Chapter 2: Pandora's Box

"So, why here, why now?"

Pamela leaned back in her seat and stretched over to the side to look at Castiel in the front seat. "So far, no indicators. They're still going through the damage most of the building isn't even safe to enter yet. No new information's been passed forward. I'm sure we'll get more once we get there but preliminary assumption is political? Generally a safe place a to start with when a government building is attacked, especially since Timothy McVeigh. Unless this turns out personal, but there's nothing especially, well, special about the Oklahoma office. I mean it's what, one of 56 or something?"

Bobby grunted in agreement from the driver's seat, steering clear of the cones and road blocks set up. They'd hit the ground running, lights flashing, and an FBI vehicle had been waiting for them at the runway. The flights coming in and out of Oklahoma had been halted nation wide at least for a few hours. They were under special clearance for private flights for law enforcement only. All commercial traffic was likely to be held up the entire day. An attack on a government building generally halted the damn near entire nation; whether it was necessary or not. They were halfway at the field office in record time. The traffic lanes had been shut down, all the ones leading to the FBI at least, so that there would be no inward traveling cars other than marked government vehicles. Usually it took about 30 minutes to get from Will Rogers World Airport to the field office, but after only 15 minutes the billowing clouds of smoke could be seen in their windshield. There were no red and yellow flickers to suggest a continuing fire which toned down the anxiety level in the car; they all prayed that they'd been put out already. It would minimize the damage.

They fell silent as they watched the cloud grow larger, and larger, until finally they could see the crumpled front of the building and the bright flashing lights of the ambulances, police, and the fire department. Worry crept into all of their stomachs like a slowly uncoiling snake as they turned in, rolling forward to the line of FBI vehicles preventing passage. Bobby pushed down the window and instead of just flashing his ID as they usually did, he handed it over to the other agent to run it through the system before they were allowed to pass through. There was collective wince by the team at the massive noise that had built from emergency vehicles driving in and out of the location. They'd sent out a seizure warning across the official line for officers prone to elliptic attacks from the mass of flashing lights. Ellen frowned and clenched her hand in a fist as she glanced around through the tinted window at the bodies laid out on the ground, blankets pulled over them; dead and waiting for transport to a second location autopsy room.

The van finally came to a halt and they stepped out of the vehicle, doors slamming. They flashed their badges at the officers approaching and let them surround the vehicle and pat them down. It wasn't a time to take chances. More-so it had actually been the teams suggestion to take extra measures. With how difficult it was to get anything past the metal detectors and screenings for everything coming in, they were working with the initial assumption that it could be an agent of their own office. It was maybe one in a million chance that someone would try and come in to detonate a second device to take out the emergency responders, but that one in a million chance was enough to give a damn about.

"Thank you for being here so quickly," the local agent in charge said to them as they walked up. "Agent Mills, pleasure."

"We came as quickly as we could. Although, it would have been better to have never met considering the circumstances," Castiel responded with a leveled look, scanning the area.

"Is it safe to walk into the building yet?" Ellen asked, surveying the scene.

There was rubble everywhere.

It was a miracle that the emergency vehicles had even been able to get as close to the building as they had. There were padded up construction crews with cranes (the machinery pulled in from nearby sites) hauling massive pieces of concrete out of the way so that they could get access further into the building. Small paths had been cleared by sweepers to hand carry the injured or dead out of the building but not enough for the cars to get right to the ,no longer existing, doors. At least there were no flames to be seen; even if there was still water spewing from hoses, flooding the front of the building; just in case they had missed something (the electricity had been cut off to the entire building to prevent electrical fires as well). There were massive puddles forming on the ground and a white , cloudy, powder coating covering the windows and the walls.

"I'd say give it another half hour before they qualify the building safe for entry. We just got the flames out."

"What's been gathered so far?" Bobby asked, drawing his eyes away from the scene.

"Very little. Bomb squad and SWAT is about to go in and search the building. They're trying to put supports in to make sure the top floor doesn't collapse so it's taking awhile. We're damn thankful that the entire building didn't come crumbling down. We had maybe 300-400 agents in the building, at least a few dozen civilians, and a few hundred office people in the building total. Thankfully the lower levels didn't have as many rooms in it for people to linger in, mainly storage and files. So far we're working on the assumption that the first floor has no survivors, everyone we've pulled out either asphyxiated or were crushed by the rubble. According to the EMT's most folks that we're pulling out won't survive the burns or the impact on their internal organs from the blast and being thrown into walls. The explosion spread across the entire front of the building, blew out the center of the windows, but it didn't touch anything else until the second blast when the flames reached the electrical room. We're not sure that was intentional or not, no other immediate points of detonation have been found."

