A/N: Thanks to everyone who's taken the time to read and even more thanks to everyone who's taken the time to review!
Apologies: Sorry this has taken a few days to post - whose idea is this 'going to work' malarky anyway?
More apologies: This was typed very quickly with the minimum amount of proof reading, so sorry if there are any ridiculous typos. And 'tyre' is British for - um - 'tire'. Just in case anyone gets confused by my spelling...!
Chapter Five
Oatmeal.
Dean had never liked oatmeal. Even when Mom used to make it, he'd pull a face and refuse to touch the stuff until she stirred a big splatter of peanut butter into it.
"You're a disgusting little monster, Dean Winchester," she'd tell him, trying to lick the spoon without him seeing.
But he always saw, and then he knew she was only kidding.
Ian was reading a newspaper while he shovelled oatmeal into his mouth. Not the small newspaper with the funnies; no, this was one of the extra-big sized 'serious' newspapers that was impossible to read without folding fourteen times.
Ian seemed to like the oatmeal.
But then, so did Sam.
However, this morning, neither of the boys seemed to have much of an appetite.
Three times last night Sam had woken trembling from a nightmare. Not a white-eyed man, Dean burning up nightmare. Just the regular kind.
Dean wasn't sure whether that was a relief or not.
"What if Daddy just ditched us, Dean?" Sam had asked. "What if he ditched us? I dreamed he never came back, he just left us and never came back!"
Dean, of course, had merely stroked Sam's hair and told him to go back to sleep – it was just a nightmare. Dad would never ditch them. Never. He'd be back. He'd be back for them.
But when Dean woke up with tears on his cheeks and the words, "Dad, is that you?" on his lips, it was Sam's wide, dark eyes he glimpsed in the early morning light, not his father's. And then it had been Sam's turn to gently tell his big brother that he'd just been having a nightmare. That Dad would be back for them. That everything would be alright.
Dean didn't mention the dark place or the man with the white eyes.
"Dean, you're staring at me again," Ian observed between mouthfuls of oatmeal, eyes never leaving the newspaper.
Dean averted his gaze to his own untouched breakfast. "Sorry," he mumbled, fingers clutching the sides of his chair.
Ian did look up then, the tone of Dean's apology attracting his attention. "Oh, for goodness sake!" he let out an exasperated sigh. "For the last time, Dean, I'm not a monster!"
Dean dared to spare him an uncertain glance, knowing Sammy was watching his every move.
"Whatever your Dad's been filling your heads with," Ian continued through another mouthful of oatmeal. "It's gonna cost a small fortune in therapy to get back out again!"
When Dean didn't rise to the bait, Ian merely shrugged and indicated the boys' untouched food.
"You boys should really try to eat something."
"We don't like oatmeal," Sammy piped up, Dean meeting his gaze questioningly across the table. Yes you do, his eyes said.
"You don't?" Ian appeared genuinely surprised, as if such a thing were unthinkable.
Sam shook his head.
Ian's gaze softened as he considered the little boy. "So what do you like?" he asked, smiling indulgently.
"Froot Loops," Sam answered instantly. "Coco Pops. Pop Tarts. M&M's…"
It took Dean a second to realise Sammy was reeling off a list of Dean's favourite breakfast fare.
"You can't eat M&M's for breakfast!" Ian laughed, the playful tone of his voice almost causing Dean to forget how he'd looked standing over his baby brother with those scary white eyes the night before.
"Can too!" Sam grinned, apparently having forgotten as well. "Right Dean? Remember those pancakes you made? They were awesome!"
A ghost of a smile flickered across Dean's face. "The muffins were better," he managed, grinning as he shared the memory with his kid brother.
Sam sniggered.
"You guys put M&M's in pancakes?" Ian seemed to have just caught up with the conversation.
"Uh-huh," Sam confirmed, nodding. "And muffins."
"M&M's go with everything," Dean informed his Uncle, Sammy's laughter for a brief moment easing the tight clenching of his chest and the knot of fear in his stomach.
"I don't think Daddy liked the spaghetti though," Sam added, grinning.
"Yeah," Dean reconsidered his previous statement. "That was pretty disgusting…"
"Alright," Ian put in then. "We'll go shopping later. Get some kid food."
Sam seemed to brighten still further at that – Dad very rarely took them shopping for much besides ammo and weapons – turning sparkling, hopeful eyes up to his Uncle. "You don't have to go to work?" Despite their off-kilter upbringing, Sam knew that most grown-ups went to work on a Monday morning.
