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“Agents Valente and Morris, FBI,” the taller man flashed his credentials to the LEO keeping press at bay, the cop waved them through.
The First Bank of Jericho had been turned into a slaughterhouse just an hour earlier. The two agents had come from Sacramento against morning traffic and were already exhausted just looking at the scene before them.
“Detective Davis,” a balding white man introduced himself. “Guessing you’re the feds.”
They nodded, sipped coffee and produced their credentials once more. Davis resumed talking.
“Can’t believe I’m sayin this, but I couldn’t be happier to see you boys. This is a real bad one. Follow me.”
As they followed the shorter detective Valente asked, “Got any idea who the perps are?”
“Oh, we got a real good idea. They made sure to face the cameras,” Davis held the door to the bank’s small security office open so they could all squeeze inside. He wiggled a mouse till the monitor woke up, displaying two faces in clear black and white. Neither Morris or Valente knew them.
“You boys are too new to the job to know them. But those are the Winchester brothers. They were on the Most Wanted list a few years ago. Died while in custody along with a few of your agents and a bunch of cops.”
“Died?” Morris asked sedately as he sipped his coffee.
“They don’t look dead,” Valente added.
“No. They certainly do not. And that is why this is now your problem, not mine.”
There was a heavy moment of quiet as the three studied the film, rewinding it to watch the entire crime. Finally Morris asked, “What put them on the Bureau’s list to begin with?”
“Jesus, you name it. Grave robing, credit card theft, identity theft, impersonating every type of officer from fish and game to homeland, bank robbery, assault and murder.”
“So this isn’t their first heist?” Valente studied the expert way the brothers handled their firearms and managed the crowd. Very professional.
“Second that we know of.”
There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.
William Shakespeare
Seven of the brightest minds in Quantico gathered around a table in the FBI headquarters in Virginia, files in front of each and a large screen monitor on the wall showing the Bureau’s logo. Once everything was situated and the friendly banter had subsided their team leader, Aaron Hotchner spoke.
“We’ve been called in by the Sacramento office to advise on a peculiar case.” He looked over at Garcia bedecked today in pink and tangerine who used the remote to open the media files and began briefing the team.
“Ok my superhero colleagues, hold onto your profiling hats. Remember the Winchester brothers? Well, brace yourselves. They’ve apparently risen from the dead in Jericho California. Word is they’re involved in a bank shooting. A very bloody and extra icky shooting.”
“The Winchester brothers? Fill me in.” said Emily as she looked over to Hotch and then to Reid.
“Back in 2007 Agent Victor Hendrickson caught Sam and Dean Winchester who were wanted for Credit card fraud, Breaking and entering, mail fraud, Impersonating an Officer (FBI, CIA, Homeland Security, CDC, etc.), Grave desecration, Breaking out of Jail, Assaulting An Officer, Desecration of corpses, Arson, Grand Theft Auto, kidnapping, three accounts of first degree Murder, Mass Murder, and Disturbing a crime scene.”
“They were waiting for transport from local holding in Monument Colorado when a gas line exploded. A bunch of cops, three agents and the Winchesters were all pronounced dead at the scene,” Morgan picked up after Hotch only to have Reid continue.
“In fact, it was the second time that Dean was pronounced dead. On October 18, 2005 he was autopsied and buried in St. Louis after being found dead at a crime scene. He was believed to have killed Emily Lee, the girlfriend of one of his brother’s friends.”
An uncomfortable silence filled the room. Emily herself had just seemingly returned from the dead. JJ and Hotch were the only 2 who had known she was alive, Reid, Morgan and Garcia had been racked with grief. There was still a lot of raw emotions to process. Everyone was glad she was alive, happy she was back, but the betrayal hurt.
“Wait,” JJ broke the silence. “He was autopsied? I didn’t know that. How….?”
“An excellent question. Garcia, I want you to look into that. As well as how they were identified after the explosion in Colorado.”
“Yes sir.”
“Now, this is distinctly different from their previous MOs,” Morgan pointed out as he sat forward in his chair. “In their previous heist they disguised themselves as IT techs from the security company, were in the building a long time only revealing themselves after a third partner chained the doors shut. They locked everyone in the vault, only 3 civilians were killed as well as their accomplice Ronald Reznick.”
“Their other crimes,” Reid twiddled a pen between his dexterous fingers. “Were highly ritualistic in nature. Borrowing from ancient Sumer to modern spiritualism, hoodoo to Catholicism and everything in between with strong roots in American Protestantism.”
“Their father was some fringe branch of militant Christianity, really bought into the 80’s Satanic Panic. Raised his boys to believe demons, ghosts, monsters were all real and literal.” Rossi reminisced.
“So why the change in pathology? Recent stressor?” Emily asked.
“An excellent question, wheels up in 20,” Hotchner stood to close the meeting.
An hour and a half later, the Gulfstream G550 slipped through the skies above America as the BAU reconvened with Garcia via sat link to continue working the case.
“I’m gonna need a lot of panda videos after what I just saw,” Garcia’s usually perky voice sounded frayed and a little disgusted.
“What’cha got for us, mamma?” Derrick flirted as he looked up from his tablet.
“A great big mystery, I’m sorry to say. I checked the autopsy notes, death certificate, even called and spoke to the medical examiner. He really did dissect and then release the body of Dean Winchester for burial. Fingerprints and dental records proved the ID.”
“What was the cause of death?” Rossi asked as he scanned the autopsy pics on his tablet.
“Multiple gunshot wounds,” Reid answered a nanosecond before Garcia said the exact same thing.
“Interestingly, all the slugs retrieved from the body were 100% silver including the shot to the heart.” Spencer looked like he was about to continue but Hotch preempted him.
“And the bodies in Colorado?”
“They were mostly identified through dental records matched against those taken when Agent Hendrickson first arrested them in 06. In Colorado their prints were matched to VICAP and confirmed as in custody before the helicopter was sent to retrieve them.”
“Was that the ‘first’ time that Sam died?” Emily asked with air quotes.
“The first with paperwork to prove it. But I did some digging, like I do…. And evidently these boys have groupies, complete with online fanfic.”
“Do I wanna know?” Rossi asked.
“No sir, you do not. But the fans all agree that the boys have died dozens of times. Dean died more than 100 times on one Tuesday alone.”
Spencer looked like he was trying to compute the space-time formula necessary for that last sentence to make any kind of sense.
“Most serial killers get groupies,” Morgan said.
“But not until they’re caught. How do these guys have enough fans to have ficlit?”
“It all started with a guy named Chuck,” Garcia looked ready to pull out a family tree PowerPoint.
“A guy? That’s uncommon,” Rossi nods.
“Anything else for us about their previous crimes, Garcia?” Hotch rerouted the discussion.
