Between Shadow and Light: Part 12-16
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.
**Warning: Implied and discussed animal abuse in Part 12
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Part 12: Sam - New Year’s Eve 2001
“How’s he doing, Sam?”
“Seems okay. You think we should feed him again?”
The he in question was a golden Labrador puppy, about five weeks old, currently bundled in Sam’s lap while his big brother navigated the Impala down the crazy New York streets.
Dean glanced over, reaching out a hand to rub the puppy’s head lightly. The puppy whined and licked his hand.
“Hey there, boy,” Dean rumbled and the puppy woofed softly. “I think he’ll be okay until we get to the professor’s.”
“Are we almost there?”
“Fifteen minutes out.” Dean put both hands back on the wheel again, and Sam took over stroking the puppy’s head. Within moments, the puppy was asleep again.
The rest of the drive was spent in silence.
“Are you sure they’ll want him?” Sam pulled the sleeping puppy closer as the Impala came to a stop outside the Burkes’ apartment building, a wave of protectiveness rising inside him.
“Yeah, Sammy, I’m sure. They’ve been talking about getting a dog for months,” Dean assured him. “Let’s go. I want to get out of here before the fireworks start.”
Right, it was New Year’s Eve; the start of a new year full of fresh possibilities for everyone, unless of course you were a Winchester.
Sam forcefully swallowed the bitterness rising in his throat and climbed out of the Impala.
Dean had already come around and pulled the small bag of supplies they’d collected for the pup from the backseat. Dean gave his brother a sympathetic pat on the shoulder before leading the way inside. He watched his brother pull out a key and unlock the front door. Where did Dean get that? Sam highly doubted the professor would just give his brother a copy. Dean must have stolen it and copied it himself. Sam scowled when Dean opened the door with a flourish and gestured for Sam to go in.
As they rode the elevator up, Sam’s mind churned with what-ifs. Ever since he could remember, Sam had wanted a dog. The Winchester gypsy lifestyle, however, made keeping a dog, any pet actually, impossible. Sam hated it. Absolutely hated it! It was one of the many reasons he wanted to leave and go away to school. Out from under his dad’s thumb, he could do what he wanted, live like a normal, safe person. He could have a fresh start; could have a dog if he wanted to.
He absently fiddled with the edge of the puppy blanket. At his counselor’s insistence, he’d sent out applications to four major Ivy League colleges: Princeton, Harvard, Stanford, and Yale. He’d also sent applications to the University of Texas and the University of Phoenix. One of them would answer, maybe more than one his counselor assured him. His grades were fantastic, and he’d scored extremely high on the last SAT. The fact he had changed schools so often and managed to keep his grades high would definitely attract their attention. Sam certainly hoped that was true. He had to get out soon, or he didn’t know what he would do.
“Sam wears ladies underwear.”
“What? No, I don’t!” Sam automatically snapped. Dean wasn’t the least bit repentant as he tugged on Sam’s arm. “Glad to have you back, Samantha. Come on, this is the professor’s floor.”
Oh. Sam didn’t even realize the elevator had stopped. He hastily followed his older brother as he headed down the hallway.
At apartment 34 A Dean paused and knocked. Sam almost asked why he didn’t just walk right in. Instead, he bit his tongue and checked on the puppy that had woken at the sound and was peering out of the blanket curiously.
The door swung open revealing a beautiful dark-haired woman with the most striking blue eyes Sam had ever seen. Politeness gave way to surprised delight.
“Dean!”
“Hey, Elizabeth.”
“We weren’t expecting you. Come on in,” Elizabeth invited warmly. “Peter and I were just getting ready for the countdown.”
“Thanks.”
The brothers followed her inside. A well-built man about the same size as John Winchester came to meet them, his annoyance plain. He barely even looked at Sam before he zeroed in on Dean.
“Dean, what are you doing here?”
“Nice to see you too, Professor.”
Before Peter could respond, Elizabeth spoke up. “Who’s this?”
She was looking at Sam and the bundle of now squirming puppy. Sam shifted his hold so the puppy could see the two new people. The pup woofed. Sam could feel his tail trying to wag within the confines of the blanket.
“This is my little brother, Sam. And that,” Dean pointed, “is the reason we’re here.”
Elizabeth stepped forward, reaching out a small hand for the puppy to sniff, looking first at Sam and then the puppy. “It’s nice to meet you both.”
“Yeah, you too.” Sam was pretty sure she was more excited about the puppy than him. Bright blue eyes were glued to the puppy as she started petting its head.
“Why do you have a puppy?” the professor asked, suspicious.
“Found him on the side of the road and rescued him,” Dean explained, voice becoming clipped. “You guys have been talking about getting a dog so I figured you might like to take him.”
Found and rescued was an understatement. Sam could still see his big brother storming into the motel room, two precious pups wrapped in his jacket as he ordered Sam to get the first aid kit. Dean had been driving back to the motel after finishing up a job when he saw something thrown out the window of a speeding car. He told Sam he was suspicious, so he had stopped to investigate. What he found left him horrified and furious. Dean had not offered any further details. Not that he had needed to. Sam got the picture.
Peter and Elizabeth exchanged glances, probably deducing the same thing Sam had. “How old is he?” Elizabeth asked.
“The vet guessed he’s about five weeks old. He’s only partially weaned,” Sam said. He shuddered, remembering the visit to the vet. Dean and he had cleaned up the puppies the best they could and took them to the local veterinary clinic. It was too late for one puppy, the damage too severe. Sam wasn’t ashamed to admit he cried when the doctor put the puppy out of its misery. The other puppy, the one in his arms, was luckier.
Dean swung the bag off his shoulder, opening it up. “Doc gave us this to help take care of him.”
Inside were a special bottle, formula, blankets, and everything else a puppy would need. Sam had even been able to talk his big brother into stopping and getting the pup some toys.
Elizabeth motioned to the pup. “May I?”
“Yeah, sure.” Sam moved closer so the woman could extract the puppy from the blanket.
“We can’t have a dog until we get a house, El,” Peter cut in gently.
“But Peter, we have found a house!” Elizabeth protested, dodging the pup’s wet tongue as he tried to lick her face, keeping her focus on her husband. “We’re making an offer Thursday. I know they’ll take. Then we can move right away.”
Sam watched as Elizabeth cuddled the golden pup, cooing and stroking it gently while the pup happily licked her chin, hands, anything in reach really. Love at first sight. Judging by Dean’s smug grin and Peter’s annoyed glare that was exactly what Dean had been counting on. The corners of his mouth tugged up.
Elizabeth turned pleading eyes to her husband. Mentally, Sam counted down the seconds until the professor’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “I’ll talk with the landlord in the morning.”
The woman promptly kissed her husband. “Thank you, Peter!”
She plunked the puppy in Peter’s arms. Peter stared at the puppy, looking like he’d just been handed a box of Acme dynamite. It was amusing to watch the array of emotions crossing the professor’s face until settling on exasperated acceptance.
“Ahhh!” Peter swore, holding the puppy out away from his body as a yellow stream of liquid shot out.
Sam and Dean doubled over laughing while Elizabeth, struggling to smother her own laughter, took the puppy from him.
“See? He loves his new daddy already,” she declared.
