Taking Root 22
Authors: Marina and Casey
Story: Taking Root
Challenge: Coconut 2 (open sesame), Tangerine 30 (ultimatum) [Marina]; Blueberry Yogurt 30 (the last time), Blue Raspberry 15 (a procession) [Casey]
Toppings/Extras: Caramel, Chopped Nuts, Hot Fudge, Smoothie
Word Count: 1,889
Rating: R (per usual for the last few parts)
Summary: Help arrives.
Notes: I should note that Crescent Beach is based on the area where I live, which does not have its own police station, so the closest would be either the university’s security or the Santa Monica precinct. Hence why there are no Crescent Beach squad cars.
Dean's head shot up as the basement door banged open and the light went on. He then looked away, blinking at how bright it was. By the time he'd recovered, Edward was crouched next to him, unlocking his handcuff. He stared at his grandfather in undisguised shock.
"I don't know how the fuck you two did it, but it does not end here," Edward said as it slid open. He stepped back, drawing the gun and pointing it at Chase's face. Chase seemed frozen in terror, staring straight at the gun. "Go upstairs and tell them to go away or Peter Mitchell's son dies."
Dean stood slowly.
"Faster or I might get trigger happy."
Quickly, he scrambled up the stairs and took the couple steps to the front door, hesitating before nudging it open, making sure his hands were visible.
"Dean!" Peter sprang forward from behind one of the squad cars as soon as he came into view.
"Don't," Dean said quickly, taking an automatic step back in panic. A quick scan of the group showed that Peter was the only officer there that he recognized. There was only one other from Madison-the rest of the cars were from the Santa Monica precinct. "Ed-My grandfather's got Chase downstairs at gunpoint. He-he wants me to tell you to go away or else he'll kill Chase."
Peter went deathly pale. "What?"
Guilt surged freshly through Dean at seeing that. "That's what he said," he said, dropping his gaze.
"There's no way-" Peter started.
Another officer stepped forward. "Tell him we're not prepared to do that." Dean hesitated, sneaking a glance at Peter.
Edward's voice floating up from the basement saved him from having to relay the message. "Is Peter Mitchell there?"
Dean half-turned to call back, "Yes."
He could picture the glee on Edward's face as his grandfather responded. "Fine, then tell him he can have his son back, if he lets me go with you."
The teen turned back to the police and repeated the new deal without looking at any of them. Peter had to have heard at least some of the exchange, because his face went even whiter.
"Dad?" came Chase's voice, sounding very distressed.
"He's just outside, Chase," Dean called back.
"Your grandfather is looking at multiple charges, Dean," the other officer said gently. "Tell him to turn himself in."
That brought Dean's head up. "If you think he'll do that, you're full of shit," he told the officer sharply, maybe a bit more sharply than he'd intended, but where had the police been through all the years of harassment? Peter Mitchell had at least tried to help them. Half of them before had told his dad he was nuts and laughed him off. "Just agree to his deal," he added, in a much more tired voice. "He won't hurt Chase if he's guaranteed he can have me."
Peter didn't even seem to be considering it. "I am not," he said, sounding sort of strangled, "going back to Madison without either of you."
Dean winced, able to hear the click as Edward took the safety off. "Please, Mr. Mitchell," he said desperately. "Just agree, please. He'll shoot Chase otherwise."
"You honestly expect me to go back to your father and tell him I let Edward take you away?"
"Better then having to tell everyone Chase is dead because of me," Dean shot back angrily, wishing Peter would just see reason.
"Peter." One of the other cops, who appeared to be Peter's partner, stepped forward and took him by the shoulder. "Just say you agree," he said lowly. "We'll fake him out."
"There is no guarantee we can do that successfully," Peter shot back in a whisper.
"We don't have a choice if we want both those boys to live. He will not leave the yard, Pete. We'll make sure of that."
The teen stared at Peter, hoping he'd agree. Anything to give Chase a chance.
Peter pursed his lips. Then he looked up at Dean. "Tell him we agree, Dean," he said quietly.
