Story Warnings: Later mentions of child abuse, murder, violence-basically everything you'd get from watching either of these shows.

Story Summary: Working a case, Dean and Sam run into a problem, and they make the worse decision possible: they kidnap two members of the BAU. Between Fedsitting and hunting a killer who's collecting siblings, the boys aren't having their best day ever. Gen.

Story Setting: Season 4 for both shows, though time doesn't exactly line up. After "Wishful Thinking" for SPN, after JJ returns for CM.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or Criminal Minds. Or Attalla, Alabama (real place, but fully fictionalized for this story). I am making no money off of this story. Written for fun only.

Author's Notes: Quick clarification, this story has Garcia in it, but it's not affiliated with my one-shot "The Oracle of Quantico."


NOW

Perhaps blasting Metallica wasn't the best choice at the moment. Dean recognized as much, but his fingers refused to pry from the steering wheel. Clicking out the tape would be admitting there was a problem, that this little ride was different from any of the ones before. And Dean wasn't in the mood for the inevitable silence.

Sam, however, was. He reached forward, breaking Metallicar rule numero uno. The cassette clicked out. For half a second, he tensed, ready to toss it over his shoulder in aggravation, but he thought better of it.

It probably wouldn't do to hit their backseat passengers with a flying object. Kidnapping was a bad enough charge without the added assault.

"So," Sam cleared his throat.

Nothing followed.

Dean could feel his brother's eyes on him, asking a silent question, and damned if he had an answer. This was his own fault, Dean knew that, but his little brother had went along with the move. And now they were both regretting the call.

Why the hell didn't they just run for it? Wasn't like Cupcake and the Scarecrow were going to catch up with the Impala before they got off the beaten path.

But running would have meant leaving the job behind. For the Feds to take care of. Two of which were currently nestled in the backseat wearing handcuffs - Dean had told Sam he hadn't picked those up just for kinky stuff - and silent as mute Church mice. The quiet part, that was unnerving in and of itself.

Dean's shoulders tightened when he saw headlights in the distance, beaming through the rain. He couldn't see the make of the car. Narrow green eyes darted up to the rearview mirror, watching their hostages. The kid, sad eyed and slouched, looked longingly at the oncoming vehicle but didn't make a move to alert the driver. Dean released an anxious breath when the car passed without slowing.

"Caleb's cabin?" Sam asked.

Dean jumped slightly, caught himself, and pretended it didn't happen. Jesus. He was wound tighter than a two dollar watch. Grunting, he nodded.

When they'd first arrived in town, they'd decided on the motel instead of the cabin for the simple reason that it had been a near decade since they'd last seen the old shack. Electricity, plumbing, those things were up in the air.

"Don't have much of a choice," Dean replied. "We're going to need somewhere secluded."

The woman behind Sam whimpered slightly. It was strained, as if she'd been trying to hold in the sound far too long. Dean took his eyes off the road for a split second.

"Calm down, Penelope," he said, flashing her what he hoped was a non-predatory smile. "You're gonna be just fine."

"It's not too late." Her voice was higher, pinched. A plum glossed lip quivered slightly. "You could just leave us here…You don't have to do -" She hesitated at the wording, looking desperately to the young man at her side, but the agent was unusually quiet, his brown eyes pleading. Penelope shook her head, the messy ball of blond at her crown bouncing with the movement. "You don't have to do whatever you're planning to do," she finished.

She looked defeated, knowing the words hadn't been enough. Sam was nearly turned in his seat, staring back at her with an apologetic half-smile on his face.

Dean watched the road. Even the desperation in the woman's voice was more welcoming than the quiet settled over the seat behind his. "Hey, kid," he called, not looking up. The agent had called himself something when Sam had asked… Dean's brow wrinkled when he recalled the title. "Got a name other than Dr. Reid?" Dean tried to put a smile in the question and failed. "Seems a little too formal for this situation."

Nearly a minute passed. Dean could practically hear the wheels turning in the young agent's mind. Finally, a reply came.

"Spencer."