Tricks and Treats
Here are some random, fic-y things I wrote because I felt like writing :p And because I wanted to do something in the spirit of the holiday.
♥ Happy Halloween, everybody! ♥
Criminal Minds/Supernatural, PG
"Okay, whatever, forget the why for just a second... How do you pull this off?" Dean sounds just as freaked out as he looks.
Well. To Sam. To anybody else, he probably looks pissed. Really, royally, violently pissed... And Sam's not saying that this whole conversation couldn't devolve into violence at any second-
But mostly Dean is freaked out.
They've been helping Spencer for weeks. Their lives literally depended upon him, when it came to not blowing their cover to all of Spencer's FBI friends. He's, technically, family... And they have allies that aren't entirely human. (Few... and far between.) But none of those are blood. What does it mean that someone in their bloodline was born a-
Sam's not sure his mind wants to travel that path. He knows Dean's sure as hell doesn't.
"Brain chemistry," Spencer says, as matter-of-factly and as casual as if both the Winchesters didn't have their guns pointed at him just moments before. As if they're talking about the weather, or baseball... or whether pig farms are more effective than industrial lye as a means of body disposal... Okay, so maybe Sam shouldn't be surprised that Spencer's being all casual about this. "The schizophrenia that I am predisposed towards thanks to my mother's paternal parentage counteracts the psychopathy members of my species are known for."
Dean throws Sam a look. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam can see it. It's Dean's 'Can you believe this guy?' look.
"Of course, that's simply a hypothesis. Without conducting a formal study, in fact, it's more like a wild guess, but it's kind of hard to study the nature of the non-human psyche when-"
"When most of your kind are homicidal nut-jobs we end up having to put down?" Dean interjects. He's scowling a hole through Spencer's face.
Spencer looks the littlest bit peeved in return. Sam doesn't know what to think. A part of him selfishly, stupidly, wishes Spencer was crazy, like his mom, instead of... this. But that would help... how? Because it wouldn't tweak every one of Sam's and Dean's prejudices? (Although, granted, they've learned distrust towards non-humans as a default the hard way.)
"We meant, how do you not get caught?" Sam says, before Dean and Spencer can get into an argument and Sam has to decide who to back in this case.
"I dont' do anything to catch!" Spencer tells them. And he sounds sincere, although Sam's inner Dean says, 'And how else would he sound, genius? He's trying to sell a story here.' "I avoid touching people. When I have to shed, I do it in private. I never take someone else's identity unless I need to for work. And then, I only do it when I can get away from the team long enough to get inside the Unsub's skin... inside his head... and then back into my own with time to use what I've learned to solve a case."
It sounds... reasonable. To Sam, it sounds absolutely reasonable, of course, because Sam made a similar attempt to use the inhuman powers he once had to help people. He, of all people, believes that what a person is makes less of a difference than what a person does.
That's an issue, though. Because Dean's never quite believed the same way that Sam does, and Sam knows it. He doesn't think that Dean will do anything about it... Not to Spencer; not to family. Not to Spencer, who is family and an FBI agent and a member of a species that is notoriously difficult to kill...
But. Dean'll be a real bitch about the whole thing unless Sam can kind some way to help Dean come to terms with the revealation Spencer's just given them.
The expression that suddenly crosses Dean's face tells Sam that he has his work cut out for him.
"Inside the Unsub's- You shift so you can become people so you can find them..." Dean thinks out loud. Sam can instantly tell what he's thinking and, by the look in Spencer's eyes, that he's not wrong.
"Dude..."
Spencer shrugs, apologetically. 'Apologetic' is a little less than Dean is apparently looking for.
"How did you figure out how to get ahold of us again?" Dean asks, a thread of tension woven through his voice.
"Why do you think I visited Uncle John's storage locker? I had to touch something you'd touched. Not all members of my species can do it that way - thank god - but-"
"Son of a bitch!"
Sam can only watch Dean pace, and curse, and Spencer watch Dean pacing and cursing with an expression partway between sheepish, and worried, and sort of guiltily amused-
"Spencer, man, that's not cool," Sam says. Not that he isn't glad Spencer contacted them... It's been a long time - and, human or not, he and Spencer used to be close. Plus, they saved a lot of little kids this week. But to have Spencer walking around looking like one of them... thinking their thoughts-
"So I guess you don't want the video I shot of 'Dean' at the Renaissance festival last week?" Spencer asks, oh so innocently.
