Title: Red Cell Hunting

Author: Sam

Fandom: CM: Suspect Behavior

Pairing: Mick/Prophet/Cooper, Gina/Beth

Rating: FRM – slash, blood, vampires, violence

Disclaimer: Not mine, no money made.

Summary: They've always hunted monsters, sometimes they just happen to be more supernatural than serial killer.

A/N: Comment fic prompt: CM: Suspect Behavior; team; they're monster hunters á la Supernatural.

Link: .?thread=50240285#t50240285

It was true that anyone Hunting had gotten into the life for reasons of their own; either tragic or bloody, usually both. Whatever the reason, whatever the story, every Hunter had a specialty; every Hunter had a past.

A couple of years ago Prophet had been the favored pet of a vampire nest, living out his last few hours in the apathetic lethargy that came with major bloodloss, alternating between being used and being used for food.

For Mick it had been werewolves snacking on the citizenry in London; painting the streets a horrific river of red that had not been seen since Jack the Ripper. His sister Jenna had been out with her their neighbor and her daughter, walking back home from the movies when the beast attacked, cutting down Mrs Wellington and little Millicent, giving Jenna time to run; scratched, her clothes torn, but not bitten.

Gina had watched her fiance murdered while under the spell of a Woman In White, his eyes glued to hers even as his mouth devoured the Woman in a desperate kiss, her fingers reaching into his chest to crush his unfaithful heart.

Beth had had her youngster sister drained by a shtriga while she was in the room, huddled under the cartoon She-Ra covers of her bed; too afraid to call out to their father still working in his office down the hall as the creature pulled at Danielle's life force until all that was left was an empty husk.

And Cooper...well Cooper had his own demons to deal with. Literally, or so it would seem. He didn't talk much about the demon that had killed his friend all those years ago, but anyone could see it still haunted the man.

It gave them experience. Let them see into things that other people, even other FBI and BAU teams, couldn't see. It allowed them to save lives.

This time the case that had the Red Cell team flying to Montana in search of six missing college students from Flathead Valley Community College also brought them a nest of vampires and a host bad memories for Prophet.

The nose that buried itself in his neck followed the line of blood flowing under the surface of his skin from behind his ear to his collarbone, sending a tremor of pure fear down his spine. Prophet held completely still as the leader of the larger nest they had found scented him, trying not to give in to the irrational fear that screamed for him to fight, to run – run NOW! But Mick was out there, and this one was the only vampire left alive. Wait. He could wait. He had to wait.

The whimper that barreled out between his tightly pressed lips made the creature smile; the tongue that came out to taste where that nose had just been had his fists clenched at his sides, his skin crawling in aversion to the memories that too intimate touch brought back.

/I've got you Prophet. Ten seconds./

Ten seconds and the bastard wouldn't be touching him anymore. Ten seconds and the unnaturally strong hand gripping into his shoulder would no longer be there, holding him down, holding him still. Holding him...

"You've belonged to our kind before," the sly voice oiled its way past his ears, down into his lungs, squeezing out the air he had just drawn in relief. "I can taste them on y-"

The shot rang out short and sharp, bringing with it a neat round hole oozing smoke in the center of the vampire's forehead and the warm spray of blood against Prophet's neck where the vampire had Prophet held pinned against the barn wall, splintered by the force of his back hitting the aging wood. Dropping to the floor with an eternal look of offended surprise, the hand still tangled in the collar of Prophet's shirt ripped the abused sleeve at the seam, taking the brown material with him as he hit the floor.

Wiping the blood off of his neck with the ruined remains of his shirt, Prophet sighed and tossed the plaid rag, hitting the slowly rotting body of the vampire leader at his feet. Dammit he had liked that shirt.

/Prophet, you all right?/

Cooper, not Mick.

Prophet took a moment to close his eyes, taking a breath and letting it out before touching the pod in his ear and beginning his search of the rest of the room, ignoring the hands that shook, knowing this branch of the nest was dead and Mick would be on his way down from the tree out back of the barn. "Yeah, Coop, I'm good. Mick got'im before he got me."

No need to ask how Cooper knew something had gone wrong; the man always knew.

/Good. I'd hate to have to request a new agent. Just got you broken in./

Tossing the handwritten journal, only slightly smeared with blood found under the dead weight of what had been the leader's mate, into a messenger bag he was pretty sure belonged to their missing college student, Prophet pushed through the last fog of fear at what really had been a close call and started collecting what jewelry they knew belonged to the dead that had brought their red cell to Montana. Maybe the leader had decided vampire life really was like a Twilight movie and did them all a favor by writing his memoirs with locations of other nests. If they were lucky maybe they could even get the names of the vampires other victims out of this mess; give the families closure at least.

If Mick hadn't been there...

Prophet shook his head to get rid of the memories before they choked him. That nest was long gone; the leader and his mate just as permanently dead as this one was now.

"Yeah, not that easy to get rid of Prophet, man."

/I hear that. Tell Mick a vampire nest is no place for adrenaline-fueled indiscretions and that Beth and Gina may still need your help over in Kalispell./

He laughed, feeling the last of the dread drain away and about to confirm when Mick himself pushed him against the wall of the barn. Leaner body pressing him against the rough wood, Prophet took in the slightly wild look burning in the brown eyes pinning him and sucked in a breath as, rifle held in his right hand, the left reaching up past his shoulder to press the mic in his own ear, the sniper held his gaze as he confirmed, "Will do, Cooper. Finishing up here. Will rendezvous with the girls in 10."

/Copy that, Cooper out./

Tapping the link closed, Mick dove in for a reaffirming kiss, palm moving to cup his cheek before trailing down to his throat, still spotted with the splatter of dried blood, where it stayed, a welcome reminder for both of them. Prophet opened up and pulled him in until their hips connected, the added warmth more than welcome in the cold night air.

"You sure you're all right?" Mick prayed against his lips, the hand splayed against his skin patting his collar twice before reluctantly falling away.

"Yeah," he whispered in return, already missing that connection. "You got him before he got me."

"No one gets to bite you but me," Mick told him, the sudden wolfish grin belying the seriousness of the close call. "Not anymore."

Prophet grinned, huffing out a laugh and thinking his legs may actually hold him through the rest of this.

"But first," Mick leaned in as if to run his nose along the very vein Packard had been so interested in before Mick shot him, reclaiming territory, only to pull back and deadpan, "You need a shower, mate. You've got vampire brains all over you."

"So much for romance," Prophet smacked him on the arm, picking up his bag of supplies while Mick started sloshing gasoline around the place. "And if I have vampire brains on me, you put them there," he reminded the younger man, causing the reappearance of that cocky grin.

All of the vamps were dead, either shot in the head by Mick or taken out by Prophet with the machete; all of kids that could be saved had been snuck out while the leader and his second had argued over who got to play with who first. Getting the kids out had been Coop's job while they handled the cleanup, leaving Prophet and Mick to burn down the evidence before taking the other SUV to meet up with Beth and Gina at the smaller nest site.

Bumping the younger man's shoulder as the barn blazed to the treetops behind them, Prophet threw the messenger bag into the truck alongside his duffle, slipping into the passenger seat when Mick stole the keys. He didn't even argue. It would give him time for a sketchy wash and to reload, and he didn't really feel like driving anyway.

One of these days he was going to corner Cooper and ask about those special bullets the man made. Never failed to drop a monster yet, no matter what they were hunting, or what gun they were fired from...