Author's Note: It's funny, this is already written, really doesn't need any proofing beyond me simply reading over the chapter for egregious typos I might have missed the first time around, and I STILL can't get a chapter reposted faster than it's been going. But as long as the Girl muse sticks around, and she's still here, we're good!

To this, again, direct continuation.

Command Decisions

"Reid! Lights!" Hotch hissed. And Spencer immediately reached up to snap off the three dome lights burning overhead.

At the same time, Emily dropped her gun onto the seat and was turning to scramble over and get the Mag lights out from where she'd seen them jammed under JJ's ready bag.

She was yanking the first one out when her hand bumped into a sharp edge. That's when she remembered the list of supplies that JJ had read off.

Box of night vision goggles.

That had to be them.

So she snatched the whole box up and dropped them over into Hotch's lap before she went back in for the flashlights again.

Beside her she could hear Hotch tossing the Kevlar over to the others, while whispering for JJ to recline Morgan's seat and for Reid to place one of the vests over his chest.

Good . . . she thought frantically . . . because it wasn't at all safe for Derek so exposed up there. He couldn't even duck, for God's sake, let alone protect himself!

And when she turned back to shove the other two flashlights into Hotch's lap, she was pleased to see the shadow of JJ already on her knees trying to get Morgan's seat latch. Behind her was Reid, slunk down in the front seat shimmying into his vest.

So Emily quickly reached back to snag flashlights for the two of them.

While she was digging them out, she heard Hotch climbing off their bench seat, and over into the second row. Two seconds later when she turned around with the last flashlight, it was clear even in the shadows, that Morgan was now laying almost horizontally and Reid was dropping that vest over him. And with Derek now taken care of (at least as best as they could do for him at the moment) Hotch passed a Mag light to JJ. She quickly handed it off to Reid, who went back to fixing the straps on his vest.

JJ started pulling on hers.

And the background to all of this "routine gear up," activity, was the continued, and bloodcurdling, SCREECHING coming from the woods! A sound which was, not to put too fine a point on it, FREAKING Emily the fuck out! Because even though her team was moving quickly, and professionally, as they always did, still, she knew at the moment, they were WHOLLY unprepared to deal with an outside threat!

Then suddenly, just as she reached for her own vest, Emily froze. And she saw the others stopped moving at the same moment that she did. Because now there was a new sound outside their windows. And that sound was utter Silence. The screaming had stopped.

Mid-curdle, one might say.

Though Emily really didn't want to say it. Because that sound, the screaming getting choked off with a gurgle, she'd heard it before. And usually right before they found a bloodbath. And that again, fell onto the list of the things her team was wholly unprepared to deal with at the moment. She slowly exhaled.

Shit!

"Hotch," she rasped out while slipping her own sheet of Kevlar around her body, "are we going out there?"

Though she already knew the answer, she still needed to ask the question. But of course in situations like this, the question was always the same. Were they going to chase the devil, or would they let him go for another day? This was the baseline morality of their work.

And it was a bitch.

Feeling not for the first time, the tremendous stress of command and these horrible decisions that he was so often forced to make, Hotch bit down hard on his lower lip.

"We have to go," he murmured back. Then his head swiveled as his eyes tried to see through the tinted glass and out into the darkness, "I'm just not sure which way."

Though it seemed like an absolutely, unequivocally, TERRIBLE idea to split up, let alone go outside, there was no way that they could ignore screaming in the woods. Screaming in the woods, that was their business.

That was their job.

It meant that someone was being hunted by an animal of either the two, or four legged, variety. Granted the two legged variety was generally their specialty, but tonight, dear Christ was he hoping for the four! Because any predators out there in the dark that had just two legs, if they were hunting on a night like this, they probably would know these woods well. As opposed to him and his team.

They might as well have just been dropped onto Mars.

"It was coming from there," JJ said softly while gesturing with her gun towards the right passenger side window, "I'm almost positive."

"I would have said it came from up ahead," Reid cut in, using the same quiet tone, trying to keep his words from carrying out the broken window, "but I wouldn't swear to it."

