A/N: I suck I suck I suck. I know I know I know. So so so sorry for the wait! Warning: this gets a bit creepy creepy creepy.

Genre: Supernatural

Author: hotchityhotchhotch


One month later

Hotch was in a noticeably sour mood when he came in to work late one Thursday morning. At least, his mood seemed sour to Emily. She still wasn't used to the uptight, stoic version of her former best friend. The force behind his stride didn't seem to faze anyone else on the team. Feeling brave and in need of his presence, as she'd thought about him and only him for quite a while now, she walked up to his office and knocked on the door frame.

Hotch looked up. "Come on in. Something the matter?"

"I was just about to ask you the same thing," Emily said cautiously, taking a seat in front of Hotch's desk. "You look a little down."

"Just had the divorce hearing with Haley this morning. Everything's finalized," Hotch said rather blandly.

"Oh," Emily said, her lips remaining parted. "I'm sorry. I mean, it must feel good to be at the end of that process, but I'm sure it still hurts at the same time."

Hotch gave a short nod that told her she was right.

"Can I ask…what about Jack? I assume you made custody arrangements?"

"I get him on weekends, given that I'm not away on a case, plus three two weeks out of the year and alternating major holidays and his birthdays."

Emily's heart hurt for Hotch. "I guess that given the constraints of your job, that sounds reasonable. Far from ideal, though."

"Yeah."

"If there's a bright side to any of this, it's that you get to try and move on now. You have a new routine established and you're not in limbo anymore. Right?"

"Right," Hotch said, leaning back in his chair. "I am glad it's over. I don't think I've ever been through anything so stressful, to be honest. Not even law school."

"Well, then," Emily said, feeling even braver than she had before walking upstairs, "I think it sounds like you need a drink. Can I buy you a beer or something tonight? Strictly platonic, nothing behind it. Just…as friends. We used to be such good friends," she said, the nostalgia almost bringing her to tears.

If for no other reason than to prevent an awkward conversation now, Hotch nodded. "Sure. That'd be nice."

"Great. I'm gonna go get back to work."

Emily felt a rush of blood to all the wrong places when she and Hotch grabbed a corner booth at a bar that evening after a long day at work. She knew this place.

They knew this place.

If she wasn't mistaken, they had spent quite some time making out in this very booth before things had gotten so terribly complicated. Even in his late-twenties, Hotch had still been a kid, just like her. Not much of a care in the world. She didn't dare say anything, though, even if joking about Hotch's food poisoning that night was tempting.

"I'm starving," Emily complained. "I'm gonna get a burger."

"I might do the same."

So they ordered dinner and a round of beers when their waitress came by. "You doing all right?" Emily asked Hotch, trying to force from her mind the memory of his tongue down her throat thirteen years ago. The more she tried not to think about it, though, the less successful she was.

"I guess," Hotch said with a shrug. "Sorry, I'm really not very good company right now."

"It's okay. We just have to loosen you up. Then we can, I dunno, shoot the breeze, talk about old times," she said before she thought about how that would come across. Upon second thought, however, she realized she knew exactly how her subconscious had wanted it to come across. Even though Hotch was mostly to blame for the demise of his marriage—he had admitted it, and from her third party perspective, it seemed to be the case—she was still attracted to him in some illogical way. Part of her hoped it was a real attraction and not just the taboo of wanting a man who was just barely divorced. But part of her hoped it was just out of guilt for how she'd treated him back then. Neither of them were in much of a position to start a relationship now, even if they both desperately wanted it, so what good could come from real attraction?

"Old times…Like how you busted my balls from day one?" Hotch said with a fleeting grin, one that took Emily by surprise.

"Or when you went to flash your creds at that guy at the mall who was looking at me funny, and then ducked when he tried to punch you?"

"I think I became the first ever FBI agent to run away from a mall rent-a-cop," Hotch said with a short snicker.

"Good times," Emily said faintly. "God, I'd wish they'd hurry up with that food. I'm dying here."

As soon as Emily's words had finished leaving her lips, two different phones beeped away. She exchanged a "Really?" glance with Hotch and they dug out their night-ruiners.

"Guess we'd better go," Hotch said.

"Promise you'll let me buy you a drink another night," Emily insisted, leaving thirty dollars on the table before they left the bar.

"You just did buy me a drink. And dinner," Hotch pointed out, holding the door open for Emily to pass through. "We just didn't get to enjoy it."

"Still."

"Next time's on me," Hotch said with simplicity. "See you at the office."

