#first kill 1x01 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

confused-pyramid · 10 months ago

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Coming Up For Air | s1

pairing: aaron hotchner x childhood bsf!reader

summary: Hotch and his childhood best friend working together at the BAU: a slow burn across the seasons.

word count: 10.4k

warnings: canon!typical violence, mentions of abuse, death of a spouse, slow slow slow burn, specific episodes mentioned in this part are 1x01, 1x06, 1x07, 1x08, 1x15, 1x16, and 1x22

a/n: I started rewatching Criminal Minds from the beginning, and this is what came out of it heh. This is the first part in a little series I'm starting that follows Hotch and his childhood best friend in the BAU, beginning with the pilot. If all goes well, this will continue through the rest of the show, with ~1 part per season :) Title is from Coming up for air by Signals in Smoke

series masterlist

You haven't used your oven in over a year. It's not that you don't like cooking - because you do - you just haven't had the time. If you could, you would blame it on the extra hours you have had to put in after starting at the BAU, but that wouldn't be fair. Your transfer to the unit was the only thing that got you through his death at all.

After your husband was shot and killed in action while tailing a kingpin of one of the New York mobs, you couldn't bear to be in this house at all. You had gone back home to stay with your father for a couple of months, but eventually you had to get back to your real life. With a month remaining on your bureau-mandated leave, you returned to the home you had shared, before one of the lower-level mob soldiers misfired -

You didn't let yourself think about it for almost a year, but time heals all wounds. The poets were right. At least you hope they are.

Even back at home, you still couldn't bear to be there alone, other than when you were sleeping. That's why your peloton was gathering dust and your kitchen went untouched, until just now.

So, of course, the call from the office comes when you're making dinner. It takes five minutes to change into slacks and a button-up, and two more to toss your half-cooked vegetables in the trash, before driving down to headquarters.

A fourth girl has been taken in Seattle, and the local PD only now decided to invite your team. You know the BAU isn't well-liked by the other departments, but that doesn't mean you aren't effective.

When you enter the building, you rush through the I.D. check and jog over to the lecture hall, where Morgan and Reid are standing outside of a neighboring office like children waiting for their father to come and get them.

Shooting them both a thin-lipped smile, you step inside just as they finish discussing the unsub's pattern.

"They want you back in the saddle," Hotch says to the man beside him after greeting you with a nod.

Your eyes are so immediately drawn to Hotch that it takes you a moment to realize that you recognize the man standing next to him. You haven't seen him since the day you were assigned to the BAU, mostly because you were technically transferred to this unit because of his extended leave.

What was supposed to be one month became six, before Hotch informed you that your temporary placement would be permanent, if you were willing to stay in Virginia.

It was a no-brainer.

You turn your gaze to Jason Gideon as everyone in the room stares at him expectantly. He looks self-assured, but you're sure the confidence is a front. "They sure they want me?"

"The order came from the director," Hotch says simply.

"Well," Gideon states, "we'd better get started, then."

Hotch glances over at you as everyone files out of the room and you raise your eyebrows momentarily, a quick check-in between the two of you. He nods imperceptibly and it's enough for now. He didn't tell you Gideon was coming back today, but now isn't the time to give him hell for that.

***

Hotch is the last to board the plane, and he takes his usual seat beside you, this time in the aisle, a few rows away from the rest of the team.

"I was going to tell you," he says as soon as you close the case file in your hands. "The section chief wants me to evaluate him to see if he's ready to return to the team."

"That's a lot of pressure." They have to know that Gideon will be able to smell him out within the day. "You sure it won't get in the way?"

Hotch makes that face you hate, the one that says he knows you're deflecting. "I was going to tell you."

It doesn't take much for you to forgive him. It helps that you trust him completely, especially after everything he has done for you.

"Still," you smile, bumping his shoulder with yours, "it would have been nice to know about the sudden change to my job security."

You're mostly joking, but his frown is genuine. "Don't be silly. You'll always have a place on this team."

He takes everything so seriously these days. You suppose it's only fair, given the files he has to sort through on a daily basis. Picking which case deserves the team's attention the most.

But he wasn't always like this. You're the newest member of the team, but you've known Hotch longer than any of them.

You still remember the first time you met him, at eight years old. He was your first real friend at school, and you became inseparable easily. Your shared love for The Beatles and Law and Order made you fast friends, and as you grew older, your interests shifted in tandem.

Sometimes when you look at him, you still see that little boy who knew too much, but still managed to always make you laugh.

***

The team disperses soon after you land in Seattle. You've never had to come up with a profile in one afternoon, but it's also been a long time since your ticking clock to find the victim was just over a day.

When Gideon and Morgan head to the latest crime scene, you join Hotch and Reid to interview the victim's brother. The moment the three of you step into his house, his dog, Sandy, starts barking up a storm.

"It's what we call the Reid effect," Hotch smiles, walking over to pet her. "Happens with children, too."

You can't help but smile as well, peering over at Spencer, who looks about as uncomfortable as he usually does.

It doesn't escape your notice that the brother looks looser now. Hotch has a way with people that traces back to his childhood self. He was always wiser than his years, something you chalk up to his need to grow up faster than he should have, but his paternal instinct comes from practically raising his brother, Sean, after his dad's untimely death.

The casual interview reveals enough about the victimology that when you head back to the station, Gideon calls the officers in to explain the profile.

You can feel Morgan's agitation wafting off of him as he watches Gideon state his assumptions with startling clarity and confidence. Hotch, on the other hand, looks contemplative, which reminds you that he's been tasked with the returning agent's evaluation.

He can see your furtive glances in his direction, even as you try to remain secretive about your interest in his demeanor. He presses his lips together to keep from smiling as he thinks about how lucky you are that you went into profiling and not covert operations.

You have never been especially good at keeping your own thoughts or intentions to yourself around him. While some would call that a weakness in this field, he sees it as your greatest strength, because it clearly shows how much he can trust you.

As a kid, you were outspoken about every idea you had, and you used your strength and willpower to look out for him when he needed it. It took him a long time to admit how much he used to need you (maybe too long), but you always knew.

***

Gideon's profile leads to the arrest of Richard Slessman and Tim Vogel, and Elle manages to save the last girl while she's still alive. You catch your breath for the first time in 36 hours as you stand with Hotch in the shipyard, watching the paramedics and local police clear the scene.

"What are you going to tell them?" you ask under your breath as his gaze turns to Gideon, who is getting patched up in the back of an ambulance.

He had goaded the unsub into shooting him instead of the girl, but your mind can't seem to focus on the silver lining.

Hotch sighs, crossing his arms over his chest, as though to hold his coat closed against the breeze. "They want to know if he's fit to be a field agent again."

Normally, you would give him shit for using that tactic. Avoiding a question by providing more information. This time, you know he's just thinking out loud.

"What would you say?" Hotch asks as Morgan walks over and sits on a barrel next to you.

"Gideon saved her life," Derek shrugs, his eyes flashing to you for a moment. "That's good enough for me."

Hotch seems to ponder this for a second. "Do you know what Gideon means in Hebrew?"

"Mighty warrior," Reid interjects, popping in to the conversation with the subtlety of a tiger.

You're confused at first, but then you remember the baby names book that was sitting in Hotch's living room the last time you visited him. "You cannot let Haley name your child Gideon."

Hotch laughs suddenly, and you can tell you surprised it out of him. Your chest warms comfortably as he smiles, his cheeks flushing softly in the chill air.

He looks over at Gideon again, deciding in real time that he's going to recommend him to come back to the team. He would never admit it to you or anyone, but he knows that if your position on the team was in jeopardy from Gideon's return, he wouldn't have been able to complete his evaluation fairly.

It was Hotch who recommended you for the open position after he was promoted into Gideon's role as unit chief. You deserved the spot, of course, but Jeff's death had still been fresh and he knew better than most how much the job can take one's mind off of the other aspects of their life.

While Hotch watches Gideon, you watch him. You can tell from the look on his face that it's a done deal. Jason's coming back to the team. It will be a change of pace for everyone, but that doesn't mean it won't be good.

Having joined the team right after the bombing, you saw exactly how Gideon changed after getting the profile wrong, but so did everyone else. What people didn't talk about was how Aaron changed too. Rising into the rank. Growing to fill the hole that Gideon left in the unit, but somehow also shrinking into himself at the same time, because that's what this job does to you...it takes and it takes and it takes until you have nothing left to give.

But sometimes that's what you need: to give something up so you know you aren't losing everything.

***

Gideon settles into the team faster than you anticipated, and soon it's almost like he never left. Even though you can see the vein on Morgan's neck pulsate every time he hijacks a profile, you can't help but appreciate the support he gives to Spencer and Elle, both of whom are becoming incredible profilers before your very eyes.

That's also why you find yourself a little worried when Hotch tells you that Reid failed his weapons recertification.

"I thought you said you were helping him practice," you say as the two of you walk past security and toward the bullpen.

"I was," he emphasizes, before correcting himself, "I did. I'm sure he was just nervous."

You nod, pushing open the doors and spotting Reid sitting quietly at his desk. "He can test again in two weeks. He'll be fine."

When Morgan hands him a whistle with a quippy joke, you sigh into your coffee tumbler, but don't bother stepping in. He's being childish, but if you try to intervene, it'll just embarrass Spencer more.

"Okay," JJ starts, "Franklin Park, Des Plaines. Yesterday afternoon."

She dives into the case, but you have already read the file (and you know Reid has too) so you scoot your chair over to his desk and lean forward so only he can hear you. "I failed my first weapons certification at the bureau too."

Spencer looks up immediately, his face colored with surprise. "Really? You're one of the best shots I know."

You smile with a shrug. "The tests aren't real life. When it comes down to it, I get the job done. Just like you will."

He doesn't say anything for a moment, but then his lips curve up into a small smile. You both turn your attention back to the front just as JJ finishes explaining the case details.

"Wheels up in 30."

The flight to Illinois is filled with heated discussions about the bureau's fruitless history of trying to profile long distance serial killers.

"L. D. S. K.s are so rare, we haven't been able to build a standard profile," Hotch explains as the jet reaches cruising altitude.

Gideon chimes in immediately. "Here's what we do know: they're always male, and they frequently have law enforcement or military experience, and they always contact the police or the media."

Elle looks confused and you echo her sentiment as you lean your hip against her armrest. "To take credit or relive the experience?"

"Both," he says simply. "All serial killers attempt to relive the ecstasy they get from their killings. Some use souvenirs taken from the victims, and others return to the dump site to interact with the body. Both modes require contact with the victim, contact which, by definition, long distance serial killers don't have."

"Our unsub hasn't contacted anybody," you point out. "What do we do until then?"

"Sometimes it's not what the unsub does that reveals the profile. Sometimes it is what they do not do."

Reid glances up from the file in his lap, and you notice that he looks at Gideon first. "He doesn't kill his victims."

"Underkill's a unique signature," Hotch ponders, standing up and walking along the cabin. He only paces when he's deep in thought. "The question is, does he shoot them in the stomach intentionally just to wound them, or is he just aiming at the biggest part of the target?"

The team is silent as you take in this new analysis. You're not surprised when Gideon is the first to speak up. "Specifically, does the unsub lack the skill to make the head shot, or simply the will to take it?"

When the plane lands, you check out the last crime scene before spending the day talking to the local police and the victims' surgeons at the nearby hospital.

That night, when you check into your hotel room, the click of the door lock closing behind you is a welcome relief from the tension of the day. Many of the Des Plaines police officers were unhappy with the team's initial assessment, because it heavily implied that the unsub may have been a law enforcement official himself.

You wash your face and change into a tee shirt and a comfortable pair of sweatpants, before climbing into bed and opening the case file back up again. The rest of the team has also gone to their own rooms, but you can't help but wish you had another set of eyes looking at this with you.

As though reading your mind, a knock thuds on your door and you stand up quickly, in case it's an emergency. When you check the peephole, you see Hotch standing way too close to the door.

Unlocking it slowly so you don't startle him, you open the door to find him in still in a full suit.

"Is there a problem?" you ask immediately. "Do I need to get dressed?"

He shakes his head, glancing around the hallway so quickly that you almost miss it. "I was just looking over the profile and I wanted your opinion on some thoughts I had."

The corner of your mouth twitches and you open the door further to let him in. He doesn't miss a beat as he takes a seat on the armchair in front of your bed and flips open his notepad.

"I was thinking about the bullet we recovered on the scene," he says slowly, like he's thinking through every word he's saying.

You nod, sitting on top of the bed covers and crossing your legs under you. "Garcia called after you left the station. The bullet was a .223 fired from the M-4 variant of the M-16."

"That means he's military," Hotch says, reaching his hand out without taking his eyes off his notepad. You close the case file you had laid out and hand it to him. "M-4 is a shorter barrel than the M-16, so it's less accurate and a lot harder to fire, especially at these distances."

"This level of skill indicates specialized training. That means..."

"It means the underkill was on purpose," Hotch says, finishing your thought. "What is he trying to prove?"

You purse your lips as he sits up in the chair to give himself room to remove his jacket. His pinstriped button-down is slightly crinkled under his arms, but you can tell it was freshly ironed this morning.

"Maybe he's in a fast-paced occupation," you suggest, "which would fit with the profile that he has a big ego."

"Then we're back to law enforcement."

You lean forward, your eyes following his hands as they fidget with his cuffs and undo the buttons, one at a time. You've always been attune to every one of his movements, but maybe it's just because you've spent so much time around him.

"Hotch," you whisper-yell, snagging his attention from your case file, which he tosses back to you.

He hums and you take that as an invitation to continue speaking. "Be careful tomorrow, when you're giving the profile."

One of his eyebrows lifts and you can tell he's holding back a smile. "It's just in front of the Des Planes PD. You'll be there too."

"It's not that," you sigh, shaking your head. "Everything about this profile points to the shooter being either current or former law enforcement. I'd be surprised if they didn't take it personally."

His eyes flit up to yours, his brow furrowing. "I can handle myself."

"I'm sure you can, Hotch," you say with a breathy laugh. "Doesn't mean I don't still look out for you."

He pauses and it's like his whole body takes a beat. "I know."

***

You're talking to Dr. Landman with Derek, Elle, and Jason the next day when a gunshot rings out through the hospital. Last you checked, Hotch and Reid were in the E.R., but you haven't heard from them since you arrived.

"It's Phillip Dowd," a nurse informs you when you meet with local police outside the closed E.R. door.

After a quick call to Penelope, the profile becomes clear.

"He joined the army at 18," Gideon recites, pacing around the room in a vaguely reminiscent manner, "went to ranger school, did 6 years before being dishonorably discharged in '95 for conduct unbecoming. Obviously lied about it, joined the Arlington P. D."

"You were right," the police captain sighs. "He was a cop."

His hopeless tone is disheartening, and you find yourself upset for not the first time that your team was correct in their assessment.

After the initial commotion, the E.R. is silent except for a few muffled voices. You can't hear what's being said, but the lack of gunshots or loud noises is all that's keeping you from falling apart.

"It'll be okay," you hear whispered from next to you. You turn to see Derek, who presses his shoulder to yours briefly. "Hotch will know what to do."

You know there's nothing you can do from out here, especially with how precarious the situation inside is, but doing nothing has never been your strong suit.

"I know," you tell him, echoing your thoughts. "I just wish we could help."

Derek cocks his head at the S.W.A.T. team readying themselves to break the door down. "We can help. We need to give Hotch and the kid time to wear Dowd down."

His tone is light and you feel yourself laugh, ignoring the thickness that swells in your throat. "That shouldn't take long."

Derek bumps your arm again in a silent extension of comfort, and you mouth a silent thank you.

You can feel Gideon losing patience as he reasons with the captain, but he eventually buys them three minutes to do what they can. When the final five second countdown starts, you unconsciously hold your breath, only to be released when Hotch's voice calls through the door.

"Hold your fire!"

Your breath comes out like a gasp and you squeeze Derek's arm before rushing forward. Hotch stumbles past you with a murmur that sounds obscurely like "help Reid", so you push your way through the throng of civilians moving to escape until you see him.

"Spencer," you gasp, crouching down to help him into a standing position. You would never admit it to him, but ever since he joined the team, he's been something of a little brother to you. "What happened in here? Are you okay?"

"You were right," he says with a surprising steadiness to his voice. "I got the job done."

You don't ask what he means, knowing that Hotch will fill you in when the time is right. Instead, you decide not to fight the vaguely maternal urge rising within you and you pull him into a tight hug. It's more of a quick squeeze, because you don't want to push past his physical boundaries, but he doesn't complain, instead looking over at you with a small smile that's more than enough for now.

***

You find Hotch where the departed ambulance that patched Reid up was parked. All of the hustle and bustle of the paramedics and local police officers and bureau agents comes to a standstill as you walk over to where he's sitting on the edge of the curb.

"I heard what happened," you say as a way to announce your presence. "Can I sit?"

He nods without looking up, and you crouch down next to him, settling on the curb with your shoulder pressed to his. You can feel the tension in his muscles as he grips the sidewalk, his palms digging into the concrete like he could break through if he pressed hard enough. "Reid.."

