A/N: Sorry this took much longer to 'Let Go' than I thought. I hope everyone had a good holiday season. Mine was wonderful but I'm thankful life has quieted down. A very special shout out goes to my terrific Beta for making this chapter better than it ought to have been. Finally, this chapter is dedicated to Chatty, a loyal reader who has overcome some towering obstacles in the past few months.


Et tu, Brute?

Shakespeare's famous line from Julius Caesar resonated in Sig's mind as he exited the Winchester's colonial-style house. Closing the heavy front door behind him, the tall blond stood on the concrete front step and took in a deep breath of the icy winter air.

On the surface, the normally bright-eyed, healthy-looking young Captain had an uncharacteristically stark, fish-belly white color about the face. Plainly speaking, he looked like he was going to vomit. On the inside, his stomach was so twisted in knots he felt real, physical pain. Completely emotionally drained from his conversation with the Winchester parents and, more importantly, anxious about the future ramifications of his egregious betrayal of his brother's trust, Sig wanted to go home and crawl back into bed.

Quelling his stomach and forcing himself to put one foot in front of the other, Sig walked towards his car.

Along the house's path, a plastic 'For Sale' sign staked in the snow seemed to cruelly mock him as it swayed in the strong, northwesterly breeze. It was a lovely house that would easily sell in a few weeks, taking his brother's love 3000 miles away from him.

One last look at the house, Sig thought…And WHO will Norman blame for the loss? Potential answers: 1) the recovering housing market of the mid-eighties 2) Ronald Reagan and Reaganomics for ending the Recession 3) the increasing tension between the US and Russia which, most likely, was the direct cause of the Lt. Col. being drawn out of retirement. The list could go on and on.

All the way home, Sig pondered the question, hoping to come up with a plausible answer. Yet, the most logical answer always stayed the same.

Me.


As he drove his street, Sig couldn't help but notice the large moving truck in front of the old Stewards' place. Instead of being curious about his new neighbors, Sig only saw the truck as an ironically timed reminder of the upward-turning housing market.

Ignoring the activity next door, Sig pulled into his driveway and parked the Mustang in front of the garage. The looming blizzard that had been the talk of town for the past few days was no longer looming. The first flurries began falling on his way home and, by the time he arrived, a thin dusting of snow blanketed the ground.

Leaving large footprints in the snow, Sig exited the car and approached the back door. He had every intention of going in the house, opening up the garage and parking Norman's beloved car safely inside.

Instead, Sig found himself chain smoking on the porch, watching the snow land and melt on the Mustang's shining black hood. To this day, not even Sverre smoked in the sports car, perhaps in deference to the fact that the car technically belonged to Edgar and would one day be his.

Therefore, Sig had desperately needed a smoke the whole way home.

A few moments later, the big blond startled when the far garage door suddenly opened.

Sverre popped his head out, looking around. Spotting the trail of smoke coming from the porch, he went to investigate.

"I thought I heard the car pull up," Sverre said, finding his son huddled in the porch.

"Yeah," Sig shuffled his feet, "I was planning on putting the car in the garage."

"But you needed a smoke first?" Sverre looked at the ash tray on the railing, "Or two…?"

Sig's face fell. His eyes lowered and closed like he was feeling guilty as sin itself. "Dad," he whispered, stopping short.

"Oh, Jesus, Sig," Sverre muttered, stepping up on the porch and extending a hand, indicating he wanted a cigarette, "Why do I have the feeling that whatever you're about to tell me is something I don't want to hear?"

"Because you're one of the smartest guys I know," Sig looked up, offering a weak smile and a cigarette.

"Ha!" Sverre snorted, grabbing his lighter from his pants pocket. Cupping his hand, he lit the cigarette dangling between his teeth and said sarcastically, "It must be bad if you're breaking out the flattery already."

"Do you want to go inside?" Sig asked concerned, noticing his father wasn't wearing a jacket, "It's pretty cold out here."

Sverre flashed his son one of his famous 'That has to be the stupidest question you've ever asked me' looks. "Boy," the Old Man chuckled, waving a hand at the falling snow, "if you think this is bad, you're never gonna survive your first Opie season as captain."

Despite feeling lousy, Sig's little smile was indicative of overconfidence. "30 foot waves, driving snow piling up on the wheelhouse windows, ice 6 inches thick coating the bow, one blizzard after another…I've heard all the stories, Dad."

"Hearing the stories and living through them are two very different things!" Sverre retorted passionately, "You better learn to respect that! And," the Captain seemed to finally register what his son said, "…I NEVER let the ice built up that thick on the bow. That's the perfect way to sink a boat. So help me, I better not hear you letting the ice get away from you! It's easily to do when you're on hot fishing and you don't want to stop just to beat ice off the boat."

"I'll be careful, I promise," Sig said reassuringly, secretly pleased that his Dad cared, "The ice will be a top priority."

"Enough about old stories," Sverre took a long drag of his cigarette, "I'd rather hear this new story that's got you chain-smoking on the porch."

"Hmmm," Sig's smile faded. At that moment, the large moving truck next door started up its loud engine and began pulling off down the street. Sig and Sverre watched the truck with the sore and tired movers inside leave.

"New neighbors, huh," Sig stated the obvious.

"Yes. An intriguing family has moved in next door," Sverre mentioned, "And I'll tell you all about them…" he raised a frustrated eyebrow, "…when you get done stalling and tell me what's going on."

Sig sighed, blowing the smoke out of his lungs. "Oh Dad," he said brokenly, "I did something…something that Norman is never going to forgive me for."

Sverre's eyes grew wide. "I find that hard to believe."

"That's because you don't know what it is," Sig muttered, twisting his class ring.

"You better start talking," Sverre felt panic setting in, utterly confused but sensing that his happy home was about to get turned upside down.

"Amanda…" Sig started.

Sverre's face paled. "Jesus, please tell me you didn't…"

"What?" Sig asked, scanning his father's face, "Didn't what?"

Sverre stuttered, "Ahhh….have…relations…with your brother's girlfriend."

