Golden Streets - Chapter One
So... I've been writing in the Supernatural fandom for quite some time, I've just never shown many people my stuff, mostly just my close IRL friends. This is a birthday fic for my IRL girlfriend, Brenna. It's not done.
I am still working on Binary. I keep switching between the two, this one just got done first. So.
Title: Golden Streets (Are Dark Tonight)
Fandom: CWRPS/Supernatural RPF
Author: Lost Forevermore aka woebegone121
Rating: R for right now, probably NC-17 later
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Genre: Detective fic/mystery/dark romance
Warnings: Swearing, adult themes (like porn, probably), swearing, violence, possible horror imagery (if I can write it...), and minor character death. Also, warning for characters we usually like being villains.
Summary: Jensen's a hard-boiled-dick type of detective. Jared's the thief he's been chasing for years. When a sudden tragedy strikes, Jensen's left reeling, unsure of who he can trust and what clues he can follow. Everything is pointing to his world being turned upside down, and it seems like his only choice is to let one enemy lead him to another. With tensions of all kinds running high, will Jensen make it out of this adventure alive? Dark, droll, and the result of me watching one too many Dragnet episodes.
The moonlight glittered on the calm waters of the bay. A few barges floated on the edge of the horizon, and the lights of the city quieted the stars that should have shown. The cliffs were a shadow against the night sky, the lighthouse a particularly foreboding monument, having been darkened and deemed unsafe decades before. There was nothing about the sight that should have set off any sort of alarm bell, but Jensen knew the docks for what they were, knew the dark side of the beautiful waters and gentle breeze from years of experience. He knew firsthand what kind of deals went on under the cover of darkness, knew just how many bodies had been dragged from the murky waters.
It was on these beautifully sinister shores that Jensen did his best work. He supposed that wasn’t exactly something to boast about, but when it came to his line of work, there was never much to brag about, so he took what he could get. There were only so many different ways that you could say, “She walked into my office on a rainy Tuesday morning,” before people started getting bored, or worse, you started getting predictable. And if there was one thing about his job that he’d had to learn the hard way, it was that predictability got you killed. Jensen couldn’t afford to be predictable in the same way that he couldn’t afford a hole in the head.
There were a few boats moored along the docks, scarce and small. Jensen didn’t even want to think about the amount of stolen goods and drugs that were more than likely on those boats - he had a case, he couldn’t get himself into even deeper waters, pardon the pun. And this one was something he’d been chasing for a while, the junkies and the petty thieves could wait.
The boat was supposed to be at the end of the dock, waiting for him like an early Christmas present. It was loaded down with jewelry, a veritable treasure chest, including the jewels from the local museum. All in all, the boat itself was probably worth about 3.7 million dollars in rare, one-of-a-kind pieces. Jensen had been tracking this particular band of thieves for about a year, and that boat was supposed to be docked tonight. The wood underneath his shoes creaked quietly, but it was covered by the soft sound of the waves lapping at the posts of the dock. He walked, and stopped suddenly, because it was supposed to be right there, gleaming and ready for him to take.
There was nothing but water and empty space.
“Goddamnit,” Jensen swore heatedly and froze when he heard a chuckle behind him.
“You missed your chance, detective.” The voice was smooth and dark, with a playful lilt to it. It was familiar, too, one he’d heard countless times, and while the voice itself was a very pleasant sound, it grated on Jensen’s last nerve.
Jensen turned and glared. “…Padalecki.”
Jared Padalecki, leader of the pack of thieves and one grade-A slippery bastard. He had wicked aim with pretty much anything you could shoot - Jensen had the scars to show for it. Padalecki was a master of disguise and could Houdini himself out of pretty much anything. Tall, dark, and not too bad on the eyes, if Jensen was being honest, with sharp eyes and a harmless-looking face, not to mention an absolutely lethal smile, complete with dimples. That smile was currently being aimed at Jensen.
“Jensen.” The thief nodded, voice light and friendly, like he wasn’t pointing a locked and loaded Beretta straight at Jensen. “You can call me Jared, you know. I feel like we know each other well enough by now.”
“You don’t know a thing about me,” Jensen said, right before his brain caught up to him and he realized that Padalecki was just trying to bait him.
“I know a lot about you, Jen.” Padalecki smiled again. “I know a lot more than you think I know. For example, I know that you have pretty much the entire police force at your disposal, and they’re waiting to move in.”
“Then you should know that there are probably already a few guns trained on you.” Jensen smirked a little.