"..is fine," you whisper, nudging him so he looks up to where Spencer and Jason are chattering excitedly. "He's more proud than anything."

He doesn't say anything, so you bump your knee against his. "I guess all of the physical training classes you made him take at the academy paid off."

He knows you know exactly what is running through his mind, so he doesn't bother trying to articulate it. Instead, he lets out the breath he didn't realize he was holding, and looks over at you. "Do you remember that self-defense class we took before law school?"

You're not expecting this question, and you almost laugh. "You mean the singular self-defense class you dragged me to before dawn in the summer before we started at Georgetown?"

He levels you with a look that you would think is serious if you didn't know him so well. "You don't regret it, though."

"No," you smile, your eyes blurring with emotion. That's where you met Jeff. "I don't."

He was your instructor that day. He only taught that class twice a week, between lectures at Georgetown Law, and it doesn't escape your mind that you so easily could've missed him. One day earlier or later and you never would've met him, never would've been his girlfriend, or his wife, or his widow.

Hotch remembers meeting him that day too. He had to literally come to your apartment and drag you out of bed to make the seven AM class that he had signed you both up for, and you had been grumpy the whole drive over.

There wasn't much, other than coffee, that could get you alert before eight in the morning, but the moment you walked into that gym, it was like you were wide awake. He spent the rest of the class trying not to look as the man he would later come to know as Agent Adler kept coming over to give you extra pointers, and he pretended that the coil of ice slithering up his spine was there just because he was watching out for you.

When he found out the two of you had started dating, he continued to pretend the nausea rising in his stomach was from the day-old sandwich he had had for lunch, because it wasn't fair. Especially since he was with Haley, and he was happier than he had ever been, even if the new law school course load was making it harder to see her as often as he wanted to.

But eventually, your happiness with him overpowered every protective urge he felt, and he realized that even if there was a feeling in his gut that he didn't recognize when he saw you two together, Jeff was perfectly suited for you.

***

"He's so gorgeous!" JJ coos, her hands twitching at her sides like she's trying not to reach forward and take the baby out of Haley's hands.

She brought Jack, their newborn son, in to work today to show the team, and Hotch looks prouder than you've ever seen him. "Thank you."

"If you find baldness and wrinkles attractive."

"Reid!" you chastise, swatting at him. He dodges your hands without even looking.

"Look at his widdy biddy nose," Garcia squeals, before turning to Morgan with an inquisitive look. "Don't you want one of these?"

He just laughs as he rests his chin on her shoulder. "Mm, I'll stick to practicing."

"Congratulations," Elle chimes in before returning to Gideon's side to continue discussing the new case that came in. She's always on top of things, and it's something you respect greatly about her.

"Thanks," Hotch smiles, his gaze returning to Jack after looking away for only a moment. Jack is like a siren, the way each of his little sounds or movements holds Hotch's attention so steadily. He's the most focused of all of you, but you've still never seen him this enamored. "She's amazing. I'm a little terrified."

"You're glowing," you tell Haley as the rest of the team heads to the briefing room. "How is it that you had a baby just a few weeks ago?"

"You're sweet," she smiles, before tilting her head forward. "Do you want to hold him? You're practically his aunt."

You gasp quietly, so as not to wake little Jack. "That is a title I will carry proudly. And yes, I would love to hold him."

Haley hands him to you slowly, and you make sure to support his head carefully as you cup your arms around him. He looks so much like Haley that you almost make a joke about Hotch's genes not even putting up a fight, but that nose...that nose has Hotch written all over it.

When you glance back to where the team left from, you see him turn back at the same moment and offer you an encouraging smile.

"How are you holding up?" you ask Haley, barely able to focus on your surroundings with a newborn in your arms. Maybe there is something to the siren thing.

"Jack's been incredible. He barely cries, it's kind of a godsend...but I do wish Aaron could take time off with me."

You give her what you hope is your most comforting smile. "We've been super swamped with cases here, but in all my years working with him, I have never seen him so eager to leave every night."

She laughs, a pretty sound you remember from your youth. "I know. I feel so unfair when I complain about these things, but I appreciate you humoring me."

"Not at all," you assure her, glancing back down at Jack, who is mid-yawn. "I understand completely. If I had one of these little guys, I wouldn't be able to think about anything else."

You hear her breath catch and you open your mouth to reassure her that it's fine, but she is already reaching forward to squeeze your arm. "You and Jeff would have made amazing parents."

When you both joined the bureau, you were so busy with work that kids weren't on your mind at all. It wasn't until you got settled at the BAU, and Jeff found his place with organized crime, that you even started talking about it.

You want kids, don't you?

Only a few. Maybe four or five. Yeah, five's a good number.

"I should get back to the team," you say softly, blinking away the memories.

Haley sees your face and she smiles sadly as she takes Jack back from your arms. "I'll see you soon. Tell him I'm heading home, will you?"

You nod and watch the elevator doors close in front of her, before joining the team.

***

"I can't believe you went bar hopping without me," Derek shakes his head, feigning offense as he leans so far back in his chair you're afraid it may tip over.

"I think hopping is kind of a strong word," you say, glancing over at Elle, who is perched on the edge of your desk. "We only had one bar in mind, but it closed earlier than we thought, so we went somewhere else after."

"This was a much needed girl's night," Elle grins, patting Morgan on the shoulder as he continues to pout. "We'll invite you next time."

"How was your weekend, Dr. Reid?" you ask, turning around to face him.

Spencer doesn't look up from his crossword.

You say his name again, recalling the attention of Derek and Elle, who had started talking about some trip they've been planning for what feels like months.

When he still doesn't look up, you pick up one of the BAU-provided pens on your desk and chuck it at him, just hard enough to bridge the gap between your desks, but not so hard that it hurts on impact.

"Ow!" Spencer yelps anyway, glancing up with a look that's somewhere between confusion and indignation. He picks the pen up off the ground and turns it over to see the tiny insignia on the cap. "This is FBI property."

"How was your weekend, Spencer?" you ask again, ignoring him. "Didn't you say you had some fun stuff planned?"

"I did," he lights up, instantly forgetting about the pen incident. "My local movie theater was showing reruns of the first season of the original Star Trek, so I got to experience it on the big screen."

Derek laughs and walks back over to his desk next to yours. "We have very different definitions of fun weekend plans, kid."

You're about to tell Derek that no one wants to hear what his idea of fun is when the office door upstairs flies open and Hotch and Gideon walk out.

Reid hands you back your pen, and Derek sits up in his chair so fast it's almost comical.

"We have another case," Hotch announces before coming to a stop.

Gideon takes it away. "Our unsub is male, intelligent, organized and methodical. He has the confidence of a man who's been killing for a long time."

"Only victim removed from the scene is Freddy Condore indicating some tie to him."

Hotch turns to you. "You, Elle, and Reid stay on Condore's background with Garcia. The rest of us will head to the crime scene."

You nod before standing up. "Let's go, kids."

Penelope's lair is just as eccentric as you remember it.

"Take a seat," she instructs before logging into her computer and opening up her criminal history database. "Just don't get too comfortable."

Your lips quirk up as Elle flashes her eyes at you, and you nod your head at the empty chair on Garcia's opposite side. Reid is already sitting on a desk chair by the back, spinning in aimless circles as he rattles off a list of markers to search for.

After a minute, Penelope stops typing. "Credit card receipts show Freddy loved crab cakes, preferred light beer and used to spend his Thursday nights with a woman in Fells Point."

You pick up a stress toy shaped like a tomato from one of her shelves and bounce it in your palm, just for something to occupy your hands.

"What about his associates?" Elle asks, grabbing a pen with a pom-pom on the end and poking it at Spencer's knee.

"Most of them have criminal records."

Elle glances up. "That much I guessed."

Penelope frowns, and looks pointedly at the pen in her hand.

"She's holding the tomato!" Elle complains, throwing a finger at you.

You lift up your hands in surrender, dropping the stress toy. "Thanks a lot, Greenaway."

"Anyway," Reid interrupts, to everyone's surprise, "One of these guys is particularly interesting. Pull up James Baker's rap sheet."

Penelope turns back to her computer as Spencer reads over her shoulder. "He spent time in juvenile detention for attempted murder, was released at age 21, and then subsequently arrested for, and this is in order, armed robbery, petty theft, burglary, narcotics sales, and rapе."

"What's so interesting about that?"

"When it comes to psychological behavior, anything is possible but this criminal history? It just isn't probable."

Elle nods in agreement. "I mean, as a minor, he began with attempted murder and then devolved into pettier crimes?"

"It's the criminal history of a fractured schizophrenic with multiple personality disorder," you sigh. "It just does not make sense."

***

Hotch calls you into his office when he and Morgan return from Baker's address. You can tell something is off before you even step through the door, so you shut it behind you and take a seat in front of his desk.

"What's going on?" you ask, your eyes glancing over his face to see if his micro-expressions can give you a hint. "What's wrong?"

He looks up with a sigh, his hands clasped on his desk. "Baker's place was an artificial dwelling, and the weapon we recovered on the scene was standard law enforcement issue."

It takes you a few seconds to comprehend what he's trying to say - a few seconds longer than usual - and your breath stutters in your throat. "He was undercover?"

"That's what it looks like," Hotch agrees. "I wanted to inform you before telling the rest of the team."

You nod, pressing your eyes closed for a beat.

He missed his pick-up, Mrs. Adler.

We'll call you as soon as we know more.

The memories start to flood back in and you squeeze your eyes shut tighter before opening them. Hotch looks blurry for a moment until your eyes adjust to the light again.

"Does organized crime know where he is?" you ask, desperately needing to fill the silence.

He looks down at the case file. "We assume so, but it's not like they would tell us. They weren't too happy that we were taking on this case at all, and now we know why."

"Maybe they'll talk to me," you suggest, even though the idea of talking to Josh Cramer makes you taste bile. You haven't seen him since a month after the funeral. It's not for his lack of trying, you just couldn't stomach looking at any of them after what happened. One missed call turned to ten and eventually they stopped trying.

There's a piercing pain behind your eyes and you squeeze them shut for a momentary relief. "It was only supposed to be three months."

Hotch's brow furrows and you don't look up at him just yet. You can already picture his expression, the anguish you know he feels for you whenever you bring up Jeff.

"It was a three month operation," you continue, knowing you won't be able to discuss it later if you stop talking now. "That's all we signed up for. Three months away from me and then he was on leave for the rest of the year, so that we could focus on us again. Maybe even start a family."

Your voice cracks on the last word and you tilt your head down to hide your face. He hates it when you cry, but that's not fair. He knows how important it is to get your emotions out, so they don't pile up inside of you, but if he had his way, you would never have had a reason to cry in the first place.

"I hadn't seen him in over a month when he was..."

He can hear the tightness in your voice and he resists the overwhelming urge to reach his hand out and take yours. You're sitting a foot back from the desk, and it's not he could reach you from here anyway, but his fingers still ache.

"I don't want to blame them, Aaron," you sigh. Your words sound watery, and he pulls a handkerchief out of his inside jacket pocket and hands it to you. He's almost surprised when you accept the gesture, pressing the cloth square under your eyes to catch the tears leaking out. You were so self-reliant as a kid, never wanting or needing anyone else's help. "I don't want to blame them, but I do. I can't help it, I just do."

Someone else would have consoled you. They would have assured you that feeling this way was natural, and that no one could blame you for feeling what you do, but that isn't who you two are. "Jeff wouldn't."

His name is like a dagger to your heart. You practically wince as Hotch digs further. "That team was his family, just like we are yours. He wouldn't blame them, not for this. Not for something he chose."

Something he chose. This is why you don't let yourself remember that day. This is why you kept that day - the day you got that horrible call - locked up inside your brain, where not even you could reach it. Because if you let yourself think about it and remember, then you will remember that it wasn't really Cramer or his unit or the bureau that you blamed. It was him.

For choosing to miss his pick-up. For choosing to go undercover. For choosing to join organized crime.

You take a deep breath and re-adjust yourself in the uncomfortable chair Hotch refuses to replace, even though it's literally splitting at the seams. Something about your tax dollars hard at work. "What are you going to do about Baker?"

He lets you change the subject. "We have to contact Agent Cramer before-

"What the hell is wrong with you people?"

Speak of the devil and he shall appear.

"Sorry?" Hotch frowns, both of you standing up immediately.

Cramer doesn't take his eyes off Hotch as he seethes with anger. "I told you, this is my case! You ran my agent through IBIS?"

"Because I wanted to know who he worked for and now that I do, I'd like to talk to him."

"You don't have him?"

You can hear your heartbeat in your skull.

Hotch looks at you then, and finally Cramer notices your presence. "Y/N...it's been a while."

Your lips press into a thin line. "Almost two years." The anger you've been trying to avoid seeps into your voice against your will and you sigh, returning to the investigation. "How long has Baker been missing?"

"About 12 hours."

"You think he ran?" you ask, watching Cramer closely as his jaw ticks.

"No, Jimmy's too experienced to run without contact."

He realizes his misstep immediately and his shoulders fall. To his credit, he doesn't break eye contact, even as his expression softens. "That's not what I meant. All I'm saying is that I think someone's keeping Jimmy from calling in."

You can feel Aaron looking at you, but you avoid his line of sight. If you're going to have to interact with organized crime, you might as well make yourself useful. "We all want the same thing, Cramer: to get Baker back to his family."

You wait outside as he explains the situation in more detail to Hotch and Gideon, and you're surprised when he's the first to leave. "Can we talk?"

Hotch comes out behind him and raises his eyebrow for a fraction of a second, a check-in. Swallowing thickly, you nod your head and follow him down the hall to the top of the stairs.

"I'm sorry I haven't reached out recently," he says as soon as you're out of earshot of the others. "You know Jeff was one of our top guys."

Your eyes shut at his name, as though someone clapped their hands too close to your face. It's almost laughable how sure you were that you were past your grief. You passed the bureau's psych evaluation after your six month leave with flying colors (because your team practically wrote the answers yourselves), and as each new day passed and you weren't so debilitated by just the thought of him, you thought it meant you were fine. Because time heals all wounds. At least it's supposed to.

"I know," you whisper scratchily, before clearing your throat. "I know that. And it's okay. We've all been busy." You look down at the bustling bullpen where his agents are interacting with your team. "Clearly."

Then you remember you're job here in the first place. "We really are just trying to help. It wouldn't hurt to keep us involved."

Cramer sighs and you know he won't refuse. "We'll loop you in."

***

James Baker is found and Vincent Perotta gets taken into custody, but you can still hear the end of the interrogation ringing in your ears.

"You were just responding to what you learned, Vincent.

When you grow up in an environment like that, an extremely abusive and violent household... it's not surprising that some people grow up to become killers.

And some people grow up to catch them."

You can't pinpoint exactly what you're feeling, but if you had to guess, it would be sorrow. Sorrow for that little boy who got dealt the worst hand you can imagine, and still turned into the best version of who he could've been.

Hotch can't get the interrogation out of his mind either. He had grabbed his briefcase and headed out to the elevators as soon as Perotta was taken away, in the hopes of avoiding everybody. He's about to let out his breath when a hand reaches between the doors and sends them flying open again.

Normally your appearance is a welcome sight, but tonight, he's had enough talking. Perotta took everything he had to give, and then some, and he doesn't know if he has the strength to go through the proceedings again with you.

"I just want to get home," he says as you stand next to him without a word and face the doors. To my family.

You don't say anything as the little fluorescent floor number ticks down - has it always been this slow - and he feels his nerves tighten with agitation. You're never silent, especially not about something like this.

Just before the elevator reaches the second floor, you reach forward and pull the emergency stop button. He whispers your name, half irritated half relieved, and you step in front of him, focusing your eyes on his. It's a classic profiler technique, both to mentally establish trust and to physically block him from the keypad.

"You're a great father, Aaron."

His mind flashes back 25 years, but he squeezes the hand in his pocket into a fist to keep himself from succumbing to the memories. "I'm trying."

He knows what you're doing, and he would normally be open to a healthy exchange between two adults, but tonight he just can't. It's too fresh.

You seem to understand at least a fraction of what he's trying to convey. Your next words are gentle. "That already makes you a thousand times better than him."

That almost makes him smile. "You can say his name, you know."

You shrug, looking at him with a glint in your eye. "Honestly, I don't think I can. I'm afraid I'll turn into a pile of ash, with the fury your father instills in me."

That's what gets him. He coughs out a laugh that echoes around the elevator, and you return to his side, giving him a moment to breathe on his own.

This time, when his mind spirals back to his childhood, he's not as equipped to block it. The memories come in flashes, a blackening bruise on his abdomen, a split lip explained away through roughhousing in the backyard, the thin scars on his hands and elbows as he finally started to fight back. He would've taken it all forever if he had to, if it meant that he could keep the horrors away from the people he loved. "I really should go."

"Yeah." You push the emergency stop back into place and the elevator hits the ground floor in no time. "I'll see you tomorrow, Hotch."

He steps out, half expecting you to follow him. Instead, the doors close and he's by himself again, and he suddenly can't remember why he wanted to be alone in the first place.