One time. One time Spencer's mom dressed him up as a court jester for Halloween and Dean teased Spencer mercilessly about it. Of course Spencer would wait twenty years to avenge himself for it... And of course he would decide that Photoshop just wouldn't do the trick...
"Oh, dude, you'd better e-mail that to me."
"Sammy!"
[end.]
Criminal Minds, Reid/Prentiss-ish, PG
If it weren't for Spencer, Halloween would be the worst of holidays for the BAU... It isn't really hard to guess why. All Hallow's Eve is like National Unsubs' Play Day - crime rates rise; criminal mischief worsens in terms of casualties and malicious intent. For the average person, there must be something cathartic - Emily knows - about surrounding one's self with the macabre. Facing one's inherent fears in a playful setting... But for someone whose job it is to face the macabre and the frightening every day-
Well, if it weren't for Spencer, Emily would honestly dread the thirty-first of October. It's hard not to get into the "spirt" of the season, however, between the cooky costumes Spencer insists that they all wear at some point during the week of Halloween and the little piles of candy that start popping up everywhere Spencer goes. In festive little jars in the break room... In small, simple bags on each of their desks. In their go-bags and even (thanks to Spencer's skills as magician) their coat pockets...
This Halloween is as exhausting (physically, mentally and spiritually...) as any that's come before, but Emily grits her teeth and is left standing at the end of it.
Or. Not literally. She is, actually, slumped on a couch in the back of the jet as soon as the team boards and heads for home.
Spencer takes a seat beside her, and Emily immediately decides to slump in the opposite direction. She lays her head on his slender but surprisingly sturdy shoulders, and Spencer just hums a little around the sucker clenched between his teeth. Then he brings up an arm around her.
Halloween is over. And so is the nightmare that marked it most recently. Their Unsub is dead (as is about a half-dozen of his innocent victims). But this is the first time all week that Emily's felt the burn at the back of her throat like she might cry...
She depends on Spencer's awkward but heartfelt embraces - has been waiting for one, in the midst of the madness that was their case - more than he can ever know.
"Lollipop?" he asks, in a tone of voice like he has no idea that she's struggling right now.
Emily knows better.
"Sure," she says. And suddenly his long fingers are brushing the hair back from her face. The way her stomach clenches when his fingertips graze the shell of her ear is another thing that Spencer can never know...
And then Spencer pulls a second sucker from behind Emily's ear. It's nothing he hasn't done a thousand times before (with any number of things - car keys, loose change, evidence baggies...) But, still, it makes Emily laugh out loud.
The others are still filing onto the plane, and they laugh with her, even though they don't know the joke. Emily has to take a moment to wipe the corners of her eyes, so Spencer uses the time to unwrap her sucker for her. When she's settled back against his shoulder, Emily opens her mouth, and Spencer sets the sweet on her tongue.
"So," she can practically hear the smile in Spencer's voice. "I'm thinking after-Halloween costume party, since we worked through the actual holiday..."
Emily savors the cherry flavor of the lollipop as protests and party plans proceed from Spencer's suggestion. She's sleepy now and doesn't contribute much to the conversation, but smiles from time to time in the way of encouragement.
(This is the first time all week she's done that also.)
[end.]
Common Law, Wes/Travis-ish, PG
It's the last time the precinct will ever host a costume party for all personnel, on and off duty for the night.
All hell breaks loose, about two hours in, and Travis finds himself racing up a dirty stairwell in high heel pumps twenty minutes later.
"Stupid... Loubitin... ankle-breakers. Son of a- Stupid... Wes," he huffs as he vaults over a body fallen on the stairs. A drunk? A party-goer from one of the celebrations carrying on all over the apartment building? (Even now, with cop cars surrounding the premises, and sirens and shouts and gunfire going off everywhere, music permeates the air and vibrates in the stairwell's cracked stucco walls.) If Travis had time to stop and check the man's pulse, he'd have time to unstrap his heels and kick the damned things off. Instead, they carry him unsteadily ever onward.
'This is Wes's fault!' Travis thinks, nearly stumbling again as he rounds another landing. It was Wes's dare that put Travis in a sparkly gold cocktail dress and make-up this evening. Wes's sick, twisted sense of humor that has Travis looking like the angriest drag queen to ever chase a guy in a clown costume up three flights of stairs...
The rusty old door that opens up onto the fifth floor is ajar, so Travis barrels through it, piece at the ready.
He turns to the left... His clown is nowhere to be seen. The hallway is otherwise empty. He turns to the right...