Sig's eyes grew wide. "Christ, Dad!" he exclaimed, appalled, "Hell, no! I can't believe you'd even think…"

"Well, with the guilty eyes and the way you're acting…" Sverre grumbled, somehow feeling vastly relieved.

"Noooo," Sig said emphatically, "That's…disgusting…and…despicable!"

"OK, son, I'm sorry," Sverre raised his hands in a calming gesture, "I guess I've been watching too much of those goofy, late night soap operas." The Old Man laughed a bit at himself, "The Carrington's and the Ewing's are always sleeping with each other's spouses. Makes for good drama, I guess."

Sig looked at his father like the man had grown a second nose.

"See what retirement does to you," Sverre chuckled at the expression on his son's face, "The people from Dallas and Dynasty become your friends and your moral compass."

Sig didn't even know how to respond. Suppressing the concern that his father was getting dotty in his older years, the young man rerouted the conversation back to its intended purpose. "Amanda's father got some top-secret job in Washington, D.C." He paused, assessing that he gained his father's full attention, "The whole family is moving across the country next month…Amanda included."

"Oh," Sverre whispered, instantly sorry for his middle child. Although he may have been an absentee father for the better part of the last few years, he knew Norman had serious feelings for this girl. "Norman knows, of course."

"Of course," Sig said softly, "He's known for about a month."

Sverre was quiet, mentally absorbing the information. "Well, that explains a lot of his moodiness and never being home," Sverre finally commented, "Why didn't he say anything?"

"I don't know," Sig said. Then, he retracted his statement, "That's a lie. I do know why."

Sverre pushed his eyebrows together.

"Norman didn't say anything because…" Sig swallowed and said in a rush, "…he and Amanda are planning on running away together and…getting married."

Along with the precipitation, Sverre's face remained frozen. The words coming out of Sig's mouth simply couldn't register in his brain.

Seeing his father stuck in shock, Sig sympathized with the Old Man. "I know, Dad. I know it sounds crazy but, believe me, Norman and Amanda are 100% serious about getting married."

Suddenly, Sverre exploded. He flung his cigarette across the snow-covered grass. "HE'S SEVENTEEN-YEARS-OLD!"

"And so is Amanda," Sig said in a voice calmer than he felt, "But they have…or had…a plan to drive to Canada tomorrow while Amanda's parents and sister were traveling to Washington, D.C. They're going to check out the new house while Amanda stayed behind for work. But, Amanda wasn't going to be working. Instead, she and Norman would be getting married in secret."

"LIKE HELL THEY ARE!" Sverre bellowed, taking a step towards the back door. The salty Captain was ready to grab his keys from the inside hook and jump in the truck. His destination would have been to his middle son's place of employment so he could strangle the boy in front of all the customers.

Swiftly, Sig reached out a hand and grabbed his father's arm, gently spinning him around. "There isn't going to be any wedding, Dad."

Sverre looked at the hand on his arm and then into his son's eyes. "What did you do, Sig?"

Sig let go of his father's arm. He crushed his cigarette out in the nearby ashtray. "For the last week or so, I tried to talk Norman out of it but…"

"But Norman won't listen," Sverre said confidently, "I could have told you that. He's the most stubborn son-of-a-bitch I've ever known."

Wonder where…or who…he gets that from, Dad? "I had to try," Sig shrugged dejectedly, "And when that didn't work, I tried to reason with Amanda. I stopped by her work this morning."

"And?"

"No luck," Sig sighed, "She's convinced herself that this is her only option. She wants to stay here in Seattle but her father won't let her. Still, honestly, I think she knows deep down that she's making a mistake."

"So let's STOP her from making this insane mistake," Sverre declared, again pointing towards the back door and his car keys.

"Her parents are already doing that for us," Sig explained.

"EXPLAIN!"

"After talking to Amanda, I went by the Winchester home this morning and spoke directly with Mr. & Mrs. Winchester."

Sverre took a step back. Immediately, he understood why his oldest child looked so guilty. "Oh, Sig…" he said regretfully, "You could have come to me from the very beginning. I would have handled this. I would have talked to the father myself."

"I was pressed for time. The Winchesters were getting ready to leave for the airport when I got there. " Sig explained, "And…" he added meaningfully, "…I felt somewhat responsible. I've been carrying around this secret for too long."

"So…" Sverre probed, "…how'd it go?" The Captain rocked on his heels, adding sarcastically, "Like I need to ask?"

"As you would expect," Sig looked ill, "Mr. Winchester did a lot of yelling, not at me, just in general, while Mrs. Winchester did a lot of crying. Then, they delayed their flight from this afternoon to this evening, adding a fourth plane ticket for an unsuspecting Amanda." Sig twisted his class ring thoughtfully, "Apparently, New Year's Eve is not a high time for airplane travel so it was easy to get another seat.

After that, I left. As far as I know, they packed a bag with her clothes and were leaving to pick her up at work. When Amanda gets into the car, she'll have no idea they're taking her directly to the airport. By tomorrow, she'll be waking up on the east coast."

"They believed you?" Sverre asked inquisitively, "Right off the bat?"

"No…" Sig enunciated, "…at first, they didn't want to believe it…until Mrs. Winchester searched around Amanda's room and found a letter Norman had written her hidden under her mattress. He must have written after he'd been grounded and couldn't see her. In the letter, he was comforting her fears about their plans."

"And now…" Sverre sighed, "…she's gone."

Sig choked a bit. "And he doesn't know yet…but HE WILL. Aaron's giving him a ride home after work. Once you went to sleep…" Sig hesitated, a little embarrassed to ask if his father had a date for New Year's Eve, "…or out with Alma…"

"Alma and I DO have plans for this evening," Sverre explained, a tad miffed his son would assume he'd be long asleep by the time the NY Times Square crystal ball dropped, "You're not the ONLY one in this family with plans for New Year's Eve, Sigurd."

"Well," Sig blushed, "While you were busy this evening, Norman was planning on sneaking out and going to Amanda's house." The eldest brother was feeling the weight of his betrayal, this new confession just rubbing salt into the oozing wound. "Papa, what am I gonna do?" he said pleadingly, his arms flailing, "Just let him go to her house and find out she's gone? Should I just pretend I know nothing?"