***

When the Keystone Killer is finally caught after 18 years of inactivity, he finds himself expecting for there to be some sort of celebration, either in the form of a commendation, or a much-needed break. Instead, what he gets is a mountain of paperwork.

He usually doesn't mind the paperwork that comes after a long case. It's a helpful way for him to sort through his thoughts on what went down, and to learn from mistakes that were made along the way, whether in the profile or in the capture of the unsub.

Lately, paperwork has felt like an added torture to the long hours he already spends at work. It's not that he wasn't excited about going home before, but ever since Jack was born, he hasn't been able to get out of the office fast enough. But being the unit chief of the BAU has its responsibilities, and this is one of them.

He's drowning in consultation files and case reports when you knock on his door, two coffees in hand.

"Thought that was you," he says, finishing the sentence he was writing.

You frown, setting one steaming cup down on his desk. He hasn't even looked up yet. "How'd you know? Or do you just say that to everyone who walks in here?"

His lip twitches and he puts his pen down. "I could smell the coffee. It always smells the same when you make it."

"Oh?" You weren't aware you had a method. "And how's that?"

"Burnt."

You take the lid off your cup and chuck it at him with surprising accuracy. It would have thwacked him in the forehead if he hadn't swatted it aside with his stupid catlike reflexes.

"What are you working on?" you ask after taking a scalding sip of perfectly brewed coffee.

He looks up for a beat before diving back into the file he was skimming. "Paperwork for the Keystone Killer case."

"But we just finished that," you point out before reaching forward and taking the file out from under his nose.

He huffs. "I was...looking at that."

"This is a report on what happened a couple of hours ago," you say, ignoring his remark. "You can easily do this tomorrow, or later this week."

"It's fresh in my mind now. I don't want to forget any details."

You shrug in a motion that says 'fair enough'. "Or, you could actually go home before midnight for once."

You slide another file off the top of his pile and flip it open, reading over the notes Hotch has scribbled in the margins. He's so meticulous about his job that you almost forget he was promoted just a little over a year ago. He became unit chief at the same time that you joined the team, so you didn't get to see him in his early days, but looking at him now, you almost can't imagine it. It's like he's built for this, for taking responsibility and leading people with kindness and respect.

"Elle said something on the plane today," he says suddenly, jerking you from your thoughts.

You close the file and look up as he runs a hand over his head, pushing his thick hair back just for it to bounce forward again. "She said that she's scared she's going to look up and see that her life has passed her by while she was chasing monsters."

Something cold runs through your veins and you sit up straighter in your chair. "And what did you say?"

"I told her the truth."

You smile in an effort to keep your eyes from shining. "What, that we're all doomed?"

He looks at you candidly. "That this job will eat you up if you let it." Your smile falls and he continues. "You just can't let it."

"I'm sure Elle loved hearing that."

He shrugs. "She was surprisingly receptive."

That gets a laugh out of you, even if the good humor doesn't last long. "I don't know how you do it."

"Do what?"

"This job, while also being a husband, and a father." You sigh, and you can almost feel the weight of the air as it leaves your body. "When I go home, I don't have to be anything to anyone. Most of the time it feels awful, but sometimes, after an especially bad case, I'm almost relieved when I can go home and just check out."

You aren't talking about him anymore, and he can tell. He doesn't mind, if this is what it will take for you to work through your emotions.

"We were gonna start trying for a baby."

That surprises him. Not that you wanted to be a mother - he knows that - but that he didn't know you were already thinking about it, especially because of how you grew up. You don't talk about it often, but after losing your mother to a drunk driver when you were ten, you almost transformed into her, becoming the emotional support for your family when there was no one else to fill that role.

You press your lips into a thin line and take a deep breath, your coffee cold and forgotten on the desk in front of you. "We had been talking about it for years, but with the paths our careers were taking, there just wasn't enough time before then." Your eyes look far away, and you don't seem to notice that your lips have unconsciously curved up into a reminiscent smile. "Jeff wanted five kids. Five. God, can you imagine?"

He can, but he doesn't say anything, because he knows you aren't looking for a response. Just for someone to listen.

"I'm an only child," you say with a laugh. "I don't even know what it's like to have one sibling, let alone four." But Jeff had come from a huge family, and he had wanted you to experience that. He loved how full his home always felt growing up, never without someone to talk to. Now you won't ever get to experience that. "I guess I just wish sometimes that we had tried earlier."

"You'll have it someday," Hotch says simply, practically reading your mind. "If that's what you want, you'll have it."

"I waited so long," you whisper, closing your eyes for a long moment. "I was just so afraid that I wouldn't do it right, because I didn't have my mother anymore to help me."

"You would've been a great mother," he assures you, his voice confident. "One day, you will be."

Your breath comes out like a gasp and you clear your throat to keep the tears at bay. "How do you know?"

"I just know."

***

When you push through the doors to the bullpen the next morning, you are greeted by a familiar head of blonde hair.

"Sean?"

He turns around slowly, clearly recognizing your voice, and pulls his lips up into a smile that you return. "Hey, Y/N, how's it going?"

You weren't close to him as a kid, mostly because of the age gap between him and Hotch. You had tried to make more of an effort after graduating college, but Sean was fierce in his convictions, and there were a lot of things he didn't understand about his childhood that you certainly weren't going to explain to him now.

"Good, good," you say, leading him away from the throng of staring women. You shoot them a look that makes them disperse. "You here for your brother? He's upstairs."

He nods, glancing up at the closed office door. You start to lead him to the stairwell when he stops in his tracks and turns to you. "What mood's he in?"

"Why?" you ask, your brow furrowing. "You got bad news? Nothing I need to worry about, I hope."

Sean shakes his head, glancing up at the closed door again. "Nothing like that. I'll just go up."

You let him walk up on his own, knowing he doesn't want you getting involved in whatever he's thinking about. Before you have a moment to catch your breath, the three women return to your side.

"That's Hotch's brother?" Penelope asks, standing so close you can feel her breath on your ear.

"Maybe Hotch is adopted."

"What do you mean?" you ask, unconsciously glancing up the stairs. "They're honestly pretty similar." You're only half joking. They don't look anything alike, but that Hotchner brand of righteousness runs deep.

JJ frowns. "I don't see it."

"Yeah, he looks...like that," Penelope murmurs, before looking at you. "Did you know him when you were younger? Was he hot then too?"

You choke on your own spit. "He was nine years old when I left for college, so...no."

Her eyes widen and she lifts her hands in surrender.

"Ooh, here he comes."

You look up to see Sean storming down the stairs, Hotch hot on his heels.

"Sean, listen to me."

He turns so fast, you're afraid they're going to crash into each other. "Don't profile me, Aaron."

Sean stomps out of the bullpen while Hotch watches him leave, and you can't get the striking feeling of deja vu out of your head. Two boys, 15 years younger than they are now, standing in the same positions, with the same looks on their faces.

You imagine that you and Hotch probably act the same way around each other as when you first met, at eight years old.

The memory comes easily, even with more than two decades of time standing in the way. The little boy with dark hair who had sat next to you on the school bus, just because there were no other empty seats available that day.

You hadn't said anything for the first few stops, just watched him out of the corner of your eye as he nodded his head unconsciously to the music coming out of his large headphones. Eventually, curiosity got the better of you and you tapped on his shoulder. "What are you listening to?"

He had taken his headphones off quickly, as though caught in the act. "What?"

You repeated your question before leveling him with a pointed stare that meant 'there is a correct answer'. You were a feisty kid, and you weren't always the best at making first impressions, so his steady response impressed you. "Beatles. Revolver album."

"I love that one!" you had gushed, leaning in closer without a warning to press your ear to one of the speakers on his headphones. "Is this Yellow Submarine?"

He had nodded, the confusion in his eyes slowly transforming into delight. "You know their stuff?"

"Of course. My favorite's Eleanor Rigby."

He had frowned then. "That one's too sad."

You weren't surprised by his opinion. You had yet to find a boy your age who could appreciate serious music, but liking The Beatles was a start, at least.

"I'm Y/N," you had said, extending your hand like you were starting a business meeting.

He shook your hand furtively. "Aaron."

"Maybe I'll see you around."

The school bus had stopped at your street then, and you had gotten up without another word to this boy, who would one day become your best friend in the world.

Luckily, the next day, Aaron chose to sit next to you again, this time with a second pair of headphones to attach to his compact cassette deck. Two days turned to three, and before long, you had a new friend.

***

"I can't imagine what two weeks away from this place is gonna feel like," you sigh, packing some essentials into your bag and snapping it shut. "I might actually miss you guys."

"Not me," Morgan grins, before pressing a kiss to your cheek as he zips around you. "Two weeks of pure heaven with nothing but young, beautiful adults looking to make vacation memories."

"Your friend's resort better be as nice as you say it is," Elle says sternly as she wiggles her finger at Derek, who is busy inviting Reid to join their vacation.

"Thanks, but I'm going home," he says quickly, without looking at any of you. "Have a good one, guys."

"I'll head out too," you announce, grabbing your things and following him to the elevators. "Wait up, Spence."

He doesn't seem to hear you, but you slip through the doors just before they close. "You okay?"

"Huh?" he says, finally looking up. "Oh, yeah. I'm just not looking forward to the Nevada heat."

You can tell he's lying, but you don't want to press him right before the long break. "You can always call me if you need anything. Seriously."

"Yeah," he nods. "I know."

You wave goodbye to him in the parking lot, and you're back in the silence of your home by the end of the hour.

The rest of your day is spent lazing around the house, and you're asleep when you hear a knock at your door. After Jeff's death, you started keeping your gun in your nightstand, more out of a general sense of security than any specific acute fear, but its proximity during late night calls has given you the peace of mind you needed to finally sleep through the night.

Lifting it from the drawer, you hold it behind your back as you tiptoe to your front door and look through the peephole. When you don't see anyone, you carefully pull the door open, only to find a small packet sitting on your welcome mat with your name scrawled on the top.

After bringing it inside the house and locking the door again, you pry open the seal and extract a large piece of paper covered in a series of numbers and dots.

That's when the phone rings.

***

"How's it going?" you ask Reid and Morgan as you enter the conference room where all of the Fisher King's clues have been laid out. Neither of them have taken their eyes off the paper you brought in since you tacked it up on the board.

As expected, Reid doesn't look up. "The answer to what book we need has to be in here."

"Yeah," Derek sighs, glancing over at you, "but we sure as hell can't see it."

"Yet."

You look at the numbers again, hoping that your short walk to the coffee station and back would have been enough to unlock something new in your brain. Nothing. "The answer has to be based on specific details of each person's clue." A small sound turns your attention to the couch, where Elle is lying on her side. "Is Elle asleep?"

"I'm awake!" she starts, sitting up lethargically.

At the outburst, Hotch walks into the room and points at her bags. "I'm sending you home. You need to get some rest."

"No-"

"We won't do anything without you, I promise."

"Elle, seriously, we're not any closer than we were."

She nods, her lack of sleep seeming to dawn on her as she yawns again.

"Anderson," Hotch calls out, before you stop him. "What is it?"

"I can take her home," you suggest, looking over your shoulder as she lugs her bags down the hall with bleary eyes. He looks like he wants to protest, so you speak up before he has the chance. "She barely knows Anderson. I'll make sure she's settled, and then you can send him to watch her house, so I can come back here."

"I don't know if that's a good idea," he sighs, his eyes still trained on Elle's silhouette lingering by the elevator. "We may need you here."

You cock your head at Reid and Morgan, who have been sitting in the same positions for so long, you're surprised their necks haven't locked. "It's like they said. We haven't made any progress in over an hour. I'm not helping here."

He still looks unsure, but you know it's just worry. He'll always worry about you. "Okay, go. Call me in an hour to check-in."

You dip your head in a nod and jog through the bullpen to catch Elle as she's heading out.

"So you're my bodyguard, huh?"

You laugh, pressing the button for the ground floor. "Something like that."

"Good," Elle says, trying and failing to stifle a yawn, "you're much more fun than Anderson."

"Prettier, too."

The car ride to her house starts off silent, but eventually you break your internal promise to let her come to you. "How are you feeling after last night?"

She just shrugs. "It was more annoying than anything. I'm just glad I got to enjoy at least some of my vacation."

"I heard there was blood all over your room," you point out lightly, trying to broach the subject in a delicate manner. "That can't have been fun to wake up to."

"It was all on the outside. That's part of why they weren't able to hold me. That, and Hotch's lawyer chops."

You raise an eyebrow, glancing over at her as you pull over to the sidewalk. "His lawyer chops?" You know he used to be a prosecutor before joining the bureau, but you never got to see his skills in action.

"Yeah," Elle gushes, her face brightening considerably, "you should have seen the way he walked in there. Those beat cops had no idea what hit 'em. He was in full prosecutor mode, went all rainmaker on them until they released me."

You can imagine it. If any of you were in trouble, he wouldn't let anything get between him and your safety. "I wish I could've seen that."

When you put the car in park, you help Elle with her bags and walk her up to her door, where she insists that she'll be fine on her own.

"I promised I would wait with you until another agent could come and relieve me," you emphasize, instinctively scanning the vicinity around her home as she walks inside and drops her things on the floor.

"In about thirty seconds, I'll be passed out on this couch right here," she points at the window seat behind her, "so you'll just be watching me sleep for an hour."

You open your mouth to argue but she cuts you off. "Y/N, I'll be fine."

If there's one word to describe Elle, it's stubborn, so you let her shut the door behind her and you walk back to your car. Even if she won't let you sit with her inside, you still can't bring yourself to start the ignition, so you lean your seat back halfway and close your eyes, just for a few moments.

You haven't gotten much sleep either, and you're about to doze off when you hear a loud thud from outside the car. Jerking up, you undo the clasp of your holster and push open the car door. The world is silent, except for the rustling of leaves in the wind, but you start making your way up the drive, just to be sure. There's another thud, quieter this time, and you reach for your sidearm as you ascend her porch steps. Then comes a gunshot.

You start running.

998 notes · View notes

loveharlow · 9 months ago

Text

SEVEN - 001

PAIRING ‧₊˚ JJ Maybank x Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ [9.6k] based on 1x01.

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, mentions of drowning, mentions of death

NOW PLAYING‧₊˚

A/N‧₊˚ I've been wanting to do an OBX rewrite for a very long time so here it is, the first chapter from yours truly.

˗ˏˋ series masterlist ˎˊ˗

‘THAT’S ABOUT A THREE-STORY FALL TO THE DECK? I give you about a one-in-three chance of survival.” Pope theoreticized from below. John B was balancing himself on the roof, beer in hand and not a care in the world.

Licking his finger and holding it up in the air, he spoke. “Should I do it?”

“Yeah, you should jump! I’ll shoot you on the way down.” Pope joked, electric drill gun pointed up in the brunette’s direction.

“You’re gonna shoot me?” JB mocked the boy below him with fingers guns as Kiara emerged from inside the unfinished home, interrupting their shenanigans.

“They’re gonna have Japanese toilets with towel warmers.” She said, mildly disgusted.

“Of course they are,” JJ chimed in. “Why wouldn’t they?”

“This used to be a turtle habitat,” she continued on, looking the house up and down. “But who cares about the turtles, I guess…”

“Can’t have cold towels…”

“Do you even use towels, JJ?” You chimed in as you rounded the corner, earbud in one ear and even from the roof, the four of your friends could hear your music blasting faintly. “I thought you shook yourself off like a dog when you got wet.”

“Ha ha.” He fake laughed before he chucked an empty beer can in your direction. You dodged it with an annoyed sneer before picking it up and chucking it back ten times harder, hitting the side of the blonde’s head.

“Ah- ouch!”

“Could you please, not kill yourself?” Kiara stared up at John B with concern in her eyes.

“And don’t spill that beer! I’m not giving you another one…” JJ warned his best friend. His words almost like a trigger, JB dropping the beer right after, hearing the metal clank against the deck as the remaining liquid splattered on the wood.

“And of course he spills the beer.” You couldn’t help but speak as you slid down one of the wooden fixtures to sit against it.

“Hey!” A new voice bellowed. That’s when your eyes found Pope leaned over one of the banisters.

“Security’s here. Let’s wrap it up.” He said, voice wavering slightly as he pat the deck and turned around.

John B got down from the roof, following behind JJ as you all picked up the pace. You all made your way into the house, quick in your steps to avoid the officers.

Rushing down the stairs, JJ was in the front. “Right turn, J!” You shouted. But of course, he still made a left turn, coming face to face and just narrowly missing one of the officers as you all went right. “I said right turn, dumbass!” You yelled over your shoulder.

“They’re going out front!”

You, Kiara, and John B had already managed to jump into the van, watching as JJ and Pope hopped the gate and landed flat on their stomachs. John B honked the horn to urge them on. “Bus is leaving!”

With the last two of the group in the vehicle, John B practically stomped on the pedal, sending the vehicle forward.

He drove the van as fast it could go, which wasn’t all that fast for the record. The side door was still open as you, along with JJ and Pope, mocked the officer who was chasing after the busted van.