Peter leveled an accusing glare that was the equivalent to Superman’s death ray on Dean. His big brother only laughed harder.
Elizabeth took the puppy and the bag into the kitchen area, calling over her shoulder. “Hurry up and change honey. I’m going to feed our new baby real quick. We don’t want to miss the fireworks.”
The expression on the older man’s face was priceless.
Dean slapped Peter on the shoulder. “Congratulations, Peter! It’s a boy.”
The professor was flabbergasted, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. Snickering, Sam headed into the kitchen. Behind him, he heard Dean tell Peter, “Better set up a corner with some newspapers unless you want him watering your shirt again.”
Elizabeth had already gotten the formula out and was opening the bottle while balancing the pup on her hip.
“Can I help?”
“Oh, yes, thank you. There’s a saucepan in the cupboard there.” She jerked her head toward the cupboard behind her. “Would you get it please?”
Sam nodded and retrieved the pan. Together, they got the formula mixed and warming over the stove. On the other side of the apartment, Peter was changing his shirt and ordering Dean to gather the newspapers and move furniture from the corner. Dean seemed quite content to listen, sending teasing barbs and comments at the older man the whole time, which were heartily returned. Sam could only catch snippets of what was actually said, but it was enough.
“Dean wasn’t joking when he said you’re like a bean pole. You’re as tall as my husband!”
Sam startled. He glanced at Elizabeth. “Dean talks about me?”
“All the time,” the brunette replied. “He’s very proud of you.”
He felt a flush of pride and guilt at that. Dean was proud of him? Would he still be proud of him if he got into college? Sam pushed those thoughts away. He didn’t want to think about that.
“I’m sorry, but how long have you known my brother? I mean, I remember meeting Peter a few years ago, but he wasn’t married then.”
Elizabeth leaned back against the sink, relaxed as can be while the pup suckled the bottle. “Dean and I met about a year ago when he stopped by to visit. I knew about him and you, of course, beforehand thanks to Peter.”
“Huh.” That was disturbing. How could Peter talk about Dean or Sam when it involved the supernatural? When did Dean have a chance to see Peter and meet Elizabeth anyway? His big brother was always with Dad or him. Now that he thought about it, Dean did seem awfully comfortable with the Burkes. Sam’s brow furrowed.
“You didn’t know.” Elizabeth was looking at him, curious and confused.
“No, I, uh, just didn’t realize Dean…” he almost said ‘had any friends’, but switched to, “kept in touch.”
Blue eyes sharpened. Sam shifted his weight a little.
“Yeah, I suppose it is a bit surprising. They’re like polar opposites one minute and the next they’re two peas in a pod.” Elizabeth shook her head fondly.
If she didn’t have his full attention before, she certainly did now. Sam wanted to inquire further but didn’t have the chance. The puppy was finished with its dinner and squirming to get down.
Laughing, Elizabeth set him on the floor. “Okay, Satchmo. Go find your daddy.”
The pup scampered out into the main room with a woof. There was a worried squawk from Peter, a laugh from Dean, and then the two men were trying to herd the pup toward the corner they prepared. Sam and Elizabeth exchanged amused grins as they watched the antics.
“Satchmo?”
“My favorite Jazz singer,” Elizabeth explained.
Sam laughed.
Dean was right. The Burkes were the perfect people for a puppy beginning a new life. He could only hope when he went to college he found people as accepting as them. Sam wasn’t so worried about Dean anymore either. With friends like these, he would be fine when Sam left.
Yeah, he’d be fine.
~*~
Part 13: Dean - December 2003
It was supposed to be an easy hunt; should have been an easy hunt. But noooooooo! The Winchester luck had to strike again.
Dean stifled a groan, shivering in the cold. He hated hunting in the winter, in the snow, and especially at night. Hated it! For some reason he always ended up bleeding and coughing and freezing. Every single time.
Currently the snow was soaking through his jeans and well on the way to turning him into a human popsicle.
Friggin vetalas! Good thing they were already dead or Dean would empty an entire clip of silver bullets in them just because. Note to self, they hunt in pairs, not alone. He would have to add a post-it to his dad’s journal entry. When he met up with him again, he corrected with a wince.
For a moment the aching emptiness filled him. Dad was off on some hunt and unreachable. Sammy was at Stanford and refusing to speak to him.
Don’t think, move! Unless of course you want to impersonate Mister Freeze?
Gritting his teeth, Dean got to his feet and started staggering back towards the car. He’d come back later and take care of the bodies. Right now he just needed to get warm. Snow wasn’t too deep. That was nice. No new snow coming down either. Also a good thing. On the other hand, the ice was slippery and determined to send him flying to land on his butt again. Or maybe that was because his head was still spinning from whatever poison the vetala pumped him with before he took the second one down. It wasn’t fatal, was it? He didn’t think so…
He could see the Impala.
“Oh baby, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” he muttered as he wobbled towards the driver’s door. Keys, he needed his keys. It took longer than he would have liked, his fingers uncooperative, but eventually he managed to get the door unlocked and clambered in.
Dean slumped inside, relishing the warmth. Definitely better than outside.
Blearily, he blinked his eyes. Everything was fuzzy. That didn’t seem good. He needed to get warm. Inserting the keys in the ignition, Dean turned on the heat. Now, he needed to find a blanket. He couldn’t drive like this. That meant he would have to wait until the serum wore off. Frigging peachy!
Well, first things first. It took some wriggling, but he managed to get the jeans off and pooled around his boots. Next, he peeled off his soaked jacket and over shirts, letting them drop on the floor. He was gasping for breath and shivering by the time he got the last one off. Tiny knives pricked his exposed skin, his chest tight with the cold.
Dean quickly tugged the extra blanket he stored under the front seat out and wrapped it around himself. Between the heat and blanket, the knife stabbing gradually died down to toothpick stabbing.
A sharp noise cut through the air, making him jump.
Wha-?
He blinked and gave himself a shake. He recognized that tune. It was AC/DC. His cellphone.
Fumbling through his jacket pockets, it took a few minutes to fish the stupid thing out. By then he’d missed the call. Whoever it was, however, was persistent because a few seconds after it stopped, it started ringing again. He growled. It was really making his head hurt!
He managed to flip it open and answer gruffly. “Yeah?”
“Dean? It’s Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth? Who was-right, the professor’s wife. Why was she calling him?
“Peter and I just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas.”
Huh? Did he ask that aloud or was Elizabeth just psychic?
“Thanks,” he mumbled. He was supposed to say something back. What was it? Oh yeah. “M’rry Christma’.”
Christmas? He wracked his brain, trying to remember when Christmas came around. Wasn’t it just Thanksgiving? He couldn’t remember. Well, at least he knew why he’d spent the evening hunting in Tim Burton’s version of winter wonderland.
“Dean? Are you all right? Dean, sweetie, talk to me.”
Dean came back to himself, feeling weaker and more exhausted than ever. Did Elizabeth sound worried? He grunted instead of answering, intent on lying across the Impala bench and closing his eyes for a few minutes. Maybe he should try grabbing the blanket in the back seat…was there a blanket in the back seat? Oh, he already had a blanket around him. Maybe another was a good idea.
“Dean!”