Sverre didn't allow himself a second to deliberate Sig's options. "YES," he said automatically and without remorse.

"Really?" Sig questioned, not sure he heard his father correctly.

The Old Man took in a deep breath of cold air, filling his lungs and calming his temper. Funny that Sig did the same thing just an hour before. I should be absolutely furious with Norman…and I AM! Lying, sneaking out of the house while grounded, scheming to leave the country and run off to get married…all extremely serious offenses that should have earned that boy a trip over the kitchen table…maybe two trips…but in order to spare my oldest son from suffering in this awful situation, I'm going to have to pretend I know nothing. With any luck, Mr. & Mrs. Winchester will do the same.

"Sig," Sverre turned to his adult son, "Let me ask you this. Do you think the Winchesters will tell Amanda how they found out about this plan? I mean, you're part in foiling this case of teenage stupidity?"

Sig tilted his head. Now he wanted to give his father the 'that has to be the stupidest question anyone has ever asked me.' Years of respect and deference to his age and position prevented him from showing such disrespect. "How can they not?" he asked, "What other explanation would there be? I'm the only one that knew about it…" he considered his words. "Well, me and Norman's friend, Aaron."

"Why was Aaron in on this secret?" Sverre asked to satisfy his own curiosity, "I doubt another dimwitted teenager would have had anything of value to offer in this conundrum."

"Ahhh…" Sig blanched, loathed to reveal anymore of Norman's transgressions. There was no reason now to let their father know about the fake IDs. This split-second decision, although made with a good heart, would come to cause Sig significant heartache in the future. "I think he needed someone to cover for him at work while he was in Canada."

"Stop saying that," Sverre quipped, "Stop mentioning Canada because for some reason that part of the story really pisses me off. It reminds me just how much time and effort Norman put into this plot. Figures that blockhead would find out that the legal age to marry in Canada is seventeen. It also helps that you can crisscross the border without so as much as a fare-thee-well."

"So…you don't need to be eighteen to leave the country?" Sig thoughtlessly asked.

"No, dummy," Sverre shook his head, "As long as you can drive out of here with a valid driver's license, they're not going to ask questions except if you have anything to declare."

Inwardly, Sig chuckled. So Norman wasted his money on those fake IDs. Stupid little brother, even pushed it to the limit and made himself 21-years-old.

"Anyhow," Sverre continued, "It's very possible that Amanda's parents may just tell Amanda that they found that letter from Norman and that's why they are taking her with them to the new house in D.C. They don't have to mention your name or that you were the one to spill the beans and, in all likelihood, they probably never will."

Sig seemed surprised. "Don't you think it will come out sooner rather than later? I mean, it's kinda a weird coincidence that they found that letter…which was well hidden…just in the nick of time. Don't you think Amanda will be suspicious, especially considering I just visited her this morning? And Norman's gonna talk to her eventually. She might be living on the other side of the country but they still have phones in Washington D.C."

Sverre nodded. "You might be right, Sigurd, but…" he hesitated, "…wouldn't you rather take the chance?"

"I…I…" Sig stammered, "I guess but…what about you, sir? Believe me, I don't want to see my brother get punished…"

"By tomorrow, Norman's gonna feel a sting that would pale in comparison to any snap of a strap," Sverre explained, identifying perfectly with the traumatic loss of true love, "And the pain of that sting lasts a lot longer, too."

"So…I'm supposed to lie?"

"I'll play along, too, Sig," Sverre set his son's mind at ease, "It will be like you and I never had this conversation."

"But, we DID have this conversation."

"Sig, for God's sake!" Sverre bristled, "Let it go!"

"Dad," Sig whispered unnecessarily, "This seems so…dishonest."

"Jesus, if your mother were here…" Sverre pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling like he needed a strong drink. "I know I raised you not to lie, but honestly, Sig, what's the good of Norman knowing how this really played out today?"

"I…I…don't know," Sig seemed perplexed, "But I feel absolutely lousy about all this shit. I wish to God Norman would have never told me anything."

"If you want to clear your soul of this 'sin,' I suggest you look at the big picture," Sverre explained, "The guilt about what you did today is misplaced. Son," the Old Man said softly, looking his eldest right in the eye, "you did the right thing…probably the best thing you could have ever done for your brother and his future. Norman may be a stubborn pain-in-the-ass but he's always based his thinking on logic. Sure, right now he's thinking with his heart but, with time and distance, he'll come to see that all this was just a pipe dream that would have never worked in the long run."

Sig returned the tender eye contact, choking down the lump in his throat. "Then why do I feel like the Nisse are punishing me for doubting their existence?"

Sverre smiled smugly, "Well, I did try to warn you." Good-naturedly, he laughed and slapped his son on the back.

Swallowing his pride, Sig flinched at the pounding on his back and took the admonishment with stride.

"Come on, I'll make you some hot coffee and we can talk about your strategy for Opies," Sverre said, heading towards the back door, "You got your tags already, ya?"

"Yes, sir," Sig said quickly, "Let me put the car in the garage and I'll be in in a minute."

"Hey, that reminds me," Sverre turned back around, "How ARE you getting to this big, fancy party tonight?" The Old Man waxed sarcastic, "Or did you assume you'd have free use of the car because I'm just an old fart who won't have anything better to do on New Year's Eve than sit home and darn my own socks?"

Unfortunately, that's exactly what Sig had thought. "Ummm…well…"

"Because…" Sverre raised his voice, taking a sideways step and glancing around the porch wall, "…since we never had this conversation, you're going to have to continue assuming Norman will have the truck at his disposal tonight."

"I'll call Nick," Sig said in a rush, jumping into the Mustang so he could park it safely in the garage. "I'm sure he can pick me up."

"Alright," Sverre nodded, a nagging question hanging on the tip of his tongue. The old salt took a moment to look up at the sky, assessing the weather like only an experienced fisherman could. He was troubled by the eerie, pinkish clouds crammed with snow, ready to break open any moment. Maybe I shouldn't let either of my boys go tonight? Oh, hell…how can I stop Sig from going? He's eighteen and an adult, certainly old enough to make his own decisions.

