"Reid, you are a monster-hunting master."

Spencer laughed and slammed the trunk of his car shut, turning around and leaning back against the vehicle. He looked out at the forests and smiled as he spoke. "Garcia, I've barely been doing this a year."

"I know, but—" Garcia paused, struggling with her words for a moment. "It's like—it's like you eat, sleep, and breathe hunting. You're on a serious roll!"

Spencer laughed again and slipped his free hand into his pocket, hiding it from the chill of the crisp, autumn morning. "I guess I have been pretty motivated."

"Yeah, no kidding." Garcia was silent for a second, and when her voice came back, it was tinged with concern. "You're still taking time off, right? You know, sleeping… eating… taking care of yourself?"

Spencer laughed off the brutally appropriate question, trying to make it seem like it wasn't a big deal. "I'm taking good care of myself, Garcia." Except he wasn't. At all.

"So," Garcia chirped cheerfully. "What can I do for you this fine day?"

Spencer continued to look out at the trees, appraising the wooded area with well-trained eyes. "I'm in Glacier National Park in Montana, and I need you to compile a list of all known, fatal animal attacks over the last… let's say fifty years." He pushed off his car and rocked on his heels a bit. "Can you do that?"

"Oh, honey, I can do you one better," Garcia replied with her usual flair. "I can get you a map with little red dots showing where all the bodies and campsites were found."

Spencer rocked on his heels again, smiling. "Garcia, you know what I like."

"You bet I do." Garcia had a smirk in her voice when she spoke. "It'll take me about a half an hour to compile the list, but the map is going to take a little longer. I'll call you as soon as—hold up, someone's coming."

Spencer fell silent but kept the phone pressed to his ear, a smile lingering on his lips. What would we do without our Black Queen?

Spencer still couldn't believe how helpful Garcia was willing to be, especially considering how much was already on her plate. She never failed to help him on his hunts. On top of that, she helped Bobby, meaning she was actually helping the entire monster hunting network.

Spencer didn't want to think about how they would manage without her.

"Reid?"

Spencer immediately snapped out of his thoughts, every muscle in his body tensing up. There was too much fear in that single syllable; it sounded more like a plea than his name.

"Garcia?" Spencer frowned, an uneasy weight settling in his gut. "What's wrong?"

"He's back," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer shook his head. "Who's back?"

"Mr. Scratch." Garcia stopped, little noises of speechlessness breaking up the silence. "JJ just came in and told me he's—he's back. He sent us a video. Reid, he's back."

Spencer felt a thrill run though his veins, and the only thing keeping him from being openly pleased was his concern for Garcia. He couldn't help it. He was excited. He had been anxiously awaiting the moment he would be able to latch onto some new evidence and hunt Peter Lewis down like a hellhound.

"Garcia, tell me everything you know."

Garcia stammered for a moment, and then she sniffed and cleared her throat. "Right." She took a deep breath. "He's only struck once so far. It's a—a double-murder suicide in Boston. They found a CD at the crime scene, and it had a video from Mr. Scratch on it."

"Okay, got it." Spencer abandoned any thoughts of hunting the wendigo in Glacier National Park. "Once you get your hands on the case files, can you send them on to Bobby?"

"Yeah, I can—I can do that." Garcia sounded a little more sure of herself with every passing second, the initial shock of Mr. Scratch's return wearing off. "Should I call him and let him know what I'm sending his way?"

Spencer shook his head, walking around his vehicle to the driver's side. "No, I'll call him as soon as I hang up with you." He pulled the door open and got into his vehicle. "Is there anything else you can tell me about the double-murder suicide?" He pulled the door shut.

"No, I don't—I don't have anything yet." Garcia took another deep breath, but she couldn't quite shake the fragile edge in her tone. "JJ said we're going to meet in the conference room. I have to go."

"Okay." Spencer put his seatbelt on and turned the keys in the ignition. "Once you're done in the conference room, send Bobby everything we have on Mr. Scratch, no matter how old the information is." Spencer put the car in drive and turned sharply, turning around on the road and steering his vehicle back out the way he had come. "I'll let you know as soon as I get to Bobby's house."

"Okay." Garcia took a deep breath. "We can do this."

"You bet we can." Spencer looked out at the thick foliage and the sun starting to peek through the trees. "We're gonna get him, Garcia. Go meet with everyone in the conference room."

"Okay." Garcia took another breath, and she sounded steady when she spoke again. "Okay. You're right. We got this." She took another breath and let it out slowly. "I'll call you ASAP."

There was another second of hesitation, and then the line went dead. Spencer immediately pulled the phone away from his ear. He pushed the red button to hang up, and then he pressed and held the three. He waited for it to dial and then put it to his ear, his thoughts wandering as he waited for the ringing to end.

If I get the shot, I'm going to take it. He pushed down every piece of him that was an enforcer of the law, his train of thought continuing down its track. Not because I've forgotten that people have a right to a trial, but because Hotch and Jack deserve to be Hotch and Jack again. That isn't going to happen as long as Peter Lewis is still alive. And that was all Spencer needed to justify the violent thoughts swirling around in his brain.

