Reid stood in the darkened observation room and stared through the one-way glass. In the interrogation room on the other side, Sam Winchester sat slumped in his chair, handcuffed to the table. He looked exhausted, dark shadows hung under his eyes, but he lacked the twitchy nervousness Reid had come to expect from guilty suspects.
Reid's thoughts were mostly on the events of earlier that morning. He had wracked his brain trying to come up with possible rational explanations for what he saw, and while he had several theories formulated, none of them satisfied all the parameters of the occurrence.
He was an exceptionally intelligent man. His IQ was well above genius level and he had multiple PhDs. During his time with the FBI, he had seen strange and seemingly unexplainable things, but every one had, in the end, a scientific basis. He was sure this was the same, he just had yet to find it.
But he still couldn't get the sight of Mallory Graves' glowing eyes out of his head.
The door opened and Morgan let himself in. "Hey," the older agent greeted shortly.
"Where are the others?" Reid asked.
"Hotch and Rossi are talking with Chief Hammond, Prentiss is still at the hospital, and JJ went to the airport to pick up Dr. Graves," Morgan reported. He joined Reid by the window. "He say anything?"
"I haven't talked to him yet," Reid replied.
Morgan eyed his team mate sidelong. "What happened at the warehouse?" he asked. "Hotch says he didn't see anything and Emily wouldn't tell me anything over the phone."
Reid considered his words for a moment. "I'm not sure," he finally admitted. "The situation was very disorganized. I can't be certain of what I saw."
"I heard that Mallory put three of the assault team in the hospital," Morgan said.
"She was clearly suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder and was unaware that we were trying to help her," Reid answered. "She can't be held responsible for her actions."
"Reid, I've seen pictures of Mallory," Morgan said a little impatiently. "She's ninety pounds soaking wet. How the hell did she get the drop on three fully-trained police officers?"
"In times of extreme stress or danger, it's possible for a person's fight instinct to overcome their flight, and, with increased adrenaline and decreased physical inhibitions, to perform feats of extraordinary strength," Reid informed Morgan. "There have been many recorded cases of women overcoming otherwise impossible obstacles in order to save loved ones."
"Yeah? And who was Mallory saving?" Morgan asked, half-joking.
"Him," Reid replied seriously, pointing toward the man in the interrogation room. Morgan's eyebrows shot up.
"You think so?" he questioned.
Reid nodded. "She specifically targeted the officer trying to arrest him. The other two merely got in her way. And she only allowed herself to be subdued after he spoke to her."
Morgan blew out a sigh. "That...changes things."
"I believe Mallory's report that the Winchesters didn't hurt her," Reid said.
"You read the file," Morgan observed, holding up the object in question. Reid nodded again. "So you saw the part where they're supposed to be dead."
"They were reported dead," Reid corrected. "No bodies were recovered. Obviously they found some way of escape before the explosion."
"Yeah," Morgan said. He shrugged. "Well, you want to go talk to him, or what?"
Reid straightened. "Yes," he replied instantly, reaching down to remove his gun from his hip. "I have several questions I would like answered. There are too many inconsistencies in the files."
"You want to take lead?" Morgan offered.
Reid gave him a grateful look. "If you don't mind."
"Nah," Morgan replied easily. "I'll just stand there and look intimidating. C'mon, kid."
Winchester looked up sharply when they entered. "How's Mal?" he demanded instantly.
Morgan opened his mouth to rebuke him but Reid beat him to the punch. "She's being treated at the hospital. None of her injuries are life-threatening. She'll be fine."
Winchester relaxed, some of the weariness vanishing from his face. "Good," he said softly.
Reid sat down opposite of the fugitive, aware of Morgan's supporting presence at his back. The young agent took a moment to assess his target. Sam Winchester was a big man, and his loose flannel shirt did nothing to conceal his muscular strength. He was physically dangerous, without a doubt, but the intelligence in his eyes interested Reid more.
"You obviously care about Mallory's well-being," Reid observed.
Winchester gave him a wary look. "She's my friend," he finally said.
Reid nodded. "Yes, of course. You don't have very many friends other than your brother, given your nomadic lifestyle. Any friends that you do acquire, you would most likely treasure."
Winchester gave him a puzzled look. "Uh, I really don't think that you guys arrested me to talk about my relationships. No offense, but that's pretty shoddy police interrogation technique."
