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In typical Winchester fashion, they find trouble without really meaning to.
They’ve stopped to catch a meal at a diner on the way back to the bunker, and when they head out to Baby, all of them ready to be back home, Castiel pauses.
“What?” Dean teases somewhat nervously. “Did you forget how to use a door?” He leans against the side of the car, and Sam sits half hanging out of the passenger seat, door open, waiting for his response.
“There are demons nearby," Cas declares.
“What?” Sam questions, looking as confused as Dean feels. “Why?”
“I do not know. But they have a child.”
Sam’s face closes off, jaw setting, and Dean swears. There’s no way they can just leave now. “Alright, everyone in the car. Cas, give us directions.”
There’s a sketchy abandoned old building on the outskirts of town, but Dean knows better than to think it’s empty, despite its rundown state. He also knows that they have given up all elements of surprise by driving right up to it, but he doesn’t really care. With Cas on their side, a couple of demons should be an easy enough pit stop that they still make it home before dark.
They advance on the building, weapons drawn and at the ready, Cas leading the way. Cas, of course, doesn’t really need anything but himself. They burst through the doors, and when the demons look delighted to see them, Dean knows nothing good can come of this.
“The Winchesters!” One of them crows, “We heard you were in the area; thought we’d set up a little surprise for you.”
The surprise, Dean notes with disgust, is the aforementioned kid. He looks young and is terrified, shaking against the back wall, one of the demons keeping guard.
“You’ve been such a nuisance to our plans. I wonder what the FBI will think upon finding you with one of their agent’s kid."
Honestly, it’s not that bad of a setup, but Dean doesn’t really care about the FBI. He needs to get this kid out of here. But if the feds are going to be on their asses, they can’t just stab and run like they normally do.
“Change of plans," Dean says. “Cas, go.”
Cas flies across the room, snatching the kid and getting him out of the crossfire. Dean and Sam launch themselves towards the three demons, chanting the exorcism in tandem, trying to keep the demons engaged enough to not go after Cas while keeping the casualties to a minimum.
Cas appears at the far end of the building, setting the small child onto the floor and crouching down in front of him. “My name is Castiel. I am not going to hurt you.” He begins as he gently checks the child over, peering into his soul for any signs of harm. “What is your name?” he asks when he deems the child well.
"Jack," the child answers nervously, and Cas smiles.
“What a wonderful name. That’s my son’s name as well.”
He notices Jack’s attention shifting back over to the fight behind him, and Cas manifests his wing, bringing big, black, feathery limbs into the visible plane. Jack is so in awe of them that Cas doesn’t even think he realizes he’s being distracted from something.
“Whoa!” Jack exclaims, immediately reaching out to touch, gently running a hand over the soft feathers. Cas takes a moment to lessen the memory of the demons in the child’s mind, taking away all fear and horror of the past several hours. “Pretty.” He coos, and a warm feeling settles in Cas’s chest as he feels torn between flattered and embarrassed. His wings aren’t what they once were. “You’re a bird," Jack declares, and Cas laughs.
“While our wings are similar, I am an angel of the lord, not a bird.”
“An angel,” Jack repeats absentmindedly, still fascinated by his wings. “Can you do magic?” He questions a moment later, drawing his gaze up to look him in the eye.
Cas thinks for a moment. “I can fly. I suppose I can also do this.” He holds out one hand and pulls a drop of grace from beneath his skin, letting it dance and make shimmering shapes in his palm. It’s not as visually impressive as something a witch might be able to do with their magic, but angels were practical, built to be tools, not for showy party tricks. There are no electronics around for him to manipulate, and he doesn’t think a child would take well to him blowing out the lights.
Cas feels Dean coming up behind him and lets the grace fade back into his vessel, shifting a little so Dean can see Jack now that the fight is over. “This is Jack," Cas introduces, and Dean’s face softens as his eyes land on him.
“He okay?” Dean asks, unfazed by Cas’s wings. Cas likes to keep them out at the bunker, and Dean has helped groom them multiple times.
“He is unharmed," Cas confirms.
“Alright, buddy,” Dean says, squatting down next to Jack. Cas shifts his wing to accommodate both of them. “I’m going to teach you a fun new word.”
Jack looks at him expectantly, shifting from being sad at losing Cas’s magic to excited at learning a new thing.