Spencer continued to drive on the dirt road, finding himself completely alone in the woods. I haven't forgotten what it means to be an agent, I just have a different perspective. Even if his old self would be ashamed. Even if his family wouldn't understand. Even if it meant going against the code he had once upheld so proudly.

"You sure took your time calling." Bobby's gruff voice interrupted Spencer's thoughts. "First you disappear without saying goodbye, and then you go silent for a month and a half. I was starting to think you were dead."

Spencer didn't respond to the accusations, choosing instead to get to the point. "Bobby, I need help." He bit his lip, hoping Bobby wouldn't refuse because Spencer had fallen off the grid.

Bobby was silent for a second, and when he did speak, he sounded completely open and understanding. Like it didn't matter that Spencer had disappeared without a trace; like it didn't matter that Spencer wouldn't have called unless he needed something.

"What is it, boy?"

"Do you remember me telling you about Hotch?" Spencer looked both ways and then turned from the dirt road onto an asphalt one. "He was my boss at the BAU."

Bobby hummed on the other end of the line. "Sounds familiar. What's the matter with him?"

Spencer kept his eyes on the road while he talked. "Well, Hotch and his son have been in witness protection for the past year and a half. They're hiding from someone named Peter Lewis, and he's just started killing again."

Bobby let out a sigh, and Spencer could picture him adjusting his ballcap. "Oh, boy. What can I do?"

"I'm on my way to your house right now." Spencer struggled to turn the wheel with one hand, following the sharp bends in the backwoods road. "Garcia is going to send you everything we have on Peter Lewis. I need another set of eyes to look at it with me and help put the pieces together."

"Let me get my computer started up, and I'll print whatever she sends over." Bobby grunted, and there was noise in the background like he was moving something around. "I'll call Sheriff Mills and see if she has any evidence boards we can borrow."

"That would be awesome." Spencer pulled the phone away from his ear and looked at the intricate, dark purple tattoo covering his hand and forearm. He put the phone back to his ear. "Bobby, I gotta go. There's another call I have to make.

"Alright. How far out are ya?"

"Uh…" Spencer ran through some quick calculations. "Sixteen hours and twenty-one minutes, depending on traffic. I'm at Glacier National Park in Montana. I was hunting a wendigo."

"Got it. I'll put someone else on the wendigo job, and I'll see you when you get here."

There was a click on the other end of the line, and Spencer pressed the red button on his phone. He put the device in the cupholder, and, keeping one hand on the wheel, reached for the glove box. He opened it up and grabbed the pocket knife lying inside. He pressed the back of it and the blade flipped out. He carefully maneuvered his hands and cut the index finger of his wheel-holding hand. He let go of the wheel just long enough to smear the blood on his tattoo, and then both hands were on the wheel.

Oddly, Xal didn't appear right away.

Hmm. Spencer lifted his bloody finger to his mouth and sucked on it. That's weird.

"So, funny thing about summoning."

Spencer startled slightly, surprised by the sudden voice from the backseat.

"I get called to the place you were when the blood made contact. So if you're, say, in a moving car—" Xal started to crawl up to the passenger seat as he spoke, "—I'm going to get dropped on the road several yards behind you."

Spencer couldn't help but laugh at the mental image. "I dropped you on the road?"

"Yeah." Xal uttered the word dryly, falling into the passenger seat with a sigh. "And since you have momentum when you summon me, if you summon me while driving… I fall on my face, too."

Spencer laughed again, hitting the steering wheel and then putting his hand to his mouth. "Sorry," he snickered, biting down on his lip. "Sorry, sorry."

"Yeah, you sound real sorry," Xal drawled, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest. "You're all tore up about it. I can tell."

Spencer laughed a little more, putting his hand back on the wheel. "I really am sorry." He couldn't quite get rid of his smile. "I didn't realize I had never tried to summon you while driving."

"Uh-huh." Xal rested his chin in his hand and looked out the window, determined to be moody. "What did you call me for?"

"An old enemy resurfaced," Spencer answered. "I need all the help I can get to find him."

Xal snorted. "An enemy? That's so cliché."

Spencer crinkled his nose, somewhat offended. "Well, he's been hurting people I care about for a very long time, and I have a strong desire to rip his head off. What should I call him?"

Xal didn't say anything for a moment, and then he pursed his lips and nodded. "That's fair." Xal leaned back in the passenger seat with a small, contented sigh. "So, where are we headed?"

"Bobby's house." Spencer glanced in the rearview mirror, but he was the only one on the road. "He's getting the case files from Garcia, and I figured I can fill you in on the way there."

"Mmhmm." Xal nodded a few times, reaching out and toying with Spencer's fuzzy dice. "You don't want me to zap us there?"

Spencer considered that for a moment. "Can you take the car with?"

"Uh, no." Xal shook his head, dropping his hand to his lap. "I mean, I could, but I'd really rather not. Taking that much in one trip would wipe me out."

Spencer shrugged. "We'll just drive then. We'll drive fast."

