Protectors (Bigby Wolf x reader)

Chapter 6

"Mr. Wolf!" a woman's voice cut through the haze that enveloped Bigby. After the harrowing events of the previous night, he found himself in the police station, facing Detective Brannigan's persistent questioning. His gaze lingered grimly on the photo of (Y/n)'s severed head, prompting Brannigan to slide it away, attempting to coax cooperation from him.

Bigby doesn't answer her, he simply just takes out his cigarettes and lights one up for himself. Detective Brannigan continues to question or try to talk to him.

"I know it's been a long night for you. You look like you could use some rest," she said with genuine concern.

"I'll be better when I find who did this, which I can't do while sitting in here," Bigby retorted, his voice heavy with determination.

"We all want the same thing here, Bigby. Look, I know what you must be going through, really I do but I could use your cooperation."

"You don't know anything, if you did you wouldn't be sitting here talking to me you'd be talking to the piece of shit that did this!" Bigby's frustration erupted, his words biting with raw emotion.

Brannigan faltered briefly, glancing towards the one-way mirror before composing herself. "Well, you stonewalling me like this isn't helping either of us, so why don't you cut the shit and—" She stopped abruptly, her gaze flickering nervously.

"I'm trying to help you, Bigby," she insisted, but Bigby's skepticism remained palpable.

"What is it with you cops?" Bigby's tone was incredulous. "Always trying to empathize with people, 'I know this must be hard for you, do you? Do you fucking know? Have you had your best friend killed and their head left at your fucking doorstep?!"

Detective Brannigan looked at him, stunned into silence by the intensity of his words. She couldn't claim to understand his pain; it was a truth that hung heavy between them.

"No? Didn't think so." Bigby muttered, reclining back in his chair.

As if fate had a cruel sense of timing, Brannigan's nose suddenly began to bleed. She wiped away the blood, her expression one of fear and paranoia, struggling to compose herself.

"Detective Brannigan?" Bigby's concern mingled with confusion.

"I'm Detective Brannigan." She replied faintly, her demeanor visibly shaken.

"Uh, yeah, I know I just said that is there something–"

"Do you hear that?" Brannigan interrupted, her distress escalating until she collapsed, unconscious, right before Bigby's eyes.

Before he could react, the interrogation room door swung open, and Crane entered, carrying a box labeled 'evidence.'

"We have to go, now!" Crane urged urgently.

"What did you do to her?" Bigby demanded, wary of Crane's sudden appearance and Brannigan's condition.

"She'll be fine. It's just a memory wipe spell, very expensive, but it works. The whole station will forget the last twenty-four hours and everything they saw at the Woodlands," Crane explained hurriedly, his demeanor tense with urgency.

Bigby finished his cigarette and extinguished it, his mind racing with the implications of what had just transpired. "Well, hurry up!"

He stood up, following Crane out of the room, grabbing the photo of (Y/n) as he left. Together, they made their way to Crane's car, the atmosphere between them heavy with grief and shared resolve.

"This doesn't change anything," Bigby stated icily as they drove towards the Woodlands.

"Fine," Crane replied tersely, clearly affected by Bigby's cold demeanor. "We found Tweedle Dee chained up to a post. That was your doing, correct?"