Disclaimer: refer to chapter one

NOTE TO READERS: Thanks for all the reviews for chapter 16. And, I will try to update at least once a week, maybe more … if time and life permit. I don't want to short change you or the story by hurrying up and making it shorter. I'm going to try to see it through to the end and keep my original plans for it, hopefully.

Thanks again for reviewing!

Chapter Seventeen

New Reality

By Dawn Nyberg

"…Be courageous and be brave …may your guiding light be strong…may you never love in vain…whatever road you choose I'm right behind you win or lose…" excerpt by Rod Stewart, Forever Young

John leaned against the kitchen counter holding the phone with one hand and scrubbing a hand across his face. "Joshua I don't know that I can," John replied to the speaker at the other end of the phone line. "I've got my boys and things have been quiet."

"John, I know," Joshua conceded on the other end of the line.

"No, you don't know," John's voice lowered into a protective parental warning timbre. "Sam is still recovering and Dean was just in the hospital not long ago with pneumonia. I just …"

"It's almost local John," Joshua countered. "It's in Tipton… you could be up and back in an hour or two. Look, I wouldn't have called you, but you're the closest. It's a simple hunt John a pissed off poltergeist giving a family a problem."

"No hunt is ever simple Joshua and you know that. And, the fact it's in Tipton doesn't matter. I have bigger concerns right now. I have my boys. I promised not to hunt." John's voice wasn't wavering.

"Hey, take Dean with you … in and out."

"I can't take Dean. Look I don't think…" John was interrupted by Dean's voice in the kitchen.

"Dad, Tipton isn't far," Dean suggested. "Do it. Sammy and I understand. I mean … if someone needs help."

"Dean how long have you been listening?"

"I only caught the last couple minutes. What is it anyway? Ghost or something."

"It's a poltergeist giving a family trouble." John answered.

"Then help them." Dean's face was unreadable and John didn't know how to take it.

"Joshua I gotta call you back. I need to talk to my son's." John hung up with his friend. "Dean?"

"Dad if someone needs help then go. It's not like Tipton is the other side of the world. It's an hour maybe," Dean suggested.

"But, I promised. Someone else could do this."

"No one is better at poltergeists than you dad." John looked at his son thoughtfully and then frowned.

"Where's your brother?"

"On the couch still," Dean answered. "I told him I wanted to talk to you." He studied his father. "Only thing is you shouldn't handle a poltergeist alone. Is Joshua going to be able to come?"

"No, it would be a solo job."

"I could help," Dean suggested and then looked pensive. "But, we can't leave Sammy alone."

"Why nnn…not?" Sam complained from the entrance to the kitchen. Dean shook his head slightly to himself. He had been caught. "I could go." Sam suddenly suggested.

"No way Sammy!" Dean responded quickly.

"I'm as ggg…good as you are," Sam raised his voice. "I ddd…don't need to ttt…talk to a pol…ter…geist to kill it."

"Sammy it wouldn't be safe," Dean countered. "You can't run and you know it."

"Boys stop bickering. Sam your brother's right you can't come on the hunt. You could get hurt."

"So… you and Dean ccc…could too." Sam reasoned.

"Yeah," Dean chimed in. "But, it's different with you Sammy. There's no way you're going." John felt the stress building and this wasn't going to end amicably and he knew it.

"Sam…" John began.

"No!" Sam shouted. "You and Dean thh…think I'm dis…abled, don't you? Dean says I ccc…can't run. I talk dumb ttt…too. You think I can't hhh…hunt."

"Sammy we didn't say that kiddo," John tried to smooth things over. "You're not disabled son … you're healing from a near fatal head injury. You need time to mend."

"Sammy…" Dean stepped forward and Sam took a step back.

"No! I ddd…don't care. You go," he shouted. "I hate hun…ting always did. You and Dad go."

"We can't leave you alone Sam," Dean interjected.

"I'm an adult," Sam answered with anger. "I can bbb…be alone."

"No you can't," Dean said simply.

"Up yours," Sam shouted.

"Sam," John tried to calm his son.

"I can bbb…be alone. I can."

"No you can't," Dean replied again.

