A.N: Second lot of corrections have been made to this chapter. Hopefully reads better (again) now.
2
I wake Dean early the next morning, hustle him into the bathroom and tell him that breakfast is on the table. I go downstairs, nod tiredly to Bobby where he stands in front of the stove, and lunge gratefully for the full coffee pot. I found no sleep during the night, instead spent it pacing my room, worrying over Sam. Bobby slides three plates of eggs onto the table as Dean enters, and I raise an eyebrow at my eldest still in his pyjamas as he sits and pushes his eggs across the plate.
I watch him for a few minutes, and then reach over and tap the table, pulling his attention to me, and then I gently remind him he's got school today.
The look he gives me clearly states that he thinks I'm nothing short of crazy, but I merely stare him down, and he sulks off to get changed.
His breakfast has remained untouched, and I sigh and pick at my own plate. The dog leaps onto Dean's chair, hoovering up the eggs before Bobby or myself can stop it, and I push my plate away from the dog before it can eat what I can't.
"Am I doing the right thing?" I ask, and Bobby assures me that I am, that Dean needs to try and keep his mind off this, and sending him to school is probably the best way to do that. I nod as Dean re-enters the room despondently, puts on his sneakers, and says a quiet good-bye to Bobby as I lead him out the back door. The car journey to the school is silent, and both of us are again paying more attention to the sidewalks than the road; hoping to see Sammy along the way. I promise to pick Dean up at lunch, not wanting my eldest out of my sight for too long, and he nods, walks dejectedly into the school building, and I hope that we've found Sammy by the time I return to pick him up.
Pastor Jim has arrived by the time I get back, and we are soon stood around the kitchen table, each of us armed with a steaming mug of coffee, all of us staring at a map of the general area, as though we can will it to tell us where Sam is.
The best places to start looking, Jim tells me, are the houses around the park and the school. I understand this to be the perfect world of child predators, and it is possible that some observant person living close to either of these places has seen something. We are checking the rounds in our guns when I pause, glance between the door and the phone, and Jim must notice my indecision, as he puts a hand on my shoulder, tells me he will stay here, he will wait for a phone call whilst Bobby and I search, and I nod thankfully, and we - Bobby, his dog and I - all leave the house.
No one is home in the houses opposite the school, or they are just simply not answering, and so I turn my sights to the grounds of the school building. I have been searching for nearly two hours when my cell rings, and I fumble for it for a moment before I am able to answer.
It is Jim, and for a moment I feel a surge of excitement, maybe the police have found my son, but that is quelled immediately when Jim tells me Dean's school has called. My eldest has done something, though they won't disclose this information with the Pastor, but they want him picked up. Jim offers to go, so that I can continue to search for Sam, but I decline his offer. I wasn't there to pick up my youngest, but I will be there to pick up Dean.
I am trudging back to the car when something catches my eye, and I automatically bend to pick it up.
The small flat silver rectangle is something I recognise before I even flip it over, and when I do I recognise instantly the wadjat engraved there.
The eye of Horus, engraved onto a dog tag that my eldest gave his brother on the kid's first day of school. A symbol of protection my son never takes off.
And as I get into the car I wish bitterly that it could have protected Sam from whoever has stolen my son.
Dean is sat inside the Reception when I arrive, but doesn't raise his head even as I pause in front of him before entering the office.
He looks up, guilt plastered on his face when I emerge five minutes later, but I give him a reassuring smile and he follows me out of the building and to the car, and I tell him no explanations are needed when he opens his mouth.
We drive back to the house silently, though this time I am musing on the fact that my son was sent home for protecting his family, for hitting that other boy for speaking badly of Sam. If I'd been there and Sam had been spoken against whilst missing I dread to think of the consequences.
Pastor Jim meets us at the doorstep of the house, and I frown as Dean hugs him, knowing from that move alone that my son is terrified for his brother. Jim says something to Dean, and my boy nods and heads inside. Jim looks at me as I walk over, asks me quietly if I found anything, and I nod, holding out my hand, the silver rectangle lying in my palm, and I almost smirk as the Pastor growls, and I follow as he turns on his heel and re-enters the house, smile dryly as he lets loose a curse as we track towards the kitchen. Yet all the time I follow him quietly, eyes fixed on the metal in my hand, only look up when we arrive in the kitchen.
Jim has been busy, the map is still spread out on the table, and there is a small stack of papers on an empty chair. There is a plate of biscuits on the kitchen table beside the map, and Dean is sat there now, a biscuit in his hand, but his eyes are on the map.
He looks up when I sit down beside him, and he quickly looks back to the map, one finger tracing the path between the house and the school, the distance that he and Sammy travel five days a week, and again I feel the surge of guilt that I wasn't there to bring my youngest home.
I reach over, trap my son's hand under mine, bringing his attention to me as I promise again that we'll find his brother, and when he nods we both look over the map, and I point out the areas that both myself and Bobby are looking over, tell him what we'll look over if we have to, add that the police are also on look out for his brother.
I hear the front door open as I watch Dean again trace the walk home, hear a soft conversation within the hall, and when the dog paces into the kitchen I know that it is Bobby who has returned. Quietly I extract myself from the kitchen, give the seasoned hunter a questioning glance, and he gives a sorrowful shake of the head.
He has had no luck in finding anything of my son or the person who has kidnapped him.
I nod my acceptance, though my jaw is tightly shut, and then turn back into the kitchen, stopping just inside to watch my son, still tracing that same line on the map, still holding that first biscuit – untouched otherwise – in his hand.
I sigh, calling over to Dean, and when he looks up I tell him to grab his shoes and his coat. And as he goes to do so I find Jim and Bobby, tell them that I'm taking my boy out, and at Bobby's insistence, catch up the dog and its lead.