Dean nodded. "Grandfather, they agree," he called.
"Tell them Chase is coming with us long enough to ensure there is no pursuit and then I will drop him off near a telephone."
Dean's good hand clenched in a fist but he repeated the message for the cops. Peter looked about two seconds away from tearing into the house, still, but his partner answered calmly. "All right."
"He says okay," Dean reported to the basement.
"Good," Edward called back. "Tell them to unblock the road. Once they do, tell me and step back into the house."
His anger began to rise from a simmer as he turned back to the cops. "He wants you to unblock the road."
"Move the cars," ordered the other officer. One of the Santa Monica officers radioed down to the highway to tell them to move the blockade. Dean watched it without outward expression. As soon as the driveway was clear, he stepped back, catching Peter's eye. Peter was still dead white, but he stood there, jaw clamped tightly, and watched the house. On making eye contact with Dean, he just nodded.
Dean kicked the door half closed and then backed to even with the basement stairs, looking down. "It's clear," he told Edward.
"Then come down here and get him upstairs."
"Dean?" Chase's voice was very wobbly.
Dean did not answer until he had reached the bottom of the stairs. He was tempted not to answer at all, unsure if he was willing to risk any communication with Chase at this stage of the game, but he took in his friend’s face and knew he could not afford to ignore him. "Yeah?" he asked, offering his good hand, not caring if Edward cared.
Chase reached up and grabbed it, but didn't move for a moment. He looked close to another panic attack and was probably only barely keeping as calm as he was.
"C'mon, Chase," he said gently, "time to get you home. Your dad's waiting."
"What are you doing?" Chase asked, looking up at him with unconcealed terror.
Dean leaned forward, wanting to disguise his words under the pretense of pulling him to his feet. "I'm making sure we both get out of here," he whispered in his friend's ear, so softly that Chase barely heard him and he was certain Edward hadn’t at all. "C'mon," he said louder.
Chase stared at him for a moment. Then, he reached up with his other hand and let Dean drag him upright.
"Let's go, boys," Edward said, waving with the gun.
"You take the lead, Chase, and I'll support you," Dean said. Then he dropped his voice again as he got him to the stairs. "Once we get upstairs, just stay out of the way."
Chase nodded and gripped the banister with his left hand. He glanced back at Edward, then quickly reached into his pocket with his right index and middle finger before grabbing Dean's left wrist with that hand. Dean felt the metal identification bracelet pressing into his skin, and immediately understood. Chase had used a brief moment where Dean was blocking his right side from Edward's view to transfer the tracker, just in case. He slipped it silently into his pocket and then started to help his friend up the stairs.
Once at the top, Chase transferred his weight to the door to let Dean and Edward get out of the stairwell. "Straight ahead to the garage," Edward ordered.
Dean glanced back at him, at the fact Edward was posed just on the top of the cellar stairs. He didn't let himself think. He spun on his heels and just launched himself forward, connecting solidly with the older man's midriff. There was a moment that seemed to last as they teetered on the edge and then Edward fell backward and Dean lost track of which direction the world was supposed to be in.
***
"Dean!" Chase screamed, as both Dean and Edward toppled headlong right back down the stairs. "Dad! Dad, help!"
Immediately, Peter appeared in the doorway, gun drawn. His partner, Officer Kaplan, was on his heels, along with a couple of others Chase didn't recognize. "Chase?" Peter cried.
"Dean tackled him and they both fell," Chase said, frantically pointing that way.
Peter and the others ran for the doorway, and stood around it, aiming their guns downward. One of the Santa Monica officers pried Chase off the door and guided him to a seat on the floor nearby. "Edward Opalin, you are hereby ordered to stand-" Peter began, then trailed off, frowning.
The only noise that filtered up was a groan and then a quiet thump. Another officer moved up to Peter's side and let out a low whistle. "Dean?"
"Is he okay?" Chase called. The thought that his friend might not be all right made him sick to his stomach.