"A haunted asylum?" Morgan said with a dubiously raised eyebrow.

"It's the local civilians who think the deaths are due to supernatural forces," JJ corrected him. "PD is convinced otherwise, obviously."

"Otherwise they'd be calling ghost hunters, not us," Emily pointed out.

"Exactly," JJ said with a satisfied grin shot Emily's way. "All the victims died of heart attacks and were found on separate Friday mornings. The heart attack aspect just fuels the locals' speculation about them being literally scared to death. And as you can see, the unsub left them without posing them."

"Then this guy doesn't feel any remorse," Morgan said.

"Heart attacks can be caused by an injection of potassium chloride, calcium gluconate, or sixty milileters of air," Reid said abruptly. "The first two break down into chemicals found naturally in the human body so they don't raise suspicion, and air doesn't leave anything behind. An ME would never be able to tell for certain."

"We've seen this before," Gideon said dully.

"I was just…explaining so Emily knew," Reid said, clearing his throat.

"Well, now that everyone's caught up," Hotch cut in, knowing Emily now felt sufficiently uncomfortable, "let's head to Seattle. We can finish briefing on the plane."

Lovely, Emily thought to herself as she followed the team out of the roundtable room. What better way to remind me what the last thirteen years of my life could've been than to take me to the city that started it all? Granted, they weren't going to the city proper—instead, a small town several miles away—but the word itself was enough to make her sick to her stomach.

"Don't you think it'd be a better idea to scope this place out during daylight hours?" Emily asked Hotch as she slung a pair of night vision goggles—which looked more like binoculars—around her neck. The sheriff had dropped them off half a mile away so they could walk to the asylum without raising suspicion if the unsub happened to be keeping tabs on activity around his stomping grounds.

"If the unsub follows his schedule, he'll kill tomorrow night. We need to look at how this place looks at night sooner rather than later. And are you questioning my authority already?" Hotch asked. "Buy a guy a drink first…"

"Hey, I have," Emily said playfully. "This place just gives me the heebie jeebies, that's all."

"You believe in ghosts?" Hotch asked as they walked through an opening in a rusty chain-link fence. It wasn't a gate, but a parting created by deviant teenagers, most likely.

"Not per se. And I'm not afraid of the dark, either. It's just the unknown. And the fact that so many people died in here. I mean, why leave up a burnt out building like this?"

"To give the kids something to do," Hotch said. They both paused to take in the large, sorry-looking shell of a brick building in front of them. Its structural integrity was questionable even to the naked eye in the middle of the night. Hotch was beginning to wonder if Emily was right—that maybe they should save this exploratory mission for during the day. But he couldn't imagine sitting back at the police station or visiting the medical examiner or victims' families when the rest of the team had those bases covered.

They were glad to get inside out of the light drizzle, as it turned into a loud downpour moments after they found shelter. The protection from the rain was spotty, though, as they went straight to the second of two floors and there were several holes in the roof.

"This place smells disgusting," Emily said quietly.

"They really should get the cleaners to come in," Hotch mocked in his subtle way.

"Bite me," Emily said, laughing.

"Excuse me?" Hotch asked with a small smile.

"Sorry, we're on the clock, aren't we? Bite me, sir."

"You know, when you stepped into my office, you looked terrified. I think we're well past that phase, aren't we?"

Emily pushed open a set of double swinging doors that creaked on their hinges like fingernails on a chalkboard. "Yeah, I'd say so. I much prefer busting your balls."

"It's a nice change from us trying to pretend we never knew each other," Hotch admitted.

"So," Emily breathed, liking where this was going but not sure it was the best idea, "what exactly are we looking for in here? A hideout?"

"You don't need a hideout to give somebody an injection. You just need to be able to hold them down," Hotch said.

"A victim would probably be bruised from the injection if they didn't stay still, though. The ME couldn't find puncture wounds anywhere. So either this guy's got his victims under complete control, or they trust him and think he's shooting them up with…heroine or something."

"You've got a point," Hotch said. "The injection sites could have been somewhere hidden, too."

"The ME said he deals with drug-related homicides all the time, though. I think he knows what he's doing in that respect."

"Well, if you're right, then the unsub must know what he's doing, too," Hotch said.

"And I guess we can't rule out the other possibility," Emily said.

"That these people really were scared to death?"

"It's possible, isn't it? You don't have to have an unhealthy heart to have a heart attack. Put your body under enough stress and anyone can have one. Happens to professional marathon runners, even. They're some of the healthiest people around."

