A criminal minds/supernatural crossover.
Being that I'm at uni I don't get much of a chance to write anymore so I'm only putting up fics once I've written the whole thing. It's short, only 4/5 chapters.
Hope you like it. Please tell me what you think.
reviews are the best views ;)
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
. . .
"So what've we got?" Dean asked.
He was behind the wheel of his Impala, Foreigner was booming out of the speakers, and his foot was planted on the accelerator. Outside, the sun was burning bright. Steam floated off the tar they drove on. Dean was thankful he'd fixed the AC.
"Vampire," Sam told him, looking over a local newspaper he'd picked up. "Two dead so far. The most recent was last night. The crime scene should still be fresh."
Dean took the address and planted his foot further to the ground. What better way to spend the week than hunted down a vamp?
"Guy was found in his bedroom," Sam explained as they walked down the suburban street to the crime scene. They were dressed in cheap suits and were armed with tape recorders. Journalists, they'd learned, seemed to be able to get away with quite a lot. "Not much information has been given to the press, but we know he was tied up."
"So we're dealing with a kinky son-of-a-bitch," Dean smirked.
"You could say that," Sam commented.
They turned the corner and saw a pack of journalists huddled in front of the yellow tap, chomping at the bit. They reminded Dean of a pack of wild dogs, desperate for just one bite of flesh.
Dean was the first to spot the people in clean suits and slacks. "FBI was called in?"
"Its looks like."
Dean ran his eyes over the house. Good suburban house in a good suburban neighborhood. He spotted the window open on the houses left side. Nodded to it.
Sam caught the drift and soon the two were ducking under the police tape and making a B line straight for their opening. The cop who was meant to be manning the line was too held up with the mob of vicious dogs that were the reporters. Anyway, the brothers had found that if you looked official and acted like you were meant to be there, nobody questioned it.
Special Agent David Rossi had worked in the bureau for long enough to recognize agents, sweepers and reporters. The two men who were walking with purpose towards the side of the house hit the mark on the third specification. He nudged his co-worker as to explain himself and headed straight for them.
"Can I help you?" he asked them. His voice was rough and sounded very much like a mafia boss.
"No thank you," Dean smiled.
"We're just making sure nothing was missed on the side," Sam explained. "The murderer might have left something there had he snuck out that window."
Pretty smooth for reporters, Rossi noted. But hey, weren't reporters meant to be smooth.
"What paper you boys work for?"
Dean's smile beamed. "Don't know what you're talking about."
Rossi laughed. This one was a smug bugger. He was just about to answer back when Emily ran up behind him.
"The rest are headed back," she told him. "You and me are staying here and talking to the neighbors."
She looked the boys up and down then focused in on Sam. Something about him was familiar. "Do I know you?"
"I don't think so," Sam commented. He was doing the best to look slightly confused. He'd recognized her as soon as he'd seen her. Emily Prentiss. She'd taken a guest lecture at his school. He'd questioned at the time why lawyers needed to know how to spot serial killers, but it had worked out pretty well in helping him spot demons.
Her dark eyes squinted as she thought. "I got it! Stanford right? I took a lecture there. Your girlfriend came and asked quite a few questions. It starts with an S… Sam? Yeah! Sam."
"You got a good memory there," Dean commented.
"Never forget a face," she smiled. "And Jessica – that was her name right? – she was really interested in that stuff. Haven't talked to her in a while now." Obviously she was oblivious to the fact that Jessica was long gone. "Now, what's a budding lawyer doing at a crime scene half way across the country?"
"I'm a journalist," he explained.
"Gotta pay the rent," Dean sighed.
Rossi titled his head. "Thought you didn't work for a newspaper?"
"We don't," Dean smiled.
One of the agents across the yard called and Rossi excused himself to go see to it.
Dean couldn't help but admire the body of the agent that stood before him. A little older than him, but he liked the experience. He was about to open his mouth with a quirky line that he was sure would have her panties falling right off when she spoke.
"Yeah," Sam smiled.
"So what are you doing past the line?"
"What line?" Dean smirked.
Emily gave a short laugh. She wasn't getting a reporter vibe off either of the boys and wondered how they'd gotten into it. She also wondered how the hell they'd gotten past the officer on duty. Looking at the shorter man, she decided he'd probably be able to talk his way in or out of anywhere.
"You got a name?" she asked him.
"Dean," he smiled.
"I'm special agent Prentiss," she smiled back. "Now, Sam, Dean, I recommend you get out of my crime scene."
She stood there, hands planted firmly on her slack covered hips, and watched them walk away. Hate to see you go, but love to see you leave. Those boys certainly had two fine asses.
Dean wolf whistled as he climbed into the Impala. Damned if she hadn't made him a little hot.
. . .
That's it! Well, the start of it. Few more chapters to go! They'll be up soon, I promise. Hope you like it.