"Don't panic, Chase," Peter said quietly. "Fred?"
"I'll cover your back," Officer Kaplan agreed. Still holding his gun out, Peter waved the other nameless officer after him and began to descend the stairs. The second officer had his gun out, too, as he followed Peter out of sight.
Though it was only about fifteen seconds, the waiting threatened to send Chase straight into another attack. His breathing was already speeding up. He pulled his knees up and put his head between them, trying not to panic as Peter had ordered. Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic...
"Chase?" Peter called up the stairs. "Dean's fine. Little woozy, but okay."
Chase exhaled in relief. "You're sure?"
"Yeah, he's all right. We're bringing him up."
A moment later, he heard footsteps on the stairs and then the officer he didn't know appeared, supporting Dean.
"Dean!" Chase tried to scramble up, but the pain in his leg quickly stopped him. At his name, Dean looked up, obviously dazed, blood dripping from his forehead.
"We'll need to get them to Santa Monica Hospital," Peter said, as he also reappeared. He put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Dean? We're going to take you to the hospital now. I'll call your dad and have him meet us there, all right?"
"'kay," Dean said, rubbing at his forehead, smearing the blood.
Peter nodded to the officer assisting him, and watched them move toward the door before turning to Officer Kaplan. "We're going to need a body bag down there," he said quietly. Officer Kaplan gave a short nod and turned away, lifting his radio.
Chase tried to push himself up on the wall again. "Dad?"
Peter spun quickly around and rushed to help him. "It's okay, Chase," he said, grabbing him in a tight hug. "It's over. Edward broke his neck in the fall. You two are safe now."
He hung on for dear life, hardly able to believe it. "You promise?"
"I promise. Everything's fine now."
Chase did not want to let go, ever, but Peter pulled partially away after a moment and shifted so that he could help his son out of the house. "Come on. We’d better get you to the hospital, too." He smiled faintly. "You did good, Chase."
Chase did not-could not-smile back, but he let his dad help him hobble to one of the squad cars without protest, anxious to be anywhere but there.
Story: Taking Root
Challenge: Coconut 2 (open sesame), Tangerine 30 (ultimatum) [Marina]; Blueberry Yogurt 30 (the last time), Blue Raspberry 15 (a procession) [Casey]
Toppings/Extras: Caramel, Chopped Nuts, Hot Fudge, Smoothie
Word Count: 1,889
Rating: R (per usual for the last few parts)
Summary: Help arrives.
Notes: I should note that Crescent Beach is based on the area where I live, which does not have its own police station, so the closest would be either the university’s security or the Santa Monica precinct. Hence why there are no Crescent Beach squad cars.
Dean's head shot up as the basement door banged open and the light went on. He then looked away, blinking at how bright it was. By the time he'd recovered, Edward was crouched next to him, unlocking his handcuff. He stared at his grandfather in undisguised shock.
"I don't know how the fuck you two did it, but it does not end here," Edward said as it slid open. He stepped back, drawing the gun and pointing it at Chase's face. Chase seemed frozen in terror, staring straight at the gun. "Go upstairs and tell them to go away or Peter Mitchell's son dies."
Dean stood slowly.
"Faster or I might get trigger happy."
Quickly, he scrambled up the stairs and took the couple steps to the front door, hesitating before nudging it open, making sure his hands were visible.
"Dean!" Peter sprang forward from behind one of the squad cars as soon as he came into view.
"Don't," Dean said quickly, taking an automatic step back in panic. A quick scan of the group showed that Peter was the only officer there that he recognized. There was only one other from Madison-the rest of the cars were from the Santa Monica precinct. "Ed-My grandfather's got Chase downstairs at gunpoint. He-he wants me to tell you to go away or else he'll kill Chase."
Peter went deathly pale. "What?"
Guilt surged freshly through Dean at seeing that. "That's what he said," he said, dropping his gaze.
"There's no way-" Peter started.
Another officer stepped forward. "Tell him we're not prepared to do that." Dean hesitated, sneaking a glance at Peter.
