Part One
They're been doing this for so many years, they've got it down to a science. First, JJ calls them and gives them their case. A haunting in Georgia, a shifter in Oregon, whatever it is. Then they call Garcia and ask for any information she can give them. If Garcia gets stuck, they call Rossi, and the retired hunter will tell them everything he can remember.
Yes, Morgan and Hotch are good at what they do. Even if they don't have Emily helping them anymore, something they don't talk about. Ever. But it's on their minds every time they face a werewolf in some dark town, or they come across a female hunter; determined and beautiful. But they've managed to keep on going, keep on hunting the things that go bump in the night.
Lately though, things have been difficult. Hotch is still limping from being swiped at by a Grimm, and Morgan's back still stings where Hotch accidentally got him with some salt buckshot. They've been driving in stony silence for the past three days, both wondering why all the ooglie booglies have been going so haywire. And then finally, finally they get a clue.
"Yeah, Baby Girl?" Morgan answers his phone as Hotch pulls into a truck stop, listening as best he can to the conversation. Morgan puts it on speaker.
"Hello my lovely specimens of manhood." Is Garcia's cheerful greeting.
"Tell me something good, babe. Do you know what's going on?"
"You are about to fall even more madly in love with me than you already are," Garcia says brightly, "I think I've found the cause of all the crazy."
"Well?" Hotch said, sounding a little impatient. Morgan gave him a reproachful look that went ignored.
"It started in Kentucky, and that's the center of all the demonic activity that's been happening. I wasn't sure if there was just one cause, but I made a few calls and narrowed down what it was. It's a demon."
"One demon?" Morgan says in surprise, "How can one demon cause all of this activity?"
"Do you know what kind of demon is is?" Hotch asks "It must be pretty powerful…"
"That is an understatement my lovelies." Garcia says, sobering slightly, "I have no idea what kind of demon this is, because no one's seen any others like it. This is the only one if its kind that has ever been seen. And he's a strong one."
"Great," Morgan says grimly, "And if he's the only one, and he's still around, I guess no one has any idea how to get rid of him?"
"Sorry, no dice."
Hotch sighs. "Oh, well. Good work, Garcia. We have a location, we'll just work out the rest after we do a little investigating."
"Got it, boss. I'll text you the last known location. Good luck boys."
"Thanks, babe. We'll be in touch." Morgan says.
"You'd better. PG out."
Morgan writes down the place Garcia texts him and puts his phone away, Hotch already pulling back out onto the highway.
"Well? What do you think?" Morgan asks, mostly to get Hotch talking to him again after so long.
"I think we'll know more when we get to Clearwater." Is all Hotch says, and they fall into silence one more.
~H~R~M~
Clearwater is a small town, almost all one street, and people are, not surprisingly, wary of the two strangers who show up and start asking questions. They could try to do this a little more subtly, but they've found that secrecy just hurts their cause.
But there have been several unexplained deaths, mysterious fires and blackouts, and people just don't want to open up. Even if they use their (forged, thank you Garcia) FBI badges. It's frustrating, and the two men are in a worse mood than ever as they had back to their motel room (half a mile out of Coldwater, since the place is too small to have its own lodgings).
Morgan throws himself down on one of the twin beds, sighing heavily.
"I don't get it, man," He complains, "You'd think people would want to help us; we're trying to get rid of this thing!"
Hotch is on his laptop at the kitchenette table, probably doing research. "People don't like to trust strangers Morgan, that's just how they are."
"Still," Morgan protested, "We're trying to catch this bastard!"
"I know that," Hotch snapped, "Yelling at me isn't going to convince these people."
"Sorry," Morgan mumbles, turning on his side and closing his eyes. He isn't sure why he was so pissed, they'd had harder hunts. He guesses its because he and Hotch are so at odds with each other lately. He knows it's his fault. If he hadn't gotten so emotional on that last job. If he hadn't overreacted when he'd realized that Hotch wasn't dead, only hurt. If he hadn't kissed the older man, relieved that he was still alive.
They haven't talked about it; Morgan knows its likely they never will. He's been attracted to Hotch for a long time, almost since they first began working together. A lot of it has to do with how much he trusts the other man, trusts him with his life. It doesn't hurt that Hotch is gorgeous either, dark and intense. They work well together, and Morgan is pretty sure they'd be good together at other things too.
He's dimly aware of Hotch turning the TV on to the news, but he tunes it out. They've been here three days all day and the only thing they've gotten is more annoyed.
He's brought out of his daydreams when Hotch makes a triumphant noise. He cracks open his eyes to see him turning up a news story about a fire in an abandoned barn. It gets his attention too, and he sits up to listen to the end of the story. It's in a town about ten miles from Coldwater, on an old farm. Nobody was hurt, but there were symbols burned into the field around the old building. He meets Hotch's eyes and smiles grimly; this is the sign they've been looking for.
They grab their gear and get on the road in less than five minutes; Hotch is speeding a bit on the dark roads and Morgan just prays that all the deer stay away.
"We should be careful about this," Morgan warns, "This things being too obvious."
"It knows we're here," Hotch agrees, "It wants us to find it."
"But why? Is it playing with us? Or just overconfident?"
"I guess we'll find out." Is all the answer Hotch gives.
~H~R~M~