Xal nodded slowly and gave Spencer a suspicious kind of look. "And… what is this?"

Spencer frowned, his brow creased with confusion. "What is what?"

"What we're doing," Xal clarified. "Is it a case or a hunt?"

Spencer stopped, blinking a few times as he realized he didn't really know. On one hand, it was a case with proper case files and a human unsub, which was about as case-ish as a job could be. On the other hand, Spencer was planning a very permanent end, and that… well, that changed things.

"I guess it's a hunt."

"You guess?" Xal arched a brow. "It either is, or it isn't. I want to know how this is going to end."

Spencer didn't even hesitate. "It's going to end in blood." He turned his head to look at Xal. "Is that enough of an answer for you?"

Xal looked back at Spencer, his mouth splitting into a wicked grin. "That's a perfect answer."

"Crap."

"I take it you noticed the Impala."

Spencer glared at the ever-helpful Xal and slammed the driver's side door. "Yeah, I noticed." He noticed, and he wasn't happy about it.

Not that Spencer didn't appreciate the help, and not that he wasn't happy to see the Winchesters, he was just concerned about their morals. Sam and Dean drew such a clear line between monster and human, and Spencer wasn't sure how they would feel about killing Lewis. Bobby, at least, knew and understood that sometimes human monsters needed a permanent end.

"Bobby!" Spencer called out, walking into the house and pulling out his pocket knife.

"Library!" Bobby called back.

Spencer reopened the wound on his fingertip and then smeared the blood on his tattoo, summoning Xal to get him past Bobby's wards. Once Xal appeared inside, Spencer put his pocket knife away and made a beeline for the library, preparing himself for conflict.

Spencer stepped into the library, and everyone turned to look at him. Bobby was sitting behind his desk with papers cluttering the surface in front of him. Sam and Dean were both standing in front of two loaded evidence boards, and Dean was holding a beer in his hand.

"Spencer." Sam immediately walked over and pulled Spencer into a hug. "It's been a while. How have you been?"

Spencer let himself be pulled in, and after a brief hesitation, he returned the embrace. "I've been alright." He paused. "It's good to see you."

"You sure?" Dean folded his arms over his chest, still holding onto his beer. "Because Bobby was the one who called us in on this." He glanced at Xal briefly, his expression making it clear he didn't approve of the demon's presence.

Spencer let go of Sam and wet his lips, deciding to take the plunge. "I wasn't sure how you would feel about killing Lewis."

Dean blinked, uncrossing his arms and staring at Spencer in surprise. Sam also seemed surprised, but there was more worry on his face than Dean's. Dean had more disapproval.

Spencer held up his hands in a placating gesture. "I know you two see humans and monsters as completely different, and that's fine, but every time I kill a sentient monster, I know I'm killing a person. I kill them anyway because there's no way to put them in jail, meaning there's no non-lethal way to protect people from them." Spencer gestured vaguely to the evidence boards. "Lewis has escaped prison once and evaded capture for over a year. He's crafty, and putting him away doesn't guarantee he won't kill again. Maybe it isn't right, and maybe you disagree, but if I get a chance to end this, I will."

Sam didn't say anything at first, concern and disapproval battling for control over his features, but then he offered a small nod and a quiet, "Okay."

Dean didn't look happy about it, but he let the subject drop and turned back to the boards. "Well, come and take a look at what we got so far."

Spencer approached the duo and slipped between them, looking at the boards and taking in everything he saw as quickly as he could.

"We figured you would have all the old case files memorized, so we only put new stuff up on the board." Sam pointed to one of the pictures on the board to the left. "Peter Hare, a known sufferer of DID, killed a couple inside their home in Boston and then killed himself. Naomi and David Walt were stabbed fourteen and eight times, respectively. Peter then stabbed himself eight times."

Spencer shook his head in confusion, his eyes wandering over the crime scene photos. "What is he trying to say?"

Dean snorted. "He wants people dead? He likes killing?"

Spencer shook his head again, harder. "No. Peter Lewis was always straightforward with his taunts. Last time we dealt with him, he ordered some equipment using my identity. He carved Hotch's name into a victim's forehead and tortured her until she just kept saying, 'Hotch,' over and over. He's very literal."

"Well, while you ponder that…" Dean stepped a little closer to the board on the right and pointed out a picture of a young man. "This is George Faulkner, also a known sufferer of DID. He killed while you were driving."

Spencer almost cursed. He's moving fast. There's no cooldown period.

"George killed Pauline Baker and her teenage daughter, Kelly, before killing himself. He stabbed Pauline fourteen times, himself twenty times, and Kelly got a whopping thirty-nine." Dean pointed to the picture of Kelly with his beer bottle. "Guess he liked her. Oh, there was also a family dog that was stabbed once. It died in an animal hospital a few hours after they found it."

"This isn't…" Spencer looked between the two boards and shook his head, trying to figure out what it was he was looking at. "This isn't like him. He's never focused more on women than men—if anything, he has more male victims than female victims." He shook his head again. "He wasn't killing during his most recent activity. He was torturing. These stabbings are more like his original crimes from before we caught him."