With two differing opinions . . . and him only maybe sixty percent sure that JJ was right and Reid was wrong . . . Hotch turned to look at Emily sitting behind him. Even in the darkness, her outline was visible.

He could see that she was fixing her straps.

"Prentiss," he asked softy, "any input?"

"I couldn't say really," she whispered back while yanking her bottom strap tight, "I thought it was more to the right too, but Reid's closer to the open window so he might have a better read on where it was coming from than we do. Although," her actions slowed as a thought seemed to come to her, "maybe the person was running and the first scream was from up ahead, and then they went into the woods."

Hotch nodded slowly.

"Yeah, that actually makes sense. So all right," seeing her vest was in place he reached over and grabbed her wrist, "come on." He started pulling her over the seat, "you and I are going out to look around." He shifted his voice towards the front, "and you other two, watch the woods. Especially the right, because the only exit we have is on the left."

Seeing Emily had dropped on the bench next to him, he let go of her arm to continue softly giving Reid and JJ their orders.

"Once we move around the vehicle, you two switch your attention to the opposite side. And if Prentiss and I don't find anything in five minutes, we're coming back in and we're all getting the hell out of here. Because under the circumstances," he shook his head, "we're clearly not equipped to run any kind of dedicated search or do any tracking." He sighed, "really, the best we can do is a scoop and run if we find somebody out there. That's it."

Though ordinarily he'd have all four of them going out, with both JJ and Reid physically compromised . . . their head injuries were not conducive to straight shooting or quick reflexes, and that wasn't even including JJ's potential for miscarriage as a twofer for her . . . it seemed much wiser for them to stay inside with Morgan. Basically, sending them out not knowing if they were up to par, would be a distraction for him.

One likely to get somebody killed.

And hearing the murmurs of "got it," and "yes, sir," with that, Hotch picked up the flashlight and a pair of the goggles that Emily had given to him. The goggles he dropped around his neck, and with one final prayer that he wasn't making a COLOSALLY bad command decision, he slid over and opened the back door.

Of course once more the broken window created a wind tunnel through the cab . . . a noisy one at that . . . so he tried to get outside as quickly as he could.

Though he was squinting in the wind and snow . . . he didn't want to try the goggles yet in case they obstructed his view . . . his eyes were still bouncing everywhere. And in one hand he had his gun, and in the other the Mag light. The beam reflected well off the clean white snow.

It was brighter still when Emily popped out next to him.

Before either of them could move to get the door, JJ had pulled it closed. And fortunately she did it quietly, because he was worried about an echo in the forest. Of course it was possible that they'd already been noticed, but either way, they didn't need to make obvious targets of themselves.

And after a couple of quick gestures to Emily which translated to, 'I'll cover left, you cover right, stay close,' Hotch saw her arms coming up even as she tipped her head in acknowledgement.

Seeing that she was holding both her light and her gun out straight even in the whipping wind, he nodded to himself.

Always know what your bullets are going to hit.

Though hopefully they wouldn't have to hit anything that night. But with them each now positioned correctly, Hotch took a few steps away from the vehicle. Then his eyes widened at what he saw across the road.

Something was moving in the trees. And that was on the left side of the SUV. Not even close to where ANY of them had thought the screams were coming from.

Great.

"Prentiss," he hissed with his eyes still locked onto the figure in the trees, "nine o'clock."

Though he wasn't sure what the hell he was looking at, it seemed much too tall to be an animal. Maybe, he could allow for the size (well over six feet) of a bear on its hind legs, but he knew it wasn't a bear. For one thing a bear wouldn't be hiding on its hind legs. If it was up, then it would have been growling or moving.

And whatever this was . . . his heart started to pound . . . it was just standing still.

Then he felt Emily's arm brushing against his right before she whispered back, "what the hell is that?!"

There was clearly tension in her voice.

But he just shook his head, still with his eyes locked onto that figure.

"Don't know," he answered softly, "but keep watching the woods around him. He might not be alone."

Then he raised his voice.

