April 30, 2007

His head hurt. His head hurt and he was on something hard. Slowly Sam peeled his eyes open and tried to leverage himself up. The world swam around him. He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs and achingly pulled himself to his feet. His muscles protested the movement after a night in the elements on the hard surface.

His surroundings were confusing. At first glance, he thought that he must be in a frontier style fun park, or maybe on a western movie set, neither of which made any sense. That couldn't be right though. The dilapidation around him was authentic, not the work of creative minds trying to provide a realistic experience.

Where ever he was, it was also a mystery just how he had gotten there. The last thing he remembered he had decided to take a study break, a quick walk down to the coffee shop to stretch his legs and clear his head. He could remember walking under the streetlamps in the mellow air of a California spring. Then it got fuzzy. He didn't think he'd arrived at his destination. If he had, he didn't remember it.

He passingly wondered if this was some lame birthday kidnapping prank. That would explain a few things. It was a fairly benign explanation compared to some of the other possibilities, but even so, he was still going to kill whoever was responsible.

"Hello?" he called. No answer disturbed the eerie quiet. "OK guys, you got me. Ha-ha, very funny."

No jeering faces appeared. No malicious yet friendly laughter broke the silence.

"Damn," Sam muttered. If this was a prank, someone had really gone all out. He fumbled at his pocket for his phone but found it empty. That's right, he recalled, he'd left it at the apartment. He'd just needed a short break from anything and everything and had opted to leave it behind.

Not seeing any other alternatives he started walking down the weather worn planks of the old time sidewalk. "Hello?" he called out again. He didn't really expect an answer at this point, but he wasn't sure what else to do.

"Is somebody there?"

Sam's heart jumped. "Yeah!" he yelled in response, heading towards the other voice with quick strides of his long legs. "Over here!" he almost collided with the other man who ducked out of an alley.

"Oh god, am I glad to see you, to see anybody!" He was dark haired, shorter than Sam like most people were, and clearly pretty freaked out. "What is going on here? Where are we? What is happening?" the poor guy was babbling. Sam had to wonder if he was aware of the meaning of the string of words he was spouting.

"I don't know." Sam answered all three questions at once, "but I'm beginning to think this isn't my buddies screwing around. I'm Sam."

"Andy," the shorter man supplied timidly, "Gallagher."

May 2, 2007

Dean hung up the phone, too stunned by the news to know how to react. He was pissed, a little scared, pissed that he was scared. Confusion crawled up out of the whirlpool of emotions and solidified into one chilling question. "How could the kid be missing?"

Any other early twenties, red blooded, American male you could believe had just followed a shapely set of hips and a couple of sixers of longnecks off on a lost weekend, but this was Sam. Sam didn't do that.

Dean would do that. Hell, Dean had done that, more than once. The last time, when he'd finally stumbled into the garage, still pretty hungover, John had responded with an ass chewing that still made him cringe to think about.

Sam, however, was reliable, responsible. Dean's mind chased itself around in circles trying to make sense of it.

"Screw this!" he exploded, storming off towards the bedroom. He was going out to California to find Sam's ass himself so that he could personally kick it for pulling this dumb stunt.

He flung open the closet door and grabbed his gym bag and a pair of jeans, resulting in a tug-o-war with the hanger. The hanger lost, ending up mangled and forgotten on the floor. He was cramming a handful of T-shirts into the bag when he heard a small voice behind him, "Dad?"

Dean froze, the chaos of emotion pushed off to the side. He knew what he was going to see if he turned around. He didn't want to turn around. What he really wanted was to rewind this whole damned morning, call Sam to say "happy birthday", and have him pick up, or at very least, for Brady, who had eventually answered to have some idea where Sam had gotten off to.

What he did not want was to be standing here, losing his cookies, without the guts to turn around and face, slowly he turned, THAT. Little John stood in the doorway, his kicked-puppy eyes making silent accusations. Dean felt his throat tighten, robbing him of his voice, but what was there that he could even say? Little John worried at the carpet with his toe, "You and Mom need some space again?"

That proved to be the limit of what Dean could take. He deflated as is he'd been stuck with a pin. He dropped heavily onto the bed, the bag hitting the floor. Still unable to make words come he beckoned his son forward with a "come here" hand wave. His head hung, he could not bring himself to face those eyes.

The boy obediently shuffled forward. As soon as he was within reach Dean hauled him onto his lap and cocooned him in a tight hug.

"No, buddy" his voice had returned, but it was a struggle to keep it from cracking. "I'm just heading out to see Uncle Sam at school. I'll be back in a couple of days." His thoughts berated him. The drive there alone would chew up a couple of days, and that's if he busted speed laws and drove when he should be sleeping. That was before however much time it took to find Sam where ever he'd gotten off to and bail him out, dry him out, ball him out, and whatever else may be needed.

"S'never just a couple days." Little John's voice, muffled by Dean's enshrouding arms seemed to have gotten even smaller.

Shame crawled up out of Deans gut, slithered cold over his chest, and finally emerged as a hot flush on his cheeks. Painfully he caught up with himself. He hadn't planned on explaining himself to Brenda. He hadn't called John to say why he wouldn't be into work, or for that matter, to even fill him in on the situation. Worst of all, he'd unthinkingly made a promise to his son, without a second's consideration that there was no realistic way that he could keep it.

"You know what? How about I put that off until I can plan it better?" He felt Little John nod against his chest and press closer to him. Dean felt torn in two, his son needing him to be here, his brother, god knew where, maybe needing him as well. He suddenly felt very small.