Spencer sat at the old wooden table, deep in thought. He absentmindedly drew the same pattern over and over into the patches of condensation and spill that covered almost every table of the bar at this hour as he tried to drown out the noise around him. Usually, he wouldn't be caught dead in an establishment like this. It was too loud, had too many people and stimuli for his taste. But his teammates had insisted he join them, claiming that he could use the distraction.
And what could he say, maybe they're right.
They'd all had a bad couple of days; the case they're on hadn't given them any new leads, only more bodies. The last day had especially confused the BAU, smashing the semblance of a profile they'd had to pieces.
There were murders happening around town. Always in the middle of the night, always the youngest of the family members, tortured to death in their own home. It didn't seem to matter if the youngest was a two year-old or forty-two year-old. And the strangest part was that no one ever woke up from any screams. That led them to believe that the killer abducted his victims, took them somewhere remote, and then returned the corpse before the first ray of morning sunlight hit the neighborhood. Based on all of that, they'd classified the unsub as a white male, most likely in his younger years and physically fit - as even the stronger victims had been subdued without a sedative - who was the middle child in a household with multiple siblings, so he most likely felt ignored growing up.
Except that none of this seemed to be true. As of last night, they had a suspect. A suspect that Spencer had discovered mostly by accident when a young woman had intercepted him the day before when he'd picked up coffee for the team at the local coffee shop. She'd feigned concern for her neighbors that had been under the victims and expressed worry for her own family.
Spencer had talked to her and she had seemed open and friendly. She had two young kids, was an only-child herself and had grown up in a loving home. That night, a security camera at the newest crime scene had caught a glimpse of her in front of the house, in a part of town where she had no business being.
She didn't fit the profile. At all.
The local police now had a suspect in custody and pretty much considered the case closed. The BAU, however, wasn't quite ready to let go of it yet, so they'd decided to stay in town for a few more days. Spencer couldn't help but feel like the last murder rested at least partially on his shoulders for not noticing anything off about the woman when he'd talked to her.
The young agent let out a deep sigh and shook the condensation droplets from his fingers. He blinked when he realized that he'd been drawing the symbol from the crime scenes, which they hadn't been able to place, over and over. Maybe his colleagues were right and he really did need a distraction.
"Hey, Reid!" A sudden punch against the shoulder startled him out of his thoughts. Morgan grinned at him from the chair next to him. "Where's that big brain of yours?"
Spencer shook his head to dispel the last of his thoughts and concentrate back on his friends around him. He smiled. "Sorry, lost in thought, but it's nothing. What did I miss?"
"Oh, don't worry about it. Just some horrible flirting. Probably better you didn't have to watch it." Emily grinned at Morgan, who gave her an incredulous look and immediately began to protest. Spencer couldn't help but smile at the exchange. It was nice to see his friends loosen up a bit, even if they weren't entirely convinced that the case was truly over.
"How about you get us some new drinks, pretty boy," Morgan clapped him on the shoulder. "I'll take another beer. Anyone else?"
Everyone but JJ, who was still nursing her first drink, raised their hands. Spencer nodded and stood. He didn't have to ask what they wanted. He knew them all well enough that he could head right over to the bar and place their orders. He waited next to the counter and watched as the bartender prepared the drinks.
Suddenly, he noticed a presence next to him. He turned, expecting it to be one of his friends, but was surprised when he was faced with a stranger instead. The man appeared to be in his mid-thirties, had green eyes and wore an old leather jacket over a flannel shirt. Spencer couldn't make out anything more about him in the bad lighting, but for some reason he seemed familiar. Like he'd seen him before, but couldn't place him at the moment.
"Hey, are you the guy that talked to Ms. Angler yesterday?"
Spencer's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Ms. Angler was the name of the woman in custody. He was instantly on edge, his gaze carefully assessing the man in front of him. He was fit and muscular, probably a good fighter. His brain instantly shifted through the case file. Did this man have some kind of relationship with their suspect? "Yes. And who are you, if I may ask?"