“Well, Dean was first arrested in 05 for impersonating a US Marshall and suspicion of credit card fraud. During that investigation their father’s journal was found and logged into evidence. When Dean escaped he took it with him, but not before every page was photocopied. I’d be happier with digital but once you tell me where to send it I’ll fax it right over.”
“Fascinating,” Reid looked intrigued but also like he was still trying to solve string theory with a quarter of his attention.
“Anything else, Penelope?”
“Not at this time, sir.”
“Good job. I’d like you to comb through the fan sites you mentioned and see what facts all of them agree on. These boys have a very distinct pathology rooted in religious symbolism and ritual, I’d like to know any details that cops might have missed. And any hints to a personal stressor that might have caused such a radical shift in MO.”
“Copy that, sir! Diving into the hot and sweaty pool of lurid imagination that is fanfiction!”
With a click the screen went blank and the remaining 6 team members chewed over what they’d heard. Reid was the first to resume the conversation.
“The Winchesters’ fixation on religious symbolism and their perceived battle against supernatural forces suggests a form of religious psychosis,” Reid flipped through the pages in the files before him “Their rigid adherence to a personal mission, coupled with a distorted interpretation of reality influenced by their traumatic childhood specifically the early death of their mother and likely abuse from their father, may manifest as religious delusions. This altered perception fuels their actions and shapes their worldview, blurring the line between faith and psychosis.”
“So, they drank the Kool Aid,” Rossi summed up.
“All the Kool Aid from the sounds of it,” Prentiss said with a small groan.
“Is it possible that their father recently passed, and that is what caused them to resurface?” JJ absently played with her necklace as she considered family dynamics. “Maybe John was just diagnosed with something and they needed the money to pay for treatment.”
“It’s possible. OK I want Prentiss and Reid to go to the crime scene, Morgan and JJ go talk to Morris and Valente, Rossi and I are going to the Sacramento office to see what we can shake loose about John Winchester and any reason why the brothers are in California.”
Prentiss and Reid walked through the First Bank of Jericho, retracing the steps each brother had taken. Outside, Morgan and JJ interviewed the local agents and detective Davis as well as the first responders.
“It’s an interesting parallel that in their first heist they locked the hostages into the vault to keep them safe from their accomplice but this time they moved everyone into the vault only to open fire.”
“An escalation in rage, that’s for sure. And look at these bullet holes,” Emily stuck the end if a pen into the molding around the vault door.
“This is a much higher caliber than their other crime scenes.”
“Usually they prefer automatic handguns like the Colt 1911 with .45m rounds or shotguns filled with nonlethal rounds of rock salt.”
“Rock salt?” Emily scanned the floor looking for anything that might be salt.
“In their personal mythology they believe that salt rounds can kill ghosts and demons. It’s based on several different cultural beliefs that salt purifies…”
“But no salt here. They ever use submachine guns before?”
“Not that I’m aware of,” which was just another way of saying not that the Bureau knows of.
“What can you tell us about the injuries sustained by the victims?” Morgan asked a pair of weary EMTs who leaned against the building sipping their fourth cup of coffee that shift.
“Total overkill,” said the tall black medic. “Those bastards just unloaded. Like fish in a barrel.”
The sturdily built female partner nodded bleakly before adding, “I’m guessing .32 ACP at the least.” When Morgan gave her an assessing look she shrugged and said, “Two tours in Afghanistan.” He nodded, eyes soft behind his shades.
“Who called it in?” JJ asked detective Davis.
“One of the counter clerks triggered the silent alarm, we responded within 5 minutes but…” he waved vaguely to the scene inside leaving the rest unspoken.
“We got the call an hour later. And as soon as our bosses saw these yahoos back from the dead they called you in,” Valente finished the timeline.
“How much was taken?” she asked.
“Nothing,” Morris said as he took a long drag on a cigarette. “All funds are present and accounted for. As far as we can tell, they didn’t even take a souvenir.”
JJ digested that for a moment, running through the video in her mind. They hadn’t taken anything from the safety deposit boxes either.
“Best we can tell,” Davis said in a bleak voice. “Is that they just wanted to kill a bunch a people all at once.”
That evening as the team sat around their impromptu office at the Jericho Police station JJ said, “Nothing was taken. Not even a souvenir. This was murder for the sake of murder. And completely out of their normal pathology.”
“Nothing was left, either,” Emily continued. “No salt or sulfur, no cult symbolism or mutilation to the bodies. If it weren’t for the video I wouldn’t believe it was the same team.”
Hotch dialed Garcia and put her on speakerphone. “Speak and be heard!” she answered instantly.
“Baby girl, you’re on speaker,” Morgan spoke first.
“Garcia, I want to know if the surveillance system has been tampered with. Could the video have been manipulated so that different faces are put over the real killers?” Hotch queried.
“Technically, it is possible sir. But it’s not easy and someone would need some time to intercept the original before doctoring it.”
“Any way it could be filmed in advance?” Rossi asked.
“Mmmm, I doubt it. Not with an accurate account of who the victims were.”
“Ok. Review the tapes and see if they were tampered with. These MOs are far too different and the likelihood of two sets of people looking like that is highly unlikely.”
“Those shoulders,” Prentiss sighed under her breath.
“The eyes…” JJ smiled, the two nodded at each other.
“Not a lot of people as tall as Sam Winchester,” Derek added.
“Six foot four inches, 235 pounds,” Reid filled in quietly.
“Anything helpful on the fan pages?” Rossi asked.
“Well, Dean’s an Aquarius, enjoys long walks on the beach, is most likely bisexual, is in love with an angel named Castiel who wears a trench coat, there’s a high probability of incest, child prostitution and extreme physical abuse. Also, if I see the word clavicle one more time this week I will scream.”
“A trench coat?” Reid asked.
“Yup.”
“And you said Castiel with a T, is that correct?” Reid continued.
“Yeah, they all spell it with a T or shorten it to Cas. Why?”
“There is no angel named Castiel in any of the lexicons of angelic literature. The closest is Cassiel, an archangel and guardian of the spheres.”
“What about Sam?” Prentiss asked.
“Tragic love life, everyone he loves dies horribly. Afraid of clowns, lactose intolerant, big health freak. Same abusive childhood, his brother tried to shield him from the worst of it. Ran away several times as a kid. He attended Stanford for 4 years and got a free ride for pre-law. Crazy smart but dropped out a couple days before his girlfriend died in an apartment fire. He's been on the road with Dean ever since.”
“No gay angels for Sam?”
“Not unless you count prison rape from Lucifer.”
“Lucifer? Like Satan?” Morgan asked.
“Yup. All the fans agree. Sam went to hell, was in lockup with Michael and Lucifer.”
“One brother is in love with an angel and the other is assaulted by the devil himself, interesting,” Rossi mused.