"Well," Sam started, "doesn't that mean the stab wounds or something about the stab wounds are significant? Or maybe this is part of the message he's trying to send?"

Spencer only shook his head again, eyes darting from paper to paper, word to word, piece to piece. "But the stab wounds don't mean anything. He's used the method before, and there's nothing significant about the number of stab wounds. They're not part of any code, they're not dates or times, they're just… numbers." He wet his lips. "I'll admit, there's something familiar about them, but I have no idea why. They really are just a string of numbers."

Dean finished off his beer and let out a sigh, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. "Well. If we're gonna figure this out, I'm gonna need another drink."

"Ooh." Xal raised his hand. "I second the motion."

Dean cast Xal a dirty look but said no more.

Spencer ignored them both—he ignored everyone in the room—and focused on the information. He connected pictures and words, places and times, people and pasts, eyes never ceasing in their roam across the boards.

There's an answer somewhere in here. I just have to find it.

And he would. There was no doubt about that.

Hours passed, but Spencer didn't get any closer to an answer. Dean had faded off to sleep, sitting on the couch across from the evidence boards. Xal sat upside down on the couch next to Dean, and Sam sat next to Xal with a coffee in his hand. Bobby was still behind his desk, but he wasn't doing anything with the papers in front of him.

And Spencer sat there, on a stool, in front of the evidence boards, staring with the intensity of a thousand suns, coming up with absolutely nothing.

"I know he's trying to tell me something." Spencer bit down on his lower lip and shook his head. "I just don't know what."

"Maybe you just need to run it through from beginning to end."

Spencer turned his head to look when Sam spoke, and he found Sam leaning against the arm of the couch, trying to avoid Xal's boots. Spencer looked back at the evidence boards with a faint smile on his lips, but as soon as he saw the crime scene photos, it was back to business.

"I've already done that." Spencer shook his head. "It doesn't work. I'm trying not to overthink it but there's just—there's something there that isn't getting through." He ran a hand through his hair and let out a sigh. "Once I figure out that missing piece, I think all the other ones will fall into place."

"Has he ever done anything as himself before?" It was Xal who spoke that time, his voice somewhat strained by his awkward position.

Spencer tore his eyes away from the board and looked at Xal in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Xal drew his legs toward his chest and rolled off the couch. He then stood up, turned around, and sat back down with a plop that nearly made Sam spill his coffee. "Well, when you explained the original cases to me, Lewis didn't just make other people kill. He used another person or thing to motivate those killers. In the first case, he used the childhood monster, Mr. Scratch, to get his victims to kill their loved ones. Later on, after his escape, he manipulated someone into thinking they were a serial killer—the Crimson King."

Spencer slowly looked back at the boards, the pieces in his mind starting to shift. "Okay, so… you're saying I need to stop profiling Peter Lewis…" he looked back at Xal, "…and start profiling the who or what he's using to manipulate his victims."

"Exactly." Xal crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in the sofa, clearly pleased with himself. "He's imitating someone. If you can figure out what mask he's wearing, you'll figure out what he's going to do next."

Spencer turned back around to look at the board, watching as the pieces began to move, some chunks falling away while others became more defined. "We know this new activity is Lewis because he sent us a video. We can assume he's using the same drugs he always has, and his MO of manipulating others into torturing or killing is part of his profile. Everything else is part of a completely different profile."

Bobby spoke up from behind his desk, wiping the tiredness from his eyes. "Okay, so… you need some outside perspectives from someone who doesn't know Lewis' profile." He pushed his chair back and wheeled himself out from behind his desk, coming to a stop on Spencer's left. "Let's see… If I were looking at the traits of this case, what would stand out to me is… he always kills in threes. He has one person kill a pair."

Sam slowly stood up and walked between Spencer and Bobby, squinting at the evidence boards before speaking. "I would take a close look at Kelly because she was stabbed more than the others. I would… um, I would look at the location. So far, all of the killings have been in Boston."

Xal elbowed Dean in the side, and Dean woke up with a start.

"What?" Dean looked around, half-conscious. "What's going on?"

Xal pointed to the evidence boards. "Pick out some patterns."

Dean rubbed his face. "For crying out loud, I'm half asleep. If I didn't see anything before…" But he stood up anyway, working the kinks out of his neck as he approached the boards on Spencer's right side. "Um… I would look at the killers. You know, the ones he's forcing to do the actual killing. That's who he targets first and gets the closest to." He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know, man."

"No, that's good. This is all good." Spencer bit down on his lip again, leaning forward and reordering the numbers and names in his mind. "If we can figure out why he chose them… why he chose these locations and methods… we might be able to figure out who he's imitating… which will tell us where to go next."

Sam moved a bit in Spencer's peripherals, gesturing vaguely to the boards. "So, if we take all these observations into account, we're looking for someone who kills pairs in Boston and really likes to stab teenage girls."

It clicked. It clicked, and Spencer was surprised it wasn't audible, because the sensation of everything snapping into place was almost painful.

