Criminal Minds/Supernatural Fic: I'll Lay Your Soul to Waste 4/4
~*~*~*~*~
“Are you sure?” Derek asked for the twelfth time, clearly unable to wrap his mind around the idea. Aaron forced himself not to snap and somehow managed to nod tightly, desperately trying not to let the younger agent see how confused he was as well. He’d honestly thought Gideon would commit suicide before becoming what they’d spent so many years hunting. But in a twisted way in made sense - Gideon had left because he couldn’t handle any more losses.
And this unsub had been smart, never leaving a trace before the hospital, the local PD only realizing there was a problem after six people had died.
Not unknown anymore, Aaron correctly mentally, wincing slightly. Gideon had killed those people; it wasn’t some unknown person choosing victims at random, but rather his mentor - the team’s mentor - carefully choosing his victims based on their misdeeds and sentencing them to a terrible death.
God, he was going to have to testify that this was likely premeditated.
“You ready for this?” he asked when they finally arrived at the hotel Garcia fingered as Gideon’s most likely retreat. He hadn’t had to lay out search parameters, she’d known as they all had that Gideon would choose a less urban area over an urban area, one that allowed easy access into town, and offered long-term rates. She had a list of three possible hotels, but pointed out this hotel had great reviews from bird watching groups.
They’d all broken a little bit in that moment, Aaron reflected.
Now though, Morgan simply nodded and headed towards the main desk - Gideon’s picture crumpling in his hand with every step.
The desk clerk recognized him immediately, of course, and nervously handed them the key for the last room on the south wing. Luckily, the hallway is relatively clear - a flash of their badges getting rid of the cleaning staff quickly - and they closed in quickly.
A blonde man exited the room next to Gideon’s, eating a bag of potato chips intently - examining each chip carefully before placing it in his mouth.
Morgan grabbed his arms and guided him back into his room. “Sir, we have a dangerous situation here. Please stay in your room until the danger’s over.”
The man looks offended. “Wait until the danger’s… over? Really? You’re trying that line?”
“Sir, please don’t make this difficult,” Morgan said. “We’ll let you know when the danger’s passed. Just stay here.”
“I don’t think so,” the man replied. “I don’t take orders anymore. It’s a whole new universe - and I get to decide now.”
The pit in Aaron’s stomach grew by the minute as this strange man started to rave. The look in his eyes was strangely familiar and the room started to feel too small, as if there was a great presence struggling to be contained and Aaron is standing in its way.
He’s felt this way before. In Missouri and Wisconsin.
“Who are you?” he asked abruptly, interrupting the stranger’s rant on the brilliance of John Locke.
“Balthazar,” the man replied. “And you?”
“Special Agent Morgan, FBI,” Morgan replied before Aaron could think to tell him it might be a bad idea. He hadn’t been an obsessed with the supernatural as Reid and Prentiss after their encounters with the Winchester brother, but he’d done some basic research. Even he knew names could have power.
“And this is Special Agent Hotchner,” Morgan continued, oblivious to the growing danger.
“Well, Special Agents Morgan and Hotchner,” Balthazar replied with a large grin. “What happens after I stay put like a good little soldier? You apprehend the bad guy in the room next to mine? Lock him up?”
“So he’ll never hurt anyone again,” Morgan confirmed.
The man’s teasing expression abruptly left his face, eyes now dark and narrowed. “Sorry, I’m not into that anymore. No more orders, no more cages, just glorious, glorious choice.”
He lunged at them, the tight quarters preventing Aaron from even getting to his holster before the man grabbed their shoulders tightly. “Besides, I’m not done with him yet.”
Dry heat was the first thing Aaron noticed. The lack of a hotel room, clouds, trees, or anything remotely familiar, the second. He was in the desert, he realized a minute later, and there wasn’t a road to be seen.
“Where the hell are we?” Derek demanded, kicking the sand angrily.
