My scars remind me that I did indeed survive my deepest wounds. That in itself is an accomplishment. And they bring to mind something else, too. They remind me that the damage life has inflicted on me has, in many places, left me stronger and more resilient. What hurt me in the past has actually made me better equipped to face the present.
-Steve Goodier
Derek awoke early that morning, an unsettled feeling his chest. Hotch wanted him in a hour early, to "talk" or whatever. And to be honest, Morgan didn't want to touch whatever the hell this was with a ten foot pole.
Look, he understood he jumped the gun and got attached to Belle, but he sure as hell wasn't gonna apologize. She was one of the best things to ever happen to him and if his stubborn boss would get his head out of his ass for 5 damn minutes and actually talk to her? They would probably get along.
Not that Derek WANTED Hotch near his daughter right now.
Honestly he didn't trust him with her, and with good reason.
So here he was, at a way to early hour, writing a note to Belle so she wouldn't worry and leaving. As he was making his way to the front door the lip of the floormat tripped him. Grunting, he looks down at the messed up carpet, quirking a brow as he sees a marking on it. Kneeling down he slowly picks it up, confusion enveloping him as he sees a symbol. A very similar one to the Winchester Crest, why the hell was it here? Who made it?
Okay dumb question Derek, Belle most likely did, but why? Shrugging it off for now, he places it back shaking his head and pushing the thought down as he headed out the door.
Time to figure out what the hell Hotch was up to now.
***
Entering Hotchners office made Derek tense, looking at the tired face of his team leader made a pang of regret shoot through him. The rift in the team, his home life and more importantly, the cases were obviously taking its toll on him. Yet, he still couldn't bring himself to regret any decisions he's made thus far.
Belle was his kid now, no ifs and or buts about it.
"I'm glad you came," Hotch admitted, his voice low and gravely, thinly layered exhaustion consuming his form.
Derek scoffed sitting across from him, defenses up, "you didn't give me much of a choice, did you?" The photo of Jack rested proudly on the mans desk, much like his own of Belle's. Other office supplies was scattered across his work place, that and piles on manilla folders and paperwork.
"I admit," He begins, placing the pen he held down, "I was frank-"
"Frank? Hotch you texted me at 11 at night talking about how we needed to talk, with no explanation, no details. You were withholding and you know it!" The agent slams his hand down on the desk, shaking the pencils held in the small container.
Hotch's face was still, unmoving, cold. "I knew if I told you everything... you wouldn't have come."
That wasn't a good sign, if anything it should have told him to stand and walk out then and there. "What do you want Aaron."
Said man blinks in surprise, before nodding, "I know we've moved on to other cases, but I wanted to keep looking in to the Winchester cases-"
"Why?" Derek demanded, "its done."
Hotchner leveled him with a stare, "We both know there are still things that don't make sense, Dean Winchester had an identical body found of him, all of them have supposedly died multiple times." Hotchner picks up a file beside him, "unexplained things happen around them, it's much bigger than what was initially thought and if you weren't so close to this case, you would see that."
"I don't know what to tell you man," Derek snapped, "Belle may have held things back but shes a kid, she was scared."
His boss leans back in his chair, "scared? Or protecting someone?"
The fire that had been simmering in his stomach evolved to a roar, snatching the case file labeled with Belle's name, slamming down picture after picture of scars, brands, wounds and more, on the table. "Protective?" He questions, voice low and dangerous, "why be protective of the men that did this." He hisses pointing to her marred skin.
"You and I both know victims attach themselves to their captors-" Aaron begins, his voice careful, hands open palmed on the desk.
Derek's fists fell harshly on the wood again, if he kept at it, he would probably splinter the desk. Or at least harm the deep coloured polish. "You saying she has Stockholm?" He almost laughs at the absurdity, his kid? The same one who spat in the face of her captor and laughed all in the same breath, after being beaten down and whipped, that one? The strongest person he knew?
"No, but she was Dean Winchester's child, we know John was the root of everything, he trained those kids, made them into killers. Whose to say they didn't do the same to Belle? Whose to say John didn't?" Hotch tried to reason, "It needed to be looked into and you know it. Belle was evasive."