"HOLY-" Travis's heart skips a beat. Even though he knows that isn't actually Michael Meyers standing at the end of the hallway... Even though he was just with Wes a half-hour ago (Wes chose that costume just to fuck with Travis; he even said as much. He wasn't even going to dress up until he realized he could get under Travis's skin by doing so) Travis feels a chill when he sees his partner.
Possibly, the psychological trauma Travis endured, as a child, in the process of proving to his foster brothers that he wasn't too chicken shit to watch all of the Halloween movies before bedtime is something that Travis will need to talk about with Dr. Ryan one day.
But in the meantime, Travis just lowers his gun and consoles himself in the split second he can spare (It is not unmanly to shriek at the sight of a Michael Meyers mask and a pair of overalls. That shit is scary!) Then he yells at Wes.
"Dude, there you are! Did my guy get through you?"
There's something wrong. One side of Travis's mind gets it as he approaches the figure at the end of the hall. Why is Wes still just staring at him, his sidearm lowered at his right? Why is he wearing his mask? To blend in with their suspects... But then, how did Chuckles get by him just now? And wasn't he two feet behind Travis when they entered the apartment building?
"Stop dicking around! Did he-"
The other side of Travis's mind - the one that blanked out for a second in shock and fear - catches up when 'Wes' raises his sidearm...
And points it straight at Travis.
'That isn't Wes...'
Travis thinks it... Then a shot goes off and a splatter of red appears on the front of the guy's overalls just before his body flies backward, and Travis screams it inside his head.
He still finds himself tripping over his own feet, going breathless. He'll lie later and say it was the heels, but he knows in that very instant that it's because half of him just thought he saw his partner get shot through the heart right in front of him.
"Travis!" That's Wes's voice coming from behind him. The sound of Wes's shoes approaching... Travis has never welcomed the sound with more enthusiasm. "Travis, are you alright? Are you h-"
"No, I'm not hit! The clown! Go after the clown..."
Wes pauses, but he doesn't argue. Dr. Ryan would be proud... He slaps Travis on the shoulder as he passes and hauls ass down the hallway, past the body of the perp he took out, while Travis says 'Fuck it' and takes a moment to tug off the Leboutins.
'Shit... shit... shit... shit...'
There are a lot of things Travis should probably bring up in group this week.
Or he could just make jokes about Wes wanting to see him in a dress and bond with the ladies about restrictive footwear.
Yeah... He'll probably do that.
[End.]
♥ Happy Halloween, everybody! ♥
Criminal Minds/Supernatural, PG
"Okay, whatever, forget the why for just a second... How do you pull this off?" Dean sounds just as freaked out as he looks.
Well. To Sam. To anybody else, he probably looks pissed. Really, royally, violently pissed... And Sam's not saying that this whole conversation couldn't devolve into violence at any second-
But mostly Dean is freaked out.
They've been helping Spencer for weeks. Their lives literally depended upon him, when it came to not blowing their cover to all of Spencer's FBI friends. He's, technically, family... And they have allies that aren't entirely human. (Few... and far between.) But none of those are blood. What does it mean that someone in their bloodline was born a-
Sam's not sure his mind wants to travel that path. He knows Dean's sure as hell doesn't.
"Brain chemistry," Spencer says, as matter-of-factly and as casual as if both the Winchesters didn't have their guns pointed at him just moments before. As if they're talking about the weather, or baseball... or whether pig farms are more effective than industrial lye as a means of body disposal... Okay, so maybe Sam shouldn't be surprised that Spencer's being all casual about this. "The schizophrenia that I am predisposed towards thanks to my mother's paternal parentage counteracts the psychopathy members of my species are known for."
Dean throws Sam a look. Out of the corner of his eye, Sam can see it. It's Dean's 'Can you believe this guy?' look.
"Of course, that's simply a hypothesis. Without conducting a formal study, in fact, it's more like a wild guess, but it's kind of hard to study the nature of the non-human psyche when-"
"When most of your kind are homicidal nut-jobs we end up having to put down?" Dean interjects. He's scowling a hole through Spencer's face.
Spencer looks the littlest bit peeved in return. Sam doesn't know what to think. A part of him selfishly, stupidly, wishes Spencer was crazy, like his mom, instead of... this. But that would help... how? Because it wouldn't tweak every one of Sam's and Dean's prejudices? (Although, granted, they've learned distrust towards non-humans as a default the hard way.)
"We meant, how do you not get caught?" Sam says, before Dean and Spencer can get into an argument and Sam has to decide who to back in this case.
