Between Shadow and Light: Part 4-6
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. Its awesome! 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 4: Dean - August 1996
He gulped in the fresh air greedily as he stepped out of the bar. A pleased grin on his lips, Dean climbed into the Impala.
It had been a good night. The money he hustled tonight would go a long way if he planned carefully. The bills would be covered with enough left over for food for the next couple weeks.
More importantly, he had earned just enough extra to buy Sammy a brand new pair of shoes. Poor kid desperately needed a new pair. The soles of his current shoes were worn almost clean through and literally coming apart at the seams. He was pretty sure he caught a glimpse of his baby brother’s toes this morning. Dad would probably want him to buy boots, but Sam was still new to the hunting gig. Tennis shoes would suffice. Besides, with the kid starting to grow like a weed, Sam would probably outgrow the boots in no time.
He imagined Peter would have a few things to say if he knew Dean was hustling for money and not just working. The professor was a stickler for the law, especially with him since he was an emancipated minor. It was laughable. Dean had been hustling for extra cash almost as long as he had been handling a gun! But then, Peter was new to hunting and all of the caveats that came with the job, which included no pay and no thanks. The bills had to be paid somehow.
Peter Burke. Now there was a man ill-suited for the hunting life. It had not taken long for Dean to conclude either. Peter was a rare kind of man, an honest guy who genuinely believed in the law and justice and at the same time believed in helping people. It was a bizarre mix in a cop. No, make that an FBI agent in training. Last Dean heard, the former detective was three weeks into the twenty-one week intensive training at Quantico. He shook his head.
How in the world did he personally know someone joining the FBI anyway? Wasn’t there some sort of hunter taboo or rule for knowing the idiots who interfered in a hunter’s job and usually made it twice as hard?
Dean coasted the Impala into the motel parking lot the Winchester clan currently called home. It was shabby, rundown, and the desk clerk was a sleaze, but it was cheap enough for them to afford. From his standpoint, it was actually pretty decent compared to some of the other crappy places they had stayed over the years.
Shutting off the engine, Dean climbed out. He would buy the shoes after he dropped Sam off at school in the morning, he decided. Leave them as a surprise on Sammy’s bed for when he came home.
He was still a few feet from the door when he heard the yelling.
Silently, he started cursing. Ever since Sammy hit puberty, he’d become moody and argumentative. Sam argued about everything and often refused to listen. Worse, he’d run away a few times. Dean hated it, hated that Sam was so unhappy. He did his best to make Sam happy, to provide the best he could, to teach him what Dad demanded he know, what Sam needed to know. Yet it seemed no matter what he did or said, Sam remained unhappy.
Dean wished he could change that, wished with everything that he had, but Dean was no dreamer. He was a realist. There was little chance of life changing, especially for them. They were hunters.
Pausing, he listened outside the door for a moment and promptly swore again, this time aloud. Apparently, dad found the field trip form for the zoo which Sam had just brought home from school that day. It wasn’t hard to figure out what his dad probably did and said and how Sam reacted.
He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Then he carefully shored up his defenses, plastered on a smile, and opened the door.
It was going to be a long night.
~*~
Part 5: Peter - December 1996
“That was some speech, man. Have you been taking lessons from Pastor Jim?”
Peter spun around, mouth falling open. “Dean? How did-you saw the whole thing?”
“From the boring introduction to the grand finale!” Dean said, smug grin getting wider if possible as he came to stand beside him.
Peter tried to glare, but it was hard in the face of the teen’s mirth. He couldn’t remember seeing the boy in such good spirits before. It was catching. Maybe that was just the atmosphere of happiness generated by the countless family members and friends congratulating the new FBI agents. Dean had come moderately dressed for the occasion, he noted, wearing a collared shirt, a suit jacket, and his usual jeans and boots. Suspicion bloomed.
“So, you were just in the neighborhood? Thought you’d drop by?”
“Yup!” Dean stuffed his hands in his pockets as he rocked back and forth on his heels, completely shameless. Peter rolled his eyes. “Right.”
Dean laughed. “Come on, Professor, I couldn’t miss your Quantico graduation and initiation as a G-man!”