~*~*~*~*~
Just as Castiel crossed the room and extended a hand slowly towards Sam’s abdomen her phone rang. The mood in the room changed abruptly, she realized, as she answered immediately. Sam’s demands to be untied were met and Castiel was no longer willing to indulge Dean, insisting that they find out who has stolen the weapons cache - the implications of that sentence were going to be haunting Emily for a good while longer - and admonishing him to stop wasting time.
She can’t regret agreeing with Dean though, not with the cold way Sam’s eyes assess her now. She’s used to drawing the male gaze more often than not - she’s hot, she owns it - but he looks beyond her appearance and seems to simply be assessing how useful she’d be. Would she let him down in a firefight, his eyes ask now. Last year, he asked them for help finding his brother after they realized it wasn’t their type of case. Now she wondered if he’d let that stop him from moving on.
It chills her, to be honest, more than the news that Doyle had escaped from a North Korean prison, more than realizing that she had beaten him one final time by surviving while he’d died, and more than the realization that the supernatural was real. To see one person so completely changed wasn’t right.
Garcia had been babbling into her phone for a solid five minutes. “Wait, what? Garcia I need to you slow down,” she said, finally finding space to get a word in. “I swear it sounds like you said Gideon was the unsub.”
“Em,” Garcia replied slowly. “I did. And now Hotch and Morgan aren’t answering their phones and it’s all my fault because I sent them there-“
“Where?” Emily demanded, unable to processes the additional shock well enough to comfort her friend. “Where is he?”
“80 Front Street,” Garcia replied instantly. “A hotel called the Sawyer Depot.”
“On it.”
“Wasn’t Gideon your boss?” Dean asked. “The one who left? That sucks monkey balls.”
“Yeah,” is all she can manage to reply. “Castiel, can you get us there?”
The angel looks upwards, as if he has a map of the world in his head and is zooming in on the proper street and house number. A second later, she’s in a poorly lit hallway with terrible carpeting. Another motel. Guess he can, she mused.
Sam kicked the door in without warning and she flanked him, Dean at her back with a pistol raised with Castiel following them in apparently unarmed and unconcerned.
Gideon was standing when they burst into the room. She’d half-hoped Garcia had been wrong, but the man looked the same as ever. Casual clothes, rumpled as always, neatly shaved and hair still salt-and-pepper. She wasn’t sure why she was expecting him to look different, but it still felt unfair that he looked the same as he had when he walked out of their lives three years ago. He shouldn’t look the same so she wouldn’t want to lower her gun and ask him how he’d liked the birds in the area and if he still had the Chaplin reels handy.
Had the stress of too many unsubs, too many victims gotten to him? He’d left the BAU - left them - to rediscover life, she thought bitterly, not to take it.
Gideon was strangely calm, despite the multitude of weapons pointed at him. He smiled. “Hello Emily, long time.”
Personalization it was then. She knew his tricks all too well.
“Hello Jason,” she replied. “How are you doing today?”
“I’m doing all right, you?” His voice was soft with a slight rasp. Strange how that hadn’t changed either.
“Been better,” she admitted. “Would have been nice not to see you again like this.”
Dean looked at her like she’d lost her mind and she could practically see Sam’s finger itch. She nodded fractionally; let me handle it, she pleaded mentally.
“Who’re your friends?” Gideon asked conversationally. He walked over to the bed where a long stick lay.
Dean tensed, but managed to keep his brother in line. Unfortunately, Castiel was out of reach.
“Aaron’s Rod,” Castiel said reverently, striding towards the bed. “Where did you get that? It is not yours to have.”
Suddenly Gideon wasn’t looking so friendly anymore. He grabbed the staff abruptly and held it over his head. He started chanting, Hebrew if her guess was correct, and Castiel backed off quickly.
That wasn’t a good sign.
She didn’t want to know what scared an angel.
~*~*~*~*~
Clearing the hotel had taken far too long, but after the sudden disappearance of Hotch and Morgan, Spencer wasn’t willing to take any chances. He trailed Rossi down the long hallway carefully towards Francis Willughby’s room. As far as cover names went, it was better than the ones the Winchesters’ typically chose, Spencer thought. Though, if you knew Gideon’s love of birds, it was also a bit of a giveaway.
