Hello! So it's been a while since I last posted a story! Lots of things have happened in my life in the interim! I fell in love, got engaged, all good things! Unfortunately that means I've been reading a lot of fan fiction rather than writing it! Even as my interest in the show has waned a bit, Dean and Cas are still my favorite couple and I never get bored of the Destiel fandom! Thanks for reading and your reviews are my bread and butter!
Summerset Valley Dispatch 3:17am
Becky Rosen, feet propped on her desk and heels long ago abandoned, took a sip of her instant coffee and grimaced. Somehow coffee at three in the morning always managed to taste like sludge. The phone had been quiet for over two hours and she rapped her nails against the arm of her chair, wondering if she could risk a quick peek at the cooking channel's late night reruns.
Knowing her supervisor, the only other occupant of the office, was downstairs dealing with the single call that evening—some hysterical parent had reported a missing teenager who was later found sneaking into an R rated movie—Becky pulled up the latest of installment of a show involving ridiculously extravagant cupcakes and leaned back in her chair, basking the in the steady glow of the computer monitor. Musing over the various facets of fondant, she spilt half her coffee when the phone finally rang.
"Hello, this is Summerset Valley Dispatch. What is your emergency?" she blurted into the receiver.
A kid's voice answered. "Hello? Can you hear me? There's been some sort of explosion. Something's gone wrong, I know it—Dad and Dean said they'd be back by now."
Explosions were practically unheard of in a town like Summerset. Almost anything though was unheard of in a town like Summerset. It was most likely a prank call. Becky kept her voice calm and stuck to her script. "Where are you, sir? Can you give me an address?"
"I don't know. There's…uh…a park a little ways down the street with a red slide I think. Or maybe an orange one? There's definitely a swing set. They told me to stay there."
"Okay, I'm tracing your call right now but it will take a moment. Can you see a street sign from your location? I need an address."
"No. Wait—yes. Maple? Mapleton I think. There's a lot of smoke, it's hard to tell. The other is Lewis though. Mapleton and Lewis."
This wasn't progressing like a normal prank call. The kid should have hung up rather than provide an actual address. With a rush of adrenaline, Becky's fingers moved automatically through the process of notifying both the police and fire department.
"Great. I'm sending help right now. You said there was an explosion. Are you, or is anyone near you injured?"
"What?" The kid sounded scared.
"Are you physically okay at this moment, sir? Are you injured?"
"Yes, yes I'm fine. Hang on though—that can't be just smoke. It's the house; the house is on fire. What if they're inside? Dad's car is across the street, that's his car. Dean told me, he told me it was just an 'in and out' job. Where are the firefighters? Doesn't this town have firefighters?"
"Sir—honey—I need you to stay with me. Firefighters are on the way. Where are you in relation to the fire? Can you tell me which house is burning?"
"It's the one with the blackthorn tree out front. It's just like Dad said, all twisty and stuff. They could still be in there—what if they're still in there? I have to find them. They were supposed to stop it tonight."
The call was getting progressively weirder. "Blackthorn? Sir? Sir, do not enter the house. We will take care of this but you need to remain calm. You can help us right now by letting us know exactly what you are seeing. Stay with me here. What's your name? How old are you?"
"I think I just heard a scream. No, I definitely heard a scream. Someone is in there! You said help is coming?"
"I did. Where do you think the scream came from? Can you describe what you are seeing? I need more to go on."
"Oh god. The roof. Roofs aren't supposed to make that noise…it's caving and Dean is still in there! He's got to be! I have to go—"
The line crackled on the other end and it was not hard to imagine there actually was some sort of inferno raging like the kid had described. "Sir, stay on the line with me. It's okay; everything will be all right. Help will be there shortly. Sir? Can you hear me? Sir? Sir!"
There was only static in response. Becky mashed the receiver further against her ear and pressed redial, willing the kid to answer. When none came, she called Henriksen.
Police Chief Victor Henriksen barreled his way through the horde of civilians packing the street and ducked under a sea of caution tape, double checking his hastily donned shoulder holster.
A tornado of a fire had swallowed 2124 Mapleton and now threatened to set the neighboring houses ablaze. Shouts from the firefighters that swarmed the surrounding rooftops carried distantly through the inferno and Henriksen's own police squadron was aiding their relief efforts in the flickering light.
Thin and rail-like, it was easy enough to spot officer Pete Demers, who stood by a police cruiser barking orders. He fought his way to the man's side.
"I got the call at three thirty this morning, Demers. Three thirty. What the hell is going on here?"
A muscle twitched in Demers's cheek. "It's difficult to say right now, Chief," he said, eyes fixed on the blaze. One thing Henriksen appreciated about his second-in-command was his ability to remain calm under pressure. "We had to pull the men out when the second part of the roof collapsed. Bystanders aside, we've evacuated most of the neighborhood as a precaution."