The thought plagued the Captain as he went back into the warm house. Sure, the Mustang isn't great in the snow but I'm used to navigating in inclement weather and Alma's house isn't that far away. In addition, the truck has four-wheel drive so I'm not as worried about Norman's futile drive back and forth to his former finance's house.

Let it go! Sverre shook his head, literally shaking the worrisome thoughts from his mind. It will be fine. Everything will turn out just fine.


"Where's Edgar?" Sig asked almost automatically as he entered the house through the garage.

Sverre paused while pouring the water into the drip coffee maker. He raised his eyes to the ceiling, remaining silent.

A moment later, Sig got his answer without his father having to say a word.

Music.

The playing of a guitar wafted down the stairs and into the first floor of the house. The musical selection was interesting. Journey's wildly popular love ballad Faithfully from last year was awkwardly accompanied by the occasionally squeaky voice of a boy on the verge of manhood.

"And lovin' a music man ain't always what it's supposed to be….I'm forever yours…"

Sverre sighed, resigned, and continued making his second pot of coffee for the day. "He's been singing that damn song for the last hour. The road ain't no place to start a family but I'm starting to think going to sea early might have been a good idea for this kid."

Sig slipped off his coat as he listened to his baby brother's sing. "Sounds like some heavy stuff for a fourteen-year-old," he muttered, dropping his coat off on a nearby chair.

"Thirteen," Sverre corrected his eldest child, "He's still thirteen for another two weeks." He made a dramatic sign of the cross over his chest, "God help me. Another four years with a teenager in the house. I swear, I'm too old for the shit"

Impressed that his father remembered Edgar's age, Sig asked, "Which shit exactly are you talking about, sir? The attitude? The wild mood swings?"

"The 'love-sick, Romeo & Juliet, I can't breathe when she walks in the room' shit," Sverre finished with the coffee pot and pushed the start button. Spinning around, he explained, "And I'm NOT referring to Norman."

Confused, Sig sputtered, "What are you talking about? What the heck did I miss this morning? Edgar fell in love in the two hours I was gone?"

Sverre gestured to the table, "Sit down and let me tell you about our colorful new neighbors. And I stress the word 'colorful.'"


Sometime later, after a relatively pleasant cup of coffee with his father, Sig's head was swimming with advice on fishing snow crab. Knowing this information was important, he tried to pay attention. Yet, the vast amount of knowledge his father imparted was overwhelming and left him feeling more nervous about his first Opie season as captain than ever before.

After a while, Sig's concentration mechanism shut down and his mind wandered back to Norman. The last thing he wanted was to be home when Norman arrived. Therefore, at the first chance he had, Sig excused himself from the kitchen and called Nick.

"Hello," a deep male voice answered the phone.

"Nick?"

"Yeah."

"It's Sig."

"Hey," Nick sounded welcoming, "I thought it was your voice. Are we still on for tonight?"

"Yeah…" Sig paused, "about that…"

Nick interrupted swiftly, "You're not backing out on me now, are you, buddy? Please don't make me go to Colleen's parent's house without a wing man. All those rich people talking about nothing but their vacation homes in Mexico and how they can never find good hired help; God, I just can't stand it. I need somebody with me that understands how the real world works."

"You're the one who's marrying into that world," Sig said pointedly, "Someday you'll be one of them…a big-time lawyer with your own hired help."

"I'll never be one of them," Nick said, his voice growing hard and determined.

Sensing he stumbled on a sensitive subject, Sig focused on the point of the call. "Well, I'm still going with you so no need to worry about facing the upper crust alone but I don't have a ride. Could you come and get me…like…soon?" Please get me out of here before five o'clock. "We can do dinner or something."

"Sure," Nick said "Let me get some things done here and I'll be over 4:30, sound good?"

Sig sighed inwardly. "4:30 sounds perfect."


After satisfactorily appeasing his father, at the first chance Sig got, he ran up to Edgar's room.

Knocking gently on the door, Sig didn't wait for permission to enter.

Edgar was lying on his bed furiously writing something in a spiral notebook. As soon as Sig entered, the young teen quickly shut the cover of the book and pushed it away.

"What'cha up to?" Sig asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Just writing…" Edgar played with the pen in his hand, "…working on a new song."

"You're composing music now?" Sig asked, taking a few steps in the room and shutting the door behind him. With hidden mirth over Edgar's secretive behavior, Sig asked straight-faced, "Geez, kid, is there anything you can't do?"

Edgar rolled onto his side, making a face at his oldest brother. "I can't seem to get Daisy out from under the bed. She thinks she's in trouble because she ran away today."

A soft, muffled whimper came from under the bed, apparently in response to hearing her name.

"I heard all about Daisy's one-dog welcoming committee this morning," Sig laughed, "Don't worry, Edgar. Once she gets hungry enough, she'll come out of hiding and realize that everyone still loves her."

"So," Edgar asked excitedly, swinging his legs over the bed and sitting up, "Dad told you about the new neighbors?"

"Yup," Sig rocked on his heels, "And it sounds like they've made an impression with you already."

"Humph," Edgar shrugged dismissively, unaware of how obviously fake he was coming off, "They're just interesting because they're new and because nothing interesting ever happens around here."

"Seems like someone's bored and ready to go back to school in a few days," Sig tilted his chin in a challenging fashion.

"Unlikely," Edgar said, rolling his green eyes.

Sig chuckled, feeling lighthearted for the first time all day. A second later, the young captain remembered why he had been feeling lousy in the first place. The momentary lapse of happiness only brought a renewed sense of guilt over his direct hand in Norman's upcoming heartbreak. How on Earth am I going to live with this guilt for the rest of my life? I wish I could just confess to Norman and try to explain why I did what I did. Yet, by running my mouth, I run the risk of Norman never talking to me again. Hell, he'll probably never look at me again. He's my best friend, God damn it. How can I survive losing that relationship?

In Edgar's eyes, Sig expression crashed and he suddenly grew inexplicably sad.

"What?" the youngest Hansen asked.

Sig sighed, realizing his emotions must be written all over his face. "Edgar," he said softly, allowing vulnerability to seep in, "I could really use a hug right about now."

Suspect, Edgar immediately asked, "Why? What's wrong?"