Edward's voice floating up from the basement saved him from having to relay the message. "Is Peter Mitchell there?"
Dean half-turned to call back, "Yes."
He could picture the glee on Edward's face as his grandfather responded. "Fine, then tell him he can have his son back, if he lets me go with you."
The teen turned back to the police and repeated the new deal without looking at any of them. Peter had to have heard at least some of the exchange, because his face went even whiter.
"Dad?" came Chase's voice, sounding very distressed.
"He's just outside, Chase," Dean called back.
"Your grandfather is looking at multiple charges, Dean," the other officer said gently. "Tell him to turn himself in."
That brought Dean's head up. "If you think he'll do that, you're full of shit," he told the officer sharply, maybe a bit more sharply than he'd intended, but where had the police been through all the years of harassment? Peter Mitchell had at least tried to help them. Half of them before had told his dad he was nuts and laughed him off. "Just agree to his deal," he added, in a much more tired voice. "He won't hurt Chase if he's guaranteed he can have me."
Peter didn't even seem to be considering it. "I am not," he said, sounding sort of strangled, "going back to Madison without either of you."
Dean winced, able to hear the click as Edward took the safety off. "Please, Mr. Mitchell," he said desperately. "Just agree, please. He'll shoot Chase otherwise."
"You honestly expect me to go back to your father and tell him I let Edward take you away?"
"Better then having to tell everyone Chase is dead because of me," Dean shot back angrily, wishing Peter would just see reason.
"Peter." One of the other cops, who appeared to be Peter's partner, stepped forward and took him by the shoulder. "Just say you agree," he said lowly. "We'll fake him out."
"There is no guarantee we can do that successfully," Peter shot back in a whisper.
"We don't have a choice if we want both those boys to live. He will not leave the yard, Pete. We'll make sure of that."
The teen stared at Peter, hoping he'd agree. Anything to give Chase a chance.
Peter pursed his lips. Then he looked up at Dean. "Tell him we agree, Dean," he said quietly.
Dean nodded. "Grandfather, they agree," he called.
"Tell them Chase is coming with us long enough to ensure there is no pursuit and then I will drop him off near a telephone."
Dean's good hand clenched in a fist but he repeated the message for the cops. Peter looked about two seconds away from tearing into the house, still, but his partner answered calmly. "All right."
"He says okay," Dean reported to the basement.
"Good," Edward called back. "Tell them to unblock the road. Once they do, tell me and step back into the house."
His anger began to rise from a simmer as he turned back to the cops. "He wants you to unblock the road."
"Move the cars," ordered the other officer. One of the Santa Monica officers radioed down to the highway to tell them to move the blockade. Dean watched it without outward expression. As soon as the driveway was clear, he stepped back, catching Peter's eye. Peter was still dead white, but he stood there, jaw clamped tightly, and watched the house. On making eye contact with Dean, he just nodded.
Dean kicked the door half closed and then backed to even with the basement stairs, looking down. "It's clear," he told Edward.
"Then come down here and get him upstairs."
"Dean?" Chase's voice was very wobbly.
Dean did not answer until he had reached the bottom of the stairs. He was tempted not to answer at all, unsure if he was willing to risk any communication with Chase at this stage of the game, but he took in his friend’s face and knew he could not afford to ignore him. "Yeah?" he asked, offering his good hand, not caring if Edward cared.
Chase reached up and grabbed it, but didn't move for a moment. He looked close to another panic attack and was probably only barely keeping as calm as he was.
"C'mon, Chase," he said gently, "time to get you home. Your dad's waiting."
"What are you doing?" Chase asked, looking up at him with unconcealed terror.
Dean leaned forward, wanting to disguise his words under the pretense of pulling him to his feet. "I'm making sure we both get out of here," he whispered in his friend's ear, so softly that Chase barely heard him and he was certain Edward hadn’t at all. "C'mon," he said louder.
Chase stared at him for a moment. Then, he reached up with his other hand and let Dean drag him upright.
