#to be clear I’m a shaniac | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

wiener-soldiers · 5 years

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unsolved - peter parker

summary: “it’s a gen-z thing” or weird shit happens if you’re an avenger

words: 2.4k

warnings: my weird stark!reader post-blip, everything if fine and dandy au (welcome to the latest installment of eliza tries to erase the events of endgame)

a/n: this is a shit post but make it content (i saw the screenshot of the post on insta and immediately thought of this)

“This week on Buzzfeed Unsolved…”

You and Peter don’t listen to the rest of Ryan’s introduction as you are cuddled on the large sectional in the Avengers’ Tower common room. A bowl of popcorn and bags of candy from the bodega down the street surround the two of you, limbs intertwined underneath one of the plush cashmere Pepper insisted on keeping nearby (because someone always ends up too tired to make it back to their rooms on movie nights). Peter absentmindedly pulled apart gummy worms before eating them while he watched you attempt to throw popcorn up in the air and catching it in your mouth while laying your head in his lap. Admittedly, every time you miss, which was more often than not, he stole the piece himself before popping it in his mouth. Every time he did so, you scrunched your nose in disgust.

“That’s gross,” you tell him flatly.

“What’s gross?”

“You eating gummy worms and popcorn at the same time.”

“…What?”

You throw another piece of popcorn up in the air, this time landing in your mouth, “It’s sweet gummy worms, and buttery crunchy popcorn. Does that not…confuse your Peter-tingle?”

He groans, “Stop finding excuses to say ‘Peter-tingle!’”

“Happy says it!”

“That’s not a valid excuse and you know it,” he says, annoyed but amusement still evident in his eyes. He leans down to press a soft kiss on your forehead.

You smile against his lips before you say, “Do you find it a little weird that I consider Happy my Uncle and he’s dating May while we are dating?”

He pulls away and frowns immediately, “You had to make it weird, didn’t you?”

“You never answered my question.”

Peter stares at your face for a second, letting the thought sit with him. After a few moments, he shudders. “Let’s not think about it too much, it’s slightly too Game of Thrones for my liking,” he says before grabbing the remote to turn the TV volume up, the sound of Shane and Ryan bickering getting louder in return.

The two of you turn your attention back to the Unsolved: Supernatural playlist. With the both of you getting Blipped, you’ve missed five years worth of Unsolved episodes, obviously skipping any about the Blip because it’s still a little fresh for both of you.

“Don’t you think it’s a little weird that this boy ran away the day his mother died? If anything, I’d stay with my family,” Shane says, obviously skeptically of Ryan’s theory of a little boy got abducted by aliens.

“But now you’re assuming that he ran away! Look, his dad says he ran out of the hospital room. Then, he followed him outside after a few minutes, but he was gone!” Ryan exclaims in return.

“What if he just… ran into the forest? Looking for Goatman or whatever they have out in Ohio.”

“Who’s this episode about again?” you say with your mouth full of popcorn.

“Uh,” Peter mutters before checking the video description, “a kid named Peter Quill. Disappeared in 1988, apparently abducted by aliens.”

“Hmm,” you say before swallowing the popcorn, “who knows, maybe it’s true? I mean you’ve been to space, we all know aliens are real. Seems possible.”

“But, is it plausible? I mean what do aliens want with some scrawny kid? If they wanted food, why didn’t they go to a big city?”

“What are you guys watching?” Tony Stark says from behind you, leaning against the back of the couch. He reaches down to grab a handful of popcorn and you scowl.

“Dad!” you say, “Get your own!”

“It’s a big damn bowl, you can share,” he snickers before patting Peter on the shoulder.

“There have literally been alien invasions on this Earth! How can you not say this one doesn’t make sense!” Ryan exclaims, turning towards Shane.

Your Dad lets out a delighted sound. “I love the panicked one,” Tony says, “he seems like a funny guy.”

“So, you’re a Boogara!” you say excitedly while Peter groans.

“Not another one! All you Starks are Boogaras, the world needs more Shaniacs.”

“How can you possibly say that you’ve met aliens.”

As if on cue, another picture of the missing boy shows on the screen. This time, Peter and Tony study his face while you throw pieces of popcorn at your Dad.

Peter furrows his eyebrow and lets out a confused sound. You frown, analyzing his face as the episode continues to play. His lips are pursed, and you look back up at your Dad and find that he is wearing a matching expression.

“What?” you ask, confused.

Your Dad crosses his arms, “He looks…familiar.”

Peter nods in agreement, “Yeah, I swear I’ve seen him somewhere. Normally I’m good with faces, but this…”

Tony stares for a little longer before shrugging and walking away while mumbling, “Must be my subconscious or something.”

You look back at Peter before he says, “No, but I have definitely seen him before…”

All you can give your boyfriend is a supportive smile before saying, “Maybe you saw a screencap on Instagram or something.”

He nods, unconvinced. He ignores it though, continuing the Buzzfeed Unsolved marathon.