“Of course not,” Peter deadpanned as Dean snagged an hors d’oeuvre from a passing server’s tray. “Looks to me like you just came for the food.”
“Definitely an incentive,” Dean murmured, happily finishing the hors d’oeuvre and taking another. “Doesn’t taste half bad.”
“And you’d know all about fine cuisine.”
Dean moved the hors d’oeuvre up in a mock cheer before he polished it off in a single bite.
“So, how long did you have to practice that speech?”
“It wasn’t that big of a deal,” Peter muttered.
“Oh, so being one of the top pooba selected to give a speech about a division is not a big deal?”
“Okay, so it is a little bit.”
Dean gave him a disbelieving look.
“A lot,” Peter conceded, ducking his head, a proud smile creasing his features. It was an honor to speak about the Bureau’s white collar division. One that had taken him completely off guard when Philip Kramer, his mentor, informed him that his class had selected him to give a speech on behalf of those who specialized in the white collar division. After the shock wore off, he’d systematically panicked about what he would say. Speeches weren’t his thing. Crowds and fancy gatherings and parties weren’t his thing either. He was horrible in those situations. There was no way he would ever admit to Dean that he had in fact called Pastor Jim for help writing the speech, interrupting more than one Bible study or meal. Dean would never let him live it down.
“How many times did you write that speech?”
“Oh no, we’re not going there.”
“Why not? I have at least twenty drafts right here.”
Peter’s eyes went wide in shock as Dean produced a plastic bag full of crumbled papers with very familiar writing covering them.
“Where did you get those?”
“A good tradesman never reveals his secrets.” Dean easily pulled the bag out of Peter’s reach and stuffed it back in his jacket pocket. He grinned expectantly. “So? How many times? Because these are nothing like the speech you gave up on stage.”
He was going to strangle him. Then find some way to bring him back to do it again. How in the world did the punk get those?
“You were in my apartment?”
Dean hedged. “I may have stopped by your place earlier.”
Stopped by earlier? To what, invade his privacy? Anger churned and then stilled. He could see smudges under the boy’s eyes, the slight paleness of his skin, the rumpled look to the jacket and shirt. A very familiar jacket and shirt, he realized, mentally kicking himself. Dean had probably just stopped by to visit, broken in, and found the bulletin with the location of the graduation and reception. The teen had borrowed a suit jacket and shirt, and then raced over to catch the ceremony.
He exhaled and let go of his irritation. “Oh really? Find anything else besides my notes?”
“Yeah, you need to lay off the Chinese take-out and buy more beer.”
“You better not have drunk my beer,” he warned with a pointed finger.
“Chill dude! I left it alone.”
“Good.”
“But you will need to buy some more peanut M&Ms.”
“Unbelievable.”
Dean’s responding grin was bright and utterly shameless. “So, how many times? Fifty? A hundred?”
Peter scowled. No way was he going to admit he’d lost count after thirty.
“You lost count didn’t you?”
“How did you-never mind. I don’t want to know,” Peter grumbled. Sometimes, Dean’s ability to read people scared him.
Dean patted his shoulder in mock sympathy. “Don’t worry, Professor. I think only the people sitting in the first few rows could see your knees knocking together.”
“Hmm, well, we’ll see how you handle it when you graduate and have to make a speech.”
If he had not been looking at the teenager, he would have missed the slight derisive twist of Dean’s mouth.
“Nah, not me.”
Puzzled, he pressed, “You are going to graduate next spring, right?”
“School’s not really my thing,” Dean shrugged, dismissive.
Peter frowned. “What do you mean? You’re smart, and certainly capable.”
The genuine surprise on Dean’s face was like a physical blow. Didn’t John Winchester ever compliment his eldest son?
“Not me, Professor. That’s Sammy’s thing, not mine. Me, I shoot stuff.”
“That’s your excuse?”
