Between Shadow and Light: Part 1-3
Supernatural/White Collar
Title: Between Shadow and Light
Author: Roselani24
Genre: crossover, friendship, drama, angst
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing for a little while.
Spoilers: Anything from White Collar up until 4.10 and Supernatural Seasons 1-7 is fair game.
Warnings: Some violence, gore, and at one point animal abuse. That section will have a specific warning beforehand for readers.
Summary: Sequel to Secrets in Shadow. Haunted by the case in Gettysburg, Detective Peter Burke seeks out one Dean Winchester in hope of finding answers. Peter finds Dean and a whole lot more than he expected. What started out as mutual respect soon evolves into a strong friendship. Over the years, that friendship has a ripple effect on their families, friends, and even opponents. Includes appearances from Sam Winchester, Elizabeth Burke, Neal Caffrey, and a special guest appearance by John Winchester. Story told in 25 parts.
Author Notes: First off, a humongous thank you to my beta and artist, Twisted_Slinky who’s editing, encouragement, and gorgeous art made the completion of this story possible. Be sure to check out her art work here. Thank you so much, Slinky!!!! Laughtersmelody deserves a special shout out too because if it weren’t for her word prompts at christianfanfic, this story would have never even made it off the ground. Thanks girl!
Written for the spn_gen_bigbang moderated by the lovely reapertownusa. Thanks for running the community so smoothly! :)
Story Notes: “Between Shadow and Light” is the direct sequel to “Secrets in Shadow” and picks up two months after the first story ended. This story covers the years of 1995 to 2010, after the Apocalypse is over. In my version, however, the Apocalypse ends differently than according to canon. It doesn’t matter too much for this particular story because it is not addressed until the final chapter, but I wanted to make sure readers are aware. As far as canon goes, everything up to 5.14, bar 5.06 and 5.13 occurs in the SPN verse before it goes AU.
ETA: This story started out as a series of connected drabbles that morphed into something much bigger than originally planned. That is why the story is broken down in different parts and then put together in a few compact posts. Each part is a different character segment at a certain time and place. Some are long, some are short depending on what the drabble was originally about. Hope that helps clear things up a bit.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Part 1: Peter - March 1995
Peter woke in a cold sweat.
He swallowed, trying to moisten his mouth and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 2:34 AM. No chance of going back to sleep then.
Grunting, Peter sat up and put his bare feet on the carpet. It was silly, but the carpet’s sponge texture grounded him. He wasn’t in that cave anymore. He wasn’t watching an innocent girl die.
With a sigh, Peter dressed and headed down to the hallway to the kitchen.
Once the coffee machine was happily burping, he sat down at the kitchen table. Slowly, he started flipping through the manual on plumbing. His sink’s pipes needed to be replaced or patched soon or his kitchen would turn into a lake. But his mind, as it was prone to after a nightmare, started wandering.
Things had been difficult since the demise of the Lost Creek Cutter’s deadly ghost. Between managing his injuries and the fall out of what happened, Peter was stretched thin.
He needed to get out of the city.
Peter was pretty sure taking a trip across several states was not exactly what the good Dr. Cassidy had in mind when he instructed Peter to take it easy. But the detective couldn’t bring himself to care that much. After the last four weeks of evaluation and seeing the department psychologist twice a week, he needed to get away. Who knew lying could be so utterly exhausting! His parents had raised him to value integrity, instilled honesty as the best policy since he was a small child. Unfortunately, in this instance, telling the grieving parents of Jennifer Stewart and Eric O’Brien what really happened would have only made things worse. How do you tell a mother that her child was possessed by a ghost and used to kidnap, terrorize, and ultimately kill a young woman? How do you tell a father that his beloved daughter, his princess, died because a ghost wished to use her as a replacement for revenge against a woman dead sixty years past?
Simple: you didn’t.
So Peter kept his silence. He reminded himself it was for a good cause. If the truth came out, Dean Winchester would be hunted down and locked away. Peter most likely would share a padded cell next to him. No, no one could know the truth beyond those who already did. But that didn’t mean he had to like it.
Absently, he fiddled with the cast on his left arm. Stupid itchy thing.
Peter needed a resolution to what transpired in January. He needed closure. What exactly that closure was he didn’t know, but he needed it.
His best chance of finding it, he deduced, was in Blue Earth, Minnesota. He could fly out he supposed. Pastor Jim Murphy, the owner of the phone number left on Dean’s hospital bed back in Gettysburg, told Peter that he was welcome any time and to feel free to ask questions. He had already asked about the Winchesters and learned that John Winchester had come stumbling back to Blue Earth, still concussed and confused, looking for his sons a few days after his escape from Gettysburg Hospital. It was a small relief to know the man had not intentionally abandoned his oldest son. On the other hand, Dean was emancipated and technically viewed as an adult by the government therefore making John’s presence moot.
Peter shook his head, pouring a cup of the fresh coffee brew. He padded to the window, peering out at the night lights of Manhattan. The city that never slept. Much like him these days.
Rationally, he knew the dreams would fade. But how long would Stevenson’s twisted face haunt his subconscious? How long would Jennifer’s scream as the ghost ripped into her ring in his ears? How long would he taste the gut-wrenching fear at seeing Dean’s pale, bloodied face?
Peter turned away from the city; away from the questions he had no answers to, away from his own hollow eyes.