"I dont' do anything to catch!" Spencer tells them. And he sounds sincere, although Sam's inner Dean says, 'And how else would he sound, genius? He's trying to sell a story here.' "I avoid touching people. When I have to shed, I do it in private. I never take someone else's identity unless I need to for work. And then, I only do it when I can get away from the team long enough to get inside the Unsub's skin... inside his head... and then back into my own with time to use what I've learned to solve a case."
It sounds... reasonable. To Sam, it sounds absolutely reasonable, of course, because Sam made a similar attempt to use the inhuman powers he once had to help people. He, of all people, believes that what a person is makes less of a difference than what a person does.
That's an issue, though. Because Dean's never quite believed the same way that Sam does, and Sam knows it. He doesn't think that Dean will do anything about it... Not to Spencer; not to family. Not to Spencer, who is family and an FBI agent and a member of a species that is notoriously difficult to kill...
But. Dean'll be a real bitch about the whole thing unless Sam can kind some way to help Dean come to terms with the revealation Spencer's just given them.
The expression that suddenly crosses Dean's face tells Sam that he has his work cut out for him.
"Inside the Unsub's- You shift so you can become people so you can find them..." Dean thinks out loud. Sam can instantly tell what he's thinking and, by the look in Spencer's eyes, that he's not wrong.
"Dude..."
Spencer shrugs, apologetically. 'Apologetic' is a little less than Dean is apparently looking for.
"How did you figure out how to get ahold of us again?" Dean asks, a thread of tension woven through his voice.
"Why do you think I visited Uncle John's storage locker? I had to touch something you'd touched. Not all members of my species can do it that way - thank god - but-"
"Son of a bitch!"
Sam can only watch Dean pace, and curse, and Spencer watch Dean pacing and cursing with an expression partway between sheepish, and worried, and sort of guiltily amused-
"Spencer, man, that's not cool," Sam says. Not that he isn't glad Spencer contacted them... It's been a long time - and, human or not, he and Spencer used to be close. Plus, they saved a lot of little kids this week. But to have Spencer walking around looking like one of them... thinking their thoughts-
"So I guess you don't want the video I shot of 'Dean' at the Renaissance festival last week?" Spencer asks, oh so innocently.
One time. One time Spencer's mom dressed him up as a court jester for Halloween and Dean teased Spencer mercilessly about it. Of course Spencer would wait twenty years to avenge himself for it... And of course he would decide that Photoshop just wouldn't do the trick...
"Oh, dude, you'd better e-mail that to me."
"Sammy!"
[end.]
Criminal Minds, Reid/Prentiss-ish, PG
If it weren't for Spencer, Halloween would be the worst of holidays for the BAU... It isn't really hard to guess why. All Hallow's Eve is like National Unsubs' Play Day - crime rates rise; criminal mischief worsens in terms of casualties and malicious intent. For the average person, there must be something cathartic - Emily knows - about surrounding one's self with the macabre. Facing one's inherent fears in a playful setting... But for someone whose job it is to face the macabre and the frightening every day-
Well, if it weren't for Spencer, Emily would honestly dread the thirty-first of October. It's hard not to get into the "spirt" of the season, however, between the cooky costumes Spencer insists that they all wear at some point during the week of Halloween and the little piles of candy that start popping up everywhere Spencer goes. In festive little jars in the break room... In small, simple bags on each of their desks. In their go-bags and even (thanks to Spencer's skills as magician) their coat pockets...
This Halloween is as exhausting (physically, mentally and spiritually...) as any that's come before, but Emily grits her teeth and is left standing at the end of it.
Or. Not literally. She is, actually, slumped on a couch in the back of the jet as soon as the team boards and heads for home.
Spencer takes a seat beside her, and Emily immediately decides to slump in the opposite direction. She lays her head on his slender but surprisingly sturdy shoulders, and Spencer just hums a little around the sucker clenched between his teeth. Then he brings up an arm around her.
Halloween is over. And so is the nightmare that marked it most recently. Their Unsub is dead (as is about a half-dozen of his innocent victims). But this is the first time all week that Emily's felt the burn at the back of her throat like she might cry...
She depends on Spencer's awkward but heartfelt embraces - has been waiting for one, in the midst of the madness that was their case - more than he can ever know.
"Lollipop?" he asks, in a tone of voice like he has no idea that she's struggling right now.
Emily knows better.
"Sure," she says. And suddenly his long fingers are brushing the hair back from her face. The way her stomach clenches when his fingertips graze the shell of her ear is another thing that Spencer can never know...