"Oh, my God." Spencer shook his head, staring at the evidence boards in wide-eyed horror. "It's George Foyet." He shook his head faster, getting up from the stool and stepping closer to the board. "George Faulkner is George F. Peter Hare is an anagram for 'The Reaper.'" Spencer started to talk faster, an almost frantic note entering his voice. "That's what I recognized the numbers from. If you put the number of stab wounds together, one possible combination is 1488, 1439, and 201. Those were the numbers that Foyet—" Spencer stopped and took a deep breath, realizing he would have to start from the beginning.

"Spencer?" Sam asked, concern thick in his voice.

"Sorry." Spencer dropped his hands to his sides and turned away from the evidence boards, facing his friends. He took a deep breath to calm himself and began to explain. "The Boston Reaper was a man named George Foyet. During his original spree, Foyet stabbed himself multiple times to make it look like he was a victim."

Dean pursed his lips. "Smart. Totally screwed up, but smart."

Spencer nodded in agreement. "Smart enough to fool us. We found Foyet in hiding, and he gave us his three home addresses in case we needed to get in touch with him."

"Why three?" Sam asked curiously.

"He switched between houses to make it seem like he was afraid The Reaper would one day come back for him." Spencer ran a hand through his hair, trying to speak as quickly as possible. "Shortly after we spoke with Foyet, The Reaper killed a bus full of people and wrote all three address numbers on the windows in blood."

"So," Bobby started, looking up at Spencer. "The Reaper wanted you to know that he knew where to find Foyet, because you didn't know The Reaper and Foyet were one and the same."

Sam lifted a finger. "Why is Lewis choosing to emulate The Reaper?"

Spencer's hands started to move as he spoke, his thumb and fingers coming together as they often did. "Foyet targeted Hotch specifically, to the point where his wife and son, Haley and Jack, had to go into witness protection. Foyet found them anyway, killed Haley, and tried to kill Jack." Spencer reached back and put a hand on the evidence board. "Hotch and his son, Jack, have been in witness protection for more than a year, hiding from Peter Lewis. Now Peter Lewis is using Foyet's safehouse addresses, and he's imitating the one person who found Hotch's family despite witness protection."

Bobby finished in Spencer's stead. "Lewis figured out where Hotch and his boy are."

Spencer nodded, feeling a sick twist in his gut. "That's what I think." He turned slightly to look at the boards again. "There's also the fact that he's killing people in their homes. The Reaper killed people in their cars, so it's something that's unique to Lewis."

"He's going to kill Hotch and Jack in their home." Sam ran a hand through his hair. "So, what does this mean?"

Spencer mimicked Sam and ran a hand through his own hair, tugging faintly at the strands out of frustration. "I don't know. I have to call my team and tell them what Lewis is doing, but they aren't going to know where Hotch is any more than we do. They'll have to get in touch with the U.S. Marshals, and we don't have that kind of time. Lewis already knows where Hotch is, and he could make his move at any moment."

Dean spread his hands slightly and looked at the ceiling. "Cas, we could really use some angelic assistance here. It's an emergency."

Castiel immediately appeared, and after a brief moment spent glaring at Xal, he looked at the group with those wide, owlish eyes of his. "What can I help you with?"

"Do you have ways of tracking people?" Dean asked.

Castiel blinked. "Yes." He blinked again, cocking his head to the side. "Who do you need to locate?"

Dean jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Spencer. "Spencer's old boss, Hotch, is in trouble. We need to find him and his kid ASAP."

"Oh." Castiel blinked again. "I know where they are."

Spencer did a double take, halfway through pulling his phone out of his pocket. "What?"

Castiel looked at Spencer, and his expression was almost apologetic. "You seemed… bothered… by your inability to be close to your team. I located the children—Jack, Henry, Michael, and Hank—to give them protection in your absence. So… I know where they are."

Spencer stood there with his mouth open, not entirely sure what to say. On one hand, he was immensely grateful, and on another, Castiel's involvement with the kids could have drawn the wrong kind of attention to them.

I don't have time to think about that. Spencer opened his phone and began to scroll through the contacts. "As soon as I talk to my team, I need you to tell us where Hotch and Jack are."

"Of course," Castiel agreed.

Xal stood up from the couch and stretched his arms to the sky with a yawn. "I'm ready to teleport once we know where we're going." He grinned at Castiel. "Just in case you're still having performance issues."

Castiel glared, blue eyes blazing. "I do not like you."

Xal gasped and lifted a hand to cover his mouth. "You don't say?"

"Guys, quiet, it's ringing." Spencer had barely taken a breath when he heard Emily answer on the other end. "Emily? Emily, it's me, Reid. I know you don't understand, but put me on speaker and listen. And don't let Garcia get in trouble."

"Reid? What—?"

"Speaker and listen!" Spencer shouted, bordering on frantic. "I know what Peter Lewis is planning."

Everything after that was a blur.

"There!"

Spencer made a break for the door, drawing his gun from his hip as he followed Lewis into the backyard. "Help Hotch!" he called over his shoulder.