Sig bristled a little.

Never in a million years would Sig ever share with Edgar what happened that morning with Amanda and her parents. It wasn't for lack of trust, although the kid had a long track record of unknowingly divulging secrets. This secret was especially painful to conceal considering Edgar had been in a snit several times during this holiday break over being kept in the dark.

Nevertheless, Sig wouldn't shift his guilt onto anyone else, particularly his little brother who he felt he needed to protect above all else.

"Nothing's wrong," Sig easily lied, "Does something have to be wrong for your favorite big brother to want a hug?" The blond effectively acted insulted.

Still suspicious, Edgar nevertheless got off the bed and closed the gap between them. He was never one to turn down a hug or show of affection and the hugs had been somewhat sparse lately.

Delighted that his affronted performance worked, Sig stretched his arms out wide and accepted Edgar into his personal space, enveloping the kid in a tight embrace. As it happens, he really did need a hug, particularly the brotherly type so that he didn't feel like a total tool of a big brother.

"I have another favorite brother, too," Edgar whispered into Sig's shoulder, "So don't get too comfortable with your position."

"I'm not sure to whom you are referring," Sig said, lifting Edgar off the ground a few inches, "No one can possibility be a better big brother than ME."

Edgar slapped him lightly in the ribs but then hugged him harder than before.

Sig sighed, still feeling the love coming through their gentle banter. Go ahead, buddy. Be a loyal brother to Norman right now. He's gonna need it.


Several hours later, Sig escaped the house just in time. Ten minutes after Nick's car pulled out of the driveway with Sig inside, Aaron's car pulled up.

Exiting the car in a rush, Norman barely acknowledged Aaron with a 'thanks' before slamming the car door behind him.

Edgar was outside, shoveling the sidewalk, when Norman pulled up. He spotted his older brother walking up to the house and stopped shoveling, raising his hand with an over-exaggerated wave.

Norman was so engrossed in his own thoughts he missed the welcoming gesture.

With a shrug, Edgar assumed Norman was in a hurry to get to dinner (the seventeen-year-old rarely missed a meal) and went back to work. The kid had finished his own sidewalk and was doing the neighborly thing by shoveling the sidewalk belonging to the house next door. And if he so happened to catch a glance at the dark-haired beauty living inside, it would be completely coincidental.

Daisy, having forgotten her earlier breech of manners, was outside frolicking in the mounting snow. The weather had picked up in intensity over the last few hours, the snow falling at an impressive clip, but the dog was undeterred in her play. Finally, the mutt came to appreciate her hand-knitted sweater as she buried herself in the snow.

Norman plowed through the backdoor. He was so focused on getting to his room that he initially didn't notice his father sitting at the kitchen table.

"Where you going, boy?" Sverre piped up, licking the sticky remnants of his apple pie from his fork, "Dinner's waiting for you in the oven."

Norman froze in his tracks. Turning slowly, he glanced at his father and then to the oven. The smell of lemon-glazed chicken wafted through the house and tempted his grumbling stomach.

I have time. The stocky teen tossed off his jacket, letting it land on the nearby chair.

All it took was the slightest raise of Sverre's left eyebrow, directed at the wet jacket, to swiftly prompt Norman to pick the jacket back up and hang it appropriately on the rack by the backdoor.

In short order, Norman made himself a luscious plate overflowing with succulent chicken, roasted red potatoes and green bean casserole. He was shoveling food into his face before he sat down. "Edgerr and 'ig eat already?" he muttered with a mouth full of food.

"Yes," Sverre nodded, "Sig left with his buddy already."

"Hummm," Norman hummed between bites, head down in his plate. "Nick."

"Yes, Nick," Sverre answered unnecessarily. The name sparked a thought. "How are the roads out there?"

" 'oribble," Norman swallowed, only to replace the masticated food with another massive bite, "And getting worse….bad storm."

Sverre sighed nervously.

Norman seemed to read his father's unspoken thoughts. "Sig'll be fine. I'm sure Nick's a good driver…trust me, the guy is good at everything."

Sverre grimaced, unsure how he felt that his private emotions were so easily readable nowadays, especially by his children. Instead of worrying about Sig, he decided to distract himself with a bit of fun at Norman's expense. "I don't know why Sig just didn't take the truck," he said offhandedly and watched to see how Norman would react.

Very careful NOT to react, Norman kept his eyes locked on his plate. Without looking up, he nonchalantly shrugged and grunted some unintelligible noise that sounded like 'who knows?' The young man continued scarfing his food down at a rapid pace.

Sverre eyed his lying son with suppressed annoyance. He would have loved nothing more than to call his son's bluff and throttle him for his deceit. Instead, he drove the imaginary knife in deeper. "Nobody's gonna steal that plate away from you. What's the rush? It's not like you're going anywhere tonight."

Norman's shoulders squared rigidly at his father's observation. Be careful! Don't make the Old Man suspicious. You're supposed to be grounded. Then, he forced himself to relax. "Just hungry, I guess," he muttered, unable to look his father in the eye.

"Well," Sverre leaned back on his chair, stuffing his hands into his jean pockets, "You're grounding seems fortuitous. Now I can go out tonight with Alma and leave Edgar in what I HOPE is good hands."

"You're going out?" Norman's head popped up and he asked the question with too much obvious enthusiasm.

"Jesus, you boys act like I'm one step from the nursing home," Sverre groused, slamming the wooden chair's legs down. He stood up with a flourish, waving his hand about. "Yes, I have plans tonight. Alma and I are going out onto the Bay to watch the fireworks over the harbor…" the Old Man suddenly remembering the current weather conditions, glancing at the snow falling outside the kitchen window. He amended his statement, "…if they're not canceled because of the snow."

"Oh," Norman tried to sound uninterested this time, sensing he'd sparked his father's suspicions. Yet, he could barely contain his excitement. With his father gone, his own escape tonight would be that much easier. The only wrinkle would be convincing Edgar to cover for him. Unfortunately, that wrinkle left a fair amount of guilt in Norman's heart. After all, the reason he was grounded in the first place was because he lead his younger brother astray during the report card debacle.

