You Found Me
The sun is high in the way, the temperature just reaching it's peak as heat settles in. The midday rays shine off the smooth sides of a beautiful '67 black Impala as it comes up the dirt path, the vehicle coming to a stop just before an open forest that stretches on for miles.
"This is the last time Dean," John warns, hands firmly gripping the steering wheel as he turns to look down at his eldest son of just six years of age.
The boy is sitting up in the passenger's seat, his green eyes trained on the world outside, or at least what little he can see from over the door. At the sound of his name, Dean turns his attention to John, his old man wearing a serious expression on his face, fingers tapping on the steering wheel impatiently.
"Dean, open your mouth and talk to me, or I swear…" John starts, narrowing his eyes at his son.
Seeing Dean won't even try to talk, his pink small lips sealed, John angrily throws the car into park.
"Get out!" John orders, his brown eyes on his oldest son, the young boy looking back at him still as silent as ever. "Don't look at me like that," John quips as he steps out of the car, rounding the front of the Impala to open the passenger door and pull Dean out. "You'll talk again. I know you can," John says while he lowers himself to one knee, his hands on Dean's small shoulders. "You're not getting back in that car until you speak, you understand Dean?"
John waits a few seconds, his eyes looking for any indication that Dean will talk. But his older son is still faithfully quiet, his shoulders hanging low, but his eyes still as sharp as ever.
John stands up with a sigh, "Remember what I taught you."
The man closes the passenger door, Dean's gaze following his father as he rounds the front of the car again back over to the driver's side. The young Winchester follows John's every foot step until his father slips inside the car and closes the door, effectively separating the two.
"Not a foot in this car until you talk to me," John states, his hand reaching for the keys and starting the car. He waits, his eyes on the young boy, waiting for him to open his mouth and tell him to not leave him behind.
Dean does open his mouth, but he doesn't say a word, his eyes wide with obvious fright and confusion.
John looks away, putting his car in drive and pulling away from Dean and the father looks through his rear view mirror, seeing his son standing there and looking smaller and smaller the further he gets. He can't turn back now. Dean needs to learn to grow up and accept what has happened. Dean needs to get out of this mute stage. His mother is dead and he needs to learn the hard cold fact that she's never coming back.
The leaves crunch underneath his sneakers, the worn soles not doing much to prevent the dirt from rolling in under his feet. Still, that's the least of Daryl Dixon's worries as he ducks under the trunk of a tree that must have fallen ages ago, the moss growing over it spreading to the point where the bark is barely visible.
He scampers up the side of it, barely able to reach as he practically throws himself up, arms shaking with the effort needed to haul his tiny body up. This normally wouldn't be such a hard feat for the nine-year-old, but his stomach begs to differ, hurting so bad that it's as if it's threatening to turn itself inside out, sapping any strength Daryl's got left in himself with it.
From the slightly higher vantage point, Daryl is able to make out the direction he had come from, but not much else, the realization making him curse softly under his breath. The woods offer no more clues, no more indication of where to go as they simply envelop him in what seems to be an endless sea of trees.
There is a rustle beside Daryl before there is something yanking the hem of his shirt, Daryl turning around to be greeted with bright green eyes staring up at him. The young boy's thin fingers curl around the hem of Daryl's shirt tightly, as if holding the older boy in place, and if he hadn't been, the Dixon might just have toppled off the trunk in his shock.
"What?" Daryl manages, immediately crouching down to keep his balance as he looks the rather clean boy up and down before glancing around the area. "How'd ya get here? You alone?"
The younger boy does not answer, instead he let's go of Daryl's shirt when he feels that he won't just leave him. Sharp green eyes waste not time in scanning Daryl from head to toe, no shame that the older boy might feel uncomfortable, before they return to Dary's blue eyes again.
"C'mon kid, where did ya come from?" Daryl pushes, glancing over the boy's head. "Ya have an adult with ya? Know how to get the hell outta here?"
The little boy still doesn't respond, his hand reaching out and grabbing the hem of Daryl's shirt again as if the older boy knows the way out, or as if the younger boy doesn't want the older boy to leave him.
"Yer gonna show me the way out?" the older boy inquires, dropping down from the trunk and not caring that he made the other boy stumble a little. "Alright, get going."
