A/N: This is a very different Criminal Minds story from what I am use to writing and you are used to reading. It is a Criminal Minds/Hogan's Heroes crossover. My pen-name for Hogan's Heroes is ColHogan, and HotchRocks for Criminal Minds. I will do my best to be truthful to both shows, and will write a backstory for those who aren't familiar with Hogan's Heroes. I hope my followers from both fandoms will enjoy. The flashbacks are mainly told by Aaron Hotchner's grandfather in story form. Profiler Award Winner for Best Crossover.

Fairytales of a Papa Bear

Chapter 1

After securing her nephew in his car seat, Jessica opened the driver's side door, paused, and gazed into her brother-in-law's dark brown eyes. She understood from his expression how he felt at this moment. No words needed to be spoken.

"Aaron, I'll make sure you and Jack can Skype as often as possible. And feel free to call if you want. You know mom and dad would love to hear from you as will Jack."

Jack leaned over so he could see his father, a toothy smile on his young face, and waved at his dad.

"Bye, daddy!" he shouted. "I'll miss you. You sure you can't come with us?"

Hotch leaned over and mustered his happiest smile which allowed his dimples to show. He waved at his son. "Bye, buddy! I'm going to miss you, too. I wish I could come along, but daddy has to work. You be good for grandpa and grandma, and do what they tell you. Okay?"

"I will."

Jessica got in behind the wheel and closed her car door. As she started the car, she leaned over and waved to Hotch. "Bye, Aaron. I'll call you once we arrive so you'll know we arrived safely."

Hotch waved, then watched the car pull away, and stayed until the car disappeared from view. He let out a deep breath, ran a hand over his thick black hair, walked back inside his apartment building, and entered a waiting elevator. He pressed the up button and stuffed both hands in the pockets of his jeans as the elevator continued its upward ascent. Despite his smile, a sadness could be seen in his eyes as his six-year-old son, Jack, had been buckled into his car seat by his aunt Jessica. Since the murder of his ex-wife, Haley, two years ago, the only connection Hotch had to her was his son. But given the frequency his job required him to travel, he regrettably spent many days and nights away from home and Jack, and left the boy with Jessica. So when he could be home, there was nothing he enjoyed more than spending time with his son.

Now that Jack was gone for the entire summer, he wondered what he was going to do to occupy himself on his days off from work. It was then he recalled the boxes in his bedroom his mother had sent him shortly after his father's death years ago. He had never bothered to unpack or even go through any of them, not even after his mother had passed away four years ago. He had simply stuck them in a corner of his bedroom and left them untouched.

He hadn't wanted any reminders of his father; in fact, he hated the man. Daniel Hotchner, a prominent attorney, not only drank to excess, but also verbally and physically abusive to his wife and young Aaron. And after Sean had been born, Aaron was determined to not allow his father to abuse Sean. So to try and protect his baby brother, young Aaron took the blame for all of Sean's misbehavior, while trying to protect their mother as well. Everybody in town despised Daniel Hotchner but too afraid to stand up to him. Hotch had never wanted Sean to suffer as he and their mother suffered. Aaron had been secretly delighted when his father passed away from a massive heart attack at forty-seven. (1)

When the elevator doors hissed open at the eighth floor, Hotch got out, and walked to his apartment, removing his keys from his pocket. He unlocked his front door, went inside, and entered his bedroom. Maybe it was time to go through those boxes his mother had sent, and get rid of them once and for all. He gazed at the far corner of the room near the closet in which hung his suits, and stared at the five boxes stacked one on top of the other. He realized watching them wasn't going to get rid of them. So he picked up the top box which was slightly smaller than the others, and carried it to his bed.

After he sat the box on his bed, Hotch sat beside it and opened it. He hesitated while looking at the contents. Inside he found ten journals which he found strange. He knew his father had never kept journals much less saved them. So Aaron found himself naturally curious as to who they belonged to, and what was written in them.