Peter had not meant for it to sound like he was judging the youth. Okay, maybe he was, but not like that. He just didn’t understand why Dean was trying to brush off his own high school graduation. Graduation was important. It marked a turning point in a young person’s life as they prepared to go out into the world on their own. Why didn’t Dean see that? Peter actually had an inkling of the cause, and it stoked the protective fire in his belly. He firmly clamped down on the anger. Anger would gain him nothing.
The seventeen-year-old’s happy façade was still in place, but Peter could actually almost see Dean pulling back behind the mask. Blast!
“You’ve been to eight schools since you started high school and have managed to keep a B average the whole time. You were…shooting stuff then.” More than a teenage boy ever should, Peter added silently. “What changed?”
“Man, what am I going to do with a diploma? It’s just a stupid piece of paper.”
“Stupid piece of paper?” Peter couldn’t believe his ears. “Dean, that stupid piece of paper will help you later in life. When you’re looking for jobs-”
“I already have a job, Professor,” Dean interrupted. “And I’m good at it.”
Peter pressed his lips together to keep what he wanted to say to himself. Screaming that hunting wasn’t a career, much less a job, would probably not go over well. A hint of steel shone in Dean’s eyes as they locked gazes in a battle of wills. Peter broke first with an exasperated huff. “That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t graduate.”
The youth studied him for a moment before plucking a glass of champagne from a server’s tray. He tipped the glass back, swallowing a portion. Peter shifted, agitated just like the kid no doubt intended. Punk! But he got the point. Dean was already carrying the responsibilities and weight of an adult, more than most adults carried in some cases. He had for some time. Normal things like worrying about pimples, going to prom, and graduation were of no concern to him. There were more important things on his plate. Ironic, Dean felt the desire to attend Peter’s graduation like he no doubt would feel about going to Sam’s a few years down the line.
“Fine, I get it.”
Satisfied, Dean smiled and the tension released from his shoulders as his eyes found the backside of one of the beautiful serving girls. Peter couldn’t believe it. One minute the kid was mad and challenging him, the next he was acting like a horn dog.
“Hey!” He snapped his fingers to get Dean’s attention.
“Huh.”
“What about getting a GED?”
Dean’s eyebrows shot up.
“Hear me out.” Peter knew he had to present this just right or Dean would dismiss it. “You’re emancipated and considered an adult. But if the authorities think you’re being irresponsible, they can revoke it. Getting a GED will keep them off your back.”
Dean considered. Peter could see the wheels turning in the kid’s head, the possibilities and dangers inherent being weighed and measured at lightning speed. He suppressed the burgeoning anticipation. Dean could very well disagree. The teen was unpredictable that way. Oddly Dean may be an expert at putting on masks and lying with his mouth, but his eyes gave him away. In the depths he could see the longing, the yearning to achieve something all his own. Peter guessed that it was because he knew the teenager better now, had been friends with him for almost two years, that he could see that.
“Guess I should get a GED then.”
Peter fought to keep the triumphant grin to himself, keeping his tone neutral as he replied, “Yeah, I guess you should.”
He plucked the champagne from Dean’s hands while Dean muttered grumpily about up-tight detectives who didn’t bend the rules.
“That’s ‘agent’ to you,” he corrected primly, sipping the beverage.
Dean rolled his eyes. “Right, right,Agent Burke. My mistake.”
“And don’t you forget it!”
Dean snorted and Peter grinned. Tension effectively dissipated.
“Petey!”
He groaned quietly. Dean raised an eyebrow, mouthing ‘Petey’ with way too much delight for Peter’s liking. The new FBI agent shook his head sharply and turned to greet the man who’d call his name.
“Philip.”
Agent Philip Kramer thumped him on the back warmly.
“Well done, my boy,” the senior agent praised. “That was some speech. I knew the resident Archaeologist was a good choice for the job. I don’t think White Collar has been represented so well in years.”
“Oh, I doubt that.”
“No, it’s true. Best speech since Alan Bridges gave his back in ’89.”
“Thank you, sir.” Peter felt his cheeks heating up.
“Now, where is that young fellow you were talking to?”
Peter glanced over his shoulder to find that Dean had vanished as suddenly as he had appeared. The corner of his mouth turned up.
“Guess he had to run.”