"So, as far as we can tell, the bomb did not target the main beams of the building or its foundation? They didn't actively try, or be able to bring the entire building down?" Castiel asked, as they started walking through the destruction.

"That's it, so far. Very few of the areas actual support structure was damage. Most of the damage was caused by the flames that followed the explosion and not the physical impact," Mills responded as she waved them through a group of officials.

"All right, that's a base to start on. Are there any survivors coherent enough to interview, someone on site perhaps? We came to the location straight from Quantico. What office or location should we be setting up in so that we can begin working?" Castiel asked, fiddling with the small thread that was loose inside his pocket. It was the only nervous twitch he would let himself have.

"Plenty of survivors from outside the immediate blast zone. 90 percent of them from the parking lot, however. They were either leaving or coming in for the evening shift. It looks like the bomb was set off between the switch of the night and day shift. They're currently air lifting and carrying people out of the building from the top floors" As they walked closer to the center of the wreckage they could see people lining up at the few open windows, ready to be evacuated. "We haven't set up an official nerve center yet but that tent over there," she pointed her gloved finger to a massive collection of pole supported tents, separated only by wires, " is where everybody's setting up. We've already got Homeland Security there, Internal Investigations, Bomb Squad, our locals, and that little corner in the back are CIA folks."

Bobby looked at Pamela, "We should get set and hit up Charlie. Girl's probably got all the specs we need to keep this rolling. You guys going to be okay?" He looked at Cas and Ellen.

Castiel nodded as their teammates started to walk off, ready to work. He paused and interrupted the next thing Agent Mills was trying to say. "If the building won't be safe to enter," he said as he watched his teammates disappear into the crowd, "Do you know what location most of the survivors are being sent to? We'd like to speak with those not in critical condition to take inventory of the situation before the explosion went off."

"The Oklahoma Heart Hospital is a straight shot down West Memorial, and about five minutes away. There is no traffic on the turnpike or highway, so you should be able to speed straight through. That's where the first people, the ones we found outside of the building, were sent. That's your best shot for coherent."

"Thank you."

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They waited in the lounge of the hospital to start with, not wanting to cause massive alarm to those who didn't know what had happened. (Even though it was hard to be ignorant.) The two of them talked quietly next each other, speculating and consulting about what had happened as they waited for a nurse to let them know if they had someone to talk to. Both of their phones beeped with a message from Bobby and Ellen sat up to find a nurse to ask for a private room. It'd been an hour and some change already since they'd arrived and Bobby had new information. Although the team had not been cleared to enter the building, SWAT and Bomb Squad had done its initial canvas which Charlie had correlated with blue prints of the building.

Cas grabbed the laptop they'd brought with the in the carry bag and settled it on the desk of the vacated office room.

"We're here."

Charlies' face popped up on the screen, as well as a more blurred image of Pamela and Bobby on a second. "So, with everything the squad sent me and looking at the blue prints there's no way that the bomb could've brought the building down to start with. Wrong location and soooo not enough fire power" - they made a motion for her to continue- " right, They isolated the area at least of the initial detonation, and it was at the front desk, like the actual physical desk when you handed it off to the receptionist. Nowhere near a single support structure."

"So it could've been personal?" Ellen ventured, settling in her chair and watching the 3D animations Charlie had created from the blast with her initial information. Crude but at least they had a starting point.

"Maybe? But another thing they found was very few fragments, like, none. They're still searching the entire building, but from the first sweep nothing. No gigantic metal bits, nothing if they were trying to blow up the entire building. Bomb squad is guessing that the container was made of flammable material at least which makes the type of bomb at least very well constructed to have made such a blast without leaving a ton of evidence."

Pamela nodded and waved off an agent that had tried to walk in. "We're thinking something small. But the FBI office has metal detectors and personal rub downs out the ass. Hell, I don't think we're even allowed to walk in with boxes, letters, or some damn cupcakes without it going through that x-ray scan and then it gets sent up to whatever office it needs to."