"We got this!" Sam shouted out the door. "Get him, Spence!"

Lewis jumped up and grabbed the top of the fence that went around Hotch's property. He swung one leg over, and just as Spencer arrived, something pushed him back into Hotch's yard.

Xal. Spencer took a few steps back and aimed his gun at Lewis, wanting to keep enough space between them that Lewis couldn't make a grab for the gun.

"Dr. Reid, it's been a while." Lewis gave Spencer a devilish grin from where he sat in the dirt, his teeth shining in the moonlight. "How are you?"

Spencer ignored Lewis and pulled his phone from his pocket, pressing and holding the two. He put the device to his ear and waited for the ringing to stop.

"Reid? What's happening? Are you—"

"Garcia, how far out is the team?" Spencer never took his eyes off Lewis, and he could feel the anger inside him growing with every second Lewis was left alive. "I'm at Hotch's house, but I need to know how much time I have."

"We can't get a hold of the Marshal assigned to Hotch's case," Garcia replied, a panicked edge to her voice. "We think Lewis might have killed him."

"He probably did." Spencer didn't move his eyes when Xal appeared beside him. He kept them trained on Lewis. "He was copying Foyet, and Foyet killed the Marshal assigned to Haley and Jack."

"In that case, I have no idea how long it will take the team to get there." Garcia paused briefly, making a little noise like she wanted to say something but didn't know how. "What are you going to do, Reid?"

"It's handled, Garcia." Spencer snapped his phone shut, pushing the device into his pocket and once again gripping his gun with both hands.

"Dr. Reid," Lewis began, still grinning, still so pleased with himself that it made Spencer see red. "You might want to hurry back inside. Hotch wasn't looking so good when I left him."

Spencer didn't waver. "He's with the best." Sam and Dean and Castiel. They would take good care of him. "You should worry less about Hotch and more about yourself."

Lewis only shrugged and lifted his hands. "I surrender."

"I don't care," Spencer shot back, tightening his grip on his weapon.

"Oh, Dr. Reid, that's not good." Lewis shook his head, clucking his tongue a few times. "You can't kill someone who surrenders no matter how much you want to."

"You keep tabs on us." Spencer glared, watching Lewis' every movement in the light of the full moon. "You know I'm not an agent anymore. I'm not bound by my oath."

"No," Lewis agreed. "But you are bound by the law."

Spencer grit his teeth, rage swirling in the pit of his stomach. "I wouldn't be so sure."

"Spencer."

Spencer didn't dare to look away when he felt a hand close on his shoulder. He kept his weapon trained on Lewis and addressed the demon beside him with a trembling voice. "What?"

"Let me do it." Xal squeezed the shoulder and pulled a little, trying to make Spencer turn away from his target. "I know you said you don't see a difference, but you've never killed a human being outside the confines of the law. You don't have to start tonight."

"Yes, I do." Spencer grit his teeth, amazed that he could be so livid and still hold his gun steady. "He has to die."

"He will." Xal pulled on Spencer's shoulder again. "Be an accessory if you need to see him dead. But don't be a murderer."

Spencer blinked hard and wet his lips, staring at that disgusting, twisted face he had come to loathe. "He's a monster, just like every other monster I hunt. Being human doesn't make a difference."

"But it does make a difference." Xal moved a little so he was more in font of Spencer than beside him. "Humans are funny about things like that."

"Not. Me." Spencer shook his head, putting pressure on the trigger. "I can do this."

"I know you can." Xal put his hand on Spencer's arm and tried to push it down. "I know you can, but you don't have to."

Silence settled over the yard. Spencer stood there, shaking with rage, trying to convince himself to just pull the trigger. Xal stood there patiently, grey eyes full of understanding, waiting to see if Spencer could convince himself not to pull the trigger.

"Think of your team," Xal said. "They won't understand."

Spencer thought about it for a moment, and then he slowly began to lower his weapon. Even though he wanted to kill Lewis, and even though he knew he could, he also knew Xal was right. His team wouldn't understand. His family, the one he was so passionate about protecting, the reason he was so angry he couldn't see straight, wouldn't understand.

Spencer opened his mouth to speak, and Lewis moved suddenly. There was a split second where Spencer saw Lewis drawing a gun, and then came the loud bang of gunfire. Spencer flinched and screwed his eyes shut as something sprayed him, the evening air cooling the warm substance on his face.

Xal!

Spencer slowly opened his eyes, looking down at himself but finding no obvious injury. He reached up to wipe his face, his heart hammering in his ears, and then he looked at the place Lewis had been.

There, in the same moonlight that had illuminated Lewis' chilling smile, was a mess of blood and cartilage and bone. It looked like Lewis had exploded from the inside out. Organs were missing, ribs were broken and jutting out, his spine was in plain view. He wasn't just dead, he was destroyed.

"Come on, Spencer." Xal, also covered in blood spatter, grabbed Spencer's arm and started walking toward the house. "They'll have no idea what killed him, but there's plenty of DNA, so they'll know it's him. Your boss can come out of hiding." He tugged on the arm when Spencer wouldn't come. "There's no way a killing like this can be traced back to anybody. Nobody will be falsely accused of this crime." He paused, and then added softly, "It's over."