The new FBI agent ignored Kramer’s curious look as he finished the last swallow of champagne.
~*~
Part 6: Sam and Neal - March 1997
Sam fingered the college pamphlet his school counselor had given him. Never too early to start planning, she’d said with a bright smile.
It felt like he had been handed the key to his freedom. College! He could leave; get away from hunting supernatural monsters and all the training and guns and knives and blood and fear. He could leave it all behind.
His English teacher, Mr. Wyatt, from Truman High four schools back had told him to make his own choices, to not let his family dictate his future.
Sam pressed his lips together in a grim line.
That was exactly what he was going to do. Just a little over three years, and then he could escape.
He would start in someplace new, someplace safe where he didn’t have to worry about Dad barking orders at him like he was nothing but a toy soldier or leaving on another Miller Time shift.
Yes, Sam was getting out. And nothing was going to stop him.
__________________________________________________________________________________
His was reeling, mind spinning at tornado speed.
He felt like Luke Skywalker at the climax of The Empire Strikes Back, screaming at the top of his lungs as Vader’s verbal blade sliced through Luke’s very foundation like it was no more than rice paper.
His dad was dead! Mom had told him so, told him of the terrible struggle and the final volley of shots where his dad met his end fighting the good fight. He was a hero, his hero. He couldn’t be…alive.
But Ellen wouldn’t lie to him. What could she possibly gain from such a falsehood? Nothing. Absolutely nothing!
Danny felt sick.
Everything he knew was a lie. His dad wasn’t a hero. He was a traitor, a murderer!
To top it all off, Danny wasn’t even his real name! No, Ellen said it was Neal, Neal Bennett! Ellen, his mom, and he were all in Witness Protection and had been given false identities for their safety.
Was Ellen’s name really Ellen? What could he believe anymore? Who could he trust? Everything, all of it…a lie.
Happy birthday to me! The boy thought sarcastically and laughed until tears streamed down his face.
He had to get out, he had to leave.
Neal didn’t pause to think about it more. He started walking and then started running.
He was getting out and nothing was going to stop him.
Next
Previous
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. Its awesome! 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 4: Dean - August 1996
He gulped in the fresh air greedily as he stepped out of the bar. A pleased grin on his lips, Dean climbed into the Impala.
It had been a good night. The money he hustled tonight would go a long way if he planned carefully. The bills would be covered with enough left over for food for the next couple weeks.
More importantly, he had earned just enough extra to buy Sammy a brand new pair of shoes. Poor kid desperately needed a new pair. The soles of his current shoes were worn almost clean through and literally coming apart at the seams. He was pretty sure he caught a glimpse of his baby brother’s toes this morning. Dad would probably want him to buy boots, but Sam was still new to the hunting gig. Tennis shoes would suffice. Besides, with the kid starting to grow like a weed, Sam would probably outgrow the boots in no time.
He imagined Peter would have a few things to say if he knew Dean was hustling for money and not just working. The professor was a stickler for the law, especially with him since he was an emancipated minor. It was laughable. Dean had been hustling for extra cash almost as long as he had been handling a gun! But then, Peter was new to hunting and all of the caveats that came with the job, which included no pay and no thanks. The bills had to be paid somehow.
Peter Burke. Now there was a man ill-suited for the hunting life. It had not taken long for Dean to conclude either. Peter was a rare kind of man, an honest guy who genuinely believed in the law and justice and at the same time believed in helping people. It was a bizarre mix in a cop. No, make that an FBI agent in training. Last Dean heard, the former detective was three weeks into the twenty-one week intensive training at Quantico. He shook his head.
How in the world did he personally know someone joining the FBI anyway? Wasn’t there some sort of hunter taboo or rule for knowing the idiots who interfered in a hunter’s job and usually made it twice as hard?
Dean coasted the Impala into the motel parking lot the Winchester clan currently called home. It was shabby, rundown, and the desk clerk was a sleaze, but it was cheap enough for them to afford. From his standpoint, it was actually pretty decent compared to some of the other crappy places they had stayed over the years.
