Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Running from grief wasn't a solution. It was, pure and simple, running away. Trying to stay one step ahead of the wracking pain in his body, trying to bury the ache of loss in his bones, the fear sparking through his nerves.

Jason had profiled enough to know at least that.

And yet… it was the only thing he could do. 

It hit him, over and over again, the truth of his constant reiterations to Elle and Emily and all his team -  "They can't help what they do."

And Jason? Jason couldn't help it either.

So he kept running. 

He ran from the FBI and the BAU. He ran from the death and the serial killers. He ran from the stifling sense of loss and hopelessness that he'd so long kept at bay. But how could he, anymore, when he didn't believe? When Sarah was gone, ripped to shreds in front of his eyes at the hand of an evil he hadn't managed to apprehend? When this job, this life sucked everything from him, starting with him and ending with Sarah?

He ran. 

He ran from Sarah, too, because of course he did. He couldn't face her. He couldn't face anyone. And so he ran from his team as well. He ran from Aaron and JJ and Emily and Derek and Garcia. And most of all, he ran from Spencer.  He ran because he didn't have the belief he needed to stay, and he ran because if he had even hesitated, he wouldn't have been able to leave, drowning in despair, because if there was one thing he didn't want to admit, it was that they, the BAU… They were his family. And if he'd stuck around to look at Spencer, he wouldn't have been able to force himself away from a young man he'd come to see as a son. (Like Steven.)

Even later, the thought of Spencer's expression as he realized Jason had left without saying goodbye haunted his thoughts and shook his resolve. It made him want to make an instant U-turn and drive all the way back to Quantico, asking for forgiveness and demanding the family he'd given up. 

And then he thought of Sarah again, and he stepped on the race instead.

But that wasn't exactly the important part of his journey. It was honestly more of a recurring spiral, so it was generally unremarkable. Jason preferred to drown it out with whiskey or scotch, but that didn't always work, especially when he had to drive. 

Point was, though, that spiral was not the highlight of Jason Gideon's trip. No, the highlight was the realization that there was a whole damn world out there that he'd never known existed. 

And it was supernatural.

The first time Jason started to believe was when he got wrapped up in a kind of bar fight he did not want to interfere with. 

Unfortunately for him, he wasn't able to resist when one of the goddamn pair was a woman, and she looked terrified and desperate.

So yeah, he'd stepped in.

And then he'd regretted doing that because there was a loud hiss from behind, and the very girl he'd thought was the victim jumped on his back and bit into his neck with unusually sharp teeth. 

He could feel the blood leaving his body, and for a few moments, he was paralyzed. He'd seen and soldiered through much of the worst of humanity, but even that hadn't prepared him for this. Usually, cannibals were a lot more sophisticated. Not… obvious.

And then there was a gunshot, and the woman was ripped off his neck by the force of the shot (ouch), and Jason blinked hazily as his head ballooned with dizzy confusion because the man who fired the shot was advancing on the fallen cannibal and… beheading them?

Jason blacked out. 

And then he woke up again, but this time, the fight was over, and there was a grimacing man around Jason's age, peering at him with squinted eyes and one hand curled around a bloody machete. 

Jason's eyes flared despite the years of practice meeting psychopaths exactly like this.

"Good," The other man said gruffly. "You're alive." He had a very prominent accent, which Jason cataloged for future reference. And then he turned away as if Jason wasn't even worth the attention. 

Jason blinked and shifted to look around. His neck was still sore, aching from the pain, he noted, but his eyes gravitated towards the headless corpse a few feet away instead and at the machete-wielding killer towering above it–  her,  staring at the cannibal who'd attempted to tear off his throat with teeth that were no doubt intentionally whittled to serve her cannibalistic tendencies.

Part of him felt a fleeting gratitude at the man for saving his life. The other part dove right into wondering if he could keep the man at bay long enough to dial 911. Of course, it depended on his mental state and reason for chopping off someone's head, but the point stood. 

"She feed you anything?" The man asked, peering at him suspiciously.

That… made no sense at all, even if Jason thought from the perspective of a cannibal or even a vigilante. "No?" He replied. 

The man nodded. "Good." He shook his head. "Damn vamps. Had to me make me come outta my way, didn't they?" He muttered in obvious irritation. He nudged the body with his shoe, apparently decided that the girl really was dead, then shook his head again and turned his back on the corpse and its head. "Now, I gotta see which goddamn nest even turned her, the fools."

He nodded sharply at Jason. "The cops'll be on their way soon, don't worry. You'll be fine with a little more blood in you. Honest, I'm pretty surprised she even managed to suck out so much in such little time." He spared a cursory look over Jason's physique. "And ya don't look easy to put down." He snorted. "Then again, they're goddamn vamps."

That was the last thing he said before leaving, and Jason could only spend the next few minutes in dizzy bemusement as an ambulance arrived.

He gave a statement to the police in a sort of detached way (incurring a little awe when they realized he was former FBI), but even he could tell how absurd it sounded - a woman attempting (and almost succeeding; what would the BAU think of that, huh?) to drink his blood ("Like goddamn Edward Cullen?"  One of the officers asked, looking disgusted, though Jason had no idea what he meant, so he just hummed noncommittally) and another man showing up and beheading her.

Honestly, as he said it, he realized how absurd it sounded. 

But it had happened, and now there was a string of machete-linked beheadings across the area. Jason cursed himself for not stopping the man when he'd been able to see him first.

But the man was long gone before they could even send out cops to every door.

Jason left the area feeling a little defeated.

(Jason left the area wondering what the hell had happened, even as he refused to consider the impossible.)

One thing was for sure, though. He didn't expect to see that man again. 

Funny thing was, the next time something strange happened, he didn't see that man again, unlike what all rules of jinx might say. Then again, some would say that was far too old-timey to work in the modern age, anyway.

Jason didn't particularly care what those people would say.

Regardless, while he didn't see the man, he did stumble upon something almost as weird as the time he got his blood sucked out by a cannibal.

The reason for the situation, of course, was the fact that he had habits, and some of those revolved around police work and interest in weird, possibly serial killer happenstance, despite the very fact that he was running away from that life in the first place.

So yes, he kept an eye out for the occasional possibly BAU-related incidents he could then anonymously forward to his team– to the FBI, he meant. 

It was that habit that led him to a strange series of incidents where (you guessed it) there was another cannibal rearing its head around a quaint suburban neighborhood - Jason really needed to stop running into cannibals, honestly. 

There was a string of murders, and human bodies were found ravaged and bitten into, most with the flesh completely removed, bite and gnaw marks in the remains. There was no victimology beyond opportunity that Jason could discover, though he knew the BAU, with a greater multiplicity of resources, would probably find something when he sent it forward, but there was nothing obvious, and nor was there anything to gain beyond the desperate cannibalism. The almost animal-like eating habit that Jason could guage from the remains made it look like a wild beast, in fact, and Jason had to consider that the unsub might have passed the point of a full-on psychotic break.

He did not envy the people looking to catch him.

Just as he forwarded the information to JJ with a repeat of don't-tell and I'm-fine-how's-Spencer, there was a disturbance at one of the houses out near the edge of suburbia, so to say. The local police station where Jason had been taking the time to look at the files, though only because the Sheriff knew him from his days at the BAU and had allowed him to check out this case they couldn't solve, emptied out faster than he could look up, everyone on edge because of the grisly murders. 

And then, it turned out the disturbance had been a lie because there was someone trespassing through the station, making a mess of things as he rifled through the documents.

He swore when he saw Jason, and before Jason could stop the dark-skinned man, he made a beeline for the exit.

Beyond the whole demand to sit with a sketch artist and figure out the situation - though Jason seriously doubted it had been that person who was the cannibal, considering he had seemed far too put together for the psychotic break the unsub was suffering from - there was very little that they could do. 

He did tell them what he suspected, though, and it turned their attention from the trespasser (until further notice), for the unsub was apparently a man who'd lived amongst this neighborhood the whole of his thirty years, raised by a single mother. He'd recently married and two months ago, right along the time the killings had started, had begun displaying erratic behavior and signs of extreme hunger that couldn't be sated… and then he'd disappeared. 

His wife had said he must have skipped town, that they'd been having marital issues, but Jason was pretty sure that Gary Moran was their guy. 

He was, unfortunately for himself, correct. He was also (the 'unfortunately' came in right about then) apparently going to be the next victim, he realized as he stared into the rabid, unseeing eyes of a man crouched on all fours, peering at him with hunger spiking through his eyes.

Jason swallowed. "You don't have to do this," He told the man, wondering what he'd done in his life to have two cannibals come after him in the span of just a few months. He also considered, in that very short moment, whether he just ought to return to the BAU and be done with it. It wasn't like he was getting any vacation time out here anyway,

Gary didn't reply. Instead, he growled deep in his throat and jumped at Jason, landing on the table Jason had been leaning on instead (Jason would have to apologize to the hotel for that. He did not look forward to it), making it buckle and break under him. 

Jason rolled out of the way and scrambled to his feet as Gary did the same, still unintelligible, still unable to be reasoned with. He'd never come across someone who'd lost all their higher functioning, he realized later, as he went over the event again, though, at this point, he was more interested in finding a way out because he didn't even have a weapon to subdue the unsub with. 

And then the door flung open, and the same man who'd trespassed in the police station came barrelling in, a spray can of…  something in his hands and– wait, was that a…?

Jason's eyes widened, and he fell to the ground just as a volley of fire spewed from that direction toward the cannibal.

(Jason would hear the man's screams for a long, long time after that.)

"Of course it's you," His savior(?) grumbled as he moved toward the charred remains of Gary Moran, peering down at it in a way that reminded Jason of that other Vigilante he'd had the displeasure of coming across all those days ago. "Ya had to go and ruin my investigation, didn't you? Almost didn't make it in time." He shook his head, poked the body with the closest thing he'd found - a lamp - and shook his head.

Then he got up, a scowl on his face, and stepped back toward the door. 

"Wait!" Jason blurted because he hadn't been able to stop the other vigilante the first time around. "This was the only killer!"

The man turned back to look at him with a bemused expression. "Obviously," He replied. "Why? You know somethin'?" His eyes sharpened at that.

Jason gave a short shake of his head, breathing an internal sigh of relief.

"Huh," The man said, then sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Goddammit, Bobby," He muttered, and Jason only caught it because the room was so quiet. "Here," He said louder, putting a card on the table next to the entrance, a piece that had miraculously survived the battle. “Luther Vandross, FBI. Call me or my supervisor if you come across somethin' weird like this Rugaru, right?"