“Check out Gary, gunnin’ for a raise.” Pope mocked, eliciting a chorus of giggles inside the van.

“You little pricks!”

JJ waved a beer can out the door, shaking it in the mans face. “You’re so close, you can do it! There you go.” He said as he tossed the can in the running officer’s direction. “They don’t pay you enough bro!”

The officer fell behind just as the van hit the bridge, passing the welcome sign to The Outer Banks. ‘Paradise on Earth.’ The natural habitat of you and your friends.

The Pogues. Pogues, pogies, the throwaway fish.

There’s JJ, one of your best friends out of them all. He’s about as local as they come. He does the dumb, risky things none of the rest of you will and you actually find him quite funny, not that you’d ever let him know that. He's tries to act all wreckless and tough-guy but you all know that he's just a loyal friend who tries to do the right thing in the wrong way.

Then there’s Kiara, or Kie as she would prefer to be called. She’s been your closest and dearest friend since forever. Your fathers were as thick as thieves and you and Kie seemed to follow in their steps being best friends since pre-school, even though you lived on two differen't sides of the island up until recently. Her family owns The Wreck, this Outer Banks institution and her parents love you. The others? Not so much…

And you can’t forget Pope, the brains of the operation. Finalist for the Luther T. Vanderhorst Merit Scholarship. And the smartest person you know. Little bit of a weirdo but who isn’t. His father’s sort of.. strict, but he gives you free seafood. He says you're the 'least negative influence' his son keeps around.

Then, of course, There’s John B — legally, John Booker Routledge. You all have a myriad of nicknames for him though — John, JB, Bree, Jombee. You all typically hang at his place, The Chateau as his dad used to call it. Speaking of his dad, he disappeared at sea nine months ago, looking for a shipwreck and his mom split when he was three. You’ve all been doing your best to look out for him but it was an extremely difficult situation…

Last is you, the Pogues resident Pogue Princess. Well, former Pogue Princess. You moved to Figure Eight about eight months ago, after your dad died and your mom’s lawyer career skyrocketed seemingly out of the blue. But you hate it there, you spent her whole life on The Cut. Plus, your dad’s death caused a bit of a strain on your relationship with your mother. Things just haven't been the same.

WAKING UP TO HARSH POST-HURRICANE WINDS IS NEVER PLEASANT. Especially not for someone who isn’t much of a morning person. You’d barely had time to rub the sleep out of your eyes when your mom came into your room, in a rush as she was running late to meet with a client, reminding you to turn on the backup generator and ordering you to help out Kiara and her father at The Wreck.

“Is that all of it?” You asked, mouth half-full of french fries that were hot and salted to literal perfection. Kie stood in front of you, apron covered in food scraps and hair in a messy bun.

“As much as we’re gonna be able to get today.” She sighed, eyes scanning over the crates and boxes littered amongst the floor. “Here,” She started, walking towards a couple of coolers stacked in the corner. “We’ll take these coolers out on the dock. The guys should be here soon.”

“M’kay.” You hummed, jumping out of the chair you were sitting backwards in and clapping your hands together to dust them off. She grabbed the cooler off the top and you grabbed the one underneath, following her out to the dock.

It had gotten hotter in the short time you both had spent cleaning The Wreck, sun hitting you directly in the face as you walked out onto the damp deck, eyes squinting from the harsh beam of sunlight. Your hair was thrown up and out of your face into a high ponytail. You had discarded your flannel, tying it around your waist in front of your shorts, leaving your top half in only a bikini.

“Top o’ the mornin’ to ya.” JJ greeted.

“Good morning.” Kie replied, shielding her eyes from the sun.

“Whatcha got? Some juice boxes?”

You lifted the lid and peeked inside as you and Kiara continued walking towards the boat. “Looks like, carrots? And… yogurt?” You looked to Kie for some assurance. She smirked.

“I have his kind of juice boxes in this one.” She assured, wiggling her cooler in the air.

The boat stopped at the end of the dock, the guys helping you both inside. Once you and her were all arms and legs inside, John B sped off. Kie opened up her cooler handing everyone a beer who accepted, which was all except for John B, who was steering, and Pope who opted for baby carrots.

“Salud!” You all cheered as the three of you clanked bottles.

“HEY POPE, CAN YOU GO A LITTLE FASTER?” JJ asked, now standing at the forefront of the boat, beer in hand. Pope had taken over as driver when John B joined in drinking with the rest of the group.

“Dude, nooo, not this again. It fails every time.” You tried to stop the blonde from trying this borderline ritualistic party trick that never worked.

“Have some faith, will you?” He shot back sarcastically. “It’s gonna work!” He spoke over the rev of the engine as Pope idiotically listened to him and sped up the boat. JJ tilted the beer bottle back enough to splatter beer into his mouth, and in Kie’s hair, and on John B’s cheek, and on your lips.

“Alright, alright!” Pope tried. “Alright, stop!”

It happened out of nowhere, the boat coming to an aggressive and abrupt stop. The last thing you saw was JJ flipping forward into the water, JB and Kie falling off their seats, and Pope tumbling back before you were submerged within an endlessness of dark blue, a harsh stinging-sensation blooming on your back and thighs. You couldn’t tell what was up and what was down. Too disoriented from the fall, your brain didn’t catch up with your body, attempting to inhale in your panic before getting a mouth full of water. Then, within seconds, you felt a hand on your back, seemingly feeling around to make sure you were what they were looking for before two hands were under your arms and pulling you up.

You coughed as your eyes were met with the harsh light of the sun, but you were grateful for it. You could hear JJ’s voice behind your ear as you coughed up water. “I got her! She’s fine!”

He swam in front of you, his hand rubbing and patting your back as your coughing fit slowly became less intense. “You alright? You took a nasty fall.” You managed to strain out a hoarse laugh.

“You guys okay?” Pope shouted over the edge of the boat.

“Almost drowned but yeah, we’re just fine.” You and JJ joked back, swimming back to the boat.

“Pope, man, what happened?” JJ inquired, treading water next to you.

“Sandbar. The channel changed...”

“No kidding.” You said, voice still scratchy from the Marsh water.

“Guys…” Pope started, staring in confusion over the edge of the small boat. “I think there’s a boat down there.”

“Yeah, okay...”

“No, I’m serious. There’s a boat down there. For real.” You and JJ gave each other a glance, still treading in the water as you watched the remaining three peer over where Pope was staring. “There’s a boat!”

Kie quickly turned around. “Holy shit, he’s right.” You and JJ began paddling towards where your friends eyes were glued before as they shed their clothes and jumped in with the two of you. You all took one last glance at each other before dunking your heads below the surface and diving to the pristine, white boat that stood stuck in the middle of The Marsh.

When the tips of your fingers touched the surface of the boat, you swam around it, examining the structure. This wasn’t an old shipwreck, it was too clean. This had to have happened during the hurricane. As you kept swimming, you recognized the layout, the structure, the fixtures. There was no way this was what you thought it was…

Coming back up to the surface, JJ’s voice was the first one heard. “You guys saw that, right?” He asked breathlessly, a smile on his face as he shook his wet hair from in front of his face.

“That’s a Grady-White.” You added, still catching your breath. “That’s like a half a million dollar boat, just sitting there.” You all swam back to where the HMS Pogue swayed, climbing back on all at once.

“That’s the boat I saw when I surfed the surge. Maybe it hit the jetty or something.” John B spoke. Both you and Kiara turned to him, your faces falling from excitement to dismay.

Kie was the first to speak, a quiet question. “You surfed the surge?...”

“Yeah.” JB spoke carelessly, barely paying any attention before answering.

“That’s my boy. Pogue style.” JJ encouraged him, slapping a hand against his shoulder.

“Well that was dumb.” You immediately protested, siding with Kie. “You could’ve gotten killed.” You added seriously. What the hell was he thinking? Surfing a surge isn’t uncommon in the Outer Banks, but waves like that? That’s a death wish, for sure.

“I’m still here, aren’t I?”

There was brief, tense eye contact between the both of you before you scoffed and turned around, walking off.

“Wait. Do we know whose boat that is?” Pope asked.

“No, but we’re about to find out.” John B spoke up.

“Dude, it’s way too deep.” JJ pointed out. He was right. It was too deep, especially for someone with no diving experience. Diving experience that you happened to have. No matter how pissed you were at him for surfing the surge, letting John B make another dumb mistake was just as bad. Also, mildly hypocritical.

“Oh, for the weak and feeble, JJ.”

“I’m not resuscitating you.” JJ reminded. “I’m just...making that clear up front.” He told him, scrunching his nose and shrugging his shoulders.

“That’s fine.” John was now standing on the edge of the boat, anchor in hand with a smile that was much to happy for someone doing something so dangerous.

“Diver down.” Pope saluted.

You turned around, about to offer to go down yourself. That was, until JJ pushed John B off the edge of the boat himself.

“JJ!” You shouted, hands out. He turned to you, blue eyes wide and wandering.

“What?” You just shook your head and groaned.

You just opted to stand on the other side of Kie, watching and waiting for John B to emerge again.

Seconds passed, seconds that felt like minutes. “He’s been down there too long.” You eventually vocalized, breaking through the tense silence.

“Should we go get him?” Pope suggested. Just then, the brown haired boy sprung up out the water, shaking his head side to side flinging water on the four of you. You all shielded your faces, mutual groans leaving the four of you on the boat.

“Dude! C’mon…” Pope complained, wiping droplets of water from his forehead and peering over the edge of the boat. “Any dead bodies?”

“No.” John B answered. “I found this motel key.” He continued, holding up a small, silver key with a yellow tag attached.

“A key...” Pope said unimpressed.

“Great! We… salvaged a motel key.” JJ continued mocking as they helped John B back onto the boat. Pope resumed his position behind the wheel as John B examined the key, you sat back with your earbud in one ear, still able to listen and chime in on the conversation.

“Guys, we should report the wreck to the coast guard. Maybe we’ll get a finder’s fee.”

POPE DOCKED AT THE COAST GUARD, THE PLACE BOMBARDED WITH ISLANDERS. Some searching for their spouses, pets, and family members. JJ and John B walked inside to find someone while Pope, Kie and yourself waited outside the maze of tents.

“It’s the day after a hurricane. They’re looking for old people and children, not boats. Besides, would it really be that bad if we just, didn’t report it?” You voiced.

“I don’t know,” Pope expressed, hand on the back of his neck. “What if there’s a body down there and we just, I don’t know, missed it.”

“And,” Kie started in that motherly tone that could make you question all bad judgment. “Reporting it is the right thing to do. No matter what.”

Just then, JJ and John B came back out of the tent. JJ shook his head. “No luck.” You couldn’t say you were surprised. Or disappointed. All heads turned to John B who stared out at nothing. He fiddled with the key before voicing his thoughts.

“...I think I know how we’re gonna find the guy who owns that boat.”

“No, no, no,” Pope stressed, pointing at the key as if the object was to blame. “No bad ideas. We don’t know whose that is.”

The two boys ignored him, JJ taking the key from John B’s fingers and tossing it to Kie. “I’m in.” He declared.

“Come on,” Kie urged Pope. “I’ll be lookout.”

You shrugged, following behind them but talking to Pope as you walked backwards. “At least we tried.” You turned to walk forwards, JB trailing behind you.

“Finder’s fee, just sayin’” You heard him say. “And hey! At least you’ll only be an accomplice.”

Pope sighed before you heard his footsteps join the group. “Man…”

“Come on, bubba.” John B comforted, throwing an arm over the dark-skinned boy's shoulders.

THE FIVE OF YOU ALL STOOD, NOT MOVING, AS YOU SILENTLY JUDGED THE MOTEL COMING INTO VIEW IN FRONT YOU AS THE HMS POGUE DRIFTED CLOSER TO IT.

“This is place is a shithole.” You were the first to say it out loud. The cloudy windows, the overgrown vines on the, what you guessed used to be, white walls, and the overgrown weeds.

“I thought The Chateau looked bad...”

“Motel or Meth-lab?”

“Doesn’t look like the type of place someone with a Grady-White would stay.” John pointed out the obvious.

“It looks like the type of place someone with a Grady-White would get mugged.” You mumbled as JJ winded up the rope and jumped off the front of the boat, tying it down to anchor it in place.

“We good?” John B asked as the chipper blonde wrapped the blue and white rope around the anchor point a couple more times for good measure.

“Good to go.”

“All right,” John B said. “Here goes nothing.”

“Hey.” Pope uttered, pointing a finger at JJ but maintaining eye contact with JB. “Don’t let him do anything stupid.”

“I’m not making any promises.” Was all John B said, you and Pope simultaneously rolling your eyes.

“Be careful…” Kiara spoke softly, handing John B the key. “I mean it.” John B kept his eyes on hers until a small smile crept up on his sun kissed cheeks. He let out a soft, almost school-girlish chuckle.

“Yeah...” He muttered as he turned to walk away with JJ.

Seconds passed as you watched the boys disappear, already knowing nothing good could come out of those two. It was only a small matter of time before Kiara spoke up, eyes on you as she fiddled nervously with her fingers.

“You should go with them.”

You could feel your expression morph into one of of confusion, looking on both sides of you. “Me?” You asked incredulously, pointing a finger at yourself. “Why me?”

“Well, they’d just rope Pope into whatever dumb decision they make, so he’s not an option.”

“Hey!” Pope threw his hands up in a poor attempt to defend himself. His mouth opened and closed, trying to find words before eventually surrendering to the fact that what she said was at least somewhat truthful.

“And what about you?” You asked, crossing my arms and raising an eyebrow. “Any chance for some extra time with John B, right?” You teased, edging towards the girl as she rolled her eyes.

“Will all of you stop saying that?” She looked away, playing with her bracelets. "I just get worried..."

You laughed and playfully pecked her cheek. “Yeah, worried. More like hot and bothered.” You played with the girl, hopping off the boat and landing just barely on your feet. You hadn’t made it but two steps before you heard her voice again.

“Hey!” You turned around. “Don’t forget your phone.” She reminded, tossing the small device your way as you caught it between your palms. A slight look of uncertainty on your face.

“Aren’t the towers down?”

Both of them shrugged before Pope spoke. “Couldn't hurt to have it.”

You pondered on it for a moment before letting the thought go. It wasn’t long before you caught up to the boys, the two not even noticing your presence behind them over their own conversation.

“...super sexy island chick that can play guitar and loves dogs. And her mom’s a hotshot lawyer, dude! Do you know how many guys on this island alone would jump at the chance to hit that?”

“I’d jump at the chance to hit you.” You disrupted whatever direction that conversation was going in. “I don't even want to know.” You snarked when he stuttered to defend himself, their heads turning back, JJ blubbering like a fish with his eyes wide.

“Where the hell did you...”

“Just, sh.” You dismissed him with your palm, John B chuckling under his breath.

“It’s like, every girl who has a heartbeat you’re just like…” John B made a semi-sexual motion with his hands and let out some ancient, elderly groan.

“It’s not a big deal.” JJ defended, the topic of conversation dying as the three of you approach the end of the walkway.

“Is this us? Twenty-nine?” You piped up, pointing to the motel door that was scuffed up entirely, paint chipped and scratches all over.

“This is it.” John B declared, staring at the key in his palm. JJ knocked in a rhythm on the wood, pretending to be housekeeping with a high pitched voice.

“Should we try it?” John B looked at JJ for a green light, JJ saying something in Spanish as you looked around before giving JB a nod as your signal of agreement. The door creaked open as we stood in the frame. Needless to say, the room looked better than the exterior. There was a decent sized duffel bag on the bed closest to the door, it was clear to see that the room was actually occupied for a considerable amount of time.

“I’ll check the bag.” JB directed, using the flashlight to search through the bag. “Definitely over 50, he’s got New Balances…”

You shot him a dirty look that he couldn’t see. “I have New Balances…” You mumbled.

JJ was leaned over a map on the nightstand, scanning it curiously. “Maybe this is where they were fishing.” He declared, John B and you crowding around him on either side. “Right there?” He pointed with his finger at a spot on the map.

“No, that’s off the continental shelf.” John B argued.

“That’s the Big Swell. No one fishes there.” You informed.

JJ continued looking over the map for a bit as you saw John B lift a piece of paper that was ripped from the motel notepad, a series of numbers written on it. You couldn’t see what numbers they were exactly but they didn’t seem important as he sat the paper down and both boys backed away from the nightstand.

You used the flashlight on your phone to continue scouting the room. It was what you’d expect out of a motel room — chipped walls, dust particles visible at every turn, the faint smell of sweat and what was either mildew or mold. Or both.

“Oooh...” JJ could be heard from the bathroom.

“You find somethin’?” You inquired, walking into the space he was in and watching him rifle through a small black bag on a shelf.

“Just a dopp kit Bree won’t let me steal.” He whispered before peeking his head through the doorframe and pocketing a bottle of pills.

You swatted his chest, prompting him to clutch his chest like an offended old woman. “We aren’t stealing.” You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “Put those back.”

“Whoever’s it is won’t miss them. They’re probably dead somewhere-”

“We’re not taking anything, JJ. Just put them back-”

“You know how much these could sell for?”