Weeks later, you and Peter get in the car with Happy to drive to the Avengers’ Upstate facility. The both of you live in New York fulltime (you in the Avengers Tower with Pepper, your step-sister Morgan, and your Dad and Peter with May) but make weekly trips to the Upstate compound so Peter can train and you can spend time with your Avengers’ Aunts and Uncles. As your Dad often made quick trips from Upstate to New York throughout the week, the smaller Quinjet was already parked on the large lawn when Happy pulled into the facility.

As you and Peter exit the car and step inside, you notice a lot of employees frantically running around while a timer was being projected on a large wall across from you.

An engineer runs by, trying to type something on a tablet while glancing at the timer every few seconds.

“Excuse me?” Peter calls out to the woman, who stops abruptly, pushing the glasses up her nose.

“Oh, hello Mr. Parker and Miss. Stark. Your father is in the control room and was wondering what time you’d get here,” she says quickly.

You smile at her, “Thanks but…what’s going on?”

“You haven’t heard?” she asks, taken aback. She points at the timer being projected, “We received an astronomically broadcasted encrypted message from an alien vessel a few days ago. Based on the timestamp of the message and how long the message took to be picked up by our satellites, we predict the vessel to arrive like…now.”

“Who sent the message?” you ask.

“Thor.”

Peter whips his head around to face you, and you do the same. You stare at each other in shock. It had been years since you had last had contact with Thor. Since coming back from the Blip, you and Thor spoke for a brief second before he left. It had been more than a year since you saw him.

“Are… you sure?” you ask.

She nods, “He used a method specific to our communication systems, one that I doubt imposters would know to use effectively. And the message was encrypted with the language your father made for all encrypted Avengers messages. No one else has the key—”

“Except for Avengers,” Peter finishes.

“And like…Pepper,” you add.

You say thanks to the woman before running hand-in-hand to the control room. As soon as the door opens, you and Peter stumble inside. The large room on the highest floor of the building had floor-to-ceiling windows that made up two walls. Rows of people seated at monitors all monitored the vessel, which was already entering the Earth’s atmosphere. A wall-sized screen covered one of the walls, which showed a map of the vessel’s projected path beside the same timer projected downstairs.

Your Dad stood beside Steve who was standing beside Bruce who exchanged encrypted messages with the ship as it landed. Clint and Bucky stood in front of the window, looking up at the sky. Nat was seated at a computer beside them with Wanda, who were analyzing the specs of the ship. Sam, Vision, and Rhodey were all suited up outside, flying around the perimeter of the compound.

“Dad!” you say as you and Peter and approach.

Steve and Tony both turn around with stern looks before both of their faces soften at the sight of the two teenagers who weaseled their way into everyone’s hearts.

“Hey, kids. I’m assuming you heard,” your Dad says.

You nod frantically, “Are you sure it’s him?”

Bruce calls from behind them, still typing, “Like 98% sure, sweetheart. He was able to tell me about our…adventures in an alien gladiator ring, for the lack of a better explanation.”

“And the other 2%?”

“He keeps making Footloose references? And other 80s references in general.”

“They’re here,” Bucky calls out, staring wide-eyed with Clint at the window.

Everyone turns to face the window, watching an orange alien ship descend onto the lawn.

As everyone is distracted, you turn around and attempt to sneak out of the room to meet Thor when he exits the ship. Two steps later, someone significantly stronger than you picks you up. Your turn your head slightly and see Steve dragging you back beside Peter.

“Uncle Steve!”

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, kid. Unless we know that it’s Thor and whoever he’s with isn’t a threat, the both of you are staying here,” he says sternly, looking to both you and Peter.

“But—”

“He’s right,” your Dad says before putting his EDITH glasses on. “If either of you gets hurt, Pepper and May will have my necks.”

You frown and sit down, and Peter follows suit, visibly upset he can’t see an alien spaceship up close. Bucky throws Steve his shield and the rest of the Avengers file out of the control room, leaving the rest of those cleared to work in the control room and two sulking teenagers in the room.

You and Peter roll towards the computer that Bruce was sitting it, which is now unoccupied.

“You think there are any games on here?” Peter asks suggestively as he logs back onto the computer.

“You’re kidding right?” you say, annoyed, “Of course there are games on here. This is Michael’s desk, there’s probably Galaga, or Minecraft if we’re lucky.”

Fortunately, there was indeed Minecraft and you and Peter spent half an hour exploring a world called ‘If Mike Was an Avenger.’ Peter even switched the game-mode to Creative and spent a solid five minutes spawning villagers and random animals in Michael’s house. After playing for a while, the two of you decided to continue your Buzzfeed Unsolved: Supernatural playlist. You were on your third episode before your Dad came back, signaling that you could come to see Thor.

You followed him into the medical wing where you could see Thor seated on a medical bed with a group of people: some Avengers, another man you’ve never seen before, and a group of…beings that were definitely aliens.

As soon as you caught sight of him, you took off. You barreled into the room and launched yourself into Thor’s arms. Though caught off-guard, he lets out a hearty chuckle, standing up and spinning you in a circle. You laugh in delight as Peter and your Dad walk back into the room.

