elrhiarhodan

Title: We Shall Come Home - Chapter XV
Author:

elrhiarhodan
Fandom: White Collar
Pairing/Characters: Peter Burke, Neal Caffrey, Elizabeth Burke, Reese Hughes, Diana Berrigan, Clinton Jones, Mozzie, Satchmo, plus other characters.
Rating: R
Spoilers: None
Word Count: ~ 2100 (this chapter) ~61,000 (total)
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: None
Summary: Transformed beyond recognition, beyond comprehension, Peter and Neal are lost in the woods and desperately try to get home. A tale of friendship, sacrifice, loss and ultimately, of love. .

We Shall Come Home is not a work in progress. New chapters will be posted once a week, on Tuesdays.
Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III | Chapter IV | Chapter V | Chapter VI | Chapter VII | Chapter VIII | Chapter IX | Chapter X | Chapter XI | Chapter XII | Chapter XIII | Chapter XIV |

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CHAPTER XV – TUESDAY MORNING

HE COULDN’T SAY WHAT HE HATED MORE, THE SMELL OF A HOSPITAL OR THE TASTE OF HOSPITAL COFFEE. Despite his twenty-plus years in White Collar, Reese Hughes had spent way too many hours in hospital waiting rooms, in lounges and in hallways, waiting for news about colleagues. It was part of being an FBI agent: the risks sometimes far outweighed the rewards.

But today – today was a good day after all. Peter was alive. That was all he wanted to focus on: his friend, his fellow agent, was home. His logical, rational mind shied away from the events that brought Peter here, to the ICU in Brooklyn Hospital, but he couldn’t block out the memory of the huge dog bursting into the house, collapsing and becoming Peter Burke.

When you put together all the evidence, the only logical explanation for Peter and Neal’s disappearance was completely irrational. But apparently not impossible. Peter Burke had turned into a dog. And so had Neal Caffrey.

He took a sip of coffee, and his stomach knotted up in protest. He tossed the nearly full cup in the trash and gestured to the two waiting agents (who’d been smart enough to get tea – he’d have to remember that the next time).

“Let’s get back upstairs. Maybe Peter’s awake.”

Berrigan and Jones had kept their thoughts to themselves, though it was easy to see how overjoyed they were at Peter’s relatively safe return. But their job wasn’t done yet.

“Any word on Caffrey?”

Jones answered. “I’ve had the office put out an alert for a stray wolfhound to every animal shelter, vet and precinct from Pennsylvania to Brooklyn, but that covers a lot of territory.”

“Wolfhound? That’s a big assumption, Agent Jones.”

“Sir, not really. The fur inside of Peter’s discarded clothes was typed as wolfhound, and the same for Neal’s. They were two different dogs, same breed.”

“I didn’t think you could type a dog breed through DNA.”

“Yes sir, you can even buy testing kits online, but we didn’t have to. The AKC has been keeping a database of animal DNA for the past decade, and they were able to get us the information to use fairly quickly.”

Hughes shook his head. He didn’t mind being corrected by the younger agent. It was just that he felt old and out of touch for the first time in his career.

The rest of the walk back to the ICU was done in silence, but everyone perked up when they saw Elizabeth Burke outside of Peter’s room, with a smile on her face.

“He’s awake?”

“Yes, and he needs to talk to you.”

Hughes and the other agents were ready to barge into the room, but Elizabeth grabbed his arm. “Be careful with him, Reese. He’s very weak, and needs to stay calm.”

“I understand, Elizabeth.”

“I don’t think he’s ready to talk about what happened. Peter’s terrified for Neal and he tried to rip his IV out and leave the hospital. You have to find Neal, please. Otherwise, I don’t know what is going to happen to Peter.”

Hughes nodded. Finding Neal was a priority, and not just for Neal’s sake. Without Caffrey in hand, there was no way that he’d be able to save Peter’s career. He didn’t say any of this to Elizabeth, of course.

“The doctor will be back in about ten minutes – she wants to sedate him. You have that long to talk. Please, please don’t upset him.”

“Don’t worry, we won’t.”

He went into Peter’s room, Berrigan and Jones behind him, like two faithful hounds, he thought with no small sense of irony.

Peter looked like crap. It was hard to believe that this was the same man he’d said “good night” to less than a week ago. He was thin to the point of emaciation, his skin grayish, hair and beard overgrown, but his eyes were definitely Peter Burke’s eyes, clear and determined.

“Reese!” Peter tried to get up.

“Peter, relax. Elizabeth made me promise not to let you get too excited.”

He appreciated the look of disgust that crossed his friend’s face.

Peter plunged right in. “You have to find Neal. He’s out there, and he won’t be able to get home without me.”

“We’re working on alerting every LEA and animal shelter from Pike County to Kings about a grey Irish wolfhound. We’ll find him.”

“No! You’re wasting resources – Neal was with me when we got to Brooklyn. I lost him in Fort Greene Park.”

“What?”

“We made it to Brooklyn, and got separated. Just before I came home. You need to be looking in Brooklyn. Get in touch with veterinarians, animal shelters, the local PD, the park police in Fort Greene.” As Peter’s voice trailed off, the sound of Jones’ pen scratching out notes was the loudest sound in the room.

Hughes wanted to get the full story about their trip, but that could wait. He turned to the waiting agents. “You got that?”

Jones and Berrigan nodded.

“Wait, wait. You should contact Captain Dan Shattuck out of the One-Five in Manhattan. He’ll put you in touch with the Humane Law Enforcement division in New York. His sister is on the ASPCA’s Board of Directors – they have oversight over the HLE. She can mobilize them.”

Hughes couldn’t help but notice that Peter was reaching the end of his endurance.

“We’ll find him. I promise.”

“Reese, you have to. He’s out there, and I don’t know what will happen to him if you don’t get him back to me soon.”