"Belle is a kid!" Derek erupted flinging himself up, "A sixteen-year-old child! She was scared!"
Aaron rose too, his knuckles white, "Belle is as delirious as her father, she has killed people!"
This made the younger man freeze, brows furrowed as his face forms into one of anguish, "what the hell are you talking about, we saw no evidence Belle was involved in what her father was doing, Man, come on!"
"Had, Derek, Had, I've found something." Hotch admits, seating himself, watching his friend sink into the chair across from him, shoulders slumped in disbelief and an entire concoction of emotions that he honestly couldn't bring himself to decipher. "A few years ago, Dean, Sam and Belle were brought in, Dean admitted to some of his delusions on tape, that isn't as concerning as when Belle also admitted to things on tape."
Derek stilled, "show me." He demands, face cold.
"Derek-" He tries, cut off.
"I said show me the damn tapes!" Morgan yells, "that's why you called me in here right?! So do it!"
4 1/2 years ago, with the Winchesters, Baltimore Maryland,
Dean crinkled the paper he held in his hand, a pen wrapped firmly between his lips as he nudges his daughter, passing the paper so she could see. She nodded slightly, reading over the words before passing him a crayon, he smiled, taking the pen out to kiss her cheek before placing it back in and filling in the brown of the blank coffee mug.
"Here you go," Sam smiled, placing a cup of coffee infront of Dean and Belle's Chocolate Milk, what, she likes it, sue her.
Belle hummed happily, sipping her drink as Dean passed Sam the paper. "Anthony Giles." He states proudly, Sam's brows furrowing in response.
The young girl always thought he looked like a caveman when he did that, "Who's Anthony Giles?" Belle smiled, picturing her Uncle prehistoric, yelling as someone made fire.
"He's a Baltimore lawyer. Working late in his office, check it out..." Sam started readin the paper as Dean dug into his drink, winking at a woman walking by, which Belle stuck her tounge out at. Dean narrowed his eyes playfully, flicking her in her head.
Meanwhile, Mr. Flintstone over there, was muttering along to the words, "hmm, throat was slit... room was clean. Huh. No DNA, no prints...." he looks up at the two, Belle smiling excitedly.
Dean shared a look with his kid, "Keep reading, it gets better," he says as she nods along.
"Security cameras failed to capture footage of the assailant." Sam made his weird frowny lip thingy as if he was saying would you look at that with his face.
"So I'm thinking," Belle kicks her father under the table, "sorry, gremlin, we're thinking, either somebody tampered with the tapes..."
Sam caught on, "Or it's an invisible killer." He nods, sitting back in his chair, letting the paper fall on the table.
The girl giggle, "Think Griffen!"
Dean smiled at her proudly before turning back to Sam, clicking his tounge in agreement, "My favorite kind. What do you think, Scully? You wanna check it out?"
Sam chucked the paper at him, "I'm not Scully, you're Scully."
Her father looked positively offended, "No, I'm Mulder. You're a red-headed woman."
"No you're both idiots, now come on, I wanna catch the invisible man," she wiggles her eyebrows at them, standing up as they head to baby.
***
After the boys had finished talking to the wife, Karen, they headed over to the office. Night had fallen over the sleepy town. Putting Belle at ease. Stars sprinkled the sky, whisps of clouds swirling as they made their way to the entrance. It wasn't a particularly cold night, actually the town was pretty humid. Yet, the stickiness that clung to her skin, only soothed her to a certain degree. It reminded her of Kansas.
Dean picked the lock carefully and they ducked in, flashlight shinning in the boring office. Closing the door behind them, they looked around, "Guys, Anthony Giles' body was found right about here..." He pauses, the oxidized blood pooled around the wall in a half moon shape, looking at the report, "Throat slit so deep part of his spinal cord was visible."
