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jumblejen · 3 years

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Father of Murder, Head Detective

Suptober21 Day 10: Crossover

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34415326

The first thing he noticed as he regained consciousness was the headache. The second was that he was tied up and sitting in a chair. The third, he was in some sort of murder dungeon. And the fourth was that he could hear the voices of two men outside the door talking, but not clear enough to understand what they were saying. His mind was strangely foggy. Remembering might be the key to getting out of whatever mess he landed in. He really hoped he could free himself before Spencer found him. At least he could count on Spencer to be looking for him, as much as that thought galled. Still eating crow was better than ending up dumped in a ditch after whatever was supposed to happen in the murder dungeon.

What could he remember? He remembered the arrest yesterday morning. At least he assumed it was just yesterday. There were no windows and it was impossible to say how long for sure he’d been down here or what day it was. Well, he had to start somewhere, so yesterday morning they made the arrest after Spencer’s wild speculation had paid off. Again. They had been at the station afterward, Spencer and O’Hara making goo-goo eyes at each other while Guster puttered around on his phone and he had done some paperwork.

After paperwork he had declined the offer from the others to get a drink and gone back to his place, picking up some Chinese food at the local place on his way home. He definitely remembered eating the beef with broccoli and egg roll. He even remembered crunching on the fortune cookie without looking at the fortune. He had cleaned his gun and was going to get changed into his pajamas when…what? What happened then?

He glanced down at himself. He wasn’t wearing pajamas, so he hadn’t gotten ready for bed. He was still in the navy dress pants, button down white shirt, undershirt and boxers. Socks still on his feet but in his house slippers instead of dress shoes. No holster though. No badge or wallet or keys. Well he hadn’t really expected them to be there, but he would feel better with his gun or at least his badge.

So what happened in that blank spot. He tried to concentrate but all he got was nothingness. Had he been knocked out? Or fainted? Was all this a dream as a result of a head injury? He tugged his arms upward but the restraints held and chafed. That was too real of a feeling for a dream, surely. His head hurt, but it was a tension headache kind of hurt. He rolled his neck experimentally. He didn’t think it was an injury. As far as he could tell he was in peak physical condition. Other than being tied up. There wasn’t much he could do without more information. Time to meet the locals.

“Hello?” he called.

With a metallic creak the door swung open, two men entering. The taller one was dressed like the butch version of Spencer in a tshirt and flannel and jeans. Better footwear than Spencer though. Durable boots instead of flimsy sneakers. The other was wearing dress pants, dress shirt, twisted blue tie and a tan trench coat. Both men moved like they knew how to handle themselves. Even worse, the taller one had a gun in his hand though at least it was pointed loosely at the ground.

“I’m sure there’s been some misunderstanding…”

“Save it, Cain,” the taller one cut him off. “How do I get rid of the mark?”

“Mark? What mark?”

“You wanna get cute. Fine. The one you gave me. This mark.” The taller man thrust his arm at him, a brand visible on his forearm. “Your mark.”

“My mark?”

“We don’t have time for this Cain.”

“Who’s Cain?”

“You are!”

“I am Carlton Lassiter, Head Detective of the Santa Barbara Police Department. You are unlawfully detaining an officer of the law and I suggest you release me at once.”

“Dean,” started the trench coat man, “I don’t think he’s lying.”

“So what, he’s got amnesia or something?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Then what?” Two sets of eyes swiveled back to Lassiter. “You think it was a spell?”

“A spell?! What kind of hippy dippy bullcrap are you talking about?”

“Shut up.”

“Is this a joke? Did Spencer put you up to this?”

“Look pal, I don’t know any Spencer, magic is real, and I am about two seconds away from letting my angel crack open your noggin to see if that gets us anywhere.”

“This is a dream. It’s just a hyper-realistic dream. Maybe someone spiked my Chinese food.”

“Cas now what?”

“It’s not Cain, that much is for certain. I don’t think he has it in him for this level of subterfuge.”

“It would explain why he was so easy to capture. And why we didn’t have any demons on our ass.”

Lassiter cut it, “Now wait a minute. Demons? Are you some sort of religious cult?”

“We don’t have time for this.”

“Dean, wait.”

“What?”

“If this isn’t Cain, where is he?”

“One problem at a time, Cas.”

“Who is this Cain character you keep talking about?”

“Cain. Father of murder. Killed his brother?”

“From the Bible? Cain as in Cain and Abel?”

“Exactly.”

“Why on earth would you think I’m Cain?”