"And is it contained?" If it wasn't, they were in for a long night.
"Reports indicate the flame retardants are holding out." Demers indicated where several firefighters were spraying down lawns and rooftops with a rust colored liquid.
"Good, all according to protocol so far. Any casualties?"
Demers jerked his head toward a flashing ambulance. "We had to pull a kid out. From what we've gathered, it would seem he was attempting a rescue."
"You mean there are still people in there?" Henriksen bellowed, his temper rising hot and fast. "You should have led with that! How many, Pete?"
Demers considered him before he spoke. "It's hard to say, sir. The neighbors swear the place has been vacant for months now, so that eliminates the possibility of any current residents."
"It was my impression the kid reported his father and brother were involved."
"Yes, and we're on high alert for that very reason. Our lot has yet to find a single person beside the boy though, so if someone else is in there, he or she went quietly. Time will tell."
"You should have had at least a ten minute window to get in there before it got that bad. The fire station is right down the road, for heaven sakes. I saw the call log myself—the fire started seconds before the dispatch call."
"That's true," Demers agreed, looking uncomfortable. "Only this fire seems particularly…vicious." The fire leapt in a renewed roar, jumping and crackling as if it approved of his assessment.
"Vicious? It's a fire, Demers, not an animal," Henriksen coughed and covered his mouth with a sleeve. "Is the boy intact?"
"He's being treated for minor burns but yes, he's going to be fine."
Relief washed through Henriksen at Demers's words. At least he wouldn't have to answer to the press for a child's death. "What about the cause?" he asked.
Demers paused and glanced sidelong at his commanding officer. "It's been a strange night, sir."
Henriksen waited for him to continue but Demers was silent. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Extracting information from the usually forthcoming officer was a slow operation tonight.
"I believe there was some sort of animal mixed up in everything."
"You're saying a dog or something started the fire?"
"Or something." Demers swallowed like he was trying to organize his thoughts. "I had just jumped out of the cruiser when I glimpsed a long shadow streaking away from the blaze. I've seen quite a few dogs in my time, sir, but it wasn't like any dog I've ever seen. One of the officers, Mills, I think—you know how excitable she gets—shot a round at it and the thing shrieked. Shrieked, sir."
Sweat gleamed in the firelight off Demers's cheeks and Henriksen frowned. "If I didn't know you so well, Demers, I'd say you had been drinking tonight."
"No, Chief, I haven't."
"I know," Henriksen sighed. "How am I going to explain this?" He thought for a moment. "Suppose there was an animal involved. Have you called the shelter?"
"Yes. I left a message with the night crew. I'm expecting them at any moment."
Satisfied that all reasonable measures had been taken, Henriksen looked toward the lights of the ambulance. "Well, if we're done here, I had better see about that kid. Keep the civilians out of this, Demers, and above all else, make sure that fire stays contained. And, when you've a moment, let Wyatt know I'll be wanting to speak with him in the morning."
Demers visibly relaxed as Henriksen issued his orders. He was a good man, if perhaps a tad too imaginative. "Of course, sir," he replied with a salute and strode back toward the fire.
The boy sat huddled under a mountain of orange blankets. Probably thirteen or so years old, he sported a mop of shaggy chocolate colored hair that almost covered his eyes. A pair of tennis shoes whose half-peeled soles were wrapped with duct-tape hung from the kid's feet as he swung them over the edge of the dock. Propped against the ambulance door, he fingered a set of fresh gauze bandages on one arm as the paramedic squad rushed by.
"I told them they should be ready for when the firefighters bring that lady who screamed out," the kid said as Henriksen moved to sit beside him. A pair of intelligent hazel eyes peered from behind his bangs.
"No one else heard a scream."
"Doesn't mean it didn't happen." By all rights, the boy should have been hysterical; he'd just been pulled from a burning house. Instead, talking with him left Henriksen feeling distinctly wrong-footed.
"What's your name, kid?"
The boy ignored the question and wrapped the blanket tighter around himself. "Have you seen my dad or Dean?"
"Not yet."
"I don't think they're dead anymore, but they're definitely missing. Where do I file a missing persons report?"
"Filed a lot of those, huh?" Henriksen joked and chuckled.
"Not recently, no."
His laugh died. "Okay, one thing at a time," he growled, getting down to business. "Name first. What is it?"
The boy looked away. "Sam Winchester," he muttered.
"And were you here, Sam, when the fire started? Do you know what happened?"
Sam frowned. "You're not very sympathetic. I think I liked the paramedics better."
A shout rose above the din of the fire. "Chief! There's someone down here! I need a stretcher, stat!"
"And that would be the person I was talking about," the kid said. "Let's hope they weren't one of the good guys."
Henriksen cursed and sprinted back toward the fire. When he remembered to check the ambulance several minutes later, the boy had vanished.