When they finally arrived, the door was open and an argument was spilling into the hallway. It was disjointed, but Reid could hear Emily’s normally even tone becoming sharper, louder. It wasn’t a good sign.
When they entered the room, Spencer almost dropped his gun at the sight. Emily and both Winchester brothers were closest to them, their hands in the air and guns kicked towards Gideon. The angel Castiel was sitting on the queen in the middle of the room, his hands folded neatly in his lap. Spencer could have understood their positions if Gideon had a hostage with him by the window, but the older man was simply holding a piece of wood.
“Hands in the air,” Rossi barked, clearly able to overcome his disorientation faster than Spencer. “Or I will shoot.”
Gideon ignored the order and instead smiled beatifically. “It’s good to see you again Spencer. I read your latest article, very interesting conclusions.”
“Thank you,” Spencer replied automatically. “What’s going on?” he asked dumbly. “What are you doing Gideon?”
“What must be done,” Gideon replied serenely. “What I’ve always done - punished those who have done wrong. Spencer, you and David should both put your weapons down. I’d hate for someone to get hurt accidentally.”
“Jason Gideon has the Rod of Aaron,” Castiel said woodenly. “It is a powerful weapon capable of much destruction. You should lower your weapons, he has proved his capacity for using the staff,” he said pointedly. Looking back at Gideon, he asked, “How did you get a hold of it?”
Gideon ignored him in favor of studying the crowded entryway. Spencer didn’t like the renewed attention, Gideon was looking at them the same way he used to look at unsubs before an interrogation - an interesting puzzle, but lacking some key component that made them worthy of humanity. For all his ability at profiling, Spencer had always worried about Gideon’s ease at putting people into slots - people were either good, bad, or unsubs.
“It is not meant for human hands,” Castiel continued. “It is a weapon of Heaven, how did you get it? Who gave it to you?”
“I know you,” Gideon said softly. “I’ve seen you before.”
“We used to work with you,” Prentiss replied softly. “Jason - it’s Emily, Emily Prentiss? We worked together at the BAU, do you remember?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Gideon replied sharply. “I’m not crazy - I’ve seen you two before,” he said, gesturing with the staff to the Winchester brothers. Both had been surreptitiously reaching towards their boots - hidden weapons, Spencer assumed - but froze when Gideon started gesturing with the staff again.
Gideon’s focused on the Winchesters. He says he knows them, he’s seen their faces before.
“Dude,” Dean replied immediately, “I would remember someone as freaky as you.”
Spencer winced at the man’s bluntness. From his sudden wince, Spencer assumed Prentiss must have stepped on the man’s foot for trying to piss off Gideon.
“Put down the weapon,” Sam said tightly. “You need to be stopped.”
Dean elbowed Prentiss, pushing away her restraining arms. “Wait, what? Sammy, this is usually where you do your ‘I’m a bleeding heart, let’s braid each other’s hair and be BFF’s, life is so hard, I know’ bit.”
Sam doesn’t answer his brother, doesn’t even acknowledge the other man has spoken; instead, he’s sizing up Gideon. It’s odd, Spencer realizes, to think that in the face of his previous mentor threatening to kill them with a heavenly artifact used in Egypt, his balance is more thrown by two brothers not speaking.
Gideon’s face clears suddenly. “I’ve never met you, but I know you both,” he said. “I talked to Victor about you both.”
“Crap,” Dean whispered softly.
Gideon is punishing sinners. And being on the FBI’s most wanted list for murder, torture, and grave desecration would certainly qualify.
“He was a good agent,” Gideon continued. “And those girls didn’t deserve what you did to them Dean. I don’t know how you’ve managed to get away with it for so long, but it ends now. You need to be punished - just like the rest.”
He raised the staff and started chanting. A strong wind ripped through the room suddenly and an unearthly wail reverberated, reaching into the depths of Spencer’s stomach. Oh god, why had he ever stolen the drugs from Tobias he wondered as he fell gracelessly to the floor.