"Let's go, boys," Edward said, waving with the gun.
"You take the lead, Chase, and I'll support you," Dean said. Then he dropped his voice again as he got him to the stairs. "Once we get upstairs, just stay out of the way."
Chase nodded and gripped the banister with his left hand. He glanced back at Edward, then quickly reached into his pocket with his right index and middle finger before grabbing Dean's left wrist with that hand. Dean felt the metal identification bracelet pressing into his skin, and immediately understood. Chase had used a brief moment where Dean was blocking his right side from Edward's view to transfer the tracker, just in case. He slipped it silently into his pocket and then started to help his friend up the stairs.
Once at the top, Chase transferred his weight to the door to let Dean and Edward get out of the stairwell. "Straight ahead to the garage," Edward ordered.
Dean glanced back at him, at the fact Edward was posed just on the top of the cellar stairs. He didn't let himself think. He spun on his heels and just launched himself forward, connecting solidly with the older man's midriff. There was a moment that seemed to last as they teetered on the edge and then Edward fell backward and Dean lost track of which direction the world was supposed to be in.
***
"Dean!" Chase screamed, as both Dean and Edward toppled headlong right back down the stairs. "Dad! Dad, help!"
Immediately, Peter appeared in the doorway, gun drawn. His partner, Officer Kaplan, was on his heels, along with a couple of others Chase didn't recognize. "Chase?" Peter cried.
"Dean tackled him and they both fell," Chase said, frantically pointing that way.
Peter and the others ran for the doorway, and stood around it, aiming their guns downward. One of the Santa Monica officers pried Chase off the door and guided him to a seat on the floor nearby. "Edward Opalin, you are hereby ordered to stand-" Peter began, then trailed off, frowning.
The only noise that filtered up was a groan and then a quiet thump. Another officer moved up to Peter's side and let out a low whistle. "Dean?"
"Is he okay?" Chase called. The thought that his friend might not be all right made him sick to his stomach.
"Don't panic, Chase," Peter said quietly. "Fred?"
"I'll cover your back," Officer Kaplan agreed. Still holding his gun out, Peter waved the other nameless officer after him and began to descend the stairs. The second officer had his gun out, too, as he followed Peter out of sight.
Though it was only about fifteen seconds, the waiting threatened to send Chase straight into another attack. His breathing was already speeding up. He pulled his knees up and put his head between them, trying not to panic as Peter had ordered. Don't panic, don't panic, don't panic...
"Chase?" Peter called up the stairs. "Dean's fine. Little woozy, but okay."
Chase exhaled in relief. "You're sure?"
"Yeah, he's all right. We're bringing him up."
A moment later, he heard footsteps on the stairs and then the officer he didn't know appeared, supporting Dean.
"Dean!" Chase tried to scramble up, but the pain in his leg quickly stopped him. At his name, Dean looked up, obviously dazed, blood dripping from his forehead.
"We'll need to get them to Santa Monica Hospital," Peter said, as he also reappeared. He put a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Dean? We're going to take you to the hospital now. I'll call your dad and have him meet us there, all right?"
"'kay," Dean said, rubbing at his forehead, smearing the blood.
Peter nodded to the officer assisting him, and watched them move toward the door before turning to Officer Kaplan. "We're going to need a body bag down there," he said quietly. Officer Kaplan gave a short nod and turned away, lifting his radio.
Chase tried to push himself up on the wall again. "Dad?"
Peter spun quickly around and rushed to help him. "It's okay, Chase," he said, grabbing him in a tight hug. "It's over. Edward broke his neck in the fall. You two are safe now."
He hung on for dear life, hardly able to believe it. "You promise?"
"I promise. Everything's fine now."
Chase did not want to let go, ever, but Peter pulled partially away after a moment and shifted so that he could help his son out of the house. "Come on. We’d better get you to the hospital, too." He smiled faintly. "You did good, Chase."
Chase did not-could not-smile back, but he let his dad help him hobble to one of the squad cars without protest, anxious to be anywhere but there.