A thought occurred to Hughes. “Is it possible that Neal … became human when you turned back into a man?” He didn’t say that, if that had happened, Neal would be trackerless and able to just disappear.

Peter thought for a moment, giving the idea serious consideration. “No, I don’t think so. If he had, he’d have gone to the house. He wouldn’t have run.”

“You’re sure?” Hughes knew that Peter’s faith in Neal was absolute, but he didn’t quite share it.

“Neal has four months left – he has no reason to run. He wouldn’t have risked that, not with so little left to go. Not this time.”

“Ah, you are right.” He mollified Peter, but didn’t quite believe that Caffrey wouldn’t run.

Peter looked like he had more to say. “There’s something I’m forgetting, something I should tell you, but I can’t remember …”

At that moment, Peter’s doctor came in. “I’m sorry, but your time is up. Agent Burke needs his rest.”

Hughes nodded. “Peter, we’ll keep you updated. But rest, please. Your wife will have our heads on pikes if you don’t.”

“Find Neal, and I’ll be able to rest.” The urgency in his friend’s voice was gut-wrenching.

Peter tried to reach out, and Reese winced at the sight of the arm restraints. He squeezed Peter’s shoulder.

“I’ll be back tomorrow, and we’ll be in touch with any updates.”

Peter seemed pathetically grateful. Hughes couldn’t wait to get out of there – it was too damn unnerving to see his friend so diminished.

The doctor practically pushed them out the door, and as Jones and Berrigan made their goodbyes, with promises to find Neal, she stuck a needle into Peter’s IV. Hughes thought he was asleep before they got out the door.

WHEN NEAL WOKE UP, HE WAS DISORIENTED, GROGGY AND WEAK, AND THE PAIN WAS TERRIBLE. He blinked once, twice – but most everything was in shades of gray. He recognized the electric green of blinking machine lights and the pale blue of the walls, but everything else was wrong. He struggled, but his arms and legs wouldn’t cooperate, and even the slight movement he managed sent daggers of burning agony through his chest and neck.

He closed his eyes again and tried to remember what had happened. It came back in a rush.

Driving with Peter, arguing about having to go out to the wilds of Pennsylvania. The deer jumping in front of the car. The terrible scream the animal made – its struggles on the road. The sickness he felt, the guilt he felt – if he hadn’t distracted Peter, he would have had time to swerve and avoid hitting the deer. Peter killed it.

His memory of what happened after that was like some fantastic horror movie. Their transformation – his brain struggled to comprehend that they had become dogs. He remembered the change that swept over Peter, even as his own body metamorphosed into a huge dog. Peter had struggled, as if it had been painful, but his own transformation felt right, part of the natural order of things. His clothes had just slipped off, as did the tracker.

And the journey home, all the killing. Neal’s soul curdled at the memory of the animals he’d hunted, the small rabbits and squirrels, and the deer. Oh, god... the doe and her fawn. How easily he took those lives. But Peter needed his help, Peter wouldn’t be able to get home without him. His last clear memory was lying in that hollow, bargaining with himself over the doe. Neal remembered the sacrifice he’d made.

His recollection of what happened after that was vague, like he was looking at everything through an old mirror or a distorted window. The memories weren’t so much incidents as emotions. Fear, worry, anxiety, anger. And over everything was the all-consuming need to help Peter, the urge to ensure his utter safety, to protect him from the slightest harm.

It was like flipping through a photo album, memories spilling into consciousness, faster and faster. He remembered killing the deer, the bright taste of blood. He remembered bringing them back to Peter, making Peter drink the dead doe’s milk. He remembered traveling at night – a bridge, getting separated, the fear of losing his pack. And then finding a man – he fed them, although Neal also remembered not wanting to eat that meat. But Peter seemed to know him, and Neal didn’t understand how, but it was a small miracle. The drive back from wherever they were, back to Brooklyn, saved them days, and maybe their lives.

The wind in his face, that he remembered – the smells of the forest giving way to the unpleasant, burning odors of pavement and gas and humanity.

There was this one particular image that burned in his brain: the two of them, standing – sitting – side by side on a city street. There was another dog – Neal remembered the anger and the fear and the need to protect Peter. So he ran after the animal, he chased him into the park. He violated the one, inviolable rule of this entire, misbegotten adventure – he separated himself from Peter. He got lost.

The children were unforgettable. In his life, he’d never really spent much time with kids, but he’d always liked them, liked their innocence, their infinite curiosity, their wonder at the commonplace.

The three children who found him – Neal remembered thinking that these small creatures could be his new pack. By the simple virtue of their innocence, they were entitled to all the protection he could give them. Neal had to laugh at that – he wasn’t the one who carried the badge. He wasn’t the one sworn to protect the innocent, to uphold the law, to fight wrongdoing – that was Peter’s role.

In a startling flash of insight, Neal realized what the magic had done – it had reversed their roles. Peter had become the seeker, and Neal was the protector. How Peter would laugh when he told him.

Peter…

There was silence. Neal reached out again. Peter, where are you? Are you there?

He tried not to panic. Peter, come on. What’s happening? Why aren’t you answering me?

Neal tried to stand up. He pushed his legs beneath him and exerted all his strength, but he couldn’t stand, he could barely move. The weakness terrified him more than the pain did.

Peter, what’s the matter? Why can’t you hear me?

Then the most terrifying thought occurred to him. They put down dogs who are very sick or who don’t have a home.

Neal whimpered, realizing that he was all alone – he had no pack, no friends, no one to look after him, look out for him. He would likely die here, and no one would ever know what had happened. He tried to tuck his head under his tail and wished he could cry. The powers that be might have given him his intelligence back, but they were laughing, mocking him. Once again, his sacrifice was in vain.

To Be Continued