That was definitely not Elizabeth. Elizabeth’s voice was light and threaded with warmth and concern. Not to mention she was a woman. The person now bellowing in his ear was most definitely male and very demanding.
“What?” he grumbled. No sir. The man wasn’t a sir. He was something else. Who was it Elizabeth mentioned earlier? Perry? Paul? No, those weren’t right.
In the background, he heard Elizabeth’s worried voice. “Peter, what do we do?”
“Pe’er?”
Peter…right, Peter the Professor! Or the detective now FBI agent depending on who you asked. Personally, Dean liked calling him Professor. If he didn’t think of him as law enforcement, then it was easier to trust him...and safer too. He couldn’t remember why though.
“Yeah, buddy, it’s me. How are you doing?”
“Head hurts,” he slurred, biting down a moan as he head spun. “Stupid thing dosed me ‘fore I killed it.”
“Something dosed you? With poison?”
“’talas hunt in pairs. Bad info,” he explained gruffly. He tried to shift his legs, but couldn’t. Why couldn’t he move them?
“Dean! Dean, stay with me, buddy.” Peter’s worried but demanding tone drew his attention. “What did it? A tala?”
Didn’t Peter listen? He shook his head. Big mistake. Everything spun like crazy, though how the dark could spin he wasn’t sure. Why didn’t it just stop?
“Okay, okay, breathe, Dean. Breathe slowly. Come on.”
Dean obeyed the voice the best he could. Once his breathing evened out, Dean felt his body starting to relax. It was still cold though. He wished it would warm up!
“Hey, Dean, don’t go blacking out on me now.”
The voice was back, demanding as ever. Go away! Wanna sleep.
“No sleeping."
Jerk!
"Come on. Tell me about this poison.”
Poison? Wha-right, the vetalas.
“No’ fa’al,” Dean mumbled. Huh? He tried to remember how he knew that but gave up a moment later, too tired to think.
“It’s not fatal? So it’s just meant to paralyze?”
He grunted an affirmative, too tired to attempt more. There was some mumbling in reply. Two voices. Nice voices, Dean thought. He just wished they would leave him alone and let him sleep.
“Dean. Dean, you with me, buddy?”
“Mmmhmmm.”
“Caleb’s on his way to you. He said you were working a job in Bethel, Maine?”
Dean hummed again.
“Okay. He’s on his way. Just a couple hours out. Dean? Dean!”
The voice faded away as blissful nothingness finally overtook him.
________________________________________________________________________________
When awareness finally returned, Dean wished he could fall back into the blissful nothing of before. He felt like he got run over by a giant tractor, and then the tractor had backed over him for good measure.
“Dean? You awake?”
That wasn’t his dad or little brother. He groaned and began the process of prying his eyes open. When they finally peeled apart, he was greeted by two unexpected, concerned faces.
“How are you feeling, sweetie?”
Elizabeth Burke rested a cool, gentle hand on his forehead. Dean’s throat closed, mind swept back to a time long ago, when a beautiful woman with golden hair and blue eyes smiled and hugged him, always patient and loving. Jerkily, he nodded and attempted a shrug.
Her face softened as she patted his cheek gently before withdrawing. If his throat wasn’t imitating the Sahara Desert, he may well have begged her not to.
“Drink this.”
Peter stepped forward from somewhere off to the right, a Dixie cup in his hand that he pressed to Dean’s lips.
Water never tasted so good.
“Thanks,” he croaked when he finished.
“No problem.”
“Are you hungry? I can make some soup,” Elizabeth offered.
Dean struggled to get his laden brain to think. He was missing something, he was sure of it. But soup actually sounded pretty good. He nodded. Elizabeth patted his arm and then disappeared out of the room. With her departure, Dean took the time to really take stock of his situation. This was not a hospital and certainly not the motel room he’d been living in for the past week.
“Where-?”
“Our guestroom,” Peter replied from his perch at the end of the bed.
Guestroom? As in, this was…“Your house?”
Peter nodded solemnly.
“Oh.”
That was…nice. Really nice. Did that mean he was in New York? That wasn’t right. He was…somewhere else before. Maine. He had been on a job in Maine.
Something cold and wet touched his hand. He glanced down to see a pair of big brown eyes in a golden face peering up at him.
“Hey, Satch.” He weakly rubbed the dog’s ear. “Gotten big, mutt.”
The golden lab licked his hands in response, tail going back and forth like a windmill.
“Don’t scare us like that again.”
The non sequitur dragged Dean’s attention from the dog to Peter. He noticed then the tired lines and five o’clock shadow growing along the older man’s jawline. Dean lowered his head, guilt bounding through him. He wanted to apologize, but he had no idea what he was sorry for. Everything was muddled in his brain.
“I don’t, uh…” Dean weakly shook his head. He didn’t remember.
Thankfully, Peter understood because he explained. “Caleb said you were hunting some a rare monster called a vetala. It poisoned you before you could kill it. Caleb found you in your car.”
Peter’s words were like the opening of a spillway as the memories started coming back; slow at first and then faster and faster. Horrified, he remembered why Elizabeth had called in the first place.
“Did you miss-did I-?”
Peter hummed. “Not all of it. There’s still a few hours left of Christmas.”
Dean winced. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, Dean,” Elizabeth said, coming in with the soup, catching the end of their conversation. “Peter and I are just relieved you’re okay. If we hadn’t called-”
She didn’t finish, but it wasn’t necessary. Dean knew that he owed them, and Caleb, his life.
“If you feel up to it later, you can come downstairs. We’ll celebrate together,” Elizabeth said, helping Dean sit up and lean against the headboard.
Did she really just-no, he was hearing things. But one look at Elizabeth’s face and a glance at Peter confirmed they were serious. “Um, sure.”
The Burkes beamed.
Funny, his belly was feeling awfully warm. He hadn’t even tried the soup.
~*~
Part 14: Elizabeth - June 2004
Five years. They had been married for five years. How the time had flown!
Elizabeth snuggled against Peter’s strong chest, reveling in his presence. He was so busy nowadays, on the trail of the elusive forger and con nicknamed James Bonds. Recently, Peter had discovered his real name: Neal Caffrey.
It was a good name, the name of an artist.
But she hated sharing her husband during the cat and mouse game Caffrey pulled Peter into. Hated it!
Peter made a noise, turning towards her, arms tightening.
Elizabeth smiled and kissed him gently.
Despite the hardships that came with being the wife of an FBI agent, she had no regrets. She was happy with her life, with the choice she had made to accept Peter’s proposal. He was a special man, a rare breed. Before Peter, she had been approached by, and dated, many different men, and they all had one thing in common: shallowness. Faux grins and expensive clothes and talk that held less water than a goldfish bowl. Peter was different. From the moment she’d met him, she knew he was different. Granted, he was interviewing her about the robbery at the gallery she was working at, but it had still proved to be very enlightening.
Stifling a giggle, she remembered how he did not have the courage to ask her out. She had to give him a hint. Holding up a sign that said I love Italian on the street because she knew Peter was watching her and taking surveillance photos was certainly unconventional. But she was proud to say it had worked! Peter had gotten out and sheepishly approached, asking her to dinner at long last. She’d gladly accepted.