"Oh, we're not police," Reid informed him. "I'm Dr. Spencer Reid, and this is Special Agent Derek Morgan. We're with the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit."
Winchester's eyebrows shot up. "Profilers," he said. "FBI. Awesome." He sighed and slumped even more, closing his eyes tiredly. Reid tilted his head.
"When was the last time you slept, Mr. Winchester?"
He opened his eyes again with a shudder. "Sam," he insisted sharply. "Just call me Sam. And..." He frowned. "I don't remember. Why?"
"It just goes to show how much you were concerned about Mallory," Reid pointed out. "Were you looking for her after Molly Grandin took her?"
Sam frowned. "Molly who?"
"Grandin," Morgan spoke for the first time. Sam blinked at him blankly for a moment before his expression cleared, and then darkened.
"Meg," he said, a growl in his voice. "Her name is Meg, now."
"The two of you have history," Reid pressed, going with the flow of the conversation. "What happened between the two of you?"
Sam snorted. "She doesn't like me. Really, really doesn't like me."
"Why?" Morgan demanded tersely.
Sam raised his gaze to meet Morgan's again. In a flat voice, he replied, "Because I was born."
XxxXxxX
"He what?"
Mary rubbed her forehead and declined to repeat herself. Dean began to pace.
"Son of a bitch," he fumed. "I am so going to beat his ass! What the hell was he thinking?"
"Dean," Ellen snapped. "Shut up. You're not helping."
"It shouldn't be hard to get him out," Jo said. "I mean, we've got an angel, right?" She eyed Sophia curiously; to date Jo's only experience with angels had been limited to Ami and Cas, and she wasn't quite sure what to make of the Archive.
Sophia was currently fussing over Dani, who was fast asleep on one of the motel beds. Sophia had finished healing what the young woman's skinwalker nature hadn't and was now combing and braiding Dani's blue-streaked hair.
Mary shook her head in response to Jo's observation. "Sophia may be an angel, but she's not a warrior. She barely flies herself around, much less passengers. There's no way we can ask her to walk into the middle of a police department and get Sam out."
"Then call Cas," Jo said bluntly.
"No, we're not looking at this the proper way," Ellen interrupted. "We don't just got to get Sam free, we got to get Mal free, and then we have to kill whatever search they put out after. And they're probably looking for Dean, too." Ellen jabbed her finger at Mary's oldest son. "They know he'll be nearby."
"What about Meg?" Dean demanded. "What happened to her?"
"I don't know," Mary admitted. "I didn't see her leave the warehouse."
"We can't do this on our own," Jo insisted. "We'll need back up."
"Cas already told me he can't spare anyone from the war," Dean told her wearily. "We're on our own."
"Whatever our next move is, we can't go after Sam and Mal," Mary said. "Mal needs to be in the hospital and Sam is safe enough where he is."
"We have to go after Meg," Dean agreed reluctantly. "We get her first."
"How are we going to find her?" Jo asked. "We were using the videos before. Will she make another?"
"God, I hope not," Ellen blurted. "That'll mean she's taken another girl."
"I can find her." All eyes turned to the bed. Dani hadn't been asleep, after all. She sat up, giving Sophia a grateful look. "I can find Meg if I have her scent. I can find anything."
Mary glanced around the room quickly. "I don't know if that's a good idea," she began, but Dani slid off the bed and got to her feet.
"It's okay. I feel fine. I can do this," she insisted. "I want to. Mal saved my life. It's my turn to help her."
"Okay, then," Dean agreed instantly. "We don't have time to lose. Jo? You coming?"
Jo hesitated a moment, her gaze darting to Dani. "Yeah. I'm in," she said finally.
Ellen sighed. "All right, fine. I guess you'll need someone to make sure you idiots don't get yourselves killed."
Dean turned to Mary. "Mom?" he questioned. She nodded.
"I'll come. But we'll have to be careful. Meg's obviously smart, and she's planned this out. We'll have to get one step ahead of her if this is gonna work."
XxxXxxX
"Really?" Dani asked about an hour later, looking at the objects in Dean's hand. "I mean...seriously?"
"What do you think people are going to do if they see a full-grown coyote walking around the streets of Boston?" Dean asked impatiently. "We can't afford to attract attention right now."
"You won't have to wear it longer than you have to," Mary assured the young woman. Dani sent another dark look at the collar and leash.
