Supernatural: Reincarnated into the Hunt

James and Ash walked onto the old bridge, noticing a group of kids gathered around. At the center was Henry Bowers, a bully, standing over a smaller kid curled up on the ground. Henry had a knife in his hand, trying to look intimidating.

"Well, ain't this a Kodak moment," James said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Big guy like you picking on someone half your size. Bet your mama's real proud."

Henry turned to face James, scowling. His greasy hair fell into his face as he sneered. "Who the hell are you, Captain America? This ain't your business."

Ash, standing just behind James, smirked. "Captain America? Nah, man, more like Chuck Norris. You don't want this smoke."

Some of Henry's friends shifted uncomfortably. One of them mumbled, "Maybe we should just leave, Henry…" but Henry glared at him, shutting him up.

James stepped closer without hesitation. "Look, kid. You're holding a knife and trying to look tough, but all I see is someone trying too hard to impress his buddies. Put it down before you do something stupid."

For a moment, Henry looked unsure, but he quickly puffed himself up again. "Stupid? You think I'm scared of you? Please. I've taken dumps tougher than you." He stepped forward, waving the knife.

Ash let out a low whistle. "Man, I didn't know we time-traveled back to middle school. That comeback was weak."

James sighed, shaking his head, completely agreeing with Ash.

Meanwhile Henry lunged at James, the knife swinging wildly. But James easily dodged, grabbing Henry's wrist and twisting it. The knife clattered to the ground. In one smooth move, James spun Henry around and pinned his arm behind his back.

"Dang, Henry," Ash said, leaning against the bridge railing. "You lasted, what, two seconds? That's gotta be a record."

"Let me go!" Henry yelled, trying to struggle free.

James held him firmly. "Calm down. You're just embarrassing yourself now."

Henry growled, his face turning red. "You think you're some big hero? You don't know who you're messing with!"

James leaned closer, his voice low and steady. "No, you don't know who you're messing with. Here's the deal: walk away, and we forget this happened. Or I take this to the cops, and you get a nice little record before you're old enough to vote. Your choice."

Henry froze, realizing he was outmatched. Finally, he muttered, "Fine," though his voice was full of anger.

James let him go and stepped back, watching as Henry turned to glare at him. "This ain't over," Henry spat, rubbing his wrist.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Ash said with a grin. "Now get outta here before we change our minds."

Henry motioned for his gang to follow him, and they slowly walked away, glancing nervously back at James and Ash.

When they were gone, James turned to Ben on the ground. "You alright, kid?" he asked, holding out a hand.

Ben nodded. "Yeah… thanks." He grabbed James's hand and stood up, clutching a torn book to his chest.

"What's your name?" Ash asked, picking up the kid's backpack from the ground.

"Ben," the boy said softly.

"Dude we met him at the library earlier," James wondered how Ash forgot about Ben so quickly.

"I do remember but I am not good at remembering names," Ash retorted

Ash crouched down, picking up a few of the torn pages from Ben's book and handing them over. "So, Ben," he said, looking at the kid, "why were those guys picking on you? Did you do something to tick them off, or are they just bored?"

Ben hesitated, holding the book tightly. "They think I'm weird," he said quietly. "I like reading, and I'm new here. Plus... they call me fat."

Ash rolled his eyes, standing up. "Real original. Guess bullies don't try too hard, huh?" He shook his head in disbelief.

James stepped in, his tone calm but serious. "You okay to get home? We can drop you if you want. Just in case they come back."

Ben gave a small smile, shaking his head. "Thanks, but I've got my bike. I'll be fine."

"Alright," Ash said with a nod. "But hey, if they mess with you again, let us know. We're pretty good at making people reconsider their life choices." He grinned, pretending to crack his knuckles.

Ben laughed a little, adjusting his backpack and climbing onto his bike. "I will. Thanks again—for everything."

As he started to pedal away, James called out to him. "Hey, Ben. Wait a second."

Ben stopped and turned back. "Yeah?"

James walked closer, his hands in his jacket pockets. "You noticed anything strange in this town? Like, I don't know... weird smells, stuff that doesn't make sense. Maybe clowns. Creepy clowns."

Ben tilted his head, confused. "Weird? Clowns? No, not really. Why?"

James shrugged lightly. "Just a feeling. Stay safe, alright?"

Ben nodded slowly, still looking a little unsure. "Yeah, sure. You too." He rode off, glancing back once before disappearing down the road.

James and Ash walked back to the car after meeting Henry and Ben. The air between them was heavy, but it wasn't because of the fight on the bridge. James couldn't shake the bad feeling in his gut. As they climbed into the car, James started the engine and glanced at Ash, who was already focused on his laptop.

"We've been driving around Derry for hours," James said, his frustration clear as he pulled onto the main road. The town looked normal under the evening light. Kids played on their bikes, parents worked in their yards, and the streets were calm. But James couldn't ignore the strange feeling hanging over everything.

Ash didn't reply, his eyes glued to his screen.