As soon as he sets you down you punch him in the torso. It was obviously not enough to even phase him, but he looks at you in shock.

“What was that for?” he asks, his heavy Asgardian accent coming through. You take a moment to glance at Thor. His hair was tied in a half-up bun while he wore dark pants and an athletic shirt (which probably belonged to Steve). He wasn’t as fit as he was when you first met him, but his beer-bod had gone away significantly.

You point a finger accusingly at him, “You left! Again! You can’t just keep disappearing and not tell us.”

“I’m truly sorry, Lady (Y/N),” Thor says, putting a hand on your shoulder. “I was assisting my new friends, who you may have recognized.” He gestures to the band of misfits scattered around the room; a giant green and veiny muscular man, a girl with antennas, a…racoon?, a tall tree who kept poking random things in the room, and a regular-looking man with styled side-burns that you didn’t know people in the 21st century still did.

“These are the Guardians of the Galaxy,” Thor says while nudging you, “and I’ve sort of become their leader.”

“You’re not our leader,” the human one says.

“Well, more like honorary—”

“No, not even. I’m the leader,”

“Yeah, sure you are,” the raccoon says and your eyes bulge out of your head slightly.

The man rolls his eyes and steps towards you, sticking out your hand to shake, “I’m Peter Quill, by the way.”

You immediately pull your hand from his and stare at his face. Peter pushes past Bruce and Bucky to stand beside you, analyzing his face. Instantaneously, all the puzzle pieces click.

“You’re—” you start, shocked.

“OH MY GOD. RYAN BERGARA WAS RIGHT,” Peter yells, whipping his face frantically around the room.

“What—” Quill starts before getting cut-off by you and Peter jumping up excitedly and yelling at him.

“You were abducted by aliens in 1988—”

“Outside of a hospital in Missouri—”

“Your Dad wanted to give you space so he waited a few minutes before he came out to find you—”

“But by the time you were already gone—”

“And everyone thought your case would remain—”

“Unsolved!”

Both you and Peter take a breath, looking at Peter for acknowledgment. He gives you a curt, bewildered nod in confirmation, sending you and Peter off into an excited frenzy. You immediately pull out your phone while Peter sits in front of the room’s desktop to pull up the Unsolved episode about Peter. The adults in your room look very confused, except for Tony. He smugly saunters to the center of the room and puts an arm around Peter’s shoulder as he types.

“It’s a Gen-Z thing,” he says, desperately trying to act like the Cool Dad.

Peter Quill takes a deep breath before sitting onto the nearest chair and rubbing a hand over his face. Apparently, he had missed a lot.

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2-fandom-2-furious · 5 years

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A/N: BFU Reader-insert. Detective!AU, and the reader is a murderer.

TW: Some violence, but nothing major. Read on AO3

The office was cold and bland, the lighting poor. You faced what you knew was a two-way mirror, wondering if the officers who would interrogate you were on the other side, or off finishing up other business. You doubt anyone particularly cared how long you were left waiting. You checked your reflection, wishing your hands weren’t cuffed to the cheap table so you could at least work on making your hair look more presentable. It’s important to look your best at a reunion.

You jerked your head to face the door at the sound of the hinges creaking, throwing up a smirk and leaning back in your chair.

“Well hey, look who finally decided to show up! I was starting to think you guys chickened out or something; bribed Detective Lim to interrogate me instead.” You fiddled with the chain of your handcuffs, biting your lip in a poor attempt to hold back your grin.

In walked an easily identifiable figure. Short, but almost scarily buff, was Detective Bergara. His dark hair was tousled and messy, his suit askew, and the bags under his eyes were almost as big as the body bags you so frequently used.

“Boy, little Mr. B, you’re looking tired. Been losing sleep over something?” the grin continued to pull at your lips when you saw the man’s eye twitch. But to your surprise, a familiar smile greeted you. He placed down a mug of coffee on the table, his eyes twinkling with levity despite the clear exhaustion they showed.

“Didn’t think we’d be seeing you again for a while. Mind telling me your trick?” his weariness most certainly rang true in his voice. How he was still awake, you didn’t know.

“Ahh, you mean that little prison escapade. C’mon, you didn’t really think that old cell could hold me for long, did you?” you winked, and clicked your tongue for good measure.

The detective sighed, his face tugged down into a tight frown. Though, you weren’t too convinced of his anger.

“You want something to drink?” he asked gruffly, nodding towards a smaller table up against the wall. A water cooler and some paper cups rested on top, and you were tempted to say yes, your throat dry and scratchy from your hours spent untended and alone in the interrogation room, before the door creaked on its hinges yet again, and a newcomer entered.

Another familiar face, you’d come to find. Officer Madej, Ryan’s partner in crime. Or, just the opposite. His partner in stopping crime.

“Ay, the gang’s all here!” you cheered.

Officer Madej looked unamused, pulling out a chair for Bergara to sit in and handing him a manila folder, a few thinner, emptier folders in his other hand. He looked determined and businesslike. This wouldn’t do.

