Not in Quantico Anymore

A/N: For both the TV Prompt "Emily in Wonderland" and the badfic 09 contest. Yes, I know Oz isn't Wonderland, but I'm more familiar with Oz, and the prompt prompted me, so it's still okay. Right?

Emily Prentiss was high.

That was the only explanation that she could find for all of this strangeness. For some reason, she must have had some kind of teen-years nostalgia kick, and gotten herself well and truly stoned off a couple of joints, maybe some E.

But there was no logical explanation for why she should find herself in this fucked up, psychoactive, Technicolor world. Because her dreams didn't usually involve hyperactive midgets singing about dead witches.

Emily herself was in a gingham dress – she hadn't worn gingham since she was four years old – and had pigtails – again, four years old. For some undiscernible reason, she was carrying a stuffed dog on a leash.

'What the fuck?' she muttered, holding her head in one hand. She didn't usually trip this badly, not that she'd actually tripped any time recently.

'Are you a good witch, or a bad witch?' a bored voice asked. Emily's head shot up, recognizing the voice.

'JJ? What the hell is going on? Where are we?' She trailed off, noticing that "JJ" was in fact wearing a ridiculous ballgown, and holding a wand. Either it was Halloween, or something had gone very, very wrong. 'Who are you?'

'I am JJ, good witch of the north. I also deal with all of Oz's public relations crap. And I say again; are you a good witch, or a bad witch?'

'I'm Emily Prentiss, from Quantico,' Emily replied, recognizing the sheer madness of the whole situation. 'I'm a profiler, not a witch.'

'Yet you killed the Wicked Witch of the East. Thanks for that, by the way. Bitch was a PR nightmare.'

Emily frowned. 'The only people I've killed are rapists and serial killers. Now, if you're a witch, can you tell me how the hell I'm supposed to get out of here?'

JJ grinned. 'Why would you want to leave? Stay a while. There's some great psychotropic stuff in Munchkinland – you'll swear you're some kind of Pixie Queen. Sounds more interesting than Quantico, right?'

Emily shrugged. 'I really need to get back to work.'

JJ scoffed. 'You're such a prude. Alright. If you go to the Wizard of Oz, he might help you out. But you've got to tread carefully – he's a complete asshole. Just so you know. Oh, and watch out for the Wicked Witch of the West – you just killed her sister, so she'll be out for blood. I hear she likes to torture her victims for days. Hey! I know how you can piss her off – put on her sister's shoes. That'll really fuck with her mind.'

Before Emily could protest, the red slippers were being forcibly shoved onto her feet.

'Okay, just follow this yellow brick road to get to the Wizard's pad. Really sick place, by the way. And watch out for flying monkeys, and strange fields that make you sleepy, and evil forests. Lots of evil forests around here.'

Before Emily could even argue, JJ had gone. Shaking, she stood, plush puppy dragging along the ground.

'Follow the yellow brick road!' shouted one of the midgets. And then they started singing.

'This is seriously fucked up,' muttered Emily to herself as she started along the yellow brick road.


It was half an hour later when she met the scarecrow. On first glance, he looked just like a bundle of straw stuffed into sacks, but then she noticed the features on his face. The gauntness that seemed to define him.

'Reid?' she questioned him.

'I think I need a brain,' was the reply. It was almost Reid's voice, but it was a little scratchier than usual – probably all the straw.

She helped him from the stand. 'You don't need a brain, Reid; you've got an IQ of 187. You're the smartest person I know.'

'That's awful nice of you to say, miss,' he said, clutching at the bits of straw that were falling from his shirt. 'Did you know that one of the first appearances of the scarecrow was in Japanese mythology in 712 where the deity Keubiko cannot walk, but knows everything of the world?'

'I can't say I did know that,' said Emily, with a half smile on her face. Even in this bastardised form, he was still Reid. 'But if you're still looking for a brain, I'm off to see the wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz. Would you like to join me?'

'It seems kind of convenient, don't you think?' pondered the scarecrow Reid. 'That there's just someone out there who has the ability to fulfil all our greatest desires?'