In the morning he would leave for Blue Earth. He may not be able to stop the dreams, but maybe he could find some sort of peace with what happened.
He had to.
~*~
Part 2: Dean - March 1995
Dean pounded the final nail in with relief. Done! With a tired, but content sigh, he climbed down the ladder. The last storm had ripped several shingles off the church roof. With another storm due in at the end of the week, Pastor Jim had reluctantly asked him to patch it up until it could be completely repaired later. Dean was only too happy to oblige. Anything to get out of the house
His feet on solid ground, he swiped the back of his hand across his brow. Maybe he could convince Pastor Jim to take Sammy into town to help with the shopping when he got back, leaving Dean a quiet afternoon to himself. Yeah, a nice quiet afternoon to read or watch whatever he wanted without any hovering…
“Nice work. But shouldn’t you be wearing a jacket?”
He whipped around, the hammer sliding down so he gripped the edge of the handle, his muscles tensed and ready.
“Burke?” he exclaimed, shocked. “What are you doing here?”
Detective Peter Burke, the man who helped him destroy the spirit and werewolf in Gettysburg, shrugged and stepped away from his truck. He was still wearing a cast on his elbow, but the sling was gone. Oddly, the man was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt instead of a suit like Dean would have expected.
“My truck needs a tune up, and I was told I could find a good mechanic here.”
Dean’s eyebrow shot up. “Really? Long way to drive just for a tune up, dude.”
“Yeah, well, this crazy kid drove my truck out into a blizzard and parked it out there a while back. It hasn’t run right since.”
The sixteen-year-old smirked. “That crazy kid saved your butt, as I recall.”
Peter Burke nodded. “Yeah, yeah he did. Got pretty banged up too.”
Dean shrugged one shoulder, sliding the hammer into his tool belt. He started gathering the rest of his tools and the extra scraps of woods and roofing. “He’s had worse. What about you? Trying out the raccoon look, I see.”
“Yeah, thought it might make me more appealing to the ladies.”
“How’s that working for you?”
“Not so good. They just look at me and run the other way.”
“Can’t say I blame them.”
“Hey!”
Dean snickered, and Peter’s mock glare melted into a genuine smile. The older man held out his hand. Dean hesitated a moment before accepting the handshake. “It’s good to see you again, Dean.”
Dean met the detective’s gaze, surprised at his sincerity. Even more surprising was his own voice answering, “You too.”
He meant it too, he realized. But Peter was a lawman for crying out loud, someone who was more likely to hinder a hunter than any other person because hunters tended to be breaking the law when on the job. That wasn’t even counting the fact that most people who had an encounter with the supernatural were prone to running the other way and pretending it never happened. He never expected to see the detective again, much less that he would come looking for him!
“So, what are you really doing out here, Professor?” The title just slipped out of his mouth before he could catch it. He hid a wince and started gathering the extra nails and wood pieces in a box. Pastor Jim always told him to save the extra supplies in case of emergency repairs.
“Oh, not much. I’m on sabbatical.”
Dean paused, throwing the older man a look over his shoulder. “Seriously? I wasn’t aware detectives went on sabbaticals. Thought they had vacations or were put on leave or some crap.”
“You called me professor,” Peter replied, bemused.
“Touché. So what are you doing here then, Detective Burke? Don’t you have a desk job to be managing back in New York?” Dean hefted up the box, mindful of his ribs. He really didn’t need to give Sam an excuse to mother-hen him anymore.
“Don’t you have homework that needs to be done?” Peter volleyed back. Dean rolled his eyes and started walking towards the church shed, the detective easily falling in step with him.
“Actually, I-I have some questions about...everything.”
“And you couldn’t just call Pastor Jim and ask?”
“No.”
Dean sighed and mentally waved goodbye to his plans for a relaxing afternoon.
“Okay. Ask then.” He opened the shed and set the box inside on the last empty spot on the metal shelf. Mission accomplished, Dean dusted off his hands and closed the shed door. When Peter didn’t answer right away, Dean prompted. “Well?”
“Your ribs seem to be healing well.”
Okay, that was from left field. “Yep. I’m good to go. What about you? When does that come off?” He pointed to Peter’s arm cast.
“Two weeks. Not soon enough, if you ask me.”
“Itches like crazy, don’t it?”
“You have no idea.”
Oh, trust me, I know very well. Dean hummed neutrally, leading the way back to the front of the church. For someone intent on asking him questions, the detective was sure pussy footing around. He supposed he could understand why. Peter received the shock of his life not too long ago. It took time to process. All the better for Dean. If Peter wasn’t going to ask, then Dean had some time to enjoy his afternoon before they got down to the nitty gritty.
“So, your truck needs a tune up?”
~*~
Part 3: Peter - March 1995
Peter sat quietly at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of coffee, watching with amusement as Dean tried to put his little brother to bed.
“Just one more chapter! Pleeeeease Dean! It’s Lord of the Rings!”
“Dude, you have school tomorrow. Algebra test second period?”
The boy pouted, looking five instead of eleven as he reluctantly nodded.
“You study for it?”
“Of course,” Sam snapped, indignant.
“Good. So what’s the other thing you’re always telling me you’re supposed to do before taking a test?”
No answer. The book was stubbornly held up in front of the boy’s face.
“Sam, answer me.”
…
“Sam!”
