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𝑬 𝑽 𝑬 𝑹 𝑮 𝑹 𝑬 𝑬 𝑵
❝ 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖, 𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚗'𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞? ❞

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ㅤ𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐘 𝐉𝐉 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐓 to reveal anything about this new case, almost afraid to look May in the eye. As soon as it revealed that the desecrated land was Apache, she turned cold, almost defensive.

When Spencer pointed out that the way the victims were violated were similar to the war rituals of Native American Plains Indians, she jumped to their defense.

"They aren't at war though," she cut in, crossing her arms as her gaze turned into a steely glare, pointed not at Spencer but at the wood sticking out of the ground; the pointed wooden spear that impaled one of their victims. "And all these...practices. They're inconsistent, like they tried to make it seem like they knew what they were doing, when in fact, they didn't."

Hotch looked at her then, a look in his eyes she didn't like—something akin to pity or even concern—before turning towards the sheriff, and asking, "That mean anything to you, sheriff?"

The sheriff's gaze shifted between Hotch and May, an apprehension suddenly clear in his body language. "I'll say it does," he responded after a beat. "Everything you see around us is Apache land. This whole basin is a sacred burial ground. And it was the site of a number of massacres as I understand."

"So this development is on their land?" Hotch wondered, jaw clenching for a moment. It was as if he knew what May was thinking despite his focus not being on the young girl beside him. It was almost like May was shaking in rage at the information—and quite honestly, she wasn't far from it.

"It was their land," the sheriff answered. "But they didn't have the money or the inclination to build on it, so the town seized half of it."

"Yeah, the last year, the Supreme Court ruled that cities could use imminent domain authority to seize and repossess undeveloped private land for private development," Spencer told them. But there was an obvious—at least to Hotch and Gideon—lack of matter-of-fact tone that he usually laced her informative words with. Instead, he said them softly, almost afraid that his words would trigger something.

And that something was May, who huffed and walked away.

The sheriff looked apologetic. "I- I'm sorry, did I say something?"

Gideon shook his head. "It's not you, sheriff. Agent Black herself is Native American. This case is..." The old man pursed his lips, unsure of how to explain. But the sheriff nodded in understanding. "You may continue."

"Well, now the town is looking for investors to build on the other half," he continued, "the Apache are fighting it, of course, in court."

"There been any violence until now?" Gideon asked.

"Nothing like this."

Being in another tribe's reservation, weirdly enough, always made May feel at home. Despite differences in beliefs, in cultures, there's always a sort of camaraderie that's instantaneous between indigenous peoples. Shared trauma is the conclusion she often comes to.

So, stepping off the SUV she shared with Hotch, Spencer, and Gideon, she was the first to greet the woman who was there to meet them.

"Jane Bear, these are FBI agents," the sheriff introduced. "Black, Gideon, Hotchner, and Reid."

Each agent politely greeted the woman, but it was obvious that as soon as the women were introduced, there was an understanding. It wasn't as though they magically connected because they were both natives, it's because the way May made herself appear was a lot less threatening than the others; like she could understand. And in a weird way, she did. And Jane could see it.

"Miss Bear is the president of the tribal council and principal of the reservation school," the sheriff continued.

"President and the principal," Gideon noted, a friendly smile on his face. "You must be a busy woman."

"We're out here on our own, Agent Gideon," Jane responded. "We all do our part."

"Is, uh, John inside?" The sheriff sheepishly wondered.

Almost immediately, Jane became guarded. "Is this about the Terra Mesa killings?"

"They just wanna talk to him."

"John Blackwolf has done more to help his tribe than anyone," she faced the sheriff, "hell, Jim, how many times have you called him in to find lost hikers? How many drunken drivers has he tracked down for the park service?" She faced the BAU agents. "John is a peaceful man---"

"Who would not hesitate to defend his tribe with force if attacked," the sheriff cut in.

Jane looked appalled. "What does this have to do with Terra Mesa?"

"Well, a lot, if John considers the building of the Terra Mesa development on Apache land to be an attack," Hotch finally spoke up.

She only sighed, before finally beckoning them to follow her. "The developers have paid a lot of families to leave the reservation," she began, "so many families have gone now that we can barely fill a single class."

"Not much of a surprise they took whatever deal they were offered," May huffed, rolling her eyes as she followed after Jane and meeting her strides. "Life as a Native isn't exactly cheap."

Jane paused for a second. "You speak from experience?"

"Yeah," she admitted. "I'm Quileute."

A look of understanding made its way to the president's face, and she nodded. "So you understand why I'm defending Blackwolf?"

"That, and why you don't want us on your land," May gave her a hesitant smile, beginning to walk again towards the direction Jane was leading them to. Jane quickly followed suit and walked beside her. "I'm honestly surprised you're even willing to talk to us."

"It's because I know we had nothing to do with this, that John had nothing to with this," Jane expressed. "If the rumors are true, then whoever's doing this is perverting our beliefs. You must understand that."

"I admit, I don't know much about other cultures," May sighed. "Most of what I know are about my own tribe, and our neighbors. But I do know a thing or two, enough to differentiate."