"Fine," she huffed. "Give me a minute." She walked stiff-legged into the bathroom but left the door open. A short while later, she walked back out on all fours, her expression still indicating her canine indignation. She allowed Dean to buckle the collar around her neck, but he held off on the leash.
Mary turned to Sophia. "You should go to Mal," she said. "Stay with her, out of sight. If something happens, let us know."
Sophia nodded sharply and vanished with the soft sound of disturbed feathers. Dean opened the motel door and Dani preceded them out to the Impala. Jo opened the back seat so she could jump in. "I hope this works," Jo said to Dean.
He pressed his lips together. "So do I," he admitted.
XxxXxxX
Emily sipped from her terrible coffee and cast another glance over at the girl sleeping in the hospital cot. Mallory had been in and out of consciousness ever since her wounds had been treated, and the nightmares had continued. Once the lights overhead had flickered and the various machines she was hooked up to all went off, prompting several moments of panic until they realized Mallory was fine. Every once in a while, the girl would mutter in that strange language, and twice she'd called out the name "Amy."
"Agent Prentiss?" Emily looked up at the soft voice and found Mallory's doctor standing in the doorway to the room. She got to her feet and went over to join him.
"Dr. Barton," she greeted. "What is it?"
The doctor, who was a couple inches shorter than Emily and balding, shifted his weight nervously. "There are a few things I wanted to discuss with you about Ms. Graves," he said, fiddling with the manila envelope in his hands. When he didn't go on, Emily was forced to prompt him. He startled and blurted out, "We ran a routine blood test. Did you know she is pregnant?"
Emily's gaze darted from the doctor to the girl and back. "How far along?" she demanded.
Barton grimaced. "About four weeks. We won't know for sure until we do a sonogram."
Emily frowned to herself as she thought. Then she nodded. "What else?"
"Well, it was the scars," Barton said with a helpless shrug. "You said she'd been kidnapped and tortured, but these...well, take a look yourself." And he shoved the envelope into her hands.
Emily opened it and pulled the glossy prints out. The first one was of Mallory's upper arm, the right one. She could see the waxy patches of burn wounds. "These look a couple years old," she said with another frown.
Barton nodded. "Look at the others."
The next few photos were close-ups of the burns, so Emily skipped those until she found one of Mallory's inner forearm, left arm. "This is a suicide scar," she identified immediately.
"There's another on her other arm," Barton told her. "No hesitation marks. Just one deep, clean cut each arm."
Emily found the photo in question. "These aren't recent," she said. "They look as old as the burns."
"That's not all," Barton said with a sigh. He plucked a photo from the bottom of the pile and placed it on top. Mallory's torso, raked diagonally by four deep, jagged gashes. "My guess is that these were caused by some sort of claws," Barton went on. "And by something pretty big, too. These should have killed her." He tapped the print. "Ripped her intestines to shreds."
"All of these happened before she disappeared five months ago," Emily insisted.
"That's what it looks like," Barton agreed. "But I just got her medical history sent over, and none of these injuries are in there."
"She would have been hospitalized for all of these. Why wouldn't they be reported?" Emily demanded.
Barton shrugged. "I'm sorry, agent. I don't have any answers for you."
Emily shuffled the photos back into a neat pile and slipped them into the envelope. "Thank you, Dr. Barton," she said. He nodded and hurried away. Emily drummed her fingers against the envelope, trying to make sense of this new information. Nothing was adding up right about this case.
"Emily."
She blinked her way back to the present and saw JJ approaching her, followed by an older woman in a suit, blonde hair pulled up into a bun. When they reached Emily, JJ introduced them. "Dr. Graves, this is Agent Prentiss. Emily, Dr. Irene Graves. She's Mallory's mother."
"How is my daughter?" Irene demanded, looking up at Emily with a pair of very familiar gray eyes.
"She's resting now," Emily assured her. "But the doctors said she'll make a full recovery."
"I want to see her."
"We have a few questions first, please," Emily said, but Irene's eyes narrowed.
"Agent Prentiss, I have not seen my daughter in five months, since the last time she was recovered after a kidnapping and admitted into the hospital. You may ask whatever questions you like later, but right now I am going to see Mallory." And with that she swept around Emily into Mallory's room.
Emily and JJ turned to watch her go. "Wow," Emily said.
"Yeah," JJ replied wearily.
"Reminds me of my mother," Emily added unhappily. "Oh, this is gonna be fun."