“Even more interesting is that it’s the brother with the longer criminal record who has an angelic lover and the brother that wanted to be a lawyer that Satan chose to victimize.” Reid ran a hand through his messy hair before continuing. “This shows a fascinating inversion of expectations, reflecting a complex interplay between personal history, aspirations, and external influences within the context of their unique experiences. It underscores the profound psychological dynamics at play in their lives, where the path to salvation or damnation is not merely dictated by initial predispositions but rather by intricate, unforeseeable factors that shape their destinies.”
“As fascinating as their personal mythology is…. How does this get us any closer to catching them? Today’s mass shooting doesn’t fit into their established pattern.” Prentiss looked frustrated as she scanned the notes on the table.
“Alright, let’s pack it in for the night. We’ll come back at it with fresh eyes in the morning,” Hotchner closed the meeting and everyone rose to head back to the hotel.
They woke to the news that the Winchesters had struck again during the night, this time at a convenience store in Black Water Ridge Colorado. Seven people were dead, gunned down just like the bank and clearly caught on the store's security camera.
As the jet took off for Colorado they were still rubbing sleep from their eyes and enjoying their first cups of coffee.
“I think it’s safe to say they’re officially on a spree,” Rossi said blandly as he stirred his coffee.
“And we still don’t know why,” Morgan looked like he hadn’t slept.
“What do the victims all have in common?” Emily asked.
“Both locations are predominantly white, blue collar…” JJ took a long drink from her mug.
“That matches with their family dynamics, or at least how they perceived it to be. In his journal John mentioned being a mechanic and teaching Dean how to maintain the car they lived out of, a 1967 Chevrolet Impala.”
“Beautiful automobile,” Rossi complimented. “Although I preferred the two door.”
“Ok. So they’re lashing out at who and what they might have been if it weren’t for the “demons and monsters” that took it away from them?” Prentiss bounced the idea off the others.
“It’s possible,” Derrick said with a tilt of the head. “Survivors of childhood abuse, especially if it was as extreme as the fans believe it was, have been known to lash out at people who remind them of what they lost.”
“Normalcy?” asked JJ.
“Stability,” supplied Rossi. “Living on the road, no steady income, no privacy, a deeply delusional and religious father keeping them isolated. They never had a chance for a normal life.”
“And if John recently died? They could be lashing out.” Hotchner dialed Garcia who quickly joined them via satellite.
“Hola Mishamigos,” today she was wearing a lot of plaid. “You heard about Colorado, right?”
“On our way there now, my lady lumberjack. What’s with all the plaid, baby girl?”
“It’s a hunter thing…. Anyway, how can I help?”
“Run a search for John Winchester, last known address, credit cards, death certificate, anything.”
After a brief flurry of typing she grinned and said, “John Eric Winchester born October 18, 1954 was pronounced dead at Sioux Falls General Hospital on July 19, 2006 after he and his sons were admitted for injuries from a car accident.”
“Damn,” Prentiss swore softly.
“Anything on the fan sites about a stressor?”
“Loss of a loved one counts, right?”
“Absolutely, “ Hotch replied.
“Even imaginary ones?”
“Explain yourself, pretty thang,” Morgan said with a grin.
“Ok, that guy Chuck wrote about the gay angel ingesting a bunch of souls from a place called purgatory in order to boost his angel mojo and beat the angel Raphael in an angelic Civil War. The souls were too strong, too corrupt, and they took control of his body aka his ‘vessel’ and dissolved it in the water supply of Sioux Falls South Dakota. Thus killing Dean’s long term boyfriend."
Everyone sat in silence as they mulled over the bizarre story.
“If we strip away the mythology, we have the death or loss of a loved one. Assuming this guy in a trench coat is real and not a shared delusion, that is.” Rossi looked deep in thought.
“I find it interesting that Sioux Falls is where two of their loved ones have died,” Reid noted.
“You said that Sam could be a rape survivor,” JJ pressed.
“Yeah. In 2010 Sam and their half brother Adam were locked into a cage in the depths of hell. Adam was possessed by the archangel Michael and Sam by Lucifer. The two were tortured for over a year, including a lot of deviant sexual exploits.”
“Uh-huh,” Rossi looked intrigued and slightly confused. “So how is it that Sam managed to escape this cage but not the devil, the angel, or their other brother?”
“The angel Castiel and the king of hell made a deal.”
“This just gets weirder and weirder,” Prentiss tried not to roll her eyes.
“Is there any documentation that Sam might actually have been sexually assaulted at some time?” Reid asked. “Perhaps while incarcerated at Green River County Detention Center in Little Rock, Arkansas the first time Hendrickson caught them?”
Garcia tapped away at her keyboard and said, “No trips to the infirmary for Sam, just Dean. Only write ups for Sam were about brawling.”
“Most rapes go unreported,” JJ pointed out while Morgan finished her thought “Especially man on man, unless medical attention is absolutely necessary.”
“But four years is a long time for that to be the stressor,” Prentiss concluded.
“Do you have any idea where Sam really was for that year, Garcia?” Hotch asked her.
“Not currently sir, but I’d be happy to grab a shovel.”
“Any other possible stressor Garcia? “ Rossi asked.
“Mmm, there’s this one story I flagged because it was so divergent from canon. It was written by a kid named Ben about how Dean Winchester was his real dad. He’d been raised by his mom until he was 10, which is when his mom’s old boyfriend showed up hella drunk and mourning the death of his brother Sam.”
“Interesting….” Reid leaned forward looking fully alert for the first time that day.
“This Ben kid says that Dean lived with them a year, had a job working construction, drove a 67 Impala and insisted on putting lines of salt under every door and window every day and night to keep out demons, ghosts and monsters.”
“Was this guy at all abusive?” Morgan asked. “Frequently the children of abusive parents grow up and continue the cycle whether they want to or not.”
“He says Dean was never violent with him or his mom. But that he kept guns, knives and holy water around the house. Ben was prohibited from touching the weapons but Dean taught his mom how to protect them.”
“Fact or hero worship?” Rossi mused. “Adolescent kid sees a handsome man on the news, reads some cool horror stories that make the bad guy into a hero and then dreams up some idyllic suburban life.”
“That definitely breaks the narrative, but how is it a stressor?” JJ asked.
“Ok so, according to Ben they had one year of awesome family life right up until Sam showed up again. Suddenly Dean started acting paranoid, almost shot a neighbor’s dog, and started rambling about a yellow eyed demon and djinn. All sorts of weird stuff. Packs up his mom and him sending them to stay with some guy in, get this, Sioux Falls. Then, their friends/neighbors are killed in a home invasion. Dean made them move to a completely different city, wouldn’t let them leave the house, and was totally freaking out about them being in danger because of him and how he couldn’t protect them. Then Dean just up and leaves.”
“When was this?” Morgan asked.
“A year ago.”
“Not recent enough,” Hotch concluded. “You mentioned a half-brother, Garcia. Any proof of that?”