Shutting off the engine, Dean climbed out. He would buy the shoes after he dropped Sam off at school in the morning, he decided. Leave them as a surprise on Sammy’s bed for when he came home.
He was still a few feet from the door when he heard the yelling.
Silently, he started cursing. Ever since Sammy hit puberty, he’d become moody and argumentative. Sam argued about everything and often refused to listen. Worse, he’d run away a few times. Dean hated it, hated that Sam was so unhappy. He did his best to make Sam happy, to provide the best he could, to teach him what Dad demanded he know, what Sam needed to know. Yet it seemed no matter what he did or said, Sam remained unhappy.
Dean wished he could change that, wished with everything that he had, but Dean was no dreamer. He was a realist. There was little chance of life changing, especially for them. They were hunters.
Pausing, he listened outside the door for a moment and promptly swore again, this time aloud. Apparently, dad found the field trip form for the zoo which Sam had just brought home from school that day. It wasn’t hard to figure out what his dad probably did and said and how Sam reacted.
He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Then he carefully shored up his defenses, plastered on a smile, and opened the door.
It was going to be a long night.
~*~
Part 5: Peter - December 1996
“That was some speech, man. Have you been taking lessons from Pastor Jim?”
Peter spun around, mouth falling open. “Dean? How did-you saw the whole thing?”
“From the boring introduction to the grand finale!” Dean said, smug grin getting wider if possible as he came to stand beside him.
Peter tried to glare, but it was hard in the face of the teen’s mirth. He couldn’t remember seeing the boy in such good spirits before. It was catching. Maybe that was just the atmosphere of happiness generated by the countless family members and friends congratulating the new FBI agents. Dean had come moderately dressed for the occasion, he noted, wearing a collared shirt, a suit jacket, and his usual jeans and boots. Suspicion bloomed.
“So, you were just in the neighborhood? Thought you’d drop by?”
“Yup!” Dean stuffed his hands in his pockets as he rocked back and forth on his heels, completely shameless. Peter rolled his eyes. “Right.”
Dean laughed. “Come on, Professor, I couldn’t miss your Quantico graduation and initiation as a G-man!”
“Of course not,” Peter deadpanned as Dean snagged an hors d’oeuvre from a passing server’s tray. “Looks to me like you just came for the food.”
“Definitely an incentive,” Dean murmured, happily finishing the hors d’oeuvre and taking another. “Doesn’t taste half bad.”
“And you’d know all about fine cuisine.”
Dean moved the hors d’oeuvre up in a mock cheer before he polished it off in a single bite.
“So, how long did you have to practice that speech?”
“It wasn’t that big of a deal,” Peter muttered.
“Oh, so being one of the top pooba selected to give a speech about a division is not a big deal?”
“Okay, so it is a little bit.”
Dean gave him a disbelieving look.
“A lot,” Peter conceded, ducking his head, a proud smile creasing his features. It was an honor to speak about the Bureau’s white collar division. One that had taken him completely off guard when Philip Kramer, his mentor, informed him that his class had selected him to give a speech on behalf of those who specialized in the white collar division. After the shock wore off, he’d systematically panicked about what he would say. Speeches weren’t his thing. Crowds and fancy gatherings and parties weren’t his thing either. He was horrible in those situations. There was no way he would ever admit to Dean that he had in fact called Pastor Jim for help writing the speech, interrupting more than one Bible study or meal. Dean would never let him live it down.
“How many times did you write that speech?”
“Oh no, we’re not going there.”
“Why not? I have at least twenty drafts right here.”
Peter’s eyes went wide in shock as Dean produced a plastic bag full of crumbled papers with very familiar writing covering them.
“Where did you get those?”
“A good tradesman never reveals his secrets.” Dean easily pulled the bag out of Peter’s reach and stuffed it back in his jacket pocket. He grinned expectantly. “So? How many times? Because these are nothing like the speech you gave up on stage.”
He was going to strangle him. Then find some way to bring him back to do it again. How in the world did the punk get those?
“You were in my apartment?”
Dean hedged. “I may have stopped by your place earlier.”