The boy winced but didn’t look up.
“Sam, I won’t ask again.”
Sam snapped to attention immediately, eyes wide, swallowing hard. Even Peter couldn’t suppress a shiver at the unspoken threat in the older Winchester’s soft voice.
“Get a good night’s sleep.”
“Yep! So where should you be right now?”
“Bed,” was the mumbled reply.
“Uh huh. So you can either walk, or I can carry you. Your choice, kiddo.”
“No! I’m going!” Sam sprang up from the couch, and Peter hid a smile in his coffee cup. Dean stopped his retreat with a raised hand. “Give it.”
“Aw, Dean!”
“Give me the book, Sam.”
“But-!”
“No buts. I know you, Geekboy. Hand it over and get upstairs to bed. Now,” Dean replied firmly.
With a scowl, Sam slapped the book in his brother’s waiting hand. From Peter’s vantage point, he could just see Dean’s mockingly sweet smile as he ruffled the younger boy’s hair. Sam batted away his brother’s hand with a scowl and stomped off upstairs. A minute later a door slammed shut, and Dean exhaled, his shoulders drooping. He looked much younger and worn down, not so big and intimidating. Really, Dean should have been in bed too. But he wouldn’t sleep for a while yet, Peter knew.
The moment ended as the youth straightened. He joined Peter in the kitchen, muttering under his breath, “Nerd.”
Peter snorted, but otherwise didn’t respond.
Strange, he had guessed back at Devil’s Den, but actually seeing it was different. There was a tight knot in his sternum, a fist of amazement and sadness. And maybe a little anger. He pushed it down. This was hardly the time to comment on John Winchester’s parenting-or lack thereof, especially to his oldest child. If he said something now, he’d no doubt send Dean and his little brother running for the hills. That was the absolute last thing he wanted to do.
The past few days had been educational to say the least, and not just about the supernatural. It was ironic, considering he originally started out on this little road trip in hopes of getting closure. Somehow he’d gotten some closure and simultaneously found a giant landfill of different problems and lessons that left him feeling overwhelmed.
Lesson number one: hunters were a naturally distrustful bunch, and the Winchester clan even more so.
Peter had already had a taste of that from working with Dean in Gettysburg. He’d had to trust Dean first before it was returned. Thank God that trust had not been misplaced. Dean had saved the lives of two civilians, not counting Peter, because of it. He figured that trust was also probably the only reason Dean hadn’t knocked him out, picked up his brother, packed their bags, and disappeared when Peter arrived the other day.
The little interrogation with Pastor Jim Murphy had made it crystal clear that Dean’s tentative trust was just that: tentative. He had anticipated something like that when he was driving in. Dean was naturally wary of the authorities and his sudden appearance had put the teenager on guard. Not that he could blame the boy. What he had not expected was the intensity of the interrogation. Peter couldn’t recall having ever experienced such a rigorous, double-speak cross-examination in his whole career as a detective. And throughout the interview, the pastor had been genial, relaxed, and curious.
They may not have the government stamp of approval, but they certainly knew what they were doing. Peter respected that.
Lesson number two: the things out there in the dark were numerous and incredibly evil.
He had been totally, completely ignorant, naïve, and unprepared for the harsh realities of the supernatural world. Gettysburg? Barely the tip of the iceberg. Pastor Jim and Dean had shown him a few old case files alongside accounts from previous hunts, and the gore and blood made him sick. Poltergeists, werewolves, death omens, spirits, zombies, water wraiths, demons, and the list went on and on. His nightmares were only increasing the more he learned.
How Dean could handle it in such a calm and matter of fact manner was beyond Peter. Was Dean really so accustomed to death and carnage? It wasn’t that the boy was unaffected, he definitely was, but rather that there was a certain resignation as he handed Peter the file. Dean was only sixteen! He shouldn’t be so familiar with death, with evil.
“So what do you think, Professor?” Dean cut through his musings as he tapped the newspaper in front of Peter. “Is there a hunt or not?”
Peter didn’t know why the teen kept calling him by that moniker. It was incredibly annoying. But it beat being called Pete or Petey.
He glanced at the paper, reading it again quickly. While Dean was getting Sam to bed, he was supposed to be reading the obituaries and reports to see if there was anything that could be a hunt.
“Here,” Peter pointed to an article. “A couple of joggers discovered a mutilated body in Lake Shore, Minnesota, last week. It’s being ruled an animal attack but based on the vernacular and police response they don’t know for sure. They don’t offer a whole lot of details, but I think it’s worth looking into.”
“Very good, grasshopper.” Peter shot the boy an annoyed look that Dean easily ignored. “Dad’s already checking it out.”
Peter leaned back, his hand coming to rest on his thigh as he regarded Dean. “This was a test.”
“Have to make sure you’re paying attention,” was the unrepentant reply.
Peter wasn’t exactly surprised. While Pastor Jim had been giving him books to read and lecturing him on the supernatural, Dean had been teaching him the more practical stuff, like the tools of the trade and how to identify a possible case. It was basically the same type of detective work he’d been doing, only with a different vocabulary and a slightly different set of rules. Very different rules.
