Author's Note: apologies for the delay in this fic. Between work and illness, I haven't had the time to get this done and posted. I hope to get another chapter or two up in the next couple of days, but my parents will be visiting for a week so there will probably be another delay starting Wednesday. Don't worry, though. I plan on writing the whole two weeks that Sam was gone, as well as what happened when he reunited with his father and Dean.
….
"You've got to tell him, John" Pastor Jim urged his friend as he held out a cup of coffee.
John pushed the coffee away and grabbed the whiskey bottle from the cabinet. "Tell him what?" he asked, letting out a frustrated laugh. "That I didn't mean to hit him?" Shaking his head, he took a long pull. "Thing is, Jim, I did mean it. At that moment, when I heard about Sammy, I meant it." He shook his head again and lowered his arm, the bottle still held loosely in his hand. "I beat him, Jim," he whispered. "I laid my hand on my son in anger, and I beat him like that son of a bitch beat me." His grip tightened once more and he raised the bottle for another long swallow. "I swore I would never be like that man…" his voice trailed off as he turned away from the preacher and bowed his head.
Jim reached out a comforting hand to his friend's quaking shoulder. "Tell him you still love him," he said. "That's what he needs to hear." He squeezed reassuringly.
John scoffed and shrugged the hand off. "Sammy's missing… God knows where. Now's not the time for chick flick moments." Putting the bottle down, he stood up and straightened his back. "Dean's a good boy. He knows I love him." Nodding to himself, he turned away from the preacher and started studying the maps on the table.
"Right," Jim said softly behind him. So softly the other man didn't hear.
…
Bones barked lightly as she woke up. She sniffed the air and then growled at the back of her throat. The hairs rose up on the back of her neck, and in a heartbeat she was on her feet at the edge of the bed. She bared her teeth and the growl came louder now. Her eyes showed white around the edges and her ears lay flat. She barked out once, sharply.
Sam opened his eyes blurrily and wiped a hand across them. "Bones?" he asked in a raspy voice that was full of sleep.
Bones growled deep and barked once again. Her whole body was a coiled spring poised to strike. Her head moved, tracing the path of something only she could see.
"C'mon, girl," Sam yawned, stroking her back and trying to pull her back to lie against him. "I'm trying to sleep here."
Bones barked again, louder than before, and then suddenly she relaxed. Her growl turned into a whine as her tail wagged slightly. Turning around, she licked Sam's face and then lay down beside him again. She kept one ear cocked and one eye open as she listened to the boy's breathing slow down again in slumber. Only when she was sure they were alone did she fall back asleep, as well.
…
Dean dropped the last duffel on the carpet by the door and then collapsed, fully-dressed, in bed. He hated sleeping in his clothes, but he knew that his dad would want them to get an early start the next day, and this would allow him an extra 20 minutes of shut eye. After less than 5 hours of sleep the night before and one of the worst days he could remember (and that was saying something), he could use all the rest he could get.
Punching his pillow a few times to fluff it up, he slid his knife underneath it and flipped off the light. The darkness was punctuated by the light of the neon hotel sign glaring through the cheap curtains. Outside in the night he could hear faint sirens and the clinking and crashing of someone dumpster diving behind the restaurant.
Rolling onto his back, Dean stared at the ceiling which glowed red in the neon light. He wondered where Sammy was right now. Was he awake, too? Looking over, Dean saw the alarm clock's numbers flashing 1:37AM. Sighing, he rolled onto his side and punched the pillow again. He pulled the cheap, polyester bedspread over himself and hoped Sammy was keeping warm. Sure, they were in Arizona, but the nights were a helluva lot colder than the days. What if Sammy was sleeping in a car somewhere? Or outside? Judging by what had been left when Dean was packing up, Sam hadn't taken much with him. Dean rolled onto his other side, back to the window, trying to block out the noise and the light and get some sleep. Sammy was a smart kid. He'd find a place to stay, and he'd be alright. He would. Dean rolled onto his stomach again and buried his face in his pillow to relieve the pricking in his eyes. He took deep, steadying breaths and allowed the heat of the pillow to envelop his face.
Sammy was going to be okay. He had to be.
…..
"John?" Pastor Jim asked a couple of hours later.
"What?" John answered distractedly.
"Why don't you go to bed?" Jim set about collecting the maps and organizing them.
John's hand came down on them quickly. "I'll sleep when Sam's home safe."
Jim tugged and the pages slid out from under the other man's palm. "You'll sleep now, or I'll kick your miserable ass," he growled.
John glared up at his friend standing over him. The heated look lasted for almost five seconds before he sighed and chuckled, shaking his head. "Man of the cloth shouldn't use that kinda language," he said with a wry smile.
"Yeah, well," Jim answered slapping his friend on the back and putting the maps down in a neat pile on the edge of the table. "I'm sure God'll understand. After all, he's the one who made you such a miserable ass in the first place."
John chuckled humourlessly again. "You got that right," he agreed.
"Now go on up to bed," Jim nodded towards his apartment next to the church.
"I should get back to Dean."
"You mean you should have brought him here with you," Jim corrected. "And you won't do that boy any favours if you drive yourself off the road and into a tree."
"I'm not going to –" John started, then stumbled on the stairs.
"I rest my case."
"Shut up."
"You shouldn't talk like that to a man of the cloth."
"A man of the cloth shouldn't be as big a pain in the ass as you are," John growled as he grabbed the handrail to steady his way upstairs.
"All I can be is what God made me," Jim grinned beatifically. He kept the grin in place until John had made it upstairs, and then he collapsed in a chair. "God give me strength," he prayed. He hoped that someone was listening.