Belle looked at him, "no really, you think he was killed where the pool of blood is?" She asks, rolling her eyes as he gives her a bitch face, she shrugs continuing, "you know it's actually physically easy to slice someone's throat, and they die within 30 seconds due to blood loss and oxygen deprivation, it's not that hard to think this could be human." The girl says, Dean nodding at her, "of course the whole invisible man thing is still a factor."
"What do you think?" Her father asks them, "Vengeful spirit? Underlining vengeful?"
Sam hums, sitting at the Attorney's desk, "Yeah, maybe. I mean he did see that woman at the foot of his bed..."
The young girl picks up a piece of paper from the desk handing it to Dean, "Take a look at this." He hands it off to his brother casually.
He reads it carefully, "Dana Shulps. A name?"
"Dana in Hebrew means "God is my judge, Shulps has no historical significance that I can think of." Belle says, picking up another paper with the name repeated.
Her father leans down, yet another identical peice of paper comparing the two, "I dunno, but it's everywhere." He grins impishly, "Well, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy." As he laughs Sam shines the flashlight on the glass desk, the smearing of fingerprints spelling something out. Exhaling the name appears again, this time in sharp jagged letters.
"Wow. I'd say we've officially crossed over into weird." Sam states, Belle nodding.
She leans on Dean who just stills, allowing it. "So what, he was banging this chick on the side? Maybe he killed her and she came back bitchy."
Her father laughs, "yeah, maybe Giles knew her." He simplifies, messing up his daughter's hair affectionately.
Sam shook his head judgingly at the two, "or maybe it's the name of our pale red-eyed mystery girl."
As they go through all of the papers, computers, books, nooks and crannies of the entire office, frustration began to build and crackle in the atmosphere Belle who was going over case files jumps as Dean slams a cabinet closed breaking her trance.
"There's not a single mention of a Dana Shulps anywhere. There's not a D. Shulps. Or any other kind of friggin' Shulps." He snapped, steeping toward his family Belle who was splayed out on the ground and Sam who was at the desk.
The former groaned, "I can't find any Dana in here, no witness statements, work friends, foes, nothing."
The latter sighed, rubbing his face with his hand as he types away. "No Dana Shulps has ever lived or died in Baltimore in the last fifty years at least... but I think I'm pretty close to cracking Giles' password. Maybe there's something in his personal files, you know?"
Dean plops down next to Belle, "By close you mean..."
"Thirty minutes, maybe?" He admits,
Dean watched as his daughter threw her head into his lap and his fingers went straight to her hair that was exactly like Lylas.
He glances at his watch, smiling, "Awesome. So I guess I just get to, uh, hang out." As Dean brushed through Belle's hair he started making clicking sounds, that descended into raspberries and finally fart noises.
"Dude!" Sam snapped, glaring, "Seriously?!"
Eyes wide, said man untangled his fingers, "All right, I'm gonna go talk to Karen again, see if she knows anything about this Dana Shulps, huh?" He smiles, moving Belle off his lap softly and stands, winking at her as he heads out the door.
After the long night of fricken nothing, Sam ended up wrapping his niece in his arms and heading back to the motel.The crickets sounded quietly outside once they were settled, Belle was snuggling into the deep quilted blankets, Uncle Sam was sitting at a table in the middle of the room. The motel was quaint, one of the cleaner ones she'd been in. When suddenly a crash made her jump, men dressed in black burst through the door, guns raised and trained on the two as they fanned in. "Hands where I can see them!" A gruff voice ordered as he surveyed the room, "Hey, he's got a kid in here!"
A blonde woman walked in, FBI splattered in bright yellow letters in, she smirked at her Uncle, "Going somewhere Sam?"
Next thing the kid knew, she was in handcuffs and in the back of a police car.
Well, fuck.
Belle sat, swinging her legs in the room she was placed, her wrists pink from her tugging. A cup of water was placed infront of her, she glared at it, her hair neatly tucked away. Like she was just gonna give them her DNA, idiots.
The blonde lady was in with Sam in the room beside her, she was alone. Which was pretty funny, I mean, she was a 12, so, yeah, okay she'll sit here.