“Already verified, sir. Adam Milligan was born September 29, 1990 to Kate Milligan and John Winchester in Windom Minnesota. John only visited for his birthdays and never told Adam about his brothers or they about him. He was a pre-med student at University of Wisconsin. Both he and his mother were killed in a home invasion in March 2009, they were stabbed.”
“So he was already dead when the angel possessed him?” JJ asked in utter confusion.
“The angel Zachariah resurrected him because Dean wouldn’t play ball and only the Winchester bloodline is strong enough to contain an archangel.” Penelope explained in a matter of fact tone.
“Resurrected him? After a year? That couldn’t have been pretty.” Rossi made a face into his mug of coffee.
“Resurrection seems to be a core theme in this mythology,” Spencer jumped in. “If they believe that Dean has died more than 100 times and I’m assuming Sam has a few deaths under his belt then it would only make sense that their brother could also come back.”
Garcia nodded animatedly, silver skull earrings bouncing. “Happens all the time.”
“But John stayed dead?” Morgan asked.
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“What about the angel? Has he died before?” Spencer was leaning forward looking like he was diagraming something in his head.
“A bunch of times, yeah.”
“And the other angels brought him back?”
“No, the other angels hate him for choosing Dean over them.”
“Then who did?” Rossi mused.
“Best guess is God with the capital G.”
“Wow,” Prentiss practically rolled her eyes at the complexity of it all.
“My point in asking is, how could the death of his boyfriend be the stressor if it’s happened several times before and they have every reason to expect him to be resurrected. It doesn’t make sense.”
“That’s not the only thing that doesn’t make sense,” Prentiss concluded. “Penelope, any luck with the videos? I know you’ve barely gotten started with them but any sign they aren’t the real deal?”
“Uh, I’m not sure if they’re wearing enough flannel. In all the ficlit the boys wear layer after frustrating layer of flannel.”
“Hence the plaid, angel lips?”
“I told you, it’s a hunter thing.”
“Explain, Garcia.”
“It’s a way to self-identify as a good guy, let’s others in the Fandom know you’re safe to geek with. I thought about getting the tattoo but….”
“There’s a tattoo?” Prentiss leaned toward the screen hoping for a good look.
Penelope flashed a picture of a black pentacle within a tribal style sunburst. “Supposedly, both Sam and Dean have this tattooed above their hearts.”
“Why? What does it mean within their mythology?” Rossi asked.
“It’s an antipossession symbol.”
“Did Adam, John or the angel have the same tattoo?”
“Definitely not the angel. I’ve read so, so many descriptions of him naked and none mention a tattoo or scar. No tattoo was listed on John’s ME report or Adam’s.”
“And neither of them had any tattoos when they were photographed at Green River County Detention Center,” Reid spoke with enthusiasm as he continued. “Throughout the middle ages and into present day the five pointed star within a circle has been used in occult rituals. And the sun, of course, drives out darkness and brings purification much like the salt.”
“During the 80s we saw hundreds of similar designs at crime scenes across the country. No sign of actual cult activity was ever proven, mostly just teens trying to get attention.” Rossi reminisced.
“But none with the sunburst,” Spencer said with complete certainty.
“As fascinating as this is,” Derrick interjected. “Is it getting us any closer to catching them?”
Everyone sat in silent thought before Hotch spoke, “Morgan’s right. We already have a pretty in-depth understanding of who they are. We need to know where they’re going and why. Garcia, keep checking the videos for any sign they’ve been tampered with.”
“Rodger dodger, Garcia over and out!”
The GasNSip just off I70 approaching Black Water Ridge was a disaster zone. Submachine gun fire had shredded the snacks and dry goods on the shelves, torn through the coolers causing soda and beer to flood the aisles where it mixed with the blood of seven people. The clerk, a family of four and two long haul truckers had all been slaughtered.
Morgan, Prentiss and Rossi searched the scene for anything the brothers usually left behind.
“No salt, no sulfur, no symbols,” Prentiss pointed out again. “If it wasn’t for the videos I’d never believe it was the same team.”
“I have to agree with you, Emily,” Morgan said as he stepped out into the sunshine and took a deep breath of clean air. The parking lot smelled like gasoline, oil and fried food. He pulled out his cell and dialed Garcia.
“How can I please you my sultry voiced siren of secret desires?”
He chuckled and said, “We’re gonna have to detox you from the fanfic aren’t we hotness?”
“Try it and die. I had no idea angels could be so sexy. Oh! Which reminds me, what sounds better: Dernelope, Pennick, Morcia or Gargan? I like Morcia.”
“What in the world of Dr. Suisse are you asking me?”
“For our ship, it needs a name.”
“I don’t recall buying a boat, Penelope did you fall and hit your head?”
“Our fictional relationship, like Destiel. You take the first half of one person’s name and add it to the second half of the other person’s.”
“Uh-huh,” he looked around the other businesses in the location and wondered if any had outside surveillance. “And what is a destiel?”
“The Dean and Castiel relationship.”
“Gotcha. Hey, baby girl can you see if the Red Branch Credit Union that shares a parking lot with the GasNSip has outside cameras? If these are imposters I wanna know what they’re driving.”
“Anything for you my darkest passion. But first, pick a name.”
Morgan grinned and rolled his eyes, tried to remember the most ridiculous of the four options. “My vote is for Darnelope. Ok, my plaid princess get to work.”
Prentiss and Rossi joined him in the sunshine, Prentiss asked “Garcia got anything new?”
“No. I asked her to check the credit union for video. I wanna know what they’re driving.”
“Not a lot of mint 67 Impalas driving around these days,” Rossi nodded.
At the Black Water Ridge police station, Reid had spread out a map and was highlighting locations mentioned in John’s journal. Then adding all known previous cases of the brothers. Finally, he added the two mass shootings.
JJ and Hotch were talking to the media and the victims families. It was unlikely that any of the victims had been singled out or had known their killers but if it wasn’t the Winchesters then they had to work up an entirely new profile.
“I am so sorry for your loss, Mrs. O’Brian. Can you tell me, was your husband a religious man?” JJ passed a box of kleenex to the overweight brunette with grey streaks at her temples.
“Um, we’re catholic. Lapsed, I guess. Why?”
“Did George wear a crucifix or have any religious tattoos?”
“Yeah, he had the Blessed Mother on his forearm. It was in honor of his mom, she died of breast cancer.”
“Anything on his truck like a saint’s medallion?”
“No, nothin like that. Why?”
“We suspect the killers may have strong religious views that may be motivating them to kill. But it’s just a theory. Thank you for your time, and our deepest condolences.”
“Anything?” Hotch asked after they’d concluded the interviews.
“Nothing. One of the truckers had a tattoo of the virgin Mary but wasn’t overly religious. No one else had any type of symbol that might have set them off.” Hotch nodded tightly, he wasn’t surprised.
