Chapter Text
The Winchester brothers pass the borders into Louisiana just after four in the morning, and after that it's only another couple hours drive to Pine Prairie so it's about seven o'clock when they arrive.
The small village only just breaches a thousand residents, enclosed by thick woodlands and encircling a large body of water- the locals call it Crooked Creek; it's also where all the bodies have been found so far. Sam locates a motel just a couple miles from the police station, and is dropped off there to book them a room while Dean takes the Impala to get them some food.
It doesn't take long for the pair to be reunited and situated in their grimy room, the bedframes look almost rusty and the carpet is faded in some places where someone tried, and failed, to lift a stain. But overall, it's not the worst place they've stayed at, that would have to be the one in New Jersey where the bathtub actually looked like it was stained with a waterline of blood (they'd called the police immediately after leaving).
"How're we playing it this time? Reporters? FBI? Something a little more obscure...?" Dean questions around a mouthful of burger, grease smudging against his chin (Sam fights with the oddest urge to wipe it away), sounding far more excited about the future disguises than he should've.
FBI was usually the best bet for small towns and villages, they weren't used to major law enforcement and seemed more susceptible to giving up information on the case, reporters and journalists just got angry threats. Sam gave voice to his thoughts, watching Dean's face scrunch up in contemplation before relaxing again.
"Alrighty then, Feds it is!" He exclaims, abandoning his meal and rubbing his hands roughly on his jeans before rooting through his bag to find the folded up grey and black suits they packed specifically for this reason.
Sam catches the jacket, shirt and trousers thrown at him, quickly exchanging his comfortable traveling clothes for the new outfit while Dean continues searching through their things for a couple of ties.
Dean stops Sam before he puts on the jacket, folding up the collar of his shirt to carefully loop a tie around his neck. The closeness brings Sam a unique sort of comfort, when Dean went to hell almost eight months ago Sam didn't think he'd get him back. Nothing he tried seemed to stick and after a while it was all Sam could do to just keep on living.
Being back in the presence of his older brother has him feeling more content than he has been in a while, of course he'd never tell Dean any of that- Dean had enforced a 'no chick flick moments' rule just a couple weeks after he'd returned.
Apparently he could sense Sam's sentimentality.
Sam is so caught up in his own thoughts that he doesn't realise that Dean has started talking as he twists and knots the tie.
"One of us should check out the bodies first, see what we're dealing with." He meets Sam's gaze but when he catches the incredulous look he's being given, he refocuses on the task at hand, "Better safe than sorry."
While Sam doesn't disagree with him, it's unusual for his brother to be so careful.
A thought worms it's way into Sam's mind before he can stop it; Dean knows that if he dies again then he'll be going straight back to hell. The older man swears he doesn't remember a second of his trip downstairs but Sam knows better, he sees the haunted look in his eyes when he thinks Sam isn't watching, it says everything that Dean refuses to.
"Sounds good, you do that and I'll hit up the local station to check what they've already compiled on the case." Sam agrees, smiling down at his brother.
Dean takes a step back to admire his handiwork, patting Sam on the chest and going back to the table by the window to finish his food. The chair wobbles as he drops himself into it, one leg clearly being shorter than the rest.
Dean's own suit is resting on the bed closest to the door, two fake ID's lying next to it; Agents Daniels and Page, both Sam and Dean's faces are printed in a neat square next to the names in that order and Sam spends a few moments staring at them- struck by the surrealism of it all; they'll flash these badges at someone like they do day-after-day, and nobody will have a clue that they're fake.
Unless they run into real FBI, Sam hides a grin behind his hand at the thought, that would be just their luck, wouldn't it?
"We've gotta come back here some time, these burgers are amazing." Dean groans out from his seat, unaware of Sam's musings.
"Let's just focus on the job. You know we have to actually leave before we can come back, right?"
Dean mumbles something about Sam being a smart-ass but takes a final slurp of his overly caffeinated drink and jumps up from his chair, moving over to his suit with a few large strides. He changes clothes quickly, stripping off his t-shirt and complaining that the large handprint shaped burn on his bicep is ruining his ability to wear tank tops.
Sam has been on the receiving end of these rants a couple times already, apparently having an angel literally branding you is a huge turn off for the ladies.
Personally Sam finds it hilarious. And sort of ridiculous because, handprint or not, Dean has still managed to charm his way into at least one women's pants on every hunt they've been on so far, making up for lost time according to the older man.
"Let's get rolling, Agent Daniels!" Dean says cheerfully, already sauntering towards the door, keys in hand. Sam rolls his eyes in exasperation but follows his brother out of the room.
The drive down to the station is a short one, Dean spends the twenty-ish minutes blasting Metallica despite Sam's insistence that they should at least attempt to look professional. Actually, knowing Dean, it's probably because of Sam's insistence that he was actually so immaturely. As soon as Sam is out of the car, Dean gives him a good natured whack around the back of the head through the open window and speeds off.
As Sam walks into the police station, rubbing his now aching head and grumbling about his jerk of a brother, he gets the immediate sense of something being very wrong.
