Once again, thank you everyone for all of the wonderful reviews. Here's a little game for this chapter- see if you can recognize our special guests of the week.
"You sure you're going to be okay?"
"Hank," Nick began, shooting his partner a look. "Just because I'm skipping coffee for a few days doesn't mean I'm going to die."
"Come on, I know that." Hank still had a concerned frown on his face. His face that was completely devoid of scales or fangs. Nick watched it with interest, watching how it contorted and shifted under the weight of emotions. How the brow furrowed and the jaw clenched.
It was an experiment. Just to see how long he could go before Hank's face reverted back to the Skalenzahne beneath the surface. So far, he had managed two and a half hours and counting, and he'd reached a conclusion.
Hank's facade face was kind of charming. It was no wonder so many women had fallen for him.
"You sure?" Hank pushed again, worry still etched across his expression, and Nick sat back with a sigh.
"Come on, Hank, it's an elimination diet." Nick shook his head. "Caffeine is a big one for triggering headaches. As soon as I'm sure it's not the coffee, we can go out for a celebratory cup. I'll buy."
"Fine." Hank deflated. His shoulders weren't as broad as when he was in full Skalenzahne form, nor was he as tall, and it was odd to be this close to him and not be constantly aware of his ever-present bulk.
Nick had always felt kind of small beside Hank. He was only just starting to realize that in reality, to the eyes of the families they interviewed and the suspects they interrogated together, they were about the same size.
Nick's head gave a particularly sharp throb, and he stifled a grimace. It had been almost non-stop since that first day, and- to be honest- he was about ready to be done with it by now. Pushing through it, focusing on work through the distraction of the pain- it had gotten so hard that he'd finally decided to do something about it.
He had a bottle of aspirin in his pocket, but not taking it was the point of the elimination diet. Once he figured out whether this was being caused by a food trigger or if it was stress, he would be able to work around it. Until then, though, he had to cut back on the most common foods that had been shown to impact headaches and closely monitor whether it got better or worse, and that meant not taking anything to lessen the pain artificially.
So far, it had been a steady level of the same. The same kind of pounding, distracting call for attention from the inside of his skull that had consumed him for the last week and a half.
The ringing of his phone was sharp and startling, and he found himself flinching from its sudden noise. He fumbled it in his pocket, finally answering it and ignoring the worried looks that Hank kept shooting him.
"Burkhardt." Nick offered. A few seconds later. "Where? Alright. I've got detective Griffin here with me, we're on our way."
"Ah, the call of crime." Hank muttered, stuffing his scone back into the paper bag the cafe had given him to carry it out in and starting up the car. "Where are we headed?"
"Twenty Seventh and Fremont." Nick grimaced. "There's a kid missing from Alameda Elementary. Left on the bus this morning, never made it to the school."
Hank's expression went flat. Without another word, he kicked the car into drive and they were off.
It would be Nick's first missing persons case.
x
Nick didn't realize that the missing child was a Wendigo until he nearly ran face first into the parents.
He froze up for a second. Standing there, wondering what the kidnappers were doing at the school, wondering where they could have taken the boy, how he could draw them out without revealing himself, and then-
Then, he'd seen the tears in their eyes, heard the mother's broken sobs, seen the stiff tension in the father's shoulders, and he felt horrible.
The feds were there. They were interviewing the parents, telling them that the first twenty four hours were crucial in cases like this, asking them if there was anyone their family knew who might have meant them harm or if there were any adults in little Owen Ledford's life who might have taken him.
Nick already had a bone-deep unease creeping over him as he kept half an ear on the questions, quietly following Hank as he introduced both of them to the FBI team leader.
They were throwing around theories on potential predators- sexual and otherwise- in the area. Who would have crossed paths with the kid. How they might have abducted him right off the bus without standing out.
Nick played along. And as soon as the feds had let the parents go, he drifted over to them.
He'd never been this close to a Wendigo. Only seen them once or twice out of the corner of his eye on the far end of a street, keeping to themselves.
But as he stood an arms length away and offered his reassurances, they seemed no different than any other parents stricken by loss and fear.
When he tried to push, though- just a little bit at a time, trying to lead them towards realizing what seemed so obvious to him, that their son might have been captured not because of his age but because of his race- just as he was about to ask "Are you absolutely certain there's nothing else in your family that could be relevant to this?", one of the feds pulled him away.
Nick followed him. And withstood the scolding he was given for 'harassing the family'. Even bit his tongue and held back when he was told that his overeagerness was excusable because he was still a rookie, but not to do it again.
The dressing down was quick, efficient, and brutal. And then, the agent walked away.