And then Spencer pulls a second sucker from behind Emily's ear. It's nothing he hasn't done a thousand times before (with any number of things - car keys, loose change, evidence baggies...) But, still, it makes Emily laugh out loud.
The others are still filing onto the plane, and they laugh with her, even though they don't know the joke. Emily has to take a moment to wipe the corners of her eyes, so Spencer uses the time to unwrap her sucker for her. When she's settled back against his shoulder, Emily opens her mouth, and Spencer sets the sweet on her tongue.
"So," she can practically hear the smile in Spencer's voice. "I'm thinking after-Halloween costume party, since we worked through the actual holiday..."
Emily savors the cherry flavor of the lollipop as protests and party plans proceed from Spencer's suggestion. She's sleepy now and doesn't contribute much to the conversation, but smiles from time to time in the way of encouragement.
(This is the first time all week she's done that also.)
[end.]
Common Law, Wes/Travis-ish, PG
It's the last time the precinct will ever host a costume party for all personnel, on and off duty for the night.
All hell breaks loose, about two hours in, and Travis finds himself racing up a dirty stairwell in high heel pumps twenty minutes later.
"Stupid... Loubitin... ankle-breakers. Son of a- Stupid... Wes," he huffs as he vaults over a body fallen on the stairs. A drunk? A party-goer from one of the celebrations carrying on all over the apartment building? (Even now, with cop cars surrounding the premises, and sirens and shouts and gunfire going off everywhere, music permeates the air and vibrates in the stairwell's cracked stucco walls.) If Travis had time to stop and check the man's pulse, he'd have time to unstrap his heels and kick the damned things off. Instead, they carry him unsteadily ever onward.
'This is Wes's fault!' Travis thinks, nearly stumbling again as he rounds another landing. It was Wes's dare that put Travis in a sparkly gold cocktail dress and make-up this evening. Wes's sick, twisted sense of humor that has Travis looking like the angriest drag queen to ever chase a guy in a clown costume up three flights of stairs...
The rusty old door that opens up onto the fifth floor is ajar, so Travis barrels through it, piece at the ready.
He turns to the left... His clown is nowhere to be seen. The hallway is otherwise empty. He turns to the right...
"HOLY-" Travis's heart skips a beat. Even though he knows that isn't actually Michael Meyers standing at the end of the hallway... Even though he was just with Wes a half-hour ago (Wes chose that costume just to fuck with Travis; he even said as much. He wasn't even going to dress up until he realized he could get under Travis's skin by doing so) Travis feels a chill when he sees his partner.
Possibly, the psychological trauma Travis endured, as a child, in the process of proving to his foster brothers that he wasn't too chicken shit to watch all of the Halloween movies before bedtime is something that Travis will need to talk about with Dr. Ryan one day.
But in the meantime, Travis just lowers his gun and consoles himself in the split second he can spare (It is not unmanly to shriek at the sight of a Michael Meyers mask and a pair of overalls. That shit is scary!) Then he yells at Wes.
"Dude, there you are! Did my guy get through you?"
There's something wrong. One side of Travis's mind gets it as he approaches the figure at the end of the hall. Why is Wes still just staring at him, his sidearm lowered at his right? Why is he wearing his mask? To blend in with their suspects... But then, how did Chuckles get by him just now? And wasn't he two feet behind Travis when they entered the apartment building?
"Stop dicking around! Did he-"
The other side of Travis's mind - the one that blanked out for a second in shock and fear - catches up when 'Wes' raises his sidearm...
And points it straight at Travis.
'That isn't Wes...'
Travis thinks it... Then a shot goes off and a splatter of red appears on the front of the guy's overalls just before his body flies backward, and Travis screams it inside his head.
He still finds himself tripping over his own feet, going breathless. He'll lie later and say it was the heels, but he knows in that very instant that it's because half of him just thought he saw his partner get shot through the heart right in front of him.
"Travis!" That's Wes's voice coming from behind him. The sound of Wes's shoes approaching... Travis has never welcomed the sound with more enthusiasm. "Travis, are you alright? Are you h-"
"No, I'm not hit! The clown! Go after the clown..."
Wes pauses, but he doesn't argue. Dr. Ryan would be proud... He slaps Travis on the shoulder as he passes and hauls ass down the hallway, past the body of the perp he took out, while Travis says 'Fuck it' and takes a moment to tug off the Leboutins.
'Shit... shit... shit... shit...'
There are a lot of things Travis should probably bring up in group this week.
Or he could just make jokes about Wes wanting to see him in a dress and bond with the ladies about restrictive footwear.
Yeah... He'll probably do that.
[End.]