Secrets in Shadow: Chapter 8 and Epilogue
Title: Secrets in Shadow
Author: Roselani24
Genre: adventure, drama, horror
Rating: PG-13
A/N: A big thank you to my fantastic beta ,laughtersmelody who read and re-read this story, offering endless encouragement and tips. You're awesome, girl! Also a big thank you to my artist, loki_scribe for the beautiful artwork!
Chapter 8
Dean fell quiet after Melissa resumed scavenging for supplies, his eyes slipping closed while Peter debated the next move.
"That's everything," Melissa informed him, breaking through his thoughts, gesturing to the small pile she'd finished making.
Peter frowned, rubbing his chin as he assessed the pile. A mostly empty box of granola bars, a couple cans of fruit, a quarter of a pack of jerky, three bottles of water, half a pack of matches, several old blankets, some rope, a kerosene lamp, and an old gasoline heater. Not exactly a Boy Scout survival kit, but it would do.
"Oh, I missed this," Melissa said, carrying over a green army duffel. "I don't recognize it."
"Its Dean's," Peter replied, kneeling down and unzipping it. Guns, salt, lighter fluid, and, oh thank God, a first aid kit.
"Atta boy," he murmured, pulling it out.
"Chloe, here."
The young woman looked up from her vigil over Jennifer as Peter approached. Relief flooded her expression as she accepted the kit. Peter didn't blame her. The rags wrapped around Jennifer's arms and left hand was soaked through with blood. Chloe quickly flipped open the kit and started pulling out anesthetic and bandages.
He lumbered back to Melissa's side gestured to the blankets and handed them to Melissa. "Here, take these. There's enough for everyone to have one."
The girl nodded obediently.
"Wait, where are your other clothes?" Pants would definitely go a long way in helping to insulate body heat.
Melissa pressed her lips together. "They're not worth changing back into," she said quietly, the barest hint of pain seeping through. Peter's chest tightened and he nodded. The eighteen-year-old moved away.
With a sigh, Peter grabbed another blanket and covered Dean up. The last blanket he carefully wrapped around himself. While the cave was hardly as cold as it was before, Peter knew that as the night wore on the temperature would start to drop. The old gasoline heater would have to be saved until they absolutely needed it.
The next few hours were a blur as Peter went through the motions, making sure the three girls were all fed, warm enough, and their injuries tended. Very carefully, they had moved Jennifer off the altar and laid her down near Dean. It had especially strained Peter. His left arm was in terrible pain from striking the altar during the fight. Afterwards, Melissa had bandaged his elbow and wrists, than constructed a rough sling from a piece of cloth ripped from her dress.
Sinking back against the wall, Peter released a heavy breath. Dean lay beside him, cocooned under a blanket and Peter's filthy trench coat, muttering unintelligible words. But sleep called. Melissa was already sound asleep, laying between Jennifer and Dean.
"You sure you're all right, Chloe?"
Initially, Peter had planned to take the first watch so the girls could rest, but Chloe had insisted she was up for it, and that it would be better if they took turns being on watch. Peter hadn't had the strength to argue with her. He agreed on the condition she woke him up immediately if Jennifer or Dean worsened or anything suspicious happened.
The young woman nodded, determined. "As much as I can be. Get some sleep. I'll wake you soon."
Peter nodded and drifted off, a silent prayer on his lips.
____________________________________________________________
Peter stood at the mouth of the cave, staring at the building wall of snow. They had made it through the night, but the snow was still falling hard, and he could hear the wind howling as it passed through the rocks of Devil's Den.
There was no way any rescue crew could make it out here in this weather. But that didn't really matter considering no one knew where they were to begin with. Peter had been unconscious when Stevenson had dragged him to the cave, but from what he'd observed at the entrance, the cave entrance was well hidden and protected.
To top it off, Dean's fever was getting steadily worse. His whole frame shook and trembled, and that cough from the other day was a hundred times harsher. Add that to a head injury and some badly bruised, possibly cracked ribs, and the kid was in a bad way. And it had been far too long for comfort since the boy opened his eyes.
Jennifer Stewart wasn't faring much better. She wasn't responding to anything Melissa, Chloe, or he did or said. Throughout the night she alternated between staring blankly up at the ceiling and sleeping. Chloe, bless her, had managed to coax the older girl to drink some water at least.
The chances of her surviving another night were terribly slim.
Guilt and shame pummeled him, grinding away at the calm facade he'd donned for the sake of the two girls. They were his responsibility. He had to think of something. His arm twinged, reminding him that he wasn't exactly in better shape than his charges. But that didn't change his responsibilities.
Peter turned and headed back. Well, he couldn't accomplish anything by standing here.
Quietly, he walked up to the group huddled on the floor. Automatically, he looked the four over, his gaze lingering on Dean. They had done all they could for Jennifer at the moment and the detective could only pray she pulled through. Dean was another matter.
"We have to break his fever."
Chloe and Melissa looked at him. Melissa asked, "What can we do?"
He glanced around. "He had you bathe somewhere, right?"
Peter didn't say the name, but the mixed expressions on the girls' faces indicated they knew exactly who he meant.
"A big tub in the back," Chloe said, pointing to a small alcove at the back of the cave that Peter had not noticed before. "We had to carry in buckets of snow to fill it. Took forever to get enough. Not to mention it was freezing!"
Peter limped over to the alcove and looked around. The tub was nothing more then a large metal trough probably stolen from a local farmer's field. Beside the tub were bottles of shampoo and conditioner resting on a lopsided stool. There was also a crude mirror hanging on the right and a little table beneath it with a comb, brush, and make-up on top.
