Chapter Text
It was meant to be simple.
The unsub’s holding a young boy hostage in his house, a run-down cabin a ways into the forest. The team have been helping the local police department to find a serial killer, creating a comprehensive profile that narrowed the suspects down to a white male in his late-thirties who’s kidnapping children in order to make up for the loss of his two twins. He’s killed three children between ages seven and ten, two girls and a boy, and is showing to escalate.
And that’s bought you to now.
“We have to go in!” The local sheriff argues, starting to order his men to gear up and call in SWAT.
“Are you stupid?” You pipe up. “If we storm the place, you’ll scare him and we’ll loose one more life which is completely unneces-“
“Y/N, that’s enough,” Rossi cuts you, the youngest agent, off. You sigh and slink back, glaring at the local enforcement. You’re the youngest on the team, six years younger than boy genius, and was promptly adopted into the BAU family two years ago. Rossi immediately took a shine to you, seeing too much of himself in you. Loyal, fierce, and at times, downright reckless.
“What they’re trying to say is that we don’t want to startle Mr Davenport so the best route is negotiation.”
The sheriff looks over you two and sighs, giving a nod and dismissing you with a wave. You return to the team.
“What’s the verdict?” Emily asks.
“Negotiation,” Rossi replies, “and Y/N almost got their head kicked in.”
Hotch nods. “Okay. Morgan and Prentiss, I want you two ready to go, worst case scenario. L/N, I want you to try and negotiate with him. Dave, watch over them and make sure they don’t get themselves killed. Reid, JJ, and I will try and find a way to get the boy out.”
Everyone nods and splits off. You and Rossi head over to the small area set up in front of Mr Davenport’s house. You go to grab the megaphone, only to be stopped by Rossi.
“Kid, be careful,” he warns, “you know how unstable this guy is. I don’t want you doing anything stupid.”
You nod before turning the megaphone on. “Mr Davenport!” You call. “I’m Y/N, I’m with the FBI. What’s going on in there?”
Suddenly, a window opens, and the local police aim their guns, ready to take a shot. Rossi puts his hand up and turns to the sheriff. “Get your officers to put their guns away. It’s making me nervous, imagine how this guy feels. We have to negotiate.”
“You can’t take him!” A voice comes from the open first-floor window. “You can’t!”
“Okay,” you reply. “Do you mind telling me why?”
“He’s mine!” Mr Davenport shouts as his face shows at the window. He’s gaunt, his face is long, pasty, and his black hair is greasy, coming down to just under his chin. His eyes seem hollow.
“With all due respect Mr Davenport, you can’t own people. That was outlawed in 1865, over a hundred years ago.”
“He’s my son! He’s my boy!”
You sigh. “How old are you, Mr Davenport?”
The question appears to catch the unsub off-guard. He frowns.
“I-I’m sixty-three.”
“Okay. If your children were alive today, how old would they be?”
Rossi raises his eyebrow at you; what are you planning?
“Twenty-four.”
Rossi’s eyes widen—oh shit. You’re going to exchange yourself with the boy. “You can’t do that.”
You turn to the older agent. “Dave, what other choice do we have? He won’t give that boy up.”
“But then we risk loosing you!”
“I agreed to that risk when I took this job.” You turn back to the house. “Mr Davenport, I’m twenty-four. The boy you have is the wrong age. He’s only ten. Do you think we can trade? I’ll be your child. I didn’t have a father growing up.”
That’s true; you father walked out on you when you were just a kid, leaving you with your single mum and your two older brothers, forced to share a two-bed apartment on the rough side of town.
“Okay.”
“Can I come to the door please? Then, you can send the boy out, and I’ll come in.”
“…Okay.”
Immediately, the place jumps into action. Rossi grabs you by the shoulders, forcing you to drop the megaphone. His eyes tell all.
“What the hell are you thinking, kid?” He almost yells. “He won’t let you go after this.”
“I’ll find a way out,” you reply, taking his gun off and placing it on the table next to the megaphone. The unit chief runs over, his brow furrowed.
“Y/N! Are you insane? That wasn’t a part of the plan! You could die in there!”
“If I don’t go, that kid doesn’t return to his dad. I can’t let that happen.”
“And I can’t loose an agent! Let alone a friend!”
“Hotch, if you can tell me another way to get that boy out alive, I’ll take it. Tell me, anyone, right here, right now,” you seethe.