Spencer stared for a moment more, and then he slowly started to nod. He turned to look at Xal, and for a moment, he was reminded that Xal was a demon who was capable of evils far worse than anything Peter Lewis had ever done.

Xal gave another small tug and began leading Spencer toward the house, worry creasing his brow. "You okay?"

Spencer looked at Xal, and he was reminded that no matter what Xal was capable of, Xal was a friend. He was a friend who was normally non-violent and determined to stay out of trouble. He was a friend who understood. He was a friend who couldn't leave.

"I'm okay." Spencer smiled. "Thanks for asking."

Xal smiled back. "Sure thing."

They arrived at the house just as their conversation ended, and they went in through the still open door. They passed through the kitchen where they had initially appeared, walked through a living room, and around the corner, they found a staircase that led to the second story.

"I think they're up here," Spencer said, following the faint sound of voices.

Xal didn't say anything, content to follow Spencer's lead.

"Sam?" Spencer called softly, looking around at the many doors. "Dean?"

It took a second, but Sam's head popped out from a door on the right. "Here."

Spencer walked around the banister and went over to the door, stepping into the room and taking in the scene as quickly as he could.

Hotch was lying on the ground, unconscious, with his shirt soaked in blood. Castiel was in the corner of the room, trying to calm down a hysterical Jack. Dean was standing by the window, keeping an eye out for approaching law enforcement.

"How is he?" Spencer asked, not entirely sure he wanted to hear the answer.

Sam walked over to Hotch and crouched down, pulling the shirt up to reveal several shallow lacerations. "Castiel might be cut off from Heaven, but he's still got enough healing mojo to patch up the worst of it. Hotch should be fine with a little R&R."

Spencer let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Good." He glanced over at Jack, who was still shaken up. "What about Jack?"

"He was tied to the bed. He wasn't hurt at all." Sam wiped his bloodstained hands on his shirt, making a face at the drying stickiness. "I think Lewis tried to make Hotch kill Jack, but Hotch tried to kill himself instead. Just like that guy from the original Mr. Scratch case."

Spencer slowly nodded his head, finding he agreed with Sam's assessment. "Or maybe he didn't want to kill Jack at all. Maybe he wanted to scar him by forcing him to watch his father kill himself, and then forcing him to be stuck in the house with his father's decomposing body until someone came to look for him."

Sam grimaced. "Lovely." He glanced at Hotch. "Either way, Hotch's wounds were fatal enough that Lewis was ready to leave. We barely caught him."

Spencer hummed in agreement.

Sam looked at Spencer for a moment, looked over toward the corner, and then looked at Spencer again. "Go talk to him. I think he could use some family right now."

Spencer gave Sam a tight smile and, after a final look at Hotch, walked over to the corner where Castiel and Jack were.

"Uncle Spencer?" Jack dragged his arm across his tearstained face. "I don't understand. What's going on? Why was Dad hurting himself?"

Spencer crouched down and took Jack by the arms. "Your dad was hurting himself because he was drugged by the man who was in here telling him what to do." He shook his head. "Your dad didn't want to hurt himself. He didn't want to leave you, he was just trying to keep you safe."

Jack wiped the tears from his eyes again. "Is he—is he gonna be okay?"

Spencer smiled and nodded his head. "You bet. Castiel healed up all the wounds that were dangerous."

Jack sniffed, looked at Castiel, and then looked at Spencer. "How do you know Castiel?"

Spencer only smiled some more, trying to be as reassuring as possible. "He's a friend of mine. He's been watching over you, hasn't he?"

Jack nodded. "Yeah. I wrecked my bike, and he healed me up. I tried to tell Dad, but…" He looked down at the floor and mumbled, "He didn't believe me."

Spencer pressed his lips together and looked at Jack in sympathy. "I know it's hard having this big secret you can't tell anyone about." He debated with himself for a moment or two, and then he decided to give Jack a little more to hold onto. Hopefully, it wouldn't lead to trouble. "Garcia knows about the supernatural. If you ever really, really need to talk to someone, I'm sure she would be happy to talk to you."

"What about—"

"Hey!" Dean called from the window. "We got blue lights coming up the road."

Sam joined Dean and stared out through the glass. "Someone must have heard the gunshot and called it in." He looked at the group. "Was anyone actually shot?"

Xal raised his hand from where he lingered in the doorway. "'Tis but a scratch."

Spencer looked away from his friends and put his attention back on Jack. "Hey, buddy. Help is on the way, and they're gonna be here any second. Tell them the truth when you can, but when you can't, just say you don't know. Okay?"

Jack took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, and then he nodded. "Okay. I can do that."

Spencer gave Jack a warm smile and pulled him in for a quick hug. "You're gonna be alright, buddy. We'll stay in touch."

"And," Castiel added with an uncharacteristically soft voice, "I'll be watching over you. You can always call on me."

