Thanks for sticking with the story and for all the really awesome comments. Hugs, Ember
Chapter Seven
Trembling and with tears unabashedly rolling down his cheeks, Drake pulled back to look at his family – unmarred in any way by the fire that had ripped through and destroyed their home, and breathed a thanks to whomever had watched over them and delivered them safely back to him.
His youngest cousin, Kayla, wrapped her chubby little arms around his neck, pulled him in close, and whispered in his ear, "Ya shoulda sawed 'em, Cousin Dray, they was glowin' an' with wings."
"I don't know how else to describe it," he heard his mother's shaky voice as she tried to explain what they had lived through to Markus and Coy, "one minute we were trapped, smoke an' fire all around, an' the next they were just there." She drew in another staggered breath, and grasp hold of Drake's father's arm. "I swear, the fire all around us, but no matter where we walked, it couldn't break through their light."
"They were angels," his Aunt Anna chimed in with a breathy sigh, "they had to be – it's the only thing that makes sense."
With a lift of his brow, Drake glanced at his father, and his breath left him in a rush. His father had never in his life appeared rattled by anything, but now all he could do was stare in open mouthed awe at the smoldering remains of their home. "Dad?" Setting his cousin down on the ground, he moved to stand shoulder to shoulder with him. "Dad, tell me what happen in there?"
"I don't know, Drake," he uttered, dragging a hand though his beard as he shook his head, "but if I'd ventured a guess, I'd say your brother was really looking out for us."
With the mention of his brother, Drake swallowed hard, craned his neck to look around for Sam, and spied him talking to a dark-haired man in a rumpled trench coat. Whatever the two older men had to say to each other didn't last for more than a few moments, and then Sam walked away with his head hung low.
Drake's heart beat in perfect cadence with Sam's hesitant retreat. Throat constricting painfully, his smile faded as the broken man trudged past the line of trees and out of sight. It tore at Drake's soul to see how much obvious pain he'd endured and tried to hide. But no matter how hard Sam might have tried, he couldn't feign enough weak smiles and halfhearted laughs to wash away the deadened look in his hazel eyes which made Drake all the more determined to find out what had happened between Sam and his brother.
"I – I have to go, dad," he stammered, and seeing confusion register in his father's pale green eyes, he struggled to find a reason for leaving other than to admit he was hopelessly drawn heart and soul to a person he had met only the prior day. Hell, he didn't even want to admit it to himself, unsettling discomfort curdling in his stomach as to what it meant.
"What are you talking about, Drake?" Anger, hurt and disappointment mingled in his father's tone as he motioned to their family, and then made a sweeping gesture toward the charred, smoldering remains of their home. "You're not going anywhere – we need you here."
Biting at his lower lip as he once again looked toward the road, Drake shook his head. "I'm sorry . . . I can't."
"Please, son." The desperate urgency of a man who'd almost lost not only his own life but that of those he loved as well shimmered in his light eyes, and it tore at Drake's heart. "Look, I know this is h-hard," as his voice caught in his throat, he lowered his head and rubbed away the moisture in his eyes, "it was our home, an' what with Jake . . . ." his voice trailed off as he looked once more to Drake, and perhaps thought better of revisiting such painful memories – memories that had sent Drake over the edge once already. Clearing his throat, he resumed, "I know it won't be the same as the house you grew up in, but we are gonna rebuild."
"I know, Dad." More guilt piled on, weighing heavily on him as he peered around his father to watch his friends and fellow firefighters work to stamp out the last of the fire that had ravaged their home. Maybe it hadn't hit him yet, and later he would crumble like the charred pieces of roofing timber, but right now he was too happy his family was alive to care about things that could be replaced. And truthfully he didn't want to think about the things that were lost forever – didn't want to think of things like Jake's school medals, family photos that included his older brother or the dresser full of flannel shirts Jake had worn which still held a hint of his woodsy outdoors scent. It was as if the fire had erased any physical proof of his existence, and Drake couldn't bear to travel down that dark and painful road of thought at the moment.
"I have to go," he uttered again with tears stinging at his eyes. "There's something I have to do, but I promise I'll be back later to – " he swallowed back the hard lump forming in his throat at the thought of having to pick through the rubble to find some sense of a life that once was but now was lost forever, "to help you go through things."
