Spencer stood in the observation room, looking in through the one-way mirror at Sam Winchester. The man confused him. At this point, Reid considered himself to be pretty good at reading the motivations and psyches of the people they investigated. He had to be; it had saved his life more times than he cared to think about. But Winchester – there was something different about him, something that didn't match up with the story that they knew about him. The delusions were a new piece of the puzzle that he couldn't seem to make fit, especially since Sam seemed so level headed in all other aspects.

Sam shifted, and Reid paused in his ruminations to watch a little more closely. As Spencer watched, Sam pulled his hands together and squeezed down on his palm, something he'd already seen the man do a few times now. Spencer wasn't sure if it was some kind of tell or tic, but he had a feeling it was something more.

There was a cornered look to his eye, and suddenly Sam Winchester looked the opposite of the composed figure he had been until that point.

Alarmed, Spencer stepped forwards towards the glass. Sam was breathing heavily, his eyes tracking something around the room that only he could see.

"No, no, no…" Sam muttered. "No!"

Then suddenly he let out a scream; a tortured sound.

This. This is what they had been missing. Reid had seen this before – he should have recognized the signs earlier.

Sam was hallucinating.

Reid slammed on the speaker button. "Sam! Sam Winchester. This is Dr. Reid." He tried to speak as calmly as possible to the terrified man. "What you're seeing isn't real. You're at the Franklin Police Station. If you can hear me, take a deep breath."

Sam just stared forwards, his eyes wide and filled with fear.

Spencer was about to go for his phone, or to leave the room – to do something to let people know what was happening, when he heard yelling from through the door that set his heart racing.

"What the fuck have you done, and where is my brother!"

"Mr. Winchester," Aaron said steadily, his gun pointed at the man who had invaded the station minutes earlier. "Put down your weapon. You're surrounded; there's no good way out of this for you."

In his heart, he knew it was a long shot. People didn't charge into police stations with loaded guns because they were susceptible to reason. But if they could solve this without any shots fired, he had to try.

"I just want my brother, okay?" Dean said in a menacing voice, somehow sounding both furious and level-headed. His gun was pointed right back at Hotch. "Hand him over, and I'll walk out of here."

There were several officers in the room, but only one of them had their weapon raised: Officer Keller, the woman who was in charge of the front desk. Morgan and Prentiss stood across the room, having gotten back to the station only minutes before Dean had shown up. They stood in front of a desk that was currently hiding the girl that they'd brought back with them. Angie, they'd called her.

"You're not walking anywhere except a cell," Morgan snapped.

Angie's head poked out from behind the desk. Her eyes were wide. When she caught sight of Dean's face, her jaw dropped, and she ducked back out of sight.

"We can't give you your brother," Hotch said, keeping his aim level. "And you know it," he added.

Dean's face twisted in frustration. "FBI," he muttered. "You guys are the worst. You know that?"

"Well aware," said Morgan.

There was a long moment where Dean stared at them, eyebrows furrowed. Then, to Aaron's surprise, he lowered his gun. Prentiss swooped in with the others' weapons still held steady, and snagged his gun before she clamped on a pair of cuffs.

"Dean Winchester," she said, "We're arresting you on 6 counts of murder. You have the right to remain silent. Everything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."

As Emily continued to speak, Dean kept eye contact with Hotch the whole time, his expression dark.

Prentiss finished, and started to lead Dean towards the hall when the man stopped short.

"Angie," he said loudly.

Hotch shared a glance with Morgan, who looked just as surprised as he was.

"I know you're here," Dean continued. "And I found out your secret," he spat. "As soon as we get out of here, your little reign of terror is over, chica."

With that, he let Prentiss push him down the hall and towards the only other open interrogation room.

There was a beat of silence.

"Holy shit," one of the Franklin police officers said.

Keller nodded, and lowered her pistol. "That'll be the most action this place has ever seen."

"Hopefully it doesn't see any more," Aaron said.

Derek reached behind the desk and pulled Angie up, setting her in a chair. She looked absolutely spooked.

Aaron holstered his gun.

Morgan looked Angie in the eye. "What was that?" he asked accusingly. "Do you two know each other?"

