A/N: Welcome to our not-so-new AU, something we lovingly call SPN AU. We never could decide on a "real" title, so Supernatural seemed to fit just fine. Despite what the pairing says, this is going to eventually be a four-way fic, between Danny, "Ghost Writer" and two OCs. ~Kas

Look... We've re-written this six times? Seven? It's been through so many changes. If we don't post it now, it'll never be seen. We're just little gays who like magic. Please enjoy this wild adventure and know that it took... three years? Four? I don't know, but it's been fun! - Kit

There were three things that Randy Beaumont knew for certain about American police stations. The first was that they were overcrowded with posturing thugs, screaming babies, and yelling adults. The second was that help was impossible to find - whether that be due to staffing problems or staffing problems. The third, he had discovered quickly, was that it was impossible to fill out any kind of sensible paperwork when the entire building was full of screaming children - and he was including the adults in that one. It all made Randy groan inwardly. French stations hadn't been too much better, but that was it. They were better. And there were far less people being held while under the influence of this or that new street drug. It was exhausting, mostly. He already had to deal with these kinds of people while he was tracking them down, but he hated having to go through the police for some of these jobs. That was why he liked to be on his own.

Speaking of… Pausing in his hopeless paperwork, Randy dug through his pockets until he pulled out a ringing phone and saw a blocked number flashing on his screen. In his line of work that was a very good sign. This could be good.

"Randall Beaumont, how may I help you?"

"Randall Beaumont. Can I call you Randy? This is Jacob Richards. I run one of our branches of Ironmonger Corporations here over in Amity Park, Illinois." Ironmonger? A weapons-selling company, and weapons-making. Very above board. Interesting. "We have a small problem over here, and it wouldn't do well to put one of our own men in the line of fire, so to speak, if something happens. Is two enough to get you to come up and here me out?"

"Good afternoon, Mr. Richards," Randy said pleasantly, unable to at least be a little curious. Ironmonger was a name Randy had heard of even when he had still lived in France. As per the American way, they had made quite in industry in firearms. They were also notorious for having a shining clean record. "It might be, but that depends on what I would be helping you out with."

"Information retrieval. Believe it or not, but we have a… A rival up-and-comer that had one of his little minions steal some very important information from us. I'm afraid I can't tell you much more without you coming down to the office."

"Is this a negotiable price that you've set down, Mr. Richards?"

"That's what you'll get for coming up and hearing me out and keeping us in mind if you say no." Oh. Oh, Randy liked this one already.

"I'll be there tomorrow afternoon."

"Glad to hear it. Though, if you don't mind my saying, I think we'll make you an offer you can't refuse."

"We'll just have to see." With that, Randy hung up and looked back down to the paperwork he had been doing before pulling a face. Right. He had to finish this mess up, first. Ah, Americans. Good business, at least.

It took longer than he would have liked, but soon enough and Randy was packed up and on the first flight over to Amity Park, Illinois. What little research he could pull up showed that the town was just another small town among thousands, nothing immediately jumping out at him. It was something Randy didn't like. Small towns were almost always hiding something, and nothing out of the ordinary meant everything was a threat. He had learned that the hard way, already.

A few hours after landing and Randy had a motel room for the night, his bags tucked away, and his best outfit on as he walked into the right building. Nothing seemed suspicious, but that in of itself could be suspicious. The front desk, at least, seemed to be expecting him. "Randall Beaumont here to see Jacob Richards." The receptionist looked up at him, and seemed to be bored out of his mind. He looked at his computer and tapped in a couple things.

"Top floor, end of the hall." Giving a small nod that probably wasn't even noticed, Randy headed towards the elevator and hit the button for the top floor before crossing his arms. He didn't have a good feeling about being here. It felt like he was being watched too closely. It felt like… No, no, he wasn't going to think about that night. Not here. It wasn't going to be like that, again, he told himself firmly.

He needed to focus. He was here for work, after all, and as a Beaumont he had a reputation to uphold. Jacob Richards was willing to pay two grand just to talk to him, so whatever job he had was sure to be well paid. The elevator doors opened in the middle to let a few people in, then to let people out, then in, then out. Seemed he was the only one going all the way up. When he reached the top level, he stepped off and couldn't help but to roll his eyes. Down the hall, alright. That wasn't dramatic or anything.

Keeping his pace even and his back perfectly straight, Randy let his eyes slide from wall to wall. If a fight went down then the only way out would be the elevator. Or whatever windows were in his office, but he'd really rather avoid that option. He liked his bones intact. The doors of the office were open but at least he wasn't stupid enough to put his desk right in the line of eyesight of anyone on the elevator or walking the hall.