He hated to give Stevenson credit, but the ghost really had been resourceful to put this together. At least this time Stevenson's obsessive nature would work in their favor.
Peter shivered, his arm and wrists tingling. He was probably going to have nightmares for weeks; months even, of everything he'd seen. Shaking his head, he ordered his brain to focus.
Two buckets were dropped on the other side of the tub. Perfect. He picked the two buckets up with his good hand and carried them out to the main cavern.
"Melissa, Chloe, could you fill these with snow please? "
While the girls got the snow, Peter knelt down next to Dean and tried to coax the young man to open his eyes.
"C'mon kid, open your eyes for me."
"Don' wanna," was the barely discernable response.
The detective sighed. He hated what he had to do next, but it was necessary.
"Well, soldier, that's not a request," Peter growled, putting as much authority in his voice as he could. "Open your eyes!"
The effect was immediate. Dean's eyes fluttered, revealing haze covered eyes as he tried to get up.
"Yesss, ssssiiirrr," Dean slurred.
"Dean, your fever is getting too high. I'm gonna give you a cold bath, all right?"
"Wha' you mean, Dad?"
Peter froze. Dean continued, oblivious. "Where's Sammy, Dad? 'e's sick."
"No kid, you are," Peter answered around the lump forming in his throat. Inspiration hit, and he turned the question back on the youth. "Where is Sammy, Dean?"
"He's with Pastor Jim," Dean replied, confused. "You didn't wan' im to come on the hunt, 'member? Said he was too young an' wasn't well 'nough."
"Uh, yeah I did," Peter stumbled. Sammy was definitely Dean's younger brother then. Awkwardly he added, "He's safe, Dean."
This was so not his area of expertise. Peter wasn't good with people or relationships. But he was good at his job, so he mentally filed away the information for later.
Dean nodded weakly. "kay."
Peter glanced up as Chloe and Melissa returned, each with a pail full of snow.
"How do long do you think it will take the snow to melt?"
"An hour so," Melissa guessed.
Peter nodded. The girls made four more trips before Peter felt the tub was full enough. One more trip and the girls left the two buckets full of snow beside the tub. Just like Melissa predicted, the snow was melted after an hour or so. A half hour longer and the water wouldn't be quite as cold. Peter didn't dare delay longer than that. It seemed longer though as Dean's temperature continued to grow. The kid was talking more, ramblings that made no sense and were increasingly making Peter uneasy. Just what had Dean been through as a hunter?
Peter shook Dean's shoulder lightly. "All right man, now you need to help me out. We need to get you up and over to the tub."
A moan answered him. He took it as an agreement. Peter pulled the youth up gently, letting him rest on his chest. He swore. The kid felt like an inferno!
Carefully, Peter manhandled Dean's arm over his shoulder and around his neck. He hoped moving Dean like this wouldn't hurt his ribs more. The boy groaned, pushing away feebly.
"Hey, none of that." Peter chastised lightly. "We need to get your temperature down."
"Whatcha doin'? Where's Sammy?"
Back to Sammy. If Peter didn't know that this Sammy was Dean's brother, Peter might have mistaken him for Dean's son. Out loud, he reassured his friend.
"Sammy's fine. He's with Pastor Jim, remember?" Peter pressed gently. "You remember where Pastor Jim lives, Dean?"
"Bwu Lake," Dean slurred, his head rocking to the side, coming to rest on Peter's shoulder. "Sammy's there?"
"Yep. Safe and sound, kiddo."
Dean seemed satisfied, eyes drifting shut, his body slumping. Not ready for the dead weight, Peter fumbled to not drop him.
Blast it, this was going to be a little trickier then he thought. With his left arm in a sling, supporting Dean over to the tub by himself would be difficult. Suddenly Dean didn't seem to weigh so much. He glanced over to see Melissa taking Dean 's other arm over her skinny shoulders. Peter dipped his head in thanks. The eighteen-year-old nodded back. Together, they carefully carried the sick hunter to the alcove.
Gently, the pair lowered the young man beside the tub. Dean was becoming agitated, blinking rapidly up at them in confusion. The agitation doubled when Peter started to remove his boots and pants.
"'top it, Dad," Dean muttered, squirming away. "'m fifteen, not five!"
Peter dropped Dean's boots and socks. No. No, it couldn't be true. Melissa paused in pulling of Dean's shirts. She turned shocked blue eyes up to the detective, whispering "He's only fifteen?"
Speechless, Peter could only jerk his head to the side. "I-I didn't realize-"
Fifteen. Dean was only fifteen! How could he be so blind? So stupid? He was a detective for crying out loud. This shouldn't have happened! Internally he grimaced. He should have realized something was wrong with Eric and paid more attention to the clues. He should have noticed something off with Nancy. But he hadn't. He'd screwed this whole case up. Without the fifteen-year-old in front of him, he would have been dead and so would Melissa, Chloe, and who knows how many other people.
"What matters is that he saved us, and we owe him the same." Peter declared, as much for his benefit as Melissa's.
Melissa seemed to accept this, resuming her self-appointed task to strip off Dean's shirts. And for that Peter's admiration kicked up another notch. Like Dean, Melissa was younger than she seemed. Maybe age really didn't matter. What mattered was a person's experience.
The boy's mumblings and protest continued as they stripped him down to his boxers.
"Oh my goodness," Melissa whispered. Peter followed her gaze to Dean's torso and inhaled sharply. Dean's chest was a patchwork of black and blue.
"His back?"
"The same," the young woman replied, sounding horrified.
Peter forced down his feelings. He couldn't do this if he didn't take a step back. Slowly, Peter inhaled and released, locking away his emotions in a lock box in his mind.