Dean is quiet as we stroll from the house and down the street. The park stands down a street about half-way between the house and the school, and it is there we head, the dog pulling happily at the lead and Dean is alert throughout, his eyes going from one side of the street to the other, his body tensing and jumping at every small sound, and I know he's seeking out his brother.
We don't head to the children's playground when we reach the park, instead I let the dog off the lead and watch it lope off across the ground as Dean and I walk around the edge. My son is still silent, his hands deep in his pockets, looking sullen to any observer who does not know him, does not know that he's anxious.
I slip an arm around his shoulders, give one a tight squeeze, draw him closer to my side, and he leans into my side, murmuring that he misses Sam, wants his brother back here with him. And all I can do is agree with his words.
We stay only twenty minutes before we head home, and I feel Dean tense at my side as we round the corner to our street.
I see immediately what does this. A police car outside the house that sets my stomach lurching, and we both quicken our paces to reach the house.
The dog bounds to the kitchen as soon as it's released from the lead, and we follow at its heels, and my heart stops to see the two detectives sat at the cleared table with Bobby and Jim. Sam is nowhere in sight, and that's all I need to see to know that they haven't found Sam.
"John," Jim greets quietly, and the detectives nod quietly. Harper looks at me sympathetically, and then I my eyes go to what is within the sealed plastic on the table.
The air leaves my lungs when I recognise the battered Thundercats backpack there.
Dean gives a quiet wail at my side, and I remember then that he's there, and without thinking I bend and pick him up, clutch him tightly to myself as he wraps his arms around my neck and unintentionally tries to strangle me.
"Your brother tells me that this is definitely your son's bag," Wright said seriously, and I don't even glance to Bobby as I nod, agreeing with the observation.
"We found it a mile from the park," Harper explained "We have people searching the area for anything suspicious, but it's likely that the bag was tossed purposely there." I nod again, not trusting my voice, and my collar is growing damp, Dean is crying.
Harper explains a few more things, assures me they're doing everything they can to find my son, and then the pair show themselves out. The kitchen is quiet after they've gone, and I find my way to a chair and sink into it, still clutching my eldest.
The evening passes in silence, Dean continues to cling to me and so I allow him to sleep in my room for the night.
I stare at the dark ceiling as I listen to his soft breaths. I find no sleep this night.
At dawn I get up, leaving my son to sleep as I shower and dress, and then head downstairs. Bobby is already awake and sat at the kitchen table, and nods quietly to me over one of his huge books as I meet his gaze levelly, knock back a cup of steaming coffee and explain that Dean is still sleeping. Bobby nods again, and I can feel his gaze on me as I call the dog over, grab up its lead and take it outside.
I walk to the park automatically, my mind elsewhere as I let the dog off the lead to run across the grass, and I walk around the edges of the park as I wonder about my sons, our job, this life.
A throaty bark makes me look up, and I smirk when I see that Bobby's dog is barking at an animal the other side of the park fence. A sniffer dog judging by the woman holding the leash, and the animal is completely ignorant of the barking, instead focused on the job, and then raises its head as I come closer, growling and straining at the leash.
It takes me a moment to realise why, and I quickly explain to the girl that it's my son that they're looking for, and that's why the animal can smell the boy on me. She is hesitant for a moment, but soon nods, and allows me to drag Bobby's excited mutt away.
We complete the park circuit soon afterwards, and trek back to the house. I am hardly through the door before Dean is latched to my side, staring at me wide-eyed and clutching a ragged bear that was once his before Sam's, one I was sure we'd thrown out or lost several hunts previously.
Jim greets me warmly as I enter the kitchen, makes up another mug of coffee and a plate of eggs as he gently chides Dean to finish his cereal. My eldest moves quietly to his seat only after I've sat down myself, and merely pokes despondently at his full bowl. I watch him carefully as I start on my own breakfast; know that Jim is also watching him fretfully as he sits down opposite me, explains that Bobby has gone to get some more food and supplies for the long haul. It is always better to be safe, even when I want to shout that we'll find Sam quickly, and then we'll put the town behind us immediately.
I watch Dean push at his soggy breakfast for a few more moments before I take the bowl from him, coax him into taking a few sips of his milk, and then ask if he wants to watch some cartoons. He will not be going back to school again until we find Sam.
Bobby returns half an hour after I've settled on the couch with Dean, watching reruns of Thundercats, and the older hunter hands Dean a packet of cookies before setting a bag at my feet, glancing to my son. There is a Thundercats bag inside, a present for Sam when we find him. To replace the one falling apart even though I told him that we don't have enough money for one. I smile, and push the bag back to him; it needs to be kept safe and hidden for now, seeing it will only upset Dean.
Bobby takes the rest of the shopping to the kitchen, and I hear him speak lowly to Jim as the doorbell rings, and I rise and hover in the doorway as Jim answers it.
A cheerful, smiling young woman stands at the door, and I only need to glance at the microphone and camera equipment to know what she wants, and I don't even listen as she explains to Jim that they want to cover my sons disappearance.
I step into the hall, my mouth open to tell her that I don't want the attention on my son, when she adds that this could help us, that the coverage could bring out people who have seen my son, and I nod jerkily when I feel a tug on my shirt, and know that Dean is behind me, hidden from the woman, but listening to the conversation.
It takes three hours; a number of questions and several takes for the woman and her crew to leave, and once they have gone I knock back two coffees and coax Dean into eating half of the sandwich Jim has made him before I grab his coat and mine.
The pair of us spent the rest of the day wandering the streets of the town, searching for signs of Sam. Dean has not spoken to me the entire time.
