'' Repeating History ''

'' Intro ''

.

Notes:

Content Warning: Murder, child murder, hinted mental illness, non-descript gore, blood, implied autism

The Main Character, Bowie, is implied to be autistic, this is shown more later, so if you see things like them flinching away from people trying to touch them, avoiding eye contact, having weird responses to temperature, cracking their knuckles obsessively or doing other fidgets and things, and having trouble understanding what people mean, that's all attributed to their autism, as well as an implied trauma from their past, but that will be explored more later. They're also hypersexual, and suffer from a few other mental disorders.

This is all autobiographical, as Bowie is partly a self insert, though still very different from myself because they are like a decade older than me. So please don't leave hateful comments about their behavior in relation to their mental conditions or responses to situations, because 8 times of 10 it's probably going to be a trait stemming from myself and my trauma.

Bowie also has a bodily response to eye contact, which is that they become nauseous and even vomit, so that will commonly show up in this fanfic. If you are uncomfortable reading about gagging or vomiting, I would be very cautious going forward with this fanfiction.

.

The young detective awoke with a start. Startled from sleep upon hearing a swift knuckle rapping against the car window on which their head had been resting.
Jolting to sit upright, they groggily rub their face and look around, taking note of their superior no longer sitting in the driver's seat to their left. Instead, they find him outside their window, knuckle resting against the window.

The tall man is looking in at them with a stern expression. Hiding a vague amusement behind his dark eyes and stony face.
"We're here." He says flatly, turning and starting to walk away from the car.

They let their gaze follow him for a moment as he approaches the crime scene they were here to investigate, though they turn their attention toward the nearby forest after a few moments of zoning out.

It was late January, and they were growing rather sick of the gray overcast that seemed to engulf the entire world. Or at least their world. Seasonal depression was common, sure. But for some reason it seemed to get ten times worse on days like these.

Finally stepping out of the vehicle, they stare down at their feet absentmindedly, watching and listening to them crunching into the crisp, loosely packed snow on the road in front of this woodland home.

They turn to finally take in the scene, with local cops and detectives all over the yard and driveway, talking and heading off the scene now that someone with more authority had been called on to take over.

They were of course displeased to be getting kicked off the case. Giving the young detective and their superior dirty looks as they walk up the driveway toward the cabin, which, though the older gentleman didn't seem bothered by, did deeply perturb the younger individual who follows closely behind him like a child to their mother.

Despite nearly being thirty and having more credentials than most of these local, small town cops. The judgment they felt from their fellow law enforcement officers made them question themselves.

They were still relatively new to the job, only two years in and primarily working off the field. So though they had more schooling and merits which give them a much better and higher ranking position than those surrounding them, they were young. Inexperienced, and thus seen as someone who can be bullied, or who's fragile. Yet to be hardened by the work most others dealt with on a daily basis.

They had expressed this insecurity and discomfort to their superior, who was now entering the house before them, guiding them through and discussing the initial report with them. Despite this, he insisted on bringing them onto the field more frequently, even if he knew there would be other divisions and departments present.