Angie swallowed, and looked between Morgan and Hotch, sweat on her brow. "I – I don't know what he's talking about."

"C'mon," Derek said. "Work with us, here. We want to help you. It's obvious you're hiding something."

"I'm not," Angie said defiantly. Her face was pale. "I'm – I'm not! I didn't do anything!" She shook her head, tears suddenly pooling in her eyes. "There's no way I did anything. I wouldn't!"

"It's alright, Angie," Aaron said, stepping closer. "Take some deep breaths for us, okay? We'll figure this out."

Angie nodded, and took a few shuddering breaths. Slowly, she calmed, and swept away her tears with her sleeve.

"Angie, we need to hear your side of this. It's extremely important. Dean Winchester is on the hook for some terrible crimes, and we believe he may be responsible for the murders here, as well."

"What?" Angie said, eyes widening again. "No! No way!"

Hotch shared a loaded look with Morgan. Obviously there was more going on here than either of them expected, and they needed to get an understanding of this as soon as they could. Another woman's life was in the balance.

"C'mon, Angie," Morgan said. "We have a room in the back; I'll get you some coffee."

Angie cast an anxious look at Hotch, and then nodded reluctantly. "Fine."

Morgan cast a look down the hall, surely checking that Dean was already behind closed doors. Then the two of them headed towards the team room.

There were footsteps behind them. "Was that the brother?" Reid asked, sounding tense.

JJ was there, too. "What just happened?"

Hotch turned to look at them. "It was Dean. Prentiss is taking him back now."

"Yeah, I just passed them in the hall," JJ said. "Is everyone alright?"

"We're okay," Officer Keller said, sitting herself back down at her desk.

Aaron nodded at JJ. "No casualties. He surrendered his gun pretty quickly, actually."

Reid glanced down the hall. He looked unsettled. "We shouldn't let our guard down."

"We won't," Hotch reassured him. He and JJ shared a glance.

JJ studied Reid carefully. "What's going on, Spence?"

Reid's eyes darted between JJ and the hall before he noticed her concerned expression. "It's Sam," he said, voice low. "He's having a flashback of some kind. I couldn't shake him out of it."

Aaron frowned. "A flashback?"

Reid nodded. "Either that, or he's hallucinating. Both, maybe."

There was a sound of a commotion from down the hall, and they all looked towards it, alarmed.

As they walked to the back of the station, the FBI agent keeping hands on him, Dean tested the limits of his cuffs. There was a sting as he pulled against the cold metal.

He would have one chance at this – he'd need to time it right. He kept his eyes on the doors around him.

Then, there it was:

Interrogation Room 1.

The door was closed, and there was no way to see into the room, but Dean knew for sure that Sam was back there. There was another room down the hall with an open door – Interrogation Room 2. That was surely where he was headed.

There was no time to think.

Dean tensed, and then lifted his elbow and threw it into the face of the woman behind him. She cried out, and her grip loosened. He spun out of it, the sound of a curse following him. Paying no attention to the commotion he was causing, he used his foot to open the door and rushed into Interrogation Room 1.

What he saw sent the air from his lungs.

"Sam!" he said roughly.

The kid was curled up as well as he could be with his hands still cuffed to the table. His gaze was wide and unseeing. And the look on his face – it was horrifying. Something Dean had only seen on Sam in their darkest days: pure terror.

Dean grabbed the free chair from the opposite side of the table and used it to bar the door. Then he dropped on his knees beside his brother.

"Sam," he said again. There was no sign that he even knew Dean was there. "Sam, I'm here. It's Dean."

His voice was rough; he didn't even know what to say. Even with all the bullshit they'd been going through since Cas had brought down Sam's wall, Dean had never seen him like this. The closest was the times he'd shaken Sam out of a nightmare; the short time before Sam knew he was awake.

There was noise from outside the door, and the chair rattled against the force put against it on the other side, but he barely noticed.

Dean couldn't help it – he reached out and put a hand on Sam's cheek, as best he could with the cuffs on. "You're not there anymore. Okay? We got you out. Sam, can you hear me? I –"

Sam did look at him then, but it was with no sign of recognition. Instead, he cried out and pulled away, flinching. "No," Sam moaned. His breaths came quick – too quick. "No, no."