“Well you look just like him if you gave him a serious haircut and stuffed him in a cheap suit. Right down to those bright blue eyes of yours.”

“Clearly there’s been some sort of misunderstanding. I am not a biblical figure nor have I ever had long hair!”

“Can it.”

“Well if you thought I was Cain, and I’m here, does that mean Cain is in my life back in Santa Barbara?”

The man in the trench coat shakes his head. “It would explain some things.”

“Not really. Why would Cain want to go to Santa Barbara? And I’m starting to think that this guy isn’t just not Cain. I’m thinking he’s actually from a different world.”

“Like when you were an actor?”

“Exactly. Which reminds me, where was Janson Ankles or whatever his name was when I was in that world?”

“It’s probably best we don’t think about it too hard. I doubt there’s a happy answer.”

“If Cain is in my life, and people think he’s me… When you say ‘father of murder’, exactly how literal is that statement?”

“Unfortunately very. Cain was peaceable for a long time but his instincts are to kill.”

Lassiter thought of Juliet and Gus and even Spencer failing to realize it wasn’t him. What if they got hurt? No matter how he got here, he couldn’t let anything happen to them. “Send me back.”

“What?”

“Send me back. Switch us back. Whatever.”

“You got people back there?”

“Of course I do! And if this murderer is running around in my life when he should be tied up here, I’m pretty sure I don’t want to risk that on however peaceable some murdering lookalike is feeling today.” Lassiter’s temper was rising. Futilely he pulled at his restraints.

“Don’t hurt yourself, man. Cas, can we swap them back?”

“I can try.”

“What are you going to do to me?” Lassiter didn’t like the look in the trench coat man’s eyes.

“Hopefully send you back home.” He put two fingers to Lassiter’s forehead and the world went black again.

Lassiter blinked a few times, something soft under his cheek. The room was dark. Carefully he sat up trying to see anything in the gloom. Gradually he could make out the outline of a door, light highlighting the edges. He stood up and shuffled to the door, reaching instinctively for the knob. With the door open he could see into the room much better and could recognize it was his own bedroom. He felt rumpled and disoriented from whatever that weird interlude had been. He must have fallen asleep and dreamed the two men and the room. He walked out of the bedroom and did a quick inspection of all the rooms and doors and windows. He laughed ruefully at himself. He must have just laid down for a second and fallen asleep, nothing more. Satisfied everything was in order, Lassiter got ready for bed still chuckling at his gullibility every now and again.

On the other hand, Spencer was psychic, so maybe strange men with murder dungeons really were looking for the biblical Cain somewhere in the world. Or another universe. Unless they came to Santa Barbara, Lassiter decided it wasn’t any of his concern.

He never thought about how he didn’t look at his forearms for two weeks in case he saw signs of restraint.

#suptober21 #destiel #psych #castiel #dean #lassiter #cain #was a little stumped on this one #but i think almost any character from psych would drive dean/cas bonkers #and vice versa #and now i kinda want to know how dean and shawn would interact #i would give it two minutes before dean pulled his gun

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serendipitystation · 6 years

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Read it here, too: AO3

Summary: Investigator Dupain-Cheng (dubbed Ladybug by the public) is used to strange cases coming her way, but her latest one involves murder, intrigue, and an actor with peridot eyes that she can’t seem to shake. Perhaps it’s just her, but something about this seems…personal. Rated T, Adrienette/LadyNoir, film noir 1950’s AU, ongoing.

Length: Medium

Rating: PG-13

——————————

It’s tough being a lady in a man’s world. A lot of people say that the 50’s are a time of freedom, such words uttered by government officials and barkeeps alike, talked of in church halls and on velveted stages. But this only goes so far. For Marinette, the cage she wears of linen, lace, and ladylike behavior feels stifling. Her parents are progressive people who support her and let her be herself, but it isn’t until she dons her black and red trench coat that she really feels herself. When she takes up the mantle of Ladybug, the detective pseudonym she’s been given over the years by the public, she is invincible.

Though her friends and family accept her career, not everyone does. Marinette’s office is the talk of her city, Ladybug infamous for her efforts at crime-fighting. The older women on their morning strolls too their noses in the air as they pass her office and men gawk at it, surprised at the gall of the local woman detective. Still, she’s been successful on more than one occasion and the police, though they don’t work with her, can’t deny the leads she’s supplied them with. Thus, her reputation has grown and there’s always a strange smattering of people frequenting her office.

