Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Four women were dead. Young, blonde, athletic women. Both arms were cleanly chopped off before they were given a deadly dose of arsenic. Their bodies were dropped a few miles north from their abduction sites. They found signs of sexual assault.

Aaron Hotchner was not having a very good week. Four innocent women were killed and they had no leads. At this rate, another would be dead tomorrow.

While interviewing a potential suspect, they found out there was an off-the-grid Roadhouse near the dump sites.

“Folk here never go that far north,” the suspect had said. “The type of people who go to that sketchy Roadhouse? You never wanna mess with them. They’re some scary sons-a-bitches.” They couldn’t hold him any longer since he had a solid alibi.

Now, Hotch and Reid were at the Roadhouse, hoping their Unsub would be inside so they could finish this taxing case. They went in and instinctively profiled everyone in the room. There were around a dozen people (fifteen, Reid supplied later) armed with at least two weapons each, drinks, journals, and newspapers in front of them. There was a guy passed out on a pool table, an older woman tending the bar, and a younger, blonde, athletic woman serving a man some whiskey. Hotch and Reid took a seat at the bar, hoping to find out if the bartender saw anything.

“What can I get you two gentlemen?” she asked. Hotch and Reid showed their credentials.

“I’m SSA Hotchner, this is Dr. Reid. We’re with the FBI,” Hotch started firmly. The woman studied their badges, no doubt checking to see if they were fake. “We’re here about the murders that took place a few miles south of here.”

The woman’s face lit up with recognition. “Those blonde girls, right? Yeah, I’ve been keeping tabs on that.”

“Why’s that, Miss...?”

“Harvelle. Call me Ellen. You see that girl over there?” Ellen pointed at the younger blonde girl, who was serving a woman scotch. “My daughter, Jo. Perfectly capable of kicking that guy’s ass should he try anything, but can’t be too careful.” She waved Jo over.

Now addressing them both, Hotch said, “We were wondering if either of you saw anything suspicious. The bodies were dumped less than a quarter mile from here.”

Jo shook her head. “I haven’t seen anything, but I can ask around.”

“Thank you, Jo,” Reid said.

While Jo went off to interrogate the patrons, Ellen looked thoughtful and said, “There was this one guy who came in last week. Not a regular, and definitely not... not one of us. And he was eyein’ Jo a bit. This was before the first murder, and she does got looks, but he didn’t—“ she stopped there and stared behind the agents, eyes wide. Hotch and Reid turned around.

There was a man coming towards the bar. He was handsome, all green eyes, tall, and sandy hair. He was also covered in blood. There were bite marks on his neck, scratches on his arms, and quite a few head wounds. There was a bloody machete in his right hand, and, when he sat down, Hotch could see a gun in his jeans.

“Whiskey, please, Ellen,” the man said in a deep and tired voice. Hotch and Reid shared a look. This man fit their profile. White male, late twenties to early thirties. Handsome. Physically fit. Judging by the slight accent, could be local. Into young blonde women if the way he looked at Jo when he came in was anything to go by. He had a bloody machete, which easily could’ve been used to chop off those girls’ arms. Hotch and Reid ceased their silent conversation when Ellen spoke.

“Good Lord, boy, what happened to you? It was supposed to be a simple hunt, not a spar with the Devil!”

The man gave her a tired smile. “There were more than we thought and Sammy had to go and get knocked out right at the start.” He gave a dry laugh and sipped his drink. “Word of the wise, don’t take on ten vamps on your own, no matter how badass you look.”

“You took on ten vamps by yourself?” Ellen asked disbelievingly. Hotch, too, couldn’t believe it. Vampires? This man was delusional. One look at Reid said he was thinking the same thing.

“Yeah,” the guy said. “Only came out with a few scratches. Sammy’s sleeping off a concussion and punctured lung in the hospital.” At Ellen’s look (proud and impressed, Hotch notes later), he shied away. “What?” he asked, insecurity painting his voice.

“Don’t let anyone ever tell you you’re a bad hunter,” was all she said before going to make him another drink. The man blushed and smiled at the praise before regaining his composure.

He seemed to notice Hotch and Reid for the first time. He eyed their suits and ties. “Bit stiff for this joint, don’tcha think?” he said, and took a sip of his second drink. Beer this time.

They showed their badges and said their names. The guy looked impressed, especially with Reid. “FBI, huh?” He nodded approvingly. “Yeah, I know what that’s like. Goin’ ‘round the country to save those who can’t save themselves.” He said it like he believed it, and the blatant exhaustion in his voice almost made Hotch believe him too.

“Dean,” Ellen warned.

The man, Dean, waved her off. “‘s fine, Ellen.” He downed the rest of his beer and addressed the two agents again. “Say, either of you know Victor Henriksen?”

Hotch shook his head, but Reid said, “Yes, I was introduced to him. He’s working the Winchester case,” Reid added at Hotch’s questioning glance.

“Yeah,” Dean said bitterly. He took two shots before he got up. He put two tens under a shot glass and said, “Well, next time you see him, tell him to get off my ass. I didn’t torture those women. They were innocent.” He gave Ellen and Jo a quick goodbye, and left, leaving Hotch and Reid to process what he just said. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on how you look at it, a well-dressed man came into the Roadhouse as Dean was leaving.

Ellen motioned towards him. “He’s the one I was telling you about earlier.”

And they were back on the case, Dean Winchester forgotten.

Chapter Text

Spencer Reid had... well, it would be wrong to say that he had forgotten about his encounter with Dean Winchester, but he hasn’t really thought about it. He told Henriksen about the chance meeting and offered his help, but other than that, he couldn’t do much. It wasn’t his case.

You can imagine Reid’s surprise when he saw Dean lounging in a DC library with seven books open, and dressed in a white dress shirt, black dress pants, and a dark green tie. Once again, he had a gun stuck in his pants, but at least he wasn’t covered in blood this time. He was just frustratedly flipping through a book, crime scene photos on the table.

Not wanting to provoke him, Reid walked up to one of the library staff and showed his badge, making sure it was out of Dean’s line of sight. “Excuse me,” he said politely, “do your security cameras have audio?”