Spencer squeezed Jack one last time and then stood up, walking over to the center of the room and gesturing for Xal to join them. "Are we ready?"

Castiel put his hand on Dean's shoulder, and the duo disappeared.

"Okay, then." Sam looked at Xal and extended his arm.

Xal pushed off the doorframe and joined Sam and Spencer in the middle of the room. He grabbed Sam's arm with one hand and Spencer's with the other. "Hold on."

There was a sensation of air rushing around them, and then they were standing in Bobby's library with Dean and Castiel. Xal immediately staggered backward and fell onto the couch.

"Xal?" Spencer looked at Xal for confirmation he was alright.

Xal waved it off. "I just overexerted myself. I'll be fine."

Spencer gave Xal a long, hard look, not entirely convinced the demon was fine. Though, when he thought about it, Xal had exerted a lot of power in a fairly short window of time. Maybe he was just tired.

"Well?"

Spencer pulled himself from his thoughts and looked around for Bobby, quickly finding him in the kitchen with a cold brew.

Bobby arched a brow, an expectant expression on his face. "You boys gonna tell me what happened, or are you gonna stand there all night?"

Spencer heaved a sigh, but he smiled through it. "Alright," he started. "Here we go."

"I've never seen anything like this, Will. Whatever killed Lewis, if this really is Lewis, it tore him to pieces. It's almost like he exploded from the inside."

"JJ, that could be a million things."

JJ ran a hand through her hair and glanced around, ensuring she was alone in the clearing before she continued. "Well, I see pieces of the heart, so it wasn't a werewolf. Shapeshifters don't kill in obviously supernatural ways; they try to fit in and act like the species they're imitating." She crouched down and tilted her head, swallowing around her gag reflex at the up-close look of Peter Lewis' spine, pelvis, and ribs.

"There's something else you're not telling me." Will kept his voice down, papers rustling in the background. "What's botherin' you, JJ?"

"It's just…" JJ straightened up again and started to walk the scene, looking for the telltale signs of monster activity. "What are the chances something supernatural kills Peter Lewis outside the safehouse Hotch and Jack were hiding in?"

"You think whatever killed Lewis did it to target Hotch for itself?" Will hummed softly, paused, and then heaved a sigh. "It wouldn't be the first time a monster fixated. In a lot of ways, the monsters I hunt and the monsters you hunt are the same."

"Hey, I—" JJ looked around again, and it was still clear enough, but she lowered her voice anyway. "I hunt monsters, too."

"Sure, you do," Will teased, chuckling to himself on the other end.

"You're gonna pay for that later." But JJ was smiling. "So, let's think profile. What kind of creature is psychologically capable of fixating on someone?"

"Well, fixation is just a theory right now." Will's voice was soft, tempered, ever-level. "It really might have been a coincidence, JJ. Or maybe the thing was after Lewis just to kill Lewis. Something tells me a wraith would love to feed on a mind like this."

JJ glanced back at the body with a shake of her head. "I've never seen a wraith do this. Will, I've never seen anything—"

JJ stopped cold, blood freezing in her veins. She inhaled again, just to be sure, and cursed under her breath at the confirmation.

"JJ? What's wrong?"

"I know what killed Lewis." JJ crouched down and sniffed a few more times, eyes searching in the darkness for powder in the grass. "Demon."

Will cursed, too, a bit more colorfully than her. "I'll put the anti-possession bracelets on the boys, just in case."

JJ nodded her head and continued to look in the grass. "I can't see it yet, but I smell the sulfur."

"I believe you, JJ." Will sighed softly. "I believe you, and I want you to come home now. Neither of us have ever hunted a demon, and if anything can fixate and get revenge, it's them. We've got enough psychopaths in our history. Let's call in some bigger guns."

JJ reached out and ran her fingers through the grass to her right, and her fingers were dusted with sulfur when she pulled away. "Yeah. Maybe we should."

"Get home safe, JJ."

JJ pressed a hand to the lower, left-hand side of her abdomen, silently reminding herself that she couldn't be possessed; she couldn't bring the danger home to her boys.

"Yeah. I'm on my way."

She hung up the phone, but she couldn't shake the lack of a motive. Why would a demon just so happen to be outside Hotch's safehouse? If the demon wanted Hotch for themselves, why would they let Lewis drug Hotch first?

Me I'm going to check inside Hotch's house for signs.

Will Ok.

Will BE SAFE.

Me You know I will. See you at home.

JJ shoved her phone into her pocket and strode toward the house, not allowing herself to be distracted by the lights and sirens and officers still taping off the scene for investigation. She had a job to do.

As an agent, yes, and above all, as a friend…

…but also as a hunter.

Let's see what we've got.

"Look in the mirror and tell me,
Just what you see.
What have the years of your life,
Taught you to be.
Innocence dyin' in so many ways.
Things that you dream of are lost,
Lost in the haze.

Hold on, baby, hold on.
'Cause it's closer than you think,
And you're standing on the brink.
Hold on, baby, hold on.
'Cause there's something on the way.
Your tomorrow's not the same as today."