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Cassie knew, as she stood in front of the closed door, that there was no logical reason for her to be nervous. Sure, Dean had barely spoken to her for the past two weeks, but they were partners. Conversation was bound to begin again somehow—they worked together. If Cassie had to be the one to break the ice, then so be it.
She shifted the sweatshirt she held in her arms and gently knocked on the door, the sound echoing in the empty hallway. She never really came up there often, on the third floor. There was shuffling behind the door, then it finally cracked open, Dean standing behind it. Cassie could tell by the look on his face that he wasn’t expecting her to be the one knocking.
“Hey,” Cassie said, meeting his eyes. “Um, can I come in?”
Dean just stood there for a second, then nodded, opening the door wider and letting her inside. Cassie crossed the threshold, briefly looking around the bedroom before sitting down on the bed.
His room was fairly neat, she noted, and minimalistic in decoration. She had only been in there one other time, on the day where she and Dean snuck out of the house to go to a safe house during their last active case, as per Locke’s instructions. The day when Locke was revealed to be a killer, the UNSUB of that case.
The day she died.
Don’t think about that, Cassie scolded herself. Dean watched her like he knew what was going on in her head as he took a seat next to her.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, still seeming wary as he looked at her.
“I wanted to give you your sweatshirt back,” Cassie replied, holding it out to him. Before they had gone to the safe house two weeks ago, Dean had given her the sweatshirt to wear when he noticed she was shivering.
His eyebrows drew together. “When did I—” he started, and Cassie could see the moment he remembered. His mouth shut as he took it and held it up. Dried blood marred the fabric, and Cassie knew it was Michael’s. She could still see it now, him bleeding out on the floor of the foyer, one bullet in his shoulder and another in his leg.
So much for not thinking about that day.
“Sorry, I couldn’t get out the stains,” Cassie explained as Dean examined them.
“It’s fine,” he assured her. “It’s just a shirt.” He quickly folded it and placed it beside him. “Is that all you came here for?”
Cassie shrugged in response. “Do you know when we’re gonna start working on cases again?” The team had been put on a temporary suspension from working on cold cases, but since Michael had finally been released from the hospital a few days ago, Cassie was guessing they would be allowed to work again soon.
Dean looked down at his hands. “I think Briggs said Monday.”
Cassie nodded, not really sure what to say. She was usually a nonconfrontational person, but she was tired of feeling like she and Dean were walking on eggshells around each other. It was an awkward thing when you lived in close quarters.
Dean, surprisingly, was the one to break the silence. “You want to talk about the Locke case, don’t you?” he asked, casting a sideways glance to Cassie.
“I don’t want to, but I think we have to,” Cassie answered slowly. “We have to move past this if we’re going to start profiling together again.”
For a second, Cassie thought Dean would refuse to talk any more—maybe ask her to leave—but then he started shaking his head and said, “I should’ve known.” Should’ve known that Locke was a serial killer.
“You couldn’t have,” Cassie insisted. “She had us all fooled.”
“I should’ve known, though,” he repeated, his voice rough and low. Then, almost as if to himself, he added, “There’s a lot of things I should’ve done.”
He didn’t need to elaborate. You’ve known her for the longest, Cassie thought as she began profiling him without even realizing. She’s the one who trained you, day in and day out, for the past five years. You’re a Natural profiler—recognizing the traits of a serial killer is what you do.
When you had the chance to shoot her, you hesitated. You blame yourself for letting me—and Michael—get hurt. Cassie let that thought soak in. “You can’t shoulder all of the responsibility for what happened, Dean,” she asserted gently. “You aren’t the only Natural in this house. She knew how to play the game, how to trick all of us.”
Cassie still couldn’t believe it was possible—a psychopath being an FBI agent. Dean finally looked up then, and Cassie caught his gaze. “You feel you should have been able to protect me that day, but I don’t think I could have avoided what happened either way.” Cassie was the one who had been the object of Locke’s fascination. Cassie had been her niece.
She let out a breath. “Anyway, treating me like a stranger isn’t going to change anything.” The words should’ve sounded sharp, but Cassie had a way of smoothing them into something soft.
Now it was her turn to look down at her hands. “I want to stay in the program, and I want to keep working with you.”
The declaration left her feeling jittery, and she could feel the intensity of Dean’s stare on her. “So, do you think we can just move past it?” she asked, turning back to him.
Dean nodded, and Cassie couldn’t help but feel like he was profiling her. “Yeah, I think so,” he answered quietly.
He studied her for a moment, before adding, “You were hoping for answers about your mother after all of this. You told me before that that was why you came here.”
Cassie shrugged. “Yeah, but that’s not the only reason I’m still here.” It was about more than that, now. Cassie was beginning to feel a sense of belonging here, surrounded by other people like her. She didn’t really understand how she felt about everything that entailed that yet, but she knew it would be a mistake to leave the program already without finding out.
Cassie knew she didn’t need to say all of that out loud for Dean to understand. It wasn’t something she was used to, being understood or seen like that, but as Cassie let a small smile slip and Dean did the same, she realized she liked it. She could grow used to it.