"Oh, sorry," the stranger dug something out of his pocket and flashed a badge at him. He pulled it back again so quickly that Spencer could barely make out more than his picture and the federal seal on it. "Agent Jones, FBI. The barista remembered you talking to Ms. Angler. Don't worry, I just have a few questions."
Spencer furrowed his brow. He hadn't heard of any agents other than the BAU assigned to this case. If they were working on the same scene, they should have met at the station. But maybe that was why he seemed familiar? Spencer squinted at the man and tried harder to identify him in the bar's darkness, but the other's face was still in the shadows.
"Uhm, hi. I don't think we've met before," Spencer said cautiously. "I'm Special Agent Dr. Spencer Reid, with the BAU. What bureau are you working under?"
For a moment the other man seemed to freeze up, and Spencer could have sworn he heard him curse under his breath, but in the next second the charming smile was back in place. "Special Murder Investigation Unit," the man said confidently. "I was flown in from Kansas yesterday. You can call my supervisor, Mr. Singer, and confirm with him, if you'd like."
The man pulled a phone out from his pocket and held it out for him, but Spencer didn't take it. Instead he threw a nervous look back at his team members, who were still talking at the table, all with their backs to them. Something was wrong. "The SMI's chief of Kansas is Mr. Barens," he said slowly. He was sure of that. He regularly helped JJ field their case requests when there was nothing else for him to do, and had all the division heads memorized because of it.
The man's green eyes widened for a moment, before his face settled into an unreadably mask. Spencer's gut told him that something was wrong here, and he instinctively took a step back, his hand reaching down towards his hip, where his holster would usually be. He cursed himself internally for not wearing his gun in his off-time. Hotch and Morgan always did.
At the thought of them, Spencer looked over his shoulder for his colleagues again. They were still sitting and laughing; no one was paying attention to him at the bar, and they hadn't noticed anything so far.
"Look, I think there has been some kind of misunderstanding here," the fake agent spoke up and took a step towards Spencer. The young agent turned back to the man at the words, a determined expression on his face, only to freeze in an instant. When he had stepped forward, the man's face had come into the light, and Spencer drew in a sharp breath when the realization hit him. He suddenly knew where he recognized the man from. From his wanted posters. His serial killer, FBI Most Wanted posters.
"Winchester," he whispered, in shock. He and his team had never been assigned their case, as the suspects and their profile had always been pretty clear, but he never forgot a face. And the one in front of him was supposed to have been dead for the last two years.
A second later, when the man's expression changed from wary to cold hard steal, Spencer knew he'd fucked up. Damn it! Why did his mouth always have to run away from him? Now the dangerous serial killer in front of him knew that he'd been recognized. Fear instantly flooded him.
Without another word, Spencer quickly spun around, intent on rushing back to his colleagues and warning them. They might not be supposed to have their service weapons with them on a night out at the bar, but he knew that at least Hotch always carried his spare. And maybe they could still call for back-up.
He hadn't taken more than a single hasty step, when something cold and hard pressed into his lower back. Gun, his brain supplied instantly. His breath caught in his lungs.
"Stay calm and don't make a scene. One wrong move and I'll shoot," Dean Winchester murmured into his ear from right behind him. Spencer could feel the other man's warmth at his back from how close he stood, and then a hand settled on his shoulder. He flinched instinctively, and his heart was beating way too fast in his chest.
But the hand didn't hurt him. It simply gripped him tight and steered him towards the exit.
"Move. Don't make a fuss and no one has to get hurt."
Spencer's thoughts were running a hundred miles per minute. What could he do? From the position of the man behind him no one would be able to easily spot the gun. A quick glance at his friends told him that they still hadn't noticed anything amiss as he was forced towards the door. None of them was facing in their direction. He wouldn't be able to get their attention before being shot. And even then, how many more people would the killer be able to take down in the following chaos? If he had a standard colt handgun, like Spencer suspected, that meant six bullets. Five more people would die because of him. No, he couldn't risk that happening!