And then, before Jason could get his disbelief under control and place the man under arrest for impersonating the FBI  (He didn't know any Vandross from Quantico, and sure, there were thousands of agents he probably didn't know, but he knew protocol and an FBI agent wouldn't need to break into the police station or run away when spotted in the first place) or something like that, Vandross left the room, vanishing from the hotel and most likely the area.

… Jason kept the card.

It took two months for Jason to build up probable cause to call up the two numbers. Something about the last two situations stopped him from sending it off to Garcia with instructions to apprehend the impersonators, even if he didn't exactly want to consider what delusions those two vigilantes had ('Vampires' and 'Rugaru'? Obviously the supernatural in nature, and that didn't exist, even if the bigger problem was the lack of consistency in what was included). But his gut was against it until he found out more, and, well, sometimes, a man just followed his instincts because they weren't bound by strict regulations anymore.

He kept an eye out for the 'weird', just like Vandross had mentioned, and though most of the profile-worthy world was already quite weird, he tried keeping an open mind.

Two months later, he found a case.

In an abandoned building at the corner of a college town somewhere in the corner of Virginia, teenagers had been killed consistently every five years as far back as a century. In fact, as Jason looked up the history of the house, he realized the killings had been happening since a few years after that house had been constructed. Every subsequent murder was more violent than the last, which was why it had come to his attention - the latest batch of murders had made the front page of the local newspaper, and Jason had been in the area long enough to understand that gouged-out eyes and mutilated chests weren't exactly normal killer behavior around there. In fact, it stank of serial killer, and Jason had half written up the case into an email to JJ already.

Except… except the escalation was far too singular for it to be anyone but a single individual, and that was impossible because it had been happening for well over a century. The killer would have to be over a hundred. There was no account for generational serial killers, but Jason doubted that, considering the implications of personal touches and signatures were different even when the killer didn't want them to be. 

So Jason hesitated and, in that hesitation, decided to kill two birds with one stone and dialed Vandross.

It went to voice mail. 

Frowning, he called the second number and met the gruff, familiar voice of the man who had saved him all those months ago. "Special Agent Willis, FBI Field office," He said, and Jason could barely hide the unexpected laugh. He'd almost forgotten they were impersonating the Bureau. Still, he mused, not bad for a pair of chumps. "Who am I speaking to?"

Jason wondered whether he ought to ruin the whole charade immediately, then decided an in-person meeting was a better option anyway. "Jason Gideon," He said, wondering if the man was versed enough with the FBI to know how that name intersected with the actual FBI. "I was given this number by a Luther Vandross?"

There was a muffled groan from the other side of the phone. "... My agent," He said grudgingly. "He's my agent. You need more proof than his badge or something?"

Huh, so they even had fake badges. Interesting. Jason hadn't known there was a black market for the stuff, but then again, he doubted anyone would have told him that, considering he had been in the FBI himself. "No, that's not it," He said easily. "He told me to call if I ever came up against something strange, and he isn't picking up."

The man perked up, and his voice turned serious. "What kind of weird?" He demanded. "Where did you meet him?"

Jason fished up the small piece of paper where he'd written down the name of the supernatural creature Vandross had said his attacker was. "He saved me from what he called a Rugaru," He clarified. "And right now, I've come across a case of teenagers being massacred and tortured in an abandoned building. The killings go back a hundred years or so, and I figured that's weird enough." He hoped it was weird enough.

"Huh," Willis said, his voice contemplative. "You startin' as a hunter?"

'Hunter'? Was that what they were calling themselves? "Kind of," He agreed neutrally. "I haven't started so much as stumbled upon a few cases, actually."

"Don't we all," Willis muttered. "Where's this happenin'? I can see if there's a hunter up in your area who'd help you out."

Jason rattled off the address. 

For a moment, there was a sort of silence punctured only by the far-off, muffled rustling of paper as Willis probably checked his records - another thing to consider weird since the FBI was most online by now anyway - and Jason tapped his finger on his thigh, considering the implications of there being more of these people. Was it perhaps a national cult of people integrated into the delusions of vigilantism and the supernatural? The phrase 'starting as a hunter' certainly hinted at that. 

There was an annoyed huff from the other end of the phone. "Can you hold up for a bit?" Willis asked. "The only one in the area's off in Atlanta huntin' ghouls. I'm a few hours away, and I can get there soon." He sighed. "Is it killing constantly?"

"Intervals. Five years, actually, so I think you can take your time."

"I'd rather not. The faster these things are done with, the better." Willis left the call.

Jason stared at the phone for a few seconds, then shrugged and settled in to wait.

'Special Agent' Willis arrived at his hotel an hour past nightfall, and it was the same person who'd saved Jason in the bar. The belated thanks were met with a confused look and then a dawning realization. "Huh," Willis said. "Didn't see that coming. You travel a lot?"

"Yeah," Jason agreed without more explanation.

Willis nodded. "You do some research on the place?" He asked, shifting gears. 

Jason pointed at the pile of papers on the table. "Built in 1883, and the first family living there died in 1891. The only survivor was the son, and he didn't let anyone into the house until he couldn't keep up with the debt and had the house seized in 1896. The murders have been happening every five years since."

Willis narrowed his eyes. "The son," He said.

Jason nodded, having come to the same solution himself. At the very least, the first few murders made sense in that regard. Either the son suffered a psychotic break after his family's death or was the cause of it himself, and the stressor being the loss of the house made the five-year intervals make sense, too. But that had happened a century ago. Was Willis going to say it was a ghost?

"Vengeful spirit, then," The man in question said, using synonyms. "We'll have to stock up on supplies." He looked around with a cursory gaze. "Doesn't look like you have any stashed away. Still getting into it, huh?"

Jason didn't show the disbelief on his face. "Yes," He agreed. "Don't suppose you could tell me what those supplies are?"

Willis snorted. "Suppose it serves you right, gettin' into the hunting life so late." He grinned, and it lacked the malice to make it less endearing. Jason wondered why some delusional people tended to be so easy to like. "Salt's at the top of the list, of course," He began.

Jason quickly went over his middling knowledge of the supernatural. "Because it's a purifier."

Willis nodded sharply. "Not a complete idjit, then," He said. "We'll need buckshot, salt rounds, and guns to shoot 'em, just to be safe. That's not gonna get rid of the ghost, though." He stared at the pile of papers. "You have anything 'bout the son's burial ground in there?"

Jason frowned. He hadn't read anything about that. "... Why?" He asked.

Willis's shoulders relaxed the slightest bit, enough to let Jason know that, as a beginner, he probably wasn't supposed to know everything. Not that it looked like he would have done anything, but better to have suspicions cleared and all that. "Those bastards tend to stay here on Earth because they're attached to something. Usually, it's their body or remains. We burn 'em and get rid of the spirit."

Interesting hypothesis. Jason wondered if any of these guys were ever arrested for grave desecration. "No," He said instead. "There was no record of the grave."

Willis sighed. "Guess it's more research for us," He muttered. "God, I hope there's a grave."

There wasn't a grave. 

But Jason came out from this case with one burning building to his name, a whole list of future teenagers saved, and a strong, abiding belief in the supernatural because there's only so far you can suspend disbelief, and when a literal intangible entity (he waved his hand through it, for god's sake!) played havoc with his belief system and telekinetically raised him in the air (He checked for wires! For anti-gravity plates even when they didn't work that way! For anything!) and attempted to choke him, only to be saved by Willis and then witnessed the spirit burn up as the house did… well, like he said. Havoc with his belief system.

But Jason was nothing if not adaptable, and next he knew, he was sitting in a bar, getting drunk with 'Special Agent Willis', trading stories. Well, technically, he asked questions about a world he hadn't even considered could exist. Willis answered them, and Jason then refused to consider the few cases he'd had where the unsub had had delusions of the supernatural. He didn't want to think about possibly having imprisoned or institutionalized (or, God forbid, killed)  someone who hadn't deserved it. At least not until he was sober, strong, and able to decide how to go about fixing what he could. 

So it wasn't much of a surprise when Willis and he ended up becoming fast friends. 

For one, they were both old men (though Willis was sure to tell him he didn't accept that stereotype, thank you very much) and around the same age, too. It wasn't that hard to relate. 

They'd both lost their significant others, too, both of them to monsters they hadn't been able to stop. Of course, the species was different in both cases, but the point stood. (The fact that Jason laughed at that was a surprise to even himself, for he'd thought he'd never… well.)

Not to mention the fact that they both love to make fun of the other. Willis took pride in being more adept with supernatural lore, and Jason…

Jason smirked. 

"Did I mention?" He asked one day after he and Willis met up again, after another month of traveling on both their ends. They'd taken to meeting up once a month, grouching and complaining and drinking as Jason dragged out story after story of Willis's hunting days ("They ain't over!"). And then, around half a year since they'd cemented their friendship, Jason decided that it had been just enough time that it wouldn't be a deal breaker and that Willis would be embarrassed. After all, Willis was most definitely not Willis because he stumbled upon introducing himself more than a few times. Not in big enough ways for normal people to notice, but Jason had made a living out of observing people. It had to have some advantage. 

"Mention what?" Willis-not-Willis asked, looking mildly curious. 

Jason hummed and got ready to immortalize the moment in his mind (and cell phone, but his friend didn't need to know that). "That I used to be an FBI agent." He pulled out his 'retired' badge, the only remnant of his past he could show.

Willis choked on his beer.

Willis was actually Bobby Singer, and sure, Jason could have found that out had he actually dug, but he respected Willis– er, Bobby's privacy, and he hadn't. 

Bobby nodded at him, and that was that. 

It also turned out Luther was actually Rufus and that there was a whole goddamn network of hunters running around with fake IDs and a thirst for vengeance. For a little bit, Jason hesitated over actually even thinking about it. 

But, in the end, saving lives meant saving lives, and though he didn't help out himself because he wasn't that far gone, he did give Bobby a few reluctant tips on how to speak like an FBI supervisory special agent (SSA Willis, huh? He'd have fit right in all those years when it had been just him and Rossi manhandling the BAU- or, as it was better known to be, the BS Unit).

Once Jason found out the supernatural was real, he jumped into it headfirst. Kind of like he was sure Spencer would do, but mostly because he was done grieving over his past, and there was a whole world out here that he could explore. 

Sure, it was just as dark as the lives of serial killers he'd run away from, but you needed the nitty gritty to spice up your life anyway.