Later, as the team reconvened Hotchner said, “I think we should stop thinking of them as The Winchesters. Yes, they look like them and are even leaving the same prints. But they sure as hell aren’t acting like them. We need an all new profile.”
The team nodded nearly in synch. Reid was the first to speak, rising to walk to the map. “Ok I think I know why they were in Jericho and Black Water Ridge. John went missing in Jericho. That’s when Dean panicked and went to Stanford to talk Sam into helping him find their father. They were in Jericho on November 1, 2005.”
“When Dean was arrested the sheriff showed him his father’s journal. One of the final entries simply reads “Dean 35-111.” Those are coordinates. Which lead to here,” Spencer pointed to a wide expanse of national park. “While we don’t have proof they were here it seems likely considering I70 would take them directly to their next known location and probable crime scene Lake Manitoc Wisconsin. They tried impersonating fish and game officers but the local sheriff IDed them. Sheriff Jake Devins was found drowned in the lake the same day the boys left town.”
“Assuming these unsubs are following the trail of their heroes, Lake Manitoc will be next?” JJ pressed.
Derrick’s phone chirped, it was Penelope so he put it on speaker. “You’re on speaker baby girl, behave.”
“I am the soul of discretion my midnight delight. You asked about the car and I deliver unto you news of a distinct difference.”
“Oh? Do tell,” prompted Rossi.
“Ok, so we all know that Dean takes his car very seriously. He even named her Baby and rebuilt her from the ground up after the semi truck crashed into them. One hundred and ten percent authentic parts, that’s how he rolls.”
“If you say so baby girl.”
“Well the 67 Impala seen at the GasNSip last night was rockin some sleek chrome rims that are not cherry.”
“And the videos?” Hotch asked.
“I’m sorry to say it, but I can find no sign of tampering. Which is not to say they had to be the real Sam and Dean.”
“How so? If more men looked like that I’d have kids,” Prentiss said.
“You and me both!” Garcia practically moaned.
“But what I mean is that they could be wearing latex prosthetics, wigs, lifts etc to look like the boys in order to frame them. And I’m not just saying that because I’m totally team Dean.”
“Team Dean?” Morgan wondered aloud.
“That’s not impossible,” Reid said at the same time. “These unsubs have obviously ‘drank the Kool Aid’ to quote Rossi. I wouldn’t even put it past them to undergo plastic surgery to look like their idols. People do it all the time with celebrities like Angelina Jolie and Liz Taylor, even Dolly Parton.”
“So you think they might be fanboys?” Garcia sounded scandalized at the idea.
“It’s a workable theory,” Hotch said. “And would account for the vastly different MOs and victimology. They worship the Winchesters not the pathology that rules the real brothers lives.”
Reid rejoined with “It's conceivable these individuals perceive the Winchesters as aspirational figures, adopting their tactics as a means of validating their own beliefs and desires. The line between admiration and emulation becomes blurred.”
“That kind of surgery wouldn’t come cheap,” JJ observed.
“And theatrical makeup that advanced would take experience,” Morgan added.
“They’ve got fans, do they cosplay?” Reid asked.
“Kinda, there’s no serial killer cons or anything but people do post pics of themselves in their flannels, trench coats, ball caps and lots of tattoos.”
“Run a search for cosmetic surgeons and makeup artists who specialize in transformative techniques. Start in California but these unsubs could be from anywhere. Look for any specifically Winchesteresque requests.”
“Breaking into sealed medical records” Garcia had a tone of mock disbelief. “I’ll hit ya back when I. Oh crap.”
“What is it?” Hotch asked, looking grim.
“They struck again. Another bank job, less than an hour ago.”
“Lake Manitoc Wisconsin?” Reid queried.
“Yeah, boy wonder. The Manitoc Credit and Loan on Main Street. Your buddies Morris and Valente are already in the air.”
“Send us the details, wheels up in twenty.”
“They must be taking turns driving,” Reid said as he calculated the drive time. “It’s a 22 hour drive if you obey the speed limit, a distance of 1,379 miles. They were at the GasNSip at 10:04 pm last night, if they drove straight through they would have to have been driving around 80 mph allowing time for bathroom breaks and fast food to be at the bank before 5pm.”
“Not unreasonable in a car like that,” Rossi said. “But expensive. They’d have to stop for gas multiple times, probably cram the potty breaks into those stops and living on beef jerky and cola.”
“Twelve dead this time,” JJ said as she scanned her tablet.
“Reid, where did the brothers go after Manitoc?” Hotch asked.
“St. Louis, Missouri and then Ankeny Iowa.”
“Drive time from Manitoc to St. Louis”
“Only seven hours.”
“Should we turn the plane south? Get ahead of them?” Morgan asked.
Hotchner weighed the probabilities and took a gamble, “Yes. Penelope, please tell the St. Louis office to expect us and the spree killers. I’ll go talk to the pilot.”
“Copy that.”
They arrived at their hotel in St. Louis at 9 pm and were enjoying a late dinner at the attached Biggersons restaurant when Garcia called Derrick. He put her on speaker saying, “You’re on speaker around civilians sweetheart, behave.”
“I wish I had a sassy retort but alas, I am the bearer of more weird news.”
“What is it?” Hotch asked.
“Three hours after the event in Wisconsin our boys were seen 1,000 miles away at a GasAway in Miles City Montana. I’ve seen the tape, it’s definitely Sam. The outdoor camera wasn’t great at night but I’m pretty sure the car did not have those rims we spoke about earlier.”
The team shared looks, scanned the room for anyone close enough to overhear them. Morgan asked, “Was he alone?”
“No he was not. His candy apple eyed other half was filling the tank.”
“And the trench coat?” Rossi asked.
“Nope, just the two of them. Did you head in the wrong direction?” she sounded worried Worried and tired.
“That’s a 14 hour drive,” Reid said. “There is no possible way they could travel that far by car in just three hours. If they drove at 70mph and had to stop 3 times for gas they would arrive in Miles City at 2:57 this afternoon. We must be chasing a pair of copycats.”
“And the profile says they’ll strike here. Garcia send a notice to local PD and banks warning of the possibility that a bank may be robbed tomorrow. Then go home and get some sleep, that’s an order.”
“Yes sir. Sleep tight my angel babies.”
“Do we think the real brothers saw the news and that’s why they’re on the move?” Prentiss asked.
“It makes sense,” JJ agreed. “Knowing the older brother’s temper, he’s got to be taking this personally.”
“So the spree killers are now being hunted by the serial killers,” Rossi sighed and took a long drink from his glass of scotch. “And we have to save them.”
“We could use the imposters as bait to catch the originals,” Morgan suggested.
“But how many innocent people could be caught in the crossfire?” Emily downed the last of her rum and coke and moved her napkin from her lap to the table.