To his surprise, Padalecki just chuckled again. The gun in his grip didn’t waver an inch from where it was aimed directly at Jensen’s chest, and the detective knew from experience that if he should have so much taken a step, it would have followed with deadly precision. “You didn’t let me finish,” he said with a grin. “Somewhere along the way, that text you sent, about meeting south of the lighthouse? Changed to north of the lighthouse. So all of your backup is on the other end of the bay.”
Jensen gritted his teeth, flattening his mouth into a frustrated, unhappy line. From Padalecki’s little grin, he found the expression amusing, which only served to annoy Jensen further. “And where’s your crew, huh? They leave without you?”
“We’re gonna meet up later.” Padalecki smiled again, and dropped the arm that was holding the gun, reaching back to slide it into his waistband. “Wanted to say hello. I like to think of us as… well, not really friends, but… close.”
“Oh, trust me, we’re definitely not friends.” It was times like these that made Jensen wish he actually carried a gun, for a split second. He took a step closer, and Padalecki took a step back, giving a knowing glance down to Jensen’s feet. “I think ‘enemies’ is the term you’re looking for.”
“No, Jensen.” Padalecki took another step back, toward the edge of the dock, and glanced backward at the water. “We’re not enemies. You’re not on my list.”
“You’re on mine.”
“Different type of list, Jenny.”
Padalecki glanced away, out at the bay, and Jensen took his chance, rushing the taller man. He let out a surprised, pained breath, catching Jensen by the shoulders and attempting to shove him away, but the pair tumbled off of the dock and into the dark waters below. The world went silent, suddenly, save for the rush of water as it swirled around him, and then he was suddenly being hauled up above the surface again. He broke surface and took a split second to breathe, before aiming a right hook at Padalecki. The thief merely caught his arm and yanked him closer, wrapping around Jensen before Jensen could wriggle away.
“Damn it, Jensen!” Padalecki muttered, and slammed Jensen into one of the posts supporting the dock. Jensen kicked out, but the water slowed his movements and Padalecki deflected it easily. He pinned Jensen to the post, keeping him there despite his struggles, and when he moved in, there was nowhere for Jensen to run or twist away to. He froze the moment Padalecki pressed their lips together, hands trapping Jensen’s above him. Jensen’s eyes went wide and his brain completely short-circuited - the thief’s lips were surprisingly soft, the kiss itself chaste, if not wholly distracting, right up until he heard the telltale snick of a pair of handcuffs closing. He yanked away, and nearly knocked himself out on the post for his trouble.
“You son of a bitch,” he snarled, and Padalecki gave a rueful smile, dropping his hands to tread water. Jensen gave the handcuff above him an assessing pull, and found that the rail it was attached to had absolutely no give whatsoever.
“You’re not on my list, Jensen,” Padalecki repeated. “But, like you said, we’re not exactly friends, either.”
"You asshole," Jensen growled. "You criminal, fucking uncuff me!"
"Relax, Jensen," Padalecki said. "I'll call your friends, let 'em know you're here before the tide rolls in. You'll be fine." He grinned, leaned in, and kissed Jensen on the cheek before Jensen managed to hit him hard enough in the shoulder to get him off. "Hasta luego, sweetheart."
"If I fucking drown, I'm going to fucking haunt your fucking, thieving ass until you fucking die!" Jensen shouted. Padalecki just chuckled and climbed back up onto the dock, smirking down at Jensen before he left. "And then I'm gonna find you in hell, and I'm gonna drag you back up, and I'm gonna kick the fucking shit out of you!" He heard Padalecki's laughter as his footsteps faded, and then there was nothing but the sound of the water and the quiet night. After a moment, Jensen hit the water with his free hand, snarling out a final, "Fuck!"
His trenchcoat was soaked. His hair was flattened against his head, and he was fucking shivering, thanks to that stupid thief. They finally found him about an hour later, and when they hauled him up onto the dock, he was dripping wet and ready to take someone’s head off. He glared, batting away the hands that were trying to wrap a towel around him with a growled, “Don’t fucking touch me.” The officers took a step back in order to keep their limbs attached, and Jensen stalked across the docks toward the line of police cars, attempting to peel his trench coat off.
“Man, what the hell happened to you?” Corporal Danneel Harris met him with an amused grin. She was a bombshell of a girl, red hair and an athletic build, and if Jensen was into her type, he’d have been on her in an instant. “You rock the spitting mad cat look, Jensen, you could be one hell of a model.”
“Kiss my ass.” Jensen gave a frustrated tug at his sleeve, which seemed to have somehow glued itself to his arm.
She shook her head. “I take it you lost Padalecki.”