The woman nodded. “Do you need footage?” she asked nervously.

Reid shook his head. “No, but I need a camera or two trained on the man in the white dress shirt and green tie. Can you do that?”

She nodded again. She turned to work the cameras when Reid caught her arm. “Quietly get everyone out of the building. He’s armed. Tell them there’s a gas leak. You should leave, too.”

She nodded and went to do as she was told.

While she was doing that, Reid went to a section of the library where Dean couldn’t hear and called Hotch.

“Reid? Everything okay?”

“Is the rest of the team there?”

“Yes, why?”

“Get them and put me on speaker.”

“Okay…” Reid heard shuffling, some voices, and doors opening and closing before he heard Morgan’s voice.

“Alright Pretty Boy, what's got you so freaked out?”

Reid spoke quickly and quietly. “I’m at the library and Dean Winchester is here. He’s calm but armed. Get Garcia to tap into the cameras, they have audio.”

He heard JJ’s voice. “What will you do?”

“Talk to him, find out why he’s here. If it looks like things are escalating, get over as fast as you can.” With that, he hung up.

He made his way over to Dean, trying to look the least threatening he possibly could. He put on what he hoped looked like a genuine smile. “Can I help you find something?” he asked nicely.

Dean briefly looked up. “No, but thanks. I’m here for work.”

Reid internally sighed in relief when Dean didn’t recognize him. He looked at what Dean was reading. There were three more books than earlier, all depicting anyone who’s ever even breathed in the town. The file he had only had five pictures, the one on top at the moment showed the word STOP in what looked like writing on the wall in blood. There was also an autopsy report. Reid was willing to bet that if he asked, Dean would say law enforcement.

“Really?” he said, intrigued. “What kind of work?”

Without looking up, Dean answered, “Law enforcement.” He said it so naturally. Based on the scene in front of him, Reid could almost believe it was true.

“There are a lot of books here, and you seem frustrated. Are you sure I can’t do anything to help?”

Dean looked up, and, surprisingly, gave a small smile. “Classified, sorry,” he said. He looked Reid up and down. Reid noted that he seemed interested. “But you’re welcome to stay if you’d like.” His smile turned flirty, and Reid sincerely hoped that Dean took him for his actual age.

Reid sat down. He was charmed and confused. The profile they gave Henriksen stated that Dean Winchester was heterosexual, but he was clearly interested in Reid.

He got a text from Hotch.

AH: Everything ok?

SR: We need to change part of the profile.

AH: Why?

SR: He isn’t heterosexual.

Reid’s frustration must’ve shown on his face, because when Dean looked up, he asked, “You okay?”

Reid smiled in a hopefully reassuring way. “Yes. I just have an ex who’s been bugging me to meet up with her.” He saw Dean's expression fall slightly at the female pronoun, which was what Reid was aiming for. It quickly dissolved.

“Tell her you’ve moved on and got a girlfriend now. Maybe she’ll take it well.”

Reid nodded. “That might work.” He shot another text to Hotch.

SR: Genuine concern. At least bisexual. Good with people.

AH: Ok. Keep paying attention.

Reid shut his phone off and fell back in his seat with a sigh.

“Didn’t take it well?” Dean asked with a smirk, but still some of that concern.

“No, she got more upset. I need to take my mind off it.”

Dean thought for a moment. “Well, if resident logs interest you, you’re welcome to look through the ones I finished. Stack on your left.”

Reid looked. A stack of four books was indeed there. Dean must’ve been here all night to have read those. “I’ll just have to take you up on that,” he said with a smile that, if Dean’s face was anything to go by, succeeded in being flirty. He picked up a book and read at a normal-person pace. He didn’t know if Dean would be intimidated by intelligence.

They read in silence. Reid was mostly thinking about the profile. It said Dean was a ladies’ man, but cold-hearted. His MO was all over the place and he killed without hesitation. There was a theory that he was the one who set his brother’s apartment on fire in order to drag him away from college. But Dean was too protective of his brother to risk that. And here, he seemed kind. Genuine. Bored out of his mind, sure, but relatively... harmless. Apart from the gun he had, of course.

Reid was jerked out of his thoughts when Dean let out a sound that was a mixture of excitement and relief. He stared at a book on marriage licenses like it was the Holy Bible. He looked up and saw the one Reid was reading.

“Is that the one with the death certificates?” Reid nodded. “May I?” Reid handed the book over. While Dean was flipping through it, Reid got a text from Morgan.

DM: He looks like an excited puppy.

SR: I know.

Reid put his phone away when Dean muttered a “Thank God” at two death certificates. He took out his phone and called someone, likely his brother, who Reid had yet to meet in a random location. Unfortunately, Reid only got half of the conversation.

“I was right! …Yes, now shut up. Look at the crime scene photos. …The writing on the wall. You see how there’s a small space between the T and O? …Well look harder, it’s there. …They’re initials, not a word! Susan Trevor and Oliver Peterson. They were married. …Turns out Susan didn’t like her husband very much, so she killed him. Wanna guess how? …Exactly. Wanna know the best part? …He was buried, she was cremated. …Yeah, that one. …No, you’re closer and I have to clean up here. Go without me. …Dude, it’s just a salt and burn. Call me again if you finish up before I get there. …Be careful. …Bitch,” he finished with, and finally hung up.

Dean closed the two books he had open and finally realized his mess. He sheepishly looked up at Reid. “Don’t suppose you mind helping me put some of these back?”

Reid smiled. “Of course.” Reid took five of the books too put back, leaving the other five to Dean. When he was alone in an aisle, he texted Hotch more things they needed to change about the profile.

When he went back to the table, Dean was gone, and a note was in his place.

‘Catch you later, Dr, Reid’

Chapter Text

11:14 p.m.

D: Five-O
D: Im sorry
D: I love you Sammy

S: Dean? Where are you?

•••

Dean wasn’t planning on spending his last two days topside in FBI custody, but here he was. At least the cute, nerdy agent was here. Dean kept running into him.

He was currently handcuffed to a table, courtesy of the Feds who found him desecrating a grave. Stupid body was buried near a street light and he was on a time crunch. Excuse him for not being as careful as usual.