"All right, well, the water will help those too. Melissa, once we get him in the tub, pour the water slowly. Start with his feet and make your way up to his chest and back down. I'll hold him. If he starts shivering too much, it's going to increase his temperature. We can't let that happen."
"Understood."
Peter glanced over his shoulder, calling, "Chloe! How are you and Jennifer?"
"We're okay, Peter!" Was the answering call.
Satisfied, Peter turned back to Melissa. Dean mumbled and twitched beneath his hands, skin burning. He dipped his head and together they lifted the boy. With as much care as they could, Peter and Melissa lowered Dean into the tub.
_____________________________________________
Peter had lost track of time. All he knew was they were out of supplies. Dean practically lay in his lap, his fever wracked body the only source of heat they had left. The cold bath had helped, but it was a temporary measure. Now Dean's temperature was rising again and none of them were strong enough to bathe him again.
Melissa, Chloe, and Jennifer were tucked in close, blankets wrapped all the way around to keep the warmth trapped in the huddle. Jennifer held onto life by a thread. She wouldn't last much longer, Peter distantly knew. How she lasted this long was a miracle in itself. Dean would follow, and then the rest of them one by one. It was over.
He blinked slowly. What was that?
Voices. Shouting. Lights.
Rescue. They were being rescued.
Then darkness.
________________________________________
The smell of antiseptic filled his nostrils, an acute reminder that he was no longer in that cursed cave. Peter carefully sat up, groaning, his back and neck complaining from the awkward position he fell asleep in. The fact his sleeping accommodations were an ancient plastic chair probably didn't help.
His arm was aching again, he realized. He adjusted the sling to ease the pressure on his collarbone. About time to take another round of pain meds, Peter supposed.
He pulled his watch out of his pocket, checking the time. Four in the morning. Figures. He stuffed it back in his pocket wishing for the umteenth time that he could wear it on his wrist like usual, but the bright white bandages on both wrists prevented that.
Could have been worse, or so the doctor told him. But his wrists were still functional and would heal fine according to Dr. Cassidy. That was good enough for Peter. His main concern was laying the hospital bed next to him.
The ventilator covering half of Dean's face hissed steadily, a disconcerting reminder of how close the boy had come to dying. The boy was incredibly pale, the bruises around his neck stand out even more or that there was a bandage on his head from his collision with the cave wall. Thankfully, the two cracked ribs and numerous bruises covering Dean's body were healing well.
Now if only the kid would wake up. Dr. Cassidy had informed him that Dean had fallen into a coma shortly after arriving at the hospital. That was over a week ago.
He checked the boy over for any signs of agitation, than double-checked with the monitors. Everything seemed to be okay.
Reassured for the time being, Peter stood up slowly and limped his way over to the small counter at the back of the room. He quickly swallowed the pain pills he'd been prescribed.
Peter sighed deeply, heading back to his chair, lost in thought.
He supposed he was still in a slight state of shock. From the first time he'd met the boy, he'd believed Dean was at least twenty-years-old. But he was wrong.
Under different circumstances Peter supposed he would be angrier at his mistake, but he just couldn't muster it. Dean did not act like any fifteen-year-old Peter had ever known. He was older then his years and while the injustice of it grated, the fact remained that Dean had saved his life and the lives of Chloe and Melissa.
That brought a whole different set of complications. How to explain the bodies of Nancy Jenkins and Eric O'Brien? How to explain Dean's presence?
In the end, Peter knew he had to tell someone else the truth. That someone was Sheriff Wayne. Peter had not been able to bring himself to lie when the older man questioned him after he was admitted to the hospital. Chloe and Melissa, from what the sheriff said, had backed his story completely when they were interviewed.
It was a terrible, terrible risk, but Peter was banking on the sheriff's open mind and the facts in the case for support. And it paid off. Sheriff Wayne believed them after much skepticism and shock. Overall though, Peter though the older man handled it fairly well.
In turn, the sheriff hadn't revealed the truth to anyone else.
Privately, Wayne had spoken with Peter in the early days of his stay at the hospital and they had developed a decent cover story. They stuck to the truth as much as possible, while omitting certain details like Professor Jenkins being a werewolf and Eric being possessed. Peter couldn't stomach the thought of blaming Nancy or Eric for what had happened. It had been out of their control. Stevenson was the one who murdered and kidnapped innocent people. But blaming a ghost? Yeah, that would go over well with the public! In the end, some of the blame had fallen on Eric, while Nancy was labeled another victim of the kidnapper.
Peter freely admitted he was not a man who enjoyed keeping secrets, much less was any good at it. For Dean's sake, he would keep this one.
The detective was drawn from his ruminations by the sound of the heart rate monitor beeping. He glanced over at the machine, surprised to see a spike. Dean groaned. It was the most wonderful sound Peter had heard in days.
Dean was fighting the ventilator. Peter hit the call button as he came to his feet.
"Easy Dean. Take it easy buddy." He soothed, pulling Dean's hands away from the mask as they tried to pull it off. "The mask needs to stay on, okay? You haven't been breathing too good, kiddo."
Dr. Cassidy walked in, took one look at his patient, and promptly ordered Peter out. Reluctantly, the detective obeyed, at least until he was in the hallway. He put his foot down then and refused to move until he was assured that the boy was all right.
It seemed to take forever before Dr. Cassidy called him back inside.
"He's sleeping now," Dr. Cassidy informed him, scribbling on Dean's chart. "But I think its safe to say, he's through the worst of it." He gave the detective a tired smile.
Peter sagged, relief washing over him. "Thank God."
Quietly the doctor left, promising to check in on the boy later that morning. Peter took up his post again in the plastic chair. He'd just gotten settled and relatively comfortable when he felt someone watching him.
