Lambs for Slaughter

Chapter 4

A sliver of dulled sunlight stretched over Dean's face, causing him to scrunch up his nose and burrow further into his pillow. Five, ten, or fifteen minutes later, he finally managed to push himself up onto his elbows and look around the room. Sam and Cas must have already headed out, because he was alone.

Dean rubbed a hand over his face, peeking up when he noticed a box labeled with the logo from the donut shop down the street. He grinned widely, only wobbling slightly from the pull from the Mark that made his knees weak, and stuffed a few jelly filled donuts down this throat.

Once he finished breakfast, Dean stumbled into the bathroom for a shower. The steam rose throughout the small room as he let the water heat, causing the mirror to fog as he brushed his teeth. If he was honest with himself, Dean knew he looked like shit. His face was drawn with dark bags under his eyes despite sleeping until almost noon. The thrumming need for bloodlust from the First Blade made his body weaker, chipping away at him until he finally gave in to the pull.

Dean tried to think about the case instead as he washed. They just needed to figure out how to find the crossroads demon. Under Crowley's rule, demons had gotten a lot smarter in their desire for souls, no longer waiting for someone to stumble across a spell to summon them and instead preying on those that don't actually know any better. He hoped that Hotch and his team had skipped town like he told them to, or the case could get messy trying to keep more people out of the shitstorm the demon had created.

After he shut off the water, Dean dried himself off, stepping out and wiping a hand across the mirror. At least he looked better than he did. His muscles still trembled slightly, but his color was starting to return. There was a slight tremor shooting its way up his arm as he dressed, but Dean did his best to ignore it. Before he could get comfortable on the bed once again, with his laptop by his side to see about doing some research, there was a knock on the door.

Dean stiffened, knowing that Sam would have just used his key to come in and Cas would rather teleport than walk like a normal freakin' person. He paused long enough for the banging to continue, harder this time. Dean quietly rolled onto his feet and grabbed the gun on his bedside table before making his way towards the door, careful not to make any noise. He didn't want to look through the peephole and risk his shadow announcing his presence, so Dean opted for a tactical approach, twisting the knob and holding his gun out in front of him, yet still out of sight.

He wasn't sure who he was expecting, but it sure as hell wasn't Hotch and one of the agents from last night. Damnit, why does nobody listen to him when he's just trying to keep them safe?

His chest tightened in surprise, but he didn't dare lower his weapon. Dean wasn't naive enough to believe the two men in front of him weren't armed to the teeth, and it wasn't as if Dean was unaware of the many warrants out for his arrest. Their dark eyes watched him warily, like some kind of animal they had cornered after a long and tedious hunt.

Not exactly reassuring.

"Here to arrest me, then?" Dean asked with feigned nonchalance. "Because I'll tell ya, you won't be able to hold me for long. Cas isn't too fond of me being locked up."

Hotch blinked, then grimaced. "We aren't here to arrest you, Dean."

"At least not yet," the agent with the darker skin and tight henley threw in. "So you can put away your firearm."

"Well that sure gives a guy some peace of mind," Dean sniped, but clicked the safety on and tucked his gun into the back of his waistband anyway. "What brings you 'round this part of town, agents?"

"Dean," Hotch breathed out with an air of someone who jumps straight to the point. "May we come inside? We just want to talk."

He watched the two men for a few long moments, cataloguing their stance, the tension in their shoulders, the set of their jaws. "You're scared," Dean observed lightly, unsurprised when the agents looked taken aback. Not everyday that a wanted serial killer profiles the profilers. "And I'm guessin' you want answers."