Suddenly a man walked in, her looked older, arrogant, his head held high as he stepped in the room, looking at her distastefully, trying to mask it under sympathy. "Hello... I'm Agent Sheridan, I'm with the FBI, we're a-"
Belle scoffed, "I know who the FBI is."
He watches her, "well, you know my name, what's yours?" She just perks an eyebrow as he continues, "look if you don't answer my questions you could be in big trouble, you'll go to jail-"
She laughs, "You're funny. I'm not going to go to jail because I'm not doing anything wrong.
"Young lady," he says sternly, "you're impeding a federal investigation, so you know what-"
She tilts her head, "am I under investigation?"
He pauses, "I, well, no, but the man you were with, his brother is."
Belle smiles, "so I am not vital to the investigation, therefore I do not have to tell you my name and even more so, it does not pertain to your investigation, if you do not have a lawful reason to ask my name, then I am not required to give it to you." She leans back with a smile, "unless, you have a lawful reason in which you need it?"
The agent narrows his eyes, slamming his hand down on the table, Belle pushed everything in her, to make sure she didn't jump, leveling him with a glare. "Work with me kid!"
She hums, picking up the paper cup carefully and spilling it over his lap, causing him to swear loudly, slamming the table as he shoots up. "That's it!" He yells, grabbing her arm and yanking her up, marching her to a door. "Wanna act like a criminal?" He hisses. Pushing the door open to a interrogation room, "well you'll get treated like one."
Belle sat on the metal chair as agent fuckface walked out. Sticking her tounge out at the one-way mirror, she plays with her hands. A few minutes later, a woman walks in, a soft smile on her face. "Hello."
The girl watched her carefully as she sat down across from her, a manilla folder in her hand. Quietly she opens it, pulling out photos of the Attorney and his wife. Throat slit blood splattered everywhere. Belle watches it disinterestedly, if this dumbass though she wasn't desensitized to gore, then she had another thing coming. She's literally killed creatures before, this? This was beginner shit.
"You don't seem scared, most kids would cry, y'know?" The agents says, a ridiculous expression on her face.
Belle laughed, "Well I'm just full of surprises and look, I know what you're going for with the face, like you're trying to be maternal and caring but honestly you're coming off as constipated."
Her face reddened, the twist of her lips falling immediately. "Okay, so, Dean Winchester, is he your brother or father?"
"Well," She says, head tilted innocently, "what do you think?"
The agent smiles, "I think you look to damn much like him to be his sibling, So, Miss Winchester, what's your name?"
"Hmm, I do like the approach, don't get me wrong, I do, but you can't prove it, and unless you have a warrant for my DNA, which you're probably not gonna get, then you, Anderson, are not gonna get it." Belle says, shrugging her shoulders smugly.
"My name isn't Anderson," Blondie snapped frustration creeping into her tone.
The huntress giggled, "You sure? You act like him", her voice raises an octave and adopts a British tilt, "Don't talk outloud you'll lower the IQ of the whole street."
"Look. Kid. I want to help you." She began, "Your father went on a rant about how monsters are real-"
Belle nods, "Ahh, gotcha, okay. Okay, I'll tell you everything I know." She states, much to the excitement of the agent.
"On tape?" She asks, "the truth?"
She nods holding up her hand, "Scouts honor," and with that she winks and the agent hustles away.
Present Day, with Morgan and Hotchner, Quantico Virginia, FBI headquarters
Hotch grabbed his computer, broadcasting the picture to a TV in the corner of the room. An old picture of Dean Winchester staring straight into the camera popped up. For the first time Derek realized the similarities between him and Belle, same eyes, pouted lips, nose, freckles, her entire face was a testament to him. The only outlier was her hair and suddenly it all made sense to him. The way Belle avoided mirrors and when she did catch herself she'd just still for a moment, lost in a trance.
Grunting he ushered his boss to press play. "My name is Dean Winchester." Rang out in the room, his eyes cool, a smirk on his face, "I'm an Aquarius. I enjoy sunsets, long walks on the beach, and frisky women." Then suddenly his voice hardens, "And I did not kill anyone." With that he looked off camera, to who, Derek guessed was the arresting officers. "But I know who did. Or rather what did. Of course it can't be for sure, because our investigation was interrupted. But our working theory was that we're looking for some kind of vengeful spirit."
