.

"I!" Derek says just as boldly.

"I!" Penelope and Spencer say in softer voices.

JJ stays silent, but shyly raises her hand up in the air.

"Majority rules. We get ice cream," Emily says with a smug smirk.

Rossi raises his hand and draws an invisible checkmark in the air.

Hotch huffs in annoyance.

Unbelievable.

"Unless one of you is bleeding out, we're not stopping," he declares firmly. "And that's not an invitation for you to start, Emily!" he adds, glancing back in the rear view mirror.

Emily frowns, throwing her arms across her chest. "I wasn't even going to do anything!"

"Ooo, princess is in trouble. Princess is in trouble," Derek smirks in a sing song voice.

"Oh, go eat a dick, Derek Morgan!" Emily snaps at him.

His eyes shine gleefully. "Was your nap cut a little too short there, sunshine?"

Emily and Derek continue to bicker, their voices slowly being drowned out by Spencer and Penelope slowly chanting "Dairy Queen! Dairy Queen! Dairy Queen!"

The van screeches to a halt in the middle of the highway.

Emily lurches forward, busting her head off of Derek's seat with an angry cry, Spencer and Penelope nearly choke against their seatbelts, and Derek stumbles, reaching his hands out on the window to steady himself.

JJ has the foresight to brace herself with her palms against the back of Penelope's seat. She leans over Spencer, checking Emily's forehead with a concerned frown.

Emily's breath hitches as her soft fingers brush against her forehead, forgetting for a split second what just happened. JJ's fingers brush against the upper corner of her head, causing her to wince. Ow.

"What the fuck, Hotch?" she starts to demand, holding a hand to her forehead. She closes her mouth immediately, only getting out "Wha-" before she's silenced by Hotch swiveling around in his seat.

The unit chief shoots them a steely glare that even has Derek squirming uncomfortably in his seat.

"All of you, knock it off!" he snaps.

"I didn't do anything," JJ says quietly, eyes wide and innocent.

Hotch ignores her.

"Now, all of you, listen to me!" he continues on in his most stern "dad voice". "We are not stopping for ice cream! If I hear another word about it, we're turning this van around!"

"You made me bust my head!" Emily points out defiantly, pointing to the bruise already starting to form on her head.

"My neck hurts from the seatbelt," Penelope adds with a scowl, rubbing the side of her neck slowly.

"I didn't even do anything!" JJ cries out a bit louder. "Why am I getting yelled at?"

"I'm not sure about the legality of this situation," Spencer points out, rubbing his own neck. "We could be pulled over for being stopped on a highway."

"Enough!" Hotch's voice booms.

The van falls silent again.

"We're not getting ice cream, and that's final!"

They get their ice cream.

Derek happily sips on his chocolate shake, staring in content out the window of the van. Penelope is enjoying her vanilla cone covered in rainbow sprinkles, iPad slotted in the space behind Rossi's seat. In the very back, Emily eats a spoonful of Reese's Blizzard with a satisfied look on her face. JJ quietly but happily eats her own Butterfinger Blizzard. Spencer takes a bite of his Dilly Bar with a satisfying crunch, eyes glowing in delight.

(No one comments when, five minutes later, JJ is eating a Reese's Blizzard and Emily is now enjoying the Butterfinger's Blizzard.)

Hotch bites off the remaining portion of his Buster Bar, cleaning off the wooden stick between his teeth before he throws the trash in a designated garbage bag (thanks, DQ) situated between Rossi and himself. He leans back in his seat with a content sigh, pressing his foot down on the gas. The sun is starting to set and the sky is painted in beautiful colors. 

Most importantly, though, the car is finally fucking silent and he can finally focus on getting them all back to the jet in one piece.

He turns to Rossi, frowning when the older man just smirks back at him. "What?"

"Aren't you glad that the kids got their ice cream?" Rossi asks with another smirk, eyes gleaming in amusement.

Hotch scowls, both hands wrapping around the wheel. "Shut up and drink your Orange Julius, Dave."