At least no one else died.

But now he was bored, uncomfortable, and pretty sure he was having auditory hallucinations. Yay for slowly crossing the veil...

One of the agents came in. He was an older guy with a beard. He looked rich. Dean hated the rich.

“Dean Winchester,” he said. “Quite the miracle worker you are.”

Dean huffed out a dry laugh. Miracles. That couldn’t be further from the truth.

“Something funny?”

“Only your phrasing,” Dean says naturally. He forced himself to be relaxed. He didn’t react to the faint howling of Hellhound and he didn’t fidget at all. He was going to die in here but they didn’t need to know that. He checked his watch. 12:17 a.m. on April 30th.

“Well then, care to explain how you got out of that explosion without a scratch?”

“Sure,” Dean shrugged. “I wasn’t there.”

“Really?” The agent raised his eyebrows, not believing a word that came out of Dean’s mouth. “Because our intel states otherwise. Want to explain how two accused serial killers manage to leave a building they were heard in, only for that building to blow up and kill the only person hot on their trail?”

Dean flinched. Yeah, Henriksen was a dick, but he didn’t deserve that. Lilith was after them, not him. Dean should’ve been there.

So, in proper Winchester fashion, Dean avoided the question. “Say, agent, I never got your name.”

The agent glared at him. “Rossi,” he bit out.

“Well, Rossi, lemme tell you a little something.” Dean leaned back in his chair. “We weren’t there. Believe it or not, Henriksen let us walk. Found out we were... well not innocent, not at all, but not killers.”

“Maybe not before then,” Rossi said. “But something happened to you that night that made you snap.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m not talking to you anymore. Send in Dr. Reid. I like him.”

Rossi tried to talk to him again after that, but Dean held his ground. He gave nothing away, verbal or nonverbal. Eventually, Rossi left.

Dean checked his watch. 12:33 a.m.

•••

Rossi joined Hotch and Morgan in the viewing room.

“Well,” Rossi sighed, “that didn’t go well.”

Hotch nodded. “He’s incredibly calm. The only thing that gives him away is the watch checking. It’s like he’s waiting for something.”

“Or someone,” Morgan added. “His brother could show up any minute to bust his brother out.” He didn’t really believe it because Dean would’ve told his brother to run at the first sign of danger.

“Should we send in Reid?” Rossi asked. “We know they don’t hate each other.”

“That was before the explosion and the torture,” Hotch said, and even he had to suppress a shudder. Skinning someone alive was gruesome, even for them.

“Let’s regroup,” Morgan suggested. “Go over the profile again.”

•••

The BAU team was sitting around a round table in a police station in Fuck-Knows-Where, Kansas. Reid does not possess the energy required to remember. He’s been without caffeine for 7 hours and had been reading heavily contradictory witness statements for 4 of them. “Winchester saved my life,” “Winchester is a killer,” “Winchester stopped the guy who was about to kill my brother.” There were so many and each one cancelled out the last! It didn’t help that so many of them mentioned his looks and his charm. When he got through every statement, Reid gave in to the urge to bang his head against the table.

He heard Emily snicker. “What’s gotten to that big brain of yours?”

Reid glared at her. “The witness statements. They’re all different. Some say that Winchester is a killer, and some say that he’s a lifesaver. The only thing everyone can agree on is that he’s good-looking and terrifying!”

Emily hummed. “Don’t forget that he’s been proclaimed dead twice. They even had the body for one of them.”

Reid was about to respond to her when he saw Hotch, Morgan, and Rossi approach. “Well? Did he say anything?”

“Only that Henriksen let him walk right before the explosion,” Rossi said bitterly. “Any luck with the witness statements?”

Reid groaned. “They all contradict each other! He’s either a killer or a lifesaver. No in between.”

“Don’t forget hot,” Emily piped up.

Morgan rolled his eyes in a he’s-got-nothing-on-me way. “He wants to talk to you,” he said.

“Me?” Reid squeaked.

“He likes you,” Hotch deadpanned.

Liked him? Dean Winchester liked him? Reid didn’t know if he should be flattered or terrified. He didn’t try anything last time they were together but he seemed preoccupied at that moment. Going through residential logs, of all things. Reid still had no idea why.

Hotch’s voice broke him out of his thoughts. “We’re going to go over the profile again. I want you to interrogate Winchester. Or at least get him talking.”

Reid nodded, grabbed Dean’s file, and made his way to the interrogation room. He saw Dean perk up when he saw him.

“Heya Doc,” Dean said, accompanied by a wink.

“Hello Dean,” Reid said before setting down the file.

Dean let out a low whistle. “That mine?” he asked, like he was impressed.

Reid nodded. It was quite a large file because it included the BAU’s profile, Henriksen’s file, and some of the most important documents.

Dean checked his watch, and, on reflex, Reid checked his. 1:39 a.m. He needed sleep.

“Are you waiting for something?” Reid asked.

•••

Is he waiting for something? Yes. Death. But he can’t exactly tell Reid that without being seen as completely fucking insane.

“Just counting down the minutes till I’m outta here,” Dean said. He knew they could hold him for 72 hours. He just needed 48.

Reid raised his eyebrows. “You think you’re getting out of here?”

Dean laughed dryly. “Trust me Doc, I’m getting out one way or another.”

An imaginary Hellhound chose that moment to let out a particularly loud growl. Dean couldn’t hide his flinch. He knew Reid didn’t miss it either. The doctor tilted his head.

“Don’t ask,” Dean said before Reid could say anything. “Hey, could you do me a favor?”

Reid nodded.

“At 11:55 p.m. on May 1st, make sure nobody comes in this room? No matter what you hear, no matter what you see, make sure no one comes in this room. Including you.” Dean knew he was pushing his luck, and they’d probably think he was crazy, but he had to make sure that no one else got hurt because of him.

Reid gave him a skeptical look. “May I ask why?”

Dean didn’t have a good answer, and he knew Reid would see through whatever lie he told. “Just trust me. Please,” he added.

Reid hesitated for a moment. “Alright,” he conceded. “Only for ten minutes. And we’ll be watching you.”