“Ideally, we catch both. I’ll settle for the copycats if we have to choose. Let’s get what rest we can,” Hotch stood and led the team to the bank of elevators and back to their rooms.
The next morning saw them organizing surveillance and increased police presence at all of busiest banks in the city. Since the unsubs hadn’t stolen anything from the previous scenes they put a stronger focus on client flow than in funds stored on premises.
Hour by hour they monitored the city, tension growing as morning slipped into afternoon with still no sign of the killers. Hotchner felt certain that this had been the right call and did what he could to reassure the local forces.
Afternoon passed uneventfully into evening. The local PD were openly mocking them, the usual barbs about profiling being nothing but guesswork. The team was too professional to respond but Aaron could see the unspoken questions in their eyes. They were just gathering their things to head back to the hotel when the call came in.
“Conner’s Diner, 81st and River. Reports shots fired, 67 Impala seen leaving!”
Morgan shot the mouthiest of their detractors a told ya so look but said nothing as everyone rushed to the cars.
Derrick drove one suv and Emily drove the other. JJ queried “Why a diner and not a bank?”
“To many cops at the banks,” was Morgan’s immediate response.
“Possibly. Or perhaps the location has a specific meaning to either the unsubs or the Winchesters.” Reid proposed.
The diner looked like a kicked ant hill, EMTS and cops swarmed the building and the parking lot. Yellow tape seemed to spread like spider web. Prentiss, Rossi and Morgan walked carefully around the busy first responders hoping to find a witness able to speak.
Outside, JJ spoke with the young couple who had called it in from their apartment across the street. Reid studied the outside of the building for anything that might have triggered such a violent response from the unsubs and Hotch coordinated with the brass.
Prentiss found a cell phone under a table at a booth by the window after the bodies that had been eating there were removed. She lifted it carefully in gloved hands and swiped the screen. It opened immediately to the camera app.
“Guys, you need to see this.”
Together, they watched the two copycats identify themselves as Sam and Dean Winchester before methodically gunning down everyone including the kid holding the camera. They see the false-Dean giddily thanking St. Louis before announcing that they’ll be in Iowa next.
The three profilers left the building, Rossi passed Hotch the cell and grimly said, “You were right.”
“Ankeny Iowa is next,” Morgan said with a sour twist to his lips.
Reid walked up to join them, “That’s only a five hour drive. They can be there before midnight.”
“And the real brothers?” Hotch asked.
“Coming from Miles City it would be a 12 hour drive if they took turns driving. It’s possible they’re already there.”
“We can be there in an hour and a half. Let’s go.”
As soon as they were in the air Hotch patched Garcia through. Today saw her in black and purple plaid with green ribbons in her hair.
“Garcia, we have two hours to find the real Winchesters before they find the copycats and another bloodbath ensues.”
“I thought we were using the copycats as bait to lure them out,” Prentiss pressed for clarification.
“Change of plan. The unsubs are devolving, becoming erratic and desperate.”
Rossi nodded slowly in understanding, “You think they want the Winchesters to find them. To go out in a blaze of glory at the hands of their idols.”
“We call this behavior 'idolatrous demise.' It’s reminiscent of the Dennis Rader case, where he emulated his idols to gain their attention and ultimately their acknowledgment." Reid added.
JJ continued “It's like they're seeking validation from what they perceive as greatness."
“And we know exactly how the real Sam and Dean will take this,” Hotch said bleakly.
“Badly, very badly.” Garcia finished.
“So how do we prevent it?” Morgan asked.
“Garcia, do you have a list of previous aliases used by the Winchesters?”
“Absolutely, they like to use rock and movie stars.”
“Check all the cheap hotels an hour radius from Ankeny for such names,” Hotch directed.
She typed quickly and said, “I’ve got a Julia Tyler at the Olive Grove Inn.”
“They can’t pass as a Julia,” Prentiss said.
“They know they’re the subject of a nation wide manhunt, they’re probably breaking pattern to throw off pursuit,” Rossi surmised. “Garcia, what about rooms with extremely vanilla names like John Smith? Single room, two beds. They probably paid in cash.”
More typing, then she said “I wouldn’t bet on the two beds if you trust the fans. But I’ve got a handful of possibilities, how can we narrow it?”
“Garcia,” Reid said. “Cross reference the license plates listed at registration with DMV records. What type of cars are we looking at.”
“Well, assuming none of the plates were stolen….” She continued to type. “We’ve got a Grand Caravan, a Bronco, a Jimmy, a Saab, a Rabbit, an Acadian, a Daytona and a GrandAm.”
“The names associated with the GrandAm, Acadian, Rabbit and Daytona?”
“In order they are: Francis James, Tom Smith, Bobby Andrews, and Larry Turner.”
“Tom, Bobby and Larry,” Derrick said conclusively. “There’s no way anyone as uncomfortable with their sexuality as Dean would choose the name Francis.”
“Valid point,” Garcia equipped.
“Alright, Derrick and Emily I want you to check out Larry, Rossi and I will see Bobby, JJ you and Reid get Tom.”
Dean was pissed. His face was all over the news on every station. Bobby still had no idea how to kill the Leviathans. And Sam was in a snit because Frank had destroyed his laptop.
He'd just gotten out of the shower, pulled on his jeans when there was a knock at the door. They shared a quick glance, pulled their side arms. Sam was still in his boxer briefs and sleep shirt, they did not look intimidating.
Dean approached the door cautiously, Colt 1911 at average center mass height and peeked through the peephole. He saw a messy haired twink in a sweater vest and a blond cheerleader type behind him in black jeans and a blue vneck. No badges or visible firearms. He scanned what he could of the parking lot which wasn’t much.
Behind him, Sammy slid into a pair of jeans then approached his side. There was no other way in or out. They’d drawn a devil’s trap on the ceiling and salted everything. But if they were Leviathans the boys had no chance.
“We don’t need any towels,” Dean shouted through the door.
“Mr. Smith, my name is Dr. Spencer Reid. I think I can help you and your brother. Can we talk?”
Sam quickly Googled the guy’s name. “He’s an FBI profiler, has more PhDs than you’ve had VDs,” Sam whispered.
“Any chance we can trust them?” Dean asked.
Sam did not look optimistic, “If they come in here we’re trapped even if they are human. If we go out we can fight or run.”
“One sec,” Dean shouted. “Lemme get some clothes on!”
As soon as the door opened JJ shot out a group text: We have them.
Dean came out first, short hair messed, legs bowed, eyes green as leaves in the Iowa sunlight. He was wearing a blue button down shirt over a grey t and a darker blue canvas jacket plus jeans and motorcycle boots. The taller brother closed the door behind them, his long hair blowing softly in the breeze, wearing a white and green flannel shirt under a tan canvas jacket. She knew they were killers, but God damn they looked good. She heard Spence swallow audibly as he looked up at the two much larger men.