"Understandable. North and South. Vastly different."

"Yeah, so I'm not sure I completely understand. But I understand enough. And I believe you."

"You do?"

"Yes," she glanced at her fellow agents. "You just have to convince my team."

They then entered a small classroom, and a man May assumes is John Blackwolf is at the very front.

"Does anybody know the last tribe to surrender to American government?" He asked. From beside her, May could hear Spencer mumbling the answer to himself. Smiling at the children, John nodded proudly. "It was the Chiricahua Apache. And does anybody know the name of the last leader of the Apaches?"

The kids enthusiastically raised their hands. The one John picked from the bunch proudly stated, "Geronimo."

"That's right," John nodded again. "He was caught by the US Army five times, but the ga'he had given him so much strength, he escaped each time. Samuel," he called, and the boy who'd answered him before perked up.

"Yes?"

"Tell the people from the FBI who the ga'he are."

Without missing a beat, Spencer proudly lifted a finger. "The ga'he are mighty spirits who dwell in desert caves."

"Reid," Hotch cut in. "Is your name Samuel?"

"...sorry."

Gideon cleared his throat. "Are the ga'he good spirits or bad spirits?"

"They're both," John answered. "Like men."

Seeing as the FBI agents needed to talk to John, Jane quickly offered to take over for his class. Following after them, John couldn't help himself from pausing at the sight of May, who acknowledged him with a respectful nod.

He tilted his head, a moment of silence passing between the two of them that everyone noticed. But he didn't speak, not until they've left the room. He stopped and regarded her with curious eyes, brows furrowed in concentration. His focused attention of her earned him confused looks from the rest of the BAU team, which only intensified when he opened his mouth.

"I'm sorry to ask, but--"

May gave him a furtive smile. "Quileute, born and raised in La Push."

He raised his hand, pointing at her questioningly. "You wouldn't happen to know Billy Black, do you?"

"He's my dad," she chuckled lightly. "You know him?"

"Met him a year ago during a powwow," he said, lowering his hand. "So, Taka Aki's people."

"You know our legends?" May looked at him in surprise.

"I know a lot more than you think," he offered, earning him an alarmed gaze. He placated her by giving a nod that spoke volumes; it was a nod of acknowledgment, and a nod of respect. "You're one of them, aren't you?"

Ignoring the questioning gazes of her team, she nodded firmly, giving him the same respect he'd given her—it was a nod of understanding. He let himself grin at her for a second, amazed. Not just because he was amazed at her abilities, but the fact that she was also an FBI agent, when most Indigenous peoples struggle to find jobs; she broke the barrier.

He schooled his expression and asked, "You guys still fighting the good fight?"

Despite the difference in culture, most—if not all—Native American tribes knew of the Cold Ones. Different interpretations, maybe, but all the same. And all tribes had some sort of weapon to get rid of them, but now, only the Quileute shapeshifters remain in packs. The others, scattered. Which is probably why John Blackwolf knew from the moment he saw her that she was different.

"Surprisingly, yes," finally, she turned to the rest of them team, confusion swimming in their eyes. "It's a metaphor," she chuckled. "We're trying to teach more of our young about our history and stuff. Like what he was doing," she pointed at her new companion, "I've also been helping revive our culture. Especially our language."

It wasn't a lie, but it wasn't the whole truth.

Blackwolf nodded in agreement, and that's when Gideon finally began to introduce everyone else. He couldn't help but comment on each of their appearance.

"You look like a college professor," he told Gideon. He then faced Spencer. "You look like his student." He turned to Hotch. "You...you look like FBI."

"What about May?" Spencer couldn't help but ask.

"She looks like a tourist."

Hotch cleared his throat, dragging the attention back to him. "We're with the Behavioral Analysis Unit."

Blackwolf rolled his eyes. "Profilers should know better."

"How's that?"

"We don't do massacres. You do."

"Me personally?" Hotch sounded a tad affronted.

"Your government."

A second passes and Hotch seemed to deflate just a tad. He knew John was right. So he changed the subject.

"Mr Blackwolf, we'd like for you to take a look at these photos," on cue, Spencer pulled them out of his sachel and handed it to the long-haired man, "and help us figure out how these kids were killed."

"You're not asking because I'm a cop," John stated.

"No," Gideon answered his rhetorical words. "We're asking because you're an expert on Native American culture."

John considered this, before looking down at pictures he was given. He addressed Hotch. "I don't base my opinion on pictures, Mr Hotchner. I have to walk the ground."

author's note:  my shortest chapter to date :O

not including the prologue ofc. but it's not a filler tho, it's...short.

before anyone comes at me, please know that i do not have any clue what life's like as a native american/indigenous people. so i really hope i don't disrespect anyone with this chapter. just know that most of what i've written here is fictional. i did do my research (as i should) to make it as genuine and "realistic" as possible, but obviously it can never be perfect bc i am not a native american. if you're indigenous and i offended you or your culture in any way, please let me know!

thank you all for reading :>