Beside him, Rossi and Prentiss were writhing. Rossi desperately wiping tears from his face and Prentiss curled into fetal position, hands above her head as if to shielding from invisible blows.
“You know the headaches are a sign you’re crazy,” his mother said simply, brushing a stray piece of hair off his face the same way she used to when they read the long afternoon away together on her bed.
“You’re not here,” Spencer replied stubbornly, trying to close his eyes to block her out. But his eyes wouldn’t cooperate, they wouldn’t close - he couldn’t stop seeing her. She was wearing her favorite sweater, her face screwed up as she looked at him with disgust.
“Of course I’m not,” she replied. “I’m locked up in that prison you shipped me off to so you could live the high-life. Why do you hate me Spencer?”
“Stop it, stop it,” he whispered. He just needed to close his eyes, just get the image out of his mind - his hands over his ears weren’t helping anyway.
It took a few tries to make his hands cooperate; the wailing had gotten louder, if anything, and his hands would just not work correctly. His nail scratched his face as he scrambled to cover his eyes, the blood trickling down his cheek felt better than every hit he’d ever taken. It even made his mother’s image disappear for a moment.
As suddenly as it started, it stopped. The wailing, the visions of his mother, the chanting - all silent. Just the sounds of heavy breathing filled the room as they carefully picked themselves off the floor.
The others had scratches on their faces. Prentiss poked her face gently and tried dabbing some of the blood with her jacket sleeve to little avail.
“Same as Randy White,” she said softly, though the all-encompassing silence pervading the room made her sound like she was shouting. She grimaced. “We would have kept going until we scratched our eyes out.”
“Or worse,” Dean agreed. “Nasty fucker. Thanks Cas.”
In the far corner, Castiel was standing over Gideon’s prone form carefully peeling his fingers off the staff. Unconscious, it was so easy to forget what Gideon had done. He was too familiar; Spencer looked at him and still thought “teacher” not “killer.”
This was going to be a mess.
“Got the staff all squared away Cas?” Dean asked curiously. “’Cause I’d really like to avoid a repeat-”
“Something’s up,” Sam interrupted his brother as he lunged for his gun in the center of the room.
The hair on Spencer’s neck rose at Sam’s announcement. He scanned the room quickly, eight people all accounted for in various conditions, but no one seriously injured.
But there’d only been seven when they started, Spencer realized, his stomach sinking. There was extra person in the room.
~*~*~*~*~
Dean’s frozen before he’s able to grab his Colt from where he’d kicked it at Gideon’s insistence. Apparently the day could get worse, he thought sarcastically, as he managed to get a look at the asshole who had decided to join the party.
Blonde, skuzzy, with a weird jacket and t-shirt. Angel or demon?
“Balthazar,” Castiel whispered softly, whatever mumbo-jumbo keeping Dean and the others still obviously not effecting him. “I had thought you perished in the Apocalypse.”
Angel then, Dean realized. But honestly, after all the crap they’d gone through last year, he wasn’t sure he should be so relieved he wasn’t facing a demon.
“Took a page out of your book, dear brother,” Balthazar replied. “This free choice thing? Totally awesome.” He grinned widely. “But brother, you are truly ruining my fun here.”
“Fun?” Prentiss demands harshly, struggling against the invisible bonds keeping them all in place helplessly. “People are dead, what kind of monster are you?”
“Monster?” Balthazar looked offended. “I’m just doing my brother’s good work - spreading free will everywhere and letting the pieces fall where they will. After all, I learnt from the best.”
“Is he going to be another Gabriel?” Dean asked Sam quietly. His brother didn’t bother responding, yet another sign something was wrong. A year ago his brother would have scolded him for the joke, mentioned that the Trickster turned angel had been a valued ally at the end. And probably snickered a bit too. Now it was just a look that clearly said “get serious Dean.” Hell, looked exactly like the one Dad used to use on Sammy when he whined about homework during a hunt.
“You gave this man the staff,” Castiel said, pulling a sword from his trench coat. “Where are the rest of the weapons?”
“No need for violence,” Balthazar replied, holding his hands up innocently.