When Nick followed the group- Hank and he seemed to have been unofficially appointed a part of the investigation under the FBI- and his partner offered him a sympathetic wince, Nick had smiled at him and shrugged it off.
Oddly, that didn't seem to reassure Hank.
x
The feds searched along the wrong lines, following false leads for almost the full day, and Nick was pulling his hair out more and more. He had offered to drive the agents who had been working on victimology to ensure that he learned more about little Owen, although the way he had played it, they probably thought it was to get away from the agent who had slapped his wrist before.
The more he learned about Owen's life, the more he started to be certain what had happened to him. And it tore at his heart.
Elementary school. That was the last age when it was really acceptable to broadcast your race. When you were little, everyone was excited about their first Woge and their family heritage, coloring in pictures of themselves and their family all transformed and proudly displaying them on their walls.
Except for the kids who had reason not to.
Nick had drawn all the time when he was at this age. According to the walls of Owen's room, he was no different. Except not a single one of his scribbled pictures had depicted his family.
He'd drawn his house. His toys. The trees outside. Even his bicycle. But never once had he done a picture of himself or his parents.
Nick's heart clenched in his chest as he lay a hand on the door frame of the child's room.
Every description of Owen he was given- shy, withdrawn, but clever- reminded Nick of his own childhood. Had Owen learned what he was, he wondered? Had Owen had the same teary breakdown as he'd had, learning that he was one of the bad guys?
Had his parents told him, or had he found out on his own?
"You're pretty quiet." one of the agents offered. Nick's heart was in his throat.
"I really need to talk to the parents." he murmured.
But they diverted him away. Apparently he had been red flagged- everyone on the investigation had been told not to let him near them. When he tried, he was told to wait, and when he asked how long he had to wait for, they'd given him an indefinite sort of brush off.
Nick was tearing his hair out. If he was right, Owen wasn't in any immediate danger, but every second they wasted was one more second that he might be soon.
For the very first time in his life, he sat there, considering revealing himself to everyone. At least then they might listen to him, even if it was with guns trained on him.
As it turned out, he didn't need to go that far.
x
"Sorry. No can do."
"Please!" Nick begged the man at the door. This was so important, and before he could be certain, he had to speak to the parents. Everyone else was chasing extortion rings and pedophiles, and that wasn't going to help until it was already too late. "Please, just five minutes, that's all I need."
"Come on, back off. We're all on the same side, here- don't give me a hard time for following orders."
Nick stepped back. The aspirin in his pocket was too heavy to resist, the headache that had built up only exacerbated by being manhandled by everyone, and he popped a pair of pills into his mouth. One dry swallow later, at least he was promised relief in a few minutes.
The man at the door was eying him warily, and Nick held up the bottle to he could read the label with a sardonic half-glare.
"So you don't think I'm dosing as well as being a tactless jackass." the words were flat and cold, even as they left his lips, and the man winced.
"Sorry." he muttered.
"Listen-" Nick began, then took a deep breath. "Listen to me. Please. I know that you've been told to keep me away from the family, and I know why, too. I'm not trying to harass them. I just need to ask them something that may help us find Owen."
The Waschbar hesitated. Eyed him, brow furrowed.
"You really think it's that important?" he pushed. Nick nodded.
"I think it means everything."
Another pause. Just for a second.
Then, he looked down at his watch.
"I'm going to grab a coffee." he stated, faintly. "Can't be expected to watch the door when I'm just one room over, right? But once I see you in there, I'm going to have to report it to the captain."
Relief washed over Nick. He clasped a hand on the man's shoulder, along with a grateful nod.
"Thank you." he shot at the sergeant's retreating back.
The moment the officer was out of sight around the corner, Nick entered the room. The noise of the door opening had both parents looking up at him.
Jumpy. Every person who came in must have meant news from the investigation. Either the electrifying news of We found your son, or the nightmarish addendum of I'm so sorry. We were too late.
Nick managed a half-watery smile and shook his head.
"We're still looking." he promised, quietly. "But if you don't mind, I need to ask you some questions about Owen."
"Of course." Mr. Ledford nodded, taking a deep breath to try and steel himself. Mrs. Ledford looked up at Nick almost blearily.
"You're the detective from this morning." she murmured, sounding almost surprised. Nick nodded.
"Yes, I am." he paused, and then- "Owen is a clever boy, wasn't he? A bit of a loner, but not by choice?"
"Oh yes. That's our little boy." Mrs. Ledford almost choked on her words, a pained smile tugging at her cheeks. "He's not so good at sports, but he loves reading. He'll read any chance he gets."