Dean felt like a hand was clenching his lungs. "Sam, stone number one, remember?" He knew his voice sounded slightly desperate, but he didn't care. He reached out again and grabbed Sam's hand. The kid tried to pull away, but Dean wouldn't let him, and squeezed down hard on the slowly healing wound there.

Dean thought he saw a spark, then – something in Sam's eyes. "Come on, that's it –"

There were hands on him from behind, and he had to let go of Sam.

Dean fought back. The FBI had made it through the door. They were yelling at him.

He got to his feet, kicked out and threw elbows as best he could. Then he saw the flash of something metal pointed at him. The taser shot out, attaching to his chest.

"Agh!" he groaned, and fell back to his knees. He couldn't move. Then they were dragging him away. He got one last look at Sam –

The door slammed closed.

Sam was in the pit.

It was a world of darkness, and ice. A jail made for the devil himself that contained every part of him.

He knew that somewhere out there, Michael was there. With Adam. Michael rarely came over to speak to Lucifer – maybe once every dozen years or so. Mostly they kept to their own, Michael barring off their side of the cage. And Lucifer didn't bother trying to get over there; not often, anyways.

He had Sam, after all. To entertain him.

It was a world of pain, and horror, and loneliness. There was a smell to the air, something that Sam had grown used to, but every now and then it would hit him: blood, and feces, and decay. The smell of death. It drifted over from Hell, but it came from him, too.

He shifted slightly, and pain flared anew. He was being held aloft by a hook that was speared just below his collar bone. If he moved too much, or was moved, he could feel the metal scratching the bone.

It was agony.

There was a cold hand on his face, and he couldn't help but close his eyes and flinch back, which only made the problem worse.

"Sammy…" Lucifer said, his voice saccharine and twisted. "Sammy…"

Sam just breathed, fighting for control. But he never could hold onto it for long.

Lucifer's voice suddenly shifted to a scream, achingly loud and harsh. "Look at me! Look me in the eye!"

He couldn't help but comply, his eyes snapping open and looking for the only other eyes he'd seen in a long, long time. Crystal blue, and lit up with a fire.

"You're nothing," Lucifer spat. "Less than the shit under my boot."

Sam just stared. His heart threatened to beat out of his chest (and it had, once or twice now).

Lucifer reached out, and yanked.

Sam heard the snap before he felt the pain. Then he was screaming, and crying. Everything he prided himself on not doing when he was alive. But then, there was no one here who wasn't already judging him.

"Oh, Sam," Lucifer said, laughing. "Sam."

"Sam…"

"Sam Winchester…"

There were voices that didn't belong. Who was that supposed to be? He felt overwhelmingly confused.

Suddenly there was light; a fluorescent light. It was buzzing.

"Sam," the voice said again.

He realized that he was sitting on the floor, his hands awkwardly held up above him by the cuffs on the table. The floor was cold beneath him. But the smell… it smelled like antiseptic.

Sam looked up, and immediately flinched back at the face that he saw.

"Woah! Back up, back up!" a voice said.

He breathed heavily, and focused on counting. In and out.

After some time, he looked up again. The faces were farther away. And what's more, he recognized them. It was the FBI agents: Reid, and Hotchner. And Jareau.

Shit.

Emily backed out of the interrogation room where she'd secured Dean Winchester, closing the door behind her.

Immediately Rossi was next to her. "Are you okay?" he asked, looking at her face.

She nodded, stuffing her hands into her pockets. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Rossi gave her a long look. "Come on," he said. "Let's get that cleaned up."

Confused, Emily put a hand to her nose, where Dean had struck her. When she pulled it away, there was blood. "Oh," she said.

"Yeah. Come on," he said again.

Emily followed him, and accepted the gauze and the ice pack when he handed it to her. She pressed it to her face, wincing.

"Hey," Rossi said. He waited until she looked him in the eye before he added, "We got them both, Prentiss. Well done."

She nodded.

There were footsteps behind them, and Emily turned to see Officer Keller.

"Can we help you with something?" Rossi said.

"Uh, yeah," Keller said, a little uncertainly. "Do you think I could get a good look at him?"

Emily frowned. "At who?"

"The man who just pointed a gun at all of us? The one who just knocked you in the face."