“Says the guy who’s responsible for all those people dying,” Rossi muttered unhappily.
“Free choice,” Balthazar replied airly. “He wanted vengeance, I just gave him weapon - he didn’t have to use it.”
“Gideon left the BAU because of violence, he wouldn’t have done this,” Reid protested.
“He did, oh geeky one,” Balthazar replied. “Geeky - such language you apes invent! Just feels fun on the tongue.”
“What did you trade?” Sam asked, unimpressed with Balthazar’s impromptu love-fest of the English language. “Your kind never gives anything away for free - it’s all in the fine print.”
“Nothing he couldn’t afford to miss. It’s not like he needs his soul anyway.” Balthazar crooked an eyebrow at Sam. “It’s all the rage right now.”
“Give it back,” Reid demanded.
Dean snorted softly. Yeah, good luck with that. Reasoning and bargaining hadn’t really worked out so well in the past with angels - he distinctly remembered Zachariah giving him cancer and vanishing Sam’s lungs in one negotiation session.
“Let me think about that,” Balthazar tapped his chin thoughtfully. “No.”
Castiel charged him, his sword catching a loose coat sleeve as Balthazar twisted out of the way easily. Castiel continued jabbing, making little headway as Balthazar continued to dodge as they moved across the room.
While the others were absorbed in the two angel’s battle, Dean realized he could move. Barely and it felt like swimming through molasses, but it was a start. Keeping an eye out in case Balthazar realized he was free, he slowly reached towards his gun. Balthazar switched to the offensive when Castiel tripped over Gideon.
Bang.
It only slowed Balthazar for a minute, but Castiel used it to his advantage. “Thank you Dean,” he said, pressing the tip of sword into Balthazar’s neck lightly.
“No problem,” he said. “It made me feel a heck of a lot better.”
“You’re a ‘get a bigger hammer’ type of problem solver, aren’t you,” Reid asked, picking himself off the floor ungracefully.
“A bigger hammer?” Dean couldn’t help grinning. “Nah, I prefer C4.”
“You fought with me,” Castiel said. “For that I am grateful. But I must know where the weapons cache is. Where have you hidden the rest of the weapons?”
Beside him, Prentiss was ready to explode. “Gideon doesn’t have a soul?” she asked horrified. “You took his soul? Why?”
“It was good business decision. One soul for one weapon of heavenly destruction,” Balthazar replied, ignoring Castiel completely. “Souls have power. Whoever controls the souls, the more power - urk.”
Castiel didn’t appreciate being ignored apparently. “Where are the weapons?”
“I would like to know as well,” a new voice interjected.
What good were Enochian runes carved into his rib cage if angels kept popping up like daisies?
“Raphael,” Castiel replied. “I thought you were busy shoring up support in Heaven.”
“Never too busy for you, dear brother,” Raphael drawled. He motioned impatiently and two others entered the room. “Secure the weapon.”
“Well, this is awkward,” Balthazar said nervously, taking advantage of Castiel’s distraction to back away from the sword and get to his feet. “Peace out.”
“Remind me to shoot him next time I see him,” Emily whispered, glaring at the now empty space where Balthazar had cowered.
“You’re a hell of a women, Emily Prentiss,” Dean replied. “Now hold onto your panties, this is going to get ugly - fast.”
Tight quarters were never preferable, especially when dealing with three unfriendlies - especially those that had no problem throwing you through walls or windows. And trying to protect the four civilians and the crazy old guy wasn’t going to be easy. He nodded at Sam; he was ready.
Sam reached down and threw a knife at the closest angel. Damn it, how’d he missed that one earlier?
The angel laughed and backhanded Sam across the room. Rossi, Prentiss and Reid started firing but it had as little effect as the knife. It was like spritzing a charging lion with a water bottle and hoping kitty would finally learn.
On the other side of the room, Castiel was trying to reason with Raphael. “I expected more from you - the Apocalypse has been averted, it is time for a new way.”
Raphael snorted and punched Castiel through a window. “God’s way is the only way,” he said lowly. He looked at his henchangels and commanded, “Finish them,” before teleporting out of the room.