“Sometimes people look nice, but they’re actually mean. And those mean people don’t like the word ‘Christo.’ Can you say that?”
“Christo,” Jack repeats diligently, and Dean gives him a high-five.
“Awesome job, little dude. Now remember, if they don’t like that word, they’re not friendly, and you need to ask for help, okay?”
“Okay.”
Dean ruffles his hair, and the kid giggles.
“Everything's all clear," Sam says, coming up behind him. “The demons have all gone, and all the people they possessed look okay; they’re just unconscious." He reports.
“Whoa!” Jack exclaims in awe for the second time that day. “You’re taller than my dad." He says, staring at Sam.
“Yeah, can you believe this sasquatch? He’s taller than me, and he’s supposed to be my little brother.” Dean says, making Sam roll his eyes.
“He doesn’t look very little,” Jack observes.
“No,” Dean agrees, “I guess that leaves you to be the little one.”
“I’m not little," Jack insists. “I’m a big boy.”
“Is that so?”
“I’m five," Jack says, splaying out his hand for them to see.
Sam scoops Jack up, settling him on his shoulders. “Now you’re taller than all of us.” He says. “Which leaves Dean to be the little one.”
“Cas is literally shorter than me.” Dean snarks, standing to his feet.
“I’m as tall as the Chrysler building.” Cas reminds, standing as well.
Dean huffs in playful annoyance, and Sam laughs as Dean goes to check out the front of the building. He stops by one of the cracked windows, peering out towards where they left Baby, looking for any more signs of a trap.
“We have company.” He reports seriously, and Sam quickly hands Jack back off to Cas, reaching for his weapon again.
“FBI! Come out with your hand up!” a voice calls from outside.
“They did say he was a fed’s kid,” Sam recalls as they try to figure out what to do.
Cas shifts his wings out of the visible spectrum but keeps them ready. “We go out calmly and try to find his father. If things go wrong, I will fly us all away.”
“Okay, me and Sam will go out first, but stay close to Cas, just in case.”
They tuck their weapons away, hoping to appear non-threatening and resolve this without a fight.
“We’re coming out!” Dean yells back, pushing open the door carefully.
They step out into the light and are faced with a line of guns pointed at them, trigger-happy agents ready to go. “Put your hands up!” They demand. Sam and Dean raise their hands to show they’re unarmed but linger slightly in front of Cas, as if trying to protect him since he can’t do the same. One of the agents must find this threatening because someone fired their gun.
Cas is faster, curling his wings around both of the brothers as well as the boy in his arms, keeping them safe from the stray bullet even as the others yell.
“Don’t shoot, you idiots!” Dean snarks angrily.
“We have a kid!” Sam explains.
“Everyone, put your weapons down!” One of the agents commands, “Don’t fire at unarmed civilians.” He and another agent step forward to meet them, standing between them and the other men.
“I am Special Agent Derek Morgan, and this is my partner, Spencer Reid.”
“I wish I could say it’s nice to meet you, but you tried to kill us,” Dean says with a glare. Cas drops his wings from around them, instead pulling them tight around Jack. Humans can’t see them, and it doesn’t block the child from sight, but it makes Cas feel better all the same. Jack must be able to still feel them slightly and seems reassured by the comforting weight, tucking himself further into Cas. “You okay, Cas?” Dean questions, already over all this nonsense.
“The bullet did not harm us.”
“Did it hit you?” Dean questions, like he should be expecting blood to start gushing from one of his wings.
“It did not harm me,” Cas reassures again.
“Is there something you wanted, agents?” Sam asks, as if this were a pleasant outing.
“You are Sam and Dean Winchester.” Agent Reid says, “You have been caught by the FBI and eluded us an equal number of times. You have been accused of many crimes, some of which you have confessed to, but you have never been charged with any. Now we find you have a missing child in your possession.”
"Yeah, that doesn't look great for us," Sam muses.
“I guess we should’ve left him with the psychos in there then, huh?” Dean mutters bitterly. He turns to Sam. “Cover me, will you?" He prompts, and Sam seamlessly slides a little closer, keeping a sharp eye on the agents as Dean diverts his attention to Jack.
“Do you know these people?” He asks softly. Cas shifts so Jack can see them, and the child nods.
“They work with my dad.”
“Do you want to go with them?”
“We just want him returned safely." Agent Morgan tries to interrupt.