It all made Peter extremely uncomfortable. Operating outside the law on a daily basis didn’t sit right. Laws were there to preserve order, to promote justice. Hunting was pure chaos. From what Peter understood, there was no real rhyme or reason to the monsters out there. They killed with no regard, killed out of anger and pain and hunger and vengeance. Then there were those like Nancy Jenkins who had no control of the monster, who killed without knowing, who otherwise was innocent. Those were the worst cases. These entities could not be stopped unless they achieved their goal or someone who knew how to stop it came along. But there were no guarantees that a hunter would discover a case in time to prevent several deaths. It was purely dependent on the hunters hearing about the case somehow and going to investigate.
“So, Professor, ready to join the ranks of Hunterdom?”
“That’s not a word.”
“Sure it is,” Dean fired back. “Just because you’ve never heard of it doesn’t mean it’s not a word.”
Oh the irony of that! Peter rocked back, an exasperated smile crossing his lips before it faded as the seriousness of the question caught up with him.
“Dean-I don’t think…” Peter hesitated.
“Hey, I get it, man. It’s a rough gig. Not everyone can stomach it.”
Dean’s words held no condemnation, just understanding, for which Peter was grateful. He didn’t relish having to fumble his way through explaining how he was certain he wouldn’t be able to handle the hunting life. The death and the blood were too much. As it was, he doubted he’d forget everything he’d seen ever. But now that he knew what was out there, Peter couldn’t in good conscience just turn his back and walk away.
“I’ll keep an eye out for anything that looks like it might be your kind of case. If I hear of anything, I’ll pass the word.”
Green-gold eyes flicked up.
Peter tilted his head. “It’s the least I can do.”
Dean nodded. “Thanks.”
The kitchen door banged open then, revealing a dirty, exhausted John Winchester lugging a heavy military duffel. His gaze immediately narrowed when he spotted Peter.
“Dean, who is this?”
“Peter Burke,” Dean replied immediately. “Met him in Gettysburg on the case, remember? He wants to learn about hunting.”
Not exactly a lie, but it certainly stretched the truth. Peter didn’t dispute the boy, however. John Winchester didn’t look like the kind of man who would listen to further explanations. “Nice to meet you,” Peter said, extending his hand.
John’s hand was calloused and his grip extremely strong.
“Yeah.” John still looked suspicious.
“I tested him, Dad. Pastor Jim did too. He passed.”
What? Peter swiveled a confused look at the boy. Tested him? For what? Oh, right. Silver, iron, holy water, and salt lines. Everything was spinning in his mind still, and who knew how long it would take to fully process. He quickly looked back at John, just in time to see his curt nod. “Where’s your brother?”
“Bed.”
John grunted. “Good.” He handed Dean the bag. “Go.”
“Yes sir.”
Peter watched Dean leave with mild trepidation. It was the first time he had seen father and son interact since he first saw them at that restaurant back in Gettysburg. The interaction smacked of a drill sergeant and his second in command and nothing at all like family. He hid a frown by freshening his coffee mug.
“Want some,” he asked, waving the pot. “You look like you could use it.”
John dipped his head. Okay, then. Peter grabbed a mug from the dish drainer and filled it. The other man accepted it with gruff thanks before sitting at the other end of the table. It was the first time Peter had seen the Winchester patriarch since he identified him in the Gettysburg Hospital. He studied the man, taking in the dirty clothes, the thick stench of smoke and liquor, and a week worth of scruff on his face. Winchester looked like an exhausted, battle-hardened soldier much like Peter’s uncle had after he came back from ‘Nam.
“What does a New York detective want with my son?”
Peter snapped his attention to the former marine at the other side of the table. The head of the Winchester clan was suspicious, wary, and more likely to react violently then his eldest child. Well, he knew where Dean got it from now.
“Your son saved my life. I wanted to thank him.” All quite true. John Winchester stared at him, obviously waiting for more. “He left Pastor Jim’s number in case I had any questions. I did. I talked with Jim, asked if I could come out and learn about,” Peter waved his hand, “everything. He gave me the okay.”
John’s scrutiny didn’t alleviate. He sipped his coffee, gaze fixed. Peter had to actually tell himself not to squirm or shift. Instead, he focused on his own coffee and the paper in front of him.
Silence fell between them, stifling and thick. Peter refused to break it. The ball was in Winchester’s court.
“Dean’s been teaching you how to hunt?”
Peter carefully checked the urge to slump with relief. “The basics mostly; what to look for in and how to identify it, what kills it.”
“You’re not hunter material.”
That was blunt and disturbingly accurate for not even knowing him for more than ten minutes. “No, I’m not. But I needed to know. Now I do. And I’ll help where I can.” He met John’s gaze squarely. “Not every hunter has to actually hunt.”
It was risky making such a statement. His only support was Pastor Jim telling him that the hunting network was much bigger than Dean knew. Not everyone who knew about things that went bump in the night actively hunted. But Dean didn’t know about those people. John Winchester deliberately kept his children far from the hunting community, except a select few. If Peter wished to keep in touch with the teenager, he needed John Winchester to trust him to some degree.
Winchester stared back. “I’ll hold you to that, Detective Burke.”
The grizzled hunter finished his coffee and left, trudging up the stairs. Peter’s arms tingled, and he suddenly wondered what he had just signed up for. When he said it to Dean, it was like a promise between friends; a mutual understanding. Saying it to John Winchester just now felt like he was just sworn into the police force again.
Once a detective, always a detective, as the saying went. He had a distinct feeling that same saying applied here: once a hunter, always a hunter.
