Author Name: liliaeth
Artists Name: lightthesparks
Beta: runriggers, just_ruth, faithburke
Summary: The BAU has to deal with a serial killer who believes he's hunting vampires. The unsub's name, Dean Winchester.
Genre: Supernatural/Criminal Minds crossover
Warnings: death of children, religious themes, violence
Pairing: not an issue
Rating: PG 13
Disclaimer: I don't own either, no matter how much I might want to
Notes: Spoilers for s5 of CM and SPN
It was long dark by the time the teen got to the abandoned factory. The doors were locked with a rusty chain that hadn’t been touched since the owners last laid hands on the place. Teens had been ignoring the same chain for years. They’d slipped in through the broken windows, through an opening along the fire escape on the second floor or just climbed in through the basement. All of those had got closed off sooner or later and still it was easy enough to slide up to one of the windows on the first floor and slip inside. She passed Danni and George on the way down. Danita had lured him here, the day after she got back home. They’d started kissing, until she offered him a drink. When he’d tried to refuse she’d held him down and made him drink their maker’s blood, telling him she loved him. Sharon and the others had been standing on watch, ready to help her if George had tried to escape before she was finished. He’d only just been released from his chains. Sharon bit her lips and had to stop a surge of jealousy at the thought of having someone of her own.
The others were spread over the couches in the main room. Their feet were up from the dirty floor or lying flat down on the carpets that had been slipped in over the years. Simon was sprawled over his makeshift throne, trying to look regal while ignoring the holes in the blanket he’d thrown over the once comfy chair. She couldn’t believe she used to be impressed by the scene. This used to be their palace, nowadays, all she could see was the holes and the dust. There were rats all over the building. She threw a few of the CDs she’d stolen earlier that day on top of the pile before grabbing a bottle of soda. No one ever suspected the Sherriff’s daughter of anything.
The player was stuck on one of Alicia’s CD’s. Miley Cyrus, again, it was enough to make anyone want to slit their wrists and pierce their eardrums. God, couldn’t that girl ever listen to anything halfway decent? Sharon rolled her eyes and pulled her skirt down. The damn thing had a tendency to creep up at the most embarrassing times.
She tried to avoid looking at the other end of the room, the door to the storage room, the one that held the freezers. They hadn’t bothered to turn those on, but they did use them for food storage.
Liz and Susie were finishing dinner in the corner. Sharon felt sick to her stomach and hungry at the same time. This so wasn’t what she’d imagined being a vampire would be like. It was nothing like the books described it.
They were supposed to be amazing. Not… this. Feeling hungry, no matter how much she ate, hearing heartbeats all around her all the time. She’d tried to use earplugs, but they didn’t even keep out the worst of it. And Simon, he barely even noticed her anymore. Not now that he had Anne sitting on his lap. All because she wouldn’t put out for him like Anne did. Sharon hated her.
She’d tried to obey orders, go home, be inconspicuous, but the longer she spent time with her dad and her little brothers, the hungrier she’d felt. She hated looking at the boys and hearing their heartbeats, reminding her of the blood drumming inside of them. She hated the times that she looked at Mike and Steve and all she could see was nice juicy steaks, making it harder and harder to see them as her little brothers. Things shouldn’t be like this, her family shouldn’t be a cover that bored her more with every passing day.
Was this what Bella had felt like when Edward turned her? This emptiness inside, that pushed you away from everyone you knew? Had Bella wanted to tear her father and friends apart in the only way she had left to be close to them? She didn’t know. What scared her most was how little she cared. The only thing that mattered was the blood on Liz and Suzie’s lips as they gently sucked in and enjoyed the rush.
She walked a steady pace towards the freezer and the girls left, locked up inside. She recognized their faces. She didn’t remember their names, just some drop outs, runaways, who nobody even thought about anymore. Far too easy to find on the streets. They had been taught to be careful whom they fed on, so the hunters wouldn’t find them. As if there was anything in the world that should scare them! Alicia came up behind her and they both took an arm of the girl in front of them and bit in. The extra set of teeth felt as unfamiliar as a pair of braces.
There was no such thing as vegetarian vampires either. Stephanie Meyer was suuuuch a liar.
The wall was covered with pictures; about five of them depicted young teenage girls. One showed a teenage boy. Next to it was a list of names, about twenty or so kids ranging between the age of 14 and 18. The school had provided the list after some prodding. The principal seemed pretty unconvinced that the camp had anything to do with the case, but once sheriff Miller had asked her for it, using that smooth voice of his, they’d had it in their hands within hours.