"Why not?" Sam barked. Dean didn't say anything he turned anxious eyes to his father, but John had the same look. "Answer me!"

"Because…" Dean supplied without further elaboration.

"Not an an…swer," Sam replied. "It's bbb…be…cause I'm different now, right? Right!" Sam bellowed.

"Yes!" Dean shouted in return and then he desperately wanted to pull the response back into his mouth. He wanted to take it all back. He watched Sam's eyes lose their angered intensity and mist up almost immediately. Sam looked simply stricken as his brother and father looked on. John and Dean could see the unshed tears welling in Sam's eyes as the boy turned and left without another word. Both men stood stock still, and the next noise they heard was the slamming of Sam's bedroom door. Dean dropped his head in shame and self loathing.

"God, what did I do?"

"It just slipped Dean. It'll be okay," John tried to console his son. Dean's head jerked up.

"What are you nuts? He's never going to forgive me. I basically just admitted to him that I think there's something wrong with him … that he's different since the head injury. But Dad I just can't have him on a hunt it's too dangerous," Dean relented. "If something happened to him…"

"I know Dean," John replied. "I feel the same way. There isn't anyway that I would let Sam come on a hunt right now. If he had all of his mobility back and his hand fine motor skills weren't still an issue, maybe…" he hedged. "But, even then I don't think I'd feel comfortable."

"Me either," Dean agreed. And there it was … both men loved the youngest member of their family intensely, but fundamentally no matter what way to go and it'll get better statements or nice job on rehab comments they said to Sam they both without having ever really admitted to themselves had accepted that Sammy would probably never be the person he was before he collapsed. And, no matter what time passed he still had issues that neither of them felt comfortable leaving him alone with. Both men feared the seizure disorder. And, despite Sam not having a single break through seizure since taking his medication there was always the chance. And, the possibility of other seizure disorders always loomed over their heads. "So … how long do we leave him alone in his room?"

"He's pretty fragile right now," John replied. "But … I don't like him getting that worked up."

"Yeah," Dean knew what his father was saying. He too was worried that Sam's emotional states sometimes contributed to new on set seizures and had a tendency to amplify them.

"Maybe we can give him ten minutes and then check on him?" John suggested.

"Yeah," Dean conceded. "That sounds good." John saw the lost and stricken look on Dean's face and smiled warmly.

"Dean, son … he knows you didn't say that to hurt him. He'll be fine. And, if it helps I'll back you up. I mean … I have the same apprehensions that you do." Dean offered his father a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

Ten Minutes Later

John walked with Dean down the hall to Sam's door, and couldn't help, but smile at the paperclip Dean was opening up. "Paperclip? You think we're going to need that?" John whispered with an amused voice despite the situation.

Dean looked at his father deadpanned, "What? You think he's going to open the door willingly," Dean replied with a hint of sarcasm. "And, I guess it's better than kicking it in, huh?"

"You have a point, but we should at least knock," he suggested. John raised a hand and knocked gently. "Sammy? It's dad and Dean. Can we talk to you?" There was no reply, no noise, and the door remained locked.

"See I told you," Dean said quietly under his breath. "Sammy," Dean spoke. "I'm going to pick the lock if you don't open the door. I'm sorry that I said what I said Sam. Just let me explain." There was still no response. "Okay we're coming in," he warned. Dean opened the door with ease.

The room was empty and the window was open with the screen removed. Sam was gone.

"Fuck!" Dean hissed as he quickly turned on his heel. John took in the situation quickly and followed his son.

"Dean, just relax," John tried to calm his son. "He couldn't have gotten that far."

"It's after 10:00 Dad … it's dark and cold out there. Jesus! He could be anywhere. This is Sam we're talking about."

"Okay, look we're not going to find him if we're both worked up. You need to calm down Dean." His oldest child drew in a deep breath. "Good," John replied. "Now, we should look around the outside of the house first … I know the chances are small, but…"

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "But, then we gotta hit the streets dad. It's supposed to get below zero tonight because of that cold front and they said we could really get hammered with snow. Sammy didn't take a jacket. Dammit, he left his ID, his med-alert bracelet and cell phone, shit!"