He lifted his head to see pair of green eyes.
Peter chuckled. So much for being asleep. "Hey kid. Its good to see you awake."
Dean blinked slowly in response, eyes scanning the room before settling back on Peter.
"You know, the only reason Search and Rescue found us was because they tracked the phone in my truck? Funny, I don't seem to recall driving my truck out there." Peter gave Dean a mock stern look. "The sheriff told me the truck was hot-wired. Your handiwork, I presume?"
Dean stared at him, looking equal parts guilty and innocent.
"Strange, I can't figure out how they knew to look for my truck."
Bingo. Dean's eyes darted away.
"You called Donna Miller, didn't you? From the truck," Peter said, knowing he was right even as he posed it as a question. Dean didn't respond. "Thank you."
That got the kid's attention. Dean studied him, and Peter could practically see the wheels turning in the boy's head as he went from surprised to confused to suspicious. He grinned, pleased at having caught Dean off guard for once.
He sobered a moment later. "Jennifer Stewart didn't make it," he admitted quietly. Dean flinched like Peter had slapped him.
"There was nothing anyone could do for her. She'd lost too much blood and combined with malnutrition and the cold… said it was a miracle she as long as she did," the older man comforted clumsily. "Uh, Melissa and Chloe are expected to make full recoveries. Chloe was actually released two days ago and Melissa is supposed to go home on Friday. Or so I heard."
The tension was draining from Dean's shoulders and his eyes were blinking closed.
Peter patted the bed. "Get some sleep. I'll be here."
The boy shook his head weakly. Peter frowned. "What's wrong?"
While Peter couldn't really understand the boy because of how raw his throat was from the ventilator, he could read his lips.
Peter sighed. "Your dad's not here. He left the hospital sometime during the night on Saturday."
Dean asked something else, his eyes shining with fear and worry.
"That over a week ago," Peter admitted. He smiled wanly at Dean's surprise. "You've been pretty sick, kiddo."
Dean's expression shifted, becoming pleading as he attempted to push up.
"Hey now, stay still. I'll find your dad, Dean. I promise."
For a moment those green eyes shone with gratefulness before they were hidden away. With a small smile, Peter settled back to watch his charge for the rest of the night.
But Dean blinked his eyes open again.
"What is it?" He read the boy's lips, confused. "Its January 24th. Why?"
Peter wasn't ready for the raspy breathing to quicken. It took a moment to realize Dean wasn't choking, but was laughing instead.
"What's so funny?" Peter wondered, completely confused. Did Stevenson knock something lose when he threw Dean across the room into a wall?
Dean smirked and rumbled out. "'M bir'day."
"Your birthday!" Peter exclaimed. "You're sixteen today?"
Dean nodded,
Would this kid ever stop surprising him? Peter sank back in the chair. A wry smile gradually formed on his face. No, he very much doubted Dean would.
__________________________________
Epilogue
Peter stared at the doctor and social worker in shock. "Are you serious?"
"Detective Burke, Dean is a minor-"
"He saved our lives!" Peter cut in, waving his good arm. "And he's still recovering after knocking on death's door for a week."
"Nevertheless, Detective," the social worker said, annoyance clear. "Dean is a minor and officially a ward of the state."
The nasally voice had Peter gritting his teeth in effort to control his temper. He opened his mouth to fire back a comment only for another voice to ring out in the hallway.
"Actually, he isn't."
The three men turned to see a Sheriff Wayne marching toward them. He held out a folder to the social worker. "Dean Winchester, son of Corporal John Winchester, was emancipated last year when he turned fifteen."
It was hard to determine who was more shocked: the doctor, the social worker, or Peter. The social worker snatched the folder away from the sheriff, skimming through its contents quickly. Peter barely noticed, pre-occupied with hearing the kid's full name for the first time. Dean Winchester. Like when Peter learned his first name, learning his full name seemed to just fit.
"How did you find this?" The social worker demanded, face reddening.
"I had Winchester senior fingerprinted before he went MIA. Turns out his finger prints were on file, which led me to his oldest son." Sheriff Wayne replied easily.
Peter huffed, rubbing his neck to ease the tension. Unbelievable. He definitely owed Wayne a beer after this. When he called the older man for help in stalling the social worker and the doctor, this certainly was not what he expected. Not that he wasn't taking any pleasure from watching the social worker, Arnold or something, sputter and trying to come up with a comeback. Nope, none at all.
"Wait, oldest son?" This came from Dr. Cassidy.
"That's right," Sheriff Wayne replied, not bothered at all. "Winchester's got two boys: Dean and a younger boy, Sam. I've already located Sam. He's been staying with a pastor out in Blue Lake, Minnesota since September and attending school there. Dean was going to school there too from what I understand, until a little over two weeks ago when Dean showed up here in Gettysburg with his father."
"What was he doing for work?" Arnold demanded, flipping through the folder, beady eyes roving the black and white type.
"Handyman for the church and part-time mechanic," the sheriff answered, crossing his arms. "He meets all the requirements of an emancipated minor. Now, if that is all sir, I think its time we left Dean in the good hands of Dr. Cassidy."
Peter watched with no small amount of vindictive glee as the social worker's face purpled and he stomped away. Dr. Cassidy shook his head, grinning wryly. "Still know how to scare them, huh Charles?"
The sheriff grinned. "Just cause I'm old, doesn't mean I've lost my game. Come on, let's go check on that young fellow."
But when they got to the room, the three men were stunned to find the bed empty. A quick scan of the hallway turned up nothing. Dean Winchester was gone.
There was a note on the pillow. Peter picked it up. It was a phone number and it looked like a Minnesota area code. Two words were scribbled at the bottom. Thank you.
