A/N: Thanks to everyone for the kind and supportive reviews! The boys appreciate the love, too! As always, dedicated to darling Faye, who helped both inspire and push this story to be written.
Perspectives
Chapter 3
Dean was trying very hard to rein in his temper. After all, Marve was doing him a favor by keeping his shop open late and driving out to get the car. But as the tow truck crept along, not even hitting the speed limit, Dean had to clench his jaw to keep from yelling at the man to hurry.
"There it is." Dean pointed as they crested a low hill. He winced as he saw the car from this angle. Her right side was crushed against the stone guardrail, front wheel bent at an obscene angle. It wasn't pretty, but even worse, Dean doubted it would be a cheap fix. Dad's going to kill me.
Marve maneuvered the tow truck into position and both men got out. Immediately, Dean noticed that something else was wrong. Sam was nowhere to be seen.
He strode to the front door, expecting to see his brother asleep on the front seat. But Sam wasn't in the car. He scanned the back seat, but there was nothing out of the ordinary. The bags were there, Sam's coat, the cooler of food they had brought to eat on the way . . . but no Sam.
"Sam? Sam!" Dean cupped his hands around his mouth to amplify the sound. There was no response. The chill air wrapped around him. Where the hell is he?
Dean was worried - and more than a little pissed. He had told Sam to stay with the car. Not only had the boy ignored the order, but he'd left the car unlocked, their stash of weapons available to anyone who might have happened upon it. This was unacceptable. He couldn't believe Sam had been so careless. It was beyond irresponsible, and Dean could think of no good reason why he would have done it.
Barely containing his frustration, Dean unlocked the trunk and pulled out a flashlight. He leaned low, scanning under the car. Then he started walking, sweeping the beam in front of him.
Marve regarded him with an amused expression. "What're you looking for?"
"My brother is supposed to be here."
Marve chuckled. "He must've gotten antsy. Or cold. He probably walked into town."
Dean ignored him. He scanned the fields that lined the road on both sides carefully, pacing off several hundred yards as Marve started to mount the Impala onto the tow truck.
The beam of the flashlight reflected off the snow-covered grass as he searched for movement, a form, anything. "Sam!"
There was still no answer. Flat, untilled farmland flanked the road, rolling in waves of white out to the horizon. If Sam were there, Dean was sure he'd see him. But there was no sign of him.
The Impala in place, Marve opened the truck's door and swung up into the front seat. "Told you. He probably got cold and decided to walk. I'd bet on it."
Dean bit back a retort regarding what Marve could do with his bet and climbed in next to him. I'm going to kill him, Dean thought. As soon as I find him, I'm going to kill him. But in the back of his mind, a thought niggled at him. Why would Sam go walking off without his coat?
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Sam's eyes slowly opened. He bit back a groan as the harsh flourescent lights bit into them. He sat up, feeling disoriented and chilled. His head snapped back before he could stop it, his muscles not seeming to want to obey him.
Where am I? The first vestiges of panic set in as he realized he didn't recognize anything around him. He had no idea where he was or how he had gotten there. Alert for signs of danger, he rose cautiously, scanning the room. Dean and his father were nowhere to be seen.
He took a step and had to put a hand to the wall to steady himself. His head was aching and it was hard to see. What happened to me? Oh, God - are Dean and Dad hurt, too?
Concern for them kept him moving. He raised his hand to push the door open and crept out, eyes and ears straining for some sign of his family. The short hallway was empty, as were the two garage bays it led to. Sam couldn't hear anything but the faint strains of an oldies station playing on the radio. His heart was in his throat. Where are they? Please, let them be okay!
His hands were clammy and he was shaking. His knees buckled a little as he reached the counter, and he leaned against it heavily. He dropped his head to his hands, but it made the throbbing worse, so he raised it again. Have to keep going. Have to find them. Sam forced himself to keep moving.
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Dean could barely sit still. His entire focus was on Sam, and the creative ways his brother was going to make up for so completely shirking his duty. And making me worry about him.
He still couldn't imagine what could have possibly motivated Sam to be so irresponsible. He supposed their argument could have had something to do with it, and the thought did not make him happy. Sam was skilled at pushing buttons, finding just the right thing to infuriate his father – and lately, even Dean. But this was a new low. He just left the car! No note, no anything. I don't care how cold it is, he should have stayed put. I'm going to kill him.
Although Dean didn't say a word, the older man seemed to guess his train of thought. "We'll find him. Aren't too many places he could be, in a place this size. And trust me when I say that I know every square inch of this town." Marve smiled. "It'll be fine."
Dean forced a smile to his own lips, in rare recognition of required politeness. But he again clenched his jaw to keep from saying what he was really thinking.
Marve seemed to respond to the sense of urgency that radiated from Dean and pressed on the gas a little harder on the way back to the garage. As he backed into the first bay, Dean sprang from the truck, already looking for his brother.
A woman appeared in the doorway. She smiled, greeting him as though she knew him. "Well, you made it!"
What is it with these people and the smiling? Dean clenched his jaw harder. "You haven't seen a kid around here, have you? Fifteen, about six feet tall, brown hair?"
"Sure, I have." Margie's grin got bigger. "He's asleep in the back office."
"Asleep in the . . ." Dean rubbed a hand over his strained neck, willing himself to stay calm. "Could you point me in that direction?" Somehow, he managed to keep his voice neutral.
"Of course, hon. Follow me."
As she led the way, Dean forced himself to take deep breaths, trying not to think about the varied and painful ways in which he was going to kick. Sam's. ass.
She opened the door to the office, but it was empty. A quilt was puddled in one corner of an ancient green couch, and Sam was no longer under it.
Margie's expression turned to confusion, and a little bit of worry. "I left him here not fifteen minutes ago, and he was sound asleep. Where could he have gone?"
"I'm wondering the same thing." Dean tapped his fists together and started mapping out a plan to find his wayward brother.
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Sam was exhausted and dizzy with pain. The ground kept shifting beneath his feet, and he tripped against a crack in the sidewalk. As he stumbled, his vision grayed, and he brought his hands to his head, swaying as he tried to regain his balance. Helpless tears filled his eyes. He couldn't find Dean or his father. He had no idea where he was or where he was supposed to be. He couldn't remember ever feeling so sick or so cold. Or so alone.
"I don't know what to do." He whispered the words into the stillness. There was no reply.
He drew a shuddering breath, wrapping his arms around his middle to try to draw some warmth. There was a bench in front of him, low and metal, and the urge to lie down again could no longer be ignored. He crossed his arms over his chest and huddled his knees to his stomach, trying to keep his teeth from chattering. He closed his eyes, hiding from the ever-increasing ache in his head. He could feel himself sinking, and he didn't try to fight it.