Camp Dowry was a well known institution in the area. The camp had been arranged by the county and brought kids together from about ten schools in the direct area. Activities ranged from literary clubs and dramatic arts to archery and obstacle courses. The roster changed from years to year, but the camp’s caretaker was well known and much beloved. Mama Donna, an elderly woman far in her sixties was known to pretty much every kid and parent in town. Many of them had had her as camp leader even in their own childhood. Teachers and parents often volunteered at the camp. And Ms Burns, the local English teacher, said she’d served as a drama coach and chaperone this year.
Donna Martin had been torn up by the very idea that her camp could possibly have any connection to the gruesome murders and had asked Ms Burns to bring the list in her place. The kids on the list were all from Garber’s Open Plains High School. Reid and Prentiss were going through the files, trying to find out the most likely victims. There were too many kids to put police protection on all of them.
The most they’d been able to do was to warn the parents, but how much would that help when most of the previous murders had happened at the victims’ homes, several of them in the children’s own bedrooms.
“So what do we know?”
“We’re dealing with a mission oriented killer.” Emily stated, her voice sounded confident. He hoped it matched her state of mind.
Hotch turned to her. “Why?” His hand moved to his chin. Morgan could practically read the unspoken question in the officers there to listen to them: ‘What does that even mean?’
“None of the murders seem to be sexually motivated. The unsub goes after high risk victims which require a high amount of planning. We’re fairly certain our unsub is a man because the detectives found a man’s footprint in the blood of one of the victims. Yet he doesn’t seem to be out for a hand to hand struggle.” Emily pointed out some of the pictures. “At first sight it seems that the unsub could be somehow physically weak, since he’s paralyzing his victims before approaching them. Yet the decapitations seem to have had great strength behind them, because of the limited amount of blows needed to get through the victims’ cartilage.” She hesitated a moment, as if trying to make sure if she’s right.
“I think he’s avoiding fights, not because he’s scared of them, but because he’s trying to get this over with, with as little of a fuss as possible.”
Hotch nodded, it seemed she was confirming something he already suspected. “And then there’s the bookmarks. All the girls had one of those in their rooms. Most of the victims had previously shown a fascination with Twilight and fantasies about being turned into a vampire.” She looked at the board for a second. “The way he kills them, it’s very specific, very ritualistic. He isn’t just murdering them; he’s slaying them, as if he thinks they’re vampires. Once the ‘threat’ is gone, they become children again, and he has no further desire to hurt them. So he treats the bodies respectfully.”
“I agree.” Derek said, more for the sake of the cops watching them, than to hear his own voice. It was the same reasoning that had been going through his head for the past few hours. “The MO might seem horrific, but the unsub has no real interest in torturing the victims. He doesn’t play with them, there’s no proof of any kind of interaction with the girls before he kills them and no evidence of him trying to gain power over them during or after their deaths. In fact, their deaths are quick, calculated and performed in as little an amount of time as possible.”
“All he cares about is taking them down as quickly and efficiently as he can. I think he’s mostly interested in the girls; the boy he’s killed seems more of an afterthought, like he hadn’t planned for him to be there, but killed him anyway. He probably thought that the girl had infected her boyfriend.”
The local Sheriff stood by the wall, his arms were crossed and he looked as if he was trying to protect himself. Derek wasn’t really focussing on him, but the man’s heavy presence kept pulling at his attention.
“So why these girls?” Hotch got closer to the blackboard. The sheriff’s attention spiked at the question, his eyes steady on the text. “What makes them different from the others? Garcia?”
“Here sir. And before you ask, I’ve got nothing. They’ve all got different backgrounds, the only thing they have in common is the age range, gender and being members of a Twilight fanclub.”
Derek noticed muscles tensing in the sheriff’s hands. He could as easily stop himself from profiling the man, as he could stop himself from breathing. It wasn’t until both their eyes hit the list on the board that Derek realized what it was. The sheriff’s last name was Miller, it was one of the names on the list of possible victims.
In any other case, Derek might be inclined to exclude him from the investigation because of this. But they lacked manpower as it were, and there were over 20 girls to watch out for. No reason to assume that Sharon Miller was any more at risk than any of the others.
“What about the rest of the list?” he asked Garcia, trying to bring his attention back to what mattered.
“Over half of them have an interest in Twilight. Fifteen of them are members of the same fan club. Several of the others have recently logged onto Twilight chat rooms and at least five of them are members of Twilight communities on various blogging sites. ”
“What else have we got.” Hotch was going through the files, hoping to make some sense of things.
“I talked to witnesses in the Stein case.” Reid brought in. “Several of them saw a classic and rather distinct black car in the vicinity of the home. None of the neighbours own one like it.
“Would that be a black Chevy Impala?” Prentiss asked.
“Could be, why?”