At this point, the whole team have gathered round, abandoning their previous positions to hear the argument between you and the two agents; the ‘dads’ and you, the youngest. There’s a deathly silence in the group—you’re right.
There’s no other way to do this.
Rossi lets out a long sigh before turning to you. “Okay. You promise us, promise me, you’ll get out of there alive.”
You nod. “I promise.”
“Let’s go.”
You grab a bulletproof vest, strapping youself up, before walking up to the front door. The porch is withering away, broken boards making deadly tripping hazards and the smell of urine strong enough to make anyone vomit.
“Mr Davenport!” You call. “I’m here. Can you bring Jason to the door please?”
There’s rustling inside, and the door creaks open. You look down to see a short boy, up to just above your hip, walk out. He stops in front of you, looking at his feet. You kneel down.
“Hey, kid,” you greet, “do you want to get out of here?” Jason nods. “Good. Now, you need to run down to where the police are, okay? Can you see the man with the long hair?” You point to Spencer, and the young boy nods. “Awesome. Go to him, and he can take you to your parents, alright? Go on.”
Jason nods and takes off running, letting you get back up. Immediately, you’re greeted with a shotgun pointed at your face. Mr Davenport is stood there, in a jumper and trousers that definitely haven’t been washed in at least three days. You nod and follow the man inside.
—•—
“It’s been three hours, Hotch, and radio silence,” Rossi panics. “They haven’t got out yet.”
“Dave, I really don’t know what we’re meant to do,” Hotch replies, “we can’t scare the unsub; we both know how that’ll end.”
“What if we take him by surprise?” Morgan asks, butting in. “If he thinks Y/N’s his kid, he’ll try and make a routine, right? It’s seven, which is a normal time for people to eat.”
The team think over this for a while.
This is it.
Donned in bulletproof vests, earpieces in, and guns at their waists, the BAU move in. Morgan and Prentiss take the front door, JJ and Reid head to the side gate, and Rossi and Hotch move in from the back door.
“Okay. Go,” Hotch orders and breaks in the back door. Sure enough, you and Mr Davenport are sitting there, Mr Davenport eating and you’re there, hands tied behind your back, bulletproof vest off. “Mr Davenport, put your hands in the air, now!”
It happens in an instant.
Two shots.
Mr Davenport falls from his chair, bleeding on the rotting wooden floor, a hole in his chest.
One hole.
Rossi’s head shoots up and looks at you. You’re in a white shirt. It was white. A red splotch is slowly spreading from your abdomen. You fall to the side.
“We need medics in here! Now!” Hotch shouts as Rossi runs to your side. He’s dropped his gun, discarded somewhere on the floor, and catches you before you hit the floor.
“R-Rossi?” You ask. The senior agent shushes you.
“Don’t talk, okay? Just stay awake. The medics will be here soon. Please, just keep your eyes on me. Keep looking at me.”
Dave’s eyes are becoming glossy with tears, one rolling down his face. One hand’s keeping pressure on your wound, the other running a hand through your hair.
“I-I’m sorry,” you splutter. The team is frozen, unable to do anything. They can’t do anything.
“What for?” Dave asks, his voice thick with emotion, yet still gentle, as though he were a father looking after his child, comforting you as though you’re sick.
“I d-didn’t k-keep my p-promise,” you stutter, breathing laboured and heavy. Rossi’s eyes widen.
“Don’t say that. Don’t say that. You’re going to be okay, kid. They’re on their way. Dammit Hotch, where are the medics?”
Hotch can’t reply. He doesn’t know what to do.
Your eyes flutter, flitting in and out of consciousness. “Hey, hey, stay here. Stay with me. Please, don’t leave us. Who else is going to listen to Reid ramble, and encourage him? Who’s going to workout with Morgan? Who’s going to taste my new recipes?”
You let out a strangled laugh, providing a sense of comic relief in the room, and give a shuddered breath.
“I’m sorry. D-Did we g-get him?”
Rossi lets out a small, breathy laugh. “We got him.” He looks over at Hotch, Morgan, Emily, all the team. “Reid, please tell me they’re going to be okay.”
But the boy genius doesn’t have to say anything. Rossi can tell in his eyes.
You’re not going to make it.
Slowly, the senior agent removes his hand from your abdomen, and instead takes your hand. He squeezes it, giving reassurance. Something you definitely need.
“You can rest now, kid,” he says, giving your hand one last squeeze.