Chapter One
The cards were starting to blur in front of John's eyes. As though to fortify himself, the hunter reached out for his bottle of beer, his fingers knocking against it dumbly before he grabbed it. Bringing the bottle of lukewarm alcohol to his mouth, John drained it. Slamming the bottle down on the table, the hunter wiped a sleeve across his mouth.
"Look asshole," the man sitting across from him, "Why don't you quit while you're ahead?"
"What did you just call me?" the hunter growled, narrowing his eyes.
The man shook his head, "Forget it, I'm done. You don't know how stop when you've already lost."
John watched as the man set his cards down on the table.
"No wait! I have to get my money back! Let me do that at least," John demanded, his words slurring.
"Listen pal," the man leaned forward, hands on the table, "I already have your money. What else have you got that I could want? Why don't you just give it up?"
The man turned to leave but John grabbed his arm, right above the elbow.
"My kid!" he blurted, "I have a son!"
The man turned to look at John, ""A son?"
John, swayed for a moment on his seat, looked as though he may topple over, "I don't have anything else. I need that money back."
The man shook John's hand from his arm but didn't move to leave. He appeared to be thinking over John's proposition.
"How do you know I'm not some pervert?" the man asked John.
John shrugged, "Are we going to play or not?"
"All right," the man grinned and sat back down, "My girlfriend's been nagging me about having a kid for ages."
John smiled and picked his cards back up.
W
John parked the Impala in the space designated for the motel room he was renting. He turned off the engine and remained where he sat for a long moment. He felt as though a great weight were lifting from his chest as he thought about what he was about to do.
The man- his name was Kurt it turned out- idled his white 1980 Trans Am behind the hunter in the parking lot, waiting patiently.
John, reeking of alcohol, flung open the door to the Impala and stepped out. He motioned to Kurt that he'd be a minute and staggered up to the motel room. The lights were out; the boys were asleep.
Fishing the room key from his pocket, John unlocked the door and stepped inside without turning on the light. He could just make out the figures of his two sons together in one of the beds. Leaving the door ajar, the hunter stepped quietly to the bed and peered down at his four-year old son. Sammy slumbered with a thumb in his mouth, one of his older brother's arms draped over his shoulder.
Crouching down, John lifted Dean's arm and tucked it into the blankets. The eight-year old turned over but did not wake. Carefully, as quietly as he could in his inebriated state, John lifted his younger son from the bed.
"Daddy," Sammy murmured and nestled his cheek against John's shoulder.
Quickly, John turned and walked out of the motel room. He passed the Impala and stopped at the old, rusted Trans Am. Kurt rolled down the window of the car and peered at John and the child for a moment.
"Hand him over," he told John.
The father hesitated. But only for a second. He could feel his son's heartbeat against his chest.
"You're not getting cold feet are you?" Kurt sniggered, reminded John, "I wasn't the one to bargain his kid."
Saying nothing, John held the boy out. Sam, awakened by the sudden movement, peered sleepily at his father.
The child was small for his age. At four, he looked more like a two- or three-year old. Kurt grabbed the boy beneath his armpits and pulled him in through the open window. "Daddy?" Sam, sitting on the car's red leather bucket seat blinked at his father.
John turned his face away and said nothing.
"Daddy!" Sam cried, his voice suddenly muffled when Kurt rolled up the window.
The Trans Am's engine roared to life and began backing up, despite the noise, John could hear his son crying and calling out to him. He hardened his heart against the sound.
SPN
Dean's eyes snapped open. Something was wrong. Reaching out, he touched the space on the bed where his brother had lain when they had gone to sleep. Instead of feeling the solid, warm body of his brother, the eight-year old only felt sheets.
"Sammy?" Dean called and sat up, thinking his brother was in the bathroom. The door however, was ajar and the room dark.
"Where are you?" Dean asked and scanned the room.
Standing, Dean saw the glow from a pair of headlights outside the room and moved to the window. Pushing aside the heavy brown curtains, Dean paused, watching a white, rusty Trans Am drive past the room and out of the parking lot onto the highway.
"Sammy?" Dean turned and called again, "Where are you?"
The room was tiny, and did not have many places to hide, even for a small-for-his-age four-year old. Dean's heart began to pound in his chest.
"This isn't funny," Dean hissed and peered inside the cabinet upon which the bunny-eared television sat.
The boy jumped when the door to the motel room opened and his father lurched inside, alcohol fumes wafting off him in waves.
"What are you doing? You're supposed to be in bed," John slurred.
Dean peered up at his father, his heart knocking against his ribs, "I… I can't find Sammy."
"You what?" John asked and Dean repeated himself.
John hurried to his son, "Dean! Where's your brother?"
"I don't know!" Dean cried, "He was just here! Just here!"
John reached down and grabbed the boy's narrow shoulders, "Where is he?"
Dean craned his neck to take in the motel room.
"I don't… I don't…" Dean stammered. He didn't know what was happening. He had gone to bed with Sammy snuggled against him but moments ago he'd woken up alone in bed.
"Jesus, Dean! I get back and your brother's missing! Tell me what happened!" John snapped at his eldest son.
Dean started to cry. He didn't know what to do. His brother was gone and his Dad was yelling at him.
"I told you to look after him!" John chastised, "Didn't I tell you to look after your brother?"
Dean nodded, tears streaming down his face. He reached out to John, something he hadn't done in a long time, and his father picked him up.
"I should have been here," John said out loud, "This wouldn't have happened."
Dean pressed his face into the crook of his father's neck, weeping.
"We'll find him," John murmured in Dean's ear, having no intention whatsoever of looking for his youngest son, "We'll find Sam."
Author's Note:
Special thanks to mandancie for edited this story for me.
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