"We've been also been thinking it's either someone who got around the system and the screenings, which how the hell does someone walk in with a bomb and no one notice? It's the damn FBI-" Bobby cursed, "or it was already there, built there."

"Agreed," Castiel said, rubbing his hand over his chin and then up to his forehead. "We still don't have enough information to call this a personal attack or one on the institution. I'm sure Pamela is already on her way, "- she'd popped out a bit ago- " to the cameras to try and calm down the nation. We haven't had panic this bad sinc -" There was static that interrupted them.

"Let's just pray it's personal," Ellen mumbled, and it was followed by a somber silence.

"We have someone ready to see you," a nurse said, opening the door for two-seconds without knocking.

"Yes, thank you," Ellen responded, giving her a glare for not waiting. She looked at Castiel, "I'll get the rest of the info. I'll end up trying to be kinder than I should be to the patients with the situation. You go interview. We need information" Ellen said, scooting her chair to the center of the screen.

"I'm not sure if I should be insulted or complimented."

"It's a compliment-" came a chorus from Ellen and the team on live with them.

"Let me know if any big developments happen, I'll have my phone and beeper open," Castiel said with a half smirk.

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Sometimes, Dean has nightmares. Special nightmares.

Of course he had garden variety ones too.

Being naked in front of your friends, some freak demon from a horror movie he'd watched before going to bed chasing him... run of the mill fears. But these nightmares would start out okay and that was the worst part, he told himself every time. He would be playing football in the yard with his father. Tossing around an old, worn down piece of leather and stuffing, that John had kept from his father's days. The laces were torn and about to break, and the skin was ripped apart like a snake shedding its skin, but it threw just fine. At least good enough for them.

Dean remembered the green grass that his father worked so hard to mow to the perfect length, and how every summer the smell of a fresh baked pie would waft through the neighborhood when Mary set it on the window sill to cool. And every time the smell hit them, his father would say, "Boy, I think your mother wants us to come in." Dean and his father would tussle around and Sammy would be in his little kitchen crib, trying to look between the bars or over the edge, grinning like it was the best day of his little life. Every time Dean would walk by and ruffle his brother's hair before going to give his mother a hug and asking how long it was until they could have pie. Every so often he was allowed to feed Sam himself. Every time that they both made the mark, spoon met mouth, they'd both grin and Dean would feel so proud.

Sam had always been a happy child. They'd been a happy family.

Dean would remember Mary tending to half dead roses and not refusing to give up and his father laughing because that's why he fell in love with her.

And then, he would, in that dream, remember his father's funeral shortly after. He recall looking up, while his mother had tried to stand, stoic and proud (like she always had in times of strife); trying to keep them together. To be the rock. He'd been watching her shoulders shake. Mary had collected herself quickly, but when Sam had started crying, Dean had lost it.

He remembered holding Sam back from running to the coffin and throwing himself on it, demanding they open it and show him proof that it was his dad in there. Honestly, the job of re-animating the corpse for open coffin funerals had to be the most fucked up job ever. He was glad they had a closed coffin.

As Sam struggled against him he remembered yelling, "It's okay Sammy. It's okay," and squeezing tighter as his brother's legs buckled, "This is how hero's go to fight somewhere else. Someone else need's saving and dad's the hero they need." Sammy had bawled that he didn't care. They were the family. They were supposed to be the most important. Why would he leave them. And where is Daddy and I want to see his face. And finally Sam collapsed into the dirty, awfully managed grass, ground and wrapped his warms around Dean's small thighs. Dean had collapsed after him and wrapped his small frame around his brother while the captain handed Mary the folded up flag. Her arms shook and Dean could see her knees start to buckle but she locked them, her calves straining, and clutched the flag in her arms.

Dean had held his brother tightly to his chest and watched as their mother walked to the coffin and laid the flag down. She'd stepped back and Dean had took his jacket off to wrap it around his brother. The troops would be firing shots in the air before they would lower him into the ground. He remembered looking at his mom, her body shaking, and his brother in his arms, and then zeroing in on the flag and whispering, "It's okay, Dad. I've got them. I've got all of them. I' gonna take care of them. I'll make sure everything's okay." And after the whispers, his father's friend, Rufus (the current head at the Oklahoma office) looked him in the eye with something heavy behind them. Dean didn't flinch. Rufus had given him a small nod. He was the man of the house now.