"What do you want to see?"

Keller shook her head. "I just can't shake the feeling that I've seen him before."

Emily and Rossi shared a glance.

"Alright," Rossi said. "Let's get you in the observation room."

They walked together to the door, and pulled it open. The room with the one-way mirror was behind it. Inside, they could see Dean sat behind the table, stewing, throwing glances towards the door every few seconds.

Keller stepped up to the glass, her brow furrowed. After a minute, her eyes widened.

"I remember him!" she said triumphantly. "I was thinking it over, and I knew I remembered that face. He and – it must have been Sam with him – they came around yesterday morning dressed like Forest Service Rangers. Asked for copies of the case files."

Rossi looked at Emily. "And did you give it to them?"

Keller looked suddenly uncomfortable. "Uh… I did, yes. They – they had badges! If they're fake, I've never seen better ones."

Emily lowered the ice pack away from her face. "How much did you give them?"

Her face looked slowly more and more horrified. "Everything," she said. "I gave them everything we had."

"Dean Winchester." Morgan said, sitting down and setting the files down in front of himself.

"In the flesh," the man replied with a tight smile. He looked tense, and weary. And there was an underlying current of something that felt like anger.

Derek raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "You have a lot to answer for."

Dean leaned back, crossing his arms. "You don't know the half of it. But you'd be better off knowing that in this town, I am the answer."

"Can you explain –"

Dean held up a hand. "Yeah, lemme stop you right there. I have no interest in talking to you until I see my brother."

Derek frowned at him, incredulous. "Why would we let that happen?"

"Out of the kindness of your hearts?" Dean said, bleeding frustration. "I don't fucking know. Just… he's a got a thing, alright?" he added, somewhat reluctantly.

Morgan felt an importance to the statement that belied the casual words. "A thing?"

"Y'know, he gets flashbacks. That's why I had to get in there. I need to talk to him."

There it was. "What does he get flashbacks about?"

Dean flashed him a dirty look. "None of your fucking business, that's what."

"Touchy subject, huh?" Morgan said, raising an eyebrow.

Dean scowled further, and leaned forwards, his eyes flaring. "Jesus, come on – just let me in there! Let me help him!"

Derek decided to tell him the truth. "We talked him out of it. He's coherent, now."

There was naked relief on Dean's face. "Oh, thank God. How long? How long was he like that?"

Morgan shrugged. "Fifteen, twenty minutes, maybe?"

The relief bled back into something more pained.

"Does that happen to him often?"

Dean shook his head, and opened his mouth to reply before seemingly remembering himself, and snapping it shut.

"How long has this been going on? And does he always respond with violence?" Derek pressed.

"If you're implying what I think you are, fuck you."

Derek leaned forwards, using his large frame to his advantage. "You think you're tough shit, soldier boy. But you're here for keeps, now. No more miraculous escapes. So you might as well get off your high horse and tell the damn truth."

The man gave him a long look, scowling.

"So," Dean said finally. "What's it gonna be, huh? When are we headed to prison?"

Morgan ignored the question. "How about you tell me this: Why are you in Franklin, Dean?"

Dean looked at him dryly. "Well, we just heard you could get some good fried chicken here. You got any leads on that? I'd really appreciate it."

"Did you come to town to get your kicks killing young women?"

"You're just a bucket of laughs, aren't ya?"

Derek looked at him levelly. It never failed to satisfy him to take evil men like this to task. "So I've been told." He opened up the file in front of him and pushed forward a photo. "How about this? Can you explain this?"

Dean looked down, and seemed a little surprised at what he saw. "That's our trunk."

"And what does anyone need with this kind of arsenal?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Uh… woodworking?"

"Well, that explains the saw," Derek allowed. "What about the rest?"

There was a long pause. Dean looked down, and up again. "I think I'd like my phone call now."

JJ sat next to Spencer and Officer Combs in the BAU's room in the station, the three of them pouring through the box of evidence that had been pulled from the Winchesters' car. There was a wide assortment of weapons, each more hair raising than the last; a box full of various high quality fake IDs, including the ones they'd used to dupe Keller; and a random assortment of their personal effects – cassettes, books on ritual and the supernatural, a computer.