"This is the FBI!" He called out loudly, projecting as much authority into his words that he could, under circumstances where he basically had none at all, "whoever is over in the trees, raise your arms above your head, and step out into the open!"

Pause for human reaction time . . . but there was no reaction at all. So he tried again.

Though this time with a lot more bite in with the bark.

"Unless you want to be SHOT where you stand," he growled, "step out into the road! NOW!"

Though it wasn't ordinarily his approach to go clichéd, Old West, 'shoot first, ask questions later,' at the moment they really had no other negotiating tactics.

And fortunately the Old West approach did seem to make an impact, thank Christ. Because it was barely two beats after he'd finished speaking that he felt Emily poke his side with her elbow.

"He's moving," she murmured.

Then a second after that, the dark outline started to walk out from behind the trees. And that figure was most definitely, not any kind of wild animal. It was a man.

A very tall, very thin, very bald . . . man.

Even eyeballing him from across the four lanes of the roadway, in the glow of their flashlights, Hotch would still estimate he was close to seven feet. And so pale. Truly, his skin was a shade of white he had never seen before on anything but a corpse. Though the lack of color in his features was probably due to the fact that he had to have been FREEZING to death! Really, the man was dressed in just a white dress shirt, and a black suit. No hat, no overcoat, no gloves.

In a blinding snowstorm.

And if not for the prickles down his spine, and the pounding of his heart, Hotch might for a brief moment have considered that this man who was dressed so 'ill fittingly' for the extreme weather, could have been a kidnap victim. Perhaps one who had just escaped from his abductors.

Perhaps one who had just been screaming off in the woods.

But no, as Hotch slowly slipped the safety off his gun, he was quite sure that this man had been the screemee, not the screamer. And that was because this man had just smiled. It was a big, toothy, grin.

And his teeth were covered in blood.

"ON YOUR KNEES!" Hotch barked, "NOW!"

But the man didn't get down on his knees . . . he just kept walking towards them. He started from the tree line . . . then he reached the edge of the roadway . . . then the north bound high speed lane . . . one agonizingly slow step at a time. All while both Hotch and Emily were screaming at him to stop and hit the ground. But he just kept smiling that INSANE smile! Then finally he got too close . . . he was about to reach the center yellow line . . . and Hotch fired.

Just once.

And though he could see from the jerking of the man's shoulder, that the bullet had hit its mark . . . the upper left quadrant . . . still he didn't stop walking. He didn't even stop smiling!

He just kept coming.

Realizing then, that they were in a HELL of a mess(!) . . . the guy had to have been on PCP or bath salts or something . . . Hotch knew that they had to take him down. So he started shooting rapid fire.

As did Emily.

Their shots were going for center mass as they'd been trained to do, and again, it was clear from the holes forming in the white shirt, and the way the man's body twitched and jerked with each hit, that the bullets had to be ENTERING his flesh, but he wasn't bleeding. And Hotch thought it nearly impossible that he was wearing a vest under his shirt. His frame was just too God damn thin!

He was like a walking skeleton.

Though after at least thirty bullets had been pumped into him, his steps were at last, FINALLY, beginning to slow down! But not like they should have been.

Because he should have been dead.

Flat out, fucking torn up carcass on the road . . . but he wasn't.

And with him still coming, now just one lane away, and the safety of his team his only thought at the moment, Hotch finally just took the head shot. And he took it with the last two bullets in his clip.

He shot them right into the middle of the forehead.

Even with the only illumination coming from their flashlights, he could see the splatter of brain and bone fly like a mist through the swirling flakes. And though he wasn't pleased at that image . . . he'd never been happy to have to kill anyone, even the monsters they hunted . . . he was at least relieved.

For a moment anyway.

But then, as he was rapidly replacing his empty clip, he started to feel a tickle of confusion and unease, added into his general state of well, general upset. The confusion was coming in though, because as the body fell to the pavement, Hotch once again took note of the lack of blood coming from the wounds. Not just the ones in the chest now. But also, he'd literally just blown two holes through a human head, and there wasn't a speck of crimson marring that pristine white snow. There was definitely bone, and tissue . . . but no blood.