That first date was near and dear to her heart. Peter’s awkwardness, his genuine curiosity about her job, and in her, had been refreshing. He hid nothing from her, even then. Half-way through the meal he’d gotten a call from the FBI concerning a lead about the thief who stole the painting from her gallery. It was her first taste of what life was like with an FBI agent, especially one so dedicated to his work.
Broken promises to arrive on time, distraction when a particular puzzle caught his attention, all night stake outs, pursuing dangerous suspects, and the list went on. He always made it up to her, always did his very best to please and surprise her. The hidden romantic in him in particular was a joy to find. It was not perfect, neither of them was faultless, but they worked. Elizabeth felt whole with Peter. Complete. And she wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world.
Her phone buzzed suddenly, interrupting her musings.
Confused, she reached around Peter and picked it up.
One new voicemail. Odd. She didn’t recall hearing it ring.
She hit the button to retrieve the message and held it to her ear. Absently her fingers traced Peter’s muscled chest while she waited.
A voice belonging to the last person she expected to hear from started speaking.
“Hey, Professor. Little Sister. Just, uh, wanted to say, I, uh, hope you guys have a good anniversary.” There was some mumbling and then the message abruptly ended.
Elizabeth stared at the phone, stunned. He remembered.
She started giggling.
Peter woke, sleepy and confused. “Honey?”
The brunette grinned broadly. “Big Fella called to wish us a happy anniversary.”
“Big Fel-Dean?” Peter exclaimed, all traces of sleep disappearing. “He called?”
“Yep,” Elizabeth giggled. “Here.”
She played the message again for Peter. By the end they were both rolling with laughter.
~*~
Part 15: Peter - October 2004
Peter was sitting at his dining room table, pouring over the information from Europol as well as his own notes. Wearily, he rubbed his forehead with one hand while the other flipped to the next page of the report.
It was late and Elizabeth had long gone to bed for the night. Peter wished he could join her, but he was restless, mind churning as he tried to piece together Neal Caffrey’s current movements. He’d only be tossing and turning in bed, disturbing her and keeping her from a good night’s sleep. He couldn’t do that to her. She deserved to sleep uninterrupted after the long day she had hosting that gallery opening.
Frustrated, Peter threw down his pen. He was getting nowhere. Neal’s last known location was in Corsica, France. But the past few weeks there was absolutely nothing. Not even an audacious international phone call! The young con was obviously laying low after his last heist. That worried him more than anything else. With all that time on his hands there was no telling what new scheme and crazy stunts the boy could come up with!
Peter needed some way to get him moving again. If he was running, he had less time to plan, and eventually he would slip up. But how? He had no idea where Caffrey disappeared to. He rubbed his aching eyes. What he really needed was some advice. Normally he would ask Elizabeth. She was his best adviser. But she was tucked away snuggly in bed. That left who? Who else would be up at this time of the night?
He wracked his brain. Come on, there had to be someone…
Dean!
He grabbed his cell phone and dialed the hunter. If there was anyone who could help him right now, it was Dean Winchester.
“Yeah.”
“Hey Dean, I need some advice on a case.”
A garbled grumble, then, “Man, you’re lucky I was already awake. This isn’t about the Caffrey case again, is it?”
The young hunter knew him too well.
“Unfortunately. He’s in Europe.”
“So, still not your jurisdiction. Did he call you again? Send a postcard? Fake his death again?”
“No, no, and thank God, no. I’ve told you, he’s an American citizen. Technically-“
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. What do you need?”
Peter could just see Dean impatiently waving away his reasons, and he half smiled.
“He’s gone to ground after his latest great heist. Europol’s had nothing for almost three weeks. No sightings, no whispers, nada. There’s been no sighting of him coming back to the States, so I believe he’s still over there somewhere.”
“Is he the one who robbed that island or something I saw on the news a month ago?”
“Yes.” Not that there was any proof, but Peter knew it was Caffrey. It made the news in the United States for crying out loud! That sort of stunt was Caffrey to a T.
“Huh. He pissed a lot of people off, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, he did.”
Peter headed towards to the kitchen. He pulled a cold beer from the fridge and took off the cap. The beer was cool and burned going down his throat.
“So why call me? You’re the one with a badge and all the government resources, Professor.”
“Because I need to figure out how to find him, get him moving again. I can’t do that unless I have some idea where he went.”
Peter could practically hear the other man’s eyes rolling.
“And what, I’m supposed to magically have the answer? Sorry, dude, I don’t have that kind of mojo.”
The agent exhaled. “I need to find him.”
Silence fell on the other end. Peter sank back down into his chair with a sigh. He took another swallow of beer, attention glued to the neatly typed numbers and words, willing them to tell him something more than the nothing they already had.
“Bluff him.”
“What?”
“Make him think you’re closing in or Europol is or something. If he thinks they’re on to him-“
“He’ll run!” Peter interrupted excitedly. “And when he runs, he’ll-“
“Expose himself,” Dean finished. “That’s your best shot.”
“Thanks, Dean.”
________________________________________________________________________________
A week later, Peter silently crowed with success. It worked! Caffrey was on the run again, and Europol was tracking him once more. It was only a matter of time now before Caffrey returned to the States. Then the game would be up.
~*~
Part 16: Neal - May 2005
He added the final brush stroke to the ship and stepped back to admire his work.
Perfect! The piece looked just like Aivazosky’s original painting. Next step, aging it. Seashore night. The lighthouse in 1837 would be complete and ready. A proud grin split the blue-eyed youth’s face as he wiped his paint-smeared hands clean on a rag. It was just the piece for the next con when he was reunited with Kate.
Neal’s smile dried up, his teeth catching his lower lip. He needed to see her again, to be able to hold her and taste her. How would she react? What would she say? She wouldn’t reject him. He loved her, and she loved him, he knew she did. Neal had made a mistake when he didn’t tell her about Alex and the job in Copenhagen. But his biggest mistake was going without her.
He had to get her back; he had to tell her that he loved her and make it up to her.
Did she hear about the theft of Raphael’s St. George and the Dragon? It was their painting after all, the one they had talked about when they first met. More importantly, it was Kate’s favorite art work. Once they were together again, he would present the painting to her as a gift. She’d love it. She would.
He looked at the painting he just finished. Kate was like the lighthouse, his light and hope and love. He was the ship stranded at sea and desperately trying to reach shore. Only…the lighthouse had hidden its light.
Neal closed his eyes, mentally pulling up one of his favorite memories of Kate. After a successful heist over a year ago, they had celebrated with a glass of wine on the roof. He could still see how the moonlight caressed every curve of her gorgeous face, how it reflected in her eyes making them bluer than cornflowers. Kate was a true vision of beauty, much like Aphrodite or Artemis from the Greek myths.
Sirens cut through his thoughts. Not that it was unusual to hear police sirens in New York. In general, Neal didn’t concern himself with them unless they were coming for him. A quick glance out the window confirmed they weren’t coming today.
Neal set the painting aside. Later, he silently vowed. In the meantime, he needed to plan something else, a real slick, grand, challenging heist that Kate would hear about and know he orchestrated. Something that would remove the sheet covering her light, hiding her from his sight...
An unopened tube of red paint caught his eye. An idea began to form.
Rubies in Burma! Of course! Perfect.
He’d tell Moz first thing in the morning.
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. 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.