Suddenly, the tables turned and now Sverre could read Norman's unspoken thoughts. You're gonna pull poor, unsuspecting Edgar into this scheme, aren't you? Ask the kid to lie for you and tell me you went to bed at the stroke of midnight when he knows you really snuck off to Amanda's house? You little sneak! This deceitful coercion with your younger brother is the perfect example of why I grounded your ass last time. Dammit!

Feeling his temper spiking, Sverre found it best to leave quickly before he betrayed the promise he made to his eldest son. "Clean up the dishes!" he harshly barked the order before abruptly exiting the kitchen.

Alone, Norman was left at the table. He stayed seated, a barrage of varying emotions assaulting him as they had all day. Extreme nervousness, fear and excitement flowed through his healthy teenage body, leaving his legs shaken and his shoulders sore with tension. Now, the stinging regret of involving Edgar into his plan was a new emotion to add to the swirling storm inside.

"It's too late now," Norman whispered his thought out loud, hanging his head with shame. The die has been cast.


Not much longer past dinner, the dishes cleaned and put away, Norman waited and listened for the slam of the back door. Seated on the very edge of his bed, his blue duffle bag packed neatly beside him, Norman felt like he had a knot the size of Canada in his gut.

Inside the bag, besides his best suit, pressed shirt and tie, lie a map with carefully traced black lines, a wallet full of money and a fake ID and a wedding ring which didn't belong to him. Technically, the ring belonged to his mother although he convinced himself she'd allow him to borrow if she were here. Mom was always in love with love, right? She would have seen the reason behind my plan and helped me…right?

Although expecting the bang, when it came, the seventeen-year-old future runaway almost fell from his bed with frazzled nerves. In fact, Norman shook so hard that the bag sitting next to him rocked back and forth, finally toppling over slowly onto the floor like melting ice cream from a waffle cone.

"Man up," the teen whispered, finding the courage to stand from someplace deep. Glancing down at the bag, Norman huffed and picked it up off the floor.

With light steps, he opened his bedroom door and peeked out into the hallway. Luck was already riding with him because Edgar was in the bathroom, singing loudly as he got a shower. This time, the kid's love song was upbeat, channeling Van Halen's Jump and reminding an imaginary Morgan that he's not the worse that she's seen.

Swiftly, Norman descended the stairs and proceeded to the garage. Tossing the duffle bag into the truck, he ran back upstairs and arranged his bed in such a way that the pillows would double as a sleeping body under the covers.

Norman's subterfuge was unexpectedly impeded by a dog bounding into the bedroom and jumping on his bed.

"Daisy, get off!" Norman hastily scooted her away.

Daisy figured this was some kind of game and jumped right back onto the bed.

"NO!" the older teen hustled the dog off again, "Come on, girl, stop!"

The lab mix begrudgingly jumped back down, carefully watching Norman's strange actions. What are you up to now? She sat down while studying the big guy's actions.

When Norman was finished, the unidentified lump on the bed caused Daisy to give a warning bark. It certainly looked like someone or something was under there and the canine was completely confused.

"Oh, Daze," Norman glanced behind him at the dog sitting so prettily for him, "Don't be scared, OK? I know what I'm doing. Trust me, girl. This will all work out."

Something about the tone of Norman's voice caught Daisy's attention and she whined in response. Why are you so nervous? What's happening?

With aforethought, Norman had prepared a short letter outlining an explanation of his upcoming absence. Leaning over, he withdrew the folded letter from his nightstand drawer and placed it under his pillow, leaving a crisp, white corner to be founded by someone in the morning light.

Taking one last look around the room, Norman sighed, satisfied. "Come on, girl," he waved a hand to encourage Daisy to follow him.

Shutting the door, Norman hoped the ruse would save him some time with his father. There was no doubt the minute the Old Man found out about the elopement, he'd find a way to contact Mr. Winchester. Norman hoped he and Amanda were crossing the border before the news spread to the east coast.

Finally, Norman faced his last task before leaving. The middle Hansen went and stood outside the bathroom door.

Daisy continued to watch Norman from the hallway

Raising his fist, he went to knock on the door but paused, his hand still in mid-air. Slowly, Norman let his hand drop, listening to Edgar sing happily and feeling every inch a skunk. A stinky, smelly skunk. It would be easier for him to slip away without Edgar knowing he left but he'd never leave his little brother alone without some kind of explanation, even if that explanation was a complete lie.

Dammit! Norman clenched his teeth together, determined to see this plan out.

Raising his fist again, Norman loudly knocked on the door.

An abrupt stoppage of the singing, then followed by, "WHAT?" was the response to Norman's knock.

"CAN I COME IN?" Norman bellowed through the closed door and over the running water.

"SURE…IT'S OPEN," Edgar yelled back.

Norman opened the door and was greeted by a wall of hot steam. Daisy took off down the stairs, having no love for the room where she was occasionally subjected to the humiliation known as a bath.

"Good God, kid," Norman commented, coming in and shutting the door behind him, "Are you in here somewhere or am I gonna need to build a lighthouse to find you in this fog?"

Edgar giggled. "I was cold," he explained, "I was outside shoveling snow for a long time." Without any luck…I didn't get to see her again. I must have stood out there for hours, just moving the same pile of snow from one side of the sidewalk to the other.

"Hmm," Norman murmured, wondering how much more regret he could possibly feel, "I should have given you a hand with that…sorry, I was…distracted."

"No big deal."

"Edgar…" Norman sucked in his upper lip, biting it fitfully, "…I…ah…need you to do something for me."

"Sure," the kid was feeling expansive with happy, hopeful thoughts about his new neighbor.

"I…need you to…cover for me," Norman continued on in a rush, "I mean, not really cover for me but just tell Dad when he gets home I went to bed early and I said to…have a Happy New Year."

The shower water came to a finalistic stop. A second later, Edgar's dipping wet head came peaking around the shower curtain. "Why?" he asked suspiciously, "Where are you going? You're grounded. You're supposed to be staying home with me tonight."

"I just need to see Amanda," Norman blurted out, raising his hands up in a pleading gesture, "Just for a little bit. Afterwards, I'll sneak back home, slip into bed and no one will be the wiser. I've done it a hundred times so you don't need to worry about me getting caught."