His father eyed him for several long seconds then gave a curt nod. "Alright, son," he said with a heavy sigh, "What with all of this, I'd forgotten you're dealing with a pretty heavy load right now what with Jasper being in the hospital – an' I'm really sorry cuz I know how close the two of you are - I shouldn't have pushed the matter." Wrapping an arm around Drake's shoulders, he guided him away from the others, and once they were out of earshot, he paused and looked Drake over as if trying to determine if he was going to have another mental breakdown. "Look, I know you're not gonna like this, but I'm putting you on a leave of absence from work until further notice."
"You can't do that," Drake blurted out, feeling as if his father had just kicked him squarely in the gut. In the short span of a day, he'd lost his house, one of his best friends was dying, and now his father wanted to take away his only remaining link to Jake. "I haven't done anything wrong so you can't do this to me – please don't do this to me, Dad."
"This isn't a punishment, Drake," he said in the same placating, it's for your own good manner he'd used when he had checked Drake into the mental hospital. "With everything that's happened, you're gonna need time to sort it through – an' if it gets to be too much, I need you to come to me before it pulls you under cuz me an' your mother don't wanna watch you suffer like that again."
"Why, Dad? So you can stick me in some mental ward again?" Pursing his lips, he shook his head. "I'm not some headcase who needs to locked up somewhere – I save lives . . . it's what I'm good at, an' I'll be damned if I let you take it away from me."
"Son, I'm not trying – "
"Yeah, you are," Drake abruptly cut him off and too angry to stand there and listen to him any longer, he swung around and stormed away.
With hands clenched firmly into fists, Drake stalked through his front yard, and rounded the line of trees, only to stop dead in his tracks when he saw Gary's truck was gone. "Sonuvabitch!" Even knowing exactly where the truck had been parked, he still peered down the road in both directions, making certain it was really missing, and then spun around and sprinted toward the barn to grab his motorcycle so he could go after his truck stealing friend.
How could've I been so stupid? Bear had always teased him about being too trusting of people, but growing up in a small town where he knew almost everyone, and things like locking the doors at night or when he left the house wasn't really all that necessary, he'd come to take people at face value and never questioned if they had ulterior motives. Gary's gonna kill me.
Reaching the barn, he threw open the doors, and determinedly strode to his father's workbench. Above the toolbox a spare set of keys to his motorcycle hung on a peg. As he snatched them from the holder, fisting them in his hand, he wondered briefly if Sam would even bother going to the impound lot to get his Impala back – if it was really his to begin with – or would he just keep going and never look back. But no matter what he thought of Sam at the moment, he couldn't deny the fury he saw in the older man's hazel eyes when he threatened to keep the location of his brother's car a secret. Sam took Gary's truck with the sole intention of finding his car, but if Drake was really lucky he'd make it to the impound lot first.
Drake swung around to get his motorcycle and jumped, startled by the sight of the dark-haired man in the tan trench coat standing in the doorway. "Jesus, you scared the hell out of me," he snapped, taking several slow breaths to try and calm his rapidly beating heart. Unnerved by the curious way in which the blue-eyed man quietly studied his every movement, he went on to add, "I saw you talking to Sam . . . are you a friend of his?"
"A friend?" The man's brows pulled together as if puzzled by the question, and then gave a nod. "I was sent to help Dean . . . things got complicated."
"O-kay," Drake scratched at the back of his head as he tried to figure out what the hell the man was talking about, "that pretty much made no sense at all, but I'm gonna go with it here, and ask what did you need to help him with?"
"That no longer matters," he responded flatly, and tucking his hands into his pockets, he moved to close the gap between them.
"Why doesn't it matter anymore?" Drake swallowed hard as the odd man leaned in close, invading what was definitely his personal space, and looked him over again. "And where's Sam's brother?"
"Do you believe in God, Drake?" he asked instead of answering Drake's questions, and from his pocket, he pulled out a leather necklace with a strange shaped head dangling from it. "If the answer is yes, then I want you to have this – it will protect you."
Narrowing his eyes on the tarnished charm, Drake was struck with a weird feeling of familiarity, but shook it off, knowing he'd never seen it before. "I asked you where Dean is . . . so are you going to tell me or do I have to find out for myself?"
"Dean's gone. Now answer my question – do you believe in God?"