**Warning: Implied and discussed animal abuse in Part 12
~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Part 12: Sam - New Year’s Eve 2001
“How’s he doing, Sam?”
“Seems okay. You think we should feed him again?”
The he in question was a golden Labrador puppy, about five weeks old, currently bundled in Sam’s lap while his big brother navigated the Impala down the crazy New York streets.
Dean glanced over, reaching out a hand to rub the puppy’s head lightly. The puppy whined and licked his hand.
“Hey there, boy,” Dean rumbled and the puppy woofed softly. “I think he’ll be okay until we get to the professor’s.”
“Are we almost there?”
“Fifteen minutes out.” Dean put both hands back on the wheel again, and Sam took over stroking the puppy’s head. Within moments, the puppy was asleep again.
The rest of the drive was spent in silence.
“Are you sure they’ll want him?” Sam pulled the sleeping puppy closer as the Impala came to a stop outside the Burkes’ apartment building, a wave of protectiveness rising inside him.
“Yeah, Sammy, I’m sure. They’ve been talking about getting a dog for months,” Dean assured him. “Let’s go. I want to get out of here before the fireworks start.”
Right, it was New Year’s Eve; the start of a new year full of fresh possibilities for everyone, unless of course you were a Winchester.
Sam forcefully swallowed the bitterness rising in his throat and climbed out of the Impala.
Dean had already come around and pulled the small bag of supplies they’d collected for the pup from the backseat. Dean gave his brother a sympathetic pat on the shoulder before leading the way inside. He watched his brother pull out a key and unlock the front door. Where did Dean get that? Sam highly doubted the professor would just give his brother a copy. Dean must have stolen it and copied it himself. Sam scowled when Dean opened the door with a flourish and gestured for Sam to go in.
As they rode the elevator up, Sam’s mind churned with what-ifs. Ever since he could remember, Sam had wanted a dog. The Winchester gypsy lifestyle, however, made keeping a dog, any pet actually, impossible. Sam hated it. Absolutely hated it! It was one of the many reasons he wanted to leave and go away to school. Out from under his dad’s thumb, he could do what he wanted, live like a normal, safe person. He could have a fresh start; could have a dog if he wanted to.
He absently fiddled with the edge of the puppy blanket. At his counselor’s insistence, he’d sent out applications to four major Ivy League colleges: Princeton, Harvard, Stanford, and Yale. He’d also sent applications to the University of Texas and the University of Phoenix. One of them would answer, maybe more than one his counselor assured him. His grades were fantastic, and he’d scored extremely high on the last SAT. The fact he had changed schools so often and managed to keep his grades high would definitely attract their attention. Sam certainly hoped that was true. He had to get out soon, or he didn’t know what he would do.
“Sam wears ladies underwear.”
“What? No, I don’t!” Sam automatically snapped. Dean wasn’t the least bit repentant as he tugged on Sam’s arm. “Glad to have you back, Samantha. Come on, this is the professor’s floor.”
Oh. Sam didn’t even realize the elevator had stopped. He hastily followed his older brother as he headed down the hallway.
At apartment 34 A Dean paused and knocked. Sam almost asked why he didn’t just walk right in. Instead, he bit his tongue and checked on the puppy that had woken at the sound and was peering out of the blanket curiously.
The door swung open revealing a beautiful dark-haired woman with the most striking blue eyes Sam had ever seen. Politeness gave way to surprised delight.
“Dean!”
“Hey, Elizabeth.”
“We weren’t expecting you. Come on in,” Elizabeth invited warmly. “Peter and I were just getting ready for the countdown.”
“Thanks.”
The brothers followed her inside. A well-built man about the same size as John Winchester came to meet them, his annoyance plain. He barely even looked at Sam before he zeroed in on Dean.
“Dean, what are you doing here?”
“Nice to see you too, Professor.”
Before Peter could respond, Elizabeth spoke up. “Who’s this?”
She was looking at Sam and the bundle of now squirming puppy. Sam shifted his hold so the puppy could see the two new people. The pup woofed. Sam could feel his tail trying to wag within the confines of the blanket.
“This is my little brother, Sam. And that,” Dean pointed, “is the reason we’re here.”
Elizabeth stepped forward, reaching out a small hand for the puppy to sniff, looking first at Sam and then the puppy. “It’s nice to meet you both.”
“Yeah, you too.” Sam was pretty sure she was more excited about the puppy than him. Bright blue eyes were glued to the puppy as she started petting its head.
“Why do you have a puppy?” the professor asked, suspicious.
“Found him on the side of the road and rescued him,” Dean explained, voice becoming clipped. “You guys have been talking about getting a dog so I figured you might like to take him.”
Found and rescued was an understatement. Sam could still see his big brother storming into the motel room, two precious pups wrapped in his jacket as he ordered Sam to get the first aid kit. Dean had been driving back to the motel after finishing up a job when he saw something thrown out the window of a speeding car. He told Sam he was suspicious, so he had stopped to investigate. What he found left him horrified and furious. Dean had not offered any further details. Not that he had needed to. Sam got the picture.
Peter and Elizabeth exchanged glances, probably deducing the same thing Sam had. “How old is he?” Elizabeth asked.
“The vet guessed he’s about five weeks old. He’s only partially weaned,” Sam said. He shuddered, remembering the visit to the vet. Dean and he had cleaned up the puppies the best they could and took them to the local veterinary clinic. It was too late for one puppy, the damage too severe. Sam wasn’t ashamed to admit he cried when the doctor put the puppy out of its misery. The other puppy, the one in his arms, was luckier.
Dean swung the bag off his shoulder, opening it up. “Doc gave us this to help take care of him.”
Inside were a special bottle, formula, blankets, and everything else a puppy would need. Sam had even been able to talk his big brother into stopping and getting the pup some toys.
Elizabeth motioned to the pup. “May I?”
“Yeah, sure.” Sam moved closer so the woman could extract the puppy from the blanket.
“We can’t have a dog until we get a house, El,” Peter cut in gently.
“But Peter, we have found a house!” Elizabeth protested, dodging the pup’s wet tongue as he tried to lick her face, keeping her focus on her husband. “We’re making an offer Thursday. I know they’ll take. Then we can move right away.”
Sam watched as Elizabeth cuddled the golden pup, cooing and stroking it gently while the pup happily licked her chin, hands, anything in reach really. Love at first sight. Judging by Dean’s smug grin and Peter’s annoyed glare that was exactly what Dean had been counting on. The corners of his mouth tugged up.
Elizabeth turned pleading eyes to her husband. Mentally, Sam counted down the seconds until the professor’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “I’ll talk with the landlord in the morning.”
The woman promptly kissed her husband. “Thank you, Peter!”
She plunked the puppy in Peter’s arms. Peter stared at the puppy, looking like he’d just been handed a box of Acme dynamite. It was amusing to watch the array of emotions crossing the professor’s face until settling on exasperated acceptance.
“Ahhh!” Peter swore, holding the puppy out away from his body as a yellow stream of liquid shot out.
Sam and Dean doubled over laughing while Elizabeth, struggling to smother her own laughter, took the puppy from him.
“See? He loves his new daddy already,” she declared.
Peter leveled an accusing glare that was the equivalent to Superman’s death ray on Dean. His big brother only laughed harder.
