Title: Remembrances Of Things Past

Summary: Spencer Reid remembers his time spent with Tobias Hankel, but is more occupied with his mysterious saviours. When a chance comes for him to finally find out what really happened, he latches on with all he has, leading him into a world he never knew existed.

Notes: Takes place early season four for Criminal Minds, and mid season six for Supernatural, after Sam's soul is back, but before 6x15. But since Raphael was killed in the last story, the drama in Heaven is much less.

I know the time line might be a bit messed up, but I didn't want the Apocalypse hanging over their heads while this was going on. Bear with it.

I own nothing.


"Tell me who dies."

"I won't do it."

"Choose and do God's will."

"No."

"My name is Castiel."

"God's will."

"We're going to get you back to civilization."

"My name is Castiel."

Reid woke up with a gasp, his eyelids fluttering open and staying wide as they adjusted to the darkness of his room. He blinked a few times to get the dry feeling out of his eyes and the afterimage of the imposing figure named Raphael out of his brain. He took a few shuddering breaths to calm himself, and pulled the sheets he had kicked away back towards his body.

He had dreamt about that night on and off for the last year and a half. His nightmares were filled with the scent of burning raw, disgusting meat, and the click of an empty barrel spinning closer to his death, of drugs pumping through his veins offering the only solace they could, but with a twisted churning feeling under his skin, irritating his brain. He dreamt of a piercing gaze and gravelly tones and being cradled in old leather seats with the roar of an engine humming in his ears.

He had searched his hardest for the identities of the three men who had saved him, but with only one name to go with a face, it was tough. He thought it wouldn't be too hard, since he doubted Castiel was a common name – the name of the Angel of Thursday, his well-read mind supplied before he could stop himself – but even Garcia couldn't find anyone anywhere she was legally allowed to go that went by the name Castiel. The faces of the two other men were annoyingly familiar, but with the Dilaudid still floating in his system at the time of his rescue he hadn't thought to take note of their features.

The team had called every hospital in Georgia and the surrounding area, giving Reid's description and asking for a call as soon as he showed up. Reid himself was getting settled into a hospital bed, a doctor checking him all over while Reid relayed what had been done to him physically and that he was an FBI agent and his team needed to be called. He drifted off into a morphine-induced sleep and awoke hours later to see his team standing over him, looks of relief passing over their faces when he opened his eyes.

They asked him questions. He directed them as best he could towards the cabin in the middle of nowhere that still held Tobias's bullet-riddled body. He described the three men who rescued him to the best of his ability, pointing out whatever small trait his addled mind had been able to pick up, but it was largely unhelpful. They all searched, knowing how suspicious it was that the three men just so happened across him, even if they did rescue him. But other cases demanded their attention, and so the search was put aside.

Time passed. Life moved on.

Dreams persisted.

Reid sighed and scrubbed his face with his hands, taking a glance at the clock. It wasn't too long until he would have to wake up anyway, so he showered and dressed and ate breakfast, stopping into a Starbucks to grab his morning coffee on his way to work. He had a small mountain of paperwork to get through, and he was pretty certain Prentiss had slipped him a few of her files again. Not that he minded, since it wasn't hard work, and he knew she'd take them back without a fuss if he asked her.

He settled himself behind his desk for another long day writing, and soon fell into a smooth rhythm of scrawling words, typing letters and light thinking, interrupted by the occasional sip of his coffee. He took a small lunch break and suffered through the usual teasing from Morgan about his next cup of coffee, but he didn't feel like telling the man about his restlessness the dreams caused, and got back to work.

The worst part was not knowing, he figured, since a lot of his distress came from that. He wasn't a know-it-all, but Reid liked knowledge. He never felt good when someone else knew something important he didn't know, though in his line of work, that was often the case when a suspect had a victim held somewhere, or there was a body to be found, or something else along those lines.

He heard a squeal coming from the vicinity of Garcia's office and raised his head to look, noticing the others doing the same. Morgan had cocked an eyebrow and silently gotten up to check on her.

"What's up, baby girl?" he asked, and Reid was close enough that he could hear their conversation.

"Oh, just some of the most fabulous news I've gotten through the wonders of the world wide web!" Garcia gushed, and Reid could just picture her face lighting up with a bright grin. He absentmindedly continued his work, keeping enough attention that he didn't make any mistakes, but curious as to what had gotten Garcia so excited.

"Well, don't keep me in suspense."

"Supernatural!" she squealed, "by Carver Edlund! It had been cancelled, but-but-but now," Reid could see a bit of her in the doorway, jumping up and down excitedly. "It's coming back! The author is doing a mass release of all the books he's written since No Rest For The Wicked!"