"Always off in the corner of the playground." Nick followed the train of thought. "More likely to climb the jungle gym in order to perch himself on top to get better light than to pretend he's climbed Mount Everest. Right?"
"Right." she nodded, perplexed. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"I'm just trying to understand Owen." Nick offered. "Who he is, what he does, what might cause him to deviate from his normal schedule. Tell me, did Owen ever read with anyone else? Or to anyone else? Any other kids at school, or from your block?"
"There was a girl named Kelly." Mr. Ledford offered, frowning. "They were the same age. She was good for him. More outgoing. Kelly would pull him into playing in the back yard when he would probably just have holed away in his room on his own."
"You said was." Nick pointed out. "What happened?"
"Her family moved away." the man shrugged. "A few months ago. Owen was devastated."
Nick tried not to wince. Of course he had been devastated. She had probably been his best, and only, friend.
"How was Owen doing in school?" Nick asked. "Did he ever seem- distracted, or reluctant to get on the bus?"
"Oh, every day." Mrs Ledford nodded hastily. "We were- we were thinking of taking him to the doctor to see if there was something wrong."
"I see." Nick nodded, straightening up. "Thank you both. I'll let you know if there are any other questions."
He needed to call someone first.
He needed to find out why Kelly's family left.
x
It was a photograph he had barely thought anything of at first. It had been on the evidence board the whole day and it hadn't even raised a flag with him. Now, though, he found himself pulling it down and staring at it.
He was still standing there with it in hand when the door opened behind him.
"You spoke with the parents again."
Ah.
"Yes, I did." he murmured, not bothering to turn around.
"After you were specifically warned not to."
"I needed to ask them questions relevant to the case." Nick pointed out.
"Oh, really?" the lead agent walked around the table to where he stood, glaring at him. The man was a Lowen. He must have been used to others backing down at the scent of predator all over him. It probably pissed him off that Nick didn't flinch. "Well that just makes it all so much better then. If you had questions, you should have passed them through one of us first."
"To make sure they didn't count as harassment." Nick murmured, fingers brushing over the photograph again. "I understand. But you wouldn't have seen it until I checked."
"Excuse me?" the man's eyebrows were creeping up on his forehead.
"I've got another question for them." Nick offered. "But I'll have to go through you. Ask them- why aren't there any pictures of their family in Owen's room?"
There was silence for a moment. Nick turned around fully to face the team leader, who was frowning at him.
"I don't follow." he paused, then- "What angle are you working here? I agree, it is unusual for a boy of his age to never draw his family, but are you thinking he was adopted? Abducted by his birth parents?"
"No." Nick murmured, his eyes flickering down to the photo in his hands. "I'm nearly positive that he's their biological son. But I don't think he was abducted."
"Excuse me?" the rest of the team, including Hank, had begun to filter into the room after another fruitless search failed. The agent who had deemed him quiet before was the one who was considering him thoughtfully. "What do you mean? You think he ran away? Abuse, maybe?"
"Stress, but not intentional abuse." Nick sighed, turning the photo in his hands around for them all to see.
They had taken it as evidence. It had been scratched into the paint outside of Owen's locker as if by nails or a knife. Everyone else had just thought it was a message from the kidnapper, but Nick knew better.
It was of a badly drawn skull with antlers.
"This is what tipped me off." Nick lied. "I know this symbol. The skull with antlers. It's the old Algonquian tribe face for their 'evil spirit', the Wendigo."
"Wendigo?" Hank's voice was sharp, even as he stiffened. He wasn't the only one.
"Then the boy's already dead." the team leader growled, his whole body shuddering.
"I thought so too, at first." Nick nodded, glancing over the image again. "Except this symbol? It wasn't done by an adult. Look at it. The scratches. They're a little above eye level for a boy of Owen's age, but all of the highest marks start from the bottom and get lighter as they head to the top. If an adult had done this, they would have had to be kneeling down. But if it was done by a child..."
"A child?" one of the FBI caught on, moving around the table to look at the photo. He tossed it down onto the wood, letting them all see it.
"Cruel symbols scratched into his things at school." Nick murmured, softly. "A boy who prefers the company of books to other children his age. Quiet, but clever, and doesn't draw any pictures of his family. Not because he doesn't want to make them, but because he doesn't want anyone else to ever see them, so why take the risk?"
"What are you getting at?" the team lead pressed.
Nick looked up at the man. Met his eyes.
"You go to the parents." he offered, quietly. "You go in there and you sit down and you tell them that they need to tell you everything if we're going to find their son. You ask them if there's anything in their family that might have put Owen in danger. And remind them that the modern justice system forbids the prosecution of people based solely on their race."