Cas was just going to have to look after himself for a little bit, Dean thought ruefully, he was going to be a bit busy to play rescue mission. He pulled his own knife from his boot, and not for the first time regretted not carrying around the sword Anna gave him last year more frequently. He bet it’d be pretty useful right about now.
~*~*~*~*~
Emily grunted as she slammed into the wall again. Goddamnit that hurt. She wiped a trickle of blood out of her eyes irritably before emptying another clip into the tallest angel. She glanced at Reid, “How’s he doing?”
“Still unconscious,” he replied, shooting the advancing blonde angel in the head again. “How are they still going?”
“Don’t ask why, just keep shooting,” Dean commanded from across the room, blade in hand. Emily didn’t want to know how he’d managed to get his hand so cut up - or why he’d tried to spread it all over the wall. “I just need-”
A low groan interrupted Dean and she couldn’t figure out where it was coming from; Rossi had been knocked out earlier when he’d tried to talk to the two men, pushed out of the room and slammed into the hallway. She had to assume he was still breathing. Sam was still fruitlessly attacking and neither she nor Reid were injured.
A hand grasped her ankle suddenly. “Gideon,” she said softly.
“Are you ready yet?” Sam demanded, recovering from another blow to the face.
“Would be faster if I didn’t keep getting interrupted,” Dean yelled, ducking a punch. He took a moment to admire the sight of the tall angel’s fist buried deep inside the television before shooting him in the head again. His hand left a bloody circle on the wall as he sagged against it to catch his breath.
Gideon rose to his feet slowly. “What’s going on?”
Maybe it was a psychotic break, Emily thought desperately. Maybe Balthazar had done something to Gideon. Now that he was gone, they could fix it, help Gideon recover.
“We’re in New Hampshire,” Reid replied. “Do you remember?”
Gideon laughed brokenly. “And thou shalt speak unto him, and put words in his mouth,” he said between gasps of laughter. “And I will be with thy mouth, and with his mouth, and will teach you what ye shall do.”
The angels as a group froze and looked at Gideon intently, who tightened his hold around the staff in response. With an almost negligent wave of the first angel’s hand, Gideon’s neck snapped.
Emily wanted to throw up. Reid caught Gideon and guided him to the floor.
No, not him - the body.
It was obvious that Gideon was dead - his head was twisted nearly 180 degrees. No way he could have survived, but she had to check.
“You think you can fight us?” the blonde angel asked meanly, interrupting her moment with Gideon and Reid. “You, against us? When we can do this, and you can do nothing?”
“Why?” Reid demanded angrily.
“Why what?”
“Why kill Gideon? Why not kill the rest of us?”
Dean was back to drawing on the walls, she noticed out of the side of her eye. He wasn’t looking too good - beaten to all hell - though she supposed none of them would be winning any beauty contests soon.
“This is what happens when you defy the will of Heaven,” the taller angel replied. “And he was lucky - we won’t be so kind as to kill the rest of you slowly.”
“How about you douchewads leave us the fuck alone,” Dean snarled, pressing a bloody hand in the center of the design he’d been working on.
The angels both disappeared.
Reid looked up from Gideon’s body. “It’s over?”
Sam looked out of the broken window, where Emily could just now see the flickering forms of Castiel and Raphael. “For you, yeah.”
He and Dean jumped out of the window to help their friend.
“Go,” Reid said, sliding down the wall and collapsing into his knees. “Go help them. I’ll stay here with Gideon and Rossi.”
She nodded gratefully and joined the brothers behind a small garden shed. “What’s the plan?”
“Sigil won’t do much good,” Dean replied, wiping his hand on his jeans. “Plan B?”
They looked blankly at each other. Emily slapped her forehead, “This is going to end with all of us charging him and hoping for the best, isn’t it?”
“It’s a plan,” Sam defended weakly.
“It’s the same plan you guys always have,” Emily snapped. “And it sucks. Let’s go.”
“Y’all are idjits,” a gruff voice said from behind them. “Leave it to the expert, ok?”