Next
Title: Between Shadow and Light
Author: Roselani24
Genre: crossover, friendship, drama, angst
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Not mine, just borrowing for a little while.
Spoilers: Anything from White Collar up until 4.10 and Supernatural Seasons 1-7 is fair game.
Warnings: Some violence, gore, and at one point animal abuse. That section will have a specific warning beforehand for readers.
Summary: Sequel to Secrets in Shadow. Haunted by the case in Gettysburg, Detective Peter Burke seeks out one Dean Winchester in hope of finding answers. Peter finds Dean and a whole lot more than he expected. What started out as mutual respect soon evolves into a strong friendship. Over the years, that friendship has a ripple effect on their families, friends, and even opponents. Includes appearances from Sam Winchester, Elizabeth Burke, Neal Caffrey, and a special guest appearance by John Winchester. Story told in 25 parts.
Author Notes: First off, a humongous thank you to my beta and artist, Twisted_Slinky who’s editing, encouragement, and gorgeous art made the completion of this story possible. Be sure to check out her art work here. Thank you so much, Slinky!!!! Laughtersmelody deserves a special shout out too because if it weren’t for her word prompts at christianfanfic, this story would have never even made it off the ground. Thanks girl!
Written for the spn_gen_bigbang moderated by the lovely reapertownusa. Thanks for running the community so smoothly! :)
Story Notes: “Between Shadow and Light” is the direct sequel to “Secrets in Shadow” and picks up two months after the first story ended. This story covers the years of 1995 to 2010, after the Apocalypse is over. In my version, however, the Apocalypse ends differently than according to canon. It doesn’t matter too much for this particular story because it is not addressed until the final chapter, but I wanted to make sure readers are aware. As far as canon goes, everything up to 5.14, bar 5.06 and 5.13 occurs in the SPN verse before it goes AU.
ETA: This story started out as a series of connected drabbles that morphed into something much bigger than originally planned. That is why the story is broken down in different parts and then put together in a few compact posts. Each part is a different character segment at a certain time and place. Some are long, some are short depending on what the drabble was originally about. Hope that helps clear things up a bit.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Part 1: Peter - March 1995
Peter woke in a cold sweat.
He swallowed, trying to moisten his mouth and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 2:34 AM. No chance of going back to sleep then.
Grunting, Peter sat up and put his bare feet on the carpet. It was silly, but the carpet’s sponge texture grounded him. He wasn’t in that cave anymore. He wasn’t watching an innocent girl die.
With a sigh, Peter dressed and headed down to the hallway to the kitchen.
Once the coffee machine was happily burping, he sat down at the kitchen table. Slowly, he started flipping through the manual on plumbing. His sink’s pipes needed to be replaced or patched soon or his kitchen would turn into a lake. But his mind, as it was prone to after a nightmare, started wandering.
Things had been difficult since the demise of the Lost Creek Cutter’s deadly ghost. Between managing his injuries and the fall out of what happened, Peter was stretched thin.
He needed to get out of the city.
Peter was pretty sure taking a trip across several states was not exactly what the good Dr. Cassidy had in mind when he instructed Peter to take it easy. But the detective couldn’t bring himself to care that much. After the last four weeks of evaluation and seeing the department psychologist twice a week, he needed to get away. Who knew lying could be so utterly exhausting! His parents had raised him to value integrity, instilled honesty as the best policy since he was a small child. Unfortunately, in this instance, telling the grieving parents of Jennifer Stewart and Eric O’Brien what really happened would have only made things worse. How do you tell a mother that her child was possessed by a ghost and used to kidnap, terrorize, and ultimately kill a young woman? How do you tell a father that his beloved daughter, his princess, died because a ghost wished to use her as a replacement for revenge against a woman dead sixty years past?
Simple: you didn’t.
So Peter kept his silence. He reminded himself it was for a good cause. If the truth came out, Dean Winchester would be hunted down and locked away. Peter most likely would share a padded cell next to him. No, no one could know the truth beyond those who already did. But that didn’t mean he had to like it.
Absently, he fiddled with the cast on his left arm. Stupid itchy thing.
Peter needed a resolution to what transpired in January. He needed closure. What exactly that closure was he didn’t know, but he needed it.
His best chance of finding it, he deduced, was in Blue Earth, Minnesota. He could fly out he supposed. Pastor Jim Murphy, the owner of the phone number left on Dean’s hospital bed back in Gettysburg, told Peter that he was welcome any time and to feel free to ask questions. He had already asked about the Winchesters and learned that John Winchester had come stumbling back to Blue Earth, still concussed and confused, looking for his sons a few days after his escape from Gettysburg Hospital. It was a small relief to know the man had not intentionally abandoned his oldest son. On the other hand, Dean was emancipated and technically viewed as an adult by the government therefore making John’s presence moot.
Peter shook his head, pouring a cup of the fresh coffee brew. He padded to the window, peering out at the night lights of Manhattan. The city that never slept. Much like him these days.
Rationally, he knew the dreams would fade. But how long would Stevenson’s twisted face haunt his subconscious? How long would Jennifer’s scream as the ghost ripped into her ring in his ears? How long would he taste the gut-wrenching fear at seeing Dean’s pale, bloodied face?
Peter turned away from the city; away from the questions he had no answers to, away from his own hollow eyes.