“We went for a late-night swim,” Jensen muttered, still struggling with his coat. “He knew I was coming. He always fucking knows when I’m coming, like he’s got some kind of radar built into his goddamn-“ He yanked at a sleeve. “-stupid-“ Another yank, it didn’t budge. “Brain!” One final yank and it finally gave, nearly throwing off Jensen’s balance. Danneel watched him, amused, as he dropped the coat into an unceremonious heap at his feet, followed by his tie and button-up, leaving him standing there in the moonlight in a white tee and khakis.
“…with your own handcuffs, Jen?” Though she hadn’t so much as giggled, it was obvious that she was laughing at him on the inside.
“He distracted me, okay? I kinda launched us into the water, and… he distracted me, and left me to drown.”
“Distracted you, huh.” Danneel smirked. “…He also called us with your cell phone.”
Jensen’s hand flew to his pocket, and sure enough, he was missing his cell phone. And his wallet. God damn that man. He took a deep breath and counted to ten, twice, before he looked over at the rookie standing nearby. “…I want a towel,” he said in as calm a voice as he could manage. “I want a towel and a cup of coffee with three sugars and a cream, with a blueberry bagel on the side, toasted. And I want it in under fifteen minutes.”
The rookie nodded and scurried away, and the slightly terrified look on his face brought a little bit of joy to Jensen when it really shouldn’t have.
“Chief Morgan’s gonna want to see you,” Danneel said, shaking her head a little. Jensen picked up his pile of clothes, and the pair headed for the line of police cars. “He’s not gonna be happy. You’re probably gonna get lectured about… aw, hell, I don’t even know, preparedness?”
“Jeff can shove his lecture up his ass,” Jensen replied. He shook a little of the moisture from his hair, but it was still clinging. “I don’t work for him, I work with him.”
“Don’t tell him that.” Danneel paused. “Jensen… you gotta be more careful, you know? Padalecki might actually try and kill you one day.”
“If he wanted to kill me, I’d be dead.” Jensen dug his car keys out of one soaked pocket.
“He left you cuffed to a dock, Jensen, you could have drowned.”
“But I didn’t. And I’m gonna keep chasing this guy until I catch him.”
Danneel pinned him with a scrutinizing look. “…I got something I need to talk to you about, Jensen,” she said after a long moment. “Something you need to know. You’re coming back into the office, right?” At his nod, she gave him another look. “Are you sure you’re okay? I got a bad feeling, Jen.”
Jensen gave her a little grin. “I’m alright, Danny. I’ll be in the office in about twenty minutes, I’m taking a shower first.”
“Morgan’s gonna-“
“Morgan’s gonna damn well wait while I take a shower.” Jensen waved over his shoulder and climbed into his own car, a cheap Malibu, because, surprisingly enough, he didn’t make a ton of money. Long hours, no money, and a risk of being handcuffed to docks, among other dangerous things he really didn’t care to reminisce about. He really should have gone into medicine, like his mother wanted, like, sports rehab or something. At least in sports rehab, one didn’t typically get guns pointed at them on a regular basis. And they made money, when Jensen, as a detective, didn’t.
After a scalding shower and a fresh change of clothes, Jensen felt a little more ready to face the day - well, night, now. Around eleven at night, to be quite honest, which just served as proof that Jensen had no life. He was tired, but he was in for a long night, he knew, and while he wanted nothing more than to collapse onto his bed, coffee was a not so close second. Paperwork was pretty much the hundredth item on that list, right above “going to prison” and right below “dying.”
He found his coffee and his bagel on his desk, right next to a towel that he didn’t actually need now that he thought about it, which probably confused the poor little rookie, but Jensen couldn’t bring himself to care. He sat down and leaned back in his chair, throwing his feet up on his desk and taking a bite of his bagel - blueberry, toasted, the rookie had done well. He was doing very, very well at ignoring the fact that he had a report or twenty to write when the door to his office opened, and he sighed, pulling his legs back and leaning on the desk, figuring that he could always toast his bagel again later.
“Ackles.” Chief Jeffrey Dean Morgan was a gruff-looking man with a gruff-sounding voice. He had salt-and-peppered hair that meant he’d seen one too many cases at three in the morning, and a five o’clock shadow that insinuated he hadn’t been to bed yet either. He closed the door behind him and crossed his arms over his chest. “Wanna tell me what the hell happened out there?”
“I don’t even know, Jeff…” Jensen scrubbed his hair, taking another drink of coffee. “He knew we were coming. I don’t know how he knew, but he did. And he spliced my phone or something, changed the text, sent you guys to the wrong side of the lighthouse.”
“Yeah, figured that much out. What I want to know, Ackles, is how you ended up trussed up with your own handcuffs.” Jeff gave him a knowing look.