Elizabeth took the puppy and the bag into the kitchen area, calling over her shoulder. “Hurry up and change honey. I’m going to feed our new baby real quick. We don’t want to miss the fireworks.”
The expression on the older man’s face was priceless.
Dean slapped Peter on the shoulder. “Congratulations, Peter! It’s a boy.”
The professor was flabbergasted, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. Snickering, Sam headed into the kitchen. Behind him, he heard Dean tell Peter, “Better set up a corner with some newspapers unless you want him watering your shirt again.”
Elizabeth had already gotten the formula out and was opening the bottle while balancing the pup on her hip.
“Can I help?”
“Oh, yes, thank you. There’s a saucepan in the cupboard there.” She jerked her head toward the cupboard behind her. “Would you get it please?”
Sam nodded and retrieved the pan. Together, they got the formula mixed and warming over the stove. On the other side of the apartment, Peter was changing his shirt and ordering Dean to gather the newspapers and move furniture from the corner. Dean seemed quite content to listen, sending teasing barbs and comments at the older man the whole time, which were heartily returned. Sam could only catch snippets of what was actually said, but it was enough.
“Dean wasn’t joking when he said you’re like a bean pole. You’re as tall as my husband!”
Sam startled. He glanced at Elizabeth. “Dean talks about me?”
“All the time,” the brunette replied. “He’s very proud of you.”
He felt a flush of pride and guilt at that. Dean was proud of him? Would he still be proud of him if he got into college? Sam pushed those thoughts away. He didn’t want to think about that.
“I’m sorry, but how long have you known my brother? I mean, I remember meeting Peter a few years ago, but he wasn’t married then.”
Elizabeth leaned back against the sink, relaxed as can be while the pup suckled the bottle. “Dean and I met about a year ago when he stopped by to visit. I knew about him and you, of course, beforehand thanks to Peter.”
“Huh.” That was disturbing. How could Peter talk about Dean or Sam when it involved the supernatural? When did Dean have a chance to see Peter and meet Elizabeth anyway? His big brother was always with Dad or him. Now that he thought about it, Dean did seem awfully comfortable with the Burkes. Sam’s brow furrowed.
“You didn’t know.” Elizabeth was looking at him, curious and confused.
“No, I, uh, just didn’t realize Dean…” he almost said ‘had any friends’, but switched to, “kept in touch.”
Blue eyes sharpened. Sam shifted his weight a little.
“Yeah, I suppose it is a bit surprising. They’re like polar opposites one minute and the next they’re two peas in a pod.” Elizabeth shook her head fondly.
If she didn’t have his full attention before, she certainly did now. Sam wanted to inquire further but didn’t have the chance. The puppy was finished with its dinner and squirming to get down.
Laughing, Elizabeth set him on the floor. “Okay, Satchmo. Go find your daddy.”
The pup scampered out into the main room with a woof. There was a worried squawk from Peter, a laugh from Dean, and then the two men were trying to herd the pup toward the corner they prepared. Sam and Elizabeth exchanged amused grins as they watched the antics.
“Satchmo?”
“My favorite Jazz singer,” Elizabeth explained.
Sam laughed.
Dean was right. The Burkes were the perfect people for a puppy beginning a new life. He could only hope when he went to college he found people as accepting as them. Sam wasn’t so worried about Dean anymore either. With friends like these, he would be fine when Sam left.
Yeah, he’d be fine.
~*~
Part 13: Dean - December 2003
It was supposed to be an easy hunt; should have been an easy hunt. But noooooooo! The Winchester luck had to strike again.
Dean stifled a groan, shivering in the cold. He hated hunting in the winter, in the snow, and especially at night. Hated it! For some reason he always ended up bleeding and coughing and freezing. Every single time.
Currently the snow was soaking through his jeans and well on the way to turning him into a human popsicle.
Friggin vetalas! Good thing they were already dead or Dean would empty an entire clip of silver bullets in them just because. Note to self, they hunt in pairs, not alone. He would have to add a post-it to his dad’s journal entry. When he met up with him again, he corrected with a wince.
For a moment the aching emptiness filled him. Dad was off on some hunt and unreachable. Sammy was at Stanford and refusing to speak to him.
Don’t think, move! Unless of course you want to impersonate Mister Freeze?
Gritting his teeth, Dean got to his feet and started staggering back towards the car. He’d come back later and take care of the bodies. Right now he just needed to get warm. Snow wasn’t too deep. That was nice. No new snow coming down either. Also a good thing. On the other hand, the ice was slippery and determined to send him flying to land on his butt again. Or maybe that was because his head was still spinning from whatever poison the vetala pumped him with before he took the second one down. It wasn’t fatal, was it? He didn’t think so…
He could see the Impala.
“Oh baby, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” he muttered as he wobbled towards the driver’s door. Keys, he needed his keys. It took longer than he would have liked, his fingers uncooperative, but eventually he managed to get the door unlocked and clambered in.
Dean slumped inside, relishing the warmth. Definitely better than outside.
Blearily, he blinked his eyes. Everything was fuzzy. That didn’t seem good. He needed to get warm. Inserting the keys in the ignition, Dean turned on the heat. Now, he needed to find a blanket. He couldn’t drive like this. That meant he would have to wait until the serum wore off. Frigging peachy!
Well, first things first. It took some wriggling, but he managed to get the jeans off and pooled around his boots. Next, he peeled off his soaked jacket and over shirts, letting them drop on the floor. He was gasping for breath and shivering by the time he got the last one off. Tiny knives pricked his exposed skin, his chest tight with the cold.
Dean quickly tugged the extra blanket he stored under the front seat out and wrapped it around himself. Between the heat and blanket, the knife stabbing gradually died down to toothpick stabbing.
A sharp noise cut through the air, making him jump.
Wha-?
He blinked and gave himself a shake. He recognized that tune. It was AC/DC. His cellphone.
Fumbling through his jacket pockets, it took a few minutes to fish the stupid thing out. By then he’d missed the call. Whoever it was, however, was persistent because a few seconds after it stopped, it started ringing again. He growled. It was really making his head hurt!
He managed to flip it open and answer gruffly. “Yeah?”
“Dean? It’s Elizabeth.”
Elizabeth? Who was-right, the professor’s wife. Why was she calling him?
“Peter and I just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas.”
Huh? Did he ask that aloud or was Elizabeth just psychic?
“Thanks,” he mumbled. He was supposed to say something back. What was it? Oh yeah. “M’rry Christma’.”
Christmas? He wracked his brain, trying to remember when Christmas came around. Wasn’t it just Thanksgiving? He couldn’t remember. Well, at least he knew why he’d spent the evening hunting in Tim Burton’s version of winter wonderland.
“Dean? Are you all right? Dean, sweetie, talk to me.”
Dean came back to himself, feeling weaker and more exhausted than ever. Did Elizabeth sound worried? He grunted instead of answering, intent on lying across the Impala bench and closing his eyes for a few minutes. Maybe he should try grabbing the blanket in the back seat…was there a blanket in the back seat? Oh, he already had a blanket around him. Maybe another was a good idea.
“Dean!”
