A/N: First venture into the world of Supernatural!
DISCLAIMER: I own nothing! I make no profit off of this. This is solely for my enjoyment and hopefully for the enjoyment of others! ;)
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Ameliorate : to make or become better, more bearable, or more satisfactory; to improve
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Nine hundred and twelve days, six hours, and twenty three minutes.
Just over two and half years.
John Winchester was slowly beginning to come to terms with the fact that he'd never see his youngest son again.
They say that if your child isn't found in the first 24 hours after a kidnapping, your chances of seeing them alive again go way down.
But John refused to believe that. His eldest, Dean, refused to believe it. John prayed, consulted physics, performed tracking spells, did every thing in his power to locate his missing child.
There was a time when he traveled with his sons to hunt down evil. Now he traveled with his son to find what was stolen from them.
Sam had gone missing after school one day in Hanover, New Hampshire. John had thought it had something to do with the vampire nest he had been tracking. But when a raid and slaughter of the nest didn't turn up any sign of his son, John had broke one of his own hardwired rules: he went to the police.
Nine hundred and twelve days, six hours, and twenty three minutes.
The police hadn't been able to do jack. There was security footage from a traffic cam that showed Sam being drugged and stuffed into the back of a car. They ran the plates, which came up as stolen. The vehicle itself turned up a few days later abandoned behind a warehouse.
There had been blood in the backseat. Lab results came back with a positive match for Sam.
Every tracking spell the Winchesters performed, or had someone else perform, never got them far. The spell would locate Sam, the Winchesters would haul ass to get there, but by the time they arrived, the kidnappers had moved on. Cleaned house. It was almost as if they knew they were being watched. As if something was tipping them off.
John hadn't wanted to give up hope. But there's only so many times he could tolerate come close to seeing his baby boy and having him ripped out from under his nose. The one thing that kept him going was Dean's determination to find Sam and the fact that every psychic and every location spell let him know that Sam was still alive.
Nine hundred and twelve days, six hours, and twenty three minutes.
It had been the most random of occurrences. If John believed in God he would have said it was a miracle.
He and Dean were in a rundown town right off the highway in Washington. Of all things, he'd stopped for gas. John was leaning against the Impala, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans as he waited for the tank to fill.
His eyes were staring absently down at the ground, not truly seeing, lost in thought.
There was a familiar squeak of the passenger door sounded as Dean threw it open. John craned his neck as he looked over at his son emerging from the car. John frowned when Dean didn't move, just stared at something in the distance.
"What is it?" He asked, beginning to walk over to Dean's side of the car.
"Dad…" Dean began, voice oddly shaky. "I–Is that…. Tell me that's not him. Tell me I'm just seeing things." He sounded haunted.
John frowned as he came alongside his son and followed his line of vision.
He didn't know where the boy had come from, but then again he hadn't really been paying attention. Rounding the side of the building and stepping out of the shadow was a teenager; tall, with horribly shaggy brown hair.
The boy limped slightly when he walked, shoulders hunched as if in anticipation of sudden harm.
John felt something akin to hope flutter in his gut even though brain was screaming at him that there was no way this was real. Just wishful thinking.
But when the boy lifted his head and John saw the familiar mole placed just to the left of the boy's nose, he knew.
Dean was moving before John had a chance to blink, but he wasn't far behind.
"Sammy!" Dean cried at the exact second that John yelled, "Sam!"
John didn't think he'd ever forget the look of pure terror in Sam's eyes as his name was called across the lot. The boy froze, eyes blown wide like a deer in the headlights, knees bent as his brain volleyed between fight or flight.
In the end, the decision was made for him.
Dean threw his arms around the teen in a ferocious hug, barely registering when John's arms enveloped the both of them. Dean didn't care that there were tears streaking down his cheeks, he didn't care that people were staring, and he didn't fucking care that they were having the biggest chick-flick moment of all time in the parking lot of a gas-n-sip.
The only thing he did care about was held tightly between his two arms.
"Hey!" A voice screamed.