Stopped by earlier? To what, invade his privacy? Anger churned and then stilled. He could see smudges under the boy’s eyes, the slight paleness of his skin, the rumpled look to the jacket and shirt. A very familiar jacket and shirt, he realized, mentally kicking himself. Dean had probably just stopped by to visit, broken in, and found the bulletin with the location of the graduation and reception. The teen had borrowed a suit jacket and shirt, and then raced over to catch the ceremony.
He exhaled and let go of his irritation. “Oh really? Find anything else besides my notes?”
“Yeah, you need to lay off the Chinese take-out and buy more beer.”
“You better not have drunk my beer,” he warned with a pointed finger.
“Chill dude! I left it alone.”
“Good.”
“But you will need to buy some more peanut M&Ms.”
“Unbelievable.”
Dean’s responding grin was bright and utterly shameless. “So, how many times? Fifty? A hundred?”
Peter scowled. No way was he going to admit he’d lost count after thirty.
“You lost count didn’t you?”
“How did you-never mind. I don’t want to know,” Peter grumbled. Sometimes, Dean’s ability to read people scared him.
Dean patted his shoulder in mock sympathy. “Don’t worry, Professor. I think only the people sitting in the first few rows could see your knees knocking together.”
“Hmm, well, we’ll see how you handle it when you graduate and have to make a speech.”
If he had not been looking at the teenager, he would have missed the slight derisive twist of Dean’s mouth.
“Nah, not me.”
Puzzled, he pressed, “You are going to graduate next spring, right?”
“School’s not really my thing,” Dean shrugged, dismissive.
Peter frowned. “What do you mean? You’re smart, and certainly capable.”
The genuine surprise on Dean’s face was like a physical blow. Didn’t John Winchester ever compliment his eldest son?
“Not me, Professor. That’s Sammy’s thing, not mine. Me, I shoot stuff.”
“That’s your excuse?”
Peter had not meant for it to sound like he was judging the youth. Okay, maybe he was, but not like that. He just didn’t understand why Dean was trying to brush off his own high school graduation. Graduation was important. It marked a turning point in a young person’s life as they prepared to go out into the world on their own. Why didn’t Dean see that? Peter actually had an inkling of the cause, and it stoked the protective fire in his belly. He firmly clamped down on the anger. Anger would gain him nothing.
The seventeen-year-old’s happy façade was still in place, but Peter could actually almost see Dean pulling back behind the mask. Blast!
“You’ve been to eight schools since you started high school and have managed to keep a B average the whole time. You were…shooting stuff then.” More than a teenage boy ever should, Peter added silently. “What changed?”
“Man, what am I going to do with a diploma? It’s just a stupid piece of paper.”
“Stupid piece of paper?” Peter couldn’t believe his ears. “Dean, that stupid piece of paper will help you later in life. When you’re looking for jobs-”
“I already have a job, Professor,” Dean interrupted. “And I’m good at it.”
Peter pressed his lips together to keep what he wanted to say to himself. Screaming that hunting wasn’t a career, much less a job, would probably not go over well. A hint of steel shone in Dean’s eyes as they locked gazes in a battle of wills. Peter broke first with an exasperated huff. “That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t graduate.”
The youth studied him for a moment before plucking a glass of champagne from a server’s tray. He tipped the glass back, swallowing a portion. Peter shifted, agitated just like the kid no doubt intended. Punk! But he got the point. Dean was already carrying the responsibilities and weight of an adult, more than most adults carried in some cases. He had for some time. Normal things like worrying about pimples, going to prom, and graduation were of no concern to him. There were more important things on his plate. Ironic, Dean felt the desire to attend Peter’s graduation like he no doubt would feel about going to Sam’s a few years down the line.
“Fine, I get it.”
Satisfied, Dean smiled and the tension released from his shoulders as his eyes found the backside of one of the beautiful serving girls. Peter couldn’t believe it. One minute the kid was mad and challenging him, the next he was acting like a horn dog.
“Hey!” He snapped his fingers to get Dean’s attention.
“Huh.”
“What about getting a GED?”
Dean’s eyebrows shot up.