"You sound a bit like Reid right now," Hotch said. He decided to do a walkthrough of the building for now so they could familiarize themselves with its layout. They rarely got the opportunity to scope out a crime scene that was used on a predictable basis. Tonight would be safe. Maybe creepy, but safe.

"Reid's a super genius. I'll take that as a compliment."

"Watch out," Hotch said, stepping to the side to avoid a stream of water running directly down the middle of the ceiling. Emily's attention had drifted, though, and she walked right into it. Water soaked her hair and face, then tricked down the front and back of her shirt. "Sorry," Hotch said with a chuckle.

"My fault. Wow, that water is not warm."

"Pacific Northwest in February isn't exactly known for its tropical climate."

"You need to cut the sarcasm."

"Why?" Hotch asked. "Getting on your nerves?"

"Exactly the opposite," Emily muttered. "Reminding me of that summer."

Before Hotch had the chance to respond, a clatter down the hall stopped him and Emily in their tracks. He put his finger to his lips and pointed ahead of them. She nodded and they both silently drew their weapons. There was still enough moonlight poking through the windows and holes in the roof that the goggles seemed unnecessary. Instead they both took small flashlights from their pockets and paired them with their guns.

Hotch figured the noise had come from about two or three doors down the hall. He quietly pushed open the door on the first room—a patient room, judging from the identical appearance of all the doors in this hallway—and took the first steps inside. Emily followed right behind him, clearing to the right while he cleared to the left. They met in the center of the room, shaking their heads, and headed to the next door down the hall. The rain was coming down so fiercely now that their footsteps couldn't even be heard.

Neither could Emily's uncontrollable gasp as they entered the next room. A black cloud of smoke lingered in the moonlight that shone through the paneless window. It wasn't simply smoke, though. It hung stationary in the air, not rising as normal smoke would, and it didn't smell.

That wasn't the worst of it, though. It seemed to have eyes—or something shaped just like them—buried just beneath its wispy outer surface. Eyes that bore straight into both Hotch and Emily's at the same time. Both of them knew a gun was of no use against whatever this thing was. And killing or destroying it wasn't their biggest problem.

It was the fear that crippled both of them. Not a fear of the monster or demon itself, but of the hallucinations that felt too real to be doubted.

Hotch heard Jack's infantile shrieking to his left and turned to see him being snatched away by a black figure that left Haley's body chopped up into pieces on the floor.

Meanwhile, Emily witnessed Hotch being stabbed brutally, multiple times, but she unable to help him, then found him declared dead in a hospital, covered in blood-soaked bandages.

Whatever this abomination was, however it had been created, it was making them face their worst fears. Both of them felt their hearts pounding furiously, felt a dangerous pain creep into their chests.

Hotch managed to understand the monster's power over him and snap out of it first. "Run!" he shouted, grabbing Emily.

"No," Emily cried, yanking her arm away. She walked toward the Hotch in her nightmare, her arms slightly outstretched. Hotch grabbed her again, though, tugging her out of the room. She ran without feeling her feet move. All she heard was the rusted gurneys and medical supply carts that the cloud of smoke somehow managed to bash out of its way in its pursuit of double its usual treat.

Hotch heard this clattering and knew it wasn't Emily knocking these things out of the way, since she now ran ahead of him. If the beast took up so much room in the hallway that it ran into those things, and if it couldn't travel through other matter, then maybe it couldn't get through a closed door, either. "Next room with a door intact," he shouted to Emily. She obeyed his orders, hanging a right into another patient room, letting Hotch slide in after her, then banging the door shut. The small pane of glass in the door's window was still intact and their predator stared through it, its omniscient eyes piercing right through their, starting the dreams all over again.

"Don't look," Hotch demanded, pulling Emily out of view of the door. He leaned against the wall and panted. They must have sprinted the entire length of the asylum in their run for their lives.

"What the hell is that?" she whispered, out of breath herself.

"Our unsub," Hotch said. He took out his phone. "What are the odds that we wouldn't have service here?" he griped, shoving it back into his pocket.

"Considering we're fifty miles from the nearest city and their closest thing to a Target is Al's Savings Barn? Not too slim." An understanding of the monster allowed Emily to slide down against the wall and sit. It wasn't so much the run that had exhausted her so much as the thrashing of her heart.

"We need to get out of here," Hotch said.

"Said every patient who ever stayed here," Emily said dryly, eying the iron bars still intact over their window. The glass was gone, though, rudely letting in the rain that was now blowing sideways with the help of gusts of wind. She noticed how wet the concrete was that she sat on and wondered just how long this building had been taking such a beating. "When was this built?" she asked.