There's far too many people here for such a small village, a room branching out from the side of the building has been cleared.
Through the open door Sam can see that it's empty of everything but a large table with a map on it, a set of chairs stacked in the corner, a portable whiteboard barely visible beneath the slathering of crime scene photos, and most notably; a brunette man dressed strikingly similar to a librarian staring at the images. His gaze flicks between the whiteboard and the map splayed out on the table.
Sam doesn't like this at all.
One of the officers notices Sam and dismisses himself from the conversation he was having to weave through the crowds of people and over to the younger Winchester.
"Can I help you with anything, Sir?" He asks, eyebrows furrowed into a tight frown. Sam produces his badge in response.
"I'm Agent Daniels, I'll need to see your files on the recent murders." His 'official' voice is never one he enjoys using, it makes him feel like a total dick.
"Your team didn't share it with you? You FBI folk need to communicate better." The officer says with light hearted scorn, oblivious to Sam's sudden spike of adrenaline.
This obviously isn't the first time they've collided with federal agents but they're usually on opposite sides of a hunt (as in Sam and Dean are typically the ones being hunted) so it's a bit different, they've somehow never been in danger of actually having to properly interact with the guys. What on earth are they meant to do now?
Sam forces an awkward laugh as he trails after the man, he grabs a file from behind the counter and hands it over to Sam, pointing over to the small room occupied by the skinny figure he can now identify as FBI. Luckily the man in question is entirely focused on his task and doesn't seem to have noticed Sam's entrance.
"That's where your friends have set up, make yourself comfortable."
"I've got to meet with the rest of the team first but thank you for your time, and the file." Sam says, waving the papers in question and trying desperately to not let his nerves show through his carefully made facade as he briskly walks to the door and ducks through the entrance, praying that the Agent standing just a couple yards away from him doesn't look up through the open door.
Dean was going to hate this.
------
The plane ride to Louisiana had been as quiet as usual to begin with, both Morgan and JJ had earphones plugged in and were staring out of the windows, looking to be in deep thought. Rossi had, for some reason, decided to challenge Reid to a game of chess which ended the way everyone expected it to but now Rossi was pretending to sulk in the corner, causing Reid to glance over at him every few seconds in mild concern.
Hotch had a look of quiet contemplation on his face, reading the case files front to back until he was notified that there was only half an hour until landing.
The team gather together to review what they already know and then call in Garcia who, following Hotchs orders, had spent the last couple hours searching for any possible connection between the victims.
"Garcia, what have you got?"
"Nothing of any use, Sir. I've checked through school registrations and any activities outside of education, there's absolutely zero link between the vics. They don't even know each other online!" Garcia's voice lacks it's usual enthusiasm, instead it's smothered with the grim tone of defeat.
The words send a different sort of silence rippling through the team, it's not startlingly unusual for victims to have no connections but if they really are looking at some kind of ritual then it's expected for there to be a specific type of person being 'sacrificed'. So far, apart from the eerily similar appearances, there's nowhere they've crossed paths, so how is the unsub finding them?
"Are there any people that are present in all of their lives? Maybe a family friend or ex-boyfriend?" Hotch prompts but Garcia just shakes her head again, looking put out.
"There's nothing I've found so far but I'll keep looking, hit me up if you need anything else!" She signs off with a click of her keyboard, leaving the plane feeling emptier and the frowns looking deeper than before.
"Morgan and Rossi head to the latest crime scene once we land. JJ and Reid, you're with me, we'll set up at the station and get in contact with the victims family." Hotch's voice is as steady and firm as always, something that manages to bring a small glimmer of comfort to the group.
The rest of the flight goes by relatively quick, everyone too preoccupied thinking about their tasks to talk much.
After landing, the team split up as previously discussed, Morgan and Rossi sharing a ride to the thick forest area surrounding Crooked Creek. It's not a long drive since the vehicle can only get them so far before they have to abandon it and treck down the well-trodden path on foot, weaving between clusters of towering green trees and knee high bushes.
It's no surprise that the walk to the taped off parameter lasts more than twice as long as the car ride. When the Agents finally reach the scene and duck under the yellow tape, they're both slightly out of breath.
"Our unsub has gotta be familiar with this place, coming all the way out here to dump a body is a lot of work." There's a light sheen of sweat coating Morgan's skin, the moisture causing it to glitter in the late morning sun.
"I don't think he's dumping them here Morgan, I think this is where he's killing them." Rossi counters, carefully walking around and pointing to a distinct stain of blood smeared into the mud. "Look, there's no drag marks or any other disturbances of the area."
Morgan pauses where he is to look at the area of land Rossi is pointing to before pulling out his phone, it rings twice before someone on the other end picks up.
"Hey baby girl, is there anyone in charge of maintaining the trails through the forest?" Rossi gives him an appraising look, nodding to himself as he continues to wander around and look over anything that might've been missed during the initial sweep of the scene.
"As a matter of fact there is! If you continue on for a couple dozen yards from where you are, you'll reach a maintenance building which should be able to get you what, or who, you need."