And that was not fucking possible.

Feeling his brain twisting as it searched for a scientific explanation for the unexplainable, Hotch was about to walk over and check the body more closely . . . he had to be missing something . . . when suddenly he heard another noise. It was a shriek. One of rage. Not from across the road, but from the woods behind them.

The place where all the screaming had originally come from.

Even as he spun around, Emily was doing the same.

"Round front," he muttered with an elbow bump to her side, and she immediately started hurrying around the SUV.

As they passed the front bumper, he smacked the hood to get Reid's attention. And when his youngest agent's wide eyes snapped over to his, he jerked his thumb over his shoulder.

The reminder . . . watch the other side of the road.

And he could tell from the quick jerk of his head, just before he twisted around, that Spencer remembered their orders.

Good.

Though when he turned back to continue after Emily, Hotch saw that she hadn't stopped when he had. She was already sinking into the snow as she stepped through drifts in front of the tree line.

Which meant that he was a good five steps behind her. And that was five steps too far.

Shit.

So he started hurrying after her, but the snow by the side of the road, it was already too deep. It was sucking down on his boots.

He was falling further behind.

A good ten steps now.

So he started to call out for her to stop and wait for him . . . but he hadn't gotten out more than the, "Pren . . ." when suddenly something hit her from the side.

She went flying through the air and disappeared into the blackness of the forest.

His eyes popped.

"PRENTISS!" He screamed, while scrambling to race through the deepening snow, "PRENTISS!"

Though he could hear her screeching and see her flashlight lying still in the snow, the sound of her voice and the location of the light, were not coming from the same location.

So he just ran towards the screeches . . . though they were getting further away.

She was being taken from him.

"EMILY!" he screamed as true panic began to consume him, "WHERE ARE YOU?!"

From behind him he could hear JJ and Reid yelling from the SUV, pleading with him to let them know what was happening. But before he could yell for them to stay where they were . . . he couldn't have them all scattered out in the forest, his entire team would be dead by morning . . . his light hit the marks in the snow.

Drag marks.

So he started running after them. The flashlight bouncing through the falling flakes, as the blood pounded in his ears. Though he'd allow it wasn't possible to run at his optimal speed at that moment . . . the tree cover was dense, and the snow covered ground slippery and uneven . . . he couldn't believe it was possible for her to be taken so far, so quickly. But she was completely gone from his sight! He'd even tried the goggles but there wasn't enough ambient light under the trees for them do anything.

So he shoved them into his pocket as he tried to push down the terror and panic washing over him. But that was nearly impossible to do. Because the minutes were ticking by as her cries faded further and further away from him. Still though, he wasn't letting her go.

Not a chance in hell.

So his boots were pounding down over and over into the snow. And he knew from his lost breath, and the seconds he was counting away, that he had to have gone at least a quarter mile, zigzagging through the trees. And he was going fast, but he could hardly hear her anymore.

It was a few minutes later, after tripping over something under the snow, that he saw Emily's ski cap had gotten snarled up on a root sticking out of a drift. His stomach twisted.

It had to have come off when she was being dragged.

It was at that moment, when Hotch realized that he hadn't heard her cries for at least thirty seconds.

Maybe even longer.

And feeling a new wave of terror washing over him, that she might have been knocked out, or God help him . . . worse, he screamed for her again.

"PRENTISS! YOU HAVE TO KEEP YELLING!" he threw his arm up to knock a branch out of his way, "IT'S THE ONLY WAY I CAN FIND YOU!"

But there was no response. Either she was now too far away to even hear him, or she was no longer physically able to respond.

Either scenario made his blood run cold.

And he was about to scream her name again, because fuck if he couldn't just let her just DISAPPEAR into the God damn ether(!) . . . when he heard a shot far, far, off in the distance. And then there was another one . . . and another . . . and another.

A full clip was emptied.

It took almost a minute, but as he ran he'd been counting the shots. That was definitely fifteen. Emily's whole spare clip.

But he didn't know if she was the one who was firing.