“Bobby?” Dean asked. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“What part of ‘I’m leaving now’ did you not get? We can play catch-up later, got work to do.” Bobby grabbed a canister from his bag and handed it to Dean. “Your arm still good?”
“Well what do you know,” Dean drawled. “All that time in suburbia comes in pretty useful right now.”
He looked inordinately pleased with himself.
“Just throw it.”
The canister arced perfectly and exploded over Raphael, coating him in - water? He barely spared a look at the four humans before flickering across the field towards Castiel again.
“Don’t think holy water’s going to work against an angel,” Sam said drily.
Bobby muttered something about piss-poor genetics and yelled, “Over here!”
Castiel nodded and popped over, followed immediately by Raphael. Bobby flicked a match over to the pair and smiled broadly when Raphael caught fire.
“Holy fire?” Dean asked.
Bobby looked at the Winchesters pityingly.
“Wait a minute,” Emily said, having finally realized what had been bothering her about the man who’d seen last met in Wisconsin. “Weren’t you in a wheelchair?”
Bobby ignored her question in favor of scolding Castiel for not calling for help earlier.
“It’s a long story,” Dean replied softly. “He got better, just leave it at that.”
He looked back at the ruined window of the hotel. “You ready to go back in?”
Emily felt like sobbing. Of course she wasn’t ready - she didn’t want to see Gideon’s broken body again, didn’t want to see Reid trying so desperately trying to hold himself together, didn’t want to check if Rossi was really unconscious or not. But she found herself nodding anyway.
“Let’s go.”
~*~*~*~*~
It hadn’t been easy explaining away the damage in the hotel room, Gideon’s broken neck, and the sudden disappearance of two members of their team, but they managed. Castiel had left before Spencer remembered to ask him if he knew where Balthazar had sent Hotch and Morgan.
He could only hope they were fine. Rossi had managed to escape with a slight concussion, Prentiss with bruises and a torn rotator cuff, and while his knee wasn’t happy with him, Spencer would be fine.
Unlike Gideon.
He hadn’t seen the man in a year, he’d killed eight people, he’d traded his soul in exchange for the weapon. All of those things should make him feel as if the Gideon he’d met in New Hampshire was a stranger. Someone wearing Gideon’s face, but was broken, twisted inside.
But all Spencer could think about was the soft voice of his mentor, of the man who’d convinced him to leave academia all those years ago to make a difference in the BAU. And he’d be lying to himself if he said the Gideon he met again so briefly was a stranger.
It would be easier though.
“Good luck,” Prentiss said to the Winchesters. They’d managed to stay off the local police’s radar, though Spencer wasn’t sure how much longer Detective Irving would buy the “consultants” explanation. It was a pretty thin cover to begin with. “What are you doing next?”
“There’s a case in Wisconsin Bobby mentioned before he left,” Sam explained. “Something’s cracking people open. Seems like it might be our kind of case.”
“Going to risk Wisconsin again?” Prentiss teased.
Dean grinned. “As long as I stay away from librarians, it should be fine.”
“Good luck.”
“You too. Let us know if you can’t find Hotchner and Morgan,” Dean replied. “We’ll bug Cas for you.”
“Nah, Garcia’s already on the case,” she said dismissively. “The second their phones hit the network again, she’ll find them. Where’d Castiel go anyways?”
“He’s… searching for Balthazar,” Dean replied evasively.
Spencer raised an eyebrow suspiciously.
“You mean he’s looking for the weapons.” Prentiss laughed bitterly. “Fair warning though, we find him first - he’s dead. Angel or no angel.”
“It’s trickier than you-“ Sam started, but his brother cut him off.
“Fair enough. We’ll keep you updated.”
“Real updates,” Spencer interrupted. From their put out expressions, it was fairly obvious that they’d forgotten he’d stayed behind with Prentiss. He was used to it though, and barreled on. “Not just case updates, but things like the Apocalypse or people dying.”
Emily nodded. “Promise?”
“Sure,” Dean said with a smile.
Spencer knew he was lying. From Prentiss’ expression, so did she.