There was a small noise from Morgan while he processed this information. "Supernatural... Hey, isn't that the thing you wanted to go to some convention for a while ago?"

"Yes," Garcia said, fuelled by Morgan's recognition. "And while it is a good thing I didn't go, what with the murders that happened and all that, I was severely unhappy with missing it, especially since I have no one here to share this amazing series with!"

There was a short silence, then Morgan backed up. "No can do, baby girl," he said with a little laughter. "Not my type of thing."

"How do you know it's not your type of thing if you haven't read it?"

"I read a few chapters, Garcia. Not my type of thing." There was a small silence, then Reid could practically hear the grin in Morgan's voice. "Why don't you ask Reid?"

Reid spun around in his seat at the sound of his name, his mouth automatically opening to say an inelegant, "Huh?"

Garcia looked very hopeful, and Morgan was grinning at him. "He can read the books a lot faster than I can, so you don't have to worry about spoiling him."

"Please, Reid? I really need someone to talk to about this. Chatting on the forums is great, but nothing beats squealing face-to-face."

Reid sighed and scratched the back of his neck. It wouldn't take long, that was correct, and he supposed it wouldn't hurt to be a little more caught-up in pop culture. "I guess I could..."

Garcia squeaked in delight and rushed to his desk to give him a hug, awkwardly shoving her bosom into the man's neck. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she crowed, squeezing Reid tightly until she let go. "I have a few volumes here, including the first few, and we can swing by my place so you can get the rest after work. The new volumes are released next week and I promise you can read them first as long as you don't tell me anything about what happens!"

"O-okay," Reid said, a little overwhelmed and off-guard, though that was nothing new when it came to Garcia. Morgan had retreated back to his desk and Prentiss was giving him a sort of sympathetic smirk, but Garcia looked too happy for Reid to back out now. It wouldn't be that big a problem.

Garcia brought him the books, numbered one through four, and Reid set them on the side of the desk to read after he had finished his work. It didn't take too long for him to get through all his reports, his curiosity about the series that had captured Garcia's attention lending him enough drive to finish everything a little quicker. He leaned back in his chair and took the first book from the pile.

'Supernatural' it read. By Carver Edlund. A painted pair of muscled men graced the cover under a moonlit night, with a dark car by the house in the background.

He sped through the tale of two brothers investigating a vengeful spirit, searching for clues to their father's disappearance and saving people along the way. The writing was a little flowery and amateur at times, and Reid saw signs of someone simply writing to get these ideas out there, then going back and trying to make them more interesting during a second reading, but it caught his interest after a while.

The second book they went after a wendigo, the third a demon. When it was time to start packing up, Reid was halfway through 'Bloody Mary', and Garcia was grinning almost maniacally at him. She swooped in and ushered him to her car, offering him a ride home and the promise of more books. Reid finished the fourth book before they reached her house, and accepted the twenty-odd more books.

He read a few more after dinner and before bed, stopping at 'Home' and setting the other books aside for the next days. There was no rush to read them, since the new books weren't released until next week, though Garcia would likely be checking in on his progress every day.

Reid sighed and shrugged under the covers, closing his eyes and letting himself slip into sleep.

"Tell me who dies."

"No."

Raphael took out his gun, the single bullet placed inside a chamber and spun. "Choose and do God's will."

"No."

He flinched as the trigger was pulled, an empty chamber this time.

"Choose."

"I won't do it."

Raphael's finger twitched again, and the sound of bangs rang in his ears. He flinched and screwed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the inevitable pain, but the sounds of guns wouldn't stop. They kept echoing in the wooden room, and he heard a guttural groan as Raphael/Charles/Tobias Hankel slammed into the floorboards, never to rise again. He opened his eyes and stared in disbelief at his saviours, the tall brunette reloading his shotgun and staring at the corpse as though it might jump up and attack again, the shorter man in the leather jacket slowly lowering his pistol, while the man in the trenchcoat strode confidently towards Reid in the chair.

Then he experienced a bit of dream logic. As he looked into their faces, he knew they were Sam and Dean. Hunters. Saviours. His dream followed the same path as his memories, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything about their identities. What was a name, really? He had just been reading those Supernatural books too soon before bed and it was affecting his subconscious. He could have prattled on about a number of facts and studies done on dreams and sleep patterns, but he was loathe to disrupt the comfortable silence of safety within the car.

He was safe. That was all that mattered.