Letting go of Daryl's shirt, the younger boy looks up at him as if waiting for him to take the lead. Green eyes stare into blue, lips pressed into a firm line. Finally, the boy answers Daryl, but not with his words. He shakes his head, informing Daryl that he's not going anywhere.
"What?" the older boy hisses out through his clenched teeth. "Talk to me. You know the way out or not?"
The younger boy looks at Daryl as if he grew another head or is speaking french. He looks around the place, grabbing the hem of Daryl's shirt again as he pulls the older boy towards a tree where there is a lizard. Pointing at it the younger boy steps closer, releasing Daryl's shirt in the processes. He just looks at the lizard, giving Daryl an occasional glance, as if making sure he's still there.
"Are you serious?" the older boy snaps, throwing his arms up in the air before he's turning away from Dean and stomping back to his fallen trunk. "I don't know who the hell ya are or why yer even here, but ya might as well be me going crazy with all the help you are!"
Not wanting Daryl to be even five feet away from him, the young boy rushes after him, green eyes trained on the older boy as he steps up next to him again. He doesn't say a word as he slips his smaller hand into Daryl's, not wanting the blue eyed boy to leave him.
He looks up worriedly at Daryl, his fingers squeezing the other boy's hand. He doesn't want Daryl to be mad at him. His father is always angry at him. The last thing he wants is for the older boy to be angry to him too.
"What? I can't help you!" Daryl frowns trying to shake his hand out of the younger boy's grip. "Yer just gonna end up like me, lost and hungry and mad."
Green eyes widen for a fraction of a second, releasing his grip. His father and brother are nowhere in sight and this boy is the only person with him, so he grabs the hem of Daryl's shirt again. Green eyes move away from Daryl and settle on the ground next to his feet.
"Ya ain't got nothing to say? Nothing at all?" the older boy quips, smacking the green eyed boy's hand away from his shirt and taking a step back. "You'll have better luck going back where ya came from. C'mon, get. Ya ain't just wandered in here, right? C'mon, where'd ya come from?" the older boy urges, opening his arms wide and gesturing at the forest surrounding them. "I ain't got all damn day."
The younger boy doesn't move, knowing full well he can't exactly leave now. His father won't be back. He's stuck here. The last thing he wants is to be alone. The younger boy keeps his eyes on Daryl, making sure he doesn't run off and leave him alone.
The green eyed boy opens his mouth as if he remembered something, slipping his small hand into his pocket. The young boy slips out a bar of chocolate, handing it to the older boy, green eyes searching for blue ones.
Daryl's mouth audibly snaps shut, all of his attention focused on the candy bar in the boy's hand. He glances up into green eyes as he inches closer, hand hesitantly reaching out as if expecting the young boy to pull his hand back before he seizes his prize, practically snatching it out of the kid's hand as he takes a step back, hasty fingers tripping over one another as he tears the wrapper open. Breaking off a chunk, he shoves it into his mouth, fingers in and all as his growling stomach requests more.
Blue eyes snap open as he remembers he has an audience, the green eyed boy still standing there. Glancing down at the candy bar, a frown tugs at Daryl's lips before he's handing back the other half of the bar.
The younger boy shakes his head, pushing the bar towards Daryl for him to finish it. It's clear that the older boy has not eaten anything in days. Even he can see that, and he won't take what little food the boy can get in his empty stomach.
Gratitude that older boy is reluctant to voice shows in blue eyes as Daryl stuffs the rest of the candy bar into his mouth, this time feeling no shame as he licks the wrapper clean. "Ya ain't got anymore, do ya?" Daryl inquires, glancing over the younger boy from head to toe.
Green eyes shift towards Daryl's feet, clearly feeling bad for not having any more to offer the older boy. Slowly, he shakes his head.
Daryl grunts, looking the wrapper over as if he'd find another piece of candy he hadn't yet devoured. When all traces of it have been licked up, the older boy sighs. He crumbles it in his hand before tossing it to the ground.
Daryl shifts his weight from one leg to the other before he glances up at the younger boy, "Ya ain't so bad anymore." He offers the boy his hand, "Daryl."