That was definitely not Elizabeth. Elizabeth’s voice was light and threaded with warmth and concern. Not to mention she was a woman. The person now bellowing in his ear was most definitely male and very demanding.
“What?” he grumbled. No sir. The man wasn’t a sir. He was something else. Who was it Elizabeth mentioned earlier? Perry? Paul? No, those weren’t right.
In the background, he heard Elizabeth’s worried voice. “Peter, what do we do?”
“Pe’er?”
Peter…right, Peter the Professor! Or the detective now FBI agent depending on who you asked. Personally, Dean liked calling him Professor. If he didn’t think of him as law enforcement, then it was easier to trust him...and safer too. He couldn’t remember why though.
“Yeah, buddy, it’s me. How are you doing?”
“Head hurts,” he slurred, biting down a moan as he head spun. “Stupid thing dosed me ‘fore I killed it.”
“Something dosed you? With poison?”
“’talas hunt in pairs. Bad info,” he explained gruffly. He tried to shift his legs, but couldn’t. Why couldn’t he move them?
“Dean! Dean, stay with me, buddy.” Peter’s worried but demanding tone drew his attention. “What did it? A tala?”
Didn’t Peter listen? He shook his head. Big mistake. Everything spun like crazy, though how the dark could spin he wasn’t sure. Why didn’t it just stop?
“Okay, okay, breathe, Dean. Breathe slowly. Come on.”
Dean obeyed the voice the best he could. Once his breathing evened out, Dean felt his body starting to relax. It was still cold though. He wished it would warm up!
“Hey, Dean, don’t go blacking out on me now.”
The voice was back, demanding as ever. Go away! Wanna sleep.
“No sleeping."
Jerk!
"Come on. Tell me about this poison.”
Poison? Wha-right, the vetalas.
“No’ fa’al,” Dean mumbled. Huh? He tried to remember how he knew that but gave up a moment later, too tired to think.
“It’s not fatal? So it’s just meant to paralyze?”
He grunted an affirmative, too tired to attempt more. There was some mumbling in reply. Two voices. Nice voices, Dean thought. He just wished they would leave him alone and let him sleep.
“Dean. Dean, you with me, buddy?”
“Mmmhmmm.”
“Caleb’s on his way to you. He said you were working a job in Bethel, Maine?”
Dean hummed again.
“Okay. He’s on his way. Just a couple hours out. Dean? Dean!”
The voice faded away as blissful nothingness finally overtook him.
________________________________________________________________________________
When awareness finally returned, Dean wished he could fall back into the blissful nothing of before. He felt like he got run over by a giant tractor, and then the tractor had backed over him for good measure.
“Dean? You awake?”
That wasn’t his dad or little brother. He groaned and began the process of prying his eyes open. When they finally peeled apart, he was greeted by two unexpected, concerned faces.
“How are you feeling, sweetie?”
Elizabeth Burke rested a cool, gentle hand on his forehead. Dean’s throat closed, mind swept back to a time long ago, when a beautiful woman with golden hair and blue eyes smiled and hugged him, always patient and loving. Jerkily, he nodded and attempted a shrug.
Her face softened as she patted his cheek gently before withdrawing. If his throat wasn’t imitating the Sahara Desert, he may well have begged her not to.
“Drink this.”
Peter stepped forward from somewhere off to the right, a Dixie cup in his hand that he pressed to Dean’s lips.
Water never tasted so good.
“Thanks,” he croaked when he finished.
“No problem.”
“Are you hungry? I can make some soup,” Elizabeth offered.
Dean struggled to get his laden brain to think. He was missing something, he was sure of it. But soup actually sounded pretty good. He nodded. Elizabeth patted his arm and then disappeared out of the room. With her departure, Dean took the time to really take stock of his situation. This was not a hospital and certainly not the motel room he’d been living in for the past week.
“Where-?”
“Our guestroom,” Peter replied from his perch at the end of the bed.
Guestroom? As in, this was…“Your house?”
Peter nodded solemnly.
“Oh.”
That was…nice. Really nice. Did that mean he was in New York? That wasn’t right. He was…somewhere else before. Maine. He had been on a job in Maine.
Something cold and wet touched his hand. He glanced down to see a pair of big brown eyes in a golden face peering up at him.
“Hey, Satch.” He weakly rubbed the dog’s ear. “Gotten big, mutt.”
The golden lab licked his hands in response, tail going back and forth like a windmill.
“Don’t scare us like that again.”
The non sequitur dragged Dean’s attention from the dog to Peter. He noticed then the tired lines and five o’clock shadow growing along the older man’s jawline. Dean lowered his head, guilt bounding through him. He wanted to apologize, but he had no idea what he was sorry for. Everything was muddled in his brain.
“I don’t, uh…” Dean weakly shook his head. He didn’t remember.
Thankfully, Peter understood because he explained. “Caleb said you were hunting some a rare monster called a vetala. It poisoned you before you could kill it. Caleb found you in your car.”
Peter’s words were like the opening of a spillway as the memories started coming back; slow at first and then faster and faster. Horrified, he remembered why Elizabeth had called in the first place.
“Did you miss-did I-?”
Peter hummed. “Not all of it. There’s still a few hours left of Christmas.”
Dean winced. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, Dean,” Elizabeth said, coming in with the soup, catching the end of their conversation. “Peter and I are just relieved you’re okay. If we hadn’t called-”
She didn’t finish, but it wasn’t necessary. Dean knew that he owed them, and Caleb, his life.
“If you feel up to it later, you can come downstairs. We’ll celebrate together,” Elizabeth said, helping Dean sit up and lean against the headboard.
Did she really just-no, he was hearing things. But one look at Elizabeth’s face and a glance at Peter confirmed they were serious. “Um, sure.”
The Burkes beamed.
Funny, his belly was feeling awfully warm. He hadn’t even tried the soup.
~*~
Part 14: Elizabeth - June 2004
Five years. They had been married for five years. How the time had flown!
Elizabeth snuggled against Peter’s strong chest, reveling in his presence. He was so busy nowadays, on the trail of the elusive forger and con nicknamed James Bonds. Recently, Peter had discovered his real name: Neal Caffrey.
It was a good name, the name of an artist.
But she hated sharing her husband during the cat and mouse game Caffrey pulled Peter into. Hated it!
Peter made a noise, turning towards her, arms tightening.
Elizabeth smiled and kissed him gently.
Despite the hardships that came with being the wife of an FBI agent, she had no regrets. She was happy with her life, with the choice she had made to accept Peter’s proposal. He was a special man, a rare breed. Before Peter, she had been approached by, and dated, many different men, and they all had one thing in common: shallowness. Faux grins and expensive clothes and talk that held less water than a goldfish bowl. Peter was different. From the moment she’d met him, she knew he was different. Granted, he was interviewing her about the robbery at the gallery she was working at, but it had still proved to be very enlightening.
Stifling a giggle, she remembered how he did not have the courage to ask her out. She had to give him a hint. Holding up a sign that said I love Italian on the street because she knew Peter was watching her and taking surveillance photos was certainly unconventional. But she was proud to say it had worked! Peter had gotten out and sheepishly approached, asking her to dinner at long last. She’d gladly accepted.