“Leggy, long time no see! Gosh, what’s it been, three months? I must say, you-”

You stopped dead, more out of shock than by choice. You blinked. Once. Twice.

You could feel a handprint forming on your cheek from the swift slap the officer had just delivered, and fleetingly attempted to lift a hand to touch it, before the metallic jingling at your wrist reminded you of your current predicament.

Detective Bergara broke the brief, but tense silence.

“Jesus, Shane-!”

“Nice to see you too, pal.” You resisted the urge to spit on the table, and instead sat up to better look the officer in the face.

“Talk.” The papers Officer Madej had been holding hit the table with a muffled thwap!, and you swallowed.

“What do you want me to say?” you gave a shaky attempt at a smirk, but you could tell by his narrowed eyes that Madej wasn’t entertained. “I’m not telling you how I got out of jail, if that’s what you’re looking for, so you can check that off your list.”

Shane huffed, and you flashed a quick glance over to Bergara, who seemed rattled.

“Ry, go to my office and grab the blue folder on my desk. I forgot it before heading over here, my mistake.” The officer’s eyes didn’t leave your face for a second. Ryan swallowed, but nodded and obeyed, leaving you alone with his partner.

“Go ahead then. Have at me, beast!” you spat, facing him dead on, though you had to crane your neck to make eye contact.

His fist made contact with your cheek, and you felt your jaw click. In a second, you were sprawled on your side on the floor, your chair toppled backwards from the force of the punch, and your handcuffs restraining you from going with it with a jolt strong enough to pull a yelp from you.

On the other side of the table, you could see him shaking his hand, his knuckles a stark pink contrast to his pale skin. Your breathing was wobbly, and your eyes were leaking tears, but your mouth remained closed. You caught his eyes, silent and defiant, and he grumbled under his breath before turning his back to you.

The door opened, a few inches at a time, and Detective Bergara reentered the room, folder in hand.

“Jesus Christ! What happened?! Shane, you can’t just slap people aroun-”

“They’re a murderer! A killer! I’ll slap them all I like, then I’ll put them back and jail, and slap em’ again a few months later! They aren’t gonna talk? Fine. But I’m not gonna sit here while they give us that smug attitude!” Madej slammed his fist down on the table, before jerking his hand back, wincing in pain.

Ryan stepped forward, hands held placatingly in front of himself, and stood between you and officer Madej, pushing the table out of his way.

“Alright. Let’s all just… settle down. Avoid slapping murderers, yeah?”

Shane huffed, running his non-injured hand through his hair absentmindedly.

“Yeah, you’re acting like a total Shaniac.” You began to grin again, though it only encased half of your face, looking a bit lopsided. Shane was done slapping you around; you were most likely safe with Ryan here.

The two men exchanged a brief, unamused look, before turning back to you.

“Come on, that was a good one and you know it.”

Silence.

“Look, I can feel my face swelling and bruising. Appreciate that I'm being humorous.”

More silence.

You began to wonder if the novelty of this cat and mouse game was wearing off. You commit a crime and run, they catch you, you get away, repeat. You'd always found great amusement in it, especially getting caught and having these little interrogation sessions with the boys, but things seemed different this time around. More business. More frustration.

Shane stepped forward, the sound of his boots on the tile echoing in the complete silence of the room.

Before thinking about it, you jerked back. The jingling of your handcuffs quickly reminding you that there was nowhere for you to go. Desperately, you sent a panicked glimpse at Ryan, who caught your gaze and planted a hand on Officer Madej's shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

“Relax. I'm done hitting them. For now.”

Officer Madej- no, Shane, hunched over awkwardly to offer you a hand to help right yourself, which you gladly took. Even once you were standing, he towered over you, a good six and half feet, was your estimate.

Once you were standing properly, Shane picked up the cheap and uncomfortable chair from where it lay on its side, and replaced it by the table. He gestured to it quickly, silently indicating that you should sit, then circled back around to the other side of the table. Ryan followed, grabbing his rapidly cooling cup of coffee and taking a gulp.

You watched them with an attentive eye, wary of Shane’s newly developed temper.

“Talk to us.” Ryan commanded. His tone was steely and unwavering, though one look into his eyes told you he was far more concerned, or even pitying, than he was angry.

Pity was worse than anger.

“Well, uh. I’m out of prison, if you didn’t hear.” You began. You cursed your inability to take anything seriously. Here you were, in an interrogation room with two professionals, who clearly had no problem slapping you around for information, and you were making snarky comments. If you were Shane, you would’ve hit yourself much sooner. The man was patient, you’d give him that.

“Mind telling us how you pulled that off?” Ryan began tapping his pen on that thick manila case file of his. Shane steepled his fingers, staring at you intently.

You heaved a sigh, wishing you had a joke that could push the seriousness of all of this away. Sure, you’d killed a few people. Did a bit of stabbing, stole some government information and maybe some jelly beans here and there. But that didn’t mean you were a criminal. Sometimes things just happen.