Instead of taking Daryl's hand, the younger boy crouches down and slowly spells out his name in the dirt with his finger. Once he's done, he looks up at Daryl and points at what he wrote, as if the older boy wasn't already observing him write out his name.
"De-aan?" Daryl tries, crouching down to make out the name a little better before glancing up at the younger boy.
Dean frowns and shakes his head with his brows furrowed. Shaking his head again, the young boy spells out his name again, this time writing two e's instead of an a. He points at it again and looks up at Daryl while pointing at the two e's.
"Dee-n?" the older boy attempts again, glancing up at the younger boy to see if he's successful or not.
With a nod, Dean stands up, offering the other boy another nod of approval, a smile taking his lips. He opens his mouth to talk, but when he does, no sound leaves his lips. The smile that had been on his face slowly melts as he looks away from Daryl.
"Ya can't talk?" Daryl prompts, pushing himself up to his feet. "Something wrong with yer throat?"
Dean doesn't look at Daryl, jaw clenching as he takes a step away from the other boy. Tears start to blur Dean's vision as he frantically tries to whip them away. He's not supposed to cry. He's not supposed to think or talk about her either.
"Hey, hey, calm down, kid, ain't mean to upset ya," Daryl frowns, waving his hand in front of Dean as if it would make him stop crying. Biting on his bottom lip, the older boy glances around for anything to distract the younger boy with. "Hey, ya see that?" he taps Dean's shoulder to get his attention, pointing up towards the top of a tree. "See that lil' hole? Squirrels live in 'em. Betcha I can catch one for lunch."
The younger boy doesn't look up at Daryl, his head lost somewhere else as he stares blankly at the tree in front of him. Tears are streaming down his face, but Dean doesn't seem to even notice them. The young boy let's his shoulders cave in as he slumps down onto the ground.
"Ya ain't gotta go on like that," Daryl frowns, crouching down in front of Dean. "If ya don't like squirrel, I can find ya something else. Cause city kid like you don't eat stuff like that, right? Well, you ain't gotta. Pretty sure yer pa and ma are worried 'bout ya. Looking for you all now, I'm sure."
Dean looks up at Daryl, not being able to contain the tears that stream down his cheeks. The younger boy shakes his head, knowing that John is far from worried, and his mother… Dean curls into himself at the thought of his mother, gaze dropping away from Daryl's blue.
"What'cha mean? Yer telling me yer pa ain't out there looking for ya?" the older boy frowns, tilting his head to be able to look at Dean's face.
The younger boy shakes his head, knowing full well John was the one to leave him here in the first place.
"What about yer ma, then?" the older boy tries again.
At the mention of his mother, fresh tears form in green eyes as the young boy lowers his head, trying to shield them from Daryl.
"Oh," Daryl blinks, ducking his head. Looks like his ma had been the wrong way to go, biting his bottom lip as he tries and fails to come up with ways to make the kid stop crying. The older boy settles for shifting so that he can sit on the ground beside Dean. "My ma...my ma ain't 'round either."
Green eyes widen before they look up at Daryl, his attempts to hide his face from the older boy forgotten. Dean tilts his head slightly, curiosity dancing behind his watery eyes.
Relieved to finally get Dean's attention again, the older boy continues, "Smoked a lot. Always had a cigarette in her hand. Always drunk too." Daryl pauses, blue eyes focused on the expanse of trees before him, but not really seeing anything as he purses his lips, voice growing quiet as he continues. "She died in a fire. Burned down our house and her with it."
Dean stares at Daryl, lips slightly parted as he listens to the other boy tell him that his mother died in a fire. The same way his mother died.
"Fire," the word slips out of Dean's mouth, eyes locked on the older boy. He wets his lips, the act of talking hard for a kid who hasn't spoken in over a year. "My...mom died like that...too," Dean tries to express, keeping the details to a minimum. John has expressed countless times to never talk about Mary. Though that wasn't a problem since Dean wouldn't talk about anything, much less his mother's death.
Daryl's head snaps up, wide blue eyes finding green. He's not sure if he's more surprised that Dean's mother also died in a fire or that the kid had actually spoken. He had been beginning to think he was dealing with a mute, Dean's broken voice convincing Daryl that the younger boy had most definitely not spoken much, if at all.