That first date was near and dear to her heart. Peter’s awkwardness, his genuine curiosity about her job, and in her, had been refreshing. He hid nothing from her, even then. Half-way through the meal he’d gotten a call from the FBI concerning a lead about the thief who stole the painting from her gallery. It was her first taste of what life was like with an FBI agent, especially one so dedicated to his work.
Broken promises to arrive on time, distraction when a particular puzzle caught his attention, all night stake outs, pursuing dangerous suspects, and the list went on. He always made it up to her, always did his very best to please and surprise her. The hidden romantic in him in particular was a joy to find. It was not perfect, neither of them was faultless, but they worked. Elizabeth felt whole with Peter. Complete. And she wouldn’t trade that for anything in the world.
Her phone buzzed suddenly, interrupting her musings.
Confused, she reached around Peter and picked it up.
One new voicemail. Odd. She didn’t recall hearing it ring.
She hit the button to retrieve the message and held it to her ear. Absently her fingers traced Peter’s muscled chest while she waited.
A voice belonging to the last person she expected to hear from started speaking.
“Hey, Professor. Little Sister. Just, uh, wanted to say, I, uh, hope you guys have a good anniversary.” There was some mumbling and then the message abruptly ended.
Elizabeth stared at the phone, stunned. He remembered.
She started giggling.
Peter woke, sleepy and confused. “Honey?”
The brunette grinned broadly. “Big Fella called to wish us a happy anniversary.”
“Big Fel-Dean?” Peter exclaimed, all traces of sleep disappearing. “He called?”
“Yep,” Elizabeth giggled. “Here.”
She played the message again for Peter. By the end they were both rolling with laughter.
~*~
Part 15: Peter - October 2004
Peter was sitting at his dining room table, pouring over the information from Europol as well as his own notes. Wearily, he rubbed his forehead with one hand while the other flipped to the next page of the report.
It was late and Elizabeth had long gone to bed for the night. Peter wished he could join her, but he was restless, mind churning as he tried to piece together Neal Caffrey’s current movements. He’d only be tossing and turning in bed, disturbing her and keeping her from a good night’s sleep. He couldn’t do that to her. She deserved to sleep uninterrupted after the long day she had hosting that gallery opening.
Frustrated, Peter threw down his pen. He was getting nowhere. Neal’s last known location was in Corsica, France. But the past few weeks there was absolutely nothing. Not even an audacious international phone call! The young con was obviously laying low after his last heist. That worried him more than anything else. With all that time on his hands there was no telling what new scheme and crazy stunts the boy could come up with!
Peter needed some way to get him moving again. If he was running, he had less time to plan, and eventually he would slip up. But how? He had no idea where Caffrey disappeared to. He rubbed his aching eyes. What he really needed was some advice. Normally he would ask Elizabeth. She was his best adviser. But she was tucked away snuggly in bed. That left who? Who else would be up at this time of the night?
He wracked his brain. Come on, there had to be someone…
Dean!
He grabbed his cell phone and dialed the hunter. If there was anyone who could help him right now, it was Dean Winchester.
“Yeah.”
“Hey Dean, I need some advice on a case.”
A garbled grumble, then, “Man, you’re lucky I was already awake. This isn’t about the Caffrey case again, is it?”
The young hunter knew him too well.
“Unfortunately. He’s in Europe.”
“So, still not your jurisdiction. Did he call you again? Send a postcard? Fake his death again?”
“No, no, and thank God, no. I’ve told you, he’s an American citizen. Technically-“
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. What do you need?”
Peter could just see Dean impatiently waving away his reasons, and he half smiled.
“He’s gone to ground after his latest great heist. Europol’s had nothing for almost three weeks. No sightings, no whispers, nada. There’s been no sighting of him coming back to the States, so I believe he’s still over there somewhere.”
“Is he the one who robbed that island or something I saw on the news a month ago?”
“Yes.” Not that there was any proof, but Peter knew it was Caffrey. It made the news in the United States for crying out loud! That sort of stunt was Caffrey to a T.
“Huh. He pissed a lot of people off, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, he did.”
Peter headed towards to the kitchen. He pulled a cold beer from the fridge and took off the cap. The beer was cool and burned going down his throat.
“So why call me? You’re the one with a badge and all the government resources, Professor.”
“Because I need to figure out how to find him, get him moving again. I can’t do that unless I have some idea where he went.”
Peter could practically hear the other man’s eyes rolling.
“And what, I’m supposed to magically have the answer? Sorry, dude, I don’t have that kind of mojo.”
The agent exhaled. “I need to find him.”
Silence fell on the other end. Peter sank back down into his chair with a sigh. He took another swallow of beer, attention glued to the neatly typed numbers and words, willing them to tell him something more than the nothing they already had.
“Bluff him.”
“What?”
“Make him think you’re closing in or Europol is or something. If he thinks they’re on to him-“
“He’ll run!” Peter interrupted excitedly. “And when he runs, he’ll-“
“Expose himself,” Dean finished. “That’s your best shot.”
“Thanks, Dean.”
________________________________________________________________________________
A week later, Peter silently crowed with success. It worked! Caffrey was on the run again, and Europol was tracking him once more. It was only a matter of time now before Caffrey returned to the States. Then the game would be up.
~*~
Part 16: Neal - May 2005
He added the final brush stroke to the ship and stepped back to admire his work.
Perfect! The piece looked just like Aivazosky’s original painting. Next step, aging it. Seashore night. The lighthouse in 1837 would be complete and ready. A proud grin split the blue-eyed youth’s face as he wiped his paint-smeared hands clean on a rag. It was just the piece for the next con when he was reunited with Kate.
Neal’s smile dried up, his teeth catching his lower lip. He needed to see her again, to be able to hold her and taste her. How would she react? What would she say? She wouldn’t reject him. He loved her, and she loved him, he knew she did. Neal had made a mistake when he didn’t tell her about Alex and the job in Copenhagen. But his biggest mistake was going without her.
He had to get her back; he had to tell her that he loved her and make it up to her.
Did she hear about the theft of Raphael’s St. George and the Dragon? It was their painting after all, the one they had talked about when they first met. More importantly, it was Kate’s favorite art work. Once they were together again, he would present the painting to her as a gift. She’d love it. She would.
He looked at the painting he just finished. Kate was like the lighthouse, his light and hope and love. He was the ship stranded at sea and desperately trying to reach shore. Only…the lighthouse had hidden its light.
Neal closed his eyes, mentally pulling up one of his favorite memories of Kate. After a successful heist over a year ago, they had celebrated with a glass of wine on the roof. He could still see how the moonlight caressed every curve of her gorgeous face, how it reflected in her eyes making them bluer than cornflowers. Kate was a true vision of beauty, much like Aphrodite or Artemis from the Greek myths.
Sirens cut through his thoughts. Not that it was unusual to hear police sirens in New York. In general, Neal didn’t concern himself with them unless they were coming for him. A quick glance out the window confirmed they weren’t coming today.
Neal set the painting aside. Later, he silently vowed. In the meantime, he needed to plan something else, a real slick, grand, challenging heist that Kate would hear about and know he orchestrated. Something that would remove the sheet covering her light, hiding her from his sight...
An unopened tube of red paint caught his eye. An idea began to form.
Rubies in Burma! Of course! Perfect.
He’d tell Moz first thing in the morning.
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