Emily shrugged. 'I honestly don't have anything better to do that find out. Seriously. I just wake up in this stupid magical world, and suddenly I have to do all these things to make my way out. It's like – why the fuck do they even bother in the first place?' She had come to the conclusion that this whole set-up was far too elaborate for a drug induced vision – that she must be the victim of some pointless prank.

It didn't seem to matter why she was here though. All that matter was finding a way out.


They found the tin man next, standing deathly still. It had Hotch's face, she noticed, as they oiled the joints so that he could move again. The whole scenario was eerily familiar to her. If this set-up did indeed follow the exact plot-line of a 1939 movie starring Judy Garland, then she knew exactly what to expect.

'Let me guess?' she asked the tin man Hotch. 'Looking for a heart?'

'I'm not emotionless, no matter what anyone says,' he replied haughtily. 'I'm just a little more practiced at hiding my emotions. But physically speaking, yes, I am missing a heart.'

'Right,' said Emily nodding. 'We've got Reid as the scarecrow, Hotch as the tin man, JJ as the good witch of the north. That leaves...Morgan, Rossi and Garcia. Who do you think would make the better cowardly lion?'

The tin man and the scarecrow looked at her blankly. She sighed. These constructs really needed to be more genre savvy.

'Roar!' came the sound, as a lion-like creature jumped out in from of them. Seeing that he was outnumbered, three to one, he quickly ran in the other direction, but not before Emily had seen his face.

'Morgan,' she said tiredly, 'Come back here. You aren't a coward, you're one of the bravest people I know, and just about the only person I know who would feel completely comfortable tackling a submarine.'

The cowardly lion emerged, unsure. 'You're not just trying to make me feel better?' he asked.

'If I was trying to make you feel better, I would have mentioned how stunningly handsome you are.'

And thus, the four profilers/one lost little girl and three anthropomorphic representations continued on their path towards Oz.

On the way, they got kidnapped by flying monkeys.


Garcia, it seemed, was the Wicked Witch of the West, a fact which Emily found mindboggling. She would have expected it to be her mother, or at the outside, Strauss. Garcia was quite possibly the least evil person she knew.

But damn did she know how to cackle.

'Why are you doing this?' Emily asked abruptly, interrupting the cackling process. That, more than anything, seemed to upset the witch.

'I dunno,' she said. 'Boredom I guess. Flying monkeys just don't seem to cut it anymore.'

'How about a toy dog?' asked Emily, holding up the plush puppy that was now worn and dirty for being dragged along a yellow brick road for the better part of a day.

'Oooh!' said the witch excitedly. She took the dog and pottered about, trying to find the right spot for it. 'Oh, you're free to go,' she said, waving her hand about. Emily frowned. This wasn't quite how the story went, was it? She shrugged. There was still a wizard to see.


'So have you read my latest book?

She should have known. Should have known that David Rossi would be the "wonderful wizard of Oz" and that she would have to spend precious time feeding his ego before she could even think about going home.

'Yes, I did. It was very wordy. Can I go now?'

'Oh,' said Rossi, grinning. 'You could have left at any time you wanted. All you had to do was wake up.'

'Aw,' said Emily. 'Son of a bitch.'


She woke to the sound of an incessant beeping, which she subsequently tried to push away with her hand. The hand, it seemed, was hooked up to an IV, and excessive movement only hurt.

'Calm down, Emily,' a voice said, putting a warm hand on her shoulder. Whose voice was that? The scarecrow's? The tin man's?


'Ow,' she said, finally noticing the agonizing pain in her abdomen.

'You were shot,' came Hotch's voice again. 'You've been unconscious for almost three days.'

She frowned. That, coupled with the shitloads of drugs that were being pumped through her system would probably explain the excessively detailed dreamlike state she had found herself in. The drugs, though, had not quite worn off.

'It's okay, Hotch,' she slurred, eyes unfocused. 'We all know you have a heart.'

And with that, she sunk back into unconsciousness.