Spencer picked up a worn looking leather journal with what looked like dozens of photos and papers sticking out of it. He glanced inside the cover as he said, "This is incredible. With all of this, we'll have no trouble getting enough evidence to make a conviction stick."

JJ nodded, similarly impressed, and slightly overwhelmed, by the pile in front of them. "Hopefully this time it holds them for good."

Combs, wearing nitrile gloves, pulled out a glass jar. "Jesus," she said, looking at JJ with wide eyes. "Is this – this is blood!"

JJ nodded, her mind whirling at the implications. "We'll need that sent in immediately."

"Don't have to tell me twice," Combs agreed. She stood and walked to the door. As she walked out into the hall, they heard her call out to one of the other officers, who'd been serving as an evidence tech: "Brady! I need you over here!"

As JJ's gaze left the closing door, she caught sight of Angie.

The young woman was sitting in a chair against the wall, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. She looked about as uncomfortable as a rabbit in a fox's den, her eyes watching every move made in the room.

"Um, I'll be back in a minute, Reid," JJ said. He didn't do more than nod in reply, already absorbed in what he was looking at.

Slowly, JJ went over to the little coffee station in the room, and filled up a cup before she walked over to Angie and sat down in a chair next to her.

Angie glanced over at her, and only hesitated for a moment before she accepted the cup JJ offered her.

"How are you feeling?" JJ asked gently.

Angie pursed her lips. "Well. I've been better."

JJ gave her a smile. "It's been a long day, hasn't it?"

"And it's not even noon," Angie agreed dryly. She went to take a sip of her coffee, but then brought the cup down before it made it to her mouth. "Is it really true? That whoever killed Emma killed those other girls, too?"

JJ paused, and then nodded. "That's what we suspect, yes."

Angie's face paled a little, and her jaw clenched. "I just – I didn't think – but she didn't die like them. So, why?"

"It fits in with what we know about the killer," JJ said, trying her best to speak vaguely while also giving the truth. "I'm sorry for your loss."

Angie didn't acknowledge her condolences. "What do you know about him, then? The killer, I mean."

JJ shook her head. "I'm sorry. I can't say more than that. Not right now."

Angie just pressed her lips into a thin line.

After a moment, JJ pressed a little further. "I heard about what happened when Dean Winchester came in the door. I think we all have some questions about what he said to you then."

Angie looked up. "Emma was my best friend," she said fiercely, though JJ could sense the fear behind the tone. "I would never hurt her. Never!"

JJ held up a hand. "Whoa, Angie. That's not what I'm trying to say. Not at all."

"Then what are you trying to say?" Angie said desperately. "I just – I don't know how all this happened! It shouldn't have happened!"

"Look," JJ said. "We can tell you're hiding something. If you really cared for Emma, you need to tell us what you know. As it stands, Dean Winchester is going to be charged with the murder of these girls, including your friend. If there's something you know – something that we're missing, we need to hear it. Do you understand?"

Angie looked at JJ for a long moment, the sounds of a busy police station rising up behind them. Her expression was tortured; a mixture of sadness, fear, and – guilt. She put the coffee down, still untouched.

"Angie?" JJ encouraged.

A look of determination fell over the young woman, though it still took her a few false starts before she said: "Whoever did this – it wasn't Dean. or Sam."

JJ saw only honesty in Angie's eyes. "Then, who –"

A sudden chill swept through her, and she shivered. Her breath fogged in front of her face.

Angie gasped. "Oh, god. Emma."

The lights flickered above them, before going out completely. JJ pushed herself to her feet, feeling incredibly ill at ease. Angie did the same beside her. Something was wrong here.

"What is this?" she heard Reid say distantly. But there was something in front of her – something she couldn't quite see —

"Emma, I'm sorry," Angie said, her voice breaking. "This was never supposed to happen. I – I – I'm sorry!"

The papers around the room rustled. Somehow, the room got even colder. There was a cracking sound, like ice when it froze. Angie whimpered.

JJ's eyes were drawn to the window. It was completely fogged over, ice spreading out from the center. All except for two words that were drawn in the frost.

You're next.

Sam had his head in his hands, rubbing at his temples in a vain attempt to ease his pounding headache. The only mercy was that he knew for sure it was a normal, white bread, every day kind of headache. Not the kind that happened down there.