"That's not a good enough answer," he uttered with a shake of his head, "cuz I have this gut feeling you know exactly where he is, an' if you're a friend of Sam's then you'd have to know he needs his brother."
"I already told you, Dean's gone, and he's not ever coming back."
Unbridled anger surged like a firestorm through Drake as he listened to the older man speak of Sam's brother as if he were dead when Sam had told him otherwise. "Listen you sonuvabitch, if you don't wanna help me that's fine," lips pursed, he gave another shake of his head, "I'll find him on my own an' bring him back for Sam."
The sullen man actually cracked a smile as he held out the necklace to Drake, and pressed it into his hand. "Then you'll be needing this."
"So this is all the help you're gonna give me?" he asked, holding up the necklace to get a better look at it. "Some dumb necklace with an ugly-assed charm on it?"
"I doubt Dean thought of it like that," the man said as he turned his back on Drake and walked toward the doorway, and called back over his shoulder, "and I'm also certain Sam would like to see it again, so maybe you should be a little more thankful."
Grasping tightening around the worn leather, Drake looked at the tiny charm once again as understanding dawned on him. "This was Dean's?"
"I asked if you believed in God," the dark-haired man said, turning to study Drake once more as he waited for an answer.
As Drake slipped the necklace over his head to let it rest against the silver Celtic cross his brother had given him for his fourteenth birthday, he mulled over the question and then gave a nod. "Yeah, I do."
"Why?" he asked, and rounding his shoulders in a meek gesture, he stuffed his hands in his pockets. "You can't see Him, so how can you possibly believe He's real?"
"You seriously want an answer to that?" Drake quirked a brow, puzzled by the man's line of questioning, and when he saw him give a nod, he shrugged. "I have seen Him that's how I know He's real."
The man's dark brows pulled together as he took several steps toward Drake. "You've seen Him?"
"Yeah," Drake nodded, "I've seen Him in the eyes of every person I've ever pulled from a fire or a car wreck . . . when their fear deadened eyes turn to a look of hope – that's God."
A genuine smile graced the tired looking man's face, lighting up his features, and reflecting in his unusually clear blue eyes. "Hmmm . . ." his smile widened as if savoring the thought, "that was perfect – I can work with that."
"What's that suppose to mean?"
"Most umm . . ." he hesitated, brows knitting together as if searching for the right word, "people I know seem to believe hope is dead, but I've found it alive an' well in small town USA, and where there is hope there is always a chance – I thank you for that, Drake."
With the odd man's words running through his head, Drake grasped hold of Dean's necklace, and glanced at it. "Look, I don't mean to sound stupid not understanding your buckets of crazy talk, but," he paused to glance up, and was met with an empty space where the older man had been standing. His gaze swept the drafty barn searching for the stranger, certain he would have seen him leave even if his head was lowered, but he was alone.
"Maybe dad's right . . . maybe I am losing it again." With a shake of his head and a heavy sigh, he straddled his motorcycle and started the engine. Lifting a hand he lightly trailed his fingertips across the warm metal of Dean's charm then they slipped beneath it to hold on tightly to his cross. "What do you think, Jake," he lifted his sights heavenward, "is it all kinds of crazy that I feel some weird connection to this guy Dean?"
"Drake?" came Gary's voice at the barn entrance, and Drake lowered his sights to look at him. Brow furrowed, his lips were drawn into a grim line. "Who were you talking to?" he asked as he pulled off his helmet then glanced around the room.
"No one," color flushing his cheeks, he lowered his head, "you didn't happen to see a guy in a tan trench coat pass by as you were coming in here, did you?"
"Naw, I didn't see anyone," he said with a shake of his head, and then moved further into the barn. "I'm really sorry we couldn't save your house, Dray." A wistful smile played across his face as he nudged his head toward the loft. "Damn, it seems like forever ago since me an' yer brother camped out in here . . . we couldn't have been more than seven or eight the first time – hell, I don't think you were even born yet." A broken laugh slipped past his lips as he pointed past Drake's line of vision, and went on to say, "Dude, even back then your brother was all kinds of nuts." Pulling back his hand, he rubbed at his eyes as he drew in a shaky breath. "He had this idea of building us our own firefighter's challenge so's we'd be ready when we were old enough, an' so we made this zip-line from that upper window to that old maple back there," he waved his helmet in the direction of the horse pasture behind the barn, "course it didn't work as well as we'd hoped, an' he ended up hangin' on to me for dear life while we both screamed or heads off for your dad to come an' get us down – an' the lesson in that is if ya ever think to build yourself a zip-line – which was a totally cool idea – make sure one of the lines securely in the ground an' not up in a tree."