"Thank you, Princess." Morgan knows his voice is undeniably fond, he also knows Rossi is looking at him again, he's been with the BAU for a couple months now but it seems it'll take a while longer for him to get used to Morgan and Garcia's 'unprofessional' relationship.
"Anything for you, my dashing knight." The smile is evident in Garcia's voice as she once again clicks off the call and leaves her team to their own devices.
Rossi has an amused smile playing on his lips but doesn't comment, just gestures forward with his hand.
"Lead the way, dashing knight."
Only a couple miles away from the pair is the rest of the group, they've reached the station and have gotten themselves mostly settled.
It's difficult to get even a second of privacy here, there's always an officer barging through the door to the small office they're occupying; either out of curiosity or a genuine lack of knowledge that the FBI were there.
JJ had sorted out a time for Hotch and herself to visit each of the victims parents, Reid had volunteered to hang back and work over the files and geographical profile which the other two Agents had agreed to fairly quickly. Reid wasn't known for being overly sociable at the best of times.
So off they went, easily locating the first of three houses due to the eager young police officer by the name of Thomas Brown that had been sent to accompany them to replace Reid. The lack of any previous FBI envolvement had made the town almost jumpy when it came to the idea of letting any of the team go somewhere alone.
The parents of Scarlett Prest were as helpful as a grieving family could expect to be, vehemently denying any suggestion of their daughter being involved in any dangerous organisations or groups that could explain the odd victim pool. JJ led the majority of the conversation, gently prodding for anything that could be of any use to the case.
"Agent Jareau, I do not appreciate what you're insinuating about our daughter." Mrs Prest's voice was intense and, had her cheeks not been streaked with tears, might have intimidated a lesser man.
However, the couple did give up one name near the end of the interview. Martin Appleton, a very disapproved of ex-boyfriend.
"We had Scarlett break up with him immediately after he got a tattoo." Hotch and JJ share a look, and Mr Prest catches it.
"It was nothing like that, we had no issues with the tattoo itself but... It gave him a sort of confidence boost and he didn't seem to care for our darling girl any longer." He finishes off his wife's sentence, wrapping a comforting arm around her shoulders as her eyes fill with tears threatening to spill.
"When you say he didn't care for her, what do you mean by that?" JJ's tone turns impossibly softer, as if she's trying to cradle the parents through words alone.
"We think he hit her, she never explicitly told us but we both just sort of... Knew, I suppose." Mr Prest answers, seeming close to tears himself, his eyes glazing over with a distant sadness.
Hotch didn't need to hear any words to know that they were dismissed.
"Thank you very much for your time, we'll update you on any progress we make with the case." JJ tries and fails to meet their gaze as she speaks, only receiving a slow nod in return. She turns to Hotch as he makes his way to the door and quickly follows him out, alongside the silent accompanying officer.
"We should head back to the station before checking on Maria's family, see how Reid's doing with so many people around." Hotch suggests, they hadn't been gone an awfully long time but it was probably long enough for Reid to irritate an officer into shooting him.
Officer Brown takes the lead on the way back, apparently getting his voice back after leaving the company of the Prests, so the short trip back is spent listening to the endless chatter of the chubby man. JJ has tuned him out at this point, leaving Hotch to half heartedly respond to whatever he's saying.
Maybe it's because she's not paying any attention to the men by her side that JJ spots the absolute giant walking their way, his short brown hair fluffed out behind his ears in a way that looks almost childish. It's cute. He side steps awkwardly around the trio, muttering a quick apology and continuing on his way, hurriedly marching down the pavement with his head down.
The group reaches the station shortly after the small interaction and are met with the sight of a relieved police chief, he ushers them over the threshold of the building and jokingly stage whispers to them.
"How do we turn him off?" He's pointing in the general direction of their wonder boy which causes JJ to laugh. Hotch shares a tiny grin and looks towards Reid, gesturing him over to them once he catches the younger man's gaze.
Reid practically skips over, clearly glad to see some familiar faces swimming in a sea of the unknown.
"Oh right! You just missed one of your other men, Agent Daniels? Very uptight guy." The chief chuckles to himself, oblivious to the sudden stillness of the Agents. When he turns to them and their similar looks of confusion he pauses. "I didn't mean to offend you lot or nothing, I'm sure you've all got a lot on your plates." He says quickly, taking their lack of reply as offence.
"What did he ask for?" Hotch demands, the question and tone shock the officer into silence and now the group get front row seats to watching the look of nervousness slip into one of concern.
"You mean he wasn't with you?" A glare from Hotch has him swiftly answering the question, "He just asked for a copy of the files."
"When did he leave?" JJ does not envy this guy right now, being the object of Hotch's scrutiny is a painfully intense thing.
"Just a minute ago I swear, you should've seen him walk past you actually." The officer assures them.
The group seem to arrive at the same conclusion within a matter of seconds, eyes widening in realisation. The man that had passed them just moments before!
JJ immediately runs back through the doors, Hotch and Reid close behind her. They scan the streets but there's no sign of the man, they'd have to check the system to be sure but if another Agent was assigned to the case then Hotch should've been notified which just leaves the question...
Who the hell is Agent Daniels?