In the morning he would leave for Blue Earth. He may not be able to stop the dreams, but maybe he could find some sort of peace with what happened.
He had to.
~*~
Part 2: Dean - March 1995
Dean pounded the final nail in with relief. Done! With a tired, but content sigh, he climbed down the ladder. The last storm had ripped several shingles off the church roof. With another storm due in at the end of the week, Pastor Jim had reluctantly asked him to patch it up until it could be completely repaired later. Dean was only too happy to oblige. Anything to get out of the house
His feet on solid ground, he swiped the back of his hand across his brow. Maybe he could convince Pastor Jim to take Sammy into town to help with the shopping when he got back, leaving Dean a quiet afternoon to himself. Yeah, a nice quiet afternoon to read or watch whatever he wanted without any hovering…
“Nice work. But shouldn’t you be wearing a jacket?”
He whipped around, the hammer sliding down so he gripped the edge of the handle, his muscles tensed and ready.
“Burke?” he exclaimed, shocked. “What are you doing here?”
Detective Peter Burke, the man who helped him destroy the spirit and werewolf in Gettysburg, shrugged and stepped away from his truck. He was still wearing a cast on his elbow, but the sling was gone. Oddly, the man was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt instead of a suit like Dean would have expected.
“My truck needs a tune up, and I was told I could find a good mechanic here.”
Dean’s eyebrow shot up. “Really? Long way to drive just for a tune up, dude.”
“Yeah, well, this crazy kid drove my truck out into a blizzard and parked it out there a while back. It hasn’t run right since.”
The sixteen-year-old smirked. “That crazy kid saved your butt, as I recall.”
Peter Burke nodded. “Yeah, yeah he did. Got pretty banged up too.”
Dean shrugged one shoulder, sliding the hammer into his tool belt. He started gathering the rest of his tools and the extra scraps of woods and roofing. “He’s had worse. What about you? Trying out the raccoon look, I see.”
“Yeah, thought it might make me more appealing to the ladies.”
“How’s that working for you?”
“Not so good. They just look at me and run the other way.”
“Can’t say I blame them.”
“Hey!”
Dean snickered, and Peter’s mock glare melted into a genuine smile. The older man held out his hand. Dean hesitated a moment before accepting the handshake. “It’s good to see you again, Dean.”
Dean met the detective’s gaze, surprised at his sincerity. Even more surprising was his own voice answering, “You too.”
He meant it too, he realized. But Peter was a lawman for crying out loud, someone who was more likely to hinder a hunter than any other person because hunters tended to be breaking the law when on the job. That wasn’t even counting the fact that most people who had an encounter with the supernatural were prone to running the other way and pretending it never happened. He never expected to see the detective again, much less that he would come looking for him!
“So, what are you really doing out here, Professor?” The title just slipped out of his mouth before he could catch it. He hid a wince and started gathering the extra nails and wood pieces in a box. Pastor Jim always told him to save the extra supplies in case of emergency repairs.
“Oh, not much. I’m on sabbatical.”
Dean paused, throwing the older man a look over his shoulder. “Seriously? I wasn’t aware detectives went on sabbaticals. Thought they had vacations or were put on leave or some crap.”
“You called me professor,” Peter replied, bemused.
“Touché. So what are you doing here then, Detective Burke? Don’t you have a desk job to be managing back in New York?” Dean hefted up the box, mindful of his ribs. He really didn’t need to give Sam an excuse to mother-hen him anymore.
“Don’t you have homework that needs to be done?” Peter volleyed back. Dean rolled his eyes and started walking towards the church shed, the detective easily falling in step with him.
“Actually, I-I have some questions about...everything.”
“And you couldn’t just call Pastor Jim and ask?”
“No.”
Dean sighed and mentally waved goodbye to his plans for a relaxing afternoon.
“Okay. Ask then.” He opened the shed and set the box inside on the last empty spot on the metal shelf. Mission accomplished, Dean dusted off his hands and closed the shed door. When Peter didn’t answer right away, Dean prompted. “Well?”
“Your ribs seem to be healing well.”
Okay, that was from left field. “Yep. I’m good to go. What about you? When does that come off?” He pointed to Peter’s arm cast.
“Two weeks. Not soon enough, if you ask me.”
“Itches like crazy, don’t it?”
“You have no idea.”
Oh, trust me, I know very well. Dean hummed neutrally, leading the way back to the front of the church. For someone intent on asking him questions, the detective was sure pussy footing around. He supposed he could understand why. Peter received the shock of his life not too long ago. It took time to process. All the better for Dean. If Peter wasn’t going to ask, then Dean had some time to enjoy his afternoon before they got down to the nitty gritty.
“So, your truck needs a tune up?”
~*~
Part 3: Peter - March 1995
Peter sat quietly at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of coffee, watching with amusement as Dean tried to put his little brother to bed.
“Just one more chapter! Pleeeeease Dean! It’s Lord of the Rings!”
“Dude, you have school tomorrow. Algebra test second period?”
The boy pouted, looking five instead of eleven as he reluctantly nodded.
“You study for it?”
“Of course,” Sam snapped, indignant.
“Good. So what’s the other thing you’re always telling me you’re supposed to do before taking a test?”
No answer. The book was stubbornly held up in front of the boy’s face.
“Sam, answer me.”
…
“Sam!”
The boy winced but didn’t look up.