"No weird smells, no creepy clowns popping out of nowhere—nothing," James continued with a sigh. "Feels like we're wasting time."

"Patience, my friend," Ash mumbled without looking up. "Good things take time."

James frowned. "We don't have time, Ash. If something's out there, we need to find it before it hurts anyone else."

The car stopped at a red light. James glanced at a group of kids riding bikes nearby, his chest tightening. How many of them, he wondered, had seen something strange—or something terrifying? The thought made his grip on the wheel tighten.

"Alright," James said as the light turned green. "Let's stop driving in circles. We'll head to George's parents' place. Maybe they've noticed something we haven't."

"Sure," Ash replied without taking his eyes off his laptop.

As James drove, Ash continued searching through old newspapers and records about Derry.

"This town has more secrets than I expected," Ash muttered, scrolling through the articles. His fingers moved quickly as he clicked through old reports and photos.

James glanced at him briefly. "What did you find?"

Ash didn't answer right away. Instead, he clicked on an article from a local newspaper dated 27 years ago. The headline read, "Mysterious Disappearances: Children Gone Without a Trace." Below it was a photo. In the background of the picture, a carnival was visible, and standing near a tent was a clown. Its face was blurry, but something about it felt unsettling.

"Look at this," Ash said, turning the laptop toward James. "See the clown in the back? It looks like it's just part of the carnival, but there's something off about it."

James glanced quickly before returning his eyes to the road.

"And not just this," Ash muttered as he opened another article in his laptop, this one even older, from the 1920s. The headline read, "Tragedy Strikes Derry: Mysterious Deaths Surround Town's Circus." It described a fire at a circus where several children died.

"Listen to this," Ash said, his voice tense. "There was a fire at a circus, and a bunch of kids died. No one knows how the fire started, but some people claimed they saw a clown near the tent before it happened. They blamed faulty equipment, but this clown keeps showing up whenever something terrible happens."

James tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "Its definitely that freaky clown."

Ash nodded, his eyes still glued to the screen. "I think so. Look at this." He showed James an old black-and-white photo of a group of kids at a carnival in the 1950s. The kids were smiling, but in the background, that same clown was standing there, watching.

James looked at the picture. "That's creepy."

Ash leaned back in his seat. "This thing isn't just a regular person in makeup. It's been here for decades."

The car slowed down as they reached George's house, a modest two-story home with a neatly kept yard that didn't seem touched by the strange events happening in Derry.

James parked the car and adjusted his tie before glancing at Ash, who was busy shoving a folder of fake FBI documents into his bag.

"Ready?" James asked, his tone calm but firm.

Ash smirked, adjusting his jacket. "Ready as I'll ever be. Let's knock this out before lunch—I'm starving."

James muttered, "Me too."

They approached the front door quickly. James knocked twice, the sound echoing through the quiet street. After a moment, the door opened, and a middle-aged woman with tired eyes and a forced smile greeted them. It was George's mother, Sharon Denbrough. The faint sound of a television played behind her, but the house felt heavy, like it was holding its breath.

"Mrs. Denbrough?" James asked, flashing his fake FBI badge. "I'm Agent Miller, and this is Agent Carter. We're with the FBI. Mind if we ask you a few questions about your son, George?"

Sharon's smile faltered, her expression tightening with frustration. She leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. "I don't understand. We've already talked to the police, the sheriff, even some of your FBI people. Why do we have to go through all this again?"

Ash stepped forward with a comforting smile. "Ma'am, we're just here to make sure no stone's left unturned. Sometimes the smallest detail can crack a case wide open."

Sharon sighed, clearly debating whether to slam the door or let them in. After a tense pause, she stepped aside. "Fine. Come in. But I don't know what else I can tell you."

The two agents stepped into the house. The living room was neat, but reminders of George were everywhere: framed photos on the walls, a small pair of rain boots by the door, and a toy boat sitting on a shelf. Sharon gestured for them to sit, though she remained standing, her arms still crossed.

"Where's Mr. Denbrough?" James asked, noting the absence of George's father.

Sharon hesitated. "He's out back. I'll call him in if you really think it's necessary, but I don't see the point."

"It might help," James said gently. "But for now, we'll just start with you."

Sharon nodded and sat on the edge of the couch, her posture tense. Her sharp eyes scrutinized the agents. "Alright. Go ahead. Ask your questions."

James leaned forward slightly, adopting a calm but professional demeanor. "Can you walk us through the day George disappeared? Anything you remember, no matter how small, might help."

Sharon sighed deeply, running a hand through her hair. "I've already told this story a hundred times, but fine. It was a rainy day. George wanted to go outside, even though I told him to stay in. He was so excited about that paper boat his brother Bill made for him. I finally gave in and let him go but told him to stay close to the house."

Her voice wavered, and she took a moment to compose herself. "I was in the kitchen when I heard him laughing outside. It made me smile, you know? If only I had known that it would be the last time I would be hearing his laugh...."

She couldn't hold it anymore and broke down in tears.

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