There was a sandwich and a cup of water sitting on the table in front of him. They'd undone his cuffs for the moment so that he could eat. Across the table, Agent Hotchner watched with a stern expression.

"You should eat," the man said. "It'll help you feel better."

Sam raised his head. "What I'd really like is a drink, if you've got it."

Hotchner nodded his head at the water. "Drink up."

Sam rolled his eyes, and then regretted it when that sent sparks of pain through his head. "Great. Thanks."

"What happened, Sam? Where were you?"

He knew what Hotchner was referring to. "What's the point?" he said, feeling exhausted. "Even if I wanted to tell you the truth – you wouldn't believe me."

Hotchner nodded. "Do you get flashbacks often?"

"More often than I'd like," Sam admitted. He reached for the water, and took a small sip. It felt cooling on his tongue.

"That must be difficult."

Sam fixed his gaze on the agent warily. "Sympathizing with the villain, are we?"

Hotchner held eye contact, unflinching. "Honestly, Sam, I'm not sure you are the villain."

Sam frowned, and sat up a little bit.

"You should know we have your brother in custody."

Ah. There it was. Sam let out a huff, and pushed the sandwich away from himself as he leaned back. "Shit," he muttered.

"The two of you are looking at life sentences, at least," Hotchner said seriously. "At least, your brother is. But if you're willing to talk, we can make a deal for you, Sam."

Sam considered that for a moment. The offer was predictable, but if they already had Dean in custody… "You don't have enough evidence yet, do you?"

Hotchner tilting his head was the only evidence that that statement rang true.

"Have you thought for a moment," Sam accused, "That the reason for that is that we didn't do this?"

"We know enough. The two of you –"

"Like I've said. We are here to solve this. To make sure that no other women in this town are killed. And you focusing on us – keeping us locked up in here – you're making a huge mistake! Now, would you listen to me for one second?"

Hotchner opened his mouth to reply when the temperature in the room suddenly dropped like a rock. Their breath fogged in front of them. The lights above flickered in warning.

"Oh, no," Sam breathed. There was only one thing that this could mean. Obviously, burning the body hadn't been enough.

Emma was back.

Without thinking, without hesitating, and ignoring his pounding head and aching body, Sam stood and ran for the door. He burst out into the hall, following the flickering lights to a room a few doors down.

When he opened it, he was hit with a wave of cold air. The window across from him was covered in frost. And between him and the two women he saw across the room, hovered a nearly transparent form.

Sam spotted a food cart to the left, and grabbed the salt shaker from the top. Then he opened it, and flung the contents at the ghost.

With a wail that sounded like nails on chalkboard, Emma disappeared.

Sam had only a moment to take in the scene – it was Angie, standing with Jareau, the two of them looking white and scared. And the message on the window…

A body slammed into him, sending him to the floor. He was pinned.

"For Christ's sake," a woman's voice called out. It was one of the Franklin police officers. "After this man is back in handcuffs, I need an officer at each door! They aren't getting out of this station, so help me God!"

Morgan walked up next to Reid. They had moved from the team's room into the bullpen while Sam Winchester was being secured again. "What happened? Did he try to attack anyone?"

"I don't know what happened," Reid said, shaking his head. He looked agitated.

Derek frowned at the words. He felt unsettled at how unsure Spencer looked. "What do you mean, you don't know what happened? Talk to me, Reid."

"It doesn't make sense," Reid muttered. "It shouldn't make sense."

Derek looked over at JJ, who was standing next to them, her arms crossed in front of her chest. "Seriously, what happened in there?"

JJ had a similarly disturbed expression on her face, which didn't make him feel any better. But at least she answered the question: "Someone wrote a threat in the window. Before Sam came into the room."

Morgan frowned. "I didn't see anything."

"It was… condensation, or something. It must have evaporated."

Reid glanced over at JJ, but Derek wasn't quick enough to catch what it meant.

"Well?" Derek pressed. "What did it say?"

"'You're next.'"

Rossi stepped up to the three of them. "Sam's been put in a cell in the back of the station," he said. "And they've put extra officers to guard each of them. They won't be getting anywhere."