With a weary sigh, he picked up the top one. Written on the plain cover in block letters was 'FAIRYTALES OF A PAPA BEAR.' Near the bottom was printed volume one. But the handwriting wasn't that of his father, but of his grandfather, Aaron Daniel Hotchner, after whom he had been named. Hotch smiled recalling his grandfather who, unfortunately, had passed away from cancer when Hotch was ten years-of-age. He didn't remember much about his grandfather other than the man was loving and compassionate, and didn't drink; the complete opposite of his father.

The Hotchner boys loved their grandfather, and enjoyed spending time with him whenever possible. Hotch recalled how the man would often take the boys on outings to the park, the movies, played games with them, and when possible, take them to dinner and camping. He showed his grandsons all the love they never got from their father. Also, he would often regale his grandsons with made up stories and hold them spellbound for hours. The title on the journal now held in his hands, was probably one of his grandfather's stories that the man had put in writing for the boys. Especially after his father barred them from ever seeing or speaking to the man again.

He wondered when and why his father had developed such animosity towards his own father and prohibited his sons from any further contact with the man. The only thing he could figure even at a young age, is that his father and grandfather argued often. Argued over the man's yelling at Sean, and the beatings of his wife and Aaron. Also, Daniel Hotchner suspected Aaron discussed what happened at home with his grandfather and he couldn't allow that.

So, the only way Daniel Hotchner made sure his sons kept their mouths shut was to keep his father and grandsons apart. To guarantee that, he prohibited both boys from having any further contact at all with their grandfather again. He made sure both boys and his wife understood that to disobey would have harsh repercussions.

Aaron refused to be deterred. Often while on his way home after school, he would stop by his grandfather's house and visit for an hour or so. Sometimes he even brought Sean with him. But that came to an abrupt end one day when he got home to find his father drunk, and waiting for him. He gripped his thick leather belt in one hand, and a look of rage on his face.

"Dad? What's wrong?" The boy had an idea what was wrong and what was coming.

"You know what's wrong, you lying deceitful little bastard!" Daniel slurred his words. "You've been seeing him behind my back! What have you been telling him?!" The more he spoke the more enraged he became. His hands literally shook. "I warned you what would happen if you disobeyed me!"

"But I haven't been…."

"Liar! I saw you!"

Aaron was about to respond, thought better of it, and kept his mouth shut instead.

Daniel roughly seized his son by the front of his shirt and yanked him forward until he landed face down on the floor. At the same time, he swung the belt, its buckle hanging from one end. The blows fell across the boy's back and legs repeatedly, each blow stinging more and more. But Aaron refused to cry or beg him to stop which enraged his father even more. The beating intensified until blood was shed as the buckle cut into the boy's back and legs.

After several minutes, Daniel tired and threw the belt on the floor, and started to exit the room leaving his eldest son lying on the floor barely conscious. But not before he viciously kicked his son's rib area. When the tirade ended and things quieted, Aaron's mother approached the living room and stood in the doorway between the kitchen and living room. The moment she noticed her son trying to push himself up off the floor, she ran into the living room and knelt by his side. She ran her hand lovingly through his dark hair. Hearing whimpers, both looked upward to see Sean at the top of the stairs crying; apparently terrified over what both were certain the young boy had seen.

"Go back to your room, Sean," Aaron hissed trying to keep the pain out of his voice. "I'm okay. Really." The little boy didn't move at first.

"Sean, do as your brother says," the boys' mother said, fearful that her husband might return and take his anger out on Sean. This time the little boy ran to his bedroom and they both heard the door slam. Sandra then turned her attention to her injured son. "Aaron…" she cried with tears rolling down her cheeks.

"I'm okay, mom," Aaron hissed in obvious pain. He placed a hand over his injured rib area, suspecting one of his ribs was either cracked or broken. His entire body hurt, but it hurt more to see his mother so upset, and that Sean had seen his father's anger. Something that Aaron never wanted his younger brother to ever see. "Listen to me, mom. I'm okay. And I'm sorry you heard what you did. But please don't confront dad. He's in a nasty mood and might really hurt you. I'm afraid what he might do to you if you do. Do you understand me? You can't confront him."

"But, Aaron…."

"Promise me, mom."

Everything in Susan Hotchner cried out for her to confront her husband, but her fear of retaliation stopped her, especially when her husband was this way. Instead, she helped her son to his knees. Aaron grimaced with every movement as his body protested.