“I don’t care-”

“What are you guys doing?” JB was standing in the doorframe, flashlight by his side as he eyed the both of you back and forth. You both pausing and looking at John B, then each other.

You rolled your eyes and brushed past him, heading for the main bedroom. John B followed, crouching down in front of a cabinet that held a safe before he began punching in numbers.

“That will literally take forever.” You reprimanded, eyeing him with confusion as you shifted your weight behind him.

“One, one, one, two?...” He ignored you as he continued punching in combinations.

“...Or try the piece of paper you picked up not even two minutes ago?” You told him as if was the most obvious thing in the world, face twisting as you threw your free hand out to the side. He paused in his number-punching, his head craning to the side before he stood up and looked at you.

“Maybe you are good for something.” He spoke absentmindedly, walking past you to get the piece of paper as JJ reviewed the map once again.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean…” You mumbled to no one in particular as he brushed past you once again to go back to entering codes into the safe, this time you crouching next to him, watching as he punched ‘61666’ into the keypad. You watched as the door unlocked itself.

Your eyes widened when John B fully opened the safe, revealing wads of cash secured with rubber bands, a folder, and a gun.

“I don’t think we should…” You started.

“Holy shit.” John B proclaimed in awe, picking up one of the stacks of money.

“..touch, any of that.”

“JJ, you’re gonna wanna see this.” The boy called the blonde over, waving the money behind him.

JJ made his way behind the both of you. You could hear his gasp of “no freaking way” before his hand was reaching to grab the one thing in the safe all of you knew better than to touch — the gun.

“Why would you do that?” You whisper-shouted with wide eyes, standing up alongside John B as JJ played around with the firearm.

“Dude, don’t touch it!” John B warned.

“This is a fucking spendy-gatt man! Blat! Blat!” JJ geeked like a school girl, pretending to shoot the gun at the wall. “Just take a picture of me, man.”

“You want me to take a picture of you? With a gun?” John B asked as if JJ was an idiot. Just then, you heard something hit the frame of the window above the nightstand, speed walking over to it and peeking through the blinds to see a frantic Pope and Kie pointing to their left, mouthing what you thought was the word ‘cops’.

“What is it?” John B and JJ said almost simultaneously as you pushed through both of them to peek out of the window next to the motel room door, spotting Deputy Shoupe and another officer making their way to the room.

“Cops.” You spoke monotonously. “Go. Now. Hide.” You urged as the three of you scattered like mice throughout the room.

“Kildare County Sheriff’s Department!” A manly voice boomed on the other side of the door when you decided to lift the window, urging the two boys to follow you out onto the roof as quietly as possible.

You could hear the officers enter the room seconds later, telling one another to look around. John B got a little too curious, peeking his head slowly around the corner before you grabbed the ends of his hair that poked out under his baseball cap to snatch his face away from the window.

“Ouch!” He whisper-yelled, hand going to the back of his head.

“What’re you, five? Stop peeking.”

The three of you waited, hearing the muffled chatter of the officers inside as now both John B and JJ attempted to peeked inside, little visibility with the blinds being closed. For some odd, unknown reason, JJ decided to try and retrieve the gun he shouldn’t have touched in the first place from his pocket, the metal slipping through his fingers and clattering against the roof you were standing on.

You all cringed at the noise, giving JJ a side glance and thumping your head against the brick wall.

Your heart jumped in your throat when the blinds were suddenly drawn up from the inside, Shoupe peeking outside of the window carefully. The three of you waited, anticipating the worst thing to happen until he spoke, voice deafened from the wall between you.

“No one’s here. Let’s go.” You allowed yourself to breathe a sigh of relief.

“WELL, THAT WAS FUN.” JJ spoke with a chipper tone.

“The cops took everything like it was a crime scene.” Pope spoke up. “Did you guys even find anything?”

“Did we find anything? No, I don’t think so…” JJ mocked, reaching into his pockets. All you could do was roll your eyes as he whipped out the gun and a wad of cash. “Oh, yeah, we did.”

“What the hell?” Pope said, anger in his voice. “Why would you take that from a crime scene?!”

“My thoughts exactly.” You reprimanded under your breath, glancing at Pope who looked at you for a brief second.

“Better than the cops having it.” JJ tried to justify, shrugging nonchalantly.

“Are you serious?” Kie added.

“I’m gonna lose my merit scholarship.” Pope worried, JJ pulling him into his side and putting the gun to his lips as he shushed him.

“At least you have us, right?” JJ tried to remedy to which Pope, as well as the rest of you, gave him a deadpan look, shoving him off.

“I’m living a nightmare.”

It wasn’t long before you’d made it back to the docks where it was now swarmed with emergency services. The coroner’s had a man’s body on a stretcher as they questioned another. You all watched on the sidelines with another group of teens as a middle-aged woman ran up to the body, cradling his face.

“Who’s that?” JJ asked.

“Scooter Grubbs. He was out during the storm.” A random blonde girl replied. “Check out this pic I got. Dead Body.” She mocked, shoving her phone into John B’s face.

“...What kind of boat did he have?” JJ piped up randomly, most eyes turning to him.

“Somehow,” The girl started. “That dirtbag copped a brand-new Grady White. Everyone’s out looking for it.”

BACK AT THE CHATEAU, POPE CAME THROUGH THE DOOR, FRANTIC AS HE JOINED THE REST OF YOU ON THE PATIO. “Okay, so we didn’t see anything and we don’t know anything. We need to have total and complete amnesia.”

“Actually, Pope’s right, for once.” JJ chimed in from his place on the chair farthest from the rest of you. “Deny, deny, deny…”

“Guys, we can’t keep that money.” Kie interrupted as if the thought had been plaguing her mind.

“Okay, not all of us can afford unlimited data plans, Kiara.”

“That’s not fair, JJ.” You added from your place next to John B, leaning against the post that held up the house.

“Coming from another person who can afford an unlimited data plan.”

“Why are you acting like we didn't live down the street from each other like, eight months ago?” You criticized.

“But you don’t live there now, do you, princess?”

“Don’t call me that." You warned, chucking a pillow at him as he dodged it. "You know I hate when you call me that-”

“Guys.” Pope stopped your childish bickering, allowing Kie to finish her thought.

“We have to pass it off to Lana Grubbs. Otherwise, it’s bad karma.”

You shook your head in disagreement. “If anything, giving her the money is bad karma. This whole thing is sketchy and those wads of cash literally scream drug money.”

“I agree.” JB finally spoke. “This is Scooter Grubbs we’re talking about. Same dude that’s buying individual cigarettes at the Porthole. One time, I saw this dude begging for change in the Save-A-Lot parking lot.”

“I can attest to that, I saw him doing the same outside of a Shopper’s once. He didn’t have a shirt on. It was disturbing.” You added absentmindedly.

John B threw his hands in your direction as if saying you were proving his point further. “We are talking about a dirtbag, marina rat who’s never had more than 40 bucks in his pocket and somehow managed to get a brand-new Grady White. Think about it—how does a marina rat get a Grady White, Pope?”

The boy sucked air in through his teeth, tilting his head to the side. “Prostitution?” John B shook his head in disagreement.

“Uh-uh. Square groupers, bro.” He claimed, using his hands for emphasis. “Flying under the radar, no aerial surveillance. They don’t do that stuff during a hurricane. Which means? JJ?” John B handed off the invisible mic to the blonde.

“They were straight smugglin’.”

“And I guarantee there’s a serious amount of contraband in that wreck.”

“For the record,” Pope began to tell the four of you in that overly-intelligent tone, fiddling with the wad of money. “If that is a smuggling ship with illegal contraband on it, it probably belongs to someone else. Someone could come looking for it. Taking it would be catastrophically stupid.”

“Right,” JJ added, taking the stolen stack of money from Pope’s hand. “But stupid things have good outcomes all the time.”

“But usually not in our case…”

“Not helping, Princess.” JJ quipped, head tilting in your direction. You took steps in his direction, smacking him upside the head and snatching the wad of cash from his hands, counting it as you spoke.

“Ouch- dammit!” He exclaimed, caressing the back of his head.

“I warned you once. Listening is fundamental.”

“We need a way on to the ship.” John B added, ignoring you both with that distant look in his eyes. “But for now we gotta lay low.”

“Right…and how exactly do we do that?” JJ inquired, leaning back in his seat.

Sharing a glance with Kie, you both looked back at the boy in front of you before speaking at the same time.

“Kegger?”

THE BONEYARD WAS CROWDED, TO SAY THE LEAST. With Kildare being such a small part of the Outer Banks, news spread quickly. The beach flooded with tourons, pogues, and kooks alike. Beer sloshing, girls dancing.

You’d all went your own sort of ways when it started to kick up — JJ chugging beer with some chick, John B chatting up another, Kie educating a group of girls, and Pope scaring off some poor girl with dead body talk. You’d just gotten off the keg, lightheaded as you stood back up the right way from where two strangers were holding your legs as everyone around you chanted, wiping the beer from your lips when Kie approached you with a snarl on her face.

“What is she doing here?” Your eyebrows pinched together, your eyes following hers to find what had her wound so tight.

It was no other than Sarah Cameron — stood on an old beach post with her loyal dog of a boyfriend, Topper, right behind her. You couldn’t help but internally groan, turning back to Kiara with an eye roll that set into an annoyed expression.

“God, why is she everywhere?” The brown-haired girl complained as your eyes drifted across the beach, landing on the puppy-eyed friend of yours whose own eyes were fixated on the blonde near the shore. Even from feet away, you didn’t miss the glint in his eye. But there was no way JB had a thing for Sarah Cameron, right? He knew how you and Kie felt about her and he didn’t like Kooks. There was no way.

Nudging Kie’s shoulder, you spoke again. “Better question is, why is John B looking at her like that?”

Kiara’s attention drifted to John B, watching him like he was watching Sarah. A look in her eyes you couldn’t quite decipher — somewhere between disappointment and betrayal. Your own attention was pulled back to the aforementioned couple who were steadily approaching the crowd of teens.

If this were a house party, you’d shun them at the door. Unfortunately, this was public beach and nothing could be done to stop them from joining in.

THE SUN HAD GONE DOWN AND WHAT ONCE WAS A KEGGER IN FULL SWING WAS NOW A BEACH FULL OF TEENS CROWDED AROUND BONFIRE. The four of you were sitting near one another, the only one missing being JJ.

“I’m just saying, it was ninth grade guys. Maybe she’s changed.”

“Ninth grade or not, Sarah Cameron is still a bitch.” You shot at JB who was suspiciously defensive of a girl who really only knew of through his job, Kiara, and yourself. The topic of conversation kept drifting back to Sarah throughout the night, watching her frolic and gawk at the crowd of people as if she’d never been to a party before. Topper glued to her side per usual.

You all watch from the side as Topper grabbed her hand, helping her up from the log they were perched on as it seemed they finally decided to call it a night just as JJ had come back with the beers he’d went to go refill for John B and himself.

John B stood up and approached his friend, ready to take the cup when Sarah and Topper walked by, gaining the attention of a drunk JJ Maybank who wouldn’t let them go unnoticed. If Kooks had one-hundred haters, JJ was the leader of them. If Kooks had no haters, JJ was dead.

“Wait, Sarah!” He stopped them in their tracks. “Can I interest you in a tasty Milwaukee beverage?” He slurred. Sarah looked him up and down before politely declining the offer. You, Kie, and Pope watched the interaction silently from your places in the sand. “What? Is it not fancy enough for you?”

“We were just leaving…” She sassed, throwing her hair over her shoulder.

“Y’know what?” Topper mused. “I’ll take it. Thank you, man. ‘Preciate it.” You could tell this wasn’t a genuinely civil interaction, the remaining three of you in the sand watching from the sidelines sparing one another a weary glance.

“That’s a nice gesture, Topper, but I didn’t ask you.” JJ retorted, the smile dropping from Topper’s face quickly. John B was already attempting to step in between the two. “If you said ‘pretty please’? Maybe. But you didn’t. So…”

“Oh, pretty please?” Topper shot back unbelievably.

JJ dismissed him, turning back to Sarah and once again offering the drink when Topper suddenly smacked the drink away, the beverage splattering all over JJ’s face. The beach of teen’s attention was suddenly pulled to the four of them in the middle of the beach as you, Kiara, and Pope stood from your spots in the sand.

JJ was quick to snatch Topper by the collar of his button-up before John B pushed him back in an effort to calm down his friend. He was speaking to JJ, words no one could hear until Topper shouted ‘dirty pogues’, stealing John B’s attention in a matter of seconds as the boy whipped around to march towards him.

John B pushed Topper’s shoulders back, the action not doing much. The three of you still standing figured it was time to step in, dispersing from your places and getting in between the four of them — mainly the three guys as Sarah stood off to the side. .

You saw it coming before you heard the connect, Topper edging towards John B before striking him in the jaw. “Hey!” You shouted, jogging in their direction with Kie by your side as you watched Topper kick your friend while he was down.

“Guys? Guys!” You heard Sarah shouting.

“Don’t make me drown you like your old man, alright?!” Topper spat. If you were any further back in the crowd that all watched like this was a professional brawl, you wouldn’t have heard it.

The statement obviously struck a nerve within JB, the boy finding strength in his state of anger to get up and tackle Topper into the shallow water. You usually weren’t one to condone violence, but JB was standing his ground and Topper deserved it.

The two boys circled each other, taking turns throwing punches. The odds were in John B’s favor, until they weren’t, Topper taking the opportunity to flip him onto his back into the water.

You couldn’t tell what was happening immediately until you finally registered what was going on. Topper had John B pinned by the back of his neck, face down into the shallow sea water.

“Topper!” Sarah shouted over and over, her whining making your fists ball.

“Sarah!” You turned to her. “Will you shut the hell up and get your psychotic boyfriend?!” All the girl could do was shoot you a mean glare, turning back to the sight in front of her and continuing her chant of Topper’s name.

“He’s drowning him.” You heard Kiara speak behind you. Your eyes scanned the beach for something, anything — landing on a thick piece of driftwood, you wasted no time in sprinting over to it, picking it up almost like a baseball bat. You could hear your three friends calling your name as you ran up behind Topper, wielding the piece of wood like a weapon, ready and fully prepared to knock his ass out with it.

You were feet away from the angry, rich blonde before JJ had beat you to it, holding a gun to the back of his head. You stopped in your tracks, the piece of wood falling to your side as your jaw went slack and your eyes wide.

“JJ!” Kiara yelled.

“Dude, chill!” Pope shouted, walking up behind his erratic friend.

“JJ! Put the gun down!” Sarah tried, finally deciding to actually step in with the rest of you. The blonde girl shouted you and Kie’s names. “Will you check your psycho friend, please?!”. You and Kie simply ignored the girl.

“We’re good! We’re good!” Topper surrendered, releasing John B’s neck from his hands. You, along with Pope and Kiara, wasted no time in rushing over to aid your friend, kneeling in the wet sand and salt water next to him as the three of you sat him up.

“Everyone listen up!” JJ continued. “Get the hell off our side of the island!” He yelled, shooting stray bullets to the sky. You flinched slightly at the unexpected, ear-ringing sound.

“JJ!” You yelled at him, louder than you had the entire night. The crowd of teens dispersing, running every which way in between the trees. You made sure Kiara and Pope could take care of your wounded friend themselves before shooting up from your crouched position and approaching JJ, snatching his shoulder back to face you before pushing his chest. “What the hell is wrong with you?! Do you have any idea what you just did?!”

“I was saving his life, okay?!”

“By firing a gun you stole?!”

JJ had no idea the trouble he’d just created and the argument didn’t go much further than that when the four of you heard a splash and turned back to find John B, who’d collapsed, unconscious, back into the water.

“I’M CALLING IT OFF.” Was the first word said between any of you. It was the next morning and John B had called you all together at The Chateau, the five of you spread out in the yard. There was a cloud hanging over the group, a tense silence. The only noise being a ball JJ kept tossing back and forth. “Peterkin said that if I stay out of The Marsh, she’ll help with DCS.”

“And you believed her?” JJ asked as if his friend was the biggest dunce in the world.

“Yes, I believed her, JJ, she's the Sheriff. All I have to do is stay out The Marsh for a few days and she’ll help me out.” He repeated. “It doesn’t help that your ass was the one shooting a gun!”

JJ scoffed, shaking his head side to side. “Y’know what? I should’ve let Topper drown your ass.”

“Yeah, because Topper was really going to drown me.”

“It sure looked like it. I mean, have you looked in a mirror?” JJ shot back, leaning against a wooden post of the outdoor structure. “They always win, don’t they, man? They don’t want us in The Marsh which means there’s something valuable down there.” JJ tried to reason, eyes pleading with the rest of you. “I understand why you don’t wanna go.” He pointed at Pope. “You’re the Golden Boy, too much to risk.” Then his eyes were on Kie. “And you’re rich as fuck, anyway. Why would you bother?” She ignored him, rolling her eyes as his own blue ones landed on you. “And you? You-”

“Don’t go there, JJ.” You warned him, eyes connecting with his, a serious expression plastered all over your face. You stared at one another, a bitter exchange without words. Then, he was looking at John B.