“A witness at the Menendez and Tucker scene reported seeing a black Chevy Impala ’67 around the area. The witness is into old cars, so I’m pretty sure he’d know the difference.”
“Noriko Kim also mentioned spotting a black car following them a time or two. “
“Garcia!” Hotch’s voice rang right through the connection.
“I’m on it sir!”
There was something tugging at the back of his mind, whenever someone mentioned that car. Something he should be remembering. This was one of those rare moments where he wished he had a memory like Reid’s.
“Have your men watch out for it. It might be nothing but…”
The sheriff was already pressing numbers. “It could lead us to the bastard before we end up with another body.”
Derek wanted to say something, to assure him they’d keep Sharon safe. But Miller was already busy, placing an APB on the car. His eyes met with Hotch’s as they shared a quiet understanding. They’d have to keep an eye on the man.
Vinnie fought a dopey grin as he pulled out of Marissa. She’d finally agreed to see him that evening. And as he kissed her lips he looked down on her in wonder. It was always the shy ones. Afterwards she lay next to him and lit a cigarette and he took one as well, to fit in.
He coughed as soon as he inhaled. God, he was going to be sick. But he couldn’t be, not now that Marissa was finally noticing him. He heard a sound outside and quickly got out of the bed and grabbed his pants.
Marissa stayed in bed and kept smoking. “Aren’t you worried about your dad finding you?” he asked.
She shrugged. He grabbed his sweater and got ready to head downstairs. “I love you.” He whispered. She pretended not to hear him, but he could see her smile as she turned on the TV.
He managed to enter the kitchen without saying a word. The reverend looked at him, when he went to the fridge, but barely even seemed to notice him. There was a look of utter bliss on his face.
“The angel came by again.” The man whispered, reverence in his tone. “They asked for our help, to gather and to wait.”
“Wait for what?”
“I don’t know.” The way the reverend said it, it didn’t seem to matter. “But I’m sure whatever it is, it is important in the eyes of the Lord.”
Vinnie finished the sandwich he was making and gave it to the reverend. The man had been kind enough to give him a job, a roof over his head and in return he’d been... consorting with the man’s daughter. He closed his eyes in remorse. To do something like that to a holy man like the reverend.
But Marissa! What man could possibly be expected to resist that much temptation.
Sam leaned back in his seat and rested his head on the support. He’d started off the trip trying to look over the agent’s shoulder to the back of the small jet. There were a few seats spread across the cabin, rather than rows of seat like in a regular plane. He’d been forced to sit next to a window, with one agent next to him and another on the seat across from him. He kept trying to scout the cabin. But it wasn’t easy to look over the agent in front of him. The guy was almost as tall as he was. He gave up on that after he got a glare from the feds cornering him in on the other side. At first sight the man had seemed like one of four clones, utter cliché feds, cheap dark suits and all. It was the look on his face that set him apart. Not blank as he’d thought at first, but stoic, inscrutable. Sam wasn’t even sure how he should feel about being on a plane. The police had barely even questioned him. As soon as the feds arrived they’d cuffed him and put him on a plane to Pennsylvania. Oklahoma was all too happy to get rid of him. The only crime he’d committed while in the state was pretending to be someone he wasn’t. He was pretty sure it would take them a while before they started connecting him and Dean to whatever credit card fraud Dean had undoubtedly committed the last time they’d gone through the state.
They hadn’t made him change his clothes. The cops had frisked him and gone through his shirts and pants for lockpicks and weaponry and then left him to stew in a cell until the feds showed up. Three of them wore the blue FBI windbreakers. The other two just wore suits. Then the feds had frisked him a second time and managed to find some iron wire and a bracelet that the cops had missed. And still they let him keep his own outfit, sweater shirt and all. To Oklahoma and Pennsylvania he was simply a person of interest. The only state that really wanted to get its claws in him was Wisconsin and possibly Missouri. Of course he was considered ‘a person of interest’ in every single other state mostly because of his connection to Dean, but that wasn’t the same thing. Not by a long shot.
He wondered what they’d do if they found out about Steve Wandell, or Madison, or that poor nurse he’d allowed Ruby to murder. As if it made any difference, whose hands had been on the knife.
His legs were killing him, and he was tired, bone tired, but he didn’t dare to ask if he could lean back his chair. These airplane seats were made for dwarfs, not men. He was glad to see that the fed , who sat in front of him, was suffering from almost the same problem. He noticed the man’s crutches, that were placed just far enough away that Sam couldn’t reach them. The man groaned and Sam noticed the stiff way that the man placed his leg in the seat.
