Chapter Nine: Hotch - Hate me

Thanks to my fantastically patient beta, Greeneyedconstellations!

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Morgan shoots him a look that's three parts scared and four parts furious, and it takes every iota of strength he possesses to turn his back on the need in that expression and jog into the thick trees.

"Stay with me," he says to the barely calm woman, her eyes dull with grief, and she nods. A radio hangs limply at her hip. He's almost certain she's human, and it hardly matters if she's not because she needs him right now and he's not going to leave her alone. "With me!" he calls out loud, feeling almost stupid, but it works.

And this is bizarre and his brain keeps tripping over it, running through the woods and feeling the presence of wolves at his side as they run with him.

When he slows, they slow, five all up, and they watch him like they're waiting for instruction. Looking at them, each of them, he wonders how he could ever have been fooled that they were animal to begin with. Their expressions are horrifyingly human.

"We need to get back down to town," the woman says finally, when they slow once more and it seems like nothing has followed them. That's good news. It's also bad.

If they're not following Hotch, then they're likely after Morgan, and he can't think about that without thinking about Reid and the glazed look in his eyes and then that leads to Emily…

He forces them out of his head. Surviving comes first. Getting of this mountain – getting everyone off this mountain.

"How many of you are there?" he asks the woman, and she looks confused.

"I'm not a wolf," she says, her mouth turning down. "My nephew, he… he was. I was just here to stay with him, in this place…"

One of the wolves surges upwards, becoming a thin man with a receding hairline and a bushy moustache. "Not everyone in town is wolfie," he says, looking around nervously. "Up here though? You find people, no doubt they're rotten. No good wolf willingly spends time up here, not with her. If they're not mindless, they're following."

Hotch checks his ammo. Three left. Not enough. He swallows. He needs answers. "Alright," he says slowly, looking up again. "How many wolves are there up here?"

The man shrugs. "Who knows. Used to be maybe a dozen, twenty at max. Elements kept their numbers down nice. Just those who didn't want to play nice play by our rules. Then she came along and got them all riled. Said that what's the point of doing what we can do if we don't do it."

"Rapists," spits the woman, and her mouth is twisted into an almost wolf-like grimace. "They turned my nephew, you know. Those in town, they won't turn no one who doesn't want it. Those up here? They don't give them a fucking choice. I barely managed to get him out of there—if it wasn't for Shades, I wouldn't have—and now he's…" She looks down, biting at her lip.

"Stupid bitch gets off on control." The man paces slightly, looking around at the four wolves watching quietly. "Got it in her head that to be a leader she's gotta control her pack. That's not how it works. No wolf is an island."

A cold wind cuts through Hotch and he shivers. The woman inches closer, her lips blue against the redness of her cheeks. "They're going to cut us off from the town, aren't they?" she whispers, looking at the man. "They're done just claiming the forest as theirs. They're taking our homes now, aren't they?"

When the man grits his teeth and shrugs, Hotch pushes thoughts of his team, of Reid, out of his head again. He can't help them yet. The only way he can is by staying alive. "Weather blowing in fast," the man says, glancing up at the shifting canopy. "Won't be hard for them to cut us off once it blows in. And Kara, you and the agent, you won't last long up here once the wind starts up."

"What are you suggesting?" Hotch asks, despite the thousand and one questions clamouring to be answered at once.

The answer is unpleasant, and exactly what he expected. "We bunker in. Shades will be getting his hunters up here – we outnumber the rogues when we're together. We find a cave system, get a fire going for you two, and we wait."

Hotch swallows, his throat drying as the icy wind strips the moisture from his exposed face. "My team are out here. Agent Morgan, Agents Jareau and Rossi… they're on the mountain." And Reid, and Prentiss, they're alone…

"I'm sorry," says the woman, and turns to follow the wolves as they form a wobbly line through the trees. "But there's nothing we can do."

He has no choice but to turn his back on his team and follow them.

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The night comes in hard and fast, and sleep is a forgotten luxury. Even if he wanted to, the hours stretching between him and the last time he'd seen his team would have made it impossible.

He has a duty of care to them. It's his job to protect them, to keep them from as much harm as possible while still allowing them the leeway to do their jobs.

And he'd brought them here, despite his misgiving, kept them here when everything had pointed to it going wrong, and now they're all paying the price.

The fire is a soft crackling heat in front of him. Two of the wolves lay on either side of him, their shaggy sides radiating a softer warmth that means he's not cold, although barely comfortable. The shallow dip they're sheltering in keeps most of the wind out.