“We got nothing nothing to lose. And I know it didn’t use to be that way for you.”

“I don’t wanna talk about this.”

“I have plan John B, just listen,” JJ started, staring at the tense back of his best friend who wouldn't face him. “You got the key to Cameron’s big boat, right?”

“No, dude-”

“There’s scuba gear!” The blonde protested, standing right next to John B now. “We borrow that, go down to The Wreck this afternoon-” Your eyes met Kie and Pope’s as you mockingly mouthed ‘borrow’, the jab followed by an eye roll. JJ Maybank was never known to just ‘borrow’ anything. “And that’s what going to save you. You don’t see rich kids going into foster care, do you?”

“AND WE’RE SERIOUSLY LETTING JOHN B STEAL FROM THE LION’S DEN?” You questioned as the remaining four of you lounged around the boat. “I mean, what if he gets caught? I doubt Ward will just let him go.”

“He won’t get caught.” JJ exhaustedly reassured you for the millionth time as he unanchored the small motor boat from the dock.

“And how do you know that?”

“Well, judging by the lanky bandana wearing boy waddling towards us with his hands occupied by oxygen tanks, I’d say he did just fine.” Everyone’s attention was now drawn to John B, climbing one leg over the other into the boat, letting the tanks clank against the floor of the water vehicle.

You were the first to snatch them up, shooting JJ a mean glare for his sarcasm. It was only seconds before you scoffed and let your head fal back, zoning your sights in on John B. “Good job, you scored empty tanks.”

“What?” He proclaimed breathlessly, a look of sheer confusion written across his face as you continued looking at the meters on the tanks.

You held up one of them on display. “This one's a quarter-full. That’s only enough for one of us. And judging by the look on your faces, I’m going to assume I’m the only one here who knows how to dive?” They all averted their eyes. “Great.”

“It’s kind of a kook sport…” JJ mumbled. You supposed he was right but for you it was just a skill that your dad had spent years teaching you, being a professional diver himself. “Plus, how hard could it be anyway. You put the thing in your mouth and breathe.”

“Well,” Pope started. “If you come up too fast the nitrogen could enter your bloodstream and you could get the bends.”

“The bends? Like bend over?-” JJ tried to joke before being cut off, his body in a half bent position.

“The bends kill you.” You and Pope both corrected simultaneously, both with the same amount of annoyance in your tone. Shaking your head, you stood up with the semi-full tank in hand and made your way over to Pope.

“You’re the only person I trust to help me with the math on this.” You proclaimed. The boy’s eyes widened, nearly jumping up from his feet, a notepad and pencil in his hand that seemed to almost appear out of thin air.

“Yeah, yeah, I can help,” He stammered. “The boat’s about thirty-feet down. So, at that depth, it’ll take twenty-five minutes. Which means you need to make your safety stop at about ten feet. For two minutes.”

“Got it.”

“When you’re down there,” JJ started, key in hand. “Look for the cargo hold, stick this thing inside, twist and pull-”

“I know how to use a key, JJ.”

“I- y’know you have been very sassy today, little miss thing, and I don’t appreciate it, alright?” He started ranting in mock-offense. “That’ll be the last time I try to help you.” He muttered, pouting next to Pope. You chuckled before picking up the oxygen meter, trying to make sure you would have enough air to decompress. And you did, just barely.

“Hey,” Pope announced. “If we get caught in The Marsh, we’re basically screwed, so…”

“Is this your way of telling me to get my ass into the water?” His eyes looked around as if he were thinking deeply, a small nonchalant shoulder shrug before he was replying.

“Mmm...Basically, yeah.” You snickered at the boy before stripping down to your bikini, pulling the tank over your shoulders and the mask down over your face before jumping in. Once you were in the water, you gave one last look to your friends before letting the air fill your lungs and going completely under.

You started to make your descent, slowly. Making your safety stop at what you estimated to be about ten feet as Pope has advised. Stopping for those two minutes before continuing to dive further down.

The water was dark, foggy, and murky — a lot different from diving in ocean water. It was like walking through an abandoned mansion with only a lighter to see. Nonetheless, your eyes landed on the cargo hold within the sunken boat. It was a small struggle trying to fit the key into the hole with the water swaying your hand in different directions but you managed after a couple tries.

Twisting and pulling as JJ had directed, the cargo holds door came up, floating gracefully to the side, revealing what was inside. A black duffel bag and even in the water, it was still decently heavy. You couldn’t waste time examining what was inside with the amount of oxygen you were running on, so you started to swim your way back up, careful not to move too fast.

Following the length of the bowline, the boat came into view the closer you got to the surface of the water. But then so did another, a slightly larger one. You stopped, squinting trying to make out whose boat it could be but it was pointless. The meter on your tank told you that you had about a minute before you were out of air.

You waited for what felt like minutes but what had really only been about fifteen seconds. Your heart thumped out of your chest when you saw a figure standing on the edge of your friend’s boat through the water that was far too buff to be any of your friends. And you could’ve sworn it was Deputy Shoupe.

You were still but you didn’t feel still enough, as if any slight movement might make the man able to see through water. To see you. You couldn’t get caught in The Marsh. They couldn’t know Scooter’s boat was here. One wrong move and you could screw this all up. Despite your nerves, you looked frantically at the meter in your hand — fifteen seconds of air left.

And it just kept getting lower.

You were mentally screaming at whoever that figure was to get the hell out of here. Ten seconds. Then five. Four. Three. Two. One.

Zero.

You had no air left and your only option was to hold your breath and hope for the best. And maybe a little hope was all you needed because by the grace of God, the figure retreated not long before the boat was speeding away. You wasted no time in swimming towards the surface, bursting through the waves and snatching the mask off as fresh air filled your lungs.

You heard sighs of relief as your chest filled and your hearing returned to normal.

“Don’t scare us like that!”

“Scare you?” You breathed out, treading water while looking at your four friends. “I thought I was gonna die!”

“What’d you find?” asked Pope.

“I don’t know but it’s something.” You started swimming back towards the boat, throwing the bag overhand towards JJ as you climbed up the ladder.

“You good?” Pope questioned, concerned. “You scared the shit out of us. The cops were up here but we took care of ‘em.” So it was Shoupe, you thought as you plopped yourself down on the boat, wasting little time in shrugging the tank off of your back when you spotted another boat coming in your direction.

“Guys? Bogey, two o’clock.” You announced, breathlessly.

“Anybody recognize it?” Pope asked, prompting collective ‘no’s’ to sound out.

“What’re they doing here? The Marsh is closed…” John B questioned silently.

"Maybe they don't know?" You threw out.

“My vote’s on not sticking around to find out.” JJ advised, going straight for the bowline as fast as he could to unanchor the boat. John B began steering the boat before the anchor was even completely out of the water.

“Go into The Marsh. Go.” Pope commanded firmly. At that moment, the opposing boat followed the HMS Pogue and you could’ve sworn it sped up.

“They’re definitely following us.” Kie voiced worriedly. Looking back, there were only two men on the boat. Two faces you’d never seen in Kildare before.

“Gun it, JJ!” John B shouted. There was no doubt that you all were being followed at this point and you didn’t want to know what would happen if they caught up. Your hand was gripping the edge of the boat as it sped through the shaky waters, the small boat practically zooming past everything in sight but the two men remained on your tail. Suddenly, the man not steering the motorboat behind you pulled out something — a unmistakable object.

“Guys, get down!” Was the last thing heard and the only thing you could shout before a shot rang out in the air, a stray bullet clanking against the structure of John B’s boat but failing to puncture anything severe, everyone ducking except the boy himself.

“John B, get down!” Another shot followed, zooming right past your head. So close and so fast that you didn’t even see it, the only sign being the sound of wind breaking next to your ear and a stinging, burning sensation at the top of it.

“Jesus!” You shouted, slouching against the inside of the boat, smooshing yourself in between Kiara and Pope. Your hand went up to hold your ear, pulling it back to reveal a small amount of blood on the tips of your fingers. You doubted you got fatally shot, it couldn’t have been anything more than graze.

“Are you okay?” Kie asked as you drifted your own eyes to meet hers, a genuine concern swimming in her gaze. Your sights roamed her face for a moment before nodding and touching your ear slightly.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine.”

Then a third shot was sounding out. “Shit!” yelled Kie, her own eyes were focused on some netting laying in the boat. You watched as she got up and grabbed the material, throwing it over the back of the boat just as the fourth, and hopefully final, shot rang out. The boat that had been following you all spun out once it the net, the trap causing their engine to fail, sending you miles ahead of them in seconds.

You all stood up and stared back at the male figures disappearing behind you, chuckles leaving you all one by one until the boat was nearly shaking with triumphant laughter. You turned to JJ, giving him a victorious double high-five.

“Oh, damn,” His smile fell as his gaze turned to the left side of your face. “Did you get hit?” He asked, his hands reaching out to trail his fingers down the length of your neck, pulling them back to reveal the red substance decorating his fingers.

“Barely. I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll have a sick scar, though.”

You scoffed at this. “A girl can only dream.”

THE SUN HAD SET BY THE TIME YOU ALL HAD REACHED THE DOCK. The four of you had all but flew off the boat and onto the wooden platform, John B rushing to unzip the duffel bag you’d retrieved, still shivering slightly from your damp state. You’d thrown your t-shirt back on at some point, using your shorts to soak up the blood from your ear which made them un-wearable.

“It’s gotta be money right?” You expressed, shaking the remaining water from your damp hair.

“That or a couple of keys with street value from the low to mid-mills.”

“Can we please just open the bag?” Pope blurted quite aggressively. The group turning to him in shock and amusement.

“Wow, Pope. That’s a… rare outburst of emotion.” John B added.

“You guys are literally killing me with anticipation.”

“Same.” You added in your two cents. “I almost drowned for this.”

“We all almost died for this.” Pope cut in.

“Yeah, that too, I guess.” You dismissed him playfully.

John B finished unzipping the bag, revealing a metal container about the size of a human thigh. Anchoring the object between his knees, he grunted and groaned as he attempted to twist it open until it popped, allowing him to twist off the top and reveal…

“A compass?” Kie said unamused, almost disgustedly. Pope threw his hands over his head and JJ scoffed.

“Great job, everybody. We found a compass.” The blonde threw out. But John B saw something. He was looking at this object as if it meant the entire world to him, and that look prompted you to kneel next to your best friend and set a hand on his shoulder.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” You asked softly, eyes fleeting back and forth between John B’s watery gaze and the dingy compass.

“...This was my father’s.”

next chapter>

#SVN #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank #jj mayback imagine #jj mayback x reader #obx jj #obx fanfiction #jj maybank x you #Spotify #jj maybank smut #jj maybank imagine #obx jj x reader #obx jj maybank

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angelsdean · 6 months ago

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*record scratch* freeze frame. Reality Check. "You're the one who came and got me at school. You're the one who dragged me back into this." let's re-evaluate that statement, Sam, because that is not, in fact, what happened.

The context in which Sam makes this statement is that he's arguing Dean used to care about the revenge quest and killing the demon because Dean is the one that came and got Sam and thus "dragged him back" into the quest to kill the demon. But, that is not why Dean went to get Sam at school, it was to find John, who was missing and possibly dead. Dean didn't even Know about the demon at this point (they don't find out that "the thing that killed mom" is a demon til 1x11) or that John was closing in on it. Dean goes to Stanford to ask Sam to help him look for John, that's it. Then, at the end of 1x01 Dean brings Sam back to school in time for his interview as promised, and drives away. He only turns around when, in the deleted scene, he notices his watch has stopped, cluing him in that something is wrong. And he gets there in time to save Sam from the burning building.

Sam then makes the choice to leave with Dean because now that he's lost someone, he is personally invested in finding John because John knows more about the thing that killed Mary (and now Jess) than anyone, and Sam is the one who is now consumed by the need for revenge and the first step in getting that revenge is finding John, something he had no vested interest in doing before, but is now heavily invested in, even more than Dean is, as we see throughout the first half of s1 where Sam is often the one calling around looking for John and is more interested in searching for John than taking on random cases.

Anyways, it's just so interesting to track this revisionism of events and how both Sam and Dean come to accept this as the truth when it's literally not what we saw happen throughout the season. And we see Dean start to absorb this belief after Meg plants the seed in their heads in 1x16, trying to drive a wedge between them, by falsely saying Dean "drags Sam around like luggage" when literally the whole reason Sam and Meg meet is because Sam wanted to part ways in 1x11 and Dean let him go. Sam then comes back and decides to stay all on his own, even after Dean offers to drop Sam off somewhere.

Dean expresses in 1x16, that yes, he wants Sam around, he wants his family together again, but at the end of that very episode Dean is also the one who says they need to split up from John, even though it's the last thing he wants. Dean consistently is willing to let people go, even if it's not what he personally wants. And especially Sam. Over and over throughout the season he expressed how he wants Sam to have a normal life, is willing to let Sam go, or stay in some random town and drop the search for John. So even IF Dean did secretly want Sam to stick around when he went to get Sam at Stanford, he never expected it. Never enforced it.

That Sam comes to think Dean "dragged him back" into hunting is a purely revisionism and a bit of projection, I think, because Sam might not want to face the truth of the matter which is that he consistently chose to stick with hunting, and actually enjoys it more than he'd like to admit. And, as both he and John express, this quest to kill Yellow Eyes becomes "their" obsession. Not Dean's. Dean is the one who says he'd rather they never find the demon if it means losing his family. Dean is the one that says getting revenge isn't worth dying for. And then, Sam takes this to heart, when at the end of 1x22 he refuses to kill John Possessed by Azazel at Dean's pleading, AND when he tells John that killing this demon does not come "before everything" while eyeing Dean bleeding out in the backseat.

Dean was never the one invested in revenge. He did not come get Sam from Stanford to aid in the family revenge quest, he came for help in finding their missing father, something Dean cared abt simply because that's family, and Dean cares deeply, despite everything John put them through. Dean is the one that cares, the heart of the narrative, etc etc. He comes to Sam because he is alone in the world, because their only other blood relative is missing, because it's a very human thing, to reach out, to want family around. And still, he was always going to let Sam go after the 1x01. He didn't like it. It's not what Dean wanted. But he was going to let him go back to his life. Sam chose to follow Dean and continue searching for John.

#vics spn rewatch #sam revisionism #family dynamics #long post #sorry i got lots to say #spn 1x01 #spn 1x11 #spn 1x16 #spn 1x21 #spn 1x22

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amuseoffyre · 10 months ago

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Just realised that when Stede asks Izzy about learning from him, he's actually emulating Zheng's approach with Bartholomew:

some flattery

just enough respect

saying things the man wants to hear (Ed's words)

suggest they could work together to benefit them both

The thing about Stede is that he came from a very narrow world, but from the minute he ended up in the pirate world, he's been growing and learning, absorbing information and tricks and stunts like a sponge, taking them and using them in his own way.

Here are some images of the things he's learned/reused in S1

S2, he's doing the same again, taking what he's already learned and working with it. He learned how to talk about things with Mary and it carries over to so many ladies in the show. He learned how to manipulate like Zheng, although he's still figuring that out.

He reused a combination of his original 'dressing us up as fancy men' fuckery and 'this is the ghost of the forest' fuckery from episodes 1x01 and 1x02 for the escape in 2x08.

There's also a running theme of bad experiences of things being thrown at peoples' heads and it speaks measures that his first active kill is throwing a violin at Ned's head, when we know he had stones thrown at him and he recoiled from coconut wars for the same reason.

It's a delight seeing him go from being unable to climb a rope ladder to playing people at their own game, turning things on their head and unexpectedly getting wins against people who didn't see it coming.

#ofmd #ofmd meta #stede bonnet

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mepuppy · 3 months ago

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Let It Ride - Supernatural rewrite

So, apparently I have nothing to do (ignore all my responsabilities) and I decided to write a Dean X Reader rewrite of supernatural to go with my rewatching of supernatural. 😊

I do not own the characters, nor the storylines. I'm simply adding a twist to the episodes. Please feel free to help me out with constructive criticism on the story or the writing. Sorry for the mistakes, not proofread and english is not my first language.

Hope y'all enjoy it.

Word Count: 7k

1x01 - Pilot

KINDE, MICHIGAN - April 10, 1988

John Winchester and Martin Creaser were finishing setting up to go into a vampire’s nest. Martin received a tip on the nest around the area and called John for backup, so the man left the two boys in the motel a city over and met with his friend there.

After Martin spread the ashes of the scent-blocking mixture on himself, he handed John for him to do the same.

“How many did you say?” He asked in a whisper to his friend, even though he knew whispering wouldn’t do shit if a vampire was close enough to hear them.

“If I’m not mistaken, 10 or 12.” He said, grabbing his knife, “Ready?” he asked as he closed the trunk of the car.

As they entered the warehouse where the nest was located, as quiet as they could be, they started to hear some voices. The vampires were all anxious, the newest ones had brought a family for dinner, including a child, which was already unusual, but the child had gotten away.