He did, however, take vicious pleasure in imagining Frank Breitkopf burning in the hell he now knew was real, tortured eternally by demons who were inhumane in ways humans never could be, even suffering as they were from psychosis and sociopathy. 

He also went to sleep many a night taking solace in the fact that Sarah's soul was resting up in heaven, reliving her best memories safe and sound. 

Which made him frown later when he woke up and considered, without fail, why angels let humans suffer. 

Bobby had said they existed, and they were angels. 

When he asked the man that, there had been a shaking of the head, a sigh, and an explanation that almost blew Jason's mind because what the hell? The fucking apocalypse had already happened? And the angels had wanted it to happen? How the hell had they missed that?!

Jason took a deep breath, buried it under layers of let's-think-about-this-later, and decided to explore the starting line a little more first.

Let him be clear - he was no hunter. Hunters drove a little too much on the other side of the law for him to be comfortable doing it himself. 

But he was an informant. Where before he used to send everything to JJ, he now thought a little more, considered whether it was supernatural, and then delegated based on that. Part of his pile went to Bobby, and part of it to the BAU. 

The only thing Jason was happy with was the fact that these cases would be solved because he had two worlds (families) now, and both of them saved the world a million times over every single case. 

"Jason? I– I hate to ask you this. You know I don' wanna bring you into this mess, but… my nephews, they were arrested by the FBI yesterday. Your old team's got the lay. I'd usually get 'em out myself at some point after the processing, but the apocalypse shit's going down again and… I could use your help."

Jason stared down at his phone, at the blinking message and the voicemail, and then he sighed.

The years he'd spent away weren't enough, but, well.

Duty was calling. 

(And maybe, this way, he'd get to see his first family again.)

Chapter Text

Spencer loved coffee. It was just the right amount of pick-me-up and morning-wake-up juice that he needed to live his life, and, honestly, it had probably saved him from many a desire for something less… acceptable. 

Still, sometimes, Spencer hated coffee. 

Case in point when his hands were curled around a cup from the local Starbucks, sipping that creamy latte as he stepped into the BAU office–

And his coffee slipped from his hand and fell on his clothes and his shoes because Jason Gideon was standing in front of Hotch’s office.

Spencer’s breath left his chest. “... What?” He croaked.

Gideon turned to look his way, even though the voice couldn’t have carried across the bustling room, and his eyes met Spencer’s. There was a smallness to them, a sadness that a vicious part of Spencer wanted to revel in, but mostly, they just made his heart thud and his eyes burn because it had been so long. 

And yet. 

It was never going to be long enough because this was Jason Gideon, the first person who’d actually reached out to him. The first person who’d been like a father to him, who - despite his full efforts - was still like a father to him in ways his real father wasn’t, even if he had shown that he cared. Even if Spencer had started talking to him again.

Because with Gideon, it had never been awkward, not until–

“Hey, Spencer, you okay?” Derek asked from behind him, sounding confused.

Spencer didn’t reply, and though Derek raised his eyebrows at Spencer’s coffee-stained clothes, his retort died in the face of him spotting exactly who Spencer had seen. “Huh,” He said, oh-so-eloquently. Classic Derek Morgan. “Is that…?” 

“Yep,” Emily muttered, coming to stand next to them, her eyes just as wide. “Came in today expecting the Winchesters. This? Not so much.”

“What the fuck is he doing here?” Derek demanded, starting to gain steam. “After how he left?”

Spencer swallowed, still speechless.

Emily grimaced, nudging Derek and tilting her head at Spencer, who kept staring at Gideon, even as the coffee soaked past his clothes and its scent started to waft.

Derek sighed. “Come on, man,” He said. “You gotta change before you clock him in the face.”

Spencer did snap out of the daze at that. “I’m not going to to punch him!” He protested. 

“I might.”

“Derek!”

They argued the entire way, and Spencer didn’t even notice his worries ease and his fists open, but fifteen minutes later, the whole team was gathered in the conference room - sans Penelope, Hotch, and the unexpected visitor - and Spencer was calmer than he probably would have been, had it not been for Derek.

He sent the man a thankful glance, and Derek smiled back. There was no need for words after so many years working together, really.

Penelope chose that moment to burst in. “Did you see?” She asked, voice high-pitched.

Rossi huffed a small laugh and sat back in his seat.

JJ gave a strained smile. “We saw,” She answered.

“Oh, we saw,” Derek repeated, and his voice was far darker.

Penelope shook her head. “But- but did he tell anyone? That he was coming?” She was so worried that Spencer didn’t even flinch when her gaze came to rest on him.

He did want to, though, if only because he was kind of thinking… well, it didn’t really matter anyway, did it?

Hotch poked his head in, his expression so carefully controlled that even his usual grimness was hidden behind it. “Everyone’s here?” He asked, not waiting for anyone to confirm the obvious. “We’ve got a guest today.”

And Jason Gideon stepped through with a warm smile on his face and a sadness in the lines near his eyes that Spencer felt almost vindicated.

Derek scoffed. “They let you in? Just like that?”

Most of the room flinched, but then, they’d come across so much resistance from the upper echelon so many times that it was kind of expected.

“I was never just a pretty face, Derek,” Gideon said, and his voice hit Spencer like a sledgehammer might. He hoped it didn’t show.

(No one looked at him, so maybe it didn’t.)

Spencer could see the way Derek’s mouth twitched, holding back a grin he didn’t think Gideon deserved. Spencer would know - he made a living out of reading people.

… Just like they all did.

Gideon’s shoulders relaxed the smallest bit.

Hotch shook his head. “Jason’s consulting,” He said. “He heard we have the Winchesters in custody.”

“Wait,” Rossi said, brows furrowed. “You’re the one who gave the profile to Henriksen? I thought you were already retired by then?”

There was a small, guilty frown playing around Gideon’s face, far too open for it to be the same person who’d left the BAU all those years ago.

(Spencer hated it.)

“Yeah,” Gideon agreed, coming to sit in one of the chairs. “I was in the area, and, well.” He shrugged. “You can take a person out of the BAU, but…”

Rossi hummed in vague agreement. “Don’t I know it,” He agreed. “Thinking of coming back?”

Spencer’s heart leaped in his chest.

The haunted look in Gideon’s eyes shot it right back down. “Let’s take it one case at a time, yeah?”

“Fair enough.”

Hotch cleared his throat. “JJ?”

JJ stood up, moving to stand next to the board, where there was a timeline of events and two mug shots pinned there.

It was only because Spencer was looking at Gideon rather than the board that he noticed the older man’s fists clenching. He frowned. 

“Dean and Sam Winchester, born in January 1979 and May 1983 respectively. They have been implicated in a series of crimes across the US, starting to gain infamy in St. Louis and building up. Various cops believe they’re involved in other sprees before that as well, but nothing’s been proven on that end.” She grimaced. “They’re open about their delusions - Dean Winchester was arrested a while back and claimed every crime he committed was because of supernatural entities–”

Gideon’s throat bobbed, and Spencer narrowed his eyes, leaving to focus entirely on his former mentor, screw being less open about it. Derek shot him raised eyebrows but shrugged when Spencer didn’t even look away.

“– and that he and his brother were bringing them down and saving people’s lives.”

“So, mission-oriented,” Derek said. “And not too good if he got caught.”

“Didn’t stay caught, though,” Emily pointed out with a frown. "So they have to have some level of skills."

JJ nodded. “Still, the first point is what everyone assumed. Probably also why they sent Henriksen in instead of the BAU, though, as mentioned, Henriksen got a profile from Agent Gideon.”

There was a second of another uncomfortable silence. 

“He did,” Gideon said. “Though I now believe it might have been inaccurate.”

“You didn’t mention that when we were…” Hotch trailed off, eyebrows furrowing. 

Gideon was hesitant. “There were…” He scratched the back of his neck. “I didn’t want to say it to anyone before the team because it’s not exactly, well,” He coughed. “Henriksen called me after he caught the Winchesters.”

Spencer’s eyes widened. “That time they were both declared dead again?”

“How many times have they been declared dead?” Derek asked.

“Too many,” Emily replied. “And then they also blew up the station, killing all those people, we know.”

Gideon’s mouth twitched. “Yes, that time,” He said, his tone carefully controlled. “I don’t think the station blowing up was them, however.”

“Why not?” Hotch asked.

“Was it because they had no reason to?” Rossi asked, looking at an open folder, eyes rapidly going over the content. “It’s here that they only killed those who they believe to have hurt others. Supernatural, of course, but criminals. They’re vigilantes?”

“Yeah,” Gideon said. “But that’s not all of it.” He pursed his lips, eyes flashing to the door and then back. “Henriksen called me before the explosion and said my profile was wrong.”

Hotch’s lips tightened. “You didn’t report it.”

“Because he didn’t need it on his file,” Gideon countered instantly. “Henriksen died a hero, and if I told anyone what he’d said, it would have brought his position into question.”

“What did he say?” Rossi asked. 

“That he let the Winchesters go.”

Derek swore. 

Emily leaned back. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would he just let them go?”

Hotch was quietly staring at Gideon. “I remember Henriksen,” He said. “He was always hell-bent on doing the right thing. Why would he let criminals run free?”

The table quieted down, everyone turning to look at Gideon. 

Spencer saw his fists tighten again, something niggling at the back of his mind.

“He said he believed them.” And, before they could act on the incredulous looks on everyone’s faces  (because there were incredulous looks on everyone’s faces),  he continued. “He believed what they said about only going after mons- well, people who hurt others and who were responsible for the crimes they had been tracking down.”

“That don’t mean they get to run free!” Derek protested. “If we left everything in the hands of vigilantes, what point does the law even have?”

“Exactly,” Emily agreed. “Why would an FBI agent let someone go with such flimsy reasoning?”

“But,” Spencer pointed out. “Gideon’s right too, because if they really are vigilantes, and if they were let go–”

“They didn’t blow up the station!” Penelope Garcia exclaimed triumphantly, then her eyes widened, and she ducked her head. “Sorry!” She squeaked. “Online stuff.”

“... Right,” Spencer said. “But that would then  also  mean that all their actions need to be re-evaluated.”

“Exactly. Hence my declaration that my profile was incorrect,” Gideon completed.

Spencer couldn’t help the small smile that graced his face at that, though he tried to hide it before anyone could see. (From the sympathetic look Emily shot at him, that had obviously failed.)

“So we need to take this from the beginning,” Hotch said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Do we have a timeline of their childhoods, at least?”