Shit! Shit, Shit, shit!
Spencer was breathing fast and shallow as the fear almost paralyzed him. He let out an involuntary small whimper when the barrel of the gun dug harder into his back. As if on autopilot he opened the door and practically stumbled forward when the cold evening wind suddenly hit his face.
The door closed behind them and before he could reorient himself, he was being dragged into the shadows of a small alley next to the bar. He was shaking and blood was rushing in his ears as he pressed himself against the wall. Winchester held the gun trained on him as he moved in front of him.
Was this it? Would he shoot him now so that Spencer couldn't rat him out to his team?
The young agent's mind raced, trying to come up with an escape plan.
Then, footsteps.
They were coming right in their direction and Spencer didn't know whether he should be relieved or worried for the potential distraction. He didn't dare lift his gaze from the weapon trained on him, even when another person entered the alley.
"Dean! What the hell?!"
Spencer risked a glance over, and his heart plummeted at the sight. No, no, no, no!
That was Sam Winchester. The other serial killer of the duo. Spencer almost couldn't believe his bad luck. How were they both still alive?!
"What are you doing?" Sam asked.
"He's FBI."
"What?!"
"He recognized me," the older Winchester growled and Spencer cowered in fear when the younger brother let out a curse and both their gazes shifted to him.
"Shit," Sam murmured. "What now?"
"Well, we can't let him go! His team is probably inside. We're not finished here yet, and we can't have the fucking FBI on our asses. Again."
Spencer wondered how much faster his heart could beat before it would simply give out. They'd kill him. He was sure of it.
"Let's take him back to the motel for now," Sam said grimly. "We'll call Cas and decide what to do with him there."
Spencer's heart dropped. That didn't sound good. Maybe they'd want to torture him first, before killing him. His mind instantly supplied him with every gory detail of their files. Dean especially was categorized as a sadist and had a history of torture.
He was grabbed by the arms and dragged towards the parking lot. Before he could see which car they were heading towards, something was put over his head. His phone was pulled from his pocket, and he heard it hit the pavement a few feet to his left. Then there was the sound of a car being unlocked, and he was roughly shoved forward and down. They were putting him in a trunk, he realized. A loud bang sounded as it was shut above him and then he was left in the dark with nothing but his thoughts and his own frantic breathing.
Memories of his last kidnapping flashed before his eyes and all he could think was: No! Not again. Please, not again!
Derek twirled his empty glass between his fingers as he laughed at a joke JJ had told. Noticing that her glass was also empty by now, he turned around and let his gaze swipe across the bar in search of Reid. It had been almost twenty minutes since the kid had gone to get their drinks, and he still hadn't returned.
A frown appeared on Derek's forehead when he couldn't spot the young man anywhere. He wasn't next to the bar or the pool table. He also hadn't started a conversation with any new friends, not that Derek would have expected something like that from the socially awkward kid. Maybe he'd gone to the bathroom?
Worry instantly surged through him. Even though the times when he'd had to be concerned about Reid disappearing into the bathroom by himself were long over, he still couldn't shake the instinct. And twenty minutes was still an awfully long time.
Getting up from the table, he excused himself and made his way through the crowd towards the small bathroom area in the back. There was only a single stall, and it was unoccupied. Reid wasn't here. He pulled out his phone and called his friend's number. It went straight to voicemail.
The bad feeling in his stomach grew. He quickly returned to the table with his team. "Has anyone seen Reid?" he interrupted Rossi, who was currently spinning one of his incredibly long stories from his book writing days.
His friends looked up in surprise and shook their heads. "He still isn't back?" Emily asked in surprise, like she hadn't noticed before.
"That's weird," JJ added, her brows furrowing.
"Maybe he's in the bathroom?" Rossi asked, but Derek shook his head. "I already checked. As far as I can tell, he's nowhere in the bar."