He woke up gently, easing out of the dream with a hazy fluidity that hadn't come with previous dreams about that incident. Then again, Reid mused as he pushed the covers away from his body, that had been the most pleasant dream about his kidnapping he had ever had. Not that it was saying much, since even the most mundane of his dreams about the event were filled with the same stale terror he had experienced in the past.

He went through his morning routine, and brought the next few books to read as he rode the subway to work, and the same on his way back home. By the next day he was finished 'No Rest For The Wicked' and chatting with Garcia as she debated which brother she liked more and Reid complimented the vast number of creatures and the various methods they dealt with them. They agreed that it was best that they were publishing more books, seeing as how Dean being sent to Hell was the biggest downer ending they could have come up with.

"It's a good way of showing just how much of a brother complex Dean has," Reid mentioned during their lunch break, days before the next series of books would be coming. "Since he would do literally everything to save Sam. There's not much more one can do than sacrifice their soul and let themselves be tortured for all eternity, all for the sake of one person, even if it's a very selfish thing to do."

"Selfish? Honey, it was selfless! Dean couldn't live without Sam!"

"And now Sam's going to have to live without Dean," he pointed out, hearing Morgan passing by and muttering about how he should have seen this coming. "It's been shown how codependent these two are, obsessively so, and Dean's death will be even harder on Sam than Sam's would have been for Dean, because he knows that Dean is in Hell. If Sam had stayed dead, he would most likely be in Heaven, though there could've been a chance that he would have become a spirit that Dean would have had to hunt."

"I think I read a fanfic of that," Garcia muttered thoughtfully. "It was very sad... Do you want me to send you a link?"

"No, I'm fine."

True to her word, when the books came out, Garcia let him read them first. They picked up the box set she had pre-ordered as she gave him a ride home from work, and he promised her he would have the first few returned to her the following morning.

He settled down on his bed after dinner and opened 'Lazarus Rising', reading as Dean was resurrected from Hell with no idea what happened, his reunion with Bobby and Sam, and the suggestion that they see a psychic to find out what pulled him out of Hell.

Then he stopped, because he wasn't sure if he had been reading that seance right.

Castiel.

The name of the Angel of Thursday.

The same name one of his rescuers gave him.

It was too much of a coincidence for Reid, and his body gave an involuntary rolling shiver down his spine. He had been having dreams about his kidnapping more often than usual lately, and so the foggy memories were still fresh in his head.

He pressed on, reading about the demons in the diner, and the darker turn Sam seemed to be taking, while Dean and Bobby summoned up Castiel. A dark-haired man in a trenchcoat, walking in graceful, purposeful strides with the air of an eternal being that could stare into your very soul. An angel of the Lord, he claimed, and Reid couldn't help but compare him to the man he had seen in the shack and think that didn't sound too far off.

He wondered if he would still have those thoughts if he hadn't been having all those dreams recently. The descriptions, of both Castiel and the brothers, seemed spot on. The personalities and mannerisms seemed to match up, though he had to wonder about the relationship between Castiel and the brothers if he really was riding around in an Impala with them, saving young geniuses from serial killers.

He couldn't help himself. He delved into the next book, reading page after page, until he reached the end and picked up the book following that one. He read about the Seals, about Sam's descent into darkness, about the other angels and the divide between them. He read about Castiel interrogating Raphael and felt a chill. He read about the brothers' struggle against destiny and Castiel's growing humanity. Then he closed the book on the epilogue of 'Swan Song' and realized he should really get to sleep.

His mind raced, though, thinking of various news stories he recalled watching about strange phenomenon. He remembered seeing a news story about a brilliant white light erupting from St Mary's Convent in Ilchester, Maryland that was chalked up to a terrorist bombing. The rapid spread of swine flu. The couple that ate each other to death. So many random killings.

It triggered memories in his head, memories of reading reports and files of a pair of brothers named Sam and Dean, of Agent Henriksen, killed in an explosion just like the one in the books.

"It doesn't mean anything," Reid mumbled to himself as he tugged off his sweater and pulled on a pair of pyjama pants. "The author probably just did a lot of research to tie his book together to reality. He probably wanted his readers to remember some of those news reports and think of his book. Rather good marketing strategy, really. Caught me up in it, at least."

He continued mumbling to himself as he slowly drifted into sleep, not wanting to acknowledge the irrational part of his mind that said the book was all true, that he was really rescued by these hunters of the supernatural, that the man who tried to kill him a year and a half ago might not have been a man at all.

It was just a silly notion caught in his brain and stuck there through a lack of sleep. There was no way it was true.

"My name is Castiel."

Right?