And though his heart was now in his throat, and his lungs were screaming at the icy air he'd been forcing into them, somehow he found a new burst of strength.

Or maybe it was just the new surge of adrenaline.

Absolute terror will do something for a man. It can make him run faster. Slipping and sliding through the snow, racing to get to the sound of those gunshots. Trying to get to her.

Another thirty paces covered.

Another forty.

Fifty-five.

Eighty-seven.

It was literally all he could do to keep his sanity, count the steps in his head, and scream her name out loud. Over and over. Emily . . . Emily.

Emily.

But there was no response. And no more gunfire. But then as he hit the one hundred and tenth step, finally, up ahead, his light bounced off a figure on the ground. But it wasn't just one figure.

There were three.

It was hard to tell if they were men or women. But they were all wearing ski jackets, and all lying flat on their backs.

And they all appeared to have had their throats ripped out.

There was blood, well, Christ, it was splattered everywhere. And it was all soul deadeningly fresh.

OH JESUS!

As he raced towards the bodies, he was pleading with a God that he'd long ago stopped praying to, that Emily wasn't in that small pile of corpses.

"I'm over here."

The words came in a soft, raspy voice, but fortunately Hotch somehow still heard them. And he stopped short, spinning away from the bodies, to turn around in disbelief.

"Prentiss?" He cautiously, and quietly, called out into the trees, "is that you?"

"Yeah," she coughed, "it's me," she threw a stick at his feet, "to your right."

So he turned, rushing over as he waved his light further into the darkness surrounding him.

It took a second, but then finally, he found her crouched over, leaning against a tree. She was shaking as she sucked in what he could only describe as raggedy, panicked, breaths. He could also her gun was being held tight in one hand, and that her gloved fingers were just dangling into the snow, from the other arm.

And fortunately, with the exception of a reddish discoloration of her cheek . . . which was likely just an ice burn caused by her skin scraping on the snow . . . she didn't appear to have suffered any other physical injuries during her abduction.

Thank Christ!

Though when she looked up at him, and their eyes locked, he could see that hers were wild . . . but of course his probably were as well. But that was because truly, those last fifteen minutes running through the forest, had been the worst of his life. Next to Reid's abduction, chasing her trail through the snow, was as terrified as he'd ever been.

On the job or off.

But now that he'd found her again, there was something that could be done about that terror. Something that Reid had once done for him.

And it was something that he could do for both himself and Emily now.

So when she started to slowly push herself to her feet, he reached out with his flashlight arm, to pull her up. Once she was standing, though still shaking, and he knew that wasn't just from the cold, he did something he never allowed himself to do.

Pull her into an embrace.

The hug was hard and tight, and as close as he'd held her that night in the bar. But it still wasn't close enough.

So he tipped his head down.

"I thought I'd lost you," he panted in her ear. And then he felt her nod slowly against his chest. "Yeah," she chattered back as the gloved fingers of her free hand clenched in his jacket, "I thought I'd lost me too."

Then she tipped her head back, and once again her eyes were locked onto his. Even with the light bouncing up from the snow, he could see that they were less wild now, but no less terrified.

"There were two of them," she whispered frantically, "and I shot them both. And I think they're dead, but I don't know for sure, because they were just like that guy in the road. They weren't bleeding, and they just kept moving. So I just kept shooting them, and then I ran," her eyes started to water, "and I ran, and I would have kept going but I saw those bodies, and I had to stop," she bit down on her lip, "I had to check them," she cleared her throat, "but they were all dead. Then I heard you calling my name again. At least I thought it was you," she blinked as her eyes darted into the darkness around them, "but I wasn't sure until I saw you in the light, so I hid until then." Then she pulled her hand off his hip, and raised her gun up between them.

"Because I don't have any bullets left."

It was just a miracle she hadn't lost her gun when she'd lost her flashlight. Amazingly, they didn't even try to take it away from her. I was almost like they weren't afraid of it. But then once they started dragging her, she just kept hold of it for dear life.

Literally.

"All right, here," Hotch held out the flashlight, "hold this."

After she'd taken the light, still holding the beam straight to the ground as he had, he bent down and pulled his Glock out from his ankle holster.

