Chapter Ten
John and Dean drove as though there were Hellhounds chasing them, stopping only to top up the Impala's gas.
The eldest Winchester gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands, praying that his youngest son would be all right. He had no idea what Flint may have been doing to his son to 'convince' him to go back to hunting but if Sam was hurt, John wouldn't hesitate to make the man pay for what he'd done.
John didn't deny that he was also responsible for whatever happened to his youngest son now. He had been so intent on making sure Sam did not reach Stanford that he recruited the assistance of a complete stranger to help force his son back into the hunting lifestyle. John had just been so angry that Sam would want to leave his family and pretend that nothing was wrong in the world; that he wanted to pretend that there were no monsters out there. He should have looked into Eli Flint, to make certain that his intentions were nothing but pure.
Despite John's concern for his youngest son and his guilt over his own actions and ill judgment, the father felt a glimmer of happiness in the midst of his anxiety. A month had passed since Flint had taken Sam under his wing, and regardless of everything else, John was certain such a distinguished institution as Stanford University would not allow Sam to attend after four weeks of absence and without any explanation for the truancy.
W
Dean and John drove all through the night and by morning they had arrived on the outskirts of the Deschutes National Forest, the sun painting orange and pink light across the thick growth of trees.
Instead of taking the main road into the woods- if any hunter had a cabin in a national forest they would make sure to stay far away from the civilian populace- John turned the classic Chevy onto a fire road used only by emergency services or park rangers.
Dean didn't know how long it would take to search for Flint's cabin. He hoped it wouldn't take too much time; he really needed to see his brother.
"We'll take the Impala in as far as we can and then we can get out and walk," John said and Dean nodded, tight-lipped.
As they moved deeper and deeper into the forest, Dean felt his heart rate ratcheting up. He didn't know when or in what condition they would find Sam and if his younger brother was hurt…
"There's gonna be hell to pay," the twenty-two year old muttered out loud.
W
As soon as the trees began crowding in on the fire route so that their branches and leaves scratched and whipped against the Chevy's sides and roof, John cut the engine in the middle of the track and exited the vehicle.
Making his way to the rear of the Impala, John unlocked the trunk and took out a pistol, a flashlight and after a moment's pause, one of the woolen 'emergency' blankets.
Leaving the trunk open for his son, John waited for Dean to get his weapon and torch before closing the lid and handing him the blanket.
The twenty-two year old looked at him for a long second before John turned away and started through the trees.
"We'd best stay together," John told his son, "It's easy to get lost in here."
He heard Dean coming up behind him as he picked his way past birch and maple, stepping loudly over leaves already beginning to fall.
W
The sun rose towards its apex as Dean and John marched through the forest, eyes keen for any sign of a cabin amongst the trees.
Father and son said nothing to one another. Dean was furious with John and he was prepared to become even more so depending on Sam's condition when they found him.
Please be okay, Sammy; Dean thought desperately, please be alright.
W
John and Dean crossed the paved road, watching out for vehicles and made their way towards a narrow path in the trees that their keen hunter's eyes had seen instantly. The path, which wouldn't be visible to a civilian until they were on top of it, appeared to be more of a deer-path than anything else.
Dean looked up at John, "You think? I mean, no one would notice this and if they did, they'd think it was only game trail or something."
John peered down the two-lane asphalt road and nodded, "I'm pretty sure this road leads to the main entrance to the forest."
"Would Flint have gone right past the front gate with Sammy?" Dean asked, wondering if his brother had tried to call for help or if the man had threatened him into silence.
John shook his head; "He probably took the back way in, where there would be no civilians or park rangers to see."
Dean nodded and followed his father down the trail, his grip on his weapon tightening.
W
The two eldest Winchesters walked about half a mile before coming upon a clearing where a hulking, uncared-for cabin sat.
The cabin walls had been constructed using rough-hewn logs painted over with a colour that may once have been yellow but was now a dirty white. A narrow porch stretched the width of the front of the cabin, its steps looking treacherous for the ankles. The roof was covered with mossy cedar shingles and twin windows peered out from the front of the cabin. An old lawn chair, its seat and backing frayed with age and its legs rusted by the elements, sat on the porch beside the door.
The cabin wasn't the only thing in the clearing, however; a classic silver T-Bird was parked in front of the mean-looking building.
Dean approached the cabin and vehicle, glancing back at his father expectantly.
"Is this his car?"
John shrugged, "It might be… I don't really remember."
Dean sneered and turned away from the sheepish look on John's face and continued forward until his father called out.
"Stop!"
The twenty-two year old peered over his shoulder and waited for his father to explain.
"Flint may not be too happy that we've come to get Sam," John said, moving to meet Dean as he spoke, "We need to treat this with caution, just like any other case."
Dean didn't look happy about the instructions but nodded and waited until John met up with him.