Edgar leaned forward, holding onto the side of the shower curtain. Hastily, he grabbed a towel, wrapped it around his lower person and exited the shower. Dripping wet, his green eyes gleamed with annoyance. "But if you do get caught, who's Dad gonna blame…YOU (he pointed a shriveled finger in Norman's direction)…or ME (then pointed that same shriveled finger at his bare chest) for lying…AGAIN!"

"No, no," Norman cajoled his baby brother, softening his voice and his eyes, "If for some reason Dad finds out, I'll just say I snuck out my bedroom window. I'll say that I told you I was feeling lousy and I went to bed early. Then, I snuck out without you knowing. See, it's not really a lie…so to speak."

"I CANNOT believe you are asking me to do this…" Edgar ardently stated, splattering water droplets from his hair as he shook his head in disbelief.

"Edgar, please…" Norman begged, "I…love her. I…need to see her…kiss her at midnight. It's…" he blushed, feeling foolish, "…tradition."

Edgar opened his mouth to complain but ended up shutting it with a sigh. Considering the day's events, the almost fourteen-year-old felt that he now knew what true love was all about. Wasn't it love at first sight for him just that morning? How could he deny his beloved older brother from seeing his own true love on one of the most romantic nights of the year?

Pushing aside the gnawing loneliness of spending NYE alone for the first time, for it had always been just him and Mom making it up to the ball drop long after Dad went to bed, Edgar closed his eyes and said, "Why'd you tell me at ALL? Because you didn't want me to worry about you. Because you feel guilty about leaving me? As far as I know, you went to bed while I was in the shower and I haven't seen you SINCE!"

"Thank you," Norman whispered the heartfelt words, reaching out and kissing his little brother on his wet forehead, "Happy New Year, little brother."

"Let's hope it's better than last year," Edgar whispered back, continuing to keep his eyes locked shut. Somehow, if he visually didn't see Norman leaving, he could convince himself that the lie he was going to tell would be semi-truthful.

Norman caressed his brother's sopping wet hair for a moment. "I know it will be. I believe that with all my heart."

A few moments later, still feeling his brother's hand caressing his head, Edgar opened his eyes and found himself alone. "It's not starting off too good already," he whispered in the steamy air.


Somewhere over on the fancy side of town, Sig leaned against the hand-painted de Gournay wallpaper, Waterford Lismore crystal tumbler gripped firmly in his hand for fear of dropping a glass that would cost him a day's wages to replace. As he glanced around the luxuriously decorated parlor, Sig found himself surrounded by the exact same clientele for whom he risked life and limb to harvest the elusive delicacy known as Alaska King Crab.

Upon arriving at the mansion-size house, the homogenous crowd of surgeons, lawyers, businessmen and entrepreneurs, along with their impeccably dressed families, had been ushered into the parlor to hobnob before dinner while polished servants circulated the room carrying silver serving trays laden with hors d'oeuvres.

With Nick immediately whisked off by Colleen the minute they walked in the double glass doors, Sig was left to 'hobnob' with the group. Yet, in large part, he'd been politely greeted, instantly judged and easily dismissed to observe the upper echelon from the far corner of the room.

Glancing at the bottom of his glass, Sig wished he could replace the Highball drink with a can of Bud and some beer pretzels. I have nothing in common with these people…other than the crab puffs they are shoving in their mouths. I know about as much as vacationing in the Hamptons as these people know how to bait a crab pot. What am I doing here?

"Hey," a deep voice interrupted Sig's musings.

Sig startled, then relaxed. "Hey, buddy." I'd like to punch you in the mouth for dragging me along to this 'dinner' party.

"Nice place, huh?" Nick waved his hand around towards the ceiling.

Sig smiled. "Humph," he muttered, pretending to be unimpressed, "I'm not used to such abysmal conditions but…for you…I'll put up with it."

Both young men stared at each other for a moment and then broke out in obnoxious laughter.

The ruckus laughter carried loudly over the courteous din of the crowd and caused a few sideway glances to be cast in Nick and Sig's direction.

The boys seemed to recognize their uncouth behavior and conspicuously quieted down.

"Hey," Nick lightly slapped Sig on the chest, whispering, "Let's slip outta here…"

"What?" Sig questioned.

Nick seemed suddenly excited at his own idea. "Just for a little while. We'll go get a beer at the pub and be back in time for dinner."

"Won't Colleen get pissed off when she notices you're gone?" Sig asked.

Nick waved Sig off, "Naw, she's so busy getting shuttled around like a prize trophy by her parents that she'll never know we left and came back. Her parents want to make sure everyone knows she just got accepted to UW Med for the fall. But, there will be no mention of our wedding in May, you can bet on that."

Sig wanted nothing more to get out of the stuffy house with its stuffy people. Secretly, he was as excited about the idea as Nick was but something made him hesitate. "I don't know, Nick. Seems a bit…rude…just to up and leave in the middle of a party. AND, these are gonna be YOUR people someday…Mr. Pre-law. Shouldn't YOU be making an effort to socialize?"

"I'd rather socialize with snakes in a lava pit."

"Nice one," Sig snorted, again earning a quelling glance from the guests.

"Well," Nick rocked on his heels, confident all Sig needed was a little push, "If you're having such a grand time listening to talk about politics and the foreign market, by all means, don't let me stop you." Then, with a smug smile, Nick drifted away.

Pausing for the briefest of seconds, Sig set down his glass on the colonial-style sideboard and said in a rush, "Wait for me."


Norman pulled up to Amanda's house, initially unaware of how dark it was inside. The only light left on was the porch light, illuminating the snow-covered concrete stoop outside.

The brawny teen was just too relieved to have made it at all to notice anything amiss. The snow was coming down hard and he could barely see a foot in front of him the entire ride over. The streets were getting to the point of being impassable. It seemed like the local road crews had simply given up trying to stay ahead of the storm, opting instead to go home and enjoy New Year's Eve with their families and letting the storm ride itself out.

Hopping out of the truck, Norman grabbed his duffle bag and ran to the front door of the Winchester home. Bouncing up and down in the cold, he pounded on the glass storm door, waiting with nervous anticipation for his future bride to answer and let him into the warmth.