“I mean, you’ve seen movies, right? Some plastic spoons, a bit of time, and I was home free.”

Ryan took another sip of his coffee, and you took note of the way he wrinkled his nose in distaste; it was most likely lukewarm at this point.

“How I got out isn’t important, alright? The point is, I did it. And if you put me back in, just know I’ve got plenty more escape methods I’d like to put to the test.” You puffed your chest out, daring either of them to argue. They didn’t.

“Ok. So, we won’t talk about your prison break then. How about we talk about Vanessa ‘Nessie’ Loch?” Ryan smoothly slid a photo and a few newspaper clippings across the table to you, carefully avoiding touching your hand. You wanted to scoff at him; he knew very well that you were no threat to him by now.

“Ah, yeah. Her.” You found sudden interest in the fake-marble tile. White and black, an interesting choice to go with brick walls.

“Let’s cut to the chase, chop-chop, huh?” Ryan crossed his arms, and Shane gazed expectantly at you.

You found yourself seriously wishing you’d taken Ryan up on his offer for water earlier, your throat was dry and uncomfortable. Come to think of it, the whole room felt dry and uncomfortable.

“If I said I didn’t kill her, would you believe me?”

Their matching cocked eyebrows and unimpressed looks told you the answer was a flat ‘no’.

“Look, ok, I was having a rough day. I go into the store lookin’ for some Pop-Tarts, and this lady’s got the last pack of them! What else was I supposed to do?”

Quite literally anything else, your useless hindsight supplied.

“Alright. Well, looks like that case is solved.” Shane leaned over to scribble something brief on one of Ryan’s notes, then reached into his own folder and retrieved more clippings and pictures.

“How about Eric Daly? Did he buy the last of the pizza rolls?”

You prepared a quick rebuttal, something about how impressive it was that Shane managed to fit his whole humongous head all the way up his ass, when you stopped dead. You didn’t recognize the man in the photos he’d presented.

“For all I know, he might have. I’ve never seen that guy before in my life.”

Shane growled under his breath.

“Come on now, It’s a little late to be playing dumb. If you can admit to one murder, you can admit to another. You’re already going to prison for life, I doubt your seventh murder will make that much of a difference.”

Ryan’s eyes darted between you and Officer Madej, dark and curious. You held your ground.

“I’m being serious! I’m quite proud of my work, thank you, and I’m a bit insulted you think this was me.” You snatched one of the evidential photos from Shane’s grasp.

The body was covered in scattered and messy stabs, though they looked more like tears. He was fully clothed and blood-soaked, most likely dropped off at a random spot in a fit of panic on the actual murderer’s behalf.

“Look at this! This is like an amateur's work, but shittier!” You slapped the picture back down on the table, reveling in the way both Shane and Ryan jolted at the smack! that resonated through the room.

“Alright, ok. So what, then? We have a different killer to handle?” Ryan asked, more to himself than you or his partner, though the both of you replied anyway.

“Looks like it, yeah.”

“We can’t take another murderer, we already have to chase this one around constantly!”

You chose to believe that was the shock talking.

“This is a pretty small town. You're the only murderer we've ever had to deal with, and you're easy to catch. It's keeping you contained that's hard. But we don’t know how to actually catch a killer! Especially not when we already have one to deal with!” Ryan babbled.

You watched with interest as the detective tugged at his hair and paced the room, looking frazzled.

Officer Madej remained still, though you could sense his unease. His posture was unusually stiff, and his fingers were idly tapping against his leg. The tall man's brown eyes shifted around the room, following his partner's erratic pacing.

You cleared your throat after a moment, allowing both men a second to turn to you, before making a proposal.

“What you boys need, is someone who thinks like a killer, no? Someone with, say, experience?”

Ryan squinted at you, the corner of his mouth turning down.

“What are you playing at?”

“What do you think?”

Oh, how you wished you weren't restrained to this ridiculous desk. You could have so much more fun with this if you could move around just a bit more. It's hard to feel suave and persuasive when you're stuck looking up at your captors from a cheap plastic chair. You pictured yourself grabbing Detective Bergara's ridiculous tie and holding him by it; seeing the easy-to-earn terror in his eyes as you 'convince’ him to let you go free (read: blackmail and threaten him). You channelled the image of yourself trapping these boys in their own interrogation room, played it out in your head. With a deep breath, you mulled over your next words.

“Look, you've got a first-time murderer on your hands. I can tell just by the one picture you showed me. But I'll bet whoever your killer is got a rush from it. I bet it won't be long until it happens again. You need someone who thinks like a killer. Who is a killer. And you don't have too many options. What do you say yours truly gives you a hand? In exchange, oops! I somehow get ahold of the key to these here cuffs.” You shook your wrist a bit, allowing the quiet metallic jingling to accentuate your offer.

Madej opened his mouth, his expression clearly showcasing his plan to condemn your idea. Luckily, Ryan spoke first.