“Sam, I won’t ask again.”
Sam snapped to attention immediately, eyes wide, swallowing hard. Even Peter couldn’t suppress a shiver at the unspoken threat in the older Winchester’s soft voice.
“Get a good night’s sleep.”
“Yep! So where should you be right now?”
“Bed,” was the mumbled reply.
“Uh huh. So you can either walk, or I can carry you. Your choice, kiddo.”
“No! I’m going!” Sam sprang up from the couch, and Peter hid a smile in his coffee cup. Dean stopped his retreat with a raised hand. “Give it.”
“Aw, Dean!”
“Give me the book, Sam.”
“But-!”
“No buts. I know you, Geekboy. Hand it over and get upstairs to bed. Now,” Dean replied firmly.
With a scowl, Sam slapped the book in his brother’s waiting hand. From Peter’s vantage point, he could just see Dean’s mockingly sweet smile as he ruffled the younger boy’s hair. Sam batted away his brother’s hand with a scowl and stomped off upstairs. A minute later a door slammed shut, and Dean exhaled, his shoulders drooping. He looked much younger and worn down, not so big and intimidating. Really, Dean should have been in bed too. But he wouldn’t sleep for a while yet, Peter knew.
The moment ended as the youth straightened. He joined Peter in the kitchen, muttering under his breath, “Nerd.”
Peter snorted, but otherwise didn’t respond.
Strange, he had guessed back at Devil’s Den, but actually seeing it was different. There was a tight knot in his sternum, a fist of amazement and sadness. And maybe a little anger. He pushed it down. This was hardly the time to comment on John Winchester’s parenting-or lack thereof, especially to his oldest child. If he said something now, he’d no doubt send Dean and his little brother running for the hills. That was the absolute last thing he wanted to do.
The past few days had been educational to say the least, and not just about the supernatural. It was ironic, considering he originally started out on this little road trip in hopes of getting closure. Somehow he’d gotten some closure and simultaneously found a giant landfill of different problems and lessons that left him feeling overwhelmed.
Lesson number one: hunters were a naturally distrustful bunch, and the Winchester clan even more so.
Peter had already had a taste of that from working with Dean in Gettysburg. He’d had to trust Dean first before it was returned. Thank God that trust had not been misplaced. Dean had saved the lives of two civilians, not counting Peter, because of it. He figured that trust was also probably the only reason Dean hadn’t knocked him out, picked up his brother, packed their bags, and disappeared when Peter arrived the other day.
The little interrogation with Pastor Jim Murphy had made it crystal clear that Dean’s tentative trust was just that: tentative. He had anticipated something like that when he was driving in. Dean was naturally wary of the authorities and his sudden appearance had put the teenager on guard. Not that he could blame the boy. What he had not expected was the intensity of the interrogation. Peter couldn’t recall having ever experienced such a rigorous, double-speak cross-examination in his whole career as a detective. And throughout the interview, the pastor had been genial, relaxed, and curious.
They may not have the government stamp of approval, but they certainly knew what they were doing. Peter respected that.
Lesson number two: the things out there in the dark were numerous and incredibly evil.
He had been totally, completely ignorant, naïve, and unprepared for the harsh realities of the supernatural world. Gettysburg? Barely the tip of the iceberg. Pastor Jim and Dean had shown him a few old case files alongside accounts from previous hunts, and the gore and blood made him sick. Poltergeists, werewolves, death omens, spirits, zombies, water wraiths, demons, and the list went on and on. His nightmares were only increasing the more he learned.
How Dean could handle it in such a calm and matter of fact manner was beyond Peter. Was Dean really so accustomed to death and carnage? It wasn’t that the boy was unaffected, he definitely was, but rather that there was a certain resignation as he handed Peter the file. Dean was only sixteen! He shouldn’t be so familiar with death, with evil.
“So what do you think, Professor?” Dean cut through his musings as he tapped the newspaper in front of Peter. “Is there a hunt or not?”
Peter didn’t know why the teen kept calling him by that moniker. It was incredibly annoying. But it beat being called Pete or Petey.
He glanced at the paper, reading it again quickly. While Dean was getting Sam to bed, he was supposed to be reading the obituaries and reports to see if there was anything that could be a hunt.
“Here,” Peter pointed to an article. “A couple of joggers discovered a mutilated body in Lake Shore, Minnesota, last week. It’s being ruled an animal attack but based on the vernacular and police response they don’t know for sure. They don’t offer a whole lot of details, but I think it’s worth looking into.”
“Very good, grasshopper.” Peter shot the boy an annoyed look that Dean easily ignored. “Dad’s already checking it out.”
Peter leaned back, his hand coming to rest on his thigh as he regarded Dean. “This was a test.”
“Have to make sure you’re paying attention,” was the unrepentant reply.
Peter wasn’t exactly surprised. While Pastor Jim had been giving him books to read and lecturing him on the supernatural, Dean had been teaching him the more practical stuff, like the tools of the trade and how to identify a possible case. It was basically the same type of detective work he’d been doing, only with a different vocabulary and a slightly different set of rules. Very different rules.