Peter smiled.
The End
…for now…
Prologue and Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Author: Roselani24
Genre: adventure, drama, horror
Rating: PG-13
A/N: A big thank you to my fantastic beta ,laughtersmelody who read and re-read this story, offering endless encouragement and tips. You're awesome, girl! Also a big thank you to my artist, loki_scribe for the beautiful artwork!
Chapter 8
Dean fell quiet after Melissa resumed scavenging for supplies, his eyes slipping closed while Peter debated the next move.
"That's everything," Melissa informed him, breaking through his thoughts, gesturing to the small pile she'd finished making.
Peter frowned, rubbing his chin as he assessed the pile. A mostly empty box of granola bars, a couple cans of fruit, a quarter of a pack of jerky, three bottles of water, half a pack of matches, several old blankets, some rope, a kerosene lamp, and an old gasoline heater. Not exactly a Boy Scout survival kit, but it would do.
"Oh, I missed this," Melissa said, carrying over a green army duffel. "I don't recognize it."
"Its Dean's," Peter replied, kneeling down and unzipping it. Guns, salt, lighter fluid, and, oh thank God, a first aid kit.
"Atta boy," he murmured, pulling it out.
"Chloe, here."
The young woman looked up from her vigil over Jennifer as Peter approached. Relief flooded her expression as she accepted the kit. Peter didn't blame her. The rags wrapped around Jennifer's arms and left hand was soaked through with blood. Chloe quickly flipped open the kit and started pulling out anesthetic and bandages.
He lumbered back to Melissa's side gestured to the blankets and handed them to Melissa. "Here, take these. There's enough for everyone to have one."
The girl nodded obediently.
"Wait, where are your other clothes?" Pants would definitely go a long way in helping to insulate body heat.
Melissa pressed her lips together. "They're not worth changing back into," she said quietly, the barest hint of pain seeping through. Peter's chest tightened and he nodded. The eighteen-year-old moved away.
With a sigh, Peter grabbed another blanket and covered Dean up. The last blanket he carefully wrapped around himself. While the cave was hardly as cold as it was before, Peter knew that as the night wore on the temperature would start to drop. The old gasoline heater would have to be saved until they absolutely needed it.
The next few hours were a blur as Peter went through the motions, making sure the three girls were all fed, warm enough, and their injuries tended. Very carefully, they had moved Jennifer off the altar and laid her down near Dean. It had especially strained Peter. His left arm was in terrible pain from striking the altar during the fight. Afterwards, Melissa had bandaged his elbow and wrists, than constructed a rough sling from a piece of cloth ripped from her dress.
Sinking back against the wall, Peter released a heavy breath. Dean lay beside him, cocooned under a blanket and Peter's filthy trench coat, muttering unintelligible words. But sleep called. Melissa was already sound asleep, laying between Jennifer and Dean.
"You sure you're all right, Chloe?"
Initially, Peter had planned to take the first watch so the girls could rest, but Chloe had insisted she was up for it, and that it would be better if they took turns being on watch. Peter hadn't had the strength to argue with her. He agreed on the condition she woke him up immediately if Jennifer or Dean worsened or anything suspicious happened.
The young woman nodded, determined. "As much as I can be. Get some sleep. I'll wake you soon."
Peter nodded and drifted off, a silent prayer on his lips.
____________________________________________________________
Peter stood at the mouth of the cave, staring at the building wall of snow. They had made it through the night, but the snow was still falling hard, and he could hear the wind howling as it passed through the rocks of Devil's Den.
There was no way any rescue crew could make it out here in this weather. But that didn't really matter considering no one knew where they were to begin with. Peter had been unconscious when Stevenson had dragged him to the cave, but from what he'd observed at the entrance, the cave entrance was well hidden and protected.
To top it off, Dean's fever was getting steadily worse. His whole frame shook and trembled, and that cough from the other day was a hundred times harsher. Add that to a head injury and some badly bruised, possibly cracked ribs, and the kid was in a bad way. And it had been far too long for comfort since the boy opened his eyes.
Jennifer Stewart wasn't faring much better. She wasn't responding to anything Melissa, Chloe, or he did or said. Throughout the night she alternated between staring blankly up at the ceiling and sleeping. Chloe, bless her, had managed to coax the older girl to drink some water at least.
The chances of her surviving another night were terribly slim.
Guilt and shame pummeled him, grinding away at the calm facade he'd donned for the sake of the two girls. They were his responsibility. He had to think of something. His arm twinged, reminding him that he wasn't exactly in better shape than his charges. But that didn't change his responsibilities.
Peter turned and headed back. Well, he couldn't accomplish anything by standing here.
Quietly, he walked up to the group huddled on the floor. Automatically, he looked the four over, his gaze lingering on Dean. They had done all they could for Jennifer at the moment and the detective could only pray she pulled through. Dean was another matter.
"We have to break his fever."
Chloe and Melissa looked at him. Melissa asked, "What can we do?"
He glanced around. "He had you bathe somewhere, right?"
Peter didn't say the name, but the mixed expressions on the girls' faces indicated they knew exactly who he meant.
"A big tub in the back," Chloe said, pointing to a small alcove at the back of the cave that Peter had not noticed before. "We had to carry in buckets of snow to fill it. Took forever to get enough. Not to mention it was freezing!"
Peter limped over to the alcove and looked around. The tub was nothing more then a large metal trough probably stolen from a local farmer's field. Beside the tub were bottles of shampoo and conditioner resting on a lopsided stool. There was also a crude mirror hanging on the right and a little table beneath it with a comb, brush, and make-up on top.
He hated to give Stevenson credit, but the ghost really had been resourceful to put this together. At least this time Stevenson's obsessive nature would work in their favor.