Sam wondered why someone with a bum leg like that was even on duty. They had to be pretty much convinced that the other four feds on the plane with them would be enough to keep him down if necessary. Well them, the shackles, the lack of space to move even an inch. He fought a yawn and wished he could just stretch his arms. He wondered what would happen if he let sleep overcome him here. With his face onscreen like that, how long would it take for Lucifer to find him for real, instead of this invasion of his dreams?
Last night it had been Nancy. Half her face had been skinned. He could see strips of flesh hanging down her face as well as the tendons and muscles which showed through the open wounds. She’d begged him why, asked him why they’d let her friends die. Why they hadn’t just taken Ruby’s suggestion, at least then her friends would have survived and her death would have been quick. Now instead, her dead had seemed to last forever and she’d been cursing God long before she was finally allowed to die.
One of the clones asked the guy with the crutches if he wanted to drink something. Crutches ordered something to drink and asked Sam if he wanted something as well. Sam had a vague notion that it was the second time the fed repeated his question. He asked for a glass of water. It was the first words they’d exchanged all through the trip.
“Why am I even here?” Sam finally asked. “What am I supposed to have done? I wasn’t even in the state.”
“Shut up Winchester.” Clone one said, this one had light brown hair, the other two were respectively blond and bald . Sam decided to call him Tweety. Yes, Dean had been a bad influence on him all through childhood. The bald guy with glasses was fiddling with a pencil, while clone three, let’s call him ... Mortimer, had just gone off to the back of the plane.
“I just want to know what I’m supposed to have done. You’ve got my phone; you know I haven’t talked to Dean in weeks. He’s not taking my calls and we’re not travelling together.” Not anymore, he added mentally. Not after all he’d done; all the suffering he’d caused. He just wanted to put down his head and sleep, just one hour. Pray your soul’s in heaven before the devil finds you gone, put salt on the coffin, locks on the crypt, but what if heaven would never allow you in?
“So what happened?” wiry boy asked. And the man did look surprisingly young. Dean would grin if he saw him and tease Sam about the suits he’d always made them wear if he saw a guy like this who wore no more than a dress shirt and pants. Not that Dean wouldn’t call the guy a bad example hair wise.
Sam looked away. Almost ashamed that he’d even brought it up in the first place. He figured if he said nothing they’d let it go, but junior fed kept watching him.
“I messed up.” He finally answered.
“What did you do?” Sam took another look at the agent. They could actually look eye to eye and Sam was convinced that not much would change with that, even if they did both stand up. It was hard to notice though, with the way the kid sat slouched back as if trying to hide himself while reading some kind of a science journal. Physics wasn’t really Sam’s thing, but he knew enough to recognize the name of the journal.
“Would you believe me if I told you I started the apocalypse?” The fed didn’t even blink. “I trusted someone I shouldn’t have; let her talk me into … into drinking stuff I should have known not to. And before you know it, I couldn’t stop.”
“You got addicted.” The way he said it, it had that same kind of tone that Lindsey had, that sense of knowing what it’s like to face a demon in a bottle and what it’s like to climb your way out of it.
“That’s one way to call it.”
“What’s the other?” Crutches was still listening. In fact it seemed like he was almost restraining himself from talking about something or other.
“I broke the devil out of hell and betrayed my brother on the way there.” The guy’s lack of belief was almost a relief; it made it easier to talk about what he’d done, because he knew he wasn’t going to be taken serious. So much easier to talk to someone who thought you were insane to begin with. There were no expectations to keep up to. “Dean could have forgiven me for the first, but… I chose a demon over him, and he can’t forgive that. He can’t trust me anymore. And he was right.” Sam closed his eyes. “God, I used to pray every night before going to bed, I’d sit there, looking up at heaven, begging God for normality, and then just for life. For Dean and dad to be safe, for something, anything better than this. I would thank him for any small favours, and say praise in the morning, for all the good we’d meet. And somehow I thought there’d be someone, anyone listening.” He closed his eyes in defeat. “But none of it matters. The angels hate me, my brother hates me and the only one that doesn’t hate me is Lucifer. And I’ll never say ‘yes’ to him. No matter how often he asks.”
“Do you see Lucifer a lot?” The man sitting next to him asked. He seemed to be the one in charge.
“Every night for the past week.” Sam rolled his eyes, too worn out to think of shutting up. “Ever since I spat out that demon blood Hank and his friends tried to get me to drink. Every single night, he’s there, and all I want is for him to go down, so I can just… end it. Find redemption.”
He drained his glass instead of mumbling a rite over it, to turn it into holy water like he’d originally planned. His mouth was parched. The agent was still looking at him. Sam let his head sink down and tried to sleep. Maybe this time the devil wouldn’t find him.
“Pray to God your soul is gone, before the devil knows you’re done.” He repeated, so so tired. “Salt and burn, salt and burn.”
A minute later Victor Henrickson sat beside him.