Ian smiled. "The office are letting me work from home this week," he explained. "Just until we know – you know – " he glanced at Dean. " – How long you're staying."
Dean bit his lip, while Sam burst out, "Cool!"
Obviously, Dean found himself thinking, his conversation with Sam of the night before, where he'd urged Sammy to be careful of Ian – just in case – had fallen on deaf ears, and Sam was back to believing the guy could do no wrong.
You're just jealous, Dean's annoying little voice goaded him. Problem was, it was probably true: Dean didn't like Ian playing Grown Up for Sammy. That was his job.
"I just need a couple of hours to go through some work stuff," Ian was saying. "Shouldn't take me much longer…"
"What do you do?" Sammy interrupted, enamoured by this latest brief glimpse into life on Planet Normal.
Ian seemed somewhat taken aback. "Do?" he echoed.
"For a job," Sam clarified.
"Oh!" Ian smiled again. "I'm an attorney. A lawyer."
"Really?" Sam's eyes widened. "Like Matlock?"
Ian laughed at that. "Something like that," he agreed. "Mostly I do Family Law." At Sam's inquisitive frown, he clarified. "I protect kids in trouble, mostly."
"Like us?"
Dean really wished Sam hadn't said that.
Ian's smile turned wistful, almost sad. "Yeah," he confirmed. "Sometimes." His face had gone all serious, and he just sat looking at Sam for a second, before his gaze flitted almost unconsciously to a framed photograph which sat on a little table by the door, half obscured by a huge vase full of garishly-coloured silk flowers.
Dean hadn't noticed the photograph before, and probably wouldn't have given it a second glance if it hadn't been for the anguished expression that appeared on Ian's face when he looked over at it.
It was a picture of two young boys, the older one probably a year or so older than Dean, dark haired but pale-faced, and with eyes so blue Dean at first thought there must have been a fault on the camera. The younger boy was maybe Sam's age, with those same stunning blue eyes and a face framed by hair of a lighter brown. The older boy had an arm draped lazily around the younger's shoulder.
Dean guessed they were probably brothers, and it was as if Sam had read his mind when he inquisitively asked, "Who are they, Uncle Ian?", obviously also having picked up on the man's sudden shift in focus.
Ian returned his attention to Sam, a pained look in his eyes and a sigh on his lips. "A couple of kids who were in trouble," he replied evasively, eyes suddenly downcast, as if no longer able to meet Sam's gaze. Then he brightened again, looking up as if nothing had happened. "Hey, you guys wanna swim while I finish my work?"
The idea of the swimming pool had clearly been lurking in the back of Sam's head since yesterday, as he fairly jumped up from his seat at the offer. "Now?" he asked excitedly, eyes sparkling. "Can we go now?"
Ian pointed at Sam's untouched oatmeal with his spoon, a mock-serious expression on his face. "Only if you eat your breakfast," he said.
Sam's face fell a little, eyes darting to his brother, as if asking permission.
Dean sighed and picked up his spoon.
If the worst thing he had to do today was eat oatmeal, then maybe things were looking up…
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Dean dangled his feet over the edge of the pool, cool water lapping over them as Sammy's enthusiastic splashing caused little waves to break over his brother's toes.
Sam had always been a good swimmer, had taken to it like the proverbial duck to water. Which was a good thing, considering swimming was very high on the Winchester Training Manual Checklist.
Dean was pretty good too, but he didn't really enjoy it in the same way that Sammy did – not with that childlike joy of experiencing semi-weightlessness, of suddenly becoming unfettered by gravity, of being able to move so fast under your own power.
Maybe it was the freedom of it that thrilled Sam so much. Made him feel independent and in control of something, when his life was so obviously out of his control and inextricably linked with those of two other people.
For Dean, however, swimming was a means to an end, a necessary skill he might one day have to rely on for his survival.
While Sammy was learning the back stroke, Dean was learning how to hold his breath under water for three minutes. He'd never managed it yet, but it was only a matter of time. And it sure seemed an important skill as far as Dad was concerned.
"Dean!" Sam called suddenly, treading water in the middle of the pool as he looked over at his brother. "You coming in?"
Dean glanced up at the house, where he had been only too aware of Ian standing watching them from his office window for the last six – make that seven – minutes. "Maybe later, Sammy," he replied, looking back at Sam.
His brother seemed bitterly disappointed, throwing Dean his trademark puppy-dog-pleading look that he knew always made a complete sucker out of his big brother. It wasn't that Sam was manipulative: he just knew exactly which of Dean's buttons to push to get what he wanted.
