#veeeerrry sketchy forensics

[m0ns00n53]

Hi. Yes, this is my insanity [pats on head]. If it sounds familiar, I ripped it right out of my current project because it needs to be its own little stand-alone and I’m just dying to toss it into this void as well. Also because mentally torturing a certain someone (probably not who you’re thinking!) is great catharsis and I highly recommend it😉

Plus this is like, shameless self-promo. You know when you pick up a book and it’s got that two-page hook completely out of context? Or it’s at the end so when little-kid-you picks up the forbidden book to see if the story ends happy, you instead land on the next thriller’s hook-scene and become convinced that all Dean Koontz’s stuff has shitty endings

Welp, that’s this😏

(Oh, content warning: Huge Spoilers for Season 2. dark thoughts, intrusive thoughts—flirting with suicidal, but not quite there. Also, graphic violence to cars, and mention of blood)

If you do happen to find yourself “hooked” (teehee), the fic is

Without further ado:

Anger + Adrenaline (so christened for this post)

03:15

Two hundred horses growl in Jim’s ears, protesting against the two large boulders he’s using to both urge them on and restrain them. He stands still in the darkness, listening to them fight each other, fight the chunks of granite. They’re all too eager to throw themselves into that sturdy acer macrophyllum just sixteen feet ahead, glowing in the headlights.

Jim can relate to that need for movement, for action. It’s why he chose to do this himself. It’s why he just took the jet all the way here. He needs….

In. Out.

He isn’t sure what, exactly, has kept him from releasing the car to its destruction.This road won’t be deserted for long: he should’ve removed the rock from the brake pedal ten minutes ago, gone on to bash out what remained of the windshield and spatter the interior in some of Angus’s bagged blood from Phoenix Medical. Cordoned the whole thing off so they’d have realistic evidence of the crash that has left Jim’s son lying half-dead, twenty miles away in Colorado River Medical—

This is why, he wants to scream as his fist bangs into the hood’s dark, warm metal. This is why Jim stays away. Matilda can judge him as much as she wants, because she won’t ever understand. And that’s fine, as long as she does her job, carries out his orders and minds her own business. She doesn’t have to understand him, or his choices.

In. Out.

She probably doesn’t realize just how easily he can hear her judgment, as well as all the other things she didn’t say during that most recent phone call he’d initiated after too many hours spent tossing and turning. But Jim has always been good at reading between the lines. He didn’t need to witness Dalton’s grief-crazed attack on the Phoenix—the man’s own people….

For a moment, Jim lets himself wonder if there had ever been a time when Jonah might’ve done the same….

Regardless. It had been clear from the very beginning, from the moment Matty had refused to come back and manage the other teams, do her job.

There is a chance…a very high chance….that Angus will leave Jim. Angus will leave him for Ellen….

Ellen.

He doesn’t know what to do with the childish insistence screaming through his head that it’s not fair. This feeling…it’s out of control. He wants to take the precious red Jeep his son loves so much and smash that into scrap as well as this company SUV. After all the years of damages Angus has accrued….

In. Out.

From the very beginning, he was such a destructive kid. Jim had given him the benefit of the doubt when he was seven. Curiosity ran strong in the veins of both sides of the family, and a sealed container of butylithium and nitrogen doesn’t look like much to worry about until it’s too late. That had been on Jim, keeping it in the shed within reach of a precocious little boy who could never keep his hands away from where his mind wanted to go. He still remembers how Ellen had been the exact same way, those inquisitive blue eyes flashing above her mischievous smile, hands always reaching out to touch….

In. Out.

The car had been different. Angus had known exactly what he’d been doing that time.

Still. Jim can’t deny the flash of pride he’d felt, confronting that little perpetrator at the scene of his crime. Nine years old, streaked head-to-toe with dark grease and surrounded by the innards of his victim, Angus had stood tall in their garage, blue eyes remorseful but blond head held high. He hadn’t protested Jim’s charges or his sentence. And watching him tackle it—watching him teach himself how to piece every bit of that engine back together, all on his own….

That had been worth the seven straight weeks of bus fares.

Jim’s pride sours, sticking uncomfortably in his throat. Without further hesitation he circles back around to the drivers’ side of the car, reaches into the footwell and shoves at the granite chunk closest to him—

Ripping his arm out of the way just in time for two hundred horses to charge ahead, roar straight into the solid trunk with an explosion of deafening sound.

There’s no fire. Not that Jim expected one, but with the way things have been going…But that’s one thing that went right, at least. The only light is coming from the tail lights and single headlight that still functions. Passenger’s side.

Jim grabs the designated tree branch—a good size, about half the thickness of his arm and twice as long. Dragging it behind him, he pulls his SAK from his pocket and clicks on its flashlight—pauses.

The place where Angus would’ve sat is a crumpled mess of plastic, aluminum and fiberglass.

In. Out.

Bashing a hole into the windshield has become a non-issue. Jim drops the limb across the jagged edge that remains, halfway into the gaping space and onto what’s left of the driver’s seat. A believable culprit for an impalement….

Without his permission, his brain begins speculating what kind of injuries it’s all covering for. GSW, a stabbing of some kind….

In. Out. There’ll be time to learn about it in all its gory details when he reads the reports stacked on his desk. Another avoidance she knows about, and judges him for.

Which is fine.

As he shines his light over the wreckage once more, Jim lets himself imagine—for the briefest moment—how it would’ve felt to have been behind that wheel. If that had been his foot lifting from the brake, shooting him toward the maple. Would he have been able to leap out, heart pounding with adrenaline, to land in the fallen leaves? Or would he have failed, and turned planted evidence into something all too real….

In. Out.

He bends down and reaches into the little cooler beside him, lifting out the bag of his son’s blood—trying not to notice how heavy it feels, or how it shakes in his hand.

Angus.

Here’s a bonus gif I found in the gif search of Oversight being shitty😒