Jacob Richards had been at this a while, then. Drawing to a stop in the doorway, Randy rapped on the edge of the frame. "Good afternoon, Mr. Richards. I believe you wanted to meet with me about a job?"

"Randy, come on in. No need to be so formal, please, it's Jacob, or Richards if you prefer. Happy to see you're interested." Hm, he remained seated, though. Not overly friendly, then. Smart.

"You have a way with words it seems, Jacob." There was a touch of an American southern accent to his words - no doubt the cause of his 'friendly' behavior, as well. "What exactly is it that I've found myself interested in?"

"I've told you a bit already. This man, Markus Greenwood. Managed to sneak into our place and steal all sorts of company secrets, you know. We know he still has the information on him on a flash drive, and we know he plans to pass it on to his higher-up, Novan Hale, the morning of the fifth. We're proposing you retrieve this information for us the evening of the fourth. I'd like that info in my hand no later than nine a.m.."

"You mentioned that it wouldn't be a good idea to put one of your own in the line of fire. Unless I'm missing something, you have everything you need to turn this into a court case and push for both repercussions and the return of your information."

"I do mean in the line of fire of the media, of course. I'd like for this all to be taken care of quietly. If it were to get out that someone walked right in and took such valuable information… Well, you see the spot we're in. My bosses wouldn't be pleased."

"Of course." Richards was lying about some part of it, but Randy couldn't figure out exactly which part it was. "I understand the need for discretion, after all. You can guarantee that Markus Greenwood will have the information on the evening of the fourth?"

"I can. He already knows he's on our trail, and he thinks that the safest night for him will be the fourth. Every month he and his buddies have a get together, but you'll probably do best if you catch him just after work."

"I'll keep that in mind," Randy said, letting his smile widen. "Now, I believe all that's left is to work out a price."

"Well, how does twenty five sound? If you make sure to 'hurt him' I'll do forty."

"I take it you didn't appreciate your information being stolen so easily." Randy raised his eyebrows because that was quite a jump just to get some hits in on the guy. "Define hurt."

"Kill him and it's fifty, but if you leave him banged up as a nice little warning to Hale, that's forty." Ah, so there was the darkside, then. Randy gave a small nod, tilting his head in 'thought.'

"I'll keep that in mind. If you can guarantee twenty five for completion, then I'll certainly be sure to keep your extra incentive in mind when I finally meet Mark."

"Consider it done. There is one more thing, too. We've been watching you, Beaumont. We're a big company, word gets around. We like you. You get this done for us, we could have a few more jobs for you."

"Oh?" That was certainly… something. Randy had been doing this job for a few years, now, and very, very rarely did a company want to hire him out for more than one job. "Thank you for the consideration. I'll be sure to impress."

"Please do, and thank you, Randy. Sorry to cut it short, but I've got stocks to play, you know how it is."

"Of course." Randy stood up with a smile and noticed that, yet again, Richards didn't bother to stand himself. He probably had half his clientele charmed with his 'southern nature' while hiding his ruthlessness. "I'll be sure to return promptly."

First and foremost, Randy needed to research Markus Greenwood.

::

Randy wasn't sure whether to be relieved or disappointed that the guy had an open social media profile that seemed to spill his entire life story. American in general, it seemed, were just stupid. Lived and grew up in New York, did some traveling when he was younger, had an accident around Amity Park and stayed there to this day. He liked to go out with his friends on Saturday nights, he was single, he worked at the ranger station. Open and shut, nothing that would place him as some henchmen of a mastermind rival.

Randy didn't like it. He hated it. There was something wrong about all of this - like there was one last step that he was missing. Mark Greenwood had his life story splashed across social media and he most certainly didn't seem the type to break into a corporation like Ironmongers. He didn't even look or seem like he had the skill to do something like that. And this Novan Hale, when looked into, wasn't any better. He was a few years into a relationship with his high school sweetheart, didn't seem to have a job, grew up in a well-off family, and was only ever seen at the station when escorting people in or out.

Novan Hale seemed to have a few more obvious secrets, but Mark Greenwood seemed to be the threat in this mission. His profile was too clean and at least Novan's seemed to cause a bit of confusion. Randy might need to look into both of them. What was the connection beyond just being friends? Richards had said higher up, but they didn't seem to work together, so what could that mean? That he was older?

Well, in the end, social media could only get him so far. Standing up and looking around his motel room, Randy finally made his way to one of his bags. It seemed like it was time to take a walk around town.