"You think that they're being hunted by a Wendigo?" the agent from before frowned at him.
"No." Nick shook his head. "I think they are Wendigo."
x
It didn't take more than a few moments for the agents to get the Ledfords to open up.
"But it doesn't mean anything!" Mrs. Ledford kept insisting, over and over again. "We don't follow the old traditions- we need meat diets, yes, but beef and pork is a perfect substitute. We've never done anything. And Owen's just a little boy, he's no threat to anyone! He doesn't even know what he is, yet!"
Nick knelt down in front of her. Since the agents had learned what race the Ledfords were, they'd been reluctant to close the distance.
"Mrs. Ledford." Nick began, quietly. He reached up for her hands, and she tentatively took them in her own. It was a wonder how slight and fragile her grip felt, beneath his fingers. Such a dangerous creature- one he never would have thought to describe as delicate until just now. "I have a question for you, and it's very important. Has Owen gotten nervous, recently? Maybe protective- has he started checking the doors at night to make sure they're locked?"
"Y... yes, he has." she met Nick's stare with wide-eyed surprise. "We... I kept saying he was growing up into a responsible little man."
"Was that a little while before Kelly's family left?" Nick pressed on, and she nodded.
"Just about a week."
Nick took a deep breath. His shoulders slumped.
"He knows." he whispered.
Everyone was silent.
"What do you mean, he knows?" Mr. Ledford asked, looking between Nick and his wife in confusion.
Nick straightened up. Met the man's stare head on.
"I mean he knows." he repeated. "I checked in on Kelly's family. They moved away because Kelly refused to ever go back to school again. She did it because he was there. Owen found out what he was, and shared it with her, and she rejected him."
Mr. Ledford's hand lifted up to cover his mouth. He was staring at Nick in horror.
"When you're that young, and in a situation like that-" Nick paused. Then- "You feel cornered. Every little threat seems so much bigger than it actually is. And when your parents refuse to talk to you about it, it only makes things harder to handle. Paranoia, overprotectiveness- locking the doors at night to make sure they're all closed and never drawing his parents so that if anything ever happens to him, nobody will be able to tie them to him, so even if he gets hurt then they won't be in danger-"
Nick licked his lips. Squared his shoulders.
"I think that before she left, Kelly told someone at school about what he was." Nick offered. "Someone who's been bullying him in secret. More and more, he didn't want to go to school, right? Reluctant to head there, but never telling you why? And when he got there today, he must have gone to his locker- and seen that symbol etched there- and thought 'they found me'. I don't think anyone kidnapped Owen. I think Owen thought there was someone after him, and he ran to try and lead them away from you."
Mrs. Ledford choked on a sob. Staring at him with a wide-eyed gaze.
"If Owen was in trouble," he began, patiently. "If he really, truly thought his life was in danger, and he didn't want to come to you, do you have any idea where he might go?"
x
They found him at his grandparents abandoned farm.
He had made a den in the crawlspace under the main building.
When the others tried to lure him out by saying they were police and he was safe now, Nick could have smacked them. Owen thought he was one of the bad guys. Having the good guys show up on your doorstep wasn't something you looked forward to when you were a bad guy.
Instead, he told Owen that the people who had found him hadn't been able to find his parents. He'd done so well. He'd protected them.
Now that threat had passed, and his parents needed him back to protect them again. To make sure they were safe. And he could do that better from their house than he could from this little nest, couldn't he?
Owen crawled out, covered in bruises and scratches, clean tear trails cut through the dirt on his cheeks. Nick picked him up and carried him out to the car. Asked him about his favorite book.
By the time they returned him to his parents, Owen was practically talking over himself to tell Nick the plot of the story he read last week, who didn't let go of him the whole ride back.
He didn't relinquish his grip until he could deliver Owen directly into his mother's arms.
x
"How did you know?"
Nick glanced up. The agent from the house- the one who'd described him as 'quiet'- was watching him.
Nick offered a dry smile.
"You can't have gotten into the bureau on looks alone." he remarked. "Take a guess."
The man let out a little scoff of amusement. Came over to lean against the wall beside Nick.
"...you were just like him, weren't you?" he asked, finally. "When you were talking to the parents, before, describing Owen's behavior. And when you were talking to the kid. It was like- you had personal experience."
Nick was quiet. Then, he glanced back at the agent.
"What's your name?" he asked, softly.
"You never got it?" the Fuchsbau half-grinned at him. Nick shook his head.
"Too busy getting a lecture from Special Agent Lofthouse." he stated.