"1854, I think Reid said," Hotch answered.

"And it burned down in, what, 1920?"

"1930," Hotch corrected her.

"There are rust marks along the walls and floor," Emily realized aloud. "The steel supports inside the concrete are rotting. It's a wonder we didn't walk right through a hole in the floor." Feeling inexplicably unsafe where she sat out of view of the smoke monster, Emily got up and went to stand near Hotch. Though she didn't fear for her life just yet, she knew, thanks to the monster, what her innermost fear was: Hotch never knowing how much she still cared about him. She had half a mind to wrap her arms around his waist from behind when she felt the crumbling beneath their feet.

Before either of them could react, they were falling with piles of rubble down to the first floor then into the basement. In what seemed like a split second, a cave of broken up concrete slabs formed above them once the smaller pieces had hit them in various places. They were trapped.

"Are you okay?" Emily asked breathlessly, the cement chunks still settling around the outside of their accidental hideout. She felt around her for an opening, but found none.

All she got in reply was a struggling grunt. She reached toward the noise and found Hotch struggling to remove a slab of concrete from on top of his chest. He lay flat on his back. They were cloaked in complete darkness now with no moonlight to help them. She reached for her night vision goggles around her neck, but only half the assembly was there. The other half had no doubt been broken off in the fall. Hotch's weren't around his neck at all.

"Stop stop stop," Emily said shakily, removing Hotch's hands. "Stay still. Can you breathe?"

"Well—enough," Hotch managed.

"Then we need to make sure you didn't hurt your back or your neck before we go moving things around. Can you feel your fingers and toes?"

"I'm not sure," Hotch groaned. "I think I'm bleeding, though."

"Okay," Emily said, raking her hands through her hair. "Umm…" She squeezed the toe of his dress shoe. "Can you feel that?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, good. Wiggle them for me. And can you feel this?" She took one of his hands delicately between both of hers and gripped it.

"Yeah," came another sigh from Hotch. He squeezed back. "I can feel it. I think my back is fine. How are you? Are you hurt at all?"

Emily had to stop and think about that. "My head's sore. I think I might've hit it. Other than that, I think I'm fine. You said you think you're bleeding?"

"Uh-huh. I think our friend is angry," Hotch said dizzily, hearing objects being scattered somewhere upstairs where their tormenter was most likely searching for them.

"Don't talk for a minute, okay? Let me feel around." Emily slipped her hands into the open space underneath the slanted slab that had Hotch pinned to the ground. She felt a pool of moisture on his chest, thicker than water. Definitely blood. Doing her best not to touch him too much, she felt around for the source of the bleeding. Once she had mapped out the boundaries of the wet area, she knew that whatever had punctured his skin was either buried deep inside him or lying around somewhere else. "Yeah, you're bleeding," she confirmed. "I don't know what's causing it, but it's not a steel bar sticking out of the concrete or anything, so I'll move it off of you. Just stay still, okay?"

"'Kay," Hotch hissed.

Emily crouched in their four-foot-tall cement tent and grasped the top edge of the jagged block with both hands. With some heavy grunting, she pulled it off of Hotch and let it fall to the floor with a boom, moving her own foot out of the way just in time. She wondered if the noise might attract the smoke's attention, but she didn't hear it coming. All she could hear was Hotch suppressing his yowls of pain. "Do you by chance know where your goggles went? It'd be nice if I could see what I was doing," she said.

"No idea. They might be what knocked you in the head, who knows," Hotch said.

Emily ditched the useless half of her goggles and swept off her sweater in one motion.

"What're you doing?" Hotch wondered aloud. "I'm bleeding over here."

"I'm getting something to stop the bleeding," Emily said impatiently. She wadded her sweater into a ball, felt around Hotch's chest for the wettest area, and applied firm pressure with her makeshift compress. "I know it hurts, just hold still."

"How are we gonna get out of here?" Hotch grunted.

"I have no idea. That's not our biggest problem right now, though. Give me five minutes to keep constant pressure on this and hopefully it'll stop."

"'Kay," Hotch said, quieting down.

"Don't go to sleep, though," Emily warned him. "Keep talking to me, but just stay still."

"Okay…" Hotch took several shallow breaths before speaking again. "Thank you."

Emily wanted to ask "For what?" but she supposed he meant for keeping him from bleeding to death.

"Not just for this," Hotch said, reading her mind, "but for tonight…for taking me out…it got my mind off things a little."

"Good."