Penelope pushed up from her seat immediately. “Yes, sir!” She said immediately. “Sam and Dean Winchester lost their mother, Mary Winchester, formerly Campbell, to a house fire when Dean was four years old and Sam was six months. Before this, the family was, for all intents, a perfectly normal suburban household.”

“The stressor was the Mom’s death,” Rossi said. “The dad was the one who started the whole delusion, right?”

“Yes, according to several eye-witness testimonies of John Winchester’s interferences in various towns, as well as the slew of warrants out for his arrest going back more years than the sons have been active.”

“Is it possible that’s why Henriksen let them go?” Derek asked.

“No,” Gideon shot down, then hesitated as if he hadn’t intended to. “Dean Winchester believed in what he was saying during that confession after St. Louis. I went over the interview in detail - he was condescending because he expected that no one would believe him, but not in ways that gave any doubt as to whether he believed it.”

“That’s strange,” Spencer pointed out. “Unsubs, in these cases, usually consider that everyone sees the world the same way they do. This is surprisingly high functioning for them.”

“Might make ’em a little difficult to deal with, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t psychopaths.” Derek said. 

Penelope cleared her throat. “Thank you for the input, but I’m not done. After Mary Winchester’s death,” She continued loudly. “John Winchester took them away from Texas, and they spent the rest of their life on the move, much like army kids. Which makes a weird bit of related sense because John Winchester used to be a marine.”

“So he knew how to fight and kill and taught his kids that,” Emily concluded.

“Yes, and from the school records of both sons, they moved around a lot.  No regular school, no regular studies… honestly, I’m kind of impressed with how Sam Winchester managed to get a full ride to Stanford.”

Spencer hummed. “Interesting. Being able to ace standardized testing and gain consistently good grades through a turbulent period is difficult for most people.”

“Not for you, of course,” Derek pointed out, voice tinted towards sarcastic.

Spencer nodded anyway because it was true. “Maybe I can talk to him in interrogation. Might help to have my degrees with an unsub this time.”

Emily huffed a laugh.

“Dean Winchester isn’t stupid,” Gideon said, voice carefully controlled. 

Spencer frowned. “I didn’t say–”

“I know,” Gideon said hurriedly. “I apologize. It’s just that that’s most likely the reason Dean doesn’t stay caught. He’s got far more street smarts than his brother. They balance each other out.”

“So they’re not submissive-dominant?” Hotch asked with furrowed brows.

“They don’t have a typical serial killing pair’s relationship,” Gideon shrugged. “I found it odd, too, considering that means they’d clash in their delusions, but from all the information we have on them, they both listen to the other when necessary while also defying each other.”

JJ looked up from the case file. “Is it possible, though, that Dean isn’t just pretending? To keep his brother close? The records show his parentification regarding Sam during multiple counselor visits in his school years, all the way until he dropped out. And Sam left Dean and his dad to go study at college, obviously, but went back to Dean before he got his degree.”

“After Sam’s girlfriend died in a house fire - just like their mother!” Emily inhaled sharply. “Could it be Dean’s doing?”

Gideon shifted uncomfortably in his seat, mouth opening and then snapping shut. 

Spencer leaned back as well so that his sight could encompass both his other teammates and his former mentor. 

Penelope hummed, looking at her laptop screen. “I hate to say this, but it’s possible,” She said. “Sam seems to have had an interview scheduled for law school. It was after the weekend that Jessica Moore - Sam’s girlfriend - died.”

“Ah,” Hotch said grimly. “If Dean is as obsessed as is implied, He may have murdered Jessica to pull Sam back into vigilantism when it seemed like he was getting out of it for good. Staging the death would also serve to bring Sam back into the delusion.”

Gideon twitched again. “Have you interviewed them yet?” He asked, jarring everyone out of the profiling.

Spencer’s eyes narrowed as Rossi and Hotch exchanged looks. So there was definitely something going on with Gideon, even beyond the guilt of abandoning them all, which Spencer personally felt he deserved. (He’d left a note! Even his own father had said goodbye, at least.) And it had something to do with the Winchesters. Speaking of whom… “I have a question,” He said and continued at Hotch’s tilted head. “If we have all this information on these guys, and they’ve been made for murder and stuff, for what reason have we been brought in? Is it purely for profiling for future reference or…?”

“Not just murder,” Penelope muttered. “Credit card fraud, grave desecration, bar fights, assault, bank robbery– I think it would be better to ask what crime they didn’t commit.”

“Another reason why a typical profile wouldn’t work,” Gideon added. “Unsubs usually stick to a single MO. These guys have always been all over the place.”

“Okay, so for future reference, then?” Spencer asked again.

Hotch sighed. “Not exactly.”

The team snapped to attention, and Gideon looked resigned. 

“Sam and Dean Winchester have been declared dead by the authorities more times than acceptable,” Hotch stated, and it was a testament to his frustration that a sliver of it could be heard in his voice. “The DA believes their legal counsel will capitalize on the misappropriate actions of the state to delegitimize any and all evidence brought to the stand.”

“I’m sorry, ‘more times than acceptable’?” Derek demanded. “I know they found the Dean Winchester lookalike’s body back in St. Louis - still don’t believe it, by the way - but there have been more?”

“Oh yeah,” Penelope said, not explaining further.

Hotch sounded tired. “Their bodies were found multiple times, and proof of their death was brought to us multiple times, which is why they were declared dead as many times as they have. It doesn’t make sense, but they must have connections in the industry, although we cannot capitalize on that for now. The DA wants us to get their confessions ASAP. Preferably by week’s end.”

“It’s Thursday.” Spencer pointed out.

Hotch didn’t deign to answer. “That’s also why…” His eyes flickered to Gideon, and then he shut up. “Spencer, you’re right. Catch up on everything Penelope and JJ have on Sam Winchester, and let me know. You’ll be in interrogation, and Emily can spot you. For Dean…” He nodded at JJ. “He most likely looks down on women, so I’ll take interrogation. If it comes to it, though, I need you to come in. You have similar physical attributes to his mother, which may help us get through. Penelope, do a deep search on their histories to see if anything new pops out and anything sticks. Derek, I need you to call up every cop and civilian involved in chasing after the Winchesters and get their perspective on this. We may be able to get something that slips them up.”

Gideon tapped his fingers on the table. “... May I talk to them?”

Rossi raised an eyebrow. “Ready to be back in interrogation so soon?”

Gideon didn’t smile. “I profiled them,” He said, which was a weird justification to Spencer since he’d admitted himself that he got it wrong. “And I have a few ideas about Henriksen. It might help them open up to think they have someone who believes them.”

Hotch’s mouth twisted in concern. “You sure?” He asked. “You’ve been out of the game for a long time.”

Gideon’s smile was sad again. “Yes, Aaron,” He said softly - too softly. “I’m sure.” There was something unhappy and heavy right there, and Spencer had no idea why no one else got it.

Hotch sighed. “We need all the help we can get,” He said, finally. “And the brass did give you a temporary re-enlistment. Alright. If the Winchesters don’t respond to Reid or myself, you can try your shot at it.”

Gideon smiled tightly, and even as everyone else began to stand, kept sitting.

In seconds, it was only Spencer and him in the room, and Spencer was only there because his legs had frozen, stuck to the ground, and unable to move an inch. 

Gideon looked at him straight in the eyes. “Hello, Spencer,” He said.

“I want to punch you,” Spencer blurted out. 

Gideon’s smile became a little less forced. “I’d deserve it,” He agreed. “And this place has a fully functioning medical station.”

That wasn’t fair. “I hate you,” Spencer tried. “A note, Gideon. You left a bloody note.  Even my dad said goodbye!” That was… more than he’d intended to say. Shit. 

Gideon looked down. “I’m sorry,” He said, and it wasn’t fair how sincere he sounded.

Spencer wanted to rage and cry and hit and demand recompense for years spent in worry and confusion. He wanted to hate. 

And yet. 

His eyes burned. 

“I truly am,” Gideon continued. “I left because… I suppose I said it in my letter.”

That fucking letter.

“I left because I was a coward.”  True.  “I ran away.” Obviously. “From Sarah’s death, from Frank, from the BAU. I ran because I was scared that I couldn’t stay–” Which made no bloody sense, but whatever. Spencer could care less.  (Liar.)  “I ran because I was scared I would stay if I waited to say goodbye to even one of you. If I looked you in the eyes and remembered I had a family beyond Sarah. That I had hope that would help me through Frank. That I had you. I ran because I was a coward, Spencer, and I am really, truly sorry about that.”

Spencer burst into tears.

And the thing was, Spencer didn’t cry. He just wasn’t wired like that, at least not most of the time. This was, apparently, not one of those times because when he started weeping, the tears wouldn’t stop until Derek came back in to ask what was taking them so long and then, eyes wide, backed away.

He blubbered pitifully as he laughed at that, Spencer would admit, but that did help him calm down.

And Gideon was looking at him so hopefully… 

Spencer smiled at the man who had kind of shaped his life so much more than anyone else, said a quick, hopefully unheard ‘I missed you too’,  and hurried out of the room. He, after all, had a bunch of stuff to read and a serial killer-slash-criminal to interview. 

(And with all that excitement, Spencer kind of forgot for a moment… Gideon was acting weird.)

“Hi,” Spencer said, looking at the long-haired, pensive-looking man sitting on the other side of the table. He looked almost around his age, if slightly older, and there was a darkness in his eyes that Spencer couldn’t help but shiver at - not because it was anger or loathing, which was a genuine sign of abject hurt, but rather something more finessed,  worse.  Something that Spencer had seen, to an extent, in the eyes of everyone in the BAU. Sam Winchester had seen things so dark they had colored his outlook. Part of Spencer pitied him. “I’m Dr. Spencer Reid, with the FBI’s behavioral analysis unit. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Winchester.”

“Sam,” He said instantly, then pursed his lips, and his eyes flickered to the side for just a second. “Hi.”

Okay, so maybe that part about building rapport would be a little difficult. “I’m assuming you know why you’re in here?”

Sam gave a short, precise nod. “Yes.” His eyes flickered to the side again, and he closed them for a second before opening them again and meeting Spencer’s gaze head-on. “You’re trying to arrest us.”

“We’ve already arrested you, actually,” Spencer pointed out.

Sam rolled his eyes. “So you’re only interviewing us for posterity?”

“For the record, yes,” Spencer tilted his head. “But I saw from your files that you also took a few criminology courses in your years at Stanford, so you probably have an idea already.”