Today, however, is no ordinary day. That morning, Marinette arrived at her office to find a man waiting at her front door. When he wrung hiis hands nervously and asked her to come to a theater downtown at the request of his employer, Marinette was cautious in accepting, but intrigued. Now, standing in the opulent auditorium of the theater and taking in the scene before her, she knows she made the right decision.

The scene Marinette observes is straight out of the film noir stories she likes so much. On the worn stage lies a woman, heavily done up and beautiful, her auburn hair fanned out on the wood floor. She looks like a Hollywood starlet, dressed in deep green velvet and picture perfect, save for the dark stains of blood on her gown and the gaping wounds where they begin. Around her, policemen work, taking with the startled employees and taking photos of the crime scene. Marinette approaches the gathering of people, drawing near to a light-suited man who she assumes must be the manager of the establishment. She is correct; the man in question sees her walk near and breaks off his conversation with a policeman to meet her halfway.

“You are Ladybug, yes?” He asks, a broad Italian accent coloring his words. The manager doesn’t give Marinette time to reply and continues.

“This is a horrible affair- horrible, I say! To come in here this morning and find Catherine dead like this! What a horrible thing!” The manager says with impassioned gusto, before leaning in slightly, as if saying something in confidence. “I cannot have this thing ruining my theater, you know. Terrible it is for business, just terrible. I’ve heard of your success and I wonder if you may take a look, see if you can find the one who did this. I have money to offer if you can find the killer.” He says, his concern at his theater’s prospects clear on his face.

“I’ll investigate and see what I can find out.” Marinette says calmly, drawing a relieved sigh from the manager, who begins to speak to another policeman. Marinette takes to the stage stairs, finally reaching the victim’s body. As she crouches down to examine the victim, the policemen greet her with impassive nods. The local police force has gotten used to seeing her at crime scenes and don’t bother her like they used to; it’s an impersonal, unspoken arrangement she has with them, but it is done on good terms, so neither side complains.

Slowly, Marinette takes in the victim’s body. Close up, it is clear that the actress is slightly older than her get-up would have her appear. Still, age has dealt her a good hand, as she remains a handsome woman. Marinette’s eyes narrow as they fall on the wounds on the victim’s chest. A number of deep gashes mar the velvet bodice, concentrated on the stomach area. The entrances of the wounds are surprisingly clean and regular, and the wounds’ placement seems strangely uniform as well, following a vertical pattern. Confusion runs rampant in Marinette’s mind; in all the murder cases she’s investigated, no puncture marks have ever looked like that. Putting aside her wondering, Marinette gives the rest of the body a once-over. Aside from noticing the lack of a wedding ring, light bruising on the right forearm, and a curious slip of paper bearing a drawing of a butterfly that rests beside the body, Marinette doesn’t see much else that stands out and she stands up.

Before she talks to anyone, Marinette decides to take a look at the victim’s dressing room to see if anything reveals itself. Unfortuantely, her efforts prove unhelpful. The room is neat to a tee, stage makeup lined up precisely on the lighted table in the corner and clothes hung up straight on the costume rack. A glittery dress hangs on the back of the door, all tulle and hasty stitches, clearly half-finished. Though show posters hang on the walls, the rest of the room is fairly impersonal, providing no clues as to the murder. Casting a final glance at the place, Marinette turns out the lights and rejoins the crowd in the auditorium.

For the next half hour, Marinette interviews the manager and a few of the staff. In her discussions with them, she learns some key details about the victim. Her name was Catherine Gregory and she was one of the principle actors of the theater’s resident company. She’d been a regular of the company since the 30s and was considered one of the most accomplished local stars still in the acting circuit. Marinette’s interviewees all give the same impression of her; regal, proud, and a touch haughty in the way aging divas tend to be. She had her enemies, of course- one wardrobe mistress mentioned a rival of years past from a neighbouring theater, which Marinette takes note of for later- but there were few names that came up. When Marinette asks about the victim’s relationships, another actress mentions a boyfriend with whom Catherine left on bad terms recently and who reportedly left behind the bruises on the victim’s arm. Marinette keeps this in mind for later as well. In addition, the medical examiner confirms Marinette’s suspicion that the abdominal wounds were the cause of death, calling the approximate time of death as midnight that nigh, and none of the people Marinette talks to have any clue as to the mysterious butterfly card’s origin or meaning. As Marinette works through the staff present at the scene, she slowly accrews clues and information, building up leads to follow. However, nothing she learns jumps out at her or spikes her intuition.