Peter shivered, his arm and wrists tingling. He was probably going to have nightmares for weeks; months even, of everything he'd seen. Shaking his head, he ordered his brain to focus.
Two buckets were dropped on the other side of the tub. Perfect. He picked the two buckets up with his good hand and carried them out to the main cavern.
"Melissa, Chloe, could you fill these with snow please? "
While the girls got the snow, Peter knelt down next to Dean and tried to coax the young man to open his eyes.
"C'mon kid, open your eyes for me."
"Don' wanna," was the barely discernable response.
The detective sighed. He hated what he had to do next, but it was necessary.
"Well, soldier, that's not a request," Peter growled, putting as much authority in his voice as he could. "Open your eyes!"
The effect was immediate. Dean's eyes fluttered, revealing haze covered eyes as he tried to get up.
"Yesss, ssssiiirrr," Dean slurred.
"Dean, your fever is getting too high. I'm gonna give you a cold bath, all right?"
"Wha' you mean, Dad?"
Peter froze. Dean continued, oblivious. "Where's Sammy, Dad? 'e's sick."
"No kid, you are," Peter answered around the lump forming in his throat. Inspiration hit, and he turned the question back on the youth. "Where is Sammy, Dean?"
"He's with Pastor Jim," Dean replied, confused. "You didn't wan' im to come on the hunt, 'member? Said he was too young an' wasn't well 'nough."
"Uh, yeah I did," Peter stumbled. Sammy was definitely Dean's younger brother then. Awkwardly he added, "He's safe, Dean."
This was so not his area of expertise. Peter wasn't good with people or relationships. But he was good at his job, so he mentally filed away the information for later.
Dean nodded weakly. "kay."
Peter glanced up as Chloe and Melissa returned, each with a pail full of snow.
"How do long do you think it will take the snow to melt?"
"An hour so," Melissa guessed.
Peter nodded. The girls made four more trips before Peter felt the tub was full enough. One more trip and the girls left the two buckets full of snow beside the tub. Just like Melissa predicted, the snow was melted after an hour or so. A half hour longer and the water wouldn't be quite as cold. Peter didn't dare delay longer than that. It seemed longer though as Dean's temperature continued to grow. The kid was talking more, ramblings that made no sense and were increasingly making Peter uneasy. Just what had Dean been through as a hunter?
Peter shook Dean's shoulder lightly. "All right man, now you need to help me out. We need to get you up and over to the tub."
A moan answered him. He took it as an agreement. Peter pulled the youth up gently, letting him rest on his chest. He swore. The kid felt like an inferno!
Carefully, Peter manhandled Dean's arm over his shoulder and around his neck. He hoped moving Dean like this wouldn't hurt his ribs more. The boy groaned, pushing away feebly.
"Hey, none of that." Peter chastised lightly. "We need to get your temperature down."
"Whatcha doin'? Where's Sammy?"
Back to Sammy. If Peter didn't know that this Sammy was Dean's brother, Peter might have mistaken him for Dean's son. Out loud, he reassured his friend.
"Sammy's fine. He's with Pastor Jim, remember?" Peter pressed gently. "You remember where Pastor Jim lives, Dean?"
"Bwu Lake," Dean slurred, his head rocking to the side, coming to rest on Peter's shoulder. "Sammy's there?"
"Yep. Safe and sound, kiddo."
Dean seemed satisfied, eyes drifting shut, his body slumping. Not ready for the dead weight, Peter fumbled to not drop him.
Blast it, this was going to be a little trickier then he thought. With his left arm in a sling, supporting Dean over to the tub by himself would be difficult. Suddenly Dean didn't seem to weigh so much. He glanced over to see Melissa taking Dean 's other arm over her skinny shoulders. Peter dipped his head in thanks. The eighteen-year-old nodded back. Together, they carefully carried the sick hunter to the alcove.
Gently, the pair lowered the young man beside the tub. Dean was becoming agitated, blinking rapidly up at them in confusion. The agitation doubled when Peter started to remove his boots and pants.
"'top it, Dad," Dean muttered, squirming away. "'m fifteen, not five!"
Peter dropped Dean's boots and socks. No. No, it couldn't be true. Melissa paused in pulling of Dean's shirts. She turned shocked blue eyes up to the detective, whispering "He's only fifteen?"
Speechless, Peter could only jerk his head to the side. "I-I didn't realize-"
Fifteen. Dean was only fifteen! How could he be so blind? So stupid? He was a detective for crying out loud. This shouldn't have happened! Internally he grimaced. He should have realized something was wrong with Eric and paid more attention to the clues. He should have noticed something off with Nancy. But he hadn't. He'd screwed this whole case up. Without the fifteen-year-old in front of him, he would have been dead and so would Melissa, Chloe, and who knows how many other people.
"What matters is that he saved us, and we owe him the same." Peter declared, as much for his benefit as Melissa's.
Melissa seemed to accept this, resuming her self-appointed task to strip off Dean's shirts. And for that Peter's admiration kicked up another notch. Like Dean, Melissa was younger than she seemed. Maybe age really didn't matter. What mattered was a person's experience.
The boy's mumblings and protest continued as they stripped him down to his boxers.
"Oh my goodness," Melissa whispered. Peter followed her gaze to Dean's torso and inhaled sharply. Dean's chest was a patchwork of black and blue.
"His back?"
"The same," the young woman replied, sounding horrified.
Peter forced down his feelings. He couldn't do this if he didn't take a step back. Slowly, Peter inhaled and released, locking away his emotions in a lock box in his mind.
"All right, well, the water will help those too. Melissa, once we get him in the tub, pour the water slowly. Start with his feet and make your way up to his chest and back down. I'll hold him. If he starts shivering too much, it's going to increase his temperature. We can't let that happen."