“What, so you expect us to trust you? Just haul you along with us when we investigate? Let you sniff out the murderer like some sort of bloodhound?” Ryan’s tone was incredulous. He threw his arms up in a gesture of frustration and exaggerated sarcasm. “We have actual search dogs for that! You just want us to let you loose. I’m not stupid!”

This time around, Shane was the one looking concerned, while Ryan freaked out. You wondered briefly if he’d hit you too. You weren’t sure you could survive a blow from an arm like his.

“I’m not saying I want to put my nose to the ground and track the killer’s fuckin’ blood scent, Jesus! I’m saying that if anyone would know a murderer's way of thinking, it would be me. Contrary to popular belief, my first kill was an accident. It seems like the same goes for this person. If you guys want to catch them, my help and experience couldn't hurt.”

Ryan rolled his eyes, his expression hardening further.

“Except for the fact that it could hurt, because you're a killer, and walking you around town like a pet on a leash is gonna wind up with either you escaping, or you killing us, then escaping.”

You tried not to recoil at the severe glint in the man's eyes. Yeah, alright, I deserved that.

You looked up at the detective, attempting to appear more remorseful and less like a kicked puppy.

“You really think I’d kill you guys? Pssh, come on!” you did a good job of concealing the offense you’d taken at his words. “If I wanted to kill you two, I would’ve by now. I was just having fun, none of us have gotten hurt.”

“Yet.” Shane pointed the nib of his pen at you, his tone even.

“Alright, fair. But do you guys really- I mean, you actually think I would hurt you guys?”

“You’re the most notorious killer in the country right now, I’d say some caution here is fair.”

You rested your elbow against the table, and your face against your hand, and looked up at Ryan. You’d always been careful to avoid harming or threatening the boys; you enjoyed toying with them, sure, but they’d done nothing to deserve harm. It was a bit hurtful that they didn’t trust you even a little.

But, they weren’t lying about the whole ‘most notorious killer in the country’ thing.

“I only kill people who deserve it. You guys are like my friends, in a weird, not-really sort of way. I swear, I don’t want to kill or hurt you. I’m not gonna comment on the escaping part, though.” You winked.

You paused for a moment to examine the boys. You quickly noticed they’d loosened up since they had first entered the interrogation room, something you allowed yourself to take a brief moment of pride in. Most killers only managed to stress their interrogators out more; they played with their minds, drove them nuts. You had put them at ease.

“I doubt your ‘help’ would be worth the risk of losing this town’s most dangerous citizen.” You could just tell that Ryan was beginning to sway. His voice held less conviction than it had before, and his eyes seemed a bit unfocused. He wasn’t sure. You moved in for the metaphorical kill.

“Well, firstly, I’m flattered you think of me as the most dangerous citizen, but I really think that award should go to old man Harlot. Have you seen that man drive? He’s probably killed 80% of our local wildlife.” You flashed both men your signature smirk, wanting to jump for joy when you heard Ryan’s muffled chuckle. He feigned wiping his nose to cover his smile. “Second, I can guarantee you’ll have your killer behind bars sooner than you ever could without me. And, whether you accept my help or not, you both know I’m gonna slip out of your grasp one way or another anyway. Might as well get something out of it, yeah?”

You cocked an eyebrow, another rush of pride jolting through you when Ryan playfully rolled his eyes. Yes! Damn, I’m good!

Shane looked significantly less impressed with your guile, his arms folded in his lap and his sharp eyes glued to you.

“Come on, Ryan, they’re playing us. We can do this just fine ourselves. Getting assistance from a criminal is the lowest we could possibly stoop.”

Ryan looked momentarily scolded. You moved in before he could change his mind.

“Oh, don’t be so grouchy, Madej! Just because you know I’d do your job better than you is no reason to be bitter. Just let me get rid of this amateur for you, and I’ll be out of your hair. I can’t have anyone taking my place as most notorious and feared killer, after all. It’s my pleasure to get rid of the competition!” You leaned a bit in the tall man’s direction, supporting your head in your hands and resting your elbows on the table.

Doubt encased the officer’s face, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he directed his focus onto Ryan; it was his decision, he was in charge.

“I mean…” the detective began hesitantly. You attempted to appear innocent, giving your best puppy dog eyes. Across from you, Shane was tense. He shot a brief glare at you, before turning back to Ryan, his expression soft but disapproving.

“Alright. You’ve got yourself a deal, but the first time we catch you trying to pull something, it’s back to eating Insta-Potatoes in prison, understand?” he jabbed you on the nose with his pointer finger, his stubbly jaw set in a scowl.

You jumped up from your chair, throwing your non-cuffed arm in the air and whooping.

“Yes! Yeah! You won’t regret this, I swear! I’ll be the fastest killer-catcher in the west! Yee-haw, boys!”

You could tell the last two lines caught them off guard. Ryan and Shane gave each other a look, before Ryan broke out in giggles, Shane following a few seconds after, albeit much more subdued.

“Ok, ok. But we need to get on this case. Now. The longer we wait, the less fresh the evidence is. Keeping you in the prison is inconvenient as hell, so our first order of business should be finding somewhere to store you. Shane?”