Hotch, who one moment before had been as relaxed as they ever saw him, straightened his back, and his face settled back into its usual stoic mask. "It's not like him to just disappear without telling anyone." They exchanged worried glances. Derek could tell that they were all thinking the same thing. What if they'd been right, and the case truly wasn't over. "Prentiss, Rossi, check outside. JJ, stay here in case he comes back. Morgan and I will talk to the bartender."
Everyone nodded and jumped into action. Derek followed his boss to the bar. They pushed past a few other patrons, who gave them irritated looks. "Excuse me?" Hotch said, catching the attention of the bartender, a young man with spiky black hair. "Have you seen our colleague? He came over to get us new drinks about twenty minutes ago, and he still isn't back."
The man dried his hands and gave them a once over. Hotch with his tailored suit didn't exactly fit well into an establishment like this. "Sorry mate, gonna need more than that."
"He's tall and has long brown hair. Wears a purple sweater vest?" Derek threw in.
"Oh yeah," the bartender nodded instantly. "The kid with the hair. Yeah, he placed his order, but then left with another guy before I could finish it. You still want those drinks? I put them aside in case he came back." He pointed to the other side of the counter, where the five drinks were pushed into a corner.
"Wait, back up," Derek exclaimed. "He left with someone?!"
"Morgan, it's not the time," Hotch chided. But for once Derek actually hadn't meant the comment in a teasing way. The opposite actually, he was worried. Reid wasn't the type to make spontaneous new friends and leave with them. Especially, if he had a task, like getting their drinks.
"What did the man look like?" Hotch asked seriously. By his tense shoulders and serious tone, Derek could tell that Hotch was thinking the same thing.
"I dunno. Normal? Pretty handsome, I guess. Tall, brown hair. Leather jacket." The bartender shrugged. He didn't seem very invested in the conversation, already shifting his gaze to the line of guests behind them, who were starting to get impatient.
Derek and Hotch exchanged a concerned look. That really didn't sound like the kind of person Reid would hang out with. "We'll need to see your security tapes," Hotch said.
"Look, man. I'm sorry, if you lost your drunk friend, but that doesn't mean you can just..." the bartender started with a shake of his head, but he trailed off when Hotch took out his badge and tapped it on the counter in front of him a few times. "Yes, I can. The tapes please. Now."
The young man had very obviously never been confronted with a real agent before. He nervously licked his lips and glanced between Hotch and Derek. "Uhm, yeah… sure," he mumbled. "One moment."
He waved over the other bartender, a blond woman only slightly older than him, and told her to take over for a moment, then he waved them behind the counter and led them into the back. The small back room area that also seemed to function as a kitchen was messy. In the middle of the chaos stood a table with a beat-up looking computer on it. The man quickly slid behind the screen and tapped a few buttons. "Uhm, here," he mumbled and quickly backed away to let the agents take a look. "We, uhm, we only really have one camera that overlooks the main room."
Hotch acknowledged that with a small nod as Derek already leaned over the desk to wind back the tape. As they'd been warned, the quality was pretty shitty, and it took him a moment to orient himself in the grainy image. At least the camera did seem to cover most of the room and the bar, though that also meant that everything was just that much smaller and worse to see in detail.
Finally, Derek found their little table and went back to the moment when they could just make out a figure getting up. The picture of Reid got a bit clearer as he got closer to the counter. They could see him talking to the bartender and then leaning against the bar to wait. After a few minutes, a man approached the young agent. They started talking. The man flashed something at Reid, but it was out of frame and they couldn't make out what it was. They could, however, see the moment when the young man seemed to stiffen and was throwing nervous glances back at the team's table. Suddenly, they both started walking towards the door and left.
The hair at Derek's neck prickled. Even through the shitty recording, he could tell that something was wrong. Hotch leaned over his shoulder and narrowed his eyes as Derek replayed the scene. "Wait. Here. Back up a few frames," his boss suddenly said.