As he was straightening up, Emily was shoving her Sig into her side holster. And after she took the revolver from his hand, she started to pass him back the light, but then he put his finger up.

"Wait."

Then he quickly shoved his sig into his pocket to free his hands, before reaching up to yank off his ski cap. He pulled it down over Emily's head.

As he was fixing it over her ears, he could tell from the look on her face . . . a mixture of gratitude and exasperation . . . that she was about to protest, but he just shook his head.

"Not a point for discussion," he stated quietly while pulling his gun back out, "you've lost too much body heat already, and I don't know how long it's going to take us to get back to the SUV. Speaking of back though," he took the light from her hand, "where did you leave those men?"

She jerked her chin to the left.

"That way. Maybe a half mile. And they each have at least a half dozen rounds in them. But Hotch," she shook her head violently, "I don't want to go back there. I know that we should, but I can't. There's something wrong here, and I don't know what it is, but we need to go."

"No, no," Hotch's brow darkened slightly, "I wasn't going to suggest we go after them. We clearly don't have the weaponry, not to mention," he stomped his foot down in the snow, "this is just going to get deeper. And if we let it get too deep, it's going to cover over your drag marks and my footprints. And then we're never getting out of here. I just wanted to know which way we have to watch for a likely ambush. So," he tipped his head, "come on. And you stay RIGHT beside me, okay?"

"Yeah," she gave a sharp nod as they started walking, "not a problem. Because I don't know if I have the energy for another round of fight or flight. If they hadn't stopped for a second, and I still don't know why the hell they did because I was practically floating off the ground they were pulling me so fast, I wouldn't have had the opportunity to take the first shot." She bit down on her cheek, "I wish I'd been able to do that sooner, but when they first knocked me down, for a few seconds I was so stunned I couldn't even react."

"Yeah," he shook his head, "you'd completely disappeared almost a split second after I saw you get hit."

The speed that these men could move was truly, remarkable. Again, especially given the lack of winter gear!

How were they not just DYING of hypothermia?!

"It's weird isn't it?" Emily murmured.

"What?" Hotch's gaze briefly flicked down to her face as they hurried around a stand of pine trees, "what's weird?"

"The no blood thing," she answered softly, "and their clothes. Oh yeah," her voice started to get tight, "I forgot to tell you. The ones who grabbed me were dressed like the other guy. Dark suits. No coat, no gloves. And really, really tall and really, really pale. It's almost like . . ."

And then she trailed off, because suddenly, walking there out in the pitch black, and freezing cold, her stupid little supposition, didn't seem so stupid.

It just seemed like a really bad idea to say it out loud.

But then Hotch prompted her.

"What is it almost like?" He whispered, "What are you thinking?"

For a second though, still, she paused before responding. Because the idea was so ridiculous, that she didn't want Hotch to think she was literally, cracking up. But then she just thought, 'fuck it,' because as long as she was clear that she wasn't saying that's they were, that it was just what they reminded her of, then he wouldn't think she was a nutjob.

So she finished her thought.

"They remind me of, well, vampires," she answered with a faint bit of hesitation. "You know, like the description in old stories. Unnaturally tall, pale skin, and the reason they don't bleed is because their hearts aren't beating. And then the way that they kill, ripping open the throats." She bit her lip, "given the blood we saw in the first guy's mouth, they're probably doing that with their teeth. You know . . . like a vampire would."

And it was seriously creeping her the fuck OUT! Although not quite so much as when she heard Hotch agreeing with her. Actually she was so shocked when he actually said, "they probably are vampires," that she stopped short in the middle of the woods.

"What?!" She hissed, "you actually think they're REAL vampires!?"

Was he fucking kidding her with this shit? How was she EVER going to sleep again?!

But then she saw Hotch turn back to her, his eyebrow inching up in confusion.

"Of course I don't think they're real vampires." He responded slowly, "there's no such thing. I just meant that has to be their chosen mythology," he shook his head, "it's got to be a cult of some kind and the vampire is just the creature they're choosing to emulate while they hunt and kill."