The two men excused themselves to converse, on the other side of the two way mirror mind you. You were, yet again, left to your own devices. You fiddled with your chain casually for a moment or so, then moved in to trying to chip your initials into the table. It didn’t work, and you were pretty much out of things to.

You mentally replayed the events of the past hour or so. Half hour? You didn’t know. A clock would be convenient in here. How long it had been shouldn’t matter, however. You had confirmation you weren’t going back to jail, and the death penalty was illegal here. You’d be fine, and back home eating Pop-Tarts before you knew it. You allowed yourself to relax.

-~-~-~

After another 15 minutes had passed, you moved on to trying to scoot the table closer to the water cooler. Your throat was beginning to sting with how dry it was, and you had nothing better to do. Just as you were within reach, however, the door opened, and in waltzed your two favorite technical enemies.

“Alright. We’re gonna uncuff you for just a second. If you try to run, Ryan will tase you.” Shane warned. Ryan held up his Police issued taser and stepped closer, holding it steady, though you had enough experience to know it was real without the up-close look.]

“I already told you guys, I’m gonna help. No running here.” You held up a placating hand and smiled reassuringly. Shane got to work, kneeling to push the key into the keyhole. With a clink and a small hand movement on Shane’s part, the cuffs dropped.

You took your few seconds of freedom to flex your wrists and look at the red rings that the cuffs left with distaste, before Shane snapped them back on.

“Get some water, and we’re leaving, ok?”

You nodded, thankful your hands were cuffed in the front rather than behind your back, and filled a paper cup with water. It was lukewarm and tasted vaguely like chlorine. Your throat seemed to think it was perfect, however, because you felt 10 times better almost instantly.

“Ok, let’s go then.” You allowed Ryan to lead you out of the building, taking note of how empty it was. It was most likely later than you thought, and you wondered when the adrenaline would wear off and you’d finally pass out.

Shane helped you clamber (rather awkwardly) into what you assumed was Ryan’s car. His civilian one, not a police issued vehicle. It was nice. It smelled a bit like Chipotle, but nice, nonetheless.

“Should I be concerned that you’re loading me into this car, not telling me where we’re going, with no other witnesses besides you two, who are trusted officers of the law? Is the murderer about to become the murderee?”

You heard Ryan wheeze, an amused mumble of ‘murderee’ accompanying giggles under his breath. Shane merely scoffed at your comment, and assisted in buckling your seatbelt.

The rest of the drive was quiet, though not necessarily uncomfortable. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, and you could feel yourself begin to slump in your seat. You woke with a start when Ryan took a swift and steep turn, your head clunking against the car window painfully.

“Huh? What?” you frantically looked around, taking a moment to register your surroundings. Right. Ryan’s car.

“Easy does it. We’re almost there.” Ryan’s voice was hushed, and Shane was snoring softly in the passenger seat.

You remained awake for the last few minutes of the ride. The neon sign of a motel caught your eye, and as you turned to read it, Ryan flicked his blinker on. Into the nearly empty parking lot of the motel you went.

“This is it, huh? Any reason you chose this particular place?” you asked, your handcuffs jingling indistinctly as you rested your hands on the buckle of your seatbelt.

“It’s cheap and unsuspecting. Randomly selected.” He said simply. An acceptable answer.

Click. After a brief struggle, you had the belt off. You waited for Ryan to wake Shane up before opening the car door.

“Hey, big guy. Hope you’re ok with sleeping in a $50 room with a the killer and I for a few days.” The detective gestured theatrically at the ratty building, grinning when Shane merely shoved him away by his shoulder and groaned.

Ryan helped you out of the car, and the three of you entered the foyer of the motel. Ryan, in all of his exhausted, messy glory, booked one room for all three of you, and dropped the key back on the desk twice while trying to pick it up.

You made eye contact with the desk attendant, who was desperately trying not to stare at the cuffs on your hands. Poor girl, this was probably a lot to process.

As you began the walk to your shared room, she called after you, telling you to remember to be courteous of the other guests, and you chuckled, wondering just what she’d made of the situation. Nothing good, your mind settled on.

You passed out instantly upon arrival to the room. The mattress felt like hell, and you knew your back would ache in the morning, but you were tired enough that it didn’t matter. Shane flopped uncaringly beside you, while Ryan began organizing spare sheets and blankets into a makeshift bed on the floor.

“Ryan, when I develop back problems from these awful sleeping arrangements, you’re buying a Tempur-Pedic for me.” Shane groaned, his face burrowed into a worn pillow. Ryan merely scoffed from across the small room, shucking his suit jacket off onto the floor and stretching his shoulders with a yawn.

You could feel your mind go blank, the two boys’ muffled words echoing around, sounding as if you were underwater.

-~-~-~

You woke much later than your new roommates, feeling groggy and detached. The room smelled like lukewarm breakfast, free and courtesy of the motel, most likely.