They'd walked in silence away from the grave-site. Dean carrying Sammy because his brother wouldn't let go of his shirt, Mary's hand on his shoulder. He recalled some people criticizing his mother for not breaking down at John's funeral. Her husband has just died, where was the wailing? But they didn't know her, they didn't understand. There were several types of strength, but her specific type of strength was what John had fallen in love with. The cliché sweetheart that wrote him letters through the war and didn't blink when came back. Always stood as a pillar for him to lean, and that's how she saw him out of the earthly world. The officers and marines that were in his company gave her a hug and held her tight and told her that he died a hero and he'd be damn proud and always watching over them.

She didn't let go of her control until she was at home, thinking both of her sons were asleep. He had crawled into bed with Sam, holding him close and rocking him to sleep, but he couldn't sleep himself. Dean crawled out of bed and listened to his mother cry behind a cracked door, and finally walked in. Mary tried to collect herself and he crawled up into their parents bed and wrapped his arms as far as he could around her waist, and told her "It's okay." She had cried harder, pulled him into her lap and whispered brokenly, "Thank you baby, thank you. You are my little angel." She cradled him in her arms and fell down onto to the bed, squeezing him. And finally fell asleep.

That's when he knew he had to do everything for his family, no matter the cost. The government gave crap benefits to veterans families no matter what they said they would do at sign up. He didn't even understand that they would be screwed over, and John's police office didn't give him many benefits for his family to live on after his death. Dean wouldn't be able to hold a gun or a badge in his hands for several years but he was going to get there. Nothing, nothing , would ever happen to them again. Not like this. He was going to keep them safe no matter the cost.

Because of that attitude he'd met... them. Some guys rolling around when he was bagging groceries told him there was an easier way to make money, and make sure they got everything. They told him, just walk out of the store with a candy bar to give Sammy. Just walk out of the store with two magazines to share. Just walk out with a game you snuck out but make sure you had a game you already paid for. The cameras wouldn't catch you handing off the $60 dollar game to someone else and then you could "return it" for cash. Then it became 'grab this thing out of someone's purse.' 'Break in here, just figure out the lock.' 'Grab this... sell this... deal this...' And while Mary's shop was thriving there was a the tow and car shop that did deals in the back that he could say he was working at. He did that for years until...

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Beeep... beep... beeep...

The most annoying sound Dean had ever had to hear, over and over again, he thought as his heart lurched, sweat dripping down his back from the nightmare.

He'd even changed his alarm sound to some damn tropical birds screeching just to escape that beeping. And here it was again. Drugged up and half blind, listening to his heart pop up on the monitor, counting its beats; Dean almost felt like holding his breath to fuck with the machine, but that would've been cruel to whoever might be near him. So, instead, he took in a deep breath and tried to pry his eyes open.

It was bright. White glass, bright lights showed up in his vision, blinding him for a second. He had to shut his eyes the second he opened them. Dean heard a soft whisper in his ear and half started sobbing at the warmth.

"D-Dean?"

He knew that voice. And he knew he had to wake up when that voice begged him like that. Dean had heard it too many times (with other stab wounds and gun shots).

Long locks of brown hair, and tears bombarded his vision as he became more coherent. Dean heard his voice crack and his lungs made a nasty rasping sound. "Hey Lis."

Tears and broken laughter.

"Dad!"

He turned his head and gave his best grin, "Hey there, champ."

Ben swam into his vision, and Dean made his smile eyes reach his eyes. He tried to reach out his hand, the one closest to Ben, but couldn't move it. His fingers jerked in vain as he kept trying, biceps twitching angrily. Dean had to reach out, had to squeeze that hand back, to make sure that boy didn't feel the emptiness he'd felt when he sneaked a peek under the coffin to try and hold his dad's hand and John never responded.

Although Dean was irritated at the burn from the tubes down his nose and throat, he was grateful for them as he made eye contact with Ben. At least he was alive. He couldn't care less if he'd lost half his body. He'd deal with phantom limb later or something, but right now he had a family to look out for. "I'm okay."

There was a poorly disguised sob in the background as Ben flung himself as far as he could over the metal guard rail on the bed, to hold him. Dean reached across with his functioning hand, feeling the IV needle try and pull out of his arm, to wrap around what little he could of him. "Try not to squish my tubes," he joked, and immediately wanted to take it back when Ben drew back and looked at him with haunted eyes. He really had been in the hospital too many times to make that joke. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Lisa said, and Dean turned his head towards her. "Your, your arm is busted. You.. ahh. Just. Hey." Tears started flowing harder after she said her hello.

