[Author Notes: This story will be uploaded one chapter at a time, building to a complete and already fully outlined story. I would like to dedicate this story to my girlfriend, Sydney. Hopefully this story will feed her obsession with Supernatural Fanfiction. I fully encourage readers to submit reviews and to message me directly. I am not willing to place this story in any specific season or to match with any specific story arch from cannon, but I would recommend being familiar with the show up to at least the sixth or seventh season.]
Chapter 1
CRASH!
Thunder rolls across the sky in the dark of night, the tempest of wind and rain whip through the trees. A single minivan braves the weather assaulting this peaceful neighborhood of Muskego, Wisconsin. It's brightly polished wheels slam into a deep puddle of water lining the edge of the street, sending a wet wave of leaves and dirt onto the pristine driveway of a large, white, two story house. Perfectly trimmed hedges line the walls and open porch leading to well manicured gardens of colorful flowers. Thick, green vines wind up the two pillars, usually welcoming any friendly visitors, but tonight, only greeting nature's violent ways. A wooden rocking chair rolls over the porch's varnished floor in the wind, being pulled onto its side.
In an upstairs bedroom, a groggy mother wakes to the cries of her newborn child.
"Ray, Ray." Her hand drops carelessly onto the sleeping form beside her, "It's your turn." Gently shaking the muscular form before her, she lets loose with despairing moans of encouragement.
"It's in the kitchen." Shrugging her away, trying not to stray too far from his dream filled sleep.
"No, Ray. She's needs you. I got her last time."
He groans acceptance, "Fine." Only now does he hear the unending cries of hunger from across the hall. Tossing his limp legs over the edge of the bed he mindlessly kicks for his slippers before venturing to the downstairs kitchen. "Warm milk, warm milk." The stairs creek under his feet, rhythmically, along with his child's cries.
The storm rages outside the windows, wind forcing braches to scratch against the glass. A roll of thunder precedes the beeping of the microwave, exclaiming the finale of the now warmed bottle of milk.
Quickly his hand flicks open the small door, retrieving the infant's delicacy. The high-pitched cries have only become more distinct against the calming patter of rain. The bottle's warmth radiates through his hand as he ascends the staircase back to his child's room.
"It's okay, daddy's coming."
The cries grow louder, more frustrated with each step. He walks down the hall to the nursery, placing his open hand on the doorknob.
Suddenly, the cries stop.
He pauses, "Maybe she wore herself out?" he thinks to himself. He softly pushes on the doorknob, tip-toing over to his child's crib. His eyes not yet accustomed to the pitch black of the room, he reaches a hand down to the bundled blankets.
Empty.
Frantically, he tosses his hands around the small mattress, dropping the still warm milk onto the floor. He races over to the light switch, stepping on a soft yellow duck with a "Squack." Smacking the wall switch, he spins, scanning the room: Empty crib, not on the floor, not behind the changing table.
"Tracy, Tracy!" He screams in horror at the realization that his child is gone without a trace.