Derek froze, "Vengeful Spirit?" He asks, looking to Aaron who nods once, "what the hell?"
"You know, Casper the bloodthirsty ghost?" Dean asks, in response to a woman who had a close response to Derek. Suddenly laughter rose in the background causing Dean's face to harden, sending a chill across the room. "Tony Giles saw it. I'll bet you cash money Karen did too. But see, the interesting thing is the word it leaves behind. For some reason it's trying to tell us something. But communicating across the veil, it ain't easy. You know, sometimes the spirits, they, they get things jumbled. You remember "REDRUM". Same concept. You know, it's, uh, maybe word fragments... other times, it's anagrams. See, at first we thought this was a name, Dana Shulps. But now we think it's a street. Ashland. Whatever's going on, I'll bet you it started there." Dean spread his hands out and shrugged, a smile on his face, smug and telling.
An angry growl ripped out of a male agent, "You arrogant bastard. Tony and Karen were good people, and you're making jokes!"
The Winchester glared, "I'm not joking, Ponch."
The man spoke again, still off camera,"You murdered them in cold blood just like that girl in St. Louis."
"Oh, yeah." He says, as if he'd just remembered, "That wasn't me either. That was a shape-shifter creature that only looked like me." He smiles at the camera only to be lifted up by an agent and slammed against a wall.
A woman yelped off camera, "Pete! That's enough!"
Dean stared at them, "You asked for the truth." He says as the camera flicks off.
Derek turned to Hotchner, "So what, we knew that they had some fantasy that John instilled, they believe in fictional creatures." The agent landed back, "that doesn't change what we knew, or what we thought about Belle."
"Dean isn't the only one with a tape, Derek." He reminds coldly, switching the videos to showcase a much younger Belle, her face in a sulk, eyes large and tired. This made a pang shoot through his chest, she looked so... little. Less hardened, her face was still soft with youth, not as exhausted or even as haunted as it was now. Derek shot him a look as he pressed play and Belle's prepubescent voice rang out.
"My name is Belle Winchester, I'm honestly bored and am surrounded by idiots." A groan came from the camera, so she shrugs and continues. "My father, Dean Winchester, didn't kill anyone in St Paul. A skinwalker, or as you know it, a shapeshifter disguised himself as Dean."
A string of swears followed this as she continues, "My Dad, Uncle and I travel the country and find monsters, things that go bump in the night. Creatures you'd never believe existed."
"Okay kid, enough tell me the truth!" The same man pounded his fist on the table.
Her eyes were cold, "My mother was murdered by Demons, the same ones that killed my Grandmother. I hunt monsters, just like my Dad, just like my Grandfather and many more."
A women's voice calls out to her, drawing the girl's attention away, "Have you hurt someone Belle?"
The huntress shrugs, "depends, are we talking human's or monsters?"
"Either," she says softly.
Belles eyes look down to her hands tucked in her lap, before staring dead set into the camera, "Yes."
Derek slams his fist down as the camera switches to black, his own angry expression looking back at him. "She was what? Ten?!" He yells at his boss, picking himself up. "She doesn't believe that anymore man! And she wouldn't have hurt anyone she didnt have to, we can't convict anyone without evidence."
"Do you truly believe that Derek?" Aaron asks, looking at his agent steadily from his spot at the desk, "That she doesn't believe?"
His mind flashes back to the symbol under the mat he'd found, thoughts of her and the priests interactions. The blood, the names. Then he looks back at Hotch. "She my daughter, I believe in her." Then he walks to the door, throwing it open, "and Hotchner? If you ever come for my kid again? I'm gonna be off this team and you'll be in an ICU."
The beginning of love is the will to let those we love be perfectly themselves, the resolution not to twist them to fit our own image. If in loving them we do not love what they are, but only their potential likeness to ourselves, then we do not love them: we only love the reflection of ourselves we find in them
Thomas Merton