Dean moved his hand away from Ben's back and reached out to grab Lisa's in his own. "We're okay."

"Dean."

The expression in her face made his head drop. He was awake, hurt, but awake. Still, the destruction he saw in her eyes broke his heart. He had to glance over to Ben who was finally energetic, just happy that he was awake and talking. He held her hand and squeezed it tightly. Dean turned to Ben, "Hey kiddo, could you get me some soda? I'm thirsty and I don't want some damn sink water."

"Don't curse around Ben," Lisa interjected, laughing a little as two small tears squeezed past her eyes.

Ben nodded and ran off, blinking his eyes fiercely but giving a champion's smile. The see through glass door slid shut sharply before Dean turned his face back to Lisa. He attempted to untangle his hand to brush it through her hair. Lisa shook her head. "Dean... I... thank... thank God you're awake."

"Don't I always pull through?" he joked.

She laughed dryly and let herself collapse in the hospital chair that she'd pulled up to the bed. "The... do you... do you remember what happened?"

Dean blinked and tried to shuffle through his recent memory. He'd woken up in the hospital so many times he had a hard time differentiating between singular events. Had it just been another case? Did he get shot again? Or was he playing hero or- "SAM?! WHERE'S SAM?"

Lisa started crying and Dean's heart stopped , the heart monitor made a small noise before it started counting beats again if not at a faster rate. She leaned forward, "No-no baby, no. Shit, I shouldn't have started crying. Sam's fine. He's good, he's all right. Just-" seeing his face stay like stone she fought to continue not wanting to share the bad news, but Dean hated lies"-Jessica's in the ICU. She's...they're working on it. She's... hurt. And- You've been out for almost 24 hours and.. there was-" Lisa's shoulders started to quiver.

Dean held her hand tighter, trying to lean up at the same time. "Jess?"

"The- uh-. The other FBI units are here," Lisa responded, gathering herself together and squaring her shoulders. Dean tried to smile and pull her into his chest. It was one of the reasons he'd cared for her. Lisa's ability to put things in a back corner until she was at home (and for a year it was him she came home to) and deal with the facts.

"Units?"

"What do you remember?"

"Me.. me and, fuck. Victor were driving and- Sam-" his breath hitched and she shushed him, assuring him again that his brother was okay. He took a deep breath. "There... we pulled up and there was a bomb or something that went off and... it flipped the car, oh fuck. Victor, we fell on the side."

Lisa held him tighter, "They told me not to give you any shocks."

He sat up as well as he could, eying his heart monitor. "I'm okay." She gave him a dubious look. "Really, I'm okay."

"Victor died on impact."

Dean's monitor skipped a beat for a half second before continuing a steady pace. "Oh."

Lisa started to tear up a little again and wrapped him in her arms, letting her arm sit awkwardly as she navigated them through the hospital drips. Dean let himself be held as he stared at the blank, white wall in front of him. Not even a BS 'it gets better' cat poster was hung on the wall so his imagination played across the blank screen. Victor.. he was... the best damn, fuck... best damn... they'd played for the driver's seat- he would be dead if- … He squeezed his functioning around Lisa's shoulder and bumped his head against hers just as the door slid open.

"It this a bad time?"

They slid apart slowly, and even as they both were moving away she kept a protective arm on him.

Dean took in the person in front of him. Judging by the uniform and the badge clipped to the suit lapel he was an official. As the man walked a little further in he saw the letters 'F, B, and I' spread across the top with his picture included and 'N, C, A, V, C' underneath it. Fuck. Shit had to have gone to the worst levels of hell for Behavioral Analysis team to be called in. He didn't know much about them other than that they dealt in psycho's.

Despite the trauma he couldn't help but have the back part of his brain appreciate the messy dark hair and blue yes that focused on him, asking for permission. He held his shoulders with a goal behind them. There was nothing like ambition and a job to do that made Dean's engines rev. The man's tie was askew and the face he had wasn't half bad either, despite holding bad news behind the polite smile. He'd seen the expression enough in the mirror when he had to go tell parents their kids were dead.

"Dean Winchester?"

"Yes?"

"My name is Castiel Novak. I'm with the BAU and we've been asked to work the case at the FBI attack."