“Kevin will actually kill us when we don’t find the human child.” one of them said.

“So get off up and go find her. He and the others gave us 30 minutes” the other replied.

As the 2 hunters got to a corner, where they could see the glow of a fire already, they looked at each other, asking, silently, if the other was ready. John made a mental note to see if the girl had actually survived when they were done. They nodded to each other and started with the two that were already there arguing.

Twenty minutes later, 11 vampires dead, 7 nasty scratches on the hunters and one broken rib for Martin, they had cleared the nest. John was looking for the human child for less than 10 minutes, and after a promise to not hurt her and explaining what he did for a job and what had happened she came out of a pile of something very stinky, the reason they weren’t caughting her scent easily.

John, very impressed by the 7 year old ability of running and hiding from a nest of vampires, without even knowing such things existed before this experience, took her to the motel with him, to decide later, what to do with her.

17 Years Later

Y/N was at Bobby’s house, the hunter who was as much of a father figure to her as John was, since she spent many days at his house growing up with Dean and Sam, when she received the text from Dean saying he was going after Sam. She knew John hadn’t checked in with Dean in a few days now, and the son was getting more anxious by the hour. She asked him to let her know when he decided to go after the older man.

She was going with him to find his father. She owned John as much. After her parents were killed by a nest of vampires, by the age of seven, and she ‘escaped from something some trained hunters wouldn’t’, as John liked to put it, he cared for her, along with his boys. The three of them grew up together after that. She became a daughter for him, and he, a father to her. So she was very worried for him.

As she finished loading her saddlebags on her Harley, the one Dean had fixed for her one summer, Bobby came out of the house and handed her the last of her pocket knives.

“Do I have to tell you to be careful out there?” the older hunter asked.

“Always am.” She smiled warmly and closed the bags. Circling the bike and hugging him. “I’ll check in as soon as I meet the boys.”

“Don’t know if Sam will join you. He has always been a hardhead, and you know it.” he kissed the top of her head before letting her go.

“It’s his dad, I’d like to think he will take this into consideration.” she answered, throwing one leg over her bike, but her voice lacked conviction.

“Say hi to them for me.” Bobby said as she started the engine on and began driving.

“I will! Bye”

Meanwhile Dean was trying to convince Sam to go find their dad, on the outside of his apartment.

“Come on. It wasn't easy, but it wasn't that bad.” Dean says as he started going downstairs again while Sam follows him.

“Yeah? When I told Dad I was scared of the thing in my closet, he gave me a .45.” Dean stops at the door.

“Well, what was he supposed to do?

“I was nine years old! He was supposed to say, don't be afraid of the dark.” Sam says exasperated, not believing he is having this conversation.

“Don't be afraid of the dark? Are you kidding me? Of course you should be afraid of the dark. You know what's out there.” Dean answers scolding his little brother.

“Yeah, I know, but still. The way we grew up, after Mom was killed, and Dad's obsession to find the thing that killed her.” the youngest says and Dean glances outside. “But we still haven't found the damn thing. So we kill everything we can find.”

“We save a lot of people doing it, too.” he looks at his little brother.

“You think Mom would have wanted this for us?” Dean rolls his eyes and slams the door open heading outside. There's a short flight of stairs from the door to the parking lot. Dean and Sam start climbing it. “The weapon training, and melting the silver into bullets? Man, Dean, we were raised like warriors.”

“So what are you gonna do? You're just gonna live some normal, apple pie life? Is that it?” Dean says as they cross the parking lot and head to Baby, Dean’s Impala.

“No. Not normal. Safe.”

“And that's why you ran away.” Dean looks away after finishing.

“I was just going to college. It was Dad who said if I was gonna go I should stay gone. And that's what I'm doing.”

“Yeah, well, Dad's in real trouble right now. If he's not dead already. I can feel it.” after a pause, Dean says “I can't do this alone.”

“Yes you can.” Sam says as Dean looks down.

“Yeah, well, I don't want to.” Sam sighs and looks down, thinking. He meets his brother’s eyes again.

“What was he hunting?” Dean opens the trunk of the Impala, feeling a bit more hopeful, then the spare-tire compartment.

“All right, let's see, where the hell did I put that thing?” Dean says as he props the compartment open with a shotgun and digs through the clutter.

“So when Dad left, why didn't you go with him?”

“I was working my own gig. This, uh, voodoo thing, down in New Orleans.” Sam looks incredulous to his brother.

“Dad let you go on a hunting trip by yourself?” Dean looks over at Sam.

“I'm twenty-six, dude.” it’s his time to look incredulous to his brother as he pulls some papers out of a folder.”All right, here we go. So Dad was checking out this two-lane blacktop just outside of Jericho, California. About a month ago, this guy.” he hands one of the papers to Sam. “They found his car, but he vanished. Completely MIA.”

The paper is a printout of an article from the Jericho Herald, headlined ‘Centennial Highway Disappearance’ and dated Sept. 19th 2005; it has a man's picture, captioned ‘Andrew Carey MISSING’. Sam reads it and glances up.

“So maybe he was kidnapped.”

“Yeah. Well, here's another one in April.” Dean tosses down another Jericho Herald article. “Another one in December 'oh-four,” another article “'Oh-three,” another one “'Ninety-eight,” another “'Ninety-two,” one more “ten of them over the past twenty years.” he throws a pile of the lats articles. Dean takes the article back from Sam and picks up the rest of the stack, putting them back in the folder. “All men, all the same five-mile stretch of road.”

Dean pulls a bag out of another part of the arsenal.”It started happening more and more, so Dad went to go dig around. That was about three weeks ago. I hadn't heard from him since, which is bad enough.” Dean grabs a handheld tape recorder. “Then I get this voicemail yesterday.”

He presses play. The recording is staticky and the signal was clearly breaking up.

“Dean...something big is starting to happen...I need to try and figure out what's going on. It may... Be very careful, Dean. We're all in danger.” John's voice comes and goes and then Dean presses stop.

“You know there's EVP on that?” Sam asked.

“Not bad, Sammy. Kinda like riding a bike, isn't it?” Dean grins at his brother and Sam shakes his head. “All right. I slowed the message down, I ran it through a gold wave, took out the hiss, and this is what I got.” He presses play again.

“I can never go home…” a woman’s voice comes up this time and Dean presses stop.

“Never go home.” Sam repeats more to himself than his brother.

Dean drops the recorder, puts down the shotgun, stands straight, and shuts the trunk, then leans on it. “You know, in almost two years I've never bothered you, never asked you for a thing.” he tilts his head “Besides, even Y/n/n is coming to help. This is serious, I can feel it.”

Sam looks away and sighs, then looks back. “All right. I'll go. I'll help you find him.” Dean nods. “But I have to get back first thing Monday. Just wait here.” Sam turns to go back to the apartment. He turns back when Dean speaks.

“What's first thing Monday?”

“I have this...I have an interview.” he answers.

“What, a job interview? Skip it.” the older brother says.

“It's a law school interview, and it's my whole future on a plate.” Sam tells him.

“Law school?” Dean smirks.

“So we got a deal or not?” Dean says nothing.

Jericho, California

After driving the whole night and stopping to grab some breakfast, Y/N passes by a bridge full of police officers and spots Baby by the road. She gets off the bike and leaves her helmet on the seat.

“You did have another one just like this, correct?” Dean’s voice is the first one she hears.

“Yeah, that's right. About a mile up the road. There've been others before that.” the officer closer to them says.

“So, this victim, you knew him?” Sam asks and the officer nods.

“Town like this, everybody knows everybody.” he says as Dean circles the car, looking around.

“Any connection between the victims, besides that they're all men?” Dean asks.

“No. Not so far as we can tell.”

“So what's the theory?” She asks when she reaches the three man.

“And you are?” the deputy turns around and asks when they all spot her.

“Oh, she’s with us.” Sam covers for her going over to Dean.

“I see. Honestly, we don't know. Serial murder? Kidnapping ring?”

“Well, that is exactly the kind of crack police work I'd expect out of you guys.” Dean says, receiving a stomp on foot from Sam.

“Thank you for your time.” Y/N says and starts walking away, being followed by Sam and Dean, shaking her head.

“Gentlemen.” Sam dips his head passing by the police officers. The deputy Jaffe watches them go. Dean smacks Sam on the head.

“Ow! What was that for?” Sam gets startled and cradles his head.

“Why'd you have to step on my foot?” The older asks.

“Why do you have to talk to the police like that?” y/n asks over her shoulder once they are out of earshot from all the officers.

“Come on. They don't really know what's going on. We're all alone on this. I mean, if we're going to find Dad we've got to get to the bottom of this thing ourselves.” Dean says before Sam clears his throat and looks over at y/n.

“Hey, y/n/n. I missed you” he smiles.

“Well, you wouldn’t have had to if you kept in touch.” She turns crossing her arms “Or at least if you answered your messages.” she scolds him.

“I know, I’m sorry. But I thought you’d be mad at me for leaving.” he looks down.

But before y/n could answer she looks to her side and sees the Sheriff FBI agents.

“Can I help you kids?” the sheriff asks.

“No, sir, we were just leaving.” Dean answers and as the FBI agents walk past him, he nods at each of them. “Agent Mulder. Agent Scully.”

The three of them head back to Baby and the Harley and head out.

“Hey Chip, how’ve you been?” Dean asks you and pulls you into a hug when you get close enough

“I missed you too, Cherry Pie” you hug him back, retorting the stupid nicknames you have called each other since childhood. “You too.” she says to Sam after her and Dean let go, opening her arms to him.

“It’s been a while.” he says, hugging her.

“Ugh, I hate how tall you’ve gotten…” she says rolling her eyes when they let go. The boys chuckle “So, what are you guys thinkins?”

“The deputy’s daughter was dating the victim, so we thought about starting to asking her some questions” Dean says “And I'll bet you that's her.” he says pointing to the girl hanging posters.

“Yeah.” Sam agrees when they start walking up to the young girl.

“You must be Amy.” Dean says as they reach her.

“Yeah.” She answers

“Yeah, Troy told us about you. We're his uncles. Ans aunt. I'm Dean, this is Sammy and that’s y/n.” he points to the two of you as he speaks and the two smile at her.

“He never mentioned you to me.” Amy starts to walk away. The three of them start walking with her.

“Well, that's Troy, I guess. We're not around much, we're up in Modesto.” Dean chuckles. ‘Nice save’ y/n thinks.

“So, we're looking for him too, and we're kinda asking around.” As Sam tells her another young woman comes up to Amy and puts a hand on her arm.

“Hey, are you okay?” she asks Amy and the girl nods.

“You mind if we ask you a couple questions?” y/n asks the girl who looks at her and nods again.

They all head to a dinner and seat in a booth, Amy and her friend seat on one side, and Dean, y/n and Sam seat opposite to them.

“I was on the phone with Troy. He was driving home. He said he would call me right back, and...he never did.” Amy is telling them after y/n asked about the last time she spoke to him.

“He didn't say anything strange, or out of the ordinary?” Dean asks and Amy shakes her head before saying.

“No. Nothing I can remember.”

“I like your necklace.” Sam says pointing to her neck.

Amy holds the pendant she's wearing, a pentagram in a circle, and looks down at it. “Troy gave it to me. Mostly to scare my parents—” the girl laughs “—with all that devil stuff.”

Sam laughs a little and looks down, then up. Dean looks over while y/n assess the girls.

“Actually, it means just the opposite. A pentagram is protection against evil. Really powerful. I mean, if you believe in that kind of thing.” Sam says.

“Okay. Thank you, Unsolved Mysteries.” Deansays taking his arm off the back of y/n seat and leans forward. “Here's the deal, ladies. The way Troy disappeared, something's not right. So if you've heard anything…”

The two girls look at each other. They were hiding something and the trio could see it.

“What is it?” Dean asks frowning.

“Well, it's just... I mean, with all these guys going missing, people talk.” Amy’s friend speaks for the first time since they got into the dinner.

“What do they talk about?” Dean and Sam speak in unison.

“It's kind of this local legend. This one girl? She got murdered out on Centennial, like decades ago.” Dean and y/n look at each other while Sam looks at the girl attentively, nodding. ”Well, supposedly she's still out there. She hitchhikes, and whoever picks her up? Well, they disappear forever.”

The trio thanked the girls and leave the dinner, deciding to go to the library.

A web browser is open to the archive search page for the Jericho Herald. The words "Female Murder Hitchhiking" are typed into the search box. Dean clicks GO; the screen tells him there are "(0) Result". Dean replaces "Hitchhiking" with "Centennial Highway" with the same response. Samis sitting next to him, watching.

“Let me try.” Sam says and tries to type but Dean smacks his hand.

“I got it.” he says and y/n rolls her eyes, standing behind their chairs. Sam shoves Dean's chair out of the way and takes over. “Dude!” hitting Sam in the shoulder. “You're such a control freak.”

“So angry spirits are born out of violent death, right?” Sam asks looking at the screen.

“Yeah.” y/n answers looking down at the boy.

“Well, maybe it's not murder.” Sam replaces "Murder" with "Suicide" and finds an article entitled "Suicide on Centennial". Dean glances at Sam and y/n glances at Dean grinning. Sam opens the article, dated April 25, 1981.

“This was 1981. Constance Welch, twenty-four years old, jumps off Sylvania Bridge, drowns in the river.” Sam says while skimming through the article and y/n leans over his shoulder to read it as well.

“Does it say why she did it?” Dean asks trying to see it too.

“Yeah.” Sam answers.

“What?” he asks looking at his brother.

“An hour before they found her, she calls 911. Apparently her two little kids are in the bathtub. She leaves them alone for a minute, and when she comes back, they aren't breathing. Both die.” y/n reads through the article ans Dean raises his eyebrows.

Dean murmurs. "'Our babies were gone, and Constance just couldn't bear it,' said husband Joseph Welch." Sam read a passage while Dean pointed at a picture of the bridge they were earlier talking with the police officers on the corner.

“The bridge look familiar to you?” he looks over at the two.

They all headed to the bridge and are walking along it, they stop to lean on the railing and look down at the river. The smell of the river gets to them and they lean back.

“So this is where Constance took the swan dive.” Dean says raising his eyebrows.

“So you think Dad would have been here?” Sam looks over at Dean and y/n.

“Well, he's chasing the same story and we're chasing him.” y/n answers and continue walkin, with the boys following her.

“Okay, so now what?” he aks.

“Now we keep digging until we find him. Might take a while.” Dean says.

Sam stops. “Dean, I told you, I've gotta get back by Monday—”

Dean turns around.”Monday. Right. The interview.” he finishes in unison with the youngest. Y/n stops and look at both of them.

“Yeah.” Sam nods.

“Yeah, I forgot. You're really serious about this, aren't you? You think you're just going to become some lawyer? Marry your girl?” Dean asks sarcastically.

“Maybe. Why not?” he asks.

“Does Jessica know the truth about you? I mean, does she know about the things you've done?” y/n knows Sam’s girlfriend is called Jessica and that he has an interview on monday because Dean told her on the phone when Sam agreed to come.

Sam steps closer and so does y/n, knowing they can start fighting at any time. “No, and she's not ever going to know.” Sam says frowning.

“Well, that's healthy.” Dean retorts “You can pretend all you want, Sammy. But sooner or later you're going to have to face up to who you really are.”

“And who's that?” Sam asks growing annoyed.

“You're one of us.” Dean poits at him and y/n.

Sam steps closer to Dean again “No. I'm not like you. This is not going to be my life.”

“You have a responsibility to—” Dean starts, but Sam interrupts.

“To Dad? And his crusade? If it weren't for pictures I wouldn't even know what Mom looks like.” he says throwing his arms up. “And what difference would it make? Even if we do find the thing that killed her, Mom's gone.” Ouch, even y/n felt that blow. “And she isn't coming back.” Dean sidesteps y/n who was between them to try and stop their fight and grabs Sam by the collar and shoves him up against the railing of the bridge looking in his eyes.

“Don't talk about her like that.” Dean releases Sam and walks away. Y/n turns to go after him and sees Constance standing at the edge of the bridge at the same time he does.

“Guys.” he says. They go to stand him. Constance looks over at them, then steps forward off the edge.They all run to the railing and look over.

“Where'd she go?” y/n asks.

“I don't know.” Sam says. Behind them, the Impala's engine starts and its headlights come on. Dean and Sam turn to look.

“What the—” Dean starts and cuts himself off.

“Who's driving your car?” y/n asks looking over at Dean who pulls the keys out of his pocket and jingles them. Sam glances at them. The car jerks into motion, heading straight for them. They turn and start to run.

The car is moving faster than they are; when it gets too close, they dive over the railing. The car comes to a halt.

Sam has caught himself on the edge of the bridge and is hanging on. He pulls himself up onto the bridge and looks around.

“Dean? Y/n?” Sam yells after halting himself up the bridge. Below, a filthy and annoyed Dean crawls out of the water, panting, falling beside y/n, who’s already trying to catch her breath on the mud. “Hey! Are you all right?”

Dean holds up one hand in an A-OK sign. “We’re super.” he answers as y/n hold a thumbs up. Sam laughs, relieved, and scoots away from the edge.

