Summary: 'And as I get into the car I wish bitterly that it could have protected Sam from whoever has stolen my son.' John P.O.V. A six-year-old Sam Winchester is MIA, can he be found or will the family break apart?

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters and I don't own the show. Everything is written for pleasure, not profit.


What Tomorrow Brings

There's a commotion on the drive, and I lower my pen as the front door slams open. The smile slips as I hear no cheerful chatter from the hall, and I turn my head as Dean runs into the kitchen

"I've lost him Dad!" he gasps, his chest heaving with excursion, his face red, as though he has run the whole way.

"Where's Sam?" I ask, realising my youngest hasn't appeared, a hollow feeling begins in my stomach, and grows at Dean's next words.

"I can't find him."

"Dean," I start, and then pause, schooling myself into calm, there is no point in getting angry with the child, it'll be harder to get information out of him if he is upset "How did you lose him."

And so my son tells me. Explains how he had been kept behind after class today, how he had run straight for Sam's school as soon as he was let go, and how his brother hadn't been waiting for him on the school steps as he always was.

"And I told him he was to wait until you or I got there, really I did dad!" he finished tearfully, and I rose, crossing over to him and pulling him into a hug. His body is shaking in fear, and I kiss the top of his head.

"Drop your bag," I order him kindly, rising and grabbing the car keys from the table "We'll go find him."

It is a silent car trip, Dean still shaking with barely repressed emotion, and me trying not to show any anger that may set my son off. We drive slowly, both of our eyes more on the sidewalks than on the road, encase Sam has got bored and is walking home, and Dean had just missed him back at the school, and neither of us voice our disappointment that we don't come across him. Dean all but falls from the car in his rush to get out of it once we park, and leads me down the cheerful halls to Sam's classroom, and I try to swallow the prang of guilt that I don't even know where the room is, wasn't even there to prevent Sam becoming missing.

The teacher looks up, startled, when Dean and I enter, and blinks at me for a moment before looking to Dean.

"Dean," she says, confusion evident in her voice, perhaps wondering about this little visit "And you must be Samuel's father." She rises, as though to come and shake my hand, and then notes the looks on our faces, and stops.

"Is anything the matter?"

"Where's Sammy?" Dean manages, though his voice is shaking now, and I lay a hand on his shoulder, wondering if he'd find the courage to hit the woman before us.

"But, he went home," the woman is obviously confused, and now I muse if I should let Dean hit her.

"Sam knows not to leave until Dean or I pick him up," I explain, my voice calmer than I feel, "Where is he?"

"But he was picked up," she replies, nervously looking at me, refusing to even glance at the angry child at my side, "A gentleman came and said that you'd asked him to pick up Samuel, that you and your eldest were both indisposed of for the time." She is paling, perhaps realising only now that she has made the biggest mistake of her life.

"This man," I say sharply, perhaps I could hit her before Dean, who is now trembling, did "What's he look like."

"Tall," she replies straight away, and then falters, trying to bring forth a picture of a man she obviously did not study "Dark hair, a beard, and a long dark coat." I sigh, biting back a curse, this information is hardly anything to go by, and I turn my hand, steering Dean towards the door.

"I thought he was a friend of yours," the teacher says quietly, and we both whirl, and Dean beats me to a reply

"We've been here three weeks, lady," he hisses "Hardly enough time to trust anyone to take my brother home!" and he sprints from the room, and I follow him more slowly, barely hearing the woman making garbled apologies to our backs. I call to my son, who is stood frozen in the hall, and for a minute I think he has seen something, but Dean is only waiting and as soon as the door swings closed, cutting off the woman's frantic apologies he springs forwards, punching the door opposite his brother's class whilst letting lose a string of curses I know he's learnt from me.

I let him vent, walking down the corridor towards the entrance doors as he follows, still cursing, and we both pause once we step into the sun.

"I'm sorry, Dad," he whispers suddenly, and I look down into a face brimming with tears, and I know that he blames himself, and I know there's nothing I can say that will make him change this opinion.

"We'll find him," I promise, and then I lead him to the car, explaining as we go that we'll go back to the house, to see if Sam has been brought home, and if not we'll call in some help, and we'll find him.