It was good, she decided, that it had been she and he who had found them. As the two least imposing members of the BAU it gave the fugitives a sense of security, a willingness to talk instead of shoot that she didn’t think Morgan or Hotch would’ve gotten.
“Hi,” she said stepping forward with her hand out. “I’m JJ. We’re from.”
The taller brother cut her off, “Profilers from the FBI. We know.” He then began to mutter a chant quickly under his breath. Dean took her hand and shook it with a cocky grin.
Spencer listened closely to what Sam Winchester was saying. It was Latin. Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, Omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, Omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica. Ergo, draco maledicte. Ecclesiam tuam securi tibi facias libertate servire, Te rogamus, audi nos.
“We exorcise you, every impure spirit, every satanic power, every incursion of the infernal adversary, every legion, every congregation and diabolical sect. Therefore, cursed demon you may make your church safe to serve you freely, we ask you, hear us,” he translated in tandem as Sam spoke, a relaxed smile on his face. “Excellent pronunciation. Does it usually work?”
“More often than not,” Sam replied with sass. He stepped forward and shook the petite blond agent’s hand. “Are we under arrest?”
“Not at this time Mr. Smith. Our team knows that you’re being framed and would like to avoid more bloodshed,” she explained.
“And how’s that?” Dean asked.
“We believe that the perpetrators of these crimes are obsessed with you. They’re members of an online community focused on your exploits and personal belief system. This type of behavior often stems from a mix of obsessional fantasy, coupled with what we might diagnose as borderline personality traits. The individuals feel an acute void in their sense of self-worth and are trying to fill it through extreme imitation."
“Yeah but, we’ve never gone on a tri state killing spree,” Dean responded. After a moments thought he figured that maybe the Bureau might view their entire lives as nothing but a killing spree. “We don’t slaughter innocent people.” He amended.
“We know,” JJ said calmly. She understood that within their own pathology they had never harmed an innocent and this was not the time to argue semantics. “We believe these two men have tried to get your attention by doing things that you would find repellent.”
“Well that never ends well,” Dean growled.
“That’s precisely the point, Mr. Smith. We believe these fans have devoted years of their lives and thousands of dollars to become as much like you as possible in order to fill some void in their lives,” Spencer explained.
“But it wasn’t enough to wear our faces and drive our car,” Sam said. “They want something from us. Recognition?” He wished desperately that the agents would believe what was really going on but knew they would only pretend to if they bothered to explain about the Leviathans.
“They want you to kill them. Publicly, violently and with as much media coverage as possible,” said JJ.
“That’s stupid,” Dean observed helpfully. “Most evil sons of bitches want us as far away as possible.”
“The copycats’ desire to be killed by their idols is a form of extreme identification and merging of identities. It's like they're seeking a final validation, a warped way of becoming one with what they perceive as perfection,” Reid explained animatedly. “It’s not just about emulation; it’s about the ultimate surrender of one’s self to an idealized figure. The killer believes that dying at the hands of their idol would somehow immortalize them, echoing patterns seen in cases like the Son of Sam.”
“Whatever you say Poindexter.”
Sam was nodding, what the skinny kid made sense in a world without shape-shifting monsters. “And you want to use us as bait? What happens after you catch them?”
“We’ll permit both Mr. Smiths to retire into obscurity. No need to worry about arrest. Everyone knows the real Winchester brothers were killed in a gas explosion in Colorado in 07,” JJ assured them.
“Ok…” Dean said, suspicion heavy in his husky voice. “But you both need to do one more thing before we go anywhere with you.”
“Holy water, salt or silver?” asked Reid. “Sam already tried an exorcism.”
“I need to see what color your blood is. Doesn’t have to be a lot.,” Dean pulled a folded pocket knife from his jeans and passed it to the pretty blond. “What we’re hunting bleeds black goo. You bleed red, we’re in.”
JJ flicked open the knife like Will had taught her. It was sharp and drew a thin bead of red on the back of her left arm. She passed it to Reid. He did not look happy, fumbled a bit with the knife but managed to draw a drop of perfectly average blood from the back of his hand.
“Awesome. So what’s the plan? Tie us to a stake in the middle of the town like the goat in Jurassic Park?”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you Agent Rossi,” Sam tried not to gush as he shook the older man’s hand. “I’ve read all your books.”
“Before or after law school?” Rossi asked with his Professional Author Smile reserved for fans.
“Before, during and after,” Sam admitted.
“Wow,” Dean said as he scanned the 6 agents filling the office with them, his eyes settling on Morgan. “If I’d known we coulda been wearing tee shirts and nice jeans this whole time I’d a been a lot happier.” He tugged at his tie self-consciously.
“You kick in enough doors, the dress code gets a bit lax,” Morgan stepped forward and introduced himself. Noticed Dean giving him a silent how ya doin.
“You certainly look the part Agents Smith. What can you tell us about the current situation?” Hotch asked briskly.
Everyone took a seat, Sam to Dean’s right and both close enough to the door to bolt if they needed to.
On the drive over they’d debated just how much to tell the agents. Sam had voted for complete normalcy, surprise surprise. While Dean had wanted to give them The Talk. Sam had finally won, pointing out that the agents would shrug off all their reasoning right up until they actually saw a Leviathan. Dean still wasn’t happy about it, forewarned was forearmed.
“The last time the um, Winchesters were in town,” Sam felt weird talking about themselves in the third person but everyone had agreed to maintain the fiction that they were fellow FBI agents. “They investigated a series of unusual deaths involving students at Eastern Iowa University.”
“Ended up being a ….” Dean paused as he edited the words vengeful spirit out of the sentence. “Person with strong religious beliefs punishing those they believed to be acting immorally.”
“Was there any specific location that the copycats would feel compelled to revisit?” Hotch asked.
“The original deaths occurred at Nine Mile Road but the crux of the problem was located at St. Barnabas Church,” Sam explained.
Dean’s cell beeped. He checked the caller ID. “It’s Bobby, I gotta take this “ he stood and left the room.
“Hey Bobby, we’re with the feds. They think the killers are coming here for us. Tell me ya got something.”
“There’s a chemical,” said the gruff older man on the line. “Called Sodium Borate.”
“Ok,” Dean scoffed. “Let me get Mr. Wizard on speed dial.”
“No, no. It ain’t as weird as it sounds.” As he listened to Bobby he couldn’t help but notice that Sheriff Osborne and his deputies were all giving him the stink eye, he turned his back to them. “It’s found in industrial cleansers and soaps. And uh, laundry powders. Just look for anything with the word Borax on it.”
“You want me to Desperate Housewives these mother fuckers?”
“No, just trust me. It burns ‘em bad enough to slow ‘em down. So get the strongest you can find, ya hear me?”
“Borax. Burns. Got it.”
“Then douse ‘em, get close and chop their heads off. And keep the heads separate!”
“Bobby, you’re a genius thanks. I mean it.”