Sam flinched, which was unexpected and completely out of character, not to mention strange because it was just a little too delayed after what Spencer had said. So either Sam was trying to act - which made no sense because he wasn’t stupid enough to believe it would work in front of the BAU, who was obviously trained to note that kind of stuff - or he wasn’t as smart as he presented.

Or, Spencer added silently, as Sam’s eyes yet again flickered to another end of the room (a different one this time), he was seeing something no one else could.

Spencer’s back straightened.

But before he could ask, Sam cleared his throat. “I do,” He said. “You guys also profile already incarcerated prisoners to discover what makes them tick.” ‘Them’ and not ‘Us’. Definitely not going to be easy. There hadn’t even been a hitch.

Spencer nodded. “I thought I could talk to you about your history.”

Sam remained silent.

“You grew up on the road, raised by…” Spencer made a show of looking into the file he had in his hands. “Your brother? Isn’t he just four years older than you?” He huffed a laugh. “Your dad couldn’t be bothered to hire a babysitter?”

Sam’s eyes were right above Spencer’s head when he flinched again, this time letting his gaze fall to the table and pressing his thumb very harshly into his palm. “Dean was a great brother,” He said through gritted teeth, but his tone was more ‘recital’ than defense. “Dad took care of us both.”

Spencer’s eyes widened. “You don’t believe that,” He said. “Or you wouldn’t have left for college.”

A muscle twitched in Sam’s jaw. “I left to study.”

“Dean didn’t.”

“We’re different people.”

Spencer tried a different route. “You know, my dad left me when I was a boy. He never came back.”

Sam snapped his head up to look at him, and there was genuine remorse in his eyes, enough to make Spencer scrap any and all profiles he had yet to consider because hallucinations or not, genuine remorse and empathy? 

… They needed to rework the whole damn angle.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said. “No kid deserves that.”

“Thank you,” Spencer said quietly. “Did inspire me to get my PhDs, though.”

Sam’s mouth creased out into a small smile. “PhDs plural?”

“Three.”

“Wow. I could barely finish pre-law,” He admitted.

“With that LSAT score?” Spencer shook his head. “No, I’m pretty sure you’d have graduated with accolades.”

Sam inclined his head. “Thanks.”

“... But Dean came to get you, didn’t he?”

Sam stared at him for a second, and then at the corner of the room again, and closed his eyes for exactly two beats. “Yes,” He said, and Spencer’s heart leaped. He was answering! “I left Stanford and dropped out after…” His breath caught. “After Jess died.”

“What happened?”

Sam was silent for a second, then inclined his head at the file. “Isn’t it written there?”

Spencer forced himself to be casual. “It says fire here, but it seems a bit off to me since the exact same thing happened to your mom on that very date all those years ago.”

There was a curious look in Sam’s eyes, and then his hallucination did something because he closed off. “Fire’s fire,” He said darkly. “Weird coincidences happen all the time.”

And then he closed himself off.

Spencer left the room after a few more attempts at questions, trying to get Sam to say something, anything. 

But nothing came out.

Gideon was standing outside, looking puzzled. “Nothing?” He asked. 

“Did you see it?”

He nodded. “The last bit,” He said. “He was opening up to you.”

“And then he stopped,” Spencer agreed. “I think his hallucination did or said something which convinced him to stop talking to me.”

Gideon’s forehead wrinkled. “... I haven’t heard anything about him hallucinating,” He murmured.

Spencer tilted his head but didn’t interrupt. 

Gideon met his eyes. “Let’s go meet Hotch.”

Slightly put upon at the lack of clarity, Spencer followed the older man to the conference room they’d just vacated a few hours ago. 

Hotch, JJ, and Emily were already there. 

“Dean is…” Hotch grimaced. “Insubordinate, to say the least.”

Gideon huffed a small laugh. “No luck?”

“None. And you?”

Spencer cleared his throat. “I’ve come to the conclusion that Sam Winchester may be hallucinating.”

JJ’s eyes widened. “There was nothing in his behavior to suggest that previously,” She pointed out. 

Spencer nodded. “He’s surprisingly adept at hiding it, kind of like he knows it’s a hallucination. Or, at the very least, knows that no one else can’t see what he’s seeing.”

Emily’s eyes narrowed. “That’s almost unheard of,” She pointed out. “Unsubs usually don’t have that level of self-awareness.”

“Right,” Spencer agreed. “While he tries to keep it separate, though, it does affect him. Because I was able to build a rapport with him, and he was about to start talking to me, but his hallucination did or said something, and his behavior completely changed. He closed off.”

Hotch’s frown deepened. “Still,” He said. “You managed to begin communicating. Work on that, maybe nudge him into sharing what he sees. Tell him we believe him and that we know he sees something, and build from that.”

Spencer nodded. 

“You can try your hand with Dean,” Hotch continued, shifting to Gideon. “Though with how he reacted to my presence, I doubt he’ll react any more favorably to yours.”

Gideon’s lips pressed together with a sharpness that made Spencer almost shiver. “I have a few ideas,” He said.

Spencer turned to Hotch, a silent question in his eyes. Sam was, after all, still going to be closed off for now.

Hotch nodded. 

Jason took a deep breath, buried the guilt for the umpteenth time since he’d entered the BAU this morning, and stepped inside the interrogation room, well aware most of his old team were on the other side of the glass, watching his every move like a hawk and seeing more than he could, having been off the job for so long. 

He hoped they hadn’t seen the guilt. 

But with all the emotions of his ‘homecoming’, especially–

He snapped out of that train of thought, turning to look at Dean, who had stopped whistling jauntily to look at him, grinning without the smile reaching his eyes. “They sent in another one?” He asked, a low edge of mocking lacing his voice. “Did you at least bring me a cheeseburger? I’m starving here, man.”

Jason cracked a smile. “No cheeseburger yet, I’m afraid,” He said easily, well aware of Dean’s love for greasy junk food. It had been one of the things Bobby had mentioned about him, and wasn’t that interesting? Made sense, though, being on the road all his life - junk food was cheap and accessible, and he’d built an appreciation for it because that was mostly what he’d had access to. Sam, on the other hand, was apparently the opposite of that; far more health-conscious. This also made sense considering what Bobby had mentioned about the boys’ disproportionate relationship with their late father alongside all the information he’d already come across when profiling the two for Henriksen.

“Pity,” Dean said. “Whatcha here for, then? I ain’t saying anything.” He leaned back in his chair as far as his cuffs would allow. “I know you wouldn’t be asking me this stuff unless you needed answers, and, well.” He shrugged, a smarmy grin plastered on his face. “I’m innocent.”

Jason shook his head and sat down. “We all know that’s not true,” He pointed out. “And besides, we’re profilers. We’re just here to figure out how you think.”

“And write about me in some book?” Dean rolled his eyes. “Thanks, but I’ve been in enough books for one lifetime.”

Wait, ‘books’? Jason hadn’t known there were any books written about the Winchesters. At least not yet. Henriksen… couldn’t, for lack of better phrasing, and no one else had managed to stay on their trail long enough to even think about it. So what did Dean mean? He made a mental note to look it up, then stopped because he’d forgotten he was with his old team again, and they were probably having Garcia look it up as they spoke. 

Of course. 

“No books,” He said quietly but didn’t push. “I just want to talk.”

“Bully for you, ’cause I don’t.”

“Then I will,” Jason compromised. “My name is Jason Gideon, and I’m–” How was he supposed to introduce himself? “I’m with the BAU, which I’m sure Agent Hotchner introduced you to already.”

Dean said nothing. 

“I knew Victor Henriksen, you know?” He continued, noting the small hitch in breathing as the younger man recognized the name. “I gave him the profile for you and your brother.”

Dean’s smile was plastic. “Fat load of good that did,” He said. 

“He did catch you,” Jason pointed out.

Dean smiled. “Then why aren’t we in prison?”

Jason shrugged. “You’re very good at dying, it seems.”

Dean snorted involuntarily, then smiled grudgingly. “No kidding.”

Jason had a feeling he wasn’t joking. “He called me, you know?” He continued conversationally. “The night that he died.”

Dean paled.

“He said he believed you.”

“Sure,” Dean said, voice slightly strained. “He saw it happen in front of his eyes, so of course he believed us.”

Jason’s hands lay flat on the table. “He told me he believed that you weren’t going after innocent people.”

“That too.”

“Why didn’t you go to the police?” 

Dean’s eyes went to the mirror and the camera, and he clamped down again. “I’m innocent,” He said.

Jason raised an eyebrow. “Vigilantism’s a crime,” He said. “So is grave desecration, bank robbery, credit card fraud… murder.”

Dean pursed his lips.

Jason wondered if that was enough to segue into his real intentions for coming, and he felt another flash of guilt. Then he remembered his conversation with Bobby, took a deep breath, and continued. “Alright, how about we talk about something else, then?”

A reluctantly curious look entered Dean’s gaze. “Weird interrogation technique you have,” He grumbled. “What?”

“I was on vacation for a while before this, did you know?”

Dean gave him a  So what?  look. Jason didn’t blame him 

“I met a few people on the road who knew a bit about the supernatural. I wanted to see if you could help me figure out what was right or wrong. Fill the holes in my education, so to say.”

Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “... You guys don’t believe in the supernatural,” He said, though the mention of ‘people on the road’ had him on edge, Jason could see. Fact was, now that Jason knew about their world, there was a good chance those people who Dean thought he didn’t know about were actually hunters.

“Well, no,” He agreed. “But knowledge is never useless. One member of the BAU has three PhDs, and they always come in handy.”

Dean huffed. “Nerd,” He said, but it was fond. He sighed. “Well? What do you want to know?” His eyes flashed. “And who’d you hear it from?”

“Oh, here and there,” Jason said dismissively. “Some of it was from this old mechanic, Willis, but a lot of it was from bars around Lawrence.” 

Dean’s breath caught, and his body language completely changed. His eyes flickered to the mirror, then back, and Jason kept staring pleasantly, yelling silently at the kid to shut up and sit down because at least he’d tacked on ‘Lawrence’ at the end to try and quell his team’s questions about Bobby, though he had no doubt it would come to that eventually. 

“Yeah?” Dean replied. “Sounds like a bunch of useless information.” There was no heat in his voice, and his shoulders relaxed. 

Jason smirked. “Why don’t you tell me about them, then? I’d love to hear what supernatural creatures get up to.”

Dean tapped his fingers on the table. “... Only if you tell me what you heard in those bars,” He said carefully. “So I know what to friggin’ debunk.”