"I won't confront your father, Aaron, if that's what you want. But at least let me get you to the hospital. You need to see a doctor. It's possible you might have a broken rib."

In agreement, Aaron let his mother help him to his feet.

Aaron sighed as he closed his eyes at the memory. His welts and bruises healed with time, but the cracked ribs took longer. When he opened his eyes again, they were moist as it hurt to recall the memories. Still, he owed it to his grandfather to see what was in the journals. Also, as his grandfather was a story teller, maybe the stories he had written about were something Aaron could share with Jack. But first he'd have to read them himself.

Hotch let out a deep breath as he opened the cover, and was surprised to find a black and white photo inside the journal.

"What the…" he stated picking up the photo to get a closer look at it. The photo was of six men. Hotch at once recognized his grandfather despite the uniform shirt with the insignia of a Staff Sergeant on the sleeve. One man wore a dark leather jacket and a crush cap. The insignia on his shirt collar indicated he was an American Colonel. Another was a black man with a light-colored jacket bearing the same insignia as his grandfather. The fourth man was on the thin side, wearing a worn leather jacket and a worn leather cap with what looked like wool ear-flaps turned upward. He had no idea what his rank was. Of the other two, one wore a British uniform from the insignia on his arm, possibly a corporal. And finally, the last man was smaller in stature than the others. He wore a beret and a scarf around his neck. The beret said the man was French. But his rank was also unknown. Hotch looked at the back of the photo and spotted the inscription of 'Stalag 13, 1944.' There was no other information.

Who are these people with granddad? Hotch thought. He spent a few more seconds studying the people in the photo before he laid it beside him on the bed. He made a mental note to have his technical analyst, Penelope Garcia, run a check on the men in the photo. She could find out anything no matter how deeply hidden. Satisfied, Hotch opened the journal and proceeded to read.

(May, 1944):

Colonel Robert Hogan, Senior POW officer, sat at the table in the common room of Barracks Two drinking coffee. It was another dull day at Stalag 13. Things had been quiet lately on London's end for the last week, and everybody was beginning to feel bored. The American officer watched three of his men playing poker; Carter, Newkirk, and LeBeau. He chuckled suspecting Newkirk was using his marked deck of cards. (2)

After a few minutes, Newkirk rolled his eyes watching his good friend, Andrew Carter, take too long to decide which cards to discard. "C'mon, Andrew," Newkirk raised his voice, his British brogue strong. "You're holdin' up the ruddy game."

"Hold your horses, will ya?" Carter retorted. "I'm thinkin'."

Newkirk let out an exasperated sigh. "Blimey," he complained. "Don't think, Andrew. The ruddy war won't last that bleedin' long."

"Fine. Here." Carter threw out a card which Newkirk promptly picked up, then lay down what was in his hands.

"Gin."

LeBeau and Carter both threw down their cards in disgust while Hogan chuckled and sipped his coffee.

"Thank you, gentlemen," the Englander replied with a grin as he gathered up the discarded playing cards and reshuffled them. "Who's up for another game, then?"

"No way, Jose," Carter replied getting up from the table.

"How 'bout you, LeBeau?" Newkirk asked with a smirk, still shuffling.

"Forget it," the French Corporal sneered as he got to his feet and sat down on the same bunk next to Carter.

Newkirk noticed he and Hogan were the only two at the table. With a sigh, he turned his attention to the Colonel and smirked. "How 'bout you, Gov'nor? You up for a game or two?"

Hogan chuckled and put down his now empty coffee cup. "No thanks, Peter. I'm not a glutton for punishment." He chuckled again as Newkirk rolled his eyes and muttered something about 'officers' before tossing his cards onto the table. He started to say something else when a sound caused both him and Hogan to look over in the direction of the double bunk bed in the corner.

The lower bunk rattled as it rose, and the wooden planks beneath the mattress dropped down and acted as a ladder. A dark man with a mustache and wearing a pea green jacket with the insignia of a Staff Sergeant on the sleeve appeared. He climbed up the ladder and stepped over the wooden frame and into the barracks.