"Don't be too hard on him." the man shrugged. "He can be a little narrow-sighted, but it's because he cares too deeply and gets too caught up in there being no room for error."
"I understand." Nick nodded sharply.
"And it's Durwell." the man held out his hand. "Special Agent Max Durwell."
"Durwell." Nick shook his hand. "If you're ever in town again, give me a call. I'd love to give you a tour."
"I look forward to it." Durwell grinned. "Maybe I could have your number, just so I don't have to bother the station for it."
Nick offered Durwell a card with his personal number on it. As he handed it over, the man's hand wrapped around his fingers for just a moment.
"You know, when I learned that he was a Wendigo, I admit- for a second, I thought this case wouldn't end well." the agent murmured, softly. "But you know? I'm starting to think that Owen's going to grow up just fine."
A small smile graced Nick's lips. There was a tinge of sadness to it- he wouldn't have wished his life on Owen, no matter how similar he may have been as a child. But all the same, the veiled compliment from Durwell was warming.
As he watched the Fuchsbau's back retreating down the hall into the other room, Nick brushed his fingertips against the skin where Durwell had touched him.
It had taken everything he had not to rip his hand away from the agent and grab the closest sharp object. It was getting worse. Even though he had been the one to initiate the flirting, even though he had been expecting the touch, even though Durwell was just a Fuchsbau- not even a major predatory threat...
Nick closed his eyes. Wincing.
The light was getting to him. He was just tired after so long of this headache plaguing him. Of course he was a little bit tetchy. As soon as he figured out what was causing it, he would be able to get some relief, and his mood would improve as well. Who didn't wind up in a bad mood after being in pain for so long?
Nick fumbled with the bottle of aspirin. His fingers practically thrummed with the memory of the simple touch- the brush of fur and the stroke of flesh.
He could cut that fur off and wear it- curl up with it around him as a blanket when the heater was busted. Nuzzle into it and savor sweet memories of how its previous occupant screamed-
He slammed his head back against the wall.
For a second, the headache splintered into blinding spikes of pain, but a moment later he had finally managed to get the cap off of the bottle.
Before he could shake even one out into his palm, a hand darted in and snatched the bottle from his fingertips.
Ferocious possessiveness demanded that he break every single bone in that hand. When he turned to its owner, though-
"You had two less than six hours ago, remember?" those dark eyes were fixed on him.
Nick grimaced. Closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Did I?" he muttered, trying to figure out how long it had been. It was the Waschbar from before, the one who had been guarding the door to the elder Ledfords.
Oh. Oh, right. He had popped a couple while he was trying to gain access to the parents.
"Must be pretty bad if you can't even remember." the sergeant mentioned. When Nick opened his eyes, the man was reading over the back of the bottle. "But you still managed to crack the case. Impressive."
"Thanks. I think." Nick muttered.
"If the feds hadn't interfered, you probably could have found him this morning."
"They were just doing their job." he brushed it off. The Waschbar was eyeing him.
"If the pain's so bad, why are you using this over the counter stuff?" he pushed. "You should see a doctor. Get a prescription."
"For what?" Nick shot back. "Narcotic pain relief? Something that reads 'side effects may include dizziness, shortness of breath, numbness to extremities, and drowsiness'? Something that's going to take me out of the field?" he shook his head.
"Point taken." the sergeant handed him back the bottle and gave the back of his shoulder a light smack. "Just don't overdose. I'd hate to have to explain why our new star detective wound up in a coma in the bathroom."
"Got it." Nick mumbled, screwing the lid back on. Then, he glanced back up at the Waschbar, his brain catching up with the wording. "Star detective?"
The sergeant snorted. Stuffed his hands into his pockets.
"People talk." he brushed it off. "You've got a reputation. You know, I joined the force the same year you did? You probably don't even know my name."
Nick blinked. Searched his memories. He could have sworn he'd never even seen this man before today.
But when he went back- all the way back, back to his graduating class in the academy- something finally sparked.
"It's Wu, isn't it?" he asked. The sergeant's face lit up.
"Yeah." he grinned. "Yeah, it is. Good memory."
"Didn't know you entered the same time I did." he admitted.
"Well, that's partially my fault." Wu shrugged it off. "I only just got promoted to sergeant this year. Worked on a different floor before that. You'll probably see me around a lot more."
Nick offered his hand. A faint smile on his lips.
"Congratulations on your promotion, sergeant Wu." Nick offered. "Feel free to come bother Hank and me any time you're bored."
"Careful." Wu accepted the hand, still grinning. "I may just take you up on that."