“Ten minutes is all I’ll need.”

Chapter Text

Emily walked into the observation room after they reviewed the profile. She expected Dean to be either silent or avoiding any question Reid was asking him. What she wasn’t expecting was Dean and Reid talking about engineering. She didn’t know how someone like Dean Winchester could keep up in a conversation with Spencer Reid.

While watching them, she noticed that Dean would flinch every so often. Like he heard something. And sometimes, when he looked at Reid, his eyes would widen in fear, but then he’d blink a few times and be fine.

After twenty more minutes of these, Hotch came in.

“How are they doing?” he asked.

“Well,” Emily started, “when I came in, they were talking about engineering. Incredibly complicated engineering, actually. Now they’re talking about the occult. Winchester seems to have a special interest in it. He can even perform an exorcism in Latin. Actually, he’s fluent in it.”

Hotch gave a skeptical glance at Dean. “Our profile said he isn’t that intelligent.”

“We were wrong.”

“Clearly.”

“He’s also hallucinating,” Emily said. “Visual and auditory. He’ll flinch when it’s quiet and look frightened when he looks at Reid. And he keeps checking his watch.”

“We noticed that too,” Hotch said. He checked his own watch. 2:29 a.m. “He’s definitely waiting for something.”

“But what?”

“Possibly his brother. We have nothing on Samuel, but we know he got out of that explosion.” Hotch paused as Emily yawned. “You should go get some rest. Tell the others too. I’ll have some officers bring Winchester to a holding cell. Get back here at 8.”

Emily nodded and went back to their conference room. She saw Morgan half asleep on one of the chairs and JJ nursing her fourth cup of coffee. She looked up when she saw Emily.

“Anything?”

“Only that Winchester is way smarter than we give him credit for. He can keep up in a conversation with Reid. Reid! And that he’s into freaky stuff and hallucinating.” Emily rubbed her eyes. “Also, Hotch says to get some rest and come back at 8.”

The others nodded and they all piled into one of the SUVs to head back to the hotel.

•••

Dean woke up at 7:20 a.m. when an officer came to bring him to the interrogation room. He was sore and the Hellhounds were being especially annoying today. All in all, not a good night’s sleep.

At least the officer was hot. Dean wanted nothing to do with law enforcement but those uniforms did something to him.

He sat in the interrogation room for 27 minutes until a familiar agent walked in the room with Dean’s files in a box.

The agent sat down. “Dean Winchester. I’m SSA Hotchner with the FBI. But you already knew that.”

“You were the guy with Reid at the Roadhouse.” Dean remembered him. Agent Stick-Up-His-Ass, as Dean referred to him as when he told Sam about the encounter.

Hotch nodded. “Reid told us that you don’t want us in the room for ten minutes tomorrow night. Why?”

Can these agents please stop asking why? It’s not like he can say “well, see here, I made a deal to bring my brother back from the dead and my time ends at 12:00 a.m. on May 2nd,” because they’ll think he’s crazy.

...Ah, what the Hell. Dean took a deep and tired breath. “I don’t want any of you to get hurt.”

He could see Hotch’s surprise at his concern. “How would we get hurt?”

Fuck it. “There’s something after me,” Dean said. Though Hotch tried to hide it, Dean saw a fleeting look of disbelief across the agent’s face. “Look, it sounds crazy, I know. I know you wanna toss me in the loony bin and call it a day, but I’m telling you that I’m on a list and I don’t want anyone here to be dragged on it with me.”

“And you think I should believe you?” Dean nodded. Hotch continued, annoyed with Dean, “Like I should believe that you had nothing to do with St. Louis? Or the police station?”

Dean could tell that Hotch was trying to intimidate him with his tone of voice. He could. But he’s Dean Winchester and his second job is to piss off Feds. So he leaned in real close to Hotch, showing this supposedly badass agent that he will not be shaken from false accusations. “Look, agent,” he said, the word tasting awful on his tongue, “whether you choose to believe me or not, that’s on you. I never killed anyone. You’re wasting your precious time keeping me here, and in doing so, there will be a bloodbath.”

•••

“Is that a threat?” Hotch asked cooly. He could see the fire behind Dean’s eyes. He wasn’t intimidated. He wasn’t angry, not in the way Hotch would expect him to be. He was concerned. He wants to protect. From what, Hotch didn’t know.

“No.” Dean leaned back in his seat, and Hotch let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “It’s the truth.”

Hotch tried to talk to him more, but Dean didn’t answer. In fact, he looked far away. Aside from the occasional flinches, which were happening more often, he was completely still.

Hotch left the room.

•••

Dean checked his watch at 9:18 a.m. He vaguely processed the fact that the agent left. He didn’t know when. He’s been hearing whispers and howling for the past hour and a half. He’s pretty sure Agent Hotchner turned into a demon at least three times.

Other agents and officers came in throughout the day. Agent Jareau looked too much like his mom. He saw fire when she spoke to him.

Agent Morgan was too forceful. He tried to intimidate Dean into confessing, threatening prison time and life in a sanatorium. Dean laughed in his face and said, “Trust me. When I’m out of here, nothing you say will matter.”

Dr. Reid brought him lunch. Dean found that he got along best with Reid. Reid could keep up with him when he talked about cars and history and mythology. He’s also the only one Dean would answer to.

•••

“Agent Hotchner said that someone is after you,” Reid said at 3:39 p.m. on April 30th. “Who?”

“Lilith,” Dean answered. Reid was confused. Lilith? The demon Lilith? Reid knew Dean was delusional but this seemed extreme.

Reid cleared his throat. “And why would Lilith be after you?”

Dean pauses and Reid was worried that he lost him. Dean looked like he was recalling a bad memory. “I made a deal and she’ll be here to collect.” He thought for a moment. “Well, maybe not here in the stolen flesh, but that won’t matter.”

Reid had also noticed that Dean was avoiding looking at people. He flinched whenever he did. He heard Dean mutter something about “…fucking hallucinations. Creepy bastards…” more than once.

Their profile had needed serious correcting when it came to Dean. He wasn’t who he made himself out to be, which was incredibly frustrating for everyone. He was actually quite pleasant, even if he was a little out of it. He was growing on them.