"BAU... right, yeah."

"I need to ask some questions, if you're coherent for it. In private, please," he looked at Lisa, "we're asking everyone who was at the scene and you're one of the first to wake."

Dean glanced at Lisa and gave her his most charming smile. "Go, I'll be good. I'll see ya'll later." Lisa gave him a kiss on the cheek and gave a polite smile towards Castiel before exiting. Cas closed the blinds and stepped forward.

"Your wife?" he asked, trying to break the ice.

Dean laughed and shook his head, "No, but might as well be."

Castiel attempted a smile and sat down int the chair Lisa had been in. " I need to ask you some questions about what you saw."

"What I saw?" Dean laughed bitterly. "I drove in expecting to get some info on something stupid and then-fuck- me and my partner- god damn," he slammed his fist against his thigh, thinking of Victor. He told himself he wouldn't have been as emotional if it hadn't been for the meds in his system. "We fought for fuckin' driver rights and- did... what the hell happened, did he die because-?"

Castiel took a deep breath and put himself into Dean's vision so that he could focus on him. "You're an agent. I understand that you've gone through the emotional training to get the job but this is personal, I understand if you can't answer these questions. Should I call someone to oversee the questioning and asses your recollection or do you feel subjective enough to answer on your own?"

"Work is work, trust me. The faster we get whoever the fucker was that did this shit the more emotionally healthy I'll be. Don't beat around the bush. What do you need to know? I can stop throwing a tantrum"

Castiels' lip quirked a little and he pulled out his notepad. "The explosion, by time line, happened just as you were pulling in according to the records provided by your office car. You seemed to be trying to find a parking space? What do you recall?"

Dean closed his eyes and tried to find his center. He was a damn professional for fuck's sake, he shouldn't have been so emotionally compromised. He swallowed thickly and almost choked on his own spit. "We- like I said played for driver's rights. I won- Sam always used to say my weakness was scissors but I won this time-" Dean took in a deep breath "- so I drove. And there was just... out of nowhere- Fuck."

"It's okay. Take your time."

"Don't tell me it's fucking okay and 'take your time.' I'm not a damn victim and people are dead. I've given that same fucking speech before."

"My apologies."

Dean snorted but settled back into his pillow. "We drove up, and then it happened. All I remember is being... head heavy, after. Like I was swimming and couldn't see a damn thing. Vic's head bleeding into the side door and- fuck-" he took in a deep breath "- and I hit the emergency button on instinct and-"

"It's okay if you can't go further."

"No, that's not it. I just don't know what else you want, I didn't see much other than the blast."

"I can come back later-"

"No, seriously dude, I'm not some civilian or first time rookie. I've been to the hospital before and I've done this before."

Castiel took in a deep breath, "We believe this may had have specific intent behind it, not a random attack and we were wondering if as you pulled in you noticed someone out of the ordinary or something?"

"Well fu-"

The door drew open suddenly, Sam's large frame filling up most of the space. "Dean!"

Castiel stood up, watching the silent exchange and Sam's blush at having interrupted an interview. "I will leave you two alone for now. I can come back later." He moved past Sam and closed the door behind him as the puffy-eyed newcomer rushed to the bed.

A/N: Obviously I'm taking the FBI building layout from the map view, there's no way they would publish a blue print of the building online.

Also I have to mention that there are different ways of dealing with trauma. Just because Lisa and Mary were the comp. Type doesn't mean that breaking down isn't just as brave. Both are strong as hell. It takes a damn amount of strength to let yourself be open enough to break down and bawl just as it takes strength to hold it in until you're in private. The word 'shame' does not exists in the grieving process.

If you're interested in getting into the FBI; US only of course. I wanted to be an agent for a long time and get into law enforcement. No matter what age you are you have to go through the FBI academy. While the FBI does employ disabled people you CAN NOT be a field agent without passing the physical requirements. I filled out my entire application back when I was starting my Freshman year of high school and I got to the physical requirements half and you can still join, but if you have any sort of muscle condition, weak something rather, you can't be a field agent. If you have any questions I can tell you what I went through trying to become a part of the FBI. +1 harder if you're not native born (I'm not, and my mother is from Egypt).

Another small note on the officer cars, they send live feeds and pings to an office of their location at any time. If you want me to go into the technicality just tell me and I will.

Re-write published Dec. 16th