Outer Banks Series Rewrite - A JJ Maybank x reader story

Chapter Four: Spy Games

Warnings: mentions of abuse, swearing

There's a moment in every kid's life when you feel like anything's possible. When you feel like you've got the total mojo. You could, I don't know, free-climb El Capitan, land on Mars, or get elected president, I guess. The whole world's there for the taking if you've got the sack to go for it. And then, when you least expect it, some Kook shows up and tells you there's no eternal mystery. And then all that talk about free-climbing and Mars and the president... complete and utter bullshit. Magic gets cancer and dies.

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There was no gold on the merchant, surprise surprise. JB still insists it's out there and at this point, we're all pretending to believe solely for his sake. Even JJ, who believes anything you tell him, is starting to lose hope.

And the week from hell was just starting there.

JB and I trudge up the steps of the Chateau, only to be greeted with Cheryl, the social worker spawn of Satan.

"Hey, kids," Cheryl says in a calm voice, almost like she's trying not to spook us into running.

"This is a really bad time for a check-in." I glare at her, brushing past her and making my way to the kitchen.

"Not a check-in." She fixes her cheap blazer, perching herself on the threadbare couch arm. "We're here to take you."

"Today? Really?" JB sighs, running a hand through his hair.

"It's just a few weeks until your hearing." Cheryl offers like that means anything to JB and me.

"No, no, no. Cheryl, look, we're not going into foster care, okay?" I growl. "We're not going to be part of your precious little system." I give JB a look, starting towards the back door before running face-first into a mountain of flesh shoved into a deputy's uniform.

The blockhead grabs me by the shoulders, turning me around.

"Kids, this is Deputy Thomas." Cheryl smiles like the Cheshire Cat. "He works with juveniles for the sheriff's department."

"Oh, yeah..." I grunt, squirming in his grasp. "He looks like he works great with kids."

"Look, I know Uncle T is down in Mississippi working at a casino." Cheryl stands up. "He hasn't been here in months."

"We want emancipation!" John B frowns, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Emancipation from who?" Cheryl scoffs. "There's no one here but the two of you."

"Asylum, then!" John B panics.

"On what grounds?" A messily drawn-on eyebrow shoots up on the she-devil's face.

"On solid ground! On holy grounds!" I huff, kicking against Deputy Thomas's hold before he lets me go. I hurry to JB's side, looking at him. "Look, we feel real... real prosecuted by you right now and... especially Mr. Ham-For-Hands over there." I look at him, giving him a once-over. "What are you lookin' at, bro? What're you gonna do? You gonna tase me?"

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The thing about getting shoved into a cop car is... it's not as glamorous as actors make it look on tv. Especially with a guy like Deputy Thomas manhandling you. It's all sweaty hands and heavy grunts as they force you to contort your body into the backseat that is conceivably too small for the average person.