It all made Peter extremely uncomfortable. Operating outside the law on a daily basis didn’t sit right. Laws were there to preserve order, to promote justice. Hunting was pure chaos. From what Peter understood, there was no real rhyme or reason to the monsters out there. They killed with no regard, killed out of anger and pain and hunger and vengeance. Then there were those like Nancy Jenkins who had no control of the monster, who killed without knowing, who otherwise was innocent. Those were the worst cases. These entities could not be stopped unless they achieved their goal or someone who knew how to stop it came along. But there were no guarantees that a hunter would discover a case in time to prevent several deaths. It was purely dependent on the hunters hearing about the case somehow and going to investigate.
“So, Professor, ready to join the ranks of Hunterdom?”
“That’s not a word.”
“Sure it is,” Dean fired back. “Just because you’ve never heard of it doesn’t mean it’s not a word.”
Oh the irony of that! Peter rocked back, an exasperated smile crossing his lips before it faded as the seriousness of the question caught up with him.
“Dean-I don’t think…” Peter hesitated.
“Hey, I get it, man. It’s a rough gig. Not everyone can stomach it.”
Dean’s words held no condemnation, just understanding, for which Peter was grateful. He didn’t relish having to fumble his way through explaining how he was certain he wouldn’t be able to handle the hunting life. The death and the blood were too much. As it was, he doubted he’d forget everything he’d seen ever. But now that he knew what was out there, Peter couldn’t in good conscience just turn his back and walk away.
“I’ll keep an eye out for anything that looks like it might be your kind of case. If I hear of anything, I’ll pass the word.”
Green-gold eyes flicked up.
Peter tilted his head. “It’s the least I can do.”
Dean nodded. “Thanks.”
The kitchen door banged open then, revealing a dirty, exhausted John Winchester lugging a heavy military duffel. His gaze immediately narrowed when he spotted Peter.
“Dean, who is this?”
“Peter Burke,” Dean replied immediately. “Met him in Gettysburg on the case, remember? He wants to learn about hunting.”
Not exactly a lie, but it certainly stretched the truth. Peter didn’t dispute the boy, however. John Winchester didn’t look like the kind of man who would listen to further explanations. “Nice to meet you,” Peter said, extending his hand.
John’s hand was calloused and his grip extremely strong.
“Yeah.” John still looked suspicious.
“I tested him, Dad. Pastor Jim did too. He passed.”
What? Peter swiveled a confused look at the boy. Tested him? For what? Oh, right. Silver, iron, holy water, and salt lines. Everything was spinning in his mind still, and who knew how long it would take to fully process. He quickly looked back at John, just in time to see his curt nod. “Where’s your brother?”
“Bed.”
John grunted. “Good.” He handed Dean the bag. “Go.”
“Yes sir.”
Peter watched Dean leave with mild trepidation. It was the first time he had seen father and son interact since he first saw them at that restaurant back in Gettysburg. The interaction smacked of a drill sergeant and his second in command and nothing at all like family. He hid a frown by freshening his coffee mug.
“Want some,” he asked, waving the pot. “You look like you could use it.”
John dipped his head. Okay, then. Peter grabbed a mug from the dish drainer and filled it. The other man accepted it with gruff thanks before sitting at the other end of the table. It was the first time Peter had seen the Winchester patriarch since he identified him in the Gettysburg Hospital. He studied the man, taking in the dirty clothes, the thick stench of smoke and liquor, and a week worth of scruff on his face. Winchester looked like an exhausted, battle-hardened soldier much like Peter’s uncle had after he came back from ‘Nam.
“What does a New York detective want with my son?”
Peter snapped his attention to the former marine at the other side of the table. The head of the Winchester clan was suspicious, wary, and more likely to react violently then his eldest child. Well, he knew where Dean got it from now.
“Your son saved my life. I wanted to thank him.” All quite true. John Winchester stared at him, obviously waiting for more. “He left Pastor Jim’s number in case I had any questions. I did. I talked with Jim, asked if I could come out and learn about,” Peter waved his hand, “everything. He gave me the okay.”
John’s scrutiny didn’t alleviate. He sipped his coffee, gaze fixed. Peter had to actually tell himself not to squirm or shift. Instead, he focused on his own coffee and the paper in front of him.
Silence fell between them, stifling and thick. Peter refused to break it. The ball was in Winchester’s court.
“Dean’s been teaching you how to hunt?”
Peter carefully checked the urge to slump with relief. “The basics mostly; what to look for in and how to identify it, what kills it.”
“You’re not hunter material.”
That was blunt and disturbingly accurate for not even knowing him for more than ten minutes. “No, I’m not. But I needed to know. Now I do. And I’ll help where I can.” He met John’s gaze squarely. “Not every hunter has to actually hunt.”
It was risky making such a statement. His only support was Pastor Jim telling him that the hunting network was much bigger than Dean knew. Not everyone who knew about things that went bump in the night actively hunted. But Dean didn’t know about those people. John Winchester deliberately kept his children far from the hunting community, except a select few. If Peter wished to keep in touch with the teenager, he needed John Winchester to trust him to some degree.
Winchester stared back. “I’ll hold you to that, Detective Burke.”
The grizzled hunter finished his coffee and left, trudging up the stairs. Peter’s arms tingled, and he suddenly wondered what he had just signed up for. When he said it to Dean, it was like a promise between friends; a mutual understanding. Saying it to John Winchester just now felt like he was just sworn into the police force again.
Once a detective, always a detective, as the saying went. He had a distinct feeling that same saying applied here: once a hunter, always a hunter.
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