He struck the side of the upper bedframe twice, and waited until the ladder rose and the bunk dropped down over the opening. He walked toward Hogan as he pulled out a folded sheet of paper from his inside jacket pocket.

"This just came in from London, Colonel," the black man, Hogan's Second-in-Command, replied calmly. "Sounded urgent."

"Thanks, Kinch." Hogan took the paper from him and read it. He let out a deep breath.

"What is it, Colonel?" asked Carter.

"London wants us to destroy the Schweinfurt Bridge, and the convoy travelling over it in seventy-two hours. Apparently, this convoy is carrying weapons meant for the Russian Front." Hogan looked at the man who handed him the message. "Kinch, radio London and tell them message received and confirmed. Let 'em know we'll take care of it." He handed the message back to Kinch.

"Right away, Colonel," said the radioman.

"What's the plan, Colonel?" asked Newkirk, his green eyes looking eagerly at his commanding officer.

"I don't have all the details worked out yet," Hogan replied wrapping his arms around himself. "But we might be able to destroy the bridge and the convoy at the same time." He looked over at his demolition expert. "Carter, how much time will you need to have eight explosive devices with delayed timers ready?"

Carter shrugged. "Gee, Colonel, I guess about twenty-four hours. How soon do you need them?"

"In about twenty-four hours."

Carter smiled. "You got 'em, boy…I mean Colonel." Hogan coughed to cover his smile of the enthusiastic young Tech Sergeant's common misstatement.

LeBeau grinned devilishly as he studied the American officer. "Something tells me you've got something cooking already, Mon Colonel."

"I do, LeBeau. I just need to work out a few things first."

Just then, Kinch reappeared from down below with another man behind him. Staff Sergeant Aaron Daniel Hotchner stood six feet tall with jet black hair and deep brown eyes that looked right through a person. And although he held the same rank as Kinch, he was aware Kinch outranked him by date of service. He closed the tunnel entrance, then walked to the stove and poured himself a cup of hot coffee. He hadn't been a member of Hogan's operation long, three months to be precise. And although he was still learning other facets of the operation, he mainly spelled Kinch on the radio at the moment. Right now, Kinch was monitoring the radio and Hotchner was on a break.

"Hotchner," Hogan suddenly called out noticing the man for the first time.

"Sir?"

"I think it's time you get some experience outside the wire. How would you like to go on a mission with Kinch, Newkirk, and Carter?"

Hogan noticed a smile come to the man's face showing his dimples. "Are you sure, Colonel?" he asked. "What I mean is…I haven't been here that long. Are you sure you want me to go with them?"

"Piece of pie," Carter replied with a goofy grin.

"Cake, Andrew. Piece of cake," said Newkirk with a roll of his eyes.

Hogan grinned, ignoring them. "Good a time as any to see what you can do. Is something wrong?"

"No, sir! Thank you, sir!"

Hogan smirked. "No need to thank me, Sergeant. Kinch will be in charge on the mission. Just do what he says and you'll do fine."

(Current Time)

Hotch closed the journal. He shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Opening his eyes again, he let out a deep breath. Why didn't his grandfather tell him he had been a Prisoner-of-War? He suspected that he and Sean being children had been the primary reason. After all, how do you explain such horrors to a child without frightening him?

What he read so far did sound like a fairytale. And who the heck was this Papa Bear? He believed he needed to read more to make the determination if what he read turned out to be true. And regardless, if he could share these journals with his son. Hotch picked up the photo again and studied the people in it. He realized the officer in the photo more than likely was this Colonel Hogan.

The fact that his grandfather was assigned there meant this had been a prison camp for Noncoms. And from what he knew of POW camps from history, officers were assigned to camps specifically for officers. So why had an American officer been assigned to a prison camp for Noncoms? Another question which bothered Hotch, is why didn't this Colonel Hogan not try to escape?

And an even more curious question troubling him was, who were these men in the photo, and what were they to his grandfather?

(1) The abuse Hotch suffered as a child was hinted at in the series, but never disclosed.

(2) Hogan's Heroes was a comedy about life in a POW camp which ran weekly on CBS from 1965 thru 1971. It now runs as repeats on ME-Television Monday through Friday.