Jason hummed. “Well, I hear there are some monsters called Leviathans running around, and you kill them with… what was it, salt?” He smiled. 

Dean scoffed. “You don’t kill them,” He said. “You burn ’em with Borax, run away, and hope to hell they don’t come after you anymore so you live to see another day.” He nodded. “But not a bad start. Sure, I can tell you what kinda supernatural stuff’s out there.” He looked straight at the mirror. “If I get my double cheeseburger, fries, and beer.”

“No beer,” Jason said. “But I’ll see what I can do about the food.”

He left the room, glad he’d at least managed to talk to Dean before the man did anything too reckless. Though he still had no idea how to get the brothers out, this would at least buy them enough time to make a different plan.

Outside, when he met up with the team, Rossi nodded at him with respect. “You haven’t lost your touch,” He said. “I’d have thought a harder approach would work better.”

Morgan shook his head. “You don’t say,” He muttered. “That guy was far too egoistical to agree, but somehow, he did.” He narrowed his eyes. “What was that about Lawrence? And that guy Willis?”

Jason shrugged. “Lawrence was his hometown. I figured it would get a reaction out of him. Couldn’t make it too obvious, though, so I added in the name of some guy I met on the road.”

Spencer was looking at him curiously. “Do you think he’ll spill something when talking about which supernatural creatures exist?”

Hotch nodded. “He’s bound to. He’s had personal experience, if his last interrogation was anything to go by, and we can use that to cross-reference any case he’s involved in and charge them with that.”

Morgan nodded. “Works for me. I got through some of the list by now, and Prentiss is going through the rest, too. They faxed over a lot of the files, so we’ll just have to match it up to the incidents they admit to.”

Jason inhaled deeply. “Well, maybe we should get him that cheeseburger, then.”

Chapter Text

“Oh my god, you are not going to  believe  what I came across!” Penelope exclaimed as she burst into the conference room where the team was bouncing ideas off of each other, and Spencer was brainstorming a way to get through Sam’s shields and find out what his hallucination was saying so he could debunk it. “It’s incredible! Stupendous! Seriously wacky, but also super cool because either someone else went crazy with the whole supernatural thing or–”

“What is it, Baby girl?” Morgan interrupted with a grin.

Spencer zoned into the conversation. 

Penelope pointed at the screen and pressed a button on the remote, and a picture of a book popped up.

“‘Supernatural’?” Hotch asked. “Do you think this might be the source of their delusions?”

“Uh-uh,” Penelope rejected immediately. “This came out  years  after the Winchesters grew up.”

Gideon crossed his arms and stared at the screen, brow furrowed. “... Is it about the Winchesters?” He asked.

“Bingo’s your name-o, Mr. Gideon, sir!” Penelope said, grinning. 

Rossi huffed. “The book Dean mentioned was this one, then.”

“Exactly,” Penelope said and turned to a second image, which was an image of the book series. “I haven’t read all of it, obviously, because I’m not Spencer, but I did skim the start of the first book, and there’s this really weird thing – it  starts  with Sam’s girlfriend dying in a fire. And the book says that the reason was a  demon.  Sound familiar?”

Emily inhaled sharply. “They penned down their delusions into a novel?”

“No, I don’t think that’s it,” JJ murmured. “Remember how Dean mentioned he had ‘enough’ books written about him? It didn’t look like he liked that they were written.”

“Could it have been an act?” Morgan asked.

“No,” Hotch said. “He was too natural when he said that. However, the fact that he was annoyed by them being written in the first place rather than what they had in terms of content means he doesn’t consider them completely wrong. So they must have a similar version of events to what he believes happened.”

Gideon pursed his lips. “I can bring it up with him,” He said grudgingly. “But we can’t use this as evidence. It’s categorized as fantasy.”

“We’re not the rusty ones, Jason,” Rossi said, laughing. “But thanks for the reminder.”

Gideon inclined his head in blatant amusement. 

“Please read these books and update us before we meet with the unsubs again, Reid,” Hotch announced. “Meanwhile, the rest of us can go over the case files Morgan got from every cop in America.”

“More or less,” The man in question muttered. “If I get the chance, these guys are going down. ”

Spencer smirked and waited. 

Penelope smiled apologetically. “I only have the digital versions.”

He sighed. “... Fine,” He muttered and dragged one of the tablets toward himself.  

Spencer was ashamed to say he got dragged into the story. It wasn’t even amazing writing! But the story… wow, it almost made him consider what life would be like if these monsters were real. They were almost as bad as his villains were but had the added benefit of not being human, which brought on all kinds of implications for racism and specism, but also the freedom of not needing to consider one’s humanity.

Except the brothers did consider their humanity countless times throughout their journey, and honestly, if Spencer hadn’t already seen and talked to Sam, he’d be weeping at the thought of his death.

Which was yet another thing. Dean - he was almost exactly like the way he was portrayed in the books; arrogant, a lady lover, an intentional asshole, technically chivalrous… the list went on.

But the anger and hostility that starred in most of Sam’s journey were missing. In fact, he probably fits the profile most of when he’d been gleaned off of demon blood and was trying to say no to the devil (and the blood was most likely a metaphor for drugs, where, again, Spencer could relate), and–

Oh, maybe that was what he was hallucinating. The devil returneth.

Spencer sighed and stared at the tablet in front of him, considering. If this was the story that the brothers believed they had lived, sans the whole death thing–

Or maybe maybe not even sans that. According to the third book, Dean returned after four months (forty  years,  and honestly, if this had been real, Spencer might have just wanted to take vindictive pleasure in the idea of all the unsubs they hadn’t been able to stop or hadn’t brought it justice suffering tenfold there when they died, and shit, he really needed to stop that) of being dead, albeit brought by an angel, but could that very angel have brought back Sam’s soul? 

Or perhaps not, if the implications of being in the ‘cage’ were so dire. 

He shook his head. Moving out of the story, the fact was that if the brothers believed this was the truth, then they were most definitely mission-oriented vigilante killers. And these places mentioned in the story had rough timelines to them alongside the locations, so if he could note down everything, Penelope could most definitely link the Winchesters to each place and, hence, each crime at the time it was committed.

… Still, it kind of didn’t sit right with Spencer, the idea that all these crimes had happened and the BAU hadn’t been contacted. Because the thing was, Sam and Dean gravitated toward the same kind of strange killings and signs the BAU technically should, and since those crimes had been happening before Sam and Dean arrived, that meant the original killer really was someone else. And sure, that didn’t excuse their actions because vigilantism was still against the law, but the fact that  they hadn’t known–

And what was that with Henriksen? In the book, Henriksen had most definitely believed in their supernatural delusions, mostly because he’d  “seen it happen—”

Spencer’s eyes widened. Wait, what if that had been true? What if Henriksen had just told Gideon the sanitized version of his belief because he was aware no one would believe him?

Wait, no, that made no sense. The supernatural wasn’t real, and you couldn’t just make someone believe in your delusions unless you either brainwashed them or brought your delusions to life, and that would be more likely to convince that person to tell others, not keep it from them. 

Spencer groaned. 

“Everything okay?” Rossi asked from the door, leaning against the frame and looking at Spencer with calculative but kind eyes.

Spencer shrugged. “Just… frustrated,” He muttered. “It’s nothing.”

Rossi raised an eyebrow, glanced over his shoulder, then came in. “You know, you don’t have to pretend. Jason coming back has gotta have been a surprise. It was for me,” He admitted, smiling crookedly. “And we’ve worked together since the BAU was the BS unit.”

Spencer couldn't help the snort. “Seriously?”

“What, you didn’t know that?” Rossi grinned. “Finally something our resident genius is unaware of!”

Spencer laughed a little more. “Thanks,” He said warmly. “Needed that.”

“No problem, kid,” Rossi inclined his head at the tablet. “Read through the novel?”

“Yeah,” Spencer agreed. “I’ll write up a summary for you guys, but it does gel with most of the events we’re aware of and the delusions we know the Winchesters have. It’s a little late since the story finished a few years ago for them, so I’m extrapolating, but I may have an idea what Sam’s hallucinations were, too.”

“Oh, you’re done with reading?” JJ asked, popping her head in. “Hotch wanted to know if you were up for a debrief.”

Rossi shrugged. “Save yourself the writing and tell it to us directly,” He offered.

Spencer nodded, and in moments, the entire BAU was in the conference room again, waiting for Spencer to spin them a tale they couldn’t believe. 

As Spencer talked, outlining the mother’s death, the girlfriend’s death, the hunts proceeding that, the father’s death - and on and on and on - he put his multitasking mind to use and noted, quite oddly  (again),  that while most of his team either looked clinical and detached or curious and disbelieving, Gideon alone stood grim and… sad? There was a light in his eyes that flickered every time that Sam and Dean (the book versions) went through something harrowing, which, sadly enough, was every other part of the story. 

Damn,  he realized.  There is something going on. 

But before he could put Gideon on the spot and ask (here’s a hint, though - he wasn’t going to) at the end of his narration of book one, Morgan spoke up. “The St. Louis thing definitely lines up,” He admitted. “The cops definitely got the unsub, and he looked like Winchester, so either he had a secret twin, the murderer had plastic surgery, or his stupid story is actually true.”

“But why would anyone want to commit to plastic surgery, though?” Emily asked. “We’ve seen no hints of any obsession like that in their past before that.”

“What about a doppelganger?” Penelope asked. “Not completely, obviously, but maybe there was someone who looked a little like Dean, and since Dean himself wasn’t completely documented before that, it was easier to pass as him?”

“That’s a possibility,” Rossi agreed. “But the point of the matter is, even if that take is correct, we don’t have psychopathic serial killers on our hands.”

“We have vigilantes,” Hitch finished grimly.

Gideon stayed silent, crossing his arms across his chest. 

Spencer cleared his throat. “Yes, I came to the same conclusion with the rest of the books, too,” He said. “They’re very in line with the brothers showing up after the killings, which also parallels most records I had to check with. We’d obviously have to confirm everything, so I’ll note the events down for Penelope, but I’m also leaning towards vigilantism.” He frowned. “The thing is, if the books have at least a little bit of truth to them…” He hesitated. “Isn’t it weird that we haven’t been called in to look at these cases? I know Henriksen was patched in at some point, but that was just for the Winchesters. And yes, I can understand not getting all of these cases because of politics at play, but at least  some  of them were definitely under FBI jurisdiction and odd enough to require the BAU’s assistance even before the Winchesters came in.”