With the snow coming down, Norman didn't notice the white envelope taped to the inside of the thick, wooden door.

When no one answered, he ran to the side of the house, peering into the garage windows. Even in the near darkness, he could see that there were no cars inside.

As he went back to the front door and pounded again, the envelope fluttered with the vibrations, finally catching his eye.

A sickening feeling overtook the young Romeo.

The envelope, a long, business-style rectangle, had a name scrawled on the front. It plainly read: Mr. Norman Hansen. The hand that wrote the name was clearly masculine and harbored no welcoming swirls or little scribbled hearts in the corner.

Norman let the duffle bag weighing down his shoulder drop to the ground. As he anticipated, the glass storm door was unlocked and, tentatively, the teen opened the door and retrieved the letter inside.

In the falling snow, Norman opened the letter and read the contents contained on the single page, college-lined paper.

Norman,

Your relationship with my daughter is now over. Do not try to contact her. As of today, she is traveling with us and beginning a new life on the east coast ~ a new life that does not include you. I'll not have my oldest daughter influenced by those that seek to sideline her career goals with romantic notions of secret engagements or runaway marriages and, remember, I have the means and resources to eradicate those that do try (regardless of what part of the country in I reside).

Focus on your studies and know that all things work out for a reason.

Lt. Col. John Winchester

Norman must have stood alone, outside in the snow, for an eternity, reading and re-reading the crisp, direct message. He stood there so long, snow had completely covered his dark hair, turning it the stark white of an old man. Still, despite the freezing temperatures and frozen precipitation, Norman looked for more to the message, some kind of hidden meaning he had yet to find.

Finally accepting that there was nothing else, Norman looked up and found only the closed front door in front of him. No one had answered his knock. No one was ever going to. She's gone. The two words hit him like an avalanche. HOW? WHY? Letting the melting snow and the tears slide down his cheeks, he crumbled the letter into a tight ball and wept.

At last, when there was nothing more to do, Norman let the letter go from his hand. It wafted swiftly in the breeze, coming to its final resting place on the front step, left to disintegrate underneath the relentless snow.


Meanwhile, Alma and Sverre struck out on the fireworks over the bay and settled for a quiet night snuggling on Alma's sofa.

The older folks were content to welcome the New Year with each other and no one else.


Edgar was in a similar situation, snuggled up on the sofa with someone he loved.

Popcorn bowl in hand, Daisy curled up in the nook of his bent legs, the young teen popped on the TV and settled in to greet the New Year.


Norman didn't remember the drive home. He was on autopilot. Several times, he almost went off the side of the road in the blinding snow. A part of him didn't care if he did. The other part, the stronger one, refused to inflict any more lose in Edgar's young life.

When Norman finally arrived home, there was an unexpected car in the driveway. The car caught his curiosity as he parked next to it. He figured it was Alma's car and his father had come home early. The fact that his goose was completely cooked was inconsequential. Who cared if he got grounded for the rest of his life or whipped every night for the next two weeks? Amanda was gone. Not much else mattered.

As the teen got out of the truck and proceeded into the house, he was met with a hysterical woman and two equally upset teenagers.

Nick's mother, still in her waitress uniform, stood in the kitchen. Black streaks of mascara ran down her face.

The group seemed surprised into silence when Norman suddenly appeared.

Edgar recovered first. "Sig and Nick have been in a bad car accident. They're at the hospital. That's all we know." Then, he broke down, burying his face in his hands.

This prompted Matt to begin crying anew.

Norman looked utterly confused. He turned to the only adult in the room, looking for an explanation.

Mrs. Mavar coughed back a sob. "I…got a call from Colleen. The boys were in an accident on Rt. 30. Both of them were rushed to Mt. St. Helena's Hospital. Colleen is there with her father but they won't tell her anything. I'm going over there now…but I didn't want to leave Matty alone tonight. Is it OK if he stays here?"

"No," Norman said rudely, pushing past Mrs. Mavar and taking charge of the situation, "We're all going to the hospital but first I have to call my father."

"Norman," Mrs. Mavar protested, "Do you think that's a good idea?" She glanced meaningfully down to the sobbing teens at the kitchen table.

Norman ignored the woman. Instead, he focused on finding the personal phone book kept in the drawer near the phone. It was unlikely that his father would be home with Alma but Norman had to try. At the very least, he could leave a message on her machine. In addition, he'd leave a message at their house in case his father came home before they came back.

They? Norman internally repeated the word as he located Alma's phone number written on the inside cover of the black book. Would 'they' include Sig? How bad of an accident is BAD? As he dialed the number, he pushed the thoughts from his mind.

"Hello?" a sweet, older voice answered, surprising Norman for a moment.

"Is my Dad there?" he asked, skipping the niceties.

"Yes…" Alma seemed flustered by the abruptness in Norman's voice. "Hold on."

Some shuffling…some hushed whispers. Finally, a gruff voice came over the line. "This better be good, boy!"

"Dad," Norman said the title and almost lost his composure. It was an unexpected relief to hear his father's voice. "Sig's been in a bad car accident. He's at the hospital."

Silence.

"ahhaa…" a strangled noise came from his father's throat. "What…what happened?"

"I don't know," Norman answered, forcing himself not to break down and beg his father to come home immediately. "He and Nick were going...somewhere, I guess."

"And Nick was driving…" Sverre stated the obvious. Then, the old man's temper got the better of him. "GOD DAMMIT! SIG SHOULD HAVE BEEN DRIVING THE GOD DAMN TRUCK. IF IT WASN'T FOR YOUR STUPID, FUCKING, DECEITFUL PLAN TONIGHT TO RUN OFF…" Somewhere in his subconscious, the Captain recognized he was blowing Sig's cover and stopped talking, thinking perhaps he could put a bandage on the fresh wound and pretend it never happened. "STAY THERE! I'LL BE RIGHT OVER!"

~tbc

A/N: It doesn't look like 1985 will be starting off on the right foot for the Hansen family but I hope 2015 got started off on the right foot for all of you. Happy New Year and please drop in with a review to say hello! Go Seahawks!