“In a minute.” Dean snips, glaring at them before turning to Jack again.
Jack stares at them for a moment. “What if they’re bad?”
“We can use that special word we learned," Dean promises. “And if they’re bad, you can stay with us.”
Jack shakes his head, burying his face back into Cas’s collar. “I want my dad.”
“Who’s—“ Dean starts to ask, but Cas cuts him off.
“Aaron Hotchner.”
“No dice," Dean calls back to the agents. “Kid wants his dad, and only his dad. Where is Aaron Hotchner?”
___ ___ ___
Aaron Hotchner is having the worst day of his life.
It’s kind of an impressive accomplishment, given what he does for a living, but his son was kidnapped several hours earlier, and he hasn’t had a moment of peace since. He’s only being held together by too much coffee and sheer force of will, but his fear and anxiety thrum just under his skin. He’s pretending he doesn’t notice it, the pounding of his heart, the shaking of his hands, or the desperation of his thoughts. Then, his phone rings and he almost jumps out of his seat, so he’s not doing a very good job of it.
“Special Agent Hotchner.” He answers without looking at the caller ID. He doesn’t have time for that, not when every second that passes is one more where his son is in danger.
“Hotch, it’s Reid. We found Jack. He’s alive and appears to be unharmed.” Reid says, straight to the point. Hotch sags against the chair, and his head spins with relief.
“Why haven’t you brought him to me yet?” He asks and hopes that his team can forgive how short-tempered he is with them. He doesn’t mean to be so blunt and harsh, but he won’t truly feel better until he’s holding him in his arms.
“That’s the problem,” Spencer explains, and Hotch can hear his hesitancy even through the phone. “They won’t release him to anyone but his father.”
Immediately, Hotch is on his feet, barely retaining enough wherewithal to grab his keys on the way out the door. “Tell me where you are.” He demands. “I’ll be there in 10.”
It’s not a trip that typically could be made in such a short amount of time, but Hotch doesn’t care, not with his heart in his throat, mouth dry as he wonders what demands are going to be made for his son’s return. There’s something that Reid wasn’t telling him over the phone, which was bad because it meant he wanted there to be less time for Hotch to stress about it, even if it was only a couple of minutes.
He pulls onto the scene, car screeching obnoxiously in a way that will have him feeling embarrassed later, but for now, he throws himself from behind the wheel, keys still in the ignition. Morgan intercepts him, but by now, he knows the secret they were keeping from him. These were the Winchesters. The fucking Winchesters—mass murder, unrepentant serial killer Winchesters—have his son.
They seem peaceful enough, content to stand a little bit away from Reid, the rest of the force lingering in the background. The Winchester brothers stand on either side of a man in a trench coat, who is holding his son in his arms. Sam stands on the left side, slightly in front of the other two, just enough to slide right in front of Trenchcoat, covering part of his arm from view. His posture is relaxed, but it’s forced, and he’s obviously keeping an eye on the agents, waiting for any sign of aggression.
Dean is on the right and has firmly tucked himself against Trenchcoat’s side. They seem to be close—more than just physically—because Trenchcoat says something that makes him laugh, and he rests his head on his shoulder. Hotch isn’t naive enough to think that Dean isn’t also watching them, because every once in a while his fingers twitch, like he wants to readjust a grip on a weapon that isn’t there.
Trenchcoat is a new addition to the Winchester dynamic, and he throws off any previous conclusions they might have drawn about the pair. He’s also impossible to read, his face and body language expressionless, like it’s something he forgets to do. The stoic facade only seems to break when he interacts with someone else, melting into something soft and loving as he talks with Dean or Jack.
The way that Jack clutches onto the trench coat shows that these men were not the ones to hurt him, but instead might be the only thing that could protect him. It sets Hotch on edge. He tries to force himself out of worried father mode, but he’s mostly just faking it, his anxiety continuing to hum under his skin.
“What are their demands?” Hotch asks immediately, trying to ignore the dread building in his chest.
“They don’t have any,” Morgan says, and Hotch’s brain lags for a moment.
“What?” He asks dumbly.
“They don’t have any," Morgan repeats. “They just said that Jack wanted his dad, and they wouldn’t give him to anyone else.”
“Okay,” Hotch says, and takes a deep breath. “I’ll go find out.”