The Winchester House 1:00 AM

John and Dean had driven around looking for Sam for nearly three hours with no luck, and now they were both feeling the effects of raw panic. "I'm going to call the police," John said as they walked back into the house from their search. It had started to snow around 10:30 and roads were becoming much more hazardous. They had experienced some white out conditions while driving around which made the search even more difficult and dangerous.

"Dad, it's freezing out we gotta find Sammy," John could hear the desperation in his oldest child's voice.

"We need the police Dean. Sammy isn't stupid, okay? He knows to get out of this weather."

"But…" Dean began and hesitated. And John didn't need to hear anymore because his mind had thought up the same possible nightmare scenario … what if Sam had had a seizure and was unconscious out in this weather. He would die from hypothermia before they could find him and with the speed of the snowfall and accumulation it was likely that Sam would be covered up.

"I know," was all John said and Dean nodded. "We'll get him home Dean." John dialed the local police station's number. "Yes, I'd like to report my son missing," John began.

"How long has he been missing?"

"Since 10:00 tonight, but with this weather and he left without a jacket or his ID."

"How old is he?"

"Twenty-four."

"Sir, unless he's a minor we can't officially declare him missing or endangered for seventy-two hours."

"No, my son needs to be found."

"Sir, kids his age almost always show up sooner or later." The police officer answered casually. "Unless he has a health condition that could have his life in danger or he's impaired in some way…" John cut him off.

"He has a seizure disorder. He could be out there unconscious somewhere for all I know dying from hypothermia."

"Seizures? Is he on medication?"

"Yes."

"Has he had his medication today?"

"Yes, but that's beside the point. The medication doesn't guarantee he won't have one. And, he was upset when he left and that could trigger an episode."

"Upset? Family dispute?"

"It was a misunderstanding of something that was said. He was upset."

"Sir, I'm sure he's just blowing off steam."

"Look he has a medical condition, so the department has to look for him."

"Sir, I understand you're worried … I'm a parent myself, but your son is over the age of consent." The officer hesitated. "Is he mentally impaired?"

"Is he mentally impaired?" John echoed what the officer said and Dean turned wide eyes to his father. "He," John's mouth suddenly felt like it was filled with cotton. "He has some cognitive delay issues from a head injury he received a year ago."

"Cognitive delays? So you're saying he is challenged?" The officer was clarifying.

"Challenged, no!" John hissed. "My son isn't handicapped, but …" he paused. "Look he can't be unsupervised. And, why we are wasting time my son could be hurt or dying."

"Fine," the officer conceded. "I'll put out an APB for your son. What was he wearing? How tall is he? What is his hair color and length?"

"He was wearing blue jeans and a t-shirt…"

"What color shirt?"

"Shit," John hissed. "Dean what color of shirt was your brother wearing?"

"Damn dad … I'm not sure."

"We don't know."

"Okay," the officer replied. "How tall is he?"

"6'4" and he has short brown shaggy hair with long bangs.

"Okay, I'm going to try to send an officer by to get a picture, but the weather is playing havoc with our ability to get anywhere quickly. If an officer can't make it to your home I will send out his description to all of our car computers, and the units that are out currently will be on the look-out for your son."

"Thank you. What do we need to do?"

"Stay put … I know it's hard, but in case he comes home or something you should be home. And, the roads are getting pretty bad. The transportation department didn't expect it to hit so fast and the salt trucks aren't able to keep up with the snowfall."

"Fine," John groused. "But, please call or send a unit if you have any updates."

John hung up the phone and sat down dropping his face into his hands. "They are putting an APB out for your brother. The probably won't be able to make it here for a picture the way it sounded, but they have put his description out on all of the car computers. They'll find him Dean."

"He's gotta be okay Dad." Dean replied as he sat heavily on the couch next to his father. John reached out an arm and patted Dean's leg with a hand.

"We'll get Sammy back."

The Winchester House, 7:30 AM, Saturday Morning

John cast tired eyes to Dean's dozing form next to him on the couch. His oldest child had been sleeping in small catnaps all night while they waited for word. He had called the station for an update, but they had no leads on Sam when he spoke to them last around 5:00 AM. Sam had been missing for over nine hours now, and John felt half sick with worry. There was a knock at the front door and John rose quickly. Dean stirred next to him. "What is it?"