Reid left Dean at 4:48 p.m. He had questioned Dean on the bank robbery that happened, to which Dean replied with a clipped “Shifter,” and changed the subject.

Reid joined Hotch and JJ in the viewing room.

“He truly believes in the supernatural, doesn’t he,” JJ observed.

Reid nodded. “I think it’s something his father drilled in him when he was four. We have a video of a confession. He claimed there was a ghost killing people.”

“So we’ve got a seriously delusional serial killer who doesn’t even know he’s killing people?”

“I think he knows something,” Hotch said. “Look at his eyes. He’s seen things, and there’s no guilt that would be there if he had killed anyone.”

“We should regroup,” JJ said.

Hotch nodded. “Have them take him back to his holding cell. We’re done for now.”

•••

Dean’s been in this cell for hours. He got some food and a few more questions but other than that, it’s been Hellhounds and some scattered muttering about seals and a cage.

The alarm on his watch suddenly went off.

12:00 a.m. on May 1st. Dean had 24 hours left to live.

Chapter Text

Hotch joined Dean in the interrogation room at 8:03 a.m. He was surprised when Dean made a request.

“Can I have a phone call?” Dean asked. He was terrified, Hotch could see that.

“What for?” Hotch asked.

“I need to say goodbye to my family.”

Hotch knew he shouldn’t be feeling anything for a killer. He also knew that Dean wasn’t going to die. But Dean looked so torn and regretful and for the life of him Hotch couldn’t figure out why. So he just nodded and grabbed a phone from one of the offices to give to him.

He stood in the viewing room with Rossi and Reid and listened.

“Bobby? …Yeah, I’m okay.… FBI custody actually. I’m just calling to say goodbye.… No, you won’t…. Bobby, listen to me!” Dean snapped. This is the Dean they expect to find at first. “I made that deal for Sam! If I don’t go, he will. Don’t interfere. That goes for Sammy too. Please…” Hotch could see tears forming in Dean’s eyes, “watch out for Sammy. Please.”

There was a long pause. Hotch assumed Bobby, whoever he was, was giving a lengthy answer. He saw Dean perk up.

“He’s there?” Another pause. Then Dean smiled. “Heya Sammy… I’m sorry, I really am… You’ll be okay. You’re a big boy now, you can handle yourself. Maybe get that normal life you always wanted. You can have Baby, but if you get a scratch on her I will haunt your ass… It’s going to be okay… Yes, I promise… You know I love you, right? …Bitch.” Dean smiled and wiped away tears. He was doing a good job of keeping his voice steady, no doubt a last shred of comfort for his little brother.

“And give the phone back to Bobby, will you? …I love you too Sammy. It’ll be okay.”

Hotch spared a glance to Rossi and Reid. Reid had tears in his eyes and even Rossi had some form of sad emotion on his face. Garcia, who he knew was listening in, was likely extremely upset in her lair of technical genius.

“Hey Bobby,” Dean’s voice cracked with emotion. “I never thanked you. You raised us a helluva lot better than Dad did… You did, and I’m telling you: thank you. For everything… I need you to do me one last thing… Kill that demon, Ruby. I don’t like her around Sam. I don’t trust her… Thanks Bobby… Don’t worry, I’ll justify it from beyond the grave… I love you too Bobby. Thank you.” Dean hung up the phone.

•••

Dean slumped back in his chair. He knew that was a giant chick-flick moment but whatever. He needed to say goodbye. He just wasn’t expecting it to be this emotionally draining though.

He knew the Feds were looking through the glass. He didn’t let himself cry, no matter how much he wanted to. He just kept his eyes closed and tried to regulate his breathing.

After a few minutes (maybe more?) he heard some people come in. Agent Hotchner took the phone and another woman who Dean did not know sat down across from him.

Dean checked his watch. 9:01 a.m.

“Hello Dean,” she said. “My name is Emily. I’m one of the FBI agents.”

Dean gave her a poor attempt at a smile. “What’ll it be today? The women, the bank, or the explosion?”

Emily gave him a half smile. “None of the above. Let’s talk about your family.”

What, they couldn’t wait till after lunch to do this?

“What about them?” Dean asked in a protective tone.

“Tell me about your father.”

His father. Dean had a lot of time to think about him since he died. “My father was an obsessed drunk bastard who never had time for his kids,” Dean spat out. It was true. John left for weeks on end, leaving them with only fifty bucks. Dean didn’t like to think about what he had to do to get money to put food on the table for Sam.

Sam didn’t know. Sam didn’t know a lot of things.

“Why do you say that?” Emily tilted her head in an almost innocent way, but Dean knew better. He saw her gun and knew they could go toe-to-toe in a fight.

Dean hesitated to answer but it’s not like he had much to lose. “When mom died, he went on a rampage looking for the thing that killed her.”

“But she died in a fire,” Emily stated.

“The fire was… what do you call it? Forensic countermeasure?” Dean laughed bitterly. “There was a fire, but that’s not what cut her stomach open.”

Emily actually looked surprised at that. “We didn’t know it was murder,” she said.

“Clearly.”

“What about your brother?”

His brother. Sam. His little brother. Dean has done everything for him and he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

Dean smiled. “Sammy’s amazing. Super smart, great fighter, never hurt anyone. Kid deserves the world.”

“He was with you each time you’ve been accused.”

“Thought you said none of the above.”

“That was before.” Dean didn’t know how much he liked Emily. She was nice but blunt. And contradictory. Dean didn’t like that that much.

“You listen here,” he said, trying to look at threatening as possible with the agent right in from of him looking like a demon. “You leave my brother out of this. Sam never hurt anyone, and he never will.”

He sat back in his seat. “I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”

•••

Reid still wasn’t over the phone call from earlier. He couldn’t believe he actually cried. Dean seemed so broken.

Garcia called after the Dean’s phone call. She had been crying a lot, Reid could tell. Not that he blamed her, or himself for that matter. Watching a man say goodbye to his family was awful in any situation.

Reid stuck around for Emily’s interview, which went as well as Rossi’s had when they first brought Dean in. After that, Reid went back to the conference room.