From the corner of his eye, Spencer saw Gideon flinch. 

Hotch’s grimace became more pronounced. “... I’ll see what HQ has to say,” He said gruffly. “But that may take some time. We should keep digging.”

“Of course,” Emily murmured. 

“Oh, and there was another weird thing,” Spencer added. “Delusions tend to get heightened, and these two definitely got worse since their ‘supernatural’ world became even more complex as time passed, but the weird thing is they became even more controlled as their delusions worsened.” His face twisted. “Sort of.”

“I mean, that would fit with their mission-oriented vigilantism,” JJ pointed out. 

“That’s what I thought first, too,” Spencer agreed. “But…” He shook his head. “Never mind.”

Morgan straightened. “In any case, what about the other hunters?” 

The atmosphere turned the slightest bit darker. Spencer’s eyes fell on Gideon’s clenched fists.

“If there are others out there…” Penelope began doubtfully.

“So they’re also a part of their delusions?” 

“That’s not exactly what happened with Jimmy Novak, though, is it?” Emily pointed out. “He’s the ‘Castiel’, right? He suffered a delusional break with them, too, but he came later. Isn’t it possible that they’ve convinced a group of people just like their father convinced them?”

“Shit,” Morgan said. “We’ve got a cult of goddamn vigilantes on our hands?”

“Let’s not be hasty,” Gideon said, finally speaking up, and his voice cut through the noise in the conference room like a sharp blade. “Since Penelope mentioned she hasn’t come across others–”

“I haven’t,” She piped up. 

“–that means they’re not necessarily an issue. We should focus on the issue we’re sure exists.”

“The Winchesters,” JJ finished for him. “But what about Novak?”

“Dead?” Penelope offered. “My systems haven’t flagged him for a long time.”

“With the Winchesters’ track record?” Emily said. “Doubtful.”

Spencer hummed. “Regardless, Gideon’s right. We should be focusing on the Winchesters first.”

Hotch massaged the bridge of his nose. “Alright,” He said. “And what of the rest of the books? Anything of note?”

Spencer flipped through the information in his mind. “Right!” He remembered. “I think I also know what Sam is hallucinating about.”

“And knows is hallucinating it,” Gideon murmured. 

Spencer nodded. 

Hotch frowned. “And it’s something related to the supernatural?”

“Lucifer,” Spencer said without preamble. “The books end with Sam’s soul stuck in Lucifer’s cage, which, if we take with Dean’s stay in hell - he dies and goes to hell at the end of the second book,” He added at the confused looks. “It means he has contextualized that he was tortured, and since that’s the literal devil…” He pursed his lips. “Add that to the way his character has changed and the hallucinations he had when he was weaning off of demon blood - if that’s real, I’m guessing it’s a euphemism for drugs - it makes a little sense, especially since he isn’t particularly reacting to it openly, but is still being affected by it.”

“Oh, if that’s the case, is it because of those previous hallucinations that he knows the current ones are not real?” JJ asked.

Spencer shrugged.

“Doesn’t seem to be affecting his belief in his delusions, though,” Morgan pointed out. 

Spencer shrugged again.

Hotch stood from his seat. “Alright, I guess we’ve got our jobs then. I’ll see what HQ has to say. Reid, once you’re done transcribing the chronology of events, get back to Sam. Approach him about it being Lucifer, and if he reacts, get into his head and try to have him confirm what he’s done. If not, at least get him to open up about his life. JJ, go in while Reid is making the list for Garcia and try a different approach. You have some similar physical characteristics to his former girlfriend. Emily, you’re with Gideon on Dean since his approach seems to be working. Garcia, bring up everything you can on the chronology Reid gives you. Morgan–”

Morgan nodded. “I’ll get with the reports.” 

Hotch shook his head. “No,” He said, his lips pursed. “I’d actually like you to go check out Henriksen’s death - the explosion… there’s something odd about that, and the office called about an update there, too. You can take the jet.”

Rossi raised his eyebrows. “And I’ll go with the kid, then?”

Hotch opened his mouth and hesitated, his eyes flickering to Spencer, then to Gideon, and then back. “No,” He said. “I need to talk to you in my office.”

Spencer’s breath caught, and from the way Gideon sighed, he had a bad feeling, too. 

Rossi inclined his head and followed. 

“Well, kid,” Morgan said, clamping a hand on Spencer’s shoulders. “Enjoy the interrogation.”

Spencer nodded, surprised to realize he might even mean it this time. 

Chapter Text

“I brought you food,” Spencer said as he shouldered into the room with a burger, same as the one they’d gotten for Dean.

Sam blinked as he looked up from where his hands were bundled together, one thumb biting into the palm of the other hand, digging deep into what was a vicious scar that said all too much about Sam’s habits. “Oh,” He said. “Thank you.” He sounded sincere. 

“Burgers,” Spencer explained as he set the bag down in front of the man. “You didn’t specify, but your brother wanted them, so we figured it was fine. Is it?”

Sam swallowed, then nodded shortly. “Thanks,” He said again, his throat hoarse. 

Spencer bit the inside of his cheek and sat down on the chair opposite the man. “Look,” He said as Sam didn’t take out the food, leaving it on the table. “When we talked to your brother, he mentioned a few books that he and you starred in.”

For a second, Sam looked confused, and then his expression cleared into something a little more calm than before. “Oh, you mean the books by Ch– Carver Edlund?”

“We know he’s Chuck Shurley,” Spencer assured him. “But yes.”

“Right,” Sam said. “So you know about a fantasy series.”

“Is it fantasy?” Spencer asked.

Sam flinched.

Spencer’s eyes flared.

“Of course it is,” Sam said hoarsely. “What else would it be?”

“Real, according to you and your brother.” He hesitated. “You’re seeing the devil, aren’t you?”

This time, the flinch was full-bodied.

“I’m not seeing anything,” Sam said through gritted teeth, his hands ducking under the table, no doubt doing the same thing that had been happening in the morning. 

“You say that, but–”

“No,” Sam snapped. “And I don’t want to talk about this.”

“I think you’re kind of mistaking the point,” Spencer told him, starting to understand the annoyance. “You’re not the one holding the cards here, Sam.”

“Do I look like I care if I don’t? You can come in and play your good cop routine, but it’s not going to work. I will not be admitting to the crimes you think I’ve done because–”

Sam inhaled sharply and looked down. 

“And the end of the world?” Spencer asked, though it chafed to even pretend he believed. 

Sam’s lips trembled. “None of your business,” He said hoarsely. “It’s not like you believe me, anyway.”

“Then make me believe,” Spencer suggested. “That’s what you did with Victor Henriksen, didn’t you?”

Sam flinched. “We didn’t make him do anything,” He said, but his anger had subsided, and there was a vulnerability in his voice that Spencer could see quite clearly. 

“Didn’t you?” He asked.

Sam forced his thumb to bite into his palm even more, his shoulders tightening. “I said it’s none of your business,” He said. “I’m not going to say anything to you.”

Spencer grimaced. “Why?” He asked. “Does it touch too close to home?”

Sam said nothing, his body angling toward the right for a portion of a second before he stopped. 

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Spencer asked. “Lucifer. He’s talking to you right now.”

“Stop–” Sam shuddered. “No,” He said tersely. “He’s not.”

“But you do see him sometimes?” 

“Does it matter?”

“Yes,” Spencer said. “Because we can help, Sam, if you let us–”

Sam laughed, and it was loud and bitter. “Sure,” He said. “Help.” He shook his head. “If anyone could have helped, it would have been Cas and he–” He pursed his lips.

“Cas?” Spencer asked, mind flying over the pages and the reports. “Jimmy Novak, you mean. The angel Castiel.”

“You did read in quite a lot of detail, didn’t you?” Sam asked rhetorically. “I’m surprised you didn’t bring it up before…” His eyes focused on a spot behind Spencer, and his gaze turned into a glare. 

Spencer paid it no heed. “I just read them.”

Sam blinked. “I’m sorry?”

Spencer grinned. “I can read 20,000 words per minute and I have an eidetic memory.”

Sam’s eyes were wide, and he looked impressed. “Wow,” He said. “You must be a genius.” He shook his head. “Of course you are. You’ve got three PhDs.”

Spencer inclined his head. “It’s kind of my role in the team,” He said.

“Really? I thought it was you being the good-cop.” 

Spencer snorted. “Not like you’ve met the others,” He pointed out. 

Sam hummed in agreement, then trailed off, and the easy smile that had started to make its way onto his face faded again.

Spencer sighed. “Look, Sam,” He said. “I know you’re hallucinating Lucifer. And I know whatever he’s saying is stopping you from talking to me. But I’m really trying here and I honestly want to know your story. I want to help you, Sam, and I can’t do that unless you talk.”

Sam shrugged. “It’s a curious way of helping, incarcerating someone,” He pointed out. 

“You have to admit,” Spencer shot right back. “There are a hell of a lot of charges against you and your brother. Charges which, for anyone else, anywhere else, would have meant a death penalty.”

“Would they?” Sam asked. “I wish.”

Spencer was taken aback. “I’m sorry?”

Sam chuckled. “Nothing,” He murmured. “It’s an inside joke.”

Spencer frowned, the realization arching through him with startling velocity. Sam Winchester was suicidal. He said it was the joke, but the wistfulness? The self-hatred? The refusal to say he wasn’t a monster? “... I see,” He said, finally. 

Sam sat back in his chair, looking at him with a small smile which didn’t reach his eyes and an inevitability in his expression. “As I’ve said,” He continued. “I’m not going to admit to any crimes you think I’ve committed.” He huffed. “Especially since the very fact that you’re looking for our confession means you don’t have proof.”

Well, he wasn’t completely wrong. “And like we said,” Spencer told him, just to try and squash that thought of his. “We’re doing this for the record. Or, in your words, posterity.”

“Hmm,” Sam said. 

“What about your childhood?” Spencer tried. “You said no crimes, but surely you can tell me about how you grew up.”

“Is that even relevant?”

Everything’s relevant. Spencer shook his head. “No, but it sounds interesting. You grew up on the road, right?”

“Well, you know dad was a marine.”

“It was in your file.”

Sam nodded. “So we moved around a lot after Mom died. Dad didn't want to stay in one place for too long.”

“And you were raised by your brother.”

Sam looked almost amused. “You know we’re repeating the conversation we had the first time you entered, right?”

Spencer shrugged. “Trying to figure you out,” He said. “Why you’re here.”