"Oh," she let out a breath, "okay, that's better. Because if you, of all people, was going to tell me that he believed in vampires then, well," she shook her head, "I'm all done here."

Seeing Hotch's mouth quiver ever so slightly, Emily impulsively reached out to pat his chest. Then she started walking again.

"I still don't understand the lack of blood though," she continued as he fell back in step beside her, "because I did actually check one of them before I ran and," she shook her head, "when I ripped open his shirt there was no vest. Just a chalky white chest with a bunch of really big holes in it." Her lips pursed, "it was like I'd shot a mannequin or something."

It was almost, in a way, MORE disconcerting than seeing a 'regular' dead body. Not that regular dead bodies weren't upsetting by themselves . . . even after all this time, they still made an impression . . . but seeing just a bullet hole with no blood, that somatic response to massive trauma was so strange and alien to everything she knew, that her brain couldn't process it.

She had no box for such a thing.

"It is very strange," Hotch waved the flashlight a little further ahead of them, "but I'm sure there's some physiological reasoning for it. Perhaps a clotting disease, or something along those lines. Whenever we get back to civilization, we'll have Garcia research it and we'll figure it out, but for now," he tipped his head, "let's just keep moving. I'm worried about Morgan. We have to get him to the hospital before he wakes up," then his voice faded slightly, "because I don't know what the hell we're going to tell him if we're still out here."

Christ, he didn't know what the hell he was going to tell him even if they did, by some fucking MIRACLE, get to the hospital before he woke up! Because it was still going to be his responsibility to handle the conversation. After all, he thought with a flip of his stomach, he was the one that had ripped his eye out of his head.

So there was no way for that pronouncement to go well.

But then he felt Emily slip her arm through his. And when he turned his head slightly to look down at him, she leaned her head against his bicep.

The action caused a softening of his expression, and for the beam of light to jostle over the freshly falling snow.

"I'll be there when you tell him," Emily said with a husky whisper, "whether it's out here in the middle of nowhere, or in some nice sterile hospital room. We'll do it together."

Though she knew that Hotch felt responsible for what had happened, he wasn't. And that conversation with Morgan was going to be hell, so she would never allow him to take such a burden on all alone. It was too much to ask of anyone to handle by himself. Even Hotch.

Especially Hotch, really.

He already had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

But she also knew, as well as she knew her own name, that Hotch wanted to tell her that she didn't have to be there, fortunately he seemed to know better than to argue that point. Instead he just took in a slow breath, and then she heard him breathe out one word.

"Thanks."

In response she just gave his arm a squeeze. And though Emily was aware that she could probably let him go about then, she was actually, truly, FREEZING! Her body was shaking and her teeth were chattering, and even with both boots and gloves, her fingers and toes were starting to get numb. And though the level of physical contact she currently had with Hotch was limited to her side being pressed against his side, there was body warmth there. Enough to take a bit of the chill off . . . and every little bit helped.

So she stayed where she was.

Either way, Hotch didn't seem to mind. And yes, given that they were likely being hunted through the forest by some band of sociopathic fruitloops who worshiped at the altar of Anne Rice, it was a little strange to be clinging to his side like they were a couple of civilians or something. But well, fuck it. It was just too cold, and the hike was going to be a long one.

Probably close to another mile to go.

They were moving at a decent clip, but she'd been dragged in pretty far, and it was just too freaking cold to run flat out back to the road. Sucking snowflakes into your lungs, did not feel good. It actually hurt like a bitch. Yes, granted, the trees did provide some measure of protection from the worst of the wind gusts, but the wind was still blowing.

And that was also as cold as witch's teat, too.

So they trudged along at double speed step after step, half listening, and definitely fully watching, for the ambush that hadn't yet come. So maybe they really were dead. And maybe their whole little sick, fucked up vampire cult, only consisted of three assholes running around out in the snow.

And maybe Miss Piggy would go flying by in a few minutes.

But as long as the others, and yes, she was sure there were others . . . there was no way only three of them would have been out hunting in a storm like this all alone . . . didn't find their dead friends until after she and her team had reached something passing for authority out here, that would be freaking great.