“He distracted me!” Jensen looked away from Jeff, glancing down at his bagel. “Next thing I knew, I was cuffed to the dock. And you know he’s got sticky fingers, he started out as a pickpocket. He took my fucking phone too.”
“That text came from the same phone,” Jeff said, and Jensen glanced up again, sharply. “Did he take it or did you give it to him?”
“…what the fuck, Jeff,” Jensen growled after a moment of staring at the cop.
“It’s a fuckin’ question, Ackles, just answer it.”
“Tell me what the hell you’re saying!”
“Answer the fucking question, Jensen!”
Jeff’s hands slammed down on his desk, and Jensen was on his feet before the chief could open his mouth. “He took it from me, after pointing a fucking gun at me!” Jensen shouted, not even caring about the looks from outside the office that their “discussion” had drawn. “Now what the hell are you trying to say, Jeff, that I fucking let him-“
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Jeff hissed, and Jensen gaped. “And other people are saying it too. I’m not saying you showed your belly or whatever, I’m just saying that maybe you didn’t fight back as much as you should have. Maybe you got a little soft on him somewhere along the way, and it’s my job as your goddamn superior-“
“I don’t fuckin’ work for you, Jeff!” Jensen shouted. “I rent this office space, or did you forget already?”
“Then clear it the fuck out ‘cause I’m throwin’ you out, Ackles.”
“Fuck you!” Hot coffee suddenly exploded all over his hand and his desk, and Jensen hadn’t even realized that he’d been clutching the cup so tightly. He dropped it instantly, swearing and shaking his hand out. Perfect, fucking perfect. “Goddamn fucking coffee, motherfucking-“
The towel that wrapped around his hand was Jeff’s version of an olive branch, and Jensen took it with a final glare at the man. Turned out he’d needed the towel after all.
“…I didn’t mean it like that,” Jeff said gruffly. “It’s just… that’s what people are saying, and I wanted you to be prepared.”
“Thanks… sorry, I, uh. Overreacted a bit. Long night, you know?” Jensen glanced up. His hand stung like a motherfucker.
“It’s alright. Been there before.” Jeff sighed, sitting down in the chair on the opposite side of Jensen’s. Jensen took a seat as well, gazing ruefully at his coffee before kicking his feet up again. “…I’m not really throwing you out.”
“I figured.” Jensen sighed as well. “…I don’t know, Jeff. I don’t even fucking know anymore.” He scrubbed a hand through his hair.
“Let’s switch gears a minute, then…” Jeff leaned forward in his chair, elbows resting on the arms. “The Palicki disappearance. What’ve you got on that so far?”
“Nothing,” Jensen shook his head. “I got a college student missing for two months now, and nowhere left to go. Everyone checks out.” He opened a file on his desk, the folder depressingly thin, and gave it a look before passing it to Jeff. Adrianne Palicki, twenty-two, gone without a trace in the middle of the night. No enemies, no suspects, no evidence. Too straight-laced to be a runaway, in Jensen’s professional opinion.
“Something’ll turn up.” Jeff pushed it back across the desk, standing. “Go home, Jensen. Get some sleep, come back tomorrow afternoon. Padalecki’s long gone anyway.”
“I gotta see Danny before I leave.” Jensen stood as well. As he did so, the radio on his desk crackled to life, dispatching the latest crime. Jensen listened to it for half a second before staring at it in horror and shock. Jeff was already out the door, roaring orders left and right, and in the flurry of movement that drowned the instructions out, Jensen heard a painfully familiar badge number being rattled off.
The lighthouse had been quiet and dark for decades. It had become a haven of sorts for certain types of people, namely squatters and thrill-seekers, as well as a subject of local legends and ghost stories. It was a common place for calls to come in from, teenagers vandalizing the place or stoners smoking pot, so it really shouldn’t have been a surprise that something dangerous might actually have happened there. It was, though, in the same way that a brutal punch to the gut was a surprise, the kind that left you on the floor with all of the wind knocked out of you and blood rushing through your ears.
Jensen’s car was one of the first to go screaming onto the scene. He left the keys in the ignition, catapulting himself out onto the grass, sprinting up to the lighthouse steps. The cop cars weren’t far behind him, a kaleidoscope of red and blue flashing into the night, but they were too late. They were all too late. Jensen knew before he even reached her that she was dead, from the way her eyes were staring sightlessly up at the sky to the way blood was crusted on her lips. Corporal Danneel Harris was dead, and all Jensen could do for her was close her eyes and kill the sorry motherfucker that had fired that gun.