"My dad told me about that." Drake smiled through the fresh tears forming in his eyes. "He always said you looked like a scrawny fish dangling from a hook, an' I could always see how proud of Jake he was when he said my brother refused to let go of you even though he'd dislocated his shoulder – right then an' there he knew Jake would make the best damn firefighter he'd probably ever see . . . an' he was right."
"That's not true, Drake," he uttered with a shake of his head. "Ya know I loved Jake like he was my own brother – hell, I would've died for him if I could – but his heart wasn't into firefighting anymore. He always wanted more – craved more. I could see it in his eyes – an' that's why he signed up to be a Marine. Although he had both bravery and honor in spades, he was an adrenaline junkie who was in constant need of a fix." Closing the gap between them, he reached into his helmet, pulled out a picture, and handed it to Drake. "So what I'm sayin' is that I don't want you to follow his lead cuz I kinda think of you as the little brother I never had, an' I don't think I could bear losing you, too."
As Drake studied the picture of his brother in full turnout gear with his arms wrapped around Drake's and Gary's shoulders, tears slid down his cheeks. "I'd forgotten about this picture," he breathed, grazing his fingertips along his brother's wrinkled image, "my first firefighter's challenge . . . that was probably the best day of my life."
"Second place, not too bad for a probie." With a playful wink, Gary grinned through the tears shimmering in his eyes. "Course you just had to go an' show us all up the next year. Man, I'll never forget the look on your brother's face when you set a record on the course – he was never prouder of anything in all his life." Biting at his lower lip, he looked away briefly to wipe away the moisture from his soot covered cheeks with the back of his hand then looked once more to Drake. "God, I miss him so much, an' I hate that he had to die . . . it just never made sense to me – one week . . . one freakin' week an' he would've been coming home for good, an' he goes an' volunteers for a damn bomb scouting mission – stupid dumbass promised to keep his head low, n-not to get it blown off . . . an' I hate him for that . . . I really do."
Drake slid from his seat on the motorcycle, and wrapped an arm around Gary's shoulders as the older man gave into the pain he'd trapped inside himself for so long, and wept for his fallen friend. "He made a lot of promises, he never kept," Drake murmured as Gary fisted a hand into his flannel shirt, and lowered his head to rest in the hollow between his neck and shoulder.
"I'm sorry," Gary pulled back after a few minutes, and swiped a hand across his tears streaked face, "I guess, just seein' your house . . . it jus' brought all these memories rushing back, an' it was like it knocked the wind from me."
"Yeah, I know," Drake dragged a hand through his shaggy hair, and rolled his eyes upward to look at the loft once more, recalling how he, Bear, Jake and Gary used to jump down from its heights into a huge pile of hay his father had stored for their horses. "Hey, you wanna get out of here?" he nudged his head toward his spare motorcycle helmet. "Maybe go for a ride?"
"Wish I could, brother man, but I'm on call," he hooked a thumb back over his shoulder, "I just saw ya headin' this way, so I came to find out where you parked my truck since I couldn't find it anywhere."
Pressing his eyes closed at the reminder of Gary's missing truck, and the man who stole it from him, he cursed under his breath. "Umm . . . yeah, about your truck – I kinda left the keys in the ignition . . . an' a friend of mine kinda stole it Actually stole may be a little harsh – I think he more along the lines of borrowed it without permission," as Gary's hazel eyes widened incredulously, he quickly added, "but I know where he's going . . . or at least I think I do, so if you hop on, I'll get it back for you."
"Dude, please tell me this isn't gonna be like the time you, Rico, an' Jason borrowed my first truck an' swamped it, cuz if it is, I don't even wanna know about it. Just have it dragged out an' shipped to the junkyard an' save me the trouble." With a roll of his eyes, and a heavy sigh, Gary set his helmet on the workbench and grabbed the spare motorcycle helmet from Drake. "Ya know this is my own fault an' ya think I would've learned by now," Gary added as Drake once again straddled the seat and he slid on behind him, "cuz I know damn well you or one of the others will eventually destroy any vehicle I get, an' yet I keep letting you guys borrow them."
