Chapter Text
Dean
In hindsight, Dean should’ve just gone to sleep.
It was close to midnight, yet he was standing outside the house he and his fellow Naturals lived in. Recently, they had solved a case that had been quite personal to Dean – that being that the MO was exactly like his father’s. It turned out that his father had been recruiting accomplices to continue his legacy.
His father, despite being behind bars, was still harming Dean’s life. Until he was dead, Dean will always be tortured by him. He was already actively tortured by the memories of his father’s murders – especially the ones that he’d been forced to witness.
Because of his father, it was easy for Dean to fall into the mindset of an unsub when profiling. Cassie Hobbes – the most recent addition to their unofficial program – was the outside perspective, offering an outsider’s perspective to an unsub’s mindset. But for Dean, it was personal, hence why he had an insider’s perspective to an unsub’s mindset.
He knew it all too well. Growing up with a serial killer father had taught him too much. Though the emotional scars would always remain, at least he could use his ability to profile killers for the FBI.
But maybe he should’ve been paying more attention to his surroundings.
If he had, then he would’ve heard the footsteps creeping up behind him.
He would’ve been able to avoid being pistol-whipped to the head, instantly knocking him unconscious.
~~~~
Cassie
The moment Cassie had gone downstairs, she instantly knew that something – or someone – was missing.
Sloane was sitting on the couch, playing Sudoku. Cassie would play with her, but she also feared the statistician's talent with numerical games.
Lia was brushing her long, jet-black hair. Cassie also noticed that she was wearing a jacket that belonged to her. She must’ve taken it while she was asleep.
Michael was reading Jane Austen. If Cassie admired Michael for anything, it was most definitely his love for classic novels.
But someone was missing.
Dean was missing.
Where was Dean?
“Oh, hey, Colorado.” Michael greeted once noticing Cassie’s presence. “Did you get up just now?”
“Obviously, she did.” Lia responded, scoffing. “She hasn’t even brushed her hair yet. Cassie, if you’re going for a messy look, then don’t. Spare us the trouble and-”
“Have any of you seen Dean?”
“Redding?” Michael looked around, now noticing his absence. “I assumed he was still asleep.”
“You assumed?” Lia raised an eyebrow in his direction. “Of course, you did. Michael, you should never assume.”
“As if you noticed he was gone-”
“Oh, be quiet, you two.” Sloane chimed in, not looking up from her Sudoku game. “And no, Cassie, I haven’t seen him either. I just thought he was asleep because his bedroom door was shut. I didn’t want to disturb him.”
“You can excuse hacking the FBI, but draw the line at waking up Dean?” Michael chuckled, setting his book aside. “Classic Sloane Tavish.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment, Michael.”
“Hang on, so nobody has seen him?” Cassie chimed in, now sounding panicked. Sure, he could just be asleep, but an inner voice inside Cassie’s mind suggested otherwise.
“No?” Michael got up from the floor and approached Cassie. “Cassie, as Sloane said, he’s probably just asleep-”
“Or he’s not,” Lia interrupted him, now standing in-between Cassie and Michael. “I know Dean better than the both of you. He wakes up earlier than the rest of us. I'm going to check his room.”
Lia was already upstairs before anyone could object. Not that anyone would, as the other three followed shortly afterwards.
~~~~
Cassie
As suspected, there was no sign of Dean in his bedroom. His bed was unmade, but he wasn’t there. It was as though Dean had gotten up during the night and never returned. But where did he go?
“Oh, shit.” Cassie heard Sloane mutter under her breath. “Uh... where’s Dean?”
Nobody answers her question. How could they? Dean wasn’t here. It wasn’t like any of them knew where he was.
“Good question, Sloane.” Michael said. Even though Michael never got along with Dean, Cassie could sense his worry. She noticed how his upper lip was twitching, and how his brows were burrowed together. Michael may think he wasn’t an open book, but Cassie could read him perfectly well. “Maybe he’s outside? Or he’s in the garage?”