It had been a few hours since the call. Garcia was tracking down anyone who could be after Dean, but so far came up empty.

Every time Reid looked at Dean, Dean was shaking and flinching more.

Reid didn’t know what to do.

He was writing on the whiteboard when J.J. came over to him at 8:20 p.m.

“Winchester’s asking for you,” she said.

He nodded and made his way to the interrogation room and sat down across from Dean. Turns out Dean just wanted to make sure everyone knew not to come in the room tonight. When Reid asked what he was so afraid of, Dean said, “Hell.”

Reid questioned him a little more, but it turned into a conversation about mythology. Which turned into a conversation about classic literature, somehow. Reid knew he shouldn’t be doing this, but he liked Dean. He truly did. And if Dean thought he was going to die, he deserved a nice conversation about the things that interest him. Reid could at least give him that.

Before he left late into the night, he told Dean, “It was nice speaking with you. I haven’t met anyone who could keep up with me in a long time.”

Reid left at 10:56 p.m.

•••

Dean was still in the interrogation room. He was uncomfortable in his chair and cuffed. His watch said it was 11:15 p.m. Forty-five minutes left to live. Forty-five minutes until he never sees Sam or Bobby. Again. Until he never sees Baby again!

A woman came in at 11:30 to check on him. He used his best puppy-dog eyes and coaxed a bobby-pin put of her. At 11:45, he picked his cuffs and stretched.

At 11:50, Reid came in. His eyes widened when saw Dean out of the cuffs.

“Who let you out?!”

“I did,” Dean shrugged. “I was uncomfortable.”

“I’ll have to—”

“No!” Reid flinched. Dean sighed apologetically. “Sorry. It’ll just make this easier. I won’t leave, promise. Please.”

Reid nodded. He hesitated before saying, “Dean, why do you think you’re going to Hell?”

“Because I am. Lock the door on your way out,” Dean dismissed him. Reid nodded and did as told.

Dean waited. And waited. And his watch went off.

12:00 a.m. on May 2nd.

The door flew open and Dean felt claws tearing at his chest. He remembered screaming for Sam before it all went dark and cold.

“Dean Winchester,” he heard a slimy voice say. “So good to finally meet you. We’re going to have some fun!”

•••

11:53 p.m. on May 1st.

Reid locked the door and made his way to the viewing room where the rest of the team was.

“This guy is crazy!” Morgan exclamed. “We’re just gonna let him stand there uncuffed for ten minutes?”

“It’s what he wants,” Hotch said. “He thinks he’s protecting us by being alone in there. We should just wait him out and go back in when nothing happens.”

They waited for five minutes. A little chime from the clock on the wall signaled midnight. Nothing happened for a moment.

Then they saw the door fly open.

Morgan was about to rush out when Reid held him back. “We were told not to go in there no matter what!”

Morgan was about to respond when they saw Dean fly back against the wall. They searched the room for whoever did it (this Lilith, possibly?) but found nothing.

Dean tried to get up but was pinned down again by nothing. Something — something that wasn’t there — ripped his shirt open.

They were all frozen in their spots. All that talk about demons and shifters and Hell…. true. All of it was true. Because people don’t just get torn to shreds from nothing.

They watched as the invisible force tore into Dean’s flesh. His screams were awful. They’ve heard their victims and unsubs scream but nothing compared to this. And they knew nothing ever would.

There was blood on the floor and walls. Dean’s stomach was torn open and his chest had a huge gash in it. There was a gash on his leg from when he tried to get up but the things caught him.

As quickly as it began, it ended. They all knew Dean was gone (in Hell!) the moment he stopped fighting. His mutilated body lied in a corner of the room. Whatever it was that did that, left. It was silent.

Dean Winchester was dead.

Chapter Text

They were called in for an explosion. Normally they wouldn’t be, but the police in Pontiac wanted to know why someone would blow up a random stretch of woods with no known historical or cultural significance, and who better to figure that out than the best team of profilers?

Reid and Hotch were going to the crime scene. It was weird from what they were told. Trees fallen in a circle around a grave. They didn’t know whose grave it was or why it was there in the first place. No one saw anyone go up there to bury anyone and everyone was certain that it wasn’t there a few months ago.

“What do you think it was?” Reid asked. They had gotten used to asking what instead of who since they learned about the supernatural.

Hotch shook his head. “I don’t know. There’s just no reason. No one even knows who’s buried up there.”

The SUV’s dashboard blinked a few times, signaling low gas. They pulled up to a small convenience store that had a place to fuel up. Hotch got out to fill the tank and Reid got out to stretch.

They stood in silence until they heard a soft ringing sound. Reid shot a quizzical glance at Hotch. “You hear that?”

Hotch nodded. “What—” He was cut off when the windows on the store all shattered at once. Hotch and Reid shared a look before drawing their weapons and rushing into the store.

There was glass and salt everywhere. Inside was a curled up figure with their ears bleeding. Hotch and Reid slowly advanced, not wanting to alarm them in case they were armed.

Hotch spoke softly. “FBI, put your hands when we can see them and turn around.”

The figure (male) shakily stood up with his hands lazily but cautiously put up. He turned around slowly, and Reid lowered his weapon in surprise.

“Dean Winchester?”

•••

May 2nd, 2008. 7:02 a.m.

“You must be Sam and Bobby. I’m SSA Rossi. The rest of my team are with Dean.”

Sam didn’t really listen to what the agent was saying. His brother, the only constant in his life, was dead. He was being tortured in Hell. All Sam could think about was revenge. He wanted Lilith’s head on a pike and to chop up her Hellhounds for dinner.

If Sam’s gone slightly mad, no one pointed it out.

He followed Rossi and Bobby to the ME where they were keeping Dean. Rossi introduced them to the rest of the team. Emily shook his hand.

“You must be the amazing little brother Dean told me about.” She looked him up and down, no doubt looking for the innocence Dean told her about.

Agent Reid came up to him next, a concerned look on his face. “Are you sure you want to see your brother?”

Bobby answered for him. “Yeah, we’re sure. We need to give the boy a proper funeral.”