"Understood."
Peter glanced over his shoulder, calling, "Chloe! How are you and Jennifer?"
"We're okay, Peter!" Was the answering call.
Satisfied, Peter turned back to Melissa. Dean mumbled and twitched beneath his hands, skin burning. He dipped his head and together they lifted the boy. With as much care as they could, Peter and Melissa lowered Dean into the tub.
_____________________________________________
Peter had lost track of time. All he knew was they were out of supplies. Dean practically lay in his lap, his fever wracked body the only source of heat they had left. The cold bath had helped, but it was a temporary measure. Now Dean's temperature was rising again and none of them were strong enough to bathe him again.
Melissa, Chloe, and Jennifer were tucked in close, blankets wrapped all the way around to keep the warmth trapped in the huddle. Jennifer held onto life by a thread. She wouldn't last much longer, Peter distantly knew. How she lasted this long was a miracle in itself. Dean would follow, and then the rest of them one by one. It was over.
He blinked slowly. What was that?
Voices. Shouting. Lights.
Rescue. They were being rescued.
Then darkness.
________________________________________
The smell of antiseptic filled his nostrils, an acute reminder that he was no longer in that cursed cave. Peter carefully sat up, groaning, his back and neck complaining from the awkward position he fell asleep in. The fact his sleeping accommodations were an ancient plastic chair probably didn't help.
His arm was aching again, he realized. He adjusted the sling to ease the pressure on his collarbone. About time to take another round of pain meds, Peter supposed.
He pulled his watch out of his pocket, checking the time. Four in the morning. Figures. He stuffed it back in his pocket wishing for the umteenth time that he could wear it on his wrist like usual, but the bright white bandages on both wrists prevented that.
Could have been worse, or so the doctor told him. But his wrists were still functional and would heal fine according to Dr. Cassidy. That was good enough for Peter. His main concern was laying the hospital bed next to him.
The ventilator covering half of Dean's face hissed steadily, a disconcerting reminder of how close the boy had come to dying. The boy was incredibly pale, the bruises around his neck stand out even more or that there was a bandage on his head from his collision with the cave wall. Thankfully, the two cracked ribs and numerous bruises covering Dean's body were healing well.
Now if only the kid would wake up. Dr. Cassidy had informed him that Dean had fallen into a coma shortly after arriving at the hospital. That was over a week ago.
He checked the boy over for any signs of agitation, than double-checked with the monitors. Everything seemed to be okay.
Reassured for the time being, Peter stood up slowly and limped his way over to the small counter at the back of the room. He quickly swallowed the pain pills he'd been prescribed.
Peter sighed deeply, heading back to his chair, lost in thought.
He supposed he was still in a slight state of shock. From the first time he'd met the boy, he'd believed Dean was at least twenty-years-old. But he was wrong.
Under different circumstances Peter supposed he would be angrier at his mistake, but he just couldn't muster it. Dean did not act like any fifteen-year-old Peter had ever known. He was older then his years and while the injustice of it grated, the fact remained that Dean had saved his life and the lives of Chloe and Melissa.
That brought a whole different set of complications. How to explain the bodies of Nancy Jenkins and Eric O'Brien? How to explain Dean's presence?
In the end, Peter knew he had to tell someone else the truth. That someone was Sheriff Wayne. Peter had not been able to bring himself to lie when the older man questioned him after he was admitted to the hospital. Chloe and Melissa, from what the sheriff said, had backed his story completely when they were interviewed.
It was a terrible, terrible risk, but Peter was banking on the sheriff's open mind and the facts in the case for support. And it paid off. Sheriff Wayne believed them after much skepticism and shock. Overall though, Peter though the older man handled it fairly well.
In turn, the sheriff hadn't revealed the truth to anyone else.
Privately, Wayne had spoken with Peter in the early days of his stay at the hospital and they had developed a decent cover story. They stuck to the truth as much as possible, while omitting certain details like Professor Jenkins being a werewolf and Eric being possessed. Peter couldn't stomach the thought of blaming Nancy or Eric for what had happened. It had been out of their control. Stevenson was the one who murdered and kidnapped innocent people. But blaming a ghost? Yeah, that would go over well with the public! In the end, some of the blame had fallen on Eric, while Nancy was labeled another victim of the kidnapper.
Peter freely admitted he was not a man who enjoyed keeping secrets, much less was any good at it. For Dean's sake, he would keep this one.
The detective was drawn from his ruminations by the sound of the heart rate monitor beeping. He glanced over at the machine, surprised to see a spike. Dean groaned. It was the most wonderful sound Peter had heard in days.
Dean was fighting the ventilator. Peter hit the call button as he came to his feet.
"Easy Dean. Take it easy buddy." He soothed, pulling Dean's hands away from the mask as they tried to pull it off. "The mask needs to stay on, okay? You haven't been breathing too good, kiddo."
Dr. Cassidy walked in, took one look at his patient, and promptly ordered Peter out. Reluctantly, the detective obeyed, at least until he was in the hallway. He put his foot down then and refused to move until he was assured that the boy was all right.
It seemed to take forever before Dr. Cassidy called him back inside.
"He's sleeping now," Dr. Cassidy informed him, scribbling on Dean's chart. "But I think its safe to say, he's through the worst of it." He gave the detective a tired smile.
Peter sagged, relief washing over him. "Thank God."
Quietly the doctor left, promising to check in on the boy later that morning. Peter took up his post again in the plastic chair. He'd just gotten settled and relatively comfortable when he felt someone watching him.
He lifted his head to see pair of green eyes.