John drew back from the hug reluctantly, turning to find the source of the shout. His mouth set in a hardline as he caught sight of a man standing twenty feet away, a gun aimed at the three Winchesters.
"Git away from ma boy!" The man yelled. John slowly stepped in front of his boys, hands held aloft.
"Dean, get Sam to the car," he said lowly without turning around. He heard the sound of scuffling feet behind him and knew Dean was following his order.
"Ya can't take 'im," the man snarled, spitting out a mouthful of tobacco juice. "He don' belong to ya."
"Well he sure as hell don't belong to you," John countered bitterly.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a crowd beginning to gather. He vaguely heard someone mutter about calling the police.
"Sure he does," the man cackled, advancing with an odd sort of swagger. "I'm his daddy. Whatcher doin' is kidnappin'."
John eyed the man as he continued to advance, anger boiling in his throat. He wanted nothing more than to whip out his own gun and pump that man so full of silver he'd crap quarters for a month. Instead he waited. He bided his time, waited for the right opportunity.
"Thems over there," the man said, flicking his gun over at the small throng in front of the store, "they's calling the po-po. And when they show up, yer gonna be in trouble," he finished in a sing-song voice, crooked smile displaying his stained teeth.
"I'm not the one who'll be in trouble," John said steadily. The man was almost close enough now.
"Is that righ'?" The man guffawed, taking a few steps closer. He opened his mouth to say something else, but he never got that far. He was within John Winchester's reach now.
John stepped forward and latched onto the man's wrist. With an efficient twist, he snapped the man's wrist and transferred the gun into his grasp. The man gave a cry of pain just as John hooked a foot behind the man's knees and forced him to the ground.
"Damn straight I'm right," he said stonily, aiming the gun at the writhing man's forehead. "He's my son."
Nine hundred and twelve days, six hours, and twenty three minutes.
They'd rushed Sam to a hospital, where he was admitted for ten days.
The doctor had been very thorough in his tests, informing John of every physical horror inflicted upon the sixteen year old. They knew every broken bone, scar, scrape, cut, bruise, and sprain within the first 24 hours of Sam's admission.
They'd had to break and reset a few bones, but other than that, the physician said he wasn't concerned and that he believed Sam would make a full recovery.
The youngest Winchester had yet to say anything to either his father or his brother. But he seemed content to listen when they talked.
Sam had been hooked up to an IV drip, feeding him fluids and medicine. Between John and Dean they had only managed to convince Sam to eat a few things here and there, but no where near the intake he should be getting.
Dean had yet to leave his brother's bedside for more than five minutes, only leaving to use the bathroom. John had called Bobby with the news, feeling tears sting his eyes unashamedly as he heard the hitch in the gruff hunter's voice on the other end.
Bobby had said he would spread the news so John could just focus on being with his family. Before they disconnected, John asked if it would be to much if he and the boys to came stay with him for a while. He wanted Sam to be able to recover in a stable and familiar environment.
"There's nothing I'd want more," Bobby had responded.
Once Sam was discharged, John had packed up the boys and hit the road for Sioux Falls, South Dakota.
He stole glances through the rearview mirror as Dean sat in the back with his brother, Sam pressed impossibly close into his brother's side. Dean talked the whole way to Bobby's, regaling Sam with the stories of everything they'd hunted over the past two years.
Sam still hadn't opened his mouth to say anything, but that was an issue for a later date. John still wasn't fully convinced that this wasn't a dream. He wasn't certain that he wasn't about to have a rude awakening into the world where his son had been missing for two and half years.
Nine hundred and twelve days, six hours, and twenty three minutes.
They'd found him.
Nine hundred and twelve days, six hours, and twenty three minutes.
John knew the boy was going to have problems. Hell, John had problems and he wasn't the one who'd been horrifyingly abducted. They'd cross those bridges when they came. But for now, the clock was stopped.
Nine hundred and twelve days, six hours, and twenty three minutes.
Sam was home.
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If you think it's worth continuing, drop me a comment! The next chapter will include lots more hurt!Sam and protective!Dean if enough of you want more content. I appreciate your feedback!