Dean sighed at the twin looks of disbelief. “We’ll try,” he offered instead.
Bobby poked his head in the office. “We leaving or do you boys have a hankering for spending more time behind bars?”
“You know, humor is an almost physiological response to fear,” Spencer said to fill the suddenly awkward silence.
Dean looked at him suspiciously before breaking out in a wide grin when he recognized the quote and Prentiss barely hid a smile. Sam merely looked bored and couldn’t stop clenching and unclenching his hands. He nodded once, briskly shook their hands, and then followed Bobby out the door. Spencer couldn’t help but notice Dean still watched his brother like the man was going to disappear at any moment.
“Do you know what you’re going to do about Sam?” Prentiss asked.
Dean shrugged. “Keep an eye on him, I guess.”
“Maybe get Cas to do the soul…” she paused, clearly unhappy about the phrase he’d coined earlier, “whammy?”
“Worth a shot.” He didn’t seem convinced and looked back towards the empty doorframe as if he could will Sam back to his side.
“Don’t be a stranger,” Prentiss commanded, grabbing Dean’s attention by hugging him tightly.
“Knowing our lives?” Dean lost the haunted look and grinned widely. He hugged her Prentiss back tightly. “Never.”
~*~*~*~*~
"Your memory is a monster; you forget - it doesn't. It simply files things away. It keeps things for you, or hides things from you - and summons them to your recall with a will of its own. You think you have a memory; but it has you!"
- John Irving, A Prayer for Owen Meany
~*~*~*~*~
Epilogue:
Morgan kicked a rock irritably, the third in as many minutes, and swore when once again the rock proved to be harder than his toes. It wasn't as if Aaron didn't understand the other man's frustration - he didn't like being transported across the country by what was apparently yet another angel and wandering the desert for hours hoping to find cell service either. And Morgan wasn't the only one who had spent those hours worried out of his mind for the team.
But at this point, Morgan was just sulking. Their ride would arrive any minute. Garcia hadn't been specific who their ride would be, but she'd been adamant that it would be there within the hour, carrying water and some much needed aloe for his sunburn. He touched his raw nose and grimaced as yet another flake peeled off at the gentle pressure. Really, there were so many ways this day could have gone better.
Deciding that asking Morgan what the rock had ever done to him would only start the man ranting again, Aaron left his relatively comfortable rock and started to stretch. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small plume of dirt headed their direction. After a few minutes a black SUV crested the hill and came to sudden stop in front of them. A blond stuck her head of the driver's window. "Want a ride boys?"
"I'm not dreaming this, am I, Hotch?" Morgan's jaw dropped. “Because normally in these kinds of dreams everyone is wearing fewer clothes and there aren’t any other dudes around.”
"I don't want to know what goes on in that head of yours," JJ replied, her face screwed up in mock disgust. "Just get in before I change my mind."
The air conditioning hitting his face as he chugged the water bottle JJ threw him was heavenly. Aaron winced, poor word choice. Garcia had only gone over the basics, but he wasn't feeling very charitable towards Heaven right about now. If the hours wandering the desert in a poor approximation of Moses (and Aaron really hoped it wasn’t some kind of sick joke of the blonde angel’s) weren’t enough to make him question his previous conviction that celestial beings were inherently good, then the utter callousness with which Heaven had treated Gideon would be more than enough to change his mind.
JJ kindly waited until they reached the highway, twenty of the bumpiest minutes of his life as the SUV hurtled down poorly defined dirt roads, before interrogating them on their latest encounter with the Winchester brothers. After hearing their stuttering and slightly incoherent explanations, she only pursed her lips and asked, "So, what's our next step?"
"Our next step Jayge?" Morgan asked.
"You think I'm going to let you guys try this on your own? Look what happens when I'm not there, you guys end up stranded in the middle of the desert! Next time I have to rescue you, I want more than a heads up from Garcia five minutes before I have to leave."
As Morgan loudly protested essentially being called a damsel in distress, Aaron couldn't help but smile. His family was coming back together.
END
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References