"Oh, uh – good," JJ said.

Rossi looked between all of them, and seemed to realize that he had interrupted something. "What's going on?"

Reid summed it up: "It's possible that there's another unsub out there. There was a threat written on the window of our office before Sam burst in."

Morgan shook his head and tried to make sense of the facts. "It must mean that whoever killed Joe Bartlett, and kidnapped Martha – we were right to think he was after Angie. She's still in danger."

"We'll let her know she should stay here, then. Nowhere'll be safer than here."

JJ cut in, "Are we sure about that? In the last few hours both of the Winchesters have managed to at least attempt an attack."

Morgan nodded. "Well – true. But we're not gonna let that happen again."

"Throwing salt…" Reid frowned. His voice was so low that it was almost as though he was only talking to himself. "He wasn't trying to escape."

"No, he was just trying to get to Angie," Derek said.

"How would he have even known that she was here?" JJ questioned. "This whole thing feels weird. Not to mention the hallucinations – or flashbacks, that he was having."

Morgan frowned, an idea occurring to him. "That couldn't have been faked, could it? Maybe he was just trying to throw us off so he could try something like this."

But Reid shook his head. "No. That was real."

"So there's another accomplice?" Rossi said, circling back. "That's what I'm hearing, here."

They all looked at each other. "We don't know," Derek said. "But there's something we're missing."

"Angie told me something a minute ago. Before all of this," JJ said. "She says that she doesn't think either of the Winchesters are responsible for what's happening here."

"So she does know him," Morgan said. "We have to find out what she's hiding. There's just too many coincidences here. And not enough of an explanation."

There were footsteps behind him, and Hotch walked up with Prentiss. Both of their faces were grave.

Hotch looked between them all. "Two things, everyone. First, I have to apologize for what just happened. It was my responsibility to watch Sam while he had his cuffs off. I didn't anticipate him trying to run in the state he was in. Still, it shouldn't have happened."

"It's okay, Hotch," JJ assured him.

"No, it's not," Hotch said. "So, I'm sorry."

"Well, no harm no foul, right?" Morgan said. "Everyone's okay. Now, what's the second thing?"

Hotch glanced back at Prentiss, who said: "There was a body on the edge of the forest. Based on the description, it's likely Martha Bartlett."

"We're sending a few officers, including Combs, to go secure the scene," Hotch said. "Rossi, I'd like for you to go with them. In the meantime, with Sam and Dean in custody, I think at least some of our team needs some rest. Reid, JJ, and Morgan – you head back to the hotel."

There were nods all around.

"Oh, a third thing," Hotch added. They waited a moment in anticipation, before he said, "Good work, everyone."

"Hotch," Reid started, but Rossi cut him off.

"I'll explain it, Reid. Don't worry."

Derek nodded. "Well, with permission then, I'm gonna head back to the hotel. If you two want to ride with me, let me know."

"I'd take you up on that," JJ said gratefully.

"Me, too," Reid agreed.

"Alright then," Morgan said, nodding at them. "I'm rolling out in five. See you in the parking lot."

Dean, guided by the hand of a police officer and bound up in hand and leg cuffs, shuffled through a door in the back of the station.

The room he entered was slightly dimmer, but once his eyes adjusted, he saw that it was a row of cells. There was someone already in the one on the end, laid out on the cot with his arm over his eyes.

Of course, it was Sam.

They put him in the cell furthest away from Sam's, and undid the leg cuffs before locking him inside. Then they left the room, the door making a final sort of sound as it slid closed.

Dean rushed to the edge of his cell, and put his hands on the bars. "Sam!" he hissed. "Sam, can you hear me? You awake over there?"

Sam sat up suddenly, looking over at him. "Dean!" It looked like his body didn't appreciate the change in altitude, though, and his face paled.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked, feeling a familiar anger rising at the state of his brother. "Did they hurt you?"

Sam shook his head. "I'm okay. I just have a killer headache, is all. What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be breaking me out?"

"This is me breaking you out," Dean said dryly.

Sam raised an eyebrow, and looked around the room. "Flawless execution."

Dean just huffed. "There's a lot going on here, okay? Dude – Angie's a witch!"

"What?"