But not this time.
Ian had retreated from the window, apparently satisfied that his nephews weren't about to drown themselves. Or, in Dean's case, scale the side of a building, jump the fence, hotwire the car or just pick up his little brother and run like hell. After last night's little escapade, Ian had no doubt the kid was capable of it.
Dean continued to gaze at the window for a few seconds longer, ensuring Ian wasn't coming back before seizing his opportunity. "There's something I wanna check out," he said cautiously.
Sam frowned. "Can I come?"
Dean smiled reassuringly, finally looking away from the window. "Need you here running interference for me, kiddo," he explained, withdrawing his feet from the pool and standing, the tiles cool against his toes. "In case Ian looks out to see where we are."
"But he'll only see me," Sam pointed out, ever the logician.
"Yeah," Dean agreed. "But he'll just presume I'm here with you, right? Under the water or something."
Sam thought about that for a second. "Okay," he agreed finally, unable to fault Dean's line of thinking. "But you're not going to do something stupid are you?"
Dean tossed the kid a reassuring grin. "Ever known me to do something stupid?" he asked, turning away from his brother.
Towards the shed at the bottom of the garden.
"Yes," Sam replied flatly.
"Yeah, well," Dean muttered. "Who knew you weren't supposed to dry your clothes in the microwave?"
"Dean," Sam's voice was deadly serious. So serious, in fact, that Dean stopped in his tracks, turning back to face him. "Don't upset Uncle Ian," the younger boy said, a trace of anxiety in his voice. "Without him…" he groped for the right words. "If Dad doesn't come back…" he let his sentence drift away from him, and for a second Dean just stared at him, before finally nodding.
"I know," he said quietly, his first tacit admission that Dad might not just be off on some extended hunting trip.
Sam nodded. "Okay," he said. "Consider me interference." He took a breath and disappeared under the water, leaving Dean to silently gaze at the ripples where his baby brother had just been.
"What if you don't come back?"
Shaking himself mentally, Dean tore his gaze away from the pool, refocusing on the task at hand. Sparing a quick glance back up at the office window to ensure Ian was still not watching, he turned on his heel and quickly padded off towards the shed. If Uncle Ian didn't want them in there, then Dean had to get in and find out why.
Bare feet and legs catching on the rough shrubbery stretching down the garden towards the rickety-looking wooden hut, Dean swore silently to himself, remembering why he didn't do shorts.
"Stupid nature," he growled, putting his foot down awkwardly on a broken stone and yelping like a startled puppy. "Goddammit!" he swore, hoping this little nature hike was worth the effort.
Jumping over the last clump of prickly green stuff, Dean sidled towards Ian's garage, a fairly big wooden construction that was pretty much the size of the Winchesters' apartment back in Missouri. The walls were made out of rough-hewn two by four nailed somewhat clumsily together in a less-than-expert fashion. If Dean had to guess, he would say Ian had probably built the thing himself. And not very well.
Creeping around the outside of the building, Dean realised he was able to glimpse workbenches and tools through the gaps in the wooden slats, and was pretty sure he could make out the outline of an old Dodge pick-up truck rusting away next to what looked like a half-complete metal weather vane.
Coming around to the front of the shed, Dean examined the ridiculously excessive padlock and rusty chain slung through the handles of the double doors and wondered idly how long it would take him to pick a padlock that size.
Right now, too long, he decided, creeping around to the other side of the building, one hand lazily tracing the rough wood with outstretched fingers while he wondered what could possibly merit a lock that size on a shack like this that looked like it would probably fall over if it rained too hard.
Something caught Dean's eye as his view through the wooden slats made an old-style animation out of the contents of the shed.
He stopped, putting his eye against one of the gaps and peering in to where he could now spy the front of the pick-up truck. For the first time he noticed what looked like another vehicle parked next to it, partially concealed by a tarpaulin, his previous angle on the truck having blocked it from view until now.
Although the car was almost completely hidden beneath the tarpaulin, Dean couldn't shake the feeling that there was something oddly familiar about its outline, its shape. The length of it. The width of it.
Dean scooted a little further round the building, trying to get a better angle on the car. Viewed side-on, he could see that it was easily as long as the truck, if not longer.
That's some big clunky car, he thought to himself, inclining his head slightly
to get a better look at the rear wing, where the tarpaulin had bunched up slightly to reveal a battered-looking tyre with less tread than was probably legal, and a tantalising flash of gleaming black metal.
Black metal.