We won't stop - neither of us will stop - until Sammy is back.

x

There's a trio of police cars outside of the house when we arrive there, and I automatically tense, and we both exit the car slowly, and I warily eye the two walking to meet us.

They introduce themselves to be detectives Harper and Wright, and the other four behind them are just general officers. I begrudgingly let them into the house, watch Dean and he shoots upstairs for a minute, garbling something about needing the bathroom when I know he's really just gone to hide the case of guns sat in my room, and I show the six cops into the kitchen, gather together all of my work on the table and explain to their curious glances that it's all research for a book I'm writing.

The kettle is boiling and Dean has returned by the time the Detective Harper speaks. She is young, perhaps only just a detective, and perhaps this is her first case as one, for she seems nervous and enthused, and I stand staring at her with my boy clutching my sleeve.

Harper asks what I've been doing all day, how old my youngest is, what he is wearing, how long he's been missing for, and I answer all of her questions stoically, whilst my heart hammers within my chest. I hesitate only once, when she questions on Sam's clothes, and it is Dean who jumps to my rescue, stating that I'd dressed my son in denim dungarees, a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles t-shirt and a black sweater. He adds the fact that Sam has a Thundercats backpack, and I bite back a chuckle as they tell us that it'll probably turn up first, for although this is so very serious, that bag is falling apart, and I know from experience that trying to get my son to part with it is impossible.

"Is there anyone who could have a grudge against you, Mr Winchester? Someone who may have taken your son because of this grudge?" she asks

Wright leans forwards as I answer the negative – for I can't think of anyone who'd hold a grudge beyond those that I hunt, and I can't see them kidnapping Sam unless it's a demon, though there's been no activity in the area to suggest so - steeping his fingers as he stares hard at me and Dean.

"What about your wife, Mr Winchester?" he asks, his voice gravely and low "Is she aware of anyone who could have taken your son?" I feel Dean tense at my side, and wrap my arm around his shoulder as I shake my head.

"No," I manage to say "My wife. Mary died when Sam was six months old." Wright nods, and Harper looks sympathetically at me.

The rest of their questions either Dean or I answer, and finally they ask if they can look around the house, and for a recent photograph of Sam. I concede to both, and hand them over the photo of my boys on Dean's tenth birthday, both perched on the car and Sam wearing that same Turtles t-shirt he's missing in as I watch Dean's eyes dart to where part of the floorboards can be lifted in my room, where he has hidden the gun case.

They all leave eventually, promising to get in touch if they receive any information on Sam, telling me to call them if I see or hear anything suspicious. It has been four hours since they arrived, and Dean is still clutching to me tightly, the adrenaline that had him so edgy earlier gone and replaced with exhaustion, and I manage to lead him upstairs and put him to bed. It is only then, after I have made myself a coffee and am left to pace and worry on where my baby boy is that I realise that I cannot do this on my own, I cannot watch over Dean and look for Sam at the same time, and soon I have made several calls, and both Bobby and Jim are on their way, with Caleb promising to get here as soon as he's done with a hunt. And again I move to pacing, for it will be at least four hours until Bobby arrives, more until Jim gets here, and I cannot leave the house and my sleeping son alone.

x

It is close to midnight when I hear a truck on the drive, and I open the door before Bobby has had chance to knock. He nods at me, returning to the truck to gather his weapons cache, and pulls open the side door. The huge slobbering beast of a dog lumbers out, and for once I am glad to see it; my sons are attached to that beast, and though I dislike it, worry of the damage those jaws can do to my boys, I know Dean will take comfort in having the dog beside him whilst we find Sam. The dog seems to understand this, for it barely gives me a passing sniff before entering the house, and I hear it lumber its way upstairs, to where my son lies sleeping.

Bobby raises his eyebrows in apology, but I merely shake my head, and lead him into the kitchen, throw away my cold coffee and brew up some more, and explain everything that's happened today. It seems longer, but with Bobby around I calm, and realise that its still the day that Sam went missing, though nine hours have past.

Nine hours my son has been lost and scared.