"I dunno…if you realized…but when we were a lot younger, we made out…in that bar…in that very booth, I think…"

Emily's sternly set mouth faltered and she grinned. "Yeah, actually, I did realize that."

Neither one of them said anything conversational over the next few minutes, Emily simply asking Hotch about every thirty seconds whether he was still awake. As time passed, Hotch's voice stopped getting dreamier, which led Emily to believe the bleeding was slowing or had ceased.

"Okay, I think it's been long enough. Let me check you." She removed the sopping wet, useless sweater and dropped it to the floor, then felt gently around his chest. It still felt quite wet, but her sweater probably hadn't absorbed anything in a while. So she stripped off her camisole and very gently blotted off Hotch's chest and waited to see if it gushed again. A minute later, he was still only damp to the touch—not completely dry, but not any wetter than when she'd finished sponging him off. "I think it's stopped," she said with a sigh of relief, She set her trembling body down on top of the slab that had trapped Hotch. "Don't move, but…do you feel better?"

"A little," Hotch said. "Thank you. I think you might've just saved my life."

Emily sniffled and almost ran her wrist under her nose, but she remembered how bloody her hands were. "Let's hope it didn't hit any vital organs, whatever it was," she said. "I can't see if it was a clean cut or not, then maybe I'd know if it was glass or—"

"Emily, you've done everything you can either way. There's no use in knowing. We just have to…wait now. For the team to realize we're missing and come looking for us. We'll be fine."

Emily nodded and swiped her hands up and down her khaki pants while she let a few silent adrenaline-driven tears fall down her cheeks. She checked her phone for service, but she knew a basement would probably not get a signal if they couldn't get one upstairs. Right she was.

"Hey." Hotch reached out blindly for her hand, giving it a gentle grasp when he found it. "I'm gonna be just fine."

"It's my turn to need help next," Emily said with a soggy laugh. "Either a mental breakdown…or an unsub driving a wooden stake through my stomach or something…"

Hotch laughed as much as he could. "Deal. I'll be there. Can I ask you something…without it sounding forward?"

"Maybe."

"Are you…wearing a shirt?"

Another sad laugh pushed its way free from Emily's lungs. "No."

"You must be freezing," Hotch said without even a touch of humor this time.

"A bit," she admitted.

"There's room on my other side…over here. Come lie down." Emily knew she needed to huddle with him for warmth to keep herself able-bodied should some other emergency arise. She nodded and stepped carefully over him, feeling her way along the ground, moving small chunks of concrete out of the way. Hotch had carefully opened up an arm for her and she rested her head in the bend of it. She didn't want to further risk infecting his wound, so she laid a hand upon his stomach instead of his chest. Hotch briskly rubbed her bare back, warming her a bit. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah. Can I ask you something?" Emily said.

"Sure."

"What did you see? When that…smoke cloud looked at you? If it's too painful—"

"Haley dead and Jack being kidnapped by whomever killed Haley," Hotch said. "I guess I saw my worst fear. What about you?"

Emily swallowed with a dry mouth. Here they were, alone, open, their emotions (among other things) exposed, and vulnerable. What better time to speak honestly? "I saw you…I saw you getting stabbed and I couldn't do anything about it. Then I found you dead in the hospital."

Hotch's heart almost stopped. "Please tell me that's not your worst fear. Me dying."

"Not just…you dying," Emily said. "You dying without knowing…" She sighed in frustration. "Without knowing that I still care about you. I never stopped. Yeah, I hated your guts for a while, but I never stopped caring." Before she had finished her sentence, she felt Hotch's hand against her back urging her closer. Somehow their lips found each other's in the dark. The damp coolness of the asylum's basement might as well have been a tropical paradise for how much Hotch's tender kiss warmed her through every extremity. She touched a bloodied hand to his cheek before letting out a barely audible moan and parting her lips to him.

The kiss was the invigorating force, the breath of life Emily needed to keep sane and warm over the next few hours. She found herself leaning over him to partake in the act a few more times over the course of the next couple of hours. Her words were the last ones that lingered in the air, both of them silently processing what she had said until they heard footsteps above them.

Though Hotch seemed to be doing fine, all things considered, Emily couldn't stand the idea of waiting for someone to stumble upon them. She still hadn't heard the monster since she'd moved the concrete slab so loudly, so her guess was that the thing didn't have ears of any sort. "Down here!" she screamed, scrambling to find a crack in the cement structure to scream through. "Help! Federal agent down! We're in the basement!"

"Jesus," Hotch muttered. "I forgot what a set of lungs you had."