Morgan follows after him but stops by Reid again, letting Hotch cross the last few feet to stand in front of the trio alone. “I’m Aaron Hotchner, Jack’s—“
“Dad!” Jack interrupts, and Hotch can’t prevent himself from smiling.
The trio exchanges a glance before Dean speaks up. “Hey, kid. Want to tell your dad that fun new word you learned?”
For a moment, Hotch fears what kind of terrible things they’ve told his son, but when his five-year-old happily exclaims the Latin word for Christ, he just finds himself feeling confused. Though, didn’t their case file mention something about religious fanaticism?
“What are your terms for his release?” Hotch cuts in before they can stall any longer, and they all just look at him in bewilderment.
“What do you mean?” Sam asks.
“He thinks that we mean to keep his child away from him until he gives us something we want in return,” Trenchcoat says, stepping forward to hand Jack to him.
“Bye wings," Jack says, easily trading his grip on the trench coat for one on Hotch’s jacket. Hotch just takes his child, feeling a little stunned.
“What the fuck?” Dean exclaims. “I know you think we’re psychos, but he’s, like, five. He’s a kid, not a bargaining chip.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t swear in front of said kid, Dean.” Sam scolds lightly.
“What? I swear in front of Jack all the time.”
“Jack is not a five-year-old human child.” Trenchcoat points out, settling himself back at their sides. “Our son is also named Jack,” Trenchcoat explains.
Maybe if he reminded them of their own child, that explains why they weren’t keen to do him any harm. "Right," he says, trying to gather himself. “Jack, you okay, buddy?”
“He was unharmed," Trenchcoat says. “They wanted him for leverage, nothing more.”
“Frickin’ demons,” Dean mutters under his breath. There’s the religious language again.
Jack nods. “Cas can do magic.” He informs excitedly. Trenchcoat must be called "Cas" then. What an unusual name.
“Wait, really?” Sam asks, sounding surprised.
“Not like what Rowena has taught you to do,” Cas says.
“Cool. You’ll have to show me later.”
“Whoa,” Dean cuts in. “The only person Cas is showing anything to later is me. And besides, I already knew Cas could do magic. He has this trick with his tongue—“ Dean starts to tease but cuts himself off, ducking as Sam reaches around to smack his head.
“Don’t be crass in front of the child, Dean.” Cas scolds as well.
“Such a party pooper.” Dean huffs, but it’s obvious he’s amused himself.
“Ignore him,” Sam says, as if Hotch hadn’t stopped trying to follow along with their conversation five minutes ago. “He’s just mad because today he found out he’s the shortest.”
“Again with this!” Dean says, sounding exasperated.
Cas rolls his eyes at their antics. “He only brings it up because you react so heavily to it.” He says, as if Dean doesn’t understand the finer points of sibling dynamics.
“I rode on his shoulders.” Jack cuts in. “I was so tall I touched the ceiling.” He informs seriously.
Sam laughs. “I don’t think I’m quite that tall.”
“I’m tall enough to—“
“We know, Cas," Dean deadpans. “But it’s my short ass that’s driving you home, so you all better cut out this crap.”
“That is,” Sam glances over at the rest of the team, looking somewhat concerned for the first time, "if they let us leave.”
Dean turns to evaluate them, as if he had forgotten they might not want to let them go.
“Do not worry, Sam. Agent Hotchner was always going to let us go if it meant the safe return of his child.” Cas says, and they all turn to look at him.
“Right, well, thanks for that, Agent.”
“Is now a bad time to mention the three unconscious people still in that crappy old building?”
“No. It is important information they will need to know before we leave.” Cas says.
“Which we should do before they change their minds.” Dean suggests, “Bye, Agents. Hope to see you again, never.” He says with a jaunty wave before ushering the others back towards the building, assumedly to where they’ve parked their car out of sight from the road.
Hotch watches them go, eyes glancing down to where Jack has fallen asleep in his arms, and can’t find it in him to regret letting them leave. He goes back to the team, informing them of the unconscious people inside that will likely need to be held for questioning, and then settles himself off to the side to revel in the feeling of having his son alive and well again.
He waits to see the Winchesters’ iconic black car pull away from the building, but even as the agents patrol the perimeter and look inside for the other possible victims, neither they nor the car is found. It’s like they’ve just disappeared into the night, leaving nothing behind but their memory and the mystery of the past several hours.