Outside, three wolves pace. On guard. The woman is curled up, awake, at his side. She'd like him to believe she's asleep, so he allows her that. For now. The radio is next to her, still resolutely silent. No one answering, despite their best efforts.

Something howls, down the mountain. Gunshots echo. He flinches with every hollow sound. Please don't be my team. Please don't be my team…

"What happens if I get bitten?" he says suddenly, and both wolves twitch at the sudden sound of his voice.

The woman's voice is muffled by her arm, but audible enough despite that. "Nothing, really. You won't turn anyway. But it will uh…" She trails off.

A dark chuckle and the thin man from before slips in. "Makes ya horny as hell," he says with a wry grunt. "But you keep your mind, mostly. You'll just probably have some fantastic sex with whoever is willing until it fades. Why do you think we got humans here? They're don't come here for the weather, that's for sure."

Hotch stills. Reid, the morning that felt like an eternity ago, the desperate way he'd pressed against him, needing him. The confusion in his eyes when it had been over, barely hidden by the satisfaction brought on by their sudden tryst.

There's something cold and heavy building in his belly.

The sinking suspicion that it hadn't been Spencer. That it had been the bite.

And Hotch had… he gags, barely hiding the noise.

The man continues cheerfully, not seeming to notice the horror that's choking Hotch with every word.

"Takes more than a bite to turn you, that's how this whole fuck-up started. Shades came in and said it can't be considered consensual to turn someone once the bite happens because it makes them pliant to the idea. Said anyone biting anyone without proven consent gets run outta town."

"You need blood and sex as well," the woman says, rolling over to face them. Her eyes glint in the firelight. "Blood to transmit the infection. Sex to trigger the change. Without all three, you don't turn. And if you get all three from the wrong wolf…"

The man whistles, crouching and poking at the fire. "You don't get your mind back at all. Which is what Shades was trying to stop. He thought by bringing your people in it'd show them that he's not going to back down on this… instead, he's just added you lot to their ranks."

"My…" Hotch chokes on the word, "Partner. My teammate. He was bitten. He was… sick. Really sick."

The woman is watching him. "Doubt he was just bitten then," she says dully. "They bit my nephew. I shot the wolf on him. Covered him in blood. After that, there was no stopping him. He just kept… it just kept getting worse and worse until eventually Shades agreed he'd have to be turned. The virus doesn't let them walk away once it's gotten a hold."

"If your boy was bit and blooded," the man says, and he sounds almost sympathetic, "he's probably already with them, agent. Well and truly one of them. This is what our community was made to avoid."

Hotch can't say anything. He can't find the air to speak.

He stares into the fire and he hopes.

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It gets colder. Two of the wolves huddle in a group, then split away. Hotch watches them vanish into the frost-coated night. They're going to try and see if anyone is coming.

It gets darker. Someone screams distantly.

He knows that scream.

"Let me go!" he roars, struggling against the man's iron-clad grip on his arms. "That's my agent. That's JJ – get the hell off of me!"

"Stop it!" the man grunts, copping an elbow to his face. Hotch kicks back, slamming him against the wall, and turns on him, his hand on the butt of his gun. "It's a ruse, damnit! They're trying to draw you out!"

Hotch chokes back his anger. "She's one of mine!"

"Not anymore."

He goes cold. An ice cold horror that leaves him reeling and shaken, his mind blank. "I have to protect her," he tries to tell the man, but it just comes out like pleading.

The man looks away, refusing to meet his gaze. "Ah, I'm sorry, agent," he mumbles to the ground. "But in that you've already failed."

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Morning and Hotch is empty. The dark recedes and it takes with it everything that he thought he was. A leader, a friend, an agent. Lost in the night and that scream and his inaction.

They're kicking sand over the coals of the fire and Hotch is trying to move against the stiffness in his limbs, when a wolf growls low and slow.

"Someone coming," the woman says, and Hotch draws his gun and ignores their noises of dismay as he walks, walks, walks, finds himself standing in the centre of the clearing and looking towards the noise, ready.

He's failed enough.

Someone appears, limping, hurt. Their head hangs low, dark hair curtained over their face. He can see blood on their clothes, a gun on their hip. She staggers, one knee colliding with the stone ground, not putting her hands out to break her fall. He knows her. He doesn't know the man behind her, the one who puts his hand out as though to catch her and freezes when he sees Hotch standing there.

"Emily," he calls, and she looks up slowly.

He wonders what he'll see when he meets her gaze. If it will be a human looking back up at him, or a wolf.

He levels his gun and waits.