Fanfuckingtasking really.

And that thought, that wish, was the mantra that kept her going as she slipped and slid through the powdery white forest. A forest which really was becoming even whiter by the second. And when she saw that in some places, their tracks had already been covered over by the blowing snow, Emily could feel her tension level rising even higher still.

Hotch must have sensed it. Or maybe he just wanted to reassure himself as well. But either way, he did point out, with a murmured whisper, that there was still enough of a path left to keep following along. And as long as they had some evidence of trampled snow, they'd be fine.

It couldn't be much farther anyway.

Which was true, at that point it shouldn't have been much farther. Because Hotch had just gestured to her ski hat lying on the ground, half covered in snow. And though she did snag it up with the tip of the Glock, it was sopping wet.

And freezing cold.

Which obviously meant that it was no good for Hotch to put on right then. And when she'd offered, twice, to give him back his own hat, he'd refused both times. But she knew that he was losing too much heat, and she was worried about hypothermia.

Really, she'd just be thrilled when they got back to the SUV.

Because there, they had warm, dry clothes and shelter from this God awful storm. Though it did occur to her that once they did get out of this wintery hell, by the time they came back to the area with reinforcements (if they could find the area again), the path from their tracks would be long gone. And at that point, even with cadaver dogs, with the freezing temperatures, it would be near impossible to find those bodies she'd stumbled over in the woods. But that was another thought she kept to herself.

It was another discussion that could wait until they were back out in civilization.

For now . . . she rubbed her nose against Hotch's jacket . . . it was just noise in her head. Speaking of noise, she'd just noticed that the sound of the wind was getting louder, and she was pretty sure that meant they were getting close to the road.

The wind had been HOWLING out there.

"Look," Hotch squinted into the snow while waving the flashlight beam against the trees, "I think I can see the headlights from the SUV through there."

So with that now, please God, being their last push, they tried to sprint along the last, fading outline of their earlier steps. And a minute later, when they did break through the trees, nearly tripping and falling over the brush that had now been covered over completely in snow, Emily nearly whooped with joy.

FINALLY!

And with Hotch at that point basically just pulling her along, they made their way over the snow drifts, and around the front of the SUV. It wasn't until then that Emily realized that they'd just wandered out of one hell, and straight back into another.

Because as they came around to the driver's side of the vehicle, she saw that both the front and back doors were standing wide open. But when they rushed to look inside, the others were nowhere to be found.

And as they stood there by the open doors, with the fine layer of snow blowing in on the seats, Emily's panicked eyes snapped up to Hotch's. For a moment he looked too stunned to even speak. But then he seemed to see something over her shoulder. And hearing his breathless, "oh Jesus," at whatever was back there, she spun around.

And seeing then what he'd seen a split second before, Emily's eyes began to fill. Because there on the ground, half under the back bumper, and half covered over by the drifting snow . . . was Morgan.

He was face down on the ground, and the snow all around his head, it was bright red.

There was blood everywhere.

A/N 2: That was a long time to leave the others alone in the SUV with a maybe not dead vampire lying in the road next to them. Especially when they didn't know that he wasn't maybe not dead. And poor Morgan, AGAIN! I know. But we're going places here, we haven't been before. Please trust me :)

And yes, shippers, I promised you'd get some stuff, you're getting some stuff.

As to the vampires, I've already said no sparkles here, but to be clear I think vampires should be SCARY, not at all 'pretty.' Think Nosferatu type old worlder. I mean, it's an undead creature that wants to suck the blood out of your body. How that was ever deemed to be 'romantic' is truly beyond me. But whatever, just to be clear, creepy dudes here. I'm actually using the "Gentlemen" from Buffy sort of as my mental inspiration. Not exactly like them, because they were more Victorian story book monsters and, not vampires at all, but that level of crazy ass insanity in a nice button down suit. I think it fit well with the idea of it being SK's Salem, which was taken over decades back (per the events in his book) and the vampires are in a time warp.

Thanks everyone!