"Sorry," Emily whispered, as if that could make up for whatever damage she'd just done to Hotch's eardrums in their little echo chamber.

"On our way!" Morgan's never-sweeter voice bounced around.

"Oh, thank God," Emily said, collapsing onto the floor again. "How're you feeling?"

"Been better," Hotch said. "But…I could be worse, right?"

Emily rolled her eyes at Hotch's repeated attempt to thank her. "It's been a blast, but I can't wait to get the hell out of here."

Emily waited in the surgery lounge of Seattle Grace Hospital. She and the rest of the team had been told that Hotch's wound was clean and that it would be easy but time-consuming to repair the arteries that had been hit by what was most likely glass. They'd also been told that if Hotch had taken that fall by himself, he would've only lasted minutes, as he wouldn't have been able to stop his own bleeding.

Emily still couldn't help but feel a bit humiliated by the team and a crew of firemen finding her topless, but she didn't let that distract her from the good news.

"Can we see him?" she asked when the surgeon, Dr. Bailey, finally came down the hall to tell them the surgery had gone just fine.

"He's in recovery right now. He should be awake in about an hour. One of you can come back. Not room for any more."

"Go for it," Morgan said with a grin, patting Emily's arm. "You're the reason he's alive."

Emily felt her face light on fire as she followed a nurse to the recovery ward. There was little space between her and the curtain that separated her from the next patient. This put her quite close to Hotch, but she didn't mind a bit.

Hotch wasn't sure what the last thing had been that he had seen. Probably the anesthesiologist who had asked him to count backwards. But he knew he would forever remember the first thing he saw when he woke up again. As he drifted into consciousness, all he saw was black. But when he let his eyes flutter open, Emily's pallid face smiled down at him.

"Hey," he breathed, his chapped lips and parched mouth begging for moisture.

"Hey," she said, holding onto a hand. "Everything went great. You're gonna be just fine. Gideon called Haley and told her you'd been hurt but that you're okay."

"Good. Thank you…for everything."

"Stop it. You would've done the same for me, no?"

Hotch nodded instantly, his head aching as a result. "In a heartbeat. How did…they find us?"

"Some kids about to sneak around in there. They heard the floor crashing down and eventually called the police. Obviously the police knew we were in there so they took it seriously."

"Why Fridays, though?" Hotch asked. "It was just…a demon or something…how could it…lure people in…on a schedule?"

"We figured that the first two coincidentally fell on a Friday—popular night to sneak around and cause mischief—and after that, people started going out on Fridays to see if they could get in on the action or something. Then they saw the monster and some of them died. Sort of a self-fulfilling prophecy. The people who saw the thing and didn't die never came forward, because they were sure they'd be blamed for the death of whoever else was in the building the same night."

"And what…what happened to the…thing? Whatever it was?"

An amused smile tickled Emily's lips. "The story made the morning paper and by nine o'clock, these two guys showed up to the site. They said they were from the Federal Commission for Structural Integrity in Historical Sites and this rookie cop believed them, let them in, then told us. JJ, Gideon, and Morgan went back to see who the hell these guys were and JJ said she recognized them right away."

"Who were they?"

"The Winchester brothers, according to her. Sam, and uh…Dean. Cops arrested them, put them in the slammer, and, naturally, they've since escaped. They've been tied to credit card fraud and mysterious deaths all over the country for over a year now. One of the brothers and their father had been up to it for some time before then. So far it seems like they're some sort of…supernatural-experts-slash-vigilantes. Before the team caught them on their way out of the building to arrest them, they heard this bang, and this high-pitched screaming noise. The Winchesters wouldn't tell anyone what they did, but the team searched the building three times and didn't find a single thing except a bunch of salt poured on the floor and an empty casing."

"Wow," was all Hotch could think to say. "So what was it? A demon?"

"No idea," Emily said. "Demons possess people, no? If that thing had actually gotten inside one of us, really possessed us, I can't imagine how much scarier it would've been."

It was then that Hotch remembered what Emily's worst fear had been. He felt a sudden tinge of guilt that she hadn't played a role in his worst fear, but he hoped he'd shown her effectively enough that he'd never stopped caring about her, either. "It was bad enough already, huh?" He twisted his hand and locked fingers with her.

Her eyes narrowed above a quick smile and her hair swung as she nodded fervently. "Yeah."

A/N: I know I'm horrible for making you wait and I don't deserve any reviews, but if you feel compelled to leave on anyway, I won't argue. Thanks! :D

Hope you enjoyed the Supernatural reference ;)