Dean shuts the hood of his car and leans on it.

“Your car all right?” y/n asks

“Yeah, whatever she did to it, seems all right now.” he says and looks over to the bridge “That Constance chick, what a bitch!” He yells into the night.

“Well, she doesn't want us digging around, that's for sure.” Y/n sighs.

“So where's the job go from here, geniuses?” Sam ask looking at both of them settling on the hood next to y/n. Dean throws up his arms in frustration, then flicks mud off his hands facing the other two. Sam sniffs, then looks at y/n. “You two smell like a toilet.”

They look down.

They got to a motel and Dean hands the front desk A VersaBank MasterCard in the name of Hector Aframian. “One room, please.” he says smiling, still filthy, with Sam and y/n right behind him. The clerk picks up the card and looks at it.

“You guys having a reunion or something?” he asks looking up. Y/n frowns and Sam asks.

“What do you mean?”

“I had another guy, Burt Aframian. He came and bought out a room for the whole month.” Dean looks back at Sam.

Sam is trying to pick the lock in the motel room that belonged to John while Dean and y/n keep watch. The motel door swings open, but neither notice. Sam hides the picks and stands up. Sam reaches out of the room to grab Dean’s shoulder and y/n’s wrist yank them inside. Sam closes the door behind them. The trio look around—every vertical surface has papers pinned to it: maps, newspaper clippings, pictures, notes. There are books on the desk and assorted junk on the floor and bed, including something with a hazardous-materials symbol.

“Whoa.” y/n says walking to the closest wall.

Dean turns on a light by the bed and picks up a half-eaten hamburger sitting there sniffing it and recoils. Sam steps over a line of salt on the floor and crunches to check it out.

“I don't think he's been here for a couple days at least.” Dean says dropping the burger back in the bedside table and heading to look over the wall y/n is looking.

Sam fingers the salt on the floor and looks up. “Salt, cats-eye shells...he was worried. Trying to keep something from coming in.” He gets up and walks to the wall opposite to his brother and sister-like. Dean looks at the papers covering one wall.

“Centennial Highway victims.” y/n says to Dean and head to the wall Sam is looking. Dean nods. The victims seen on the wall include Mark somebody, William Durrell, Scott Nifong who disappeared in 1987 at age 25, and somebody Parks. Mark, Durrell, and Nifong are all white males, judging by the photos.

“I don't get it. I mean, different men, different jobs—” Dean says trying to make sense of it “—ages, ethnicities. There's always a connection, right? What do these guys have in common?” While Dean talks, Sam looks at the papers taped to the other wall. He finds something about the Bell Witch, two people being burned alive, a skeletal person blowing a horn at several scared people with the note "MORTIS DANSE", a column about "Devils + Demons", another about "Sirens, Witches, the possessed", a wooden pentacle, and a note that says "Woman in White" above a printout of the Jericho Herald article on Constance’s suicide.

Y/n turns on another lamp. “Dad figured it out.” Sam says looking at the girl that is at his side. Dean turns to look.

“He found the same article we did. Constance Welch. She's a woman in white.” y/n says looking back at him. Dean looks at the photos of Constance's victims.

“You sly dogs.” He turns back to the other two. “All right, so if we're dealing with a woman in white, Dad would have found the corpse and destroyed it.”

“She might have another weakness.” Sam replies looking back at the wall.

“Well, Dad would want to make sure.” Dean crosses to them. “He'd dig her up. Does it say where she's buried?”

“No, not that I can tell. If I were John, though, I'd go ask her husband.” y/n says tapping the picture of Joseph Welch. “If he's still alive.” Sam goes to look at something else.

“All right. Why don't you, uh, see if you can find an address, while we go and get cleaned up.” Dean starts to walk away and y/n follows, grabbing her bag from the floor. Sam turns.

“Hey, Dean?” Dean stops and turns back while y/n passes him. “What I said earlier, about Mom and Dad, I'm sorry.”

Dean holds up a hand. “No chick-flick moments.” Sam laughs and nods.

“All right. Jerk.” he looks down.

“Bitch.” dean retorts smiling.

“I call dibs on the shower!” y/n yells and run to the bathroom, closing the door before Dean can catch up.

“Now she’s the jerk.” He says and you and Sam laugh.

You take a quick shower and leave the bathroom so Dean can get cleaned too. You grab your phone and sit on the chair texting Bobby, saying you’re okay, with the boys and already knees deep in the case John was working on. Sam notices something, and crosses over for a closer look. A rosary hangs in front of a large mirror, and stuck into the mirror frame is a photo of John sitting on the hood of the Impala, next to a young Dean in a baseball cap, a young y/n on his back and with an even younger Sam, on John’s lap. Sam takes the photo off the mirror and holds it, smiling sadly.

A while later, Sam paces, holding his phone, and sits down on the bed, he’s listening to a voicemail Jess left for him. Dean, clean again, comes out of the bathroom and grabs his jacket. He shrugs it on one shoulder as he crosses the room.

“Hey, guys. I'm starving, I'm gonna grab a little something to eat in that diner down the street. You want anything?” he asks looking back at the two.

“No.” sam says listening to the message.

“Aframian's buying.” Dean smiles and waves the credit card to them both.

“I accept some fries, please.” y/n says smiling widely looking up from the article about Constance she was rereading. Sam shakes his head again.

A couple of minutes pass by and y/n’s phone rings, when she picks up is Dean.

“Man, five-oh, take off.” y/n stands up.

“What about you?” she asks worried.

“Uh, they kinda spotted me. Go find Dad.” Dean hangs up the phone. She looks through the corner of the window.

“They got Dean, we have to leave” she says to Sam that goes to the window to.

“What?” Sam asks. They see the deputy approaching and dart away from the window.

Sam and y/n, knock on the door at Joseph Welch house. An old man opens it: Joseph Welch.

“Hi. Are you Joseph Welch?” Sam asks when the man looks them over.

“Yeah.” he answers.

The three of them are walking down the junk-filled driveway, Joseph is holding the photo Sam found on John's motel room mirror. “Yeah, he was older, but that's him.” the older man hands the photo back to Sam “He came by three or four days ago. Said he was a reporter.”

“That's right. We're working on a story together.” y/n says smiling warmly and Joseph looks her up and down again.

“Well, I don't know what the hell kinda story you're working on. The questions he asked me?” the man frowns.

“About your wife Constance?” the girl asks.

“He asked me where she was buried.” He says never taking his eyes from her.

“And where is that again?” Sam jumps in the conversation.

“What, I gotta go through this twice?” He looks over at Sam.

“It's fact-checking. If you don't mind.” he explains trying to keep their cover.

“In a plot. Behind my old place over on Breckenridge.” Joseph looks down.

“And why did you move?” y/n asks.

“I'm not gonna live in the house where my children died.” He answers not looking up. Sam stops walking, y/n and Joseph do too.

“Mr. Welch, did you ever marry again?” Sam asks.

“No way.” He darts up to Sam, “Constance, she was the love of my life. Prettiest woman I ever known.”

“So you had a happy marriage?” y/n continues. But Joseph doesn’t answer right away.

“Definitely.” He says after a while.

“Well, that should do it. Thanks for your time.” Sam turns toward the Impala. But y/n hesitates. Joseph walks away, she waits a moment, then speaks again to Joseph.

“Mr. Welch, did you ever hear of a woman in white?

Joseph turns around. “A what?”

“A woman in white. Or sometimes weeping woman?” she explains further and Sam goes back to her side.

Joseph just stares at them. “It's a ghost story. Well, it's more of a phenomenon, really.” Sam starts back “Um, they're spirits. They've been sighted for hundreds of years, dozens of places, in Hawaii, Mexico, lately in Arizona, Indiana”

“All these are different women.You understand. But all share the same story.” y/n continues.

“Kids, I don't care much for nonsense.” Joseph walks away. Sam looks back at y/n and follows the old man.

“See, when they were alive, their husbands were unfaithful to them.” Joseph stops.

“And these women, basically suffering from temporary insanity, murdered their children.” y/n follows Sam and Joseph turns around. “Then once they realized what they had done, they took their own lives. So now their spirits are cursed, walking back roads, waterways. And if they find an unfaithful man, they kill him. And that man is never seen again.”

“You think...you think that has something to do with...Constance? You smartasses!” Joseph looks incredulously between them.

“You tell us.” Sam tells him.

“I mean, maybe...maybe I made some mistakes. But no matter what I did, Constance, she never would have killed her own children. Now, you get the hell out of here! And you don't come back!” The man says, telling everything the duo needed to hear. Joseph's face shakes, whether from anger or grief it's impossible to tell. After a long moment, he turns away. Sam sighs.

When Dean leaves the station, after escaping because the cops had to investigate some gunshots from a 911 call, he spots y/n leaning against her bike at the corner of the street. He heads towards her.

“Fake 911 phone call? Chip, I don't know, that's pretty illegal.” He says smirking when he gets close enough.

“You're welcome.” She grins back and uncrosses her arms.

“Listen, we gotta talk.” Dean’s expression changes.

“Tell me about it. So the husband was unfaithful. We are dealing with a woman in white. And she's buried behind her old house, so Sam is already heading there and it should have been John’s next stop.

“Chip, would you shut up for a second?” Dean tries to talk but the girl doesn’t stop.

“We just can't figure out why John hasn't destroyed the corpse yet.” she keeps going, looking over Dean’s shoulder.

“Well, that's what I'm trying to tell you. He's gone. Dad left Jericho.”

“What? How do you know?” she asks, confused. Dean simply holds John’s journal up in his hands.

“ What? He doesn't go anywhere without that thing.” the girl looks at the old journal.

“Yeah, well, he did this time.” The man says and flips through, stopping at one page that says ‘DEAN 35-111’ “And he left a message, the same old ex-Marine crap, when he wants to let us know where he's going.”

“Coordinates. Where to?” she asks, reaching and grabbing the journal.

“I'm not sure yet.” he says handing her it.

“I don't understand. I mean, what could be so important that John would just skip out in the middle of a job?” She looks up to the man in front of her “Dean, what the hell is going on?”

He shrugs and grabs her cellphone, that was sitting in the bike’s display, calling Sam.

“Hey y/n. I’m almost at the house, is Dean out yet?” Sam says after picking up, but then gasps and a tire squeal is heard before the line going dead.

“Sammy? Sam!” Dean asks before looking at y/n wide eyed.

“Let’s go!” She says hopping on the bike.

The car pulls up in front of Constance’s house and stops. The engine shuts off and so do the lights.

“Don't do this.” Sam says looking through the rearview mirror to Constance, who’s on the backseat. She flickers.

“I can never go home.” Her voice is sad.

“You're scared to go home.” Sam realizes, looking back but Constance isn't there. He glances around and back and sees her in the shotgun seat. She climbs into his lap, shoving him back against the seat hard enough to recline the seat. Sam struggles.

“Hold me. I'm so cold.” She says with her hands roaming through his torso.

“You can't kill me. I'm not unfaithful. I've never been!” Sam says determined.

“You will be. Just hold me.” Constance kisses Sam as he continues to struggle, reaching for the keys. She pulls back and disappears, a flash of something horrible behind her face as she vanishes. Sam looks around for a moment, then yells in pain feeling his chest on fire. There are five new holes burned through the fabric of his shirt, matching to Constance's fingers: she flickers in front of him, her hand reaching into his chest. A gunshot goes off, shattering the window and startling the ghost. Dean approaches, still firing at her while y/n went to the backseat, trying to open the door. Constance glares at Dean and vanishes, then reappears, and he keeps firing until she disappears again. Sam manages to sit up and start the car.

“I'm taking you home.” Sam says and drives forward. Dean and y/n stare after the car as it smashes through the side of the house. They hurry through the wreckage to the passenger side of the car.

“Sam! Sam! You okay?” Dean yells after his brother.

“I think…” Sam starts from inside the car.

“Can you move?” y/n asks opening the passenger side door.

“Yeah. Help me?” he answers, reaching his hand Dean leans through to give Sam a hand.

Constance picks up a large framed photograph: the woman is Constance and the children are presumably hers. Dean helps Sam out of the car.

“There you go.” he says onde his little brother is on his foot. Y/n closes the car door. They look around and see Constance; she looks up. She glares at them and throws the picture down. A bureau scoots towards them, pinning them against the car. The lights flicker; Constance looks around, scared. Water begins to pour down the staircase. She goes over. At the top are the children from the photograph. They hold hands and speak in chorus.

“You've come home to us, Mommy.” two ethereal voices sound in unison. Constance looks at them, distraught. Suddenly they are behind her; they embrace her tightly and she screams, her image flickering. In a surge of energy, still screaming, Constance and the two children disappear. Sam and Dean shove the bureau over and the trio go look at the spot where ghosts vanished.

“So this is where she drowned her kids.” Dean says looking up. Sam nods.

“That's why she could never go home. She was too scared to face them.” He looks at the photograph

“You found her weak spot. Nice work, Sammy.” Y/n smiles at him and Dean slaps Sam on the chest where he's been injured and walks away. Sam laughs through the pain.

“Yeah, I wish I could say the same for Dean. What were you thinking shooting Casper in the face, you freak?” He ask laughing incredulously.

“Hey. Saved your ass.” Dean says, leaning over to look at his car “I'll tell you another thing. If you screwed up my car?” he twists around to look at Sam “I'll kill you.” Sam and y/n laugh.

The Impala tears down the road; the right headlight is out; with the Harley following.

Sam has the journal open to "DEAN 35-111" and a map open on his lap and is finding coordinates with a ruler, a flashlight tucked between chin and shoulder. His phone on speaker to y/n. She has the phone inside her helmet.

“Okay, here's where Dad went.” Sam says to both dean and the phone “It's called Blackwater Ridge, Colorado.”

“Sounds charming. How far?” y/n asks through the call.

“About six hundred miles.” he answers her.

“Hey, if we shag ass we could make it by morning.” Dean says, then looking at the phone “Can you make it, Chip?”

“Yeah.” she says at the same time Sam starts.

“Dean, I, um…” he hesitates

“You're not going.” y/n says.

“The interview's in like, ten hours. I gotta be there.” he looks at the phone then at the bike that lined to his window. Dean nods, disappointed, and returns his attention to the road.

“Yeah. Yeah, whatever.” Dean says glancing at Sam.

“We'll take you home.” Sam turns the flashlight off.

“You can hang up now. We’ll talk at Stanford.” Sam does as he’s told and they drive on.

They pull up in front of the apartment, Dean still frowning. Sam gets out and y/n takes her helmet off. “Call me if you find him?” Sam asks Dean who nods.”And maybe I can meet up with you later, huh?” he tells y/n, that smiles at him, but before she can say anything Dean says:

“Yeah, all right.” Sam pats the car door twice, side hugs y/n and turns away. Dean gets out of the car and heads to y/n side.

“Sam?” Sam turns back. “You know, we made a hell of a team back there. The three of us”

“Yeah.” he smiles. Dean turns to y/n and they start talking between them. Deciding their plan. Sam watches them talk for a couple of seconds and sighs, turning and heading inside.

After Sam gets inside the building y/n comments. “You know, he might be making the right choice. If he can have a normal life, who are we to deprive him of that?” she says getting off the bike to look into Dean’s eyes.

“I know. And I really hope he can do it, but I don’t think it is possible.” he sighs and rests his forehead on her chest “Besides, I’m really gonna miss him.”

“Yeah, so am I.” She puts her hands on the back of Dean’s head. She knows the moment is not about that, but she can’t help feeling some butterflies on her stomach by his action. Doesn’t matter how many times they share those moments she always feels them, even though she knows he only sees her as an annoying little girl who was raised like his sister. Sighting, she looks to Sam’s building to try and clear her head. When she sees the explosion of flames on one of the windows.

They both gasp and run inside. Getting to the floor of the flames, which happens to also be Sam’s apartment. Dean kicks the front door open.

“Sam!” Dean yells entering the apartment. They follow the flames and find Sam on the bed with one arm shielding his face.

“Jess!” He says looking at the ceiling, where the girl is on flames.

“Sam! Sam!” They both scream at him, grabbing him by the arm.

“No! No!” Sam keeps shouting as the two shove him out the door, he struggles all the way down. “Jess! Jess! No!” Flames engulf the apartment.

A fire truck is parked outside the building, firemen and police keeping back gawkers. Y/n looks on, then turns and walks back to Dean’s car. Sam is standing behind the open trunk, by Dean’s side loading a shotgun. Dean looks at the trunk, then at Sam, whose face pure rage. Sam looks up, then sighs, nods, and tosses the shotgun into the trunk.

“We got work to do.” He shuts the trunk and heads to the shotgun, leaving the other two staring at each other, not knowing how to comfort the youngest.

Author's Note: I know I'm not a good writer, but since most things are already written and I'm just addapting I think I won't hate as much as I normally do. Anyways sorry again for any mistakes.

#Let it Ride #Supernatural #dean x reader #dean winchester #sam winchester #john winchester #bobby singer #imagine #season 1 #fanfic #supernatural fic #supernatural imagine #dean imagine

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