“We’re here because you want to try and stick us with criminal charges because otherwise you have nada.”

“That’s not exactly true, though,” Spencer said. “Because we have Henriksen’s case files and notes from every state where you’ve been involved in things like these.”

Sam crossed his arms, finally letting his palm go, even as Spencer saw the red-blue skin. “Then why aren’t you charging us already?”

“It takes time to set up a hearing,” Spencer pointed out. “They’ve set it for Monday, so we figured we’d have a shot at you before you end up in jail.”

“Sure,” Sam said. “That’s exactly it.” He sighed and gestured to the brown bag. “I’d like to have my lunch now, if you’re okay with that.” His smile turned cold. “Alone. I don’t like eating with people watching me.” His eyes moved to where his hallucination was standing again, and Spencer got the unsaid message; ‘Any more than I already have.’

Deciding to let it go for now, Spencer got up and left the room. 

Outside, Rossi was waiting, hands tucked into his pockets and a strained smile on his face. “Good job, kid,” He said. 

“I got nothing, though,” Spencer said. 

“You made some rapport,” Rossi corrected. “One step at a time. He opened up to you in the middle, didn’t he?”

Spencer nodded silently.

Ross fell into step beside him. “Gideon will take a crack on him next. We’re thinking of trying the same shtick that worked on his brother.”

Spencer perked up. “Is it working?”

“That’s what we’re looking to find out,” Rossi said, then frowned. “Spencer, has Gideon said anything…?”

“You’re talking about him being suspicious. ”

Rossi’s smile was self-deprecating. “Nothing gets past you, huh?”

“We’re profilers,” Spencer pointed out. “All of us noticed.” He frowned. “But Gideon was acting seriously off.”

“Hasn’t lost his touch, though.”

“Which is why you’re putting him on Sam, too,” Spencer reasoned. 

Rossi shook his head. “Call it a hunch.”

Spencer’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Rossi didn’t elaborate. “While Gideon’s on Sam, you want to take a crack at Dean? He might open up more to you about the supernatural, too. You have a rough understanding, right?”

Spencer nodded. “There was a lot in the books, yeah,” He said. “But we’ll have to see.”

“Good,” He said. “Gideon got him to talk about shape-shifters and Vampires, which clear up a lot of their ‘look-alike’ and beheading tales, even if the first part doesn’t completely compute, but those are still without proof. We need a case which they admit to being supernatural but one that we can connect to them in the real world as well.”

“Okay,” Spencer said. “I’ll see what I can do. Did Morgan call back about the explosion?”

“Not yet,” Rossi said, and he looked worried, too. “But we’ll get there, kid.”

Jason sighed as he sat across from Hotch in his office, having been called in immediately after he got out of interrogation with Dean, who had started to look a little antsy now that he knew Jason was on his side but could do nothing (yet). He had expected to be caught for suspicious behavior, but it was still embarrassing to know he was being made so easily by his own ex-team. 

“So,” He said. “How is Jack?”

A smile flickered across Hotch’s face. “Good,” He said. “He’s doing well in school.”

“That’s good,” Jason murmured. “Smart kid, that one.”

“Yeah,” Hotch said. “He is.” There was a moment of silence, and Hotch turned more serious. “Where have you been in the years since you left the BAU, Gideon?”

Jason’s smile didn’t waver. “Traveling the states,” He said truthfully. “I haven’t been able to stay in one place longer than a month.” There was a ruefulness to his words which he didn’t even think he could hide. 

Hotch stared at him piercingly. “I see,” He said. “And these people you mentioned in ‘bars in Lawrence’?”

“Like I said, a red herring,” Jason told him. “I did go to Lawrence and I did meet people in bars, but there were no people there who talked about the supernatural like these guys did.”

“Why did you use it as an interrogation tactic, then?”

“Because from everything we know about them, it seemed prudent that they assumed that they were a part of a subculture. And having another entrypoint in that subculture was something which may have given me some credibility.” Jason continued, explaining it just as calmly as he would have explained another serial killer’s habits back when he used to work here. 

Hotch pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair. “And ‘Willis’?”

Jason raised his eyebrows. “What, Penelope didn’t find out anything about him?”

Hotch’s gaze was inscrutable. “I have her on Winchester duty right now,” He said in clipped tones.”

“Right,” Jason said. “Well, I wasn’t lying there,” He said. “I did meet a mechanic on my trip. Several, really, but unlike Spencer, I’m not exactly a wealth of memories.” He smiled deprecatingly.

Hotch kept staring. 

Jason stared back. “Do you want me off the case?” He asked quietly.

Hotch grunted. “... No,” He said. “You've made the most headway with Dean.”

Jason leaned back in his chair. “I also have seniority in experience over most of you,” He reasoned.

Hotch huffed. “You do,” He agreed. “And I'm not doubting your skills.”

“But you are doubting me,” Jason asked, a mix of guilt and unease running through him. 

Hotch just stared at him again, wordless. “... We'll see,” He said after a while. 

Jason frowned. 

Before he could speak, though, the door opened and David entered. “Ready, Jason?” He asked. “Sam finished eating and we don't exactly have all the time in the world.”

Jason tried for a smile and it came out twisted, but he nodded anyway, inclining his head in a goodbye to a silent Hotch as he walked out. 

For a few moments, David didn't exit, likely talking to Hotch about him. 

Jason's frown deepened. It wasn't like he wanted to be suspicious, he reasoned to himself. It was just that he had to give the brothers the hint that he knew them. That he was an ally. That they shouldn't do anything desperate, as Bobby had warned him they might, left to their own devices. He had to keep them from confirming their alleged crimes - which was only made worse by the fact that they were crimes but unprecedented and uncategorized and therefore needed a reevaluation of the entire legal system, which meant they couldn't be crimes, not the right way, not when it was really self-defense most of the time, not when it was saving the whole world - before the trial, and then he had to find a way to get the transport vehicle info to Bobby so he could mobilize some of his friends and spring them. 

And Jason was sure as hell going to come out looking guilty, but he couldn't do nothing. Not just because Bobby and this new supernatural world had helped him when he’d basically been killing himself out of grief and self-hatred, but also because these kids had saved the world so many times over, and what did they get for it? Hallucinations and criminal charges.

He sighed.

“What's wrong?” David asked, and the door closed behind him with a click.

Jason shook his head and straightened. “Not much,” He said, and then, because it was David and that had been a stupid excuse. “Just… overwhelmed.”

David's eyes glittered with both compassion and a sparkle Jason could place, which annoyed him because there had once been a time when he could read David like no one else. “About coming back to work?”

Jason shrugged noncommittally. “Sam, then?” 

David smiled in partial amusement, pointed, and then went in the direction leading the way. The rest of the path was silent.

And then, while Jason made a beeline for the interrogation room, David entered the other side, watching. 

He'd have to be even more careful, Jason realized because if there was one person likely to catch him even more than Spencer, it was David Rossi. 

He cleared his throat as he sat down in front of the younger Winchester. He'd finished eating a while ago, and as before, he was sitting straight in his seat, just at the edge of uncomfortable, eyes periodically darting to the side. “Hello, Sam,” He said. “My name is Jason Gideon, and I’m with the FBI.”

“I heard,” Sam said quietly, eyes meeting his, slightly distant. “Did Spencer give up on me, then?”

Jason kept a smile on his face. “Of course not,” He said. “But we thought we should give both of you a breather.”

Sam snorted. 

“We both know why we’re here, though, right?” Jason asked. 

“And we both also know I’m not stupid enough to admit to anything I may not have done,” Sam replied immediately, just as harsh as he had been soft with Spencer. 

Jason raised both his eyebrows in mock surprise. “The law degree from Stanford?”

Sam scowled, and Jason instantly knew the hallucination had said something again. Not for the last time, he felt bad for the kid. He saved the world and what was he left with? A broken mind. “No,” He said. “Just experience with unwanted law enforcement.” He smiled a brittle smile. “Unnecessary law enforcement.”

“Is it?” Jason asked, then cleared his throat. “Surely you’ve come across something in your travels that has warranted this reaction from us.”

Sam started to frown, something glittering in his eyes. 

Jason straightened. “I’ve traveled too, you know?” He continued. “Just like you boys did. I told your brother this, too, but I heard a few things about the supernatural on these travels.”

Sam inhaled sharply. “What kind of things?” He asked, then scowled again. “Your team member already mentioned you’ve read those supernatural books,” He said. “If you think you can pin something on us with fiction—”

“Is it fiction?” Jason asked. 

“The world certainly thinks so.”

“But I’m not asking about the world,” Jason said. “I’m asking about you, Sam. You, your brother…” He placed his hands on the table. “Your companions. How many people do you work with?” He asked. “Maybe a researcher? Other supernatural hunters?” He tried to relay his knowledge through his gaze. “Who’s helping you fight the leviathans?”

Sam’s eyes flared, but even before he asked, he whispered, “Christo.”

Nothing happened.

“I’m not possessed,” Jason said in amusement. “Your brother already tried that.”

Sam pursed his lips and sat back. 

“Come on,” Jason tried again, wondering how to ask again. “Your brother already started to share knowledge of the supernatural with me. Can’t you, too?” He resisted the urge to look back. “I heard you’re the studious one. Dean’s the one who takes after your father and you after your uncle, right? So tell me,” He continued. “What’s the situation with the supernatural?”

Sam had stilled the second Jason said ‘Uncle,’ but unlike Dean, he reacted much less. His eyes simply flickered to the one-way glass behind Jason, then back to Jason, where he met his eyes and stared into his soul. And then, instead of answering Jason, he asked, “What did you ask Dean?” 

Jason nodded, both in answer to the unasked question and in recognition of the question. “Well, I told him about my travels as well, you see, and I mentioned that I met a few of these supernatural hunters, heard some stories, both from people in bars and other professionals, even mechanics.” He smiled. “Dean was happy to tell me what I was wrong about. Regarding the supernatural, of course.”

“Of course he was,” Sam muttered and momentarily closed his eyes, then sighed and opened them again. “I am not admitting to any crimes,” He said in clipped tones. “I’ve already told Spencer this, but if you’re asking, that means you don’t have anything on us.” He raised an eyebrow. 

Jason’s lips twitched up for a second. 

Sam’s eyes cleared. “But I can try to answer if you have anything to ask about the supernatural.” His eyes flickered to the mirror again. “But I’d prefer to talk to Spencer.”

Smart kid.

Jason nodded and stood. “It seems we’ve come to an accord.”