"I'm really sorry about this, Gar, I didn't think – "
"Yeah, yeah," Gary cut him off, playfully nudging him on the shoulder, "don't sweat it, man, just get your ass moving cuz I have to be at the firehall in like forty-five minutes – an' for the love of God, I'm ridin' bull an' clownin' Friday, so no wheelies . . . the road's slick an' I don't feel like eating asphalt cuz you wanted to play at being Evil Knievel."
"Gotcha." Drake smirked as he revved the engine, let up on the hand brake, and peeled out of the barn.
Averting his gaze from the sodden wreckage that had been his home for the last twenty-one years, Drake drove through the grass, and turned out onto the pavement. Once he'd reached the end of his road, he rolled through the stop sign, and headed out onto the main street. As he reached 50 mph, he rolled the throttle wide open, carving up the asphalt as he sped through the straightaway's of the mountainous roads. Easing up on the throttle, Drake groaned as he and Gary leaned to the right at a shape bend in the road, and then picked up speed again. With his family's lives being in danger along with watching his home go up in smoke and ashes, he'd been running on pure adrenaline, but now out on the open road his fear induced high gave way to jarring pain at every bump and curve in the pavement. But Sam had at least a good twenty minute head start on them, so he couldn't afford to slow down, and so he sped up once again when the road straightened out.
Luckily for him, Sam wasn't familiar with the area, and stuck to the main route whereas Drake veered off and took a dirt road shortcut. Mud kicked up from the tires, splattering both men as Drake maneuvered through the bumping terrain, and with every jarring motion, he cursed himself for thinking he'd been smart in taking the shortcut to Bath. But as they came to the downward slope in the road, and he saw Gary's truck pass by on the main route, a triumphant grin slid across his features.
Slowing at the Y in the road, he glanced to the left to see if any cars were coming, and seeing none, he pulled out onto the road, sped up and when he hit 50 mph, rolled the throttle.
Drake veered out as he approached the black Silverado, and ran alongside the truck. Hitting the horn to get Sam's attention, he then flipped up the visor on his helmet, looked the older man in the eyes, and pointed toward the shoulder of the road.
For several very long moments, it appeared as if Sam was going to ignore his demand to pull over, but then he slowed and pulled off to the side of the road. Drake veered off and came to a halt in front of the truck. Drake and Gary slid off the motorcycle. They eyed each other briefly, and with a slight shake of his head, the hazel-eyed man gave him a look that clearly said, let it go, but Drake was too keyed up to let the matter slide. Yanking off his helmet, he strode to the truck and flung open the driver's side door.
"You stole my friend's truck, Sam. He leveled his sights on the bigger man, daring him to deny it was the truth, but Sam remained stonily silent. "Get out. Now!"
"I'm pretty sure he was only borrowing it, so let it go, Drake," Gary called out as he causally leaned back against the motorcycle and crossed his long legs, "Hell, all I care about is that it still has four good tires an' a working engine."
Not taking his eyes off Sam, he snapped, "Keep out of this, Gar. He just took off. He didn't even say . . . ." his voice trailed off, stomach churning at the thought of how it bothered him a helluva lot more that Sam had left without so much as a goodbye rather than how he had stolen Gary's truck. "I told you I'd take you to get your Impala – I'd even fixed it so you wouldn't have to pay a fine . . . an' you just go an' take off in one of my best friend's vehicle. An' I don't care how anyone else cares to think of it – to me it makes you suck as a person, Sam."
If Drake had hauled off and repeatedly slugged Sam in the face, he doubted it would have been met with the intensity of pain he saw shimmering in the older man's hazel orbs.
"I just wanted my brother's car back – it's the only thing I've got that belonged to him . . . an' it's the only thing I've got that proves he ever existed." Drawing in a shaky breath, Sam wiped away the lone tear trailing down his cheek, and then slid out of the driver's seat, pushing Drake out of the way. As he walked away, he called back over his shoulder, "An' seein' as how I didn't want to interrupt your happy little miracle – a miracle that you're not even smart enough to question – I borrowed your friend's truck, an' since he doesn't seem to have a problem with it, you can just go screw yourself, Drake."