Dean pressed his face right up against the gap between the wooden slats, his breath suddenly caught in his throat as an intense feeling of cold gripped his stomach and the pounding of the blood in his head made him dizzy.
The tyre.
Dean had taken a chunk out of the tyre a couple of weeks ago, when Dad had foolishly let him try driving down the hill to their apartment, mounting the kerb when he'd suddenly realised he couldn't reach to put the brake all the way down and had decided that the only way to stop his forward momentum was to tug on the parking brake.
Squinting through the semi-darkness, heart in his mouth as he silently prayed that he was just being a paranoid nut-job, Dean scanned the tyre for the missing chunk of rubber which he just knew was going to be there.
And there it was.
The chunk he'd taken out of the Impala's back tyre only two weeks ago.
Dean wasn't sure whether to scream blue murder or run off to find the nearest Police Station.
In the end, he did neither, realising that the best thing he could do just then was remember to breathe.
Sucking in a lungful of badly-needed oxygen, Dean pulled away from the shed for a few seconds, desperately trying to convince himself that he was just seeing things, while his head buzzed and tried to make him fall over.
Returning his eye to the peephole, he stared once more at what was unmistakeably the silhouette of a Chevrolet Impala.
His Dad's Chevrolet Impala.
Crap. Crap. And crap.
There was no reason for Dad's car to be stashed in Uncle Ian's shed. No reason at all. Why was it even here? How had it got here? Why would Dad have left it here? Why why why why…
Get a grip, Dean, the little voice admonished him, as he just stood rooted to the spot, staring numbly at the telltale sliver of black metal and the chunk missing from the tyre.
Okay, don't panic. This could mean anything. Maybe Dad left the car here with Uncle Ian for safekeeping. Yeah, when he'd asked him to come get us. No wait a second. Uncle Ian had said Dad had called him, not that he'd visited.
Okay, so maybe… maybe…
Maybe something's happened to him. Maybe that's why Ian has the car. Maybe he just hasn't figured out how to break it to us yet. Maybe Dad's…
Not coming back.
Maybe, maybe, maybe…
Dean took a long, calming breath, closed his eyes, and tried to shut out the screaming in his head.
Maybe it was something else.
Maybe they weren't after Dad.
Maybe…
"Sam," Dean muttered the name, eyes snapping wide open as the thought exploded in his brain. Need to get to Sam.
Setting off at a sprint, Dean never felt the bushes clawing at his legs or the stones biting at his feet as he hurtled back towards the swimming pool.
"Sam!" he cried, fairly leaping over the last of the shrubbery and skidding to a halt by the side of the pool. "Sammy?"
Scanning the water with fearful eyes, Dean's state of barely-contained panic shunted into overdrive as it slowly dawned on him that his brother was nowhere to be seen and his clothes had gone from the side of the pool where he'd left them.
"Sam!" he yelled again, eyes darting in a sweeping search pattern, away from the pool, out across the garden and up towards the house.
Nothing.
Nothing moved.
Almost fearfully, his gaze slid up towards the office window.
Where Ian was standing, staring back at him.
It was then that Dean felt what, had he not been completely alone by the side of the pool, he would have sworn was a rough hand shove him between his shoulder blades with so much force that the blow would have sent a grown man flying.
As it was, Dean felt himself falling, and with nothing to grab hold of, the next thing he knew he was hitting the water, going under so hard he actually felt the bottom of the pool graze his hip as he twisted in an effort to figure out which way was up as quickly as he could, the force of the blow to has back having knocked most of the air out of his body before he even hit the water.
Following a glimmer of sunlight spearing down through the water, Dean clawed his way back up to the surface of the pool, gasping in a lungful of air as he broke the surface, eyes darting about himself in an effort to identify who the hell had shoved him in.
But there was no-one there. Not a soul.
"Sammy!" he managed to shout through a mouthful of chlorinated water, his thoughts switching back instantly to his brother as soon as he surmised that he himself wasn't in any immediate danger.
After all, there was nobody else here. How could he be in danger?
"Sam?" Where the hell had the kid got to?
Of course, as Dean's Dad had discovered many times in his long and twisted career, the belief that you were safe and the reality of safety were two completely different things.
So when Dean felt something grab his ankle and yank him back beneath the water, he really shouldn't have been surprised.
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Okay, so yeah another cliffie, but this time a DIP cliffie instead of a SIP cliffie... (Dean In Peril / Sam in Peril. I guess the ending of Devil's Trap is a WIP cliffie - Winchesters in Peril...). Okay rambling again. Let me know your thoughts. And be gentle with me...