Dean watched as Sam sat up straighter, placing his feet on the ground. He still looked a little unsteady. "Sammy," Dean started, and then hesitated.

Sam frowned at his change in tone.

"I know what happened," Dean finished.

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked unconvincingly.

He sighed. "Come on. I know you had a flashback. When I got here, I tried to help you…"

Sam looked pained. "What? You were there?"

"In the interrogation room, yeah. For a minute, anyways. Before they freakin' tased me." He hoped the admission would bring some levity to Sam's face, but no dice.

"Dean," Sam said, his voice low in warning. "I can't talk about it right now. Okay?"

"I just wanna know if you're okay," Dean said.

His heart twisted at the expression on Sam's face. "And I can't talk about it. Not right now. Can we just… go back to the case, for now?"

Dean nodded numbly. "Yeah, okay."

Sam coughed, a little awkwardly. "So, Angie's a witch?"

"Uh… yeah. Yeah, I – I knew there was something wrong, something we were missing. And I was right! It's more than just the ghost. It's her, Sam. Somehow, she's responsible for this. I know it."

"Did you know the ghost isn't gone?" Sam said. "There must be something more holding her here than just her body."

"You saw it?" Dean accused.

Sam nodded. "That's why they put me in here. You didn't feel it? The lights went shaky, and it got cold. I followed my gut, and I was right. Sent her packing with some salt."

Dean shook his head. "Must not have made it as far as my room."

"You know, that fits, though," Sam said, with that expression on his face that meant he'd just put something together. "I mean, there was a message Emma wrote out on the window – 'you're next.'"

"A threat?"

"No," Sam said. "Not a threat. A warning. Emma's not a violent spirit."

Dean's eyebrows raised as he understood what Sam was saying. "Oh. She's a death omen."

Back at the hotel, Spencer sat with JJ in her room. He knew they should be resting, but his brain felt like it was on overdrive; there was no way he was sleeping until he at least sorted some of his thoughts out.

"Talk to me, Spence," JJ said. Her face was weary, and she looked concerned. "I don't know if I've ever seen you this wound up. And that's saying something."

He couldn't even muster up the smile that he knew she was trying to inspire. "JJ, I just…" he shook his head. "What happened today, I can't explain it. I've never… it's impossible!"

JJ sat down across from him, her arms crossed tight across her chest. "I know," she said softly.

"I mean, since I've been working for the FBI I've seen – we've seen a lot," Spencer continued, the words coming almost too quick to make it out of his mouth. "But not – nothing like this." He looked up as a thought struck him. "JJ, what if they're telling the truth?"

JJ frowned, obviously confused. "What if who's telling the truth?"

"Sam and Dean," he said earnestly.

"Spencer…" JJ looked at him carefully. "You don't really think that."

Reid pushed himself to his feet, feeling a wild anxious energy inside of himself. "I know," he said. "I know! It's crazy. They're crazy, I mean. Mentally disturbed. Killers. Or at least one of them is. But this whole time, I've felt like there was something that we were missing. Don't you agree?"

JJ sighed. "Sure, I agree. But there's a big leap from thinking that to agreeing with Sam and Dean Winchester."

Spencer paused in his pacing, yet his mind still raced. "JJ, I've always been drawn to logic. You know that. But… what happened earlier wasn't logical." She opened her mouth to speak, but Reid just kept going, speeding forwards, that anxious energy driving him. "I've been going over it in my head every second since it happened. And now I'm standing here and telling you: I think… I think they may be telling the truth. If not the whole truth, part of it."

He turned to face his friend. JJ just looked at him, searching his expression. After a long moment, she nodded. "Okay," she said.

Spencer blinked. "Okay, what?"

She sat up straighter. "I promise, Spence. We'll get to the bottom of this. Whatever it was that happened today, we'll figure it out."

Reid nodded slowly back at her. "Thanks, JJ. This is just –" he paused, frowning.

JJ noticed. "What is it?"

Spencer didn't know what to say. Then he suddenly had a strange feeling; like they were being watched. His hand went to the gun at his waist.

Then, in a split second, three things:

A creak behind him. JJ's face, terrified. And a sharp crack against the back of his skull.

There was a flash of something red, and then –

Darkness.