Stepping gingerly, the twenty-two year old climbed the rotted wooden stairs and onto the porch.
He wanted so badly to call out his brother's name but he knew that he and John might still have the element of surprise and speaking out loud would ruin that.
Instead of opening the door and startling Flint, which could end disastrously, Dean peered through one of the front windows and saw a den complete with a worn couch, a coffee table and rabbit-eared television set.
He heard John step up onto the porch behind him and he moved across to the second window without looking at his father.
Dean saw a kitchen furnished with appliances that looked as though they had been bought in the nineteen-sixties, a sturdy pinewood table with matching chairs… and a dead man.
"Dad," the twenty-two year old hissed and reached out for John without taking his eyes off the body.
"Is…" Dean paused and licked his suddenly dry lips, "Is that Flint?"
The young man sensed his father hovering over his shoulder and he heard John give a sharp intake of breath, not really a gasp but almost one.
"Yes," he answered simply.
"SAMMY!" Dean shouted, turning on his heels and rushing to the front door, finding it open and shoving it wide, "SAMMY!"
"Dean!" John called and he grabbed his son's arm.
The young man turned on his father and ripped his arm from John's grasp.
"Be careful," the eldest Winchester warned, "Flint may not have been the only one here."
Dean turned away, calling his brother's name again and moved deeper into the cabin.
John stood in the doorway, afforded a good view of both the den and the kitchen. He found his gaze drawn to Flint's body, the man leaning back slightly in his chair, blood painting the cupboards and counter behind him a rusty red; bits of bone and grey matter dried into the red stains.
"He's not here!" Dean called as he made his way back to the main area of the cabin, "HE'S NOT HERE!"
John could hear the panic in his son's voice and felt his own anxiety increase tenfold.
"Calm down," the eldest Winchester said, "Yelling like that isn't going to help find Sam."
Dean glared at his father but didn't shout again.
John raked a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair and stepped further into the cabin, moving into the den and paused.
"Are there any outbuildings?" Dean asked, "A garage or a shed or, or something? Maybe Sam's there…"
John shook his head and took a few steps forward until he reached the colourful rug someone had knotted together with rags.
The hunter frowned and looked down. Something was different about this area of the floor. It sounded almost… hollow.
Dropping to a knee, John moved the rug out of the way to reveal the square outline of a door in the floor.
"Dad, what's that? A trapdoor?" Dean asked and moved closer.
"I think it's the entrance to some kind of cellar," John replied and looked up, his eyes meeting Dean's.
"Open it," the twenty-two year old growled and John reached down, gripping the handle without looking at it, keeping his eyes glued to his son's.
"Locked," John said and Dean wore.
"It's a padlock," the father continued, "There should be a key."
Dean peered over his shoulder at Flint.
Turning, the young man hurried to the hunter's corpse and began roughly going through his pockets.
"C'mon you bastard," Dean snarled as he dumped a handful of change, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter and a cell phone that looked suspiciously like Sam's, onto the floor.
A moment later Dean returned to his father's side, triumphant, and John took the key from him, unlocking the padlock and tossing it aside.
Gripping the handle, John pulled open the door as wide as it would go and peered down at a hard-packed dirt floor.
"Sammy?" Dean called, "Sammy, are you down there?"
Turning to his father, Dean addressed John, "How are we going to get down there?"
Taking note of the drop between the open trapdoor and the cellar floor, John stood and looked around, "There should be a ladder or something like that-"
Dean, though, couldn't wait. He sat down on the edge of the opening for a moment before pushing himself out into empty air, landing in a crouch at the bottom.
W
Dean expected the cellar to be dark and the need for his eyes to adjust but he gazed around for a moment, taking note of the high-powered lights in each of the large room's four corners.
His brother was easy to spot against the earthen tones of the rocks that made up the cellars walls. Sam was curled in on himself, his back facing out, visibly shaking either from the chill in the cellar or fear or both.
"S-Sam? Sammy?" Dean called his sibling's name and stepped forward, glancing over his shoulder as at dull thud announced that John had found the ladder and had settled it into position.
"Don't come down here," Dean told his father and although the older man made no reply, he did not descend the ladder either.
Returning his attention to his sibling, Dean moved forward even more, speaking louder, "Sammy!"
It was then that Sam peered over his shoulder at his Dean.
The twenty-two year old stopped in his tracks, mouth open in shock.
Author's Note:
Thanks to WRATH77, Fire and Ash, SamDeanLover28, Kas3y, whatnosheep, Trucklady53, Jenjoremy, FIGHTTHEFAIRIES, StyxxsOmega, BranchSuper, Luckyflossy, babyreaper, Miuda22, Serenity Winchester, Lennelle, SPN Mum, Sad-Blue-Eyed-Angel 2010, and Icyfox West for reviewing.
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I will try and update again this weekend, but I am making no promises. The next time I post a chapter will most likely be Monday afternoon or evening.