“Hear me out.” Peter knew he had to present this just right or Dean would dismiss it. “You’re emancipated and considered an adult. But if the authorities think you’re being irresponsible, they can revoke it. Getting a GED will keep them off your back.”
Dean considered. Peter could see the wheels turning in the kid’s head, the possibilities and dangers inherent being weighed and measured at lightning speed. He suppressed the burgeoning anticipation. Dean could very well disagree. The teen was unpredictable that way. Oddly Dean may be an expert at putting on masks and lying with his mouth, but his eyes gave him away. In the depths he could see the longing, the yearning to achieve something all his own. Peter guessed that it was because he knew the teenager better now, had been friends with him for almost two years, that he could see that.
“Guess I should get a GED then.”
Peter fought to keep the triumphant grin to himself, keeping his tone neutral as he replied, “Yeah, I guess you should.”
He plucked the champagne from Dean’s hands while Dean muttered grumpily about up-tight detectives who didn’t bend the rules.
“That’s ‘agent’ to you,” he corrected primly, sipping the beverage.
Dean rolled his eyes. “Right, right,Agent Burke. My mistake.”
“And don’t you forget it!”
Dean snorted and Peter grinned. Tension effectively dissipated.
“Petey!”
He groaned quietly. Dean raised an eyebrow, mouthing ‘Petey’ with way too much delight for Peter’s liking. The new FBI agent shook his head sharply and turned to greet the man who’d call his name.
“Philip.”
Agent Philip Kramer thumped him on the back warmly.
“Well done, my boy,” the senior agent praised. “That was some speech. I knew the resident Archaeologist was a good choice for the job. I don’t think White Collar has been represented so well in years.”
“Oh, I doubt that.”
“No, it’s true. Best speech since Alan Bridges gave his back in ’89.”
“Thank you, sir.” Peter felt his cheeks heating up.
“Now, where is that young fellow you were talking to?”
Peter glanced over his shoulder to find that Dean had vanished as suddenly as he had appeared. The corner of his mouth turned up.
“Guess he had to run.”
The new FBI agent ignored Kramer’s curious look as he finished the last swallow of champagne.
~*~
Part 6: Sam and Neal - March 1997
Sam fingered the college pamphlet his school counselor had given him. Never too early to start planning, she’d said with a bright smile.
It felt like he had been handed the key to his freedom. College! He could leave; get away from hunting supernatural monsters and all the training and guns and knives and blood and fear. He could leave it all behind.
His English teacher, Mr. Wyatt, from Truman High four schools back had told him to make his own choices, to not let his family dictate his future.
Sam pressed his lips together in a grim line.
That was exactly what he was going to do. Just a little over three years, and then he could escape.
He would start in someplace new, someplace safe where he didn’t have to worry about Dad barking orders at him like he was nothing but a toy soldier or leaving on another Miller Time shift.
Yes, Sam was getting out. And nothing was going to stop him.
__________________________________________________________________________________
His was reeling, mind spinning at tornado speed.
He felt like Luke Skywalker at the climax of The Empire Strikes Back, screaming at the top of his lungs as Vader’s verbal blade sliced through Luke’s very foundation like it was no more than rice paper.
His dad was dead! Mom had told him so, told him of the terrible struggle and the final volley of shots where his dad met his end fighting the good fight. He was a hero, his hero. He couldn’t be…alive.
But Ellen wouldn’t lie to him. What could she possibly gain from such a falsehood? Nothing. Absolutely nothing!
Danny felt sick.
Everything he knew was a lie. His dad wasn’t a hero. He was a traitor, a murderer!
To top it all off, Danny wasn’t even his real name! No, Ellen said it was Neal, Neal Bennett! Ellen, his mom, and he were all in Witness Protection and had been given false identities for their safety.
Was Ellen’s name really Ellen? What could he believe anymore? Who could he trust? Everything, all of it…a lie.
Happy birthday to me! The boy thought sarcastically and laughed until tears streamed down his face.
He had to get out, he had to leave.
Neal didn’t pause to think about it more. He started walking and then started running.
He was getting out and nothing was going to stop him.
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