As she makes to leave the scene, Marinette asks the manager if there is anyone left whom she should talk with. The manager glances around and points at a man who had walked into the theater only seconds before. Following his direction, Marinette looks up and meets a pair of leaf-green eyes, bright as a neon light and staring right at her. Marinette is not one easily intimidated or taken aback, but something about the gaze and its intensity sets her on edge. It isn’t until she gets closer to her last interviewee that she understands why.

The man in question is tall, slim, and tan, his features streamlined and precise. He has the kind of face that a woman would stare at dreamily in a magazine and his stance- open and easy- suggests such reactions wouldn’t bother him. He is dressed casually but smartly, clad in a dark blazer and pants, a wide brimmed hat on his head and the top button of his white shirt undone. Everything about his appearance screams of money and ego and, yet, it is his face that undoes the whole image. Where one would expect a charming smile or bedroom eyes, he has the expression of an eager schoolboy. It’s this energy in the man’s gaze that sets Marinette on edge. Most people she talks to during a crime investigation are bereft, confused, or anxious about speaking to her. This guy looks almost happy when she reaches him.

“I’m Investigator Dupain-Cheng and I’m looking into a murder at this establishment. May I ask you a few questions?” Marinette says briskly. The man blinks slowly.

“Of course. I’m at your service.” The man says in an easy voice, giving her a smile far too cheery for a murder scene. Marinette clears her throat.

“Please state your name and occupation.” She says.

“Adrien Vermonte. I’m an actor with the theater’s company.” The man replies.

“Did you know the victim, Ms. Gregory, Mr. Vermonte?” Marinette asks. At the victim’s name, Mr. Vermonte gapes.

“Cathy? Of course- I used the dressing room next door to hers.” The actor shakes his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe someone would kill her.”

“What do you know about the victim?” Marinette inquires.

“She’s been with the company for a long time, longer than most dames her age. She was worth it, though- her voice was legendary and she had a cadre of dedicated fans. She was a star and she knew it.” At this, Mr. Vermonte chuckles. “She wasn’t liked by everyone- she had a tendency to rub people the wrong way sometimes, but she was quite the personality. I liked her well enough. She had a soft spot for me- said I looked like her favorite nephew.” Mr. Vermonte smiled fondly at the thought and Marinette sighed ever so slightly. So far, nothing new from this guy.

“Was there anyone Ms. Gregory had problems with?” Marinette asks flatly. The actor looks thoughtful for a moment.

“No one comes to mind in particular- no one with things to kill over.” Mr. Vermonte replies. “I did hear one argument, though. It was yesterday, I think, in the afternoon. I was getting into costume for the show that night when I heard Cathy yelling next door. It sounded like she was really laying into someone, as though someone had made her angry. A few minutes later, I heard the door open and close and someone walk down the hallway, but it wasn’t Cathy- I could hear her warming up in her room not long after. That’s all I remember.” The actor lets out a huff as he finishes his sentence and Marinette knows she’s found a goodd lead.

“That’s all the questions I have for you for now. Thank you for your time.” Marinette says, but, before she can turn away, Mr. Vermonte pipes up.

“‘For now’? Will you be back?” He asks curiously. Marinette blinks confusedly but keeps her composure.

“It depends on what the investigation reveals. If I need to ask you more questions, I trust I know where to find you.” She says plainly. But the actor still isn’t finished.

“You know, I’m on pretty good terms with the rest of the actors. I’d be happy to keep my ears open for any other information that might help you.” Mr. Vermonte says casually, looking rather excited at the idea. At this, Marinette frowns. A curious interviewee isn’t uncommon, but one that could make people suspicious and risk tampering with the investigation or tipping off the murderer? Not helpful at all. Marinette turns a cold smile on the golden-haired actor.

“Mr. Vermonte-“ Marinette begins, before the actor interrupts her.

“Adrien.” He says with a warm grin. Marinette ignores him and continues.

“This is an investigation of a serious crime. Any active interfering of citizens could hamper law enforcement or hurt the case. I advise you to stay out of the way and stick to acting. Thank you.” Marinette finishes tersely, walking down the theater aisle quickly to avoid being held back by Mr. Vermonte anymore. Even as she leaves, she feels his gaze follow her up and out the doors.

The investigation had just begun but something told Marinette that this would be a particular tricky case. And it wasn’t just because of the peridot eyes that linger in her mind long after she leaves the theater.

#ladynoir? film noir? get it? i had to do it XD #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug fanfiction #miraculous #ladynoir fanfiction #adrienette fanfiction #writing #seren writes

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