In Thanksgiving

By: Ridley

Beta: Tidia

A/N: Sorry this chapter has been longer in coming, as an unexpected bought of bronchitis bowled me over for a few weeks. I promise another longer chapter at the first of next week. Tidia and I also have plans for an early Christmas present to our wonderful readers. So, stay tuned!

RCJ

"If the only prayer you said your whole life was 'thank you', that would suffice."

-Meister Eckhart

Sam had never liked the cold. In fact, he was going to put the coming winter on his mounting list of things he was not grateful for. Snowball fights, snow forts and hot chocolate aside, Sam preferred eternal summer. He would have loved just a bit of warmth at that very moment as he lay shivering at the bottom of the steep ravine he had just tumbled down.

Nothing hurt, nothing felt broken which was surprising considering the height from which Sam had fallen. He'd landed just outside the rocky bed of a mostly dried up stream. Just a small snake of water wound its way down the hillside alongside Sam, its slight gurgle the only sound in the too quiet woods. Sam had come to rest in a pile of broken twigs and damp fallen leaves. He sat up gingerly, rubbing his arms for warmth. He'd brought his hoodie but hadn't been able to risk going into the kitchen to get his coat, hat and gloves. Sam extended both legs to make sure he really was in one piece. He had dropped the lantern when he'd tried to catch himself after stumbling on a root but he could clearly see thanks to the huge luminescent full moon that had finally made an appearance after being hidden by clouds all evening. In fact the sky was clear now, a wash of stars dotting the inkiness above although a cold wind had picked up. Sam had indeed gotten lucky and he hoped his partner in crime had fared as well.

"Scout!" Sam whirled around, searching for the pup. Scout had charged after something that had darted out from beneath a patch of undergrowth they'd passed. Sam had given chase. In the dark the Labrador was hard to see, obstacles on the rugged path even harder to detect. Sam had called out to her just before he'd fallen. He'd been more than a little panicked at the prospect of being left alone in the woods. That fear climbed another notch as he considered all the things that could befall the half-grown dog if he wasn't there to protect her. After all, she was still a baby. Scout might have been too big for hawks and owls to be a threat now, but there were still coyotes and bears.

"Here, Girl. Come, Scout." Sam's plan to reclaim Solomon had seemed solid back at the farm. Sam's anger and hurt had fired his bravado, making him feel invincible when he'd done the unthinkable and sneaked out of the upstairs bedroom, but now Sam wondered if he shouldn't just turn back. His need to find Scout pushed him to his feet. He couldn't just leave her out by herself even if he wanted to go back home to Dean. No one got left behind. Dean would understand. It was a Marine rule as well as a Brotherhood Code.

Sam heard a bark, then another. They sounded far off, muffled as if they'd reached him through a tunnel, but it gave him a direction to head. He decided following the creek bed might be easier and safer. Sam was spurred on when another bark rang out, this one seeming a little closer. He kept calling out as the path wound through the hills, weaving in and out of the tree line. His voice echoed back to him, bringing more dread each time as Scout made no appearance, and Sam knew he was getting farther and farther away from home. He wasn't even sure he could find his way to Miss Emma's meadow from here. Heaven seemed farther away than it ever had. It was getting colder. Tears blurred Sam's vision, making him doubt the flash of light he saw off to the right.

The eight year old stopped, blinking, straining to see through the trees. The glow grew brighter. Then Sam saw the smoke.

He knew of no houses this close to Jim's, but it was possible he might have wondered off the pastor's property. A clear bark sealed Sam's decision to move forward to at least check out the possibility he had come across a homestead where Scout might have stopped.

As he strayed farther from the stream bed into the stand of forest the wind picked up to an icy blast. Sam feared the clouds would soon return along with the promise of rain or snow flurries.

The hulking evergreens and the oaks still holding a precious reserve of their colored leaves stole most of the moon's light as Sam was once more engulfed in woods, but the windows in the cabin ahead glowed brightly, warm and cheery. Sam stopped, staring. The home stood surrounded by firs and pines. There was a big stone chimney and a small front porch with a roof that shielded a stack of firewood and a rocking chair. The smell of wood smoke and something cooking inside had his eyes stinging. Even though the aromas of home evoked images of Jim's farm, the cabin looked more like a place Santa might live. Sam felt an ache ripple through his chest as the thought of the jolly old elf brought a picture of Pastor Solomon to mind. Sam saw no sign of Scout as he approached the door but kept his resolve as he heard another bark ring out this time from inside.

He knew Dean would admonish him for going to a stranger's door, especially when that strange door was in the middle of nowhere. Sam's big brother would list a thousand and one things that might happen, all of them bad, but Sam figured the sooner he found Scout, made it to the mountain, then back to the farm, the sooner Dean would never find out what Sam had undertaken. If things worked out, Dean would still be watching the game brooding over Caleb's being in love when Sam made it back. Sam held onto that very optimistic thought as he knocked and waited for an answer.