Derek did as instructed and felt his heart plummet. It wasn't easy to make out, but for just a moment something glimmered in the light between the two men on screen before they started walking. "Fuck!" he exclaimed. "That's a gun!" His hands curled into fists and he gritted his teeth. Why did it always have to be pretty boy? The kid had the worst luck on the planet.
Hotch nodded grimly and straightened again. "Forward the video to Garcia. Tell her to run a face-recognition on the man. I'll gather the rest of the team. Meet us out front when you're done here."
Hotch went and got JJ from their table. She gasped in shock when he told her what they'd found out and immediately followed him out of the bar where Prentiss and Rossi were already waiting for them. Their faces were grim. Prentiss stepped forward and held a small object out to him. "We found Reid's phone. It was on the ground in the parking lot. It's broken."
Hotch grimaced internally. So much for any hope of finding his agent by tracing his phone. "We watched the security tape," he said. "Reid was forced out of the bar at gunpoint about fifteen minutes ago. We couldn't make out much on the video, but Garcia is working on it now."
Prentiss stiffened and exchanged a worried look with JJ. Rossi's jaw tensed and he looked Hotch in the eye. "You think we were right? The real unsub of the case is still out there? You think it was him?"
Hotch really hoped that wasn't the case. Their unsub was clearly a deranged sadist. The murders had been brutal, even compared to their usual cases. "It's too early to tell," was all he said, but he could tell that his former mentor knew exactly what he was thinking.
It took less than ten minutes, before Morgan joined them outside. He was still on the phone with Garcia, and they could hear frantic typing on the other side of the call. "Have you got anything yet?" Hotch asked their tech genius.
"Not yet," Garcia's voice was high pitched, as always when she was worried about a member of their little family. "The quality of that video is really not great. But don't worry my lovelies, I'll find something. Just gotta put the picture through my editing software…"
There were a few more seconds of typing, and Hotch directed his team towards their SUV's. No matter what Garcia found, they'd need to drive. Before they'd even reached the cars, there was a gasp on the other side of the call and a whispered, "Oh, no…"
"Baby girl?" Morgan asked, his hand tightening on the phone. "What is it? Have you found something?"
"Yes, but…but that's not possible…"
"What is it, Garcia?" Hotch asked. The tone in his analyst's voice worried him. She sounded almost choked, and he didn't like the undertone of genuine fear in her voice.
"The man in the video… that's Dean Winchester, sir," Garcia whispered.
Hotch instantly stiffened and a cold feeling spread through his veins. That couldn't be. That was impossible.
"Winchester. Why does that ring a bell?" Prentiss asked.
"Dean Winchester, associated with his brother, Sam Winchester. One of the most brutal serial killer duos the United States have ever seen," Garcia read out loud. "They were on the FBI's Most Wanted List a few years back, before they supposedly died in custody and were taken off."
Hotch'd known that already. Back in the day when Victor Hendrickson had investigated the infamous brothers, he'd consulted on the case. He'd been shocked by the man's death, and when the Winchester's had reappeared years later and gone on a nationwide killing spree, Hotch had followed the events closely. If they hadn't been caught when they were, the BAU would've been called in next.
The man shuddered as he remembered their files. Though, file might be an understatement with the amount of crimes attributed to the brothers. They were brutal. Sadistic, sociopathic killers, but unfortunately also very smart. Smart enough to fake their deaths multiple times. They had everything from credit card fraud and grave desecration, to murder and torture on their criminal records. Hotch could feel bile rising in his throat at the thought of his youngest agent being at their mercy.
Around him, his team had been stunned into shocked silence. After a few moments, JJ swallowed hard. "Does that mean the murders in town were committed by the Winchesters?"
"It fits their MO. They've done home invasions before. It would explain the brutality of the murders," Prentiss said. "The victims were tortured. Especially Dean is known for his sadistic streak and torturing his victims before killing them. It's right up their alley…"
She trailed off as it sunk in for all of them exactly what kind of monsters had their friend. "Oh kid," Morgan whispered. "What have you gotten yourself into..."
Hotch couldn't help but agree.