“We would’ve heard him, idiot!” Lia snapped, clearly distressed. Cassie understood, since her and Dean had been friends much longer than anyone else here. “God, I struggle to see why I even liked you in the first place.”
“You still do, Lia.”
“Can you not, Michael?” Cassie advised, slapping his shoulder. “You and Lia’s troubled relationship does not take priority right now.”
“I agree with Cassie,” Sloane interjected. “Statistically speaking, the majority of children who are kidnapped are killed within three hours of their captivity.”
Cassie shuddered. The last time Sloane had stated that fact, they were still searching for Mackenzie McBride. That case had been right before a duo had been set up by Dean’s father to recreate his infamous murders.
But that couldn’t be related to Dean’s absence.
Christopher Simms was in custody.
Gary Clarkson (Clark) was dead, having been bludgeoned by an unknown assailant. The FBI was still looking into it.
But this? It couldn’t be related. But nothing was a coincidence when solving cases for the FBI.
“So, what do we do?” Lia asked Cassie, brushing back her dark hair. Although she acted mysterious, Cassie could see the genuine distress she was feeling in this moment. Despite the complicated feelings she felt towards Lia, she was also a human being, whose oldest friend was currently missing.
“Go wake up Judd and Sterling. I’ll call Briggs.”
Sloane, Michael and Lia left, leaving Cassie alone in Dean’s bedroom. She pulled out her phone, sending a quick message asking him to get over to the house. She knew he’d come in a few minutes, especially since the matter concerned Dean. He cared for all of them, but Dean had been the reason why this program existed in the first place.
Without Dean, his father wouldn’t be behind bars. His testimony and ability to profile killers made it possible.
This program wouldn’t exist without him. And, despite the traumatic nature of it, this program had saved the lives of those involved in it. Sloane had once said they wouldn’t be Naturals if they had normal childhoods, and Cassie now understood it.
But now one of their own was missing, and in potential danger.
And Cassie, and her fellow Naturals, weren’t going to allow it.
When one falls, the others support them. Dean has seemingly fallen, and the other Naturals were not going to stop until they found him.
~~~~
Dean
When he finally comes to his senses, Dean instantly realises that something is wrong.
He’s not outside anymore.
He’s sitting down, his arms tightly wrapped around something he distinguished as a shelving unit’s pole.
Something was covering his mouth. After a minute, Dean recognised it as duct tape.
Something was wrong.
Where was he?
What had even happened?
All he remembered was standing outside the house he lived in, before everything around him going dark. He was certain that he'd never made it back inside, since if he did, then he wouldn't be in this predicament. Judd would've kicked the perpetrator's ass before they had the chance to take him.
Cassie would've probably joined in, too.
And Lia.
Sloane as well.
Heck, even Michael. Although he was infuriating, Dean saw him like a brother. A perfect family was an overrated concept, anyways.
“Ah, look who’s finally awake.” A voice remarked as heavy footsteps approached him, rattling against the wooden floorboards. “Good morning, Dean.”
The nerves in Dean’s body freeze, causing his eyes to clench shut. He remembered this feeling; back when he was a child and had just witnessed his father murder another woman. He didn’t like feeling like this, but he had no choice.
“Don’t be scared, Dean. I’m not going to hurt you.” The voice murmured, a hand caressing over his face. “You look just like him, Dean.”
Dean knew what that meant. He would be an idiot to not know what the voice was implying.
He didn’t need to hear that voice lean in closer and affirm the name he wished he could erase from his memory, or perhaps the world, even.
“You look just like your beloved father, Dean.” Their nails were now digging into his cheeks. “Just like Daniel Redding.”
Right then, Dean fully understood the gravity of the situation he was in. And something told him that the case they had "solved" had not been, as one UnSub had successfully slipped under their radar, and now had Dean in his clutches.
He was utterly screwed.