Despite the fact that the scrambled eggs would most likely be rubbery, and the bacon lukewarm and wet with grease, your stomach growled. You lifted your head, bleary eyes examining the room in search of food. Next to the puny tv, on a scratched and beat up dresser were two paper plates, one with bacon, eggs, and soggy toast. The other was piled with small breakfast donuts, powdered and glazed, and you took a moment to thank whatever gods may or may not have placed the pastries in this blessed motel room.

You haphazardly tossed your legs out from under the covers and took several faltering steps towards the dresser, immediately going for the donuts. While shoveling the sweets into your mouth, you took a moment to appreciate the lack of metal cuffs jingling and chaffing around your wrists.

Speaking of which: where were your ‘captors’?

You looked around, quickly noting that the bed Shane had taken up 80% of last night was now empty. Though, you were pleased to note that Ryan was still curled up in his nest of blankets, fast asleep. He looked peaceful, and you were glad. He deserved to rest, he’d been working so hard.

Working so hard to catch your dumb ass, your inner voice reminded, and you felt a mix of pride and guilt swell in your chest. You’d done good work for yourself maybe, but you’d almost ruined poor Ryan. Look at him, he’s got anxiety!

You returned to the bed, satisfied with your weak attempt at breakfast. Whatever, you didn’t have to run from the cops today, you were working with them. You could afford to treat yourself a tad.

You re-settled yourself amongst the blankets, sighing contentedly, and prepared to go back to sleep, when the motel room door creaked open; a grating noise that practically sent chills up your spine. You didn’t bother to open your eyes.

“Goodmorning, Shane.” You greeted.

“Good afternoon, more like. You and Ryan have been sleeping all day. Time to get up, we have work to do.” Shane set an armful of paper bags down near the door with a soft rustling, and closed it behind him. He easily stepped over Ryan’s sleeping form and stood before you, towering above you and radiating disapproval. You rolled over.

“Look, I’ve had a stressful past few days.” You began, relishing in the tired sigh the tall man used to mask his mirth, “And I’d really appreciate it if you could just let me get a few more hours of rest before making me do your job. Thanks.”

Things were silent for a moment, which you took to mean success. You nuzzled your head further into your shitty pillow joyfully, and took a satisfied inhale of air, stale as it may be.

Then, with one swift movement, Shane yanked your blanket off of you and across the room. You gasped indignantly, sitting up and pointing an accusing finger at the scoundrel.

“I told you, it’s time to get up. Oh, and thanks for eating all of the powdered donuts. Clearly murder isn’t your worst crime to humanity, you absolute glutton.” He joked, snatching the pillow Ryan was clutching like a teddy bear and chucking it at you. You allowed it to hit you in the head, falling back dramatically and faking a weak cough.

“Tell… Ryan… I love him…” you wheezed through harsh breaths.

“Rest in piss.” Shane deadpanned.

From the floor, the detective himself groaned, his eyes fluttering open and the dark circles beneath them somewhat lessened.

“It’s like fuckin’ six in the morning, would you knock it off?” He groaned.

Both you and Shane directed your gazes to the small alarm clock on the bedside table. It read 1:03 PM.

“Hate to break it to you, but it’s 1 o’clock, and we’ve got things to do. Get up, get dressed, get fed, and let’s catch us a killer so we can let another one go.” Shane gave you a firm pat on the shoulder, and brushed past you to the bathroom.

Ryan was up like a shot, on his feet and running his hands through his hair, as if that would make it look any less like a blob of melted dark chocolate. Not like you could judge though, you were certain you looked even messier than them. A good night’s sleep in a shitty bed will do that to you.

“Shane, I believe I heard you say something about a Tempur-Pedic at Ryan’s expense last night?” You called, stretching your arms above your head with a groan.

He didn’t respond, and you took the sound of the sink running to mean he was either brushing his teeth, or taking a weak excuse for a shower. You hoped to anything and everything holy that it was the first option.

“Alright, I’m gonna shower real quick, and we’re leaving.” Ryan said to no one in particular, and thank heavens he did, because you hated that plan and were happy to say so.

“What about me? I have a reputation to keep up! I’m not going around town all sweaty and ruffled.”

“All you have to do to keep up your reputation is murder people, no one cares if you smell like sweat and day old clothes when you do.”

You hated it when he was right.

“Alright then. Let’s hit the town, boys. I’ll put on my killer-wrangling boots, and we can stop for Dairy Queen, my treat.” You stood from the bed, swinging your arms by your sides loosely, and flashing Ryan’s credit card to him with a wink.

His eyes widened, hands immediately patting his pockets. He stared at you, disbelief coloring his cheeks a rusty pink.

“I’ll wait in the car!” you teased, jingling the detectives keys in your other hand and making a break for the door.

“Hey!” Ryan called after you, but didn’t bother to give chase. Shane did that for him.

In the end, he ended up simply waiting in the car with you, though he insisted on holding onto the keys for you. Ryan was quick to finish his shower, stumbling out of the side door to the room and shooing Shane out of the driver’s seat.

“So boys, where we heading?” you asked, stretching yourself out comfortably in the backseat.

“Oh, you’ll see.”

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