Peter chuckled. So much for being asleep. "Hey kid. Its good to see you awake."
Dean blinked slowly in response, eyes scanning the room before settling back on Peter.
"You know, the only reason Search and Rescue found us was because they tracked the phone in my truck? Funny, I don't seem to recall driving my truck out there." Peter gave Dean a mock stern look. "The sheriff told me the truck was hot-wired. Your handiwork, I presume?"
Dean stared at him, looking equal parts guilty and innocent.
"Strange, I can't figure out how they knew to look for my truck."
Bingo. Dean's eyes darted away.
"You called Donna Miller, didn't you? From the truck," Peter said, knowing he was right even as he posed it as a question. Dean didn't respond. "Thank you."
That got the kid's attention. Dean studied him, and Peter could practically see the wheels turning in the boy's head as he went from surprised to confused to suspicious. He grinned, pleased at having caught Dean off guard for once.
He sobered a moment later. "Jennifer Stewart didn't make it," he admitted quietly. Dean flinched like Peter had slapped him.
"There was nothing anyone could do for her. She'd lost too much blood and combined with malnutrition and the cold… said it was a miracle she as long as she did," the older man comforted clumsily. "Uh, Melissa and Chloe are expected to make full recoveries. Chloe was actually released two days ago and Melissa is supposed to go home on Friday. Or so I heard."
The tension was draining from Dean's shoulders and his eyes were blinking closed.
Peter patted the bed. "Get some sleep. I'll be here."
The boy shook his head weakly. Peter frowned. "What's wrong?"
While Peter couldn't really understand the boy because of how raw his throat was from the ventilator, he could read his lips.
Peter sighed. "Your dad's not here. He left the hospital sometime during the night on Saturday."
Dean asked something else, his eyes shining with fear and worry.
"That over a week ago," Peter admitted. He smiled wanly at Dean's surprise. "You've been pretty sick, kiddo."
Dean's expression shifted, becoming pleading as he attempted to push up.
"Hey now, stay still. I'll find your dad, Dean. I promise."
For a moment those green eyes shone with gratefulness before they were hidden away. With a small smile, Peter settled back to watch his charge for the rest of the night.
But Dean blinked his eyes open again.
"What is it?" He read the boy's lips, confused. "Its January 24th. Why?"
Peter wasn't ready for the raspy breathing to quicken. It took a moment to realize Dean wasn't choking, but was laughing instead.
"What's so funny?" Peter wondered, completely confused. Did Stevenson knock something lose when he threw Dean across the room into a wall?
Dean smirked and rumbled out. "'M bir'day."
"Your birthday!" Peter exclaimed. "You're sixteen today?"
Dean nodded,
Would this kid ever stop surprising him? Peter sank back in the chair. A wry smile gradually formed on his face. No, he very much doubted Dean would.
__________________________________
Epilogue
Peter stared at the doctor and social worker in shock. "Are you serious?"
"Detective Burke, Dean is a minor-"
"He saved our lives!" Peter cut in, waving his good arm. "And he's still recovering after knocking on death's door for a week."
"Nevertheless, Detective," the social worker said, annoyance clear. "Dean is a minor and officially a ward of the state."
The nasally voice had Peter gritting his teeth in effort to control his temper. He opened his mouth to fire back a comment only for another voice to ring out in the hallway.
"Actually, he isn't."
The three men turned to see a Sheriff Wayne marching toward them. He held out a folder to the social worker. "Dean Winchester, son of Corporal John Winchester, was emancipated last year when he turned fifteen."
It was hard to determine who was more shocked: the doctor, the social worker, or Peter. The social worker snatched the folder away from the sheriff, skimming through its contents quickly. Peter barely noticed, pre-occupied with hearing the kid's full name for the first time. Dean Winchester. Like when Peter learned his first name, learning his full name seemed to just fit.
"How did you find this?" The social worker demanded, face reddening.
"I had Winchester senior fingerprinted before he went MIA. Turns out his finger prints were on file, which led me to his oldest son." Sheriff Wayne replied easily.
Peter huffed, rubbing his neck to ease the tension. Unbelievable. He definitely owed Wayne a beer after this. When he called the older man for help in stalling the social worker and the doctor, this certainly was not what he expected. Not that he wasn't taking any pleasure from watching the social worker, Arnold or something, sputter and trying to come up with a comeback. Nope, none at all.
"Wait, oldest son?" This came from Dr. Cassidy.
"That's right," Sheriff Wayne replied, not bothered at all. "Winchester's got two boys: Dean and a younger boy, Sam. I've already located Sam. He's been staying with a pastor out in Blue Lake, Minnesota since September and attending school there. Dean was going to school there too from what I understand, until a little over two weeks ago when Dean showed up here in Gettysburg with his father."
"What was he doing for work?" Arnold demanded, flipping through the folder, beady eyes roving the black and white type.
"Handyman for the church and part-time mechanic," the sheriff answered, crossing his arms. "He meets all the requirements of an emancipated minor. Now, if that is all sir, I think its time we left Dean in the good hands of Dr. Cassidy."
Peter watched with no small amount of vindictive glee as the social worker's face purpled and he stomped away. Dr. Cassidy shook his head, grinning wryly. "Still know how to scare them, huh Charles?"
The sheriff grinned. "Just cause I'm old, doesn't mean I've lost my game. Come on, let's go check on that young fellow."
But when they got to the room, the three men were stunned to find the bed empty. A quick scan of the hallway turned up nothing. Dean Winchester was gone.
There was a note on the pillow. Peter picked it up. It was a phone number and it looked like a Minnesota area code. Two words were scribbled at the bottom. Thank you.
Peter smiled.
The End
…for now…
Prologue and Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7