“No,” Sam said.

Bobby shot him an incredulous look. “What do you mean no? This idjit deserves a proper hunter’s funeral after all the good he’s done!”

“I said no!” Sam snapped. He gave Bobby his most menacing bitch face before continuing, “He needs a body so I can get him back.”

Sam took a breath and backed down. He heard one of the agents mutter something about a “possible psychotic break” and shot them a glare.

“Sam,” Bobby tried, “he told us not to save him…”

“I don’t care! I’m getting him back!” He’s down there because of me, Sam left unsaid. He found himself being grabbed and steered towards the door. He let it happen.

•••

Bobby watched them escort Sam out. He felt bad for the kid. Bobby didn’t exactly feel good himself. He just lost one of his boys because he was too selfless for his own good. Damn idjit, never putting himself first…

He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to find the blonde agent he recalled as Agent Jareau. “Would you like us to prepare Dean’s body for transportation? I’m assuming you’d want to bury him elsewhere?” she asked.

Bobby nodded. He didn’t know how long he could stand being in the same room as his dead surrogate son. He excused himself and left, and leaned against the wall opposite of the ME office.

He heard footsteps approaching him. The youngest agent, Dr. Reid, came up to him, and he looked curious.

“Can I,” Reid cleared his throat. “May I ask you a question?”

Bobby nodded.

“What’s a hunter’s funeral?”

Bobby studied the young agent's face. He saw genuine curiosity and an eagerness to learn. He was taking advantage of his time with people who had answers. Bobby, never one who discouraged learning, gave them. “It’s what you give a hunter when they die. You build a pyre. You put the wrapped body on it and cover it in salt and gasoline. Then you light it.”

“How come you put salt on it?” Reid questioned.

“It releases their spirit. It’s the funeral version of a salt and burn, where you burn the bones of a vengeful spirit. It’s to assure they actually rest in peace.”

They stand in silence for a while before Reid speaks. “Dean was a good man. Loyal, intelligent, and righteous. If anyone deserves a proper goodbye, it’s him.”

Bobby nodded in agreement. He was glad someone, especially a literal genius, saw Dean for who he truly was past the booze and women. “Thank you,” he said.

A woman came up to them and addressed Bobby. “He’s ready for transportation.”

•••

September 18th, 2008.

Dean didn’t recognize them. Then again, he has been in Hell for four months, so Reid can’t exactly blame him.

He and Hotch put their weapons away because Reid spoke to Dean. “Do you recognize us?”

Dean narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. After a moment of thinking, he shook his head. Reid’s heart broke a little at the pained look in Dean’s eyes.

“I’m Spencer Reid. This is Aaron Hotchner. We’re the agents that kept you in custody four months ago.”

Dean mouthed the words “four months” before going over to a stack of newspapers. Reid saw him mouth “September.” He saw panic rise in Dean’s eyes. Hotch saw it too.

“Dean? What’s wrong?” Hotch cautiously asked.

Dean looked helpless as he looked around the store. His eyes settled on the phone booth outside. He pointed at it.

Hotch asked, “Phone booth?” at the same time Reid asked, “Why can’t you speak?”

Dean just pointed at the phone booth again then pointed at Hotch. He got the message and gave Dean his phone. Dean dialed a number, but it was disconnected. He gave a frustrated sigh and dialed a different number. This time, the person picked up. Dean put the phone on speaker.

“Hello?” a gruff voice said. Dean gave a pleading look to the agents and mouthed “Bobby.”

Hotch nodded. “Bobby Singer? This is Agent Hotchner with the FBI. We met a few months ago.”

“Whaddaya want?”

“It’s about Dean.”

There was a pause and the sound of a book closing. “What about Dean?”

“He’s here,” Hotch supplied. “A convenience store in Pontiac, Illinois. He’s here.”

“I wanna hear him.”

Reid looked at Dean. It looked like he was trying to muster up the courage to talk but failed. So Reid spoke in his place. “Dean can’t speak.”

“What do you mean he can’t speak?”

Reid looked up at Dean. “Are you physically able to speak?” Dean nodded. “But you can’t right now?” Dean nodded again. Reid spoke into the phone this time. “He can physically speak but seems to be selectively mute at the moment. We can come to you.”

“Stay there,” Bobby said. “I’ll come to you.” He hung up.

Chapter Text

They watched Bobby cut Dean with a silver knife and pour Holy Water on him. When he was done with the tests, he pulled Dean into a bone-crushing hug, and Dean tried his damnedest not to sob.

He was back. He was actually back. He was out of Hell and he couldn’t say a damn thing. It’s happened before, lots of times, and he didn’t know now when he would be able to bring himself to speak again.

Dean pulled back from Bobby and flashed him a quick, reassuring smile. Bobby didn’t buy it. He looked concerned. “How did you bust out?”

Dean shrugged. Hell if he knew. Unfortunately, Bobby didn’t look convinced. He raised his eyebrows and looked at Dean expectantly.

Dean sighed. There was something he found earlier, but he didn’t know what it was from. He rolled up his left sleeve to reveal the handprint burned into his skin. The agents gasped while Bobby muttered, “What in the Hell…?”

Dean shrugged again and rolled his sleeve back down. He didn’t know what it was or what it was from and he didn’t really want to find out.

He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see the doctor behind him. Spencer cleared his throat. “It’s good to have you back, Dean.”

Dean gave him an apologetic look. He knew they were watching him because he knew they didn’t believe he would actually die. They were scarred and it was his fault…

•••

Reid still had nightmares about that night. Seeing Dean torn up and bloody… His whole team was frozen in place, partly because Dean was dead and partly because Dean was right. The supernatural existed.

When JJ looked through cases, she sent the ones she knew to be supernatural to Bobby because they were just not equipped. They weren’t exactly allowed to carry flame throwers as FBI agents.

With this new perspective, the members of the BAU got a new respect for the Winchesters, and the whole hunting community they found out was out there. They managed to get some of them off record to help them.

During one case, however, they ran into something. They thought it was a serial killer, as always, but when a bullet didn’t kill it, they didn’t know what to do. So they called Bobby.