"So ya can talk, huh?" Daryl grins, elbowing the kid in the side. "My pa probably ain't looking for me either. That's another thing we got in common."
That brings a small smile to Dean's lips. "John...left me here," Dean explains, "He'll be...back," he adds. "But...he's not...looking for me."
"He'll be back?" Daryl questions, sitting up straighter as he pins Dean down with his gaze. "He's coming back here? For you? Ya know where he is? How to get to him? Which way ya came from?"
"I don't know where he went," Dean shrugs. "He'll find me if I get lost," he adds, looking over at Daryl. "Is your...dad dead too?"
"Forget about my pa," the older boy brushes the question aside. "Yours is in the area? Why didn't ya say that sooner?" He pushes up to his feet, glancing around again. "He's gonna find ya?"
"He's gone. Left me here. But he'll be back," Dean explains, using his hands to push his small body onto his feet. The younger boy glances at the tree the squirrel is in as he wipes the drying tears on his cheeks. "Can you really…" Dean swallows before he continues, "...catch a squirrel?"
"Forget the squirrel!" Daryl urges, grabbing the younger boy by the shoulders and turning him so that he's facing the older boy. "Where is he gonna get ya? Dean, ya gotta show me."
Dean looks up at Daryl with owlish green eyes. Before Dean could responds, his name being called interrupts him. His head whirls so he's looking behind him before he returns his attention to Daryl, "That's him!"
The younger boy pries himself from Daryl's grip, only pausing for a second to motion for Daryl to follow before he's running off.
"Dad!" Dean yells, almost tripping over his own feet. "Dad!" the young boy calls again as he follows his father's voice.
Dean makes it to the clearing, his eyes searching for his father, a smile on his face when they land on the Impala first, then his father who is leaning against it.
"Dad!" Dean calls as he makes his way over, a bright smile on his face.
"You're too old to be calling me that," John responds with a stern frown that quickly turns into a small smirk when he sees Dean lower his head once he's standing next to the older man.
"Yes sir."
John nods as he places his hand on Dean's small shoulder. "You're talking again," John comments. "I knew you would find your voice if I left you alone." After all, John had just been encouraging bad behavior from Dean by allowing him to stay next to him. Leaving Dean alone was the best thing.
"Sir, I wasn't alo-" Dean pauses, looking over his shoulder to see that Daryl isn't beside him.
"Wasn't what?" John prompts, brown eyes looking out into the forest while his other hand reaches for the gun hidden under his jacket.
Green eyes flicker to John's hand, before they go to his father's stoic expression. "Nothing," Dean quickly speaks up.
John looks down at Dean, sensing he's hiding something, but decides not to look too much into it. "Let's go, we have to pick up Sam. I have a job across state."
"Yes sir," Dean nods, hesitating a little to look over his shoulder at the forest.
"Dean!"
The young boy jumps slightly at the way John says his name. Without saying a word, Dean opens the door to the Impala and climbs in next to his father. Dean presses his forehead against the window, his green eyes searching for Daryl.
Right before they pull away from the side of the road, green eyes catch sight of the older boy stepping out of the forest, a small smile spreading over Dean's lips as he waves at the other boy.
Daryl lifts his hand, offering Dean a wave as the Impala drives away, following the dirt road back up to the path to the main street. Back to civilization.
He's out. He's finally out. Nine days in that forest and Daryl Dixon is finally out.
"Thanks, Dean," Daryl breathes out, not moving from the spot until the Impala is long gone in the distance.
He's a long way from home, but now he at least has an idea of where home is. Putting one foot in front of the other, Daryl begins his hike bike, mindful to keep a distance from the forest while also using it as a guide to find his way back.
Deeper into the Georgia wilderness, it's not long before his backyard comes into view, these trees familiar to the point where the young boy could have maneuvered around with his eyes closed.
Daryl walks in through the back door, straight into the kitchen, and makes himself a sandwich.
Notes from the Authors: It's sad that both Dean and Daryl lost their mothers in a fire. Different circumstances but fire was still involved. This story originated with that basis in mind and then evolved into this. Just a rather long drabble to keep us busy.
Thank you for reading and we hope you enjoy.