Another bark and some scratching on the door alerted Sam that he had indeed been heard and it wasn't long before the wooden door cracked slightly and a nose appeared followed by two floppy golden ears framing chocolate brown eyes. The dog was the color of Atticus but smaller. It gave a yip of greeting and Sam would have smiled if he hadn't been expecting to find a happy and repentant Black Labrador Retriever on the other side. The eight year old didn't have long to dwell on his disappointment before the door swung open wider. A wave of wonderful heat washed over Sam just before a huge shadow fell across him as light poured out of the cabin.

Sam stumbled back a step blinking up at the stranger as his eyes adjusted. The man was as tall as John Winchester but closer to Pastor Jim's age. The loose flannel shirt he was wearing didn't hide the fact he was broad shouldered and big enough to snap Sam into two if he chose to do so. Dean would tell Sam to run, but Sam stood transfixed. The man's hair was long like Caleb's, but of a color that made Sam think of the rarely used burnt amber crayon in his school box. His thick beard was the same shade, but there were strands of silver threaded through it. He smiled at Sam, revealing deep dimples not unlike Sam's very own.

"Well, who do we have here?"

Sam recovered from his shock, pulled his shoulders back, and did his best Dean Winchester imitation though his chattering teeth and shivering dampened the affect. "I'm Samuel Winchester. I'm looking for my dog. She's a Black Labrador named Scout."

The man peered past Sam into the dark yard. "You've come a long way off the path, Samuel. Are you alone?"

Sam didn't like to lie, but he'd been raised to understand the truth was dangerous. He raised his chin and tried to appear fierce like Caleb had taught him when they practiced sparring. Sam hoped he looked taller and older. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "My big brother is with me. He's looking on the other side of the creek bed. He has a gun."

"I see." The man stepped onto the porch and the yellow dog slid past his legs to greet Sam properly. He sat in front of Sam, his tail wagging furiously side to side. He showed great restraint, much better than Scout who did not have such good manners when she encountered a new person despite Pastor Jim's diligent attempts to tame her enthusiasm. "Unfortunately, the only dog here is Cephas."

"Cephas." Sam said, looking from the dog to its owner and back. At his name the dog lifted a paw, batting it at Sam as if to say 'that's me'. Sam could resist no longer and bent to pet the dog, who took Sam's move to his level as an invitation to climb all over him and lick the little boy's face. "That means 'rock."

"I see you're well-versed in Aramaic, Samuel." The man chuckled. "Rare to say the least in your generation."

"I know Latin, too." Sam shrugged his shoulder, resisting the urge to explain further. Dean said it was never safe to give out too much information. Keep it simple, Sammy. "I like to read."

"Ah, a fellow bibliophile." The man extended his hand. "You can call me Aidan."

Sam eyed the offering suspiciously, Caleb's voice echoing in his mind that a man's hands were dangerous weapons to be feared. Always watch them. Never get close enough to let them reach you. But then again, Pastor Jim always shook hands with people, greeting them with confidence. Sam figured it depended on the situation and although he knew Caleb and Dean would probably not approve he offered his own hand in greeting but drew a breath of relief when Aidan released his grip as Sam withdrew his hand quickly and took a tiny step back.

"You must be freezing from your search." Aidan gestured to the open door. "Would you and your brother like to come in and warm yourselves by the fire?"

A cold blast of wind tore across the porch, sending fallen leaves skittering over Sam's feet. He looked over his shoulder to where he'd said Dean was searching and then back to Aidan. The promise of warmth warred with Sam's well ingrained fear and need to find Scout. Aidan seemed to sense his trepidation.

"I'm sure your brother and dog wouldn't mind you taking a moment of respite from the cold." Aidan bent down and rubbed Cephas's head. The dog melted against his master with a contented sigh. "After all your brother has his gun and Scout, she has a nice warm coat to protect against the elements, something her boy is obviously missing."

Sam shivered violently as he stared at Aidan, wondering if the man truly believed his story or was playing along as grownups sometimes tended to do. Either way, Aidan seemed harmless, and Sam's Uncle Bobby said dogs were a good judge of character. They could sense evil in a way most humans couldn't. Sam used the rationalization to ease the guilt he felt for abandoning not only his search for Scout, but the foregoing one of the most important Winchester rules-trust no one.

Sam folded his arms over his chest. "Just for a minute."

"A minute is just enough time for a miracle." When Sam looked up at Aidan the man winked. "And hot cocoa. I bet you like yours with extra marshmallows."

To be continued...