“Yup,” the older hunter grumbled. “That’s what I’m here for. You boys stay safe.”
As Dean stepped out into the hall Prentiss said, “Is St. Barnabas popular with the locals? Tomorrow is Sunday, the unsubs might be planning to shoot people attending mass.”
“It’s been a few years, but Reverend Sorensen might still be the pastor. I recommend contacting him, he thought well of…. the Winchesters and might welcome the copycats despite what’s been on the news,” Sam said.
“JJ, will you please contact him once we finish here?” Hotch asked and was answered with a nod.
“Another possibility is Nine Mile Road itself,” Sam suggested. “It’s the local make out spot. If they’re already in town, they might find a few kids partying on Saturday night.”
“Mass shooters often exhibit a desire for notoriety,” Rossi spoke as he leaned back in his chair. “Feelings of powerlessness, a wish to exert control over others, and a combination of personal grievances would all add to the perfect storm of emotions that’re driving them. Choosing to attack during Sunday mass could be a way for them to assert control over a vulnerable group and gain attention for their actions”
“Both Dylann Roof, the perpetrator of the Charleston church shooting in 2015, and Devin Patrick Kelley the First Baptist Church shooter in 2017 were influenced by personal grievances and a desire for notoriety. The attack on a church during a time of worship was intended to shock and terrorize, highlighting the vulnerability of such settings,” Reid was studying Sam’s micro expressions closely, wished he could have a month to devote just to the psychology of Sam Winchester.
“Do you really think they’ll wait that long?” Sam asked, he doubted it.
“In St. Louis they waited until night to attack the diner when it was most busy,” Morgan said. “If their choices are a handful of teens necking in the woods or dozens of families attending service, they’ll chose the second.”
“And what will we do?” Sam asked just as Dean walked back into the room. He looked up at his older brother, a question clear on his face what did Bobby want?
“We’re gonna need industrial cleansers, laundry soap, anything with Borax in it,” Dean said grimly. “I know you all think we’re nuts. But humor me, please. If these are just human whackadoos then the soap won’t hurt them. But if we’re right then Borax will slow them down long enough to decapitate them. Even that won’t kill ‘em, but if the head is in a different time zone they’re relatively harmless.”
Sam could feel the profilers analyzing and assessing his brother. The silence was too heavy, too dense, he felt like he was trying to breathe custard.
“Fascinating,” Reid said softly as Morgan said, “Decapitate” in a deadpan and Emily said, “Yeah, of course….” Rossi and Hotch remained professionally reserved while JJ’s jaw dropped open.
“Now, you do understand that we can’t allow you to decapitate anyone,” Rossi was saying when there was a loud ruckus at the front door of the police station. Several men were shouting and then Sheriff Osborne was at their door looking like a kid on Christmas morning.
“Agents, you need to see this!” the older lawman said in disbelief.
Everyone in the room stood and walked calmly to see what was going on. Dean held Sam back, “We need to find a broom closet. You know this can’t be good.”
“Yeah, definitely!” Sam nodded in quick agreement. The two turned right out of the conference room instead of left like the BAU, intent on finding the cleaning supplies.
Out in the lobby five police officers were struggling to bring in Sam and Dean Winchester. The BAU stopped in mild surprise at how uncanny the resemblance was.
“They sound just like them,” JJ said in a hushed tone, her hand on her collarbone.
“Remarkable,” Rossi agreed. “They even smell the same.”
“Alright boys, good job,” Sheriff Osborne praised his people. “Put the tall one in the interview room and the other in the cell.”
The flannel clad lookalikes continued to struggle but were pushed and pulled past the agents and deeper into the building.
“Spencer, Rossi, you go talk to ‘Sam’,” Hotch said as the group turned to follow the fugitives. “JJ, Prentiss, you get ‘Dean’. Morgan and I will stay with the Smiths.”
They all acknowledged their orders and that’s when all hell broke loose. Reid knows what he saw because he can’t forget it. But he knows never to mention it. He’d end up in a facility with his mom. And for a quick second he thinks this is it, I’ve finally snapped. But it wasn’t a schizophrenic hallucination because everyone saw it, even if they never spoke of it.
The faces of the five cops and two killers just…. opened. Opened and revealed row upon row of eel like teeth. The jaws must’ve unhinged to get so wide. There was no other way to describe it. The mouths opened and the teeth tore into the other police officers. Blood erupted.
Guns were drawn. Spencer didn’t remember drawing his sidearm. He wasn’t very good with it, but still he fired at the seven nightmare creatures before them. The sound of so many firearms discharging inside a building was beyond comprehension. He wasn’t sure he’d ever hear again.
He remembers Morgan shooting till his clip was empty, ejecting it and slapping in a fresh one before unloading it again. But the shots weren’t doing anything except causing something black and viscous to seep from the seven creatures who were now coming toward him and his friends. He remembered what the real Dean had said that morning What we’re hunting bleeds black goo. Also remembered the use of Borax.
“Hey,” a voice shouted from deeper down the hallway. “Assbutt!”
The creature farthest from Spencer began to scream. He smelled pine scented cleanser. What else has Borax? He asked himself then ran down a side hall towards the evidence lab. He searched quickly, grabbing up buffer solutions and even some fingerprint powder. Ran back as fast as he could and passed the squeeze bottles to his team.
Morgan shrugged with a any port in a storm look and hosed the creature rushing them. The fluid hit it in the eyes, the flesh melted and smoked, the thing collapsed screaming but definitely not dying. Then Sam was there with a fire axe and the screaming stopped. But not the fighting. The huge man passed Derrick the axe and said, “It’s the only way.”
Dean grabbed Sammy by the arm and hauled him out of the melee, nearly tripping over Osborne’s body. The agents had two axes, two buckets of floor cleaner and whatever the skinny kid had found, they’d be fine.
“Come on Sammy, time to go!”
“But…”
“No. There’s no way we wouldn’t end up behind bars and you know it. Come on.”
They walked briskly out of the station into the bright Iowa sunshine, across a small park sat a black 67 Impala with some sexy ass chrome rims.
“Awesome,” Dean slapped the back of his hand on Sam’s chest and led the way to the car. The doors weren’t even locked. He had it hotwired and on the road in no time.
“Is everyone alright,” Hotchner asked, short of breath from swinging the axe.
“No,” Emily said from where she slouched exhausted against the wall. “I have no idea what just happened. “
No one spoke. They stood alone, every police officer in the building was dead. Either decapitated by FBI agents or torn apart by creatures that could not exist.
Hotch studied the area where they stood. The lobby surveillance cameras didn’t point this way. There were no other cameras facing them.
“I don’t think we have any choice except to stage this and then make a formal report about the serial shooters assault on the Ankeny Police Station.”
“Jesus Aaron,” Derrick said with disgust.
“I’m open to other solutions.”