He said it was a demon, and that they’d need to exorcise it. Luckily, Reid remembered the exorcism Dean told him when he was in custody. But before he could finish, the demon escaped.

The woman it was wearing didn’t survive, but they knew the demon’s name. Ruby.

•••

Dean walked outside with Bobby and the agents. He wished he could ask how Sam was or how the agents were dealing with the whole supernatural slap in the face, but he couldn’t. Not until he processed the fact that he spent 40 years in Hell but only 4 months dead.

He waved goodbye to the agents and got in Bobby’s truck. He made grabby-hand motions at Bobby’s phone.

Bobby shook his head. “Sam hasn’t answered me in months. He just took off, said he was finding a way to get you back.”

Get him back? Like a deal?

Well shit.

Chapter Text

The next time the BAU, specifically David Rossi, met Dean Winchester, he was looking a lot better than he did when he came out of Hell.

Obviously.

The BAU was investigating a town where no one died. At first, Rossi wondered why they were in a town with no case, until he heard the reports. People shot point-blank in the chest weren’t dead on the ground or six feet under. If he was being honest, it still didn’t seem like a case that would involve the FBI, but here they were, unfortunately.

Rossi was currently in a car with Hotch, going to talk to a “survivor.” When they arrived at the house, however, they saw an unmistakable sleek black car: a ‘67 Chevy Impala.

Dean Winchester’s Impala. What would Dean Winchester be doing talking to Mr. Jenkins?

Rossi looked over at Hotch, who was staring at the Impala. “What do you think?” Rossi asked.

“I’m hoping I’m wrong,” Hotch responded as he parked.

They both got out of the car. As they approached the door, it opened, and out came Sam and Dean Winchester. Both froze when they spotted the agents, and vice versa.

“What is the FBI doing here?” Sam asked.

“We could ask you two the same,” Rossi shot back.

“This isn’t a case for the feds,” Dean said softly, but not lacking any of his pre-death snark. At least he was talking again, Rossi thought, even if he was being pretty quiet. It was an improvement.

“What can you tell us?” asked Hotch.

“Dude gets shot in the chest and isn’t a doughnut,” Dean said. “There’s not much else we can say.”

“No thoughts on what’s responsible?”

“Not yet.”

Rossi nodded. “Keep us updated.”

“We will,” Sam assured.

•••

“Death checked out.” Dean said upon meeting Hotch outside the precinct his team was set up in.

“Pardon?”

Dean gave Hotch a slight grin. He still didn’t feel himself—he wasn’t sure he ever would again. But he still found some solace in humor.

“You heard me,” said Dean. “It turns out there aren’t any reapers here to take dead people to the great land beyond. Sammy and I have a plan to check it out.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?”

“Not unless you want to play dead with a blind psychic.” Dean was enjoying messing with the agent. “Tell your team not to freak out if they see our bodies in a motel room, would you? We don’t want the case to be any more difficult than it already is.”

Hotch gave him an affirming nod and didn’t ask anymore questions despite how much he seemed like he wanted to. Poor profilers, Dean thought. Always wanted answers.

Back at the motel, Dean and Sam let Pamela in and readied themselves for sweet almost-death. Pamela complied, not without complaints, of course. But hey, Dean didn’t want to be there anymore than Pamela did. Oh well. They could both leave once they saved the reapers and wrangled in death.

•••

Back at the police station, Spencer’s team sat idly around a table. They didn’t want to leave without word from the Winchesters, especially after Hotch relayed Dean’s message to them. Honestly, why couldn’t the man just stay alive for one day? After a few hours and too much caffeine, an officer entered the room.

In the most defeated tone the officer could muster, he said, “The earlier victims, if you could call them that, have all died.”

“In the way they were originally supposed to?” asked Spencer.

“It seems so,” said the officer.

“Thank you,” Hotch said. When the officer left, he asked the team, “We’ll go to the motel the Winchesters are in. They seem to be done with whatever they did.” They all clamored into the cars after murmured assent. Spencer was privately excited to see the brothers. He wanted to grill Dean on exactly what he did and what he saw today. Were he and his brother actually dead to do the case, or was it some sort of astral projection, if that even existed? If they were dead, how did they get back? Honestly, Spencer was fascinated by all things supernatural. He knew lore in theory, of course, but old stories and word-of-mouth legends were nothing compared to the practical application of, well, everything.

At the motel, the Chevy was outside but it was quiet. Spencer exchanged a look with Hotch. The two of them were the closest to the brothers out of anyone on their team. If they both felt something was amiss, then they were right. Hotch ordered the rest of the team to stay near the van as he and Spencer tentatively knocked on the door. It was Sam who opened in, looking exhausted with blood on his hands.

“Hey,” he said tiredly. “Everything should be normal now.”

“You don’t look well. What’s wrong?” asked Hotch. Always straight to the point.

Sam sighed. “Demons,” he said. “They got Pamela. She didn’t make it.”

“I’m sorry,” said Spencer. He wasn’t exactly sure what to say to offer condolences for someone he didn’t know who died via demon. “And Dean? I see he’s not here.”

“Yeah, he said he had to meet someone. If you think I look bad, Dean looks like he hasn’t slept in decades. He’s got a haunted look in his eyes but he won’t tell me anything.” Spencer could hear the bitterness in Sam’s voice. It seemed the brothers’ relationship became more strained after Dean’s death.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Hotch offered. “Would you like help arranging anything for her?”

“That would be appreciated, thank you,” Sam said sincerely. Hotch nodded towards Spencer who went back to his team. They got to work building a pyre while waiting for Dean to return. Sam insisted they wouldn’t light it without him.

Dean returned only ten minutes later, helping with the final stages of the pyre. He said nothing but Spencer could see the haunted look in his eyes that Sam mentioned. He must have had a worse time than Sam. It reminded Spencer of the faraway look anyone got when thinking of someone or something that would be better off out of their mind. Perhaps Dean came across something he never wanted to see again. Despite his curiosity, Spencer didn’t press and Dean didn’t seem like he wanted to talk anyways. They just silently built the pyre and lit it, and they watched the body of Pamela Barnes burn.