"Someone's at the door," John answered as he hurried to answer it. He opened the door to reveal a police officer standing there.

"Mr. Winchester, I'm Officer Delane."

"Hello, have you found my son?" John wanted to get straight to business.

"Sir," the man hesitated and John felt his stomach fall. Dean stood next to his father.

"Where's my brother? Did you find him or not?"

"Dean … let the officer speak," John chastised. Dean nodded.

"Sir, we aren't sure, but…" The officer was young and John knew he was having trouble saying what needed to be said.

"But, what?"

"There was an accident last night. A driver lost visibility during a white out and wasn't able to stop as someone walked out into the street. The car struck the individual. It was a young man matching your son's general description and had he no ID with him."

"My god," John replied. "How bad was he hurt?"

"Sir, we aren't even sure it was your son. We need you to identify the body in order to be certain."

The words hadn't sunk in immediately with Dean or John and the oldest Winchester replied quickly, "just take me to the hospital. I need to know if my son is okay."

"Sir, he isn't at the hospital," the officer reasserted himself. "I need you to identify the body."

"The body," the words fell out of John's mouth like rocks.

"Yes, sir." The officer replied. "As I said we aren't even sure it is your son, but we need to be sure. The young man that was hit was pronounced at the scene. I've been instructed to take you to the County Morgue. Dean was silent and John turned to him.

"Dean it's not your brother okay," he tried to reassure, but even he wasn't sure. "Sammy's alive." He said out loud trying to console his son and himself.

The officer took both John and Dean to the morgue. John and Dean both sat in a small waiting area inside the morgue. John's eyes were fixated on the frosted glass swinging doors near the end of the hall. The words: Storage in large black lettering seemed imposing. He knew what was behind those swinging doors. He visualized the wall of small silver refrigerator doors with rolling trays and each rolling tray bed would hold a body. And, he silently prayed that none of them held his baby boy.

"Mr. Winchester," a morgue attendant came out.

"I'm Steve, and I'm here to take you back to the identification area."

"All right," John stood on shaky legs and Dean followed suit. "No," John said gently putting his hand out to stop Dean.

"But, Dad … I have…"

"No, Dean. If…" John's voice trailed off and he took a breath. "I don't want you to see… if it's … I don't want you to carry that last image…" John couldn't finish his sentence. He just couldn't tell his firstborn that he quite simply didn't want his son exposed to that assaulting image of Sammy on a cold metal slab if this body was his baby son's. Dean relented and understood.

"I'll be here," Dean replied with a shaky voice. His eyes were stinging with unshed tears. John saw his son's wet glassy eyes and knew Dean was on the razor's edge. He reached out and pulled his son into a quick embrace, and patted him on the back as they separated. Dean gave a tight nod and sat down to wait.

John followed the attendant through those horrible swinging doors. "The identification room is right here," Steve showed John to the door and John immediately saw the rolling metal gurney in the room. There was a covered body clearly beneath a white sterile crisp sheet. The room was cold and empty except for the gurney and the smell of death filled the room. "Mr. Winchester," Steve began. "The entire trauma was centralized to blunt force trauma to the chest … internal injuries, so…" he looked at John and could see the man's pale features. "There was no facial or head trauma." Steve didn't know what else to say, but he felt by telling John that there was no facial trauma at least the man didn't have to prepare himself for some mangled mess. "Are you ready?" Steve stepped over to the sheet facing John from the opposite side of the gurney.

John looked down at the sheet … every aspect of the body beneath was covered, but for a small bit exposing some hair. John could see shaggy chestnut brown hair peeking out from under the sheet and he felt a cold hollowness fill his chest. His eyes lifted to the morgue attendants.

"Yes, I'm ready," his voice shaking. The sheet was pulled back exposing the head and face of the unidentified young man and John looked down. He closed his eyes and silent tears slipped down his face. Steve looked up at John.

"Is this your son?"

To Be Continued

Thank you in advance for the reviews of all the previous chapters. I have found reviews are excellent motivators to keep plugging along with this story. I hope you're still enjoying it. Let me know.

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